Chapter 17

“All this time.”

Morgan had never heard his brother’s voice like this. Low, deep to the point of guttural, and absolutely without mercy. There was nothing of kindness in this voice, nothing of love and family. There was nothing but cold anger and even colder duty.

“All these months,” Brevaer went on, piercing Morgan to the core with the sharpness of his gaze, “that I thought you were changing for the better, developing a sense of responsibility at long last. All the training, the work, the effort … and it was all spent hiding this disgrace?” He jerked Auban’s head back, making him wince with pain. Morgan whimpered and reached for him, but his brother pressed his foot into Morgan’s chest and half shoved, half kicked him back. “You’ve been harboring an enemy under our very noses?”

“I told you!” It was Drenikel again, gloating over the scene. “I told you all! Morgan would not know a true day’s labor if it came to him bedecked in flowers and singing a song! He’s turned on the whole village, spurned us to harbor a human! He’s a traitor to us all!”

There were murmurs from the crowd—how much of a crowd, Morgan couldn’t tell, because he couldn’t take his eyes off Auban. His mate’s neck was held back at a cruel angle, and forcing him onto his knees like this had to be exacerbating his injuries terribly. “Let him go,” Morgan begged his brother. “At least let him sit upright, please! You’re hurting him!”

“Why shouldn’t he be hurt?” Brevaer bellowed. “Why shouldn’t he feel pain, after all the pain he and his kind have caused us? He came here to kill us, Morgan! He came in a ship of war, full of men armed with blades and worse. He came with fire-dust and harpoons, ready to do us all in. What sort of mercy should I grant him for that except a quick death?”

“No!” Morgan screamed the word, drawn up from the depths of his soul. “Don’t kill him!”

“Why not?”

“Because I love him!”

There were shouts of horror, of dismay—and of terrible glee from Drenikel and his friends, but Morgan was still focused solely on Auban, who gave him the ghost of a smile as he mouthed the words right back.

I love you too.

Gods, his heart was breaking. This couldn’t happen, it couldn’t. If he watched his own brother kill his mate, Morgan would lose his mind.

“He is even more of a traitor now!” Drenikel roared above the din, shaking a spear over his head. “He’s given his heart to one who would have wiped out our entire village! He should be killed as well!”

That seemed to knock Brevaer out of his wrath, and a look of dismay crossed his face. “Absolutely not,” he snapped.

“Spoken like a soft-hearted fool,” Drenikel said with a sneer. “It’s clear where the line of your loyalty to us really lies, Brevaer. You had the audacity to present yourself as a leader to our people, and yet you lack the discipline to punish your own dishonorable brother. If you won’t do it, then I will!” He leapt forward with his spear, thrusting it toward Morgan’s chest.

Morgan didn’t do anything to block it even though he easily could have—his time training with Garen and Auban hadn’t been completely wasted. He let it happen, though, not looking away from Auban, who stared at him with horror as the point began its inevitable descent into his heart.

I would rather die with you than live after watching you die.

The attack was stopped, though—not by Brevaer and not by Morgan, but by Garen. He had his own spear outstretched, knocking Drenikel’s to the side as he lunged forward to place himself between Morgan and the rest of them.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he snarled, clearly out of breath but no less fierce for it. Morgan pressed his face to the back of Garen’s thigh, his breath hitching with the realization that he had only narrowly avoided death. He risked a glance at his brother—Brevaer looked poleaxed, like he was barely able to follow what was happening. For the first time, Morgan felt nothing but contempt for the sibling he had revered from birth.

You know nothing. Nothing at all.

“He’s a traitor!” Drenikel insisted, but there were murmurs of discontent now.

“It don’t mean you can just kill him,” one elder spoke up.

“Who gave you the right?” another asked.

“He’s young! Surely that must afford him some understanding,” one of the women said.

“His guilt is undeniable!” Drenikel shouted. “And he hasn’t even tried to deny it! He preserved the life of this human in secret, it—it’s a betrayal of everything we stand for!”

“The human doesn’t remember anything!” That was Garen again, speaking up when Morgan couldn’t—and neither he nor Auban could, Auban because no one cared what a human had to say, and Morgan because his throat was too tight with fear and grief. “He washed ashore without a single memory, gravely injured. Should Morgan just have let him die, then?”

“Wait.” Drenikel sounded interested now. “You knew about this?”

“Not at first,” Garen said stiffly. “But yes, I found out eventually.”

“And you didn’t report it to any of us?”

“No.”

“Another traitor!” He sounded terribly, horribly excited.

Brevaer spoke next, and there was no excitement in his voice. Only betrayal. “You knew,” he rumbled. “And you said nothing to me as well.”

“I could not,” Garen told him. “I swore to Morgan I would keep my silence.”

“Then you truly have no loyalty toward me, do you?” Brevaer let go of Auban, who slumped to the ground in a daze. “You’ve been playing me this whole time in an effort to help my brother hide his dirty little secret, haven’t you? Everything we talked about, the moments we shared … they mean nothing to you.”

“You’re wrong. They mean so much to me,” Garen said in earnest. “But I could never betray my oldest friend. And Auban has done nothing but help us better ourselves as soon as he was able to.”

“Better yourself how?” Brevaer growled.

“In fighting, in defense …”

“You think you are a fighter now, thanks to this filth’s efforts?” Brevaer grabbed Drenikel’s spear from his hands with ease, making the younger man yelp with surprise. “Then fight me. Show me how much this human has taught you.”

Garen was shaking—from fear or sadness, Morgan didn’t know. Nevertheless, he took a step forward. Morgan cried out as his friend moved away, and Garen turned back and laid a gentle hand on his head. “It’s all right,” he said, staring into Morgan’s eyes. There was no lie there.

Morgan knew, in that moment, that he had grossly underestimated his friend. Garen was the best person he knew—not Brevaer, certainly not himself. Garen had bravery without end, and Morgan did not deserve it … but … “It’s all right,” Garen repeated, then let go of Morgan and moved forward, placing his spear in a ready position.

Brevaer attacked, and Garen answered.

The breath caught in Morgan’s throat as he watched two of the three people he held dearest in the world attack each other like they were trying to kill each other—which, judging from the scowl on his brother’s face, he at least was. He couldn’t do anything, couldn’t move at all as Brevaer, massive yet swift, as inexorable as the tide, struck at Garen with no respite, no pulling of his own strength. And Garen …

Garen answered it. Every strike, he had a reply for—every combination, he parried and matched. He avoided trips, redirected sweeping blows that a few months ago would have taken him off his feet, and when he could not move out of the way, met force with force in a display of strength that had the other villagers murmuring at his increased strength and skill. He was incredible … but he was totally defensive, not striking back, not even trying to get the upper hand against Brevaer.

He loves you, Morgan wanted to scream. He loves you, you fool! Why can’t you see it? Isn’t love more important than punishing him for helping me? But the words stuck in his throat, stuck like everything else, paralyzing him. The only thing that managed to jolt him out of his fugue was the arrival of Auban, still bound, crawling over to his side.

“Morgan,” he breathed, levering himself painfully to his knees and pressing their foreheads together once more. “We have to stop this. Tell your brother to stop, and I’ll leave. I’ll leave right now.”

No!“Please.” Morgan didn’t even know what he was pleading for anymore. For things to go back to how they had been yesterday, perhaps, when he had his brother’s love and Garen’s friendship and Auban’s admiration without any of them conflicting with each other. “Please …”

“Morgan!”

There was a collective gasp from the crowd. Morgan turned just in time to see Garen fall at last, taken down by a blow that should never have landed—would never have landed if he’d been attacking with intent—and the follow-up strike was going to sever half his neck if it landed.

Morgan couldn’t let that happen. He threw himself forward, covering Garen’s body with his and squeezing his eyes shut as he waited for the spear to stab him instead.

The fatal blow never came. A heartbeat turned into a breath turned into a few seconds, then five, then ten. When Morgan finally opened his eyes, he peeked up to see his brother staring down at him, his spear halted less than a foot from Morgan’s face.

No matter what happened next, Morgan knew he would never forget the way Brevaer looked right now, like his heart had been ripped right out of his chest.

It was a feeling Morgan knew well.