Allegiance by Cayla Kluver
My heart warmed at London’s statement; they had come to believe as I had that I wasn’t just someone who needed to be protected, that I could be helpful, that I could be counted on in a crisis. Galen and London left shortly thereafter, and it was easy to forget the danger they would face amidst the anticipation and in light of the leverage success would bring us. In reality, there were very few certainties in connection with this plan. We might be triumphant, or Galen and London might die. Panic pumped through me at that thought, but this mission had to be attempted regardless of the risks, for we were tired of hiding. It was time to strike back.
CHAPTER 26
STRENGTH OF THE KINGDOM
STELDOR WOKE ONE LAST TIME. IT WAS IN THE morning, and the air was stale, cold. I had gone to fetch more wood for the fire, wanting to bring back the blaze for warmth as well as to prepare some food.
He came to consciousness more calmly than he had with Galen, perhaps because of his father’s nearness. Despite my desire to give them time alone, I could not seem to focus my attention anywhere else. Cannan sat beside him, Halias now on guard duty, and he laid a hand on his son’s arm the instant Steldor’s eyes opened, bleary and confused. They didn’t speak for a long time, although Steldor’s breathing became steadier as he gazed at his father, who was as strong as ever, the ache only visible in his eyes. But Steldor saw it.
“Am I going to die?” he asked.
“I’m doing everything I can to prevent it,” Cannan answered, taking his son’s hand, then he hesitated, struggling to be honest. “But probably.”
Steldor nodded as if he had expected this but broke eye contact nonetheless, no doubt trying to come to terms with the ending of his life. I wondered if he was scared, in denial, angry that his time would be cut short, but none of those feelings came out. Instead, he gazed once more at Cannan.
“Papa…don’t leave me.”
Somehow the captain’s iron will reined in his emotions, but he leaned closer to touch his son’s forehead with his other hand, brushing his damp hair away.
“I won’t.”
“What will you tell Mother?”
There was no way to know if Cannan would ever see his wife again, a fact that escaped neither man, but as long as the possibility existed, the captain would bear a message for her.
“What would you like me to tell her?”
“That I…that I made it out alive.”
Steldor—lying minutes, hours, days from death—wanted to protect the mother he resented, for he knew the truth would destroy her. Tears filled my eyes as I stood by the fire pit, and I held my breath as I tried not to give in to sorrow.
“Is Alera here?” Steldor asked next. His eyes were glazed with fever and it took great effort to push out every word, but he seemed unwilling to let it conquer him just yet. “I need to talk to her.”
Cannan nodded, then looked at me, and my face grew hot, not from the fire but because he had caught me staring. He did not comment, but came to his feet, gesturing for me to come to Steldor’s side. I complied, hastily wiping away my tears, and he took a step back so I could kneel in his place, but he did not leave, honoring his promise.
“Alera, I…I think…I’m going to die,” Steldor said, flinching, though whether from his injury or from his thoughts I could not know.
My hand flicked toward him, but in the end I let it fall into my lap.
“Steldor, you don’t have to—” I started, struggling to speak as tears again trickled from the corners of my eyes, but he cut me off.
“Don’t tell me to stop,” he growled, chest heaving. “I don’t have much time and I want to say this.”
I nodded, railing inside at the unfairness of it all. Couldn’t fate grant him some peace during these last few, lucid minutes?
“I know I’ve hurt you, more than once,” he said through gritted teeth, and I could not disagree, though I had without question reciprocated. “I wish I could say I never meant to, but…I can’t.” He shook his head to try to keep the predatory illness at bay for just a short while longer.
“What I’m trying to tell you is…”
He was having trouble focusing. His eyes closed, and I knew he was fast fading away. Then they reopened, dark and passionate, within them willpower I would not have expected. “You saw me at my best and at my worst, Alera, but even at my worst, I always…”
He trailed off, his unremitting pride forcing him to leave the sentence unfinished. “I just want you to know,” he tried again, “I…I regret it now. I could have—should have—been better to you.”
My stomach was twisting with remorse and sadness, my mind flitting through trite responses. None would suffice; I could no more lie and say he was wrong than I could explain the burning in my throat at the thought of his death, the absolute denial that raged inside me. I felt weak, pathetic, as salty tears rolled without restraint down my cheeks, but he bore none to match, despite the intensity of his feelings. Then I knew what to do. I leaned down and pressed my lips to his, kissing him tenderly, closing my eyes to let forgiveness and gratitude and even love flow from my heart into his, and for a time his lips responded. Then he yielded to his unrelenting fever.
Every succeeding hour saw him further from us. Cannan, keeping his promise, would no longer leave his side, refusing meals, accepting only water which he would occasionally sprinkle between Steldor’s dry lips. It was thus necessary for Temerson, shaky and uncertain but with military training, to take a few hours on guard duty to give Halias a break. I wondered if London’s vague words about “losing” Cannan were rebounding as agonizingly in the Elite Guard’s head as they were in mine.
I stayed with Miranna throughout the next day, no longer trying to approach father and son, for Cannan, resting Steldor’s head and shoulders in his lap, would cast me a dark glare if I tried, as though anyone who came near meant to harm his defenseless boy. It was terrifying in a way, that expression, as if he didn’t recognize me, but his fierce instinct to protect his son also made me glad…glad that his arms would be the ones in which Steldor would die.
By evening, thoughts that I did not want had begun to torment me. What would we do with my husband’s body? We couldn’t bury it; the ground was too rocky in places and frozen in all others. Could we burn it? Or would a funeral pyre alert the enemy to our location? It grieved me to know that he should be buried in Hytanica’s Tomb of Kings, but that we could not give him that honor. He had been crowned Hytanica’s youngest King, and now he would also die its youngest ruler, having just reached his twenty-second birthday in this heartlessly cold month of February.
The hate that rose within me for Cokyri was so intense, I could hardly contain it—a Cokyrian blade had caused Steldor this injury; Cokyrian soldiers had prevented him from receiving medical care; and it was Cokyri’s rulers who had forced us to flee our home in the first place. And what right had they to take that home? My kingdom, my city, my land, my people. They had caused the destruction of so much, and I would never stop hating them for it. Never stop hating him. I wanted to bring about his death, wanted to destroy him, wanted to drag down the great Overlord of Cokyri before his very people, just as he had made our soldiers fall before those they loved.
But nothing, none of those things, would bring Steldor back.
His breathing was almost undetectable now, and every passing second jarred my heart, for I knew his chest would, at some point, fail to rise.
London and Galen returned late that night, just over two days since they’d left. They had taken the horses that we had originally used to reach the cave, but even with mounts, they had run hard.
London was the first to step into the torchlight at the front of the cave, a rope in hand that I soon saw was attached to the left wrist of Nantilam, the High Priestess of Cokyri, sister to the feared Overlord. Behind her entered Galen, gripping the rope attached to her other wrist. She was blindfolded, and her flaming red hair was dirty and mussed, as was her black clothing, giving evidence of a rough journey. Still
“Is he still alive?” he asked Halias, glancing at Cannan and Steldor, and I could hardly believe his insensitivity.
“Yes, barely,” Halias answered.
I guessed Miranna’s bodyguard had planned to say more, to inquire after the successful mission, but London didn’t give him the chance, snatching the rope from Galen’s hands and jerking the High Priestess toward our dying King. She resisted, but he was too strong for her, and in the end stumbled along behind. Galen and Halias likewise took a step forward, looking unnerved by London’s action, while I stood frozen, none of us understanding his conduct. As he drew Nantilam to him, he placed a hand on her shoulder, pressuring her to her knees just paces from Steldor.
In an instant, Cannan had shifted position and drawn a dagger, but London stood, perhaps inadvertently, between the captain and the Cokyrian, his mind clearly not on his commanding officer.
“Heal him,” London growled, his eyes locked on the belligerent High Priestess.
Halias had moved behind Cannan and I had stepped nearer, while Galen stood back and Miranna cowered in the shadows, perhaps recognizing the latest addition to our group from her time in captivity. Temerson was posted on guard outside; but while my sister probably needed comforting, I was too intrigued by what was happening to go to her.
Although Halias was positioned to restrain his captain if need be, the Elite Guard’s bewildered gaze was upon London. His eyes flicked to mine, trying to assess my reaction to the bizarre statement that still reverberated in the air. Had London’s mind been affected during the journey? But there was no confusion in Nantilam’s return glare.
“This is your renowned boy-King?” she asked, and Cannan’s knuckles went white around the handle of the dagger.
“Yes, this is our King. You will heal him.”
The High Priestess did not answer for several moments, her manner lofty as she and London continued to stare at each other.
“He will die.”
London grabbed the front of her shirt to pull her upright and then threw her hard against the cavern wall, where she crumpled to the floor. She did not rise but glowered up at the deputy captain as he stood over her with his arms crossed, simmering with fury.
“You will heal him,” London repeated, every word punctuated with anger. Then his tone changed, becoming less hostile and more self-assured. “It will serve you, as well as us, if you do as I direct. If things do not go as we would like, and your brother finds us, what better gift could you extend than the King, alive and well, to torture to his satisfaction? On the other hand, if events favor us, you will be in need of my mercy.”
Nantilam did not break eye contact with London, nor did her countenance change, but she also did not respond, seemingly considering her options. The tension in the room continued to heighten, making it hard to draw air, although none of us understood what was transpiring between the deputy captain and the High Priestess. I could not conceive of what Nantilam could do to help Steldor, but if she had some ability, London’s logic seemed infallible. She apparently also reached this conclusion, for she came to her feet, her proud gaze fixed on her captor, then nodded and turned to approach my husband. To my surprise and hers, London’s hand fell upon her shoulder, momentarily stopping her.
“Cannan,” London said, and I understood his concern. “Let the High Priestess come near. She won’t harm him.”
“You’re damn right she won’t.”
The captain’s voice was low and gravelly, and though I could see very little of the Cannan I knew in this ferocious man’s eyes, I was nonetheless inclined to take his side. London wasn’t making sense—Steldor deserved the dignity of dying in his own time amongst his own countrymen. But London came forward, kneeling at Steldor’s side so he was across from Cannan, extending an open palm to take the blade.
“Listen to me,” he implored. “There isn’t much time. If you don’t trust me, Steldor will die, but if you do, she may be able to save him. Your son can live if you just listen. Now, give me the dagger.”
London’s ardent expression, coupled with something in his voice, connected with Cannan’s rationality long enough for the captain to relinquish his weapon, and London motioned for Nantilam to approach. She joined the men on the floor and pulled open the bandages around Steldor’s middle, showing no reaction to the swollen, damaged flesh that nauseated me. She laid her hands upon the wound, causing Cannan to tense, and then closed her eyes.
Nothing seemed to be happening, but as the minutes reached a half hour, I could see the strain on her face. All her concentration and energy seemed to be focused on her hands, and I wondered if her palms would be hot to the touch. At last she swayed to the side, catching herself with her forearms as she collapsed upon the floor.
“That’s all I can do, for now,” she said, exhaustion lacing her words. “I can only sustain the power for so long. I need to rest.”
“Will he live?” London demanded.
She scowled at him, resentful of his dubious tone. “I have done what you asked, London. He is no longer in imminent danger. But it will take much more than this to save his life, and I cannot continue without rest.”
London looked at Galen, who took his cue to retrieve bedding for her, the sergeant’s frown expressing his opinion that some ruse was being played out by our captive. Soon after, the High Priestess was lying down, her hands tied behind her back, London hovering stiffly near her to make sure she did not cause any problems, while Halias went outside to check on Temerson. I examined my former bodyguard curiously, until he finally noticed my stare. Throwing caution aside, I asked my question.
“What did she do to him?”
Cannan, still with Steldor, raised his head to listen, as well.
“She healed him,” London replied brusquely. “Not completely, not yet, but she will. I can’t explain how it works.”
“She has powers, then,” I said, unease and awe sending a shiver through me as questions chased round and round in my mind. I hesitated, then asked the one that had come to the forefront. “But…how did you know?”
“Just accept it, Alera.”
There was suddenly a sharper edge to London’s words, and I wondered if I were delving into those pieces of his life he himself had not explored for years—those pieces about which he had never spoken. I dropped the subject and went to join Miranna. Taking advantage of the lull, I lay down at her side to get some sleep, my eyes on the High Priestess’s still form, aware that the Cokyrian ruler possessed knowledge of London’s past that I never would.
When I woke the next morning, London and Halias were in serious discussion near the fire pit; Temerson was back inside the cave, lying down a few feet from Miranna; Galen, nowhere to be seen, was apparently on watch; and Cannan, still at Steldor’s side, was monitoring the High Priestess as she once more laid hands upon his son. I did not know how she felt about the captain, but had I been in her position, I would have found his mistrustful dark eyes highly unsettling.
I began to fuss with breakfast, all the while listening to the exchange between the two Elite Guards.
“One of us will have to find a Cokyrian soldier and send her back to the Overlord with our message,” London was saying.
“And what exactly will the message say?” Halias asked.
“I think it should be written, to avoid any miscommunication. We tell him we have his sister and are willing to negotiate terms of her release. We designate a meeting spot far from here, and make it clear that if there is any foul play, if an
“And what do you think we’ll be able to get in exchange for her?”
“I don’t think we can expect the return of our lands, but I believe we can secure the release of our people. Their only worth to him is as slaves. I think he will trade their freedom for the safe return of his sister.” Halias gave a short nod, then brought up the next issue.
“If the note is delivered as we desire, who will meet him?”
“I will,” London said without hesitation. “I know what to expect.”
Halias’s brows had pulled together. “You can’t go alone.”
There was a pause as Halias waited for London’s response, but my former bodyguard’s eyes flashed to mine before he continued.
“With so many to protect, the necessity of guard duty and now the High Priestess to watch, I can only afford to bring one of you with me. Galen’s skill with a bow makes him the logical choice—he can scout from above. You need the remaining numbers here.”
“You’ll be walking to the slaughter.”
“Only if he’s willing to sacrifice his kingdom’s true ruler. Without Nantilam, Cokyri falls into disarray and their clean takeover is lost. He’s their weapon, she’s their ruler. He needs her. I don’t think I’ll be in danger—nor would Alera—if she would decide to come.”
The goblet of water I had been holding clattered to the floor as I reeled in shock.
“You don’t have to, of course. But it would be better to have you with me to impress upon him our seriousness, and to prove to him that we still have a sovereign. It won’t matter to him that you’re the Queen and not the King.”
I sat, slack-jawed, considering London’s request. My first instinct was to be terrified. Could I face this person, this monster, who had done so much evil? Who had ordered the kidnapping of my sister, coerced the man I loved to destroy my home, murdered the soldiers who had struggled so hard to defend us, tortured Casimir, and possibly Destari, to death? Could I stand before him and not cower? But now that I had the option of seeing for myself this warlord whom I hated, passionately, unconditionally, how could I refuse?