A Breath of Sunlight Page 9

  Fear slicked his entire body with perspiration. This couldn’t be the end. Not after he’d only just escaped hell.

  When his body threatened to give out, the end of a wooden club smashed the chupacabra on the top of its head and cracked its skull. It slumped over dead. The darkness in the forest transitioned into something lighter and much less foreboding.

  Calle struggled to his feet, favoring his injured leg, and reached for the dagger in the instance of a second threat. But he froze when he stared back at light blue eyes, a wrinkled face, and hair and a beard of wiry gray strands. Tears streamed from the man’s shocked eyes, and his hands trembled as he dropped the club.

  “Calle,” he rasped, stumbling forward.

  Despite the pain in his leg, Calle caught him in an embrace, each hugging the other tightly. “Cian.”

  His dear friend sobbed as he held him at arm’s length and grasped his face between his hands. “But you’re dead. How...how...”

  A wave of fatigue crawled up his leg and filled his mind with woozy fog. His head spun, and he blinked heavily as he tried to keep himself upright. “The chupacabra bit me,” he said, clinging to his friend.

  The shock on Cian’s face transitioned into gravity. “We are not far from my home. You better not keel over because I’m not certain my old bones can drag your unconscious body more than a few inches.”

  Calle’s mouth twitched at the jest, though his head continued to swim as the chupacabra’s venom climbed through his bloodstream. He was vaguely aware of his feet limping forward with Cian at his side. He hardly registered walking through the small town he’d sought these past couple of days and into a cottage. By the time Cian laid him face down on a table, perspiration covered him from head to toe.

  Something hot stung his leg where the chupacabra had bitten him, and he cried out through the fog in his mind. Cian placed the rim of a cup to his lips and ordered him to drink. He coughed and sputtered on a foul liquid that tasted like something between earwax and fungus. He wasn’t entirely sure if he drank it all as he flickered in and out of consciousness.

  At last, the fire ebbed in his body, making way for cool relief. Cracking his eyes open, he found Cian busy rubbing healing ointment into the whipping wounds on his back. Although the man was not capable of magic, his knowledge and skills with herbs often surpassed magic healers in Heulwen. The open wounds began closing.

  Cian frowned through his administration. “Where did you get these?”

  The bitter taste of the foul drink still coated his mouth as he answered, his voice muffled by exhaustion, “In the Pits.”

  As awareness slowly returned to him, he told Cian every event between the summer solstice six years earlier and the chupacabra attack, leaving out no details.

  Emotion clogged his throat halfway through the story when small needles pricked his back. A tattoo... As one of Heulwen’s esteemed elders, it was an honor to receive a tattoo from Cian. However, he wasn’t sure he deserved it.

  Pushing through, he finished his story only to be met by stony silence. The wrinkles around Cian’s eyes and mouth deepened as he continued the long and arduous process of tattooing the scars on his back. The pain of each prick paled in comparison to what he’d endured in the past six years.

  “Your parents’ legacy has been tainted,” Cian replied finally.

  Shame pricked his conscience. He’d been sixteen when they’d died, hardly a man. “I have not lived up to their expectations.”

  The old man paused his work and huffed before continuing. “I was not talking about you, Calle. Your brother is hungry for power. He is not a kind ruler. A lot has happened in your absence.”

  His thoughts flickered to the group he’d met on the road, fleeing from Heulwen. “Tell me.”

  After several more pricks, Cian answered, “Many people have been forced to swear a blood oath to Liam. His army has grown. He has enforced strict laws and harsh punishments. Those who cannot afford to pay the high tax are either thrown in prison or put to death. Food is becoming scarce because of the need to feed a large army. The rivers have slowed to a trickle as if the very earth is sick from Liam’s wicked deeds.”

  “How awful.” Calle’s heart broke for his people. For his friends. For those who he considered family, like Cian. “I fail to understand how he has fallen so far. I heard a rumor in the Pits. About him beating his wife.”

  He turned his head to find Cian’s frown deepening. “You do not seem...sad.”

  “I am sad. And horrified. Disgusted.”

  The bone needle froze above his skin as Cian studied him. “You do not know who the queen is.”

  It wasn’t a question but a statement. He shook his head. “By the time rumors hit the Pits, they often get skewed in one way or another. Who is she?”

  Cian returned his concentration to his task. “A very unlucky woman, that’s who. They have two children now. Both girls. She protects them fiercely.”

  Calle couldn’t possibly fathom how Liam could be so cruel. To his own wife. And he dared hope not to his children. “He wants an heir.”

  Cian nodded, his gaze intense. “I understand now why he’s so desperate. You’re alive. And he knows it.”

  “But why not kill me?”

  “I know your relationship with him has always been rocky. I assume he wanted you to suffer.”

  “Sounds about right,” he muttered.

  Another long stretch passed in silence. The pain in his leg had lessened considerably now that the venom no longer touched his bloodstream. The wound had likely healed over by now, similar to how his back didn’t hurt quite so much. Six years ago, he had planned to learn more about herbs after he eventually mastered healing by magic. His knowledge was basic at best. But he wondered if he should have focused more on training to fight.

  Would the outcome of that day have been different if he’d been a better fighter?

  “What is your plan to defeat your brother?” Cian asked suddenly, shocking Calle from his thoughts.

  His mouth fell open, and he turned sharply to stare at the old man. “There is no plan. There is nothing I can do.”

  “There is always something you can do. And I encourage you to do it soon. Before Liam conceives an heir. You’re next in line for the throne.”

  “I can’t just...” A shuddering breath escaped him as he returned to lying on his stomach. He shook his head. “I can’t just strut into Heulwen and demand the throne. There is nothing I can do, Cian. He defeated me once as if I were a mere nuisance of an insect. I think I will be even less successful next time. I don’t have my magic anymore.”

  “Perhaps not. But you are so much more than just your magic. The people of Heulwen either need another kingdom to overthrow Heulwen, or they need you.” The old man squeezed his shoulder with brittle fingers. “You give me reason to hope again, Your Highness. I know plenty of others who would feel the same way. They would fight alongside you.”

  Fight...

  Others...

  Considering the pathetic amount of strength he currently possessed, there would be no fighting. Not for a while. Maybe not ever.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out Skaja’s warm, round stone. He turned it over in his fingers and ran his thumb across the smooth surface. Dread entered him like a freezing river as he considered his next question. He didn’t want to know, but he needed to.

  “What happened to Avonia and Typheal? Are they...” he swallowed his rising fear, “...dead?”

  “No.”

  However, he didn’t expand.

  Please, no...

  His voice trembled as he spoke. “They lost their wings.”

  Prick. Prick. Prick.

  The bone needle made the faintest of sounds to fill the terrifying tension in the room. Finally, Cian answered, “You know the punishments for harpies when they break a blood oath.”

  “They didn’t break the oath!” he cried. “They were protecting me!”

  “It matters little to the king. To him, their actions were those of betrayal. Only Typheal lost his wings. He managed to convince Liam he’d forced Avonia to act as she had. He was marked as a traitor and banished from the kingdom. Avonia is still blood bound and works in the palace. Her wings are intact.”

  Calle buried his face in his hands. They’d sacrificed so much. And for what? Nyana had been murdered. He had been forced into slavery and now everyone thought him dead. The kingdom was a dangerous place. This was his fault.

  Cian placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “They knew the risks.”

  With a shake of his head, he said, “They must regret their loyalty to me.”

  “They don’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because they’ve started a rebellion group in your name.”

  His head shot up in surprise, but as he scanned the old man’s face for any trace of a jest, he found none. “Rebellion group? What are they hoping to achieve?”

  The older man paused to dip the bone needle into ink, but he couldn’t see the color from this angle. He wouldn’t doubt it was gray or black to reflect the horror of the last several years, and all the people he’d failed with his absence.

  “They are thwarting Liam’s efforts in many ways. Robbing caravans filled with riches. Smuggling people out of the city. Gaining intelligence from inside the palace. Freeing prisoners in the dungeon.”

  “It’s a hopeless cause,” he argued. “You know Liam as well as I do. Once his pride is damaged, he’ll go to the ends of the earth to restore it.”

  “Is it hopeless?” A slight sting touched his shoulder blades beneath Cian’s hand. “They’ve been waiting for the right opportunity. Once they learn you are alive, you will give them hope.”

  The weight of such a hefty responsibili
ty pressed down on him, anchoring him firmly to the table. It wasn’t so much hopeless as impossible. If only Cian understood the limitations of his body and magic.

  “I cannot be the person you want me to be,” he replied quietly.

  “And why not?”

  Memories of the Pits flashed across his mind. He shuddered as he recalled the many whippings he’d received. The darkness. The cold. The hunger. Pain. Cruelty. A fate worse than death.

  And then he remembered his brother. The injuries he’d sustained at Liam’s hand. The rage. The hatred. The power. He was nothing. Just a mouse locked in battle with a lion.

  He admitted the truth, “I am afraid.”

  “Understandably so. You are in no shape to do anything. Rest a while.” He chuckled. “A long while. It looks like you haven’t slept well in six years.”

  Calle’s mouth twitched at the truth of his statement. Before he knew it, even the light pricks on his skin couldn’t keep him awake, and his eyes drifted closed. Every once in a while, the pricks would stop, only for him to wake partially when they resumed.

  Someone shook his shoulder, and he shot up to a sitting position, bleary eyed. Cian’s face filled his vision, and he relaxed. Shock jolted him awake at the tears running down the man’s face and toward the large, proud smile on his lips.

  “It’s done. Come and take a look.”

  Hesitation gave him pause. He didn’t want to see what he assumed would be shameful black designs on his skin, forever etched into his soul. But still, he slid off the table, wincing at the new ache in his back. Not an ache from his whippings, but from the tattoo.

  His heart raced with dread as he followed Cian across the meager room serving as a living area, kitchen, and bedroom at the same time. In the corner of the room stood a full-length mirror, nestled between the bed and a couple of shelves filled with herbs.

  The dark circles beneath his eyes had disappeared, as well as the pallor in his face. His skin appeared to glow with health. Given a few more months, he reckoned he’d start looking the way he last remembered himself.

  Taking a deep breath, he slowly turned so his back faced the mirror, and when he glanced over his shoulder, his eyes widened in surprise. His back was angry and red.

  And gold.

  He blinked back the rising emotion gathering behind his eyes as his gaze trailed over the beautiful golden designs etched into the skin on his back. The design was bold, covering each of his scars, while forming words in the sun language.

  Courage. Strength. Bravery. Endurance. Honor. Love.

  His wide eyes met Cian’s as he turned to face him. “I don’t deserve gold. I let everyone down.”

  Cian shook his head, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears as he smiled. “You did what was right. It’s not your fault you did not succeed. You are more deserving of gold than anyone I know.”

  He ran his thumb over the tattoo on his wrist. The word sacrifice repeated over and over to form the sun star. The gold matched the tattoo on his back. He thought of all the people Liam had hurt, of all the people he had wronged.

  Anger and determination sparked within him, fanning hotter and hotter until it became a billowing wildfire.

  No more.

  Liam would not hurt another soul if he could do something about it. He knew what to do next. It would be hard. Impossible, even. But escaping the Pits had been impossible, and yet he’d done it. Though, not without help.

  “Go to them,” Calle said, his eyebrows set with resolve. “Tell them I’m alive, and I will lead them to victory.”

  Cian moved past him to grab an empty sack as if he planned to leave immediately. But he halted at Calle’s next words.

  “And tell Avonia and Typheal...” he clutched the smooth stone in his hand, “I’ve found their daughter.”

  Avonia’s steely gaze swept over the rebels gathered in the room—one of many inside the hidden underground, impenetrable fortress. For years, King Liam had chased them down, tortured those he had captured, and sent troops to trample the forest to find out where they were hiding. But with the spellcaster changing the location of the entrance often, they were difficult to find.

  The blood oath to Liam thickened in her veins the longer she remained away from him and her duties to protect him. He didn’t know about her involvement with the rebellion, and she planned to keep it that way.

  Typheal climbed the three steps to the top of the dais, kissed her cheek, and stood by her side. Someday, they could be together completely, rather than the occasional visits in the dead of night.

  Oh, how she longed for happiness and normalcy.

  A murmur started at the very end of the gathering, and the crowd parted like fish swimming around a rock to make a path for someone approaching. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise to find Cian limping in her direction with a staff in his hand, faster than an old man his age ought to move. Typheal rushed down the stairs to help him, and Cian nodded his thanks.

  He huffed and puffed before catching his breath at the top. The crowd hushed, waiting for their elder to speak.

  Avonia started, “Cian, it has been many months since last we’ve seen you. How are you faring?”

  “Perfectly well,” he answered as he wheezed one more time before facing the crowd. Everyone stared at him expectantly, even herself. Instead of waiting until he fully caught his breath, he addressed the rebellion, “Prince Calle,” he wheezed, “is alive.”

  Avonia’s heart squeezed hard enough for her mind to become dizzy. She swayed on her feet, disbelief coursing through her blood. Shouts of exclamation echoed off the tall stone ceilings, further causing her head to spin. Typheal steadied her, and his calming presence helped her manage a breathy question.

  “He’s alive? What? How?”

  Surely, Cian was mistaken. She’d seen Calle’s limp body being carried away. She’d attended his funeral. She’d mourned him for a long time.

  When the room quieted again, Cian said, “King Liam lied about his death and sent him to the Pits to spend the rest of his life as a slave. But he escaped with the aid of a very brave valkyrie named Skaja.” The elder turned to face her and Typheal, a sheen of happiness in his eyes. “Otherwise known as Scarlett Svera.”

  This time, Avonia’s knees buckled and she fell to the ground. Sobs of disbelief escaped her, and she was powerless to stop them. Her baby? She was alive? A valkyrie? No wonder they had never been able to find her. They’d never ventured far enough in their search.

  With Typheal’s steady hands on her shoulders, he lifted his head to stare at Cian. “You are certain?”

  “I have not seen her myself, but Calle says there is no mistake. He confirmed she is under a blood oath to him, and Avonia...” The elder smiled, and she barely spotted it through her tears. “She has your wings. An exact replica.”

  “My baby,” she sobbed again. Her entire world shattered around her and rebuilt itself into something fragile and all too easy to break. “We have to go after her. Where is she? With Calle?”

  Cian eyed the crowd with a suspicious frown. He motioned with his head toward another door, and she and Typheal followed on unsteady feet into a small room with gray stone walls and a musty odor.

  The moment the door closed behind them, the old man’s face crinkled as he explained, “As far as I understand, Skaja has left and doesn’t plan to return, but at least now we know where she is—with the valkyries. Calle is recuperating at my home. He’s...” The lines around his mouth deepened as he frowned. “He’s in bad shape. Very bad shape. But given a few months...he will recover.”

  The prince had been like a son to her all his life, but before she opened her mouth, Typheal demanded, “We must bring him here. He’ll be safe with us.”

  Cian shook his head and leaned heavily against his staff. “He can’t regain his strength without sunlight. He needs to remain above ground.”

  “Then we must send protection to him. I will take several trusted guards.”

  “And then what? You will risk Liam following you and bringing him right to Calle’s door. My property has a ward around it. As long as he stays within its boundaries, he should be safe and hidden.”

  “That’s not good enough!” Typheal struck out at the wall with his fist. “We cannot risk his life.”

  “No, we cannot. Which is why no one will go. Unless you know an illusionist who will aid our cause, one not already working for Liam.”