The Broken Pieces(15)

She was blaming him? Darius’s temper flared, and he couldn’t control it this time.

“So I’m to protect you now?” he asked. “The woman who says she does not fear pain, and still vows to take my life once Cyric is gone? Who are you to me, Valessa? Just a lost, broken killer, tossed and abandoned by the same god that abandoned me.”

The second Darius spoke the words he felt a cold slap. Looking up at Valessa, her face hidden by her dark veil, he realized how lost she must feel. He’d felt it himself. He remembered holding his blade aloft with a cursed hand, begging for flame, begging for strength. He’d prayed until he cried, determined to feel the presence of his god just one more time.

“Valessa…” he started to say.

“Get out,” she interrupted. “Get out, now. I have failed Karak again and again, and you are the reason. It is because of you I know no peace in death. It is because of you Karak turns his back to my prayers. You are a wretch and a betrayer. Do not try to drag me down with you.”

Darius climbed down from the hay and made his way to the door.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he said, pausing. “But what of Cyric? What does that make him? Karak cannot both bless him and deny him, only one or the other. And you stood at his side.”

“A red star hangs over your head,” Valessa said. “And a black one over Cyric’s. That is my purpose now. That is my way to salvation.”

Darius chuckled, even though he felt so very tired.

“I know an easier one,” he said. “Stay here, if you must. If Daniel complains, I’ll tell him to either trust me, or get rid of me. And if you’re willing to endure their anger and sorrow, you can walk about as yourself instead of Vale. It’s not like any of them can hurt you. Just promise you won’t hurt them in return. It’s not their fault. The last time most people here saw you, it was at Cyric’s side, and you were the one holding the sacrificial dagger.”

He left, shutting the barn door behind him. He heard no answer.

The next morning, he awoke to people shouting his name and shaking his tent. Stumbling off his cot, he stepped out into the painful daylight. Several men gathered about, and they looked furious.

“It’s her,” one said. “The one from that night. She’s come back.”

“And?”

They looked at him, baffled. Darius shook his head and gestured.

“Lead on.”

Upon the pile of ash sat Valessa, wearing her true face. About twenty surrounded her, throwing stones that passed right through her. Darius pushed to the front as several asked for his sword. Valessa looked up from where she sat, then leaned forward and rested her chin on her hand. Another stone passed through her forehead and out the back. Though it caused no pain, he saw her wince ever so slightly.

“I never should have been at his side,” Valessa told him, answering his unspoken question. Another stone, followed by a dagger. The calls for his holy blade grew.

Darius left the group, ignoring their requests.

“Darius!” shouted Daniel, having joined the ruckus. “Where are you going?”

“To get breakfast. Come hollering if she causes any harm.”

“You said she’d not show herself!”

Darius shrugged.

“Looks like she changed her mind.”



Sir Gregane stepped into his lord’s bedchambers at first light. He’d been woken in his room by a servant and told to come, and quickly. Normally he’d have been annoyed by such an interruption, especially since they’d just arrived at the Castle of the Yellow Rose, but his dreams, what little he remembered of them, were dark and brutal. Upon awaking, he’d gasped in air and grabbed the wrist of the servant shaking him.

Now composed, and dressed as best he could at such short notice, he crossed his arms behind his back, stood to his full height, and addressed his lord.

“You called for me?” he asked Sebastian.

Sebastian looked up from his desk by the window. The shutters were open, and the soft breeze made the dwindling candles on either side of his desk dance and shake. Instead of bedclothes, Sebastian was already dressed for the day, and by the dark circles under his eyes, and the lengthy parchment before him, Gregane guessed he had been awake for some time.

“How many are left?” Sebastian asked him.

Gregane frowned, caught off guard. How many left of…

“A hundred,” he said, realizing what Sebastian was asking. “A hundred men, more than half wounded from the battle. Plus your guard here, that puts us at a hundred and fifty.”

“And how many serve my brother?”

Gregane thought back to the siege, his second confrontation with Lord Arthur and his men. It’d seemed like such a small force they faced, but then had come Kaide’s ragtag army, followed by the most horrific of all: the backstabbing mercenaries and paladins of Karak.