Now Valessa saw the rage and stubbornness she’d expected from the man. But Daniel let it go as quickly as it came, and he stood so he could embrace Brute.
“Take as many with you as you can,” he said. “And if that priest prick comes alone, put an arrow through his eye and then send word down the Gihon for the rest of us to join you for the celebration.”
“Bring some women with you on the way back,” Brute said, and he laughed. “I’ll tell the men in the morning, see how many volunteers I can rope into dying with me. I suggest we grab some sleep. It’s going to be a long few days, for all of us.”
Sleep wasn’t something Valessa needed, but she did desire solitude. She made herself incorporeal, but when she slipped down through the floor, she saw something in Darius’s eye that filled her with terrible annoyance. Stopping at the bottom floor, she walked through the wall and then waited for him. When he stepped out, he seemed surprised to see her.
“You look upset,” he said.
“You damn well know why, too.”
“Is that so? I beg to differ. Care to let me in on the secret?”
He started walking toward the docks, where he’d left his sword. She followed.
“You’re staying,” she said.
“None of your concern.”
“It’s suicide, and noble or not, you know that isn’t your place.”
“Is it?” Darius asked as he walked out onto the wood planks. “What if you’re wrong, Valessa? What if he’s alone? I could face him myself, put an end to all of this right here and now. I could save the lives of every man left here to die. What use am I otherwise? Do you think Daniel needs my help to nursemaid a town of people? Besides, Jerico would have stayed.”
“Is that all you know?” Valessa asked. “What Jerico would do? What Jerico would say? How about what you want to do? How about what you would choose?”
“If I do what I want, instead of what I know is right, how am I different from any other man?”
“Is that how you see yourself?” she asked. “Is that how you convince yourself you’re better?”
“I said different,” Darius said, glaring.
He reached down for his sword. As his fingers closed about the hilt, a soft light enveloped the blade. She squinted at it, the proximity filling her with a sense of vertigo.
“But you’re still wrong,” she said, standing before it despite the intense discomfort. “This isn’t what’s right. Your place is with the people.”
Your place is with me.
She almost said it. Almost. The vulnerability of it alone kept her mouth shut.
“What are you really upset about?” Darius asked, turning on her. “Worried I might die to Cyric instead of you? Your concern for my life would be more touching if you weren’t saving it for your own murder.”
Despite the veil she immediately created to hide herself, he must have seen the shock and pain on her face, for his shoulders sagged, and he reached out a hand for her.
“Valessa, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”
“Stay here and die,” she said, turning away. “But you’re not dying alone. If you’re to face Cyric, then I will too. You’ve already turned me into a walking blasphemy. I might as well join you on your trip to the Abyss.”
She knew he’d argue, but she didn’t care. Putting her back to him, she ran to the tower, then through it, through the outer wall, and out into the open wilderness where she could finally be alone. She looked to the sky only once, to see if the red star followed after her. It did not, and though she was unsurprised, she was disappointed nonetheless.
11
Sebastian sat on his throne, knife in hand. At his feet lay a pile of fluff, along with large strips of cloth. He’d cut the Lion from every cushion, and as for the carved wood, he’d hacked at it with an axe. His throne was a disheveled, mutilated mess, but he’d never felt more lordly than when he sat awaiting Luther’s arrival.
An hour after dawn, the dreaded message came, bringing with it a surprising amount of relief.
“A steward of Luther requests an audience,” said one of his soldiers. He remained by the doors of the great room, as if nervous to come too close. Sebastian nodded, and with a weariness he pushed himself to his feet.
“Come with me,” he said. “And bring your bow. It’s time we give our answer.”
“I do not have a bow,” the soldier said as he took up step beside Sebastian.
“Then I suggest you find someone who does.”
They exited the front of the castle. Pausing for a moment, Sebastian turned around so he could observe the mark of his family. The castle was large and inelegant, little more than an enormous rectangular block of stone hollowed out with rooms, but across the front was its true beauty. It was a yellow rose, drooped to one side, with a single petal falling from its center. Sebastian remembered the day they’d begun, back when he and Arthur were children, and their father was still himself.