Betrayal by Blood Read online

  A bucket of ice water over Cole’s head would have had the same impact on him as Wood’s words.

  Wood collapsed back against a fallen horse and looked up at Cole through fluttering eyes. “Thank you … for coming back … saving us. Captain.”

  Cole jerked back and the ground under his knee squelched. “Captain?”

  Wood barely nodded. “Thank you … sir.” He reached with his left arm to try to open his right leg pocket pouch. Roney stilled his trembling fingers and opened the pouch for him. Bloody blue fabric spilled out. Cole sucked in a breath as he recognized his Captain’s armband. Stevens’s armband. Roney pulled it out, his movements heavy with his own sorrow as he placed the fabric in Wood’s hand. The dying soldier held it out to Cole, his arm trembling. “Captain.”

  Noises faded to the background over the rushing in Cole’s ears.

  Cole reached out, trepidation icing his spine. A jolt passed from his fingers down to his toes and back up at the familiar feel of the smooth fabric. He cleared his throat. “Thank you, Ensign Wood. But I won’t truly accept this until I find the Captain. He may yet be alive.”

  Blood soaked the blanket that Roney had wrapped around Wood. He barely twitched his head. “No, sir. He’s … gone.” He motioned with his eyes down the path of broken bodies. “Sorry … sir.” The soldier sighed out the last word, his glassy eyes still looking in the direction they’d yet to go.

  Cole clenched the fabric in his fist and unsteadily rose to his knees before standing. He had to find Captain Stevens. Now. He stepped with caution to avoid bodies and slippery organs on his way back to his horse. Every lungful of air took effort. This mission had gone from a hellish order to straight through shehalla’s gates. Cole paused at his horse’s side, threading his fingers through her coarse mane to ground himself. He had to prioritize. Find Stevens. Prepare the injured to move. Deal with the dead. Get home.

  He struggled to pull himself into the saddle, weariness fighting the lingering adrenaline in his body. He pointed to Ozly. “Keep sweeping the area. We’ll find Captain Stevens. Any injured we find, we stop to treat them and get them back to the rest of the company. I want this done.”

  The surrounding men murmured their agreement.

  They’d barely gone ten yards when he saw them: deep red epaulets. Every ache and pain hit Cole in one hard wave. I don’t want to do this anymore. The epaulets were surprisingly clean—still attached to Captain Stevens’s shoulders—and the main factor in identifying his mangled body. Stevens’s skull had been crushed, all that remained of his left arm was strands of sinew, and huge chunks of his body were missing. Too deep in shock to feel horror, Cole only felt mystified at the oddness of Stevens’s injuries, until he glanced to his right and saw a dead skrull with a mass of flesh in its open mouth, the fabric matching Stevens’s uniform. Roney heaved behind Cole.

  Grief numbed Cole’s mind. This wasn’t how he wanted to be captain. He held the armband out and stared into the blue folds, the back of his mind expressing relief to not be looking at the corpse of his mentor and father figure anymore. I can’t … I don’t … I need to do this. At least until the mission is over.

  Sick with sorrow, he slid the band up onto his bicep. It slid back down, wordlessly reminding him of what a huge role Stevens filled. And how inadequate Cole would be in comparison. Cole swallowed bile.

  He took a heartbeat to fight the grief, closing his eyes against the carnage, wishing he could stop breathing to avoid the smells around him. Unwillingly, he opened his eyes and scanned the road beyond his captain’s body, noting that Stevens had at least taken out several dragons and quite a few rebels before he was killed. Cole couldn’t see many bodies beyond the captain. He turned his horse back toward the way they’d come. He knew his men would stay behind to prepare Stevens’s body for moving.

  Cole forced himself to sit straight on his horse, at least look the part of captain, even if his heart wasn’t anywhere near ready for the role. “We’ll build carts for transporting our dead. We’ll camp here tonight, then leave at first light. We need to go home.”

  Chapter Eight

  Slate

  Slate sat back and idly drummed his fingers on the armrest of his seat as he smirked at his twin. “If you’re enjoying being an aunt so much, maybe you should settle down and have a few kids of your own.” Garnet glared at him over Adeline’s sleeping head, and he chuckled softly, purposefully breaking eye contact as he looked up at the enameled ceiling. He sang under his breath: “I know someone who’d love to date you.”

  It was a good afternoon for a visit. His mother, Ellie, and Garnet were back into town, Slate had the day off work, and, for once, Brandon wasn’t overseeing affairs of the country. Sapphire invited Slate, Garnet, and Ellie over with great enthusiasm, so all but Ellie—who had to take care of an incoming shipment—congregated in the spacious and comfortable sitting room of Brandon and Sapphire’s palace suite. Slate sprawled across a cushy couch, watching Sapphire walk around the room and swing her arms, clearly reveling in the freedom of movement.

  Brandon sat at a table across the room, writing a correspondence while weaving in and out of conversation with a fluidity that Slate envied.

  Garnet’s face flushed and she busied herself, tucking the blanket around Adeline. “I have two different businesses to run and no time for men, thank you very much.”

  “Mmhmm,” Brandon muttered just loud enough to be audible. He dipped his pen in the inkwell and shot a grin over at Garnet. “Whenever you’re ready to change your mind, I’ll let him know for you. In the meantime”—he gestured at his daughter in her arms—“you’re welcome, Aunt Garnet.”

  “Well, thank you,” she replied primly. She bopped Adeline on her tiny button nose and chirruped, “You look just like your mama.”

  Sapphire leaned against Slate’s couch, resting her forearms over his outstretched arm. He winced as she sank her weight into him, and she gave him a syrupy sweet smile that he knew was hiding some snarky comment she was preparing. She raised an eyebrow and dropped her voice. “You’re next. We’ll find you someone, and then it’ll be you to fuse a stone and bring on the next grandbaby for mother.”

  Slate laughed. “Oh, I don’t think so. I need to find someone who fits me first.”

  “Oh, I thin—” Sapphire started, her tone playful while the gears in her mind clearly turned.

  “Brandon, has Richard been by a lot?” Garnet’s question cut through the teasing between Slate and Sapphire.

  Sapphire’s smile dimmed and she eased back, letting Slate pull his arm down. He hugged it to his chest, rubbing the circulation back into it while he looked over at Brandon.

  Brandon had paused, holding his pen over the paper, head slightly bowed. He sighed. “Richard … hasn’t been by much, no.” He ran his free hand through his blond hair, then swore and returned his pen to the inkwell before snatching up a blot rag for the paper he’d been working on. His eyes tightened as he glared balefully at it, then he pushed away from the table to devote his attention to Garnet. “He’s been pretty quiet, lately.” Brandon’s gaze fell to Adeline and his face softened. “I think it’s been a bit much for him, actually.”

  “He’ll come around,” Sapphire said, her voice soft yet optimistic. “He just needs time.”

  Slate nodded as Garnet murmured her agreement. Richard had been through much. He definitely deserved a break.

  A knock broke the thoughtful quiet, and Brandon rose to answer the door. He shot a tiny grin to Sapphire. “We need to send Andre and Clara away for breaks more frequently. It’s nice, getting to be common and answer my own door from time to time.”

  Slate rolled his eyes. Brandon would never understand what common life was really like. But that was fine—he truly was a level-headed prince for the most part. A level-headed crown prince, Slate reminded himself.

  Brandon opened the door, and Slate sat up so he could better see the look of surprise that whoever was knocking had to have at the sight of their prince pret
ending to be “common.” Zane stood at the doorway, his expression somber. “Brandon. They’re returning.”

  Zane’s words punched Slate in the gut, stripping him of all amusement and leaving his stomach hollow.

  Brandon gripped the doorframe, his knuckles white. “How do they look?”

  “Bad.” Zane stepped in and Brandon closed the door, leaning against it, his coattails folded oddly between him and the wall. Zane crossed his arms, nodding briefly to Slate and Sapphire, and then pausing to give Garnet a somber half smile. A faint blush dusted her cheeks. Zane looked back to Brandon. “Initial messenger reports are saying that only half returned.”

  Sapphire gasped behind Slate, and she came around the couch to sink into the seat next to him, her cold hands grabbing his tingling fingers.

  Half? What went wrong? For only half to come back—Slate shook his head and pushed back the dark memories from the day his family had learned of his father’s death in the war a decade ago. Don’t go there. There is no reason to darken the future with shadows from the past.

  “Do you think Cole—” Sapphire’s quiet words hesitated and Slate squeezed her fingers. Cole had been their childhood friend and playmate, alongside Finn’s son, Connor. Even though they were in different branches of the military, Slate still counted Cole as one of his closest and most trusted friends. Just like Zane and Brandon. Slate rubbed his thumb along Sapphire’s knuckles. “Cole’s with Captain Stevens. He’s safe.”

  Probably devastated over losing so many men though. Slate slid his sister’s hand back to her lap and stood, moving toward the door. “How about I go greet them? I can get news, bring it back for everyone.”

  Brandon nodded. “That sounds like a great idea. I’m probably going to get called into a meeting soon, and Author knows how long that’ll take.” He turned to Zane. “You go too, then you can update the citadel.”

  Zane saluted smartly to Brandon and gave Slate a grim nod. “Shall we?”

  * * *

  Slate and Zane passed through the palace hallways, each lost to his own thoughts. It had been good, Slate reflected, seeing how Brandon reacted to the first reports, and his quickness in saying he would need to go for meetings and such. Not that Brandon would see it like Slate did, but it boded well, having the crown prince be so concerned over his military. Clearly, Brandon was closer to ready for the title than Prince Richard.

  Something to bring up to Brandon. Some other day, though.

  Two ladies-in-waiting slowed their pace as he and Zane walked by, and the mild pride that bubbled in Slate fizzled when they both batted their eyelashes at Zane instead of him. Slate sighed internally. Olive skin, dark hair, toned and lithe as a sand panther, Zane Monomi was not easily forgotten amongst the females. Thankfully, he rarely turned on his charm for the ladies in the palace. No, Zane set his sights on the nearly unattainable.

  Good luck to him on that.

  Zane broke their amiable silence first. “So,” he drawled out the word. “How’s Garnet doing? Enjoying being an aunt? I think I saw her holding Adeline?”

  Slate bit back a grin. Of course that would be Zane’s first topic choice, if not the current, grimmer events. “You guessed it. She’s soaking up every spare second she can before she needs to head out again. She’ll be here another week or so, then she’s off for Aerugo. Our mother just expanded her shipping yards to there, so Garnet has her hands full between running the Hawk here, and helping get the yards fine tuned out there.”

  “And she’s loving every minute of it,” Zane predicted. He quirked an eyebrow. “She’s probably loving it so much, that she’s barely remembering to rest and not burn herself out.”

  A guffaw shook Slate’s shoulders, chasing away the shadowed weight of concern for the army. “You know her. She’ll burn out eventually. Then she’ll spend a couple days recuperating, and jump back in before she should. She’s all go, go, go, and she won’t listen to me or Sapphire.” He shot Zane a sideways glance. “You know, if you’re that concerned over her, you’re welcome to try to talk some sense into her.” Slate grinned slyly. “Maybe you can loosen some of her tight gears, she could use some unwinding.”

  Zane missed a step and he stumbled, shooting Slate a glare as he laughed. “Some protective brother you are.”

  Slate waved a hand, unable to hide his broad grin. “I only say it because your chances of such a thing are nil. But she’d do well with someone who could help prevent her from overworking herself. And I wouldn’t mind having you for a brother-in-law.”

  Zane absorbed Slate’s words with a slightly stunned expression, then a brilliant smile broke out across his face. “Really? You don’t mind?”

  Slate snorted. “Don’t thank me yet, man. She’s stubborn as a mule. Good luck.”

  “All the same, thanks.” Zane pushed his hands into his pockets with a giddy grin. They turned a corner and passed two palace soldiers, and Zane’s smile melted away, leaving the concern that Slate still felt in his gut. Zane’s brow drew low. “You work in the palace guards. What do the folks here think of”—he lowered his voice as a maid walked by—“Prince Richard’s orders and the mission?”

  The clouds of apprehension returned, and Slate grimaced. “There’s two main camps here regarding that, and you’ve probably already guessed how it divides. Half the palace agrees with Richard, and they’ve been calling for blood with a fervor that borderlines creepy. The other half thinks the order is too extreme.”

  Zane nodded minutely.

  “Unfortunately, there are overzealous people on both sides.” Slate sighed and scrupulously glanced around for anyone standing close enough to overhear him before he continued. “I’ve even heard a few make comments about some not wanting Richard on the throne. That they’ll leave the kingdom, move to another country if he becomes king, as they feel this is a prime example of how his rulership would be.”

  Zane grunted. “Hopefully this is the last order from Richard along these lines. I can’t imagine what the rift between him and Brandon would look like if this was Richard’s new normal.”

  It had only been a few days, but the distance between the two royal brothers had been noticeable, even with the handful of times that Slate had been around them. And he really couldn’t tell if it was because of Selvage or Adeline or both. Brandon used to mention Richard casually in conversation, and now, if Richard came up, Brandon would only fall silent, his expression pained. Slate hesitated. Zane spent enough time around Brandon and Sapphire that he was as good as another bodyguard for them. He needed to know what Slate had heard in the last day.

  “There’s a rumor going around,” Slate started. “That Richard wants Brandon out of the portrait. That’s he’s jealous over Brandon having an heir, and that Brandon currently has more love from the people.”

  Momentum kept Zane moving for all of half a step before he jerked to a stop. He stared at Slate, black eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. “That has got to be the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Slate shrugged. “I don’t make up the crazy theories. Just thought you should know, since you’re Brandon’s best friend. You can keep an eye and ear out for trouble.”

  “True.” Zane shook his head, disbelief coloring his words. “Thanks for that.” He continued toward the main entry, his fingers tapping idly against his black-and-silver sword hilt as he walked.

  The two doormen swung open the tall gilded doors as Slate and Zane neared, both guards saluting in respect. As Slate and Zane stepped out of the palace, they squinted, hands raised to shield their eyes from the sudden glare of the mid-day sun. Vibrant flowers in purples and pinks bloomed on either side of them in the garden beds. Slate sneezed.

  He had to visit Finn for that allergy cure. Soon.

  “Going back to the general public’s thoughts on Selvage, the families of the citadel are mostly in the mindset that it was abhorrent, but necessary,” Zane said. “And I agree that in the long run, something drastic needed to happen, for the sake of our future descenda
nts. But our integrity as a country was irreparably tarnished with those orders.” He shook his head, his dark hair swaying. “This will go one of two ways. Either others will be too afraid to rebel, or the remaining Reformers will use Selvage as a martyred town to raise more to their cause. I fear Richard gave no thought to long-term ramifications.”

  Slate hummed in agreement, staring down the road, searching for any signs of the returning men. It’d been about forty minutes, but their conversation only served to sink the dread in his stomach further. What if Cole hadn’t made it? How would he break the news to Garnet? Sapphire?

  Water flowed under the stone bridge before them, the rock muffling the sound of their boots. Further ahead, they’d need to turn right to continue to the city proper.

  A flash of color through the trees caught Slate’s attention. He peered through the spindly tree limbs, able to just barely make out the discus field and quite a few men milling around in their sport uniforms. “Isn’t that the Citadel Garrison?”

  Zane hung back to look around Slate. “Yeah. Citadel and Central. I was with them when we heard that Captain Stevens’s men were coming back. All garrisons are under orders not to go meet the men coming in and to let them in without delay.”

  “Makes sense. Clearer roads, let’s them arrive sooner, all that.”

  “Exactly.” Zane rolled his shoulders. “I’m willing to bet Zak’s still there, too. Poor kid is going crazy since he broke his arm. I’m hoping he learned his lesson, but knowing him, probably not. He’s obsessed with discus and anything related to the military right now.”

  “Wait. When did Zak break his arm? What happened?” Slate mentally reviewed all previous conversations with Zane, hoping he hadn’t missed something. Had he been so preoccupied with his own thoughts?

  Zane laughed. “About three weeks ago.” Mirth smoothed the lines of concern from Zane’s face. “Zak was watching us guys play discus, and he decided to try doing one of the flips he’d watched. Six-year-olds really shouldn’t perform aerial acrobatics. Especially when launching off a pillar that’s twice their height. He’s lucky he didn’t break his neck.” Zane dragged his hand down his face, still chuckling. “He was crying in pain while still protesting and saying he could try it again. Stubborn kid.”