Laire watched Tristan and Styrax disappear into the night. Gone. Tristan was gone. The insurance he’d kept for five years. The prize he’d groomed, nurtured, and developed; the one that would give his family the life he’d once had and lost. His world—his plans—shattered in an instant. All because an elf with a black sword had appeared where she didn’t belong. An elf that had died five years ago. And now she had foiled Laire’s best-laid plans. Again. And he had to keep Tristan away from her.
He screamed and grabbed the man nearest to him, throwing him after them. “Go after them!”
The man scrambled to his feet, his face pale. “Sir, we…we’re not equipped to handle an elf. None of us have swords, and we…we’ve never seen…”
“By the Architects.” Another man crumpled to his knees, tears streaming down his face. “We’re all going to die. We can’t face one elf! How are we supposed to fight an entire army of them?”
“Get off the ground, you worms!” Laire spat. “That is an order! Go find Tristan now.”
None of them listened. They simply stared, listless and useless.
Laire roared and took off toward his quarters. They would not get away. Not again. He could deal with his insubordinate men later.
He smashed his front door open and marched to his bedroom. The walls closed in around him. His ears rung and crescendoed into a chorus of death tolls. Gone. Gone. Gone.
He snatched an emergency knapsack from beneath his bed and tightened his sword belt. He didn’t want this out-of-hand spiral to run its course for more than a few hours, but he had to expect the worst. He might be gone for a very, very long time. Whatever it took to bring things back to order, and to finish off that elf he’d left for dead. Vinea appeared in the doorway just as he put on his coat, arms crossed tight across her chest as she stood tall and stiff.
“What happened?” her voice trembled, but only just. Keeping it together for his sake and Linae’s.
“They’re all gone.”
“Who are?”
“The elf. Tristan. Styrax. They all left together.”
“What?” Vinea dug her fingernails into her palm, her face swirling with conflicted emotions. “Tristan is gone?” Something in the way she asked seemed off. Almost… relieved?
He straightened and watched her. “I saw it with my own eyes. But I will make it right.”
Vinea glanced to Linae’s room, almost subconsciously. “You’re going after them, then?” She wrapped her arms around herself.
“Monsters have kidnapped one of my men. Why wouldn’t I go?”
“Why are you going?” She sat on the bed as she watched him finish his packing. An extra pair of boots. Crossbow and bolts. A length of serpent root.
Laire grunted as he shoved the pack closed. “Because I’m surrounded by cowards.”
“And yet you still want to send those men to the Golden Grove?”
“VINEA!” Laire whirled on her, eyes blazing and chest heaving. Indiscernible whispers crawled through his mind. Red tinged his vision. “This is not the time for this! Everything I have done I have done for us, and I will not have you question me again!”
Vinea drew herself to her full height, chin tilted back as she met Laire’s eyes. Regal. Imperious. Furious. “I will not have you speak to me that way again. I am your wife.” She glanced to the sword at his hip. “Put the sword away.”
Some of the blazing fury ebbed from Laire’s pounding head. “Vinea, I’m sorry. I don’t have time for this right now, I—” He took a step toward her, but she shoved him back.
“Laire Baison, remove that sword right now. I will not speak to you with it on. You know I hate what it does to you.”
“Vinea…”
She folded her arms and waited, lips pressed tightly together while her eyes swam with moisture.
“My love, I’m sorry.” Laire unbuckled his scabbard and dropped it on the bed. “I’m sorry I hurt you. But I have to go. Tristan needs me.”
“I need you, too, Laire,” she said, her voice wavering. She took his hand in hers. “Search parties can be sent after Tristan. Stay with Linae and me. Retire from this war you’re so desperate to fight. Please.”
Laire watched her closely. Traced the freckles on the bridge of her nose. Counted the wrinkles he knew he had given her. What harm would it do to tell her? To explain what he was doing and why? To quiet her fears? She had been his partner in everything for more than ten years. Surely she of all people deserved an explanation. He opened his mouth with the words ready to tumble from his lips, but he stopped them. Dammed them inside his throat. If he told her, then whatever fate befell him would be hers as well. She would have no escape. He couldn’t do that to her; couldn’t rob Linae of two parents instead of one.
Instead, he brushed Vinea’s cheek with his palm. “I can’t. And you will understand why when this is all over. I promise.” He kissed her, held her to his chest for a moment, and then left her on their bed. He buckled his sword back to his waist as he left.
Sedick waited for Laire just outside the door, and his young acolyte stood tucked away in the shadows. “A shame to leave such a beautiful creature behind. Rest assured, she will be safe in my care.”
Vinea bristled. “I have taken care of myself long before I met you, Lord Sedick, and I will continue to do so long after you are gone.” She slammed the door in their faces. Laire heard a stifled sob behind the door.
Laire stared at Sedick, long and piercing, trying not to let his own heart break. “I trust you as much as the elf that murdered my son. Touch my family, and you will spend the rest of your short life counting the atrocities I commit against you. They will be many.”
Sedick grinned. “I do so love to see that vim of yours.”
Laire leaned over him, hand resting on the pommel of his sword and air burning hot through his nose. “You seem so interested in my family’s sword. How would you like to see it through your gut?” He walked away.
“Not so fast, General,” Sedick said, not the least perturbed by Laire’s threat. “You will want to know how to tame the boy if he’s gone…feral by the time you find him.”
Laire laughed, a bark with no mirth. “Why would I listen to you? It’s your magic that should have kept this from happening in the first place!”
“I only promised to keep his memories locked away. His behaviors fall on you. You elected to be his caretaker, after all.” He smiled, smug as any viper with fresh prey.
Laire breathed in every fiber of patience he could find in the air because he had none left of his own and looked back at Sedick. “What do I need to do?”
“Speak a single word.” He withdrew a scrap of parchment from his robes with a flourish that set Laire’s teeth on edge and handed it to Laire.
Laire glanced at it briefly and curled his lip. “This is gibberish.”
“That gibberish is a warlock word.” Sedick turned it right side round and whispered the pronunciation to Laire, careful to keep it out of his acolyte’s hearing range. “If the boy becomes too difficult to handle, say it, and all his fight will vanish.”
“How does it work?”
“As long as my curse has any residual tethers to him, simply hearing the word will activate it,” Sedick said. He grinned, his black eyes gleaming with triumph. “Touch will be your most foolproof option. But be wary, oh noble warrior—the farther he drifts from this…ahem…hallowed place, the less likely he will be to welcome you with open arms.”
Laire curled his fist around the fine silks at Sedick’s throat and drew him close. The acolyte swept from the shadows and stood behind Sedick, eyes glowing purple. Sedick waved him away.
“Beware your smug jokes, Sedick,” Laire said. “Remember that you are as entrenched in this as I am. If I go down, I’m dragging you to the Pit with me.” He shoved him away and stormed out the door.
Sedick rubbed his neck and watched Laire leave. He bit back the words he wanted to say. No use in arguing anymore, even though his skin burned at Laire’s parting threat. How dare he?
And more importantly, how dare he so casually carry the sword that had been Sedick’s life’s journey for the past twenty years? The sword that had only been sung about as a nighttime horror story to keep children in bed and a siren song for those seeking power for the past four hundred years. The sword that had driven his benefactor mad. The sword that would grant Sedick’s every wish.
Sedick flexed his fingers, burning with rage. That fool had no idea what he had. Sedick had watched Laire misuse and neglect the sword for over ten years, completely horrifically oblivious to the power and history he held. He had been patient then, waiting for Laire to slip. He could be patient now. It was only a matter of time before Laire died on one of his hare-brained schemes, and then Sedick could collect his prize at his leisure.
He heard Lady Vinea shuffling around in her quarters and smiled to himself. There was nothing against him enjoying the wait.
He snapped his finger at his shadow, and the boy appeared at his side. “Go check on the woman and her child.”
The boy dithered. “Lord Sedick, you said I should not associate—”
Sedick backhanded him. “Go! Never dare to question me again.”
The boy bowed and left without another word.