Cyrene nodded. “She told us.”
“It’s fine,” Avoca said evenly without emotion. “I’ll live, and that’s what matters. I’ll just have a half-dead arm forever. Worth it in the end.”
Cyrene frowned at the empty sound of her voice. She would recover, and ruined arm or not, she would still be better off. But it would take time before she was a hundred percent again.
“I didn’t get to say thank you,” Cyrene whispered. “If it hadn’t been for you, then I would be dead.”
Avoca smiled sadly. “And it broke the bond.”
Cyrene nodded. “I miss it.”
“Me, too, but the blood debt is paid,” Avoca said with a sigh of relief. “A life for a life.”
“You’ll always be my sister.”
“As you will be mine.”
Ahlvie frowned. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news at a time like this, but…Orden is dead.”
“No,” Dean murmured in horror.
“What?” Avoca gasped. Then she coughed violently around the word.
Cyrene had no words. She just stared at Ahlvie in disbelief. In some sense, she had never worried about Orden. He had always seemed more like an impenetrable father figure than anything. He’d always known exactly what to do and how to navigate a situation. He had been fearsome with a blade and could track better than almost anyone. It seemed impossible that he could be gone.
“Wara,” Ahlvie got out. “I heard it from Gwynora. Apparently, Wara was the one who had killed her father. Wara went after Orden and ran him through, and then Gwynora slayed the Braj. It happened so fast.”
Cyrene shook her head. She couldn’t speak. As if her vocal cords were frozen. As if her tear ducts were frozen. As if she were frozen.
She had no idea what to say or do or how to process this. She’d lost so much over the last two years. So many people she loved and cared about. She felt broken. Like she couldn’t do anything to mourn this person she loved so deeply.
She’d never again hear him call her girl or see him tip his wide-brimmed hat at her. She’d never see his barreling form negotiate a better rate or slip money into a person’s hand for information. She’d never again get to hear him say that he was proud of her.
One more person Malysa had stolen.
Without a word, she walked out of the tent.
She could hear Dean following her, but he didn’t try to interfere. He’d been surrounded by enough atrocities to know when to remain silent in the face of something this horrible.
She slipped into Dean’s tent since hers was currently occupied by Kael. His cot beckoned. She didn’t even bother to slip out of her filthy, blood-splattered clothes. Just sank down into the bed and stared blankly at the tent wall.
A second later, Dean was there. He reached down and gently tugged her boots off. One after the other. Next came her fighting leathers. First, her mangled pants and then the destroyed top. He was careful with her injured shoulder. He chucked them into the corner before pulling one of his freshly laundered shirts over her head. Then he pulled all of her dark hair up into a knot on the top of her head and carefully wiped the grime away from her face and neck and hands with a rag and a bowl of water. By the time he finished, the basin was filthy.
He didn’t tell her it would be all right. Or try to tell her to be grateful that they’d won and that it was all over. That she should be happy that they’d come out victorious on the other side.
Because, while that was all true, it would do nothing to bring Orden back.
Dean just tipped her back into the cot, wrapped his arms around her, kissed her brow, and whispered, “Go to sleep, my Bloodbreaker. Your fight is over for today.”
The next morning, Cyrene awoke with a clear head.
The depression after finding out about Orden hadn’t gone away, but sleep had done her good. Her magic was finally regenerating, and with it came blessed relief as her shoulder began to knit itself back together.
She rolled over in the cot to find it empty. But Dean was still there, waiting for her.
“Thought you might sleep all day,” he said with a smile.
“How long was I out?”
“The sun has already risen. A solid twelve hours at least.”
Cyrene rubbed her eyes, shocked that her body had let her sleep that long. “There’s so much to do. You should have woken me.”
“No, you needed the sleep. The army will wait for you.”
Dean passed her a plate of bread and cheese. She scarfed it all down like she was starving. And perhaps she was if her magic had been diminished that much.
She gently touched his face. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
“I love you,” he said, fitting his lips to hers. “And I have been where you were last night.”
“One day you’ll tell me?”
He nodded easily. “One day.”
That was enough for now.
She retreated and exited the tent, only to run smack dab into a very impassioned Brigette Ellison.
“There you are!” Brigette croaked. “What is this that I hear about you holding the king of Byern prisoner?”
Cyrene’s eyes rounded. She glanced around at who might have heard Brigette’s announcement. Then she grabbed Brigette by the upper arm and shoved her into the tent. Dean’s eyebrows rose when he saw his sister.
“Could you keep it down?” Cyrene growled.
“So, it’s true?” Brigette asked. “The king lives.”
“Brigette!” Dean cried. “That is not public knowledge yet, and we would like to keep it that way.”
“Why?”
“Because we believe that someone will try to kill him,” Cyrene told her.
“Good,” she snarled. “Drag him out from his hidey-hole right now and cut his throat in front of the entire camp. It’s the least that he deserves.”
“That is not happening,” Cyrene told her.
“He has killed thousands! My people! You cannot keep us from him.”
“I can, and I will,” Cyrene said, straightening. “I am the commander of this army, and Kael is my prisoner. He will have a trial and be sentenced for his crimes.”
“That’s absurd. He does not deserve that much courtesy.”
“I know that people in Eleysia believe that,” Cyrene shot back. “You never gave Maelia a trial and cut her head off in the same day.”
“She had my parents’ blood on her hands,” Brigette spat.
“Kael has blood on his hands. Your people, my people, and my others,” Cyrene said. “But, if I kill him here and now, it will accomplish nothing. It will not bring justice to this war. The people who support him will see it as an injustice and not as a final moment to what they have all endured. They need to see him publicly tried for his crimes. It must be legal, Brigette. Or else this will all start again.”
Brigette shook her head. “You’re mad. You’re all mad.”
“See reason,” Dean said gently. “And not the deaths of our sisters.”
Brigette flinched from him. “Fine. A trial then. But he’d better perish there!”
Cyrene was certain that he would. Brigette flew from the tent, still mumbling about insanity. Cyrene had to hold her gumption though. They needed this trial. They needed the people to see a fair due process. And not another murder. Because then, how would they be any better than Malysa?