Page 9 of Between Despair and Hope

What the hell?

Someone was in my bedroom with Elora.

I jumped up, tying Rain’s robe tight around my waist, and drew dive fire into my hands, white light cracking through my skin as if I was made of it. I’d been practicing over the weeks, remembering how Soren had held his crimson and purple flame. I’d improved drastically. Since the door to the bedroom was cracked, I could nudge it open with my hip, holding the fire sparking in my hands. My jaw dropped when I realized what I was looking at.

There was a guard—the big one I’d sent sprawling to the ground on my trip to the dungeon not so long ago—asleep in the chair next to the fire. He was the one I heard snoring. I looked over at Elora and stilled, noticing an arm draped over her, someone lying beside her. My heart dropped into my stomach as I approached. The hand was pale, and there were red marks on his wrists. I knew exactly who was in my bed with his arm wrapped around my daughter, and I wasn’t sure how to react. How the hell had he gotten in? It was clear someone had reported my whereabouts, and, obviously, the giant in the chair had something to do with it. My bare feet were quiet on the floor, and I barely breathed. I let the fire dwindle in one of my hands and grabbed the boy’s shoulder, rolling him over onto his back. He looked younger in sleep, his hazelnut hair hanging down over his forehead, face slack and peaceful. I almost felt bad for waking him. But not quite.

“Cyran, what in the gods’ names are you doing here?”

His eyes snapped open, and his facial expression morphed into horror as he sat up, kicking and shoving his way back into the bed, away from Elora and away from me. “I’m sorry, I—I thought I could help. I didn’t do anything, I’m sor—” His voice gave way to raucous sobs which tore through his body. “Please, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He caught his head in his hands, grasping his hair with his fingers and tugging hard. “She won’t—I can’t get her to—I just want her to wake up.” He curled into himself, gasping for breath, looking as if he might snap in two. It was that vision of him, the broken boy curling into himself, which caused me to move. I let my fire drop away completely, and I sat down next to him, his toes touching the side of my leg. He gaped at me, arms wrapped around his knees, and he flinched as I reached out. Recognizing the action, I pulled my hand back. In Brambleton, there’d been a few children who reacted that way before, often the ones whose fathers were the worst drunks. I immediately regretted slapping him. But how could I regret that? He’d hurt my baby, and he deserved it. I was confused on a few different levels, and all I knew was instinct told me to be kind to him.

“Can I?” I wasn’t sure what I was asking, but he nodded, and I instantly knew what he needed. Reaching over and pulling him toward me, I put both arms around him. He was stiff and frozen for only a moment. When he sank into my body, limbs loose, and let out sobs I understood more than I cared to, I couldn’t help but stroke his back, providing the comfort I wished for myself. I turned a bit, so I could still see Elora, while I held him. She rolled over, as if the sound of his crying disturbed her, and her face wore a frown.

“I tried…to wake her. I was trying. She—She’s having nightmares. Because of me.” I stiffened, not wanting to hear that. There was only so much I could stand, so much I could tolerate. I’d been ready to kill this boy until just a few hours ago. And I still didn’t forgive him. I still felt the call for his blood, the desire to end him, from the dark within me. But he was just a boy. A boy who had obviously been beaten by the men he’d seen destroy and burn and kill in a vision. I remembered the mistakes my friends and I had made in the past when I was his age. The mistakes Rain had made, Dewalt and Lucia too. The world was unfair at that age. Not quite a child, not quite an adult, everything learned the hardest way. Holding this boy in my arms, it reminded me of Rain—a broken man who had thought he’d done the right thing, fulfilling a responsibility he’d never asked for, but a duty he felt beholden to. And how he and I both paid for it. For years. It was with that in mind I let Cyran continue.

“I don’t even know if she recognized me before you woke me. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come in here. I just wanted to help.” He sat up, sliding away from me as he wiped his nose. Elora stirred. Though she was frowning, she wasn’t whimpering in her sleep as she sometimes did. I reached over and tucked her back under the blanket, gently tracing my fingertips across her cheeks, and her face softened. When I turned back toward Cyran, the guard in my chair gave a loud snore and roused himself awake. I’d forgotten he was there; I was so involved with the young prince.

“Oh gods, Your Majesty!” When he slammed down onto the floor in front of me, I could have sworn it shook.

“Get out.” The order was sharp, and to his credit, he only paused for a moment to look at the boy on the bed beside me, a question in his eyes as he stood. “No, I’ll deal with him. Find Thyra and send her to me.” I had things I needed to discuss with my Second.

Chapter 5

Elora

Hewasgone.Hewas there, and then he was gone. He had been crying, and he never cried. He’d only whispered in my ear and then hurt me. That’s all he ever did. He said sweet things to me, and then he hurt me. Ever since the beginning.

But this time he cried. He stood facing me, but was still holding me at the same time. How? Mama was on the ground with that evil, evil man on top of her. And then the prince was standing there on the other side of her, watching me and crying. Why was he crying? What was wrong? Why did I care? All he did was hurt me. That was all he ever did.

He wasn’t wearing his jewelry or his arrogance. He was just Cyran, stripped down. Was he here to hurt me or comfort me? I was always bad at telling the difference.

“Elora! Wake up!” He was shouting. What did he mean? I was awake. But maybe I wasn’t? He put his hand on my head, pulling me back against his chest as he leaned in, whispering in my ear.

And then came the pain. Every time, I remembered he did this to me. Cyran. The Folterran prince was the reason I dreamed, the reason I hurt, the reason I cried. He betrayed me. He betrayed me just like…

I was cold—so, so cold. And then I woke up.

I was in the meadow near Ravemont. Mama took me all the time when I was little. But then I stopped wanting to visit, and she stopped taking me. However, when I woke up on the ground among the wildflowers, the sun beating down and warming me, I felt relief.

I watched the clouds above me, fluffy cats giving way to fighting dragons, and a wolf howling. My head was in Mama’s lap, and she ran her fingers through my curls. I looked up to find her face, but the sun was behind her head, and I couldn’t make it out. She sang an old rhyme to me, her voice raspy and quiet, the familiar comfort lulling me to sleep.

Brave girl of mine, blessing divine, brought to me under the two twin skies.

I was falling.

My head slammed against the ground, the orange leaves of fall swaying above me. Papa leaned over me. “Are you alright?” And then he was yelling at someone, angry. I tasted blood on my lips, but I felt no wound. It must have belonged to the man. I’d told him to let go, hadn’t I? Why didn’t he let go?

“Papa?”

He leaned over me again, but it wasn’t him anymore. A man smiled down at me, but I couldn’t make out anything else with the sun shining behind him. But that wasn’t why I couldn’t make his features out. He had no features at all anymore. I screamed, but the only thing that came out was blood.

I was choking. I was choking on so much blood.

And then I was standing, Cyran holding me. I relaxed when I breathed in his soft cedar scent. I was angry with him, but I couldn’t remember why. He was warm and sturdy. His hands were on my arms, and I felt his lips against my ear. I shuddered. I didn’t know if I wanted to kiss him or hit him.

And then it hurt. This was his fault. This was all his fault.

Was I dead?

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