Page 185 of The Call of Crimson
Cillian’s eyes rake up and down my frame. “Do you need help mounting?”
“Don’t insult me,” I scoff, slipping my foot into the stirrup before swinging my body up and over Alanis.
“My apologies, lady. I should have known you could mount.” He swings onto his own horse with ease. “I was, after all, privy to your exquisite riding skills.”
An apple smacks him square in the temple, which only makes him laugh. I flip my middle finger up at him, his laughter increasing at the crude gesture.
“Don’t waste our food,” Cillian chides, shooting a glare at Elijah and rubbing his bruised temple.
“Worth it,” Elijah grumbles as he mounts the chestnut mare named Honey.
“Hoods up,” Cillian commands, pulling his own low over those sparkling turquoise eyes. “If they believe you’re mine, they should let us pass without question.”
We comply, letting the dark cloaks blend us with the night sky.
The further from the castle that we ride, the more I hear. Cries of starving children, groans of injured refugees, and yells of the angry citizens blend together in a painful cacophony.
“I thought we were doing what was right,” I whisper.
“You did what you could,” Cillian replies, his voice low. “But it was an impossible task.”
Tears threaten to fall, and I swallow hard against the lump in my throat. “It wasn’t enough.”
“You were never going to succeed. The odds were stacked against you from the start.” His tone is far too nonchalant for my liking.
As we reach the edge of Ciyoria, we pass an overturned carriage.
“Oh, gods,” Elijah whispers. I can’t see his face, but I can hear the horror in his voice.
Noticing the body lying haphazardly from the shattered door, I swallow back the bile in my throat. Lord Jaeson stares blankly ahead, his neck bent at a grotesque angle.
I shoot an accusatory look at Cillian. “I thought you said they went into hiding.”
“I saw them leave. It doesn’t appear they all made it.”
He kicks Midnight into a faster pace, urging us away from the crumbling city.
Once we’ve left the carnage behind, I muster the courage to ask, “Why would they do that?”
Elijah shifts in his seat, turning to face me. “Starvation births desperation in otherwise good people. More than that, though,they need someone to blame. So, they look to those that they see as having what they lack as the problem.”
We’ve sent every scrap of extra food out to the people displaced and affected by the attacks on our borders. For weeks, we’ve been consuming broth and bread, not feasting on meat or sweets. I don’t bother voicing that, though, because they both know it. They lived through it just the same as I had. “They’re going to be disappointed when they reach the palace food stores,” I say instead.
We ride for several more hours until we’re a comfortable distance from Ciyoria before we make camp for the night. Avoiding cities for fear of being recognized, we choose a wooded area somewhere between the capital and Caedel. The path we take is an alternate route thanks to reports of looting, attacks, and fires, extending our journey by several days.
As we dismount, I hear Cillian let loose a curse that has my head snapping to him. He steps out from behind a dense grouping of trees, his brow furrowed with annoyance.
I pull the pack from Alanis’ saddlebag. “What is it?”
“The messenger I sent ahead of us to Prudia didn’t make it.”
My brows arch. “How do you know?”
“I found his body about fifty yards east of here just now.”
Elijah stiffens. “It’s not safe to make camp here.”
“Probably not,” Cillian admits. “But our options are limited.”
