Chapter 15

Cullenspire manor loomed behind Trystan, ripe with more activity than it had seen in years. Every day, citizens poured into the stronghold from the surrounding villages. Fighting men and women set up a camp that stretched as far as their king could see.

Twenty years ago, there’d been a war of such a size none of them had seen before. Was this the sight that struck his father? Had he walked among the tents wondering how many of these good people would make it out of this?

Had his mother seen women piecing together armor from any material they could find and then fitting it to their daughters?

Had they seen the fire in the people’s eyes?

It wasn’t the blue fire of magic that had consumed the village, this was a pure burning will. A readiness. Had they known it would come to this?

Trystan hadn’t. Not until his father set him on the quest to recover their magic. He hadn’t seen first-hand how the crops withered and died. How the children starved.

In Isenore, they’d been subject to the tyrannical rampages of their duke.

For the royal family, the war stopped when the magic left and along with it the Dreach-Dhoun forces. For the people, it had never ended.

Avery walked a few steps behind Trystan, never far. They were still in Isenore after all. A few people bowed and muttered formalities, but most were too busy to notice his presence.

A familiar voice came from behind him. “What’s the punishment if I decide not to bow?”

A smile grew on Trystan’s face. He didn’t turn as he spoke. “The king will have you whipped for insolence.”

“The king doesn’t allow whipping.”

“We could always start.”

It was a familiar conversation. One they’d had many times, always in jest whenever Davi did something Trystan’s father wouldn’t have approved of.

“So,” Davi went on. “I guess that’s one memory that’s real then.”

Trystan finally turned to the perplexed Davi. “You didn’t know if it really happened?”

Davi shrugged. “I—” He sighed. “I just needed to be sure. It seemed like something either real or fake Trystan could say.”

“Fake Trystan?” Trystan raised an eyebrow.

“The one tied to the memories my father created in my mind.”

Trystan grimaced at Davi’s use of the term father. Was that still how he thought of Calis? The man just burned an entire village. Trystan saw Davi very little since his return and he always felt as if his old friend avoided him. Was this why? The memories?

“Dav,” he started. “You can ask me about any of them. The memories, I mean.”

“I’m not…” He shook his head. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”

Trystan nodded.

Davi scratched his neck. “Look, I don’t think I can do it. Not anymore.”

“Do what?”

“Be your second. People keep calling me that, but…”

“Davi—”

“No! Let me get this out. Every time someone calls me the second in command or ‘sir’, I can’t breathe. You gave me the title back when you and I were partners. Best friends. Brothers. We trusted each other with our lives. Truwa Brathair.”

“Trust—”

“Stop. Don’t repeat it.” Davi squeezed his eyes shut as if the words hurt to say. “That’s not us anymore. You need someone to lead in battle who you can trust one hundred percent.”

Trystan set his jaw. “I don’t want anyone else, Dav. It’s still you and me. I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t!”

Trystan took a step back as Davi fixed him with a dark gaze. My father. That was what he’d called Calis. “Are you trying to tell me you’re a traitor?” His hand drifted to the hilt of his sword. Would he be able to do it? He’d fought Davi before, but this was different. This time he had his memories. Trystan could look into his eyes and see the boy he’d called his brother.

“No.” Davi shook his head vigorously. “That’s not what I… Argh!”

Avery stepped forward, but Davi held up a hand. He lifted his eyes to meet Trystan’s. “When I’m not consciously picking apart the memories, everything in me still thinks you’re the man who imprisoned me for most of my life. And I know it’s wrong. I know what we were, Trystan. I would give every bit of magical ability I have to get that back, but I don’t know if we can.” He clenched his fists. “Years. My father spied on Dreach-Sciene for years. Through me.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “How can you still…?” He swallowed his words. “I’m sorry, Trystan. You can’t plan battle without a second and it can’t be me.”

* * *

When Trystan was a child, his least favorite game was imagining himself as king. He’d picture ornate clothing, decadent balls, and the people’s eyes on him.

He never wanted any of it. The only part he looked forward to was declaring desert to be the first course in the dining hall. Well, surprise, kid, the palace cook was a stubborn woman.

He didn’t need adorations. He wanted his people to be loyal to Dreach-Sciene, not to any one king. He’d never been good at inspiring people.

What he had wanted was his father to be there to guide him and Davi as his general.

He tried to drown out the people behind him. Did they ever stop arguing? He couldn’t think.

“Cullenspire is the only stronghold in Isenore that can withstand a full assault.” Wren slammed his fist on the table.

Trystan flicked his eyes to the window and the surrounding land beyond while they argued.

“We need to consolidate our power.” Rissa’s voice sounded calm, but Trystan could pick out the undercurrent of venom in it. “Isenore is not worth us losing this fight.”

“How can you say that?” Wren pointed toward the door. “Those people outside have come to defend Dreach-Sciene because Isenore is a part of this kingdom.”

“Easy.” Rissa leaned back. “We move them to Aldorwood. Combine them with the force at Whitecap.”

“And leave Isenore for Eisner and Calis to pick off? Not everyone from the villages have come. What about the ones who stayed behind?”

She crossed her arms. “Their loyalty is obviously not with us.”

Wren threw his hands up in the air. Before he came up with a retort, his mother laid a hand on his arm.

“If we leave Cullenspire,” she began, “Calis will have a straight road to Aldorwood. And you’ll have nothing. No way to delay. No warning.”

Trystan’s gaze lingered at the window for a moment longer before he turned his attention back to the council. “Lady Yaro is right.” He crossed the room and dropped into a seat. They were all scared, Alixa had told him. It was time to see that. To lead them through it. He folded his hands on the table. “We cannot leave Isenore undefended or all of Dreach-Sciene will fall with it.” His eyes flicked to his sister. “Rissa is also right. We must get those who can’t or won’t fight to Whitecap. There, they can take ship to Sona. As for us…” He scanned the faces around the room. “I must return to the palace to prepare the army. Riders have been sent to every village. We must expect continued arrivals and be ready. Those numbers will bolster my force as well as Lord Coille’s.”

He shifted his eyes to Wren’s. “In another life, I’d appoint you to a position at my side. But this life is all we get, and I need someone I trust to stay here.”

Wren nodded and opened his mouth, but Trystan held up a hand.

“I won’t order you to do this. Or anyone. We don’t know what is going to happen, but Cullenspire will stand between Calis and what he really wants—all of Dreach-Sciene, me. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

Mira reached forward and gripped Wren’s hand as he swallowed and nodded. A wry smile tilted his lips. “If I have to die, I’m going to go down fighting for my home.”

Trystan hadn’t known Wren long, but he’d grown to like the man. Now he respected him as well. He stood and circled the table to get to Wren’s side. He held out his hand. “Me too.”

Wren clasped the offered hand and nodded.

Trystan walked from the room. Avery followed him.

“Make preparations,” he said. “We’re going home.”

* * *

Preparations only took a day. Trystan left orders for the force camped nearby to be moved, leaving some of his best officers behind to lead them.

Forty-eight men and thirty-two women volunteered to stay at Cullenspire. Eight people left on horseback at dawn. Nine-hundred-eleven would begin the long march toward Aldorwood soon.

Lady Yaro insisted on staying with her son and Anna refused to leave her mother. But Wren would keep them safe. He would safeguard Isenore while training the men and women under his command for the battle to come.

Trystan had never met a man whose destiny was written so plainly for all to see. He was meant for this fight. Wren was a boy when he fought alongside Trystan’s father, now as a man, he’d be giving orders instead of following them. It fit him.

As Cullenspire disappeared from view, Ramsey hummed a tune and the sound surrounded them, tying them together.

Rissa picked up the song, glancing sideways at Davi. He blew her a kiss, and the moment was so like a million others they’d had before… well, before the world fell apart.

Trystan focused on the feel of the horse beneath him, the sun on his face. If he concentrated, he could erase Davi’s words from his mind.

Because his friend had been wrong. They could get it back. Davi could still be trusted.

And he’d prove it to him.

Ramsey stopped his song and kicked his horse to walk up next to Trystan. “Feels strange to be going home when it may not be your home much longer, doesn’t it?”

Trystan shook his head and suppressed a grin. “That’s not what I was thinking at all. We aren’t going to lose it.”

Ramsey shrugged. “We might.”

“If you’re just going to speak nonsense, I suggest shutting your mouth.”

“Don’t speak to your grandfather that way.”

Trystan leveled him with a stare. “I will when he looks not a day older than myself.”

Ramsey laughed. “I’m just joking with you, boy. You’re too serious.”

“We’re in the middle of a war.”

“Is it a war on smiling?”

Trystan grunted in response.

Ramsey grinned. “If I’m going to die soon, I’m not going to spend every moment all doom and gloom. Your Majesty… Grandson, don’t let this fight or this crown strip everything else away from you.”

Davi chuckled. “He’s always had that gilded stick up his ass, Ramsey.”

Trystan froze and Davi looked away as if he was embarrassed to show any kind of comradery with Trystan.

Trystan pushed out a breath. “Well, when you have someone constantly getting you into trouble, you have to develop a calm demeanor to get out of it.”

“He’s blaming me,” Davi scoffed. “My thirteenth birthday, whose idea was it to go into the village disguised as palace servants—maids—so as not to be seen as we went to beg sweets off Lady Maisel.”

“You were just mad that Lady Maisel recognized me instantly but really thought you were a girl because—as she put it—‘You had such a pretty face.’”

Davi’s cheeks reddened, but his smile widened. Trystan laughed at the memory.

Rissa’s eyes filled with hope as they flicked between the two boys. Trystan met her gaze and winked. They’d get back what they were.

As soon as the thought entered his mind, the moment snapped and Davi’s smile fell.

“What is it?” Rissa asked him.

“It’s wrong.” Davi ran a weary hand over his chin. “So wrong. I have a second memory of that day. I disguised myself as a woman to escape the palace. You found me and I was… punished.”

“But that’s not true.” Trystan’s voice broke.

“I know.” Davi sighed. “I always know when it’s false, but it doesn’t erase it from my mind.”

The group descended into silence. Each moment it seemed, carried a weight none of them had been prepared for. Every smile could quickly turn.

The darkness was inside all of them, trying to tear them away from each other. Davi’s confusion and guilt. Rissa’s anger. Alixa’s sadness. Trystan’s fear.

It drove them all.

Pushing them. Torturing them.

If they didn’t escape it, they were going to lose.