Chapter 28 Blood on the throne
Blood on the Throne
Ryder's POV
I smelled my father's blood before I saw it. The smell hit my nose as soon as I pushed through the broken doors of the war room, thick and warm, soaking into the stone floor on which maps and blades were scattered. The room looked wrong. Everything looked wrong. Guards lay still. Tables were overturned. The banners of the crown were hanging torn, the gold threads black with smoke.
"Father," I said and my voice broke as I ran to him.
King Magnus lay against the base of the throne, his armor split open, his chest rising with shallow breaths which sounded like they hurt. His sword was still in his hand, fingers locked around the hilt as though he did not want to let go of anything, even now. I fell on my knees and caught him before his head met the stone.
His weight settled into my arms, heavier than I remembered - heavier than he ever was. Blood soaked my sleeves. I placed my hand to his wound, for I knew it was useless, to know I would try still.
"Ryder," he said; my name was rough on his tongue.
"I'm here," I told him. "I've got you. Hold on."
His eyes were fixed upon my face; sharp for a moment, and then cloudy again. "Too late," he said. "They were moving faster than I thought."
Anger burned through me. "Veyra," I said. "I'll kill him."
Magnus emitted some weak sound that might have been a laugh. "You were always quick to promise blood."
I clenched my jaw. "You shouldn't be dying like this."
"No king chooses his end," said the king. "Only his mistakes."
I shook my head. "You were strong."
"I was blind," he said. His grip tightened on my arm and surprised me. "I tried to bend fate. I tried to sever the bond the moon made. I thought love was weakness."
His breath hitched. I leaned in closer so that I could hear him. "Father, stop talking. Save your strength."
"There is no strength remaining," he said. "Listen."
I nodded because I had to.
"I cursed love," he continued. "I cursed fate. I said to myself the world would obey if I would shout loudly enough. It didn't. It never does."
His eyes searched mine, all fierce of sudden, "Do not follow my path."
Tears blurred my vision but I refused to let them fall. "You taught me to fight."
I taught you to rule with fear,' he said. "That was my failure."
A sound tore out of my chest. "You did what you thought was the right thing to do."
"So did Veyra," he replied. "That is the danger."
His breathing grew shallow. I felt it slipping, I felt him slipping, and panic clawed at my ribs. "Stay with me," I said. "Please."
Magnus looked away from me, to the throne behind us. Blood streaked its base. "The throne," he said. "It is cursed by pride."
I turned my head and back to him. "I don't care about the throne."
He smiled faintly. "That is why you deserve it."
I swallowed hard. "I don't want it like this."
"You won't get it any other way," he said. "Not in this world."
His hand released its grip of the sword. I wrapped my fingers around his, held it there, held him there, as if that could stop what was coming.
"I tried to save you of loving her," he said, and his voice grew weak. "I thought that killing the bond would save the kingdom."
"It didn't," I said.
"No," he agreed. "It destroyed us instead."
Blood bubbled at his lips. And I wiped it away with shaking hands. "You're not dying," I lied.
Magnus looked at me in a clarity which cut deeper than any blade. "I am," he said. "And I am afraid."
The words broke something inside of me. "You don't get to be afraid on this now," I said. "You're the king."
"I am just a man," he replied. "One who chose wrong."
His eyes fluttered. I bent down and pressed my forehead against his. "I forgive you," I whispered even though I did not know if that was true.
His breath came slower. "Love will ruin you," he said. "And it will save you. Fate is cruel like that."
I felt the moment his body gave way. His grip went slack. The sword slipped from his hand and fell on the stone. His chest stilled.
"Father," I said. "Father."
There was no answer.
I drew him closer up, and held him as the blood soaked in my clothes, in my skin, in something deeper that would never wash out. The throne was looming above us silent and waiting, stained with the cost of power.
I sat there until the sounds of battle faded away, until the world was hollow and far away. King Magnus fell in my arms and with him went the final part of my childhood.
When I finally got to my feet, my palms were red, my heart broken and my path clear.
I would not have his death be for nothing.
Olivia's POV
The first indication that something was wrong was the way Ryder looked at me.
Not with anger. Not with guilt. Not even with pain.
With emptiness.
When I got a secret message from Tomas about King's Magnus’s death and that Ryder was injured, I felt so heartbroken because I knew how much Ryder loved his father.
I found a way to sneak out of the kingdom to go see Ryder. I knew he needed more than ever.
I stood at the edge of the healer's tent, my hands were so clenched that my nails cut into my palms. The stench of blood and crushed herbs filled the air. Outside, the camp was full of movement and low voices but inside the tent, it was all too quiet as if the world were holding its breath.
Ryder was sitting on the cot with his shoulders bare and a thick bandage around his head. Dried blood marked his temple, the product of the vicious struggle with the forces of Elder Veyra when the coup finally broke out into open battle. He looked worn out, older somehow, as if the battle with Veyra had taken years from him instead of hours.
He raised his eyes as he felt me.
They went past my face without recognition.
I felt that then, sharp and cold in my chest.
"Who is she?" he asked the healer sitting next to him.
The words hit harder than any blade.
The healer froze. Tomas slowly turned to face me. His face drained of color.
I stepped forward in spite of the warning screaming in my head. "Ryder," I said softly. "It's me."
His brows came together, but not with warmth, but with confusion. He looked at my face as if it had been that of a stranger who had wandered in by mistake.
"I don't know you," he said.
The world tilted.
I reached for the edge of the table in order to steady myself. "Stop," I whispered. "That's not funny."
He did not smile. He did not soften. He just looked frustrated, like everyone else knew something that he did not.
"I was injured," he said slowly. "I remember the battle. I remember Veyra standing above me. I remember blood on the steps and steel crashing everywhere. I remember my father. I remember the throne room. But I don't remember her."
Her.
Not my name. Not my voice. Just her.
The healer cleared her throat. "The blow upon his head was a severe one. It occurred in the fight with Elder Veyra. Memory loss can happen. Sometimes it returns. Sometimes it does not."
I shook my head. "No. That's not possible."
Ryder shifted on the cot. "Why is she crying?" he asked.
The sound that came out of my throat was not a sob. It was worse. It came from somewhere deep down and broken.
Tomas stepped in front of me. "Ryder" he said carefully, "this is Olivia."
Ryder repeated the name under his breath as if he was testing the name. "Olivia."
Nothing followed. No spark. No pull. No recognition.
"She is important to you" Tomas continued.
Ryder's eyes strayed back to me. "How?"
I laughed, a sound that was thin and wrong. "I'm your mate," I said. "Your chosen. Your bond."
His jaw tightened. "I would remember that."
"I know," I said. "You're supposed to."
He turned his head away from me at this point, as if the conversation tired him. "I'm tired."
That was it. No denial. No argument. Just dismissal.
The healer led me out of the tent before my legs gave out. The instant the flap closed shut behind me, the air rushed back into my lungs like I have been drowning.
I placed my hand on my chest, to the spot where the bond should have been hot and strong.
It was still there.
I could feel him. Faint, damaged, but alive.
He could not feel me at all.
The next days were torture.
I watched from a distance as Ryder learned his world without me in it. He spoke to his council. He made plans for defenses against the other traitors of Veyra. He issued orders to hunt down those that escaped after the failed coup. He took up the crown with blood still fresh under his nails, much of it spilled during the battle which smashed the kingdom and his mind. He moved like a man that was hewn of stone, controlled and distant.
Each time our paths passed, his eyes slid past me.
One time I mustered the courage to stand up to him. "Do you remember anything about me?" I asked.
He looked uncomfortable. "I'm sorry," he said. "Everyone keeps telling me that I loved you. But I don't feel it."
The truth hurt more than any cruelty ever could;
"I feel as if I'm lying to you," he continued. "And I don't like that."
I nodded, as what else could I do.
At night, I lie awake in a borrowed room and stare at the ceiling, playing out in my mind each and every moment we had shared. His voice when he said my name. The way he held me like I was something precious. The promises made in the dark.
He remembered none of it.
The bond hurt all the time, like an open wound. I felt his emotions when it broke through the wall in his mind. Anger. Grief. Loneliness. The burden of being in charge after Veyra's betrayal. But never love.
One evening, I found him alone in the balcony looking out over the training grounds. The sky was red with sunset. And I stood beside him saying no word.
"You shouldn't be here," he said after a while.
"I know," I replied.
He hesitated. "I don't hate you."
That almost made it worse.
"I know," I said again.
He gripped the railing. "Everybody expects me to feel something." They look at me like I'm broken."
"You're injured," I said. "There's a difference."
He finally looked at me then. "And if it never comes back?"
The question broke whatever little hope I had been clinging to.
"Then I will let you go," said I quietly. "Because of my love for you, I have no right to trap you." Tears dropped from my eyes as I slowly muttered those words.