Page 121 of The Half King
“Very well, my lady,” the guard told her. “We apprehended a young man at the gates. He says he’s here to see you.”
“A young man?” she asked.
“Yes, a local boy, by the look of him. Tall, built like a bull, not very talkative. He claims you summoned him here.”
She drew a sharp breath.Nero. “That’s right. I did. Where is he now?”
“At the front gate, my lady.”
“I’ll meet him there,” she said as Blue’s stomach growled even louder than before. “Will you please take Blue to the kitchens and ask them to spare as many sausages as they can? If there aren’t enough sausages, raw chickens will do.”
The guard cast a wary glance at Blue, who likely outweighed the man by ten stones.
“He’ll be on his best behavior,” Cerise promised. “Won’t you, sweet boy?”
Blue yipped in response and then heeled next to the guard, eager for his breakfast. The two of them departed for the kitchens, and Cerise made her way toward the gatehouse.
She soon identified Nero in the distance, walking alongside Kian and General Petros. She watched the group ambling along the tree-lined path leading to the castle. None of them had noticed her yet, and the sight of them reminded her of an afternoon they had spent hunting jackrabbits on the mountain. She had watched them return from the hunt, and she had smiled at how boyish they had looked then, swinging their arms, pelts draped over their shoulders, their heads tipped back in laughter.
They weren’t laughing now.
Nero’s shoulders were stiff and raised. Clearly, he had heard about the battle with the priests and—more importantly—the news that Father Padron had escaped into the city and was now free to use his magic in any way that he chose. The threat of a rogue priest would worry any rational person, but it had to worry Nero in particular. He and other wielders of “unusual” gifts still weren’t safe from persecution. If anything, Nero and the other fire bloods were more vulnerable now that Kian no longer had control over Father Padron—or any of the surviving priests that Padron might be able to recruit.
Cerise hated the idea of having to fight again, but she had to prepare herself for it. Transitions of power were rarely smooth, and Father Padron wasn’t the kind of man who would quietly surrender. One battle had ended, but another would soon begin.
General Petros likely knew it. He still hadn’t recovered fully from his injuries, but he was on his feet, limping along while favoring his left hand. He kept the pace a few steps behind Kian, who moved with a slow, deliberate gait that hinted at more than just exhaustion. He must have injured himself in the battle, too.
Cerise waved at them and met them on the palace lawn.
General Petros was the first to speak. He cupped her shoulder and said, “I’m sorry, my girl. I heard about what happened to your mother, and I said a prayer for you when I visited my healer at the temple.”
“Thank you,” she told him. “I appreciate that.”
The general peered down at her with a sad smile. It was the first time since breaking the curse that she paid attention to him, and she noticed that his eyes were soft and warm, his hands no longer trembling with pent-up rage. She had never seen him so free.
At least she had done one thing right.
“I’m sorry, too,” Nero added in a voice that sounded as numb and as blank as the expression on his face. “The high priest of Shiera is your father. It explains much, but I still can’t believe it.”
Neither could Cerise. She didn’t want to think of Padron as her father. He wasn’t worthy of the role. “Theformerhigh priest,” she corrected. “He’s a common fugitive now.”
“Common?” Nero asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Not common,” she admitted. “But one that bleeds.”
Kian stood beside her and settled a hand on her lower back. He brushed his thumb over her thin blouse, and the comfort of his touch made her relax the shoulder muscles she hadn’t known were clenched. “We’ve been gathering allies,” he told Nero. “But what we really need is magic. If you would be willing to recruit more of your kind to fight with us, we stand a better chance of ending Padron with minimal casualties.”
Nero frowned and went thoughtful for a moment. “Theumbra sangiare private and scattered. But I can try. The high priest is a threat to us all.”
“Theformerhigh priest,” Cerise reminded him. “Titles carry power and legitimacy. Padron doesn’t deserve our respect. Call him a sadist or a traitor or anything you like, but not a high priest.”
Nero nodded in agreement, and then the discussion turned to his recruitment of fire bloods, how long the journey might last, and the supplies he would need along the way. While they spoke, Daerick came outside to join them. He listened for a while before offering a suggestion of his own.
“I want to board the next ship to Calatris and visit my brother before he leaves his temple,” Daerick said. “To give him a firsthand account of what happened here. We don’t know what rumors are spreading, but we can be sure that Padron will twist the truth to his advantage.”
Cerise realized how right Daerick was. “He won’t even have to twist the truth. All he has to do is tell it simply. I killed every priest in the palace, I stabbed him with the Petros Blade, and then I took his place as the head of the Order. If that’s all the priests hear, they’ll thinkI’mthe monster.”
“We need to get ahead of the rumors,” Daerick said. “My brother will believe me. He trusts me, and the others trust him.”
