Page 61 of The Half King
“Then I can’t possibly have it,” she said. “There’s no magic in my family. My father can trace his Solon roots back for ten generations, and even though my mother doesn’t know who her parents are, I can promise you she has no gifts. None of us have one. Not even me. So if I’m a descendent of Shiera with fire in my veins, explain why I’m ordinary.”
“I wish I could,” Nero said.
“Me, too,” Daerick added. “But there’s an unfortunate lack of reference materials on the subject of demigoddesses.”
“Don’t call me that,” she told him. There were limits to how far she was willing to stray from her teachings. To consider herself a demigoddess was heresy, and besides, she hadn’t seen enough evidence to convince her that Nero was right. Sure, he had magic, but maybe there was a segment of the Order that had defected at some point. There were too many things they didn’t know, like why the priests were bound to the Mortara kings.
And none of this mattered right now.
“Whatever’s in my blood, it won’t save you or the king or my sister’s baby from the curse. For that, we need the Petros Blade. So let’s focus on what we can control.”
Nero and Daerick were wise enough not to argue with her. The two of them returned to camp while Cerise finished washing. She brushed the tangles from her hair and then twisted it off her neck and secured it with a pin. When she was done, she pulled her scarf over her head and shoulders and followed the trail back the way she had come.
At the outer fringe of the encampment, Nero stood holding his horse’s reins. He had saddled the animal, but he hadn’t mounted it. Instead, Nero seemed distracted by something that was happening behind the supply wagon.
Cerise drew closer to camp, cocking an ear as she picked up bits of conversation.
“…never seen him this weak,” the general rumbled. “…might not get another chance.”
Kian’s voice followed. “…can’t…uprising…my armies couldn’t…”
“…madness,” Daerick answered hotly. “And I know a thing or two on the subject.”
Cerise had walked close enough to the group to see what they were discussing—or, rather, whom—because at the center of their huddle lay Father Padron, still unconscious. It seemed the group had carried him as far as the wagon, and now there was some debate over what to do next.
“I don’t suppose we can just leave him here.” General Petros raised a hopeful eyebrow at the king. “Can we?”
Cerise made a noise of disgust, causing all three men to whirl around. “I can’t believe this is a question after what he did for us last night. No matter how you feel about the Order, you should want him by our side. There are creatures on this mountain far more dangerous than titan hyenas.” She glanced at Nero. “Tell them I’m right.”
Nero scratched his neck and pretended not to hear her.
“Make no mistake, my girl,” General Petros muttered through his teeth. “The most dangerous creature on this mountain is the one lying on your blanket.”
“General,” the king warned in that way of his. “Load the priest and be done with it. We do need him, and we have ground to cover.”
The general obeyed, but when he set Father Padron in the wagon atop the folded canvas tents and sacks of feed, it was with more force than necessary.
Nero mounted his horse and pointed at the trail winding up the mountain. “You should all follow this path and stay together. I’ll come back for you as soon as—”
“Come back for us?” Kian interrupted. “You’re not leaving my sight. Dismount your horse until the rest of us are ready.”
A muscle ticked visibly in Nero’s jaw. He remained in the saddle. “We won’t last long without water. I have to ride ahead to find a spring.” He begrudgingly added, “Your Majesty.”
Cerise felt the sensation of being watched, and she turned to find Daerick arching a brow at her. She nodded in return. Now they knew the answer to whether or not Nero was subject to the king’s command. He wasn’t. Nero’s magic truly must be different than that of the priests. If Nero was right about inheriting the blood of the goddess—and that was still anif—then it would seem Shiera had allowed her descendants to use their magic freely while she required her priests to repay their gift of magic through servitude to the king. But for what reason remained a mystery.
“Very well.” Kian clapped General Petros on the shoulder. “My general will go with you to make sure you don’t lose your way. He’s an excellent navigator. Aren’t you, Petros?”
“The best, Your Highness,” the general said while staring at Nero. “But I’m an even better killer.”
Kian grinned. “Have a pleasant ride.”
The general stalked toward his horse—a mammoth stallion at least twenty hands high—and hoisted himself into the saddle. With one last regretful look at Father Padron, he spurred his horse onto the trail ahead of Nero, who heaved a sigh and followed.
Cerise shielded her eyes as she watched them leave. At least when Nero used magic to open the spring, it would be in the company of someone who despised the Order as much as he did.
Daerick drove the wagon, which was pulled by his horse and trailed by Father Padron’s mare. Cerise rode in front of Daerick while Kian led the group. When the trail was wide enough, Cerise fell back and rode side by side with Daerick, sharing the shade from the wagon top and listening to his stories about the old court.
Cerise enjoyed listening to Daerick’s tales, which were mostly collections of gossip—the schemes and scandals that had filled the castle before Kian had grown weary of his guests and sent them away.
