Page 8 of Spar of Hearts

His people had suffered.

Now it was his turn.

He crushed the jar in his fist, impaling the flowers and his hands with shards of glass. He steeled his heart as sweet Centarian crimson flowed from his fingers, staining the petals.

Maybe that Centarian man was right. Anya was a pompous fool. After all, Roderick and Millicent had discovered what she could not, even though the Princess had access to all the information she could ever want. She acted like such an academic, yet she couldn’t smell the deceit right under her nose. Maybe if she’d removed her head from the dirt of diplomacy for even a moment, his people wouldn’t have suffered for so long.

I’m done with these. And I’m done with you, Princess.

Chapter 4

Two Months Later

Roderick Bryson

“Whoa, whoa…” Roderick held his hands up in a placating gesture. The stallion huffed through its nostrils, scraping the sandy ground of the cavalry field with a hoof. If he pressed much further, the horse would surely embed its frustration on his forehead. He wasn’t sure if the Duke had meant to punish him by insisting that this particular stallion be his son’s first mount, but it sure seemed like it. The pressure was unbearable. If Duke Ferrington’s son got hurt because of this horse, it would be his fault.

He envied the Duke. Not his title or his land. But everything he treasured, in an abstract way. He had a wife, a son, a true home. A family of his own. Every time he got close to someone, had begun to welcome them into his heart, they slipped away. He couldn’t meet their expectations. He wasn’t what they wanted.

That was why he preferred horses to people these days. They expected nothing from him but a bucket of alfalfa and a trough of water. If he got around to riding and training them that day, great. If he didn’t, they patiently waited for the next day. That was a mercy of its own. Every day was a toss up. He wasn’t sleeping well. He ate haphazardly. He’d push himself until his marrow ached. Despite his foggy state of mind, he still managed to continue producing the finest mounts in all of Valeria.

His command of the Petorus knights, however, was tenuous at best. He’d delegated what he could to Octavio under the guise of focusing on breaking this horse, and endured what he couldn’t avoid. Being around anyone besides his right-hand man was exhausting. He was reminded of just the kind of fraud he was in the faces of folk who expected him to be Valeria’s greatest knight. The pressures would repeat in his head every time he looked upon them.

You need to be an earl. A commander. A vassal. A son. An heir. A friend. A savior. A knight. A sword. A shield. An earl. A commander. A vassal. A son. An heir. A friend. A savior. A knight. A sword. A shield. An earl. A commander. A vassal. A son. An heir. A friend. A savior. A knight. A sword. A shield.

The voices frayed his composure. He set his jaw, trying to keep curses from spilling out. It was a pointless exercise. The cacophony swelled to a screaming, buzzing fever pitch.

“Damn it!” He kicked a trough of water over. “Damn it all!”

“Your Grace?”

The voices ground to a halt, replaced with the jarringly gentle sounds of spring. Wind in the trees, shifting leaves, singing birds.

Octavio stopped short, obviously wary of the tension in Roderick’s heaving, frustrated breaths, and the snorting stallion beside him. “There’s—uh—a wyvern here to see you.”

“Yomira?” Roderick questioned, leading the stallion back to the stables. Yomira had been kept prisoner by the Church and experimented on. She and Millicent had escaped together. They were bonded, somehow. Yomira was constantly talking about her “sister,” who he quickly learned was Millicent.

Octavio jogged along. “Yes. It’s an emergency. There was a note tied to one of its claws. A sickness is affecting the Centarian children in Balcott. It’s waiting in the training field.”

“She. Not ‘it.’ And why didn’t you say so?” He tossed the reins to the knight. “Finish tying this horse up.” Roderick sprinted toward the training field. He turned the corner from the knights’ barracks and was shocked to see the purple wyvern taking up the middle of the field. She swished her tail slowly back and forth, knocking barrels and training props over with every movement. Her winged arms were tucked close to her side. Squires in training were clustered at the far edge of the field looking extremely uncomfortable.

The wyvern turned at the sound of his hurried steps. Her mouth gaped as if to speak, but only grumbles came from her mouth. The words behind the sound went right into his mind, an ability unique to Centarians with ancient beasts.

Rod! Rod! It’s an emergency! There’s an illness affecting the Centarian children. They used to climb on me and jump rope with my tail, but they’ve been stuck inside for weeks. I call upon you for aid! Help my sister! She’s very worried! She said she needs you—

Millicent…needs me? His heart leapt. “Say no more. Whatever Millicent needs, I will get. Does she need me to pen a letter to their Duke? More funds?”

After he returned to Eldenkeep following the evacuation, he immediately threw himself into currying favors and funds for the newly-established Balcott Home for Children, where most of the Centarian children without parents were taken in. It was the most worthwhile thing he’d done since the evacuation. It was exhausting, but it helped Millicent and his people, and kept the self-loathing away for a time. He would seize any opportunity to do it again.

The wyvern grumbled and shook her head. She’d developed surprisingly human-like mannerisms in a short amount of time.

My sister said they have plenty of funds, thanks to you. They need some kind of magic stone? They’re the only thing that seems to relieve the children’s symptoms. The magic users can’t keep up, and blood doesn’t help much. My sister is hoping the Crown Council will share some of its emergency stock of stones if you appeal to them. It will be quick! I will fly you to the capital! I’m a very good flier! I’ve been practicing!

That did not inspire confidence. But he couldn’t resist Millicent’s plea, and imagining the children stuck inside for their first spring days in a prosperous land sent cracks through his heart.

He brought a hand to his forehead. “I will speak with the Duke at once. Please wait for me here. I shouldn’t be more than an hour.”

Yomira bobbed her head up and down, then eyed a very nervous Dame Fletcher as she trudged a too-small bucket of water over for the wyvern.