Page 38 of Shadow Queen
The commander snorted in irritation.
“What happened?”
A deep rumble came from his chest. “Send the Bear back to the North.”
“Why?”
“You know why,” he snapped. “He shouldn’t be here. And I can’t trust him with Salar.”
“Alexander wouldn’t hurt the king. He knows I stand with Mikael.”
His eyes blazed. “Have you lost your mind?”
She sighed. She didn’t want to fight with him. He was as loyal to Mikael as Alexander was to her. But he didn’t understand. “I need him,” she whispered.
“Why?”
Filled with sadness, she looked out the window and swallowed back the threatening tears.
“Salar didn’t want to do this,” the commander said. “We left him no choice.”
Anger flashed inside her. “How can you say that?”
“He would never choose to hurt me.”
Norah scoffed. “You can’t believe that. He made a choice—this choice!”
“What else should he have done? I should lose my head, and so should the Bear. Our soldiers need to see accountability. But Salar—he loves me. And he loves you. So he gave us pain over death, and I’m grateful.”
Grateful? Norah didn’t know what to feel, but she certainly wasn’t grateful. She couldn’t imagine a world where pain like that was necessary.
“Why did you defend me?” he asked.
Norah stared at him for a moment. Whyhadshe defended him? “It’s a character flaw,” she mumbled.
She finished with his wounds and wiped the salve from her fingers, but she didn’t move to stand. Their conversation wasn’t over, and she gave it time.
“I’ll serve you,” he said finally. “Send the Bear home. You know it’s best. And I’ll serve you as I serve Salar.”
It wasn’t about service, and it was hard for her to think of being without Alexander. She needed him. She loved him. But the commander was right. Itwasbest. She needed to send Alexander back to Mercia—he wasn’t safe in Kharav.
And Mikael wasn’t safe.
She took a deep breath, trying to quell the emotion. “Drink the poppy,” she said, holding the bowl out, “and it will be done.”
The commander drank deeply and let sleep come.
Chapter eleven
Whispersallaroundher—avoice that flowed not through her ears, but directly into her being.
She knew this voice.
Alexander’s voice, but words she couldn’t understand.
Then she saw him.
He stood over a weathered trestle table layered in parchments. Maps. He spoke as he marked paths with a pen, as if to people around him, yet he was alone. Who was he talking to?
