Page 23 of War Queen
This was his brother. His salar. Husband to the woman who had wormed her way into his heart. This was his family that he loved and would give anything for. He’d let there be no doubt of where his loyalties sat. He’d left because he was a threat to Mikael’s crown, but then he realized—with some help—he didn’t weaken Mikael’s power. He made him stronger by standing at his side.
He felt his brother’s eyes on him, but he didn’t raise his gaze. Mikael would be upset by his leaving, hurt even, as Soren himself had been. But he would understand.
Mikael stepped down the stairs.
The cold steel of a sword pricked his chin as Mikael used its tip to draw up his face to look at him. Soren let his head fall back, offering his neck. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Salara draw closer. How he missed that annoying woman.
“You’ve returned,” Mikael said.
“I should have never left.”
“But you did.” Mikael’s words were dipped in venom, each one delivering a sting. He was angry. Soren knew he would be.
Mikael stepped slowly to his right shoulder, his eyes burning into Soren. Soren knew his gaze was on the matching ink marking they both bore, the sun encircled by a ring of mountains—the marking of how they’d become brothers.
Suddenly, Mikael sliced his blade through the encircled sun, and the warmth of blood poured down Soren’s arm. Soren gritted his teeth through the pain, but he didn’t move.
“You are no longer lord commander,” Mikael said.
A weight crushed him. He couldn’t breathe. He knew Mikael would be upset, hurt at his leaving, but he never thought he would strip him of his place. The pain stung more than any pain of the flesh.
“Mikael,” Salara whispered with a faint breath.
Mikael held his arms wide. “I asked you before, is there a challenge?” he bellowed across the hall. He looked directly at Jarik and pointed his sword. The warlord stood for a moment, his eyes moving to Soren, then back to Mikael. Then he sheathed his sword and bowed his head.
Soren’s submission carried a message for the rest of the nobles as well. Now to remove Mikael, they’d face Soren too. They’d be victorious with their numbers, yes, but how many would live? Soren and Mikael together would spill the blood of at least half. Would they wager their lives? As the nobles drew back, Soren knew the answer.
“We march in a week’s time,” Mikael thundered, seizing control of the moment and keeping control of the crown. “Now get out.”
Soren didn’t move as the nobles shuffled out of the throne room. He didn’t rise to his feet. He only waited for Mikael. He waited for him to say something—perhaps when the nobles all departed. But Mikael didn’t wait. He left Soren on his knees and strode from the throne room himself. Soren’s heart fell to his stomach.
Only Salara remained. He didn’t look up, but he knew her eyes were on him. Did she feel he’d betrayed her too? She stepped in front of him, but he still couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t bear it.
She reached a hand and brought her fingers to his chin, pulling his face up to look at her. There were tears in her eyes, and it broke him. He sucked in an emotional breath, ready for her anger, her hatred for him now.
But she only dropped down and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. She clung to him, stripping him of the rest of his composure. Soren let himself fall apart. He wrapped his left arm around her and held her close as the emotion took over.
They stayed on the floor for a long time, until Soren could breathe again.
As they broke, she smiled through her tears. “You came back,” she whispered.
It took a moment for him to answer. “I didn’t have a choice. Adrian found me. Told me I had to come.” Adrian had tracked him down all the way to the Stone Forest, talked some sense into him, told him he was needed. Of course he had to come.
“Adrian!” She let out a breath. “I’ve been worried sick about him. Gods, I’m going to kill him.” She gave him a tear-filled smile. “But, Soren, I’m so glad you’re home.”
He was glad to be home. Even under the current circumstances.
“We have so much to catch up on.” She stood and pulled him to rise. “But first, let’s get you to the healer.”
She led him to the healer’s chamber, but the old man was gone. Soren moved to a narrow hutch with thin stacked drawers against the wall. He knew where to find what he needed and pulled a curved needle from a small dish and a string of silk from a separate drawer.
“Here, let me,” Salara said as she moved to take it from him.
He pulled back. “I’ve seen your needlepoint.”
She pursed her lips at him with an angry brow, but he shook his head. He did allow her to help thread the needle and clip the silk length, but he sat and stitched his skin together himself, as he’d done so many times before.
Except this time, it was different.
