Page 19 of The Last of the Dark Lords

“What about water?” Cyrus’ question seemed sincere.

“Well’s been dry off and on for months. We get a shipment of beer once every few weeks.”

Anger flashed across Cyrus’ face. He reached into his purse, pulling out a handful of gold coins.

“Here, mother, perhaps this will get you some extra meat and beer. Need to keep you healthy.”

“Bless you, and bless Lord Cyrus. We are thankful for all he does for us.”

I’m not sure why that was the thing that broke me, but I couldn’t hold my tongue any longer. I guided my horse closer so that I could face the old woman directly.

“Why should you give him your blessing?” I struggled to keep from yelling. “Your crops are gone. Soon you’ll be starving to death! All underhiswatch.”

I saw Cyrus’ gaze snap to me, but I kept my eyes trained on the silver-haired woman. Her spine straightened in indignation.

“Lord Cyrus cannot stop the drought, child. Nor can he provide water when there is none to give. He has always sent aid when things got bad. Ashfuror has been good to us, and Cyrus is a better man than his father ever was. If anything, you should blame those isolationist devils over in Greatfalls.”

A retort sprang to my tongue. I was about to reply when there was a loud cough behind me. It was Jelenna, who sent me a subtle head shake. She was right. It wouldn’t do me any good to pick a fight with Cyrus or his citizens. I tamped down my righteous anger as the old woman kept going.

“If Greatfalls didn’t hoard all that water, this drought would have been a minor heat wave. Instead, we suffer because of their selfishness.”

I gained nothing from a confrontation here, no matter how badly I wanted to correct her. I stifled the urge to throttle the old priest. It was reprehensible that they would spread lies about us.

Cyrus rolled his eyes at me before turning back to the woman. “We’ll take your leave, mother. Be well. I’ll speak to Lord Cyrus about sending more supplies out this way.”

“Thank you, young man.” She shot me a reprimanding look. “Perhaps by the time you reach the capital, you’ll have had a chance to teach this one his history. And his manners.”

Cyrus barked out a laugh as he hopped back on his tall steed, guiding us back down to the road. Once we were out of earshot, I lost the battle to keep my anger under control.

“How can you lie to them?”

“What are you talking about?” Cyrus’ voice was laced with irritation, but I didn’t care. The people he governed should know the truth.

“Telling them that Greatfalls is hoarding water, blaming the drought on us. We only keep the water we need for our day to day life.”

“What?!?” Cyrus shouted. I’d struck a nerve, which wasn’t surprising, seeing as I was calling him out on his deception.

Manod reached out and put his hand on Cyrus’ shoulder, who shook his head. The elderly priest leaned over from his mount and whispered in Cyrus’ ear. Grumbling, Cyrus urged his horse forward, pulling away in front of us until we were alone with Manod.

We rode in silence. The only sound was that of the horses’ footfalls against the dry clay underneath. Finally, the priest spoke, his voice projecting compassion but also certainty. “It is not a lie, Skye. Greatfalls has been keeping more than their share of water for a long time now.”

“That’s not—”

“How long has it been since they allowed any water through the dam?”

“Four years. We’re in a drought. We have to be careful.”

“The reservoir is deep. Your city is small. Do you really think you need all of that water?”

“Grandmother makes those decisions. It’s her job to keep Greatfalls safe.”

Manod shook his head in frustration. “Every spring and summer, the snow melts, running down the mountains and filling the reservoir. Safehold is deeper than you could imagine. There’s enough water for the city to last for decades.”

What was he saying? Grandmother wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t withhold help when people needed it. I glanced at Jelenna, silently asking for help.

“We have no reason to believe you.” Her voice was low and tense. “You’re lying.”

“You may think so, if it makes you feel better.” Manod’s earnest tone belied his condescending words. “But I am a priest of Stahkla. I do not traffic in untruths.”

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