Page 36 of Immortal Sentry

“For reasons I cannot go into, I can sometimes get impressions from the dearly departed. Your father’s spirit hovers between this world and the next. Until this matter of succession is resolved to his satisfaction and his family avenged, he cannot truly rejoin your mother, who lingers just beyond the veil, awaiting his arrival.”

Was Eron’s father still here? Able to see him? Hear him? How many times throughout his life he’d wished for loving parents. Kene said his parents loved him very much but wouldn’t say more. “I wish I could tell my parents how much I loved them, but I don’t remember.”

“Not yet, but you will. And they already know. Now come. I’ll take you to my workshop, cast a spell, and turn you into a nobleman. Or rather, convince Bain that I have. No one comes more noble than you.” Miisov winked and turned away from the bars. “Guards!”

Chapter Fifteen

The loud cracking jolted Kerric as the shards of his prison fell away. The pieces turned to dust, to be blown away by the wind. Relief. Sweet relief to move.

Now wasn’t the time to stop and figure out where the stone came from or where it went. He’d rather it didn’t come back.

No patrols lurked, leaving him free to examine the other statues. Timoz, Malcolm, Georgi, Vez… His men. Still here. Sadly, Alon, Shere, and Patre were missing. Kerric’s heart ached for his lost men. Damn soldiers!

Some gargoyles were dirty, and one had a chip, but all seemed to be in relatively good repair and fearsome to behold, as the men had been in life. “Soon, my friends, soon you will be free.” May Ibrus hear his pleas.

And strike the birds currently sitting on Georgi’s head.

Instead of taking the steps down to the dungeon, Kerric crept through the corridor to Miisov’s quarters. The old bastard had some explaining to do.

At least three sets of footsteps pattered away from Miisov’s rooms. Kerric ducked into an unused room until they passed and waited until the footsteps faded from his rather acute hearing before making his way to Miisov’s door.

A lock on the door wouldn’t stop Kerric. Thanks to all the gods, he’d rematerialized as himself in the clothes he’d worn on that fateful day with the sword Miisov had returned to him, along with a dagger he’d pilfered from a guard. The favor wouldn’t make him forgive Miisov, but he could appreciate the gesture.

Three twists of his dagger popped the lock. He slipped into the silent workroom. Light peeked from under the door to Miisov’s private chambers.

Miisov stepped out in a dressing robe. “Ah, my dear Captain Kerric. It seems all the time you spent thinking on the roof has not taught you to knock. Just as well. I was on my way to unlock the door when I heard your scratching. I might as well let you practice your, how should I put this? Less than savory skills.”

Regardless of the reason Miisov cast the curse, Kerric might never forgive him. However, he’d put his own grievances aside for now with a prince to save.

“Would you care for tea?” Miisov lowered himself into a chair at a small table set for two. A steaming teapot sat in the middle, along with a plate of fruits, meats, and cheeses. Crusty bread sat nearby—a feast for a man who’d had scant food recently.

Despite his hunger, Kerric crossed his arms over his chest. “This isn’t a social visit. I have to check on our guest. If I could get him out of the cell tonight, I would.”

“No need. Come have tea with me.” Miisov patted the table in invitation. “Sit. I’ve much to tell you.”

Kerric’s grumbling belly decided matters. The tea smelled divine. How long since he’d last savored a cup from Miisov’s private stock of imported tea leaves? He sat, took the offered cup, and attempted not to fall on the food like a starving wolf.Miisov only ate a dainty bite or two, which at one time might’ve warned Kerric of the possibility of poison.

However, Miisov hadn’t kept Kerric alive this long to kill him now. Not until he’d served his purpose. Then, all bets were likely off. “What do you want with me?”

“Much,” Miisov replied between sips of tea. “Rumors have long persisted about an heir to King Lothan coming to replace Bain.”

“And how, pray tell, did these rumors start?” Kerric lifted a brow.

A smirk peeked out of Miisov’s full facial hair. “I might have been a bit indiscreet around the kitchen staff.” He placed his thumb and forefinger a scant breadth apart. “Just a little.”

Kerric laughed. “They told anyone who’d listen.”

“Right, you are, though I’ll deny rumor-mongering until my last breath. Lately, though, Bain has become more concerned with the possibility of the rumors being true.”

Kerric gave a rather plump berry a moment’s reprieve to say, “Let me guess. You had a hand in that, too.”

Miisov’s smug smile provided the answer. “There isn’t much going on at the castle that I don’t have a hand in. Bain has invited the king of Anilitk for a visit, insisting he bring his queen and heirs. Actually, it’s more of a five-day party.”

Since when did Selin go anywhere with his family instead of a mistress? “And?”

“Oh, forgive me. Even though you have been at the castle, you haven’t been privy to the goings-on. The Anilitk king wed Princess Lessa after his original queen suffered an… accident.”

An image came to mind of a leering old man Kerric once had to defend maids from. “Wait, wasn’t he a horrifying old lecher?”

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