Page 23 of Crown of Iron
I squeeze my knees to Nortus' sides to urge him on. We bound through the trees where there’s no sign of Kyron. There’s not a single shaking leaf or horseshoe print in the dirt. The horse strolls the rugged path while I'm on the verge of giving up hope. Minutes pass without a glimpse of him and then the trees give way to a small town.
Kyron bolts through the weather worn gates sitting under a rustic water tower, and I follow suit several seconds later. We zigzag through the streets where the town's people are beginning their day. Horse drawn wagons haul sacks of grains, a blacksmith hammers glowing metal, and a woman with a toddler clinging to her leg sells fresh baked bread. This place isn't much different than the capital. The walls are smaller, less secure, and a palace doesn't loom in the background, but the people could easily be those who roam the streets I frequent.
The road narrows as we reach the outskirts of town. Quaint log homes with tin roofs the colors of jewels are scattered between massive pinetrees. Kyron guides Samson to the last house on the street. He dismounts and ties the horse to a tree where a thick patch of grass grows. Keeping my distance, I move Nortus off the road. After securing him, I use the thick tree trunks for cover and sneak over to the side of the house.
The home has seen better days. Specks of blue paint from the roof and doors litter the ground like azure snowflakes. The linked logs creating the outer walls have splintered with clay puttied into the cracks. I gingerly step through the blossoming vegetable garden, making my way to the front corner. Three rapid knocks echo with the chirping birds, and I hold my breath. The front door creaks open, and I peek around the house.
I can't see who stands on the other side of the threshold, but Kyron's question to them is loud and clear.
“Are you ready to do this?”
The front door swings open wider, and a cracking prepubescent voice answers, “Yes! Let me get my shoes on.”
“Kyron! Mama, Kyron's here.” A girl, no older than five, bolts out the door. The tight black curls secured into round ponytails on either side of her head bounce as she flings her chubby arms around the general's legs. Her round cheek presses into the side of his thigh, causing her full, pink lips to pout. She looks like a small angel clinging to the handsome demon who lurks in the shadows.
Kyron laughs and pats her on the top of the head. “Hello, Mia. How is the most beautiful girl in the world doing today?”
“Good,” she groans, hugging him with all her might.
A woman in a tan dress and floral apron walks out of the house. Dark curls sit piled on the top of her head, and bags frame her kind hazel eyes. She runs her slender hands down her thighs, leaving a trail of flour, before placing them on her hips. “Mia Rose, how do you expect Kyron to move around today when you're stuck to his leg?”
The girl flashes a mischievous smile up at him, and her little bare feet move on top of his boot. “He can do it.”
“You expect me to walk around like this all day?” He lifts his leg in exaggerated steps, hoisting the girl off the ground. She breaks into hysterical laughter and demands that he keep walking. And he does. It's not until her mother intervenes that she loosens her grip and slides her small hand into his. She turns her wide eyes up to him and flashes a grin.
Statera help the child, she's smitten with him.
Kyron pulls the leather pouch he was shoving coins into last night out of his jacket pocket. I lean in closer and strain to catch every word. This is the moment I've been waiting for—the reveal of his big secret—the information I’ll use to force him to do what I need.
“Some of the others threw in a little extra. I remember how you said Mia and Blaze were growing out of their clothes. I thought you could use it to buy them some new shoes.”
New shoes? Kyron and his officers gathered money to help this woman buy her children shoes? Where is the seedy exchange, the reason for him to sneak off at dawn? Where is the information I'm going to use to blackmail him?
“Kyron,” the woman says, pressing one hand to her chest while the other shakes off his offer.
“Please take it, Shianne. It's the least I can do.”
Shianne hesitates for a moment before nodding. She squeezes his bicep and says, “You've done more than enough.”
He opens his mouth as if to protest but his words are cut short. A young man, in his early teens, runs out the door. Like Kyron, he wears all black and his dark wavy hair comes up just shy of his chin. His golden-brown skin matches his mother and sister, and he shares the same face-consuming grin.
The boy bounces on the balls of his feet and says, “I'm ready to get to work.”
“You be careful with that axe, Blaze. I don't want you lopping off a toe,” Shianne says.
“Come on, Mama. I'm old enough to cut the firewood.”
With a stern look, she says, “Don't give me any backtalk, young man. You follow Kyron's orders.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
Blaze walks toward the other side of the house, with his shoulders slumped. I'm sure he’s a little embarrassed after being chastised in front of a man he obviously idolizes.
Kyron lowers his voice and says, “I won't let him use the axe unless I'm watching him.”
“Thank you.”
Once Shianne and Mia head back into the house, Kyron follows after Blaze.
