Page 27 of Crown of Iron
I give her a half-hearted smile. “I promise to try.”
Shianne hands me a cloth with two apple pastries inside. “He always refuses to take a pastry without paying, but I thought you could use them as a start. Joel always said there was no better way to know someone than sharing a meal with them.”
“Thank you, Shianne,” I say, taking her offering.
“Stay out of trouble.”
I laugh and shake my head. “That's the plan.”
Kyron and I gather our horses and head out of the small town. The crescent moon hangs low in the sky, and the stars peek out against the navy-blue backdrop. A gentle breeze carries the sweet fragrance of wildflowers as we pass the lake. Fireflies float in and out of the trees and hover over the tall blades of grass, mimicking the stars. The scenery is set to the clapping of Samson and Nortus' hooves against wayward stones. It’s a steady rhythm that calms my nerves.
We ride in silence through the woods separating the lake from Basecamp. The tall branches cast haunting shadows on the forest floor, and the brush rattles with unseen creatures. I push Nortus closer to Samson and remain mindful of my surroundings. Holding tightly to the reins, I flex my leg muscles, ready to urge my horse forward if I should need to get away. But it isn't the haunting sounds of the night forest that have me on edge; something more sinister lingers in the air.
A constant flow of power comes from Kyron. Darkness dances around me and warmly brushes against my senses, enticing me to let it in. I let my guard down for a moment and it washes over me. It's not as uncomfortable as I thought it would be. It's calming, gentle… deceiving. With that last thought, I resurrect my mental wall again. I pray that I can keep him at a distance and not fall victim to the strange feelings I get from his gift.
I concentrate on the phantom sounds around us, allowing them to distract me from Kyron's invasive power. The flapping of wings, an owl's call, running water… Running water? The babbling of shallow water grows louder the further we go. I missed it when I rode through here earlier. Granted, my focus was on keeping up with Kyron, but how did I miss the sound of water? It is almost overwhelming now.
“Are we going the same way we came?” I ask.
“No.”
“May I ask why we’re taking a different way?”
Kyron releases a loud quick breath. “We're making a stop.”
“Where?”
“You’re uninvited on this trip, so you don't get to ask questions.”
I gnaw on my lip to keep from pressing for more information. The punishment I received today was mild. The last thing I want to do is invoke a harsher one. Kyron could send me before the king for what I did. I ultimately accused him of conspiring against the crown with no hard facts. Micah is surely livid with me, adding this disgrace to my transgressions would only make it worse.
When we exit the trees, Kyron dismounts and leads Samson to the riverside. “Get down and let your horse drink,” he says.
I sigh and follow his command. Leaning on Nortus' side while he laps at the water, I fold my hands inside my jacket and try to ignore Kyron. But it's impossible.
My gaze darts in his direction as he lowers himself to a slab of sun-bleached stone. Propping an arm over his bent knee, he says, “Come and sit.”
I glare at him and ask, “Don't you ever get tired of barking out commands?”
“Do you ever grow tired of trying my patience?”
As if he understands the slippery slope I'm on, Nortus nudges me forward. I turn to glare at the horse and my gaze falls to his saddlebag. Shianne's parting words play in my head. I dig out the pastries and sit next to Kyron, leaving plenty of space between us. I open the cloth and remove the strudels inside.
“I made these with Shianne. She suggested I share them with you,” I say.
He accepts the flaky pastry coated in sugar and takes a bite. While he stares out at the river, I pull my knees to my chest, rest my chin on top, and nibble on the food. It is delicious, but my stomach is roiling with nerves.
“What you do for Shianne and her kids is truly amazing. I don't know many people in a position like yours who would do the same,” I say, trying to break the uncomfortable silence between us.
It's true; I only know one man who would care for the family of a fallen soldier the way Kyron does. My father. Joel's death would’ve devastated him. He would have thought of Shianne and been heartbroken for Mia and Blaze. He would have done everything he could to help a family who resembled his own.
“My decisions left Shianne without a husband and Mia and Blaze to grow up without a father. What I do for them is pathetic compared to what they deserve,” Kyron says.
The lack of inflection in his voice does little to hide the pain buried in his words. I know that tone, understand the guilt it hides. He can't let it get to him. If he sinks into that despair for too long, it’ll cloud his judgement, another life will be lost, and the cycle will start again.
I carefully choose my words when I say, “Those who hold the responsibility to care for so many don't have the luxury of time to heal or make amends. They live with their mistakes and continue caring for those in their keep. It sometimes makes for messy people, and other times it makes for extraordinary leaders. Many believe you fall in the latter, including Shianne and her children. They don't blame you for Joel's death.”
“The Statera gifted you with a silver tongue,” he says and takes the last bite of his pastry.
