Page 21 of Crown of Iron
What the hell are the four of them up to? What secrets are they keeping? And what is the situation Kyron is trying to rectify? I knew hewas up to no good, but my stomach flips at the thought of his top-ranking officers being in on it also. They all come off as loyal to the king. And from what I’ve seen, they appear to eat, sleep, and breathe our fight for equality. It sickens me to know my father's army has fallen to such treachery. They were my last hope, instead they've become a roadblock to my cause.
Kyron must be stopped, and the best way to do that is to let Micah know what’s going on. But what exactly is going on? I hold my breath and will my pounding heart to slow, hoping they’ll dive into more details. Several long seconds pass with the refilling of glasses and slow sips of whiskey. I step forward believing the talking has come to an end for the evening when Kyron speaks up.
“Whose idea was it to open the goat pen and send our new want-to-be soldier on a wild chase?”
“That was all me,” Terro responds. “You said to make her life miserable, and those little fuckers are fast. I wouldn't be surprised if she's still chasing them.”
I clap my hand over my mouth to stifle a gasp. The animals are important to Basecamp, and I take every precaution to ensure that they are safe. I spent the entire day beating myself up about leaving that gate open. During my trek through the woods, I screamed, cried, and berated myself. I treated myself terribly and it wasn't even my fault.
“She's lasted longer than I expected. I thought for sure she would run after the first broken nail.”
“Come on, Ky. The girl has busted her ass since she got here,” Ulric says.
“If I hear she's batting her big, brown eyes at you two and you're taking it easy on her, I'll see to it that you join her in shoveling horse shit,” Kyron warns.
“They might be watching her a little too closely,” Greer clears her throat, “but they aren't lifting a finger to help her.”
The clink of glass tapping glass has me looking around the corner again.
Kyron tops off his cup, takes a swig, and says, “Good. Let her know what it's like to slum it. I bet she never cleaned a dish or drew her own bath before coming here.”
“I don't know about that,” Terro says. “She jumped into the horse stalls and went straight to work. And we aren't talking about dainty sweepsof the shovel. The girl got shit done. Literally.”
Kyron gives a disapproving grunt. “I don't care if she possesses all the gifts of the Statera and can wield a sword in both hands. I want her out of here.”
“I'd keep her if she could do all that,” Greer mumbles and finishes her drink.
I fight back tears of anger and hurt as the discussion comes to an end. The four move on to tipsy musings about the whiskey in their glasses and debate who can wield a bigger sword. I wait until they’re deep in their ridiculous conversation and pass by them to my room. They don't say a word to me, and I appreciate how I don't have to pretend like I didn't hear what I did. I want nothing more than to put a world's worth of space between us.
I reach my room and lock myself inside. My exhausted body leans into the unfinished door, and I slide to the floor, resting my forehead on my knees. The tears I held back flow freely down my face and I stifle a sob. I never thought that rallying soldiers to rescue my father would be easy, but I didn't expect to have to fight against them either. The people I need to convince to help me are conspiring to make me run home, and maybe something worse.
The more the thoughts simmer inside me, the hotter my skin becomes. My anger boils in my veins, and my trembling hands wipe away my tears. I'll be damned if Kyron gets his way, and I don't get mine. If my plans are going down in flames, so are his. I'm going to follow him tomorrow and find out his secret. And then, I'll use it to blackmail him into helping me right before I end his career in the Lucent army.
Eight
The first orange and fuchsia rays of sunlight peek over the horizon when I slip into the stables. I'm not sure when Kyron plans to head out on his secret mission, but I want to be ready when he does. This might be my only chance to get the upper hand on him. I've already wasted too much time playing by Kyron's rules, allowing his soldiers to jerk me around. And with each of those fruitless days, Micah grows closer to coming for me, and my father inches closer to his demise. It's time I take control and put a plan into action.
The smell of livestock and the stomping of hooves greets me as I walk down the row of stalls. Dry hay crunches under each step, making them sound menacing and surer than they really are. I set out on a bold journey almost a week ago, ready to face any challenge that came my way. My resolve was set. I would defy my king and march into Stigian on a rescue mission. Suddenly, those plans seem harmless in comparison to what I have planned for today.
Selecting a saddle from its hook on the wall, I stop in front of Nortus and hold out an apple. His head appears over the wooden railing, and he presses the bridge of his nose to my forehead.
“Are you feeling up to an adventure today?” I ask him, and he responds by taking the apple from my fingers.
I scratch behind his ear while he chomps away on his treat. Some days, Nortus is the only friendly face I see. He’s a constant assurance in a place riddled with uncertainty, a reminder of home. It's like he senses how much I miss my family, and he doesn't mind anchoring me to memories of those I love most. Until I arrived at Basecamp, I had not gone a day of my life without seeing at least one of my family members. I miss sword fighting with Rowan, looking at new dresses with Salone, and reading bedtime stories to Ansley. But most of all, I miss my mother. I’d give anything to hear her gently correct me or her sound advice. I realize now how much I put into my duties as future heir. I took for granted my family's presence, trusting they would always be there.
Now, my father's horse is the only being tethering me to those I love most.
After securing the saddle onto Nortus' back, I give him a rub along his nose and slip out of his stall.
I need to stay hidden but also appear busy caring for the horses in case I'm caught. I take a brush from the nails hammered into the wooden wall and move down the hay-lined row. When I reach the last stall, I remove my uniform jacket and pull my tunic's sleeves to my elbows. The horse inside the fence bats his big brown eyes and snorts.
“Good morning to you, Mr. Samson,” I say, opening the gate and stepping inside.
He nuzzles his nose into the side of my neck. I duck in an attempt to step out of his reach. He hasn't given me trouble since that first day. It turns out all the ornery old horse needed was a stern talking to and a few apples. We’re now friends.
Samson follows me, continuing his greeting.
I push at his head, saying, “At least buy me dinner first.”
