Page 93 of Rise of the Phoenix King (Crown and Crest 4)

“Algernon was my friend,” he says harshly. “My good friend, not too different from you and Lawrence.”

I’d like to argue that Lawrence and I aren’t friends, but it would be a lie now.

“But he turned his back on me after I was injured.”

“He appointed you as his royal blacksmith,” I point out.

“And a lot of good that did us,” he snarls. “He did it to ease his conscience.”

I sigh, knowing he’s right.

“And then, for all those years, I saw you following in my footsteps—and saw Algernon leading you on…” He shakes his head. “It didn’t settle right. So when Camellia came to me, offering me a chance to make something of our family—to pay me well enough I could pay for Brielle’s school and make you the armor we could never afford… Well, I took it.”

I remember the conversation he and the princess had when I discovered he was in Revalane, how grateful he was. It cut me to the core then, and it cuts me now.

But it doesn’t change anything.

“That armor was paid for with blood,” I tell him. “I don’t want it.”

“That armor will keep you alive.”

“Is it talvernum?” I demand.

“No. It’s steel—the best I’ve ever crafted. It’s all I’ve worked on since I arrived back in Cabaranth.”

“It doesn’t change where it came from.”

“Use it against her.” His eyes spark with fire. “Yes, it came from Camellia, but doesn’t that make it all that much sweeter? Fight her, Henrik. Fight her in that armor andwin.”

I study him, saying nothing.

His face falls, and for the first time, he looks defeated. “This is all I have to give you. It’s all I’ve ever had to give you.”

The plea in his words sits heavy between us.

I stare at him. He stares at me.

After several long seconds, I yank off my gauntlets. “Help me put it on.”

Father swallows, his eyes glossing. Stoic to a bloody fault, just like his son, he shoves the emotion back and nods.

* * *

“The army approaches, Your Grace,” one of our scouts informs me, though I can already see the glow of their torches in the distance from my vantage point atop the hill.

The wind has thankfully died down, with only a mild, cool breeze cutting through the night.

“Is Camellia with them?” I ask.

“I didn’t see her.”

“What do you say we take a look for ourselves?” Ayan says, bored and just as eager to do something as I am.

I frown, thinking about it, and then I nod. “All right.”

“Really?” he asks, startled I agreed.

“Bartholomew, come with us.”

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