TheRedKing (24 page)

“That’s what I told him,” Delia said. “I woke up and there
he was.”

Crag curled his lip. “You didn’t even wake her first? Do you
realize you almost died not even a day ago?”

“I’m aware of that,” Areus said. Crag had been a quiet man
so far. This outburst was unexpected and unappreciated. Areus was accustomed to
giving orders, not taking them.

“Come on.” Crag slid an arm around Areus to support him as
he stood.

“I can—”

“No you can’t,” Crag interrupted. “Not on my watch, Your
Majesty. Not until you’re stronger.”

Areus glanced at Delia and saw that she was smiling. He
wanted to tease her back, but at the moment he was in too much pain.

When he reached the bed, he lay down, hating how his heart
raced just from a short walk across the room.

“Have you had anything to drink?” Crag asked.

Areus shook his head.

“You need water. You still have a fever.” The Knight picked
up the mug on the bedside table and offered it to Areus who drank most of it.

“I’ll have more water brought up,” Delia said. She left the
room briefly.

Areus glanced at Crag. “Any word from the front lines?”

“Yes. The Zaltanians have pulled back. Your man Eli is
working closely with our Knights. There’s been no news about Hypatios, however.
The snow is falling heavier, so with the weather and our Knights reinforcing
your troops, I doubt the Zaltanians will attack again any time soon, in
particular if Hypatios is dead or seriously injured.”

“I’m certain he’s wounded. He took at least one arrow and
several slashes to his forearms, though I’m not sure how deep.” Areus’s stomach
clenched and his heartbeat quickened just thinking about the fight. Though
loath to admit it, Hypatios was one of the best warriors he’d ever met. The
bastard lived up to his reputation. “Maybe he drowned in the river.”

Delia returned while Crag was checking Areus’s leg wounds.

He’d have more ugly scars, but at least his pain was normal
for these types of injuries. No nerves seemed to be damaged. He was more
concerned about his ribs and the surgery Crag had performed. Though Areus had
been semiconscious at the time, he remembered not only the horrible pain, but
the relief of being able to breathe again without feeling as if the snake was
still squeezing him to death.

Someone tapped on the door.

“It must be the servant with the water,” Delia said and
called. “Come in.”

The door opened and Cosma entered.

“Areus.” His mother approached to glance at his injury. “How
are you feeling?”

“Fine. Why are there more spectators here than at a
tournament?” he grumbled.

“The medicines are working,” Crag observed, examining the
injuries.

Delia nodded. “Yes. The surrounding flesh is not as enflamed
and the arrow wound is draining well.”

“How about my ribs and lungs?” Areus asked.

“They’re healing as long as you don’t do anything stupid,
like getting up unaided before your healer tells you.”

“Point taken.”

“You’re healing very well,” Crag told him. “You’re lucky
that the arrow didn’t hit a major artery or else you’d have bled to death when
you removed it. In the future, you might be more susceptible to a collapsed
lung again, if you have another bad injury to your chest or ribs. You were very
lucky, not only that I was able to perform the surgery successfully, but
because you escaped that snake.”

“It was defending Hypatios,” Areus said, still in a state of
disbelief over his twin’s power over beasts. “Strangely, he seemed more
concerned for the snake than for himself.”

“Beauty,” Cosma murmured.

“That’s what he called it.” Areus curled his lip. “The snake.
Beauty.”

Delia wrinkled her nose. “Are you serious? He keeps a snake
as a pet. How revolting.”

“Beauty is very protective of him and he of her,” Cosma went
on. “Sir Crag is right that you were lucky she didn’t kill you.”

“Very nearly though,” Crag added.

Delia shuddered at the thought of Areus crushed by such a
monster.

At that moment two servants arrived carrying water and food.
Echo was with them as well, to help Delia with her toilet.

“Go to your own chamber to wash and dress,” Crag told Delia.
“I’ll finish helping King Areus.”

Delia glanced at Areus who stated, “Do what Sir Crag said.
Get some proper rest. You have our heir to worry about, so take excellent care
of yourself.”

She nodded, their gazes locked. He wished to kiss and hold
her again, but he already appeared weak and vulnerable enough in front of these
people. He hated it, but he needed to accept that it would take time to heal.

When he did, he would ensure Lortia was safe from Zaltana
for good. His queen, his heir and his people would be safe.

“Why do you think he doesn’t want us to notify his men?”
Mira whispered, though she, Edith and Joshua stood outside the cottage and Hypatios
was asleep inside.

“It could be several reasons,” Joshua replied. “It’s true Hypatios
is a demon on the battlefield, but he lives by a different code than
traditional Zaltanian warriors. I’ve heard that his father frowns on his
methods but lets him have his way because Hypatios is his strongest warrior and
a great tactician. He’s conquered most of the Western Continent for Zaltana.”

“King Hippolytos frowns on his ways?” Edith asked, her thin
lips curled. “Surely he can’t be worse than his father?”

“On the contrary, he treats the conquered fairly, as long as
they accept their defeat with humility. He doesn’t rape women or harm children
and he doesn’t allow his troops to do so. Rather than burn a village to the
ground, he prefers to accept the residents' surrender. Mira, I know you’re not
from Zaltana originally, so I’ll tell you the former is more common among
Zaltanian leaders, to destroy a village and take the women to breed with the
warriors. There are soldiers in Hypatios’s army who firmly believe in the
traditional ways. These men would leap at the chance to do away with him. In a
weakened state, he might not be safe among his own men. Any traditionalists in
his army pay him lip service but should the opportunity to destroy him present
itself—”

“You’re saying because he has a shred of decency, his own
men would kill him?” Mira shouldn’t have been surprised. Political
assassinations weren’t uncommon and Zaltana was one of the most warlike
kingdoms in the world. From the time of the infamous king Mar Maska, they had
been conquerors—violent and ruthless.

When Mira and Jase had run off, she had begged him to head
north to the island of Travelle and seek sanctuary with the Knights of the Ruby
Order. He had insisted on going south to Zaltana. Only when he left her,
running off with a girl from the village and taking most of the money Mira had
brought with her from home, did she understand why. He wanted freedom. Putting
down roots meant nothing to him. Nor did loyalty.

In a way she had been lucky he hadn’t tossed her out and
kept the cottage for his new lover.

“He’s a hard man,” Joshua went on. “And hard on his
soldiers, though no more than he is on himself. He’s on the training field
every day. The men fear him. I’ve seen him kill men where they stand for
disobedience, depending on how grievous the offense.”

“Is that why you left the army?”

“No. As long as a man did his job, he was treated fairly.
I’d served my time and have no desire to die on the battlefield. If given a
choice, I’d rather serve under Hypatios than the other Zaltanian generals.”

Hearing this, Mira felt better about Hypatios staying with
her. At least once he regained his strength she wouldn’t have to worry about
her personal safety.

Edith and Joshua returned to the village and Mira went about
her daily work.

Hypatios slept for a few hours and woke thirsty. Mira
brought him water and while he drank, she felt his brow. Though he was still
quite warm, it seemed his fever had dropped. To be certain, she tried to touch
his cheek, but he caught her wrist.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“You don’t have to touch me.” He placed the mug of water on
the bedside table, his other hand still holding Mira’s wrist.

“I’ve been touching you since I found you. How else am I
supposed to check your fever?”

Then she realized she had been about to feel the scarred
side of his face.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Do your scars hurt? I didn’t mean
to—”

“No. They don’t hurt.” He looked both puzzled and annoyed by
her comment.

Most people probably wouldn’t have tried to touch him again.
Mira wasn’t sure why she continued stretching her fingers toward his face. She
told herself it was only to check his fever, but did part of her want to rile
him? Or did she want to prove that his scars didn’t affect her?

He loosened his grip on her. His long, calloused fingers
trailed lightly over her wrist before his hand came to rest on his leg. He
stared at her warily as she took his face in her hands. Their gazes met and
Mira’s stomach fluttered. His frosty green eyes thawed a bit.

This was Hypatios. The prince. The warrior. The madman.

Why was she so drawn to him?

Then she remembered his feverish ranting.

“I know you don’t want us to contact your men,” she said.
“But should we try to get a message to Cassandra?”

He grasped her wrists and removed her hands from his face,
his eyes cold again. “What do you know about Cassandra?”

“Only that you spoke of her often in your delirium. Would
you like us to—”

“No,” he uttered sharply.

“I’m sorry. I thought she might be worried. Is she your
betrothed?”

He looked surprised. “No. She’s my old nurse.”

Relief washed over Mira. Why? It should make no difference
whether Cassandra was his nurse or his lover, yet it did. Still, she had given
up her chance to marry Hypatios or any other prince for that matter when she
ran off with Jase. Her family would never take her back, especially now that no
decent man would want her.

Yet Hypatios wasn’t considered a decent man.

He was still a prince though and when he married it would be
to a virginal woman of royal blood, not a woman such as Mira.

That’s what she’d wanted, or so she’d thought.

“You should drink more.” Mira picked up the mug and offering
it to him. “And you need to eat something. You haven’t taken any food since I
found you.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You seem better, so I doubt you’ll vomit again if you try to
eat.”

He curled his lip. “I vomited?”

“Unfortunately. You were quite out of it, so I’m not
surprised you don’t remember. Would you like to at least try some broth?”

Between blood loss and fever he was quite weak and required
nourishment.

“I’m not—”

“Don’t make me force you, sir.”

A smile flirted with his lips. “
You’ll
force
me
?”

“In your present condition, I could probably defeat you in
battle.”

“I can think of better things to do with you than fight.”

Mira thought she’d lost the ability to blush, but heat rose
in her face at his words. Even ill, he was a striking man. At full strength he
must be magnificent. She looked forward to seeing him restored again.

“In your present condition I doubt you have strength for
that either,” Mira said archly, attempting to conceal her embarrassment over
her naughty thoughts.

He chuckled softly and settled back against the pillows,
watching her with those piercing eyes, the shadows beneath them prominent
against his pale face.

Mira rose to fill a bowl with the stew that simmered over
the fire. Despite his claim not to be hungry, he finished the entire bowl.
Afterward, he drifted to sleep again, the bowl and spoon resting on his lap. Mira
took them from him and he stirred, his eyes opening halfway.

“You live alone here?” he asked softly.

“Yes.”

“How did that happen? You’re not a peasant. That’s obvious.”

“My story is rather complicated.”

He probably wouldn’t believe her if she told him.

“Sounds interesting.”

“You should rest. Close your eyes.”

She wasn’t sure if he deliberately obeyed her or if his eyes
were simply too heavy to keep open any longer.

Mira watched him for several moments. There was something
savagely beautiful about him. She wondered how he’d received the scars on his
face. Unlike the many other scars on his body, they didn’t appear to be battle
wounds, but burns. His unblemished side was quite handsome and his eyes were
absolutely breathtaking. They were closed now, but she couldn’t stop admiring
his long, thick lashes.

His eyes opened slowly and he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I was just thinking.”

“What about?”

“May I ask you a question?”

He gestured with his hand. “Go on.”

“You don’t have to answer.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“How did this happen?” She lightly trailed a fingertip along
his scarred cheek.

Hypatios drew back, glancing warily at her hand. She let it
drop to her lap.

“It happened long ago, when I was a boy.”

Her brow furrowed. “It was a fire, wasn’t it?”

He didn’t speak, but held her gaze as if trying to decide
what to make of her.

“I’m sorry. It was rude of me to ask. I’ll let you rest.”
She stood and walked to her worktable where she resumed sewing.

She felt him gazing at her for several moments before he
fell asleep.

* * * * *

“Hypatios.”

That unfamiliar voice was close. Too close.

Hypatios jumped awake, his heart pounding. He glanced around
the cottage, expecting to find Mira, but she must have stepped outside.

“Hypatios,” said the tall, stern-looking man who appeared at
his bedside. He had reddish hair streaked with gray and a trimmed red beard. Hypatios
had never seen him before, yet he was familiar. His first thought was the man
was real. Over the years he had learned to differentiate between the living and
the dead by a faint, grayish-green glow. Yet when he was distracted, weak or
ill, he couldn’t always see that glow right away. After a moment, he noticed
it. Then he realized this man—this ghost—resembled Areus.

A smile tugged at Hypatios’s lips. “Are you related to him
or is it you in spirit form, Areus? Did I win after all?”

“There’s no winning for you, Hypatios. Not if you keep on
this path.”

“You’re on
his
side. Zaltana will rule the entire
Western Continent and I
will
destroy your Areus, so don’t waste your
time, though you have eternity.”

“How will your eternity be spent? With regrets? In
ignorance? As a slave to the white warrior?”

The white warrior.

“Regardless of your bloodline, Hypatios, you would have been
my son.”

Nonsense. This spirit was spouting nonsense. They often did.
It was their way of amusing themselves in the boredom of the netherworld.

“I should have known you wouldn’t listen,” said a familiar
voice, seething with rage.

Hypatios’s head jerked to the other side of his bed. The
white warrior stood there, glaring at the bearded one.

“I told you I wouldn’t stop trying,” replied the red-haired spirit.
“You’re powerful, but you can’t banish me from this realm. Even you don’t have
the power to exile another spirit from the netherworld. I won’t stop trying
until he joins us in death or learns the truth.”

“The truth is, he’s the warrior who will conquer the world
for Zaltana. Soon he will have your pathetic kingdom of Lortia and the rest of
the north. Then he will cross the sea and—”

“He won’t conquer the world. He’ll bring peace. He and Areus.”

“Areus is as powerless as you.”

“If that were true you wouldn’t be so worried right now.”
The bearded one looked at Hypatios. “There’s enough of
her
in you to
prove him wrong.”

“You will be gone!” The white warrior lunged across the bed,
his claw-like hands reaching for the other spirit’s neck. They fought and Hypatios
twisted, raising his arms to protect himself against their writhing bodies.

* * * * *

“Hypatios!” Mira stepped inside. She dropped her armload of
firewood and ran to the bed.

“Mira, no, stay back!” he bellowed, momentarily forgetting
that she could neither see nor feel the spirits.

As she neared, the spirits continued fighting, rolling
across the floor.

“What happened?” Mira asked, taking his hand and cupping his
cheek. “You’re hot. I hope your fever isn’t rising again.”

“No, I’m fine,” he said, catching his breath. He closed his
eyes for a moment and when he opened them, the spirits were gone.

“You must have been dreaming.” Mira reached for the mug of
water and offered him some. “What was it about?”

His brow furrowed and a quirky smile touched his lips. “You
want to know what I dreamed?”

“Do you want to tell me?”

“No.”

She nodded and stood to collect the scattered firewood.

“It wasn’t a dream,” he insisted.

Still squatting on the floor, she glanced at him. “What
happened then?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Don’t be so sure. I’ve always had a wild imagination.”

He grinned. “That sounds enticing.”

Mira’s smile faded and she turned away, picking up the wood.

“I apologize,” he said. “I didn’t mean that how it sounded.”

She stood, her hands on her hips, and held his gaze. “Didn’t
you?”

She was right. He had already made a lewd comment regarding
her. It wasn’t that he didn’t respect her or appreciate her help, but he
couldn’t deny that he found her beautiful. It was so rare that he thought of anything
except battle. It was his luck that when he found a woman he would enjoy
bedding, he would be too injured to do anything about it.

He didn’t reply to her question, but stared at her until she
walked to her table and continued sewing.

* * * * *

Three days later, Hypatios’s fever had dropped to a less
dangerous level and his infection started to improve. He was able to venture
outside unaided to relieve himself and his appetite was gradually returning.
Still weak and sore, he needed more time to recover fully.

Strangely, Mira had come to enjoy his company. She’d almost
forgotten what it was like to share a home with someone.

It was early afternoon when Joshua arrived at the cottage,
leading a blood-bay stallion. Mira saw them through the window when she looked
up from sewing. She hurried outside.

“I think this is Hypatios’s horse,” said the blacksmith. “A
boy found him wandering on the outskirts of the village and brought him to me.
He should probably come out for a look?”