Last Stand (The Black Mage #4)(74)

Thirty lives gone in the blink of an eye.

Thirty more to my conscience. A number I could never amend.

You can’t hesitate again.

I bit down on the inside of my cheek, tasting warm, coppery blood. My fear had caught up to me, two weeks on the run. I needed to acknowledge the truth before it cost more unnecessary lives.

This wasn’t my story anymore; it was theirs.

I made my way, limping past the bodies, using a fallen polearm to nudge their limbs aside. A part of me wanted to light a funeral pyre, but I didn’t have the time, and it would draw attention I couldn’t afford.

I’m sorry. I took a long breath and exhaled slowly, taking in their faces one last time. It wasn’t the apology they deserved, but it was the only one I had.

I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.



*

The next two days were worse than before. My wrist wasn’t fractured—just severely bruised, thank the gods—but between it, the festering wound on my leg without proper treatment, and the hunger pangs, I was making slower progress than I should.

The fifth morning, a raging fever broke out and I couldn’t even make it astride my horse. That same day, I reached the bandit camp from my year before serving the Ferren’s Keep regiment. For a moment, there was hope—supplies, food, people.

But the place was deserted. Not so much as a crumb remained behind. A part of me had hoped Nyx would deploy her men to the settlement. It was remote, and if the king had dispersed patrols and the Crown’s Army to the borders, it would make sense.

But no one was there.

I tried not to think what that meant for the rebels.

I had been so sure they would be here. In our talks, Nyx had promised to keep my brother and Ella safe at all costs. I’d thought for sure she would have sent them away the moment their spy sent word of what had gone down in the capital. Or at least when they heard the news that Blayne was dead and the Crown’s Army was still marching on Caltoth and hunting the rebels.

I would have taken the main road had I not been so sure I would find them here.

It had cost me two days to reach this place.

And now? I was upheaving what little I managed down, writhing on a straw mattress late into the night. All for nothing. And I was too weak to ride. I couldn’t even walk.

I just had to cling to the hope they would return.

Two more days passed and I could feel every bone protruding from my ribs. I was delirious and couldn’t hobble more than a few yards outside my cabin to relieve myself.

Trying to make the trek to the keep was impossible now.

I’d made it this far, and this was how it would end. I would never know what happened to everyone else. I’d die from starvation or fever, whatever won out first. I’d been fighting the former as best I could by boiling the rawhide straps of the horse’s tether in a leftover pot until it was tender enough to chew, but it wasn’t enough.

Eventually, I set the mare free, before the temptation became worse… I’d die either way, and I couldn’t stomach the thought of slaughtering a horse. Foolish, perhaps, but it was one act I refused to commit.

Hours passed as the hunger grew. I fantasized about conjuring a hearty venison stew, but the principles of magic wouldn’t keep the casting forever. After my stamina dropped, the pangs would be back. Worse so, perhaps, because my stomach had adjusted to its fill.

It was better to hold onto magic to keep the stove warm during the course of the night, to boil the little well water I could manage. At least the effect of those two castings was true.

Another night and I couldn’t distinguish the walls from the ceiling, let alone the floor. I was struck by tremor after tremor. Sweat drowned every one of my pores, drenching my clothes and sticking to my flesh like a second skin. The festering wound at my thigh was molten fire. It seared late into the night.

I couldn’t stand. I couldn’t sleep. It was like my time in the dungeons all over again, only this time infinitely worse.

Blayne was dead. Darren was king.

The villain marching on Caltoth was the broken boy from the cliffs.

Because of me. I had abandoned Darren when he needed me most. I’d assumed his brother would live… And why wouldn’t he? The palace had the best healers in the land.

Surviving had been more important. I’d needed to save my family and warn the rebels. But now…

It wasn’t Blayne’s army at the border. It was Darren’s.

The new king was committing acts he could never take back, and when the truth came to light—if it ever did—it would be his orders that tore the country apart. His words that sent innocent men and women to their death.

Darren had watched the only person he loved pass away, alone. I’d left him to darkness and despair and a country on the brink of war.

“I’m afraid of what my love for you will make me.”

Now we knew.

Would it have made a difference if I had stayed? Or would the Black Mage have been the first to condemn the king killer like the rest of them?

Why had Darren wanted me alive? To rot away in a cell? Or something worse?

The realization cut into my chest, twisting like a knife.

Someone had to stop him.

It couldn’t be me. Not anymore.

It wouldn’t be much longer until… the end.

But someone else needed to rise.

To save Jerar.