Scarred (Never After #2)(91)
“Morale is low,” Belinda—the woman I’ve only seen once before when she rolled a severed head to my feet—hisses as I strap blades to my thigh and take the pistol from Edward’s hands and place it in a holster on my side.
She watches me, her gaze wary.
“You don’t trust me,” I say.
She tilts her head. “You are the king’s.”
I reach out, placing my hand over hers. “I am your king’s. And I will save him with or without his people.”
Her grin spreads across her rotten teeth and she waves her arm at the door. “Well then, time to convince his people.”
My stomach flips, nerves threatening to tear me apart from the inside out, but I swallow them down, closing my eyes and trying to reach through the ethers; to find Tristan’s power and channel it until he infuses my every cell.
With a deep breath, I step through the doors and out onto the balcony.
The air grows still and tense.
I lick my lips as I look out over the rebels, the hyenas, putting faces to the thought of them for the first time. There are small children staring up with wide eyes, women and men with sorrow in their eyes and exhaustion lined in their pores.
Ragged and worn, but glorious.
These people are the lifeblood of Gloria Terra, just as we are in Silva, and they deserve to be able to live free.
“I am not your king,” I start.
“No shit,” someone yells out.
My chest tightens. “I’m terrified to be standing before you, so much so that every fiber of me wants to turn around and run away. But your leader is in trouble.”
Closing my eyes, I picture Tristan, swallowing around the agony that strips me bare at the thought of never seeing him again; never feeling his lips brush against my skin, or his love devour me whole. I think of all the whispered secrets he spoke into my soul, of how I was his filthy girl, and how he couldn’t wait to see me in a crown and at his side. Of his vision for the future, and the memories of his past.
My eyes pop open.
“I don’t pretend to know what it is you’ve gone through, but I’ve seen struggle and I’ve known strife.” I hesitate. “When I came to Saxum, it was to kill the Faasa’s, every last one, including the scarred prince.”
Rumbles sound through the crowd.
“But then I got to know him—” My throat swells. “And he made me believe in a better way.”
My eyes scan their faces, noticing Belinda has moved to the front of the crowd down below, Edward and Sheina standing at her side. My eyes lock on my friend, and she nods, giving me strength.
“It’s over,” a woman says. “They caught him. We’ve lost.”
“You would give up so easy?” I argue. “How many times has he proven himself to you over and over? And yet at the first sign of struggle, you turn your back?”
I shake my head, praying that my words hit their mark. I don’t know any of this for sure. I’m only going off what Tristan has said, trusting that he speaks the truth.
Belinda steps forward, turning toward the crowd. “He saved me when I went into the castle and was promised certain death.”
The rumbles grow louder.
Then Sheina steps forward, and my heart pounds. “He brings you food, he clothes your babes.”
Gratefulness wraps around my chest and tugs. “He’s risked his life to give you yours,” I cut in. “But this isn’t just about him. I will get him back with or without your help. This is about standing up and seizing the moment. About vengeance for every time they’ve killed someone for simply speaking truth. For every curse, and every name, every bruised and broken bone as they screamed you weren’t worthy.”
Faces change in the crowd, an electric feeling pulsing through the air, building higher with each second.
“I’m not great with words,” I continue. “I can’t wrap the atrocities of what has been and realities of what will come in a pretty bow and make it look like it’s in your favor.”
I slam my fist against my chest. “But together we rule, and divided we fall. I am asking you—begging you—to stand with me. There is no one better to lead you than Tristan Faasa. And he deserves your fight, the same way he has always fought for you.”
Belinda is the first to fall, her head bowed, a loud wail crying from her throat. And then, as if in slow motion, others follow.
One by one, they sink on bended knee, a chant starting slowly. At first, I don’t understand what it is they say, but it grows and rolls over the air and hits my chest as surely as if they struck me in the heart.
“Long live the queen! Long live the queen!”
Tears spring in my eyes as I look over them, staring down at the people—my people—the lifeblood of Gloria Terra, trusting me to lead them to their king.
“We are warriors!” I raise my voice until it’s soaring over their heads like arrows. “This is the revolution! And it’s time for us to take back our home.”
CHAPTER 52
Tristan
“Psst.”
My eyes struggle to open, my head foggy as I come to. And once I do, I wish I hadn’t because there isn’t a single piece of me that doesn’t ache. My bones feel brittle, my muscles atrophied from lack of use, and I’m quite certain it’s been days since I’ve had a drink of water.