Dalir's Salvation (21 page)

He brushed the hair from Ari’s forehead, stroked her cheek. No matter how Jalan judged him, she would keep her word.

As he laid Ari in Jalan’s outstretched arms, gunfire echoed from outside the cave. “And the others, you will honor my promises to them?”

“They will understand what is required. And yes, whatever you have promised them, I will honor.” She turned her back on him. The warriors made a space and let her pass. “Your time is done here, Dalir. You have nothing left to offer.” Jalan disappeared with Ari.

Jalan was right. He was done with fate, destiny, and all of the pain that came with their influence. It didn’t matter what punishment awaited him in Alandia.

The light-haired captain of the squad approached. “Commander. It’s time to go.”

Dalir gathered power from the broken places inside of him and phased.

Bright lights beamed in the rudimentary space containing a bed, toilet, shower, and sink. As it had for the last three days upon awakening, silence greeted Dalir in the holding cell. He lay on the bed. The thin mattress on a stone slab built into the wall provided little in the way of luxury. Not that he could find comfort in sleep. Ari’s voice, her laughter, the experience of holding her, loving her, and watching her die in his arms haunted his dreams.

Almost as soon as he’d phased onto Alandian soil, the prison guards had taken him into official custody. By order of the Supreme Council, they’d place him in solitary with no visitation. He’d talked one of the guards into answering his questions about the status of Alandia. The rebels still fought for control. The oracles had not returned. The king and queen lived, but not without attempts on his father’s life.

The royal counselors, rightly so, had most likely advised his parents to stay away from him. His father needed to show neutrality in all things, including his imprisonment and sentencing.

The electrified barrier in the doorway dissolved.

Dalir swung his legs off the side of the slab and stood.

A dark-haired guard dressed in black boots, red pants, and a black breastplate handed him a leather bag.

“What is this?”

“Shaving supplies, sir. You’re appearing before the Supreme Council today.”

The guard left and Dalir emptied out the contents of the bag on the edge of the sink. Part of him wanted to resist. What was the point of appearing clean shaven? Nothing would change the outcome. Exile at The Drift was a gift he wouldn’t receive again. This time floating in nothingness or possibly death awaited him. Both a fitting punishment for his failure to have been by Ari’s side when she’d needed him most.

The electrified barrier dropped again.

Ronan strode in carrying a rolled bundle. The onyx studs of warrior commander gleamed on the epaulettes of his short, dark blue, dress uniform jacket. His father had chosen his replacement well.

A woman wearing a brown cloak with an oversized hood covering her face followed. Head bowed, she retreated to a corner of the cell.

Ronan motioned dismissively to the guards. “Wait in the hallway. Activate the door instead of the energy barrier.”

The guards exchanged uncertain looks. “Our orders—”

“The seamstress is here to assist him.” Ronan stared them down. “He’s the prince, and I’m a warrior commander. You will give us privacy.”

“Yes, commander.” The guards tipped their heads in deference and left.

The door slid across the opening to the cell.

Ronan embraced him in a man-hug and thumped him on the back. “You look like you haven’t slept in eighty years.”

“I’m sure I’ll have time to catch up.” It’s not like he had anything else planned for the future. “You brought a seamstress? For what?”

Ronan unrolled the bundle on the bed.

“A dress uniform? No way in hell. I’m not parading before the council in that. I’ll wear what I have on.”

The woman stepped forward. “You will wear this uniform to ensure everyone remembers who you are.” She removed the hood of her cloak, revealing her light hair. Tears shone in his mother’s blue-gray eyes.

Dalir took a knee, his gaze fixed on a crack in the stone floor.

Queen Phaedra dropped down and hugged him. Jasmine and lavender mixed with the scent of something that had always reminded him of a cool stream surrounded him.

He returned the embrace, then helped his mother to her feet. “You shouldn’t have come. It’s against rules set by the council.”

“I had to.” She smiled as if drinking in his appearance. “Ronan tried but he couldn’t talk me out of it.”

Ronan chuckled. “Stubbornness runs in the royal family.”

Guilt pinged in Dalir’s chest. His brother was a lunatic, but he was still her son. “I’m sorry about Kell. I’ll understand if you blame me.”

“I don’t.” Sorrow filled her gaze as she laid her hand on his cheek. “I’ve had eighty years to think about how we indulged him in ways that we shouldn’t have. Refused to see just how desperate he’d become over your father choosing you over him. We heard about what he did to you, your friends…and Ari.”

The compassion in his mother’s eyes threatened to unearth pain. He couldn’t talk about Ari. Not here. Not like this, maybe never. “Tell father I’m sorry for adding to his problems. He has enough to handle with the council.”

“No more than usual. The last assassination attempt opened the door to fear. The council wants to create a plan for succession.”

“But that should have been decided right after Kell and I were sentenced.”

As his mother squeezed his hands, she gave him a sad smile. “We weren’t ready. But your father does have a plan. He just hasn’t shared it with the council yet. You know how he hates to be hounded.”

Ronan shot a gruff chuckle. “Hounding your father, the council’s specialty. There have been rumors that Baco and a few of his cohorts have been treading on dangerous ground, lately, with talks of forming alliances with supposedly flexible members of the nonhuman movement. They say it’s for overall peace, but we all know it’s for their own selfish, political gain.”

Frustration and weariness filled his mother’s expression. “Those few members suffer from the primary weakness the vainglorious ones always do. They forget the extremists are dangerous suitors. They have needs and expect them to be met, and if they fall short...”

Grimness settled in Dalir’s gut. “It could lead to another civil uprising.” That he wouldn’t be around to help his father face. “I should tell the council exactly what I think of their stupidity.”

She flattened her hand to his chest. “Don’t let pride and bitterness from the past guide your steps today.”

“The past is dead. What does it matter if I tell them the truth?”

“And what is the truth?”

Dalir failed to tamp down a spike of irritation. “That if they would have allowed us to take a harder stance with the rebels, we wouldn’t have faced a civil war in the first place.”

“And Kell wouldn’t have had a reason to join them and you wouldn’t have failed Taliana or Ari.” His mother’s direct gaze held him. “That is what you’re thinking. Isn’t it?”

Regret drained anger. “How can I not?” Taliana would have lived in the temple as a full guardian oracle by now. Ari would have existed happily with her friends.

“You’re too old for me to lecture you so let me give you good counsel instead.” Years of ancient wisdom, somehow, added even more youthfulness to her face. “Even with all of our insight, we can’t predict free will. You can only control your own.” Tears welled in her eyes. “You may lose your freedom again, but wherever they send you, don’t let the chains of the past bind your heart in bitterness. Forgive.”

Ronan cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but he needs to get dressed if we’re going to make it on time.”

She patted the spot right over Dalir’s heart. “Your father and I love you so much.”

Before she pulled the hood up over her head, he kissed her cheek. “I love you, too.”

Ronan called the guards to let her out.

Dalir got dressed. The dark blue, waist-length jacket and the creased pants formed to him in crisp tailored lines.

Ronan slipped a gold sash over Dalir’s head. He adjusted it diagonally from shoulder to hip. The royal coat of arms rested at the top of the sash. Colorful commendation jewels reflective of his service as a warrior covered more than half of the silky fabric.

Dalir suppressed irritation with a deep breath. “The sash is fine. Stop fucking around with it. I still don’t see the point.”

“Your mother is right. It’s a necessary formality. The bastards need a reminder. And why disappoint them, but I must say you look a little soft. All that easy living with humankind, and no one to test your swordsmanship, has put you out of shape.”

“You wish or maybe you’d like to put your theory to the test.”

“If you insist, but I’ll even go easy on you.” Ronan gave him a sardonic smile. “We can figure out what our bet will be later on.”

Reality drowned out sarcasm. The only later on he’d face was to never see Alandia and his family again. “What are my odds?”

“We have enough votes to sentence you to another exile, someplace less appealing than Alandia.” Ronan’s mouth flattened. He released a harsh breath. “This whole situation is a farce. You’re not only the prince. You served Alandia with distinction as a warrior, one of the best we’ve ever had.” He clapped down, hard, on top of Dalir’s shoulder and the sash. “The warriors respect you and will follow you anywhere. No one gives a rat’s ass about losing Kell, including many members of the council. They didn’t want to sentence you the first time, but Baco insisted. They’re just too damn afraid of his influence.” Ronan gripped the end of the sash near Dalir’s hip and pulled. It snapped into an almost seamless slash of color across Dalir’s uniform. “I’m done with it. I’m speaking out for your freedom. Maybe the rest will have the balls to follow. You’re the best shot after your father steps down for Alandia to have continuing peace and prosperity. We can’t lose you again.”

Dalir clasped Ronan’s shoulder. “Don’t. You’ll lose your standing in the council if no one follows you. From that point on, you’ll receive little support when it comes to motions involving the warriors. They need you. My father also needs you more than I do. Everyone who chooses to support him will lead Alandia to a future of peace and prosperity. Trust that he has a plan and don’t let him down.”

Ronan nodded his assent, but sadness lurked in his gaze.

They walked outside of the cell.

Ronan waved back the guards. He pointed to two warriors in dress uniform coming down the hallway. “We escort our own.”

Outside, a warrior held the reins of a sleek, black stallion. It was saddled and ready to ride.

Shield Breaker. It wasn’t him, of course. His old horse was gone and this one had a star shaped pattern between its eyes. Dalir cautiously approached the horse, giving it a chance to check him out. The horse nuzzled and butted against Dalir as if it recognized him.

Ronan mounted his gray horse. “Shield Breaker sired quite a few heirs. This is Storm Chaser.”

Dalir stroked the horse. Anticipation buzzed through him. “Hello Storm Chaser. Ready for a ride?”

The stallion whinnied and butted against his shoulder just like Shield Breaker used to do.

Dalir mounted the horse. He eased into merging his mind with the stallion’s. They synched perfectly. One last moment of pure freedom, he couldn’t pass it up. He looked to Ronan. “We got time for the long way to the castle?”

Ronan glanced right to the cobblestone road leading through the city. He chuckled. “Why not?”

Dalir, Ronan and the guards turned their horses left and tore across the plain.

Clouds dotted a clear blue sky. Morning mist rose from the meadows. The sweet scents of grass, damp earth and the faint smell of wood smoke permeated the air. A thrill shot through him. He’d missed his home. As he rode on with Ronan and the guards, Alandia unfolded into farmland with thatch covered, wood homes. Beyond that lie modern buildings made of bricks and glass in the main city. The Alandian flag waved from the highest turret of the castle. The spark of adrenaline faded. Dalir paused, capturing his surroundings one last time.

Ronan glanced at the castle. His jawline ticked as if he bit back words. His gaze conveyed everything. All Dalir had to do was say the word and he’d help him escape.

Storm Chaser whinnied as if in agreement of the plan.

Dalir patted his horse. Warriors didn’t run. More importantly, Ari had bravely died to save him. She’d faced her fears and found strength. He wouldn’t dishonor her memory with cowardice or evasion. “Let’s go. They’re waiting.” Dalir nudged Storm Chaser and headed for the castle.

Dalir, Ronan, and the warriors arrived at the council’s chamber.

The warriors on guard opened the double doors.

Dalir walked in with Ronin beside him.

Ronan broke away to the left. As a member, he joined the rest of the council at the far end of the room.

The members sat in chairs behind curved tables branching off from either side of King Athan sitting on the throne. Baco occupied the place Dalir had before exile, to the left of his father.

Jalan sat on his father’s right. Her serenely calm expression at odds with the undercurrent of anticipation buzzing in the room.

Dalir advanced into the chamber. The two warriors who had traveled with them took positions. Not at Dalir’s side as if escorting him as a prisoner, but behind giving him respect as commander and prince.

Ronan rose to his feet and stood at attention.

Many of the other council members looked from the king’s impassive face to Dalir and his warrior escort in surprise, but they rose to their feet.

Dalir bowed and his escort followed suit. “My king. I present myself to the council as requested.”

“Rise, commander, and we will begin the proceedings.” The musculature in the molded, leather breastplate his father wore over his grey tunic formed to his father’s actual dimensions with no imitation needed. The traces of gray in his father’s dark hair and creases permanently etched into his brow silently spoke of the burdens he’d carried over the centuries as king.