Resistance (Ilyon Chronicles Book 1) (30 page)

Trask crossed his arms and drew a deep breath to prevent his shoulders from tightening. A man like Holden required much patience and tact. “What would you have me do?”

“Send him away before he can snap and kill us all.”

“I won’t do that,” Trask said calmly. “I set up this camp as a refuge for those in need, and if you can look past your hatred for ryriks, I think you’ll see he’s in need. He’s no killer, Holden. I’m not sending him away.”

He turned to unsaddle his horse. Holden didn’t move at first, and Trask anticipated further discussion, but eventually, the man stalked off. Now Trask did release a sigh and murmured to Elôm for wisdom and strength in these situations. He couldn’t expect all of the men to get along all the time, especially when new faces came in. But that was part of being a leader, and thanks to his father, he’d grown up preparing for just such a position. One day he’d have more than just this camp to oversee.

He turned his horse free in the corral and caught a glimpse of movement. This time Rayad approached him. The man had only been in camp a few days, but Trask liked what he saw. He valued men of experience and wisdom like Rayad and Warin. It was one reason he wouldn’t consider sending Jace away. If Jace left, Rayad surely would too.

“Is there a problem?” Rayad cast a pointed glance at Holden down at the fire.

Trask latched the gate and then leaned back against it. “Holden would like me to send Jace away.”

“What has him so set against Jace?” Rayad asked with a hard, protective tone.

“He does have his reasons. When he was young, ryriks tortured and killed his parents right in front of him. You can imagine what that did to him. He hates ryriks, and to see Jace just brings it all back. It’s preventing him from thinking logically. All he sees in Jace is what happened to his family and the possibility of it happening here.”

“Jace isn’t like that,” Rayad assured him.

Trask nodded, willing to believe that was true. “I know, but Holden doesn’t—or rather, he can’t accept it. And I believe there’s more behind this than is apparent.”

He glanced at Holden. Everyone knew his story. The newest camp members should too. Perhaps it would help bring understanding.

“He has his own past he’s dealing with. He was an informant for the emperor before coming to know Elôm. The information he collected led to many lost lives, and he despises himself. He’s driven now to protect people and make up for what he did. Between the fear and the condemnation, I think he’s turned Jace into a threat he feels the need to protect everyone from.”

Rayad looked over his shoulder as his expression softened. He shook his head and spoke quietly. “Those two have more in common than they realize.”

Holden stared into the smoldering logs of the fire. His mood matched the crackling heat. He gave Jace, who still sat at the edge of camp, a brief glance and ground his teeth together. Every time he looked at him, he saw it again—the scene of his parents’ brutal murders. And he’d been helpless—utterly helpless to stop it. Had the neighbors not shown up, he would have been tortured and killed too. But he wasn’t helpless now. He wouldn’t risk seeing such senseless bloodshed again. Jace was dangerous. He was one-hundred percent convinced of that. Why couldn’t Trask see it?

“How did that go?”

Holden looked up, and one of the men nodded toward Trask. He swallowed down the acidic burn in his throat.

“Not well. He refuses to send Jace away.”

“Well, maybe everything will be fine,” another man said.

“No,” Holden snapped. The bloody images ever lurking at the edges of his mind wouldn’t allow him to believe that.
Not for a moment. “As much as I respect him, Trask just doesn’t understand the risk. He hasn’t seen what I’ve seen. None of us will be safe as long as Jace is around, do you understand?
None
of us. And I’m afraid if someone doesn’t do what needs to be done, we’ll all suffer for it.”

Across the fire, his eyes caught the three Korvic brothers exchanging a glance. They were just crazy enough to try something stupid, and Holden didn’t mind letting them.

Kyrin wasn’t sure what she hated more—observing during Daican’s meetings or sitting with Mister Foss for hours as he grudgingly shared mounds of information about all the prominent lords in Arcacia. She understood it would aid her in her job, but even she could only take so much at a time. Especially when her mind kept wandering back to the incident in the library earlier that morning and her failure. Every thought of it made her miserable.

Mister Foss, on the other hand, just wanted to get it over with and didn’t appreciate her lack of attention. She often caught him grumbling about already having enough work to do without needing to instruct her on top of it. Kyrin tried not to take offense, but every comment wrung the muscles in her neck and back tighter and tighter. After all, she didn’t want to do this either.

Still trying to absorb the overload of information, Kyrin walked wearily toward her room for a little alone time before returning to work for the remainder of the afternoon. If only it were closer to bedtime. To lie down for even just a few moments and close her eyes would be heavenly, but she wouldn’t dare for fear of drifting off.

“Miss Altair.”

The icy female voice stopped Kyrin in her tracks. Her stomach squeezed like a fist, and she had to battle all her nerves to turn and face the princess.

“Yes, my lady?”

Davira strode toward her and tipped her head a little as she peered at Kyrin. “I thought it was time for the staff to pray and worship.”

Kyrin hesitated for the briefest moment to calculate the time. “It is, my lady. I was just going to my room. That’s where I always pray. It’s quiet, and there are no distractions.”

Davira’s unblinking eyes bored into hers as if sifting for information. Kyrin’s heartbeat echoed in her ears, and a tremor passed down her back. Afraid it would visibly work its way through the rest of her body, she asked in as steady a voice as possible, “Is there anything you need, my lady?”

But it rasped at the end, and she swallowed.

“No,” Davira replied a little too slowly. She tipped her chin up. “I won’t keep you.”

With a brief curtsy, Kyrin turned. Davira’s eyes scorched her all the way down the hall. Fighting every impulse, she forced herself to walk casually. The moment she stepped into the solitude of her room, she sagged back against the closed door and dragged in a breath. She thought she might be sick. Two perilous confrontations in one day. She closed her eyes and tried to swallow, but her mouth turned to chalk. Had she been convincing enough? Or did the princess suspect her of disloyalty?
Oh, Elôm, I don’t know if I can do this. Protect me, please.

In the days following his rescue from slavery, the forest had always provided Jace with the solitude he needed. Now, once again, he sought such solitude. Even when Holden wasn’t nearby, camp was unbearable. The men, influenced by Holden’s warnings, still kept their distance, casting suspicious looks, or speaking quietly in small groups. Exactly what people always did around
him.

So he took to the woods and spent long hours with no one but Tyra while he contemplated his future. It couldn’t go on like this. But what future did he have anywhere? People like Kalli and Aldor just didn’t exist. He’d never find anyone like them again. Never find a home like that. It didn’t leave him with much choice other than a solitary life somewhere civilization could not find him.

Tyra broke him out of these thoughts and put a pause to his aimless wandering. Her growl warned him they were no longer alone. He followed her intense stare and spotted three young men weaving through the trees. The Korvic brothers. Out of everyone in camp, he disliked them the most right after Holden. They were loud, obnoxious, and had little respect for anyone. Much like Morden.

He knew the moment they spotted him. They stopped abruptly, muttering in hushed tones, and adjusted their course straight for him. Tyra released another low rumble in her throat. Even she knew they were up to no good.

“Easy, Tyra,” Jace murmured. He wasn’t about to let her do something Holden could use against her. The brothers drew nearer, and he commanded her, “Back.”

She looked up at him, eyes questioning, and he repeated his command. Obediently, she turned and trotted a few yards away, but her gaze remained fixed on him. By now, the Korvic brothers were drawing into his personal space. A shiver of warning needled Jace’s skin, but he stood his ground.

“What do you want?” he asked in a low voice as Brody, the oldest, came face to face with him. The two younger ones spread out on either side. He gave them each a cold glance.

“What do we want?” Brody’s lips curled in an insolent smirk as he glanced at one of his brothers. “What we want is for you to leave. You’re not welcome in camp,
half-blood
.”

Jace fought the spark of heat in his chest, clenching and unclenching his fists

“Do you hear me?” Brody demanded, getting in his face, though he was shorter. “You’re to leave camp and never come back. Nobody wants you here.”

That might be true, but Jace would leave on his own terms. He
wouldn’t be ordered out like some animal by these three. Looking Brody straight on, he said, “No.”

Brody’s eyes narrowed. “You will go. It just depends on what condition you want to go in.”

Jace glanced down to Brody’s balled fists. The brothers aimed to fight him. He ground his teeth together as his fighting instinct kicked in. It would be a pleasure to knock all three of them senseless, yet this thought carried a warning. If he gave them the beating they deserved, it would only confirm everything the men in camp believed about him. It would prove him dangerous. But did he care?

Somewhere, buried deep inside, the answer was yes. Wasn’t that why he had purposely gone without a single weapon so there would be less chance of ever hurting or killing anyone again? He breathed out and turned away from Brody. For the briefest moment, a confirming sensation
that he’d done the right thing brought a hint of peace to his mind, but a hand latched onto his arm and yanked him back around. Before he could react, Brody’s knuckles plowed into his jaw.

Fire burst through Jace’s body like molten metal. Brody didn’t even regain his balance from the swing before Jace’s hard fist caught him in the cheekbone. The young man staggered and almost went to the ground. His two brothers jumped in to help and each grabbed one of Jace’s arms. He wrenched away from them, and nearly broke their hold. In a second attempt, he would have succeeded, but it struck him what was happening. His ryrik blood was taking over and driving him to fight, just as it always did. Maybe the accusations were right; maybe he was a monster.
Just let them win
, the thought whispered in his mind.
Do what you should have done in the arena.