The Bloodbound (30 page)

Erik felt his own temper stir. “Has it occurred to you, Liam, that your life might not actually be so terrible if you just learned to take some initiative? The gods know you had a difficult childhood, but that's behind you now. You don't have to be a victim of circumstance anymore.”

“Is that so?” Liam's scowl darkened. “Well I must be a bloody idiot, because here I thought my life was still being dictated by my blood.” He looked uncomfortable as soon as he'd said it, no doubt realising how ridiculous it was to complain of his royal blood to the King of Alden.

“I'm not forcing anything on you,” Erik said. “I'm giving you the option to
choose
. Gods' blood, man, you're like a prisoner who doesn't know what to do with an open cell door! Decide what you want, and
take it
!”

Liam sprang to his feet so suddenly that Erik reeled back, momentarily convinced that his brother meant to strike him. But the anger in Liam's eyes was eclipsed by something else, something nearer to grief. “You think I don't know what I want? Well, you're wrong. But it isn't that simple, is it? You're the king—I shouldn't have to explain to you about duty and sacrifice and all the rest.”

Erik broke away from his brother's gaze. Words tumbled uselessly in his head, his mind refusing to grab hold of any of them. His tongue sat rebelliously idle. He had goaded Liam this far, but now that they were on the brink of it, he had seemingly lost his nerve.
One thing. I asked for one thing for myself.

But that was not true. He had asked for two things. The gods had given him a choice, and he had already made it. He would not look back now. “You don't have to step aside for me, Liam,” he said quietly. “Not anymore.”

He was met with silence. When he looked up, Liam was watching him with a wary expression. Erik could not bring himself to say it any more clearly, so he waited for Liam to draw his own conclusions.

“I'm not sure I know what you're talking about,” Liam said.

“I'm quite sure you do,” Erik returned, his voice strangely expressionless. He felt numb, his nerves buzzing like the white noise of the sea.

Panic flickered across Liam's face. “Wait . . . did she tell you? I mean, are we really talking about . . . ?”

“She didn't tell me, and more's the pity.” The words could have sounded bitter, but Erik had already spent his anger on that point. All that remained was emptiness.

Liam sat down heavily, looking a little ill. “I'm . . . not sure what to say.”

That makes two of us.
They sat in silence, listening to the wind rustling through the rosebushes. Liam furrowed his brow, as though he were choosing his next words carefully. “Are you . . . Are you saying it's over between you?”

Erik's reply stuck briefly in his throat before forcing its way out. “I'm saying it never began.”

Liam's frown deepened. “I don't understand. What about the engagement? You and Alix were supposed to . . .”

Supposed to.
Erik had believed that once, believed it with the force of fate. That belief was gone now. In its place, there was only a hollow space. “It was discussed,” he said. “Highmount wanted to send a signal to the Greys, and to others considering throwing their lot in with Tom. But the Greys are disgraced, and Tom is no longer a factor. For the moment at least, my enemies have no one to rally behind. I still need a bride, it's true, but it does not have to be today, and it does not have to be Alix.”

“So you're going to give her up? Just like that?”

Just like that? I should hit you, you ass.
“I'm not giving her up, Liam, because I never had her. Believe it or not, I do not consider the royal prerogative to extend to Alix's heart. She makes her own choices.”

“Of course she does!” He flushed all the same. “I just thought . . . this whole time . . .”

Erik dropped his head between his knees, laughing humourlessly. “You know something? You
are
a bloody idiot. You've been in such a quality sulk that you haven't even seen what's right in front of you.” He looked up, and he could feel his eyes burning. Liam shrank a little beneath his stare, but he didn't care. “That ring of yours? Alix has been wearing it for months. She never took it off, at least not that I saw. She chose you a long time ago, or at least she would have, if you'd let her. But instead you've been too busy revelling in your martyrdom. Forgive me, Liam, but I'm well and truly tired of being your excuse to hide behind your own self-doubt. I've offered you what I can. Take it or leave it, but I have nothing left.”
Nothing at all.

He stood abruptly, wanting nothing more than to be away from this place.

Liam, for his part, stared down at his boots. His cheeks were flushed, though whether from anger or embarrassment, Erik could not tell. “You could give Arran Green a go when it comes to lecturing,” he said. “I don't think I've been told off that thoroughly since I was a squire.”

Erik blew out a long, weary sigh. “That's what older brothers are for, Liam.”

He retreated to the head of the path, where his guards waited. Instinctively, he reached inside for the discipline to wipe his face clear of emotion, but he found he did not need it. His step was surprisingly light, considering what had just happened. It was as though some hitherto unknown burden had been lifted. It left a hole behind, and there was pain, certainly. But it was not etched in hard lines, as he might have expected. Instead, it was painted in the soft hues of a watercolour.

The first hint of rain spattered the pathway. The rosebushes ducked and shuddered under its touch. Wind gathered and gusted, and a moment later, the sky opened up in earnest.

Absurdly, Erik found himself smiling.

F
our shadows prowled the inner walls of the Red Tower, circling Erik like a pack of wolves as he climbed. The rest of the pack waited for him at the top of the narrow stone steps, swirling around each other hungrily, their forms growing darker as the men casting the shadows drew near. Torchlight bathed the windowless walls in a bloody hue, but it was not the glow of the torches that gave the Red Tower its name. Erik stood aside as one of his guards pushed open a thick door banded in iron, and his gaze fell upon the machine. He hated the sight of it—always had—and he tried to avert his eyes as they walked past. But inevitably, he found himself staring at its sinister iron skeleton, its spikes and cranks and rollers, and picturing some poor, wretched creature pinned to it by his own flesh.

I should have had that thing removed years ago.
It must weigh an unholy ton, but there had to be a way to move it. It did not belong within the palace walls, not even in the Red Tower. This place was a prison now, not some barbaric Erromanian hell where Onnani rebels and enemies of the emperor met their slow and agonising end. Erik swore he could still smell the blood, but perhaps that was just the sharp scent of iron from the dozens of rusted manacles dangling from the ceiling. They grasped at his shoulders as he weaved his way through, their touch cold as death.
I'll have this floor torn out
, he vowed,
as soon as the war is over.
Perhaps he should have the whole tower pulled down. There were better prisons in Erroman now, civilised places built to incarcerate men, not break them. Only the worst criminals in the land were still kept in the Red Tower—murderers, rapists, and, of course, traitors.

Traitors like Prince Tomald White.

Erik paused at the foot of the last flight of stairs. The air seemed colder above, though that was probably his imagination.
What good can come of this?
a voice inside him whispered. But he had no choice. Whatever else Tom might be, he was Erik's brother.

He made his way to the fourth floor. Alix and his other guards tightened around him. She had been prepared to give him space until now, but by the time they reached Tom's door, she stood right at his elbow, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. As the jailer fumbled with his keys, Erik said, “I will go in alone.” Alix started to object, but he raised a hand and said, “There's nothing to fear. He is unarmed, and you will be right on the other side of this door.”

“What good is that?” The words were scarcely out of her mouth before she coloured. Alix's occasional flashes of insolence were rarely so ill-timed as this, and she knew it. She gave a stiff little bow. “I apologise, Your Majesty. It's just . . . this makes me extremely uncomfortable.”

“We are all of us uncomfortable, Alix.”

She flushed deeper and nodded, and when the jailer pushed the door inward, she stood aside without even baring her blade.

Tom sat beneath the window with his back to the wall, one arm draped across his knee. He made no move to stand as Erik entered. He did not even raise his head.

“Hello, Tom.”

“I expected you yesterday.”

“I wasn't ready for you yesterday.” He was not ready now.

“Too busy laying battle plans?” Tom asked, looking up at last. A little smirk of contempt hitched one corner of his mouth.
For me
, Erik wondered,
or himself?
“I hear the enemy is moving faster than we thought. Less than a week away, they tell me. Will you evacuate the city?” Seeing Erik hesitate, his smile widened. “How much you have changed, brother. Not so long ago, you thought your charm enough to keep every man in the kingdom pecking out of your hand like a sweet songbird. Now you think your hold so weak that I might betray your plans to the enemy, even locked up in here.”

“I didn't come here to discuss the Oridians.”

Tom's gaze took in the bandage on Erik's forearm. “New sword?”

“I didn't come here to discuss bloodblades, either.”

“Why did you come?”

“To decide,” Erik said wearily.

Tom snorted and shook his head. “When you broke your word at the parley, I dared to hope you had grown up at last, but perhaps that was wishful thinking. What is there to decide, Erik? You know what must be done. Why come here and make it harder on yourself?”

“Because you're my brother. That may not mean anything to you, but—”

“Fool!”
Tom shot to his feet so suddenly that Erik took an involuntary step back. “It doesn't matter! You are
king
, and I am a traitor! We are not just men, you and I. We don't have that luxury. You've never understood that! You should have married Sirin and made an heir. You should have had the bastard's head off the moment Father died. You should have thrown me in here months ago, when I made it clear I would never support your war. Time and again, you avoid the difficult decisions. Enough, Erik! It's time to be a king!”

“Is that what you were doing on that bluff at Boswyck? Being a king?”

The fury fled Tom's eyes as quickly as it had come. He turned and went to the window. It was little more than a square cut from the stone, not even wide enough for a child to crawl through, but it let in the air. Tom drew deeply of it before answering. “Varad wrote to me before we left Erroman. His spies must have heard us arguing, knew I opposed the war. Still, the sheer audacity of it . . .” He shook his head. “I burned the letter and didn't think of it again, until . . .”

A long pause. When Tom spoke again, he sounded hollow. Scraped out. “I sat atop that bluff and looked down over the enemy, and I knew we could not win. Even the Pack wouldn't have been enough to tip the balance in our favour. The battle was lost before it began.”

“You could have signalled to me. I would have sounded the retreat.”

“Yes.” Tom turned back around and met his eye. “But you would have regrouped and insisted we fight another battle. And another battle after that, again and again, until the last Kingsword fell.”

Erik could not deny it.

“I didn't even
decide
, not truly.” Tom's gaze took on a faraway look. “I just turned my horse and signalled the men. Some followed, some didn't. I barely remember the ride. But I remember the sounds.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I will never forget the sounds.”

“Nor I,” Erik said, his voice thick in his throat. “Any more than I will forget the eyes of the man who tried to plunge a knife into my heart as I walked among my own men. Alix saved my life, and nearly paid for it with her own. The woman I . . .” He swallowed. “The woman sworn to protect me. How do you justify
that
to yourself, brother?”

“This again. You spoke of it at the parley.” Tom shook his head in disgust. “I should have known Grey would not stop at mere bribery. He has been busy, it seems.”

“You blame Grey?”

“I've just admitted leaving you to die on the battlefield, Erik. Why would I lie about this?”

It was true, Erik supposed; he had no reason to lie. And the gods knew Roswald Grey was capable of it. “You had no idea what he plotted?”

“It seems you are not the only one blindly confident in the faith of his followers.” Tom flashed a bitter smile. “I knew what he was, and I knew how badly he wanted Sirin to share the crown. I should have known he would stoop to anything. His little White Raven scheme . . . I went along with it willingly enough. I thought that if I had enough allies, I could persuade you to step aside without a fight.”

“You would still have had me executed.”

“Yes.” He looked Erik right in the eye as he said it. “I would have. But not because I wanted you to die. Whatever you might think of me . . . You are my brother, Erik. I never wanted . . .” He faltered, his whole body seeming to wilt like a sail with no wind to fill it, and for a long moment he stared at the floor, empty. Then his hands curled into fists at his side, and he drew himself up again, taut and strong. “I did what I had to do, but I would never have agreed to send some back-alley brigand to do my work for me. There is no honour in that.”

Honour. After all this, he still believes he has acted honourably.
A ghost materialised before Erik, a small, black-haired boy with fierce blue eyes. “I'm Eldrik the Lion,” the boy said as he duelled his brother with a wooden sword. He was always Eldrik the Lion. Erik had played them all—kings and conquerors and great champions, every paragon worthy of a place on the Gallery of Heroes. But Tom had only ever had one hero, a king renowned for his prudence—and his brutal justice.
I wonder how Eldrik would have dealt with Prince Tom the traitor?
Erik thought he knew the answer.

Tom was facing ghosts of his own. The faraway look had returned. “Sirin. What will become of her?”

“I don't know.”

“She is blameless in this. I swear it.”

“I believe you.”

Tom turned back to the window. “You should go,” he said, his voice as cold and spent as a heap of ash. “The longer you stay here, the more your resolve will weaken. You know what you must do.”

I can't.
He dared not say it aloud. Tom would only despise him for it.

“All I ask is that you do it by your own hand, and quietly. Don't make a spectacle of me.”

Erik sighed, a long, tortured thing that felt ragged in his throat.

“Your regret is misplaced,” Tom growled, a cinder coming to life amid the ashes. “If the situation were reversed, I would not hesitate. I have committed high treason, and if you don't put me to death, all the realm will know you for a weak king. The nobility is divided. You dare not misstep now. You must—”

“
Enough
, Tom. I don't need your lectures anymore.”
I never did
, he wanted to say, but it was too late for that.
Let him die with his delusions. They are all he has.

“Good.” Tom leaned against the window, nodding to himself. “You have changed, it's true. War has made you stronger. What's the saying—
It takes hammer and flame to forge a sword
. I thought I was the sword, but perhaps I mistook myself. Perhaps I mistook us both. No matter. If I have not played the part I thought I would, at least I played a part. I am at peace.”

Erik turned on his heel and left. He did not say farewell. He wanted those words to be the last he ever heard from his brother. If he tried hard enough, he might even believe them.

*   *   *

Evening found Erik
at his desk, rubbing his eyes for the umpteenth time. The correspondence he was supposed to be reading blurred beneath his bleary gaze, refusing to resolve itself into comprehensible lines. Ordinarily, he would have allowed himself a pause, but there was no point. Should he break off from his work, he would find only dark thoughts waiting for him.

“Is there anything I can get you?” Alix asked from somewhere over his shoulder.

Half a dozen sarcastic replies floated through his mind before he settled for, “No, thank you.”

“You'll wear yourself out, Erik.”

“I'm long past worn out, Alix.” He felt her hand squeeze his shoulder, and he put his own over hers. “I'll be fine,” he said more firmly. “Now is not the time for me to start feeling sorry for myself.”

Her reply was cut off by a knock at the door. Alix strode across the study and opened it a crack, sticking her head out through the gap. Erik heard a murmured exchange.

“It's Liam.” She cocked a questioning eyebrow. Erik nodded, and she stood aside, letting Liam pass.

“Your Majesty.” Liam ducked his head awkwardly. He glanced at Alix, then back at Erik. “Er,” he said.

Erik understood. “Alix, could you excuse us for a moment?”

“Certainly.” She vanished from the study as though only too happy to oblige.

“Have a seat.” Erik gestured at the chair across his desk. “What's on your mind?”

Liam lowered himself into the chair, avoiding Erik's eye. “I wanted to talk to you about the other day.”

“That's not necessary . . .”

“Yes it is. Just hear me out, please.” He blew out a breath, as though steeling himself, and met Erik's gaze.

“Very well.” Erik sincerely hoped he was not in for another tantrum. He doubted his ability to cope gracefully just now.

“I've been thinking a lot about what you said, and you're right—I have been using you as a sort of excuse. About a lot of things, but especially about”—he dropped his voice until it was barely above a whisper—“about Alix.”

“All right,” Erik said, for lack of anything better.

“For the longest time after my mother died, all I wanted was to find my way back to a family. A
real
family. Not that Arran Green wasn't . . . you know . . . Anyway, I used to lie awake at night and wonder what my father was like. I wondered if he loved my mother, whether he still thought about her sometimes. I thought about you too, and Tom. I used to imagine you being curious about me, asking all sorts of questions about who I was and what I was doing. I pretended that you wanted to come and find me, and that one day the three of us would escape together and have all sorts of adventures.” Liam looked a little embarrassed, but he was smiling, and Erik found he was smiling too.

The moment was short-lived. Liam sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “So if all that's true, why am I being such an ungrateful
git
? Here you are, offering me a family after all this time, and all I do is throw it back in your face.” Erik started to reply, but Liam cut him off again. “Don't, Erik. Don't make excuses for me. I've made enough of them for myself.”

Erik could only stare in mild amazement, some part of him registering that Liam had just called him by his given name for the first time.

“When you asked me to stand with you at the parley,” Liam continued, “you said that in times like these, a man needs his family more than anything else. You were right about that too. What I wanted to tell you the other day, what I was too clumsy and angry and
stupid
to say properly, is that you'll never know how much I appreciate being given the chance to be your brother. And I promise that from now on, you won't have cause to regret it. You had the strength to put your own feelings aside so that we could be brothers, and I can do no less.”