I snatched it from his hands, tearing apart the cramped handwriting. Gaige. He’d pieced my past and present together. The ceiling and walls converged in an onslaught of shadows, and my stomach hardened to solid rock.
And Darrien had read every word of it.
My vision tunneled, and I crumpled the parchment into a ball. “Darrien saw this.”
Kost slumped into his chair. “Fuck.”
Fuck indeed.
Nine
The Frozen Prince
50 years ago
As I walked back to camp with Kostya by my side, evidence of our battle was everywhere. People hurried about while commanders barked orders to establish a night patrol. Others still carried armor and weapons to the temporary blacksmith for repair. More were heading toward a line of campfires where pigs roasted on spits, the scent of ale and smoke already thick in the air. A smile tugged at my lips. I’d have to introduce Kostya to Thaleus.
Turning to the assassin, I was about to offer him a place by the fire when a foot soldier from Thaleus’s unit rushed toward me. He came to a screeching halt and offered a haphazard bow before righting himself.
“Sir, Thaleus has been injured.”
All thoughts of ale and good conversation fled in a breath. “What happened?”
The man fumbled for words. “I…I don’t know. I didn’t see. He just collapsed.”
My world narrowed, and I barely tossed Kostya a glance before pushing past the soldier and sprinting toward the medical tent. The white canopy dominated my vision. “Where is he?” I burst through the open flaps, only to find rows and rows of bodies strewn on cots. Some were covered head to toe in sheets, a ghastly declaration of death. Others were propped up on pillows, bandaged and bleeding, with frantic attendants rushing from bed to bed. I snared the first one who hurried by and forced her to meet my gaze. “Where. Is. He?”
She paled but nodded toward the far end of the tent. I released her the moment I spotted Thaleus’s scraggly beard. He laid quietly between two cots. The man on his left screamed wordlessly as healers attempted to set his broken leg. The cot on his right was silent, the outline of a body decipherable beneath a sheet. I hated how close they put him to those who’d already passed through to the realm of the gods. Crossing the tent quickly, I came to his side and gripped his clammy hands in mine.
Weak eyes stared up at me. “Aleksander.”
I swallowed the rock in my throat. “What happened to that ale?”
A brittle laugh scraped through his chest. “Might have to wait on that.”
“Where are you hurt?” I scoured the length of his body, searching for wounds or bandages only to come up empty-handed. And yet, the ashen tint to his skin spoke volumes, and I tightened my hold on his fingers.
“Nowhere. You think some Rhyne soldiers would get the best of me?” His words were weak, and he paused for a moment to catch his breath before continuing. “I’ll be fine come morning. Just need some rest.”
My heart gave a pitiful thud. Not a single soldier had survived the plague. Priests and priestesses were brought in, and still no one could get a grip on the sickness rampaging through my camp. And while I couldn’t possibly be held responsible for something as uncontrollable as this, I couldn’t help but blame myself. This entire war was because of me. Because I’d fallen in love with a Rhyne princess and slighted the High Priestess. Her curse had killed my love, and yet Amira’s parents hadn’t believed me. No one believed me. Even now, when the battles were done and men crowded around fires with ales in their hands, there were whispers. Frustrations. They had all believed my claim once. But too much death had soured their perceptions. I didn’t blame them—curses were rare and hardly left proof. Whether or not I had ended Amira’s life, I was responsible for her death.
“Hey, stop that.” Thaleus wrenched his hand free to place it gently on my forearm. “I can see those wheels turning. This isn’t your fault. I’ll be fine by morning, just you wait. Now, get out of here. You don’t need to see,”—he winced as a piercing shriek split the air—“or hear any of this.”
“Thaleus…” Words failed to form, and my chest tightened. What would I do once he was gone? Who would I joke with or share ales with or let myself just be with? No one wanted to brush elbows with the prince who started it all. If