Warlord and the Waif by Chloe Parker

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CALDER

I HAVEN’T SWUNG my axe like this since I was cursed.

I rage at my enemies, hurling threats along with blows in the fashion of my people. The Hyperborean guards fall before me like sheets of paper, their puny weapons and small stature nothing compared to my might. A shot glances off my cuirass, but the Skoll-cured leather protects me, the shot bouncing back in my enemy’s face.

I see Ella run across the bridge and the gate coming back together, and breathe a short sigh of relief. Then a guard leaps onto my back, and I swing wildly to get him off me. I hear the slice of a thin blade, and then he falls. When I turn to look, Portia is standing over him, a splash of blue blood across her face.

She gives me a wild grin, and I raise my weapon.

It’s good to fight together once again.

More guards approach, and more guards fall. And then the heads of the Delegation are upon us, Ioni leading them and hovering in the air. She opens her mouth in a horrible scream, and I fall to the ground, clutching at my scars. Something about the sound irritates my curse, makes me burn…

I pass out.

When I wake, I’m locked in Kaer Idunn’s dungeon.

Old hay litters the floors, moisture dripping from the damp ceiling and creating a sour odor through the whole room. I’m locked behind a heavy iron door with bars in the window, and I don’t rise to try them; I know for a fact that they can keep even the strongest warriors confined. This place once saw far more use, when I was new to my role and angry at the world. Once, I ruled Oddí with an iron fist, quashing any resistance to Hyperborean rule and toeing the line in the hope that my overlords would one day find a way to lift my curse.

I hope my old crew, who I so wronged all those years ago, will forgive me and shelter Ella now.

My tattoos sear my shoulders, the pain excruciating as Ella grows further away from me. I hold out hope that she will return to me when it’s safe, and that we can break this curse together. But trapped in this cell, I don’t even know what the Hyperboreans will do with me next.

Footsteps sound from outside the door and I drag my eyes up to the barred window with some effort. When I don’t see a set of black eyes looking at me, I rise and walk carefully over, my body on fire the whole way.

Lucien stands on the opposite side of the door, the Ardaxian twitching his antennae sheepishly as he stares at the floor. He glances up at me and then his glowing eyes widen.

“Lord Calder,” he says, “You took quite the beating.”

I raise my hand to feel for what he’s referring to and I find lacerations all over my face, including a nasty gash across my cheekbone. I wince at the sensation and Lucien extends a hand toward the window, grasping a vial of blue liquid. I take it and pocket it with a grateful nod.

“I brought you some salve,” he mutters, “I assumed the curse must pain you here alone, especially given your lack of care since the handmaiden’s escape.”

“So she got away?” I muse, wrapping my hands around the bars, “And Portia — she’s alright?”

“Over here, boss,” I hear her voice echo down the hall.

Lucien shakes his head in annoyance.

“The girl is savvy, I’ll give her that,” he says, “She seems to get away with whatever she puts her mind to.”

“You dislike her,” I grumble, turning to pace away from the door, “Why?”

“She’s caused an awful lot of trouble,” he tuts, “Like I said when she first arrived, I doubt the purchase was worth it. I’m not sure what you see in her.”

“Well,” I sigh, “I’ve fallen quite in love with her.”

“Tale as old as time,” Lucien scoffs, shaking his head, “You fell in love with the female and put us all in jeopardy. No, Calder, I believe there’s more to it than that.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I say.

“Try me.”

I face him. “She’s going to break the curse,” I say, “My pain vanishes when she’s near.”

“That’s absurd,” he says, “We know the witch’s magic is in fact some kind of arcane science; how could what they said about ‘love’ possibly be true? Love is not quantifiable.”

“I don’t know, but I believe she’s the key to what we’ve all been waiting for.” I lean against the bars. “Escape. Freedom.”

Lucien shuffles his feet, though his antennae perk up at my words. I know he wants to get away from Myste just as much as I do; as my navigator, he loved following the stars more than any other. And he’s long outlived his natural life, his family gone like mine, Portia’s, and Ella’s.

We deserve to live and die as we choose, not to be trapped in this limbo.

“If you truly believed this theory, then why did you send her away?” Lucien asks, his voice a thin whisper, “Shouldn’t we have taken her to the ship and ascended tonight? We could have escaped the Hyperboreans then and there.”

“I feared Ioni would take her, and I need more time,” I say, “If love is to grow between us…”

“Yes, yes,” he waves his hand to dismiss me, “Now - I’m sure you’re going to ask, so I’ll stop you there. What would you have me do?”

“Nothing,” I shrug, “We need her back here if we’re to escape, but I know not how to bring her without putting her at risk from Ioni. The magister is out for blood.”

“And where did you send her?”

I examine him closely, narrowing my eyes.

“Did you come here to betray me?”

Lucien snorts.

“M’lord, my only desire is to get off of this rock and back to the stars,” he says, “The Hyperboreans see me as little more than an insect. My best hope is to stay loyal to you, as I have all these years.”

I scrutinize him through the bars, trying to decide if I should risk it. Lucien has been a valuable advisor to me through the centuries, trustworthy even when I was at my lowest.

And I don’t hear a word from Portia; I’m sure she would speak up if she feared the worst.

“I sent her to the Tempest’s Rest,” I mutter.

Lucien squeezes his eyes shut in a wince.

“Jack Kelly,” he says, shaking his head, “You sent here there? To that rapscallion?”

“He was once a steadfast ally.”

“And I recall he assembled a force against you once upon a time, when we first raised Oddí,” Lucien chides, “And you sent poor, innocent Ella in on her own?”

“Ella is neither innocent nor naïve,” I chuckle, “Indeed, I fear more for him than I do for her.”

“I hope you’re right,” Lucien tuts. He taps his feet and then looks at me. “Did you hope he might put on a repeat performance? Storm the castle once again?”

“Perhaps he will,” I say, “And you? What will you do?”

Lucien leans into the bars, glancing around before responding.

“Well, I suppose I’ll wait to let them in,” he says with a wink.

Before I can respond, he spins on his heel and hurries down the hall, passing back up the stairs just as a Hyperborean guard makes his way down. I feel my heart swell as hope rises within me, and the power of old friendships wraps me in its embrace.

Ella should be well on her way to the Tempest’s Rest by now.

At least she’ll be safe. And maybe, just maybe, my old allies will come to my aid once again.