A Hand Weaving Chaos (Book 2 of The Fallen Gods Trilogy)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Brexten waited in the sitting room, expression remote, arms crossed over his chest. He stood amidst of a scattering of chessboards. Callista and Aden were there as well. Callista perched on the edge of her wingback chair, a small pack slung over her shoulder and two larger carrying cases on the ground. Aden sat slumped forward in his chair. His eyes were closed and he pressed a cloth to the base of his skull. Jill gasped at the traces of blood she saw on the cloth.

"Rayna clubbed him over the head and knocked him out cold. That's why you had no warning," Rafe explained.

"Will he be all right?" she asked.

Aden opened one eye to squint at her. "I'm fine. Just need some resaden sap for the pain. Healing spell might be nice too."

Callista turned. An enormous bruise highlighted her left cheek. She had a cut on her lower lip and red welts along her neck and the part of her shoulders that Jill could see. She looked skittish and frazzled, her nerves pulled tautly by unseen hands. Jill felt the bile rise in her throat. Had that been Callista's reward from Tamas for her part in the Inbastra jailbreak? Yes, and probably a good deal worse.

"Where's Ishrian?" Brexten asked. "She and her maid were supposed to wait with you."

"Where's Father?" Callista cried in response, her voice high and agitated. "You said he was coming with us."

"He doesn't want to leave the palace. He says he'll stay until the end," Brexten answered, arms still crossed. "Rafe, go find the Princess—"

"Forget about her! I don't care what she does! Father needs our help. Couldn't you see how sick he is? We can't leave him here! He'll die here alone without us."

Brexten remained calm. "He's made his wishes abundantly clear."

"Absolutely not! The man's senile. He doesn't understand what he's saying, let alone what you're asking. He's lost his mind. He has to come with us."

He turned to his sister, placing his hands on her slim shoulders. "No Calli, he's perfectly rational. This is where he wants to be and we must accept that. Now, we need to leave before—"

Callista tore away from him, eyes huge in her face. "We can't... I can't leave him! I can't go knowing he's still here with no one to look after him! We have to—"

"Listen to me. He wants to remain. He thinks his place is here as King."

"No, you listen! I am not leaving without him. Even after all that's happened, I can't. I won't."

Shaking herself free of her brother's hands, she turned and bolted to the bedroom. For a moment, she fought with the brass door handle, wrestling with it when it refused to give.

"Father! Daddy! Open the door! Let me in! You have to come with us! Please Daddy!" she screamed, pounding at the door.

Brexten lunged after her. "Calli, please! He doesn't want this."

"Let go of me, you bastard! He has to come with us! He has to!"

The two scuffled. It was obvious that Brexten didn't want to hurt his sister. Even still, Callista was the quicker, managing to swing the door wide before Brexten could prevent her. It opened, spilling them both inside and into the room beyond, out of sight. Brexten's shout was the last sound they heard before absolute silence descended.

Moments ticked by. Nothing happened. The quiet stretched. A puzzled look passed over Rafe's face replaced by one of panic before he too sprinted into the bedroom. Jill followed quickly behind, wincing as pain flared throughout her body and abused muscles protested. A terrible sense of dread took her. What was it the King said and what had he hinted at? That he wanted to play the game on his own terms, ending it as he saw fit. Yet, he was dying and no one could be sure how much time he had left. That he had clung to life only long enough to speak with Jill. And after that...