The Midnight Storm (A New Dawn #2)

Chapter 47 - Sebastian (Part 2)

His shoulders slumped down, and with it, his hair fell like the leaves of a weeping willow. As thick, sobbing tears flowed over his cheek and dripped onto the blanket, he allowed the sour stench of urine and old rotten blood to embrace him, to wash away the God of Pride and allow Humility in his heart. His eagerness to save George had been his downfall. Had the army swept over the base two sunsets ago, The General of this country wouldn't have... wouldn't have...

A temporary opening of his soul granted access to the God of Wrath. 

Sebastian pounded his knuckles against the mouldy, pratically waterlogged, planks in sheer frustration and helplessness. Uncle Tom would never forgive him for believing Captain Jonathan's foolish tales of cheering crowds and a restored reputation. All for what? Not for making any difference. He had achieved nothing, only wasted time as he had put his own life in danger. He, the only heir to the Greenlander throne; irreplaceable.

"You were right. I am a stubborn Muttonhead. The biggest of them all."

He brushed his forehead against George's bare shoulder. Sticky. Clammy. Hot, feverishly hot.

A short gasp escaped Sebastian.

Holding onto his knife, he pressed his knuckles against George's throat.

The wait was agonising. Then, faintly, behind the grey-streaked prickly beard that had clumped together in dirt and sweat, resounded a slowed-down heartbeat.

"Don't pretend you're dead when you're not." Sebastian hit him with the knife's hilt, forcing a smile through his tears. "This is already difficult enough."

George remained silent as he scooped an arm around him. Unable to let go of his weapons, Sebastian heaved with all the might in his muscles. Pulling the man up was a chore, an impossible chore. A sweat broke out on his forehead as he tried and tried, yet the General remained as manoeuvrable as a bag of potatoes. In this case, the equivalent of three or four.

Finally, Sebastian managed to get him to sit up against the bar. As he removed his arm, George's body sagged. Like he didn't want to live anymore.

"I won't leave without you, you know!" he shouted. "It's either both of us, or neither of us. I can't face Uncle Tom alone."

George groaned.

"Do you want to say something?" Sebastian leant forward, his ear close to George's lips. "Whisper it, if that helps."

A warm and weak puff of air was all he felt as a sudden crack caught his attention.

He spun on his knees to turn around, the inconveniently long lance slower than the rest of his body, the point at the wrong end. With his fingers failing to keep a proper grip, he only raised the knife at the intruder.

Ten feet, maybe less, between him and the broken point of a broadhead arrow ready to make its next victim. A dark, thick moustache broke out in boisterous laughter. The four sycamore leaves on his collar seemed to shake with him.

"So... is this how Crown Prince Sebastian plans to take over my base?" Captain Frank snarled, mocking him. "I don't think I have anything to worry about, then. All I see is an overgrown cub with bright blue eyes staring down my crossbow." He took a step forward. "Drop the knife. Hands where I can see them."

"I thought I was just an overgrown cub," Sebastian taunted him. He needed to keep the crooked Captain busy.

"If you're trying to be funny—you're not. I'm giving you a second chance, not a third."

Slowly, Sebastian first brought his hands up, then released the hilt. The knife tumbled down, bouncing first on his thigh before it landed mere inches from his knee, still within reach.