Simon’s lips thinned, and his stare shifted again from Christian to Marcus and back. His eyes lingered thoughtfully on Marcus’s bloody blade before he walked by them into the tent.
Christian glanced at the exit longingly but hesitated. What if more guards were waiting outside? Had they missed their opportunity to flee?
Simon straightened the stool. “Father always favored you,” he said softly.
Christian regarded Simon in confusion. He thought he heard a hint of something in his voice… Was it sadness? Fear? Uncertainty? He had never heard Simon speak like this before.
“I suppose you are lucky to have people who care so much about you that they would risk their lives for you,” Simon added.
Trepidation snaked down Christian’s spine as he met Marcus’s eyes. Did Simon know Marcus was not a soldier?
“In many respects, I am sorry I was not a better brother to you. Perhaps together, we could have stood up to Father.” Simon hovered over the dead man, inspecting him.
Christian narrowed his eyes. Something was wrong. He had expected Simon to degrade him and call him by his nickname, Dalcop, but it never came. “Are you well, Simon?”
“You ask me that when you are the prisoner. You are a better man than any of us. Certainly, better than me. And you have always been better than Father.”
Christian scowled. It was the first time he’d heard Simon say something positive about him. His mood and tone were off. “Why did you come here, Simon?”
Simon glanced at Marcus slyly. He took a seat on the stool. “Father wants to see you.”
“I’ll take him, m’lord,” Marcus said and tugged Christian toward the exit.
Simon’s eyes glinted with amusement as he bowed his head and chuckled to himself.
Christian’s jaw clenched tightly, and his hands balled into fists as he stepped away from Marcus. “What does he want?”
He lifted his brows. “Most likely to make you heir.”
“I don’t want anything from him,” Christian retorted bitterly. “I don’t want his lands nor his title. I want nothing to do with him.”
“He never could understand that. And no matter how much I sought to please him, to be the son he wanted, it was alwaysyouhe wanted.”
The rage bubbling within Christian began to subside, and for the first time in his life, he felt sorry for Simon. He saw the brother he never had. “Simon…”
“Go,” Simon ordered Marcus. “Take him away.” The air in the tent shifted as Simon rose to his feet. His cape billowed out around him, and the ghost of his former self returned. He held his chin high, and his voice was chillingly flat. “I expect never to see you again, brother. Ever.”
Christian frowned in confusion as Marcus pulled him toward the tent flap.
“Father will no longer bother you,” Simon added.
The finality of his brother’s words caused dread to slither up Christian’s back. He wanted to know what his brother meant, but Marcus’s hold was insistent as he pulled him from the tent. Christian’s final image of Simon was him standing inside the prisoner tent, his chin raised and a soft glow of candlelight washing over his black armor.
It wasn’t until much later that Christian would learn his father had been murdered.
The morning sun shone into the church with a golden light, reflecting off the wooden pews and illuminating their tired faces. Through half-lidded, sleepy eyes, Raven watched her sisters from a seat on one of the pews in the back of the church. Willow leaned against a wall, a few feet away from Raven, her eyes fixed on the doorway, waiting for Christian. Sage paced anxiously, ready to begin their exploration again.
They had been up the entire night, examining the stone coffins in the boulders. Finally, exhausted, Raven had ordered them back to the church. A heated argument ensued, but eventually, they had agreed to follow her order. Even though the air was thick with fatigue, nobody slept or accepted Brother Henry’s offer of food and drink. He was a gracious host. And when he asked for Landyn’s help, assuring him it was not vigorous work, Landyn could not say no and followed him into an adjoining room, leaving the Hawke girls alone.
Raven knew Willow was worried about Christian, and it pained her to see her sister so distraught. Willow had held her post at the doorway all morning, and Raven knew she felt guilty for forsaking him, even though she had gone for help. As a Hawke, her instinct was to fight for the ones she loved, but all Willow could do now was wait. “You did the right thing, Willow,” Raven murmured.
“Right thing?” Willow snapped. “If I did the right thing, Christian would be with us now.”
“Marcus will bring him back,” Sage said confidently. “We should return to the crypt.”
Willow spun on her, her jaw clenched, her fists tight. “How do you know?” she demanded. “How do you know Marcus wasn’t captured too?”
Sage put a hand on her hip and raised her eyebrow. “Because I have confidence in him.”
