Page 72 of Memory of Ashes

*

When he awoke the next morning, it was with a sense of impending doom. He’d slept in Tharos and Ruven’s tent that night, but he needed to get back to his own for Battle Plan.

He couldn’t face Amelia.

The generals stood around the map in Casyl’s tent, ready to hash out their next strategy.

The best option now would be to end the war quickly without losing too many of their own men.

There was no movement from over the hill as the enemy were clearly licking their wounds, which gave Casyl and his generals time to reconsider strategy. They would reconvene later.

“Tharos, stay behind, would you?” Casyl said.

They waited until all the generals had filtered out of the tent.

“What happened? I can tell by your face that something did,” Tharos said.

“I made a mistake,” Casyl replied. He had to tell someone what had happened, someone whom he trusted, who would know the gravity of his mistake.

“Last night, we were alone, Amelia and I…”

Tharos’s mouth opened, his eyebrows raised.

“What have you done? He’ll find out, you know he will, and use this against you.”

“I couldn’t stop it,” Casyl said quietly.

“You should have tried harder!”

“I don’t think I can do this to her.” Casyl’s voice wavered. “Curse it. I was weak, and my senses were impaired. What am I going to do?”

“You shouldn’t have been alone with her. We shouldn’t even be talking about this,” Tharos hissed. “There’s not a lot you can do now.”

They left the tent.

He saw her.

She was fighting a warrior in the camp. He watched, mesmerised, as she danced gracefully with the wooden sword.

She smiled when she won, knocking Valaen to the floor. It transformed her face.

He wanted to dance with her. His legs carried him to the circle of men who stood watching.

He saw her hesitation when he challenged her. She was furious with him, as she rightly should have been. He wished it could be different.

Her swordsmanship had improved, but he wouldn’t insult her by holding back. He knocked her to the floor.

He’d regret that.

His resolve lasted until she followed him into the tent and tended the wound she had reopened. Her gentleness dismantled what remained of his restraint, and afterwards he knew Tharos had been right, and Tiryn would destroy her with whatever Casyl felt.

*

The king arrived in splendour, decked in his finest armour—armour he hadn’t worn for a long time. He’d brought reinforcements, but Casyl knew he was only there to gloat over the impending victory. He’d heard about their last battle and wanted to be there to witness it, the victory that Casyl would win for him.

Casyl wondered how his father had found out, as he had deliberately sent him no word.

Spies. It would be naive to think otherwise. General Salkin was there after all, a close friend of his father’s.