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Are the gods punishing me? Did I do something wrong? I’ll lose my father at such a young age and become the king of my people, only to watch as they sicken and die. My dad should have another hundred years at least.
No, I can’t let that happen.
His eyes open once more, and my heart surges. I want to grip his hand. No, I want to fall into his arms and cry, letting him hold me like he did when I was a boy, mourning the loss of my mother. I want to… feel safe again, feel like the whole world isn’t resting on my shoulders.
“My time is almost up,” my father begins. He’s frail, stooped, and withered, but his deep voice rumbles through the chamber. “I can feel it in my bones. But I know you boys, and I need you to remember that I lived a great life. I need you to keep going after I’m gone, to find the cure, to not allow our warriors to continue dying in such a dishonorable way. You must protect our people. You must protect our legacy.” His sunken eyes look tired.
I want to tell him he isn't dying… but I won't lie to him. Not now. Not ever. No matter how much his words kill me.
Drogo shifts his weight on his feet, fidgeting with the weapons on his belt. He’s known my father since he was a child. Rinan too. And we all understand what he’s saying. We’ve lost so much and so many through wars and feuds. Losing people now to the Illness is just too much for our people to bear. We don’t have a fighting chance against this.
I nod solemnly, feeling the weight of his words. This is the most important task of our lives. “We will, Father,” I assure him.
He looks at the three of us. “Has Princess Tara told you anything?”
Drogo bares his teeth, but I quickly answer. “Not yet, but she’s working on it.”
I don’t add that Drogo threatened her. My father wouldn’t be pleased. He may have fought many witches on the battlefield, but he, like me, sees a difference between fighting an enemy on the battlefield and threatening a young woman in our home.
On the other hand, I understand where Drogo is coming from. Tara’s mother has to know what’s causing it, because she’s the one who created it. She has to be. No other being would be powerful enough to create something like this. Naturally, she would have told Tara, so we need to put pressure on her…the right kind of pressure.
I turn to Rinan and Drogo. “Your fathers are still fine, but for how long?” I ask them, and I see my question hitting them, even though I’m sure they’ve considered such a thing a thousand times before. “We need to cure this Illness, but we need to be smarter about how we do it.”
“What can we do?” Drogo asks angrily. “The damn witches have all the power in this situation.”
“Do they?” I ask.
He frowns. “What do you mean?”
“What other tools are at our disposal? How do we get more information?”
Prince Rinan’s eyes light up. “We can press the bears harder and find out what they know and if the Illness is affecting them too.”
My father stirs. “I haven’t heard anything back from the bears about the Illness, but we sent them a warning after they came into our territory and attacked your princess. We sent back the bear’s body as a warning. They can see now that if they want a war, we’ll give them one.” He finishes his sentence strong, but falls into a fit of coughing.
I’m not worried about the bears. It would be three allied packs against one pack. They wouldn’t stand a chance. They’re smarter than that. But…
“Have you heard anything about the bears getting sick through rumors or informants?” I ask my father.
He coughs a few more times and grumbles to clear his throat before answering. “I haven’t heard anything. Literally, nothing. It’s strange,” he tells me, wiping blood away from his mouth.
Blood. Fuck. Like the dead man.
I tear my thoughts away from the blood. My father doesn’t have many good moments left. If we want to save him, we need to talk now, run through every possibility that we might not have thought about yet. Our people know nothing about the Illness. The witches are pretending to know nothing. And the bears won’t speak to us. What am I missing?
Suddenly, a dangerous thought snakes its way into my mind. “Is it possible that the witches are working with the bears, plotting against us?” That would explain a lot.
If they can make us sick enough, and decrease our number, by working together the witches and the bears could finally take us down. Between the witches’ magic, and the strength of the bears, we’d be in serious trouble.
Could they be so devious? Of course they could.
My father pauses, considering, then he replies, “Anything is possible.” He starts another coughing fit, and a healer comes in.
“I think it’s time for him to rest,” she tells us softly.
“Not yet,” Drogo snaps, then he spins on his heel and marches out of the room.
We all stare after him in confusion. Do we wait for him? What the hell is he doing now?
