Red's Wolves

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Alera took her place next to Jere, and he took her free hand once he made room for her. But neither of them looked at they other— their attention was wholly diverted to the bed, where the King of Palazia lay as though hanging by his last thread of life. If not for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, Alera would have thought he'd already passed, but that small spark of life still within in him gave her the hope she needed to remain upright when all she wanted to do was crumble.

"We have to wake him up," Jere said, quiet as though he was concerned about talking too loud and doing just that.

But Alera knew it would take more than a loud voice to stir her father. Not after the strength of magic that had kept him there. She had hoped with the weakening of Nicholas the king would be able to fight through whatever held him back, but again Alera knew this was beyond her own powers. And looked down to the dagger she clutched in her other hand.

The wrapped hilt was warm in her palm, and the blade still seemed to shimmer. She held it up for a better look, thinking it was a play on the light, but it seemed to grow brighter the closer it came to her father. Looking between it and her father, she thought she had her answer.

Glancing to Jere, it seemed he had come to the same conclusion, for he met her gaze and nodded. It would have to work.

Jere moved back just a step to give her the room she would need, and the wolves already seemed to understand without a command. With only Alera surrounding the bed now, there was no one else who could do what she needed to do.

And she needed to do it fast.

Instinct told her to close her eyes, but she wanted to watch. She needed to know— to make sure her father returned to her just like she hoped he would.

She placed the dagger into the palms of her hands and held it out and over the body of her father. She didn't know what to say, didn't have any magical incantation she could think of that would will the magic within to do her bidding... but she didn't need it. As if the power within knew exactly who it needed to help, it once again lit the dagger up like a beacon in the night, and the magic did the rest. Spreading out and extending over the sleeping king from head to toe, luminescent vines entangled his limbs and wrapped around his body like an ethereal latticework. For only a moment, her father's skin itself seemed to glow from within as the magic seemed to do its work. After what felt like an eternity but only lasted for a few moments, the bright vines began to unravel and dissipate into the sunlight leaving Alera standing there with the dagger between her hands as she held her breath, watching her father, waiting for any sign...

"Vessa?"

A gasp left Alera's throat as she heard her father murmur her father's name. Had he known it was her mother's dagger that was the source of power that healed him? She didn't care— it didn't matter. Not as his eyes blinked open and he turned his head to look at her.

"Alera."

"Father." Her voice cracked with emotion as tossed the dagger aside and took his hand in hers. She knelt next to the bed to keep him from having to strain. "It's me. I'm here. You're safe. We're all safe now."

"For the most part," Jere added as she approached the bed next to Alera, nodding his head in respect to the King. "Nicholas has been brought to the dungeons, and we were able to subdue the men loyal to him."

"How?" Alera had only left Jere and the wolves.

"The people," he said, almost proudly. "They rallied after they heard the wolves. Any that could hold a weapon and fight charged the castle— Nicholas' guards were outnumbered. They had no choice but to surrender."

"For now. Let's hope we can keep them that way." Alera was impressed, and reflected that in the smile she gave her best friend. He returned it, and was about to speak again when a cough from the king drew away both of their attentions.

"Let's help you up, your majesty," Jere insisted, offering an arm to the king who stood it unsteadily. Between the two of them they were able to get her father to his feet, and none too soon. From into the room rushed anyone who was able to help— guards, healers, handmaids and butlers. All rejected by Nicholas, with nothing to do while they were forced out when their king needed them the most.

Moving out of the way, they left the king to the care of those who could properly manage him, but it was a wince in Jere that reclaimed Alera's attention.

"You're hurt."

Jere shook his head. "I'm fine." But his hand on his side had her wanting to counter him. But he spoke again before she could get a word out. "I have a poition I'll take, it will be alright. I promise."

She didn't believe him, but let him lead her to the balcony and out into the fresh air— the first clean breath she felt like she had taken in a long time. She leaned against the balcony and looked out over the kingdom... and her breath caught in her throat.

There were fires burning and smoldered, smoking into the air with the remants of inky black vines crawling through the streets, over homes and destroying farmland. Is this what Nicholas had planned? To overrun her home with his tainted magic to make its people beg for him to be their savior? He should have known better— should have known her people better. Because she watched them help one another put out those fires and hack those vines until they shirveled and retreated from whence they came. And her people— they were working together. Helping one another repair and reclaim. It made a small smile of pride form on her lips.

"Do you think this will be it then?" she asked Jere, her voice soft, quiet, as to not disturb the people below.

"It depends," he admitted, watching the scene from where he stood next to her.

"On?" She turned to look at him, but his attention remained focused below.

"On them," he said with a nod. "And on you." He turned to meet her gaze now. "They're going to be looking for a leader, and your father is in no position to take control right now."

"But what about you?"

"What about me?"

She glanced back over her shoulder where her father was being assisted by the servants and guards who had followed Jere. "You rallied them. They followed you. They needed a leader you you were there. Together you brought them in and pushed Nicholas' people out." She turned back to him. "This is as much your victory as it is theirs."

He didn't seem to believe her, at least not by the questioning look on his face as he watched her. But she smiled at him, and leaned in with a gentle kiss to his lips. "You're my hero as much as our kingdom's."

"Our?" He blinked.

Alera bit her lip as she looked at her best friend and lover. She wished it was the time, wished she could have held his hand and that moment between them forever to give them all the time they needed to speak, to reflect— to love. But she was called away by a servant next to the bed, saying her father wished to see her.

"Of course," she called back, knowing she would need the time with him to explain all that happened, but also not wanting to leave Jere.

As if reading her thoughts, he took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles. "I have a few things to take care of myself. We'll meet later tonight."

She nodded, her heart already racing and antitipating their time together, but a cough from her father's bed pulled her attention away from Jere and back into the bedroom, moving over to the bed where her father now sat up propped against the headboard.

Only when she sat herself on the edge of the bed did she look back over to the balcony, but Jere was already gone.