Crown of Iron (Book 1 of the Crown Trilogy)

Twenty-Three

Greer tucks a crisp white sheet around Kyron's chest and sits in the chair next to his infirmary bed. She squeezes his lifeless fingers with her good hand and rests her chin on the edge of the mattress. Pink stains the bandage covering the burn on her arm from elbow to armpit and the black thread of stitches run from her cheekbone to jaw. The nurses tried to talk her into resting in her own room, but like Ulric, Terro, and me, she refused to leave our general's side.

We sit in silence, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of Kyron's bare chest. As I kneeled over him on the battlefield, I thought I had killed him. I almost did. He'd laid lifeless, his lips blue and eyes hooded. Ulric had shoved me out of the way and pounded his fist over his friend's heart, screaming at him to breathe. The moment Kyron sucked in a breath, so did I.

And that is why I chose a wooden chair in the far corner of the sterile, white room. I feel unworthy to sit at Kyron's side and fearful of my reaction to his power. I watch his every move, scared that the damage I did is permanent and at any moment he won't take his next breath.

Greer places her palm to his chest, and I meet her brown eyes. She gives me a weak smile, and my bottom lip trembles when she mouths the words thank you.

What do I say, you're welcome and I'm sorry I almost killed Kyron?

It's right and wrong and really fucked up.

I siphoned his powers in a matter of minutes and almost left him for dead. It's only a matter of time before I crave more of the Statera's gift, and I take from another. How can I stay here? How can I rule Lucent when I'm a Stigian by all definitions? And how the hell did I instinctually know how to siphon?

Kyron grunts and lifts from the mattress, and everyone jumps to their feet.

"It's okay. Relax. You're in excellent hands," Terro says, guiding Kyron's shoulder back to the bed.

"Did—"

"We're all here. Casualties were few and the injured are being cared for," Greer explains.

The worry for his soldier visibly lifts from Kyron. His body goes slack, and the fear written on his face subsides. With a gravelly voice, he says, "Did you see what happened? I knew she..."

Greer widens her eyes and darts them in my direction, and Kyron follows her gaze. He looks me over, and I drop my gaze to stare at my boots. When he reaches my arms, I tuck them behind me, hiding the long-jagged scratches from the bush. The last thing I need to do is give him a reason to fret over me.

"I'll come back in a bit," I say, heading for the doorway. I don't deserve to be here with the people who care for his well-being, the ones who would never harm him. And if I'm being honest, I can't handle seeing the disgust on his battered face when he remembers what happened.

"No." I stop mid-step and Kyron continues, "Will everyone give us a moment?"

As each of his officers passes, they spare me a glance. Their pity for me and my stupidity written on their faces.

Ulric gently pats me on my tender arm. "Relax, nanny goat. All will work out for the best."

I pray his words are true, but when I'm left alone, standing at the foot of his bed, I can't bring myself to look at Kyron. It is impossible to see how he can forgive my actions. I took something which wasn't mine to take and almost killed a man.

"Come sit, please." Kyron points to the chair Greer sat in.

I hesitate, staring at the tattoo on his bicep—the Lucent moon and sun housed inside a Stigian shield. Two conflicting kingdoms who have only known peace when they are one. The ink is the symbol of what many hopes is my future reign. It's another thing my recklessness has screwed up.