by C. A. McHugh
“They’ll do whatever he orders them to do,” Leandros replied with the haughtiness she’d come to associate with members of the nobility. “He’s the king, after all. Come on, Aerrin, before we miss the comedy troupe!”
“I still have a meeting with the Privy Council to deal with before then.” Instead of following his friend up the stairs, Aerrin lingered by the door with an expression that was a mixture of gratitude and hesitation. “Are you sure you don’t want to join us, just for a little bit?”
Her jaw tightened. The last thing she wanted was for him to feel sorry for her. She already felt sorry enough for herself as it was. “I know where my priorities should lie.”
And once she earned the title of master mage, she’d prove her worth to all those nobles who looked down at her.
“I’ll tell the staff to give you whatever you need, Nyssa,” he said softly before turning to leave.
She fought back her tears until he was out of sight, and then wiped them away as they fell. She allowed a few more to fall before rolling up the scroll and tucking it beside the ancient journal. Mariliel was kind to provide her with the distraction of translating the letter. It would keep her from wasting time wishing she was something that she was not.
Chapter 3
Aerrin thumped his fingers on the table and made a point to yawn widely so the rest of the lords gathered there could witness his boredom. He wanted this meeting to end so he could check on the progress of Nyssa’s translation, not deal with the never-ending list of mundane items that required his attention. As far as he was concerned, the only thing that required his attention was stopping the fiend none of the nobles gathered around him believed had returned.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught his uncle scribbling something on a piece of paper. Somehow, he doubted it had anything to do with the meeting. Altos was most likely composing some poem or song to lure a moon-eyed young woman to his bedchamber this evening rather than taking notes on the agenda.
“Your Majesty?” The Duchess of Edensdowne, Sirona Giltland, pulled his attention back to the discussion with her sharp address. The woman had once been engaged to his other uncle, Rythis, who’d died fighting the Raven Bringer during the Battle of Innishmore fifteen years ago. Even though they’d never married, she still acted like she was a queen, much to his annoyance. “What do you think of this proposal?”
The ten members of the Privy Council waited for his response. He squirmed in his chair. “Which proposal is that?”
“If Your Majesty could please pay attention,” the Duke of Castadillia replied, “we were in the process of discussing whether to allocate funds for road improvements through the Great Forest.”
Aerrin turned to his uncle and silently begged for help.
Thankfully, Altos rose from his chair and folded up the piece of paper he had been writing on. “Your Graces, I think we have debated this issue enough for one day. It’s very plain to see His Majesty grows weary. I propose we adjourn to enjoy this evening’s festivities and resume our discussion tomorrow. Your Majesty?”
Aerrin took his cue and stood. Without acknowledging the bows and curtsies of the other members of the Privy Council, he fled them before they could raise some other issue that would keep him imprisoned in the council chambers for another hour.
Altos followed on his heels. Once the door closed behind them, he said, “Sorry I took so long to get us out of there, Aerrin. I was a bit distracted.”
“I noticed.” He pried the letter away from his uncle’s hand. “And who is tonight’s conquest?”
Altos snatched the letter back. “That is none of your business. You’re much too young to understand things like this.”
“I’m fifteen, Altos. What makes you think I haven’t already engaged in my own conquests?” It was a lie. He didn’t have time for romance, and he hated being chased because of who he was. Too many of the girls at the Academy already had their sights set on being the future queen.
Thankfully, it was the one thing he never had to worry about with Nyssa. She’d made it very clear she wanted nothing to do with the royal life, and he treasured her friendship all the more for it.
His uncle gave him a crooked smile. “At least I didn’t fail in educating you well in that arena. Now go before they realize you’re still out here and drag you back in.”
Most of the snow from the blizzard had melted during the day, just in time for the winter solstice. Tonight, the Festival of the Longest Night would reach its apex. Bonfires would illuminate the town squares, driving away the long hours of darkness, and fireworks would dance across the night sky. Inside the palace, there would be feasting, drinking, music, and dancing.
Aerrin reached his room without any other delays and stretched out on his bed, enjoying the few precious moments he had to himself. There were only two more days left of the festival, and then it would be back to the peace of the Academy. He frowned. Actually, it wouldn’t be so peaceful. Now, in addition to dealing with the Raven Bringer’s return, he had to deal with the problem of Seroney. The possible Elvish writing raised too many questions. What if she was from Oudesta? How was she able to cross the Great Divide? And more important, what was her business here?
The sound of stone grinding against stone interrupted his thoughts. A section of wall to his right moved, and he prepared himself for more bad news from either Ceryst or Raimel, since they were the only two people who used the secret passages other than his uncle.
Instead, Nyssa’s head appeared from around the corner. “So this leads to your room!” She pushed the secret door a bit further and slipped out from the tunnel.
Aerrin relaxed a bit. “Where did you learn about the secret passages?”
“I read about them in the journal. It appears that whoever this G.M. was, he knew the palace well and mapped them out.”
Aerrin rose from his bed and inspected the faded, hand-drawn map inside the journal. “I’m surprised you didn’t run into my uncle. He uses these passages quite frequently for his liaisons.”
“Did I stumble on some royals-only secret?”
“You could say that. They were originally built to provide the royal family an escape during a siege. I don’t know of anyone else besides Altos, Ceryst, Raimel, and Master Binnius who know of the passages.”
“Then I suppose it’s not entirely royals only.”
“Just those I trust.”
A hint of a smile played upon her lips from his compliment. “One day, I’d be interested in meeting Raimel and the Lone Wolf,” she said, using Ceryst’s nickname from his days as a knight. “Just so I have a face to go with a name.”
“The way Master Binnius has been playing everything, he seems to think it’s better if we don’t know everyone working to stop the Raven Bringer. Whenever I ask him for details, he remains annoyingly vague.”
“Speaking of Master Binnius, I was able to translate something very interesting this afternoon.” She sat on the edge of the bed next to him and pulled the letter and her notes from her satchel. “You see here. That word is ‘Binnius.’ The word in front of it is some kind of term of endearment or relation, I believe, but I haven’t been able to decipher exactly what it means yet. Even the owner of the journal didn’t have an exact meaning for it.” She pointed to the passage that indicated the word was used to describe members of the extended family.
“So Master Binnius could possibly be related to Seroney?”
“It gets better. Look what else I found in the library.” She pulled out another book—one that was more modern than the journal—and opened it to a marked page. “It seems there was no record of Master Binnius in Elgeus until he presented himself to the Mages Guild to face his master’s trials.”
Aerrin took the book from her hands and read the paragraph. It was a brief history of Binnius, including a note he’d never attended the Academy. The implication left rows of gooseflesh along his arms. “So we have reason to believe that not only is Seroney somehow related to Binnius, but th
ere’s a chance he’s from Oudesta as well?”
“It doesn’t come out and say it, but there’s enough evidence to suspect that might be the case.” Nyssa took the books from him and packed it away with the rest of her notes in her satchel. “I’m slowly trying to organize this dictionary, and I hope that once I do, it’ll get me closer to having the whole letter translated. Maybe even by tonight.”
“But tonight is the best night of the festival. Don’t you want to at least watch the fireworks?”
She shook her head and opened the door to the secret passage.
“As king, I could order you to attend.”
Nyssa paused, her back to him and her shoulders tight. “I don’t have anything to wear,” she murmured and pulled the door closed behind her.
Didn’t have anything to wear? What kind of excuse was that?
He rang for the Head Steward. A few minutes later, the black-clad man with the livery of the royal house embroidered on his robes arrived, ready to record his orders. “Janus, is there any way you can procure a suitable dress for Nyssa? She claims she doesn’t have anything to wear to the festival tonight.”
“I’m sure we can find something suitable for Miss Barrach if Your Majesty wishes it. Does Your Majesty have anything in particular in mind?” His quill hovered over paper, ready to write whatever came out of Aerrin’s mouth.
“I don’t know anything about fashions. Just a dress. Something she can wear in court. Something pretty.” He waved Janus away.
“Very good, Your Majesty.” The steward bowed and silently left the room.
A few hours later, Aerrin knocked at Nyssa’s door to escort her to the festivities.
She answered it with a scowl on her face. “When a girl claims she has nothing to wear, it’s a polite way of saying she doesn’t want to go. And you went and ordered your steward to find me a dress?” She pulled at the ill-fitting pink robe as if it were burning her skin.
“I only wanted you to enjoy the evening.” He followed her into the room, closing the door behind him. “What do you have against the festival?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you making excuses not to join me?”
“Because I don’t belong there. Everyone there would think I’m just some baseborn wanna-be who’s trying to nudge my way into a place I have no right entering. You’re noble. Leandros is noble. I’m the bastard of a miner.”
“You’re my friend.”
“I know that.” Nyssa sighed and kept her gaze fixed on the floor. “I’ll be better once we’re back at the Academy.”
Aerrin wished there was some way he could make her see that she was as good as any other person in court, if not better. “One day, you’re going to be known as one of the most powerful mages in the kingdom. All those nobles you fear are looking down their noses at you will be begging you to join them at their tables.”
She gave him a feeble smile. “Perhaps, but in the meantime, I’d rather work on translating the letter. And maybe if I finish, I can try to find out who G.M. is.”
“Of course. But if you’d like, I’ll order Leandros to come up with me later on so we can all watch the fireworks together.”
“No need. You’ll be missed down there. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure? I’d rather be up here than down there any day.”
“I’m sure. Go on before the Royal Guard come looking for you and carry you to court like a prisoner.”
“It feels like that at times.” He slowly marched down the stairs. Two guards were waiting to escort him into the Great Hall, where the entirety of the court waited for him. It was going to be another long night, and for a moment, he wished he could switch places with Nyssa. At least she was doing something useful to protect the kingdom.
Something he, as king, should be doing instead.
Tonight was the longest night of the year. The Raven Bringer’s powers would be at their height. And if he were to attack…
Aerrin closed his eyes and prayed to the goddess Mariliel that no one would suffer tonight because of his decision to participate in the festivities and reassure his subjects that all was well when he knew the truth.
The demons were gathering in the shadows, and he’d have to battle them soon enough.
Chapter 4
If the slime of humanity could gather in one place, it would be at The Painted Lady. Ceryst’s skin crawled from the moment he stepped into the rundown tavern in the heart of Dromore’s shantytown, but Raimel appeared to be quite at home there.
Almost too much at home, which did little to ease Ceryst’s mind. His friend had long been a subject of the King of Thieves before they met, and Ceryst knew better than to ask about Raimel’s past.
Ceryst adjusted his cloak to conceal not only the faded insignia on his leather jerkin that proclaimed he had once been the Knight Protector, but also his sword bearing the same insignia. Raimel had told him to hide as many weapons as he could, for an obvious display of them would assuredly invite trouble. Ceryst disagreed. Pure intimidation would also prevent trouble, especially since the legend surrounding him had grown to legendary proportions when Ceryst had been accused of being the Raven Bringer fifteen years ago.
He followed Raimel as the thinner man slipped through the sea of bodies. Ceryst just rammed through them, answering the pissed-off scowls with one of his own. After the frustration of the last few weeks, he welcomed a fight. Dead end after dead end. Just more and more evidence that the Raven Bringer’s power was growing without a single solid lead. And he’d been robbed of the only face-to-face encounter with him by Raimel and Master Binnius.
On the longest night of the year, the Raven Bringer’s power would be at its height, even if Raimel kept insisting that he’d been weakened from the liquid fire. His gut told him he should be finding a way to infiltrate the palace and guard Aerrin as he’d promised Master Binnius he would, not following Raimel on what would probably prove to be another cold trail.
“Hey, Gareth,” Raimel said in an uncannily cheerful voice to the thin, scruffy man behind the bar. “What’s the special today?”
The old man’s grin revealed a score of missing teeth, but he silently fetched a clean glass from the shelf behind him and poured some amber-colored liquor in it.
Raimel choked as he drank it. “Put a little extra fire into that whiskey?”
Gareth’s grin widened before he turned to deal with another customer.
Ceryst edged closer to the bar, his gaze constantly scanning the room for any signs of an ambush. “He doesn’t say much.”
“That’s because His Majesty cut out his tongue.”
Ceryst’s vigilance inched up a notch. Not only were they in the scummiest part of the city, but he suspected everyone around him was a criminal. “Do you enjoy looking for trouble?”
“Why should I look when she usually finds me anyway?” Raimel flipped the glass over and rubbed his thumb across the bottom. “Let’s see what we have here.”
When he pulled back his thumb, a brief message glowed like fire from the glass. Ceryst barely had time to note there was writing, but Raimel seemed to understand. He shattered the glass on the floor and jerked his head toward the back of the room. “This way.”
Ceryst had no choice but to follow. Judging by the attention they were already getting, he’d be risking a forty-to-one mob fight if he lingered any longer. Not that he’d mind the fight based on his present mood, but he’d prefer better odds.
A pair of heavily armed men leaned against the wall and barely flicked their gazes to them as they approached. The smaller one continued to clean his fingernails with the tip of his knife as he asked, “Whatcha looking for now, Raimel?”
“Well, that’s between Her Highness and me, isn’t it?” Raimel replied with a dose of arrogant sarcasm.
The smaller man’s blade halted, and he narrowed his eyes.
Ceryst tightened his grip on his sword. Once they got out of here, he needed to beat some sense into his friend.
> The other guard, though, nudged his partner. “You don’t want to piss her off.”
“But I ain’t letting just anyone pass, either. I know Raimel’s legit, but I ain’t letting him pass without the proper credentials.” The smaller man gestured to Ceryst with his knife.
Ceryst had plenty of credentials. His sword. His knives. His fists…
Too bad Raimel intervened before he had a chance to display them. “He’s nothing but an old apple monger.”
Irritation curled in Ceryst’s gut from being called that, especially who he’d once been. He’d been the Knight Protector, the champion of the land and the king’s right-hand man. He’d vowed to protect the royal family with his life—a vow he still upheld to this day. But the term seemed to be some sort of code word among the thieves, judging by the way it eased some of the suspicion in the guards’ faces. Whatever it stood for seemed to provide the necessary credentials for them. They each took a step to the side.
“Be quick about it,” the smaller one said, his attention shifting back to the room behind them.
“Of course, my fine gentlemen.” Raimel pressed his hand against the portion of the wall between the guards and then vanished through it.
Ceryst tried to repeat his act, but his hand continued through the illusion, and he stumbled forward. Once he was through and regained his balance, he gave Raimel a half-hearted shove. “A little warning would’ve been appreciated.”
“And miss out on that look of dumb shock on your face just before you almost fell flat on your face?”
This time, he didn’t hold back on his swing.
Too bad Raimel managed to dodge it. The jerk was too nimble for his liking.
“Where are we going?” Ceryst asked, letting a growl of annoyance edge into his voice.
“To answer a royal summons, and if I were you, I’d be on my best behavior.” Raimel ran his fingers over the wall for nearly a minute before turning to his left. “This way.”