Dolan glanced up into Kalas’ blue eyes, a blue only a shade less brilliant than his own. Stravad eyes. And yet, he saw only Rarick when he looked at Talar’s son. Awareness dawned in Kalas’ face.
“You think it’s poisoned, don’t you?”
Dolan didn’t respond.
Kalas reached for the bread and broke off a piece, shoving it in his mouth, then he grabbed the goblet and took a swallow. “Not poisoned,” he said around a mouthful. “Now eat.”
Dolan hesitated a moment more, then he reached for the bread himself. He guessed he didn’t care if it was poisoned. He had nothing left to lose.
Kalas leaned back in the chair and watched Dolan eat for a long while. Dolan didn’t stand on ceremony, shoving the food in as quickly as he could. Finally, the Prince stirred.
“You didn’t seem overly enthusiastic when I offered to send you home. Why?”
Dolan washed the mouthful down with wine, closing his eyes at the taste. It was smooth and mellow, coating his dry throat and pooling with lazy pleasure in his belly. “Why did you make the offer? You don’t intend to keep it.”
Kalas rubbed a hand across his chin. “I intend to keep it, if that’s what you choose, but I do have another offer in mind.”
“You don’t have to offer anything. You’re King now. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?” Dolan said, then shoved another bite into his mouth.
Kalas’ eyes drifted toward the windows. The curtains were pulled back and Tyla’s garden was visible. “I wanted to be King with my sister. That was my plan – to rebuild Adishian with her.”
Dolan kept eating.
Kalas’ gaze returned to the Nazarien. “The people of Adishian don’t trust me.”
“What a surprise,” said Dolan unable to hide the sarcasm in his voice. He pushed the plate away. It was still half-full, but he didn’t want to risk making himself sick.
“It’ll be very hard to rebuild the kingdom without their trust,” Kalas continued, ignoring the jibe. “I was hoping my sister might bridge that for me.”
“She’s far away from your machinations, thank Eldon.”
Kalas sighed. “You’re right. She’s better off away from me and Rarick, and yet, it is a problem. If I can’t get the people of Adishian behind me, I’m afraid things are going to deteriorate even worse than they are now. More people will starve this coming winter. I have a very small window of opportunity to turn this around.”
Dolan frowned. He wasn’t sure where this was going or why Kalas was even playing at changing anything.
Kalas leaned forward. “If you don’t want to go back to Chernow, stay here with me, Dolan. Stay here and help me put Adishian back together.”
Dolan reared away. The Princemust be mad. “Let’s be clear, Your Highness,” he said, “When I look at you, I see Rarick of Sarkisian, nothing else. Why would I do anything for you?”
Kalas’ blue eyes narrowed. “Because you loved Tarnow. Because you loved my sister. And most of all, because you love Adishian. Let’s be clear, Dolan,” he mimicked. “We both know you can’t go back to Chernow. You’ve been gone too long. You’re not really Nazarien anymore. You belong here in Adishian.”
“And you expect me to trust you?”
“Of course not,” laughed the prince. “But what have you got to lose? Either I’m true to my word or I’m not. Isn’t the chance enough?” He curled his hand into a fist. “Help me rebuild Adishian. Help me plant crops, ensure there is food for the people. Let’s rebuild the houses and the schools. We can reinstate the council. Plant orchards and sow grain. Let’s put the people back to work.”
“I don’t think Rarick left you here to do that.”
Kalas leaned back. “No, he left me here to weed out the Lawries.”
“So what’s the point? If you are true to your word and you plant crops, what’s to keep Rarick from coming back and squashing us under his heel again?”
Kalas’ eyes glittered like sapphires. “Help me use those rebels for something good.” His face grew grim and handsome in its intensity. “Help me build an army to greet Rarick when he returns.”
Dolan met his gaze fully for the first time. Despite himself, something stirred to life inside his chest.
“Swear fealty to me, Dolan, and I swear you’ll never regret it,” finished the prince. “Swear fealty to me and help me save Adishian.”
* * *
Tyla was anxious to reach Temeron. The journey had been a long one and the strain was evident. She wanted to sleep in a soft bed with pillows all about her, and to take a hot bath with soap. She didn’t mind soaking off the traveling dirt in the lakes and streams they passed, but the water was cold and the little soap she had brought with her had long ago disappeared.
She never felt quite clean nor relaxed, and she was tired of the dirty, dusty clothes she had worn since leaving Adishian. Everything she’d taken with her and everything given to her by the Lawries was made for a man – was, in fact, too large and ill-fitting. She longed to wear clothes made for her, which were clean.
She loved Loden though and enjoyed this part of the journey more than anything else. The countryside was unique. Early spring flowers had begun to bloom all along the downs – pale pinks, yellows and oranges. The sky seemed bluer, a depthless, rich blue painted with white, glistening stars.
After everyone retired at night, she’d sit outside her tent with Kian and watch the sky unfold before her in its radiant splendor, and her mind would slip away thinking of all the future held for her – thinking often of her mother and father, her grandfather and her uncles, but most often now thinking of Jarrett.
She had to keep him at a distance. She wished it hadn’t been necessary to bring him any farther than Nevaisser, but the Lodenian language was such a barrier. She’d truly believed her power would make learning it easier, but it hadn’t. Lodenian wasn’t like Nevaisser in any way. And while she could read Allistar’s thoughts and avoid the whole language situation entirely, she was reluctant to betray his trust that way, and truthfully, she wasn’t sure he wouldn’t know.
She realized her only contact with Stravad had been Dolan and Kendrick, but it didn’t take long to realize that the Nazarien were nothing like Allistar. She might not be able to verbally communicate with him or his fellow Stravad, but she recognized the glint of mischief in his eyes and the ready smile that he flashed.
Stravad laughter was something she was beginning to love. Once they descended into Loden, it rang regularly around the campsite, and often at night around the fire, they broke into song. Their lyrical voices added to the enchantment of the Lodenian night, causing an ache to start in Tyla’s breast.
During those moments, she would feel Jarrett’s eyes on her, unguarded, longing, and she would want to respond, but she couldn’t. She just couldn’t. The touch of his thoughts against hers made her catch her breath. She wanted to give way, she wanted to grant him everything he sought, but she forced him back, locked him out, and turned inside herself more and more.
Unfortunately, it shut everyone else out. Muzik was bewildered. Earon stopped flirting, and Kendrick looked at her with a wounded expression. She knew he felt responsible, but he would never, ever be able to free her of the vow that had been forced upon both of them. His religion wouldn’t allow it. And always there was her promise to Tarnow. Retiring to her cot at night helped initially.
There she dreamed. Often it was of Tarnow. They were walking arm and arm through her gardens and he would touch a bud with the very tips of his fingers, smiling at her. Sometimes he would break off a bloom and tuck it into her dark hair, trailing his fingers across her cheek. She would wake from these dreams and lie still, staring at the arch of the tent, exhaling her held breath and feeling her body relax. She realized she was letting him go.
Sometimes she had worse dreams. Dreams where she was hunted, running from some unseen person, always brought to bay where she was forced to lash out with her power. A cry of pain followed – gut-wrenching and feral. Sh
e would wake, heart pounding, tears rolling across her temples, and realize the animalistic moans were her own. Then she would roll to her side and curl her hands in Kian’s fur, watching the dog’s yellow eyes gleam in the darkness. He would tuck his wet nose under her hand and the warmth of his breath would lull her back to sleep.
Once she dreamed of Kalas. He was searching for her, searching through tunnels of slick, black stone, calling her name. His voice was raised, tinged in panic, and she wanted to call out to him, but something prevented her. She could see him, but he couldn’t see her and she couldn’t tell him where she was. She came awake and found herself sitting up. Kian had risen to his feet, hackles raised, staring toward the tent flap as if he feared someone might try to come through. She calmed him and calmed herself at the same time, but she couldn’t go back to sleep after that.
The dream called up a memory. She’d just turned fifteen. Inara had given her a quiet party in their quarters and Kalas had snuck into the tower to spend a few stolen minutes with the two of them. He’d been moved to the training barracks two years prior and rarely got time to see them. In fact, Rarick had banned him from the tower just that winter.
Tyla had been so happy to see him that she hadn’t been able to stop her tears when he told her that he had to leave. She moped about the tower for two days, staring out the windows on the parade grounds, trying to catch a glimpse of him, but she rarely did. Rarick was too protective of him to let him train with the regular infantry, so he spent most of his time studying math and engineering with the scholars Rarick employed.
When Inara lay down with a sick headache, Tyla took her chance, sneaking out of the tower and then out of the castle. She found her way to the parade grounds, but once there, she realized she didn’t begin to know where Kalas did his studying.
And the minute she left the castle, the soldiers marked her.
It was her first experience with grown men since she’d come of age. She didn’t have words for the looks they cast on her, but they made her squirm and her power answered, pulsing at the very edge of her consciousness. A few of the foolish ones surrounded her and tugged at her hair, touched the fringe of her dress. When she yanked away, they grew bolder and twined her hair around their fingers or ran their dirty touch across her cheek.
Tyla grew still and her eyes glowed, but they didn’t notice, caught up in raucous laughter and animal mentality. She would have killed them, except Kalas suddenly appeared. He shouted at the men and they stumbled back, releasing her. The light in Tyla’s eyes died immediately and her face lifted in joy, but he grabbed her arm and shook her.
“What the hell are you doing?” he shouted at her. He glared around at the retreating men, but his fury seemed mainly directed at her.
Her eyes widened, then brimmed with tears and she pulled away from him, running back to the castle. They never spoke of it after that time, but she’d nursed her hurt for many years, even allowing it to keep her from telling him goodbye when she went to Adishian.
Closing her eyes, Tyla fought back her tears. If only she had understood that his anger was fear. She’d felt such fear herself – many times with Jarrett when he took a risk that she didn’t like. Had Kalas’ behavior always been motivated by it? It made her wonder what else she’d never understood.
CHAPTER 22
Inara paused at the entrance to what had once been the school room. Stronghold’s tower curved around the back end of the castle and afforded the occupants an unobstructed view of the desert. Gallia was leaning against the windows, pressing her forehead to the glass, her breathing irregular and labored.
Inara crossed to the queen’s side and took her arm. “Please sit, Your Highness,” she said, hooking a chair with her foot and drawing it up to the window.
Gallia allowed Inara to ease her into the seat. Inara could feel every fragile bone in the Queen’s arm. Her cheeks were concave and her eyes were underscored by black circles. Shifting her hand, she grabbed Inara’s wrist, but she had no strength. Closing her eyes, she fought for breath and Inara waited patiently, kneeling by her side.
“You shouldn’t be out of bed, Your Highness,” she said gently.
Gallia forced open her eyes, her chest heaving with each inhalation. She raised her free hand and pointed out the window. “Don’t you see,” she gasped.
Inara followed her finger. Below them were the snowy streets of Sarkisian. People moved back and forth to market, their heads covered, their bodies bowed. Beyond Sarkisian were the gates, and beyond that only desert. Inara squinted.
She could see the plumes of dust being driven into the sky.
“He’s coming,” said Gallia.
Inara rose to her feet and pressed her hands against the glass. A rush of dread spread through her, making her knees weak.
“He’ll be here by nightfall.” Gallia’s breathing had eased a bit, but two bright spots of hectic red color lit her cheeks.
Returning to the Queen’s side, Inara knelt again. “Let’s get you back to bed.” She reached for the Queen’s hand, but Gallia’s fingers tightened around her wrist.
“My son doesn’t ride with him,” she said.
Inara frowned. “You can’t know that, Your Highness.”
“I know.” Gallia leaned back in the chair, exhausted. “I know because he would rob me of even that. Even that.”
Inara shook her head, but Gallia’s eyes had drifted beyond her to the window. “Bring me paper and ink.”
“Paper and ink?”
“Yes, bring it now. We don’t have much time.”
Inara didn’t hesitate. She hurried into her private quarters and yanked out the drawer of her bureau, dumping the contents on her bed. She found the paper, then rifled through the rest, until she located a quill. Grabbing the ink well off the top of the bureau, Inara raced back to the Queen.
Gallia took the paper and quill, scratching something hastily onto the paper. Then she folded it and handed it to Inara. “Take this now. Take it and see it’s sent to Adishian, to my son.”
“Why don’t we wait and see if he rides with the King?” She was starting to become afraid of Rarick’s arrival, especially in light of Gallia’s frenetic energy.
“He isn’t there. I know that. I’m his mother. I would know if he was there, but he isn’t. I want to send him this letter. I want you to go to town and find someone to carry it for me. I don’t care how much it costs. Just find someone, please.”
Inara wrapped her hands around the Queen’s. In all the years she’d been at the castle, she’d never heard the Queen use the word please. “I’ll make sure it’s delivered, but you need to be in bed.”
“You don’t have much time. I’ll sit here until you get back. I need to know you found someone.”
Inara wanted to protest, but the Queen’s look was frantic. She sighed. “All right, Your Majesty, but promise me you won’t stand at the window anymore.”
Gallia nodded, closing her eyes. She motioned to the door of the schoolroom. Inara picked up the letter and tucked it into her apron, then headed for the door. Once on the threshold, she paused and glanced back.
She could see the Queen’s hunched, gaunt form, and beyond her, a rising cloud of dust from the on-coming riders.
* * *
Tyla imagined there were dancers twirling in the pulsing light of the fire, spinning through caves of charred wood. One dancer spun wildly in uninhibited joy, lifted into the air by her partner, who twirled around and around with her, their forms blurring into one.
“What in the world is so fascinating in there?” came a voice.
Tyla blinked and looked up. Earon was standing above her, leaning heavily on the crude crutches the Stravad had designed for him. Kian lifted his head and growled in protest. Tyla rested her hand on the dog’s back, then rose to her feet and helped Earon lower himself to the ground.
Such maneuvers always ended in more of a tumble than a recline, but Tyla got him situated on the blanket beside her and took his crutches, placing t
hem at his side.
“Sorry,” he grunted in embarrassment.
Tyla gave him a stern look. “What are you talking about? Two weeks ago you couldn’t move anything beyond your head. Now you’re walking.”
“Hobbling and falling, a lot,” he answered wryly, but clearly he was pleased with his progress. He nodded at the fire. “What’s so interesting?”
Tyla glanced back at it, but she saw nothing more than flames now. “Just fantasizing, I guess.” She sank her fingers in Kian’s fur.
“Can’t sleep?”
Tyla shook her head. “I’m road weary, I suppose. Allistar says it’s only a few more days.”
Earon nodded. “So the Terrian says. As far as I’m concerned, that Lodenian sing-song is about as familiar as Nazarien.”
Tyla laughed. “You have a point. I thought I’d have learned more by now, but it’s just not coming easily.”
“Well, you’ll have plenty of practice in Temeron.” He fell silent, then leaned over and bumped her shoulder. “So what’s the real reason you can’t sleep?”
“I just have a lot on my mind.” She combed Kian’s hair in the opposite direction. A handful of fur came away. Spring was pressing around the corner in Loden.
Earon gave a grunt. “I guess so. Impending marriage and introducing a Nazarien to your grandfather – those would weigh on anyone’s mind.”
Tyla frowned at him. “You overstep your boundaries, Earon,” she scolded.
He gave a bark of laughter and winked at her. “I have no boundaries, Your Majesty. That’s the benefit of living outside of nice society.”
Tyla couldn’t help but smile at his audacity.
“Now, mind you,” he continued. “I’m not overly fond of the Terrian. He’s rude and arrogant, but the Nazarien. What were you thinking, woman?”
Tyla was so shocked by his brashness that she didn’t feel as offended as she knew she ought to. “What do you mean what was I thinking?”
The World of Samar Box Set 3 Page 35