by C. J. Aaron
“Give him time,” Ryl commiserated. “Give him the space he needs. He’ll understand your devotion in time. He’ll come around.”
Andr sighed, nodding his head as he acknowledged the truth with resigned acceptance.
“You’re ever wise, my friend,” he admitted. “Go see your friends. I’ll catch up with you later. Enjoy the respite while it lasts; there will likely be much for you to do.”
Andr rolled his shoulders back, straightening himself up to his full height before striding confidently toward the center of the clearing. The space where the sparring had just completed was now filled with a grouping of Vigil. Lenu’s voice echoed through the clearing as her training regimen began anew. Three phrenics remained among the group.
Ryl watched his friend as he joined the soldiers from Vim. His place was one of split responsibility. As a guard, Andr maintained a certain measure of respect, or fear, from his fellow comrades. His skills were unquestioned; his disobedience was unexpected. His reasoning, unknown.
In Vim, he had earned the trust of the well-trained Vigil of Vim. The soldiers, though talented, lacked true experience. Before the battle at the Prophet’s Tree, they had shed no blood. Never had they been tested under the stress of life-or-death combat. The mercenary had brought hard-fought lessons to his tutelage; the Vigil had excelled as a result.
The unawakened, the tributes, honored him as a savior. He’d sacrificed everything, risked everything to defend Ryl, a young man he knew next to nothing about. He was a trusted companion, confidant and defender.
Ryl felt the weight of split responsibilities as keenly, if not more than his friend. He was the hope of the tributes. His death had been mourned, yet he had returned. With him came the possibility of a destiny far beyond their wildest dreams. The truth of their history was enlightening; they had once been revered and valued for their ideas and counsel. How times had changed over the last thousand plus cycles.
The Vigil saw him as one of their own.
For many of the guards, for the citizens of Damaris, he was an aberration. His talents, those out of myth, had held at bay and chased off a death that was all but certain.
The looks of awe, whether from guard, Vigil or tribute, still turned his stomach.
Ryl scanned the faces of the party that awaited his arrival. Their smiles were genuine, the emotions sincere. The warmth that washed over him was a balm to his road-weary body. The grin that spread across his face was genuine.
Aelin was the first to break free from the group. The boy rushed to his side, throwing his arms around his waist. Ryl instinctively hardened the woodskin around his abdomen in preparation for the unnatural power of the unawakened youth. The squeeze, only moderately harder than normal, showed a remarkable level of control.
He jostled the shaggy mop of hair on the youth’s head before sliding free from the embrace. Ryl looked at his friend. The change that he’d felt Aelin undergo, while dramatic in the sheer release of energy, looked to have now registered across his youthful frame. The boy had matured since he’d last seen him.
“Well done, Aelin. You’ve been working on your control, I see,” Ryl commented, eliciting a gleeful smile from the youth. “You’ve grown in the short time since I’ve seen you.”
Aelin simply nodded his head excitedly at the compliments. His vision shifted to Ryl’s left; his smile, while it seemed to stretch entirely across his face, grew. Faya brushed past, skipping as she went. The youth took a step to greet her, gently collecting her hand as they moved back toward the group.
A moment earlier, Ryl had marveled at the maturity of the child who stood before him. He had survived the horrors of the Horde, his powers blossoming under the assault of the raw emotion of the moment.
It was fear.
Looking at him now, watching the change that took over as he walked hand in hand with Faya, he was reminded just how young he truly was. Just how young they all were. With a few exceptions, the guards represented the elders of the bunch. Andr in particular was among the oldest of them.
The attention of the crowd before him was focused solely on his approach, yet there was no sense of the discomfort he routinely experienced from the awestruck leering of many. There was a genuine welcome, compassion and comradery. These were his friends.
His family.
The welcome sensation that was typical of the phrenics, of the unawakened surrounded him well before his friends could follow suit. Raw, yet intentional feelings prodded him from all sides.
Hope.
Pride.
Joy.
For a moment, he was lost as the welcome embrace of emotions and arms pulled his attention from the grim future that likely lay ahead. Nearly every moment since his departure from The Stocks, courtesy of his early Harvest, had been filled with a never-ending string of momentous events. Emotional struggles had been followed by intense pain. Uncertainty crept behind revelations, which in turn led to bloodshed. Friends and mentors had perished, yet lives had been wrested from the brink of endless torment. Betrayal was capped by the ultimate self-sacrifice.
Prophecy hung heavy over all.
Ryl’s left hand fell subconsciously to his right arm.
The jolt of energy was potent, yet as his fingers brushed the delicate marking of a hand, a sense of calming relief washed over him.
Though the moments were likely fleeting, destiny would forgive him a moment of peace.
“In a way, this last moon has been a more difficult separation to bear,” Ryl admitted. “I’m sorry I was not there to help you through the sickness. I’m sorry I left you in the care of unfamiliar hands. These were again decisions made for you, not by you.”
Luan squeezed Ryl’s arm. Her expression was playful, yet spoke of mild annoyance.
“Ryl, we were willing participants in the remedy. We all went into it knowing the potential repercussions.” The babe cradled gently in her arms cooed quietly, reaching for a stray lock of hair that had fallen over her shoulder. “You bear a weight that all who know you can see as clear as day. Do not think that you shoulder the burden of changing the world alone.”
“If you need us to fight, we will fight,” Tash added as he stepped forward along Luan’s right side. The jovial look that was a near constant appeared to have brightened considerably. Along her left, Palon nodded his head; a mischievous grin spread across his face.
The silent twin in many ways had been an anomaly; his inquisitive eyes had always seemed to catalogue his surroundings with a level of understanding that Ryl couldn’t comprehend. Now, Ryl saw a recognition, a calculating interpretation of the world around him.
Zed loomed tall over the group. The gentle giant smiled, though he quickly retracted the show of emotion, adopting a passive, yet welcoming expression. Quinlen, Odus and Rikel were present among the group, though the absence of Sarial and Elora was peculiar.
The tributes, though their bonds were all forged by the common abuse of living under the heel of the kingdom, still formed their own cliques and social groups. Cray, though he had been friendly with Ryl and his friends, seemed to have been adopted into their group. The young man stood tall, his head held high.
Ryl noted the changes among them all. To his phrenic senses, the differences were obvious, yet it was the alterations he viewed through his eyes that were the most startling. The last moon had seen them blossom. With the understanding of their latent powers, with the hope that they could have a hand in the changing of their destiny, they had developed a resolve that was visible. Not only among his friends, he could see its presence clearly defined in their features.
Slaves no more. Though limited by factors out of their control, they had experienced freedom for the first time in cycles.
There was no going back.
Quinlen separated himself from the crowd. Nestled under his right arm, cradled with the care one would hold a babe, was a wooden cask. The grin that split his face was infectious. Ryl couldn’t help but match the grin.
“It’s a spec
ial brew. Been waiting a long time to open this one.” His face beamed with pride. “I’ll let you take the first taste.”
Ryl laughed aloud.
“I’d be honored,” he replied.
Chapter 14
The quiet rumbling of conversation in the council chamber ceased as Lord Kagran thundered into the room. All eyes snapped to him as he stormed across the tiled floor. Though he was old, aged well beyond normal cycles, his gait was steady. The ravages of extreme age had yet to claim a hold over his body and mind.
The blackness that tainted his veins already commanded those fronts.
He slammed his fist against the table, shaking free several loose papers from the stack in front of him. Leaning heavily forward against the wooden slab, he glared at the others gathered before him, finding purpose to meet every set of eyes. Most met his stare with a level of measured restraint. Several resisted with a scowl of their own; a few avoided the look, withering immediately under his superiority.
Kagran felt his superiority. He felt the power of ages that coursed through his veins. The leaders of the great houses were joined by several smaller provincial lords who’d proven their loyalty to him and to the throne, a seat he now inhabited, and were gathering more for a show of force than substance.
He commanded the largest contingent of soldiers aside from the now fractured army of the king. Many of the indentured troops had returned to the houses from whence they hailed, leaving the remaining troops leaderless. With the fall of the king before the walls of The Stocks, Kagran had hastened his troops eastward. The bulk of his forces had full control of the capital city well in advance of the return of the routed army. Likely some considered it a coup, yet it was thankfully bloodless. No lives were lost as he claimed the city, enveloping control of the capital and the throne.
It was true there had been dissent among some of the other houses once word of his rise to power had spread. The majority were willing, as always, to grovel before whichever omnipotent master could continue to grant them the Blessing that had extended their lives so far.
Their thirst for personal power outweighed their desire to command.
Lord Kagran understood this trait. He understood the motivations of the leaders who sat in expectant silence before him. Some would fall, of that he was sure. Whether it was to be a result of prey from other houses or a steady withering of power, influence and longevity as the gift of the Blessing was revoked.
All had felt the sting as news of the processing facility near the ruins of Martrion was discovered. It was a crushing loss to some, as the entirety of their gift, the insurance that would continue to extend their lives, went up in flame and smoke. None would grant them reprieve. There would be no recouping the exorbitant cost they had spent. Their anger would fester; their animosity and thirst for power would grow until they too burned like the inferno that had destroyed their inheritance.
Desperation would drive them to madness. He knew what would likely come next.
In his wisdom, his forces had raided the processing facilities, ostensibly collecting the Blessing before the threats of pillaging from other houses became a reality. The stockpile had been moved deep into the defensible, underground chambers within the palatial grounds.
He was confident that he was quicker, wittier and far more devious than any who now awaited his words. The Lei Guard had confirmed this assessment. Though their numbers were few, less than several hundred remained after the catastrophic loss of Cadsae Proper, they ceded their control to his will.
With the black guards heeding his call, there were none to contest his rule. His heart raced in his chest as it contemplated the possibilities. His bloodline would be eternal. His power would be unstoppable.
Lord Kagran scanned the room; the smoldering contempt in his eyes was undiminished. He looked upon those who were seated before him with scorn. All had received the Blessing, though some he viewed as too weak, too forgiving to be granted that honor again.
Sacrifices would be demanded again by those who’d lost their rightful allotment in the raging fires of the Martrion facility. Though the tributes and the Blessing of the King were rightfully theirs, the supply was still doled out in regimented doses. In doing so, the kingdom maintained its demand of continued obedience.
As long as they paid homage to the king, the Blessing flowed on schedule. None had tested the resolve of the late king.
His roving gaze paused as he met the gaze that awaited him at the opposite end of the table. The eyes of Lord Kyoris burned with an unmitigated hatred. The animosity was clear.
“You do little to hide your annoyance, Kyoris. Speak your mind,” Lord Kagran grumbled, for he knew the complaint. Time and time again he’d fielded the missives. He’d faced the demands. His patience grew dangerously thin.
“What is to be done about the Blessing?” His nasally voice was almost as annoying as the irritation. “We sit idly by while the invaders hold hostage the property that we have all paid dearly for. Again, so I am told, the hunters have failed to achieve their tasks.”
“There is nothing idle about the situation at hand,” Kagran sneered. “By the day, more traitors die by the blades of our confidants. Their control over the population is tenuous. They remain concealed, isolated out of fear alone. What do you suppose those citizens, the loyal guards who represent the pride of our houses, who have remained on as our eyes and ears, will do when they realize that they have become the slaves of this rebellion?”
He let his glare rove the table for a moment as the statement lingered in the air.
“We will continue to sow the seeds of dissent,” he announced. “We will continue the bounties. The traitors will fall, one by one. There are but days left for them to render their decision to the demands we have required. The decision is immaterial; we all know the outcome. Our army will march regardless, and when they are before the gates, the loyal forces inside will fall on the traitors from within. Neither the wall, nor the gates, nor their pitiful forces will prevent us from reclaiming that which is ours.”
He felt the fiery determination that smoldered in his voice resonate throughout his body. The tingling sensation coated his frame, shadowing him like a cloud blots out the sun.
His statement did little to deliver any measure of recourse to the incensed Lord Kyoris. The anger, the hatred still remained written across his features.
“Yet you fail to address the plight at hand,” Kyoris snapped. “The product of our inheritances has been lost. Razed by the traitors who now house our property from us. Don’t think that we are not aware of what has happened at the other facilities. You’ve moved the Blessing without our knowledge; you have overstepped your position.”
The anger that had bubbled up in Lord Kagran spilled forward with a force that startled even him. He projected the strength of his emotion outward, washing over those assembled before him.
“You’d best mind your words, Lord Kyoris. Your accusations will do little to aid your cause,” he snapped. “What was done was done out of security, not selfishness. The Blessing is now safe, secured within the walls of stone. There is no force of nature powerful enough to wrest it from where it resides.”
“This reeks of convenience, not of consideration,” Kyoris sneered. “You’ve consolidated the supply where it benefits you. It was not your inheritance that was burned to ash. I am not alone in this plight. We have lost much. We demand considerations be made.”
Lord Kagran worked to stifle the smile that threatened to brighten the stern features of his face. The inquisition was one he had faced and was likely to weather again. It was true, some had lost much. The destruction of the supply within the facility at Martrion was a devastating blow. Coupled with the loss of the tributes, it was catastrophic.
Yet in all, he had gained much.
The accusations were largely correct. He had shuttered one of the two remaining facilities, consolidating the tributes in one location, inside the walls of Leremont. Here, he could better protect it f
rom the ambitions of the other houses. He could recall the Lei Guard, who had been spread thin.
As he opened his mouth to retort, a single panel of the massive doors to the chamber creaked as it swung open. The messenger was one of his own. He recognized the face, though the name was immaterial. The guard was nervous, though there was an underlying excitement. Kagran watched the man as he hastened across the chamber to his side.
This time, he did nothing to disguise the smile that crossed his face as the whispered message was relayed.
“Fortune shines on you today.” He grinned. “It seems the kingdom has yet again provided an opportunity.”
Chapter 15
Dawn cleared with a sense of calm that Ryl had not felt in cycles. It was a feeling that had been stolen from him as a child and beaten out of him while he was imprisoned in The Stocks.
They had reconnected until well past the setting of the sun. Their laughter was a balm, sapping the strain and the worry from his mind. He knew the sensation was not to last, yet he relished it while he had the opportunity.
Andr had joined them for a time; the mercenary melded with their group with little apparent effort. Though he had been among the guards watching over them for cycles, they had accepted him as one of their own. Though it didn’t affect the comradery of the group, there was a definite tension between father and son. The two exchanged a few words; though pleasant, neither seemed at ease with the current situation. Ryl wasn’t ready to force the issue.
Faya and Aelin had remained among them late into the evening. The pair was content to converse, playing simple games amongst each other. They had developed a humor that was unique to their pair. It was late when Rolan had collected his child, who’d fallen asleep with her head on Luan’s lap. Aelin had powered through, remaining with Ryl until they broke for the night.