man lashed out with an unexpected punch. Merin struck instinctually at
the opening, hitting the man in the chest, but Shardplate stopped the blow.
The fist took Merin on the shoulder. The force of the strike tossed him
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backward, and his Blade tumbled from numbed fingers. The air in the room
snapped back to translucence as the glpyhward ripped free, its leather string caught on an edge of the assassin’s gauntlet.
Merin fell to the floor again, his Shardblade clanging to the marble a
short distance away. Aredor looked up at the motion, distracted, and the
green Shardbearer thrust with his thin weapon, striking Aredor in the side of the chest. The Blade sliced easily through flesh, sinking into Aredor’s chest up to the hilt and pinning him to the wall behind him.
The green Shardbearer whipped his sword free, and Aredor slumped to
the ground, screaming in pain, a trickle of blood smearing against the wall.
Merin cried out, rolling to the side and reaching for Aredor. Instead of
his friend, however, his eyes focused on something else. The glyphward lay on the marble, a speck of green against the white.
Merin scrambled for the bit of stone, but he did so with despair—evil or
holy, it had done him little good so far. Hopefully, Renarin had warned the king’s guards. Hopefully, they would be able to raise a defense to stop these Shardbearers from killing the king. But it was too late for him.
Merin grasped the glyphward even as his opponent raised his Blade for
the final blow. Merin could see the air around the Blade as it hung, ready to fall. He would watch the air part as the weapon killed him. He heard the
wind in his mind, calling him.
Merin called back. Come to me.
The glyphward flared in his hand, bursting to light with a bright green
flame, searing Merin’s flesh. He cried out in pain, but could not let go.
The palace shook. The hallway shuddered, as if in pain. And then, Merin
heard it—a low moan . . . like the call of an enormous beast. Jezenrosh’s
assassins both paused, turning confused eyes toward the far end of the
hallway, which was the source of the sound.
A few scraps of cloth blew into the hallway, followed by a swirl of
dust. The moan approached, the stones trembling faster, and faster, and
faster. The glyphward continued to burn in Merin’s hand, the agony searing him to the bone, the unnatural green light growing brighter.
And then it hit. A tempest of air—like an entire highstorm channeled
into a single gust—crashed through the confines of the small hallway. It
smashed against the four combatants, dark with dust and debris, entire
tapestries and rugs carried by its fury. It roared in Merin’s ears, no longer just speaking to his mind, but screaming with the howl of a chained
creature finally let free.
It blew stronger than the fierce summer storms Merin had occasionally
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 297
been caught in during harvest. It drove grit and sand into his skin, forcing him to curl up against the marble. Above him, his opponent was thrown
backward by the force of the wind. Another body crashed to the floor a
short distance from Merin—the green Shardbearer, also knocked to the
ground. Through the wind, Merin could see the air curling strangely away
from the man’s Shardplate—as if the supernatural metal were struggling
to protect him, but failing.
The pain in Merin’s palm flashed, then died. The storm slackened, then
calmed, then vanished, leaving bits of string and fluff floating lazily to the ground. Merin groaned, holding his injured hand to his chest and sitting
up, dust streaming from his clothing, his shoulder still pulsing with agony from the Plate-enhanced punch. Green dust—all that remained of the
glyphward—trickled from his still-closed fist.
There was a clink from beside him, and Merin turned dazed eyes toward
the sound. The green Shardbearer rolled over, shaking his head as he
reached for his Blade. The motion ended in a jerk as Ardor thrust a sword
through the man’s faceplate.
Aredor stumbled, holding his side and slumping to his knees beside the
man he had killed. “The other one . . .”
Merin lurched to his feet, forcing himself to ignore the pain of his
injured hand and shoulder. The second Shardbearer had been thrown a
good distance down the hallway. The man stood with a daze, then looked
toward his Blade, which lay on the ground a short ways in front of him,
half the distance between himself and Merin.
Both dashed forward at the same time. Merin reached out as he ran,
snatching Aredor’s Blade, which stood upright, sticking from the green
Shardbearer’s face. The weapon slipped free easily, though it sat unfamil-
iarly in Merin’s hand. The grey Shardbearer moved more quickly, Plate
enhancing his motions. The man scooped up his Blade, then swung toward
Merin with a powerful blow.
Merin ducked the attack, feeling it slice the air above him, and came
up with his own swing—smashing his Blade into the man’s back, directly
in the scarred line where Aredor had struck earlier.
The man jerked in mid-step, pulling Aredor’s Blade from Merin’s grasp.
The weapon remained lodged in place, seeping blood at its edges, as the
Shardbearer collapsed with a crash of metal against stone.
Merin slumped to the ground as he heard voices approaching. He could
only hope they were on the right side, for he knew he wouldn’t have the
strength to face another foe.
chapter 32
JASNAH 8
Jasnah stepped around the corpse of an assassin, waving away the
soldier who tried to shield her from the scene of death. She held up
her dress, stepping over the pool of blood, and pushed her way into the
king’s quarters. A royal captain approached, but Nelshenden cut him off,
whispering quietly to the man and sending him away.
Elhokar sat on his audience throne, leaning forward in thought, his
expression dark. He was unwounded—the assassins had reached his outer
hallway, but a disturbance raised by Renarin had alerted his guards to the danger in time.
Nanavah had failed. Jasnah’s eyes thinned as she focused on the queen,
sitting on a stool at the king’s side, a hand resting on his arm in mock-
sympathy. Jasnah had been too slow, but Dalenar’s sons had proven
themselves true to the honor their father had taught them.
Meridas stood at the side of the room, speaking with Balenmar and
several Shardbearers, displaying a proper look of outrage at the night’s
events. She even heard him give a moan of disappointment that he hadn’t
arrived in time to help Aredor fight. Balenmar met Jasnah’s eyes with a
relieved gaze—he thought that the threat was over. He had been fooled as
she nearly had been.
Elhokar looked up as he noticed Jasnah. “He shall pay for this,” the king
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 299
said. “I knew Jezenrosh was insubordinate, but I had hoped he would see
reason. I should have listened more carefully to Balenmar’s warnings.”
Jasnah shot a look at Nelshenden, who was still trying to convince the
guard captain to leave them alone with the king. He appeared to be having
little success.
�
�Elhokar,” Jasnah said, “we need to talk.”
The king frowned. “Surely you don’t expect me to ignore an attempt on
my life. Jezenrosh’s own Shardbearers tried to kill me tonight.”
“There is more to this attempt on your life than you know, my king,”
Jasnah said. “Dismiss the others—we must speak in private.”
Elhokar paused, sitting upright in his throne. Eventually, he waved
the guard captain toward him and gave the man instructions in a low
voice. The captain obviously didn’t like what he heard, but bowed and
waved the guards and other nobility to follow him out. The people trailed
out, a questioning Balenmar included. Jasnah shot him a reassuring glance.
“Meridas, you stay,” Elhokar commanded. Meridas nodded, and re-
mained where he was. Nanavah also made no move to leave, and the king
made no move to dismiss her.
Jasnah waited expectantly, her mouth a thin line, but the king met her
gaze defiantly. Finally, she walked forward, grabbing Elhokar by the arm.
He resisted at first, then sighed and let her pull him over to the side of the room, out of Nanavah’s earshot. The queen watched them with curious eyes,
but remained by the throne.
“Where are Aredor and Renarin?” Jasnah asked quietly, folding her arms
as Nelshenden closed the doors, then walked over to keep a wary eye on
Meridas.
“Aredor was wounded,” Elhokar said. “He is in the care of the palace
healers. I sent Renarin to Kholinar to speak with his father. Our uncle has grown tired of war—surely you’ve seen it. If Dalenar is going to be
persuaded to support me against Jezenrosh, he will need the word of his
sons on what happened this night.”
“My lord . . .” Jasnah said, uncertain where to begin. She eyed Meridas,
who lounged against a pillar on the side of the room. What would be the
best way to explain . . .
“Brother,” she said, “I think Meridas might have had something to do
with the attack tonight.”
“What?” Elhokar asked with amusement. “What possible reason could
he have for such an act?”
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Jasnah flushed. “I think he and your wife might be . . . seeing each other, Elhokar,” she said. “We need to discuss this in—”
Elhokar laughed, cutting her off. He glanced toward Nanavah, who was
still watching them with a curious expression. “She thinks you and Meridas are lovers,” Elhokar told her in a loud voice.
The queen chuckled in amusement, and Elhokar turned back to Jasnah.
“Really, Jasnah. I don’t have time for your paranoia, especially after Jezenrosh’s assassins.”
“I don’t think Jezenrosh sent those men tonight,” Jasnah said, too loudly.
Nanavah looked back toward them at the sound, then rose to wander
toward the two.
“What?” Elhokar asked with a snort. “You think his Shardbearers acted
on their own volition?”
Jasnah had no choice but to continue. “Those weren’t Jezenrosh’s Shard-
bearers,” she said. “The men he sent were killed last night, on their way to the First City. Their Blades were stolen, and their entourage was replaced with assassins.”
Elhokar moved to open his mouth, but Jasnah cut him off.
“I have proof,” she said sharply. “As we speak, my other guard captain
is delivering a captive to the royal dungeon. The man can authenticate my
words. Once you hear what he has to say, you’ll realize that Jezenrosh was not behind the attempt on your life. The true assassins are your wife and
Meridas.”
Elhokar glanced toward his wife, who had paused a short distance away,
her expression dark.
“Nanavah has been delivering large sums of money to the false company
run by the assassins,” Jasnah explained, gaining momentum as she saw
guilt in Nanavah’s eyes. “She hired them to have you killed and implicate
Jezenrosh.”
Elhokar’s mood became troubled, and he stood for a moment, thoughtful.
Finally, he looked up at Nanavah, his face angered. “I thought you were
more cautious than this.”
“You have no idea how cautious I was!” Nanavah said. “Your sister is just . . .
inhumanly nosy. I warned you she would be trouble.”
Jasnah felt a sharp sense of shock creep up her spine. She looked from
Elhokar, to his wife, then back again. “By the winds . . . you knew?”
Elhokar’s look was confirmation enough.
“But, Nanavah and Meridas . . .” Jasnah said. “What about them?”
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 301
Elhokar chuckled—the sound, cold rather than mirthful, made Jasnah
shiver. “That part, dear sister, you contrived on your own.”
“You knew,” Jasnah mumbled, stunned. “The assassins were never meant
to succeed. They were to fight their way here, where you could pretend to
defeat them on your own. That’s why the assassins took the bodies of the
two Shardbearers with them—so that you would have corpses to show for
the apparent attempt on your life.”
Elhokar nodded.
“The rumors . . .” Jasnah said. “You made them. You used Balenmar
somehow—you led him along, knowing the man would be eager to prove
his use to you.”
“Balenmar is a link to my father,” Elhokar said. “If I can claim to be
acting on information the old fool helped provide, I can gain the support
of the more traditional elements of the kingdom.”
Everything crumbled around her. “Elhokar, why?” she whispered.
The king regarded her sufferingly. “You yourself told me that the noble-
men have grown tired of war, Jasnah. Jezenrosh needs to be dealt with,
but I’ve known for some time that gathering support against him would
be difficult. The nobility needed to be given a little . . . nudge to help them along.”
Jasnah felt like collapsing. She stumbled weakly, leaning back against
the stone wall.
“You’ve always underestimated me,” Elhokar said quietly. “You always
assumed that I couldn’t rule alone. You claimed to love me, but with that
love you presumed to control my court on my behalf. You never stopped to
think that maybe your help wasn’t needed, nor was it appreciated.” Elhokar turned and nodded toward the other end of the room.
Jasnah spun just in time to see Meridas jump forward. Nelshenden
reacted belatedly—he had been watching the king with amazed eyes.
Nelshenden turned just in time for Meridas to ram a small dagger into
his chest. The soldier gasped once, then Meridas placed a hand over the
man’s mouth, keeping him from yelling.
That didn’t stop Jasnah. “No!” she screamed, rushing forward. Meridas
released Nelshenden’s mouth and snapped his hand forward, grabbing
Jasnah by the shoulder. He held her carefully, not hurting her, but keeping her at bay as he pulled the dagger free. Nelshenden slumped to the ground.
No guards came at her call—Elhokar must have ordered them to remain
outside, despite what they might hear. Meridas released Jasnah, and she fell
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to her knees beside Nelshenden, watching even as the light fled from his
eyes, his mouth open, his body twisted in pain.
“Nelshenden . . .” she whispered.
“He knew far too much,” Elhokar said, approaching his chair and seating
himself again. “Besides, his affection for you was unseemly. I will send
you a new guard as a wedding gift—a man with a little more rank and
experience.”
Jasnah reached forward, resting her hand on the side of Nelshenden’s
dead face. She would not cry. She survived as she had taught herself, long ago, during her days in Thalenah. She took all of the grief, guilt, and pain, and crammed it into the piece of ice within her. She did not shake or weep, she simply looked up through cool eyes at the man who was her brother. “I
will not forget this, Elhokar.”
“Bah,” the king said with a wave of his hand. “Spare me your preaching,
Jasnah. You do not know what I know about Jezenrosh—the man needs to
be stopped. Our kingdom depends on my ability to act before he is ready.
Meridas, take your betrothed to her rooms and see that men you trust are
posted at her door. Then seek out her second captain and his captive. Make certain their knowledge dies with them.”
Jasnah did not turn her gaze from Elhokar as she rose. She watched him,
eyes locked on his face, forcing herself to see the mistake she had made.
Gone was the boy she had given love and protection. In his place was a man who deserved neither. Elhokar turned away, a twinkle of shame in his eyes
as Meridas forcibly led Jasnah out into the hallway.
chapter 33
JEK 6
Jeksonsonvallano, Truthless of Shinavar, delivered his captive
as instructed. Ahven had set aside a room for the girl—one without
windows, guarded by five soldiers. Jek gave her to their care, watching as they closed and locked the door behind the red-haired youth.
Why is this girl of such importance? he wondered, lingering. She was of good birth, but not that good. Perhaps it was her tie to the Lady Jasnah
Kholin. A tool for bargaining, perhaps?
He left the palace behind, seeking out his master for the second time in
one night. Idiot King no longer, Ahven now moved openly, wishing to be
witnessed by as much of the Veden nobility as possible. Jek found the man
near the gates to Veden City, standing in a ring of torches, looking out at the army which was still camped beyond.
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