“No, I’m only trying to decide how to address you,” Raimie replied distractedly.
He jumped at the Queen’s laughter. He hadn’t realized he’d voiced the thought out loud, and he cringed at the lapse.
“My apologies, Your Majesty. I’m not exactly a savant when it comes to this,” he mumbled, waving a hand at the space between them.
“It’s quite all right,” the Queen assured him. “In most circumstances, it’s quite a breach of protocol for one in your position to speak so informally to me, but we can make an exception, I think.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Raimie gratefully said.
He’d been worried what she might do to him over a slip of the tongue.
“So you know, I had you brought here because you puzzle me,” Kaedesa said in response to her earlier unspoken question. “Originally, I was only interested in learning what a child was doing with a leading role in a rebellion, but I’ve received several odd reports from trusted guards this morning that I feel require answers.”
If anything, the Queen appeared frustrated by these reports rather than curious.
“And then I found that when personally inspecting your belongings.”
She pointed at Shadowsteal with its decorated pommel unwrapped and bared for all to see.
“Would you mind telling me what a peasant family is doing with a sword that clearly belongs to the nobility?”
Already Raimie hated this conversation. Clearly, he had no choice but to answer Kaedesa’s questions. Why didn’t she simply demand them instead of asking nicely?
“I found it,” he said, giving up the bare minimum.
“Care to elaborate?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Raimie sighed.
“I found the damn thing in the basement, and three weeks later, I was running from a forest fire and an evil bastard intent on killing me. The thing has brought me no end of trouble, and I’m almost glad to be rid of it."
He hoped that if he expressed the disdain he’d held previously for Shadowsteal, he’d have a higher chance of recovering the weapon.
“Someone tried to kill you?” Kaedesa asked over the scratching of her quill, ignoring the young man’s foul language. “A bandit?”
Raimie shook his head.
“An Eselan battle mage. Name of Teron. He ambushed my father and me outside of Fissid.”
The quill stopped short, and the Queen smiled indulgently at him.
“Teron? Chief of Lord Doldimar’s Enforcers?”
Raimie shrugged.
“That’s what I’m told. I’ll only give you what I know to be true, Your Majesty,” he said, “and I don’t know for a fact whether the person who attacked us was in any way related to Doldimar. I’d never heard the Dark Lord’s name until a few months ago.”
Kaedesa returned to writing although now her lips were pursed with concern.
“It was only your father and yourself outside of Fissid?” she asked. “You’re sure you hadn’t raised an army by that point?”
Raimie laughed.
“Ha! No, it was only the two of us. In fact, we were ecstatic to come into sight of Fissid. I was badly in need of a healer at the time with broken ribs and horribly burned hands and all. They’ve healed surprisingly well, considering the damage done.”
He flexed his fingers, again astonished at the extent of their flexibility. Kheled’s treatment had done wonders. His hands were good as new.
Kaedesa jabbed the point of her quill in his direction.
“To be clear, you’re denying any involvement in the massacre of Fissid’s population.”
Roaring sang in Raimie’s ears as he understood what the Queen was asking.
“What? I-” he numbly replied.
Familiar faces flashed before his eyes-those of the people he’d grown to know well during trading trips. The blacksmith who’d repaired their plow, the kindly innkeeper who’d given them a discounted rate when they’d visit, the baker’s daughter who’d been his first crush, all dead?
“Not involved. Your face clearly screams that.”
Kaedesa scratched a line from her book and gestured. A servant brought Raimie a glass of water, and he numbly accepted it.
“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you,” Kaedesa said sadly. “You’ve lost someone with this news. Who was it? Mother? Sibling? Friend?”
“No one in Fissid is- was especially important to me,” Raimie mumbled over the glass, “and yet, all of them were. I couldn’t tell you many of their names, but the people of that town were kind to me and mine when we moved into the region. So far as I know, they were kind to all visitors. They were good people, and that’s what makes their murder a tragedy.”
Kaedesa seemed taken aback and somewhat chagrined by his response. She thoughtfully allowed him time to collect himself while a servant brought her a glass as well.
“Going back to your attacker, if it was Teron as you’ve suggested, I wonder what you’d done to attract his attention,” she muttered as if to herself while she took a sip.
“I assume he wanted to destroy the only threat to his master’s dominance,” Raimie replied, too distracted by the news of Fissid’s fall to recognize the question as rhetorical.
Kaedesa snorted into her glass, coughing uncontrollably as water went up her nose. She slammed her hands against the tabletop when she’d regained control and rose, towering over him threateningly.
“Child, it’s in your best interest to be forthcoming with me,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’m giving you one chance to reconsider withholding information before I ask this next question. What do you mean ‘the only threat’ to Doldimar?”
Raimie blinked placidly up at the red-faced woman. He didn’t understand her anger. He’d answered each of her questions fully and to the best of his knowledge. It wasn’t his fault that she hadn’t asked the important ones.
“There’s an old prophecy passed down from generation to generation of my family,” he answered anyway. “It states that when our greatest family heirloom, Shadowsteal, is found, the one who discovered it, me, is somehow destined to unseat the tyrant who stole the throne from us and return peace to Auden.
“I don’t know how much of that will prove accurate. Stories tend to become twisted as time goes by, after all. I wouldn’t be surprised if the prophecy had been misinterpreted at least one time in the past.”
“You’re saying you’re of the lost, Audish royal line,” Kaedesa stated without any inflection.
“I’m not saying anything of the sort,” Raimie retorted shortly. “Prophecy is. Trust me, I’d much rather be home, preparing for the sowing of spring seed, but prophecy has seen my home destroyed and apparently everyone from my past dead. I’m just following along blindly in the hope that it won’t demolish anything else I hold dear.”
Kaedesa sank into her chair, retrieving her quill without looking away from him and scratching several lines of text into her book.
“Interesting,” she murmured. “I’ve never seen a subject so thoroughly indoctrinated before.”
Annoyed, Raimie turned his head away from her scrutiny and slumped lower in his chair. He couldn’t blame her disbelief, but that didn’t blunt the hurt to have his words so completely discounted.
“Let’s move on to what happened last night,” Kaedesa continued, completely unruffled despite her previous anger. “How on earth did you get out of your cell?”
“I’m sorry?” he asked, feigning puzzlement. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t pretend surprise with me, Raimie. I’m a master at wearing masks, and I know when someone’s using one.”
“I’m not pretending anything, Your Majesty!” Raimie protested. “I’m genuinely confused. I don’t know how you got the impression that I somehow got out of my cell, but I very clearly remember sleeping the entire night through on stone. I have muscle cramps and aches to remind me of it.”
Her expression crept to anger, and he hurriedly pressed on.
“
Besides if I had escaped, wouldn’t I have made good on it and slipped away into the night? Trust me, I’m not the type to crawl back to captivity.”
“Subject only now begins to tell lies,” Kaedesa muttered while she wrote. “It took much longer than expected. Subject attempts to use logic to dispel disbelief. Clever tactic, that.”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but what’s the story you’ve been fed?” Raimie asked, restraining his temper with difficulty. “Do I look strong or resourceful enough to break out of a metal cage? The only feasible way out was through a locked door, and I’m no picklock.”
“We shall see,” Kaedesa mused. “I intend to study you fully before our time together comes to an end.”
She paused.
“I actually like you, child. There’s something about you that’s so familiar. It’s quite unfortunate that I have to condemn you to the executioner’s care. I’d love to find out why it feels like we’ve met before.”
“I’m at Her Majesty’s mercy,” Raimie answered, struggling to maintain an aura of calm. “As long as she is willing to keep my grandfather and myself as guests to the crown, I’m more than willing to submit to her examination.”
“I suppose there’s nothing that says I can’t delay the date.”
She gestured imperiously, and an attendant hurried to her side.
“Have rooms prepared for our guests. They may be with us longer than expected, and I won’t have the boy languishing in prison longer than necessary.”
The attendant bowed and backed away.
“You realize that if you won’t admit to knowledge of last night’s escape, I’ll have to be zealous in keeping you contained,” Kaedesa continued.
“As you should know that I’ll continue to do my damnedest to escape while there’s still breath in my body,” he lightly answered.
“We have an agreement then.”
Kaedesa rose and offered him her hand, and Raimie firmly shook it. The Queen released the grip first, brushing Shadowsteal’s hilt.
“Before I call for the guards, would you like to take it up once more? I intend to add it to my collection once our conversation is through.”
Raimie’s fingers twitched at the offer.
“Are you certain you want to arm one of your guests?” he asked, somehow managing to keep the eagerness from his voice.
Kaedesa picked up one of her handled metal tubes and pointed it at him.
“Your concern is touching, but you needn’t worry about me. If you try to harm me, I’ll simply blow your head off and save my executioner time and effort.”
Raimie chuckled.
“You have a point,” he conceded as he reached for Shadowsteal.
His fingers closed around the unwrapped hilt, and as before when he held the blade, Bright and Dim appeared front and center. Those two alone he could have ignored, but as with every time he picked up the cursed sword, something new occurred.
Without him pulling on or even asking for it, Ele’s energy materialized as white light all over his immediate surroundings–in the blades of grass, the flowering vines, even patches of the air itself. The light naturally gravitated toward him, and his body sucked it in.
He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, enjoying the steady, thrumming beat of energy pounding through his veins. Reveling in the feeling, he missed the initial approach of the guards sent for in order to escort him to his cell. His only warning came
from the Queen.
“Not the pistols!” she yelled as one guard geared up the courage to attack.
Jumping at the loud noise, Raimie quickly bent away from the blade coming at his neck. In slow motion, he watched the guard recover and prepare for another attack while his fellows struggled to put away the metal cylinders they’d been holding.
It was too late for the first one. Raimie was already inside his defenses. He placed his free palm against the guard’s breastbone, his arm snaking under the gripped sword, and expelled a brief burst of light. He felt the bone crack under his hand before the guard impacted one of the target dummies some fifteen feet away.
The energy replenished itself without any thought on his part, light flocking to him as he used it up.
The other four were prepared for a fight now, and Raimie danced amongst them. Their attacks had no chance of connecting. They moved at the speed of a snail, after all, and he was lightning. He swayed and bobbed to the rhythm of the beat pounding inside, disarming the guards handily before breaking bones or otherwise incapacitating them.
Something within refused to employ Shadowsteal to murder the men. They were only doing their job after all. He wouldn’t destroy them for that.
He stood in the middle of the groaning bodies, taking in the perfectly accomplished task with satisfaction. Shadowsteal lazily flicked in rhythmic circles around his body, and he relished the roll of his wrists and the perfect weight of the blade appreciatively.
“Raimie, the Queen and her gun are watching you,” Bright reminded him.
He’d completely forgotten about Kaedesa in the thrill of combat.
He flung Shadowsteal away with faked fear, ensuring it didn’t land near his victims. Stumbling away from it, he tripped over one of the guards and landed heavily on the grass.
“I… I… I…” he stammered, panic completely real in the face of what he’d unintentionally revealed to the Queen.
“I’m guessing that’s never happened before,” Kaedesa said.
Raimie shook his head. The quill busily scratched behind him.
“Interesting,” the Queen murmured. “Subject displays unusual abilities when in contact with his sword. Reminiscent of primeancy. Let’s hope that dreaded magic isn’t rearing its ugly head again. Perhaps there’s simply more to his claims than previously assumed.”
Raimie scrambled to his feet and faced Kaedesa, bowing low.
“Apologies, Your Majesty, for attacking your guards,” he said to his knees. “I beg for your forgiveness.”
“Oh stop, child!” Kaedesa said dismissively. “I expected something of the sort might happen when I gave you a weapon, and my guards had been informed as well. The fact that they attacked you because of a minor oddity reflects badly on them, not you. You had every right to defend yourself.”
He hesitantly rose, still cringing from an expected rebuke. Kaedesa closed her book with a snap and returned it to her pocket. She unhooked the pistol from her elbow, placed it on the table, and once again gestured for her unseen retinue. Another group of guards entered the enclosed garden on her command.
“This has been very diverting. Thank you, Raimie,” Kaedesa said, inclining her head his way. “Unfortunately, I have other matters of state to attend to, and so, I must bid you farewell for now. Our agreement stills stands. These guardsmen will take you to your new room.”
She turned to them.
“The prisoner is to be afforded every modicum of dignity and respect within reasonable measures for keeping him contained. Observe what’s happened to your comrades here, and please plan accordingly.”
She returned to the table, once again running her fingers over the weapons laying there. The guards cautiously approached Raimie, and he held out his arms, remaining perfectly still. They shackled his wrists but left his ankles free, giving him limited freedom of motion. They encircled him, keeping hands on weapons, and prisoner secured, led him away.
Chapter Twenty-One
I make a final request of you, my friend. When next we meet, please kill me.
Sneaking back into camp proved much easier than Kheled had expected. When he returned from Sev’s gates, chaos greeted him.
Between the tents and campfires, loyal Zrelnach herded humans to pens barricaded by boxes and wagons, putting down resistance wherever they found it.
And there was plenty of resistance to be found. Humans fought tooth and nail against incarceration. Kheled’s relief was palpable upon viewing the Zrelnach use their superior skill to subdue those who resisted rather than immediately r
elying on lethal force.
He initially avoided wading into the mess. His first goal, after all, was to recover his weapons as he wouldn’t be much help to Aramar if he was unarmed. To that end, he cautiously approached the tent where he’d met with Ferin, the conspiracy’s leader.
His mouth twisted. It wasn’t really a conspiracy, was it? Especially now that it appeared to have so thoroughly succeeded. No, Ferin had essentially led a sanctioned mission by what had become an enemy government.
Kheled rounded the tent, ready to put up a fight if necessary, but his cloak and weapons lay abandoned in the box where he’d dropped them. He gratefully retrieved the saber, dagger, and throwing knives, equipping each item as quickly as possible.
Now that he had his weapons to act as a deterrent, he released the feeble trickle of light he’d been clinging to. He hoped that he wouldn’t need to pull from Ele again tonight because the thought of doing so made him taste vomit in the back of his throat.
He forged through the disarray of the camp, miniature battles playing out on all sides. Plastering a mask of disdain and haughtiness on his face, Kheled affected an air of purpose and belonging, and the people to either side were too wrapped up in their own immediate conflicts to spend much time dissecting his farce.
“Can you scout ahead, Creation?” he mumbled, calling for his splinter. “Find Aramar for me?”
“As you wish.”
The invisible Kheled sprinted ahead until even his physical counterpart couldn’t pick him out of the chaos. Meanwhile, Kheled continued his own search while he waited. He skipped over the sections of camp that had already submitted. If Aramar had been in those areas, then Ferin’s order would have been carried out immediately and Raimie’s father would be dead. Instead, he focused on places where Aramar might have successfully hidden, inside of tents or under wagons. He scanned panicked faces, ignoring the lump in his throat when those who attempted to flee were inevitably caught.
He hadn’t been away from camp that long, and the Zrelnach loyal to Ferin couldn’t have gotten very far in their attempt to take over. Kheled simply needed to search with all speed, hoping Aramar’s life might be saved.
The Undying Champions (The Eternal War Book 1) Page 41