The Darathi Vorsi Prince (Song of the Swords Book 0)

by Tameri Etherton

  They said their good-byes with well-wishes whispered and many extended embraces shared.

  “Go now. I do not wish for you to see me through the veil,”Rhoane commanded, his voice heavy with emotion. He waited until they’d walked along the path and could no longer be seen before he turned to the final veil and said the words that would allow him entry into the lands of the Fadair.

  Although Rhoane was sheanna, he did not bear the taint others had in their exile. That small distinction did nothing to make the shame any less. He felt every sensation as if it were a torch held too close to his skin. In time, he would learn to control the agony, but for this morning, when he had to leave his family and beloved forest for a world he didn’t know and wasn’t sure he was welcome in, the pain was nearly unbearable.

  Rhoane stood at the edge of trees that marked the boundary of the Narthvier and took a deep breath.

  His first step onto Fadair soil was, well, unremarkable. Unsure what he’d expected, Rhoane stepped lightly across the glen, testing his weight against the soil. Nothing swallowed him whole, nor did monsters arrive to ravage him. The sky looked much the same as it had in the vier, but not obscured by leaves. The glens had no trees, and he was unrelentingly exposed in the wide-open land. That much space should have terrified him, but he found it strangely compelling.

  For the better part of two bells, he left his mare to graze on the long grasses and investigated the tiny pockets of life that existed outside the forest. The same critters found in the vier scurried beneath bushes. Rodents of no particular interest made nests and burrows while birds darted across the cloudless sky.

  The expanse of openness sprawled in every direction, and for a moment, terror seized him. He had no idea which way to travel first. From his childhood tutors, he recalled vague recollections of Aelinae’s kingdoms. The Summerlands in the far south, past Talaith. The Ullans to the east, Artaghs to the southwest, Danuri on the western coast, Caer Idris to the north of Danuri, and the blue-skinned warrior women on an island somewhere in the Southern Seas.

  Rhoane turned away from the southeast toward Ulla. At least they were more civilized, if only just. He patted the mare’s neck. Talaith would have to wait a few moonturns. He needed a sturdier mount who could handle all of the riding he’d be doing. The mare Eoghan smuggled out of their father’s stables was too gentle and he feared wouldn’t handle the rigorous pace.

  Once he reached Ulla’s border, it became clear trading his mare wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d hoped. His welcome into the desert kingdom came in the form of masked riders who circled him, their scythes held high, their calls more like carlix screeches. Rhoane slowed his mount and took in the dark eyes that peeked through black fabric. Male or female, he couldn’t tell, but their weapons looked deadly enough.

  “You are not welcome, Aelan,”one of the riders shouted at him.“Leave now.”

  “I am not Aelan,”Rhoane began, unsure whether they would receive an Eleri over Aelan, but guessing not.“I am Prince Rhoane, First Son of the Eleri.”

  A nervous mumbling came from several of his captors. Finally, one rider broke from the circle and approached. Clad entirely in black from the top of her head to the tips of her boots, only a slice of tanned skin and eyes the color of melting ice could be seen. When her horse’s snout stood even with his mare’s, the rider addressed him in Elennish, the favored language of the Fadair.“You wear your hair short, exiled son of our neighbor. Follow me.” The voice, decidedly feminine, brooked no argument.

  The rider wheeled her horse around, and Rhoane followed, keeping watch on the others who continued to surround him. He was decent with a sword, but ten on one were not good odds for survival. They rode far into the desert, crossing patches of shifting sands and rocky valleys with rock sculptures arching high above them. Rhoane marveled at the beauty of the harsh land. All shades of red, from deep rust to pale coral, were etched into the rocks. Black sands gave way to dazzling white shifts of gravel.

  They climbed a steep ravine, and at the top, Rhoane saw a huge lake nestled against the border of the Narthvier and Ulla. The Sea of Jaden. He’d heard tales of Eleri drowning in the sea to avoid their sheanna. He shuddered and looked away from the shimmering water. A city made of colorful tents rested at the base of the mountain. Hundreds of tiny pennants whipped against the winds that blew constantly across the sands.

  “Is that where you are taking me?” Rhoane asked. It was the first time any of them had spoken since setting off.

  The leader lifted her chin.“For now. The chief will decide what we should do with an Eleri exile.”

  Their horses scrambled down the mountainside with the grace and agility born of familiarity. His mare had neither the experience nor the youth needed to traverse the rocky path, and slipped every other step. Rhoane eventually dismounted and led his mare as best he could, choosing a goat path wherever possible. At last, he reached the bottom and solid ground. The mare nickered to him as he placed his head against her forelock, apologizing for the harrowing descent.

  When he remounted, the leader watched him. A glint of something not completely unkind shone from her light eyes.

  The Ullan chief rested atop several pillows when they entered his tent. As they approached, he regarded them coolly, a pipe at his lips. After a hasty conversation in Ullan, the rider introduced Rhoane to the chief. She knelt at the side of the chief while the older man regarded Rhoane from where he reclined, not getting up to bow, as was proper. Rhoane bent low at the waist, affording the chief the greatest honor he could show him.

  “Why have you come to my kingdom?”The chief took a slow drag from his pipe. Tendrils of smoke curled around the man’s black eyes, yet he didn’t blink. He, like many other men in the tent, did not wear a head covering.

  Rhoane shifted from one foot to the other. Uncertainty settled in his gut.“I need a sturdy horse. One that will endure the riding I have before me.”

  “Ha!”the chief barked, and the others in the tent laughed with him.“You Eleri think you can stroll into the desert and the Ullans will just give you a horse.”He leaned forward until Rhoane could smell the spicy scent of tobacco on his breath.“If you want a horse, you will have to earn it, boy.”

  Several times the chief glanced to his left, where the hooded rider sat motionless. A flash of eyes, darker in the tent, now clear blue like the waters from Lan Gyllarelle, gave Rhoane all the warning he needed.

  “How does one earn a horse, my lord?”Rhoane bent to one knee, his head bowed in supplication. If the chief were power hungry, he’d not anger him by challenging his authority. An Eleri prince far outranked a simple Ullan chief, but though Rhoane was a prince in title, he was sheanna. If the chief demanded he work off the price of a horse, he would not shirk the duty.

  “You entertain me.”The chief cocked his head to the side. A sour grin marred his otherwise handsome features.“Although I doubt you will last long in the arena.”

  Hairs rose on the back of Rhoane’s neck, and anxiety prickled against his skin. He’d heard tales of Ullan fights held in their arenas. Mostly between men and women convicted of crimes, but sometimes out of spite from their ruler.

  “I have committed no crime. Why must I be subjected to your punishment?”

  The figure to the chief’s left glanced down, and Rhoane swallowed a lump of fear.

  The chief’s words were low, guttural.“Committed no crime? You entered Ullan territory without permission. You came here to steal a horse, and our women. I say you’ve committed several crimes, exiled son of Stephan.”

  “I did no such thing! You—” The woman shot him an alarmed look, and he stopped.

  The chief glared at the figure to his left.“Kaleigh understands when to be silent and when to speak, don’t you, my dove?”

  “Yes, my lord.”Kaleigh’s eyes shone with adoration as she gazed at the chief. The lilt to her tone, however, set Rhoane further on edge.

  “You accuse me of stealing women, and yet you have an Eleri hel
d captive in this very tent?”

  “I am here of my own will, First Son.”

  Rhoane glared at the chief, then at Kaleigh.“But, why?”His mind reeled with all that had happened in the space of a few bells. The world he knew had been turned upside down and twisted beyond recognition. He leaned back on his heels. Pride would not let him accept defeat, but his battered psyche couldn’t take much more. His mother’s death, being claimed sheanna, losing his family and friends, and then being held against his will had dragged his spirit to the depths of an unholy despair.

  The chief regarded him with a mean glint to his eye, a wolfish smile on his lips.“You are my prisoner, Eleri. You will fight in my arena, as all prisoners do. If you please me, you will be released.”

  “If I fight, how long before I earn my freedom?”

  The chief reclined against the cushions and sucked on his pipe.“When I decide.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?”

  Rhoane’s hatred burned through him. Not only for the Ullan chief and his Eleri captive, but for the situation he found himself in. All of this for a horse. No, not just the horse—for a Fadair woman. It wasn’t worth it.

  Chapter 4

  RHOANE dabbed a wet cloth over the wounds on his chest. Most were superficial, some deep enough to leave scars. The chief had made him wait until the tribe was fed, offering none to Rhoane but making sure he saw that Kaleigh had plenty. On more than one occasion, the chief fed the Eleri woman himself, placing a morsel of food between his lips and making her take the offering with her own.

  Rage had simmered beneath Rhoane’s calm facade, until finally he was taken to the arena to meet his opponent. The shaggy brute barely reached Rhoane’s chest, however, what he lacked in height, he made up for in speed. He wore leather breeches with bones knotted along the seams. No shirt, no shoes, and no armor. Only a thick coating of fur covered his square chest and bulky arms. The chief had taken all of Rhoane’s weapons, including Claidholm Solais, the latter wrapped in a thick sheep’s hide. Rhoane had fought hard to keep the sword in his possession, even if locked in a trunk. But the chief had ordered him restrained while the guards removed his possessions.

  The sword sang in his mind, calming him, assuring him there was no danger of being confiscated for good. Rhoane wished he had the blade’s confidence.

  At least the chief had let him keep his clothing. Although, once Rhoane saw the dagger in his opponent’s hand, he called foul.

  The chief laughed and told him if he wanted a weapon, he must earn it.

  For near on half a bell, Rhoane struggled with the stocky man. He darted away from the dagger’s reach time and again, only to be bludgeoned with a shaggy fist. He began to see a pattern to the man’s movements and tracked him like he would a doe, until he caught his opponent off guard and was able to wrestle the dagger from him. In the melee, the blade slashed Rhoane’s thigh before it impaled the vorlock rider.

  There was so much blood, Rhoane wasn’t sure how much had come from him or from his opponent.

  The chief stood to applaud Rhoane, declaring it a passable victory for a boy. Rhoane seethed anew. The fight had been pointless.

  “My name,”the chief began,“is Amdi Agnar. You may call me laird.”

  “I shall call you Lord Agnar, and you may call me Prince Rhoane.”

  The chief laughed and slapped Rhoane on the back, who nearly lost all the wind from his lungs from the blow.“We shall see, boy.” He then had two soldiers escort Rhoane to a tent, where they stood beside the door, impassive and unmoving.

  Food was set on a table and water steamed from a ceramic basin. Clean cloths rested beside the beautifully painted container. Now, as he cleaned his wounds, he studied the details of the container, admiring the flow of paint from one object to the next. It was a scene of the desert with blooms dotting the landscape.

  “So there is beauty among the violence?”Rhoane’s words floated on silence. He spoke in Eleri and hadn’t expected the guards to answer, nor did he expect Kaleigh to enter his tent a moment later.

  “You will find, Your Highness, there is much beauty here. Even with men as rough as Amdi.”She took the cloth from his trembling fingers and applied a little too much pressure to the largest wound.“It would be best if you did not speak our native tongue here. They do not trust outsiders. I know you have questions. Ask them.”Her Elennish was fluent, unlike his. He’d learned the language as he’d been taught, but didn’t have much use for it growing up. Until now.

  “Should I not have permission from your gaoler?”

  “I am not a prisoner here.” She removed the hood of her elaborate headdress, and Rhoane sucked in a breath.

  “You are sheanna. But how?” He broke all protocol by asking the simple question. Sheanna was not to be discussed unless the exiled Eleri chose to speak of it, but he had to know. Had to understand.

  Kaleigh’s short blonde curls bounced when she chuckled.“I fell in love. Unfortunately, the woman did not love me in return.”Rhoane winced as she pressed the cloth to an especially deep cut.“I am sorry, my lord. Would you like me to stop?”

  “Please, continue.”He motioned to the water, but he meant her story.“And call me Rhoane. Here I am not a prince, it would seem, but a boy.”

  “You are a boy, Rhoane. In the Narthvier you are, what, one hundred seasons?”

  “One hundred twenty-two.”

  “To the Fadair, that is equivalent to being twenty-two or twenty-three seasons.”At his look of confusion, she continued.“Time does not move the same here as it does in the vier. I am three hundred fifty-nine seasons Eleri, but only sixty-four to these people. To them, I am an adult, but you are not yet. Not until you reach your thirty-fifth Aelan season.”

  “That is why the chief enjoys taunting me so. To him, I am but an adolescent. He thinks to teach me a lesson, does he not?”

  “Aye, he does. And you should pay attention to all he can give you, Prince Rhoane.”She finished cleaning the worst of his wounds and applied a thick paste to all of them. Her touch was light against his skin, as if she didn’t want too much contact between them.

  It was not the first time anyone other than his mother or sister had laid hands upon his flesh, but it was the first time he felt any sort of reaction to a woman’s touch. As if sensing his arousal, Kaleigh backed away to rinse her fingers in the bloodied water.

  “You are young, Rhoane, and untested. Amdi can teach you many things you will need to survive with the Fadair.”She met his gaze, and her startlingly blue eyes bore straight to his spirit.“And I can show you how to manipulate time. Only a few Eleri know how, and before I was cast out, I was one of the best.”

  Rhoane took the plain tunic she offered and covered his naked torso. The salve stuck to the fabric, but he didn’t care. It was better than standing half-naked in front of her.“Why have I never heard of this before? I am skilled in Eleri healing, and I am one of the best with ShantiMari. Everyone says so.”

  “Because, my prince, only the initiates of Verdaine are taught the ways of time.”

  Rhoane slumped to the only cot in the room and rested his head in his hands. He wasn’t sure he could take any more surprises this day. Eleri mated for life, but the few honored as Verdaine’s personal initiates were allowed to choose their lovers and could have more than one in the span of their breeding time. For a woman to bed another woman, or a man another man, was forbidden. All coupling must be between a man and a woman to keep the race strong and vital. The laws, as he likened them, rattled in his brain, as though he were in his father’s throne room, hearing the king pass judgment.

  Kaleigh handed him the plate of food and pulled a chair close, but kept a discreet distance.“I can see this is much for you to absorb. I can leave if you wish.”

  “Please, stay. The woman you loved, was she an initiate as well?”

  Kaleigh took a moment before she answered. When she did, her voice was distant, as if she were once more with her forbidden lover.“We were young the
n, not much older than you are now, I suppose. All initiates are taught the ways of pleasuring both men and women.”At Rhoane’s look of surprise, she cautioned,“It is for practical reasons only. As future practitioners of our faith, it is up to the priestesses to council couples how best to conceive children.”

  Rhoane nodded. His long fingers stroked his chin.“I suppose the physical benefits were worth it.”An image of Carga flashed through his thoughts and he brushed it aside.“Do all initiates participate in the practice?”

  “Yes. You could not become a priestess without knowing how to share your body with another. It was a great honor to be skilled in the ways of lovemaking. Some of us would practice on each other, while others preferred to keep their studies to themselves.”A wry smile creased her otherwise smooth skin.“Of course, I had to choose one of the latter. She was beautiful in a sad sort of way. She came from humble means, with no family to call her own. I thought if I loved her enough, she would enjoy being at the temple, but her heart was never committed to becoming a priestess.”

  “My sister is destined to one day become high priestess.” The words tasted like straw in his mouth.

  “Do not dwell on her, Rhoane. She knew what was required before Verdaine asked her to become an initiate. We all did.”

  “In my heart, I know you are right. But she is my sister. I suppose I want to always think of her as being pure, untouched.”

  “Are any of us pure, Your Highness?”

  The question seared through him. Her revelations shook his core beliefs, but he urged her to continue with her story.

  “Are you sure?” Kaleigh asked, doubt written on her features.

  He nodded, not really certain of anything anymore.