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

by Tameri Etherton

  Rhoane glanced at the other men gathered in the courtyard. Who among them was also a spy? Did the spies work for Lliandra? Or Amdi? Or perhaps even his own father? Who could he trust?

  He’d been too naïve in his dealings. That had to end. From this moment forward, his life would be devoted to protecting the Darennsai. Until her birth, he would protect the secret of her parentage and what Julieta had told him—that she would live offworld. Until he knew who to trust, he would assume everyone was his enemy, including Faisal.

  Rhoane cast a quick grin over his shoulder at the king. Yes, he would train with Faisal’s men. He would learn all there was to know about being a lethal killer. He would gather information not for any monarch, but for himself. What he chose to share would be his decision, not theirs.

  The men shifted uneasily, as if sensing the change in Rhoane.

  He approached his target with quiet efficiency, and before the man had a chance to speak, impaled him on his sword, twisting it savagely before he pulled it free. The other men gasped and stepped back, wary they were next. Rhoane casually took the scimitar from his victim and slit his throat with the razor-sharp blade. He released his grip on the weapon and it clattered to the ground. The sound echoed off the buildings in chilling, dulcet tones.

  Rhoane met each man’s stare, weighing their worth in his mind.“This man’s loyalty was not to me or to your king. Let it be known, this is how I deal with my enemies.” His heavy footfalls echoed on the tile as he stormed away.

  He glanced to the cloudless sky toward Dal Tara.Mother.He sent the thought to the heavens.I accept my oath and all that you asked of me. Blood dripped from his sword to splash on his boot. His hand was stained crimson.

  Faelara saw him and hurried over, concern etched in her features.“Rhoane, you’re bleeding.”

  “I am not injured.”He was just tired, so very tired.“But there is a man in the courtyard who is.”

  “What have you done?” Her amber eyes searched his. Questions lingered in their depths.

  “What I must.”He pressed his lips to her temple and breathed in the scent of her perfume. Right then he needed something familiar. Something comforting to soften the horror of what he’d done. What he would do in the future.“We should go swimming this afternoon.”

  Surprise lit her face.“What’s happened? You’re…changed.”

  “Aye. I am.”His weariness weighed him down.“I am afraid we all will be much altered by the end of this.”

  He left with the cryptic words hanging between them. It was true. No one would be immune to the changes the Darennsai would bring. Good or bad, life as they knew it would cease to exist.

  Chapter 13

  FAELARA inhaled the heady scent of spice, a grin on her lips. She’d been surprised by Lliandra’s agreement to allow Summerlands merchants to sell their goods in Talaith, but grateful all the same. She’d heard rumors the empress liked the idea so much she’d opened trade routes to Danuri, as well. Faelara looked forward to seeing the changes for herself when she returned to Talaith.

  Her stomach pinched at the thought. For four seasons she’d stayed in the Summerlands, finding one excuse after another not to return home. Baehlon had married Micah three seasons past, but she’d heard he spent much of his time away from the palace. That gave her little comfort. He could’ve said no to the empress. He could’ve fought for Faelara.

  And she could’ve been honest with him and told him how she felt.

  They were both to blame, but that didn’t mean she had to live under Lliandra’s roof and watch the newlyweds ogle each other. Gods forbid what she’d do when Micah became pregnant, and eventually she would. That was, after all, Lliandra’s reason for putting the pair together. For the empress, marriage rarely meant love, but was always for political advantage.

  A shadow caught her attention, and she glanced to her left. A swath of chestnut hair caught in the sun, and she squinted into the darkened alcove. Seeing nothing, she shook her head. For several days she’d had the feeling she was being watched, that someone spied on her whenever she strolled the market or when she took Prince Javeyd to the private cove, where she taught him to swim. He was a stocky boy with a healthy laugh and the sweetest black curls. Faelara had quite lost her heart to the child. If she were honest with herself, she’d admit it was the prince who had saved her from absolute heartache.

  Queen Prateeni continued to care for her firstborn, but she allowed Faelara unprecedented access to him, as if sensing her need to bond with another. She and the queen had grown close in the time Faelara had been in the Summerlands. Especially with Rhoane’s extended trips to gods knew where. He often disappeared for several moonturns at a time. At first, she worried about him constantly—he was still little more than a boy and innocent about the world—but each time he returned, she saw in him a maturity he’d not possessed before.

  King Faisal’s training was harsh and often caused Rhoane distress, but he kept his feelings closely guarded. On the rare occasions he’d confessed to her his anguish, she’d been shocked to learn the extent of his training. The Summerlands king was turning Rhoane into more than a spy or an assassin, and Faelara wasn’t sure she liked it one bit.

  But Faisal was determined to see Rhoane prepared for what was to come. Although, no one knew when or what would happen, so his approach was to be ready for anything at any time. Simple logic, Faelara had to admit, but upsetting all the same.

  Another movement caught her eye, and she glared at the shadows. Either she was losing her mind, or someonewas following her.

  A figure hovered to her left, much too close, and Faelara suppressed a cry. She stepped aside, but a hand caught her waist and pulled her against a solid torso.

  “Unhand me this instant, you brute!”She swiveled to face the menace and immediately softened.“Rhoane. What in Ohlin’s name are you doing?”

  “I have told you to be more cautious, Faelara. If I wished you harm, you would be dead by now.”

  “I’m shopping. How much harm could befall me in a crowded marketplace?”She kept her tone casual, but his words hit true. If she’d had the prince with her, she’d have left them both open to being kidnapped. Rhoane had indeed taught her better than that.

  He picked up a pot and inhaled deeply.“Hanan has the finest spices of all Aelinae. But do not tell my sister I said so. She believes hers are superior.”He winked at her and called the merchant over. After he gave his order, he turned back to her.“How have you been, Faelara?”

  This time he’d been gone half a season, the longest trip yet. From his pale skin, she assumed he’d been somewhere on the mainland.“To be honest, I’ve missed you. And I’m beginning to miss Talaith, as well.”

  “Then I bring you good news, I hope.”His eyes searched hers, and a tremble of fear started at her scalp.“Empress Lliandra is with child. She wishes for you to return at once to help deliver the baby.” A cloud passed over his eyes, turning them a darker shade of green.

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  A grin broke his solemn features.“You know me too well, my friend. Lliandra expects this child to be the One, but she will be disappointed. This is not the Eirielle, but a boy child conceived from a minor noble.”

  “How do you know?” Rhoane had ways of knowing things Faelara had long since stopped trying to uncover, yet the question always came.

  “I just do.” Again, the sly grin.

  Hanan returned with Rhoane’s spices and fawned over Faelara for several minutes. Each week, she visited him to get the ingredients needed for her tea.“What can I get you today? The usual?”

  Faelara gripped his hand, not wanting to say the words.“I’m afraid I’ll need more this week. It seems we’ll be leaving soon, and I don’t know when I’ll return.”

  Hanan’s face fell.“I’m sorry to hear it, my lady. Tabul!”He called his eldest son over to fetch Faelara’s goods.

  She gave him a longer list than usual and promised to return in a little while to collect them.
Her hand slid comfortably into the crook of Rhoane’s arm. They strolled the market, purchased several fruits for the journey, and chatted about his travels (as much as he was willing to share) and the events at the palace.

  “What will you do once we’re in Talaith?”Faelara asked.“Certainly Faisal won’t continue to send you on mysterious missions.”

  Rhoane chuckled good-naturedly.“The king has been more than kind to me during this time. If he has need of me, I will help, but while we are in Talaith, I will make it my duty to learn all I can about Lliandra’s court. With you gone, she was reluctant to allow me to stay for longer than a few days at most.”He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially,“I do not think she likes me overmuch. I refuse to share her bed, and this vexes her.”

  Laughter bubbled up from Faelara’s sternum, which lifted her mood.“I can only imagine. She’s not accustomed to men telling her no.”

  RHOANE carried their purchases as they trundled up the steep road to the palace where the king and queen waited for them. In Faisal’s hands was Lliandra’s royal summons. Tears streaked both their faces, and Faelara was taken aback that they would miss her as much as she would miss them.

  “You will see your father again,” Faisal told her as he hugged her to within an inch of her life.

  She’d missed her father terribly. Seeing him would bring her great comfort.

  They sailed for Talaith two days later. The journey home was much less traumatic, with no attacks, sickness, or storms. When they rounded the rocky coast and saw Talaith’s harbor, Faelara burst into tears, mortifying the few sailors who stood close to her. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed home.

  Rhoane put a protective arm around her shoulder, and she sank into him, burying her face and her tears. By the time they were to unload, she’d composed herself enough to disembark with the dignity of a lady.

  Not much had changed in the four seasons of her absence. Lliandra was even more demanding now that she was with child. The poor father, a minor noble who lived on the coast near Gaarendahl, hovered over the empress to the point of distraction. She was eight moonturns along and big enough to suspect twins, but Faelara sensed only one child in her womb. A male, as Rhoane had predicted.

  Which meant after his birth, he’d be sent to live with his father, with a yearly stipend and no communication with his mother.

  Except the child would first have to prove he wasn’t the Eirielle. Despite Rhoane’s insistence the Eirielle would be female, Lliandra refused to trust his opinion.

  On the night of his birth, the goddess Nadra appeared with the sword Ohlin had made for their daughter Daknys. Two dragons flanked the hilt, and a ruby sparkled upon the pommel. Those in the room gasped when they saw it, for most believed the sword had been lost.

  When the newborn’s palm was placed upon the pommel, he screamed as if burned. Nadra shook her head and disappeared with the sword. Those in the room breathed a sigh of relief, but the empress remained unaffected. The nursemaid handed the child to the father, and he was whisked away.

  Instead of showing anguish, Lliandra had beamed.“We should not mourn the loss of the child,”she instructed those gathered in her room,“but celebrate the fact I am not barren.”

  Only the empress could find a way to turn a devastating situation into something to cause joy. Faelara’s anger at her sovereign melted a bit that night. Her reticence at seeing Baehlon also diminished. If she were to live at the Crystal Palace, she would have to see him, and Micah. She needed to put aside her feelings and do what was best for everyone.

  A fortnight after Lliandra gave birth, Valterys, Overlord of the West, Lord of the Dark, arrived for a visit. The moment he entered Lliandra’s lavish sitting room, Faelara knew there was something special about this man. Her empress acted contrary to her usually controlled self, giggling too much and fidgeting with her jewels constantly.

  The overlord brought his son Zakael, a clever lad with striking grey eyes and a shock of black hair. With him, too, came his cousin, Duke Anje. If Lliandra acted childishly infatuated with the overlord, her sister Gwyneira acted the exact opposite. Her attraction to the duke was almost contrite.

  When it was time for the overlord and his son to leave, the duke stayed. Faelara was certain Lliandra would try to claim the man for her own, but he was too far gone in love with Gwyneira for the empress to have a chance. The princess and duke were married the following summer, with a son born nine moonturns later. Lliandra made the duke protector of Paderau and sent her sister to live with him in the expansive palace there.

  Then Lliandra began her search for the father of her next child. She found a handsome noble of high regard, and he dutifully gave Lliandra a child.

  Princess Marissa was born on a clear morning during Wintertide. Her rosy cheeks warmed the hearts of all those present for her birth. Lliandra beamed to finally have an heir. When Nadra appeared with the sword and Marissa screamed when her palm was placed upon the pommel, Lliandra’s disappointment was hidden behind a tight smile.

  And so Talaith celebrated the birth of the princess. Heir to the Light Throne, Marissa was guarded night and day. The best tutors were found for her, and the most skilled mages taught her how to weave her ShantiMari. Esna, Marissa’s father, enjoyed a comfortable life at the Crystal Palace. He fathered a son with Lliandra and suffered through two miscarriages with her. When Marissa was five seasons old, he was caught trying to poison the empress. His execution was swift and never spoken of by Lliandra again. The boy, three at the time of his father’s death, was given to Esna’s sister to raise. Both were banished from Lliandra’s court.

  That summer, the overlord and his son visited again. Faelara watched the sun return to her empress’s heart, and she knew. This was the man who would fulfill the prophecy. She recalled a conversation she’d had with Rhoane in a crowded Summerlands marketplace many seasons earlier and wondered whether he’d always known it would be Valterys.

  She glanced to where Rhoane leaned casually against the wall, at ease in the palace now that Lliandra no longer pursued him. He caught her eye and grinned—a sloppy, roguish grin she suspected had broken more than one woman’s heart. He’d grown into a fine man over the course of their friendship. Although he continued to disappear for moonturns at a time, often with Baehlon in tow, he always returned mostly unharmed.

  What? The gentle thought brushed her mind.

  You knew, didn’t you?She cast a quick glance at Valterys, who was making a show of kissing Lliandra’s fingers.

  Rhoane shrugged in answer.

  Infuriating man!

  Zakael, Valterys’s son, now twenty seasons and even more handsome, stood to the side, looking bored at the antics of his lovesick father. Yes, Faelara realized, Valterys was equally attracted to Lliandra.

  Marissa followed Zakael everywhere. He tolerated her presence, but only just. She was a child and he on the cusp of adulthood. He kept his visits short, but each time he came to Talaith, the princess was drawn to him like fleas to a mongrel.

  For ten seasons, Valterys courted Lliandra. He divided his time between Caer Idris and Talaith, spending many moonturns with the empress during the Light Celebrations each Wintertide and again during the summer. When finally the empress announced she was with child, the entire kingdom celebrated. Even those who didn’t know about the prophecy knew this child was special. Born of both Light and Dark. Never in the history of Aelinae had a child been born to two rulers of opposing kingdoms.

  It was a new beginning.

  Chapter 14

  SCREAMS rent the summer air. Empress Lliandra thrashed upon the birthing bed, her face a torrent of pain. Rhoane fidgeted behind the modesty screen, where he and the others waited. Some waited for the birth of a new princess, another heir to solidify Lliandra’s throne. Others waited for the birth of a prince, a link to the Obsidian Throne that would cement peace between the two kingdoms.

  Rhoane cared little for a prince or another heir for the empress. He waited for the one fo
retold by Verdaine. The one who is and who is not. The Darennsai of his people.

  His life mate.

  His downfall.

  Another cry, louder than the others and filled with anguish beyond pain, tore through his thoughts. He chanced a glance around the partition and saw the nursemaid shake her head. Lliandra sobbed as she turned from the sickening blue corpse of her infant son. The lifeless thing was placed in a basket to the side of the room, away from the empress. A thin blanket covered their hopes and dreams.

  Rhoane stared at the unmoving basket. His mind whirled in a tempest. How could Verdaine have it wrong? Surely the gods knew the future? She wouldn’t have made him swear an oath if she were unsure. He’d lost more than his people for the unborn child. He’d lost his mother, his kingdom, and his homeland, taking the shame of being sheanna for the sake of Aelinae’s future.

  A future that now looked bleaker than ever. Peace would never be restored. Balance never regained. A malignant force wormed its way beneath the terrarae. He’d seen traces of the blackness too many times to discount the threat. He’d been certain this child, born of Valterys and Lliandra, the Lord of the Dark and the Lady of Light, would be his Darennsai.

  The past twenty-five seasons had been spent preparing for her arrival. He’d done what Faisal asked and become more than a spy, more than an assassin. He’d murdered men and gathered information. He’d traveled to every corner of Aelinae searching, studying, believing. And now those beliefs were in tatters. Lliandra had miscarried before—perhaps she and Valterys could have another child. But in his gut, Rhoane knew it wasthispregnancy.Thischild. There wouldn’t be a second chance.

  “Your Majesty, there is another!”

  The birthing woman’s shout startled Rhoane. Another child. A twin. His gaze slid over the basket once more. Remorse for the dead infant tucked itself inside his heart.