Dissident (Forbidden Things Book 1)

by Nikki Mccormack

  “Worthless fool,” the stocky man bellowed at the slave now cringing over the remains of the shovel handle that had snapped above the blade.

  The whip lashed out and Velvet danced away. The slave fell to his knees, cowering. The whip continued to crack, hailing lashes down with all the mercy of an enraged wasp.

  Fury boiled in Indigo. Velvet danced about, terrified of the cracking whip. Every successive crack made them both flinch and fed the fire building inside her. This was what her father had fought to stop. This was what Hadris suffered before he freed her. People she loved, destroyed by such men as this.

  Cruel men… like Jayce.

  Cold calm rage stole over her. Connecting to her inner aspect, she turned some of the ascard to calming the mare the way she would a panicking patient. Then she focused on the man with the whip and made a precise tear in the muscles of his forearm. He clutched the arm with a cry and the whip dropped, the handle sliding down into the ditch, dragging the rest after it like a snake.

  She took a few deep, trembling breaths and urged Velvet over to them.

  “Are you all right, good sir?” She hid loathing behind false concern.

  “I’m fine lass. Just me arm.” He grimaced, still clutching the afflicted appendage.

  “You should have that looked at by a healer.”

  “I can’t afford no healers.”

  Shame started to twist in her gut until she met the eyes of the slave. Pale depths glossed over with pain and despair she couldn’t hope to comprehend. Stripes of blood marked his arms and hands where he had used them to shield his face from the whip. There was nothing she could do for him without drawing the wrong kind of attention. Helpless frustration brought the sting of tears to her eyes.

  “Would you be so kind as to assist him back to the house?”

  “Yes, my lady.” The reply was little more than a whisper.

  A tear slipped free when the slave turned to support his ailing master. The torn back of his shirt bore rust-colored stains from prior lashings. It took considerable will not to inflict more damage on the Caithin man. Watching them walk away, she felt another tear track down her cheek. Brushing it away, she turned the mare and kicked her to a canter.

  Anger and sorrow gave way to panic. What if an Ascard Watchman had been close enough to sense her? The craft of masking her workings eluded her still and she had done something forbidden. She’d used her ability to injure someone, a concept she’d been sickened to tears by the day before. Serivar insisted the Watchmen wouldn’t trouble her, but was that immunity unconditional?

  A furtive glance around found a few wagons heading toward the city and a trio of riders walking away from the city a ways back. She kicked the mare harder, trying to outrun fear and the persistent rage that strove to justify her actions.

  They barreled along the roadway and rounded a bend. A familiar figure loitered on his mount to one side. Caplin’s eyes widened when they charged around the trees. She suspected the surprise had more to do with her speed than her arrival. She sat up, her seat secure, and eased the mare down. The gradual slow took them past him and his gelding snorted, tossing his head against Caplin’s hold.

  She spun the mare and walked her back to Caplin. When she met his eyes, fresh anger threatened. “Why do I get the feeling this is more than a chance encounter?”

  His sheepish grin brought out the ungainly boy he had been when they first met. “Sorry to intrude, but I couldn’t resist the chance to see you alone, like old times. I can go.”

  “Caplin…” The angry retort caught on her tongue and melted away, his grin infecting her until she shook her head and laughed. “I should be angry with you, but maybe time alone isn’t what I needed after all. Shall we?” She gestured down the road.

  He moved his gelding into step with Velvet and they continued at a calmer pace. Velvet’s sides heaved and a layer of sweat slicked her black coat.

  He glanced at the mare with raised brows. “I see you took me seriously about getting her some exercise.”

  “We were burning off energy.” She stared ahead, muscles in her jaw tightening for a second, but she kept her tone conversational. “She seemed amenable. Where’s Andrea?”

  “With Mother, planning the wedding. It’s safer to stay out of their way.”

  His chuckle was a balm to her soul and she relaxed in the saddle, feeling the tension of recent events fade to the background. “I can imagine. At least she’s no longer trying to plan my wedding.”

  They turned off the road at the same time, acting in the unspoken accord of longtime familiarity, and wove through the trees. In the meadow by the river, they dismounted and left the horses to grazing on lush grass. At the river’s edge, she pulled off her boots and sat on the bank, dipping bare feet into the cool water. The fresh scent of the river and the bright fragrance of myriad wildflowers—yellow, white, and violet—carpeting the meadow was invigorating. Some early summer blooms poked up amidst spring blossoms.

  Caplin sank down next to her and they gazed out over the river, each lost in their own thoughts. A comfortable silence rarely found in the company of others. She plucked a yellow flower and twirled the stem between her fingers, watching it spin. For a time, the only sounds were birdsong and the gurgle of water.

  “What’s the news from the High Council?”

  He glanced sideways at her, his easy smile scampering away. “Why do you ask?”

  “Serivar was rather short-tempered yesterday. I thought it might have something to do with that.”

  “Serivar?”

  “Headmaster Serivar,” she amended.

  He leaned forward, his gaze inquisitive, and she looked down at ripples playing around her feet in the river. She twisted the flower in her fingers. The temptation to tell him about her training was close to boiling over, but possible repercussions of that simple act could be monumental. She clasped her hands around the now mangled flower in her lap and held her tongue.

  Caplin plucked at the grass and gazed out over the river again.

  “We may be forming an alliance to overthrow Emperor Rylan.”

  Her heart stuttered in her chest. Eldrian. Could it be?

  “You can’t tell anyone I told you,” he added when she gaped at him.

  “I’m quite competent at keeping secrets.” Bitterness at how often it was necessary to do so put a sharp edge on the words.

  His smile was disarming. “I trust you. King Jerrin has granted Prince Yiloch an audience to discuss possible alliance.”

  Disappointment knotted her gut. “The Blood Prince? How’s he any better than his father?”

  “Given the emperor’s erratic behavior, the council thinks it might be time to entertain other options. Emperor Rylan banished Prince Yiloch three years ago. He’s used that time to plan his takeover. We could stand to gain a lot by helping him.”

  She wanted to tell him there were other options. So many secrets. Frustration added venom to her tone. “The prince burned two villages to the ground and slaughtered the people to punish one man. He massacred entire families. He’s a vile beast.”

  Caplin’s expression vacillated between amusement and shock. “He did it to find the man who murdered his mother in front of him. I don’t excuse his actions, but you can imagine the grief and rage he felt at the time. Besides, it was Emperor Rylan who ordered the attacks.”

  “Prince Yiloch led them,” she argued.

  Caplin stared at her. “I’m amazed that you of all people would judge so harshly with only hearsay to go on.”

  She winced and averted her gaze.

  “If Prince Yiloch gets Emperor Rylan off the throne, we can decide what to do with him later. The Lyran Empire isn’t as strong as it once was and this upheaval will weaken it more. It’s an opportunity to put them in our debt.”

  She tossed the flower in the river, watching it drift helpless downstream. “What if he turns out to be worse than his father? What if you’re trading a mad man for an evil one?”

  “King
Jerrin’s only granted him an audience at this point. Nothing is decided.” He kicked the water with the heel of one boot and she wondered how convinced he was of his own arguments.

  Who would you put on the throne, Lord Eldrian? I never asked you that, did I? Would he support someone like Prince Yiloch?

  “I hope the Blood Prince turns out to be the better option.” A cloud blocked the sunlight as she spoke, bringing a dark chill to the meadow before it passed on. An ill omen or nature going about as usual?

  Caplin cracked a grin. “It’s a shame you’re not on the High Council. We could use a woman’s practical sensibility.”

  She started to laugh. The sound died when she met his eyes. The respect in his regard caused a flutter in her chest. She looked away.

  “Why tell me about this?”

  He pulled his feet in and sat cross-legged. “I don’t know. We used to talk about politics often as I recall. It’s nice talking to someone I can trust who isn’t directly involved. It helps me get perspective.”

  If only she could afford the same risk. “Why me? I know you used to tell me things before, but never anything of this magnitude. Why risk the king’s wrath?”

  She glanced at him and turned away again from the affection in his smile.

  “You’re easy to talk to, Indigo. You’re intelligent. Oh, and you did ask.”

  “I’m flattered you think I’m all that, though I question your good judgment.” She forced a playful grin.

  “You are intelligent,” he pressed. “I admire that you have an interest in more than fashion and gossip.”

  He was comparing her to Andrea. Uneasy silence hung between them. She let her mind drift, listening again to the simple sounds of water flowing and the chatter of birds.

  “How are you and Jayce?”

  She drew her feet out of the water and hugged her knees into her chest. “Well enough.”

  “You seem distant lately. I thought it might be a relationship problem, though Jayce has been rather cheerful the last few times I’ve seen him around.”

  “He’s usually happiest when I’m not,” she snapped. Her back stiffened and her hand flew to her lips, wishing she could catch the words and put them back. “I didn’t mean that.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  She shoved her damp feet into her boots and stood, starting toward the horses. “We should get back.”

  He stood behind her and placed a stalling hand on her shoulder. “I know you’re strong, Indigo, but you don’t have to keep everything locked away. It’s all right to let someone else support you once in a while.”

  Her throat constricted, the ache where Jayce’s fingers dug in reminding her exactly how good things weren’t between them. “Please, let’s go.”

  “No. Jayce is an acquaintance of mine only because of you. You’re the one who matters to me and if you’re unhappy…”

  She hung her head, trembling beneath his touch. With gentle pressure, he turned her and drew her into his embrace. Tears broke free unbidden, the strength of her sorrow turning her weak in his arms. He held her close until the tears ceased then pushed her back and held her at arm’s length, looking into her eyes.

  “I understand the expectations and politics of high society better than most, but an engagement should not be a prison. I’m the king’s nephew, I could—”

  “No!” She softened her response with an apologetic smile. “Not now. I appreciate the offer, but terminating my engagement would make my life harder right now.”

  He frowned, searching her face for an explanation, but not asking. “The offer remains open.”

  She stepped back out of his grasp. “Thank you.”

  They collected the horses and he let her direct conversation to lighthearted chatter over the coming Wakening Festival and how spectacular the ball at the palace would be this year. The king never missed an opportunity to celebrate and the expectation of the Prince’s arrival would drive him to step-up the extravagance.

  “You will attend, won’t you? Your beauty does brighten a room.”

  She gave him a reproving look. “Wouldn’t you consider such compliments inappropriate under the circumstances?”

  His grin oozed mischief. “If it were a compliment I might, but it was merely an observation of fact.”

  “Fine. Thank you.” She yielded. “Regardless of what my beauty might or might not do to a room, I’m not fond of the idea of exchanging pleasantries with a man of Prince Yiloch’s reputation. However, since Jayce wouldn’t dare miss an opportunity to posture amongst his peers, I’ll undoubtedly be there.”

  “Splendid. I’ll make sure to introduce you to the prince.”

  She gave him a sour look. A shudder ran through her and she nudged Velvet to a trot. What good could come of allying with such a man?

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The seaward streets of Tunsdal were muddy, thick with human and animal waste. Even several blocks inland from the docks, the stench of rotting fish edged up underneath other questionable smells creeping out from the slums. Vessels didn’t dock long and no merchant lingered after passing on his wares, but it remained the second busiest port on the Lyran coast because the dearth of imperial troops made it a prime dock for smugglers.

  Hax arranged for them to meet Cadmar at an inn called The Weary Trader on the outskirts of town. If he had done his job, they should have a vessel secured for the trip across the Gilded Straight and the wine casks would be loaded. They could leave the miserable city behind almost as soon as they arrived.

  Yiloch ignored the measuring looks as they rode into town. Locals were used to merchants of all classes visiting the city, but more than a few thieves looking for easy targets and dishonest traders hoping for gullible patrons roamed the streets. Rather than try to puzzle out who among their watchers might be a threat, he marked them all suspect.

  He sent Adran and Ian into the inn and waited outside with the retinue. Ian could maintain the existing disguise without having to see to the entire group within a certain range, but he needed to see Cadmar in order to allow the warrior to see through it.

  While they waited, Yiloch dismounted and scratched Tantrum’s forehead to hide his impatience. The big stallion’s eyelids drooped in contentment.

  Adran and Ian emerged several minutes later with the imposing warrior between them. Cadmar looked almost pure Kudaness with his dark skin, broad shoulders and thick musculature. His trace of Lyran blood revealed itself in the unusual contrast of striking pale green eyes. Black hair, braided into thick ropes along his scalp, stretched to his low back even with the ornamental bone clasp that pulled it in at the base of his neck. The pommel of his long sword, a hissing snake’s head, peered over one shoulder complimenting his menacing appearance. Hax used him for critical assignments because his intimidating look often precluded the need to prove his skill. In a place like Tunsdal, that was an invaluable asset.

  The dark warrior met Yiloch’s eyes. “We sail on the Maricelle soon as the crew’s done loading cargo. The wine was loaded this morning.” His deep voice rounded out the daunting image.

  Yiloch smiled, pleased they wouldn’t to have to linger in the city. “Have you ever been to Caithin, Cadmar?”

  “Never.”

  Cadmar’s Kudaness appearance might remind King Jerrin that Yiloch had other options when it came to building alliance and the dark man flanking him would create a striking contrast, making them each stand out even more than they did alone. “Would you care to?”

  The warrior grinned, an almost feral expression that brought attention to an old scar pulling down his left cheek. “I would, Prince Yiloch, but Hax expects my return.”

  “I’ll send someone to let her know I appropriated you.” He mounted and turned to the nearest soldier. “Return to the stronghold. Inform Dalce that we reached Tunsdal and that Cadmar will be making the crossing with us.”

  “Yes, my lord.” The woman bowed her head and spun her mount, kicking it to a canter.

  Cadmar led them to
the docks, slogging through filthy mud on foot ahead of their horses. The reek of the streets made the prospect of open water appealing, despite Yiloch’s distaste for boats. He preferred to keep solid ground under his feet, but the outcome of this journey promised to be worth a little discomfort.

  Men swarmed the docks like ants. Workers loaded and unloaded shipments, hawkers called to passersby trying to sell everything from fish to jewelry, crewmen gathered supplies for their next voyage, and various traders and merchants finalized transactions for import or export of goods. Moving through the throng behind Cadmar, Yiloch was vigilant. His soldiers kept hands near their weapons, ready to react in an instant. Their obvious weaponry and alert manner kept opportunists at bay. No thief gave them more than a second wistful glance before moving on.

  They reined in their horses alongside the gangplank to a merchant vessel with Maricelle painted in fading red letters near the bow. A Kudaness man standing on deck spotted Cadmar, dark eyes flickering with recognition. The man was tall and lean, his black hair braided in ropes that cut off above the shoulder. Dark tattoos on either side of his face declared his tribe and trade.

  Yiloch dismounted with Cadmar and motioned Ian to follow. “Captain Adran, keep an eye on things here. We don’t need trouble.”

  Adran settled into his saddle while Cadmar led Yiloch and Ian up the plank to where the ship’s captain waited.

  “Nhia, Sen Markhia,” Cadmar greeted, holding a fist over his chest.

  Captain Markhai mirrored the gesture. “Nhia, Cadmar. Shes Yiloch khuelgan?”

  Yiloch gestured to Ian. “Let Sen Markhai see.”

  Ian nodded. A few seconds later, Captain Markhai’s eyes narrowed. He offered Yiloch a stiff bow and glowered at Ian with open animosity.

  “Your highness, no disrespect is meant, but I risk the wrath of the gods by allowing you on my ship. I will not have a creator on board.” The captain’s thick accent made the Lyran trade dialect almost unintelligible.