by K K Ness
“And then the leylines dealt with him,” Sonnen stated. “There is a chance the leylines will react similarly if Danil is under threat.”
“An interesting theory, my prince,” Viren said, green eyes narrow. “But I assure you, none of my people are behind this.”
“Is anyone among your retinue missing?” Hafryn asked.
“This man is not one of mine.”
“How can you be so sure?” Danil asked. “He’s wearing an Eyrie tunic.”
Viren waved his hand in dismissal. “Our cloth is available to any with the coin and stupidity to wear it. I assure you, had he crossed paths with one of my people, he would not have survived it.”
“No one wears Eyrie cloth but the Eyrie,” Hafryn explained to Danil.
Danil raised an eyebrow. “You don’t wear it.”
Hafryn suddenly coughed. “For an entirely different reason, fala.”
Viren’s gaze turned measuring.
“What about before you arrived?” Danil pressed Viren. “There were Eyrie already stationed here in Corros—anyone missing?”
Viren began to shake his head, then paused, a frown flickering across his face.
Sonnen made a low rumble and balled his fists.
The Eyrie leader’s expression smoothed over. “Many Eyrie come and go according to the demands of their contracts. I’ve received no report of note, I’m afraid.” He rose, dusting his hands on his breeches. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, there are some things I must attend to. Unless I am to be detained.”
Sonnen looked sorely tempted. “You are not. But I will have more questions for you, councilor,” he growled with such venom that the hackles stood on the back of Danil’s neck.
Viren sketched a quick bow. “And I will answer them, my prince.” He bowed again and then left without a backward glance.
Hafryn waited a few heartbeats before giving a low whistle. “I think Viren just discovered he has less control over his assassins than he thought.”
“That is hardly in our favor,” Sonnen growled, golden eyes dark.
15
The furnishings in Sonnen’s private guest wing were simple but finely made, the second doorway leading to a balcony that looked out onto the valley below. The sparseness of the room was a sharp contrast to Hafryn’s quarters, which were now closed to them while enchanters worked to put it to rights. Danil wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to go back there—not when Freyna’s life hung in the balance.
“It’s temporary until our quarters are dealt with,” Hafryn said, throwing his cloak over the back of a chair.
Danil dropped his pack at the end of a sleeping pallet. “It’s fine,” he said after a time. “I just—I don’t understand why I can’t join you.”
“In hunting down who’s trying to kill you?” Hafryn asked. “I’d think it obvious, fala.” He slipped a dagger into his boot.
Danil resisted the urge to fold his arms. “Were the situation reversed, I’d never expect you to hold back.”
Hafryn checked his blade before sliding it into its sheath. “It’s not because I don’t think you’re capable.”
“What, then?”
“We can’t know what would happen if you’re hurt or killed.” Hafryn drew close and gripped his shoulders. “Kailon needs its custodian safe.”
Danil set his jaw. “Kailon didn’t choose me because I take the safest path,” he muttered.
Hafryn tightened his grip. “But I need you to do exactly that, Danil. Just this once. I’ll be back before dawn,” he promised.
Following him into the reception room, Danil watched with a heavy heart as Hafryn joined three shifters waiting by the main door. With a nod, Hafryn led them outside.
The low rumble of Sonnen’s voice drifted in from the drawing room, followed by a servant’s quiet reply.
At a loss over what to do, Danil loitered in the doorway as the servant departed. Sonnen sat at a large desk of polished wood, his ornate cloak draped over the back of his chair. At some point, the dragon had rolled up his sleeves, a collection of missives spread about him. A frown of concentration marred his forehead as he worked.
The dragon noticed Danil and motioned toward one of the plush chairs on the opposite side of the desk. “Come join me, Danil. You are welcome here.”
Danil sat with a murmur of thanks. He waited as Sonnen scrawled upon a length of parchment, the scratch of his quill a loud contrast to the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth. The flames danced merrily, but Danil scarcely felt little beyond a slow chill in his bones.
“Fear not, Danil. Freyna yet lives,” Sonnen said, not looking up from his work. “We would know if it were otherwise.”
Danil clenched the arms of his chair. “Will she recover?”
Sonnen paused, golden eyes piercing. “What does the kiandrite tell you?”
That startled Danil upright. “Oh, I—” He closed his eyes and mentally reached out, questioning, but felt only an angry buzzing. Even his own crystal felt agitated. “I don’t know.”
Sonnen tapped a finger on the desk. “I too can sense their outrage, as will anyone with a feel for enchantments. Never before has a custodian been attacked. Not in Corros.”
Swallowing, Danil said, “Will the kiandrite keep her alive?”
“Custodians have no right to a longer life than anyone else, no matter how the leylines beneath us demand otherwise. Their interference in the attack is beyond the understanding of what we have always known about them. The leylines provide us with the power for our enchantments, but they do not dictate how we use that gift, nor do they act with a will of their own.”
Danil thought of Kailon and suspected otherwise.
Sonnen sat back, his gaze assessing. “It will be interesting to see what happens should Roldaer enter your territory, Danil. The outcome may not be so easy to predict.”
Shifting uncomfortably, Danil said, “Emissary Arlyn has already spoken to the High Council.”
“A courtesy that would be extended to any kingdom’s ambassador.”
“She’ll leverage the attack on Freyna to her benefit.”
Sonnen gave him a studied look. “Not if Hafryn finds a lead. Give it some time. There are a few marketplaces to examine, and many stores, assuming of course that our would-be assassin acquired his outfit here in Corros.”
“You don’t think so?”
“I take Viren at his word that the Eyrie are not involved in today’s attack. That it is Freyna and not you in the infirmary is evidence enough—the Eyrie do not make such mistakes.” Sonnen set aside his quill and scrunched the parchment in his fist. It caught alight and quickly turned to ash, replaced by a ball of light. Danil idly watched as the light flew across the room and out the window. “Nonetheless, the citadel is in lockdown. These quarters are out of bounds to all but my closest advisors. You joined my House in good faith, Danil, and I will not flinch from the responsibilities that entails.”
“Maybe Kailon would be better off with a different custodian,” Danil said, sinking into his chair. “One Amasians don’t want to kill.”
Sonnen shook his head. “Without you, Kailon will fall to Roldaer—and Amas with it. I have no doubt. You bring change that many find difficult to reconcile, but that is not your fault or your duty to correct.” A hard glitter showed in the dragon’s eyes.
A hard lump formed in his throat. “It’ll all come to nothing if Freyna dies.”
“We can only hope she does not.”
A polite knock interrupted further conversation.
“Enter,” Sonnen commanded.
A servant bowed before stepping aside to grant Councilor Tresa entry. The woman was still dressed in her official robes, her dark hair piled up high above her head once more.
Sonnen rose and gave a short bow, and Danil hastened to follow. “Lady Tresa,” the dragon murmured.
“My prince,” Tresa replied, pausing on the edge of the rug. “I had hoped to speak to you in private.”
“If it regards today’s ev
ents, then it is best Custodian Danil hears it also,” Sonnen said.
Her eyes narrowed. “I see.” Tresa inclined her head, causing the blue gems in her hair to sparkle.
“Excellent. Let us share some tea.” Sonnen motioned to the servant, who quietly departed the room. “Please, Tresa, sit with us.”
She bowed and took the chair a few feet from Danil, her robes rustling as she neatly folded her hands.
They waited in silence for the servant to return with a pot of tea on a small tray. The servant poured three cups, the fragrant scent of spiced oranges filling the air, and handed the first cup to Sonnen.
The dragon murmured his thanks, then indicated for Danil and Tresa to help themselves.
Tresa studied them both over the rim of her cup. “I am told the dagger that struck our honored custodian was not poisoned.”
Sonnen nodded. “We are fortunate, indeed.”
“Has the perpetrator been identified?”
“My best people are working toward that as we speak,” Sonnen replied. “I will be sure to apprise you when we have anything new.”
Tresa took a delicate sip. “I understand Hafryn of Eyrie is involved in the search.”
The lines about Sonnen’s eyes tightened slightly. “You are well informed, Tresa, as always.”
“You don’t see an issue when the crime took place in his quarters?”
Danil frowned, hearing the implications in her voice.
Sonnen appeared unfazed. “Hafryn is one of our finest trackers. You demanded his skills when we first discovered that kiandrite was entering Kailon through our meltwater,” he said. “He has a certain aptitude for finding things that others would prefer hidden.”
Tresa took another sip of her tea as her gaze slid to Danil. “And I understand that you are now under guard.”
Danil stiffened.
“For his protection,” Sonnen clarified with a frown.
The councilor smiled benignly. “Of course. Today’s unpleasantness aside, I imagine the reprieve has been welcome.”
Danil set down his cup. “Forgive me, councilor, but I’m unsure what you speak of.”
“From the deadlands, of course.” Her eye widened innocently.
“It is not dead anymore, my lady,” Danil said. “And it’s called Kailon.”
Tresa raised an eyebrow. “According to whom?”
“The histories of our people, Tresa,” Sonnen said, annoyance flashing across his face. “We have spoken in depth about what Kailon means to Amas.”
“And I’ve been sure to express the views of Corros to the High Council,” Tresa replied. “I’m certain we shall enjoy a desirable outcome. But tell me, Sonnen, can you recall a time when a custodian of Corros was attacked?”
“I cannot.”
Her eyes slid back to Danil. “How curious, then, it should occur when and where it did.”
Sonnen glowered. “Speak plainly, Tresa.”
She set her cup aside and smoothed down her robes. “Very well. This one you call custodian of a dubious scrap of land arrives in Corros, and within days our very own custodian is courting death. I do not believe in coincidences, Sonnen.”
“Nor do I,” Sonnen growled. “Your mistake is thinking that the attacker targeted Freyna. This is not the first time an assassin has been sent to kill Danil.”
She frowned at him.
“The first attempt was made in Kailon,” Danil voiced.
Tresa frowned. “To what end?”
“We have yet to discover who is behind it or why.”
She set back, tapping her chin. “Let me see if I understand this. The human custodian was attacked on his own territory, but he was too weak to be aware of an imminent threat. He then brought the danger here, to the peril of our own custodian.”
A flicker of orange flame showed in Sonnen’s eyes. “Danil is hardly to blame.”
“Oh, I’m aware.” Tresa made a placating gesture. “He knows nothing of our ways, how our very kingdom rests upon the wellbeing of our leylines. He can hardly comprehend the risks he presents. The mistake, I fear, was in allowing him to become custodian in the first place.”
Ice washed through Danil’s bones. “The leylines chose me.”
“As I understand it, few other options were available.” Tresa regarded him coldly.
“That’s not how leylines work,” Danil seethed, although he internally feared that she was right.
“So you say.”
“I suppose you have a remedy for it, then?” Sonnen questioned, his hand gripping the edge of the table.
“The High Council deals with many problems,” Tresa said. She rose, smoothing down her robes. “Fear not, my prince. I won’t send assassins to end your human’s custodianship. But I will do what is best for Corros and Amas.”
“And Kailon?” Danil asked.
Tresa gave him a dismissive look. “I have yet to see anything worth fighting for.”
She bowed to Sonnen and swept out of the room.
Sonnen watched her leave, his expression brooding.
16
Late evening saw Hafryn return to their private quarters.
Danil sat in a chair close to the fire, his boots stretched out toward the warmth. He held the first crystal he’d brought with him from Kailon, turning it about in his hands. A calm sort of contentment emanated from the kiandrite, and when Danil pushed his senses into the precious stone, a trickle of power swept over him.
Noticing Danil, Hafryn paused in unclasping his cloak. “You’ve not slept.”
Danil eyed him critically. “Nor have you.”
The results of the cleansing ritual were starkly evident now. A bruise showed on Hafryn’s cheek, others smattering darkly on his forearms. Shadows marred under his eyes, and there was a tightness about Hafryn’s mouth that Danil hadn’t seen before.
“I take it things aren’t going so grandly for you, either,” Danil said dryly.
Hafryn sank into the other chair with a groan. “We’ve made little headway if that’s what you mean. But we at least know the assassin gained access to our rooms via the balcony.”
“He flew up?” Danil frowned, setting aside the crystal. “Viren said the Eyrie aren’t responsible this time.”
“It serves him to believe so.” Hafryn removed the tie holding back his red hair. It fell about his shoulders in loose waves. The wolf’s eyes slid closed as he basked in the warmth.
Eyeing the cobwebs trapped on Hafryn’s sleeve, Danil wondered where he’d been since the attack on Freyna. The wolf had always been secretive, but the events of the last few days left Danil feeling adrift.
Seeming to know his thoughts, Hafryn opened his eyes to study Danil. He face grew somber in the firelight. “I’ve fallen into old habits, fala,” he admitted. “It won’t happen again.”
Danil raised an eyebrow. “You’ll tell me about the Eyrie?”
Hafryn grimaced and straightened, hands clasped between his knees. “Have at it, then. What would you know, fala?”
“Viren.”
Hafryn gave a wan smile. “We share a grandmother. I’m what you call a winter child—one born late in the mother’s life. I was unexpected and too young to be of interest to my esteemed cousin, so I hardly knew him when he sent me packing.” He shrugged. “It was nothing personal.”
“Nothing personal,” Danil murmured, again studying the bruises on the wolf’s hands and face.
Hafryn waved the injuries aside. “Strength and cunning are the lifeblood of the Eyrie. The ritual was to ensure I hadn’t softened during my time with the dragon prince.”
“And Viren’s satisfied?”
Hafryn shrugged and pointed to the pale blue mark on the inside of his elbow. “I still bear the House glyph.”
“You know the cleansing was just an excuse to beat you.”
The wolf hesitated. “Being an Eyrie is…complex. I didn’t want to worry you.”
Danil shook his head. “If it was really about strength and cunning, what you did
in Kailon and Altonas should have been enough. You lured the magi into a trap and helped stop Magus Brianna from gaining control of Kailon.”
Hafryn studied him in a new light. “You downplay your own role, Danil.”
“Maybe, but we wouldn’t have succeeded without you. If Tresa shared with the High Council what happened in Kailon, Viren would know that you risked your life to save Amas. So why test you at all?”
“I don’t know. Petty grievances, perhaps. Either way, you have my word I won’t fall into old traps. Or if I do, I’ll be sure to have you at my back.”
Danil snorted. “That’s all I ask. Fala.”
Hafryn paused, then covered his face and groaned. “I’d hoped you’d forgotten.”
“Not likely.” Danil couldn’t suppress a grin. “If I’d known the meaning when you’d first said it—”
Hafryn pointed a finger at Danil. “You’d have gone running back to Roldaer, no matter that Magus Brianna wanted you dead.”
“Possibly,” Danil conceded, grin widening.
“Possibly,” Hafryn muttered, his mouth twitching. “I meant it back then, Danil, but even more so now.” He reached out and clasped Danil’s hand. “I’m sorry I’ve given you reason to doubt me.”
Sobering, Danil held tight. “No more secrets,” he said.
“It’s against my nature, but I’ll do my best,” Hafryn promised.
Danil nodded. “Good enough.”
The lines about Hafryn’s mouth eased. He cleared his throat. “Right. Well, I hear a great healer is being flown in to care for Freyna. She’ll pull through.”
“Can we see her?”
Hafryn hesitated. “Hopefully in the morning. We should let the healers do their work.”
“Tresa blames me,” Danil observed quietly.
“Common sense notwithstanding, eh? We knew she was dubious of your custodianship. At least now Tresa’s showing her hand.”
Danil gave Hafryn a narrow look, noticing he seemed largely unconcerned.