by Ronie Kendig
“I do not.”
“If what ye speak is true . . .” Iron weights pressed Tili’s stomach, nauseating him. As if this war was not enough. “If Drracien wields dark flames, then not only do we have a traitor, we have an enemy combatant—an incipient—in our camp.” But the problems only started there. “The Guidings demand accelerants eliminate those who wield the dark flames.”
“And yet he makes merry with the one person capable of preventing that very action,” Vaqar noted.
“Shrewd, if he is indeed wielding them.” Tili swiped a hand over his mouth. “We must take care with this, Vaqar. ’Tis not merely one man’s reputation resting on that accusation.”
“I do not speak in haste, Steward. I speak truth.”
“Ye are Tahscan,” Tili said, eyeing him. The plain words alluded to where Vaqar’s loyalty rested—with another country. Not with those in this camp. He watched. Waited and assessed the man’s reaction. “I’ve heard ye’re the queen’s brother.”
Vaqar did not react, save the small twitch below his left eye, where those double wave tattoos danced over the scar.
“So why did ye leave? Why abandon country and the possibility of rule to come here?”
“I was her brother,” Vaqar said. “When the queen turned from our traditions and people to embrace the Infantessa, I braved once to counter her. When she discovered the depth, the extent of our . . . gift, she crafted a writ of execution for all found to carry the mark.”
“But ye were her brother!”
“I was a threat,” Vaqar countered. “We fled, and she subjugated all of Tahsca to the will of the Dark One.”
Tili straightened. “Yer tale is painful at best, but it does not answer my query—why here? Why ride with us?”
Keen, bright eyes locked onto Tili. “I would ask the same of you, Prince Thurig as’Tili. You were commander of your father’s elite guards. Renowned for impartial and strategic dealings. And, according to the queen, you were much-sought after by the daughters of the North, were you not?”
He wasn’t sure whether to be amused or embarrassed at that last point.
“And yet here you are, unbound and fighting for a prince not your own.” Vaqar’s gaze rose to the sun, then back to the people who now numbered in the hundreds. “We both have left our homes and followed the path of Aaesh, which has led us to this camp. To the protection of the Fierian, it would seem. Would you not agree?”
“Yer point is made, Tahscan.”
“Is it?”
Was that a challenge? Or a true question?
“I bring you a legitimate concern and threat against the Fierian, and you stand here arguing politics.”
“I argue nothing,” Tili said. “My intent is to sort facts. To consider every possible angle to this threat, weigh it against machinations, designs, and the future of all Primar. While ye and I seek the same end for the same blessed Hand, we might have very different routes to that end.”
“Like what?”
“Division—dividing me against the Fierian. Isolating him.”
A storm rushed into the man’s face. “Would not that serve the Dark One better than myself?” He shrugged, his large shoulders rippling. “I have no motive, other than to rid myself of the reek.”
“Ye mean, the scent.”
“Aye.”
“When did ye”—how had he put it?—“get the mark?”
“He came to me three months hence. The Guardian.”
A face flashed through Tili’s thoughts. “Draorin.”
“He gave no name,” Vaqar said, “but his presence with you confirmed where I was to be. As I have done little that others cannot do, it seems probable that he led me here for this purpose—to rout the traitor.”
Tili roughed a hand over his face, then slid it up and over his head. The Tahscan had no reason to turn them against Drracien. Suddenly, a memory leapt to mind. Tili had heard while at Hetaera that Drracien had been accused of murdering a high lord at the Citadel. The youth had been hunted. Hid. Fled. Was he guilty? Had he been turned by the Dark One?
“Steward.” Laerian galloped toward them. “The Fierian suggests we make camp.”
After a quick survey of the land, Tili nodded. “Agreed.”
The captain rode away, shouting the command to break and set up camp.
Tili turned back to Vaqar. “I weigh heavily yer words, Tahscan.”
“Understood.” The Tahscan snapped a nod and drew the reins away.
“Vaqar,” Tili called, noting they were not fully alone—someone was lingering nearby, listening. “A favor.”
Annoyance rippled through the man’s dark skin.
“When we resume our march, I would like to travel with the people, know them. Settle disputes among some stragglers from Iteveria.” He eyed the throngs pushing toward them to make camp on the plains. “Replace me at the front?”
Vaqar hesitated, but seemed to understand Tili’s intent, that neither of them would leave Drracien unmonitored. He inclined his head. “Of course.” His people joined him and Vaqar dismounted, the man like a great boulder, the people like a river crashing around him.
“Steward,” called a Pathfinder. “Your tent is there at the front, sir.”
As Tili dismounted and started for his tent, he could not help but wonder. Was he buying into paranoia? Overthinking things? Still, the eastern plains of the Nine were vast. Amazing how Drracien found them. Father, would that ye rode with us . . . What he wouldn’t give for his father’s sage wisdom. Would he see his family again?
With another look in the direction of Vaqar, Tili caught sight of Praegur, walking a horse and talking with the young girl Kedulcya had left behind. There seemed an affection between the two. And it stirred an ache in Tili.
“You look like you’re in pain.”
Tili’s heart thudded at the sultry voice. “’Tis yer presence,” he teased, glancing down at the spritely girl who’d joined him.
Taking the reins of his horse, she rolled her eyes, then swept her gaze over the busy camp. “The Tahscan’s words have made the Pathfinders nervous.”
How had anyone heard them? Or was this her way of saying Vaqar had unsettled her? “They make me nervous.” In his periphery, he saw her almost jerk her gaze to his again.
She smoothed a hand over his mount’s blaze. “Then you believe him?”
Believe was a strong word. “I weigh his concerns with care. He has no reason to begrudge the accelerant.”
“Except that Drracien has a seat of position with the Fierian. A seat that might have been given to the Tahscan.”
“’Tis no competition, and there are no seats here, Astadia.”
She tilted her head, exposing her bare neck. “Aren’t there?”
With a sigh, Tili sagged under her constant challenges to his thoughts. He was tired. He took back the reins and, leading his horse, started again for his tent.
“You ride with him, yet the Tahscans are at the rear.”
Blazes, she would follow him. “Because they are not citizens of the Nine.”
“Neither are you, from what I hear.”
“As steward, I am a citizen.” Not entirely true, but enough. “Beside the Fierian, I alone hold authority here.”
“And in the Northlands?”
Tili twitched, frowning at her. He wished to see her eyes and angled to accommodate that. Considered the inquisitive, intelligent gaze that stared back unabashed. Wisps of hair dangled around a face smudged with dirt and sweat. “How long were ye listening?”
She lifted a shoulder casually. “As long as necessary.”
He shook his head. “I have no time for this. I beg yer mercy.” With a nod of acknowledgement, he handed off his horse to a waiting Jujak and stepped around her to enter his tent.
But Astadia shifted into his path.
Tili stumbled, caught her shoulders to avoid a collision. “Blazes, girl, what—”
“I did not mean to argue against the Tahscan.” Her eyes were round, im
possibly green as waning light speared the iris from the side.
“Do ye always change yer mind so quickly?”
“It’s your presence,” she said, a teasing grin playing at her pink lips.
Throwing his words back at him, was she? “Well,” he said, ignoring the way his heart thudded as he peered down at her. Aware, but not caring that they were inappropriately close. “Is this how ye make all yer points—throwing yerself at men of power?”
“To include yourself, you’d have to actually have power.”
26
“I followed you as far as Iteveria’s border.”
Haegan started, glancing at Drracien, who sat outside the tent pitched for the evening. “You followed me?”
Drracien nodded, hair dipping into his eyes as he built a fire using his wielding and kindling. “Saw you leave the Citadel and hike the woods.”
Surprise twirled through Haegan as he considered that revelation. “’Tis a time I would rather not think on.”
“Then you regret it?”
“Of course I regret it,” Haegan bit out as he flung a wool blanket to the ground.
“Tell me of it.”
“I’d rather not,” Haegan said.
“And the scars?”
Haegan flinched at the reminder of the words he’d carved into his flesh. Resisted the urge to tug his sleeves lower. “I would have peace, Drracien. She has been in my head too long, and I savor the quiet.”
“I beg your mercy. ’Twas naught but curiosity, and as you know, I’m not good at being reverent.”
That could not be argued. “What of you?” Haegan said, turning the conversation back on his friend. “You followed me to Iteveria, so where were you that you came upon us from the west?”
“When I lost you . . .” Drracien hesitated, as if weighing whether to say something or not, “. . . there was nothing for me, so I followed the wakes. But it wasn’t accelerants I stumbled across.”
“Poired?”
“Of his sort—incipients cleaning out a village, looking for Haegan the Fierian.” He tucked his hands beneath his armpits. “Have you not come upon them?”
“Nay,” Haegan said, standing at the tent entrance and gazing across the camp. He noted the Tahscans had spread out nearby, and their leader, Vaqar, stared in their direction. “Negaer and Tili encountered them several times, including just north of Caori, where they were joined by the Tahscans.”
“Those are some wicked fighters.”
“Wicked? Nay—”
“I mean it only with great respect.”
Haegan considered his friend, then sighed. “Were you with the Dark One?”
Drracien cast him a quick glance, then he, too, looked around the camp. “One of the encounters with the incipients put me face-to-face with him.”
“And yet you live.”
“Aye.” The word was clipped and doused in anger. “And ’tis no coincidence. He bartered my life for the discovery of a woman.”
“What woman?”
“I know not. Only that I am to find her.” Drracien huffed. “He said I would sense it when I did.”
“That’s vague.” Haegan scowled. “But in earnest—you will not do it, will you? How can you sell your life and soul to the Desecrator?”
“I did not say I was searching for her.” Drracien slapped Haegan’s shoulder. “Enough boring talk. I would eat. What say you?”
At the other fire, the Tahscan surged to his feet.
Something in Haegan twisted, seeing the way the great warrior stared at him. No . . . not at Haegan. At Drracien. “Not yet,” he said to his friend. “Go ahead of me.”
Drracien slid his attention to the Tahscan, and for several long seconds, the two seemed to have a silent duel before Drracien headed away.
Wariness crowded Haegan as the Tahscan crossed the camp.
“Fierian,” the man said as he inclined his head. “A word?”
Arms folded over his chest, giving him tingling reminders of the words seared into his flesh, Haegan nodded. He briefly wondered why these scars hadn’t healed when others had during his wielding. But now he had a more pressing concern. “I know you are not fond of my friend—”
“He is not to be trusted.”
“I hear your concern, Vaqar.” He nodded, so tired of every aspect of his life being a battle. “I take it Tili has set you as guard over me where my friend is concerned.”
A slow nod.
“Then I will trust that and you. But most of all, Abiassa.” It seemed too easy to say and yet much harder to do when he wanted to reject the idea of Drracien betraying him. “We both have paths before us that are not pleasant.” Haegan eyed the warrior. “You can smell the wielding?”
He gave a small nod.
“A smell.” Haegan remembered the bitter taste that had been on his tongue the entire trip to Iteveria with Trale and Astadia. “I think I am able to detect it as well. Trust me to know when I must act, though I will not do it lightly—or hastily—with regard to my friends.”
27
On the fourth afternoon of their journey, Haegan retreated to the rear, where the wagon carrying his father lumbered. He slid off his mount, grateful when the wagon driver slowed so Haegan could tie his reins and climb aboard.
He met the heavy-lidded eyes of the Drigo and then the Northlands healer, Pao’chk. “How fares he?” Kneeling at his father’s cot, Haegan took in the gaunt, sallow face, which had been shaved. Hair had been trimmed. Now a clean tunic squared bony shoulders.
“He sleeps,” Pao’chk said without feeling.
Placing a hand on his father’s chest, Haegan marveled at how their roles had reversed. How his father lay abed unmoving, and now Haegan hovered over him. He silently willed Abiassa to send a stream of pure fire through his hand—not to sear his father, but to infuse him with healing and strength. But nothing happened.
“Have you no hope for his recovery?” Blond hair curled around the square jaw, more protruding than normal because of the near emaciation.
“Abiassa is our hope,” Pao’chk said. “If She wills that the Fire King resumes his throne, he will. Until then, we work and he sleeps.”
Reluctant to accept an answer that was more platitude than help, Haegan nodded. He chose to remain with his father until the sun lowered into the caress of the horizon, then he rose. “Keep me informed.”
“Of course, my prince.”
He climbed down and untied his mount’s reins.
Drracien was there, riding slowly. “How is the Fire King?”
Unwilling to face the dreadful truth that his father would probably never rule again, Haegan sighed. “Recovering,” he managed, but said no more.
Was he recovering? No one could tell, so neither could they say he wasn’t. It still grated that his father had been calling to him in a deep . . . otherworldly way and Haegan hadn’t recognized it. To this moment, the sound haunted him.
“Your watchdogs are faithful,” Drracien said, as Vaqar and the Tahscan woman approached from either side of the wagon. “I fear they don’t like me.”
Haegan pulled onto his horse. “Most of us don’t.”
Drracien smirked. “A bit of your old self returning, I see.”
“I could say the same of you.”
A shadow flickered across his friend’s brow as he turned to the rocky road, their horses trotting at a begrudging pace. Or maybe that was Haegan’s exhausted self talking. He did begrudge every minute, every league crossed. And yet, he savored the distraction. Anything that kept his mind from going back to the dungeon. From finding himself in that dark cave, realizing over and over, over and over, that the pile of bones was his father. And Trale, sacrificing himself for Haegan. He wanted no more of that. He would not allow it. No one should give their life for him. A sacrifice so great should be worth the cost.
He shook himself and brought his horse to a steady canter a short distance behind Laerian and Grinda. Tili was nowhere to be seen, but Praegur glanced back, though
he made no move to interpose himself between Haegan and Drracien. Laertes, however, whose pony had wandered again and was placidly tearing tufts of grass that somehow survived alongside the margin of the road, alternately cajoled and threatened the beast until it meandered over to Haegan. The sight made Haegan smile, chased away some of the sorrow.
“I haven’t wanted to ask . . .” Drracien said quietly. “Thiel?”
Blinking at the mention of her name, Haegan tried to harness the failing hope that spasmed through his veins. “Gwogh sent her to the Ematahri—”
“And you let her go?”
Haegan snapped a glare at his friend. “I didn’t let her go. I wasn’t . . . there.”
“Aye,” Laertes agreed. “We don’ even know if she’s alive.”
Drracien jerked. “What? Why?”
“She done fell from the raqine what fled to save him,” Laertes said. “That beast don’ listen t’ my screaming.”
A shadow slid over them, and Haegan pulled his gaze to Chima, circling lazily in the sky with Draed and Umoni. “Give care, Laertes. She may not understand words, but she understands intent.”
“Then why are we going north?” Drracien asked.
“Because there is nothing in the south worth considering,” Haegan muttered, remembering all the times his father had said that.
“And there is in the north?”
“You seem overly curious about our journey.” Haegan had a thought then. “Where were you headed that we crossed paths in the middle of the barren lands?”
“Anywhere that was not the Citadel,” Drracien evaded again. He fell silent for a time, and Haegan hoped he had abandoned his questions. No such fortune. “I beg your mercy, Haegan, but why have you not done more to find Thiel?”
“I told you—”
“Aye, and the Haegan I knew would’ve ripped the world apart to find her.”
“The Haegan you knew no longer exists.” Keen awareness that things had changed rocked through him since he’d reduced Nydelia to ashes. Though a portion of him still wrestled with it, he had largely given up fighting it. “I have a purpose to fulfill. ’Tis better, safer, that she is not here.”