Lia looks around, carefully arranges the ivy twines over the secret way in, then extinguishes her torch in the water basin of the fountain. Darkness surrounds her like a cloak. From a sheath on her back, she draws a long curved knife. She slips through a door at the other end of the courtyard. Carefully, she progresses through several rooms, all of them deserted. Everyone is at the celebrations and most of the servants get the evening off during the Autumn Fires. No one stands in Lia’s way until she reaches a splendid looking golden door. Two unicorn statues are standing at both sides of the door. She tries to open it, but this time, she is not as lucky. The door is locked. She takes a deep breath, then sings a single plangent note. The lock clicks open. I have heard rumours of the exotic magical talents of the K’tuin, but singing to open a door was something so weird that I didn’t know what to make of it.
Lia slips through the golden door and enters the King’s reception room. She looks around carefully, but just like in the other rooms, there are no people. How strange that there would be no guards so close to the King’s private quarters. Even during the Autumn Fires celebrations, this struck me as unusual. I could see from Lia’s thoughts that she was thinking the same. Was it a trap? She closes the golden door behind her and begins to explore the room. This is the place where the King receives his guests and advisors if he is not using the large throne room in which I had first met Lia. Everything is decorated to impress visitors and allies alike. Decadent tapestries and paintings cover the walls, chairs upholstered with red velvet line the sides of the room, a golden throne is dwarfed by a large stained-glass window on the other side of the chamber. A colourfully painted screen hides one corner of the room. The ceiling is made up of dozens of carved wooden faces, some human, some mythical creatures. There are two heads whose wood is lighter than the others. Both are wearing crowns, these must be King Gynt and his late father, King Fer. Gynt’s eyes stare down on Lia, their gaze hard and piercing. I wouldn’t be surprised if he suddenly blinked and stared down at us from the ceiling. I look away, trying to ignore the feeling of being watched. One tapestry catches my eye. A woman stands leaning against a column, her black hair touching her waist. She is looking away into the distance, as if keeping watch. Her slender body presses itself against the column. A thin silver diadem hugs her dark hair. Her dress is made after a fashion I have not seen before, with a starched collar around her throat, tiny emeralds forming a belt around her waist and a skirt made from a material that shimmers slightly. The tapestry is beautiful.
The K’tuin woman crosses the room with large strides. She stops in front of the tapestry. She stretches out one hand to touch it when suddenly there’s a voice behind her.
“Stop right there!”
Lia whirls around, her knife cutting through the air. With a clang, it meets the shining blade of a sword. A man has stepped out from behind the painted screen. I recognise him but don’t know where I have seen him before. He is dressed like one of the palace’s many nobles, with expensive cloth accentuating his broad muscular shoulders. His large whiskers are white, yet his sparse hair is pitch-black. If he wasn’t so frightening, I might compare him to a badger.
Lia stares at him, her eyes meeting his in a silent battle of wills. When I look into his piercing eyes, I remember where I know him from. It was the first time I saw the king, with the young peryton in my arms. One of the nobles came and talked to Lassadar. Valter, that’s his name.
“What are you doing here, K’tuin?”, he grumbles.
“None of your business”, Lia hisses.
“You’re in the King’s chambers. Of course it’s my business. Now tell me, or I’ll have to kill you.” He looks as if he’s rather looking forward to that option.
Instead of giving an answer, Lia takes a quick step back and pulls her knife away from Valter’s sword. In one fluid motion, she brings the knife up again, stabbing at her opponent’s sword arm. But Valter is too quick and with the longer blade of his sword he has the advantage. He blocks the knife and turns his sword slightly so that its blade shifts that of Lia’s weapon. Her wrist turns automatically, following the movement of her knife. Just before her hand is twisted too much to hold on to her blade, she opens her mouth and sings a single note, not as high, but just as plangent as the one earlier. Valter stops moving for just a second, but it’s enough for Lia to escape from his sword’s oppression. Again, she jumps back, but with each step back, she is getting closer and closer to the wall. Soon, Valter will have her cornered. She must have noticed the same thing, for as her opponent hacks at her with his sword, she dances aside, as light on her feet as a doe. The fight becomes a dance, her jumping back, trying to keep out of reach of his longer blade, him following, trying to find an opening in her defences. I watch them, helpless. This is just a memory; I can’t do anything to interfere. I’m just an observer.
I continue watching their fight. The heavy carpet is muffling their steps; the only sounds are their breaths and the twang whenever their blades meet. Neither of them manages to get close enough to hurt their adversary, but with time, they both seem to tire. Lia’s movements get slower, and Valter’s sword strokes become less vicious. They are equally matched, but Lia has a clear disadvantage because of her shorter blade. When the sword grazes her cheek, I cry out even as she stays silent. As blood trickles down her face, her gaze becomes more determined.
“You’re wasting my time,” she shouts at him, panting.
“And you mine”, he retorts, taking advantage of her not concentrating for a second. Another gash appears on her left upper arm, but it’s just a scratch, it’s hardly bleeding. This second wound is only making Lia dance faster around him. She begins to stab forwards more quickly while moving around him. Once, twice her metal blade reaches his skin. Then she begins to hum in time with her movements, and somehow, she becomes even faster. Her music becomes louder, and her dancing form blurs slightly as she dances around Valter, finding openings in his defences. She seems twice as fast as the nobleman, and soon, he is bleeding from several gashes on his arms and shoulders. His expensive clothes are ripped and sweat runs down his face. Still, he manages to defend himself, but he is no longer in the offensive position. Then, she makes her final move. As he raises his arm to block a feigned blow, his belly stays unprotected. Lia ducks under his sword arm and stabs into his muscled abdomen. He cries out in pain. The blade slips from his fingers. His knees buckle, and he sinks to the ground, clutching the wound in his stomach. Blood gushes from between his fingers, dripping onto the thick carpet. Stunned, he looks at Lia, who is standing bent over him, her face lined by exhaustion.
“You wanted it this way,” she tells Valter. He only grimaces and curls up into a ball. Blood is pooling around him, seeping into the carpet. Lia is looking down at the wounded man, and I can see a mixture of pity and annoyance on her face. Then, she seems to think and the anger turns into rage.
“You just destroyed my plans! Couldn’t you have bled on something else? Now everyone will know that something is wrong, even if I drag you away, the blood will tell. I won’t get another chance like this, I won’t get close enough to the king again, they will be more careful in future.” Her voice trails off, as Valter looks up at her, incredulous.
“You wanted to kill the King?” he groans.
Lia just looked at him. He sighs.
“Look,” he pants, his face contorted by pain. His left hand points to his shoulder. Lia pulls away his shirt and gasps. On his skin, there’s a mark tattooed: The letter ‘E’, surrounded by flames and underlined by a thin sword.
Valter looks at the K’tuin woman, smiling sadly.
“We’re on the same side.”
14
O mother of life
Your arms are reaching high
Holding babe and child
Giving us everything
Until we die
At your feet.
- famous K’tuin poem, translated by Helgor Antraut
Had I known before, everything would
have been different. Lia sighed, her eyes glistening. He wanted to do the same thing as I. Kill the King. But we collided and fought, and now neither of us managed to kill Gynt. He’s still alive, and I’m in a cold, wet prison cell. She leant back against the stone wall.
So what was your plan?
It was quite simple, really. Sneak into the King’s chamber and hide until he came in after the festivities ended. Then surprise him and kill him. Easy. Except that after I wounded Valter, the guards would not have let him out of their sight. The blood on the floor would have alerted them. I tried to get back through the hidden corridor, but when I exited it the King’s sorcerer was waiting for me there with a group of guards. I was captured. You know the rest.
I nodded. There was only one thing I didn’t understand. What did that tattoo mean? On Valter’s shoulder, the letter E?
E stands for Elasia. It’s the mark of the Elasian rebels. I haven’t seen it in a long time. Back during King Fer’s reign, when he crossed the mountains from the Western Counties to conquer Elasia, there were people who rebelled against him. Elasia was a peaceful country, its people were completely unprepared to Fer’s conquest. It was a brutal takeover, many died. Fer’s soldiers killed, pillaged and raped their way through the villages until most people were too afraid to speak out against the new regime. Instead, they kept their heads low, paid their taxes and otherwise tried to ignore the foreign rulers. But a few did not accept Fer as the absolute King that he fashioned himself as. They met in secret and became something of a guerrilla organisation. They fought Fer’s soldiers where they could, burning supply trains or stealing tax money. With time, the rebels split into two branches: Those that were content to hinder soldiers in the villages, and those that aspired to sever Fer’s brutal rule at its roots by killing the King himself. There are rumours that those rebels were involved in the death of crown prince Fran, Gynt’s older brother. Only those that were prepared to kill for their cause got their symbol tattooed. I didn’t know any of them were still active in Fer. After they failed to assassin the King, many of them decided to leave the country and look for a better place to live. Valter must have been one of those who stayed. And well-hidden he was, a nobleman, close enough to the King without arousing suspicion. He must have thought I was protecting Gynt when really we ought to have fought together.
Where is he now? Then I remembered. King Gynt had mentioned Valter being gravely injured.
They found him half-dead and brought him to a healer. If his tattoo doesn’t give him away, they might believe that he was trying to stop me from entering the King’s chambers. I hope so. It might prove invaluable to have an ally so close to the Gynt. Though I can’t understand why Valter hasn’t acted before. If he’s really a noble, he must have had scores of opportunities. Why now?
She looked at me with a questioning look, but all I could do was shrug. I didn’t know any more than her. On the contrary. She was talking about resistance, about rebels and assassinating the King, while I had been living in the palace for weeks, never questioning Gynt’s and Lassadar’s authority. And why was that? I did not usually trust this easily. On the contrary, it had taken me months to get comfortable speaking to the Ghorres, and they were a lot friendlier and more open than most of the people I had met here. And back then, nobody had kidnapped me. Where did that trust come from?
The answer came to me the next morning. I woke up, thinking that I was under attack. It felt as if a knife had been thrust into my belly. I drew in air, groaning as pain exploded from my stomach. My hands found the skin over the searing pain, but there was no knife, no blood, no wound. Fire spread through my body. I had never felt pain such as this, the red-hot agony flowing through my veins.
“Eona,” I heard Lia say, her voice distant. I wanted to reply, but the pain wouldn’t let me form any coherent thoughts. Wishing for unconsciousness, I let myself fall, but there were shackles of pain binding me to the present. No escape from the pain. No way out.
A moan escaped from my lips. I was curled up into a ball, my hands protectively on my stomach. Cramps were shaking me every minute or so, and I was shivering from both the cold and the pain that was still burning deep inside me. Lia moved closer to me and held a mug filled with stale water to my lips. Thirsty, I drank. Water ran down my chin and onto my ragged dress, but I couldn’t have cared less. All I could think about was the pain, this endless aching pain that would not let me in peace. I wanted to thank Lia for her kindness, but just then, the next wave of agony crashed into me.
I resurfaced from the pain for a second and took a deep breath, gasping in as much air as I could. Suddenly something was pushed down my throat and instinctively I swallowed. The pain returned and everything disappeared into black agony.
Hours later, the pain decreased in intensity, but still, it was almost too much to bear. My eyes hurt from the endless tears that had been running down my cheeks, my lips were chafed, thirst burned in my throat. And still, there were knives poking around in my guts; just when I thought the pain had gone, the stabbing would start again. I shivered uncontrollably, my skin was rubbing against the cold stone all around me. What a way to die, I thought.
At some point, I must have fallen asleep - or did I pass out? I didn’t know. When I woke up, the sun’s bright light was filling the little cell. I looked up and saw a cloudless blue sky outside the barred window. What a beautiful day.
Only then did I notice that my head was lying on something warm and soft. Lia’s thighs. She had one hand resting on my forehead. Her chest rose and fell with every slow breath. With her eyes closed and her face relaxed, she looked even more beautiful. Red hair framed her high cheekbones and made her skin look pale, but not in a bad way. On the contrary. Her red lips stood out from her white skin, just the right shape to touch, to… what was I thinking? I didn’t even know her, but somehow I felt drawn to the K’tuin woman.
Instinctively, I reached for her with my mind. I expected to see a golden flame-like with other magicians I had encountered before, but instead, there was a green and brown cocoon in front of me, branches and leaves woven together tightly to form a protective hut. There was a distinctive organic look about it. Flexible twines moved like snakes, leaves shook without wind, branches rubbed together like lovers. Lia was K’tuin, not human, maybe that was why her mind took a different shape.
When I came closer, the twines seemed to move towards me, as if they were curious. Only when one of them almost touched me did I notice that they had sharp thrones growing everywhere on them. Behind the branches flickered a golden fire, its flames burning brightly. She did have one after all. But the twines were preventing me from getting any closer.
Looking for something?
Her voice seemed to radiate directly from the flames. I addressed them in return.
Sorry, no. I was just curious.
You do know that this is not very polite? Sharpness tinged her voice.
I pulled back and opened my eyes, only to look into her bottomless dark green pupils.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” It was weird, using my mouth to talk to her. I was so used to the mental communication by now.
Well, now you know. She smiled at me, all forgiven. Are you feeling better?
Yes, the pain seems to have disappeared. Though I have no idea what might have caused this. It seemed a little intense for a stomach bug.
Indeed. I might have an idea or two about the cause of it. She sat up straight and stretched her arms. Realising that I was still lying very close to her, I leant against the stone walls instead of her thighs. I felt cold now that I was no longer touching her warm skin.
In one fluid motion, she slid from the bench and stood in the middle of our small cell, stretching her entire body to one side, then the other, flexing her joints. She was slim, but I could see hard muscles move beneath her sack-like clothing.
When she was done with her exercise, she drank some water from the bucket, then offered me some. The bucket was full again, someone must hav
e filled it up while I had been sleeping. There was no food, but it was likely that I wouldn’t have been able to keep it down anyway.
Without a warning, Lia picked up our conversation again.
I think you have been poisoned.
Somehow, it made sense. The pain had come from nowhere, and it had been a lot worse than any normal physical pain I had experienced before.
But how did they do it? Didn’t we eat the same food in here? Drank the same water? So why didn’t you get sick?
She frowned.
Maybe it wasn’t a poison as such. Maybe it was withdrawal. My mother is a healer, well known for her skills and knowledge. Once, I remember her treating a man with similar symptoms as the ones you showed. He was crying out in pain for days, and there was almost nothing my mother could do for him to ease the pain. In the end, she gave him a strong sleeping draught, which gave him a few hours of respite, enough for his body to gain strength to endure the agony. Later, the man’s former sleep-companion confessed to having given him a love potion daily for years. He had rejected her for so long that for her this seemed to be the only way she could bind him to her. You must know, in K’tuin culture, we don’t often have permanent relationships as you humans have them. Instead, women can choose to stay with their partners for as long or as short a time as they want to. Most men don’t refuse an offer of companionship, on the contrary, they are honoured by the attention the women give them. But anyway, this man had been fed a love potion without even knowing for so long that when she stopped giving it to him, his body could not cope without it. It took over a week for the physical pains to lessen, and much longer for the psychological damage to be undone. Your pain reminded me of his. Does that make sense?
It did. Now that I came to think of it, I could remember all the times that Lassadar offered me some wine in his study. Even the first time we met, when I was half-dead after spending so long down here in the cells, he had poured me a glass of that red wine he kept in a beautifully carved cabinet. Had I ever refused? I didn’t think so. It had seemed impolite at the time. There had been some days when Lassadar hadn’t invited me to his quarters, but on those, food had been brought to me by servants. How easy it would have been for them or the sorcerer himself to pour something into my glass. Now that the pain had gone, I felt different somehow, different from how I had felt before the withdrawal. My mind seemed sharper, more alert. What had Lassadar given me?
Heart of Time (Ruined Heart Series Book 1) Page 19