“We would have fought for your freedom.”
“You would have died.”
“Maybe.”
Tae refused to argue prowess. Kevral would not have considered her death a certainty had she faced the Pudarian army carrying only a stick. “Ra-khir and I would have died.”
“Maybe.”
Tae searched for an answer that would circumvent Kevral’s ego. “I wasn’t willing to take that chance.”
“And now?”
“I’m still not.”
Kevral sighed. “I won’t leave a friend imprisoned so I can go free.” She added pointedly, “Especially you, Tae.”
Tae caught the reference. After he had escaped Pudar’s dungeon and Kevral agreed to take his place, Tae surrendered himself to rescue her. At the time, he had not known that Kevral had already bartered her release by agreeing to train the king’s soldiers for a year. “I’m not a prisoner.”
Kevral stared. “You can leave when you want?”
Tae dodged the question. “I’m not a prisoner.”
Kevral kept pressing. “So you’re there voluntarily.”
Tae winced, but he would not lie. “Yes.”
Kevral continued to stare, though she lost whatever words she intended to speak. Her mouth opened, nothing emerged, and her lips sank into a puzzled frown. Apparently finding nothing better, she simply repeated, this time as a question, “You’re there voluntarily?”
Kevral’s study became unnerving. Tae broke the gridlock, turning his gaze to the ground. “Mostly, I am.”
Kevral’s voice turned accusatory. “You said you didn’t want to see him again. You said you’d never have a hand in what he does.”
Tae met Kevral’s glare again. “And you told me to give my father a chance. I might find he cares for me more than I realize.” He sighed, sliding from past to present. “And I love him, too.”
Kevral noticed the change. “You do?”
“I do,” Tae admitted, having no trouble meeting her eyes now. “I’ve learned a lot, and there’s a lot more to learn.”
“Why did you have to start listening to me now?”
Tae smiled at the mild self-deprecation. “Because you happened to be right.”
“No,” Kevral whispered. At first, Tae believed the word a directionless denial. Then she repeated it louder. “No, Tae. I was wrong. No father who loved his son would force him to stay against his will.”
Tae had already considered that. “You might be right again, but my father does everything strangely. He means the best in the worst he does. I’m just beginning to understand that.”
Kevral shook her head, disbelief obvious. “So you’re going to join the rogues who tried to kill us, who poisoned me, who murdered innocents, and destroyed overland trade?”
Tae gave the only answer he could. “Yes.”
Kevral glowered. Her hand glided to her hilt, as if she saw no reason not to slay one more enemy. “Are you going to do those things?”
“No.” Tae did not waste a moment in consideration.
“Not even if your father commands it?” The question showed ignorance of organized military operations, which fit Kevral’s upbringing. For all their skill, Renshai fought without group hierarchy or strategy.
“My father wouldn’t do that. He doesn’t kill, and he wouldn’t expect it of the one he’s training to replace him.”
Kevral’s expression softened slightly, and her hand loosened on her hilt. “And you’re going to replace him?”
“I haven’t thought that far ahead.” Tae took a step toward Kevral. He had come for a gentle parting, not an argument. “All I know is I was unwilling at first, but now I want to give my father a chance. It’s not going to change who I am.”
“Yes, it is.” Kevral spoke so softly Tae scarcely heard.
Finding no basis for arguing future events, Tae pretended he had not.
Kevral cleared her throat, hand finally slipping away from the hilt. She could not harm Tae. “You’re going to help your father order innocent deaths?”
“No. Not at all.” The threat removed, Tae drifted closer and reached for Kevral’s hands. She did not resist, though she made no active move to take his either. “Word of the danger has spread through the West. Only a fool would attempt travel now.” Realizing he had just placed Kevral and Ra-khir into that category, he inserted, “All right, and people shipwrecked on the Southern Sea by a demon. How often do you think that happens?”
Kevral tried but failed to wholly suppress a smile.
“My point is it’s just scaring, not killing anymore.” Tae massaged Kevral’s callused fingers. “And a battle is sometimes better fought from the inside. We haven’t stopped my father’s men by attacking them, but I might convince him to call them off with words.”
Obviously at least partially convinced by the argument, Kevral squeezed Tae’s fingers fondly. “You know, if and when we get a proper heir on Béarn’s throne, I’m going to have to travel to Pudar and fulfill my arrangement to train King Cymion’s men.”
“One way or another, I’ll see you safely there,” Tae promised. He looked down at Kevral’s hands, clenched in his dark grip, and tried to gather the proper words for his next request. “Kevral, do you remember that night we talked.” He kept the question deliberately vague. They had spent many evenings in quiet conversation. “And . . . um . . . you agreed that if you chose Ra-khir . . .” He glanced up carefully to discern Kevral’s reaction. His usual imperturbable composure stripped away to reveal the stammering adolescent he thought he would never become.
Pink traced a path along Kevral’s cheeks, and she became as uncharacteristically nervous as Tae. “I guess I did sort of choose him. In all fairness, I thought you were dead.”
Tae felt the first sting of rising tears and swiftly blinked them away.
Kevral added hastily, “But now that I know you’re alive, I’ll stick to what I said. I won’t make a decision until after we’ve finished our mission.” She used a euphemism for placing Griff on his throne. Neither wished to consider the possibility that Béarn’s only heir had drowned.
Tae’s eyes sank to their hands again. “Kevral, I can’t help with that mission any more. We may never see one another again. Or we may be on different sides . . . and . . . well . . . I was thinking . . . maybe . . .” He cursed the discomfort that made speech nearly impossible. He had never felt this nervous about anything before.
Kevral regained her equilibrium more swiftly. “I promised if I chose Ra-khir, I’d sleep with you once.”
“And it has to be before you two marry. He may not like it now, but he won’t tolerate it then.”
“It would be wrong.”
Tae held his breath for clarification.
“Then, I mean,” Kevral said. Her look was willing.
Tae needed no further encouragement. He pulled her into a tight embrace that crushed her breasts against his chest, and the gawkiness left him. All the joy in the universe seemed poised for this night. He would savor every moment of what he sincerely believed would be his last evening with Kevral.
* * *
In the austere room that served as his study, Dh’arlo’mé sat on the floor with the Staff of Law across his knees. For the last day and night, he had pored through the books in his library. Though he had read all of them before, the staff added a depth of understanding he had never believed possible. A whole plane of genius opened before him, an unexplored world, and he chased every nuance like a child in a field of butterflies.
*Rest would do you good,* the staff suggested.
The idea of stopping rankled. Exhaustion dulled the intensity of the experience, and its newness kept Dh’arlo’mé reading long past his body’s needs.
*There will be other days. Knowledge is endless. A thousand sessions as long as this one will not dent the surface.*
The concept of family did not exist in elfin society. Sex was a freedom performed for pleasure and unbound by any custom resembling human marriage.
Elfinkind raised its rare children communally, scarcely acknowledging the mother’s contribution and never bothering to identify fathers. Dh’arlo’mé had no convention to define the fellowship he felt with the Staff of Law, no concept of love and closeness. He knew only that he felt omnipotent in its presence, and he thrilled to the touch of the wood against him. For the moment, the power it promised was the only thing in the universe that mattered.
* * *
Tae returned to his father’s camp in the pallor of the false dawn. Alsrusett nodded stonily, condemning Tae’s long absence without challenging it. Too excited to care, Tae still reveled in the perfume of Kevral’s perspiration on his clothes, and the faint musk of her arousal still clung to him as well. A childish urge to never bathe stole over him, easily banished by need and logic but momentarily comforting. Blissfully exhausted, he fell asleep almost instantly.
* * *
By the time Weile, Tae, and the bodyguards returned to the cottage, Kinya had created a new hideaway. The direct ride they had taken to handle the lav’rintii opened the possibility of discovery. So they circled and quietly backtracked for nearly a day to the underground dwelling that closely resembled the other. Even the furniture seemed nearly identical: four of the cushioned chairs his father favored, two desks instead of one, a shelf of books, and a barrier that separated the main room from others. Further inspection revealed two bedrooms, instead of one, and a well-stocked pantry. Escape holes, secreted beneath straw ticking, finished the sleeping areas. Kinya, it seemed, had thought of everything.
Tae slept well that night, images of Kevral sweetening his dreams when the heavy burden of sleep did not drag him into its blackest, quietest corners. The security of Weile’s bolt-hole allowed Tae to enjoy a depth of sleep he usually did not dare to explore, and the following morning found him torn between excitement and dread. His stomach felt knotted and burning, sensations food only worsened. The time had come for another discussion with Weile Kahn.
Tae sat in one of the chairs, leafing through a book that detailed the strategies of generals through the centuries while Weile scribbled the day’s orders on parchment with a stylus. At length, Weile handed the paper to Alsrusett to deliver and turned his attention to his son. Daxan slept in another room, leaving the two alone for the first time since their conversation in the woods.
Weile hauled his chair away from the desk to sit in front of his son. Curls dangled over his forehead like wayward children, and his dark eyes contained the shrewdness of a king. Middle age had coarsened his features and added a few streaks of silver at his temples. “Did you give your friends a proper send-off?”
Tae did not allow his startlement to show, instead concentrating on the train of Weile’s logic. He felt certain no one had followed him to Kevral and Ra-khir; his life had too long depended on noticing pursuers. More likely, the bodyguards had mentioned his absence; and his father knew Tae better than he would have guessed. “One of them,” he answered casually.
“Good.” Weile did not press for details. “Tae, I’m sorry I resorted to such a desperate measure.”
“So am I.” Despite his bold words to Kevral, Tae punished his father’s method.
“Do you ever believe a bad action can justify a greater good?”
“It’s possible,” Tae said grudgingly. Having used such methods, he found it impossible to condemn them. He had once shadowed his companions when they had forbidden him to do so in order to keep them well-provisioned.
“That’s what I was trying to do. I thought if I could make you stay, I would gain the time to convince you to do so willingly.”
“I’m not totally unwilling,” Tae admitted.
Weile smiled. “I can teach you a lot.”
You already have. Tae kept that to himself. Too much too quick. Besides, much of it was bad. “Father, I’ve learned things I want to teach you, too.”
“All right.” Weile’s tone did not patronize. “Why don’t you go first?”
It was what Tae wanted, yet he did not know how or where to start. To change his father’s intentions, he needed a solid foundation for understanding. Instead of explaining, he questioned. “Why are you working for elves?”
Weile hesitated, as if confused by the query. “Why not?”
“Doesn’t it bother you at all that their goal is the destruction of mankind?”
Weile narrowed his eyes and drew his head back. “Who told you that?”
“An elf.”
Weile waved in dismissal. “And you would believe everything one elf tells you?”
“I trusted this elf.”
“And I trust the ten others who tell me otherwise. Would you put your experience judging motivation and sincerity over mine?”
“No.” Tae could not argue that point. “But I put our experience judging elves at about equal.”
“How many elves have you spoken with?” Weile seemed genuinely interested in the answer, though not in changing his mind.
“A few.” Tae did not bother to separate those who had threatened him from those with whom he had conversed. “How many elves have you been tortured by?”
“None,” Weile said. “What’s your point?”
“My point.” Tae leaned forward, hands clasped in his lap to hide anxiety. He knew the words he chose now might make or break the argument. “My point is that I’ve seen the bad as well as the good side of elves. Have you?”
Weile shrugged, a partial concession. “Men have hurt me before. It doesn’t make me understand them better. Just hate them.” He considered his words a moment while Tae scrambled to ready a better argument. “It would explain, however, why you don’t think we should work with elves.” He rocked slightly in a long silence. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
Tae described the story of rescuing Griff, clinging only to the necessary details and careful not to define the heir’s significance. Clearly, Weile had a trusting relationship with the dark elves who did not need to understand the damage killing Griff might inflict on mankind.
Weile listened without interruption, flinching at the brutality Tae described. When he finished, Weile summarized. “So you sneaked onto their island, where no human had gone before. They tortured you to find out where you came from and what purpose you had there.”
Tae went still, realizing his father had described the situation aptly but not from a perspective he had considered before.
“Tae Kahn, in the same circumstances, I know of no human king who would have treated you any differently.”
“What are you saying? Torture is reasonable in certain situations?”
“How about understandable,” Weile compromised. “If you choose your associates by whether or not they’ve ever employed torture, you’d rule out every kingdom in every part of the world.”
Tae dropped the point. “The fact remains that an elf I trust told me the others plot the destruction of mankind.”
Weile held his son’s gaze, hands motionless on the chair arms. “When you take counsel from traitors, you must weigh the information you get. Believe me, that’s one of the first lessons I learned. Those who betray their own will twist information to their gain.”
The idea of arguing which viewpoint constituted betrayal passed swiftly. Even Captain believed himself renegade. No matter the side of right, he was undeniably a traitor to the elves.
Weile did not await a response. “It’s difficult to believe the elves plot the destruction of mankind when they won’t even allow us to harm their own troublemakers.”
Tae had no choice but to concede that one. He could not explain the elves’ mercy at a time when execution seemed more logical. He could only assume that the elves’ nonviolent policies still extended to others of their kind, though not to humans, in much the same way humans naturally ate meat but didn’t practice cannibalism. The analogy stretched only so far, however. Tae could never imagine humans consuming elf flesh, yet it made more sense for elves to war with humans and, eventually, among themselves. �
�How do you explain the elves slaughtering so many of the high king’s heirs?”
Weile loosed a snort that covered what might have been a laugh. “You believe the elves responsible for that?”
“I’m certain of it.”
“Did you see the elves harm the heirs?”
Tae dodged the question. “I helped rescue one they’d captured.”
“Captured from the castle?”
“No,” Tae admitted.
Weile remained relentless. “Do you believe the elves responsible for the political upheaval in the East?”
Tae hesitated. He knew nothing of the problems in the East. “It wouldn’t surprise me. I do know they’re responsible for the death of the elder Pudarian prince.”
Weile settled back in his chair. “How do you know that?” he asked, genuinely interested.
“I was there,” Tae fairly growled, irritated by the remembrance. The odor of unwashed flesh remained strong in his nostrils, and the childlike chorus of chanting elves wound softly beneath the snarled curses of his father’s enemies. The Easterners had pounded and slammed him in the Pudarian alleyway that day, but it was the elves who cornered him with their magic and blanketed his mind, and those of others, with a confusion he had sorted out only much later. The prince and his entourage had attempted to assist the strange, young Easterner smashed beneath a pile of men who clearly wished to kill him. Tae had swept his knife in frenzied, blind arcs, striking flesh more than once. Even he had not known at the time whether one of his strokes was the one that took Prince Severin down. “They pinned the crime on me.”
Weile stared at his son, as if meeting him for the first time. “You escaped Pudar’s justice?”
“I escaped Pudar’s dungeon.”
Weile smiled, clearly delighted. “How did you manage that?”
Tae feigned casualness, smiling only inwardly. He could not recall the last time an action of his had diverted Weile from an important discussion. “I did what you would have done,” he admitted, almost grudgingly. “I organized my cell mates, the rattiest bunch of loners I ever met. But when they merged their skills in a cause . . .” He trailed off, avoiding the end of the story. The guards had killed or recaptured all except one of the other prisoners.
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