Kingdoms and Chaos (King's Dark Tidings Book 4)

by Kel Kade

  The other furnishings were modest by comparison since few luxuries existed on the island. Rezkin was averse to having an office bedecked in fineries when there were so many residents in need of basic items, but his people seemed to find pride in the contribution. The chairs and sofa were hastily made, but he had been told they would be replaced when finer items had been crafted. The black and green swirled glass goblets had been created by the earth and fire mage Morgessa Freil, with the assistance of her apprentice Calen Loom, whose affinities were for earth and water. The vases on the stone pedestals were projects made by a few of the other apprentices and were filled with plants grown in the new gardens and greenhouses. The wall hangings and rug had been embroidered or woven in the sewing circle led by Lady Shiela, who had mostly avoided Rezkin since Palis’s death. She preferred, instead, to focus on what she called the feminine traditions of the nobility. The decorative touches about the room were proof of her success.

  Shezar was already present when Rezkin entered the office, as was Wesson. A moment later, Kai entered bedecked in weapons and looking ready for war.

  “Is he on his way?” said Rezkin.

  “Yes, Farson is escorting them.”

  “Farson?”

  “Yes, is that a problem?”

  Rezkin pondered for a moment. “It is … interesting. Did he request the duty?”

  Kai frowned. “No, I was busy when the order came. I asked Farson to bring him.”

  Rezkin surveyed the room’s current occupants and said, “Retrieve Yserria and Frisha. I suppose Malcius should attend as well.”

  As Kai left to gather the others, Rezkin turned to study a painting he had not seen the previous day.

  Shezar said, “Viscount Abertine, it turns out, has a talent with the brush. This was his gift to you.”

  “What do you think he is trying to say?” Rezkin mused.

  Shezar studied the image. “I would say he fears you.”

  The painting was of Dark Tidings standing in the portal to a crystal-studded hall with an army of elven wraiths at his back. In the foreground was a dim courtyard piled high with bloodied swords and broken shields, the cobbles awash in crimson. Reflected in the blades was the overcast sky filled with ravens, some gripping entrails in their talons.

  Rezkin turned as his assailant, a man probably in his early forties, and a veiled woman were escorted into the room. The man stooped timidly and appeared shaken as his gaze darted about the room. The woman held the man’s arm, her unadorned frock rocking gracefully with each step.

  “Please, have a seat,” Rezkin said, motioning to a couple of upholstered armchairs. He poured two goblets of wine and then strolled over to the pair. As the man took the goblet, he muttered a thank you. He met Rezkin’s gaze for the briefest moment before his soft blue eyes turned toward the floor. The woman did not raise the lacey black veil but whispered her gratitude.

  Tieran stumbled into the room looking as though he had not slept the previous night and was probably still under the influence of the wine. “Rez, I have asked you how many times not to send those phantoms after me? Would it kill you to use a traditional messenger?” He held a hand out to Kai who was leading the others into the room. “You sent the striker for them. Can you not offer me the same courtesy?”

  Rezkin said, “The shielreyah are faster, and you can be almost certain the message came from me.”

  Tieran slumped onto the sofa. “Says you. You know how I feel about them.” He spied the odd couple sitting in the chairs and said, “How about you pour me some of that wine?”

  Kai growled, “You do not ask the king to pour you wine.”

  “I was not asking the king,” muttered Tieran. “I was asking my cousin, who thinks the world of me.”

  Frisha and Malcius both bore looks of confusion as they entered the room. They took their seats on the sofa with Tieran so that Frisha sat between the two men. Yserria followed, taking up position by the door after closing it upon Rezkin’s request.

  Rezkin handed Tieran a goblet of wine, primarily because it was a good excuse to place himself between his cousin and the assailant. He said, “I have gathered you all here for an introduction. This is Master Connovan and …” He glanced at the woman expectantly.

  “Mistress Levelle,” said Connovan. The man’s voice was gruff and held a hint of Channerían accent.

  “Greetings, Mistress Levelle,” Rezkin said with a bow, causing a few discomfited shuffles from those who no doubt felt the king should not bow to a commoner. “Master Connovan, I am told, is a fisherman. He aided Mistress Levelle in her escape from hostile forces in Channería. They were on the ship of refugees that arrived while I was away.”

  Connovan glanced at Rezkin with shifty eyes and said, “Y-yes, that’s right.”

  Rezkin looked around the room. “Have any of you met Master Connovan?”

  A few shook their heads, but most simply stared at the man. Rezkin did not take his eyes off the assailant as he said, “Striker Farson, surely you remember Master Connovan?”

  Farson immediately tensed, his stance becoming defensive, his gaze predatory.

  Almost faster than anyone could see, Connovan snapped a dagger toward Tieran. Rezkin snatched it from the air and had already launched it back by the time his cousin reacted. Tieran tossed wine all over Frisha as he scrambled into the seat of the sofa and then fell over the back with a thump and shout. Frisha practically jumped into Malcius’s lap. Connovan had caught the dagger and slipped it up his sleeve by the time the strikers and Yserria had drawn their weapons.

  Rezkin ordered his guards to halt before they could rush the assailant. Then, he casually said, “Master Connovan tried to kill me on three separate occasions today.”

  Connovan’s demeanor changed. He sat straighter and affected a semi-cultured air. In perfect Ashaiian, he said, “You can hardly call it an attempt on your life when I fully expected you to survive.” His gaze roved over the strikers, Yserria, and Wesson. “It is interesting that you would choose to bring all of your best fighters into the room with me. Even more so that you would bring these three.” He nodded toward the sofa. “Why would you intentionally place them in this position of danger?”

  Rezkin said, “They are in no more danger in here with you than they were out there with you. Tieran, as heir, has a stake in this.” He called over his shoulder to his cousin, “You may resume your seat, Tieran.”

  From where he crouched behind the sofa, Tieran said, “That man threw a knife at me! He is insane.”

  “He was only testing me,” Rezkin said. “Not even that. More like toying.”

  Tieran’s head barely topped the back of the seat as he said, “This is a game to you? It is my life! What if you had missed?”

  Rezkin turned and frowned at Tieran. “I would not have missed.” He said it just as another dagger flew at him from behind. Without looking, he slapped it from the air, and the one that followed, and then turned back to the smiling Connovan. The veiled woman placed a hand encased in a black lace glove on Connovan’s arm, and he seemed to deflate.

  To the woman, Connovan muttered, “I was just checking.”

  Rezkin went on as if they had not been interrupted. “To answer your question, each one has a purpose here. You brought a lady into the king’s office, and I do not believe her to be your wife. It would be improper for her to be alone with so many men. Ladies Frisha and Yserria are here for her benefit. Lord Malcius is Lady Frisha’s familial escort. Lady Yserria is a Knight of the Realm and is also my ward.”

  “Yes, interesting that,” Connovan said with a wink for Yserria. The woman scowled and flicked the pommel of her sword in warning. Connovan chuckled and turned his gaze on Frisha. “Marcum’s niece. I hear you sought a betrothal, although I cannot imagine how it fits into your plan. Did you intend, from the beginning, for it to fail. I think you will find that the lady is no longer certain of her desires.”

  Rezkin glanced at Frisha, his curiosity piqued. She flushed and looked away.
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  Connovan twirled a finger, indicating the room in general. “This is a bit ostentatious for you, is it not?”

  “This?” Rezkin said, perusing the hard-gotten luxuries. “This is not for me. It is for them. It is a gallery to display the accomplishments of the people of Cael, and what better way of honoring the people than to display their works in the king’s office?”

  “Right, the king,” Connovan said mockingly. “I have tried to piece together the events, but it seems you have been all over the place. I think, by now, your influence has spread farther than you know. Where are your ghosts, by the way? I have heard they rise to your defense. Perhaps they are not as attentive as you thought.”

  “No doubt why you directly attacked me only outside the corveua.” Connovan tipped his head, and Rezkin said, “They have specific instructions.”

  Connovan nodded. “Interesting. You recognized me on the dock.”

  “I remember your many disguises—a delivery man, a horse trainer, a mercenary, a messenger. You remained afar, but when you came, you were always watching.”

  “I told Bordran it was a mistake for you to see me, but he wanted updates.”

  “Who are you?”

  “You already know.”

  “Rez.”

  Connovan grinned.

  Malcius sat up straighter, pushing Frisha off of him. “Wait, you are the Rez?”

  The man tilted his head. “No more. My duty was to serve Bordran.” He looked at Rezkin and said, “Why do you continue to call yourself Rezkin?”

  “It is my name.”

  The man rolled his eyes. “Really?” He glanced at Farson, who shrugged and then locked his gaze on the far wall. Connovan said, “That is not your name. It is a title—one you should not be wielding in public.” He sat forward, as if to give a lesson. “While you were in training, you were Rez kin, the kin of the Rez. Once you completed your training, you became the Rez.”

  Rezkin frowned and dove into his memories. He looked at Farson. “That is why you started calling me Rez. I thought you were shortening my name like the others, but you knew.”

  Farson turned to him. “I thought you knew. I believed your apparent lack of knowledge to be an act.”

  Rezkin looked back at Connovan. “What is my name?”

  “You do not have one, just like I do not have one, and every Rez before us did not have one.”

  “Everyone has a name,” said Malcius. “Even a deceased infant is given a name.”

  Connovan leaned back. “To receive a name, you must have first taken a breath. Your mother was told you were stillborn, so you were never given one.”

  Frisha gasped. “He was stolen from his mother?”

  “At birth.”

  Uninterested in the useless details, Rezkin said, “Why have you come to this island?”

  Connovan sat back and swirled the wine in his goblet, but he did not drink. “Before Bordran’s death, there were only three people who knew of my existence: Bordran, Marcum, and Queen Lecillia. It was my duty to serve Bordran. It was your duty to serve his successor. Bordran died early, and you were not scheduled to finish training for close to ten years. I was forced to serve Caydean until you could take your place as Rez.”

  “If I am now the Rez, then what are you?”

  Connovan chuckled. “I am no one. I am no longer supposed to exist. The first duty of the Rez, as you should know, is to seek out and kill his predecessor.” He tilted his head in a manner strangely familiar. “Shall we go into the yard and have that duel to the death? I am certain you will win. You probably desire answers first, though.”

  “You are willing to talk?” Rezkin said, knowing that a Rez who offered information could not be trusted.

  “I am obliged to share,” said the man. “After all, I have nothing to lose. Besides, I am hoping you will return the favor. I have many questions.”

  Tieran still clung to the back of the sofa as he scowled at Connovan. “Rezkin, before you kill him, I have a question. Caydean is a monster. If he did not know of you, why did you serve him at all? I do not think Aunt Lecillia or Marcum would have been displeased had you disappeared.”

  “He is the king,” Connovan said, as if it were obvious. “It was my duty to serve him.” He looked at Rezkin. “It is Rule 1.”

  Frisha glanced at Rezkin. Her voice shook as she said, “I thought Rule 1 was to protect and honor your friends.”

  Connovan frowned at her and then turned to Rezkin. “That is the directive you have been following? You did not make it to Caydean then?”

  Rezkin shook his head.

  “The scene at the fortress was confusing,” Connovan said, “particularly since I arrived at least a month after your departure, and you disturbed it when you collected all the weapons. Tell me, how did you kill all the strikers and both the masters, and more importantly, why?”

  Frisha gasped, and the air seemed to heat as several of his companions directed their horrified gazes at him.

  “I was given the order to kill the strikers, but the masters killed each other. And, I did not kill all of the strikers. One stands there,” he said with a nod toward Farson.

  Connovan glanced at Farson. “I noticed one was missing at the scene. I figured you killed him elsewhere. Why have you allowed him to live?”

  “Because I am no longer beholden to any master, and I will decide if he needs killing.”

  Connovan paused, as if frozen in place. He said, “You are free?”

  “I am to honor and protect my friends,” Rezkin said, “and I have sworn fealty to no one.”

  The woman beside Connovan raised a hand to hold back a sob that escaped as a whimper.

  Connovan said, “You came up with this True King business to wrest the crown from Caydean?”

  “Not I,” said Rezkin. He nodded to the room’s other occupants. “Them. It was their interpretation of Bordran’s designs, and their implementation. They are my friends, and Ashai is no longer safe for them. To make it safe for them to return home, I must unseat Caydean and put things back to rights.”

  Connovan’s narrow-eyed gaze was calculating. “You expect me to believe that these strikers and nobles got together, without your influence, and decided to tell everyone you are the rightful king? And Lord Tieran went along with this?”

  Tieran finally popped up from behind the sofa and said, “I am not an idiot. I know my duty to Ashai. I recognize Rez as the True King because he is Bordran’s rightful heir, and he has the document to prove it.”

  The woman gripped Connovan’s arm tightly. He said, “You have proof of this claim?”

  Rezkin withdrew the tube containing the parchment and tossed it to the man. Connovan unrolled it carefully, showing it to the woman as he read. The woman choked back another sob as she reached for it. He allowed her to take the parchment as he looked back to Rezkin. He said, “The majority of the document was written in Bordran’s hand. The second belongs to Jaiardun.”

  He tapped the arm of the chair and then got up to stand behind the woman, gripping her shoulders. “I can see how this could be interpreted in such a way. More telling, though, is the sword. I have seen the official list of Sheyalins. I have had to … reacquire … a few in my time. None are named Kingslayer. Bordran changed the name of that one.” He said the last with a nod toward the longsword at Rezkin’s hip. “I think his intentions are clear enough.” The woman gripped his arm again, and he patted her hand as if truly concerned.

  While the others appeared pleased with further proof of their suspicions, Rezkin followed a different line of thought. “You did not answer my question. If you serve Caydean, and you know I am to kill you, why have you come here?”

  “I no longer serve Caydean,” said Connovan. “You freed me.”

  “How?”

  “As soon as you completed your training, I was released from my oath. Ironically, it is a built-in protection for the new king’s honor. It would not be honorable for the new Rez to kill the old one if the old one is forbi
dden from fighting back.”

  “So every Rez has killed his predecessor? What guarantees that new one will succeed?”

  With a shrug, Connovan said, “Sometimes they do not, but usually the old one is slower than his younger counterpart. If you had failed, I would still be bound to serve the new king until the next Rez was trained. You have not killed me, and you have not technically failed because you have not attempted it; therefore, I remain unbound. Do you know the purpose of the Rez?”

  Most of Rezkin’s information regarding the Rez had come from Tam’s book and hearsay. Rezkin glanced at Farson as he said, “To protect the king and serve as his assassin—or in whatever capacity he requires?”

  “Oh, he would not know,” Connovan said with a glance at Farson. “What you have said is the public’s belief—the one told in stories. The truth is a secret held only between the reigning king, the Rez, and the secret archive. Bordran broke the rule by telling Lecillia and Marcum. The secret archive is enchanted to remain a part of the kingdom’s charter. The position of the Rez can never be changed, no matter who sits upon the throne, so long as Ashai exists.” He waved a hand around the room. “Shall we discuss it here, amongst all these people?”

  “Just get on with it,” said Rezkin.

  The man smirked. “Very well. I suppose we can kill them later. The Rez, as I said earlier, is known only to a few. His purpose is a secret for the king alone. Not even Marcum or Lecillia know this. A king is always encouraged to have at least three sons—an heir, a spare heir, and a third to become the Rez. I know of only once that a daughter was taken because there were no extra male royal offspring. The reason the third son is trained as the Rez—always in secret, mind you—is because the Rez must have a legitimate claim to the throne. Bordran rejected the order, though. He said he would not give up his son—Lecillia’s son—to become what I am. Although Bordran did not know me as a child, I think he loved me—and he hated me.”

  Rezkin said, “You are also of the royal family.”

  “I am Bordran and Deysius’s younger brother—the third son.” He paused, then said, “It was the third king of Ashai, King Fehrwin, who created the Rez. His own father, Coroleus’s son Urhyus, had lived too long, some stories claiming nearly two hundred years. In his old age, the king became melancholy. He made poor decisions that damaged the kingdom, but he refused to abdicate. When Fehrwin finally received the crown, the kingdom was a terrible mess. He decided the king was too powerful, that the kingdom needed a safeguard. Thus, he wove the Rez into the charter in a way that would forever be sustained. If a ruler becomes a threat to the kingdom, it is the Rez’s primary responsibility, his duty above all others, as dictated by the laws of this kingdom, to kill the king.”