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

by Kel Kade

  Frisha straightened, her shoulders tensing. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, it is nothing, I am sure. But … well … it is not something that is done, you know—a female knight. It does provide him with an excuse to take her with him. Men of power do not like to do without, if you know what I mean.”

  “He wouldn’t—”

  “No, of course not. I have heard great things about King Rezkin—that he is honorable and honest.” Hilith saw a flash of doubt in the young woman’s eyes. She leaned forward and patted Frisha's knee. "You need not worry. He will not be like most men in his position. I have heard that he keeps you in close confidence. He probably tells you everything.” Frisha pursed her lips, and Hilith knew it to be denial. She said, “I admire you, you know.”

  “Me? Why would you admire me?”

  “Well, I could never be so trusting. My curiosity would get the better of me. After I caught my dear departed husband with the maid—”

  Frisha gasped. “He didn’t.”

  “Oh, I am afraid he did. I forget, sometimes, that you were not raised in high society. When it comes to these things, discretion is the only bound.”

  “You mean, you were okay with … it?”

  “No, of course not. It tore my heart open, but there is nothing to be done for it. Out of sight, out of mind, so they say.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Well, some women choose to remain ignorant, but my mind would never let it go. I recruited people—the staff, mostly—and some of our friends to keep an eye on him. They let me know when things were not as they should be, and I made sure that he knew that I knew.”

  “But, what good would it do to know if you can do nothing about it?”

  Hilith shrugged. “Maybe no good, except that I felt better when he knew he could not get away with hiding these things from me. But, perhaps, it may be of use in the future. You never know. For a woman in our position, yours especially, it is important to build strength. Knowledge is power, you know.”

  “So I have heard,” she said.

  “Still, King Rezkin’s ward is a strong, female swordmaster that he just knighted. I hear she is on the list to leave with him on the morrow.”

  “Well, she is a royal guard …”

  “Yes, convenient that.” Hilith paused to let the message sink in and then cautiously said, “You know, I see a bit of myself in you—when I was younger, of course. I am a well-traveled woman, and I care about you. I would be willing to keep an eye on him for you.”

  “You would do that for me?”

  “Of course. But, well, I would need to be near him. If only there were a way for me to be included in his traveling party. I am not without skills. I could be useful. With a good word from someone he trusts, he might consider adding me to the list.”

  “Oh, I,”—Frisha smiled hesitantly—"perhaps, but it won’t be necessary. You shouldn’t be placed in such a position, and I don’t feel comfortable with others spying on Rezkin.”

  Hilith swallowed her anger and frustration. She had overplayed her hand. Frisha did not yet trust her. She smiled placatingly and said, “I only want to help, but I understand. If you change your mind, I am at your disposal.”

  “Thank you, Lady Gadderand. If you don’t mind, though, I think I’d like to rest a bit.”

  “Most certainly. I will see you at dinner, then.”

  Hilith left Frisha’s quarters deflated. There was no way she would be able to convince anyone else to help her get on that list. She would have to find another way. As she turned the corner, she passed Princess Ilanet. She watched as the princess entered the quarters she shared with Frisha and then turned her gaze on the princess’s guard.

  “Excuse me,” she said in the sweetest tone she could muster. “You are Lus, correct? I have seen you around. I hope you do not think this too forward, but I was wondering if you might like to take a turn about the garden with me.”

  The sky was grey the next day as the ship passed beyond the corveua. Within hours, the wind began to whip across the deck in great gusts, and the clouds had grown ominous, darkening to nearly black. The waves rose higher, and some of the sailors began to mutter that sea demons were awake and angry. Reaylin had her work cut out for her as the only healer on the ship. By midmorning, the sky began to fall in torrential rain, and any unnecessary personnel were ordered to remain in their quarters. Wesson and Mage Threll did their best to guard the ship from the worst of the waves and wind, but neither could keep it up for long.

  “Why did you bring her?” Farson spat. The ship lurched, and he grabbed hold of a thick rope that had been used to secure a stack of crates to the inner hull.

  “She has useful skills,” Rezkin replied. He began replacing the items in the trunk he had been inspecting before they rolled away.

  An overhead lamp swung wildly, nearly struck the beam, and caused shadows to dance eerily around the hold. Farson narrowed his eyes. “You did this to vex me. Is this my punishment for keeping information from you?”

  Rezkin said, “Rule 19—plan with logic and without vengeance or favor.”

  Farson hissed, “These people are ruthless.”

  “Should I treat Mage Threll with favor because she is your kin? She is here because she has useful skills, and she requested the assignment.”

  “You did not bring any of your kin.”

  “None of them have useful talents or skills for this matter, except for my uncle, and he is as likely to aid the Adana’Ro as he is me. I already have to keep an eye on you, and I also must determine why Lus slipped aboard without permission. He is supposed to be watching Ilanet.”

  “I have better things to do with my time than watch a spoiled princess,” said the assassin as he stepped out of a shadow.

  Rezkin said, “If you are here to join the Adana’Ro against me, I will destroy you before you cast your first dagger.”

  Lus held up his hands. “I am not your enemy. I did not know that we go to the Adana’Ro until now.”

  “You boarded a ship without knowing its destination?”

  “I knew you were headed to Ferélle. I wanted to find out why. Everyone who knows has been tight-lipped about it.”

  “I am not buying your story,” Rezkin said, bracing himself against a mound of sacks as the ship lurched.

  Farson’s sharp gaze probed Lus. “Who are you, really?”

  Lus grinned and leaned back against the wall as the ship rocked in the other direction.

  Rezkin said, “We go to the Adana’Ro, and he must know who you are before we enter their domain. You tell him, or I will.”

  “Very well.” With a nod toward Farson, Lus said, “He and I have already come to an understanding.”

  “Yes,” said Rezkin, “I am sure it has something to do with which of you will kill me first.”

  Lus’s smile fell. He said, “Has anyone ever told you that you have trust issues?”

  With a scathing look at Farson, Rezkin said, “Apparently, I have died more times than they cared to count, and I do not desire to do it again soon. I think more than once is enough for a lifetime.”

  Farson huffed. “How was I supposed to know? You went in for healing. You came out alive and well. That you had survived was a more likely scenario than that you had somehow returned from the dead!”

  Lus’s gaze was suffused with fervent awe. “It is true, then? You cannot die?”

  Rezkin frowned. “I just told you. I have died many times.”

  “But you do not stay dead.” He turned to Farson and said, “My name is Ikaxayim. You may call me Xa. I am Jeng’ri of the Order, and I am a loyal servant of the Riel’gesh.” He bowed toward Rezkin with the reverence due a god.

  Farson rolled his eyes and sighed. He turned to Rezkin with a worn visage and said, “You. You are the Riel’gesh? You are the Raven? In all the time I was avoiding you and worrying over Nanessy, I was not thinking about the Raven. I should have known.” He shook his head. “I did know, when I first heard of him,
but I dismissed the notion. It was too public, and it made no sense.” Pointing a finger at Rezkin, he said, “I knew you would hunt me. Why would you begin a mass appropriation of the criminal underworld? Even knowing you as I do, I would not have thought you could do it so quickly while simultaneously tracking me to Skutton. You collected the heirs of great houses and the general and soldiers and strikers and a battle mage and a healer—and the Black Hall! Why would you take over the Black Hall? You are a fiend!”

  Rezkin frowned. “The strikers were dead. I needed a spy network to find you.”

  With a blank expression, Farson said, “You took over every criminal organization in Ashai to find me? You broke into the Golden Trust Bank! You killed hundreds of people. You killed a marquis—a marquis!”

  “He was in my way,” Rezkin said defensively. “And he threatened my friends.”

  “Rezkin, you have destroyed an entire kingdom just to find me!”

  “I have not destroyed Ashai. Caydean is destroying Ashai. I am the sole unifying force against the tyrant.”

  Farson stared at Rezkin. After skipping a few breaths, he finally said, “You are right. As frightening as it is, you are right. But I know that was not your intention at the time, and you have unified the worst of the kingdom. You threaten to overrun all that is good with your terror pitted against the king’s forces—which, if you intend to actually be king of Ashai, are your own people.”

  “I realize that, and I have been taking steps to avoid killing as many as possible. You should know better than anyone that I am not a bloodthirsty monster. Rule 2 is to kill with conscience. I have decided that it means preserving the lives of those with the most potential and destroying those who threaten my plans.”

  Farson growled his frustration. “First of all, conscience is not a logical expression of useful supplies and personnel. Second, that is not Rule 2. The rule is supposed to be kill without conscience. You were meant to be an assassin, Rez.”

  Rezkin turned to the Jeng’ri. “Do you have a conscience?”

  Xa grinned. “I think that I do; however, I tend to ignore it. It is a poor guide in my profession—and yours.”

  Rezkin considered the new information. Rule 2 did make more sense Farson’s way. He wondered why Kai had not corrected him when they had discussed the rules. Kai wanted Rezkin to be a king, not an assassin. Perhaps it made more sense for a king to kill with conscience.

  He met Farson’s gaze and said, “I am no longer the king’s assassin. For as long as this war lasts, I must be king. I prefer my version of Rule 2. A king is supposed to lead and protect his people. It is better for him to have a conscience. Do you not agree?”

  “You do not even understand what that means.”

  “I have inquired on the subject. Journeyman Wesson has provided the most useful assistance. He recited a poem given to him by his master. It said:

  My conscience is my guiding light,

  And knowledge of my dark within,

  To know my place from wrong or right,

  And struggle in the places dim.

  When questions knock and chances stalk,

  My mind is made and spare routes fade,

  So thee and I and they and them,

  And most in all the world do win.

  “I endeavor to understand the author’s meaning. Journeyman Wesson told me that it has been essential to him in understanding the nature of his power.”

  “You speak of a battle mage who spurns his affinity,” said Farson. “With all that you have done and intend to do, you expect me to believe that you desire to be a man of conscience?”

  Xa studied Rezkin. “Perhaps the Riel’gesh can afford to have a conscience.”

  Rezkin looked back to Farson. “You should know me better than that. Desires are unaffordable weaknesses. I do not have to possess a conscience to abide by one. Ashai needs a new king, and a king needs a conscience.” His gaze snapped to the Jeng’ri. “When not acting as king, I do not require one. Now, tell me what is in that trunk,” he said, pointing toward a large, green trunk with brass hasps and clamps.

  Xa glanced toward the trunk—one Rezkin had not yet opened. “How should I know?”

  “It was warded by you.”

  “What makes you think that? Several are aboard who are capable of creating that ward.”

  “I can feel that it is your ward,” Rezkin said. “Now, tell me what is in the trunk before I search it.”

  Xa glanced at the trunk again and then returned his gaze to Rezkin. “You can break the ward?”

  Rezkin advanced on the trunk, knowing the Jeng’ri would not answer. People insisted on following him, yet they continued to defy his orders. Some were too useful to dispose of for minor offenses, but he would make them understand that their disobedience had consequences. Having already checked for traps on the trunk’s exterior, he prepared for whatever lurked within. It was an average trunk, with a good lock, but unadorned. He reached through Xa’s ward, maintaining his focus and forcing it to bend around him.

  Xa glanced at Farson. “How does he do that? I sense no interference.”

  Farson said, “I do not bear the talent, but his ability to negate others’ has always been disturbing to those who are blessed.”

  “He does not negate it. He is capable of touching it, of grappling and using it for his own purposes.”

  “You should keep that in mind and consider it a warning,” said Farson.

  Rezkin touched the box and was suddenly filled with both foreboding and urgency. He picked the lock and then looked back at Xa. The assassin was attempting to ease his way around Farson to reach the door, and from the striker’s lack of interest and the mage power Rezkin felt slip over his skin, he figured the Jeng’ri had cast a spell to prevent them from noticing his movements.

  Rezkin returned his gaze to the trunk as he said, “Xa, you had best stay where you are. Farson—to your left.”

  The striker snapped his arm out and smacked the Jeng’ri back a few paces. Xa stared at Farson with genuine surprise as he recovered.

  “You are faster than I expected.”

  Farson grunted. With a nod toward Rezkin, he said, “I have had years of conditioning to catch him.”

  Rezkin stood to one side of the trunk and glanced at Xa, hoping for some sign of what it might contain. With his heart pumping and the battle energy surging through him, he threw the lid open. He was immediately struck with … confusion. He looked at the Jeng’ri.

  “Fish?”

  Xa and Farson both watched him in puzzlement.

  “What?” said Xa.

  “You brought aboard a warded trunk filled with fish?”

  Xa appeared truly perplexed for the briefest moment, and then he smiled. “Of course. I get hungry.”

  Rezkin returned his gaze to the trunk’s fishy contents. The slippery, silver mackerel were flopping in a mound, with wide, beady eyes, and mouths gulping frantically. They were the noisiest fish he had ever heard. The trunk, however, contained no water in which to keep them alive.

  Farson closed the distance so that he could peer into the trunk. He screwed up his face in frustration and looked at Rezkin. “You said they were fish. For what purpose would you attempt to deceive me? Is this a setup?”

  Rezkin met the striker’s angry glare. “What are you talking about? They are fish.”

  Farson narrowed his eyes and then turned his dubious gaze on Xa. He said, “I see a trunk full of birds. The small yellow ones that sing.”

  Rezkin also looked at Xa. “An illusion, then. What is it hiding?”

  Xa spread his hands and shrugged. “I cannot make illusions.”

  Farson grabbed a dangling rope for support and drew his sword. The song of steel rang through the air over the flopping of fish.

  “What are you doing?” Rezkin said.

  “The illusion may be hiding a trap. You stand back, and I will see if I can spring it.”

  “By stabbing it?”

  They both took a step back as t
he sounds from the trunk intensified.

  “I have never heard birds make so much noise,” Farson hollered over the din.

  “And only after you threatened to stab into it,” Rezkin said. He looked back to Xa. “Tell me now!”

  Xa said, “I cannot. I am under oath. But, I would not suggest stabbing it.”

  The roar grew again, and Rezkin decided that either the illusion or whatever it concealed did not like being threatened. To Farson, he said, “Retrieve Journeyman Wesson.”

  Farson said, “Can you not break through it as you do the wards?”

  “Perhaps, but I have never had the opportunity to break an illusion. What if I destroy whatever it is hiding?”

  The cacophony rose once more, and Farson glared at Xa before departing the room. A few minutes later, he returned with the battle mage in tow.

  Rezkin motioned to the trunk and said, “Journeyman, please do something about this.”

  Wesson’s eyes widened as he peered into the trunk. “Puppies? Where did you get wolf pups, and what have you done to make them so upset?”

  “I see fish. Farson sees birds. It is an illusion.”

  Wesson knelt in front of the trunk to examine the spell and had to grab onto the handle for support as the ship suddenly slammed into the trough of a wave.

  “Be careful, Journeyman. It was warded by an assassin. It may contain a trap.”

  Wesson glanced at Xa and then back to the trunk. “I see the ward. Did you bend it like this? How did you get it to stay?”

  “I am holding it,” Rezkin said.

  “You are able to hold it? Like a curtain?”

  “Yes, I suppose.”

  “That is so very strange,” Wesson mused as he plucked at the illusion to see the underlying spell. He continued muttering as he worked. “A ward is a spell, not an object to be handled. To modify or manipulate one, you must change the spell itself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Wesson fell onto his rear as the ship swayed, and Rezkin braced him before he tumbled over backward. Regaining his feet, Wesson said, “Imagine that a ward is like a painting of an apple on a table. The apple is not real. It is composed of lines painted in the shape of an apple as seen from one point of view. If you want the apple in a different location, you must paint over the lines and paint them again somewhere else. You somehow reach into the painting, grab the apple off the table, and move it to another spot.”