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

by Kel Kade

  “Your father taught you the sword even though you are a woman,” said Frisha.

  “Yes, women may pursue these interests as well, but most choose not to because they are preoccupied with generating political support and wealth to become independent. In Ashai, everything was backward, and I would have had no chance to create a house of my own. My father had hoped that he could acquire enough wealth working for the duke to see me through, at least until I married or returned to my family’s house in Lon Lerésh, but Ytrevius was not a generous employer. My father taught me the sword to protect myself and because it was the one skill he knew best. If nothing else, I could join the army or work as a guard, assuming I found an employer to accept a woman.”

  “Which you did,” Nanessy said with an encouraging smile.

  Sadness filled Yserria’s green eyes. “Yes, but at great cost.”

  “Palis wasn’t your fault,” Reaylin said.

  Yserria turned her gaze toward the colorful flags and buildings. “Not everyone agrees.”

  Rezkin rode ahead of the carriage, his vigilance intensified by the fact that he had already acquired two new daggers that had been generously tossed his way. It seemed not everyone was excited for his presence in the city. He did not believe the weapons to be a true attempt on his life since anyone good enough to throw one with accuracy would know the amount of armor he wore would make it nearly impossible to land a fatal strike. The weapons were meant to serve as warnings or tests of his skill. In a land where people acquired their positions through challenge or assassination of their betters, such things were apparently commonplace.

  The palace was not located within the city proper. It sat atop a knoll surrounded at its base by densely packed briars and soggy, brine marshland that had been created artificially by a manmade canal that led from the sea. The canal was a deep, dry chasm at that time, though, the gates opening to fill it only when the marsh began to dry. The bridge that passed over the empty canal and marsh transitioned to a steep road with several switchbacks to make it possible for the carriage to travel safely. A stone stairway led straight up the side of the hill to the palace for those who desired a more direct foot route.

  The wall surrounding the grounds was not as tall as the walls of some cities, but due to the steep slope upon which it was built, it was still formidable. The elaborately decorated palace had three tall spires surrounding a central domed complex. The walls were made of white stone, and the wooden beams and balustrades were bleached white or blonde like driftwood. From every window fluttered curtains, banners, or flags, a bright contrast to the overcast sky.

  The four matrianeras who had escorted them from the docks guided the party from the courtyard entrance through several passages and stairwells within the main hold. The corridors were lined with guards, and curious onlookers gawked and giggled from farther down the blocked side passages. The corridors were painted different colors and bore tapestries, paintings, and sculptures to match a theme. A corridor painted the same yellow-gold as the soldier’s tabards contained militaristic artwork with scenes of battles, presumably famous leaders, or weapons and armor; while a green corridor had portraits of men, women, and children whom their guides identified as members of the queen’s family. It was in this passage that their third-floor suite was located, and it consisted of a sitting room and three bed chambers that they were apparently expected to share.

  Rezkin surveyed each of the rooms and then returned to their escorts. The matrianeras had removed the overgowns of livery, and each was now displaying far more of herself than was appropriate in any of the kingdoms he had visited.

  He said, “Why are we assigned to this wing?”

  The blonde smirked. “The queen does not trust us, of course. No one is permitted in this corridor except for her consort and family.”

  “Yet you are here,” he observed.

  “We made a deal for the honor of escorting you,” she said as she ran manicured fingers over her exposed midriff.

  Her pale blue silk skirt hung low on her hips, and the matching corset she wore, sans blouse, barely reached her lower ribs.

  “What was the deal?” he asked.

  “It is not important for you,” she said. “You will not see us here again, but be assured that you will see us.” She strode closer and toyed with a loose lock of her wavy, golden curls. “Will you not remove your mask so that we may know you?”

  “You should not be so eager to know me, Matrianera …”

  “Telía.” She smiled coyly and said, “Why is that?”

  “People who know me often do not survive.”

  Telía’s expression faltered, and the brown-haired woman who had been silently observing finally spoke. “We should go, Telía. Erisial will not be pleased that we have lingered in her wing.”

  “But he has not yet given us his name,” Telía said as she looked back at him expectantly.

  Rezkin felt the buzz of mage power alight, but it did not come from Telía. It was the older grey-haired woman from whom the vimara emanated.

  He said, “I do not have a name.”

  The older woman inhaled sharply. “He speaks truth.”

  Telía’s smile quivered again. “A nameless one? How fascinating.”

  Dark Tidings turned his black gaze to the older woman. “You are a truthseeker?”

  “I would not say that I seek the truth, only that I hear it,” the woman said. “I am Matrianera Vielda. “What kind of man does not have a name? Everyone in every kingdom is given a name at birth.”

  Dark Tidings cocked his head eerily and said, “What gave you the impression that I am a man or that I was born?”

  “Let us go,” said the brown-haired woman as she tugged at the red-head’s arm.

  Matrianera Vielda said, “Yes, Telía, come. We will let Erisial know that he is here.” To Rezkin, she said, “A feast is being prepared in honor of your arrival. You and your”—her eyes flicked to his companions—“guests will join us at seven bells.”

  The women departed, and Rezkin gave the sign for Wesson to ward the room against eavesdropping. His survey also revealed three objects enchanted for that purpose, which Wesson quickly dismantled.

  “What was that about not being born?” Frisha said with a huff as Rezkin removed his mask.

  “Theatrics, Frisha. I do not want these women to become personally interested. It is better they fear me.”

  “Yes, Telía seemed very interested,” she snapped.

  “Matrianera Telía. Formalities are important here. You cannot drop her title unless you have one of equal or greater status.”

  “Fine,” she said, “but I cannot believe they would walk around like that. They were practically spilling out of their clothes.”

  “Their sense of propriety is different here. In Lon Lerésh, a woman’s body belongs only to her. She is not required to submit to anyone else’s ideals of what is appropriate to do with it.”

  Reaylin said, “So a woman could strut naked down the corridor, and no one could say anything?”

  “Exactly,” Rezkin said. “But they also use their feminine attributes to get what they want, so they do not tend to give away for free what they feel should be earned.”

  Frisha said, “What if a man tries to take something that she’s not offering?”

  “You will not find a place with harsher punishments for such a crime. For a man to attack a woman is torture and death.”

  “What if the man is innocent?” Frisha said in horror.

  Rezkin said, “The truthseekers ensure the woman is not lying.”

  Nanessy added, “The Leréshi have the greatest number of truthseekers in any of the kingdoms. I do not know of any in Ashai, but I hear there are dozens in Lon Lerésh.”

  “What are truthseekers?” said Reaylin.

  “Their vimara allows them to sense what is true. Some can see truth through enchantments, illusions, and disguises. Others can hear when someone speaks truth or lies as Matrianera Vielda demonstrated. This
one is tricky, though, because it is dependent on whether the person speaking the lie believes it to be true.”

  Frisha shivered. “So Matrianera Vielda will know if we are lying?”

  Reaylin said, “Then, why did she believe you when you said you don’t have a name?”

  Nanessy seemed just as perplexed.

  “Because I do not,” he said.

  “But your name is Rezkin,” Reaylin said.

  “Rezkin is not my name. It is what some people call me.”

  Minder Finwy said, “How is it that you do not have a name?”

  “I was not given one at birth,” Rezkin said. He pointed to a stained-glass door through which they could see a deep pit set in the floor surrounded by colorful bottles and stacks of drying cloths. He said, “There is a bathing chamber. We have been traveling a long while. You all should take advantage of the luxury before the feast.”

  “But anyone can see in,” Frisha exclaimed.

  “Journeyman Wesson, Minder Finwy, and I will remain in my bed chamber until you are finished. They will share the room with me, and the four of you can divvy up the other two.”

  “I will stay in the temple,” Finwy said. “I have never visited a Temple of the Maker in Lon Lerésh, and many Leréshi are said to be highly devout.” He bowed, collected his single traveling pack, and departed.

  “I can sleep in the sitting room,” Wesson said. “Actually, I would prefer it.”

  Rezkin gave him a quizzical look but shrugged with indifference. “Very well, but you will come to my room while the women bathe.”

  “Of course,” Wesson said as his cheeks flushed.

  A few hours later, a knock sounded at the door. Doing his best to appear meek and inconsequential, Wesson answered wearing plain grey mage robes. A young woman was bent with her rump in the air picking up items that had spilled from a basket that looked rather too large for her to carry. He cleared his throat, and the woman squeaked in surprise as she jumped and spun to face him.

  “Eskyeshele tua,” she babbled in a rush.

  Wesson scratched his temple and looked at her curiously. She was close to his age with large, brown, doe eyes and mousy brown hair pulled back into a long braid that hung past her waist. A thinner braid, intertwined with a green ribbon, hung from her temple. Her pink silk bodice barely covered her breasts, and her filmy skirt was split up one side to her hip. Her eyes were shadowed, her lashes darkened, and her full lips painted to glossy, pink perfection.

  He clasped his hands behind his back to keep from fidgeting and said, “I am afraid I do not speak Leréshi.”

  “Oh!” the young woman said as she blinked back at him. Slowly, with her brow furrowed in concentration, she said, “Sorry to you. My words of Ashai are not good.”

  He nodded but remembered not to smile since he did not want to encourage unwanted attention.

  “I … bring …dress,” she said and then frowned. “Dress-s-es. For dinner.”

  “Ah,” Wesson said and then stood aside to let her enter.

  As she moved to pick up the basket, he stepped forward to assist. Each of them took a handle, and they bumped and stumbled through the doorway, nearly spilling the basket’s contents again. The woman smiled and thanked him and then stared at him expectantly.

  He scratched his head again. “I … ah … guess I will get the women?”

  The woman smiled and nodded, so Wesson knocked on Frisha’s door. She and Mage Threll answered together, and Wesson motioned over his shoulder.

  “The lady has brought you some dinner clothes.”

  Both women came forward slowly, eyeing the basket as if it were a poisonous snake. Wesson next alerted Yserria and Reaylin, who looked equally skeptical of the basket’s contents. The young woman introduced herself as Celise and then began enthusiastically holding up strips of silky fabric, none of which looked large enough to cover any intimate details.

  Frisha said, “Um … don’t you have anything that covers, you know, more?”

  Celise looked at her in confusion and then Yserria rattled off some words in Leréshi. Celise smiled and dug through the basket to pull out a long, violet frock that would fit snuggly but would cover from the neck to the toes. Unfortunately, it was completely sheer. Frisha looked at it in horror.

  Nanessy said, “Perhaps if we layer them?”

  “No,” Frisha said. “Absolutely not. I will wear my own clothes.”

  Celise eyed Frisha’s burgundy gown dubiously. While it would not have been appropriate court dress in Ashai, it was certainly an acceptable dinner dress.

  Reaylin reached into the basket and pulled out a long, chocolate brown drape that seemed to have no shape, ties, or straps. “What do you do with this?” she asked.

  Celise took the fabric and began wrapping it around Reaylin over her tunic and pants. It wrapped over one shoulder, cut across the breasts, twisted around the hips, and then tucked into itself at the hip. Wesson thought that one firm tug would pull the entire garment off. His face heated at the thought.

  “I, ah, I will be in R—ah, the king’s room,” he stuttered.

  When he turned to leave, he nearly ran into the man himself. Dressed as Dark Tidings, Rezkin hovered behind the Leréshi woman. She jumped back as he came around to peer into the basket. He plucked a dark green bustier from the pile and held it up to Frisha. She recoiled from the contraption, mortified. He tilted his head, and she shied away further, so he handed it to Yserria. He turned to Celise and said something in Leréshi. Celise appeared thoughtful and then bowed before running out of the room.

  “What did you say to her?” Frisha said.

  “I told her that you get easily chilled and asked that she bring winter gowns for you to examine. I doubt they will cover much more, but you might find something.”

  Yserria held up the bustier. “You want me to wear this?”

  He said, “We are in Lon Lerésh. A woman wears what she wants to wear.”

  Reaylin eyed the brown wrap. She smirked and then looked at Frisha. “Come on. Don’t you want to try it? When will you ever be able to wear something like this in public again?”

  “Why would I want to?” Frisha said.

  Reaylin shrugged and glanced at the bustier in Yserria’s hands. “I don’t know. Rezkin seems to like it.”

  Frisha and Yserria both blushed furiously and then Frisha turned on him. “What about you? You can’t wear that to dinner. Would you wear something like this?”

  “Those are women’s clothes,” he said.

  She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

  “Uh, don’t forget he went to the Adana’Ro naked,” said Reaylin.

  Wesson responded to the tapping at the door and again assisted Celise in dragging a heavy basket of clothing into the suite. The young woman held up a garment that crossed over the bosom and then draped over the hips in filmy layers of pastel petals all the way to the floor. The back was open, but it had several lacey ties to keep the dress in place. Frisha still appeared uncertain until Celise pulled out a matching shoulder wrap. She finally acquiesced, gingerly grasping the layers of fabric in shaky hands.

  Celise turned to Dark Tidings and said, “Your Majesty, would you like for me to send a male with clothing for you and your son?” With this last, she nodded toward Wesson.

  “That will not be necessary,” Rezkin said, “and he is not my son. This is Journeyman Mage Wesson, in service to the crown.”

  Celise looked at Wesson in surprise and then back at Dark Tidings. “I apologize for the misunderstanding. He is small for a man.”

  She turned back to the basket and tugged a small trunk from beneath the clothing. She set the trunk on a table beside a cushioned bench and snapped the lid open. Inside were numerous brushes of varying sizes and bottles, vials, and packets filled with colorful powders and creams. Celise waved Frisha toward the bench and said, “I do perliana for you.”

  “Perliana?” Frisha said, eyeing the assortment that looked like a portable alchemy shop
.

  “The face paints and powders,” Yserria supplied.

  “Oh, I don’t need—”

  “Yes, you do,” Reaylin said as she shoved Frisha toward the bench. “We are doing this, Frisha. Stop being so boring. Remember, you insisted on coming.”

  Tam’s boots were waterlogged as he slogged through the muddy street from a dilapidated tavern toward the room he was renting above another dilapidated tavern. The storm had moved up from the south quickly, and now he was stuck in the downpour. He was suddenly struck from the side so that he tumbled into a pile of crates beside an abandoned market stall. He glanced up just in time to avoid the club that was descending toward his head. He kicked his assailant in the kneecap, using the force to push himself from the pile of broken slats. His feet slipped in the mud as he took to the alley, realizing the mistake too late. Men grabbed him from either side, but he took the first by surprise with a head-butt. The grip on his arm loosened, and Tam smashed his elbow into the man’s jaw. He spun into the other man’s grip and then used his body weight to push him off balance into the first. Tam was nearly pulled into the tangle when the man’s foot slipped so that he smashed into the ground.

  Tam took off running in the other direction, but his assailants turned out to be many. Three more followed him through the vacant street. With the rain obscuring his vision, he missed the two that were coming at him from the opposite direction. He drew his sword and met the first with a slash to the abdomen. The man’s entrails spilled onto the ground between Tam and the next assailant who stood in shock over what had just happened to his comrade. Tam’s blade slipped through the hesitant man’s throat before he could recover, then continued down the street with three in pursuit.

  From behind him he heard a short burst of whistles, and he knew that somewhere more were waiting for him. He was breathing so heavily, he felt like he was drowning in the rain. He ducked around a corner and covered his face for just a moment to catch his breath and then began running down another alley. His stomach dropped when he realized the rain had obscured the form pacing him atop the roof. Two men stepped into the alley in front of him. He glanced back to see his three pursuers closing in on him. Suddenly, he tumbled to the ground in a tangle of netting. He was struggling to cut himself free with the sword when he was struck from behind, and all went black.