A King is a temporary thing unless he is willing to kill even his own brother.
“What are your orders? Shall I question him further, Your Grace?” Lanier stood, upright and rigid as he gazed at Sebastian.
“Nay.” Sebastian shook his head, rising slowly, feeling every ounce of the kingdom's weight on his fur-lined shoulders. He sighed heavily. “Nay, Lanier.”
“Shall I take him to a more permanent cell then, Your Grace?”
“Aye. Until tomorrow.” Sebastian licked his lips. His tongue felt thick. “Call for the headsman. He dies at dawn.”
* * *
Sebastian entered his own chambers, jerking aside the long curtains that cordoned off his massive bed. Selena waited for him on the furs, her lips pulled into a saucy smile.
Sebastian wasn't in the mood for her games. “Leave.” His voice grated harshly across the room. Fear chased fleeting surprise across her face. She quickly slid off the furs, tightening her robe around her as she ran on bare feet to the exit.
Sebastian paced, his mind black with images from the past: Olivia's face creasing with misery and pain, followed by the stillness of the infant babe, his babe, dead in her arms. The twins had wailed for their mother that night as Sebastian had wept, wrapped in the acutest misery. If his own progeny had not been spared the dark hand of death, neither then should Liam's be. Sebastian had ordered their death, but by the time his men had appeared in the nursery, the twins had fled. Escaped. Gone with the nurse who had protected them.
Sebastian yanked off various pieces of apparel as his angry steps tattooed the marble floor. He grabbed his robe from the screen by his bed and wrapped it around himself. The guards at the entrance to his chambers jerked upright as he flew between them, running down the wide hallway in his haste.
He took the stairs two, three at a time, spiraling down, down, down into the darkness.
The chamber near the bottom was not out of reach of the prisoners' groans, nor was it buffered against of the muted growls of the various creatures he kept beneath the castle.
Of course, the Dimn trained their creatures in their separate Clans, but Sebastian kept a contingent of each group below his castle so he could cast his eye on training procedures, ensuring that the Dimn were properly preparing the creatures for places in his armies.
This was how the Tournament had been born. Every year, he held a Tournament featuring contests between every class of creature and Dimn living in West Ashwynd. The best-trained creatures from each group were conscripted into the army, and the Clans from which those creatures came were richly rewarded. If any Clan were unable to produce a winning creature, they were severely taxed, and their firstborn, whether son or daughter, was forced to enlist into the army.
Such governing produced amazing impetus among the peasantry. All year long, the Clans worked hard, training their creatures with every skill they possessed. Among the ranks of his army, Sebastian could count on the abilities of Mammoths, Valkyries, Elves, Trolls, and Unicorns. The Oracles, who were lousy fighters, were quite wise in their battle strategies. Direwolves were some of the fiercest of the creatures, though Phoenixes and Goblins struck terror wherever they went. Ogres were a rough bunch, but necessary when it came to creating chaos. Sebastian didn't have much use for Dryads and Sirens and Centaurs, though Cerberuses and Griffons were worth their weight in gold.
And Dragons. Sebastian loved the Dragons, though they did not love him. How often had he pulled aside his robes, checking the Dragondimn mark on his shoulder, wondering if perhaps there had been a mistake and he'd been switched at birth or something.
But the mark across his skin was most definitely a Dragon, and he knew that he was the mirror image of his own mother. He had her eyes, her full lips, her high cheekbones. There was not much chance of a birth error.
How the bitterness had galled him as his brother took on the characteristics of a Dragondimn; how it still galled him, so many years later.
Sebastian stopped in front of the door. No one bothered him here. He'd taken care that no one knew what rested in this room; he himself kept a key to the heavy door on his wrist, but he'd given careful instructions to the maids that this room was to be left alone.
He entered, lighting a torch from one in the hall. Then he shut and locked the door behind him.
The luminescent crystal sphere was where he had left it, next to the cauldron. The wardrobe that contained the cards, the tea leaves, and the various instruments of taibe remained. The carton of spiders that he'd kept alive through his occasional visits rested in the corner, though some of the creatures had died and become food for the others. The vipers hadn't fared as well. Most of them littered the floor of the cage, their long bodies in various states of decomposition. Sebastian shook his head ruefully.
Taibe took practice, but as he'd settled into his role as King of West Ashwynd, he'd rarely found himself in this chamber. He glanced over at his dust-lined books, pulling one off the shelf, flipping through it, skimming the pages in the light of the torch. He shut it with a bang, and a cloud of dust exploded into his eyes. He blinked rapidly, cursing as he placed the book back on the shelf.
Indeed, it had been too long since he'd been here. He'd come to depend too much on man and their psuche with the creatures, and not enough on the black taibe with which he'd won so much already.
He moved toward the crystal sphere, sliding back the chair that sat next to the small table. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the energy in the room that fingered his own aura and hovered over the crate of living spiders, over the wavering torch. The emotions that coursed through him contributed their own energy to the complex vibrancy of the room.
I just need to pull the energy to the ball. That's all. I can surely do that much.
He could feel it at the edges of the room, shivering in the shadows, but he could also feel the distance between it and himself.
He had once been a powerful wielder of taibe, capable of many things. How had he thought that he could easily pick it up once again after several years of disuse?
Centering his mind on the ball in front of him, he fought to pull up a mental picture of the girl, the other twin.
One twin dies tomorrow, the other—provided I can find her and she's still alive—will follow soon after.
He slit his gaze, staring into the cloudy ball, hoping for a shadow, for any sign at all, to show him where he could begin looking for her.
But nothing appeared. Only milky whiteness. Only dead space. Only emptiness.
Like the emptiness that filled him, that had consumed him for the last thirteen years. What wiseman, soothsayer, or prophet had ever said that revenge carried a measure of satisfaction? Who had insisted that a life for a life reaped a just reward?
All the satisfaction in the world would never be enough to fill Sebastian's empty, bleeding heart.
Chapter Nine
Kinna
Kinna knelt on the riverbank, her hands pressing her mother's dress below the slow-moving water, the suds from other women's laundry floating over her own. Bubbles popped as she stirred the dress, massaging it beneath the clear, cold liquid.
Feminine laughter bounced through the still morning air. The mist was beginning to lift off of the river, and the sun jetted through in brilliant slats onto the water.
Kinna lifted the heavy dress, and a curtain of water tumbled from it into the river. She wrung it out.
“I heard your son did well before the Clan Elders last night, Saria.” Conversation floated down the river from the other Clanswomen doing laundry. A tension-filled quietness blanketed the women before the tones of the comment had fully died away.
The Ceremony was a difficult subject. Those whose children had earned a spot in the Tournament had less to fear than those whose children had failed to place. The King's guards were a common part of everyday life, and always, always, one must be careful what one said. Sebastian was not known for leniency or goodwill.
Kinna hadn't seen Hazel since the royal guards had led the pink-haired Pixie away. Earlier, Tristan had murmured in hushed tones over breakfast hash that the Pixie had disappeared. The Council had received word that morning; the guards hadn't taken care to bind her mouth, and she'd sung them a Pixie song. When they returned to their own minds, she was long gone.
Kinna was relieved. As tense as their relationship had been, she had no wish to see the Pixie in Sebastian's prisons. Now Hazel would be free, as she had always wished.
Saria was speaking. “I did hear that Manley would have won, but they just couldn't get over that Pixie's temporary healing of the Head Elder.” She snorted. “Hogwash. If she had been worth anything, she would have healed him completely. Maybe then she would have merited the Tournament. My Manley could have won the Tournament.”
“Saria, ye sound pretty sure of yourself,” another woman chuckled. “Be ye so certain your boy would have won? He wasn't even in the final three.”
“It makes no difference. He had stiff competition, yes, but I surely think he would have pulled out on top. Well, stiff competition from all but the pink-haired Pixie and her Dimn.” She snorted again. “Obviously, the maid is a talentless wench who didn't properly prepare for—”
“Saria!”
The woman next to Kinna sharply interjected the word, motioning discreetly toward Kinna as Saria jerked her attention down-river.
Kinna's cheeks burned. She glanced at the small pile of clothing she had yet to wash and decided she would do it later. She slung the wet dress over the top of the basket, acutely aware of the hushed silence around her.
She turned and climbed the riverbank, running directly into her mother. Joanna's face was grave. Obviously, she had heard the conversation.
“Back to the house, Kinna,” she said, her voice too loud in the stillness. “I need help with breakfast. We can finish this later.”
Shame blanketed Kinna as she trudged up the hill, crossing the cobblestone roads on the way to their house. Joanna walked beside her, and every glance their way was filled with accusation—or at least, Kinna felt that way.
Kinna glanced at the tight line of her mother's mouth and screwed her courage together. “Mama, is there ... anything I could have done differently?” She heard the plea that feathered her voice. Mama, do you blame me for what happened?
Joanna didn't look at Kinna. She pulled her shoulders into a tiny shrug. “Last night or this morning?”
“Well, both, I suppose.”
Joanna was silent, and Kinna had nearly decided that her mother had chosen not to answer. She could see their house down the twisting gravel road off the main square. Her mother's voice surprised her, and she stumbled to a stop.
“Kinna,” Joanna's blue eyes looked seriously into her own. “Inside us all, there is a spark that waits to burst into flame. Those around you can fan that spark into life, or they can crush it if you let them. You must not let them. You must be strong against those who seek to tear you down. You are the one to decide whose opinion will shape you.”
Kinna's brow wrinkled. “What do you mean, Mama?”
Joanna gently pushed Kinna's fiery braid behind her shoulder, lapsing into the colloquial speech of the highlands. “Ye must be who ye were born to be, Kinna. And ye mustn't let anyone, even me or your father, tell ye who that is.”
When Kinna reached their home, she entered the comparative darkness of the house, setting the laundry by the door. Tristan sat on a woven reed chair, his head bowed, his hands clasped in front of him.
Joanna cast a sidelong look at Kinna, picking up the wet gown and carrying it through the house to the back door. “I'll hang this outside,” she murmured to no one in particular.
“Papa?”
Tristan looked up, and Kinna flinched at the defeat that creased his forehead.
“What's happened?” Kinna asked.
Tristan reached for her, and Kinna placed her hand in his. His thumb stroked the back of hers.
“I've lost my position on the Council.”
“No.” The word croaked from Kinna's dry throat. He'd spent years there. He was practically a pillar of the Pixie Clan. They wouldn't do this; they couldn't.
“Aye.”
“Did they say why?” Kinna met his eyes and saw there what she feared the most. It was as she suspected. It was her fault. He couldn't raise his own daughter to the standards of the Elders, so why should they allow him to remain on the Council?
“Nay. They never said it outright.”
“But it was me, wasn't it?”
“I didn't say that.”
“‘It’s the truth, nevertheless.” Tears spilled from her eyes, rolling hot down her cheeks. “I failed, and it affects all of us.”
Tristan shook his head. “It wasn't just you.”
How that phrase hurt. He had acknowledged her guilt.
“The Clan expects—all of its members to—to perform at a certain level.”
But I couldn't. I wasn't good enough. The unspoken words filled the air around them. Tristan seemed to be searching for something to say, but Kinna pulled her hand from Tristan's and smoothed the front of her dress, looking everywhere but at him. “I—I need to go for a ride. It will help to clear my head.” She swallowed the rest of her tears with an effort, and without waiting for permission or acknowledgment, she ran up the stairs.
Snatching the leggings, tunic, and belt she had worn to the Dragon keep, she clutched them to her chest and bounded back down the stairs. She had no idea how long she would ride, but these were better clothes for it. She hurried to the stables, bypassing Joanna, who paced the tiny garden in back of the house, her fingers worrying the edges of her shawl.
Joanna's concerned blue gaze singed Kinna's conscience, but Kinna drew a deep breath and ignored her. What she did now, she did for the good of her family. Her parents would protest, but she didn't intend to stop and ask them for permission.
In the stalls her horse munched his morning serving of grain. She quickly threw the blanket over the horse's back, and then the saddle, cinching it tightly beneath the girth. She stuffed her extra set of clothes inside the saddle bag.
Pulling the bridle over the horse's head, she buckled it behind the ears. The animal whiffed quietly, swinging back to the grain trough, but Kinna led the horse out of the barn doors. As soon as she hit the gate from the back garden, she mounted the animal, riding astride, ignoring the frown that Joanna shot at her bare ankles and calves.
She touched the animal's flanks. “Go, Render.” Render shot forward, churning through the dusty alleyways to the open fields. Here Kinna turned, without meaning to, in the direction of Julian's family's pastures. She knew he'd be out with the sheep today. He was as dependable as they came, and she took comfort in knowing where she could find him.
She saw him before he saw her. He sat beneath a tree, Sage next to him on the grass. The river rushed below him, and he tossed pebbles into the water as he talked to his Pixie. The sheep grazed in the pastureland nearby.
When Render's hoofbeats trotted within hearing distance, Julian looked up and broke into a grin. He jogged over to meet her, gripping Render's bridle, stilling the horse. His brown eyes sparkled up at Kinna, but quickly grew serious as he eyed her face.
“What's wrong, Kinna? Is everything all right? Is it your parents?”
“They're fine.” Kinna shook her head, her fingers weaving through Render's mane as she searched for the words.
The horse side-stepped, and Julian moved closer, his hand reaching up for hers. “Get down and let's talk.”
Kinna ignored his hand and leaped to the ground. She knew it irritated him. He liked to treat her as he would lady from the King's own court, but the rebel in her insisted on pricking his expectations when she could.
Julian threw her an annoyed glance as she straightened her gown. He led Render to the tree, dropping the reins when they reached the shade. “Sage, I think we're done with our sessio
n for the day.” He smiled at the Pixie, but Sage didn't smile back. Her eyes hardened as she looked at Kinna.
“Yes, my lord,” she muttered before striding from the scene, glancing back only once as she made her way across the field.
“She loves you, you know,” Kinna said, watching her go.
Julian's cheeks colored. “Aye, I know. I suspected before psuche, but now I know for sure.” He sighed as he sank to the ground again, motioning Kinna to join him. “I don't know what to do about it.”
Kinna nodded. Inexplicably, tears filled her eyes again, and she gazed across the fields toward the distant town.
“I've got to leave, Julian.” The words choked themselves out. Saying the sentence out loud made her decision seem more real, and the idea frightened her. But she could no longer bring shame on her family. She needed to free them from the link with her, so, to keep them from being ruined by the town and by the Elders, she would flee.
“What?” He leaned forward, his thick, brown hair flopping into his face. He impatiently shoved his fingers through it. “What are you talking about?”
“My father lost his position as the Advisor to the Council of the Elders. I can't show my face around town without snide comments, even from well-meaning people, about my failure as a Pixiedimn...”
“That was just a foolish contest, Kinna, not a commentary on who you are as a person—”
“It's not just the contest, Julian.” The words lashed between them, and Kinna dropped her gaze to her hands. “I'm sorry.” Finally, she took a deep breath. “It goes back further than the contest. I—I'm not a Pixiedimn. I can't do it. I've never felt like I fit in; I can't even keep the mark on my own skin.” Her voice had risen, and she flinched when she realized how loud she was.
She shook her head and rose, wiping her eyes on the back of her sleeve. “Anyway, I guess this is goodbye. I wanted to be sure and find you before I left.”
Kindle the Flame (Heart of a Dragon Book 1) Page 10