Book of Kinsey: Dark Fate (The Dark Fate Chronicles 2)

by Matt Howerter

  Kinsey sipped at his drink, considering the proclamation. He had experienced the death of a loved one firsthand. His thoughts drifted to the simple golden band Erik had sent with him. Dealing with the death of a loved one was never easy. Kinsey could hardly imagine the level of suffering that came with causing that death not only intentionally but with your own hands. “You did him a mercy,” Kinsey managed to say. “I expect the same. If it comes to that.”

  Thorn let out a mirthless laugh. “I’d let ya tear me limb from limb before I’d take the life of ma own blood again. I’ll die first. I guarantee ya that.”

  Kinsey cleared his throat. He had asked for this; the discomfort was part of learning the truth. “The priests and this creature you spoke of, what became of them?” he asked, turning the subject away from Duhann’s death.

  The king’s head dipped to one side. “I banished ’em, includin’ the monster.”

  Kinsey could understand how a holy order might exert pressure that would influence how the training might take place, but... “I don’t understand why this ‘thing’ would have an influence over your decision at all—particularly where something as important as the Dakayga is concerned.”

  Thorn scowled. “It’s been appearin’ in our halls fer as long as anyone can recall or, indeed, as long as the written records o’ our ancestors.” The king’s grim expression mellowed to an introspective cast. “This thing, ‘the Dark Advisor’ as the priests have called it, knows about our history and has always been able ta interpret the prophecies o’ the people. The creature ha’ been given almost as much respect as the Dakayga.” A grim twist flitted through the king’s beard. “Though that not be the case any longer.”

  “I see,” Kinsey said. “And this creature, it heeded your command?”

  “Aye, until recently.”

  Kinsey frowned and asked what, deep down, he already knew. “And it came back. Why?”

  The amber flecks in Thorn’s brown eyes seemed chips of actual stone in the wan light of the cavern. “Ta tell us o’ you.”

  “HE’S been that way ever since the king left.” Neal shrugged his broad shoulders. “I be guessin’ the conversation didn’t go so good.”

  “The king was here?” Jocelyn demanded. “When?”

  Neal started, surprised at her sudden vehemence. “A few hours ago...maybe?” When he seemed satisfied that he wasn’t in trouble, he asked, “Why?”

  Jocelyn frowned. “It be nothin’ ta be concerned with. I just think it be...risky, is all.” She looked over her shoulder at Kinsey.

  The prince sat under one of the towering statues of Dagda, brooding. His heavy arms lay crossed over his chest while he stared across the room, lost in thought.

  “What do ya mean, risky?” Neal persisted.

  Jocelyn looked back at her friend and closed her eyes, summoning her patience. Neal was a powerful fighter and loyal, but his wits, well... “Don’t be worryin’ about it. ’Tis nothin’, I be sure. Now help me with the food and supplies I brought back.”

  Neal shrugged agreeably and set himself to carrying the rough-woven sacks she had indicated. As they worked, Jocelyn thought back to Thorn’s assertion that he knew he was being watched. Since that admission, the king had been an infrequent visitor to the Dagdarhem in spite of his intense interest in Kinsey’s training. Fer what purpose would he come now?

  Neal whistled at Horus, who came over to help. The two dwarves loaded their backs with sacks filled with sour bread, sharp cheese, and dried meats.

  Jocelyn hefted packs of her own and looked at the archway into or out of the chamber. She was still amazed at how the tunnel could lead to any place within the mountain kingdom, though no place beyond it. The shifting tunnel had not only made it possible to shelter the prince and his training, but it had also made it possible to quickly move from place to place without attracting much attention. Only a few hours had passed before she had gathered the supplies the group required and come back to the Dagdarhem. Miracles had abounded since they had left on their journey to find the prince, and every miracle reminded her that they truly were in the service and presence of Dagda.

  Jocelyn slid one hand into her pocket and touched the polished stone she always carried with her. She muttered a quick prayer then followed Neal and Horus to the stone table that had been designated as the kitchen. She glanced again at the prince as she laid the sacks full of cheese and meat on the smooth marble slab.

  Kinsey had gotten to his feet and begun to meander around the perimeter of the room. He looked at the many embellishments found along the towering walls and columns but didn’t seem to actually pay them any mind. His thoughts still appeared to be elsewhere.

  Jocelyn was anxious to know what the prince and the king had discussed that unsettled Kinsey so, but she knew that he likely had to sort it out for himself, and so she busied herself with preparation of the meal for that evening. Neal and Horus joined her in cutting slices of bread and cheese.

  “Has Sargon tried ta talk ta him?” Jocelyn asked the other two as they sliced and peeled.

  Neal shot a glance at Horus, who shrugged and answered her, “Aye. He did.”

  When the normally verbose dwarf did not continue but instead turned his attention to the table, she prompted him with a nudge of an elbow. “And?”

  “Well, we tried ta stay out of it, didn’t we?” Horus said defensively without looking up. Her continued silence and the weight of her gaze pulled his eyes away from the work in front of him, which hadn’t actually progressed. He had started pushing carrot sticks around the table with the tip of a bone-handled knife. Neal, amazingly, kept his mouth shut.

  When Horus’s eyes met hers, he sighed and abandoned his attempts at evasion. “They didn’t quite have a row, but it’s been pretty clear the prince not be interested in what Sargon had ta say”—he gestured at Kinsey—“or in trainin’ ta invoke the Dakayga.”

  Jocelyn glanced over her shoulder at the prince. He had made his way to the center of the chamber where the manacles lay and stood gazing down thoughtfully.

  Horus’s next words echoed her own thoughts. “The rest o’ us left ’im alone ta figger out whatever it be that’s on his mind.” Horus’s tone was even, but his eyes were tight with worry. “Been hours since the king has left, though,” he added after a moment.

  Men, Jocelyn thought. Tired of the inaction, she prepared a small plate from the cut goods on the table and poured a cup of red wine. She made her way toward Kinsey and ignored the agitated hissing from Neal and Horus.

  The prince looked up from his study of the mystical chains when he heard her boots approach. The small smile that touched his lips encouraged her steps.

  Jocelyn offered the plate to him. “Hungry?”

  Kinsey hesitated for a moment then took the offered food. “Yes. I am actually.” He began to devour the cold cuts, bread, and cheese, ignoring the fruits and vegetables. “Thank you,” he said around a mouthful.

  Jocelyn nodded and offered the wine, glad that he was willing to eat.

  Kinsey took the cup and drank deeply.

  “What concerns ya, ma prince?”

  He choked on the wine then coughed and wiped a hand across his mouth. “Sorry. Still not used to being called that.”

  “’Tis yer rightful title,” Jocelyn replied and took his cup.

  “I don’t much care for it.” The moodiness that had left him briefly began to tighten its grip once more, pulling the edges of his mouth into a terse line. “Call me Kinsey.”

  “Of course, ma prince.”

  Kinsey blinked at her, confused. He opened his mouth on the verge of a short reply but suddenly chuckled instead, shaking his head.

  Jocelyn smiled. “That be better.”

  When the prince’s laughter faded away, his somber mood had lost its edge. “Monsters and princes,” he said to the floor. “How things have changed.”

  “Yer not a monster,” she blurted, surprised by her own fervor. She took a deep breath and then continued in a
calmer tone. “You’ve got ta give yerself some time.”

  At that, Kinsey’s expression tightened as he looked up to meet her gaze. “Ah, but you see, there is no more time. I’m to be presented to the great houses tomorrow.” He scratched his short beard in agitation. “How am I supposed to face them when I don’t even have control of myself? What if the beast gets free during the meeting?”

  “What makes ya think that would happen?” Jocelyn asked, confused.

  Kinsey looked at her, very nearly aghast. “How could I not think it?” he demanded. “The slightest bit of agitation might trigger a change in me now. I can’t risk facing those who will dispute my lineage. There will be harsh words when Thorn reveals to them who I am”—his beard twisted as he smiled without mirth—“what I am. You can count on that.”

  Jocelyn nodded. It was true. Perhaps Neal not be the only one that has problems seein’ clearly, she thought ruefully. There would always be those who doubted who and what Kinsey truly was. During this time when the Brunahlen line had been weakened by Thorn’s despondency, there were definitely those who would see Kinsey as a threat to their hopes of ascendancy.

  Aloud, she said, “I see. We’ll just have ta remedy that, then, won’t we?”

  Kinsey’s brow furrowed in question, but she gathered the now-empty plate from his hand and turned away without a word. She walked back to the marble table, a bemused Kinsey following in her wake.

  Prince Kinsey had made progress over the past two months, but it had been slow. Not long ago, Jocelyn had noticed something in his training, and it had given her an idea. Now, with time drawing short, was as good a time as any to give it a go. There wasn’t much to lose—only her life.

  After setting the plate and cup down, Jocelyn clapped her hands and raised her voice. “Lissen up, all o’ ya,” she said into the echoing vault. She waited for all eyes to turn her way before she continued. “I need y’all ta go ta the stables and wait there till I come fer ya.”

  Sargon, who had been studying the mystic tome, closed the cover gently, leaving one finger in the pages he had been reading. “Why do ya need us ta do that?”

  “I’ve got an idea ta help the prince, but it has ta be just ’im and me.”

  Horus snickered from behind Jocelyn and said something under his breath to Neal, who quickly cupped a hand over his mouth to smother his added laughter. Eyes alight, she turned on the pair and glared at them.

  Horus swept his hands up in surrender. “Meant nuttin’ by it,” he said, but his eyes still sparkled with mirth.

  She continued to stare at him, cheeks flaming in anger and embarrassment. I should punch him just on principle, she thought. She took a step in his direction, but Sargon cleared his throat and brought her attention back to the purpose at hand.

  “And what might that idea be?” the old priest asked, slipping a thin metal bookmark into the pages to keep his place. He seemed curious.

  “I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ about it.” Jocelyn shot one last warning glare at Horus and then turned to face the priest with hands on her hips. “Yer just gonna have ta trust me.”

  Sargon frowned. “Outta the question.”

  “We don’t have time ta sit here while ya scratch yer beards!” She gestured to the room and its male occupants.

  Sargon’s hand jerked away from where it had begun to stroke his own well-brushed beard. “I won’t be riskin’ lives on some whim, Jocelyn,” he retorted.

  “That’s exactly what ya be doin’ if ya let ’im leave this room without some kinda self-control!” she insisted, her voice rising.

  “No,” Sargon said. He turned, signaling the close of the matter, and reopened his book.

  Jocelyn ground her teeth in frustration. Casting about, she caught Gideon’s eyes. The scar-covered dwarf had sidestepped the conversation—or so he had thought. She took a step toward her brother, intent on enlisting his aid.

  Gideon shrugged his shoulders and lifted his hands, forestalling her advance. “I got no say,” he said. “This be no battle.”

  Jocelyn was on the verge of screaming at the stoneheaded fools. Why could none of them see what was about to happen? If Kinsey didn’t have control, then his introduction to the dwarven people could be the final destruction for the Brunahlen family. King Thorn’s declaration of choosing an heir had set the snare in a trap that he didn’t even realize was there or had chosen not to see.

  Kinsey’s thick baritone interrupted Jocelyn’s rampant thoughts. “Do as she says.”

  The simple words had the immediate effect of a clap of thunder. All the dwarves turned as one to the prince. Sargon blinked as if he were surprised to find Kinsey standing there. “Now, lad—”

  “Prince,” Kinsey interrupted. “I’m the prince of Mozil. And I say, do as she says.”

  Jocelyn caught her breath. After weeks of travel and two months in this chamber, Kinsey had avoided acceptance of that title even to the point of shouting at Neal to “stop with your fish-eyed staring!” It wasn’t only her that was amazed. Sargon stood with his mouth working. The old priest looked like someone had just claimed that Dagda was actually an elf in disguise.

  The consternation slowly bled from Sargon’s face to be replaced with a look of...relief? Then he said, “All right, lads, out.”

  The eight dwarves of their company scurried to the archway, which began to glow before the first boot was within five feet of the archway. Sargon was the last. Before he stepped into the arch to follow the others, he turned and bowed. When he arose, his charcoal eyes were glistening. “As ya say, ma prince.” Then they were gone.

  Jocelyn stood with her mouth open, staring at the fading glow of the runes. Sargon had never given up so easily, not even when in debate with the king. Slowly, realization dawned on her: he wanted Kinsey to take control…they all did. Beyond Sargon’s initial grumbling, not a word of protest had been issued by any of the party when Kinsey spoke. She wondered how long the old priest had been trying to make this very scenario come to pass.

  Kinsey’s voice broke her train of thought as she considered the now-empty and quiescent archway. “So, I hope your plan entails a bit more than what Horus had assumed,” he said, wryly.

  Heat suffused her cheeks as she turned from the portal. “No...I mean yes...I mean, I have a plan that’s got nothin’ ta do with...ya know.” Jocelyn shook her head, flustered.

  The prince laughed, and the tone was rich and easy. “Okay, then, let’s hear it.”

  Kinsey’s mirth was infectious, and she found herself laughing as well. The stress and worry of the past months felt farther away with each quake of her shoulders.

  When the moment passed, Kinsey motioned for her to follow as he walked to the center of the chamber. He knelt and picked up the manacles. He stood as she approached, callused fingers caressing the carcodium script.

  Jocelyn touched the manacles and then gently took them from the prince. He held his wrists out, but she did not attach the restraints. Instead, she laid them on the floor at her feet, the heavy chains rattling as she did.

  Kinsey’s brow came down in confusion as his gaze moved from the chains to Jocelyn.

  “These be the tools of a child, ma prince,” she said as she stood to face him.

  Kinsey’s frown deepened. “But, I thought—”

  “Aye,” she interrupted. “I do want ya ta change, but not with those.” She placed a hand on his broad shoulder. “Be the man we all know ya ta be. Be the leader our people need ya ta be. No chains.”

  She’s insane. There’s no other explanation, Kinsey thought as he looked down at Jocelyn and her thick, golden locks. “I’ll kill you.”

  “No,” she said. “Ya won’t.”

  Her voice contained such surety that Kinsey almost believed her, but it was crazy. Eos help me, but it is. He would tear her apart and not even know he was doing it. “I’m beginning to think I’ve sided with the wrong person,” he said.

  “If yer gonna lose control, it’s better ta test it here, with me.”
She pointed to the empty manacles on the floor. “There be no enchanted chains ta protect the governin’ members of the dwarven people in the council chamber, and I doubt the king be plannin’ on showin’ ’em this place.” Her head tilted to the side, and she placed her fists on her hips once again.

  “That just backs up what I’m thinking. It’s crazy. I just won’t go to the meeting,” Kinsey said, as firmly as he could.

  “Probably not an option fer ya. The king be a stubborn man, and this meetin’s gonna happen sooner or later. Sooner, I’d say, considerin’ the goblins be practically at our front door and all.” Jocelyn raised her fair brows and smiled up at him.

  She exuded confidence. Her feet were planted, and nothing but faith and certainty radiated from her. Whatever it was she thought she knew, it had her convinced; that was for certain. Sadly, though, Kinsey was not. “That may be so. Regardless, this isn’t happening.”

  Jocelyn frowned. “I’ve been watchin’ ya change these past months, as close as any o’ the others, and...” she hesitated.

  Kinsey waited for her to continue, but she seemed lost in thought. “And?” he pressed.

  She pursed her lips then nodded to herself, resolute. “Ya coulda killed Sargon at least once, maybe twice—”

  Kinsey snorted. “I could’ve killed you all. That’s what the chains are for.” He couldn’t help the sarcasm that laced his words as he nudged the links with the toe of his boot.

  Jocelyn shook her head. “No. I mean, ya coulda killed him in the ring, chains or no.”

  “What?!”

  Jocelyn drew herself up and thrust her chin out stubbornly, daring him to deny her. “I seen it. Clear as day!”

  Kinsey shook his head in disbelief. “You think you saw it. You were wrong.”

  “I know it!” she proclaimed. “Just the other day. Yer jaws snapped an inch shy o’ Sargon’s back, but there was slack in them chains.” She paused and nodded for emphasis. “Ya coulda had ’im fer sure, but ya let ’im go.”