"Bran, stop!" She gripped his shoulder to pull him away, but the blacksmith's muscles were tighter than the steel he hammered down. "He's dead, Bran. Void take me, he's dead."
The cudgel dropped from his fingers and he fell to his knees. He sucked a massive breath, expelled it with a sob, and kneaded his temples with blood-splattered fingers.
Kneaded.
"He's dead," Bran mumbled. "My father is dead."
Kipra fought to swallow as she cleaned and sheathed her blades. For several seconds, she heard only the beating of her heart, her ragged breaths, and the wind through the empty alleys.
Bran spoke in a weak, fragmented tone. "He knew they'd go for the forge. Knew it. He went to stop... stop them. He didn't. Couldn't."
No!
She sank to her knees beside one of the only men she'd ever thought of as a friend. He leaned against her, sobbing into her shoulder, and she fought to ignore her itching skin. This man didn't want to use her. At this moment, he was the same as her—broken, helpless.
"Come with me," she said, and grunted as she pulled him to his feet.
Acrid smoke billowed. She steadied him, circled her arm around his back, and their footsteps echoed as they stumbled back to her father's shop. His cudgel lay forgotten. The empty courtyard stank of crisped skin and dust and ash. Together, they collapsed beneath the tent.
Bran stared at the ground. "I never said goodbye. Never saw who did it. Just saw his body, and then Crest's men took even that. They burned him, Kipra. Too many. I couldn't stop them all."
Kipra nodded, too numb to reply. Adrenaline abandoned her, fled to some deep hole in the center of her chest, and her arms tingled and throbbed. After several seconds, she swallowed.
"Why did you come here?" she asked
"Didn't know where else to go. My mother is still at home. She doesn't know. I don't know how to tell her." He peered at his fingers, then up to her, then focused on the ground. "I didn't mean to kill them. I didn't."
In an attempt to cheer him, she offered a wry smirk. "You stole my first kill."
His shoulders shook as he cried. "Their faces were so cruel, their smiles so wide and vile. They laughed at me. Said I deserved it. I just acted like Irreor always taught me to."
"You did the right thing."
"Did I?" He jerked his head from side to side. "Then why do I feel so empty?"
Kipra hesitated as a piece of ash drifted to her shoulder. She felt empty herself, as if some great whirlpool had sucked away her sadness at Bran's loss. Her swords had spilled blood. She'd proven herself, but that emptiness mocked her. She should've felt something.
Not this formless hole.
"My father told me to hope I didn't have to experience this any time soon. It's too soon. So soon." He buried his face in his hands. "It pounds and pounds and pounds. Doesn't stop."
Kipra reached out to touch his shoulder. Almost all of us are orphans, now. Ark had no parents. I have none. Bran has only his mother. How long until we're all alone?
On the far side of the courtyard, beside the baker's shop, the Parched Man—whom she'd once thought dead—lurched to his feet. He stumbled through the marketplace, and where his feet touched ground, he left an imprint in the dust and ash. Sunlight peeked through the clouds and smoke to reveal a shallow, pinkish line across his chest.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Gar Tsi, Irreor, and Teel pulled the wagon into the castle's stable, where the scent of hay and manure hung thick in the air. Dust coated their clothes and skin. It had taken close to a week to reach Alkar, and they were exhausted from too many sleepless nights and frantic days. Teel's face was stained with grime, though she still managed a seductive air.
She tweaked an eyebrow at Irreor.
He gazed back at the donkey, unwilling to play her game. His hand itched. The scab on his knuckle was thick and tough, like hardened leather.
"You should be going to find my cousin," Gar Tsi said to Teel. "We'll be needing to talk at him soon as possible."
She hopped from the wagon and strode into the sunlight beyond the stable.
"We shouldn't be too far behind her," Gar Tsi said. "Shouldn't take—"
"Kinslek can wait until we've secured the wagon," Irreor said.
"We're not going to be losing it in these stables, man." The merchant coughed and spat on the ground. "Kinslek's not being too fond of waiting, not even for his cousin, and especially not for yourself."
"He'll wait," Irreor repeated firmly.
He'd visited Alkar twice in the past year, but he'd stayed with Gar Tsi and Teel in the lower markets. There hadn't been any reason to view the top of the city, and he couldn't have known he'd meet its king. The city was nestled within the Alkarian Mountains, and the range's natural stone terraces created landings for houses and shops. It was organized in a series of steps—the lowest for poorer citizens, the upper reserved for the wealthy.
-I'll have a road that climbs to the top, to the castle, which will command the city's summit. Spires will shine in the moonlight like candles against darkness. People will work tirelessly to clean it, and even the Inner Empire will be jealous of its glory.-
Irreor twisted his lips. How stereotypical.
The stables—a sprawling expanse of wooden stalls and wash bays—stood to the left of the castle. Horses neighed and bumped in their enclosures, slurping up water and munching on grains. They were mounts of the highest quality, for a king would accept no less. Men and women scurried through a wide channel at the stable's center, and they cast quick, questioning glances at the king's cousin before hurrying onward.
Of course, they knew him.
One of the servants emerged from a room at the stable's back—a stout man with three-day's growth of beard and a nervous twitch in his left hand. "I'll watch your wagon real good here, sir. You don't need to worr—"
"Run off anyone who comes too close," Irreor said, then he lowered his tone. "I expect it to be here when I return, or I'll hold you responsible."
"Sir?" His left hand twitched and he yanked it to his chest. "I'll watch it as if it were my own."
"Void's tit, man!" Gar Tsi muttered. "He's not going to be stealing the wagon, you fool. There's not even being anything in it!"
Irreor grunted, looking to the storehouse, where mounds of grain were piled almost to the ceiling. The king's horses ate enough for a family, while his people killed one another because they starved.
"This is wrong."
"It's being what it is, man," Gar Tsi said. "Come on."
They marched from the stable and up the castle's tall, grimy steps.
One of Kinslek's men descended to greet them. He wore the armor of the elite guard, with Alkar's standard engraved into the right breast, indicating him as a Keeper. A broadsword hung from his back and a dagger jutted from his belt. He was a bearlike man, with dark, thick hair along his arms, face, and neck, but he wore it proudly.
"Call me Ogdhen," he said, and he stuck out his hand to grip the merchant's. "His majesty is excited to see you. He's talked about little—"
"Yes, yes," Gar Tsi said wryly. "I'm sure he's bursting with excitement."
Irreor followed a pace behind.
Grime and grit had been scrubbed clean by a host of servants, and the stone tiles and marble pillars shone bright. They wound deeper into the castle's halls. A series of tapestries, flawless and full of color, with little red tassels dangling from their bases, hung from the walls.
-Oh, how Abennak will squirm and snarl and spit at that. Kinslek will have everything—a lively wife and pretty daughters, a kingdom of prosperity and health, the love of his people. Abennak will have death, hatred, bitterness.-
Why?
-Why will I do that? Because it will be necessary.-
Ogdhen approached a large, double door and rapped twice. He frowned at Irreor's weapons, and said, "I can't let you take those inside. It's nothing personal, but—"
"These don't leave my side unless Gar Tsi does," Irreor said. "And I wo
n't let him do that. They stay."
The Keeper hesitated, then nodded. "He's waiting."
Gar Tsi flung the doors open and strode in.
Irreor followed. The Keeper kept a careful eye on him, as if expecting him to harm the king at any moment. The man knew his job. He stayed three paces to Irreor's side, near enough to cover the distance quickly, but not so close he couldn't notice a knife stabbing for his gut.
They stopped as Gar Tsi did, though remained behind the merchant.
Teel stood at the base of a dais, her arms crossed. a scowl flashing across her face. She swallowed it away, but its taste must've remained—somehow, the queen had already insulted her.
Two thrones, one for the king and the other for the queen, sat atop the dais at the room's head. A bubbling pool had been dug into the stone platform, and scented torches burned with the delicate fragrance of a summer morning. To the far side of the pool was a table heaped with steaming ham, chopped vegetables, various breads—enough to feed an entire block of families. Half a dozen servants lined the walls with trays of crimson wine and white cheese. They wore clean, crisp uniforms in Alkar's colors: red tunics with a black starburst in the center.
A chandelier hung from the heart of the room, its silver, web-like metal twined with multi-colored gems. Eight marble pillars, spaced thirty paces apart, ringed it. Red and black ribbons swirled up the pillars, twining higher and higher as if to reach the sky.
Kinslek had spared no expense, though rumors attributed that extravagance to his queen. She sat at his side, a tight, red dress clinging to her skin. She smiled, but not a smile of happiness. It was the grin of a hyena, almost a sneer. She clicked her nails against the arm of her throne.
Irreor hung a few paces back to watch the merchant and the king. He needed to know how to manipulate Kinslek. He required an army to lead back to Farren, and this man could provide one.
Not that he will.
Kinslek could've fed the island. He could've helped stop this war. Instead, he sat on his little throne and gorged himself on the work of his subjects. Or was it like Gar Tsi said? Did the king not yet know? But he must've known—a man didn't stay a king without understanding his neighbors.
Yet, the voice claimed this man would possess the love of his subjects. How could this man be loved when his people starved? Irreor shook his head. This king couldn't hold his people's affection.
He just chose to ignore them.
Kinslek descended the dais to pull the merchant into a massive hug. He leaned back and kissed Gar Tsi's forehead with a slurpy pop, then released him. "Cousin, it's been too long. Do you like my castle's new look? We thought about it for days, Leena and I. And, well, she insisted on the ribbons."
"It's being grimy, Kinslek." Gar Tsi brushed the front of his tunic, and dust puffed beneath his fingers. "Ah, void take me, aren't you having a woman or two around here to wash the stink off?"
Leena pressed her nails harder into the throne, as if to gouge a sliver of stone from the armrest. "Still the womanizer? It's been five years, Gar Tsi, but you're still an ignorant ass. No growing up?"
"Haven't been needing to."
"We have a woman or two," Kinslek said, and he held up a hand to silence his wife. "But the blasted dust has gotten worse. We're spending a fortune to keep the castle clean, but I'm afraid if you were to bathe now, it wouldn't last."
"Only needs to be lasting a night," Gar Tsi said, and he winked at his wife. "Least, that's what she's been telling me."
Leena huffed, but otherwise remained silent.
"Damned city is in an uproar," Kinslek said. "My reports say Rippon isn't like this, and my people don't understand why I can't find a solution." He fluttered his hand as if to push the thought from his mind. "A problem for another day. Tonight, we'll—"
"Ignore the war on your doorstep?" Irreor snapped.
Ogdhen placed a hand on his chest—not hard enough to shove, but firm enough to let Irreor know he was there.
This wasn't exactly how Irreor had planned on meeting the king, but he'd met a king before. The last had been unimpressive, and this one appeared little better. Still, this wasn't the best way to gain a man's confidence.
Kinslek acknowledge him—slowly, regal chin clenched tight—with an appraising scan that must've taken in Irreor's dust-stained tunic, worn boots, Synien dagger and longsword.
"His name's Irreor Ark," Gar Tsi said. "Been traveling with us this past year, and he's been proving himself useful more than once. I suppose you could say he's being my captain."
"Captain," Kinslek said carefully. "I trust your travels have been pleasurable?"
"Guards receive no fancy titles," Irreor said. "Nor would I want one. You've a war to deal with, Kinslek. Do it, or I'll do it for you."
"How dare you!" Leena stormed down the dais and shoved Irreor back a step. "You don't have any idea what you're talking abou—"
"Don't touch me," Irreor murmured, struggling to control his budding anger. She was royalty, but he wouldn't allow her to bully him. "I won't say it again."
Again, Ogdhen touched his shoulder, this time firmer.
Leena worked her mouth as if to speak. No words emerged, only a strangled expulsion of air. "You'll let him speak to me like—"
"You struck him, woman," Kinslek growled. "And he's got a point, though you've done everything in your power to make me forget it. I can't ignore Abennak as if he were a fly on my wall."
"But—"
"Leave! Go to our rooms and stay there until I call for you."
Leena glared at Irreor for a long moment, then stomped from the throne room and slammed the door.
Gar Tsi fought to hide a grin, but Teel wore hers openly. Kinslek's Keeper released Irreor's shoulder, though the man continued to watch.
"Demon-damn, but that woman's gotten harder and harder to deal with," Kinslek said, and he leaned closer to Gar Tsi. "Tell me, how many brothels have you gone to? I've only got so many fingers."
"The harpy's been being more excited about that than I. Not that I'm really minding, of course. Keeps her from nagging me." Gar Tsi huffed. "I've other things to think about."
"It gives me something to ponder when we're not in the cities, dear," Teel said.
With his wife finally gone, Kinslek laughed—a light, joyous sound. "You'll spend the rest of this week with us. These halls are so dreary with only Leena to entertain me."
"And the thought of Abennak's army pushing into Alkarian soil?" Irreor asked. "Is that dreary?"
The king's face darkened. "Aye, that it is."
"Then—"
"Wash yourselves and rest," Kinslek said. "Return for dinner."
"But—"
"There's being no buts, man," Gar Tsi shook his head in disapproval. "I'm fine here, it's not like Kinslek is going to be hurting a hair on my head. You're needing to understand how kings do things, and I'm telling you they're not working quick. Take yourself to a room and be finding yourself some sleep."
Irreor spun on his heel and marched from the room.
Ogdhen stayed close and, once they'd re-entered the castle's halls, he stopped Irreor with a grunt. "Don't judge him too harshly. The man's overwhelmed by what's going on, and the queen isn't helping."
"Why hasn't he done anything?"
"He's afraid and—"
"Afraid! He's the bloody king, what's there to be afra—"
"And he's furious."
Perhaps the man was angry at what Abennak planned—no one wanted to see their lands invaded. That made sense, in a way. But, if he were that enraged, why not do something? Why sit like a log in placid waters?
"Walk with me," Ogdhen said. "I'll take you to your rooms."
The Keeper led Irreor through the castle's halls to a massive room with a towering glass ceiling. Wrist-thick iron held the window aloft, but from the ground it was a black web against blue and white sky. Dark, heavy dirt had been shoveled and smoothed to cover the ground, and three stone fountains trickled water into shallow pools. Pin
k and yellow flowers, green trees with palm-sized leaves, all were delicately placed. Stained benches complemented a gravel trail.
However, a thin layer of dust coated it all.
"It's the queen's." Ogdhen paused to tug a leaf from a tree. "She ordered it built three years ago. There are more rooms like this here, though none quite so extravagant."
"The expense...."
-She'll let Kinslek's money flow like water. Ah, yes, that's perfect.-
"Was enormous, yes. She's drained the coffers on idiocy like this. The woman owns three houses here in Alkar, and she owns even more in Farren and beyond. Our king was weak when he married her. Couldn't deny her anything. Kinslek doesn't have anything left even if he wanted it."
"But the piles of grain, the heaps of food, he's got enough money for that. Why—"
"A pile of grain and a heap of food. Hah! You're right, he's got enough coin for those things, but realistically the expense of that is nothing. It won't raise an army, and it certainly wouldn't train them or feed them."
"So he's furious," Irreor said.
"Like a cornered lion. Reports come in every day saying Abennak's training an army. I can assure you he's not planning to sail against the Inner Empire, so he must be gathering it to attack Alkar. There's no other explanation." Ogdhen drew a hand down his uniform, smoothing the creases. "You're Eenan Ark's son?"
"I am."
"I knew him, once. Not very well, of course, but enough to know he was a good man. He'd just become Captain of the Guard in Farren, and I'd just risen to Keeper here in Alkar."
"And?"
"Kinslek took a trip to Farren, so I accompanied. Your father and I met at a council meeting, but he and I didn't speak. However, I could see the look in his eye. I heard the tone of his voice when he spoke about Farren. He cared."
Irreor licked his lips.
His father's name had apparently reached even here. However, Ogdhen was one of Kinslek's Keepers, and thus not easily manipulated. If Irreor planned on crossing Kinslek, he'd do it without this man's support.
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