The assassin reached inside his jerkin to his brace of knives.
Crickets chirped. Beetles scuttled. Mosquitoes buzzed.
Farren's guard drew closer.
Chapter Forty-Six
Villeen released her gentahl and swayed slightly as her vision focused. Farren's streets reeked of refuse and trash, but she ignored the stench, steadying herself against a dusty brick wall. A hovel stood directly before her, with a sturdy oak door and three locks to hold it tight.
Kleni's hideout.
It had taken several days to find this place.
Villeen had spread her power across Farren like a net, snatching up any stray thoughts, until she'd finally managed to latch onto this woman's name. She'd done it slowly, for examining too many minds at once was ill advised. After that, it had been simple—use her gentahl to travel here, then prepare to bring Kleni back for Abennak.
If only finding her father had been like this.
She tugged her shawl tighter, reminding herself that Father was now Fier's problem, and used a thread of gentahl to click open the hovel's locks. Even if they'd managed to hold firm against her gentahl, a swift kick would've crumpled the doorframe. The entire thing was built of rotted planks and boards.
A woman waited inside, with gossamer, black clothes draped over her near-naked body. Her chin was held high, with eyebrows arched in surprise. She lay sprawled across a bed of frayed blankets, leaning forward ever-so-slightly, pressing a thumb to her lips to keep silence close. A basket of half-rotted apples sat on the nightstand, and she reached out with a trembling finger to snatch one. She bit into it, winced at the taste, yet managed to swallow.
Her eyes shimmered in fear, but also a hint of defiance.
A tiny blaze flickered in a fireplace on the far wall, and tendrils of smoke wafted beneath the mantle to fill the room with the scent of hickory. Music leapt and twisted from a violin in the hands of a scarred, burned man. He sat in the far corner, pressing his lips together as he played, and his skill brought a lump to Villeen's throat.
His song wavered as she stepped closer, but Kleni's frown steadied it.
Strange, to find a musician in this pit.
"What do you want?" Kleni asked.
Villeen stared at the fireplace, watching flames lick the chimney's stones, red and orange, black and grimy. The flames provided a false sense of warmth.
For all she knew, her father had crafted these walls.
Not my problem!
And yet it was, and always would be.
Kleni scowled. "I asked you what you—"
"I offer a way out."
Again, Kleni arched her eyebrows. "I like it here."
Abennak wanted this woman to lead his army. He'd claimed she would leap at the chance, and only a slight nudge was required to bring her to him. But why? What did she offer that Rokand didn't?
"I suspect you're used to something more than this." Villeen said. "Aren't you?"
"Some days I enjoy it." Kleni shrugged. "And others—"
"Your clothes tell me you're used to a certain amount of wealth, but the state of this place? Tsk, it's hardly more than a hole in the ground. You've never been fond of those, have you? You're not just a lowly whore."
The other woman hesitated. "I'm listening."
"Because...." Villeen watched her subject closely, searching for a hint of why the Mad King had requested her in particular. "Abennak wants you to lead his armies."
Kleni's laughter rang out, silvery and bright. "He wants a whore? What could he possibly do with me? Besides the obvious. I doubt your king knows—"
"I don't know why he wants you, just that he does."
"That's hard to believe. Men prattle worse than any woman, and a king rarely does things without reason." She leaned back, uncaring that her clothes did little to hide her nudity. "No, I think you're lying."
Villeen walked to the firelpace. The other woman, however, inched away from the flames, a crazed, terrified gleam in her eyes. Interesting. And the scarred, pitiful musician continued to tug wand over string. He ignored Villeen as if she weren't there, and simply played another song when one ended.
How to convince Kleni?
'Give her a promise,' Abennak had said. 'Then she'll creep and crawl to me.'
"He told me you'd rule the world."
Again, Kleni's laughter rang out. "It's a vast place, this world of ours. The island is enough for me."
"The island, then. Take it or leave it."
"How do I know you can deliver?"
Villeen had failed to deliver her father to his death, failed to deliver Abennak from insanity, failed to deliver herself to vengeance. Even her brother had abandoned her. Failures stacked upon one another, each more terrible than the one before.
"You've my promise."
Kleni bobbed her head. "Lerrin goes with me."
"Lerrin?"
"My musician doesn't leave my side. Ever."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then so do I."
Another person hardly mattered. Sure, the strain of shifting three people across the island was considerable, but nothing Villeen couldn't handle—her power continued to grow.
She uncoiled a thread of gentahl and thrust it into their minds.
***
"This is so wibbly and wobbly and slow," Abennak muttered, and he stuck out his tongue in an attempt to lick his nose. "Battle and fire and frenzy. I'll give my daughters playmates."
Villeen sat beside the king's throne, her father's book resting on her thighs, and she flipped another page. Unable to truly accept this was Fier's problem alone, she'd retrieved it from her room. She'd once imagined these pages made sense, but not any longer. They were a riddle, one she'd memorized, one that mocked her in the depths of sleep. She'd carefully burned it into her mind, and couldn't forget it if she tried.
One passage in particular nudged her.
It read, 'And she'll despise my general. She must, for my creations must learn. They must understand their emotions. Without her loss, they're lost.'
Was the woman he wrote about Kleni? If so, he'd never mentioned a name, and he'd certainly never described her. Yet it was possible—they'd both lived in Farren.
Half a day had passed since Villeen had returned with the Alkarian, and the woman now waited in Rippon's catacombs. Villeen had promised she'd speak to the king and return, but that one question continued to nag without pause.
Who was Kleni?
Yet another passage read, 'In those moments, when she feels everything is lost... it will be. Yes, that's perfect. It will be. She'll love him, in the end. My general can't understand.'
This would've been easier with Fier to guide her. What did her father want? Impossible to know. She didn't understand his general, and she understood even less of the woman, Kleni.
What did he intend with her?
"Demon-damn," she whispered.
As if he'd heard her, Abennak giggled. "Where's brother?"
"Gone."
"Flippity flappity gone. He's chasing the wind, chasing his dreams. And us? We're here. But there's no reason for us to be here when we should be there." He picked at his nose, pulled out a glob of greenish goo, and stuffed it into his mouth. "When can I see Kleni?"
"When she's ready."
"Two or five hours—that's enough, isn't it? I need and need her."
"My king, why her? Others could do it."
"Can't do it like her. There's no one else quite like her. Except me."
"My king?"
"I'm worse than she. Far, far worse."
"You're just—"
He gave a half-maddened cackle. "Made and made to be what I am. Will you abandon me to what you've created? No. You can't. Trust me, my dear. Your brother trusted me."
She found it hard to believe Fier had ever trusted this man. However, the Mad King was right; she couldn't abandon him now. As her brother had claimed, she'd dug her own grave. Now she must bury herself in it.
"Push and pul
l and coerce Kleni to my plans." Abennak chuckled, the taint of his madness ebbing and flowing with each breath. "My generals are so wibbly and wobbly and slow. I think I'll give them a surprise. They think and think to stall, that this war isn't important. Aiiieee! It's so important! When she's ready, make sure she wears something skimpy and dimply and alluring. Dress the seed in webs of lust, because she's far too gristled to be a melon."
Villeen snapped her father's book closed. "Is there anything else?"
"Confetti," Abennak said simply, and he gazed up at the mossy ceiling. "Confetti to fall from the sky, oh so high, and cover my kingdom in happiness. It's possible and impossible, isn't it? Kara loves confetti."
Villeen plunged her gentahl into his mind. Far beneath them, she lanced a thread of power into Kleni and Lerrin, then twisted her own thoughts in that same instant. She appeared in Rippon's catacombs, book clenched to her chest, searching the darkness for signs of the woman and musician. A violin rang through the cavern, sorrowful and slow.
The fire at the cavern's center had burned to embers.
Smoke cowered beneath the stench of mold and decay, and Villeen pulled her sleeve over her nose. Too much of Rippon had succumbed to this mold, just as too much of Alkar had fallen to dust.
Yet another unanswered question.
Abennak had plummeted further in the days since she'd returned from Targ. Like a stone falling from an impossibly high cliff, he dropped and dropped, with no end in sight. It was her fault. What would happen when he struck bottom? A splatter? A bounce?
Perhaps both.
"You're late," Kleni growled.
Villeen swiveled as a Kleni emerged from the far corner. The woman crossed her arms beneath her breasts, and her face twitched with a dangerous, subtle twist. She was more than just a pretty toy.
However, Kleni also feared her; Villeen had seen it in the woman's eyes after they'd shifted back to Rippon. Kleni didn't understand gentahl, and people always shied from the unknown. For all Kleni knew, Villeen could've twisted her into something ghastly and shameful.
Villeen allowed that fear to fester, using it to manipulate the woman. She approached the embers, jerked her gentahl again, and the blaze returned to life. "I never told you when I'd return. I simply said—"
"It's unimportant." Kleni stepped back, eyeing the fire. "What about my armies?"
"They're not yours."
"That's not what we agreed on. You promised! I'll smash—"
Villeen thrust her gentahl deeper into the other woman's mind, deeper into her own. She wrenched and twisted, and the fire roared higher, blazing as if to melt the ceiling. Heat, no more than a pleasing warmth, washed over her.
Kleni paled.
"You fear the fire." Villeen thrust her hand within the blaze, knowing it wouldn't sear her flesh, not with her gentahl behind it, but knowing the other woman feared it. "Why does Abennak want you to lead his army? He can't know who you are, because even I don't."
Kleni stepped back with a scowl.
Villeen flicked her fingers at the Alkarian, who cringed. "I need you because Abennak needs you, but I manipulate and you follow. That's it. Now what makes you so special?"
"Figure it out yourself."
Villeen skirted to the edge of the cavern. She ran her fingers across the jagged wall. Water dripped from it. Moss, soft and gentle, grew in the crevices. So many stones, just like these, filled the island. Had her father placed them? Had he devised it all?
Question and answer jerked from one another as if terrified of meeting. Villeen had lived through too many years of confusion. Now, with the answers so close... these answers couldn't simply patter to the floor, or burrow into a crack like the wall's moss.
"I think not," Villeen said.
"What then? Abennak wants me to—"
"When I began this, I swore to never use my power against anyone. I promised my brother I wouldn't steal their memories, because it would make me the same as my father, and I hate him. I couldn't be like him." Villeen clenched her fists. "I've never broken that promise."
Kleni sneered.
Now I will. Void take me, I never wanted to do this.
Villeen's gentahl pulsed, and she thrust a thread into the woman. Images blinked across the link—a lonely childhood, a whoring mother—but nothing to explain why the Mad King needed her. Villeen drilled the thread deeper and deeper, until images flickered faster and faster.
A lifetime as seconds. Minutes. An hour.
Kylen Crest, giant of a man, appeared—teaching this woman, using her, somehow loving her. Flames melted his flesh, melted those lessons and that love. Kleni remembered him as more than just a man, and someone had torn him away from her.
Why she fears the flames. Of course, it makes sense—
Kleni shrieked.
Villeen gasped, struggling to draw breath against the onslaught of memories and thoughts, sadness and hatred. She watched this man and woman manipulate the city of Farren, and they rose to the top, hand in hand, while the city cowered beneath.
This was why Abennak wanted her. She'd already done this, and she'd know exactly how to force his generals to her will. She was cruel, manipulative, and far too intelligent.
Another woman's face floated to the surface—black hair, green eyes, twin shortswords at her hips. Names accompanied it. Sister. Bitch. Kipra. This was the woman Abennak had ordered Wisk to capture. Kleni's anger swirled, gnashing and tearing as if to peel away the other's skin.
What could cause Kleni to hate her sister so much?
Villeen almost abandoned the link, but her gentahl pulsed as if craving more memories, more pieces of the woman's life. So she delved deeper, struggled through blackness and redness.
And fury roared.
One final image emerged, a man with the lean, angular figure of a Kilnsman. He walked hand-in-hand with Kleni's sister, and a warehouse burned at their backs. They glanced over their shoulders to the mangled, singed corpse of Kylen Crest, and they grinned.
These people had killed Kleni's love.
Not only that, but they'd shoved her from a place of power and security, and they'd done it with the same care as a child breaking a toy. A death. Disgrace. Still, something about the man....
A whisper or a twitch.
Villeen jerked her gentahl, forcing Kleni's memory to clear. She shoved closer, closer, until she peered in the Kilnsman's eyes. There! Something pulsed, indistinct and shadowed, but with a familiar rhythm.
Gentahl.
He was her father's general and, just as her brother had claimed, there was more to him than she'd assumed. And the woman at his side, whom he gazed at with such devotion, was Kleni's sister.
This explained why Abennak wanted them.
Chapter Forty-Seven
"He named his toy Irreor Ark," Kipra told Bran.
She'd found him earlier in the day, and he'd accepted her apology with practiced ease, as if he'd been expecting it since she'd stormed from he shack. Now they neared the northern gate, checking the city's budding defenses. Pernik accompanied them, and the old officer snorted and rubbed his nose as they halted. Beyond the gate, a road led to Renek, then crossed the border to Rippon.
Reports said Abennak's army hadn't left Rippon, but could they trust it? Too many things were at stake. More and more people, upon learning Alkar would help Farren's defense, had opted to join the militia. They streamed to the barracks, the same place Eenan Ark had once trained his men, signed a wrinkled sheet of parchment, and took up whatever weapons they could find.
Not much, but it was a start.
Yet Kipra could think of little except her encounter with the Parched Boy.
"It felt wrong," she said. "You're certain no one else knows where Irreor is? One of our men didn't let it slip? I'm just afraid... gah! We haven't found Kleni yet, and I don't want her knowing where to find him."
"I don't think anyone knows except us," Bran said. "But it wouldn't hurt to ask our men again. We could always move him, you know."
>
Kipra shook her head.
"None of my men let it slip, lass," Pernik muttered. "The boy's a bloody hero. Always been. You may want to be careful with the merchant's men, though. Sure as sunshine they know where he's at, unless all of them are imbeciles. They could let it out."
Kipra frowned. "Unlikely. They're all from Alkar, and they wouldn't know where to find Crest's men. We're having a hard enough time finding them ourselves. Demon-damn, it still doesn't explain how that boy knew his name!"
"We're doing everything we can." Pernik swung to face her. "That poor boy named his toy because he knew what Ark's done in the past. There's enough stories of him that it's a logical explanation."
She sighed and nodded, and the other two fell silent.
She'd started to trust the old officer these past days. He was gruff and a bit snappish, but so was she. He didn't flinch at her sharpness, and he often lashed back with his own. In addition, he truly cared about the city. And yet many of his men were Parched, and she couldn't force herself to trust them.
Problems heaped upon problems.
This morning, the council had sent yet another request for her presence, but she'd dispatched Fier with a note containing more instructions. She couldn't solve anything with the council. As she haggled, people would starve and the funeral plume would rise.
Fier seemed to enjoy meeting them, curious to discover what they were. His eyes lit up whenever she asked him to speak with them, and he scurried off with childlike enthusiasm. Their arrangement worked well—the faster the council became organized, the better off the city—and it allowed her time for more militaristic matters.
"Pernik, you've sent riders to Kinslek?" she asked.
"None have returned. Gar Tsi said Kinslek has his own problems, and Farren isn't at the top of his list. We'll get more men, but it won't happen quick." He spat to the ground. "Stupid bastard doesn't understand we're the last city between himself and war."
Some rumors said the Mad King mobilized an army of over ten thousand men. Others claimed twenty thousand, and that he prepared to throw it against Renek, the only major Alkarian city between Rippon and Farren. Targ, a village on the northern coast of the Skuven Bay, had already been burned to the ground. Kipra knew the last was true, at least—refugees packed into Farren.
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