by Keri Arthur
I flicked a finger upwards; the stone wrapped around his chest immediately flowed up and across the lower part of his face. He could still breathe through his nose, but he couldn't talk, and he certainly couldn't make any attempt to head butt me. I stepped forward and placed the bracelets on him. His eyes were little more than a sliver of gold, his chest heaved, and his fists clenched and unclenched. But there was no escape for him.
“King Rainer, you will step away from the throne and the sword when I release you, and you will make no sound nor will you attempt to attack me in any way.” I paused, unable to help the edge of satisfaction in my voice as I added, “Or I will burn you every bit as badly as you have burned me. Understood?”
He couldn’t move let alone nod, but there was murderous fury in his eyes.
“Earth,” I added, “release the king.”
As the stone encasing the king retreated, dizziness hit and the whole room briefly swam. I really had to finish this—and quickly—before the call of unconsciousness became too great.
The king stepped away from the throne. I wrapped my fingers around the hilt of the sword, felt the welcoming pulse that held a deeper, darker note, and pulled it free from the encasing stone. After checking it was indeed the real throne rather than the false one—which held an almost invisible slot in the seat’s center to slide the blade in and out of—I raised the blade and shoved it home. Sparks flew as blade met throne, a shower of blue that glittered like icy stars in warm light of the hall.
“King Rainer, you have denied my accusations and continue to assert your right to this throne and sword. That being the case, you should have no problem once again drawing the sword from the throne.”
“Don't dignify this farce by ceding to her orders,” Vin shouted.
“He has no choice in this matter,” I replied evenly. “Draw the sword, Rainer. Give proof to the council that you remain the legitimate ruler of these lands.”
He fought the order. His muscles quivered and tensed and his eyes glittered with hate, but as the bracelets burned ever hotter and sweat trickled down his graying skin, he stepped forward, wrapped his hands around the hilt and heaved. The sword didn't move. He repeated the effort with an odd sort of desperation, to no avail. The earth had abandoned him, and so had the sword.
“Enough,” I ordered. “Release the sword and step away from the throne.”
He obeyed. He had no other choice, not if he wanted to avoid the pain that came with disobedience—and he’d witnessed its effects on me often enough not to want to go down that path.
“Earth, restrain the king again.” The earth immediately obeyed—locking not only his body down but also looping loosely around his head and jaw, preventing him from opening it and thereby speaking. The fire in my head was now so fierce a weird sort of halo appeared on the outer edges of my vision; it was taking all my concentration to keep my knees locked and my body upright. I had minutes, not hours, before I collapsed. I took a deep breath that did nothing to ease the gathering tide of unconsciousness, then I ordered the bracelets to release and added, “Lord Donal, can you please gather them and place them on my brother?”
“With the greatest of pleasure,” he said, even as Vin spat, “Don't you fucking dare.”
As the wind picked up the bracelets and carried them across to Donal, I said, “Oh, I'll dare far worse than merely putting the bracelets on you, brother dearest.”
“You're a fucking trull, and no one here will ever—”
Donal raised a hand and smacked him. Hard. As Vin's head snapped sideways and bloody spittle flew from his mouth, Donal said softly, “Princess Nyx has been a prisoner for twelve years, given no life beyond whatever was forced upon her by her captors. Which, in case you're not sure who's who in this drama, is you and the king. That she survived so many years of abuse and your attempts to kill her is something everyone in this room should admire even as they examine their own foul behavior. It’s doubtful many here could or would have endured what she has.”
I wanted to cheer him—loudly—but somehow restrained the urge. But I couldn’t contain my smile or the happiness that surged through me. Fate and the god of war had certainly been on my side the day I’d been thrown into his cell.
Donal clipped the bracelets onto Vin's wrists—both his real and his mechanical. While I had no idea if his false limb would conduct the pain as well as regular flesh, he needed to be wearing both so that the magic could form a circuit and enforce commands.
“Vin, you are not to move or speak until I so command it. Earth, release him.”
His eyes burned with hatred, but he neither moved nor spoke as his stone shackles pulled back. Like my father, he'd witnessed the result of me going against commands often enough to know the inadvisability of attempting either.
“Vin, if you are indeed the true heir to the throne, you should have no trouble drawing the sword from the throne. I command you to do so.”
He fought the order. His muscles twitched, his face twisted, and his hands clenched and unclenched. But as the restraint bracelets came to life, he was forced to walk up onto the dais to the throne. He gripped the hilt with two hands and heaved.
Once again, the sword didn't budge. A murmur ran through the room.
“Now tell the lords who were witness to you drawing this sword free eleven years ago the truth of that day.”
“The sword was drawn from the heart of a false throne,” he growled. “One that was designed with a near invisible slit within it.”
“And who drew the sword from the real glass throne one year earlier?”
“You did. And I will kill—”
“Be silent, brother.” I stepped past him, gripped the sword’s hilt with one hand, and easily pulled it free. The murmuring got stronger.
I turned to the councilors again. “And there you have the truth of it. While neither of these men can now control the sword or the earth, I can. So the decision you face here today is whether you will follow the true heir or a king who no longer has any power in this land beyond that which you cede him and who will ultimately be responsible for the utter destruction of these lands.”
“That's overstating the depth of the problem, is it not?” the lord of Guilderan said.
“If anything,” Donal said, “Princess Nyx is guilty of understatement. The Westal Ranges has sent all available air mages to Rodestat, but even so, the wind continues to whisper of darkness and defeat if Cannamore does not join this battle.”
Jedran stepped forward. “Lords, I’m speaking now not as the princess’s uncle or a man whose wife has been held hostage via restraint bracelets these last twelve years.” He made a motion toward the wall behind the throne. “Those words have governed how the rulers of this land have been chosen for nigh on a thousand years. Now that the truth has finally been revealed, we have no choice but to acknowledge it and pray that she forgives us rather than walk away and leave us to our fate. Because the threat to these lands—the darkness and destruction Lords T’Annor and O’Raen mention—is very real. The only hope we have of avoiding the same destruction that befell the Isle of Whyte are the two weapons Princess Nix now holds.”
Once again, I felt like cheering. The councilors, however, were not so enthused. Perhaps it was the reminder of how badly they'd treated me over the years—or, more likely, concern over how it would affect my dealings with them in the future.
Which, if I was at all honest, was a very real concern.
But we had to survive before that became a problem.
“Lord, ladies, Rodestat could very well be under attack while we dither,” I said. “You have two choices before you—accept the truth or not.”
“And if we choose not?” Lady Harrison said mildly. “If we choose to reject your claim?”
I met her gaze evenly. “Then I will take this sword and do my best to save Rodestat. If I fall, then I wish you all luck, because neither the king nor Vin nor the might of Cannamore's army will be able to save you. Not against a foe who have
weapons that can eat through stone and metal and who can render the earth inert.”
“And if you win?” she said.
I smiled. There was nothing pleasant in that smile. “Then I will be back to take what I have been long denied.”
“So we basically have a choice between a peaceful takeover or a hostile one?”
“It's hardly a takeover when I am the rightful heir according to the rule of law these lands have followed for nigh on a thousand years, but… yes.” I swept my gaze across the gathered councilors, but their faces were little more than a blur. My head felt as if it were on the verge of blowing apart. I needed to end this. Now. “Those who cede to the truth and my rule, stand with Lords Donal, Jedran, and Rutherglen. Those who do not, remain where you are.”
For several seconds, no one moved. Then, gradually, two ladies and four lords walked over to stand with Donal as directed—which left two dissenters. Unsurprisingly, Lady Harrison was one of them.
“Lords and ladies of the council,” I said, “given the urgency of the situation, I now request an immediate full council meeting to ratify my succession. If you’d please proceed into the chambers and—”
“And us?” Lady Harrison cut in. “You already have our disapproval and you dare not move against us, or it'll be considered a breach—”
“The treaty between Divona and both Chilbra and the De’Lorn Bylands was broken the second you both chose not to accept the legitimacy of my rule as according to both the Treaties Settlements Acts and the Crown Succession Act.” I smiled benignly. “Your presence is still required in the council chamber, where you may record your objection to my succession. But afterward, I suggest you return home, dig the treaty out of the archives, and study it. And then consider the fact that you now face a long and lengthy renegotiation with someone who has not forgiven and does not forget.”
Her face went pale. But she motioned toward the dais and said. “And what now happens to the king? What of your brother?”
“The king and my brother will be given the same luxurious surroundings that he afforded both Lord Donal and—”
I stopped abruptly. Though the king was still upright thanks to the stone that bound him, his eyes were closed and his lips held an unhealthy blue tinge.
And he wasn’t breathing.
No, I thought. No.
He couldn’t be dead. Not like this.
It was too damn swift, too damn easy.
And yet it was perhaps fitting that, in the end, he’d had the last laugh and deprived me of the one thing that had kept me going through the darkness the last twelve years.
The satisfaction of seeing him suffer.
Vin must have realized the same time as me what had happened, because he made a gargled, rage-filled sound and lunged at me. The bracelets flared to life but weren’t fast enough to stop him. He hit me like a ton of stone and we went down in a tangle of arms and legs. He punched and kicked and bit, the force of his blows tempered but not stopped by the restraining magic of the bracelets and the protective nature of Marttia’s vest. I avoided his blows as best I could and blocked the ones I couldn’t, but I could barely see him even though his face only inches from mine. There was a roaring in my ears, my head felt ready to blow apart, and my limbs were weak and unresponsive.
The wind roared to life and ripped Vin off me. I tried to rise. Couldn’t.
Felt the tremor of steps running toward me.
Felt the wind’s whisper, filled with concern.
And collapsed into the welcome emptiness of unconsciousness.
Fourteen
The wheels of government moved with all the speed of an ice worm. While drawing the sword had proven my right to the throne, the Crown Succession Act required my succession to be formally acknowledged and written into legislation by the full sitting council. Which took far too long, even with the official crowning ceremony being delayed until after the Volker were dealt with.
If they were dealt with, that was. There was no guarantee that, even with the sword, we’d successfully stop their mages or repel the bipeds from our lands.
But those slowly turning wheels at least gave me time to recover my strength. Time to meet with not only the various departmental heads but also the chief of defense.
And time to blood the sword.
I knelt on the floor of my old bedroom and pressed the sword’s point lightly against the stone. The earth pulsed in time with the beat of my heart and echoed warmly through the knife strapped to my side. But the sunlight streaming in through the window at my back did little to lift the chill from the sword’s cold blue blade, and the runes that lay deep in its heart remained invisible. But they were nevertheless etched into memory. To defeat death and darkness, you must first accept it.
If I bound this weapon to me, as I had the knife, I was all but signing my death warrant. Did I really want to give my life for these people? The people who’d used and abused me for twelve long years?
If I were at all honest, no, I did not.
But this wasn’t about—or for—them. If I did this—if I made the commitment the runes in the sword seemed to demand—it would be for my aunt, uncle, and cousins. For all those in wider Cannamore who’d done nothing to deserve the death coming at them. And for Donal, so that he’d have time to find a woman worthy of bearing him many bonny children.
I took a deep breath and tried to ignore the tears that stung my eyes as I thought about what might have been, had we only been given time.
But we didn’t have that time, and I needed to get this done rather than grieving for something that might never have amounted to anything more than a pleasurable way to pass a few months.
I placed my left hand on top of the right and then pressed the sword’s point into the stone. Once it was deep enough to be held upright, I shifted my grip from the hilt to the blade then briefly closed my eyes. The earth offered encouragement, but the collective voices of mages past knew no more about this blade than what my aunt had found in the journals. Racinda’s soul hadn’t become one of them, and the truth of this sword was lost to us all.
I took another deep breath that did little to ease the trembling deep in my soul and then tightened my grip on the blade’s sides. The sharp edges sliced into my skin as easily as it had the stone that now held it upright. Blood flowed, but it never reached the floor or the deeply embedded point. Instead, it was drawn into the sword, until the icy blue had been washed away by a dark-red hue. A heartbeat began, faint at first, but growing stronger as the bloody fire in the blade grew fiercer. Power surged—up through the earth, the sword, and into me.
It was a power unlike anything I’d ever felt before. It was the earth and yet not. It held light and hope, and yet ran with anger so deep and dark it frightened me to the core. I could feel the threads of the sword’s creation—feel the wisdom and the energy of the woman who’d created both weapons. But I could also feel the antagonistic remoteness of the magic, and it was both vicious and foul. Darkness was as much a part of this blade as light and, in blooding it, I was drawing it into me.
Not into my heart but into my soul. It was a festering knot of barbarity just waiting to be unleashed, and it took every ounce of strength I had to maintain my grip on the blade. I didn’t want this power—didn’t want the sword or the darkness it had gifted me. And while I might have accepted the necessity to die, I didn’t want to do so with my soul so stained. Not when there was a very real possibility that it would infect the earth’s consciousness. It meant I’d be unable to become one with her on my death; meant that all that I was would be lost to both the earth and memory.
To defeat death and darkness, the earth whispered, you must first accept it. There is no other way.
Tears briefly stung my eyes. So be it.
The blade in my hand pulsed once, as if acknowledging my acceptance, and then the heat died, the power died, and the blade became a cool, icy blue again.
I shuddered and released her. The wounds on my palms had been healed; a
ll that remained were two thin scars and the knotted ball of darkness that sat like a weight deep inside.
I closed my eyes, fighting the fear threatening to overwhelm me. Not just because of this sword and that canker of evil, but also because by accepting both, I’d also accepted the necessity of stopping Donal.
He wouldn’t let me face this alone and I simply couldn’t let him die.
I took another deep, shuddering breath and walked across to the cabinet that held the fast-acting sleeping draughts. There’d been some nights—some dreams—that not even the earth’s warm embrace could get me through.
And there’d certainly been more than a few nights when I’d used it to force sleep on others.
I found a pocket flask, poured a couple of the draughts into it, and then topped it up with water. After slipping it into my pocket, I walked back and drew the sword from the floor. A bloody-black fire ran briefly down its sides and a tremor ran through me. That fire very much reminded me of the hue that tainted the crystals atop the mage staffs.
Trepidation shuddered through me. I sheathed the sword and then slung the scabbard over my shoulder. It was the most practical way to carry the thing and it wasn’t like I’d be drawing it in any sort of hurry. Not here in Divona, anyway.
The door opened as I approached, and Donal’s gaze swept me briefly. “Everything okay?”
I smiled, though it felt tight. “Yeah.”
His gaze narrowed. “I know you well enough now to see through that mask of yours. What’s happened?”
“Nothing untoward. The power in the sword scares me, that’s all.” Which was the truth, as far as it went. I linked my arm through his and added, “I’m famished. Shall we go down to the royal kitchens and raid the pantries?”
“You’re no longer a prisoner in this place, Princess.” Though his tone was wry, concern lingered in his expression. “You can order whatever your heart desires and it will be brought to you no matter where you are.”
Whatever my heart desires.... Four simple words that whispered through my being and made the wisps of regret pulse stronger. I did my best to ignore them. Now was not the time to chase satisfaction. Not in this place.