“Oh, Jillyan has a husband. She married Prince Guidon Roarke not a week past.”
My mouth gaped open. “Guidon? Sarin’s son? You’re telling me Kael’s Prince is married to Langor’s Queen?”
“Former Queen. Jillyan gave up her crown in Langor to be Princess of Kael. Of course that means when Sarin dies, and Guidon inherits the throne—”
“Draken’s sister will rule Kael at his side.” I really didn’t like the sound of that. “How the hell did this happen?”
“Well, there was a wedding,” he said dryly. “It was your typical over-the-top, Kaelish affair of lavish debauchery. And that was just the ceremony. The feast after lasted for days. Don’t ask me how many because it’s all a bit of a blur. In fact, I believe half the kingdom is still hung over.”
“I missed something.”
“That, my friend, is a very large understatement.”
I gave him an irritated frown. “Why would Sarin ally himself to Langor?”
“He hasn’t. Not officially. Perhaps, Sarin was simply hoping to disguise Guidon’s worthlessness with a strong match. A good woman can make all the difference, you know.”
“She’s Langorian,” I said plainly.
Malaq’s eyes narrowed. “So?”
“I’ve seen Langorian women. The only thing good, or strong, about them is their thighs. So whatever Guidon is up to by taking Jillyan as his bride—there’s no way Sarin approved.”
“You surprise me, Troy. Being born of a persecuted race I expected you to be a bit more broad-minded. We’re not all slobbering, brutes, you know.”
“You’re right, Malaq. You’re a fraud. Or, a thief…or, a Prince.”
Watching me, he grinned. “My identity troubles you that much?”
“Just the Langorian part.”
“I’m half Langorian. And I was raised Kaelish.”
“I can hear that. But you’re only Kaelish on the outside.”
“That’s not good enough for you?” I said nothing and a whiff of his temper poked through. “You know, I could have let them kill you.”
“And I could have used magic and killed them all. Including you.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No, I didn’t.” I thought of the Shinree woman in my head and what I promised her. “I guess that makes us both fools.”
A trace of somberness settled on Malaq’s face as he got up from his chair. “What it makes us, my friend, is outcasts.” He reached for me again. “If we don’t help each other, no one else will.”
Relenting, I let him pull me up. “Thanks.”
Malaq’s response was a satisfied grin that was just begging to be punched.
Curbing the urge, I went in search of my swords. I spotted them against the wall on the far side of the room. Someone had actually collected my weapons into a nice pile instead of stealing them. Today was one surprise after another.
I went to retrieve them and a woman’s hand came over mine. Behind me, her long, delicate fingers trailed over my wrist and up my arm. In the wake of her touch, my skin tingled.
It was impressive, considering a shirt and a leather brace stood between my arm and her fingers. “So you’re back,” I said, taking a guess. “And in person this time.” Eager to see the face of the Shinree woman I indebted myself to for Malaq’s life, I started to turn around.
I didn’t get so much as a glimpse. Out loud, soft and husky, she said, “Now, I will heal you.” And I was unconscious before I even hit the floor.
ELEVEN
Leaning back in his seat, Malaq inclined his mug in my direction. “You’re heavier than you look, my friend. And those swords of yours...” he shook his head. “Why would you want to carry around all that steel? Mine weighs half as much and it works just fine.”
I persuaded my head up off the table and scowled at him. “I like my swords,” I mumbled. Blinking, trying to wake up, I pushed at the tangle of hair in my face and glanced around. “We’re still at the Owl?”
“That we are.”
“And you’re still here.”
“That I am.”
“I need a drink.”
“You know, I’d be happy to let you give Natalia a try. You can’t deny the results.”
I thought a moment. “Your sword? You named your sword?”
“Why wouldn’t I? She’s beautiful. She sleeps beside me every night. Most importantly, Natalia never lets me down.” Malaq pointed an accusing finger at me. “It’s no different than you naming your horse.”
“Everybody names their horse.” I motioned for his cup.
“Not true,” he argued, sliding his drink in my direction. “To give that beast I ride a name would imply that he was tame—which has been proven impossible. I’d have more luck breaking one of those giant, bald creatures that runs around eating goats in the hills of Arulla.”
Wrapping my hands around the cup, I took a long swallow and looked at him doubtfully. “A skin bear?”
“That’s the one. Were you aware that Langor used to train their soldiers by throwing them in a ring with those hairless monsters?”
The image made me grin. “I’d like to see that.”
“Actually, so would I, but the practice died out fifty years ago. Someone with a smidge of intelligence finally realized the realm had more lame men than fighting men. Of course, they couldn’t have been that smart or they would have shipped the beasts back to Arulla instead of turning them loose in the highlands. They don’t breed much thank the gods, but they eat. There’s not a single mountain goat left in the whole of Langor.”
Draining the cup, I slammed it down. “Congratulations, Malaq. That was the most pointless conversation I’ve ever had.”
His jaw twitched slightly. “I see you left your manners in the swamp.”
“Right next to my patience.” I turned in my seat. We were the only customers in the entire tavern. “A little lack of air and everyone goes home.”
“Like I always say, the Kaelish have no stamina.”
My eyes went to one of the broken windows. “It’ll be dawn soon.”
“Tell me about it.” Malaq picked up his empty mug and tapped it on the table. “Do you realize how many of these I’ve had to drink waiting for you to wake up? You’d think as much as I’ve paid the man he could at least bring me something that didn’t taste like horse piss.”
“You didn’t have to stay. Really,” I added; spending the night hunched over on a sticky, tavern table, unconscious from a healing I didn’t ask for, hadn’t left me in the best of moods. Neither did being trounced by two of my own kind in a matter of weeks. I wasn’t used to being outmatched and it wasn’t doing much for my attitude, or my confidence. “But since you are here,” I said, “what do you know about Shinree magic?”
“That’s a vague question. Why?”
“Because I’ve been talking to myself for weeks and it isn’t helping.”
“Okay,” Malaq said slowly, with a bemused, sideways glance. “Well, Shinree are one race, but your blood defines and divides you. It limits your magical abilities. Which, determine your value, or lack of it. Take you, for instance. Your mother was a gifted healer. But your father’s line was stronger so you inherited his magic, his skills as a soldier. That’s all you can do. You can’t alter time or the weather or conjure a drop of water, unless you can somehow use it as an offense or defense.”
He’d give me a lot of details for a vague question, but I let it go. “What about slaves? You clearly have some sort of clout here in Kael. Heard of any unusual lines being bred? Any accidental births?”
“Accidental births aren’t possible. The breeders are too well trained, too well versed in which lines are dominant.”
“What if, one of us couldn’t be classified so neatly?” I asked, thinking of the man that hired Taren and the woman who invaded my head.
“You’re all classified, Troy, by blood strength, by line, by status. If you were put into one of the camps as you are right now, they’d mark you do
wn as a full pedigree soldier with regulated freedom and no previous owners.”
“Damn. You rattled that off pretty quick.”
“I don’t deal in slaves, Troy. But the world does. It helps to know the language.”
“I’m betting you know all the languages.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I think you understand perfectly.”
“Does that mean you’ve finally figured me out?”
“I’m working on it.”
“Mind if I hear what you have so far?”
It was a clear challenge. I studied him a moment then took him up on it. “Your basic features are Langorian, but they’ve been softened by privileged stock and diluted by what I’m thinking is Rellan blood. That’s what slims you down and stretches you out. It gives a thinner shape to your nose and a higher brow. Tames your hair too and keeps it from being that foul shade.”
“My hair is black.”
“Not Langorian Black.”
“There’s little difference…”
“There is to me. There is to a lot of people in Rella.”
“We aren’t in Rella.”
“We aren’t in Langor either. But I suppose that’s a good thing because if we were someone might take offence to that royal Arcana ring on your finger and chop it off.”
Malaq looked down in silence at the dark pearl and I went on.
“From the elegance in your Kaelish accent and the obvious price of your clothing and weapons, you’re connected to King Sarin’s court. Loosely though, or you wouldn’t be associating with a pariah like me in public. Now that,” I said, pausing to point at the clasp on his cloak. “That confuses me. I can’t figure how you got your hands on a pin that’s supposed to be worn only by the King of Langor. Unless you stole it.”
“Not bad,” Malaq nodded thoughtfully. “Your conclusion?”
“Don’t have one.” Hands on the table I pushed to my feet. “Sorry, Malaq. But it’s late, and I have enough riddles to solve without adding you to the stack.”
“You’re right,” he said. “The clasp was stolen. Draken’s is a fake.”
I sat back down. “I’m listening.”
“For generations the serpent was passed from father to son, from Langorian King to his successor. But all those years ago, the night Taiven was found dead, the pin disappeared. The heirloom was such a well-known sign of Langor that a replica was crafted and presented to Draken on the day he took the throne. I’m not sure he even knows. The truth is so well hidden.”
“But you know. How?”
“My mother killed King Taiven and took the serpent off his body.”
I laughed. “You really have been at the ale the whole time I was out.”
“I have. But that doesn’t change the truth. She was held in the dungeon at Keep Darkhorne in the mountains of Langor. It’s a particularly unpleasant place. For the King’s most prized prisoners.”
“I know what it is. But Taiven died in battle. I’ve heard the tale a dozen times.”
“And are all the tales of your exploits completely true? I certainly hope not.”
I let out a weary sigh. “You have proof?”
Malaq looked away. His stare fixed on the wall next to our table. It was an empty wall. The wood was rotting and dirty. But as he looked intently at it, I got the feeling he was seeing something far different than the smoke-wrapped walls of a grungy tavern.
“The pin wasn’t the only thing my mother brought out of Darkhorne,” he said at last. He looked me square in the eyes. “She brought me.”
“That’s where your Langorian ancestry comes from. She conceived in prison.”
“She was raped in prison.”
“Of course. I’m sorry.”
“There were rescue parties. But there was no way to breach Taiven’s defenses.”
Suspicion crept up my spine. “Rescue parties weren’t sent that far into Langorian territory for just anyone.”
“She wasn’t just anyone. Neither was my father. But that didn’t stop her from stabbing him in the heart with a table knife.”
“Brave woman.”
“Desperate woman. She was afraid of what I would become raised in that place…by his side.” Malaq drew in a long, slow breath. He let it out like it hurt. “So, you see, Troy, you were right. I am a Prince.”
His implication sunk in. “You’re saying King Taiven was your father?” He nodded and my first reaction was to laugh it off. Malaq’s claim was outlandish. But looking at him, at his features, how he carried himself, the way the story affected him, it was entirely plausible he was the son of Langor’s late king. “And your mother?”
“I’m not sure how she escaped. It’s been suggested that Taiven was drunk and she stabbed him in his sleep. But the facts remain unknown. It was pure luck the Rellan soldiers even found her. The winter had turned brutal. They were packing up to leave. From what I understand, they shouldn’t have been there at all. Their incursion into Langor hadn’t been sanctioned by Rella’s King. It was undertaken by a young, idealistic Prince desperate to bring his sister home. And it hadn’t gone well. Most of his men were dead. Supplies were near gone. The order had been given to mount up when someone spotted her in the snow.” Malaq tried to stifle it, but a wave of grief thinned his voice. “She gave birth to me on the frozen ground in the middle of the Langorian Mountains and died an hour later. Without ever knowing how her life would impact the world.”
“Hold on.” I could feel my headache coming back. “Are you suggesting that the Prince was Raynan Arcana, and that your mother was his sister, Lareece—the Princess that King Taiven kidnapped over thirty years ago? The Princess whose infamous capture sparked a twenty-five year war between Rella and Langor?”
“I’m not suggesting.”
“So, Raynan Arcana is your uncle and Draken of Langor your brother?”
“Half-brother.”
I looked at him a long moment. “That would make you an heir to both thrones, Rella and Langor. And you’ve been living in Kael all this time, unacknowledged and anonymous? You walk around with that ring and that clasp, looking as you do, and no one questions it? No one challenges it?”
“This is the first time I’ve worn them in public.”
“Yeah, I can see where they might cause a stir.” Frustrated, I shook my head. “So why now? Why risk exposing your existence after all this time?”
“Circumstances have made it necessary.”
I couldn’t help it anymore. I let out a short, skeptical laugh. “I’m sorry, Malaq. King Taiven died on the battlefield and the woman you claim was your mother, died in prison. Lareece Arcana was never rescued. And she never had a child.”
“I’m sitting right here, Troy.” Malaq leaned in. “Because of the shame my existence brought to my Rellan grandfather, because of the Langorians need to preserve their king’s name, the two realms came together and fabricated the story.” He threw himself back angrily. “And who said Rella and Langor couldn’t find common ground?”
“If there was an agreement, why did the war escalate? Before Taiven died there was talk of a treaty.”
“Yes. And even after Draken was crowned, my grandfather tried to end the hostilities. Both realms had suffered such a great loss. He felt enough blood had been spilled on both sides. Draken felt differently and launched a major strike against Rella.”
“The raid that came on the heels of Taiven’s death, the one that nearly burned Kabri to the ground—that was in retaliation for what your mother did?”
“It was.”
A flash of resentment tore through me. “Do you have any idea how many died in that attack? How many were lost to starvation and disease in the weeks after?”
“It was a terrible tragedy.”
“It was a slaughter. I was six years old when the Langorians sent Kabri up in flames. I couldn’t stop it. I had no real magic yet. I couldn’t do a damn thing.” I gripped the table to keep from coming out of my seat. “I watched the people I wa
s born to protect being butchered in the streets. I watched them burn alive.”
Quick enough to make me jump, Malaq stood. “And you were responsible for the deaths of how many men? Can you even count that high?”
“I know what I did, Malaq. Believe me. But the repercussions of that woman’s actions run just as deep. That attack on Kabri was a turning point in the conflict. If she never killed Taiven—”
I may never have gone to war. Never found the Crown of Stones.
Never used it.
“Nine years,” Malaq said, slowly sitting back down. “Can you imagine being a prisoner of Langor for nine years? What they would do to you? What lengths you would be driven to? What you would become?” He took a long, deep breath and tried to move on. “A King’s Healer was with the rescue party. She delivered me. She kept me warm and nourished. Without her I would have died too.”
“Whose life did she use to keep you alive?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“In the army, our healers used captured Langorian soldiers to feed their spells. Old, young…it didn’t matter, as long as Aylagar’s troops were restored.”
“I should think that would have made you happy.”
“It did.”
Malaq’s lips pursed. “Things happen in times of crisis, yes. But from my experience, most healers keep a good stock of animals. If necessary, they use condemned men. But they’re already dead.”
“Sorry, Nef’areen, but they’re very much alive when the spell drains them.”
“So you prefer Sarin’s way, then? Using Kaelish healers that can’t pull out a damn tooth without killing their patients? And mercenaries like you who carry out justice by hunting people like animals?”
“If you act like an animal, you deserve to be hunted like one.”
Releasing a perturbed breath, Malaq peeked in his cup like he forgot it was empty. “This particular King’s Healer,” he said, going back to his story, “carried me all the way to Rella. She presented me to the court where my grandfather declared I was an abomination. After berating his son for even attempting the disastrous rescue, he decreed I be put out and left to die.”
The Crown of Stones: Magic-Price Page 10