The Crown of Stones: Magic-Price

by C. L. Schneider

  I walked over and yanked my sword from his grasp. “Give me this.”

  His voice was rough and disturbing. “Why? Why did you hold me back?”

  “Jarryd, if you draw on a Langorian, you better be ready to kill him fast and quick, or you die. You draw on fifty Langorians…you just die.”

  “Men like Krillos slaughtered my King, Ian. They slaughtered Sarin.”

  “And they would have ripped you to pieces just as fast.”

  “If I killed just one, it would have been worth it.”

  “Really?” I got right in his face. “Are you that afraid of Neela marrying Draken that you’d rather die than see it happen?”

  His blue eyes tightened. “Fuck you, Ian. Just…fuck you.”

  Slamming the sword in its sheath, I shoved past him and walked away, struggling not to be tired or frustrated, or any of the things that were making me want to beat the shit out of him until he saw reason.

  Not that it would work. I recognized Jarryd’s absolutes and reckless passion all too well. I understood his need for justice no matter the cost. I knew what it was like to be ready to go up against the enemy with nothing but anger and vengeance.

  I also knew how easily it could get him killed.

  I turned back around. “Krillos will bring me Draken. Draken will lead me to his Shinree and the crown, and that’s what’s important right now. That’s my priority.”

  “Draken is the priority. His army—they need to be stopped. You didn’t see what they did in Kabri, what they’re doing all across Rella.”

  “I’ve seen, Jarryd. I know what those fucking animals can do. But if Malaq can truly destabilize the realm, if he can start enough of an uprising that Draken will be forced to call his troops home, the occupation will end without thousands more Rellan or Kaelish soldiers dying. It’ll just leave me and his magic user to finish this.”

  “You and I both know that if Malaq goes to Langor he will be dead inside of a day. But you can stop that, Ian. You can stop all of it if you just kill Draken now. Wish him and all of his kind dead, once and for all. I know you can.”

  “If I had the crown, yes, I could.” Excitement overtook his drawn features and my expression turned fierce. “Do you have any idea what the cost of something like that is? Do you even care?” I didn’t want to know his answer, so I didn’t wait for it. “I do. And I’m not paying it again. Besides.” Exasperated, I ran my hands back over my head. “There’s more to consider than just Draken.”

  “What more?”

  Jarryd stared at me, expectantly. As he did, I thought of all the motives and agendas, the implication and rumors, the mysteries and impossibilities that had been bugging me for days. And I laughed. “The fuck if I know. Maybe I’m making connections that aren’t there, making myself crazy over nothing. All these fragments, these pieces I have—the crown, Draken, his Shinree, Imma…the shard. Maybe none of them fit together.”

  Bewilderment shone through the blood on his face. “Pretending I know what you’re talking about, have you thought that maybe the only thing these pieces of yours have in common…is you?”

  I wasn’t laughing anymore. Jarryd had such a way of seeing to the heart of things that his innocent, offhanded statement felt like something else. Something I didn’t like.

  “Just so we’re clear,” Jarryd said then. “If you don’t kill Draken, I will.”

  “Go ahead. But you’re no good to her dead.”

  He flinched, like I’d just punched him in the stomach.

  “I have something for that.” I went over to Kya. Unbuckling one of the packs on my saddle, I pulled out the blue bottle the physician gave me in Kael. “There’s not much left,” I said, walking back and shoving it in his hand. “But it’s the one thing that old coot did right.”

  Jarryd uncorked the stopper. Without wavering, he drank.

  “You two won’t ever work,” I said, watching him. “No matter what happens with Draken, Neela won’t give up her crown for you. She might smile or pat your head. Bestow favors and gifts to keep you interested. Royal concubines receive many special privileges.” His scowl was brutal but I finished anyway. “If that’s enough for you, go ahead. Stand quietly by in the shadows. If it isn’t, then turn your back now.”

  Cautious of his wound, Jarryd wiped the spill from his mouth. “It’s not like that. Not anymore. Hell, I’m not sure it ever was.”

  “If the past is where Neela belongs, Jarryd, then leave her there. Otherwise, her ghost will follow you to the grave.”

  “The way Aylagar follows you?” It was a sincere, innocent question. Justified, after the speech I’d just given him. But twice in a matter of minutes Jarryd’s candor had flustered me and I stood, gaping at him, until Malaq came back (his mount sliding to a dusty stop between us), and Jarryd walked off.

  Cloth against his head, bottle gripped in his teeth, Jarryd climbed awkwardly up into the saddle and started down the trail.

  Malaq stared after him. “How is he?”

  “Not good. Where are they headed?”

  “Back to that valley. Where the main road curves in close to the mountains.”

  Picturing the place, I frowned. “Aldous will be days from there yet.”

  “If Krillos has orders, he’ll wait. Which will keep him off our trail for a while. Give us time to get our impetuous, young friend patched up. Maybe get some sleep. Real sleep,” he said, with meaning. “I’ll even take first watch.”

  “No. I’ll do it.”

  “And forget to wake me again like last night—and the night before that?” He allowed a faint showing of worry into his voice. “Do you think I haven’t noticed? You can’t keep going on magic alone, Ian. You need sleep.”

  “What I need is to look after Jarryd.” I swung up onto Kya’s back. “Unless, you want to handle the stitches? It’s not quite like skinning a fish but…”

  Malaq sighed. “Just don’t nursemaid the kid. He wouldn’t like that. Besides, the wound isn’t fatal. He’s not going to die tonight just because you got some shut eye.”

  “He’s not dying at all,” I vowed. I kicked Kya into a run.

  “It was just a joke!” Malaq called after me. “Gods, am I really the only one out here with a sense of humor?”

  NINETEEN

  Her dark skin glistened wet in the moonlight.

  I could see the individual beads of water on her body so clearly that I knew I was dreaming, but I didn’t care.

  How could I? The girl standing before me was wearing nothing but a man’s mail shirt. The neckline draped down off her shoulders. The edge of the hem barely skimmed her hips. The large, woven links revealed glimpses of a small frame molded to perfection.

  Yet, it wasn’t just her meager attire that appealed to me. A sense of spirit dominated her face; a flawless, dark brown circle, framed by an unbound mane of black curls that hung down to brush her thighs. There was an abundance of playfulness in her brazen smile and clear mischief in her wide, round, dusky-colored eyes. They gazed at me, suggestive and confident. And I instantly thought: Aylagar.

  I couldn’t deny the girl’s resemblance. The color of her skin and hair, the slant of her nose and shape of her face were more than a good match. There were nuances though, aspects of the fantasy that my mind had gotten wrong.

  Foremost, the girl in my dream was only half Arullan. She was young too, and I never knew Aylagar that way. By the time we met she had born two children. She had the curves of a woman’s body and more than a handful of years on me.

  Despite that, Rella’s Queen was every bit the warrior; strong, vibrant and determined, calculating and assertive, fierce and passionate. I’d once likened Aylagar to a storm trapped in a bottle. She had nothing naïve, carefree or innocent about her.

  The beauty moving away from me toward the edge of the pond didn’t exactly strike me as innocent. But a sense of freshness, a youthful, untroubled exuberance, showed in every step.

  Pausing to dip her bare toes in the water, she reached a sle
nder arm back in my direction. Her fingers stretched out—and I was suddenly standing beside her; watching her lift the shirt up over her head.

  Slowly, it slipped through her fingers.

  She let go of the mail. It hit the ground with a clink. I reached for her and she ran, laughing and diving under the surface of the water.

  She came back up in the middle of the pond like a rising fountain. Unruly curls kinked about her face and shoulders. Longer strands fanned out behind her. She laid back and small waves bobbed over the curves of her breasts; caressing them.

  Undressing quickly, I threw everything I owned in a heap on the muddy bank. I put my swords on top and waded in after her. The water was impossibly warm. I sunk down into the liquid darkness and she drifted into my arms. Her small body fit so seamlessly against mine that I had the distinct and sudden impression that it belonged.

  There was a mutual sense of security and trust in our embrace. She felt safest with me above all others and I was stronger with her. I was comfortable. Relaxed and content in a way I wasn’t accustomed to. I was completely at ease with myself. I had no anxieties, doubts, or misgivings. No regrets. It was similar to the bliss that came with channeling magic, but better somehow—if it weren’t make-believe.

  I should wake, I thought. Something told me it wise to flee her presence now. Before the false feelings she aroused in me became too hard to forget.

  “I have to go.” I started to push her away.

  She lifted her head off my shoulder. “Stay.” Her eyes pleaded, as dark and wet as the water around us. And as I looked into them, I knew her. I had no idea what the girl was called, or where she came from. But I knew our life together. I knew her body and her heart. I knew she was mine.

  “You…” I lost the words. “This can’t be right. You’re a dream.”

  She laughed. “How sweet.”

  “No, I…” My thoughts felt strewn about. “This isn’t real. I shouldn’t be here. I was,” I looked about, “somewhere else.”

  “Hush.” She brushed her fingers over my temple, smoothing out the frown.

  “I wasn’t here,” I insisted. “I don’t even know where here is.”

  “Yes, you do. Here is where I am. There is nowhere else. No one else.” Her voice hardened. “There is only me, Ian. You must protect me, no matter the cost. No matter what you have to surrender. Nothing and no one else matters, but me. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Say it.”

  “I understand.”

  She kissed me then, a soft, gentle touch of her lips that left me wanting.

  “More,” I begged.

  The Arullan girl wrapped her hand around mine and towed me back through the water. At the bank, she let go. She walked out onto dry land, and the water fell off her like rain.

  I came up from behind. She leaned against me. My body responded instantly to the soft, wet warmth of her. But as stiff as she made me, there was an overwhelming, peaceful comfort at being near her. She felt like home.

  Home…?

  I frowned at the notion. It was odd, unfamiliar, and as I tried to figure out why, I was filled with a tense restlessness, so palpable, she sensed it.

  “The unease will fade, Ian. Just focus on me.” She turned to face me. Her arms encircled my neck. Her fingers dove into my wet hair. “Remember what’s important.”

  “You,” I said.

  She took my hand. We sat on the wet moss of the bank and she climbed onto my lap. Wrapping her legs around my waist, her mouth collapsed on mine with an aggressive, demanding kiss that was more about laying claim than anything else.

  She shoved my back to the ground. Her eyes flickered with a strange, unnatural gleam. I’d seen it somewhere before.

  “Intae’a…love…wait.” I tried to sit up.

  “No.” She pushed me back. Sliding her body down the front of mine, her tongue lapped at my chest. Her hands wandered over the muscles of my stomach. “You go nowhere.” They moved lower. “Not ever.” Her lips joined them. “You’re mine.” Lifting her head, she stared at me through a tangle of muddy curls and said, “Forever,” with such outright passion and need that I came up off the ground, grabbed her arms and rolled her onto her back.

  Letting out a low, impatient growl, I lowered my body down on top of hers. Her legs fell open. I slid inside her, and she smiled. Watching me, her fingers sifted through the hair over my eyes. She ruffled the pale strands that hung against the sides of my face.

  As she let them fall, it came to me that there should be color there.

  “Wait,” I said again. “This doesn’t feel right.”

  Grinning, she pushed her hips against mine. “Really?”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  She thrust again, harder. “Is this right?”

  “Stop,” I scolded her. “There’s something—”

  She thrust a third time and I stopped caring. “To hell with it.”

  I plunged in deep and she laughed again, this time breathless and manic, as we fell quickly into a seamless rhythm of sliding skin and swelling desire. Seizing each kiss like it might be the last, her entire body consumed me. Mouth, arms, legs; wrapping and kneading, stroking and gripping, with a clear sense of dominance.

  She wanted to own me. And I let her, because I was no better. I beat against the soft walls inside her. I pushed her strong, dark legs up higher, shoving in harder, as if I had some great yearning to feel the end of her, to have her taste in my mouth, her smell on my skin. I wanted to burn the sensations into me so I wouldn’t forget.

  So I could keep them with me for when she was gone.

  Looking down, I watched her writhe beneath me. I felt the muscles in her thighs tremble. I listened to the sounds of her release and realized how perfect she was.

  The Arullan girl was my sanctuary. The moment should have been flawless.

  But a word had popped into my mind and I couldn’t quite shake it. It was playing over and over, above the pounding of blood in my ears, worming its way in, trying to break my concentration: wake.

  I didn’t know where it came from, or what it meant. Lost in the folds of her, I had trouble caring. The word only became truly important when her body stiffened and a gasp that was more fear than pleasure escaped her.

  Pulling out, I sat back on my heels. I croaked out a wheezing, dry-mouthed, “What?” She didn’t answer and our ragged breathing sounded huge against the silence.

  Then her eyes slid past mine. They widened.

  She shook her head in fright and a chill raced up my spine.

  The air prickled along my skin.

  Ever so slightly, the space around us tightened.

  I grabbed the girl’s arms and pulled her up. “Run.” Gathering her clothes, I glanced at the thin dress and shall in my hands. They were dry and free of mud, and as I shoved them against her bare chest, I couldn’t remember her wearing them.

  The inconsistency was disturbing, but I shook it off. “You have to go.” I pushed the curls back from her face and kissed her. “I won’t let them hurt you. I promise.”

  Eyes damp with fear, she nodded and backed away. The waist-high grass swallowed her in seconds and I crawled the short distance to the bank. I’d left my cloths, boots, and weapons there, yet when I reached the spot, everything was gone. There was only a pair of worn, gray trousers that weren’t mine.

  Having nothing else, I slithered into them. I checked the bushes, but my belongings weren’t there either. I had a nagging feeling that something was terribly wrong. The girl, the pond, my presence here; it all felt off.

  I raised a hand to my throat. It was bare.

  “No.” I looked at the ground. Panic raced through me. I couldn’t remember losing the obsidian, or taking it off. In fact, I couldn’t remember anything. Where I’d been, what I’d done before. I was unarmed, in the woods, in the middle of the night, and I had not the slightest inkling why.

  I jumped as a voice broke through the dark. “Just how d
oes a man with so much power fall so far?”

  Spinning around, I found him standing in the shadows at the water’s edge. Dressed in gray and crimson, dark hair bound at the back of his neck, King Draken of Langor stared down his hawk-like nose, eyeing me like a rabbit in a snare.

  He tilted his head higher. “So what is it they call the Champion of Rella now? Slayer of Bandits? Defender of Worthless Peasants and Cheap Whores?” He let out an exaggerated sigh. “I admit, Troy, I expected more of you.”

  Jaw set, I nodded at him. “And I expected you to be babbling incoherently, sitting in a corner and pissing yourself for the rest of your life.”

  “Then I suppose we are both disappointed.”

  “The madness I gave you with the Crown of Stones was permanent, Draken. How the hell did you break the spell?”

  “Who says it was broken?”

  As I pondered that, Draken narrowed his deep-set eyes and gave me a cold, menacing stare. There was a hint of sedate distance to it, making his intimidation seem almost accidental. It was a gift, and I’d forgotten how aggravating it was. How his slightest smiles were strategic and meaningful. How even in battle he could be striking and stoic; nothing out of place; nothing showing he didn’t want.

  Like Malaq.

  I drew a startled breath. Anxiety settled into my stomach like a heavy weight. “This is wrong. This isn’t where I was.”

  “Perhaps not. But it’s where I want you.” Draken wandered closer. “Now. Where to start?” His black-gloved fingers traced the thin stripe of beard that ran the length of his jaw. “Oh, yes. That nice little bit of dark meat you were enjoying. I don’t suppose you’d call her back so we can share?”

  I lunged for him and hands came out of the bushes. Gripping my arms, wrapping around my chest, as they pulled me back, I resisted; shoving an elbow into solid plate mail, a fist into a closed helm. I kept trying, but they were too well protected. I couldn’t land a decent hit. My bare feet kept sliding in the mud and I had nothing to deflect their spiked clubs as they swung into me—striking legs, back, and shoulders—driving me closer to the ground.