The Crown of Stones: Magic-Price

by C. L. Schneider

  “Where does Reth fit in?”

  “He was assigned to the digging crew. When he arrived he had no record. There were no papers of sale, no documents of breeding. He didn’t exist.”

  “That had to be a mistake. An oversight,” I said, thinking of Sienn and the mislabeling of her name.

  “I assure you, Reth’s enslavement was no oversight. Under the same impression, though, my sister, ever the curious one, had him weaned of Kayn’l for questioning. Imagine her surprise when he turned out to be useful.”

  “He might have been more useful if you hadn’t joined souls and turned him mad.”

  “Jem understood the dangers of our bond. He is a motivated man who will do anything to free the Shinree. Whereas you, Troy, are content to be Rella’s lapdog.”

  I grunted at him. “Did you come all this way just to flatter me?”

  “I came, as you requested. To barter for that little piece around your neck.”

  “I don’t think I said anything about bartering.”

  “Come now. There must be something you want. Money? Land? A title, perhaps?” Sly and persuasive, he whispered, “Neela Arcana?” and every muscle in my body constricted. “So,” Draken grinned eagerly. “You’ve discovered it’s her. What an unpleasant moment that must have been.”

  I forced my voice steady. “She’s not yours to offer.”

  “How chivalrous,” he teased. “She’s not yours either. But she can be.”

  “What about your wedding?”

  “I can be persuaded against it. Besides, who am I to stand in the way of a man’s dream coming true?” I said nothing and he leaned toward me. “Seriously, Troy, have you thought about what that means? All those nights you started out in her arms, happy and in love. And then woke up alone…with your cock aching. You could feel her on you. Taste her. But you couldn’t touch her. Couldn’t fuck her. Until now.” Watching me, he wet his lips. “Would you like that? Would you like to feel what it’s really like inside there? Because I’m betting it’s warm, wet, and hungry.”

  My heart was pounding so hard it hurt. I had to clench my teeth and grip the arms of my chair just to stop a ‘yes’ from bursting out of me. But I did.

  A few hours ago I wouldn’t have. Draken’s lewd proposal would have sparked a delusion or a phantom touch. Either would have undone me.

  Now, with the spell broken, Neela was just a painful memory. A deep-rooted temptation I couldn’t quench. And that was something I’d dealt with my entire my life.

  “No,” I said.

  Shock dampened the enjoyment in Draken’s eyes. “Did you not hear me?”

  “I heard you. The answer is no.”

  Slowly, his dismay slid away. It became a gradual smile, deep and full of meaning. As if he had something else in reserve. “Then perhaps, you would prefer another of Aylagar’s brood?”

  “Another?” I narrowed my eyes at him. “What are you playing at?”

  “Neela is not the only Princess in the castle.”

  “Aylagar bore only two daughters, Draken. One you sent to plague my dreams. The other has been dead a long time.”

  “Elayna is a few years older than Neela. And a bit used,” Draken grimaced. “But she is certainly not dead. I just saw her this morning.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “That’s a shame.” Draken pretended to inspect his sleeve, brushing at a speck of dust; drawing things out. “Because, trust me, Troy, if you secured her release, Elayna will show you gratitude in ways you will find most pleasing.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “I most definitely am not. That woman knows her place is on her knees and to tell you the truth, I think she likes it.” He moved on to shine a dingy spot on the cuff of his left boot. “And rest assured there’s enough family resemblance to satisfy your lustful craving for Arcana women.” Suspending his grooming, Draken flashed me a wicked grin. “Mother, daughter, sister…really Troy, someone should give you a medal.”

  My eyes on him were fierce. “I was there when Aylagar got the news of Elayna’s death. I saw the message.”

  “Well, that explains it,” he said, feigning exasperation. “Rellan messengers can be so unreliable.”

  “They found her body in the mountains, Draken. Along with the men you sent to kidnap her. None of them survived.”

  “If I recall, the poor, frozen, little thing didn’t have much of a face left.”

  “No, she didn’t. The wolves saw to that.”

  “Well, they certainly ate someone.”

  “Enough!” I snapped. “Elayna Arcana is dead.”

  “Elayna Arcana is in a cell underneath Darkhorne, lying in her own filth.”

  Draken and I scowled at each other. Malaq continued (as he had been) scowling into his drink. No one said anything for a long time and the room seemed to grow smaller, the flicker of flames in the hearth louder.

  It was Malaq that spoke first. “My Lord, please tell me this is a ruse.”

  “Sorry, little brother.” Draken gave him a sad face. “I didn’t intend to reveal your cousin’s captivity like this, but your witch does bring out the worst in me.”

  Malaq looked numb. “You’ve really held the true heir to the Rellan throne in Darkhorne for the last ten years?”

  “More like, almost twelve,” Draken corrected him.

  “Why?” Malaq said, working hard to hide his revulsion. “You could have ransomed her at any time, used her for leverage. Let her go,” he suggested forcefully.

  “To be honest,” Draken said, “she was forgotten.”

  “You son of a bitch,” I growled.

  Draken’s brows came together. “I don’t think I like your tone.”

  “Why the charade?” Malaq asked him. “Why make it out like she was dead?”

  “Don’t be so naïve, little brother,” Draken scorned. “The ransom for a child is considerably higher after the mother has had a chance to drown in grief for a while.”

  “Goddamn Langorian swine,” I muttered.

  “Don’t blame this on me, Troy,” Draken countered. “Elayna was overlooked because of the chaos that ensued after the war—chaos you created with the Crown of Stones. All these years you’ve been tearing yourself up over Aylagar’s death, but it was her daughter you should have been grieving for. She became an animal in a cage because of you.”

  The image unnerved me. Probably though, he was lying. But if he isn’t…

  “So is that a yes, or a no?” Draken made a show of trying to read my expression. “It’s a fair trade. And if you keep the lights low, she truly does resemble Neela. At least from behind.”

  “Gods!” I shot up out of my chair. “Do you think I would use Aylagar’s daughter that way? No matter what Reth’s spell has done to me I would never—”

  “Oh, yes you would,” he broke in, his voice dripping with pleasure. “All those dreams, all that dark, beautiful flesh. You used every piece of Neela. Many times. But,” he said firmly. “If you’re truly done with her, and if you don’t want Elayna, I’ll take them both. There’s nothing in Langorian law against having two wives.”

  Rage burned in my stomach. “Elayna is dead. And the dreams are over. You can’t use them against me. None of it was real.”

  “It was real enough at the time. So real, that when you lay eyes on your little, Arullan beauty for the first time…” Draken left off in a husky laugh. “The spell may be broken, Troy, but can you honestly tell me that you wouldn’t give up your own life to have five minutes beneath Neela’s skirt?”

  Malaq stood abruptly. He emptied his cup in one, long, furious gulp, went to the bar, and slammed it down with such force that Draken’s guards pulled their weapons.

  “What’s wrong, brother?” Draken called after him. “You don’t approve?”

  “No,” Malaq replied, loud and curt. “I don’t.”

  “It was a harmless spell,” Draken reasoned. “Or would you rather I take your friend’s heart out of his chest?”

&nb
sp; Malaq’s glare was frightening. “It sounds like you already have.”

  Draken trained a quiet, feral look on his brother. It put me in mind of a wolf ready to pounce.

  “Draken,” I said sharply. “I have a counter offer. Elayna’s life for yours.”

  His dark stare shifted off Malaq and focused on me, just like I wanted. “Sorry, witch,” Draken said. “It’s Elayna for the stone.”

  “No. It’s, you give me Elayna, or I kill you. Now. Tonight.”

  “Reth would never allow that.”

  Turning away, I crossed the room and Langorian soldiers slid out of the shadows. They crept closer as I moved to stand next to Malaq. “Reth isn’t here.” I reached over the counter and fished around behind it. Finding a good-sized bottle, I pulled it out and tried to make sense of the poorly scrawled words on the label. “Which means,” I glanced at him, “that protecting you isn’t high on his list.”

  “If there is danger, he will respond,” Draken assured me. “At its simplest form, being nef’taali comes down to preservation and instinct. If I die, Reth suffers too.”

  “Well there’s a bit of good news.” Popping the stopper out, I recoiled at the smell and took a sip. “I swear,” I said, my face contorting at the taste, “the damn Kaelish will drink just about anything.”

  “I wouldn’t come here without protection, Troy,” Draken said tiredly.

  Tilting the bottle at his men, I laughed. “These guys?”

  Draken hissed. His patience was frayed. Mine had been in pieces before I even headed down the stairs. There was only one place this was going.

  I looked at Malaq. Then I looked at his chair. He said nothing, but I knew he understood me. I also knew by the subtle twitch of his jaw, that he was pissed as hell.

  I left the bottle on the bar and moved into the center of the room. “I want Elayna released, Draken. And I’m not giving you the stone.”

  “Well.” He motioned to his men. “It seems that we are at an impasse.”

  I gripped both swords and stripped them bare. “No, we’re not.”

  THIRTY NINE

  Steel ruffled my hair. The edge of a blade rode along my left arm, splitting the sleeve clean-up to my shoulder. Another sliced through the front of my shirt.

  Draken’s men had good aim and a hard swing. They were noticeably determined to see me dead. Nevertheless, having just dispatched five of them, it was clear they were too slow to get the job done.

  My last challenger spared a glance at the bodies of his comrades on the floor. Fear tightened his gaze as he wiped the sweat away and re-settled his grip on his sword. Still, being Langorian, he flashed his best spiteful, contemptuous smirk, let out an abrupt battle cry, and ran at me.

  He launched himself forward. As the man drew back to swing, his boot slipped in a wide streak of gore on the floor. Over extended, balance gone, his feet went out from under him, and he landed hard, about ten feet away, with a loud, “oomph” on his back.

  “That was quite a move,” I praised, laughing. “I’d clap, but,” approaching, I held up both swords, “my hands are full.”

  With a wince, he sat up. Sweeping a mass of matted, dark hair out of his face, the man glared at my weapons. His gaze swung to the space between us, measuring it, trying to decide if he could get up before I killed him.

  “The answer is no,” I said. “But you’re welcome to try.”

  He thought about it. Then, in an abrupt, surprising move, he dropped his sword. Lowering his head, he raised both hands in a gesture of surrender.

  It took me about two breaths to decide what I thought of it. “Tell me, soldier. If I was there and you were here…what would you do?”

  His head lifted. We locked eyes. His mouth jerked with an ugly, thick-lipped grin. “I would spill your stinking Shinree insides all over the floor.”

  “That’s what I thought.” I kicked him in the jaw. He fell backwards and I shoved both blades in his chest.

  Yanking them out, I lobbed a satisfied grin at Draken. Sitting sideways in his chair to observe the fight, he gave me a hard scowl and turned back around. Malaq, standing beside the hearth, had been watching too. He wore no expression whatsoever.

  I put my swords away and joined them. Passing Draken, I ripped the drink out of his hand and drained it. As I was feeling particularly tetchy, I threw the mug into the fire and put myself directly in front of him. “Guess that just leaves you…Your Grace.”

  He gave me a patient, sparse smile. “I didn’t come here to fight you, Troy.”

  I put my hands on the arms of his chair and leaned in. “Then you won’t stop me from taking the head off your shoulders?”

  Firmly, Malaq said, “I will.”

  I sighed. “This isn’t about you, Malaq. Walk away.”

  “I’m sorry, Ian,” he said. “But I can’t do that.”

  Pushing myself off Draken’s chair, I faced him. “Don’t make it come to this.”

  “My Lord,” he said to Draken, “with your permission?” Draken nodded and Malaq clamped a hand on my arm. I didn’t shove him off. With all we’d been through together, the man had earned a measure of leeway, so I let him steer me to the base of the stairs at the far end of the room.

  There, out of Draken’s hearing, my charity ended. “Watch yourself, Nef’areen,” I warned, shaking out of his hold. “You are about to draw lines between us that won’t be easily erased.”

  “And you’re letting rage make you reckless. You’ve shown Draken you aren’t as weak as he thought. Now, it’s time to back off. You’ve made your point.”

  “I’m pretty sure my point won’t be made until it’s sticking out the other side of your brother.”

  Malaq pinched the spot between his eyes like it ached. “Ian…”

  “Draken needs to die.”

  “Not today,” he whispered.

  “And why the fuck not? He’s right here, right in front of me.” I shook my head. “No. I’m not doing it. I’m not letting that man walk out of here alive.”

  “You have to. There is too much at risk.”

  “You don’t understand.” Memories of Neela lent a shaky, strangled sound to my voice. “You don’t know what those dreams have done to me.”

  “You’re right. I don’t. I don’t know because you didn’t tell me. But your inability to put faith in anyone, including yourself, isn’t the issue right now.” Malaq’s voice lowered even further. “If you leave Langor without a King, it will fall under military rule before I can even get there. Without a real, legitimate change in leadership, and a new direction, my people won’t stop, Ian. They won’t let go. They’ll rise again in another ten, twenty, or thirty years, and they will keep rising until they are shown another way. Unless, of course, you’re willing to do worse than before and wipe out every man, woman and child of Langor, wipe them all out so there is no chance of war ever happening again?”

  It wasn’t a dare. It was quite the opposite, actually. It the most preposterous scenario Malaq could imagine. He truly believed I could never commit such an atrocity as to destroy the entire Langorian race. He believe it so strongly, I didn’t have the heart to tell him he was wrong. “You expect too much of me,” I said.

  “I expect friendship.”

  With an angry grunt I broke away from his harsh share. Putting my back against the side of the bar, I looked up at the darkened stairwell and wished I had never gotten out of bed. The sentiment worsened as Malaq pursued me.

  “Look, Ian,” he said. “We both want the same thing. But killing Draken prematurely will only make my push for peace that much harder. And we may never get Elayna Arcana out of Darkhorne alive. You can’t tell me that isn’t important to you.”

  “Of course it is. But even if Draken does have Elayna, he won’t let her go.”

  “I will. When I’m King I will free Elayna and any other Rellans my brother has locked away. I will put right all the wrongs my family has brought to this world. You have my word.” There was an abundance of strength
and purpose in Malaq’s voice. And I wanted to believe him. I wanted to put my faith in the man more than I had any other in a long time. He had a way of inspiring hope and fostering devotion that was his own, special kind of magic.

  But how long would his conviction and charisma last in a place like Langor?

  “Malaq,” I said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You are the son of a Langorian King and a Kabrinian Princess, raised by a Kaelish Prince. You are the perfect balance of war and peace, of soldier and diplomat. If anyone can accomplish such a feat as to change nature’s course and turn Langor around, it is you. But if Draken lets you live to sit on the throne at Darkhorne, it will swallow you. And when it spits you out, little will be left of the man you are now.”

  “Brother!” Draken bellowed then from across the room. “We need to be going.”

  My grip on Malaq tightened. “Tell him no. Let me kill him. And I will get you on that throne.”

  Malaq gave me a long, hard, completely unreadable stare. He was about to answer when Draken shouted over to me. “You might like to know, Troy, that I have a man upstairs with a blade to your young messenger’s throat.” He paused to let the picture form. “If you want him to continue breathing, I suggest you back down.”

  With a snarl, I started toward Draken and Malaq grabbed me. “Stop,” he said. “Think about what you’re doing.”

  I tried to throw him off. “I’m fucking killing him is what I’m doing!”

  “Let him go, Ian.” Malaq struggled to hold me back. “Let us both go. Do you really want to risk Jarryd’s life for this? Ian!” he said again, forcefully, because I wasn’t listening. I wasn’t even looking at him. I had too much fury and turmoil running through me to focus on anything except whether or not I could live with either choice.

  Letting Draken walk out of the Faernore alive; it felt so damn much like giving up—on Neela, on my own need for vengeance. Yet, if I let Jarryd die, I was turning my back on someone who would never turn his back on me. I would be forsaking the bond we might make before it even happened. And that was like giving up too.