The Crown of Stones: Magic-Price

by C. L. Schneider

  Son of a bitch. I cut short the flow of memories and turned on her. “You knew? From the beginning, you knew that Reth was my father? God damn it, Sienn.”

  “I’ve left him,” she said. “For good.”

  “And I’m supposed to believe you?”

  She threw me a sad, flat look. “I saw him, Ian, his face…his scars. I told Jem I can’t follow him anymore.”

  “How did he take it?”

  “I think he wanted to hurt me.”

  My temper stalled. “I would have made him regret that.”

  “No, don’t say that. No matter what he’s become, I can’t discount what he’s done for me. I was nothing. I didn’t even care that I was nothing and Jem understood that. He helped me through it. He gave me purpose.” She wiped at her damp eyes. I could feel her heartache like it was mine. “I believed him a kind, decent man.”

  “Maybe he was.” I moved up behind her. “I’d like to think there was something my mother saw in him.”

  “It’s still there, Ian—the good. It has to be.” She leaned back against me.

  Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around her. “Even if that’s true, there’s no way to reach it. Not with Draken’s soul inside him.”

  “What about the Crown of Stones? Can you use it to somehow undo their bond?”

  “I have no idea. Have you had any luck with Tam’s journal?”

  “Not yet.” Sienn snuggled into my neck. I could sense the contentment settling over her. “Jem is emptying labor camps all over the realms. He’s established a temporary Shinree village just over the border in Langor.”

  “Not the spot I would have chosen.”

  “I know.” Sienn reached a hand up behind my head and sifted her fingers through my hair. “But once we’re all free of the Kayn’l a proper settlement will be built.”

  “Does my father truly believe Draken will allow that?”

  “They have an agreement.”

  “Gods,” I grunted. “Those two are made for each other.” I brushed my lips against her neck. A chill came over her and we both shuddered.

  “Joining with Draken was wrong,” she conceded. “But Jem’s goal is admirable.”

  “And what goal is that?” My hands slid down the front of her dress. They lingered over her breasts, and a jolt of longing swept through her and into me. “Power?”

  “Freedom,” she sighed absently.

  I laughed. “Freedom he’s slaughtering innocent people to get.”

  “Innocent, Rellan people,” she said.

  Her words were like a bucket of cold water over my head.

  I spun Sienn around. I tried to feel if she truly meant it, but too many emotions were in us both right now to tell. “Do you really believe that?”

  “Yes. No.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. Jem’s guidance is too important to lose. We need his leadership to make a place in this world.”

  “This world is being torn apart by a war he started.”

  “The fighting must end, yes, but Jem doesn’t have to die to see it done.”

  “Will he go back on Kayn’l? Submit to imprisonment? Slavery?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then he dies.”

  “Ian, Jem is your father. He’s your family. That’s something few Shinree ever get to claim.”

  “He killed my mother, Sienn.”

  “Then he is all you have.”

  “No. You’re wrong.” I reached out and took her face in my hands. “I have more right now than I’ve had in a very long time. Maybe ever,” I said. Because in spite of the enormous hurdles between us, as Sienn spoke of family I found myself thinking of her. I thought of Jarryd and Malaq, and the gods help me, in some twisted way I even thought of Neela. Not a one of them were blood or kin. I hadn’t known them all that long. But they were a part of my life now, whether I wanted them or not. “Whatever this is, whatever I feel when I’m with you, I don’t want to lose it, but… I’m sorry, Sienn.” I dropped my hands. “I hunt criminals for a living. I hunt them and kill them, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do to Jem Reth.”

  Resignation tensed her face. “I’m sorry too.” Sienn slammed the link between us shut so fast, I stumbled. “I’m calling due the oath you swore to me in Kael.”

  “Sienn…”

  “No, Ian, Malaq Roarke was drawing his last breath on that tavern floor—”

  “I know.”

  “And you swore that if I saved him you would honor your vow.” Her tone turned sinister. “Take the crown. Kill Draken. But Jem stays alive.”

  “Or what, you’ll kill me?”

  Sienn didn’t reply, and the room turned as cold as her eyes.

  Turning away, I went to the bed. I started tossing the blankets aside, looking for my shirt. But it wasn’t there. Nothing of mine was in the room. Not my boots, my weapons. Nothing, I thought, and the knowledge of how true that was brought an abrupt wave of anguish sweeping over me. Whether it was hers or mine; I didn’t care. I felt very much like a small animal trapped in an even smaller cage.

  All I wanted was to escape.

  I threw the blankets down and headed for the way out.

  “You’re always leaving me,” she said then.

  The pain in her voice cut deep, but I yanked the door open anyway.

  “Do you understand what I intend?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I got it Sienn. If I kill Jem, you kill me. Not overly fond of the idea. But with two less Reths around, the world might just be a safer place.”

  FORTY SEVEN

  I was really wishing I had my shirt, or at least my boots. If I did I would have kept going, through the main room and out the front door. Instead, I was left standing in what appeared to be the command center of the Rellan army, noticeably underdressed.

  Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have thought twice. I’d dealt with being conspicuous my whole life. Just, the last thing I expected, at this moment, was to see General Aldous, a handful of high-ranking Kaelish soldiers, a dozen Kabrinian Royal Guardsmen, a few Rellan generals, Jarryd Kane, and Queen Neela Arcana—in my dead friend’s house.

  They were all assembled around a large table on the other side of the kitchen, engaged in a lively, somewhat heated debate. Not a one had noticed me yet and was I seriously considering making a run for it (bare feet and all).

  Then Jarryd ruined my escape plan.

  Spotting me, he excused himself from the group. Freshly washed and shaved, with a new, white tunic, blue breeches, and his hair tightly braided, Jarryd’s appearance was similar to when we first met in Kael. But the resemblance was only on the surface. No matter how he scrubbed himself, or what clothes he wore, the green, smooth-faced young messenger I knew was gone.

  It wasn’t just the assortment of healing contusions leftover from his run-in with the Arullans. Though the injuries did make him seem older and roughened his features, giving him a harder, more intimidating air. They only accentuated the chilly, jaded expression that had taken over his eyes.

  In what had to be a result of our connection, Jarryd’s gaze was now that of a more worldly man. A man that had done things he wasn’t proud of. Yet, if it came down to it, he would do far worse in a heartbeat. They were the eyes of a survivor, someone who had learned to endure the unendurable. I imagined they looked a lot like mine.

  Jarryd reached me. The unsettling quality dimmed with a flash of his usual, uneven grin. “Thank the gods you’re up and about.” He threw his arms around me in a hearty embrace. “Sorry,” he whispered. “If I’d known you were awake I would have warned you.” Pulling back, his stare drifted to the marred flesh on my chest. “A lot’s happened while you were out.”

  “That seems to be the pattern.”

  Jarryd smiled. Then a swift measure of sympathy and uncertainty came over him. “Reth?” It sounded vague, but it wasn’t. When I dropped the wall to warn Jarryd of the eldring, he became aware of everything that happened after we parted ways at the beach. Ansel, Krillos—the disturbing deta
ils of my meeting with Reth. Jarryd knew it all, and how it affected me.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Thanks.” I glanced at the gathering across the room. “Think you can get me out of here for a bit? I could really use a spell.”

  Jarryd started to reply when the front door opened and a lanky boy in a heavy cloak, and too much hair over his eyes, walked into the house. With a careless shove, he swept the mess of strands back, and I recognized the move before I saw the face.

  “It’s that page,” I said, “from Kael. What’s he doing here?” The boy pulled a leather satchel out from the folds of his cloak and I got a glimpse of a Kaelish uniform underneath. “Don’t tell me he enlisted.”

  “Afraid so,” Jarryd said somberly. “Liel’s been assigned as an aid to General Aldous. He seems quite proud of it, actually.”

  Spotting us, Liel headed over. He offered me a deep bow that sent his curls flopping again. “I’m glad to see you well, My Lord.”

  I pulled him up. “Didn’t I tell you not to call me that?”

  “Yes, My Lord,” he said, tossing the hair again. “Several times.”

  Grunting, I looked him over. “You’re a long way from home, boy.”

  “I am,” he said sheepishly. “The day I rode out to the forest to find you, was the farthest I’d ever been from the city. I could barely stay on my horse. Now look at me,” he grinned. “I’m a soldier.”

  “Riding into the middle of a war is a lot different than riding in the woods.”

  “You’re right.” His eyes twinkled. “It’s better.”

  Liel’s eagerness troubled me. “Have you ever even held a sword?”

  “I’ll be fine, My Lord. Besides,” he said slyly, “if I stay by the General’s side, I won’t be anywhere near the frontline.”

  “He’s got a point,” Jarryd agreed.

  A chair scraped loudly across the floor as a middle-aged, Kabrinian guardsman stood up. He beckoned to Liel.

  “Excuse me.” With another bow and shove of his hair, the boy walked away.

  “He’s going to get himself killed,” I said.

  “Aren’t we all,” Jarryd replied. He turned me aside. “Reth is in Kabri. Our scouts spotted him just a few hours ago.”

  “Does Sienn know?”

  “I’m sure someone told her. She’s been working pretty closely with us.”

  “Sienn’s been helping you?”

  “She’s been invaluable. Her magic carried word to our allies and gathered our scattered troops. Without her making doors for us—”

  I put a brief hand on his arm. “Sienn made doors? For the Rellan army?

  “If she hadn’t, it would have been another month before we could coordinate an attack. And we would never have gotten Neela out of Kabri for this meeting.”

  “Gods, I don’t understand that woman. Fighting against Draken while protecting my father at the same time? Between Reth’s plan to free our people and Neela’s push to drive the Langorians out, it’s like Sienn bounces between these hopeless causes.”

  “Thanks,” he grimaced. I started to apologize and he cut me off. “I get it. It’s like she needs something to believe in, something to fix—which could explain her attraction to you.”

  “Funny,” I frowned at him. “Can you sense any part of her in me?”

  “Nothing. But I don’t need magic to tell me that woman is full of twists and turns. Then again” Jarryd shrugged, “what woman isn’t?”

  I looked at him doubtfully.

  “What?” he laughed. “You think me a priest because I don’t go on about bubble-girls and naked maids like Malaq?” Jarryd leaned in and lowered his voice. “Guess this means you didn’t get all my memories.”

  “Apparently not the good ones.” He laughed again. The motion put emphasis on the abrasions on his face and I nodded at them. “Why hasn’t Sienn taken care of those?”

  “I told her it could wait. Her work with the army and healing you was more important.” Edging closer, Jarryd lowered his voice. “So, how is it? Seeing her?”

  He wasn’t talking about Sienn anymore.

  “I don’t know yet.” With the crowd, I had yet to catch more than a flash of Neela’s dark skin and hair, but even that made me nervous. “I don’t know,” I said again.

  “This might help.” Jarryd lowered the barrier. Our connection reestablished and in the time it took to draw breath, we exchanged memories of the past few days. I didn’t have much to offer except for dying and waking up with Sienn on top of me. But Jarryd had been busy. After helping to rescue me in town, he’d cleaned all traces of death from Broc’s house. He’d scavenged for food and supplies, practiced with Sienn on controlling our link, met with the Rellan generals, and helped coordinate the arrival of the troops. He worked to bury the victims of the eldring attack and to burn the remains of the creatures Sienn disposed of in her quest to find me.

  When Neela arrived, he was out in the yard. He helped her down from her horse.

  As their hands touched, I was afraid to feel what came next, but Jarryd experienced only a deep, comfortable affection, a warm tenderness, and a great sense of relief at seeing Neela safe. He enjoyed an honest appreciation of her beauty, but none of my lust or obsession. There wasn’t a single bit of evidence that being exposed to my memories of the dream-weave had altered Jarryd in the least. “I don’t believe it,” I said in shock. “The dreams still haven’t affected you? I thought for sure, by now…”

  “Your memories of Reth’s spell can’t harm me, Ian. I know unequivocally that the woman in your sleep, and the one sitting at that table over there, are not the same. The Neela that Reth gave you was near perfection. I understand why you didn’t want to leave her. But that one,” he gestured at her, “is as real and flawed as the rest of us.”

  Neela rose from her chair. She looked in our direction and I backed up. “No. Uh-uh.” I shook my head. “I can’t do this. I can’t be in the same room with her.”

  Jarryd grabbed my arm. “Hold to what I’ve shown you. You’ll be fine.”

  “I’m breathing the same air as the woman I’m magically compelled to desire. Just how is it that I’m supposed to be fine? How is it that you can trust I won’t walk out of here, go to Reth, and beg for her?”

  “Because I know you. I know parts I wish I didn’t. But being bound together has made me absolutely certain of one thing. You, Ian Troy are no coward. You’re not weak or selfish, and you would never turn your back on what was right. Not if it meant people would suffer.” He looked past me. “Not even for her.”

  Neela moved away from the table. As she drew nearer I tried to be what Jarryd expected. I tried not to be a weak, selfish, coward ready to throw everything away for a woman I didn’t even love. I didn’t want to be that damaged.

  I was pretty sure I was though. As when Neela stopped in front of me, I didn’t lower my eyes or bow. I didn’t do anything to show respect. I stood and ogled Rella’s young Queen like I’d never seen a female before, while my mind picked out the discrepancies between her and my dream girl.

  Little taller than the recent scars on my chest, the real Neela was as small in stature and frame as her imaginary counterpart. The shape of their faces was identical, as well as skin tone, hair, and eye color. But the curls I remembered running my fingers through were either absent, or contained by the large number of braids hanging down to the small of her back. Bound at the nape of her neck, the mid-point of her back, and again at the ends, the style was efficient for travel, but too restrictive.

  I didn’t like her gown either. The material was course and drab. The square neckline was modest and the bodice ill fitting. Unadorned sleeves of a plain, white under tunic poked out from the cuffs. She wore no jewelry or trimmings of any kind, only a dull, chain girdle slung low around her hips.

  The bland, unbecoming attire was undeniably an attempt to conceal Neela’s royal status. Yet, with the refined intelligence in her eyes, the majestic quality of her features, and the shrewd awareness on her face, th
ere was no masking what Neela was. Not from anyone who cared to look. And there was no hiding anything from me. I knew exactly what lie beneath both her noble exterior and the unattractive dress.

  No, I don’t, I thought. I don’t know this woman at all.

  That became especially clear as she looked me over, openly and critically, like a slave up for purchase, tilted her head back and her chin up, and said, “Well?”

  “Forgive him, my Queen,” Jarryd jumped in. “Ian is not yet himself.”

  She lifted her thin brows. “If he can walk, he can bow.”

  “My apologies,” I said, bending low. As I straightened, I found her still staring, but her focus was more reflective. Her lips were pursed. Exasperation and dissatisfaction shone in Neela’s eyes, and it was pure Aylagar. It was the look she’d worn at every single troop inspection, whether we were to her liking or not.

  That didn’t mean I would ever confuse mother and daughter. Neela’s body was less powerful. Her hair had a thinner texture and less sheen. With a Rellan father, her skin was lighter than her mother’s, her eyes more wide and round, and her nose smaller. But Aylagar was present in the shape of Neela’s face and the set of her shoulders. They shared the same full lips, the same rounded jaw, although Neela’s was clenched far too tight for someone so young. It should be softer, I thought, remembering the feel of her face in my hands—the taste of her lips. The sounds she made beneath me.

  I searched her eyes, but I didn’t recognize them. There was no attraction. No acknowledgment. There was zero awareness of me and barely a semblance of benevolence in her. The way Neela stared, with unabashed, frigid indifference, my insignificance in her world was painfully obvious.

  It didn’t put me off in the least. To the contrary, her sustained, unbearable nearness made my mouth go dry. It made my focus lock in so completely, that the rest of the room became indistinct. I could hear her, in my head; laughing, crying, pleading. Her sobs mingled with the soft, urgent sounds of passion. Shrieks of terror intertwined with cries of release. Neela’s pain and pleasure, overlapping in my mind, meshed into one long, gasping, ricocheting echo, and I lost my breath. I couldn’t draw another.