A King's Caution (The Eternal War Book 2)

by Brennan C. Adams

  “Shadowsteal!” he roared, spittle flying from his mouth and onto my face. I shuddered. “Slayer of dark primeancers and the evil aspects which give them their powers.”

  He offered me the hilt, and I hesitantly took it.

  At this point, the sword was supposed to light up like lightning, activated by the wielder’s connection to Ele, but I was no primeancer. I, however, hadn’t spent my life dreading this moment without preparing for it as well.

  I whipped the blade through the air as though testing its weight, of which I was surprisingly pleased, but while doing so, I released my hold on the strip I’d torn and palmed from my shirt’s hem. It unfurled, and I flipped it over the blade’s point, catching the other end with my pinky finger. It had taken me weeks to perfect the move, but that practice was well worth it now. Wrapped in glowing cloth, Shadowsteal appeared exactly as it should.

  The high priest seemed taken aback by my break from the ceremony’s traditional routine.

  “What?” I whispered. “You said we’re a warrior nation. I’m only testing my new weapon.”

  The high priest cleared his throat. “Yes, well.” Shaking his head, he gestured expansively. “Your new king, nobles of Auden!”

  They whooped and yelled and cheered, the hypocrites. I beamed at them, playing along, before stepping to the side next to Nebailie. Illasaya glided forward to kneel before the high priest.

  “Did you bring it?” I murmured from the corner of my mouth while my wife took her vows.

  Nebailie silently handed the scabbard to me, and I gratefully sheathed Shadowsteal as the nobles cheered for their new Queen.

  “Thanks, ‘bailie.”

  “My liege,” my brother murmured.

  I frowned at the deference. How soon before I became accustomed to that?

  “Before you attend the party, a man has been ridiculously insistent on speaking with you following the investiture,” Nebailie continued. “Said his need had something to do with father.”

  “Great! He haunts us even after death,” I huffed, and Nebailie snorted.

  So once we’d filed from the house of worship, I met with a squirrelly-looking man instead of immediately joining the revelers at the gala as I’d wished.

  “Forgive me for interrupting your celebration, Your Majesty,” he said, “but I thought you’d like to know as quickly as possible. I’m the Ring of your Hand, and I’ve been investigating your father’s death. You may have been told he died of natural causes, but upon a king’s passing, we always announce the cause of death as so, as long as such is possible. I believe in your father’s case, however, that foul play may have been involved. In short, I believe he was murdered.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  2nd of Fourth, 3476

  Since my father’s death involved much more frothing at the mouth, convulsing, and other symptoms associated with arsenic ingestion than I’d originally been told, whoever is in charge of my safety has decided I need a special bodyguard. Apparently, the guards stationed throughout the palace aren’t good enough.

  I haven’t had much time to figure out who holds the unenviable position of keeping me alive. My life has become a whirlwind of introductions, and although initially wary of a suggestion made by a man who allowed someone to poison my father, I’ve decided he must not be entirely incompetent since meeting the Eselan summoned to take charge of my protection.

  Yes, you read that right, whoever you are who spies on this journal. An ESELAN bodyguard. One of their infamous Zrelnach in fact.

  The thing is, unlike other Eselan I’ve met, I rather like this one. He doesn’t look down his nose at me or otherwise make me feel like a bug. He has a sense of humor, a quality Esela generally seem to lack, and when I asked, he was more than happy to teach me his order’s famous fighting style. He was also close friends with Illasaya when she was princess of Lyzencroft, a fact which might have prompted jealousy if it wasn’t abundantly clear NO attraction whatsoever exists between the two of them. Plus, he makes my boys laugh, something which always puts the comedian in my good graces.

  Most importantly, he’s already saved my life once. Soon after his arrival, I was attacked by a raving lunatic with Daevetch swarming under her skin. Who knows how the crazy woman got into the palace and past the guards, but my new bodyguard lunged between us while I was in the midst of comprehending that she rushed me with a knife. He quickly beheaded her, sheathed his blade, and immediately bowed to me, apologizing for allowing her to come so close. I’m still not sure why he felt the need to apologize. He did his job which is all that matters to me.

  I suppose I should mention who HE is besides a Zrelnach Eselan. His name is Emri, and he’s the son of the Eselan emissary who I despise. Ironic, right?

  When Raimie woke on his twenty-second birthday, he wasn’t aware of the day’s significance. He’d come home late from negotiations with the mountain clans, or the Matvai as they liked to be called.

  A lot of drinking had been involved in their bargaining. The drink of choice was something the Matvai called vodka, an alcohol of which Raimie had never before partaken. He hated it. Vodka was quite possibly the worst form of sustenance he’d ever allowed past his lips, but he’d gagged his way through every round, intent on avoiding insult to the clans.

  Raimie gingerly sat up, delicately pressing fingers to his temples as he scanned his surroundings.

  “Oh, good. I didn’t screw it up this time,” he murmured to himself upon observing his familiar study.

  The negotiations had been held in the Matvai’s ceremonial hall, located deep within the mountains to the north. Which were miles away. Raimie couldn’t remember what had caused him to come home last night, but he did vaguely recall finding a thick patch of shadows when it became apparent the negotiations were going nowhere.

  “Ring will be irate,” Raimie chuckled before hissing and squeezing his eyes shut.

  Last night wasn’t the first time he’d slipped a member of the Hand, but Ring always took what she viewed as a dereliction of her duties more seriously than the other four. Raimie didn’t understand the spy’s feelings on the matter. Ring wasn’t a primeancer. She couldn’t call Ele to chase her rapidly vanishing charge, and she certainly couldn’t shade meld after him.

  Even Raimie had difficulty with that particular skill. Shade melding was-how exactly should he put it?-unnatural. Dim had spent way too much time attempting to explain it to his human. The splinter had insisted the world Raimie occupied was composed of billions upon billions of invisible particles he’d called ‘atoms’. To shade meld, Raimie needed to force his ‘atoms’ apart, travel at atomic speed to his destination, and reassemble them upon arrival. At least, that’s how Raimie understood what Dim had said. The splinter had spewed mumbo jumbo for hours, growing more and more frustrated, until Bright had interceded.

  “Become one with the shadows, Raimie,” he’d said.

  Upon trying it, Raimie had gone from his study to the gardens outside.

  “They need the analogy of shadows for a reason,” Bright had reminded Dim. “They can’t quite comprehend yet. The knowledge base isn’t there.”

  However shade melding truly functioned, Raimie avoided using it whenever possible. When he entered the shadows, ‘Raimie’ stopped existing. His individual personality disappeared, and he floated as one with the shadows. It was only ever through extreme force of will and occasionally, Dim’s help that he was able to break free, and when he did, he was, more often than not, nowhere near where he’d intended to go. Maybe being inebriated helped the process, however, because here he was in his study, sitting on his bedroll atop a windowed ledge which overlooked a vast chasm. Exactly as he’d planned.

  No fire warmed the study since he wasn’t expected home for some weeks, but sunlight dimly illuminated the room in shades of gray. Pulling Ele to him, Raimie stumbled through stacks of books, down a short set of stairs, and to the door.

  “Does anyone know where Kheled is?” he shouted down the hall before winci
ng. “Gods, I hope he’s home. Worst. Hangover. Ever.”

  A maid, humming as she meandered down the hall, shrieked and dropped the sheets she’d carried. Groaning, Raimie massaged his forehead.

  “Apologies, my lady, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “Can you please-?”

  She was gone.

  “Great job,” Nylion commented. “Terrifying the help is a wonderful way to start the day.”

  “Oh, hush,” Raimie murmured. “Are you here to insist we exact our revenge again? I told you, we need them a while longer.”

  “No, I have decided to let that go,” Nylion said, climbing the stairs before Raimie.

  “…Really?” Raimie asked, narrowing his eyes. “You’ve pestered me about our vengeance for the last two years and decide to give it up now? Why?”

  Nylion shrugged. “The argument drives a wedge between us, and I cannot take it.”

  Raimie crossed his arms, trying to decide if he believed his other half. One didn’t give up an obsession, not without an enormously compelling reason. Was their odd relationship as meaningful to Nylion as it was to him?

  The fragile bond they shared had further withered in the wake of two years of peace and an argument neither was willing to relinquish. At times, Raimie could swear Nylion was simply another person rattling around in his brain instead of the extension of personality he’d been when they were kids. He missed their closeness. Their bond’s weakness was like a phantom limb, a connection he reached for only to find it absent at times. Was Nylion extending this olive branch in the hopes of mending it?

  “All right,” Raimie said, reaching for the first book on his desk. “What do you want?”

  “Lo and behold, we have come upon the mystical beast called spare time. I figured you would go straight to your obsession,” Nylion said, cracking a smile at Raimie’s souring expression, “and I thought I should assist.”

  “That would be very helpful.” Raimie seized on the offer. “Thank you, Nyl!”

  “I do not require gratitude. You should know that, heart of my heart.”

  Raimie sank to the floor, legs splayed before him as he leaned against the desk, and Nylion knelt beside him. He quickly flipped through the book, absorbing its contents, and grimaced. Nothing useful there. It joined its brethren in the stacks. Reaching above his head for another, he proceeded to do the same to it.

  They continued in this manner while the sun peeked above the horizon and began its ascent up the sky. Having Nylion nearby helped. Typically, Raimie would struggle through these books’ contents with such a massive headache to impede him, but with his other half assisting, his naturally quick rate of learning and reading accelerated, so much so that the hangover almost didn’t matter.

  The simple task of sitting in Nylion’s presence was the epitome of peace for Raimie. When they were like this, communing in a shared activity, waves of ease reverberated between them like a ball thrown with increasing velocity from one to the other. Comfort crashed down their dwindling bond, forcefully carving through its riverbanks to allow their oneness to freely flow once more. It wasn’t nearly enough to repair the damage, but this one, small spell together, devoid of distractions, gave Raimie hope.

  “We should do this more often,” Nylion commented.

  “Mm,” Raimie lazily replied. “Why haven’t we?”

  “Setting up a government does not give one much time to oneself, heart of my heart. Or have you forgotten?”

  “No but surely…. Surely we could have made time for this.”

  The books were forgotten, the quest for Kheled’s freedom laid aside. There was only NylRaimie.

  When the door banged open, Raimie clenched his teeth at the debilitating increase in the ferocity of his head’s pounding. Wellbeing may have captured his last hour, but it hadn’t erased his hangover.

  “You promised me you’d stay with Ring!” Oswin roared, his feet stomping up the stairs. “How are we supposed to keep you safe if you keep traipsing off on your own, Raimie?”

  “Sorry,” Raimie hissed through gritted teeth. “If it helps, I was very, very drunk. Shade melding home wasn’t a conscious decision. Now that you mention Ring, though, I suppose I should check on her, huh? Leaving her alone with those crazy Matvai probably wasn’t a good idea.”

  He wasn’t running from Oswin, wasn’t fleeing an unspoken confession. The spymaster had simply surprised Raimie with his presence. So, he invented an excuse to depart the spy’s presence for a short time, enough so he could bury his recollection of Oswin and all they’d once been to each other. By shade melding to the Matvai’s ceremonial hall, he could become a Raimie devoid of those memories for long enough to avoid rousing Oswin’s suspicions. Long enough to delay speaking a truth he’d concealed for months.

  How fortunate that the sun had created a patch of shadows around him.

  “Raimie, no!” Oswin yelled, but his charge didn’t hear.

  Firmly fixing the ceremonial hall’s rough, wooden walls in his mind, Raimie let the shadows take him. They merged with what made Raimie ‘Raimie’ and tore it apart, and the fragments floated. Images passed, fleeting glimpses of places and people. A house where a familiar man stared at a wheelchair, a charred forest which only now began to show signs of life, a room draped in decadent silks and hazed by cloying incense smoke, a city with buildings coated in white light and populated by black vined soldiers, a roughhewn wood room with intricate carvings on the columns, a cave where a bear stirred from hibernation. Wait. Go back one. Yes, that’s the place. Now, let go, you shadows of greed.

  Raimie rolled from a darkened corner of the room, ending on his back with arms spread wide. A lantern hung directly above him, and he stared single-mindedly at the gorgeous flame, the absence of shadows.

  “I tuld female yu’d be back,” a deep voice grumbled.

  “Sigemond,” Raimie sighed. “Got anything for a hangover?”

  Rustling sounded behind him followed by the trickle of liquid. Sigemond lumbered to stand over Raimie, offering him a glass of pure, clean water.

  “That is quite possibly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Raimie breathed.

  He snatched the glass from the barkeep, greedily gulping it down.

  “Why are yu back?” Sigemond asked. “Taelk did nut gu well yesturday.”

  “I wanted to make sure Ring was safe,” Raimie replied, glancing around the mostly empty room. “Is she safe?”

  “Said sumthing abut finding sumeone to punch.” Sigemond laughed. “My people will be mur than haeppy to accomudate.”

  “Great,” Raimie muttered. “Let’s hope she doesn’t cause a diplomatic incident. Not that she could do much to further ruin the negotiations.”

  He finished the water, relieved to feel his headache recede.

  “Speaking of negotiations, anything mur to say to Vasnavai?” Sigemond asked.

  “Mm.”

  Did he? Was obtaining uninterrupted access to the North Sea’s storm-free waters worth dealing with the contrary people who guarded the passes?

  “Oh, come, heart of my heart,” Nylion whispered. “You know you like them.”

  “You can tell her I agree to her terms,” Raimie said with an absent smile. “The outlaw of your gods’ worship will be overturned. I never understood why Ada’ir and Auden insisted on the sole worship of Alouin. No other nation does it, and I don’t care in whom or what my subjects choose to place their faith, so long as they remain loyal to their country as well.”

  Sigemond slowly clapped. “Nice speech. But Vasnavai will never believe yu,” he said. “Wun’t believe me either, if I’m one to tell.”

  “You can also inform her I’m returning this as a sign of good faith.”

  Pulling a dagger from his belt, Raimie handed it to Sigemond. The barkeep turned emissary appeared confused as he accepted, but when he examined the ivory bone hilt and the razor-thin, obsidian blade, his face suffused with wonder.

  “This is…” he began before emotion cut him
off.

  “The dagger your Vasnavai almost threw at my face last night?” Raimie asked. “Yes, I know.”

  Sigemond slowly shook his head. “This is wut maekes Vasnavai the Vasnavai,” he explained, eyes wide. “By taeking this, yu have become leader of claens.”

  He tried to give it back, but Raimie shuddered and backed away.

  “I don’t want it,” he said. “Return it to Dyomina. I’ve enough on my plate. Such as going home so Oswin can finish murdering me with his screaming.”

  “You will regret this someday,” Nylion warned while Sigemond’s wordless stare conveyed incredulity.

  Shrugging off their doubts, Raimie allowed the shadows to take him before his foot hit the floor within their depths, and soon enough, he stumbled from the other side into his office.

  “Three successful trips in twelve hours!” he whooped. “Maybe I’m getting the hang of this.”

  Someone grabbed his arm, twisting it behind him, and before he could break away, his assailant shoved him into a chair. Cold iron bound his wrist to wood.

  “Where did you hide this, Oswin?” Raimie asked, lifting the shackle with a light tug. “Our uniforms are so tight I thought it impossible to conceal anything beneath them.”

  Steel pressed against his neck. “Shut up. This is not a game.”

  “Oswin,” Raimie said, careful not to swallow lest the dagger’s edge break skin, “what are you doing?”

  “Do you see, Raimie?” the spymaster demanded. “Do you see how easy it would be to kill you? If I were anyone else, your throat would be cut right now, and you’d bleed out on the floor.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of handling myself,” Raimie insisted, raising a handful of Daevetch into view. “You’ve seen me in the field, Oswin. How many thieves’ bands have we eliminated in the last two years?”

  “That’s different!” Oswin roared. “You speak of bandits. I’m talking about assassins, people trained to kill you before you know they’re there.”

  “All right,” Raimie said, pushing the dagger from his neck with his free hand. “What’s going on? I’ve noticed the increased agitation no matter how much you try to hide it. Something’s bothering you. What is it?”