Tae heard muffled voices through the wood. Subikahn had always shared his room with his Renshai torke, even as a toddler. For the first time, Tae found himself despising the arrangement. Was this the first time a Renshai took advantage of my son? The idea enraged him. He had obliviously allowed adults to share a room with his boy; that made it partially his fault. That Kevral and the other Renshai trusted those teachers should not have been enough. Teeth gritted, Tae waited until the door finally swung open. A now-robed Subikahn scooted out and pushed it closed before Tae managed to catch a glimpse of Talamir.
Subikahn shook his head, worsening the tangle that comprised his hair. “Where are we going?”
“The library.” Tae wanted to take the young prince as far from his bedroom and the court as possible. He did not want any sound to betray the other part of his plan. “We’re going to the library.” He headed off in the proper direction.
Subikahn followed, clutching his robe. “To talk.”
“To talk,” Tae confirmed.
“In the middle of the night.”
“Apparently.”
That shut down the conversation. Subikahn continued to trail Tae’s brisk pace without speaking, and they both moved with a delicate, silent step down the hallways, up the tower steps, and to the heavy oak door to the library. There, they paused, while Tae tripped the latch.
“Is this about Talamir?” Subikahn said as they entered.
The library appeared different in the darkness. The window seat lay empty, striped by the light of moon and stars.The shelving looked like animals hulking in the shadows. As much from habit as concern, Tae scanned the area to ascertain that they were alone, using the torch to banish shadows from every corner and cubby. He saw nothing out of place, every book as he had left it, every shelf as it should appear. Finally, he extinguished the torch, laid it aside, and claimed the window seat. He motioned Subikahn to the chair from the reading nook.
The boy accepted the seat, spinning it around to face his father. “You know I love you, Papa. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He sat, ramrod stiff and clearly nervous.
“I know.” Tae stared through the window. He could see the empty courtyard clearly in the light of the half-moon. He was obsessively cautious by nature and would not allow anyone to overhear this conversation.
“You like Talamir. Don’t you?” Subikahn’s face looked childlike in the moonlight.
Tae sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Not at the moment, no.”
“Papa, it’s not his fault—”
“Subikahn—”
“I’m as much to blame—”
“Subikahn! Listen to me.”
The young prince fell silent.
“We’re not here to talk about Talamir. We’re here to talk about you.”
Subikahn nodded, lips tightly pursed.
Tae glanced at his own scarred and callused hands, knowing he had to broach subjects with which he never wanted to burden his son. “Subikahn, I grew up much differently than you did.”
Subikahn bobbed his head again. That much, he knew.
“My father . . .”
“Granpapa Weile.”
“Yes.” Tae wished his son would stop interrupting. He had never enforced manners or formality, despite his advisers’ suggestions. “Granpapa Weile . . . didn’t have time for play. He only asserted how I had to stay tough, stay alert, stay quick to stay alive.”
Subikahn tossed a glance around the room. “I know what you’re trying to say, Papa. That it’s a great privilege to grow up as a prince. And a great responsibility.”
Tae went quiet a moment. Those words had not come from him. As king, he mostly delegated. He did not have the patience for long-winded noblemen, and he found their problems too petty to consider. He served mostly as a figurehead, and his advisers and elite warriors equated the positive things in the kingdom with him and the negative with other people or factors.
“That’s true, Subikahn.” Tae gave the boy an intent look, hoping to silence him. “But it’s not what I planned to say.”
“Are you going to tell me about . . . the scars?” Subikahn had pestered his father mercilessly for stories about the myriad and often fatal-looking wounds that covered Tae’s scrawny body.
Tae caught himself self-consciously plucking at his garments to cover any bared flesh. Usually, he did not think about his many disfigurements. Scarcely anyone knew the cause of most of them, and he alone knew where every one had come from. He had laughed off or dodged his son’s questions in the past. A child did not need to know the terrifying details. At only ten years old, Tae had found himself at the mercy of his father’s enemies, forced to watch his mother raped and murdered before suffering sixteen stab wounds and being left for dead himself. It was not the last time enemies of Weile Kahn would leave their mark upon him, and he had honestly earned many of the other scars without his father’s assistance.
“Not yet,” Tae said, disappointing Subikahn once again. “My father and I have not always gotten along.” It was gross understatement. Weile was a born leader with a knack for gaining followers and a grandness to his every action, while Tae preferred to live his life in the silent shadows. The worst and best things in his life always bore a direct connection to Weile Kahn. “And I swore that, when I had a son, things would be different. I would treat him with honor and respect. I would assure that he always knew his father loved him and would do anything for him. I never wanted him to feel alone.”
“And I know that, Papa. I truly do.” Subikahn seemed sincerely eager to quell his father’s doubts. “No child has ever had a happier upbringing. Even Saviar is jealous.”
Tae smiled, but the circumstances made it forced and crooked. “I’m glad to hear that. But, in the process of making you happy, I made a serious blunder.”
Now, Subikahn finally fell into a hush, clearly focused on his father’s next words.
“I coddled you too much, Subikahn. I was so intent on keeping your childhood happy that I shielded you from the necessary experiences that keep a young man from becoming a mark.”
“A . . . mark?” Subikahn clearly did not understand, which was exactly Tae’s point.
Tae leaned forward, his heart pounding. He still had a chance to retract his plan, to send his son back to bed confused but whole. Then, an image of his son’s lifeless body swinging from the gallows filled his mind’s eye, and he forced himself to continue, “It’s the horrific things in life that make a man careful, wiser.”
Subikahn laughed.
It was the last reaction Tae expected. He stopped speaking. And stared.
Subikahn explained. “Are you worried I’m too innocent to defend myself?”
Apparently, Subikahn had grasped the point. “Well . . .”
“Papa . . . I’m Renshai.” Subikahn opened his robe to reveal a sword at his left hip, and little else. He had not bothered to put on clothes, but he would never go anywhere without his weapon. “And you’ve taught me plenty about climbing and hiding and dodging. Hel’s ice, some of what you’ve told me overlaps eerily with the Renshai training. And don’t get me started on languages . . .”
In that light, Tae’s concerns did seem a bit silly. Subikahn was not exactly the classic prince, lounging around the castle getting dressed and flattered by servants and eating too many peeled grapes. While Subikahn did not have his father’s uncanny skill with languages, he did read and speak Eastern, Common, Western, Northern, and Renshai. Though Tae appreciated the ability to communicate with anyone anytime, his skill had often seemed as much a curse. Weile Kahn had exploited his son’s talent at a very young age, using him to spy on strangers and enemies. No one ever suspected a child could understand so much.
“Those things will help you,” Tae admitted. “But you can’t become street-smart without challenging the street. And you can’t become world-smart without facing the world.”
Subikahn’s brow furrowed. “So you want me to . . . travel?”
Tae rem
embered his own odyssey, fleeing the Eastlands with his father’s most lethal enemies on his heels. He had had little combat training and nothing but the clothes on his back. Rarely eating, never sleeping, he had tried desperately to keep just a step ahead of death, his only goal one more moment of survival.
“But I’ve already gone to Erythane and back many many times.”
Tae sighed. The situation had utterly changed since his father had banished him, at fourteen, with the words, “Come back when you’re twenty. If you’re still alive, all this will become yours.” Weile had waved a hand toward Stalmize. At the time, Tae had believed his father meant his current business: organizing and leading bands of murderers, thugs, and thieves. Never had Tae imagined Weile would take over the kingdom itself and pass it along to his only child. As promised, at age twenty.
In less than two years, Subikahn would reach that same crucial age with little to show for it other than the Renshai training.
Tae cleared his throat, making the pronouncement he had dreaded. “Subikahn, for your own good, I am hereby banishing you from the Eastlands until you reach the age of twenty.”
“What?” Subikahn’s features lapsed into confusion. He seemed uncertain whether to be shocked or amused.
“You are not to run to your mother but to seek out every part of the world and bring back some unique item as proof of your travels.”
“What?” Subikahn seemed stuck on the word, his features open, registering real surprise now.
Tae could feel his resolve wavering. He hardened his heart, imagining himself as Weile Kahn. He had despised his father’s business and techniques; yet Tae now, finally, saw the wisdom in the way Weile had tossed his son into the fire. Without that ordeal, Tae would never have survived his trials with Kevral, Ra-khir, Darris, and Matrinka. “I expect you to visit the entirety of the Westlands, even the parts farthest north and east. I expect you to weather the Northlands—”
“But I’m Renshai!” Subikahn shouted in horror. “The North? They’ll slaughter me!”
Tae lowered his head. The differences between his own test and Subikahn’s were enormous. Even sent to a land of enemies, his son would never be recognized. Tae saw no reason to give the obvious advice, that Subikahn not bother to mention his mother’s heritage or his training. He would easily pass for a full-blooded Easterner if he kept his swords sheathed and his mouth shut. If the boy could not figure out something so simple, he truly did deserve to die. “You’ll find ways to cope. We all do.”
Subikahn considered the words in silence for several moments, nodding, clearly finding the positives inherent in having no responsibilities while exploring the entire world. “Very well, Papa. If you think that’s best. Talamir and I will pack—”
“No!”
At the sudden, forceful shout, Subikahn jumped.
“You will go alone.”
Now the horror that had previously escaped the prince appeared, stamped across his features. “But, Papa, Tally and I—”
“No!”
“We’re a couple—”
“No!”
Subikahn’s voice turned pleading. “Please, Father. I can’t go two years without seeing my—”
“You can.” Tae could not allow Subikahn to finish that sentence. Whatever word the boy used would enrage him. “And you will.” Softened by his son’s pain,Tae lowered his voice. “Subikahn, this will give you a chance to experience . . . other things. If your love is real and strong, it will survive two years of separation.” It was all platitudes. Tae felt certain Subikahn’s youth and inexperience explained how he had fallen for the first non-related person, man or woman, who had invoked feelings of accomplishment, closeness, and security. Surely, Subikahn would meet attractive young women on his journey, and their tribulations would bring them closer. Until Subikahn experienced the kind of love Tae still suffered for Kevral, until he opened himself to new and different circumstances, he would never know what he really needed, what he really wanted.
“You don’t understand—”
Tae glowered at the insult. “I love your mother now as much as I did the night you were conceived, even though I have seen her only once or twice a year in the last eighteen.” He gave Subikahn a pointed look. “That, my son, is love.”
Subikahn’s shoulders sagged. “Yes, Papa. You’re right.” The corners of his lips twitched but never made it into a smile. “I trust your instincts and your devotion to me. If you feel this is right, then I will leave in the morning. Alone.”
Tae gritted his teeth. Nothing had ever felt less right. Subikahn meant everything to him: his beloved son, the lone product of his infinite and ill-fated affection for Kevral, the only future of family and kingdom. But Tae knew that to back down from his decision would condemn Subikahn to execution. The boy’s raw enthusiasm, his ignorance of Eastern law, his emotional innocence would assure that other people, dangerous people, discovered his lethal secret. And used it against them. “You will leave now, Subikahn.”
“Now?” Subikahn looked up at his father through a long fringe of bangs. He appeared so young, so childlike. “But I need to pack. To tell Tally ‘good-bye.’ To explain—”
“Now,” Tae repeated, fighting the tears forming in his own eyes. “No packing. No good-byes. No explanations. Just outside the door, my men have clothes for you and as much food and money as I’ll allow you to take.” Tae avoided Subikahn’s judging stare. “It is best.”
Subikahn stood in silent misery.
Tae resisted the urge to gather his son into his arms. A tearful separation would destroy his will and drive him to rescind what he knew in his heart was the proper course of action. “Farewell, Subikahn. I’ll see you in two years.” He smiled wanly, “I only hope I’ll recognize you as a man.”
Slipping past his son, Tae opened the door and disappeared into the hallway with his waiting guardsmen. He did not instruct them. They knew what to do. They would see Subikahn safely off into the world.
Meanwhile, Tae had other pressing business.
CHAPTER 8
When you corner a lion, expect a fight to the death.
—Queen Matrinka of Béarn
THE SECOND KNOCK on the teakwood door did not surprise Talamir, already dressed and ready. His hand fell to his sword hilt, and he called out, “Who is it?”
No answer followed, just another, harder rap at the door.
With a sigh of resignation, Talamir rose and headed cautiously toward the door. He had no idea what to expect, other than knowing he would not like whatever the king had planned. The look on his face after Subikahn had made his announcement combined surprise, horror, and abject rage. Talamir felt certain the king would vent that squall of emotion on him. Subikahn’s gone. Talamir knew it. The best thing to ever happen in my life is over.
Talamir tripped the latch, opened the door, and assumed a warrior position, anticipating a fight. Instead, he faced three men dressed in the kingdom’s colors: black and silver. These were not standard guards; they wore no visible armor, nor the kingdom tabards. Dressed in close-fitting black, they stood with faces swathed in a silver gauze that identified them as the king’s elite protectors. No one ever saw their features, at least not while in Tae’s employ, yet the covering did not seem to hamper them in any way.
The tallest of the three stepped forward, a sinewy giant lost in the folds of his all-concealing robe. “Talamir Edmin’s son?”
Talamir gave a barely perceptible nod. His mind and heart raced, trying to anticipate King Tae Kahn’s intentions.
“The king wants you in his court. Come with us, and leave the sword.”
Talamir would sooner leave his eyeballs. “No.”
All three men paused, facing Talamir. Apparently, they studied him through the gauze. Finally, the tallest spoke again. “You won’t come?”
“Oh, I’ll come.” Talamir knew that to refuse would guarantee his execution. “But the sword goes with me.”
“It stays.” The same man continued to speak.
No good could come of arguing the point. Talamir stood his ground and made no move to remove the weapon. Anyone who reached for it would lose his hand.
Wisely, not one of the three made any motion to disarm him. The smallest of the trio, a man of average height and bulk, finally spoke. “You are a warrior of honor?” he asked.
“I am.” Talamir raised his chin. Many around the world considered the Renshai demons, but few deserved the insult. Renshai had a distinct code of honor that relied on personal speed and skill.
“Then you will not bare steel in the presence of the king.”
It was as much statement as question, yet Talamir knew he would have to answer. “Very well.” He had no intention of killing Subikahn’s father, yet his honor did not forbid him from pulling the weapon in defense of self and loved ones, with or without the promise.
“Come with us, please.” The same man gestured to Talamir, and the Renshai went to him. He had a sophistication about him that the others did not share. Accustomed to judging others by physical form and movement, Talamir found their swathing disconcerting. Nevertheless, he guessed that the smallest of the group was the leader, though he had not originally spoken. He had an aura of charisma about him that came through in motion, in speech timbre and pattern, in the way he carried himself beneath the robes and mask.
Talamir walked with this man, the one he labeled the Shadow Leader. The others fell into step around them, the tall man in the back and his companion leading the way. Talamir studied the man in front of him, the only one who had not spoken. Though not impressive in height, he carried himself like a warrior, either stout, massively muscled, or both. He had a waddle to his walk, but he carried his head high and unconcerned. Either it never occurred to him that the Renshai might attack from behind or, more likely, he believed he could handle any threat. Talamir doubted it was all foolish bravado.
The walk continued in silence until they stood several strides outside the courtroom. At that moment, the man beside Talamir whispered, “Pay attention if you want to survive.”
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