Tyrant’s Blood

by Fiona McIntosh

  Greven wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or frightened. “How are you changing? What do you feel?”

  “Darkness. This is not a change for the better, I fear,” Piven replied, his tone turning harsh.

  “Darkness? Do you mean—”

  “I mean evil,” Piven snapped.

  Greven rocked back. “In what way?”

  Piven shook his head and Greven wondered if he didn’t see the lad’s eyes watering. He had never seen Piven cry, other than for a scraped leg or that time he broke his arm. The arm was healed the next day, of course, but they had never spoken about that. Piven had been too young to interrogate and Greven had been too swelled with joy to have the boy emerging from the shadows of his mind.

  “In the worst way.” Piven turned his head, raised his knees up and hugged them, the axe loose in his hand, forgotten.

  “The worst way I can imagine is that you would want to hurt people.”

  Piven’s head whipped around. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. I want to help people, heal people. And the more I do to save animals or help others, the more I’m filled with hate.”

  Greven didn’t understand. “Piven, there isn’t a bad bone in your body,” he began.

  “That’s what you think. That’s what you see, because I fight it every day. I ran into Green Herbery because I needed to do something for people, something that was positive and good. I wanted to find someone to heal and I found two. I made them whole, Greven. I ignored your warning and I turned two burned, dying bodies into whole beautiful people again. And you know what my reward is?” Piven jumped to his feet, his voice escalating in emotion as much as volume.

  Greven was surprised to feel genuine fear. It was such a novel sensation that a sense of wonder surrounded it. Piven! The sweet, helpless, beaming child was causing fear in him. Ludicrous!

  “I’ll tell you what occurs,” the boy continued. “I get accused of evil and further filled with darkness. Do you understand?”

  Greven shook his head.

  Piven mimicked scales, his hands balancing invisible weights. “Like this!” He moved his right hand down. “As I try to use my skills for the benefit of others, the…the…”—he reached angrily for the word—“the space that the outflowing of my healing power leaves behind is replenished”—he rebalanced his hands—“with a destructive desire. It wants to tear down all the good. It wants nourishment, Greven, and I cannot control it.”

  Greven swallowed. “How has this darkness manifested itself?” he said, hoping his voice sounded even.

  “It hasn’t yet but it’s building within me. It wants something. And I know people will want to destroy me because of it.”

  “Destroy you? Piven don’t you think this is—”

  “Don’t, old man! Don’t you belittle what I’ve just told you. You’re involved in this, down to your very boots!”

  “Me?” Greven said, astonished, his hands against his chest. “Piven, I found you. I’ve sheltered and raised you. I love you!”

  Piven had stood and begun to pace, tension contorting his normally sweet face. “All of that is true. But why? Why did you find me, Greven? We are strangers. We are not related; our families never knew each other. You were living in the Great Deloran Forest, I was living in the palace. What on earth did we have in common?”

  “Coincidence. I stumbled upon you.”

  “No! You lie! Look over there behind me,” Piven taunted.

  Greven, confused, squinted over the youth’s shoulder. “What am I looking for, boy?”

  “Your guide. See him? In the nearest tree.”

  Greven stared up into the tree Piven had pointed out. The raven stared back.

  Greven shook his head, fearful. “How long has Vyk been there?”

  “He was here watching you the whole time. He has been waiting for me. He knows things. Don’t you sense that?”

  “I…I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do. Does he talk to you?”

  “No!” Greven felt horrified. “Does he talk to you?”

  Piven shook his head, but an expression of cunning crossed his face. “But he communicates. And in the same way that he drew you to me, he beckoned me toward you that day.”

  “Who is he? What is he?” Greven demanded.

  Piven shook his head again. “You tell me. All I can tell you is that he belonged to Loethar.”

  “Loethar?” Greven’s face twisted in fresh astonishment.

  “I never mentioned it before because he didn’t want me to. I don’t know how I know that about him.” Piven shrugged. “I just do.”

  “This is the emperor’s bird?” Greven squeaked, his tone filled with incredulity. “What? From his aviaries?”

  “No. It’s his pet raven,” Piven declared. “It was he who called the bird Vyk, not I. The raven came to Brighthelm with Loethar when he slew our people.”

  “And you’ve known this from the beginning of our life together,” Greven commented.

  “When you found me that day, sitting among the kellet, I can’t tell you what my thoughts were. I’m not even sure I had thoughts. But certain things got through to me. The smell of kellet, for example, I now realize was my memory of the queen—she liked to chew it, you see?” He didn’t wait for Greven to respond. “And then Vyk. There was something about Vyk from the moment he entered the palace that reached through the mist of my mind and touched me. I can’t really remember how or why but even when I was not really aware of other people, I knew him. I recognized him.”

  Greven tried to shrug but he was too frightened to make it look convincing. “So, the two of you have a connection.” Even that didn’t sound as convincing as he hoped it would.

  “As do we,” Piven replied.

  “Well, that’s perfectly understandable. We have lived together as father and son for the past decade.”

  Piven’s gaze narrowed. “We have been connected long before that.”

  Greven frowned, trying not to betray that his throat was closing with fear. He made a show of clambering to his feet, stretching and sounding offhand as he spoke. “I’m not sure I know what you mean by that, son. But it sounds rather nice to—”

  The fright he’d been trying to contain came out in a terrified yelp when Piven was suddenly upon him, leaping carelessly over the flames of the small fire, heedless of any danger, and grabbing Greven by his arm.

  “What are you doing?” Greven cried, breathless.

  “You should never have taken me if you didn’t anticipate this might happen one day,” Piven growled.

  “No, Piven, no! You’re wrong. I’m not the one. Neither are you.”

  “You belong to one of us,” the youth said, dragging Greven toward the trees. “I don’t know what kind of willpower it has taken for you to be alongside me all these years but I admire you. I admire your strength.” He yanked the older man closer. “I admire your resilience,” he said, pulling him again, “and I admire your control.” He grinned. “But I am your equal, Greven, in all of those things.”

  “Piven, please,” Greven begged, realizing suddenly how tall and strong his boy had become. “All my life I’ve run from this. I promise you, it’s not going to work. Think about who you are. The blood is not right. Let me be, let me keep hiding from it.”

  “I know why you have hidden so well. And I’m sorry. But I need you. You want me to need you, don’t you? Isn’t that why you’ve been a father to me?” Piven yelled, pulling Greven harder, uncaring that the older man was staggering.

  “I had no choice. I had to help you. How could I ignore you—so small, so lost, so vulnerable?”

  “I actually think Loethar liked me. He liked Vyk and me. We were both silent, you see. I think Vyk is not a bird—not in the real sense. He is different; one could say damaged. And I am certainly damaged. Perhaps Loethar is too. And maybe that’s why he liked us. We’re kindred spirits. I doubt he ever would have hurt me. Your concern was unfounded. You should have left me. But you were drawn to me, weren’t you, G
reven? In spite of all that careful control, years of training yourself to resist us.” On the final word he shoved Greven downward and Greven could not resist the strength of his adopted son. He bent and fell to his knees without further physical protest.

  They were both kneeling now, their two arms reaching across the wide stump, as though preparing to arm wrestle.

  “Don’t do this,” Greven pleaded.

  “I need protection. That’s a father’s role.”

  “It won’t work!” Greven yelled. “We will disappear. I promise you. We will find a ship and sail somewhere. No one will ever find us.”

  “You don’t understand. We could leave but the darkness won’t. It will travel with us and I will wreak havoc wherever I go. People will want to kill me.”

  “I won’t let them. I won’t let anyone harm you.”

  “I know you won’t, Greven,” Piven said, “which is why this is so necessary.” He sounded almost kind as he raised the axe he’d carried with him and brought it down with blinding speed and ferocity to sever Greven’s hand from his arm.

  Greven screamed. But not from pain, though that would come later. He was screaming from the torment of his life and his birthright.

  Overhead, on the branch of a nearby tree, the raven stared at the bloody scene, still, silent and unblinking.

  Thirteen

  Kirin woke in a strange room. He opened his eyes fully, trying to make sense of his surroundings. He expected nausea but it was not present. Instead, there was a new sensation: blindness. His left eye gave him no information. He instinctively reached to his face to check that he wasn’t being fooled by a bandage but his hopes were dashed. His face was bare and he was blind in that eye.

  Sorrow welled alongside anger.

  “Kirin?” It was Lily’s voice and he turned toward it. He hadn’t seen her sitting there out of the range of his remaining good eye. How could he? He was blind after all, he thought bitterly. “You frightened me, passing out as you did,” she said.

  “Are we alone?” he asked, his voice scratchy.

  “Yes.”

  “I need water.”

  She obliged, helping him to sit up and sip some from a small bowl.

  “Strange,” he commented, “normally I’d be retching by now.”

  “I think those seeds helped but I’ve added some herbals to the water. Even though you haven’t been aware of it, I’ve been giving you sips for the past few hours.”

  “Then you must be a witch, because it’s working.”

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “You tell me. What did he say?”

  “He’s confused and I haven’t enlightened him on anything. He’s somehow convinced that the pain of his burned arm has dissipated. You passed out and he had you carried away and I took that chance to suggest I put some of my herbals to work on his arm. Fortunately there was a half decent garden by the kitchens and I found most of what I needed. He’s now got a paste on that burn being replenished each hour. That will be working in our favor; I know the pain will be greatly eased as a result.”

  “So he believes us?” Kirin said, pushing himself further upright, surprised that he didn’t feel overly dizzy.

  “Well, he believes that I’m Vested.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “But I know I’m not.”

  Kirin shrugged. “Maybe your talent has shone through late,” he tried.

  She gave him a hard look. “I know I’m not. So that means you did something. What did you do?”

  He sighed. “I told you that I have some talent.”

  “Some talent? You convinced a man he was feeling no pain when surely his arm was throbbing.”

  “He’d done most of the hard work himself. He told us he could put pain aside, remember?”

  “Yes, but I also remember how I asked him to bring it to the forefront of his mind so I could focus on it.” She gave a brief, rueful laugh. “What was in my head?”

  “Self-preservation, I imagine. Were you really going to stab him with that letter opener?”

  She nodded gravely. “Right here,” she replied, pointing to her neck and the jugular vein. “He’d have bled out in moments.”

  “And then?”

  She shrugged. “I couldn’t think that far ahead.”

  “No, I realized that.”

  “So you saved me.”

  “I did what I could.”

  She took his hand. “Well, it was impressive.”

  He knew he should pull his hand away but he couldn’t. It felt too good to be touched so affectionately, so gently. It had been a long time. His anger at his magic’s price subsided. Since first meeting Freath, he’d always known his body was going to break down; it’s not as if he’d had no warning. “Tell me, is King Leonel alive?”

  She regarded him carefully, fiddling with the cool compress at his head. He took her wrist. “I am no enemy to him, Lily. Freath and I traveled north to find and warn Faris about Vulpan. If Leonel lives among you, he must be protected from this new threat.”

  She looked shocked, stared at him, disbelieving. “How do you know?”

  “Loethar was bragging about it to Freath. We left the palace as soon as we heard and Freath set up the clandestine meeting with Faris. He will know all of this by now and hopefully already protective steps are being taken. Is Leonel alive? I’ve given my life to his protection; one day perhaps you’ll learn the details but for now I think you know in your heart that I am no liar.”

  She stared at him again, both of them suddenly aware that he was still holding her wrist. Kirin experienced a thrill of desire triggered by the flash of confusion he saw in her eyes. But just as swiftly her confusion turned to discomfort and he let go of her arm.

  She hesitated, then finally nodded. “The fact that you call him by his true title is an indication of your loyalty. Yes, Leo lives. He’s a tall, strong, fine young man now.”

  Kirin actually punched the air, promptly regretting the effort. “Ouch, that isn’t good for my head. But this is the best news of all,” he said, beaming, feeling instantly rejuvenated. Perhaps the fight had been worth it. He grabbed her hand again and kissed it. “Thank you.”

  Lily laughed at his courtly gesture. But as their gazes met, she hesitated. So did Kirin.

  “Now, Lily,” he said, deliberately changing the subject and once again releasing her. “Where the devil are we?”

  She looked momentarily abashed and then gave a soft sigh. “Not out of the woods, that’s for sure. Vulpan was so taken by the help we provided that we’re in some chamber adjoined near the kitchens.”

  “So we’re not free to go?”

  “Actually we are…once we give blood.”

  “Get them in here. Let them bleed us now and we’ll be on our way.”

  “It’s not that simple, Kirin,” she said gently.

  “What do you mean?”

  The door opened before Lily could answer and Vulpan himself breezed in, saving Lily any further explanation. “Master Kirin,” he said, all smiles. “I’m glad to see you are recovered. What ever happened?”

  “Er, I’m not sure. I tried to warn you that I was tired. I’ve been having headaches,” Kirin offered, hating how unconvincing his pathetic hedging sounded.

  “Well, you have the perfect nurse in your lovely young wife, here, Master Felt. She’s certainly helped me.”

  Kirin nodded, hoping he managed to achieve the smug expression he had reached for. “Are we free to go, Master Vulpan?”

  “Yes, of course…er, although I will want to have a sample,” Vulpan said. Kirin knew he was feigning awkwardness. This man, he sensed, thrived on awkward situations.

  “So Lily was explaining,” Kirin admitted. “How do we do this?”

  Vulpan smiled. “Perhaps I’ll demonstrate on Mrs. Felt. Come here, my dear.”

  Lily approached him, her boots clicking across the flagstones. She instinctively held out a hand.

  Vulpan’s smile widened. “I prefer here,” he said, pulling her
hair away to expose her neck, touching her exactly where she had shown Kirin she’d have struck Vulpan if given the chance. The Vested unfolded a tiny blade that even from where Kirin sat, appeared viciously sharp. “A tiny nick, nothing too deep, I promise. It will leave a small scar, of course. But then that’s my intention.” He glanced over at Kirin, the smile still present. “I like to leave my mark…especially on a beautiful woman.”

  Kirin bit the inside of his cheek. Vulpan was baiting him—they both knew it. Kirin just wanted to get himself and Lily as far away from this sinister man as he could. If it meant allowing Vulpan to touch Lily in this way, so be it. Clearly, the outlaw Faris reckoned she was made of stern enough stuff to risk putting her in danger. Kirin already hated Faris for sending Lily into peril and refused to ask himself whether that loathing was truly about gallantry, or a more helpless and basic masculine instinct.

  “You’re trembling, my dear,” Vulpan said, amusement in his voice. “There is nothing untoward about this, although it is unusual, I’ll grant you. Don’t worry. Your husband is present.”

  Lily said nothing but her gaze was fixed on Kirin, her eyes watering slightly. In that moment something passed between them. Kirin told himself it was simply a reflection of her fear, but he wished it was not. For now he permitted it to be a small mea sure of comfort in an otherwise desperately uncomfortable situation.

  Vulpan laid a hand on her slim shoulder and then tilted her head. “Like this,” he encouraged. “Ah, perfect. Now, just a little pinprick of pain,” he said sweetly, before he drew the blade across what Kirin thought was the most perfect neck he’d seen in a long time. He watched blood bloom onto its flawless creamy skin and he tried not to dwell on Lily’s wince. In his imagination he kissed the small wound better.

  In reality, he instead watched Vulpan bend close to Lily’s neck and ghoulishly inhale. “Ah, the smell of fresh blood. Nothing so delicious—and nothing so intoxicating as blood from a woman’s neck, especially one as pretty as you, my dear.”

  Kirin was not a violent man but he understood now how people could be driven to violent acts. It took everything within to remain still, to appear unmoved. “What now?” he asked in a tight voice, not taking his gaze from Lily’s face, hoping his composure would help her to keep hers. He saw a tear roll out of one eye and down the cheek that was tilted toward him. He watched the tear splash on the flagstones and he hated himself for being so weak and vulnerable at this moment.