The Stones of Kaldaar (Song of the Swords Book 1)

by Tameri Etherton

  Valterys also changed into a levon and rose high into the air, gliding on an undercurrent while he considered the possibility of Zakael siring Taryn’s child. Rykoto would never allow it. He had plans for Taryn that didn’t include Zakael, or Valterys for that matter.

  Before the sun rose in the west, he circled above the temple. The instant his talons landed on the snow-covered ground, he shook out his wings, transforming back into a man. Summer’s warm breezes never touched the frozen north, leaving this part of Aelinae perpetually in wintertide. He shivered against the cold as he entered the temple, sending flames dancing around the pillars. Next, he went to the altar and knelt, his fingertips touching the ground.

  “Great lord, feel my flames, hear my words. Show me thy face that I might know your bidding.” While he spoke in the ancient tongue, tiles rose in the floor, making a labyrinth leading to a hole about the width of a gold crown. Through that tiny opening, Rykoto could stretch out to taste the world denied him.

  An image of a man, black hair streaked with flames and lips of blood, appeared against the flames. “My son, what have you brought for me this night? It is midsummer and two moons shine on us.”

  Damn. “My lord, it is not time for your feeding.”

  Flames touched the ceiling, scorching it. “You come here without a sacrifice? My hunger knows no bounds. Be gone with you. Disturb me not until you have fulfilled my desire.”

  “Great Lord Rykoto, the Eirielle has returned.”

  “So my dreams were correct. I’ve sensed his presence this past moonturn. Where is he now?”

  “She is with the Lady of Light in Paderau.” That Rykoto could only sense Taryn, and not even accurately, disturbed Valterys. Nadra must have concealed her well.

  Rykoto’s dark eyes danced with flames. “A girl?” His forked tongue flicked over his lips, smearing blood across his chin. “How sweet she will taste.” The flames quivered against the air.

  Valterys suppressed a shudder. “She will be yours, I promise this.” He placed his fist over his heart, bowing his head.

  “Show her to me.” An image materialized in the fire, and Taryn’s face danced before them. Rykoto moaned in ecstasy. “My desire grows even now.” His black eyes turned on Valterys. “And my queen?”

  “She looks forward to her union with you.” He worried for Marissa only a moment before casting aside his concern. It was what she wanted. She understood the risk.

  “When I possess the steel of Ohlin, the milk of Nadra, and the tear of Aelinae, then you will have your prize. You will be a god with a world to command as you wish.”

  Valterys could hardly breathe, his heart pumped hard against his chest into his throat. “Thank you, Great Lord. I am ever your humble servant.” He bent and kissed the floor, feeling the heat rise from Rykoto’s prison.

  The god’s face dissolved from the flames. “Fulfill my desire. Bring me the girl.”

  Chapter 18

  VALTERYS stood over Taryn, holding the Seal of Ardyn in his hands. Slowly, he broke it apart, unleashing a flood of evil across the lands of Aelinae. Hordes of creatures charged through towns, killing people and ravaging the landscape.

  Taryn raced to the palace, where she found Marissa standing over Rhoane with the Sword of Ohlin in her hands. When her eyes met Taryn’s, she plunged the sword through Rhoane’s chest. Taryn cried out, but a thread of lavender ShantiMari snaked its way toward Taryn, wrapping around her neck until she couldn’t breathe.

  Marissa’s manic laughter throbbed in Taryn’s head as darkness closed around her. Zakael stooped to pluck Rhoane’s heart from his open chest. With a twitch of his fingers, the still-beating heart burst, spewing blood over Zakael. He licked at his fingers, an ugly grin on his face.

  Taryn awoke in a pool of sweat, her hair matted to her head, heart racing from the nightmare. The scent of Rhoane’s blood lingered in her nostrils.

  Rhoane! Her limbs trembled as she repeated to herself that it was only a dream. Rhoane was safe. Most likely sleeping. Unharmed. Her pendant sent flicks of cold against her chest. A tune heavy with drums beat in her mind. A death march.

  She threw the sheets off and stumbled to the cupboard where Faelara’s wards still hung in tatters. With clumsy hands, she opened the door, and there, shining in the dim light, was the sword. The seal was tucked behind the weapon.

  Tears—from gratitude or fear, she wasn’t sure—stung her eyes.

  The door to her rooms banged open then slammed shut, and she froze, eyes wide, alert to the tiniest movement. Someone was in the outer room, heading her way.

  She grabbed the sword and pressed herself against the wall. Heavy footfalls sounded just outside her bedroom. Hands slick with sweat gripped the hilt. She lifted the sword, ready to attack. Rhoane stepped through the door, and Taryn stopped mid-swing.

  “Rhoane? What are you doing here?”

  He took a step back, eyeing the sword half a foot from his head. “You called me.” He tapped his temple. “There was distress in your voice.”

  Her body shook with the release of adrenaline. She lowered the sword, feeling more than a little stupid. “I did? I, uh, I had a nightmare.” Part of his nightshirt hung loose from his leather pants, and his disheveled hair looked very un-Rhoane-like. “I didn’t mean to call you. I’m sorry.”

  Relief at seeing him alive flooded through her with chilling speed. An involuntary shiver brought Rhoane’s attention squarely on her. “Are you sure you are well?”

  “Yes. I think. Mostly, maybe.” She replaced the sword and carefully shut the cupboard door. “If you wouldn’t mind adding a ward or two, I’d be grateful.”

  Rhoane said nothing as he knelt beside her and placed several wards over the closed door. She followed his strands, mentally mimicking what he did. The song her sword sang shifted as he worked. The heavy bass changed to an up-tempo tune similar to one she had danced to last night. With Rhoane. Her fingertips touched her pendant, and the melody quieted.

  When he finished his warding, he stood, leaving Taryn in the awkward position of kneeling before him, her head level with his groin. Distracting thoughts pulled her mind where it shouldn’t be. With effort, she pushed them aside and stood to face Rhoane.

  “Again, thank you.” She glanced at the cupboard, debating whether to tell him about her suspicions. Since that’s all they were, she kept quiet.

  “It will be light soon. You should send for your maids, get something to eat before you meet with Baehlon.” A twinkle of mischief danced at the edges of his eyes. “You want to be at your best today.”

  “I’ll be fine.” She answered his challenge with a grin. “It’s you I’m worried about.”

  After he left, she dressed in leather pants and a loose blouse. Instead of calling for her maids, she hurried to the kitchens, losing her way twice before she found the small doorway that led to the cavernous rooms.

  The main area was a hive of activity with servants scurrying in every direction. Taryn stood to the side, not wanting to get in the way, while at the same time trying to catch someone’s attention.

  A young woman ran past with a tray of heavenly smelling rolls, followed closely by a man carrying a salver overflowing with crocks of cream and butter. Her stomach groaned in appreciation.

  “You can’t be here.” A young fellow, not more than twelve by the looks of him, stared Taryn down. “Get back to the performer’s tents. You’ll get your grub soon enough.”

  “I’m not—” Taryn started to explain, but was interrupted by a lilting voice that came from behind her.

  “She is not with the performers.” The duke’s cook stepped into Taryn’s vision. The first time they met, Taryn had thought her pretty but, on seeing her again, realized she had truly underestimated the woman’s looks. Eyes the color of green sea glass missed nothing.

  Taryn again heard the incessant buzzing, like that of a thousand voices speaking at once. The woman shooed the boy and he left. But not before giving Taryn a warning look. With another wave, th
e buzzing faded and then stopped completely.

  The cook clapped her hands together, making puffs of flour that floated in the air between them. “We did not properly meet yesterday. I am Carga, the duke’s head chef.”

  “Taryn.” She held out her hand, but Carga didn’t take it. Instead, she looked questioningly at Taryn. “Where I come from, you shake hands when you meet.”

  “Ah.” Carga took her hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Taryn.”

  “And you, Carga. Do you mind if I breakfast here again? I hate to bother my maids.”

  Carga pulled out a chair and indicated Taryn should sit. She called orders to the boy and settled into the seat beside Taryn.

  The boy brought them two steaming cups of grhom and a plate of food for Taryn. “Thank you, Gris,” the cook said.

  He gave Carga a smile, followed by a scowl to Taryn.

  “I don’t think he likes me.”

  “Gris does not trust the upstairs folk. Too many nobles think they are above the rules.”

  “And here I am breaking them.” Taryn watched the boy for a few minutes, noting the slight limp in his walk, the way he favored his left hand over his right. “What happened to him?”

  Carga regarded her for a long breath and said finally, “He was abused. Not for pleasure. For sport. Some nobles think servants are nothing more than chattel, put here to entertain them. Gris was popular in the hunt.”

  “The hunt? Like horses and dogs chasing him?” Her stomach churned, spoiling the few bites of food she’d eaten and souring the grhom she’d drank.

  Carga studied her reactions with calm scrutiny. “I am afraid so.”

  “That’s disgusting. The duke doesn’t know, does he?”

  “I would hope not.” She pointed to Taryn’s meal. “Eat. You will need your strength today, yes?”

  “Yeah. But how did you know?”

  A smile transformed the woman’s face. Gone was the sadness in her eyes. It was replaced with a hint of mischief. “There is nothing that happens in this palace that we do not hear. You are the girl everyone is talking about. The one who trains with a sword and dances with princes, and yet no one knows where you come from or what House you represent. You are quite the curiosity.”

  “Seriously? That’s just great.” Taryn stabbed a sausage with her fork. “These people need a hobby,” she mumbled around a huge bite.

  Carga slid from the stool and placed a warm hand on Taryn’s sleeve. “You are their hobby. They delight in rumor and intrigue. My advice would be not to give them anything to gossip about. I will let you finish your meal in peace.”

  Taryn ate her meal in silence, unsure how to handle the unwanted attention. If she confronted the courtiers directly, that would encourage them to dig into her background. Since that wouldn’t end well for anyone, the best course of action was as Carga said—do nothing. At least not as far as the gossipers were concerned.

  She arrived at the training ring just as eighth bell tolled. Baehlon trailed a few minutes later, followed by twenty or so soldiers. They were well into their warm-up when Rhoane arrived, looking slightly less disheveled than he had earlier.

  The lesson went better than she could’ve hoped. The soldiers, all trained in fighting and weaponry, caught on to the forms quickly. After two bells, she called an end to the training with the promise of another lesson in two days’ time.

  Rhoane caught up to her halfway to the palace. Rivulets of sweat coursed down the sides of his face, and his tunic was stained from his exertion. “What is it you are fond of saying? That kicked my ass.”

  A little thrill trumpeted through her. If Rhoane found it difficult, she’d taught it right. “You did well today. I’m impressed.”

  “I will be feeling my age later, I am sure.”

  “Yes, you will, old man.” She glanced at the courtiers who mingled throughout the room. “I need to talk to you. Do you have a few minutes?”

  “Of course. What is it?”

  “Not here.”

  She rushed through the hallways with Rhoane beside her. Once they were in her rooms, Rhoane ensconced them in a ward for privacy.

  “At Ravenwood,” she began, not certain how Rhoane would react to what she had to say but certain he needed to hear it, “I saw Valterys in the hallway with you and the others. Don’t ask me how because I’m not sure. Anyway, he was demanding the sword, so everyone thought he put the damned thing over Hayden’s chest. But he went to the room you were standing in front of, not Hayden’s room. I didn’t think about it at the time because I was in too much pain, but this morning I realized that if he had been the one to put the sword over Hayden, wouldn’t he remember which room it was in? Hayden’s room was down the hall in the opposite direction.” She waited for him to process what she’d said.

  “If not Valterys, then who tried to kill Hayden?” Rhoane paced around the room, stopping in front of the windows.

  Taryn shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I think it was Marissa.”

  His hands gripped the windowsill until his knuckles turned white. “It cannot be. She is heir to the Light Throne.”

  “And that means what?”

  “She is the crown princess and when Lliandra dies, she will become the next empress, the Lady of Light and sit on the Light Throne.”

  “Is it really made of light?”

  Rhoane chuckled. “Not of its own accord.”

  “Okay well, Light stuff aside, Marissa has the same color ShantiMari that was holding the sword over Hayden.”

  “Is it not possible for someone else to have the same as her?”

  Taryn did her best to explain the subtle nuances she saw. “From what I can tell, the color of one’s ShantiMari is tied to the shade of their eyes. I first noticed it in the cavern, remember, when you asked what lights I saw? Well, Brandt’s Shanti was amber, like his eyes, yours pale green, Zakael’s grey, etc. Then I started to notice everyone’s power has a certain feel to it, like a signature. Faelara’s is nurturing, Myrddin’s cool, yours protective. What I felt in my dream was the same as the ShantiMari at Ravenwood and, again when I met Marissa the first day in the garden room. It wasn’t until this morning that I put everything together.”

  Rhoane stood facing her, his face pinched with discord. “You must understand. I have known Marissa her whole life. She can be petty at times, but what you are suggesting is beyond treason.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry, Rhoane. I didn’t want to believe it, either. Everyone loves her. But if she’s the one who did that to Hayden, don’t we need to know?”

  “I cannot in good conscience call into question the motives of the crown princess. Still, you make a valid point that if she is involved with Valterys somehow,” he paused, shaking his head, “I hate to even think it, but we should watch her.”

  “We need someone on the inside, like Sabina.”

  His look told her he didn’t like the suggestion, but after a few moments, he nodded. “We must be discreet. Are you certain you can trust the Summerlands princess?”

  “No, but then again, I don’t know that I can trust you, either. That’s why it’s called faith. You need to have some in me right now, and we both need to have a little in Sabina.” Taryn pointed to her bedroom. “Someone broke in here last night trying to steal the sword. Tell yourself that it wasn’t Marissa all you want, but my money’s on the woman who had suspicious blisters on her fingertips. My guess is, she’s playing both sides, and she’s the one who can’t be trusted.”

  “Unfortunately, right now that is all you have—a guess. Until we have proof, we cannot do anything to cause alarm.”

  A timid knock at the door startled them.

  “Are you expecting someone?” Rhoane asked, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Taryn opened the door to Margaret Tan’s assistant Tarro. “I have your gown for tonight. And this…” He held up a wobbly looking blob of leather.

  “Oh my God, you didn’t?” At Tarro’s
sheepish look and slight blush, she threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you! I don’t know how I can ever repay you.” She took the leather sack from him and bounced it on her foot several times while Tarro hung her dress in the other room.

  “What is it?” Rhoane asked, his head cocked to the side.

  “A football. It needs air, though.” A mischievous smile crept up to her cheeks. “Do you think you could, you know, add a bit of ShantiMari to the ball, and make it airtight?”

  “Is this for the game you told me about?” Rhoane took the leather from her, rolled it in his hands, and examined it from all angles.

  “Yes. And if you give the ball some bounce, we can have a game later. Can you do it?”

  Rhoane pressed his hands together, squishing the ball. Slowly, it began to inflate until filled. Taryn squeezed it a few times before bouncing it on the floor. Satisfied it would do, she dribbled the ball around her room before kicking it gently onto a love seat.

  “Brilliant. Can you find Hayden and see if he wants to play? We’ll need at least ten people.”

  Rhoane looked unconvinced. “If that is your wish, I will seek out players.” His glance took in Tarro and returned to her. “As for the other issue, we will continue our discussion later.”

  “I’m breathless with anticipation.”

  He left with a chuckle and shake of his head. When the door clicked shut, Taryn turned to Tarro. “I need shorts, a T-shirt, and shoes. What have we got to work with?”

  Chapter 19

  THE empress and her daughters sat beneath a small pavilion as they watched Taryn’s spectacle on the grass. Once word spread that the Offlander wished to partake of a ball game, Lliandra insisted her brood attend.

  Marissa fanned herself against the afternoon heat and stifled a yawn. Thus far, Taryn’s game consisted of twelve young lordlings dressed in breeches and hose, running across the lawn chasing a lump of leather. At least the lords were shirtless. That gave her something interesting to watch. She fixed her gaze on Rhoane; he alone wore a cotton tunic over his leather breeches. Damn him and his sense of propriety.