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

by Tameri Etherton

  “What we really need is some good ale,” Taryn suggested.

  Carga hopped up from the table. “I have a barrel in the back. Brewed it myself.” When she returned with the cask and several mugs, the men cheered the cook. Carga gave a pretty curtsey and blushed. “It is nothing much. Just a recipe I stole from a merchant on his way to the Danuri Province.” She looked pointedly at Aomori, who laughed.

  “If it’s a Danurian blend, then how can it not be excellent?” Aomori’s family was apparently one of the wealthiest in the province. He was fostering with Lord Tinsley for the season to teach him about winemaking, although Sabina argued the Summerlands produced the best vineyards in all of Aelinae.

  “Perhaps you should visit my homeland and see for yourself,” Sabina said, with more than a little flirtation in her voice.

  Aomori blushed, his olive skin shining in the dusky night, making Hayden’s and Tinsley’s pale faces look bland in comparison. He was more than just pretty, he was gorgeous. High cheekbones, slender nose that met full lips and a sturdy chin—he could’ve been a model.

  “Does the ale displease you?” Aomori asked when she’d stared at him too long.

  The ale was as good as any Taryn had had before. “No, it’s great. Perfect for our mealal fresco,” she stammered.

  “Al who?” Tessa asked around a mouthful of breadstick.

  “It meansoutside.”

  “What language is it?” Eliahnna asked.

  Shit. Aomori’s good looks and the ale had muddled her thoughts. “Just something I made up when I was a kid. I didn’t have many playmates, so I was forever making up my own languages.” She prayed Eliahnna would accept her crap answer.

  “How creative you are!” Sabina came to her rescue. “Perhaps someday you can teach me one so we can communicate in secret.”

  “Why don’t you just, you know…” Tessa said, tapping her forehead.

  “Tessa,” Eliahnna hissed. “Don’t.”

  “Thank you, Eliahnna, but there’s no need to save my feelings,” Sabina said. “I can’t mind-speak, Tessa. Not only am I lacking in ShantiMari but I don’t seem to possess the ability to converse with my thoughts.”

  “Oh.” Tears brimmed in Tessa’s cornflower blue eyes. “I’m terribly sorry.”

  Duke Anje patted his stomach, breaking the tension. “I didn’t think something so insubstantial could fill me up, but you have succeeded, my girl. I hope you’ve taught Carga how to make this heavenly dish.”

  “I watched everything she did.” Carga gave Taryn a direct look. “And I know every spice she used.”

  “Thanks for reminding me.” Taryn left them to retrieve the small pouch that Tabul, the spice merchant, had given her as a gift for Sabina. When she returned, she handed the bag to Sabina. “The spice merchant said you would like this.”

  Sabina opened it, inhaling the scent. “Oh, he’s right. These are from my homeland. I’ve not smelled this in a long time.” She carefully tied the pouch before tucking it into her dress. “Thank you, Taryn. You have indeed brought me a precious gift. I would like to see this merchant and thank him myself.”

  “I can take you tomorrow,” Taryn offered.

  “I am sure Prince Rhoane would be happy to escort you,” Carga offered. A strange look passed between her and Rhoane, one that gave Taryn pause.

  “I’d like to go,” Tessa piped in, followed by Eliahnna’s plea to join them.

  “The more the merrier,” Taryn agreed.

  “We should be plenty merry now,” Baehlon grumbled. “Why don’t you just invite the whole bloody palace?”

  Taryn served dessert, a modified version of her favorite cookies. Chai spiced snickerdoodles with ice cream sandwiched between. Every last bite was devoured by her guests. They passed the evening in genial conversation, and Taryn listened as they discussed everything from politics to the ripening of sargot trees in summer.

  Each time the topic of Talaith was brought up, an excited buzz went through the group. Of them all, only Taryn and Aomori had never seen the capital city.

  Duke Anje pushed himself away from the table and gave Taryn a warm hug. “Again, my thanks for a wonderful meal.” He looked at the sky above them, glittering stars stretched across a dark canvas. “We should dineal fresco more often.” He kissed Taryn’s forehead, lingering for a moment. The heady scent of musk and sweat tickled her nose. “You are quite a surprise, my young friend.”

  “I’m glad you liked it. You’ve been so kind to me; it’s the least I could do. Maybe I could stay here and work for you?”

  The duke chortled, shaking his head. “I don’t think that would be the best use of your talents.”

  He said his good-byes and the others followed, drifting off into the night. Taryn busied herself clearing the dishes, but Carga stopped her. “You have been in the kitchen all day. I will have someone come do that. Go enjoy the evening.”

  “What about you? I’m sure you deserve a night away from the ovens. Will you join us?”

  Tears sparkled in Carga’s eyes. “You have already given me a much needed break. You allowed me to sit at your table with the duke and princesses. I feel blessed this night.”

  Taryn embraced her new friend. “Me too.” Murmurings from hundreds of voices buzzed in her head. “Did you hear that?” Carga only smiled and shooed her away.

  Rhoane moved in step with her. “What arecheeseburgers?” he asked. Taryn looked at him in surprise before laughing.

  “Baby steps, Rhoane. I don’t know whether you’re ready for those quite yet.”

  They roamed the formal gardens, talking about things some people might consider inconsequential, but when Rhoane took her hand in his to lead her through the orchard, she didn’t remind him of his betrothed.

  To the shadow man from the tavern, she gave not another thought.

  Chapter 22

  THE small alcove off the kitchen barely fit both of their bodies, but it was the only place afforded any privacy from the kitchen staff and courtiers with nothing better to do than create scandal. Rhoane pressed himself against the wall, making as much room for the duke’s cook as he could. Still, they were close enough that he could smell lavender and ash, the scents he’d known since his childhood.

  Carga smiled up at him, enjoying his discomfort, he was sure. “Are you certain you do not want to sit and enjoy some grhom?”

  “I would love nothing more and you know it. But this conversation cannot be overheard.” He noted a tightness in the fragile skin around her eyes, a slight dullness of her irises, the sadness that dwelled in their depths. Her eyes had always captivated him, had been filled with more wisdom than mirth, but of late they bore the weight of her sheanna.

  “As you desire.” She tickled up his sternum and grinned at his unease. “Although, if we are found here alone, that will set their tongues to wagging more than an innocent chat in the kitchen.”

  “What more can you tell me about what happened yesterday? There was a man following you? Can you describe him?”

  Carga dropped all pretense of playing her little game, her face serious. “I did not see him. Taryn said there was a man, but I sensed nothing. Until it moved past me. A chill like none I have ever known crept into my spirit.”

  A buzzing touched his thoughts and Rhoane shut out the murmurings of his people. “How can you bear their constant chatter?” The Eleri shared a collective consciousness, one that he could delve into if he so wished, but rarely did. The whisperings were irregular to him, but for someone like Carga, the ancients never ceased speaking.

  “I am used to it. They want to believe I am still their high priestess. I have told them several times that is not the case, but they linger. Some have questions. Some have answers. All of them wish to help.” Her eyes grew distant for a moment, and Rhoane heard the rush of conversations. With a leaden sigh, she opened her eyes. “Even they do not know what tracks the Darennsai.”

  Her short curls danced around her face as she shook her head. Two Eleri, exiled from
their homeland. Sheanna to his people. He tried to see her as often as he could, but even those visits he kept short. The less attention he drew to them, the better.

  “You are certain he was after Taryn?”

  “I am sorry, Rhoane. She is in great danger, but I do not know how to find this apparition. There is evil in this world we cannot see, a force that beckons to be released. If it should come to pass, not even she can save Aelinae.”

  “Can you name it?”

  “Nay. My sight is limited. Once my sheanna is lifted, perhaps then I will know more, but for now, know that my dreams are shrouded in blackness.”

  It was not the news he was hoping to receive, but unsurprising nonetheless.

  “I will do what I can to protect her while she is in Paderau, but once she leaves this city, my power is useless.”

  Rhoane pressed his lips against Carga’s forehead, hearing again the stirrings of his people. “That is all I can ask.” A yearning swept over him, and he tamped it down to the dark place inside where all his disappointments dwelled.

  “You are going to search for him.” It wasn’t a question. “Be safe,mi carae.” She rested her forehead against his. “When next we meet, may it be in sweetness and not sorrow.”

  “When next we meet.” Rhoane brushed her cheek with his lips and slipped from the alcove, checking the area before he left from a side entrance.

  THE garments he wore, a rough linen poncho over a tunic and breeches of the same fabric, helped him blend into the crowd of the busy marketplace. He trailed Taryn and the princesses, keeping a discreet distance, as they stopped at stalls every so often to barter with the merchants and purchase items. Aside from several rambunctious children, all was in order.

  Taryn cast furtive glances around the square, her eyes always seeming to find where he was hiding. When she looked closer, Rhoane disappeared into the crowd. At least he hoped.

  Baehlon and a half dozen of the duke’s guard watched over Taryn and the younger princesses. A few of them cut curious stares his way, but made no move to initiate contact. When finally the group left the market and returned to the palace, Rhoane roamed the area, using his ShantiMari to search for any abnormalities.

  At twelfth bells, he made his way to the tavern where Carga said Taryn saw the man. Several patrons watched him with apprehension. A peasant of his stature would have enough coin to visit such a place, if only once a moonturn. Rhoane tipped his weatherworn straw hat at them and entered the darkened building. Nearly all of the tables were crowded with the city’s inhabitants escaping the heat of the day and enjoying the coolness of the tavern.

  A quick scan of the room produced nothing alarming.

  “Are we looking for anyone in particular, or just out for a stroll?” Baehlon’s baritone rumbled beside Rhoane. He must’ve followed Rhoane from the market, or returned after seeing the princesses safely to the palace.

  “We are searching for someone who is not there. I should not be seen with you.” Rhoane moved away from the big knight to sit at a vacated booth.

  A serving maid approached, hands on hips, a grimace marring her otherwise pretty face. “You got money to pay?”

  He placed a few coins on the table, and she snapped them up before returning the way she came. A few minutes later she brought a tankard and trencher of food. “You’re far from home, lad. What brings you to Paderau?”

  “Work. How’d you know I wasn’t from here?” He worked his mouth around the contractions, trying for a Southern accent.

  “No one from around these parts wears a hat that tacky. Even the peasants have their pride.” Rhoane hastily removed the offending garment, a sheepish grin on his lips. “You eat your sup, and I’ll see if there’s anyone who needs a hand. You good with a blade?”

  Rhoane suppressed a laugh. She didn’t mean a sword. “A little.”

  She adjusted her bodice and skirts, cringing slightly. “Gods, but it’s hot today. You menfolk are lucky, what with your loose breeches and all.”

  “Whyn’t you wear ’em? Or is there a law ’gainst women being comfortable?”

  “You’re a cheeky one.” Her warm smile hinted at flirtation. “Only soldiers wear trousers, and I’m better at loving than fighting.” She winked as she moved away, her backside sashaying beneath her heavy skirts.

  Two men sat at the table behind him, voices lowered, their words spoken in a rush. Rhoane ate his stew and eavesdropped. His heightened Eleri hearing made their voices as clear as if they sat with him. One of the men, the spice merchant Taryn had mentioned the previous evening, gloated to his friend about the Summerlands princess’s visit that morning.

  “I told her about the embargoes on our goods. She had no idea.”

  “Or she knows but is protecting the empress. Tread lightly, Tabul. She might be a countrywoman, but she’s been with the Talaithian whore long enough we should question her loyalty.”

  Rhoane stretched his body, twisting his back and head until his muscles cracked. The movement allowed him a brief glimpse of the speaker. He returned to his ale before drawing attention to himself, mentally marking the man’s features.

  “She’s no more loyal to the crown than my dog. I spoke to her at length over tea. She’s homesick and desperate for any news of the Summerlands. I’ve sent word to my brother in Talaith. He will find a way to ingratiate himself to her. Perhaps with her help we can lift the taxes.”

  “That harlot is bleeding us until there will be nothing left. Did you see her daughters in the market? Wearing fine silks while we must squat in the dust for pittance.” The man spit on the floor. “The lot of them should be put to the blade.”

  “Shush!” Tabul warned. “You’ll draw the attention of the guard. I have a nice business here and don’t need your radical ideas making trouble.”

  “Wishing that woman and her misbegotten spawn would stop stealing my money is not radical. Forcing the lot of them to suck my cock while I sit on the Light Throne? That’s radical.”

  “Hold your tongue, man! That’s treason, and I’ll have none of it.”

  Rhoane slid from his seat and stood at the men’s table. “I am certain you did not mean what you just said, my friend.” Rhoane’s quiet voice held the strength of steel.

  “What’s it to you, peasant?”

  Tabul stammered an apology, saying to Rhoane, “Don’t listen to him. He’s not right in the head. Words come out that he doesn’t mean.”

  The other man stared at Tabul with a look of murder in his eyes. “I meant what I said. The empress and her lot are worthless bitches. Aelinae would be better off without them.”

  Rhoane grabbed the man by the collar and dragged him from the booth. The first punch connected with his nose in a resoundingcrack. A thick stream of blood flowed over his lips. The second jab landed in the man’s midsection, rendering him breathless and on his knees.

  “Enough!” Baehlon’s voice broke through the crowd. His huge hand pulled Rhoane away before he could strike again.

  A sickening wheezing came from the man. He stood with the help of Tabul and regarded Rhoane with skepticism. Then his fist lashed out, hitting Rhoane square on the temple.

  The blow dazed him, and he staggered against Baehlon before righting himself. Another punch aimed at his sternum had Rhoane gasping. Tabul pulled his friend toward their table, apologizing over and over again for the trouble.

  “I stand by my words,peasant,” he asserted, the last word said with contempt.

  “Then you shall die by them.” Rhoane reached for his sword, but it wasn’t there. He’d left it at the palace. Before Baehlon could hold him back, Rhoane lunged at the man.

  The tavern erupted at once with tables being overturned, chairs broken across backs. Rhoane attacked the man, each punch aimed at restoring Lliandra’s honor. His fists bled with the beating he gave the other man. Baehlon called for order and was ignored by most everyone in the tavern. When finally the duke’s guard arrived, it took them several minutes to break up the fighting.


  Rhoane breathed heavily beside Baehlon, his split lip swelling and blood dripping from a nasty cut above his eye. For every two hits he’d connected, the other man had made one.At least he looked far worse, Rhoane thought.

  Baehlon gave the tavern owner several gold coins to pay for the damage and dragged Rhoane out to the street.

  “Blood and ashes, man. What was that about?”

  “He insulted Lliandra and her daughters.”

  “And so you thought you’d give him a bit of justice, is that it?”

  Rhoane shuffled alongside Baehlon, his head throbbing from the fight. “Yesterday something unseen stalked Taryn. Today, a merchant wished, in public, for the death of the empress. Yes, I sought justice. Is that so wrong?”

  Baehlon didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Rhoane knew his actions were unnecessary. His frustrations had gotten the better of him.

  “Tell the guard to keep watch on him. And the merchant Tabul. If there is an uprising, we need to be forewarned. Also, we should look into something Tabul mentioned. He said Lliandra has placed embargoes on the Summerlands products. If this is true, she is breaking the law.”

  Baehlon grinned as they passed through the palace gates. “Aside from a potential riot, did you discover anything useful?”

  “Yes. Women envy our breeches.”

  “Well, I thought that was obvious.” Baehlon rumbled a low chuckle.

  Chapter 23

  ON THE morning they were to leave for Talaith, Taryn made one last visit to the kitchens to give Carga a bouquet of wild flowers.

  The cook’s eyes misted when Taryn handed her the small arrangement. “It was very sweet of you to remember me.”

  “You let me breakfast with you every morning, it was the least I could do. I’m only sorry I don’t have anything of real value to give.”

  “Nonsense, you gave from your heart, and that is richer than all the coin in the world.”

  “I hope to see you soon.”