“You should’ve told me, you stupid cunt. You’ve jeopardized everything.”
“Calm down, Herbret. So what if the Offlander cow has a tiara? It changes nothing. Stick to the plan.” The woman placed her hand on the man’s plentiful cheeks, smoothing the ruddy skin. “You’ll have your Summerlands whore. Have you located Kaldaar’s stones?”
The mention of Kaldaar set off alarms in his mind. The legends of the banished god were murky in his memories, but he knew one thing—Rykoto would not be pleased to learn his brother was involved in Aelinae’s future.
The man, Herbret, shook his head. “We need access to the oracles, but Lliandra won’t grant them to me. You must see if Marissa will help.”
“And have her get involved? I don’t think so. It’s bad enough you keep begging her to intervene with the empress. Grow some balls, man. Fight for your petition to claim Sabina.” The woman tapped her finger on Herbret’s cheek. “Actually, I think I know a way to gain access to the archives.” She removed her hand and wiped it on her gown, a look of disgust flitting across her face. “Do try to be a brave boy while I do all the work. Again.”
She left before Herbret could reply. He muttered a slur and headed in the opposite direction, his stout little legs moving with surprising speed. Valterys followed the woman.
She stopped to chat with a couple, and Valterys learned a name to put with the pretty face, Lady Celia. She hummed beneath her breath as she danced through the rose garden, as if an unseen lover swayed with her. Still cloaked in shadow, Valterys moved in step with Celia, embracing her from behind. Her startled expression at the empty air pricked his desire. The weak minded were far too easy to fool.
He stroked his fingers down her soft arms then interlaced his hands with hers. She moaned and rested her head against his chest. “My lord, is that you?”
Her words, whispered in a breathy rush excited him. He knew she thought him another man, but the temptation to play along was too strong. “Yes, my darling. You’ve done well.”
“Have I?” Her eyelashes fluttered up to where she thought his face would be, missing the mark by a hand’s width. “I had hoped, but how it is you are here?”
Valterys ushered them to a secluded corner of the garden, where he could see much of the party, but they would be concealed. His fingertips pressed between her legs, and she jumped. “It is your devotion that allows my presence.”
“I had hoped, dreamed of this day, my lord.” She spun around to face him, groping in the air for Valterys’s face. “I have done what you asked. The vessel will be secured, and your seed will flourish once more.”
Kaldaar’s seed. His mind spun with old wives’ tales and forgotten myths. “Excellent, my darling.” He bent and kissed her, a savage taking of her mouth that left her breathless.
“Kaldaar, my lord, my love,” she murmured against his lips. “Kaldaar.”
“Celia?” Marissa’s sharp tone cut the air like the crack of a whip. Valterys stilled, pulling his shadows tighter. “Ohlin’s cock, Celia! What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?”
Celia froze and then a calculated demeanor overcame her. Docile, compliant. She coyly turned around to face the princess. “I was practicing for a play Herbret and I are working on. It’s a surprise for the empress and her daughters.”
The young woman wasn’t as daft as he’d originally thought.
“Then do it in the privacy of your room. You look a fool out here alone, groping the air.”
Celia straightened her skirts and nodded. “You’re absolutely right. What was I thinking?”
They moved off, and Valterys heard Marissa ask in that sweet tone that meant danger, “Did I hear you mention Kaldaar?”
“Kaldaar? Not at all. I was sayingkal daresh. It’s a loose translation from Ullan meaninghorse master.”
Before they disappeared completely, Celia cast a last glance to where he stood, fanatic desire in her eyes.
He wandered the maze, sloughing off his cloak of shadows, and mulled over what he’d learned. Celia was no doubt bright, but her ready belief he was Kaldaar concerned him. Someone was directing the girl toward an end Valterys couldn’t allow. But who would want the banished god returned? Who would have the most to gain from spreading the seed of the Black Brotherhood? More questions simmered in his mind and he made mental notes on how best to thwart this new enemy’s plans.
A snap of twig startled him, and he glanced at the orchard, not quite knowing how he had arrived there.
Taryn stood not more than three paces from him. When their eyes met, trepidation crossed her face, as if she debated turning from him. He held out his hand to stop her. “I was hoping for a chance to speak with you.” He motioned to the courtiers milling around the garden. “It’s difficult to hear one’s thoughts with so many people. I thought I’d seek solace here. How fortuitous you did the same.”
A moment of hesitation, then she curtsied. “My lord.” Her glance flicked to where Baehlon stood a short space away.
“Don’t worry, your man is nearby. I just wanted to talk—to get to know you.” He sat on a bench, patting the seat beside him.
Taryn perched on the edge, her slippers set to run if need be. “There’s not much to know. I was raised by Brandt. I thought he was my grandfather, and I had no idea who I was until the empress told me last night. End of story.”
“Dearest Taryn, there is much more to your story than that. Where have you been this whole time?”
She kept her face pointed toward the garden, only glancing at him once. “Did your son tell you he murdered Brandt?”
Valterys shouldn’t have been surprised, but her forthrightness caught him off guard. “I believe he sought to defend himself against Brandt’s attack. He felt terrible for the loss of the high priest, you must believe me.” She stiffened, and he quickly added, “This is not how I envisioned our first meeting. Just as you knew nothing about me until last night, I knew nothing of you until today. Now that I know I have a daughter, I would very much like to know this child of mine.” He kept his voice sincere, his eyes soft and placating.
“Lliandra truly never told you?” Her eyes searched his. They were blue, like the depths of the sea. Like Lliandra’s.
“Not until the throne room this morning. Nadra bade me come to Talaith for reasons she would not divulge. In all honesty, I thought Lliandra wished to lure me back to her bed.” It wasn’t a complete lie.
Taryn glanced over the crowd, settling on Marissa. “This is all new to me, but I’m learning there are those adept at presenting themselves to the world as one thing when in private they are quite another. Take the crown princess, for example.” Her gaze shifted to him, and he did his best to look innocent. “The courtiers adore her. She is the life of the party. Yet what do we really know about her? What is it she does in the privacy of her own bedchamber?”
“I would think what most people do—sleep.”
Taryn’s eyes became hard bits of blue granite. “What about you? Are you really as charming as you’d like me to believe? You come here with your offer of friendship, but there is more to you, Lord Valterys, isn’t there?”
“Why is it you bear me such ill will? I’ve done nothing to deserve your scorn.”
There was strength in the girl; determination shone from her eyes. “Your son killed the one person who meant the most to me, and you hung a sword over my friend with every intention to kill him. Yet you say you’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I like your honesty. It’s refreshing. I’ve already explained that Brandt’s death was a tragic accident. As for young Hayden, he was never in any real danger.”
Taryn’s jaw tightened. Her back went rigid. “I’m sure the poison you wrapped around the sword was harmless?”
Poison? That wasn’t part of the plan, and it vexed him Marissa would do such a thing.
“My dear, one does what one must in times like these. That sword should be mine. Besides, I’ve heard you were there to rescue him, so it all worked out
in the end, yes?”
In a strained voice, she said, “I feel it unnecessary to continue this conversation. I don’t want to be your enemy, Valterys, but if you continue to seek what is rightfully mine, I will have no other choice. Good day.” She swept away with the grace and dignity of a princess.
Taryn walked with her protector along the seawall until they reached the Eleri prince and others of her group. The air vibrated around her and Valterys watched her with keen interest. Beneath her anger, he could tell she fought to control vast amounts of ShantiMari—Light, Eleri, and Dark—which could only mean one thing.
He rose in a languid fashion, smoothing out his tunic before strolling away from the orchard. If Taryn wouldn’t submit to him of her own accord, he would have to find another way to contain her.
Chapter 27
TARYN sat upright in bed, the nightmare chasing through her thoughts. She threw off the covers and padded around the huge apartment, willing the dream to dispel. The image of Zakael holding Rhoane’s still-beating heart stayed fixed in her mind, the scent of his blood in her every breath. The rich food she’d eaten at the feast and the wine—too much wine—threatened to make a repeat appearance. Taryn poured herself a glass of water, taking small sips to keep the nausea at bay.
She’d been in Talaith just a few days, but it seemed like she’d lived a lifetime since Paderau. Too many changes, too much responsibility thrust on her in too short a time.
She stood in the darkness, inhaling the salty tang of ocean air, letting the last fragments of her nightmare dissolve. Even the sound of waves crashing on the cliffs and the cool morning air did little to ease the accelerated beating of her heart. She checked that the sword was safe and then retrieved the looking glass.
If ever she needed the comfort of her grandfather, it was now. She snuggled under her blankets, cupping the orb in her hand. Brandt’s image flared inside the glass. Taryn’s chest compressed with a silent sob, and she kissed the ball, whispering, “I love you, Baba.”
On impulse, she asked it to show her who had entered her rooms the previous day. The glass flared to life and several images of Cora and Ellie zipped past, along with a few other maids Taryn didn’t recognize. They prepared her rooms and unpacked her belongings. Nothing nefarious. She asked to see anyone other than her maids.
The ball sparked once, and then showed Marissa creeping about the apartment before going to Taryn’s dressing room. She methodically went through Taryn’s armoires until she found the cloak where Taryn had hidden the seal. A cold sweat broke out on Taryn’s forehead. No one else had been present when she’d placed the seal in the cloak pocket.
In the glass, Marissa pawed through Taryn’s personal belongings. When she found the hiding place of her sword and crown, Marissa felt along the wall, trying to unhinge the cupboard door. Taryn hoped Marissa would use her ShantiMari and get a nasty shock, but to Taryn’s disappointment, she didn’t. Marissa fumbled with a curtain near the glass doors that led to the balcony. After a few moments, she left the room.
Taryn was about to put the looking glass down when the ball flickered to life again.
A figure stepped out from behind the curtain. Taryn stared in disbelief at the image of Zakael standing beside her bed, watching while she slept. He’d been inches from her. A chill swept over her clammy skin as she watched Zakael bend low to whisper in her ear.
His words drifted on the breeze, “Come to me, my Taryn. We are meant to be united. In power, in life, in all things.”
With an intimacy they didn’t share, he stroked her face with his fingertips. His lips rested on hers.
She shook with suppressed anger at his impertinence. That he’d treated her with such familiarity, and while she slept, enraged her. ShantiMari burned in her belly like an out of control wildfire, igniting crazed thoughts that involved causing Zakael a great deal of pain. She scrubbed her lips with the blanket, ridding herself of his touch.
Like Marissa before him, Zakael felt around the secret compartment. Unlike Marissa, he tried to use his power to open it. He jerked back, his fingers ablaze in a fury of blue and orange flames. When the fire subsided, the ink she’d woven into the ward stained Zakael’s fingers.
Swearing under his breath, Zakael cast a look of contempt in her direction and then left by the secret doorway. A few moments later, Taryn awoke. She’d missed him by mere seconds.
Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. Even snug in her covers, she was vulnerable and exposed. She ached inside as if she’d been physically violated. Her fury escalated and sparks snapped at the ends of her tangled hair, snaking their way down her arms. She jumped from the bed, patting out the fire. When the flames wouldn’t cease, she poured water over her arms, but the blaze remained.
There was no burning of her skin, no singeing of hair—only an uncomfortable heat. She held her arms out in front of her. “Ice.” Immediately, the flames turned to chilly crystals. “Fire.” Flames danced along her arms. “Ice.” Again, crystals.
Sunlight streaked the balcony and movement in the palace signified the start of the day. There wasn’t much time before her maids would arrive. She went outside and shook her arms over the balcony, clearing her skin of the frozen water. She’d play with her new discovery later; for the moment, she had to secure her rooms. First, she went to look for the seal in the pocket of the cloak Marissa had searched. Relief flooded through her when her fingers touched the soft pouch. After she locked it in the cupboard with the sword and crown, she moved quickly, placing wards over doorways and walls.
If Marissa thought she could enter her rooms anytime she pleased, Taryn would make certain to change her mind. On the secret doorway that Zakael had used, Taryn infused her wards with the vilest suggestions she could think of. She couldn’t bring herself to inflict violence, but the results would have a lasting effect. Boils and weeping pustules were only the start of what the visitor could expect. Later, she would set physical traps in the hidden corridor.
Fresh anger boiled inside her. She had to get away, from her rooms, from her thoughts. She had todo something. She dressed quickly and headed to the barracks with Ohlin’s sword. A sleepy soldier informed her Sir Baehlon wasn’t in his room. Undeterred, she continued to the training yard without him. A few soldiers meandered about, but each one she asked, declined to practice with her.
She attacked the stuffed sacks with an anger she fought to control. On a particularly vicious attack, her sword swung wide, meeting another blade with a jarring clang. Taryn staggered back, holding her hands over her ears. Rhoane, too, stumbled a few paces before righting himself and approaching with caution.
“What was that horrid sound?” Taryn asked.
“Godsteel. Our swords are both made of it and do not like to be struck in anger.” He held his sword loosely in his hand, but Taryn saw his jaw tighten in anticipation. “What has you so vexed this morning?”
Not wanting to tell him about Zakael in a public place, she indicated the thirty or so men and women who had gathered around the ring. “Seems a tiara frightens them. No one will train with me, and Baehlon is nowhere to be found.”
A smile tugged at Rhoane’s lips. “I will train with Her Highness.” His sword gleamed in the sunlight. “But I will not go easy on you.”
Ohlin’s sword sang in her mind, and she took a step back, focusing herself. “Then I will return the compliment.”
Rhoane flourished his sword before swinging his leg out in a formal bow. Then he raised the weapon in front of his face. “I would expect no less.”
Before she could reply, he was at her, striking from the left and then right in rapid succession. A well-placed jab narrowly missed her ribs. She moved on instinct, defending against Rhoane’s blows with parrying shots of her own. The crowd cheered, whether for her or Rhoane, she wasn’t sure. Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered except keeping away from his deadly strikes.
As promised, he showed no mercy. Sweat dripped from her brow, blurring her vision. Rhoane looked fresh, wit
hout a trace of exertion or fatigue marring his features. Taryn’s confidence faltered.
A nick of Rhoane’s sword snapped her focus back to him. Blood seeped through her tunic, but Taryn kept her feet moving, dodging and then striking at Rhoane. Her paltry few weeks of training were nothing compared to his skill. Yet she fought as if they were of equal talent.
Rhoane crouched low, circling Taryn, his arm out to the side, leaving his body open to attack. Taryn moved opposite him, her sword held low before her. She was about to lunge when a voice called out, “Enough!”
Startled, Taryn and Rhoane paused in their advances, both heated by the combat. Empress Lliandra strode to the center of the ring, her slippers causing a rush of dust in the air. “What in Ohlin’s name do you two think you’re doing?”
Rhoane made a show of bowing to the empress. “Your Majesty. You look lovely this morning.”
“Don’t you dare try to flatter me, Prince Rhoane.” Then, seeing the stain on Taryn’s sleeve, she said, “You drew blood on a princess of the realm? I could have you flogged. Or worse.”
To his credit, Rhoane didn’t flinch. “You could. However, if Taryn is to lead an army someday, she must be ready. Coddling will do her no good on the battlefield where her enemies will show her little mercy.”
Taryn stared at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not leading any army.”
Lliandra held up her hand for silence. “If it comes to that, you will do as needed. Know this, Prince Rhoane of the Eleri, should your blade ever mar my daughter again, I will not be so forgiving. Is this understood?”
Rhoane’s jaw hardened. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
Lliandra fixed Taryn with a cold stare. “As for you, Princess Taryn, you may continue training. I will have my soldiers available to you for your hand-to-hand fighting. However, I want you to train only with the sword masters. You are lucky you didn’t harm Prince Rhoane. I wouldn’t want to have to tell his father that bit of good news.”
The Stones of Kaldaar (Song of the Swords Book 1) Page 24