The Crown of Stones: Magic-Borne

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The Crown of Stones: Magic-Borne Page 5

by C. L. Schneider


  I glanced up as a black cloaked figure slid into the empty chair between us. Recognizing the imposing stature before I glimpsed the face concealed inside the leather-trimmed hood, I aimed a furtive tip of my head in Malaq’s direction. “Nef’areen,” I said quietly, employing the Shinree term of respect I reserved only for him. “This isn’t the place for you.”

  Malaq flicked a crumb of something off the table. “My friend, you have mistakenly believed from the beginning that I have nothing but disdain for the common tavern. It’s quite the opposite.” He scooted his chair closer and leaned in. “Where exactly do you think a young idealistic prince, exiled and shunned by three thrones, spent the majority of his nights?”

  “I’m afraid to ask,” I said softly, mocking his clandestine tone. “And even if you told me, I have my doubts it would be the truth.”

  Malaq blew the air through his lips in shock. “That’s quite unfair. I’ve never lied to you. Not—”

  “Outright,” I finished for him. “Yeah, I know.”

  “Moreover,” he went on, missing my slight, “The Brass Ball is far more tasteful than that filthy Kaelish hovel we met in, Troy. You remember; where I saved your life? The Crippled Cow, I think it was?”

  “Wounded Owl,” I groaned. He knew damn well what it was called. “And I saved your life.”

  “Are you sure?” I made a face and he shrugged. “Either way, I chose this particular establishment for its remote location and the loyalty of its proprietor. Not its ambiance. But your concern for my attire is noted and appreciated.”

  “I’m not worried about the dust on your trousers. We passed three Langorian patrols on the way here. Patrols still acting in Draken’s name,” I clarified. “You don’t want them spotting you in a place like this. Not after your past association with known fugitives.”

  “I have guards outside should the need arise. And in here, I have you two formidable…” Malaq’s gray eyes moved off me. He studied Krillos’ disguise with a raised brow. The other shot up as he focused on me. “Do you realize how you look in that silk doublet and all those shiny buckles? And you’re anxious about me getting noticed?”

  I aimed angry eyes at Krillos. “I might’ve toned it down if someone had told me where we were going.”

  Ignoring me, Krillos threw back his mug for a quick drink. He swallowed with a pained face. “I’m a damn ditcher,” he grumbled.

  “So you are,” Malaq said dryly. “Regardless…” A somber air settled over him. “We needed to talk, and I needed to escape while I had the chance. I’m barely off the ship, and I have more meetings and petitions than hours in a day. I’ll likely die of old age before I see them done.” He raised a hand to snag the barkeep’s attention. “I snuck out while no one was looking. A skill,” he grinned furtively, “I had cause to perfect many years ago.”

  I resisted the urge to ask. “Well, since you’re here, let’s have it. And if you want to keep the skin on your face, don’t give me your usual line about it being complicated. It’s always complicated.”

  “And I suppose that’s my fault?”

  “It does tend to follow you around.”

  “Me?” Malaq balked.

  Sighing, I withheld my reply. How Jarryd had the patience to go round and round with the man I had no idea. Point blank, I said, “Langor?”

  “Suffice it to say, my friend, this will not be a short road. Once I have a solid strategy in place, we can discuss your specific role. It’s imperative we have our priorities in line.”

  “My priority is to get Lirih back.”

  “Yes, but,” subtle tension entered Malaq’s jaw, “I’m afraid it isn’t that simple.”

  A feminine hand crossed in front of Malaq. “With you honey,” the barmaid cooed as she plopped down his mug, “nothing was ever simple.” She leaned over, her mouth at the side of his hooded head. “Just the way I like it.”

  I shared an amused look with Krillos as the boisterous woman went on.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t know that voice? I wouldn’t recognize that swagger the first step you took?” Chuckling, plump breasts bouncing, the barmaid gave Malaq a playful slap on the arm. “I’d know the sway of them hips anywhere…King or not.”

  “I’m flattered, Mel,” Malaq said. “It was a long time ago. And it was only one night.”

  “It was three,” she corrected him with a nudge. “Three nights and four days.”

  Malaq chuckled softly. “So it was.” He reached for his mug.

  I pulled it away. “In all the stories you’ve told, my friend, I don’t remember this one.”

  “Me neither,” Krillos chimed in. “Bet it’s a damn good one, eh?”

  “Oh, it is,” Malaq confirmed. “Mere words could never do it justice.”

  “Which means he’s not telling,” Krillos muttered.

  Tucking her tray under her arm, Mel wrapped the other one around Malaq’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about them, love. They’re just jealous.”

  “As they should be.” Malaq grabbed her hand, brought it to his half-hidden face, and kissed it. “It’s good to see you, Mel.”

  “Stow that golden tongue, boy,” she chided. “Can’t you see I’m old and hefty now?”

  “You, madam, are a picture of beauty.” Malaq kissed her hand again before letting it go. “I was surprised enough to learn your father was still running this place. But I thought some strapping young man would have stolen you away years ago.”

  “I’ve only found one built to handle me.” She gave Malaq a wink. “Guess I should have never taught you how to untie that rope.” Another laugh bubbled out of her, playful and naughty, and I understood how Mel might have captured the attention of a young, randy prince.

  “Well, I for one am glad for your instruction,” Malaq assured her. “Those knots have come in handy on more than one occasion.”

  “Wait.” I interrupted their shared laughter. “This is where you learned all those damn knots? Here,” I tapped a firm finger on the table, “in this tavern—” I gestured at Mel, “in her bed? Not your stepfather’s shipping yard?”

  Malaq’s smile peeked out from his hood. “Oh, I learned plenty at the docks, my friend, rest assured. But Mel’s teachings took me, shall we say…into uncharted waters.”

  They were laughing again. I raised my voice. “I thought you were only in Kabri once.”

  “Oh,” Malaq grimaced. “It might have been twice.”

  “Give it up,” Krillos chuckled. “Even if the man came clean, it would take him ten hours to do it. We don’t have the time.”

  “Captain,” Malaq said with formality. “Are you forgetting your place?”

  “There’s no captain here.” Krillos raised his phantom hand. “Just a ditcher.”

  Krillos and I were the ones to laugh then. Malaq frowned slightly at us, but Mel didn’t pay any mind. She was too busy running her fingers up Malaq’s arm.

  “I know your Queen is a beauty, but if you ever find yourself needing a woman with more to grab onto…” She bent again and whispered in his ear. Walking off, Mel tossed me a wink. “I’ll get you two boys another round.”

  Mel sauntered away and Malaq turned to face me. His goatee was in need of trimming. The tension around his eyes was worse than before he left for Langor. But whatever Mel whispered to him had left a trace of heat on Malaq’s noble features. It was a level of discomfort I wasn’t used to from him, and despite my concerns, it pulled a chuckle out of me.

  I locked eyes with Krillos across the table. I could tell he was thinking the same thing.

  Did I really want to know what it took to make Malaq Roarke blush?

  “All right, then.” Lifting his mug, Malaq tipped it at me before taking a sip. “What has Krillos told you?”

  “Well, he promised me details once he had a drink in his hand. But so far, his biggest revelation is that
the ale in the worst tavern in Kabri tastes likes shit.”

  Krillos grunted. “Missed me, didn’t ya?”

  I squinted at him, trying to determine by his grimy Rellan face if he was serious.

  “I know it wasn’t easy,” Krillos said, “being cooped up in those caves. But if everyone’s mood is as sour as yours, I’m guessing we have some deserters on our hands.”

  “We can’t have deserters, Krillos, we aren’t an army. We aren’t even a resistance anymore. We’re a mishmash of frightened refugees, bitter defectors who are starting to wonder if they’ve chosen the wrong side, and an assortment of Shinree who barely know how to cast. Whatever is going on in Langor, whatever my father is up to, it’s going to take a lot more than what’s hiding in those damn caves to deal with it.”

  Krillos nodded. “You mean, you.”

  “I’m carrying the full power of the Crown of Stones inside me. Yes, I mean me.”

  “Don’t get cocky, Shinree. You may have it, but you can’t use it without more of that fancy road map drawing itself across your body. Unless, you’ve suddenly decided it’s not a problem, you going all furry on us.”

  Thoughts of my burgeoning eldring senses raced through my mind as I picked up my mug. Draining it, I sat the cup back down with a grimace. He was right. It did taste like shit.

  Malaq cleared his throat. “If you two are through…?” He eyed us both a moment to make sure. “Langor is a mess. Half its army is threatening desertion. Of the other half, some are carrying out their previous orders like nothing’s changed. The rest are threatening to assume control. Right before we pulled out, there was talk at the docks. Word is Jem Reth has issued a demand for the unconditional surrender of Draken’s territories. There’ve been no attacks yet, but our spies tell us Reth’s forces are moving steadily north.”

  “They’ve gotta be spelled,” Krillos chimed in. “Nothing less than magic would make a Langorian take orders from a Shinree. No offense,” he added.

  “None taken,” I said. “Our people have committed brutalities against each other for hundreds of years. Even if the realms unite, it will take decades for the hatred to subside.”

  “That’s a switch,” Krillos noted. “Before we left you were peddling peace like some trader hawking snake oil out the back of his wagon. Now, you sound like Kane.”

  “What I want hasn’t changed,” I said. “But reconnecting with Jarryd meant absorbing his memories of Darkhorne. I haven’t looked at them. I didn’t think he’d want me to. But setting aside the resentment and hatred that came with them, for a second time, hasn’t been easy.”

  “Well, get over it,” Malaq said. “You, backsliding, isn’t going to help. It certainly won’t stop Jem Reth from stampeding over my lands. And I’ll be damned if I bow down and call that man Emperor.”

  “But people will,” I warned him.

  “Spelled people,” Krillos muttered into his ale.

  “For now,” I conceded, “but not forever. There’s still charisma under the lunacy. How else do you think Jem amassed a following and led those rebels? When he first netted Sienn, it was with words, not magic. But after all those trips to the past, he knows exactly what our people are capable of. Jem knows the culture, the reach, and the influence we had on the world. How great we could be.”

  “How powerful,” Krillos cut in, as if goading me to deny it.

  I didn’t. “You’re right. We controlled it all. We had no equals, no challengers. No one came close. My father witnessed our splendor and dominance through the eyes of the last Shinree Emperor. He won’t rest until he sees it through his own. Frankly, I can’t blame Jem for wanting to recreate it. The ‘how’ is what I have trouble with.”

  Staring into his mug, Malaq’s fingers drummed the sides in contemplation. “I fear you’re right, Ian. If the empire was truly such a grand sight, your father’s time there has likely intensified his zealous nature. And the man was already capable of anything.” Malaq’s eyes shot to mine. “If Langor falls, it’s over.”

  “I agree.” Malaq’s jaw pulled tight. Apparently, he’d wanted encouragement and not candor. “Rella and Kael can’t hold out against a force that large. When they fall, the Arullans will have no choice but to ally with Jem. The lands past the sea will eventually fall into line. My father could have Mirra’kelan by summer’s end, if not sooner—which brings us back to me; me, and the Crown of Stones, and a whole lot of bloodshed. And that’s not cockiness. That’s the cold, hard truth. Now, are we going to sit here drinking this piss water all damn night, or are you going to tell me the rest of it?”

  Krillos eyed me. “How do you know there’s more?”

  I returned his skeptical look with one of my own. “There’s always more.”

  “Fair enough,” he grunted. “But it’s nothing you’re going to like.”

  I waited.

  “I mean, you’re really not going to like it,” he said.

  “What I really don’t like, Captain, is you stalling.”

  He glanced at Malaq who gave his nod of consent for Krillos to go on. He still tried to put me off. “We should wait for the next round. And maybe leave Kane out of this for now?”

  “You want me to close my link with Jarryd?” If Krillos was suggesting my reaction would be so adverse as to negatively affect Jarryd back at the caves, it wasn’t a good sign. I glanced between his cynical grimace and Malaq’s blank face. “What the hell is going on?”

  Malaq replied, but his words were drowned by the abrupt noise of another fight breaking out in the tavern. This one was behind me; complete with angry shouts, a woman’s panicked scream, and the overturning of furniture. Assuming it an average brawl, I cast a reflexive glance to ensure whatever pitchers were about to be hurled weren’t coming my way. Surprisingly, nothing was airborne. But I was definitely in the line of fire.

  “Son of a bitch,” Krillos hissed.

  I couldn’t have said it better.

  Four burly Langorian soldiers, no doubt taking a break from a long night of bullying, were shoving their way to the bar. Tossing patrons from their seats and heckling the old barkeep; the men were itching for a fight. A few customers ran out the door. The brave souls that remained were hoping as we were: that the Langorians’ attention would fix on their drinks. If it did, we had a decent shot at going unnoticed. Sitting at the back of the room near the fire, we came off as nothing more than three friends throwing back a few before heading home. My real concern was the eldring they were leading on a chain. Alert gaze darting, the beast was searching the crowd for its next meal—and possibly me.

  A pack animal with a keen sense of smell (and more intelligence than half the men in the tavern), eldring were pure muscle wrapped in gray hide and black fur. On all fours, like this one, it was easy to underestimate their height. The way their hind legs bent backwards from the knee down, their speed was often miscalculated as well.

  I had cause to know exactly how tall and fast the eldring were. I was also painfully familiar with the workings of their claws, tusks, and teeth. The average person’s ignorance was understandable, though. Extinct until my father’s magic brought them out of history, the eldring had long been a creature of mystery and legend. I’d unraveled some of that mystery by healing one of their dying offspring with an intimate spell that left us connected for days, and temporarily linked me to every eldring that ever lived. With a communal mind and an inherited memory, the beast’s wealth of knowledge dated back farther than anyone imagined—making it irrelevant that I’d never come into contact with this eldring before. If one knew me, they all knew me. They would remember my scent as much as the smell of my ancestor that stood over the pit hundreds of years ago; watching as my kind used blood and magic to create the first of theirs.

  And now that same creation spell has ahold of me.

  I’m about to be just like him.

  I turned back around. Mal
aq had shifted toward the fire to keep his face hidden. Krillos was still glaring over my shoulder at his unruly kinsmen. He was ready to pounce. “Krillos,” I whispered, making him look at me. “Ignore them. We’ll finish our drinks like nothing’s wrong and leave. A Langorian patrol is manageable. But if the eldring gets a whiff of me, it’ll tear this place apart.”

  “It could now,” he whispered back. “It could break that chain and the neck of the man holding it in seconds flat. Yet it’s sitting over there like some tamed mutt.” His brow furrowed as he watched the eldring.

  “Their domestication bothers you? I thought you hated eldring.”

  “I hate anything looking to chew on me. But I know what it’s like to be broken. Seeing something meant to be wild and fierce…like that,” Krillos nodded toward the bar, “makes me sick.” Spinning his mug around, he shrugged. “I’ll still do my best to kill it if it tries to eat me.”

  The commotion at the bar turned earsplitting as the Langorians banged on the counter. One shouted over the clamor. “You call this your finest?” His accent was thick and rough. “We’re celebrating here! Give me something else, bitch. Something fit to toast our King. And glasses,” he demanded. “Real glasses. If you have any in this goddamn stinking fleapit.”

  The response was an apprehensive, feminine, “Yes, sir,” and I silently gave thanks it wasn’t Mel. If she were threatened, Malaq’s calm demeanor would shatter in an instant.

  Glass clinked as drinks were poured. The barmaid spoke again, futilely attempting to hide her nervousness. “This should be to your liking.”

 

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