“Then it’s a good thing I’m not you.”
“No, you’re not. But for now, in this, you answer to me. You owe me, Ian.”
“So that’s it?” My voice was laced with shock and anger. “You break me out of prison, secret me away to the swamps, hide me in those damn caves, all so I can ‘owe’ you?”
“That was never my motivation and you damn well know it. But it’s a fact. You owe your freedom to me and most likely your life. And if you push me, if you jeopardize the realms and my plan to unite them in any way, I will call you on it.”
“I think you just did.”
Malaq left his chair. “If this is the part where you come at me, go ahead. Feel sorry for yourself. Bluster. Channel the magic. Order some more wine. Break the furniture. Do whatever it takes to make yourself feel better, to fool yourself a little longer. But when you’re done,” he pointed a sharp finger at me, “that’s it. You run it all through me. No more one man army bursting through whatever door you feel like. No more personal crusades. No unsanctioned rescues. It’s not Ian Troy against the world anymore. You’re not Kael’s bounty hunter, beholden to no one, or a soldier striving for the Queen’s attention. You’re not Rella’s champion, the Shinree’s savior, or even Langor’s greatest enemy.”
“Right.” Tossing back my wine, I swallowed. “I’m your weapon.”
“You’re Mirra’kelan’s protector,” he corrected through clenched teeth. “You’re her defender. It’s time you start acting like it.”
TWENTY SIX
The sky above Kabri had never shone brightly when I was a child. The busy streets, the harbor nightlife, the shops, and houses, produced a lot of radiance for one little island. The knowledge that the city’s death had finally allowed the stars to be seen, lent a morbid peacefulness to the countless twinkles set against the black. Yet, the fresh air and quiet of the rooftop was exactly what I’d needed; the solitude as well. Though, when I left my room with a candle in one hand and Tam’s journal in the other, I’d expected to be challenged. I’d thought guards would be stationed at the battlements. But aside from a small force remaining behind to protect the Queen, all Rellans capable of combat were making preparations for Langor, which left the rooftop as empty as the surrounding woods and the city beyond.
Raking the hair from my face, the edges of my unbuttoned shirt flew out around me. The wind was vastly more spirited than I was prepared for. My candle didn’t stand a chance. I could spell it. Except the only stone I had on me was the shard, and obsidian wouldn’t light a wick. I wasn’t keen on using what lurked in my scars unless I had to, and the crown was a tad excessive for lighting one little candle.
Wind whipped the flame. As it went out with a whoosh, Jarryd’s jade ring caught my eye. It wouldn’t light a candle either. I channeled it anyway.
The green aura floated in. It moved slow and gentle, and I lost touch with the boisterous, chilly wind. I stopped thinking about what awaited me in Langor. I simply existed.
Enjoying it, I made my way to the battlements. I sat and put my back against the shadowy wall. Magic’s warmth settled in. I tracked the coiling aura as it spread, sailing gently through my veins, lighting them up. Taking charge, I directed it, pushing and pulling the energy through my body. All the while I strived to become conscious of where it gathered, to identify the dark crevices where it liked to hide. Such things were crucial in directing magic’s course. To dominate what dominates you there can be no secrets, no hidden reserves to creep out and taunt you. Sienn had said once: “own it completely, and dismiss it just the same.” Neither was a foreign concept. I was able to direct and dismiss when desperation required it. Putting a consistent tight leash around the crown’s auras, however, was a whole other matter.
The reason was simple. Deep down, I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to control any of it, and I hadn’t for a long time. But I had to try. And I had to start somewhere.
Somewhere other than the heat of battle.
I studied the glowing ring on my finger. Jade was commonly used by healers to draw out infection. They collected the aura in the palms of their hands and whatever didn’t belong would be drawn to the light and expelled. I’d seen the working performed before, by my mother on her patients. Sienn had used it on me once, when a trek through the swamp had caused an unattended wound in my leg to fester. Having passed out, I remembered little of it. But I wasn’t interested in the particulars of the spell. It was the light it created and how thoroughly I might control it.
Striving to be aware of all the points where the jade’s energy was touching, I gave attention to the individual snake-like tendrils. They were wandering; soaring haphazard inside me, floating on the current. I observed their freedom a moment. Then I imagined order.
Gathering the magic with my mind, I separated the auras into two individual streams and herded them; driving the tendrils down inside my arms. Forcing them further, into my wrists, then the palms of my hands, I let the heavy warmth pool there beneath my skin. Its green glow emanated a fair amount of light. I woke the magic-scars and the light blazed brighter. I flexed both hands, making the color swirl like liquid. Settling, the crowded auras pulsed with a nice, calm rhythm.
I retrieved the book and rested it on my legs. Wind caught the pages and flipped them rapidly. I put a hand flat on one side to keep them down. Light from the jade beneath my skin bled out and illuminated the passages. I smiled to myself; I had light to read by. It wouldn’t last forever. I could only harness an aura for so long before I had to put it back. Otherwise, the temptation to cast would build to a level I couldn’t resist. But it would do for a while.
Remembering where I left off, I started to turn the page, when a series of runes caught my eye. The crude picture of a stone crown beneath them grabbed my attention next. There were other images. One depicted the crown intact. The other: in pieces. Lines, like streaks of fire, were drawn bursting from each of the nine stones. They were still positioned in a circular pattern, but far enough apart to be separated. The hastily scrawled runes were nearly impossible to read. The page was discolored, like something had been spilled. Most of the symbols were the same ancient dialect as what graced the tablet I’d seen in the empire. Others were familiar.
I read aloud the ones I knew. “Blood. Acceptance. Surrender. Spirit… Sacrifice.”
There was no disputing it. Tam’s journal confirmed Lady Brielle’atroy’s words. The crown must be destroyed the way it was made: with a sacrifice of blood, soul, and magic.
The rooftop door opened. Light from the corridor erupted out across the battlements. I had a split-second glimpse of a dark, feminine shape against the brilliance. Then the door closed and the light was gone. Fabric rustled over stone. The wind carried her teasing voice.
“You are not as stealthy as you believe, Shinree.” Jillyan came closer. “Several of the servants witnessed you scurrying up here.”
“No they didn’t.” I closed the book and set it aside. “I don’t scurry.”
She laughed in delight. “Yes, it would be hard for you to sneak about this night more than others…considering how radiant you are.”
Glancing at my hands, I smiled. “You flatter me, Your Grace.”
“Only when it is due.”
The outline of her body stood over me. I smelled soap on her skin. “A little late for a bath, isn’t it?”
“I went for a ride after dinner. Your horse is a beauty, but I still prefer not to smell as if one has been between my legs.”
“You took Kya out?”
Jillyan stepped closer. With a slight lift of her dress, she straddled my legs and took a seat on my lap. Her arms came around my neck. It had been days since I’d seen her for more than a few minutes, and the familiar weight of her body stirred mine. “Events have kept you preoccupied of late,” she said. “I thought Kya might need a run.”
“Thanks for thinking of her.” I put my
glowing hands on Jillyan’s hips. “And me.”
“Contrary to the rumors, the word ‘princess’ is not defined as narcissistic and spoiled.”
“I’ll admit you don’t fit the mold.”
“How kind of you,” she teased. “Though, my actions were not entirely selfless. I had a need to feel the wind in my hair. Now…” Jillyan bent closer. “I need to feel you.” She leaned in and kissed me; a long, warm caress. Her hands sunk into my hair. She moved rhythmically against the front of me, making me hard. I let out a groan as she broke off the kiss and sat up. “I brought you something,”
My arms came around her, trying to pull her back. “It can’t be better than this.”
Jillyan put a finger to my mouth, silencing me. “Not better. More important.”
In the scant light I watched her slide a hand inside her bodice. “Can I help?”
“Not this time.” Jillyan withdrew her prize. Though hard to see clearly in the dark, I made out the shape of a chain. She dangled it in front of me a moment before slipping it over my head. Its length reached far down my chest. Whatever hung from the end came to rest between the unbuttoned halves of my shirt, hit bare skin, and a spark resonated through me.
I flinched, though the contact was far from unpleasant. “What is this?”
“If Jarryd’s description was accurate, this is required to reach your elusive tablets.”
I fumbled with the chain. My shining palm came around the object fastened to the links, and a gust of vibrations bounced inside my closed fist, icy cold and sharp. I recognized their feel. The key was carved magnetite. “I was right. You did have the box.”
“It took some searching. I had no memory of seeing it in recent months. When Malaq’s men returned to the swamp to salvage supplies from our camp, they recovered what they could of my collection. Your box was slipped inside a crate it had no business being in. I almost missed it. Truthfully, with its small size, I’m amazed it was seen at all among the debris. Perhaps, the hand of Fate was at play.”
“That’s doubtful. The old bastard has always had it in for me.” I loosened my grip on the key. I ran my fingers over its edge before letting it go. “In Raan’s time the box was spelled. It would only open for someone with Brielle’atroy blood.”
Jillyan’s dress rustled as she shrugged. “That was a long time ago. The enchantment has clearly worn off.”
“I’m surprised. For something that important it should have been made to last.”
“Perhaps it wasn’t a permanent spell, but one that was reinforced each time the responsibility was passed down. You did say Raan was to inherit the box from his late father.”
“On his wedding day,” I nodded. “You could be right. His mother did make it sound like caring for the box was a tradition.” I wondered then: if the quake hadn’t struck when it did, would their plan have worked? Would Raan have succeeded in killing Tam Reth?
“There was a map contained within,” Jillyan said. “Do you require it?”
I brushed off my thoughts. “No. I know where it leads. And I memorized the riddle.”
“This morning, when you bid me look for the box, you mentioned you believe this ‘abandoned cage’ to mean Darkhorne. After reading the riddle myself, I have to agree.”
“Especially with their serpents all over the damn place.”
“You equate the serpents to be representative of my people?”
“You plant the symbol on everything you own, including your faces. Except you,” I said, wondering why it hadn’t occurred to me before. “How is it you escaped the mark?”
“A woman is branded when she pledges herself in some manner, whether to a man, an army, a lord, or a King. Draken insisted I take the mark when he took my throne, but I left for Kael before the ceremony could take place, allowing me to avoid receiving the sign of eternal fealty.”
“The branding isn’t a custom you approve of?”
“It was a custom I upheld. My reign was not about change, Ian. It was about survival.” She switched topics swiftly. “Are you aware of the keep’s age?”
“Darkhorne? I know it was erected years before the quake.”
“Many,” she said with emphasis. “My scrolls put the keep’s construction sometime in the early years of the empire. Apparently, the building materials were spelled by an elemental. They age only one day for each year that passes. This has allowed a great deal of the original structure and ornamentation to remain intact, including the serpents you speak of with such disdain.”
“You’re saying the snakes were Shinree made?”
“The scrolls I speak of contain original sketches for the keep. They show the serpents as part of the design constructed by your forefathers, not mine. Darkhorne was expanded several times after Langorians laid claim. But the original design was always carried over into the new construction. I believe they perceived the symbol as representative of their newfound freedom over the Shinree.”
I laughed at the irony. “For centuries, the Langorian people have worn a mark that came from the mind of a lowly witch. I wonder if Draken knows.”
“Unless he derived it from being bound to Jem, I doubt it.” Her tone turned thoughtful. “When you first fought Jem for the crown, you claimed to have been able to see through his skin. The auras were twisting and coiling inside him. You also watched the crown’s magic move through you in much the same way. You said once it reminded you of—”
“Snakes,” I said with her. “It wasn’t just a design.”
“So it would seem.”
“But if the snakes were truly a representation of magic, the way they were splattered all over the place, woven into the very construct of the building…” I paused as it all made sense. “History got it wrong. Darkhorne wasn’t meant to be a palace. It was built in tribute to the magic, like some kind of a shrine or…” It hit me. “Darkhorne was a damn temple.”
“Then my people took a place of honor and turned it into a place of war?” A deep uneasy breath of acceptance moved through her lungs. “We took the mines beneath it and fouled them with torture and death. We defiled a house of worship.”
“You didn’t do a damn thing. Maybe our relationship with the auras was nothing but an inspiration for the design, and the builder got carried away…kind of like you’re doing now.”
“You may be right. Self-reproach is the pastime of a fool.”
“You don’t have to go that far. Self-reproach is one of my favorite hobbies.”
After a brief sound of amusement, Jillyan fell quiet. She played with the edges of my open shirt a moment. When she blurted out, “I never meant for it to mean anything,” I thought she was talking about us. I wondered where she was going with it, and how I might respond. I’d never tried to define what Jillyan and I had. I wasn’t sure I could. That was the beauty of it.
My assumption felt rash as she elaborated. “Excavating the ruins, burying myself in the remains of a civilization so long ignored even her people had forgotten. It was a means to save my brother. But the more I threw myself into it, the more I read, the more fascinated I became. Much of Langor’s history is built on strife and conflict. Of the few artisans and scholars we have, most live in squalor. Our festivals are no more than an excuse for brutal displays of combat.”
“You’re romanticizing the empire, Jillyan. Clinging to some distilled history you read on dusty scrolls. If you’re going to piece my people together from fragments you pulled out of the ground, just remember. If anyone is responsible for the Langorian ways, it’s us. It’s the Shinree that enslaved them, and the Rellans who sold them to us in the first place.”
“I am aware. But the Shinree Empire had beauty and culture on a large scale. It was a society unlike my own. It captivated me, kept me engrossed for hours. Lately, I have wondered: had I given that same energy into my reign, and focused more on my people instead of yours, I may
have been inclined to leave my brother as you made him; a harm to no one.”
“Maybe. But if you hadn’t taken an interest in my ancestors, you wouldn’t have helped me that first time in Kael. At best, I would have lost an arm. I wouldn’t have known to go back in time to recover the crown’s power, either. Your insight, your knowledge, has been invaluable. And you’ve come through again.” I patted the key. “You’ve given me the first step in ending all of this.”
“Do you believe your scars will fade when the spell is broken?”
“Honestly, I have no idea.”
Jillyan ran a slow finger over one side of the chain. It wondered across my bare chest and navigated the scars spider-webbing across it. “Will it not feel the least bit strange to live without them?”
“It might.” Not that I’ll have the chance to find out. Between Lady Brielle’atroy’s words to Raan, Sienn’s vision, the key, and the passage in Tam’s book; Fate wasn’t mincing words.
I should tell her, I thought. But how?
How did I tell Jillyan what she perceived as the key to my salvation, would in fact bring my death—when helping me meant so much to her? How did I admit that when I left for Langor, I might never see her again—when her hands were trailing over my skin, lingering in the places she knew would get my blood pumping?
I don’t. I show her.
Her touch glided down my stomach. “My people have a custom. Before the King’s best soldier goes off to battle he is granted a night with the woman of his choosing.” Her grip found its way to my groin.
“Nice custom,” I grinned. “But I’m going to Langor to convince a bunch of stodgy counselors I’m on their side. I’m hoping not to fight them.”
“A battle of wits is still a battle.” She snuggled in close. Her mouth at my ear, she whispered, “Unless, you would rather read?”
I pushed Tam’s journal aside and put my hands on the front of her dress. The soft, light coming off me betrayed the buttons on her bodice. I popped them open one at time. The shade pulsed, bathing her skin a deep green, highlighting the curves of her breasts. I worked my way down, gradually exposing them.
The Crown of Stones: Magic-Borne Page 23