“I’d prefer it be later. But I can’t be sure these scars won’t hinder my casting if they keep progressing, or where the hell they’re even leading to. If I had to lay bets, though, I’d say it’s nowhere good.”
“Yes, Krillos told me of your encounter with the young eldring. It was a daring move. Considering, I explicitly told you not to make one without my approval.”
“I didn’t. You gave your approval when Krillos suggested it.” At Malaq’s blank look, I elaborated. “At the last meeting you held back at camp.”
“Ian,” he laughed, “that was months ago.”
I shrugged. “We were a little late on the follow through.”
“Apparently.” Malaq crossed his arms. “What can I do to help?”
“I need full access to Darkhorne to search for the tablets.”
“Once I have control you can have as much access as you want. What else?”
“Hold off using Elek’s machines. Give me time to go back to Ru Jaar’leth, to find out what’s feeding Jem’s persuasion spell on his soldiers and get Lirih out. She can shed the eldring’s compulsion. Her connection is deeper and clearer than mine. If we can neutralize both spells, we neutralize the threat to Darkhorne. Then I’ll deal with Jem.”
Malaq stared a long moment. “You realize this is one of the most important battles ever fought in these lands?”
“And the longer Jem’s controlling his people, the higher the casualties.”
“I’m already going into this with less numbers. Now you want me to go in without Elek’s weapon and without—”
“Yours?”
“Damn it, Ian,” he hissed. “You need to look at this with reason, not emotion.”
“Like you did when you gave Jillyan to Elek, so he’d share his shiny new toys?”
“Spare me the sarcasm—and the blame. If you wanted Jillyan, you could have had her.” He waved off my reply. “Doesn’t matter. It’s better for her this way. And yes, that’s reason talking.”
“I won’t argue. Jillyan’s safer without me. Elek claiming he won’t hurt her is about the only thing he’s said that I believe. But my daughter is non-negotiable.”
Malaq ran a tight hand back over his cropped hair. “If I lose Langor because you leave...”
“I’ll get it back for you. But if lose my daughter because I stay…” I couldn’t even think it. “I’d die for you, Malaq. I’d risk myself for your throne without a second thought. But I won’t risk her.”
“So is this how you ask for permission to disobey my wishes?”
I grinned at the comfortable predictability of our relationship. “Yes.”
“If you’re wrong,” he pointed at me, “and your father’s forces overrun the keep, or he decides to strike us with some real magic, he will own it all, every piece of land, from shore to shore.”
“I’m trying to save lives.”
“And by doing so we could lose the realms. I won’t let that happen.”
I stared at the resolution on Malaq’s face, and thought: This is where we’ve always gone wrong. Thinking land was at the center of Mirra’kelan’s strife when it was people. Rellans conquering and selling Langorians, Shinree subjugating damn near everyone, then in turn being enslaved, all while the Kaelish sat back and let their loyalties blow with the wind. The focus had forever been on reclaiming land, never on restoring the relationships of those who lived there. Malaq had come closer to healing the divide than any ruler in recent history, but he still couldn’t quite see it.
“You worry about the realms,” I told him. “I’ll worry about making sure people are still alive in them when you’re done.”
He answered with a glare that was surprisingly nasty for a one-eyed man. I was presenting him with one of equal malice when Elayna walked in. She did a double take at the tension in the room, then walked up and planted a kiss on my cheek.
“Ian.” She smiled warmly. “I was hoping to see you before you left.”
“Your Grace.” As I offered Elayna a respectful bow, I admired the fit of her midnight blue leggings and tall black boots. Her belted white tunic featured the Arcana family crest in blue and silver stitching down both sleeves. The same pattern decorated the scabbard resting against her hip and the ribbon braided through the dark waves of her hair. Elayna’s beauty was without question. But it was the vigilant energy in her eyes I found most appealing
“If you’re leaving, may I walk you out?” she asked.
“I would be honored.”
Elayna smiled at Malaq. “I’ll just be a moment.”
“Of course.” His warm stare held hers a moment before shifting to me. “The Great Hall in two hours. We’ll leave from there.”
I nodded. Elayna hooked her arm through mine and we left the study. Servants rushed by in a flutter, pausing hastily to bow to the Queen before they hurried on. Far more composed and stoic were the lines of marching guardsmen. We stepped aside, allowing them room to pass. They were all smartly dressed. Yet, many of their uniforms were symbolic, not earned. With the majority of Rella’s trained fighters bound for Langor, Malaq had recruited the city’s willing citizens to bolster the small force staying behind to protect Kabri.
When we had the hall to ourselves, Elayna spoke. “I wanted to thank you. Jarryd has been by to see our son several times now. It’s nice to have the anxiety between us eased.”
“Good. Though, I’m not sure it was me. I think he just needed time.” I glanced at the sword swinging at her side. “I hope you weren’t expecting a lesson. When I was locked up in that cell, I invited some of the local slaves to come by the caves. I wanted to see if any of them made it. They were on Kayn’l voluntarily,” I said, still taken aback by the idea.
“I’ve heard voluntary suppression has become a popular solution. It’s a surprising trend. Yet, it shows an evolution in the way my people view yours. Being able to see the Shinree as individuals and not cattle will make it easier to swallow when the slave laws are overturned.”
“Even so, intolerance won’t disappear overnight.”
“Unfortunately no. But it’s a start.”
I switched to a happier topic. “Have you given the boy a name?”
“Not yet. There is a belief among my mother’s people that a babe should not be named before a great battle. It bodes ill for the father.”
“Jarryd will be at my side. I’ll watch out for him.”
“I know you will. But Malaq will once again be surrounded by those who scorned him. I’ve heard tales of Draken’s councilmen and the rogues they employ; men who lurk in dark corridors with daggers on hand and malice on their minds. My husband escaped their grip once. I fear he won’t be lucky enough to do so again.”
“Malaq will be fine. He has a way of landing on his feet.”
“He does seem to,” she said, glancing at a ring on her hand. The design, a black pearl set in blue coral, was familiar. Elayna was wearing it on her thumb to accommodate the size of the band. It was large for her small hands.
Because it’s not hers.
I gestured at the ring. “Where did you get that?”
“Malaq. He gave it to me on our wedding day. He said the ring would look after me when he couldn’t. It surprised me. I never took him as one for superstition.”
“It isn’t superstition. It’s magic. And he was right about it protecting you. There’s multiple spells woven into the…” I came to a fast halt. “Which one of you was wearing the ring when the eldring attacked?”
“I was. Malaq insisted I not leave the castle without it.”
“Then—” It wasn’t me. It wasn’t my fault.
I wasn’t the reason Malaq lost his eye, now or in the future. The moment was never tied to my actions, or even my presence. If Malaq had been wearing the ring when he battled the beasts, his body wouldn’t have taken such damage—whether I was
there to distract him or not.
It was his fate, not mine. I couldn’t change it.
I wasn’t responsible.
“Ian…?” Elayna was watching me with interest. “Did you spell the ring?”
“A long time ago. Before Malaq first went to Langor.”
“You were hoping it might protect him?”
“Honestly, I didn’t think anything could protect him. I told him going to Langor to worm his way into Draken’s good graces was a terrible idea. I thought for sure he’d be dead within days. After we argued over it, Malaq asked me to find a way to better his odds of surviving. So I spelled the ring. I didn’t even know he still had it.” I glanced down at the pearl on her finger. “We’ve had our disagreements. But I’ve always tried to keep him safe. I hope he knows that.”
“I’m sure he does. And I certainly appreciate your devotion, especially now, when my husband’s only concern is for healing the realms. He thinks so little of himself. He hardly sleeps. I doubt he would eat if food wasn’t put in front of him. He’s always pouring over maps and papers, meeting with this scout or that advisor. Sometimes, I fear the man will forget to breathe.”
Guilt crept into my gut at my recent harsh words. That was not a part of Malaq I was privy too. “I’m glad he has you looking after him.”
“I imagine many believe he deserves better.”
“I don’t. You were educated as a Princess, but came of age in the squalor of a dungeon. You’ve experienced the horrors and the consequences of war first hand. You’re the ideal queen to support Malaq’s vision of uniting the realms. And,” I added. “Your mother would have been proud of your skill with a blade. Your sister—” Torchlight from the walls illuminated the soft sadness of her brow and I stopped. “I’m sorry.”
“You have no need to apologize.”
“I disagree. Draken’s sword wasn’t the only one that cut her.”
“No, it wasn’t. But only one of you would have taken the blow in her place.”
“I would have, Your Grace. Without hesitation.”
“I know.” Elayna paused and drew a resolved breath. “Can you do something for me? Can you tell me about her, about Neela? The few memories I have are old and faint.”
“Most of mine aren’t even real, but I can tell you that Neela was smart. And she was strong, in her own way.” An idea came to me. “Ask Sienn for an oracle spell. She can take you back into Neela’s life. You can see for yourself who she was.”
“I never thought of that.” She smiled brightly. “Thank you.” Elayna took my arm again. She squeezed it. “I’m grateful for your service, Ian. My father may have laid claim to you, but even after his death you remained loyal to Rella. You could have walked away a long time ago.”
“I tried. I ran for ten years. But some things settle in so deep you can’t ever really shake them. The war, the crown, my magic…your mother. There was never a bottle deep enough or a road long enough to leave any of them behind.”
“The past is a burden we both carry, I’m afraid. Perhaps peace will ease its grip?”
The hope that it might sparkled in her eyes. I smiled and left her with it.
THIRTY ONE
I hadn’t expected our arrival to be celebrated. Langor was in turmoil. Malaq was not a favorite among Draken’s staff. The King was on his deathbed, and the realm was under the threat of imminent attack. We were also a motley lot: Malaq—the shunned half-breed, Jarryd—the escaped prisoner, Elek—the Arullan who had boldly refused Draken’s alliance, Ordree—his warrior who stood with bow at the ready, and me—Langor’s most hated enemy.
To have even one of us ferried by magic into the vestibule of the council room was bold. All of us; was asking for a violent response. Knowing this, and understanding anything I said would be misconstrued, I’d agreed to keep my mouth shut and stay behind Malaq. But my compliance would only last for so long. He had one chance to get the room full of councilmen and guards to stop glowering at us. Then it was my turn.
Smartly dressed for the part in the colors of Langor (a silk gray tunic with crimson leather breeches and vest), Malaq stepped forward. He began in his usual smooth manner. “Councilmen, I come before you today…” and the air hummed with the sound of forty short swords fleeing their scabbards.
Before their song was even done I’d roused the obsidian shard around my neck.
Magic vibrated through my veins. I pushed it into the hand resting on the hilt of the sword at my hip. It was precautionary only. I wouldn’t go on the offensive unless I was pushed there. Yet, with the distinctive tightening of Ordree’s bowstring and the hiss of Jarryd’s knives, my companions assumed I already was. It was a quick response that had me grinning. The Langorians had a different reaction. The counselors blustered in outrage. Their soldiers stepped up, protectively pushing the robed men behind them. The situation was about to devolve into the exact opposite of what Malaq wanted.
Turning, I gave Jarryd a frown and he lowered his blades. Aware Ordree would need more, I knocked her bow aside. Her arrow lost its notch. My whisper to them both was harsh. “No weapons. We aren’t there yet.”
Ordree’s irked gaze shifted to Jarryd. He gave a nod and her anger abated. The woman’s trust in him was obvious. Evidently, they’d spent more time together than I realized.
Jarryd slid his knives away and I turned back around. Eyeing Draken’s councilmen, all gray-haired and curmudgeonly-faced, I decided about half were the oldest Langorians I had ever seen. Most were strikingly thin with an abundance of wrinkles where the bulk of their youth had once been. Taking in mind Draken’s throw-away government, I was guessing the older men were the ones to worry about. They’d long since figured out how to play the game. The younger ones, probably the more recent additions to the group, were likely too afraid to step out of line. From what I understood, one wrong move would have them assassinated and replaced by morning.
Most of the castle guards protecting the councilmen were the usual hulking, hairy lot, hard and robust with nothing but blood on their minds. But a few stood out. Not so much in size or attire. Their uniforms were the required gray with a smattering of crimson, decorated by dual short swords and the customary serpent brand on their faces. It was their eyes that drew my attention. Under the promise of violence lurked curiosity and a wary intellect. Neither attribute had existed on the men I faced under Aylagar’s command.
Or had I never taken the time to notice?
Back then, all Langorians had looked the same to me; like an enemy.
Malaq tossed me a glance. “Keep it in check. All of you.”
I gave him a slight nod and for the next twenty minutes I stood, enjoying the warmth of the obsidian still in my hand, watching the room for anything suspicious and listening to Malaq seduce the old men with promises of victory and conquest. With the perfect amount of authority and humility, he politically stroked their egos up one side and licked their boots down the other. He left out the details, of course. He didn’t mention peace or eradicating the slave laws. This early on, Malaq would have been laughed at or gutted for even suggesting it. First, he had to get them to meet with us. Then, figure out which, if any, we could trust.
Only, Malaq was still talking. Not a single councilman had interjected, commented, or even asked a question. They seemed disinclined even to stop him. They were letting Malaq go on, wanting to make him uncomfortable, to make him out like a rambling fool.
They had no idea who they were dealing with.
It didn’t matter how long Malaq spoke, the word ‘fool’ would never come to mind. Eventually, he would say something to hit home and win them over. The question was how long would he be allowed to continue? The guards were already fidgety, as if nearing some imaginary deadline. The longer we all stood staring each other down, the more likely one of us would do something stupid. All it would take to end Malaq’s chance of securing the support of his fut
ure councilmen was a single drop of spilled blood. It was time to push things along.
Channeling more of the obsidian, I let my eyes darken with color and stepped forward. The brash move garnered instant attention from the guards. “I need to see Draken.” I won the notice of the counsel as well as I added firmly, “Now.”
Several of the old men exchanged glances. One leaned down and whispered into a guard’s ear, prompting him to move aside. The bulkier man complied and the councilman, tall, elderly, and acutely thin under a plain gray robe, left the huddle of his cohorts. His long limbs moved slow and purposeful, like a giant spindly spider stepping forward to examine its catch. His voice, far more formidable than his stature, boomed across the war room. “What makes you think we would take orders from a Shinree? We would slit our own throats before bowing to the will of a witch.”
Muffled agreements went all around.
“Especially,” he went on, “Troy the King-slayer. Wait…” Rheumy eyes zeroing in on mine, the man’s words took on a crafty tone. “I hear you go by Reth now. It does seem a fitting name for one who has claimed more lives than any other soul who walks the land. Death himself rides on your shoulders, witch.”
“I have no doubt.”
“You make the job too easy for him.” The councilman’s cadaverous cheeks twitched. “All he has to do is salvage the bloody scraps you leave behind.”
“I’m sure he’s real grateful. Now where’s Draken?”
“What I wonder is,” the elder mused, like I hadn’t spoken, “can you still feel his presence…or has he been there so long that you have grown comfortable with the weight?”
I let out a breath and scanned the faces of the other councilmen. “I can find Draken myself, but I’d rather not waste the time or the magic. So I’d appreciate it if one of you has the balls to step up and show me the way.” No one answered. “Maybe it would help if I asked in Langorian? Not that anyone speaks it anymore, but…” I cleared my throat. “Tarelock il kurn annel ras.” I spared a brief glance back at Malaq was who running a hand over his face in worry at my crass description of the councilmen’s tiny manhood. “Did I get that right?” I smiled at the spindly one out front. “It’s been a while.”
The Crown of Stones: Magic-Borne Page 27