He drew himself up. With his narrow shoulders, and lacking any meat on his chest, it was a sad gesture. “We may have lost our youth, witch, but we are still Langorian. You will get nothing from us. You will certainly not be given access to our sovereign leader who is at this moment suffering by your hand. Insult us. Kill us. Torture us, if you must. We have little life left to give your spells, either way.”
“I’m not going to kill you. That’s not why I’m here. That’s not why any of us are here.”
“Then, please…illuminate.” He donned a dry smile. “What could possibly bring such an assembly of traitors, heathens, and a monster,” he paused, eyes burning into mine, “bursting into the War Room of the High King of Mirra’kelan?”
“We’re here to save you, Councilman, from the real monster…my father.” I took another step. The guards edged closer. I ignored them and locked eyes with the councilman. “Whatever government you’re trying to slap together in Draken’s absence—it isn’t working. Your troops have lost cohesion. They’ve lost faith. If they don’t find a reason to fight, Jem Reth’s forces will sweep through here as easy as the wind blows through the mountains. He will take your keep and your realm, and swallow it into his empire. But we can help. I can help.”
“You,” he laughed, a dry, raspy sound, “want to help Langor?”
“Yes.” I didn’t so much as insinuate that I was anything but serious. The other men behind him glanced at each other again. None of them were smiling either.
The gangly councilman’s stare shifted to Malaq. “Not long ago you were stricken from this room. Now you return, without invitation, and you bring him into our midst. You have gall, King Malaq.”
Another in the group (a year or two younger but equally frail) stepped up. “So he does,” the man granted. His voice was like gravel spinning in a mill, but his approval was clear. “As did his late father, Taiven…may the gods keep his soul.”
Malaq addressed the second man. “Thank you, Councilman Janus.” He dipped his head in reverence. “But according to Draken, I am nothing like our father.”
“Taiven was a complicated man,” Janus nodded. “In his middle years he was little better than a thug. But in his youth, he was like you, Malaq. Noble. Principled. Much to his own father’s chagrin,” he muttered.
Malaq’s smile was wary. “I can imagine.”
“But, we Langorians do not age well, I’m afraid. We feel no pride for the younger generation, only bitterness as they grow strong and our own muscles flag. Some say that is why we never tire of waging battle. It is not the enemy we are compelled to fight. It is time itself.” Leaving the safety of his guards, Janus came closer. The ends of his crimson robe swirled about his feet as he walked past me. He stopped in front of Malaq. “You are different. We felt it the first time you stepped foot in the keep. The blood of a Rellan Princess and a Langorian King; generations of royal ancestry forged by the wisdom of a virtuous Kaelish prince—a rarity in its own right, I believe.” He paused to chuckle. “You, Malaq Roarke were quite inspirational, and quite dangerous. You were admired by some. Feared by others. Many bet Draken would have you assassinated within a week.”
Expressionless, Malaq held the man’s gaze. “On which side of this bet did you place your coin, Councilman?”
Janus only smiled. “We will hear you out. You, the Arullan leader, and Troy, may stay. The other two will be taken to the hall and fed. They will be given accommodations until our meeting is concluded and a decision made.”
“What kind of accommodations?” I asked warily.
Janus glanced at me. “You have my word they will not be harmed.”
I didn’t like it. Jarryd alone, surrounded by Langorians, wasn’t a good idea. But we were making progress. To allow their greatest enemy to sit down with the King’s council, meant Janus trusted me not to unleash and kill them all. I had to give him the same level of faith in return. “On your word, then,” I said.
“I have a gifted healer on my staff,” Malaq offered. “I could bring her here to assess my brother’s condition.”
“The attempt has already been made,” Janus said. “All our Shinree have failed. There is great magic in the wound. His body cannot heal and it cannot die. It hangs suspended in a constant state of suffering.”
“There can be no harm in trying,” Malaq prodded.
“I assure you,” Janus said. “There is none that can heal your brother, save perhaps the one who struck him down. I’ve heard told intention is everything in magic,” he tossed me another glance. “And we all know Troy’s intention toward our King.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
As Malaq moved to introduce Elek to the council, I went to talk to Jarryd. He and Ordree were whispering to each other. I interrupted. “Langorians don’t offer to talk if they have something else in mind.”
“Agreed,” Jarryd said. “But separating us…?”
“Just keep your temper checked and your mouth closed. But defend yourself if you have to.”
Jarryd gave me a tension-filled, lopsided grin. “I was going to tell you the same thing.”
Ordree stepped closer. “Rest easy, Shinree, your other will have my protection. I will ensure he incurs no wounds in your absence. ”
“I appreciate that,” I told her.
“No gratitude is needed. Allies share concerns as well as victories.”
“That they do,” I smiled. “I am curious, though. How is it you don’t share Elek’s opinion of me?”
“Elek is a respected man. He is a fine Orator. He speaks well for our people, and I am pleased to serve him. But I am not a maid, nor a slave. I am a warrior. I am of my own mind. And I form my own opinions.” Ordree straightened her back. Strong chin extending, she clarified her position. “I consider what my own eyes see, not what comes from the mouths of others. That is how I judge the worth of a person. Not by the blood of their veins. Is that not your way, Shinree?”
“It hasn’t always been. But I’m working on it.”
Janus rested his hands on the table. He looked at each of us in turn. “It is done.”
Those were the best words I’d heard in days.
After hour upon hour of wrangling over the specifics, which led to the vote being delayed multiple times, an agreement had finally been reached. I would be given access to Draken, and Malaq would be installed as Langor’s temporary ruler. If the vote had been put off again, I might have borrowed my father’s strategy and magically persuaded the whole lot of them to see it my way. But despite being allowed only to observe the negotiations and not participate, being kept under lock and key at all other times, and denied access to Jarryd, I’d seen progress. I’d watched the men’s views of Malaq shift as their respect and admiration grew. I knew what that was worth. Malaq was building the foundation of his reign. I was glad to see the glimmer of possibility in his eye. I was even happier the whole business was done.
After several celebratory rounds of coura, to which the Shinree was not allowed to partake, the other councilmen had retired for the night. Janus remained. Thanks to a secluded stroll with Malaq on our first day, he alone knew of our true plan. Not just him, I thought, my gaze sliding to Elek. Malaq had taken the orator into the fold as well. It was a move I would have disagreed with had I been present. But it was done.
As Janus eyed the three of us now, his aged stare carried considerable weight. “This,” he tapped the polished tabletop, “will be the greatest ruse in history. If,” he tapped harder, “it is carried out with success. If not, if our subterfuge is discovered… may the gods help us.”
Malaq soothed his concerns. “If the truth were to be learned, your name would remain clean of the deed, Janus, I assure you.”
“Your discretion is appreciated,” he nodded. “But I am not a man who denies ownership of his choices. I back you of my own volition, Malaq. I’ve thought for some time Lang
or was in need of change. Privately, of course,” he added with a sly smile. “If the counsel discovers my duplicity now, so be it.”
“I see no reason to believe that will occur,” Elek chimed in. “We have not once wavered in our intent, no matter how many times your kinsmen posed the same dreary inquiries. Besides, it is far more realistic for them to assume Malaq brought Troy to heal Draken, than to take his form.”
“You’ve got that right.” I turned to Janus. “How’s my speech coming along?”
“It will be ready by the morrow,” he assured me. “Your words must be perfect.”
“I’m sure they will be, Counselor. Any idea when our audience will arrive?”
“The hawks were sent. Messages have been delivered to the villages and the harbor cities stating Draken is healed and will appear before his subjects. All are required to attend. It won’t be long before the first tents appear on the plateau. Once they do, preparations for the gathering will begin.”
“We’re far into the mountains. It’ll take weeks for some of them to reach us.” I glanced at the window. The sky had been a constant gray for days. “And that’s if the weather holds. I assume you have other plans?”
“We do,” Janus replied. “Those at the farthest points will gather in a central location where they will enter a passage opened by Draken’s door-maker. I believe the young man will be happy for the work. He has had little to do since the King fell ill.”
“Good news all around, then,” Malaq smiled. “The sooner they arrive, the quicker we move forward with the plan.”
And the sooner I get it over with.
THIRTY TWO
I thought it would be more satisfying. Standing over Draken’s bed, watching him grimace in pain from the rotting hole I put in his chest. The cavity was deep, showing a good measure of wet, red meat and the curve of a rib bone. The rest of Draken’s bare, upper body was laden in sweat. His skin was a pale green. Dried blood trails decorated the corners of his mouth and stained his scruff; fresher ones discolored his lips as the occasional cough racked his ailing form. Older, darker droplets spattered his body at various points and sullied his sheets. Someone had burned herbs in a pot over the hearth, but the room still stank of death and decay.
For as long as I could remember I’d wanted Draken dead. But what I’d really wanted was for him to suffer. That sentiment had been the fuel for the spell currently afflicting him. Infusing the steel of my sword with nothing less than pure venom, I’d meted out the justice Draken deserved. But seeing his condition for myself, seeing the fear in his gaze and how he tried to hide it, I felt far less than expected. I’d spent so much energy hating the man. I had little left to give.
Counselor Janus, Elek, Jarryd, and Malaq were gathered around. I glanced at the latter. Wearing his typical lack of expression, Malaq stared at his brother’s ravaged body without a sliver of visible sympathy. Having been in a similar position with my father, I knew better. I’d felt the conflict Malaq was feeling now. The longing for what never was. The battle raging in his heart as it tried to decide how to react to watching his own flesh and blood endure such pain.
Whatever his heart decided, Malaq would overrule it. He knew the truth as I did. Neither Jem, nor Draken, would ever be anything worth grieving over.
Jarryd, on the other hand, worried me. Considering we were in mixed company, his blue eyes were unsuitably eager as he looked upon Draken’s weakened form.
“Clear the room,” I said.
Anxiety injected strength into Draken’s voice. “Malaq, whatever this is about…” an abrupt discharge of blood interrupted his words. Turning his head, Draken released the bright liquid onto the floor with a violent cough. Breathless, he wiped a shaky hand across his mouth and settled back on his pillow. “Wait!” he rasped, realizing Malaq and Janus had already turned to go. “I will not be left alone with the witch.”
Malaq glanced back. “Don’t worry, brother. Troy’s not going to hurt you.” His one gray eye transferred to me. “Though, I can’t say I’d blame him if he did.”
Malaq left. After a brief hesitation, Janus followed. Jarryd moved away, but he didn’t go far. Stopping amid the potted ferns lining the pool at the end of Draken’s massive bed, he regarded the rectangle of serene water wordlessly. Watching him sent my thoughts back to the last time I was here. I refused to think on Liel’s death. Instead, I wondered where the swan was. And how many who fled Darkhorne prison that day had actually escaped the realm alive.
Jarryd met my eyes. Face defiant, he crossed his arms and stood his ground. “Forget it.”
Jarryd staying wasn’t a good idea, but I let it go and took the chair beside Draken’s bed. The small side table held a glass bottle with a fat, round base. Picking it up, I popped the cork. I didn’t need to put the spout to my nose. Coura had its own, distinct smell.
Giving the goblet on the table not even a glance, I tipped the bottle. I drained a quarter of it with ease. “Shit,” I gasped. I’d never tasted any so smooth. This was the good stuff—if there was such a thing.
Deciding against offering any to Jarryd, I put the bottle back. Draken was studying me.
“You love it, don’t you?” He shifted position. The slight exertion had him breathing hard. “Me lying powerless before you.”
“It is a nice change. Though, I would have been happy with something more permanent.”
“Don’t lie to me, Troy. This,” Draken gestured with a weak hand at the putrid, gooey hole in his chest, “is exactly how you wanted me. Which is why you aren’t here to kill me.”“Unfortunately, no.”
“I assume you aren’t here to heal me, either?”
“Right again. Though Malaq did ask.”
“Of course he did. My brother is a sentimental fool. What he should be doing is taking advantage of my condition and seizing my throne. It’s what he’s wanted all along.”
“Malaq never wanted to take Langor by force.”
“If he’d tried I might have considered him fit to have it.” Draken panted out a blood-garbled chuckle. He shifted again, trying to hide his worry over my unexplained presence. Draken didn’t like being in the dark. He thrived on the upper hand. Realizing he couldn’t get it on me, he turned his attention on Jarryd. “I hope you’re enjoying your freedom, little pup, considering it was won at the cost of that yappy Kaelish boy’s life.”
Jarryd glanced away in irritation.
Draken pushed harder. “Being back in the keep must resurrect such fond memories, especially of Elayna. Do you ever wonder….does she spread wider for her royal husband than she did her broken messenger?”
Jarryd opened his mouth to reply. I cut him off quick. “Don’t.”
As Jarryd complied, Draken tugged his dry lips into a wicked smile. “My, how easily the master heels his dog. Does the witch always make you stand at attention, pup? Or does he take you off the leash and let you run now and then?”
Jarryd muttered a terse, “Fuck off, asshole.”
“Someone’s gotten brave,” Draken grimaced as he tried to sit up. The muscles in his arms trembled, but he was determined. Coming to rest higher on his pillow (a height apparently more respectable for bullying), he went on. “I remember a far different demeanor when you were in my care. You cowered before me, whimpering like a babe. Not unlike the appalling behavior of the great Raynan Arcana—when I eviscerated him.”
Jarryd’s face turned red. The veins in his forehead bulged.
“You remember,” Draken taunted, “the sound of your King’s flesh tearing, of his innards sliding out onto the floor? The pain in Neela’s screams when you let him die?”
“No.” Jarryd shook his head, rapidly, trying to dislodge the image. “There was nothing I could do.”
Draken wheezed through a laugh. The jarring motion spewed yellow fluid from the hole in his chest, but he endured it; fortified by the horror in Jarryd’s eyes.
“You could have taken his place. Instead, Raynan died and you lived. You failed your King. You failed Neela.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Jarryd swore.
“Oh, we both know it was,” Draken rasped.
I pushed up from my chair. “Stop it, both of you.”
Neither of them looked at me.
With an aggravated hiss I tore the wall down. It had been days since our link was open, making it a more disruptive than pleasant rush as Jarryd and I reconnected. I brushed what transferred between us aside, and sent him a quick wave of patience and restraint.
“But you have more personal hells to recall now,” Draken started again. “I wager you hear the fall of the hammer in your sleep….feel the snap of your bones, the sweltering air in your lungs. The soft folds of Elayna’s—”
I slid the knife from my left brace and pressed it to Draken’s throat. “I said stop.”
He ignored me. “I hear the child you planted in her is strong. You’re due praise for that, Messenger. Seeing as I attempted the same several times to no avail. Apparently, you’re considerably more virile than you appear.” Draken laughed. It was a garbled sound as he coughed up another round of blood. It dotted my hand and I yanked it away. Spray dribbled out to wet his chin as he sought more nerves to strike. “I understand she and my brother have become close. I bet that stings.”
Jarryd maintained a stony silence, but I felt what Draken’s words were doing to him; the pain in my chest making it difficult for him to breathe; the disgust and rage that powered his beating pulse and quickened mine. Wrath burned in his belly. It was building perilously fast.
The Crown of Stones: Magic-Borne Page 28