Ryliann cringed at the change of subject but let it go. There was no reason to antagonize his father further. At least, not today. But he would not let the subject drop. “Yes, I know, Father. An heir. To produce an heir, I first need a wife.”
“There are plenty of willing candidates.”
Ryliann thought of the many women presented at court, all beautiful, some talented, even charming. Maybe another time one would interest him, but now he was preoccupied. Something was wrong, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He had pieces of the puzzle but they didn’t make a picture. Yet. He only knew it involved his father’s new counselor. “So I’ve seen.”
“Son, if I had my choice you would marry for love. That’s not always the way of kings. I was lucky, but it was short-lived.” Jaryn’s expression grew pensive, his gaze distant.
“You didn’t marry again after Mother died,” Ryliann said.
The king shrugged. “I’d already produced an heir. If that’s your concern, then choose a woman who interests you, produce an heir and satisfy the council. If you fall in love later, you can always take the woman as a mistress.”
Ryliann stared at his father. There was unrest in the land. Rumors rippled through the land that the Siobani were poised for attack, the Creeians were creeping up the coastline, yet his father was worried about an heir. Ryliann was more concerned what the possible future heir would inherit.
Running a hand through his dark hair again, Ryliann examined his father. Time weighed his shoulders; his belly stretched the tunic’s fabric, testing its strength. The weariness around his eyes reminded Ryliann of his concern.
“Father, Brish—”
“No more, we’ll not discuss that subject again.” Steel infused the king’s voice.
“Yes, sire.” Ryliann bowed then left the room, but unease followed him down the candlelit hallway. Change was in the wind, and he didn’t like it.
* * *
Ilythra didn’t move. She wondered how long it would take until the intruder decided to make himself known. She waited, her body tense, straining to hear the first footfall. A drop of sweat trickled down her forehead, cooled by a fresh breeze. She flicked her wrist, releasing her dagger from its sheath. The familiar bone handle further calmed her heart. She breathed in Teann, let it surge through her limbs. There was no malice in the air, no curiosity.
“Arien.” She didn’t know how she knew. Some sixth sense, but the Elderborn healer was near. Besides, only one of the Dawn Children could remain silent so long in the forest. “You followed me.”
The air next to her moved, and Arien was suddenly there. He seemed to take up more room than just his physical body needed. She inhaled the scent of herbs and spices that accompanied him. Her shoulders relaxed and she breathed easier as the warmth of his body brushed her skin. He stood silent, examining the land below.
Arien’s dark eyelashes framed golden-brown eyes that now searched the valley beneath them. His brows drew together, the only sign on his serene face that he was troubled. Like most other Siobani, no other hair grew on his face, leaving the chiseled high cheekbones and jaw free from stubble.
A white feather fluttered against his dark hair in the sporadic breeze, and still he did not speak. Ilythra had grown used to the Siobani ways. She appreciated they did not find the need to fill silence with needless words. Arien and Ilythra stood together, staring down into the valley while the companionship grew and mellowed and it wasn’t so strange that he was there with her.
“You didn’t tell anyone you were leaving.” Arien turned his golden gaze on to her.
She shrugged. She refused to give in to the guilt that edged her conscience. Ewen, Aimena, even Arien would have talked her out of the journey or cautioned against it so strongly she’d almost feel like she was trapped by their desires, by their need to protect her. She wasn’t a prisoner. “I had to see.”
Arien nodded. “It looks as it did.”
“Still no song.”
“You would have heard it in Siann.”
She recognized it as a slight reproof, but she knew Arien, and it was the only one she’d receive, so she simply nodded her agreement. The songs of the stones traveled along the winds of Teann. She knew at some distance, the songs faded, but it was only six days’ hard riding between the Elder city and Greton. She would have heard the song in Siann, had the stone been in Greton.
Arien crouched down, the movement so elegant and fluid she smiled. It was easy sometimes to forget he was not human. At other times, it was glaringly obvious. “You didn’t tell me you were leaving.”
Guilt bloomed. He’d made it personal. And he was right. She should have told him. But for all the reasons she hadn’t told anyone else, she couldn’t have told Arien.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he continued.
She absently rubbed Ilydearta. It was true. Since returning to Siann, she and Arien had grown close. Sometimes it seemed as though the Elderborn prince could read her mind. The dreams had grown so frequent, her need to see the castle ruins so desperate, that she couldn’t share them with Arien, and she couldn’t risk his reading it in her face. Although she’d been welcomed by the Dawn Children and accepted as one of them, she was not as stoic as they were and never would be. She had found acceptance, love, the family she’d lost, but still she was restless. Her task was not yet finished.
The trip to Greton had not been a wasted effort. She now remembered that in her dreams, the castle was standing and she was in the tunnels underneath it with Bredych, the weight of the earth above her a physical thing. Could he have survived under the stone and rubble? Was he there still?
Arien pinched a bit of dirt between his fingers and brought it to his nose. “Fertile.”
She stared at the small village. The last time she’d been here, it was deserted. Now a few chimneys billowed gray smoke into the air. The village looked far from fruitful. For just a moment, she toyed with the idea of walking down the hill, searching for Nenya, Res and the baby. Maybe she could discover if anyone knew what had happened to the prince after the tunnels and then the castle collapsed. But she couldn’t be of help, so she wouldn’t.
Arien stood suddenly and brought the full weight of his gaze on her. “What is it you’re looking for, my friend?”
* * *
Bredych approached the map with reverence. He inhaled the scent of ink mixed with smoke from the poorly ventilated fire. A single lamp haloed the ivory surface, lending the map texture and depth as the flame flickered. Without quite touching the thick parchment, he traced the southern coastline with his finger, up across deserts to mountains and valleys. In a very real way, the map represented a lifetime of work, of careful planning. It was his masterpiece. He followed the vivid lines to the far south, where the Formori clans still worshiped and feared him, up and to the east to Rugia, where the tribesmen feared and hated him. He shrugged. There was little difference really. It was the fear that drove them. In the end, it didn’t matter if he was offered tribute out of adoration or to appease him. They were his.
He moved his finger to the west coast. The villages there were unorganized and ineffective. They would be easy prey for the Island-born pirates of Cree. Farther north, built on an island in the vast river, Balayn, the great city of Edriel stood, waiting for him to pluck it. Maybe he’d make his seat of government there. He smiled. It had a rich history. He wondered if the king of Edriel knew that the Dawn Children had built the city and abandoned it with the rest of Anatar to the humans. He reviewed what he’d learned of King Jaryn. The monarch had vast libraries at his disposal, but he doubted the king had yet to crack open one book. The man was ignorant. His son, Ryliann, on the other hand, would have read every tome.
To the right of Edriel, across the Tir Rhos plains, Bredych had very carefully placed small wooden figurines on several of the larger kingdoms. He stared at each
one in turn, remembering the satisfaction of setting the piece there after the kingdom had come under his command. Each king in those locations merely waited for his word. Each had been promised a place in his empire. Depending on how they served him in the coming conflict, he’d keep his promise. There were very few of the larger kingdoms that had not succumbed. Isolden in the far northeast, and farther south on the Tir Rhos plains, Alerra remained independent. He smiled. Their time was coming.
The fire crackled, and the lamp on the table almost went out. Bredych cursed the mineral-scented draft. He’d discovered the underground caverns long ago when he’d first escaped the wretched Siobani. He smiled. They hated the term. Siobani was their language. With all the arrogance inborn in them, they preferred the title Dawn Children or Elderborn. It was perhaps a small victory, but humans only remembered them as the Siobani.
The weight of rock worked the same as distance, keeping the song of Crioch from being heard. Of course, it also kept him deaf to the other two stones, but it was a price he was willing to pay.
After the battle of Greton, he’d barely had enough power to transport to his stronghold, but he had. He had more power than Ilythra ever would, at least if she kept studying under Ewen. He might have shared the secret with her had she stayed with him.
He remembered the day he’d been reading through the Siobani histories and found out that he’d been lied to. The Siobani had kept the greater power for themselves. They didn’t use it, but kept the secret locked away from even him, a stone keeper. The elder race had treated him no better than an outsider, a beggar on the street. No different than the humans who had thrown moldy bread at him as a child and killed his mother.
That day he had decided to bring them down. To make them grovel at his feet. He would show them true greatness. He clenched his teeth together. And that day was coming.
A sword mounted on the wall caught the firelight. It had been a memento from Elston’s defeat. Queen Marya had held it, but he’d recognized it immediately. It was Ilythra’s sword. He wondered what she’d do if she knew Ewen had a way to defeat him and simply refused to use it.
* * *
What was she looking for? That was a loaded question. She’d been searching or preparing to search for the stones her entire life. She’d never been one who could wait. Patience was not a trait she was known for. She breathed out a breath of pure frustration. “I want that damn stone.”
Arien’s eyebrow rose. “You are angry.”
“Why aren’t you? A madman controls one of the Triune Stones. It’s my job to reunite them. I’m supposed to be the Wanderer of Legend. What good am I, hiding in protected lands?” Her words contained more heat than she’d intended.
Arien turned his gaze to the ruins in the valley below. The gentle breeze teased the white feather in his hair and sent it spinning behind him. The sun coaxed a golden hue from his fair skin, highlighting the strong jaw and high cheekbones, and turned his eyes into molten gold flecked with green. He took her breath away. How could anyone be so beautiful?
When he spoke, his voice was passive and calm. “You have not been merely hiding.”
She wasn’t sure if his words were for her or himself so she remained silent. As soon as she’d returned to Siann, she had thrown herself into study of the Elderborn weaponry, culture and language. But mostly she had studied how to use the stones at Ewen’s side. She had learned more in the last two years than she’d ever dreamed of. She imagined Zeynel, her first mentor in the ways of Teann, would be proud of her. She now traveled the winds of Teann with ease; she breathed the power of her stone. It had become part of her, part of who she was. She and Ewen had gone on extended trips, relying on only Crioch and Ilydearta to guide and provide for them. Teann now flowed through her like blood through her veins, breath in her lungs.
But always there was a sense of urgency. Of things undone. And then the dreams. They’d begun in the middle of winter and had increased with the spring thaw. Too many mornings she awoke with the tortured song of Crioch lingering in her mind but silent on the winds of Teann.
“Damn it, Arien. Get angry.”
He turned fiery eyes in her direction. “What good would my anger do? I have been angry longer than you’ve drawn breath. I, too, want the stone back. I want all the stones under our protection once again. But I must balance that desire with the knowledge that to do so could mean sacrificing my entire race. We are few. Humans are many.”
“Bredych—”
“Bredych sways humans to himself like a willow in the wind. They hear his promises of wealth and their eyes are clouded. He knows what they want to hear and tells them. It’s the way it has always been.”
“You sound like you’re defeated already.”
He looked at her.
“You’re not.” Her voice broke. She reached for his hand. “We can do this. I know we can. We have Waymaker.” She tapped the necklace. “And you have me.”
His smile was sad. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them, they shone with emotion. “You are a gift. You do bring hope.”
She smiled, knowing he also referred to her sword, Naidel—”hope” in the Elder tongue.
“Come. There is nothing you can do here. He is not here. But you’re right. You’ve prepared long enough. It is time for you to return to your wandering. And this time, I’m going with you.”
Chapter Two
The clash of steel against steel rang through the air. Ryliann walked toward the practice area, breathing in the scent of sweat, dry dirt and manure from the nearby barn. With every step, he felt his body relax. His shoulders lost their tension and he almost smiled. He leaned against a fence post and watched his men practice. The sun warmed his skin but wasn’t yet old enough in the year to make him uncomfortable.
One of his trainers yelled something at a promising new recruit. The almost-man nodded and changed the grip on his sword. Ryliann smiled in satisfaction. Here in the yard with his men was where he felt most at home. Most himself. His fingers itched for a blade, but he hadn’t even stopped at his rooms to change. The embroidered tunic he’d worn to see his father was not the best choice to practice fighting in. That was something his nursemaid had impressed upon him when he was much younger.
Just as he was debating heading up to his room to change, a soft footfall sounded behind him. He turned as a hand clasped his shoulder. Twinkling brown eyes of Vann, his closest friend, greeted him. “So how did it go? Never mind. I can see from your face.”
Ryliann shook his head. “I don’t trust that man.”
Vann leaned his arms against the top rail of the fence and gazed at the men fighting. “Who said you had to?”
“My father. The king.”
Vann raised an eyebrow. “Ah, but did he say you had to trust him, or had to stop complaining about him?”
Ryliann grinned. “I’m glad you’re on my side.” He and Vann, the son of a minor noble, had grown up together. Vann had been with him as they’d fought the Creeians and had saved his life on more than one occasion. He was more than a friend; he was the brother Ryliann never had.
“Did he say anything about the blight attacking the crops in the south?”
“Shit. I didn’t ask.”
Vann took a deep breath. “Got too fired up about the counselor?”
“Something like that. We go away to fight for the kingdom, and everything comes undone.”
“Not everything.”
Ryliann glanced at his friend then followed his gaze to a group of young girls walking nearby. More than one blushed and offered a nervous smile. “You will never change.”
Vann laughed. “And why would I? Pretty girls are made to look at, especially the ones who wear the tight bodices with all that creamy flesh exposed. They want you to look.” He shoved Ryliann in the side with his elbow. “You’d do be
tter to gaze at a few women. Or better yet, bed a few.”
“Now you sound like my father.”
“Is he on you about the marriage thing again?” Vann turned from watching the women walk around the corner and again gazed over the practice ring, where another new recruit was picking up a sword.
The trainer, Trevin, raised his hand in greeting.
Ryliann returned the gesture. “Yes. That he is. The future of the kingdom and all that.” He ran his hand through his hair. “He’s worried about heirs and the Siobani attacking and ignoring the very real threat of the Creeians in the south and the blight that destroyed over a quarter of our crops last year.”
“Siobani?” Vann’s voice rose.
A few of the soldiers looked their way.
“Are you joking?” Vann lowered his tone.
“No. I wish I were.” He ran his hand through his hair again.
“So does that mean the rumors of the Siobani attacking a castle in the east are true? It’s rather hard to believe. I wonder what they look like.” The man’s gaze turned inward as though he was remembering something.
“Well, from the stories, they’re tall and thin with evil eyes and treacherous tongues.”
“That’s not what you used to say. You’ve always believed they existed.” Vann shoved him playfully. “You really are much too serious.”
Ryliann scratched the back of his neck. It was true. Ever since his nursemaid had told him the Siobani would steal him away if he didn’t stay in bed at night, he’d been fascinated with them. The story had had the opposite effect. Once everyone was asleep, he used to creep around the castle, hoping to see one of the fabled people and listening to anyone who had a story to tell. He had to admit, now that rumors they really existed circulated throughout Anatar, the old curiosity had awakened. Although he doubted they stole full-grown princes from their chambers at night. “Well, I guess I was right. I still don’t see how they are a threat to us. Not compared to the hungry villagers and raiding Creeians.”
Journey of the Wanderer Page 2