Rayad stepped forward and asked Laytan, “Do you have anything that might help him?”
Laytan shook his head, but Rebekah hurried to a shelf and grabbed a dark bottle.
“This might. My grandmother makes it. It does wonders for a cold. Just rub it on your chest morning and night. I think it’s the smell as much as anything that helps.” She pulled the stopper and held the bottle up for Jace. He breathed in the scent of the remedy. The strong, herby smell did soothe his lungs. She replaced the stopper and put the bottle in his hand. “No charge.”
Her father grumbled her name, but her eyes remained on Jace.
He looked down at her and wondered at her kindness. She was one more rare exception to add to the list. “Thank you.”
She gave a wobbly smile. “It’s the least I can do.”
Jace stared at her for another moment. Would he find such kindness and acceptance where he was going? He probably should have tried to get to know her better when he had the chance.
Pulling his eyes away, he turned and followed Rayad and Warin outside, where they packed up the supplies. He took Niton’s reins and gripped the cantle to drag himself up into the saddle, settling in with a wheezing sigh. If only he could lie down instead. He glanced up the street, his eyes catching on a familiar figure. His muscles went taut, and his heart paused. Morden had just stepped out of a nearby building. Their eyes locked. A spark flared to life inside Jace. He squeezed Niton’s reins in his fist, but the sheer weight of sorrow and exhaustion tamped down the flame. For the first time, he had no real desire to act.
Morden, however, narrowed his eyes, one rimmed in a dark purple bruise, and stalked down the boardwalk. Despite the thorough beating he’d received the day before, he apparently wanted to try his luck again. But then Rayad stepped into view. His eyes landed on Morden and leveled him with such a menacing glare that the young man actually took a step back. Morden’s gaze flicked down, resting on Rayad’s hand, which gripped the hilt of his sword. Without a weapon of his own and his friends to back him up, Morden stepped away, slowly at first, before scurrying off.
The sun disappeared behind the thick tangle of trees and cast deep shadows across the road. Warin was prepared to ride another mile or two, but coming upon a small clearing, Rayad reined his horse to a halt. Beside him, Jace hunched over in his saddle.
“We’ll camp here tonight,” Rayad said.
Warin gave an accepting nod. He had no command over his companions. Rayad held seniority anyway, and Warin was quite content to follow the lead of his old friend. Even after three years, it came naturally.
Rayad slowly lifted himself from the saddle and slid to the ground with a grimace. Jace didn’t appear any better off, Warin noted, but they probably weren’t as used to long days in the saddle.
The darkness deepened around them as they unsaddled the horses and built a fire to heat their supper. A warm meal in their bellies restored some energy. When he finished, Jace rose and went to brush his horse, which left Warin and Rayad alone at the fire sipping coffee. Tapping his fingers on the rim of his cup, Warin peered at Jace across camp and considered the shopkeeper’s comment back in Kinnim. There was a story here to be sure. He turned to his friend and lowered his voice so as not to be overheard.
“He’s a ryrik.”
Rayad looked up, his eyes refocusing as he came out of deep thought. He glanced at Jace and then faced Warin. “No. He’s half ryrik.”
Warin’s brows shot upward. “Half ryrik?” He stared at Jace again. “I didn’t think that happened.”
“Neither did I.”
“Do you know how?”
Rayad poked at the fire and a shower of sparks rose into the air. “No, and neither does he. He was a slave as far back as he can remember. I found him in Troas, right after I spoke to you. He was a gladiator, or at least that’s what his master wanted him to be. I saw him, in the arena. Then, on my way out of the city, I came across his master beating him for not killing his opponent. I paid for his freedom, and he’s been with me ever since.”
Warin shook his head. Remarkable. “Weren’t you afraid he’d kill you? I mean, not to sound harsh, but how did you know he wouldn’t behave as a full-blood ryrik?”
“I didn’t, but I couldn’t just leave him there.” He stared at Jace. “He struggles with his ryrik blood. With the energy and the anger it causes. But he’s no cold-blooded killer. I don’t believe he ever was, and he certainly isn’t now. He has faith in the King.”
“You believe that?”
Rayad’s gaze shot to Warin, and his eyes and expression grew cold. Warin held up his hands passively, quick to explain. “It’s not that I doubt you, it’s just, you know what people say.”
The hardness transferred to Rayad’s tone. “I’ve never cared what people say. I know Jace has a soul.” Then his voice softened, and he said, “It’s convincing him that’s difficult.”
A moment of silence followed. Rayad drank down the last of his coffee and set the cup aside. “I trust that boy with my life. He may appear hard and cold, but that’s his shield against the cruelties of this world. It’s not easy to earn his trust, but once you do, it reveals a whole different side to him. Underneath it all, he has a very kind, gentle, and generous heart. You just have to get past the pain and scars he bears.”
Warin watched the emotions play across his friend’s face. Interesting, the way he defended the young man. He knew Rayad better than just about anyone. Rayad had always been the practical, straightforward one—never the sentimental sort—but Jace brought something out in him that Warin hadn’t seen before. He loved that young man like a son.
Jace joined them a short time later. He looked from one man to the other, probably sensing the solemn mood that had fallen between them. Hoping to lighten it, Warin turned to Rayad again and asked, “I have to know. That fine animal can’t be Niton, can it?”
“He is indeed,” Rayad answered with a nod.
Warin whistled. “He sure has matured into an impressive-looking stallion. I hardly recognized him without his ears laid back and his teeth flashing at me. But how did you ever get a saddle on him? I thought that was next to impossible.”
“I didn’t.” Rayad nodded across the fire to where Jace sat next to his wolf. “He did. Actually, the day after we met, he hopped on Niton and rode him just like that. Didn’t even need the saddle.”
Jace ducked his head, but Rayad continued the praise. “He’s got a gift with animals. You should see. People would think that horse is a dog the way he’s got him trained. He even taught him to sit and lie down.”
At this, Warin let out a laugh. “Really? That beast trained like a dog? That’s impressive. I’ll have to see it one of these days.” He paused as a thought formed. “You know, people would pay good money for horses with that kind of training, if you ever had a mind to get into that sort of thing.”
Jace gave a shrug, staring into the fire, but Warin was serious. It could be a good living if one were to pursue it.
Kyrin smoothed non-existent wrinkles in her jerkin yet again before her hands stilled. She shook her head and forced her hands back to her sides. Ridiculous. The nervous thrill that raced through Tarvin Hall was getting to her. All around, her roommates chattered as they prepared for the ceremony, fussing over their hair and uniforms. She sighed and prayed for it all to end. Then she could focus on helping Sam arrange a meeting with her father before he left Valcré.
But even such thoughts couldn’t distract her from the way the room seemed to shrink and lose oxygen. Her heart bashed her chest as if trying to follow the growing urge to escape the confined space. She scolded herself and the panic, but let out a huge breath when the call came to go downstairs. The cascade of young women and girls joined with the boys in the main hall. Though students crammed the area, Kaden appeared at Kyrin’s side as the instructors ushered everyone toward the great auditorium.
“Ready for another one of Master Zocar’s droning speeches?” His long-suffering tone drew
out Kyrin’s smile. “You’ll have to tell me if he deviates at all from the speech last year.”
Kyrin chuckled, but she caught the head mistress giving them a smoldering look. They both fell silent as they entered the grand auditorium. The room had a way of drawing eyes upward, and with good reason. The massive arched ceiling, painted in exquisite, complex designs, towered high above them, making even the largest man appear tiny, let alone Kyrin. Once she’d taken an awed look, her gaze dropped down to the many rows of long benches facing a raised stage at the far end. Enough seating for all of them, totaling almost four hundred. Her stomach gave another uncomfortable flutter.
Everyone knew the drill, filing into the spaces between the benches, remaining with their age groups. The boys grouped to the right side while the girls had the left. Everyone between nineteen and twenty naturally headed to the front.
“See you after,” Kaden murmured.
Kyrin nodded. If only he could stay with her. It would help her nerves. But they parted, and she made her way to her place with her roommates. No one sat yet, however. Once all had found their places, a hush fell over the auditorium as everyone sensed the magnitude of the occasion. For a long moment, quiet reigned until Master Zocar ascended the side stairs to the stage, his sure steps and tall stance befitting a former general. How he could look even more imposing than usual was beyond Kyrin. Behind him came a few of the other instructors of Tarvin Hall, as well as several of the emperor’s own officials. They walked to the center of the stage and spread out evenly, with Master Zocar in the middle. His penetrating gaze swept over the attendants.
“Students of Tarvin Hall.” Though the room dwarfed everyone, it carried his voice all the way to the farthest row. “Today marks a great milestone in the lives of many of your classmates. Today they have reached the ultimate goal that you all spend years training and preparing for. Today they will be granted the greatest of honors in moving on to begin their service to our emperor.”
A chorus of applause sounded, and Master Zocar gave the signal to be seated. In one mass movement, they sat straight-backed and attentive. Kyrin clasped her hands firmly in her lap and focused on keeping her knees from bouncing.
With everyone’s attention fixed on him, Master Zocar went on to give a long, drawn-out speech about the majesty of Emperor Daican and the privilege of serving him. Kyrin mentally compared it to the one last year and cast a discreet glance to her right. By chance, she caught Kaden’s eye across the main aisle. At his comically raised eyebrow, she fought against a giggle rising inside her and promptly looked away. Troublemaker. She glanced at the other students. Though all sat in rigid rows, eyes wandered or blinked in an attempt to stay alert. The excited buzz from earlier drained during this portion of the ceremony.
Her gaze switched to the people onstage with Master Zocar—the emperor’s officials in particular. Most had been present last year, though there were a few she did not recognize. They all stood unmoving, faces set, and took the entire thing far too seriously. Not much to see there. But, when she looked to the instructors of Tarvin Hall, she fought a smile. One man found great interest in the ceiling, while another’s face screwed up in a battle not to yawn. The head mistress glared at him.
At long last, Master Zocar brought his speech to a close, unaware of how the instructors perked up behind him. Now for the true purpose of the ceremony. Though she and Kaden were safe, for now, Kyrin’s stomach still flip-flopped. Anticipation hovered over the rest of the students who waited to see if their guesses would prove correct. Several fidgeting bodies caught her keen sight. She adjusted her sweat-dampened hands on her lap.
One of the emperor’s officials stepped forward and handed Master Zocar a scroll. After all, the emperor’s men did the choosing after receiving Zocar’s reports throughout the year. Though all was quiet, it became even more so, as if everyone held their breath. In the silence, Master Zocar broke the wax seal and rolled open the scroll. The parchment crinkled audibly.
With a satisfied smile, he announced, “Here now are the names of those who have found favor in the sight of the emperor and shall be assigned to special positions within his service. If you hear your name, please rise and join us to receive your commission.”
And so the promoting commenced. Zocar read through the list, and his voice echoed out each name. One by one, the students from the front row rose and made their way onstage, where they received a commission for their new assignments. Faces beamed with pride, and more than one person tipped their chin smugly in the direction of their classmates.
Kyrin nodded her head as Master Zocar called up every one of her predictions, including Collin. Though he made an effort to keep a straight face, that grin of his just begged to break out. He accepted his commission and stepped into line with the other promoted students. No doubt his commission assigned him to some prominent position in Arcacia’s military. He’d be perfect for it.
The list dwindled, but far more students received a promotion this year than the previous. No wonder Master Zocar looked so pleased. A year of strict scheduling had done its work. Only a few young men and women remained on the benches up front. At the last name on the list, everyone paid great attention, particularly the few remaining students. They leaned forward, ready to jump up and hurry to the stage. It was their last chance, and only one would be called.
“This last promotion is a special circumstance of incredible honor, for Emperor Daican has requested this young woman to serve him personally. She is not from among our nineteen- and twenty-year-olds…” Heads slumped, and Kyrin nearly felt sorry for those remaining students, but what a shock. Had this ever happened before? “…making her the youngest to be promoted in the history of Tarvin Hall.” Master Zocar let a long, suspenseful moment pass. All eyes were riveted on him. It could be any one of them. With a wide smile, he said, “Kyrin Altair, please come forward.”
Kyrin’s heart faltered, and she went stiff. Did he mean her? Was there another Kyrin at Tarvin Hall? The heavy thump, thump, thump of her pulse pounded in her ears as it struggled with each beat. This couldn’t be.
“Kyrin, please rise and come forward,” Master Zocar repeated.
An elbow poked into her ribs and snapped her from the daze. She turned to Yara. Everyone had abandoned formality and turned to gape at her.
“You better get up there,” Yara whispered.
As if prodded by a sharp object, Kyrin rose a little faster than she intended to. It was as if someone else had taken control of her body and moved her stiffly toward the center aisle. The only clear thought in her mind was the requirement to obey Master Zocar. He’d called her, so she must go.
When she looked up, her eyes locked with Kaden’s. She froze. He stared at her with a tangle of emotions that appeared ready to propel him out of his seat. Kyrin swallowed with difficulty. What if he did something foolish? Stop him, Elôm. Afraid her own emotions would provoke his protectiveness and lead him to disastrous action, she hid everything behind a mask of calm and ignored how her insides twisted into a hopeless knot.
She gave him a slight nod, hoping to convey acceptance, and moved off toward the stage. Everything would be all right…wouldn’t it? Though every muscle in her face fought to remain expressionless, inside, her head whirled. For once, she couldn’t make sense of anything. This wasn’t supposed to happen! She wasn’t supposed to face this for another couple of years. And to be requested personally by the emperor? Dizziness tried to tip her to the floor. What could Daican want from her? If only she had more closely followed Kaden’s example. The emperor wouldn’t have requested the service of a troublemaker. Oh, Kaden. She would have to leave him.
Her stomach pressed up toward her throat. She glanced left and absorbed all the many awestruck faces. One in particular stood out, though awestruck wasn’t the word for her expression. Flabbergasted for sure, and certainly not pleased. She pulled her gaze away from Elise’s envious stare.
Like walking in a dream, Kyrin reached the stairs and half-stum
bled up to the stage. If only it were a dream. She approached Master Zocar, though she couldn’t match his distinctly pleased smile. An official came forward and held out a rolled-up parchment, sealed and tied with a gold ribbon—her commission. Gingerly, she took it, forcing her trembling fingers to still, and glanced out over the audience. She found Kaden in the crowd, but looked away. His agitated expression pushed tears to her eyes. Her gaze switched to the door. Run! The urge gripped her, and her breaths came in short little gasps.
“Please take your place in line, Kyrin.”
She flinched at Zocar’s voice and turned toward the line of promoted students. Her eyes landed on Collin. His straight face had vanished, and he grinned openly at her. Little comfort that offered. She wanted no part of this. Fighting to maintain control, she took her place at the end of the line.
None of Master Zocar’s closing comments registered. Kyrin stared down at the commission in her hand. Her fingers itched to tear it open. What position could it possibly assign her to? Whatever it might be, it had just ripped away everything she’d come to know. Life had always been a set, familiar routine here at Tarvin Hall. And she had Kaden. The emperor had taken her away from her entire family, except for her twin brother, her closest friend in the world. Now everything had turned upside down, and they would take her away from him too.
She trembled, and her vision clouded around the edges. Wouldn’t that be the perfect humiliation in this nightmare, to faint in front of everyone? They’d talk about her for weeks. She cast her eyes about, blinking away the fog, and her tears burned hot. Her gaze caught at the back of the auditorium. Sam. Whether he’d been there all along or had just shown up, she couldn’t say, but the sight of him was a lifeline. The familiar face of her long-time friend restored her confidence and reminded her of the one most important thing in all this madness—King Elôm.
Resistance (Ilyon Chronicles Book 1) Page 11