Soulseeker

  Yet, if they stepped in, Arran would have no mercy, and here, far from their kin, the Hawks had few resources and were few in number. As well, if one of them should be harmed in Rian’s protection—Hamon remembered too well Telan’s graphic descriptions of what had happened to the prince’s last protector, and how it had affected the boy.

  If only they had more time. Time for their fledgling relationship to grow, time for Rian to actually use his talents as a soulseeker. So much that was good, full of potential, could be destroyed in an instant by Arran.

  “We need to speak to Rian tonight, all of us. We need to understand what he is thinking and how to support him.” His tone was grim but full of determination.

  Wravon put a hand upon his arm. “You know, cousin, you have changed more in this last short while than in all the time we have been together. Your anger is less, your control more. This boy is good for you, despite all that you both will have to face.” Wravon’s slight smile meant the world to Hamon, the pride in it making him flush slightly.

  His cousin’s regard had always meant a great deal to him, but never had he made Wravon proud. It was a warm, heady realization.

  Wravon’s fingers tightened. “Whatever you choose to do, Hamon, we are here, as always. We will back you.”

  As if there had ever been any doubt.

  Rian wished he could have remained in the newborn euphoria of his sexual encounter with Hamon for longer. Stayed away from reality and the misery it would bring them.

  But as they gathered to speak on the matter of Arran’s arrival, the day’s light sliding away outside, his stomach began to knot as that same reality intruded with increasing power.

  He had been living in a fool’s paradise, and as the fool, he would pay the full price. He refused to let anyone else become his brother’s victim. He would rather suffer under that brutal hand for all eternity than have one finger laid upon Hamon and the rest of the Hawks.

  His determination to protect them seemed laughable at best, he had already given everything to Arran. What more could he possibly offer? He had no bargaining chips at all. Cold fear began to find a foothold, and he fought it back with grim determination. Fear would only dim his ability to think, to find a workable solution to this seemingly impossible situation. He had to find a way. So many people were relying on him to do exactly that.

  There was no more time to explore the boundaries of what he, as a soulseeker, could achieve. He could try to hide his talent, but Arran had an eerie sense of when he was lying, when he was hiding anything at all.

  His chin came up. He would tell his brother of what had happened. Tell him that he was a soulseeker. The depth of what this would mean for the future was sure to throw Arran off track. Off the more important matter of Hamon and the Hawks.

  If he had to suffer because of his honesty, then so be it. He would take such a thing gladly if it kept the others safe. He had been doing such a thing for years anyway.

  The biggest problem with that scenario was that he could not imagine Hamon and the others, men of honor, allowing Arran to inflict any of his abuses on him in their vicinity.

  He sincerely doubted there was anything, any plan they could come up with that was going to anticipate or prevent Arran’s response. The king had all the power at his fingertips and absolutely no compunction about seeing others suffer.

  That had been made all too clear.

  * * *

  Rian woke slowly after a long night spent locked in discussions with the Hawks, his mind already well aware that he did not wish to face the day.

  As he had well known, there had been no true solution agreed upon the night before, no clear and present plan. Arran was far too unpredictable for such a thing. Rian had appreciated the fervor with which the Hawks joined into the discussions, as though they considered him more than simply their charge. As though they thought of him as a friend.

  If this should be torn away from him, if he was forced to return to Arran’s side as seemed entirely likely, then he would hold these memories close. Of Hamon’s touch, of interacting with a whole new group of people that had seen him as worthy of friendship. If he could hold those thoughts…

  He leaned closer against the warm body at his back, feeling hopeless tears rise. He wiped them away with angry sweeps of his hand. Tears had never availed him anything at all. For these brief, precious days, he had been free of negativity, free of fear.

  In some ways, these few wonderful days only made it harder to face today. Before, he had been certain there was nothing else for him. Now, his heart cried out for what he would lose.

  He growled at himself. He had to get himself together or he would lose far more than this temporary freedom. With Arran’s arrival, his ability to act, to pretend, would be tested as never before.

  With Hamon and the Hawks’ safety on the line, he had better get his head on straight, his emotions under control. As had always been, everything depended on his ability to appease his brother.

  The arm across his waist stirred, as though his emotions were reaching Hamon even in the other man’s sleep. Rian lifted that broad hand, calloused and powerful, and laid a kiss upon the scarred knuckles.

  This time though, he had someone to fight alongside. Someone who was fully able to stand up for himself. This time, he had someone at his back.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The day had dawned with bright and clear skies, and Rian almost resented the beauty of it. Something more dour would certainly have suited his present mood.

  Everyone was present in the massive tent; Telan, Zacar, The Hawks, Hamon, and Rian himself, and breakfast was eaten with slow and steady focus, as though none of them wished to face what was to come.

  The heat of Hamon’s thigh against him, their chairs touching, was both comfort and a source of fear. Fear that this could be taken from him, that he would be utterly alone once more. Or that Telan and Zacar would be banned from his side, or worse yet, harmed.

  “If this goes badly,” he whispered to Hamon, his voice low and hoarse, “and Zacar and Telan end up in danger, will you see them safe? Take them from here?”

  Hamon looked at him, expression amazingly gentle. “I am hoping for a better outcome than that, but if it eases your mind, I will get the others to do what they can.” He paused, eyes deep and dark with emotion. “I will not leave you, Rian.”

  Rian drew a deep, shivering breath that contained something far too close to tears for his liking. “He will destroy you, as he destroys everything. Do not under estimate him. Please.”

  Hamon nodded, did not dismiss his warning, but there was a quiet determination evident in his manner, something that seemed rather foreign to his nature.

  Rian watched him for a long moment, wanting to etch those increasingly beloved features into his memory, before looking back at his food blindly.

  He was holding no hope for a positive outcome. Despite everything, he could not find the determination of the night before. The light of day made his fears rise, the past swallowing his courage like a vast, dark void.

  He gave up trying to eat, tucking his shaking hands out of sight on his lap.

  Strength, he needed… Hamon’s hand engulfed his, steadying his nerves.

  Rian was not alone, he just needed to remember that.

  The sound of the horn, warning of incoming riders, sounded far off at the edge of the huge encampment, and Rian jerked, eyes widening with instant terror.

  No.

  He gritted his teeth, fought back the emotions that threatened to overtake his senses. He had others to care for; he could not go to pieces. He could do this. He could.

  He rose to his feet, meeting Telan’s steady gaze, feeling Hamon’s hand, comforting heat as Hamon shifted to lay it against the small of his back.

  It seemed miles to walk just to exit the pavilion and stand some small distance outside. He waved the others back, walked forward so that he stood alone, facing what was to come.

  Hamon looked like he wanted to protest,
but Rian shook his head, frowning. This first meeting must present the image of aloofness. Arran would accept nothing less.

  The nearby troops had stood as Rian exited the pavilion. They saluted him before standing motionless and eerily silent.

  Rian glanced around, feeling a shiver work its way up his spine.

  The lack of sound was chilling in its import. Thousands of men as though in some pact of silence.

  By rights, by all that had gone before, they should be cheering their king, welcoming him. The lack of it portended something greater than Rian was willing to accept or understand.

  The sound of many approaching hooves seemed inordinately loud to him, and he straightened into perfect posture, hands clasped behind him, military straight.

  Arran came into sight, riding one of the favored Islandri stallions, the animal snorting and sidestepping nervously as though what he was sensing from his rider was anything but calmness. The king wore a layered, royal blue tunic, with a light cloak, black with blue embroidery, that spread out over the stallion’s haunches.

  The king rode with the easy grace that characterized a true horseman, his hands easy on the reins, his body balanced and fluid in motion.

  Behind him, in close formation, rode his fiercely loyal Elite force, those sworn to protect him, who had been with him since he was younger. They held none of their king’s apparent relaxation. Their bodies were tense, their dark eyes flicking over the troops, their hands on weapons, as though they rode through enemy forces rather than their own country’s warriors.

  Rian could not say he blamed them. The atmosphere of the camp was strange in a way he had never seen aimed at his brother before.

  His fingers clenched together behind him, though he kept his face neutral, his breathing even. He did not understand what was occurring around him and did not have the time to focus on it.

  Arran was the true threat.

  The great stallion paced closer, until Arran’s gentle hand on the reins stopped him, so close he was almost touching Rian.

  The prince made no move, did not try to retreat, only raised his eyes and met those of his brother with dispassionate calm.

  Their gazes met and held.

  Rian’s fingers clenched more tightly, whitening.

  Arran’s face might have been calm, but his eyes were anything but. It was painfully obvious that he was aware of the atmosphere of the camp—anger seethed just under the surface, and Rian could not help but shiver.

  The king took his time, proving dominance, before he smoothly dismounted, pausing to stroke his stallion’s neck, murmuring to it softly.

  By the time he turned back to Rian, the fury had been leashed, hidden once more. Utterly in control.

  He did not pause but swept Rian up in a hug, holding him close.

  “I have missed you, brother. The palace is not the same without you in its halls.” There was truth in the words, and Arran’s voice was not quiet.

  Rian managed to wrap his own arms around Arran in a show of brotherly camaraderie, keeping the potent mix of fear and distaste from showing in his expression.

  They were both on display, as always, both well-trained to restrain true emotion until they were behind closed doors.

  In this, they were equals.

  As Arran finally released him and stepped back, Rian managed a smile, hoping it looked more natural than it felt.

  “Greetings, brother. Your army awaits your commands.”

  Arran smiled, coming to stand at Rian’s side, drawing him close with one arm around his shoulders, turning to face the silent array of men that stretched into the distance.

  “Your true commander is my loyal and compassionate brother. Has not the prince looked after you, seen to your every need? If this is indeed our final foray of this war, will you not tell him his worth?” His voice rang out, strong, impassioned, and as always, he was more than capable of appearing the proper king, of drawing people in. His charisma had been a powerful reason that he had been so beloved of the people as prince.

  The men stirred immediately, and shouts rang out before a more coordinated cheer startled nearby birds into flight.

  Arran pumped one fist in the air in time with the cheers, a lopsided grin upon his face.

  “To the prince!” he shouted.

  The cheers swelled, the cacophony of noise making Rian want to shrink away, but he endured, a flush rising on his cheeks, a do or die smile curving his lips.

  “My beloved brother has done well by you,” Arran continued. “He has fought by your side, seen to your needs. I am proud of him as my commander. I have come, not to take his place, but to stand beside him, that we might fight together, end this war once and for all. As brothers, as your leaders, we will see this done, and then, victory, and at long last, home for you. Your families, your future awaits. Stand with us, fight as our brothers, and see Rashma once and for all safe.”

  The cheers became a wall of sound, the eerie silence of before driven back by the powerful, sustaining words.

  Arran took Rian’s hand and held it up with his, the grip tight and painful, his smile wide, his own victory complete.

  Hamon folded his arms over his chest, watching the spectacle with utter disbelief.

  “So easily are they fooled?” He spat in the dust by his boots.

  Wravon shrugged, though his own expression was anything but pleased. “He is their king. They want to believe him. Once, he was theirs. This brings back those days. And they want this war over, want to go home. People are easily swayed to where they already wish to be.”

  Hamon growled under his breath. For moments, it had looked as though they might have the support of the army itself, the silent treatment had indicated a level of displeasure that could have led to revolt, to supporting Rian rather than Arran.

  Yet with a few words, the king had brought them back to his side.

  He felt sick as that tentative hope faded before his eyes.

  Dramon snarled lightly. “He is smart, this king. Keeping Rian as token commander. He is no fool; he took that silence to heart. He knew what it meant and diverted it.”

  Telan grunted. “We will see. Rian is no fool either. If Arran knows him, then so too does Rian know his brother.”

  Hamon watched the tension that made the prince rigid, and prayed for that to be true.

  In the end, Arran did not even glance at the Hawks.

  He swept by them, Rian under his arm, his Elite hard on his heels. Two of those warriors took up station at the pavilion entrance, and their hard, steely stares made it immediately evident that no one was going to be allowed entry.

  Hamon tensed, one hand touching the hilt of his sword.

  Wravon gently covered his hand with his own and pulled his restless fingers away from the blade.

  “Trust in him, cousin. Let him play this out.”

  * * *

  Rian went where he was guided without the slightest resistance, sinking passively into the chair where Arran roughly pushed him.

  The king paced for some time, the anger that had been hidden before rising to the surface.

  His men watched, silent and ever loyal, their eyes glinting in the reflection of the filtered daylight through the canvas walls.

  Rian waited, still, keeping his fear tamped down deeply.

  Arran swung to face him at last, coming to stand over him, staring down with terrifying intensity.

  Rian looked back, keeping his breathing steady, his eyes unwavering.

  Arran let out a huffing breath, drawing another chair close to sit facing his younger brother. “So, treason?”

  So direct, as ever.

  “They are tired, worn,” Rian said, surprised at how even a tone he managed. “They have not seen you for months, and you know how rumors fly in camp. They only want this to be over. They mean no disrespect, Arran. Forgive them. Ensure victory and they will forget all this. They will follow you as they always have.”

  Arran leaned forward, long fingers cupping Rian’s chin,
his intense stare boring into the prince’s eyes.

  “And you? Do you follow me? Or have you found courage in my absence also?” The words were perilously soft.

  “You are my king. My brother. My allegiance is yours.” Rian flinched as the grip tightened.

  “Only your allegiance? Say the words, Rian. Now. I don’t want this reunion to be one of pain.”

  Rian swallowed bile. “I am yours,” he whispered, feeling hope fade. So swiftly was he back where he had been. But he had to do this. For his children. For the men.

  And for Hamon.

  Arran watched him for long, nerve-wracking moments before a slow smile curled his lips and the grip turned into a gentle caress.

  “Yes. You are. I will not have your former nonsense creating trouble once more, brother. It is enough now.”

  Rian felt weariness curl over him like a weighted cloak. “Please, Arran. I am yours now. Can the pain between us stop?”

  The king sat back, surprise upon his features, something flickering behind his eyes that Rian could not decipher.

  “Pain is love, Rian.”

  It was so strange a statement that Rian could not help but frown, staring at Arran questioningly.

  Arran tilted his head in return, as though he could not believe that Rian did not understand.

  Something in his brother’s expression, some glimmer of sudden intuition, made Rian push the moment, though he kept his tone careful. “Love, true love, does not need pain. Should not include pain. Whatever makes you believe in such a thing?”

  “Father taught me. He said it made me ready to be king, to be strong.” He paused, sounding unsure. “I did not understand until I myself became king.” He met Rian’s eyes with a smile. “Then I knew I had to make you strong too.”

  Rian felt the pieces fall into place, and for long moments he was voiceless with horror.

  He leaned forward, took Arran’s hands into his own. His brother seemed strangely childlike in that moment, as though memories were holding him in another time. Madness often made him swing wildly, but Rian had never seen him regress like this.