Night of Rain

by J. C. Owens

  It was glorious in a way that Zaran should have been horrified by, but was not. There was only cut and slash and parry, seeking safe ground over bodies and debris, uneven ground and loose rock.

  Zaran’s heart pounded. He had never felt more alive, and glancing at Ralnulian, he saw the understanding in the other man’s expression.

  They fought as a unit. Never had Zaran encountered such perfection, as though everything flowed under his command, as though the gods fought by their side.

  Perhaps not such a wild idea, when he considered the miracle that was Ralnulian, how the man had survived when, by any reasonable account, he should have died long ago by the guild’s hand. Perhaps the gods held him dear, protected him as they protected the emperors down through time.

  If so, then this man must have a part to play. Zaran suddenly wished that they had more time together, that the assassin would consent to remain with him for longer. The thought of him leaving left a chill.

  He thrust aside the emotion, annoyed that it would even come to him during the conflict. He couldn’t afford any distractions. He was not so perfect a fighter as to imagine himself invincible.

  A huge man jumped from atop a boulder, his massive two-handed sword swinging for Zaran, catching him off guard. The blade swept in. Zaran crouched, his sword taking the blow, driving it down into his shoulder, numbing it instantly, leaving it useless.

  He heard a roar of sound from the Shadows, but Ralnulian was there first.

  He danced with the man; there was no other way to describe it. Whoever he was, the Odenar soldier was good. He might be large, bulky, but he knew his reach, and his brawn moved that sword like a cross between a war hammer and a blade.

  Ralnulian slid in and out of the man’s range, ducking under the blade, spinning away before it could touch him. His opponent was losing his edge as his anger and desperation grew. Ralnulian played him before slipping through a last thrust and sliding right up to the man’s chest so that they were eye to eye.

  Blood dripped from the man’s lips, a look of puzzlement overcoming his features before life left his eyes and he slid down Ralnulian’s body.

  The assassin laid him down, almost gently, as though revering a warrior who had been a worthy challenge.

  Zaran rose to his feet, the pain in his arm making his anger rise. Motion to his right—the flash of Odenar colors—and he turned, thrust in the blade with a snarl of victory…

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Raine

  Raine looked up from his book on the histories of the Anrodnes Chosen, hearing the sound of a trotting horse upon the cobblestone courtyard. He laid the book down gently before going to the window to look out.

  A messenger flung himself off a sweat-stained horse, running for the palace doors, out of sight of Raine’s position.

  He frowned, then turned and left the room, aware as always when one of the Shadows detached themselves from their position and followed him. It was stifling, this way of life, but he accepted it as needed, especially after what had happened to Antan.

  It seemed that Taldan held at least some small degree of value toward his Chosen, even if Raine could not compare to Hredeen.

  Raine didn’t like the hint of bitterness that thought held. Taldan was trying. He could feel it through their connection. It wasn’t like him to lack empathy. He rubbed his temple, frowning. He was just so worried for Taldan. His emperor had not been sleeping. He had been struggling with all the memories and incredible knowledge that the Illumitae had given him. His emotions had been erratic, filled with sharp edges and powerful enough that they unsettled Taldan. Raine could sense all of that too.

  He pushed those worries aside as he hurried into the corridor. The halls were largely silent this early in the day, and even the servants absent. It was still an hour or so before dawn. His boots rang upon the marble flooring until he reached a stretch of carpet that muffled his footsteps. There was no sound from behind him, and his shoulder blades prickled as they often did when a Shadow was walking in his wake. He wondered if he would ever get used to their presence or their stealth that seemed more than human.

  He knew that Taldan had been in a meeting with his father within the throne room, so he made his way there first.

  Raine’s mind returned to his worries as he hurried his steps. That Taldan wasn’t sleeping deeply worried him. The emperor had not come to Raine last night. The vast bed felt empty without him, and Raine’s own sleep had been fitful at best. For a few days after their confrontation, Taldan had seemed to be doing better, sleeping, eating, much calmer than before.

  Now, it seemed he was sliding back into the restless discontent that had marked him since Hredeen’s exile.

  Raine rubbed the back of his neck and yawned, uncaring who saw how exhausted he was.

  It didn’t matter if he broke some obscure court protocol. He was merely the Chosen. Right now, he didn’t feel like he had to live up to any particular pinnacle, especially after reading the historical texts. The lack of respect for those who were chosen was clearly evident, and he found a degree of rebellion brewing within him. If he was not going to gain respect from others, why should he change his behaviors? What difference would a yawn or a sneeze make?

  His only concern was that he did not shame Taldan. Beyond that, he held no faith that he could ever please the court or the wealthy nobles who populated it. He had never managed it in his own home in Odenar. It would not happen here either. He would do his best, but he was not changing himself to suit anyone but the emperor.

  Strangely, he realized that he was discovering a part of himself that was far stronger and more stubborn than he had realized before.

  Was that good or bad?

  He shrugged his shoulders, pushing the debate to the back of his mind. Now was not the time. The urgency of the messenger had pointed to something of great importance.

  As the Chosen, he would be let into this meeting, if he pushed enough. Only Taldan had the power to refuse him. Again, he realized that he was changing. For the better, he hoped. Certainly, he was not going to roll over and be submissive, as he had before.

  He reached the throne room, and the Shadows guarding the doors immediately opened one at his arrival without the slightest hint of reluctance.

  He nodded to them and swept through the entrance with his own Shadow in tow. The door softly closed behind him.

  Taldan and his father, Demarin Anrodnes, both turned. Demarin’s expression was surprised, but the golden mask hid Taldan’s face from view. It didn’t matter. Raine could sense Taldan’s surprise through their bond.

  Sarnwa stood behind Demarin, always guarding, now fully armed, no longer having to play the part of a typical Chosen. Those dark eyes met Raine’s, and there was a small smile of approval upon the assassin’s face. It gave Raine a little more confidence, and he met Taldan’s stare with a calm demeanor, though his heart thudded uncomfortably. He met those eyes through the mask, chin up, waiting for a reaction, either good or bad.

  Those beautiful eyes softened, and a gloved hand beckoned him forward.

  He had to steady his legs at the relief that flowed over him. When he reached them, Taldan actually drew him to his side so that they stood pressed against each other.

  Raine saw Demarin’s disapproving frown. He raised his chin, meeting the former emperor’s stare squarely, though he could not believe his own temerity. This man still held power of his own, emperor or not.

  Sarnwa gave a cough to cover a snort of laughter, and Demarin’s attention turned upon his Chosen with a chastising glare. It seemed to have little effect. Sarnwa simply grinned at him. Demarin rolled his eyes, the gesture making the former emperor seem refreshingly human.

  Taldan gestured to the roll of paper he held.

  “A message came. The war is won.” The mask might distort his voice, but it was still clear that vast relief was his primary emotion.

  “Zaran?” Raine knew how his brother’s welfare had been first and foremost in Taldan’s mi
nd, more than an emperor should admit to.

  “He is well. There was a decisive battle at the mines, and the Odenar threat has been eliminated. They will be returning to Odenar immediately. I have already sent a message to Bhantan, informing them of the matter, and enquiring what they will need for rebuilding. Zaran will send a messenger as well across land, so we will ensure that at least one message gets through swiftly.”

  Raine let out a shuddering breath of relief. This was the best news they could possibly have hoped for.

  Taldan took his arm and steered Raine to a table tucked against one wall, half concealed by curtains from the main room.

  Raine sat where indicated, swallowing hard. He suspected where this was going.

  “Your brothers, Laith and Mansin, are both dead.”

  Raine clenched a fist, trying to decide how he felt. In the end, he could detect nothing but relief that they were no longer alive. Surely that meant that there was something terribly wrong with him.

  “Zaran said that Hredeen and another assassin killed them both before the battle.”

  Raine’s head jerked up, his eyes wide and startled. “Hredeen?”

  It was hard to discern Taldan’s emotions with the mask covering his expression, but Raine could literally feel the tension thrumming through the emperor’s body.

  One gloved hand reached out and traced down Raine’s cheek. “Zaran wishes to bring him back to Persis. I will be giving my permission…in light of all he has done.”

  Raine felt his heart sink at the almost feral look in those blue eyes. All that they had gained between them would cease to exist once Taldan’s true love arrived. Raine would be thrust into the background, as he always had been.

  Grief rose, fierce and sharp in his chest, but he fought it down with practicality. Taldan had never been his to begin with.

  This had all been a lie.

  The gods chose you.

  The words whispered through his mind, and he gritted his teeth. When had the gods ever been kind to him? They might have chosen him, but Taldan had not.

  The gloved hand came beneath his chin, tilted his head so he had no choice but to meet that discerning gaze peering at him through the eyes of the golden mask.

  The blue eyes narrowed, the hand tightened for a moment, on the edge of pain, before Taldan released him and turned away.

  The emperor turned back to his father, and they began to discuss the ongoing investigation into the Julne mages and what the War Guild might be planning next, nobles they could count on, how many Shadows they might need to stop another threat.

  Raine sat numbly. He flinched slightly when a hand came down on his shoulder. It squeezed lightly, and he looked up, far up, into Sarnwa’s face. The other Chosen met his eyes, and there was vast sympathy there and a type of understanding that no other could give him.

  “Give it time.” The softly spoken words flowed over him, and he managed to nod.

  The words were wise, but he could not take them into his heart. With Hredeen returning, time was not on his side.

  * * *

  Naral

  Well, this was going to be a right mess.

  Naral had been thrilled to hear that Zaran was returning. That meant that his cousin, Isnay, would soon return as well. A huge weight of worry had lifted from him. The news that Hredeen was coming back with the Imperial Heir produced a brief sense of happiness, followed by a sense of doom. This would lead to nothing good. He had seen and felt Taldan’s devastation, knew the depth of the emotions that linked his two friends, but on the other hand, Taldan had a Chosen now.

  How in the world was this supposed to work?

  All he knew was that if something was complicated, then Taldan would manage to make it more so. The man held no comprehension of others or how his actions and words could devastate. Naral might not have liked Raine before the Choosing, but the young man’s practical nature had won him over since then. The Choosing could not be undone, and so far, the young Yoldis had been exemplary in his interactions with Taldan. He neither confronted him, nor backed down from him. He simply stated his mind with quiet simplicity in a way that took Taldan’s attention.

  Reluctantly, he was growing to almost like Raine, and that was completely annoying. Most of all because that would mean that he had made a mistake to begin with by judging the young man so harshly.

  Obviously, the gods had disagreed with his assessment.

  It reminded him that he was not infallible, and perhaps that was a good thing. He had calmed down a lot since then, tried to make decisions from a less stressed standpoint. He listened more to other people’s perspectives to temper his own. Or at least he tried to anyway. He liked to think he had done a good job listening to Fagan.

  But he was forced to admit, it had been a good lesson. He tried to accept it as simply that.

  It had, however, damaged his confidence in his role, and he was more cautious. Not entirely a bad thing. He knew that Zaran would see it that way.

  He longed for the prince to get home. He was used to bouncing ideas off of the younger man, and life in Persis had felt empty without him. Despite his worries about Hredeen, Taldan, and Raine, he had many things to thank the gods for. The rebel army had been destroyed. Zaran, Isnay, and Hredeen were all alive.

  The fact that the prince was safe lifted Naral’s spirits enough that he had decided to take the day off. He had plans to meet with two of his friends, both professors at the college, to discuss the matter of the special classes for those who would work in the poor quarters. It was the first of several initiatives branching from Fagan’s heartfelt report on Rivergate.

  He strode through the market, stopping now and then to view some goods, and then to purchase a meat pie that smelled amazing. Naral sat on the edge of a massive fountain, slowly eating the pie and watching the people come and go around him.

  Someone slid up to him on the edge of the fountain, so that their bodies were pressed together. He frowned when Fagan leaned forward and took a massive bite out of his pie.

  The thief hummed with pleasure, eating noisily, without the least regard for Naral’s outraged glare.

  “Maylin makes the best pies in the whole city,” Fagan said. “If I time it just right, she sometimes gives me one at the end of the day, just before she closes. Most often though, she’s sold out.” He swallowed his ill-gotten bite and licked his lips, making sure there was not the smallest scrap missed, before he turned to look at Naral with a wide grin. “Good to see you, my lord! I gather you’re going to the college?”

  Naral turned slightly so he could hurriedly finish his pie, keeping a keen eye on Fagan as he did so. The thief’s smile dimmed a little as he watched the rest of the pie disappear in record time. He sighed when it was gone completely.

  He perked up when Naral grudgingly offered him a wine flask. He accepted it with a regal nod, then proceeded to drink half of it with long, noisy gulps. Naral snatched it back with a growl and drank the rest himself.

  Fagan wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and belched contentedly. “You are a fine man, my lord. Eager to share with others. You don’t find that often enough.”

  Naral didn’t have words for what he wanted to convey at that moment. Outrage. Vexation. Amusement. He couldn’t settle on one. Instead, he rose to his feet and stalked off in the direction of the college.

  Fagan trotted lightly at his side with a huge grin upon his face and waving to people now and then. Some waved back, others clutched at the coin purses on their belts. It seemed Fagan was well known in the rich southern quarter close to the palace.

  Naral sighed. “Do I need to check your pockets again?”

  Fagan gave him a wounded look. “I came straight to meet you.” He turned out his pockets, and they were actually empty.

  Naral almost apologized, then shook his head. He had no doubt that once he left Fagan at the end of the day, those pockets would be full once more.

  Fagan chattered away at him, telling him of the people he had ch
osen to be the pioneers of the plan. He seemed to know them well, but then Fagan seemed the sort to stick his nose into everything, rather like a curious puppy.

  One could be deceived by the exuberant manner and nonstop talking, but Naral had seen more, seen the seriousness and true concern that lay beneath the surface. There was far more to the little thief than met the eye, and Naral was not going to forget that.

  He listened with half an ear to the chatter, making sure that both hands were visible at all times. He would never live it down if he was fleeced by the very one that he was protecting from being arrested. After all, he could have, should have charged him for the multiple thefts the other day.

  There was just something about this young man that appealed to him on so many levels.

  Fagan was currently whistling a bawdy tune often heard in taverns, waving his hands as though directing an orchestra. Naral found his lips curling into a smile.

  Fagan, of course, noticed. “Hah! I made you smile! I saw it!”

  Naral rolled his eyes, but couldn’t rid himself of the grin that seemed to have taken hold.

  Fagan bounced in place for a few moments, eyes alight with victory, before consenting to walk at Naral’s side again.

  When they reached the ornate gates of the college, Fagan stopped, glancing at Naral, his cheerfulness becoming strained.

  “Perhaps I should wait out here.”

  Naral raised an eyebrow.

  “They have my picture posted all across the campus. I may or may not have slipped into a few classes. Even passed one or two.”

  Naral stopped and folded his arms over his chest.

  Fagan pouted. “I didn’t steal a single thing. The students are often hard up, and I can’t do that. My mark has to be over-rich.” He met Naral’s stare defiantly. “It’s a thing for me.”

  A code of honor in a thief.

  Naral put his hand on Fagan’s shoulder and guided him forward. The little thief glanced around and then pulled his hood up to shield his face.

  Strange how he was concerned about being recognized here, yet had no qualms about being identified in the rest of the city.