The Rage of Princes: A Portal Fantasy Adventure (The Chronicles of Otherwhere Book 2)

by Cassia Meare

  "I loathe you," she told Delian every day.

  "I don't care," he told her.

  He was, however, kind enough not to laugh when she limped into a room and sat down gingerly. Nemours couldn't stop laughing, and even Ty giggled.

  Delian frowned at them. "Quiet!"

  "What is the point of this?" Nemours asked. "She's not going into battle."

  "You know, Nemours, life is not a dagger," Delian said philosophically. "Things don't always have to have a point."

  "I want to learn," Elinor said, trying not to wince as she reached for a glass of wine.

  The next day, back in the field, Delian roared, "Right, right, right, close your damned right flank! Right, I said! Are you stupid?"

  "Thou lumpish hedge-pig," she said, leaving the field — knowing he was turning to look at her in her breeches as she walked away.

  "Sue me!" he cried after her.

  It was very strange and revealing to wear trousers, and much less comfortable than she had imagined. Between her shorter hair and the breeches, she felt as though she were becoming a man — but was still happy when Delian finally let her hold a real blade.

  She weighed it in her hand, twisting the hilt.

  "Stonemount steel," he said. "Isn't it a beauty?"

  Elinor had to admit that it was. So light, yet so precise! She could never have held a sword of her father's except with great effort and both hands. The blade gleamed blue in the early morning light. That steel was from Lord Tayne's land.

  "Wasn't Lady Marget’s dowry, don't worry," Delian said with characteristic diplomacy. "We've always had plenty of it."

  He struck her on the breastplate with the tip of his sword. Elinor gasped and looked. It hadn't made a scratch.

  "Takes a lot to dent it," Ty observed. "Even with a Stonemount blade."

  The breastplate molded to her body in a way steel shouldn't. What nonsense we had at home, Elinor thought. All that awkward, clanging metal — the stiff joints in the armor. It was wonderful how she could bend her elbow and move any way she wanted to.

  She also decided, two weeks into the training, to add something of her own. As Delian ordered yet another assault, she ran at Ty and used a bit of Soaring to rise in the air, pushing herself further with a foot on his knee and spiraling to land behind him. She turned to deliver the mock-fatal blow, but Ty parried it.

  Elinor could not hide her disappointment.

  "Oh," Ty said regretfully. He embraced her and they laughed, their cheeks together. "It was beautiful, what you did."

  "Well, you are an immortal," she allowed. "Will everyone I fight be as fast?"

  Nemours watched Elinor and his brothers from the council room window. It faced the back of the castle and the vast countryside.

  He saw her rise in the air, her hair flying, and let out an approving laugh. But she was obstinate, and she could be rash. He had seen her defy her father, fight an angel with fire, summon a werewolf, go searching for a heka alone, bind him. He had seen her try to draw a horrible poison into her veins.

  Elinor had too much courage. Sometimes she did not stop to measure the consequences of what she did, and neither did Delian.

  Neither do I, sometimes.

  In the meantime, Lord Tayne was still howling with rage from Stonemount, and Nemours wouldn't be able to keep him from the battlefield for long. He had sent his sister a message: You went too far. Don't try and say you didn't know. Relent, accept what I decide — and we will hand your mage to Lord Tayne, and we will back away from war.

  He was waiting for a response, but he was also preparing for war.

  According to his sister's answer, they would move. No one had any time to lose.

  He glanced outside, at the day that lasted less and less hours when it should last longer at this time of year.

  His own old breastplate was lying on the table, together with the sword Delian had fetched for him from the house on Earth. He had new things, but he liked the old ones. The grip felt familiar, the armor comfortable. His new things had more blood on them without ever having been worn. Lady Marget’s blood.

  Turning the plate, he peeled the leather away from the shoulder joint and pulled out a pouch, opening it. Locks of hair: blonde, black, red. Locks belonging to his brothers and sisters, all except Ydin.

  He caressed the red hair with his thumb: Sefira. If she met him on the field, she would attack him first. She was probably wishing for nothing else. Maybe if she killed him, she would stop being afraid.

  The black hair with a hue of rose: Ahn.

  The bright hair of Sibulla, the golden hair of Delian, the midnight hair of Ty.

  He put the locks back in the pouch — and the pouch back inside his armor. Who would have ever thought they would be fighting each other?

  The worst of it was that he still wanted them to be safe. We are damned by our contradictions, he thought.

  And that was why Abuse could happen. That was how, insidious, it entered a mind and ruled it, snatching at its contradictions.

  That was why Abuse was the worst of all spells, and not even included in the grimoire or the Knowledge. What was a mind without volition? A mind controlled by another or by its own darkness?

  Elinor entered a room, and the three brothers were there, together. They turned to her as one, and on their faces she read doom.

  Nemours held a letter by Lord Tayne. In it, the Stonemount warrior accused his son-in-law of planning Lady Marget's death. Of administering the poison.

  You never meant to go through with your bargain, the man wrote. You went through a masquerade, and then rid yourself of my girl. My beautiful girl, dead on her wedding night, by your foul, murderous hand.

  It was Abuse — a lie, concocted by magic. It had taken hold.

  And so I declare war on you, Lord Tayne wrote.

  19

  "Crossing can take me close," Ty said.

  Arms folded, Delian disapproved of the idea. "And you're the well-behaved one."

  "What is that supposed to mean?"

  "That you aren't supposed to go behind your general's back to parley with the enemy."

  The two brothers stood in Delian's tent, looking at the map. They were camped in Ashrock, just to the south of Lockland, expecting to see northward movement from Tayne's forces at any time. Last Port to the west and Allseas Harbor to the east remained neutral, despite pressure from both sides.

  From Last Port, Tayne's forces could go up the west coast and take Highmere. A situation to be avoided at all costs, as that would tie up the brothers' forces in a defense of their city. If Tayne were on Ahn’s side or simply against Nemours, what was to stop her from taking Allseas Harbor to the east and sailing on to Lockland? One of their great allies would then be either fighting naval battles or using his men to push back the enemy from his land.

  Was Tayne mad enough to attack a neutral port or let Ahn do it? It was what she must be hoping for.

  The man was not to be reasoned with; in fact, every day he seemed to lose another piece of his mind, sending missive upon missive to Nemours couched in the worst possible terms. His accusations were wild, and Nemours could not help feeling sorry for him.

  Abuse was a terrible thing, never able to take hold of a healthy mind but grasping on to grief or illness like a vicious predator toying with a hurt prey. What Lotho was doing for Ahn was foul, and it enraged Nemours and Delian. Ty, however, still hoped he could turn things around.

  Tayne had not moved against the ports, perhaps contained by his vassal lords or officers. Ahn’s ships had not moved up the eastern coast, and her armies had not yet stirred. The war would start when that happened, and things did not look as good for the brothers as they had only a while ago.

  "We should be on Earth," Ty said. "Finding the Knowledge to put the world back together, not tearing it apart even further. How did we lose sight of that?"

  For once, Delian displayed more knowledge of things than his little brother, and he did it by scoffing. "How does any war happ
en, dummy? People with armies disagree, that’s how."

  "Elinor and I could figure out the rest of the clues in days," Ty insisted. "And we could have the argument then."

  "You haven't made headway with the last one," Delian pointed out.

  "Here we don't have time to think or exchange ideas — look where we are." Ty motioned toward Delian's armor and his weapons, stacked against a corner. "Planning slaughter."

  "We tried being on Earth," Delian reminded him. "And we were stopped."

  "But we would be able to dodge them now. We know their tricks."

  Delian shook his head. "The way Ahn has acted … underhanded. And Lotho — he's just evil. This time, he would be turned loose upon us no matter where we were. And on Earth, they won't fear using magic."

  "I don't think Lotho fears using it here. And I trust us." Ty motioned toward the map. "This—this is madness, Delian. We should keep trying to reconcile with them."

  "Ay-ay-ay," said Delian. He perched on the corner of the table and considered his younger brother. Ty was no coward, but he hated the idea of killing anything but monsters. He hated the idea their sisters might be turning into monsters.

  "I'm going," Ty said, sending him as rebellious a look as his eyes could muster.

  "We can't get to Ahn through Crossing, any more than she can get to us. They've run the same shield we have."

  "We can get close enough." Ty took something out of his pocket and held it up. A glove. "Ahn's. I can find her through it. We'll land somewhere near enough, and she'll never deny me entrance."

  "Nemours would spontaneously combust," Delian said slowly. "Apart from the fact that you can't say anything that hasn't been said already."

  "So far by Nemours to Ahn, and by Ahn to Nemours. There are not two souls less suited to compromise."

  "No one wants to be talked into peace, Ty," Delian said gently. "Not once they've been roused."

  "And that’s wrong." Ty shrugged. "I'm going now."

  "Wait!" Delian took hold of his brother's arm. "I still don't know what the hell you'll say that can change her mind."

  "I'll make it up as I go along."

  "Wonderful, you don't really have a plan!" Delian gave an overly bright, ironic smile, but then took two of his daggers and sheathed them, and donned the belt with his sword. "Going with you."

  "Armed to the teeth?" Ty asked. "That's not the idea."

  "I'm not going into the meeting," Delian said. "I wouldn’t even need these, I’d be shooting daggers out of my eyes at Ahn. She's done some horrible stuff, and to Lady E as well. It will take me a long time to get over all that."

  His brother folded lips in a disapproving line. "In that case, why do I need you?"

  "I don't know if you need me. I know that I need not to let you go alone."

  "Because I'm the baby and Nemours will have your balls?"

  "Darling baby, Nemours will never know about this. That's the point. I'm going to be timekeeper, and make sure you're not dawdling, and they're not drugging you or keeping you there with wiles."

  Ty allowed his eyes to roll. He didn't do it often. "Whatever. But truly, Delian, do not slink into the meeting, if I get one. Which I will. You and Sefira will start at each other, or you'll directly insult Ahn — or something." Leaning forward, Ty narrowed his eyes at his brother. "I'm letting you to come on those conditions."

  "Ha-ha, baby. Letting. And where is your sword?"

  "Not taking one."

  "Idiot."

  Holding on to the glove, Ty closed his eyes.

  "Wait, wait, wait," said Delian.

  Ty glared at his brother as Delian patted his pockets and looked around, finally exclaiming when he found a purse of money on the table, which he jingled. "They will want metal in exchange for drinks. And I intend to wait for you at an inn like a civilized person."

  He held on to his brother's hand, and Ty to the glove.

  "Nu mol predo," said Ty. Take me to this.

  And when they got there, they knew where they were. The mist told them.

  "That wanker's land," Delian said with a grimace. "Mistkeep. Hate this place."

  Ty looked around. It was dark, but their eyes were sharp and cut through the soft fog. He pointed at a tall, thin structure to the east. "That's the watch tower of Rix. They must be at the wanker's hold."

  "How will you find out?"

  "I'll walk to the castle and ask."

  "Good one, Ty. So they can keep you hostage."

  "They're not doing that," Ty said. "Ahn wouldn't."

  "Meet the new Ahn ..." Delian mumbled. "Besides, someone else could recognize you and get ideas."

  Ty pulled the hood of the cloak over his head. "There."

  They began walking as Delian said, "Did you know that when people wear hoods it only makes other people stare at them more?"

  "If they do stare at me, they'll see features that aren't unusual," Ty reasoned. "Whereas if I don't wear a hood, they'll see it's me. And since you are the most beautiful prince in the worlds, I'd suggest you put your hood up as well."

  Delian grunted, but a few moments later they heard voices and saw lights ahead, and he pulled the hood over his eyes. "Ridiculous."

  It was a good thing Rix had mist a lot of the time, especially near the harbor, as they could walk around in their cloaks and hoods although the weather was supposed to be warm. Other people were doing it. That freaking humidity got inside one's ears and just hummed there.

  The castle rose before them, a puny thing compared to any of theirs. It still dominated the town. Freaking backwater.

  Ty made his way to the serpentine stairs leading up to Lord Serle's hold from the town square.

  "When I'm done, I'll get them to lower the drawbridge and leave through the back," he said. "We'll avoid the town that way, and I'll meet you in the fields."

  "There's an inn," Delian said. "The something- something. It's right on the road that goes from the tower, the last one before the woods. I'll wait for you there."

  They parted ways, although Delian still sighed as Ty patiently climbed the steps.

  "Ty, Ty ..." Delian mumbled. "Only you would bother."

  Delian threw sullen glances at the townspeople who peered at him. Oh, he might as well use Crossing to get to the something-something inn, which turned out, imaginatively, to be the White Seagull. Well, seagulls certainly had been shitting on that place for a long time, as the shingled roof was smeared with white droppings.

  Thank heavens he didn't eat. He wouldn't even eat honey in there.

  It was summer, and the fields around the inn looked desolate. But then, lands of mist bore reedy trees, and the grass was swept close to the ground by the wind like long, thin hair brushed the wrong way. Like a freaking combover.

  Still wearing the ridiculous hood, Delian pushed the door to the White Seagull open, finding that it was full enough to allow him to go unnoticed, but not so full that he couldn't get a table in a corner and sit in the shadows. Everyone knew what he, his brothers and his sisters looked like. They were on coins, for one thing. There were statues and paintings of them.

  One of Ahn hung just above his head as he took his place. Not by a good artist, that was for sure. He had wondered in the past whether a single artist painted all the horrible portraits for cheap inns. Still, the man had captured Ahn's regal posture and lofty stare, and Delian gave his back to the image.

  You can piss right off, Ahn.

  He surveyed the room, waiting for the tavern woman to sashay his way and ask what he wanted, and remembered Mistkeepers liked their beer warm.

  Ugh.

  "Do you have any Palau?" he asked when she got to him, running the inevitable damp cloth over his table. That was a good red wine from the Midlands. The girl nodded. Delian smiled. "A bottle, please."

  When the wine came, the first glass helped reconcile him to the idea of being in wanker-land a little. The third made him reflect on Ahn: She wasn't evil. She wasn't. Immortals, like mortals, sometimes just got out of
control, that was all. Maybe Ty would convince her of something.

  Although Nemours would expect her to bow her head and hand that murderous priest over.

  The fourth and fifth glasses brought back his impatience. What was Ty up to? It was like this: Admit you've been underhanded and evil, Ahn. Yes or no?

  Good thing he wasn't the one trying his hand at diplomacy, but he was tired of sitting in a corner with the hood on his head like a bad cliché and didn't like being away from camp. What would they tell Nemours if he had looked for them and found them absent?

  But Ty could usually get away with things, as far as their brother was concerned; and Delian needed another bottle of wine.

  As he raised his hand to call the serving wench, the door opened and there was the ring of steel. Oh, for hell's sake. Soldiers or something?

  He looked to his right and groaned. Worse.

  Five women wearing swords and breastplates, and one of them was that girl. Sefira's friend. And yes, the breastplates had Sefira's heart-crossed-by-three-swords on it.

  Stopping with a hand on the hilt of her dagger, the woman looked around until her eyes decided to settle on him.

  "Well, well, well. What have we here?" the woman asked, moving over and leaning her arm on the wall above Delian's head.

  Incredible: She actually used the tip of her dagger to push his hood back. Oh, but she was quite insane.

  "My prince!" she cried with an exaggerated smile and bowed. She looked around again, at everyone in the room. "Don't you see royalty is here?"

  Laughing like the lackeys they were, the women with her also bowed. The whole inn had turned to stare. They didn't look too friendly, considering their people were about to go to war with Delian's — but neither would they do or say anything to a prince of theirs.

  The good people of Rix weren't as stupid as Sefira's friend, who straddled a chair across from Delian to sneer.

  "Why hide that pretty face, lord?" she asked.