The World of Samar Box Set: Volume One: Books 1 & 2
Author: M.L. Hamilton
Date: 2019-01-12 05:00:00+00:00
Description: NOW AVAILABLE IN ONE VOLUME – THE FIRST TWO WORLD OF SAMAR SERIES IN A BOX SET! The books contained in this box set are: The Talisman of Eldon and The Heirs of Eldon. Get the first two books of the popular World of Samar series in a single box set. Over 850 pages of epic fantasy and adventure. The World of Samar series follows the lives of Eldon’s chosen as they struggle to survive in a land hostile to everything they know. The first two books tell the story of Kiameron and his sons as they fight to free Loden from the oppressive grip of the depot Gava.

The World of Samar

Box Set: Volume Three

Volume 6 - 8

ML Hamilton
authormlhamilton.net

The World of Samar Box Set: Volume Three

© 2019 ML Hamilton, Sacramento, CA

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed by a newspaper, magazine or journal.

First print

All Characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

This box set is dedicated to the avid fantasy readers for whom there are never enough pages. May you find hours of entertainment within.

“Fantasy is hardly an escape from reality. It’s a way of understanding it.”

~Lloyd Alexander

Table of Contents

THE SCIONS OF ELDON

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

EPILOGUE

THE WATCHERS OF ELDON

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

EPILOGUE

THE FOLLOWERS OF ELDON

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

EPILOGUE

THE SCIONS OF ELDON

World of Samar: Book Six

M L Hamilton
authormlhamilton.net

The Scions of Eldon

Copyright © 2015 M L Hamilton

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed by a newspaper, magazine or journal.

Second print

All Characters appearing in this work are fictitious.  Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

This novel is dedicated to those readers who have been with me through both the tragedy and joy of this epic series. To my family, thank you as always for your constant, unwavering support.

May Eldon’s light shine brightly in your lives!

No love, no friendship can cross the path of our destiny
without leaving some mark on it forever.

~ François Mauriac

PROLOGUE

The sun shone through a gathering of soft, white clouds and the wind blew lazy ripples across the waters of the pond. Spring had come to the desert, making flowers bloom on the once barren sand. A faint sprinkling of green blanketed the water’s edge, providing enough vegetation for the small, grey rabbits to feed and multiply and frolic for a few weeks before seeking cover in the tangled vines beneath the thorn bushes that grew on the west side of the pond.

Kalas sank to his knees beside his sister near the water’s edge. He peered around her shoulder to see what she held, then cast a look behind him where Inara, their nurse, sat on a blanket, knitting. He wasn’t worried about Inara, but the woman standing beside her, their tutor, could be a witch when she wanted. Presently, Madam Trollick was occupied by the masterpiece she was painting on her easel. Kalas didn’t think she would even notice what her two pupils were up to for some time.

He turned back to his sister and smiled as Tyla combed her fingers through the silky soft fur of the small rabbit she’d called to her only moments before. She sat in the grass, her dress balled up in her lap, providing the rabbit with a soft cushion upon which to sit. As she stroked it, the rabbit closed its eyes and became very still, its nose twitching.

Tyla lifted her gaze to her brother. “Isn’t he sweet, Kalas?” she said.

Kalas nodded, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t want to frighten the bunny. Tyla returned to petting it, trilling deep in her throat to assure it she meant no harm. Kalas studied his sister’s fragile features, the glossy black curls that fell far down her back and the darkness of her skin against the grey of the rabbit’s fur. Tyla was only five, but she showed signs of being a beautiful woman when she grew up. Not only that, but she had power. Calling wild animals to her was only one of her many gifts – she could do other, darker, more frightening things.

Kalas closed his eyes and exhaled, bowing his head. He didn’t want Tyla to know how much he worried about her. He was only eleven himself, but he had spent very little time being a child. These stolen moments with Tyla were all that he could claim…that is, all that he could claim now. He forcefully shoved those betraying memories aside.

“Do you want to hold him, Kalas?” she asked, starting to lift the bunny.

“No,” said Kalas. “You hold him. I’ll just pet him.” He reached out and ran his fingers through the animal’s fur. It was quite possibly the softest thing he’d ever felt.

Tyla’s emerald eyes searched his face. He knew she could read his thoughts, but he was Stravad enough to feel it when she did. Kalas hated having his innermost feelings being shared by another, a fact he made quite clear to his sister. Loving him as she did, she forced herself to control the impulse, but he knew it was hard for her. From the time she first learned to talk, she’d been bombarded by other people’s thoughts and feelings. For a long while, she couldn’t be in a crowded room because the sensory overload was unbearable for her. Gradually, she’d learned to block it. Now they sometimes used Tyla’s gift to their advantage, but that was only on Humans and only in the greatest need.

Kalas himself had no inclination toward any special power. And truthfully, he was just as grateful that he didn’t. He knew he didn’t look as Stravad as his sister and that was a benefit in a kingdom like Sarkisian where Stravad were mistrusted because of their uncanny abilities and the ancient wisdom that marked the race. Kalas had never been certain of his future, Rarick was unpredictable enough to keep him guessing, but he knew that being Stravad would make everything more complicated, and having power the like of which Tyla exhibited…well, he knew it was a difference that would never be forgotten.

Kalas should have been immensely relieved by this lack of distinction, but it was little comfort to him. There were only two people in the world he loved – his nurse, Inara, and his sister. Of the two, Tyla was more important by far, and so any relief he might have felt was quashed under the growing worry about what would happen to his sister when she came of age.

“What have you got?” said a nasal voice that made him flinched. He glanced over his shoulder and watched their tutor approach, her steps short and violent, kicking up sand as she went.

Kalas turned back to his sister and nodded at the rabbit. “Let it go! Hurry!” he urged.

Tyla’s expression shifted from rapture to heartbreak in an instant, but she set the bunny on the ground beside her. The little animal paused, looking up at her with liquid brown eyes, but it didn’t hop away. It had been enjoying the attention too much and hadn’t sensed the impending danger yet.

“Tyla!” said Kalas urgently.

She made a shooing motion with her hand, but the rabbit only hopped a few steps beyond her, staring back. Kalas jumped to his feet and spun to meet the tutor, blocking his sister and the rabbit from her approach. He knew that the older woman would try to kill the little animal if it didn’t hop away, and then Tyla would be devastated.

Madam Trollick was a stern spinster with short, wild hair that spiked from her head. Kalas had always thought she looked like a porcupine he’d seen in one of their school books. Her nose was hooked and her eyes were too small for her other features. She always carried a riding crop in her hand and Kalas had felt the sting of it more times than he cared to remember. Presently, she had traded her paintbrush for the crop and was smacking it against her leg as she stormed toward them.

Kalas looked beyond her shoulder to where Inara was climbing to her feet, but Madam Trollick was on him before Inara could intervene.

“Was she holding that filthy beast?” she demanded.

Kalas glanced over his shoulder and saw his sister kneeling beside the rabbit, trying to urge it toward the safety of the thorn bushes. Huge tears were already welling in Tyla’s eyes and the little rabbit had frozen in terror, unable to run.

“It’s just a bunny,” he said, facing their tutor again.

Madam Trollick’s eyes widened. “Is that any way to address your superior, boy?” Kalas started to respond, but she struck him on the shoulder with the crop and tried to shove him out of the way. “Get back! I’ll show you what should be done with filthy vermin!”

Kalas stumbled, but he threw himself in front of her. He’d seen her kick one of the castle puppies and knew the little rabbit couldn’t withstand such a brutal blow. At his movement, the rabbit bolted, racing for the cover of thorns. Madam Trollick faltered and glared down at Kalas, then she raised the crop, prepared to backhand him across the face.

“No!” came Tyla’s cry.

The tutor’s eyes shifted to her. A moment later she lurched away from the boy with a guttural scream, her arms waving frantically in the air. Inara staggered to a halt, meeting Kalas’ stunned gaze.

“Get them off me! Help! Help!” cried the tutor, tearing frantically at her clothing and her short, spiky hair. “Get them off!”

Kalas and Inara both turned at the same moment. Tyla knelt in the grass where the rabbit had been, her eyes narrowed on the tutor, their emerald depths glowing with inner light.

“Stop, Tyla!” shouted Inara.

Tyla blinked, then dropped her head in submission.

Kalas looked back at Madam Trollick. She had stopped clawing at herself, but she was huddled over, cradling her riding crop against her bosom, her breath coming in a sobbing pant. Slowly, she lifted her head and glared at the three of them. Tyla scrambled to her feet and ducked behind her brother, her little hands grabbing his arm.

“That child’s possessed!” said the tutor, pointing her crop at Tyla.

Kalas could feel Tyla trembling at his back and he shifted to block her.

“No, she isn’t!” cried Inara. “She was just trying to protect her brother!”

Madam Trollick turned her glare on the nurse. “I tell you that child is an animal herself and should be locked away where she can harm no one! If you think I won’t report this to Lord Rarick, you have another think coming!”

“Wait, please!” said Inara, taking a step after the tutor, but the woman spun on her heel and started back for Stronghold.

Inara lowered her head and shut her eyes.

Kalas glanced at her, but his attention was focused on the tutor’s retreating back. No good was going to come of this. Behind him, Tyla pressed her face into his side, her grip tightening on his arm.

Inara lifted her head and studied Kalas for a moment, then she came to them and knelt, pulling Tyla toward her. Tyla threw herself in the nurse’s arms, burying her face in Inara’s neck. Inara stroked the glossy black curls and looked up at Kalas.

“He will punish her,” she whispered.

Kalas clenched his jaw and his hands tightened into fists. He’d believed there was a shadow over his heart for many years now. The only thing that kept the shadow from consuming him was Inara and his sister. Nothing else mattered in the world.

“No, he won’t.”

Inara reached out and touched one of his fists. “Kalas, you can’t protect her from everything.”

“I can protect her from this,” he said. “When he asks you, you tell him I ordered Tyla to do it. I made her use her power on the tutor. He knows Tyla will do anything for me. Make sure he knows that I’m to blame for this too.”

Inara’s lips parted and Tyla lifted her head. Her face was streaked with tears.

“Make sure, Inara.” His voice faltered as he thought of what Rarick would do to him. His gaze shifted to Tyla and he forced a brave smile. “It’ll be all right, Tiger,” he said, using his pet name for her. “I won’t let him hurt you.”

CHAPTER 1

The city of Cambia was the most distant from the castle at Adishian. Each of the kingdoms in Nevaisser were spread over great distances, Nevaisser being the largest region on Samar and also the least populated. Even though Adishian was the smallest kingdom in Nevaisser, Cambia was still a five day ride from the city of Adishian at the hub of the kingdom, and another two days from Kazden, the largest city on the eastern end.

Cambia was a small, filthy town with wrenched and broken boardwalks and rutted cobblestone streets where the sewage from the shops and house ran down the gutters in streams. The shops hadn’t seen a new coat of paint since the Second Siege of Dorland began a decade ago and their shelves were nearly bare. Many people would have died of starvation had not Loden, the opulent land far to the east, sent aid. The bitter struggle had cost many lives and yet still showed no sign of abating. The people of Adishian called it Talar Eldralin’s War, after the lord who was said to have begun it more than twenty-five years before, which made the kingdoms in Loden even less inclined to intervene in deference to the memory of the Nazarien leader.

The length of the war created a breed of people in Cambia that held no alliance to any kingdom – truly no alliance to anything but their own pleasure. They took to nightly rampages through the town, creating drunken riots and terrorizing the few remaining citizens into barring doors and windows at night. And during the quiet daylight hours, these marauders slept off the previous night’s bout in the alleyways and parks while the rest of the citizens stepped around them as they trekked back and forth from their homes to market. Many people had left the city and built homes on the outskirts of Cambia, coming to the town only for supplies.

It was from one of the porches on the outskirts of Cambia that Davo first saw the two strangers approach. He knew they were strangers for they came on horseback – large and well-built horses with flowing manes and tails. Cambia’s horses and mules had all grown gaunt and wispy since the Second Siege began.

Davo leaned forward. He wanted to take a closer look at the horses – it had been so long since he’d seen horses so well groomed and healthy. And the men...

Even Davo could see they were wealthy. He adjusted his glasses to take them in fully. Their clothes were brightly colored and certainly not made of the rough, poorly combed cotton Davo wore himself. The colors drew Davo forward in his chair and caused him to scratch the grey stubble at his chin. He hadn’t seen colors so bright since...oh, he’d never remember when now, but it had been long ago.

Davo waved to them because he didn’t want them to pass by without exchanging a word or two. He hadn’t spoken to another being in a long time. It was so difficult to walk to market and sometimes he was still on the road after dark, which made his heart pound.

The strangers spotted him and were now turning their magnificent horses towards his gate, towards his rusty hinged, hanging weather-beaten gate. Davo ran his eyes along his porch and took in the peeled paint along the floor and the six broken planks in the banister, the cobwebs high in each corner between the house and porch, and then his gaze fell to his own wrinkled hands as they lay against his pale grey trousers.

The horses were at the gate now, he could hear them nicker and one of the men had descended with a hand on the latch. “Hello there,” he said and Davo instantly knew the accent was foreign.

“Hello there,” called Davo and he struggled to his feet, pushing himself from the chair, “Hold on a minute, stranger, ‘til I lift the latch for you.”

He grabbed the cane from the arm of the chair and holding the banister, descended the three warped stairs before the house. The walkway was dry and dust rose from his footsteps. He removed a faded red handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed the perspiration from his upper lip, replacing it in his pocket and shuffling as quickly as he might to the gate.

The stranger turned to glance at the other man still on horseback and then turned back. As Davo reached the gate, he felt a pang of fear for the first time. These strangers were certainly odd looking and they had appeared so suddenly. All roads to Adishian were closed by the Siege. Davo reasoned by their clothes and horses that they must be from Loden – rumor had it that Loden was wealthy, but still the old man knew strangers couldn’t be trusted anymore. He clutched his cane tighter and paused just out of reach of the man at the gate.

“What do you want?” he said.

The man at the gate smiled and Davo was surprised to see two rows of perfect, straight white teeth. “Come on, old man, you hailed us and now we want to ask you some questions,” he said, rolling his vowels.

Davo was intrigued by his accent and wished he’d speak some more so he might fill his hungry ears with the sound, but the stranger simply stood smiling at him.

“Stop smiling and lift your faces so I can get a good look at you both.”

The man at the gate was tall and ruggedly built with a dark complexion. His hair was coal black and short about his face, and he wore an earring in one ear, but Davo couldn’t make out the design. The other man was as tall as the first, but of a more fine build with golden brown skin and thick blonde hair. He also wore an earring, but of a different shape than the first man, although Davo couldn’t make out its design either. The second man’s face was handsome, even Davo’s jaded senses discerned this much, but what captivated the old man most of all were the blue eyes that gazed into his own.

“Are you those others…Stravad?” he said in a reverent whisper.

The first man laughed. “He’s Stravad,” he said, motioning toward the handsome man on horseback.

Davo glanced at the dark haired man and then his gaze shifted to the Stravad, who smiled now. “Then you’re from Loden?”

“No,” said the first man, “he’s Nazarien.”

Davo flinched and glanced up the road. The two men followed his look.

He moved to the gate and leaned toward the men. “You shouldn’t speak that name too loudly in Cambia.”

“All right,” said the first man, “you won’t hear that name again. Can we water the horses at your well?” He nodded at the tumble of bricks that marked Davo’s water supply.

“I...” Davo felt suddenly confused. Should he let these strangers come into the yard – should he risk someone knowing a Nazarien was at his farm? No one ever came down this road, except to market, and few people ever stopped by Davo’s farm, but even more importantly, he wanted to talk to these men and to touch their beautiful horses.

The dark-haired man eyed him, but waited while Davo thought. After a moment, he leaned on the gate, but it gave with his weight. Glancing down, he rose to his full height again and lifted a black brow.

“Do you have a name?”

Davo looked into the blue eyes and nodded, but he didn’t answer.

“Do you remember it?”

Davo’s eyes shot to the Stravad and the Stravad frowned at his companion. The horses were growing restless, pawing at the dry earth.

“Davo,” said the old man, “but it’s unfriendly to ask someone’s name before you give your own.”

The dark-haired man smiled again. Davo was beginning to dislike the smile. He always smiled at inappropriate times, especially after Davo said something. “But of course, you’re right,” he said, holding out his hand, “my name is Jarrett Murata and the Stravad is Kendrick Andel.”

Davo pronounced the names silently to himself. Few people he knew were fortunate enough or important enough to have two names. The habit of having two names – the first a given name and the second a family name – dated back to the Ancients, but had died as their numbers had declined. Talar Eldralin had brought the practice back into being and after his death, those of royal lineage or those with great wealth felt it necessary to resurrect their family names. A few less fortunate souls were also feeling the need for a second name, but rather than spending the money to search for it, they made one up. Davo looked at the two men and decided that these men looked important enough to have discovered their rightful names.

Jarrett leaned forward again. “Davo, the horses are thirsty and we’re tired.”

Davo had spent so much time by himself the last couple of years that he forgot that the two men were waiting for him to make a decision.

The Stravad stirred. “Come on, let’s go to town,” he said, turning his horse into the road again.

Jarrett shrugged and grasped his horse’s bridle to mount, but Davo started in alarm. “No, you mustn’t go to Cambia.”

Jarrett halted and turned back around. “Why not?”

The Stravad swung down out of the saddle. “What’s wrong with Cambia, Davo?”

Davo liked the Stravad’s voice – it was kind, although it too had a thick accent. “Because they’ll eat the horses,” he said.

The two men exchanged glances, then the Stravad moved forward. “Won’t you let us come in so we might ask you some questions? We’ve come a long way and we’re tired.”

Davo reached out a trembling hand and unlatched the gate, holding it open for the Stravad and horse to pass. His eyes followed the golden-haired man, then dropped to the horse. Reaching out, he touched the animal’s flank.

*    *    *

Jarrett watched the entire episode from outside the gate. After Kendrick had passed, the old man let go of the gate, forgetting that one of them still remained on the road. Daft old codger!

He shook his head in annoyance, then pushed open the gate. He noticed that Davo couldn’t help but touch the flank of Kendrick’s horse as he passed.

They watered the horses and then Kendrick soaked a handkerchief in the water to wipe off his face and the back of his neck.

Jarrett turned to Davo. “Do you have a cup so I might get a drink when his lordship’s finished?”

Davo disappeared inside the house and returned with a cup. As Jarrett drank, Kendrick looked about the farm. The old man had retreated back to the porch and was standing on the edge of it, watching them. When Jarrett held out the cup, the Nazarien looked into it, then turned away, approaching the porch. Jarrett shook his head and went to the horses, tethering them to a half-rotten hitching post outside the broken-down barn.

Patting each of their flanks, he gave the entire farm a critical look. The barn door was hanging off its hinges and a rusted plow had been discarded just in front of it. Blades of grass had grown through the metal of the plow, indicating it had been rusting there a good long time. At least the horses had a little fodder beneath their feet and he wasn’t afraid of them wandering off, not because he thought the hitching post would hold them, but because they were too well trained.

He strode back to the porch. The Nazarien had taken a seat beside the old man. Jarrett braced a booted foot on the bottom stair and leaned an elbow on his thigh. There were no other chairs on the porch. Not that he really minded. They’d been sitting far too long on horseback and he needed to stretch his legs. Beyond that, Kendrick was much better at being diplomatic than he was; he didn’t have the patience for it.

“Do you live alone, Davo?” Kendrick asked.

Davo bowed his head and swallowed. “Yes, the horses and chickens were the last to go, especially after Enna.”

“Who was Enna?”

Davo’s eyes lifted to the Stravad’s face. “My wife, I buried her behind the barn.”

Jarrett’s gaze involuntarily shifted to the decrepit place. Alone, for how long, he wondered.

“And you have no children?” asked Kendrick.

Davo’s eyes grew distant. “Terrible things happen, you know, in a war.” He lifted his gaze again to Kendrick. “I’m old, very old – celebrated my birthday last week, couple hundred years old, I guess.”

Kendrick and Jarrett exchanged looks, then Kendrick’s eyes fell to his hands. “Do you have any children, Davo?”

Davo rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Son, but he’s dead like my Enna, dead and killed in the first war.” He turned to Kendrick and his face became animated. “You know the first war of Sarkisian and Dorland ended neutral – they say neutral, but they don’t talk about how many sons and daughters died, how many homes destroyed, how many people hungry.”

Kendrick sighed. “No, they never talk about that nor does it seem to stop them from imposing this senseless siege.”

Davo nodded. “The siege, terrible, terrible. They’ll eat your horses in Cambia, especially horses like that, and if they know you’re one of those,” he said, motioning toward Kendrick’s ear, “they’ll kill you too. Mustn’t tell them who you are.”

“Who will do these things? The people in Cambia?” asked Kendrick, his eyes wandering toward the road.

“No, some people are still good. Those others will – they drink too much and get crazy – they say they hate your kind.”

Jarrett rose to his full height. “Are the other cities in Adishian as bad?”

Davo shifted toward him. “I don’t know. I stay here only. Don’t even go to market much.”

“How do you eat?” asked Kendrick. “Where do you get food?”

Davo didn’t seem to have heard the question. “Very dangerous now. They go crazy sometimes at night in Cambia – not enough food, only alcohol. They kill each other, kill the good people and the roads are bad at night.” Davo lifted his eyes and noticed that the stars had begun to appear. A gust of wind had picked up, blowing dust across the porch. He pushed himself from the chair and turned toward the door. “Time to be inside.”

Kendrick and Jarrett looked at one another and then watched the old man enter the house as if he’d forgotten his two guests. Jarrett finally stirred. “Well, he’s certainly daft. Go inside with him and I’ll see if I can’t put up the horses in the barn.”

Kendrick gazed at the barn. “Do you think they’ll be safe?”

Jarrett shrugged. “I don’t know. Do you suppose this old man eats horses?”

*    *    *

Kendrick didn’t answer Jarrett’s question about the horses, but he turned about in a circle so he might take in the full effect of the farm. There was something about the farm that made thoughts come slowly. The Nazarien lived somewhat sequestered lives, but Kendrick had never seen anyone live quite as abjectly as Davo did.

He watched Jarrett walk away with the horses, then turned to the house and opened the screen door. Davo looked up when he heard the door open and seemed surprised to see the Stravad, then his face relaxed in recognition and he turned back to the sink boards where he fussed over something Kendrick couldn’t see.

“Staying for dinner?” asked Davo over his shoulder. Kendrick started to answer, but the old man interrupted. “Well, you have to now. Too dark to travel the road and too dangerous to be in town, especially since you’re...” Davo obviously didn’t like to say the name Nazarien out loud. “And you’ll have to stay the night. Where’s the other one?” he asked suddenly, looking about for Jarrett.

“He took the horses to the barn. The wind’s beginning to pick up and it’s been cold at night lately,” said Kendrick, walking about the small kitchen.

“Yes, it gets in my bones nowadays. Hard to walk sometimes and sometimes my hands get like this,” he said, showing his swollen knuckles.

“I’ve seen that happen to people your age, Davo. It’s very painful, isn’t it?”

Davo nodded and lifted a large black kettle onto the grating in the fireplace. He took the lid off and placed a wooden spoon deep inside to stir whatever the kettle contained.

Kendrick studied him in confusion. Davo had no fire going yet, but kindling was piled high about the kettle, and even still Davo stirred as if he feared the contents of the kettle might burn. He recovered the pot and returned to the sink boards where he removed an equally black teapot from a shelf overhead. “Take a seat,” he said, motioning toward the table.

Kendrick looked at the table and saw that it seemed sturdy enough, although the finish had been rubbed away and deep black scratches gored its surface. None of the four chairs matched and the first chair Kendrick chose had uneven front legs.

“That’s Enna’s chair,” said Davo as he spooned tea into the pot. “She used to sit there late at night and sew. I used to like to watch her in the firelight.”

Kendrick rubbed the back of the chair and felt a pang of loneliness at Davo’s words. The kitchen was cold and oppressive. To his surprise, he wished Jarrett would come. Sidestepping Enna’s chair, he took a seat at another, brushing the dust from it before he sat.

“Where do you get food, Davo?” he said, stretching his legs out beneath the table.

Davo turned, teapot in hand, and regarded the Stravad. “A young couple down the road bring me beans and tea and bread, sometimes a little piece of meat. I used to pay them, but I have no money left and yet they still bring me food. Sometimes,” he said, lowering his voice and looking closely at the Stravad, “I find a jug of ale on the porch.”

He rested the teapot on the hearth and lifted the lid to the kettle, stirring again, but this time he lifted out some to taste. Kendrick could see that it was a very dark, almost black soup. Davo grimaced at the taste and dropped the rest into the pot. “It’s cold,” he said in dismay.

“Because there’s no fire.”

Davo glanced under the pot and then laughed out loud, the sound startling Kendrick. He realized suddenly that it was the first time he’d heard the old man laugh since their arrival. Davo picked up a pycantra lighter and set the kindling ablaze, then nestled the teapot in beside the kettle.

Suddenly the door to the kitchen opened and Jarrett stepped inside, brushing dust and leaves from his clothing. He lifted their packs to the table and began opening one.

“They’re settled as best as possible. At least they’ll have some shelter from the wind. I think a storm’s coming – the wind’s really picked up.”

Kendrick reached for the second pack. “I hope we don’t get any storms yet. We’re five days from Adishian, according to the map.”

Jarrett shrugged and then looked about the kitchen for the first time. “Any hot water?”

Kendrick shook his head.

Jarrett sighed and turned towards the door, grabbing the bucket hanging on the wall as he went out.

Kendrick removed a wrapped piece of cheese and a few wafer cakes, then pulled forth a small silver vial. “Davo, this is a gift for you, in remembrance of your kindness and generosity.” He opened the vial and allowed its odor to waft towards the old man.

Davo’s eyes were large with wonder. Kendrick tipped the bottle and poured out a thin strip of pearlescent white liquid. He took Davo’s hand and worked the salve into his knuckles.

“This is Stamerian ointment. When you have trouble walking or your hands hurt, you can rub this into them and the pain will go away, but you need use only a little since it is very strong medicine, Stravad medicine.”

Davo raised his eyes to the blue eyes of the Stravad. “How long will it last?”

“If you use it sparingly, only a little at a time, it should last you a great while.”

Davo smiled and closed the small vial tightly in his hand. “Stravad medicine is very strong.”

“Yes,” said Kendrick, “very strong, nothing will help more.”

Davo nodded and went back to his cooking. Jarrett returned with a brimming bucket of cold water and set it on the table beside his pack. Then he washed his face and hands and put on a clean shirt.

Soon after they ate the meager meal, accentuated by the cheese and wafer cakes, and drank the dark, strong tea. Kendrick was reluctant to eat the thick soup, but finally hunger forced him to sample it.

*    *    *

Dinner passed in silence, for Davo was ill-accustomed to company at mealtime, and afterwards insisted on washing the dishes by himself. Jarrett and Kendrick waited at the table for his return and Jarrett felt the oppressiveness of the dank, dirty kitchen pressing him into a stupor. He looked at Kendrick and saw that Kendrick was deep in thought, his handsome face distant.

Jarrett turned his gaze to Davo’s bent back as he labored over the sink boards and thought suddenly of his own father. He remembered the same stooped look about the shoulders, the half-bent knees to support the weight of the upper body, the same shuffling gait, but Jarrett’s father had never lived like this, would never have lived like this. He’d have taken his own life long before matters became this desperate. As Jarrett watched Davo, he thought he could actually see his father with his back to him, carving the quill of a broken pen.

Jarrett had sat just as he was now, before his father, staring at the stooped back behind the desk with the glare from his father’s lamp in his eyes.

“That’s the only measure of a man,” he said in his loud, deep voice. “The single true measure of a man – power! Only power. And a truly powerful man has control over those beneath him. The Terrian leader doesn’t understand this or else he wouldn’t be wasting his time with you.”

Jarrett remembered the wash of his father’s words over him, a tactic he’d used often, especially when he found it most difficult to sit for hours listening to him rant. His mother waited in the silence outside the door, waiting for what she knew would come once the elder Murata discovered the boy was no longer listening. His rage then had been something to fear. He would suddenly start to his feet, clenching his fists and shuffle around the desk. The boy wouldn’t be able to move, would look up at him with his enormous blue eyes and...and...

Jarrett jumped suddenly, his body wet with his own perspiration, and found himself in the darkened kitchen with the clang of dishes about him.

Kendrick stirred. “This farm could certainly affect one’s thoughts,” he said.

Jarrett glanced at his companion. Davo had placed a candle in the middle of the table and its light drew long hollows across the Nazarien’s face, but the deep blue eyes gleamed out of the dark face as if they had a light of their own. Jarrett nodded. “I feel like I’ve thought and moved extremely slow since we arrived here today. And I’m remembering things that I haven’t remembered in years.”

Kendrick folded his hands before him on the table. “Do you think Cambia’s as bad as he thinks?”

“I don’t know, but if the outskirts have been reduced this low, can the town be any better off?” Jarrett’s eyes made the circuit of the small kitchen again. “And if it’s true, what does that mean about Adishian and...”

Kendrick lifted his hand to silence him. “Adishian’s the capital, life’s usually very different in the capital, and even so, I refuse to believe, find it hard to believe, that the castle has met with such abject misery. In fact, it probably has fared quite well at the expense of people like this poor soul.”

Davo turned at that point and surveyed his guests, then went to a cabinet beside the fireplace and removed a jug. He placed the jug and three glasses on the table, and took a seat.

He filled each glass, then passed one each to his guests. Jarrett lifted his own and took a sniff, recognizing the woodsy smell of ale. He started to take a sip, but Davo was ready now for a brief speech and while holding the glass up in his hand, he took a breath and cleared his throat to begin. “I rarely take a drink nowadays,” he said, smiling in Kendrick’s direction. “But this is a sort of celebration and worth a little ale. I’m happy to say I haven’t died before I saw a real Stravad.”

Kendrick tapped the old man’s glass with his own and both men took sips of the ale. Jarrett had to control his urge to gulp the entire glass. He was surprised to find the ale quite good, well-aged and full of body. He savored its rich taste on his tongue and in the back of his throat. And he wished suddenly that Davo hadn’t been daft, but was really hiding a wealth of booze.

Kendrick settled his glass on the table and pushed it away. Jarrett found the motion both pretentious and wholly Nazarien. He fought an urge to throw a sarcastic remark at his companion. What was it about Kendrick’s apathetic attitude that bothered him?

Deliberately ignoring the Nazarien, he turned to the old man. “Tell me, Davo, what do you know about King Tarnow?”

The old man sat gazing into the depths of his glass with intense interest, but after a moment, he raised his head and focused his attention on Jarrett.

“Your eyes are blue,” he said.

Jarrett drew a deep breath and glanced down. He felt Kendrick’s gaze shift to him. “What do you know about the King, Davo?” he asked again, trying to steer the conversation away from his eyes.

“Lord Tarnow?” said the old man and his brow wrinkled. “Very little, I guess. He came to Cambia once that I remember...surely he must be nearly as old as I am now. That was only a few years ago.”

“What was?”

“When he came to Cambia, after his marriage to the Queen.”

Kendrick and Jarrett exchanged glances.

Kendrick leaned toward the old man. “Did his Queen come too?”

Davo nodded. “She’s come often – well, used to come. Not anymore though, not since the Lawries started. Tarnow forbade her to come then, too dangerous.” Davo fell to shaking his head in silence.

“What are the Lawries?” asked Kendrick.

“The Lawries are the bad people in Cambia, the night people,” said Davo, taking another sip.

“Did you see the Queen when she came?”

“I tried to go to market each time she came. She was so kind to the people, brought food and gave it away. She gave my Enna a piece of gabardine once. I buried her in it – Enna would have liked it that way.”

“Why did she come so often?”

“She felt it was her duty or some of the folks seemed to think. She visited every city in Adishian and brought food.” He had grown a bit more focused and talkative as he drank. “She’s beautiful,” he said, smiling at Kendrick.

Kendrick nodded in return. “What does she look like?”

Davo fell into deep thought. “I don’t think I ever saw her.”

“But you just said she was beautiful?” prompted Jarrett.

Davo looked at him in surprise. “She is. All the townspeople say it. And she was. Skin flawless, eyes green like emeralds, hair black as night. The townspeople said Adishian had the most beautiful Queen in all of Nevaisser. Although I guess Loden has more beautiful women.” He addressed this last remark to Kendrick.

Jarrett threw his head back and drained his glass, closing his eyes and realizing suddenly that he was tired. He’d had enough of Davo’s confounding conversation for one night.

“Do you know how the Queen came to Adishian?” asked Kendrick.

Davo fingered the long gashes in the table, then sighed. “She was a gift to Tarnow from the Lord of Sarkisian. Now what is his name?”

“A gift?” said Kendrick. “You mean she acted to bind the treaty between Sarkisian and Adishian after the war?”

“Yes,” said Davo, “he gave her to our King to bind the two kingdoms together.”

“Betrothed her,” corrected the Nazarien.

Jarrett narrowed his eyes on his companion. What difference did it make? She had to be young enough to be Tarnow’s daughter, not his bride.

Davo shook his head. “She was a gift. Poor little thing. She had no choice in the matter.”

“But that isn’t true. When the second siege began ten years ago, she was betrothed to Tarnow to bind Adishian to Sarkisian,” insisted Kendrick.

Jarrett frowned. “What does it matter?”

“A lot. He makes it sound like she was a commodity.”

“She was.”

The Nazarien shook his head. “She was legally wed to the King, not a boughten concubine.”

Jarrett stared at him in confusion. Nazarien didn’t believe in marriage. What difference could it make to Kendrick if the Queen was wedded, traded or sold? She’d gone to Adishian against her will.

“How old could she have possibly been ten years ago?” he asked the Nazarien.

Davo looked between the two men and Jarrett could see the play of intelligence in the old eyes.

“She was just a child,” he said. “Just a child. Such a bride for my own son she would have been.” And again he slipped back into his stupor.

Jarrett had had enough. He stretched, then rose to his feet. “I’m tired. I’m going to get some sleep – I guess the barn’s as good a place as any.” He glanced about the kitchen, at the dirty walls, the mildew in the ceiling corners and the greasy, blackened grate of the fireplace, and added, “But surely you’ll wish to stay in the house, your lordship.”

Kendrick’s eyes narrowed into a glare, but he declined any answer to the remark. Being Nazarien, he wouldn’t respond, but Jarrett had never been sure whether it was because he chose not to do so, or because he was forbidden.

*    *    *

Davo started when he heard the outer door slam and he turned once more to Kendrick. “Have you been to Loden?”

Kendrick shook his head. “No, but I may be going soon.”

Davo scratched his beard and yawned loudly. “I thought that since you’re Stravad, you might have been to that place, what’s its name, in Loden, where all your people live?”

“No,” said Kendrick, “you mean Temeron, but I haven’t been there. My people are scattered all over Samar, in fact I was born and raised in...” Kendrick paused. He remembered how Davo reacted to any mention of the Nazarien and he didn’t want to upset him anymore.

Davo didn’t even realize Kendrick had halted. “I’ve always wanted to go to that place and see the Stravad, but I’m too old now and I couldn’t get through if I wanted to. The Lawries have hit every city in Adishian, they say.”

Again Kendrick wondered about the capital. Was he right, had they kept the Lawries, as Davo called them, from the capital by subjugating the lower masses or was the capital in as poor straits as the outlying lands? If only Davo knew more about the other cities in Adishian, more about the war and siege.

Kendrick felt tired and wished he might slip away to get some sleep too, but he didn’t know where to go. Davo yawned again, almost as if he’d read the Stravad’s mind, and looked about the kitchen.

“Where did the other one go?”

“He went to the barn to get some sleep.”

“Oh, well, I guess it’s time.” Davo lifted the jug and rose stiffly to his feet, replacing it in the cabinet again. “You can sleep in my son’s room at the top of the stairs.” He removed the candle from the middle of the table, shuffling into a hallway that led to the back of the house.

Kendrick sat in the dark and watched the retreating candle light until he couldn’t see it anymore, then he felt his way through the dark with his pack over his shoulder, and after much groping, found what he believed to be Davo’s son’s room.

*    *   *

Jarrett started awake. He sat up and listened. The horses moved in the stalls and the rusted hinge of the barn door groaned against the wind. He could see through a rend in the barn door that the yard was quiet except for the scuttle of leaves across the hard, dry ground.

It was still night.

He lay back down in the hay and drew his blanket close about him, but he couldn’t shut his eyes just yet or shake the sensation of fear that had bolted him awake so suddenly.

He felt comforted by the nicker of one of the horses and the distinct, pungent smell of the stale barn. He heard a rat scuttle by overhead and listened to the wind whistle through the open latticework of the loft. It blew the fresh scent of winter to him with a promise of rain. He flexed the muscles in his legs and rubbed his eyes, rolling to his side for comfort. Then he heard it again – the shrill scream of a woman followed by the raucous laughter of men.

Jarrett was on his feet in the next instant, sword in hand. He moved swiftly and silently to the barn door and peered out into the night.

The moon cast its pale glow on the yard and as Jarrett’s eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he could make out the figures of people ambling down the road. The wind carried their riotous laughter to him and he could see them lift and pass something heavy between them.

He could now make out the woman, walking between the men, her skirts pulled up about her knees, her hair hanging in matted locks down her back. She threw back her head and shattered the night with her blood-curdling scream. The laughter broke across the yard immediately after, and Jarrett realized it was all done deliberately.

Then one of the men hurtled a jug toward Davo’s farm and the well-aimed shot sent a section of the rotted fence into splinters. Again the laughter was an echo behind. Jarrett’s brow furrowed. These must be the Lawries. He glanced at the farmhouse. Kendrick’s profile was visible in one of the upper windows, but the drunken revellers didn’t notice, carrying their celebration and insane laughter down the road.

He waited until they were out of sight, then returned to his bed in the hay, but sleep was not to find him again that night. As he worried the problem of the Lawries, his thoughts turned to Adishian and the Queen. Why was he so absorbed by thoughts of a woman he knew nothing about, thoughts of a woman who belonged to the King of Adishian? He focused his eyes on the barn door and waited for sunlight to brighten the yard, his mind awash in make-believe images of her.

CHAPTER 2

Jarrett led his horse from the barn and tied him to the porch, close to the trough of water. Walking across the yard, he went to inspect the damage from the previous night. The jug lay in a bed of weeds, surprisingly still intact, but the fence had splintered badly. Not that it hadn’t been a sorry affair to begin with anyway.

Rolling the jug over, Jarrett looked down the road to Cambia. Anxiety of the previous night curled tight in his belly. Even though his unit wasn’t as rigid as Kendrick’s, he’d spent a good number of years learning discipline and order. Seeing the chaos and the tempestuous nature of the Lawries brought back difficult memories of a time when he’d had no control over his life. He hated the thought of being thrust back into such pandemonium, even if he was only passing through.

The wind was cold this morning -- nagging claws of winter fingered his back and whipped his dark hair against his face. He lifted his eyes to the clouds and then lowered them to the horizon, which stretched on and on in all four directions. Adishian was painfully flat, except in Kazden, which was nestled in a valley against the ocean. Kazden was the only city between the Nevaisser/Loden border -- Nevaisser being predominantly flat and barren with deserts, while Loden was choked with towering mountains and verdant valleys, or so Jarrett had heard.

His thoughts turned to Loden. What possibility was there that they might actually make a journey to the homeland of Eldon? The idea made him anxious -- the journey to Loden depended solely on what they might find in Adishian, and after seeing the outskirts of Cambia, Jarrett felt prospects of finding anything worthwhile were slim.

He leaned against the fence and allowed the bitter wind to whip against his body. Since he had been a child, he’d heard of Loden, of its beauty and plenitude. Jarrett had once believed the rivers ran with wine and that the mountains were covered with thick, frothy cream. And Jarrett had secretly wanted to see Stravad, true Stravad of pure blood as Talar Eldralin had been. The only true Stravad Jarrett had seen were the intensive, rigid Nazarien who had come often to see the Terrian leader, but he wanted to see happy, easy going Stravad that worried little about life and flourished under this.

His thoughts turned again to the Queen of Adishian. He tried to imagine her as a bitter, boring woman who thought only of her needs and desires at the expense of her people, but his other fantasy of her plagued him.

Jarrett imagined the Queen of Adishian as a ravishing beauty who was, as Davo had said, kind, generous and gentle. He dreamed that she was intelligent and learned, having the wealth of two kingdoms at her intellectual command. Each quality that he had associated with Stravad, he gave to his fantasy woman and spent hours dwelling over daydreams about her.

It was for her that he’d come all this way, left the comfort of his home to travel in the company of a Nazarien he couldn’t agree with, through war-torn, siege ravished lands, hostile to both Nazarien and Terrian. For her, he’d braved hunger and cold, the approach of winter and battle; for her, he’d endured years of training and schooling, dedicated his life to her cause, to the cause of her people. All for a woman that had only existed to him for a few months – a woman who would probably disdain to speak with him, who would view him as only a servant – no more.

Jarrett forced thoughts of the Adishian Queen from his mind and turned his gaze on Davo’s broken, decrepit house. No matter how hard he looked at it, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it reminded him of the house he grew up in, although his house had never been so racked by age and neglect and poverty. Yet it had been a house that rang often with the voice of its unhappy owner and with the sound of fear. The emotion of fear always represented a sound to Jarrett, either the loud, horrifying sound of screaming, or the more muffled sound of a whimper, but most often the quiet, silent sound of fear, the sound that made one want to hide and become very small, nearly invisible.

Suddenly the wind whined over the leafless trees and Jarrett lifted his eyes to the sky. A storm was brewing. They must get on the road soon if they wanted to make any ground that day.

He headed toward the house after Kendrick. Patting his horse’s flank, he bounded up the creaking stairs and reached for the door, pushing it open. Kendrick was seated at the table, sipping tea with Davo. The Nazarien raised his eyes as Jarrett walked in and motioned to the chair beside him. Jarrett shook his head and went instead to the hearth to pour himself a cup of the thick, dark brew.

“I wish I could leave you with some money, Davo,” he heard Kendrick say, and Jarrett turned once more to face the table, his back to the warmth of the fire.

“Kendrick,” he replied in warning, but the Nazarien motioned him off with a wave of his hand. Jarrett choked down his own irritation and lifted the teacup, taking a long, deep swallow. He was edgy enough this morning, and he didn’t need to lock horns with the Nazarien.

“Unfortunately, we haven’t much money, and we’ve a long way to go,” Kendrick added.

Davo smiled and rubbed his hands together. “The ointment is payment enough,” he said, “I haven’t slept as well as I did last night in years.”

“I’m glad of that, but the ointment won’t cure all the problems that may arise for you,” said the Nazarien, leaning forward. “In fact, after last night I find it hard to leave you here alone at the mercy of the Lawries.”

Jarrett angrily set his cup down on the sink board and started forward. “Have you forgotten the purpose of our mission, Nazarien?” he said, and he couldn’t hide the edge in his voice.

Davo’s head shot up at the name and his eyes darted fearfully towards the door. Kendrick turned slowly in his chair and his gaze held a silent warning.

Jarrett lowered his voice and moved closer to his companion. “After seeing the condition of Cambia’s outlying lands, I don’t think we’ll have any cause to go to Adishian if we wait much longer to help a senile, old man.”

Kendrick rose to his feet and his eyes flashed angrily. “I know my duty better than you do, it seems. I haven’t forgotten the purpose of my mission, but I’ve also not forgotten the training of my order. If I can do anything to help this old man, then that is my primary function, and whatever we may find at Adishian will have to wait.”

“I won’t wait. You stay, stay here for the entire winter, which you may do if this storm breaks on us. Stay here and rot for all I care, but I accepted this mission in the name of Talar Eldralin and in his name I intend to complete it as ordered.”

Kendrick faltered – only for a moment, but Jarrett saw it. He knew Talar’s name would goad the Stravad and he’d used it for just such an effect. He waited no longer, but left the house, allowing the outer door to slam at his back, then he went to his horse.

He fumbled with the stirrups, settling his pack on the horse’s flank and lifting himself into the saddle. Before he reached the road, he heard Kendrick leave the house.

He pulled the horse up and waited for the Nazarien. He didn’t at all like the idea of entering Cambia alone, otherwise he would have left him behind. Jarrett was tired of Kendrick and this latest episode did little to help his feelings, but he wasn’t heartless – he felt pity for the old man. The idea of being left to such despairing poverty was terrible.

He wished that he could clear his mind of these distressing thoughts, but the mood prevailed in every object that met his sight. Even the road heading to Cambia was little more than a dirt path, blemished by enormous potholes and gouged with the wheel tracks of wagons.

Cambia – what could they hope to find? What scourge of life and depths of despair might she hold? He fancied people begging in the streets, thin hands extended to him, pleading, mothers holding gaunt babies to their withered breasts, groaning. If Davo’s farm was so poor, surely Cambia was far worse.

*    *    *

Thunder had begun to rattle the dark sky when they arrived in Cambia. Cambia had one main street that housed all of the city’s grey, shabby markets, grocers and dry goods stores, and many dark, dank alleys. The only park at the center of the main street flaunted dead, leafless trees with mottled trunks, and dry, brown blades of grass that crackled when stepped upon.

Jarrett’s hand fell to the hilt of his sword as he saw body after body sprawled beneath the trees. Lawries. Most wore clothes that were little more than rags and had matted, filthy hair. He was amazed that the other townspeople paid them little attention as if they didn’t see them at every turn of the road, lying against the store fronts, shoeless feet hanging over the sidewalks and into the streets, on the rooftops where a hand or leg, or sometimes a head foretold their existence, or lying in the gutters where they’d been kicked by an angry merchant who’d felt their drunken wrath the night before.

Jarrett watched the townspeople. They moved with aimless, confused expressions and their clothes were only a little less shabby than the Lawries. As the strangers moved down the main street, the townspeople lifted their hungry, absent eyes and watched them. It was enough to send a shiver down the Terrian’s spine.

Jarrett’s fingers tightened on the hilt of his sword. He’d seen eyes like these before, many times, staring through the darkness around a campfire – predatory eyes, hungry and wanting and deadly. He and Kendrick had been foolish to flaunt their wealth so openly in such a deprived city. Their clean clothing was affront enough, but the Terrian realized the horses were the greatest insult. That they should be riding when most of these people were starving seemed like a flagrant disregard of their suffering.

He stopped his horse before a tavern. It was the single building on the entire street whose porch didn’t sag with years of abuse and whose sign, although faded, still occupied its original spot on the facade of the building and was legible.

The Nazarien stopped beside him, a line of concern marring his brow.

Jarrett glanced at him and then surveyed the street. “If we want any information,” he said, “this is the best place to come for it. Tongues wag loosely in a tavern.”

“But don’t you remember what Davo said about the people of Cambia and how they feel about...” Kendrick made a quick motion toward the earrings in his ear.

“The people of Cambia look like they’re ready to take offense at anything. Still, we’ve got no choice and we’re already here. Let’s just hope they’ve got greater concerns to occupy themselves with beyond us.”

They swung down from the horses, securing them loosely to the post before the tavern and eyed the citizens of the town as warily as they were being eyed themselves. Jarrett hated the thought of leaving the horses unprotected even for a few moments.

An indescribably dirty child moved close to Jarrett and looked up at the tall man with large brown eyes, then lowered them to his horse. He reached out a tentative, filthy hand and placed it against the man’s thigh. Jarrett suppressed a desire to draw away, reminding himself that it was only a child. The child licked his lips and looked more closely at the horse. A few more of the citizens moved in for a better look. Jarrett exchanged a warning glance with Kendrick.

An old woman on the porch of the tavern pushed herself from her chair and came slowly forward. She was older than any woman Jarrett had ever seen, her hands so gnarled and twisted by age as to be nearly claws, her hair long, silver and sparse, her mouth sunken and drawn over her gums. As she moved closer, her mouth opened exposing a toothless grin. She stank of death.

She moved directly toward Kendrick, one twisted hand lifting and a finger pointing at his face. Jarrett’s hand fell to the sword at his side and he braced himself. He was surprised as always, to the point of irritation, at how controlled the Nazarien stood in the face of danger. Jarrett felt sure he would have drawn away from the old woman long before, abhorred by her smell and appearance, but Kendrick stood stoically in place, his hands at his sides, his face a mask to his inner emotions.

“You,” said the old woman, “you’re one of the others, aren’t you? What are they called?”

Jarrett tensed, casting a wary glance about the crowd. Kendrick looked at his companion from the corner of his eyes and his hand also fell to the hilt of his sword. The crowd was silent, too silent, waiting for the Nazarien to answer.

Suddenly, a woman in the rear of the crowd shouted, “He’s one of the others, one of the forbidden!”

A loud murmur rose and they pressed forward. Jarrett felt hands shove against his back and he swung around, drawing his sword in the same instant. The faces that met him were grey and sunken from hunger, the eyes glimmering out of dark sockets. He felt the child’s thin hands against his thigh again, but this time the tiny fingers dug into his flesh. He pushed the child away, dropping his guard for just a moment as a bottle, hurled from the outer rim of the crowd, caught him in his left temple and dropped him to his knees. Before he could regain his feet, they were on him, tearing at his clothes and pounding their fists against him. He fell beneath the horse, his sword knocked from his hand, and the horse reared in fear, crashing down within inches of his body. He tried to shield his face from the attack, curving his arms over his head.

Suddenly he heard a scream of pain followed by an animalistic snarl. A hand grabbed him under the arm and hauled him to his feet. He staggered and fell against the steps of the tavern. Something wet and sticky ran from his temple into his eyes and he couldn’t take a deep breath. His ribs felt as if they’d been crushed. Clawing the wet fluid from his eyes, he squinted at his hands, surprised to find them covered in blood. Then he realized it was probably his own blood as more of it flowed over his brow and trickled down his cheekbone.

Carefully lifting his head despite the answering pain behind his eyes, he came face to face with a massive dog. The animal was standing with its thick legs braced, the hair along the back of its neck raised and its lips pulled back to reveal two rows of fierce white fangs. Jarrett swallowed hard and pressed back into the stairs. Standing to the left of the incredible animal stood the largest man Jarrett had ever seen. He towered over seven feet tall and his arms were as big around as the Terrian’s upper thigh. In one gigantic hand he carried a stick and in the other a whip. With a crack of the whip, he drove the townspeople back; the same people who had been so ready to tear the strangers apart just a moment before.

“Get your lousy arses out of here!” he thundered and his voice shook the very porch against which Jarrett now lay.

Jarrett shivered involuntarily at the force of the command and wondered when it would be his turn to be whipped, but instead, the giant turned to him and smiled. Or at least Jarrett thought it was a smile, but on so enormous a man, a smile could merely be indigestion. Then he held out his hand. Jarrett glanced down at the meaty paw and wondered if refusing it would only earn him a lengthy death sentence. Deciding he simply had no other option, he accepted the offered hand and thought he was about to have his shoulder dislocated as the man pumped it with vigor.

“Muzik Andrada,” the giant boomed with unbelievable good cheer. Routing angry mobs seemed to agree with him.

Jarrett squinted through the blood that ran down his face, his eyes confused. Were the words some new method of dealing out death that he didn’t know? “Say again?”

The giant laughed, a loud, earth-shattering laugh that made him tremble as much as the shouting had done earlier. He reached over and slapped Jarrett against the thigh so hard that his bruised ribs were jarred. “Muzik Andrada,” he said again. “My name, that is, and this is Kian.” He pointed over his shoulder at the dog.

Jarrett eyed both man and dog, then looked for Kendrick and found him leaning against the rail of the porch as badly battered as he was himself. The Nazarien met his companion’s gaze with as much confusion as Jarrett felt.

“Muzik Andrada,” he repeated, his blood-stained face lifting into a tentative smile as he appraised the giant again.

The giant guffawed once more. “So what’s your name, little man?”

“My name’s Jarrett,” he said. It suddenly dawned on him that he was bleeding rather profusely, which might account for the ridiculous nature of their conversation.

The giant narrowed his brown eyes and regarded his new friend steadily. Jarrett marked that the man’s face was pleasant and thoughtful, the eyes small but intelligent. A purple scar extended from just below Muzik’s right cheekbone to his chin and disappeared into a closely cropped brown beard and mustache.

“Haven’t you a family name?”

“Jarrett Murata,” he said and the giant quickly repeated it, striking Jarrett once again on his thigh. Jarrett gritted his teeth. He was beginning to wonder if he should lose much more blood. It was mildly concerning, but Muzik didn’t seem ready to end their amicable conversation just yet.

He bent down and stared openly into Jarrett’s face. The Terrian squinted uneasily. “It isn’t very safe for you here,” he said, his expression growing serious. “They would have killed you both.” He nodded in Kendrick’s direction.

Kendrick moved to Jarrett’s side and hunkered down on the porch beside him, tugging a clean handkerchief from his pocket. He handed it to Jarrett, who pressed it over the cut above his brow. Pain exploded in the Terrian’s head and black spots danced before his eyes, but he clung tenaciously to consciousness.

Kendrick didn’t look much better than he did. His clothes were tattered and his face was dirty. A rend in the right leg of his trousers revealed a wound. Jarrett wondered if he were hurt anywhere else. Kendrick’s eyes shifted from Jarrett to the giant and then to the massive dog, which stood rooted in place to protect the man’s flank.

“Why do they want to kill us?”

Muzik Andrada regarded him and then laughed his booming laugh. Jarrett braced himself for another of the bone shattering slaps, but it didn’t come. When he’d finished laughing, his face grew deathly serious again. “Because you’re one of the others, the forbidden,” he said and his gaze was riveted once more on Jarrett’s face. “The moment you rode in here, so boldly and foolishly on your fat horses with your brightly colored clothes, these people knew exactly who you were.”

“The others?” asked Jarrett in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Muzik didn’t laugh, but glanced back over his shoulder as if he expected to see someone standing there. “Talar Eldralin’s kind,” he said, “Nazarien. The moment they saw the blue eyes they knew.”

Jarrett’s gaze shifted to Kendrick, but Kendrick was staring at the giant. “Forbidden?” he asked.

Muzik Andrada nodded. “Neither of you would have lasted the night,” he said, and then broke into a laugh, “but now you’ve found me.”

“Why are Nazarien forbidden in Cambia?” asked Kendrick.

“Cambia!” shouted Muzik. “Why, Nazarien are forbidden throughout the entire kingdoms of Adishian and Sarkisian both! There is a bounty paid for the bodies of Nazarien in Sarkisian and I can tell you both that not a single one of these people here would hesitate to turn you over.”

Jarrett eyed the enormous man warily, then he searched the ground in front of the tavern for his missing sword. Marking Jarrett’s pointed search, Muzik retrieved the sword from under the horse and handed it over as Jarrett struggled to his feet.

“You’re a funny little man,” he said. “If I wanted to collect a bounty, do you think I’d have wasted so much time in conversation? Not likely. If I wanted the bounty, I’d be half-way to Sarkisian by now.”

Jarrett lowered the sword and leaned against the rail. So what now? How long did they have to stand here and carry on this conversation? He could feel a fresh trickle of blood roll down his forehead and into his eyes. He knew that even with Kendrick’s support, he wouldn’t be able to stand much longer.

Muzik suddenly moved forward, pushing Kendrick aside. He placed his arm around Jarrett’s waist, half-lifting, half-dragging him into the tavern and depositing him in a chair. “Mott!” he shouted, and a little, withered man scrambled around the counter at his command.

Kendrick followed.

“My friend here is hurt and tired. Get him a room and some food! Tell Tosa to get her lazy arse out here and clean him up!”

Mott hesitated a moment and looked at the two men. “Muzik, these men are...”

“I know what they are!” he shouted. “Are you refusing me?”

Mott’s large, dark eyes shifted between the men. “No, of course not. It’s just that you know what can happen if I...”

Muzik grabbed the little man by the front of his shirt. “Then, Mott, we’d better find a way to make my new friends a little less conspicuous, eh?”

“Yes,” said Mott, “we can do that.” He scrambled from Muzik’s grasp and ran behind the counter, disappearing behind a red curtain that hung across the back of the bar. They could hear his excited voice shouting something as he slipped from sight.

Muzik laughed to himself and took a seat beside Jarrett, patting him with surprising gentleness on the back. Jarrett glanced about the tavern and noted that a handful of people sat on the stools before the bar, turned so they might stare at the newcomers. Muzik leaned back in his chair and pointed to one at the farthest end.

“Burton, bring your old friend Muzik here a bottle of whiskey and three glasses,” the giant said and the man at the end of the bar scrambled to get it, balancing everything in his hands at once as he crossed over to the table.

Jarrett was surprised by the power their new friend had over the men in the tavern, over the entire town for that matter. Everyone jumped at his command and then skirted out of his way before he lost his temper. What was it about this giant, except his size, that command such respect and obedience?

Burton stood beside Muzik as the huge man poured the booze into three cups and distributed them. Jarrett took a sip and then paused as his eyes came to rest on Burton over the rim of the glass. The man was staring open-mouthed at him, his hands hanging limply by his side.

“It’s your eyes,” said Muzik absently, motioning toward Jarrett with his glass. “Rarick’s had a ban against all Nazarien for so long and this bounty has taken such a heavy toll on people of your race that few Humans have ever seen anyone with eyes the color of yours before.” He looked up at the staring face of Burton. “It makes them act stupid,” he said with disgust and struck the man in the stomach with his elbow. Burton gasped in pain and retreated to his seat at the bar.

Kendrick finally settled into the seat beside Jarrett. He was frowning. “Jarrett isn’t Nazarien,” he said as if the very idea was abhorrent. “By his own admission, he’s Human, not Stravad.”

Muzik regarded the Nazarien for a moment, then glanced at Jarrett. “Then explain the color of his eyes, eh?”

Kendrick shook his head. “I can’t and I don’t think he can either, but he’s Terrian, not Nazarien.”

“Same difference,” said Muzik curtly, then he turned to Jarrett and his friendly face lifted into a smile. “So you’re Human, not Stravad, eh? Somehow I think the real truth’s been kept from you. No Human has eyes like that unless there’s been a Stravad sneaking around the bedroom window at night.” Muzik laughed and Jarrett smiled in return. Many people had questioned the same thing his entire life – it certainly wasn’t a new idea to him. He was also aware that his sharp features and dark complexion spoke of a strong Stravad blood that his brothers and sisters didn’t share.

“Come on, Jarrett,” said Kendrick, staring at Muzik. “If this city is hostile toward Nazarien and Terrian alike, then we’d best move on immediately.” He rose to his feet, but Jarrett didn’t follow.

His body was sore and his head continued to throb, although the booze had begun to dull it a bit. Truthfully, Jarrett didn’t think he’d make it to the door of the tavern without assistance, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to stay on his horse. Should he have been able to, at any rate, where would they go?

They were far within the kingdom of Adishian now and if what Muzik said was right, every town they passed would be equally as dangerous. He knew they couldn’t turn back, but he didn’t know how they could go ahead. Right now Muzik was the only friend they had, unpredictable and volatile as he might be, and Jarrett didn’t relish the idea of leaving him.

“Sit down, Kendrick,” he said tiredly and turned to the giant. “Muzik, we owe you our deepest appreciation, but I have to agree with my companion. I don’t feel safe in Cambia, but I’m not sure anywhere is safe out here.”

“You are in a delicate position, my friend,” said Muzik, “but with me you’re safe, at least in Cambia. No one would dare to harm you as long as you remain with me and this will give you time to think through your next move.”

Jarrett considered Muzik’s words. For some reason he trusted him. The man had saved their lives and had shown no other motives at any time since then. He could very easily have taken them prisoner by now. Jarrett shrugged. “It seems to be our best option at the moment. Thank you.”

The giant smiled and patted the Terrian’s back again. “I like you, Jarrett Murata,” he said and then turned and shouted at the red curtain, “Get your good-for-nothing arse out here, Mott!”

The little man appeared, followed by a slim, beautiful raven-haired girl. The two shuffled to the table and stood at attention beside Muzik, awaiting his command. Muzik grabbed Jarrett’s arm and drew him close. “Pretty, eh?” he said. “See, I’ll take care of you, all right.”

Jarrett glanced up at the young woman. She started in surprise and he guessed he didn’t make a very becoming sight with dried blood tracking down his face. She cast a glance in Kendrick’s direction, but quickly looked at Jarrett again. Muzik took her hand in his and drew her to the table.

“This beauty’s Tosa,” he said with a smile, “And this, my dear, is Jarrett Murata. As you can see he’s been wounded in battle and is in need of attention. I figured you were just the girl to give him the right sort of attention, eh?”

She didn’t say anything, but nodded, her eyes never once leaving the Terrian.

Kendrick frowned. “Jarrett, I don’t think...” he began.

“Go on, boy,” interrupted Muzik, waving the Nazarien off. “Tosa here will take care of you and show you to a room, while Mott takes care of your friend.”

Jarrett wasn’t sure he liked the situation either, but he had little time to protest because Muzik passed him into the waiting arms of the young woman with a booming laugh. “Wait,” he said, struggling from her grasp, “What about our horses?”

“Don’t worry about the horses. No one would dare lay a hand on them with Kian guarding them.”

Jarrett had only enough time to cast a parting glance at Kendrick before the young woman whisked him toward the stairs and the row of doors above.

She led him to a small, dark room. Once inside she took a pitcher from the dressing stand and left again as Jarrett explored every corner, finally taking a seat on the edge of the bed, weariness pressing down on him. She returned in a moment with water in the pitcher and a small tray of vials on her other arm. As she filled the bowl on the dressing stand, she watched the Terrian. Jarrett was disconcerted by her constant gaze and crossed to the window, parting the torn curtain to look out.

The streets of Cambia stretched before him in winding, dusty paths of barren land. The citizens moved down these roads in small clusters, moving slowly as if nothing demanded their immediate attention. He could see others lying sprawled out alongside the roads on their backs, faces turned to the dark, lowering sky. He started as he felt the girl’s warm hand on his arm. She hadn’t said a word, but stood staring up into his eyes.

He allowed her to lead him to a chair beside the dressing stand. As he took a seat, she reached for the ties of his shirt. He caught her hands in alarm and looked up into her dark eyes.

“What are you doing?” he said, frowning.

Her eyes widened in terror. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. You’ve got blood all over your shirt and I thought I could have it cleaned for you.”

He shook his head, then regretted the motion when the pain behind his eyes intensified. “No, I’m sorry, I misunderstood.”

He’d mistaken Muzik’s intentions entirely. He felt suddenly foolish and quickly pulled the shirt over his head. He chided himself for the fact that such thoughts had even crossed his mind. This young woman was hardly more than a child.

He started as he heard a scream from the street below. Rising quickly to his feet, he crossed to the window and parted the curtain once again. In the center of the street, a few men had gathered in a circle around a woman. One of the men moved into the center of the circle and grabbed the woman’s arm, pulling her roughly against him. She tried to strike him, but he caught her hand and forced it around behind her back. Jarrett started for his sword where it lay in the middle of the bed, but Tosa barred his way, placing her hands against his chest to stop him.

“If you go down there, they’ll kill you.”

Jarrett stared at her. “But that woman...”

“You don’t understand. They aren’t going to hurt her. It’s a...well, a game they play.”

“What do you mean?” he said and then it struck him. He moved away from her and backed to the window. The woman had stopped struggling; in fact, she had her arm intertwined with one of the men and was moving toward the porch of the tavern.

Tosa took Jarrett’s hand as he stared out the window and pulled him toward the chair once more. He sat because he suddenly felt ill.

“How old are you, Tosa?” he demanded.

“I’m old enough to understand what must be done.”

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“When you’re living in a time of war, you do whatever you must to protect and feed your family – even serve one of the forbidden,” she said emotionlessly and then suddenly her eyes lifted and fixed on the man. She pressed against Jarrett and her hand ran up the outside of his thigh.

He pushed her away and stumbled to his feet, backing against the dressing table. She moved toward him, her hand lifting and stroking his hair, the other against his bare chest. “You’re handsome, though,” she said. “I’ve never seen eyes like yours.” Her voice had fallen to a seductive purr, which unsettled him. He shoved her away and placed the chair between them.

“You’ve got this wrong,” he said. “You’re just a child and I don’t think you even begin to realize what you’re suggesting.” He jumped as another scream ricocheted through the room. “Look, please just leave. I can take care of myself.”

Her face fell. “Leave?” she said. “But I can’t. I was told...”

“I don’t care what you were told!” said Jarrett, his voice rising. “I want you to leave.”

She stayed where she was, her eyes riveted on his face. Jarrett moved to the bed and opened his pack with trembling hands. At the bottom was a worn leather pouch, bound with string and tied in a knot at the top. He fumbled with it until it was open and then poured the contents into his palm. Selecting a few of the larger coins, he replaced the others and put the pouch back in his pack, tossing the coins at Tosa’s feet. She gazed at him a moment longer, then retrieved them, backing from the room, her eyes no longer on the man, but on the saddlebag instead.

After the door had closed behind her, Jarrett took a seat on the chair and placed his head in his hands. When the pain in his temples had subsided enough, he rose and washed his face in the water she brought. He looked at the vials on the tray, but he knew little about healing. He decided he’d take his chances on none of them and turned back to the bed, weariness suddenly overcoming him.

He lay back on the bed, his hand resting against the hilt of his sword, and told himself he would simply rest for a moment and then find Kendrick, and the two of them would leave Cambia immediately. Before the plan had formed solidly in his mind, he was asleep.

He dreamed of home then. He saw the rolling hills surrounding the valley and the blue of the Theodar River as it snaked across the valley floor. He saw the small cottages with thatch roofs lined up tidily along the hard, even roadways, faint white streams of smoke drifting up from the chimneys. And he saw the children in the yard of the small cottage on the corner, the children who ran up and down the porch and disappeared among the trees, crawling under the brush of the gate and peering out of the branches, squealing with laughter. He was among them and held his breath in hiding behind the largest tree in the yard, his arms hugged tight about its trunk.

But suddenly the laughter was gone and the children were gone from the yard, and yet he remained where he was, hiding behind the tree and holding his breath. He flexed the taut muscles of his legs to ease a cramp and listened, his body tingling not from excitement now but apprehension. He caught his breath, straining so he might hear better.

Then came the sound, the screen scrapping across the polished wood of the porch and falling shut with a bang, and the sound of heavy footsteps, of heavy boots that moved to the edge of the porch. The rail groaned against the weight that pressed down on it and Jarrett’s heart pounded in his ears, sweat racing down the valley of his spine. The sound of the blood in his ears was maddening, drowning out the sounds from the porch. He could no longer hear the heavy fall of footsteps.

Run! he thought, and braced himself, but he couldn’t run. Then suddenly he heard the footsteps again – this time on the stairs and the voice in his head screamed again to run, but his cramped legs wouldn’t respond. He shrank down behind the tree, wishing to blend with it, and his heart began to pound wildly in his ears. Run! He took a step toward the gate, his foot falling on a dry branch. It broke with a snap. He froze and the sound of footsteps changed to the sound of running. Run! the voice screamed inside of him, but it was too late…

Jarrett woke with a start, his heart pounding in his ears and he was almost too late – too late to stop the dagger that rose above him. He twisted suddenly and caught the arm that held the dagger, forcing it back and throwing the weight of his body into his assailant. He rolled over and pinned the struggling form beneath him, striking the dagger from the outstretched arm. He was surprised by how small his assailant was and pulled him to his feet, dragging him across the darkened room and to the window. As he threw back the curtain, the light from the street outside fell across Tosa.

He gaped at her in shock as she struggled from his grasp, her dark eyes flashing. “Leave me alone!” she cried, but he caught her arm again and forced her to take a seat in the chair beside the dressing table.

“Why were you trying to kill me?”

Her eyes pierced his. “You’re one of the forbidden. The Court at Sarkisian will pay well for...” She paused and her face fell under the strength of his stare.

Jarrett took a seat on the edge of the bed, his knees shaking. What evil possessed this place! Whatever it was, he wanted out. Since they’d arrived even his dreams were affected, calling forth memories that he’d buried many years before.

He struggled to his feet and grabbed his pack, yanking out a clean shirt, then snapping the pack closed. He crossed to the other side of the bed and picked up the dagger Tosa had dropped, securing it in his belt.

He paused at the door and looked back. The girl still sat in the chair with her head bowed, but she lifted her eyes to meet his and they glowed with hatred.

He opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it and closed the door behind him. Leaning against it, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then tugged the shirt over his head. Eldon’s star, what was awaiting them in Adishian?

CHAPTER 3

Jarrett stood in the hallway for a moment, undecided. He didn’t know how to go about finding Kendrick or the horses. What if Kendrick wasn’t even alive? How had he been so foolish – they had brazenly told him about the bounty and yet he’d trusted them. A mistake that quite possibly had cost Kendrick his life and very nearly cost Jarrett his own.

He moved into the shadow of the hallway and paused to listen. Everything seemed to be quiet upstairs as well as down. A burst of lightning and a rumble of thunder shook the tavern, but all remained still after it passed. He moved to the stairway and paused on the upper landing, gazing down into the bar. The room was shrouded in darkness, lit only momentarily by flashes of lightning. He paused again and drew a deep breath, realizing his muscles were trembling.

How would he begin searching for Kendrick? He passed a hand over his sweating brow and took another deep breath to steady his nerves. He’d have to check each and every room on both floors. It would be best to search the top floor first, then the bottom, making his escape when he was done no matter what he found. He moved away from the banister, but as he did so, he heard the scrape of a chair against the wood of the floor below.

He turned and drew his sword, moving soundlessly down the stairs and onto the landing below, peering into the darkness. A flash of lightning revealed a man sitting in a chair. Jarrett halted and relief spilled over him.

“Kendrick,” he said and the Stravad turned quickly, his blue eyes flashing in the darkness. “Gods, Kendrick, I can honestly say I’m glad to see you.”

The Stravad rose, his look guarded. “Are you all right? You look pale.”

“I will be after we get the hell out of here. These people are insane.”

Kendrick reached for the handkerchief he always carried and handed it to the Terrian. Jarrett turned it over, noting that it was clean. It seemed rather incongruous to notice the Stravad had clean handkerchiefs when he’d only just been fighting for his life, but it was another example of how very different they were from each other. He hadn’t even thought to pack one handkerchief, let alone a dozen or so. He lifted his eyes to the Stravad.

“You’re bleeding again.” Kendrick motioned at his temple.

Jarrett sheathed his sword so he could press the piece of cloth to the wound. His eyes fell on Kendrick’s sword. “Have you had trouble?”

“Not precisely, but I’ve been expecting it.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it.” Reaching for the dagger tucked into his belt, Jarrett tossed it onto the table. “I almost had that sticking out of my gut.”

Kendrick’s brows rose. “Tosa?”

“Seems she had her eyes on that bounty. When I refused her service of one kind, she decided to perform another.”

“Then you didn’t...” Kendrick paused and glanced away.

Jarrett could only stare at him in disbelief. “Bloody hell, Nazarien, you really do think I’m morally corrupt, don’t you?”

Kendrick shook his head in obvious discomfort. “I wasn’t sure. I mean...”

“What? You believed I just might go preying on desperate children?”

Kendrick met Jarrett’s gaze. His expression was contrite. “I apologize. I realize I was wrong. We’re just so different that I wasn’t sure.”

Jarrett crumpled the handkerchief in his fist. “Well, get sure because I’m not going to spend the rest of this miserable journey having you doubt me. We might be different, but I’ve never preyed on anyone in my life, and speaking of that, if we’re going to get out of this fix, we’re going to have to rely on each other, which means trusting each other.” When Kendrick grimaced, Jarrett gave a humorless chuckle. “Yeah, I’m not so thrilled with the idea either.”

“Well, maybe we’ve all mistaken each other then.”

Jarrett and Kendrick both reacted, grabbing their swords. Muzik was standing at the top of the stairs, but he held out his hands as he descended. Neither Jarrett nor Kendrick relaxed their pose as the giant came to a halt before them. He glanced down at the swords, then lifted his gaze.

Jarrett glared. “I don’t think we’ve mistaken you. The problem is we were too trusting to begin with. I actually believed you.”

“Listen, I have no quarrel with either of you,” Muzik said. “I didn’t betray you, we’ve merely had a misunderstanding, which I hope to fix if you’ll allow me. I can offer you help, my protection in Adishian as I told you before...”

“Protection?” said Jarrett. “Your protection nearly got my throat slit.”

“I realize that,” he answered, raising his hands once more in a universal show of peace, “but I won’t let it happen again.”

Jarrett lifted his sword. “Damn straight. Now, let me clarify things so there’s no misunderstanding. I’m in a bastard of a mood right now and killing you would feel pretty good, so shut your mouth and listen.” He was grateful that Kendrick didn’t try to intervene. He wasn’t feeling steady, and not up to fighting this giant, but he was certain that if they were going to escape this with their lives, they were going to need Muzik to get their horses for them. “We’re leaving. All I need from you is our horses.”

Muzik opened his mouth to speak, but Jarrett shoved the sword under the man’s nose. The giant had the sense to close his mouth again.

“You only need to nod, understand?”

Muzik did as instructed, careful not to impale himself on the sword. Jarrett used every ounce of will power he had to make sure the blade never wavered, even though he felt as if he might pass out. “You’re going to walk in front of us. You’re going to lead us to our horses and then you’re going to let us ride away. If you raise an alarm or attempt to follow us, I will kill you. Got me?”

Muzik nodded again.

Jarrett lowered the sword a little. “Now turn around. We’re going to walk toward the door.”

Muzik did as he was instructed, keeping his hands in view. Jarrett met Kendrick’s concerned gaze, then nodded at the giant’s back. Kendrick tightened his hold on his own sword, shouldered his pack, and preceded his companion from the tavern. Jarrett followed close behind, hoping that they weren’t going to have to walk far. He wasn’t sure if he could make it and if he collapsed, he was just a little worried Kendrick might leave him behind.

*    *    *

The road out of Cambia cut a muddy path to the east. They followed the dilapidated signs pointing the way to Adishian. The rain continued to fall, drenching through their cloaks, soaking their hoods, and reducing visibility.

Jarrett couldn’t get his mind off the previous night. He’d never come so close to losing his life, and for what? A bounty? The depravity of such an idea kept ambushing him as the miles stretched away in front of them.

Muzik had tried to explain, but Jarrett didn’t want to listen. Not only was he embarrassed that he’d let himself trust the man, but he didn’t think there was any explanation that would make him feel better about the situation.

It worried him no little amount. They’d been sent on this journey with so little information. Had they been sent to their death? Had the Terrian leader really not known the situation in Adishian? He couldn’t allow himself to believe that he had, but doubt was creeping in with the rain.

He motioned for Kendrick to bring his horse down to a walk. They were far enough from Cambia that Jarrett felt it was safe. He angled his mount in closer so that he could talk to the Nazarien without shouting.

“Do you think the Nazar knew about the bounty, Kendrick?”

Kendrick glanced at him, then turned away. Jarrett could only see the rain-darkened side of his hood. “I’ve been wondering the same thing. He never warned me about it.”

“I’m beginning to feel like we’ve been set up. What if we don’t find what we’re looking for?”

“What do you mean?”

Jarrett exhaled. “I mean, what if she isn’t there? What if it was a hoax?”

“The King sent the request himself,” argued the Nazarien.

Jarrett nodded. “My point exactly. What if it’s a trap?”

Kendrick’s head swiveled around and he pinned Jarrett with a stare. “What would be the purpose of that? Even if they intended to kill us, what would that accomplish?”

Jarrett didn’t really want to voice what he was beginning to fear, but he felt Kendrick ought to be forewarned. “Think about it. If they killed the emissaries sent at the request of the Adishian King, they might pull both of our people into this war.”

Kendrick faced forward again. “Do you really think Rarick wants to fight both the Nazarien and Terra Antiguo? You think he doesn’t remember the connection between your land and Loden?”

Jarrett considered his companion’s words. Kendrick was right. That didn’t make much sense, but nothing that had happened since they met Davo made sense.

The wind whipped the rain into his face and he bowed his head, trying to keep the worst of it out. His head ached miserably and he wanted to ask Kendrick for some Stamerian. He knew well that no Stravad traveled anywhere without the pain-killing herb, but pride wouldn’t let him make the request. They rode in silence for a couple of hours, then left the road around noon to give the horses a rest and to eat a cold lunch.

They found a stunted tree to sit beneath and while Jarrett watered both horses and checked for saddle sores, Kendrick put together a couple of cheese sandwiches. The rain continued to pelt them, even under the tree where the over-laden branches dumped huge drops of water on the ground.

“How much longer do you think this can continue?” asked the Nazarien, handing Jarrett a sandwich.

Jarrett accepted it and pulled it within the cover of his hood, taking a bite. He grimaced. If he wasn’t so hungry, he didn’t know if he’d be able to eat the soggy mess. “No idea. It’ll be miserable if we can’t find shelter by nightfall.”

Kendrick stopped eating and looked at him. “You don’t think we can find an inn?”

“I don’t think we’d better. I think we’d better stay on the road or out in the open. I’m not looking to repeat Cambia any too soon.”

“I’m exhausted,” muttered the Nazarien. “If you remember, I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Jarrett gave a bark of laughter. “Neither did I.” He touched the wound on his temple and grimaced at the shot of pain that speared through his head. “Anyway, do you agree with me?”

“I guess I do, but we can’t even light a fire in this.”

Jarrett shifted so he could glare at the Nazarien. Kendrick wasn’t stupid. Didn’t he understand how much danger they were in? “Even if the rain stops, Kendrick, we can’t have a fire.”

The Nazarien’s face fell and he looked down. “Gods, what have we gotten ourselves into?”

Jarrett took another bite and chewed. “Don’t know,” he said around a mouthful.

*    *    *

They’d been riding for a few more hours when a strange feeling came over Jarrett. He shifted in the saddle and looked back through the driving rain. As he moved, his horse sidestepped and gave a whicker of protest.

At first he didn’t see anything, then he realized that there were at least five indistinct shapes following at some distance behind them. By the outline and the size, he guessed they were horse riders.

“We’re being followed,” he said to the Nazarien.

Kendrick glanced over his shoulder. “Maybe they’re also traveling to Adishian.”

“I hope you’re right,” he said, but he couldn’t shake the anxious feeling he had. “Let’s bring the horses up to a trot and see if they keep pace.”

Kendrick nodded and they both kneed their mounts into an easy lope. After a few minutes, Jarrett glanced over his shoulder again. The riders had gained ground on them. He could almost make out more than just an outline.

“They’re closing in fast,” he said.

Kendrick looked behind him, then his gaze met Jarrett’s. “Only one way to find out for sure.” He kicked his horse in the sides and bent over the animal’s neck. The gelding gathered his strength and jumped forward, immediately falling into the long strides of a running mount.

Jarrett followed him, his own mare stretching forward and quickly coming alongside her companion. Loosening his hold on the reins, Jarrett let the mare have her head and she sped down the muddy road as if it presented no obstacle.

However, when Jarrett chanced a look behind, he noticed their pursuers had gained even more ground. Their horses were in an all-out pursuit. There was no mistaking their motives now.

Jarrett brought his mare down to a jog and motioned for Kendrick to do the same. The Nazarien dropped back beside his companion. “We can’t keep the horses to this pace. We’re going to have to make a stand.”

Kendrick’s eyes widened, but after glancing over his shoulder, he nodded. “Maybe they just want to talk? Maybe they just want to get past?”

Jarrett slowed his mare even further and gradually brought her to a halt. He didn’t bother to answer the Nazarien. His clueless prattle was one of the things Jarrett found most annoying.

As he swung out of the saddle, Kendrick stopped his horse beside him. Jarrett moved beyond the mare, stepping into the center of the road and curling his fingers around the hilt of his sword. Kendrick came to his side.

“Better get ready,” Jarrett said, nodding at the sword strapped to the Nazarien’s side.

Kendrick looked a little apprehensive, but Jarrett knew he was a trained warrior. That training would kick in when it was needed.

The riders were upon them within moments. They also brought their horses to a halt and sat regarding the two men. Kendrick sucked in a startled breath as they both took in the five men, three bearing the symbol of the Sarkisian Front Guard and two with strange, reptilian faces.

“Orahim,” said Jarrett with a grimace of distaste. He’d seen pictures of them in books and he’d heard stories, but he’d never seen one this close before.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” said one of the Front Guard. By the yellow braids looped over his shoulder, Jarrett knew he was a commander. “Would you mind telling us why you’re on Sarkisian land?”

“We’re not,” answered Kendrick. “This is Adishian. Why are you following us?”

“Because this road’s closed by order of the Sarkisian King. Where are you headed?”

“Adishian,” said Kendrick.

The commander shook his head. “Ah, well, there we have a problem. Your kind’s not allowed in the kingdom of Adishian.”

“Our kind?”

Jarrett’s fingers flexed on his sword hilt. This was not going to end well. He wished Kendrick would shut up.

“Nazarien.”

“Forbidden, you mean.”

Jarrett winced.

“That’s a term the Lawries use.”

“And the bounty?”

“Kendrick,” hissed Jarrett, but Kendrick ignored him.

“Is the bounty real?”

The commander considered the question for a moment, then he shifted in the saddle. “Yes, that’s real.” He motioned at the Orahim.

They scrambled out of their saddles and dropped into the mud, advancing before the horses and facing the two men. Jarrett drew his sword and dropped into a crouch.

“Really, that’ll do you less than no good,” said the commander in a bored tone. “You’ve violated so many Sarkisian laws that we have to take you in. It would be easier if you didn’t fight us, but either way, we outnumber you.”

“Take us in, or kill us?” asked Kendrick defiantly. Jarrett noted that he hadn’t drawn his blade yet, but both Orahim had removed nasty looking daggers from their belts.

“It really doesn’t matter,” said the commander and he barked a command at the Orahim in a guttural tongue.

The two serpents started forward, intent on their targets. Jarrett shot a glance at Kendrick, but the Nazarien was still staring in fascination at the creature that was bearing down on him.

“Kendrick!” Jarrett warned, moving to keep his muscles from tensing. Then the creature feinted at him and he danced back, the swipe of its blade passing within inches of his abdomen.

He heard the rush of Kendrick’s blade as he whipped it from its sheath, but he didn’t have time to worry about his companion as the Orahim closed with him, its reptilian tongue flicking in and out of its mouth.

It lunged for him and Jarrett swung up with his sword, catching the jab of its dagger on the hilt. He threw his weight into it, hoping to knock it off-balance, but it was heavier than he’d expected and it careened into him, its breath panting cold and stale against his face.

He reeled back, repulsed, and swiped with the sword, but the creature was agile and leaped out of the way, the sword cutting through rain and nothing more. With a roll, it came up on Jarrett’s other side and dove at him with the dagger. He dropped, swinging under it with his blade, but it jumped over him and fell into a somersault that brought it to its feet again.

Jarrett’s eyes widened in grudging admiration. He was known for his speed and agility in Terra Antiguo, but this thing was even quicker. He was going to have to outthink it. He feinted to the left and it took the bait, but at the last minute, he threw himself to the right, slicing across its body with his sword. He felt the blade bite through yielding flesh and the rope of its intestines spilled out into the muddy road, but he didn’t escape unscathed.

As it crumpled, it lunged toward him, swiping with its dagger. He felt the dagger slice through his left shirt sleeve, then he landed on his right side, his sword caught beneath him. He threw himself to his feet, but the creature was already dying, its amber eyes rolling back in its head.

Jarrett whirled and saw that Kendrick had disarmed his Orahim. The creature had scrambled behind the horses and was trying to avoid the Nazarien who stalked it. Jarrett tightened his hold on his sword, prepared for the next round of battle, but the commander’s attention seemed to be divided between his two assailants and the road behind.

Jarrett squinted into the distance and saw a large number of horses approaching at a dead run. His heart fell as he moved to Kendrick’s side. The Nazarien was breathing heavily, but he didn’t seem to be hurt. His gaze shifted from the Front Guard to Jarrett.

“You’re bleeding,” he said, nodding at Jarrett’s arm.

Jarrett glanced down. Through the rend in his shirt, he could see a gash across his forearm. He placed his hand over it and grimaced. It had just begun to hurt. Still, it wasn’t life threatening, but the new riders likely were.

He and Kendrick might be able to take these four, but not the number he could see coming toward them. And yet, the commander and his soldiers didn’t seem to be greeting these newcomers with anything resembling welcome.

Then to Jarrett’s surprise, the commander and his men wheeled their horses around and drew their weapons, preparing themselves for battle. Jarrett nodded at Kendrick and motioned to the horses.

They took a step backward, but suddenly the Orahim darted at them with a strangled cry. Jarrett whipped his sword up, but the Orahim wasn’t looking at them. A blur of motion streaked through the air and landed on the creature’s back. Jarrett and Kendrick threw themselves out of the way as both bodies slammed into the mud on the road. The Orahim let out an unholy scream and thrashed as the grey body of a dog snapped its fangs into the creature’s throat and shook it.

Blood spurted and Jarrett turned away, his eyes coming to rest on the figure of Muzik Andrada. He was dressed in a military uniform with a blue crest in the middle of his chest. The men with him were all in similar attire.

“Damn it, Muzik, that was my last Orahim!” shouted the commander.

Muzik surveyed the scene, then turned to the commander, his small eyes narrowing. “What are you doing out here, Lex?”

“Sarkisian has taken jurisdiction over all the roads leading to the capital. These men were caught trespassing.”

“Trespassing?”

Jarrett pushed himself to his feet and circled around the dog, who lifted its head and regarded the Terrian with glittering yellow eyes. Blood covered the animal’s muzzle.

He moved to Kendrick’s side and held out his hand, helping the Nazarien to his feet. The wound in his arm blazed like fire and he felt a flush of heat creeping into his face. Kendrick reached into his pocket and pulled out another clean handkerchief, handing it to the Terrian.

Jarrett pressed it to the wound and turned to face the strange assembly. “What the hell is going on?” he demanded.

He was a little alarmed that his vision swam and his heart kicked into an odd rhythm.

Muzik met his gaze. “I’m captain of the Blue Battalion, a division of the Adishian militia. I was dispensed to Cambia to meet you.”

“What?” Jarrett shook his head in confusion. Nothing was making sense and a strange buzzing was raging in his ears. He blinked and found that his vision was cloudier than before. “What the hell is going on?” he repeated, but he wasn’t sure whether he meant the situation around them or his own reactions.

“Jarrett?” said Kendrick and he felt the Nazarien grip his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

Jarrett tried to nod, but he swayed dizzily and gripped the Nazarien in return. “I don’t know,” he said, then felt himself sink to the ground. He didn’t remember wanting to sit until now.

Kendrick dropped down beside him. “Jarrett?” he called in alarm, but Jarrett thought his voice sounded like it was underwater.

He realized he was breathing rapidly and he tried to tell Kendrick that something was definitely wrong, but he couldn’t form the words. He felt himself sinking, but he couldn’t stop himself, until he was lying on his back and the rain was pounding in his face. The last thing he saw was the bloody muzzle of the dog as it bent over him.

*    *    *

“Help me!” shouted Kendrick, looking up at Muzik Andrada. The huge man made a motion and two of his men dismounted, hurrying to the Terrian’s side.

Kendrick shoved the dog back as Jarrett’s body went into convulsions. “What’s happening?” he asked as the two soldiers dropped beside Jarrett and tried to constrain him.

Muzik dismounted, then rounded his horse and reached up, hauling the commander out of the saddle. He dragged the other man over to Jarrett and threw him on the ground. “What did you do?”

The commander smoothed his uniform and glared up at Muzik. “You’ll pay for manhandling me, Andrada!” he shouted, climbing to his feet. “Rarick will hang you for it.”

Muzik grabbed the commander by the shirtfront. Kendrick’s attention was divided between Jarrett and the altercation. “You’d better tell me what you did or you won’t live to tell Rarick a damn thing.”

“I did nothing,” spat the commander.

Kendrick grabbed Jarrett’s left arm and peeled away the handkerchief. “He was stabbed when he fought the Orahim. What was on the blade?”

“Nothing,” said the commander.

Muzik looked around, then located the Orahim’s body. He dragged the commander to it and kicked the dagger out of the dead creature’s hand. “Pick it up,” he ordered, shoving the commander to the ground.

The commander scrambled away, sliding through the mud. Kendrick didn’t need to see anymore. He jumped to his feet and ran for his horse. He grabbed the saddlebag off the animal’s back and hurried to Jarrett’s side.

Dropping into the mud again, he tore the pack open and grabbed the tightly bundled kit that held his medicinal store. He untied it and reached for the leaves of Stamerian he carried, crushing them, then prying Jarrett’s mouth open and forcing them inside. He crushed more and applied it directly to the wound. Gradually Jarrett’s convulsion eased, but his heart was irregular and his skin was clammy.

“What’s on the blade?” demanded Muzik.

The commander smirked. “How the hell should I know? I was just escorting the reptiles to Sarkisian. I don’t know anything about them.” He canted a look at the captain. “So, do you plan on killing us?”

“That’ll be up to Lord Tarnow,” Muzik said. His eyes shifted to Kendrick. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to boil more Stamerian. Get him to drink some and then clean the wound with it.” He glanced down the road. “Then we’ve got to get him to Adishian. I don’t know what’s going on, but you’re going to help me.”

Muzik hunkered down next to the commander, his hand firmly fixed in the other’s cloak. He stared hard at Kendrick. “You’ve got to trust me. I really was sent to find you. The King of Adishian dispatched me and my men.”

Kendrick studied him a moment in silence, then he looked down on Jarrett again. The Terrian was shivering, his lips blue. Kendrick motioned to one of the grey clad soldiers. “Get me blankets and hurry.” He turned back to Muzik. “Why would I ever trust you? You haven’t been honest.”

“I tried to explain it to you this morning, but you wouldn’t listen. I didn’t intend that to happen with Tosa. I never dreamed she’d be after the bounty, but I had to test you. I had to know that you were really the ones they sent.”

“What?”

Muzik glanced at the commander. “I couldn’t bring you to her unless I knew you were the right ones. It’s too dangerous.”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” snapped Kendrick, taking the blankets from the soldier and wrapping them around the Terrian. “Lord Tarnow requested that someone come to Adishian. He sent a message to both Chernow and Terra Antiguo.”

Muzik nodded. Beside him, the commander was listening intently. Muzik glanced at him again. “I came to find you. To escort you to Adishian, but I had to make sure you were the right ones.”

“We had letters of introduction. You could have asked us for them.”

“Letters can be forged. I had to know for sure.”

Kendrick pressed a hand against his temple. “I don’t understand. What did you have to know? What did you find out?”

“That you were men of honor. Men of training. Men of discipline. Men of good character.”

The commander snorted.

Muzik shoved him down, glaring at him. He looked back at Kendrick. “Your letters of introduction will do for Tarnow, but not for me.”

Kendrick motioned at Jarrett’s prone form. “And if he dies? None of it matters then. You let this happen, this is on your head.”

Muzik looked miserable. “I know. I was wrong.”

Kendrick’s attention shifted to the commander. “And what about them? What are you going to do with them? He’s heard everything we’ve said.”

Muzik glanced at the man in question. “Lord Tarnow will decide that. These men are the trespassers. Adishian does not belong to Sarkisian just yet.”

CHAPTER 4

Jarrett woke in Terra Antiguo. He rose to his feet, rubbing his eyes, and gazed around him. The golden hay of the meadow extended on before him, the stocks waving gently in the warm breeze. The sun was shining and he stretched his cramped muscles in lazy comfort. Then he remembered all that had happened and he looked down at his arm, searching for the wound. To his surprise, it was gone.

He rubbed the arm vigorously, but felt no pain. There wasn’t even a scar to mark the event. How could this be? The wound had been deep and long. Surely, it couldn’t have healed so well.

He looked about again. Terra Antiguo? He was in Terra Antiguo, but how had he gotten here and why? And where was Kendrick? Had Kendrick brought him to Terra Antiguo and left him to continue the journey alone? But why was he in the middle of this meadow?

Jarrett stopped himself. He looked around again uneasily. He couldn’t actually be in Terra Antiguo. The metallic taste of fear filled his mouth. He knew this taste, he’d experienced it all his life in dark, sinister dreams of ambiguous form as a child and then as distinct, sharp, all too real dreams of his adulthood, where the fear had shape and substance.

Taking another hurried look around the meadow, he headed in the direction of the city. As he walked, the sky grew dark and murky clouds began to roll in off the mountains. He reached Terra Antiguo more quickly than was usually possible.

As he stepped beneath the great stone wall that surrounded the city, he looked up along the battlements expecting to see guards standing at their posts. No Terrian guards flanked the battlements nor manned the gatehouse to the left of the entrance. Jarrett stopped, his back to the wall, and looked in the direction he had come. He had a suddenly overwhelming feeling that he was being watched from the trees that bordered the roadway leading to Terra Antiguo, but he couldn’t see anyone.

Turning back around, he breathed a sigh. He was in Terra Antiguo. It was exactly as he remembered – the great outer wall made of smoothed, rounded stones, topped by battlements, and the guardhouse standing to the left of the main gate where he had spent many nights. Straight ahead rose the inner wall of the city itself, smaller than the outer wall and made of bricks. In its center was the central gate with ornate black iron railings and an arch decorated with loops and spirals. Through the arch, Jarrett could see the cobblestones of the city’s streets and the grooves in the archway from the wheels of heavily laden wagons that traveled through the inner gateway to the avenues beyond.

He walked toward the street lights. As he crossed under the inner archway, he thought he heard something behind him again. He half-turned and saw a figure slip from the cover of the trees into the enclosure of the outer wall.

His heart slammed against his ribs.

Within the inner wall of the city, darkness had fallen and the growing clouds in the sky cast deep shadows into the alleys, but the golden glow of the street lamps fell like warm sanctuaries at even intervals along the sidewalks.

Jarrett looked back to the outer wall and waited, but nothing moved. He took a deep breath and passed under the arch to the open streets beyond. As he went he searched each alley and looked into each of the buildings hoping to see anyone else, but the streets were deserted, except for the uncomfortably loud sound of his boots against the cobblestones. There wasn’t even the buzz of insects or the low burr from the furnaces in the buildings to interrupt the silence.

On a thought, he halted and looked up to the roofs. No traces of smoke lifted from the chimneys, although he felt sure he had seen fires in some of the buildings he had looked into. Where were all the people?

He passed on, glancing back into the darkness of the outer wall. There must be people somewhere, they would never have abandoned Terra Antiguo like this. And again the feeling that he wasn’t really in Terra Antiguo struck him, making him halt before the window of a barber shop.

He lifted his eyes and looked inside to see himself reflected in the glass. His expression bordered on panic. For a moment, he didn’t notice the motion directly behind him, but a chill shivered up his spine as he shifted his gaze to the figure standing in the center of the street.

He spun around, groping for his sword, but the sheath was empty, in fact the sheath was gone. As he turned, the figure disappeared. He leaned back against the glass, panting. A fine sheen of perspiration peppered his chest and back. It was suddenly hot in the city, so hot that it felt stifling and the air was heavy beneath the ponderous mass of dark clouds. He brushed his hair away from his forehead with a shaky hand and peered into the gloom of the street. Then he looked down at his arm.

There was still no sign of a wound, but his arm ached suddenly.

He returned to searching the empty streets for the figure, but there was no sign of him.

Jarrett stiffened. Him? Closing his eyes, he tried to calm himself. He hadn’t been able to see the figure’s face, so why had he assumed it was male?

He opened his eyes again when he realized he was rubbing his arm. The ache was growing, becoming a burning sensation, but he couldn’t understand why.

He moved away from the window and under the bright light of a street lamp. He peered into the darkness, searching for the figure. Shaking his head, he wondered if he hadn’t imagined it. Terra Antiguo seemed deserted.

He walked to the end of the street and turned left, his mind dashing ahead, trying to piece together everything that was happening to him. As he tried to sort things out, his feet took him through the twists and turns of the streets as if he were being directed by an external force, and he found himself passing the gabled house of the Terrian leader. He looked into its windows and saw that they were shuttered and sealed, but the sight added only one more mystery to all that had happened since he woke in the meadow.

As he made a few more turns and passed down a few more streets, a growing feeling of uneasiness came over him. He halted in the middle of a broad avenue and lifted his eyes to the sign that turned in the wind. Oak Hollow Way...

For some reason, he couldn’t remember why Oak Hollow Way was significant to him, but it was. He edged to the sign and touched the wood. A warm breeze blew in his hair and toyed with the collar of his cloak. He tore his eyes from the sign and looked down the murky street. Even on Oak Hollow Way, the streetlights were lit, but the houses were encased in shadows. Along the sidewalk no one stirred, not even a cat or dog. At the far end of the street, nearly beyond eyeshot, stood a single house whose windows were ablaze from the inside with a sort of phosphorescent glow.

He caught his breath. He suddenly remembered all that Oak Hollow Way meant to him and he wanted to run, but his legs wouldn’t respond. Oak Hollow Way...

He hadn’t been down this street in years, not since he’d become a Terrian guard – and the house at the end of the street...even from where he stood he could make out the spectral image of the oak that had once dominated the whole of the front yard.

Although he told himself to flee, his legs began moving away from the sign and down the street toward the lighted house. He heard his own breath, ragged in his ears, and the pounding of his heart sounded oddly loud and irregular. The heat of the night had increased so that sweat ran down his face and body. He undid the top few laces of his shirt to help himself breathe easier and pushed the wet hair from his forehead. If only he had his sword, he thought.

Before he could break the spell that had bound him, he reached the front of the house, its whitewashed walls rising larger than he’d remembered, its roof sloping steeply toward the ground. Planter boxes under each of the front windows were choked with dying plants, wilted petals strewn over the walkway and stairs. The white picket fence was immaculately painted and sturdy. Jarrett pressed himself against it, holding his hands back from the latch they sought so eagerly to open. Each window was extremely incandescence with light, so brightly lit that he couldn’t see into the rooms. The porch was wide and long, the front door seeming small and narrow in the distance.

To his right rose the oak, its branches stretching over the fence and shading the sidewalk, its roots causing deep fissures in the earth, and its trunk nearly ten times the size of the Terrian. Jarrett lifted his eyes to the upper most branches, which were bare against the sky. They rubbed together in the breeze like hands stretching towards the warmth. As the branches rubbed together, it sounded as if a hundred voices were speaking in harsh whispers. Jarrett felt small and vulnerable in the substantial shadow of the great tree, and his hands shook as they rested on the gate. He felt pain creeping steadily up his legs.

He had always sought solitude and comfort in the bows of this tree, he had hugged its immense trunk, and he had spent hours hiding behind it, praying that it would shield him. As he stood beneath it now, he was afraid, deeply and darkly afraid of it.

Suddenly, the ground heaved, making him stagger. He shrank against the gate, his hands searching once again for the latch. In his mind, he willed himself away from the fence and back into the street, but as the earth rolled again, his hands found the latch and the gate swung open with such force that it splintered into the fence. The rumbling died out over the mountains that ringed in Terra Antiguo and the bottomless silence descended once more.

Jarrett stood shaking in the middle of the walkway that led to the house. Again his legs were propelled by a force not his own and he soon found himself on the bottom step. The step was more steep and narrow than he remembered and he climbed carefully. His mind raced ahead of his body once more. Why was he so afraid and why couldn’t he control himself, take himself back down the walk and into the street again? The front door will be locked, he lied to himself, but he knew that it would open.

He didn’t want to go back into that house, had vowed to himself that he’d never return, but he found himself standing before the front door, his hand reaching for the knob. As he knew it would, it yielded to his touch and swung inward. The light flooded into his eyes with a stark suddenness, so sudden that at first he couldn’t see. He backed instinctively into one of the walls and blinked until his eyes adjusted from the darkness outside to this inner brilliance.

Everything was as he remembered it, although it seemed larger and more severe in this glaring light. Before him rose the arched and polished banister, to his right the tiled floor of the kitchen and to his left the parlor with its garish red velvet furnishing. His mother had been fond of velvet and particularly fond of red, although she’d been a quiet, reticent woman.

Jarrett moved slowly from the hallway and his eyes darted about the room. He could smell the heavy, sweet odor of lavender that his mother used to hide the other, less pleasant smells of Human life. She had scrubbed lavender into the floors and the railings of the banister, and had misted it into the fabric of the couches and curtains. Yet underneath the heavy scent, Jarrett could discern another stronger, more offensive aroma.

He halted and his heart slammed against his ribs once more. Anxiety rushed through him. He knew this smell. He stumbled to the stairs, his legs forcing him along, even though his mind wanted to flee out the door again.

Once more, before he could stop himself, he found himself on the upper landing, staring down the hallway that led to the rooms once occupied by his family. To his left, the door to his older brother’s room stood open. Jarrett moved to the entrance and peered in. From the bed, his brother rose and turned to face him.

“Davlin?” Jarrett whispered. Davlin had short-cropped, red hair and dark eyes. He extended a pale hand toward Jarrett. “Davlin, where are the others?” Behind his brother was a mirror and Jarrett could see his own sharp features reflected in it, a stark contrast to the blunt features of his light-skinned brother.

“Welcome home, Jarrett,” Davlin said. “You’ve been gone a long time. You never come to visit us. Not even Mother.”

“How is our mother?” he asked.

“As if you cared. You haven’t been to visit since you became a Terrian guard. Father thinks that you feel you’re too good for us now.”

Jarrett was surprised by the childish tone of his brother’s voice. The face was a man’s, but the voice was a strange echo of childhood, of his childhood. He couldn’t control the shiver that raced through him.

“Davlin, you know why I haven’t visited...”

He halted as Davlin turned away. His brother went to the mirror and stared into it. Jarrett’s eyes were drawn to his reflection. The stark contrast between them was so obvious that Jarrett couldn’t stop staring at it.

“Go on, he’s waiting for you,” said Davlin.

A door shut in the hallway.

Jarrett shivered. This time his fear was so great he couldn’t move. “Where are the others, Mother, Carew, and Marcar?”

Davlin studied him with his dark eyes. “They’re here, waiting with Father.”

Jarrett turned as he heard the creak of a door in the hallway and his eyes met his sister’s. She stood against the railing, her hands folded before her, her long, red hair falling down her back. Jarrett’s throat tightened around his raging emotions. He hadn’t seen her in so long, too long.

She beckoned him to her. She had been the only one who’d taken pity on him as a child, sneaking into his room to stroke his hair and clean his wounds after...

...not even his own mother had dared to come to him after his father had...

He couldn’t bring himself to say the words. He couldn’t allow himself to remember.

“Jarrett, you’ve finally come home,” she said. Then her dark eyes narrowed. “Why don’t you come to me?”

Jarrett moved forward until he stood before her, but she didn’t reach for him. Her gaze darted over his face and then fixed on his eyes. “Father waits for you,” she said quietly, and motioned down the hall.

“I don’t want to go, Carew,” he said. He realized he was shaking uncontrollably now.

His sister’s face grew hard. “You don’t have a choice,” she said. “Don’t you see, you aren’t like the rest of us.”

He’d lived his entire life noticing the enormous differences between himself and his siblings. While he was tall and swarthy, they were shorter like their father with red hair and fair skin. When he was younger, he’d thought that he was ill-formed and ugly, and they were handsome. He was ashamed of his sharp features and darker skin, and especially ashamed of the blue eyes that had always acted like a beacon of his difference to other townspeople when his mother took all of the children out with her.

“Please don’t make me go,” he said, then blinked at the sound of his own voice. It sounded far too young for his years.

She shook her head and backed away from him. As he watched, she seemed to disappear. The door at the far end of the hallway opened again, but this time stood ajar. Jarrett was terrified. He hunched his shoulders and bowed his head as he had as a child. He needed to escape. He needed to run away from this house.

His heart was thumping against his ribs, making him feel light-headed and weak. His breathing had become a rapid pant. The pain in his arm had moved into his shoulder, making concentrating difficult, especially because the heat in the house was nearly overwhelming. He knew he needed to leave. He was afraid he might actually throw himself into a stroke or heart attack if he didn’t escape, but once again, rather than fleeing, his feet moved in the direction of the open door.

He peered inside, but the room was drowned in darkness and again his eyes were sightless in the abrupt contrast. Suddenly his mind went numb. A cold chill pass through him. He shrank from the touch, but it embraced him and drew him into the room. Slowly his eyes adjusted and in the murk, he could see figures forming out of the shadows. Figures that called back the nightmares of his childhood – Human figures, twisted and bent, flesh hanging in rendered strips, arms and legs missing, faces distorted into grotesque, misshapen phantoms of creatures they’d once been. He would have shrank from them, but he couldn’t move, his legs seemed frozen to the floor. Then Revl Murata appeared.

His father’s red hair glowed in the darkness. “I’ve been waiting for you to come back,” he said. “Thought it was all over, thought you could escape the disgrace, but it’ll never be over. I lived with it every day. Every day.”

For some reason Jarrett couldn’t speak, couldn’t defend himself. A strange weakness spread through him and his legs gave out. He sank to the floor.

“Do you know what disgrace I’ve lived with? Do you know the way the townspeople look at me and whisper about me? Do you know what it was like to look at you every day and know... know what she did to me?” He spat.

“What are you talking about?”

Revl laughed. “You! The constant reminder of her infidelity. The constant reminder of him!”

“Who?”

Jarrett didn’t hear the answer. He felt the sensation that he was falling, falling deep within a bottomless hole, his body tumbling over and over. He was terrified as the darkness pressed in on him. He gasped for air, but none came. The pounding of his heart was deafening in the emptiness around him, but on he fell, struggling to force air into his body.

I’m dying, he thought and he struggled violently against that thought, but it did no good. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t stop his fall. Closing his eyes, he attempted to draw his arms and legs in about him, but still he fell faster and faster and still he couldn’t breathe.

*    *    *

“He’s dying,” said Muzik Andrada when they paused briefly to rest the horses. The precautions Kendrick had taken to bind Jarrett to the litter seemed almost futile against the thrashings of the afflicted man.

Kendrick bent close and sheltered his body from the pounding rain. The Nazarien and his companions had been traveling for more than two full days with only brief stops to rest the horses and to gulp down a soggy meal. Tightening the straps and whispering comforting words to the Terrian, he placed his hand against Jarrett’s chest and felt the heat of the fever that burned within him. Jarrett’s heart was pounding rapidly beneath his hand.

He looked at Jarrett’s face and realized through his deep fatigue that Muzik was right, Jarrett was dying and they were still outside the gates of Adishian.

He bent close once more and he could feel Jarrett’s ragged breath against his ear. Jarrett was whispering a name over and over again, a name Kendrick knew very well. “Tomlin Trauner,” he repeated.

Why would the Terrian say the name of the Nazar in a fever delirium?

He lifted his head and met Muzik’s gaze. “We go on,” he said, and the weariness of the last few days staggered him.

Muzik shook his head. “Why, Nazarien, the boy’s dying. He won’t even make it to the gates.”

“Because I made a vow and I intend to keep it,” Kendrick answered. “He’s not dead yet.”

Muzik sighed and Kendrick knew he was exhausted too. “All right, we go on, but I’m sending one of my soldiers ahead to alert Adishian.”

Kendrick nodded and pulled himself into the saddle once more. He watched in silence as the fatigued soldier rode off into the hazy distance and disappeared. With a final look over his shoulder at the thrashing Terrian, Kendrick pressed his heels into his horse’s sides and followed.

*    *    *

They rode on through the steady fall of rain for what seemed like hours. The day was cold and frost clung to the fringe of Kendrick’s cloak and formed in the horses’ nostrils. He’d placed all of their blankets around Jarrett, but with his fever so high, he had little fear of him being too cold. Kendrick could hear the low murmurings of the Terrian as they rode. He continued to speak the name of the Nazar over and over again.

He wondered why Jarrett was suddenly so obsessed with the Nazar. To his knowledge, Jarrett had never been to Chernow and he showed disdain for anything associated with the Nazarien. But now he suddenly remembered the name of the Nazar? Odd.

Kendrick’s mind wandered, thinking of home.

Tomlin Trauner was a young Nazar by record, and he was the first since the time of Talar Eldralin. Andoloshian had died soon after Talar’s death and had left the Nazarien to Trauner.

No one knew why, just as no Nazarien had ever known. It was Andoloshian’s choice to make and it seemed he’d chosen well, despite Trauner’s age. Some wondered if Trauner wasn’t Andoloshian’s son, but then such ties weren’t often known among the Nazarien as they took a vow of celibacy upon joining the order and broke this vow only in incidences of procreation, which they did in organized ceremonies to preserve the Nazarien fellowship.

Tomlin Trauner had always shown Kendrick kindness. Kendrick had been one of the brightest pupils in his regime and Trauner had been quick to encourage him. It was Trauner who had insisted that Kendrick take this mission.

Kendrick remembered little of his mother, he had been taken from her and brought to Chernow when he was very young, and he had met his father only after coming to Chernow. His parents, Kedall Karpinen and Dayan Andel, had been fond of each other and had had many children, most of which followed the Nazarien order, but Kendrick knew little of them. Dayan Andel had taken more interest in him than most Nazarien fathers did, but it had been Tomlin Trauner who had inspired him and who had taught him more about the Nazarien order than the rest of the young students were allowed to know.

Trauner had changed the Nazarien order forever. No longer did they hold so absolutely to the austere restraints of celibacy and solitude. Like Kendrick’s parents, two people could grow to be fond of one another and have children.

As Talar Eldralin had shown, if a Nazarien should love so deeply as to desire marriage, this marriage was the ultimate bond, greater even than the bond they pledged among themselves. In this situation should something befall their second half, the remaining half was expected to take his own life. The fierce union of this bond and its dire consequences caused the two bound in marriage to be looked upon with respect and reverence; however, because of its suffocating and obliterating nature, few Nazarien dared to accept it, afraid that they might fail and should they do so, the disgrace they would bear would be beyond any they could imagine. Not even the Nazar would agree to such a commitment.

Kendrick caught himself with a start before he fell head first off the horse. He shook his head and forced his eyes open. He couldn’t go on much farther like this, he was so tired. He turned and glanced over his shoulder at his companion. Jarrett was still alive – somehow Jarrett was still alive.

He shifted back around and lifted his face to the rain. But how much farther until they reached Adishian, and once they did, what would he do? Kendrick had vowed that he would take Jarrett on to Loden if need be, but the thought constricted his chest and caused a moan to escape his lips. How would he take him to Loden when he was so exhausted?

He knew that he wasn’t thinking properly. He shouldn’t be so upset; after all he had been trained by the Nazar to always be in control, even when he was the hungriest or most tired he’d ever been. If only they could reach Adishian, if only....

Suddenly, ahead in the gloom loomed the soaked battlements and citadels of the capital as if called into being by his plea. Kendrick saw the many soldiers moving along the battlements toward the gates. Muzik rode to his side and patted him on the back.

“You’ve done it, Nazarien,” he said, smiling. “And she’s here. All will be well now.”

She’s here? The words echoed in Kendrick’s mind. “Who’s here?”

Muzik laughed his big, booming laugh, the first laugh Kendrick had heard him utter in days. “The Queen, of course, and she’ll take care of everything.”

They passed under the enormous gates of the city and into the main square, which opened in a circle around Castle Kazan, the stronghold of Adishian. Kendrick gazed at the castle, the flags flying from the towers. The castle rose from the square, stark and white in the distance, flanked by breath-taking gardens.

The townspeople ran beside the small company, jeering the bowed forms of the Sarkisian Front Guard and cheering Muzik and his soldiers. Kendrick heard the many whisperings that rose from the crowd regarding his dark skin and Stravad eyes. Few in Adishian had seen a Stravad before, let alone a Nazarien, and they made their new discovery very apparent.

Soon they were before the gates of Kazan. Muzik halted them with an uplifted hand and went forward to converse with the guards standing in the cover of the guardhouse before the gates. Kendrick squinted and peered through the gates to the gardens beyond. Many forms were materializing in the gloom, standing in the stunning gardens. It seemed to take Muzik dreadfully long to convince the guards that they should pass, but then the gates were pushed outward and Muzik motioned them forward. Kendrick passed just within the gates with the litter, when the dark forms moved to his side and took the bridle from his hands.

He felt his body being pulled from the horse and soon his feet landed on the cobblestones. The two figures beside him each placed arms about his shoulders and propelled him toward the warm glow of the castle’s interior, but Kendrick held back.

“No, my companion, Jarrett, he’s...” he said and turned back toward the litter. They intervened and tried to turn him around again, but he pulled away, feeling a growing sense of panic. He wasn’t going to leave Jarrett, not now, not after they’d come so far.

But the two figures weren’t about to give up so easily either. They started towards him again, this time their soothing tones had turned to commands and Kendrick backed away. Where was Muzik now?

His hand fell to his sword and he was prepared to draw it, when a third figure moved out of the cover of the gardens and started towards him. As if frozen suddenly in place, Kendrick halted, his body trembling. He was surprised by his reaction, but the presence of this third person was strangely exciting. The figure was slight, a good head and a half shorter than its companions and cloaked from head to toe in a shimmering, emerald green robe, the hood pulled so far down it completely covered the face. The movements of this third person were fluid and hypnotic.

Kendrick was no longer afraid. Instead he was filled with an overwhelming sense of calm and peace. The figure stopped before him and two bronze hands reached out from the confines of the robe to clasp his own. Kendrick’s breath came in a shuddered sigh. The touch ignited something deep within him and he felt a sudden warmth course through him. The numbing tiredness fell away and he was left with a languid feeling of safety.

The head lifted and revealed the most beautiful face the Nazarien had ever seen. He stared into two emerald green eyes. The eyes seemed to look inside of him, filling him with serenity. He couldn’t comprehend the feeling that overwhelmed him – his entire body tingled with raw excitement, yet a voice in his mind continued to bathe him in swells of equanimity.

Framing the beautiful face were waves of thick, long black hair. Kendrick couldn’t suppress his urge to touch it. He disengaged his hand from the slight brown one and reached up to finger a single tress of the hair that fell over a slender shoulder. The lovely face broke into a smile and Kendrick felt he’d cry at the infinite radiance in that one look.

The green eyes fixed on his own and the hand lifted to clasp his again. “You’re all right,” said a lyrical voice.

“My companion...” said Kendrick, clutching at his faltering thoughts.

The smile returned. “I’ll see to him. Go with my attendants and they’ll see you to a hot meal and a warm bed.”

“But I want to stay with you,” said Kendrick, surprised by the intensity of his emotions. He didn’t want to leave this beautiful creature’s side, not now and not ever again. He sensed that this is where he should be, where he was meant to be.

A smile lit the lovely face again. “You need sleep. Please do as I ask.”

The strange sensations that stroked Kendrick’s mind increased and Kendrick knew he couldn’t resist the call even if he tried. Without a word, the beautiful form moved toward the litter that bore Jarrett’s body. Kendrick felt the caress in his mind slip away. Weariness began to claim him again and he allowed the attendants to direct him toward the castle.

As they led him away, he looked back over his shoulder to where the emerald-clad figure bent over Jarrett’s body and he didn’t turn around even when he found himself inside Kazan and out of the pounding rain.

He couldn’t forget the touch of those small, delicate hands or the look that had penetrated so deeply into his soul, searching for something that Kendrick didn’t know if he possessed. The Nazarien had never met anyone like this beautiful woman, but now that he had, he knew he’d never forget her.

CHAPTER 5

“Jarrett, wake up.”

He heard the voice, but he couldn’t respond. More importantly, he didn’t want to respond. It was easier to float in the darkness. Here there was no pain, no regret, no fear. Here was simply nothing.

“You’ve got to wake up. I won’t let you die.”

The unfamiliar voice caused a ripple in his well of darkness and he frowned. He didn’t want to be disturbed. He focused his remaining thoughts on the darkness. It was easy to forget there had ever been anything else.

“Please, Jarrett, please wake up.”

A shudder passed through him and he tried to force the intrusion away, but it was becoming difficult to ignore the persistent voice. He didn’t recognize his intruder, but the voice was pleasant. More than pleasant. It was intriguing, but the more interest it generated, the more his darkness was disturbed.

He wanted to tell the voice to go away, but he couldn’t find that much energy.

“Help me, Jarrett. Help me find a way to reach you.”

He was sure he didn’t want to be reached. It was safe in the darkness. Oblivion was safe. Yet there was something about the voice that made him want to respond. He felt his resolve giving away.

“Jarrett, please.”

It took a supreme effort of will on his part, but he managed to remember one word, one sound. “Here,” he croaked.

That one word was enough of a message. He could actually feel the essence of another being enter the darkness with him, searching, probing, locating him where he lay. This essence glowed against the darkness, forcing Jarrett to take notice. Wrapping itself around him, it lifted him upward.

Jarrett struggled, or attempted to struggle against it, but it was too powerful. The darkness began to slip away around him, like fog fleeing sunlight, as he was brought to the surface. The weight of his own body became oppressive, pressing him downward. He’d never realized how much one’s body weighed before, but it wasn’t a pleasant discovery.

While in the darkness, the pain had been far away, but now he was brought into the center of it until it occupied his every thought. It felt as if every nerve ending was raw, exposed. He moaned and tried to sink back into the darkness, but the essence prevented his decent.

“Wake up, Jarrett,” came the voice again.

For a moment he was confused, but he didn’t have the strength to fight this battle. Giving up, he allowed himself to be pulled back into his physical body once more.

“Wake up, Jarrett.”

He felt light against his eyelids, but the effort to open them was nearly too great. He did manage a narrow crack. For a moment, his vision swam with black dots, until his pupils retracted. He could actually feel them close down and it caused not a little pain.

As his focus returned, he blinked a couple of times. It felt as if someone had filled his eyes with sand, but after a moment of fighting the tears and the burning, he could actually see.

He held his breath, not sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. An angel bent over him, an angel with black hair and emerald green eyes. “Hello, Jarrett,” she said softly.

Although he couldn’t see it, he felt her hand in his hair. He tried to speak, but he couldn’t make his voice work. She placed a glass against his lower lip and a cool, wet substance touched his tongue. He drank reflexively, but she pulled the glass away before he’d had his fill.

His eyes burned like fire, but he couldn’t close them and lose sight of her. He’d never seen a more beautiful creature in his entire life. He wanted to touch her and make sure she was real, but he didn’t have the strength. Instead, he licked his cracked lips and searched for the words he wanted to say.

“Who are you?” He was surprised by how ragged and hoarse his own voice sounded.

“I’m Tyla Eldralin,” she said.

Tyla Eldralin? He knew he should recognize the name, but he’d forgotten so many things. “What’s wrong with me?” His eyes closed on their own, but he forced them open again.

“You’ve been very sick, but I think you’ll survive.”

He wanted to sleep, but he was afraid to let go of his consciousness. What if he couldn’t find his way back to this beautiful creature? For some reason, he felt like he’d found the very thing he’d been searching for his entire life and he couldn’t risk losing it now.

“Don’t leave,” he whispered, his eyes closing of their own volition.

“I won’t,” she said close beside his ear.

He forced open his eyes again and fixed them on her exquisite features. “I think I love you,” he said, but even as the words left his mouth, he drifted back into the darkness once more.

*    *    *

When Jarrett woke again, it was easier to open his eyes. His tongue felt swollen and pasty in his mouth and he didn’t seem to have enough strength to speak, but the pain was more manageable.

He couldn’t lift himself, but he could turn his head. He searched for the angel from his dreams, but she’d vanished as he’d feared she would. A motion beside him drew his attention and he narrowed his eyes, trying to focus.

“How about some water?” said a familiar voice.

Jarrett nodded and closed his eyes as the water flowed over his swollen tongue and parched mouth. Not even the finest wines in the entire city of Terra Antiguo could have tasted sweeter. He still wasn’t allowed to drink his fill and the depravation annoyed him.

“Sorry, but we can’t risk making you sick yet. Too much too quickly might.”

Jarrett squinted through the half-light at the Nazarien. Kendrick had dark circles under his eyes and his expression was anxious, but he looked no worse for the wear. As Jarrett stared at his familiar face, the memories came rushing back. It was too much at first and he closed his eyes, turning his head away.

“Are you in pain? They gave you something not long ago, but I could call someone.” There was genuine concern in the Nazarien’s voice.

Jarrett shook his head. “More...water.”

Kendrick seemed uncertain, but he reached for the glass again. “Only a little,” he said, bringing it to Jarrett’s lips.

Jarrett drank, then lay back. He was a little concerned by how much energy a simple drink took.

“Things should start looking up soon. The poison is working its way through your system, but apparently, your body will mend almost completely.”

Jarrett rolled his head on the pillow and regarded his companion. “Almost?”

Kendrick grimaced. “We’re just not sure. Your arm was badly infected by the time we reached Adishian.”

Jarrett narrowed his eyes. “We?”

Kendrick sighed. “It’s a long story and I don’t think you’re up for it. Give yourself a couple of days, then I’ll update you on everything.”

“How long...” His voice failed him and he swallowed against the continuing dryness. “How long was I...”

“Unconscious?”

Jarrett nodded.

“Four days, including the two it took to get to Adishian and the two since you’ve been here under...” He paused. “...under her care.”

Jarrett knew who the her was. His angel, Tyla Eldralin.

“Where is she?”

“She’s here,” came the voice from his dreams.

She came to a halt behind Kendrick, placing her hand on the Nazarien’s shoulder. Kendrick gazed up at her with an expression Jarrett had never seen before, but he didn’t spare his companion much of his attention. She demanded his complete focus. He couldn’t believe that any creature was as beautiful as this one. He’d thought perhaps it had been a figment of his feverish dreams, but staring at her now, he knew it wasn’t.

Her brows drew down into a pretty frown and she motioned the Nazarien away. Kendrick rose reluctantly and backed toward the door, but he never removed his eyes from her the entire time.

She placed her hand on Jarrett’s brow, then reached for his left arm. Jarrett was surprised to realize he hadn’t even felt the arm until she touched it. Then it began to tingle directly over the spot her fingers lay.

“The bandage is clean,” she said as if she was cataloging symptoms, “and there doesn’t appear to be any fever.” She glanced at the Nazarien. “Has he taken any water?”

“A little. I was afraid to give him too much.”

The beautiful creature turned her attention back on her patient. “That’s good,” she said, offering him the most stunning smile he’d ever seen. “We don’t want to go too fast.” Taking the seat the Nazarien had vacated, she reached for his left hand and held it within her own. Again he felt the strange tingling sensation race over his hand and up his arm. “You have warmth in your hand.” Smoothing the covers, she then folded her hands in her lap. “How do you feel?”

Jarrett could only stare at her in confusion. When? He hadn’t felt like much of anything, except a lot of raw nerves, until she walked into the room. Now he wasn’t sure how he felt, but he sure as hell didn’t care anymore.

“Fine,” he said.

She laughed. Jarrett could only blink in rapt adoration. He’d never heard a more delightful sound. “I think you feel anything but fine; however, I appreciate the courage it took to say that.”

Jarrett wanted to reach for her hand again, but he didn’t have the strength. As if she’d read his thoughts, she placed her hand within his, his right one now so that he could feel it. He gave her a weak smile, he was so delighted.

Kendrick shifted uncomfortably behind her, drawing Jarrett’s attention. The Nazarien was frowning. “Don’t you think he needs more sleep, Your Majesty?”

She glanced at the Nazarien over her shoulder. Black hair cascaded down her back with the motion. “I think he’s had enough already,” she said. “However, you do appear to be rather exhausted. Why don’t you catch a little sleep before supper?”

Jarrett would have shot a smug look in Kendrick’s direction, but he didn’t have the energy. Kendrick’s blue eyes cut to Jarrett’s face, then back to Tyla’s. He seemed to be struggling with himself. Jarrett suspected he wanted to protest, but didn’t know how to do so with someone like Tyla Eldralin. She was a presence to be reckoned with, Jarrett had to admit. After a moment of silent debate, he gave a nod and left the room.

Tyla turned back to her patient. Her grip tightened briefly on his hand. “Actually, he’s right. You need sleep in order to heal.”

“Don’t go,” he managed to say.

She touched the back of her fingers to his cheek. “I won’t until you’re asleep.”

Jarrett wanted to turn in to her touch, but he suddenly couldn’t make his body respond. Against his will, his eyes blinked heavily a number of times and his breathing grew deeper. He mumbled something to her, but even he didn’t recognize the words, then he was drifting pleasantly between reality and the dream world.

“Let go,” came her voice in his ear. “Sleep and heal.”

And Jarrett let go, sliding into the realm of sleep where there are no dreams to disturb one – a healing sleep.

*    *    *

Three days Jarrett drifted between sleep and a sort of semi-wakefulness. People came and changed the bedding, they came and changed his bandage, and everyday someone came and gave Jarrett a very thorough sponge bath that not only annoyed the Terrian, but caused him no little amount of embarrassment.

Between these events, others came and poured various fluids down his throat. He recognized a few: water, Stamerian, and a salty broth that tasted suspiciously like chicken; but others were indefinable. As he had faith in Tyla Eldralin’s healing ability, he didn’t waste the effort it took to ask them what it was they fed him.

What he did reserve his energy for was the brief meetings with the lady herself. She came daily and surveyed his care, then deigned to sit with him for a few moments, urging him to begin the process of living once more. He found himself desperate to please her in any small way, so when he wasn’t sleeping, he started working on regaining some control over his muscles again.

It was both distressing and more difficult than he’d imagined. Most of all, it proved to be a very humbling experience.

When he’d been a young boy, he’d suffered frequent bouts of parental abuse that had left him weak and wounded. Recovery had taken time, but a young body heals more rapidly than an older one. Since he’d come to manhood, he hadn’t suffered any debilitating illnesses or anything more than a minor injury while training, so he had no recent experience by which to compare this recovery.

Jarrett was a large man, tall, well-muscled, so he expected a certain level of power to be his by right of that size. To find that he didn’t even have the strength to sit himself up in bed was distressing. To find he needed the assistance of others to perform the most basic and personal tasks of living was devastating.

Still he was young and determined and he had a powerful motivation. By the end of the three days, he was able to sit for longer periods of time and he’d even managed to hobble across the room to relieve himself on his own.

Unfortunately, the recovery was longer than his patience, and boredom set in. Kendrick was good to assuage some of it. He came each day and told a part of the strange tale that led to their arrival in Adishian. Jarrett couldn’t get over the fact that he had no recollection of that journey whatsoever.

When he thanked the Nazarien, Kendrick acted confused. Jarrett persisted in his thanks, even though he knew the Nazarien faith shunned such benedictions. It had been Kendrick’s duty, according to the laws of the order, and Kendrick had simply been performing it.

For Jarrett, this was also a humbling experience. He knew Kendrick didn’t like him overly much, but to know that the man had gone to such desperate means to save his life was impressive. He had to truthfully ask himself if he would have been so committed in the same situation.

Through a silent agreement, they avoided any mention of the Adishian Queen during the early days of Jarrett’s recovery. Whenever she chanced to visit her patient while Kendrick was also visiting, the tension between the men was palpable. It was also slightly ridiculous, but where such emotions lay, there isn’t any sense of sensibility.

Both of them knew Tyla Eldralin was off-limits. It was like worshipping the sun because it gives you warmth. Worship it you might, but possess it you never will. Kendrick and Jarrett knew Tyla Eldralin was not available for a number of reasons. She was married to the King of Adishian, and she was Talar Eldralin’s daughter. Both facts were enough to eliminate such amorous feelings, but more than all that was the lady herself. She was affable, she was gentle, and she was sweet beyond reason, or so Jarrett thought, but she didn’t seem to realize her two visitors had anything else on their minds except the duty to which they were commissioned.

Not that Jarrett blamed himself or his companion for having less than puritanical thoughts. Jarrett could honestly say he’d never met a more beautiful woman. And if her attributes ended there, it would have been enough to quicken his pulse for the remainder of his natural life. Yet when you added a keen intellect, an incredible healing talent, and a latent power one could feel even if he knew little about such things, Jarrett felt sure there was no man alive who would not worship such a complex little package. Then there was the fact that the lady had saved his life.

He couldn’t look into that exquisite face and not remember that he wouldn’t be alive at that moment if it hadn’t been for her. Kendrick had brought him across the valley of death, but she had delivered him from its very gates. She had found him when he no longer wanted to be found. And she had freed him of the nightmares that had imprisoned him.

So, while Jarrett didn’t blame Kendrick for his infatuation, he did realize a rivalry was already brewing between two men who were already rivals. To Kendrick’s credit, the Nazarien was honorable enough not to press his advantage when his rival was decommissioned, which is why they both avoided any mention of their hostess in those first few days. Jarrett knew it was a moratorium that wouldn’t...couldn’t last forever.

During the days that Jarrett spent recovering, Kendrick began the task of learning why they’d been summoned to Adishian. He had daily meetings with the King of Adishian and his advisors. Jarrett suspected he knew a great deal more than they had when they’d first taken the commission, but he kept it to himself, talking about other things to occupy their time.

Tyla had been generous with her personal library and she brought books to the Terrian. What he read when he wasn’t exercising his muscles or napping, he shared with the Nazarien. Many of the books told the history of Adishian. They proved interesting in light of the few facts Kendrick shared from his daily audiences with the King.

However, the truce between them was a short one, necessarily so. Jarrett wasn’t a man used to being inactive, nor was he in the habit of letting someone else do his work for him. He’d been commissioned to partner the Nazarien in this venture and he fully intended to fulfill that commission. Before he’d even gained a measure of his strength back, he began demanding for information from Kendrick’s daily meetings, and such information invariably meant that the time was coming when the companions would be forced to discuss the very thing that had brought them here. Jarrett knew it would be a tense conversation, but inevitable.

Jarrett and Kendrick must discuss Tyla Eldralin.

“We need to talk,” said Jarrett.

Kendrick gave him a bewildered look. “About?”

“The Queen. I need to know exactly what happens in those meetings you have with the King.”

“When you’re well enough...”

Jarrett’s jaw tensed. He’d known a confrontation was unavoidable, but he was reluctant to begin it just the same. Kendrick had stood by him when he needed him most. “I’m well enough now.”

Kendrick’s eyes narrowed. “I think this is something that can wait...”

“No!” said Jarrett and surprised them both with his anger. “I want to hear everything that’s said in those meetings.”

Kendrick rose and his expression closed down. “And I say it isn’t important now.”

Jarrett pushed himself up in the bed, ready to leave it if necessary, but the door opened and Muzik’s large, smiling face appeared.

Jarrett tore his eyes from Kendrick only moments before the large man had clasped him in an unceremonious embrace, a booming laugh escaping his lips. “Thought I’d never see you again,” he said warmly and settled his huge frame on the bed between the two companions. Kian appeared in the doorway and padded into the room, lying down before the windows and resting his massive head on his forelegs.

Jarrett smiled at Muzik and cast a glance in Kian’s direction. “I’m glad to see you too, Muzik. I guess I also owe you my life.”

Muzik patted him roughly on the shoulder and laughed. “Think nothing of it, I was only happy to help after that incident in Cambia,” he said, coughing in embarrassment.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were a captain of the Blue Battalion?”

Muzik settled back and shot a glance at both Jarrett and Kendrick. “I was sent to Cambia in search of you, but I was to go in civilian clothes to draw as little attention as I could. Lord Tarnow felt sure that if you made it through siege lines, you’d be drawing plenty of attention yourselves. Then I found you, but I had to let you go. There are those in Cambia that report directly to Rarick in Sarkisian. It got too sticky and I had to keep attention from myself. I thought I’d catch up with you quickly enough, but Lex Prestar caught you first.”

Jarrett mulled over Muzik’s story. It didn’t all seem to fit. Everywhere that Muzik went he drew attention merely by his size and by the fact that a dog traveled as his companion. And then there was the incident at the tavern with Tosa. As if the man read his thoughts, he leaned close.

“Understand this, Jarrett Murata, I am a sworn protector of Tyla Eldralin, sworn to it by Lord Tarnow. I don’t think I have to impress upon you how important I feel this duty to be. Lord Tarnow sent for you to act as her protectors, but I felt the need to test what sort of men had been sent, I needed to test their convictions and their honor.” He leaned back and Jarrett scrutinized the large face and saw there a touch of what it must mean to be Tyla Eldralin’s sworn protector.

“And did we pass?” he said cautiously.

Muzik smiled and pressed his shoulder with a massive hand. “So far, but believe me, I won’t be letting my guard down.”

“No, I don’t suppose you will until we leave for Loden.”

Muzik’s face grew serious and the small eyes narrowed. “Do you think I’ll stop then? I have sworn my life to the protection of Tyla Eldralin, she is my single charge and the only thing I hold dear. While you’re in Adishian, nothing you do that concerns her will escape my notice and when you leave I will go with you as your shadow.”

Jarrett was speechless. Behind the enormous captain, Kendrick’s face grew troubled, but the tension that had passed between Jarrett and the Nazarien was not there with Muzik’s words. Neither one would have dared to deny Muzik’s claim.

As they sat in silence, the door opened once more and in glided Tyla Eldralin. She looked about the room, at each of the faces lifted to meet hers. Muzik and Kendrick both scrambled to their feet and bowed, and Kian lifted his heavy head.

“Your Majesty,” muttered the large man, but she lifted her hand to silence him.

“Muzik Andrada, you know better than to be formal with me,” she said and cast a smile in his direction. Muzik’s face lit instantly, but he didn’t seem to have words for her. She turned her steady gaze on Kendrick and the Nazarien tensed noticeably. “As for you, Kendrick Andel, you’ve no need to rise on my account. I think you’ll find I take my position as Queen of Adishian very lightly.”

“But I take my position very seriously, Your Majesty,” he said, “and therefore, I am at your command.”

She moved closer to the Nazarien and placed her hand on his arm. Kendrick flushed and Jarrett felt a wave of jealousy pass through him. “I release you from my command,” she said. “It’s not my right to command any man, despite what Lord Tarnow may think.” She turned and her eyes fell on Jarrett.

He felt his chest constrict and then her thoughts lightly brushed his. He was struck by the fact that she had read his thoughts so easily, his deepest feelings and emotions were an open book to her. No matter how hard he might try, he wouldn’t be able to stop her.

She took a seat beside him on the bed and touched his wounded arm. “I see you’re feeling much better, good enough to sit up.”

Jarrett nodded.

Suddenly Kian rose to his feet and pressed past the Nazarien, moving to Tyla’s side and laying his massive head in her lap. She withdrew her hand from Jarrett and stroked the dog. “So you’ve been treating Kian well, Muzik,” she said, looking back over her shoulder.

Muzik smiled. “Better than I take care of myself, Your Majesty.”

“I’ve no doubt of that,” she said and her eyes fell on the Nazarien. “What do you think of my friend, Kendrick?”

The Nazarien flushed visibly again. “I think he’s a magnificent animal.”

“Yes, he is magnificent, one of the best companions a person might wish for. One of our hunters found him as a pup and brought him to me. I took care of him and then set him free, but he doesn’t seem to want freedom. He found his way back inside the castle gates and howled until he was let in. He hasn’t left my side since, unless I ask him to accompany Muzik.” She fixed her eyes on the Nazarien. “Don’t you find that curious, that an animal would chose my company over freedom?”

Kendrick swallowed and his discomfort showed plainly in his face. “No, Your Majesty, I don’t find that curious. I can imagine almost anything would choose your company over freedom.”

Jarrett was surprised by Kendrick’s reaction. He knew enough of the Nazarien to know their feelings toward women. The Nazarien were an entirely male order and until Talar Eldralin, a very chauvinistic one. They would protect a woman, would even give their lives for her safety, but they ultimately believed that women were procreators and nothing more. Any open display of desire for a woman was shunned and any show of servitude to a woman’s command was cause to be ostracized. Talar Eldralin had changed that a bit with his love of his wife, but even despite his example, the Nazarien still retained their beliefs in celibacy and male domination. To see Kendrick, an avid student of their schooling, seemingly infatuated by a woman was a surprise, but then Jarrett felt that few men would have been able to resist the charm of Tyla Eldralin.

She turned then and her eyes bore into his. “I think Kian and I are kindred spirits, perhaps that’s why he’s stayed with me. We’ve both survived without the comforts of our own people,” she said, “until now, that is.”

“Your own people?” asked Jarrett. “Haven’t there been other...” Then he caught himself. Of course there’d been no other Stravad in Adishian. Rarick would never have allowed her to have contact with anyone else, and he certainly would never have allowed any Stravad to know the existence of Talar Eldralin’s daughter. He’d succeeded phenomenally. There had been rumors that Talar’s child had survived, but only rumors. He’d hid her existence, until Shandar, Talar’s brother, had received proof from the King of Adishian himself.

Her people – the thought tugged at him. Did she think him her people, too? Yes, she did, she’d shared his dreams and she thought she knew what lay inside of him, but the dreams were illusions, born of fever and poison, not reality.

A knock sounded at the door and the door opened. A guard stepped inside and bowed low before Tyla. She made a brief signal with her hand and he stood. “Lord Tarnow requests the Nazarien’s presence.”

“Very well,” she said and glanced back to Kendrick. The Nazarien moved to the door, careful to avoid her gaze.

“With your leave, Your Majesty,” said Muzik and Tyla nodded. He too left the room and the door closed behind him.

At last Jarrett found himself alone with the Adishian Queen and this thought made him flush with excitement. “How do you read people’s minds so easily?” he asked and she turned to face him.

“It’s something I was born with. I can’t tell you how I do it any more than you could explain how you speak.”

“I’ve never met anyone else with this power.”

“It’s easy to read you only because you don’t fight me. It hasn’t been this easy with everyone else. I honestly don’t mean to invade people’s thoughts, it just comes so naturally that I have to actively prevent myself from doing it. Although, before you and Kendrick, no one has ever seemed to understand what I was doing, unless I let them know.”

“What do you mean?”

“The first time I shared Kendrick’s thoughts, he knew I had, he felt my touch. It was the same with you, but while he involuntarily shut down, you opened up. Most people don’t know I’ve shared their thoughts. They can’t seem to feel it as you both do.” She paused and watched his face for a moment. “I suppose it’s a skill common to Stravad blood.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but she placed her hand on his arm. He could smell her perfume, light and faintly floral. Her fingers were soft and her emerald eyes sparkled. Her hand dropped away and she clasped it in her lap, but not before Jarrett thought he saw it tremble. “You shouldn’t deny your Stravad blood. It most likely saved your life when you were poisoned.” Then she met his gaze again. “I’ve learned not to deny or be ashamed of mine after all these years, although Rarick would have wished I continued to deny it, and my heritage for that matter.”

“It hasn’t been easy, has it?”

“Life isn’t easy, Jarrett,” she answered.

“Why didn’t you leave? Why didn’t you run away and go to Chernow or Loden? Find your people.”

She laughed. “Do you really think Rarick would allow me to go? He would have killed me without a thought.”

“Why has he allowed you to live?”

“Because he wants my power. Like you, he thinks I can teach him how it’s done, that I can give it to him, but I can’t. He also believes he can subvert me, make me do his bidding. With my power and the Orahim poison, he thinks he’ll be invincible. This is why he’s allowed me to live and has allowed me to perfect my curse, to grow more powerful by controlling it. He desires it at the same time that he fears it.”

“Why did he send you to Adishian then? If he wishes to possess what you have, why did he let you out of his sight?”

“Rarick fears my power, he fears I’ll destroy him, but at the same time, he hungers for it. In the end, his fear won out. He listened to Tarnow’s pleas and decided he could guard me as well in Adishian as in Sarkisian.” Her features grew hard. “There are many traitors in Adishian who report regularly to Rarick. Soon Rarick will know of Tarnow’s prisoners, which will only hasten him dispensing a garrison to Adishian.”

“And what will that mean to you?”

She met his gaze. “I have no idea,” she said soberly. Her eyes were so cold, Jarrett felt a chill climb up his spine.

“There’s got to be a way to escape. I’ve got to believe that’s why Tarnow allowed us to come here.”

She shook her head. “No, I won’t leave Tarnow, not while he lives.”

Her words struck Jarrett like a blow. He’d nearly forgotten her ties to the Adishian Lord, but apparently she hadn’t.

She rose suddenly. “You need rest. I shouldn’t have burdened you with this. Forgive me.” She smiled and the lines of worry disappeared. “All these years I’ve kept my concerns to myself. However, there’s something about you, Jarrett, that...” She paused and the smile faded.

With a sudden jerk, the link that she had formed between their minds was severed and Jarrett winced in pain. He looked into her face and saw a glimmer of the same pain mirrored in her eyes. He’d only known her for a few brief days, but he wanted to reach for her, to draw her back to him.

She backed away from the bed, Kian rising with her. “Good night,” she said, and in a rustle of silk, was gone. Jarrett leaned back against the bed in exhaustion. He turned and looked out the window where rain had begun to fall again.

He felt suddenly alone.

He had known Tyla Eldralin but a few days, yet he was hopelessly infatuated with her. He couldn’t allow her to waltz through his thoughts anymore; he would have to shut himself off from her no matter how difficult that might be. It seemed wrong that they should share such intimate contact, especially as she was in love with her husband.

CHAPTER 6

As the week wore on, Jarrett regained his strength under Tyla’s constant care. Slowly his left arm recovered some of its feeling and he was able to lift small things in it, increasing the weight. He felt anxious to regain his strength the longer he was in Adishian and the longer no news came from Sarkisian.

The lack of news from Sarkisian was taking its toll on the morale at Castle Kazan. Jarrett had not yet met Tarnow, who wished to give the Terrian plenty of time to recover without concerning him with national matters, but the servants all discussed the strain on their king.

Tarnow had closeted himself in conference during this time with his top counselors and Kendrick, presumably discussing the fate of Adishian. He came out only to take meals with Tyla and to catch a few hours of sleep.

Jarrett saw little of Kendrick or Muzik as Tarnow kept both of them with him. Jarrett had an interest in what was going on in secret behind the closed doors of the main conference room, but since Tyla came regularly to visit him, he lost that competitive need to be included. He figured he’d be informed as soon as it was necessary. Even Tyla was deprived of knowing what went on in the secret meetings, if any knowledge could truly be kept from her, a fact Jarrett felt unlikely.

The weather remained unpredictable. The rain continued to fall in intervals, but then it would clear and the sun would break through the clouds. On these days, Jarrett and Tyla took walks in her gardens. When the rain fell in torrents, they would either sit in the parlor beside a roaring fire and watch the rain fall or they’d sit, side by side, in the window seat of his room. They were never disturbed during these days, rain or shine, and their only companion was the dog, who either walked with them or lay at Tyla’s feet.

Despite Jarrett’s determination to keep Tyla from sharing his thoughts, his resolve failed the very next day with her first visit to his room. As the days progressed, their thoughts became so intertwined that at times Jarrett couldn’t remember whether a single verbal word passed between them the entire day.

He never tired of being with her. He woke in the morning in anxiety until she first appeared and he lay awake long in the night after she had left, until sleep could no longer be held at bay. Somewhere in his mind, he knew he was stepping over a boundary, but he didn’t really care, and the only thing that kept him from telling her how he felt was her obvious love of Tarnow.

On the morning of the tenth day since his arrival at Adishian, the sun shone brightly. She’d come as every morning before and had forced him to work on regaining his strength, then they’d fled the silent castle and had taken to the gardens.

The birds were thick in the gardens on this morning, flying in and out of the branches and scattering under the bushes after seeds and worms. Kian had run ahead and was rooting through the dense undergrowth, smelling everything.

Tyla walked beside Jarrett, small and slender, in robes of blue silk, her hand resting on his arm, her hair pulled back and bound at her neck. His heart swelled as he looked at her. He knew they shouldn’t be alone together, but he couldn’t bring himself to put an end to it and no one else had come forward to intervene.

And the fact remained – she loved Tarnow. He repeated this to himself over and over again. He had to keep reminding himself that there could never be anything more than friendship between them, and yet Tyla wasn’t like any other woman. He didn’t know exactly what was happening to him, but in this short time, she had become the most important thing in his life.

They stopped at a bench and took a seat. Kian padded over to Tyla’s side and laid his head in her lap. She stroked him absently.

“Did you love Tarnow from the moment you married him?” he asked. He was a little surprised he’d asked such a question, but it was easy to forget their disparate social standing when they were as close as they were now.

She looked up at him, her eyes scrutinizing his face. “I’ve always loved him, yes,” she said and then looked off into the gardens. “Why shouldn’t I? He’s been all I’ve ever had, except Kalas.”

“Your brother?”

She nodded. “Tarnow rescued me from Sarkisian. Isn’t that enough to love?”

Jarrett didn’t answer. He didn’t trust himself to voice what he knew lay in his heart. “Don’t you think it odd that Rarick allowed you to come to Adishian?”

“Why wouldn’t he? He controls the only two people I’ve ever loved – my husband and my brother. I would never risk either of them by trying to escape him and he knows it.”

“Do you see your brother often?”

She glanced up at him. “Why do you ask?”

Jarrett shrugged. “Even in Terra Antiguo we’ve heard stories about him.”

“What stories?”

Jarrett met her gaze. “They say he’s no better than Rarick.”

Tyla flinched. Jarrett regretted hurting her, but he felt it had to be said. After a moment, she looked away again, reaching out to pluck a sprig of jasmine from the bench. She held it to her nose, inhaling the scent, then clasped it in her hands.

“When we were children, Kalas and I were very close. We used to spend a great deal of time together. Kalas taught me that I needed to control my curse.”

“Why do you call it a curse?”

“Wasn’t it a curse for my father? He never learned to control it because he was forced to run his entire life from those that wanted his power for themselves. Rarick gave me one gift, he hid me from the world, so I’ve had time to perfect it to a deadly degree.” She lifted her eyes to Jarrett’s unspoken question and smiled sardonically. “You don’t know the full extent of my power yet, Jarrett. If you did, you’d be afraid of me.”

Jarrett shook his head. “No, Tyla, I would never be afraid of you.”

She regarded him for a moment. “People have always feared me, except Kalas and Tarnow. You ask me if I love him, how can I not? He’s always been there for me, he’s taken care of me and would do anything for my happiness. He took me away from Sarkisian. But I would have loved him if only for the fact that he’s never been afraid of me.”

Jarrett watched her closely. She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she wasn’t paying any attention to his, he could feel it, but he heard something more in her words than she even realized was there.

“You don’t understand as much about me as you think, Jarrett. Since before I could remember, any mind has been like a playground for me. I can read a person’s most private, intimate thoughts, those things he would kill to keep anyone from knowing.” She paused and sighed heavily. “How is that not a curse? How is that not something to fear?”

Jarrett didn’t know how to answer her. He wasn’t afraid of her, but what she spoke of made him uncomfortable.

“If that was all, it would be curse enough, but it’s worse. I have the power to kill.”

Jarrett felt a shiver race down his spine, but he held her gaze.

“My father had the power, but he didn’t have the will to use it. I have the will.”

“And have you used it?”

“No, but I’ve toyed with it.” She tossed the flower away and rested her hand on Kian’s head once more. “I can also control a person and that person will do my bidding, whether he wants to or not. Is that not a curse?”

He couldn’t respond. He didn’t know how.

“I could have killed Rarick many times. I fantasized about it and if I’d stayed in Sarkisian I probably would have, but then I’m not sure what would’ve happened to me. Tarnow saved me when he took me from Sarkisian, he saved me from myself. Yes, I love him.” She frowned. “Why would you ask such a thing? Shouldn’t a woman love her husband?”

Jarrett looked away. How did he explain to her that he sensed this love wasn’t like a wife loved her husband? For a woman of such power, she was naive. He didn’t doubt she loved Tarnow.  He heard the words, but he also heard more than what she meant him to hear. She loved Tarnow, but she loved him as a father, not a husband and a lover – she loved him as she had loved her brother. He suspected she had been so deprived of love that she clung to the little she’d been granted, yet she couldn’t recognize it for what it was. Love was simply love. She didn’t yet know that there were different kinds of love.

Without warning, she rose to her feet. Jarrett glanced up at her, surprised to see her eyes were fixed on him in a mixture of confusion and fear. The dog rose also and the hackles on his back lifted.

“Tyla?”

She took a step away and he realized she must have caught his wayward thought.

“Tyla, listen to me...”

“No, this is wrong. We’ve been doing something wrong. I didn’t realize it until just now.”

“I know you didn’t, but we haven’t done anything wrong. We’re just talking...”

“But this...you...” She pressed her fingers to her temples. “We shouldn’t meet like this. We shouldn’t be alone together.”

“Tyla...”

“No!” she said firmly, holding out her hand. “We need to stay away from each other...”

Panic swamped him and he grabbed her hand, trying to pull her close. Kian growled at him, drawing Tyla’s attention. While she motioned for the dog to settle, Jarrett stepped closer to her.

Her eyes whipped back to his face, wide and dilated with sudden comprehension. Jarrett didn’t know what to do, how to make everything all right between them again, so he did the most impulsive thing he could.

He bent his head and kissed her.

She stiffened in shock for a moment, but he drew her to him, enfolded her in his arms. Gradually her reluctance bled away and she lifted to meet him, her arms sliding around his neck. Then slowly Jarrett relinquished his hold on her and they stood looking at one another.

He brushed her hair from her face. “I love you,” he whispered.

Tyla’s body went rigid and her eyes widened. She broke his hold and backed away. Again she wrenched her thoughts free and Jarrett staggered in surprise. When he opened his eyes again, hers were filled with tears. She met his gaze for only a moment and then she ran back to the castle, Kian on her heels.

Jarrett stood for a long time in the garden, staring at the door through which she’d run. He hadn’t tried to go after her and he hadn’t tried to call her back. He knew it was too late for that. It had all happened so quickly.

The last few days danced before him. Everything had happened so quickly, too quickly, and now it was too late. He glanced apprehensively around the garden and then to the windows that flanked three sides of it. Surely someone had seen them.

What would that mean?

Muzik Andrada’s words about watching him closely echoed in his mind and he could imagine Kendrick’s look of reproach. He took a seat on the bench and let remorse wash over him. How could he have thought he had the right to love Tyla Eldralin? He had been sent to protect her. He had been sent only to serve her.

He conjured up an image of the Terrian Leader, Lawyan, in his mind; Lawyan, who had shown him such kindness as a child; Lawyan, who had taken him from the house on Oak Hollow Way and who had raised him as his own. He’d failed him. What would Lawyan say, or Shad for that matter, if they knew what he’d done with their niece?

He sat back on the bench. He wished that he was in Terra Antiguo, that he’d never left. He could accept the routine of his duties as a Terrian guard, he didn’t need adventure or travel. He’d still have the afternoons with Shad, reading the Norrad, and the long horseback rides through the valley with Shandar, and most important of all, he’d still be allowed to sit in private counsel with Lawyan, discussing the fate of Nevaisser and Terra Antiguo. But they’d chosen him, the three of them, they’d chosen him to serve their niece. They trusted him, but he’d failed them. Even Kendrick would have had enough control to stay away.

Even Kendrick. Jarrett put his head in his hands. He knew Kendrick was as enthralled with the Adishian Queen as he was, but Kendrick wasn’t guilty of acting on his feelings – Jarrett was.

“Jarrett Murata,” came a voice and the Terrian lifted his head to meet the gaze of a young page. He straightened into a sitting position and felt a wave of apprehension wash over him, but the young boy simply bowed. “I’ve been sent by Lord Tarnow. He requests your presence in the Council room.”

Jarrett felt his heart sink. Of course he does, he thought. He nodded and with leadened legs, he rose to his feet.

The page led him back into the castle and into a hallway on their right. They passed many doors on either side, all closed, and many windows which opened onto the gardens beyond the castle wall. Kazan was not an ornate castle. The tapestries which hung on the walls were old and worn, the floors hardwood and bare, except at long intervals where a throw rug had been lain, but the rugs, themselves, had faded with use. Even in the castle, the effects of a ten year siege were evident.

The page led him to the end of the hall and paused before two enormous doors with large iron handles, shaped remarkably in the image of a wolf’s head, the symbol of Adishian, a symbol which dominated the center of the blue Adishian crest. The page motioned for him to wait outside and pulled open one of the heavy doors only wide enough for him to squeeze through.

Jarrett felt numb now. His panic upon the arrival of the page had dissipated. What more could he do? He’d been wrong and whatever punishment Tarnow sought, he would sustain it. He glanced around the small waiting area, impatient now that his punishment should be served. On the far wall, framed in elegant, rich wood, was a portrait of Tyla. Despite the neglect of the rest of the castle, this portrait was maintained in absolute perfection, not a single speck of dust clouded its surface.

Jarrett exhaled in awe. The artist had captured the Adishian Queen in all her radiant beauty and flawlessness. She sat on a red, velvet stool, her small, dark hands clasped in her lap. She wore robes of pale blue that fell about the stool in layers of fabric. About her slender waist was tied a midnight blue sash and around her neck, she wore a string of pycantra, which gave off an iridescent light. Her thick, black hair cascaded off her shoulders in a mass of luxuriant waves and framed her lean face.

It was the face that caught Jarrett’s breath. The lines of the face were drawn with such care that every lift of her perfect Stravad features came to life – the high cheekbones, the full lips and the slant to the emerald green eyes. The eyes were the most exquisite though, shining out with intelligence, and deep within the painting, they bore a mysterious, powerful light. Jarrett let his breath escape in a shuddered sigh. The man who painted this portrait most surely had felt the ponderous weight of Tyla Eldralin’s charm, for it was done with the most careful of strokes. The painter had caught the elusiveness of this beautiful woman, he had captured the spirit of life that infused her, and he had touched upon the hidden power, which made her irresistible.

The door to the conference room opened suddenly and the page stepped out. “They’re waiting for you.”

Jarrett took a deep breath and followed the boy inside. The Council room was a great chamber, flanked on either side by long tables. In the middle of the ceiling was an enormous chandelier with more than a hundred candles.

At the tables on either side of the room sat the members of Council, old men with grey beards and proud stern faces. Kendrick was seated at the far end of one of the tables, his eyes fixed on the Terrian. At the end of the room stood a dais and Muzik Andrada stood to the left of it. On the right was a Nazarien Jarrett had never seen before. In a large velvet chair in the middle of the dais sat Tarnow, Lord of Adishian. Tarnow was an old man with a long, gaunt face. He had large dark eyes and a hooked nose. His hair was grey and he had a short-cropped beard, which was also speckled with grey.

Jarrett was brought to stand before him and he bowed deeply.

Tarnow regarded the Terrian, then motioned the page away. “Welcome to Adishian, Jarrett Murata,” he said. Jarrett looked up and met his gaze, feeling his apprehension mount. Tarnow leaned back in his chair and rested his hands on either arm. Still he regarded the Terrian as if he were measuring him. “I see the Queen has done well by you. Are you fully recovered?”

“Very nearly so, Your Highness,” said Jarrett, struggling to maintain a sense of calm in his voice.

Tarnow nodded. “I haven’t called you to Council until this time because I wanted to give you sufficient enough time to recover. Do you feel well enough to sit at Council now?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” answered Jarrett. A bead of perspiration had broken out on his brow. Did this mean that Tarnow knew nothing of what had happened with Tyla? Or was their betrayer only waiting for the King to leave Council before being told?

“Very well,” said the King, “You may take a seat over there.” He indicated an open seat beside Kendrick and Jarrett hurried to his place.

Kendrick inclined his head, but didn’t speak. Jarrett settled back into the seat, grateful that all eyes were no longer trained on him. He stared at his hands and would have disappeared into the floor had he been able to. He felt Muzik’s gaze on him, but he couldn’t lift his eyes to face him.

Tarnow motioned to the Nazarien on his right. “Dolan, inform the Council about the information we’ve received from Sarkisian.”

The Nazarien bowed low to the Council.

Kendrick leaned close to Jarrett. “Dolan has been with the King of Adishian nearly his entire life. He is his closest advisor. He was the one who sent word to Shandar of Tyla’s existence,” he whispered.

“As of this morning, we’ve received word from Sarkisian that a battle has broken out on the border of Sarkisian and Dorland. As most of you know, this is the first battle to be fought since this blockade began ten years ago, although we’ve all been expecting it to happen at any time.”

A murmur rose from the men gathered and Jarrett looked around. Before he’d left, even Terra Antiguo was preparing for the hostilities between Sarkisian and Dorland to escalate into a clash of arms. This new information didn’t even come as a surprise to him.

“As we’ve feared,” said Dolan, “Adishian has been asked to send troops to Sarkisian’s aid.”

Again a murmur rose among those in the Council room. One of the Council members closest to Jarrett spoke out. “We were certainly not asked to send troops, it was demanded. Why don’t you say it as it really is? We were given no choice.”

The room erupted in angry debate. Tarnow allowed it to continue for a time, then he slowly raised his hand and the room fell silent. “I appreciate your position, Councilor Manx, but Dolan is not the one to blame for your discomfort, for all of our discomfort. Allow him to finish.”

Manx sat back and raised his hand, allowing Dolan to continue. Dolan cleared his throat. “I’m in agreement with you, Councilor Manx, Adishian was given little choice in this matter. If we do not dispense a battalion to go to the aid of Sarkisian, Sarkisian will surely dispense a garrison to Adishian, and I know that none of us wish this to happen.”

“Do you really believe we can forestall this much longer?” said Manx angrily.

Again Tarnow allowed a heated debate to ensue. Jarrett watched it with a growing feeling of dread. They were each saying the same thing, were in fact agreeing with one another, but they were arguing just the same. No one wanted Adishian to become occupied by Sarkisian, yet they all felt that this was a foregone fact, that soon Rarick would dispense a garrison and Adishian would fall completely under its command.

In the midst of all the mayhem, Jarrett felt Tarnow’s eyes on him. He turned to meet the steady gaze of the Adishian King and fear welled in the pit of his stomach.

Tarnow slowly raised his hand and the room fell to a seething silence. “I’m afraid none of you understand all that now faces us with the outbreak of fighting between Dorland and Sarkisian.”

A surge of tension rose within the Council room.

Tarnow leaned back in his chair. “Old as I am, Rarick has deemed it necessary that I ride into battle, leading the Adishian battalion.” A groan of protest rose from the assembly, but Tarnow silenced it. “I foresaw as much a long time ago. Rarick hungers for another jewel to add to his crown and intends to obtain it immediately. If he’s going to continue advancing, he wants his hindquarters protected. The only way to accomplish this is to gain absolute possession of Adishian, and the only way to gain possession of her people is to dispose of her King and any remaining loyalty the people may still feel towards the crown.”

“You aren’t suggesting you intend to go, are you, Tarnow? After all, it would be ridiculous,” said Manx.

“It would be suicide,” said the Councilor next to Jarrett.

Tarnow smiled sardonically. “I’m suggesting that I’ll do exactly this,” he said and lifted his hand quickly to silence them. “I’ve planned this for a long time. I’m an old man and I don’t mind dying if I can do so well. As you all know, I love my land and my people, but I can do nothing more for them, they must learn to help themselves. I may not have served them well, but I have served them for a good many years. It’s time now to pass this on to another and as I have no heir, I leave Adishian to whoever can free her from the clutches of Rarick and Sarkisian.” He leaned forward and his sharp hawk’s face grew deathly serious. “Heed my words in this, my friends, for you have been witness to my dying wishes.”

He rose to his feet then and left the dais. He crossed to the center of the room. “As you all know, I have loved and served my people for many years, but the single thing I have loved and served above all else has been my Queen, Tyla Eldralin. I bargained with Rarick to bring her here as a very young woman and I have worshiped her since that time. Tyla has powers beyond any I’ve ever seen and Rarick hungers for her power. Should he claim it, the consequences will be beyond anything any of us can imagine. If he can’t harness her power, he will kill her.”

“When Rarick comes to Adishian it will be for this reason, either to possess Tyla’s power or to kill her himself. He has waited a great deal of time for her, waiting for her to come of age and grow strong with practice and control. He and I both have sensed the time has come. I have been too weak to save Adishian from its fate, but I am not too weak to save Tyla.” He paused and the room was heavy with his silence. “Weeks ago I sent Dolan to Talar Eldralin’s brother, informing him of his niece and pleading with him to aid me in effecting Tyla’s escape from Adishian. Knowing that Rarick has taken great pains to plaster his likeness over all of Nevaisser, he sent two highly trained warriors in his place.”

He moved further into the room. “As you are loyal to me, so shall you be loyal to my Queen. If I ride into battle, I will afford these two enough time to escape with Tyla. It must be so, for I will hear no other plans. Not only do I do this for my Queen, but I do this for my people. I cannot allow Rarick to unleash such a devastating weapon on Nevaisser. I cannot allow it.” His face was stark with the full import of his words. “I ask only that you give them what aid they need and I promise, in return, that I will not disgrace you.”

The Council was silent for what seemed like hours. Jarrett felt his whole body grow taut with expectation. Such a sacrifice was this old man willing to give for the love and safety of his Queen, but Jarrett thought, such a sacrifice would be easy enough to give if it meant he could prevent losing her, especially to Rarick of Sarkisian. Slowly, but resolutely the Council came to agree. They rose as one in unity with their King and faced him with sad, yet determined faces. There was little else they could do. Fate had pressed its seal tightly about them and they were left with little more than their ability to accept it with stoicism.

CHAPTER 7

Jarrett stood in Tarnow’s private chambers and stared out the window at the lush gardens. The rain had begun again at daybreak and fell with a driving force. A fire burned behind him, but it did little to chase away the gloom of the day. The castle was more quiet than usual and Jarrett felt uneasy in the silence. Kendrick sat at a desk to his left and studied maps of both Nevaisser and Loden. The two companions had said little to each other since the previous day and Jarrett left it at that, glad for the peace it afforded him.

Tyla had not come to see him that morning, but had sent one of her aids instead. Jarrett had allowed the aid to change his bandages, but then he’d sent her away. He felt odd and thought continually that he was missing something. He’d returned to his room twice during the morning, before Tarnow summoned, and searched trying to discover what it was he was missing, but he couldn’t remember. The feeling retreated to a distant part of his mind, but lodged just beyond his consciousness with a nagging persistence.

He thought about the previous day and the incident in the garden. No one had come forward to betray them yet, but that didn’t ease his anxiety. He felt sure that whoever had been witness to their kiss was merely waiting for the right opportunity to disclose this information.

Kendrick stirred behind him and shuffled the maps. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Tyla,” he said without lifting his head.

Jarrett stiffened involuntarily. He turned and regarded the Nazarien. “She’s been helping me regain my strength.”

Kendrick shuffled the maps again. “It’s a good thing, I suppose. At least one of us will know something of her before we undertake this journey. I would have liked to spend more time getting to know her, except Lord Tarnow needed my counsel.”

Jarrett ignored the barb, turning back to the window.

But Kendrick wasn’t ready to let the issue die. “You didn’t see her today, though, did you?”

Jarrett turned and their eyes met. “What’s your point?”

“No point, I simply heard that she wasn’t seeing anyone today and I thought it strange. Just concerned.” He paused and returned to his maps, but a moment later, he looked up at Jarrett again. “Did she say anything to you yesterday?”

Jarrett shook his head. “I suppose she has her own reasons for being alone. This is a trying time for everyone.”

Kendrick eyed him in return, and then nodded. He went back to studying the maps as if he’d forgotten the conversation. Jarrett didn’t feel the matter was finished though. There was something too pointed about the Nazarien’s questions for the issue to be finished. Kendrick was suspicious of him and although he hadn’t actually come out and accused him of anything, his lack of accusation was all the more maddening.

Jarrett turned to the window and closed his eyes. He was feeling guilty, and therefore was reading more into the Nazarien’s inquiry then there had been. At most Kendrick was envious of the time Jarrett had spent with Tyla, he’d admitted as much, and he had no reason to suspect anything else, unless...

The door opened and Tarnow entered. His face was drawn and grey, and his shoulders were stooped as if the burdens he carried were becoming too much. He moved to the table and reached for a chair. Behind him came his Nazarien advisor. Dolan’s eyes made a circuit of the room and he inclined his head at the two men, then he took up position behind his King.

“Come closer, Jarrett,” Tarnow said, sinking into his seat, “I don’t have much time.”

Jarrett moved away from the window and took a seat at the table beside Kendrick. The King’s dark eyes fixed on the Terrian and Jarrett felt like he was looking for something.

“Tomorrow at daybreak, I ride with a small battalion to the borders of Dorland and Sarkisian. My aids have calculated the distance and figure it will take us at least eight days to reach our destination, that is if nothing hinders us along the way.” He leaned back in his chair and stretched his long legs out under the table. “I have imprisoned three of the Front Guard in my dungeons. I’ve no doubt that Rarick knows of their confinement and this may be the reason for his decision to make his move toward possession of Adishian.”

“As I’ve told Kendrick many times, Rarick seeks to be ruler of all Nevaisser and this is manifestly possible, especially with aid from the Orahim. I’ve had our prisoners questioned and from what I gather, Rarick has promised to give land here in Nevaisser to the Orahim, once he’s conquered it, in exchange for their aid in conquering the remaining kingdoms in Nevaisser. As we said in Council yesterday, Adishian has been so weakened by its false allegiance with Sarkisian that my people are willing to accept anything Rarick offers.” He gave a bitter laugh. “I guess anything is better than starvation. You’ve seen the outlying lands and know what I mean. I’ve done my best to aid my people, but my best hasn’t been enough.”

He lowered his eyes to his hands. “You’ve also met my Queen, you know what a remarkable woman she is. I have worshiped her for these ten years, she is the only thing that matters to me any longer.” He raised his head and fixed his eyes on Jarrett. “Tyla is unlike any other woman I’ve met. I’ve never found a man that wasn’t subject to her charms. Rarick has spies in Adishian, but he hasn’t seen her himself once in these last ten years. I’m afraid of what will happen once he does and once he’s aware of her power. She must be taken from Adishian and the closest location, and the safest, is Loden.” He sighed heavily. “When I leave tomorrow morning, you must do everything within your power to see that she agrees to accompany you to Loden; however, I’ll tell you now that she won’t wish to go, she may even refuse, but you must make her go.” His eyes bore into Jarrett’s with a desperate intensity. Then he leaned back in his chair. “You’ll have a week, with any luck, to prepare for your journey, to gather stores and convince Tyla, but you’ll have only a week. In that time I’ll arrive at the border, so should you delay, Rarick will learn of your plan and will overtake you. Understand this, both of you, Rarick will never allow me to return to Adishian alive.” He paused and his face grew distant. “I can accept my own death, I’ve lived a long life. I can accept my death as long as I’m comfortable in the knowledge that Tyla is free of Rarick once and for all. You both must promise me it will be as I have said.”

“It will be,” said Kendrick.

Jarrett couldn’t answer that easily. He knew Tyla better than Kendrick and he knew that she’d refuse to leave Tarnow as long as she thought him alive. He lifted his eyes to the King and felt a pang of remorse. How could he have so wronged this man? Guilt flooded him and he looked away. He had a sudden urge to confess everything to Tarnow and to accept the King’s wrath. If he could make his conscience clean, at least then he could face whatever lay ahead for him, but if he let this King go, if he let him ride away to his death without telling him what he’d done, then he would be forced to bear the brunt of this guilt forever.

He started to speak, but the door opened and Tyla entered. The men all struggled to their feet as she crossed the room and stood before them, her hands clenched and her face flushed.

“My lady?” said Tarnow, but she silenced him with a lift of her hand.

“Say nothing, Tarnow, until you’ve heard me speak. I’ve obeyed your wishes too long it seems and have allowed you your private councils, but I was obviously foolish in doing so. You’ve guarded yourself well, Tarnow, but not well enough.”

Tarnow’s mouth fell open in surprise and he tried to speak again, but Tyla was not to be interrupted. “You were not honest with me, my lord,” she said bitterly. “You didn’t tell me what your intention was when you brought these men here. And now you’ve prepared to go off to battle without me to buy us time to escape, but I won’t go, do you understand? I won’t leave my home. May Rarick be damned before I’ll go!”

Tarnow crossed around the table. He held out his hands and she obediently gave him hers.

“Tyla,” he said softly and the fire in her eyes abated a measure, “I’m sorry that I had to keep so much hidden from you, but I knew it wouldn’t be hidden for long. I’ve done all I can for you, I can’t protect you anymore. I’m a tired, old man. You’ve got to accept that. I sent for these men because they can take you to your people, to your family. You have a grandfather still living in Temeron and I intend for you to go there.”

She shook her head. “I won’t leave you.”

“But I will be leaving you,” he said, brushing back the hair from her face, “I’ve never asked anything from you, my dear, nothing the entire time you’ve been in Adishian, but I’m asking now. I ask that you leave Adishian with these two and that you never return.”

“Don’t ask this of me, my lord,” she said, tears forming in her eyes, “Ask anything else.”

Tarnow shook his head. “I ask this. Grant it to me.” He placed his hand under her chin and lifted her face. “Grant it to me.”

Her body shuddered.

Jarrett felt sick. He knew what this was costing her.

“Grant it,” Tarnow whispered.

“I promise, I will leave Adishian,” she said quietly.

After your death.

The words echoed in Jarrett’s mind.

His head snapped up and his eyes fixed on her.

She’d made him an unwilling witness to her vow and he didn’t want this responsibility. He started to protest, but her eyes shifted to find him and her thoughts struck at him with a painful no. He clutched the table to steady himself. He felt a momentary wave of fear as pain reverberated inside his skull.

Neither Tarnow nor Kendrick sensed the exchange. Tarnow drew her eyes back to him and bent close to her. “Make me one other promise,” he said. “As you love me, Tyla, one other and no more.”

Her eyes took on a haunted look and she seemed to struggle with herself. She didn’t want to promise anything, and Jarrett felt it as if the emotion belonged to him. A wave of apprehension went through him and a part of him wanted to shout no, but Tyla’s expression grew fierce.

“Ask what you will, Tarnow, and I’ll promise it. Once you go, there will be nothing left for me.”

“Tyla, I would do anything for you. Your safety has been more important to me than that of my people.” He paused and stroked her chin with his thumb. “My life has been a long one, but you have given me my greatest joy in these last ten years. That time has come to an end as we both knew it would.”

“This man,” he said, motioning toward Kendrick, “is Nazarien, an order which your father led himself. Before your father’s time the Nazarien were a celibate order, their followers did not marry, but as you know, your father changed that. The Nazarien are allowed to marry now, but should they undertake it, this bond is the single most important bond in their lives. A Nazarien who accepts this bond also accepts the fact that his life is irrevocably intertwined with that of his partner. Should his partner die, he will take his own life. Therefore, the protection of one’s partner becomes the ultimate obsession with the Nazarien.”

Jarrett felt sick at heart. He guessed where this conversation was going as much by Tarnow’s words as by the look of elation on Kendrick’s face. Again the small voice within him cried that this was wrong, that the entire conversation was a terrible mistake, but the words wouldn’t come to his lips.

“Tyla,” said the King, “such has been my bond to you, but when I’m gone there will be no one left to protect you. I’ve spent a great deal of time with this man and find him worthy of you. He has willingly agreed to accept such a bond and I believe that he would not fail you.”

Tarnow drew her closer, her spine rigid and unyielding. “Swear to me, Tyla,” he said in a fierce whisper. “Swear to me that when I am dead, you will bind yourself to this man in marriage so that he may be your protector. As you love me, swear it!”

No came the cry in Jarrett’s mind, no, no, no!

It echoed over and over again, but try as he might, he couldn’t find his voice to scream it out loud. Overwrought with all this vow imported, Jarrett moved forward, but Tyla staggered him nearly to his knees with a single urgent command shared between their minds. I have already promised came her answer.

Jarrett halted, aware suddenly that she would kill him with her next thought if he attempted to intervene once more. It was too late, she’d already made the promise. She was lost to him.

“I swear it,” she said breathlessly and her eyes shifted from Tarnow to him.

Tarnow drew her into an embrace and whispered his thanks into her hair. Jarrett watched it all from his prison of anguish and felt Kendrick’s eyes on him. He couldn’t meet his gaze, he couldn’t see in the Nazarien’s face the triumph he knew was there. Instead he fixed his eyes on Tyla and attempted to make his anguish known to her. As he watched, her shoulders began to shake and he heard the faint sound of her crying. This was more than he could stand.

The room felt suddenly tight and stifling. He pressed past the king, grabbing for the cool iron of the doorknob. Then he was in the hallway beyond and his grief overcame him.

Tyla was lost to him forever now.

*    *    *

The rain fell with the same intensity on the following day as Tarnow made ready to leave Adishian. Kendrick stood in the front courtyard, holding the bridle of the King’s horse and stroking his wide forehead. He gazed up and down the ranks of the King’s battalion and saw in each of their eyes the same futile grief that bowed the King. Theirs was a mission of suicide, each of them knew as much, but they were willing to undertake it for the sake of their King.

Despite the grim assembly and the dark weather, Kendrick felt strangely at ease, almost elated. Since their arrival in Adishian, he’d been struggling against his growing desire for the Queen of Adishian, a desire he felt was wrong, but now that he’d pledged himself to her, now that she would one day be his, he felt the weight of his disgrace lifted from him.

He’d willingly made the greatest commitment a Nazarien could make, one few did make, and even greater still, he would one day possess Talar Eldralin’s own daughter. This thought was the sweetest of all. His entire life, Kendrick had admired the ways of Talar Eldralin; in fact, the Nazarien lord had been his personal hero. A good part of Tyla’s charm was the fact that she was Talar Eldralin’s daughter and possessed his power.

He smiled to himself. Despite what Jarrett may have thought, he’d been aware of what she’d done to him in the King’s private chambers. He’d seen the slight narrowing of her eyes, followed a brief instant later by a look of shock and pain on the Terrian’s face. He knew Jarrett felt the same thing for her as he did and he knew Tyla and Jarrett could communicate psychically; therefore, it only seemed logical that she’d prevented the Terrian from interfering. If she could cause pain with a simple thought, what might she do if she utilized the full force of her power?

His musing was cut short as Muzik stepped out of the castle and stalked over to him. His face was drawn. “This is a black day for Adishian.”

“You think the King’s right about Rarick’s motives?” he answered, his sense of elation leaving him as he remembered exactly why it was he now stood in the front courtyard.

“I know the King’s right. When Tarnow rides from Adishian today, he rides to his death, and soon after Rarick will send a garrison to the city. Adishian has fallen.” He sighed. “But we have our own problems. How are we going to get the Queen to leave?”

“She’ll leave. I’ve no doubt of that, it’s just a matter of time.”

The two men fell silent, standing in the driving rain. Kendrick pulled his cloak tighter about himself and adjusted his hood. The horse was cold and restless under his hand and he spoke softly into its ear to still it. Then a trumpet rang out from the front stairs of the castle and Tarnow descended, dressed in a riding outfit and black boots, followed by Dolan. The King’s walk was even and measured, but his shoulders were stooped. Kendrick felt a rush of pity for him and thought fleetingly that he ought to accompany him, but his future lay with Tyla.

He bowed low as Tarnow approached and handed him the reins, stepping back so he might mount. Tarnow did so and wound the reins tightly in his hands. The rest of the battalion mounted in turn and stood in formation, awaiting his command. Many of the servants of Kazan left the castle and stood on the stairs and in the courtyard to bid their King goodbye. As Kendrick surveyed them, he saw few dry eyes.

“Kendrick,” said the King with a heavy sigh, “our roads take us in very different directions – mine to my death and yours to a new life. May your journey be easier than my own.”

Kendrick nodded, but his throat was too thick with grief to say anything. In this short time, he had learned to respect the King of Adishian.

Tarnow bent over the side of his horse. “Do not forget, Nazarien, you will have at most a week to prepare yourself, no more, and once you leave the protection of Adishian, ride as if Rarick, himself, were on your heels. You must see my Queen safely to Temeron, and once there do as I bid and see that you are wed to her. You must keep your promise to me, Kendrick Andel, and become Tyla’s sole protector.”

Kendrick’s gaze chance to meet Dolan’s behind the King. He swallowed hard, more disconcerted by his kinsman’s fierce expression than the King’s words. “I will do as you ask, Your Majesty,” he said.

Tarnow straightened in the saddle and held his hand out. Kendrick took it and they stood looking at each other. It struck Kendrick how odd that two such disparate men should be drawn together by one woman.

Tarnow’s eyes lifted to the upper stories of his castle and there standing in the window was his Queen. Kendrick followed his gaze and felt his breath catch as the realization that she would one day be his struck him again. Then Tarnow shifted on his horse and extended his hand to Muzik.

“Well, Muzik,” he said warmly, “you have served me well for some thirty odd years now. Ten years ago I made you pledge your life to the protection of my Queen and you have also served me well in this. I ask that you maintain this pledge until it is no longer possible.”

“You needn’t ask this of me because I will guard her until my death, Your Highness,” he said gravely.

Tarnow nodded. “I knew as much, but hearing your oath puts me at ease. Take care, my friend, and goodbye.”

Muzik’s small, ferret eyes filled with tears and he clasped the King’s hand to his lips. “Goodbye, Highness, may we meet again someday when times are better.”

“Well spoken,” answered the King. He nodded to Dolan, who gave the signal, and the trumpet sounded again, this time signaling that it was time to march. Tarnow passed one final glance over his castle and looked up to the window again where Tyla stood watching. He pressed his fingers to his lips and threw her his final kiss, then with eyes resolute and jaw set firmly, he guided his horse through the gates of the castle toward the towering expanse of the outer battlements, and then passed through the outer gates and was soon lost to sight.

*    *    *

Tyla stood at the window, her face impassive as she watched Tarnow’s blue crested banner and dog’s head emblem fade from view. She could have reached him with her mind if she had the will, but she didn’t. He was gone.

Kian whined at her feet and pressed his nose into her hand. She stroked him absently, her mind having retreated far within her. Tarnow was leaving her, and the only security and happiness she’d ever known was gone. She didn’t know how to go on without him just yet.

She wanted to go to Jarrett, she wanted to go to him with a desperation that surprised her. She wanted to feel his arms about her, but she couldn’t allow herself to do that no matter how badly she wanted it. It was because she wanted him so badly that she couldn’t allow herself to go.

She hadn’t meant to hurt him in Tarnow’s chambers, but she’d been desperate. Tarnow was clever, he’d appealed to her weakness, and that was her love of him. She knew Jarrett felt he loved her, but that love was a different sort of love, an intangible love that she didn’t understand as of yet. That love felt all too much like possession to her and she was afraid of it.

When Tarnow had asked her to promise, she’d been trapped; she’d been left with absolutely no choice. She could refuse Tarnow nothing. Jarrett hadn’t any right to interfere, she knew that and she had to stop him. A gentle tug hadn’t been enough, he hadn’t even felt it. She was left only with the choice of hurting him.

She shuddered involuntarily. She’d told herself she wouldn’t think of this, but it was no use. She would have hurt him worse if he hadn’t stopped, she had made him know this and she had forced herself to know it also. She hated this side to herself. She had the ability and she had the will. She would have harmed Jarrett if he hadn’t heeded her warning.

This frightened her because she’d always been very careful of her use of the curse. She didn’t want to become an animal, consumed by the power, becoming neither Human nor Stravad, and she sensed that if she used the power too often to cause harm or to kill that she would be. She would become what Rarick had always wanted her to be.

And yet something had happened to her when she’d lashed out at Jarrett. The pain he’d felt had been her own. It reminded her of when she’d torn her thoughts from him in the garden. Their parting had caused her pain. It had never been this way with anyone else. She’d come and gone with ease through anyone’s mind and when she’d inflicted pain on them the pain had been theirs alone.

She shut her eyes. She couldn’t think about all of this now, not just yet, she told herself. When she opened her eyes again, her gaze fell on Kendrick as he stood with Muzik in the rain. Kendrick Andel – since his arrival in Adishian she’d noticed him only a little, so absorbed with Jarrett had she been.

He seemed interesting and pleasant enough. There was something strangely familiar about him that she linked to their shared Stravad blood, but now she was bound to him for the rest of her life and she knew nothing about him.

Again the memories of the previous day flooded back to her and she didn’t have the resolve to choke them back. She heard Tarnow’s voice begging her to swear that she’d wed Kendrick after his death and she felt again the flood of anguish Jarrett had sent her once she had accepted the bond.

Suddenly she tasted something hot and metallic. She lifted her fingers to her lips. As she drew them away, they were stained with her own blood. She licked them in concern. What was she doing to herself? Why was she allowing this man to make her so troubled that she was actually hurting herself without knowing it? She forced herself away from the window.

No more. She was bound to Kendrick now and that was the only thing that really mattered. Whatever had happened between her and Jarrett, and whatever he thought he felt for her, was over now. Her loyalty belonged to a new man.

Tapping her thigh for Kian to follow, she left the room and descended the winding staircase to the lower floors. Her heart was heavy, but she was determined. If she was bound to a new man, she was going to know him. The guards allowed her to pass from the castle walls into the courtyard, but followed her close behind.

The rain struck her head when she stepped out. She’d forgotten her cloak in her room. She lifted her face and allowed the cool water to cascade over her. It felt refreshing and it eased the burning in her mind. Kian wasn’t as fond of it, pressing close against her thigh. She patted him reassuringly and descended the steps, her eyes searching the gathered crowd for Kendrick.

Both the Nazarien and Muzik saw her and started for her. Kendrick’s expression showed his concern. Already her hair hung in drenched ringlets down her back and her clothing was wet. Muzik reached her first, removing his cloak as he went, but when he moved to place it around her, she waved him off.

“I’m fine, Muzik, and the rain feels good,” she said, then turned to Kendrick, her eyes piercing. “It seems you and I are now bound to one another and whatever our wishes may have been, we must concern ourselves with our vows only.”

Kendrick glanced at Muzik. “As you wish, Your Majesty...” he began, but she shook her head.

“To begin with, Kendrick Andel, I am your equal and as such I do not wish to be addressed as ‘Your Majesty,’ any more than I intend to address you as ‘my lord.’ Do you agree with me?”

Kendrick nodded and Muzik smiled faintly.

“I’ve made a decision,” she said and Kendrick nodded again in resignation. “If you and I are bound to each other, then we’d best get to know each other and there’s no better time than the present, seeing as we have a long wait ahead of us.”

Kendrick frowned and Muzik tensed with expectation. “A long wait, I don’t understand...”

“Until Tarnow returns,” she answered.

Kendrick and Muzik exchanged glances. The rain was falling in sheets and Tyla was drenched, yet she didn’t care.

Kendrick reached out and took her arm, drawing her close. She allowed him to do so, but she watched him. “Tyla, Tarnow won’t return, and if he does we won’t be here. We leave for Temeron in the next few days.”

“Send the guards away, Kendrick, so we might speak in peace.” The Nazarien hesitated a moment, but Tyla’s eyes narrowed on him. “Send the guards away, Kendrick.”

Kendrick looked at Muzik, who made a quick wave with his hand and the guards retreated back into the castle, Muzik following close behind. As Tyla heard the last of their footsteps on the cobblestones, she led Kendrick into the gardens, Kian at her side.

Once inside the cover of the trees, she turned to him. “I want us to understand one another. We took a pledge to bind us together, therefore we should express exactly what each of us expects from this bond.” She paused to give him time to respond, but he merely nodded. She sighed and continued. “Tarnow will return to Adishian whether he lives or dies, Rarick will see to that, but I can’t leave until I know his fate. Do you understand –  I will never leave Adishian until he is dead.”

“Tyla, you can’t stay. Rarick may come and then there will be no escape.”

“So be it,” she said. “If you feel the need to leave before Tarnow’s return, then I release you now of your bond, but should you stay, I promise you this, Kendrick Andel, and you may be assured my word is good, once I know of Tarnow’s death, I will leave with you and I will go wherever it is you choose. Upon Tarnow’s death, I will grant you the loyalty I’ve given him these ten years past. Do you agree to this?”

Kendrick was silent for a long while. Then he exhaled heavily. “All right, Tyla,” he answered, “I accept your promise and I’ll stay until news is heard of Tarnow’s fate.”

She inclined her head to him then. He reached out impulsively and brushed his hand against her face, burying his fingers in her thick, wet hair. She untangled his hand from her hair and held it in her own. “Come, let’s find a dry place where we can talk in private. I think we ought to know more about each other.”

He nodded, unable to speak, and allowed her to lead him back toward the castle.

From the windows on the second story, Jarrett watched the entire conversation with a growing surge of jealousy. As they left the gardens, he closed the curtains over the window and lay back down on his bed, shielding his eyes with his crossed arms. He wished fervently now that he’d never looked out.

CHAPTER 8

The days flowed by in rapid succession. The rain continued to fall in torrents with little pause between each storm. The garden ran in streams, the mud so thick that even Tyla didn’t venture out into it. Few people left their homes to go to market. On the seventh day after Tarnow’s departure, the weather grew colder and the thick sheets of rain turned into flurries of snow.

Kendrick and Jarrett spent most of the time preparing for the journey to Loden, aided by Muzik, who contracted some of the townswomen to make parkas and coveralls for them. The captain of the Blue Battalion intended to accompany them with a half dozen of his most able soldiers. The three of them figured that they should keep the party as small as possible to escape detection.

Throughout the long, dreary days, they worked on the maps and traced the trails that they intended to take. Muzik knew most of the roads from Adishian to the border of Loden, he had even traveled some through the Grozik Mountains, but beyond the summit, they would be forced to rely only on the maps Tarnow had provided.

Manx, one of the Council members, met with them at the close of the first week. He was the most familiar with the threat of Orahim and warned them that once they entered the Groziks they must be cautious for Orahim patrols. The Orahim were mobilizing under Rarick’s instructions and they’d chosen the Grozik Mountains as their rendezvous site with the Sarkisian forces. If the Orahim captured them, they’d be taken to Rarick.

Tyla would take no part in these preparations. Her resolve to stay in Adishian until Tarnow’s death was as strong as in the beginning. As the days wore on and still no news came from the Adishian battalion, the three companions grew increasingly nervous, and Tyla became all the more adamant. She stayed in her room most of the time, allowing only Kendrick to visit, and even these visits were strictly controlled. The remainder of the time, Kendrick spent with Jarrett and Muzik. He and Jarrett never discussed Tyla; in fact, they rarely mentioned her name.

As the second week passed, they began making regular visits to the outer wall of Adishian, searching for any news that might have come or any sign of either a Sarkisian garrison or the Adishian battalion. Still there was nothing.

On the fourteenth day since Tarnow’s departure, they stood on the bulwark of the northern wall and surveyed the desert that stretched before them. Guards in heavy parkas shuffled past through the growing mounds of snow, their breath frosty white in the glow from the watch fires. The snow fell in such heavy torrents that visibility was nearly zero, but still they stood and gazed out.

Jarrett shivered and pulled the hood of his parka closer about him. Kendrick turned and regarded him for a moment in silence. The Terrian’s arm had healed, but as their time in Adishian had worn on, he’d grown more taciturn. What surprised the Stravad most, however, was that Jarrett and the Adishian Queen had spent an almost obsessive amount of time together that first week after his recovery, even Kendrick had been envious, but that had ended abruptly and they now seemed to avoid each other. If Jarrett happened to take supper with the Nazarien in the dining room, Tyla wouldn’t leave her chambers and vice versa. Finally Jarrett had ordered supper be brought to his room every night and Kendrick couldn’t persuade him to do otherwise.

“It’s getting colder, isn’t it?” he said, when the silence became oppressive.

Jarrett stirred and turned toward him. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“It’s getting colder.”

Jarrett nodded. “I don’t relish the idea of making this journey in the dead of winter this way, but I guess Rarick chooses our time for us.”

They fell silent again and stared out at the ivory white landscape. The guards passed them once more, their breathing heavy in the cold winter air. Kendrick shook the snow from his parka, although he was beginning to wonder why he bothered. It was falling so heavily now that it quickly gathered again on his shoulders.

“You’ve been awfully quiet lately. Is anything wrong?”

Jarrett smiled wryly. “Is this part of your Nazarien training?”

“I was just concerned.”

Jarrett laughed. “I’m fine, just anxious to put an end to this entire expedition. I’ve been away from Terra Antiguo for nearly three months now and we’ve spent an entire month in Adishian. We’re trapped here and can’t even make good on the promise we took because Tyla Eldralin is as stubborn as her father was and refuses to leave.” He paused. “But I suppose you’ll leave this journey a little richer than before.”

Kendrick tensed. He knew what the Terrian was hinting at, but he didn’t think he had any right to address this subject with him, even in passing. “What exactly do you mean?” he said guardedly, hoping that his voice carried enough of a warning in it.

Jarrett looked away and his breath came in thick white clouds. “You’ve captured the heart and the hand of the fair Tyla Eldralin. I don’t suppose any greater feat has been accomplished by a Nazarien,” he said, his voice laced with bitterness.

Kendrick opened his mouth to respond, but Jarrett suddenly placed his hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Kendrick, I didn’t mean what I said. I’m anxious to be going and frustrated with Tyla. Every day I expect to see Rarick ride through the main gates with his garrison and then we’ll all be in for it.”

“I know, but my hands are as tied as yours. I’ve addressed this with Tyla on a daily basis, but she won’t budge. I don’t know what else to do.”

“Then perhaps we’re going to have to abduct her,” Jarrett said with a cynical smile. Without another word, he brushed past Kendrick and descended the ladder that led to the bulwarks. Kendrick watched him go and then turned back to the snow covered plains beyond the outer wall. He knew in his heart that Jarrett wasn’t frustrated with Tyla just because she wouldn’t leave. Something had happened between the two of them to drive them apart and Kendrick wanted to know what that had been.

He waited for a few more minutes, then descended the bulwarks himself. Pulling his parka closer about him, he headed for the castle. Once inside a servant was waiting to take the damp parka. He slipped out of his waterproof boots and deposited them before the fireplace in the large parlor, then moved upstairs. The castle was warm and dry, a nice change from the bitterly cold storm that brewed outside. Before he’d left the citadel, he’d heard some of the soldiers talking about an approaching blizzard and he secretly hoped they were right; he’d rather have a blizzard pass them by while they were still in Adishian, rather than on the trail.

He went directly to Tyla’s room, as he had at this time every day since Tarnow’s departure, and knocked at the door. The door opened and Kendrick stepped inside. Tyla didn’t speak to him, but crossed the room and took a seat once more in the window. Kian lay before the fire and lifted his head to regard the Nazarien as he entered.

Kendrick crossed to Tyla’s side, taking a seat. “How are you today?”

She looked at him and then her gaze shifted to the window again. “I’m fine, Kendrick. Merely waiting as is the rest of Adishian.”

“Waiting for Tarnow’s return?”

She shrugged. “Either that or Rarick’s coming. I’m not sure anymore which will happen first and I’m not sure I care.”

Kendrick frowned. She’d been in a state of depression for many days now, but he hadn’t seen her as hopeless as this and it disturbed him. He placed his hand under her chin, turning her face until their eyes met. “Tyla, every day I’ve come to you and I’ve told you that we should leave before Rarick arrives, but you’ve declined. I know you fear him, why won’t you just give in and then you’ll never have to worry about him again?”

She moved his hand away. “You don’t understand, do you, Kendrick? I’ll never be free of Rarick as long as he or I live,” she said. “He’s my curse as he was my father and mother’s.”

“But you can break away from that curse, if only you’d leave.”

“No, he’d never free me of it. Even if I go to Loden, he will find me there. Don’t you understand – he wants what I have, he wants my power, and he won’t stop until he gets it.” She fixed her gaze on him and then leaned back against the window. “It’s been like this for as long as I can remember. My brother told me that even when I was a baby, I could do things that others couldn’t. I could make people see things that weren’t there, terrible things. Tarnow believes that Rarick knew I’d be born with such power, and he thought that if he could raise me as his own, he would have that power for his use.”

Kendrick leaned forward. “I’m confused then, Tyla. How can he use a power that only you possess unless you give it to him?”

She looked down at her clasped hands. “Have you ever loved something so much that you would do anything to protect it?”

Kendrick studied her bowed head, the way the light struck her ebony hair, the line of her cheek, and the curve of her jaw. He felt a choking sensation whenever he looked at her, and for the first time in his life, he thought he understood exactly what she meant. “Yes,” he answered simply.

“Whenever I used my ability in front of others, Rarick would get furious. He didn’t want news of my existence to escape Sarkisian and so he’d punish me...brutally.”

“Do you mean he beat you?”

“Sometimes, but most often Kalas took the blame. In all honesty, Rarick liked beating Kalas more than me because he gained two things whenever he did it. He made Kalas fear him and he made me promise to obey him to save my brother.”

Kendrick reached for her hand and folded it in both of his own. “I’m sorry, Tyla.”

Tyla met his gaze. “You haven’t heard the worst of it yet. You asked me how he can use my power unless I give it to him. Well, I did...often.”

Kendrick frowned again. “I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t.” She pulled her hand free and leaned closer to him. “You don’t know what I’m capable of doing, Kendrick.”

Kendrick drew away a little. There was a strange emerald gleam to her eyes. “Tell me,” he said, aware his voice sounded meeker than he wished.

Her eyes drifted to the snow outside the window. “There were times from my earliest memory that he would come to the tower with some person – prisoner, vagrant, whatever he could find. He would tell me to use my curse on this person, inflict pain or fear...or something, and I would refuse. He would have a guard start beating Kalas, and Kalas would whimper or cry out or simply cringe. It would go on and on...” Her voice trailed away. “Until I did what he told me to do. Until I caused the other person harm.”

Kendrick’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

She met his gaze again, her eyes shining. “Like I said, I don’t ever remember a time when these episodes didn’t happen, but I also remember when they stopped. When Tarnow brought me here. I won’t leave Adishian until Tarnow’s gone. I can’t, so please, please stop asking it of me.”

Kendrick shifted his gaze to the floor, watching the dog where he lay at their feet. Something bothered him about her story, something very important, but he couldn’t quite grasp what it was.

“I’m still confused. Why would he ever let you out of his control? And why would he let you become Queen of Adishian, especially with Dolan as Tarnow’s closest advisor? Surely he had to know that someone would recognize you.”

“And what if they did? What could they do about it? By the time I came to Adishian, it was too late. I wasn’t about to leave Tarnow or my brother, and I’m female. Your order may have become a little more lenient about marriage, but women are still regarded as less than equal, aren’t they?”

“Not Talar Eldralin’s daughter, Tyla. You would have been granted safe haven in Chernow.”

“As what, Kendrick? Another pawn. Do you really think the Nazarien could have known about my power and allowed me to let it stagnate?”

“They could train you to use it properly.”

“Like they did my father?”

Kendrick narrowed his eyes. “What do you know about that? Did Dolan say something?”

Tyla smiled grimly. “Dolan and surprisingly enough, Gallia. She drank heavily in the last years I was in Sarkisian and occasionally she would call Kalas and me to her chambers. She always wanted to tell us something about our father.”

“I’ll admit the Nazarien weren’t successful with your father, but with you they might have been. You’ve learned to control it yourself, haven’t you?”

“To a lethal degree.”

Kendrick suddenly grasped the thought that had been eluding him. “If Rarick wants your power so badly, why did he let you live here in Adishian for ten years? What made him agree to Tarnow’s marriage proposal?”

She exhaled heavily. “I tried to kill him.”

Again Kendrick couldn’t answer. He stared at the woman in front of him, unable to reconcile this cold, emotionless sentence from the woman he’d seen heal Jarrett.

She gave him a rueful smile. “I told you you don’t understand. I’m sorry you’ve gotten mixed up in all of this.”

Kendrick shook his head. “It’s a lot to process.” He narrowed his eyes on her again. “If you tried to kill him, how come you weren’t successful? You seem to believe you have the ability.”

She laughed. “I have the ability, Kendrick, whether you want to believe it or not.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” he answered quickly, then felt that it was a strange answer for the topic they were discussing. “It’s just that Rarick’s death would make a lot of things much easier.”

“I agree.” She shrugged. “I wish I could explain it. I can read anyone’s mind, I can even exert control over their actions, I can move things, I can cause pain, and I know that I can kill, and yet, none of it works on Rarick. I have hammered and hammered at his mind, but the only way I can explain it is to say that there’s a steel cage around it, protecting him from me.”

“How can that be, Tyla? He’s not Stravad.”

She closed her eyes briefly. “I don’t know. If I did, Rarick of Sarkisian would be dead.”

*    *    *

A knock sounded at the door. Jarrett looked up from the book he was reading, then closed it and laid it on the table beside his chair. He crossed the room in a few long strides and pulled the door open.

His eyes widened in surprise. Tyla was standing on the threshold. She met his gaze, then dropped her eyes to the floor.

“I was wondering if you’d care to take dinner with us tonight. Nothing formal, just Kendrick, Muzik and myself.”

Jarrett’s fingers tightened on the doorframe, but he kept his features neutral. He didn’t want to sit at the same table with Tyla and the Nazarien. He didn’t want to be reminded that Kendrick now had a claim that he would never know, and yet, how could he refuse her?

“Fine,” he answered, swallowing against the lump in his throat.

She gave him a small smile, then stepped back. He moved into the hallway and closed the door. She led the way toward the dining hall and he forced himself to stay one step behind. It prevented conversation and helped remind him that he was a subordinate.

Like the rest of Castle Kazan, the dining hall showed neglect. It was clean, but the table was scarred, the floor unwaxed, and the tapestries frayed. Muzik and Kendrick rose at their entrance and a handful of servants bustled into motion, pulling out chairs for all of them.

Jarrett took his seat, avoiding eye contact with anyone, and reached for his water glass, surprised to find a chip on the rim. He twisted the glass around and took a sip from the opposite side.

“Glad you could join us,” boomed Muzik.

Jarrett offered him a tight smile as a servant leaned over him and filled his wine glass.

“Nervous?” continued the giant.

Jarrett’s head lifted in surprise. “How so?” He felt the blood rush to his cheeks and his stomach took an unpleasant lurch.

“Dinin’ with royalty.” Muzik lifted his own glass and saluted Tyla.

“Muzik,” she scolded

Jarrett cast a glance at her. “Now that you mention it, it does seem a bit inappropriate.”

“This is an informal dinner. Tarnow and I regularly took informal meals with both Muzik and Dolan. Tarnow always said that no one need know what happens behind closed doors, as long as the doors remain closed.”

Muzik lowered his wine glass and his eyes seemed liquid in the candle light. “Such a good man, our King.”

Tyla smiled. “That he is.” She lifted her own glass, motioning that the others should do the same. “To Lord Tarnow, a kind and gentle King.”

Even Jarrett found himself joining the toast. After that, they ate in silence, then once the dishes were cleared away, they continued to sit at the table, sipping sherry and enjoying the peace. Despite himself, Jarrett felt the tension leave him. It was nice to share a meal with people and not feel the need to fill the moments with conversation. His eyes chanced to meet Tyla’s and he smiled.

She returned the smile, then made a motion at Muzik. “Has Muzik ever told you how he became Captain of the Blue Battalion?”

Muzik choked on his sherry, then settled the glass on the table. “Your Highness,” he said warmly, his face flushed with wine, “if you persist in telling this story, no one will have any respect for me.”

Tyla laughed and Jarrett couldn’t deny it was a pleasant sound. She leaned forward and her eyes took on a mischievous look. “Muzik was a castle guard for many years before he got his promotion. Often Rarick called Tarnow to Sarkisian to attend him. On one of these trips, Muzik was chosen to accompany them. Usually Tarnow went heavily guarded because brigands roam the desert and have grown increasingly bold over the years. Twice Tarnow’s entourage was attacked, but the third time, Muzik was the one to save him.” She smiled at the captain and Muzik smiled in return. “The brigands attacked in the middle of the night. Usually they wouldn’t have gotten near Tarnow, but it was late spring, everything was dry and they shot fire tipped arrows into the tents. Even the main pavilion went up in flames, the fire so hot that no one could get near it. Tarnow would have died, if Muzik hadn’t come roaring out of the night, drove into the tent and carried the King out over his shoulder.”

Jarrett frowned. “How? If the fire was so hot...”

Tyla giggled. “That is the best part. Muzik stripped down to his underclothes, doused himself in the horses’ water barrel and ran as fast as he could.”

Muzik gave a wry smile. “Burned most of the hair off me...and I mean everywhere.”

“When Tarnow came to, he was faced with a huge, hairless man dressed in sky blue underclothes. He immediately proclaimed him as Captain of the Blue Battalion and made him protector of the royal family.”

Jarrett chuckled with them and studied Tyla. She seemed to be enjoying herself for the first time since he’d met her.

“Now it’s your turn, Jarrett. Tell us a story about Terra Antiguo. I’ve always wanted to go there,” demanded Muzik.

Jarrett’s smile faded. He couldn’t tell them a story of his childhood. There was nothing funny in any of that, and he couldn’t think of a single thing that would interest them in people they didn’t know. He reached for his glass and took a sip, stalling and hoping something would come to him. Replacing the glass on the table, his gaze locked with Tyla’s. She was waiting expectantly and suddenly he knew what he could tell.

“I lived for many years with your uncles,” he said. “All good men, committed to running Terra Antiguo and ensuring her people are happy. Lawyan’s the Terrian leader. He’s the one who raised me.”

He could see the confusion on Muzik and Kendrick’s faces, but he wasn’t really talking to them. Tyla was watching him intently and he knew she understood the part he was leaving out. “Then there’s Shad. He heads the schools and libraries.”

“Finally, there’s your father’s brother, Shandar. I knew him the least because he was gone a good part of my youth. He stayed in Sarkisian as long as he could. He never gave up hope that your brother might try to contact him, but eventually, even he had to admit it wasn’t likely once your brother started training for the crown.”

Tyla bowed her head.

Jarrett knew he should stop, but a bigger part of him felt she should know the truth. “Shandar returned to Terra Antiguo, much older, tired, disappointed with the world, until Dolan contacted him. You should have seen how his eyes lit up, but by then it was too late. He was too old to undertake the venture and he was one of the most wanted men in Nevaisser. He knew he couldn’t risk coming after you, not for himself, but for your sake. He couldn’t chance having you captured because you were with him.”

She nodded, but she didn’t look up.

“I think that’s enough, Jarrett,” said Kendrick.

Jarrett locked eyes with the Nazarien, feeling his face heat again with aggravation. He started to tell him to shut up, but Tyla intervened.

“Let him finish. I want to hear about my family.”

Kendrick ducked his head. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”

She gave an exasperated exhalation. “Tyla, remember.” Then she focused her gaze on Jarrett. “Continue.”

Jarrett twirled the sherry glass, studying the liquid inside. “The three of them were obsessed with finding a way to help you. They even sent to Chernow. That was a matter of great debate, I can tell you.” He lifted a brow at Kendrick. Kendrick frowned. “Before they would tell the Nazar what they’d learned, they made him sign an agreement that your rescue would be a joint venture between our peoples and...”

The doors to the dining room flew open and a man entered, flanked on either side by guards. He wore the uniform of Adishian with its blue crest and the emblem of the dog centered squarely on his chest, but the uniform was so badly torn and stained with filth and blood that it was barely recognizable. At his hairline, he bore a deep gash and his chin was covered with many days growth of beard. The lines of his face were drawn and his eyes had a haunted, ghostly look to them. Even so, Tyla recognized him instantly and her face was ashen.

“Fasam,” she said, her voice steady, despite the look on her face.

He crossed the room and knelt at her side, his head lowered. “Your Highness, I’ve come at the command of the Military Advisor, Dolan.”

“Speak,” said Tyla, leaning forward in her chair.

“I’ve ridden from the east bank of the Ethicon River where the battalion from Adishian engaged in battle with the forces of Dorland. We fought a great battle, but were driven back into the Kanyok narrows where we were attacked on the other side by a second battalion. The forces of Sarkisian finally arrived, but they came too late. Our casualties were great...”

He paused and lifted his eyes to Tyla, swallowing hard. Jarrett tensed in expectation, but Tyla’s face remained emotionless. “I think you have more to tell me, Fasam,” she said calmly.

Tears welled in the soldier’s eyes. Finally, he took a deep breath and continued. “His Majesty, King Tarnow, fell during the battle,” he said and his voice broke on a sob. Tyla’s eyes burned brightly in the candle light, but she said nothing. “He’s dead, Your Highness,” said the soldier and bowed his head once more, weeping openly.

Tyla’s face took on a distant look and she was silent for a long while. Finally she stirred. “So it’s ended,” she said, then rose to her feet and faced the waiting guards. “Take this man and see that his wounds are tended. Inform the chamberlain to make preparations for a royal funeral...” She paused and her voice faltered. With a visible shiver, she regained her stony detachment. “Tell him also to prepare for the arrival of Rarick of Sarkisian.”

Kendrick jumped to his feet, his face livid with astonishment. “You don’t mean to wait for his arrival, do you?” he cried.

Tyla turned and her eyes bore into him. “No,” she said, her voice as cold as the snow outside the window, “I intend to bury my King.”

CHAPTER 9

Tarnow’s body arrived in Adishian three days later and with it came Kalas, Prince of Sarkisian. He spoke to no one, but went directly to the Council chambers, flanked by his closest advisors and those from Adishian.

Jarrett watched Kalas arrive from the top of the battlements, knowing that the moment he descended, he would be clapped in irons and thrown into the dungeon. Climbing down to meet his fate, he was not at all surprised when he was surrounded by soldiers wearing the black uniforms of Sarkisian. He was surprised, however, to be led back to his quarters and locked inside. He paced the confines of his room, moving from windows to door and leaning against it, listening for breathing on the other side. A return trip to the windows showed him Sarkisian soldiers spreading out into the gardens, blocking every exit from the castle.

Jarrett continued pacing until darkness fell outside the windows. Then came a knock at the door and the lock was turned. He halted in mid-stride, turning toward it, his muscles tensing. A page poked his head inside and gave Jarrett a half-frightened look. Jarrett could just see the guards waiting beyond the boy.

“Prince Kalas summons you to the dining room,” said the page, then ducked back into the hallway.

Jarrett strode for the door, not even bothering with straightening his uniform. As he left his quarters, he was flanked immediately on either side by soldiers. He felt only a little surprised to see both Tyla and Kendrick waiting for him at the top of the stairs.

They didn’t exchange any words as they descended. As they wound through the passageways of Kazan, Jarrett could hear distant wails coming from the entrance hall. Tyla was strangely subdued, her face drawn and her eyes heavy.

As they entered the dining room, Kalas rose to his feet and crossed to Tyla’s side, bending to kiss her cheek. Kalas couldn’t be considered tall, but he was a handsome man with jet-black hair. The Sarkisian Prince was six years older than Tyla, but this fact wasn’t evident in his face. He had the distinctive Stravad traits, high cheekbones and wide forehead, and an ageless quality to his features. His skin coloring wasn’t as dark as Tyla’s, but his eyes were a vibrant blue.

He smiled warmly and embraced her. “It’s been too long, Tyla,” he said.

Tyla sustained his embrace with cold indifference. “At least a year, Kalas. It seems you bring tragedy with you every time you come.”

His expression fell and he glanced at the two men who waited patiently behind her. “Tyla, I understand your grief, but you must know we came as soon as we could...”

“Convenient, though, that you came too late,” she said and pressed past him to take a seat.

Kalas looked again at Kendrick and Jarrett, then smiled. “Welcome,” he said, extending his hand, “I’m Kalas, heir to the throne of Sarkisian. We’ve had news you’d come. You’re both Nazarien, right?”

Jarrett shook his head. All of Kalas’ warmth was lost on him. “I’m Terrian. He’s Nazarien.”

“We weren’t given your names, I fear,” said the Prince.

Jarrett felt Kendrick’s gaze shift to him. “I’m Jarrett Murata and this is Kendrick Andel.”

“Once again, I welcome you,” said Kalas, motioning toward the table. “Please take a seat and dine with us.”

Eyeing the soldiers at each end of the room, Jarrett deliberately moved to the seat closest to Tyla. Kendrick shot a look at him, but Jarrett ignored it. This was one time when he didn’t give a damn about the claim the Nazarien had on her.

Tyla turned to the Prince and her voice was chilling. “Why hasn’t Rarick come himself to secure his new spoils?”

Kalas sighed and leaned back in his chair, drawing his glass of wine with him. He sipped at it deliberately and then placed it back on the table. “My sister is distraught over the death of her lord.”

Jarrett frowned, but didn’t say anything.

“Tyla,” Kalas said, turning to face her, “Adishian is not spoils of war. Sarkisian and Adishian have and will always be allies. I can assure you that Sarkisian shares Adishian’s grief in losing her king. Father also shares your grief in losing your husband.”

“Why hasn’t he come then, Kalas?”

“We’re at war now, Tyla. No one wanted this conflict to escalate into battle, but it has and it requires Father’s attention at the front lines. Once he feels everything is secure, he’ll come himself to share your grief.” He leaned forward then and took her hand. “You must know what a great sacrifice it was for me to leave the front lines, but Father felt it important that you and Adishian should have at least my support during your darkest hours.”

She regarded him coldly for a moment. Jarrett had never seen her eyes so bitter. “There it is, isn’t it, Kalas? You are to rule Adishian in Tarnow’s place.”

Kalas stiffened, and for the first time, anger darkened his face. “You promised me once that you wouldn’t do that unless you told me first. Do you remember your promise? Or has all that we once meant to one another slipped from your mind?”

“I have never forgotten what we meant to one another, but you have forgotten. You’ve taken my people and me hostage under the auspices of an alliance. Any promise I may have made to you regarding our thought exchange is void in this light. I will do whatever is necessary to know what the future of my people will be.”

Kalas listened calmly and then broke into a laugh. “Why do you persist in believing Adishian is being occupied by Sarkisian?” His eyes drifted to Jarrett as the Terrian scrutinized him. “Let’s change the subject.” He lifted his wine glass and pointed in Jarrett’s direction. “Tell me what’s brought you here, my friends.”

Tyla leaned forward then, her face flushed with anger. “Friends!” she said, “Since when is Sarkisian friends with the Nazarien. Have you forgotten your bounty against their lives?”

Kalas’ eyes shifted to her and as he spoke his voice was strained in his effort to control his anger. “Tyla, there is no bounty against Nazarien in Sarkisian. That’s merely a rumor started by the Lawries.”

Jarrett glanced at Tyla, then turned to address the Prince. “What are these Lawries? We’ve heard that name before.”

Kalas sighed. “The Lawries are a group of miscreants, who spread rumors about false atrocities Sarkisian has apparently done, such as this one about the bounty. They’ve also infiltrated some of our smallest protectorates in both Adishian and Sarkisian to stir up violence and malcontent among the citizens. They follow the teachings of Dall Rill, a sort of folk hero of theirs, who died during the first war with Dorland.” He paused and cast a warning look at his sister. “All in all, they’re simply troublemakers for the sake of making trouble. Their strongest weapon is their ridiculous rumors, which they use to turn the citizens against the ruling class.”

Tyla glared at him. “And are the Orahim and their poisons also rumors, Kalas? Do explain that rumor to this man here?” she said, pointing at Jarrett.

Kalas took a deep breath to steady his growing frustration. “Tyla, when Father arrives, you’ll be better served asking him.”

Tyla shook her head with a caustic laugh. “Why do you persist in calling him Father when he isn’t your father? Talar Eldralin is and always will be.”

Kalas’ handsome face contorted in a flush of fury. He rose and grabbed Tyla under the arm, dragging her to her feet. Both Kendrick and Jarrett rose with them, but the guards quickly intervened with drawn swords.

“Don’t ever use that name in my presence again, Tyla,” said the Sarkisian Prince. “Talar Eldralin was not my father, nor will I ever lay claim to such! He was a villain and an adulterer.”

Tyla’s eyes were illuminated with a vicious light. “Talar Eldralin was my father, Kalas. How then can you claim me as your sister?”

Rage overcame him and he threw her from him. Jarrett caught her and held her close. Kalas struggled with himself for a moment and then swung to face the guards. “Take the Queen of Adishian to her chambers and see she is fed there, then have my meal brought to me in the Council room, immediately.”

He fixed his eyes on Jarrett. “You and the Nazarien may go wherever you choose. Despite what my sister may think,” he said and placed particular emphasis on the word sister, “you are not prisoners of Sarkisian.”

Jarrett held Tyla’s trembling body as the Prince left the room. Despite what Kalas had said, the guards standing all about them didn’t give him the impression that he wasn’t a prisoner. He wondered where Muzik was and if they might still have a chance to escape before Rarick came in the next few days. But the guards didn’t give him enough time to decide. They wrenched Tyla away and soon he and Kendrick were left alone in the brightly lit room.

The Nazarien took a seat again, his expression strangely distant. “What now?”

Jarrett stood in the doorway, watching them drag Tyla away. “I don’t know,” he said. “If only we’d been able to persuade her to leave a week ago.” He turned and fixed his gaze on Kendrick. “But none of that matters now, does it? We’ve got to get her out of here before we all wind up dead.”

Kendrick nodded solemnly. “I’ve seen few people so angry at the mention of a name.”

Jarrett took a seat beside him. “Not everyone in Nevaisser thinks Talar Eldralin was a hero, Kendrick.”

“But his own son...” He paused and shook his head.

“Kalas wasn’t raised by Talar, in fact, he probably remembers little about him, except what was told to him by Rarick, and I can assure you that it wasn’t flattering news in the least. When you are constantly subjected to the hatred of one person towards another, no matter who that other person may really be, you grow to share some of the same feelings and you may even become ashamed of who you are.” He sighed and his eyes drifted to the fire. “It’s a terrible thing to be ashamed of yourself.”

Kendrick was silent in contemplation for a long time. Finally, he lifted his head and gave Jarrett a narrowed look. “How do you know Tomlin Trauner?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because you muttered his name many times during your fever and it surprised me when I recognized who you seemed to be calling. I didn’t think you’d ever gone to Chernow before.”

“No, I’ve never been to Chernow and I’ve never met Tomlin Trauner...well, to my knowledge, at least.”

“Then what do you know of him?”

Jarrett leveled his eyes on the Stravad. “I believe Tomlin Trauner’s my father.”

Kendrick didn’t immediately answer. He met Jarrett’s gaze and his expression gave nothing away. Jarrett expected no less from a Nazarien. However, he surprised Jarrett with his next words. “He’s a fine man. I’ve spent a great deal of time with him. In fact, he’s the most respected Nazar since the time of Eldon. You should find pride in being his son.”

Jarrett nodded. Kendrick’s praise might stoke his ego a little, but it didn’t answer the nagging questions he had, like why had he engaged in an affair with a woman from Terra Antiguo?

Neither one of them felt like eating at that point. They circled around the subject of escaping before Rarick arrived, but came to no conclusions. Finally, Kendrick went off to his room.

Jarrett sat by himself for a while, staring into the fire, but his thoughts kept circling back to one thing. Tyla.

*   *    *

He found her in the entrance hall, keeping watch beside Tarnow’s body. Jarrett wanted to broach the subject of leaving with her, but when he saw her, he decided she’d gone through enough for one night. She had, in fact, lost the only two people she had ever loved – Tarnow, who lay beside her, his face already a faint resemblance to what it had been in life, and Kalas, who had locked himself within the Council chambers and was entirely under the spell of Rarick.

Silently, he took a seat beside her and together they waited for the coming dawn. Somewhere around midnight, he fell asleep in his chair. When he woke, dawn had come with another storm and Tyla was gone. He rubbed his eyes, yawned, and rose to his feet to stretch. Tarnow lay as before, the candles burning brightly around him. Jarrett paused a moment and stood looking at his face. He felt a surge of remorse as he looked on the ruined King. He had failed his people and had been driven from life by a vicious, greedy enemy.

The door opened and four attendants entered, taking up their positions beside him. Jarrett regarded them for a moment, then turned. “Where is your Queen?” he asked.

One of the attendants bowed. “She’s preparing for the funeral, my lord.”

Jarrett nodded and left the room, ascending the staircase that led to the upper story. He hurried through his own ablutions and dressed in a clean uniform, then left his room and knocked on Tyla’s door. She opened it, her face even more drawn and pale than the previous night.

“May I come in?” he asked and she backed up to allow him room to pass. Kian lay beside the fireplace, but there was no fire. The room was cold, damp, and dark.

He turned and looked at her. She was dressed in a black gown and her long hair was pulled back tightly away from her face and bound at her neck. Jarrett was surprised to notice that her hair was still wet from her early morning bath.

She crossed the room silently and stood before the mirror, raising her hands to smooth a few loose strands of hair.

Jarrett moved close behind her. “Tyla, are you all right?”

She lifted her eyes and seemed to focus on him as if she’d seen him for the first time, then she turned to face him. “Do you know what time they wish to begin the procession?”

“It hasn’t been announced yet, but the attendants are waiting in the entrance hall now.” He stepped close to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Are you all right? I don’t think you’ve slept for the last few days, and I’m not sure you’ve eaten. This room is freezing and dark.”

Her face seemed distant and distracted. “I’m fine, Jarrett,” she said, “but there’s just been so much to do.” She looked around the room for a moment in anxiety. “Where’s Kian?”

“Kian’s lying in front of the fireplace, where he’s always been.”

She stepped around him then and took a seat on the hearth beside the dog. Kian nuzzled her cheek and then laid his head in her lap. Like Jarrett, he sensed that there was something wrong with his mistress. She stroked his head for a moment, then looked about the room. “Why don’t they hurry? The procession should have started hours ago.”

Jarrett knelt down before her and took her hands. They were cold to the touch and he pressed them between his own to restore some warmth. “Tyla, let me light a fire,” he said, but she shook her head.

“No, I don’t want a fire, it gets too hot and close in here.”

“Tyla, it’s freezing in here,” he said, but she simply lifted her face and peered deeply into his eyes. She seemed so small and fragile at that moment that he wanted to take her in his arms and hold her until all of this madness passed them by, but a knock sounded at the door.

He rose and went to open it, allowing Kalas inside. The Prince seemed surprised to see the Terrian, but passed through and went directly to his sister.

Kian lifted his head and emitted a low growl, which made Kalas halt. Jarrett frowned at Kian’s behavior.

“Curse it, Tyla,” said Kalas. “Why do you insist on keeping this vicious beast as a pet?”

Tyla didn’t respond, but fixed her eyes on him. His face softened as he saw the lost look in her eyes and he knelt before her, far enough away from Kian’s huge jaws. “Tyla, it’s time. The pallbearers are ready to begin the procession. There are so many townspeople gathered at Kazan’s gates that if we don’t hurry, I’m afraid there may be a riot and I wouldn’t want to use force against them.”

Tyla shook her head. “They won’t riot, Kalas, they’re too beaten down for that. They only wish to be part of the procession.”

Kalas’ eyes shifted warily to Kian. “Very well,” he said, his voice still gentle, “but we need to go now and I want to accompany you.” He slowly reached out his hand. Kian’s lips curled back from his fangs and Kalas’ other hand slipped to the dagger in his belt.

Recognition seemed to dawn in Tyla’s eyes as she saw him move for his dagger and she put a warning hand on Kian’s head. Then she gave her brother her other hand.

He pulled her to her feet and clutched her briefly in an embrace, breathing a sigh of relief. Holding her away from him, he took her face in his hands and looked into her eyes. “I’m sorry for last night, I should have been more sensitive to your anguish.” Again she said nothing, but he embraced her once more. Then folding her arm over his, he led her from the room.

Jarrett followed close behind with Kian.

*    *    *

Tarnow’s body was placed in a white coffin with the banner of Adishian draped over the top. Six pallbearers lifted the casket on a command from Muzik and they crossed the great hall to the front doors of Kazan where they met Tyla and Kalas. A black veil covered Tyla’s face, but even through the dark mesh, Jarrett knew no tears stained her cheeks. She seemed leaden and distant, but she didn’t seem able to cry.

The royal procession descended the stairs to the central courtyard and so Tarnow left his castle home for the final time. The procession was led by Muzik and consisted of the six pallbearers (specially chosen from the Blue Battalion), the casket, Tyla and Kalas, Jarrett, Kendrick, and Kian, then the entire Council and finally, the personal servants of both the King and Queen.

Soldiers from Sarkisian flanked all sides of the procession from the front to the rear, their swords drawn and pointed out toward the crowd that waited beyond Kazan’s gates. A single trumpet rent the air in the death march, a melodious, mournful wail that rose with a clear, haunting sound through the thick sheets of snow that blanketed the ground and fell from the sky. Everything else was deathly still, except for the occasional sob that escaped from either one of the servants or one of the townspeople gathered in the main square.

On the procession wound, through the main streets of Adishian, their footsteps cutting a path through the undisturbed snow and being quickly covered over from behind with the sleet that fell. The pallbearers carried their King with pride, their heads held high, their suits pressed and clean. Muzik marched in grim dignity before them all, only the glistening of tears in his eyes gave notice to what he felt inside.

In mass, the townspeople left their warm homes and closed their shops so they might join. A legacy had now passed in Adishian and of those gathered, only a few welcomed it or the coming of Sarkisian.

Soon they came to the gates of the royal burial grounds and Muzik pushed them open wide. The procession passed through and came to a halt before the deep, dark grave, while the townspeople gathered along the outer gates. A few words were said by Skells, as he was the Senior Council member, and then Tarnow’s coffin and body were lowered into the deep hole. Kalas led Tyla forward and she bent, lifting a handful of the frozen earth in her black gloved hand as was custom. She hesitated a moment, her eyes searching the crowd and finally resting on Jarrett, then she opened her hand and let the dirt fall with a patter on the casket.

Kalas guided her clear of the grave and mound. As he led her away, back through the throng of people, the rest of the procession moved forward to pay their last respects and to toss earth on the coffin. Jarrett watched Tyla and Kalas go, but stayed until his turn came.

Tarnow had been laid to rest beside his first Queen and their only son, who’d died of fever when he was little more than a boy. The hard earth on the coffin mixed with the snow falling on the ground and Jarrett thought it ironic. No matter how much snow might fall, it would never cleanse the wrong done to this King. He turned and gazed back to where Tyla had disappeared with her brother and felt uneasy. Whistling Kian to him, he hurried to follow them.

*    *    *

Kalas led her directly to the Council room and removed her cloak and veil, passing it to a servant and then sitting her down in a chair beside the fire. He wanted to get on with what he knew must happen next. He poured Tyla a cup of tea and placed it in her hand. He was concerned by her lack of animation, but brushed it aside. She’d soon be happy again, especially after he told her what he had planned for them.

“Tyla,” he said, pulling his chair closer to her. She looked up at her name, but her eyes were remote. He closed his hands about the teacup and brought it to her lips. “Come on, tiger, drink some of this and you’ll feel better.” She obeyed his request and sipped at the tea. After a few moments, he took it from her and placed it on the hearth.

“Tyla,” he said again, pressing her cold hands. “I know you’re grieving, but believe me, this pain will pass.” He paused for a moment and stared intently at her face. “Remember, when we were children and we use to tell each other that someday we’d rule the kingdom together. Remember that.”

“I remember, Kalas.”

He smiled at her. “Well, now we have that opportunity. Think of it, Tyla,” he said, “think of the possibilities. Tarnow had no heir, so Adishian’s without a ruler. Rarick intends that I take over. I know only a little about Adishian from my visits to see you, but you have lived here for ten years. Together we could rule the entire kingdom. We could restore it to what it once was before the war.”

Tyla’s gaze fixed on his and she narrowed her eyes. “Do you really think Rarick would allow me to stay in Adishian and rule with you, Kalas? Do you really believe that?”

Kalas forced a smile. “Of course. He speaks of you all the time, and once I tell him of my plan, he’ll think it’s a solid solution.”

“He speaks of me all the time, Kalas, does he?” The Prince nodded. “And what does he say?”

Kalas’ brow furrowed. “Many things. He thinks you’ve been the strength in the alliance between Sarkisian and Adishian. He believes you’ve given the people hope and have made the last years of Tarnow’s life happy. He talks of having you back in Sarkisian with him, where we could be like a family again.”

Tyla’s head lifted. “He talks of having me back in Sarkisian. Don’t you understand why? We were never a family. Don’t you remember all the things Rarick did to us? How he made me use my power to harm people? Don’t you remember any of those things?”

“You were always imaginative.”

Tyla rose and pulled free of his grasp. “Imaginative! Is that what you call it? Do you mean to say I imagined all the times he beat you to make me use my power? Did I imagine all the prisoners that he brought before me? Don’t you remember the thief with the blonde hair that he nearly made me kill, or did I imagine that also, Kalas?” She was enraged by his denial, so she did the only thing she could think to do. She flooded his mind with memories, memories of all that had happened in the years when she’d been at Sarkisian.

Kalas struggled to his feet. “Stop it, Tyla! Stop! You promised you would never do this to me again. Stop!” he cried, and struck her with the back of his hand.

Slowly she looked up and her eyes burned with hate. “I see you’ve learned well, Kalas.”

His eyes widened and he reached for her. “Why did you make me strike you? You promised you’d never use your power on me, you promised.”

She pulled away in disgust. “I promised my brother those things, but my brother is dead.”

He flinched. Somewhere inside he was the same boy who’d taken beatings for her and who’d made up images of fantasy that he’d begged her to share with him.

“Tyla, please, I never meant to hurt you, but you can’t use your power against me.”

She shook her head sadly. “I’ll do whatever’s necessary to protect myself.”

With that, she turned and walked from the room.

*    *    *

That evening the castle was in turmoil looking for her. They searched all the rooms. Kalas demanded the entire staff and his own guards take up the search and not stop until she was found. No one had seen her since the funeral, except Kalas, and he hadn’t known where she had gone after she left him.

Jarrett was the only one clever enough to take Kian with him as he search and instinctively he went to the gardens. As he stepped outside into the chill winter night, he pulled his parka closer about him and bent to whisper into the dog’s ear. Kian tossed his head against the cold and whimpered, but moved quickly away, his nose close to the ground to pick up her scent. Jarrett was worried now, he’d been worried all day. He’d even dared the wrath of the Sarkisian Prince, so concerned was he for Tyla’s safety.

As they moved through the gardens, Jarrett could hear the voices of those that searched for her in the castle, they came to him distant and faint through the howling of the wind as it beat against the casements of the windows. This night was certainly the coldest he’d experienced in Adishian and no one should be out in it. He wondered if she’d even taken her parka.

Bowing his head to the wind, he followed Kian as quickly as he could. The dog led him farther and farther into the gardens, away from the protective wall of the castle. Jarrett hadn’t been out this far and wasn’t sure exactly where he was going. The night was dark, the moon covered by a bank of clouds, and he had to stay close for fear of losing the dog in the tangle of undergrowth and trees. He looked back momentarily to where a light from the castle cast a faint glow against the rising mounds of snow.

He noticed that the thick undergrowth was covering any tracks that he left and he wondered why Kian was so determined in coming this way. As he went, the garden became increasingly dense and tangled. Little care had been given it this far out from the castle. Jarrett was beginning to think that Tyla wouldn’t have come this far and he hadn’t seen a single footprint to guide them in this direction, but Kian was still moving as if he knew where he was going. How the dog could smell anything in all this snow baffled him.

He whistled and the dog stopped, turning his head and pricking his ears forward. Jarrett motioned for him to turn back to the castle, but Kian swung back around and continued on in the direction he’d been going. Jarrett slapped his thighs in annoyance, but followed, parting the branches and vines as he went.

Then when he’d given up again, Kian darted forward. Jarrett stepped through the trees and saw Tyla, sitting on a stone bench in a clearing. Kian had jumped onto the bench beside her and was covering her face and hands with kisses. She didn’t have her parka on as Jarrett had suspected, but rather a thin cloak, the hood thrown back over her shoulders. He hurried to her side and pushed Kian off the bench. The dog took a seat on the other side of his mistress, laying his head in her lap.

“Tyla, what are you doing out here? You’re going to freeze to death,” he said, surprised at the tone of anger in his voice. He took her hands in his, she still wore the thin, black gloves from the funeral, and held them to his lips, blowing warm air on them. She watched him absently, her body shaking with the cold.

Stripping off his parka, he pulled it about her. The cold smote him with such force that he began to tremble, even though he still wore his coveralls and a thick, wool sweater. He stood and pulled her to her feet, slipping an arm around her waist. “Come on, sweetheart, I’ve got to get you inside,” he said, but she pulled away and the parka slipped from her shoulders to the ground.

“No,” she said, taking a seat again on the bench. “I’ll never go back inside the castle, not now.”

Jarrett picked up the parka and draped it over her shoulders, sitting down next to her. “Tyla, you’ll freeze to death out here. I don’t want to carry you, but I will. Please don’t argue with me.”

Her gaze slipped away from him then and she looked about the clearing. “Tarnow made this place for me,” she said quietly and Jarrett had to strain to hear her. “He let the garden grow wild around it so it would be my own private place. He put this bench out here and every month he’d send in a gardener to keep the clearing clean. I used to come out here just to think, alone. Only Kian knew where to find me.”

She looked at him then, her gaze distant and tormented. Jarrett was afraid for her. He took her hands again and like earlier that day, recognition crossed her face and she focused on his eyes. “Your eyes are so beautiful,” she said, reaching out and stroking his cheek with her gloved fingers.

He caught her hand and pressed it to his lips. “Please, Tyla, come inside and we’ll talk. I’ll stay with you until you feel sleepy. It’s so cold out here. Please come inside.”

“We’re so alike, you and me, Jarrett Murata,” she said, her voice drifting away from him. He drew her closer to him so he might hear. “Tarnow and I were very different, but I grew to love him. Do you think I’ll grow to love Kendrick the same way?”

“I don’t know. Please come inside so we can talk about this in comfort.” Kian whined at her feet. It was growing even colder as they sat in the clearing.

He felt the soft play of her thoughts in his mind. “You said you loved me. Did you mean it in the same way?”

“I don’t know if it’s the same way you loved Tarnow,” he said, “but I love you. I have since I first saw you.”

Her face clouded over and she rose to her feet, the parka falling once more to the bench. “I keep seeing him, Jarrett,” she said. “I keep seeing him lying in that coffin. I can’t remember what he looked like when he was alive.”

Jarrett stood. “That will pass with time, but you need sleep now. Please come to the castle.” He reached out and took her arm, pulling her towards him, but she yanked away.

“No, I told you already. I won’t return to the castle.”

He crossed the distance between them. “Then I have no choice. I’ll have to carry you.”

“No,” she cried. Her eyes took on their haunted look again and Jarrett halted. “Don’t make me hurt you again, Jarrett,” she said, her voice low with meaning. “I don’t want to hurt you. Please don’t make me use my power against you.” She was crouched now against the wind and Jarrett saw in her face the same animal instinct that had stopped Kalas from touching Kian. He didn’t want her to hurt him either.

He lifted his hands in supplication. “All right, Tyla, we’ll stay here until you’re ready to go, but don’t you think Tarnow would want you to return to the castle? Don’t you think he’d want you to lend your support in Adishian’s time of need?”

He saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes and she straightened a little. He took a step forward, slowly. “They need you now, Tyla, the people of Adishian need their Queen. You are the only hope left to them and Tarnow would want it this way. Tarnow would want you to be strong.”

“Tarnow is dead!” Her eyes filled with tears and she buried her face in her hands. “Tarnow is dead!”

Jarrett staggered in pain as she filled his mind with surge after surge of grief. He closed his eyes and clasped his head. It was too much, she was going to kill him if it didn’t stop. Before he knew what he was doing, he’d crossed the distance between them and folded her in his arms. Her grief tore through his mind, and then burst from her in a long sob. She shook in his arms, her body heaving with the force of her crying. He wasn’t sure how long they stood there, but gradually her sobs subsided and she leaned into his chest.

As she quieted, she became aware of how they were pressed against one another. Jarrett felt the change in her stance, the tension in her muscles. She tightened her hold on him and lifted her face. He couldn’t deny her look or his own want. He bent to kiss her, drawing her closer. She responded almost at once, parting her lips for him.

Tearing his mouth from hers, he buried his face in her hair. “I love you.”

She pulled away, placing a hand on her forehead. In the next instant, she dropped.

He caught her as she fell and lifted her into his arms, carrying her to the bench. He grabbed her hands and tried to rub warmth into them, but she didn’t respond. He called her name, but still she didn’t respond. He covered her with his parka and lifted her into his arms. Calling Kian to him, he raced back through the tangle of undergrowth toward the castle.

He didn’t think he’d make it, but suddenly the warm light from one of the windows came into view and in the doorway of the garden courtyard stood Kendrick and Kalas. Kalas pushed past the Nazarien and met Jarrett halfway to the door, taking Tyla from his arms. He hurried her upstairs.

*    *    *

The three men waited outside the door. Finally the physician motioned the men inside. Tyla had come around and lay propped up by pillows, her face pale and drawn in the light from the lantern. Her hair was loose and fell in damp curls about her shoulders.

“I’ve given her a sedative, so don’t stay long. She needs to get some sleep,” the physician said.

“Thank you,” said Kalas. “We’ll only be a moment, then we’ll let her rest.”

The physician nodded and left as Kalas crossed the room and took a seat on the edge of her bed.

“What were you doing out in the garden in weather like this?” he said, scolding her. “You’re lucky you aren’t taken with a fever.”

She looked at him a moment in silence, then placed her hand on his arm. “Please don’t lecture me, Kalas. I’m fine, but I’m tired. I’d like to get some sleep.”

He nodded and bent over her, kissing her on the forehead. Then he rose, moving toward the door. Kendrick looked at her a moment more and followed him. Only Jarrett remained behind, held in spot by her thoughts. When he was sure the other two had gone, he moved to her side.

“I feel so lost,” she said.

He pushed back her thick, damp hair and kissed her forehead. “It’ll pass.”

“I don’t understand this bond between us, Jarrett. I won’t pretend I do, but someday maybe I will.” She paused and took his hand. “Will you stay with me until I fall asleep? I don’t want to be alone.”

“I’ll stay with you as long as you wish.”

She closed her eyes and a moment later, she was asleep.

Jarrett sat beside her, wondering how he was going to save them now.

CHAPTER 10

Tyla fell ill following the episode in the garden. Jarrett kept the room warm and had her favorite foods prepared for her. He even went to her gardens and brought sprigs of winter foliage into the castle to fill vases, which he placed about the room. When she didn’t sleep, he read to her from books Tarnow had in his vast libraries, one of the few family possessions that hadn’t met the ravages of the siege, or they sat and talked of better times to be.

When she slept, he and Kian escaped from the mourning castle and took long walks in the snow. The townspeople came to recognize the two and would call out to Jarrett, wondering how Tyla was. In the evenings, Kalas and Kendrick would come to sit with her until she grew tired again. Kalas was absorbed with going over the treasury books with the Council during the days and didn’t wish to be bothered.

Kendrick accompanied Jarrett on some of his walks, but spent most of his time with Muzik in the soldier’s barracks where Muzik had been ordered to stay. Muzik’s tenure as personal guard to the royal family ended with the death of his King.

This disregard allowed Kendrick and Muzik to plan for their escape from Adishian. They poured over all of the maps until they felt they had them committed to memory. In addition, they made clandestine arrangements with Tarnow’s private cook for provisions. By the end of the second day of Tyla’s illness, everything was in readiness for their departure. They waited only for Tyla’s strength to return.

On the fourth day Tyla and Jarrett took a short walk to the cemetery. They wore parkas against the falling snow. In addition, Jarrett brought a blanket, which he put around Tyla once they took a seat on the bench before Tarnow’s grave. They sat close together in silence as the snow drifted down and blanketed them in a soft white sheet.

Tyla brought some fresh pine boughs from her garden and Jarrett carefully arranged them on the grave. Tarnow had always loved her gardens; they had been the pride of Kazan and even when siege had robbed the kingdom of its splendor, Tarnow had made sure Tyla’s gardens didn’t suffer.

She sat beside Jarrett now, Kian at her feet as always, and she felt small and frail in the great expanse of the cemetery. Her eyes rested on Tarnow’s grave, a mound covered with white snow and her branches of pine. It was difficult to accept that he was actually gone from her forever. The grave was simply a hole filled with dirt. He had been a proud King once and a very good man, yet now he was reduced to nothingness. Not even his name had survived untarnished.

For the first time in a great while, she thought of her parents. They were no more than Tarnow was now, returned to the clay of the earth, but in life her father had been a man to both fear and respect. She knew little of her father and that mostly legend, and she knew even less about her mother. It had mattered little to her as a child, she had never met them and Rarick had attempted to taint her emotions regarding her father as best as he might. But now, after she had lost the only person who had loved her as much as she loved him, she wondered what they’d been like.

She knew her green eyes had come from her mother and her Stravad features from her father, but no more. Was her father stern, proud – did he have a sense of humor? He was hated in Sarkisian, feared in Adishian and adored in Chernow, but why, why did each of these kingdoms view him in a different light?

Her mother was even more of a secret. People rarely spoke of her and if they did, it was only to retell the tragedy of her death, which ultimately led to her father’s death. It seemed the most important thing she had ever done was become the wife of Talar Eldralin, but Tyla knew there must be more.

Despite the conflicting feelings about him, Talar was her father. She’d never denied him, but he was also a folk hero as his father had been. It was difficult to possess any personal feelings toward a man who was a national legend, but her mother was different. Tyla didn’t know what it was like to have parents, but she longed for her mother. She felt sure she’d learn a great deal about herself if only she knew more about her mother.

As a child, she had made up an image of her mother from stories Kalas had told her. Kalas had loved Shara despite all Rarick told him. At night, when she lay alone in her room, she conjured up this image of her mother and had conversations with her in the dark. It was this imaginary mother that had kept Tyla from despair when Rarick had been most cruel or when she’d tasted the bittersweet depth of her power. She loved this woman and hungered for knowledge of the real person. Going to Temeron might be the only way she’d ever learn more than rumor.

She sighed and leaned closer against Jarrett. She missed Tarnow so dreadfully much. She’d never realized how much he’d actually meant to her or how much she had meant to him. He’d given his life for her and this realization caused her not a little discomfort and guilt. She only wished now that she might remember him as he’d appeared in life, but she could only see him, lying in his coffin, shrunken and hollow.

She shuddered and lifted her eyes to Jarrett’s face. His deep blue, Stravad eyes glimmered in the cast of light from the snow. She smiled. He did have a handsome face and his eyes were so beautiful, more beautiful even than Kendrick’s.

She took his hand in hers and pressed it. “I’m ready to go now, Jarrett.”

He knew immediately that she meant she was ready to leave Adishian, the connection between their minds left little doubt. His eyes glimmered, but he merely nodded.

She looked away again and sighed. “My time here has ended. I didn’t want to come to Adishian, I was afraid. Despite Rarick’s prosecution, Sarkisian was my home and Kalas my only family. I didn’t want to leave and I didn’t want to marry Tarnow, but the only happiness I’ve known has been in Adishian as Tarnow’s wife. Now I’m being forced out again.”

“It’ll be different in Temeron, Tyla.”

She nodded. “Yes, I have a grandfather there. I’ve never known what it’s like to have family, except Kalas, family I could call my own, but now I have a grandfather. I’m anxious for that, I’m anxious to meet him.”

“He’s a great man, Tyla. Kiameron was his father and he, himself, led Loden against Erram. He was very powerful once and his brother, your uncle, is King of Loden. You’ve got a lineage to be proud of.”

She smiled and leaned closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. “It seems we both have a lineage to be proud of, Tomlin Trauner’s son.”

“Yet we both know so little about it.”

She lifted her head and fixed her eyes on him. “That’s why we’re kindred spirits, Jarrett, don’t you see? I’m beginning to think we were thrown together for a reason and this one seems plausible enough.”

He touched her cheek with his hand. “It’s comforting to be a kindred spirit with you, Tyla.”

Soon after they rose and turned back toward the city, walking at a leisurely pace. The snow continued to fall, but it was a light snow and pleasant, even though the air was crisp and cold.

They came to the castle more quickly than Tyla wished, she had so enjoyed their walk together. The castle was always oppressive anymore. She and Jarrett were forced to guard how they acted and spoke around one another when others were near and it seemed others were always near.

Tyla was beginning to regret her rash vow to bind herself to Kendrick, but she still couldn’t think of any way she might have escaped it. Even so, she didn’t feel she was doing anything wrong being with Jarrett. She told herself they were simply becoming good friends, nothing more. Their intimate physical contact had ended with the night in the garden, the night she’d been taken with fever, and they’d done nothing more than sit near each other since that time.

She was also beginning to wonder why she should always be bound to one man after another. Men were free to love whomever they chose. She secretly enjoyed the taste of freedom. Jarrett didn’t seem to want to absorb her into himself, rather he seemed willing to share himself, an equality she’d never experienced. She’d always taken orders from one man after another, first Rarick out of fear, then Tarnow out of love, and she wasn’t sure anymore that life had to be this way.

She felt sorry for Kendrick because he was as much a victim of circumstance as she was herself, and she might have grown to love him as she had Tarnow, if his affection didn’t seem so much like possession. She saw it in his eyes, in the way he looked at her, and she didn’t like it. She didn’t belong to him yet, she didn’t belong to anyone. Why should she feel so controlled?

This dilemma was beginning to weigh on her. She didn’t want Kendrick to get hurt, but yet she couldn’t deny that she was feeling something very strong for Jarrett, and the feeling was growing with each day. A small voice inside of her told her that she shouldn’t spend so much time with the Terrian, somewhere inside she still felt the need to obey the bond that had been placed on her, but she also couldn’t resist the draw toward Jarrett.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Kian bounded ahead of them and through the open door of the castle. Tyla watched him go and a wave of apprehension passed through her. She hesitated and Jarrett paused beside her.

They shared a look.

“Where are the guards?” she whispered, and nodded at the open door.

Jarrett’s hand fell to his waist where he’d concealed a dagger, his sword having been taken from him when Kalas arrived.

A flurry of movement issued from inside the castle and Kian let out a yelp. Tyla started forward, but Jarrett yanked her back. Kalas appeared in the doorway and stepped out. His eyes seemed hollow and a gash bisected his cheekbone.

“Kalas, what happened?” asked Tyla, tugging out of Jarrett’s hold.

Kalas narrowed his eyes in obvious warning. “I’m sorry, Tyla,” he said, “I tried.”

Another figured stepped out of the castle entrance. Tyla felt Jarrett tense as Lex Prestar smiled at him.

Her expression hardened. “So this is it, Kalas,” she said, “Rarick has arrived?”

Kalas didn’t answer.

Tyla’s eyes were fixed on her brother as she climbed the stairs, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze. A heavy sigh left his lips as she turned away. Lifting her chin, she passed between him and Lex, stepping into the castle. She came up short and her eyes widened. The entrance hall was filled with soldiers bearing the red panther symbol.

She turned to face Lex as he stepped back into the castle. “Where is Kian?” she demanded.

“Restrained, but I’ve no doubt His Majesty will order the beast destroyed.” He gave her a pointed look. Behind him, Kalas lifted his head and met Tyla’s gaze, then dropped it again.

“Apparently the castle is overrun with beasts,” she said coldly. “Many of which are in great need of being destroyed.”

Lex gave her a thin smile, then moved next to Jarrett and shoved him forward. Jarrett stumbled, but caught himself, swinging around to face the Guard Commander. Lex held out his hand. “Give me the blade.”

Jarrett’s jaw tensed, then he reached for the dagger and passed it over, blade first. Lex closed his fingers around it and jerked it away, slipping it into his own belt. With a motion toward the stairs, he bowed toward Tyla. “Lord Rarick awaits.”

Tyla removed her parka and handed it to a frightened doorman waiting in the shadows, then smoothed her dress and turned her back on the Commander. Wending her way through the gathered soldiers, she began to climb the steps, trying to still the trembling that had begun in the very core of her body.

They were stopped outside the Council Chamber, then the great doors were thrown open and the inner chamber was revealed in white, glaring light. Tyla swallowed hard and briefly closed her eyes, drawing in all of her self-control.

“Let’s go, Your Highness,” ordered Lex.

Tyla didn’t spare him a glance as she stepped forward into the room, her heart hammering in her ears. She could sense Jarrett behind her and used their psychic connection to center herself, but halfway into the room, guards moved between them, pushing him at sword point off to the side. Tyla watched them force him into line beside Muzik and Kendrick. The rest of the Council members sat at their places along either side of the chamber, soldiers in Sarkisian colors placed between each of them, hands resting against the hilts of their swords. Adishian was now a city under occupation, she thought grimly.

Rarick sat on Tarnow’s dais, leaning back in the great chair, his withered hands on either arm. He’d aged little in the last ten years. His hair was still dusky brown and combed back from his brow, his face only a little more lined around the eyes and mouth. He had a short, even beard, speckled with streaks of grey, his yellow eyes set back and shadowed. He was tall, over six feet, his height not diminished through the years, and yet he was thin, so thin his features looked almost cadaverous in the brilliant light.

Tyla stared at him, awash in memories. Those cold eyes and thin, taut mouth had bespoke a great deal of pain and torment for her. Rarick lifted a gaunt hand and guards moved close behind Tyla, urging her toward the dais. She paused just before the first step and the guards formed a ring behind her. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw Jarrett through the press of bodies, his silent touch of courage slipping into her mind.

She turned around and confronted the Sarkisian King, forcing all emotions from her face.

Rarick smiled, although it was more a snarl than a smile, his lips pulling back from his teeth. “Come forward so I might see you better, Tyla,” he said.

Tyla hesitated only a moment and felt the edge of a sword in her back. She stepped up on the first step. Again he pulled back his lips in his half-smile, half-snarl, and his breath escaped in a loud sigh. “These years in Adishian have been good to you, child,” he said, “I’ve heard rumors to the effect that Adishian had the most beautiful Queen on all of Samar, but I didn’t know the rumors were true. You are truly beautiful!”

“I’m not easily flattered, Rarick,” she said. “Shall I accept compliments from a man that has taken my people as captives? I want nothing from you, but your swift departure back to Sarkisian.”

Rarick leaned back in his chair and rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “Such beauty, but see, Kalas, why your wish cannot be granted? She has been given far too much latitude. Why else would she talk to me in this manner?” He leaned forward and caught Tyla’s wrist, pulling her up on the dais to stand directly in front of him. “Listen to me, child, I have come from Dorland to be with Adishian in its time of need. Do not mistake the great sacrifice I’ve made on your part.”

“Make no more sacrifices, Rarick. Adishian does not choose your company, nor do we wish your occupation or your war. The very air you breathe is vile to us.”

Rarick leaned forward and with deadly swiftness, he struck her across the mouth. Tyla flinched and Jarrett started forward, but Muzik held him back.

She lifted her face to the king again and blood stained her upper lip. She wiped it away with her fingers and her eyes burned with hatred. “I see you haven’t changed in the last ten years.”

He laughed openly then and reached out, grabbing her wrist and drawing her up against him. “I’ve changed a great deal,” he said and then his eyes narrowed. “You are quite a beauty. No wonder Tarnow was so willing to give away his life and kingdom to keep me from Adishian.” He reached out and lifted the thick braid of hair that had fallen over Tyla’s left shoulder, pressing it between his fingers.

“And how is Gallia?”

Rarick’s eyes rose to meet her own. “She is well, child,” he said, his voice becoming even more edged. “She’d be rightfully envious if she could see you now. She was anxious to send you away at sixteen because you had far surpassed her beauty, but now...” His hand moved up and latched onto Tyla’s upper arm. Tyla winced as his hold became increasingly tight. “Show me the power,” he whispered, “I can feel that you’ve increased it tenfold. Show me!”

Tyla shook her head and tried to back away, but he held her. Slowly, as if he were reaching for a wild butterfly, he caressed her cheek. His touch was vile and she pulled against his grip. Again Rarick smiled and his hand slipped down to her neck, tracing the muscles along her throat. Instinctively, Tyla struck out at him with her power, but to her surprise, her blow reverberated back into herself and she staggered in shock.

Rarick’s hand fell from her throat and he laughed. The Council members seemed to shrink into themselves. “While you’ve been working on your powers,” said Rarick, “I’ve been perfecting my own, a barrier against you. You will never have free rein in my mind again.”

He yanked her to her knees before him and Tyla felt the hold on her control slip as her fear mounted. Again Rarick’s hand lifted to stroke her throat. “I have many great plans for you and me, child,” he said, his eyes lowered to no more than a slit. “With your powers we can control all of Samar.”

“Think of this, Tyla. Now with Adishian under my control, and your power at my back, we can bring Dorland to its knees and then we can turn our attention to Loden. Nothing will stand against you, Tyla, not if you turn your power to my use. Once Loden falls, I swear I will give you Temeron to do with as you will and I will ask nothing more of you.”

Tyla folded her fingers over his and pulled his hand away. “You would give me all of this for the use of my power?”

Rarick nodded.

“Never. I’d sooner take my life than give you any aid.”

Rarick leaned back in his chair, but he still held her by her arm, then slowly a smile spread across his face. “It really matters little. Your power will be mine. There are other ways. Your brother is proof of that.” He drew her closer still and his breath was hot against her neck. “Pity you did not grant Tarnow an heir, but no matter, you will give me one instead.”

Kalas started forward. “Father, please...”

Rarick’s eyes snapped to his. “Do not displease me further!”

Kalas stumbled to a halt and his expression twisted. Tyla could see him from the corner of her eyes and she could feel his fear. Her gaze centered on the cut over his cheekbone and she felt ill inside. “Leave it alone,” she whispered to him, touching him briefly with her power. “Just leave it alone.”

Prying her arm free from Rarick’s hold, she pushed herself to her feet. She faced the King and her eyes narrowed. “As I said before, I would sooner kill myself than ever let you touch me.”

Rarick’s face contorted, then he rose swiftly to his feet and struck her. She lost her balance and felt herself fall. She struck the ground and the breath left her body. Through a haze of agony as she tried to draw in air, she heard pandemonium ensue, shouts and blows and grunts of pain.

Someone grabbed her arms and hauled her to her feet. The side of her face felt numb and blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. She tried to get her legs under her, but her head was ringing with Rarick’s blow.

“Get her out of here,” came Rarick’s command.

She felt herself being lifted into someone’s arms. She opened her eyes and met her brother’s gaze. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she placed her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes again, trying to block out the mayhem on all sides.

*    *    *

Jarrett woke on an unyielding surface. He opened his eyes to find Kendrick kneeling beside him.

“Are you all right?”

He nodded, then grimaced. His skull ached and his stomach roiled. Memories coalesced into place and he rolled into a sitting position. “Where are we?”

“Home,” came Muzik’s voice behind him.

Jarrett braced his head in his hands and looked around. They were in a stone cell. The only light came through a grate high up on the wall behind them. A bucket and a pallet were the only furnishings. The walls were damp and covered in a fine film of pale grey moss. “Nice,” he commented.

Wrapping his fingers around the back of his skull, he closed his eyes. The situation overwhelmed him and there didn’t seem to be any solution. When the dungeon door creaked, Jarrett scrambled to his feet beside Kendrick. The muscles along his back and shoulders tensed as someone stepped into the room. Through the open door, Jarrett could see a phalanx of guards waiting, their weapons drawn.

Jarrett’s gaze shifted to the Prince of Sarkisian. “What do you want?” he snarled.

Kalas stared at him in return. “I’m not sure, I just felt I should come.”

“What the hell are you talking about? You’re the last person I want to see.” He took a step toward the Prince, but Kendrick caught his arm. Outside the cell, the guards moved into a defensive position.

Kalas motioned them back.

“Get him out of here before I kill him!” hissed Muzik.

“Quiet!”

Kendrick’s warning sank into the rage Jarrett was feeling. He studied the Prince. “How did you hurt yourself?” he said, pointing to the gash on Kalas’ cheek.

Kalas fingered it with a hint of surprise, then lifted his eyes to Jarrett’s again. “I fell.”

“You fell?”

“It doesn’t matter. Why I came...why I came was because of Tyla.”

“Tyla?”

Kalas’ eyes narrowed on Jarrett. “A lot of what Tyla says is imagined. She’s always done that. She makes things difficult for herself. If she’d only cooperate, it wouldn’t be so bad for her.”

“Do you understand what Rarick intends to do to her, Kalas? How badly he intends to hurt her?”

The veil seemed to lift a bit. “He won’t hurt her. He’s just threatening her to get her to cooperate.”

Jarrett’s teeth clenched in frustration. “Why are you here?”

“Because I can’t go to Tyla, but I don’t want her to be afraid.” He hesitated, then took a step closer to Jarrett. “I thought I saw something between you.” His eyes narrowed on the Terrian. “You speak with her, in your mind, don’t you?”

Jarrett nodded.

“We were close once, like that, but now Tyla’s changed. It’s the power, it’s made her different.”

“That’s not true, Kalas. Tyla hasn’t changed. You have.” Again a flicker against the veil of his eyes. Jarrett inched closer and lowered his voice. “Rarick’s going to hurt her very badly, but you can prevent it, you can help us if you’ll let us free.”

“You don’t understand. It’s just a threat.”

“You’re lying to yourself because you know that if you let something happen to her, you’re responsible.”

“Be careful, Jarrett,” warned Kendrick.

“What do you mean?”

Jarrett moved another step closer to him. “Kalas, Tyla’s going to be hurt by Rarick, very badly.” Kalas started to protest again, but Jarrett held up his hand. “Please hear me out. When you were children, you and Tyla, the things that happened, the things that Rarick did to you weren’t imagined by Tyla. They did happen, Kalas. Your wound didn’t happen by falling. Rarick did it, didn’t he, when you presented your plan for keeping Tyla in Adishian?”

Kalas’ mouth worked over some words, but no sound came out.

“How have you managed the last ten years without Tyla to blame for Rarick’s treatment? How have you faced every day knowing that you were tied to a monster? Every injury you’ve suffered, including this last one, has come from Rarick’s hand.”

Kalas began to tremble.

Lex Prestar suddenly appeared in the doorway. “My lord, Prince Kalas,” he said, his voice sharp.

Kalas turned in his direction and Jarrett could see the veil fall back across his eyes. Jarrett glared at the Sarkisian commander and such savage thoughts of violence went through his mind.

“Lord Rarick requests your presence, immediately,” he said, his gaze shifting to Jarrett.

Kalas nodded and moved for the door. Once in the light of the hallway, he paused and looked back, then the door to the cell closed and the bolt was thrown.

“You almost had him,” said Kendrick. “Just a little more time...”

Jarrett nodded, feeling both defeat and despair rising in his throat like a lump.

*    *    *

Rarick lounged on Tarnow’s throne, his hand over his mouth, absorbed in his thoughts. Tyla waited in his chambers, but he couldn’t bring himself to carry out the plan he’d laid before her.

She terrified him.

He’d seen the hatred in her eyes – the green had glowed with an inner light. Why he was still alive, he wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t prepared to test the limits of her ability. He remembered well what she was capable of doing if forced to use it. He’d been the one to force her more times than he could remember. And now, after ten years of seclusion, he really didn’t know how much greater that power might be. He needed to know. He needed to test her, but he needed to protect himself.

He shifted his weight on the throne. Damn Tarnow, he didn’t even know how to build a comfortable seat of power. Settling himself as comfortably as he could, he refocused his thoughts.

Rarick had weathered much more difficult situations than this. Tyla’s father had been a greater thorn in his side during his life and he’d found a way to defeat him. He could find a way to use Tyla’s power without taking any risks.

One of Rarick’s greatest assets was his ability to read people. He liked to watch people, subordinates, enemies, even those he pretended were friends, and he could spot their weaknesses. So much was given away with a stray look, a shift of posture. Rarick knew these things and he knew how to exploit them.

He hadn’t missed the exchange of looks between Tyla and the Terrian. Even though he’d been trembling inside when facing her, even in the midst of cowing her, he’d caught that one stray look. It was enough –  that and the information Lex Prestar brought him from his interrogations. Tarnow might have pledged her to the Nazarien, but she had been spending her time with the Terrian.

He lifted his eyes as Lex Prestar escorted Kalas into the room. He felt a thrill of excitement when he saw the cut on Kalas’ cheek. The young man wouldn’t meet his eye – that was also good. And yet he shook his head in disgust. He knew Kalas loved his sister, but even that love wasn’t strong enough to overcome Rarick’s dominance.

Never would Kalas look at him the way his sister had; he couldn’t even meet his eye. Talar Eldralin’s blood wasn’t enough to overcome the taint of Gallia’s genetics. His son was weak, spineless, tameable – pathetic. Rarick loathed him as much as he feared Tyla, but at the same time, he was the key to Rarick’s immortality. As long as Kalas lived, Rarick would rule through him.

“Where have you been?” Rarick demanded.

Kalas glanced up, then dropped his gaze. His mouth moved, but no words came out.

“The dungeon,” answered Lex with an oily smile.

Although Rarick wouldn’t admit it, he admired Lex. He was so much stronger and virulent than his father had been. In fact, when Rarick had been forced to condemn Deck to hanging for treason, Lex had been the one to deliver the orders.

“Why?”

Lex started to answer, but Rarick held up his hand. He wanted Kalas’ response. “I asked you a question, boy. Why did you go to the dungeon?”

Kalas shook his head. “I don’t know...I...”

Rarick leaned forward on the throne. “I would suggest you not do so again. You wouldn’t want me to get the impression that you’re plotting against me, would you?”

Kalas’ frightened gaze rose to touch Rarick’s, then fell away again. “No, no...”

“Because you know what I do to traitors, right?” He offered Lex a smile. “Right, Lex?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Lex in return.

“I would never...” Kalas’ voice broke and he lowered his head further.

Rarick suppressed a wave of loathing and leaned back in his throne. “No matter. What’s done is done?” he said with an airy wave of his hand. “Tell me, boy. Which one of the foreign messengers does your sister care for most of all?”

Kalas frowned. “I don’t understand...”

“Which one has she spent the most time with of late?”

“The Terrian,” muttered Kalas.

Rarick nodded, folding his hand over his chin. “Just as I thought. I wonder what lengths she would go to in order to save his life.”

Kalas did meet Rarick’s gaze and his expression was stricken. “If you harm him, Terra Antiguo may declare war, and if Terra Antiguo declares war, Loden may follow.”

Rarick bit his lower lip. He had considered that, but he didn’t think it likely. What land declared war over one man’s life. Loden hadn’t even declared war over Talar Eldralin. “I don’t think that’s likely.” His lips moved in an involuntary smile. “And even if they do, we will have the ultimate weapon at our disposal. If Tyla will use her power to save this Terrian, what might she do to save her brother?”

Kalas’ mouth opened, but no sound came out. Rarick chuckled. This was almost as much entertainment as expanding his kingdom, and this was far easier to accomplish.

*    *    *

Tyla sat huddled in the window seat in Rarick’s chambers, chambers that had once belonged to Tarnow. The guards had brought her here, bound her hands and feet, and jammed shut both windows. They even took the precaution of removing any sharp objects from the room to prevent her from carrying out her earlier oath to Rarick. Then they left.

This was all done as quickly as possible and the door was bolted shut from the outside. Tyla listened for a long time, straining to hear the breathing of a guard outside the door, but there wasn’t any. Rarick had taken the guards away, having secured all her escape routes, so that she wouldn’t be able to use her powers against them to get away.

She was cold sitting in the window and afraid. The slightest sound, the creaking of the castle as it settled for the night, made her heart leap into her throat.

How strange to be in these very rooms, staring at the objects that Tarnow had touched not so long ago, and realize that he would never touch them again. Often she had sat in this very seat and talked to him as he prepared for a state dinner, combing his silver hair back off his brow, the rumble of his deep voice chasing away the loneliness of their position.

Lifting her bound hands, she pressed them to her lips, holding in the sobs that threatened to escape. Tarnow was gone and the objects around her no longer belonged to him. Rarick’s taint was on everything in the castle now and no matter how hard she tried, she’d never be able to remove it.

She wouldn’t allow herself to think about Rarick coming for her, but as the hours wore on, she wondered why he hadn’t come yet. She stared out the window at the snow falling once again. It was cold and she was both hungry and thirsty. She realized that she hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since her breakfast with Jarrett that morning. She leaned her head against the windowpane and watched as her warm breath clouded the glass. If only they’d given her a blanket or a drink of water.

She looked back over her shoulder at the bed and thought she might just be able to hobble to it, but then the thought seemed vile. She didn’t want to be anywhere near Rarick’s bed. If he was going to come for her, he would be faced with a battle.

Her thoughts involuntarily focused on Rarick. He’d rebuffed her attack against him. She was still shocked by this. No one had ever been able to refuse her when she’d been adamant about gaining access to his or her mind. It had been almost a physical barrier and the force she’d thrust at him had rebounded against her, causing her pain. Somehow he’d learned to put up an unbreakable shield against her, yet even still, Tyla felt there must be some chink in his armor, some small hole that she might get through. If only she had time to search for it, to pry it open and strike him again when he didn’t suspect it. If only she had time.

Thinking of Rarick made her heart pound frantically, so she shifted her attention to the only thing that had brought her comfort. Jarrett. She could go to him, his mind wouldn’t be closed to her, she could go to him if only she could find him. She tried to relax, twisting to ease the pressure on her bonds, and let her mind slip out, searching for him.

It took a lot longer than it should have to find him, but her concentration kept being broken by the creaks of the castle and her fear that Rarick might suddenly appear. When she finally found him and felt the urgent pull of his thoughts against hers, she released her hold on her fear and their minds intertwined with a suddenness that left them both elated.

CHAPTER 11

Tyla forced her awareness to return to Rarick’s chambers. Her body felt heavy and cold. Her throat was dry and a small nagging pain in her stomach reminded her that she was hungry. She shifted and realized that her hands and feet had fallen asleep, a sharp tingling pushing its way up her arms and legs.

She blinked in the bright light coming through the window and realized dawn had come, a bitterly cold dawn. The sky was blue overhead and the snow had stopped. The expanse of land outside the window glittered like silver in the new morning sunlight.

Then she realized what had drawn her back. The bolt on the outside of the door had been slipped and the door, itself, was open. A guard entered, carrying a tray of food with him. Tyla’s stomach contracted at the smell of fresh baked bread. She was so hungry and thirsty, her eyes followed the guard as he carried the tray to a table beside her and laid it down.

For a moment she could think only of the food. Then the sleepy tingling in her arms and legs became a growing sensation of pain, and she realized she’d been afforded an opportunity to escape. She took a deep breath and pushed aside her hunger. Narrowing her eyes, she fixed them on the guard.

His head jerked upright and their eyes met. “Cut my bonds,” she whispered and he shook his head vehemently.

Narrowing her eyes further, she exerted a little more control. The guard’s breath seemed to catch in his throat. “I-I was told not to listen to you,” he stammered.

“Release my bonds,” she demanded.

He hesitated a moment more, then picked up the knife from the tray and slowly moved to Tyla’s side. She lifted her hands for him and he placed the blade against the bonds, but before he had begun to cut, Lex Prestar appeared in the doorway. He crossed the room in a few strides and grabbed the guard by the collar of his uniform, throwing him to the ground.

He turned and grabbed Tyla under the chin, lifting her face until their eyes met. “You’re every bit as treacherous as Rarick said you’d be. I ought to strike you for this, but I don’t want to bruise your beautiful face. I warn you, don’t try this again, for I won’t hesitate to put a knife to your lovely throat.” He grabbed the bonds on her wrists, hauling her painfully to her feet and pulling her close against him. “Or perhaps I’ll think of something equally as distasteful to do.” Her eyes bore into his, but he seemed undaunted. “Rarick requests your presence in the gardens. He has a little show planned for all of us, and from what I hear, you’re to be the star.”

He bent and cut the bonds at her ankles, but held the bonds on her wrists. They left the room and wound down through the castle to the outer gardens. He didn’t even allow Tyla time to eat or drink anything. She pushed aside her discomfort and concentrated rather on where he was taking her. They stepped through the outer doors onto the rear courtyard. The commander hadn’t given her a parka so the bitter chill of the morning struck her and she shuddered.

Rarick had placed a chair at one end of the courtyard, which he occupied, and was surrounded on either side by the Council members, who were in turn guarded closely by Sarkisian soldiers. Jarrett, Kendrick and Muzik stood at the far corner of the courtyard, away from Rarick, and Kalas stood with them, looking pale. Tyla marked all of this within a few brief seconds.

Her eyes returned to Jarrett and their thoughts mingled. Neither knew what was about to happen, but they both were apprehensive. Then Tyla was transferred from Lex Prestar’s grip to Rarick’s.

Strands of hair had worked their way out of her braid and fell now about her face in irritating wisps. Rarick brushed these back with his hand and then lifted her face to meet his gaze.

“Well, child, the time comes when you’ll show me exactly how powerful you’ve grown. You and I will someday rule Samar, but before we can begin, I must know exactly what I can expect from you.” He smiled. “Fortunately Kalas and I spoke yesterday and I discovered that you’ve been spending a great deal of time with the Terrian since his arrival in Adishian.” Tyla felt her spine prickle. “I also noticed this attraction when you came to the Council Chamber yesterday. It gave me a very effective advantage in planning to test your powers.”

He turned Tyla around so she faced the open courtyard and tightened his grip on the bonds about her wrists. He then signaled to two guards who stood at the far end of the courtyard. The guards approached the three companions.

Rarick bent close, his breath on her neck. “This is the challenge. You have the power to stop what’s about to happen at any time during the next few minutes, you’ve only to use it. You can stop it now before it even begins. Simply strike out at the two soldiers and prevent them from coming any closer. You have the power, I’ve seen it, you’ve only to access it.”

Tyla swallowed against her fear and recognition slowly dawned on her. She knew what Rarick wanted her to do and she bit her lip – she wasn’t going to do it. No matter what happened, she wasn’t going to satisfy his curiosity.

The two soldiers grabbed Jarrett and hauled him forward. Muzik and Kendrick tried to intervene, but they were pushed back.

The soldiers dragged Jarrett to the center of the courtyard. An iron ring had been driven into the stone flooring and a length of chain had been attached to it. The soldiers cut the bonds from Jarrett’s wrists, but clamped the chain to him with iron bands. When they backed away, Jarrett yanked on the chains, but he was bound to the iron ring. His eyes lifted and met Tyla’s.

Tyla felt sick to her stomach. Something terrible was about to happen and it was her fault, her fault for having such power and being afraid to use it. She knew she could stop what was happening, but she was afraid.

“Stop this, Rarick,” came Manx voice. “This is senseless. What are you trying to prove?”

Rarick didn’t even bother to look at him. “Keep your mouth shut, Manx, or I’ll have your throat slit.”

Manx’s face flushed angrily, but he swallowed down what he was going to say next.

Tyla pulled against her bonds and found them tightly woven in Rarick’s hands. “Please, Rarick, I beg you don’t do this, don’t hurt him.”

Rarick laughed. “You sound so detached. Have I been mistaken and you have no feelings for him?”

He made a signal with his hand. A large shadow fell over them as someone moved around the chair where Rarick sat and approached the ring in the floor. Jarrett’s eyes widened and he pulled back on the chains. Tyla’s terrified gaze swept up and up to the towering figure of a man twice the size of Muzik Andrada. He had blunt features. His fists were the size of mallets and he had them flexed. Muscles rippled along his bare arms and across his broad back.

Tyla felt every muscle in her body tense.

“I do so love blood sport, don’t you?” said Rarick in her ear.

Without warning, the monstrous man swung at Jarrett. He ducked under the blow, reeling out the full length of the chain to its end.

Tyla caught her breath.

“Aw, so close,” murmured Rarick. “Gorn’s only flaw is that he’s a bit slow, but he never tires, I can tell you.”

“Stop this!” Tyla screamed, rounding on him. “He’s done nothing to you.”

Rarick held out his hands and shook his head. “No one can stop Gorn once he starts. No one, but...” He let his voice trail away meaningfully.

Tyla whipped back around as the crowd let out another gasp. Gorn had swung at Jarrett again, the blow missing once more, but he’d already adjusted and released his other hand, clipping Jarrett on the side of the head. The Terrian stumbled and scrambled to get away, the chain snapping taut as he darted in the opposite direction.

“Please, Rarick, no more.” Her voice caught in her throat, but she forced the words out. “Please, Rarick, I beg you.”

“Do you care for this man?”

Tyla nodded. “Please don’t do this.”

Rarick made a tsking noise. “I wish there was something I could do.”

Gorn grabbed the chain and started reeling Jarrett in. Jarrett dug in his heels, trying to stay away from him, but he didn’t have Gorn’s brute strength. When he was close enough, Gorn swung. Jarrett tried to duck, but Gorn anticipated it and threw his body forward into the blow. He slammed Jarrett onto the cobblestones with his fist, then hauled him up by the chains bound to his wrists.

“No!” screamed Tyla, turning now and kneeling before Rarick, tears streaming down her face. “No more, Rarick, please. You’ll kill him. Please, no more. Cut him free and I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Tempting as that offer is, I decline.” He leaned forward and his hand was hard and painful under her chin. “I want the power, Tyla. I only want to see what you can do with it. You can end all of this torture with one single thought.”

Tearing her chin from his hold, she looked over her shoulder. Jarrett was trying to gain his feet as Gorn stalked him around the circle. Blood poured down the side of his face and he was trying to protect his side. He’d reached a half standing position, when Gorn used both fists to slam him in the back. Jarrett dropped, writhing on the ground.

Tyla struck out at Rarick with all the force she could muster. The blows glanced off him, wave after wave, but she didn’t stop, striking out again and again, searching for a chink in his armor.

“He’s dying!”

Tyla hammered all of her power at him, but it made no difference. She could hear the blows as they landed on Jarrett’s body. And somewhere in the remote part of her consciousness, she was aware of Kalas.

He was standing by Kendrick and she could feel his mounting agitation. She saw him turn, reach for a sword hanging from the side of a nearby soldier, and she knew what he intended. Reason flowed through Tyla in a cold, stunning moment and she wrenched away from Rarick, rising to her feet, tearing her bonds from his hands.

Even as Kalas’ fingers closed over the hilt, Tyla knew he’d be too late. Her eyes lowered to Gorn’s heaving figure and narrowed. Her power struck like lightning, catching Gorn in mid-swing and throwing him into the air.

Everyone on the edge of the courtyard dove out of the way as the enormous body slammed to the ground and skidded to a halt, the eyes staring blankly at nothing.

Silence dropped like a curtain over the courtyard.

Tyla sank to her knees, her eyes fixed on the body. She wasn’t aware that all other eyes were turned on her.

Finally Rarick rose to his feet and walked across the courtyard, his robes trailing behind him. He stood over Gorn’s body, staring down, a terrible look of awe and fear parading across his features.

*    *    *

Kalas drew the sword out of the soldier’s sheath. The other man hardly noticed, his gaze locked on Tyla. Keeping a wary eye on Rarick, Kalas crossed around him and edged to the Terrian’s prone form. He knelt beside him and felt at his throat for a pulse. Watching Rarick from the corner of his eyes, he breathed a sigh when he found one, then motioned at the stunned soldier who held the key to the iron bands.

“Remove him to the dungeon at once and summon Rarick’s healer,” he said. He waited for a nod of confirmation, then rose to his feet and edged toward Tyla. Using the borrowed sword, he cut her bonds away, then gathered her in his arms and lifted her to her feet.

She allowed him to draw her away and he slipped between the stupefied soldiers, quickening his pace as he saw the door to the castle loom ahead of them. He led her to his own chamber. As soon as he eased her down on the bed, she was sick and he held back her hair until the sickness abated.

“You had no choice,” he whispered.

She didn’t answer him, her arms wrapped around her stomach, her cheek resting on his knee. He stroked the hair back from her face. “Tyla, please, you know there was no other way.”

She started to tremble and he pulled a blanket over her, not knowing what more he could do. He couldn’t accept what Rarick had done. Never before had he forced her to kill. Never before...today.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, “I’m so sorry, Tyla.”

A tear leaked out of her eye and fell across the bridge of her nose. One tear and that was all. Kalas knew he should leave her, try to head Rarick off, but he was afraid of what she might do to herself if he left. So he sat beside her as he had when she was a tiny baby and watched the snow fall outside his window.

Night had fallen when there came a knock at the door. He felt his heart catch, but he rose, crossing the room. He opened the door only a crack and Rarick, himself, stood outside.

He felt anger flush over him. He wasn’t going to allow Rarick to torture her anymore. He couldn’t stand by and watch him drive her insane. He didn’t know how he was going to protect her, but somehow he must. He stepped out into the hall and held the door closed behind him.

Rarick’s face lifted in surprise as Kalas braced himself for a confrontation. “I understand you removed her from the courtyard.”

Kalas lowered his eyes to a spot midway on Rarick’s chest. The cut on his cheek throbbed with the blood that was flooding his face. He wanted to answer him verbally, but he could only force himself to nod.

“I want to see her, Kalas.”

“She’s ill. I don’t think she can take any more tonight. It’s taken me a long time to calm her down and if she were to see you again, just yet, I’m not sure what she’d do.” He braced himself for a blow, his eyes lowering to Rarick’s hands. They curled into fists and Kalas blinked, fighting an urge to flinch, but Rarick didn’t strike him.

“What do you mean?”

Kalas forced himself to meet Rarick’s yellow gaze. “You got what you wanted,” he said. “You saw what she’s capable of doing, but if you drive her mad, if you make her lose her sanity, what will that accomplish? You’ll never control her then.” He felt bile rise in his throat, but he choked it down. “Let it go for now. Let her adjust to what she’s done. Take your time and you’ll have the weapon you’ve wanted all along.”

Rarick lifted his hand and Kalas couldn’t help but flinch; however, he simply stroked his beard with it. “Point taken, but we’ve got plans to make that won’t wait for daylight.” He grasped Kalas by the shoulders and Kalas tried not to shudder. “Do you realize how close we are to complete domination?”

Kalas forced a nod.

Rarick’s fingernails dug into his shoulders. “A step away, only a step.” He clapped him hard and released him. “Come, then. We’ll make plans instead. You’re right. My weapon can wait for another day.”

Kalas reached behind him and flattened his palm on the door. If he kept Rarick with him, he could keep him from Tyla, at least for the night. Right now, his tortured thoughts wouldn’t let him get beyond that one small fact and he grabbed onto it like a lifeline.

Nodding woodenly, he followed behind the Sarkisian King.

*    *    *

A soldier threw Kendrick into the dungeon and he slammed into Muzik’s broad back. He grunted an apology and turned to watch as the door was shut behind them. When he glanced back around, he was surprised to find Jarrett lying on a pallet, a small, wizen man bending over him. Rage sparked in the Nazarien and he crossed the floor, grabbing the man by the arm and throwing him up against the wall.

“Stop, Kendrick!” shouted Muzik. “He’s Rarick’s healer.”

The little man blinked up at Kendrick with owlish eyes, magnified behind thick glasses. “Prince Kalas sent me.”

Kendrick sighed and released him. “I’m sorry,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I’m wound tight, I guess. Please forgive me.”

“I understand,” said the little man and went back to tending Jarrett’s wounds.

Kendrick moved away to give him space and hunkered down against the mossy wall beside Muzik. Muzik shook his head. “Did you see her? She was magnificent.”

Kendrick gave the commander a stunned look. “She killed a man.”

Muzik snorted in response. “He deserved it.”

Kendrick braced his skull with both hands. “Do you think Tyla’s going to feel the same way? She’s a healer, Muzik.” He made a motion at the little man working over Jarrett. “She’s afraid enough of her power, afraid it will turn her into the very thing Rarick made her today – a killer.”

“What choice did she have?”

Kendrick exhaled and closed his eyes. “None, but think what this means. Rarick has his weapon, and such a weapon. No one will be able to stand against him.”

Muzik didn’t answer.

“Kendrick?”

Kendrick’s head snapped up and he rose to his feet, hurrying over to the pallet and taking a seat at Jarrett’s side. “How do you feel?”

“Like raw meat,” murmured the Terrian, lifting a hand to feel his bruised jaw.

Kendrick looked at the healer. “How bad is it?”

“Lot of bruising, some abrasions, a few cracked ribs, but nothing that won’t heal in a few weeks. Luckily, nothing’s seriously broken,” he said, packing up his medicinals and bandages.

“Thank you,” said Kendrick, but the healer merely nodded and waddled toward the cell door.

Muzik slid over to the end of the pallet. “I thought for sure you were dead.”

Jarrett gave a short nod, but didn’t answer.

Kendrick looked away. “We’ve certainly made a mess of this.”

Jarrett’s eyes opened and Kendrick felt them searching his face. “Yes, we have, but what do we do now?”

“We’ve got to get her out of here.” Kendrick shifted uncomfortably on the pallet. He didn’t want to broach the next subject, but he felt it was necessary. “Can you contact her, find out if she’s all right?”

Jarrett carefully shook his head. “She contacts me and I haven’t felt her touch for hours.”

Kendrick met his gaze. “Do you think she’s all right?”

Jarrett stared at him a moment in silence, then he drew a shallow breath. “I just don’t know,” he answered.

*    *    *

Tyla sat for a long while staring at the door. Her thoughts were at war within her, a tumult that seethed and surged in her mind. Forcing herself to calm, she pulled the thoughts together and pushed each separate one away, until one single thought was left. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the single thought to the foremost of her mind.

She had to escape.

She rose to her feet and stepped before the mirror. Her emerald eyes seemed strangely bright against the dark, sunken appearance of her face. Wisps of hair had fallen out of her braid and lay plastered against her forehead. She reached up and braided her hair once more, then wiped the remaining tears from her eyes.

She leaned against the vanity and stared at her reflection. So now it’s done, she thought, he’s finally made you do the thing you swore you’d never do. You are now a killer.

She straightened. So little else should matter. She’d stepped over the boundary she’d imposed on herself all these years, she’d stepped over it and she could never step back. For the last ten years, she’d used her power little, afraid that each use would drive her closer and closer to this moment, but that made no difference now.

When she’d struck out at Gorn, she’d done so knowing that she would kill him. She’d turned all of the power she had pitted against Rarick to him and even as it had left her body, she knew what she’d done. She had even felt a moment of exhilaration.

So there it was. Rarick must have known that she would enjoy the taste of her own power, of her own ability to destroy. And it had been easy. So very easy. Life was fragile and her power was great. She bit her lip and stared hard at her reflection, then she shut her eyes and took a few long, deep breaths. What was she becoming?

It didn’t matter now. What mattered was that no one else should ever profit from her power. What mattered was that only she should control it, only she should control her life. She had to escape.

She must take herself so far away that Rarick would never find her. It didn’t matter if she used her power now, and she knew she must if she was going to get away.

The door was locked, she’d heard the bolt slip after Kalas had left. Her eyes shifted to the window, but she shook her head. No, she needed to be in the castle. She needed to find a way into the dungeon.

She looked at her reflection again and smoothed her dress. She needed a few things if she was going to make this work. She crossed the room and opened Kalas’ closet. She pulled out a plain white shirt and a pair of black trousers.  Pulling off her dress, she put on her brother’s clothes. Kalas wasn’t a large man, but his clothes were far too big for her.

She tied the ends of the shirt around her waist and cuffed and tucked the pants into her boots, lacing them tightly to secure them. She took a long cloak and another shirt from the closet, and stuffed them into a knapsack. Looking around the room, she wondered what else she would need.

Then she remembered that Jarrett would need some sort of medicine, at least to ease his pain. Her healing bag was in her room and she couldn’t risk returning there, but she’d dried some herbs in the main kitchen just four days ago. They would be ready by now, if only she could get to them. But first she must get out of this room.

She crossed to the door and put her ear against it. She’d heard Kalas tell a guard to stand watch outside. If she could make a connection with him, she’d be able to affect his will. She closed her eyes and concentrated. It took a great deal of time, but finally the bolt slipped free of the lock.

She stepped away from the door and watched as the guard peeked in, then stepped into the room. She moved through the shadows beside him and he turned, his hand falling to his sword. With a touch of her power, she stopped the flow of blood to his brain and his eyes rolled up in his head. His legs crumpled and he sank to the floor. Tyla released him and the blood began to flow normally.

She bent beside him and unhooked the belt that held his sword, strapping it around her own waist. It was too large and cumbersome, but she knew that either Muzik or the Nazarien would need a weapon. She hesitated a moment and bent close to the guard. “Please forgive me,” she said and placed her hand on his forehead. Then she rose and moved to the door, peering out.

The hallway beyond Kalas’ chamber was empty. She stepped out and closed the door behind her, balancing the knapsack on her shoulder. She crossed to the very end of the hall, past many closed doors and a few open ones, but no one appeared to intervene. Finally, she reached the spiral staircase that led to the main kitchen, the servants’ stairs. She opened the door and slipped into the darkened stairwell. She didn’t stop to light a lamp, but wound down as quickly as she could, one hand on the rail, the other held slightly before her to part any cobwebs. Then through the dark came a glimmer of light from the kitchen itself, and the smell of roasted meats rose to her senses.

Tyla rarely ate meat, but the smell was suddenly the most delicious one she’d ever experienced and her mouth began to water. She paused in the shadows, just under the stairs, and peered into the kitchen.

Sarkisian guards stood at the far end, but they were turned in the opposite direction. She looked at each of the cooks in the large, steamy kitchen and finally located Greypen, Tarnow’s personal cook.

She shrank back further in the shadows and narrowed her eyes, concentrating on his broad, damp, red face. His head lifted and he turned to look in the direction of the spiral staircase. Then he glanced over his shoulder at the soldiers, noting that their backs were still turned, and stepped into the dark stairway. Tyla moved forward and touched his arm. His face lit in surprise, then he smiled and embraced her.

She put her finger to her lips to silence him and leaned close so she was speaking just into his ear. “Greypen, I need your help.”

“Name it, Your Majesty, and it’s yours,” he said.

Tyla smiled. “I knew as much. Do you remember the medicinals I brought in from the garden to be dried?”

Greypen nodded.

“I need a small pack of them, specific ones only because I won’t be able to carry much. Can you get them for me?”

The cook nodded again and bent close while she whispered her order to him. Then he slipped into the kitchen and Tyla leaned back in the shadows to wait.

Her knowledge of healing was, for the most part, innate. Her father had been one of the greatest healers of his time. He’d learned a great deal from the Nazarien and some from the Temerian Stravad, but most of what he’d known had also been innate. Like Talar, Tyla instinctively knew which herbs produced which effects and which to avoid altogether.

It seemed to take an unbearably long time for Greypen to return. She listened to the noises all about her, certain that her departure would soon be discovered. She moved restlessly in the shadows and then Greypen appeared. He pressed a small, tightly wrapped package into her hands and even through the wrappings, Tyla could smell the pungent odor of the medicinals as they intermingled with one another. She stuffed the packet in her knapsack and lifted her eyes to the cook. He reached into his belt and pulled forth a butcher knife, smiling as he handed it to her.

“I thought this might be a better weapon for you, Your Majesty. A little less cumbersome, eh?”

She smiled and looked down at her clothes, realizing that she must make quite a sight. She secured the knife in her belt and reached up to hug the cook. “Thank you.” She opened a side door that led to a narrow corridor behind the kitchen. She glanced through and saw that it was clear, then looked back at the cook.

“Farewell, Your Majesty,” he said, “May Eldon be with you.”

Tyla smiled. “You could be hung for uttering that name,” she said and he smiled in return.

“I haven’t served you in days, Your Majesty, and you’ve never heard me utter that oath,” he said with a wink and Tyla nodded.

She slipped into the outer corridor. It was narrow and long, winding behind the main hallways of Kazan. These narrow, stark corridors were used mostly by the servants; however, Tyla was familiar with them, using them to escape the castle without an entourage.

She wound through them, one hand against the wall, her senses strained ahead, searching for soldiers. She expected an alarm to be raised any moment. The guard in Kalas’ room would surely have come around by now. Then Rarick would have the entire castle searched. He was clever, too clever. He’d think to have the dungeon searched at once, knowing that she would try to get down there. She’d simply have to be one step ahead of him, so she quickened her pace.

A chill of premonition raced down her spin, causing her to draw up sharp and slip into a doorway, holding her breath as she did so. Two guards appeared around the corner of the corridor headed straight for her. She tried the door at her back, but it was locked. The doorway was shallow and she knew they’d see her. Closing her eyes, she reached out with her mind and cloaked their thoughts with a false sense of security. Despite what their eyes may have seen, Tyla brushed it away and told them that all was well. They passed by without hesitation and Tyla waited until their footsteps died away down the hall. She leaned back against the door and took a deep breath. Controlling the thoughts of two minds at once was much more difficult than controlling one. It took a lot more energy than she’d expected and she had little to spare. She wished suddenly that she’d thought to ask Greypen for some food.

She pushed away from the door and hurried on through the twists and turns of the small corridors. The door she sought lay on the opposite end of the castle and the corridors in Kazan had never run straight from one end to the next. Tyla had to trust her memory to take her through each turn, continually pausing to listen for footsteps. Then when she had just about given up, there before her on the ground was the heavy trap door leading to the dungeons below.

She crossed to it and tried to lift it, but it was too heavy. Drawing the sword from its sheath, she placed the blade against the door and threw her weight into it, using it as a lever. She wedged it open enough so that she could pull it back with her hands. It fell with a loud crash against the floor and she crouched beside it, prepared at any moment to see soldiers appear.

Nothing happened. She sheathed the sword and stepped down through the trap door into the dark stairway beyond. The golden glow of a lamp shown at the base of the stairs and Tyla crept to the edge of the light and paused.

Peering into the light, her eyes adjusted and she saw that only one soldier stood at guard outside the prisons. She was surprised. Usually there were many more soldiers down here. He was standing at attention, his sword drawn, gazing toward the stairwell.

Tyla figured he must have heard the door fall only moments before and was now waiting for a change of guard or something equally as dangerous to her. She took a deep breath and stepped into the light.

The soldier opened his mouth to protest, but Tyla stopped him by raising her hand. “I don’t want to hurt you. Please don’t make me. I only want to see the dog.”

“You aren’t supposed to be down here,” said the soldier, moving toward her.

Tyla sighed. “I don’t have time to argue and I really don’t want to hurt you.”

The guard shook his head, but as he opened his mouth to speak, his words caught in his throat and he fell to the ground, the sword dropping from his hand. Tyla bent down, checked his pulse, and then unhooked his belt, slipping a large ring of keys from it. She rushed to the door of the cell. She fumbled with the key ring, but her fingers closed over the right one and she shoved it into the lock. Then with Kendrick and Muzik’s help, she pulled open the door. She gave each of them a brief embrace and then pressed the keys into Muzik’s hand.

“Get Kian, please,” she said, then turned to Kendrick. “See if you can secure the trap door up there.” She motioned to the staircase. “It was too heavy for me. Then bring this man into the cell. We’ll lock him in before we go, so he won’t be able to sound the alarm.”

Without waiting for Kendrick to respond, she hurried into the cell and dropped to her knees beside Jarrett. He caught her in his arms and she buried her head in his neck for a moment. Then she straightened, swinging the knapsack over her shoulder. She opened it and tore into the small packet, removing a dark brown root. She cut it in half with the knife in her belt and put half of it in his mouth.

“Chew this. It will ease the pain,” she said. “Tell me where the worst wounds are. We don’t have much time.”

He took her hand and held it between both of his own as she reached for the buttons on his shirt. “A healer’s already seen me. He cleaned the abrasions and wrapped my ribs.”

Tyla gave him a skeptical look. “How? I’m the only healer at the castle.”

“No, Rarick has one. Kalas sent him.”

Tyla sat back and dropped her hands into her lap.

“Tyla?”

She forced the thought away. She didn’t have time to think about Kalas or all he meant to her just now. Before she could answer, Kian bounded into the cell, smothering Tyla with kisses.

Tyla threw her arms around him, feeling tears start in her eyes. She’d been so afraid they’d had him destroyed. Muzik entered and moved to Jarrett’s pallet, offering him a shoulder to help him lever himself to his feet. Tyla studied him worriedly, but he gave her a tight smile and motioned to the door.

“We better go,” he said, then hobbled beside Muzik toward the entrance.

Kendrick appeared, dragging the guard. Tyla helped him arrange the young man on the pallet, then they shut the door and Tyla locked it, placing the keys on the guard’s chair.

“What now?” asked Kendrick.

“And how did you do all this?” said Muzik.

“First things first,” said Tyla, “I’ll explain how later, but we’ve got to get away. Soon they’ll turn the castle inside out and this will be one of the first places they’ll look. I left another soldier in Kalas’ room and he should be coming around about now. We don’t have much time.” She turned to Muzik. “Did Tarnow ever take you through the catacombs?” Muzik nodded and Tyla continued. “I seem to remember him telling me there was a secret door once you made it through that would lead you to the outside, outside the wall of Kazan. Is that correct?”

“Yes, there’s a door. Lord Tarnow had it built, the entire catacombs and the door to the outside, in case he should need to escape Kazan unseen. He showed me the way through many years ago, but I remember very little of it now. You first go through the wine cellar and then the catacombs wind back and forth under the castle – they even backtrack on themselves in places. I don’t think I can find the way.”

“You must. We haven’t any other choice. We can’t go back into the castle. This is the only way out. You need to remember, Muzik.”

“I’ll try,” he answered. Taking two torches from the wall of the dungeon, he gave one to Tyla and kept one himself. Leading the way, he took them behind the staircase that led to the trap door and went to the end of the corridor where a door stood hidden in the shadows. He turned the handle and pulled it open with a loud groan. Cobwebs and dust came with it and fell on the four companions. They brushed them away and peered into the dark wine cellar.

Muzik signaled them through and then pulled the door closed behind them. They were left now in the dank, dark cellar with only the light from two torches to guide them. Wine casks rose on all sides, huge casks, larger even than Muzik, of oak with black iron rings around the base and top. The air was close and musky, smelling faintly of vinegar and leaving a crystalline trace in the back of their throats.

Muzik led the way across the dirt floor, Kendrick and Tyla supporting Jarrett between them. The wine cellar and adjoining catacombs were deep underground. None of them were dressed for the cold. They had prepared for their escape weeks before, but now their parkas, coveralls, maps and provisions were all locked away within the castle.

Pushing aside their discomfort, they hurried on through the twists and turns of the wine cellar, past the many casks and barrels, afraid that at any moment the soldiers from Sarkisian would appear at their backs.

One of the huge casks had fallen from its perch on top of the others and had split, spilling its contents into the dry earth. The cask, itself, lay blocking their way and they were forced to backtrack and climb over a few of the smaller ones, which proved difficult for Jarrett. They rested once before they left the wine cellar, then moved on into the narrower and damp catacombs.

Cobwebs grew particularly thick here and Tyla found herself brushing them away from her face every few feet. On and on they wound, heading north as Muzik suspected they should go, then turning completely around until they were heading south again. Tyla began to wonder why Tarnow would have made these tunnels so confusing, but Muzik told her that they were natural lava tubes, widened and supported by castle workers. According to him, they wound for miles and miles beneath most of Nevaisser.

It felt as if hours slipped away. Small rodents scurried underfoot and once or twice, Kian halted as if he heard something behind them. Tyla watched him and halted each time, feeling for any sign of pursuit. They’d been traveling toward the south for a long time now, or at least they thought they were going south. Tyla just couldn’t believe the tunnels could extend much further.

They halted again when they came to a small underground stream that had pushed its way up through the floor of the catacombs and ran across their path. The water still flowed, even in winter, signifying exactly how deeply they had traveled underground. They stepped over it and continued on. Tyla rubbed her arms. It was getting even colder.

When they had gone a little farther, Muzik suddenly stopped and turned to face them. “I’m lost. I have no idea where we are or which direction to turn anymore.”

Tyla shifted her gaze to Jarrett. The Terrian’s face was damp with perspiration despite the cold. “Let’s rest,” she said and helped Jarrett sink to the ground. Pulling out her knapsack, she reached for her healing kit and opened it. “Show me where you’re hurt.”

“I’m fine. I just need to rest,” he responded, but she could tell by the expression on his face that he wasn’t.

“Jarrett...” she began, but his eyes had shifted away from her.

She looked over her shoulder. Kian was standing in the tunnel, the hackles on his back rising. A low growl vibrated in his throat. Behind them in the dim light of their torches, Tyla could see their footprints and the unmistakable imprint of a massive paw.

Kendrick drew his weapon as Jarrett struggled to stand again.

“Please, Muzik,” pleaded Tyla, grasping his arm. “How do we get out of here?”

He shook his head. “There was a trap door and a ladder.”

“Could we have missed it?”

“Maybe. I can’t remember.” His voice was edged with panic.

Tyla’s eyes searched his face, but she knew there was no time to try and read his thoughts. Lowering her head, she closed her eyes, trying to forget the fear that pulsed around them. Her power whispered beyond her, flowing like smoke through the tight catacombs, probing the walls, curling across the ceiling, caressing the ground. She was aware of her companions whispering and of Kian’s growl, but she forced them to the back of her consciousness, letting her power slip farther and farther away from them. Opening her eyes, she pulled herself back to the moment, marking their battle-ready stances and the distant sounds of armored feet approaching.

“This way,” she whispered and holding the torch aloft, turned down a tunnel on their right.

They hesitated, then Jarrett followed her. As they went, the sounds of marching feet became distinct behind them. Jarrett stumbled, but Kendrick caught him, bracing him with his shoulder. Muzik pushed past them and took over rear guard.

Slowing to a walk, Tyla lifted the torch. It illuminated the frayed edge of a rope ladder dangling from the ceiling. Suddenly Kendrick was at her side.

“I’ll go first,” he said and tested the ladder before scrambling up to the trapdoor.

He fumbled with something above his head, then shoved upward with his shoulders. A wedge of night sky shone down on them. His upper body slipped through the opening, then he climbed out and disappeared from sight.

“Come up,” came his voice above them and Tyla could just make out his silhouette against a backdrop of stars.

“What about Kian?” she said to Muzik.

“No worries,” answered the captain. He reached down and bodily hauled the dog onto his shoulders.

Tyla couldn’t help but laugh as Kian swung his heavy head around and looked at her as if to say Oh, the indignity. “Go on,” she motioned.

Using one hand to hold the dog in place, Muzik gripped the rope in the other and began to climb. It groaned against his weight, but held and soon Tyla could see him lifting Kian into the open.

“Can you make it?” she asked Jarrett. She had to try not to notice the sound of pursuit closing in on them.

“After you,” he answered, his attention divided between the ladder and the tunnel behind them.

Tyla started to protest, then decided they didn’t have time and grabbed the ladder. She didn’t like the way it swayed as she climbed, but she gritted her teeth and forced herself to keep going, knowing that Jarrett wouldn’t try it until she was safe.

As soon as her head cleared the opening, Kendrick and Muzik hauled her to safety.

“Now, Jarrett!” shouted Kendrick into the hole.

Tyla glanced around. They’d climbed out of a manhole cover in the middle of an alley. Garbage lined both sides of the street, discarded boxes and foodstuff. The smell of rotting fruit was almost overpowering.

Turning back around, she watched as Kendrick and Muzik hauled Jarrett through the opening, where he slumped beside them, breathing hard. Grabbing the knife Greypen had given her, she pushed past the three men and placed the blade against the ladder. Muzik reached to help her, but she started sawing on her own.

The rope was dry and brittle, while the knife was sharp. She parted one half of it and set to work on the other. When she was almost through the other side, a flurry of movement caught her eye. She peered into the tunnel. A light was bobbing across the walls and floor.

“Get back!” she hissed at her companions and continued to cut.

A torch bobbed into view and she glanced down into the stunned eyes of a soldier.

“Fire!” he shouted.

Tyla ducked as they let loose a volley of arrows. Most struck the ceiling of the tunnel, but one whizzed past them, arcing as it lost velocity and falling to land on the other side of the trapdoor. One soldier grasped the ladder and started climbing, the rope swinging and spinning around and around. Tyla scrambled back to the remaining connection and began sawing again. The soldier was halfway up when the rope gave. He screamed as he fell, but he landed on a number of his fellow soldiers below him.

Even as she chanced a last look inside, Kendrick pulled the trapdoor up, letting it fall with an echoing bang across the opening. Tyla closed her eyes and slumped beside the door for a moment, panting to regain her composure. She couldn’t begin to decide their next move.

CHAPTER 12

The four companions found themselves outside Tarnow’s catacombs on the streets of Adishian. It was cold without their parkas and the snow fell in driving flurries. Every so often lightning streaked across the sky, followed close behind by thunder.

They stood above the trap door and watched the snow settle on its surface. “What now?” asked Jarrett, fighting to keep his eyes open. More than anything, he wanted to lay down where they were and sleep.

Tyla glanced up at him, her emerald eyes glimmering in the light from the street lamp. “I wish I knew.”

“There’s an old couple I know on the west end of Adishian that’ll be willing to help us, if we can just make it there,” came Muzik’s voice. “Come on, Jarrett. Let me lend you my shoulder for a while.”

Jarrett accepted the help. Each step jarred his cracked ribs and his head ached. It took all of his concentration to fight the nausea that roiled inside of him. He tried to keep Tyla in his line of sight, but that was difficult. Colors and images became a blur, intermingled with sounds and strange smells.

Tall buildings rose around them, situated on narrow streets. Sometimes refuse made passage difficult and the smell became sour and cloying. Other times the scent of onions and fish permeated everything. Flashes of lightning brought Jarrett to momentary awareness and he’d hunch his shoulders as the thunder rolled overhead, rumbling down into the narrow streets and shaking the panes of glass. Kian whined as it passed, his tail between his legs, his ears flattened.

Jarrett tried to keep his discomfort from his companions, but after a time, Tyla slipped beneath his other arm to support him. The feel of her helped ground him a little, and he attempted to look around at their environment, but the cold and the length of the journey was soon pressing him back into a stupor.

Finally Muzik turned into the walkway of a small blue cottage, covered heavily in snow. Jarrett roused himself enough to see the captain look up both ends of the street before opening the little gate. They hurried up the snowy walkway to the front door where Muzik rapped loudly.

Jarrett leaned against the porch rail, fighting the trembling that had begun in his legs. If someone didn’t hurry to open the door, he was going to sink down right where he was. Cold and pain made his teeth chatter and he was grateful when Tyla pressed close against him, looking up at him with a concerned expression.

Chains rattled on the opposite side of the door, then an elderly woman peered out, a lantern in her hand. When she caught sight of Muzik, she threw the door open and her eyes went wide. Jarrett caught Muzik’s quick shake of the head as if he was warning her about something. She clamped her mouth shut and motioned them in, leaning her head out to look down both sides of the street as they passed her.

The room opened into a blessedly warm parlor with aged and faded furnishing and a brightly burning fire. Jarrett sank into the chair closest to the fire, unable to stand a moment longer. He watched as the little woman shut the door and bolted it, then settled the lantern on a side table and approached Muzik.

The next moment she launched herself at the huge captain, who caught her in an embrace. Jarrett and Kendrick exchanged a look, but Tyla smiled. The little woman was saying something to Muzik, tears and laughter making her words difficult to understand.

She was no larger than Tyla, silver hair pulled back in a bun. Her face was plump and red and friendly, and her small, dark brown eyes sparkled. After disengaging herself from Muzik’s grasp, she turned to Tyla and took her hands, bowing and pressing them to her lips.

“Your Majesty,” she said, “this is a great honor.”

Tyla pressed the hands that held hers. “The honor is ours. Thank you for opening your doors to us.”

Muzik rested his hand on the old woman’s shoulder. “Your Majesty,” he said, “this is Sonyan Andrada, my mother.”

“I figured as much,” replied Tyla. “I know there was no other way, but I’m sorry to have brought trouble to your door.”

“You? Trouble? Your Majesty, please don’t speak this way. My husband and I are loyal subjects to the royalty of Adishian, not some piratical usurpers.”

Tyla smiled. “I don’t doubt that, but the Front Guard will be searching for us. We can’t stay here.” Her eyes lifted to Muzik.

Jarrett felt his heart sink, but he understood her reasoning.

“You can stay until morning,” insisted Sonyan.

Tyla started to protest, but Muzik forestalled her. “I took precautions when I joined the royal force, Your Majesty. No one knows that my parents are still alive. After I made captain, I brought them here from Marsino.” Muzik shifted uncomfortably. “Meaning no disrespect, Your Majesty, but I was never sure about the political situation with Sarkisian.”

“It’s why he wanted to join. Muzik’s as loyal to Adishian as we are,” defended his mother.

“We decided that they should take different names. Here no one knows them as Andradas. To their neighbors and friends they are the Langrils.”

Tyla gave the mother and son a wry look. “I’m impressed.” Her eyes drifted to Jarrett. “All right, we’ll stay for the night.” She edged over to Jarrett’s side and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Sonyan, this is Jarrett and Kendrick,” she replied, motioning at the Nazarien. Kendrick gave Sonyan a low bow.

Sonyan beamed with pleasure.

“Jarrett’s hurt. Is there any place where he might be able to rest?”

Jarrett glanced around the parlor. The cottage was small and cluttered with glass knickknack in the shape of various animals. Kian had already found a place beside the fire, his large head resting on his paws. He acted as if he’d been here before.

Sonyan bustled forward at once. “He can have Muzik’s old room. Muzik, help him up, there’s a good boy, and let’s get him to bed. Then I have cold chicken and cheese for the rest of you. Are you hungry?”

Tyla exhaled. “I’m starving,” she said with a laugh. “I can’t remember when I ate last.”

“Poor darling,” muttered the little woman, headed toward the door across the parlor. Jarrett realized she’d completely forgotten her awe of Tyla’s identity.

He allowed Muzik to haul him to his feet and let the captain drag him through the immaculate kitchen to a room in the back behind a wood burning stove. His legs crumpled as Muzik eased him down on the bed.

He had the sensation of clean linens, a tufted quilt and warmth, before he sank back against feather pillows. Tyla appeared beside him, fussing with something on a nightstand beside the bed, and someone was removing his boots.

Sleep, came Tyla’s thoughts and Jarrett let himself sink away, forgetting the danger they had faced only a few hours before.

*    *    *

The kitchen was tiny, but immaculately clean. A row of white porcelain dishes encircled the entire room and shelves on one wall were covered with more of the tiny glass animals. Tyla looked around and liked the feel of it. It was warm and cozy, and it felt very much like home. She glanced at Sonyan and thought suddenly of her own mother. Had she ever had a home like this one – simple and warm?

An elderly man appeared with Muzik, wiping sleep from his eyes and pulling on a rough blue work shirt. He was nearly as tall as Muzik and as wide in the shoulders. His hair had thinned and he scratched the bald crown of his head with two fingers. He looked around the room, then his eyes fell on Tyla. He rushed to her side and bowed low.

“Your Majesty, we are so honored...”

“Please rise,” said Tyla, taking his hands in her own.

“This is my father, Your Highness,” said Muzik, “Gaff Andrada.”

“Thank you for welcoming us into your home,” said Tyla, smiling. “You’ve taken a great risk for us.”

Gaff shook his head. “No risk is too great for my son and our Queen. When we heard Rarick had arrived, we feared for your safety. You don’t know what it means to us to see that you’re both well.”

“Thank you, Gaff,” she said. “I promise we won’t stay long.”

“Stay as long as necessary, Your Majesty. Muzik informed me that one of your companions was injured.”

Tyla nodded. “He’s resting in Muzik’s room now. I hope he’ll be well enough to travel come morning.” Her eyes drifted to her other companions. “That is if we can find a way to get out of this mess.”

“That can wait until morning,” answered Sonyan. “Tonight we’ll eat and get some sleep.” She pulled on a parka as she spoke, then opened the backdoor and went out into the night.

Gaff grabbed three plates off a shelf above the dry sink and Muzik gathered the silverware.

“Please sit, Your Majesty,” offered the older man, motioning at a chair.

Tyla sank into it, realizing that she was exhausted. She watched as Sonyan returned with fried chicken and a round of cheese. She deposited both on the table and began distributing them between the plates. Tyla watched her hands, her stomach knotting with hunger.

“I’m sorry it’s cold, Your Majesty,” she said, placing a plate before Tyla, “but it was in the cold storage out back. Leftovers, I know, are not what you’re used to, but I’m afraid it’s all I can summon at this moment.”

Tyla studied the food, then lifted her eyes to Muzik’s mother. “You have no idea how good this looks. I can’t remember my last meal.”

And without another thought, she dug into the simple fare. Never could she remember anything tasting the way this meal did, washed down with a glass of cold water and a slice of cake for dessert.

Gradually, as the food settled and her limbs thawed, Tyla was able to shift her thinking from survival to something more. She was free of Rarick, free of her duty as Queen of Adishian, free of all control whatsoever.

She was free.

*    *    *

Morning came quickly. Tyla rose at dawn and woke Jarrett. After she cleaned his wounds and gave him a little more of the brown root, she went in search of Muzik and Kendrick. Sonyan told her they were in the backyard, collecting stores from the cold locker. Gaff had gone to try to obtain parkas or some other outerwear for them.

When the two men returned from the cold locker, Sonyan began preparing a meal. Kendrick offered his help, which Sonyan accepted, but the room was too small for any other assistance. Muzik wisely positioned himself in a corner behind the table, trying to keep his bulk from being an obstruction.

Once it was complete, they ate in silence. Tyla’s attention was divided between listening for sounds outside of the cottage and studying her tense companions. After she’d eaten as much as she could, she rose to her feet and retrieved the plate Sonyan had prepared for Jarrett. Taking it to his room, she found him sleeping. Rather than wake him, she settled it on the nightstand beside his bed and returned to the kitchen.

She stopped in the doorway, her eyes coming to rest on Muzik and his mother huddled together over the sink boards. Muzik had his arm around the older woman’s shoulder as she wept into a dishtowel.

Tyla sank into her seat beside Kendrick. The Nazarien gave her a sympathetic smile. Tyla didn’t have the will to return the gesture. After a moment, Sonyan wiped her eyes and straightened, turning back to her guests. She seemed surprised to see that Tyla had returned.

“Well, was he able to eat?” she said with forced brightness.

“No, he’s sleeping and I didn’t want to disturb him.” She clasped her hands in her lap and fixed Muzik with a look. “You don’t have to accompany us any farther. I release you...”

Muzik’s eyes went wide and he dropped to his knees in front of Tyla, taking her hands. “Don’t finish that sentence, Your Majesty. I don’t want to be released.”

“Muzik...” she began.

“No, Your Majesty, please, please don’t say those words. My purpose is with you.”

Tyla squeezed his hands and leaned closer to him. “You are sacrificing a great deal.”

“Not in my eyes,” he answered.

Tyla’s gaze lifted to Sonyan. “What about your family?”

Sonyan’s jaw firmed. “His family’s prouder of him than words can express. We support his decision.” She reached for Tyla’s hand and pressed it between both of her own, bending to kiss the back of it. “Don’t mistake a mother’s grief. I wouldn’t change my son nor the path he’s chosen, even when it takes him far from me.”

“You honor me,” said Tyla, glancing between the two of them. “I can never repay your loyalty.”

“You already have, Your Majesty,” said Muzik.

At that moment, Gaff returned, his large face brimming with a smile. “Stroke of fortune,” he said, then returned to the living room, dragging a large, heavy pack with him. Muzik went to help him and they lifted it onto a chair.

Gaff undid the straps and spilled the contents of the sack onto the table. Swords, short blades, a bow, a quiver of arrows, and uniforms fell into a pile. Tyla reached out and pulled free one of the uniforms, a black uniform made of heavy, coarse material to ward off the chill of winter. As she shifted it in her hands, the red emblem of a panther sprang into view. Her eyes shot up to Gaff's face and he smiled.

“Yes, Your Majesty, official Sarkisian Front Guard uniforms.” He pulled forth one of the swords, silver blade and hilt instantly recognized by all. “And official swords. It sometimes pays to know people in the Revolt movement, eh? A lot of Guardsmen die at the front lines. A good cleaning, a few small repairs, and you have a perfectly good uniform once again. And I think you’ll find they’ll fit fairly well with a few alterations or two.”

Tyla smiled and her eyes gleamed mischievously. “So we’ll go out the front gates,” she said.

“My thoughts exactly. Safest way, really,” said Gaff.

Kendrick rose to his feet, his expression alarmed. “Are you crazy?” he said, looking first at Tyla, then at Gaff.

Tyla’s eyes shifted to him. “Certainly not. I’m sure you know the entire city of Adishian’s ringed in by the outer wall. The wall, itself, is three feet thick and ten feet tall. Ramparts run the entire length of it and are by now heavily guarded with Sarkisian soldiers. This is a city under occupation, Kendrick,” she said sharply. “The only way in or out, without being detected, and we are trying to achieve just this, is to go through the front gates and these uniforms will get us through. No one in the regular reserves would dare to question a Guardsman or a squad of them when they’re going about their business of patrolling the outer lands.” She turned to Gaff then. “Can you get us horses, the white ones, to complete the disguise?”

“I’ve already made inquiries and by nightfall, we should have our answer. You understand, Your Majesty, that these horses are bred exclusively for the Guard. A Guardsman takes better care of his horse than his wife.” He cut an amused glance at his wife and she gave him a glare.

“I know about Sarkisian Guardsmen horses,” Tyla said, and then looked down at her hands. “I also know they must cost a great deal.” She twisted her wedding ring around her finger, a band of gold inlaid with pycantra. It was the only piece of jewelry she wore. She sighed heavily and removed it, pushing it across the table toward Gaff. “Take this to help with the costs.”

“It’s your wedding ring, Your Majesty,” said Gaff in shock and he pushed it back. “I can’t take this.”

“But you must. It’s all I have to give you, and...” She hesitated a moment. “I think Tarnow would want me to do this in order to leave Adishian safely.” She picked up the ring and closed it in Gaff’s hand. Then she looked across the table at Kendrick. “To ease your mind a little,” she said, “I can shield us with my power, make the guards on duty think that nothing unusual is happening, as long as there aren’t too many.” Her eyes grew distant. “And as long as Rarick isn’t among them.”

“Then we’ll wait until he isn’t,” said Kendrick.

*    *    *

They spent the rest of the day talking about the way they’d proceed if they were able to get the horses, and trying on their uniforms. Sonyan made some last minute alterations and pressed them. They napped, rising at dusk to help Sonyan and Gaff prepare a meal of fresh bread and butter, sweet ham, potatoes and dried fruits from the cold storage. Tyla cleaned Jarrett’s wounds once again and noticed that they had already begun to close over. This day’s rest would do him good, she decided, and refused to let him do much of anything but sleep, which he seemed to need. They were afraid to go out into the yard so their day became confined to the house. Sonyan even kept the drapes pulled, lest her neighbors should think to look inside.

The snow fell steadily all day. Tyla was tired of the snow and wished spring would show, if only for a while, but by dusk the storm hadn’t lessened a bit. She stopped looking outside, so dreary and unchanging was the landscape. Sitting herself before the fireplace in the living room, she brushed Kian’s heavy coat with her fingers and worried about their plans.

Kendrick joined her. “In a few weeks, we might be in Temeron,” he said.

“I’ve never given it much thought, but it does seem like a haven to me now.”

“I’m anxious to see the city. I’ve heard stories of its beauty. I can’t imagine what it will feel like to be in the birthplace of Eldon. Humbling, I’m sure.”

Tyla smiled at him. The oppressiveness of Rarick’s control had begun to slip from her and she could almost believe in a future without his shadow looming over everything. “I didn’t think Nazarien could be any more humble.” When he gave her a bewildered look, she changed the subject. “I want to see the people too.” Her eyes grew distant. “I can’t wait to meet my grandfather and ask him about my mother.”

“Soon, Tyla,” he answered. “Soon.”

She nodded. “It’d be nice to have a family and not breathe my father’s name in a whisper.” Her eyes met his. “Kalas is the only family I’ve ever known.”

“You’ll miss him, won’t you?”

Tyla thought for a moment. “Yes,” she said finally, stroking Kian’s muzzle. “Lately, I’ve thought I could see a spark of the old Kalas in him, but then...”

“He’s not like Rarick, Tyla. He’s confused sometimes, but I think you’re the only thing he’s ever loved and I think he’d even challenge Rarick for you, if it came down to it.”

She looked at Kendrick for a long time. The fire cracked at her back and a log broke in two, sending up a shower of sparks. The wind whistled mournfully down the chimney. They were alone in the living room. Jarrett was asleep in the small room, and they could hear Muzik and his parents talking in the kitchen as they cleaned the dishes from the evening meal.

Kendrick leaned forward. “You’re beautiful in the firelight.”

Tyla’s eyes widened in surprise and then she smiled. “I didn’t know Nazarien were such good liars. I need a bath and a full night’s sleep, but I thank you for your compliment.”

Kian shifted and lifted his head to yawn. He blinked his sleepy eyes and regarded Kendrick, then his head turned toward the door. Rising to his feet, he growled. Both Tyla and Kendrick looked at it. A knock came then, quick and loud three times, followed by silence.

Gaff appeared from the kitchen, trailed closely by Muzik and Sonyan. The elder Andrada moved to the door and opened it only a crack, peering out. Then he stepped back and a dark cloaked figure entered. The door closed behind him and Gaff extended his hand, which was taken by the gloved hand of the visitor. Then the visitor threw back his hood and removed his cloak, shaking the snow from it.

He was a young man, around Tyla’s age, with dusky blonde hair and large, brown eyes. A white scar ran from just below his left eye to his chin. He was tall and broad about the shoulders. As he removed his gloves, Tyla noticed that his hands were huge and covered with rings on each finger. In his left ear, he wore three gold hoop earrings and a medallion around his neck. His eyes made the circuit of the room and fell on Tyla. His upper lip lifted in a crooked smile.

“Welcome, Earon,” said Gaff, “we’ve been anxiously awaiting your arrival.  Do you have news?”

Earon’s brow lifted. “Anxious, I’d say so. You haven’t even offered me anything to drink or made introductions,” he said, winking in Tyla’s direction.

Tyla rose to her feet, Kendrick with her. She approached Earon and extended her hand. “I’m Tyla Eldralin, and you?”

The visitor smiled his crooked smile again and took Tyla’s hand, bending to kiss it. “I’m Earon, a Revolt runner, Your Majesty,” he answered, then turned to Gaff. “A glass of whiskey, perhaps?”

Sonyan hurried off to the kitchen to fill his request and Gaff cleared his throat. “This is my son Muzik and this gentleman’s Kendrick Andel from Chernow.”

Earon ignored Muzik, but he looked Kendrick up and down, his left brow lifted in interest. “A Nazarien, alive in Adishian? Now this is proving to be interesting.”

Muzik pushed forward, his face showing his irritation. “Who is this man, Father, and how do you know him?”

Earon turned to him and licked his bottom lip. “As I said, I’m a Revolt runner and your father said you might be in need of horses, Sarkisian Guardsmen horses.”

Tyla glanced at both Kendrick and Muzik. “And do you have horses for us?”

He looked her over again and smiled. “That depends on what you have for me.”

Muzik gave a low growl. “Do you realize who you’re talking to, man?”

Earon’s laughing eyes shifted to him. “Tyla Eldralin – be assured I’m not hard of hearing.”

“I’m not certain of that,” answered Muzik. “Have you forgotten who she is?”

“Certainly not. She’s the deposed Queen of Adishian and a very beautiful widow into the bargain.” He cast his smile on her again and winked. “Talar Eldralin’s unfortunate daughter.”

“Why you bastard!” cried Muzik, but Tyla lifted her hand.

“Enough, Muzik, most of everything he’s said is correct. What do you require in payment?”

“What do you have to give me?”

“Show us what you’ve got first,” came Jarrett’s voice.

Tyla turned to see him leaning against the door jam. He stepped into the room and crossed to stand before Earon, extending his hand. Earon accepted it and they measured each other silently. Then Jarrett’s blue eyes fixed on the Revolt runner’s. “I’m Jarrett Murata. Before we discuss payment, I think we should know exactly what we’re getting.”

Sonyan returned with a tray of glasses filled with whiskey. She set it down on a table in the middle of the room and motioned for everyone to take a seat. They did so and she distributed the glasses.

Earon sipped for a while, then lifted his eyes and fixed them on Jarrett. “I have six of the finest Guardsmen horses available. They come fresh from the front lines, their riders having been dispatched by Dorland. I brought them from the border myself at a very high cost.”

Jarrett regarded him a moment, his eyes narrowing. “We only need four horses.”

Earon drained his glass. “These are the finest horses to be found in all of Nevaisser. They’re snow white, will blend well with the landscape, and will aid you in fooling the guards at the gate. A squad of Sarkisian Guardsmen usually take a few extra horses with them just for safe measure.”

“How much will you sell them for?” asked Kendrick.

Earon laughed a deep throaty laugh. “Sell them? I won’t sell them. They’re the most valuable equipment I’ve ever laid my hands on.” He leaned forward and his eyes glistened mischievously. “But I’ll lend them to you for a nice little sum.”

“Lend them?” said Tyla, shaking her head. “We won’t be returning to Nevaisser.”

Earon’s eyes bore into her. “And where would you be taking them?”

Muzik and Kendrick started to protest the question, but Tyla lifted her hand again and they fell silent. “That’s no business of yours, just know we won’t be returning them.”

Earon laughed. “Aren’t you a gem,” he said. “Beautiful and sharp tongued, my kind of woman.”

Jarrett exhaled in annoyance. “Enough of the game playing. Will you sell us the horses and if so, what’s your price?”

Earon shifted his gaze to the Terrian and he eyed him as if he wasn’t sure whether he was bluffing or not. Then he leaned back in his seat. “I told you I wouldn’t sell the horses, but I will lend them to you.” When the group started to protest again, he held up his hands. “Hear me out. I intend to come with you, wherever you’re going, to protect my investment. When we reach your destination, I’ll leave with my horses.”

The room erupted in shouts of protest. Tyla leaned back against the fireplace and watched in silence. It was a curious offer, but as her thoughts slipped into the runner’s mind, she realized he wasn’t speaking with guile. He was a greedy man, who truly believed these six horses were his richest investment. He had no alliance to anyone or anything, except this greed and he wasn’t afraid of going to the ends of Samar to protect his own interests. Suddenly he looked at Tyla and their eyes fastened on one another.

“I’ve also got a little interest in this affair. You should know, Rarick’s having each and every house systematically searched for the four of you.” He fingered the scar down his left cheek. “I have no love of the Sarkisian King. You might even say I enjoy thwarting his efforts once in a while and helping Tyla Eldralin to escape his grasp seems to be a pretty good way to do so.” He fell silent, surprised he had suddenly said so much. Tyla gave him a slow smile. The revolt runner fingered his scar again. “He gave this to me as a gift. He’s quite fond of such gifts.”

Jarrett had been watching Tyla, but he shifted and regarded Earon now. “Very well, another person on this expedition’s welcome.”

Kendrick started to his feet. “Are you mad?”

Jarrett’s eyes shifted to him. “Not entirely.” He looked again at Earon. “We won’t be giving you our destination. You’ll have to figure it out yourself...and you’ll have to stay here, under our surveillance, until we attempt our escape tomorrow afternoon. Gaff, can you get him another of the Guardsmen uniforms in the morning?”

“Where do you think I got them in the first place?” said Gaff.

Jarrett nodded in understanding. “Does this arrangement suit you, Earon?”

Earon smiled and glanced between Tyla and Jarrett. “Stay here until tomorrow afternoon? The Sarkisian army may descend upon us tonight, but I’ll stay.” He scratched his chin. “But there’s still the matter of my payment?”

“Yes, your payment for borrowing horses we haven’t yet seen.” Tyla’s eyes narrowed once again imperceptibly. “You’ll receive that once we reach our destination safe and sound.”

Earon swallowed. “Very well,” he said, clearly surprised that he’d agreed so readily.

Tyla lifted the decanter and refilled his glass. “Drink up,” she said. Her gaze rose to Kendrick’s outraged expression. “My companions and I are going to remove ourselves to discuss your offer.”

“Certainly,” remarked the runner, lifting his glass.

Nodding toward the kitchen, Tyla turned her back on Earon and Muzik’s parents. She entered the kitchen and faced her companions.

“I don’t like this, Tyla,” said Kendrick at once.

“I know, but it couldn’t be helped. Until we can get the horses, we have to agree to his plan.”

“We can’t trust him.”

Tyla glanced into the other room. “I think we can. He wasn’t lying when he told us of his run-in with Rarick.”

Kendrick frowned, but Muzik’s face lit up. “You read his mind?”

Tyla didn’t answer, simply gave him a wry look.

“She also exerted a bit of control over him,” added Jarrett.

“A bit,” she said.

“Then make him think he doesn’t want to come,” said Kendrick.

“That’s harder to do. He really believes these horses are his sole capital. A simple suggestion isn’t going to change that. I think he’s a bit more complicated than the average person, Kendrick.”

“I don’t want him going with us.”

“Let’s see the horses first, then we’ll deal with him. All right?”

Kendrick opened his mouth as if he would protest further; instead, he sighed and nodded.

Tyla’s eyes rose to meet Jarrett’s and he gave her a conspiratorial smile.

CHAPTER 13

Tyla woke suddenly and forced her eyes open. Daylight had not yet come and another storm shook the small cottage, the wind whipping across the roof and shaking the shuttered windows. She lifted to a sitting position and glanced around the room. Jarrett slept on the bed and through the half open door, the rest of the cottage was dark and silent. She listened in the silence for a moment, then pushed back the blankets and rose to her feet. The cottage was cold, so she reached for her Guardsman parka and pulled it about her shoulders, slipping her feet into her boots at the same time.

She crossed the room to lean over Jarrett. He slept soundly, his chest rising rhythmically under the blankets. She brushed the hair back from his face, glad to see him sleep so soundly, obviously free from pain. Then she moved to the door and pushed it open.

In the light cast by the few remaining embers of the fire, she could make out the prone figures of Kendrick and the Lawry runner, Earon, lying beside the fireplace. Muzik had fallen asleep in his chair as he stood watch. Down the hallway, she could hear the constant rise and fall of Gaff and Sonyan’s breathing.

Everything was quiet and still, except for the constant rush of the wind down the chimney and the occasional thuds as snow fell from the heavy branches of the trees extending over the cottage, yet even still, Tyla was uneasy. Something had awaken her. She’d been dreaming and as she stood in the living room, she realized she’d been having a nightmare about Tarnow. Perhaps it was the nightmare that had brought her awake so suddenly and made her so apprehensive.

She glanced around again at the three sleeping figures and then turned back to the hallway, but she heard Kian growl. She twisted back around and moved to his side. Kneeling down, she stroked his fur. “What is it?”

He lifted his muzzle to lick her face, then pricked his ears and the hair on his neck rose. Tyla closed her eyes, allowing her power to slip out and into the night beyond the door.

“What’s going on?”

She started and looked up to see Earon standing in the shadows. She rose and faced the runner. “It seems you told the truth – Sarkisian Front Guard are coming this way.”

His brow lifted and he half smiled. “And how do you know this? The dog tell you?”

“It doesn’t matter, does it? If I were you, I’d be concerned. If you’re found here with us, especially as a Lawry runner, you’ll see the same end as the rest of us.”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve no intention of dying for a business venture.”

“Let’s get something straight, you and I, Earon,” she said. “This may be a business venture for you, but we’re not playing games here. Rarick of Sarkisian is not a man used to being fooled, nor is he a man to show mercy to anyone or anything. We haven’t much time to prevent this situation from becoming fatal for all involved, including you, so it seems that I will be taking control, even of your future, for the moment. If you have any objections to this, say so now because I won’t give you a second chance.”

Earon eyed her openly, his gaze moving up and down her body. His lip lifted in its crooked smile. “Well, well, how can I refuse such a woman?”

Tyla frowned. She’d never taken her role as Queen of Adishian very seriously, but she felt no little offense at his insolence. She brushed past him without saying another word and woke both Kendrick and Muzik, explaining what was happening. The Lawry runner moved into the living room, leaning his tall bulk against the doorjamb and Tyla could feel his eyes on her as she moved around the room.

Both Kendrick and Muzik were on their feet in a matter of moments. Muzik hurried to wake his parents and Tyla went to wake Jarrett. When they were all in the living room at last, shaking away the remaining sleep, Tyla faced them, Kian pressed against her side. She rested a hand on him to keep him from growling and warning those that prowled outside the door.

“From what I could discern, there are as many as ten soldiers outside, Guardsmen all. They’re at the house next door right now, working their way down the street,” she said, shifting her eyes to a frightened Gaff and Sonyan. “We need to hide in a place that we can’t be found and we need to take away all signs that we’ve ever been here. We haven’t more than a few minutes, so we can’t waste any time.”

Sonyan looked between her son and the Queen. “If you’re found, what will they do?” she asked, tears welling in her eyes.

Tyla went to her and took her hands. “They won’t find us, not if we hurry. Sonyan, you’ve been very good to us. We can’t let it all be wasted now, can we?”

Sonyan shook her head and fought back her tears. “The cold storage,” she said suddenly and her eyes shot up to her husband’s. “The cold storage will be big enough to hold you until they leave, and I can’t imagine they’ll bother looking inside there.”

Gaff stirred then and the fear drained from his face. “Of course, a perfect plan,” he said, embracing his wife. “It’ll be cold, but with their Guardsmen parkas, it shouldn’t be unbearable and it shouldn’t be for long. Even the dog can hide in there.”

Tyla squeezed Sonyan’s hands, then released them and turned to her companions. “Quick now. Gather all our belongings and we’ll meet by the back door. We don’t have much time. No candles or lanterns, and when they knock at the door, both you and Gaff will have to look as if you’ve been asleep. Gaff, when we’re ready, you’ll go into the yard first to see that it’s clear and if so, lock us in the cold storage and return at once to your bed.”

“And if it isn’t?” he said.

Tyla’s face became grave. “It doesn’t matter then. We’ll have to act on instinct.”

Without further words, they went about their tasks as silently as they might. Soon everything had been gathered and deposited by the back door. Every sign that they had ever been in the Andrada’s cottage was wiped clean. Each one of them expected to hear a knock at the door any minute, but none came and they reassembled, lifting their packs onto their shoulders.

Gaff went out first, peering cautiously into the dark night. He went in his night clothes, his only protection against the blustering storm being his thick leather boots.

The rest of the company stood huddled in silence by the back door and the seconds stretched on into minutes. Kendrick shifted restlessly and Kian whined. Tyla placed her hand on the dog’s head to still him, and then Gaff was at the door, silently motioning them out. They slid into the shadows behind the elder Andrada, their packs over their shoulder. Jarrett halted in the door and reached back for Tyla, pulling her ahead of him. As he did so, his hand fell across the back of her knapsack and the small package of medicinals Greypen had made for her dropped under the kitchen table without a sound.

Then they were out in the night with the wind and snow whipping about them. Their luck held and they made it without incident to the cold storage, whose door stood gaping open in the darkness. Gaff pushed them through and then shut the door and threw the bolt. They couldn’t even hear his footsteps for the mournful howling of the wind as he disappeared back into the house.

The cold storage was a tight, small room, barely able to fit the four men, woman and dog. The men were forced to stand with their heads bowed, so low was the ceiling, and they were pressed tightly together, the huge bulk of Muzik Andrada dominating most of the space.

The air in the cold storage was thick with the smell of sweet, sticky blood and raw flesh mingled with a stale smell of cold. Tyla glanced around the room, her eyes passing across the slabs of raw meat, hanging upside down so the few remaining drops of blood might run out onto the slatted boards. She felt momentarily sick and closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the wood of the outer wall. Yet the smells still assailed her, combined now with the sweaty, pungent scent of fear, given off by those huddled nearby. She pulled her parka closer about her, more for comfort than out of cold and tried to block out the tiny room and its unpleasant contents.

Jarrett’s hand slipped beneath the confines of her heavy parka and found hers. She opened her eyes and looked up at him, surprised at how much she’d come to depend upon him in a short time. Strangely enough, she’d never been closer to anyone else before, and still there was so much to be learned about him, so much that he didn’t even know about himself.

*    *    *

Gaff returned to the house and brushed off the flakes of snow that clung to his clothing and hair. He pushed Sonyan with him back toward their room and removed his boots, hiding them deep in the closet, under blankets and clothing. He didn’t return to bed, though. He told Sonyan to wait in the room and went to stand in the hallway, his ears straining to catch any sound.

He thought he must have waited for hours and had begun allowing himself to hope that they’d passed him by, but just when his hope had almost grown to the point of conviction, a loud pounding came at the door. A spasm of fear went through Gaff and he clutched the wall to steady himself. Sonyan appeared at the door of the room and Gaff ushered her back, shutting the door behind him. He took a deep breath as the knock sounded again, this time much more insistent.

He hurried to the door and tried his best to seem sleepy. His hand reached for the knob and he leaned into the door.

“Who’s there?” he said.

There was a moment of silence, then a murmur as many voices seemed to discuss the issue. Finally a voice sounded, loud and firm. “Sarkisian Front Guard. We’ve come on an important mission from the present King of Adishian, Lord Rarick of Sarkisian. Open up!”

Gaff slid back the bolt and cracked the door open. A shadow moved forward, the door was thrust fully open, and an arm extended with a lantern. Gaff blinked his eyes in the blinding light and backed up. Six men pressed their way into the little cottage, all bearing the blood red emblem of the Guardsmen panther.

The commander, bearing three gold ropes across his shoulder, moved before Gaff. Gaff’s eyes passed over all of the soldiers and then back to the commander. “Have we done something wrong?” he asked, fear evident in his voice.

The commander’s eyes narrowed on him. “We’re on a mission from Lord Rarick. We’re searching for four fugitives who have broken from the Adishian prison. They’re dangerous and must be found.” He cocked his head at the old man. “You don’t have any objections if we search the house?”

Gaff’s eyes strayed to Sonyan, who stood staring into the room from the hallway entrance. He looked back at the commander. “No,” he said, “We have no objections.”

The commander’s stony face was grave. He continued staring at Gaff, but made a quick signal with his hands. The five soldiers dispersed and went to check each room of the house. The commander folded his arms over his chest, the red panther peeking through them. “Perhaps you’ve seen the prisoners or have some information on them?”

Gaff swallowed against his fear. “I’m just a cobbler. My wife and I know very little of what goes on at the castle. Although, we are aware that Lord Rarick has taken control of Adishian after Lord Tarnow’s death.”

“These fugitives are important and even a cobbler would’ve heard of them. One’s a Nazarien, the other a Terrian. The third is a captain of the Blue Battalion, and the fourth is Tyla Eldralin.”

Gaff knew he was expected to show some sort of reaction. “Tyla Eldralin’s our Queen. How can she be a fugitive?”

The commander eyed him. “Was,” he said. “She made an attempt against Lord Rarick’s life.” He paused and his expression grew harder. “Know this, cobbler, Lord Rarick of Sarkisian has taken control of Adishian in its time of turmoil after the death of its King and the betrayal of its Queen. At this time, he and his advisors are reviewing the ledgers of the Protectorate and making a list of the city’s citizens. If you know anything about the whereabouts of either the Queen or the three men who accompany her, it’d be best you tell me now, because if I find out that you withheld anything from me, the consequences will be most unfortunate.”

Gaff again looked over at his wife and he could see her tremble as she hid in the shadows of the hallway. He swallowed hard again. “We know nothing, Commander, but if we did, we’d never withhold it from you.”

The five soldiers returned to their commander’s side and informed him that they’d found nothing in their search of the cottage. The commander listened, arms folded over his chest, then he exhaled. “Our luck doesn’t seem to be getting any better,” he said, then to Gaff’s surprise, he stepped further into the living room, away from the front door.

Gaff and the five soldiers followed him into the hallway and waited while he took one final look through the two small bedrooms. He moved into the kitchen next. Gaff crowded close, his heart pounding in his ears. The commander’s eyes made the circuit of the kitchen and then he turned to go, but as he turned, the lantern he carried struck the table and he looked down. His eyes fell on the barely visible corner of Tyla’s medicinal bag. He bent and lifted the worn burlap in his hands.

Sonyan couldn’t suppress the gasp of surprise that escaped her lips. The commander’s head jerked up and he eyed her suspiciously. In that moment, Gaff knew all was lost.

Sonyan stepped forward, taking the package from the commander’s hands. “So that’s where it’s gotten to. I’ve been looking all over for days. Silly, it was right under my nose all the time.” She forced a smile. “I use these to help my husband. His joints are so stiff in the mornings these days, especially as the weather’s been so bad lately.”

The commander seemed suspicious. “You grow these yourself?” he asked, lifting his brow.

Sonyan laughed. “Oh, no, I buy them in the market. I wouldn’t begin to know how to grow them.” She paused and her face took on a look of deep regret. “I’d understood that they were grown at the castle, under the Queen’s tending hand, but I suppose that’s no longer true.”

Sonyan was not a woman used to lying, but as she spoke these last words, her aged face took on such a look of sincere anguish that the commander’s suspicion wavered. Gaff stared at her. He had never loved his wife quite so much as now. He forced back his smile of pride and lifted his eyes to the commander. The commander hesitated a moment more, looking down on Sonyan, then with an abrupt signal, he left the cottage trailed by the five soldiers.

Gaff waited another hour until he was quite sure the soldiers had gone and there was no chance of their return, then he went to the cold storage and freed the five companions. They hurried back into the house and packed away their Guardsmen uniforms, while Sonyan fixed them up a package of food to last them a few days.

Earon still insisted that he must accompany them to protect his investment and he refused to let them buy the horses out right. He wouldn’t even tell them where the horses were being held. The men were uneasy about trusting the runner and didn’t like the idea of going to an unknown location. They wondered if he hadn’t been bluffing about the horses’ existence all along. Only Tyla was unconcerned.

It was just three hours before dawn when they were ready to go and stood in the front entryway saying their goodbyes. Sonyan hugged both Jarrett and Kendrick, and admonished Jarrett to keep warm. Then, to Tyla’s dismay, she knelt before her and pressed her hands to her lips. Tyla pulled her to her feet and gave her a warm hug, then did the same to Gaff before he could kneel. Finally it was time for Muzik to say farewell to his parents, possibly for the last time. There was no lack of tears exchanged on all sides and as Tyla watched, she felt her own heart constrict. She’d never known what it was like to have parents and she longed to experience even the pain Muzik was feeling at leaving them.

Then they were out in the night and storm again, slipping from the warmth and comfort of the cottage into the shadows and fading from view. Before they rounded the corner of the Andradas’ street, Tyla looked back once more and said a silent prayer to the memory of her grandfather for him to protect the Andrada elders in their absence.

*    *    *

Earon led them on a winding, confusing trek through the back alleyways of Adishian. They met no other people as they went, except for a few Lawries who lay on the back stoops of the houses, curled into tight, unseeing balls from the cold. Tyla was uneasy and her eyes and mind searched the darkest corners of the alleyways for any sign of Sarkisian soldiers. She knew taking Kian with her was a particular risk, for the dog was a beacon to those that might be following them, but she couldn’t leave him behind, he was such a part of her, the only remaining tie she had to Adishian, except Muzik.

Earon left the alleyways of the residential district and turned into the industrial avenues of Adishian. Again he took to the less travelled and less known side streets, avoiding the main thoroughfares and store fronts that were usually patrolled by soldiers at this time of night. Tyla looked around her, realizing that she had never been to this part of the city in all her years at Castle Kazan.

The backs of foundries and smiths were dirty, soot covered places, where the refuse of broken, twisted metal lay in heaps. Harnesses, bits, horseshoes, weapons and various other objects that she couldn’t recognize blocked their path and they were forced to either step over them or walk around. Sometimes the snow covered the refuse so completely that they didn’t know anything was there until they were right on top of it. Their pace slowed perceptibly as they were forced to go forward with more caution. Once Jarrett lost his footing as he stepped on a broken piece of fireplace grating and went down. Kendrick hauled him to his feet again.

As the minutes dragged on, Tyla began to wonder if Earon weren’t in fact leading them around and around in circles. She began to stare at the backs of the buildings a little more closely, looking for any similarities between the ones they’d just passed.

But finally Earon halted at a particularly dirty foundry and sidled up to the back door. He knocked with a staccato rhythm five times and waited. After a few long moments a peephole was slid open in the door and two dark brown eyes peered out.

“Who knocks at this hour of night?” came a gruff voice.

“A friend of the falcon,” Earon said, casting a quick smile in Tyla’s direction, “and an enemy of the leopard.”

The four companions exchanged a quick glance, then turned back to the door, awaiting a response. All was quiet for a while.

“Speak your business.”

Earon shifted and brought his mouth closer to the door. “I seek admittance to retrieve certain possessions of mine that were bought with the blood of Sarkisian Guardsmen.”

Again silence. Then a heavy bolt was drawn back from across the door and the door was pulled open. The inner room was darker even than the night outside and the small company hesitated a moment before entering. Earon motioned them inside, then stepped through the door himself. Tyla started after him, but Jarrett pulled her back, motioning both Kendrick and Muzik forward. Kendrick and Muzik loosened their swords and exchanged glances. Finally, Jarrett and Tyla, with Kian beside them, moved into the foundry.

A click of a pycantra starter echoed in the dark. Jarrett shielded Tyla and Kian’s low growl came out of the darkness beside him. Then a lantern was lit and the light fell on the rough, craggy face of a large man. The man had a dark brown, almost black beard, a crooked, hooked nose and two piercing black eyes. He stepped forward and lifted the lantern first into Kendrick’s face and then into Jarrett’s. Jarrett squinted against the bright light and pulled Tyla further behind him, his hand falling to his sword.

“Well, well.” The stranger’s face burst into a smile. “What have we here, Earon – Nazarien?”

Earon stood to the far left of the little enclosure. They were in a sort of box shaped room with the outer door on one wall and a gigantic gate on the opposite.

“A Terrian and a Nazarien,” was Earon’s reply.

“Well, well,” said the man again. He wasn’t quite as tall as the rest of the men in the company, but he was stocky, his legs slightly bowed with his cumbersome weight. “We don’t see many of your type in this region.” Then he shifted the lantern until it fell on Tyla’s face. He sucked in his breath and let it escape in a long, low whistle. He glanced back at Earon and the runner lifted his eyebrows and smiled, his arms crossed over his chest. “By the light of Eldon’s star,” he said and bowed low, but the bow was filled with mockery. He lifted his lantern into her face again. “Tyla Eldralin – in my keep. Who would have thought? I’m impressed with the company you keep, Earon.”

Tyla lifted her hand and pushed the lantern away. “What’s the meaning of this, Earon? We were brought here to get our promised horses, nothing more. Delay us no longer. Either produce the horses or let us leave.”

The man’s eyes widened, then he glanced back over his shoulder at Earon. Earon shrugged. “Do you not fear me, Tyla Eldralin?” the man said. “Do you know who I am?”

Tyla regarded him for a moment, then shook her head. “No, I don’t know who you are, but I suppose you’re going to make me privy to this knowledge. Truthfully, I’m too tired to fear anyone right now.”

“My name is Revis and I am the leader of the Falcon Revolt, although you’d probably better know us as the Lawries.”

Tyla’s face registered no surprise, although it was evident on the faces of both Kendrick and Muzik.

“You have the right of it. You have no reason to fear me. I know who you are. I know you were Queen of Adishian in name and that this name has been taken from you by Rarick of Sarkisian.” He moved closer and held out his hand. Tyla gave him hers. Her hand seemed lost in the man’s huge grasp. “I welcome you to our headquarters.”

Now Tyla’s face did show a measure of surprise. “Headquarters?”

“Yes, you believed the Lawries were little more than a band of miscreants, didn’t you? You didn’t know we were well organized.”

“You called yourself the Falcon Revolt?”

“Yes, our code name. Actually, we use the Lawries to stir up trouble in the outlying cities of the Protectorates to direct attention away from our main goal.”

“Which is?” asked Jarrett.

Revis glanced at him. “Which is threefold, but I’d like to show you more as I explain our project. Won’t you join me?” he said, and knocked three times against the iron gate leading deeper into the foundry.

The door opened and Revis led the way through, followed by the rest of the company. He took Tyla’s arm and pulled it through his, patting her hand as he did so. The inner door opened up into the vast expanse of the foundry where men were already at work over billows and furnaces, the red glow from their fire radiating out through the grates. The men were heavily muscled and their clothing, faces, and bodies were covered with black soot. The air in the room was close and tasted faintly metallic. It was very warm from the constant fires and the members of the small company felt the need to wriggle out of their parkas, which they slung over their shoulders and continued on.

The men at the furnaces were making weapons of all sorts – spears, arrows with iron tips, and swords. Revis grabbed one as it was hardening in cold water and extended it for the men to admire. Jarrett took its hilt in his hands and hefted it for weight. His eyes studied the keen edge and fine lines of expert make. It was a beautiful blade, well suited for his lean, tall build. He passed it back to Revis without a word and they continued on.

The Falcon leader took them out of the foundry and to rooms in the back where other men, and women now, worked leather, making boots, sheaths for the swords, and quivers for the arrows. Others sewed clothes, light leather armor so skillfully made that it could deflect an arrow. In another room, women sat in a circle, making long shirts of chain mail and in another, weaving blankets of darkly colored wool. As they passed through each of these rooms, the workers lifted their heads and regarded the newcomers, then returned to their work. Tyla was astounded. Everything that Revis showed them had the look and feel of an army making preparations for war.

In the tight rooms of the foundry were not the miscreants that she knew to be the Lawries, the drunken revelers who caused disruptions in the outlying cities of Adishian. These weren’t the men and women who broke windows out of shops and littered the parks and streets with their bodies as they slept off the previous night’s carousing. These were well organized, hard working men and women, who seemed to have a purpose and were risking their very lives for their work.

Tyla turned to Revis and found him staring at her. “You’re amazed, aren’t you, Your Highness?” he said in mocking respect. “You never dreamed the Lawries could be mobilized like this, did you?”

Tyla shook her head.

Revis turned to Jarrett then. “You asked for what purpose earlier. Now I’ll tell you,” he said as he continued walking. “The Lawries began just as you believe they did, a group of disgruntled people, who decided to forsake society as it had forsaken them. I tell you no lie when I say the people of the Protectorates are tired of war and siege. They want a new life, a life of plenty.” He paused and regarded each of them in turn. “The Lawries gave them just that – perhaps not the plenty they envisioned, but a way of unsettling the ruling class. It started in Sarkisian years ago and moved to Adishian. The mission was a simple one,” he said, moving again. “They concerned themselves with stirring up trouble among the loyal citizens, loyal still to the King. Breaking windows, getting drunk – child’s play really, but it was enough to tweak the noses of the ruling class and to keep the soldiers busy.”

“I and a few others envisioned so much more. We envisioned a full scale revolt.” He turned to Tyla and his eyes glowed with the import of his statement. “I said our mission was threefold and so it is – the first being to dethrone Rarick of Sarkisian and see him hanged for his crimes, the second being to dismantle all forms of totalitarian government, and the third to set up a government modeled on the Stravad government in Temeron, a government for the people and ruled by the people, a government for the masses.” His breath came quick and excited.

Tyla eyed him suspiciously.

“We broke the Lawry movement into factions – mine being the Falcon Revolt. We were forced out of Sarkisian, but in Adishian we grew strong. We have thousands of followers, and as you can see, we are mobilizing now for war.” He paused and his eyes took on a haunted light. “And I can tell you we’ll be successful. We’re waiting now for the right time, when Rarick’s back is turned on Adishian and Sarkisian, and his troops are concentrated on Dorland. Rarick thinks Adishian is subdued and in his pocket after the King’s death and your deposal, but he’s wrong. We’re waiting, a seething, frothing, growing force that will crush him.”

He paused inside a storage locker, the walls lined from floor to ceiling with stores of all types – weapons, foodstuff, barrels of ale and casks of beer, and clothing.

“Aren’t you afraid you’ll be discovered? Rarick’s searching the entire city for us, and he and his advisors are looking over all the old ledgers,” said Kendrick.

“We’re very resourceful,” said Revis. “In your packs, do you not carry Guardsmen uniforms? And are you not seeking Guardsmen horses?” His gaze shifted to Earon and the runner nodded. “We come and go as we please, disguised as Adishian and Sarkisian soldiers, now Guardsmen. We go to the front lines and retrieve their uniforms, weapons and horses, we even retrieve their names for our use. It’s a complex ruse and one that keeps us alive. Think of it,” he said, leaning close, his face lined with tension. “Would Rarick ever expect to be struck from within – struck by men wearing his uniforms, bearing his emblem, and riding his horses?” He winked at Tyla. “You wonder how we accomplish all this, don’t you?”

She nodded.

“Again we’re very resourceful.” He reached up and pressed a spot on the wall behind one of the crates. The wall itself swung out into the room, a false front that led back into a steep ramp of earth. Revis led the way, his lantern casting eerie shadows on the walls of the cave. “We built these under here, completely hidden from anyone’s sight.” Tunnels stretched on and on in all directions, winding back and disappearing from view. Some of the tunnels opened up into rooms, which were choked with uniforms and weapons taken off the dead bodies of both Adishian and Sarkisian soldiers. “These catacombs stretch far under the city on all sides and we’re still working on some,” he said as he halted in one of the tunnel entrances and looked down. A handful of men, stripped naked to the waist, worked in the tunnel, widening and lengthening it with pickaxes and shovels. “We could hide down here for days before anyone would think to come looking for us. In some of the tunnels, we’ve stored non-perishables.”

They came upon a row of stables, set back into the walls of the catacombs. Horses nickered from the shadows and Revis lifted his lantern so the company might peer inside. Some were Guardsmen horses, their ivory white bodies glistening in the light, but most were horses of dark brown or black, common horses of no particular breeding. Tyla stepped forward and stroked the silky white muzzle of a Guardsman stallion.

“The horses were our biggest problem,” said Revis, coming to stand beside her. “How do you hide a thing as big as a horse, especially the easily recognized Guardsmen variety? That’s when we got the idea for the catacombs and a ramp by which to lead the horses down. We also decided on a foundry then, because it isn’t unusual to have a horse visit a foundry to be shod.”

“I don’t believe the Guardsmen would bring their horses to a common foundry,” said Tyla.

Revis lifted his eyebrows at her remark, impressed. “Of course not,” he said. “That’s when we got the idea of altering their appearance.” He bent down and lifted a bucket of water, removing a piece of cloth from a stable door. He dipped the cloth in the bucket and reached for one of the dark brown horses, pulling him close and wiping his forehead with the cloth. As he did so, the brown color was removed and replaced by the brilliant white of a Guardsman horse. The members of the small company gasped and Earon crossed his arms in self-satisfaction.

“That can’t be!” cried Muzik, pushing forward. He took the cloth from Revis’ hand and dipped it in the water, then applied the cloth to the horse’s shoulder. The brown color ran from the horse in a streak, leaving a trail of white behind.

“Katsen root,” said Tyla. “Ingenious.”

“Wouldn’t you say?”

Tyla turned then, her eyes piercing. “Why have you shown us this?”

The Falcon leader scratched his chin. “You don’t mince words, do you?”

“I haven’t the time.”

He straightened. “Well, then, come have breakfast with me and I’ll explain myself.”

Tyla sighed. “Listen carefully, Revis, we’re to be out of the gates of Adishian by sunrise. We came here to get horses, which were promised to us, and we have precious little time. What time we do have is being wasted by this tour and idle conversation. Come to the point, Revis, and quickly, for my patience is running thin.”

“Very well,” he said, holding up his hands in supplication. “I want you and the others to join the Revolt. We could use each of you. It would be an unexpected boon to us and give us a decided advantage over Rarick.”

“Why?” said Tyla.

Revis’ eyes grew both hard and distant. “Because you are Talar Eldralin’s daughter. Your father had great power when he was alive, Stravad power, and I’ve heard enough rumors to know you possess a measure of it yourself.” He moved close and took Tyla’s hand in his. “With your power and my leadership, we’ll crush Sarkisian. Nothing can stand in our way, not even Rarick.”

Tyla shook her head. “I suspected as much. Pity I’ve listened to you too long already.” She shouldered her pack and turned to go, but Revis blocked her way.

“Don’t go. Listen to me but a moment more,” he said.

Tyla looked up at him. “No, Revis, you listen to me. I swore that I’d never be forced to use my power against my will. I’m leaving Adishian because Rarick would have me as his weapon. I’m not about to switch sides and fall prey to you after I’ve just escaped him.”

“It’s not the same, Your Highness. Ours is a noble and righteous cause.”

“Is it, Revis? And where does it become something else? No man can have such power without abusing it. I’m tired of being abused, so I’ll leave you and Rarick to devour each other in your passion for destruction.”

Revis grabbed her shoulder.

In the same instant, Jarrett, Kendrick and Muzik drew their swords and Kian’s neck hair bristled in warning. Earon slid back into the shadows, away from the confrontation.

“You don’t seem to fully understand. I can’t let you go. You know of our operation now.”

Tyla shook off his hold. “I wouldn’t play this hand,” she said.

“What other hand do I have to play? A weapon has been given to me. Do you really think I won’t use it?”

Tyla fixed him with her eyes. Why was it every man thought he had the right to use her? “You don’t know what you’re saying or who you’re dealing with. I came here for horses and that’s what I intend to take. Do not stand in my way.”

A calculating look entered Revis’ face. “The bounty alone would buy us as many weapons as we need.”

“Revis…” began Earon.

He ignored the runner, fixated on Tyla.

With a sigh, she allowed her power to slip into his mind. He was not a complex man, greedy and ambitious, but not complicated. She let her power curl around his heart and restricted the flow of blood, not enough to make him black out, but he immediately clenched at his chest as he felt the pressure.

She leaned closer to him. “How far do you want to take this?” she whispered.

His lips parted and he gasped. She exerted a little more pressure, a little more control. “We just want the horses. We’ll leave and you’ll continue doing what you’re doing. If anyone follows us, if any alarm is sounded, I will take particular care to find you and I promise you, your death will be unspeakably painful.”

She released him and leaned back. He sucked in a wild breath and sagged against the boards of the stall. For a long moment, he stared at her, then he dropped his eyes.

“Take the horses, Earon, they belong to you anyway, and whatever else you need. My attention’s needed elsewhere,” he said, the quiver in his voice betraying his raging emotions.

He circled wide around Tyla and backed up the tunnel, turning when he was far enough away. Tyla shifted and her gaze came to rest on Earon. The runner swallowed hard and glanced down, his earlier bravado fading.

CHAPTER 14

Dawn was peeking over the top of the battlements when the five Guardsmen neared the inner gate. They paused in the shadows of the gatehouse and surveyed the soldiers on duty, three in all, the rest scattered across the ramparts. The soldiers at the gate huddled close together over an iron drum they had filled with wood and set ablaze. The morning was cold, although the snow had stopped, and their breath came in white puffs. Frost gathered in their moustaches.

The commander of the Guardsmen glanced back over his horse to the dog’s body slung across the back of his saddle and buried his fingers in the thick coat. He lifted his eyes to the others that followed him, then he steered his horse out from the cover of the gatehouse and toward the soldiers huddled over the drum.

As the soldiers caught sight of the familiar red panther on the commander’s parka and the gold ropes across his shoulder, they leapt to attention. The commander and the rest of his squad saluted them in return.

“At ease,” came the gruff, deep voice of the commander and the soldiers lowered their arms. The captain of the soldiers came forward then and looked over the little squad of Guardsmen assembled at the gate, heads bowed against the chill wind of the morning.

“Commander, good morning to you,” he said amicably and his eyes strayed to the dog’s limp body slung over the back of the commander’s horse. The dog was massive, one of the biggest the captain had ever seen and he recognized him instantly. “What news do you have from the castle?”

The commander had been surveying the ramparts and the men positioned along them, but he lowered his dark eyes to the captain and regarded him. A stock of dusky blonde hair was just visible beneath the commander’s hood and a long, white scar ran down his left cheek. He motioned over the back of his horse. “They finally had this beast put down. Bit the leg of a fellow Guardsman, down to the bone.”

The captain glanced at his men. “We’d heard the animal had escaped with its mistress.”

The commander’s dark eyes narrowed. “You heard right, but we caught him stealing chickens from the south end of town. Once the rest of them are caught, they’ll meet the same end. Except the Queen. Rarick has special plans for her.”

The captain nodded and his eyes strayed again to the dog. Then he looked around the horses at the four other Guardsmen waiting for a signal from their commander. His eyes rested on the smallest of the four, a good deal smaller than the others, a good deal smaller than any soldier for that matter, and he moved in his direction, but the commander stopped him.

“What are you doing? We’ve patrols to be done, while you stand around and warm yourselves,” he said sharply and the captain halted, his eyes shifting between the two of them.

Suspicion prickled his skin like needles and he watched the smaller Guardsman out of the corner of his eyes. The other two soldiers had begun to draw closer, their suspicion also peaked. “Isn’t it a bit early for a patrol, Commander?” he said pointedly. “And why are you taking the dog from the city to dispose of it?”

“Are you questioning me?” asked the commander.

The captain felt his resolve slip and he wished he hadn’t been so bold, but this feeling lasted only a moment. He looked closer at the dog, wondering if he hadn’t seen it breathe. “Forgive me, Commander, I’ve no wish to seem insolent, but with all that’s happened in Adishian lately, and as the Queen and her companions haven’t been found, we must be cautious.”

“Not with a Guardsmen, man! What’s your name? This will be the last day you command a squad if I have anything to do with it!”

The captain swallowed hard, but he was becoming more and more convinced that something was wrong. He hadn’t yet seen the faces of the rest of the patrol and he hadn’t received information from the castle that the dog had been captured. He motioned to the rest of his squad and they moved into position to block the inner gate.

“Even so, Commander, I think it best if I see your orders.”

The commander’s jaw hardened perceptibly, but he didn’t say anything.

“Surely you carry your orders with you?”

The commander’s hand fell to the hilt of his sword and he glanced back at the four Guardsmen. The three larger ones did the same. The smallest one reined in his horse and pressed forward past the commander. He lifted his head, the cowl falling partially back from his face, revealing two emerald green eyes, the rest of the face shadowed by the hood. The eyes narrowed and the captain felt a strange pain in his head.

“Open the gate.”

The captain felt his mouth move, knew words came out, but suddenly a headache was making his temples throb and his teeth clench. He couldn’t remember what had seemed so strange just a moment before and he glanced over his shoulder at his men, his bewilderment evident.

They blinked at him with the same confused expressions.

“Open the inner gate,” came the command again.

The captain reached for the key dangling from his waist and turned his back, walking toward the small, inner doorway. His hand trembled as he put the key in the lock and he pressed his other hand to his forehead. He could feel the blood pounding beneath his fingertips.

He stared at the key, wondering why it was in the gate. He often let squads in and out. Was a squad going out now? He started to turn around, hoping he would remember what he’d been doing, but a hand closed on his wrist and pulled it away. He felt detached from the situation as the key was turned and the inner gate swung open, revealing the desert beyond.

The captain found himself leaning against the rampart as the hooded figure moved close. “You don’t look well,” said a feminine voice. The captain tried to remember why that didn’t seem right, but he couldn’t form a coherent thought. He seemed to remember he had two other men with him, but he wasn’t even sure of that any longer. How his head hurt!

“Why don’t you take a seat?” said the Guardsman. A gloved hand touched his shoulder and pressed him downward.

The captain didn’t think he wanted to sit, but he found himself sinking down the wall until his body met the cold, unforgiving ground. Pressing his aching head into his hands, he bowed it to his knees. “Orders?” he managed to mutter, but he couldn’t remember why that word had meaning.

“You aren’t feeling well and need to sleep.”

The captain shook his head, but it brought more pain. Closing his eyes, he hoped that if he rested, just for a moment, he’d be able to clear his thoughts. He tried to count his men, but that proved too great a chore. He needed just a moment to rest, a moment to let his head clear. Just a moment and then...and then...whatever he needed to remember escaped him, never to be thought of again.

*    *    *

Tyla hesitated outside the walls of Adishian and waited until she heard the gate close behind her. Her concentration was shut in with it, her mind still riveted on those of the three soldiers. Jarrett grabbed the reins of her horse, drawing her after him as the five of them raced across the desert to the east before the first rays of dawn struck the city streets.

Tyla was forced down by the wind and speed over the neck of her horse, her hands, in their thick leather gloves, closed about the saddle horn. The wind blew the hood of her parka off and her thick braid bounced against her back. Closing her eyes, she struggled to maintain her hold over the soldiers, yet she knew she was losing the battle. There were too many of them, and as the distance grew that connection was harder to keep.

She had to hold on, for a little while more at least, until they’d put more distance between them and the garrison in Adishian. Once her hold slipped, the soldiers might figure out what had been done to them and a pursuit would be underway.

Still, she was tired. It had been a harrowing number of days with little sleep and a great deal of stress. She felt her body slide forward until her face touched the mane of her horse. She gripped the saddle horn and tried to force her body upward, but she couldn’t make it respond.

Instinct told her the horse was slowing, then she felt someone climb up behind her, taking the reins from her hands and pulling her upward, encircling her with warmth and strength. Jarrett. She recognized the feel of him and leaned her head on his shoulder, letting her eyes fall closed.

“Let go,” he whispered in her ear. “We’ll handle it now.”

Tyla realized she’d already been withdrawing her power, releasing the soldiers from her control as her body began to fail her. She set them free, then sank into Jarrett’s embrace, moving with the swaying motion of the horse, allowing sleep to descend on her.

She dreamed then of her gardens in Adishian, and of Tarnow...

He sat beside her on the bench in her sanctuary, the one he’d made for her. It was the first and only time he’d ever come there with her. It was spring and the flowers of the garden were in bloom.

Tarnow reached over and took her hand, pressing it gently to his lips. “Listen to me, little one. You’re free now. Rarick can’t hurt you here.”

She was sixteen. They’d been married only that morning. She’d trembled on Tarnow’s arm as they gave their vows and had cried as the carriage had taken them back to the castle. But rather than taking her to his sleeping chambers, he’d taken her to the sanctuary in the garden.

“This spot is yours now. I made it for our wedding. You can come here whenever you like and no one will bother you. It’s your sanctuary.”

She looked at him with tears in her eyes. No one had ever given her anything like this before. Without really understanding why, she knelt at his feet, putting her head against his knee. He stroked her hair.

“No one will ever hurt you again as long as I live,” he whispered, then pulled her to her feet and kissed her forehead.

He left her in the sanctuary and returned to the castle, and she took a seat again on the bench, gazing about at the beauty surrounding her. Then she studied the wedding band on her finger.

Tyla woke to the pounding sound of the horses’ hooves and the whisper of Jarrett’s voice in her ear. She felt his arms around her. He was holding her on the horse before him and her head was on his shoulder. She felt sick and exhausted, her head ached and her mouth was dry. She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep.

She lifted her hand to her throat, where the bulk of her wedding ring was evident under the Guardsman parka. Gaff had given it back to her at their parting, telling her he could never sell it. She hadn’t been able to put it back on her finger, but Sonyan gave her a chain upon which to string it. Tears blinded her as she remembered her dream and she couldn’t stop them.

Jarrett tightened his hold. “It’s all right,” he whispered. “I promise you, it’ll be all right.”

She encircled his arms with her own and held onto him, allowing her grief to spill out. It was the first time she’d been able to cry for Tarnow since after his funeral and although she felt ill, the crying seemed to release all of the pressure that had accumulated within her.

Finally, she wiped her tears away and pressed her cold face into the Terrian’s neck.

“Are you all right?”

She nodded. “I’ve just left my only home behind,” she said, and shut her eyes.

*    *    *

They were forced to stop at nightfall as a new storm raged across the desert. The Guardsmen horses were sturdy and used to long journeys, but Tyla’s horse was tired, carrying two people most of the way. They made camp in a sparse clump of dead wood and Kendrick took the spare horse and rode back a ways to see if they were being followed. While he was gone, Jarrett, Muzik and Earon set up camp. Jarrett made a bed under the brush for Tyla and despite her protest, insisted she stay there. Kian was lain beside her, just now coming around from the sleeping drugs she’d given him. She wrapped a blanket around him and gave him some water, then she rubbed his legs and paws to restore their circulation. She was glad to see him show signs of recovery. She hadn’t expected him to sleep for so long.

The three men set up a lean-to with the dead wood at their backs to act as a barrier against the wind and Earon started a fire, building a rock foundation over the snow from rocks Tyla uncovered under the brush. They melted snow for water for the horses and gave them some of the meal they carried with them, then huddled together under the lean-to, their hands extended over the fire.

Kendrick returned and announced that he saw no sign of pursuit, although he couldn’t see much in the storm. They ate the chicken and homemade bread Sonyan had prepared for them, and melted some more snow to drink. Muzik made a trek out into the storm and gathered more wood. They pulled all the blankets out of their packs and wrapped them around themselves, but still it was cold under the lean-to.

“Do you think they’re following us?” asked Kendrick.

Earon shrugged, the glint of his gold earrings flashing in the fire light. “Who can tell? I still can’t believe we escaped. I thought we were lost for sure.” He looked at Tyla as she sat beside Kendrick and smiled. “What did you do to those soldiers? For that matter, what did you do to Revis?” He shook his head in amusement. “I’ve known him for years and nothing has ever frightened that man worse.”

Tyla didn’t answer, but Jarrett stirred, extending his hands over the fire. “Did he tell us the truth? Are the Lawries a ruse to throw off the government?”

“Revis showed you only a fraction of what he has to offer. There’s an entire arsenal hidden in that foundry – you only scratched the surface. And the Revolt has sympathizers as far west as Chernow.” He leaned forward and his scarred face was lit by the fire’s light. “That’s why he was so excited when he saw you two.”

Tyla frowned. “You said Rarick gave you that scar. How?”

Earon’s hand rose to finger the scar. “You and I have met before. In Sarkisian. I was born there. My parents were peasants – dirt poor. We couldn’t even afford our home, the tax collectors evicted us when I was ten. We lived on the streets, scrounging for garbage and begging. The castle was a favorite place to go, you had the best scraps there.” His lips lifted in a sardonic smile. “I saw you many times, leaving the castle to go on a walk with your brother, in clean, pressed dresses, your hair in perfect curls down your back. You never spoke to me, never even looked at me, and I hated you for it.” He paused and drew back from the fire, shadows falling over his features.

Kendrick glanced uneasily at Tyla.

“One day, though, I ran into you and your brother by the lake beyond the castle. Your tutor had abandoned you – you said it happened often – and you both asked me to play. I was a dirty child in rags and I was ashamed, but you encouraged me until I joined you. We played until nightfall and then you returned to the castle. The next day I went to the lake hoping to find you. Day after day I returned. Finally I got up enough courage to sneak through the castle gate. I found you in the gardens. You had run away from your nurse. I sat down beside you and we talked until it was late. Then you got scared and said you needed to go inside. I tried to stop you and it was then I saw the bruises on your arms and legs. I couldn’t believe it, I couldn’t believe such things could happen to you. You lived at the castle and ate well, and slept in a warm bed at night.” He halted.

Tyla closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the lean-to. She could only just remember such an encounter. She and Kalas had taken any opportunity to meet other children whenever it was afforded to them; they’d both been so very lonely.

“Rarick found us there, in the garden. He struck you and knocked you to your knees, then had the servants drag you off.” The runner paused and dropped his face into his parka. “Rarick broke a switch off one of the trees and had a servant strip me. He beat me until I crawled on the ground at his feet, and as a parting blow he gave me this.” Leaning forward, the runner pointed to his scar. “They threw me into the street afterwards.”

Tyla opened her eyes again. Memories coalesced in her mind. “I remember you,” she said, “I never saw you again after that day.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I don’t presume to know you, Earon, but believe me when I say, I don’t ever intend to fall under Rarick’s control again. You are also free of him and I will do everything in my power to keep it that way.”

Earon’s eyes were distant as he stared at the fire. “After that day, I swore I would never want for anything again. I made wealth the primary pursuit of my life. That, Tyla Eldralin,” he said coldly, “is the only thing that I have alliance to now.”

*    *    *

They rode again at dawn. The storm had abated and the sun broke through the clouds, shining down with cold brilliance. No sign of the Sarkisian forces could be found, and this fact, coupled with the good weather, lifted their spirits.

Jarrett rode at the rear of the company beside Muzik, and his eyes scanned both the expanse of snow covered desert before him and the area behind. He didn’t like that so much of this journey would be made in the open, across the Cronin desert and beyond, but there was little help for it. The land between Adishian and the Grozik Mountains was barren, and they had to come this way to go to Loden.

Through the bright light of the morning, he thought he could almost see the soft swells of the Groziks as they rose out of the desert. They were heavily blanketed in snow. He thought back to a conversation he had had with Shad once long ago, when the older man had told him the story of Talar Eldralin’s trek through the Grozik Mountains in the dead of winter with Tyla’s mother. They had both nearly died – Shara was pregnant with their child, but the pregnancy wasn’t right, and Talar, in desperation to find help, had grown careless and stepped out onto a frozen lake, the ice giving way beneath him.

He looked ahead to where Tyla rode beside Kendrick. They were making nearly the same trek at nearly the same time of year. It was dangerous to cross those mountains in the dead of winter, but there was no other way, just as there hadn’t been almost thirty years before.

“Why do you think they aren’t following us yet?” asked Muzik suddenly.

Jarrett looked at the huge man in his Sarkisian uniform and then down at himself. “Perhaps because of these,” he said, pointing at the red panther across his chest. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

“Well, I know that I’ve never been so glad to be free of anything in my life. I never thought I’d see the day when I was glad to leave Adishian, but then...” His voice trailed off and he looked at Jarrett. “Tarnow’s dead and Tyla deposed, and the entire kingdom taken over by Rarick and lousy with Sarkisian soldiers – especially the Guardsmen, how I hate the bloody Guardsmen!”

Jarrett smiled, then became serious. “You’ll miss your parents though.”

“Of course I will. I wish I could’ve brought them with me, but they wouldn’t have come even if I could. I just pray Rarick leaves them alone.”

“I pray Rarick leaves us alone, but I wouldn’t bet on it,” said Jarrett.

“Meaning?”

Jarrett regarded him a moment in silence, then looked at Tyla. “Do you really think he’ll let her go?”

Muzik sighed. “No. If you were Rarick, would you?”

Jarrett shook his head. “Not after what I’ve seen her do.”

“How are you feeling?”

Jarrett laughed. “Actually, better than I expected. I’m still a little sore, but I can’t believe how quickly I’ve healed. Tyla Eldralin is a hell of a healer.”

Muzik nodded. “Runs in her blood.”

Jarrett’s eyes fixed on the object of their discussion. “Sometimes I forget who her father was.”

Muzik frowned. “That’s not the only thing you seem to forget about her,” he said pointedly.

Jarrett’s eyes shifted to him and he tensed. “There’s a great deal more meaning in your words, Muzik.”

“And so there is – don’t forget who she is and who she’s going to be once we reach Temeron. Tarnow may be dead, but she loved him dearly and his influence is still strong with her. He placed a bond on her, and Tyla’s not likely to break that bond for any man.”

Jarrett felt his fists clench around the reins. “The future is not finalized yet.”

“No, it’s not, but even still, I warn you – Tyla’s in need of someone now, she’s lost everything that she ever held dear, but once the loss begins to dull, she’ll remember the bond she accepted at Tarnow’s bidding, and she’ll forget whatever need she may have felt in the past. I like you, lad, and I’d hate to see you get crushed in the middle.”

Jarrett found it difficult to control his voice. “I think I can watch myself.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Whatever goes on between Tyla and me is our business alone.”

Muzik leaned over in the saddle. “I’m afraid that’s where you’re wrong,” he said. “I told you once before that Tyla has been my charge for the last ten years and that she alone is the one thing I hold dear.” He leaned back in his saddle. “I do like you, but if Tyla should get hurt, I will look at you no differently than I look at Rarick, himself.”

Jarrett met the blunt gaze of the enormous man. He was angry, but there didn’t seem to be anything else to say. He was furious with Muzik for insinuating what he was, and he was furious with Kendrick for being a part in this entire mess. He was furious with Tyla for accepting the bond and furious with Tarnow for forcing it on her, but most of all, he was furious with himself for not putting enough distance between him and Tyla when he knew it was hopeless, and especially furious that his feelings for her had been so evident to all involved.

He slowed his horse and fell to the rear of the procession, preferring to brood alone in his misery. He didn’t know what to do. He’d been so absorbed with escaping Adishian that it hadn’t occurred to him that anyone else might notice the feelings that he and Tyla shared. But of course they had, Rarick had sensed it and had used it to make Tyla kill. So in the end, he was responsible for all that had happened – she’d killed because of her feelings for him and he could have prevented it if he’d only kept his distance from her as he’d promised himself he would.

*    *    *

Earon spurned his horse forward to where Tyla and Kendrick rode. He pulled up alongside the Queen and leaned forward in his saddle. “I don’t mean to interrupt,” he said and arched his brows.

Tyla looked at him. “But you have, so please continue,” she said with a smile.

Earon smiled in return. “I was just thinking that I haven’t once seen your hair out of that braid since I first saw you in the Andradas’ cottage.”

Kendrick gave the runner an annoyed look.

Tyla turned away and her eyes scanned the desert before them. “And you won’t for a very long time...”

“Ah, but it must be a breath-taking sight, being the color of ebony as it is. And your eyes, why...they are the color of the most luminescent emeralds found on all of Samar, and your skin...” He took a deep breath and Tyla looked at him, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Why, your skin is like the color of honey.” He leaned back and winked at Kendrick, who was staring at him in disgust.

Tyla laughed. “You are most flattering,” she said. “My skin is a sickly yellow color? Very attractive.”

He pulled his horse closer to her. “You laugh at my poetry? Perhaps you won’t laugh at this.” He grabbed her hand and lifted it to his lips, then leaned far over in the saddle and fixed his eyes on her. “I can show you a great deal more,” he said and released her hand.

Kendrick spurred his horse forward, forcing Tyla and Earon to haul back on their reins. “Enough! You forget yourself!”

Earon shared an amused look with Tyla. “Forgive me, my Queen. The Nazarien’s right. I overstep my boundary.”

“You are forgiven,” she said with a smile.

He saluted Kendrick, then pulled his horse to the side, cantering back in the opposite direction.

Tyla urged her own mount around the Nazarien. “He was just being playful.”

Kendrick fell into place beside her. “That was insolence, nothing more.”

“Perhaps you might get a sense of humor,” she said, but at his wounded look, she wished she hadn’t been so harsh.

“Nazarien aren’t trained to have a sense of humor.”

Tyla shot a bewildered look at him. “No one’s trained to have a sense of humor, Kendrick.” Then she paused. Somehow she knew he wouldn’t understand what she meant. She studied him and felt a gut deep disappointment. “Do you miss Chernow?”

He lifted his head and their eyes met. “No, my future lies with you.”

She turned away and watched Kian as he loped into view. He’d been traveling far ahead of them all day, running from one scant clump of brush to another, digging and sniffing under it, until it came time to run on again. Tyla watched him, but found that she was thinking instead of Kendrick’s words and the fact that they disturbed her so much. She almost wished he longed to go back to Chernow. It would make everything less complicated, and as she thought of how complicated everything was becoming, she thought of Jarrett.

“Do you know Tomlin Trauner well, Kendrick?” she said suddenly.

“Yes, he trained me.”

“You think a lot of him, don’t you?”

“He’s the best Nazar the Nazarien have ever had.”

“But it’s more than the fact that he’s a good Nazar. You think much of the man, himself, don’t you?”

“Yes, he was always kind to me. There aren’t many Nazarien who can say they’ve been trained by the Nazar.”

Tyla fell silent.

“Why are you asking about Tomlin Trauner?”

She shrugged. “No reason.”

“There is a reason. You’re asking about Tomlin Trauner because of Jarrett.”

She met his gaze. “Yes. Explain something to me – the Nazarien are still a celibate order, except for instances of procreation, correct?”

Kendrick nodded.

“And in instances of procreation, they tend to stick with their own people to keep the bloodline Stravad, right?”

Again Kendrick nodded.

“Then why would Tomlin Trauner go to a Human woman when he felt the need for an heir, and especially a woman that was already married.”

“I can’t explain it, but there have been incidences where a Nazarien deliberately procreated with a Human. Your own father had two children by Human women.”

Tyla nodded, but it still didn’t seem to fit. “Why would they deliberately go to Human women though?”

“Perhaps to hide the bloodline, make it a little less distinguishable, especially in a time of strife. This reason may be very important to a Nazar who has a stronger need for a living male heir.”

“But why a married woman?”

“I can’t explain that, only Tomlin Trauner can and he never saw fit to tell me much about his personal life.”

“What I really can’t understand is why he would have left Jarrett there if he were really that concerned about protecting his heir?”

“Nazarien fathers usually have little to do with their children.”

“But aren’t all Nazarien heirs given knowledge of their fathers?”

“Not necessarily. Tomlin Trauner’s a complex man and his reasons are his own.”

“Do you think Jarrett is Tomlin Trauner’s son?”

“I know that he’s at least half Stravad, so he’s someone’s son, and the fact that Chernow’s so close to Terra Antiguo makes it all the more probable. I don’t think his foster father would have lied to him, especially in his hate.”

Tyla folded her hands around the saddle horn. “Even still, I find it all very curious.” She looked hard at Kendrick. “But then I won’t pretend I understand your order. That would be presumptuous of me.”

“They say your father never understood it either.”

I suppose he didn’t, she thought and then fell silent.

CHAPTER 15

A few days after their escape from Adishian, they rose a little later than usual, feeling the need for a longer rest, especially as no signs of the Sarkisian garrison had yet appeared. Earon decided that they required some fresh meat, so he volunteered to go hunting. Muzik and Kendrick agreed to go with him, leaving Tyla and Jarrett at the camp to break it down. The continual blast of winter storms had abated and the day was briskly cold, but clear.

Jarrett stood beside the horses, attempting to work a bit into his horse’s mouth. The horse tossed its head, throwing off the bit. Jarrett dropped his arms and sighed wearily. The Guardsmen horses were excellent stock, but spirited, strong-minded beasts. It was still difficult for the Terrian to raise his arms above his head and the horse’s playfulness was beginning to grate at him.

He took a deep breath and fixed his determined gaze on the horse’s brown eyes. “All right, now, let’s not give each other any more trouble,” he said as he lifted the bit again. The horse allowed the man to place the bit in his mouth, but as he rose up to strap the bridle on, the horse tossed his head, stepping away.

Jarrett threw the harness and bit into the snow and swore loudly.

Tyla was quickly at his side, taking the animal’s head in her hands, stroking his broad white forehead and speaking into his ear. She bent down and lifted the bit, slipping it into the horse’s mouth and pulling the bridle over his head. Jarrett watched her in amazed silence.

“I’ve given my horse a name. It helps to control him,” she said with a smile. She turned to the saddle, lifting it to the animal’s back. “If you think of them as only work animals, pack animals, then they’re going to do everything in their power to annoy you. Just like Kian, they’re intelligent; therefore, if you want them to do your bidding, you must become their friend.” She slipped her gloved hand into his. “Come here,” she said, drawing him to the horse. She lifted his hand and placed it against the horse’s forehead, but the Terrian wasn’t interested in the horse, rather he was staring at the woman. She gave him a cross look. “Pet him and talk to him.”

Jarrett allowed her to stroke his hand across the horse’s forehead, but he still wasn’t looking at the horse. “I’d rather pet you,” he said, catching her around the waist. She laughed, but pushed him away.

“Stop it! If you don’t want to have any more trouble with him, you’ve got to be his friend. Talk to him, Jarrett. Guardsmen horses like to be talked to.”

“I feel foolish talking to a horse, Tyla.”

Tyla grabbed his hand again and made him stroke the horse’s muzzle. “Talk to him,” she repeated.

Jarrett looked at the horse and grimaced. “He’s not a dog, Tyla. Why in the world am I petting him?”

Tyla continued stroking the horse’s forehead, straightening his mane. “Because he can feel it and that’s all that matters. It makes him feel secure. How would you like it if some brute came up to you, forced your mouth open, and shoved a piece of metal inside, then tried to strap a halter over your head, all without saying a single word, giving you no sort of warmth at all?”

Jarrett’s eyes danced in amusement. To hell with the rest of the world, he thought, I love this woman.

Tyla looked hard at him. “Are you listening to a word I’m saying?”

He forced his expression to look serious and nodded. “Oh, yes, every word. Talk to him.” He bent down and looked into the animal’s face. The horse tossed his head and backed away. “Talk to him and pet him. Talk to him and pet him.” He turned quickly and grabbed Tyla. She laughed and tried to pull away, but he closed his arms about her waist, reaching up to stroke her hair. “Talk to him and pet him.” Still struggling, they slipped in the snow and fell. Tyla pulled away and rolled over, resting her hands on Jarrett’s chest. The Terrian lay back in the snow, laughing.

“You’re impossible, you know,” said Tyla.

“And you’re beautiful,” he said, reaching up to brush away loose strands of her hair. His hand slipped down to her cheek and he traced the line of her jaw. “So very beautiful.”

She closed her eyes and allowed the pleasure of his touch to wash over her. He smiled. “I guess wild animals do like to be petted.”

She opened her eyes. Their slight slant gave her a seductive, alluring look and Jarrett caught his breath. He reached up to kiss her, pulling her closer to him, but then Kian bounded between them, a bundle of fur, snow, and wet tongue. They pushed him off and Tyla sat up.

Kian dropped down and put his head and paws across Jarrett’s legs. “What are you doing, dog?” he said gruffly, but Kian lifted his head and licked the man in the face.

Jarrett grimaced, grabbing the scruff of the dog’s neck, burying his fingers in it, and shaking him. Kian rumbled a deep growl that sounded both vicious and playful. Tyla watched them, a smile lighting her face. The dog rolled over on his back and grabbed Jarrett’s arm in his jaws, but he didn’t close down with his teeth. The Terrian wrestled with him for a few moments, then the dog jumped to his feet, shaking water and snow off his coat.

Jarrett looked over at Tyla and her face grew serious. “We should break camp, they'll be back soon,” she said and rose to her feet.

Jarrett rose after her, frowning. “What’s wrong?” He grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face him.

She looked up at him and her expression grew impassive. Gone was the playful, laughing woman of a few moments before, replaced by a woman of power. “We promised we’d break camp.”

“What?”

“Come on, they’ll expect us to be done when they return.”

“And we will be,” he answered, feeling a surge of annoyance. “Tell me what just happened.”

She looked away from him, over the expanse of unbroken land. Closer to the Groziks, Nevaisser became barren and flat. “I’m promised to Kendrick,” she said in a voice so quiet Jarrett hardly heard her.

“You’re what?”

She met his eye. “Promised. To Kendrick. I don’t want either of us to forget it.”

Jarrett was bewildered. “You intend to carry through with that promise?” He knew Muzik expected her to, but he kept thinking...hoping that she would change her mind.

“Yes.” That, nothing more. No hesitation, no shift in expression. He could see the absolute determination in her face.

He didn’t know what to say. He stared at her, unable to formulate an argument against her reply. She looked down again.

“I just want us both to remember it,” she repeated, then she went back to breaking camp.

*    *    *

The three men returned around midday. Everything was packed away, but Jarrett had started a fire for warmth. He and Tyla shared it without speaking. When Kendrick rode up, Jarrett made eye contact with him.

He rose to his feet and crossed to where Kendrick had tied up his horse. “Well?” he said, trying to hide the annoyance in his voice.

“Nothing,” answered Kendrick. “No game, no sign of game. No soldiers.”

Jarrett glanced over his shoulder at the fire where Muzik and Earon were warming themselves. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Is it? Why no soldiers?”

Jarrett shook his head. “The weather?”

“Guardsmen? Really?”

“No, not really. Even in a blizzard they’d trail us.”

“Unless they know what I’m beginning to realize.”

Jarrett chewed on his lower lip. He’d realized it as well. It made sleeping at night difficult. “We don’t have enough supplies to get us over the mountains.”

Kendrick’s gaze was riveted on Tyla. “I’ve been through lean times, mind you, but those mountains in winter...”

Jarrett followed Kendrick’s line of sight.

Earon saw them. “Why don’t you share your intense conversation?”

Jarrett drew a deep breath. No use hiding the obvious. He strode through the drifts back to the fire and hunkered down. Kendrick took a seat beside him.

Jarrett fixed his gaze on Tyla. “If we can’t get meat by hunting, we’ve got to get it some other way.”

Muzik grunted, but didn’t offer any suggestions.

“We don’t have enough supplies to get us over the Groziks, not in winter and not with this much snow. We need a pack mule just to carry feed for the horses.”

“And between us and the mountains is…” asked Tyla.

“Kazden,” answered Earon. His face lost color. “I’m not taking my Guardsmen horses into Kazden.”

“You’d rather watch them starve in the mountains,” snapped Muzik.

“Don’t you have any of that dye?”

Earon met Jarrett’s gaze. “Yeah, but you think they ain’t gonna recognize her in Kazden?” He pointed at Tyla.

She glared at him in return. “I don’t think we have much choice, do we? It’s Kazden or death.”

“Kazden is death,” snarled Earon. “Think about it, Your Highness. We haven’t had one soldier trailing after us. You think that’s because they don’t know you escaped. Try again. They know and they know we don’t have enough supplies. They’ll be waiting for us in the city.”

“It’s a big city. We won’t go in together. We’ll split up.”

Earon gave a sarcastic bark of laughter. “And which of us won’t draw any attention? The two Nazarien, the exiled Queen, or the giant? How about the guy with the stolen white horses?”

“Kazden isn’t fond of Sarkisian. The soldiers have to march in large contingents to keep from being attacked. There are also parts of the city where they don’t dare to venture. For many years now, they haven’t even manned the gates. We shouldn’t have any trouble getting inside, even if we all go together,” offered Muzik. “If I had to choose any city to sneak into, Kazden would be the one. They’ve always been loyal to your father.”

Tyla gave him a tense smile. “Earon’s right. It’s a dangerous decision we’re making. If we get trapped in Kazden, Rarick will have all of you executed.”

“We won’t get caught,” said Jarrett.

Earon made a strangling sound. “You’re daft! There’s a bounty on Nazarien in Adishian or haven’t you heard?”

Jarrett involuntarily rubbed the scar on his arm. “I know better than you, but there isn’t any other choice. We don’t have enough supplies to see us over the Groziks.”

“You don’t have horses either!” said Earon, pushing himself to his feet.

Before he could move, Jarrett had his sword pressed to the hollow of Earon’s throat. The others stared at him in astonishment. No one had seen him move. “Don’t make me kill you,” he said in a low voice.

Earon splayed his hands to either side and sank back into the snow. “Calm down, calm down. It was all talk.”

Still Jarrett didn’t remove the blade.

“Talk like that is grounds for a change in traveling terms,” said Kendrick, his eyes roving between the Terrian and Earon. “From now on, we’ll be handling the horses. Can you have Kian watch over them at night?”

Tyla nodded, her gaze riveted on Jarrett. “Let him go, Jarrett,” she commanded.

Jarrett withdrew the blade, but he didn’t replace it in its sheath.

“Put it away, man. I’m not stupid. I’m not gonna test you. Keep the horses. Go to Kazden.” He gave a hysterical laugh. “I’m the only one who might be able to blend in. Besides, there are Lawries in Kazden. I can disappear into the underground easily enough if I have to. I was only thinking about you.”

Jarrett sheathed the sword and sat again.

Tyla and Earon both exhaled. Jarrett felt Kendrick and Muzik’s eyes on him. He knew none of them had ever seen him move like that before. He glanced away. They didn’t know half of what he was capable of doing and he’d like to keep it that way. At least for a while more.

*    *    *

After breaking camp, Earon changed their easterly direction to a southern one. The terrain was much the same, flat, barren and choked with snow, but as the day wore on they came across thickets of trees; stunted, twisted trees, but trees no less, and gradually the land began to drop away on their sides until they crested a series of steepes, where the wind whipped around them.

Scrub grass grew out of the snow and the snow steadily decreased, until it was no more than a few sparse patches. Tyla was grateful for the change in landscape, particularly the disappearance of the snow, although the wind beat against them.

Soon she thought she could catch the faintly gritty, salty scent of the ocean. She’d never seen the ocean before, but one couldn’t live long in Adishian without hearing tales about it. She was reminded of the stories her brother told of their father, who’d grown up under the Nazarien’s protection in Kazden. He’d loved the ocean, even though the Nazarien who he’d thought of as his father had been killed by it.

After Soren’s death, Talar had been entirely on his own, living on the streets. Even so, he’d thought of Kazden and the ocean as home, and when things had become most difficult for him, it was to Kazden that he returned.

It was strange to think that she would soon be in the home of her father, that she would walk down the same streets he’d walked down so many years before, and she felt a longing to know more about him, to know why he’d been so drawn to this seedy little city against the shore.

Usually she thought very little of her father. He was only a legend to her and she’d always felt the loss of her mother more. Yet now, as they neared Kazden, it was of Talar she thought. Not the Talar of legend – not the austere, proud and tragic Nazarien lord, but Talar the man, the troubled and fatally sensitive man.

Jarrett rode up next to her, interrupting her thoughts. “Tyla, I’m sorry about earlier today.”

She looked at him and smiled. “Don’t you think I already know that. In fact, it wasn’t any fault of yours. You’re caught in the middle.”

He looked down. “I don’t know if I agree with that assessment, but it doesn’t really matter. It does raise a great deal of problems though and I don’t think we can ignore them.”

Tyla shook her head. “I can’t think about those problems now, Jarrett, but I promise that if we make it to Temeron, those problems will be foremost in my mind. Please, let’s not press it now.”

He looked away. She knew he wasn’t satisfied with her answer. Neither was she. Closing her eyes, she wished everything wasn’t as complicated as it was. She wished she’d never agreed to that vow before she’d known what it was. She wished…

Jarrett turned back to her. “You said you named him?”

She couldn’t help but laugh. His question was so unexpected. “Yes, I did.”

“And?” he said.

“Spirit,” she answered.

He lifted a brow. “Spirit? Really?”

She laughed again. “What’s wrong with Spirit?”

“I don’t know. It’s so…so…”

“So what?”

“So prissy.”

“What would you have me call him? What would you name your own horse?”

“Horse.”

She frowned. “How unoriginal.”

“It’s better than Spirit.” He made such a face at the name that she giggled.

Ahead of her, Kendrick shifted in his saddle and looked back. His expression made Tyla’s smile dry instantly. He looked wounded and disapproving. Jarrett followed her line of sight. From the corner of her eye, she saw his spine stiffen and his fingers tightened on the reins. Then he kneed the horse into a gallop and rode to the front of the group, pulling up beside Earon. Tyla looked down, a lump rising in her throat.

They rode in silence, until suddenly a loud, thunderous roar could be heard rising and falling just before them. Tyla felt uneasy. The sound and the salty smell increased until they crested a rise of scrub grass and stood looking over the ocean.

Tyla caught her breath. The vast expanse of water stretched before her, farther than her eyes could see. It was blue-green and frothy white where the waves licked the shore. The waves arched high, curling over upon themselves and then pounding against the shore with such force that the sound was almost deafening. Faint specks in the distance rose into the sky and then dove into the waves, lifting up from the water and circling back again. She’d never seen anything as massive or beautiful as this before. In all her years in Adishian, she’d never been allowed to come to Kazden. The sight was so alluring that she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

Finally Earon cleared his throat. “I don’t want to interrupt all this reverence, but we’re exposed on this incline. I suggest we move before someone sees us standing here like offerings. We need to find some place to hide and dye these white horses brown.”

“How much farther is Kazden?” asked Jarrett.

Earon shifted in his saddle and pointed behind him. Tyla followed the direction he pointed and saw the faint line of a city sheltered beneath the cliffs. Kazden had been built so close to the ocean’s edge that only the steep cliffs along the shore prevented it from being sunk in waves. It didn’t look to be more than an hour’s ride away.

She gave an involuntary shudder. For the first time in her life, she felt as if she was walking in the footsteps of her father, and her lack of knowledge about him had never seemed so great. Suddenly the ocean seemed too big, the sky too vast, and she far too small. What made her think she could do this? What made her believe she could ever be free of the weight of her birth-right? She was Talar Eldralin’s daughter, exiled Queen of Adishian, heir to the Nazarien, and yet, she was alone.

CHAPTER 16

Tyla stared out over the ocean. She felt the pull of it, the clouds rolling grey and dark on the horizon, the crash of the waves slamming against the shore. Her hand lay in the warmth of Kian’s rough coat, rubbing along the top of his head, between his ears.

“You okay?”

She didn’t look over at Jarrett, just continued to stare, feeling the turmoil of the surf in every part of her. “We can’t take Kian into Kazden.”

“I guess not. He’d attract a lot of attention.”

She glanced up at him, marking his blue eyes. “You and Kendrick shouldn’t go in either. If they see your eyes or Kendrick’s features…”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” he said, narrowing his gaze on her. “You’re not going in without us. The only way Kendrick and I would agree is if you stay here with us and let Muzik and Earon go in by themselves.”

She turned away, staring out over the waves. “You’re going to think I’m insane,” she muttered.

She felt Jarrett’s frown, knew his thoughts were confused. She couldn’t explain it herself, this driving need she had to go into Kazden. “This is the city my father called home. This is where he came when he needed to escape.” She swallowed at the lump in her throat. “He walked those streets, Jarrett, he was there. I want to walk the same streets he did. I want to feel close to him.”

Jarrett let out his breath in a sigh. “It’s just a city, Tyla. It isn’t him.”

“I know, but this is all I have of him, all I can claim.”

“It’s a huge risk. If we get trapped in there, Rarick will have you again.”

She nodded, curling her hand in Kian’s fur. “I know, but I’ve got to take that risk. I wish I could explain it better.”

Jarrett hunkered down in the sand next to the dog and rested his hand on Kian’s ruff. “I understand,” he said quietly. When she glanced down at him, he shook his head. “I understand, but it doesn’t mean I like it.”

“Look at it this way, if we run into trouble, wouldn’t it be better not to split up? You’re pretty darned good with a sword, I hear, and I’m not exactly helpless.” She forced a smile.

He studied her face. “No, you’re not.” Rising to his feet again, he tugged at the Guardsman uniform he wore. “We’d better change out of these. What are we going to do about Kian?”

“If I tell him to stay, he will.”

“What if we don’t return, Tyla?”

She took Kian’s head in her hands and stared into his dark eyes. “When he gets hungry, he’ll leave to hunt. Muzik made sure the predator is strong in him. We never wanted him to be tame.” She felt the lump in her throat tighten. “Instinct will take care of him, Jarrett. Of that I’m sure.”

*    *    *

They came to the outer wall of Kazden at dusk the following day. After breaking camp on the beach, Tyla ordered Kian to stay at their campsite. Earon and Muzik rode ahead to see if the gates were manned by Sarkisian soldiers. They returned to report that all was as Muzik had said it would be. They passed through the gates into the streets of Kazden without any disruptions.

No one seemed to notice them. In their common, faded worker’s clothes they blended in with the rest of the citizens who meandered up and down the streets. However, Jarrett and Kendrick were careful to keep their prominent Stravad features carefully hidden under their hoods.

Kazden had always been a seedy town at best. Even in Talar Eldralin’s time, the primary features of the town had been its taverns and brothels. Tyla looked about the streets. Kazden didn’t have the abject poverty and degradation of towns like Cambia, but it had their debauchery. Its citizens were relatively well fed and clothed; however, it was and had always been a little hub of lechery. The harlots, thieves and villains chased out from the outlying lands came to Kazden and found a home, the immoral found companionship and understanding, and the wicked found a haven. Kazden was the capital of all things licentious, and it thrived under this unscrupulous philosophy.

Tyla had heard tales of Kazden, but the reality was far more than she’d expected. She had never seen such a band of unsavory individuals, especially as she’d led a very secluded life, and she wondered suddenly what she’d gotten herself and the rest of her company into. Even though she knew it was silly, she found herself searching for something that would connect her with her father, some feeling, some sight. All she saw was filth.

Harlots stood on the street corners, wearing little if anything, and shouted lewd comments to the men as they went by. Pick-pockets and thieves scoured the streets and she watched as two of them lifted a wallet off a drunken man who had fallen in a heap just outside the door of a tavern. A circle of on-lookers cheered them at their work and the thieves, themselves, proudly displayed their bounty to everyone gathered. No one came to the downed man’s rescue, no one cared.

Earon rode beside Tyla and he reached over to touch her arm. She looked up and found him smiling at her. It suddenly occurred to her that he was very much at home in Kazden. “You seem surprised, Your Highness,” he said, leaning close to her. “You never believed you’d come to a place like this, did you?”

She glared at him. “You’d better stop calling me that. We’re trying not to attract attention.”

He ignored her warning. “You see why Rarick’s paid such little attention to Kazden?” He extended his arm. “What’s the point of subjugating people like this? They can’t possibly sink any lower, except if they were deprived of food. Rarick’s no fool. Deprived of food and clothing, these people would be a desperate, hungry lot and dangerous. Good, common folk bow down and are easily broken under adverse conditions, but immoral people become deadly.” He lifted his brows. “It’s not wise to crush them, unless one wants rebellion. Rarick tried it during the First Siege and lost a crap load of men. He’s not going to be so foolish a second time.” Earon took another look around. “No, let them feed off each other – that’s the wisest thing to do. Isolate them here and let them prey on each other.”

“And yet, earlier you told us you thought it was a mistake to come here.”

“Bringing them here is suicide.” He nodded at Kendrick’s back. “Kazden responds to three things: sex, food, and money. They’re money.”

Tyla swallowed hard. Her spine crawled. Maybe this was a terrible mistake? She understood the danger from Sarkisian soldiers. She didn’t understand this. Everyone here was a threat. Everyone here was a potential enemy.

Earon chuckled. “Stick with me, Your Highness. I understand these people like they were my own.”

Tyla’s eyes swung back to him. He gave her a wicked smile and she decided he was probably telling her the truth.

*    *    *

Earon led them through the city streets and finally came to a bridge, which stretched over a ravine choked by brambles and thin, straggling trees. Both sides of the bridge were being watched by Sarkisian soldiers.

Tyla exchanged a panicked look with Jarrett. Muzik cursed under his breath. This was the first time they’d seen any sign of Sarkisian in the entire town.

“Let me handle it,” Earon muttered under his breath. He gave Tyla a narrow eyed look. “Told you this was a bad idea.”

Earon swung out of the saddle and nodded for them to do the same. They approached the bridge, leading their horses. Tyla was relieved to see the soldiers were regular infantry, no panther emblem on their uniforms. They seemed rather disinterested in their duty, lounging against the bridge supports at the closest end and huddling around a fire drum at the other.

Earon tipped his cap to them and they nodded in return, picking up their conversation without a pause. Tyla exerted just a touch of her power to reinforce their disinterest and they crossed onto the bridge without more than a glance.

They cleared the other side of the bridge as quickly as possible and stopped to mount the horses again. Earon led them through the streets, glancing over his shoulder at the bridge every once in a while. Finally he rode up to Jarrett.

He fingered the scar on his left cheek. “I don’t like it,” he said. “That bridge has never been manned before.”

Jarrett didn’t venture a look back. He glanced at Tyla and away. “Why didn’t they stop us if it’s a trap?”

Earon shook his head. “I don’t know, but I think we’d better not hit the markets here.”

“How are we going to get supplies?” asked Tyla. “That’s why we took this risk.”

Earon studied her for a moment in silence, then shook his head. “You shouldn’t have come. I should have come alone.”

“Wasn’t gonna happen,” said Jarrett. He turned and stared at the Lawry runner. “Don’t mistake tolerance for trust.”

Earon’s eyes involuntarily dropped to Jarrett’s sword. His lip twitched. “I won’t. I remember that sword at my throat.”

“What do you propose we do?” asked Kendrick, leaning forward so he could see the runner.

“Go underground. I have contacts here. We’ll go to the revolt. They’ll be able to supply us.”

Tyla looked away. She didn’t like this idea. She remembered what happened the last time they got supplies from the revolt. Would these people want to use her for her powers as well? “I’m not a tool, Earon.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” he said. “I didn’t know Revis planned to try that. He didn’t clue me in to his schemes.”

Tyla gave him a chilling look. “It had better not happen again.”

A touch of anger sparked in Earon’s face. “What other choice do we have, Your Highness? Do you really think it wise to walk into the market and order a large amount of supplies? With Sarkisian soldiers in residence?”

She felt her companions’ stares fixed on her. She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes. Gods, what a mess! Whatever choice she made, the consequences could be dire. There wasn’t any other way. She had to trust Earon’s assessment of the situation. She figured he knew more about staying out of trouble than she did anyway.

“Fine. We do it your way. Just get us to shelter. It’s getting dark.”

He led them to a brothel. Tyla was astounded at first, but Earon explained that it was a perfect disguise for Revolt sympathizers. He left them in the street, while he and Muzik disappeared inside the building.

Tyla and her protectors studied the people moving by on the streets, but they didn’t seem to be interested in the newcomers. Everyone in Kazden walked with a purpose and didn’t seem inclined to butt into the business of their neighbors at all.

“Do you think we can trust him?” she asked Jarrett, nodding at the brothel.

“No, but I don’t think we have much choice. I wish we could have planned this a bit better.”

“At least we haven’t seen any other soldiers,” offered Kendrick. “Will Kian stay where you told him to wait?”

“I believe so, until hunger drives him to hunt.”

“Then we better get back soon. If he tracks us, that might be a bit harder to explain.”

She nodded.

“You confused the soldiers on the bridge, didn’t you?” asked Jarrett.

“Only a little. I tricked them to see only three of you. They won’t remember seeing me.”

“Can you do that all of the time?”

“If there aren’t many people. Four is stretching it. If they weren’t so disinterested to begin with, I wouldn’t have been able to succeed.”

Earon and Muzik returned with four men. “They’ll take the horses.”

“Where?” demanded Jarrett.

Earon gave him a frown, then pointed over his shoulder. Down a side alley, they could see the entrance to a stable. “There. You didn’t think you could take them inside, did you?”

Jarrett glared at him. “This better be legitimate, Runner,” he said as he swung out of the saddle.

Earon gave a vexed sigh, but didn’t answer. Kendrick and Tyla both dismounted. When one of the men took her reins, he gave her a quick once over, a smirk on his lips. Tyla narrowed her eyes and sent a thought into his head. He jerked away from her and the smile dried. Tyla gave him a smile of her own. Without a word, he took the horse and made a hasty retreat.

Earon motioned to the stairs. “After you, Your Highness.”

Tyla started to go, but Jarrett placed a hand on her shoulder, holding her back. His other hand was wrapped around the hilt of his sword. “You go first,” he commanded the runner. Again annoyance sparked in Earon’s eyes, but he swung into place and climbed the warped stairs of the brothel, striding across the porch and throwing open the door. He stepped inside and the others followed him.

The brothel was ostentatious inside. The furnishings were primarily red velvet, even the walls were papered with scallops of red velvet, and the floor was covered with throw-rugs of red wool. Paintings on the walls displayed women in various stances, wearing little clothing at all, and a large red sign over the door read “Welcome.”

Lounging in the chairs and lying across the sofas were women, many of them, dressed in equally revealing clothing. Tyla glanced around, feeling alarmed by the disarray. At a long bar at the far left of the room sat a handful of men, each being attended by more than one woman.

A woman on one of the sofas rose and sidled over to Earon, placing her arm around his neck and leaning into him. Earon looked at Tyla out of the corner of his eyes with a sheepish grin. “Can’t stay away for long, can you, Earon?” she said, nuzzling his cheek.

Earon laughed. “Well, you know me, Bonna?” he said and passed his arm around the woman’s waist.

She was an older woman, attractive although heavily made up. She pulled the runner forward with her as she surveyed the rest of the group. Kendrick had his head bowed and turned slightly away from the woman. She reached out and lifted his chin until their eyes met. “My, but you are a beauty,” she said with an intake of breath. Kendrick backed away from her into Muzik.

She reached past Kendrick and ran her hand down Muzik’s arm. “And you’re a big, strong man, aren’t you?”

Muzik smiled uncomfortably and he and Kendrick backed a step further away.

Jarrett couldn’t suppress a smile at his two companion’s discomfort. Bonna turned and ran her eyes across his body. She moved forward and looked up into his face, then glanced back at Kendrick.

“We’ve never had your kind in here before,” she said, almost purring. Then her eyes passed to Tyla and she whistled appreciatively. “I’ll bank my last cent that this house has never seen one like you either,” she remarked, reaching out to touch Tyla’s braid. Tyla neither backed away nor lowered her head. The woman looked her up and down. “You are absolutely gorgeous. Look at this hair, black as night and thick and wavy, and eyes greener than a meadow in spring.” She glanced over at Earon. “She’d bring a high price. We could all retire with this one.”

The women reclining on the sofas giggled and the men at the bar turned to look at Tyla. Tyla pulled her braid out of the woman’s hand and her eyes flashed, but Earon stepped forward to intervene. “She’s a lady, Bonna, a born and bred lady, and she’s never seen the inside of a brothel before.”

“A lady?” said Bonna, “Well, of course she is. We all are, aren’t we, girls?”

Another chorus of laughter rose in the room. Tyla glanced around again, then she fixed her eyes on Earon. “What is going on, Earon? You promised us...”

But Earon moved quickly and took her arm. “I’ve promised you a great many things,” he laughed, then turned to Bonna. “I promised her that we might have a private conference with Lago.”

Bonna’s eyes shifted between their faces. She pursed her lips in a pout. “Is that all you want, Earon, and here I was hoping for so much more.” She looked Tyla over again. “So, she’s to be a special commodity, an untouched commodity.” She emphasized the last loudly enough for the men at the bar to hear, but she narrowed her eyes deliberately on Tyla. Tyla took the warning for what it was and didn’t bristle at the comment. Instead she looked away as if she were ashamed to have been assessed so frankly.

“Times are difficult, especially in this siege,” said Earon. “I figure Lago will know how to go about marketing her.”

Bonna nodded slowly. “I’ll see if Lago wishes to do business with you. But while you wait, you look like you could use a meal and a bath. Get her cleaned up, Earon, or Lago might not think she’s as special as you do.”

“You have my word.”

“Which isn’t worth the spit you use to give it,” Bonna said, then turned to go. She paused beside one of the sofas and spoke to a young blond haired woman in a silk robe. “Ivy, show them to rooms and have a bath drawn for her. Serve them supper in their rooms also.”

The young woman rose reluctantly to her feet and without saying anything, motioned for them to follow. They shouldered their packs and followed her up a long, winding staircase. She showed them to their rooms, Kendrick and Muzik in one, Jarrett and Earon in another, and Tyla in one far down the hall.

As Ivy turned to go, Tyla faced the four men. “What’s going on?” she demanded of Earon.

“Bonna has to make contact with Lago. He isn’t here. Sometime in the middle of the night, we’ll be taken to him.”

Tyla’s eyes shifted to Jarrett. “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

Jarrett clenched his jaw, but didn’t answer. She could feel his thoughts and knew he agreed, but he was trying to keep the worry from her.

“We’ll stand guard outside your door,” offered Kendrick. “We can each take turns.”

“I’ll take first watch,” said Earon with a broad smile.

The three men glared at him.

“You’ll stay with me,” said Jarrett, narrowing his eyes.

Earon took a step back at the look, then schooled his features and forced a nonchalant shrug. “You’re really not my type.”

“Good,” snarled Jarrett. “Because you’re not mine.”

“I’ll take the first watch,” said Muzik. “Go inside and rest, Your Majesty.”

Tyla turned away and entered the room. It wasn’t what she expected. It was sparsely furnished, just a bed and a dressing stand. A small wooden tub was hidden behind a screen. The bed clothes were worn, but clean and Tyla took a seat on the edge, folding her hands in her lap.

A few minutes later, a knock sounded at the door and Tyla looked up as Muzik poked his head inside. “The girls are here with some hot water,” he said, struggling not to add her title.

She nodded and watched as four women entered, carrying buckets of steaming water. They emptied them into the tub and the woman named Ivy handed Tyla a rough towel. “Enjoy,” she said, giving Tyla a once over. Tyla dropped her eyes because she knew it was expected of her, but it was hard. She wasn’t used to behaving meekly.

After they left, Muzik hovered in the doorway, looking uncomfortable. Tyla forced a smile for him. “Are you all right, Your Majesty?” he asked.

She nodded. “This isn’t what I expected, Muzik.”

He frowned. “I would hope not, Your Majesty. This isn’t any sort of place for you to be.”

She shook her head with a laugh. “No, I meant Kazden. I wanted to come here. I wouldn’t agree to wait for you because I thought…” Her voice trailed away. It was one thing to admit to Jarrett what she’d hoped, it was another to tell Muzik.

“You thought what, Your Majesty?”

She lifted her chin and straightened her spine. “I thought it would be safer if we were all together, but now I’m not so sure.”

Muzik’s expression became fierce. “We’ll be fine. We’ll get the supplies tonight and get out of this forsaken city. You’ll see. Everything will be all right.”

“Of course,” she said, then rose to her feet. “I think I’ll take that bath now.”

He gave her a smile. “You do that, then get some rest. No one’s getting past me, Your Majesty.”

Tyla smiled in return.

*    *    *

Jarrett sat in the window and stared down at the street. There was no sign of Sarkisian soldiers, still he was uneasy. Something didn’t feel right. Something was wrong. He didn’t like being trapped in this city, he didn’t like being at the mercy of the Lawries again. He didn’t like bringing Tyla here.

A knock at the door made him jump. Earon rolled off the bed where he’d been lounging and went to open it. Bonna stepped inside and glanced around. Her eyes landed on Jarrett as he climbed to his feet.

She turned to Earon. “Lago will only see you and the girl. No one else.”

Earon glanced at Jarrett. “You understand she’s not really for sale, right?”

Bonna rolled her eyes. “Do you think I’m stupid? I know who she is. So did half the men in the bar. You’re lucky they’re loyal to the Revolt. It was stupid to bring her here.”

Jarrett’s hand slid to his sword.

She marked the motion. “Don’t mistake what I said. They hate Sarkisian as much as you do, but you had to come across the bridge. It’s been manned by soldiers for the last three days.”

“They don’t know she’s with us,” said Jarrett.

Earon turned and frowned at him, but Jarrett didn’t offer an explanation. “We needed supplies. They wouldn’t agree to let me come by myself,” the runner said.

Bonna raised a brow. “Not that I blame them. I don’t trust you either, but still you shouldn’t have brought her here. Lago’s willing to help, but he won’t see them all – just you and her.”

“Not possible. She’s not going,” ordered Jarrett.

Bonna shrugged. “No deal then. Lago isn’t a man to budge.”

Earon turned to Jarrett. “We can’t wait this out. We need the supplies, Lago doesn’t need to give them. I swear I’ll protect her.”

Jarrett’s eyes narrowed on the runner. He didn’t believe Earon could protect Tyla, but he could and he could do it without them even knowing he was there. And then there was Tyla. She was as formidable a weapon as he was himself. He looked out the window. The street lamps had been lit and more people were moving about in the half-light, searching out taverns and brothels for a night of revelry.

“Let me talk to Tyla,” he said.

CHAPTER 17

“Don’t be afraid. Lago’s a good guy. He’s not like Revis,” said Earon, patting Tyla on the shoulder.

She glared at him from beneath the cowl of her cloak, then shifted her focus to the harlot in the red cape in front of them.

He removed his hand and forced a crooked smile. “You know, it might look better if you pretended we were lovers. No one would look twice at us if you were hanging all over me.” He motioned at the many couples stumbling up and down the boardwalks around them.

“Earon, maybe you shouldn’t try so hard,” she said coolly. “It’s very off-putting.”

He chuckled at her comment. “Let’s be honest. You like me. You find me amusing.”

Tyla canted a look up at him. “Funny how close annoyance and amusement are on the emotional pendulum.” She shot a look around the street, but no one seemed to be interested in them. And they’d seen no Sarkisian soldiers. Still, her skin crawled.

“From amusement, it’s only a short leap to full blown attraction…”

“Shut up!” hissed Bonna, glancing over her shoulder.

Earon made a face at her, but Tyla knocked him with her elbow. “She’s right, besides I can’t think when you chatter.”

He gave her a frown, but she ignored him, keying in to the streets around them and sharing her thoughts with Jarrett. She couldn’t see the Terrian, but she could feel him, sliding through the shadows above them.

There was so much she didn’t know about his training, so much she was just beginning to realize about his talent. Even so, she felt safer knowing he was a few steps away.

Bonna turned down a narrow alley, stepping off the boardwalk and into the middle of the street.

“Are you sure this is right?” Tyla asked, moving to the center of the cobbled way, trying to avoid the refuse in the gutters. It looked like entrails and fish scales. She grimaced at the smell and pulled her hood closer about her face.

Earon shrugged. “Lago moves safe houses frequently. He doesn’t have the same sort of operation that Revis does.”

Tyla could smell the ocean in the distance. As Bonna left the alley, they came out onto a wharf. Wooden piers extended over the surf and Tyla could hear the waves crashing against the piles beneath their feet. The traffic here had fallen to a minimum. Tyla wanted to look behind her for Jarrett, but didn’t dare let either Earon or Bonna know he was there.

She slowed as they passed one of the piers. The moon was full overhead and shining down on the ocean, painting the waves with a silvery glow. Spray gathered on the edge of her cloak and she drew a deep breath, drinking in the salty scent.

She closed her eyes and felt forth with her power, trying to catch the elusive feeling tugging at the back of her mind. Had her father ever walked this pier? Had he ever peered out at the ocean and watched the moonlight on the waves? Sadness rose inside her and she hugged her arms around herself. Tarnow was gone. Kalas was lost to her. And she couldn’t even find a trace of her father in this weathered city he’d called home.

Earon closed his hand around her elbow. “Come on. We shouldn’t stay in the open any longer than necessary.”

She opened her eyes and let him guide her back onto the wharf. She shook away the melancholy and met Bonna’s gaze. “How much farther?”

“Not much.” She turned and continued walking down the wharf, moving past boarded up shops and warehouses. Crates and fish entrails lined the edge of the street. They were moving quickly now, Bonna glancing around at the meandering drunks and pockets of young men looking for some action.

No one bothered them, but a few of the young men glanced over, eyeing them or shouting lewd comments as they passed. Finally Bonna turned into a passageway between two warehouses. It led back toward the ocean and was dark and narrow. Tyla felt her power respond to her anxiety, until it was pulsing just at the edge of her consciousness.

Suddenly Bonna pulled up short and turned into a shallow doorway, rapping out a familiar tattoo on the salt-encrusted surface. Tyla glanced down the alley and saw a number of the young men had begun loitering at the entrance. She reached for Earon’s arm and nodded the way they’d come.

Earon’s hand dropped to his sword hilt. “Just street punks,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction. Bonna glanced down there also and Tyla could feel her tense. She wondered where Jarrett was.

Finally the door opened and Bonna whispered to the shadowed form that appeared. The figure stepped back and motioned them inside. Tyla followed Bonna into the dark interior and paused, waiting for Earon to bring up the rear. Her hands tightened into fist, prepared to unleash her power if she needed to.

The figure bent and uncovered a lantern. He lifted it and shined it in their faces. Tyla squinted in the light and made out the hooked nose of a tall, thin man. He motioned with his hand and led them into the warehouse.

It opened into a vaulted ceiling. Tyla could see the metal beams crossing over their heads and glanced over the rows and rows of broken and battered crates that lined the walls and floors around them. A clear path led to the back of the warehouse and a glass encased office door.

The man led them to the office door and opened it, motioning them inside. A handsome, bald man rose from a chair at their entrance and approached them. He was as tall as the man who’d opened the door for them, but he was barrel-chested and a good fifty pounds heavier.

“Welcome, Your Majesty,” he said, bowing to her.

Tyla nodded. “Are you Lago?”

He gave her a narrow-eyed look. “Straight to the point, aren’t you?”

“I’m thinking I don’t have much time,” she said. “Do you know who the men are gathered at the end of your alley?”

Lago frowned and his gaze shifted to Earon. He had very dark, almost black eyes with heavy lashes. Earon shrugged. “Looks like some street toughs. Nothing more.”

Bonna threw herself into the chair Lago had vacated. “I ain’t going back without an escort.”

Lago turned to the hook-nosed man. “Go see who it is.”

The man nodded and left the room.

Reaching for another chair, Lago motioned for Tyla to take a seat. “Please, rest yourself, Your Majesty.”

Tyla sank into the chair, but she sat with her back straight, her senses trained on the warehouse outside. Where was Jarrett now?

Lago leaned against his desk, folding his hands before him. His fingers were long and slender. “I am honored to offer you my assistance.”

“I won’t be able to repay you until I get to Temeron. However, once there, I will send payment in whatever form you’d like.” She cocked her head. “Earon led me to believe a shipment of arms wouldn’t go amiss.”

Lago smiled. “Temerian make? Certainly not. I’m willing to accept a promissory note. In fact, I took the liberty of drawing one up while I waited for you.” He slid a piece of paper forward on the desk.

Tyla didn’t reach for it, but Earon leaned over her and took it. “Looks in order,” he declared, handing it to Tyla.

She glanced at it, then back to Lago. “When can we get the supplies we need?”

“I also took the liberty of ordering those. We should have them within the hour. My suppliers are well stocked. The foodstuff’s edible, easily carried, but it probably isn’t what you’re used to, Your Highness.”

Bonna snorted in disgust and looked away. Tyla ignored her. “If it gets us over the summit, it’ll be enough.” She took the quill Lago offered her and signed the promissory note, handing it to him. She wanted out of this place as quickly as possible.

*    *    *

Jarrett motioned Kendrick and Muzik back as he peered around a warehouse. Earon, Tyla and Bonna had just disappeared into an alley. A few young men were meandering at the opening of the alley, nudging each other and motioning after Tyla. Loosening his sword, he held his position. He could feel the touch of Tyla’s thoughts in his mind and knew she was all right.

“I don’t like the looks of those punks,” whispered Muzik at his back.

Jarrett waved him off. He didn’t want to be distracted from his connection to Tyla. He could feel Kendrick moving restlessly behind him. “This was a bad idea,” said the Nazarien. “We shouldn’t have let her go in there.”

Jarrett had wanted to come alone, but neither Muzik nor Kendrick would hear of it. He’d been forced to bring them along. Muzik attracted too much attention just by his size, and if anyone saw Kendrick’s Stravad features they’d been in more trouble than they could handle.

He started to tell them to shut up, but a shout from inside the alley brought him back around. The young men were milling about, throwing out their chests, posturing to make themselves appear larger. One of them shouted something back down the alley.

A tall, thin man appeared, waving his arms as if to force them back. One of the young men, a red-headed boy, pulled out a knife and clutched it along his palm and inner wrist, out of sight of the older man. Jarrett drew his sword and started toward the alley before Kendrick or Muzik knew what he was doing.

He moved so fast that none of them knew he was there until he caught the young man’s arm and stopped him from stabbing the older man in the back. Grinding the bones together, he forced him to release the knife, then brought him to his knees. Another one whipped out a club, swinging at Jarrett, but Jarrett sliced his arm, then spun into the next one, tagging him across the thigh.

The fourth threw down his shank and lifted his hands, his eyes widening in fear. Jarrett kicked the weapon away and glanced at the older man. “You all right?”

The man let out his held breath and nodded woodenly. “Thanks.”

Kendrick and Muzik skidded to a halt behind Jarrett. Muzik reached down and gathered the motley assortment of weapons in one huge hand. “You shouldn’t play with toys like these, boys,” he growled at them. All four reared back, staring up at the huge man with apprehension.

“I think we better go to that meeting,” said Jarrett, nodding at the warehouse.

The older man eyed them all. “Guess you aren’t with the Front Guard.” He held out his hand to Jarrett. “I’m Selig.”

“Jarrett.” He shook the hand and released him. Canting a look at the four young men, he motioned to the end of the alley. “You can walk on your own, or we can drag you. Doesn’t matter to me.”

They didn’t move. Jarrett reached down and grabbed the one kneeling before him. Curling his fingers in the boy’s tattered shirt, he started dragging him toward the open doorway. The boy scrambled across the ground and once inside, Jarrett swung him into one of the crates that lined the entrance. A smaller crate resting above it teetered and fell over, crashing to the warehouse floor. The sound echoed back at them. It was just the effect Jarrett wanted to achieve. He was through with clandestine meetings.

*    *    *

Lago’s head snapped up as a crash was heard in the outer warehouse. Tyla swiveled in her chair.

Jarrett appeared at the entrance, his sword drawn, the tip dripping blood.

Tyla immediately rose to her feet.

“You all right?” he said, his eyes fixed on her.

“Yes, are you?”

He gave her a grim smile. “Just fine.” His eyes shifted to Lago. “You might want to clean up outside.”

“How many did you kill?” Lago asked without a trace of surprise.

“None, but your man might need some help. He’s got a handful out there.”

Lago went to the door and disappeared. Tyla followed him, Jarrett slipping into pace behind her. Four young men were sprawled on the warehouse floor, guarded over by Muzik and Kendrick. One was holding his arm and another had a gash on his leg. Tyla knelt by the one holding his arm. He was about fourteen years old, raggedly dressed and filthy.

“Let me see,” she said.

He gave her a wary look, but removed his hand. She examined the wound. It wasn’t deep, but the dirt around it would cause an infection if it wasn’t cleaned and stitched. Hook-nose was standing over the other two, who appeared to be unhurt.

“What were you doing outside?” demanded Lago of the boys.

They looked away, sullen and angry.

Tyla shifted over to the boy with the rend in his pants. His wound was also superficial. She gave Jarrett a grateful look. They were all so young. By their filth and ragged appearance, these boys weren’t fending for themselves very well.

Lago grabbed one of the boys by his collar and shook him. “Answer me!” he shouted.

The boy curled his fingers around Lago’s hand, but he wouldn’t meet his eyes. Lago backhanded him and sent him sprawling again. When one of the boys moved like he might intervene, Hook-nose kicked him.

Tyla jumped to her feet. “Stop it!”

Lago rounded on her. “They weren’t following you because they were captivated by your beauty,” he said. Tyla was grateful he didn’t use her title.

“I know that.” She narrowed her eyes on him. “There are other ways to get what you want. Can’t you see they’re hungry and dirty?”

“Street scum,” snarled Lago.

Tyla gave him a withering look. “New recruits, perhaps.”

Lago lifted his head and studied her.

She motioned at the boys. “Do you really have the luxury of being choosey?”

“How do you think you’ll get them to tell you anything?”

Tyla gave him a cool smile. “Get them something to eat and get me any medical supplies you have. Then we’ll ask them the questions you want to know.”

*    *    *

Lago handed Jarrett a bag. Jarrett snapped it open and glanced inside. There were bandages, a few medicinal herbs that Jarrett didn’t recognize, and a suture kit. He closed it and set it aside, reaching for the bucket of hot water they’d heated on the small pot-bellied stove in the back of the warehouse.

“Nazarien?” Lago asked, gathering a handful of rags.

“No, Terrian,” answered Jarrett.

“Same difference,” muttered Lago.

“Not exactly.” He put enough emphasis in the words to tell Lago that this part of the conversation was over. “Why don’t you have this place more heavily guarded?”

Lago looked up at him, his eyes narrowed. “This is a temporary location. Very temporary. In fact, we commandeered it just today for this meeting. You won’t know where the seat of my operation is. I trust you about as much as you trust me.” He nodded at Jarrett’s sword.

Jarrett laughed. “Probably better that way.” He lifted the bucket and bag, striding to where the boys were huddled, watching the adults with wary expressions. He knew how Tyla planned to get the information Lago wanted, but he was a little uneasy having her show her ability so openly. In fact, he didn’t like this entire setup. Something still didn’t feel right to him.

Tyla took the bucket and the bag from him. She immediately set to dressing the boy’s wounds. Jarrett glanced over at the red-headed boy he’d first disarmed. He was rubbing his fingers and watching Tyla with interest.

“You might want to take a look at him too,” Jarrett offered, nodding at the boy. “I might have broken something in his hand.”

Tyla glanced at the boy, then frowned up at Jarrett. Jarrett shrugged. He didn’t know what else to say. Lago was tossing packets of dried food at the boys. They tore into it and started stuffing the leathery-looking strips into their mouths.

“What is it?” he asked.

Lago tossed him one. “Bainburi. You’d better get used to it because this is what’ll get you over the summit.”

Jarrett opened the packet and sniffed it. “What’s bainburi?”

“Fish,” said Muzik with a grimace. “Hate the stuff.”

Lago eyed him closely. “And yet I’ll bet you’ve eaten plenty of it when necessary.”

“More than you can imagine,” said Muzik. “It damn near keeps forever.”

Jarrett took an experimental bite and passed the rest to Kendrick. It was salty and sweet at the same time, a strange rough texture against his tongue. He studied Lago again. “I still don’t understand why you don’t have more guards for this place – for yourself.”

Everyone stopped moving. He could feel their eyes shift to him. Even the four boys. Jarrett lowered his gaze to the red-head. The boy’s look was calculating, intense. He knew something.

“Why do you keep asking that?” said Lago.

Jarrett returned his attention to him. “I don’t know. It just doesn’t square with me. You being who you are, I’d think you’d have a larger contingent at your disposal.”

Jarrett could feel Tyla’s focus turn to Lago. He knew she was searching his mind. He hoped she was careful. He really didn’t want this man to know what she could do, at least not yet.

Earon broke the tension with an uncomfortable laugh. “Why the hell are we having a pissing match right now?”

Jarrett didn’t remove his stare from the bald man. Lago glanced away, his gaze passing over the four boys. “I fed them. Now how you gonna get them to talk?”

Tyla returned to her healing. “Let me finish this first.”

Jarrett gave Kendrick a pointed look, then directed it at the warehouse door. Kendrick dropped the rest of his bainburi in one of the boy’s lap and strode toward the door, loosening his sword. Selig followed behind him. The red-head was glaring at Jarrett.

“What’s your name?” Jarrett asked him.

“Go to hell, Ass-wipe,” he snarled.

“That’s a long name. Mind if we just call you Ass-wipe.” The boy bristled, but his companions snickered. Jarrett was struck with how young they all seemed.

Tyla finished bandaging the boy with the cut on his thigh and knelt by Ass-wipe, taking his hand. Although he continued to glare at Jarrett, he let Tyla palpate his fingers without protest. Jarrett suspected she was exerting a little control over him.

“Nothing’s broken,” she said, “just sprained.” She leaned back on her heels, her braid sliding off her shoulder. “Tell us your real name.”

“Nevis,” he said, then blinked in surprise as if he couldn’t believe he’d told her so easily.

“Why did you follow us, Nevis?” she asked.

Instead of watching her, Jarrett watched Lago. He knew the man was hiding something. He wondered if Tyla knew what it was.

Nevis looked at his hand. “Just to see if you had any money on you.”

“Filthy little pickpockets,” said Bonna in disgust.

“Look at me, Nevis,” Tyla commanded.

The boy looked up.

“Why were you following us? Don’t lie to me.”

The other three boys shared anxious glances, but they didn’t respond. Nevis squirmed, but Tyla held his stare.

“They paid us. They paid us coin.”

Lago’s expression shifted from curiosity to anxiety in an instant. Muzik shared a look with Jarrett.

“Who? Who paid you?” Tyla asked.

Nevis squirmed again, rubbing his fingers with his uninjured hand. “Real coin,” he said. “It bought us all meat pies.”

“Who gave you the coin?”

Nevis crinkled his nose in disgust. “Front Guard.”

Tyla released him and looked away.

Lago towered over the boy. “Are you sure? How do you know it was Front Guard?”

“We saw the panther.”

“What exactly did they tell you to look for?” asked Jarrett.

“Anything unusual. People acting strangely. We were to follow them and report it as soon as possible. They promised us more coin if we gave them any information. It didn’t matter what.”

“But we stopped you before you could report us, right?” said Earon. The worry in his voice was obvious.

Nevis tucked his knees in against his chest and rested his chin on them.

“No,” said Tyla softly.

Nevis glanced up at her, then at Jarrett. “Sern went to them as soon as we saw you on Foam Street. The rest of us kept following.”

“Shit!” cursed Lago, kicking one of the crates.

“This is a problem. We can’t stay here, waiting for supplies,” said Jarrett.

“Obviously!” snapped Lago, rounding on him. He rubbed a hand over his bald head. “I knew I was going to regret this.” He pointed at Tyla. “Wait here.”

Jarrett watched him storm into the glass-fronted office. He grabbed a pack off the desk and started stuffing papers and other supplies into it. Tyla rose to her feet and moved toward Jarrett.

He took her arm and drew her away from the others. “What’s going on?” he whispered, nodding at Lago.

“He’s not the rebel leader here. He’s just a proxy. That’s why he has only one guard. He’s maybe third or fourth in command.”

Jarrett exhaled. “Now that makes more sense.”

Tyla nodded.

Bonna followed Lago to the office door. “What are you planning to do?”

Lago looked out at them. “What can I do? If they get caught, I’m screwed.”

“I can’t go back to the brothel. Not now.”

“Obviously,” Lago repeated.

“The Baron isn’t gonna to like this.”

Lago stopped stuffing his pack. “You think the Baron wants Front Guard swarming all over us right now. Why weren’t you more discreet?”

Bonna crossed her arms over her chest. “How so? I did the best I could. You should have come to the brothel to meet them. I didn’t ask for this. It got dumped in my lap.”

As Tyla moved toward the office, Jarrett followed her. “Who’s this baron?” she asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Lago, returning to his task.

Tyla moved past Bonna and reached for the pack, pressing it down on the table. “I don’t ask questions twice,” she said.

Lago’s eyes snapped up to her face and fixed there. Jarrett tried to hide his smile.

“The Baron calls the shots. He’ll know how to get you out of Kazden.”

Tyla’s eyes searched his face. Jarrett could feel the pulse of her power, but it was subtle enough that he didn’t think Lago would register it. “The boys won’t be hurt. I won’t allow it.”

“They’re street trash.”

“They won’t be hurt,” she repeated.

Lago swallowed hard. “They won’t be hurt,” he answered.

Tyla nodded and released the pack. “We’d better get moving now. I suspect the leader of the Front Guard’s a man named Lex Prestar. He won’t waste any time trying to locate us.”

Lago snapped the pack closed and swung it to his shoulder. “After you, Your Majesty.”

*    *    *

Tyla walked directly behind Lago. It was pitch dark in the streets, but still there were an awful lot of them moving through the night. They encountered a few clusters of people, threes and fours, but most of Kazden seemed to be at home, sleeping through the depth of the night.

Lago took them into the most desolate parts of the city. Offal and foul smelling things choked the gutters and spilled into the streets. The piers ran right out onto the surf here and the waves bashed against the planks, spraying up over the moorings for the boats. Tyla could see a number of bobbing silhouettes in the moonlight.

They didn’t see any soldiers, but they saw many sprawled bodies in the alleys, sleeping in doorways or blocking the rough and rotted boardwalks that ran between the warehouses and canneries.

Lago brought them to one of the canneries, a dilapidated building that looked abandoned. The windows in the front of it were broken and the façade tilted precariously into the street, hanging by the support beams that crossed just beneath the tin roof.

Opening the door, Lago motioned them into the yawning darkness. Selig went first, while Lago glanced down both ends of the street to see if they’d been followed. Once the door was closed behind them, Selig uncovered the lamp he’d brought and shined a muted light into the cannery. Tyla saw rows and rows of tables, barren now, littered with strange, metal keys. She picked one off the table and turned it over in her hand.

“Never eat much fish, did you?” said Lago, taking the key from her. “It hooks onto a can and you crank it back, opening the lid.”

“The fish we ate didn’t come in a can,” said Tyla.

Lago gave her a cool smile. “I guess not, Your Majesty.” He motioned toward the back of the cannery. “Let’s go.”

Muzik moved close to Jarrett. Tyla caught the nudge he gave the Terrian, then he pointed into the rafters. Jarrett glanced up and she knew he marked the slight movement. “How many?” he muttered.

Muzik shrugged.

“Five,” said Tyla. “Three in front and two at the front door.”

Muzik gave her an amazed look, but Jarrett just smiled.

Lago led them to a heavily barred door. He ran his hand over the surface. “This was where they kept the valuables.”

“Money?” asked Nevis.

Lago gave him a disgusted look. “Fish eggs.”

The boy scrunched up his nose in disgust. Lago gave a grunt of laughter and tugged a key out of his shirt. He held it up in the lantern light. “Only three of these remain. We guard them with our lives.” He nodded toward the rafters. “You marked my men up there, I see.”

“Is that for us or the Front Guard?” asked Tyla.

“Depends,” said Lago, then he placed the key in the first of five heavy iron locks. He opened each one, then braced his weight as he pulled open the massive door. The inner chamber led down a flight of steep stairs, but they were well lit with torches at even intervals. Tyla followed Selig inside and waited on the landing until all of her companions had crossed the threshold. Lago pulled the door closed and threw all five bolts.

“How will you know if those men get into trouble?” asked Jarrett.

“This isn’t the only way out,” said Lago. “We also have spies posted all over the street, in warehouses and canneries for miles around. If Sarkisian comes this way, we’ll be told before they even get to the first pier.”

He pushed through the group and led the way down the staircase. Tyla gripped the rail and placed her feet carefully on the treads. Although it was well lit, it was still steep and she didn’t want to twist an ankle.

The air grew progressively cooler as they descended and she pulled the hood of her parka up over her hair. The bottom of the stairs opened into a wide, circular room with crates and tables lined along each wall. A man stood with his back to them, his hair salted with grey. Around him lay a number of people, some of which moaned in pain. Tyla’s eyes widened.

“Baron,” said Lago, ducking his head. “I’m sorry to bother you.”

The man broke off his conversation with a brunette woman, whose hair was cut above her ears. He turned and appraised the group, then focused on Tyla. Tyla could feel the catch in his breath, the way his pupils widened when he saw her. He knew who she was or at least, he knew of her.

“Apparently, there’s been some trouble,” he said, speaking to Lago but never taking his eyes off Tyla.

Lago reached back and grabbed Nevis, hauling him forward by the scruff of his threadbare jacket. “These gutter-snipes have been reporting to the Guardsmen for meat pies.”

The Baron shifted his gaze to the boy and gave him a severe look.

“They’re under my protection,” said Tyla in her most imperial tone.

The Baron’s attention refocused on her. Tyla noted that besides herself, he was the only person she’d ever seen with green eyes, although his were much darker than hers. He inclined his head slightly. “As you will, Your Majesty. Will you be taking them with you upon your departure?” The slight lift at the corners of his mouth told her he was teasing her. For some reason, she was reluctant to probe his mind as she usually did when she first met someone.

“I thought you might be able to put their skills to good use, Baron.”

He did smile now. “My name is Parish, Parish Brazelton,” he said, holding out his hand.

Tyla placed her own in his. Instead of a rough handshake like she’d expected, he covered the back of her hand with his free one and clasped it for a moment. Then he gradually released her.

“I am…”

He held up a finger to silence her. “I know who you are, Your Majesty. We are honored by your visit.”

Tyla narrowed her eyes. What game was he playing? Anxiety prickled along her spine and she looked at the bodies scattered around the room. “Have you had a battle?”

Parish shared a glance with the dark haired woman. “A pitched one, if you can call it that. The Guardsmen roughed up a number of my people, trying to get information.”

“About us?”

“Most likely,” said Parish. He turned his attention on Lago. “Did you encounter soldiers?”

Lago shook his head. “We left before they arrived, but I’m sure they weren’t far behind. The gutter-snipes went to them immediately.” He shook Nevis for good measure.

“I have some skill at healing,” Tyla interrupted. “Would you allow me to help look after the wounded?”

“Maybe we’d better talk about how we going to get out of Kazden first,” said Jarrett.

Parish shifted to appraise him. The tension between the two men was palpable. “Sarkisian closed the front gate a few hours ago. They must have been alerted to your presence. It’s a wonder you weren’t taken at the bridge.”

“Yes, it is,” said Jarrett coolly. “Any other ways out of the city? Obviously, there are two obstacles in our way now – the bridge and the front gate.”

Parish’s shoulders sagged in weariness. He lifted a hand and rubbed it over his face. “I have to think about this.” His gaze shifted to Tyla again. “All the power and resources at my command are yours, Your Majesty.”

“I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you, Baron.”

“Parish, please. Baron is just an inside joke here. I’m a gutter-snipe myself,” he said with a self-deprecating smile. His expression grew serious again. “Truthfully, helping you is more than a little selfish. From what I’ve heard, should Rarick get a hold of you, the Lawries will be all but finished.”

Tyla didn’t respond.

“We could use your healing ability if you don’t mind sharing it, while I try and find a way out of this mess.” He motioned the dark haired woman forward. “Edessa will show you the supplies and help you triage the worst cases.”

Edessa also gave her a quick bow. “Come with me, Your Highness,” she said, motioning behind her.

Tyla nodded and watched Parish walk away, flanked by Lago and the four boys. She couldn’t help but feel there had been more the Baron wanted to say to her, but hadn’t.

CHAPTER 18

Tyla looked up when Kendrick hunkered down across from her. She was sitting by the make-shift cot of an old man, struck in the head by one of the soldiers when he wouldn’t give them any information. He hadn’t awoken yet and she’d been trying to find out why. When she searched his thoughts, he made it clear that he was ready to be done with life.

She knew she could force him back if she wanted, but she wasn’t sure that was the right decision. He was content to die, in very little pain, and even if she succeeded in bringing him back to a level of consciousness, it didn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t still die. Was it necessary to make him wake up here in a strange location when he felt like he was in a safer place?

“Any luck?” asked Kendrick, nodding down at him.

She sighed. “He wants to die. I’m not sure it’s right for me to intervene.”

Kendrick’s brow furrowed. She knew he wouldn’t understand, but she didn’t have the energy to explain it to him. And she knew he wouldn’t question her. Never. No matter how confusing her decisions.

“You should get some rest,” he suggested.

She nodded and reached out to take the old man’s hand. It felt cold and dry. “I just want to sit with him a few minutes longer.”

“Were many of the injuries bad?”

“Bad enough,” she answered. “And unnecessary.” She looked over at the people lying on cots. Edessa and a few of the boys were distributing food and water. “I caused this,” she said.

Kendrick’s frown deepened. “You didn’t cause this.”

She shifted her attention to him. “How didn’t I? This happened because I insisted on coming to Kazden.”

“They knew we’d come here. We had no other choice.”

“All of it, the siege, the Lawries, all of it is my fault.” She said it quietly, her voice steady.

Kendrick shook his head. “Rarick began the siege before you were born. The Lawries would have formed no matter what. They aren’t the first rebels to respond to absolute power and they won’t be the last.” He motioned at the bodies. “And this hasn’t been the only time Guardsmen have roughed up these people. They’ve been doing it for decades. But you do have a point.”

Tyla’s brows lifted. “And that is?”

“You’ve got to get beyond Rarick’s control. He won’t stop until you’re beyond his power.”

She briefly closed her eyes. “I can’t leave Kian on that beach,” she whispered.

Kendrick gave her a sympathetic look. “I understand, but we can’t go back there now. You said yourself that he’d be all right on his own. You’re going to have to trust that his instincts are strong enough to provide for him.”

She opened her eyes. “You’re right. I do need rest.” She released the old man’s hand. “You’re also right that we can’t go back to the beach, but I don’t think we need to.”

Kendrick gave her a confused look.

She climbed to her feet and stretched. “Thank you for talking to me,” she said, realizing he’d been trying to help her. It went a long way to warm her feelings toward him.

He gave her a nod, but didn’t respond.

She smiled wryly, then headed in Edessa’s direction. She needed a quiet corner in which to sleep.

*    *    *

“There’s only one way as I see it,” said Parish. He smoothed the map with his hands, then pointed to a spot up the coast.

Jarrett leaned forward. He exchanged a look with Muzik. “That’s a cliff.”

“Not exactly,” said Parish. He pointed to a tiny spit of brown. “There’s a small beach here.”

Jarrett frowned up at him. “A small beach surrounded by water and rocks. Just how are we going to get horses to that location?”

“Horses?” said Parish with a puzzled expression. “You can’t go by horse. I’m taking you by boat.”

“Whoa!” said Earon, dropping forward in his chair. “I’ve got five Guardsmen horses holed up in that shack Bonna calls a stable.”

“Not anymore, you don’t.”

Earon’s face drained of color. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that the Guardsmen have commandeered all of the horses in Kazden. Easiest way to keep you from escaping, or so they think.”

“Won’t they think of commandeering the boats too?” asked Jarrett.

“Those flatlanders? They don’t think that way and no one’s about to tell them.”

Jarrett was skeptical. “Unless they pay the right boys…”

Parish’s smug look sobered.

“Hold on a minute!” said Earon, climbing to his feet. “My horses are gone? Is that what I’m hearing?”

Parish ignored him. “Seems we’d better make our move tonight then.”

Jarrett gave a short nod of agreement. “Explain how this works. I’m a flatlander myself.”

“We’ll sail up to this point,” said Parish, indicating a shallow cove on the map. “There are rocks at low tide, but I know how to maneuver around them…”

“Wait. You’re taking us?”

Parish glanced up. “Who else? I’ve been sailing these waters since before you were born, boy.”

“That wasn’t what I meant. I just thought you were needed here.”

Parish straightened. “I’m needed where Talar Eldralin’s daughter needs me.”

Jarrett started to respond, but Earon shoved his way between them.

“How do I get my horses back?”

Parish didn’t even look at him. “You don’t. They’re gone. I’m sure the Guardsmen have discovered that those horses aren’t exactly yours.”

“The hell they aren’t. I paid good money for those horses and I want them back.”

Parish’s green eyes shifted to pin the runner. “Then go ask for them.”

Earon swung toward Jarrett. “We had an agreement.”

Jarrett glared at him. “Shut up, you idiot. I’m not talking about your stupid horses anymore.”

Earon sank into his chair again. “I’ve got nothing now.”

Muzik thumped a finger on the map. “What do we do after we make this beach?”

Parish traced a path into the mountains above Kazden. “We walk. A day’s hard push and there’s a Lawry outpost. We can get enough supplies to get you over the mountains, parkas and such, and a couple of pack mules. No horses, but horses won’t do you much good in the snow that’ll be sitting in those passes.”

“The Guard will be mounted,” said Jarrett, sitting back in his chair.

Parish shook his head. “I’m telling you there are damn few horses that can make it through that snow. Guardsmen horses are built for desert running, not snow. If they try to take them up there, they’ll die.”

Earon moaned. They ignored him.

“It’ll be bad enough for us,” said Muzik grimly. “People die in those passes.”

“We’ll get you snowshoes. You ever use them?” Parish asked Muzik.

“A few times.”

Parish motioned to Jarrett.

Jarrett nodded. “Same here.”

“There are a few homesteads up there, places you might be able to stop and get out of the cold. Most of them are loyal to Adishian.”

“How will you get back into the city?”

“Same way I left. I’ll wait until I get word that Sarkisian has left, then I’ll sail back in.” He took a seat as well and folded his hands on his stomach. “I’d go with you, but I’m not as young as I used to be. I’m not sure I wouldn’t slow you down.”

Jarrett offered him a tense smile. “You’ve done enough, more than we can repay,” he said.

Earon placed his head in his hands and moaned again.

*    *    *

Parish hesitated at the iron door and turned to face them. “This door leads to a set of stairs which will take us up to street level. We’ll be three streets down from the cannery entrance where you came in. We have to make it back to the front of the cannery and across the street. We’ll go down the wharf directly across from the cannery. Our boat’s the one docked at the very end.” He narrowed his eyes on them. “Don’t stop, don’t turn around, just keep going.”

“There are soldiers out there, aren’t there?” said Tyla.

“According to my men, they’re all over the city. They’ve been swarming the wharfs all day. We’ve just got to move with purpose. Hope our clothes conceal us.” He tugged at the neck of his dark shirt.

“I’m gonna get killed,” Earon whined.

“Stay here!” snapped Jarrett. “I don’t know why you’re coming.”

“You owe me compensation for the horses. I’m staying with you until I get it.” He winked at Tyla. “Besides, I want to see Temeron.”

She didn’t respond. Jarrett knew she felt responsible for getting them all to the boat safely. If they waited much longer, she’d order them to remain behind.

“Let’s go, Parish,” said Jarrett, nodding at the door handle and shifting the heavy pack on his shoulder.

Parish didn’t move. “My men will give us what cover they can, but we may have to defend ourselves up close if it comes to that.” He motioned to Lago. The man passed something over to him. “You ever fire a bow?” he asked Jarrett.

Jarrett took it. It was a well-balanced weapon. Right in the middle of the handle was an engraved panther paw. “Yeah, I can use one.” Lago gave him a quiver filled with black tipped arrows.

“I need a few minutes to unfurl the sails. You gotta keep them off us for that long. Lago will help.”

“Done,” said Jarrett.

Parish gave Tyla a nod, then unlocked the door and thrust it open. Jarrett pushed past Parish and climbed the stairs, pausing at the top and scanning both ends of the alley. Boxes, a few trash cans, and a huddle of rags at the mouth of the alley was all he saw. He motioned them up and strode to the end of the alley, peering out.

The rags shifted and a man’s face appeared. He gave Jarrett a salute, then ducked his head again. Parish moved up behind Jarrett, giving the man in rags a nod. The others crowded in behind them.

“Okay. Three blocks up and then across the street,” whispered Parish. “Stay close, but don’t cluster. Pretend you’re just wandering around after a night at the taverns.”

Jarrett took Tyla’s hand and pulled her up beside him. He caught Kendrick’s glare, but he didn’t care. Inhaling deeply, he stepped out of the alley and wrapped an arm around her waist, turning into her as if they were in an intimate conversation.

She curled into his side, but he could feel the tension in every one of her muscles.

“We’re almost there,” he whispered.

“I need a few more minutes,” she answered.

He frowned at her in the light from the lamp over their head. “What?”

“Just a few more minutes.”

He started to ask her what she meant, but motion in the corner of his eyes distracted him. He stared at the dark buildings on the side of them, but he couldn’t mark the motion again. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that the others were ranged out behind them, strolling along in twos and threes.

They made the front of the cannery. Tyla sucked in an apprehensive breath. She motioned to the end of the row, where the canneries curved away from sight. Jarrett saw three soldiers clearly outlined in the street lamps. They were turned away, but they were within shouting distance.

He tightened his hold on her and they stepped into the street, skirting the lumps of rapidly freezing fish entrails. When he exhaled, his breath came out in a white pant. He was grateful for the fur lined jackets Parish had provided them.

They climbed the three steps to the wharf and picked up their pace. Kendrick and Muzik fell in behind them. Jarrett shifted his hand to Tyla’s elbow. The wooden slats of the pier were slippery with fish scales and icy patches of sea water.

They came to the end and stood, looking down on a large boat. It bobbed against the tide, the mast rising like a spear to pierce the darkness of the night. Parish pushed between them and stepped down into the boat. He reached up and took Tyla’s arm, helping her climb on board. As the others scrambled onto the deck, Parish pointed to the end of the pier.

“Keep them off me until I get these sails up,” he said.

Jarrett dropped his pack into the boat and braced the quiver at his feet. He pulled an arrow free and fitted it to the string. Parish immediately started barking orders, climbing around the sailboat and tugging on bits of fabric. Lago shifted to Jarrett’s side and they watched the end of the pier, searching for signs of movement.

Minutes ticked away. Jarrett resisted the urge to look behind him, but when he heard someone curse, followed by a splash of water, he glanced over his shoulder. Earon had nearly fallen out of the boat, but Muzik had caught him by the seat of his pants and tossed him back on board.

One of the sails was unfurling, rising up from the boom like a white ghost, belling out in the late night breeze. For the first time, Jarrett felt a wave of apprehension. He’d never been on a boat before…well, nothing this large and nothing that was going out in the open ocean.

A distinctive whistle distracted him and he whirled around, but he was too late. He couldn’t even get his bow up before the arrow arched down toward him. Just before it struck, it veered to the side and slammed into the deck.

“Hold your fire,” shouted a familiar voice.

Jarrett shared a look with Tyla. The odd blue in her eyes was just beginning to fade. Jarrett’s gaze chanced over the arrow, then back to the end of the pier. He lifted the bow and sighted along the edge. At his side, Lago did the same.

“How interesting,” said Lex Prestar, stepping into the light from the lantern that swung from the middle of the pier. “Nowhere for you to go, is there? Poor choice of escape routes.”

Jarrett drew back the string. “If you come a step closer, I fire.”

Lex held out his hands. “I just want the Queen. You and your rebels are free to go.”

Jarrett didn’t answer. He desperately wanted to check at the progress of the sail.

“Stay back!” warned Lago. His hands were much less steady than Jarrett’s.

“I have twenty-five men with me. Do you really think you can take out that many?”

“I only need to take out one,” snarled Jarrett.

“And you’ll be a pin cushion a moment later.” Lex chuckled. “It might be an interesting experiment. Your Queen deflected one arrow. Can she deflect twenty-five?” He shrugged. “Would she to save you?”

“If you were dead, it might be worth it.”

Lex lowered his hand to his sword hilt. “Why don’t we see if we can avoid so much loss of life? I wouldn’t want a stray arrow to hit the wrong target.” He gave a nod in Tyla’s direction. “That would make Rarick furious.”

Jarrett didn’t lower the bow. “What do you want?”

“Just you and me. If you unarm me…or kill me, you’re free to go, but if I kill you, the Queen goes with us.”

Lago glanced over at Jarrett. “It’s a trick,” he muttered.

“Of course it is, but we just need time.” He lowered the bow, grabbed the quiver and tossed both behind him into the boat. He could feel the anxious touch of Tyla’s thoughts on his. Permitting himself a glance over his shoulder, he could see Parish and Kendrick had lifted the sail to the halfway mark; however, their attention was divided by the standoff on the wharf.

Drawing his sword, he strode forward, halving the distance between him and the Guardsman commander. Lex did the same. For a moment, they stared at each other, measuring the other’s reach, shoulder breadth, and height. Jarrett was taller, thinner, longer-armed, but Lex had a lower center of gravity, something that would aid him in the narrow confines of the wharf.

With a lift of one brow, Lex dropped into a fighting stance. Jarrett did not. He drew a deep breath and forcefully shoved Tyla’s thoughts away. He didn’t need anything to distract him.

Lex struck first, slashing forward without warning, thinking he might catch Jarrett off guard, but Jarrett was ready. His sword moved so fast, blocking the commander’s strike, that a groan of appreciation escaped the soldiers’ lips.

Even though he was quicker than most swordsmen, Jarrett instantly knew that Lex had been born to fight. He anticipated every move Jarrett made, blocking it at the last second. And he was aggressive. Jarrett’s quickness couldn’t compensate for the fact that Lex wanted Jarrett dead and wasn’t afraid to do anything to achieve that goal. He slashed at Jarrett’s legs, he swung wildly at his head. It gave Jarrett openings, but when he struck for those openings, Lex anticipated them and blocked him.

They danced and slid across the icy wharf, their swords sparking, their movements a blur in the inconstant light of the lanterns. Jarrett ducked and weaved and leaped away from Lex’s brutal strokes, and as he moved, a calm flowed over him, allowing him to block out all distractions around him.

He didn’t like to kill, but he loved to fight. He loved the physical absorption of the battle, the way his muscles strained and flowed, his sword catching prisms of light and reflecting it back into the darkness. And he knew his fighting was like poetry, like moonlight, like song. It was ethereal, deadly, like smoke through water.

And he knew the moment Lex knew, the moment Lex understood Jarrett would kill him.

But Lex Prestar wasn’t afraid to die. He was a warrior, bred to battle, bred to deliver and receive death. And he didn’t intend to go out without at least maiming his opponent. Using his bulk and his weight, he hammered into Jarrett, his strokes losing finesse, hacking at his adversary. He abandoned the known tactics and threw everything at him, and this unpredictability presented a challenge. It was more dangerous, risky, leaving Lex open to Jarrett’s jabs. Jarrett drew first blood, swiping his sword along Lex’s side, but rather than protect this vulnerability, Lex turned into it, letting Jarrett’s blade sink deeper in order to throw off Jarrett’s stride.

It did unbalance Jarrett for a moment, but he was too fluid to be unbalanced for long. He slid under Lex’s arm and came up behind him, slicing across his lower back. Again rather than turning, Lex stabbed backward, forcing Jarrett to dance to the side.

This brought Jarrett to the edge of the wharf and he glanced down into the black surf pounding against the piles. When Lex lunged forward, attempting to impale him, he tried to swing into the middle of the wharf where the footing was surer, but he slid on a patch of ice and fell.

Lex’s sword swiped an inch in front of his face as he went down. He landed on his backside and scrambled out of Lex’s way. The Guardsman smiled, a thin, cold smile.

“Well done,” he said, stalking Jarrett. “Shame to lose such a virtuoso. Bad luck that.” He kicked at the ice. A moment later, his eyes snapped up, fixing on a spot behind Jarrett.

Jarrett knew that Tyla had climbed from the boat and stood in the middle of the pier. With a flick of his wrist, he swung the sword around until the tip was pointed at the hollow of Jarrett’s throat. “I wouldn’t, Your Majesty,” he said.

Jarrett’s fingers curled around his sword hilt and he braced his heels on the planks beneath him. He’d probably get stabbed, but if he could judge which direction Lex was going to strike, he might escape being beheaded.

Just as he tensed his muscles to try, a cry of surprise went up from the soldiers and they parted like the tide, falling to either side of the wharf. Lex twisted to look over his shoulder, the sword angled away from Jarrett’s throat. A blur of grey motion struck the Guardsman commander in the side, slamming him into the low supports of the wharf. He scrabbled to grab hold before he was launched over the edge.

The blur of grey landed near Jarrett’s head, then hurtled onto the boat. A moment later Jarrett heard a splash as Lex hit the water beneath the pier. Lago reacted, grabbing Jarrett under the arm and hauling him to his feet.

Parish was shouting, “Down, down” as a rain of arrows streaked out of the darkness, striking the mast or whistling over their heads. Lago and Jarrett ran for the boat and jumped when they hit the end of the pier. Their impact with the boat’s deck knocked them both from their feet and Jarrett found himself colliding with the mast.

Over his head, the boom swung around and he barely had time to duck it. The sail snapped and the ropes whined as the wind caught in them and slowly the sailboat left the dock, gliding out into the dark waters of the night. A moment later Jarrett looked up to see a great, shaggy head rise over him, and then he was beset with a wet, pink tongue.

*    *    *

Dawn was just breaking over the horizon when Parish guided the boat onto the shallow strip of sand and they disembarked. The trip to the east had been tense as only Parish and Lago knew anything about sailing. Tyla huddled in the bow of the boat, staring out at the darkness, Kian curled tight beside her. When Jarrett had tried to talk to her, she’d looked away. She wouldn’t even let him share her thoughts. Jarrett wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong.

He sat at the stern with Kendrick and Muzik. Despite his bulk, Muzik was more at ease than the rest of them, enjoying the wind in his face and the spray in his hair. Earon sulked halfway between bow and stern.

As soon as the boat made landfall, Jarrett climbed ashore, grateful to be done with it. His legs felt unsteady and he could still feel the sway and surge of the tide even though he was on solid ground.

He helped Lago tie the boat to a makeshift post, then off-loaded the packs and set them up above the water line. He looked for Tyla and found her wandering with Kian at the top of the beach, gathering an arm load of driftwood.

Parish settled the last of the packs beside him and followed Jarrett’s line of sight. “She thought you were going to die,” he said.

Jarrett tore his gaze from Tyla and hunkered down, reaching for the pack that held their food stores. “How far to that outpost of yours?”

“Half a day’s climb. We’ll eat and then head out. We should make it before nightfall.”

Jarrett nodded, removing the camp cook set and placing it close by. Muzik and Kendrick were gathering rocks for a fire ring, but Earon was still sitting inside the boat. Jarrett laid out the materials for a quick breakfast, then rose, dusting off his trousers. He strode to the boat and glared down at Earon.

“Get your sorry ass off this thing and make breakfast. It’s your turn.”

Earon looked up at him. “Go to hell. I don’t take orders from you.”

Jarrett’s eyes narrowed and he deliberately let his hand fall to his sword hilt. Earon followed the motion, then scrambled to his feet, climbing over the side.

“I’m only going because I don’t want my breakfast ruined,” he said, thrusting out his chest for Jarrett’s benefit.

Jarrett didn’t answer.

Earon sidestepped him and hurried away. Marking where Kendrick was, Jarrett headed up the beach and stopped beside Tyla. “Let me carry something.”

She straightened and pierced him with a withering look.

He held up his hands in supplication. “What did I do?”

“You could have been killed.”

“Parish asked me to keep them off. It was the only way I knew how.”

Tyla shoved the driftwood at him and he struggled to balance it all. “I could have kept them off.”

“Without killing them, Tyla?”

Her look grew shuttered and she bent to pick up more wood. “Lex Prestar wants you dead. Especially now.”

“I know that,” answered Jarrett, “but in a few days, I’ll be far away from him. He isn’t going to come to Temeron after us.”

“I wouldn’t be sure of that,” she said, then sighed. “It’s hard for me to see people in danger because of me.” She fixed him with a stare. “Especially you.”

He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face.

She struck him in the chest and glared at him.

He laughed. She couldn’t know how her concern made his heart soar.

With a shake of her head, she laughed too. Then her eyes slid past him and she sobered. He turned and looked over his shoulder. Kendrick was watching them.

*    *    *

The climb up from the beach was difficult. The trail was steep and the footing precarious. Kian bounded up and down the length of it, speeding past them and tearing ahead, rooting through the underbrush. He startled a bevy of partridges and leaped into the air, coming down with two of them. He brought his kill to Muzik and dropped it at his feet.

Tyla looked away, but Muzik beamed with pride and stroked the dog behind the ears. He picked up one of the birds and shoved it into a pack, then grabbed the other and tossed it to Kian. The dog caught it in mid-air and bounded away, disappearing into the damp underbrush to eat it.

Jarrett gave Muzik an appreciative look, but Kendrick scowled.

They rested at noon and ate some dried bainburi. Jarrett choked it down, but he would have preferred roasting the partridge Muzik carried. He found himself searching the landscape for any other prey that they might add to an evening meal.

After their meager lunch, Parish led them off the trail for a short distance to a spot that overlooked the valley below. They could see Kazden beneath them, the main gate guarded by an entire battalion. Parish shook his head and gave a grunt of disgust.

“When do you think you’ll be able to return?” asked Jarrett at his side.

Parish shrugged. “You never know with those bastards. They’ve been known to stay months, and yet again, they can pull out in a day. It all rides on the whim of the commander in charge.” He glanced up at Jarrett. “You can bet Lex Prestar isn’t in the city any longer.”

Jarrett wanted to ask more, but Earon had snuck up on Parish’s other side. Jarrett still didn’t like the Lawry runner and wished Tyla had agreed to leave him behind, but she kept saying she didn’t have the right to command anyone.

As the day wore on, the company climbed into the Grozik mountains. Patches of snow began to appear and the air turned dry and cold. The trail presented more of a challenge than it would have if they weren’t operating under little sleep. Each one of them slipped on ice patches and went down. Tyla tore the knee on her trousers and barked the skin off her palms. Parish had given her what medicinal herbs he had in store, but Jarrett knew she was longing for a bit of Stamerian to help ease the ache of scrapes and bruises.

Just when Jarrett was thinking they would have to make camp on the trail, Parish motioned them to stop. They stood in a group while he studied the landscape on either side of them. A cluster of stunted trees lined the trail, but most of the vegetation was brush and rocks, boulders so large they towered over all of their heads.

Tyla moved to Parish’s side. “One is behind the boulder on the left and another in the branches of the tree behind us.”

Parish nodded. He lifted a hand, careful to keep it in plain sight, and unbuttoned his jacket. He reached for a chain around his neck and pulled out a silver medallion with the star of Eldon engraved on one side. He lifted it over his head and held it straight up, the sunlight catching in the medal as it spun from his hand. On the opposite side was a small piece of violet colored pycantra.

A woman appeared from around the boulder. She was tall, as tall as Jarrett, and dark complexioned. Jarrett suspected she was part Stravad from the even placement of her features to the pale blue of her eyes.

She strode forward, a bow dangling from her hands. At her back was a quiver of arrows and a short sword was strapped to her hip. She took the medallion from Parish with her free hand and inspected it, then handed it back.

“You must be the Baron?” she asked.

Parish smiled at her. “And you must be Maelee.”

She nodded. A man dropped from the tree and landed like a cat in the middle of the trail. He was a head shorter than Maelee with brown, curling hair and a cleft in his chin. He strode up beside her and stood looking over the group. He also carried a bow, but a long sword was strapped to his back.

Kian pressed up between Jarrett and Tyla, sniffing both of them, but showing no other signs of concern.

“This is my husband, Lander,” Maelee said, introducing the man.

The man gave a brief inclination of his head, then his gaze riveted on Tyla. “Your Majesty,” he said, touching his brow.

Maelee also ducked her head toward Tyla. Tyla returned the gesture with a lift of her chin.

“Hey, Lago,” said Maelee and she smiled. Her smile turned her remarkable features into beautiful and Jarrett thought she was more than a little Stravad.

“Hey, Maelee, Lander,” said Lago.

Maelee shifted her attention to Parish. “I didn’t expect to see you up here, Baron. Obviously, things are bad in Kazden.”

“I’m escorting the queen as far as the outpost. We need a place to get a good night’s sleep, then we need to outfit them, give them some mules, and see them on their way early tomorrow.” He rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin. “We’re half dead on our feet. We got out of Kazden in the middle of the night and we’ve been hiking all day.”

Maelee and Lander nodded. They didn’t seem inclined to question anything Parish told them. “The outpost isn’t far,” Maelee said, turning on her heel and leading the way.

They fell into step behind her and Lander dropped to the rear with Lago. Jarrett let the others go ahead of him, hoping he might hear a conversation between Lago and the new man, but neither spoke the entire time they walked.

They came upon a broken down cottage a short while later. It was set back in a cluster of scrub trees, nearly hidden from view of the trail. Earon stumbled to a stop and let out a groan. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“Did you expect a palace?” Maelee shot over her shoulder, walking toward the front door.

To the right of the cottage was a rickety stable housing a few thin mules. For once Jarrett shared Earon’s disappointment. There would definitely be no beds available within this derelict.

Kian’s scent set off a cacophony of angry braying. The mules began darting around the paddock, knocking into the fences. Maelee glanced at the dog, then hurried to the edge, muttering to the frightened animals.

Kendrick had come up on Jarrett’s left. “Nazarien,” he whispered, nodding at the woman.

Jarrett gave a nod. Maelee was good with the mules and had them quickly subdued. Then she turned and gave the group a thorough once over. “You can store your packs on the porch, no room in the house. Dinner will be in an hour.” Her gaze shifted to Tyla. “I can heat some hot water if you’re wanting a sponge bath, Your Majesty.”

“Tyla, please,” she answered. Then her look softened and she managed a tired smile. “I would love a sponge bath.”

Maelee returned the smile. “Come inside,” she motioned, then called over her shoulder. “Lander, bring me some potatoes from the cold storage, would you? And show the men where they can wash up.”

Lander started wandering toward the paddock, but he circled around the side of it. On the back of the stable stood a wooden table with a hole cut out of the middle of it. Inside the hole was a tin bowl and draped over a ring nailed to the table was a rough towel made of sacking. Right beside it was a metal dish that had been hammered onto the top of an iron stake. A cake of yellow soap lay in the dish.

Earon let out another groan when he saw the set up for the men. Jarrett bumped him with his shoulder as he made his way toward the table and bowl. “Why don’t you go wash up with the women?” he commented. He had to admit he’d rather wash with the women himself, but he couldn’t let an opportunity to goad Earon slip by him.

*    *    *

Tyla watched Parish push a stick through the outdoor fire. Pulling her jacket tighter around herself, she moved to his side and took a seat in the camp chair Lander had placed outside the fire ring.

Patches of snow littered the ground in front of the cabin, but the sky was clear and glittered with a million stars. She studied them a moment, but she felt Parish’s gaze on her. “Can’t sleep?” he asked.

She shrugged and hugged her arms around herself to keep out the chill. “Not yet. I think I’m actually too tired.” She lowered her head and met his eye. As she’d seen so often, his look became contemplative. She forced a smile. “You knew my father, didn’t you?”

He leaned back in surprise and then returned to pushing the stick through the fire. “You read minds too?”

“Yes,” she answered, stretching out her legs, “but not with you. It’s there in your face every time you look at me. I can see that you knew him.”

Parish tapped the stick against the rocks and his eyes crinkled in amusement. He looked at her over his shoulder. “You look so much like him. Every time I see you, it takes my breath away. But your eyes… your eyes…”

“…are my mother’s,” she finished wistfully.

“…are your mother’s.”

Tyla extended her hands to the flames. “You knew her too?”

“Not as well as your father, but I knew her. She was a beautiful woman.”

Tyla brought her knees in against her chest and curled her arms around them. “What was he like, Parish? Did he love her?”

Parish gave a bark of laughter. “He adored her. She was the world to him. When she died, he couldn’t live without her.”

Tyla studied his face, but he looked away, staring into the fire. The pain in his words ached within her breast. Such a love. Someone so devoted to another? Did such a thing exist? “Tell me about him. How did you meet?”

Parish laughed. “Now that’s a story. Your father sure was something, Your Highness.”

“Tyla, please.”

He glanced over his shoulder and his eyes seemed to shine. “Tyla,” he amended.

“What was he like?”

“He was like sunlight, fleeting and ethereal. He seemed to glow with an inner light.” He paused and studied her. “Like you do.” He shook himself. “People were dawn to him. They couldn’t help it. And sometimes they weren’t drawn to him for the right reasons.”

“I think I know something of that,” she replied.

He nodded. “I guess you do.”

“Did you grow up together?”

“In a way. He was a number of years younger than I was.” He laughed in memory. “Actually, I met him when he was getting the spit beat out of him by some bigger, older boys.”

“You intervened?”

“I didn’t have much choice. I didn’t like the boys who were after him and the odds weren’t even. Always hated that.” He shook his head. “Boy, could your father fight. He was such a scrapper. And he always fought dirty.”

Tyla shared Parish’s smile. It was these little bits of information she wanted to know.

“How old was he?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe ten or so. It wasn’t long after his foster father died. He was living with this school teacher, while she taught him the language. Before he met her, he’d been on the streets. He couldn’t even speak Nevaisser. Soren wouldn’t let him speak anything but Nazarien. When the school teacher died a few years later, your father was on the streets again.” Parish’s expression sobered.

“What did he do then?”

“Well…I was living in this brothel, had been my whole life.” He gave her a sheepish look.

“Why?”

“My mother worked there.” He placed emphasis on the word worked and Tyla nodded in understanding. “She was killed one night by one of her clients. The ladies let me stay in the attic as long as I swept and ran errands for them. I brought your father to live there after the school teacher died.” He sighed. “What a mistake.”

“A mistake? What else could you do?”

“Like I said, your father had this thing that drew people to him. It sure drew the ladies. They wouldn’t leave him alone. It wasn’t a healthy place for a kid to be.”

“What happened after that?”

“He finally met this old man, a magician. He traveled with him for a while. I think the wanderlust got into him during those few years. Then the old man died and your father went to the Nazarien. His power had gotten so hard for him to control by then.” Parish shifted in the chair and looked at her closely. “The Nazarien changed him. I blame them for his death, for making him a hunted animal.”

Tyla frowned. “Why?”

“They wouldn’t do what he wanted them to do, they wouldn’t teach him to control his power. They wanted him to fit their mold, live like a Nazarien. Bringing him to the brothel didn’t help, but the Nazarien completed that transformation. After he ran away from them, it was like everyone wanted a piece of him, wanted to own him in some way. That’s what killed him. First it took your mother, then it took him. All he wanted was peace, but he never found it.”

Tyla stared into the fire, feeling the weight of her father’s legacy more than ever. She knew what it was like to want peace.

“You loved him, didn’t you?” she said.

“He was family,” he answered simply. “I was furious when the damn Lodenians just left and didn’t avenge his death. Sarkisian should have been leveled. We wouldn’t be in this predicament if they’d taken action.” He picked up his stick and poked the fire again. “If I wasn’t so old, I’d see you over the mountain myself. I owe your father that much, but I’m afraid I’d slow you down.”

Tyla gave him a smile. “You’re needed here, Parish. I can never repay you for what you’ve done for us.”

Parish’s eyes shifted beyond her to the porch of the cottage. Tyla glanced over her shoulder as well. Jarrett had come out onto the porch and was staring up at the stars. Behind him, Muzik and Kendrick were looking over the mules with Lander, trying to pick out two to help them carry their stores.

“The Terrian’s a hell of a fighter,” Parish offered. “Keep him close. He just might save your life. I’ve never seen a man move that fast before. Must be that damn Stravad blood.”

Tyla nodded and turned back to the older man. “He’s a good man too.”

Parish studied her, then gave a grunt of agreement. “Seems like that.” His eyes drifted to the paddock again. “Watch the Nazarien, Tyla. They don’t think like normal people. Something about that religion twists them, makes them strange – unnatural. Especially toward women.”

Tyla frowned. For some reason, Parish’s words bothered her. Kendrick wasn’t strange, he was just detached, and he’d certainly always treated her with respect. Even so, his words struck a chord and she couldn’t deny that she’d had some of the same feelings herself.

She shook it away and reached out to touch his arm. “I insisted on coming to Kazden despite everyone’s warning. They were right. I should never have taken the chance. It could have gotten everyone killed, but I couldn’t stop myself from coming.” She tightened her hold on his arm and he covered her fingers with his own. “I think you are the reason I had to go to Kazden. I had to meet you and hear your stories about my father. Thank you for giving me that.”

He picked up her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the back of it. “Well, if that’s the case then I have some great stories to tell you, and you can be sure, these are stories your father would never want you to hear.”

She smiled and leaned back in her chair, soaking up any information that Parish was willing to give her.

*    *    *

Jarrett studied the stars, his hand resting on Kian’s broad head, stroking the dog between the ears. Kian leaned against him, closing his eyes in pleasure at Jarrett’s attention.

“It’s nice to see stars for a change,” came a feminine voice behind him. Jarrett looked over his shoulder and found Maelee standing in the doorway, framed by the light of the lantern. “It’s been snowing steadily for a week.”

Jarrett forced a smile. “I’m a little worried about what that might mean for the passes.”

She came to the rail and leaned against it. “It’ll be tough going, even in snowshoes, but the mules are bred for the winter trail.” She leaned around him and looked at the paddock. “The captain knows good animal flesh when he sees it. He’s picked out our two best mules.” She reached down and ran her hand over Kian’s ear, giving it a good scratch. Kian gave a grunt and dropped, rolling to his side and stretching out on the decking.

“I’ll make sure you’re compensated once we reached Temeron.”

“The Baron will make good. He always does. I’m not worrying about it.”

“Is this the first time you’ve met him?”

“Yep, he rarely leaves Kazden. We have more contact with Lago, but we know all orders come through the Baron. He’s a good man.”

Jarrett nodded. “He saved our lives.”

She clasped her hand on the top of the railing. “You leaving early tomorrow?”

“As early as we can. I’m worried about staying ahead of the Front Guard.”

“Reasonable worry. I’ve got another quiver or two I can give you for that bow the Baron found.” She gave him an amused look. Jarrett returned it. Her eyes fixed on his own and she seemed to search him for something. Jarrett wasn’t sure what she was looking for, until she spoke. “Who’s the Nazarien? Father or mother?”

Jarrett shifted weight. “Father. You?”

“Same,” she answered.

“You ever meet him?”

She chewed on her inner lip. “Once. He offered to let me become a Nazarien breeder back in Chernow.” She laughed. “Turned him down.”

Jarrett shifted and leaned on the rail beside her.

“You ever meet your father?” she asked.

“Not that I know of. It wasn’t a very pleasant topic in my household.”

Maelee’s brows rose. “I would imagine.”

“Can you tell me something?” he asked. She nodded in encouragement. “Are mixed blood children always like us?”

“You mean Nazarien fathers and Human mothers?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve never seen it the other way around.”

Jarrett scratched at the stubble on his chin. “Why? Why would Nazarien men seek out Human women to have their children?”

“I have two theories,” answered Maelee. “One, there aren’t many Nazarien women. They tend to run away first chance they get. The Nazarien are so worried about preserving their lines, they’ll even agree to mate with Humans to do so.”

Jarrett frowned. “You think that’s likely?”

Maelee laughed. “Not really. My second theory is the one I believe. You know all that celibacy crap?”

Jarrett nodded.

“Well, I think it’s pretty hard to live by, especially for a man…no offense.”

Jarrett gave a wry shrug. “None taken.”

“They don’t want to show their brethren they’re weak, so they seek Human women for a tryst, believing it will be kept secret. Inevitably some pregnancies occur.”

“But with married women?” asked Jarrett, then realized he might have said too much.

Maelee studied him for a long time and her expression was sympathetic. “You’ve got to remember that the Nazarien never believed in marriage before Talar Eldralin. They certainly wouldn’t have any qualms about violating a Human marriage. I think the Nazarien believe Humans are a subspecies anyway.”

“But Nazarien marry now themselves.”

Her look grew serious. “You understand about those marriages, right? It isn’t the same marriage Talar Eldralin had, it’s still a Nazarien marriage with all of the Nazarien psychopathic trappings.”

“What do you mean?”

“The women are chattel. The Nazarien husband is so afraid something might befall her, she isn’t allowed out of the house, she can’t talk to other men, and she’s never allowed to undertake any risk of any kind. I don’t know why any woman would agree to something like that.”

Jarrett’s eyes fixed on Tyla and a lump moved into his throat. “I thought it was the most sacred of bonds.”

“Bond is right. That’s all it is for the women. Where before she might have been chained to the whole Nazarien faith, a Nazarien wife is the sole property of her husband and completely controlled by his will.” She nodded at Kendrick. “Be careful of him and never forget that under all of that polite exterior is a Nazarien, born and bred, and that means that you’ll never truly understand what goes on in his head.”

CHAPTER 19

Jarrett reached under the mule’s round belly, grabbed the cinch, and gave it a tug. The animal swung her head around and eyed him critically. He immediately felt contrite. No need to take his foul mood out on her.

“Sorry,” he muttered, loosening it a bit. He patted her shoulder, then adjusted the packs on her back.

“You’re up early,” came Tyla’s voice.

The mule sidestepped and threw up her head in alarm. Jarrett grabbed her bridle and looked over at the fence. Tyla was leaning against it, Kian at her side, his paws braced on the lower rail, his mouth open and his tongue lolling in amusement.

“We need to get on the trail. I’m worried about how fast the Front Guard might be able to move. If they get ahead of us, we’ll have some trouble.”

“I understand,” she said. “I’ll go wake the others.”

Jarrett gave the mule a final pat, then released her. She moved toward the back of the paddock, away from the dog. “Tyla, I want to talk with you about that.” He rested his hands on the rail beside hers. “I want to leave Earon here.”

Her expression shut down. She dropped her arms to her sides. “I thought we’d settled that in Kazden.”

“You thought you’d settled it, but it wasn’t settled for me. He’s a hindrance. He adds nothing to our group and he eats up all of our stores.”

“I’m not Queen anymore, Jarrett. I don’t have the power to command him. Besides, I owe him compensation for the horses he lost.”

“Tell him you’ll send it once you reach Temeron. He doesn’t have to come with us to get his compensation.”

“He wants to see Temeron.”

Jarrett closed his eyes in frustration and exhaled. “I don’t care what he wants. My only concern is getting you to Temeron safely.”

Her eyes narrowed in anger. “What you mean is you can’t wait to dispose of me in Temeron and be done with your obligation. Whatever you do, don’t spare me your real feelings, Jarrett.”

He frowned at her. “You don’t want my real feelings, Tyla. You’ve told me that before. It might make it difficult for you to marry a man you don’t love.”

She took a step back and Kian moved to her side. The dog could feel the tension between them.

“You’re certainly in a foul mood,” she said.

“Because you won’t listen. You insist on letting that worthless puppy follow us around, and you won’t even consider what a mistake you made when you agreed to marry a Nazarien. I found out a few things last night, things that might make you change your mind.”

“I’m not going to change my mind. Why do you have to make this harder?”

“Did you know that Nazarien women are less than slaves in a Nazarien marriage? Did you know you’d be forbidden to talk to another man? You’d be forbidden to leave the house without escort, you’d be forbidden to do anything unless your husband approved of it? Is that the sort of power you want someone like Kendrick to have over you?”

She glared at him. “Stop it! You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know more than you do.”

“You know only what promotes you and tears down Kendrick.”

“I know I love you, Tyla and…”

Her eyes glowed suddenly and Jarrett’s voice choked off. He’d been on the receiving end before when he hadn’t known when to shut up. He didn’t need the lesson twice.

“I made a promise…to both Tarnow and Kendrick, and I’m going to see it through. Just as I can’t command Earon, I won’t command you. You can leave whenever you feel it’s too much for you to handle, but I won’t have you question me again.”

She turned to leave, but Jarrett couldn’t let her go. Not like this. He reached over the fence for her and caught her arm. She hesitated and gave him a withering look, then she wrenched her arm away. Jarrett’s eyes lifted and came to rest on Muzik where he was standing in the walk, arms cross over his barrel chest, his eyes savage. Tyla barely acknowledged him as she and Kian stormed past.

Muzik continued to glare at him.

Jarrett watched Tyla until she disappeared from view, then he turned his gaze on the giant. “If you’re going to kill me, go right ahead. I’m not going to fight you.”

Muzik exhaled. “I’m not going to kill you…well, not yet at any rate. I think you’ve punished yourself enough for one day.”

“Because I can’t understand her reasoning? Because none of this makes sense?”

“Because you’re just going to be hurt. She isn’t going back on her promise – not to Earon and most especially not to Tarnow. When she had nothing else to give, she had her word. It’s the most important thing to her now, and she isn’t going to let you come between her and her lord.”

“Do you want Earon to continue with us?”

“It isn’t my decision, Jarrett. I do what I’m commanded. You might do well to remember that.”

Jarrett looked away, his hands clenching into fists. “Do you think she should marry Kendrick? Do you know what a Nazarien marriage is like?”

Muzik moved to the paddock fence. “I think the same thing about this topic as well. It isn’t my decision. I’m not going to meddle in the lives of my betters.”

Jarrett looked up at him. “Betters? That’s crap, Muzik. You have an opinion, same as me. You just don’t want to voice it.”

“And what good would that do? Get me all riled up like you? That doesn’t do her any good. My opinion is this – she made a promise to Tarnow and nothing on this planet is going to change that, especially not you, Jarrett. You can rail against it all you want, but it is what it is.”

“That’s also crap.”

“I take my duty seriously. I was commissioned to protect her, not meddle in her life. If I remember correctly, you were commissioned to do the same – by her uncles? I thought you had more regard for them than you’re showing.”

Jarrett’s eyes narrowed. “That’s low, Captain. You know what I feel for her. I haven’t hidden it from anyone.”

Muzik clamped a hand on his shoulder. “I know, which is why you’re not dead.” He gave a chuckle. “Let it go, Jarrett. I like you and I’d hate to see you hurt. Besides, if you keep this up, eventually I will have to kill you and that will just about damn near ruin my day.”

Jarrett couldn’t help but smile, but inside he felt like he was going to be sick.

*    *    *

They left a few hours later, after saying goodbye to Parish and making arrangements to repay the Lawries for the supplies and mules. Parish didn’t want to be repaid, but Tyla wouldn’t agree to leave until he wrote up a bill for her.

Tyla wished she’d had more time with Parish. As she packed the last of the supplies, Parish had plied her with more stories about her father. She was delighted to learn he’d had such a mischievous side to him. Most of the stories she’d heard before had been about his power or his failings, very little about the man he was. Parish had started to fill in that gaping hole she had in her knowledge of him.

It made her long for more.

The hike above the outpost was worse than the day before. The trail was little more than a deer track, cut out of the rocks and brambles that choked the mountain side. It twisted and wound around, climbing steeply toward the summit in the distance. The snow immediately grew thicker and they had to stop and strap the snowshoes to their feet. Tyla wasn’t used to walking in the unwieldy things, but she was lighter than the men and didn’t begin to sink as deeply as they did, but still, she found herself quickly winded and positioned herself next to one of the mules so she could lean against it during the steepest parts of the climb.

The mule didn’t mind, as long as Kian stayed as far away as he could. Kian was fine with that arrangement, choosing to root through the vegetation or bound through the snow drifts with wild abandon. It wasn’t long before he flushed out a rabbit and brought it down in the trail right in front of the mules. They both brayed in terror and tried to bolt. Only Earon kept them from breaking free. Tyla had to admit that he understood how to handle equine. She gave Jarrett a glare when he turned and watched the Lawry runner calm the animals. Obviously, Earon wasn’t as useless as Jarrett thought.

He met her look, then frowned and turned back to the trail. Tyla immediately felt sorry for the harsh words that had passed between them that morning, but he just didn’t understand. He didn’t know the burden she carried, the dread with which she thought of her impending marriage. She felt her own reluctance growing with each mile from Adishian, but she knew she couldn’t break her promise to Tarnow. Her confusing feelings for the Terrian only made it that much worse. When he’d talked about leaving Earon behind, she had to admit the thought intruded that leaving Jarrett behind would be so much easier.

Cramming those thoughts deep inside, she concentrated on the trail. The amount of snow was worrying. How deep would it get the higher in elevation they climbed? Her sedentary life at the castle hadn’t prepared her for hiking over mountains and certainly not for wearing snow shoes.

The hours slipped away and she lost herself in the rhythmic motion of travel. They stopped at midday and ate a cold lunch, huddled in the cover of the boulders. Clouds rolled in overhead and sat at the summit with a dark, menacing presence that made a chill race up Tyla’s spine. The mules were restless, requiring Earon to settle them again. Tyla wondered if the animals sensed something their two-legged counterparts didn’t and that maybe they should seek shelter, but she was afraid to voice it to the others. Out of all of them, she had the least experience with wilderness.

They set out again. No conversation passed between them, none of the banter that they’d exchanged during their ride into Kazden. Even though they’d been afraid of pursuit then, the physical challenge of that journey paled in comparison to this one.

Then too, the trail was so narrow, they were forced to go single file and this prevented anything but the most rudimentary conversation. Jarrett led the group and called out instructions, but beyond that, he pushed them hard and left them with little choice but to stumble along in his wake.

At a sharp bend in the trail, the lead mule balked and refused to take another step. Tyla had fallen back behind Kendrick, Kian at her side. She placed her hand on his head to keep him beside her and squinted around the Nazarien to where Earon was climbing around the trail to take the mule’s lead from Jarrett.

The Terrian willingly handed it over, visibly annoyed by the animal’s behavior. The mule tossed its head, snapping the reins and braying. Earon had a hand in the halter and was speaking to it, stroking its wide forehead with his other hand.

Tyla made a motion to stay Kian and tried to cross around Kendrick on the trail. Something didn’t feel right, hadn’t felt right since they broke for lunch. She let her power slip out and canvas the area.

Her eyes widened with shock and she shoved the Nazarien in the back, tripping him. He toppled over into the trail.

“Jarrett…” she shouted, trying to climb over Kendrick, but a strange whump came from below them.

Something slammed into Earon, throwing him across the trail where he collided with the embankment on the opposite side.

“Down!” shouted Jarrett, throwing himself behind an outcropping of boulders. He’d already whipped the bow off his shoulder and had an arrow fitted into the line. Tyla scrambled over Kendrick and crawled to where Earon lay. The mule had bolted down the trail and disappeared from sight.

Earon’s face was pale and his eyes were ringed with white. Tyla saw a black arrow protruding from his shoulder. Another whump sounded and Tyla threw herself over Earon’s body, but the arrow embedded in the bank next to her, followed by an unnatural scream. She glanced over her shoulder and her eyes widened as an Orahim rolled down the hill below them until its body was stopped by the trunk of a pine. Jarrett’s arrow protruded from the creature’s throat.

Tyla leaned back and curled her hands in Earon’s parka, surprised he wasn’t complaining more vocally. Tugging him, she slid him into the trail and tried to drag him back toward the outcropping. Suddenly Muzik was beside her and grabbed her arm, shoving her toward cover. She scrambled to Kendrick’s side as Jarrett sighted along the bow again. Muzik hauled Earon’s body and shoved him up against the rock, then reached for the quiver of arrows and dumped them on the ground at their feet. He picked one up, prepared to offer it to Jarrett when he fired next.

Tyla turned her attention to Earon. The arrow had caught him in the meat of his shoulder muscle. It was small, black, with black fletching on the end. It shouldn’t be too difficult to remove, but something held her hand. Earon was staring at her, his eyes round, his breathing rapid and shallow.

She focused on his expression. “Earon, talk to me.”

“I can’t feel my body,” he whispered.

She searched the ground, then found the pack Kendrick had been carrying. He’d cast it aside when they took cover. Tearing it open, she grabbed a shirt and covered her hand with it. Then she took hold of the arrow.

“Brace yourself,” she warned, shooting a glance up at Jarrett. The bow was taut in his hands, his eyes squinted as he sighted among the trees for any sign of movement.

She yanked the arrow free. Earon screamed and blood flowed, crimson and hot down the sleeve of his parka. At the same time, more black arrows flew up at them and clattered harmlessly against the rocks. Jarrett released another arrow and Tyla heard a strange choking cough rise from the trees, then silence once again. Muzik grabbed the next arrow and handed it to him.

Tyla returned to her care of Earon, grabbing another shirt from the pack and pressing it to the wound.

“What’s on those arrows?” asked Kendrick beside her. She glanced at him and noticed he had one hand curled tight in Kian’s ruff, holding the dog next to him. Looking down the trail, she saw the other mule had stayed and was nosing among the weeds, oblivious to the battle just above it.

“I can’t feel anything,” said Earon.

Tyla looked back at him. She didn’t know how to respond. Until they were some place safe, there was little she could do about his paralysis. She just prayed it didn’t spread beyond his limbs to his breathing as well.

Jarrett released another arrow. Despite herself, she chanced a glance over the rocks and saw the outline of a body slump to the ground. Strange guttural cries rose out of the trees in obvious alarm. Jarrett shot again. Another Orahim went rolling down the hill, crashing through the brambles and weeds, disappearing into the deeper underbrush. A new volley of black arrows answered Jarrett’s and they ducked behind the rocks.

Jarrett’s eyes met Tyla’s and she felt his apology whisper through her mind.

Before she could respond, a voice shouted up at them, farther down the mountainside and echoing off the rocks around them.

“Do you think you can pick us off one by one, Terrian?” called Lex Prestar.

Tyla closed her eyes. He was never going to give up.

“I’m willing to try,” Jarrett shouted back.

“I have more than a hundred men with me. Really, I care very little how many lizards you shoot. Shoot the whole bunch of them. The outcome’s the same. Eventually, you’ll run out of arrows.”

“But I’ll be sure to save one for you, Lex.”

Silence met Jarrett’s challenge. They huddled behind the rocks, the tension palpable. Finally, the echo of Prestar’s voice reached them. “It doesn’t have to be like this, you know? We just want the Queen. She won’t be harmed. The rest of you can walk away, go home. But if you keep this up, someone’s gonna die, and I don’t mean lizards. She might be the one, Terrian. We might accidentally kill her. Is that what you want?”

Jarrett rolled over and lifted the bow, sighting along the top of the boulder. Tyla watched him, wondering how he could see anything in the heavy underbrush and snow beneath the trees. A moment later he released the shot, which was echoed by a scream and frantic thrashing, then silence. He had another arrow loaded before Tyla realized she hadn’t seen him move. She’d never seen anyone move that fast before.

“I have another plan,” Jarrett called down the mountain. “Why don’t you come up and we’ll talk about it?”

“I respect you, Terrian. I really do. You’ve shown me you’re a formidable opponent, so I know you know the situation. We’ve run you to ground. There’s no way out of this. All I have to do is call a charge, you die, and we have the Queen. Maybe the Queen dies. Who knows? My men are cold and tired and getting spooked out here in these mountains. They might make a mistake. Let’s be honest. We both know there’s no way for you to win this one. There’s no way out!”

Jarrett lowered the bow. His eyes rapidly passed over all of them. They stared at him in return, waiting for him to say something. Tyla swallowed against the lump forming in her throat. She had an idea of what he was thinking.

“Cut the head off the snake,” he muttered finally.

Tyla frowned at him, but his gaze came to rest on her, narrowing to slits of blue. “Cut the head off the snake,” he said louder.

Tyla felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach.

“What?” said Muzik, but Jarrett ignored him.

“Tyla.” He grabbed her arm and gave her a hard look. “You’ve got to find him. You’ve got to kill him. If we cut off the head, the rest of the snake might die.”

Kendrick made a choked sound. “Jarrett…”

Jarrett’s look never wavered. “There’s no other way. I wouldn’t ask you to do something like this if I thought we could win. We can’t. He’s right. He’s only got to call a charge. I can kill a few of them, we can get more with our swords, but eventually their numbers will overpower us. However, if their commander is dead, they might just give up.”

Tyla broke his stare. Did he know what he was asking her? Her gaze came to rest on Earon’s frightened face. She’d brought them all here, she’d caused this. They were in danger because of her. Earon was hurt because of her…and she had the power to stop it. She had the power to end this right now.

“What are you asking?” cried Kendrick, the revulsion in his voice obvious.

Jarrett’s gaze never left her face. “There’s no other way.”

Tyla closed her eyes and pulled her panicked thoughts around her. Drawing a deep breath, she gave him a nod.

“Tyla, no!” said Kendrick, grabbing her shoulder.

“He’s right,” she answered, surprised by how calm she was. “Get him to talk again, Jarrett. I’ve got to locate him. His voice is bouncing off the rocks around here and I’m not sure where to find him.”

Jarrett gave a curt nod, then he turned away from her. “Lex, you still there?”

“I’m here,” came the reply.

Jarrett hesitated, glancing at her from the corner of his eyes, but she was already tuning him out, trying to prepare herself for what she must do next.

“If I take your deal, what are the terms?”

Tyla waited until the commander started outlining the terms of their surrender before she dropped her barricades. The immediate inundation of thoughts hammered into her mind, staggering her. She felt her body slide forward toward Earon, but Muzik’s strong hands curled around her shoulders and drew her back, supporting her.

Not since she’d been a young child had so many conflicting images and feelings assailed her. She moaned and curled in on herself, vaguely aware her hand had fallen from Earon’s shoulder.

So many thoughts, so much fear, so many panicked emotions flooded into her mind. She tried to sort them, grapple with them, force the most alien of them away from her, and she realized she was picking up even the Orahim’s oddly foreign feelings.

She was aware of Kendrick crouching beside her, shouting at Jarrett even as Jarrett coaxed Lex into responding, but thoughts of her companions had no place in this cacophony that filled her head. Then just when she knew she couldn’t stand it a moment longer, she found him.

She zeroed in on that one man and forced the rest behind the barrier again. She didn’t have time to wonder at the morality of what she was about to do, she simply probed his mind and then took control, shutting down the flow of blood to his heart.

Lex Prestar was stronger than she thought, however, and he instantly recognized what was happening to him. The lightning whip of his thoughts startled her and then broke her concentration when he shouted one word – “Charge!” – even as she sent him into a convulsion. Before she could finish him, she was wrenched back to their predicament as waves of bodies surged from the trees and raced for the rocks.

The twang of Jarrett’s arrow echoed back over the valley and Tyla shifted her attack to those that were fastest, blasting them with a kinetic force that threw them backwards and careening into those climbing behind them.

On they came, though, stepping over the bodies of their fallen comrades.

With a roar, Muzik whipped his sword from its sheath and leapt to his feet, brandishing it over his head. Oddly enough, the surge stumbled to a halt at the sight of the giant and stared up at him with wide eyes and mouths agape. The next moment they broke rank and scrambled back down the mountain, slipping and sliding over debris and comrades as they sought cover.

Suddenly Tyla felt the whistle of arrows streak over her head and she ducked.

The arrows slammed into the fleeing soldiers and they fell, shot through the back, the knee, the back of their throats. Their screams of terror echoed over the mountains, their blood soaking the snow, turning it crimson.

Tyla and her companions stared in stunned silence as the Front Guard ranks broke and fled, trailing wounded in their wake. Then she turned and came face to face with a very handsome man with bronze skin, blonde hair, and brilliant blue eyes. He was dressed in forest green and an ornately carved bow dangled from his hand.

Tyla couldn’t corral her muscles into standing, so she sat by Earon, staring up at their visitor as others materialized from the mountainside and moved to stand on the trail all around them. The blond one pressed his hand to his heart and bowed, then he said something in a strange, lyrical language Tyla didn’t begin to understand.

Jarrett rose from his crouch and executed a similar greeting. After the two men shook hands, the Terrian turned to his companions and a smile burst across his face. “This is Allistar, Field Commander of the Grozik-based band of the Temerian Guard.”

His eyes lowered to Tyla. “Your Highness, may I present you to your kinsmen?” he said, holding out his hand.

CHAPTER 20

Jarrett couldn’t hide his surprise when Tyla ignored the hand he offered her and climbed to her feet with Muzik’s help. Her eyes shifted away from him and appraised the Stravad commander. “Thank him for saving us,” she commanded.

Jarrett translated for her, stung by her chilling demeanor.

“Tell him we have an injured man and need to move him to shelter, so that I can assess his wound better.”

Jarrett conveyed the command. Kendrick sidled up to her and whispered something Jarrett didn’t catch. She waved him off.

“Allistar says they have an encampment just a few miles up the trail. They also have a larger outpost at the summit, but it’ll take another two days to reach it,” Jarrett translated.

“Inform him that we need a litter built in order to move Earon.”

Jarrett frowned at her. “How are they supposed to do that, Tyla? They were hunting when they heard our confrontation. They only brought hunting weapons with them.”

Tyla motioned to the mule that grazed on the edge of the trail below them. “There’s a tent in our packs. They can use some saplings and the rope we have to fashion something together. I don’t care how it’s done, I just want it done.”

Jarrett flinched at the tone of her voice. “Why can’t he ride on the mule?”

She glared at him and suddenly it hit him why she was being so cold to him. He felt like she’d belted him in the stomach. “He’s paralyzed. How is he supposed to stay on the mule’s back?”

Jarrett didn’t speak for a moment. His eyes rose to Kendrick, but he found only more contempt there. Fury replaced his bewilderment. “Fine, Your Majesty, I’ll order them to build a litter.”

“Good,” she said, then turned away, kneeling beside Earon’s oddly still body.

Jarrett shot a glare at Kendrick.

The Nazarien narrowed his eyes. “I speak Lodenian too, you know?”

Jarrett clenched his jaw. “Well then, just let me run and get you a treat,” he snapped, brushing by him and moving toward the mule.

*    *    *

Tyla sat in the tent, holding Earon’s hand. He was sleeping easily now, his breathing less rapid and shallow. Allistar had Stamerian and she’d given Earon a large dose, easing the pain of his wound. The Stravad had suggested a poultice of herbs she didn’t recognize. Through Jarrett, he’d explained it was a concoction they used for snakebite. He wondered if it might not draw out the Orahim poison. Tyla made the poultice under Allistar’s watchful eye and yet, Earon still couldn’t move any part of his body below the site of the injury.

Allistar assured Tyla there were skilled healers in Temeron who might be able to help. Tyla knew that she herself might be able to find a cure if she had the resources of a Temerian clinic at her disposal.

She was distracted from her thoughts by the lifting of the tent flap. Closing her eyes, she steeled herself for the confrontation that was about to come. The idea of what she must do was like a physical blow to her, crippling, and yet she knew there was no other way. Her sanity and the safety of all around her depended on her being strong enough to face her decision.

“How is he?” came Jarrett’s voice at her shoulder.

She didn’t look up, couldn’t. She released Earon’s hand and smoothed his covers. “He’s sleeping now, but he still can’t move.”

“I’ll sit with him for a while. Why don’t you go get something to eat? The Stravad have prepared dinner.”

Tyla waited a moment longer, then rose reluctantly. Turning to the doorway, she avoided looking at Jarrett. She knew what she needed to do, but now that the moment was here, she just couldn’t find the will to do it. She made it to the center of the tent before he stopped her.

“Tyla?”

She stumbled to a halt and closed her eyes again, biting her lip. She could feel the tension snake up her spine and slide across her shoulders. The heat of his body radiated at her back. Misery pressed up inside her throat, making it ache.

“I’ve been wrong twice today,” he said softly.

She didn’t turn, couldn’t turn. If she looked at him, she’d never be able to say what she had to say.

“I was wrong about leaving Earon. I’m sorry he was hurt. And I was wrong…” His voice trailed away. He cleared it and reached out, touching her arm. “I was wrong when I asked you to kill Lex Prestar.”

She drew away from his touch. That was something else she couldn’t bear. She could feel the confused flutter of his thoughts against her own, but she shoved them aside.

“Tyla, I was wrong. I had no right to ask you to do that. It was a horrible thing…”

She couldn’t hear anymore, she couldn’t listen to his misguided apology, so she bolted for the tent flap, ducking outside. The cold of the winter air hit her and she realized she’d left her parka by Earon’s bed. Snow crunched under her foot and she stumbled to a halt in the darkness, looking over to where bodies moved through the fire’s light. Glancing back the other way, she saw a shadow glide past, a Stravad on patrol around the perimeter of the camp.

Jarrett stepped out behind her. “Tyla?”

She turned to face him, staring up at his face, the fire’s light flickering over his features.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you to do something like that, but I didn’t think there was any other choice. I know it was wrong, but the odds were too steep against us. I didn’t see any other way out. I know what you must think, what you must feel about that. It was an unforgivable thing to do, but I was only trying to save us.”

“That’s not what’s wrong,” she said, forcing the words out through clenched teeth. “You’re right. It was the only way. None of us knew the Stravad were there, not even me. We were too caught up in the battle. There was no other way out of it.”

He gave her a bewildered look. “I don’t understand…”

“I know you don’t,” she said, her expression softening. She sighed heavily. “Jarrett, you’ve brought me to my kinsmen. You’ve completed your part of the journey. Now I want you to go home.” Curling her arms around her middle, she forced herself to meet his agonized gaze.

“What?” He looked hurt and confused. Again he tried to communicate with her through his thoughts, but she blocked them. “How could you ask that? After what we’ve been through, how could you send me away like this?”

She couldn’t stand the bewilderment she heard in his voice, the pain in his eyes. She reached up and caught him behind the head, pulling him down to her. Then she kissed him, slanting her mouth across his, pouring all of her emotions into the gesture. He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her in against him and Tyla felt herself splintering inside. It felt right to be in his arms, to be held close by him. She gentled the kiss and gradually pulled back, still within the circle of his arms.

“I don’t have any other choice, Jarrett. Can’t you see? Don’t you understand?”

“No, I don’t. How can I?”

“I would have killed Lex Prestar today if I’d had just a moment more. I would have killed him and not thought about it a moment after, but I wouldn’t have done it for the reasons you think. I wouldn’t have done it to save Muzik or Kendrick, or even myself. I would have done it to save you. Only you.”

He frowned.

She pushed away from him. “More than anyone, more than Rarick of Sarkisian even, you have the power to make me a monster. I would do anything to protect you. Anything, even kill.” With that, she turned away from him and walked through the snow drifts toward the Stravad fire in the distance.

*    *    *

Jarrett leaned against a boulder and watched the gathering in the middle of what had been their campsite. The tents were down, the fire out, and the gear repacked and ready for travel. The one remaining mule was tethered to a branch close by and her bags were full.

Tyla and company were facing the band of grim faced Stravad. Earon was back on his stretcher and lounging to the side. Kendrick was trying to communicate with the Stravad, and despite his miserable mood, Jarrett was finding the whole scene highly amusing.

He couldn’t hear what Kendrick was saying, but the expression on Allistar’s face spoke volumes. Occasionally, the Stravad commander would glance over at Jarrett and frown in confusion. Jarrett simply shrugged and continued to watch.

He wasn’t sure what he was going to do. Tyla had ordered him home last night, but he had no intention of obeying her. He’d promised her uncles that he would see her safely to Temeron. Depositing her in the hands of her kinsmen hardly qualified. Some part of him knew he was being stubborn, but he didn’t care. He loved Tyla and he wasn’t giving up that easily. Her feelings for him only solidified that commitment. There was no way he was bowing out and giving Kendrick a clear field.

“Hold on,” Tyla said in frustration. “How many days did he say it was to the outpost?”

Kendrick turned to face her, his body language pained. “Two…maybe three.”

“Which is it?” she demanded, her hands on her hips. “What exactly did he say? I want his exact words.”

Kendrick’s face crumpled. “Exact words?”

Tyla nodded.

With a grimace, Kendrick answered. “He said two or three days to the land of small trees.”

Tyla gave Kendrick a piercing look. “The land of small trees?”

Jarrett struggled to hide his smile when Kendrick nodded.

“I thought you said you could speak Lodenian?”

“I can,” protested Kendrick, “it’s just…”

“Just what?” interjected Muzik.

“I read it better than speak it. It’s been a long time since I’ve used it.”

“What does that mean? It’s been a long time since you’ve spoken it or read it?” asked Tyla.

“Both,” said Kendrick.

Tyla closed her eyes and exhaled. Muzik paced away. Earon broke into a peel of laughter.

“I just need some practice.”

Opening her eyes again, Tyla glanced over her shoulder at Jarrett. He could see how much she didn’t want to ask him for help. Turning back around, she tried to moderate her tone. “We don’t have that much time. I need someone who can communicate with them now. I could read their minds, but I don’t think they’d like that much, do you?”

Kendrick bowed his head.

Tyla glanced at Jarrett again, clearly torn. He decided to spare her anymore pain; besides humiliating Kendrick was just so much fun. Pushing away from the boulder, he moved toward the group.

“Guess you won’t be going home,” muttered Earon.

“Thought you were asleep last night?” growled Jarrett, giving his litter a bump with his foot.

“And miss the drama, never.”

Jarrett deliberately pushed between Tyla and Kendrick. “Land of small trees?” he said, then smiled at Allistar.

The Stravad looked relieved. “Hello, Jarrett.”

“Hey, Allistar.” He shot a look at the Nazarien. “What exactly did he say to you?”

Allistar shook his head in amusement. “Something about wanting to know when the crimson orb would dance across the radiant sky. Bloody Nazarien!”

Jarrett laughed. “He’d prefer it if you’d write it for him.”

Allistar gave Kendrick a sidelong look. “Ah,” was all he said.

“Her Majesty would like to know how far to the outpost.”

Allistar’s amusement shifted to Jarrett. “Two days if we push hard.”

Jarrett nodded. “I’ll convey the message. Anything else?”

“I’d like to leave as soon as possible. We haven’t noticed any sign of your pursuers, but they had more numbers than we did, and I hate to tangle with Orahim in particular.”

Jarrett’s expression sobered. “You have much dealings with them?”

“More now than we used to, but that might be because we’ve been stationed in the Groziks for the last few months.”

“Why?” asked Jarrett, although he thought he knew.

“The Lord of Loden asked us to patrol the passes. There are bands of Stravad at all the passes from the coast to the Madronic range. We figured you’d have to come one of these ways eventually.”

Jarrett nodded. “I’m sure glad you were there yesterday.”

“So am I.” He gave Jarrett a level look. “You are coming with us the rest of the way, right?”

Jarrett glanced at Tyla. “Of course I am. You think I’d leave you to communicate with a bloody Nazarien.”

“Eldon’s star, I hope not,” answered Allistar seriously.

***

Kalas tried not to fidget as he stood next to Rarick’s throne. The king of Sarkisian lounged in the seat, both long legs stretched out before him and his hands crossed over his stomach. Kalas had been standing beside the throne in Tarnow’s audience chamber for the last two hours. His lower back ached and his legs were cramping, but he knew better than to ask for a seat.

His gaze traced the line of empty seats around the periphery of the room. The council had been disbanded. Rarick trusted none of the council members, branding them conspirators of Tarnow’s. Kalas thought he probably wasn’t far off the mark. The people in Adishian were not happy with the change in leadership. He didn’t dare venture into the city himself without a heavy contingent of soldiers.

He shifted weight and curled one hand over the hilt of his sword, trying to angle it into a more comfortable position. He felt Rarick’s eyes pass over him, then return to inspecting his yellow nails.

“Soon this will be yours,” said the King, curling his fingers over the arms of the throne. He rubbed his palms along the shiny, dark wood.

Kalas’ enthusiasm for that role had dimmed when his sister went missing. A knot had formed in his stomach since that day. He’d never been much for praying, but he’d been praying for weeks now.

“Are you ready for this command?” asked Rarick.

Kalas kept his eyes on the guards at the door. “You’ve trained me well, Father,” was all he said.

Rarick made a noise in his throat, then folded his hands on his belly. Kalas wanted to ask why they were standing here, but he also knew better than to voice the question. Silence stretched away between them. Kalas found himself distracted by watching the absolute lack of animation in the two guards. How they could lock their knees and completely wipe their faces of expression amazed him.

“I got a message last night from Sarkisian,” said Rarick, his voice echoing in the empty room.

Kalas flinched despite his resolve to not show emotion. He didn’t have the control of the guards. “I trust everything is well?”

“Everything is not well. A growing band of refugees have taken up residence outside the city’s wall. Some have come from within the city, evicted by landlords, but others have come from Adishian.”

Kalas couldn’t help but frown. Adishian? That seemed unlikely. Adishian was a much more temperate climate than Sarkisian. They were even able to grow some crops here. Still, he kept this thought to himself, hiding away the secret hope that had bloomed at Rarick’s words.

Rarick rubbed his hands along the arms of the throne again. “I will have to leave Adishian in your command for a while, until I can look into this problem myself.” He sighed and his fingers curled around the end, tightening until his knuckles turned white. “Besides, I have a great longing to see Stronghold again.”

Kalas knew what Rarick would never admit. He feared being away from Stronghold. He feared the hate he generated wherever he went. It wasn’t enough to have men guard his sleeping chambers, it wasn’t enough to hide in this drafty, empty audience chamber. He needed the rise of Stronghold’s black walls around him.

He wanted to savor the elation that surged through him, but the audience chamber doors opened and a page sidled through. He bowed low before Rarick. Beyond him, Kalas could see the outer hall and caught a glimpse of Lex Prestar pacing back and forth. He felt a rise of bile tickle his throat. He tried to search for signs of his sister, but he could see very little beyond the doors.

“Speak, boy,” commanded Rarick. His hands were still clawed around the throne arms and his voice rang like a whip’s crack.

“Lex Prestar requests an audience, Your Majesty,” said the boy, his voice breaking.

Rarick snarled. Kalas was shocked by the gesture. Lex Prestar was one of his most trusted servants. Perhaps that meant…

“Send him in,” said Rarick, punctuating each word. He knew something, Kalas was sure. The message about Sarkisian wasn’t the only one he’d received last night. A bud of hope rose inside Kalas’ chest.

The page rose from his bow, executed an abrupt about-face, and walked from the room. He’d scarcely made it to the doors before Lex Prestar pushed his way through. He hurried to the middle of the floor, at the foot of Rarick’s dais, and threw himself down, prostrating himself before his king.

“Your Majesty,” he said, his voice muffled by the floor.

Rarick slid upright in the throne, sitting so his back was ramrod straight. “Report to me, Lex. Why are you here?”

Lex lifted his head enough to speak, but he would not meet Rarick’s eye. The bud of hope spread its petals wide inside Kalas and he had to fight to hide a smile. “We were overtaken, Your Majesty.”

“The Queen?”

Lex chanced a glance up, then dropped it again. “We were overtaken,” he repeated. “In the Groziks. They came out of nowhere. Killed three quarters of my men. It happened in moments. I barely escaped with my life.”

“How were you overtaken? Your last message said you had tracked them into Kazden and had shut the city down. How did they make it into the Groziks?”

“They left by boat.”

Kalas couldn’t help the smile that touched the corners of his mouth.

“Boat? You didn’t secure the docks?”

“I never thought they’d be able to leave that way. They’ve had help at every juncture. Here in Adishian, in Kazden, and then on the mountain…” His voice trailed away and he dropped his head to his chest. He looked ragged and dirty, his uniform rent in many places. Kalas had never seen him looking so disheveled.

“You had them again in the mountains?”

Lex nodded. “We had them pinned down. The Terrian is a devil with a bow, Your Majesty. He was picking off Orahim from behind a stand of boulders. I lost ten in the first few minutes, but I knew I could wait him out. Eventually he would run out of arrows.”

“But he didn’t?”

“We had begun negotiating. He was willing to give up the queen for safe passage back to Terra Antiguo…”

Kalas frowned. That didn’t seem like the man he’d met here in Adishian.

“Then?”

“Then she tried to kill me,” Lex answered, ducking his head again.

Rarick leaned forward. “If she tried to kill you, I’m sure she would have been successful.”

“I managed to order a charge.” He gave a shudder. “Then the phantoms arrived.”

“Phantoms?” The sneer was apparent in Rarick’s voice. “Really, Lex? Do you expect me to believe that?”

“They came out of nowhere. We couldn’t even see them. They picked us off, one by one, arrows raining down, no sign of the attackers. We couldn’t defend against them. I lost three quarters of my men in minutes, mere minutes…” His voice trailed away and he looked up, briefly meeting Rarick’s glare. “They were invisible. They were phantoms.”

“They were Stravad,” said Kalas, surprised he’d spoken aloud.

Rarick looked up at him, then back to Lex. “Stravad?” He sank back into the throne and closed his eyes. “Stravad? You damn fool, she’s lost to me now. Do you understand that?”

“Your Majesty,” moaned Lex, prostrating himself again. “We couldn’t defend against them. We couldn’t even see them…”

“And yet you came back here alive? You should have followed them, you should have trailed them where ever they went.”

“I lost most of my men.”

“Not all. Not all! You should have trailed until the last one was dead.”

Lex lifted his head and held out his hands. “You don’t understand, Majesty. She had help at every turn. She couldn’t have escaped Adishian without help, then in Kazden…”

“What I understand is that you failed me.”

“No, Majesty, I tried. In Kazden, we blockaded the city, we closed off all of the roads and bridges. We…”

“You returned. You fled.” Rarick pushed himself to his feet. He turned toward Kalas and reached for him. Kalas couldn’t stop the involuntary flinch at Rarick’s move, but the king simply closed his hand on the hilt of Kalas’ sword and drew it with a ringing whisk that echoed in the empty chamber.

Lex began babbling as Rarick turned toward him and stepped off the dais. “You don’t understand, Majesty. I had to come back. I had to tell you. There are rebels all over Kazden and Adishian. They are mobilizing as we speak. That’s who helped her, these rebels. They are like rats, like vermin infecting your kingdom, infecting your…”

Rarick stopped in front of Lex and without warning, swung the sword. It whistled as it cleaved the air. Kalas saw Lex’s eyes widen, then a moment later his head disappeared, landing with a thud on the opposite side of the chamber. His body remained upright for a moment, then toppled to the side. Blood gushed forth and then puddled beneath him, spreading out across the tiles and seeping into the cracks.

Kalas couldn’t move, couldn’t cry out. He just stared in horror as Rarick turned, his long robes sweeping through the blood, trailing it behind him as he carried Kalas’ sword to the dais. He dangled the blade by the grip, just the fingertips of both hands touching the hilt.

Kalas realized he was breathing too fast, hyperventilating, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Lex Prestar’s headless body. A moment before the man had been babbling for his life, now he was dead.

Rarick stopped before Kalas, blocking his view. Kalas lifted horrified eyes to his face.

With a grimace, Rarick sighed. “I probably should have asked more about the rebels before I reacted. Ah well,” he said and reached for Kalas’ hand, closing his cold fingers around the hilt. Kalas’ eyes lowered to the blood sliding down the blade and dripping onto the dais. “You will find out for me, won’t you?”

Kalas forced a nod, stunned by the way the drops pooled into larger drops with each passing moment.

“Have someone clean that up, won’t you?” remarked Rarick casually.

Kalas nodded again.

Rarick’s hand rose and closed over Kalas’ chin, lifting his face until their eyes met. His yellow fingernails rested just beneath Kalas’ left eye. Kalas swallowed hard, unable to school his features as he so wanted.

“Don’t fail me,” said Rarick, his breath fanning sour and cold against Kalas’ face.

Kalas shook his head frantically.

Rarick smiled. Tilting Kalas’ face downward, he placed a kiss on his forehead. “You are the son of my heart,” he whispered against Kalas’ flesh. Kalas tried hard not to pull away, but his body shivered in revulsion.

Releasing him, Rarick swept his robes about himself and descended the dais, walking past Lex Prestar’s body as if it wasn’t there.

Kalas stood stock still, the sword gripped in his hand, his eyes on Rarick’s back. Rarick’s kiss felt like an icy imprint on his forehead, a mark the whole world would be able to see. With the slightest of movements, the guards pulled open the audience chamber doors and Rarick glided out. As the door shut behind him, Kalas closed his eyes and gave himself over to the shiver that racked his body.

CHAPTER 21

Jarrett stepped out onto the porch of the barracks, cradling a hot cup of tea in his hands. Patches of snow lay scattered across the parade grounds between the dining hall and the other outbuildings. They had arrived at the outpost after dark last night, so Jarrett hadn’t been able to see their surroundings very well.

Allistar had told him that Nazarien had once manned this location, but when they returned to Nevaisser upon Talar’s death, the Temerian Stravad had taken over. It was a strategic post between the two lands and afforded an excellent vantage point from which to observe Nevaisser.

“Jarrett?” called the Stravad commander. He stood on the ridge along the farthest edge of the parade grounds. Jarrett jogged down the steps and crossed the open area before the barracks. Earon was lounging in a deep backed chair in the sunlight, his hair tied up in a brightly colored bandana.

Jarrett paused beside him and the runner opened his eyes. “How are you feeling?” Jarrett asked. He was trying to be less antagonistic since Tyla had called him on it.

Earon gave him a puzzled look, then shrugged. “Better.”

Jarrett’s eyes widened in surprise. “I guess so, you just moved.”

“I shrugged my shoulders. Don’t get your panties in a pinch. It ain’t a waltz or nothing.”

“But it’s something.”

“Yeah, it is.” He looked down with a triumphant smile. “I moved my toes today too. Her Highness thinks the poison might be wearing off. ‘Else that concoction the Stravad made might be helping.”

Jarrett nodded. “Well, it’s a good sign. Besides, I’m sure the Stravad would like to stop carrying your sorry ass around anyway.”

Earon made a mocking face in response. “Always the gentleman, eh, Terrian?”

“Always.”

Jarrett continued on to where Allistar was standing, looking over the edge of the ridge. Allistar absently offered his hand as Jarrett moved up beside him. Jarrett took it, but he too was captivated by the scene that spread out before him.

Loden was a land of green fields and dense forest, a land of rivers and lakes, a land of fertile, fecund soil. It stole one’s breath away.

“This is my home,” said Allistar.

Jarrett didn’t have words for what he felt. Listening to Lawyan and Shad, he’d dreamed of Loden, but nothing had prepared him for this kaleidoscope of colors. They were so intense they were hard to look at, painful in their brilliance and variety.

Once, shortly after he’d come to live with Tyla’s uncles, Lawyan had taken him to an art gallery. He’d seen a painting there where the artist had used such vibrant colors that he’d had to turn sideways and view it from the corner of his eyes. It had made his brain ache with his inability to comprehend something so majestic. He felt that way now.

“Whenever we return to the outpost after a patrol through Nevaisser, I come here first the next morning and watch the sun rise over the valley,” said Allistar.

Last night, they’d arrived too late. Night had fallen and they’d gone into the dining hall, eating in silence, then dispersed to their various bunks, too tired to ask much about their location. In the light of a new day, Jarrett felt an overwhelming sense of calm. They’d made it to safety. He could no longer remember when he hadn’t felt that knot in his stomach, that dread that made him wary and hyper alert.

“What are you looking at?” came Kendrick’s voice on his right side.

Jarrett glanced at the Nazarien, then lifted his tea and took a sip. “The land of small trees,” he said.

He could see Kendrick stiffen beside him. “Do you always have to mock me?”

Jarrett considered the question a moment, then nodded. “Yeah.”

Allistar pointed to a spot at the base of the Grozik Mountains, nestled along a river. “That is Zelan.” He swung his hand away north-east. “There is Temeron.”

Jarrett could just make out another smaller mountain range, but nothing else beyond.

“You’ll have to ask Tyla Eldralin where she wants to go.” Allistar motioned over his left shoulder. Jarrett followed his line of sight and saw that Tyla was also looking out at the view below them. “Zelan is closer and her great uncle Taverand will send her to Temeron in the height of luxury. If she wishes to go straight on to Temeron, we can provide horses from the outpost, but it’s ten days, give or take if the weather holds.”

“I’ll ask her,” he answered, but he couldn’t help the sigh that escaped him.

Allistar patted him on the shoulder. “I have heard stories of her father. He was said to be quite head-strong,” he said with a laugh. “She would make him look indecisive. There is much to admire in such a woman.”

“And much to find frustrating.” He patted Allistar’s shoulder in return and left him with the Nazarien.

Kendrick was trying to start up a conversation, but his sentences were overly formal and sometimes…sometimes, just wrong. Jarrett wanted to laugh, but the look Tyla shot him was enough to stop him in his tracks. She immediately returned to looking out over the valley, but he shivered at the chill of her expression. Gods, she was determined to make him squirm.

“Allistar needs you to make a decision, Your Majesty,” he mocked.

She didn’t bother to grace him with so much as a glance. “It’s not right,” she said. She had her parka on and her arms crossed around her as if she were cold.

“What’s not right?” he asked, taking up a spot next to her and sipping at his tea.

“All this opulence in one land, but behind me, my people are starving.”

My people? His eyes shot to her face in alarm. “I think your people are all around you now. Your people are waiting for you in Temeron.”

She didn’t answer, but whirled away from him, walking back toward the outpost. Jarrett exhaled in annoyance, then followed like the servant she was determined to make him. “Tyla, Allistar needs a decision.”

She stopped with her back to him. Jarrett was distracted by Kendrick’s voice. “The beasts will bear us with problematic difficulties?” he asked. Jarrett grimaced and resisted the impulse to shoot a look at Allistar. Tyla slowly turned around. He focused his attention on her.

“What decision does he need?”

Jarrett curled his hands around the mug and gripped it for patience. “Our destination. Do you want to go to Zelan where your uncle rules as Lord of Loden? That’s only a few days journey and Allistar says your uncle will send you to Temeron in luxury. Or do you want to go directly to Temeron, where your grandfather is? That’s a ten day journey on horseback.”

“Temeron,” she said without hesitation, then she turned away again, but she stopped in mid-motion and turned back. “The Stravad will have to build a better litter to carry Earon.”

Jarrett nodded.

She shot a look at Kendrick. “And you will have to start teaching us Lodenian, immediately. All of us, including Kendrick. I want to be proficient at it by the time I reach Temeron.”

“In ten days?”

“Exactly.”

Jarrett shook his head. “Tyla, I lived with your uncles for years before I knew more than a few rudimentary sentences, and they spoke it at home all the time. I can’t make you proficient in ten days.”

Her look softened when he mentioned her uncles, then it hardened again. “You have ten days to teach me enough to talk with my grandfather without a translator. I won’t accept anything less.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but she whirled away from him.

“The land is like running mountain rocks, covered in whiskers of shale,” echoed Kendrick’s voice.

Jarrett closed his eyes and tightened his grip on his mug.

*    *    *

Dolan shuffled between the two guards, turning sideways to make it through the doorway with one of them attached at each elbow. His head ached and his knees shook, but the pangs of hunger had long ago left him.

The Prince of Sarkisian was sitting at the table in the dining hall, but he rose as Dolan and his entourage entered. He couldn’t hide the shock that briefly touched his features, but he quickly tilted back his head and narrowed his blue eyes.

Dolan looked down. Every time he saw Kalas and noted the resemblance to Talar in his features, he felt a wave of fury move through him. Dolan was too well trained to feel such emotion and it made him hate Kalas all the more.

“Remove the manacles,” the Prince ordered.

Dolan glanced up in surprise. His guards were also surprised because they didn’t immediately move to obey. Kalas drew himself up and gave the command again in a voice that rang with authority. Like Talar, he wasn’t a physically imposing man, but there was a quality about him that made people take notice. Dolan hated him for that as well.

Every little reminder of Kalas’ paternity rankled the old Nazarien because while Kalas might look like Talar and have a degree of his charisma, he was not his father. In fact, he was a disgraceful mockery of the man Dolan had secretly worshipped.

The guards knelt and unlocked the shackles. Dolan staggered when the weight fell from around his ankles. Then they rose and unlocked the ones on his wrists. Dolan didn’t want to betray any weakness, but he couldn’t resist rubbing his arms.

Kalas pulled out a chair at the table. “Please sit,” he commanded.

Dolan eyed the chair skeptically, but his knees were shaking too badly for him to rebel. He shuffled forward as if he were still shackled and sank into the plush cushions. Spots danced in his field of vision and he breathed a sigh, grateful he hadn’t blacked out a moment before.

“Bring him some food and drink at once,” Kalas said to the guards.

“Your Highness,” one of them questioned. “You don’t expect us to leave you unguarded?”

Kalas swung around to face him. “Do as I command. Bring him food, then you can wait outside the door.”

With a quick bow, both guards left the room. Dolan marked that they were regular infantry, not Front Guard. Curious, he thought, but he was more surprised a moment later when Kalas took a seat diagonal to him.

“Gods, Dolan, I’m sorry for the treatment you’ve received.”

Dolan cast him a wary look, then fixed his sight on the table. Clasping his hands in his lap, he rubbed his wrists.

“You’re like a walking skeleton.”

Dolan licked his cracked lips, but didn’t answer. He had nothing to say to Rarick’s whelp.

Kalas leaned closer to him, dropping his voice. “I had you released the minute I was sure Rarick was gone, but I should have done something sooner. Please forgive me.”

“Rarick’s gone?” muttered the Nazarien, but his voice cracked. He cleared it. “When?”

“This morning. He’s gone back to Sarkisian.”

“Where’s the Queen?”

Kalas leaned back in his chair. “She escaped. I think she made it to Loden.”

Dolan briefly closed his eyes and swayed in his seat. The words brought such relief.

“You’re free to go now. If you want to return to Chernow, I will see you restored to your proper health, then I’ll give you stores and a horse. I’ll even give you an escort if you want one.”

“Front Guard?” muttered Dolan, unable to hide his bitterness.

“No, whatever escort you choose. I’ll even send to Chernow and ask them to send a Nazarien escort if you’d feel better about it.”

Dolan studied the grains of wood in the table. He didn’t believe Kalas for a moment, but he wondered why his offer didn’t bring more than a flutter of hope up inside of him. He didn’t want to go back to Chernow, he realized. He’d been gone so long that it would feel foreign to him. He’d been advisor to Tarnow for so many decades…

Thoughts of Tarnow brought a wash of agony through him. He didn’t want to feel anything, but he couldn’t think of Tarnow without feeling like a failure.

The door opened and one of the guards poked his head through. Kalas waved him into the dining hall. The guard deposited a tray heaped with food in front of Dolan, followed by a goblet of wine.

“You can go,” Kalas said, waving the man away.

The guard reluctantly backed from the room and shut the door. Dolan watched him leave over his shoulder, then looked at his plate. His stomach gave a betraying grumble.

“Eat,” ordered Kalas.

Dolan didn’t move. He stared at the food, stared at the bread and mashed potatoes, swimming in a pool of gravy. A thick slice of roast occupied the center of the plate, surrounded by a mix of vegetables bathed in butter. Dolan felt his mouth start watering.

“You’re starving, man,” said the Prince in bewilderment. “What in the world are you waiting for?”

Dolan glanced up into Kalas’ blue eyes, a blue only a shade less brilliant than his own. Stravad eyes. And yet, he saw only Rarick when he looked at Talar’s son. Awareness dawned in Kalas’ face.

“You think it’s poisoned, don’t you?”

Dolan didn’t respond.

Kalas reached for the bread and broke off a piece, shoving it in his mouth, then he grabbed the goblet and took a swallow. “Not poisoned,” he said around a mouthful. “Now eat.”

Dolan hesitated a moment more, then he reached for the bread himself. He guessed he didn’t care if it was poisoned. He had nothing left to lose.

Kalas leaned back in the chair and watched Dolan eat for a long while. Dolan didn’t stand on ceremony, shoving the food in as quickly as he could. Finally, the Prince stirred.

“You didn’t seem overly enthusiastic when I offered to send you home. Why?”

Dolan washed the mouthful down with wine, closing his eyes at the taste. It was smooth and mellow, coating his dry throat and pooling with lazy pleasure in his belly. “Why did you make the offer? You don’t intend to keep it.”

Kalas rubbed a hand across his chin. “I intend to keep it, if that’s what you choose, but I do have another offer in mind.”

“You don’t have to offer anything. You’re King now. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?” Dolan said, then shoved another bite into his mouth.

Kalas’ eyes drifted toward the windows. The curtains were pulled back and Tyla’s garden was visible. “I wanted to be King with my sister. That was my plan – to rebuild Adishian with her.”

Dolan kept eating.

Kalas’ gaze returned to the Nazarien. “The people of Adishian don’t trust me.”

“What a surprise,” said Dolan unable to hide the sarcasm in his voice. He pushed the plate away. It was still half-full, but he didn’t want to risk making himself sick.

“It’ll be very hard to rebuild the kingdom without their trust,” Kalas continued, ignoring the jibe. “I was hoping my sister might bridge that for me.”

“She’s far away from your machinations, thank Eldon.”

Kalas sighed. “You’re right. She’s better off away from me and Rarick, and yet, it is a problem. If I can’t get the people of Adishian behind me, I’m afraid things are going to deteriorate even worse than they are now. More people will starve this coming winter. I have a very small window of opportunity to turn this around.”

Dolan frowned. He wasn’t sure where this was going or why Kalas was even playing at changing anything.

Kalas leaned forward. “If you don’t want to go back to Chernow, stay here with me, Dolan. Stay here and help me put Adishian back together.”

Dolan reared away. The Princemust be mad. “Let’s be clear, Your Highness,” he said, “When I look at you, I see Rarick of Sarkisian, nothing else. Why would I do anything for you?”

Kalas’ blue eyes narrowed. “Because you loved Tarnow. Because you loved my sister. And most of all, because you love Adishian. Let’s be clear, Dolan,” he mimicked. “We both know you can’t go back to Chernow. You’ve been gone too long. You’re not really Nazarien anymore. You belong here in Adishian.”

“And you expect me to trust you?”

“Of course not,” laughed the prince. “But what have you got to lose? Either I’m true to my word or I’m not. Isn’t the chance enough?” He curled his hand into a fist. “Help me rebuild Adishian. Help me plant crops, ensure there is food for the people. Let’s rebuild the houses and the schools. We can reinstate the council. Plant orchards and sow grain. Let’s put the people back to work.”

“I don’t think Rarick left you here to do that.”

Kalas leaned back. “No, he left me here to weed out the Lawries.”

“So what’s the point? If you are true to your word and you plant crops, what’s to keep Rarick from coming back and squashing us under his heel again?”

Kalas’ eyes glittered like sapphires. “Help me use those rebels for something good.” His face grew grim and handsome in its intensity. “Help me build an army to greet Rarick when he returns.”

Dolan met his gaze fully for the first time. Despite himself, something stirred to life inside his chest.

“Swear fealty to me, Dolan, and I swear you’ll never regret it,” finished the prince. “Swear fealty to me and help me save Adishian.”

*    *    *

Tyla was anxious to reach Temeron. The journey had been a long one and the strain was evident. She wanted to sleep in a soft bed with pillows all about her, and to take a hot bath with soap. She didn’t mind soaking off the traveling dirt in the lakes and streams they passed, but the water was cold and the little soap she had brought with her had long ago disappeared.

She never felt quite clean nor relaxed, and she was tired of the dirty, dusty clothes she had worn since leaving Adishian. Everything she’d taken with her and everything given to her by the Lawries was made for a man – was, in fact, too large and ill-fitting. She longed to wear clothes made for her, which were clean.

She loved Loden though and enjoyed this part of the journey more than anything else. The countryside was unique. Early spring flowers had begun to bloom all along the downs – pale pinks, yellows and oranges. The sky seemed bluer, a depthless, rich blue painted with white, glistening stars.

After everyone retired at night, she’d sit outside her tent with Kian and watch the sky unfold before her in its radiant splendor, and her mind would slip away thinking of all the future held for her – thinking often of her mother and father, her grandfather and her uncles, but most often now thinking of Jarrett.

She had to keep him at a distance. She wished it hadn’t been necessary to bring him any farther than Nevaisser, but the Lodenian language was such a barrier. She’d truly believed her power would make learning it easier, but it hadn’t. Lodenian wasn’t like Nevaisser in any way. And while she could read Allistar’s thoughts and avoid the whole language situation entirely, she was reluctant to betray his trust that way, and truthfully, she wasn’t sure he wouldn’t know.

She realized her only contact with Stravad had been Dolan and Kendrick, but it didn’t take long to realize that the Nazarien were nothing like Allistar. She might not be able to verbally communicate with him or his fellow Stravad, but she recognized the glint of mischief in his eyes and the ready smile that he flashed.

Stravad laughter was something she was beginning to love. Once they descended into Loden, it rang regularly around the campsite, and often at night around the fire, they broke into song. Their lyrical voices added to the enchantment of the Lodenian night, causing an ache to start in Tyla’s breast.

During those moments, she would feel Jarrett’s eyes on her, unguarded, longing, and she would want to respond, but she couldn’t. She just couldn’t. The touch of his thoughts against hers made her catch her breath. She wanted to give way, she wanted to grant him everything he sought, but she forced him back, locked him out, and turned inside herself more and more.

Unfortunately, it shut everyone else out. Muzik was bewildered. Earon stopped flirting, and Kendrick looked at her with a wounded expression. She knew he felt responsible, but he would never, ever be able to free her of the vow that had been forced upon both of them. His religion wouldn’t allow it. And always there was her promise to Tarnow. Retiring to her cot at night helped initially.

There she dreamed. Often it was of Tarnow. They were walking arm and arm through her gardens and he would touch a bud with the very tips of his fingers, smiling at her. Sometimes he would break off a bloom and tuck it into her dark hair, trailing his fingers across her cheek. She would wake from these dreams and lie still, staring at the arch of the tent, exhaling her held breath and feeling her body relax. She realized she was letting him go.

Sometimes she had worse dreams. Dreams where she was hunted, running from some unseen person, always brought to bay where she was forced to lash out with her power. A cry of pain followed – gut-wrenching and feral. She would wake, heart pounding, tears rolling across her temples, and realize the animalistic moans were her own. Then she would roll to her side and curl her hands in Kian’s fur, watching the dog’s yellow eyes gleam in the darkness. He would tuck his wet nose under her hand and the warmth of his breath would lull her back to sleep.

Once she dreamed of Kalas. He was searching for her, searching through tunnels of slick, black stone, calling her name. His voice was raised, tinged in panic, and she wanted to call out to him, but something prevented her. She could see him, but he couldn’t see her and she couldn’t tell him where she was. She came awake and found herself sitting up. Kian had risen to his feet, hackles raised, staring toward the tent flap as if he feared someone might try to come through. She calmed him and calmed herself at the same time, but she couldn’t go back to sleep after that.

The dream called up a memory. She’d just turned fifteen. Inara had given her a quiet party in their quarters and Kalas had snuck into the tower to spend a few stolen minutes with the two of them. He’d been moved to the training barracks two years prior and rarely got time to see them. In fact, Rarick had banned him from the tower just that winter.

Tyla had been so happy to see him that she hadn’t been able to stop her tears when he told her that he had to leave. She moped about the tower for two days, staring out the windows on the parade grounds, trying to catch a glimpse of him, but she rarely did. Rarick was too protective of him to let him train with the regular infantry, so he spent most of his time studying math and engineering with the scholars Rarick employed.

When Inara lay down with a sick headache, Tyla took her chance, sneaking out of the tower and then out of the castle. She found her way to the parade grounds, but once there, she realized she didn’t begin to know where Kalas did his studying.

And the minute she left the castle, the soldiers marked her.

It was her first experience with grown men since she’d come of age. She didn’t have words for the looks they cast on her, but they made her squirm and her power answered, pulsing at the very edge of her consciousness. A few of the foolish ones surrounded her and tugged at her hair, touched the fringe of her dress. When she yanked away, they grew bolder and twined her hair around their fingers or ran their dirty touch across her cheek.

Tyla grew still and her eyes glowed, but they didn’t notice, caught up in raucous laughter and animal mentality. She would have killed them, except Kalas suddenly appeared. He shouted at the men and they stumbled back, releasing her. The light in Tyla’s eyes died immediately and her face lifted in joy, but he grabbed her arm and shook her.

“What the hell are you doing?” he shouted at her. He glared around at the retreating men, but his fury seemed mainly directed at her.

Her eyes widened, then brimmed with tears and she pulled away from him, running back to the castle. They never spoke of it after that time, but she’d nursed her hurt for many years, even allowing it to keep her from telling him goodbye when she went to Adishian.

Closing her eyes, Tyla fought back her tears. If only she had understood that his anger was fear. She’d felt such fear herself – many times with Jarrett when he took a risk that she didn’t like. Had Kalas’ behavior always been motivated by it? It made her wonder what else she’d never understood.

CHAPTER 22

Inara paused at the entrance to what had once been the school room. Stronghold’s tower curved around the back end of the castle and afforded the occupants an unobstructed view of the desert. Gallia was leaning against the windows, pressing her forehead to the glass, her breathing irregular and labored.

Inara crossed to the queen’s side and took her arm. “Please sit, Your Highness,” she said, hooking a chair with her foot and drawing it up to the window.

Gallia allowed Inara to ease her into the seat. Inara could feel every fragile bone in the Queen’s arm. Her cheeks were concave and her eyes were underscored by black circles. Shifting her hand, she grabbed Inara’s wrist, but she had no strength. Closing her eyes, she fought for breath and Inara waited patiently, kneeling by her side.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed, Your Highness,” she said gently.

Gallia forced open her eyes, her chest heaving with each inhalation. She raised her free hand and pointed out the window. “Don’t you see,” she gasped.

Inara followed her finger. Below them were the snowy streets of Sarkisian. People moved back and forth to market, their heads covered, their bodies bowed. Beyond Sarkisian were the gates, and beyond that only desert. Inara squinted.

She could see the plumes of dust being driven into the sky.

“He’s coming,” said Gallia.

Inara rose to her feet and pressed her hands against the glass. A rush of dread spread through her, making her knees weak.

“He’ll be here by nightfall.” Gallia’s breathing had eased a bit, but two bright spots of hectic red color lit her cheeks.

Returning to the Queen’s side, Inara knelt again. “Let’s get you back to bed.” She reached for the Queen’s hand, but Gallia’s fingers tightened around her wrist.

“My son doesn’t ride with him,” she said.

Inara frowned. “You can’t know that, Your Highness.”

“I know.” Gallia leaned back in the chair, exhausted. “I know because he would rob me of even that. Even that.”

Inara shook her head, but Gallia’s eyes had drifted beyond her to the window. “Bring me paper and ink.”

“Paper and ink?”

“Yes, bring it now. We don’t have much time.”

Inara didn’t hesitate. She hurried into her private quarters and yanked out the drawer of her bureau, dumping the contents on her bed. She found the paper, then rifled through the rest, until she located a quill. Grabbing the ink well off the top of the bureau, Inara raced back to the Queen.

Gallia took the paper and quill, scratching something hastily onto the paper. Then she folded it and handed it to Inara. “Take this now. Take it and see it’s sent to Adishian, to my son.”

“Why don’t we wait and see if he rides with the King?” She was starting to become afraid of Rarick’s arrival, especially in light of Gallia’s frenetic energy.

“He isn’t there. I know that. I’m his mother. I would know if he was there, but he isn’t. I want to send him this letter. I want you to go to town and find someone to carry it for me. I don’t care how much it costs. Just find someone, please.”

Inara wrapped her hands around the Queen’s. In all the years she’d been at the castle, she’d never heard the Queen use the word please. “I’ll make sure it’s delivered, but you need to be in bed.”

“You don’t have much time. I’ll sit here until you get back. I need to know you found someone.”

Inara wanted to protest, but the Queen’s look was frantic. She sighed. “All right, Your Majesty, but promise me you won’t stand at the window anymore.”

Gallia nodded, closing her eyes. She motioned to the door of the schoolroom. Inara picked up the letter and tucked it into her apron, then headed for the door. Once on the threshold, she paused and glanced back.

She could see the Queen’s hunched, gaunt form, and beyond her, a rising cloud of dust from the on-coming riders.

*    *    *

Tyla imagined there were dancers twirling in the pulsing light of the fire, spinning through caves of charred wood. One dancer spun wildly in uninhibited joy, lifted into the air by her partner, who twirled around and around with her, their forms blurring into one.

“What in the world is so fascinating in there?” came a voice.

Tyla blinked and looked up. Earon was standing above her, leaning heavily on the crude crutches the Stravad had designed for him. Kian lifted his head and growled in protest. Tyla rested her hand on the dog’s back, then rose to her feet and helped Earon lower himself to the ground.

Such maneuvers always ended in more of a tumble than a recline, but Tyla got him situated on the blanket beside her and took his crutches, placing them at his side.

“Sorry,” he grunted in embarrassment.

Tyla gave him a stern look. “What are you talking about? Two weeks ago you couldn’t move anything beyond your head. Now you’re walking.”

“Hobbling and falling, a lot,” he answered wryly, but clearly he was pleased with his progress. He nodded at the fire. “What’s so interesting?”

Tyla glanced back at it, but she saw nothing more than flames now. “Just fantasizing, I guess.” She sank her fingers in Kian’s fur.

“Can’t sleep?”

Tyla shook her head. “I’m road weary, I suppose. Allistar says it’s only a few more days.”

Earon nodded. “So the Terrian says. As far as I’m concerned, that Lodenian sing-song is about as familiar as Nazarien.”

Tyla laughed. “You have a point. I thought I’d have learned more by now, but it’s just not coming easily.”

“Well, you’ll have plenty of practice in Temeron.” He fell silent, then leaned over and bumped her shoulder. “So what’s the real reason you can’t sleep?”

“I just have a lot on my mind.” She combed Kian’s hair in the opposite direction. A handful of fur came away. Spring was pressing around the corner in Loden.

Earon gave a grunt. “I guess so. Impending marriage and introducing a Nazarien to your grandfather – those would weigh on anyone’s mind.”

Tyla frowned at him. “You overstep your boundaries, Earon,” she scolded.

He gave a bark of laughter and winked at her. “I have no boundaries, Your Majesty. That’s the benefit of living outside of nice society.”

Tyla couldn’t help but smile at his audacity.

“Now, mind you,” he continued. “I’m not overly fond of the Terrian. He’s rude and arrogant, but the Nazarien. What were you thinking, woman?”

Tyla was so shocked by his brashness that she didn’t feel as offended as she knew she ought to. “What do you mean what was I thinking?”

He clumsily braced a hand on his knee and rested his chin on it. The look he gave her said he thought her daft. “There’s a reason the Nazarien have been celibate for so many decades, Tyla. No one would willingly marry into that faith.”

Tyla looked away. He’d touched a nerve. “No, I guess not.”

Earon narrowed his eyes on her. “What does that mean? Is this marriage unwilling?”

“No, I’m willing. It just wasn’t my idea.”

“The Nazarien’s?”

When Tyla gave him an aggravated look, he nodded his head in understanding.

“Right, Nazarien have never had an original idea in their lives,” he scoffed. “Then who?” His voice trailed away and he cocked his head at her. “Tarnow suggested it.”

Tyla’s hand curled into a fist in the dog’s fur. “He made us promise it. Just before he left Adishian.”

Earon looked into the fire. He sat beside Tyla so long, she wondered if he’d forgotten she was there. “Mind you,” he repeated. “I don’t like the Terrian, but I see the way you look at each other.” He shifted and studied Tyla closely. “Seems to me,” he said carefully, “promises should last only as long as the person who enforces them does.”

Tyla didn’t answer, but she studied him in silence for a long time. Finally he reached for his crutches. “Help me up, Your Majesty. I think I’m ready for bed.”

Tyla rose and pushed him into an upright position, affixing the crutches under his arms. Then she watched him stumble and blunder his way across the campsite to the tent he shared with Muzik.

Somewhere in the midst of his crazy walk, Tyla mulled over the impact of his words. Promises should last only as long as the person who enforces them does. Oh, if only life could be that simple.

*    *    *

The Stravad and their charges arrived in Temeron during the early evening of their tenth day on the road. They passed under the gates of the city and were greeted by Temerian guards who removed their caps and bowed low to Tyla Eldralin. An envoy from the Stravad leader arrived moments later – five Stravad on black stallions, dressed in brilliant clothing of reds, greens and yellows. They dismounted and approached Allistar first, greeting him warmly. Then in turn, they bowed to Tyla and her four companions.

Tyla gazed around her, at the cobblestone streets that curved away in the distance and the golden-hued cottages, their windows lit from within by candlelight and their chimneys puffing out white smoke. The Stravad people, who sat on their porches talking with their neighbors, began to gather at their front gates.

Tyla’s name was spoken all around and each Stravad removed his hat and bowed to her. She was overwhelmed. She knew what it was to be Queen of Adishian and to have people bow in respect, but this was different somehow. In the beautiful faces around her (and all were beautiful), she saw her own features, she saw her own high cheekbones and golden skin.

One of the emissaries drew her attention. He spoke rapidly and she caught only two or three words. She lifted her eyes to Jarrett who translated.

“Camar welcomes you to Temeron, land of the Stravad.”

Tyla inclined her head. “Thank you for the welcome. I’m delighted to have finally reached the homeland of my ancestors.”

Allistar took over then. Tyla understood more of his pantomime. He indicated how weary they all were, and motioned to Earon, obviously explaining about his injury. Then there was much discussion about Kian. The dog was pressed against Tyla’s thigh, uncertain in the midst of so many people.

Tyla shot a look at Jarrett again. “They’re fascinated by him, but they want to ensure the safety of their people.”

“Tell them he will never leave my side,” offered Tyla and waited as Jarrett translated.

This seemed to end the debate. They wound through the streets and the crowd of Stravad followed them. Tyla heard her name whispered among them and the names of her parents. She glanced at Jarrett and he offered her a smile. She felt so overwrought that she couldn’t return the gesture. She was both nervous and anxious. Now that the day had arrived, now that the meeting with her grandfather was only moments away, she wondered what he’d be like and what he’d think of her.

Allistar pointed ahead of them at a large, gabled house. “Stravad Leader,” he said and Tyla understood that bit of Lodenian. Her heart beat a bit faster. It hadn’t occurred to her that she was also going to meet the equivalent of Stravad royalty.

The house was large, much larger than the cottages, and rose three stories tall, flanked by a wide veranda that stretched across the front and disappeared around the sides. The front yard was lush with vegetation and the tops of enormous trees could just be seen hanging over the rear of the house. At every window hung flower boxes, choked with winter crocuses of innumerable colors. A faint patch of snow could still be seen nestled against the chimney, which blew forth white smoke like the cottages of the Stravad.

On the veranda were many people who stood in a line watching the approach of the party. Tyla scanned the faces for her grandfather, but saw only Stravad. They halted at the front walkway. Allistar and the Temerian guards removed their caps and bowed, then stood silently at attention.

Tyla studied the people on the veranda, her hand absently stroking Kian’s fur. No one moved, in fact the street was suddenly quiet, despite the press of the crowd at her back. The dog looked up at her and whined. Tyla swallowed and started forward, Kian at her side. Before she reached the first stair, one of the Stravad stepped forward. She halted and waited as he descended and stopped before her.

He was young, or so it seemed, although Stravad often didn’t show their age. She stared into his handsome, nearly flawless face and felt his importance. Finally he extended his hand. “I am Farad, Stravad Leader of Temeron,” he said in Nevaisser.

Tyla accepted the hand, relieved to hear him speak her language. “I am Tyla Eldralin.”

“Welcome to Temeron, Tyla. We have long awaited your arrival,” said Farad, his handsome face lifting in a smile.

Tyla returned the smile. “And I’ve been looking forward to this moment also. It was a long journey and we often thought we’d never make it.” Tyla glanced around again. “Temeron is as beautiful as I imagined.”

“We consider ourselves lucky,” said Farad. “With time I think you will come to feel the same way.”

Tyla inclined her head.

He motioned behind him and two older men stepped forward. He shifted back to Tyla and his smile grew wider. “I would like to present to you the past Stravad leader, my grandfather, Thalandar.”

The tall man with snow-white hair took Tyla’s hand and brought it to his lips, bowing deeply over it. Tyla dropped into a curtsey, but her attention was riveted on the other man. His hair was black, streaked liberally with white and his eyes were a faded grey, filled now with tears. He stood ramrod straight, but Tyla could see the tremors of emotions passing through him.

Thalandar released her and stepped back, motioning for this second man to come forward. Tyla’s vision blurred with her own tears and she took a step closer to him, ashamed by her disheveled appearance. She knew who he was as surely as she knew her own name.

“Grandfather,” she whispered in Lodenian, one of the first words she made Jarrett teach her.

His composure broke and the tears rolled down his cheeks. Then he opened his arms to her. Tyla rushed forward and buried her face in his chest, wrapping her own arms around him as tightly as she could.

*    *    *

“You’ve got to guard the crops. If you don’t there will be trouble,” said Manx. He rose from his seat at the council table and leaned forward, punctuating his words with his hand. Dolan’s eyes shifted to Kalas where he sat at a folded table in the middle of the room. The table was strewn with maps, charts, and empty teacups.

The other council members murmured in agreement – the few that remained. A number of them had refused Kalas’ offer and two had succumbed to the less than hospitable conditions in the dungeon. Dolan was surprised at how enraged Kalas had been when he’d been told of their deaths. His violent reaction had felt real enough to Dolan, but the Nazarien wasn’t taking the bit just yet.

“Those crops were planted for the people. I’m going to guard them against the very citizens they were grown for?” Kalas asked.

“Yes,” said Manx forcefully. “If you don’t, the gardens will be stripped bare.”

“As long as the people get fed…”

“It won’t feed the people, it’ll go to those Lawries. Do you want that? Do you want the Lawries to have the crops you planted? They’ll sell them for profit and weapons.”

“I’m trying to bring the Lawries to our side…”

“You won’t do that by giving them another hold on the people. The man who holds the food supply holds the people.”

Kalas’ head lifted and Dolan could see the realization dawn on him. He slumped back in his chair and briefly closed his eyes. “You realize that once I guard the crops, the soldiers may have to use force.”

“Of course,” said Manx.

“Against your people?”

Manx straightened and stared down at Kalas. “Any man who would rule knows he may have to use force against his own people at some point. That’s the burden of leadership.”

Kalas leaned his elbows on the folded table and braced his head in his hands. Dolan met Manx’s eye. The council member shrugged and took his seat again. The other council members leaned back, waiting. Since he’d called the council back together, Kalas had refused to assume Tarnow’s throne. At first, Dolan suspected it was all for show. After all, hadn’t Kalas wanted Tarnow’s throne his whole life? But now, Dolan wasn’t so sure. Kalas didn’t seem to be fond of making the sort of decisions he was forced to make as King.

“You need to come to a conclusion soon. None of us want to sit here all night,” said Manx in annoyance. His audacity had sharpened in the dungeons. Dolan didn’t blame him. He himself had lost a lot of his Nazarien subservience down there as well.

Kalas looked through his fingers, then rubbed his hands across his face. His eyes shifted to Dolan, begging him for advice. Dolan wasn’t about to give it. Kalas needed to make this decision.

“Guard the crops,” he finally said, his voice heavy with the import of his words.

The council members heaved a collective sigh and began dispersing. No one stopped to offer any comfort to the young would-be King. Dolan waited until they left, then he crossed to the folding table and pulled out a chair, sliding into it.

Kalas’ blue eyes never left his face the whole time. They studied each other for a long while, then Kalas exhaled. “You do realize I’m no good at this, right?”

Dolan arched his brows. “It’s rather obvious. If I may be so bold, why won’t you assume the throne? Why is every decision so difficult for you?”

“It’s not my throne.” He shifted and studied it. “It rightfully belongs to my sister.”

Dolan cocked his head in surprise.

Kalas laughed. “You thought I was going to say Rarick, didn’t you?”

“It crossed my mind.”

“I never believed that throne was Rarick’s.”

Dolan’s brows rose. “Somehow I’m not sure Rarick would approve of your latest moves. I don’t think he left you here to plant crops and feed the people.”

Kalas slumped in his chair. “No, he left me to suppress the Lawries.”

“Ah,” said Dolan. That did make sense. “What made you change that plan?”

“This was always the plan. I know you think I hungered after Tarnow’s throne, but that wasn’t it. I wanted to rule with my sister. I wanted to rebuild the kingdom with her.”

Dolan drew a deep breath. “She’s gone,” he said levelly. “And you’re here. Seems to me you’re going to have to assume that throne.”

Kalas rose to his feet and paced away. “That wasn’t the plan. That wasn’t how I envisioned it.”

Dolan gave a grunt of disgust. “Well, I didn’t envision serving the enemy either.”

Kalas turned to face him. He studied the Nazarien warrior for a long time. Dolan wanted to squirm, which surprised him. He’d certainly been away from the trainings of his youth for a long time. “That’s how you see me, isn’t it? Even now. I’m still the enemy.”

Dolan met his gaze. He tried to summon up the fury he’d felt when Kalas pulled him from the dungeon. He tried to draw forth the anger he’d felt as he watched over Tarnow’s body. But oddly enough, it wasn’t there. Somewhere in the last few weeks, he’d lost his moral outrage. He still didn’t think he trusted Kalas, but it was getting harder to dislike him.

“I just don’t know,” he said finally, looking away. “I’m not at all sure how I see you and I wish I was. What I do know is you’re going to have to assume the throne.”

Kalas returned to the chair and sank into it. “I don’t know anything about ruling kingdoms. All Rarick taught me was how to fight wars. This was supposed to be my sister’s realm. She was the one who knew how to manage the kingdom, how to feed and protect the people, not me.” His eyes shifted to the maps and he reached out, running his finger along the edge of one. “When we were children, we talked about it. We dreamed about what we’d do when we inherited Sarkisian, how many changes we’d make.” Kalas looked up and pinned Dolan with his gaze. “I clung to those memories all these years. That was the dream that gave me hope. Now it’s gone.” He shoved the map away in frustration. “I wasn’t taught how to manage people. I was only taught how to kill them.”

Dolan swung his head away in disgust. Eldon’s bloody star, he didn’t want to listen to this. It made more of the barrier crumble inside of him. He tried to remember Tarnow’s face, Tarnow’s voice, but it was being replaced daily by the young man across from him.

With a heavy sigh, Dolan leaned forward. “I know how to manage people,” he said quietly. “You only need to ask.”

*    *    *

Jarrett watched as Tyla descended the stairs in the Stravad Leader’s house. She’d bathed and then someone had given her a proper gown and done her hair. It curled around her shoulders and framed her face in luxurious black curls, set off with a string of emerald pycantra. Jarrett felt an ache when he looked at her, he loved her so.

Kendrick broke away from the crowd of dignitaries to meet her at the bottom of the staircase. He held out his arm to her and she took it, offering him a warm smile. It was the sort of smile Jarrett wanted for himself.

The Nazarien steered her toward her grandfather, who stared at her raptly, then took her hand and brought it to his lips. She beamed at him, clearly delighted to know him, but the minute he started talking to her, she looked around for Jarrett.

Jarrett sighed. He didn’t want to be reduced to her translator, but that was the only position she would allow him now. He moved to her side in time to hear Kendrick trying to explain what Tash was saying.

Jarrett bowed low to the man he admired almost as much as he did Tash’s sons. “My lord Haldane,” he said, nudging Kendrick aside. “Let me present myself. I am Jarrett Murata of Terra Antiguo.”

Tash had been frowning at the Nazarien, but his face lit when he heard Jarrett’s introduction. “Jarrett Murata?” He held out his hand and shook Jarrett’s vigorously. “I am delighted to meet you. I have heard so much about you from my sons.”

“The honor is mine, sir. Your sons have always spoken of you with the greatest respect, and I cannot tell you what they mean to me.”

Tash laughed, patting the back of Jarrett’s hand with his free one. “Young man, I believe I owe you my undying gratitude. You are responsible for bringing me my granddaughter.”

Jarrett felt a pang of guilt. “Actually, I didn’t act alone.” He placed his hand on Kendrick’s shoulder and drew him in front of Tash. “This is Kendrick Andel. He partnered me on our journey.” Glancing around, he spotted Muzik, unobtrusive, but always within feet of Tyla’s back. “And this is Muzik Andrada. He has been Tyla’s protector for more than a decade.”

Tash greeted them both warmly and thanked them for their service. Jarrett translated, despite the furious look he received from Kendrick.

“There was another Human traveling with you?” questioned Tash.

“Yes, Earon. He was injured in the journey, shot with an Orahim dart. He has been moved to the clinic to receive treatment.”

“I’ll have to pay him a visit then, and thank him as well.” Glancing down, Tash motioned to Tyla’s side. “What happened to the magnificent animal I saw you with earlier?”

“Kian?” Jarrett questioned Tyla.

“He’s resting in my room,” offered Tyla. Jarrett knew that she had been following the conversation, but he wasn’t sure how much she understood. Then it occurred to him. There was an easier way for her to understand more without the need for double translation. She could simply read the thoughts from his mind, and then she wouldn’t be interfering with her grandfather or anyone else who didn’t know about it. He sent the thought to her. For the first time in a long while, she didn’t reject him.

In fact, she gave him a nod of agreement. At that moment, Farad and Thalandar approached them. “Dinner’s served,” said Farad in Nevaisser. He spoke it fluently with hardly a trace of accent. Jarrett wondered where he’d learned it so well. Farad offered his arm to Tyla and led her to the room.

Jarrett followed with his companions. Because of his ability to translate for her, Jarrett was placed at her right side, but Muzik and Kendrick were relegated to the other end of the table. Of course, Tash took the seat on the other side of her with Farad at one end and Thalandar at the other. Besides Farad and Thalandar, the other chairs were occupied by Farad’s family, his wife Dorsette, his father Senerdan and his mother, Jelian.

As soon as everyone was seated, servants moved to fill glasses and offer aperitifs. Tyla looked at the foreign food suspiciously, but for Jarrett it seemed familiar. He telepathically explained what each dish was, but she was more interested in the conversations around her. Particularly the stilted conversation of her grandfather. Tash hardly touched his own food, so fixated on his granddaughter was he.

In fact, he didn’t seem to know how to talk to her, but stole serendipitous looks at her from time to time. Jarrett wondered if he had ever truly believed that he would have the pleasure of meeting her, of having her here with him, safe behind Temerian walls.

Farad demanded an accounting of their journey. Jarrett allowed Kendrick and Muzik to fill it in. Muzik loved to tell a tale, and Kendrick loved to correct him. That allowed Jarrett to focus on the woman he loved and the man he worshipped.

“Lord Haldane, if I might be so bold, how long have you lived here in Temeron?”

Tash seemed relieved by the change of topic. “I moved here about ten years ago. My wife died and there didn’t seem to be any reason to stay in Zelan. Thalandar asked me to come to Temeron, so I did.”

Jarrett felt Tyla drawing the conversation from him.

“I had a letter by post the other day from Lawyan. He wanted to know if we’d received word about you. We’ll need to send him a letter tomorrow. He was getting worried.”

Jarrett laughed and reached for his wine glass. “I think it’s more likely that Shad was getting worried.”

Tash shared his laugh and the tension eased. “You’re probably right. That sounds more like Shad.”

Jarrett felt Tyla’s eyes on him and he met her look. She was searching his face for something, but she wouldn’t let him know what it was. He gave her a quizzical look, but she didn’t enlighten him. He was distracted a moment later by Kendrick’s description of Kalas.

“He’s completely under Rarick’s control, mad with it,” said the Nazarien. “When we last saw him, he was in a daze as if he couldn’t formulate his own thoughts. He’s entirely Rarick’s puppet now.”

Jarrett felt Tyla tense.

Tash leaned forward. “What’s he saying?” he asked.

Jarrett’s hand tightened on the wine glass, but he translated for Tash. Tyla lowered her head and stared at her plate, but Tash simply tsked and shook his head. “Such a shame. Talar went to such trouble to save that boy. Such a shame it had to end like that.”

Jarrett reached under the table and found Tyla’s hand. He half expected her to pull away, but she gripped his fingers in return.

Farad seemed aware of Tyla’s reaction and reached for his wine glass, holding it in the air. “I would like to make a toast to Tyla Eldralin,” he said in Nevaisser. “We have all waited anxiously for this day, but now that it’s arrived, we are more than grateful to have Talar Eldralin’s daughter returned to her people. Welcome home, Tyla. Welcome home.”

Jarrett lifted his own glass, but he noticed that Tyla didn’t move and her hold on his hand grew tighter. ‘What is it?’ he thought, but she didn’t respond. Her eyes darted around the table, finally coming to rest on Muzik. The captain shared a puzzled look with Jarrett, but Jarrett didn’t have an answer for him. She’d blocked him from her thoughts once again.

*    *    *

Tyla stood looking out over the forest beyond the Stravad Leader’s house. The back porch stretched away into the shadows, but torches just outside the door illuminated the lawn and the very edge of the trees that flanked the back of the property. Tyla could hear the sound of a stream in the distance.

She glanced over her shoulder when the door opened. Her grandfather, followed by Jarrett, stepped out. She turned to face her grandfather, taking his hand when he held it out to her. She folded it in both of her own, delighted to find his grip still strong. Her emotions were a jumble of confusion, but this she knew – she delighted in his presence, his connection to everything that had been taken from her.

Lifting her eyes to Jarrett, she gave him a quizzical look.

“He asked me to translate,” he explained.

Tyla nodded.

“I explained to him that we could communicate psychically, so he wanted to speak directly to you through me.”

Tyla felt tears flood her eyes, but she blinked them back and focused on the older man.

Tash reached up and touched her cheek, then started speaking. Tyla opened her mind and let the natural connection with Jarrett re-establish itself. Her grandfather’s words came through as mental pictures, delayed only slightly as Jarrett translated them in Nevaisser.

“I know it must feel strange to you,” said Tash, his voice quivering with emotion as he spoke. “I know you don’t feel that you belong here in Temeron yet, but you’ll see how quickly this city grows on you.”

She smiled.

“And I know it hurt you to leave your brother behind, but I am so glad that you’re here. It was so impossibly difficult to lose your mother, then when Sanari, my wife, died, I kept wondering why I was still alive. Lawyan and Shad were across the world from me, and Lisan, my youngest, became involved in Zelan’s politics with my brother.” He fingered a curl, letting it slide through his fingers. “You are the reason why I still live.”

Tyla’s smile dried. The range of conflicted emotions rose inside of her, making her feel physically ill. Tash didn’t seem to notice, but Jarrett did.

“I am so grateful to have seen you, to have you here.” He curled his fingers under her chin and lifted her face until their eyes met. “You look so like your mother.” Then he drew her into his arms and held her tightly.

She embraced him in return, but she couldn’t find the comfort that she so desperately wanted. Superimposed over the beautiful Stravad faces were others, other faces filled with hunger and need, starvation and illness. The unfairness of it was almost more than she could stand.

He placed a kiss on her forehead and released her. “I’ll let you get some rest, but tomorrow, I have so much to show you. So much to tell you.”

Tyla lifted his hands and kissed the back of them. “Good night, Grandfather,” she said and waited while Jarrett translated. “I swear that soon I’ll be able to talk to you myself.”

He laughed and then reluctantly turned away, moving back into the Stravad Leader’s house. She knew he would be close, he lived next door with Thalandar, but watching him walk away only increased the disorientation she felt.

Jarrett watched her. “What’s going on? You don’t seem as happy as you should be.”

Tyla continued to watch after her grandfather, but when she could see him no more, she turned away, leaning on the banister encircling the porch. “I’m fine.”

“Tyla, we’ve come a long way together. I know when you’re not fine. What is it?”

“I’m just tired,” she said, but even she wasn’t convinced.

“Is it Kendrick and the marriage?” he said, his voice edged.

Tyla frowned. She hadn’t even given that a moment of thought after her talk with Earon.

She hunched her shoulders. She so wanted to tell Jarrett what was bothering her, but she couldn’t. It was bad enough that he had to translate for her, that she had to open her mind to his thoughts again, she couldn’t let him know her intimate worries anymore. She had to keep him at a distance.

She turned and faced him. “I’m tired,” she said firmly and started back toward the house, but came up short.

Kendrick was standing in the hall, watching them.

*    *    *

Tyla muttered something to Kendrick, then brushed past him, disappearing into the hallway. Jarrett tensed as the Nazarien moved onto the porch and approached him. His feelings for Kendrick were conflicted, but he didn’t want to fight him over Tyla. They’d been through too much together, they’d spent too much time and crossed too much distance to come to blows now.

Kendrick didn’t immediately say anything, just stood and stared at Jarrett in silence. Jarrett might not have Nazarien training, but he was disciplined enough that he didn’t break the stare. Finally Kendrick looked away and moved to the railing, curling his fingers around it.

“Your duty is done here, Jarrett,” he said, his back turned.

Jarrett cocked his head. “My duty is done. Are you dismissing me?”

He could see Kendrick’s fingers tighten. “Yes.”

Jarrett moved to the rail and looked into the Nazarien’s face. Kendrick wouldn’t meet his eye. “What right do you have to dismiss me?”

Kendrick looked over his shoulder at him. “The pact we made was clear. Rescue Tyla Eldralin and bring her safely to Temeron. Once there, you were to return to Terra Antiguo and your commission as a soldier.”

“And what about you?”

“My mission changed in Adishian. I am betrothed to Tyla and I intend to keep that pledge.”

Jarrett narrowed his eyes. “Even if she doesn’t want it?”

Kendrick shifted to face him. His expression sharpened with anger. “Do you have any honor at all?”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I made a pledge to Tarnow and I intend to keep it. You being here only complicates the situation.”

“How?”

“You’re in love with her.”

Jarrett leaned back in surprise. His voice failed him.

“And she has feelings for you. Therefore, the only honorable thing for you to do is to leave.”

Jarrett caught something more in the Nazarien’s words. “You don’t love her yourself, do you?”

“I care for her…”

“That’s not the same. You don’t love her. Admit it.”

“Love doesn’t come naturally for Nazarien…”

“That’s a platitude and you know it.” He paced around Kendrick and stopped at his back. The Nazarien shifted to keep him in sight. “How can you force her to marry you when you know I love her and she has feeling for me?”

Kendrick’s face twisted again. “Have you no honor? I made a pledge to Tarnow before his death. If I forfeit that pledge for stupid emotions, I will destroy my honor.” He made a jabbing motion at Jarrett’s chest, but didn’t touch him. “You also made a pledge – to her uncles. You pledged to see her safely to Temeron, nothing more. You’ve done that part of it, now would you destroy their trust by failing to return? I thought they meant more to you than that.”

“They’d understand. They would understand that love means more than honor.” He grimaced. “I feel sorry for you, Kendrick. What a life – spending all your time worrying about something as stupid as honor.”

Kendrick’s hands tightened into fists and he swelled out his chest. Jarrett raised one brow, wondering if he really intended to take a swing at him. “Honor is everything to me. Without it, I am nothing. I am less than nothing. Honor has been all that has sustained me in my life and no one is going to make me lose it, not even you.” His shoulders slumped. “You know I’m no match for you in combat. You know what my weaknesses are. Don’t take this from me. Don’t make me lose face.”

“You’re asking me to walk away from the woman I love for you. I can’t do that, Kendrick. I won’t.”

“Then do one thing for me. Let her decide. Remove yourself from this house. If you won’t leave Temeron, at least don’t be here as a constant reminder. Give her the decision. Have the honor to let her choose.”

Jarrett exhaled. “She needs me to translate.”

“That’s an excuse to be here, constantly confusing the situation.” Kendrick shrugged. “What have you got to lose, really? If you’re right and love is stronger than honor, you’ll win. She’ll never choose me. But if you force the issue and she takes you over her pledge to Tarnow, you may come to regret it. Wouldn’t it be better to know she made the choice entirely on her own, that you didn’t force her to compromise her word to her dead lord?”

Kendrick’s words were so like Muzik’s that Jarrett wondered if they’d rehearsed them, but he couldn’t deny Kendrick had a point. He could never accept that Tyla would marry Kendrick, but he wanted her to make the choice, to pick him because she loved him as much as he loved her.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll leave the house, but I won’t promise to stay away from her. If she needs me to translate, I will. And if she seeks me out, I won’t push her away.”

Kendrick’s expression was pained, but he forced himself to nod. “Thank you, Jarrett,” he said.

Jarrett shook his head. “Bloody Nazarien,” he muttered and walked toward the backdoor.

*    *    *

Twenty minutes later, Jarrett had packed his meager belongings and let himself out the front door. He’d hesitated by Tyla’s room, wanting to tell her where he was going, but he didn’t allow himself to. He figured Kendrick would be more than happy to fill her in himself.

He hesitated on the front porch and looked out at the street. It was well past midnight and he wondered if he’d be able to find an inn to take him for the night. He wasn’t sure they’d accept his Nevaisser coin, but he wasn’t sure what else to try. He knew Tash would probably give him a couch to sleep on, but for some reason he felt funny throwing himself on the older man’s mercy.

Hitching the pack up on his shoulder, he started down the stairs. A shadow detached itself from the side of the house and moved toward him. Jarrett immediately dropped into a crouch.

“Jarrett Murata?” came a familiar voice.

Jarrett relaxed. “Allistar?”

Allistar laughed, holding out his hand for Jarrett to take. “I wondered who was sneaking around at this hour.”

Jarrett shook the Stravad’s hand. “You scared the hell out of me. What are you doing out here?”

“Just finishing my patrols.”

“Really? You just got home. They didn’t give you any time off.”

Allistar chuckled. “One of the men assigned to the Stravad Leader needed to go home. His wife’s having a baby. I volunteered. I’m always wound up after a patrol and need a few days to settle in again.” He leaned over to mark Jarrett’s pack. “What about you? Are you leaving before you’ve even spent the night?”

Jarrett sighed, realizing how tired he was. “I’ve been asked to leave. Know of any inns that would take me at this hour and accept my Nevaisser coin?”

Allistar frowned. “What? Who asked you to leave?”

“The Nazarien, Kendrick,” said Jarrett with a laugh. “Apparently, I’m making it harder for him to close the marriage deal with Tyla.”

Allistar’s frown deepened. “Marriage deal?”

“Long story.”

“And you agreed?”

“It seemed logical at the time. Now, it just seems stupid.”

“You can stay with me. I’ll break out my best bottle of Trendarian brandy and you can tell me the whole tale. What do you say?”

Jarrett felt his spirits lift. “What about your wife?”

“What wife?” laughed Allistar. “I’m a free man and I intend to keep it that way. Come on, the brandy’s really good.”

“I appreciate it,” Jarrett said and let the Stravad steer him into the street.

CHAPTER 23

Temerian healing houses looked no different from their regular cottages, save for a sign over the door that Tyla couldn’t read. She stared at the small golden building and shook her head in frustration. She wished she’d thought to ask Jarrett to teach her Lodenian long ago when they’d been stuck in Adishian.

Resting her hand on Kian’s head, she pushed open the gate. As they moved down the walk, Tyla marveled at the flowers poking through a few patches of late snow. She’d never seen varieties like these and the colors were startling – golden reds, brilliant oranges, burnt amber. Once she learned the language, she was going to have to question the gardeners about them.

The door opened just as she was about to mount the stairs. A lovely Stravad woman started back at the sight of Kian, then her face broke into a wide smile and she dropped into a curtsy. That was also something Tyla was finding odd. In Nevaisser, Kian had caused a stir of fear wherever he went, but in Temeron, after an initial wariness, people warmed to him with genuine interest.

Tyla silently rehearsed the phrase she’d asked Farad to tell her before flashing a smile at the woman. “I look for friend, Earon.”

The woman narrowed her eyes at Tyla’s obviously foreign accent. Then she let forth in a stream of words that dropped on Tyla so rapidly, she caught only one or two of them. Tyla shook her head frantically.

“I speak only little Lodenian,” she said, using a second of the phrases she’d learned – this time from Jarrett. Thinking of Jarrett made her wistful. She knew she should have brought him with her, but something had told her she needed to get on by herself now.

The woman bounded down the stairs and grabbed her hand, clearly unafraid of Kian, even though he flattened his ears and rumbled a protest. She pulled Tyla toward the stairs. Tyla shot a look at Kian and followed.

The woman brought her into a pleasant waiting room. Dark wooden chairs lined each of the walls and a table sported a vase filled with more flowers. Without pause, the woman crossed the room, pulling Tyla behind her and opened another door, leading into a bank of hallways. Taking the hallway to the right, she patted Tyla’s hand and encouraged her to keep pace. This was done in pantomime, making Tyla feel childish and ignorant. Somehow she had to learn this blasted language.

Doors opened off this hallway, some of them onto bright, immaculately clean rooms, each with a bed and a dressing table. They passed a few other Stravad, who beamed at Tyla, ducking their heads and watching after her and the dog as they passed.

Finally the woman stopped at a door. A ceramic plaque on the door said something that Tyla obviously couldn’t read, but the woman didn’t hesitate, throwing open the door and drawing Tyla inside.

With another pat on the hand, the woman left Tyla and bounded back out the door. Tyla found herself in an identical room to the others, but this one was occupied. Earon lay on his stomach in the bed and two very beautiful Stravad women were giving him a massage. His eyes were closed, but as the door clicked shut he opened them.

A wicked smile spread across his face as he met Tyla’s gaze.

Tyla crossed her arms and gave him a narrow-eyed look. “Good morning, Earon.” The two healers ducked their heads at her and muttered something to each other about Kian, but they continued their work.

“Good morning, Your Highness. Take a seat.” He nodded at the wooden chair beside his bed.

Tyla crossed to it and sat, Kian lying down at her feet. “You seem to be enjoying your…ah, treatment,” she said, casting a glance at the women.

Earon’s eyes closed dramatically. “It’s a suffering I’m willing to endure to get better.”

Tyla laughed. “Honestly, how are you feeling?”

Earon made a face. “They keep making me drink this nasty concoction. I don’t have any idea what they’re saying, but I feel like retching whenever they bring it to me. However, I think I have more feeling in my legs and I was able to make it to the bedpan without the crutches this morning. I had to hang onto the furniture, but it’s something.”

“It is. The concoction’s probably a detoxifying drink. It’ll probably clean out your system in a few hours.”

“Clean out my system?” he asked, but when Tyla nodded at the bedpan, he grimaced. “Crap.”

“Exactly,” Tyla answered with a laugh.

Earon gave her a speculative look. “So how are you faring? Married the Nazarien yet?”

Tyla frowned. “No, but I did meet my grandfather.”

“That must have been something, eh?”

“It was.”

“Isn’t this place fantastic?” He closed his eyes in bliss. “I’ve never seen so many beautiful people.” He opened them again and winked at her. “Present company excluded of course.”

“Of course.”

“And the city – gorgeous. Everything a man could ever want is here.”

Tyla’s expression sobered. “It’s lovely,” she said.

Earon frowned at her. “That didn’t sound at all sincere.”

Tyla looked out the windows on the other side of Earon’s room. She could see trees and the distant mountains stretching away behind the city. The sun shone through the trees, filling the room with light.

“It’s hard to see all of this opulence and not think of Nevaisser – of the hunger and suffering there.”

Earon made a scoffing noise. “I haven’t thought of it once.”

Tyla looked back at him. “Not once? What about the Lawries? What about revolting against Rarick? Fighting his tyranny?”

“Let other people do it. I’ve no interest in sticking my neck out like that again. Why should I? Let Rarick beggar the entire region. Who the hell really cares?”

Tyla studied his face for a long while, unable to speak.

Earon frowned at her again. “What? You can’t honestly tell me it bothers you that much.”

“They’re our people, Earon. They’re no different from us. They suffer and they die and they starve. You cared about it once. What happened?”

“I never cared the way you did. Certainly, I’d like to see someone lop off Rarick’s head and stick it on a post, but I’m not going to keep fighting a battle I don’t have a chance in hell of winning.” He gave Tyla a pointed stare. “You might think about that a little. Have you forgotten why Rarick was all hot to get his hands on you? You’re better off here. Just forget about Nevaisser. That land was made to suffer.”

Tyla didn’t answer. She reached down and ran her hand through Kian’s fur.

“Tyla?”

“What?”

“I’m serious. Forget about Nevaisser. We should make this home now.”

“So you’ll never return?”

“Hell no. I’m staying right where I am…well, not right where I am, but I’m staying in Temeron. So are you. Remember, you’re marrying the Nazarien.”

Tyla nodded absently.

Earon awkwardly reached over and grabbed her hand. “Tyla? Your Highness?” She met his gaze. “Forget Nevaisser, okay? That land is done, finished. The future is here. All Nevaisser ever held for both of us was suffering. We’re free of it. We’re free.”

Tyla nodded, but she couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat.

*    *    *

The Stravad Leader’s chamberlain led her to a door at the back of the house. He knocked and a voice from within sounded. He opened the door and peered inside.

“Tyla Eldralin,” he said.

The Stravad Leader’s voice came in answer.

Tyla was waved into a masculine study with a bank of windows that opened over the back porch. She could see the lawn leading down to the stream and the forest beyond it. Farad rounded a large desk and held out his hand, taking both of hers.

“Good morning,” he said in Nevaisser.

“Good morning,” she answered, allowing him to draw her toward a couple of armchairs placed before an unlit fire.

“Tea?” he asked.

She nodded. “Thank you.”

He gave orders to his chamberlain and the chamberlain bowed. He left the room, shutting the door behind him. Farad motioned her into a chair and took a seat in the one across from her. “I trust you slept well.”

“Very.”

“And you found your friend in the infirmary with little problem?”

“Yes. Although it would help if I could read Lodenian,” she said with a laugh.

“I should have accompanied you.”

“No, it was fine.” She gave him a pointed look. “How is it you speak Nevaisser so fluently?”

Farad leaned back in his chair and smiled in memory. “I made the first formal expedition to Nevaisser with your uncles and your mother many, many years ago.” He laughed. “When you’re thrown into such a situation, you learn the language rather quickly. Besides I had an excellent tutor. Your uncle Shad taught all of us, just as I’m sure he taught your companion Jarrett how to speak Lodenian.”

Tyla leaned forward. “You knew my mother?”

“Very well. And your father. That was the journey where your parents met.”

“Will you tell me about it?”

Farad laughed. “It’s a tale of many hours, but I can tell you one thing. Your father saved our lives.” He shook his head at the memory. “We were so ill-prepared. We knew very little about Nevaisser and we certainly didn’t know it was as challenging as it was.”

“What do you mean?”

“We lost our food supply and we were starving. If your father and your uncle Shandar hadn’t come along, we’d have died. We couldn’t even find water very easily. But they knew that land like no one else I’ve ever seen.”

Tyla smiled. “You thought a lot of my father?”

“Who wouldn’t? He saved my life, in particular, twice.”

“How?”

“We’d broken the group up into three parties. My party went in search of game and we found it – a huge buck with a rack of antlers like you can’t imagine. During the hunt, I was gored.” He touched his side. “I would have died if your father hadn’t helped me. He was quite the healer.” Farad’s smile widened. “I hear you take after him in that regard.”

She shrugged.

The door opened and Inze came in, placing the tea tray on the table between the two of them. Farad leaned back and waited for the chamberlain to pour the tea. Then with a bow in Tyla’s direction, Inze left the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

Farad sipped his tea a moment in silence, then settled it on the table again. “Tyla, I sense you feel a bit disoriented here in Temeron.”

Tyla lowered her own cup. “I don’t know. Temeron’s incredibly beautiful and everyone I’ve met has been unfailingly kind. I just feel…”

“Displaced.”

She thought for a moment, then nodded. “I suppose so, but it’s more than that.” She placed her cup beside his and shifted in the chair to face him. “Like you were saying, Nevaisser’s very different from Loden. There’s so much abundance everywhere I look here, but it’s not that way back home.” She drew a deep breath. “I was Queen in Adishian…”

“And you worry you won’t find the same purpose here?”

“No,” she answered quickly. “No, that’s not it at all. In Adishian, I could help people. I could feed them and give them medicine. I could bring them clothes.”

“I’m certain we can find something here of that nature.”

Tyla shook her head. “You misunderstand me,” she said gently. “I left my people. I ran away. Who’s going to help them now? Who’s going to make sure there’s food and shelter?”

“I see.” Farad thought for a moment. “It seems to me you had no choice. From what I’ve learned from Kendrick, Rarick wanted to use you as a weapon against those very people you once helped. You couldn’t have allowed him to do that.”

“No, but maybe I could have fought him more. Maybe I should have tried.”

Farad reached over and took her hand. “Tyla, Rarick has never stopped wanting the weapon he thought he had in your father. He isn’t a man to trifle with. Becoming his pawn could only have caused unmentionable harm.” He tightened his hold. “This is where you belong. This is your home now. Please trust me. In time, I know you’ll see that. In time, I know you’ll think of the Stravad as your people too.”

Tyla forced a smile for his benefit and squeezed his hand in return. “You’re right,” she said, but nothing could dispel the nagging doubt deep inside.

*    *    *

Kalas turned as the two Guardsmen entered the audience chamber, dragging a shackled man between them. Behind them came the Adishian soldiers appointed to guard the door. Kalas raised a hand to stop the soldiers as the Guardsmen threw the man into the middle of the floor.

Dolan moved to a spot at Kalas’ shoulder. He didn’t recognize the man on the floor, but by his torn clothing and bloody nose, he suspected he knew who he was.

“Rebel commander,” sneered the Guardsmen to the right. He reached down and grabbed the man’s hair, forcing his head back. “Want me to slit his throat for you, Your Majesty?”

“No!” said Kalas, too quickly.

The Guardsmen cocked their heads at him.

Kalas tilted his chin at an imperial angle. He was learning to school his emotions with these dogs. For some reason, this thought gave Dolan a flush of pride, but he quickly forced it away.

“How would I question him about the rebels then?” answered the Princecoolly.

The first Guardsman smiled. “You’re right, of course, but let me finish him when you’re done.”

“You’ve done well. Leave your names with your commander and I’ll have commendations put in your records.”

The one made a mocking bow. “You’re most generous, Your Majesty.” He rose to his full height and slapped the second on the shoulder. “We’ll take our leave and report back to our patrol.”

Kalas nodded, but he watched them walk to the door. He shifted his attention to the Adishian soldiers. They bristled at the dismissive way the Sarkisian Guardsmen treated them, but they waited for Kalas’ command.

“Bar the doors,” he said in a low voice. “Only emergencies get through, yes?”

The soldiers saluted and turned smartly on their heels, striding to the doors and closing them.

“Dolan,” said Kalas.

The Nazarien removed the master key from his belt and went to the man, unlocking the shackles around his wrists. Then he hooked a hand under the man’s arm and helped him into a chair the Princeplaced behind him. Kalas stood over them as Dolan searched the man for wounds.

“How bad is it?” asked the prince.

“Black eye, broken nose, and probably a few bruised ribs. Nothing life threatening.”

“What’s your name?”

The rebel glared at Kalas, but he didn’t respond.

Dolan leaned back on his heels. “This isn’t the time for stoic displays of heroism.”

The rebel pursed his lips as if he would spit on Dolan. Dolan’s hand shot out and wrapped around the man’s windpipe, startling him into a gasp. “Not here,” he hissed.

The rebel made a stiff nodding motion.

Dolan released him. “The Prince asked you your name.”

The rebel’s eyes shifted to Kalas with absolute hate. “I don’t answer Rarick’s dog.”

“He just saved your life.” Dolan was surprised at how the rebel’s disrespect rankled him.

Kalas reached for another chair and straddled it. “It’s all right, Dolan. Understandable really. What have I done to earn his trust?”

Dolan positioned himself between the Prince and the rebel.

The Prince struck a carefree tone. “Rarick left me here to flush out the Lawries. If I remember right, the Guardsmen said you’re a Lawry commander.”

The rebel refused to speak.

“If so, you’re just the man to strike a bargain with me.”

The rebel commander frowned. “What?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors, haven’t you? I’m building an army.”

“No one believes that.”

“Understandable, but it’s true.”

“I’m sure the Guardsmen would like to hear this.”

Kalas shrugged. “They already suspect it. It’s why they behave the way they do. They’d report to Rarick if I didn’t have them under constant surveillance.” Kalas held out a hand. “At any rate, if you’re truly the man to negotiate with, I think you’d be interested to hear my terms.”

“What’s in it for me?”

Kalas leaned forward. “A chance to end Rarick’s dominion over Adishian. A chance to protect your people in the open, not sneaking around underground.”

The rebel wiped the blood from beneath his nose. “Why the hell would I trust you?”

“Well, as I see it, you have no other choice. You’ve been captured. I’m prepared to let you go; however, that’s provided we come up with an agreement. If you don’t keep your part of the bargain, I’ll just send the Guardsmen after you again, and this time I won’t be so quick to stop the slitting of throats.”

“You’re gonna let me go?”

“Yes.”

“And all I have to do is agree to form an army for you?”

“Exactly. Well, that and stop harassing my people. No more theft, no more black-market, no more horse stealing.”

“And what do we get?”

“Better armor and weapons. A steady supply of food.”

“You’ll give us weapons?”

“How else will you fight for me?”

“You must want something more.”

“Your name for starters?”

“Revis.”

“Good. And are you the commander of all the Lawries in the whole of Adishian?”

“No, the Baron is and he’s in Kazden. You’ll never catch him. He’s more protected than you are.”

“I don’t want to catch him, Revis,” said Kalas. “I want to get word to him. Rarick will be coming back. Make no mistake. But when he does, I want an army prepared to meet him – an army like he’s never faced before.”

Revis laughed, blood dripping from his nose. “You’re a regular back-stabbing bastard.” Dolan’s hand dropped to his sword. Revis marked the motion, but he just smiled. “I like it. It actually makes sense.”

Kalas returned the smile. “Glad you approve.”

Before the rebel commander could say more, one of the doors opened and the soldier poked his head inside. “Urgent message from Sarkisian,” he said.

Kalas motioned him through and rose to his feet. The soldier brought Kalas a letter bearing the seal of Sarkisian. The Princeopened it, then scanned the contents. For a moment, he simply stood, no expression on his face. Then he crumpled the letter.

“Write up the agreement, Dolan,” he ordered and started walking for the door.

*    *    *

Thalandar greeted Tyla and Jarrett at the door to his house. The outside was understated, creamy gold in color with a simple garden leading up the walk. The past Stravad Leader was a tall man with snow white hair and brilliant blue eyes. Tyla marked the lines around his mouth, but other than that, he was still the picture of Stravad beauty.

She dropped into a curtsey before him, but he reached for her hand and drew her upright.

“The pleasure is entirely mine,” he said in Nevaisser, drawing her into the house. “Welcome.”

Tyla’s grandfather was waiting in the hall. His face lit upon seeing her. Unlike Thalandar, Tash was beginning to show his age. Silver streaked his long black hair and the lines around his grey eyes crinkled with pleasure.

She hurried to him and let him enfold her in his arms. A laugh rumbled in his chest beneath her ear. For a moment it was enough to stand there in his embrace and feel like she had a family, a home.

Behind her she heard Thalandar greet Jarrett. The cadence of Lodenian sounded beautiful and she was surprised to realize she knew a few more words than she thought. Maybe Jarrett’s new way of communicating was helping her learn the language.

Thalandar led the way into the dining room. It was a bright, sunny room with yellow walls and dark furnishings. Tash drew Tyla into a chair beside him and they all sat around the oval table. A servant smiled at Tyla and showed her a teapot, indicating she wished to pour. Tyla nodded at her, then turned so she could look out the floor to ceiling windows that marked the back of the room.

The windows showed the rear garden of the house, much smaller than the Stravad Leader’s and ringed by a stone wall. Trees and low lying shrubs dominated the space with enough room for a domed pergola in the center of the yard.

She turned back to face the men. “Does the wall run around the perimeter of the whole city?” she asked, thinking of the Stravad Leader’s house. Jarrett translated.

“Most of it. A few of the houses around the Stravad Leader’s house don’t abut it. They were built to allow access to the stream, but if you follow the stream for a distance either way, you’ll quickly come to the wall again.”

She gave Jarrett a discreet nod to let him know she’d gotten the whole translation. It amazed her that she could read his thoughts with such ease. Immediately, she tamped down on that avenue of thinking.

“How was your first night in Temeron?” asked Tash, squeezing her hand where it lay on the table.

“It was wonderful to sleep in a bed.”

The men laughed.

The maid returned and began serving lunch. She brought them a loaf of dark bread and a saucer of butter. Then she laid out a salad so colorful, Tyla was entranced. She asked Thalandar what the ingredients were and for a few moments, lost herself in the wonders of Temerian abundance.

She’d never lacked for food in Adishian, but often it hadn’t been fresh. She took a bite and savored the blend of salty and sweet against her tongue. The greens were crisp, the bits of fruit juicy, and the bread warm.

She shot a look at Jarrett and noticed he was eating with obvious pleasure. He met her gaze and smiled. The ease of their camaraderie ambushed her again. She couldn’t imagine sharing a meal with Kendrick in this manner.

She looked away. “Tell me about my mother, please,” she asked her grandfather.

Tash chuckled. “Ah, there are so many stories. That one was a firebrand.”

“That she was,” said Thalandar.

“She gave me more trouble than all three of my boys combined. If any of them were going to come in with a scraped knee or a bump on the head, it was her.”

Tyla smiled.

As they ate, Tash regaled her with stories of her mother’s childhood, frequently interspersed with stories from Thalandar. She soaked them up, storing them away. When dessert was served, Tyla found her eyes brimming with tears. What a gift! She felt that she almost knew her.

Tash leaned back, lifting his teacup to his lips. He took a sip, then replaced it on the table. His expression sobered. “She loved your father dearly,” he said. It was the first mention of Talar since the meal began. Tyla lowered her fork.

“And he loved her?”

“He couldn’t live without her. It wasn’t a union I was happy about, to be sure, but I can’t deny they adored each other.”

“Were you against their marriage?”

Tash and Thalandar exchanged a look. “More than you can know. I feared for her. Your father was a hunted man. No father wants that for his daughter. And yet…”

“And yet?”

“There was no way to keep them apart.” He studied her a moment in silence, then pushed his chair back and rose. “Come with me. There’s something I need to show you.”

Tyla glanced at Thalandar. The Stravad shrugged.

She and Jarrett rose, following Tash from the room. He led them to the back of the house, past a sitting room and the kitchen. They entered a narrow hallway with two doors. He chose the door on the left.

It opened into a simple room with a bed and a dresser. A deep-backed chair occupied a choice spot in front of the windows, which looked out over the garden as well. Curtains in midnight blue framed the windows, but had been drawn back and secured with a tie, allowing light to flood the room. At the foot of the bed was a worn chest, its leather cracked, the clasp holding it shut missing a lock.

Tash motioned them inside. “Please have a seat.”

Tyla slid past her grandfather and Jarrett, moving to the chair. She sat on the edge of it and watched as Jarrett positioned himself by the dresser. His height and the smallness of the room seemed at odds with each other.

Tash angled around the bed, taking a seat on the edge. He clasped his hands in his lap and studied her. After a moment, he smiled. “Your uncle Tav and I used to communicate psychically. Often we went days without speaking aloud. It annoyed our mother and bewildered our friends. I miss him terribly sometimes.”

Tyla leaned forward and covered his hands with her own. “Why did you leave Zelan?”

Tash sighed. “It was empty without your grandmother. I couldn’t stand the loneliness. When Thalandar invited me here, it just felt right. Honestly, I don’t regret it at all, but I still miss my brother.”

“I miss mine too,” she offered.

Tash turned his hand over and clasped hers, squeezing it. Then he seemed to remember what he’d wanted to show them. His expression grew serious. “You know the legend of your grandfather, right?”

She knew he wasn’t talking about himself. “Eldon?”

“Yes. You know why he was so revered.”

“My version may be a bit different than yours, but I know of him.”

“He was a great man, a great leader, and very powerful.” He gave her a searching look. “I suspect you know something of that no doubt.”

She hadn’t wanted to talk much about her power, but she knew the Stravad all sensed it. It only made sense that her grandfather would as well. “I know.”

“It drove him mad, they say. And your own father, he was tortured by it.”

Tyla shifted uncomfortably, but Tash merely tightened his hold.

“The Stravad here believe the source of that power comes from Lodegems, the rocks that can be found deep within the earth here. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“It’s called pycantra in Nevaisser,” said Jarrett.

Tash acknowledged his statement with a nod. “Pycantra, then. You know of it?”

“Yes.”

Tash leaned closer to her, lowering his voice. “Eldon found a way to focus his power. He used a Lodegem as a conduit. It had its own power and when combined with Eldon’s natural ability, it made him the Immortal Warrior.”

“The Karhartadon emerald?” asked Jarrett.

Tash leaned back, releasing Tyla. “The same. My father found it and used it to defeat Gava, then he passed it on to me. With it, I became…”

“Haldane,” Jarrett interrupted again.

Tash gave him a broad smile. “My sons certainly didn’t skimp on your education, did they?”

Jarrett bowed his head. “They taught me to revere your legend, my lord.”

Tash waved his hand dismissively. “I’m nobody’s lord, least of all yours, but I am honored. It’s nice to know one’s children think highly of them.” He turned back to Tyla. “Anyway, I was a second-rate holder to the man who came after me.” His eyes grew distant in memory. “In your father’s hands, the emerald was an awesome weapon. He could control it like I never hoped to.”

Leaning over, he unhooked the latch on the chest and opened the lid. Tyla caught a glimpse of fabric and paper inside, but resting in the middle of it was a leather pouch. Tash curled his fingers around the pouch and drew it out, shutting the chest again.

He settled the pouch in his lap and began working the draw strings. He forced the mouth open, then turned the pouch upside down. The emerald dropped into his hand, radiating a blinding green light from each of its facets.

Tyla caught her breath.

Tash hefted it with a laugh. “Just as I imagined. I haven’t removed it in all these years.”

Tyla glanced at Jarrett. He was leaning forward, staring at it with rapt attention. She shifted her gaze to her grandfather and found him staring into the depth of it, its green light bathing his features and reflecting in his eyes.

He met her gaze. “When your father was dying, he asked me to take it again. He gave it back to me.” He curled his fingers around it. “But I knew it was a temporary custody. Someday I knew it would pass back into the hands that unearthed it so long ago. Someday I knew it would find its way back to Eldon’s line.” He held it out to her. “It rightfully belongs to you.”

Tyla reached for it. The moment her fingers touched it, it flared so brilliantly they all had to squint to look at it. She felt it thrum with power, the energy radiating up through her fingers into her arms and centering in her chest. She gasped at the probe of it, but a moment later, it dimmed and grew cool to the touch.

Tash’s expression was bemused. She wasn’t sure what to make of it. A riot of thoughts were fighting for supremacy in her mind. One, however, pushed its way to the forefront.

“Did you say it acts as a conduit for one’s power?”

Tash chuckled. “You Eldralin amaze me,” he said. “The first time I touched that thing, it nearly fried me, but you all dandle it like it was nothing more than pretty glass.”

Tyla didn’t quite know how to respond. If he had worried about how it would react to her, why had he given it to her?

He seemed to guess her train of thoughts. “I can feel your power, Tyla. The moment we met, I sensed it, like I did with your father. I knew the emerald would accept you. It always accepts those with power an equal to its own.” He scratched at his head. “Yes, it acts as a conduit. It channels your power to a focused point.”

Tyla stared into its glittering surface. Maybe that was the answer to fighting Rarick. Maybe with the emerald she might be able to attack him.

The second the thought formed, she knew Jarrett had shared it. Her head jerked up and she met his gaze. He’d edged away from the dresser, his expression alarmed. She immediately schooled her features. Of course she had no intention of taking on Rarick, she reassured him. That would be suicide.

CHAPTER 24

“My goodness, Stravad do love to party,” laughed Tyla, twirling a circle around Muzik. The huge man chuckled at her. She took his hand and drew him onto the dancing floor. Lovely Stravad couples smiled at them, amused by the massive size disparity, but for a large man, Muzik could move well.

Tyla caught Kendrick’s frown from the periphery of the dance floor. He was even more confused by the constant dinners and dances and cocktail parties at the Stravad Leader’s house. In his stiff black uniform and erect posture, he stood out even more than the giant Human escorting her around in a twirl.

When Muzik spun her to the far end of the floor, she caught sight of Jarrett and her grandfather in earnest conversation. They were seated at a table by the quartet, which played a rousing waltz. Jarrett was also dressed in his uniform, but he had the jacket unbuttoned.

“That’s a pretty bauble, Your Majesty,” Muzik commented, nodding at the emerald where it dangled from a chain around her neck. “Buy it in the market?”

Tyla frowned at him. Hadn’t he ever heard of the Karhartadon emerald? Deciding it was easier than explaining, Tyla nodded.

They finished the dance, but when Muzik would have led her back to Kendrick’s side, she angled him toward her grandfather and Jarrett. The two men broke off their conversation and rose to their feet at her approach. She kissed her grandfather on the cheek as Muzik retrieved a chair for her. As she sat down, he took up a position at Jarrett’s shoulder, staring out over the dance floor.

“You look like you’re having a good time,” said Tash through Jarrett.

She met Jarrett’s appreciative gaze and felt her cheeks heat. His eyes made a path down her dress and back again. She looked away. “I am.”

“You look lovely,” Tash commented. “The emerald sets off your eyes.”

She touched it with her fingertips and felt an answering thrum. “Thank you, Grandfather.” She hooked her arm through his and gave him a hug. “I have a request for you.”

“Of course,” he said.

“Take me to see my parents’ graves.”

Tash reared back.

She was surprised by his reaction. “Is that a problem?” she questioned.

Tash sighed and shifted in his chair. “It’s very hard for me to go there, Tyla,” he answered. “I almost can’t stand it.” He curled his hand around her chin. “I know why you want to go, but I can get someone else to take you. Thalandar or Farad?”

She took his hand in hers and kissed the back of it. “It’s all right, Grandfather. I understand. I’ll get someone else to take me.”

He exhaled. “It’s just…” His voice trailed away.

“She was your daughter. I do understand.”

“No, that’s not it entirely. It’s your father too. I may not have approved of their marriage, but he meant a lot to me. He saved my life.”

Tyla forgot the dance around her. This was the second time someone had told her about her father, about him saving someone’s life. Her fingers lifted and curled around the emerald. “Can you tell me about it?”

“That is a long tale,” Tash said. “Maybe it’s better left for another time.” When she looked disappointed, Tash laughed and stroked her cheek. “I promise, I’ll tell you, but it’s too loud in here and you should be dancing.” He nodded at Jarrett. “Don’t sit here talking to an old man. Take this beauty waltzing.”

Jarrett and Tyla locked eyes. She felt a thrill pass through her and she wanted nothing more than to be swept up into Jarrett’s arms, but he broke her stare, his gaze lifting to a spot behind her.

“Tyla?” came Kendrick’s voice. She felt his hand curve around the top of her chair. “Would you like to dance?”

Jarrett turned away. Tyla felt her heart drop, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze again. With a sigh, she rose to her feet and faced the Nazarien. “Of course,” she said, accepting his hand. It was her own fault. She’d been pushing Jarrett away for so long, she wasn’t surprised he finally accepted it.

Kendrick led her to the other side of the dance floor – as far away from her grandfather and Jarrett as he could get, but once there, he simply stood, staring at her. Tyla gave him a puzzled look.

“Aren’t we going to dance?” she asked, motioning around them.

Kendrick shifted uncomfortably. “Nazarien don’t really dance.”

“It’s easy. Just put one hand here.” She grabbed his hand and put it on her waist. “And the other here.” She clasped it within her own. “Then we count.” She counted off the dance for him, then led him around a few steps.

He rotated with her awkwardly, his carriage stiff, his legs ram-rod straight. After a few steps, he landed on the heel of the man behind him. Stumbling into Tyla, he apologized to the Stravad, while Tyla tried to resist her impulse to laugh.

He turned back to her with a miserable expression.

“Or we could just sway,” she said, taking his hand and placing his other one on her waist again.

“I think swaying is better.”

They moved back and forth for a while like that, while the rest of the Stravad paraded past in a kaleidoscope of color. Kendrick looked so uncomfortable, she wondered why he was trying so hard.

“Is that the Karhartadon emerald?” he finally said.

“Yes,” she answered.

“Should you have it on display?”

“In Temeron? I think it’s safe.”

Kendrick shook his head. “It’s a dangerous talisman.”

Tyla wanted to change the subject. “Why did you ask me to dance if you don’t know how?”

He stopped moving. “It’s the first chance I’ve had to talk with you. I know you’ve been busy with your grandfather, but I think there are a few things we need to discuss.”

Tyla felt her heart drop. It wasn’t that she was surprised, she just hadn’t expected him to broach it so soon.

“We’ve been in Temeron a few days now,” he continued, “and I’m mindful of the significance of that.”

“Kendrick…”

“I found out a few things about Temerian law.”

That stopped her. “Temerian law?” She wasn’t sure how that applied.

He tugged at the collar of his jacket, then placed his hand on her waist again. He’d forgotten about swaying even. “I was thinking about our pledge to Tarnow, and so I decided to ask the Stravad Leader about marriage practices.”

She started to pull back, but he held her tighter. “Kendrick…”

He continued as if he hadn’t heard her protest. “In Temeron, two people can pledge their devotion to one another in a private ceremony – just the two people and no one else.”

She frowned at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at a spot somewhere over her shoulder. If nothing else, that told her a lot about his true feelings.

“Once the two people have made this pledge, they’ve only to…to…” He paused and his eyes briefly flickered over her face.

“To what?” she said, although she guessed where he was headed. Truthfully, she found his discomfort somewhat amusing.

“To consummate their union.”

“To do what?” she pressed, fighting to hide her smile.

“To…to attempt…procreation,” he finally forced out.

“To attempt procreation?” she repeated.

His eyes flickered over her face again. “Yes. Once that’s completed, they’re officially and legally married.”

“Once that’s completed?” She shook her head at his choice of words. Oh, Kendrick, she thought with a sigh. What had Tarnow gotten both of them into? “This doesn’t seem to be very appealing to you.”

“No, of course not. I mean, of course it is. It’s just Nazarien don’t express themselves very well.”

“I know more about what Nazarien don’t do, than I’ve ever known about what they do.”

He frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Of course not.” When he continued to look baffled, she touched him in the center of his chest. “Listen, Kendrick. I appreciate you finding out about Temerian marriage practices…”

“I’m prepared to keep my pledge to Lord Tarnow.”

That stopped her. She thought about the pledge and about Tarnow. Promises should last only as long as the person who enforces them does. Earon’s words were entangled in everything now. How she’d loved Tarnow, but did she owe him this much?

“I need more time,” she said.

Kendrick looked stricken, but a moment later, he ducked his head. “As you wish,” he answered.

Anger would have been easier to handle, but his quiet acquiescence was somehow worse. It made clear his own feelings regarding this marriage.

She looked around at the dancing Stravad and realized another song had started during their conversation. Suddenly she didn’t feel like dancing anymore. The frivolity of the room seemed out of context with the seriousness of the moment. And as always she was reminded of Temerian abundance. There was no way she couldn’t contrast that against her life in Adishian.

“I’m tired,” she said. “Please tell my grandfather I said goodnight.”

Kendrick gave her a concerned look. “Do you want me to accompany you?”

“No,” she said, holding up a hand to forestall him. “I’m fine by myself. Besides, Kian’s waiting.”

With that, she turned on her heel and started for the doors of the ballroom, but she could feel Kendrick’s eyes on her as she went.

*    *    *

Jarrett waited on the lowest step of the Stravad Leader’s house. The door opened and Tyla stepped out, holding it open for Kian. When the dog saw him, he dashed down the stairs and Jarrett bent to scratch him behind the ears.

Looking up, he met Tyla’s gaze. She was dressed in a light green blouse with a flowing skirt. The emerald was no longer at her throat. Her hair was bound with a ribbon, but the curls flowed over her shoulders. Sunlight reflected in her green eyes and turned her skin to honey gold. He swallowed hard, afraid she would send him away, but she smiled.

“I thought I’d accompany you to the cemetery,” he said. “I got directions from Allistar.”

“That’s better than I did. I was just going to ask in the market.” Her smile sobered. “Thank you, Jarrett. I really don’t want to do this alone.”

“How did you get away from Muzik?”

“He thinks Kian and I are sleeping late.”

She descended the rest of the stairs and he fell into place beside her. Kian immediately loped ahead. As they started walking, she slipped her arm into his. He stiffened in surprise, then breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing his muscles.

“Tell me something,” she said. “Why did you move in with Allistar?”

Jarrett wasn’t sure what to say, but their connection was such that he knew she’d know if he lied to her. “Kendrick asked me to leave.”

She didn’t respond for a moment.

They came to a cross street and Jarrett stopped their progress. He pointed to where the street curved around and disappeared from sight. “See that house there at the corner.”

Tyla nodded. “The one with the white fence in front of it?”

“And the long walk to the door, yes. That’s Allistar’s house. If you need me, that’s where I’ll be.”

She unlinked their arms and faced him. “Why did you agree to leave?”

Jarrett reached out and ran his thumb over her jaw-line. “He said it had to be your choice, and I agreed with him.”

She reached down and stroked Kian’s fur. “He didn’t convey to me that I had a choice,” she said.

Jarrett didn’t know how to respond. He was afraid to voice what was in his heart. If he did so, would he be forcing the issue?

She started walking again and he moved to catch up. When he was at her side, she slipped her arm in his once more. Jarrett curved his free hand over her forearm and tried not to read too much into the gesture, but his heart picked up pace.

They came to the Temerian market. Jarrett had wandered through here with Allistar the day before, but Tyla’s head lifted and her eyes widened in surprise. The market was a collection of brightly colored tents – reds, greens, yellows – and the wares were displayed on overflowing tables. There were bolts of rich fabrics spilling out of bins, fruits and vegetables in baskets, loaves of bread and sweet rolls steaming in the morning sun. Other merchants sold jewelry or scents, bangles and baubles, and one had a collection of blown glass arranged on shelves. Jarrett and Tyla stopped to look at these and they both gasped as shoppers brushed by the delicate items without notice.

The people laughed and chatted and stopped in the middle of the street to hug one another; however, as Tyla walked among them, they grew hushed and watched after her. She didn’t seem to notice, but Jarrett felt uneasy and pulled her closer. Still, their interest didn’t seem malign, and he caught their whispered comments about her beauty and who she was. The merchants were also moved by her and offered to give her anything she wanted from their stores. Tyla laughed and declined, but one insistent merchant pressed a bangled collar into her hands for Kian. Tyla took it and knelt to clasp it around the dog’s neck.

Kian bore the attention stoically, but once the glittery thing was around his neck, he cast a pleading look up at Jarrett as if asking the man to save him. Jarrett laughed. “You look good,” he said, to which Kian snorted and shook his head.

They angled away from the market and into the city streets. Beyond the wall of the city rose the Temer Mountains, shading the walkways and houses. In their shadow, the houses glittered like gold, the gardens verdant with flowers and shrubs, the fences well maintained. Tyla reached out to touch a yellow rose, running the tips of her fingers across the velvety petals.

“Even the poorest Stravad is richer by far than any of my people in Adishian,” she said.

Jarrett wasn’t sure what to say. Something bothered him about the comment. Not that he doubted what she said, he’d seen it for himself, but he remembered a stray thought they’d shared in her grandfather’s house when Tash had given her the emerald.

“Why do you suppose some people have so much, while others have so little?”

“That’s the unfortunate way the world works, Tyla. I don’t know why.”

“It shouldn’t be like that.”

“No, I guess it shouldn’t.”

The Temerian cemetery sat at the end of a residential street, tucked into a corner of the city. An arched wall separated it from the houses on either side. A gate in the wall stood closed and flowers flowed out of pots on either side of it. Tyla and Jarrett paused at the gate. Kian sniffed around the pots, then settled on his haunches and looked up at them, the bangles on his collar shining in the sunlight.

“You all right?” Jarrett asked.

She nodded, her eyes fixed on a spot somewhere in the cemetery. From where they stood, they could see gravestones and markers lining the avenues. Most of the graves were draped with flowers. A tall Stravad appeared in the walkway, moving toward the gate. He had long, dark hair drawn back in a tail and brilliant blue Stravad eyes. He unlatched the gate and motioned them inside.

“Welcome, Tyla Eldralin,” he said. “My name is Bon. I’m the groundskeeper here.”

Kian immediately entered and began nosing down the avenues. Bon didn’t seem the least concerned about the dog. His attention was fixed on Tyla. Jarrett placed his hand in the middle of her back and turned toward her.

“Do you want to do this another day?” he asked.

“No.” She drew a deep breath, smoothing her hands down her skirt. “I just didn’t think it would be this hard.”

He waited for her to make her decision. After a moment, she moved through the gate and into the cemetery. Stopping in front of Bon, she held out her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you.” Jarrett translated.

“The pleasure is mine,” he responded. “Would you like me to show you your family’s section?”

His demeanor was so matter-of-fact, Jarrett was impressed. His calm seemed to ease some of the anxiety inside of Tyla.

“Please,” she said.

He led them through the cemetery, past headstones and grave markers that looked ancient, weathered grey with their words nearly indecipherable. Each one was immaculately maintained, the lawn clipped, and the refuse removed. Other newer ones were strewn with flowers or other personal effects. At intervals along the avenues were benches, placed beneath trees, so mourners would have a place to sit during their visits.

At the highest spot in the cemetery, they came upon a row of mausoleums, large stone edifices with elaborate letters printed across the front of them in Lodenian. Instead, Bon hesitated at a simple grave strewn with flowers.

“This is the grave of Cy, your great-uncle Taverand’s father.”

Tyla bent and picked up a lily, running the petal across her cheek. “Who places these flowers?” Jarrett translated for her.

Bon shrugged. “His grave has always been covered this way. Most people bring something to place on it when they come to visit their own families. His memory stands for all those who fight against wrongs no matter how daunting.”

As he translated for her, Jarrett felt a skitter of anxiety crawl up his spine, but he wasn’t sure why. She shifted and pointed at the mausoleums. “Is that where my parents are buried?”

“Yes.” He started walking again, angling up a small incline to the top of the rise. He stopped before the largest stone crypt, emblazoned with the names Talar and Shara Eldralin across the front. On the walk before the crypt door and piled to either side of it were flowers, spilling over in a riot of colors. Before the crypt was a flowering tree and beneath it a stone bench. Engraved on the bench was the following saying: May Eldon’s star guide you in eternity.

Tyla sank down on the bench and stared at the crypt, but didn’t go any closer. Kian crept to her side and placed his head in her lap. Absently she stroked him.

“Is there anything else I can do?” asked Bon.

Jarrett gave the man a grateful smile. “No, but thank you for showing us the way. Do you mind if we just sit here for a while?”

“Not at all.” He gave Tyla a quick bow, which she didn’t seem to notice and disappeared back the way he’d come.

Jarrett sat down beside her, reaching out to stroke Kian’s head. For a long time, they just sat, staring at the crypt and saying nothing. Jarrett marveled at the number of flowers mounded against the cold stone. He could see very few in the pile that were wilted, so people brought new offerings all of the time.

Finally, Tyla stirred, but she just shifted so she could lay her head against Jarrett’s shoulder. “We’ve done this quite a lot, haven’t we?” she commented.

He rested his own head against hers, breathing in the floral scent of her hair. “More than one would expect. Are you all right?”

She nodded. “It still feels abstract. I can’t imagine them in there.”

“I don’t suppose they are, Tyla.”

“I guess you’re right.” She reached down and linked her fingers in his. “All I know about their death is that my mother died in childbirth. Tarnow said my father lost the will to live after that. Would he have fought harder if he’d known I survived?”

“I believe he would have, but he loved her so, I don’t know if he could have lived without her,” said Jarrett. “No one in my house would speak of it, especially Shandar, but once I got Lawyan to tell me a little. He told me that your father gave up the moment he felt her die. He could remember that moment as if it was permanently etched in his mind.”

Tyla didn’t respond and he let her have her silence. It was enough for him to sit there and share the moment with her.

*    *    *

After leaving the cemetery, Tyla found herself in a pensive mood. She didn’t want to go back to Farad’s house and she didn’t feel up to the difficulty of translation with her grandfather. When they came to the business section of Temeron, Tyla spotted a café with iron tables in front of it, covered with bright orange umbrellas. Rows of potted plants separated the dining area from the street, the flowers cascading over the sides and trailing across the cobbled walkways.

“I’ve never eaten anywhere like this before,” she commented.

Jarrett eyed the place, then shrugged. “Let’s give it a try. That is, if they accept Nevaisser coin.”

Tyla followed him to the doorway. A man greeted them, bowing and cooing over Kian. Jarrett exchanged a number of words with him and then the man motioned with his hand toward the outdoor dining area. He led them to a table in a back corner where they could still see the street, but their conversation would be private.

He held the chair for Tyla as she sat and then picked up a pycantra starter and ignited a candle in the middle of the table. Dusk was beginning to fall around them.

Jarrett sat down and Tyla motioned for Kian to crawl beneath the table, where he stretched out across Tyla’s feet. She looked around, a little awed by the other diners casually eating and conversing in close proximity. She could tell a few of them were muttering about her and the dog, but it didn’t bother her.

Jarrett and the man exchanged a few more words, then the man walked away.

“Will they take Nevaisser coin?” she asked.

“He said it was no problem, although I think he would have served us without it.”

Another man approached them. He wore a white apron around his waist and bowed low when he came to the table. He directed his words at them both, but Tyla was at a loss. She had no context upon which to base this conversation, so Jarrett took over.

After the server took his leave, Tyla shook her head in astonishment. “I’ve never done anything like this. I don’t even know how to behave.”

Jarrett laughed. “That’s a bit obvious, but I placed an order for us. I hope you’ll like it.”

Tyla smiled. “I already do. It doesn’t matter what else happens. I’ll never forget this experience.”

A comfortable silence grew between them. The buzz of conversations from the other tables provided a barrier around them. Even as the sun faded and darkness fell, the temperature remained comfortable.

“Was it hard seeing your parents’ crypt?” asked Jarrett.

Tyla ran her foot along Kian’s back and the dog sighed in contentment. “Not hard,” she answered. “How do you miss what you never had? Their deaths don’t seem real to me – at least not as real as Tarnow’s. I guess that’s strange, isn’t it?”

“I think I understand. It’s sort of the way I feel about my father. How do I miss what I never had?”

“In a way, you did have a father. The way you talk about my uncles, especially Lawyan, leads me to think you thought of them as family.”

Jarrett smiled. He had a smile that lit up his face, softened it, made it younger. It also accentuated the blue of his eyes. “You’re right. They did all the things that fathers are said to do – encouraged me, scolded me…well, Shandar did most of that. From the moment I went to live with them, they were there for me.”

The waiter returned and placed a wine bottle and two glasses on the table. He spoke to Jarrett, who nodded, then uncorked the bottle and poured wine into each of their glasses. He slipped away without a sound.

Tyla lifted her glass and took a sip. The wine was warm and mellow, leaving a woodsy flavor in the back of her mouth. “Tell me about Shandar. You talk about Lawyan and Shad the most. What’s Shandar like?”

Jarrett settled his own glass on the table. “He’s hard to get to know, Tyla. They were all wounded by your parents’ death, but Shandar never got over it. So much of his life was spent protecting your father, it was like he lost his purpose. He tried to transfer that purpose to your brother, but when it was obvious Kalas had chosen a path completely opposite your father…”

Tyla flinched and sat back.

“I’m sorry,” Jarrett offered.

“No, it’s all right. It’s the truth, but he wasn’t always like that, Jarrett. Not when we were young. He took beatings for me, did everything in his power to protect me. Something happened to him when I left Sarkisian. He hardened. And yet, sometimes when I look at him, I still see the boy who whispered silly stories to me in the dark of night.”

Jarrett reached out and took her hand. “In some ways, this is harder for you than all of us, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Being in Temeron.”

She ran her thumb across the back of his hand. “It is.” She looked out at the street, at the hustle of people moving along the walkways, laughing, stopping for conversation. “I’ve never known anything like this. I see these beautiful people, enjoying life, and then I see Adishian and Sarkisian. I see mothers huddled over their starving babies, and I see young men coming back from the mines missing limbs. I see old women with crippled backs or soldiers going to war. It’s hard for me to reconcile it.”

“Rarick wanted to use you as a weapon against those people, Tyla.”

“I know,” she said, covering her eyes with a hand. “I know he did, but am I any better? I left them to fend for themselves, I turned my back on them. I walked away from my brother. And while I’m sitting here, eating in this café, they’re starving.” She lowered her hand and met Jarrett’s gaze. “I’m sorry. That isn’t what I wanted to talk about tonight.”

He searched her face intently. “I know. I wish I had an answer for you.”

She shrugged. “There isn’t one.”

The waiter returned with their food and Tyla laughed. “There’s enough for four people here.” She shot a look at Jarrett, but he continued to study her, ignoring the arrival of their meal.

*    *    *

Kian nosed ahead, sniffing in the bushes and pricking his ears at sounds only he could hear. Tyla and Jarrett wandered behind him, content to let the night deepen around them. As the temperature dropped, Jarrett slipped off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. She hugged it around her and hooked her arm through his, resting her head against his shoulder.

Overhead the sky was clear and a myriad of stars shone down, illuminating the walk and chasing away the shadows. Lights glowed from inside the Stravad houses and Tyla could hear the clink of dishes as meals were cleared.

They came to the gate of the Stravad Leader’s house and Tyla turned to face Jarrett. “I really enjoyed dinner,” she said. “I didn’t realize how much I could enjoy something so simple.”

He smiled and reached out to brush back a strand of hair. “I think it was the company.”

She caught his hand in her own and held it against her cheek. “Yes, it was.”

“Do you have plans for tomorrow?” he asked.

She felt a flush of disappointment. She sensed he wanted to spend the day with her and she wanted to do so, but she had obligations, always. Her life was a list of the obligations. “Farad’s joining me for lunch at Thalandar’s house. He’s going to translate for me and my grandfather.”

Jarrett’s face fell.

Tyla was surprised at the rush of irritation she felt – not towards Jarrett, but towards her situation. All of the Stravad around her did as they pleased with their lives and never had to explain it to anyone else. Why couldn’t she? It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be with her grandfather, she just wanted to explore these feeling she had with Jarrett.

“It’s all right,” he said, curling his fingers around her chin. He tilted her head up until their eyes met. “There will always be another time.”

Tyla caught her breath and her eyes widened. He was so close, so tantalizing, just within her grasp. She rose up on her tiptoes and brought her lips within a breath of his. His eyes glittered like blue glass in the lantern lights. He moved closer to her, but just at the moment when their lips would touch, his gaze shifted away from her and he suddenly straightened, his hand sliding from her chin.

Tyla stumbled, then whipped around. Muzik and Kendrick stood in the walk of the Stravad Leader’s house. Muzik looked sheepish, but Kendrick had his arms folded across his chest.

“Good night, Jarrett,” he said pointedly.

Tyla felt rage spire inside of her and for a moment, she fought to contain it. Power hummed in the tips of her fingers and flushed her cheeks with blood. She turned back to Jarrett. His jaw was set, but he took a step away from her. The physical distance felt emotional as if he was walking away from the connection they had.

Anger bled away, replaced by sadness. She’d brought them to this impasse by her inability to make a decision. How much longer would a man like Jarrett wait?

He touched her arm. “Good night, Tyla,” he said.

She couldn’t meet his eyes. “Good night,” she answered.

With another challenging glare at Kendrick, he melted back into the shadows and walked down the street. Tyla waited until she could no longer see him, fighting to corral her emotions. Then she strode to the gate and opened it, resisting the impulse to throw it shut. Kendrick blocked her way.

“Tyla, I really think…”

She reared back from him. “Do not push this now,” she said, her voice thrumming with fury. “I will talk with you about it tomorrow. Not before.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but Muzik clamped a hand on his shoulder and dragged him back out of the walkway.

Once he was removed, Tyla slapped her thigh for Kian and strode past him, mounting the stairs and never once looking back.

CHAPTER 25

Rain had fallen overnight, clearing the air and dusting the plants with glistening drops. The clouds were parting and sunlight was shining down as Tyla and Farad made their way back from Thalandar’s house.

The lunch with her grandfather had gone well, though not as effortlessly as it did when Jarrett was translating for her, but the men were all patient and Tash continued to revel in her presence. He’d told her a bit more about her mother and Tyla stored the information away, letting it chase back the anxiety she was feeling.

As they neared the gate to the Stravad Leader’s house, Farad slowed his stride and gradually came to a halt. Tyla turned to face him, puzzled by the delay. “You’ve been unusually pensive today,” he said. “Is everything all right?”

She wasn’t sure how to answer. She didn’t think the leader of the Stravad capital was really interested in the petty problems that plagued her. “I have a decision to make and it’s weighing on me,” she answered.

“About marrying the Nazarien?”

Tyla’s mouth opened in shock, but she couldn’t find her voice.

“He asked me about Temerian marriage practices,” Farad offered, “and when I wanted to know why, he explained the pledge you both took.”

Tyla should have guessed as much. Kendrick had told her something similar himself. “I loved Tarnow dearly, but I’m not sure I can do what he asked.”

“If it helps, your pledge to Tarnow legally ended once you crossed under Temeron’s gate. We do not believe in forced or arranged marriages here. In fact, they’ve been outlawed.”

Tyla smiled and touched Farad’s arm. “I appreciate the information, but I have to make this decision myself. I’m afraid I’ve let it go too long.”

“If I can help, you know I will, even just to listen.”

“I know and I appreciate it. You and everyone else in Temeron have been nothing but welcoming.”

They turned and continued down the street. Tyla left Farad at the entrance to his study and continued on to the back porch. Chairs had been set up in the lawn that led down to the creek. Tyla descended the porch stairs and wiped off the damp seat on one of the chairs, then she tucked her skirt around her and sat down.

Birdsong reached her from the trees bordering the property and the trickle of the stream calmed her. She leaned her head back against the chair and closed her eyes, letting the sun bathe her face in warmth. Peace lay all around her, but inside her emotions churned.

“Tyla?”

Kendrick’s voice was soft, but it shattered the calm she’d built. She lowered her head and opened her eyes. He was in his uniform, the buttons done up to his chin. His expression was pained. She exhaled. The full realization of what her indecision was costing them both hit her.

“Sit down,” she said, motioning to the seat beside her.

“I’d rather stand,” he answered and smoothed his hands down his trousers. Tyla marked the perfect seam pressed into the legs. “I really think it’s time we finished this business and honored our pledge.”

Tyla suddenly realized that she’d known for a long time that she would never honor Tarnow’s pledge. Jarrett was a huge part of the reason, but so was Kendrick and his happiness. For Kendrick, she was and would always be a duty, nothing more.

She also realized that she’d held off making this decision because it was her last tie to Tarnow, but Tarnow was gone. Sitting in the spring sunlight in Temeron, Tyla released him. He would always be part of her, but he was part of her past. The ache of this knowledge felt cleansing. For the first time since his death, she accepted he was gone.

She rose to her feet and faced Kendrick. “I can’t marry you,” she said, meeting his eye.

Surprisingly, he didn’t drop his gaze as he usually did. “What?”

“It’s not right for either of us. Tarnow shouldn’t have forced that pledge on us.”

Kendrick appeared confused. “I-I don’t understand. You and I both took it willingly.”

“No, Kendrick, neither of us did. He made me promise before I knew what I promised and you did it because you couldn’t refuse, but you don’t have any feelings for me beyond obligation.”

“That’s enough. Nazarien do not need more.”

She took a step closer to him. “I need more. I want more. I was forced to marry Tarnow. I won’t be forced to marry anyone else. I release you of your pledge and I release you of your service. Stay in Temeron, go home, do whatever you want, Kendrick. You are free.”

“Tyla, please,” he said.

She held firm, despite the confusion in his voice. “Can you tell me you love me, Kendrick? Swear it on all that you hold holy.” Her eyes narrowed. “Swear it on the name of my father.”

He fidgeted. “That’s not fair. Nazarien do not need love.”

“I’m not Nazarien, Kendrick.”

His eyes snapped up to her face, open and vulnerable. She wondered if that had ever occurred to him before. He started to say something, then stopped. She waited, surprised at the calm that flowed over her.

He looked down. “I understand,” he said.

Tyla stepped forward and rested her hand on his arm, then she rose up and kissed his cheek. He didn’t move, but his arm trembled under her touch and the moment she finished, he took a step away. She smiled wryly and turned, walking back toward the Stravad Leader’s house.

*    *    *

Tyla paused on the porch and took a deep breath. The road wound away to the left, leading her toward a future that both excited and terrified her. For the first time, she was making a choice that had nothing to do with obligation or duty. This was a choice of the heart, her heart, her choice.

“Your Majesty?”

Muzik stood at the gate with Kian beside him. She hadn’t noticed his approach. A giddy laugh tickled her throat and she choked it back. Picking up her skirts, she hurried down the steps and met him in the walk.

“Are you going somewhere?”

“Yes,” she said and didn’t feel the need to say any more.

He frowned at her. “Can I accompany you?”

She looked out at golden houses, glittering in the dusky pink end of the day. “No,” she said and laughed.

His frown deepened, making his small eyes nearly disappear. “Are you all right, Your Majesty?” he asked. “Pardon my forwardness, but you’re acting oddly.”

Happiness bubbled up inside of her, chasing the last of her fear away. She felt like a young girl again, but this time there was nothing to constrain the pure joy of the moment. “You’re right, I am,” she said, “and I’m delighted by it. Isn’t freedom a beautiful thing, Muzik?”

“Freedom? Are you all right…” His eyes widened as understanding came. “You’ve broken the bond with the Nazarien, haven’t you?”

A sigh shivered from inside of her, the last of the tension snaking away. “I have, and now I’m off to do a bit of living for myself.” She twirled around him, brushing her fingers through Kian’s fur. The dog licked her hand as she passed.

“Your Majesty, let me come with you. You shouldn’t be running around without an escort.”

She stopped in the path and swung back around, the skirt of her dress belling around her. She liked the way the emerald green stood out against the gold of Temeron. “Who would harm me here, Muzik?” A mischievous smile touched her mouth. “In fact, who would bother me at all? I’m not without my abilities.”

“Your Majesty, at least tell me where you’ll be?”

She hurried back to him and rose on her tiptoes, kissing his cheek. “Where I should have been all along,” she whispered, then danced away down the walkway.

She didn’t bother to look behind her, but wandered toward the left, letting her fingers trail along the bushes that marked the yards of the other houses. She passed Thalandar’s house and came to the fork in the road, where she hesitated for a moment to marvel at the beauty of Temeron in the last blush of the day. Lamps twinkled from the cottages, but there was still enough sunlight that the street lanterns hadn’t been lit. A slight chill whispered through the town on the evening breeze and the smell of fresh baked bread wafted to her.

With a deep breath, she stepped into the street and crossed to the opposite side. The small cottage with the picket fence lay just before her, curving like a hand to beckon her in. She forced herself to walk at a normal pace, but her heart began to pick up speed, beating a staccato rhythm in her chest. She curled her hands in her dress and felt a flutter of fear again, but she quickly brushed it away. Nothing was going to dampen the euphoria she felt.

She came to the gate and curled her fingers over the top of it. He was sitting on the porch, slouched in a chair, his hands folded on his belly. His eyes lifted at the same moment that she reached for the latch.

As she pushed open the gate and strolled up the walk, he unfolded from the chair and glided down the porch stairs, stalking her like a cat. She marveled again that he could move such a large frame with so little effort, muscles sliding and lengthening as he advanced.

They met in the middle, Tyla staring up at him, her heart in her eyes. His expression was a mixture of hope and worry. How many times had she rejected him? Well, no longer.

“I found out something interesting,” she said, delighted her voice was level.

“Really?” he answered, leaning over her, his hands clasped tightly to his sides as if he was trying to hold them back.

“Actually, I learned it from Kendrick.”

He stiffened at the name and she felt the flutter of his thoughts against her own. Still, she needed to say this out loud.

“Go on,” he prompted, an edge evident in his tone.

Calm flowed through her. She suddenly knew he would never deny her. “A couple who wishes to marry need only express their commitment to one another in order to be joined. They need no witnesses, no ceremony. Only their solemn vow.”

His eyes glittered fiercely and a muscle stood out in his jaw. “Really? That is interesting.”

Another mischievous smile lit her face. “Oh, and of course, they must consummate the union.”

He drew a deep breath and held it, expanding his chest. “I can do that,” he answered in a husky drawl.

“I love you, Jarrett,” she said softly. “I have for a long time. I wish I’d told you sooner, but I had to let Tarnow go first. And I had to realize that I’m entitled to something I want in this life. You are that something.”

A shudder took him, but he didn’t move to touch her yet. “You know I’ve loved you from the moment I woke to your voice all those months ago. Nothing else in the world has ever meant as much to me.”

She tilted her head and allowed the faintest of smiles to paint her lips. “Then there’s only one thing left to do.”

He gave a growl and then pounced on her, catching her in his arms and lowering his mouth to hers. He kissed her until her knees weakened, then he swept her into his arms. She laughed as he spun her around toward the house.

“What about Allistar?” she squealed.

“He can find his own wife.”

She laughed again. “No, isn’t he home?”

“Thank the Lord Eldon, no. He’s on patrol until tomorrow morning. We have the house to ourselves.” He climbed the first step, then set her on her feet at the top so he had to look up at her. With the backs of his fingers, he brushed a curl from her face. “I love you, Tyla Eldralin, and I pledge my life, my soul, my heart to you forever.”

Tears filled her eyes. “You’ve always had mine,” she said.

He climbed the remaining stairs and pulled her into his arms. Then he lowered his mouth to hers again.

*    *    *

Muzik led Kian to the back porch for his daily romp around the Stravad Leader’s grounds. The dog bounded down the steps, tearing off toward the stream in the distance. He loved to nose around beneath the foliage and possibly startle a rabbit out of hiding.

Muzik leaned on the rail, watching him, but his attention was drawn to the chairs arranged on the lawn. Kendrick sat in one, his hands clasped in his lap, his head bowed. Muzik recognized the dejected angle of the Nazarien’s shoulders.

Descending the stairs, he moved to Kendrick’s side. The Nazarien didn’t lift his head or acknowledge Muzik, but he sighed. “I’ve failed.”

Muzik crossed to the chair beside the Nazarien and lowered his heavy bulk into it. “You didn’t fail.”

“I failed my faith, my order, and most of all, Tarnow.”

“You can’t fail if you never had a chance, Kendrick. You knew she had feelings for Jarrett.”

“We made a pledge to each other. She made a pledge to Tarnow.”

“Tarnow’s dead.”

“I think the pledge was meant to last beyond his death. That was the point of making it.”

“It was wrong, Kendrick. Tarnow had no right to ask that of her, or you.”

“He asked it so she would have a protector.”

Muzik stretched out his legs and watched the dog pounce into the stream after fish. “As she just told me, she doesn’t really need a protector. She’s certainly better able to defend herself than either of us are.”

“There’s the why of it.”

“Huh?” Muzik frowned.

“I’ve never been skilled enough. I’ve never been a match for Jarrett. He’s always bested me, shown me up.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t understand it. We had the same training. I’ve been taught sword and bow just as he has, but whenever we’re in battle, I freeze. She sees that and knows I’m not good enough.”

Muzik arched one brow. “I don’t think it has anything to do with battle, Nazarien. Jarrett just has that something…I don’t know. Who can understand the minds of women?”

“I can never go back to Chernow. I can never be a Nazarien again.”

“That’s ridiculous. She made the decision, not you. You were still willing to fulfill your pledge. No one can blame you if she changed her mind.”

“She’s with him now, isn’t she?”

“I think so.” Muzik shifted on the seat so he could face Kendrick. “You didn’t really think it would turn out differently, did you? I’ve known all along that she would choose him. You had to see that too.”

Kendrick finally met Muzik’s gaze. “We had a pledge,” he said, his expression tormented. “We swore it. How can she just abandon it so easily?”

Muzik gave a wry laugh. “She’s a woman. They can do anything they want.” He pushed himself to his feet and slapped Kendrick’s knee. “Come on. Let’s get a drink.”

“A what?”

“Let’s go get a drink.”

“Nazarien don’t drink.”

Muzik shrugged. “You’re not Nazarien anymore.” When Kendrick still didn’t move, Muzik gave him a stern look. “You coming?”

“I’m not sure.”

Muzik crossed his arms over his chest. “Kendrick, since the beginning of time, men have always done the same thing when jilted by a woman.”

“What is that?”

“Get drunk,” Muzik said and headed toward the stairs.

*    *    *

The sunlight woke Jarrett. He stretched languidly, keeping his eyes shut, not wanting to disturb the feeling of peace that enveloped him. Gradually he opened his eyes, turning his head to the spot where Tyla had lain all night, encircled in his arms.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, slipping her feet into her shoes. Her hair was a tangled mass of curls, cast across one shoulder as she bent over. He reached out and ran his hand along her spin where the dress dipped low. She turned and smiled at him, her hair spilling down her back.

He returned a lazy smile and ran his hand along her arm, drawing her down to him. She leaned across his chest, her hair tickling his bare skin, and kissed him languidly. He gathered her to him, pulling her in tighter.

“You’re wrinkling my dress,” she said against his lips.

“Mmhmm,” he answered. He gathered the heavy mass of her hair and pulled it behind her, so he could see her face. Holding it against the nape of her neck, he ran his free hand along her jaw. No woman was as beautiful as this one, he thought. “I love you.”

Her emerald eyes danced with pleasure and he felt her answering thought.

He frowned suddenly, realizing she was already dressed. “What time is it?”

“Just past dawn,” she said.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m meeting my grandfather and Thalandar for breakfast at their house. He wants to give me some things of my mother’s. Besides, Allistar should be home soon and I don’t want to shock him.”

“Allistar wouldn’t care.” He sank his fingers in her hair. “I thought we’d spend the day together.”

She smiled and her smile made her more beautiful, if possible. “We have the rest of our lives together,” she said. “I promised my grandfather. Why don’t you come with me? We can tell him our marital status together.”

Suddenly, the full import of her words struck. Happiness surged through him and he laughed. They were married. She was his wife. Everything he’d hoped and dreamed had actually come true.

“Actually, I have some errands I have to run.”

She gave him a questioning look. “Like what?”

“Well, for starters, I need a job. We can’t live here at Allistar’s forever. I’ll go find him and see if there are any positions available with the patrol.”

“I’ll bet I could ask Farad for a job. Maybe as a healer.”

“I think Farad would give you the leadership of Temeron if you asked.”

She folded her hands on his chest and rested her chin on it. “I think I’ll be too busy for anything that demanding. I have a new husband to occupy.”

He slid his hands down her back and held her tighter. “Are you sure you can’t be late to your grandfather’s?” he said with a growl.

She laughed. “How would I explain it? Do you want to tell him why?”

Jarrett eased his hold. “You’re probably right. I don’t think I could tell Haldane I detained his granddaughter in the manner I was thinking.” His expression sobered. “I need to find Kendrick.”

Tyla pulled back a little and gave him an anxious look. “Why?”

“I need to work this out with him. I owe him that much. We came a long way together and he saved my life.”

She sat up. “I don’t think there’s any way to work this out, Jarrett. He tied so much of his identity into that pledge that I’m not sure he’ll ever forgive either of us for ruining it.”

Jarrett leaned on an elbow. “You’re probably right, but I’ve got to try.”

She studied him a moment more, then leaned over and kissed him. “I know. Just be careful, please.”

“I will.”

She rose from the bed and gathered the rest of her belongings.

“I’ll meet you at the Stravad Leader’s house later and we can move your stuff here, all right?”

“Don’t you think we ought to talk to Allistar about it?”

“I will when I go to find out about a job. Don’t worry though. Allistar won’t mind.”

Tyla leaned over the bed and kissed him again. “I’m not worried about anything. This is the start of something wonderful, Jarrett. Just the thought of having our own place sounds exciting.”

“It won’t be quite the castle you’re accustomed to.”

“It will be for me because it will be our own. For the first time, I feel like I’m free.”

With that, she bounded from the room.

*    *    *

The sun was climbing over the gate as Jarrett arrived. The guards met him with their easy manner, extending their hands for a shake.

“I was looking for Allistar. Is he available?”

“He should be back in a few minutes. He’s just completing the morning patrol,” said the taller of the two.

Jarrett thought to ask them about work, but decided Allistar might put in a good word for him. “Thank you.”

“Do you want me to tell him you came by? Once his patrol’s finished, his shift is over.”

“Have him meet me in the main square by the fountain. Tell him I’m buying breakfast.”

The two guards smiled. “We’ll do.”

Jarrett left them and moved toward the main square. Many of the townspeople were about, heading to the market after fresh produce or sweet rolls. The smell of flowers mingled with warm bread infused him with a sense of well-being. He hadn’t given much thought to living in Temeron for the rest of his life, but now it seemed like the sweetest of ideas.

Looking at the people, hearing their voices, marking their nods of greeting, he knew that he had never felt as much at home as he did here. Terra Antiguo would always remain a part of him, but that city held too many painful memories. Temeron held the future.

His eyes chanced on Earon, lounging on a bench by the fountain and basking in the sunlight. Jarrett crossed to his side. Earon’s scar and pale complexion were a stark contrast to the honey gold of the people passing around him.

“You’re up early,” Earon said without opening his eyes.

“So are you. How have you been?”

Earon motioned to the cane resting by his knee. “Better. They say I’ll probably always walk stiffly, but I can walk.” He squinted his eyes against the sun and cocked his head at Jarrett. “I understand congratulations are in order.”

“How did you know?”

He motioned across the cobbled courtyard to the edge of the fountain. One side was still in shadows. Kendrick sat on the edge of it, his back to the spray, his head bowed, his hands clasped between his knees.

“I ran into Muzik on his way back to the Stravad Leader’s house. Apparently, he and the Nazarien have been tying one on all night.”

Jarrett frowned. “Kendrick? Are you sure?”

Earon held out his hands, palms up. “Muzik was still plastered, but feeling the effects. He left the Nazarien there and told me he was going to bed.”

Jarrett started moving toward Kendrick.

“I’d leave him alone if I were you,” said Earon at his back.

Jarrett ignored him and crossed the square. Kendrick didn’t look up as Jarrett stopped in front of him. “Kendrick?”

He didn’t lift his head, but his hands tightened into fists.

“Kendrick, we need to talk.” Jarrett shifted weight. He felt anxiety skitter across his nerve endings. He wasn’t any good at this sort of thing, but he and Kendrick had shared too much to let it go like this. “Kendrick, please. Let me buy you breakfast, get you some tea. You’ll feel better if you get something on your stomach.”

Still no response.

“Kendrick?” Jarrett leaned forward to clasp his shoulder, but Kendrick moved at the same time. Before Jarrett could react, Kendrick’s sword tip was pressed against the base of Jarrett’s throat.

Jarrett threw his hands out to the side, his palms open. “Kendrick!”

The Nazarien’s face was stark, dark circles bruised the area beneath his eyes. The point of the sword trembled against Jarrett’s flesh, but he didn’t lower it. Slowly Jarrett took a step back as Kendrick rose to his feet.

“Draw your sword,” he hissed between clenched teeth.

Jarrett gave him a bewildered look. “What?”

“Draw your sword.”

Jarrett lowered his hands to his sides. “No. This is stupid. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“You have mocked me this entire journey. You’ve taunted and teased and ridiculed me the whole way. Draw your sword and I’ll show you my training is every bit as good as yours.”

“You’re still drunk. Put the sword away. Come on, Kendrick. Let me buy you breakfast. We can talk through this.”

Kendrick pressed the sword closer, forcing Jarrett to dance back. “I don’t want to talk. Draw your sword.”

“No.”

Kendrick’s face twisted. “You’ve robbed me of everything. My dignity, my order, my people. Now you’ll take even this from me.”

“I’m not going to fight you, Kendrick. This is stupid.”

Kendrick’s eyes narrowed, then he lowered the sword as if he meant to put it away, but he suddenly shifted weight and made a sweeping motion at Jarrett. Metal rang on metal as his sword met and slid along the length of Jarrett’s, coming to a jarring halt at the hilt. The two men were thrown against one another, staring into each other’s eyes.

“Don’t do this, Kendrick.”

“My training was as good as yours.” Jarrett could smell the alcohol on his breath. “Admit it.”

“Fine. I admit it.”

A spasm ticked in Kendrick’s cheek, then he wrenched their swords apart. He took a wild swing, forcing Jarrett to block him. “You lie!” he shouted. “You always lie.” He swung again.

Jarrett glanced around. People were gathering, watching with anxious expressions. Earon had eased forward on his bench. Jarrett heard someone mention something about the guards. “Kendrick, I don’t want to fight you. This is stupid. Let’s go and talk about this.”

“Talk about what? Talk about my broken pledge, talk about the fact that I am no longer Nazarien. Should we talk about how I’m alone – no home, no people, no religion?”

“You’re not alone.”

Kendrick’s eyes were liquid. “I have nothing. I am nothing. I can never go back. You took it all away from me. You robbed me of my life.” He swung and Jarrett deflected it. “Fight me! Fight me, you arrogant bastard!” His strokes were wild, hammering blows. Jarrett could anticipate them and knock them aside, but the desperation in Kendrick’s strikes alarmed him. At some point, Jarrett would have to disarm him, but he feared it would only illustrate Kendrick’s point.

He had to talk reason to him. He didn’t believe Kendrick wanted to hurt him. He understood Kendrick was trying to prove something, but even sober, Kendrick really wasn’t a match for Jarrett’s skill. Kendrick didn’t have the instinct to kill.

Jarrett grasped at that. Kendrick may have had the same training, but Kendrick didn’t have the will to kill.

“Listen to me, please. This is a golden opportunity for you.” He deflected another wild swing, slamming Kendrick’s blade into the cobblestones. He held it there with his greater weight and moved close to the Nazarien. “You can do whatever you want. Go wherever you want to go.”

Kendrick’s breath hitched in his chest and he slammed into Jarrett, knocking him back as he wrenched his blade free. He swung overhand at him, a sob escaping his throat. Jarrett caught the down strike and danced backward, pulling the Nazarien with him. They were face to face again.  The momentum had shifted them around. Jarrett’s back was to the fountain and he could sense a bench a few feet behind him. He didn’t like this position. Too many obstacles to maneuver around. Not to mention the crowd that was gathering.

“Kendrick…”

“Shut up. Just shut up. Why don’t you get it? I had it, all of it. Right at my fingertips.”

“What did you have?”

“Talar Eldralin’s daughter! She was mine.”

“No, she wasn’t. You know it wasn’t right. You know I loved her. I never lied to you about that.”

“It wasn’t your place to take her. It wasn’t your pledge.”

Jarrett thrust him off. “Kendrick, I’m not going to do this anymore.” He held the sword out to the side. “We’ve come through too much together. This is wrong, and I won’t do it anymore.”

Kendrick closed his eyes and hugged his arms around himself. “Nothing else mattered. Nothing had meaning, but that. And you took it from me. You took it all.”

“Kendrick, it’s over. I won’t continue this fight. I won’t fight you anymore.” He opened his fingers, letting the blade drop, but Kendrick moved at the same time.

He lunged forward, stabbing out, his eyes still closed. The sword sank into Jarrett’s right side, the momentum carrying it deep into his body until it slammed against bone. Kendrick’s eyes flashed opened at the same time that Jarrett’s sword clattered onto the cobblestones.

For a moment, Jarrett didn’t feel any pain. He looked down and saw the sword embedded in his side. Kendrick blanched and wrenched the sword free. Jarrett staggered and gasped in pain, then stared as blood pooled in the wound, spilling over and covering his hands.

Kendrick dropped the sword and reached for him, but Jarrett stumbled back and felt his knees hit the bench behind him. He sat down hard, staring at the blood that now soaked his trouser leg and ran across the stone seat of the bench.

He lifted his eyes to Kendrick’s stricken face. “Help me,” he heard himself whisper.

Kendrick blinked, then turned a frantic circle. “Help! Someone help me!” he shouted, his voice breaking on a sob. “Eldon’s star, help me!”

Earon was suddenly there, knocking Kendrick away and shoving Jarrett to his back. “Stop the bleeding, you damn fool!” he shouted at Kendrick, then he pressed both hands hard against the wound in Jarrett’s side.

Jarrett’s back arched and he gasped in air as the pain speared through his body. Earon leaned over him, his white blond hair stark against the yellow sunlight. “Stay with me, Jarrett!” he commanded. “Stay with me!”

But Jarrett felt a cold sweat pepper over his skin and darkness pushed against the edge of his vision.

CHAPTER 26

Sunlight streamed through the windows of Thalandar’s house. Tyla sat with her back to it, enjoying the warmth as she reached for her teacup. Her grandfather and Thalandar sat across from her, telling her another story about her mother from her childhood. She was getting better at understanding Lodenian, especially when she read her grandfather’s thoughts, but speaking was another matter. She couldn’t seem to get past the halting search for the correct words.

She enjoyed her grandfather’s stories, but she also enjoyed seeing the life in his eyes and the easy banter between him and Thalandar. Their friendship had endured through a war and the death of both spouses.

When Sanari died, Tash had found refuge in Temeron. She knew he would never escape the loss he felt, but Temeron and Thalandar offered him peace. She understood that need, she longed for it herself.

“Was it hard to let Mother go?” she asked, settling the teacup against her knee.

“Hardest thing I did, but there was no stopping her. She didn’t see any difference between herself and her brothers. In fact, I used to think she wished she’d been born a boy.”

Thalandar laughed. “You certainly tried to train that out of her.”

“Lot of good it did me. She liked to ride horses and train at swords – little bit of a thing with red hair who could disarm an opponent twice her size. She gave me fits.”

Tyla smiled.

“Your grandfather would try to get her to do maidenly things like sew and garden, but she’d sneak off. When he’d go looking for her, odds were she was sparing with a soldier on the parade grounds.”

Tyla lifted her cup. She took a sip, but a sharp pain slammed into her middle, making the cup drop from her fingers. It clattered to the floor and shattered. She gasped and grabbed the edge of the table as Thalandar and Tash rose in alarm. Tash crossed to her side and leaned over her.

“What’s wrong?”

The pain ebbed, but a feeling of dread rose inside of her. She looked up into her grandfather’s worried face. “Something wrong,” she said, pushing herself to her feet. “Something happen to Jarrett.”

“What? What happened to him?”

She shook her head. He wasn’t responding to her thoughts. Pressing a hand to her forehead, she slid out from behind the table. “I need find him.”

“How?” asked Thalandar.

She shook her head again as she moved toward the hallway.

She caught the look Tash and Thalandar exchanged, but she didn’t have time or the words to explain this to them. Something was very wrong with Jarrett.

She hurried down the hall with the two men trailing her. Tash was trying to talk reason, but she only half-heard him. She pulled open the door and came up short. Allistar was reining in his mount at the gate.

“Farad sent me to get you,” he said.

She ran up the walk and pulled open the gate. Allistar leaned over the horse’s side and helped her mount behind him. She didn’t even ask him where they were going or what had happened as he wheeled the animal back the way he’d come and kicked it into a canter.

A few minutes later, he reined in at the healing house where Earon was being treated. Tyla didn’t wait for Allistar’s assistance as she slid off the animal’s back. Once her feet struck the cobblestones, she ran for the door. It opened on a waiting room, choked with people. Farad started toward her, but she hurried across the room for the inner hallway.

He caught her shoulders and brought her to a stop at the entrance. “Tyla, wait. You can’t go in,” he said in Nevaisser.

“I need to be in there. I can help him.”

Farad’s grip tightened. “It’s a sterile room. You don’t want to infect him.”

Tyla felt the frantic energy drain from her and she slumped in Farad’s hold. “What happened?”

“He was stabbed, but they’ve gotten the bleeding stopped and are sewing up the wound. He’s out of danger.” He motioned to a woman behind him. “Lucine’s a telepath and she’s kept us updated throughout the whole procedure.”

Tyla shifted her look to Lucine. “Are you sure?”

“She doesn’t speak Nevaisser, but I’m sure,” offered Farad.

Tyla pushed away from him and reached for the telepath’s hands. She offered them willingly. And she didn’t resist when Tyla probed her mind for the answers she needed. Once she had them, she squeezed the woman’s hands and released her. Lucine gave her a sympathetic smile.

Gradually, Tyla was aware of the others in the room. Earon and Allistar stood by the door, Muzik to the left of Farad, and sitting in a chair with his head bowed and his hands clasped between his knees was Kendrick.

Tyla’s emotions shifted from terror to fury as she faced the Nazarien. She took a step toward him, but Farad placed a restraining hand on her shoulder. “He’s already confessed and turned himself in.”

“Why? Why would you do this? You were companions. You swore a pledge to each other.”

Kendrick lifted tortured eyes and shook his head.

Earon was the one who responded. “Pledge? Are you kidding me? You’re going to throw that in his face?”

Tyla shifted her attention to him in confusion.

“Really, Your Highness, you are a piece of work. This whole thing’s your fault. If anyone’s to blame, it’s you.”

Muzik rounded on him with clenched fists, but Tyla put a restraining hand on his arm. “My fault? What do you mean?”

Earon snorted in derision. “You are something, you know that. You wouldn’t make a decision. You kept both of them dangling on your every whim. You let him believe he had a chance. Then when you were done trifling with him, you cast him away. Just like you did your people. You and Rarick are more alike than you think. You toy with people. Both of you, manipulators and users…”

“That’s enough!” growled Muzik, his hand shooting out and catching Earon by the throat. He slammed him into the wall.

Tyla was so stunned, she didn’t react for a moment, then she grabbed Muzik’s arm and tried to pull it away. “Let him go.”

Muzik slammed Earon into the wall again, then released him. Still he presented an intimidating bulk.

“Let him go, Muzik,” Tyla repeated. She replayed Earon’s words in her mind and a sick feeling rose inside of her. He was right.

“Your Majesty…” began the captain.

“No, he’s right.”

“What?”

Tyla stared into Earon’s dark eyes and felt a chill snake its way through her body. Everything he said was right. She was no better than Rarick; she’d left her people to fight the battle for themselves, while she luxuriated in Temeron.

“He’s right. I caused it.” She turned to Farad. “Please release the Nazarien.”

“Release him? Tyla, we don’t take assault lightly in this city.”

She studied Kendrick’s bowed head. “In all the time we’ve traveled together, Kendrick has tried to preserve life. I know he wouldn’t have done this without strong provocation. I caused it, Stravad Leader, and I take responsibility. Earon’s right. I played lightly with his feelings.”

Kendrick met her look, his own expression confused.

“I don’t know if you can ever forgive me, Kendrick. I was selfish and thoughtless. I didn’t realize what I was taking from you when I made my decision.”

“Tyla, don’t…”

She moved in front of him and knelt, taking his hands in hers. “I have always admired your gentleness and careful consideration. Whenever I’ve been impulsive, you’ve reacted with deliberation. I know you wouldn’t have harmed Jarrett otherwise. I want you to make peace with this whatever way you can, but don’t shoulder this blame. It’s mine.”

“Tyla…” He started to say something, but he didn’t seem able to find the words. Closing his eyes, he bowed his head again.

She rose and turned toward Farad. “I want to see Jarrett now,” she said.

*    *    *

Jarrett rested easily. Tyla smoothed the covers and took his hand. It was warm, a good sign considering how much blood the healers said he’d lost. Although the sword had missed vital organs, it had severed an artery. Tyla was impressed with the skill displayed by the healers. They had reacted quickly and expertly, stopping the blood and repairing the damage.

“Tyla, are you coming home?” asked Tash at her back.

“Later, Grandfather,” she said, turning to give him a tired smile.

“It’s late, dear.”

“Just little more.”

Tash nodded. “I’ll ask Allistar to escort you.”

“Thank you. Good night, Grandfather.”

Tash moved into the room and kissed her on the top of the head. “Good night, little one. Don’t stay too much longer.”

Tyla waited until his footsteps died down the hallway. She hadn’t had time to tell either her grandfather or Thalandar about her marriage during breakfast this morning, but Tash had accepted the information this afternoon when he’d arrived. He liked Jarrett and didn’t object to Tyla’s decision.

Tyla pressed the back of Jarrett’s hand to her lips. Her eyes burned with fatigue, but she wasn’t going to give in to weakness, not now, not ever again. “We never had a chance, did we?” she said. “I should have taken the lessons of my father to heart. He tried to run from his future for so long, but it got him in the end.” She pressed her forehead to his hand. “Just like me.”

“Are you all right?” came a feminine voice at her back.

Tyla straightened. One of the healers moved around the bed, reaching out to take Jarrett’s pulse.

“Fine,” said Tyla, rising to her feet. “Tired.”

The healer checked the bandages and felt Jarrett’s head for fever. “He seems to be resting well.”

Tyla nodded. “Why he not wake?”

“We give accident victims a sedative that keeps them under for a while longer. We find that a short sedation quickens the healing process and helps with pain management.”

“Ah.” Tyla immediately saw many uses for such a practice. Especially now.

The healer continued, “We can’t keep them under too long, but a day or so helps. Pain can make accident victims restless, and movement isn’t always good for new wounds.”

Tyla stroked Jarrett’s hand. She felt guilty taking advantage of the situation, but she couldn’t risk Jarrett harming himself further. “Jarrett is bad. He bad…” She searched for the word, motioning at his bandages.

“Patient?” offered the healer with a smile.

Tyla forced her voice to be normal. “Yes, patient. Safe to keep him…sedation longer?”

“It wouldn’t hurt. And with his blood loss, it would give him more time to build it back.”

“You watch him?”

“Of course, but don’t worry. He’s going to be fine. There’s no sign of fever or infection and the worst is past us now. Why don’t you get some rest? He isn’t going anywhere.”

“Thank you,” Tyla said, then leaned over and kissed Jarrett’s lips. She lingered for a moment, wanting to hold him, but fearing she would hurt him. “I love you,” she whispered, then drew away. She felt like she was severing a physical connection as she turned and headed for the door. And she knew she didn’t dare look back.

*    *    *

She didn’t feel like talking as she rode behind Allistar through the streets of Temeron. A few Stravad meandered along the walkways, talking in hushed voices. She could see people having dinner in their cottages, sitting with family, laughing and sharing. She longed for the same thing and for a night, it had been hers. She turned away.

The Stravad Leader’s house came into view. A number of heavily laden horses were tied to the post before the gate. Tyla had noticed the same thing on many occasions, all at different times of the day. Another idea formed in her mind.

“Allistar?”

“Hmm.” She knew he was tired. He’d been on patrol all night, then he’d spent the day in the healing house with her.

She tried to think up the words she wanted in Lodenian. “Why horse at Stravad Leader house?”

“The stable’s down there,” he said, pointing to a cross street perpendicular to Farad’s house. “All patrols stop for orders before leaving.”

“There group going tonight?”

“Yes, they’re heading out to patrol the road to Denortosal.”

“How long be gone?”

“Only overnight. They’ll be back tomorrow afternoon.”

“Patrols leave all times?”

“Yes. The longer the patrol, the earlier the start. For instance, tomorrow a patrol heads toward Zelan. They’ll leave early.”

Tyla fell silent, her eyes on the horses. Allistar pulled his mount to a halt at Farad’s gate. She swung down before he could help her. “Thank you,” she said and turned toward the gate.

“Tyla?”

She looked up at him in the darkness. Exhaustion weighed heavily on her.

“Jarrett will be well in no time. If you want, you both can stay at my place until you have enough for your own home.”

Tears blinded her for a moment, but she blinked them away. Oh, how she wished she could accept his offer. “Thank you, Allistar. You are friend.”

He shrugged. “It’s nothing. I can come by tomorrow and take you to see him if you want.”

Tyla went still. She forced the panic away. “It all right. I get there. You need rest.”

Allistar laughed and ran a hand through his white blond hair. “You have a point. Let me know if you need anything.”

“I will,” she said and watched him ride away. As she turned, her eyes fell on the horses again. She moved to the nearest one, soothing it with her power and reaching out to catch the bridle. She pulled its head to her and pressed her cheek to its neck. The horse nuzzled her hair.

She released it and opened the gate, striding up the walk. Farad’s chamberlain, Inze, opened the front door. “Good evening,” he said with a slight bow. “I’ll be happy to serve you supper in the dining room, if you wish?”

Tyla realized she hadn’t eaten anything since the breakfast at her grandfather’s. “Can you bring to room?”

Inze gave her a sympathetic smile. “Of course. I’ll do that straight away.” He turned smartly and headed down the hallway toward the kitchen. Tyla headed for the stairs, but paused when she heard the door to Farad’s study open.

Male laughter flowed down the hallway and many feet could be heard moving in her direction. She hurried up the stairs to the landing, then pressed her back to the wall and peered over. The patrol was leaving, escorted by Farad.

“Have a safe journey, men. Captain, I’ll hear your report the same time tomorrow.”

“Of course, Stravad Leader,” replied one of the men and they filed out.

Tyla waited until Farad shut the door and returned to his study before she moved down the hallway to her room. As she opened the door, Kian rose from the hearth and stretched, his tongue curling in a yawn. Muzik must have left him there after he went down to dinner.

She sank her fingers in the dog’s coat and bent to embrace him. She held him tightly for a moment, pressing her face into his fur. Tears started in her eyes, but she forced them back. Going to the wardrobe, she opened it and reached for the travel garb folded neatly in the bottom. She carried it to the bed, along with her pack. Pulling open the drawers, she filled the pack with a change of clothes, her hairbrush, and other essentials that she’d accumulated on the journey to Temeron.

Just as she was closing it, Inze knocked on the door. She opened it, but didn’t admit him. She didn’t want him to see what she was doing. He gave her a bewildered look as she reached for the tray.

“I can set it out for you,” he said.

“No. Thank you.”

He released the tray and backed from the room, continuing to eye her with confusion.

“Thank you,” she repeated. She didn’t wait for his response, but shut the door, then for added measure, threw the bolt. Carrying the tray to the bedside table, she pulled back the curtains and looked down at the Stravad Leader’s gate. The horses were gone.

She lifted the cover on the meal, but she wasn’t really hungry. Leaving it where it lay, she returned to the bed and slipped out of her day dress. Then she pulled on the travel gear. It was worn, but clean and the rents had been patched. She opened the drawer in the bedside table.

A black box lay in the drawer and she lifted it out, settling it on the bed. Carefully, she opened the lid. The emerald pulsated with green light in its bed of black velvet. She ran her fingers over its surface, feeling the answering kick as she touched it.

Here lay the answer to her problems. With the emerald, she had to be invincible. No one could possibly thwart her. She curled her fingers in the chain and lifted it, undoing the clasp and slipping it around her neck. As she drew her hands away, the emerald came to rest just below the hollow of her throat. She cushioned its warmth against the fabric of her travel shirt.

Picking up the plate, she returned to the window and pulled back the curtains, crawling onto the sill and tucking her legs under her. Kian came over and rested his head against her thigh. She gave him a piece of roast chicken and then picked up her fork. Even though she didn’t have an appetite, she knew she had to eat.

*    *    *

Sunlight peeked over the tips of the mountains, casting a rainbow of colors on the door to Tyla’s room. She picked up the collar one of the merchants had given her and called Kian to her. Bending, she hooked the collar around his neck and hugged him tightly. He shook his head in annoyance. He’d never worn a collar in his life.

Lifting the belt from one of her frocks, she looped it through the collar, then tied the ends around the foot of her bed. “Lay down,” she ordered. Kian complied, but cocked his head at her as if he was confused by her actions. She folded her hand around his muzzle and pressed her forehead to his. “Forgive me,” she whispered, then pressed a kiss between his eyes and reached for her pack.

Slinging it over her shoulder, she stroked the dog a final time. “Stay,” she commanded, then moved to the door. He gave a whimper, but obeyed.

She eased the door open and looked into the hallway. It was empty. Stretching forth her power, she slipped out the door and shut it behind her. Creeping to the edge of the stairs, she looked down at the landing. She didn’t want to use her power on Stravad. She feared they might know it. She sensed a number of people gathered at the back of the house. She knew it had to be the patrol that had arrived just a few moments before.

Drawing a deep breath, she hurried down the stairs and grabbed the knob on the front door. She’d just pulled it open when she heard a door open behind her. Ducking outside, she pulled the door closed, but it didn’t catch. She dropped to a crouch beside it and held her breath. Slowly the door swung inward, allowing sunlight to sneak into the house. Footsteps in the hallway approached the door and Tyla held her breath. If anyone decided to look out, they would find her.

With a snick, the door shut and the latch fell into place. Tyla released her held breath and rose to her feet. Hurrying down the walkway, she searched both ends of the streets. The horses nickered at her approach, but she used a touch of her power to soothe them. No one was about this early. Her luck was holding.

She chose the last horse in the line, a small mare with sturdy legs. Unwinding the bridle, she led the animal to the side of the Stravad Leader’s porch, where the house met forest. Following the gravel path, Tyla led the horse into Farad’s back garden.

Now she had a quandary. She intended to walk the horse through the stream behind the Stravad Leader’s house, into the forest, and past the wall, but she knew Farad would be able to see her from his office. She had to wait until he escorted the patrol out again, but that left her with very little time to slip away before they noticed a horse was missing. She’d been careful to lead the horse across the gravel near the road to hide its hoof prints, but the mud along the edge of the stream couldn’t be avoided.

The only way to know if they left the study was to use her power. She felt forward with it, searching for bodies, but she didn’t dare connect with any of them. Hours seemed to pass as she waited and she cursed the overly talkative Stravad. Finally, she sensed them moving. She inched out from the edge of the house and peered up at the study. They were filing through the door, their backs to her.

As soon as they disappeared from view, she tugged the horse and hurried across the open expanse of the grounds, taking the animal right into the stream. She knew she had at best a minute to get beyond Farad’s land before he returned to his study. However, the rocks in the stream bed were unstable and she couldn’t run for fear of hurting her ankle or the horse.

As soon as she made it to the edge of Farad’s land, she brought the horse out of the stream and onto the opposite bank. She couldn’t help the hoof prints now. She only hoped she had enough of a start on them that they wouldn’t be able to overtake her.

Slipping the reins over the animal’s head, she mounted, then glanced back. No one was in pursuit. Drawing a deep breath, her thoughts shifted to Jarrett. Forcing all hesitation out of her mind, she kicked the mare in the sides and set her at a canter.

*    *    *

“Temerian law is clear. An assault is punishable by imprisonment, whether intended or not.”

“I understand,” said Kendrick. He stared at his clasped hands, noting how white his knuckles were. He forced himself to ease his grip and smoothed his hands out on his trouser legs. “I accept whatever punishment the council gives.”

Farad leaned back in his chair. Kendrick could hear the leather creak. “And that’s the problem. Without Tyla’s consent, they’re reluctant to pursue the case. They’re waiting for word from Jarrett.”

Kendrick studied the graining on the desk, anything to avoid making eye contact with the Stravad Leader. “No one disputes what I did, not even me. In Chernow, if I had wounded one of my comrades, the punishment would have been swift.”

“Why do you want punishment, Kendrick? What’s in your head?”

“I struck down a man I was pledged to protect. I failed in a pledge I made the King of Adishian.” His voice trembled and he fought for composure. No respectable Nazarien would dare betray such emotion. “The only honor I can claim is to face my punishment without protest.” He looked up at Farad. “I beg you. Do not listen to the Queen of Adishian. She is speaking out of her own guilt.”

Farad started to speak, but the door opened and Muzik loomed in the entrance. “Where’s Tyla?”

“What do you mean?” demanded the Stravad Leader.

Muzik stepped into the room. He held a collar in his hand. “This was around Kian’s neck and he was tied to the bedpost.” His gaze shifted and fixed on Kendrick. “Her things are gone.”

Kendrick rose.

“What?” said Farad.

“Are you sure?”

“Plenty. I went to her room earlier and knocked at the door. I wanted to know if she needed an escort to the healing house. When she didn’t answer, I went there myself. Jarrett’s still under sedation and none of the healers have seen Tyla today. So I came back here. When I knocked on her door again, Kian whimpered.” He held up the collar. “This is how I found him.”

“She’s never tied Kian before. What could she be thinking?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it. She also wouldn’t leave Jarrett for this long.”

Kendrick turned to the Stravad Leader. “Why would Jarrett still be sedated? Shouldn’t the drugs have worn off by now?”

“Yes. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe it does. Jarrett and Tyla can communicate psychically with one another.”

“Are you saying he might know where she is?”

“If anyone would,” answered Kendrick, realizing this only compounded his guilt. He should have realized nothing would keep them apart.

*    *    *

Tyla searched through the horse’s saddlebag, piling everything on the ground at her feet. No map. Not even a sketch on a piece of paper. Why in the world would a patrol leave without a map? Perhaps because they knew where they were going, while she did not.

She exhaled in frustration and picked up an oddly wrapped package. She tore open an edge and sniffed at the contents. Stravad hard-tack. She bit off a corner and chewed. The mare nosed against her foot and she stroked her forehead.

The road out of Temeron was wide and well maintained. She was also the only person on it, had been since morning. She knew that wouldn’t last. The Stravad patrol from last night would be headed back this way, returning home. At some point she’d have to leave the road and take her chances in the wooded foothills. All without a map.

She took another bite, then wrapped up the tack and replaced it in the saddlebag with the rest of the equipment: a fire starter, a mess kit, and a small first aid packet. On the other side she found a spare uniform and a blanket. No money.

Rising and dusting off the seat of her trousers, she slung the bag back on the mare, then reached for her own pack. Opening it, she dug into the bottom and located the silk bag. Drawing it out, she emptied the contents into her palm. It held a string of emerald pycantra Farad had given her the first night in Temeron, and a pair of emerald earrings. She wondered if she could trade them for provisions and a map in the first town she came upon. She hated to part with them, but she didn’t know what else to do.

Loneliness filled her as she considered the gems. Lifting her hand, she curled it around the emerald at her throat. She missed her grandfather and Thalandar, Muzik and Kian. She even missed Kendrick. But most of all, she longed for Jarrett. She wanted to contact him, touch his consciousness and make sure he was all right, but she didn’t dare. There was still not enough distance between them and she couldn’t risk him riding out with his injuries.

Tightening her grip on the emerald, she knew he would never understand. This journey was something she had to do. She’d come to Temeron for him and Kendrick, but she was returning for herself. For her people. She would never be free of Rarick until she faced him, until she conquered her fear and freed Adishian from his control.

Her father had run until his back was pressed to the wall. Rarick had hunted him and preyed on him. Innocents had died because of him. Tyla was just as guilty. She didn’t know what the Eldralin legacy was, except it had to end where Rarick was concerned. Someone had to stop him. Until she faced him, she would never be free to build a life with Jarrett. And now with the emerald, the balance was finally restored. There was no way Rarick could block her.

*    *    *

Kendrick felt like he was going to vomit as he edged to the door of Jarrett’s room. The Terrian lay in bed, his lower abdomen heavily bandaged, his skin pale. Kendrick still couldn’t believe he’d stabbed him. It had all been a mistake. He’d wanted to prove to Jarrett that he was as good a swordsman, nothing more. Stabbing Jarrett proved the opposite. He shuddered as he remembered the feel of steel parting flesh.

Farad crossed around the bed and touched Jarrett’s wrist. As he did so, a woman pushed past Muzik and Kendrick and hurried into the room.

“Stravad Leader?”

“Why is this man still sedated?” Farad demanded in Lodenian. Much of the language was coming back to Kendrick the longer he stayed in Temeron.

She moved to Jarrett’s side and also felt his pulse. “We sedate accident victims to control the pain and to give their bodies time to overcome the trauma. I can assure you he’s perfectly safe.”

“Bring him out of it. Now,” ordered Farad.

The healer looked around in confusion. Kendrick felt for her.

“I said bring him out.”

Reaching for a syringe on the tray by the bed, she pressed the needle into the shunt in Jarrett’s arm and injected him with the drug. For a few moments, nothing happened, then Jarrett started to stir.

“Water,” he whispered and she gave him a few sips. He blinked his eyes, but they were out of focus.

“Jarrett, can you hear me?” asked Farad.

Jarrett tried to focus on him. “Farad?”

“Good,” said the Stravad Leader. “Do you know where you are?”

“No.” He licked his lips. “Can I have more water?”

The healer complied.

“Jarrett, you were hurt. Do you remember that?”

He nodded. “Where’s Tyla?”

Farad exchanged a look with Kendrick. “We were hoping you’d tell us. Kendrick says you can communicate with her psychically. Is this true?”

Jarrett shifted in agitation. “What?”

“Can you contact Tyla for us?”

“Where is she?”

“We don’t know. We’re trying to find her.”

“Find her? What are you talking about?” His eyes were beginning to focus. “Why can’t you find her?”

“We were hoping you could find her for us.”

Jarrett’s gaze locked on Farad’s face. Kendrick knew that distant look. He was seeking Tyla. His eyes narrowed, then he tried to get up. The healer and Farad both grabbed for him, but his face contorted in pain and he collapsed on the bed.

“You’ll hurt yourself,” said Farad, pressing against his shoulders.

“I can’t contact her,” he said, his voice tinged with panic. “She’s blocking me. Where is she?”

“Jarrett, calm down.”

“Why can’t I contact her?” He tried to rise again, but fell back with an exhalation of pain.

Kendrick looked down. Guilt crowded his throat, made swallowing impossible.

“Sedate him again!” cried Farad, struggling to hold him in bed.

Muzik started into the room to help as the healer scrambled for a second syringe. Muzik leaned over the bed, clamping Jarrett’s arm down as the healer found the shunt. Kendrick realized he was sweating and he wiped his damp palms against his trouser legs.

Finally, Jarrett’s body went limp again.

Farad and Muzik straightened. The healer gave Farad a furious look before she began inspecting the wound. “Bring him out,” she mocked, cutting away the bandages. “Bring him out.”

“I’m sorry,” said Farad in obvious frustration. “I’m sorry.”

CHAPTER 27

Tyla woke to a filter of sunlight snaking down through the trees. She sat up and pushed the blanket away. The horse was grazing and the fire had burned down to ashes. Her thoughts immediately went to Jarrett, but she was careful to keep them contained. She didn’t want him to contact her. He was her weakness. If he needed her, she would return.

She had to believe he was safe in the care of the Temerian healers. She couldn’t believe that Farad would allow him to risk his own health to come after her. Still, that brought up a bit of a problem.

By now, someone would know she was gone. It wouldn’t take much for them to figure out how she’d escaped the capital. She didn’t have much lead time on them. Rising to her feet, she stretched away the ache of sore muscles. Temeron had made her soft again, but a day in the saddle and a night on the ground reminded her how much she hated the trail.

She hunkered over the pack and pulled out her travel cakes. She ate the dry meal and washed it down with water, then combed out her hair and braided it again. Using a little of the water, she washed her face and hands. It woke her and made her feel alert, but it also reminded her of how lonely she felt.

She couldn’t stop herself from worrying over Jarrett, or missing the others. Right now she would likely be sitting down to breakfast with her grandfather, trying to ferret out the Lodenian as he told her another story about her mother.

Curling her hand around the emerald, she forced thoughts of them away. Repacking her meager supplies, she again located the silk bag and opened it, studying the jewelry. She wasn’t sure how far away the next town might be, but she hoped she came to it before she ran out of food or got lost. And she hoped they’d accept her trinkets for the things she needed.

As she saddled the horse, she thought about Kalas. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about her brother for quite some time, but she wondered where he was and whether he thought about her. If she completed this mission and faced Rarick, would he challenge her himself? This thought brought her such distress that she forced it away. She had to stop letting things distract her.

In order to find peace, she had to stop Rarick. The emerald was the equalizer. It was the thing that would allow her to succeed. Even if she had to go through Kalas, she had no choice. She’d made her decision the day her grandfather gave her the talisman.

As she climbed in the saddle, her thoughts shifted to the past. She hadn’t thought of Gallia in years, but suddenly a memory was pressing at her consciousness, demanding attention. Gallia had never showed either of Talar’s children much interest, but once in a while, she would call them to her chambers. Usually it was during one of Rarick’s infrequent absences, but Inara always led them with trepidation.

She didn’t trust the Queen of Sarkisian and as a result, Tyla felt uncertain around her. During this visit, Rarick’s chamberlain, Marlas, pushed open the door and Tyla peered around Inara’s skirt into a vast, dark chamber.

“Come,” came a voice, echoing off the distant walls.

Inara shuffled through and Tyla followed, her hands wound in Inara’s skirt. Kalas pushed past them. He had long ago gone to live in the barracks and he was determined to show he wasn’t intimidated. Tyla had been delighted when he’d shown up in the tower, but he’d acted distant and annoyed by her.

“Why is it so dark in here?” he demanded.

“Light the lamp, Marlas, so I can look on my impatient son.”

Tyla strained her eyes in the darkness, trying to see the chamberlain as he moved about the room. She heard the click of the pycantra starter, then saw a flare of light, which immediately softened into a glow.

The Queen lay on a divan before a bank of curtained windows. Her dressing gown was of fine silk and her hair lay in a blanket across the back of the divan, but her eyes were sunken and dark circles ringed them. She made Tyla’s heart pick up rhythm.

“Is that anyway to talk to your mother?” she asked, narrowing her gaze on her son. “Genuflect and show respect, boy.”

Kalas made a stiff bow, but he didn’t move any closer to the divan. Tyla recognized the stubborn set to his shoulders. “I’m supposed to be training with the men. What do you want?”

“Watch your tongue,” she snapped. “You are still young enough to feel the sting of a switch.”

Marlas gave him a slow smile.

Kalas dropped his eyes and fidgeted.

“Come here, girl,” demanded the Queen, shifting her attention. “I want to see you.”

Tyla tightened her hold on Inara’s skirt. She hated it when the Queen wanted to see her. Inara reached behind and pulled her out, disentangling her hands from the fabric. “Go child,” she whispered.

Tyla allowed herself to be pushed into the room. She could feel the hum of thoughts from everyone gathered and she tried to block it. She became confused between spoken words and thoughts when she was afraid. And she was afraid of Gallia.

Kalas took pity on her and held out his hand. She hurried for it and grasped it, pressing it to her chest. “Easy, Tiger,” he muttered, then shifted his attention to the Queen. “Why did you call for us?”

Gallia didn’t immediately answer. She was staring at Tyla with such intensity. Tyla watched her from the corner of her eyes, her grip tightening on Kalas. “Come closer,” she finally said. “I can barely see you.”

Kalas moved closer, drawing Tyla with him.

“You’ve grown taller,” she remarked, studying Kalas. “Harder.” Her attention shifted to Tyla. “How old are you now, girl?”

Tyla couldn’t find her voice.

Kalas nudged her. “Answer her.”

Tyla drew a breath and lifted her head. She could feel the lantern light fall on her features. “Ten,” she said. The annoying hum of thoughts was becoming harder to ignore. She needed to block it.

“Ten,” repeated Gallia, shaking her head. “Not even a woman yet. Unfortunately, you have your mother’s green eyes, but the rest of you is him. Pure Talar.”

Tyla eased away from Kalas, eager for information about her father. “Tell me about him,” she dared to ask.

Gallia leaned back on the cushions. Then she held out her hand. “Come here, child, and I will tell you.”

Tyla moved forward to do as the Queen asked, but Kalas clamped a hand on her shoulder and pulled her back. “The King would not be pleased by this,” he warned. “In fact, that name has been banned in Sarkisian.”

Gallia glared at Kalas. “He’s poisoned you, has he? Have you become his puppet?”

“I am his heir,” answered Kalas. “I obey his command. You’d do well to do the same.”

Gallia gave a bark of bitter laughter. “Don’t school me, boy. I know exactly what Rarick of Sarkisian is.”

“Our liege lord,” said Kalas. “I’ll not be guilty of treason.”

Tyla was distracted by Marlas. The chamberlain was watching the exchange with an odd smile. She didn’t doubt that he would report to Rarick the moment the King returned.

“Treason?” repeated the Queen. “Treason. He’s lucky I don’t slit his throat in the night.”

Kalas’ fingers tightened, then he turned, dragging Tyla after him. “Enough of this,” he said and led them to the door.

Inara trailed behind them.

Once outside, he pulled the door closed and hunkered down before Tyla. “Do not trust that witch,” he said, curling his fingers around Tyla’s chin.

“I just wanted to hear about our father.”

Kalas’ face twisted. “Our father’s Rarick of Sarkisian. Don’t forget it.”

“But Kalas…”

“No, Tyla,” he said, moving his hands to her shoulders. “Nothing else. Rarick is our father, our only father. Please don’t forget this. It’s the only way you’ll be safe. Promise me. Promise me you understand. You’ve got to believe this or I can’t keep you safe. You’ve got to trust me. Say it, please. Say you understand.”

Tyla hugged him, resting her head on his shoulder. “I understand,” she said, but inside she couldn’t understand anything, except Kalas was afraid.

*    *    *

Inze filled all of the cups with tea, then moved away from the dining room table, waiting on Farad’s command. Farad dismissed him, then focused on the men gathered around the table. Kendrick shifted uncomfortably. Across the table sat Tasamer Haldane. No Nazarien warrior could discount the power in the man, no matter how old he was. At his side was Thalandar, one of the most revered Stravad Leaders of all time.

Kendrick felt like a betrayer, a failure. He had violated his oath, he had profaned his religion, and these men were witness to his shame. He wanted to hide, but the last shred of his pride demanded he participate in this council.

The door opened, admitting Allistar and Muzik. On their heels strode Kian.

Farad looked up expectantly. “Report, Commander,” he ordered.

“The dog picked up her trail. She didn’t go out the front gates as was speculated. She went through the stream behind your house. From there she could get beyond the wall without anyone noticing. We found tracks in the forest.”

Tash deflated.

“Tracks?” remarked Farad.

“One of the horses from yesterday’s patrol was reported missing. We assume she took it.”

“Why wasn’t I told of that?”

Allistar shifted weight. “They reported the missing horse to their direct commander. It wasn’t considered important enough to trouble you.”

“Really?” Farad looked annoyed. Kendrick glanced at him, then away. Among the Nazarien, no item was too small for the Nazar’s attention. Once such a realization would have made him long for Chernow, but Chernow was lost to him now.

“Obviously, we need to change that,” Farad said. “Please sit and join our council.”

They moved to the table, Muzik taking a seat beside Kendrick so he could translate.

“Where would she go?” Farad asked.

Kendrick exchanged a look with Muzik. “We think Adishian.”

“Adishian? Why?”

“She didn’t want to leave. In fact, she only made the decision to save our lives. She always felt that she was betraying her people when they needed her guidance most.”

“Even with Rarick’s threat?”

“Even then. Rarick has devastated Adishian. When we were there, the people were a step away from starvation. They’d lost their King and any hope they had for the future. She was very aware of that.”

“Perhaps Loden has given Rarick free rein for too long,” said Thalandar. “Perhaps we never should have left him in power.”

“Talar asked us not to go to war with him,” answered Tash. “It was his last wish.”

“What are you saying, Haldane? That we shouldn’t go after her?” questioned Farad.

Tash met his look. “No, I’m stating a fact. Talar asked us not to go to war.” He exhaled heavily. “Talar was wrong.”

Kendrick shifted uncomfortably again.

“I’ll send to Tav in Zelan, explain the situation, and ask him for troops. If she intends to defend her people in Adishian, she’ll have Lodenian support.”

“She didn’t go to Adishian,” came a voice from the open doorway.

Kendrick swiveled in his seat.

Jarrett stood there, supported by Earon.

“What are you doing out of bed?” demanded Farad.

“Hopefully not bleeding,” said Earon. They hobbled into the room.

Muzik rose and handed Jarrett into his seat. Kendrick wanted to shrink away, but Jarrett didn’t seem to notice. He slumped against the arm, grimacing in pain.

“Did you walk all the way from the healing house?” asked Thalandar.

Earon gave a disdainful nod. “We were quite a sight. Two cripples barely holding each other up.”

Farad motioned to Allistar. “Get a healer.”

“I’m fine,” said Jarrett through gritted teeth. “Please sit down.”

Earon limped to the first open chair, lowering himself into it.

“You shouldn’t have left the healing house,” said Farad again.

Jarrett leveled a piercing look on him. “I woke to a strange memory of you asking me where Tyla was. What did you expect me to do? Why did you have me sedated again?”

“To keep you from hurting yourself.”

Jarrett drew a careful breath. “Tyla didn’t go to Adishian. She’s going to Sarkisian.”

That brought murmurs of dismay. Tash seemed to sink further into the cushions.

“How can you know that?” asked Farad.

“The minute Tash gave her the emerald, she got the idea. She thinks the emerald will give her the power she needs to stop Rarick.”

Tash closed his eyes.

Farad reached over and clasped Tash’s arm to comfort him. “How do you know this, Jarrett?”

“Kendrick’s right. We share thoughts.”

“But you can’t contact her now?”

Jarrett shook his head. “She’s been blocking me, keeping me out.”

“And you can’t force your way in?”

“No, not when she’s determined. I’ve done it only once, but she quickly found a way to stop me after that.”

“Her thoughts weren’t guarded when she got the emerald?” asked Thalandar.

“No, but the minute she knew I shared them, she blocked me.”

Everyone fell silent in contemplation.

Finally, Earon broke it. “This is my fault.”

Only Farad glanced at him.

“I goaded her, I taunted her when Jarrett was hurt. I compared her to Rarick of Sarkisian.”

“Apparently, she had this idea long before that,” reasoned Farad. He rubbed his chin. “I still say our path is the same. I’ll send to Tav and ask for troops. Obviously we’ll have to end our neutrality regarding Sarkisian.”

Jarrett curled his arm around his midsection and shifted in the chair. “No disrespect, Stravad Leader, but that isn’t good enough. Tyla fears Rarick more than anything in the world. She thinks the emerald will be the equalizer, but there’s no guarantee. We have to stop her before she gets to Sarkisian. Waiting for troops isn’t going to work.”

“What do you suggest?”

“I’ll go after her.”

Tash looked at him, his eyes tormented.

“You can hardly sit in that chair.”

“I’ll go with him,” Kendrick heard himself say. “I have some skill at healing. I can look after the wound.”

Farad just stared at them. Muzik nudged Kendrick asking for a translation. As he gave it, Earon looked at Jarrett. “I know how to get you into Sarkisian without using the main gates. You’ll need me.”

“You said you’d never go back?”

Earon laughed bitterly. “Yeah, well, I made this mess. I guess I have to clean it up.”

Muzik thumped a fist on the table. “I go,” he said in Lodenian.

Allistar leaned forward. “They’ll need a guide here in Loden and over the Groziks. By your leave, Stravad Leader, I would ask permission to go as well.”

Farad considered the matter in silence. Kendrick felt Tash’s eyes pass over him. He lowered his head further in shame. Finally, Farad shrugged his shoulders. “Here’s hoping you’ll be able to stop her, but if not, know there will be an entire regiment coming behind you. It’s time we finally made Rarick answer for his crimes.”

*    *   *

Hedly ran a circle around the anvil and pirouetted out into the stable, letting her blue dress bell around her. Finebar laughed and returned to straightening the shoe. The ring of metal on metal filled his head with sound. The smell of hot iron always soothed him and the rhythm of his strikes lulled him into a half-waking dream.

“Grandpa, Grandpa,” came Hedly’s excited voice some minutes later.

Finebar blinked behind his thick glasses and let the hammer drop to the anvil.

She hurried to his side and tugged on his arm. “Come see the Princess,” she said.

Finebar rested a hand on her brown hair and let her drag him toward the stable doors. A woman stood, silhouetted in the afternoon light. She was slight, only a head or so taller than Hedly. As he moved from the darkened stable, his eyes adjusted and he drew in an audible breath.

The woman was Stravad and beautiful. Her thick black hair hung in a braid down her back, wisps escaping to curl around her face. Her eyes were large and green, a green he’d never seen before. Although her clothing was dusty, she held herself with a regal carriage. No wonder Hedly thought her a princess.

He whipped the filthy hat from his head and bowed. “My lady, how may I be of service?”

She glanced down the street. He could see the anxiety in her expression. Looking down the street himself, he wondered if she had an escort nearby. She turned back to him with those piercing green eyes.

“I need…” She thought for a moment. “Foods and paper with names…ah…”

By her accent, Finebar knew Lodenian wasn’t her native tongue. “Paper with names?”

She made a motion with her hands as if she was opening something.

“Oh, a map. Are you going on a journey?”

When she looked at him puzzled, he modified his words. “Are you going on a trip? Away?”

“Of course, Grandfather, she’s going to her castle,” offered Hedly.

The woman smiled at the little girl. She was beautiful before, but her smile made her radiant. Something clenched in Finebar’s chest. “Yes, away.”

“Alone?”

The smile faded. “Yes.”

Finebar didn’t know what to make of this, so he chose to say nothing. “I can get you a map.”

“And foods?”

“And food.”

She looked beyond him into the stable. “I need horse…” She shook her head in frustration. “Two horse. Away is far.”

“I can get you a second horse too. You aren’t going to leave right now, are you?” He looked at the failing sunlight. “It’ll be dark soon. I could show you to the inn. You could get a hot meal and a bath.” He made a washing motion.

Her eyes danced. “Yes, bath.”

“And tomorrow morning, I would have all the supplies and the horse ready for you.”

Her face clouded over again. She reached into the pocket of her pants and pulled out a silk bag. Opening the mouth of it, she poured the contents into her hand. A pair of green Lodegem earrings and something that looked like a bracelet spilled out.

Hedly gasped. “I told you she was a princess.”

“Can you make money?” she asked, holding out the jewelry.

Finebar’s eyes shifted from the gems to the woman’s face. “I can exchange it, if that’s what you’re asking?”

“Exchange.” She rolled the unfamiliar word around her tongue.

“If you’re sure?

“Yes, sure,” she repeated. Then she reached for his hand and placed the gems in it.

Finebar hefted them, then handed them to Hedly. “Go put them in the box in the back room, then run upstairs to your mother. I’m going to take the Princess to the inn.”

“Can I tend her horse?”

“You can help me later. Just tie her horse outside for now.” The woman followed the conversation, but Finebar wasn’t sure how much she understood. He gave her a smile. “I’ll take you to the inn now.” He motioned up the street.

She grabbed the pack off the horse and patted her, then watched as Hedly led her to the post. Finally she fell into step at Finebar’s side. He kept his stride short to accommodate her. He couldn’t believe how tiny she was. What was a lone woman doing riding into a town like Anatem with no money and very little command of the language? He hated to think of his own daughter or granddaughter in such a predicament.

“You come from Temeron?” he asked as they stepped up on the boardwalk.

“No, Adishian is home.” He heard the wistful tone in her voice. He didn’t know much beyond Loden, but he didn’t remember there being many Stravad in Adishian.

“You going back?”

She gave him a puzzled look.

“You going home?” he amended.

“Yes,” she answered, nothing more.

They came to the inn and Finebar opened the door. “Welcome to the Blue Bear Inn.” The interior wasn’t fancy, but it was clean and the clientele wasn’t as shady as some of the others. Mainly there were no whores plying their trade in the lobby.

The innkeeper eyed them as they crossed the room to the desk. Leaning on the counter was one of the town drunks. Finebar felt his stomach sink. He avoided Mead whenever he could.

“Would you looky here?” said Wakely, the innkeeper. “Smith’s got himself a piece of tail.”

Finebar bristled at the comment. If the lady understood it, she gave no indication. She was surveying the establishment with an anxious expression. For a moment, Finebar thought to invite her to his own home, but she was a stranger and his daughter would have a fit. Roseline hadn’t been of a charitable nature since her mother died last year.

“The lady would like a room and a bath,” he said through gritted teeth.

Both Wakely and Mead surveyed her head to toe. Finebar fought his anxiety. She was so damn small and alone. No woman should ever travel unattended, especially a woman like this.

Wakely smiled. “I don’t sell by the hour.”

Finebar banged a fist on the desk, making them jump. He leaned close to the innkeeper. “She’s boarding her horse with me. That’s all. She needs a room for the night, a meal and a bath. Tell me how much. And make sure it’s a room that locks.”

Wakely held up his hands. Finebar knew he didn’t want to tangle with the larger smith. “Don’t get all huffy. I was just happy for you s’all. Your wife’s been dead a long time.”

“Just get her a room,” snarled Finebar.

He reached into his own pocket for his wallet. He didn’t have time to exchange her gems, but he had enough to see her through the night. As he counted out the money, Mead moved closer to her, eyeing her up and down. Finebar tried to keep him in his peripheral view as he haggled with Wakely.

“Hey, Smith, if you don’t want her, mind if I take a crack,” he said. “Poor little thing shouldn’t be alone all night. Pretty thing like her needs a man.”

“As if you were one,” laughed Wakely, counting Finebar’s money.

Finebar tried to keep an eye on both of them. He wished he hadn’t brought her here. “You make sure she has a cross bar on her room, Wakely,” he warned. “And have one of the women bring her water for her bath and a meal.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t be an old woman, Smith. We’re just funning her.”

Mead reached out and ran his hand across the glossy braid hanging over her shoulder. “I’m not funning. A woman like this needs a man. Don’t ya, baby, don’t ya want a man?”

As he lowered his hand to her shoulder, Finebar turned, his fist clenched, but suddenly Mead was thrown backward as if someone had grabbed him by the seat of his pants. He slammed into the chair behind him and the chair skidded across the wooden floor, smacking into the wall of the inn. A dusting of plaster rained down on him.

As Finebar and Wakely stared in amazement, the lady closed the distance between her and Mead. When she leaned over him, Mead shrank back, his eyes wide.

“No,” she said in a level voice. “No, I don’t want man.”

Finebar gave a chuckle and turned back to the staring Wakely. “I guess that settles it then.”

*    *    *

Kendrick carefully cut the bandage away. Jarrett’s wound seeped yellow pus and when Kendrick pressed it, the Terrian sucked in a ragged breath. They were one day out of Anatem by Allistar’s map. Four days in the saddle hadn’t done Jarrett any good.

“I think it’s infected,” he said, reaching for the salve the healers had given him.

“I just need some of those red leaves you Stravad love so much,” said Jarrett through gritted teeth.

Kendrick glanced at the fire. Allistar was working over it. “Stamerian? Allistar’s getting it.” He looked over to where Muzik tended the horses. Only Earon was in ear shot. “Jarrett?” he began, forcing himself to meet the Terrian’s eyes. “We haven’t discussed what happened.”

“There’s no need.”

Kendrick reached for the clean bandages. “I have a need. I never meant to do this to you. I never meant to cause you harm. I just wanted to show you that my training was as good as yours…that…”

“Let it go, Kendrick. I don’t blame you.”

Kendrick couldn’t let it go. It haunted his every waking moment; it haunted his sleep. “I need to explain this. Please.” Jarrett closed his eyes, but he didn’t try to stop him. “I just wanted you to know that I was as skilled as you are. That’s all.”

Jarrett’s eyes flashed open. Kendrick was always startled by how blue they were. Stravad eyes. No mistaking it. “I said we didn’t need to discuss it, but since you won’t let it go, let me tell you a story.”

Kendrick swallowed at the lump in his throat and nodded.

“When I was seven, I was eating dinner at the table with my family. I dropped my milk and it spilt. My father grabbed his knife and held it to my throat. He told me he was going to kill me.”

Kendrick’s brows lowered. He didn’t understand what this had to do with anything, but Jarrett’s expression was feverishly urgent. Glancing around, he noticed the others had stopped what they’d been doing. They were listening intently now.

“My mother went hysterical, and my sisters and brother begged him not to do it. He only got more agitated.” Reaching up, Jarrett slid back the opening of his shirt, exposing his right shoulder. A faint white scar marked the edge along his collar bone. “He stabbed me here.”

“I’m sorry…” began Kendrick, but Jarrett shook his head fiercely.

“Not long after that, I went to live with Tyla’s uncles. The first time Shandar put a sword in my hand, I decided no one would ever be better than I was. I was obsessive in my training, Kendrick, to the point where it occupied my entire life.”

Kendrick’s frown deepened. He wasn’t following the point of this story at all.

“I was so sure of myself that I became arrogant. I taunted you when I shouldn’t have. And I got sloppy. What happened in Temeron was my mistake, punishment for my arrogance. You were the lesson to teach me humility.” He drew a deep breath and shifted painfully on the hard ground. “The only thing you owe me is your help. You’ve got to keep me held together, so we can find Tyla. Nothing more.”

Kendrick nodded, although Jarrett’s story did little to elevate his guilt. Still he wound the clean bandages around the Terrian’s middle and secured them. Over his head, Allistar handed Jarrett a mug of Stamerian.

“You look like hell,” muttered the Stravad in Lodenian.

Jarrett sipped at his drink. “Because I’m not as pretty as a Temerian Stravad?”

“Well, that is true. Still I think you should have stayed behind.”

Jarrett met Kendrick’s gaze. “Kendrick will keep me patched up,” he said.

*    *    *

Finebar saw the riders through the door of the smithy. Two Stravad, two Humans, and one mixed blood. Beside them was a dog.

Settling his hammer on the anvil, he wiped his hands on his apron and stepped out of the building. The men reined in by the stable gate and one of the Stravad dropped to the ground. He had white blond hair, worn long like a Lodenian. He absently stroked the dog as he moved toward Finebar. The smith was torn between keeping his eye on the dog and accepting the hand the Stravad held out to him. He was glad Hedly was in school. She’d want to pet the beast.

“He friendly?” he said, nodding at the animal.

“Within reason,” answered the Stravad. “We need to board the horses for the night. We also need a doctor. Do you know of one?”

Finebar surveyed the men again. The mixed blood sat hunched in the saddle and his skin had a grey cast to it. “You need a place to stay for the night?”

“Yes.”

“The Blue Bear Inn is the cleanest place in town. I can fetch the doctor for you.”

“We’d appreciate that. And the horses?”

“Done.”

The Stravad reached for a strip of leather around his neck and removed a pouch from beneath his shirt. “How much do we owe you?”

“You can pay me tomorrow when you pick up the horses.”

One of the Humans, a massive man with ham sized hands, dropped to the ground and went to help the mixed blood from the saddle. The wounded man nearly toppled to the ground.

“You think he’ll be ready to ride tomorrow?”

The Stravad glanced at his companion. “We don’t have much choice.”

With the support of the Human, the wounded man stopped in front of Finebar. His eyes were unfocused and his face was flushed. “Have you seen a woman?” He made a motion with his hand, indicating her height. “Stravad. Green eyes.”

Finebar leaned back, surveying the men with suspicion. “She do that to you?” he said, pointing to the side the man was favoring.

“No. She’s my wife.”

Finebar didn’t respond.

“She would have been headed west, alone.”

“She trying to get away from you?”

The wounded man sighed. “No, she’s going home to Adishian.”

“Then why didn’t she wait?”

The wounded man exchanged a look with the Stravad. “She thinks she’s doing the right thing. She thinks she’s saving me by going alone, but she needs our help.”

Finebar chuckled. “The woman I saw doesn’t need any help. She’s quite capable of taking care of herself.”

The wounded man studied Finebar’s face. “She used her powers?”

“Knocked the town drunk on his ass without laying a hand on him.”

He gave a weary smile. “Then you have seen her. Was she all right?” The longing in his voice was unmistakable.

“She was fine. I got her a room and supplies. She left the next day. She was obviously in a hurry.”

The wounded man seemed to sag in his companion’s hold.

“Thank you,” said the Stravad. “Please see that the doctor comes to the inn.”

They started to walk away. Finebar watched them, not sure he should trust them, but something in the wounded man’s expression touched the loneliness Finebar had been feeling.

“Wait.”

They turned.

“I sold her a second horse.”

The expectant look on the man’s face faded. He closed his eyes.

Finebar reached into his pocket and pulled out the Lodegem earrings. He held them out to the wounded man, who accepted them with a puzzled look. “These are hers. I couldn’t bear to part with them.”

He studied the gems in his hand. “The Stravad Leader gave her these,” he said.

Finebar shrugged. “Anyway, you keep them. You can give them back to her when you see her again.”

The wounded man closed his fingers over the gems. “Thank you,” he said.

CHAPTER 28

Dolan found Kalas sitting in the dark, surrounded by Tyla’s gardens. The moon shown down through the branches of the trees, illuminating the Prince. He held a crumpled letter in his hands, but he wasn’t looking at it.

“Here you are. The entire castle’s been looking for you,” Dolan said, taking a seat on the end of the bench.

“I’m sorry. I just wanted a moment to myself.”

“Regents don’t apologize.” Dolan’s eyes were drawn to the letter, but he couldn’t make out any of the words.

“I didn’t mean to worry anyone.” Kalas looked around at the darkened garden. “I like to come out here. It’s like I can feel her presence in every plant.”

“I know. It’s an amazing place.” He shifted on the bench. “Is that a letter from Sarkisian?”

Kalas looked down at the paper. “In a manner of speaking. It’s the letter I got a few weeks ago.”

“Should I have the army prepare for an invasion?”

“No…well, perhaps, but not from this letter. It’s from my mother. She’s dying.”

“I’m sorry.” Dolan didn’t understand parental ties, but he understood loss.

Kalas shrugged. “She wants me to come home, to see her before she dies. Funny thing is she was never a mother to me. She never took any interest in me at all, but suddenly, now she wants to see me.”

“People do strange things when they’re dying.”

Kalas exhaled. “Stranger still is the guilt I feel. I’ve tried to throw this letter away a hundred times, but I keep reading it. I can’t figure out why.”

Dolan fell silent in contemplation. When Kalas had first proposed he become his second, he couldn’t get over his rage at Kalas’ role in Tarnow’s death. However, through the ensuing months, he’d come to find out that the Prince of Sarkisian was more complicated than he’d thought.

“You know,” he began, “it might be nice to know what Rarick is planning for us. In fact, it might be prudent to make a trip to Sarkisian and see what’s going on. We haven’t had any word since he left.”

Kalas narrowed his eyes on him. “What are you saying?”

“It might not be a bad idea to take a squad of soldiers and check out Sarkisian for yourself. The soldiers are getting restless and they could take a few of the new Lawry recruits, give them some field exercises to test them. You could even write to the Baron and ask him to send a squad from Kazden.”

“Are you suggesting we spy on Sarkisian, Dolan?” asked Kalas, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Dolan met his look. “Absolutely.”

“How do I leave Adishian right now?”

“Manx and the council can cover until your return. Everything is stagnant right now, calm. It’s a good time to go.”

Kalas contemplated Dolan’s words. “And with you here, you can keep everything on track.”

Dolan drew a deep breath. He couldn’t believe he was about to utter the following words, but in the last few months, his feelings had changed so drastically. “No,” he said levelly, “my place has been and will always be at the back of the Adishian King. I go with you, Your Majesty.”

Kalas didn’t respond for a moment. He swallowed hard, then looked down, folding his mother’s letter. “Thank you, Dolan,” was all he said.

*    *    *

Tyla watched the bridge for a long time before she got up the courage to attempt a crossing. She’d thought to ford the stream away from the main road, but it was a little too swift for the horses. According to the map, the next town was a day away. She had enough supplies to avoid it and the one after that, but she had to catch the trail into the Grozik Mountains and that went a little too close to Denortosal for her liking.

When she was certain the bridge was clear, she brought the horses onto the road and hurried across. Their hooves made a hollow ring as they crossed over the open water, then they were on the opposite bank. A river and many days separated her from Jarrett now.

She led the horses off the road and into the trees again. It slowed her down, but she switched horses often, so she could ride longer without a break. She was saddle weary and tired, but she had to keep going.

When night fell, she made camp within view of the road, but ate a cold meal and curled up in her blanket without benefit of a fire. Thankfully, the nights were mild, but moving stiff muscles was always a problem in the morning.

Traveling this way, she made it into the Groziks without encountering any other travelers. Riding the mountain trails, even in the spring, proved more taxing on both the horses and herself. The snow had melted, but the higher she went, the more frequently she encountered lingering drifts and twice she woke to a dusting on her bedroll.

She was forced to light a fire, but as the trail seemed seldom used, she didn’t worry about it much. She was more worried that someone coming behind her might chance upon the glow of the fire during the night.

She didn’t doubt Farad had sent men after her. She just prayed that Jarrett wasn’t one of them. Riding in the mountains would be particularly hard on a man with an open wound. She forced her thoughts away from him once again. It was too tempting to just make contact for a moment. Too tempting not to know if he was all right.

A full sixteen days after she snuck out of Temeron, she came to the summit. She sat on the mare’s back and stared down at the black spire that marked Stronghold in the distance. The wind whipped off the snow caps and tore her hair from her braid, but she didn’t notice.

She felt the emerald pulse at her throat and closed her fingers around it. Stronghold. The source of so many nightmares, so much fear, but now she had the emerald – now she had the very thing that would allow her to end Rarick’s hold on her people.

Staring at the city of her birth, she couldn’t hold back the memories that assailed her. One in particular made her break out in a cold sweat.

*    *    *

Tyla tried to pry Marlas’ fingers from her arm, but he had her in an iron grip. His long stride made her run to keep up as he led her down the steps of the tower and into the main part of the castle. Inara had begged her not to fight the chamberlain, but she was so afraid, she felt like a cornered animal.

He brought her to Rarick’s throne room and threw open the door. Hurrying inside, he released her so suddenly she stumbled into the middle of it. The room was a vast and echoing chamber, the curtains drawn to block the windows. Light filtered from the chandelier hanging in the middle of the room, but the edges were in shadow.

Rarick sat on his throne, his long fingered hands curled around the arms. Lex Prestar stood at the foot of the dais and crumpled at his feet was a figure. Only one other person stood in the room and he was chained to a ring in the floor.

Tyla marked everything in the instant before she recognized the crumpled form. “Kalas!” she cried and ran forward, dropping to her knees and gathering him in her arms. He gave a mew of pain, one eye swollen shut, blood leaking from his nose. His arms were curled around his middle.

“It’s all right, Tiger,” he said, but his voice sounded odd coming from split lips.

She lifted her eyes to Rarick. “Why?”

Rarick regarded her coldly. His yellow eyes always seemed to look through her. “Come here, child.”

She lowered her gaze, pressing her face to Kalas’ shoulder. She couldn’t stop the tremor that raced through her. Kalas felt it and reached for her hand.

“If you don’t want him punished anymore, come here,” Rarick commanded.

Tyla closed her eyes tight and brought in her will. As always, she tried to find a way into Rarick’s mind. Even though she was only fourteen, she knew she would kill him if he ever gave her the opportunity. But Rarick’s mind was closed to her and the more she tried, the more her heart pounded in her ears.

“I guess he hasn’t had enough, Lex.”

Kalas made an involuntary sound of fear as Lex loomed over them. Tyla’s head whipped up and her eyes fixed on the Guardsman commander. He could be killed. His mind was open to her.

However, Rarick knew this. He always knew what she was thinking. “Don’t be so bold, child. If you harm my commander, the consequences will be beyond your imagination. If you don’t want Kalas punished further, you’d do well to obey.”

Untangling herself from Kalas, she rose to her feet. Her knees trembled, but she glared at Lex. She wanted to be sure he understood she could snap his life with a thought. He watched her warily as she moved beyond them and approached the dais.

She climbed the stairs until she was level with the King. They regarded each other without speaking for a moment, then Tyla clenched her fists. “Someday I will kill you.”

An emotion moved through Rarick’s face. She couldn’t read his mind, but she recognized it. Fear. However, as soon as it appeared, he controlled it. “Not while your brother’s life is between us.”

Tyla drew a breath for calm and exhaled. “Someday he won’t be. Then your life is mine.”

Rarick’s lip lifted in a snarl. “That doesn’t make me over anxious to keep you around, does it?”

“My life’s worth nothing now. Do as you will?”

“Ah, histrionics. The bane of all fathers who have daughters.”

“I’m not your daughter.”

“No, but I do own you.” He gave a slow smile. “At least until you decide to kill me.”

“Let Kalas go. This has nothing to do with him.”

“It has everything to do with him. You said it yourself. He’s the only thing holding you in check. But let’s not be coy with one another. You know I have great admiration for your ability. In fact, I’m going to let you demonstrate it to me right now.” He motioned to the chained man behind her. “Take a good look at your test subject.”

Tyla glanced over her shoulder at the chained man. He was scraggly and dirty. His clothing was in rags and he had only one shoe on his left foot. He cowered when she looked at him. She could feel his frightened thoughts. He’d heard tales of what she could do. A wave of nausea rolled over her and settled in her belly. Soon this man would have more reason to fear her.

Rarick’s fingers curled around her arm, drawing her to him. She could feel his nails digging into her flesh. “Make him see things,” he whispered.

Tyla closed her eyes. “Please don’t do this.”

“He must be punished, Tyla,” said Rarick, his breath sour on her face. “He stole from our people. Either you punish him, or I’ll have him executed. This way you save his life…and save your brother as well.”

Whether the young man was a thief or not didn’t matter. Rarick wanted to see what she could do. He always wanted to know the scope of her power. She looked at Kalas. He shook his head slightly, but Lex stood over him, menacing. She focused on his split lip and swollen eye. Rarick was right. As long as Kalas was between them, he owned her.

She swung her gaze to the thief. He lowered his head, shivering in terror. It was so easy to access his mind, thrusting out the thoughts of everyone else in the room. It was even easier to plant the image.

He gave a strange, gurgling cry and reared back against the chains. Then he began to claw at his forearms and beat his hands against his body. Tears brimmed in Tyla’s eyes and spilled over, racing down her cheeks. Behind her, Rarick laughed, but both Kalas and Lex looked on with horrified expressions.

Collapsing on the ground, the thief covered his head with his arms and sobbed. Tyla cut off the images, but he remained huddled, his sobs echoing in the chamber. Rarick leaned close, his nails digging into her arm.

“Stop his breath.”

Tyla whirled on him. “No! You said punishment. You never said death.”

Rarick’s yellow eyes searched her face, then he made a motion. Tyla whipped back around in time to see the Guardsman commander level a kick at her brother. Kalas’ body heaved upward and a grunt of pain escaped him. He collapsed over on his side, curling his knees against his chest in a fetal position. Lex reached down for him.

“Stop!” she screamed.

Lex hesitated.

Rarick pulled her back against him. “Let me make this clear. You have the power of your father. Kalas does not. I suffer him to live because of you. Defy me and I will kill him.”

Tyla shivered.

“Stop the thief’s breath.”

Tyla felt the power surge inside of her and she focused it. For a moment, just a moment, she brought it to bear against Rarick, but nothing happened. He continued to exhale into her hair. Before he could realize what she’d done, she turned it on the thief.

He gasped and his back arched. Immediately he began clawing at his throat, his mouth opening wide in panic. Bombarded by his thoughts, Tyla walled them off and strengthened her assault. The thief began to convulse, his heels drumming on the marble floor, his neck arcing unnaturally.

She could feel the frantic pulsation of his heart and heard the surge of blood trying to pump its way into his brain, but nothing could surpass her power. Just when his heart was fading, Rarick’s voice hissed in her ear.

“Release him.”

Tyla choked off her power. With a wrenching cry, the thief sucked in air and his body went limp. Lying on his side, he drew in huge gulps, his hands curled into fists. Tyla couldn’t take her eyes off him. Rarick had taken her a step away from murder. She wrapped her arms around herself, seeking warmth.

Rarick’s hand fell away and she heard the creak of leather as he sank into his throne.

“Take him away,” he said and guards materialized out of the shadows to do his bidding. “Remove the Prince to the infirmary.”

Lex Prestar helped Kalas to his feet. Tyla felt her brother’s eyes on her as he limped from the room, but she couldn’t meet his look. Not now. She could only stare at the ring in the floor.

“I will kill you for this,” she said to the man at her back.

Rarick drew a deep breath and exhaled. “You may try, which is why you can’t stay here. At least for now. However, someday you will be the greatest weapon in my arsenal. Someday you will give me all of Nevaisser, but until then, you most definitely must go.”

*    *    *

“Spar with me,” said Jarrett to Allistar where he worked to repair the cinch on his saddle. The other men looked up. It was early evening, but they’d pitched camp to make some needed repairs. The mountain passes were hell on the horses and the drastic change in temperature played havoc with their equipment.

Kendrick fully understood the Lodenian, but Jarrett’s grip on the hilt of his sword was even more obvious. Allistar exchanged a look with the Nazarien. Kendrick shook his head.

“That’s not wise,” said the Stravad, returning to his work. “Your side still weeps and the infection isn’t completely gone.”

“Gone enough. We don’t have much daylight left. Spar with me.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m getting soft.”

“You can’t be getting soft in a few weeks. I’m not going to spar with you. It’s a miracle you’ve made it this far.”

Jarrett hunkered down before Allistar. Kendrick marked that even such a simple motion seemed painful. “Listen to me, Allistar. We’re a day from the summit, four days out of Sarkisian. So far we’ve only seen Tyla’s tracks. Obviously we aren’t going to catch up with her, which means one thing. We’re going to have to go into Sarkisian ourselves.”

Allistar lifted his head and regarded the Terrian.

“They don’t just let people walk into that city and they certainly don’t let them walk into Stronghold. How do you think we’re going to get past men who have been training their whole lives to kill?”

Allistar exhaled.

“I can’t get rusty, Allistar. I can’t be weak.”

The Stravad was silent for a moment, then he set the saddle aside. “All right, but only for a little while. If you favor your side, we stop. Agreed?”

Jarrett climbed to his feet. “Agreed.”

Both men drew their swords and dropped into their ready positions. Kendrick reached for his pack and began searching for the healing kit. There was no way Jarrett was going to come out of this without needing some attention.

“Damn fool,” muttered Earon, settling back on his saddle to watch.

The two men circled each other. They were a good match, nearly the same height, but Jarrett had a few pounds on his Stravad opponent. Allistar feinted and Jarrett blocked him. The swords rang with a dull percussion. Jarrett lunged forward, but Allistar easily knocked the blade aside.

The Terrian wasn’t mistaken. He didn’t have his usual speed or grace, and his attack was easy to predict. Swinging back around, he came at Allistar on his left side, but the Stravad sidestepped and slammed the blade into the dirt. He placed his foot on the end of it and looked into Jarrett’s eyes.

“Let’s stop this now.”

Jarrett slammed his shoulder into him, knocking him back and freeing his sword, then he took a few steps away, curling an arm around his side. “No. You’re hardly trying.”

“Jarrett, this is stupid. It’s too early. You’re going to be hurt.”

“You haven’t disarmed me yet. Come on. A little more.”

“No, I’m not doing this.”

Jarrett wiped his sword arm across his forehead. “Listen, if you disarm me, I’ll stop. That’s all you have to do. Knock the sword from my hand and it’s over. I swear.”

Allistar considered the matter, then before Jarrett could set his feet, he attacked. He drove at the Terrian with such force that Jarrett had to dance back to avoid being spitted. Earon sat forward and Kian lifted his head, cocking it in interest.

The two men kicked up a flurry of snow as they moved around the campsite, their swords clashing and ringing in the cool, still air. Jarrett’s steps were faltering and he was favoring his left side. Kendrick had never seen the Terrian deliver such haphazard strikes before, while Allistar was a study in swordsmanship, spinning and turning with innate grace.

At one point, Jarrett landed off balance. Allistar caught his sword at the hilt and twisted, attempting to wrench it away. By pure luck, Jarrett shifted weight and turned his wrist, sliding free of Allistar’s maneuver.

They backed away from each other. Jarrett was breathing hard and he wasn’t even trying to disguise the ache in his side. Kendrick wondered if blood was seeping beneath the hand he held over the wound.

“Enough!” shouted Allistar in frustration. “I won’t do this anymore.”

Jarrett straightened to his full height and sucked in a deep breath. “Until you disarm me. That was the agreement.” He held up the sword. “I’m still armed.”

Allistar looked to his companions, but no one knew what to say. “This is suicide, Jarrett.”

“Keep your agreement.”

“Fine,” spat the Stravad. “If this is the way you want to play…” He dropped into position.

Kendrick leaned forward. Jarrett had closed his eyes and let his hands fall loosely at his sides. The Nazarien realized he’d seen this expression before, but he’d never understood it until now. Jarrett was calling upon his Stravad blood, asking it to respond.

Allistar attacked. There was no denying the Stravad’s skill. He was a study of motion, economy of strength, but he was no match for the Terrian. Jarrett pirouetted and slipped under Allistar’s attack. Had he been in earnest, he would have gutted the Stravad. He came up behind Allistar, but as Allistar turned, he slid away, a blur of motion. Their swords sparked, then Jarrett pivoted. Metal arced through the air, catching the dying rays of sunlight, then landed, point down in the snow, vibrating on impact.

The point of Jarrett’s sword quivered in the hollow of Allistar’s throat. The Stravad reared away, his hands out to the side, his eyes wide. Earon chuckled and Muzik whistled, but Jarrett merely dropped the blade and curled an arm around his side.

“Thank you,” he said.

CHAPTER 29

“Your Majesty, I have someone who would like to meet you,” came Dolan’s voice.

Tugging his boot into place, Kalas looked up from his spot on the camp cot. The Nazarien and another hooded figure were just ducking under the lean-to’s roof. Behind them stretched the Sarkisian desert, dotted with patches of spring flowers and doused fire rings. Soldiers moved about in the act of breaking camp.

The hooded man lifted his head. When his eyes met the prince’s, he gasped. Kalas rose swiftly to his feet and caught the man’s arm.

“Dolan?” he said in concern as the man swayed.

The Nazarien reached for the closest chair and placed it behind the man. Kalas helped him to sit.

“Are you all right?”

The man’s green eyes searched Kalas’ face, but he didn’t immediately speak.

“Get him a drink, please,” urged Kalas.

Dolan moved to the camp table and poured out a glass of brandy. Kalas took it and handed it to the man, motioning for him to drink.

While he drained the glass, Kalas shot a look at his second.

“This is the Baron. He and a brigade of men have come from Kazden as quickly as they could.”

Kalas rose to his full height and regarded the Lawry commander. “Welcome, Baron,” he said.

The Baron drained the last of his drink, then rested it against his thigh. He studied Kalas once more. “You look just like him. Gave me a start.”

“Him?”

“Talar,” said Dolan at his back.

Kalas wasn’t sure how to respond. He never was. Whenever he heard that name, he felt such a conflict of emotions. “Did you know…him?” he forced out.

“We were like brothers. In fact, I thought of him as family.” The Baron shook his head. “You look so like him. For a moment I thought you were him.”

Kalas exhaled. He wanted to change the subject. “You brought a brigade with you?”

“I did.”

Dolan retrieved another chair for the Prince. Kalas sat down. “I appreciate the numbers, but I believe we only asked for a couple of squads. Is there a reason for so many?”

The Baron gave a wry smile. Two dimples formed in his cheeks. “Of course. We have intelligence that there’s unrest in Sarkisian.”

“Unrest?”

“Hundreds of refugees converged on the city after Tarnow’s death, demanding assistance. They weren’t welcomed. In fact, they were forced to camp outside the city gates.”

“In the desert?”

“Yes.”

“Through winter?”

The Baron narrowed his eyes. “Thus the unrest. No one has seen Rarick for two weeks, but there has been an obvious military build-up during that time.”

“Of Guardsmen?”

“And regular infantry. When I got your message, we felt it was prudent to bring more men.”

Kalas turned to Dolan. “Do you think he builds forces for Dorland?”

“Or Adishian.”

The Baron nodded. “Adishian, likely. Word of the changes you’ve made leaked out. There’s no doubt he has spies in Adishian.”

Kalas leaned back in the chair and eyed the Baron critically. “He isn’t the only one with spies, is he?”

The Baron flashed his dimples. “Certainly not. How do you think I know of the military build-up?”

Kalas drew a deep breath. “Well then, I guess we’ll see if we are welcomed at Sarkisian’s gate.”

“I’d guess we won’t be,” said Dolan.

“What you’ve begun in Adishian has earned you followers, but it’s also earned you enemies. We live in a devious time, Your Majesty, and one can never be sure of his friends.”

The threat was implicit. Kalas understood that the Lawries were allies only as long as he held true to his promise of prosperity for Adishian. He also marked that Dolan didn’t come to his defense. Obviously, he still had a lot of trust to earn.

“That said, I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you…” The Baron’s voice trailed away meaningfully. He exchanged a look with the Nazarien. “We’ll be watching your back, Your Majesty, and I would personally be honored if you’d let me ride at your left side.”

Kalas rose to his feet. He didn’t think pledges of fealty, however short lived they might be, ought to be acknowledged while sitting down. “I accept your offer, Baron. Your protection and your sword will be welcome as we enter the lion’s den.”

The Baron smiled and pushed himself to his feet. He gave Kalas a formal bow. “By your leave, Your Majesty,” he said.

“You are dismissed.”

The Baron turned and moved toward the opening, but he paused and looked back. His face was shadowed by the sunlight, but his green eyes showed clearly. “I can tell you about your father, if you’re interested.”

Kalas felt like he’d been gut punched. He swallowed hard and his expression sobered. He broke the Baron’s look. “Another time, perhaps,” he answered.

The Baron hesitated a moment more, then he turned away. Kalas watched him move out into the desert, a phalanx of men falling into step at his back.

Avoiding Dolan’s gaze, he shifted on his heel and grabbed his sword from the cot, slipping the belt around his waist. “Have the men break down this tent,” he ordered, then paused. “Please.”

*    *    *

Tyla brought the horses to a halt and surveyed the small farm. A man chopping wood by the side of the house looked up, pausing in mid-motion. He set the axe into the block and moved toward her.

“Hello, pretty lady,” he said in Nevaisser.

Tyla didn’t see anyone else in view, but smoke curled lazily from the chimney. The farm was neat and tidy; however, the roof of the barn showed signs of wear. “Hello, I was wondering if we might make a trade.”

“Trade? What would you be needing?”

“Food and water for a few days. Maybe a night in your barn?”

He looked over his shoulder at the barn. He was around Tyla’s age, medium height with sandy blond hair. His hands were huge and his shoulders stretched the fabric of his shirt. He turned back to Tyla and gave her an appraising smile. “Now why would I make a pretty lady like you sleep in a barn? You can have my bed.”

“The barn’s fine.”

“And what do you have to trade?” He made a motion at her throat. “I wouldn’t mind that bauble.”

“You would the moment you touched it. This is no bauble.” She curled her fingers around the emerald. “Actually, I’ll trade you one of my horses.”

“A horse for a little food and a night in a dusty barn.” He took a step closer to her. “I’m happy to give you a lot more.” He finished his offer with a wink.

“Clynd!” came a sharp voice from the house. The man turned, ducking his head.

Tyla looked up to see a small, wiry woman standing on the porch.

“You had better not be plaguing our guest,” she shouted.

“’Course not, Mama.”

“You just come on up to the house, baby,” said the woman to Tyla, “and ignore my randy son. Clynd, go back to chopping wood.”

Tyla gave Clynd a wry look as she rode toward the house. The woman came down into the yard as Tyla dropped to the ground. “You traveling all alone, baby,” she said, then came to a halt when Tyla turned toward her. Immediately her eyes widened and she dropped to her knees. “Gods above, please forgive us, Your Majesty.”

Tyla hurried forward and drew the woman to her feet. “Please don’t.”

The woman clasped her hands. “We heard you’d left Adishian. Oh, Your Majesty, I am so happy to see you.” She pressed Tyla’s wrist to her cheek.

Tyla leaned close to her. “Please, don’t do this. I’m no longer Queen. Please treat me the way you were before you recognized me.”

The woman met Tyla’s gaze. “You look exhausted, Your…”

“Tyla.”

“Tyla,” she repeated. “I’ll bet you’re hungry. And you could probably use a warm bath.”

Tyla laughed. “A bath would be so wonderful, but let me unsaddle the horses first.”

“Nonsense.” The woman hooked her arm through Tyla’s and drew her toward the house. They climbed the stairs and the woman pulled open the door. “My other son can take care of them.” She stuck her head inside. “Royce, get out here and unsaddle these horses. Give them a bit of grain. Tell Clynd to bring in the bathtub.”

Tyla heard scrabbling in the house, then a second man appeared. He looked almost identical to Clynd. “Yes, Mama,” he said, ducking out of the house. He came up short when he saw Tyla and his eyes widened.

His mother swatted him on the arm. “Get going, you.”

The young man hurried down the stairs and into the yard as the woman drew Tyla into the house. The interior was warm and filled with sunlight. A couple of armchairs were arranged before a stone fireplace. To the left was a kitchen with a polished wooden table and four chairs.

The woman handed Tyla into a chair and went to the fireplace. She lifted a huge iron kettle onto the fire, then went to the sink and began pumping water into a pitcher.

“Can I help you?” asked Tyla.

“Nonsense. You sit and rest, baby.”

Tyla forced herself to relax. The house was pleasant. A vase of flowers sat in the middle of the table and bright floral curtains outlined the windows. She was pleased that the woman had gotten over her shock.

“Can I ask your name?”

“Rosamel,” the woman said, hurrying back and forth. “Can I ask you why you’re traveling alone?”

“Fair question, but the answer’s complicated. I’d rather not say.”

“But you’re coming home?”

Tyla drew a deep breath and exhaled. “I am.”

Clynd entered the house, carrying a tub on his back. “Where you want it, Mama?”

“Put it in your room. You’ll bunk with Royce tonight, boy.”

Clynd gave Tyla another wink, but he scurried into the doorway of his room as his mother swatted at his backside. Tyla couldn’t help but smile. Such a small woman with such a powerful personality.

It wasn’t long before Rosamel had the water heated. She called both boys into the house to carry the iron pot to the tub. Once they finished, she shooed them from the house and threw the latch on the main door. Then she escorted Tyla into her son’s room. Laying out soap and a towel, she left the room and returned a moment later with a faded dress.

“Thought you might like to put on something clean.”

Tyla smiled at her and reached up to undo the braid in her hair. “Thank you so much, Rosamel. You don’t know what your kindness means to me.”

The woman came forward and clasped Tyla’s hands. “Take your time, baby. Enjoy the hot water.” With a pat, she left, shutting the door behind her.

Tyla finger combed her hair and undressed, then slid into the blessedly warm water. She quickly bathed, but once done, couldn’t resist the pull of the water. Leaning back, she let her muscles relax and closed her eyes.

However, the moment she loosened her control, emotions rose inside of her. Her shoulders began to shake and tears worked their way into her throat. Covering her face, Tyla gave into her grief, her body shaking with wrenching sobs.

Rosamel found her huddled over in the cooling water. She grabbed the towel and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Come on, baby, it’s all right. You’re safe here. Let’s get you out of the cold water.”

Tyla allowed the woman to help her stand. Rosamel directed her into a chair before a cracked mirror. “Let me just comb the tangles from this hair,” she said, pulling a brush from the pocket of her apron.

Tyla didn’t have the energy to fight her ministrations. She let Rosamel comb her hair until it was a glistening black curtain far down her back. After she finished, Rosamel urged her to stand, leading her to the bed.

“Get dressed and lay down for a nap. Everything will look better after a little sleep, then we’ll have dinner. You look like you haven’t eaten well in weeks.”

Tyla grasped the woman’s hand and brought it to her lips, kissing the back of it. “Thank you.”

Rosamel tsked. “Nonsense. Now get dressed.” She left the room and Tyla quickly slipped into clean undergarments and the dress. It was too big for her and shapeless, but it was clean. Pulling her hair over one shoulder, she crawled onto the bed and curled up.

The sobs came again, but this time she didn’t try to fight them. She was so lonely, she couldn’t control her misery. Longing for Jarrett filled her, but gradually, she fell asleep.

She awakened some hours later to a soft voice and a gentle touch on her shoulder. “Miss, Miss, wake up. Mama says supper is ready.”

Tyla blinked open her eyes. Royce was kneeling beside the bed. Lifting her head, she looked around. Darkness had fallen outside the cottage, a beam of moonlight shining through the window.

She eased into a sitting position. Her head hurt and her eyes felt swollen. She pushed back her heavy hair. “Goodness, how long have I slept?”

“Only a few hours. Are you hungry?”

Tyla realized she was, especially as the smells from the kitchen were wafting through the open door. “Yes.”

“Let me help you up,” offered Royce, holding out his hand.

Tyla accepted it. The man’s hand was enormous like his brother’s and calloused, but he gave her a kind smile. She rose to her feet and smoothed out the folds of the dress. “I must look a sight,” she said with a laugh.

He shook his head. “You are beautiful.” Releasing her, he took a step back and ducked his head. “I’m sorry to be so forward, Your Majesty.”

“Tyla, please. And you weren’t forward. It’s nice to hear.” When he gave her a smile, she returned it. “Let’s go eat. I really am hungry.”

Tyla hadn’t eaten so well since Temeron. Rosamel made roast chicken and potatoes with a cream gravy. Fresh beans from the garden swam in puddles of home churned butter. And there was bread, fluffy, airy bread, so unlike the travel cakes she’d been living off for so many days.

Tyla ate more than usual, she ate until her stomach was uncomfortably full; however, when Rosamel brought out fresh peach pie, she simply had to try a small piece. After dinner, Rosamel made them all tea and they took a seat before the fire. The two women occupying the armchairs, while the men sat on the hearth. Tyla sank into her chair and looked around the cottage.

All her life she’d known castles, but she couldn’t deny she could see herself living quite comfortably in a cottage like this if she could only have Jarrett by her side. The thought brought back the ache, but she forced it down.

She turned instead to her host. “Tell me what’s been happening in Nevaisser the last couple of months.”

The family exchanged looks, then Clynd cleared his throat. “A lot. Your brother has changed things in Adishian.”

Tyla leaned forward in interest. “How?”

“He’s planted new crops and tamed the Lawries. They work for him now.”

Tyla didn’t know how to respond to that.

“There’s fresh food in the markets,” added Royce, “and manufacturing has increased, so goods are flowing a little better.”

Clynd shook his head. “Won’t last, but at least, it’s eased life for a time.”

“Why won’t it last?”

Clynd gave her a sympathetic look. “After Tarnow died, refugees left Adishian and converged on Sarkisian demanding assistance. Rarick wouldn’t let them into the city. The gates have been closed all this time. They’ve set up a shanty town before the gates. Conditions are terrible and getting food, even now has become a nightmare, but most of these people don’t have enough money to leave.”

Royce picked up the story. “Our peach crop was especially good this year, so Clynd and I rode into Sarkisian to distribute the excess to the people.”

“I got curious,” added Clynd, “so I rode to the gates. They let me peek inside. Sarkisian is a bivouac.”

“A what?”

“The entire town is one huge military encampment. He’s called all the soldiers he can back to the capital and he’s been training more each day. I didn’t see a single civilian.” Clynd leaned forward. “Sarkisian’s preparing for war.”

Tyla felt the blood drain from her face. “Against Adishian?”

“Where else? It’s common knowledge what Kalas has done. That wasn’t exactly what Rarick left him in Adishian to accomplish, now was it?”

“Has anyone warned Kalas?”

“I’m not sure, but he’s been training the Lawries as soldiers,” offered Royce.

“The Lawries are no match for Guardsmen,” said Tyla, clasping her hands in her lap.

“He must have known that Rarick wouldn’t let this go,” said Clynd.

Tyla looked away, lifting her hand to curl it around the emerald. She didn’t have time to warn Kalas, but she could stop Rarick. Cut the head off the snake as Jarrett had said so long ago. She had to cut the head off the snake.

“That’s enough,” said Rosamel. Tyla felt the woman’s eyes on her. “There’s nothing we can do tonight. Let’s get some sleep.”

Tyla glanced at the woman and gave her a hesitant nod. Pushing herself to her feet, Rosamel crossed to Tyla’s chair and urged her to stand. Tyla allowed the older woman to guide her to Clynd’s room and shut the door behind her. Tyla stood in the dark and listened to the mother chastise her sons for offering more information than she thought was necessary.

Climbing onto the bed, she tried to get more sleep, but a long while before dawn, she gave up the effort and rolled out of bed. She dressed in the cold, dark room and repacked her things, then crept out into the main room. She could hear the boys snoring as she hurried to the front door.

The latch protested as she lifted it and she hesitated, afraid that they would hear. When no one came to investigate, she eased the door open and exited the cottage. Closing the door carefully behind her, she made her way down the stairs and toward the barn. Moonlight guided her and the horses made a welcoming sound as she entered. She saddled the mare from Temeron and quickly penned a note, which she tacked to the other horse’s stall, thanking the family for their help.

She guided the mare from the barn and walked her to the edge of the farm. She left without refilling her food or water supply, hoping that she would find a stream before she came to the desert. As the moon rose, she marked that Sarkisian lay directly before her.

*    *   *

Jarrett stood on the summit and stared down at the spire of Stronghold’s tower, rising like a shimmering, black spear from the walls of the city. Muzik nudged Kendrick with his shoulder and pointed at him.

“He’s been like that for an hour. You sure the infection hasn’t gone to his head?”

Kendrick laid another few logs on the fire and poked the embers with a stick. Across from him, Earon lounged on his saddle. He did very little to set camp each night, complaining that his muscles ached. Now he nodded at the Terrian.

“He’s definitely losing it.”

Kendrick felt a spark of anger. Jarrett had done well despite his injuries and he’d certainly been a better companion than the Lawry runner. Oddly enough, Kendrick felt he understood Jarrett more than the others now, something he would never have believed when they started this mission.

Allistar entered the camp, carrying a pot filled with water. He handed it to Kendrick, but his eyes immediately went to his friend. “He’s still there.”

Kendrick nodded. “We probably should have camped lower down the mountain or waited to camp until there was less light. The sight of Stronghold makes me feel apprehensive. I can’t imagine what it does to him.”

Allistar stepped past the fire and crossed to Jarrett’s side. Kendrick rose also and followed at a discreet distance.

“Jarrett, come away,” offered the Stravad. “The view isn’t going to change no matter how long you look at it.”

Jarrett looked toward Allistar’s feet. “I saw her just now.”

Allistar and Kendrick exchanged a look. That wasn’t what they’d expected him to say. Moving to the edge, Allistar looked over. “Where?”

“No,” said Jarrett, “I saw her in here.” He touched a hand to his temple.

Kendrick was glad Earon couldn’t understand Lodenian. It would confirm his suspicion.

“What do you mean?” Allistar’s voice rang with concern. “You connected with her thoughts?”

“No. She’s still blocking me. This was visual. I saw her.”

“Where was she?”

“I don’t know, but she was crying. She was lying on a bed in a dark room and she was crying.”

“How far away?”

Jarrett shook his head, looking out at Stronghold again. “I don’t know. It lasted only a moment, but she was there as if I could reach out and touch her.”

“Has this ever happened before?”

“Never.”

Allistar shifted weight. “You say you can communicate with her through thoughts. Was this different?”

“Yes, it was visual and it lasted just a few seconds. I’m not sure she was even aware I could see her. When we share thoughts she controls it.”

“Have you been trying to contact her?” asked Kendrick, moving to their side.

“Constantly, but she has me blocked. Still. She never lets down her guard.”

“Maybe she did. Maybe that’s why you got a visual of her. If she was crying, she might have slipped a bit.”

“Do you think it could happen again?”

Kendrick shrugged. “Who knows, but I think it’s worth trying. Can you remember how you felt when it happened?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t help me.”

“It might. Think of what you were doing when you saw her.”

“Are you saying I have control over this?”

“I am. Tyla’s powers have always been psychic, but I don’t remember her ever saying she had the power to see people. This may be your own gifts coming to bear.” Jarrett’s eyes went distant. Kendrick hoped he hadn’t just given the Terrian something else to obsess over. “We should change your bandages,” he said to pull his attention back.

Jarrett nodded and followed the Nazarien back to the fire. “I can’t understand why we haven’t caught up with her,” he muttered as he took a seat.

“She’s got two horses and she’s lighter than we are. She can ride faster and farther. Not to mention the head start she got on us.”

Jarrett closed his eyes. “I can’t stand the thought of her entering Sarkisian by herself.”

Kendrick gripped his arm and forced him to meet his gaze. “We’ll go after her. Even then. We’ll go right to the front door of Stronghold if necessary. Believe that.”

Jarrett forced a smile. “I do,” he said.

CHAPTER 30

Tyla led the horse through the refugee camp. People stared out at her, watching her progress. Their eyes were hollow. Children with swollen bellies sat listlessly in the shade of the makeshift tents, crying or swatting at flies.

A chill shivered over her. These people were dying.

Tightening her hands on the mare’s reins, she angled through the huddled masses, aiming for the gates. She didn’t need the horse any longer, but the mare had been such a solid companion for the entire journey, Tyla wasn’t willing to abandon her to the obvious fate that awaited her beyond the gates of Sarkisian.

A handful of ill-clothed men began following her. Tyla wasn’t worried about them attacking her, but she kept them in her line of sight. The desperation of these people was obvious.

The road into Sarkisian cut a path through the desert. It was lined with volcanic material, tamped down by thousands of carts and feet each year. Tyla steered the horse onto the road, then paused. She moved to the saddlebag, holding the reins tightly, and reached inside to pull out the remaining travel cakes. She extended them to the closest man that followed her.

He accepted them, then turned to hand them to a group of children that were lining the road. The children tore into the tasteless cakes, cramming them into their mouths. Tyla looked away and started moving again.

Apprehension crowded her throat, made swallowing difficult. She believed the emerald would equalize things between her and Rarick, but it didn’t lessen her memories or fear. The battlements rose above her, shadowing the road and the gate.

A single guard stood behind the gate, but along the wall, Tyla could see the movement of many soldiers. They were patrolling the perimeter of the city, keeping everyone out. It was just as Clynd had said.

Glancing behind her, Tyla marked the increasing number of men that followed her to the gate. She brought the horse to a halt and surveyed the bars. The guard eyed both her and her entourage, gripping the handle of his sword.

“No one is allowed inside of Sarkisian.”

The main gates were too large to open by one man. Rarick was more than determined to keep the people outside of his city. To the right of the main gate was a smaller one, a portcullis that would admit both her and the mare.

Turning back to the soldier, she marked that he was regular infantry. Behind him, the streets of Sarkisian were empty. Spring was the most pleasant season in the entire kingdom. To see no one moving back and forth from market was odd. Another chill shivered over her.

“Open the gate,” she said, nodding at the smaller one.

The guard tightened his lips against his teeth in a nervous snarl. “No one is allowed inside of Sarkisian.”

Behind her, Tyla heard the murmur of the men. They’d obviously heard this line before. She didn’t have time to play with this boy. Narrowing her eyes, she connected with his mind. Immediately his face went slack and his hand fell from his sword.

“Open the gate,” she repeated.

He moved in that direction, turning the wheel in the wall just enough to admit her and the horse. Tyla led the mare forward and passed into Sarkisian. Some part of her wanted to allow the refugee men inside as well, but she feared they’d only be killed by the soldiers manning the walls.

She made the guard lower the gate again, then she abruptly stopped the blood flowing to his brain. He slumped beside the portcullis, his eyes rolling back in his head, but his breathing immediately returned to normal. Running a soothing hand over the mare’s forehead, Tyla angled into the streets, headed toward Stronghold.

The sight of the castle, rising dark and forbidding before her, made her knees tremble. She hadn’t been back here in more than a decade. Memories teased at her consciousness, but she shoved them aside, allowing only purpose to fill her thoughts.

A flurry of movement distracted her. At her throat, the emerald began to pulse. A moment later, a band of soldiers moved into formation to block the main road.

“Halt!” shouted the commander. He had red braids looped over his shoulder and a red panther sprang from the middle of his chest.

Tyla brought the horse to a stop, surveying the men. They were brandishing their weapons, glaring at her with the seasoned coldness of blooded soldiers. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I’m headed for Stronghold.”

“Stay where you are. You’re under arrest.”

Tyla began walking again.

“Halt!” shouted the man.

Tyla kept walking.

The commander was obviously alarmed at the thought of striking a woman. He shifted weight and passed his sword to his left hand. “I said halt!” His men moved restlessly.

Tyla continued on.

“Detain the prisoner,” ordered the commander and came forward to meet her.

The emerald reacted and flared forth. Tyla allowed her power to flow into it and it reacted with a psychic percussion that sent men and weapons flying backward to crumple in the streets.

Tyla strode between them, leading the mare. She didn’t have time to spare them any concern. A moment later, she saw motion behind her. A new group of soldiers flanked her, but they didn’t try to halt her forward momentum. She dismissed them and focused instead on the rise of Stronghold, growing closer by the minute.

She found the gate to the castle open. Another phalanx of soldiers lined the row leading to the castle, but they didn’t impede her progress. Tyla passed the reins of her horse to the last soldier in the line. He gave her a quizzical look, but she continued on.

Before her rose the stairs of Stronghold. She hesitated at the foot of them and gripped the railings. Her heart was hammering against her ribs and her mouth was dry. At her throat, the emerald beat a staccato rhythm in tune to her heart rate.

Closing her eyes, she drew in her will. Oh, the memories of this place. So much fear, so much anxiety. Forcing herself to look behind, she marked the crowd of soldiers lined up on the parade grounds – meant for Adishian, meant for her brother.

She started climbing.

The door to the castle was also open. She passed from the sunlight into the darkened interior, pausing to give her eyes time to adjust.

“He’s waiting for you in the tower.”

Tyla knew Marlas’ voice. As her eyes adjusted, she saw the stoop shouldered man standing just within the entrance hall. He had aged much these last few years, his hair was thinning and the hollows of his cheeks made his face look longer.

Still, he gave her the same oily smile.

Tyla felt rage move through her.

“I wouldn’t keep him waiting long. He’s not been a patient monarch these last few weeks. The rabble outside the walls is unnerving him.”

Tyla moved forward. Even stooped by age, Marlas was taller than she was, but she didn’t care. She no longer feared him as she had when she was a child. “Run,” she said. “Run as far as you can.”

His eyes widened, then he laughed.

Tyla let him enjoy his moment, then she leaned close. “If you don’t, you will die.”

His laughter cut off. Tyla didn’t wait to see his reaction. She started moving toward the tower.

*    *    *

Jarrett pulled his horse to a halt and lifted his fingers to press against his eyes. For a moment, only a moment, he’d seen her. She was standing in a darkened hall, opaque black walls rising around her.

Another man was in the room, wizen, thin, his funereal clothes hanging off a gangly frame.

“Run.”

He concentrated hard, trying to catch what else she’d said, but it was just a flash, just a moment of time.

“Jarrett?”

The image vanished.

Jarrett opened his eyes and met Kendrick’s concerned look. The others had stopped their horses and were gazing back at him. Around them spread the Sarkisian desert, oddly beautiful in the spring sun.

“Are you all right?”

Jarrett drew a deep breath. The wound in his side throbbed. He pressed a hand against it and exhaled. “I’m fine.”

“Do you need to stop?” asked Allistar.

“No.” By the vision, he knew Tyla had entered Stronghold. “We don’t have much time. We have to keep going.”

“Did you have another vision?” asked the Nazarien.

“Yes. She’s inside the castle.”

He spoke in Lodenian, so only Kendrick and Allistar understood.

“What?” demanded Muzik.

Kendrick translated.

Earon looked away.

“Are you sure you remember how to get into Sarkisian?” Jarrett asked Earon.

“I remember a tunnel. Whether it’s blocked or guarded, I don’t know, but I can show you the entrance.”

“All right. Let’s ride.”

“Jarrett?”

The Terrian looked up.

“I won’t go in there.”

“Where? The tunnel?”

“Sarkisian.” Earon looked away again, lifting a hand to rub at his scar. “I’ll take you to the tunnel, but I won’t go in. I can’t.” His voice vibrated with emotion. “Please understand.”

Jarrett brought his horse close to the Lawry runner, forcing Earon to look at him. “I do. I understand.”

Earon simply nodded, then kneed his horse to get it moving again.

*    *    *

Tyla climbed the winding staircase into the tower, her heart hammering against her ribs, causing the emerald to throw green light against the opaque black walls. She couldn’t allow memories to overwhelm her, but they pressed against her mind, wanting to be recognized. She topped the stairs, coming into the circular room that led to all other rooms in the tower. Before her was the old school room, its double doors thrown open, sunlight streaming out.

She squinted until her eyes adjusted. A sudden gasp and flurry of motion blocked the sun, then Inara was before her, pulling her into her embrace. “Eldon’s star, child, why are you here?” Inara held her away and placed her hands on Tyla’s cheeks, looking into her eyes. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Tyla covered Inara’s hands with her own. Tears blinded her momentarily. It had been so long since she had seen the woman who had been her only mother. Pulling her hand away, she kissed her palm. Inara looked older, the wisp of hair showing under her cap an iron grey. When Tyla had gone to Adishian, she had begged to have Inara go with her, but Rarick had refused. He’d always refused every wish.

Her eyes shifted beyond Inara to the school room. It had been emptied of furniture, except a bed and a large chair. The bed dominated the center of the room. Behind it, the chair had been turned to face the windows. Tyla could just make out a long fingered hand gripping the arm.

Her gaze lowered to the bed. A small, pale figure lay in the middle of it, dwarfed by the pillows piled to elevate the figure’s blond head.

“Is that Gallia?” Tyla asked, moving beyond Inara.

Inara refused to release her arm, pulling her back. “Don’t go in there. He’s there.”

Tyla turned and covered Inara’s hand. “I know. This has to end and I’m going to end it.”

Inara’s eyes lowered to the emerald pulsating at Tyla’s breast. Her eyes brimmed with tears. “You can’t. Please listen to me. You can’t beat him. He’s completely insane.”

Tyla curled her fingers around Inara’s hand and pried her fingers away. “I’m not a little girl anymore.” She squeezed the nurse’s hand. “It’ll be all right.”

Releasing her, she moved into the room. Gallia turned her head on the pillows and looked at her with sunken, hollow eyes. With difficulty, she lifted her hand and reached for Tyla. Tyla crossed to her side and sank down on the bed, taking the offered hand.

Gallia’s breathing was labored, her narrow chest rising with each pant. The skin around her lips was blue.

“Is your brother with you?” she whispered.

Tyla searched her, wishing she had her healing kit, something to ease the woman’s discomfort. By the wasting of her body and the strange pallor of her skin, Tyla knew there wasn’t much more she could do.

“He’s in Adishian.”

Gallia closed her eyes. She didn’t respond for a moment, but tears leaked out and ran down her temples. Inara had eased up behind Tyla, placing her hands on Tyla’s shoulder. Tyla looked up at the nurse.

“How long has this been going on?” she asked.

“Months.” Her gaze flickered to the man in the chair, but so far Rarick hadn’t moved.

Tyla deliberately ignored him. She needed a few moments to collect her thoughts. Being this close to him had set up a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“I sent for him,” muttered Gallia. She turned her head on the pillows restlessly. “I sent over a month ago.”

“I’m sorry. Are you able to drink anything? Eat?”

Gallia’s eyes narrowed on her. “It doesn’t matter. He’s finally done it. He’s killed me.”

“Rarick?”

“Who else?”

“How?”

“With his poisons.”

Tyla looked to Inara for confirmation.

“He tested the Orahim potions on her. He’s been doing it for months.” Reaching down, Inara pushed back Gallia’s sleeve. Needle marks lined the inner part of her elbow.

Tyla clenched her jaw, but Gallia tightened her grip on Tyla’s hand, drawing her attention. “Kill him,” she hissed. “Kill him for me.”

“Shut up, witch,” came Rarick’s sibilant tones from the depth of the chair, “before I finish you myself.”

Tyla closed her eyes and tried to center herself. Lifting her hand, she curled it around the emerald. Slowly she rose from the bed and moved around it, approaching the chair where the King of Sarkisian sat. She couldn’t see his face, but she could see his long, yellow fingernails and the shoulder of his red velvet cloak.

“It’s over, Rarick. Abdicate the throne to me and I’ll let you live.”

A strange choking laugh came from the depth of the chair. “You’ll let me live. My how Tarnow indulged you. You’ll let me live.” His hand lifted and pointed out the window. “Do you see that rabble? They come here and demand I feed them, shelter them. Masses of them. Vermin, animals. I want them gone.”

Tyla could see the gates of Sarkisian beyond the window. Past that was the refugee camp, teeming with people in desperate need of help. “Abdicate and they will no longer be your problem.”

The laugh again, hissing, wheezing with humorless intent. A shiver raced over Tyla’s flesh and the emerald began to heat against her skin. Slowly, Rarick leaned forward and looked back at her. The bright sunlight cast shadows on his cheeks, made his eyes look cavernous. He rose from the chair, his height accentuated by the light, his shadow falling on Tyla, obliterating the sun.

She swallowed hard, but held her ground as he moved toward her. Involuntarily, she lifted her hand and gripped the emerald, pulling it away from her flesh. It glowed through her fingers, casting a nimbus of green light around her.

Rarick came to a halt before her, towering over her. He looked down with his cold, feral eyes and snarled. “Genuflect when you are in the presence of your King.”

“You are not my King,” she said, forcing her voice to be level. “You never were. Abdicate and I’ll let you go free.”

He lifted his hand as if he’d strike her.

Tyla released the emerald and the light flowed around the circular walls of the room. “Do not raise your hand to me!” she commanded.

He took a step back, his eyes narrowing on the talisman. Slowly his arm lowered. “The Karhartadon emerald?” He rolled the foreign word around his tongue.

“The emerald that almost brought down this tower,” she added.

Rarick’s eyes were fixed on it, then suddenly he laughed. “When your father held it. You are not your father.” Before she could react, his hand snaked out and grasped the gem. It flared, but nothing more.

Tyla released her power. The percussion of it rattled the windows and sent Inara to the floor, but Rarick didn’t feel anything.

He wrenched the chain and it broke, then he cast the emerald from him. Tyla watched it sail through the air until it struck the wall, sparking on impact. It dropped harmlessly to the floor and went out.

Her shock was so complete, she didn’t notice his next move. His hands closed around her throat, squeezing. She grabbed his wrists, clawing at his hands when they tightened. Lights exploded in her head as she fought to tear them away.

Then she was thrown forward, careening into the tower windows. Glass shattered and rained down. For a moment, Tyla hung over the empty expanse of sky, staring down at startled soldiers before she was hauled back by the rope of her hair.

Rarick wound his hand in it and pulled her head back. She could feel blood trickle down her face where the glass shards had cut her. “I want them all dead,” he whispered in her ear, forcing her over the edge of the window. Glass cut into her hands as she fought to keep from falling, cut into her stomach where he pressed her into the jagged windowsill. “Kill them.”

She tried to work her foot between his legs, anything to gain leverage. She tried to slam back with her head, but he held her too tightly. And she used her power. She could hear the remaining windows shivering with the force of her assault, but nothing happened. His hold never lessened.

“I want them all dead. Now!”

“Never,” she ground out through clenched teeth.

He pushed her forward and she stifled a cry as the glass bit into her stomach. Her thoughts went to Jarrett momentarily, but she choked them back. Then something struck both her and Rarick, forcing them forward. Rarick wheeled around a moment later, hauling Tyla with him.

She was thrown to the floor. Scrambling away, she looked up.

Gallia hung on Rarick’s back, clawing at his face with both hands.

He reached behind him and pulled her off. She was so frail and thin, he was able to throw her over his shoulder. Her body impacted with the tower floor so hard, Tyla heard her bones snap.

“Bitch!” screamed Rarick, pressing his fingers to the bloody gouges across his cheeks.

Before Tyla could gain her feet, he kicked Gallia. The queen gave a moan of pain and curled into a fetal position, but Rarick simply kicked her again. Tyla threw herself at him, pummeling him with her fists. He staggered back, then lowered his shoulder and slammed the full weight of his body into her.

The force of his blow knocked her into the stone wall by the windows. Her head struck the uneven surface and pain exploded in her skull. As she slid down the wall, she saw Rarick return to Gallia’s motionless body.

Then there was only darkness.

*    *    *

Jarrett staggered to a halt, the sword dipped, and he lowered his head. Allistar moved forward and gripped his arm. Closing his eyes, the Terrian shivered violently and exhaled on a moan.

“What?”

Jarrett shivered again. The other men crowded around, their expressions alarmed. “He hurt her.”

“Who? What are you talking about?”

Jarrett pressed his free hand against his eyes. “Tyla. Rarick hurt her.”

Allistar exchanged a look with his companions. They understood enough to get the gist of the conversation.

“We have to keep riding. We can’t make camp now.” Jarrett shoved the sword back in its sheath. “Even if we have to ride all night.”

“Fine.” Allistar turned to the Nazarien. “Tell them to saddle the horses. We ride to Sarkisian tonight.”

Kendrick gave the orders and the three men hurried off to do as requested. Allistar gripped Jarrett’s arm tighter. “How badly did he hurt her?”

Jarrett met his look. “I don’t know. I only got a glimpse. It’s not enough to judge anything.”

“But she’s obviously in the castle?”

Jarrett nodded.

“Do you think he’d kill her?”

“I don’t think so, but he’s insane, Allistar. We’ve got to go now.”

Allistar thought for a moment, then nodded.

*    *    *

Tyla gradually came awake. Blood pounded in her temples and her body felt weighted. She gave an involuntary moan and lifted her hand to touch her forehead. Someone had unbound her hair.

“Thank Eldon, you’re finally awake,” came Inara’s voice beside her.

She opened her eyes a slit and looked at the nurse. Tears made streaks down Inara’s cheeks.

“I thought you’d never wake again.”

Tyla lifted her head enough to feel the back of it. A bump met the probe of her fingers and pain flared behind her eyes. She lay back on the pillows and closed her eyes.

“I cleaned the blood away. It was matted in your hair.”

Tyla nodded carefully. “Where’s Gallia?”

The nurse didn’t answer.

Tyla opened her eyes again. “Inara?”

Tears fell faster and the nurse lowered her head. “She’s dead. He killed her.”

Nausea rose inside of her and she tried to roll to her side. “I’m going to be sick.”

Inara helped her over and held the mass of her hair back while she vomited bile. The nurse had thought to put a basin close at hand. After the nausea abated, Inara let her wash her mouth with water, then eased her back.

As Tyla rolled onto the pillows, she noticed the bandage on her inner elbow. She reached for it. “What’s this?”

Inara began sobbing. “I tried to stop him. I tried, but there were too many. I begged him not to do it.”

Tyla grabbed Inara’s arm. “What? What did he do?” But she already knew the answer.

“He said it would control you. Just like Gallia. He gave you the Orahim potion.”

Tyla fell back on the bed. Her stomach roiled and her head throbbed. “Oh, I’ve made such a mess of this. I thought the emerald would be enough, but it’s not. The problem isn’t with Rarick. It’s with me.”

“I don’t understand.”

Suddenly, it all fell into place. Her power, the emerald…Rarick. “He isn’t blocking me. I am. I fear him so much I’ll never be able to use my power against him.”

“We have to get away. We have to find some way to escape.”

“No. I’m not running anymore. This has to end.”

Inara’s grip tightened. “He gave you more of the potion than he gave Gallia. He said he needed more to control you. He won’t stop. They’ll come again and they’ll hold you down. He’ll give you more of it. He’ll kill you.”

Tyla leaned closer to her. “I’m not leaving. Not until he’s dead.”

“Even if he kills you?”

“Even then,” she said.

*    *    *

Earon led them through the refugee camp and around the outer wall of Sarkisian toward the west of the city. The people followed them with their eyes, but they made no move to stop them. Jarrett could see soldiers patrolling the walls in the dying light of the day, but the gates of the city were closed.

“Where did these people come from?” asked Kendrick.

“Adishian,” remarked Muzik. “I see the standard on some of their wagons and carts.”

Earon was edgy, glancing up at the walls every few minutes, keeping his head cocked at an odd angle. His hand flexed against the hilt of his sword. Jarrett brought his mount closer to the runner’s side.

“How much farther?”

“Not much.”

“How do you know of this tunnel?”

Earon shot another nervous glance at the wall. “I used it many times. How do you think I got into and out of the city?”

“Is this how you stole the horses?”

Earon briefly met his gaze. “No, I took those off dead Guardsmen. Same with the uniforms.”

He brought them within a few yards of the wall, to a stand of stunted trees and strange rock formations. A thin stream of water trickled out of the rocks here. The men dismounted and Kian went to the stream, sniffing it. He backed away, shaking his head and sneezing. Jarrett bent beside him and cupped the water. It looked chalky and murky in the failing light. He sniffed it and then threw it away. It smelled of sulfur.

Rising stiffly, he ran his hand through Kian’s fur. “Now what?” he asked the runner.

“We wait until dark. The tunnel’s there.” He pointed to a strange fold of land backed up to the wall of the city. Motion along the parapets meant even this part of the city was being guarded.

Jarrett shifted weight and shot a look at the setting sun.

“What do we do with the horses?” asked Muzik.

“They’ll stay with me.” Earon’s gaze shifted to Jarrett. “I’m not going under that wall, Jarrett. Not even for Tyla. Not now.” He motioned at his bad leg.

“I know,” answered Jarrett. “We’ll leave the packs and everything here. Take only your weapons. Earon will watch the camp.”

The men dispersed, hunkering down beneath the trees, prepared to wait for nightfall.

*    *    *

Dolan ducked under the lean-to and snapped to attention. Kalas paused in the midst of his pacing and turned to face him. “The scouts have returned. The gates of the city are closed and the reports are right. There’s a huge refugee camp before the wall.”

“Should we send a delegation asking for admittance?”

“To what purpose, Your Majesty? All accounts suggest Rarick’s preparing for war.”

“Then are you suggesting we force our way inside?”

Dolan sighed. “I’m not sure what to suggest. How far are you willing to go to enter the city?”

Kalas’ expression hardened. “I didn’t come to be stopped by a gate, Dolan. If Rarick wants war, I’d rather it be fought here, than at home.”

Dolan gave a short nod. “I’ll let the Baron know so he can prepare the men.”

Kalas glanced away. “Am I doing the right thing, Dolan?”

Dolan relaxed his stiff posture. “No monarch knows for certain, Your Majesty, but I’m not sure what else you can do. Rarick isn’t going to allow you to rule Adishian your way. What other choice do you have?”

“I know you’re right, but…”

“But?”

Kalas’ eyes were distant. “He cows me, Dolan. He makes me feel like a child. Whenever I’m in his presence I want to hide.”

Dolan crossed the distance between them. He reached out and grasped the Prince’s arm. He’d never touched Kalas before and Kalas looked up in surprise, his pupils dilating. “You are the King of Adishian now, Kalas. Rarick has no hold over you. All of the men in this camp await your command. Command them well, Your Majesty.”

Kalas straightened his shoulders. He didn’t answer, but the nod he gave said enough.

*    *    *

“Now,” said Earon.

The five men broke cover and ran toward the fold of land. The dog streaked ahead of them. They halted under the shelter of the wall. Jarrett pressed his back to it, his hand flexing on his sword hilt, his other hand curled in the dog’s dense fur. He listened for a cry of alarm from the soldiers above them. Only silence met his ear.

Earon searched along the strange rock outcroppings, feeling around on his hands and knees. Jarrett eyed the rocks. They looked like melted butter, hardened into glassy stone, smooth and polished in the light of the stars.

“Here!” hissed Earon.

Jarrett crossed to his side and peered into the hole. It opened inside a fold of the strange rock, the mouth yawning with darkness. He accepted the torch Kendrick passed to him.

“Don’t light them until you’re inside the tunnel,” warned Earon, pointing at the wall.

Jarrett nodded. He started to move into the opening, but Muzik pulled him back. “Let me go first.” His whistled for the dog, then stooped over and crawled into the opening.

“How far do we have to crawl?” asked Jarrett, pressing a hand to his wounded side. He watched Kian hedge into the entrance after the captain. He obviously wasn’t thrilled about going underground.

“It should open up within a few yards of the entrance. Then it’ll be high enough for you to walk the entire way, unless it’s blocked.” Earon canted a look at the wall. “Or guarded.”

As Kendrick followed Kian into the hole, Earon motioned for Jarrett to step out of earshot. Jarrett followed him a few steps away.

“You understand why I can’t do this?” he asked, rubbing at his scar.

“I understand.”

“I’d do almost anything for Tyla, but this…this is too much. I can’t even run and crawling…”

Jarrett gripped his shoulder. “I understand, Earon. Wait for us here. We’ll find you again. I promise.”

Earon swallowed hard. “When he finds out he can’t use her anymore, he’ll kill her, but if he captures you, he’ll make her do terrible things.”

Jarrett released the runner. “I’ve seen him do that before. I won’t let it happen again.”

Earon nodded. “Take care of yourself, Terrian. You’re a right bastard most of the time, but there’s no one else I’d want at my back in a fight, I can tell you.”

Jarrett forced a smile. “Don’t ride off with my horse, all right?”

“On my honor,” answered Earon with a wink.

Jarrett gave a bark of laughter, then strode back to the hole and knelt down. The wound in his side protested and each crawl forward made him catch his breath. After a few minutes, he saw a flicker of light ahead and eased through a round opening into a much larger tunnel. Both Kendrick and Allistar could stand fully, but he and Muzik would have to duck their heads. He leaned back on the hole and pressed a hand to his side, trying to catch his breath. Kian bounded to him, obviously excited by the bit of freedom they now enjoyed.

Kendrick motioned at his torch. Jarrett lit his own off the one in the Nazarien’s hand. Pushing himself to his feet, he walked to the other end of the tunnel and held it out. The light illuminated the tunnel for a few feet.

“So far so good,” he said, then started walking.

They encountered no obstacles during the duration of their journey under Sarkisian’s walls. Nor did they encounter any soldiers. They traveled for quite some distance, moving stealthily, their weapons ready.

The tunnel ended suddenly at a grate. Once again Muzik pushed Jarrett aside and peered through the grate. Muscles bunching in his back and across his shoulders, he shoved against it. Allistar joined him and they forced the grate open.

“Douse the torches,” whispered Allistar.

“As soon as we climb out, we’re in Sarkisian,” said Muzik with a meaningful look.

Kendrick and Jarrett doused the torches, while the captain and Allistar climbed out. Kendrick hoisted Kian up to the men and then he pulled himself through the grate. Jarrett followed, grimacing in pain as the move pulled at his wound, but Kendrick and Allistar helped him up. He found himself in a dark, dirty alley. A short distance away was a trash bin. They hurried to the bin and hunkered behind it, then peered toward the end of the alley. Suddenly a couple of soldiers marched past on a cross street, going about their patrols, their silhouettes caught in the lantern light on the corner.

“What now?” asked Kendrick.

Jarrett shook his head. “It’s too hard to assess the situation in the dark.” He leaned to the side and looked up at the building on their right. A back door opened onto the alley so that someone could access it to throw away the trash.

He eased beyond the trash bin and tried the doorknob. It was locked from the inside, so he returned to his companions. His wound burned and he felt defeated. Without knowing how often the patrols came, they risked being captured, and that wouldn’t help Tyla at all.

“I guess we wait,” he said wearily. “At least for daylight. I don’t know what else to do, unless we allow ourselves to be caught.”

“Let’s not do that,” said Allistar.

“Then we need to watch the patrols, time how often they pass, and mark if they come from the same side every time.”

“One person can do that, while the rest get some rest,” said Muzik, eyeing Jarrett pointedly. “I’ll take first watch.”

“I’ll take second,” said Kendrick.

Jarrett knew what they were doing, but he was grateful for it just the same. If he was going to face Rarick in a battle, he’d just as soon do it without every limb in his body trembling with fatigue.

CHAPTER 31

A line of Sarkisian Front Guard stood before the enormous gates of the city. Kalas and Dolan slowed their horses. Behind them rode the battalion from Adishian, flanked by the men the Baron had brought from Kazden. Kalas had ordered the archers to ride closest to his back and situated in the midst of them was the Baron himself, where everyone could see and hear him.

The Sarkisian Guardsmen all bristled with weapons, but the senior officer was the only one to step forward and greet them. “No one enters Sarkisian by order of the King.”

“Open the gates,” commanded Kalas. The sun rose above the battlements and bathed his face in light. He could see into the city. A number of people were gathering in the streets, watching the exchange.

“No one enters Sarkisian…” began the captain.

Dolan rose in his stirrups. He held the Adishian standard in his right hand. “Genuflect, you idiot. You are in the presence of the Crown Prince of Sarkisian and the acting King of Adishian.”

The captain’s gaze shifted to Kalas, then he made a mocking bow, followed by the rest of his soldiers. When he straightened, he surveyed the ranks of Kalas’ men. “No one’s allowed inside of Sarkisian.”

Kalas crossed his hands over his saddle horn. “Do you really mean to keep the Crown Prince out of his own city? Is that what Rarick told you to do?”

The captain’s eyes snapped back to Kalas’ face.

“Be sure those were your orders. We’re going through even if we have to take the gates down, but I’d hate to let all of these refugees in if it’s not necessary.” He leaned forward in his saddle, the leather creaking. “Did Rarick really tell you to keep me out?”

The captain considered his words for a moment, his expression pained, then he looked away. “Open the gates and let the Prince inside.”

Kalas straightened and shared a brief look with Dolan.

“I fear getting into the castle may prove more difficult,” offered the Nazarien.

“I fear you may be right.” Kalas turned in his saddle. “Baron, please prepare the men for combat.”

“Done,” came the Baron’s immediate response.

*    *    *

Muzik’s snore rumbled in the alley. He slumped behind the garbage bin, his chin resting on his chest. Dawn was just peeking over the rooftops, illuminating the streets, but the patrols of soldiers had only increased. Still, they didn’t seem to hear the giant captain’s snores through the cacophony of their march.

Jarrett kept watch, Kian asleep at his feet.

Kendrick passed him a waterskin. “No change?”

“If anything, there are more of them.”

“Do you have any idea how we’ll get into the castle?”

Jarrett shook his head, taking a drink. To his right sat Allistar, polishing his sword. “Any more visions?” the Stravad asked.

“None.”

“I wish we knew if she was all right,” Allistar replied.

Jarrett turned back to his watch. “So do I.”

Motion caught his attention. Soldiers had begun to race toward the main street, drawing their weapons. Jarrett rose to his feet and eased down the alley, until he could peer out the opening. Kendrick sidled up beside him.

The soldiers had fallen into a loose formation, blocking the road. Jarrett squinted, trying to make out what had them so alarmed, but it was difficult to tell from this angle.

“What’s going on?” asked Kendrick.

“Not sure.”

A moment later, Allistar and Muzik joined them, Muzik rubbing sleep from his eyes. “What is it?” he asked.

Jarrett stepped out of the alley. A few soldiers looked over at him, but they didn’t break formation. A larger force was riding up the street from the direction of the front gates. There had to be three squadron of men, all heavily armed. At the front of the assembly flapped the standard of Adishian, moving steadily toward the castle.

“Kalas,” said Jarrett and he started shoving his way through the crowd of on-lookers. Kalas appeared to be moving toward Stronghold, rising in the distance.

Jarrett quickened his pace, trying to cut the Prince off at the castle gates. He was only half aware that his companions were behind him.

Once at the gate, he hesitated, finding soldiers blocking the road. Kalas and his battalion rode right to the barricade, pulling their mounts to a halt. The gates were closed and a regiment of Front Guard filled the parade grounds, waiting for them.

“Open the gates,” shouted the Prince of Sarkisian.

Jarrett couldn’t believe the change in this man. He appeared confident and focused, not at all like the confused waif he’d been just a few months before.

“No one’s allowed inside the castle,” came the response.

Kalas turned to the man next to him, exchanging a number of words. While he was occupied, Jarrett forced his way through the soldiers.

“Kalas!” he shouted.

“Jarrett, be careful,” Kendrick warned, but Jarrett didn’t heed him. He shoved through the last of soldiers and came abreast of the Prince.

Kalas stared down at him. “Jarrett?” He marked Jarrett’s other companions. “What are you doing here? Where’s my sister?”

Jarrett pointed to the tower rising above them, its black sides glinting in the sunlight. “In the tower. Rarick has her.”

Kalas frowned in confusion, then he looked up at the tower. “How?”

“It doesn’t matter. Get us inside these gate, Kalas. Now.”

Kalas’ gaze dropped to the guardsmen. “Open the gates.” As he spoke, he lifted his hand. Behind him rose row after row of archers, standing in their stirrups, their arrows aimed at a point beyond the gates. “Open the gates or die.”

A murmur went through the Sarkisian soldiers. Beyond the gates, one detached himself and came forward. He bowed low before the Prince. “Hail, Prince of Sarkisian,” he said, then lifted the bar holding the gates closed. Motioning to another soldier, the two of them pulled the gates open.

Kalas didn’t waste any time. He kneed his mount forward and rode into the inner bailey of Stronghold Castle.

*    *    *

Inara helped Tyla cross the tower. Her legs trembled and her head throbbed. She hadn’t been able to keep down any water for the last day, let alone any food. She could feel the potion moving through her body, making her heart pound faster. She tried to block it, but it was winning.

Rarick stood before the broken window, staring down. His mouth worked, but no words came out. When she was close enough, he grabbed her arm and yanked her up beside him. She noted a few soldiers standing around the room. They were also looking at a spot directly below the tower wall, their expressions alarmed.

“Look!” Rarick said, pointing at the gate.

Tyla squinted in the bright sun and looked down. She could see a large force on horseback collecting in the street. In the midst of the battalion waved the standard of Adishian. She felt her heart beat faster and a cold sweat peppered her skin. A wave of nausea swam through her.

“They’ve come to usurp my throne. I want them dead.” His grip tightened. “Do you hear me? I want them dead.”

Tyla looked up at him. As she did so, her eyes chanced to mark the emerald where it lay on the floor. The talisman no longer glowed. It looked no more important than a bit of green glass.

Oh, what a mistake she’d made.

“You damn fool,” she said tiredly. “Don’t you know who’s at the gate?”

“Men who want my throne.”

She gripped the window frame to hold herself upright. Her legs wanted to fold. The nausea was becoming hard to ignore. “You don’t see the standard? That’s Adishian down there. Kalas? Your Crown Prince?”

Rarick’s head lifted and his mouth opened. Again, he spoke words without sound. Finally he moaned, “He wants my throne. He’s come for my throne.”

As Tyla looked out the window, one of the commanders dropped to his knee before her brother, then rose and began opening the gates.

Rarick shook her. “Kill him! Do you hear me, stop him from coming!”

Tyla gazed up at him, the weight of her hair falling down her back. “I can’t. Your potion made certain that I can’t summon my power. There’s no one to save you now, Rarick.”

His pupils dilated and he looked down frantically. Kalas and his army of soldiers spilled through the open gates of the castle and into the bailey. Around them, the Guardsmen simply stood and watched, doing nothing to hinder their progress.

Rarick was breathing rapidly, his nails digging into Tyla’s arm. He wrenched her away from the window, shoving Inara when she tried to stop him. The nurse fell, but Rarick didn’t hesitate.

He dragged Tyla to the middle of the room. They could hear shouts coming from the lower floor. Jerking Tyla forward, he stumbled to one of his soldiers. The man reared away from him, but Rarick grabbed for his sword instead, wrenching it from its sheath. Then he yanked Tyla in front of him and pressed the tip of the sword to her side.

“When he tops the stairs, kill him!” he commanded his soldiers.

They exchanged looks and backed away. They obviously weren’t ready to meet the force that Kalas brought with him.

*    *    *

Kalas and his men rode to the stairs leading to the interior of Stronghold. Swinging his leg over the horse’s back, he dropped to the ground.

Jarrett was suddenly beside him.

“Baron,” Kalas called, starting up the stairs. “See that no one from Sarkisian enters this castle.”

“Done,” said the Baron, moving his own mount into position.

Kalas drew his sword and continued climbing. Dolan positioned himself on his right side and Jarrett to his left. Behind them came Muzik and Kendrick. Another Stravad followed with the dog, but Kalas didn’t recognize him.

He hoped this small group would be enough. The thought of Tyla under Rarick’s control chilled him. He couldn’t understand how it could have happened, but he knew nothing good would come of it.

A single soldier manned the castle entrance, but Jarrett shoved him aside and threw open the double doors. The interior of Stronghold was dark, especially after the brightness of the early morning sun.

Both Dolan and Jarrett shoved Kalas back as they entered. He didn’t hesitate to follow, but once over the threshold, he halted. The darkness and cold made him shiver. Gods, he hated this castle.

“You are not welcome here,” came Marlas’ voice from the shadows.

Oh, how he hated that voice!

Shoving between his protectors, Kalas grabbed Marlas by the throat and threw him into the wall. Various jars and vases on the table beside the door rattled with the impact. Marlas’ fingers curled around Kalas’ wrist, trying to pull him off.

“Where’s my sister?” Kalas snarled, tightening his grip.

Marlas whimpered, trying to shake his head.

Kalas eased his grip just enough for him to speak. “Answer me!”

“She’s not here.”

Kalas slammed him back into the wall and released him. He turned and surveyed the entrance hall. Jarrett had said she was in the tower. How he knew, he wasn’t sure, but it seemed the most likely possibility.

“Now what?” asked Dolan.

Kalas looked down the hallway that led to the tower. There was no way to know how many men Rarick had stationed along the way or within the tower itself, and fighting on those stairs could be treacherous.

“We go up,” he said.

He’d just taken a step forward when Jarrett threw his weight into him, nearly knocking him over. Kalas twisted as he fell and Dolan caught his arm, keeping him on his feet.

He blinked in shock. Jarrett had impaled Marlas on his blade, the chamberlain’s body slumped against the entrance wall. An iron statue dropped from Marlas’ hand and clattered on the tiles. His eyes were wide and beginning to glaze over as the Terrian leaned on the blade.

“She told you to run,” he said in a voice that vibrated with strain. Wrenching the sword free, he allowed the chamberlain to sink to the ground, then he turned and met Kalas’ startled gaze.

Kalas’ attention shifted to the statue. “Thank you.” He exhaled a shivery pant.

Jarrett’s jaw clenched. “Let’s go.”

Kalas nodded, but his gaze was drawn back to the chamberlain. Marlas’ expression seemed so shocked, so unprepared.

“Kalas!” urged the Terrian.

Dolan clasped his shoulder, easing him around. Kalas tried to pull his thoughts about him as he mechanically moved forward. How many times had he seen death strike that suddenly? Lex Prestar. Marlas. He lifted a hand and rubbed at his eyes, shaking away the shock.

Quickening his pace, he led them to the tower door. Wrenching it open, he began running, taking the stairs two at a time. He could hear the others behind him and could feel Jarrett’s presence looming at his back. If the circular stairway wasn’t so narrow, he knew the Terrian would have overtaken him.

They topped the staircase and skidded to a halt at the entrance of the old school room. Kalas had only a moment to take in the scene. A number of soldiers stood around the periphery of the room, but they didn’t move to attack.

Rarick held Tyla in front of him, a sword pressed against her side. “Don’t come any farther.”

Kalas threw out his arm, knocking Jarrett in the chest and bringing him to a halt. “All right. We won’t. Let her go.”

“You came for my throne.”

Kalas shook his head. “No, I don’t want your throne. I just want my sister.”

“You came for my throne. After all I’ve done for you, after everything I’ve sacrificed, you want it all.”

Kalas searched the room. He could see Inara huddled on the floor, watching him with enormous eyes. He turned his hands out, palms up, holding the sword hilt in a motion of surrender. “I didn’t come for your throne. I came for my mother. She sent for me. I just want to see her.”

Rarick’s face contorted and he pressed the sword into Tyla’s side. She gasped and her back arched. Jarrett surged forward, but Kalas knocked him back. “Please, that’s all I want. I just want to see my mother.”

“Betraying bitch,” Rarick hissed. “She’s dead.”

Kalas felt a catch in his chest. He hadn’t expected that. No matter what he’d thought of her, he’d never expected he wouldn’t have a chance to say goodbye.

He lowered the sword until the tip touched the stone of the tower floor. He couldn’t pull in his thoughts. He couldn’t make sense of what was happening. He felt Tyla’s eyes on him and he met her gaze. Tears slipped down her cheeks.

“Let her go, Rarick,” he said, “please.”

Rarick’s brow lowered. “Rarick? Rarick?” His voice rose. “You would dare to show such disrespect.”

Kalas realized his mistake immediately. “No, listen.”

“Rarick?” He pressed the sword into Tyla and she gave an involuntary cry of pain. A red spot blossomed around the sword’s tip.

“Stop!” Kalas shouted, taking a step forward.

Rarick wrenched her head back, making him stumble to a halt. “Surrender. Drop your sword.”

Kalas nodded. “Let her go first. Let her go and I’ll surrender.”

“No. No, I can’t trust you. I’ve never been able to trust you. Both of you betrayed me, both of you plotted and schemed behind my back.”

“No, we didn’t. We didn’t scheme.” Kalas felt panic edge into his voice.

The look in Rarick’s eyes was chilling – wild and feral, insane. He would never let Tyla go.

As the thought flashed into his mind, he knew Tyla caught it. Her gaze fixed on him for a moment, a shared moment of complete comprehension. They both knew Rarick would never let them live. Not now.

Her gaze shifted from Kalas to Jarrett and she gave him a sad, resigned smile.

“Tyla, don’t!” said the Terrian, but Tyla lifted her chin and her eyes narrowed.

Then she slammed her elbow into Rarick’s stomach.

Rarick doubled over, releasing her, and she fell, rolling into a sitting position.

Lifting the sword, Rarick grasped the hilt with both hands and brought it over her, ramming it downward.

“NO!”

The shout tore from Kalas’ throat. He felt a force rise up inside of him and lash out. At the same moment, a flash of green light ricochet around the tower room, smashing windows, sending bodies to the floor. A percussion of energy slammed into Rarick, lifted him off his feet, and caromed him backward. He smashed into the tower wall and hung there, suspended by energy, then slowly he slid down to crumple on the floor.

Kalas stepped between him and Tyla, his sword extended as he crossed the room. He came to a halt before the Sarkisian King, the tip of his blade aimed at the hollow of Rarick’s throat. Around him, green light eddied and surged, lighting his face with its glow.

Rarick lolled his head against the wall, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. It ran down the side of his throat and he gave a gurgling chuckle. “I knew it was in you. I knew it was there.”

Kalas stared down at the man who had tortured him all his life. The man who had made him beg and plead. The man who had robbed him of his father. His family. His life.

Rarick narrowed his eyes, flexing his hands in his lap. “I knew you had your father’s power.”

Kalas swallowed hard and the sword wavered.

Rarick’s eyes focused on it.

“You draw your weapon on me?” he demanded. “How dare you! After all I’ve done for you, you come here, trying to take my throne.”

Kalas wanted to answer. He wanted to shout that he’d never wanted anything from Rarick. Nothing, ever. Except peace. Except to be left alone. But the words wouldn’t come.

Rarick’s expression hardened. “Do you plan to kill me? Is that it? You think you can? You think you have it in you? Go on then. Do it. Kill me.”

Kalas’ hand trembled, but he didn’t lower the sword.

Rarick smiled again. “Help me up and we’ll rule Sarkisian together. Help me and it’ll be like it was before.”

The green light heaved and pulsed. Kalas gripped the sword harder, trying to hold it steady, but his body shook uncontrollably. Gritting his teeth, he tried to regain control, tried to banish the memories that assailed him, but they came, surging with the green light, assaulting him with their intensity.

Then he felt a touch in the center of his back, and small fingers curled around his hand where it held the sword. “It’s all right, Kalas,” said Tyla at his side. “You can let go. It’s over.”

Kalas shuddered, but he didn’t release the sword.

Tyla slid her hand over his, pressing his fingers. “Let it go. It’s over. He can’t hurt us anymore. It’s all right now.”

Kalas swallowed again, but slowly he relaxed his hold, letting her curl her own hand around the hilt. The sword lowered, the tip touching the stone of the tower floor.

Rarick chuckled again. “I knew you couldn’t do it. I knew you didn’t have it in you.”

Before Kalas could react, Tyla tightened her grip, drew her arm back, and stabbed forward. The sword rammed through the middle of Rarick, impaling him to the wall behind him. He gasped and his hands lifted, grabbing the blade and trying to wrench it free. Tyla leaned into the hilt, driving the sword deeper into his body.

Then she brought her face close to his and stared into his bulging eyes. “But I do,” she whispered.

EPILOGUE

Jarrett removed the rag from Tyla’s forehead and rinsed it in cold water, then replaced it. At her throat, the emerald flared briefly, then dulled. He picked up her hand. The heat of her flesh startled him and he fought a wave of panic. She hadn’t responded to his voice in more than a day.

Around him rose the fabric walls of the pavilion. He’d insisted she be moved from Stronghold. He couldn’t stand the thought of her in that place. Beyond the pavilion, Farad had ordered the Temerian camp be pitched beside the soldiers from Adishian. And beyond the military camp, the gates of Sarkisian were now open, allowing commerce to flow freely.

Kalas sat on the other side of her bed, but he and Jarrett alternated with Tash, when the older man allowed himself to sit. For the most part, Tash paced…paced and shouted for someone to do something.

They were trying. The healers from Temeron had given her every potion they could concoct and doctors from Sarkisian were brought in, but the poison raged unchecked. Her breathing was ragged and her cheeks were flushed with fever.

Standing or sitting around the perimeter of the pavilion were so many people, Jarrett couldn’t even keep track of the count. Muzik huddled to his left with Kian’s head in his lap. Inara held vigil behind Kalas. Even Earon floated in and out, watching Tyla anxiously. Kalas, himself, looked half sick. Dark circles bruised the flesh beneath his eyes and stubble covered his chin.

“You’ve got to do something, Farad,” said Tash.

“I don’t know what else to do, Tash. We’ve tried everything.” The misery in his voice was evident.

Jarrett pressed Tyla’s hand to his brow and closed his eyes. He wanted to rail, he wanted to scream, but he was helpless.

“How did you survive?” asked Tash.

Jarrett shook his head. “I don’t know. Tyla…” His voice trailed away. No words could make this better. Come back to me, he thought.

Exhaustion pressed at him, but he fought it. Laying his head against her arm, he closed his eyes. Just for a moment. Just a moment.

“Jarrett?” Someone touched his shoulder.

He jerked upright, sucking in a startled breath. Nothing had changed in the pavilion. Tyla still slept and the others stood around, ineffective and grieving. He shifted in his chair.

Kendrick stood behind him. “I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

Jarrett rubbed the last of sleep from his eyes. Nodding, he rose and bent over, kissing Tyla’s cheek. Her flesh blazed beneath his lips.

He leaned close to her ear. “I love you,” he whispered, then released her hand and followed the Nazarien from the pavilion.

Stepping outside, he was surprised to find it was dusk, the sun lowering beyond the walls of Sarkisian, fires flickering in the military encampments. Kendrick motioned to a fold of volcanic rock that had flattened into a plateau. A few stunted trees covered the plateau and a lean-to had been erected in the middle of it. Standing before the lean-to was a man in silhouette.

“The Nazarien have arrived,” said Kendrick. “That’s the Nazar’s shelter.”

Jarrett didn’t respond.

“I went to see him, but he refused me. His guard wouldn’t even let me get within a pace of him.”

Jarrett frowned, not sure where Kendrick was going with this. He wanted to go back inside with Tyla.

“Jarrett, no one knows more about the Orahim poisons than the Nazarien. They’ve studied them for years. If there is an antidote, the Nazar knows of it.”

Jarrett’s head lifted. “But he wouldn’t see you?”

“That’s right. He wouldn’t let me get close. But…”

“But?”

“His guards said he’d see you.”

Jarrett clenched his jaw. He had no desire to see this man, but if there was even a slight possibility he had an antidote…

He started walking.

Kendrick caught his shoulder as he passed and turned him around. “Be careful, Jarrett.”

Jarrett arched a brow.

“He’s crafty, cunning. A man doesn’t become Nazar without knowing how to manipulate people.”

“I’ll be careful. Will you sit with Tyla for me? Come get me if anything changes, and don’t let any guards keep you away.”

“I will,” said the Nazarien, releasing him, “but remember what I said. Watch out for him.”

Jarrett offered Kendrick a nod, then turned away. As he climbed the plateau to the Nazar’s camp, he caught a glimpse of the guards, slinking just at the edge of sight, peering around the trees. The Nazar met him at the rim of the plateau, his blue eyes scanning Jarrett intently.

Jarrett came to a halt and surveyed the man in return. There was no denying his paternity. Even he could see their similarities. They were nearly the same height and build, the same darkness of hair. Their eyes were the same shade of blue.

“You’re favoring your side. Were you injured?” asked the Nazar.

Jarrett cocked his head in surprise. That hadn’t been what he’d expected him to say, but he had no intention of playing social games with this man. “Kendrick said you might have an antidote to the Orahim poison. Is that true?”

The Nazar motioned toward his lean-to. “Would you like a drink? You look exhausted.”

Jarrett followed him a few paces. “I want answers. Do you have an antidote?”

The Nazar turned and surveyed him yet again. “I do.”

“Then give it to me.”

Drawing a deep breath, the Nazar leaned against the table placed in the center of his shelter. “I appreciate directness. I would expect nothing less from a man of action.”

“I’m not here to banter. If you have the antidote, I want it.”

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”

“How so?”

The Nazar crossed his arms over his chest. “I didn’t become Nazar because I gave things away, Jarrett. Nothing in life is free. Neither is this.”

“What the hell are you talking about? My wife’s in that pavilion dying. Talar Eldralin’s daughter is dying, and you have the cure. Why did I even have to come up here?”

“Tyla’s plight is most unfortunate, but an opportunity should never be ignored.”

“What? What opportunity?”

The Nazar studied him. Jarrett found it unnerving, as if he were looking into a mirror at an older version of himself, but he refused to fidget. “I propose an exchange.”

“Exchange? What sort of exchange can you want? We’re talking about her life.”

“Then I think you’d be more than willing to listen.”

Jarrett forced himself to draw a deep breath. He opened and closed his hands. Kendrick was right. Getting furious and desperate was not going to sway this man. “That’s all you want? You want me to listen to you?”

“For now.”

“I don’t have time for this. My wife’s dying.” He couldn’t keep the tremor from his voice.

“I know that. This shouldn’t take long, but I ask you to indulge me…” His voice trailed off and he studied Jarrett some more, as if he were an interesting specimen in a laboratory. “It isn’t often that a Nazarien gets to have such a meeting with his son.”

Jarrett straightened his shoulders, but he gave nothing else away.

“You don’t seem surprised?”

Jarrett didn’t respond. He was too tired to care anymore.

“I’ll admit I had envisioned it a different way, but I’ve never been a man to look askance at an opportunity.” The Nazar held out his hands. “Come on, Jarrett. There must be at least one question you have for me.”

Jarrett drew another cleansing breath. “Only one. Why?”

“Why?”

“Why would you father a child on a human woman when you had any number of Nazarien women at your command?”

Tomlin Trauner nodded. “It’s a good question and the answer is simple. She belonged to me.”

Jarrett frowned. “What?”

“We grew up together, your mother and I. I knew very early on that I would have a child with her. I picked her myself. However, when we came of age and were scheduled for our first Procreation Ceremony, her mother panicked and disappeared with her.” The Nazar shrugged. “It was years later when I found out she’d followed Talar Eldralin to Terra Antiguo.”

Jarrett shook his head in confusion. “Wait a minute. You followed her to Terra Antiguo? A human woman? Did you love her?”

Tomlin cocked his head. “Love? Nazarien don’t love, Jarrett, no matter what you’ve been told. No, I didn’t love her, but I wanted her blood-line. I wanted a child by her, a son.”

“You wanted a half-Human son?”

Tomlin pushed away from the table. “Ah, I see your confusion. No, your mother’s only half-Human herself, but the other half…the other half is pure Nazarien, pure Nazar. That is the part of her I wanted.”

“Nazar?”

“She’s Andoloshian’s only surviving child. Do you realize the blood that flows in your veins?”

“So you followed her to Terra Antiguo?”

“I did, but by then she was already married to Murata and had given him a couple of pale, pasty off-spring. Still it didn’t take much to seduce her away. Murata was a drunken, abusive bastard…”

Jarrett took a menacing step forward. He hadn’t meant to give anything away, but he couldn’t help himself.

Tomlin’s eyes flashed to his face. “I’m sorry. Poor choice of words.”

“Poor choice…” Jarrett’s voice failed him. He gave a bark of laughter. “Poor choice of words? Do you know what he did to me? He almost killed me…numerous times.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. You stand here and tell me you knew he was abusive, but you had an affair with her and left me there to suffer for it. You left me there…”

Tomlin moved a step closer to him. “Not once I knew. Not once I had the evidence.”

“Every day was torture. He’d stand me in front of him and he’d punch me in the face, and if I didn’t take it, if I cried or whimpered or fell down, he’d do it again and again. You left me to that.”

“I didn’t.”

“Stop saying that!”

“But it’s true.” The Nazar grabbed Jarrett’s shoulders. Jarrett threw up his arms to break his hold, but he was too strong. “Think, Jarrett, think. Who do you think sent Lawyan to you? Who do you think told him what was going on?”

Jarrett went still. “What?”

“As soon as I knew, I went to him and begged him to intervene. I knew he’d bring you into his house, raise you as his son.”

Jarrett knocked the Nazar’s hands away. He took a step back. His mind couldn’t process what he was hearing.

“They wanted you to become a scholar, like Shad. Who do you think suggested to Shandar that you train at weapons? I told Shandar you needed to protect yourself, especially after what you’d already suffered. I was the one who orchestrated that.” He let his hands fall against his thighs. “I orchestrated everything. Who do you think sent you after Tyla Eldralin? I knew you needed to be tested, but Lawyan wanted to protect you. He didn’t want to chance you getting hurt, even for his own niece, but I encouraged it, I demanded it. Everything you are was orchestrated by me.”

Jarrett turned away. He looked out over the camps. The soldiers were shadows now, backlit by their fires. The only light on the plateau came from the lamp on the Nazar’s table. Lifting a hand, he rubbed his eyes. He needed to get back to Tyla.

“All right. I’ve heard your story. Now give me the antidote.”

Tomlin didn’t answer for a moment.

Jarrett looked over his shoulder at him.

“It’s not that simple, Jarrett.”

“Why? What more is there?” He faced him again.

“You didn’t ask why I left you in Terra Antiguo. Why I didn’t bring you to Chernow.”

“I don’t care.”

“But I do. This is where you must attend me, Jarrett. This is where it all has meaning.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve dedicated my entire life to the Nazarien. You spoke of love earlier. Well, this is all that gives my life meaning. This is the closest I’ve ever come to love.”

“The Nazarien?”

Tomlin nodded. “But I’m not a foolish man. I see our weaknesses. We’re dying, Jarrett. Our Procreation Ceremonies have made it too difficult for us to reproduce, too prescribed. We can’t replenish our numbers fast enough.” He returned to his table and reached for a silver decanter. He poured a few fingers into the bottom of a glass and lifted it. His hand shook as he drank. Leaning against the table again, he regarded Jarrett. “I didn’t approve Nazarien marriages because I was honoring Talar Eldralin. I thought his weakness for his wife was that and nothing more. I approved those marriages because I was hoping that married couples would reproduce quicker, more prolifically, but too many of our comrades are afraid of taking such a vow. The very discipline and dedication we prize has become our noose. We are strangling under it.” He motioned at Jarrett with his glass. “You’ve seen this yourself. You see how rigid and shallow Kendrick is.”

For some reason, his assessment angered Jarrett. Kendrick was far more of a man than the one before him. “What does this have to do with Tyla?”

“It doesn’t. It has to do with you.” He settled the glass on the table and moved toward Jarrett again. “I left you in Terra Antiguo because I knew they could give you what I couldn’t. They could give you training and an education and confidence. I am well pleased with what you’ve become.”

Jarrett narrowed his eyes, but he didn’t respond.

“Now, it’s my turn.”

“What?”

Tomlin tilted his head up. His eyes were but slits of blue in the darkness. “I want you to return to Chernow with me and become Nazar.”

Jarrett reared away from him. “You’re insane.”

“Not a bit.”

“I’m not Nazarien.”

“You are…in blood. More Nazarien...more Nazar than most.”

Jarrett shook his head. “This is crazy. I can’t be Nazar. As soon as Tyla’s well, she’ll want to return to Temeron. She isn’t going to want to live in Chernow.”

“You’re right. Tyla can’t come to Chernow. Only you.”

“I’m not living away from my wife.”

“An unfortunate development.”

Jarrett closed his eyes. Pressing a hand to his temple, he shook his head. “Hold on a moment. Are you saying you won’t give me the antidote unless I agree to this?”

“I’m most definitely saying that I won’t give you the antidote unless you agree. Furthermore, I’m saying that Tyla Eldralin must never know why you’ve left, only that you have, only that you’ve chosen to become Nazar over her.”

Jarrett’s lip lifted in a snarl. “Go to hell,” he said and turned away. He began walking back toward the pavilion.

“You’ll really let her die?”

Jarrett halted. Slowly, he pivoted and stared up at the Nazar. “No, because I know you can’t let Talar Eldralin’s daughter die. I’m calling your bluff, Trauner. It’s over.”

With grave dignity, Tomlin Trauner closed the distance between him and his son. “This is no bluff, Jarrett. I am in earnest. I must secure the Nazarien at any cost. Any cost. You see, I’m dying. I have cancer and I have no idea how much longer I’ll live, but there is nothing that will stop me from getting what I know I must. My agreement stands. You leave here with me and never see Tyla Eldralin again. She is never to know why you left and should she be told, let me make it very clear that she will pay the ultimate price for such knowledge. I am not a man to trifle with, and I will not trifle here.”

Jarrett felt his control snap. “She’s Talar Eldralin’s daughter!” he shouted.

Tomlin nodded gravely. “Exactly. Do not forget who we are, Jarrett. We are Nazarien. When all is said and done, she is Talar’s daughter. She is, after all, a woman.”

*    *    *

Kendrick looked up as Jarrett ducked under the pavilion flap and slumped into the seat beside Tyla. He didn’t speak, didn’t meet anyone’s gaze, just sat, his expression shuttered. Kendrick exchanged a look with Kalas, then leaned forward.

He started to ask him what had happened, but the flap lifted a second time. Tomlin Trauner strode into the pavilion, followed by four Nazarien. Farad rose immediately and met them.

“Nazar?”

He took Farad’s offered hand, then glanced round the room. He studied Kalas a moment before turning back to the Stravad Leader. “Stravad Leader, Haldane.” He ducked his head at each of them, then made a longer bow toward Kalas. His guards did the same. “Your Majesty.”

Kalas nodded at them in bewilderment.

The Nazar focused his attention on Farad. “I understand Talar’s daughter was poisoned.”

“Yes, she was.”

“I believe I can help.” He motioned to one of the guards. The man stepped forward and presented a narrow box to the Stravad Leader. “We have an antidote.”

Farad accepted the box. “An antidote?”

The Nazar nodded.

Farad opened the box and lifted out a vial. “Are you sure?”

“Quite. The Nazarien have studied the Orahim for years. As inventive as the Orahim are, each one of their potions utilize the exact same poisonous ingredient. Once we learned how to neutralize that ingredient, we were able to reverse the other deadly effects.”

Farad handed the vial to the closest healer. “I don’t know what to say.”

“How long will it take to work?” demanded Tash.

“She should be well enough to travel in a week or so, but you should see an improvement within hours.”

Farad reached for the Nazar’s hand and pumped it. “The Temerian Stravad are indebted to you,” he said. “Whatever you ask, we will grant it.”

“Truly, we are only doing our duty. You owe us nothing. After all, she is Talar Eldralin’s daughter.”

Jarrett flinched, drawing Kendrick’s attention, then he closed his eyes.

*    *    *

A loud thump brought Kalas awake. He jerked forward in his chair and looked around. Daylight had come. It filtered through the tent fabric, liming everyone in its glow. Jarrett also sat up, blinking in confusion, then his gaze cleared and he slid forward in his chair, reaching out to press the back of his hand against Tyla’s cheek.

Kalas rose and leaned over his sister. The flush in her cheeks was gone and her breathing was steady. She seemed to be sleeping naturally. He touched her temple and found it cool. Breathing a sigh of relief, he pressed a kiss against her forehead.

The flap separated and sunlight streamed through the opening, landing on the bed and bathing Tyla in its glow. Her head moved on the pillow to escape it, the first sign of awareness she’d shown in days.

The Nazar loomed in the opening, then stepped inside and let the flap fall closed. Kalas studied him. There was something about the man that set him on edge, but he couldn’t place why.

Although he had his back to the opening, Jarrett hunched his shoulders at the Nazar’s entrance and his hand tightened on Tyla’s.

“Your Majesty,” the Nazar said, ducking his head in a stiff, unnatural movement. “The Nazarien take their leave of you.”

Kalas gave him a nod, but he didn’t know what the man expected him to say. He had no jurisdiction over the Nazarien.

“Should you ever wish to train…” Tomlin began, “we would welcome you in Chernow.”

“Thank you.”

Then, in a very odd gesture, the Nazar dropped his hand on Jarrett’s shoulder. Kalas’ frown deepened as Jarrett lowered his head and closed his eyes. He started to ask him what was going on, but Dolan suddenly appeared in the pavilion’s entrance.

“Your Majesty, the Baron requests an audience with you. It’s very important.”

Kalas motioned Inara into his unoccupied chair, then moved around the bed, following Dolan out of the pavilion. He sensed the others rising and following him, but he wasn’t sure why.

As he stepped out, his gaze came to rest on the Baron, standing before the pavilion with his sword lying across the palms of his hands. Behind him were rows and rows of both Adishian and Sarkisian soldiers, interspersed with Lawry fighters.

Kalas halted and looked at Dolan. Dolan took his position at his right side, snapping to attention, but his expression was blank. Looking to his left, Kalas noted that Jarrett and the Nazar were standing a short distance away. Jarrett gave Kalas a puzzled look, but nothing more.

“Your Majesty,” said the Baron, his voice ringing over the assembled men. “I ask for permission to speak freely.”

“Granted,” said Kalas.

“You haven’t had time for a formal coronation, but by virtue of recent events, I felt it was important to declare the following. I, Parish Brazelton, pledge my fealty to you as King of both Adishian and Sarkisian. From this day forward, I will follow you wherever you lead.” Moving forward, he laid his sword at Kalas’ feet.

Kalas’ eyes widened.

As he rose again, the ranks of men behind him drew their own swords. Kalas stared in awe as man after man placed their blades on the ground, then rose to attention once more. Suddenly, Jarrett pulled forth his blade and stepped forward, laying his own sword across the Baron’s. Muzik and Kendrick followed him. Even the blond man with the facial scar named Earon came forward. He bent over and placed a wooden cane at Kalas’ feet. When Kalas gave him a quizzical look, he shrugged.

“I don’t have a sword,” he explained and limped back into line.

Finally, Dolan drew his blade and placed it before Kalas. Kalas watched the Nazarien in astonishment. Then before he could say anything, the Baron went down on one knee, bowing his head. In a rippling motion, the rest of the men did the same, kneeling before their King.

For a moment, Kalas couldn’t move. He stared around at the bowed heads, the kneeling men, and his heart pounded in his ears. Then shaking off his stupor, he moved forward and reached for the Baron’s arm, pulling him to his feet.

“I accept your pledge,” he said, swallowing against the lump in his throat.

The Baron smiled and the men cheered. Once the cacophony died down, the Baron bowed again. “By your leave, Your Majesty,” he said.

“Of course,” answered Kalas.

The Baron bent and picked up his sword, then turned away, striding toward the ranks of soldiers.

“Baron?” Kalas called quickly.

The Baron hesitated and turned back around.

“Parish,” Kalas amended. He started to speak, then looked away. Drawing a deep breath, he met the Baron’s questioning gaze. “I would like to know about my father,” he said.

*    *    *

Closing the distance between them, the Nazar went toe to toe with Jarrett, glaring at him. “A Nazar never pledges fealty to anyone.”

Jarrett didn’t back away. “I’m not Nazar.”

“You will be. Do not forget our bargain. You have an hour to pack your things and say your goodbyes, but make sure you remember the terms of our agreement. She must not know why you’ve left.”

“I want to stay until she is fully conscious.”

The Nazar narrowed his eyes. “Do not mistake my actions for charity, Jarrett. We leave within the hour. If you falter, her life is forfeit.”

Jarrett clenched his jaw. He wanted to fight back, but there was nothing in Tomlin’s demeanor that suggested this might be a bluff. A tremor shook him, but he stood his ground. Finally, Tomlin turned away.

Jarrett returned to the pavilion. Inara was the only one inside. The others were celebrating Kalas’ impromptu coronation. He didn’t spare the nurse a glance, but went to the bed and sank down beside his wife.

He couldn’t stop shaking. Leaning over her, he gently laid his head against her breast and listened to her heart beat. Curling his arms around her, he held her, trying to absorb the feel of her. Finally, he permitted himself one last look.

Her eyelashes made shadows against her cheekbones and her lips were parted. He pressed his own to them, lingering, then he buried his face in her hair. He could feel the pulsation of the emerald against his chest as he held her.

Closing his eyes tightly, he fought off the wave of panic rising inside of him. He tried to think of a way out of this predicament, but his mind wouldn’t focus. As he drew away from her, she shifted, her brow furrowing. He let a strand of hair pass through his fingers, then he forced himself to rise.

Turning his back on her nearly crippled him, but he walked to the opening and stepped outside. His heart pounded violently and he couldn’t catch his breath, but he forced himself to keep moving.

“Jarrett!”

He stumbled to a halt, closing his eyes and catching the sob that rose inside of him.

“What the hell is going on?” demanded Kendrick at his back.

Clenching his fists, he turned. He tried to speak, but he couldn’t formulate the words.

Kendrick closed the distance between them. “What did he make you promise?”

Jarrett shook his head.

“Jarrett, what did he make you do?”

Jarrett exhaled. He couldn’t bear this alone. “I have to go to Chernow with him.”

“What?”

“I have to go to Chernow and train as a Nazarien…train to become the Nazar.”

“What about Tyla?”

Jarrett looked away.

“He can’t do this. He has no right. We’ll ruin him. We’ll tell Farad, the Lord of Loden. Kalas will intervene!”

Jarrett moved forward suddenly and grabbed Kendrick’s arm. “She can’t know. No one can. Do you understand? This you must guard with your life.”

“Why?”

Jarrett couldn’t make himself explain. He couldn’t pull everything together. Not yet.

“Did he threaten her life?” When he didn’t answer, Kendrick’s eyes widened. “It’s a bluff, Jarrett. He’s bluffing. He wouldn’t hurt her. She’s Talar Eldralin’s daughter.”

“Exactly. He made that very clear.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you? This is your order, Kendrick, your religion. Just how expendable are women among your people, all women. Even Talar Eldralin’s daughter.”

The blood drained from Kendrick’s face.

Jarrett released him. “Go back to Temeron with her. Stay with her. Protect her for me.” He drew a deep breath and released it. “And never tell her why I left. Promise me that.”

Kendrick closed his eyes.

“Please, Kendrick.”

“I promise.”

Jarrett nodded. He forced a smile. “Thank you,” he said. Permitting himself one final look at the pavilion, he turned.

“Jarrett?” Kendrick caught his arm and pulled him back around. Then he stepped forward and embraced him. At first Jarrett was so startled, he didn’t return the gesture, but finally he hugged the Nazarien in return. Gradually, they parted and Jarrett forced another smile.

Then he turned…

…and walked away.

THE END

THE WATCHERS OF ELDON

World of Samar: Book Seven

M L Hamilton
authormlhamilton.net

The Watchers of Eldon

Copyright © 2015 M L Hamilton

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed by a newspaper, magazine or journal.

Second print

All Characters appearing in this work are fictitious.  Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

No author can call herself an author unless people are reading. This relationship is sacred – a trust, a commitment. I am honoured to make it with my readers. And to my family, thank you.

May Eldon’s light shine brightly in your lives!

The heart that has truly loved
never forgets.

~ Thomas More

PROLOGUE

Jax squinted through the fog. It lay like a blanket, covering the swells, mingling with the mist and spray, but just ahead, he could see something dark and large looming. The waves, themselves, changed tone. He could hear the roar as they met land, slapping against invisible rocks and breaking.

A moment later the fog whispered away and the shadow of the rocks loomed over the sailboat, plunging Jax into an unnatural darkness. He brought down the sails, slowing the boat, and dropped anchor when he was far enough away from the rocks but close enough to swim. He tied the sails as Brodie had shown him, careful to smooth out the wrinkles. As he completed these mundane tasks, his eyes searched the island, looking for signs of smoke or other indications of habitation. Nothing.

Grabbing the pack he’d prepared, he slung it over his shoulders, adjusted the straps and carefully picked his way to the side. Lowering himself into the water, he gritted his teeth against the chill as the water soaked though his clothes. He didn’t have to swim far before his feet scraped against the sandy bottom.

He stood and waded in to shore, then braced his hands on his thighs, catching his breath. Shucking out of the backpack, he quickly changed out of his damp clothes, rolled them up and stored them in the pack, then he put on his boots and strapped a knife to his belt.

Then he started hiking. The beach gave way to dense foliage and finally trees. The sounds of the ocean dimmed behind him and the ground began sloping upward.

Occasionally he caught sight of birds flitting through the trees, and once something skittered away in the underbrush. He followed a narrow trail of trampled vegetation, climbing up over rocky outcroppings and winding his way higher and higher.

After about an hour of climbing, he took a seat on a rock and pulled his water from his pack. He drank sparingly. He hadn’t seen any fresh water since he’d begun his climb. Replacing the water, he looked around. From this vantage point, he could see the beach, the glittering blue of the ocean, the white of the breakers, and his little sailboat bobbing in the distance. The fog had cleared and the sun shown down yellow and bright.

Shifting on the rock, he looked up the hill. He couldn’t see the top of it, but he sensed it couldn’t be much farther. Pushing himself to his feet, he started climbing again, but he hadn’t gone more than a few feet when he noticed a strange tingling sensation in his hands. It started in his palms and radiated out to the tips of each finger.

Lifting his hands into the light, he frowned at the faint glitter of dust across their surface. He scrubbed it on his pants and continued hiking. Gradually the tingling stopped. Very odd, he thought. I’ll have to avoid that from now on.

A few more minutes of steady climbing brought him to a break in the trees. He stood on a ridge, looking out over the island. His boat looked like a toy and beyond the boat was an unbroken expanse of blue. Shifting the other way, he realized he was within a few paces of the summit.

Hitching up the pack on his back, he lowered his head and started walking again. He crested the summit a short while later and strode through the grasses at the top, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face. The summit was a flat meadow, filled with birds and insects. A few straggling flowers in yellow and orange dotted the landscape.

He crossed the meadow and halted on the other ridge, staring down into a vast valley that stretched away before him. It extended as far as the eye could see, disappearing into another thick forest of trees and gradually climbing into a set of foothills on the opposite side.

Jax glanced at the valley, but his attention was riveted on the strange dome that rose from the valley floor, its hexagon shaped windows reflecting back the sunlight and glittering like lodegems.

Jax caught his breath and felt the hair on the nape of his neck rise. Brodie had told him tales of alien creatures living on this island, but he’d thought they were bedtime stories used to frighten children into going to sleep. The fishermen called this place Delure. Jax had been intrigued just enough to try finding it. Mostly he’d wanted to prove to Brodie that he was a good enough sailor. Even though Brodie had taught him himself, he was skeptical. Jax had taken the challenge. He hadn’t really expected to find anything here.

He fingered the hilt of his blade. He’d never been one for carrying a sword. He hated to be encumbered, but he could do some damage with the dagger. And yet, he didn’t know what sort of creatures might have made the hexagon building in the valley below him. There was no movement around it, no indication that anything alive lived inside. Perhaps it was abandoned.

Never one to flee a challenge, Jax started down the other side of the hill.

He’d left Temeron five years ago to see Kazden…well, to see the ocean. His friends had told him that it was a stupid venture to take. However, looking at the ocean hadn’t been enough. He’d watched the boats troll in and out of the harbor and he’d known that he had to learn to sail.

Enter Brodie and the strange friendship that had occupied the next five years. Brodie was an old, gnarled fisherman, who scraped out a meager living through the siege and after. Brodie Daegan had more stories to tell than Jax had ever heard. He suspected half of them were lies, but Jax didn’t care. Brodie knew how to sail and Jax was a willing pupil. Beyond that, Brodie didn’t mind taking Jax’s Lodenian coin either.

Jax wasn’t sure if Brodie considered him a friend, but it didn’t matter. Whenever they shared a pitcher of ale in the tavern or went fishing in the bay, Brodie didn’t seem to mind his company, and he even shook his head in fond bemusement when his Stravad client did something incredibly stupid.

Jax hoped this wasn’t one of those stupid things. When he thought about it logically, it didn’t make much sense to go marching toward that hexagon without knowing exactly what he faced. He wasn’t even sure he knew what he intended to do. He didn’t think he intended to knock on the front door, but sometimes even he couldn’t predict what his impulsive nature might cause him to do.

Caution won out and he paused at the bottom of the hill, hiding behind a tree on the edge of the valley. From here, he could see the hexagon and the area directly in front of it. It still appeared to be abandoned, but no one had ever died from being too cautious – at least he didn’t think they had.

A rustle in the tree branches distracted him. He whipped around and looked over his shoulder. He couldn’t see anything, but more rustling followed the first bout. He eased back into the trees and crouched down, moving in the direction of the sound, shuffling forward in an undignified squat. Some hero, he thought.

He saw a number of the glittering rocks and circled around them, avoiding any contact with his skin. The bark of the trees was rough and brittle beneath his fingers, flaking away as he clung to it.

The forest jutted out at the base of the mountains, then sloped back. He eased his way to the farthest point, which afforded him a clear view down the entire line of foothills. He caught his breath and gripped the trunk. A short distance away stood a group of strange creatures, pulling low-hanging branches from the trees and piling them on a tarp.

There were three in all – man height, wearing long tunics and loose fitting trousers. Their feet were covered in a soft-soled shoe and they wore protective gloves on their hands. Their skin was an opalescent green, so pale he wouldn’t have noticed the greenish tint if the sun hadn’t been shining directly on them. From the crown of their forehead to the nape of their neck ran a thick band of white hair. Two of them had the strip of hair tied up in a horse’s tail.

The creatures didn’t notice him, didn’t sense him in any way, but Jax felt a sudden wash of anxiety. Something was making him squirm and he brushed a hand across his ear as if to dislodge an insect. He stopped in mid-motion. The sound in his ear wasn’t the sound of an insect, it was the sound of voices – thoughts, humming at a frantic pace.

At the same moment, the creature closest to him looked up. Jax felt its gaze pierce him. Its eyes were like two onyx spheres, larger than a man’s and round. Jax was torn between the strange beauty of the creature and the annoying buzzing in his head.

Then something landed on his shoulder. He jerked around and reared away, dislodging the long-fingered hand that gripped him. He landed on his backside and scrambled back. The creature looming over him was at least eight feet tall with a long, sloped forehead devoid of hair and skin so pale it glowed in the sunlight. Its eyes also glittered like onyx, no pupils distinguishable in the iris.

Jax narrowed his eyes as the buzzing increased, hammering against his eardrums and vibrating in his skull. He covered his ears with his hand, curling in on himself, but his head jerked up a moment later.

The buzzing wasn’t in his ears, it was in his skull, pulsating in his brain. Thousands and thousands of thoughts, questions, exclamations.

“Stop!” he shouted, clutching his head, but the buzzing only increased in alarm.

The creature held out its long fingered hand, but Jax had seen enough. He scrambled to his feet and bolted, crashing blindly into the undergrowth and climbing with both hands toward the summit.

He fell and slid downward many times, scraping his hands on the brambles, tearing holes in his clothes. Once his pack caught on a branch and he swung wildly to be free, afraid they’d caught up with him. The branch broke and threw him backwards. He landed on his side, catching his ribs and thigh on a rock. He rolled away and looked behind him. No one was in pursuit and the humming in his head had grown dull.

He rolled into a sitting position, protecting his ribs, and studied the rend in his trousers. A long gash ran the length of his hip and outer thigh. He grimaced and shrugged out of his pack, opening it and reaching for his medicinal kit. He pulled out a roll of bandages. The glittering dirt from the rock had gone into the cut, so he didn’t feel any pain, but he worried it might become infected. Using some of his precious water, he washed the dirt away, then bound it with the bandages. Taking a sip, he capped the water and put it away, then climbed gingerly to his feet. The leg bore his weight. Actually, it was numb. This alarmed him, but he reasoned it was probably for the best. He had a long hike ahead of him to get back to the shore, and then a swim out to his boat.

With a final look behind, Jax Paden began his long climb once more, grateful when the hum of thoughts finally faded entirely and he was left with only the single thoughts of his own mind.

*    *    *

Brodie Daegan was a wiry, weathered old man. The sun had baked his skin a brown as dark as any Stravad. It had created craters around his eyes and mouth. It had made the skin on his hands like leather. He stared at himself in the mirror over the bar and smiled. He was proud of his face. It was a like a map to all the lands he’d ever visited.

A motion in the mirror over his shoulder brought him around on the stool. Jax Paden was limping into the bar, a crutch under one shoulder. Jax was the only person Brodie knew who made him feel old and wrinkled.

Jax had that flawless regality of a full-blooded Stravad, a perfection of features and form that few Humans could ever claim. But right now, Jax looked like hell. His once lustrous brown hair looked limp and unwashed, and his cheeks were sunken.

Brodie climbed off his stool and pushed one out for his friend, eyeing him critically. “Greyburn, get Jax a tankard of ale,” he called to the bartender. “Sit down. You look awful.”

Jax gave him a painful smile and sank onto the stool. He was a good six inches taller than Brodie.

“What’d you do to your leg?”

Jax leaned heavily on the bar. He held up a hand and closed his eyes, tightening his lips against his teeth. After a moment, he straightened a little and shot a weary smile at Greyburn as the bartender put the tankard in front of him. “Thanks,” he muttered, reaching into his pocket.

Brodie stopped his hand and threw a few coins on the bar himself. Greyburn gathered them, then moved away, his eyes fixed on the Stravad as well.

Taking a swallow of the ale, Jax placed it on the bar. Brodie noticed his hand shook. Shifting toward the old man, the Stravad forced another smile. “I found it, Brodie.”

“You found it? What did you find…” Brodie’s voice trailed away. He leaned closer to Jax. “Delure? You found the island?”

Jax nodded. His eyes seemed unnaturally bright, glittering in his gaunt face. “I found Delure.”

Brodie dropped his eyes to Jax’s leg. It was splinted and heavily bandaged. “What the hell happened?”

Jax shrugged the concern away. “I fell. Listen, I saw them. The aliens? I saw them.”

Brodie sank back in his seat. “Really? You sure?”

“As sure as I’m sitting here talking to you. They were strange, so odd, I’ve never seen anything like them.”

“Tell me,” said Brodie, forgetting his own tankard.

“There were two kinds. One was pale green with white hair. The other…” He paused and gave a theatrical shiver. “Tall as a sapling and pale, so very pale.” Jax leaned closer. “It touched me.”

Brodie blinked a few times, then shut his mouth. He hadn’t realized he’d had it open. “It touched you?”

Jax nodded and reached for his tankard again. He took a deep swallow, then closed his eyes, letting the liquid flow down his throat.

“What’d you do?”

Jax let out a weak bark of laughter. “Ran. Ran like hell. That’s how I tripped. Cut my leg and got dirt in the cut. This odd glittery dirt, looked like ground up lodegems…or, pycantra as you call it.”

“Did the aliens follow you?”

Jax shook his head. “No, didn’t seem too concerned about me at all, except…”

“Except?”

Jax glanced at Greyburn. Brodie did the same. The bartender was trying not to look like he was listening, but it was obvious he was interested. Jax motioned Brodie closer. “I could hear them.” He tapped a finger against his temple.

Brodie tapped a finger against his own temple and frowned. “Hear them? They was speaking?”

Jax licked the ale off his upper lip and shook his head. “No, not speaking. Thinking. I could hear them in my head.”

Brodie leaned back. “Like some Stravad can do – you know, talk with their minds?”

“Yeah, but this was many voices, hundreds. Like a hundred people speaking all at once.” Jax narrowed his eyes in memory. “It hurt. It hurt like my head was gonna explode. That’s mostly why I ran.”

Brodie sat in silence for a moment, thinking. He wasn’t sure what to make of Jax’s story. Not that he didn’t believe him, but it seemed so incredible. He rotated on the stool and picked up his drink, sipping thoughtfully. Emptying his tankard, he nodded at Jax’s leg.

“You been to see a healer?”

Jax exhaled.

Brodie shifted and eyed him closely. Jax sure did look bad. He looked like he hadn’t been eating regularly and there were faint lines around his eyes. “Jax?”

Jax blinked and looked up at him as if he just remembered Brodie was there. “They can’t help me. It’s too far gone. They wanted to cut my leg off, but I wouldn’t let them.”

Brodie made a face. “That bad?”

“You don’t want to know.” Jax shook his head. “No, the only thing I can do is go home.”

“Go home? You gonna travel all that way with a bum leg?”

Jax nodded. “I met some kinsmen at the market who promised they’d see me home. I don’t have any choice, Brodie. I’m not gonna let them cut off my leg. Besides, I started coughing up blood the other day.”

“No shit?”

“Yeah, I think some of that glittery dust got in my lungs too.” He exhaled again. “Nope, I’m going home to the best healers on all of Samar, the best healers in the world. I’m going home to Temeron, Brodie.”

CHAPTER 1

The boy was fifteen, not yet a man. His ceremony for manhood would take place the coming Valhall and then he’d be expected to execute the role of a full Nazarien warrior. Since his tenth birthday, he had trained for this role in Chernow. It had never been questioned that he would be a Nazarien warrior. His father had been Nazar and his brother was Nazar. Should his brother die in battle, Tyne would be expected to fill his place.

Tyne was proud of his pre-warrior status; he was proud of the single medallion that hung from his left earlobe -- the scythe of the Nazarien. He’d be even prouder after the coming Valhall when a second hole was punched in his lobe and he was given the Star of Eldon medallion to wear, marking him a full-fledged warrior and a man.

His father had made the first hole in his ear when he was ten, when he’d first officially joined the order. His father had been Nazar then. During the same ceremony, his father had punched a fourth hole in his brother’s ear, adding the Falcon medallion to the other three, marking his brother as the Nazar and releasing himself from the office.

Tyne’s brother would make the second hole in Tyne’s ear during the ceremony of manhood. Then he’d be expected to take a young Nazarien woman and attempt to implant a child in her womb. Although the Nazarien were primarily a celibate order, procreation was extremely important and the strength of a warrior was often marked by his ability to impregnate a newly made woman the first time they attempted procreation.

Although it was wrong for a Nazarien to admit he looked forward to such acts of procreation, Tyne was excited. He’d never been with a woman before, he’d never even seen one unclothed. Something inside of him told him it was time.

He couldn’t understand why a man as powerful as his brother declined all procreation ceremonies, going into seclusion instead, fasting and praying for days. None of the Nazarien questioned his brother’s ways, none of them ever remarked that he ought to have at least one son by now, if not many, and his brother never seemed to notice anything was wrong. Still Tyne worried.

The Nazarien expected a Nazar to spread his seed freely among the Nazarien women, having a multitude of children to follow him. Tyne’s own father, Tomlin Trauner, had unfortunately only produced two before he died. Tyne had been chosen to follow his brother, if his brother should die before he passed leadership on to a son of his own blood.

Tyne lifted his blue eyes to his brother’s face. He placed the broken bow down beside him and moved forward to stir up the fire.

The Nazar looked at him from across the fire and his eyes glimmered in the dancing light. “How are you coming with that bow?” he said, nodding at the weapon beside Tyne.

“The sinew keeps slipping through my fingers. I don’t think I’ll ever get it right...” He caught himself. A Nazarien warrior never admitted defeat.

The blue Stravad eyes of his brother glinted in amusement, but his face was stern. “Keep trying,” he said and laid the arrow he’d been working on aside.

Tyne picked up the bow and tried to draw the new sinew down to the other end of the wood, but it slipped through his fingers again. He sighed and grasped it, determined that he wouldn’t disappoint himself or his brother by failing.

The Nazar watched him from the corners of his eyes as he fixed the feathers into the shaft of the new arrow. The sinew escaped Tyne again, but he took hold of it once more. A smile tugged at the corners of the Nazar’s lips, but he suppressed it, laying a second arrow beside the first.

“There!” said Tyne, exhaling his held breath. He lifted the bow for his brother to see and the Nazar nodded, looking down at his own work again.

Tyne laid the bow across his lap and watched his brother handle the arrows. He didn’t expect praise. The simple nod was enough, more than he’d ever received from his father. In fact, if Tyne had been bold enough to admit it, his brother had been more of a father to him in the last ten years than his own father had. Yet it wasn’t fair of Tyne to expect his father to take more than a passing interest in him. The only son that truly mattered was his first, born through the joining of pure Nazar blood -- his grandfather having been Andoloshian, the Nazar of Talar Eldralin’s time, and his father being Tomlin Trauner.

Tyne glanced up at the stars overhead. Dawn was coming, a faint pink touching the edge of blue. A week ago, Tyne and his brother had entered Loden. He’d never seen the verdant land far to the west, but one thing he knew he wouldn’t soon forget was the beautiful, warm dawns. In Nevaisser, the sun simply rose, but in Loden, the sky paraded before the sun, enticing her into rising.

“According to the map, we should reach Temeron before noon,” he said.

It had taken more than a month for them to cross Nevaisser and the Groziks before descending into Loden. Although he would never show it to his brother, Tyne was excited at the prospect of seeing the Stravad capital. Even more enticing was the fact that Tyne would stay in Temeron while his brother undertook an important journey. This journey might be many months in duration. For that entire time, Tyne was expected to learn all he could from the Stravad and then return with his brother to Chernow for his manhood ceremony.

The Nazar looked up from his work. “You’re correct, but we’ll wait outside of Temeron for nightfall.”

“Why?” This entire journey had been hasty and secretive. The Nazar and the council had fought over it; the council demanding the Nazar stay in Chernow where he belonged and the Nazar emphatic about leaving. The Nazar had won out through sheer tenacity and a current of apprehension had gone through the entire order.

The Nazarien didn’t want their Nazar going to Temeron. Why exactly, Tyne had no idea and he wasn’t about to question it. Since their journey had begun, his brother had given him no information whatsoever. He had been preoccupied and short tempered.

Once he’d even apologized to Tyne for what he termed a black mood. Tyne didn’t expect an apology and he didn’t expect his brother to answer his questions. It had been an honor simply to be chosen as his brother’s travelling companion. Tyne knew a great many young men who were envious, many young men who probably deserved the honor more than he did.

“We need to enter the city in secret. It’s necessary that the Stravad Leader not know we are there until it’s absolutely unavoidable.”

Tyne wanted to ask why again, but decided it wasn’t a good idea. “Do you want me to pack our gear?”

His brother lifted his eyes and regarded the younger man steadily. “There’s no hurry. Why don’t you wander down to the creek and bathe? I’ll join you in a few moments.”

Tyne nodded, suppressing an urge to smile, and rose. He didn’t need a second urging to go swimming. Nazarien warriors seldom got an opportunity for recreation and Tyne was still young enough to desire it.

They bathed as the sun rose on a new day and then lay on the bank, enjoying the rare quiet of the moment. Tyne stared about him at a landscape unlike any he’d ever known before. Nevaisser wasn’t a lush region of land, most of it arid. Many times in the last few years, Tyne had accompanied his brother to Terra Antiguo. The valley of Talar Eldralin’s dream was the only lush, verdant place Tyne had ever seen, but even it didn’t compare to Loden.

His brother had told him the Boline Plain was the most arid land in Loden, stretching from the foot of the Grozik to Zelan in the south and Temeron in the North; still it was covered in grasses and brush, and teeming with animals. Since he and his brother had crossed onto the Lodenian side of the Groziks, they’d never gone hungry. Game was as abundant as were roots and water. Their horses had begun to put on weight.

Tyne looked down at his bronze stomach and patted it. He’d begun to put on weight. More importantly, his shoulders had broadened and his waist narrowed. He was proud of his toned muscles and knew someday he’d be as strong a warrior as his brother was.

He shifted his gaze to his brother as he lay on the bank, one arm over his eyes to shield out the sun. The Nazar was still a young man in Stravad years. He was one of the most decorated warriors in the order and his taut, slender body showed it. Where other men his brother’s age had begun to put on weight, the Nazar’s muscles were honed and defined. His shoulders were broad, his hips narrow, and his smooth, effortless stride belied his tall stature. The Nazar was the fastest, most agile warrior in Chernow. He could still disarm men half his age and it was an honor to train beside him.

Tyne’s eyes traced the scars along his brother’s body. They showed white against the deep bronze of his skin – one beneath his sword arm and a second deep one in his right side. There were other minor scars across his back and flat stomach, one even passing across both of his lips, but each one only added that much honor to his fighting ability and gave evidence that he was a proven warrior.

Tyne looked down on his own untried body, noting the disturbing absence of scars to mar his bronze flesh. Soon, however, he’d be a man, able to participate in the sword contests during Valhall, and finally, to ride into battle beside his brother and the rest of his order. Soon Tyne would have battle scars to prove his prowess and a history to mark each one.

The Nazar sat up and gazed across the trickling creek, then lifted his eyes to the sun. He turned and regarded Tyne. “We have a little time left before we need to move on. Get your staff and mine, and let’s practice.”

Tyne leapt to his feet and raced through the tall brush toward camp. He had been chosen from among many young men to train with the Nazar. The Nazar only selected ten young men each year to train beside him and the honor was great. To further the honor, the Nazar had granted Tyne private hours where there was no one else vying for his attention.

He caught up the two staffs and raced back toward the creek, excitement and pleasure pounding in his breast. Since the journey had begun, his brother hadn’t once suggested they practice. Tyne wasn’t about to allow the opportunity to slip past him.

When he reached the creek, he found that his brother had risen and pulled on his trousers, his chest still bare. Tyne dropped the staffs and while his brother began stretching, Tyne slipped into his own trousers. Buckling his belt over his slender waist, Tyne moved in front of his brother and began stretching.

No Nazarien would ever practice or go into battle without preparing both his body and mind. Not only did a Nazarien warrior stretch out taut muscles, he also gave thanks to Eldon for another opportunity to utilize his skill. Tyne had never shirked this duty and now he allowed his eyes to drop closed while he went through the routine in his mind.

After a few moments had passed, he opened his eyes and found his brother watching him, the familiar play of amusement in his blue eyes. Tyne surveyed his opponent as he’d been taught to do. The Nazar was half a head taller than he was, his shoulders broader, his reach longer, but Tyne knew that soon he’d match the older man’s size.

The four medallions glimmered in his brother’s ear – the first marking his alliance as a guardsmen of Terra Antiguo; the second, the Star of Eldon signifying his passage into manhood; the third, the scythe of the Nazarien; and the fourth, the falcon medallion pledging him as Nazar. The sun glinted off his brother's black hair and danced in his eyes, bathing each muscle with warmth.

Tyne drew a deep breath and bent, never taking his eyes off his opponent. His hands closed over the two staffs and he lifted them, tossing one to his brother. His brother caught the staff and twirled it around in his hands until he had a tight, easy grip. Tyne wanted to impress the Nazar with a similar move, but he hadn’t quite got it right, so he simply passed his hands along the length of the wood until he found the right purchase.

“It’s been a long time. Have you remembered all the defense steps?” asked the Nazar, moving into a practiced crouch like a cat.

Tyne edged around, trying to stay on the balls of his feet as he’d been taught. “I remember them and maybe this time, I’ll plant you on your back.”

The Nazar expected his pupil to brag. Part of winning a battle was the psychological advantage one opponent had over the other. Bragging was a good way to show confidence and security in one’s skill.

With a speed that had surprised many a man, the Nazar moved in and leveled a blow at Tyne’s head. Tyne stepped into it and parried it with the edge of his staff, trying to throw his weight into the larger man. The Nazar planted his feet shoulder width apart and stopped, locking the two staffs in such a way that if Tyne pulled back, he’d fall. Tyne’s eyes widened in surprise and he pushed forward to keep his footing.

“Now what, young braggart?” asked the Nazar.

Tyne struggled with the larger man, searching for a weakness. His mind whirled over all the defensive steps he knew, but he couldn’t remember one that applied to such a situation.

A smile touched the corners of the Nazar’s mouth and he deftly unlocked his staff from his brother’s. Tyne stumbled and fell, landing on his rear end. He looked up at the Nazar in shock and shame, but the Nazar knelt beside him.

“Never step into an over-handed blow. Which is my dominant side?”

Tyne narrowed his eyes. The question was a trick. His brother was one of few warriors who fought equally strong with either his right or his left arm, but he favored the right one. During training, however, he often changed just to throw his pupil off.

Tyne reviewed the attack in his mind. “Your left,” he said, trying to sound confident.

The Nazar nodded. “So which side should you play into under such a circumstance?”

“Your right,” he said and received another affirming nod.

The Nazar held out his arm and Tyne grasped it, allowing himself to be hauled to his feet. They backed away from each other, testing their hold on their staffs, and the Nazar inclined his head.

“This time pay close attention to my dominant side. Don’t allow me to lock your staff with my own.”

Tyne crouched and readied himself. Again the Nazar led with his left and Tyne moved swiftly and purposefully toward the right. Rarely did he need to learn the same lesson twice.

*    *    *

They pulled their horses to a stop outside the gates of Temeron. Tyne’s body ached with weariness, but he could barely contain the anticipation that coursed through him at the sight of the Stravad capital. All his life he’d wanted to see Temeron and now here he was with his brother, the man he admired more than any other, perhaps even more than he had admired his own father.

He shifted his eyes to his brother’s face. The Nazar was staring intently at the gates, his jaw clenched and his hands tightening into fists on the reins. Tyne frowned. He’d never seen such a play of emotion in his brother before and it startled him.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he said in a strangely tight voice and his eyes shifted away, scanning the gates once more. “There are just so many memories associated with this place. Some I’d purposefully forgotten.”

His brother rarely spoke of his life before coming to the Nazarien. Tyne knew about his life as a Terrian guardsman, but there was a gap that Tyne noticed between when he left Terra Antiguo and returned to Chernow to begin his training as Nazar. What had happened in that gap, Tyne didn’t know nor did anyone else tell him. To have asked his brother or father would have been folly and he knew it.

“Aren’t we going in?”

“Yes, soon, but let me have a moment before we do.”

Tyne nodded, thankful he hadn’t angered his brother with his childish questions. He didn’t mean to be so inquisitive. It was a trait the Nazarien shunned, but he was still young, not yet a man, and they were more tolerant of such errant behavior in a child. Tyne knew his brother was more tolerant than most and rarely did he chastise him, even at his most inquisitive.

Finally his brother drew a deep breath and straightened in the saddle, thrusting back his shoulders. Tyne admired the figure his brother cut on the stallion’s back and he tried to imitate it, although his chest wasn’t yet as broad as the Nazar’s.

They rode toward the gate and a guard met them, dressed in a forest green uniform with a bright medallion pinned to his breast. Tyne was astonished when the man smiled at them and spoke in the Lodenian tongue. No Nazarien warrior would smile when greeting a stranger, no Nazarien warrior ever smiled once he took the pledge of manhood.

The Nazar answered him in the same language, swinging down from his saddle to the cobblestones of the gatehouse. Tyne concentrated on the words as he also dropped to the ground. He knew Lodenian, had been taught it since he was a young child, but he hadn’t had much chance to practice it, except in a structured setting. The only true practice he’d had was in Terra Antiguo when his brother took him.

The guard moved away from them and his brother turned. “From now on we will speak in Lodenian to each other, not Nazarien. People become suspicious if you speak a language they don’t understand.”

Tyne nodded, understanding the logic behind his brother’s statement, but he wasn’t sure that he remembered enough Lodenian to speak fluently. He didn’t want to appear foolish.

As if he’d read Tyne’s thoughts, his brother placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll speak just fine once you have an opportunity to do so.”

Tyne dropped his eyes, glad for the reassurance. His own father would never have thought of Tyne’s discomfort or concerns before his own, but his brother always did, always offered some sort of comfort.

One of the enormous gates was pushed open and the Nazar led his horse forward by the bridle. They passed through into the streets of the Stravad capital. Night had fallen only a short time ago, but most of the citizens had already retired to their houses. Summer had come to the Stravad valley and the night was warm. As they followed the guard through the streets, Tyne noticed many people sitting on their porches, talking and laughing together.

In fact, laughter was heard at the turn of every street. Tyne had never heard so much laughter or uninhibited conversation. Children ran through the yards before the houses, playing games, and Tyne was surprised at the age of some of the children. He saw boys as old as himself playing ridiculous games, rolling around in the lawn and laughing hysterically.

He looked up at his brother in alarm. A Nazarien child never played so boisterously. At night a Nazarien child finished studies that there hadn’t been time to finish in the day. And a boy as old as Tyne would never roll around on the lawn or play with younger children. A boy as old as Tyne did not play. Already he was expected to have the bearing and pride of a warrior, he was expected to know his place and never slip out of control.

Amusement danced in the Nazar’s eyes as he met his brother’s startled look. “You’re no longer in Chernow, Tyne,” he said and nodded at the guard’s back. “At what age is a young man able to enter the Temerian guard?”

“Whenever he proves that he is mature enough to undertake the responsibilities of a Temerian guard.”

Tyne blinked at the convoluted answer. “At what age does a boy become a man in Temeron?”

“At whatever age he proves himself mature enough to undertake the responsibilities of a man,” the guard said and then laughed.

Tyne started at the unusual sound and rolled the guard’s answer over in his mind. What did he mean? Then a thought struck him. “Do you mean you have no manhood ceremonies?”

Again the guard laughed and Tyne’s surprised gaze fluttered to his brother’s face. Another play of amusement went through his brother’s eyes and Tyne realized the Stravad meant no offense by his laughter.

“A Stravad becomes a man when he shares pleasures with the woman of his choosing. Young Stravad are very amorous,” he said, then he patted the Nazar on the shoulder familiarly.

Tyne stopped in the middle of the road and his horse bumped him in the back with its nose. No Nazarien warrior would ever presume to touch the Nazar, unless it was to throw himself at the Nazar’s feet and press his hands to his lips. His brother should have been offended by the gesture, but he showed neither surprise nor offense.

The Nazar halted with the Stravad guard and they both looked back at him. “Are you coming?”

Tyne hurried to his side.

As he came abreast of his brother, the Nazar took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “You’re no longer in Chernow, Tyne. It would be wise to remember that or you’re liable to be shocked at everything you see here.”

Tyne lowered his head at the gentle admonishment and fell into step beside his brother. From this point on, he was determined nothing would surprise him, or if it did, he certainly wasn’t going to show it. A Nazarien warrior would never be visibly caught off guard, he told himself.

The guard left them at the door to a large house. The front lawn of the house was lush and flowers lined the walk to the door. Tyne’s eyes scanned the beautiful yard as he climbed the steps beside his brother. The Nazar rapped on the door and stepped back, drawing a deep breath and lifting his chin.

The door opened and the warm light of a lantern shown down on the two Nazarien. A Stravad peered out at them, his face suddenly registering surprise. He threw the door open and stepped back, motioning them inside.

The Nazar was the first to enter and Tyne obediently followed. He glanced over his shoulder at the gate to make sure their horses were secure and was surprised to find them gone. The guard must have taken them with him when he departed. Tyne had been so absorbed in the beauty of the garden that he hadn’t heard them leave.

He stepped around the Stravad and moved into the entryway, pressing close to his brother’s side. The Stravad shut the door and turned, his eyes passing between Tyne and his brother.

The Nazar’s eyes were dancing in the light of the lantern and the taut angle of his shoulders had relaxed a bit. He stepped forward and extended his arms. The Stravad smiled and embraced him in return.

Tyne surveyed the Stravad. He was older, although the only signs of age were the lines around his eyes. He patted the Nazar’s sides and held him away so he could look in his face.

“You look well, Jarrett.”

“And you haven’t aged, Thalandar.”

Tyne was astonished by the familiar use of his brother’s given name. Behind them, another man appeared in the doorway. Tyne immediately knew this man was only half-Stravad.

“And I suppose I look like an old man?”

Jarrett turned and held out his hand. “Tash, how are you?”

Tyne’s eyes widened even further as the half-blood took his brother’s extended hand with a warm smile. Tash, Tasamer Haldane – Tyne knew the legend, but to be faced with the real man was quite another matter. And then he realized who the Stravad was – Thalandar, perhaps the greatest leader of Temeron, until recently.

Tyne wasn’t aware that he was staring or that his mouth was hanging open until his brother turned to him. The Nazar’s eyes narrowed with amusement and he lifted a brow in question. Tyne remembered himself and pulled himself up straight, thrusting out his chest. Jarrett gave him the briefest nod of approval before turning to the other two men.

“I’d like to introduce you to my brother, Tyne Trauner.”

The Stravad was the first to shake Tyne’s hand. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine, Elder,” he said, hoping his inflections in the strange tongue were right.

The Stravad smiled. “Thalandar, please.”

“This is Tasamer Haldane,” said the Nazar.

Tyne accepted Tash’s hand reverently and he bent to one knee, pressing his hand to his lips. Tash’s eyes widened and he reached out to pull the boy to his feet.

“That isn’t necessary, young man,” he said firmly.

“But, my lord, it’s a great honor to meet you. I know well the tale of your feats as a warrior and I have long admired you.”

Tash seemed pleased by the boy’s words, but Thalandar laughed. “Please don’t get him started. We’ll be up all night listening to his fantastic feats if you do.”

Tash glared at the Stravad. “At least my stories are interesting. If I have to hear about the forming of the Temerian Council again, I’ll die.”

“Ah, tough old leather like you doesn’t die, it petrifies,” said Thalandar, placing his arm around Jarrett’s shoulder and directing him toward the parlor.

Tyne followed the men. Would his wonder never cease? A Nazarien warrior would never insult another in that manner. To do so would mean they’d come to blows.

“I’m glad you came, Jarrett,” said Thalandar, motioning for Jarrett to take a seat.

The Nazar eased himself onto the seat and shifted his sword out of the way. Tyne sat down where indicated, like his brother his back straight, his body alert. Even at rest a Nazarien warrior remained alert.

Thalandar turned to a table against one wall where a decanter and a tray of glasses sat.

“I trust the trip wasn’t overly long.”

“No, it gave me time to summon enough courage to pass under the gates of the city.”

Both Thalandar and Tash nodded in understanding, but Tyne stared at his brother in shock. The Nazar was the bravest man Tyne had ever met. He’d never once indicated that he feared coming to the Stravad capital.

Thalandar began pouring out glasses, so Tash picked up the conversation. “We’re all thankful that you were so willing to answer our summons. We know it was difficult for you to leave Chernow, especially since you’re Nazar.”

“I had to come, Tash. You needn’t thank me for doing what I had to do.”

Tash reached up to accept the glass Thalandar offered him. The Stravad held out a glass to the Nazar. Next Thalandar moved toward Tyne and again the boy fought to hide his surprise. He wasn’t yet a man. No boy would dare take a drink before reaching manhood, and even then Nazarien rarely drank, only at the most sacred of ceremonies.

“No, thank you, Elder.”

Thalandar shrugged and took a glass for himself, sitting down on the divan beside Tyne. “How are things in Chernow?” he asked, taking a sip from his glass.

“Things are running smoothly. With Tyla running Temeron, and Kalas in power over Sarkisian and Adishian, Samar has never been so peaceful.”

Tash smiled and drained his glass in one gulp. “My brother doesn’t know what to do with himself in Zelan. I keep telling him he’s too old to be wanting adventure and that when you seek it, it finds you, usually more of it than you really want.”

“True,” said Thalandar, draining his own glass. He reached behind him and grabbed the decanter, filling both of their glasses again.

Jarrett shifted. “How is she, Tash?” he asked in an almost pleading voice.

Tash stiffened and his eyes shot to Thalandar’s face. “She’s well, Jarrett. Worried like the rest of us about this whole thing.”

Jarrett drew in a breath and held it. “I’m still muddy on everything. How did this happen?”

Tash looked into his glass and didn’t speak. Jarrett shifted his attention to Thalandar.

Thalandar settled his glass on the table. “From what we’ve gathered, Jax Paden was an adventurer with a particular love of the ocean. He went to Kazden and learned to sail, or so we think. On one of his trips, he found an island and went ashore. Things get a little muddy for us here as well. By the time he was brought home, he was so far gone, we got only snatches of the story.”

“But he had this illness?”

“Yes, and everyone who treated him got it as well…” Thalandar paused and glanced at Tash. “Tyla believes it has the potential to become a plague if it isn’t stopped.”

Jarrett closed his eyes for a moment. Tyne felt the tension in the room, but he knew better than to fidget. Nazarien warriors didn’t fidget.

“Go back. How did this Jax contract the illness?”

“We’re not sure. His leg was badly infected. In fact, they had to amputate it. They thought it would be enough, but he started coughing up blood. In the end, he drowned in it. No one who treated him escaped it. He breathed it out into the air, he sweat it out through his pores.”

“Didn’t they take precautions to keep from getting infected?”

“Of course they did, but apparently it wasn’t enough.”

“He died?”

“Yes.”

“Have any of the healers died?”

“No. Tyla thinks Jax contracted it through the wound on his leg. She believes those that contracted it from direct contact with him have a slower disease process.”

“Which means it might not be lethal?”

Tash looked up and his expression was stark. “Are you willing to chance that?”

Jarrett didn’t immediately answer. Finally, he leaned back in his chair. “No.”

“We think the island is called Delure. He may have made contact with people there,” Thalandar continued.

Jarrett frowned. “People? Stravad? Humans?”

“No,” said Thalandar. “Other people. His descriptions weren’t like anything we know. People seven feet tall with pale green skin.”

Tyne leaned forward in interest. “Not Orahim?”

“No. He described their strange obsidian eyes and a dome city.”

Tyne felt Jarrett’s eyes on him. He quickly schooled his features and leaned back, gripping the arms of the chair with both hands.

“We can talk about this later,” said the Nazar. Tyne knew the change of topic was deliberate. There was something he didn’t want Tyne to know. “She doesn’t know I’ve come, does she?”

“No, she doesn’t,” answered Tash.

“It won’t be pleasant when she does.”

Tash sighed. “No, it won’t. Not for any of us.”

“Why?” asked Tyne before he could bite back the word. He shrank down in his chair and dropped his eyes from his brother’s stunned expression. All of this talk had unsettled him. Why had they sent to Chernow for Jarrett? What could his brother do to help?

Jarrett started to respond, but the door opened and another Stravad walked into the room.

CHAPTER 2

“Jarrett,” said the Stravad, grasping his arm. Then he moved forward and embraced him. “The guards told me you’d arrived. Sorry for the secretive entrance and all.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Kendrick.” He took in the Stravad’s well-cut uniform and his healthy brown skin. Kendrick had allowed his hair to grow long in the Lodenian style and it now hung in a thick, blonde mane over his shoulders. In the ten years since the two companions had parted, Kendrick hadn’t aged. “You look good.”

Kendrick also surveyed him in return. “You wear the uniform of the Nazar well.” He released him and stepped back. “I’m sorry for the loss of your father.”

Jarrett shrugged, but he didn’t answer. He knew that Kendrick understood his feelings regarding Tomlin were conflicted. He motioned to Tyne and the boy leapt to his feet, hurrying to his side. “This is Tyne Trauner, my brother.”

Kendrick smiled and shook the boy’s hand. “A pleasure to meet you,” he said.

“Elder, may Eldon’s light shine on you,” answered Tyne, bowing his head.

Kendrick lifted his eyes to Jarrett’s and a spark of mutual understanding passed between them. “I heard you took your father’s name, Jarrett.”

“It stemmed some of the disgruntlement in the order.”

Kendrick smiled. “I can imagine. Nazarien are anything but adaptable.”

Tyne stiffened beside him and Jarrett placed a hand on his shoulder. Kendrick shot an amused look at the boy. Jarrett was struck with how odd the situation was. Ten years ago, Kendrick was one of the staunchest defenders of the order. They had sparred over it repeatedly. Temeron had certainly settled into his blood.

“When will you let Tyla know I’m here?” Even as he spoke the words, he couldn’t help the rush of heat to his face or the quickening of his pulse. Ten years and she could still make his blood roar.

Kendrick laughed grimly. “If she doesn’t know already, it won’t be long before she does. I wanted you to arrive, to be a reality here in Temeron, before I broached the subject with her.” He paused and drew a deep breath. “This idea of going to the island has all of us alarmed, but she won’t drop it. She insists she had to go herself.”

Jarrett glanced at Tyne. The boy was soaking up everything they said. Jarrett didn’t want him knowing the whole plan just yet. He knew Tyne would disapprove.

His thoughts shifted back to Tyla. The thought of seeing her caused a war of emotions inside of him. “Has she asked about me?”

Kendrick drew a deep breath and exhaled. “No, Jarrett, she hasn’t. It became a closed subject when you left.”

Jarrett’s gaze shifted to Tash and Thalandar. They both looked away uncomfortably. Ten years might have passed, but the wounds were still open. Although Tash and Thalandar had welcomed him into their home, they obviously didn’t understand. He hadn’t left voluntarily, but they thought he had, lured by a pact made with Tomlin. They didn’t understand there had been no pact. He’d been blackmailed.

“I’m sorry, Jarrett,” offered Kendrick.

Jarrett nodded, but he couldn’t speak. Only Kendrick knew the truth, and Kendrick had guarded his secret for the past decade. What good would it do to explain it to anyone else? Ten years were gone, lost, and there was no way to get them back.

Tyne was staring at him, absorbing all of the information. He wanted to ask questions, Jarrett saw them on his lips, but now wasn’t the time to explain the circumstances.

Kendrick shifted and his expression grew troubled. “There’s something you need to know.”

He felt the anxious eyes of both Tash and Thalandar on him, and he knew Kendrick’s information was going to cause him pain. Part of him wanted to run away from all of this, from this flood of bittersweet memories, but he couldn’t. Tyla was in trouble and he had to be here beside her, even if it meant breaking the pledge he’d made to his father all those years before, even if it meant tempting fate.

Kendrick opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, the door opened and a young boy’s voice could be heard in the hall.

“Grandfather?”

Tash and Thalandar both started to their feet and Kendrick turned toward the hall. He stopped the boy before he could enter the parlor and tried to guide him back.

“Kendrick, I thought I saw you head this way…”

“Wait outside and I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Kendrick’s back blocked Jarrett’s view of the child, but he knew. He felt his heart hammering in his ears, blood surging through his body.

“Mama sent me to get you.” The boy tried to peer around the Stravad, but Kendrick turned him toward the door.

“Tell your mother I’ll be there shortly.”

Jarrett’s eyes flashed to Tash’s face, but Tash wouldn’t meet his eye.

“I want to see Grandfather and Thalandar,” persisted the boy.

“Tomorrow, Kerrin, I’m tired...” said Tash.

Despite the raging blood in his head, Jarrett forced himself to speak. “Let the boy come into the room, Kendrick.”

Kendrick straightened.

Intrigued by the unfamiliar voice with its unfamiliar accent, the boy peered around the Stravad. His eyes widened and he moved away from Kendrick into the parlor.

Jarrett gripped the back of the chair. His knees threatened to give way.

The boy was tall for his age and uncommonly handsome. He had thick black hair, which fell to his shoulders, and Stravad brown skin. His eyes were blue, not the common blue of a Stravad, but a strangely brilliant blue.

The boy moved forward, staring at the Nazar with his piercing eyes. Tyne glanced between the child and his brother in astonishment.

Jarrett lowered himself to one knee in front of the boy, searching the handsome, young face. The boy’s eyes moved to the medallions in Jarrett’s ear.

“Are you the Nazar?”

Jarrett swallowed. Nausea roiled in his gut. “Yes. What’s your name?” He managed to force the words out.

“Kerrin. What’s your name?” Then he seemed to remember himself. “Or should I call you Nazar?”

Jarrett’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. He briefly closed his eyes and fought for composure. “You can call me Jarrett. How old are you, Kerrin?”

“Nearly ten, well in a few more months – five to be exact. Are you here to help Mama?”

Jarrett didn’t need to ask who this boy’s mother was. It was there in his features, in the blue cast of his black hair. “I hope so.”

The boy nodded.

Kendrick placed his hand on the boy’s shoulders. “Tell your mother that I’ll be along in a minute.” He turned the boy to face him, but Kerrin’s eyes were still riveted on Jarrett. “Kerrin,” he said gently and the boy looked up at him. “Please tell your mother I’ll be there in a moment.” He tightened his grip. “It’s important that you not tell her of our visitors just yet. I’ll tell her tomorrow, but I don’t want to upset her tonight. Will you promise not to say anything?”

The boy nodded, his eyes drifting back to Jarrett. “I won’t say anything.”

Kendrick released him. “Run along then.”

Kerrin backed from the room, shooting a final look at his grandfather before he disappeared into the hallway.

Jarrett watched after him until the door slammed. Pushing himself to his feet, he locked eyes with Kendrick.

The Stravad met his gaze.

“He’s my son, isn’t he?”

Kendrick grimaced. “I’m sorry, Jarrett, I hoped to prepare you before you saw him…”

“He’s my son, isn’t he?" said Jarrett through clenched teeth.

The Stravad nodded. “He’s your son.”

Jarrett swallowed and shut his eyes, his chest expanding with a deeply drawn breath. He called on all the calming techniques the Nazarien had taught him, but nothing seemed to assuage the fury and hurt that broiled inside of him.

“No one ever thought to tell me I had a son in ten years?” he said, struggling violently to maintain control.

Thalandar and Kendrick both dropped their eyes. Only Tash met his gaze. “Tyla almost bled to death giving birth to him. When she begged us to protect him, we all agreed. For her, protecting him meant that we never tell you of his birth. We didn’t want to do it, Jarrett, but we would have done anything to ease her fear at that moment. We thought we were going to lose her.”

Jarrett’s breathing was ragged. Ten years had passed and during those ten years he’d missed out on having a son. During all of the procreation ceremonies, during each Valhall, he’d fasted and prayed instead of coupling as the other Nazarien did, holding true to his wife and his love for her. For ten years he’d dreamed of having a son of his own, a child like Tyne, to care for and love, but he’d never once given in to that need, never once taken another woman to his bed.

His eyes shifted to Kendrick. “How could you do this to me?”

“I had no choice. Tyla begged me to keep it a secret, Jarrett. Tell me what you would have done. Look me in the eyes and tell me you would have refused her any request.”

Jarrett swallowed hard, but he thought he’d gag. His throat was so impossibly tight, breathing was difficult. “I never would have left if I had known.” Then realization struck. She hadn’t wanted him to know because she hated him for leaving her, but she didn’t understand. If he hadn’t left, she would have died.

Backing away from Kendrick, he took a seat on the divan and placed his head in his hands. What had he expected to find after all these years? That Tyla was still in love with him as he was with her, that she was willing to renew their marriage? The sight of Kerrin only clarified the truth. There would never be anything between them again. Tyla despised him so much that she had kept him away from his own son.

He lifted his head when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Thalandar stood before him with a glass of brandy. “Sometimes a man needs a little help,” he said gently.

Jarrett closed his hand around the glass.

*    *    *

Jarrett couldn’t sleep. Kendrick had left sometime before, and Thalandar and Tash had retired without saying much of anything. For a long time, Tyne had sat staring at him, wanting to ask him questions, but he was perceptive enough to know it wasn’t a good time. Finally Jarrett insisted he go to bed.

Now he was alone and for the first time in a very long time, he didn’t want to be. He wandered out of Tash and Thalandar’s cottage to the back porch and stood looking over the gardens, a glass of brandy in his hand.

He couldn’t see much of the gardens since the moon was only a sliver on this night, but he felt Tyla’s presence here. He was sure she had planted each plant herself.

He lifted the glass and drank, enjoying the burning sensation as it ran down his throat and into his stomach. He hadn’t drank this much alcohol in the last ten years and he knew he’d pay for it the next day, but he didn’t care. Leaning against the rail, he turned the glass in his hand and then reached for the decanter, pouring another.

He had a son – the thought was a painful stab each time it crossed his consciousness. Somewhere inside his alcohol befuddled mind, he kept thinking that he’d come awake, find himself in Chernow, having one of his nightmares. A son...Kerrin was a fine, strong boy. Jarrett had seen the intelligence behind those brilliant blue eyes.

The similarity between father and son staggered him. No matter how he tried, if he should want to try, Jarrett wouldn’t be able to deny Kerrin as his son. The way the boy walked, held his shoulders, was almost exactly like he did. He shook his head bitterly as he brought the glass to his lips again.

How many times had he endured chastisement from his father over the last ten years for not participating in the procreation ceremonies? How many beautiful women had Tomlin thrown at him, hoping the need would be so strong that Jarrett would forget the raven-haired beauty who was now leader of Temeron?

And Jarrett had felt the hunger. Ten years was a long time to go without companionship or feminine touch, but always the need was for Tyla. When he looked at other women, he wanted Tyla only that much more. In ten years, his love for Talar Eldralin’s daughter hadn’t abated.

Then when he’d finally resigned himself to being Nazar and living the Nazarien’s celibate life to its fullest, he’d received the message from Kendrick. Kendrick had asked that he come to Temeron.

Throughout the journey from Chernow, he’d told himself that he shouldn’t expect anything when he arrived in Temeron. Ten years had passed and in all that time, Tyla had never once tried to contact him. Still he’d hoped that once he was in Temeron, she’d know his love for her had never failed. To be met with the reality of her dismissal astonished him.

Hadn’t she wondered why he left her without saying goodbye? After all they shared, after their marriage, could she really believe he’d left for any reason of his own?

But he’d left her with a child and she’d almost died giving birth to him. Draining his glass again, he forced himself to acknowledge that it was a lot to overcome. The thought of her suffering alone hurt. And then he’d become Nazar – after the times he’d criticized Kendrick, his actions must have seemed hypocritical.

He straightened and drew in a deep breath. All of the pieces fell into place in his mind. Of course she hadn’t wanted him to know about Kerrin because she feared he’d try to take Kerrin away from her and raise him Nazarien, especially since he was Talar Eldralin’s grandson.

Grabbing the decanter in one hand and the glass in another, Jarrett turned back into the house and deposited them on the table. The alcohol buzzed in his head and he knew his sleep would be troubled, but he needed a few hours at least to escape this agonizing pain of realization and disappointment. Tyla was lost to him and ten years had slipped by in which he hadn’t known he’d had a son.

Staggering down the hall to the room Thalandar and Tash had given him, he dropped fully clothed onto the bed and threw an arm over his eyes. For the first time in ten years he wept – he wept for all the things that might have been if fate and the Nazarien hadn’t stepped between him and Tyla.

*    *    *

Jarrett forced himself to rise the next morning. His mouth was dry and tasted like cotton, and his head beat a staccato rhythm with each step. Sitting back down on the bed, he put his head in his hands and held it against the throbbing in his temples.

A knock sounded at the door and Jarrett opened one eye. “Come in.”

Thalandar appeared in the doorway, a steaming pitcher of water in his hands. “I’ve seen that look before,” said the Stravad with an understanding smile as he filled the bowl on the washstand at one end of Jarrett’s room.

“Did I drain the entire decanter?” he asked, watching the Stravad through narrowed eyes.

“Very nearly.”

Jarrett grimaced and pushed himself to his feet, crossing to the washstand. He unbuttoned his uniform jacket and dropped it on the floor, then pulled his shirt over his head and let it fall. Plunging his hands in the water, he splashed it on his face and combed it through his hair.

“Thanks for the water,” he said, reaching for the bar of soap.

Thalandar took a seat in the chair beside Jarrett and watched him lather the soap. “I’m sorry about last night, Jarrett. I know it was an awful shock.”

Jarrett squinted at the Stravad through a layer of bubbles. “I don’t think there’s a word to describe last night.”

“A lot of years have passed, Jarrett. You don’t know how many letters I’ve penned to you and then torn them up again. I guess that isn’t a very good excuse, but at the time, I believed I was doing the right thing. Funny how nothing seems so certain when faced with the realization of your actions.”

Jarrett braced his hands on the washstand and looked down into the soapy water. “I did some self-realization last night myself. At first, I was furious with all of you, especially Tyla and Kendrick, but then I thought about it and no one’s to blame, except me, I guess. How could Tyla feel any differently about me than she does? How could I expect her to tell me about my son, knowing that I’d betrayed everything I believed in to become Nazar?”

“These years haven’t been easy for you, have they, Jarrett?”

Jarrett washed the soap from his face and neck, then reached for the towel which hung from the side of the stand. “They’ve been a challenge.”

“Are you still in love with her?”

Jarrett lowered the towel and fixed his gaze on the Stravad. “I’ve never stopped loving her.”

Thalandar nodded, then pushed himself to his feet. “Get dressed and breakfast will be ready. Salena is a good cook, she keeps house for Tash and me.”

*    *    *

After they finished breakfast, Jarrett felt a little better. Tash and Thalandar agreed to take Tyne to the main business district of the Stravad capital so he could look around, but all agreed that Jarrett would draw too much unwanted attention before Kendrick could discuss the matter with Tyla. Jarrett was actually glad for some time to himself and he wandered out into the gardens with a cup of tea in his hand. As he took a seat at the table on the porch, he could hear Salena washing the dishes.

She was a plump, beautiful Stravad woman who sang as she worked and the sound had a comfortable feel to it. Jarrett breathed deeply of the warm summer air and gazed out over the lush gardens.

Closing his eyes, he leaned back in the chair and had almost fallen asleep when a knock came at the door. Jarrett set the cup on the table and rose to his feet, gazing back through the small cottage.

Kendrick appeared in the hallway, followed by another man wearing the forest green uniform of the Temerian guard. The two men joked with Salena and then headed for the gardens.

“Good morning, Jarrett,” said Kendrick as he stepped outside. “I brought someone you might be glad to see.”

Jarrett glanced around Kendrick at a handsome Stravad with long blonde hair pulled back in a thick plait down to his waist. Stepping forward, Jarrett caught the man in an embrace and held him away so he could look at him more closely. Allistar had aged little in the ten years since the two friends had parted, but his laughter was as ready as always.

“Hello, Jarrett,” said the Stravad captain with a smile.

“How are you, Allistar?”

“Well, and you?”

“A little hung-over.”

Allistar tightened his hold on his friend’s shoulders. “I heard you got a nasty surprise last night.”

“I did, but I drowned it the Stravad way.”

“Ah,” said Allistar, shooting a look at Kendrick. “And you were concerned he wouldn’t find a constructive way to expend his rage.”

Jarrett released Allistar and motioned for the two men to take a seat. They did so and Salena appeared with a fresh pot of tea and two more cups.

“So what have you been doing, Allistar?”

“I’m now on the Advisory Defense Council, which means I do very little, but I have to answer to Kendrick and you know how impossible he can be.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Jarrett’s mouth, but he dropped his eyes. “And you, Kendrick? We didn’t talk about much of anything last night.”

“I’m Advisor to the Stravad Leader.”

“And you are the Nazar,” said Allistar. “I don’t know whether to pity you or the Nazarien.”

“A little of both, probably. What else have you done with your life, Allistar?”

Allistar held up his hand, displaying a gold ring on his third finger. “I am married to a beautiful woman and have four children, three sons and one daughter.”

“Four children? Eldon’s bloody star!”

Allistar laughed.

“You have been a busy man.”

“A happy man. And you, how many children does the Nazar have?”

Jarrett lowered his eyes. “One…that I found out about last night.”

Silence fell among the three men. They drank their tea and looked about the gardens. Finally Jarrett set his cup down and ran a hand through his hair.

“Kendrick, how much do we know about this Jax Paden? How certain are we that this island exists?”

Allistar and Kendrick exchanged a look. “We know the island exists, Jarrett, and we know Jax Paden died from something he contracted there. Tyla believes the only answer is finding the plant or dirt or whatever caused his death.”

“You know the island exists, but do you know how to get there?”

“Jax mentioned a man named Brodie Daegan. He taught him to sail, showed him the island. We believe Brodie’s in Kazden.”

“And what if he’s also dead?”

Kendrick’s expression hardened. “I won’t allow myself to believe that.”

Jarrett leaned back in his chair. “Why exactly am I here? Tyla is never going to agree to me accompanying her.”

“You are the finest warrior I’ve ever seen,” said Kendrick. “We can’t send an army to protect her and she insists she must be the one to go. She will go whether we want her to or not. You know this. You remember what happened the last time we forced her to do something she didn’t want to do. I need to know she is protected. I need to know that the finest warrior on Samar is guarding her.”

“This is insane. She’s going to leave her son, her people, for this?”

Kendrick leaned forward and his eyes looked haunted. “She’s going to protect her people, Jarrett. If this turns out to be a plague as feared…well, the consequences of that are unimaginable.”

“I’m confused on that point. Why does she think it’ll become a plague?”

“Because the healers who attended Jax are showing signs of illness. At some point during his disease, he began to vomit blood. Tyla is fairly certain this is when they were all infected. Therefore, she suspects that same point will arrive for all of them.”

Jarrett shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense. This is all speculation. None of the healers have died, right? Maybe the disease will never advance.”

Allistar looked away, but Kendrick met Jarrett’s gaze. “Would you bet lives on that, Jarrett? Would you bet Temeron on it? As long as there is a chance to find Brodie, she will take it. And if not Brodie, someone else in Kazden may know of the island.” He exhaled. “If you don’t feel up to this, I understand. It’s a lot to ask, and the odds are stiff.” He looked out over the garden. “She will never let me go with her, not with Kerrin here, but I can’t stand the thought of her going alone. The only thing I can offer her is you.”

Jarrett fingered the handle on the teacup.

“She feels responsible for the healers who were infected, but more than that, she can’t risk this possibility of plague.”

“She doesn’t have to be the one to go.”

“Who better? Can you think of a more skilled healer on the planet, Jarrett? Can you think of one better suited to finding a cure if there is one?”

Jarrett met Kendrick’s intense look. He didn’t have an argument for that. “No, there is no better healer. I’m just not sure how you’re going to convince her to let me come.”

Kendrick offered him a grim smile. “Leave that to me. We’re having a banquet and a ball tonight in honor of Denortosal. I’ll tell her before it begins. She likely won’t fire me then.”

CHAPTER 3

Jarrett had nearly fallen asleep in the garden when Kerrin appeared. The little boy stepped out onto the porch, a bag in his hands, and stared at the man with the many medallions in his ear.

Slowly Jarrett opened his eyes and was again astounded by the similarity between the two of them. “Hello, Kerrin,” he said, sitting forward in his chair.

“Do you want me to go?” he asked, his eyes scanning the older man’s face.

“No, I’m glad you came to see me. I’ve been waiting for you.”

“You have?” He seemed surprised. “I didn’t want to bother you. I saw Kendrick and Allistar come over here, so I waited, but as soon as they left, I came.”

Jarrett looked at the bag in the boy’s hands. “What have you got?”

“Things I like to collect. I thought you might want to see them. Would you?”

“Very much.”

Kerrin opened the mouth of the bag and dumped the contents on the table. Out tumbled rocks and feathers and beads. He picked through them and arranged them in order. Then he gave Jarrett an explanation of where each one came from and why it was important to him. Jarrett listened with interest, amazed by his son, amazed that the child was sharing something with him that he’d done himself as a boy.

Kerrin lifted one of the feathers, a long feather with bands of deep brown. The bands of brown were speckled with bright flecks of red and separated by bands of pure white. “Do you know what bird this came from?”

Jarrett shook his head.

Kerrin pointed to the medallion in the man’s ear. “A falcon. Kendrick and I found it in the Golden Meadow. Do you know the story of how my grandfather got marked by a falcon?”

“Yes, very well.”

Kerrin passed the feather to him and watched as Jarrett held it up to the light. “My grandfather had a falcon. He used it to see with because he was blind.”

“That’s right,” said Jarrett, studying the feather.

Kerrin watched him run the feather through his fingers, then he shifted his gaze to his face. “You’re my father, aren’t you?”

Jarrett’s hand fell and he stared at Kerrin a moment before he spoke. “Why do you say that?” His heart picked up speed.

Kerrin’s gaze never wavered. “We look alike.”

Jarrett couldn’t speak. Of course he would notice how similar the two of them looked to each other, and being Tyla’s son, he would see more acutely than other children his age. Still Jarrett was astonished and didn’t know how to answer.

“I don’t expect anything,” said the boy quickly, “and I understand.”

“What do you mean?”

“Kendrick told me my father was Nazarien, although he didn’t tell me you were the Nazar. Still he explained that Nazarien fathers devote their lives to the order and can’t have a family like other men. I guess since you’re the Nazar, you have even less time, right?”

Jarrett felt himself hyperventilating and he had to break the child’s intense stare. “Kendrick told you that?”

Kerrin nodded. “I wanted to know about my father and he said you were a brave and strong warrior, and that I should be proud my father was Nazarien because not many boys could say the same thing, even though sometimes I wished you could live closer to Mama and me.”

Jarrett closed his eyes. “Kerrin, I wish I could have been closer to you and your mother,” he said, opening his eyes and looking at his son. “I want you to know that I wasn’t here all those years because I couldn’t be, not because I didn’t want to be.”

The boy nodded. “Kendrick said a great warrior was coming to help Mama. I should have guessed it would be you. I’m glad you’re here. I know you’ll be able to help Mama, I know it.”

Jarrett swallowed and held the feather out to the boy. “I’m going to do everything I can for your mother, Kerrin, everything.”

Kerrin smiled and accepted the feather, laying it back in his pile. He lifted a rock and held it out. “Do you know where this came from?”

Jarrett shook his head. “No, where?”

Kerrin launched into another story and Jarrett listened, but his eyes kept drifting back to his son.

*    *    *

Tyne walked beside Jarrett that night in the garden. It was late and he was tired, but he was also worried about his brother and didn’t want to leave him just yet.

“What do you think of Temeron, Tyne?” said Jarrett finally.

Tyne glanced up in surprise. “I’m not sure. I’m trying to accept everything like you said, but it’s so different. I guess what surprises me most is how little respect people show you as Nazar.”

“That’s a difficult thing to explain. They aren’t being disrespectful...it’s just that they don’t take Nazarien...seriously.”

“What do you mean?”

Jarrett ran a hand through his black hair. “I mean that Temerian Stravad don’t take much of anything seriously.”

“I’ve noticed that,” said Tyne. Then his face became reflective. “That boy last night, he’s your son?”

Jarrett bit the inner part of his lip. “Yes,” he said finally, “but I didn’t know about him until last night.”

“And we’re here because there may be a plague in Temeron?”

Jarrett nodded.

“And they want you to do what?”

Jarrett sighed. “Accompany the Stravad Leader on a fool’s mission to a land known only to a dead man.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Neither do I. The Stravad, who infected the healers here, apparently found a strange island in the ocean. We’re going to try to find it.”

“What about the Nazarien?”

Jarrett met Tyne’s gaze. “I don’t know.”

“But you’re still going?

“Yes.”

Tyne looked down. “You and Tyla Eldralin had a child together?”

“Yes. Actually, Tyla and I are married.”

Tyne’s eyes flashed to his face. “Married? Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“I agreed not to.”

“That’s why you never participated in the procreation ceremonies?”

“Yes. I never told you about my marriage because I made a pledge not to talk about it. Do you know why I brought you here?”

Tyne shook his head.

“I wasn’t able to choose for myself whether I wanted to be Nazar or not. The decision was made for me. But I want you to choose, I want you to experience something else. Not all Stravad are Nazarien, Tyne, not even half of them. I want you to know what it means to be Stravad, then compare it to being Nazarien. When you’re done you may not want to be Nazarien anymore, let alone Nazar.”

Tyne opened his mouth to protest, but Jarrett was no longer looking at him. The young man turned abruptly and his eyes came to rest on the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.

She was tiny, her head only coming to Tyne’s shoulder. She wore a gown made of silk, gold in color. It accentuated a narrow waist and flowed down over her sensuous hips. The bodice was cut low, showing a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage. Around her bronze neck was a chain of gold adorned with an emerald. Her face was flawless, her cheekbones high, her lips full, her eyes almond shaped and as green as the emerald at her breast. Around her beautiful face and falling in a wreath of curls to her waist was a mane of dark hair.

Tyne felt a quickening in the pit of his stomach as he looked at her and his breathing was rapid. He’d never dreamed a woman could stir him in such a way, but if he’d ever wanted anything in his life, he found himself wanting her.

“Hello,” she said. “I’m Tyla Eldralin, Leader of Temeron. And you are?” She lifted one brow in question.

Tyne stepped forward and dropped to one knee, casting himself at her feet. “I’m Tyne Trauner, and am forever in your command.”

Her dress rustled as she lowered herself to his level. He looked up into her beautiful face and thought his heart would pound out of his chest. She smiled and her teeth were even and white.

“You needn’t prostrate yourself before me, Tyne Trauner. Please stand or else my dress is going to get dreadfully dirty.”

He rose to his feet and reached out to help her up. Touching her ignited a thousand thoughts in his mind and his face flushed with embarrassment.

Again she smiled. “You are undoubtedly a Nazarien warrior,” she said, shifting her eyes to the single medallion in his ear.

Tyne’s chest swelled with pride, but he glanced over his shoulder at his brother. Jarrett wasn’t looking at him, he was staring at the woman with longing. Tyne turned back and fixed his eyes on her lovely face.

“My lady, I’m not yet a Nazarien warrior. However, as of next Valhall, I will come of age.”

“Trauner?” she said, seeming to catch the name for the first time. Her eyes darkened. “Who is your father?”

“The last Nazar, my lady, Tomlin Trauner by name.”

“Then you are Jarrett’s brother?”

“Yes, my lady, and his chosen second.”

“Mores the pity,” she answered cryptically. “But you are in Temeron now, Tyne, and perhaps we can steal your heart away from its present cold and dark path.” Her eyes flickered to Jarrett and Tyne wondered if she weren’t taunting him.

“I don’t follow you, my lady.”

She laid a gloved hand on his arm. “I hope you will soon, but we can discuss this at greater length later.”

“Yes,” said Jarrett for the first time, although his eyes were still on the woman, “it’s late. You ought to be asleep by now. You may go.”

Tyne hesitated a moment, not wanting to leave, but he had to obey his brother’s command.

“In Temeron you would be considered a man and you could make your own decisions,” she said.

“My brother is the Nazar. It is treason to disobey him.”

Mischief glinted in her eyes. “And if I were to command you to stay?”

Tyne drew a deep breath. “Then I would commit treason, my lady, but I ask you to release me, as unwilling as I may be to leave your company.”

She smiled and Tyne felt his stomach tighten involuntarily again. “I would never command you, Tyne. Nor would I presume I had the right as others obviously do,” she said, her eyes again shifting to his brother. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure was mine, my lady,” he answered.

“I hope I’ll have the pleasure of your company at the ball tomorrow night.”

“Of course,” he said, then remembered himself. “That is, if my brother commands me to attend.”

“Of course,” she said with another mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Good night, my lady.”

“Good night.”

Tyne glanced over his shoulder at his brother once more to make sure Jarrett wasn’t angry, then he hurried into the cottage, unsure whether he was glad to be out of her powerful presence or disappointed their encounter hadn’t been longer.

*    *    *

When he had gone, Tyla turned her magnetic gaze fully on Jarrett. He caught his breath. If possible, she was more beautiful than she’d been ten years before. She possessed a calm wisdom and power he didn’t remember. Involuntarily his eyes passed over her body. Ten years was a long time to want a woman as badly as he wanted her, but if he’d remembered her even a fraction as beautiful as she truly was, he knew he wouldn’t have survived it.

“Tyla.” His eyes followed the length of her dark hair and he wanted to touch it.

“Hello, Jarrett, fancy you sneaking into Temeron.”

“I guess Kendrick found time to talk with you.”

Her mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Kendrick? I figured he was the one that started this whole thing, but I wasn’t completely sure until now.”

“He thought he was doing the right thing, Tyla...”

“Of course,” she said, turning away from him and walking into the garden.

Jarrett’s eyes strayed to the sway of her hips and he shut his eyes. Ten years was an unbearably long time to want a woman like Tyla. She paused in front of a bench and took a seat, her gown fanning out around her. Jarrett moved to the other end and sat down, his back rigid, his hands clasped in his lap.

“I can’t believe you came all the way out here for something that doesn’t concern you,” she said, lifting her chin defiantly.

“Your life will always concern me.”

“Is that so?” she said, turning to him, her eyes flashing.

He felt a momentary stroke against his thoughts, the familiar touch that had passed so easily between them, but she was angry.

“Why are you here?”

“Because Kendrick asked me to come.”

She drew an exasperated breath and closed her eyes. “I don’t want you here.”

“Now who’s giving commands?”

She looked away. “You’ve seen Kerrin.” It was not a question.

Jarrett dropped his gaze. “He knows I’m his father.”

“I figured he did. Did you tell him?”

“No,” said Jarrett, glancing at her. “He knew. He saw the resemblance.”

She drew a deep breath and exhaled. “I suppose it was a shock, seeing him.”

Jarrett nodded, but didn’t trust himself to speak.

“And I suppose you’re furious that I kept him from you.”

Jarrett bit his lower lip. “At first I was furious, but mostly I’m hurt. I’ve lost ten years with my son, Tyla. What do you expect me to feel?”

She shut her eyes and tilted back her head. Her hair touched the seat of the bench. Jarrett could hardly suppress his urge to bury his hands in it. She turned and looked at him.

“What did you expect me to do? You left me with a child and became Nazarien, Nazar no less. Did you really think I’d send you word, announcing you had a son so you could drag him off to Chernow as soon as he was old enough to train beside you? And if you think I’ll allow you to take him now...if you think I’ll allow you to steal his childhood and his happiness, and leave him half-dead the way you are now...” Her voice choked off.

Jarrett started to reach for her but stopped himself. “Tyla, I would never want Kerrin to be Nazarien, to go through what I’ve gone through. I would never take him away from Temeron and his people...or you.” He hesitated and looked out at the garden. “I just wish I could have seen him grow up, but I guess there are a lot of things I could wish for in the past that can never be again.”

She rose to her feet and walked away from him. “You’re right, Jarrett. The past is the past and we ought to leave it there, which is why I don’t understand what you’re doing here.”

“I’m here because you need help. I don’t know if I can give it, but I sure as hell want to try. Maybe I wasn’t there to help you when you gave birth to Kerrin, and maybe I haven’t been here to help you raise him, but I’m here now. Doesn’t that mean anything? Or do you hate me so much you can’t even accept this?”

She lifted a hand to her breast and clutched the emerald. “I’ve got to go back to the dinner. I slipped away when it was time for Kerrin to go to bed, but they’ll be expecting me back.”

Jarrett rose to his feet and moved close to her. “Please don’t go yet, not like this.”

She turned and her eyes bore into him. “What do you expect from me, Jarrett? You left me, remember. I didn’t leave you, I never left you.”

“I didn’t leave you willingly and my feelings have never changed.”

“Ah, but mine have. You shouldn’t have come here, Jarrett. Ten years is a long time and love isn’t eternal. Love is like a garden. It needs nourishment and attention in order to grow; if not, it goes to seed.”

“But seeds can grow again, Tyla.”

She shook her head. “No, not after so long.”

She turned then and walked away from him.

*    *    *

Dolan shrugged out of his uniform jacket and rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the ache of old bones. He dropped the jacket on the chair beside his dressing table and reached for the latch on the window. He liked to sleep with fresh air flowing through the room, but the maids never understood that.

His hand faltered. The latch was raised halfway. He reached for his sword hilt, but a voice whispered in his ear.

“You’re slipping, old man.”

Dolan drew his blade and swung around. The ring of metal meeting metal sounded and he came up against the barrel-chest of his opponent. In the light of the bedside lamp, he marked the tattoo across the man’s cheek and the blue of his eyes. They parted and stood, blades crossed.

“Do you want to test me?” he asked, sliding his blade along his opponent’s.

A slow smile curled the lines of the man’s lips, then he dropped his sword and took a step back. “I’m no fool. You old dogs are crafty as hell.” He slid his blade into its sheath.

Dolan didn’t relax.

The man made a sign and took a seat on the trunk Dolan kept at the foot of his bed. It had been many years, but Dolan knew that sign. He slid his own sword into its sheath.

“Why would the Kazden Cult send a follower to Sarkisian in the heat of summer?” he asked.

The man shook his head. “Bloody damn desert. Thought I was going to die. Who the hell lives in a place like this?”

Dolan didn’t respond. He eyed the falcon wing tattooed to the man’s cheek. It had been a lot of years since he’d been in contact with the Cult.

The Cult member eyed him in return. He made the sign again, fist pressed to his breast.  The sign for peace. “My name is Attis.” Another allowance of good will. No Cult member willingly shared his name, unless he wanted to put another at ease. No Cult member ever wanted to put another at ease.

Dolan reached for the chair and pulled it close. His jacket fell onto the floor, but he ignored it. Taking a seat, he shifted his sword hilt so that he could easily reach it. One never died from being too cautious, and this was the bloody damn Cult.

“This must be important.”

Attis smiled. Cult members always smiled, but there was nothing humorous about it. “Let me start by commending you. I have enjoyed the peace in Nevaisser for the last decade.”

“I am not responsible for that peace.”

“Ah, but you are. You are responsible for the King of Eastern Nevaisser; therefore, you deserve the credit. You have done well by him.”

Dolan frowned. Kalas was not a subject he discussed with anyone nor did he suffer anyone to talk against him. “Tread carefully here. My King is not fodder for the Cult.”

Attis held up a hand, palm out. “Understood.”

Dolan’s thoughts focused on something Attis had said. “Are you suggesting that our peace may be in jeopardy?”

Attis’ face grew serious. “The Nazar has left Nevaisser. Speculation is rife, but most believe he has gone to Temeron.”

Dolan wasn’t sure what that had to do with him. “And this journey of his threatens the peace of Eastern Nevaisser?”

Attis stroked his tattoo. “There are those in the order who have long memories. Pledges were made and were never meant to be broken.”

“Ah.” Things fell into focus. “Such pledges are only biding while the men involved in them live. Tomlin Trauner has been dead a long time.”

“True enough, but there are those who do not believe pledges end in the pledge-maker’s death. There are those with very long memories,” he repeated.

“Why did the Nazar go to Temeron? It has been more than a decade.”

“Talar Eldralin’s daughter needs his assistance. A plague may have been released in Temeron.”

“A plague?”

“It is a long story.”

“Tell it,” said Dolan, gritting his teeth. A plague? Why was he just now hearing this?

“It begins with a Stravad named Jax Paden, a foolish man who threatens our peace.”

Dolan frowned, but he listened as Attis spun a remarkable tale. In fact, parts of it, the island in particular, were more than a little hard to swallow, but knowing the Cult as he did, he didn’t think they were capable of inventing such tripe. It had to be true on that basis alone.

Dolan tried to pull it all together. “Temeron was possibly infected with a plague, the Nazar has gone to help Tyla, and together they are going to try to find an island told to them by a dead man. On top of this, members of the Cult are worried about the pledge the Nazar made to another dead man?”

“No,” said Attis calmly, “the Cult is not concerned about the pledge. As I told you, we have enjoyed the peace maintained by your king. We do not want to see anyone intervene in the Nazar’s mission. He must escort Talar Eldralin’s daughter to this island, and they must find the origins of this disease.”

“Then who wants to intervene in the Nazar’s mission?”

Attis gave him a look as if to say he was senile. “Members of his own order. We’ve received word that they intend to exact vengeance on both the Nazar and Talar Eldralin’s daughter as prescribed by Tomlin Trauner when the agreement was struck.”

Dolan sat back. He didn’t think much could shock him, but this did. “If anything happens to Tyla, Kalas will declare war on the Nazarien.”

Attis gave a short nod. “Again, the Cult enjoys our peace, hence my presence in this forsaken desert.” He shivered in disgust.

Dolan tried to absorb what he’d been told, but there were a lot of confusing pieces. “No one has told us of this plague. How is it you know of it?”

Attis sighed. “The Cult escorted Jax Paden to Temeron before he died.”

Dolan’s head lifted.

Attis shifted in his chair. “Each one of the escorts has died.”

Dolan narrowed his eyes.

“And those that cared for them are now sick.” Attis leaned forward and dropped his voice. “We need Tyla to find that island. We need her to find the cure for this sickness.” He reached out and gripped Dolan’s arm. “All Stravad are vulnerable. If she doesn’t find the cure, we all might die.”

*    *    *

Kendrick summoned Jarrett to the main business section of Temeron the following morning. It had grown in the last ten years and Jarrett was surprised by the number of goods bearing Denortosal labels. He ran his hand across a gilded sword sheath and frowned. Such an elaborate, unnecessary show of wealth, he thought, and then looked up guiltily, realizing his thought was completely Nazarien.

As he wandered through the people and around the displays, he considered everything that had been said to him since he came to Temeron. His old friends and companions noted the change in him, the seriousness, the rigidity, but they didn’t understand he’d spent ten years learning to train all show of emotion out of himself. A warrior, a glorified killing machine, didn’t have need of emotion.

But what the Nazarien didn’t understand is that suppressing the display of it didn’t take it away. Allistar, Tyla, and Kendrick would be surprised if they knew how much emotion raged in his breast since he’d set foot in Temeron, but they saw only the outward display. Even Tyla – once she would have known his most private thoughts, but now she saw only his hardened exterior, his fixed stance, and his unchanging expression.

“Good morning, Jarrett,” said Kendrick when Jarrett stopped alongside him. Kendrick was surveying a display of fabrics from Denortosal. “They still don’t compare with Temerian blends, but they’re getting better.”

“Is this work or pleasure, Kendrick?”

Kendrick laughed. “Work of the worst kind. You know we’re having a banquet in honor of the merchants from Denortosal. The King and Queen should be arriving in the next few hours. Well, it’s always good for the First Advisor to survey the battle ground before the event.”

Jarrett drew a breath. “I never dreamed you’d be happy playing court to Kings and Queens.”

“You thought I’d always be a warrior on crusade in Talar Eldralin’s name?”

“Yes.”

“So did I, but Talar Eldralin has many champions. Somehow the charm of a man long dead evaporated in the cast of his daughter’s emerald eyes.”

Jarrett looked down. “Why didn’t you and Tyla ever...” He hesitated, unable to finish the thought.

Kendrick stopped walking and lifted a wooden bowl for inspection. “You know, in the ten years that I’ve been in Tyla’s service, I’ve learned to love her.” He looked at Jarrett directly. “I mean really love her. She’s the most intelligent, cunning woman I’ve ever met – aside from being the most beautiful.” He set the bowl down and started walking again. “As I began loving her, I realized I no longer wanted to possess her and more than that, I learned I couldn’t possess her. I also learned she truly and devoutly loves you. For Tyla, as for you, there was only one person who could have her heart in that way.”

“I think you’re wrong there.”

Kendrick glanced at his companion. “I heard last night didn’t go well. I’m sorry, Jarrett, I tried talking to her a dozen times. When she disappeared from the banquet, I knew where she’d gone. I thought it best not to follow.”

“Good decision, she was furious with you. Not as furious as she was with me, but very nearly.”

“She never returned to the banquet. That isn’t in character for her, she takes her duty as Leader of Temeron very seriously, and at breakfast this morning, I was prepared to get it, but she said very little.”

“You share every part of her life, you’ve been a father to Kerrin, yet...”

“Yet? Do you know how many men have asked for her hand in the last ten years? They’ve journeyed from as far away as Terra Antiguo, Jarrett. They’ve brought her jewels and furs, they’ve thrown the wealth of kingdoms at her feet. The Prince of Denortosal, Gauvin, has been the worst. His wife left him the first time he asked Tyla to marry him. Since then he’s been alone, but he makes a point of asking her at least fifty times a year. And at least fifty times a year she turns him down. The other declinations probably amount to the thousands, but the point is, she’s never once accepted the attention of anyone since you left.”

Why did Kendrick keep trying to instill hope in him? “I wanted to thank you for what you told Kerrin about his father.”

“I told Kerrin the truth.”

“Not completely, but I thank you for the elaboration. And you’ve done a good job with him. He’s a fine boy.”

“He is. I love Kerrin like my own son, much as you treat Tyne.”

“Tyne? This trip has been a blow to his jaded Nazarien senses.”

Kendrick moved away from the display of wooden bowls. “If you leave Tyne with me in Temeron, Jarrett, I’m going to try dissuading him from the Nazarien.”

“Really?”

Kendrick laughed. “Surprises you? Like I said, I learned what life is about when I came to live in Temeron, and living is not what the Nazarien do well. So if Tyne stays with me, I’m going to show him the most hedonistic, indulgent sides of Temeron to be found.”

“If you could be turned away from the Nazarien, Kendrick, I don’t think Tyne stands a chance.”

Kendrick’s eyes flashed with mischief. “Isn’t that why you brought him here?”

Jarrett looked away, a smile touching the corners of his mouth. “What are we going to do about Tyla?” he said, deliberately changing the subject.

“We’re going to keep trying. In fact, I want you to attend the ball tonight.”

Jarrett stopped walking. “No. She basically told me to leave Temeron last night. I can’t...”

“You have to. She expects Tyne to attend. If you don’t show, she’ll figure she’s won. One thing I’ve learned with Tyla, you mustn’t let her know she’s won too often or you’ll never get your way about anything.”

“I think you need to work on her yourself. Throwing myself in front of her is only going to make her more determined to fight me.”

“Eldon’s star, Jarrett, you’d think you were going up against the Sarkisian army by yourself again.”

Jarrett’s eyes drifted away. “No, this is more difficult.”

“And this is more important.”

Jarrett shut his eyes, but he knew he’d already lost. “Fine, I’ll attend the ball, but you’ve got to reason with her like you just did with me.”

“I’m going to,” he said, then turned toward a display of pottery.

*    *    *

Tyne held the polished piece of wood, while Jarrett drew the sinew across the length of it. Kerrin watched in rapt attention. Jarrett’s back and chest were bare, a light sheen of perspiration glistening against his bronze flesh. Kerrin marveled at the taut lines of his father’s muscles and the white of his many scars.

“What are you making?” he asked, lifting his eyes to Tyne’s face.

Tyne glanced at him, drawing back on the wood. “A long bow.”

“A weapon?”

“Yes, a weapon.”

“Can you fire an arrow?”

Tyne frowned at him. “Yes, I can fire an arrow. I have my own bow. The Nazar made it for me.”

“And your own sword? Do you have a sword?”

“You can let go,” said Jarrett, moving the bow out of the young man’s hands. He took a seat on the edge of the table, his eyes drifting out into the gardens, while his fingers felt along the length of the wood for any missed slivers.

“Yes, I have a sword. Don’t you?”

Jarrett’s eyes passed between the two boys as he reached for a knife and began working on the wood once more. Kerrin watched his father for a moment, then sighed. “No, I’ve never even touched a weapon before.”

“Haven’t you started battle training?” asked Tyne.

Jarrett narrowed his eyes on Tyne and the boy clamped his jaw shut.

“No, have you?”

“When I was your age. Next Valhall, I’ll participate in the manhood ceremony and then I’ll be a full Nazarien warrior.”

Kerrin stared at the older boy. “Do you know how to swim?”

Tyne gave him a wide-eyed stare. “Of course, don’t you?”

Kerrin shook his head.

“Well, don’t you have some friends who could teach you?”

Kerrin tilted his head and grimaced. “I didn’t want them to know I couldn’t swim.”

“Eldon’s star, Kerrin, they all had to learn how to swim too. Who do you think taught them?”

“Their fathers.”

Tyne stiffened and Jarrett’s eyes flashed to the boy’s face. Kerrin met his gaze unwaveringly.

Jarrett set the knife on the table behind him and slipped down into the chair so he was level with his son. “Well, it seems like we’ve got our work cut out for us, then, doesn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we’ll just have to teach you how to swim, won’t we?”

Kerrin’s eyes danced. “You’ll teach me?”

“Of course,” said Jarrett.

“And show me how to fire an arrow?”

Jarrett considered the matter a moment. “All right, but we’ll have to start first thing tomorrow morning.”

Kerrin felt his smile stretch clear across his face. Without inhibition, he threw his arms around his father’s neck and hugged him fiercely.

Finally Jarrett put his arms around him and pulled him close.

CHAPTER 4

Jarrett stepped into the parlor of the main house and drew a deep breath. Stravad dignitaries and the emissaries from Denortosal were milling about, drinking wine and engaging in conversation. His eyes made the circuit of the room and he spotted Tash and Thalandar talking with the King of Denortosal.

Searching the group, Jarrett spotted Kendrick in a finely tailored uniform of black with gold buttons. The Stravad’s hair looked almost as gold as his buttons in the light of the oil lamps. Beside him was Tyla, as breathtakingly beautiful as ever, in a deep emerald green dress with a long train. The bodice was tight around her well-formed bosom, the sleeves accentuating the fine lines of her slender arms and ending in white lace at her wrists. As always the Karhartadon emerald glistened against her breast.

They were talking with a man, nearly Jarrett’s age he figured. The man was tall with sandy brown hair and dark eyes. He was a handsome man, but something about his overly full lips seemed almost feminine. The Prince Gauvin, assumed Jarrett. So this was the man who’d pursued his wife for the last ten years.

Tyne stirred beside him and Jarrett looked down. The young man seemed uncomfortable in the brilliant display of boisterous Stravad, but when his eyes strayed to Tyla, Jarrett figured he understood some of the discomfort.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

Tyne glanced up. “Nazar?”

“Tyla Eldralin, she steals a man’s breath away.”

Tyne dropped his eyes, a touch of pink igniting in his cheeks. “She’s beautiful, Nazar.”

“Tyne, while we’re in Temeron, you don’t have to call me Nazar. Please use my given name.”

“All right,” he muttered, but his expression didn’t seem sure.

Jarrett suppressed a smile and turned as Allistar approached them. The Stravad was in his uniform as always, his handsome face lifted in a smile. A beautiful Stravad woman was on his arm.

“Jarrett, this is my wife, Zia. Zia, this is an old friend and the Nazar, Jarrett.”

Jarrett bowed low to the woman. “Jarrett Trauner,” he said. “I’m pleased to meet you. This is my brother, Tyne Trauner.”

The young man tried to imitate his brother’s bow.

“The pleasure is mine,” said Zia with a smile.

“Allistar tells me you have four children?”

Her eyes danced and she glanced at her husband. “Yes, three sons and a daughter. I’m quite busy.”

“I’ll bet.”

“I didn’t think I’d see you here. Sources tell me your meeting with Tyla didn’t go as well as it might,” remarked Allistar, glancing over his shoulder at her.

“Your sources were being overly kind then.”

Zia clasped her hands before her. “I hope you can convince her to accept your help. Allistar has told me much of your skill as a warrior.”

Jarrett met the woman’s gaze. “I hope I can too.  However, I’m afraid that there’s a lot of past to work through and I don’t know if there’s enough time.”

“Sometimes people have to forget the past and go on with life. I know Tyla and she isn’t one to allow life to slip by her. You can’t give up.”

Jarrett’s eyes shifted to Allistar. “You’re a lucky man.”

“Yes, he is,” she answered.

Allistar laughed. “Let’s go charm some of the merchants from Denortosal,” he said, drawing her away.

“Good evening, Jarrett and Tyne. Perhaps you’ll both save me a dance,” she said over her shoulder.

“Of course,” said Jarrett, inclining his head.

Tyne bowed again.

Kendrick appeared beside the two men. “You look good, Jarrett,” he said. “Hello, Tyne.”

“Hello, First Advisor,” said the young man.

Kendrick frowned. “My name is Kendrick and my title is boring. Let’s agree not to use it, shall we?”

“Certainly,” Tyne answered, but he tugged at his collar. Jarrett knew he was uncomfortable with Temerian familiarity.

“Do you see that man with Tyla?” asked Kendrick.

Jarrett nodded. “He’s the Prince Gauvin, I assume.”

“Correct, and he’s a bore. Tyla almost burned me with her eyes when I slipped away, but I couldn’t stand listening to him anymore. No wonder his wife left him.”

“You said that before. What do you mean his wife left him?”

“I mean his wife left him, ran out with a traveling musician, but I wouldn’t pity him. At the time, he was sending flowers to Tyla here in Temeron. He’d even gone so far as to ask for her hand in marriage. I guess his wife figured she ought to leave before Tyla accepted.”

“Doesn’t he know that Tyla’s married?”

Kendrick glanced at him, then laughed. “Feeling a little possessive, Jarrett, and after you told me there would never be anything between you and Tyla again.”

“I didn’t say there would be, but Tyla and I are still legally married. She can’t take another husband until I’m dead.”

“Well, at any rate, I’ve just come up with an idea. She dislikes Gauvin, although she’d never admit it. If you were to escort her to dinner so she wouldn’t have to sit next to him, she might warm up to you.”

“Or she might gut me with another cutting remark.”

“She might, but not likely in front of Gauvin. She’s your wife, Jarrett. You don’t want her spending the entire meal with him trying to tempt her into his bed.”

Jarrett’s eyes flashed to the Stravad’s face. “I liked you better when you were Nazarien,” he said as he walked away.

He drew a deep breath and squared his shoulders as he came abreast of Tyla and Gauvin. The man glared at him, but Tyla seemed relieved to see him. Her eyes surveyed the cast of his uniform.

“Lord Gauvin, may I introduce the Nazar?”

Jarrett held out his hand. “Jarrett Trauner.”

Gauvin accepted the hand. “You’re a long way from home, Nazar.”

“Jarrett is in Temeron on business...” offered Tyla.

“...and to see my wife and son,” Jarrett interrupted, narrowing his eyes on the man.

Gauvin lifted his chin and Tyla glared at him. Behind them, Kendrick announced dinner would be served in the dining room and people began to mill towards it.

Without taking his eyes from Jarrett, Gauvin offered Tyla his arm. She hesitated, giving Jarrett enough time to capture her hand and pull it through his own. She was startled by his bold move, but she didn’t pull away.

“After you, my lord,” she said.

Gauvin glared at Jarrett, but nodded, moving into place beside some of the more important merchants of Denortosal.

Jarrett drew Tyla up beside him, placing his free hand over hers so she wouldn’t be able to pull away. “I hear he’s asked you to marry him,” he said under his breath as they walked through the parlor.

“He has, and one of these times I may accept.”

Jarrett looked down at her with amusement. “You forget you’re already married,” he answered, pulling a chair away from the dining table and helping her into it.

She took a seat and reached for her napkin. “What do you think you’re doing?” she muttered, forcing a smile for the King and Queen of Denortosal who sat across from her.

“Escorting my wife to dinner and taking my place at her side as a husband should.”

She glared at him. “Don’t push it, Jarrett. You’re my husband in name only and if I wanted that annulled, I don’t think anyone in Temeron would argue with me.”

“Why haven’t you done so then?” he said as he brought his glass of wine to his lips.

She followed his movements with her eyes. “Maybe I will tomorrow.”

He brought the glass down and fixed her with a stare. “I don’t believe you.”

She turned away from him, her dark hair falling over her shoulder.

Throughout dinner she ignored him. Thankfully Allistar and his wife had taken the seats next to him. When he’d escorted Tyla to Temeron ten years before, he and Allistar had struck up a friendship. He was pleased to know ten years hadn’t dampened their ease with one another. He found Allistar’s wife to be charming and he envied the Commander. Allistar had found happiness. It made Jarrett realize how empty his own life had become.

He glanced at Tyla throughout the meal and frequently looked up to find Gauvin glaring at him. Once he looked for Tyne and found the young man in an intense conversation with two Stravad women.

Glancing back at Tyla, he noted that her conversation with the King and Queen of Denortosal had cooled. “Where’s Kerrin?” The question had been on his mind all night.

“I gave him a choice. He could attend the banquet or finish his studies in his room. He chose to finish his studies.”

Jarrett suppressed a smile. “Doesn’t sound like much of a choice?”

“Kerrin’s nine, Jarrett, and he’s decided he doesn’t like banquets. Still, it doesn’t hurt him to attend. What would you have me do, reward him for disobedience?”

“I don’t like banquets either, Tyla. I can’t say I blame him. I don’t think it’s disobedience.”

“You are also excused from this banquet then.”

He gave her a rakish look. “And miss seeing you furious with me. I forgot how gorgeous you are when you’re angry.”

She dropped her napkin in her plate and rose to her feet with the rest of her guests, who were moving into the ballroom. She leaned over him. He could smell the clean, wild scent of her hair as it spilled over her shoulder and touched his arm, and his eyes fixed on her lips.

“You forget yourself, Nazar,” she said. Then she moved past him.

He clenched his hands into fists on the table.

Allistar leaned close. “You certainly believe in tempting fate, don’t you?” he said, pushing himself to his feet.

Jarrett watched him walk away with his wife and then rose to follow them. The ballroom was already crowded with Stravad and Humans, some dancing across the polished floor to the cheerful music of the quartet. He angled through the press of people toward Tyne, who stood staring at the dancers with astonishment.

The young man looked up into his brother’s face. “Jarrett, do you see how close those men are holding the women?”

“You’re in Temeron now, Tyne.”

“But...so close, Jarrett? You can’t see any light between them and they’re in public.”

Before Jarrett could respond, Tyla glided up beside him and smiled at Tyne. “How did you like the meal?”

Immediately Tyne dropped his eyes and bowed his head. “It was wonderful, my lady.”

“I saw you engaged in conversation with two very attractive young women.”

Tyne looked up at her, astonished. “I was only...”

Tyla laughed. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Now, would you grant me a dance?”

“My lady, I don’t know how to dance.”

“Well, then, I’ll show you.”

Tyne opened his mouth to protest, but Tyla slipped her arm through his and drew him away from his brother. The young man looked over his shoulder to see if the Nazar was annoyed, but Jarrett had stepped back into the crowd.

She led him to the middle of the dance floor and turned to face him. Taking one hand, she folded his fingers around hers, then she reached for his other hand and brought it to her waist. Finally she guided him around in an awkward, stumbling circle. Jarrett wanted to laugh.

The rest of the night, Gauvin occupied Tyla’s attention. Jarrett watched them with a growing mixture of jealousy and irritation. The Prince of Denortosal wasn’t a very good dancer and he held Tyla too close. She was forced to dance with one hand against his chest to keep him from smothering her against him.

Finally Jarrett couldn’t take it anymore and he pushed through the crowded dance floor, stepping up behind Gauvin and tapping him on the shoulder. Tyla glanced around the man and again seemed relieved by Jarrett’s interference, but Gauvin was annoyed.

Jarrett squared his shoulders. He knew Gauvin had to notice that he out-weighed him by at least fifty pounds. “You don’t mind if I dance with my wife, do you?”

Gauvin’s eyes flashed, but he released Tyla and stepped away with a flourishing bow. Jarrett nodded, then moved forward to take Tyla’s hand. Tyla allowed him to spin her around a few times before she pulled her hand free of his and stepped back.

“Thank you, but he’s gone so we needn’t keep up this pretense.”

“What pretense?” he said, moving forward again and capturing her. “I said I wanted a dance with my wife and I intend to have one.” Jarrett knew how to dance. Dancing was a lot like battle, one had to be quick, fluid, and agile.

Before Tyla could protest again, Jarrett had spun her around the floor, their steps flowing easily into one another. As they went, he pulled her closer until he had her crushed against him, his hand sliding from her waist to her back underneath her wealth of hair. Their eyes locked with one another and for the brief moment of the dance, they forgot anyone else was in the room.

Tyla’s lips parted and a flush crept into her cheeks. “Jarrett, let me go.”

He released her and she looked up into his face a moment before she turned and fled.

He could only watch her go, drawing a deep breath.

*    *    *

“Hold on a minute,” said Kalas, running a hand across his face and into his hair. “You mean to tell me there might be a plague raging through my land and no one has thought to tell me about it.”

“That’s why I’m here…” Dolan glared at him, so Attis begrudgingly added, “…Your Majesty.”

Kalas was seated on his throne. Actually, he was half-seated, half-standing, watching the Cult Commander with a puzzled expression. “A plague that may be raging through both Loden and Nevaisser, and yet I’m only now hearing about it?”

Attis nodded.

“And my sister is planning to travel to an island no one knows about, told to her by a man who is now dead, to find green people seven feet tall and ask them for a cure?”

Attis started to respond, then stopped. He glanced at Dolan. Dolan pursed his lips. It did sound barking mad.

Kalas gave a snort of laughter. “And because that isn’t enough, you came to tell me that Nazarien malcontents are bent on exacting revenge on my sister and the Nazar because of some pledge made ten years ago to another dead man?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Attis finally.

Kalas was silent for a moment, staring out the windows at the motionless streets of Sarkisian. Dolan knew he preferred spending his time in Adishian, but being regent of the entire eastern part of Nevaisser required him to divide his attention between the two kingdoms. In the last ten years, Kalas had grown into the mantle of King. Dolan took pride in his calm, considered demeanor. Kalas never made a rash decision, but when he decided, it was final.

“Do the Nazarien comprehend that I will declare war on them if they harm my sister?” he asked in a deceptively calm tone.

“Try to understand, Your Majesty, those who still follow Tomlin Trauner are but a handful. The majority of Nazarien are loyal to the current Nazar. Yet, this handful will go to any length to fulfill Tomlin’s final pledge, even to the destruction of the Nazarien. They are fanatical.”

“How did you come by all of this information?”

Attis shifted uncomfortably. “We intercepted communication between Chernow and Kazden.”

“Meaning that there are fanatics in your branch of the order?” Kalas’ sarcasm was lost on Attis, but Dolan picked it up. Fanatics in the Cult? Ha!

“We have dealt with our problems. The Cult remains loyal to the peace.”

Kalas slumped in his throne. “Tell me again. The warriors who escorted Jax Paden to Temeron have all died?”

“And those who cared for them are now infected.”

Kalas’ blue eyes shifted to Dolan. “There is no other definition of a plague but that. And it has crossed into Loden as well.”

Dolan inclined his head in agreement.

“And you are sure my sister intends to venture here after this island?”

“That’s what our sources indicate.”

“And yet I’ve been told nothing?”

“I’m not certain why.”

“Leave it to Tyla to come herself.” Kalas scrubbed at his face again. “To an island no one knows, in an ocean as boundless as…” His voice trailed away.

Dolan frowned. Kalas’ eyes were distant in thought.

Attis shared a look with him, but didn’t speak.

“You said Jax Paden was originally from Temeron, right?”

“Right.”

“Land-locked Temeron?”

“No other.”

Kalas’ gaze swung back and pinned Attis.

“Your Majesty,” added the Cult Commander quickly.

“Someone taught Jax to sail. Someone taught him to navigate.”

Dolan’s head lifted.

“Someone showed him this island,” finished Kalas. “Someone in Kazden.”

Attis’ eyes widened. “Which means someone might be able to show us?”

“It also means a particularly clever Nazarien fanatic could find him as well.”

Dolan sighed and curled his fingers around his sword hilt. “We’re going to Kazden, aren’t we?”

Kalas opened his eyes again. He didn’t respond.

Attis looked at both of them, then exhaled. “Across that bloody, damn desert?” he moaned.

*    *    *

Jarrett sat on the shore of the small lake, allowing the sun to dry his hair. Tyne and Kerrin were playing in the water, splashing each other and wrestling. Jarrett enjoyed watching the two boys. Tyne was actually laughing, although Jarrett knew if he realized he was breaking a Nazarien rule, he’d stop immediately.

He and Tyne had been working with Kerrin since early that morning. The boy was a fast learner and a willing student. Before Jarrett decided to leave them to their play, Kerrin managed to swim, albeit rather clumsily, across half the length of the lake.

He looked up as Tyla paused beside him. She was watching her son intently, motherly concern vivid in her face. “Jarrett, Kerrin shouldn’t be out so far.”

“He’s fine, Tyla. Tyne’s a strong swimmer and I’m right here. I won’t let anything happen to him.”

Tyla took a seat beside him, her eyes still following her son. “I didn’t know he could swim.”

“He couldn’t, but we remedied the problem this morning,” he said, glancing at her from the corner of his eyes. She wore a loose white blouse and black trousers that hugged every curve of her body. Her hair was plaited in a single braid that hung down to the belt of her pants. Jarrett breathed deeply and looked away from her.

“You taught him?”

“Tyne and I, he’s a quick learner. It didn’t take much.”

Tyla turned back to her son. “It never crossed my mind to teach him how to swim. I guess I expected Kendrick to do it. I guess I’ve expected Kendrick to do a lot for Kerrin.”

“Kendrick’s done well by Kerrin. He’s done well by both of you.”

Tyla met his gaze. “Yes, he has, Jarrett. Kendrick’s a part of our family now. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

Jarrett didn’t answer.

Tyne grabbed Kerrin and pushed him under the water. The smaller boy popped up immediately, but he started coughing.

Tyla started to her feet, but Jarrett caught her hand to stop her. “He’s fine.”

She hesitated, but her eyes still followed her son.

“He’s fine, Tyla. I told you I won’t let anything happen to him, but he needs to know the power of the water. How’s he going to learn if he doesn’t swallow at least a little of it?”

She allowed him to pull her back down beside him, but she couldn’t remove her gaze from her son even though he was no longer coughing. Then she became aware that Jarrett hadn’t released her hand. She started to pull away, but he merely tightened his grip.

“It hasn’t been easy raising a boy by yourself, has it?”

She swallowed, but she didn’t try to remove her hand. “I told you Kendrick helped, and my grandfather and Thalandar. Even Allistar’s been there when I needed him and with three boys of his own, he understands what a challenge Kerrin can be.”

Jarrett ran his thumb over her hand. He looked up at the braid that fell down her back and followed the line of her jaw to her lips. Suddenly, he wished they were alone, so he could unwind that dark mane of hair, pulling it around her shoulders. She seemed to sense his thoughts and she looked up, meeting his gaze.

“Why did you bring Tyne here with you?”

“When I went to Chernow, Tyne was only five years old. There was never a more inquisitive Nazarien child than he was and I immediately liked him. Throughout the years, he’s tried to live up to the Nazarien order, but there’s so much life inside of him that he has a difficult time. Next Valhall he comes of age and the Nazarien will drive the last of the boy out of him. I wanted him to see another side to living, another way of being, before he lost all enjoyment in the world.”

“You were very much like Tyne once. Have they taken all the life out of you too?”

“I wish I could answer that.”

For a moment she held his stare, then Kerrin called to her. She pulled her hand away from his and rose to her feet, walking down the bank toward the lake.

“Watch me swim, Mama.”

“All right, but be careful.”

Jarrett watched his son swim toward his mother. When he reached the bank, he stood up and ran into her waiting arms. She caught him in an embrace, water and all, and her laughter floated up to Jarrett. It made him shiver and he wished desperately that he could share it with her.

*    *    *

Jarrett sat at the table across from Kendrick and Allistar in the Council Chamber of Temeron. Maps were strewn across the table in disarray.

“I figure that once we cross the Groziks, we’ll need to resupply.”

“I’ve been sending regular missives to Kalas the last couple of weeks. He hasn’t responded yet, but I’ve no doubt he’ll give us his aid,” said Kendrick, looking over the Stravad commander’s shoulder.

“Either way, we’ll resupply in Kazden and try to find this Brodie. Hopefully, he’s still alive.”

Jarrett drew a deep breath and combed his fingers through his hair. “I don’t like any of this.”

“Do you have any other suggestions?”

Jarrett rose, turning away from the two men. He walked to the windows and took another deep breath, drawing in the sweet Temerian air.

“There are too many variables.” Turning back toward the table, he glanced between Allistar and Kendrick. “There are too many things that could go wrong.”

“Then it’ll be just like battle, Jarrett,” said Kendrick.

“No, it won’t. In battle you can predict how the combatants will react. We can’t predict any of this.” He caught himself and shut his eyes in frustration. “If this Brodie is dead, like Jax, what then? How do we find the island? This whole plan is ridiculous.”

“Why don’t we take one problem at a time? Let’s not manufacture more before we have to,” said Allistar testily.

“We should also remember we’re on the same side,” said Kendrick.

Allistar’s eyes met Jarrett’s.

Jarrett squared his jaw. “I’m sorry, Allistar.”

Allistar held up his hands to stop the apology. “I feel the same thing you’re feeling, but what choice do we have? You know Tyla as well as I. When she decides something, nothing will stop her. We might as well resign ourselves that she’s going to Kazden and be done with it.”

“You’re right. I’ve just had a lot to take in over a short period of time and my temper’s frayed. I’m sorry.”

Kendrick placed a hand on his shoulder. “We know. We don’t mean to make it more difficult.”

“No, we don’t. I’m sorry I snapped.” Allistar offered Jarrett a weary smile. “Anyway, I’m late for my rounds. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Jarrett nodded and watched the Stravad commander walk away. When the door closed, he looked at Kendrick again.

“I know this visit to Temeron has been difficult for you, Jarrett, but Allistar just put into words everything that I’ve been thinking since this ordeal began. Don’t forget Tyla’s history. She hasn’t changed that much. She gets what she wants one way or another. You ought to remember that.”

“I do, Kendrick,” he said and the Stravad nodded.

“I’ve got other meetings to attend,” Kendrick replied, turning away from the table and following Allistar’s steps from the room.

Jarrett rubbed his eyes with the heels of both hands, then snaked his fingers through his hair again and held his head. They didn’t understand. Tyla might not have changed in the last ten years, but he had. Still, one thing remained the same – his love for Tyla. He knew she would get her way. It was inevitable.

CHAPTER 5

Kerrin stood before his father as Jarrett brought the bow into place. Drawing back on the sinew, his hands covering his son’s, Jarrett moved the boy’s fingers to the feathered shaft of the arrow to hold it in place. He looked at the target and nodded.

“See here, Kerrin,” he said, motioning at the hay bale with one finger, “look along that line and spot your target.”

The boy squinted one eye. “I see it. What now?”

Jarrett braced his shoulders, letting the weight of the bow settle in his hands rather than his son’s. “When you’re ready, release the sinew and the shaft of the arrow at the same time.”

Kerrin drew a deep breath and held it, then he released the weapon with a twang. Jarrett felt the bow shift upward in the moment before Kerrin released and he countered the shot, hoping the arrow would strike somewhere close to the mark.

To his surprise, the arrow embedded in the hay bale not far from the red target he and Tyne had placed there that morning. Kerrin leapt into the air and whooped with pride. Jarrett’s eyes danced in delight.

“Good shot,” said Tyne, slapping the boy on the shoulder.

“Let’s go look,” said Kerrin, grabbing Tyne’s arm and pulling him forward. Jarrett let the bow drop against his thigh as he watched the two boys race toward the target.

They inspected the shot and then Kerrin turned, waving to his father. “Come see, Jarrett.”

Jarrett took a step forward, but someone called his name. He turned to find Tyla striding across the meadow toward him.

She stopped in front of him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He frowned. “I don’t follow.”

“Tell me you aren’t showing my son how to fire a weapon.”

Jarrett’s eyes widened. “I...” he began and then glanced down at the bow in his hands. “I...”

“Really, Jarrett, did the Nazarien take your brains with your heart?”

“Now wait a minute, Tyla, why are you so furious with me?”

She started to answer, but Kerrin and Tyne had jogged up beside them. “Mama, did you see? I almost hit the target the first time.”

Her expression softened. “Kerrin, go with Tyne back to town. I want to speak with Jarrett alone.”

“Why?” asked the boy, glancing up at his father.

“Because I asked you to. Please do as I say.”

“No, I want to stay here.” He took a step closer to Jarrett’s side.

Tyla recoiled as if he’d struck her. Her eyes flashed to Jarrett’s face. He lifted his hand and laid it on the boy’s head, but he couldn’t suppress the wave of emotion that went through him at his son’s words.

“Kerrin, do as your mother asks,” he said, his eyes never leaving Tyla’s. “Tyne, walk Kerrin back to town, please.” He passed the bow to his brother.

Tyne caught Kerrin’s arm and tugged him forward. Kerrin’s eyes shifted between Jarrett and Tyla, but he went with the older boy reluctantly.

Tyla waited until they were almost out of earshot. “I want you to leave Temeron tomorrow.”

Jarrett blinked in surprise. “Are you commanding me to leave, Tyla?”

“If you force me to, I will. Don’t you see what you’ve done? You haven’t been here a week and you’re turning my son against me.”

“I’m not turning your son against you, but he needs a father. How can you deny him that right?”

“Kerrin doesn’t need a father. He hasn’t had a father in the last ten years.”

“Not by my choosing.”

“You can’t just walk in here after an entire decade and try to change things. What right do you have to show him how to use a weapon?”

“The same right any other father would.”

“No,” she said in a deadly calm voice. “No, you don’t. You gave up that right when you chose to be Nazar over Kerrin’s father.”

“You didn’t let me make the choice, Tyla, you made it for me.”

She caught her breath and held it. Gradually, she exhaled. “I won’t let you take him away from me. I won’t let you make him into a Nazarien.”

“Is that what this is about? You think my showing him how to fire a bow is a bid to make him Nazarien.”

She didn’t answer him, but the fury in her eyes was answer enough.

“I don’t want Kerrin to become Nazarien, Tyla, but the truth is that it isn’t my decision.”

“Damn right it isn’t!”

“And it isn’t yours either. Kerrin will be whatever he chooses to be. I won’t force him one way or another, and I won’t allow anyone else to do it.”

“Get out, Jarrett. Leave us alone. We were perfectly happy before you came here.”

“You need my help and I’m not leaving until this is over.”

“I don’t need your help. I don’t need you or anything to do with you. I will solve this problem as I have everything else for the last ten years.”

“Damn it, Tyla, why does everything have to be so difficult with you? You were the same way when we tried to bring you out of Sarkisian before Rarick came. Do you remember what happened then? I was the one who paid for your stubbornness, but I’m not going to pay this time.”

Tears filled her eyes. Jarrett blinked in confusion. Tyla was not a woman given to histrionics. He reached out a hand to her, but she took a step back. “Don’t please.”

“Tell me what’s going on. This can’t just be about the weapon.”

She brushed the tears away. “One of the healers who attended Jax Paden has begun coughing blood. We have her quarantined and we’re taking precautions to keep exposure to a minimum, but it means the disease is progressing.”

“Which means we need to leave?”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand. I don’t want your help. I want you to go back to the Nazarien. You are a complication I don’t need right now.”

“Tyla, I won’t pretend I understand this whole idea of yours. It seems like a gamble to me. Still, if you’re right and this thing is spreading, it seems like more than a Temerian problem. If it helps, think of me acting only in the capacity of the Nazar. For three generations, the Nazarien have been the protectors of the Eldralins. Consider this my sworn duty.”

She studied his face. “Do you understand why I have to go?”

“Not really, but everyone keeps trying to explain it. Seems to me you’re needed here, but you’ve never listened to me before.”

“I need to find whatever it is that infected Jax, plant or dirt or whatever. I know I can make an antidote if I can study it.”

“What makes you think there aren’t thousands of plants on that island?”

She reached into the pocket of her trousers and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She held it out to him. “Before he died, he made me this sketch.”

Jarrett took the paper, but he didn’t open it. He tilted his head and frowned. “He made you this sketch?”

“Yes.”

Jarrett’s fingers tightened on the paper. “Were you one of his healers?”

She drew a breath, then exhaled. “Only at the end, but it was already too late.”

Once he and Tyla had shared their very thoughts. He knew when she was being evasive. “Do you have symptoms?”

“No,” she said, but she said it a bit too quickly.

Jarrett felt the blood drain from his face and he realized he was crushing the paper in his hand. “Tyla?”

Her green eyes flashed. “If you’re worried about my exposure, that’s all the more reason to leave, Jarrett. The Nazar is no longer a sworn protector of this Eldralin. Maybe my brother would like your service?”

“No doubt he would,” he said and forced himself to release the paper. He smoothed it open against his thigh and studied the crude drawing. Jax had drawn a strange mountainside with plants he’d never seen before. Perhaps Tyla had something. And if anyone could find an antidote, she was the one. He gave her a narrow look. “I’m sure your brother would be easier to work with.”

“For?” she corrected.

“What?”

“If you insist on this, let’s get one thing clear. You work for me, not the other way around. If you want to make your claim as Nazar, then you answer to me. That makes me Lord of the Nazarien, doesn’t it?”

Jarrett couldn’t help the smile that teased the corners of his mouth. He handed her back the paper. “As you wish, Your Lordship,” he answered.

She gave him a smug smile in return. Pivoting on her heel, she flipped the long rope of her hair over her shoulder and took a few strides up the road. Jarrett watched the sway of her hips, until she stopped and turned around again.

“Oh, and if you put another weapon in my son’s hands, I’ll gut you like a fish. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

With that she continued back toward Temeron.

A laugh rumbled in his chest, but he suppressed it as all Nazarien should.

*    *    *

“You’ll need to resupply at the Nazarien outpost. I’ll send ahead to alert them,” said Kendrick, pointing to the position on the map.

Tyla nodded, but she didn’t answer. She knew she ought to be studying the map, but her attention wasn’t on it.

“Allistar has selected some of his finest warriors to accompany you.”

“Good.”

“He’s also named a second to take over in his absence. I approved his choice this morning.”

Tyla blinked and focused on Kendrick again. “What? Allistar isn’t coming with me.”

“Apparently he is. He gave me the list this morning.”

“He has four children. He can’t come. Tell him I forbid it.”

Kendrick gave her a wry look. “Will you forbid anyone who has a child, Tyla? He’s commander-in-chief of the guard. He can choose whomever he wishes, including himself.”

She sighed. “I don’t know how long we’ll be gone. It isn’t fair to Zia or his kids.”

“Just as it isn’t fair to Kerrin…”

She met his look. “Point taken. But this is my responsibility. I willingly accepted the Temerian leadership. I have to find the solution to this epidemic.”

“Allistar will say the same thing.”

Tyla exhaled. “Point taken again.” She forced a smile for him. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You would be at a disadvantage, to be sure.” He gave her a wink and she laughed.

“Which is why I forgive you whenever you overstep your boundaries, you know?”

Kendrick looked down at his map. “Meaning Jarrett?”

She rose to her feet and paced away. “I don’t want him here, Kendrick. I asked him to leave again today. He gave me some garbage about it being the duty of the Nazarien to protect the Eldralins.”

“It isn’t garbage, Tyla. That is the purpose of the order.”

“I don’t need him here. He’s a complication at a time when I don’t need complications. I’m anxious enough about this journey, leaving Kerrin and my grandfather, then suddenly, here’s Jarrett bringing up all of these emotions I thought I’d long suppressed. I look at him and feel the same betrayal and rage all over again.”

Kendrick fidgeted with the map, smoothing out the wrinkles. Tyla expected him to agree with her, soothe her anger, but he wouldn’t even look at her.

“Kendrick?”

He patted the seat of her chair. “Come sit down, please.”

“What?”

“Please. There’s something you need to know.”

Tyla could feel the pulse of his anxiety. It left a strange vibration in the room. She moved to the chair and sank into it. Something in his posture told her not to argue with him.

Kendrick swiveled in the chair and met her gaze. “Jarrett didn’t leave you voluntarily. He was blackmailed by Tomlin Trauner.”

Tyla didn’t respond. She wasn’t sure she understood what he said.

“The Nazarien had the antidote to the poison you were given, but Tomlin told Jarrett he would only give it to him if he agreed to leave you and return to Chernow. He had to promise to train as Nazar.”

Tyla closed her eyes and shook her head. “Hold on. Are you saying Jarrett believed him? Believed he would allow Talar Eldralin’s daughter to die?”

Kendrick’s expression was grim. “Yes.”

She braced her forehead with her hand. “That’s ridiculous. Jarrett’s too intelligent to believe something like that. Please, Kendrick, don’t insult me.”

“I’m not insulting you.”

“But you are. Really, Kendrick, how could Jarrett believe such a thing? By his own admission, the Nazarien are the sworn protectors of the Eldralins.”

“Not all and not then.”

“What?”

Kendrick sighed. “You’re a woman, Tyla.”

Tyla started to respond, but the words caught in her throat and her eyes widened.

“Jarrett did the only thing he could. He couldn’t let you die.”

Tyla’s mind tried to wrap itself around what Kendrick was telling her and failed. How could this be? How could she not have known? If Kendrick knew, how could he have hidden it from her all these years?

“Are you all right?”

She blinked rapidly. “No, how can I be all right? How could you keep this from me?”

“How or why?”

“Both. How did I not know? How did I not sense it from you and read your thoughts? Did my grandfather know?”

“No. I think you didn’t sense it because you demanded we never speak of Jarrett again. You shut him out of your life so effectively, you didn’t allow us to even talk about him.”

When she didn’t answer, he continued. “The why of it is more complicated. Tomlin made Jarrett pledge that he would not contact you again. To ensure that, he told him that if he ever broke the pledge, your life would be in danger from the Nazarien.”

She buried her face in her hands. What could she say? After all these years of believing one thing, to learn something different and accept it was impossible. She couldn’t wrap her mind around it.

Kendrick covered her hands with his own and pulled them down. “Are you all right?”

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“You have to know. You have to let go of the past. Jarrett is still one of the finest warriors on Samar. You need him on this journey and it’s time to put this all behind us now. Ten years have passed and Tomlin is dead. You and Jarrett need to make peace.”

Tyla met his look. Peace? The last ten years had been based on a lie. What might have been if she had never returned to Sarkisian? Would she and Jarrett have spent the last ten years together?

What good did it do her to know this now? There could never be peace between them. Not after what she’d done.

*    *    *

Kerrin leaned over the rail of the back porch and looked up at the stars. “How late do you think it is?”

Jarrett stood beside his son, his back to the rail, one heel hooked on the lowest rung. “Late,” he said.

Kerrin braced his weight on his arms and swung his legs out behind him. “Mama says I hardly ever sleep.”

“I’m sure she’s right,” answered Jarrett, hiding his smile.

“Kendrick said you weren’t born in Chernow like he was. He said you came from Terra Antiguo.”

“Kendrick’s right also.”

“Will I ever go to Terra Antiguo with you?”

Jarrett turned toward the boy. “Maybe someday, but let’s not bring that up to your mother tonight, okay?”

Kerrin nodded, picking at a splinter along the rail. “Mama would get mad if I asked, wouldn’t she?”

Jarrett drew a deep breath. “I think your mother needs some time to adjust to all these changes I’ve brought in your lives. What do you think?”

“I guess, but I like having you for a father.”

Jarrett reached out and touched the boy’s face. “I like having you as my son, Kerrin.”

“Do you love Mama? Like Allistar and Zia?”

Jarrett was startled by the question, but there was no reason to lie. “Yes, I do. I’ve always loved your mother.”

“Is Tyne your son?”

“No, Tyne’s my brother. Why do you ask?”

Kerrin shrugged. “Just wondering.” He cuffed the lower rail with his toe. “If you love Mama like Allistar loves Zia, then why don’t you live with us the way Allistar lives with his children? Is it because you’re the Nazar?”

“Yes, it’s because I’m Nazar.”

Kerrin tilted his head and his intelligent eyes scrutinized his father’s face. “If you weren’t Nazar, would you like to live with us?”

Jarrett met his gaze. “Yes, Kerrin, I would like nothing better.”

Kerrin smiled in satisfaction.

The door to the study opened and Tyla stepped out, her arms wrapped around her body to ward off the late night breeze. She crossed to her son and lifted him off the rail, pulling him against her. He tilted his head back and she kissed his forehead. Jarrett noted that the boy’s head almost reached his mother’s shoulder already. He was going to be a tall man.

“Don’t you think it’s getting a little late?” she said, wrapping her arms around the boy’s shoulders and placing her cheek against his.

“No, I don’t need sleep, Mama, remember?” he said, encircling her arms with his own.

She smiled, her eyes lifting to Jarrett. “If you ever want to fire a bow again, you’ll go to bed now.”

“Do you mean it?” he said, turning to face her.

She touched his cheek. “Yes, so what’s your decision?”

“Good night, Jarrett,” said the boy over his shoulder. He kissed his mother on the cheek. “Good night, Mama.”

“Good night, Kerrin,” she said.

“Good night,” added Jarrett when the boy paused in the study door and glanced back. Then Kerrin was gone.

Tyla moved to the rail and leaned against it as her son had done. Jarrett’s eyes ran along her flowing mane of hair down to where it touched her waist.

“Kendrick told me about your pledge with Tomlin Trauner today,” she said.

Jarrett frowned. He wasn’t sure he heard her right. “He told you what?”

“About the pledge, about how you got the antidote for me. He told me everything.”

Jarrett looked away. “He shouldn’t have done that.”

She turned to face him. “Why not?”

“Because it’s in the past, and sometimes it’s best not to relive it. What purpose did it serve to tell you?”

She studied him in the light of the lanterns. “It made me realize that I’ve been wrong.”

“Wrong how?”

“To keep your son from you. I had no right to do that.”

Jarrett leaned on the railing, looking out into the yard. “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about that myself. What could I have done even if I knew about him? I couldn’t come to Temeron. Especially not while Tomlin lived. I would never have risked it. And after he died…” Jarrett’s voice trailed away. He closed his eyes and exhaled. “So many years had passed, it didn’t seem right to dredge up the past.”

She leaned on the rail beside him, not touching him, but close. “What a pair we are, Jarrett, what a mess.”

He didn’t respond. He didn’t think she expected a response.

“If you are determined to go on this journey, I’ll accept your sword.”

He nodded.

“We leave in two days. I can’t afford to wait any longer. If this epidemic spreads, all of Loden may be in danger.”

“I’ll be ready.”

She turned to face him. “It does no good to wish for a different past, I understand that, but I hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me for keeping Kerrin away from you. I know it’s hard to believe, but it wasn’t entirely selfish. I did fear you’d want him to become Nazarien.”

He met her look. “How could you ever believe that?”

She studied him once more. “When you left…” She caught what she’d been going to say. “I thought I hadn’t really known you at all. And then Kerrin…”

“Kerrin what?”

She struggled with herself. Jarrett sensed she still feared to tell him everything. He wondered if he would ever be able to restore her trust.

“Tyla, what about Kerrin?”

She drew herself in, wrapping her arms around her body. “As a baby, Kerrin moved things…” She made a motion with her hands. “Toys, blankets.”

“Psychically?”

She nodded.

Jarrett understood. “You feared if the Nazarien knew he had Talar Eldralin’s power, they wouldn’t be able to resist taking him.”

Her lack of response was affirmation enough.

He started to touch her, then thought better of it. His fingers curled into his palm. “Tyla, Kerrin belongs here in Temeron. I would have it no other way. If Kerrin does possess your power, he needs to be trained here, not Chernow.”

She gave him a smile. He drank it in, marveling at her beauty. After all these years, she still stole his breath. Gods, he loved her.

“Thank you, Jarrett. I really needed to hear those words.”

He inclined his head. Why did he feel so awkward with her? Once they had shared their most intimate thoughts, now he felt like a bumbling fool whenever she looked at him. Why couldn’t they just slip back into the simplicity they’d once known?

“Well, I’d better get some sleep,” she said, moving toward the door. “Good night, Jarrett.”

“Good night,” he answered, fighting against the hollowness that echoed within him. As she entered the hallway, he fancied the distance between them was a gulf, unable to be crossed.

*    *    *

The campfires burned against the setting pink of the desert sun, dotting the landscape at regular intervals. Shadowed forms moved before the fires, settling into bedrolls or moving around the periphery on patrol.

Kalas stood and surveyed the camp, Attis on one side, Dolan on the other. He wore only his buckskin trousers, his hair damp, his chest bare, a towel slung over one shoulder. They’d made good ground the last three days, traveling mainly at night to avoid the desert heat. However, the men and horses were tired and needed one night to recover. Even though they didn’t move far when the sun was directly overhead, it sapped their energy and slowed their progress. And then, they had to carry so much water with them to cross the desert that the wagons moved even slower than normal.

“Why the hell do you ever visit that nightmare in the desert when you have Adishian to call home, Your Majesty?” remarked Attis.

Kalas was surprised at how much the Cult member complained. He wasn’t fond of the Chernow Nazarien, but at least they didn’t speak. “It’s hard to maintain a kingdom if you don’t visit it regularly.”

“Couldn’t you appoint someone to oversee it?”

“I don’t remember asking for your advice.”

Dolan gave him a surprised look. Kalas ran a hand through his damp hair. He didn’t mean to sound surly, but something was making him edgy tonight. He surveyed the campsite again.

“You all right?” asked Dolan.

Kalas nodded. “Tired, I guess. I think I’ll go to bed. Thank you for the bath.” He curled his fingers in the towel and turned toward his pavilion. He didn’t often flaunt his status before his men, but tonight he’d wanted to wash away the trail dust. Dolan had sensed his restlessness and responded with this rare treat in a land where water was life.

Kalas suspected his edginess was guilt. He shouldn’t have indulged in such a kingly privilege when his men had to go to bed dirty. Even still, he would be delighted not to sleep in sand.

He ducked under the tent opening. The interior was darker than outside. He could discern the outline of his cot and the trunk that held his clothes. To his right was a chair and table. He swung the towel off his shoulders and dropped it on the chair.

As he did so, a shadow detached itself from his cot and he whipped around to face it. Kalas felt every muscle tense and his heart kicked against his ribs. Then the shadow launched at him.

The impact knocked him back into the table, sending it and the chair sprawling against the side of the canvas. Hands closed on his shoulders and he grabbed for his attacker’s wrists, encircling them and trying to throw the weight off. An ankle hooked around his and yanked forward, knocking him off balance. He landed on his back, the air knocked out of him as the shadow straddle him and pinned his arms next to his head.

While he gasped for breath, the figure shook back a wild mane of hair and leaned over him. “And just like that you are dead,” whispered a voice.

Kalas blinked in surprise. The voice was feminine with a strange accent. He squinted in the darkness and realized the figure straddling him was slight, the mass of hair framing a delicate face.

He let his body go slack, forcing his attacker to ease her grip, then he moved, wrenching up and unseating her. He flipped her to her back and slammed her hands down beside her head, changing their position.

“An effective assassin refrains from telling his target his plans. Amateur,” he hissed.

She struggled to free her wrists, but he had weight on his side. A moment later the tent flap flew up and armed men streamed inside.

Kalas released her and pushed himself to his feet. So much for his bath. Sand stuck to his damp hair and trickled down his back into the waistband of his trousers.

Dolan was suddenly at his side. “Where are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” he said, letting his advisor turn him and inspect him for wounds.

“Are you sure?”

Kalas gripped Dolan’s elbow. “Dolan, I’m sure. She apparently doesn’t have a weapon. Not much of an assassin after all.”

Two guards grabbed her by the arms and hauled her to her feet. She shook back her hair and tried to break their hold. “I never intended to kill you. It was a warning, no more. However, the next time it may not be.”

“Who the hell is she?” demanded Attis.

“I have no idea,” said Kalas, taking a step closer to her. “Someone bring a light.”

A guard hurried out of the tent.

She was but a shadow in the darkness, but Kalas knew she was glaring at him.

“How did you get in here?”

“I will never reveal my secrets.”

“What were you trying to warn me about?”

She yanked at the guard on her left, but he held his ground. “I will tell you in private. I will not talk with these animals here.”

“She sounds Nazarien,” commented Attis.

The guard returned with the lamp and lifted it toward her face. Kalas forced himself to show no reaction. Her blue eyes gave her away, but it was the cast of her Stravad features that arrested him. Her lips were full, her nose upturned and arrogant, her forehead wide and intelligent. She was nearly as tall as he was, slender and wiry. Around her shoulders cascaded a wild mane of light brown hair. Her clothing was black, her boots soft-soled, silent.

“I knew it. Chernow Nazarien,” spat Attis.

Kalas looked her over. He suspected Attis was right, but something bothered him about that. “Since when do the Chernow Nazarien have female assassins?”

“Since I became one.”

“My understanding of the Nazarien is a bit different, apparently. To my knowledge women are commodities, nothing else.”

“Which is why I could have killed you. You would never have suspected a female assassin.”

“Yes, well, your qualifications are a bit suspect. You didn’t even have a weapon.”

“Because I did not want you dead.”

“Do your handlers know that? Am I supposed to be dead?”

She narrowed her eyes on him. “I will discuss this with you in private. No others around.”

Kalas sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. He knew he should be more concerned about her ability to sneak past his guards, but he was tired…and dirty again. “I don’t negotiate with assassins,” he remarked coolly.

Her eyes widened in fury. “What are you going to do with me?”

“Lock you up for now. We’ll try you later. After all, you did threaten me. That’s enough to get you locked up for the rest of your life.” He motioned at the guards. “Get her out of my tent.”

The guards obeyed, but she pulled back, dragging her feet in the sand. “More will come. They will not stop. You need to speak with me in private for your own good.”

Kalas turned his back on her as they dragged her out of the tent. Attis shook his head in amusement, but Dolan looked concerned.

“Female assassin,” muttered Attis, “asinine.”

Kalas ignored him. “What is it?” he asked Dolan.

“I think you should have listened to her.”

“I will. I just want it to be on my terms. Have you ever heard of the Nazarien having female assassins, Dolan?”

Dolan started to respond, but Attis interrupted him. “No one has. It’s unheard of, but think how dangerous such a woman could be?”

“Attis is right,” added Dolan. “No one would suspect her. She’s not someone to be trifled with, I believe.”

Kalas ran a hand through his sandy hair. “I agree, but I find it strange. Would Jarrett train women as killers? I can’t believe he would condone it no matter what I think of him.”

Dolan’s face grew grim. “Who knows what he might condone? No one knows him anymore, Your Majesty.”

CHAPTER 6

Jarrett watched Tyla as she said goodbye to her grandfather. Kendrick and Thalandar stood behind them, waiting their turn. Tyne moved up on Jarrett’s left side. He rocked on his heels, but his hands were clasped behind him in typical Nazarien fashion.

“Enjoy your time here, Tyne,” Jarrett said, his eyes still on the scene before him. “Learn as much from the Stravad as you can.”

“As you order, Nazar,” he answered.

Jarrett turned to regard him, giving him a narrow look.

“Jarrett,” the boy amended. “I hope you have a safe journey.”

“So do I.” Jarrett tried a smile, but it had been so long, he suspected it was more of a grimace. “Keep an eye on Kerrin for me.”

“Of course.”

“And I wouldn’t show him any more weaponry if I were you. His mother doesn’t like it.”

Tyne frowned, but he would never contradict an order. Nor would he speak ill of Tyla. His eyes shifted beyond Jarrett and fixed on her. “She doesn’t really want to go, does she?”

“I don’t think so, but she feels it’s her duty. One of the healers has developed the disease. She’s bed-ridden now and they don’t think she’ll make it. An epidemic like this could wipe out an entire population.”

Tyne nodded. “Take care of yourself, Jarrett. I will miss you.”

“Same here.” He grasped his brother’s shoulder, then released him.

“Jarrett?”

He turned and found Kerrin standing behind him. He dropped to one knee, bringing himself to his son’s height.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t say goodbye.”

Jarrett was stunned by the little boy’s admission, but he guessed it wasn’t an unfounded fear. “I would never have left without seeing you, Kerrin.”

The boy held out his hand, his fingers curled against his palm. Jarrett held out his own hand and the boy placed a rock in it. The rock was a brilliant blue color and glowed with an inner light. Pycantra.

“This is for you. To remind you of me. It’s the same color as our eyes.”

Jarrett’s fingers closed around the rock and he felt his throat constrict. “Thank you. I will keep it with me wherever I go.”

Kerrin’s face twisted. He started to say something, then stopped.

“What is it?”

“When you find the cure for this disease, will you come back here?”

Jarrett looked down at the rock. “Hopefully. Maybe not right away, but as soon as I can. Nothing will keep me away from you, Kerrin.”

The boy pondered that for a moment, then he launched himself at his father, wrapping his arms around Jarrett’s neck. Jarrett hugged him in return. Gods, if only he hadn’t been robbed of the last ten years. If only…

Gradually, Kerrin pulled back, releasing him. “Goodbye, Jarrett,” he said, then turned and dashed over to his mother.

Tyla wrapped her arm around his shoulders and drew him into her side as she gave last minute instructions to Kendrick.

Jarrett turned the blue rock over in his hands, studying its unblemished surface. It was the color of their eyes.

“We’ll never make any ground at this rate,” came Allistar’s voice behind him.

Jarrett turned toward his friend. “I can speed things along if you want.”

“No, let her have her goodbyes.” His gaze dropped to the stone.  “Little things like that make the rest of parenthood worth it.” He reached into the neck of his uniform and pulled out a necklace made of brightly colored beads.

“It must be hard to leave your children for a mission that has no clear objective.”

“It’s never easy to leave one’s children,” said Allistar. “Or one’s wife.”

Jarrett knew he wasn’t speaking about himself, but he didn’t want to discuss Tyla with Allistar. “Zia is an understanding woman.”

“She is, but it’s more than that. When Tyla says something, Temeron listens. Zia would never doubt her, especially on something like this.”

Jarrett didn’t respond. He heard the chastisement in Allistar’s words. He didn’t doubt her, he just wasn’t sure how they were going to accomplish the impossible.

He heard footsteps on the gravel. “We say goodbye again,” said Kendrick.

Jarrett turned and accepted his hand, but Kendrick pulled him into an awkward embrace. He didn’t seem to care that Jarrett stiffened.

With a laugh, he released him. “Once more our paths have intersected, crossed, and now we stand on opposite sides again.”

“We’ve never been on opposite sides,” said Jarrett, stung by Kendrick’s assessment.

“No, I guess we haven’t, but I wish…” His voice trailed away. He eyed Jarrett closely, then shrugged.

“You wish what?”

Kendrick shook his head. “It does no good to wish. The past is just that.”

Jarrett frowned. “I don’t understand…” he began, but Kendrick and Allistar were no longer looking at him. He followed their gaze and saw Tyla kneeling before her son, holding him tightly. He had his face buried in her hair and his arms around her neck. He looked every bit the little boy he was.

Jarrett swallowed hard. And he understood what Kendrick was trying to say. He wished, too, he wished so much, but the past was gone.

*    *    *

Kalas stood, watching his would-be assassin as she slept in the bed of a wagon. The guards had shackled her wrists and ankles and hooked her to the bench, so she couldn’t escape. The sun was peeking over the horizon, but he could already feel the on-coming heat. It smelt like sand and dust to him.

He took a sip of his tea and cleared his throat. She came awake in an instant, lunging against the shackles, hurling herself against the side of the wagon closest to him. Her eyes were clouded by sleep and her hair covered one eye. She shook it back.

“Will you speak with me now?”

He deliberately took another sip of his tea. “I don’t parley with mediocre assassins.” With that he began walking beyond the wagon.

She lunged after him, her shackles rattling. “Eladrasen, wait, please!”

He halted with his back to her. Slowly he pivoted. Dolan rose from the campfire before his pavilion and watched the unfolding scene, always alert, always ready.

“What did you call me?” Kalas asked.

“Eladrasen, son of Eladra.”

Kalas frowned.

Dolan moved to his side. “The Nazarien called Talar Eladra.”

Kalas gave a nod.

“You must listen to me. Unshackle me. I swear I will not run away,” she pleaded, yanking on the chains.

“I’m not worried about you running away. In fact, I wish you would have, but since you chose a different path, I have no choice in my response.”

Her eyes widened. “You do not mean for me to ride in this thing?”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, listen to me, Eladrasen, I am here to protect you. You must listen to me. You must speak with me in private.”

Kalas didn’t respond. He could feel Dolan’s anxiety though. Dolan thought he ought to give in to her demands.

“Unshackle me, give me a horse and a weapon. I will ride at your side and protect you.”

Kalas laughed. “You must really think I’m stupid. I would never let a mediocre assassin ride at my side. Please, don’t insult me.”

He turned away and headed back toward his pavilion. The rattle of her chains followed him.

“I hope you aren’t making a mistake,” said Dolan.

“I’m not. Trust me.”

“I trust you,” remarked his advisor, “I just don’t trust the Nazarien.”

*    *    *

Tyla folded the damp cloth across the back of her neck and closed her eyes at the pleasure of the cool fabric against sun burnt skin. Reaching for her cup of tea, she leaned back in the camp chair and brought it to her lips, taking a sip.

Her body ached and she was already trail weary. Around her the Stravad were setting camp and beginning the cook fire. She knew she ought to pitch in, but she was homesick and exhausted. She needed just a few moments to herself. Stretching her legs out before her, she leaned her head back and allowed the soothing flush of Stamerian to seep through her body.

“Are you all right?”

She opened her eyes and met Jarrett’s concerned gaze. She felt the brush of his thoughts against her own and rejected them. She didn’t like the speculative look in his eyes. Jarrett wasn’t a man anyone ought to trifle with, but especially her.

“Fine. I’ll get up in a moment and help with camp.”

“It’s already done.” His eyes shifted to the cup. “Stamerian?”

Her fingers tightened around the handle, but she kept her expression neutral. “I forgot how much it hurts to ride horseback all day when you aren’t used to it.”

His expression softened and he hunkered down across from her. “We probably pushed a bit too hard today.”

“It’s fine. We need to make good time. There’s too much at stake to dally.” She nodded to the second camp chair. “You don’t have to squat. Take a seat.”

He reached for the chair and opened it, folding his lean frame into it. He studied her across the smoldering campfire, but didn’t speak.

Tyla realized she wasn’t uncomfortable in his silence, but she found it odd. Jarrett had never been the taciturn type before. “I’m sure there’s a lot that needs doing.”

“Allistar runs a tight ship. There really isn’t much. The cook will have dinner shortly. Then we should turn in. We’ll be up at dawn and riding again tomorrow.”

She grimaced and took another sip of her drink. “You know, I’ve been thinking that it’s odd Kalas hasn’t responded. I know Kendrick sent him a message as soon as Jax arrived and then another one a few weeks later.”

“If Jax infected people in Kazden as well, Kalas might have his hands full.”

“Gods, I hope you’re wrong. If that’s true, this could really become an epidemic. I think I should have a rider head toward Zelan and send another message. We can spare a man or two, right?”

“I think it’s a sound idea. Do you want me to tell Allistar?”

“No, I’ll do it in the morning. Right now, I just want to sit and enjoy my quiet moment.”

“I understand.” Jarrett looked into the fire. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. Where’s Muzik?”

“He returned to Adishian. His father wasn’t doing well and he went to help his mother care for him. He didn’t want me to release him, but I made him agree to retire. I get letters from him regularly.”

“Are his parents doing all right?”

“His father’s better, but he had a heart attack. He’ll never be completely right again.”

“It’s strange to see you without him.”

She gave him a tired smile. “I know. For so many years, Muzik and Kian were permanent fixtures in my life. I could count on them when no one else was around.”

Jarrett sighed and Tyla regretted her comment. She hadn’t really intended to sting him.

“What happened to Kian?”

No matter how many years passed, Tyla suspected she would always feel Kian’s loss. No other animal would ever replace him. “He went to sleep one night and didn’t wake up. It was a blessing. His back legs were so crippled with arthritis that he had a hard time moving, but Gods, I still miss him.”

Jarrett braced his forearms on his thighs. He turned the blue stone over and over in his hands. “He saved my life a number of times.”

“Do you remember when he knocked those soldiers off the dock in Kazden?”

Jarrett made a low chuckling sound. “Looked like falling pins. Incredible animal.”

Tyla sipped her drink. “What is that?” she asked, indicating the rock.

Jarrett held it in his palm so she could see it. “Kerrin gave it to me – to remember him. He said it was the exact shade of our eyes.”

“He’s such a good boy.”

“He is. He’s amazing. You’ve done a great job raising him.”

Tyla lowered her gaze. She stared into the fire, watched the flames carve their way through the wood. She didn’t want to talk about Kerrin. It made her feel desperate inside. She wasn’t sure how she was going to stand being away from him this long.

“Do you ever hear from Earon?” she asked, changing the subject.

Jarrett shook his head. “He didn’t exactly approve of my decision. He followed me when I left with Tomlin and threatened to kick my ass, but he backed down as always when he realized I was twice his size. Told me to go to hell, then left.”

“We hear from Lawyan quite a bit. He said Shandar went to live with the Tirsbor Nazarien?”

Jarrett scratched at the back of his neck. “Yeah, don’t know what happened there. He suddenly got this travel bug and wanted to explore Nevaisser, especially after Kalas ended the war with Dorland. He wound up in Tirsbor and decided to stay. No one’s sure why.”

“Do you see Lawyan and Shad very often?”

“I go to Terra Antiguo once a year or so. I’ve heard that Kalas goes regularly, though.”

“He does.”

“But you never wanted to go?”

She shrugged and finished her tea. Settling the cup beside the fire, she leaned back in her chair. The Stamerian had eased the ache in her bones. “I always thought I would. I would love to meet both of them, but first Kerrin was too small, then I was chosen as Stravad Leader four years ago. It’s taken all my time.”

Jarrett met her gaze. “I understand.”

“I guess you do.” She shook her head. “It’s so odd to think of you as head of the Nazarien order. Their beliefs were so far removed from yours. How do you reconcile it?”

Jarrett sighed. “I don’t. There’s no way. When I first took over, I thought I could make huge changes, really shake up the order.” He looked away and his fingers tightened around the stone. “I shook it up, but the consequences were terrible. So many innocent people paid for my meddling.”

Tyla wanted to ask him more, but Allistar suddenly appeared behind him. “Cook has dinner prepared,” he said.

Tyla nodded. “Thank you, Allistar.” She pushed herself to her feet, grimacing as her muscles protested. She wasn’t really hungry, but she knew everyone would become alarmed if she didn’t eat.

Jarrett sat where he was, turning the stone over in his hands. She looked down at him and felt a pang of remorse. They had actually been sharing a real conversation for once – one not tinged with anger.

“Are you coming?”

He looked up at her and Tyla realized Kerrin was right – the stone was the exact shade of their eyes. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

Tyla didn’t know what ghost lurked behind his gaze, and she didn’t really want to find out, not now. It hurt to see how great the distance was between them. “All right,” she answered and walked away.

*    *    *

“The prisoner won’t drink water. She hasn’t drank all day,” said the young private.

Kalas sighed and lowered the map he’d been studying. He handed it to Dolan and turned toward the wagon where they were keeping her. A warm breeze blew across the desert, setting up a miniature dust devil against his boots. Stars dotted the sky, shining with brilliance against a velvet black backdrop. They were just breaking camp and preparing to begin their travel once more. They had spent all day sleeping and repairing tack.

The prisoner was sitting with her back against the wheel. She was still shackled, but the shackles weren’t attached to anything. Kalas felt he should be annoyed with this, but he honestly didn’t care.

She looked up at him when he approached, Dolan at his side. Her brown hair was a tangled mess that slid back across her left eye. Her lips were parched and her skin was clammy.

“Will you speak with me now?”

“Speak. No one’s stopping you.”

“I must speak to you alone.”

“Not going to happen.” He glanced over at Attis as the huge Cult member moved to his right side. “What is going to happen is you’re going to drink water and cause me no more trouble.”

“I will drink when you speak with me.”

Kalas crossed his arms over his chest. “Blackmail, Mediocre Assassin, really? I’m immune. We can make things unpleasant. Attis here could force the water down your throat.”

He wasn’t prepared for her reaction. Her eyes widened and she pressed herself back against the wheel. The look on her face was one of stark terror. Dolan gripped his arm, leaning close.

“She’s female Nazarien, Your Majesty. Think on it.”

Kalas closed his eyes. He was tired and dirty and sick of the desert. Attis was right, it was a slice of hell. This Nazarien assassin presented untold problems and he didn’t want to deal with them right now.

“Then you take care of it,” he snapped at Dolan and turned, surprising those that guarded him. He started back toward his pavilion and they scrambled to catch up, but he was a few steps ahead of them.

A shadow rose from the closest campfire and blocked his way. He had enough time to throw up his hands before the figure launched itself at him. A glint of sliver reflected firelight and Kalas grabbed for it, even as the weight of his attacker careened into him and knocked him off his feet. He managed to roll into the impact, kicking out as he fell. The force of his kick launched his attacker over his head and into the crowd of guards behind him. Kalas was up and spinning to meet him a moment later, but the guards had already drawn swords and were descending on his assailant.

“Don’t kill him!” he shouted.

They stumbled to a halt and a murmur rose from the circle of soldiers as they stared down at the body.

Kalas walked over, kicking the knife away from the assailant’s out-stretched hand. He started to bend down, but stopped. The man’s eyes were open and fixed, staring at nothing. Attis hunkered over him and felt at his neck, then looked up.

“He’s already dead, Your Majesty,” he said.

Kalas shook his head. “That can’t be. He just attacked me. How could he be dead? He didn’t fall on his knife or anything, did he?”

Attis lifted the knife and turned it in the light of the lanterns. Blood darkened the blade. “There’s blood on it.”

Dolan took his arm and turned him. “Because you’re bleeding. How bad were you cut?”

Kalas felt his shoulder where the blade had bitten through his sleeve. He hadn’t even noticed it before. His fingers came away wet. “A flesh wound. How did this man die so quickly, Dolan?”

“I’d guess poison.”

The soldiers murmured and Kalas gave Dolan an incredulous stare. “Poison?”

Dolan shrugged. “Obviously, what else could act this fast? Our men didn’t touch him and I doubt you killed him. Apparently, part of his mission was not to get captured, no matter the cost.”

Kalas looked over at his prisoner. She was watching the entire scene with cool speculation.

“Are you willing to speak with me now?” she asked, shaking the hair out of her eyes.

*    *    *

She downed the glass of water. With a violent motion that made her shackles jangle, she held it out to Attis, who filled it again. She began gulping once more.

“You’ll make yourself sick,” said Kalas. He flinched as Dolan applied an antiseptic to his scratch. He thought Dolan was over reacting, but it wasn’t good to let anything get infected in the desert.

She lowered the glass, licking her lips. She studied him carefully. Kalas found her constant gaze unnerving as if she were looking right through him and seeing him for a fraud.

“You wanted to talk, so talk,” he said.

Her gaze shifted between Dolan and Attis, then back to him. “Alone. We are not alone.”

Kalas sighed. He was tired and his shoulder hurt. “And we won’t be. Both Dolan and Attis are Nazarien. You can’t object to Nazarien being present, can you?”

She considered his logic, then shrugged. “Fine.”

Dolan finished bandaging the wound and Kalas slipped his shirt back over his shoulder. He didn’t bother to button it though. It was soiled and torn, ready for scrap. “Why, exactly, are the Nazarien attacking me?”

“The pledge was broken.”

Kalas ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Listen, I’m not known for my patience.” He didn’t need to look at Dolan to know the Nazarien’s brows rose at that. “Can you just get to the point?”

“It is hard to think with these shackles,” she answered, lifting them.

“Try.”

“The pledge between the Nazars.”

Kalas shook his head. “Pledge? The pledge again. What is this damn pledge?”

“How could you not know?”

“Pretend I don’t.”

“Nazarien do not pretend.” When Kalas closed his eyes in exasperation, she quickly continued. “The pledge between Tomlin Trauner and his son?”

“Jarrett.”

“Yes, the current Nazar. Tomlin made him promise to leave your sister and return with him to Chernow to train as Nazar. He was never to see her again.”

Kalas frowned. “What?”

“It was a binding pledge and for ten years, the current Nazar kept it.”

Kalas glanced at both Dolan and Attis. Attis looked away. “Hold on. Tomlin Trauner forced Jarrett to leave my sister? How?”

“He would not give him the antidote to the Orahim poison if he did not agree.”

Kalas slumped back in his chair. “Did you know this?” he asked Dolan.

“Attis told me of the pledge, just as he told you, but I didn’t know what it was.”

“Go on.”

“The current Nazar believes the pledge ended with Tomlin’s death. Most of the order agrees, but there are those with long memories and they will never forget.”

“Never forget?”

“When the Nazar left Chernow and headed toward Loden, some of the Nazarien were furious – those closest to Tomlin when he lived. They are the ones who believe the pledge is never ending.”

“So they decided to attack me?”

She gave him a look as if to say he was daft. “Not exactly. They intend to attack Tyla and the Nazar once they cross into Nevaisser. They feel they must carry out the remainder of Tomlin’s pledge.”

“The remainder?”

“If the Nazar ever had contact with Tyla again, her life was forfeit.”

Kalas rose to his feet, startling her. She shrank back in her chair. “Don’t the Nazarien know that I will destroy them if they harm my sister?”

“They know that, but they weigh that possibility against their honor. No Nazarien will choose their fellow Nazarien over their honor. Honor is all we have.”

“Then why attack him?” asked Attis, motioning with his thumb at Kalas.

Kalas ignored the lack of respect. He was so stunned by what she told him.

“These last two attacks have been warnings, nothing more. The Nazarien do not want a war with you, Your Majesty, but they want you to return to Sarkisian. You must not interfere with their mission.”

“I mustn’t interfere with the murder of my sister?” Kalas moved until he towered over her.

“Exactly. The attacks will continue until you reach Kazden.”

“And then what?”

She met his gaze. “They will stop you from entering the city at all costs.”

“They will try to kill me?”

“Likely.”

Kalas rubbed his eyes with his fingers. “Okay, then why did the last assailant kill himself?”

“The pact demanded it.”

“The pact demanded it? That doesn’t make sense.”

“We took a pact. We were to frighten you, not harm you, and then if we were in danger of being caught, we were to take our own lives, so you could not question us.”

Kalas leaned down closer to her. “And yet you’re still alive.”

She struggled to reach into her trousers with the manacles and pulled out a small, narrow vial. Kalas snatched it from her hand and turned, holding it out to Dolan. The Nazarien took it and held it up to the light. It was filled with a clear liquid.

“I thought you had her searched.”

“So did I,” answered Dolan.

Kalas stroked his chin. She was more complicated than he’d given her credit, that was certain. He lowered his hand. “Were you intending to use that?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Do you have difficulty hearing? Why do you keep repeating everything I say?”

Kalas fought a smile. He didn’t want to be amused by her. She annoyed him. Everything to do with her was a complication. He reached for his chair and sank into it. “Okay, let’s try this again. Why didn’t you commit suicide like your colleague?”

“Why would I give my life to those dogs? I want no part of them or their order.”

“And yet you became an assassin for them?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Do you know what life is like for Nazarien women, Your Majesty?” She shuddered. “I was eighteen the first time…” Her voice trailed away. “He was not gentle.”

Kalas lowered his gaze. He could hear the anger and fear in her voice. It made him remember her reaction when he’d threatened her with Attis before.

“When they gave me the option of becoming an assassin, I took it.”

“How many men have you killed?”

“You were my first target.”

“But you weren’t supposed to kill me?”

“No, I was supposed to frighten you.”

“Then kill yourself?”

“Yes.”

Kalas looked toward the tent flap. He could see the increased patrols around his pavilion. They wouldn’t be making any ground through the desert tonight. “Obviously, the Nazarien are watching everything we do.”

“Yes.”

“So they know you didn’t complete your mission?”

“Yes. They will kill me if I return to them.”

Kalas leaned back in the chair. “This latest assassin had a weapon, yet you didn’t?”

“I did not want to chance hurting you.”

“If I turn you loose, where will you go?”

She glanced at the two Nazarien, then fixed her eyes on Kalas again. “Nowhere. I will stay with you.” She held up the shackles. “Unlock these, give me a weapon, and let me protect you.”

Kalas laughed.  “Do I look stupid?”

She frowned. “Can a man look stupid? I never considered it.”

He shook his head in bemusement. “What’s your name, Mediocre Assassin?”

“Ellette.”

“Ellette, why would you protect me when you hate the Nazarien?”

“You have restored peace to Nevaisser. Nothing must happen to you.” She lowered her gaze to the shackles. “Beyond that, I do not want you to declare war on the Nazarien. I hate the order, but they are my people and I would not want you to wipe them out.” She met his eye again. “The rogue Nazarien are only a handful. They should not be allowed to destroy the order.”

Kalas rubbed his forehead. He was getting a headache.

“Will you release me, give me a weapon?”

“No, you attacked me. We don’t take such action lightly.”

“I did not harm you. You need me. I can protect you against the next attack.”

“How do you know there will be a next attack?”

“They will not stop, even if you reach Kazden. They will never stop.”

Kalas closed his eyes. Gods, he hated the Nazarien.

CHAPTER 7

The road out of Temeron cut a straight path west into Anatem. From Anatem, one could cross the Rovarn River and head north into Taral or cut south and angle around Mt. Askar headed for the pass through the Grozik Mountains.

The Stravad party intended to head toward the pass in the Groziks, but first they planned to stop in Anatem and restock their supplies. They pushed hard those first four days, riding long into the night. With the paved road between Temeron and Anatem, they could afford to take such risks, but they knew the road cutting across the Boline Plain was not as well maintained.

While the warriors Allistar chose were seasoned, Tyla was not, but she never complained. In fact, she spoke little and retired shortly after they made camp to her own tent. Jarrett watched her. She looked well enough, but she wasn’t eating much and she didn’t seem to want any companionship.

It worried him, but he wasn’t sure if it was her behavior which lay at the root of his concern or his own desire to be close to her again. It frustrated him that she thwarted every effort he made to engage her in conversation, when she had no problem sharing her thoughts with Allistar.

They entered Anatem in the late afternoon. The townspeople followed them with their eyes. Even in this time of peace, Anatem looked on a band of Stravad with something akin to suspicion. Jarrett’s instincts, honed by the Nazarien, kicked in and he studied the citizens in return, looking for any sign of threat. He wished they could get off the street and quickly.

He moved to voice as much to Tyla, but Allistar beat him to her side.

“Why don’t we find an inn first, then I can send a detail to the stable with the horses and another to get the supplies we need?”

She gave Allistar a grateful smile, causing Jarrett’s fingers to curl into fists around the reins. “That would be wonderful. I’d love a hot bath.”

Allistar returned the smile.

“I also want to send my grandfather and Kerrin a note.”

“If you write it, I’ll see it posted.”

“Thank you, Allistar,” she said.

They angled toward a large inn in the middle of the main street. Anatem had changed quite a bit since Jarrett remembered it. Pots of flowers lined the thoroughfare and the signs over the buildings were freshly painted. While the people still watched them with suspicion, they looked better dressed than before.

He searched for the stable where they’d inquired after Tyla during his last time in Anatem, but he wasn’t exactly sure where it had been. He’d been rather debilitated the last time he was here.

Stopping the horses before the inn, the Stravad party swung down. Allistar moved to Tyla’s side and helped her out of the saddle, then escorted her up the steps and to the door of the inn. Jarrett passed his reins to the waiting page and followed them, glaring at the Stravad’s back.

He paced the entry hall of the inn as Allistar and Tyla made arrangements for all of their men. When Allistar brought him his key, he curled his fist around it and refused to make eye contact with him. Shouldering his pack, he followed them up the stairs and down the hallway to the room numbered on his key.

His was the last room in the hall, the one farthest from Tyla. He watched down the hallway as she entered her room and shut the door, never once looking back, then he shoved his key in the lock and threw open his door.

The room was sparse, but clean, housing a bed, a dresser and a washbasin. He threw his pack on the bed and wandered to the window, pulling back the curtain and looking out. His room looked out on an alley, choked with broken wagon parts and rotten leather tack. He let the curtain fall back over the window and sat down on the end of the bed.

It wasn’t that he expected things to be different between him and Tyla, he just never expected her to ignore him so pointedly. She made it clear she didn’t need him, didn’t want him. How was he supposed to reconcile himself to that? They were still married, still bound to one another through their son, and then there was the fact that he still loved her, would always love her.

He braced his head in his hands and closed his eyes. For a while he tried the Nazarien chants, designed to remove any troubling thoughts from a Nazarien mind, but he’d never been as good at it as the other Nazarien. He simply couldn’t turn off his brain that easily.

Pushing himself to his feet, he stripped out of his dusty travel garb and gave himself a cold sponge bath in the basin. Then he put on a new uniform and turned toward the door. Once in the hallway, he hesitated. He very much wanted to go to Tyla’s room and invite her to dinner, but he didn’t have the courage to be turned down by her. Not now.

Giving up the idea, he walked down the stairs and angled around the entrance hall to the dining room in the back of the building. He took a stool at the farthest end of the bar, where he could watch the door, and ordered a drink. The bartender brought it and gave him a curious look, but when Jarrett glared at him, he backed away.

For the next half hour, he drank and studied the other people in the dining room. A young couple occupied a table by the window and spent their meal in huddled conversation. An older man leaned against the fireplace, his glass pressed to his belly, not drinking. A couple of young men sat at the other end of the bar, laughing and trying to out drink each other. A few bored serving women went among them, replacing drinks or bringing out bowls of watery stew.

The bartender asked him if he wanted anything to eat, but looking at the stew, Jarrett wasn’t sure he could hold it down. He asked instead for a loaf of the dark, rye bread the women served with the stew.

While the bartender went after it, Allistar entered the room. He scanned it with his blue eyes, then spotted Jarrett and made his way over. Jarrett kicked out the stool next to him and Allistar took a seat.

“Eating alone?” asked the Stravad, then he eyed the drink in Jarrett’s hand. “Drinking alone, rather.”

Jarrett took a sip. “How’s Tyla?” he asked, deliberately ignoring Allistar’s question.

“Resting. I had dinner sent to her room.” He looked down the bar at the stew being served and grimaced. “Although I hope that isn’t what they sent.”

The bartender returned with the bread and slapped it down in front of Jarrett, then he glared at the Stravad. “What do you want?”

“Same thing he’s having,” he answered, then shifted, blocking him out.

Jarrett broke off a piece of the bread and shoved it in his mouth. “Tell me about this Jax Paden again.”

“Tyla would be a better source. All of the information I have is second hand.”

“Tyla isn’t exactly welcoming me back into the fold right now, in case you haven’t noticed.” He couldn’t help the bitterness in his voice. He felt the weight of Allistar’s eyes on him. “She’s more inclined to rely on you.”

The bartender returned with a drink and a plate of bread for the Stravad. Allistar began buttering the bread with that typical unconcerned manner of all Temerian Stravad. It drove Jarrett nuts.

“What do you want to know about Jax?”

Jarrett shifted in his seat, resting his back against the wall. “He was Temerian Stravad?”

“Yes.”

“But he went to Kazden?”

“To see the ocean and learn to sail.”

“Which everyone believes he did?”

“Apparently. He told the healers he did. They had no reason to question him.”

“And during one of these sailing ventures, he found the island…”

Allistar lifted his drink and sipped, replacing it on the bar. “Here’s where I get muddy on the whole thing. Most people believe he was shown the island.”

“By who?”

“The same man who taught him to sail.”

“And that’s the man we’re going to try to find?”

Allistar nodded. He swallowed the bread and took another sip of his drink. “Exactly.”

“What if he doesn’t want to be found?”

Allistar shrugged. “He’ll be found. He’s not Nazarien, Jarrett.”

“What if he’s dead?”

Allistar met his gaze. Jarrett knew the Stravad feared the same thing. “He’s not dead.”

“Jax Paden’s dead. He had contact with this Brodie fellow. He might be dead.”

The Stravad commander’s jaw firmed. He looked away and his fingers curled around his glass. “Then we’ll find someone else who knows this island.”

“And magically, they’ll have a cure for this plague.” Jarrett leaned closer to Allistar. “And then I’ll sprout wings and fly us all back to Temeron.”

Allistar swung around on him, rising to his feet. “Are you spoiling for a fight?”

Jarrett eyed the Stravad. “Maybe. Maybe I’m sick of being the third wheel. I’ve been asked to give up my life in Chernow and come out here, just to be treated as if I’m part of the infantry. Maybe I deserve a bit more respect, especially from you.”

“What exactly does that mean? How am I not respecting you?”

“You seem awfully familiar with my wife, Allistar.”

The Stravad’s eyes widened. “Are you mad? Your wife is my superior. I take direct orders from her. What are you suggesting?”

Jarrett clenched his jaw to keep from saying exactly what he was suggesting. He realized he was breathing hard. He drew on his Nazarien training and forced his shoulders to lower. “I hate being kept out of the decision making.”

“What decision? We all agreed to stop in Anatem and reprovision. What other decisions were made?”

Jarrett opened his mouth to tell him, then stopped. Thinking the words through in his own mind made them seem ridiculous. He was angry because Allistar and Tyla had picked the inn without consulting him. Even he knew that was an asinine complaint.

The bartender sidled over. “Look, we don’t want no trouble. You two need to take this out of here.”

They both glared at him and he retreated, dropping his gaze. Allistar shifted back to Jarrett. “What the hell is this about?”

Jarrett exhaled, releasing his tension. He didn’t think he could put into words what he was feeling, not with Allistar and not now. “I don’t know.”

Allistar sank into the seat again and reached for his drink. “You said we asked you to give up your life in Chernow. Was there really that much life back there for you to give up?”

Jarrett’s gaze whipped to the Stravad’s face. Allistar’s blue eyes were penetrating, seeing more than Jarrett wanted to reveal. Once their friendship had been so easy, so natural, but now, nothing was, and he realized Allistar was right. There wasn’t anything in Chernow for him to give up.

*    *    *

The moon was full, casting enough light for Kalas and his entourage to make their way across the desert in the dead of night. Even though they’d made good time and the travel had been relatively easy, Kalas felt anxious.

It had been more than a day since the last attack. Ellette told him they would keep trying to drive him back to Sarkisian, until he reached Kazden. They were two days out of Kazden now. He was just as determined to keep going as he’d been when they started, but he kept expecting something to happen.

Ellette still rode in the wagon, chained to the seat. She kept insisting he release her so she could protect him. He didn’t doubt her ability, he just didn’t trust her. She might not have pulled a weapon on him when she attacked him, but she was still Nazarien, trained by the very people who were intent on hurting his sister.

Thoughts of Tyla distracted him. Why hadn’t she sent him word about the plague? It wasn’t like her to leave him out of the loop. Since she took over as Leader of Temeron, they had worked together frequently, intent on keeping peace throughout both regions.

She would understand he needed to know about something so serious. She would want to keep him informed that there was a danger to his people. And yet she hadn’t contacted him. He’d had to learn of the plague through the Cult. What if it had spread in the time that Attis had been gone? What if half of Kazden had it? There was no telling how many people Jax Paden might have come in contact with. All of the Cult members who escorted Jax to Temeron were dead. How many others were as well?

His thoughts were fragmented by a cry of alarm. He glanced forward and saw the supply wagon was pulling to a halt. Soldiers were dropping out of the saddle and racing toward it. He frowned and drew back on the reins, halting his own horse. He couldn’t see what was happening beyond the other riders. He looked around for Dolan, immediately aware that this might be the attack he’d been expecting.

Lowering his hand to the hilt of his sword, he rose in the stirrups and looked over the heads of the other mounted soldiers. More were dismounting, clearing his line of sight. An explosion shook the ground beneath his horse’s hooves and fire shot up from the roof of the supply wagon.

The horse shied and he had to grab the saddle horn to keep from being pitched off its back. He calmed the horse and dropped to the ground, striding through the press of soldiers until he was close enough to see the supply wagon clearly.

Men ran back and forth, trying to put out the fire. There wasn’t enough water to spare, so they used bits of blankets or odd pieces of clothing. Another group was trying to unhitch the horses. Kalas glanced around and found Ellette standing in the bed of the wagon. She was watching the fire, but she felt his gaze. For a brief moment, they simply stared at each other.

He looked away, turning back to the blaze, and found Dolan and Attis both directing the men in their efforts. He started forward to help them, but an arm closed around his throat, hauling him back against an unyielding form. He could feel the cold touch of metal against his chin.

“Don’t move, Your Majesty. I wouldn’t want to slip and cut your throat.”

Kalas went still.

At that moment, Dolan turned and caught sight of him. He and a handful of soldiers started forward, but they stumbled to a halt as the assailant pressed the tip of the knife into Kalas’ flesh.

Kalas held up a hand, indicating his men should stop their advance. Behind them, flames shot into the air, black smoke curling into the night sky.

“What do you want?” he said to his assailant.

“To warn you. Do not continue on to Kazden. Turn around and go back.”

“You’ve set fire to our supplies. How are we supposed to make it back to Sarkisian?”

The arm about his chest tightened, but the knife never wavered. “You’re clever. You’ll figure it out. Go back to Sarkisian and do not interfere in Nazarien justice.”

“You’re plotting against my sister. If she’s harmed, I will destroy the Nazarien.”

The man’s breath was warm in Kalas’ ear. “Perhaps you aren’t so clever, Your Majesty. When a man is holding a knife to your throat, it isn’t a good idea to tell him how you intend to destroy him.”

Kalas swallowed, but he didn’t answer. He could see the anxiety on Dolan’s face and knew his second wasn’t going to wait much longer.

Thankfully, the assailant loosened his grip, easing the knife away from Kalas’ throat, but he still held him fast with his other arm. “Heed my warning, Eladrasen. Leave Nazarien justice to the Nazarien.”

From the corner of his eye, Kalas saw something come hurtling out of the dark. It struck the Nazarien in the side of the head above his ear and made him stumble away from Kalas. Kalas whipped around, grabbing the man’s knife arm and wrenching it behind his back. The knife fell at his feet.

Then Dolan and the soldiers were there. Dolan grabbed Kalas, blocking him with his body, while the soldiers reached for the Nazarien. Kalas shoved Dolan to the side. “Don’t kill him!” he shouted, but already the Nazarien slumped at the soldiers’ feet.

They stared at Kalas in bewilderment.

Dolan moved around Kalas and knelt, feeling for a pulse. He looked up. “Dead.”

“How?”

Dolan shrugged. “They must take the poison just before they attack, knowing they have only a few minutes before it begins to work.”

“Why? Why kill themselves?”

Dolan rose. “What would you do with them if they remained alive? They know Nevaisser law. Attacks against a liege lord are punishable by death. This way they take that right out of your hands. They stay in control.”

Kalas’ gaze shifted back to the supply wagon. The fire was reduced to a few hot spots, but he could see from where he stood that it was a total loss. Attis strode to his side, glancing with disinterest on the body of the dead Nazarien.

“A distraction?” he said, pointing over his shoulder at the fire.

“Apparently,” answered Kalas. “Did we lose everything?”

“Pretty much. There might be a bit to be salvaged at the bottom, but even the wagon is beyond repair. We did get the horses unhitched, though.”

Kalas nodded, clenching his hands to still their trembling. If these attacks didn’t stop, he was going to be a nervous wreck. “We’re two days out of Kazden. The men are going to be awfully hungry by the time we reach it.”

“I can take a few on a hunting expedition, but I’m not sure we should reduce the number of soldiers guarding you.” He nudged the dead Nazarien with his boot toe. “Although, we don’t seem able to keep them away from you.”

Kalas looked down as well. “It wouldn’t matter anyway. There’s very little game to be found on the desert.” Something caught his eye and he bent, lifting a jagged rock in his hand. He turned and looked over his shoulder at the wagon which held Ellette. She was standing against the edge, watching him with worried blue eyes.

He tossed the rock in his hand and started moving toward her. “Dolan, come with me,” he said.

Dolan motioned a number of soldiers to fall in behind him and they made their way to the wagon where Ellette was chained. Kalas held the rock out to her. “Do you recognize this?” he asked.

Her blue eyes shifted from the rock and fixed on his face. “You Humans call it a rock.”

He fought a smile and leaned on the wagon. “Thank you. You may have saved my life.”

She shrugged, her chains rattling. “He would not have killed you. Not yet, but every day we draw closer to Kazden.” She gave the soldiers and Dolan a disgusted look. “You are not very well protected, Your Majesty. The Nazarien are not being challenged.”

Kalas did smile. “And you think you can do a better job?”

She grabbed the side of the wagon and pulled herself closer to him. “I know I can. Give me the chance to prove it.”

Kalas balanced the rock on the wagon’s edge. “I don’t need you to protect me, but loyalty and service does earn rewards. Please unlock her chains, Dolan,” he said.

His second hesitated. “Your Majesty?”

“Please,” he repeated.

Dolan would never question him twice. He moved to do as Kalas asked, unlocking the shackles that bound her to the wagon’s seat. She immediately began rubbing the circulation into her wrist and Kalas felt guilty seeing the red welts the shackles had raised.

“I’m sorry for that,” he said, nodding at her wrists.

“I have been told it is common when you are chained. Now, can I have a sword please?”

Kalas found her disarming. She said the oddest things and said them with grave seriousness, but he sensed something more. He wished she still irritated him, but he was finding himself intrigued by her, liking the way her hair covered one eye and the way her intense blue gaze followed him.

“No, you cannot have a sword. I’ve seen what you can do with a rock.”

She curled her fingers around the rock and shoved it in the pocket of her trousers. “It is better than no rock,” she said.

He fought a laugh and stepped away from the wagon. He was liking her far too much for his own comfort.

She rose to her feet and rubbed her legs to ease their stiffness, then she climbed off the end of the wagon. As she rounded the back of it, the soldiers moved to block her. Kalas nodded at Dolan to back them off and he motioned them back to a respectable distance. Still, he kept his body between Kalas and her.

She gave him a look, then pressed between him and the wagon, coming to a halt directly in front of Kalas. Kalas exchanged a wry look with his second. Dolan didn’t appear amused. In fact, he looked ready to blow…if he hadn’t been Nazarien, that is.

As he turned back to Ellette, Kalas was reminded that she was nearly the same height as he was, not that such a thing was any great feat, but it made him want to back away. He held his ground instead.

“Where would you have me?”

Kalas blinked at her. “Say again?”

“Where would you have me? Dolan always takes your right side and Attis has most frequently been on your left. Where should I stand?”

Kalas exhaled. “Nowhere. Let me make this clear. You are not my guardian, Mediocre Assassin.”

“Well, I am no longer your prisoner…” She held up her naked wrists. “What does that leave me?”

“I don’t know. You are free to go if you choose or you may continue riding in the wagon. We lost all of our provisions, so I’ve nothing to offer you there, but I can give you transportation into Kazden. It’s entirely your choice.”

“I choose to serve you,” she answered stubbornly.

“It doesn’t work that way. I’m King, I get to pick and I’m not picking you.”

“You doubt my ability?”

“Certainly not. I doubt your allegiance.”

“And how do I prove that?”

“You have. You were the first assassin to strike. I need nothing more.”

A crafty look crossed her face. “Ah, but then I struck a second time.” She took the rock from her pocket and held it up to him. “I saved your life.”

“But you said he didn’t intend to kill me. You said you didn’t save my life.”

“But you are King and you said I did.”

Kalas looked down to hide his smile. He could feel Dolan’s frown. “You are free to ride in the wagon as far as Kazden. From there, you must find your own way. My debt is then paid to you for your skill with rocks.”

She didn’t move. “The next attack will not be to frighten you off. It will be real.”

Kalas lifted his eyes to her face. Her gaze never wavered. He took a step away from her. Sometimes her intensity felt like a force pushing him back. He reminded himself she was Nazarien and Nazarien never did anything by half measures. Never. Not even killing.

*    *    *

Tyla opened her eyes. Two things struck her at once. First, she was standing, but she was sure she’d been asleep. Second, she had no idea where she was. Fog had crept into the campsite, covering everything in a strange misty glow. Daylight must have come also because she could see clearly for a few feet on either side of her, but nothing else was visible.

A sense of panic tightened in her chest. She remembered lying down on her cot in her tent. They had crossed the Boline Plain and made camp beside the banks of the Hottan River, waiting for the barge to take them downstream come morning. And yet, somehow she was standing outside the tent, lost in the fog off the water, wandering around without realizing she’d even gotten out of bed.

Where were Allistar and her men? Where was Jarrett?

She fought the panic. It didn’t do any good to be afraid. Somehow she’d fallen into a very deep sleep and walked out of camp. She’d never done anything like that before, but she’d heard of other people doing it. In fact, for a few years, Kerrin had awakened her in the middle of the night by walking around the house in his sleep.

Someone was coming. She could see him striding toward her, parting the fog as he came. She squinted, but she didn’t recognize him. He wasn’t as tall as any of her warriors and certainly not as tall as Jarrett. She felt a moment of annoyance. Why wouldn’t Jarrett have noticed she was gone? Why wasn’t he coming after her?

Suddenly she was aware that the emerald was thrumming with a strange sort of energy. She reached up and closed her hand around it, alarmed by its reaction. It wasn’t heating like it did when she was in danger, but it was vibrating against her skin.

The fog made everything odd – ethereal and difficult to see. She looked around again, wondering if she shouldn’t try to find her way back, but there weren’t even any trees to use as landmarks. Maybe the man approaching her had seen the camp and could point her in the right direction.

She turned back to him. He had slowed as he approached and she could feel the probe of his eyes. He looked confused, wary. She didn’t think she presented an intimidating figure, but the glow of the emerald might be a bit worrisome.

“Hello?” she called. She started toward him, then stopped. He was familiar.

An odd feeling moved through her and rooted her to the spot.

He gave a visible shake and continued toward her. “Hello,” he said.

Tyla’s fingers tightened on the emerald and she took a step back. “Who are you?”

He halted before her. He was obviously Stravad, full blood, and of a singular beauty. His hair flowed in a shimmering mantle of black to his shoulders and his eyes were a blue so clear, she’d never seen their like before…except once. He had Kalas’ eyes.

“Talar?”

Those blue eyes searched her face, moving rapidly over every feature, then they lowered to the emerald. “Who are you?”

Tyla tried to answer him, but the words wouldn’t come. She knew she should be alarmed by what was happening, but it was so incredible she didn’t want to lose the moment. Tears blinded her and she blinked them back. Swallowing hard, she cleared her throat.

“I’m your daughter, Tyla,” she whispered.

He reared back, his eyes widening. “Tyla?”

She realized his accent was strange, part Nazarien, part something else. “What is this place?”

He blinked, then looked around. “The mist…or that’s what I’ve always called it. I’ve never been sure.”

“Is it real?”

“Yes and no. It feels real, doesn’t it?”

She exhaled and released her death grip on the emerald. “Yes, it feels real.” She drank him in, wanting to remember everything about him, the way one brow lifted above the other, the cast of his features. She’d seen so many likenesses of him, so many drawings and renditions, but none were the same when faced with the man who had become nothing but a legend to her. He seemed so real, so solid, so alive…and yet her logical mind told her it was an illusion. “Have I lost my mind?”

He laughed. “I always thought I had, and I’m not sure I hadn’t.” His gaze lowered to the emerald again. “I always thought it was connected to the emerald. Carry it long enough and it’s bound to do strange things to you.” He frowned. “I’m sorry, but this is all so…” Words failed him.

She took a step closer and reached out to touch his arm. She jumped when her hand made contact. He looked alarmed as well, but he lifted his other hand and covered the backs of her fingers. She felt his eyes searching her face again, then he lifted his hand and fingered a curl.

“You have your mother’s curls,” he said in a strange, wistful voice.

“Can I see her?”

His expression shifted to one of confusion and he shook his head. “I don’t think it works that way.”

“This is a dream, right?”

“A little more than a dream. There’s a connection binding those who touch the emerald.”

“Did this happen to you?”

His eyes drifted away as if he were trying to remember. “I’m not sure.” He shook his head, then frowned. “I think so, but I…I’m not sure.”

Truthfully, she didn’t care whether it was a dream or not. He was here before her and that was enough. Elaborate trick of her mind or some odd aberration of the emerald, he was here. Tears filled her eyes again.

“I always wished we could have a moment like this, just a moment to talk.”

His gaze snapped back to her face. “Tyla?” he repeated. “You have your mother’s eyes.”

“And Kalas has yours.”

“Kalas?” His look sharpened. “How is Kalas?”

“Well. He has done so well. You’d be proud of him.”

“And you?”

She smiled, blinded by her tears. “I’ve done all right. You have a grandson. His name is Kerrin. You would be proud of him too.”

Talar absorbed this information. “So much I’ve lost, so much I’ve never gotten to see.” He fingered a curl again. “I wish your mother could see you. You look so like her.”

She took his hand and pressed it to her cheek. “I wish I could see her too, but I’m grateful that I’ve been able to see you.”

His blue eyes narrowed on her. “Something isn’t right.”

She felt a shiver and her smile dried. “What?”

“I feel something. Something isn’t right. What is it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He frowned again. “You need to go back. You can’t stay here.”

“Just a few more minutes. There’s so much I want to ask you, so much I need to know.”

He gently pulled away. “Tyla, you need to go back. Now.”

She let him disengage his hand and he took a step away from her. She didn’t want to let him go, she wanted to hang onto this moment just a bit longer, but he was already moving backward, letting the mist swirl around him, obscure him from her sight.

“Go back, Tyla,” he admonished.

“I don’t know how,” she said, clutching the emerald. She felt the chill of her own tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Think it. Will it. Go back now.”

His voice faded away as he disappeared into the gathering fog. Tyla stared after him, wanting a final glimpse, a final look, but he was gone. She closed her eyes and drew a hitching breath. She couldn’t believe how much it hurt to watch him walk away from her.

When she opened her eyes again, she found herself staring at the tent fabric. She sat up quickly, then regretted it. Her head ached and her skin felt hot and tight. She rolled over and reached for the glass of water on the floor by the cot, draining it. As she lay back down again, her hand touched the emerald and she felt that same odd thrumming that had been in her dream.

Lifting it, she stared into its surface, but gradually the vibrations stopped and it lay dormant. It had been a dream, nothing more, but she couldn’t deny it had felt real. She pushed back the covers and sat up, swinging her feet to the ground. She would take some Stamerian, then go back to sleep for a few more hours. They had a long day ahead of them.

Reaching up, she brushed back her hair, then pressed her fingers to her eyes. When she drew them away, she realized her fingertips were wet with her own tears.

CHAPTER 8

“What is it?” asked Jarrett, staring at the box-shaped vehicle bouncing against the dock.

Tyla gave him an annoyed look. “A barge? You’ve never seen one before?”

Jarrett squinted at it. “What’s it do?”

“It’ll take us downstream where we can pick up the trail into the Groziks.”

“Why?”

Tyla fought a smile. “See those?” She pointed to the team of muscular oxen being hitched to the side of the barge. Jarrett nodded. “They are stronger and more resilient than our horses. They can travel for greater distances without rest and pull an enormous amount of weight. We’re going to load everything on the barge, horses and stores and men, then we’re going to sit back and let the oxen help us get to the trail head.”

“Sounds slow. We’d make better time if we rode.”

“We’d also wear the horses out just before the climb into the mountains. Why do that? This doesn’t really add much time to the journey, only hours, in fact.” She gave him a severe look. “You’re afraid.”

He glanced at her and away. “Nazarien are never afraid.”

Tyla wasn’t sure, but his tone sounded almost playful, mocking. If so, it would be the first time since he’d returned to Temeron.

“…and certainly not of cows,” he added.

She smiled. He was being funny. It was so delightful, she wanted to hug him for it, but she stopped herself. It wouldn’t do either of them any good to confuse the situation. Shouldering her pack, she wandered onto the dock.

The barge master tipped his cap at her. “Stravad Leader.”

“Ren. How are your wife and son?”

“Well, the boy will be two this next month.”

Tyla smiled, but when he reached to help her on board, she waved him off. “Don’t you dare. You know I can take care of myself,” she scolded.

He laughed and backed away. “Right you are.”

She stepped onto the barge and moved to a bench directly under the wheelhouse. Placing her pack beside her, she settled back and closed her eyes. A cool breeze blew off the water, soothing her hot skin. She wouldn’t admit it to Jarrett, but she was grateful for a day off horseback.

She felt him sit down across from her. “You all right?” he asked.

She opened her eyes. “Tired. I forgot how hard travel is. I’ve gotten soft.”

He braced his arms on his thighs and clasped his hands, but he didn’t answer.

Allistar vaulted onto the barge. “Everything’s loaded, Stravad Leader. The horses are settled.”

“Thank you,” she answered.

He nodded, then glanced at Jarrett. Jarrett didn’t acknowledge him. With a lift of his brows, Allistar moved toward the rear of the barge where his men were arranged on the deck. Tyla thought the exchange odd, but she wasn’t sure how to voice that observation. She studied Jarrett’s bowed head. The earrings in his left ear glimmered in the sunlight, almost mocking her with what might have been. She hated them, hated especially the symbol of the Nazarien on him.

The barge lurched forward and Jarrett grabbed the edges of the bench, his head coming up. He looked around in alarm, then felt her gaze on him.

“You are afraid,” she teased.

He gave her a severe frown. “It’s unnatural.”

“What do you think it’ll be like if we do find this Brodie person and get him to sail us to the island? We’re not talking about a river any longer.”

“I’ll still think it’s unnatural.”

She nodded over her shoulder. “What’s with you and Allistar?”

Jarrett glanced toward his friend. “Nothing.”

She let him have his secret. She could find out if she wanted, but it didn’t really matter. They’d work it out some way. It likely had nothing to do with her. “Can I ask you something?”

His gaze shifted to her. She was struck again with how much he looked like his son. Longing for Kerrin filled her, but she forced it back. “Is it hard for you to maintain the tenants of the Nazarien faith?”

He sat back in surprise. For a moment he didn’t speak and she thought he wasn’t going to answer her. Then he looked out over the water. “Harder than you can imagine.” With a sigh, he braced his arms on his thighs again. “I had this stupid idea that I could change things once I became Nazar.”

“You said that before. But you couldn’t?”

He shook his head and swallowed hard. “I made things worse. Much worse.”

“What, exactly?”

He lifted his eyes and pinned her with his gaze. She felt a flutter against her thoughts, a touch, nothing more. It reminded her so of what they had shared in the past. “I don’t want to talk about it, Tyla,” he said.

She hugged her pack to her, disappointed. Even if she had wanted to change things, too much had happened to distance them from each other. They’d each led such separate lives. She forced herself to nod.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She shrugged. “It isn’t my business.”

“It’s just that I thought I would have more control, more pull, but that isn’t the case. The Nazarien are so deeply entrenched, it’s impossible to move them.” He rubbed the back of his neck wearily. “I feel like a perpetrator and I hate it. Everything I thought I’d be able to do was wrong. They reacted in ways I never could have predicted, violent, reprehensible ways.” He closed his eyes. “And I caused it.”

She wanted to touch him, soothe him, but she didn’t. She tightened her grip on her pack and watched him struggle with himself. “Jarrett?”

He opened his eyes and focused on her.

“We only control those things we do ourselves. We can’t control the actions of others.”

“I wish I believed that, Tyla, but I don’t. We ought to be able to make things better for people, not worse.”

“That’s why we keep trying. Why we don’t give up. Why we go on insane missions that have little chance of success. Do you follow me?”

He gave her a half-smile. “I do. You’re right. We have to try this, as crazy as I think it is. We have to try.”

She returned his smile and leaned back against the wheelhouse, content in the moment, content just to sit here with the river breeze blowing over her and the man she once loved sitting across from her. For right now, it was enough.

*    *    *

Kalas pulled the shirt over his head and dropped it on the cot. He reached for the knife he’d placed in his boot and laid it on the camp table by the wash basin. Pouring water into the basin, he grabbed the cloth and immersed it in the water, then wrung it out and wiped a little of the desert from his body. Dropping the cloth on the table, he bent over the basin and splashed the water directly onto his face with both hands. The coolness of it felt good against his sun burnt skin.

Reaching for the towel, he dried his face, then hesitated. A shiver of apprehension snaked its way up his spine and crawled across his scalp. He lowered the towel, deliberately placing it over the knife, then drew the knife from its sheath as silently as he could.

Whipping around, he brought the knife up in front of him. His assailant gave a gasp and jumped back, wide blue eyes fixed on the blade.

“Ellette, I could have killed you!” he growled, lowering the knife.

She pressed a hand to the center of her chest. “I am sorry, Your Majesty. I did not mean to startle you.”

He settled the knife on the camp table behind him. “What are you doing in my tent?”

She blinked at him a moment. They were both breathing hard.

“Ellette, I asked you a question.”

Her gaze lowered to his bare chest.

“Dolan!” he shouted.

The Nazarien ducked beneath the tent flap immediately.

“Did you know she was in here?” he demanded, pointing at her.

“Yes, Your Majesty, I saw her slip inside before I could stop her. I wasn’t sure what you wanted me to do.”

Kalas frowned at him. What the hell did that mean? Then it struck him. He didn’t usually take along camp followers, but he wasn’t a monk either. “I didn’t invite her inside, Dolan.”

The Nazarien lowered his gaze, clearly uncomfortable.

Ellette seemed to remember herself. “Oh, no, he did not invite me inside.”

“Then why are you here, Ellette? I could have killed you.”

“I want to stay with you. I want to protect you.”

“We’ve already had this discussion. I don’t want your protection.”

“Oh, I know that, but I cannot accept it.”

Kalas exchanged a puzzled look with his second. “What does that mean?”

“When they gave me this mission, I decided to change it. I intended to make you aware of the danger, then join your entourage as your personal guardian.”

“But I don’t accept your decision. Your plan only works if I accept it.” He stared at her in bewilderment. She wasn’t stupid and she didn’t seem daft. Why was she so determined about this?

“Your Majesty, Nazarien are anything if not determined. Your life might depend on you accepting my help.”

He closed his eyes. “Why me? Why have you decided on me?”

She didn’t answer him for a moment and he opened his eyes again. She was staring at him with that probing look of hers, the one that saw through him and made him want to squirm. He felt exposed under her gaze and it wasn’t just because he was standing before her half-naked. She saw to the heart of him and oddly enough, he feared she might find him lacking.

“You have no idea what it is like for women in the Nazarien faith. From the time a girl turns eighteen, she is subject to systematic abuse at the hands of men who claim it is done for the good of the order. There have been no other options for Nazarien women for generations.” She lowered her gaze. “That is how it was for me. I almost died after my first procreation ceremony. But you and especially your sister have made changes to the Nazarien faith. Peace has allowed us time to hone other skills and your sister’s independence has made women in my order rebel.”

She shook her head. “I am not talking full scale rebellion, but small things…enough things to make the men relent a little. I would never have been able to train as an assassin ten years ago. I owe you that, but more than that, you are Eladrasen. You are the reason our order exists. You must be protected and I have the skills to protect you.”

He was moved by her story, but it didn’t change his feelings. She’d attacked him. He couldn’t trust someone who had plotted his death, even if it was a warning. “I have soldiers to protect me.”

She gave him a severe frown. “Yes, they have done marvelous well up until now.”

Dolan made a noise in his throat.

Kalas glared at him, but his second was obviously not intimidated. “All right. You can protect me tomorrow. Tonight I want to sleep.”

“And ‘tis certain the Nazarien will wait until morning before attacking again. Once more you have proven yourself my superior, Your Majesty,” she said.

Kalas narrowed his eyes on her. She delivered such comments with complete seriousness, but there was a certain quality to her tone. Dolan again made a strange noise.

“What is it you want, woman?” he commanded.

“Give me a blanket and I will curl up at the foot of your cot.”

“You can’t stay with me.”

She looked around. “I can. There is plenty of room and I do not need much.”

Kalas looked to Dolan for help.

“She would be safer in here with you, away from the men.”

“And you know what the men will be saying tomorrow?”

“You are King. Why would they dare to discuss your life? You exist so far above them,” she said. Again, such sincerity, damn her. He couldn’t call her on it when she seemed innocent.

He wagged a finger in her face. “You are manipulating me and I don’t like it.”

“Let me see you safely to Kazden. If you are displeased with me then, you may dismiss me.” She shot a look over her shoulder at Dolan. “If not, you can add me to your collection of Nazarien.”

Kalas fought a smile, but it won. He turned away from her in aggravation, but not before he caught the telltale glitter in her eyes. She was enjoying her triumph over him and he hoped he wouldn’t live to regret it.

*    *    *

The barge let them off at the base of the trail. After the horses were unloaded, they made camp under the trees. The next day’s ride would be the most grueling, climbing into the mountains. Since Allistar wouldn’t allow Tyla to have a hand in the labor of setting camp, she retired to her tent.

Jarrett watched her go, a growing worry gnawing at him. She seemed unusually tired. The barge hadn’t required them to burn any energy and after their failed conversation about the Nazarien, she’d stretched out on the bench and napped the afternoon away. Jarrett had been left to wander up and down the barge until the captain had asked him to stop.

Now he sat near the fire before his own tent and studied the camp. He couldn’t fault Allistar. Everything moved like a well-oiled machine. The ten Stravad warriors set an efficient site, then five of them at a time patrolled the perimeter, while the other five rested. At midnight, they would switch. With Allistar and the cook contributing their share, they didn’t need him to do anything.

At a call from the cook, Allistar ducked under the lean-to and took the dish he’d prepared for Tyla. He came back out and strode across the camp to her tent, announcing his entrance at the opening.

She invited him inside and he disappeared from view. Jarrett tried to tamp down on his annoyance, but it was hard. Even the efficiency of the camp made him feel like a third wheel. He had no place here, was more obstacle than aid, and he wasn’t used to feeling so useless.

When Allistar ducked back out, Jarrett rose and approached him.

Allistar halted, offering him a wary look. This further annoyed Jarrett. He wasn’t going to accost the man – lord, they’d been friends in the past. Why was Allistar so intent on making him feel out of place?

“Did you see her eat?”

Allistar frowned at him. “Of course not. Why in the world would I do that?”

“How do you know if she ate?”

“I assume she’s been feeding herself for a number of years now.”

“I don’t need snarky Stravad comments and you don’t need to look at me like I’m daft.”

“Then don’t act daft,” Allistar answered, moving around him.

“You haven’t noticed how tired she seems? You don’t think that’s odd?”

Allistar turned back to face him. “I think this conversation is odd.”

“It just seems to me that someone who declares himself her guardian ought to do a better job of it. If you can’t do it right, maybe I should be the one to take her her meals.”

“Fine. I didn’t realize your higher ranking made you more equipped to deliver things.” Allistar raked a hand through his blonde hair. “Look, Jarrett, what exactly is your beef with me?”

“I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job, but the cavalier Stravad attitude is making me nuts.”

“Cavalier? What the hell are you talking about? Are you suggesting that the Nazarien are better at…” He shook his head in confusion. “What exactly, Jarrett? Carrying plates, watching people eat. This conversation is completely asinine.”

“At least the Nazarien know their duty.”

Allistar stiffened. The men resting in the camp looked up, feeling the tension. “Don’t school me on my duty, Nazar. I’m not the one who ran out ten years ago.”

“And I’m not the one betraying my marital vows.”

Allistar’s eyes widened and he took a step closer until they were chest to chest. “Be careful what you say. I have never forsaken my marital vows. Can you say the same?”

“I’ve never forsaken mine. Not once in ten years. Nor have I looked at another woman the way you look at my wife.”

Allistar shoved him. “Take that back.”

Jarrett moved closer. He was taller, heavier, and they both knew it. “I can’t because we both know it’s true.” He shoved Allistar in return.

The Stravad stumbled, but when he recovered, he dropped his head and charged his opponent. Jarrett caught him and they grappled, each trying to use his weight to knock the other off his feet. The warriors jumped up and hurried over, shouting encouragement and advice. Even the cook left his fire.

Jarrett had size on the Stravad, but Allistar was quick and he maneuvered himself into a position where he could hook Jarrett’s foot and unbalance him. They went down together, scrabbling across the ground, wrestling back and forth in the cleared space of the camp.

Jarrett took an elbow in the nose and a knee to the ribs. He was certain Allistar had received the same punishment in return. He just managed to gain leverage on the Stravad when he felt something wet and cold strike him, hitting him full in the face, causing him to gasp for breath.

He and Allistar fell away from each other and sprawled in the dust.

Looking up, he found Tyla standing between them, a bucket in her hands. He wiped the water off his face and blinked the grit out of his eyes.

Her expression was murderous. “Do this again and I’ll hurt you both!” she shouted at them.

Allistar dropped his gaze and the other Stravad were shuffling their feet in embarrassment. Jarrett wanted to laugh, but he figured that might be dangerous, considering the emerald was glowing at her throat.

She threw the bucket on the ground and glared at him, her black curls a wild mane about her shoulders. He was struck with her beauty. “I have no idea what happened here, but if it happens again, I swear there will be blood.”

Jarrett nodded, then felt something trickle onto his upper lip. He lifted his hand and pressed it against his nose. His fingers came back red. She shifted her glare to Allistar. “Do you understand me?”

He nodded sheepishly. In the light of the campfire, Jarrett could see his left eye was swelling.

“Idiots!” Tyla hissed, turning her back on them and moving toward her tent. Then she disappeared inside.

Jarrett curled an arm around his bruised ribs and hauled himself to his feet. Holding out a hand, he helped Allistar up. They leaned against each other for a moment, then parted. The rest of the Stravad returned to their bedrolls.

“I’m sorry,” Jarrett said.

Allistar fingered his eye. “So am I.” He motioned at Jarrett’s nose. “Did I break it?”

“I don’t think so, but you’ll probably have a black eye tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Should we talk about it?”

Jarrett shrugged, rubbing his shirt sleeve beneath his nose. “Probably not.”

“I don’t have designs on Tyla, Jarrett.”

Jarrett sighed, then regretted it. His ribs ached. “I know that.” He lifted his shirt and fingered the sore spot. “I think you cracked some ribs.”

Allistar put his arm around Jarrett’s shoulders and turned him toward his campfire. “I’ve got some Trendarian brandy that might help.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

They hobbled away, side by side, the previous fight forgotten.

*    *    *

Ellette angled her horse in beside Kalas. Around them rose the hills that marked the boundary between the desert and the ocean. Beach grass grew out of the sand and the far off roar of the surf reached them. They couldn’t see Kazden, but they were close. By nightfall they should make the gate.

Without warning, Ellette reached over and grabbed Kalas’ reins, hauling back. Confused, their horses hesitated, giving Ellette enough time to bring her mount in front of Kalas, blocking him. The soldiers behind him had to stop quickly so they didn’t collide.

Kalas wrenched his reins free. “What the hell are you doing?”

She was an excellent rider. Her horse obeyed without question. “Please listen to reason.”

Attis and Dolan halted as well, turning around to watch the exchange.

Kalas exhaled. He was hot and hungry, and tired. It was impossible to sleep at night, knowing she was lying a few feet away. “Woman, you try my patience.”

She motioned around them. “You are exposed here. We are hours out of Kazden, so they will strike soon. You make a perfect target on horseback and they have ample places to hide among these hills.”

Dolan edged his horse closer. “She has a point.”

“Which is what? I shouldn’t ride my horse? You think walking will be safer?”

“No, you can ride in the wagon where you stashed me before,” she said. “That way the soldiers can surround you and you will not be visible.”

“That’s ridiculous. I’m not riding in a wagon.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” offered Attis.

Kalas looked at his second. He knew Dolan would understand a King’s dignity would never allow such a situation.

“It would make me feel better,” Dolan said. “Right now the most important thing is to get you into Kazden alive.”

“You’ve all gone mad.”

She gave him a speculative look. “Please, Your Majesty, listen to reason. It is not far.”

“I’m not riding in a wagon, Ellette. That’s stupid.”

“If they kill you, what help will you be to your sister?”

Kalas tilted his head. He never remembered hearing that Nazarien were such manipulators before, but then he’d never met many female Nazarien. This one knew what buttons to push with him and she had no qualms about pushing them.

She went still. Kalas didn’t think she was even looking at him any longer. He leaned forward, trying to reach for his reins, but she suddenly glanced around, searching the hills around them. Kalas felt a shiver of foreboding roll over him.

She whipped back around, her eyes wide, her expression anxious. “Please, Your Majesty, do as I ask. Do not question it any longer.”

Kalas exchanged a look with Dolan. Dolan appeared as alarmed as he was. Kalas scanned the hills himself, but he saw no movement. Not that he’d seen anything before they burned the supply wagon two days ago.

Damn it all, he didn’t want to ride in a wagon like a peasant. He was King and a king always rode his own mount. Still, there was something odd about Ellette’s behavior and when he thought about it, he had to admit she’d rarely been wrong.

“Fine!” he snapped. “I’ll ride in the damn wagon.” He swung his leg over the saddle, preparing to drop to the ground. At the same moment, something came whistling through the air. He had no time to duck or jump back to avoid it. It slammed into his shoulder, knocking him back off the horse. He impacted with the ground, the air knocked out of him, and he lay stunned, gasping for breath.

Black spots danced in his peripheral vision and he blinked to clear them. He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t breathe, then with a searing pain, he felt his lungs fill. He gulped in air and closed his eyes, fighting for each shallow breath.

He was aware of people dropping all around him, sprawling on the ground beside him. He opened his eyes and looked up the long shaft of an arrow into Dolan’s panicked gaze. He could hear shouts and caught flashes of frantic motion, but he focused on Dolan to the exclusion of all else. He tried to speak, but nothing came out. Suddenly Ellette’s face filled his sight. Her hands reached for the arrow’s shaft, but Dolan shoved her away.

“What are you doing? We have to get him in the wagon and take him to a healer in Kazden!” shouted his second.

“And what if the arrow is poisoned?” shouted Ellette in return.

Kalas was surprised at how clear his thoughts were. She made a good point. It very well could be poisoned. “Remove it, Dolan,” he said, gritting his teeth. Until now, breathing had been his primary concern, but a burning pain was radiating across the right side of his chest.

Dolan stared at him, his eyes enormous. He opened and closed his mouth, but no sound came out. Kalas didn’t understand what was wrong. If he couldn’t trust Dolan, who could he trust?

Attis appeared over his shoulder, shoving the older Nazarien out of the way. “I’ll do it.”

He grasped the arrow and before Kalas could prepare himself, he yanked.

An involuntary cry tore from Kalas’ throat and he arched his back. Black spots danced across his eyes and nausea rose inside of him. He fought it back, but a buzzing in his head drowned out all other considerations.

He felt himself being lifted and carried. Then he was lowered onto a soft surface and a cool hand was brushing the hair from his forehead. He couldn’t find the energy to open his eyes, but gradually, the buzzing was fading.

A weight pressed against his wounded shoulder and he wanted to push it away, but he didn’t have the strength. Carefully he opened his eyes and stared up into Ellette’s face. He was struck by the way her cheek glowed a bronze on the outside, but a richer gold beneath, and the darkness of her lashes. As always, her hair nearly covered one eye. She’d tied it in a knot at the nape of her neck, but tangled, unruly wisps escaped. In the sunlight, they looked almost blond.

“You will be all right, Your Majesty,” she said.

He realized he was lying with his head in her lap. She had her left hand pressed against his shoulder. A moan escaped him as the wagon lurched forward, causing her to tighten her hold. He tried to remember what had happened. Someone had said something about poison. Had he been poisoned? He couldn’t tell.

“Was anyone else hurt?” he asked.

She bent closer to him, so she could hear. She smelled of dust and horse, but he caught a faint floral scent from her hair. He allowed himself to sink into her, just for a moment.

“No one else, Your Majesty. You were the only target.”

“Has the bleeding stopped?” came Dolan’s voice.

She eased the pressure on his shoulder. Kalas let his eyes fall closed. For some reason, the buzzing was back in his head, confusing him.

“No,” she said and he couldn’t remember what he’d asked her.

“Has it slowed?”

Kalas licked his lips, wishing he had some water. For some reason, the entire right side of his chest ached.

“Yes.”

“Ellette,” he whispered, but he wasn’t sure why he was whispering.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

He frowned, but didn’t open his eyes. He couldn’t remember what he was going to ask her. “I need to sleep.”

Her hand smoothed over his brow again, soothing him with her cool touch. “Sleep, Your Majesty. You are safe. I swear it.”

“Tell Dolan,” he said.

“Tell Dolan what?”

“I’m just going to sleep.”

She stroked his hair. “All right,” she said and Kalas allowed himself to drift away.

*   *    *

“Stravad Leader?”

Jarrett watched the tall, dark haired Stravad come to a halt before Tyla and duck his head in obeisance.

“Vezo, how are you?” she answered, giving him one of her most radiant smiles. Then she looked around the outpost.

Jarrett did the same. The parade ground was well tended, swept and cleared of weeds. A few Stravad practiced hand to hand combat in the central ring, while others worked with horses or tended a vegetable garden to the right of the main house.

“Allistar,” Vezo said. Allistar returned the greeting, then the Stravad focused on Jarrett. “Welcome back, Nazar.”

Jarrett gave him a nod. He and Tyne had stopped here on their way into Loden.

“I didn’t expect to see you back so soon,” he continued.

“I know, but everything looks good here.”

“We’re doing fine.”

“No disease?” asked Tyla.

Vezo’s expression clouded. “We lost Kenyon, but he was assigned to the Cult members that escorted Jax. No one else has shown signs of disease.”

“I’m sorry for Kenyon’s loss,” she said wearily. “How did you prevent it from spreading further?”

“We isolated him and took precautions. We wore gloves and face masks when we took care of him.”

“Good,” she said. “Take the same precautions if anyone else should come down with it.”

“Do you think there’s still danger of that?” asked the Stravad.

Tyla shifted weight, piquing Jarrett’s attention.  “These secondary infections seem to have long incubation periods. Don’t think it’s over.”

“Of course, Stravad Leader.” He motioned over his shoulder. “Let me show you to your quarters.”

Tyla started after him, but Jarrett caught her arm. She whirled and yanked free of his hold, her eyes blazing. He held out his hands and gave her a look of surrender. “I just wanted to ask you something.”

She straightened and took a step back from him. “What?”

“Are you all right?” he questioned.

“That’s what you wanted to ask me?”

“No, but you reacted so strangely, I thought it was the best place to start. What’s going on with you?”

“What does that mean?” she snapped.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

She gave him a severe look. He couldn’t really read what lay behind it. “Because I don’t want to be manhandled, I’m acting odd?”

Jarrett felt offended, despite his resolve to feel nothing. “I didn’t manhandle you. I just grabbed your arm.”

She didn’t respond, just stood staring at him. Behind her, Allistar and Vezo were waiting for them, watching the exchange with puzzled expressions. Jarrett really didn’t want to make a scene, especially after his fight with Allistar the previous night.

“I’m concerned, Tyla. Is that wrong?”

“Concerned about the epidemic, no. Concerned about the outcome of this journey, certainly not. Concerned about me? Misplaced. Worry about yourself, Nazar.” With that she turned on her heel and walked away.

Jarrett let her go. What more could he do? He hadn’t gotten to ask her his question, but he felt fairly certain it wouldn’t matter right now. She was determined to keep him out. He felt in his pocket and ran his thumb over the rock Kerrin had given him. Lord, he wondered if the boy understood what a termagant his mother could be.

CHAPTER 9

Dolan watched the pulse pound in the hollow of Kalas’ throat, reassuring himself that he was all right. He rode in the wagon beside his king, Ellette on the other side. Kalas seemed to be sleeping easily, no sign of fever, no symptoms of poisoning. He’d lost blood and Dolan feared Attis had done more damage removing the arrow than necessary, but it wasn’t a life threatening wound.

Even so, Dolan couldn’t escape the guilt he felt. Kalas could have been killed. The Nazarien had intended that. If Ellette hadn’t reacted, the situation might have been so much worse. Just the fact that he was hurt bothered Dolan.

When the wagon went over a rut, Kalas moaned in his sleep. Dolan resisted the impulse to smooth his blanket, lifting his eyes to the road. It was difficult to see, surrounded as they were by soldiers.

He felt Ellette’s gaze on him. “You behave as if he were your son.”

Dolan gave her a puzzled look. “What an odd thing for a Nazarien to say?”

“Why?”

“Nazarien don’t acknowledge family ties of any kind.”

“They might not acknowledge them, but it does not mean they do not exist.”

“Explain.”

“You care for him. It is evident in your face.”

“Of course I do,” said Dolan. “He’s my liege lord.”

“You are Nazarien. There is no reason for you to have pledged yourself to a Human King, except by choice. Then you chose to follow this one when you could have been free. Why?”

“He’s Talar Eldralin’s son. Isn’t that the purpose of the Nazarien? At least it was until this insanity began.” He motioned at Kalas’ bandaged shoulder.

She gave him an amused look. It wasn’t quite a smile, but it came close. She was the damnedest Nazarien he’d ever encountered. “The way you react to him is not the way a subordinate behaves, and he does not treat you that way either. You care for him as a father would care for his son.”

“How would you know anything about that?” He didn’t know why her words made him bristle, but they did.

She looked down and smoothed her hands across his blanket. “My mother gave her life for me.”

Dolan wasn’t sure how to respond. Honestly, he didn’t want to respond. He wanted to ignore what she said, but he couldn’t. “What happened?”

She met his look. Her eyes had a way of seeing into a man, searching out the thoughts that paraded through his skull. He wondered if she were psychic. “The man who chose me for my first Procreation Ceremony was brutal. The Ceremony had been forbidden by the Nazar, but a few of the Nazarien decided to hold it any way. They took their choice of initiates and dragged us into caves the Nazarien have never explored. I almost died. Many of the girls did.”

Dolan wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. She told the story with such detachment that he had to believe it was the only way she could cope with the experience.

“The Nazar and his closest followers found us. The other men had left us to die. The Nazar brought us back to Chernow where we were given sanctuary. I healed, thanks to my mother who stayed beside me. Once she was sure I would mend, she went in search of the man who harmed me.”

Dolan’s eyes widened. “She went after a Nazarien warrior?”

Ellette’s chin lifted. “Yes. She killed him.”

Dolan blinked in surprise, unable to voice the thoughts in his mind.

“She killed him for me, even though she knew there would be vengeance. She never made it home. She was executed the next day.”

“Executed? By the Nazar?”

“No, by the brother of the man who assaulted me. He tracked her down and killed her. Executed her. She never had a chance.”

Dolan looked away. Bile rose in his throat, but he forced it down. Eldon’s star, he’d been gone from the Nazarien a long time. Not that he’d ever fit in. Ellette wondered why he’d chosen to serve Tarnow. This was part of the reason.

“I’m sorry, Ellette.”

“I am not. She taught me love and determination. She taught me that giving your life to protect someone is noble and right. I will never forget her. I owe her my life.”

Dolan looked back at her. “Forgive me for throwing Nazarien precepts at you.”

Ellette shrugged. “We are, both of us, Nazarien.” She shifted uncomfortably. “There is more you should know.”

Dolan waited for her to speak.

She fidgeted with Kalas’ blanket and briefly touched his cheek, then clasped her hands in her lap. “The man who attacked me was one of the rogue Nazarien. He was among those that did not like the changes the Nazar was trying to make.”

“Go on.”

She glanced around them, but no one was listening. Not even the driver who rode just before them on the buckboard. “Bredon Laurel was his name. He was the first to organize the group into anything more than critics and complainers. When he died, his brother Quinn took his place. Quinn is the one who recruited me for the assassins.”

“You follow the man who killed your mother?”

“I know it seems unnatural, but I thought it was the only way I could get close to him. Find him when he was vulnerable.”

“And he didn’t suspect this?”

“He was certain his brother had broken me, taught me the proper deportment of a Nazarien woman. He did not believe his brother had done anything wrong. For so many years, such treatment was ignored.”

Dolan nodded. He knew this.

“Besides, he did not know I knew he killed my mother. I found her body….I…” Her voice broke and she looked down. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply to center herself, then she looked up once more. “He had carved his initials into her cheek.”

Dolan flinched.

“I planned to kill him, even if it meant my death.”

“But you didn’t?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“He decided to come after the King of Eastern Nevaisser instead.”

“Instead?”

“Instead of the Nazar.”

“But he ultimately plans to go after the Nazar, right?”

“Right. The Nazar and the Stravad Leader.”

Dolan leaned back and allowed the wagon to jostle him. It felt very much like his thoughts. “How many men does Quinn Laurel have?”

Ellette shook her head. “No one was allowed to know how many.”

“Do you believe Quinn was the one who shot the King?”

Ellette stared at him a moment in silence. Dolan resisted the urge to squirm. Lord, the girl had such eyes. “No, Quinn did not do this.”

“How do you know?”

“Because the King of Eastern Nevaisser is still alive.”

*    *    *

After restocking their supplies, the Temerian Stravad left the Nazarien outpost the next day. Vezo bid them goodbye and promised to send word to Temeron of their safe arrival. The previous night Tyla had questioned him about the numerous posts she’d sent to Kalas in Adishian. Vezo assured her the messengers had come through the pass, stopping at the outpost for the night – three of them, each with the purpose of carrying information on to Nevaisser. But none of those messengers had returned and no post had come from Kalas in response.

Tyla rode in the middle of the Stravad warriors, worrying this bit of news. The outpost sat on the road most used between Nevaisser and Loden. A regular mail delivery passed this way each week. If the messengers had made it safely to Kalas, they likely would have come back this direction and stopped at the outpost on their return journey.

She’d also sent an avian message before she left Temeron. That had gone directly to Sarkisian. She hadn’t expected to hear about that one before she left, but the lack of response from Kalas to her other messages alarmed her.

They crested the pass an hour after leaving the outpost. Tyla glanced back over her shoulder at Loden. The valley stretched away beneath her, a verdant land of green and blue, rising to the mountains on all sides, topped with white. She drew in a breath and held it, slowing her horse to a halt.

Behind her Jarrett stopped his own mount and sat, staring down at the valley, his eyes narrowed against the sun. She wondered what he was thinking, but didn’t dare share his thoughts. He caused such conflicting emotions inside of her. Ten years had aged them both, but he was still the striking man he’d been, if a bit harder and more distant now.

Allistar rode up beside her. “I hate leaving her,” he said.

She smiled at him. “I know, but I think you hate leaving Temeron more.”

“Always.” He returned her smile. “I’ve never been farther than these mountains. In a day or so, I’ll be the farthest away from Temeron that I’ve ever been. It makes me nervous.”

She touched his arm. “Thank you for coming with me. I do appreciate the sacrifice.”

He gave a snort. “Sacrifice? Don’t paint me that noble, Stravad Leader.” He nodded at Jarrett. “You better not let him see us talking. I’m not wanting to fight him again.” He touched his black eye.

Tyla laughed. “Men. You’re all idiots, you know that?”

“So my wife keeps telling me.” He continued to watch Jarrett. “He’s so different now, like all the joy was leached from him.”

Tyla’s smile dried. She’d noticed the same thing herself and she hated it. Jarrett had been so alive before. In her memory, he’d vibrated with energy. She hardly recognized the stern, stoic man he was now. “The Nazarien are a joyless people, Allistar. I wish it wasn’t that way.”

He shifted his gaze to her and studied her intently. “I don’t think it was the Nazarien that did this, Stravad Leader.”

Tyla frowned.

Allistar gave her a sad smile. “I think leaving the woman you love was enough.” That said, he turned his horse and began the descent into Nevaisser.

Tyla watched him go, but her mind was on his words. She no longer blamed Jarrett for leaving, but she couldn’t forget that he had. Her trust in him had been destroyed and she didn’t think she had it in her to trust again. More than that, he wasn’t the man she’d loved. This man, this shell of her Jarrett, wasn’t the same. Everything that had made her love him was gone and she couldn’t reconcile herself with the change.

Turning her horse’s head, she followed after Allistar, forcing herself to let Loden go, forcing herself to put a mountain range between her and her son. Her body ached, but she also forced that worry away. She knew she’d be able to see Kazden in a few hours, allowing her to anticipate the end of this journey and the hope that a solution awaited her beyond Kazden’s coast.

The rhythmic motion of the horse lulled her toward calm and she let her thoughts wander to the dream she’d had about her father. No matter how often she looked at that dream, she couldn’t deny it felt very real, more real than any other dream she’d ever had. But it couldn’t be real. There was no way she could communicate with a man who’d been dead for so many years.

Motion on her right side brought her out of her contemplation. She looked up into Jarrett’s blue eyes.

“Can I ask you a few things?”

Tyla felt a flush of anxiety. She wasn’t sure she wanted to answer any questions he might have. She didn’t want to fight with him anymore, but she didn’t want to rehash the past ten years either.

“That depends,” she said.

He looked away. “Not about us. I want to know about the epidemic, what you know.”

Tyla exhaled in relief. Every time she talked with him she felt like she was walking through a battle field, waiting to be attacked. “I don’t know much.”

“When Jax arrived in Temeron, was he still coherent?”

“Barely. He couldn’t walk anymore and he was coughing up blood. I should have quarantined him immediately, but I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. His leg was badly infected and that’s where he said the disease began. How it moved to his lungs confused me.”

“When did you quarantine him?”

“After we amputated his leg. I thought that might be enough to save him, but he only got worse.”

“What happened to the Nazarien that brought him to Temeron?”

“I’m not sure. They left soon after he arrived. Obviously, they were infected. Kenyon wouldn’t have gotten it any other way.”

“Do you think they’re dead?”

Tyla didn’t want to answer that. It made it all seem too real, too uncontrollable, but she’d never been able to lie well, especially not to Jarrett. “I’m afraid they might be.”

“Do you have any idea what the early symptoms are? You said Jax was too far along, but would you recognize his symptoms if they surfaced among us?”

Tyla stared at him. She wanted to probe his mind and find out what lay behind this question, but she would open herself up to his intrusion in her thoughts if she did. “Is there a reason you ask this?”

“Before we left Temeron, you mentioned that one of the healers had taken sick. You said she began coughing blood. That’s when you quarantined her, right?”

“Right.”

“What if she exposed people to the disease before she started coughing blood? Were there any other symptoms before that?”

Tyla’s hands tightened on the reins. How would she answer this without alarming him? Alarming all of them? “She never complained of anything, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t there. She may have thought the symptoms were fatigue or another ailment. But I still think the blood is the exchange. Jax became infected when he cut his leg, blood exchange. The healer became infected because she cared for him when he began coughing blood, blood exchange. We weren’t taking enough precautions because we didn’t know what we faced.”

“So you don’t think casual contact is enough?”

She met his look. “I don’t believe it is, but I might be wrong. Any sign of illness should be treated like the epidemic and that person must be quarantined immediately. Otherwise, the death toll could be horrendous.”

Jarrett studied her, not speaking. She didn’t like the way he looked at her. It made her want to fidget and she wasn’t a person who fidgeted easily. Finally, he turned away. “It’s good to know,” he said.

She thought he would ride ahead or fall back, but he kept pace with her as they meandered down the mountain, following the ridge trail that led to Kazden. At first she was uncomfortable, wishing he wasn’t right there, but after a while, she relaxed. For some reason, his presence reassured her, made her feel safe. For a moment, she remembered what it had been like when they made the reverse journey so many years before, when the two of them were far less complicated.

*    *    *

“I want soldiers at every pass, on every trail. No one is to get by us without being cleared first,” said Kalas, pacing the length of his private suite in the house he kept in Kazden.

The Baron nodded. “I’ll see it’s done.”

“And when they locate my sister, I want her heavily guarded. Whatever protocol demands, double it. She’s to receive a full escort into the city.”

Dolan exchanged a look with the Baron as Kalas paced to the fireplace and pivoted again. Ellette sat in a chair by the window and Attis stood by the suite door. A surgeon waited by a makeshift operating table in the sitting room, arranging his sterile instruments on a tray.

“You need to let the surgeon tend your shoulder, Your Majesty,” said the Baron, stepping in front of Kalas and forcing him to stop.

Blood seeped through the bandages they’d tied around his shoulder and he looked pale. They’d only just arrived in Kazden a half hour before. Kalas had summoned the Baron at once, while Dolan made sure the manor home was secure. The back half of the house sat on a cliff, overlooking the ocean, very defensible space, but the front was open to one of the main roads into the city.

The ride through the desert had passed uneventfully. There hadn’t been another Nazarien attack. Either they thought Kalas was dead or so badly injured, he wouldn’t be any further threat. Dolan wanted to believe this, but he didn’t think it was true. The Nazarien were simply waiting for the best time, when their guard was lowered and Kalas was vulnerable. Dolan knew there was no chance of them giving up.

“I will as soon as I’m sure we’ve taken all the precaution we can to intercept my sister before the Nazarien do.”

“Why don’t you round them all up, except the Cult,” offered Attis. “You could lock them up until the Stravad Leader is safely within Kazden’s walls.”

Kalas ignored him. “What else do you suggest, Baron?”

The Baron shrugged. “His idea isn’t horrible. You might round up a few Nazarien and hold them for questioning, see if you can get them to divulge any information.”

“Do it then. Round up as many as you can. See if they can identify any of the renegade Nazarien for us.”

Dolan stepped forward. “We know the name of the leader.” He didn’t look at Ellette. He wasn’t sure she wanted anyone else to know the whole of her story.

Kalas pressed a hand to his shoulder, but his gaze narrowed on Dolan. “How do you know that?”

“I told him,” said Ellette.

Kalas shifted toward her.

She nodded at his shoulder. “You should let the surgeon look at that. You are still bleeding.”

“What’s his name?”

“Quinn Laurel.”

“Who else is part of his group?”

“I do not know. We never knew. That is how he kept us safe, or so he said. That is why we were ordered to take our lives if we were caught, so we could not betray our fellow assassins.”

The Baron crossed his arms over his barrel chest. “Even so, they might still know something. I don’t think it hurts to round up a number of them and question them.”

“Go ahead and do it,” said Kalas. “I don’t have another plan right now.”

“I’m ready for you, Your Majesty,” said the surgeon.

Kalas moved to the table and took a seat. The surgeon handed him a cup and he absently took it.

“Drink up,” said the surgeon.

Kalas lifted it to his lips, then hesitated, lowering it. “What is this?”

“A sedative. I need to repair the damage. You shouldn’t have let them remove the arrow. They probably did more harm that way.”

“They were afraid it was poisoned,” said Kalas, lifting the cup again. He started to drink once more, but stopped. “Wait a minute. I don’t want to be sedated. That seems like the perfect opportunity for the Nazarien to attack.”

The surgeon gave him an arch look. “How am I supposed to operate, Your Majesty? I need to repair the muscles, stop the bleeding.”

Kalas looked at Dolan.

“I’ve doubled the guards and I’ll stay until you’re out of the sedation,” offered the Nazarien. “If you want, Attis can guard the door.”

“With my life,” added the Cult member.

The Baron gave him a wry look. “I’ll stay too.”

Ellette rose and moved to the opposite side of the table, grabbing a chair and folding herself into it. She looked up at Kalas. “I’ll be here as well.”

Kalas still seemed bothered, but he lifted the cup and drank the contents, handing it to the doctor. The doctor pressed him back on the table and Kalas complied, reclining on the pillows.

“Keep me under only as long as necessary,” he said.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

Dolan edged closer. The surgeon was the best in Kazden, but Dolan would have felt more comfortable if he was operating in his own facility in town. Still, it was too dangerous to chance bringing Kalas there. This was the best they could do. Kalas couldn’t wait any longer for treatment.

“Baron, I don’t want you to harm the Nazarien you bring in, but make them understand the consequences of silence. Should something happen to my sister, they will pay the ultimate price.”

“I understand,” answered Parish.

Kalas exhaled and Dolan could see the tension leave him. “This stuff works fast,” he muttered, blinking his eyes.

“That’s the idea, Your Majesty,” said the surgeon, reaching over to take Kalas’ pulse. He looked at Attis. “Get my assistant in the hallway.”

“Assistant?” Kalas tried to sit up, but couldn’t. He blinked his eyes again, fighting to open them.

“No assistant,” said Dolan.

The surgeon looked like he would object, but the three men glaring back at him stopped him. “I need an assistant. Someone to hand me instruments.”

“I will assist,” offered Ellette. She unfolded herself from the chair and moved to the edge of the table.

Kalas turned his head to look at her. “Ellette?”

“You must trust me,” she answered. “I have given my pledge to protect you.”

Kalas’ eyes closed and he sighed. “I don’t wann…” he began, but his voice trailed away. His muscles went slack and his hand slid off the table.

“Wash your hands,” said the surgeon, holding out a bar of yellow soap, “and touch nothing else.”

Ellette took the soap, but before she turned away, she lifted Kalas’ hand and laid it against his stomach, trailing her fingers over the back of it. Dolan frowned. Something about her action felt odd, out of place, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.

*    *    *

Jarrett eyed the homestead through the trees. Like so many homesteads in the Groziks, it was a loose collection of ramshackle buildings with an orchard behind the main house. The fruit trees were overgrown and brambles choked the ground beneath their bows.

Allistar brought his horse up beside him. “What is it?”

Jarrett shot a look at the Stravad. He felt guilty for his black eye, but Allistar had given as good as he got. Jarrett’s ribs still ached. “A homestead. I want Tyla to sleep indoors tonight, if possible.”

Allistar exchanged a look with him, but left it alone.

“I was trying to get a feel for how many people might be around.”

“The trees don’t look like they’re well-tended. Maybe the place is abandoned.”

Jarrett shook his head. “There are flowers in the pots on the porch.”

“If you can call them that.”

“Why don’t I go up and you wait here?”

Allistar glanced over his shoulder at the Stravad warriors. “You’d better be careful. The occupants might have a bow or something.”

Before Jarrett could dismount, Tyla moved to his other side. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m going to the house and see if they’ll let us camp here tonight. I thought you might like a night indoors.”

She eyed the structure. Jarrett noted the dark circles under her eyes. “How do you know they’re friendly?”

“That’s why I want to go alone. Wait here with Allistar, please,” he said. He tried to put it in his most reasonable voice, but that had never stopped Tyla before.

When she didn’t immediately respond, he swung off his horse and dropped to the ground. He strode off before she had a chance to protest.

The trees were dense and the homestead had little cleared space around it. The forest appeared to be reclaiming it a little at a time. As he moved through the underbrush, brambles tugged at his trouser legs and dried vegetation crackled under his boot heels. He reached the porch of the main house, but he didn’t mount the stairs.

The hair on the back of his neck rose and he hesitated, holding his arms out to either side.

“Come to steal more of my chickens, you blue-eyed bandit,” hissed a male voice behind him.

Jarrett pivoted as slowly as he could until he faced the man. He was about his own age, maybe a little older, a good head shorter and thin. He had long, strangling brown hair and a shadow of beard on his jaw. His clothes were dusty but serviceable and his boots were worn.

“Chickens?” Jarrett asked.

The man held a bow in his hands as Allistar had feared. Lifting his eyes, Jarrett marked the anxious expressions on his companion’s faces and made a motion to hold the Stravad off. “Actually, we were wondering if we might impose on you for some hospitality. Maybe a barn to sleep in?”

The man’s weapon never wavered. “Yeah, that’s right – impose some more, keep imposing ‘til there’ll be nothing left. I ain’t being robbed by the likes of you again.”

Jarrett frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who robbed you?”

“A group of blue-eyed devils just like you came through yesterday. Didn’t bother to ask me to stay. They grabbed up several of my laying hens, killed them, then roasted them in my yard right in front of me. When I told them to leave, they locked me in my root cellar. I finally broke my way out this morning.”

“Blue-eyed devils? Nazarien?”

“Dressed exactly like you.” He motioned toward the Stravad. “I guess you got another bunch back there with you, huh?”

“No,” said Jarrett, exhaling. “They’re Temerian Stravad, not Nazarien. I’m the only Nazarien here.” He tilted his head. “I can’t imagine any Nazarien doing what you said…” He caught himself. Actually, he could. He knew exactly who had come through the homestead. He lowered his arms. “Look, I do know who came here yesterday. They are no longer part of the order. They were thrown out.”

The man didn’t lower his weapon. “I don’t care. I want you and your devils gone from here.”

Jarrett started to protest, but he was distracted by motion behind the man. Tyla was striding toward them.

“Excuse me,” she called.

The man swung the weapon around and pointed it at her. “Hold on just a damn minute!” he shouted.

She didn’t hesitate until she stood before him, looking up into his face. Gradually he lowered the bow, staring at her in rapt fascination.

“Did I hear you say there were other Nazarien here yesterday?”

The man nodded, unable to speak.

“And they stole from you?”

“Killed my chickens right in my yard. Cooked them with wood from my trees.”

Tyla glanced at Jarrett in surprise, then away. “I’m sorry about that. I’m Tyla,” she said.

The man lowered the bow further. “Able.” He gave an odd chuckle. “My mama said I was always Ready, Willing and Able, but that was too long to put on the birth certificate.”

Tyla smiled in return, her entire face lighting. “I like that.” She nodded at Jarrett. “This man is Jarrett Trauner. He’s actually the head of the Nazarien order, Able. We’re headed to Kazden, but we need a place to stay for the night. You have my word that we won’t touch your chickens or anything else of yours. In fact, we want to invite you to dinner. We have our own supplies and you might like to try some authentic Temerian cooking, yes?”

Able beamed at her. “I would like that. Never been past these hills.”

“Well, then I think it’s settled. Can I bring my men onto your property?”

Able gave the Stravad an anxious look, but he was too captivated by Tyla to disagree. “Bring them in.”

“Thank you. I appreciate you giving us the loan of your barn. I know we’d all like to sleep indoors for a night.”

Able blushed beneath the shadow on his jaw. “I can’t let a lady like you sleep outside. You can have my brother’s room. It’s dusty, but the bedding is clean, I think?”

“Thank you, Able, you don’t know how much I appreciate that. And would you tell us more about your encounter with the Nazarien while my men set camp? I know Jarrett is alarmed by what you endured.”

When Able glanced at him, Jarrett nodded emphatically.

“All right,” said Able, “I’ll be happy to tell you the whole thing, but first let me show you the room.”

He ambled off toward the house.

Jarrett signaled Allistar, then fell into step beside her. “I was handling it just fine,” he remarked.

“Of course you were. That’s why you had an arrow pointed at your heart.”

CHAPTER 10

Whipping the hat off his head, Parish entered the small library Kalas kept in the manor house and crossed to the table where Dolan sat. Dolan had the curtains closed against the sunlight outside, preferring to use the table lamp to light the map of Kazden he was studying.

“Baron,” the Nazarien acknowledged.

“Dolan,” he answered. “Is he resting?”

Dolan didn’t need clarification. “I believe so. Attis is guarding his room.”

“And the woman?”

“I had a seamstress come to fit her for a more appropriate wardrobe.”

Parish’s green eyes danced and a dimple appeared in his cheek. “I’ll bet she’s hating that.”

“It was the only way I could get her to leave Kalas’ side. I don’t like leaving her alone with him.”

Parish nodded. “I sure wouldn’t trust her. I wish he’d send her away.”

“He won’t now, not after she saved his life.”

Parish sank into the chair, dropping his hat on the table. “I’m actually glad he’s not here. I have unpleasant news to share.”

Dolan leaned back. “Go on.”

“I was just at the morgue a few hours ago. They’ve reported nine deaths in the last week.”

“The plague?”

“They died vomiting blood. I think it’s a good bet that’s the cause.”

“Do we have an exact count?”

“I’m working on that. We’re checking all of the hospitals and the smaller funeral homes. I should have a number for you by tomorrow.”

Dolan rubbed at the tattoo on his cheek. “This is bad news.”

“It gets worse.”

Dolan forced himself to lower his hand. He clasped his fingers to keep himself from rubbing his cheek. “Go on.”

“One of the patrols we sent came back about an hour ago. They made it to the base of the Groziks before they returned.”

“Why did they return?”

“They found a body.”

Dolan narrowed his eyes, but didn’t respond.

“Burned beyond recognition, but when they turned it over to find identification, they discovered a mail bag.”

“The missing messenger.”

“That’s my thinking.”

“Could they read any of the letters?”

“No, they crumbled to ash in their hands. They looked around for the man’s horse, but it wasn’t there. They did find horse prints riding toward the west.”

“Nazarien?”

Parish shrugged. “You can bet they wouldn’t have wasted good horse flesh.”

“It wasn’t Nazarien,” came Kalas’ voice from the doorway. “Nazarien wouldn’t do that. It was Quinn Laurel and his men.”

Dolan looked up, then scrambled to his feet. Parish rose a moment later, ducking his head in obeisance as Kalas crossed the room. His arm was in a sling and he looked pale. Dark circles marred the flesh beneath his eyes.

“You need rest, Your Majesty.”

Kalas smiled at him. “I can’t sleep for worry about my sister. Do you know how much sleep that woman has cost me over the years?”

Parish shared his smile. “I’ve lost a few hours to her myself, Your Majesty.”

Kalas sank into a chair and grimaced as he jarred his shoulder. “Sit, gentlemen,” he ordered.

Both men obeyed.

“I agree with you, Your Majesty,” said Parish. “No regular Nazarien would have done anything like that, but Quinn might have guessed that Tyla would attempt to contact you about the plague.”

“You’re right, but I can’t figure out what his connection to the plague is,” said Kalas, shaking his head. He was studying the map.

“I don’t think a man like Quinn Laurel cares how many Humans die,” said Parish.

“No, but it affects Stravad even more,” said Dolan. “This still must be linked to the Nazar. Quinn had to know why Jarrett went to Temeron; therefore, he was determined to disrupt any communication between you and the Stravad Leader.”

Kalas tapped his fingers against the table. “Or more likely, he was trying to find out what pass they would be taking.”

Dolan didn’t like that thought, but it was probably true.

“Something else really bothers me, been bothering me even before we left Sarkisian.”

“What?” asked Parish.

“Jax Paden was Temerian born and raised, land locked.”

“Right.”

Kalas fingered the edge of the map. “When he came to Kazden, he got his first look at the ocean. He’d never seen it before. He certainly had never ridden on it in a boat.”

“Most likely.”

“And yet he sails to a remote island by himself?” He lifted his eyes and fixed them on Parish. “Someone had to teach him to sail.”

Parish sank back. “Quinn Laurel’s going to figure that out as well.” He pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll have my men search the docks for anyone who was seen with a Stravad.”

Kalas nodded. “Good. Someone ought to check the boat sales records as well.”

“Done.”

Kalas breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s a start,” he said.

*    *    *

“You weren’t kidding about them Stravad,” said Able, stretching his legs out on his porch. His hands were clasped and resting on his belly, his chair tilted back and braced against the siding of his cabin. “They are mighty efficient.”

Jarrett watched the Stravad clearing away the remains of supper. The tents were pitched, the yard swept, and a fire ring built. A few of them were taking seats, pulling out flutes or drums, prepared to pass a few hours in storytelling or song. Since the journey began in Temeron, not a night had passed without some form of entertainment.

“They’re nothing like the Nazarien.”

Jarrett ran his hands along the rough wood of his chair and shifted a little to face the other man. Tyla had retired into the house shortly after supper, leaving Able and Jarrett on the porch. The air was cool, the stars were out, and the Stravad made a comfortable barrier between the night and them.

“Tell me about the Nazarien, Able. How did you know they were Nazarien?”

Able motioned at Jarrett’s clothes. Lantern light spilled out of the screen door on the cabin, illuminating a circle right outside the entrance. Moths fluttered in and out of the beam, occasionally slamming into the screen and falling onto the wood planks of the porch.

“They had uniforms like that,” he answered.

“Did they speak Nevaisser?”

“’Course they did. Told me they were camping here and they need supplies. I offered to barter with them, they had a nice bow I liked, but they refused. Next thing I know, they’re cooking my chickens. I was so furious, I ordered them off my land, but they were already setting up their tents. Two of them grabbed me by the arms and dragged me to the root cellar. They threw me down there and barred the door.”

Jarrett frowned. “How did you get out?”

“I found a small hand spade and started digging at the hinges. Must have been rotted, ‘cause I was able to pry them loose. It was already morning by the time I got out. They were gone, except they left me the bones of my own chickens.”

“How many were there?”

“Six, seven. Never could count them. They were sneaky devils, sliding in and out of my trees. One minute I thought there was three, then all a sudden there was more.”

“Did they have a leader?”

Able shrugged. “Couldn’t prove it by me. Didn’t seem to be one of them who stepped out of the bunch. ‘Course I didn’t spend much time with them. They had me locked in the root cellar straight off.”

Jarrett looked out into the yard, his jaw clenching. He felt pretty sure he knew these men, but he couldn’t figure out why they would be sneaking around a homestead in the Groziks, unless…

He glanced over his shoulder at the house, trying to tamp down on the uneasy feeling that rose inside of him. Able shifted in his chair as well. “She sure is something, that little gal. Not much bigger than a pin, but those eyes and that hair. I ain’t never seen such a beautiful woman before.”

Jarrett forced himself to relax in the chair. “She’s something, all right?”

“A woman like that would make a man never ask for more. A man could die happy with that woman.”

Jarrett studied the other man’s weathered face, then he looked down. The medallions in his ear pressed against the side of his neck, reminding him of what he’d had and lost. He reached for Kerrin’s rock and ran it through his fingers, letting the smooth surface remind him of what he’d found.

“She sure didn’t eat much. She feeling all right?”

Jarrett slid the rock back into his pocket. “It’s been a long journey,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction. “That’s why I wanted her to have a bed to sleep in. Thank you for that.”

“S’no problem.” He waved off Jarrett’s gratitude. “Likely, I’d be willing to give her anything she asked of me.”

“She has that way about her.”

“Yes, she does.”

Jarrett gave the Stravad camp one last look, then pushed himself to his feet. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to pull up a chair outside her door and sleep there.”

“Sleep in a chair?”

Jarrett nodded.

“Suit yourself. See you in the morning.”

Jarrett turned toward the door. “Thank you again, Able.”

“Night.”

“Night,” he answered and pulled the screen door open. The entry led to a parlor with a wood stove. Able had a couple of rocking chairs and a sturdy metal table, but no other furnishings. Jarrett grabbed one of the rocking chairs and carried it into the hallway. To the left was a corridor that led to a kitchen. Jarrett could just see the sink from where he stood. To the right were two doors. He knew Tyla was in the one furthest down the hall.

He settled the chair next to the door and arranged the two pillows that had fallen onto the seat. Tyla’s door opened just as he was finishing. She stared at him and then at the rocking chair. Jarrett marked that her hair was damp and that she’d scrubbed the trail dust from her face. Still, he didn’t like the dark circles under her eyes or the hollows in her cheeks.

“You aren’t going to sleep in that chair, are you?” she said with a frown.

“I am.”

She wore a thin, cotton robe and her feet were bare. Standing before him, she barely came to the center of his chest. “To protect me?”

He shrugged. He knew she wouldn’t like the truth.

Still, she saw through him. “Honestly, Jarrett, I think I’m capable of protecting myself.”

“Let’s not dance this dance, Tyla…”

“I didn’t think Nazarien danced,” she interrupted.

He drew a calming breath and deliberately exhaled. “You’re right, of course.” He sank into the rocking chair, realizing he was tired, and he sure didn’t want to fight with her again.

“You’re getting too old to sleep in a chair, Jarrett.”

“We’re nearly the same age.”

She gave him an arch look. “I’m not sleeping in a chair.”

He fought the smile that threatened, reminding himself that Nazarien did not smile, but damn this woman. She played hell with emotions he wasn’t supposed to have. “Good night, Tyla.” He used his most dismissive tone, the one sure to anger her. It did. Her eyes flashed and she spun back around, grabbing the handle on her door.

“Fine. Sleep in a chair. Not my problem when you can’t straighten up in the morning.”

The door slammed at her back.

Jarrett slid down in the rocking chair, folding his hands on his belly. As the dark in the hallway settled over him, he did permit himself just the briefest trace of a smile.

*    *    *

“Jarrett,” came Allistar’s voice outside the screen door.

Jarrett carried his mug to the entrance and peered out. Allistar’s body was in silhouette beneath the shadow of the roof, but beyond him, the yard was in full sun. Five riders were coming up the trail to Able’s homestead.

Pushing open the screen, Jarrett stepped onto the porch and squinted against the bright light. Able and Tyla followed him out. The riders entered the yard in a line and the first drew rein before the porch stairs, saluting Jarrett where he stood. They all wore the blue of Adishian.

Jarrett inclined his head in greeting.

“Nazar,” said the man, whipping the cap from his head. He was completely bald beneath, his head shining in the sunlight. “I’ve come from Lord Kalas of Eastern Nevaisser.”

Tyla moved to his side and the man’s eyes shifted to her.

“Stravad Leader, I am grateful to see you.”

“Where’s my brother?” she asked, curling her hands around the porch post.

“He’s in Kazden, Your Highness,” he said, obviously remembering her previous rank in Adishian. “He anxiously awaits your arrival.”

“He got my messages?”

The man frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“The messages I sent him about the plague.”

“There were no messages as I understand it. He received word of the plague from a Cult member when he was in Sarkisian. He made haste to Kazden and sent us out under the Baron’s command to find you and escort you to Kazden.”

Tyla exchanged a look with Jarrett. Jarrett shrugged.

“How bad is the plague in Kazden?” she asked, turning back to him.

The man shifted in his saddle. “It appears to be spreading. There are a number of reported deaths.” He looked around at the Stravad. “Whenever you are ready, we’ll escort you to His Majesty. He’s been very concerned about your arrival.”

“How did he know we were coming if he didn’t get my messages?”

“The Cult member reported that the Nazar had been summoned to Loden. It was believed you would come here. The Baron dispatched squads throughout the passes in the Groziks trying to intercept you and offer our protection.”

“Protection? From what?”

The man’s eyes shifted to Jarrett. “A band of renegade Nazarien are believed to be operating in the Groziks. I have no other information than this.”

“I told you,” said Able behind them. Jarrett looked over his shoulder at the man, then shifted his gaze to Tyla. He wasn’t completely sure what was going on, but between the soldier’s comments and Able’s story, he was becoming concerned.

“What’s he talking about?” she asked, switching to Lodenian.

“I told you that I made some changes in the order that weren’t popular. Some Nazarien broke away. I think they are the ones who attacked Able. We should probably take the added defense.”

Tyla’s eyes searched his face, but she let it go. He was just as glad. He wasn’t ready yet to tell her what a failure he’d been as Nazar. It made everything they’d sacrificed seem so pointless. Tomlin had demanded he become something that he wasn’t and he’d failed. He’d lost the woman he loved and ten years with his son – all for nothing. If he thought about it too much, it made rage burn inside of him.

“Give us time to pack up,” Tyla said to the soldier. “We’ll be ready within the hour.”

The soldier inclined his head and turned his horse around, moving back with his men. Tyla shot one last look at Jarrett, then pulled open the screen door.

*    *    *

Tyla rode through the gates of Kazden, feeling the acute disappointment she felt whenever she came here. The streets were narrow and refuse scuttled by on the marine breeze. Hawkers sold wears and ragged people bought the offerings with rusted coins. When they finished, they tossed the wrappers and papers into the street.

Fewer prostitutes and roughs lined the alleyways than before, but the general neglect of the buildings hadn’t changed. Signs were faded or missing, awnings were torn or hung slanted, and the gutters had rotted through, the orange of their rusted edges showing.

Her hand crept to the emerald and her thoughts turned to her father. She tried to imagine a young Talar wandering through the refuse, begging for scraps. It made her throat tighten. She shifted in the saddle, wishing the time might pass more quickly. Her body ached again and she felt light headed. She probably should have eaten more before leaving Able’s homestead.

Although she was confused by everything that she’d been told this morning, she was grateful for the escort. Still it made traveling the busy, crowded streets slow. They turned east and wound toward the cliffs. She knew Kalas had a large manor home at the edge of the ocean, but she’d never been there before. In the ten years since she left Sarkisian, she’d never wanted to return.

Kalas came to Temeron once a year, around the celebration of Valhall. He only stayed a month, but she and Kerrin looked forward to that visit. He never asked them to come to Sarkisian. He sensed she never would. She would never have returned to Kazden if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.

As she studied the people around her, she couldn’t detect any signs of illness. No coughing, no spitting of blood. It eased some of her anxiousness, but didn’t dispel it. The soldier had made it clear Kazden had been infected.

The bald soldier slowed his horse until he came abreast of her. “His Majesty’s home is there,” he said, pointing to the top of the road where it dipped over the horizon point. The peaks of a multi-gabled house were just coming into view.

The streets around them gradually widened, the cobblestones smooth and polished. The houses still crowded shoulder to shoulder, but they were larger with covered porches and occasionally a garden, sporting flowers in rainbow hues.

As they crested the top of the hill, Kalas’ home spread out before them, hugging the very edge of the cliff. Behind it, Tyla could see the glistening ocean and hear the roar of the waves. White ships dotted the line of the horizon, tacking toward the wharfs in the lower part of the city.

A spiked iron fence ran across the front of the house, but through it Tyla could see a curved drive, lined by flowerbeds with a wind-blown cypress dominating the center of it. The tree’s gnarled branches reached out to shade the front courtyard and hide the rest of the house from view.

The gate was manned and Tyla could make out the soldiers that patrolled around the perimeter of the yard, armed and alert. The bald soldier reined to a halt at the gate and saluted the men behind it. They returned the salute, then one of them moved to open it.

As Tyla and her company passed through, the two guards bowed low. “Your Majesty,” said the one closest to Tyla. She inclined her head and followed the soldier up the drive.

As they curved around the cypress, the double doors on the house opened. Parish stepped out, followed by Dolan. Tyla searched for her brother as she slowed her horse. A moment later he appeared in the entry, stepping out onto the porch. A sling swathed his arm and Dolan turned to offer him assistance, but he waved him off, moving toward the stairs.

Tyla dropped out of the saddle, fighting a grimace as her feet hit solid ground. She patted the horse and moved around her. Before she could stop him, Kalas caught her in an embrace. “I’m so grateful you’re safe,” he whispered against her hair.

Tyla pulled back, but he wouldn’t release her. “What happened to your arm?”

“It’s a long story,” he said, forcing a smile.

Tyla caught the dark circles under his eyes and drew further away. “Have you been sick? Kalas, what happened to you?”

He smiled at her, but his eyes drifted away. She looked over her shoulder.

Jarrett had stepped up behind them.

“We have a lot to discuss,” said Kalas.

Tyla turned back to him with a frown. There was an odd timbre in his voice. He released her and held out his hand for Allistar. The two of them began speaking in rudimentary Lodenian, making arrangements for the Stravad warriors. Kalas offered the service of the bald soldier to see them settled and Allistar accepted. Tyla knew he was exhausted.

Suddenly, Parish was before her, catching her in a bear hug. She couldn’t pull away.

“Thank Eldon himself that you’re safe,” he said.

She gave him a quick hug and pulled back. Her eyes shifted to Dolan. He nodded, but came no closer. Age sat well on her brother’s second in command. Once advisor to Tarnow, now indispensable to Kalas, Dolan looked hale and fit.

“What happened to my brother?” she asked them.

They didn’t answer.

Kalas moved back to her side, slipping his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s get inside where we can talk freely.”

Tyla allowed him to guide her toward the stairs. As they reached the bottom, an enormous Nazarien stepped out. By his tattoo, Tyla knew he was Cult. He snapped to attention and dropped his head in respect. On his heels was a woman, tall and slender, chestnut hair caught up in a tail at her neck. She stepped out of the door and stumbled to a halt. She was Stravad, obviously Nazarien.

Her eyes moved over Tyla and came to rest beyond her, fixing with a startled expression. Tyla had never known any Nazarien to display such stark emotion. Both Tyla and Kalas halted and looked back.

Jarrett stood in the middle of the drive, staring at the Nazarien woman in return.

Kalas’ arm slid off Tyla’s shoulder and she saw his hand tighten into a fist. “Curious,” he muttered.

“I want to know what’s going on, Kalas,” she demanded.

Kalas motioned to the interior of the house. “Let’s go in. I think I need a drink, then we’ll talk.”

Tyla knew by the set of his shoulders that he wasn’t going to give her any more information. She followed him up the stairs, past the two Nazarien and into the cool interior of the house. The entrance hall was a vaulted room flanked by floor to ceiling windows. A huge chandelier hung in the exact center. Potted trees and luxurious sofas circled around the perimeter. Moving across the polished marble, Kalas led them to a wide hallway, lined with landscape paintings of the ocean at various times of the day and during all the seasons of the year. There were tempestuous seascapes with violent waves and dark, menacing colors, followed by waters that sparkled like glass with sunbeams dancing across the foam.

Tyla wished she had a moment to admire them, but Kalas moved down the hallway, stopping at the door on the end and thrusting it open. They were ushered into a sunny parlor with leather armchairs and cypress wood tables, their twisted branches topped by glass.

Kalas motioned to a chair. “Please sit and I’ll ring for refreshments.”

Tyla moved to the chair he indicated, her gaze drifting to the Nazarien woman as she took up a position in a corner of the room. Tyla shifted and watched Jarrett as he angled behind her chair.

Parish threw himself into the chair next to her and reached over to squeeze her wrist. She resisted the impulse to pull away. “Was the journey difficult?” he asked.

Tyla forced a smile, but she was unsettled by the strange tension in the room. “Long.” She patted his hand. “It’s good to see you, Baron.”

“We’re very grateful to see you.”

Dolan and the Cult member took up positions by the door as Kalas stepped back inside. He stopped before Tyla’s chair and stood looking down on her. “Why are you so thin?” he demanded.

Tyla dropped her gaze. “It was a long journey, Kalas.” She glanced at the Cult member and the woman. “You didn’t get my letters?”

Kalas didn’t respond immediately, then he sank into the chair across from her. “No, I didn’t.” He motioned to the Cult member. “When Attis came to Sarkisian and told me of the plague, I couldn’t imagine why you hadn’t sent me warning…”

“I did. I sent three different letters. One to Adishian, one to Sarkisian and one here.”

“I know. I figured you had. We found a messenger murdered in the Groziks just a few days ago. We didn’t find your letter, but we figured that’s what happened to them.”

“Murdered? Why?”

Kalas’ gaze lifted to Jarrett and his eyes narrowed. “It’s a complicated story. First, tell me how things are in Temeron. Is Kerrin all right? Tash?”

Tyla clasped her hands. “They were when I left.”

“Tell me what you know about this plague.”

Tyla resisted her need to know what was going on and relayed the story of Jax Paden to her brother, reliving his violent death. When she finished, the room was silent. In that void, the servants arrived with refreshments. As they bustled about serving everyone, Tyla leaned forward.

“What happened to your shoulder?”

Kalas accepted the drink that was handed to him. “I was attacked by Nazarien assassins on my way to Kazden. The first three times were a warning. The last was not. If it wasn’t for Ellette…” He motioned to the Nazarien woman. “…I’d be dead.”

Tyla blinked in confusion. “What? What are you talking about?”

Kalas nodded at the plate a servant held out to Tyla. “Take that and eat. You’re too thin.”

Tyla accepted the offering and thanked the servant, but she didn’t take a bite. “Kalas?”

“All right,” he said. “I’ll explain while you eat.”

Tyla lifted one of the finger sandwiches and took a bite.

Kalas sipped his drink, then rested it against his thigh. “Attis arrived in Sarkisian with a very strange warning. He told us that plague had erupted in Kazden and Temeron both. That the Cult had received word the Nazar…” He gave Jarrett a sharp look. “…had left Nevaisser for Loden. He told us a band of renegade Nazarien had gone after the Nazar to exact revenge on him for a broken pledge. The Cult feared the revenge might be the possible assault on the current Stravad Leader should she venture into Nevaisser as was feared.”

Tyla placed the food on her plate and narrowed her eyes. “Hold on. Broken pledge? Revenge? What are you talking about?”

Kalas glowered at Jarrett. “A pledge made to Tomlin Trauner.” His eyes moved to Tyla. “Ten years ago.”

Tyla shook her head. “That pledge ended with Tomlin’s death.”

“Apparently there are Nazarien who don’t believe that. There are certain Nazarien that aren’t happy with the way things are being run in Chernow. They’ve broken away from the order and have become their own cult – a cult of assassins.” He held out his hand toward Ellette.

“Assassins?”

Kalas was staring at Jarrett again. “This isn’t the first time you’ve seen Ellette, is it, Nazar?”

Tyla shifted so she could see him. Jarrett dropped his eyes.

“Nazar?” said Kalas, an edge to his voice.

“No.”

“And just how do you know her?”

Jarrett wouldn’t meet his gaze. “I can’t tell you that.”

Kalas pushed himself out of the chair. He settled his drink on a side table. “You can’t tell me that? I was attacked three times, shot with an arrow, and you can’t tell me? You put my sister’s life in jeopardy and nearly cost me my own, and you can’t tell me? I think you better try.”

Jarrett lifted his head and met his gaze. “I can’t.”

Kalas’ good hand tightened into a fist. He opened his mouth to speak, but Ellette stepped forward.

“Tell him, Nazar. Tell him what he wants to know,” she said.

Tyla could feel the tension snaking through the room. Kalas himself vibrated with it.

Jarrett closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. When he opened them, he looked at Tyla. “I thought I could change things,” he said. “I thought I could make things better, but I was so stupid. I didn’t realize how entrenched the Nazarien were.”

Attis snorted, but a sharp glare from Kalas silenced him.

“What do you mean? How do you know Ellette?” Kalas asked.

“I don’t. Not really. I couldn’t stand how women were treated by the Nazarien. After Tomlin died, the first thing I did was outlaw Procreation Ceremonies. I thought it would protect the women. I thought it would end the horrible degradation and abuse.” He moved forward and gripped the back of the closest chair. “Most of the Nazarien complied. They were celibate so much of the year as it was, but a handful rebelled. They petitioned to have the ceremonies reinstated. When I refused…” His voice choked off. He drew a calming breath. “When I refused, they did unthinkable things.”

Tyla’s gaze swung to Ellette, but she was studying her clasped hands.

“A group of them kidnapped some young girls, just come of age. We hunted them down, but we were too late. We found them in an isolated cave up the coast from Chernow. Two were already dead, and one died on the way back.” Jarrett’s hands tightened on the top of the chair. “Only Ellette survived.”

Tyla closed her eyes.

“What happened to the men?” asked Kalas, his voice thrumming with fury.

“We pursued them, but they eluded us.”

“You let them go? Murderers and rapists? You let them go.”

“They were outcast from the order. No one would ever accept them again. It was decided that such punishment would be worse than death.”

Kalas moved forward until only the chair separated him from Jarrett. “They became an assassin guild. They recruited other malcontents and trained them as killers, including Ellette.”

“What?” said Tyla.

Jarrett looked stricken.

“Yes,” said Kalas. “Ellette was trained as an assassin by the same men you let go free. They sent her on a suicide mission to attack me and force me to return to Sarkisian. The first three attacks were warnings, trying to scare me away. The last one, just before Kazden, was meant to be fatal. She saved my life. However, the real target is you, Tyla. They want to harm you to get revenge for the Nazar breaking his pledge.” He cast a venomous look on Jarrett. “A sorry mess, if you ask me.”

CHAPTER 11

Ellette watched the waves crash against the rocks, erupting in a prismatic spray of color. The violence of it satisfied something dark inside of her, something that longed to smash something herself.

“They tell me my father would spend hours just listening to the waves, letting the spray wash over him until he was soaked,” came the King’s voice behind her.

She closed her eyes and curled her hands around the rail. Her chest felt so tight she thought she’d suffocate. She didn’t want to turn and look at him, see the accusations and disgust in his eyes.

“I never understood it myself. It always felt so untamed, so unpredictable to me. I’ve always hated unpredictability.”

She didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t know what he expected her to say. Not now, not after he knew of her humiliation. He moved up beside her. He was so close she could feel the warmth of his body.

“I’m sorry, Ellette. I’m sorry to put you through that.”

She blinked. She hadn’t expected him to say this.

“I had to know the truth. I’m still not sure I understand it, but I had to know what your connection to him was.”

She turned and faced him then. “You are wrong,” she said.

He narrowed his eyes in surprise at that. “I’m wrong?”

“He tried. He tried to be the best Nazar he could. He wanted to make changes that would protect his people, but it was too hard.”

The King’s blue eyes searched her face. Such a blue, so deep, so vibrant. “How did you wind up in the assassin’s guild with men who…” His voice faltered.

Her back stiffened. She could feel every muscle tighten. “They killed my mother. She went after them. She couldn’t stand what happened to me and the other girls. She wanted to kill them, but they killed her. I found her. They carved their symbol into her cheek and left her like refuse in the desert. They didn’t even know me when I asked to join. They didn’t even recognize me. I was nothing to them. But I learned, I studied, and I planned. I was going to kill them, until they sent me to attack you.”

Kalas swallowed hard.

“That changed everything. I had to make a choice. Life or death. I picked your life.”

“I’m grateful.” Simple words, but they eased the tightness in her chest.

She wanted to touch him, but she was afraid. She wanted to hug him for the gift he’d given her, but she didn’t want to be rejected. She wasn’t sure he’d want anyone like her touching him.

“I know you see me now and you will only think about what happened…” she began, then faltered. Firming her jaw, she continued. “We tried to fight them, but there were too many. They were too strong.”

Kalas took a step back. His expression shifted. “I know that. You didn’t think I blamed you…”

She lowered her eyes. She couldn’t answer that.

He didn’t speak for a long time. Ellette’s heart pounded against her ribs. Then he shifted weight, leaned against the rail.

“When I was a child, Rarick would have me beaten for one infraction after another. Half the time, I didn’t even understand what it was for.”

Ellette lifted her eyes and met his gaze.

“I got to thinking that I must have done something wrong. Why else would he have me punished if I hadn’t been at fault?” He gave a shrug. “It wasn’t until he was dead, Ellette, until I was a grown man, that I understood I wasn’t responsible, that it wasn’t my fault. I wish I understood that years before. I wish I had known that I wasn’t to blame. It would have made things so much clearer. Even now, I have to keep reminding myself, telling myself it wasn’t my fault. Please don’t waste any more time blaming yourself for what you couldn’t control. Free yourself of that burden. It isn’t yours to bear.”

Ellette felt tears threaten in her eyes and blinked them back. He gave her a tentative smile and she wished she knew how to return it. Never had she longed for anything as badly.

*    *    *

“You did the right thing.”

Jarrett looked up. Dolan stood in the doorway of Kalas’ library. He crossed the room and took a seat on the other side of the table. The lamp cast his features in stark relief.

“Come again?”

Dolan hunched his shoulders and studied the graining on the table. “You did the right thing in Chernow.”

Jarrett leaned back. “Thanks.” He knew his voice didn’t hold conviction. Kalas’ interrogation had emphasized his failings.

“Do you know why I left Chernow?”

Jarrett shook his head. He’d never exchanged more than a handful of words with Dolan, even when Tarnow had been alive, and he found him oddly perplexing. He was so very Nazarien, Chernow Nazarien, yet he sported a Cult tattoo on his cheek. Stranger still was his close connection with the ruling class of Adishian. Two Kings had called him their closest advisor and confidant, two very divergent men.

“I’d just turned nineteen, one year past my first Procreation Ceremony. Amberlain was seventeen. I knew her my whole life. She and I found seashells together and collected driftwood. She tagged along behind me wherever I went. We made swords out of fence pickets and practiced fighting. When I came of age and started my training, we would sneak away and wander the dunes together.”

Jarrett studied Dolan’s bowed head. He bit his lower lip, a very unNazarien-like display of emotion.

“This was before Talar Eldralin’s time, before Nazarien were allowed to marry. I knew Amberlain was nearing her eighteenth year.” He looked up at Jarrett and met his gaze. “She was beautiful. Heavy dark hair, large blue eyes, skin like honey. I went to the elders. I begged them to let me share the Procreation Ceremony with her. We’d planned it that way. We promised each other.”

Jarrett looked away. He couldn’t meet Dolan’s eye.

“You should have heard the silence when I made my plea. My heart was pounding so loud, I couldn’t hear myself think, but they were silent. Then they told me to leave. Just that. Nothing more.” Dolan flattened his hand on the table and stared at it. “The Nazar himself claimed her. Andoloshian, a man I was told to revere. I could do nothing to stop it. She begged me, pleaded with me to leave, but I told her I couldn’t. I told her we had to accept the Council’s decree. It was our duty as Nazarien.”

Jarrett’s gaze swung back to his face. Dolan’s expression remained neutral, but his hand tightened into a fist.

“She killed herself the morning after the Ceremony, drowned herself on the very beach we explored as children.”

Jarrett swallowed at the lump in his throat.

Dolan’s eyes lifted and fixed on his. “I left two days later. I’d told her I couldn’t leave, but it was so easy. I just walked away. I came to Kazden and entered the Cult.” He lifted his fist and rubbed at the tattoo on his cheek. “Even that was too much.”

Jarrett found his voice. “How did you wind up in Adishian?”

“Tarnow needed soldiers. When he heard a Nazarien had volunteered, he was intrigued. He was like that. Impetuous. He asked me to attend him at the castle. His wife and son were still alive then, before Rarick started pressing the borders. Adishian was wealthy, peaceful, and Tarnow liked exotic things – art, animals, plants. He added me to his collection.”

“That explains Tyla.”

Dolan nodded. “She was his most exotic acquisition. He was a good man. He gave me purpose.” He exhaled heavily. “The Nazarien are a dying breed. Tomlin Trauner saw that and he thought he could infuse them with the change they needed. That’s why he picked you. I won’t defend his methods, but I understand them. He knew you would try to change them, move them more toward the center. You weren’t wrong in what you did. You couldn’t allow the Procreation Ceremonies to continue.”

“I’m not sure Ellette would agree.”

Dolan shrugged. “I didn’t hear her denounce you either.”

“You have a point.” Jarrett tapped the table with his knuckles. “Thank you for telling me your story. I know it must have been hard.”

Dolan leaned back in his chair. “You are the only person I’ve ever told. I never even told Tarnow. Odd isn’t it. As you get older, the things you guarded so fiercely don’t seem all that important. I locked Amberlain away and refused to think about her, but lately, she’s been in my thoughts more and more. I guess I want to make peace with her memory and now seemed like the right time.”

*    *    *

Tyla waited for Kalas to enter the house again, closing the balcony door at his back. He glanced up in surprise, then his face lit into a smile.

“Hey, Tiger. I thought you were resting.”

Tyla crossed her arms to put distance between them. “I wanted to talk with you alone.”

“Okay,” he said, then motioned to the chairs behind her. “Why don’t we sit?”

Tyla moved to the seat and sank into it. It felt good to rest her body. Kalas sat down across from her. She was grateful for the separation. She watched him shift his arm until he was comfortable. “What’s on your mind? I know that look. You’re not happy about something.”

“Should I look at your shoulder? Was it attended properly?”

“I had a surgeon sew it up. There’s no infection and little pain. I think it’ll be all right.”

“Can you move it?”

“He told me not to try. At least for a while until the stitches set.” He cocked his head at her. “Is that really what you want to talk with me about?”

Tyla stared at him, unable to speak. The look was so like their father, it stunned her. She lifted her hand and clutched the emerald. She wanted to tell Kalas about her odd dream, but she was afraid he’d think she’d lost her mind.

“Tyla?”

She blinked and released the talisman. “No, well, yes, but there’s more.” She could see Ellette standing on the balcony still, staring out over the waves. “I’m a little unclear why you have an admitted assassin living in your house, roaming around freely.”

Kalas laughed. Tyla loved the sound. Too much of his life had been void of laughter. “Assassin is painting the brush strokes a bit broad. She’s not very good at what she does.”

Tyla narrowed her eyes in confusion. “I’m not certain I understand. You did say she attacked you.”

“Yes, without a weapon. She took the job so that she could warn me.”

“And then you said she saved your life.”

“Yes, she did.”

“And that’s why you’re letting her roam around freely?”

Kalas leaned forward. “What would you have me do, Tyla? Send her back to the Nazarien.”

“No, but…”

Kalas glanced over his shoulder at the balcony. “She’s an enigma. I knew part of her story, but to hear the rest of it…it gives me chills.”

Tyla frowned. She knew Kalas had dalliances with court women. He was handsome, young, and powerful. Of course, women threw themselves at him, had since he came of age, but he’d never shown more than a passing interest in any of them. The tenderness in his voice when he spoke concerned her. Not that she didn’t want him to find happiness, but a Nazarien woman with such a past was not Tyla’s choice for her brother.

“She’s damaged, Kalas, in ways you can’t begin to understand.”

He turned back and studied her a moment in silence. Then he sighed. “Who isn’t damaged?”

“Not like that. She went to those same men and trained to become an assassin. An assassin, Kalas, a hired killer. That’s not logical. Who does that?”

“Someone who wants to take control of her life, someone who doesn’t want to be a victim any longer.” He leaned back. “I might ask you the same thing.”

Tyla frowned. “What does that mean?”

“You seem awfully chummy with a man who left you with a child ten years ago.”

“That isn’t the same thing. I know Jarrett, you don’t know this woman.”

“You knew Jarrett Murata. You don’t know Jarrett Trauner, the Nazar. I’m not sure he knows himself.”

“Oh, that’s very deep.” She gave him a wry look and he laughed. “Besides, Jarrett’s simply here as an escort, nothing more.” Tyla nodded at Ellette. “Why do I sense there’s something more here?”

Kalas shrugged his one good shoulder. “I’m not sure because there isn’t. She’s just another pair of eyes assigned to protect me.”

“Another pair of Nazarien eyes. What’s your thing with them? You collect them like toys. Where did this Cult one come from and why does he stay?”

“Ha, that’s exactly what Ellette said. Attis came to me in Sarkisian to tell me about the plague.” He pushed himself to his feet and moved close to her chair. Tyla resisted the urge to pull away. “I’m guessing he stays because he likes the food here better.” Bending down, he kissed her on the top of the head. “Get some rest, Tiger. You look exhausted.” With that he strolled from the room.

Tyla shifted in her chair and watched after him, then she looked out at Ellette. She suspected Kalas’ feelings were every bit as confused as hers were about Jarrett.

*    *    *

“We’ve locked down the docks. No ship comes or goes without a thorough search and a background check. We’re in the process of reviewing all of the owner documents on private vessels,” said Parish.

Jarrett stood near the door, watching the proceedings. He wanted to interject, but he didn’t think Kalas would welcome it. Kalas occupied the head of the table, Tyla to his right. Parish stood on the other end, looking very much like the captain of the guard Kalas had made him.

Allistar leaned close. “What are they saying?” he asked in Lodenian.

“They’re talking about ships.”

Allistar rocked on his heels and nodded, but he didn’t ask for clarification.

Kalas’ collection of Nazarien occupied the other chairs at the table. For a Nazarien woman, Ellette was alert and focused. Not the shrinking flower that most Nazarien women became.

“How many private vessels are we talking about?” asked Tyla.

She looked so small, sitting there, her mass of black hair shadowing her features. Jarrett felt a nagging sense of anxiety whenever he looked at her and it had nothing to do with their past.

Parish reached onto the table and leafed through a pile of papers sitting there. “Hundreds.”

Tyla leaned back in her chair.

Kalas shot a look at her, then focused on Parish again. “Private vessels aren’t used as often as commercial ones, so we should be able to start with the less frequently used vessels, right?”

“That’s not necessarily correct, Your Majesty. Some of the private vessels are fishing boats used daily as income.”

Jarrett couldn’t stay quiet any longer. “Are you certain every vessel’s registered?”

Parish met his look, then shifted weight. All eyes turned to him.

“Baron?” asked Kalas.

“No, many of the smaller vessels are not registered.”

“Then how are we going to find this Brodie Daegan? How do you even begin to know what size vessel he operated? Maybe he was on a commercial line?” continued Jarrett.

“No,” answered Tyla. “He had a small boat. Jax borrowed it. It would have to be something small enough for one man to operate alone.”

Parish tapped a hand on the papers. “I hadn’t thought of that. We can search by vessel size. That will lower the numbers considerably.”

“How much?” asked Kalas.

Parish’s expression fell. “By a few hundred.”

Jarrett’s gaze shifted to Tyla. She bowed her head, but Jarrett recognized her look. You couldn’t share so much with a person and not pick up something in body language. Tyla’s feelings might be shut off from him, but he knew how she thought. Eldon protect him, he knew.

*    *    *

Three days passed and the painfully slow review of the shipping records continued. Tyla spent most of her time in her private suite, only emerging to take dinners with everyone in the dining room. She ate little, questioning Kalas daily about the new numbers of plague victims in the hospitals, grilling Parish about the search for Brodie Daegan.

Thankfully, plague numbers were increasing slowly, one or two new cases per day, but they were increasing. Tyla wanted to go to the hospital and check on them herself, but Kalas discouraged any of them leaving the compound. Cult members had been questioned about the presence of rogue Nazarien, but that had proven less than helpful.

The very nature of the Nazarien made the threat all the more significant. Their training allowed them to blend with their surrounds and most could move with absolute silence. It wasn’t going to be easy to capture them unless they made another attempt on someone’s life, and that wasn’t something any of them wanted to risk.

And yet, Jarrett knew. He knew that these three days were merely a reprieve. He haunted the hallways of Kalas’ manor each night until nearly dawn. Such inaction could not, would not last. Soon something would have to be done. Tyla was not a woman to sit idly…ever.

As he was passing through the entrance hall on his patrol, he caught motion from the corner of his eyes. He halted and faced the stairs. Tyla glided into view, moving as swiftly and silently as she could. She paused when she sensed him, then descended to the bottom step and stood glaring at him.

Jarrett marked the pack slung over her shoulder, in addition to the jacket and travel boots. He lifted a brow. “Going somewhere?”

“Honestly, Jarrett, I’m certain Kalas has enough men to guard the entrance hall.” She cocked her head, a heavy braid sliding over her shoulder. “Unless you’re looking for a chair to sleep in. Really, don’t you think that you ought to start taking care of your back at your age?”

“We’re the same age, Tyla.”

She gave a careless shrug. “Who am I to tell you when you’re being foolish? Good night.” She moved to cross around him, but he stepped in front of her.

“Where are you going?”

“I certainly don’t have to check with you, but I’m going to the kitchen for a snack.”

“A snack? And you need a pack to carry it in?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Yes, I want to keep a supply in my room.”

Jarrett crossed his arms over his chest. “Do we really have to play at this? I know where you’re going. You’re going out to find Brodie Daegan. Admit it and let’s move on.”

She leaned against the rail, her shoulders slumping. “I can’t sit here and wait for them to go through all those papers. People are dying. I need to get to that island.”

“Kalas is doing everything he can, Tyla. What more do you want him to do? No ship leaves or enters the docks without being searched and recorded. They’re going through the ownership papers. Eventually, they’ll find something.”

“We don’t have eventually,” she answered.

He exhaled. “I know, but I just don’t know what more we can do.”

She leaned away from the rail. “I do. I’ve thought about it and thought about it. If they can’t find him by the shipping records and he hasn’t tried to board his boat, he must be worried about his connection to Jax Paden. He’ll have heard that Kalas is in Kazden and he’ll be wondering if it’s connected to the plague. He probably doesn’t want to be questioned or maybe he even fears he’d be held responsible.”

“Probably.”

“So he’s lying low. Where do working men go when they can’t work?”

Jarrett shrugged.

“They go to a tavern.”

He had to admit she had something.

“I’ll bet it’s a tavern that’s close to the docks. Think about it. They come off their boats after a long day and the first thing they want is a pint. We’ve just got to search those taverns closest to the docks and see if anyone knows of him or better yet, Jax.”

“Jax?”

“They may not remember one sailor over another, but someone’s bound to remember a Stravad asking for lessons on sailing. If we find out what tavern Jax frequented, we might find Brodie Daegan.”

“There are an awful lot of taverns in a city like Kazden, Tyla.”

“Yes, but we start at the docks. Brodie had to have a one man boat, otherwise Jax wouldn’t have been able to handle it by himself. We can ignore the larger, commercial ships and focus only on the docks where single man vessels are.”

Jarrett considered her idea for a moment. It was sound, well-reasoned, and about the best plan they had right now. “What about the rogue Nazarien? They still want to hurt you because of me.”

“I think you and I can handle ourselves.” Then she paused and a strange look crossed her face. “If you want out, I can understand. I’m not asking you to go.”

Jarrett felt a flush of hurt. When was she going to trust him again? “I’m going.” He didn’t allow himself to say more. He knew her too well. No matter what he said, she had made up her mind and there was no way to talk her out of it. “How do you plan on getting beyond the guards at the front gate?”

“I’m going to tell them that I’m headed to the hospital to check on the plague victims. I’m not Kalas’ prisoner, so he can’t keep me here. They have no reason to stop me. Kalas has gone to bed, so they won’t disturb him until morning. By then, we’ll either be back or have found Brodie Daegan.”

“You’re going to control the guards with telepathy, aren’t you?”

She gave him a careless shrug. “I might plant an idea or two.”

*    *    *

The night was still, summer settling warm and heavy over Kazden. The streets opened around the manor, wide and well maintained. As they walked, Tyla noted the neatly painted fences and gardens resplendent with color. The houses were large and immaculate, despite the ocean air. However, as they walked, the houses began to shrink and the crisp whitewash of earlier deteriorated into peeling paint and broken fence posts. Precisely tended gardens became weeds and straggly roses, bristling with thorns.

As Jarrett had predicted, the guards at Kalas’ gate had questioned them, but since Kalas had given no strict orders, they couldn’t deny Tyla and Jarrett passage. A planted suggestion would most likely assure their departure wasn’t reported until they returned.

The urgency that propelled her earlier diminished as they walked toward the center of the city. Her legs ached and her head felt heavy. She wanted to crawl into the soft comfort of her bed and sleep, but she knew that time was getting away from her.

As they entered the business district, the streets grew narrow. She sensed Jarrett’s heightened awareness and felt apprehension snake up her spine. If the Nazarien were going to attack, these tight quarter would be the best place. At least the moon was full overhead and gave them some visibility, but the crates and barrels piled around them provided a little too much cover for would-be stalkers.

Despite all of Kalas’ efforts, the business district was dirty. Refuse crowded the gutters and suspicious looking liquids oozed over the cobblestones. The smell of fish and musty wood mingled with smoke and unwashed Human bodies. Instinctively she moved closer to Jarrett. She marked that his fingers had tightened around the hilt of his sword.

She knew where the docks were. It was hard not to find them. All roads eventually led in that direction, sloping toward the ocean. The skeletal rise of the masts littered the night sky and she could hear the slosh of the waves as they broke against the piles. Keeping the docks on her left side, she guided Jarrett toward the squat huddle of run-down buildings fronting the pier. As they walked, they encountered a number of local guards. Tyla was surprised there were so many, but she figured Kalas had employed them, making sure the docks and ships were secure. They paid little attention to her and Jarrett, more interested in the occasional man traveling by himself, or a larger group that seemed intent on avoiding their detection.

Tyla felt somewhat comforted by their presence. She wasn’t sure the Nazarien would attack with so many guards in the vicinity, but she couldn’t be sure. That was the problem with Nazarien. One never could predict what they would do. Involuntarily, her hand crept to the emerald and closed around it. It pulsed with the beat of her heart, responding to her agitation.

They came to the first tavern. It sported no name over the entrance, but Tyla guessed its purpose when the door opened and a large man staggered out. She and Jarrett stood on the opposite side of the street and watched him weave his way toward the business district. He didn’t notice them at all.

“You sure about this?” asked Jarrett, breaking the tense silence between them.

She drew a deep breath. “Yes, there’s no other way.”

He didn’t respond. That was new. The old Jarrett would have argued and cajoled and eventually shouted in fury. It was so hard getting used to his new, stoic personality. She thought of Kerrin and his bursts of pique. So many times she looked at him and saw his father in his face. Although she’d never admit it, she longed to find some of the old Jarrett in the new.

She stepped into the street and crossed. He was right on her heels. They climbed the warped stairs before the tavern and Tyla reached for the knob. As she pushed the door open, a trail of smoke leaked out, followed by a stale, earthy smell. A few men sat in groups of two or three, some played cards, but others simply huddled together, drinking and talking in hushed whispers. Along one wall was a stone fireplace, but no fire burned in the grate. It was too hot for that.

Tyla approached the bar, her feet sticking to the floor. She could see Jarrett searching the corners of the room and feel the tension in his posture. “Hello,” she said to the bartender.

He was an average sized man with blunt features. He beamed a smile at her, his front tooth broken off halfway. “What can I do for you, pretty lady?” His voice was friendly enough and his expression said welcome, until Jarrett shifted toward him, then his face twisted into a mask of rage and apprehension. “Oh hell no, I’m not serving his kind.”

The room fell silent. Tyla glanced at Jarrett, then around the tavern. Every eye on the room was fixed on them. She knew Jarrett was as surprised as she was.

“I’m sorry, his kind?”

He motioned with a glass toward Jarrett’s face. “Not again. Not again, damn it. You just take yourself on out of here.”

Tyla took a step closer. “Calm down, please.”

“Calm down? Look here, lady, I don’t know what you want, but I know I want him out of here.”

“You want him out of here because he’s Nazarien?”

“Yeah, Nazarien. Get him out.”

“Why?”

The bartender’s eyes swung back to her face. “Why? Look, I don’t want no trouble, but I ain’t serving him. Both of you just leave.”

“I need some information.”

“Well, you ain’t getting it. Now go.”

Tyla tilted her head. “Have Nazarien been in here?”

His expression was incredulous. “Have they been in here? Tore the place apart last night. Broke tables, chairs, and smashed some of my best booze. Have they been here! Now, get him out.”

“What did they want?” she pressed.

The bartender shook his head. “I don’t remember. Something about an old man, Brady Something or other?”

“Brodie? Brodie Daegan?”

The bartender pointed the glass at her. “That’s him.” He shrugged. “Told them I never heard of the chap, but that wasn’t enough. They started smashing things. By the time the guard arrived, it was over and they got away.”

Tyla eased forward and laid a few gold coins on the bar. “Can you tell me if you’ve ever seen Brodie Daegan?”

“Why the hell would I have seen him?”

“What about a Stravad? Not Nazarien, just Stravad. Did you ever see one of them?”

“This city is crawling with Nazarien.”

“I know, but he’d be asking about sailing lessons and maybe he’d be in the company of an old man.”

The bartender considered this for a moment, scratching at the straggly beard on his chin. “Naw, first Stravad I seen were them Nazarien last night. And I can tell you, I ain’t wanting to see more.”

Tyla looked away. She really thought someone would remember Jax. In Kazden, all Stravad were associated with the Nazarien. Surely someone would remember a Stravad that wasn’t.

“Thank you,” she said, pushing the coins toward him. She turned away from the bar and moved toward the door. She felt Jarrett fall into step behind her.

“You might try the joint the next block over. Lot of sailors go there for the music. Got a real good piano player.”

Tyla glanced back at him. “Thank you, I appreciate it.” Then she and Jarrett stepped back into the night. She glanced at the stars and tried to calculate what time it was. She didn’t think it was that late, but they didn’t have a whole lot of time left. A wave of despair passed through her and she faced Jarrett.

“They know about Brodie.”

Jarrett nodded.

“How?”

“I’m not sure. Nazarien have their ways.”

She suddenly remembered something Kalas said. “They found my letters to Kalas. They took them from the mail carrier Kalas found in the Groziks.”

“That must be it.”

“Which means we don’t have much time to find Brodie before he winds up dead.” She gave Jarrett a severe look. “But why would they want to waste time on him?”

“To keep me in Kazden, to keep me from going to that island.”

She looked up the street in the direction the bartender had suggested. “What if we’re not in time?”

Jarrett reached out and gripped her shoulder. “Then we’ll find another way.”

CHAPTER 12

Kalas eased the robe off his wounded shoulder and dropped it on the chair, then turned. He took a step back, his heart slamming against his ribs. Ellette was sitting on the end of his bed, her legs drawn up beneath a cotton nightshirt.

He closed his eyes and drew a calming breath. “Damn it, woman, you’re going to give me a heart attack.”

“I heard something below stairs,” she said.

Kalas nodded, motioning her off the bed. Her vulnerable position and her state of dishabille unnerved him. She rose, standing before him. The voluminous folds of the nightshirt hid her figure, but her hair was loose about her shoulders and her bare feet poked out below the hem. Kalas found himself staring at her mouth. He blinked and looked into her eyes. “Jarrett wanders the halls all night for some reason.” He took another step back. “Look, Ellette, you can’t keep coming into my bedroom like this.”

Her eyes passed over his bare chest and then shifted to the bed, but she didn’t move away. “Why does he wander the halls?”

Kalas circled wide around her and took a seat on the edge of the bed. She shifted to face him, then did an odd thing and climbed back onto the bed at the end, their knees nearly touching. Kalas’ eyes widened in surprise, but he tried to ignore her behavior.

“I suspect he’s trying to keep my sister in the manor. She has a habit of sneaking off on her own.”

“Where would she go?”

Kalas shrugged, then regretted it as his stitches pulled. “That would be anyone’s guess. My fear would be she’d steal a boat and begin paddling aimlessly around the ocean.”

Ellette frowned. “That is ridiculous.”

Kalas laughed. “You don’t know my sister.”

“You love her very much, yes?”

“Yes,” he answered. “I would do anything to keep her safe.”

“You knew her mother?”

Kalas’ gaze rose to Ellette’s face. Her hair had fallen over one eye again and he longed to brush it back. “Yes, she took care of me for a while.” Whenever he thought of Shara, he felt an ache for what might have been. “She was one of a kind. The mother I would have chosen if I’d been able.”

“Your father loved her very much, yes?”

“My father couldn’t live without her. When she died, I knew he would die too.” He fingered the edge of his sling. “I was so young, but I remember looking at her still face and knowing that she was gone. Immediately, I thought of him. I knew he would die. I knew it.”

“You watched her die?”

Kalas nodded.

Ellette reached out and touched his arm. “I’m sorry.”

Kalas knew he should pull away, but her touch was warm. He tried to calm the rapid beating of his heart.

“Your sister has power like he did. Do you ever long for it?”

“I felt it once. Just once. It was like a flame of rage tore through me. I hated the feeling. I couldn’t control it. It acted on its own. I never want to experience it again.”

“Is that why you feel you have to protect her? Because you know what she fights to contain?”

Kalas frowned. “No, I feel I have to protect her because she’s my sister, my family. That’s what family does.”

Ellette’s direct gaze searched his face, probing. “She can take care of herself.”

Kalas laughed. “Again, you don’t know my sister. There has never been a more headstrong woman. She will tempt anything if she feels she has a purpose. Like this scheme of hers – going to an island no one knows about – she’ll find a way, mark you.”

Ellette was silent for a moment, long enough for Kalas to become uncomfortable. It was one thing when they were talking, but when they stopped he became aware of her, of her scent, of her warmth, of her sensuality. “Do you ever wonder…” she began, then her voice trailed off.

“Wonder?”

Her eyes moved back to his. “Wonder what you might be like had he lived?”

“Dangerous thought,” he answered, then sighed. “All of the time. I wonder that all of the time. We were happy in Terra Antiguo. It was good. I longed for it once it was taken from me.”

Ellette nodded. “I wonder too. I wonder what my mother might have taught me. She knew so much.” She gave him a ghost of a smile, the closest a Nazarien ever got, and Kalas wanted to touch it, stroke his thumb along her bottom lip.

He rose suddenly and stepped away from her. Dangerous, dangerous thoughts, he scolded himself. “Ellette, you need to leave, go back to your room. You can’t stay here.”

Her expression fell. She looked down and away from him. He wanted to comfort her, but he didn’t dare. Without another word, she unfolded herself from the bed and turned her back on him. Then she walked to the door and pulled it open.

“Good night,” he said.

She didn’t answer and the door closed at her back. It was just as well, he told himself.

*    *    *

Tyla hesitated on the porch of the next tavern, the Tern. The last bartender had told them sailors were attracted here by the music, but they heard nothing. In fact, the usual sound of nightlife was oddly absent. The front of the building was weathered grey clapboard. No windows broke the expanse of overlapping wood. A sturdy door with metal bolts sported a lopsided sign that said welcome.

Tyla reached for the dented knob and turned, pushing the door open. It struck something heavy, forcing her to lean her weight on it. The sound of something scraping across the floor filtered back to her and she peered around the opening, her eyes widening.

Broken glass, shattered tables and chairs, and overturned boxes littered the floor. In the middle of it was a small, wiry man with a thick head of red, curling hair. He looked up at her and squinted behind round glasses.

“We’re closed,” he snapped from his crouched position. He had a small broom and a dustpan in his hands and he was sweeping up the glass.

Tyla shoved the door into the table that was blocking it, opening enough space for herself and Jarrett to push into the room. “I just want to ask you a few questions.”

The man glared at her, but when Jarrett appeared, his expression turned to rage and he dropped both the dustpan and broom. He reached for a broken table leg that lay next to him and brandished it at them.

“Get out!” he shouted. “Get out!”

Tyla reared back and held her hands out to the side. “Hold on a minute. We just want to ask you a few questions.”

“Get out!” he screamed, pointing the jagged end of his weapon at Jarrett.

“Please listen to me. I don’t know what happened here, but I want to help you…”

“Help me! Get him out of here! That’s all I want!” He feinted forward menacingly and darted back. “Get out!”

Jarrett let out a deep breath, then took a sudden step forward. Tyla had seen him in action many times, but she always forgot how quick he was. He cleared the space between him and the man. The tavern owner raised the table leg in a defensive movement, but Jarrett caught it and thrust the man back. He stumbled over a broken chair and fell on his backside, staring out from behind his glasses with a wild, terrified look.

Jarrett threw the table leg away and looked back at Tyla.

She moved closer to the downed man. “I want to help you, but I need you to answer some questions.” She glanced around the tavern. The piano stood in a corner, but someone had hacked it with a sharp object, breaking the keys and cracking the cover. She turned back to the tavern owner. “I’m not sure what happened, but I can guess by your reaction. Did Nazarien do this?”

The man’s shoulders deflated. “They came in right after I opened tonight. They also wanted to ask me some questions.” He gave Jarrett a scowl. “When I didn’t have the answers, they did this.”

“I’m sorry,” said Tyla.

Jarrett reached down and offered the man his hand. The tavern owner stared at it a moment, then reached out and clasped it, allowing himself to be hauled to his feet.

“What questions did they ask you?”

The tavern owner dusted off his trousers. “They wanted to know about some old man named Brodie.”

Tyla moved closer. “Do you know a man named Brodie?”

“No, and that’s what I told them, but it wasn’t enough. They started smashing things and chasing my customers off. I’m sunk. Everything I had was tied to this place.”

“Is there a chance you’ve seen Brodie, but just didn’t know it?”

The tavern owner gave her a frown. “I supposed there’s a chance I’ve seen a lot of people and don’t remember.”

“He’s a sailor.”

“You know how many sailors I see every day?”

“He’d likely be in the company of a Stravad – not Nazarien, just Stravad. They were friends?”

The tavern owner thought a moment. “Sounds familiar, but I don’t remember them coming in here.” He scratched his head and cuffed some of the debris by his foot. “A lot of the older guys go down to the Blue Sturgeon. It’s near the smaller slips where the privately owned vessels usually dock. They got the best fish stew.” He closed his eyes briefly and drew a deep breath. “I had the music, they had the food. Now I got nothing.”

Tyla climbed over the debris and approached the piano. She ran her fingers over the broken keys, then bent and picked up a torn piece of sheet music. She returned to the tavern owner’s side and motioned to his apron.

“Can I borrow your pencil?” she said.

He reached into the pocket and pulled out a blunt pencil with a heavy lead tip. Tyla braced the sheet music against an overturned table and scribbled out a note, then she held it out to the tavern owner.

“Take this note to the manor home of the King of Eastern Nevaisser. Do you know where it is?”

He frowned at her and didn’t reach for the note. “The King of Eastern Nevaisser? Are you serious?”

“Absolutely. Take this note and tell the guards you need to give it to him. Tell them it’s from his sister.”

The tavern owner’s eyes widened. “What?”

Tyla shook the paper. “Tell the King what happened. The note will confirm it. He’ll help you restore your business. I promise you that.”

He hesitantly reached for the note. “This is insane.”

“Not at all. Just promise me you won’t go to him until tomorrow morning. Just wait until tomorrow, please.”

The tavern owner glanced at the note, then studied Tyla’s face. “Okay, but why?”

“Just promise me you’ll wait.”

“Okay,” he repeated and tucked the note into his apron. “I hope I don’t get locked up as a lunatic.”

Tyla smiled at him. “You’ll be fine. And you’ll be back in business in no time.”

A ghost of a smile crossed the man’s face. “Yeah, thank you. I appreciate what you’re trying to do for me. It means a lot.”

Tyla turned and made her way back to the door, Jarrett on her heels. Once out of the tavern, she checked the position of the stars. The night was getting away from them and they still hadn’t found anyone who knew Brodie.

“They’re getting closer,” she said to Jarrett. “If he told us about the Blue Sturgeon, he’ll have told them.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t get the impression he remembered the name of the tavern until you specifically questioned him. We may still have a little time left.” He nodded at the guards passing in the distance. “After the Nazarien busted up this place, they aren’t going to mess with a second one. Not with the increased patrols.”

Tyla sighed. “I sure hope you’re right because if they get to Brodie before we do, I’m afraid he’s a dead man.”

*    *    *

They found the Blue Sturgeon easily enough. It was one of the only taverns in this part of the docks. The commercial lines drew most of the taverns because their ships brought in a lot of sailors looking for a place to spend their earnings on warm food, strong beer, and friendly companionship. In fact, the Blue Sturgeon was a squat, two story building that might have been a fish shop or a private home in a previous era. To the right of the building was a narrow ally nearly filled by a staircase, which rose to the second floor. There was no porch on the front of the structure. One simply stepped off the street to the door and inside. A hand printed sign in the window to the left of the door proclaimed it the Blue Sturgeon.

Jarrett glanced down both ends of the street. For some reason, the hair on the nape of his neck rose. He lifted his hand and scratched at it. Tyla stared into the dark alley, her eyes narrowed. At her throat, the emerald pulsed.

“What is it?” he said.

“I’m not sure.”

A patrol of soldiers passed behind them, talking loudly.

“You sense something.”

She looked up at him. The single lantern, hanging beside the door, illuminated her green eyes. “I can’t get a feel for it.” She looked back at the door. “Let’s go in.”

Jarrett nodded and followed her. She turned the knob and pushed it open. The room was small, not much bigger than a parlor with a fireplace to the left and a few tables and chairs scattered across the main floor. A bar at the back of the room was lined with stools and along the right wall were private booths with high backs and dark interiors.

A few people sat in the booths, talking quietly, but no one sat at the bar. A man and a woman stood behind the bar, watching as they approached. The man was polishing glasses with a cloth, but the woman came to the edge of the bar and leaned against it.

“Good evening,” said Tyla, forcing a bright smile. “I wonder if we can ask you some questions.”

The woman’s eyes briefly tracked over Tyla, then fixed on Jarrett. A slow smile curved her lips. She leaned forward a bit more so her ample bosom strained the bodice of her low-cut blouse. Jarrett glanced into the mirror behind the bar, trying to count the number of patrons in the room.

“You are one tasty piece of Nazarien male, aren’t ya, darlin’?” she said.

Jarrett’s eyes snapped back to her face, then he glanced at Tyla.

She arched a brow. “I guess you’re going to have to take this one,” she said, a trace of amusement in her voice.

Jarrett’s thoughts escaped him. What the hell was he going to do? For so many years he’d hardly even talked to a woman, let alone flirted with one. Nazarien shunned such trivialities. Both women watched him as if expecting him to react. The bartender smirked as he replaced the glass and picked up another one.

Jarrett cleared his throat. “We’re looking for someone,” he began.

The woman smiled, a bit too broadly. She’d been attractive once, but her heavy makeup made the lines around her mouth more prominent and her hair was an unnatural shade of blonde. “Maybe you’ve found her,” she said.

“No, we’re looking for a man.”

The bartender stopped polishing his glass and the woman leaned back a little, her smile growing wider. Tyla gave him a look that said he wasn’t doing a very good job. He drew a deep breath and took a step closer to the bar.

“A Stravad, handsome, probably around my age. He might have been in the company of an old man.” He could see by the expression on both their faces that they knew something. “His name was Jax Paden.”

The woman nodded. “Yeah, I remember him. He was a regular here for a while. Then he went away.”

“Bum leg,” said the man. “Nasty bit of business that.”

“That’s right. He went home, back to Temeron.”

“That’s what he said,” offered the man. The woman glanced at him, then turned back to Jarrett.

“Whatever he’s done, we didn’t know nothing about it,” she said. “We ain’t responsible.”

“No, nothing like that.” Jarrett glanced into the mirror. A few patrons at one of the booths were watching him, but they didn’t appear Nazarien. He dismissed them. “Actually, we need to find the old man, the one who taught him to sail – Brodie Daegan?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “He owe you money?”

“No,” said Jarrett, confused. “No, he doesn’t own me money, I just wanted to ask him a few questions.”

“Questions about what?” The tone of her voice was suspicious.

Jarrett swallowed. Obviously he wasn’t approaching this with the finesse he should. “When Jax got back to Temeron, he was very ill. We think Brodie may know something about it.”

The bartender stepped forward. “Brodie didn’t do nothing to Jax. Jax did it to hisself.”

“I know, but…”

“Brodie’s an old man. He’s been a good customer here,” said the woman. Her smile disappeared and her eyes narrowed. “Talk travels quick around here. I heard what happened at some of the other places when Nazarien start poking around. Greyburn’s got a club back there.” She nodded over her shoulder and the bartender reached under the bar, picking up a wicked looking club with a spiked edge. “We ain’t gonna stand around and let you bust up our place, and we ain’t giving Brodie up neither.”

Jarrett took a step back. This wasn’t at all what he intended. He reached for Tyla’s arm, but she slipped out of his hold.

“Jax is dead,” she said.

All attention snapped to her.

“Dead?” asked the woman.

Tyla exhaled. “I was with him when he died.”

Greyburn settled the club on the bar. “He said they’d fix him up in Temeron.”

“We tried. When he got there his leg was so badly infected, we couldn’t stop it. He talked about Brodie a lot toward the end. He worried about him, worried he might have given him the sickness. I promised him I’d come find Brodie myself and make sure he was all right. It was Jax’s last wish.”

“He was one of Brodie’s only friends,” said the woman.

“Jax couldn’t stop talking about Brodie teaching him to sail. He said it was the happiest he’d ever been, sailing with Brodie.”

Greyburn looked down and shook his head. “He was a good guy, Jax. He always bought Brodie supper, wouldn’t let him drink on an empty stomach.”

“He was better than that,” offered the woman. “Brodie’s an old man. He don’t have no family. That boat of his was all he got, until Jax came along. He used to sleep on it, said no one had any use for an old man. Jax gave him purpose again by asking him to teach him sailing. Jax wanted to pay him, but Brodie wouldn’t take it, said he was having too much fun. Jax set him up though before he left.”

“Set him up?”

The woman sighed. “We got a room upstairs. Rent it out sometimes. Jax rented it for Brodie, paid the next six month up front. That’s probably where Brodie is right now, since he ain’t come down for supper.” She made a tsking sound. “Gonna break his heart to hear about Jax, but I guess he oughta know. Go on up and tell him, then I’ll have something strong for him when he come down.”

Tyla flashed the smile that made Jarrett’s heart skip a beat. “Thank you, both. I really appreciate it.”

They nodded and Greyburn replaced the club beneath the bar. Tyla turned for the door and Jarrett followed, amazed that she’d been able to salvage a situation he had created with his bumbling. Once he could have charmed them as she did, but somewhere along the line, he’d lost that touch, that ability to empathize with people.

As they stepped outside, Jarrett reached for her arm and pulled her up. She shook off his hold, but she turned to face him. “That was a good story you came up with. It really calmed things down.”

“Story?”

“About Jax’s last wish.”

She gave him an odd, sad look. “It wasn’t a story. Jax was worried about infecting Brodie. He cared for the old man.”

Another thought crossed Jarrett’s mind. “You calmed them, didn’t you? With your power?”

She gave him a mischievous wink. “I’ll never admit to that.”

Jarrett tried to smile. How he’d missed such exchanges with her, the intimacy, the shared experiences. He remembered how it had been, just the two of them, alone in their thoughts. He started to reach toward her, wanting to brush back a curl that curved over her cheek, but a banging sounded from the alley, then a man shouted.

“Brodie!” Tyla said, her eyes widening. She started toward the sound, but Jarrett grabbed her, shoving her behind him.

He reached for the hilt of his sword as he swung around the corner of the tavern. He hesitated a moment on the bottom of the steps, glancing up. In the darkness, he could just make out a shadowed figure at the top of the staircase, plunging against the door over and over again.

Another muffled shout came from inside and Jarrett started climbing, taking the stairs two at a time, his sword hissing from its scabbard. The figure at the top turned when Jarrett was a few feet away. A stray beam of moonlight fell across his features, illuminating his brilliant blue eyes.

Nazarien.

Jarrett braced himself for an attack. He wasn’t thrilled at the idea of fighting on the staircase in such close quarters with Tyla on his heels, but he couldn’t let the Nazarien breech that room. Brodie would be dead. He remembered too well Kalas’ tale of the suicidal attacks he’d endured on the trip from Sarkisian.

The Nazarien glared at him, then reached behind him. Jarrett tensed, but instead of launch himself down the staircase, the Nazarien vaulted over the banister. Jarrett charged after him, cresting the landing and grabbing the railing as he stared down into the alleyway. The Nazarien landed on the ground, nimble as a cat, looked back once, then sped away, back the way they’d come until he disappeared around the side of the building.

Jarrett met Tyla’s stunned gaze, then she hurried up the rest of the stairs, banging on the door of Brodie’s room.

“Brodie? Brodie Daegan? Are you all right? Open up. Please.” When he didn’t answer, Tyla leaned close to the door. “Brodie, please. We’re here to help you. I’m a friend of Jax.”

They waited in the darkness, the sounds of the street distant and muted. Finally, they heard the bolt slide back and an old man peered out. He saw Tyla first, but when he saw Jarrett, he tried to close the door again.

Jarrett had enough time to wedge himself inside the opening and force the door inward, causing Brodie to stumble back. The single room was dark and dingy, lit only by a single lantern, and the old man looked small and forlorn, cowering in the middle of it. Tyla pushed past Jarrett, shoving him in the side.

“Put it away, you idiot Nazarien,” she hissed. “You’ll give him a heart attack.”

Jarrett remembered he was holding his sword and he sheathed it at once. She shot him a last venomous look before she approached the old man.

“Brodie, I’m Tyla. I’m sorry we scared you, but we had to make sure you were all right. You weren’t hurt, were you?”

He glanced up through bushy eyebrows at her. “He tried to kill me. The other one. He knocked on the door, then tried to force his way inside. He had a knife.”

“I know. I’m sorry. We scared him off. Are you all right? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Brodie looked at her fully now. “No, I’m not hurt, but what’d he want with me? What have I ever done to the Nazarien?”

“That’s a long story and one I intended to explain.” She looked around the room. A tattered, broken-down sofa, a ladder-back chair, and a scarred table were the only furnishing. “Can we sit so we can talk?”

Brodie nodded and motioned toward the sofa. Tyla gave Jarrett another severe look and nodded toward the seating.

“I’ll just keep watch,” he said, amused by her annoyance.

She tilted her head, then swung away from him, moving to the sofa and taking a seat. She settled her pack on the ground beside it and watched as Brodie retrieved the chair and turned it backwards, so he could straddle it. He folded his arms on the back and pressed his forehead against them.

“Scared the hell out of me.”

“I’m sorry,” Tyla answered. Jarrett could almost feel the calming pulse of her power, and the emerald was glowing a warm, soothing green at her throat. “Brodie, I’ve come a long way to find you.”

He lifted his head and squinted at her. “I know who you are. I remember.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You were once Queen of Adishian, Tyla Eldralin, wife of Tarnow.”

Tyla nodded. “Yes, a long time ago. I’m Stravad Leader in Temeron now.”

“If I wasn’t so shaken, I’d do a better job of greeting you, but…” He shrugged and glanced over at his open door. “He tried to kill me. I just can’t get over it.”

Tyla clasped her hands. “He’ll try to do it again once we leave.”

Brodie sat up straight, his eyes widening. “What the hell did I do?”

“Nothing. You did nothing, but that doesn’t matter. They’ve marked you and they won’t stop until they succeed.” Brodie started to come to his feet, but she held out a hand. “I’m going to protect you. They won’t touch you as long as I’m here.”

“Protect me? I don’t even know what I need protection from. Why are they after me? What did I do?” His voice rose in panic.

“It has to do with Jax. Jax Paden?”

“Jax? Jax wasn’t Nazarien?”

“I know. It’s a long story and I intend to explain everything to you, just give me a little time.” Her expression grew solemn. “Jax is dead, Brodie,” she said.

Brodie reared back and his hands gripped the chair so hard, his knuckles turned white. For a moment, he didn’t speak. Jarrett feared he might be having a stroke. Then his lower jaw began to tremble.

“Dead?”

Tyla nodded. “I’m so sorry. I know you were close.”

“He said they’d fix him up in Temeron.”

“We tried. We tried everything we could, but it wasn’t enough.”

“You?”

“I was with him when he died. I was one of his healers. I had no idea what we were dealing with, no idea what was wrong. I thought I could figure it out, but I couldn’t. I let him down and in turn, I let down my people.”

Jarrett moved away from the door, drawn by the raw confession in her voice. He understood failure, he understood defeat.

Brodie shook his head. “I don’t understand. How did he die? What happened? I know his leg was bad, but…”

“It started in his leg. It started there and moved to his lungs. We amputated his leg, hoping to stop it there, but it was already too late. He bled to death, he drowned in his own blood.”

Brodie looked down. In the light of the single lantern that burned from a hook in the wall, Jarrett could see the twin tracks of tears that flowed over the wrinkles and planes of the old man’s face, dropping toward his chin.

“We were friends.”

“I know. He told me. He asked me to find you. He was worried about you, afraid he might have gotten you sick.”

Brodie wiped at the tears with both hands. “You came all this way for that?”

Tyla glanced at Jarrett. The look sent a shiver up Jarrett’s spine. “No, not only for that.” She leaned forward and clasped her hands before her. “I need your help, Brodie. I need you to take me to the island that Jax found. I need you to sail me there.”

Brodie’s eyes widened and then he scrambled to his feet, putting the chair between himself and her. “Oh, hell no, oh hell no, I’m not going to that island. I’m not going anywhere near it.”

Tyla rose also and moved toward him. “I understand you’re afraid, but I don’t have any choice. I need to find that island.”

“No, no, you saw what happened to Jax. You saw his leg. I ain’t going there. No way.”

Tyla went still. Jarrett watched in horrified fascination, wanting to leave, wanting to be free of the stuffy room, but unable to move.

“I made a horrible mistake, Brodie. I brought Jax into Temeron and I didn’t quarantine him. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t think it through. People were infected. People who had contact with him, and they died. They died too in the same way he did, drowning in their own blood. It was a terrible death, a horrible way to go.”

“Not my problem.”

“People are dying here too. He infected people in Kazden, Brodie. They have wards in the hospitals dedicated to this plague. And the morgues receive bodies daily. The only way to prevent infection is to burn the bodies, denying the families the right to bury their loved ones.”

“I know, but it’s not my fault. I just told him about the island. I didn’t take him there. I can’t help you.”

Tyla looked over at Jarrett. Their eyes met and held. A sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach and he felt like he was going to retch. He swallowed hard and a cold sweat broke out along his body.

She broke the look and turned back to the old man. “I made so many mistakes. I was one of his healers and I didn’t take precautions. I was infected too.” She drew a deep breath and exhaled. “I’m dying, Brodie. Just as Jax did, just as the others did.”

Jarrett felt a roar in his head and his vision swam, but he locked his legs and forced it down. He’d known. He’d known from the moment he saw her, but he’d wanted to deny it, pretend it wasn’t so.

“I have a son, he’s just ten. I want to see him grow up, I want to watch him become a man. He needs me. My people need me. I brought this sickness to them and now I need to find a way to take it away. I don’t have much time. Every day the disease grows stronger, I can feel it. I need your help, I need you to take me to that island. Please, Brodie, please. If you won’t do it for me or my people, do it for Jax, do it for the man you called friend.”

CHAPTER 13

Tyla wanted to go after Jarrett, but she was afraid to lose the momentum she’d gained with Brodie. The old man sat down hard in the chair, no longer straddling it, his back to her. His hands dangled on either side, the knuckles large and misshapen. She could see the balding crown of his head and the cords in his neck as he gritted his teeth.

She looked toward the door and saw Jarrett on the landing, leaning against the rail, gripping it in his hands. She knew she should have told him, she should have told all of the Stravad and Allistar. And she should have told Kalas. She was risking more lives every day. Especially anyone that came into contact with her. She didn’t think she was contagious yet, but as she’d told Jarrett, she just didn’t know.

However, soon she would be. Soon she would begin coughing blood and she knew then that someone was bound to get it, unless she could get to the island, find the plant or dirt or whatever had infected Jax.

“What exactly did Jax tell you about the island, Brodie? What did he tell you about getting infected?” she asked.

The old man didn’t answer. His fingers curled into his palms and he leaned forward, bracing his arms on his thighs. “You said they would come after me again, the Nazarien.”

“Yes, I’m afraid they will.”

“He was going to kill me. I saw it in his eyes. Why? What does he have to do with Jax?”

“It’s complicated. He doesn’t really have anything to do with Jax and yet he does.”

“You want me to take you to that island, but you aren’t going to tell me why someone wants to kill me?”

Tyla sighed. The dankness of the room made her feel hopeless. “If I tell you, will you tell me what Jax told you about the island?”

Brodie gave a short nod.

Tyla tried to explain why the Nazarien wanted Brodie dead, but it sounded crazy even to her. The old man didn’t give any indication he even heard her, until she finished. Then he braced his head in his hands.

“Jax found the island just like I told you.” His rough, sad voice echoed in the nearly empty room. “He said there were two species of aliens. One pale green with white hair and another so pale it looked translucent. The second one was almost seven feet tall.”

“He saw them?”

“The translucent one touched him. Scared him half to death. He ran and he fell. Said he got some pycantra in the wound. He thought that’s what made him sick. By the time I saw him, his leg looked like ground meat and he was coughing blood.”

Tyla frowned. She knew people who ground pycantra into their food. Sure, it was volatile stuff, but it was more likely to explode than cause a plague. “Anything else?”

Brodie shifted in the chair and looked over his shoulder at her. “He could hear them.” He tapped his temple. “He said it was like a thousand people speaking all at once.”

Tyla tilted her head in contemplation. “Hear them?” She was aware that Jarrett had moved back into the room.

Brodie nodded. “Hear them, in here.” He pressed a finger to his forehead. “Said it hurt.”

Tyla stored that information away. She eased forward on the couch. “We need you to take us to the island, Brodie. Please say that you will.”

The old man started to shake his head no. Tyla narrowed her eyes on him. She hated to force him to do something he feared, but she had no choice. “The Nazarien will return and they will kill you. The only way I can protect you is for you to take us to the island. They can’t follow us there.”

“I don’t want to see the aliens,” whimpered the old man.

Tyla exerted a bit more force. “I know, but we’ll protect you. The aliens can’t harm you as long as we’re there.” Not that she was sure Jarrett would accompany her, but he hadn’t left yet, so she figured she was doing all right so far.

“And when we come back?”

“I will make sure you have all the protection you need, around the clock guards.” She glanced around the dank room. “And a place to stay that is far superior to this.” She gave him a direct look. “What do you say? Will you please take us?”

Brodie shifted uncomfortably, still fighting the control she was exerting on him. If she used any more, he would really be beyond the powers of his own choosing and she didn’t want that. Not yet. He needed his free will, so he could remember how to get to the island. Not to mention it made her feel less guilty about using him.

“If I agree and that’s a huge if, how you gonna get the boat out of the docks? They have them guarded round the clock.”

“Show us to the dock and I’ll figure out a way.”

“Wait a minute,” said Jarrett, moving further into the room. “We’re taking Brodie back to Kalas. Kalas and the Baron can arrange us passage. Brodie only needs to provide the bearings.”

Tyla met his look, clasping her hands in her lap. Here’s where she might lose him. “I can’t go back to Kalas, Jarrett. I can’t risk it.”

“What?”

“I don’t believe I’ve been contagious up until now, but I can feel the disease progressing. I have a week, maybe more until…well, until you both will need to stay as far away from me as you can. I can’t go back to Kalas and risk it.” She rose to her feet. “I can understand if you want to leave. I’ve been selfish enough taking a chance with your health, but I can’t risk spreading the disease beyond my own infection.”

“What are you saying?”

“At the first sign of blood, you and Brodie will leave me on the island and come back here.”

Jarrett didn’t answer. The look on his face was indecipherable.

“I don’t want to be infected,” Brodie said. “I know I’m an old man, but that isn’t the way I want to die.”

“You’re the reason why I believe the early stages aren’t infectious, Brodie. Jax was far gone when you saw him last. You said yourself he told you he was coughing blood, yet you aren’t sick. Granted you didn’t touch the blood as the rest of us did, which brings me to the conclusion that blood must be the mode of transmission.”

She glanced back at Jarrett. “No one had symptoms in Temeron, until they were exposed to Jax’s blood.”

Jarrett stared hard at the floor as if he thought it would burst into flames.

“Jarrett, I don’t want you to come with me. I want you to stay here. In fact, I want you to go back to Temeron and stay with Kerrin. That way he’d have at least one parent if this scheme of mine doesn’t work out.”

Jarrett lifted his head and their eyes met. She knew he understood now why she had insisted on making the journey herself. She couldn’t stay in Temeron. But he didn’t have to stay here. He’d seen her safely to Kazden. He’d fulfilled his part of the bargain.

“Do you really think this is a misguided worry for my health?” he snarled at her.

She gave him a weak shrug. What was she supposed to think? They didn’t know each other anymore.

“You lied to me about this as well.”

“I didn’t lie.”

“You lied by omission.”

“But you knew.”

His eyes closed and he didn’t answer.

“I had to get to Kazden. I had to get out of Temeron. I knew they’d never let me go without an escort. Even if I snuck away, they’d send warriors after me. As soon as I could, I left Kalas’ house. What more do you want me to say?”

Jarrett shrugged. “I guess there’s nothing. As always, you take everything into your own hands and damn the consequences.” He nodded at her pack. “What exactly does that contain?”

“A few changes of clothes, some travel food, a pycantra starter, two blankets, and Stamerian.”

“So this was the plan all along.”

“No, I wasn’t sure we’d find Brodie.”

“But this was the plan if you did?”

She hesitated a moment and her eyes scanned over Brodie’s face. “This was the plan.”

Jarrett slapped his hand against his thigh. “Well, we’re wasting the rest of the night.”

She stared at him without moving. How could such a simple statement fill her with ambivalence?  She wanted him with her. No matter how much time stood between them, he brought her calm. But she also didn’t want him in danger and she’d already put him in a great deal of it.

Brodie covered his face with his hands. “I’ll take you to the island,” he said. “I don’t know how we’re going to get past the soldiers on the docks, but I’ll take you.”

“Thank you,” Tyla said softly. “I know this is what Jax would have wanted.”

Brodie nodded without answering and walked toward his make-shift kitchen in a dark corner of the room. He pulled out a sack and thrust a few items into it – a loaf of bread, a tin of something Tyla couldn’t see, and a canteen. As a final thought, he grabbed the lantern resting in the middle of the table, slinging the pack over his shoulder.

“When we go outside, let Jarrett lead. There may be Nazarien around still and we don’t want to chance anything,” said Tyla.

Brodie shook his head wearily, but didn’t reply.

Jarrett gave Tyla a last furious look and went to the door, wrenching it open. He stepped through and Tyla motioned Brodie to follow. They made it to the bottom of the stairs, then Jarrett waited for Brodie to indicate the direction they should go. Brodie motioned to the left. They set off up the street away from the Blue Sturgeon. Jarrett still led, but they tightened up the formation so it didn’t seem unnatural.

Tyla glanced at the sky and noticed it was beginning to lighten. They didn’t have much time.

A couple of guards lounged against the façades of buildings, but they encountered few other people. Even the taverns seemed to be closing down for the night. Their footsteps echoed on the cobblestones, ringing back to them from the empty, darkened warehouses on either side. The only light bobbed from Brodie’s lantern.

Before they went much farther, Brodie reached out and grabbed Jarrett’s arm. He pointed to an opening across the street and a few blocks down from their current location.  A barricade had been set up across the opening and three guards stood at it, talking quietly to themselves.

“That’s it. If we go any farther, they’ll see us.”

Jarrett motioned to some crates lined up along the street and they eased behind them, sliding down as far as they could until they could see a few boats, bobbing against the current.

“How far in is your boat?” Jarrett asked.

“About halfway.”

Tyla surveyed the situation.  She could try to control the guards, but that meant releasing Brodie completely and even then, she wasn’t sure she had the energy to handle so many minds at once.

Jarrett chewed on his lower lip. Tyla wondered if he knew he was showing so much emotion. “We need a distraction,” he said.

Tyla looked around also. Beyond a bunch of dark warehouses and piles of discarded crates arranged at the openings of the alleyways, she couldn’t see anything that would cause enough of a stir to draw the guards away.

Brodie was trembling, the lantern knocking against the crates. Tyla hated that he was so afraid, but she didn’t know how to comfort him. They needed him to do this no matter what he felt.

Jarrett’s attention riveted on the lantern and Tyla feared he was going to yell at the old man for making noise, but instead, he reached for it. “Let me have that,” he said.

“What are you going to do?” she asked as Brodie handed it over.

Jarrett curled his fingers around the handle and turned away, staring out at the street. “Just be ready to run,” he answered, then darted away.

With his Nazarien training and his natural quickness, he was a shadow in the night, gliding across the street and disappearing between the crates on the other side. Tyla exchanged a bewildered look with Brodie, but a moment later, she gasped.

A flame shot up from the middle of the crates, then died off. A few moments later, others followed it, then Jarrett was streaking back across the street, no lantern in his hand. He made it to the center of the street when the crate suddenly exploded violently.

Tyla and Brodie ducked behind their own barricade, but she caught a glimpse of the soldiers, dropping to the ground. Jarrett stumbled, then looked back as another explosion shook the cobblestones beneath their feet.

A second later, Jarrett was sprinting for their location and he skidded to a halt behind the barricade, panting, his eyes wild.

“What did you do?”

“I set a fire. I thought the crates were empty.”

They all ducked as another explosion tore into the night, raining debris down on them. Tyla peeked out at the guards. They left the barricade and began running toward the fire before the warehouses.

Jarrett pushed Tyla and Brodie. “Go! Go!” he ordered. “Stay low and try to keep the crates between you and the street.”

They ran for the docks, skidding when another explosion curled through the crates and sent the guards diving for cover.

They scrambled over the barricade at the entrance to the dock and Tyla paused once to look back. The soldiers were milling about the fire, afraid to approach. Another explosion sent them pitching backward, tripping over each other and sprawling into the street.

“What the hell,” muttered Jarrett in her ear.

She glanced up at him. “Obviously the crates were filled with pycantra.”

“Who would leave that in the middle of the street like that?”

“They probably didn’t want to risk an explosion that would ignite the entire warehouse district,” she remarked wryly.

Jarrett made a pained face. “We needed a distraction.”

“Oh, we got it,” she said, then turned and pushed him in the stomach. “Brodie might need help.”

They edged down the dock, searching the dark boats for the fisherman. Without the lantern, the night closed about them. Even though the sky lightened overhead, the docks and the masts of the boats held the light at bay.

Tyla stretched forth her sense and found him. The boat was smaller than the ones around it, but still very capable of carrying four or five people. A small cabin sat in the middle and Brodie was at the helm, unfurling the sail.

He glanced up as they approached and motioned them onboard. Jarrett automatically reached for her elbow to steady her, but she pulled away, giving him a warning look. He held his arms out to the side and allowed her to climb into the sailboat on her own. She stashed the pack by the tiller and moved to Brodie’s side.

“Need any help?”

Brodie shook his head. “Sit down and prepare to go.” In the distance, they could hear the boom of the explosions from the warehouse. “As soon as that stops, they’re going to be looking for the culprit.” He cast a sour look at Jarrett as he nimbly sprang into the boat.

Jarrett gave him a hard look in return.

Tyla moved back toward the cabin and found a bench running along the side of the boat. She sank onto it and realized she was exhausted. Jarrett stood by the tiller with his arms crossed as Brodie fussed with the sail.

Finally Brodie turned and nodded at the dock. “Unhook her,” he ordered.

Jarrett climbed back out and untied the boat from the dock. Brodie moved to the tiller and gripped it as Jarrett sprang back into the boat, sending it rocking against the dock. A moment later, Tyla felt the vessel shift beneath her and they were pulling away, leaving Kazden behind.

*    *    *

Jarrett leaned against the cabin and studied Tyla’s profile. She was staring out at the sea, watching the first rays of dawn brighten on the water. It made Jarrett nervous to look out. So much water and no land in sight. The only thing between them and death was a few planks of wood and the skill of the man behind the tiller.

He chanced a glance up and lowered it again. With every pitch of the waves, he felt his stomach heave beneath his ribs. Closing his eyes, he tried to forget how nauseous he felt.

“Relax and don’t fight it, roll with the waves like you do the rhythm of the horse,” came Tyla’s voice. “You can’t do battle with the ocean, so try to blend.”

He tried to relax his knees. He realized the muscles in his legs were knotted uncomfortably and his shoulders were closer to his ears than he remembered. He drew in a deep breath and held it, then exhaled. It was the one meditation of the Nazarien that he didn’t find annoying.

“Did you come to hover or lecture? Either way, I guess I owe you that,” she said.

He drew another breath and held it. Center the universe within one’s body. Draw it in and then, release. He exhaled. Slowly he opened his eyes, trying not to look out at the rolling waves. She was giving him a speculative look.

“Neither, I guess,” he answered, forcing his hands to unclench. He eased down on the bench beside her and rolled his shoulders, letting his hands dangle against his thighs. He half expected her to slide away from him, but she stayed where she was, although her back was to him.

“The new and improved Jarrett,” she muttered.

He tilted his head back and turned it from side to side, trying to stretch the muscles. Inhale, hold, exhale. He took a few more calming breaths, then clasped his hands before him. “I’m trying, Tyla, I really am.”

“Trying what?”

“To keep my patience, to not explode at you. I always did it in the past and I realize it never did any good.”

She was silent, her head bowed. He could no longer see her features.

He shot a look at the old man. Brodie appeared content, serene. The ocean seemed to soothe him. “I also understand why you felt you had to come.”

She tilted her head toward him. “You do?”

“Yeah, you’ve always done what you’ve felt was best for your people, no matter the consequence to yourself. I’m not sure I would have done anything different if I were in your position.”

She didn’t answer him for a long time, then she looked over her shoulder. “That means a lot, Jarrett.”

He shrugged.

“I really didn’t mean to drag you into this.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Are you kidding? Who else has such adventures? Take the most mad, outrageous plan and add an Eldralin – you’ll get pure mayhem every time. People would pay for this.”

Tyla laughed. “Be careful, you almost sound like you have a sense of humor. That can’t be very Nazarien.”

He did smile at her. “You’re right,” he answered.

*    *    *

Kalas settled his cup of tea on the saucer and looked up as Parish entered the dining room with a strange man in tow. Dolan followed them. Attis moved away from his position guarding the door and studied the man. Across the table from Kalas, Ellette shifted and gave the man a severe look, her hand moving down to the knife she had stashed in her belt.

Dolan frowned at Ellette. Kalas knew he didn’t approve of his King sharing a meal with a would-be assassin, but Kalas really saw little harm in it. She amused him and she needed to eat, not that she ate much when in his presence.

“Baron, good morning to you,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

Parish executed a bow and then gave Ellette a look from beneath raised brows. “Your Majesty.”

“To what do I owe this early morning visit?”

Parish focused on Kalas. “This man presented himself at the gate this morning demanding an audience with you. He states he received a visit from the past Queen of Adishian, who told him to present himself here this morning.”

Kalas settled the napkin beside his plate and frowned. “What?”

“Apparently, your sister was wandering around Kazden last night.”

“My sister is upstairs asleep.”

Parish looked down.

Kalas met Dolan’s gaze. “Dolan?”

“The guards on duty last night report that she and the Nazar left, stating they were going to the hospital to check on the plague victims.”

Kalas clenched his jaw. Damn Tyla. He should have known she would do something like this. She always had to react opposite to what he anticipated. “And she never returned?”

“Not as of this morning.”

Kalas tried to control his temper. It was a fault he hated about himself, but he forever found himself pushed beyond his limit. “Why am I just now hearing about it?”

“We just found out ourselves,” answered Parish, “when this man began inquiring at the gate.”

Kalas pushed himself to his feet and moved around the table. The strange man took a step back and Attis retreated to his position by the door. “What’s your name?”

“Samfir, Your Majesty,” he answered, ducking his head. He held a scrap of paper in his hands and twisted it.

“Samfir, you met my sister last night?”

“I did, Your Majesty. She came into my tavern with one of them.” He cast a venomous look at Dolan.

“What did she want?”

“She was looking for someone named Brodie, said he was an old sailor.”

Kalas exhaled wearily. Damn Tyla. He could imagine all sorts of trouble coming from this. “Do you know Brodie?”

“No, Your Majesty, I’ve never met him. She said he’d be with a Stravad. Don’t remember him either.”

“So she left?”

“Yes. I didn’t want the Nazarien in my tavern. I’d had enough of Nazarien, if you pardon me saying so.”

Kalas was confused. “Why?”

“They came in before she did. They busted up the place looking for this Brodie character. I don’t ask for trouble, Your Majesty, and I don’t want it. Those Nazarien had no right to take my place apart.”

Kalas lifted a hand and rubbed his wounded shoulder. “Do you know where she went after she left your tavern?”

“I sent her to the Blue Sturgeon. A lot of the older sailors eat there. Thought maybe they might know this Brodie character.” He twisted the scrap of paper again. “She asked me to come here in the morning and give you this. She made a special point of saying I had to wait until morning.” As he held out the paper, his hand shook. “I didn’t ask her to write this. She did it on her own. I swear.”

Kalas took the smudged and stained scrap. It was hard to read because Samfir had wrinkled it so badly. He moved to the table and placed it on the surface, smoothing the wrinkles with his good hand. Tyla’s writing stared up at him. He read the note twice, then picked it up and handed it to Parish. The Baron read it and passed it to Dolan.

Kalas didn’t know what to say, what to feel. He should have known Tyla would do something like this, but he’d never been able to predict how she’d respond. He felt everyone staring at him, but he had no answers.

Rubbing his shoulder again, he faced Samfir. “I’ll have one of my ministers contact you within the next two days to repair the damages to your tavern as my sister promised.”

Samfir’s eyes filled with tears and he bowed deeply, sweeping the hat off his balding head. “Thank you, Your Majesty. Thank you.”

Kalas nodded. “Attis, see Samfir out please.”

Attis moved to obey and Samfir bowed his way out of the dining room.

Kalas turned to Parish. “I want to question the guards who let her leave. I want to know why they didn’t report it immediately, although I think I can guess.”

“She used her power on them?”

“Most likely. Then find out where the Blue Sturgeon is.”

“Do you want me to bring the owners in for questioning?”

“No. If she went there, it will be quickest to trace her steps ourselves.”

“Ourselves, Your Majesty?” asked Parish with a tilt of his head.

“Yes.”

Parish and Dolan exchanged a look.

“That’s too dangerous, Your Majesty,” said Dolan. “You’ll be a target for the Nazarien.”

“That can’t be help.”

“It can,” argued Parish, “by you staying here.”

Kalas forced a grim smile. “One of the perks to being King is that I get my way. Let’s pretend that you respect that aspect of my position and spare me the haggling. I’m trying very hard not to explode right now.”

Dolan dropped his gaze and Parish inclined his head in acquiescence.

Kalas moved past them for the door. “I’d like to talk with the guards before we go. I suggest we all stop standing around. I can promise you my sister isn’t.” With that, he left the dining room.

*    *   *

Tyla leaned forward, straining to see through the fog. She sensed something large in the distance, but the fog made visibility shrink to the area just outside the boat. It wisped around them, reminding her of the mist where she’d talked with her father.

Jarrett shifted nervously and looked back at Brodie. The old man’s head was lifted and his hands were relaxed on the tiller. He wasn’t worried about the fog in the least. If Tyla could see the sun, she’d judge it was about midday. They’d been sailing for hours, tacking this way and that by some means that she didn’t begin to understand. How Brodie navigated in this soup was beyond her.

Ahead she saw a darkness loom above them. The fog split, sliding around this massive shape, marking a boundary. A moment later, they glided through, the sun blazing down again. She blinked against the glare and caught her breath.

An island rose before them – gigantic cliffs of green, long stretches of sandy beaches, towering crags topped with broad canopied trees the likes she’d never seen. The roar of the waves against the shore was deafening, punctuated by the cries of sea birds winging through the spray.

A bed of jagged rocks broke the ocean’s surface, blocking the way to the island like a rampart around a castle. She tried to see a way between them, but the waves broke against them with each new surge, fragmenting into white foam.

Brodie turned the boat parallel to the island and Tyla had to shift in her seat to keep it in sight. There were no domes of green glass, no alien creatures coming to greet them. The beaches were empty and the cliffs rose high above her head, a solid expanse of jagged stone and brambles.

“There she is,” whispered Brodie behind her. “The island of Delure.”

“Who named her?” she asked, never taking her eyes from the sight.

“Don’t know. She’s been a legend since I could remember. Every sailor knows her name, but few have found her.”

“Have you ever set foot on her?”

Brodie didn’t answer for a moment, then he exhaled. “Legend also says she’s haunted by monsters seven feet tall. Never believed it was true, until Jax. Still, I wasn’t about to risk it.”

“How did you know where the island was?”

“Found her on accident about twenty years ago. Got caught out in a storm, and suddenly there she was. Came through the fog and saw this. I tracked her bearings as I made my way back to land, so I could find her again. Sure enough, I did. I’ve never forgot how to get here.”

“Yet you won’t go ashore?” came Jarrett’s surly voice.

Tyla looked down at the side of the boat, waiting for Brodie’s answer. None came. She shifted in her seat and studied him.

He fingered the tiller and then nodded at the shore. “Shouldn’t be a bad swim. At least it’ll be warm, being summer and all.”

Tyla started to respond, but she saw Jarrett’s hand slide to his sword hilt.

“We’re not swimming from here. Take us in closer,” he said.

Brodie’s jaw grew stubborn. “See them rocks. You want me to smash my boat on them? I can’t get any closer. You’ll have to swim.”

Jarrett’s body tensed. Tyla recognized the look. Brodie was a fool to challenge him. She knew she should intervene, but she honestly didn’t think she could swim that distance.

“I wasn’t making a request. I was giving you an order. Take the boat closer to shore.”

Brodie’s disbelieving gaze shifted to Tyla. “I can’t get past the rocks,” he said, motioning toward them.

Jarrett leaned forward. “Find a way. Sail around the island. I don’t care what you do, but bring us closer to shore.”

Brodie looked like he might argue, but Tyla gave him a sharp shake of her head. He clenched his jaw and tightened his hold on the tiller, shifting the boom and belling out the sails. They tracked around the island a bit until the jagged rocks fell away. Tyla tried to peer ahead and see if they lay below the surface, but the froth on the waves prevented her.

Somehow Brodie knew where to sail. Tyla was grateful for his expertise. He brought them closer to shore, then climbed into the bow and released the anchor. Climbing back to the tiller, he nodded over the edge.

“You should be able to touch the bottom from here,” he said.

Tyla slid around in her seat as Jarrett rose. “You go first,” said Jarrett.

Brodie’s eyes widened and he turned to Tyla. “That wasn’t the agreement. You asked me to take you to the island, nothing more. That doesn’t include going ashore.”

Tyla started to answer, but Jarrett stepped in front of her, obstructing her view of Brodie. “The minute we climb off this boat, you’ll pull anchor and head back to Kazden.”

Brodie’s eyes whipped back to his face.

“You’re going ashore with us.”

“Oh no I’m not. That wasn’t the agreement. I made it clear I got no desire to see them aliens. I also don’t need that pox. I didn’t sign up to do anything else but sail you out here. The rest is up to you.”

Jarrett’s hand lowered to his sword again. “You’ll go over the side or I’ll throw you, but either way you’re coming. I’m not going to be left out here.”

A strange look entered Brodie’s eyes and his hand tightened on the tiller. Tyla opened her mouth to shout a warning, but before she could speak, the boom shifted, swinging toward them.

“Down!” Jarrett shouted.

She saw him dive for the bottom of the boat and tried to do the same. She wasn’t as quick as he was and the boom raked across her back, bringing a gasp of pain to her lips. When she lifted her head again, Jarrett had Brodie pinned against the tiller, the tip of his sword pressed to the old man’s throat.

“Tyla, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said, struggling to climb to her feet. The boom had swung back in place, but the sails snapped, straining the boat against the anchor.

Brodie gave Jarrett a defiant look. “You won’t kill me.”

Idiot. He wouldn’t brave the island, but he’d challenge a Nazarien warrior at sword point.

“I wouldn’t provoke him if I were you,” she said, rubbing her shoulder where the boom had raked her.

Apparently, Brodie didn’t care. “You won’t kill me because you need me to sail you back to Kazden.”

Jarrett gave him a slow smile. Tyla had never seen him look so homicidal. “I need the boat, not you. If it takes me ten years, I’ll find a way to pilot this craft, but you, you are dispensable.”

The smug expression on Brodie’s face fell. His eyes shifted to Tyla. She shrugged. She wasn’t feeling as sympathetic toward him as she might another time.

The sword never wavered beneath his chin. “You have two choices. One, get your ass in the water and walk to shore, or two, sit here and I’ll paint your boat red with your blood.”

Brodie hesitated a moment more. Jarrett shifted the slightest amount and a line of red appeared in the stubble on the old man’s chin. He hissed in fear and drew back, then he scrambled around Jarrett and grabbed his pack.

“I have to pull down the sails,” he said.

Jarrett didn’t replace his sword. “Hurry up, and if anything else swings at my head, consider yourself a dead man.”

“All right, all right,” he said, scrambling for the sails.

Jarrett eased up beside Tyla. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

She resisted the impulse to rub her shoulder some more. “I’m fine.”

“Go into the cabin and see if he has anything we can use. A lantern or fuel of any sort, while I make sure he doesn’t do something stupid.”

Tyla nodded and grabbed their pack, moving toward the entrance of the cabin. “Try not to kill him.”

“I’ll try, but there are no guarantees.” He gave her a wild eyed look, reminding her of the old Jarrett more than he had since they began this journey.

She smiled, so damn happy to see a spark of the man she’d loved in him, then she ducked below the deck.

CHAPTER 14

The Blue Sturgeon didn’t have an official sign above the entrance. Someone had scrawled the letters on a piece of crate and tacked it in the window by the door. Kalas didn’t think the building had started life as a tavern. It looked more like a house than anything else.

Soldiers moved into the narrow alleyway on the right of the building and secured it, while Parish and Attis moved to the door. The Blue Sturgeon abutted the street, no transition, no walkway, just paving stones, then door.

Kalas drew a deep breath and waited for Parish to push open the door and step inside. As he moved to enter behind him, Attis held out an arm, blocking him. Kalas gave the Cult member a frown.

“Let us secure the location first, Your Majesty.”

Kalas resisted the impulse to roll his eyes. He felt like he was more exposed on the street, but who was he to argue with those paid to guard his life? Just getting Dolan to agree to his coming had taken all of his kingly resolve.

Ellette offered him a scathing look. She’d been giving him the evil eye since they left the manor.

“What? Why do you keep glaring at me like that?”

“You take stupid risks,” she said coolly. “You put your security and your soldiers in unnecessary jeopardy.”

“You’re one to talk. Let’s not forget who’s King and who is mediocre assassin.”

She made a strange noise. He’d suspect it was laughter if he didn’t know better. “I stand corrected, Your Majesty. Who can argue with such non sequiturs?”

He started to respond, but Attis appeared in the doorway.

“The room is secure.”

He pushed past Ellette and entered. Dolan immediately moved to his left side. The tavern occupied one room with a fireplace and a few booths along the right wall. Two men sat at a booth, but they were motionless, guarded by three soldiers.

Parish stood before a long bar that took up the back half of the room. A blond woman, whose bust-line strained the bodice of her dress, stood next to him. The hem of her skirt came to mid-thigh and she had a dirty apron tied around her waist.

Behind the bar leaned a large man with blunt features. He eyed the assembly, then snapped to attention once he saw Kalas. The woman gave a whistle and moved away from Parish.

“As I live and breathe,” she said, her eyes tracking a path up and down Kalas’ body, “Your Majesty, you are most welcome here. Them drawings of you sure don’t do you a bit of justice. Anything you want, you just ask, baby.”

Before Kalas could respond, Ellette blocked the woman, a knife in her hand. “I suggest you have some respect,” she snarled.

The woman’s eyes widened and she held her hands out to the side.

Kalas was taken aback by Ellette’s response. “Stand down, Ellette,” he ordered. “And put the knife away.” He turned to Dolan. “Where did she get a weapon?”

Dolan looked alarmed as well. “I’m not sure.”

Kalas dismissed it and focused on the woman again. “What is your name?”

The woman recovered from her fright and a broad smile spread across her face. “Junelle, Your Majesty. Greyburn and I own this establishment.” She winked at him. “He’s my brother, if you were wondering.”

He wasn’t, but he didn’t tell her that. “Junelle, I’m looking for my sister. She may have come in here last night. About this tall,” he said, indicating with his hand, “mass of black curls, green eyes. She would have been with a tall Nazarien.”

Junelle nodded enthusiastically. “Handsome devil, but nothing compared to you, Your Majesty. I’ll say those eyes of yours are something special.”

Kalas marked the uncomfortable expression on his soldiers’ faces. Parish was smiling with his arms crossed over his chest, but Ellette looked like she was a moment from gutting the tavern owner.

“Thank you, but this is important, Junelle. I need to find my sister. She did come in here last night, yes?”

“Yes, looking for an old fisherman by the name of Brodie.”

Kalas took a step closer to her. “Do you know Brodie?”

“Oh, yes, Greyburn and me rent him a room above our tavern.” She pointed at the ceiling. “Your sister and her man went up there too. I can show you.”

She headed toward the door. Kalas turned to follow her, but Attis hurried between them and Dolan motioned Kalas to hold back. Junelle led them from the tavern and to the alleyway on the right. Soldiers still fanned the length of it, but Junelle took the narrow staircase, reaching for a key ring tied to the strings on her apron.

Attis, then Ellette mounted the stairs before Kalas; Dolan and Parish brought up the rear. At the landing, Junelle gave a mewl of protest, causing Attis to push past her and inspect the door. He shoved it open with no resistance and disappeared inside. Ellette shouldered the woman back and stepped inside as well.

Kalas climbed to the landing and looked to where Junelle pointed. Someone had forced the door in, broken the lock, and splintered the door frame. Attis loomed in the entrance, startling the two of them.

“It’s clear,” he said.

Kalas motioned for Junelle to precede him, then he stepped over the threshold. A dingy, dark room met his gaze and he waited for a moment for his eyes to adjust to the gloomy interior. Gradually, he saw a couch, a rickety table and two chairs, and a small kitchen with a few dusty cabinets.

It certainly wasn’t much of a room. He wondered how much Junelle and Greyburn charged the old sailor for it.

“Looks like a struggle out here,” said Parish, moving into the room. “The banister is cracked and the door is nearly off the hinge.”

“Did you hear anything downstairs?” Kalas asked Junelle. She was standing as close to him as she could.

“No, but when the Blue Sturgeon’s full, it’s hard to hear.”

“Was it full last night?”

“Nearly so.” She reached out and took his arm, pressing against his side. “You don’t think anything happened to Brodie, do you, Your Majesty? This just scares me to death.”

Ellette looked like she was about to shoot flames from her eyes. Kalas found it a bit amusing.

“I don’t know. I hope not.” Tyla. What had she gotten herself into now? “Do you know where Brodie keeps his boat?”

Junelle pressed tighter against him. “The docks, of course. That’s where everyone keeps their boats.”

“Do you know which one specifically?”

“Oh,” she said, her breath fanning against the side of his throat. “No, I don’t know which one. There are a lot of docks, but it can’t be too far from here. It would have to be someplace where he could check on it often.”

Kalas met Parish’s gaze.

“I’m on it,” he said, motioning to two of his soldiers, who left the room immediately.

Kalas patted Junelle’s hand and carefully extricated himself from her grip. “Thank you for your assistance. I appreciate it.”

She clung to his hand, pressing it to her bosom. “It’s my pleasure, Your Majesty. And should you need anything else…anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Kalas forced a smile and motioned to the Cult member. “Attis, see the lady back downstairs, please.”

Attis made a grunt of annoyance, but he moved toward the door, motioning for her to follow. She finally released the King and backed away, smiling furiously the entire time. When she was gone, Kalas met Ellette’s venomous look.

“What?”

“Anything you need,” she mocked in a fair impression of Junelle.

Parish chuckled. “You certainly are your father’s son.”

Kalas glared at him, then turned to Ellette. “What are you talking about?”

“Tell me, Your Majesty, are men really that enamored of such overblown protuberances?”

Kalas shared a bewildered look with Parish. “Protuberances?”

She motioned at her chest. “Protuberances.”

Parish gave a bark of laughter and Kalas chuckled. “I can tell you with great confidence, Mediocre Assassin, that yes, men are enamored of such things.”

She tossed back the hair over her eye. “Just proves that men are inferior.” With another glare, she moved toward the door.

Kalas watched her until she disappeared onto the landing. He felt Dolan’s gaze and met it.

“It is a dangerous game you play, Your Majesty,” he said. “Nazarien do not understand such games.”

Kalas’ expression sobered, but he didn’t know how to respond. He had to admit that Ellette’s reaction to the other woman amused him, but he wasn’t sure why.

*    *    *

Jarrett hung back in the surf, watching Brodie and Tyla pull themselves onto the beach. Tyla dropped her pack and sank to her knees, while Brodie bent over at the waist, bracing his hands on his thighs.

Keeping an eye on Brodie, Jarrett moved to Tyla’s side, lowering his sword. He’d held the blade over his head, not wanting it or the sheath to get wet in the ocean. As he strapped it around his waist again, he surveyed the island.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

They’d had to wade a few hundred yards into the beach, but the surf was relatively calm and they’d been able to touch ground most of the way, still Tyla was panting heavily.

She nodded without speaking, her face lowered as she struggled for breath.

Beyond the narrow beach rose mountains covered in dense foliage. The mountains came right down to the shoreline on either side, boxing them in on a thin strip of land. He could see a few deer tracks leading upward, but the climb seemed steep.

“Maybe we should camp here tonight?” he said.

“No, I’ll be all right in a moment. Let’s at least get to the top today.”

He knew it wouldn’t do any good to argue with her and seeing her as she was made him realize their time was short. He moved around her and grabbed her pack before she could stop him, then he halted before the old man.

“Give me your pack,” he said, nodding at it.

Brodie straightened and looked at him warily. Jarrett hated threatening him into compliance, but he didn’t know what else to do. He knew Brodie would never have waited for them if he’d been allowed to stay with the boat.

“Why?”

“I’ll carry it, so we can make better ground.”

The old man’s expression grew stubborn. “I’m not dead yet. I can still carry my own pack.”

Jarrett tossed his hand in the air. “Suit yourself. We move out in ten minutes.”

Once they left the shore, the sun began drying their clothing against their body. The salt water rubbed at skin unused to such abrasion. Jarrett picked a deer track with the most gradual slope and they began climbing.

Tyla went first, then Brodie, and Jarrett brought up the rear. The sun beat down on their backs and Jarrett wished he’d thought to bring a hat. He knew the back of his neck was burning. The deer track meandered back and forth, shifting whenever it came to an obstacle that was too hard or too entangled to cross. Jagged rocks pushed up from the dirt and the foliage was dense – green vines and brambles covered in small white flowers. Jarrett suspected the island saw a lot of rain. He could see how Jax might have hurt himself during a fall. Still, he didn’t see any sign of the plant Jax had drawn or of the glittering dirt.

When they had climbed high enough, he glanced over his shoulder. They could see a good part of the ocean, gleaming blue-green in the distance, and the white sand of the beach. Beyond the shore, Brodie’s boat bobbed on the waves. Looking up again, he couldn’t see much past the immediate trail. The summit was no longer visible to them.

No one talked. Brodie groaned as he climbed, but he didn’t falter. However, Tyla began to slow. At first Brodie simply slowed his own stride, but she eventually fell back until she was walking beside him on the little trail, and then behind him.

Jarrett quickened his pace until he was on her heels. “Tyla, we can stop.”

She shook her head furiously, but didn’t speak. He could hear her labored breathing and it worried him. The sound was ragged and forced.

Reaching out, he caught her elbow and forced her to come to a stop. She glared at him, but she didn’t have the breath to scold. Above her, Brodie stopped walking and turned around to watch their exchange. His face was red and peppered with sweat, but he wasn’t breathing as hard as Tyla.

Jarrett untied the canteen from her pack and held it out to her. She pushed it away. “Save…it.”

He shook it at her. “We’ll find more water soon. With all of this vegetation, there has to be water around.”

She took a step away. “No…we can’t…share things anymore.”

He felt the familiar clenching of his gut at her words. Shaking the canteen again, he covered up his alarm. “Take it, Tyla. Brodie and I can make do with cupping our hands when we find a stream.”

She hesitated a moment more, but her personal need won out and she took the canteen, uncorking it. She drank deeply, then tightened the stopper, her eyes closed as she fought for each breath.

“Let’s stop for tonight,” he pleaded.

“I want to make the top, then we’ll stop,” she said, holding out the canteen to him. Without another word, she began climbing once more. Brodie turned and stumbled upward before her, using his hands against the trail to steady himself.

Jarrett retied the canteen, then followed.

*    *    *

Kalas found himself a little annoyed as they walked toward the docks. Attis and Ellette hung close to him on either side. Dolan guarded his back and Parish walked before him. He couldn’t take a step in any direction without bumping into someone. Beyond his four personal guards, he had a ring of soldiers blocking him.

The sun beat down on his head and he pushed the sleeves of his shirt up, trying to ease the heat. Thankfully, warehouses soon rose on all sides, bathing them in shade. They crossed the road and climbed the boardwalk fronting the warehouses. Traffic on the street had been halted long before to make sure no one came down this way as long as the King was on foot. Kalas was sure this disruption in normal business practice put more than a few people out.

Parish slowed and a strange sound reached Kalas’ ears. Not for the first time did he wish for just a bit more height. He tried to see around the larger man before him, but it did no good. The party came to a halt.

With a sigh of frustration, Kalas decided to take matters into his own hands. He started forward suddenly and crossed around the Baron before Parish could react. Then he came up short and stared.

Men worked in a gutted warehouse, shoveling debris and raking through piles of burnt timber. The outer wall had burnt away and he could see the exposed beams of the ceiling. He took a step closer, his entourage on his heels, as a soldier detached himself from the warehouse and moved in their direction.

The soldier gave a sharp salute and Kalas recognized the stripes on his arm. “What’s going on, Corporal? What happened to this building?”

“Eye witnesses say the owner had a shipment of pycantra waiting in front of this warehouse, Your Majesty. ‘Supposed to be picked up today, early. All a sudden, it went up, exploding everywhere. The warehouse caught fire and damn near burnt down the whole block.”

“Why would the owner leave something so volatile out in the open?” asked Parish.

“He didn’t want it going up in his building. ‘Fraid it might catch fire,” said the corporal, then gave a little chuckle.

Kalas squinted into the distance. He could just make out the entrance to a dock a few buildings away. “Who are these eye witnesses?”

“Soldiers, Your Majesty, guarding the docks.”

Kalas nodded at the dock ahead of them. “That one?”

“Yeah.”

“Are there any boats missing from that dock?”

The soldier frowned, then glanced over his shoulder at the dock entrance. “The orders were to shut down all private docks and let no one past. If someone inquired, we were to detain them and bring them to you, Your Majesty.”

Kalas fought down his annoyance. “That wasn’t my question. Are there any boats missing?”

The soldier looked at Parish in bewilderment.

“Answer him,” snapped the Baron.

“I…I don’t know.”

Kalas pushed past him and started walking toward the dock himself. Everyone scrambled to surround him again, but he quickened his pace to make it harder. He came to the end of the dock and found two soldiers sitting in the shade, playing cards.

He stopped before them and gave them a severe scowl. Looking up, they marked who he was and scrambled frantically to their feet, snapping to attention and saluting. The corporal hurried up beside Kalas, his expression blanching when he saw the cards.

“At ease,” said Kalas and the soldiers relaxed their postures infinitesimally. They obviously were afraid they were about to be court-martialed for their inattention.

“What the hell are you doing, men?” snapped the corporal.

Kalas waved him back and he retreated. Shifting his attention to the guards, Kalas drew a calming breath. “Are there any boats missing from this dock?” He held up a hand when they both started to answer. “I don’t want to know your orders. I want to know the truth. Tell me honestly and you keep your commission. Lie and…well, I wouldn’t lie if I were you.”

The shorter of the two shifted anxiously. “One, Your Majesty, there’s one boat missing.”

Kalas looked away. The ocean glimmered in the sunlight like crystals. Sea birds wheeled around the end of the dock, their cries echoing across the water. He could almost understand why it had always held such allure for his father.

“Did you report this to your corporal?”

They didn’t immediately answer. Kalas looked back at them.

The shorter one rubbed his hands against his trousers. “We were told to secure the dock, no more. We noticed the boat was missing, but we couldn’t leave our posts to report it.”

The corporal edged into Kalas’ peripheral vision. “It took hours to get the fire under control, Your Majesty. We didn’t want to lose the whole block.”

Parish made a slashing motion with his hand and the corporal retreated again.

Kalas studied the shorter soldier. “Do you have any idea whose boat is missing?”

The soldier shook his head. “We don’t have a manifest for this dock.”

Kalas wandered away from the soldiers, further out on the dock. Small sail boats bobbed against the waves, pressing into the sides of the piles and sliding away.

“Baron?” he said, his back to his companions.

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“I want the manifest for this dock in my hands within the hour.”

“Done.”

“And I want the eyewitnesses brought to my home this evening for questioning.”

“Also done.”

He turned around and faced them again. “I want this dock guarded day and night without fail. I don’t care if something explodes, spontaneously combusts, or grows legs and walks away, I don’t want this dock left unmanned.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Parish.

“If that boat returns, I want everyone on board detained and brought to my home immediately.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

He started moving back toward the group, but paused and looked down at the scattered deck of cards. “And get rid of these damn cards.”

With that, he left the trembling soldiers and moved back toward the entrance of the dock.

*    *    *

The trail up the side of the mountain grew wider as it climbed, but it also grew steeper. Jarrett noticed a strange glittering in his peripheral vision, but when he looked directly at a spot, the glittering disappeared. He wanted to tell Tyla about it, but she was laboring so just to make the climb.

Twice he’d steadied her, only to have her yank her arm away and quicken her pace. He watched her obsessively. She weaved back and forth on the trail and he could hear the fricative sound of the air as she panted to regain her spent breath. Then she started coughing.

At first she tried to hide it, but the higher they climbed and the steeper the trail, the more she coughed. It was a dry, hacking sound and he could see the way she hunched her shoulders to hold it in.

The set of her shoulders also told him she wouldn’t listen to reason. If he knew anything of this woman, he knew when she was determined. Nothing short of death would keep her from climbing to the top of the ridge.

Eventually Brodie began to notice, glancing back over his shoulder to study her. Once or twice he gave Jarrett a pointed stare, as if to demand he stop the climb, but there was nothing Jarrett could do. She wouldn’t even allow him to get near her.

The sun blazed down on them, steaming in the dense vegetation and baking across the rocks. Jarrett kept hoping it would cross over the slope and grant them a reprieve, but the direction of the island and the vertical nature of the climb kept it beating down the entire way.

Finally they reached the top and the mountain leveled off. They couldn’t see to the other side of the plateau, but at least the trail meandered through a meadow, dense with wild flowers. Jarrett felt an easing in his chest at the sight of it. At least here was a level place to make camp and judging by the flowers, there had to be fresh water.

He halted and turned a circle, taking it all in. Below him was the beach and far out in the surf, Brodie’s ship bobbed against the breakers. He exhaled, enjoying the beauty of the view, the blue of the water, the white of the sand, and the green of the mountain.

“Hey!” came Brodie’s voice and Jarrett whipped around.

Tyla was bent at the waist, her hands braced on her thighs. She was struggling for breath, her shoulders heaving. The old man approached cautiously, bending to look at her face, but Tyla tried to wave him off.

Jarrett took a few steps toward her, but she staggered away, weaving across the meadow.

“Tyla!” he said, but she motioned for him to stay back.

A strangled, hacking cough wracked her body and she stumbled, falling on her hands and knees. Jarrett threw down the pack and sprinted to her side. Grabbing her shoulders, he tried to help her into a more natural position, but she shoved him in the chest. The coughing took so much energy that he could easily dislodge her hand and move her into a sitting position.

Specks of blood glistened on her lips, making his heart hammer against his ribs.

“Easy, baby,” he soothed, sliding behind her and supporting her with his body. “Try to take shallow breaths.” He glanced around and found the old man backing away. “Brodie, get me the canteen!” he ordered.

Brodie shook his head. “This wasn’t what I signed up for.”

“Don’t, Brodie! Don’t think about it.”

Brodie kept shaking his head, backing away. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Give me the canteen, Brodie.”

Another step back, another step toward the ridge. “I’m sorry. I really am, but I didn’t ask for this.”

Jarrett envisioned himself standing, envisioned himself drawing his sword and forcing the old man to stay, but he couldn’t release Tyla – all he could do was watch as the old man took the pack off his shoulder and held it away from his body as he backed toward the trail.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he muttered, letting the pack fall from his fingers.

Jarrett started to move, but another spasm wracked Tyla’s body. He could feel the violence of the attack against his chest as he held her. “Please don’t do this. Please. I need your help.”

Brodie shook his head again. “I’m sorry.” Then he turned and ran for the head of the trail.

Jarrett closed his eyes as the old man disappeared over the side. Lowering his head, he brought his lips close to Tyla’s ear. “Take shallow breaths, sweetheart, shallow and slow. Concentrate on breathing.”

He lost track of time as he held her, whispering into her ear. The sun rotated across the sky above them and eventually shadows lengthened, giving them a respite from the heat. He could feel every bone in her body, she was thinner even than he’d feared, and the coughing rose from deep inside of her, tearing through her small frame with each bout.

But gradually she calmed in his arms and he wrapped his body around her as if that could stave off the fear that was paralyzing him. Her breathing was ragged and her forehead, where it was pressed against the side of his throat, blazed with fever.

“I told you to stay away,” she whispered.

He held her closer, pressing his lips to her brow. “I know.”

“You’ll get the disease now.”

He leaned away from her and looked into her eyes. They were bright with fever. “Then we’ll just have to make sure we find a cure.”

A tear slipped out and rolled down her cheek. He wiped it away, using the motion to wipe the blood off her bottom lip. “Let me set camp and I’ll make you some Stamerian.”

She clutched his hand. “I’m sorry, Jarrett.”

He forced a smile. It felt so unnatural on his face. “I think I’ve heard that enough for one day.” He moved a stray curl behind her ear. “Listen to me and listen well, Tyla Eldralin. There is nowhere else on the planet I’d rather be than here. This is where I belong, where I want to be, and where I will stay, no matter what happens to us.”

She tightened her hold and another tear slipped out. He lifted her hand and kissed it, then leaned forward and pressed another kiss to her brow. Untangling himself from her, he rose and crossed to where both packs had been discarded. As he bent to pick them up, he slipped his hand into his pocket and felt for the stone Kerrin had given him.

Eldon help him, he prayed, running his fingers across the stone’s smooth surface. Let there be a cure.

CHAPTER 15

The sun blazed in brilliant shades of red, orange, and pink as it set over the ocean. Jarrett stood at the trail head and watched the white sails disappear over the horizon as if the boat were dipping into the sunset and merging with it. He watched until the only white he could see belonged to the breakers against the shore.

If he’d possessed even a trace of Tyla’s power, Brodie Daegan would be dead.

He turned away and walked back to the camp. Earlier he’d found dried branches to make a fire and had boiled Tyla some Stamerian. She was resting comfortably, her head pillowed on one of their packs. As he took a seat across from her, she opened her eyes and studied him a moment.

“He’s gone,” she said quietly.

Jarrett braced an arm on his knee and nodded.

Tyla didn’t respond, but her eyes shifted to the fire.

“You know Kalas will find us, Tyla. There’s no way that brother of yours is going to leave us stranded here even if he has to sail the entire ocean.”

“I’m not sure there will be anything to find,” she answered.

Jarrett fought the automatic clenching of his gut. “Don’t say that,” he pleaded. “You’ve got to fight.”

She closed her eyes and her hand tightened into a fist. “I should never have left Kerrin. I’ll never get to see him again.”

He moved around the fire and sat down next to her, pulling her into his arms. She tried to push him away, but she didn’t have the strength. He tucked her head under his chin and wrapped her in his arms as if that would be enough to hold the disease at bay.

“Jarrett, you shouldn’t touch me.”

“Shh,” he whispered against her hair. “Do you remember when we’d left Kazden and Lex Prestar had us pinned down in the Groziks?”

She nodded and he felt her relax against him.

“Do you remember the odds against us? Didn’t seem like there was a way out?”

She curled her hand in his shirt. “There’s no cavalry coming to save us now, Jarrett. No Stravad hiding behind rocks.”

He stroked the back of her hair. “We need only one Stravad, Tyla, the one that will never give up. You know he’ll be here. You know he’ll find a way. And until he gets here, we have work to do, so you need to get some sleep.”

She leaned her head back and looked into his face. “I guess if I had to face these odds, I know who I’d want with me.”

He gave her a puzzled look. “I sure hope you mean me, Stravad Leader, because we Nazarien aren’t known for our subtly.”

She gave a quiet laugh. “No, you’re not.”

*    *    *

Ellette watched the Baron and Dolan argue in tense whispers. The Baron held a book in his hand and he kept motioning with it. Behind them was the door to the King’s private study. Neither of them seemed inclined to broach the sanctity of that room.

After they’d returned from the docks, Kalas had given a few orders, then stormed into his study and slammed the door behind him. Up until now, no one had approached the door, let alone tried the knob.

Ellette glanced at Attis where the Cult member stood guard. He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and gave a helpless shrug. He wasn’t about to try that door if the other two were reluctant to go inside.

Striding up to them, she motioned at the book. “Is that the manifest he ordered?”

The two men stopped arguing and turned to face her. They both looked at her as if she’d sprout wings or something. She shifted and deliberately looked out the window where the sun had set a few minutes before. The sky was turning a deep indigo color and a few early stars were beginning to shine.

“Let me restate that. Is that the manifest he ordered this afternoon?”

The Baron let it fall against his thigh, but he didn’t answer.

“This doesn’t concern you, Ellette,” said Dolan.

She crossed her arms before her and tilted her head. “I am certain you are right; however, you have been arguing for the last ten minutes about who is going to give it to him. This is just a lowly woman’s guess, but I suspect it shows that the missing ship belonged to Brodie Daegan and for some reason, you have just received this information.” She held out her hand, palm up. “Now you are both dithering over it like old women because you are afraid of his reaction.”

The two men exchanged looks.

“Why not allow me to deliver it and then you can both be spared his tirade?”

Before they could respond, the door flew open and Kalas stood on the threshold.  “Better yet, you can give it to me and then all go away. I’m sick of listening to you chattering like hens out here.” He held out his hand.

The Baron placed the book on it, shifting uncomfortably.

Kalas turned and strode back to his desk, dropping the book on the blotter before taking a seat. Ellette stepped between the two men and moved to the desk, looking out the windows in front of her. The moon shown down on the ocean, bathing it in a soft glow. Nazarien rarely remark on natural beauty, but she couldn’t deny the view stole her breath away.

Kalas threw open the manifest and began leafing through the pages. He scanned the lines with a finger until he came to the entry he wanted. He sat for a long time, staring at the page, while the Baron and Dolan crept into the room.

Ellette watched him, surprised to find she liked the way the lamp on his desk picked up blue highlights in his hair. His high cheekbones and straight nose cast shadows across his lower face and when he looked up, the blue of his eyes was as rich and vibrant as the ocean beyond his windows.

She drank him in and then blinked, feeling her own cheeks heat. Staring down at the manifest, she decided it was better if she didn’t study him, didn’t watch his every move, waiting, hoping he would return it.

He slumped back in the seat and tapped the page with a finger. “Why did this take so long to bring to me?” His voice was quiet, but it thrummed with simmering fury.

The Baron plucked at the hem of his jacket. “They had a difficult time finding it.”

“I asked for these documents weeks ago.”

“I know.”

“If I’d had them, none of this would have happened. We’d have been able to apprehend Brodie Daegan and he would have already been questioned. My sister would still be safe within these walls.”

“I don’t have an answer for you, Your Majesty, but this is obviously a serious breach in my chain of command. I will tender my resignation at once,” said the Baron, staring at the floor rather than the King.

Kalas studied his bowed head for a moment in silence, then looked at Dolan. “And you?”

Dolan seemed surprised to be included, but he also ducked his head. “I don’t have an answer either, Your Majesty. If you order it, I will resign.”

Kalas slammed the manifest closed. “So, my sister has disappeared and I have absolutely no way of knowing how to find her, but the two men closest to me decide that now is the best time to jump ship.” He rose to his feet and leaned on the desk. “Parish Brazelton, you are an idiot. If you ever resign on me again, I’ll have you flogged.”

The Baron lifted his head. Ellette was surprised to see a smile dancing at the corners of his mouth. His dimple appeared and disappeared again. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

Kalas straightened. “Dolan, you’re too damn old for theatrics. Since when do you stand outside a door and dither like a school girl?”

Dolan started to speak, then stopped himself, gaping at his King.

“Find me someone who knows this island. I don’t care if you have to arrest them, kidnap them, or offer them a king’s ransom, but I want someone who can take me there.”

“We’ll find someone,” said the Baron.

Kalas exhaled and sank into his chair again. “Get some rest, both of you,” he said, reaching up to rub his shoulder.

The Baron turned on his heel and headed for the door. Dolan hesitated, motioning for Ellette to precede him. She ignored the gesture. She wanted some time alone with the King and she was going to get it.

Kalas braced his head on a hand and watched them. Ellette knew she couldn’t ignore Dolan forever.

“It’s all right, Dolan,” he said. “You may leave.”

Dolan acted as if he would argue, but Kalas nodded at the door. With a backward glance, he strode to it and left, shutting it behind him.

Ellette sank into the chair across the desk from him and tried not to notice how tired he looked or how he continued to rub at the wound in his shoulder. “They fear your rage.”

“You think?”

“Why?”

“The better question is why don’t you?”

“It is all bluster. You would never punish them.”

“They don’t want me to be disappointed.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “Really? That is the threat. You being disappointed?”

A smile curled the lines of his face, chasing back the weariness. She felt a flutter of heat whenever he smiled. His eyes danced and his cheekbones lifted. “What would you have them fear?”

“Among the Nazarien, infractions are met with stiff punishment. Lashings, fastings, sleep deprivation.”

“I find it hard to believe Jarrett practiced such discipline.”

She folded her legs into the chair. “No, but then he is feared for his sword. No one dares challenge him because of it.”

“Seems to me he was challenged plenty, Mediocre Assassin, or else you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

She thought about it for a moment, then leaned forward. “You collect strays, Your Majesty. You surround yourself with people who have an emotional tie to you. I worry that it isn’t the best method of governance.”

“What do you mean?”

“I haven’t yet pieced it all together, but everyone closest to you isn’t there out of fear or financial gain. They are beside you because you hold an emotional key for them. Dolan views you as a son, Attis thinks you are the savoir of his personal peace, and Parish sees your father in you.”

Kalas leaned back against the chair. “How did you come up with that?”

“I listen, I observe things.”

His eyes narrowed and a strange smile spread across his face. She’d never seen this smile before. It was cunning and mischievous…and wicked. “What is your emotional key, Ellette?”

She felt her face heat and her breath caught. She always found him interesting to look at; in fact, she liked to look at him so much she worried he would notice, but now, now he was beautiful. She could think of no other word to describe him. He made her long for things she knew a Nazarien woman shouldn’t want.

She tried to think rapidly, but the way he studied her made her thoughts all jumbled. Then she realized he wanted to know as much as she didn’t want to tell him. “I need your protection from Quinn Laurel.”

His dark brows rose. Ellette sensed it wasn’t what he’d wanted her to say, but she wasn’t about to give him any leverage over her. Not him. Not with the way he created havoc with a smile.

*    *    *

Jarrett stirred restlessly. He rolled over and adjusted the pack beneath his head, but that was no better. A strange hum filled his ears, pounded against his temples. He pressed a hand to his forehead, hoping pressure would ease some of the ache, but that made it worse.

Cracking open an eye, he stared out at the dark meadow stretching away beyond the fire’s light. It was still night, hours before dawn, he guessed. He rolled over again toward the fire, punching at the pack to make it more comfortable.

Blood hammered in his head, his eyes ached with it. Was Tyla’s disease this fast? Feeling his forehead, he found it cool, but the bones in his skull throbbed with tension.

Sitting up, he braced his head in his hands.

“Don’t fight them,” came Tyla’s voice from the other side of the fire ring.

He glanced over at her, squinting against the brightness of the embers. “What?”

She eased into a sitting position. “Your head hurts, doesn’t it?”

He pressed both fists against his temples. “Yes, does yours?”

She shook her head. “Stop fighting them.”

“Who?”

Her eyes drifted beyond him…beyond their camp.

Jarrett shifted and looked over his shoulder. He could just make out four enormous dark shapes. The moment he looked, they moved forward, standing eight feet tall, in flowing robes of black, their skin glowing a translucent white in the light of the fire.

He moved with the speed that had always been his to command, drawing his sword and leaping over the fire to put himself between the intruders and Tyla. He heard her rise to her feet behind him and her hand closed over his wrist. Her fingers burned with fever where they touched his flesh.

“It’s all right. I don’t sense any hostility from them.”

He didn’t lower the sword, despite the pressure of her fingers. His head hurt so badly, though, it was hard to concentrate. “What are you talking about? Why does my head feel like it’s going to explode?”

“They’re talking psychically. All four of them at once. You’re fighting them, which is why it hurts you.”

“Can you understand what they’re saying?” He looked down at her.

She shook her head, but her eyes were glowing with a strange light and at her throat, the emerald radiated with energy. “It’s like they’re speaking a foreign language.”

“Then how do you know they don’t mean us harm?”

“They’ve been here for a long time and they haven’t made a move against us. It’s also like they’re projecting a calming sensation, a soothing hum.”

Jarrett nearly choked on a strangled laugh. “Calming. I think my eyes are bleeding.”

“Put the sword away and let’s see what they do.”

Jarrett hated being vulnerable, but she did have a point. They couldn’t stand like this all night. He slid the sword back into its sheath.

Immediately the creatures moved, but Tyla wrapped her arms around him, preventing him from reacting. They filled the campsite in a semi-circle around the fire. It had burned down to embers, but they studied it as if they had never seen a fire before. The cacophony in his head doubled and he couldn’t suppress a moan of pain. He felt like he was going to be violently ill.

Tyla’s hand ran down his spine, soothing him, and he tried to focus on her touch, rather than the buzzing in his head. The closest he could come to this sensation was one time when he’d been a young boy, exploring the hills in Terra Antiguo. He’d stumbled into a wasp’s nest. The wasps had surrounded him, buzzing in his ears, crawling over his face, stinging him in a multitude of places. He’d run, only enraging them, and long after the swarm had passed over him, he could hear their buzzing in his head and feel their feet crawling on his body.

“Open your mind and let their thoughts slide past you. Don’t try to block them.”

“How?” he panted, closing his eyes.

“Think about something else. Construct a picture in your mind, something so powerful, you can feel it.”

He thought about Temeron then, her golden streets, the warmth of her sun, the sound of her people. And in the middle of it was Tyla, the dark mass of her hair flowing over her shoulders, the green of her eyes…

He opened his own eyes and the pain was marginally bearable. If he kept the image of Temeron in his mind and focused on the touch of her hand against his back, he could bear it.

The closest creature lifted its head and its eyes glittered like black obsidian in the glow of the embers. It lifted a skeletal hand with long, thin fingers and pointed across the meadow. Then the four of them melted out of the firelight and the pressure inside Jarrett’s head decreased further.

“They want us to follow them,” said Tyla, moving away from him.

He watched her gather her blanket and reach for her pack. “Are you sure we should?”

She looked up at him, her eyes still strangely bright. “I don’t think we have a choice. Isn’t this why we came?”

“What if we’re walking into a trap, Tyla?”

She paused and drew a shallow breath. “I’m dying, Jarrett, and now you’re likely infected. Trap or not, we have to follow them. They know this island and we don’t. Our only hope is with them.”

He couldn’t argue with that logic, so he went to gather his things.

*   *   *

The sun rose and painted the sky a feathery pink. Soft white clouds rolled in from the direction of the ocean and occasionally blocked the light. The meadow quickly gave way to another ridge of hills. Tyla and Jarrett stood at the edge of the plateau and looked over a valley, verdant and green, every bit as lush as Loden. Far into the distance, they could make out a strange domed structure. It reflected the muted light of the sun and glowed a celadon green.

Four tall, black figures wended their way down a trail cut into the side of the mountain. They seemed to glide over the ground as if they barely trod upon it. Since Tyla and Jarrett had broken camp in the middle of the night, they hadn’t come closer than a few hundred yards, but if the two Stravad lingered at all, their guides halted and waited for them to catch up again. As long as they maintained a reasonable distance, the strange psychic communications between the creatures was merely an annoying hum in Jarrett’s head.

“Do you need to rest?” Jarrett asked, looking down at her.

She shook her head. She didn’t want to speak unnecessarily. Everything was an effort, but if she could remember to take only shallow breaths, she seemed able to keep the coughing at bay. That didn’t help with the fever, but as long as the sun hid behind the clouds, she was managing that too.

He went first, offering her his hand when the trail grew steep. She took his help. It didn’t make sense not to accept it now. Over the last day, they’d had to touch so much she was sure she’d given him the plague. And once she’d started coughing, his immunity was compromised.

They followed the creatures along the trail, dropping toward the valley floor. The dome was no longer visible and vegetation grew up around them. Moss draped off the trees and everything was vibrantly green. She suspected this valley saw a lot of rain.

As the hours wore on and the trail grew more difficult to navigate, Tyla found herself relying on Jarrett’s steadying hand more and more. It surprised her how easy it was to fall into a familiar routine with him. Traveling in uncharted territory felt natural, they’d done it so often before. For a moment, she could almost allow herself to forget an entire decade separated them, an entire lifetime.

The trail gradually leveled and they found themselves moving down off the mountains into mushroom shaped trees, whose lower boughs were heavy with a green, globed fruit. Tyla studied the trees, amazed at their shape. The odd symmetry of their forms, the regular lines, reminded Tyla of orchards she’d seen in Temeron.

Jarrett was studying them as well. She wished she could ask him what he made of the landscape, but it was difficult enough just to walk. She was afraid talking would bring back the coughing spasms of the previous day.

Winding through the orchards, they came out into another meadow. Huge rocks lay tumbled about as if they had fallen from higher up the mountainside. Smaller rocks were interspersed with them, some broken so regularly they seemed almost quarried.

Tyla came to a halt. At her breast, the emerald began to pulsate. Studying the rocks, she saw nothing that looked like pycantra, nothing to account for the emerald’s odd behavior.

“Are you all right?”

She curled her fingers around the talisman and noticed it was warmer than usual. “The emerald is vibrating like it does when it senses pycantra.”

“Pycantra or danger?”

“No, when there’s danger it gets hot and you must remember how it glows. This is a vibration that I’ve only felt around other gems.”

Jarrett studied the rock formation. “I don’t see any glow.”

“I know.”

“In fact, I keep hoping to see the glittering dirt that Jax told you about. A few times, when we were on the other side of the mountain, I thought I caught something, but when I looked directly at it, nothing was there.”

“I thought the same thing, but Jax was clear. He got it on his hands and clothing. His clothing shimmered he said.”

Jarrett gave her a reassuring look and tucked a curl behind her ear. “Maybe he came up a different trail than we did. We just haven’t been in the right location yet. And we haven’t started to look for the plant he drew. One of them might recognize it.” He nodded ahead to where the white skinned creatures had reappeared, watching them from the edge of the rock formation.

The one farthest to the left turned and pointed into the distance. Tyla noticed for the first time that none of them had a strand of hair on their heads. In fact, she couldn’t tell them apart. Their facial features, their overly large eyes, all appeared identical.

“I’ve never seen anything like them in my life,” she whispered.

“Can you still hear them?”

“Yes, they talk almost incessantly. Can you?”

“It sounds like buzzing to me, as if insects were zipping through the trees above our head. As long as they keep their distance, it doesn’t hurt as bad, but it’s annoying. Do you actually discern words?”

“Think of a language you don’t know. You can’t understand the words, the meanings of the sounds, but you recognize the regularity of it, the pattern. You don’t mistake it for anything but language, right?”

“Right.”

“This is the same. I can’t understand the words, but I know it’s language.”

“How much farther do you think we should follow them?”

She rubbed her hand across the back of her neck. Her skin felt hot and tight to the touch. “I think we’re in too deep to think of backing away now. We follow them until they stop.”

“All right,” he answered, hoisting both of their packs on his shoulder, then he reached for her hand.

She didn’t pull away. His touch in hers was oddly comforting. She linked her fingers with his and followed after him, trying to ignore the way her legs ached or the pain in her back that radiated from the base of her neck all the way down her spine.

They crossed around the rock formation and entered a densely wooded expanse of land following the base of the mountains. A straight trail cut through the wood, paved on either side with stones. The wood crept up to the edge of the trail and then stopped. The trees grew together over their heads, creating a tunnel of green. Ahead of them glided the tall, black robed figures.

Peering around them, Tyla could just make out the curve of the dome they’d seen from the top of the mountain. Its pale green sides reflected the light and shimmered. The black robed figures passed through the tunnel of foliage and emerged into the bottom of the valley.

Tyla and Jarrett followed them, stepping out of the coolness of the forest into the brilliant light of the day. Her legs trembled and her spine ached, but she was captivated by the sight that spread before them.

Across a field filled with rock formations rose a doomed city. What had looked like an amorphous mound of green was actually individual domes, connected to one another by narrow, enclosed walkways. One massive structure dominated the lower end of the valley, as wide across as ten wagon teams and as tall as the soaring pines behind them. Its curved walls glowed in the sunlight, looking like bottle-green glass; however, it was opaque. To the left was a vast arrangement of smaller domes, some no larger than a room in a Temerian house and others big enough to hold an entire stable.

The white creatures continued on to the dome city, but Tyla and Jarrett came to a halt. The sight was more than Tyla could absorb at once and for a moment, she forgot how tired she was, how badly she felt.

“I’ve never seen anything like this in my life,” said Jarrett in a voice that thrummed with awe.

Tyla couldn’t answer.

As the four black robed forms moved toward the city, a door opened in the cylinder-shaped walkways and a number of smaller creatures stepped out. They bowed low to the black robes, then moved aside so the black robes could enter the dome.

Once they disappeared from view, Tyla felt their consciousness slide away. Jarrett shook his head and breathed a sigh of relief.

One of the new creatures approached. Tyla guessed he was male by his body build and the hard angles of his face. He wore loose fitting trousers and a tunic in a green that nearly matched the color of the domes. His skin was also a pale green, luminescent, and he had the largest black eyes she’d ever seen. There was no distinction between the pupil and the iris, and while similar to the eyes of the black robes, his were round spheres, not oval. Running from the scalp-line to the back of his neck was a band of white hair, so ethereal it almost resembled feathers.

He stopped a few feet away from them and bowed low, his hands pressed together. “Dem-vinto ao Delure,” he said, straightening.

Tyla marked that Jarrett’s hand was on his sword hilt. “I think he’s greeting us,” she offered.

“That’s all good and well, but I don’t know what the hell he just said.”

“At least he’s speaking. No more bleeding eyes.”

Jarrett gave her a grim look.

The creature followed their conversation, then bowed the same way again. “Dem-vinto ao Delure.”

“Wait,” said Jarrett. “Didn’t Brodie call the island Delure?”

“Yes. I’m sure he’s welcoming us.”

“Or telling us to get off his island.”

“I don’t think the bowing or the clasped hands indicate aggression, Jarrett.” She pressed her hands together and bowed. “Thank you.”

The creature cocked its head, then motioned to the dome. When they didn’t immediately respond, he took a few steps toward the dome and pantomimed them following him.

The sun was punishing against Tyla’s feverish skin and every part of her hurt, even the roots of her hair. She feared any deep breath, any unnecessary word, would set her off on a coughing fit. She wasn’t sure what they should do, but she knew she couldn’t just keep standing out here.

“We need to make a decision.”

Jarrett regarded her without speaking for a moment, then he looked back at the dome. “I think you and I are a match for anything we might encounter.” He paused. “Besides, I’m curious to see what’s in there.”

She gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

He reached for her hand. “You don’t have to thank me for following you, Tyla,” he said.

They moved toward the creature and he motioned happily for them to hurry. As they neared the dome, the rest of the creatures fanned out around them, studying them intently as they passed.

They came to the opening in the dome. A multi-hinged door bisected the center of the tube connector. Tyla reached out and touched the surface. She expected glass, but the material actually flexed under her touch like a rubber membrane. She pulled her hand back, startled by the warmth and the foreign elasticity of it.

She marked that Jarrett did the same on his side. When he yanked his hand away, she wanted to laugh, but the green-skinned creature kept motioning them inside. His insistence gave Tyla her first pause. Why did he want them inside the dome so badly and where were the black robes?

Jarrett placed his hand in the middle of her back. “We’ve come too far to balk now.”

She nodded, then stepped inside. The connecting cylinder was so narrow, she felt sure Jarrett could not only touch the ceiling, but if he extended his arms to the side, he’d be able to press his palms flat on the curved surface. The glow of the material cast a strange green hue on everything, including their skin and at her throat, the emerald hummed with psychic energy. She couldn’t understand what it could be reacting to.

Their guide moved into the cylinder. They could see to either end of it. Toward the right, the tunnel ended at an ornate green door. Suns and moons had been carved into the membrane’s surface, leaving white scars behind. To the left, the tunnel appeared to open into a larger dome.

Their guide motioned for them to follow him to the left. They entered the larger dome. Other green-skinned creatures meandered through this room, some carrying trays with bowls on them, others polishing the walls with shimmering green cloths. Some merely moved toward the cylinder that Tyla and Jarrett had just left. All stopped what they were doing and stared.

Their guide paused at the end of the dome and waited. Tyla marked that there was no furniture in this dome, nothing but the creatures passing through it. The sunlight shining through the roof illuminated everything so brightly that there was no need for lamps, but the temperature was relatively cool. Certainly a good deal cooler than outside.

They moved toward their guide and he stepped into another connecting corridor, but there was no door to separate the dome from the corridors on either end. Tyla and Jarrett followed. Their guide continued to lead them through room after room. Some of them were furnished with flat benches arranged along the walls, others had no furnishings inside. Each one was occupied by other green-skinned creatures like their guide. Tyla marked that about half of them appeared to be female, and she could discern an age difference in them that wasn’t present in their white skinned counterparts.

Finally their guide made an abrupt right turn and stopped. Before them lay a small domed room. To either side branched a corridor, barely tall enough for Jarrett to pass through. The guide stepped into the dome and motioned for them to follow him. They did so and found themselves in a round room with two flat shelves, one along the back wall and one on the wall directly to the right. Against the left wall was a short legged table with two stools placed under it.

More of the shimmering green cloth was pooled on the shelves. Tyla moved to the shelf and ran her hand over the cloth. It was soft as butter, but when she lifted it, it glimmered in the muted sunlight shifting through the dome’s curved walls.

She looked up at the creature. “What is this place?”

He motioned at their packs and then pantomimed placing them on the shelf. Crossing his arms over his chest, he closed his eyes and took a few deep, regular breaths. “Cam par domir.”

“I think they’re beds,” said Jarrett. “This is our room.”

Tyla looked to the open doorway and corridor beyond. “They want us to sleep here?”

Jarrett crossed his own arms over his chest. “I think this means sleep.”

“Without a door?”

Jarrett simply shrugged.

The creature was looking at them with such expectation, Tyla didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t going to put her pack down on the shelf. After a tense moment, their guide moved backward, ducking into the corridor. He motioned for them to follow him.

Tyla sighed. She was so tired. “Now what?”

“I’m not sure, but we might as well see what other wonders he has for us.”

Tyla followed their guide into the corridor. He immediately turned to the left and followed the narrow passageway to its culmination. They stepped over a raised threshold and into another small, circular chamber.

Their guide scampered to a low-slung chair and lifted a lid. He made a squatting motion, then reached up and pulled a handle above his head. The sound of rushing water filled the room, causing Tyla to start back and bump into Jarrett. Their guide gave an excited dance and motioned them closer.

Tyla and Jarrett took a few steps forward and stretched to look inside the bowl of the chair. Their guide pulled the handle again and water rushed into the bowl, swirling around the interior.

Tyla felt her heart pounding. She’d never seen anything like it before and she couldn’t figure out what it was.

The guide squatted again. “Par ir ao baheiro.”

“It’s for…” Jarrett hesitated. “For…”

Tyla frowned at him, then it struck her. She should have known what it was just by their guide’s pantomime. Her brain must be muddled from fever. “Where does the…uh, waste go?”

Jarrett peered into the bowl again. “Down, I guess.”

“Well, then.” She forced a smile for their guide. “Thank you. It’s very, um, nice. Wish there was a door though.”

His enormous eyes widened and he made a rapid, bird-like nodding motion. Then he squeezed past them and scuttled around a half wall in the chamber. Tyla noticed for the first time that there was a spigot sticking out of the wall. Below that were two round knobs. On a shelf attached to the wall below the spigot was a dish filled with a green substance. Their guide picked up the dish and held it out to them, then replaced it. He reached for the knobs and turned them.

Tyla jumped again when water came gushing out of the spigot. Their guide was unconcerned as it sprayed him. He continued to fumble with the dials until he was happy, then he pointed at the green substance and made a washing motion with his hands over his body.

“Par rega,” he said. The smile he beamed at them was infectious.

Tyla stepped forward and held out her hand, letting the water flow over it. Warmth met her touch. A laugh escaped her and she held out her other hand, cupping the blessedly warm water in it.

“Jarrett, it’s hot.”

He reached over her shoulder and felt it as well. “I’ll be damned.”

She looked up at him and laughed again. “Now this may be worth the entire journey.

He smiled at her, then smoothed back a wayward curl. “You might be right,” he said.

CHAPTER 16

Kalas studied the Nazarien with narrowed eyes. He was trussed up in the chair with Attis on one side, Parish on the other, but there were still soldiers blocking both entrances and the windows.

“Did you search him?” he asked Dolan.

Dolan held a strange vial in the palm of his hand.

Kalas didn’t reach for it. “Are you sure you should be touching it?”

“Apparently he was holding it when they captured him, ready to place it in his mouth. I think I’m all right as long as I don’t suddenly pop it on my tongue.”

Kalas blinked at his second. Was that humor? When Dolan gave him a bland look in return, Kalas dismissed the notion. Of course it wasn’t. “Has he said anything?”

“Beyond a string of colorful profanity and some curses on you and your future progeny, no.”

“It does make you wonder what I did to garner such profound hate.”

“I don’t wonder that at all, Your Majesty.”

Kalas gave him a second surprised look, but Dolan’s expression didn’t indicate any irony. Parish, however, made a snort of amusement. Stepping into the Nazarien’s line of sight, Kalas looked him over again.

The captive reared back and spat at the King.

Attis reacted at once, cuffing him and rocking his head to the side. “Do that again and I’ll cut your bloody tongue out.”

Kalas lifted a hand to still him. “Easy, Moose,” he said. “I want him to answer my questions and he won’t be able to if you knock his brain loose.”

“I want him to have some respect, Your Majesty, and if knocking his brain loose is the only way, I say let’s do it.”

“A true diplomat,” Kalas remarked, then he turned his attention on the captive. “Don’t spit at me again or I will let him cut your tongue out.”

“Do whatever you want. You may damage my body, but you will never have my mind.”

Kalas sighed. “I know of someone who can have that as well. My sister can probe every part of your mind and give me any information I want.”

“Your sister is not here.”

Kalas felt the muscles in his jaw tense. “Where is she?”

“Somewhere you won’t be able to find.”

“Tell us what you know,” demanded Parish.

The smile grew more cunning. “Just think. Without the Nazar, the Nazarien are without a leader. They’re just ripe for someone to come in and take over, leading them in a whole new direction.” He leaned forward toward Kalas. “Imagine fighting an enemy that you can’t find, an enemy you can’t see. One that has powers you can’t combat and skills you don’t understand. War with the Nazarien would be unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. We would lurk like shadows in your bedrooms at night, we would sneak into your barracks and slit your throats, and you wouldn’t hear us, see us, know that we were there.”

Kalas started forward, grabbing his throat. “Where is my sister?”

“Dead.”

*    *    *

Jarrett stood guard outside the bathing chamber as Tyla bathed. Their guide hovered anxiously at the entrance, but Jarrett wouldn’t let him past. Finally, the strange creature disappeared, only to reappear a few minutes later with a pile of shimmering green cloth that he thrust at Jarrett.

“Par muliar.”

Jarrett shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

The guide pantomimed drying himself, then putting on clothing. Jarrett gave a nod of understanding. They were going to have to do something about communication. With an enthusiastic motion toward the bathing chamber, the guide scuttled back the way he’d come. Jarrett set the pile on the ground and hunkered beside it. He found two large rectangular pieces to be used as towels, a small pair of loose trousers and a tunic, and a larger pair.

“Tyla,” he called in to her.

She didn’t immediately answer. Concern rose inside of him and he grabbed the smaller clothes and a towel, stepping into the room. The water was spilling from the spigot and a cloud of warm, moist air rolled from the bathing area, but he couldn’t see her. He hurried around the half-wall and found her huddled against it, her knees drawn up and her head resting on them.

“Tyla?” He placed the clothes on the half-wall and reached over to turn off the water, then he shook out the towel and draped it over her shoulders, kneeling in front of her. She lifted her head and he brushed the hair back from her face. “What happened?”

“Just got dizzy.” She reached for the towel and tried to pull it around her.

“It’s been a long day,” he said, helping her adjust the towel.

She nodded. “Help me up.”

He braced her with an arm under her elbow as she rose. She tried to pull the towel around her, but he caught glimpses of how thin she was. Her ribs stood out and he could see the bones in her thighs. It scared him, but he forced it down, reaching out to rub the towel over her back and sides.

“You’ll love the fall of water,” she said. “I’ll stand guard while you take your bath.” She pointed to the green stuff in the dish. “That’s soap.”

He could see the fatigue in her eyes. “I think we’re safe. I think this entire wing is ours. Let’s get you dressed and back in our room. You can rest while I get cleaned up, okay?” His eyes lowered to the emerald, where it lay quiet against her throat. “The emerald will wake you if anything dangerous approaches.”

Her shoulders relaxed in relief. He turned his back while she finished drying, then handed her the clothes. Even though they were small, they hung off her gaunt frame, and he knelt to roll up the cuffs on the pant legs. She braced a hand on his shoulder and studied him.

“I’m so sorry I got you into this mess,” she said.

He looked up, curving his hands over her hips. “I’m not.”

She ran her fingers over his face and traced the scar on his lips. “What if there’s no cure and you get sick?”

“I’m still where I belong.” He pressed her hand against his cheek. “Where I want to be. Where I’ve always wanted to be.”

She swallowed hard, but she didn’t answer. He knew he’d probably pushed things a little too fast, so he stood up and steadied her with a hand under her elbow.

“Let’s get you back to the room.” They were just able to walk down the hallway side by side, and he led her to the shelf along the back wall where she sank down. He retrieved their packs and searched through hers, finding a comb. Sitting down next to her, he motioned for her to turn so he could comb her hair.

She complied without complaint, letting him smooth out the tangles from her dark curls. He took his time, letting the weight of it slide through his fingers. Once he was done, she leaned back into him and he encircled her with his arms, resting his cheek against her head.

“Thank you, Jarrett,” she whispered.

He didn’t have the strength to answer, so he simply nodded. Gradually he felt her relax against him and then her breathing evened out and grew regular. Easing her down onto the shelf, he rose and pulled the length of green cloth over her as a blanket. Then he bent and kissed her on the forehead.

Closing his eyes, he silently prayed that somehow they would find a miracle, a cure, a way to stop the inevitable from happening. He couldn’t bear to think otherwise.

*    *    *

Brodie felt fairly certain he would be arrested once he docked the boat in his slip. He didn’t much care. At least the soldiers would protect him from the Nazarien, and he could tell the King of Eastern Nevaisser where his sister was. Maybe even, there would be a reward. Either way, it would take away the guilt he felt.

The buildings of Kazden appeared out of the fog and he tacked toward the dock, securing the rudder and inching forward to lower the sails. The Tulip, his ship, was easy enough to sail single handed, but he was getting old and his joints were stiff. He’d enjoyed sailing with Jax. Jax would do all of the grunt work, leaving Brodie to handle the tiller.

Thinking of Jax brought a pang. He missed his friend. He missed the way his handsome face lit with delight whenever he set foot on the Tulip. He’d loved sailing as much as Brodie did. Now he was gone. Dead and buried. Brodie wished he’d accompanied him back to Temeron, but Jax hadn’t asked him and Brodie’d been afraid of the disease.

When he thought of it, a lot of his life had been spent in fear. He’d never married because he was afraid to court a woman, he’d never gone to school because he didn’t want to fail, and he’d never had more than a handful of friends because he was afraid of rejection. Jax had eased some of that. Jax had kept the loneliness at bay

The sails fluttered down and Brodie scrambled back to the tiller. He smoothly brought the boat into the slip and felt it thump against the dock. He glanced along the dock, expecting the soldiers to descend on him, but no one was anywhere in sight. Maybe he’d get lucky and be able to sneak back to his room without anyone knowing he’d returned.

Rising to his feet, he stood on tiptoe and peered around the dock. He felt surprisingly reluctant to go back to his room. What if the Nazarien came again? He’d been so sure he’d be arrested immediately that he’d never considered what he’d do if he wasn’t. Where should he go? Where would he be safe?

It struck him as he moved toward the bow. He would catch a ride up to the King’s manor house and report directly to him. The King would be so happy to learn the location of his sister that he might offer Brodie a reward.

Unwinding the rope hooked to the prow, he climbed out onto the dock and began winding it around the pole. He wondered where he’d be able to get a ride to the manor. If he went to the Blue Sturgeon, Junelle or Greyburn might be able to drive him.

“Don’t move and I won’t slit your throat,” came a voice in his ear. He felt the cold touch of metal against his neck.

He went still, his heart hammering against his ribs.

“Step back into the boat. Go real easy now.”

Brodie felt himself being lifted to his feet and he stepped down onto the Tulip. So much blood rushed to his head that his vision narrowed to a tunnel and he swayed with the motion of the boat.

His captor shoved him into the seat beside the tiller and instinctively, Brodie gripped the handle, feeling the etchings against his palm. He pressed his hand tight to the tiller and the groove of the wood drove back the narrowing of his vision.

“What do you want?” he said, blinking up at a man nearly three times his size. The man’s blue eyes gave him away. Nazarien.

Brodie felt bile rise into his throat, burning his esophagus. The man hunkered down before him, but his eyes lifted past Brodie’s shoulder. The old man flinched as other Nazarien dropped into the boat and fanned out along the length of it.

“I want the Nazar. Where did you take him?”

Brodie’s chest was rising in a rapid pant and now small black dots were clouding his vision. He knew he needed to calm himself. “I sailed him out to Delure.”

“With the Temerian leader?”

“Yes.” He gripped the tiller tighter. “Please don’t hurt me. I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

The Nazarien turned the knife over in his hand. “Of course you will. Where is this Delure? Do you have a map?”

Brodie glanced at the other Nazarien. Four in all. They were wandering around the boat, looking at everything, lifting cushions and sails. An idea struck him. A plan born of desperation. “I can take you there. I can sail you out there tomorrow.”

The Nazarien squinted at him. “I just want to know where it is. I want a map.”

Brodie gripped the tiller so hard, he could feel the wood pressing into his flesh. “You’ll need someone who can sail. And a boat. You’ll need a boat. The Tulip will take us all.”

“You are a right traitorous bastard, aren’t you?” remarked the Nazarien. “No loyalty to anyone, not even the King of Eastern Nevaisser. You know what we want. You know we will kill the Nazar and the King’s sister, and yet you have no problem handing them over to save your miserable life.”

Brodie did have problems with it, but he couldn’t think of any way to get around it. And the King’s sister was sick already, likely dying. The Nazar was probably infected as well by now. When push came to shove, there was only one person looking out for Brodie and well he knew it.

“Just because I take you there, doesn’t mean you’ll find them. Besides, who am I to stop your plans?”

The Nazarien didn’t respond for a long time. Brodie squirmed under the stare of his blue eyes. He had a number of medallions hanging from his ear, just like the Nazar, and short cropped brown hair. He was handsome like all Stravad, but there was a tight set to his mouth that took away from his overall perfection.

“I just want a map, bearings, any indication of how to find the island.”

Brodie’s heart sank. He ran his thumb along the raised etchings on the tiller. He knew he had to try something else. “I’m the only living person who knows how to sail there. There’s no map. There are no coordinates. There’s only this.” He tapped his temple with one finger.

The Nazarien’s eyes gleamed with a strange light. Brodie pressed back against the seat. Eldon’s star, what had he said? Without turning around, the Nazarien barked an order in a strange language.

Two of the warriors moved toward the door of the cabin and descended.

Brodie leaned forward. “I’m telling you the truth. There’s nothing down there. I never kept a map, I never wrote down the bearings. It’s all in my head. If you want to get out to the island, you’ll need me to take you. There’s no other way.”

The Nazarien moved so fast, Brodie didn’t know what had happened until it was too late. Pain exploded in his neck and a hot fluid ran down his throat. He released the tiller and pressed his hands to the spot. He could feel the warmth of his own blood as it flowed over his hands and down the front of him, gushing with each frantic beat of his heart. He sank back against the seat, staring up at the Nazarien with wide, terrified eyes.

“I don’t want to go out to the island,” hissed the man, his medallions reflecting the sunlight. “I want to make sure no one else can. Good thing you are the only one alive who knows where it is.”

Brodie felt the last few pumps of his heart, trying to force oxygen to his brain, then his vision narrowed until the only thing he could see was the Nazarien’s blue eyes. He scrambled for the tiller and gripped it in a blood soaked hand, curling his fingers and palm over the etchings, driving his blood deep into their grooves. Then he could see nothing more.

*   *   *

Jarrett was jarred awake by Tyla’s wracking cough. He sat upright, momentarily confused by where he was, then the round room with the two sleeping shelves came into focus. Muted light filtered through the opaque green walls.

Tyla sat, hunched over, the shimmering green cloth pooled around her waist, her body heaving as she tried to get air. He slid off his own shelf and moved to the one in back, sitting down in front of her and gathering her hair in one hand.

She pushed weakly at his chest, trying to tell him something, but the coughing was too severe. Even in the muted light, he could see flecks of blood on her lips, which she tried to hide with her hand.

He didn’t know what to do, how to help her. Then he remembered one of the times when he was a child and had a horrible cold. His mother had heated water over the stove and forced him to lean over it, breathing in the steam.

He gathered Tyla in his arms and lifted her off the shelf, the green cloth falling on the ground. He could feel every bone in her body and pressing her against his chest, he could hear a rattling in her lungs as she tried to draw in air. She was dying right in front of him and he could do nothing to stop it.

Carrying her to the doorway, he nearly ran into their guide from yesterday. The creature reared back and gave a distressed look as he heard Tyla’s cough. Jarrett shoved past him and carried her into the bathing chamber. Easing her to the floor, he reached for the spigot and turned it to the hottest setting.  Then he sat down in front of her and waited for the steam to gather.

“Take shallow breaths, sweetheart,” he said, brushing the hair back from her face. “Shallow breaths.”

She leaned her head back against the wall, her chest heaving, a strange wheezing sound coming from her lungs. Jarrett forced the desperation down as he wiped the spots of blood from her lips with his thumb.

“That’s it, slow and easy,” he coaxed.

Gradually the spasm passed and the strange noise went away. She took incrementally deeper breaths until her chest wasn’t heaving so much, then she opened her eyes. They shimmered with an inner light that faded away as she studied him.

She looked around the room, drawing the steam into her lungs. Prismatic sprays of water dotted her dark hair. “What made you think of this?”

He exhaled in relief. That she could talk again was an unbelievably good sign. “Once when I was very sick, my mother had me breathe the steam from a pot of water.”

She wiped the back of her hand across her lips and saw the flecks of blood. “Jarrett, you’re going to be infected.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He brushed a curl back and pressed his forehead to hers. “How about I get you a change of clothes and you can bathe? Those are wet.” He nodded at her green trousers and tunic.

“So are yours,” she said, giving him a fleeting smile.

“Well, I wasn’t going to pass up another turn at bathing in hot water. Do you think you’re strong enough to get up?”

She nodded and let him pull her to her feet.

“Do you need me to help you undress?”

She gave him an arch look. “Really, Nazar?”

He smiled, forgetting his Nazarien training. He was so damn relieved to see life in her again. “I’ll be right outside.”

He started to leave, but she caught his hand and held it. “Thank you,” she said softly.

He lifted her hand and kissed the back of it, then he left her. He found their guide waiting outside with two more bathing towels and another set of the strange green trousers and tunic. He accepted the clothes, then studied the creature curiously. How did he know what they needed?

After he and Tyla had bathed the previous day, their guide had presented them with a strange green mush in two round green bowls. Neither Tyla nor he had been up to trying it, so they ate what remained of their own foodstuffs from their pack. As soon as they finished, they lay down to sleep. Their guide had tiptoed into the room, taking away the uneaten bowls and they had been left alone for the night, but the minute they awoke this morning, he was back. It was almost uncanny how he knew what they were doing or needing at any moment as if he could see them, or perhaps, read their minds.

Ducking back into the bathing chamber, he laid Tyla’s new clothes on the half-wall and made sure she was okay. She had her back to him, letting the water run over her face. He paused and studied the way her ribs showed, the curve of her spine so very pronounced. He’d never seen her so fragile as if she might dissolve before his eyes.

He turned away, fighting down yet another wave of desperation and returned to their guide. It was time to try speaking with him. The strange creature looked up at him, his enormous round eyes searching Jarrett’s face.

Jarrett splayed a hand in the middle of his chest, automatically curving the other over the hilt of his sword. The creature’s eyes tracked both movements. “I’m Jarrett,” he said. “Jarrett.” He emphasized his point by slapping his chest a couple of times.

The creature studied him some more, but didn’t respond.

Jarrett had actually been hoping the creature could read his mind. It would have made things so much easier. He patted his chest again. “My name is Jarrett. Jarrett.”

The creature suddenly nodded his head, the white feathery hair rippling backward. “Jer-rid.”

Jarrett nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, Jarrett.” He pointed at himself, then the creature, gradually opening his hand to show it was empty.

“Zim-ran.”

Jarrett blinked in surprise. “Zim-ran?”

“Zimran,” said the creature again, touching his chest. “Meun nomin es Zimran.”

Jarrett shook his head, not sure he fully comprehended. “Jarrett.” He held his hand out to their guide. “Zimran?”

The guide pointed to Jarrett. “Jer-rid.” His long fingered, green tinged hand rolled back and touched his chest. “Zimran.”

Jarrett let out his held breath and smiled. “Good. Good. That’s something at least.”

*   *   *

Parish stepped up on the dock beside the commander. Two bodies lay at the entrance, both with their throats slit, blood nearly obscuring their uniforms. Another body lay further down the dock, half hanging into the water. As Parish looked over the side, he could see where the blood had pooled on the wood and spilled into the water. None of them had drawn their weapons.

He followed the commander further down the dock. The living soldiers all avoided eye contact with him. They were spread out along the entire length, their weapons drawn. He could feel their tension, worried about the same thing he was. Someone had killed these men before they were able to defend themselves. Parish feared he knew who had done it.

Another solider lay spread-eagle in the middle of the dock, his throat slit from ear to ear, his eyes staring at the empty sky. Parish had to step over him to continue. His heart sank when the commander stopped at a small boat. The name Tulip was painted on the side and she bobbed against the waves, pressing against the dock and sliding away again.

An old man lay huddled in the stern, his bloody hand gripped around the tiller, his mouth opened in a scream that never came because his throat had been slit so deeply, his wind-pipe was cut in two. Parish closed his eyes and breathed shallowly, fighting for composure. He forced himself to look again and noticed the boat had been ransacked. Cooking utensils, ropes, buckets, and papers were scattered about the deck. The door leading to below-deck was hanging by one hinge.

His eyes moved back to the old man and he exhaled heavily. “Brodie Daegan?” he inquired of the commander.

“We’re waiting for identification from the tavern owners where he lived, but this boat is registered in his name.”

“When did it pull into dock?”

“We estimate the attack came sometime last night, but they didn’t even sound an alarm. We found them this morning when we changed the watch.”

Parish lowered his head. He had to ask the next question. “You found no other bodies?”

The commander guessed his meaning. “No, the Temerian Leader and the Nazar do not appear to have been on-board.”

Parish glanced up. “How can you know that?”

The commander motioned back up the dock. “No one drew a weapon. No one attempted to stop the attack. They were taken by surprise. Do you really believe either the Temerian Leader or the Nazar would be caught unawares? They would have fought back and at least one of their attackers would be dead to prove it.”

Parish clutched that one thought. It was the only thing he had to bring Kalas, the only thing that might give the King hope, but the bigger problem remained. If Brodie Daegan was dead, how the hell were they going to find Tyla?

CHAPTER 17

Zimran returned in the late afternoon. Tyla was napping on the back shelf. Jarrett wanted to go out and explore the area, look for the dirt or plants Jax had drawn, but he was afraid to leave her should another coughing spasm returned.

Zimran carried a tray with two more bowls of the green mush and another bowl filled with a brown flaky rock. He settled the tray on the table along the left wall and turned to Jarrett, giving him a speculative look.

Jarrett rose to his feet and studied the fare. Zimran lifted one of the bowls of mush and pantomimed scooping it into his mouth. Jarrett smiled and gave him a nod.

“I know what you do with it,” he said brightly, “but it’s a little hard for a Stravad to eat something that looks like snot.”

“Snot?” repeated Zimran in confusion.

“That’s the word you pick up from all of that.” Jarrett shook his head.

“Next you’ll be teaching him swear words,” came Tyla’s voice from the back shelf.

He looked over his shoulder, feeling a wash of relief that she was finally awake. She was lying on her side with her head pillowed on her hands, her eyes fever bright, but she was lucid. “He seems to have an affinity for it.”

Zimran reached down and picked up the bowl of rocks, holding them out to Jarrett. Jarrett took them and rolled one over with the tip of his finger. A dry brown dust coated the top of his nail. Zimran pointed at Tyla.

Jarrett gave him a wry look, then turned to the Stravad Leader. “The rocks are for you. Probably like a bouquet of flowers.”

She carefully eased into a sitting position. “How kind.”

Jarrett settled the rocks on the table next to the green mush. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Zimran looked at the rocks, then back at Jarrett. Without a word, he turned and left. Jarrett picked up a green mush bowl and dipped a finger into it, tasting it. It was cold. He suppressed a shiver and carried it over to Tyla.

“You’ve got to eat something and our stores are running low.” He sat down on the shelf next to her.

She rested her back against him and took the bowl, staring at it. “What do you think it is? It looks like the stuff they use to wash themselves with in the bathing room.”

“He clearly showed me how to eat it. We don’t have much choice and I’m reluctant to go too far away from the dome to hunt or forage, while you’re here.”

She looked up at him. “We’re going to have to go out, Jarrett. We need to see if we can find what infected Jax.”

“I know.” He brushed the hair off her shoulder. “Go on. Try it. You can’t afford to lose any more weight.”

She nodded at his bowl. “Not without you. We’ll take the plunge together.”

He was hoping she wouldn’t ask that, but he slid off the shelf and retrieved his bowl, sitting back down beside her. He dipped two fingers into the mush like Zimran had shown him and lifted it. It made a sucking noise that caused him to shiver. Tyla watched with a half-worried, half-disgusted expression as he brought it to his mouth and took a bite.

It wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. Sure, the wet, cold, slimy feel of it was unpleasant, but it had an earthy, salty flavor that wasn’t horrible. And one didn’t need to chew it, although he wasn’t sure that was a bonus.

He swallowed and suppressed another shiver as it slid down his throat. “It’s…it’s…edible.”

Tyla’s eyes sparkled with amusement.

“Your turn,” he urged.

She dipped her fingers in and snaked her tongue out to take a taste. She couldn’t stop the shudder that rippled through her and she wiped her fingers on the bowl, shoving it away from her on the shelf.

“No, no, that’s just awful. I’m going to have to be a hell of a lot hungrier before that looks like food.”

Jarrett gathered both bowls and replaced them on the tray, then he went to their pack and dug out the rest of the travel bread they’d brought. He held it out to her. “Please eat this at least, Tyla. You’re so thin, it terrifies me. You have nothing left on you to fight this.”

She studied him a moment more, then took the travel bread and broke it in half. “Give me back the snot,” she ordered, holding out the bread. “We’ll both choke it down with this.”

After they’d eaten, and it got easier if you kept moving and didn’t give it much thought, Zimran arrived as if he’d been watching them. Another of the creatures with the feathery white hair was behind him, a smaller female with an almost pretty face. She grabbed up the tray, but left the bowl of rocks behind, while Zimran faced them.

Jarrett decided it was time for another language lesson. He pointed to himself and said, “Jarrett,” then he pointed at Tyla beside him. “Tyla.”

Zimran’s quick black eyes followed the motion, then he nodded settling the feathers to dancing on his head. “Jer-rid et Ty-la.”

“Good.” Now Jarrett swept his hand between them, encircling them both. “Stravad.”

Zimran thought, so Jarrett repeated the motion.

“Stravad,” he said.

“Strevid,” repeated Zimran, then he indicated each of them. “Strevid.”

“Close enough,” Jarrett praised.

“Keep going,” urged Tyla. “What are they?”

Jarrett made his motion again. “Stravad,” then he held his hand out, palm up toward Zimran. He and Zimran had established this as a signal for word.

“Wryn.”

Jarrett swept his arm in a large circle, indicating the dome around them. “All Wryn?”

Zimran pointed at himself. “Zimran es Wryn.”

Feeling encouraged, Jarrett rose to his full height and then stood on the tips of his toes, trying to get as much height as he could, then he made almond shapes out of his hands and held them to his eyes. “What are they? Zimran is Wryn. What are the white ones?” Jarrett made a motion with his fist of a closing mouth.

Zimran’s eyes registered recognition. “Del-phi,” he said reverently.

Jarrett touched a couple of fingers to his temple. “Delphi?”

Zimran gave him a grim, serious nod and touched two long, green fingers to his own temple. “Del-phi.”

Jarrett sat back down by Tyla and braced his arms on his thighs. “What else?”

Tyla studied Zimran. “Look,” she whispered.

Jarrett glanced up and noticed he seemed to be listening. His head was cocked to the side.

“Can you feel it?” she asked.

Jarrett shook his head, then he caught it – the faint buzzing, like insects were hovering just behind his ears. It made his skin itch. “Is that the Delphi?”

Tyla nodded. “They’re communicating with him right now.”

It gave Jarrett an uneasy feeling, but he wasn’t sure why.

Zimran blinked and his awareness transferred to the Stravad. “Jer-rid et Ty-la ire Zimran.” He motioned to the doorway. “Jer-rid et Ty-la ire Zimran.”

Jarrett and Tyla exchanged a look. “Well?” asked Jarrett.

“We need answers, Jarrett. I don’t think we can be selective.”

“Do you feel up to it?”

She reached for her travel boots and pulled them on. “I don’t have much choice.”

He helped her stand and they followed Zimran into the hallway. He led them back through the confusing warren of tunnels and domes until he came to the door they’d noticed the previous day. It was the only door they’d seen since arriving in Delure. An array of suns and moons had been carved into it, showing stark white against the green of the door.

Zimran came to a halt at the door and stood waiting, his arms held loosely at his sides.

Out of habit, Jarrett curled his hand around the hilt of his sword. “What now? Do we knock?”

“I don’t think that’s how they do things.”

A moment later the door opened on its own. Jarrett and Tyla peered beyond it, but they could only see the curve of the dome’s walls and no indication of who might have opened it. The buzzing immediately grew louder in Jarrett’s head.

“Neat trick,” he remarked, nodding at the door. He tried to focus on Tyla’s green eyes, anything but the white noise in his head.

“Telekinetics,” she answered. “I don’t know about this, Jarrett. I can feel them, scores of them.”

“So can I,” he said, opening his jaw wide to get relief, but it didn’t help. “What choice do we have, Tyla? We needed to try communicating with them.”

Zimran motioned them inside, then stepped through himself. Tyla was clearly torn, but finally she took a step forward and strode to the door, moving inside. Jarrett followed on her heels. The minute they were on the other side, the door swung shut, closing with a sucking sound as if the membrane had knit back together; although if he turned around, Jarrett could clearly see the edges of the door.

A short tunnel opened into a massive chamber. Something about the perspective on the outside had been off because it didn’t look nearly as large as what they saw when they stepped inside. Immediately, the buzzing hammered into Jarrett’s head, making his skull ache. He pressed a hand to his forehead and followed Tyla to the entrance.

Through the noise and pain, he realized why the dome looked so big. They had dug out the floor and dropped it about five feet. Around the perimeter of the dome were rows of chairs, three high, seating nearly 300 of the tall, white creatures with the almond shaped black eyes. Delphi.

Zimran led them down a short set of stairs onto the floor of what could only be described as an arena. Jarrett had to squint against the hum of sound in his head, but he tried to take it all in. Anxiety prickled up his spine and he gripped the hilt of his sword so tight the ridges pressed into his hand. There was only one way out and it was behind them.

Tyla turned a complete circle, taking it all in. The emerald was glowing at her throat, a warm, brilliant glow, suffusing the hollows of her cheeks with green light. The expression on her face was one of wonderment, not pain, but Jarrett felt like his skull was going to come apart.

“Tyla, I can’t…”

She turned to him and marked his discomfort. “Remember, don’t fight it. They’re probing us, trying to read our minds.”

He closed his eyes, afraid they might burst with the pressure in his head. It didn’t sound like voices, it sounded like buzzing, like an entire hive of bees had taken up residence in his skull. His ears ached, even his back teeth ached with pressure. It was impossible not to fight it.

Rather than diminish, the buzzing grew louder. He moaned in pain and clutched his hands to his temples, trying to escape it. Pain raged down his spine and made his knees buckle. He found himself on his hands and knees, his head hanging between his shoulders. He opened his eyes to see the green membrane beneath his fingers, then slowly drops of red began peppering the smooth surface.

Tyla’s hands ran over his shoulders and the weight of her body leaned over him. He tried to focus on the feel of her, but more red spread between his fingers, alarming him. “Tyla…” he tried to say, but she was suddenly gone.

“Enough!”

Her voice thundered in the dome, punctuated by a blinding flash of green light. For a moment, all Jarrett saw was green, fading to a brilliant white, gradually sprinkled with dots of red. The voices cut off abruptly, but the echo of them still rang in Jarrett’s skull.

Her hands were back and she curved them under him. “Come on,” she said, tugging him to his feet.

He staggered upright and felt something crawling beneath his nose. Running the back of his hand across it, he stared at his own blood. “Shit.”

She wrapped her arms around his middle and turned him toward the stairs. “Hurry, Jarrett.”

He felt unsteady, but he let her guide him, the buzzing now a faint ringing in the back of his mind. They stumbled up the stairs and then Zimran was there, waiting at the door. The door swung open and they slipped through. Once on the other side, Jarrett staggered until his back was to the curved wall. Slowly he sank until he was sitting on the ground again.

Zimran appeared and offered him a square of shimmering green cloth. Jarrett blinked at him in confusion, then took it, wiping beneath his nose. It came back stained red. “Shit,” he said again. “They really did make my brain bleed.”

Tyla was kneeling before him, her face awash in worry. The emerald was gradually returning to its normal color. “Are you all right?”

Jarrett realized he was panting, but he hadn’t done anything to exert himself. “I think so. I remember my name and where I’m from. I think that’s a good sign.”

She gave him a wan smile. “Scared me to death when you went down.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t too thrilled either.” He shifted so his sword hilt wasn’t digging into his side. “No wonder they weren’t worried about my weapon. I guess you’ve got nothing to fear when you can make someone’s brain bleed.”

Tyla gave a startled laugh and leaned forward, kissing him on the forehead. Jarrett closed his eyes, relishing the touch. Maybe it was worth the brain damage after all.

*    *    *

Kalas stepped into the study where he conducted most of his business when he was in Kazden. Dolan had summoned him, but Attis and Ellette were already assembled. Allistar stood in the center of the room. Since Tyla’s disappearance, the Temerian Stravad had been scouring the city for any news.

“Did you find anything?” he asked Allistar, switching to Lodenian.

“The language barrier makes it particularly difficult, but I got one of your men to translate. The merchant ships talk about a number of islands a few hours off the coast. They’ve heard tales of Delure, but no one claims to have found it.”

Kalas didn’t know how to respond. Someone besides Brodie Daegan had to have been to that island. It didn’t seem likely that he was the only one to have found it. “How many have you questioned?”

“A dozen and there are dozens more. We’ll find someone.”

“How can it be that the sailors know of many islands, but that one is a mystery?”

Allistar shook his head. “It’s not likely. If a man like Brodie Daegan, then Jax could find it, someone else has. What if we offered a reward for information?”

“Not a bad idea.” He switched to Nevaisser. “Dolan, offer the merchant ships a reward for any information on Delure.”

Ellette shifted weight, making a noise of disagreement.

He turned to her. “You don’t approve, Mediocre Assassin? Have you a better idea?”

“You know the rogue Nazarien were searching for Brodie. If you offer a reward and someone comes forward, you may invite the wrath of the Nazarien down on them.”

“What choice do I have?” asked Kalas in frustration.

Ellette started to speak, but the door opened and Parish strode through. He came to a halt and stared at Kalas. Kalas felt his heart drop. He knew Parish’s news was bad just by the way he held his shoulders. “What’s happened?”

Parish sighed. “Brodie Daegan’s ship, the Tulip, pulled into dock last night.”

“Where is he?”

Parish shot a glance at Dolan. “He’s dead, Your Majesty.”

Kalas tilted his head. He wasn’t sure he’d heard him right. “What do you mean dead?”

“I mean someone slit his throat. He was still sitting at the tiller when he died.”

Dolan lowered his eyes.

“What did he say?” demanded Allistar.

“Brodie Daegan is dead,” answered Kalas in Lodenian. The words sounded off, strange and detached. He leaned back against his desk, trying to corral his thoughts. “How did this happen?” he asked Parish. “I thought that dock was heavily guarded.”

“And so it was. We have four dead soldiers headed to the morgue.”

Kalas glanced up. “Four? How?”

“Their throats were slit as well. Not a single one drew their weapons.”

“It was Quinn Laurel, Your Majesty,” said Ellette. “He and his men can move in absolute silence. The soldiers wouldn’t have known they were there.”

Kalas considered her words. “What about my…” He didn’t want to say the word, he didn’t want to tempt fate. So far Parish hadn’t mentioned Tyla. But he didn’t have the luxury of being weak. “What about my sister?”

“The commander feels that she and the Nazar could not have been on the vessel with Brodie.”

Kalas met his gaze. “Why not?”

“Because the emerald would have made sure she wasn’t taken unaware. There would have been at least one dead Nazarien among the soldiers,” said Parish.

Kalas let his words sink in, evaluating the logic behind them, but that didn’t really comfort him much. If she wasn’t on the boat, he had no idea how to find her and now she was stranded – trapped on an island no one would admit to knowing the location of, an island they couldn’t offer a reward for, and an island that five men had just died to keep secret.

“How come we keep bungling this?” he said. He tried to remain calm, but he could feel the anger simmering just beneath the surface – it was part fear, part fury. “Four soldiers allow their throats to be cut without attempting to defend themselves. How can that be?”

“In their defense, Your Majesty,” said Ellette, “they aren’t a match for men led by Quinn Laurel. A trained Nazarien warrior is trained for just one thing – to kill with deadly precision.”

Kalas turned and studied her. She was speaking with a grudging respect for the Nazarien’s skill. It rankled. He shook his head and then looked back at Parish. Finally, he turned and walked away. This was all too much for him to absorb right now and he needed some time to process it.

*    *    *

Jarrett opened his eyes and watched as Zimran bustled into the room, carrying a tray with bowls on it. His head ached from their earlier audience with the Delphi, although the bleeding seemed to have stopped. He carefully raised himself to a sitting position and looked over at Tyla.

She was sleeping, but occasionally her body shuddered with a cough. The cough was different now, deeper, and he could hear the rattle of her breath. He tried to ignore the desperation he felt. He had so hoped the Delphi would be able to assist them, but they couldn’t even stay in their presence long enough to question them, or rather, he couldn’t.

Tyla didn’t seem to have that problem, but it terrified him to think of her going in there alone. She would just have to teach him how to block them, how to put up the barriers that obviously worked so well for her. He didn’t allow himself to wonder if her superior power was the difference, that would create so many problems for them. He had to believe he could do it, he could learn to block them out.

“Let me guess, more green snot,” he said to Zimran.

The Wryn stopped arranging the bowls and looked back over his shoulder. He gave Jarrett a warm smile. “Te respic melis.”

“Sure, I guess so.”

Tyla coughed, moaning in her sleep, and pulled her knees into her chest. He could see how rapidly she was breathing. The fever must have climbed while they both rested. Sliding over to her shelf, he laid his hand on her forehead. Her skin blazed.

He needed to heat some Stamerian for her, but so far, the only thing hot the Wryn seemed to do was bathe. An idea sprang into his mind and he reached beyond Zimran for the bowl with the rocks, dumping them on the tray. Zimran made a mewl of protest, but Jarrett ignored him, hurrying down to the bathing chamber with the bowl. He turned on the spigot to the setting that gave the hottest water and rinsed out the bowl. Then he filled it and carried it back to the room, settling it on the table and reaching for her pack.

Tyla opened her eyes as he hunkered down on the floor near her. They were glazed with fever and she covered her mouth to hide her cough. “What are you doing?”

“How about some hot Stamerian? I don’t even have to leave the dome to make it.”

She eased up on an elbow and watched him mix the red leaves into the water. “The bathing chamber?”

He nodded, then lifted the bowl to his own lips and took a sip. The liquid was almost the perfect temperature for drinking and he smiled at her. Immediately he felt the headache behind his eyes ease.

Holding it with both hands, he extended it to her. “Try it. Your fever is high.”

She swung her legs off the shelf and sat up, but the moment she did, a coughing spasm struck. Jarrett caught the bowl and sat down beside her, holding the Stamerian close to her face so she could breathe it in. Zimran handed him a small square of cloth and he passed it to Tyla. She pressed it to her mouth until the spasm slowly passed away. When she withdrew it, a splotch of bright red lay in the center. He covered the blood stain and removed the cloth from her hand.

“Come on, sweetheart. Drink this.”

She took a few swallows, but her eyes kept going back to the cloth. “It’s progressing,” she said. “Soon there won’t be any stopping it.”

He tied the ends of the cloth and urged her to keep drinking. His eyes lifted and met Zimran. The Wryn held out his hand for the cloth. Jarrett shook his head. He intended to bury it. He didn’t want anyone else to get sick. Zimran seemed to understand his motion, but then he reached behind him on the tray and picked up one of the rocks.

He pointed at the rock, then Tyla. “Il comedetus im.”

Jarrett shook his head. He’d seen Zimran do this before, but he just didn’t know what the Wryn meant.

“Il comedetus im,” repeated Zimran. He motioned to his own mouth, then reached back and picked up the green bowl. He curved his fingers in a scoop and pretended to grab some of the goop, then lifted his hand to his mouth and made a slurping motion. Beside him, Tyla shivered in revulsion, but continued sipping her tea. “Comedetus.” He made the motion and sound again. “Comedetus.”

“Comedetus?” repeated Jarrett. “It must mean eat.”

“It must,” said Tyla.

Jarrett pretended to eat without the slurping. “Comedetus?”

Zimran nodded emphatically, his white feathers dancing along the top of his head. He set the green glop down and held up the rock, pointing at Tyla. “Comedetus.” Then he made the slurping sound with the rock near his mouth.

Jarrett and Tyla exchanged a look.

“Eating snot is one thing,” she said, “but rocks?”

Jarrett turned back to Zimran. “We can’t comedetus rocks. No rocks.” He leaned over and touched the rock. “No comedetus.” He shook his head.

Zimran sighed and settled the rocks on the tray, then he reached out and took the bloody rag from Jarrett. Before Jarrett could stop him, he left the room.

*    *    *

Kalas sat on the balcony outside his private room, listening to the roar of the ocean and watching the waves crash against the rocks at the cliff’s base. The sun was setting, bathing the ocean in a pink glow, and he wondered if Tyla could see it as well.

Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his thighs. Parish told him how often his father stood and listened to the ocean, even when he’d lost his sight. In fact, when Parish wanted to find Talar, he usually started with the beach. Kalas was beginning to understand his father’s fascination – the violence, the roar, the crashing surf masked the fury of emotion inside him.

Ellette suddenly appeared in his peripheral vision. He hadn’t heard her, but it was difficult to hear anything over the pounding surf, and she was Nazarien. Nazarien could move without a sound. The soldiers on the pier hadn’t stood a chance against warriors who moved like a whisper.

She knelt in front of him, close enough to touch, but not touching, facing him, her hands laid loosely on her thighs. She wore a flowing pair of trousers and a silk blouse that hung off her slim frame, her brown hair lay in soft curls around her shoulders. Her feet were bare, giving her a vulnerable quality that played havoc with Kalas’ nobler half.

He’d told himself she was off limits. Men had abused her in the past and he was certainly not the man to mend that damage. He carried enough of his own baggage, he didn’t need hers. And yet, the way she kept intruding in his quiet times, teasing him with what might be. He didn’t think she was deliberately trying to goad him, but she did. She made him want things that he knew she could never give willingly – her past and the Nazarien faith would always put them at cross-purposes to each other.

“Your pets are worried about you, but they are afraid to brave your wrath and see if you are all right.”

He lowered his eyes from the surf to her. “According to you, my wrath is nothing to fear.”

“And yet they fret. Tell me what bothers you. I want to understand.”

He searched her face. She had a faint smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, a tiny flaw in her perfect Stravad features. He found it endearing. He didn’t think he wanted to share his innermost feelings with her, but yet, he started speaking, as if she drew the words out of him. “My entire life I’ve tried to protect my sister, and I’ve failed. It was the one thing I could do for my father, and I’ve never been up to the challenge.”

“Your sister is her own woman, capable of taking care of herself.”

He clasped his hands and stared at them hard. He hated remembering the choices he’d had to make, staying in Sarkisian instead of going with Tasamer Haldane and the army from Loden. He hated to think of watching Shara die. She’d been like a mother to him and when she was gone, the only thing he had left of her and his father was his sister. Tyla was his family, his blood. His sole purpose had been to protect her.

“I always fought for her. I always stood between her and Rarick. I should have stood between her and this. I should have stopped her from going.”

“How? She would have gone anyway. She is a determined person and nothing you could do would stop her.” She lifted her hands and placed them on his knees. He sat back in surprise as she stared him straight in the eye. “You are the King of Eastern Nevaisser. You will find a way to this island. This is no obstacle for a man like you. You will overcome it and you will find your sister. I have faith in this.”

She slid her hands along his thighs, moving into the space between his legs until they were nose to nose. “You have done so much in your time. You have united two kingdoms and brought peace to a region that has known war for too long. It is nothing for you to conquer this problem of finding an island. You will solve this as you have everything else.”

Kalas realized he was breathing fast, having her this close to him. He opened his mouth to say something, he wasn’t sure what, but she moved her mouth a breath away from his. “You will conquer this too. You will find your sister.”

Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to his. He found himself kissing her back, pulling her closer, curling his hands around her shoulders and holding her to him. She slanted her head and deepened the kiss, sliding her hands along his chest and cupping his face in her hands. Then she broke away. He couldn’t help himself from falling toward her, wanting another taste, but she slid her hands down to his and twined their fingers together. She rose smoothly to her feet, staring down at him, then she tugged him up. He rose until their bodies were pressed against one another. She was so tall, she nearly matched him as she came forward and kissed him again, this time with hunger and urgency. He met her, allowing her to keep their hands linked by their sides, but he wanted to get closer to her.

She broke away again, then released his left hand. Turning her back to him, she tugged him after her toward the door to his private sleeping chamber. He followed her, bewildered, but too enticed to protest. At the door, she turned and backed into the room, pulling him in after her.

CHAPTER 18

Tyla hesitated in the hall outside the bathing chamber. Many excited voices could be heard chattering in the public domes. Pushing her damp hair out of her face, she moved to the connecting tunnel that led to the outside. As she passed their room, Jarrett rose to his feet and came toward her.

“What’s going on?”

Tyla shook her head, using the curved wall of the dome to guide her. Her knees felt particularly weak today. As if he knew, Jarrett placed a hand beneath her elbow, allowing her to lean on him. She was grateful for the way he didn’t focus on her debilitation or the growing signs that the disease was progressing. Another coughing bout had left her vomiting blood in the bathing chamber, but he didn’t say anything, holding her hair back, whispering words of comfort. If she’d loved him before, she was afraid he was making her fall in love with him all over again. There was no one else she would rather share her final days with, except maybe her son.

They moved into the public domes, but were forced back by a stream of Wryn hurrying into the main passage. Jarrett gave Tyla a confused look.

“Something’s obviously wrong,” she said.

They followed the stream of Wryn into the public dome with the sun and moon door, then continued outside. The sun was rising over the mountains, painting the sky in a gradient from orange to deep purple just overhead.

Tyla drew in the clear air and allowed the sun to bathe her. It was a beautiful day. She couldn’t help but wonder how many more she’d have. Forcing the grim thoughts away, she marked a circle of Wryn, milling and chattering in excitement. She and Jarrett pushed through the throng and found a Wryn lying in the middle of the group, on his stomach. Horrible, jagged tears ribboned his back, gleaming red through the massive rends in his tunic. The rest of the Wryn weren’t doing anything, watching and wringing their hands, chattering in obvious distress.

Tyla started to kneel beside him, but the Wryn suddenly fell back, opening a passage from the dome to the injured man. Glancing up, she saw two tall, skeletally thin Delphi moving through the crowd toward her. The emerald began glowing at her throat and she covered it with a hand, forcing the hum of their thoughts into the background.

Behind her, Jarrett stumbled back, bending over at the waist and covering his ears with his hands. She left the injured Wryn and went to him, pulling his hands away and kneeling down so she could look into his face.

“Look at me,” she ordered.

His eyes were screwed shut, but he squinted at her, breathing hard in his pain.

“Do you remember the gardens in Adishian?”

He gave her a confused look, then seemed to guess what she was doing. He nodded tightly.

“Do you remember how overgrown they were in the deepest part, farthest away from the castle? Try to picture them now in your mind.”

He sank to his knees in front of her, his eyes focused on hers. She glanced up and saw the Delphi had reached the fallen Wryn. Arranging themselves on either side of him, they bent down and grabbed him under the arms. Tyla returned her attention to Jarrett.

“Do you remember how you and Kian found me after Tarnow died?”

He gave a moan of pain, panting hard, but he nodded.

“Remember how cold it was. The frost on the plants, the crunch of the leaves under foot.”

He let her pull his hands away and she entwined their fingers.

“Do you remember how you kissed me there? I wanted to sink into your warmth, I wanted you to wrap yourself around me, protect me from everything.”

His grip tightened and his breathing eased a little.

She shot a look at the Delphi. They’d lifted the Wryn’s upper body and were dragging him, but they were moving away from the dome, off into the trees surrounding the city. Tyla wanted to stop them, but she couldn’t leave Jarrett yet.

“You told me you loved me then,” she said.

Jarrett let his eyes fall closed and he drew in deeper and deeper breaths as the Delphi moved farther away. Slowly opening his eyes again, he fixed them on hers. “I have never stopped loving you, Tyla,” he said.

She fought the sudden rush of tears, aware that her sickness was probably making her vulnerable to his charm, but so much of her wanted to tell him the same thing, tell him that in all the years since they parted, she’d never stopped loving him.

She started to look away, but then she remembered how she’d waited too long before and she’d almost lost him. Now she was dying and there wasn’t much time, there wasn’t going to be another decade to figure out how she felt about him, and most especially, there wasn’t going to be time to tell him so, if she didn’t do it now.

“Jarrett, I have never stopped loving you either. Our love is eternal and no matter what happens in the next few weeks, it won’t change what’s there between us now and forever.”

He reached out to sink his hand in her hair, but she curled her fingers around his. “However, if you love me, you have to go after the Delphi and see what they’ve done with that Wryn.”

He looked at her in confusion, then glanced behind them. The Delphi were just disappearing into the trees. Looking back at her, he frowned. “I love you forever, now go chase some tall white creatures that make your eyes bleed? Really, Tyla?”

She laughed and pressed his hand to her cheek. “Really.”

He sighed, then climbed to his feet. “Do me a favor. Stay here, please.”

“Done,” she answered and watched him lope off after the Delphi.

*    *    *

Jarrett followed the Delphi, careful to keep as much distance as he could between them. If he stayed far enough back, their strange communication didn’t cripple him. In fact, he’d learned the distance he needed to maintain to keep the hum of their thoughts no more annoying than the buzz of bees.

They dragged the injured Wryn through the small bank of trees and turned left, following the rock formations until they came to a flat area. Jarrett hid back at a distance and watched as they dumped the Wryn’s body onto a pile of something that looked suspiciously like garbage. Then they walked away.

Jarrett waited until they were headed back toward the domes. Once they were out of sight, he ran to the Wryn’s side and knelt, feeling at his neck for a pulse or whatever these creatures might have. A faint throb met his touch and he glanced around. Broken green bowls and pieces of the green cloth were everywhere, mixed in with other bit of cast off.

Looking back the way he’d come, he shook his head. They’d taken the injured Wryn and dumped him as if he was no more important than trash. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what to do. If he brought the creature back, would the Delphi punish them for it? He couldn’t chance risking Tyla’s safety, but if he returned without it, she wouldn’t understand. Not Tyla. One of the things he loved about her was her concern for living things. In the end, he had no choice.

Grabbing the Wryn’s arm, he rolled him over. The creature moaned in pain and struggled a bit, but it was necessary to get him in a position where Jarrett could lift him. “Sorry, man,” he whispered as he situated himself to take the weight on his shoulders. Looking into the Wryn’s face, he couldn’t help but notice he was young, his features rounder than the other Wryn. Hopefully that would make him a bit lighter.

It still staggered Jarrett to haul the Wryn onto his shoulders, but he managed to get to his feet and distribute the weight so it was manageable. Then he began walking back to the domes. The short journey gave him a moment to think about what Tyla had said.

She loved him still. He’d begun to suspect it. It was impossible to not see the way she looked at him, let him care for her. Their life here was too intimate for there to be distance, and her sickness made it hard for her to keep up the front of hating him.

He fought against the despair these thoughts brought. They had so little time left and so far, they’d made no progress in curing this illness. Jarrett was beginning to suspect there was no cure, no way for them to stop it in time.

When he caught sight of her, standing in front of the Wryn, he schooled his face as the Nazarien had trained him and shoved the desperation somewhere deep inside of himself. He had to be strong for her. He couldn’t let her know he knew time was running out.

His attention was snagged by the Wryn, who stood in a line, making this high pitched keening sound and swaying back and forth with their eyes shut tight. He recognized grieving when he saw it and the hair on the nape of his neck rose.

Tyla came to him and guided him around the line of Wryn.

“When did that start?” he said.

“As soon as you left. It makes me shiver.”

They skirted the mourning Wryn and headed toward the entrance to the dome. As they wove down the tunnels and through the public domes, they encountered no more Wryn. All seemed to have joined the line outside or slipped away somewhere private to grieve.

“You suppose they know it’s futile to try to save him?” asked Jarrett, fighting the trembling in his legs. His back was beginning to ache.

“How could they? They didn’t even attempt to help him.”

“The Delphi took him to the refuse pile and dumped him, Tyla.”

She stopped walking and turned to look up at him. “What?”

“Keep going,” he gritted out, “I’m sort of dying here.”

She smiled, a look he stored away for later. “It’s hell getting older, isn’t it?”

He glared at her. “Just move, woman.”

She chuckled and started walking again. “That’s strange. The Delphi depend on the Wryn for their survival, but they treat them as dispensable? Maybe the Wryn have never thought to defy the Delphi before.”

They reached their private dome and she hurried to Jarrett’s shelf, pulling off the green blanket. “Lay him here,” she ordered and he allowed the Wryn’s weight to carry him onto the shelf. Together they pulled him until he was lying on his stomach again.

As Jarrett moved away, rubbing the small of his back with both hands, Tyla attacked the remains of the tunic, tearing it off. When she was done, she sat back and they both looked at the long, jagged tears in the creature’s pale green flesh. They could see through to the muscle fibers beneath.

“I need to clean and stitch these closed,” she said, pressing the skin with her fingers. Turning on the shelf, she looked up at him, her eyes bright, the emerald glowing at her throat. “I need hot water, hotter than the baths, and some of their green soap. And some more of the cloth squares they use as handkerchiefs.”

“How are you going to sew those closed?”

“I brought sutures and a needle. Jax got injured climbing out of here, I didn’t want to take chances. Do you think you can get a fire going and boil me water?”

“I can make fire, but I don’t know what I’ll use to boil it in.” He considered a moment. “I’ll find something. Can you start cleaning the wounds with the hot water from the baths if I get you one of the green bowls?”

“Yes, and the soap, but I need the boiling water for Stamerian to fight infection before I close the wounds.”

He hesitated. He used the little Stamerian they had to keep down her fever. He didn’t want to use it on anyone else, but he knew she’d never relent. She would use the last of everything she had to save this Wryn now that she’d settled on this course. They didn’t have enough time for him to argue logic with her.

“I’ll be right back,” he said and turned to go.

When he got into the public domes, he headed right instead of left. They’d never explored down this direction before. He came to a long tunnel that branched off every few hundred feet into smaller tunnels that disappeared beyond sight. He figured they probably led to the Wryn’s private domes.

Finally he came to a dome the size of the one where the Delphi held their strange council, however, this one was lined with shelves. The green globed fruit hung from hooks in the ceiling everywhere he look. Walking around the empty space, he saw shelves with neat rows of cutting tools lined up along the curved walls. A rack at the other end of the dome held long strips of the green globes. A set of four racks on a shelf stored the bowls. When Jarrett reached out to touch one, he found it wet and spongy, but the very next one over had begun to harden. He turned and looked at the hanging green globes. He suddenly understood. The green globes were their food and their clothing, their building materials and their cooking utensils. Staring at the many racks, he figured the various functions came about by the way the globes were cured.

He searched the room over and found a smaller hallway behind a row of racks. This hallway led to two different domes, smaller than the previous one, but about four times bigger than the personal one he and Tyla had been given. Inside the first were shelves holding the fabric. A strange loom dominated the floor and held a piece of woven cloth like the blankets he and Tyla used. Behind it was a wooden stump that functioned as a stool.

Each unit of shelves held different things. The first held the tunics they’d been given, the second, neatly folded piles of trousers, a third shelf held blankets, and on a fourth were the cloths they used as handkerchiefs. Jarrett grabbed a handful of these and then left the dome, turning into the second one.

This one contained the cooking utensils, stacks of small green bowls and taller bowls that looked almost like mugs. He found huge spoon shaped devices that he assumed they used for stirring and a couple of large round bowls with narrow mouths that looked like they could hold water.

Searching through the shelves, he found a jug shaped bowl that had a more open mouth. Taking that and another water jug, he hurried back into the tunnels and made his way into the main dome that housed all of their green globes. He dubbed this the workroom and circling around it, he found a spigot like in the bathing chamber, which he turned. Warm water gushed out, so he filled both jugs and carried them back down the tunnels to their private dome. He set one of the jugs by Tyla. She had already retrieved the soap from the bathing chamber.

“Start with that,” he said, handing her the cloths. “I’ll go build a fire and see if this will stand up to the flames.”

She nodded distractedly at him and set to cleaning the tears in the Wryn’s flesh.

Jarrett went back outside. The line of grieving Wryn had begun to break up, most of them wandering toward the domes. He set his pot down and hurried into the woods beyond the city to collect dried branches from beneath the trees. He piled those by the pot and went back to gather small rocks, forming a basket out of the front of his tunic.

He made a circle with the rocks to the right of the dome and then carefully arranged the wood inside it. Using the pycantra starter from Tyla’s pack, he got the kindling going, then hunkered down to wait while the fire got hot. Grabbing the jug, he pulled out his knife and tried to widen the mouth with it. He found the material allowed him to saw away a portion of the lip without it coming apart in his hands.

Once the fire had burned down to embers, he settled the jug inside the fire-ring and waited for the water to heat. As he waited, he noticed some of the Wryn had come back outside, drawn toward the fire. They milled around, making strange sounds and pointing. He ignored them until Zimran appeared.

“Jer-rid, quild facens?” He pointed at the fire and the pot.

“Heating water,” said Jarrett. Then a thought struck him. He ran back into the domes and grabbed another few handkerchiefs, a stirring spoon, and a smaller water jug. Carrying them to the fire, he found Zimran poking a stick at the coals.

He settled his stuff on the ground and touched Zimran’s shoulder. Making an eating motion with his fingers, he said, “Comedetus?” Then pointed back at the domes. He rubbed his hand against his belly and made another eating motion. “Comedetus.”

Zimran’s white brows drew down in a frown, but when Jarrett pointed at the kitchen dome again, recognition dawned. He nodded and patted Jarrett’s shoulder. “Comedetus,” he said and hurried off.

Jarrett used the handkerchiefs to pull the pot off the fire. The water was boiling inside and the bottom of the pot had turned a dark, forest-green, hardening like pottery. He carefully maneuvered around the milling Wryn, who were studying him, and carried the pot into the domes. More Wryn had gone back to their usual chores and he had to dodge them as he made his way to his private dome.

Tyla was huddled over the Wryn, sewing with absolute concentration when he settled the pot by her feet. She glanced up, then nodded at her open medicinal pouch. “Put Stamerian in that,” she ordered.

He added the Stamerian, but he deliberately kept back enough to use on her when the next fever spike came. He watched her sewing for a minute, then shifted weight. “Do you need help?”

She shook her head, never meeting his eye. He returned to his fire and found Zimran waiting for him with two bowls of green glop. Taking the bowls, he forced a smile for the Wryn.

“Thank you,” he said, then dumped the bowls into the smaller pot and placed it on the fire. Using the spoon, he stirred the food and watched the Wryn watch him. They were fascinated and terrified by the fire. They would move toward it, until they felt its heat, then they’d dance away again. Their reaction made him smile.

His thoughts turned to the injured Wryn and he wondered what had caused the tears in his flesh. It looked like an animal, but he hadn’t seen any other creatures since they arrived. He also wondered at the callous way the Delphi had disposed of their comrade without even trying to save him. How could a society have so many advances, but lack in so many others? It baffled him.

When the green glop started bubbling, he poured it back into the two bowls and kicked dirt on the embers to put them out, then he carried the bowls into their private dome. Tyla was washing the Wryn’s back with Stamerian. He settled the two bowls on the table and took a seat on Tyla’s shelf.

She finished and sat back, clasping the damp cloth in her hand. “That’s all I can do for now.”

He nodded and reached for a bowl, holding it out to her. “Try this,” he said. “I heated it.”

She took the bowl and looked at it dubiously. “I’m not sure I can eat, I’m so tired.”

He tamped down the desperation that always seemed to lie just beneath the surface any more. “Please, sweetheart,” he urged. “Try it for me. Please.”

She dipped two fingers into the mixture and lifted them to her lips, taking a tentative taste. Then she exhaled and took a larger bite. “That’s much better,” she said. “Wow, I can’t believe something as simple as heating it makes such a difference.”

Jarrett smiled at her, then reached for his own bowl, but his eyes fixed on the rocks sitting on the table. Something as simple, he thought and picked up a rock instead.

*    *    *

Kalas woke in the middle of the night. Reaching out, he felt across the bed for Ellette, but her side was empty. He opened his eyes and rolled over, sitting up and looking around. Moonlight shone through the balcony door and the roar of the ocean filled the room.

She was sitting in an armchair, pulled close beside the bed, her arms wrapped around her knees. She wore his shirt, but her legs and feet were bare, her hair falling over one eye. She didn’t say anything, just watched him as he edged over to the side of the bed so he could be closer to her.

Something kept him from reaching out to her. Perhaps it was the way she sat, curled up tight, or the somber expression on her face, but he knew she was waging a battle that had little to do with him. Guilt washed over him. He hadn’t given much thought to the aftermath of their lovemaking.

“Hey,” he said, feeling it was a weak opening, but not sure how to approach this.

Moonlight gilded her features, making them soft and delicate. “I’m sorry I woke you,” she said.

“Don’t worry about it. Can’t you sleep?”

She exhaled, her shoulders lowering with the motion. “No, I feel too confused.”

“Confused?” He wasn’t sure he’d expected that emotion.

She pushed the hair away from her eye. “I have been trying to think how to explain it, but I am not sure I have the words.”

He did touch her then, reaching out to tuck the wayward lock of hair behind her ear. “Sometimes when I don’t have the words, I just start talking anyway and they come to me.”

She took his hand and wrapped her fingers around it. “I do not want to be one of your Nazarien pets.”

He frowned. Leaning closer to her, he said softly, “What?”

“Like Dolan and Attis.”

A laugh slipped out. He couldn’t help it. She gave him a severe look, but he couldn’t help his amusement. He traced the vein in her wrist with his thumb. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

She was not amused. In fact, she looked tormented. “You cannot understand.”

“Then make me.”

She released his hand and curled her arms around her knees again. “Nazarien women would never presume to do what I did. They do not choose men, they are chosen, taken…abused.” She said the last with such vehemence, Kalas looked down.

“I’m sorry, Ellette. I should have been more sensitive.”

She didn’t answer for a long while and Kalas glanced up in concern. She was frowning at him. “You are daft sometimes, you know?”

He blinked in astonishment. “Daft?”

She exhaled again as if she found him tiresome. “Yes, daft. Do you think I did not understand the choice I was making? I knew what would happen when I brought you here. I just never thought…” Her voice faltered.

“You never thought what?”

She pressed her fingers against her heart. “After Bredon and his men tortured us, I thought I wanted to die. Then when I lived, I wanted revenge – that is all. I cared nothing for my life. I wanted them to suffer. I wanted to destroy them.”

Kalas clenched his jaw. Here was a woman who had known only cruelty and abuse at the hands of men, and he was no better. Dolan had tried to warn him, but he’d ignored it. His face flushed with shame, but he didn’t speak, he didn’t want her to stop sharing her pain with him.

“When they decided to attack you, I thought I was protecting my people, the Nazar and the other Nazarien women by trying to save you, but I always planned to go back. To have my revenge. I still cared little whether I lived. The revenge gave me strength, it gave me purpose. For so many years, it has been what has guided me.”

Kalas lowered his head and closed his eyes. He didn’t know how to take back what had happened between them. He didn’t know how to make this right. There was no right. From now on, he would be lumped in with men like Bredon Laurel in her mind.

“Until now,” she said.

He looked up in surprise.

Her eyes glistened with tears in the moonlight. He’d never seen a Nazarien show such emotion, such vulnerability. It stunned him, humbled him.

She dragged her teeth across her lower lip and dropped her feet to the floor, moving to the edge of the chair. Reaching out, she took his hands. “You make me believe there’s more than revenge. You make me want more.”

He tightened his hold on her. Somehow he’d misread what she felt, or else he hadn’t really been listening to her. He was as daft as she thought him, daft and as blind as his father had been.

“You’ve already gotten revenge, Ellette. Can’t you see that? By living, by surviving, you’ve beaten them.” He brushed her hair back and ran his fingers across her cheek. “By choosing me tonight, you walked away from that path.” He leaned forward and kissed her gently, sweetly, drawing her toward him until she was nestled on his lap. “And I may be daft, but I’m pretty damn happy you did.”

She clasped her hands around his neck and gave him a searching look. “I am not one of your pets. We need to establish that tonight.”

He collapsed back on the bed, rolling to his side, so they faced each other. “You’re not?” he teased, bringing his mouth close to hers. “We know you aren’t an assassin, so I’m a little confused as to what you are.”

She closed the distance between them, drawing him against her and kissing him breathless. “Really? You are confused?”

A mischievous grin curled his lips and he rolled to his back, pulling her over on him. “No,” he said, sinking his hands in her hair. “I’m most definitely not confused anymore.”

He could have sworn she smiled at him, but in the next minute, he didn’t have time to wonder at it.

CHAPTER 19

“Please, Tyla, drink this.”

Tyla forced open her eyes. They burned and ached as she blinked to clear them. She found herself lying on the shelf in the back of their room, but she’d thrown the blankets off. A heaviness lay on her chest, making breathing difficult. In fact, she was afraid to take too deep of a breath that she would start coughing.

Jarrett helped her into a sitting position and brought the cup to her lips. She tried to hold it herself, but her hands shook. Warm Stamerian touched her lips and she let it pass her tongue. As it soothed a path down her throat, she felt the heaviness abate a little.

Once the cup was empty, Jarrett lowered it. She allowed him to settle her back on the shelf and she rolled to her side. It was easier to breathe on her side, but as soon as she moved, she noticed the other sleeping shelf was empty.

“Where did he go?”

Jarrett glanced over his shoulder as well, then back at her. “When I woke up, he was gone.”

She felt a pang of loss, but she didn’t have the strength to get up and go in search of the wounded Wryn. Not now. She knew the disease had moved into the last, final stage. Her strength would begin to wane and the coughing would take over, leaving her vomiting blood until she bled to death. Then Jarrett would be infected and it would all be for nothing – leaving her son and her grandfather, leaving Temeron, leaving Kalas – it meant nothing now.

Looking into Jarrett’s eyes, she could see the fear there. Her vision blurred with tears. He would have been better off in Chernow, safe and ignorant of her death, but he was here now, exposed to the disease. They’d admitted they still loved one another, but wouldn’t it have been better to leave him alone, believing that what they once felt was gone? He was just going to lose her again, this time permanently.

“I need to sleep,” she said, forcing a smile for his benefit. She could feel the tickling of the cough in the back of her throat.

“All right, sweetheart,” he answered, bending over her and kissing her forehead. “I’m going to explore a bit. I won’t be far and I’ll be back in an hour or so, but I want to see if I can find any of the things Jax described.”

She wanted to tell him it wouldn’t do any good now, it was too late, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t take this last bit of hope from him. She was afraid to speak, so she just nodded and let her eyes fall closed.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispered in her ear, then he was gone.

As the Stamerian moved through her body and eased the fever, she allowed sleep to claim her. She dreamed of Temeron, the golden hills rising around the city, the shimmer of the houses in the dying light of the day, the happy cacophony of sound as the Stravad greeted each other at the market.

She could see Kerrin laughing as he splashed water on Tyne, the sun kissing his brown skin, sparkling in his blue eyes. Beside her, Jarrett watched them, a half-smile on his face, an expression he wasn’t even aware he’d made. So much to live for, so much to cherish, so much to be grateful for, even if it had been only for a while.

As she dreamed, a white mist stole into the scene, obscuring everything, the lake, the mountains, her family. She didn’t fear it as she had before, but she turned around, watching everything disappear, slide away into a memory.

“You shouldn’t be here,” came a voice behind her.

She turned and smiled at her father. She’d always thought Kalas had beautiful eyes, but it was so clear they were very much like her father’s eyes. He’d told her she favored her mother the last time she’d met him here. It delighted her to think that.

“I’m dying,” she told him. She needed to tell someone, relieve the burden of it.

He frowned. “How?”

“I have a disease.”

“Explain it.”

She smiled again. Always the healer. She had gotten that from him, that need, that drive to cure someone. “It’s passed through exposure to infected blood, well, mine was. The first case was caused by a cut. The man’s leg became infected and we amputated it, but it was too late.”

“Something in the soil, most likely. Nevaisser is rife with such diseases. When I was in Kazden, I would treat a catarrh that would crop up each year with the rains. Humans were vulnerable to it. They died of fever, dehydration.”

“What caused it? What was in the soil?”

Talar shrugged. “I was never certain, but the rain brought it to the surface. Most of Nevaisser was volcanic at one time. I always suspected it was pycantra, blown into dust and leached into the soil, the groundwater.”

She thought of Jax’s description of the glittering dirt that made his hands tingle. Was her father right? Had the answer been there all along? But even if they found the cause, what could possibly be the cure?

“How did you treat the Humans with the catarrh?”

“I made a restorative.” He looked away in confusion. “I wish I remembered what was in it. It boosted their own immune system so they could fight it. Some still died. I always thought I could neutralize it, find something to counteract the symptoms. If one type of pycantra caused the disease, another might cancel it out.”

She stored that thought away. If only she had time to explore his ideas, if only she wasn’t already sick. She came forward and took his hand, not wanting to spend this precious time talking about her. Whether this was the product of her fevered mind or some trick of the emerald, she didn’t want to think about it too much. These few moments with him were all she would ever have, and she didn’t care whether they were illusion or not, she wanted to cherish them.

“I don’t want to waste time talking about that.”

He searched her face, absorbing her every feature. “You don’t want to talk about your life?”

“No, I want to know about you. I want you to tell me everything you remember.”

“I’m not certain that’s much. I remember traces of things, but nothing complete.” He lifted his head and looked around. “Besides, this place has always depressed me.”

She folded his hand in both of hers and laughed. “I don’t think you have much choice in that.”

“No, I think you’re wrong.” He made a motion with his hand and the mist whispered away, revealing a few tall, broad-limbed pine trees.

Her mouth dropped open in astonishment.

He turned and surveyed his work. With another motion of his hand, he swept the mist out of the sky, revealing a brilliant blue. “I spent far too much of my life in darkness.” Sunlight filtered down through the limbs on the trees.

Tyla didn’t know how to respond. She wished she could create life with a pass of her hand.

He motioned at the ground. “How about grass?”

A rolling field opened up before them, undulating in gentle hills of green and spreading beneath the trunks of the trees.

“I’ve always liked water.” He drew a hand across the horizon and a brook appeared, bubbling over rocks and across tree roots. A few pink flowers pushed up through the field, bending toward the sunlight.

Tyla released her held breath and looked around. A lush meadow bled down into a forest and stopped at the brook. The other side of the brook was shadowed, but Talar didn’t seem to mind, tugging on her hand and pulling her behind him.

He strolled down the hills toward the stream until they came to the bank, then he released her and hunkered down, lazily sweeping his hand through the water. Tyla knelt at his side and cupped the water, bringing it to her lips. It was cold and sweet, soothing the ache in her throat.

He leaned back on an elbow and studied her as she surveyed the world he’d created. “You can’t stop fighting,” he said.

She glanced over at him. “I don’t think I have any choice. The disease has progressed too far. There’s not enough time to find a cure.”

“Your mother and I didn’t sacrifice everything to have you die young. You have to fight this, Tyla.”

She shifted so she could face him. “Tell me about my mother.”

His expression clouded over and he appeared to try, but finally he shook his head. “I can’t. I can’t remember.”

“But you keep bringing her up? How can that be?”

He held up a hand and let it fall again. “You can’t attach logical reasoning to this. I haven’t been given the right to know how this works or to give you the answers you seek. This is all that we have.”

Her spirit fell and she reached up to grasp the emerald. “And all that we have is an illusion, isn’t it? We aren’t really here together?”

He sat up and folded his arms on his knees. “I’m dead, Tyla. You’re not. We are meeting at the middle point between the two. Don’t confuse this, don’t make it more than it is. It isn’t time for you to cross into my realm, any more than I can cross into yours.”

She looked around at the scene he’d created and sighed. “I guess it wouldn’t be so bad if this is what I get to experience.”

He frowned at her. “There is a purpose for life, Tyla. A purpose for living. Do not forfeit that so easily.”

She gave him a weary, sad smile. “Just like you said, I haven’t been given the right to make that decision any more than you have, Father.”

*    *    *

Allistar pinched the bridge of his nose and thrust the manifests away. “It would be easier if I could read the language.”

Kalas gave him an understanding smile and leaned back in his chair. “If you can find the word Delure in any of their records, we can confront the ships captains and demand they show us the island.”

“And you’re sure they’d have recorded it?”

Kalas held up an empty hand and let it fall again. “It’s all I’ve got, Allistar.”

Allistar nodded, then reached for the manifest again and began searching, running a finger along the lines.

Kalas moved to return to his own search, but the door to his study opened and Dolan walked through. He glanced at both of them, then focused his attention on Kalas. “Your Majesty, a word?”

Kalas placed the letter opener in his document to hold his place and closed it. Allistar looked between them, then pushed himself to his feet. “I think I’ll take a walk down to the docks and see if I can find anyone who will admit to knowing about the island.”

“How will you communicate with them?”

“Can I take that idiot Cult member of yours, Attis?”

“Of course, he ought to intimidate them into cooperating.”

Allistar shrugged. “At least that would be worth something.”

Kalas chuckled and watched Allistar leave the room, then he pushed himself to his feet and turned his back on Dolan, walking toward the double doors that looked over the ocean. The day was calm and beautiful, the sun shimmering on the breakers. The sky was a deep, velveteen blue without a single cloud to mar it.

He could see Dolan move close from the corner of his eye. The Nazarien had his hands clasped behind him and he gave no emotion away, but Kalas could sense his tension. “What do you want to say, Dolan? After all these years, we really don’t need to stand on ceremony with each other.”

Dolan considered this for a moment, then cleared his throat. “You should not take the Nazarien assassin, Ellette, to your bed.”

Kalas turned to face him, surprised, even though he’d suspected this was what Dolan wanted to discuss. “I suppose you have a reason.”

Dolan didn’t look nearly as uncomfortable as Kalas felt. Once again, Kalas was amazed by that Nazarien implacability.  “I have many reasons, but the first is she’s Nazarien. You are a Human king. Ultimately, your duty will be to find a suitable Human wife among the nobility and marry to procure heirs. I have ignored your previous dalliances, but this one I cannot ignore. She is not for you.”

Kalas crossed his arms, trying to appear as composed as his Advisor. “I have no intention of taking a wife, especially not from the nobility. And to be frank with you, Dolan, this subject is none of your business.”

“Everything to do with you as King of Eastern Nevaisser is my business.”

“Don’t think of me as a king right now. What happens between Ellette and me is off-limits.”

“She is damaged goods, Kalas.”

Kalas blinked in surprise. Dolan never used his first name, never called him anything but Your Majesty. His expression softened. “So am I, Dolan, so am I. We suit each other.”

“You are not damaged in the way she is. Eldon’s blood, she became an assassin. She planned to kill for a living. You will never be able to trust her.”

Kalas uncrossed his arms. “But I already have.” He came forward and laid a hand on Dolan’s shoulder. “You and I have been through much, Dolan. You have been my most trusted advisor all these years and I consider you my closest friend. I would never do anything to harm our relationship, but this is something I don’t think you can fully understand.”

“What do you mean?”

“This is between a man and a woman…”

“Ellette is not a woman, she is Nazarien.”

Kalas tightened his grip. “She is a woman, Dolan, the woman I want to share my bed and more than that, I think she may be the one I want to share my life with too.”

“Your people will never accept her.”

“They don’t have to, but I hope that you will. I hope you’ll be able to trust me in this.”

Dolan looked down. “I have stood behind you for the last ten years, no matter what you’ve decided. I will stand behind you even in this.”

Kalas smiled and released him. “Thank you.” He wandered back to the manifests and opened to where he left off. “Now, do you want to help me look through these?”

When Dolan didn’t immediately answer, he looked back at him. The Nazarien had a strange look on his face, almost a grimace.

“Dolan?”

“Does Your Majesty command it?”

Kalas laughed. “Command it, no, but your friend could really use the help.”

Dolan sighed, but he moved toward the table. “I’d have preferred your command,” he muttered as he took a seat.

*    *    *

Jarrett returned to the domes. He’d wandered as far as the dump area, then circled back to the edge of the hills, searching the ground for any sign of the glittering dirt Jax had mentioned or the plant he’d drawn, but he found nothing. He knew he should go farther, perhaps climb back up the mountain, but worry for Tyla had driven him back to the Delphi capital.

He paused in the entrance to their room, his attention focused on Tyla immediately. She was curled into a fetal position, her right hand closed around the emerald. Her breathing was rapid and shallow, and he knew before he even entered that fever raged inside her body.

He crossed to her and sank down on the edge of the shelf, reaching out to brush a dark curl from her face. “Tyla,” he called softly. “Wake up, sweetheart.”

Her eyelashes fluttered, but she didn’t wake.

He covered her cheek with his hand and felt the blaze of the fever. For a moment, the enormity of the situation overwhelmed him and he felt like he might suffocate, but he shoved it down. There was something to be said for rigid Nazarien training. He could fall back on it when he needed to suppress his emotions.

Rather than wake her, he turned for her pack and pulled out her medicinal pouch. He picked up the last of the Stamerian and the pot he’d used to heat their meal, filling it with water from the other pot he kept close by in case she needed something to drink to ease her cough. He placed the Stamerian inside and rose, moving back through the domes.

The light was fading, sliding down behind the mountains, the tunnels growing dim. Wryn passed by him, hardly giving him any notice, they saw him so frequently now. For the first time, Jarrett noticed the niches in the walls. They glowed faintly. He moved close to one and rose on his tiptoes to look inside. A rock was nestled into the niche and it gave off a muted light, enough to enable the Wryn to move through the communal areas without bumping into each other. He realized he hadn’t been in the communal part of the domes after dusk before. In their private section, they didn’t have any of these glowing niches.

He carried his pot out into the failing light and went to his fire-ring. He’d been careful to gather enough firewood for a few days, so he arranged everything between the rocks and struck the pycantra starter. As he’d noticed before, a few Wryn followed him out and watched his fire building with interest.

Once it had burned down a bit, he settled the pot among the embers and sat back waiting for the water to boil. He didn’t want to think about their predicament, so he studied the surrounding landscape, the line of trees, the rise of the mountains, the bald path cutting away from the domes and disappearing beyond sight. If he turned to the right, he could see another trail leading toward the mountains, headed out toward where he suspected the beach lay.

He was so lost in thought, he didn’t realize Zimran had approached until the Wryn hunkered down beside him. He held a bowl in his hands and inside the bowl were the rocks that he’d brought them their first morning in the domes.

“Jer-rid, opporte ut.” He shoved the rocks at Jarrett. “Opporte ut um Ty-la.” He picked up a rock and made an eating motion. “Comedetus, Jer-rid. Comedetus.”

Jarrett frowned. “We don’t eat rocks, Zimran. We can’t eat rocks. Why can’t I make you understand that?”

“Comedetus,” said Zimran again.

Jarrett’s eyes narrowed on him. He followed the motion of his hand to his mouth, the pale green of his skin glowing in the failing light. What the hell was he trying to tell Jarrett? It had to do with Tyla. He always said Tyla’s name when he brought Jarrett the rocks.

“We can’t eat rocks,” he repeated, then his eyes moved to the pot where the water had begun to boil. “We can’t eat them, but…” He took the bowl from Zimran’s hand and picked up one of the rocks, studying it. There was nothing remarkable about the rock, nothing that distinguished it from any other. It was brown and small, semi-circular. He pressed his thumb into the surface and drew it back. A flake broke free and beneath it was a faint shimmer of light.

Jarrett looked up at Zimran. The Wryn was watching him, but he met his gaze and nodded.

“Um Ty-la.” He motioned to his mouth. “Comedetus.”

Jarrett curled his fingers around the rock and pressed the edges hard into his flesh. He could boil the rock in the Stamerian, but what if it was poisonous? What if it made her worse? How could he chance it?

He forced himself to admit what he’d been trying to avoid for weeks. She was dying. He was watching her die every day, every hour, every moment. If there was a chance, however slim, however ridiculous, that this rock might help, wasn’t it worth the risk?

Before he could think better of it, he leaned forward and tossed the rock into the pot. Zimran looked after it, but he didn’t say anything. Jarrett took the rest of the rocks and emptied them into the pot, then waited for the water to come to another boil.

Once they did, he picked up the pot and left the embers burning. He returned to their room and grabbed two of the smaller pots they used as cups, pouring the Stamerian/rock mixture into them. He lifted one of the cups to his lips and downed the entire amount, grimacing at the metallic taste.

He didn’t know what he expected to happen, beyond the rejuvenation that he always felt when he drank Stamerian, but he waited for a few minutes. When nothing happened, he lifted the second cup and carried it to the shelf, sinking down next to Tyla.

She blinked open her eyes as he sat down beside her and forced a weary smile. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he said in return.

She rolled to her back, releasing the emerald. “What time is it?”

“Just after dusk.” He held the cup out to her. “Stamerian for your fever?”

She fought a cough, covering her mouth with a hand, and he helped her into a sitting position. He noticed that the coughing seemed deeper, centering more in her chest, and she didn’t seem able to take a deep breath. He steadied her hand as she drank, brushing back the hair from her cheek.

She made a face and held the cup away. “What’s in it?”

For some reason he didn’t want to tell her. It seemed like a desperate move and he didn’t want to give her false hope, but the look in her eyes was undeniable. “I boiled Zimran’s rocks.”

She frowned, then reached out and took his hand. “Jarrett, we need to face the fact that nothing’s going to stop this disease. In fact, I’ve been thinking and I think you should return to the beach, make camp there. If Kalas finds us, he’ll likely land in the same spot we did. It’ll be your only chance to get home.”

He ran his thumb over the back of her hand. “I’m not leaving you, so let’s not even start this conversation.”

“Jarrett…”

He met her gaze. Her eyes were bright with fever. At her neck, the emerald glowed, chasing back the gloom in their quarters. “I’m not leaving you. I know you think you’re protecting me, but let’s not waste breath on this, okay?” He released her and curled his fingers around the cup. “Humor me. Drink the rest, please.”

The look in her eyes was bleak, but she lifted the cup and started drinking again. He waited until she finished, then he placed the cup on their table and circled around behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. She leaned back into him and banded his arms with her own.

He kissed the side of her head. “I love you, Tyla Eldralin,” he said, closing his eyes.

“I love you, Jarrett,” she answered and nestled her face against his neck.

He ignored the heat she radiated and clung to her, wishing as he had many times, that this was an enemy he could fight.

CHAPTER 20

Kalas threw down the logs and pushed himself to his feet, moving toward the windows and looking out. Parish and Dolan exchanged a look, but they didn’t say anything. Allistar closed the log he was searching and pushed it away. Ellette curled her legs up in the chair and wrapped her arms around them, her eyes fixed on Kalas.

He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck, the other braced on the window. “What is the report from the hospitals, Baron? How many have the plague?”

“New infections are down since we implemented the guidelines for care, but there are roughly two thousand infected and another five hundred dead.”

“Send word to Temeron. I need to know how many people there are infected.”

“Done,” said Parish.

“Inform them about what we’re doing to contain it and ask them if they have any idea how to fight it.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Kalas turned back to face them. He motioned to the logs. “Those aren’t going to tell us anything. We’re wasting our time with them.”

No one answered. Kalas figured they knew it as well. If he was going to find his sister, they had to come up with something different. “I want to see the Tulip myself.”

He expected an explosion, but at first they didn’t react.

Parish leaned forward on the table. “You want to go to Brodie’s boat?”

Kalas moved back to the table and rested his hands on the top of his chair. He glanced at Ellette, then away. “Yes, I want to go to the boat and I want to go now.”

Parish shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. The Nazarien are too unpredictable at the moment. I won’t chance it.”

Kalas tried to still his annoyance for Ellette’s sake. She didn’t like his bursts of temper. “It wasn’t a request.” He switched to Lodenian and addressed Allistar, “Can you muster out your men in the next hour? I want to see Brodie Daegan’s boat and I’d like the Stravad to accompany me.”

Allistar nodded and pushed back his chair. “Done,” he said and rose, turning for the door.

Parish shifted in his chair and watched him go, then he also rose. “Listen to reason, Your Majesty, please. We’ve searched that ship from top to bottom and there’s nothing there.”

“He had to have written the coordinates somewhere, Parish. You just haven’t found them.”

“He kept them in his head.”

“But Jax found the island on his own. How did he know the coordinates?”

“He probably wrote them down. I’m telling you we’ve searched that boat.”

“Then you missed something.”

Parish held out a hand to Dolan. “Tell him not to do this. Tell him how dangerous it is.”

Dolan swiveled in his chair until he faced Kalas. “He’s right. Your people deserve better than that. You owe them your leadership, especially in light of the plague.”

“What if the cure for the plague lies with my sister? I owe it to my people to find her. She went in search of the cure, now we have to go in search of her.”

“You aren’t doing this because of the plague,” reasoned Dolan. “You’re doing this because of Tyla.”

“They’re one in the same.”

Ellette lowered her head to her knees. Kalas wished they were alone so he could explain it to her, but she just had to understand he would do anything to find Tyla. His sister would always be primary in his concerns.

“You know the Nazarien have a contract on your head. This is suicide. It was suicide when you went looking before, but it’s worse now,” said Parish. “They know your movements, they know your habits, they’ll be waiting for you. They’ve already killed a number of our soldiers guarding the boat and the minute you leave this spot, they’ll know you’re going there. Don’t do this, Kalas.”

Kalas pushed the chair into the table and moved toward the door. “It’s already done. Allistar will have his men ready in the hour and then I’ll leave. I’d like your protection as well, Baron, but I’ll leave that to your discretion.”

Parish rounded on him. “You know I don’t have any other choice. My men will be ready.”

Kalas paused at the door and looked back. “Which is why I don’t understand the reason for this debate.”

An hour later, the King of Eastern Nevaisser left his manor home in a heavily armored carriage with soldiers lined along the top and riding on either side. Stravad warriors guarded his flank and the Baron rode at the head of a wide column of infantry.  Ellette and Dolan rode in the carriage with him, both sporting an array of weapons and body armor.

No one attempted to stop them as they headed toward the docks. Kalas watched out the window, but he couldn’t see much beyond the flanks of the horses riding on either side of him. Neither Dolan nor Ellette spoke to him, sitting with their swords across their knees as if they expected Nazarien to materialize out of the air.

“You know they aren’t going to attack such a heavily guarded vehicle,” he said conversationally.

Dolan glanced over, but didn’t answer, returning his attention to the window almost immediately.

Ellette wouldn’t even look at him.

He leaned forward and placed a hand on her thigh. He could feel her muscles stiffen at his touch. She was beyond mad at him. “How long are you going to ignore me?”

She didn’t turn, her gaze fixed on the window, her fingers tightening on the sword. She had a knife in the top of her boot and one strapped into a sheath on her shoulder. He suspected there were more weapons that he couldn’t see.

“Ellette, you know you can’t stay mad at me forever.”

“I would not be certain of that, Your Majesty,” she said.

He smiled and leaned back, resting his head on the back of the cushion. “What exactly are you mad about? It helps if you tell me.”

“As always you are making foolish choices that do not take your citizens into account. You do not listen to your advisors and you ignore those charged with your protection.”

“Then why don’t you try talking to me as my lover?”

That got both of their attentions. Dolan gave him a startled look, then shifted uncomfortably and Ellette glared at him. He gave them both a wicked smile and folded his hands over his belly.

“Why do you play lightly with things?” she hissed, leaning forward.

“I’m not, not at all. I couldn’t get a reasonable answer from you, so I tried a different approach.”

“What sort of answer did you want? What I said is true.”

“Not completely. You don’t want me going to the ship because you care for me and you wouldn’t know what to do if something happened to me. Why can’t you just tell me the truth?”

Her jaw clenched and her fingers tightened on her sword. Dolan shifted again, trying to turn himself into the window. Kalas couldn’t help the smile that wouldn’t leave his face.

He nodded at the sword. “Careful. You might cut yourself, you’re gripping it so tightly.”

“Sometimes,” she said through her teeth, “I find I care very little for you. You are an aggravating, ridiculous man who knows nothing.”

“Your Majesty,” he added with a lift of one brow.

“What?”

“You forgot Your Majesty.”

She made a strangled cry and turned to the window, dismissing him. He chuckled, he was having such fun. Dolan wouldn’t meet his eye, so he looked out of the window again. The warehouses were beginning to rise around them, blocking out the late day sun.

As they neared the dock, the soldiers fanned out and blocked off the streets, bringing the carriage to a halt. Allistar opened the door of the carriage himself and motioned for Kalas to descend. Kalas climbed out beside him and looked around. Soldiers and Stravad were everywhere. If he looked closely enough, he could see armed men manning the rooftops around them. Obviously, Parish had sent an advance guard.

“Stay close to me,” said Allistar, moving toward the entrance to the docks.

Kalas felt all of this was going a bit far, but he followed the Stravad as Attis and Dolan moved behind him. Ellette came up on his left side, her gaze turned outward, surveying the buildings and her hand gripped around the hilt of her sword. Kalas couldn’t deny he liked the assertive mien she was displaying. It was far better than the waif curled up in a chair beside his bed. He reached out to touch her arm, but she jerked away from him. He couldn’t help but laugh, a gesture that earned him a glare. Damn her anyway, he was falling for her faster than he expected.

Parish met them at the entrance to the Tulip. He shot a look around, then moved close to Kalas, blocking him from the boat. Kalas wasn’t sure whether Parish expected Nazarien to spring up from the water like fish.

“I wish you’d listen to reason, Your Majesty.”

Kalas crossed his arms. “My sister is out there.” He motioned at the ocean, spreading away in a wash of blue and green around them. “No one can tell me how to find her. Are you so certain that you didn’t miss anything that you’re willing to consign her to death?”

Parish hesitated a moment, then he stepped back and gestured toward the boat. “As you will, Your Majesty,” he said.

Kalas crossed around him and dropped down into the boat before anyone could assist him. He was getting a little tired of being treated like a porcelain doll. The Tulip was small, so only Allistar and Dolan followed him.

He went toward the cabin and ducked inside. It was hardly larger than a closet with a narrow bunk and a built-in cabinet, strewn with paper. He shook out the bedding on the bunk, then piled it on the floor and lifted the thin mattress. Then he climbed into the bunk and searched it, running his hands along the rough wood, feeling for any irregularities.

“What do you think you’ll find?” asked Dolan.

“A catch, a compartment that was missed, a loose board.” He climbed off the bunk and hunkered in front of it, running his hands along the facing, searching the floorboards.

Finding nothing, he went to the cabinet and began methodically going through the papers, reading each one. He was pleased when he saw Allistar and Dolan began searching the walls, the ceiling, the casing around the one porthole.

Parish stuck his head inside. “My people have already done that, Your Majesty.”

Kalas ignored him, continuing to scan the papers. They were newspapers, notes from the landlady at the Rose Bud, playbills from the local dance parlor, a few bills for the boat’s berth, but nothing that had any coordinates on it. He swept them onto the bed and searched over the cabinet, running his hands across the surface. He found nothing.

He turned and watched as Dolan and Allistar completed their search. Dolan gave him a concerned look, but Allistar held up his empty hands in frustration. Kalas drew a deep breath and held it, fighting for composure. Toying with Ellette had taken some of his tension, but after searching the cabin, it came roaring back.

He climbed out onto the deck and moved to the bow of the boat. Once again, he felt along the surface, ignoring the many eyes he felt watching him as he angled his way around the small vessel. When he came to the stern, Parish was standing by the tiller.

“Kalas,” he said, placing a hand on his shoulder, “we’ll find another way, but there’s nothing here.”

Kalas looked beyond him at the ocean, swelling and surging toward the docks, the sea birds diving into the waves. Everywhere he looked was a vast wilderness of water, a boundless ocean with no landmarks, no beacons, nothing by which to track another.

He moved around the Baron and took a seat in the stern, leaning forward to brace his arms on his thighs. The enormity of this task swamped him and he felt a suffocating pressure in his chest. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to find her. Maybe she was lost to him forever. A lifetime of protecting her, a lifetime of fighting to keep her safe and it was over. There was nothing he could do to save her now.

He was dimly aware that Dolan and Allistar had joined Parish, watching him in concern. Ellette climbed into the boat and pushed her way past them, kneeling down in front of him and covering his hands with her own.

“Please come out of here. Please. This place is not safe for you,” she said.

He lifted his eyes and met hers. “I promised my father I would protect her. As I watched him die, I promised him.”

“And you did. You did everything you could,” she said. She lifted a hand and cupped his cheek. “Other people need you now. I need you. Please, come away from this place.”

He closed his eyes and exhaled. He’d promised Talar, he’d sworn that he would stay with her, protect her from all harm. He’d taken beatings for her, he’d suffered humiliation, debasement, fear and pain for her. How could he just give it up? How could he forget that she was out there? She might need him right now. She might be sick or injured or dying and he couldn’t help her. He couldn’t save her this time.

He felt as if the world was tilting on its axis, as if he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs, as if his heart would stop beating. He lifted a hand and gripped his chest, worried he might be having a heart attack. With his other hand, he reached for the tiller to steady himself.

His fingers tightened convulsively around it, holding on, praying the pain in his chest would ease, and there beneath his hand, beneath the frantic grip of his fingers, he felt it.

Forcing himself to calm, he slid his fingers along the grooves in the tiller and the tightness in his chest eased. The pounding of his heart left his throat and he drew a deeper breath, expanding his lungs. Shifting on the seat, he leaned over the tiller and stared at the numbers carved into the wood, burnished with a rust-brown color, and he knew that Brodie had pressed his own blood into the etchings himself.

Ellette leaned over him, studying the scratches, then Parish was there, running his fingers across the etchings.

“I’ll be damned,” breathed the Baron in awe. “I’ll be damned.”

Kalas slumped back in the seat, fighting the unmanly tears that threatened in his eyes. He’d found the coordinates after all.

*    *    *

Jarrett woke and shifted on the shelf, finding himself alone. He threw back the cover and climbed to his feet. Light filtered through the thin membrane of their enclosure, highlighting the fact that Tyla was gone.

He hurried into the bathing chamber and found the water running, but he didn’t see her. Moving around the half wall, he found her sitting with her back pressed to the wall, the steam of the hot water rising around her.

Ignoring the spray, he crossed around the wall and sank in front of her. She opened her eyes and looked at him. Her eyes were enormous in her gaunt face and the emerald glowed green in the hollow of her throat. Water or tears made a track down her cheeks and she reached out taking his hand. For the first time since he could remember, her touch was cool.

He looked at her hand and then pressed his fingers to her forehead. He couldn’t feel a fever.

“Are you all right?”

She nodded, deliberately keeping her breathing shallow. “I started coughing and didn’t want to wake you.” Her eyes filled with tears and some spilled over, running down her cheeks.

“Did you cough up a lot of blood?”

She shook her head. “No, just spots, nothing worse than before.”

“Why are you crying?”

She closed her hand around the emerald. “I dreamed about my father, Jarrett.”

He studied her closely. “All right?” He wasn’t sure why such a dream would drag so much emotion from her.

“I’ve been dreaming about him a lot.”

“You’ve had a fever for weeks now. We dream a lot of strange things when we’re feverish.”

She wiped the tears away. “They’re not really dreams.”

Jarrett felt a strange shiver race up his spine. “What do you mean they’re not dreams?”

“I’m there with him. I can touch him.”

Jarrett’s gaze dropped to the emerald. “Where with him?”

“He calls it the mist. He says it’s a place between living and death.”

Jarrett blinked. He suddenly felt dizzy. He didn’t know how to answer her.

She touched his arm. “You’re breathing too fast, Jarrett. You need to slow down.”

He ducked his head and closed his eyes, fighting for composure. She was cool to the touch for the first time in weeks. She had no fever. But was that a good thing? Had her body simply given up the fight? Was she losing so much blood that it brought her temperature down?

“What are you muttering?” she asked.

He opened his eyes and lifted his head, not even realizing he’d been speaking. “Nazarien chants. Of all the things they taught me, this was the most useful. It’s a self-meditation trick to calm one’s self.” It helped to keep a clinical distance, but as he looked into her face, his composure shattered. He loved her and he couldn’t lose her, he just couldn’t lose her again.

Hooking his hand under her arm, he helped her to her feet, then he reached back and turned off the water. “Come on, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m going to heat breakfast, then I need to go searching for a bit. Do you think you’ll be all right?”

She braced herself with a hand against his chest. “I’ll probably just sleep. That seems to be all I can do.”

He moved closer to her, wrapping his arm around her back. “The dreams of your father are just dreams. They don’t mean anything else.”

She forced a smile for him. “Of course not. I know they’re dreams.”

He pressed his lips to her damp forehead, feeling the coolness of her skin. He held her there for a long moment, until he felt her trembling with fatigue. Hooking a hand under her arm, he supported her as they went back to their room.

Zimran had arrived with their bowls and another bowl of rocks. Jarrett eased Tyla onto the shelf and tucked the blanket around her, then he took the tray and headed outside. Zimran followed him as Jarrett went through his ritual of lighting the fire and heating the food. Other Wryn appeared and offered him their own bowls to heat. He did so, then settled another pot next to the first filled with water. He dumped the rocks into the water and waited for everything to come to a boil. Zimran made a mewl of protest when he saw Jarrett boiling the rocks, but he didn’t say anything.

Once both pots were bubbling actively, Jarrett ladled out the green gruel to the waiting Wryn, filled his and Tyla’s bowls, poured them both a cup of the water/rock mixture and carried it all inside.

Zimran trailed him again as he returned to Tyla. Setting the tray on the table, he helped Tyla into a sitting position and braced her with his pack, then he gave her the rock water first. Sometimes it seemed to stimulate her appetite and she would nearly finish the bowl of gruel.

As she sipped, Tyla smiled at Zimran. “Have you seen the injured Wryn?” She motioned to her back, then made a sewing motion with her hand.

Zimran nodded. “Wryn ipse es ben.”

Tyla exchanged a look with Jarrett, but he just shrugged. “Drink up,” he said, touching the bottom of her cup. She lifted it to her lips.

Zimran moved restlessly. He held out a rock on the palm of his hand. It looked just like the others that Jarrett boiled each day. “Ty-la comedetus, Jer-rid.”

Jarrett sighed. He’d been down this road with Zimran before and he didn’t have the energy to do it again. Tyla was watching him though.

“Why is he so insistent about that?” she asked.

“I don’t know, but we can’t eat rocks.”

“I know, it’s just very odd.”

He gave her a skeptical look. “That’s what you find odd about our current living arrangements?”

She gave a half-laugh. “You have a point.”

He settled his bowl on the tray and kissed her forehead. “Get some rest. I’ll be back soon.”

She nodded and accepted the bowl of green gruel he handed her. Before Jarrett could react, Zimran darted forward and dropped the rock into Tyla’s food. They both stared up at him in shock.

Carefully, Tyla plucked the rock from it and turned it around, looking at it. “There is nothing special about this rock that I can see. It doesn’t even glow with pycantra.”

Jarrett took it from her, scowling at Zimran, and settled it in his empty bowl. “That’s enough nonsense,” he said, rising to his feet and turning the Wryn around. “I’ll be back soon,” he called over his shoulder as he propelled the Wryn from the room.

Zimran turned to him. “Ty-la comedetus, Jer-rid.”

Jarrett sighed. Zimran had been helpful, caring for them with a singular dedication, so he didn’t want to get frustrated with him. “We’ll talk about this later, okay?”

As he moved around him, Zimran reached out and grabbed his hand. “Jer-rid, Ty-la comedetus.”

Jarrett pulled away. “I know. I know. Later.” Picking up the pace, he hurried into the communal domes, leaving Zimran behind.

The sun was just cresting the mountains, shining down into the valley when he stepped outside. His long stride took him down the tree-covered trail, along the edge of the mountains. He stopped frequently and dug at the ground with the toe of his boots, but he didn’t find any of the glittering dirt. He studied the plants and pulled a few leaves, rubbing them between his fingers, but he felt nothing.

Coming out of the woods, he found himself in the meadow with the strange rock formations. He spent a lot of time wandering around the formations, looking at the rocks and picking up a few of the smaller one. He kept a couple that looked promising, wishing the Delphi tunics had a place for pockets. Carrying them in his left hand, he continued across the meadow until he came to the line of mushroom shaped trees with the green globed fruit.

Reaching up, he fingered a globe. It wasn’t a large as the ones in the work-room and it was very hard, but he suspected it would change as it ripened. Continuing down the line, he looked around. The placement of the trees was too regular, too deliberate. He had to be in an orchard.

To his left, he heard a sound, almost like the snick of pruning shears. He shifted in that direction, stepping over the rows. He came across a group of Wryn, harvesting the green globes from the trees. They worked in pairs, one using a long curved blade to cut the stem and another to catch the fruit as it fell. The globes were then loaded into large bags, woven like their clothing.

They paused as he came into view and gave him a sharp inclination of their heads. Then they went back to their harvest. As he looked through the trees, he saw other clusters of workers doing the same thing, stretching away as far as he could see.

He moved to the closest bag and picked up one of the globes, turning it over in his hands. This one plant provided everything the Wryn and Delphi needed. It fed them, clothed them, built their cities. If the crop should suddenly fail, so would this oddly beautiful society. It made him feel melancholy, made him reflect on the thin balance of life. Right now, it was also keeping him and Tyla alive and he didn’t even know the name of it. He would have to ask Zimran when he got back. Replacing the fruit, he lifted the rocks in his hand and turned them over. There was so much about this island, about these people that he didn’t understand.

A cry of alarm broke the stillness of the morning, echoed by a cacophony of shouts. The Wryn around him went still, but a moment later, they scattered, scrambling to put trees between them and the cries. More Wryn passed him as he stepped between the rows, headed toward the noise.

He crossed around the trunk of a particularly large mushroom tree and came to a dead stop. Wryn raced around him, running in the opposite direction, their eyes wild, the white tuffs of hair standing on end. Behind them was a strange creature, walking on all fours.

It had a sloping head, short front legs and longer back legs. The front legs bowed outward at the elbows and ended in long, hooked claws. It swung its large head around and zeroed in on Jarrett as the Wryn scrambled around him. Its almond-shaped eyes were large and amber colored with vertical pupils, and a fork tongue flicked out, tasting the air.

Jarrett shivered in revulsion. It reminded him of an Orahim, but little intelligence shown out of its reptilian eyes. Along the ridge of its spine were small hard knobs, colored dark brown near the crest of its head to lighter green along its thick, whipping tail.

Keeping one eye fixed on the man, it reached out and speared an orb with its claws, pulling the fruit to it. Lowering its head, it sank sharp yellow teeth into the skin and tore it away. Then it began eating the soft flesh on the inside.

Jarrett’s attention was riveted on the curve of its claws. He figured he’d just met the animal that had maimed the Wryn a few days before. Without finishing the first globe, it reached for another, breaking the skin and sticking its snout inside.

By the size of its body, Jarrett figured it could destroy a huge number of the orbs without finishing a single one. The Wryn’s harvest must be a bounty for it, so many orbs piled up just to be sampled.

He looked behind him and saw a few Wryn peeking out from behind the trees. Why weren’t they doing anything to protect their harvest? They had their curved knives for cutting the fruit. It would at least allow them to defend their food source.

When the creature reached for a third globe, Jarrett couldn’t ignore the destruction any more. He lifted his arms and took a step toward the creature, waving them over his head.

“Hey!” he shouted, feinting toward it.

Startled, it ducked, then it rose up, hissing at him.

Jarrett stopped moving and his hand dropped to the hilt of his sword. He didn’t really want to tangle with it for two reasons. He didn’t want to kill something for wanting food, and most importantly, he didn’t want to tangle with something that had such claws.

“Get out of here!” he shouted at it.

But instead of leaving, it stepped over an orb, its claws clicking against the dirt.

Jarrett stood his ground, curling his fingers around the hilt.

It hissed again, lowering its head as if it might charge.

Reflexively, Jarrett’s fingers tightened on the rocks in his hands. If he could just get it to back down, he wouldn’t have to fight it, but he knew if he turned tail now and ran, it would be on him in a second. Opening his hand, he glanced down at the rocks. An idea struck him and he dropped the larger of the two into his right hand.

Hauling back his arm, he beamed the rock at the creature’s face. His aim was true and the rock struck the animal between the eyes. However, the rock exploded on impact, knocking the creature over onto its back.

Both Jarrett and the animal were stunned. Jarrett went still, holding the other rock, while the creature just lay without moving, its legs pointed up in the air. Staring in bewilderment at the rock in his hand, he carefully laid it down at his feet and drew his sword, advancing toward the creature lying on its back. He was afraid he might have killed it. He’d never expected the rock to explode.

Just as he got within striking distance, the lizard gave a convulsive shiver and frantically kicked its legs, succeeding in falling over onto its right side, then it scrambled up and took off running away from the orchard, disappearing into the trees as fast as it could.

Jarrett stopped moving and watched after it, amazed by what happened. A sudden cacophony of sound erupted behind him and the Wryn appeared again, sliding out from behind the trees and coming to him to pat him on the back.

*   *   *

Kalas glanced up as Dolan entered his study. He stopped before Kalas’ desk and clasped his hands behind his back. Kalas gave him a questioning look, but he still didn’t speak.

Leaning back in his chair, Kalas frowned at him. “Dolan, are we ever going to get beyond the need for ceremony?”

“No, Your Majesty.”

Kalas raised one brow. Well, then. “What information do you have for me?”

“The Baron is having the coordinates plotted, then he’ll begin provisioning your ship.”

“My ship?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“What ship?”

“The King’s ship, the Queen Astaral.”

“The Queen Astaral? When did I get a ship?”

“Lord Tarnow commissioned it prior to his death. He had a great fondness for sailing.”

“I see. Very good then.” He leaned forward and began looking over the hospital reports on the plague again, but Dolan did not move. Glancing up, he squinted at him. “Anything else?”

“A letter was delivered to the gate this morning.”

“From?”

Dolan produced the letter from behind his back. “Quinn Laurel.”

Kalas held out his hand to receive it, reaching for the letter opener with his other hand. He tore along the seam of the envelope and shook the letter onto the desk, then he folded it open. One line dominated the page, written in a fine, curving script.

Surrender the woman or face annihilation.

Kalas held it out to Dolan.

His second quickly scanned it, then passed it back. “That’s vexing.”

Kalas gave him a bewildered look. Now that had to be humor. “Vexing?”

“It would have been nice to know what form the annihilation would take, but he seems particularly vague on that.”

“How do we know the letter’s from Quinn Laurel? He didn’t exactly sign it.”

“The Nazarien who delivered it promptly dropped dead.”

Kalas absorbed that information. “Now that’s vexing,” he said.

“It is.”

Pushing himself to his feet, he wandered to the windows and looked out at the balcony. Ellette was sitting on the bench, her legs curled under her, reading a book. “He means Ellette, doesn’t he?”

“I would assume so.”

Kalas’ eyes shifted to the waves. “They leave me with little choice.”

“What do you mean?”

“All Nazarien who are not directly connected to the Kazden Cult and cleared by Attis will have to be driven from the city.”

“What about Stravad that aren’t affiliated with either group?”

“They’ll have to go as well.”

“Isn’t that a harsh punishment, Your Majesty?”

Kalas turned to face him. “What would you have me do? Turn Ellette over to him?”

“Obviously that is not the answer, but a forced exodus seems particularly rash.”

Kalas sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I know. At least double the guard on the manor house and see she is outfitted with any weapons of her choice.”

Dolan’s expression grew troubled and Kalas braced himself for an argument, but he didn’t say anything. With a slight bow, he turned on his heel and walked from the room. Kalas turned back to the window and watched the sun touch Ellette’s hair, streaking it a light shade of brown.

CHAPTER 21

Kalas threw down the logs and pushed himself to his feet, moving toward the windows and looking out. Parish and Dolan exchanged a look, but they didn’t say anything. Allistar closed the log he was searching and pushed it away. Ellette curled her legs up in the chair and wrapped her arms around them, her eyes fixed on Kalas.

He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck, the other braced on the window. “What is the report from the hospitals, Baron? How many have the plague?”

“New infections are down since we implemented the guidelines for care, but there are roughly two thousand infected and another five hundred dead.”

“Send word to Temeron. I need to know how many people there are infected.”

“Done,” said Parish.

“Inform them about what we’re doing to contain it and ask them if they have any idea how to fight it.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Kalas turned back to face them. He motioned to the logs. “Those aren’t going to tell us anything. We’re wasting our time with them.”

No one answered. Kalas figured they knew it as well. If he was going to find his sister, they had to come up with something different. “I want to see the Tulip myself.”

He expected an explosion, but at first they didn’t react.

Parish leaned forward on the table. “You want to go to Brodie’s boat?”

Kalas moved back to the table and rested his hands on the top of his chair. He glanced at Ellette, then away. “Yes, I want to go to the boat and I want to go now.”

Parish shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. The Nazarien are too unpredictable at the moment. I won’t chance it.”

Kalas tried to still his annoyance for Ellette’s sake. She didn’t like his bursts of temper. “It wasn’t a request.” He switched to Lodenian and addressed Allistar, “Can you muster out your men in the next hour? I want to see Brodie Daegan’s boat and I’d like the Stravad to accompany me.”

Allistar nodded and pushed back his chair. “Done,” he said and rose, turning for the door.

Parish shifted in his chair and watched him go, then he also rose. “Listen to reason, Your Majesty, please. We’ve searched that ship from top to bottom and there’s nothing there.”

“He had to have written the coordinates somewhere, Parish. You just haven’t found them.”

“He kept them in his head.”

“But Jax found the island on his own. How did he know the coordinates?”

“He probably wrote them down. I’m telling you we’ve searched that boat.”

“Then you missed something.”

Parish held out a hand to Dolan. “Tell him not to do this. Tell him how dangerous it is.”

Dolan swiveled in his chair until he faced Kalas. “He’s right. Your people deserve better than that. You owe them your leadership, especially in light of the plague.”

“What if the cure for the plague lies with my sister? I owe it to my people to find her. She went in search of the cure, now we have to go in search of her.”

“You aren’t doing this because of the plague,” reasoned Dolan. “You’re doing this because of Tyla.”

“They’re one in the same.”

Ellette lowered her head to her knees. Kalas wished they were alone so he could explain it to her, but she just had to understand he would do anything to find Tyla. His sister would always be primary in his concerns.

“You know the Nazarien have a contract on your head. This is suicide. It was suicide when you went looking before, but it’s worse now,” said Parish. “They know your movements, they know your habits, they’ll be waiting for you. They’ve already killed a number of our soldiers guarding the boat and the minute you leave this spot, they’ll know you’re going there. Don’t do this, Kalas.”

Kalas pushed the chair into the table and moved toward the door. “It’s already done. Allistar will have his men ready in the hour and then I’ll leave. I’d like your protection as well, Baron, but I’ll leave that to your discretion.”

Parish rounded on him. “You know I don’t have any other choice. My men will be ready.”

Kalas paused at the door and looked back. “Which is why I don’t understand the reason for this debate.”

An hour later, the King of Eastern Nevaisser left his manor home in a heavily armored carriage with soldiers lined along the top and riding on either side. Stravad warriors guarded his flank and the Baron rode at the head of a wide column of infantry.  Ellette and Dolan rode in the carriage with him, both sporting an array of weapons and body armor.

No one attempted to stop them as they headed toward the docks. Kalas watched out the window, but he couldn’t see much beyond the flanks of the horses riding on either side of him. Neither Dolan nor Ellette spoke to him, sitting with their swords across their knees as if they expected Nazarien to materialize out of the air.

“You know they aren’t going to attack such a heavily guarded vehicle,” he said conversationally.

Dolan glanced over, but didn’t answer, returning his attention to the window almost immediately.

Ellette wouldn’t even look at him.

He leaned forward and placed a hand on her thigh. He could feel her muscles stiffen at his touch. She was beyond mad at him. “How long are you going to ignore me?”

She didn’t turn, her gaze fixed on the window, her fingers tightening on the sword. She had a knife in the top of her boot and one strapped into a sheath on her shoulder. He suspected there were more weapons that he couldn’t see.

“Ellette, you know you can’t stay mad at me forever.”

“I would not be certain of that, Your Majesty,” she said.

He smiled and leaned back, resting his head on the back of the cushion. “What exactly are you mad about? It helps if you tell me.”

“As always you are making foolish choices that do not take your citizens into account. You do not listen to your advisors and you ignore those charged with your protection.”

“Then why don’t you try talking to me as my lover?”

That got both of their attentions. Dolan gave him a startled look, then shifted uncomfortably and Ellette glared at him. He gave them both a wicked smile and folded his hands over his belly.

“Why do you play lightly with things?” she hissed, leaning forward.

“I’m not, not at all. I couldn’t get a reasonable answer from you, so I tried a different approach.”

“What sort of answer did you want? What I said is true.”

“Not completely. You don’t want me going to the ship because you care for me and you wouldn’t know what to do if something happened to me. Why can’t you just tell me the truth?”

Her jaw clenched and her fingers tightened on her sword. Dolan shifted again, trying to turn himself into the window. Kalas couldn’t help the smile that wouldn’t leave his face.

He nodded at the sword. “Careful. You might cut yourself, you’re gripping it so tightly.”

“Sometimes,” she said through her teeth, “I find I care very little for you. You are an aggravating, ridiculous man who knows nothing.”

“Your Majesty,” he added with a lift of one brow.

“What?”

“You forgot Your Majesty.”

She made a strangled cry and turned to the window, dismissing him. He chuckled, he was having such fun. Dolan wouldn’t meet his eye, so he looked out of the window again. The warehouses were beginning to rise around them, blocking out the late day sun.

As they neared the dock, the soldiers fanned out and blocked off the streets, bringing the carriage to a halt. Allistar opened the door of the carriage himself and motioned for Kalas to descend. Kalas climbed out beside him and looked around. Soldiers and Stravad were everywhere. If he looked closely enough, he could see armed men manning the rooftops around them. Obviously, Parish had sent an advance guard.

“Stay close to me,” said Allistar, moving toward the entrance to the docks.

Kalas felt all of this was going a bit far, but he followed the Stravad as Attis and Dolan moved behind him. Ellette came up on his left side, her gaze turned outward, surveying the buildings and her hand gripped around the hilt of her sword. Kalas couldn’t deny he liked the assertive mien she was displaying. It was far better than the waif curled up in a chair beside his bed. He reached out to touch her arm, but she jerked away from him. He couldn’t help but laugh, a gesture that earned him a glare. Damn her anyway, he was falling for her faster than he expected.

Parish met them at the entrance to the Tulip. He shot a look around, then moved close to Kalas, blocking him from the boat. Kalas wasn’t sure whether Parish expected Nazarien to spring up from the water like fish.

“I wish you’d listen to reason, Your Majesty.”

Kalas crossed his arms. “My sister is out there.” He motioned at the ocean, spreading away in a wash of blue and green around them. “No one can tell me how to find her. Are you so certain that you didn’t miss anything that you’re willing to consign her to death?”

Parish hesitated a moment, then he stepped back and gestured toward the boat. “As you will, Your Majesty,” he said.

Kalas crossed around him and dropped down into the boat before anyone could assist him. He was getting a little tired of being treated like a porcelain doll. The Tulip was small, so only Allistar and Dolan followed him.

He went toward the cabin and ducked inside. It was hardly larger than a closet with a narrow bunk and a built-in cabinet, strewn with paper. He shook out the bedding on the bunk, then piled it on the floor and lifted the thin mattress. Then he climbed into the bunk and searched it, running his hands along the rough wood, feeling for any irregularities.

“What do you think you’ll find?” asked Dolan.

“A catch, a compartment that was missed, a loose board.” He climbed off the bunk and hunkered in front of it, running his hands along the facing, searching the floorboards.

Finding nothing, he went to the cabinet and began methodically going through the papers, reading each one. He was pleased when he saw Allistar and Dolan began searching the walls, the ceiling, the casing around the one porthole.

Parish stuck his head inside. “My people have already done that, Your Majesty.”

Kalas ignored him, continuing to scan the papers. They were newspapers, notes from the landlady at the Rose Bud, playbills from the local dance parlor, a few bills for the boat’s berth, but nothing that had any coordinates on it. He swept them onto the bed and searched over the cabinet, running his hands across the surface. He found nothing.

He turned and watched as Dolan and Allistar completed their search. Dolan gave him a concerned look, but Allistar held up his empty hands in frustration. Kalas drew a deep breath and held it, fighting for composure. Toying with Ellette had taken some of his tension, but after searching the cabin, it came roaring back.

He climbed out onto the deck and moved to the bow of the boat. Once again, he felt along the surface, ignoring the many eyes he felt watching him as he angled his way around the small vessel. When he came to the stern, Parish was standing by the tiller.

“Kalas,” he said, placing a hand on his shoulder, “we’ll find another way, but there’s nothing here.”

Kalas looked beyond him at the ocean, swelling and surging toward the docks, the sea birds diving into the waves. Everywhere he looked was a vast wilderness of water, a boundless ocean with no landmarks, no beacons, nothing by which to track another.

He moved around the Baron and took a seat in the stern, leaning forward to brace his arms on his thighs. The enormity of this task swamped him and he felt a suffocating pressure in his chest. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to find her. Maybe she was lost to him forever. A lifetime of protecting her, a lifetime of fighting to keep her safe and it was over. There was nothing he could do to save her now.

He was dimly aware that Dolan and Allistar had joined Parish, watching him in concern. Ellette climbed into the boat and pushed her way past them, kneeling down in front of him and covering his hands with her own.

“Please come out of here. Please. This place is not safe for you,” she said.

He lifted his eyes and met hers. “I promised my father I would protect her. As I watched him die, I promised him.”

“And you did. You did everything you could,” she said. She lifted a hand and cupped his cheek. “Other people need you now. I need you. Please, come away from this place.”

He closed his eyes and exhaled. He’d promised Talar, he’d sworn that he would stay with her, protect her from all harm. He’d taken beatings for her, he’d suffered humiliation, debasement, fear and pain for her. How could he just give it up? How could he forget that she was out there? She might need him right now. She might be sick or injured or dying and he couldn’t help her. He couldn’t save her this time.

He felt as if the world was tilting on its axis, as if he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs, as if his heart would stop beating. He lifted a hand and gripped his chest, worried he might be having a heart attack. With his other hand, he reached for the tiller to steady himself.

His fingers tightened convulsively around it, holding on, praying the pain in his chest would ease, and there beneath his hand, beneath the frantic grip of his fingers, he felt it.

Forcing himself to calm, he slid his fingers along the grooves in the tiller and the tightness in his chest eased. The pounding of his heart left his throat and he drew a deeper breath, expanding his lungs. Shifting on the seat, he leaned over the tiller and stared at the numbers carved into the wood, burnished with a rust-brown color, and he knew that Brodie had pressed his own blood into the etchings himself.

Ellette leaned over him, studying the scratches, then Parish was there, running his fingers across the etchings.

“I’ll be damned,” breathed the Baron in awe. “I’ll be damned.”

Kalas slumped back in the seat, fighting the unmanly tears that threatened in his eyes. He’d found the coordinates after all.

*    *    *

Jarrett woke and shifted on the shelf, finding himself alone. He threw back the cover and climbed to his feet. Light filtered through the thin membrane of their enclosure, highlighting the fact that Tyla was gone.

He hurried into the bathing chamber and found the water running, but he didn’t see her. Moving around the half wall, he found her sitting with her back pressed to the wall, the steam of the hot water rising around her.

Ignoring the spray, he crossed around the wall and sank in front of her. She opened her eyes and looked at him. Her eyes were enormous in her gaunt face and the emerald glowed green in the hollow of her throat. Water or tears made a track down her cheeks and she reached out taking his hand. For the first time since he could remember, her touch was cool.

He looked at her hand and then pressed his fingers to her forehead. He couldn’t feel a fever.

“Are you all right?”

She nodded, deliberately keeping her breathing shallow. “I started coughing and didn’t want to wake you.” Her eyes filled with tears and some spilled over, running down her cheeks.

“Did you cough up a lot of blood?”

She shook her head. “No, just spots, nothing worse than before.”

“Why are you crying?”

She closed her hand around the emerald. “I dreamed about my father, Jarrett.”

He studied her closely. “All right?” He wasn’t sure why such a dream would drag so much emotion from her.

“I’ve been dreaming about him a lot.”

“You’ve had a fever for weeks now. We dream a lot of strange things when we’re feverish.”

She wiped the tears away. “They’re not really dreams.”

Jarrett felt a strange shiver race up his spine. “What do you mean they’re not dreams?”

“I’m there with him. I can touch him.”

Jarrett’s gaze dropped to the emerald. “Where with him?”

“He calls it the mist. He says it’s a place between living and death.”

Jarrett blinked. He suddenly felt dizzy. He didn’t know how to answer her.

She touched his arm. “You’re breathing too fast, Jarrett. You need to slow down.”

He ducked his head and closed his eyes, fighting for composure. She was cool to the touch for the first time in weeks. She had no fever. But was that a good thing? Had her body simply given up the fight? Was she losing so much blood that it brought her temperature down?

“What are you muttering?” she asked.

He opened his eyes and lifted his head, not even realizing he’d been speaking. “Nazarien chants. Of all the things they taught me, this was the most useful. It’s a self-meditation trick to calm one’s self.” It helped to keep a clinical distance, but as he looked into her face, his composure shattered. He loved her and he couldn’t lose her, he just couldn’t lose her again.

Hooking his hand under her arm, he helped her to her feet, then he reached back and turned off the water. “Come on, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m going to heat breakfast, then I need to go searching for a bit. Do you think you’ll be all right?”

She braced herself with a hand against his chest. “I’ll probably just sleep. That seems to be all I can do.”

He moved closer to her, wrapping his arm around her back. “The dreams of your father are just dreams. They don’t mean anything else.”

She forced a smile for him. “Of course not. I know they’re dreams.”

He pressed his lips to her damp forehead, feeling the coolness of her skin. He held her there for a long moment, until he felt her trembling with fatigue. Hooking a hand under her arm, he supported her as they went back to their room.

Zimran had arrived with their bowls and another bowl of rocks. Jarrett eased Tyla onto the shelf and tucked the blanket around her, then he took the tray and headed outside. Zimran followed him as Jarrett went through his ritual of lighting the fire and heating the food. Other Wryn appeared and offered him their own bowls to heat. He did so, then settled another pot next to the first filled with water. He dumped the rocks into the water and waited for everything to come to a boil. Zimran made a mewl of protest when he saw Jarrett boiling the rocks, but he didn’t say anything.

Once both pots were bubbling actively, Jarrett ladled out the green gruel to the waiting Wryn, filled his and Tyla’s bowls, poured them both a cup of the water/rock mixture and carried it all inside.

Zimran trailed him again as he returned to Tyla. Setting the tray on the table, he helped Tyla into a sitting position and braced her with his pack, then he gave her the rock water first. Sometimes it seemed to stimulate her appetite and she would nearly finish the bowl of gruel.

As she sipped, Tyla smiled at Zimran. “Have you seen the injured Wryn?” She motioned to her back, then made a sewing motion with her hand.

Zimran nodded. “Wryn ipse es ben.”

Tyla exchanged a look with Jarrett, but he just shrugged. “Drink up,” he said, touching the bottom of her cup. She lifted it to her lips.

Zimran moved restlessly. He held out a rock on the palm of his hand. It looked just like the others that Jarrett boiled each day. “Ty-la comedetus, Jer-rid.”

Jarrett sighed. He’d been down this road with Zimran before and he didn’t have the energy to do it again. Tyla was watching him though.

“Why is he so insistent about that?” she asked.

“I don’t know, but we can’t eat rocks.”

“I know, it’s just very odd.”

He gave her a skeptical look. “That’s what you find odd about our current living arrangements?”

She gave a half-laugh. “You have a point.”

He settled his bowl on the tray and kissed her forehead. “Get some rest. I’ll be back soon.”

She nodded and accepted the bowl of green gruel he handed her. Before Jarrett could react, Zimran darted forward and dropped the rock into Tyla’s food. They both stared up at him in shock.

Carefully, Tyla plucked the rock from it and turned it around, looking at it. “There is nothing special about this rock that I can see. It doesn’t even glow with pycantra.”

Jarrett took it from her, scowling at Zimran, and settled it in his empty bowl. “That’s enough nonsense,” he said, rising to his feet and turning the Wryn around. “I’ll be back soon,” he called over his shoulder as he propelled the Wryn from the room.

Zimran turned to him. “Ty-la comedetus, Jer-rid.”

Jarrett sighed. Zimran had been helpful, caring for them with a singular dedication, so he didn’t want to get frustrated with him. “We’ll talk about this later, okay?”

As he moved around him, Zimran reached out and grabbed his hand. “Jer-rid, Ty-la comedetus.”

Jarrett pulled away. “I know. I know. Later.” Picking up the pace, he hurried into the communal domes, leaving Zimran behind.

The sun was just cresting the mountains, shining down into the valley when he stepped outside. His long stride took him down the tree-covered trail, along the edge of the mountains. He stopped frequently and dug at the ground with the toe of his boots, but he didn’t find any of the glittering dirt. He studied the plants and pulled a few leaves, rubbing them between his fingers, but he felt nothing.

Coming out of the woods, he found himself in the meadow with the strange rock formations. He spent a lot of time wandering around the formations, looking at the rocks and picking up a few of the smaller one. He kept a couple that looked promising, wishing the Delphi tunics had a place for pockets. Carrying them in his left hand, he continued across the meadow until he came to the line of mushroom shaped trees with the green globed fruit.

Reaching up, he fingered a globe. It wasn’t a large as the ones in the work-room and it was very hard, but he suspected it would change as it ripened. Continuing down the line, he looked around. The placement of the trees was too regular, too deliberate. He had to be in an orchard.

To his left, he heard a sound, almost like the snick of pruning shears. He shifted in that direction, stepping over the rows. He came across a group of Wryn, harvesting the green globes from the trees. They worked in pairs, one using a long curved blade to cut the stem and another to catch the fruit as it fell. The globes were then loaded into large bags, woven like their clothing.

They paused as he came into view and gave him a sharp inclination of their heads. Then they went back to their harvest. As he looked through the trees, he saw other clusters of workers doing the same thing, stretching away as far as he could see.

He moved to the closest bag and picked up one of the globes, turning it over in his hands. This one plant provided everything the Wryn and Delphi needed. It fed them, clothed them, built their cities. If the crop should suddenly fail, so would this oddly beautiful society. It made him feel melancholy, made him reflect on the thin balance of life. Right now, it was also keeping him and Tyla alive and he didn’t even know the name of it. He would have to ask Zimran when he got back. Replacing the fruit, he lifted the rocks in his hand and turned them over. There was so much about this island, about these people that he didn’t understand.

A cry of alarm broke the stillness of the morning, echoed by a cacophony of shouts. The Wryn around him went still, but a moment later, they scattered, scrambling to put trees between them and the cries. More Wryn passed him as he stepped between the rows, headed toward the noise.

He crossed around the trunk of a particularly large mushroom tree and came to a dead stop. Wryn raced around him, running in the opposite direction, their eyes wild, the white tuffs of hair standing on end. Behind them was a strange creature, walking on all fours.

It had a sloping head, short front legs and longer back legs. The front legs bowed outward at the elbows and ended in long, hooked claws. It swung its large head around and zeroed in on Jarrett as the Wryn scrambled around him. Its almond-shaped eyes were large and amber colored with vertical pupils, and a fork tongue flicked out, tasting the air.

Jarrett shivered in revulsion. It reminded him of an Orahim, but little intelligence shown out of its reptilian eyes. Along the ridge of its spine were small hard knobs, colored dark brown near the crest of its head to lighter green along its thick, whipping tail.

Keeping one eye fixed on the man, it reached out and speared an orb with its claws, pulling the fruit to it. Lowering its head, it sank sharp yellow teeth into the skin and tore it away. Then it began eating the soft flesh on the inside.

Jarrett’s attention was riveted on the curve of its claws. He figured he’d just met the animal that had maimed the Wryn a few days before. Without finishing the first globe, it reached for another, breaking the skin and sticking its snout inside.

By the size of its body, Jarrett figured it could destroy a huge number of the orbs without finishing a single one. The Wryn’s harvest must be a bounty for it, so many orbs piled up just to be sampled.

He looked behind him and saw a few Wryn peeking out from behind the trees. Why weren’t they doing anything to protect their harvest? They had their curved knives for cutting the fruit. It would at least allow them to defend their food source.

When the creature reached for a third globe, Jarrett couldn’t ignore the destruction any more. He lifted his arms and took a step toward the creature, waving them over his head.

“Hey!” he shouted, feinting toward it.

Startled, it ducked, then it rose up, hissing at him.

Jarrett stopped moving and his hand dropped to the hilt of his sword. He didn’t really want to tangle with it for two reasons. He didn’t want to kill something for wanting food, and most importantly, he didn’t want to tangle with something that had such claws.

“Get out of here!” he shouted at it.

But instead of leaving, it stepped over an orb, its claws clicking against the dirt.

Jarrett stood his ground, curling his fingers around the hilt.

It hissed again, lowering its head as if it might charge.

Reflexively, Jarrett’s fingers tightened on the rocks in his hands. If he could just get it to back down, he wouldn’t have to fight it, but he knew if he turned tail now and ran, it would be on him in a second. Opening his hand, he glanced down at the rocks. An idea struck him and he dropped the larger of the two into his right hand.

Hauling back his arm, he beamed the rock at the creature’s face. His aim was true and the rock struck the animal between the eyes. However, the rock exploded on impact, knocking the creature over onto its back.

Both Jarrett and the animal were stunned. Jarrett went still, holding the other rock, while the creature just lay without moving, its legs pointed up in the air. Staring in bewilderment at the rock in his hand, he carefully laid it down at his feet and drew his sword, advancing toward the creature lying on its back. He was afraid he might have killed it. He’d never expected the rock to explode.

Just as he got within striking distance, the lizard gave a convulsive shiver and frantically kicked its legs, succeeding in falling over onto its right side, then it scrambled up and took off running away from the orchard, disappearing into the trees as fast as it could.

Jarrett stopped moving and watched after it, amazed by what happened. A sudden cacophony of sound erupted behind him and the Wryn appeared again, sliding out from behind the trees and coming to him to pat him on the back.

*   *   *

Kalas glanced up as Dolan entered his study. He stopped before Kalas’ desk and clasped his hands behind his back. Kalas gave him a questioning look, but he still didn’t speak.

Leaning back in his chair, Kalas frowned at him. “Dolan, are we ever going to get beyond the need for ceremony?”

“No, Your Majesty.”

Kalas raised one brow. Well, then. “What information do you have for me?”

“The Baron is having the coordinates plotted, then he’ll begin provisioning your ship.”

“My ship?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“What ship?”

“The King’s ship, the Queen Astaral.”

“The Queen Astaral? When did I get a ship?”

“Lord Tarnow commissioned it prior to his death. He had a great fondness for sailing.”

“I see. Very good then.” He leaned forward and began looking over the hospital reports on the plague again, but Dolan did not move. Glancing up, he squinted at him. “Anything else?”

“A letter was delivered to the gate this morning.”

“From?”

Dolan produced the letter from behind his back. “Quinn Laurel.”

Kalas held out his hand to receive it, reaching for the letter opener with his other hand. He tore along the seam of the envelope and shook the letter onto the desk, then he folded it open. One line dominated the page, written in a fine, curving script.

Surrender the woman or face annihilation.

Kalas held it out to Dolan.

His second quickly scanned it, then passed it back. “That’s vexing.”

Kalas gave him a bewildered look. Now that had to be humor. “Vexing?”

“It would have been nice to know what form the annihilation would take, but he seems particularly vague on that.”

“How do we know the letter’s from Quinn Laurel? He didn’t exactly sign it.”

“The Nazarien who delivered it promptly dropped dead.”

Kalas absorbed that information. “Now that’s vexing,” he said.

“It is.”

Pushing himself to his feet, he wandered to the windows and looked out at the balcony. Ellette was sitting on the bench, her legs curled under her, reading a book. “He means Ellette, doesn’t he?”

“I would assume so.”

Kalas’ eyes shifted to the waves. “They leave me with little choice.”

“What do you mean?”

“All Nazarien who are not directly connected to the Kazden Cult and cleared by Attis will have to be driven from the city.”

“What about Stravad that aren’t affiliated with either group?”

“They’ll have to go as well.”

“Isn’t that a harsh punishment, Your Majesty?”

Kalas turned to face him. “What would you have me do? Turn Ellette over to him?”

“Obviously that is not the answer, but a forced exodus seems particularly rash.”

Kalas sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I know. At least double the guard on the manor house and see she is outfitted with any weapons of her choice.”

Dolan’s expression grew troubled and Kalas braced himself for an argument, but he didn’t say anything. With a slight bow, he turned on his heel and walked from the room. Kalas turned back to the window and watched the sun touch Ellette’s hair, streaking it a light shade of brown.

CHAPTER 22

Tyla took a seat on the sleeping shelf and picked up one of Zimran’s rocks. She turned it over and over in her hand, pressing it with the pad of her thumb. It looked like a million other rocks, a million other pieces of cast-off. She flaked away a slice with her thumb nail.

I always thought I could neutralize it, find something to counteract the symptoms. If one type of pycantra caused the disease, another might cancel it out.

Her father’s words came back to her, but had they been his words or a product of her feverish, ill mind?

This morning the coughing had returned as usual, but there hadn’t been blood and she hadn’t had a fever in more than two days. Breathing was easier as well. She had to believe the rapid shift in her health came from the rocks, but now that they’d found the answer, she had to get back to Kazden. Other people were dying, while she and Jarrett languished here. If she could collect a basket of these rocks, they would last for generations. One rock would be enough to cure thousands of people.

And Kerrin needed her. For the first time in months, she could envision a future with her son, watching him become a man, have children of his own. Longing for him was like a physical pain inside of her.

But that brought her thoughts full circle to Jarrett. Seeing that she was better, he’d taken his spears and went to the orchard with Avendale to train other Wryn with the weapons. She wasn’t sure it was a good idea to arm them, but she understood why he wanted to give them some defense. They owed the Wryn so very much. Zimran had saved her life and Jarrett needed some way to repay them.

As much as she wanted to go home, she dreaded facing a life without Jarrett again. He was Nazar. His place was in Chernow with an order that badly needed direction and guidance. He would never be able to live with her and Kerrin in Temeron, and she wouldn’t leave her people. Not now, not when she’d almost lost them. To move Kerrin and Tash from their home was unthinkable.

Zimran appeared in the doorway.

She looked up, setting the rock on the table again. “Hello, my friend.”

“Ty-la, venir meca.” He made a motion with his hands.

“Come with you?”

He nodded and motioned with his hands again. Tyla rose to her feet and followed him. He led her into the common domes, passing other Wryn at work. They always ducked their heads to her as if to show respect. She was learning to do the same.

He took her to the sun and moon door. Tyla hesitated, glancing around the main dome. Jarrett was off in the orchard and she was here alone. She didn’t have any desire to go into the arena and see the Delphi again.

Zimran looked back at her. “Ty-la, venir meca.” He motioned at the door and as he did so, it swung open.

Immediately Tyla could feel the pulsation of the Delphi’s thoughts; they hammered at her mind, trying to breach the barrier she constructed against them. At her breast, the emerald began to pulse with green light.

Curling her hands into fist, she stepped forward and followed him into the arena. As soon as they moved through the door, it closed at their backs. Tyla turned, surveying it. She could see no mechanism to open it, no handle, no pulleys, nothing to indicate how it was done, except through powerful telekinetics.

Zimran led her down into the bowl of the arena and Tyla lifted her head, surveying the collection of Delphi crowding the seats around them. She wondered if this is where they lived their lives, sitting on the benches and sharing their every thought with each other. The cacophony of their conversation buzzed in her head, held at bay by her own power and the concentration of the emerald.

Zimran moved to the middle of the bowl and pressed his hands together, then he bowed his head in obeisance. The volume of thoughts increased for a moment, then fell off. Tyla turned a circle, studying the strange white creatures with their overly large black eyes and sloping heads. They all wore flowing robes made from the green orbs and she simply could not distinguish between the sexes like she could with the Wryn. It seemed inconceivable that they lived in this arena, but she saw no indication that they ever left it, except the few times she’d encountered them outside the domes.

Zimran rose to his full height and backed up, until he was a step behind her. He motioned into the center of the arena and gave her a reassuring nod. Tyla stepped forward and the emerald flared to life, a warm flow of green light washing around her body.

The hum of thoughts suddenly increased. The only comparison she could make would be a crowd of people suddenly exclaiming in surprise or delight. Directly in front of her, a Delphi raised its hand and the thoughts subsided.

This Delphi wore a band of green fabric around its head. Tyla wondered if it were a designation of rank or something. No other Delphi had such distinction. She moved until she was directly before this one. It was easier to focus on a single being than an entire society.

Zimran stepped up behind her.

As her eyes locked on the Delphi, she felt the pulse of its thoughts, a single pulse. She opened her mind to allow it entrance. Again the pulse, a faint touch sliding away again. Tyla concentrated. She could recognize the familiarity of the pattern, clearly an attempt to communicate, but the thought was foreign, unique.

“I don’t understand,” she said aloud, then tried to convey her confusion without words.

The Delphi slowly blinked its large, dark eyes, then its focus shifted to Zimran. She could feel the thoughts flow toward the Wryn, away from her and she knew they were communicating. After a moment, the Wryn ducked his head again. For some reason, she was getting the impression that this Delphi was male.

“Eam nomin es Ty-la,” Zimran said.

Tyla recognized that. “Yes, my name is Tyla.” She touched the center of her chest, below the glow of the emerald.

The Delphi’s eyes dropped to the talisman and fixed.

“My name is Tyla,” she repeated and then formulated it into a thought.

Zimran touched her elbow. “Eum nomin es Revic.” He held out his hand, palm up toward the Delphi with the green band on his head. “Revic.”

Tyla smiled. Now they were getting somewhere. Pressing her hands together as Zimran had done, she gave him a slight bow of obeisance. “Pleased to meet you, Revic. I am Tyla from Temeron. I am Stravad.”

She could feel the pulse of his thoughts, probing, trying to find entrance. She allowed him to search for a bit, then she shoved him forcefully away. She wanted him to know she could control the situation.

However, the moment she rebuffed him, the rest of the Delphi erupted in alarm. They had felt it, knew what she had done. Tyla had never experienced such a display of communal thoughts before. When Stravad communicated, it was between two people, although when she thought about it, she did remember her grandfather mentioning that her father had intercepted thoughts between Tash and his brother, Tav. Still, the Delphi carried this ability to a far more sophisticated degree.

With a lift of his hand, Revic silenced them. He tilted his head and studied the emerald, then he pointed at it and made a motion as if he wanted her to give it to him.

“Oh, that’s not happening,” she said, shaking her head and curling a hand around the gem.

His motions became more pronounced and she could feel the force of his thoughts as if he were shouting at her.

She shook her head again.

Rising to his feet, he focused on Zimran. Tyla turned and studied the Wryn. He was clearly conflicted between the direct order he’d been given and his loyalty to Tyla. She took the decision away from him and stepped forward.

“No,” she said firmly. As she did so, the emerald flared and a brief pulsation of energy left it and swept outward like a gust of wind, startling the Delphi.

Revic took a seat and stared at her.

She smiled grimly. “Now that we’ve established some boundaries, why don’t we give this communication thing another try?”

*   *   *

“Don’t do this, Kalas. You’re risking your life needlessly. I can appoint a squad to go, a group of highly trained soldiers.” Parish leaned forward, pressing his hands to Kalas’ desk.

Kalas glanced over his shoulder at him. “We aren’t going to continue this conversation, Baron. I am going.”

“Talk some sense into him,” Parish said, turning to Dolan.

Kalas’ brows rose as his attention shifted to his second.

Dolan looked down. “He will do as he chooses. I cannot dissuade him.”

Rounding on Ellette where she perched in a chair before the desk, Parish held out his hand. “Then you talk to him. Tell him how unnecessary this trip is. They already burned one ship and we couldn’t stop them. They’ve shot at him how many times? One of these times, they’re going to get lucky.”

Ellette met Kalas’ gaze. “I will not tell him to stay behind. Not in this.”

Parish slapped his hands against his thighs.

“Then I will,” came Attis’ voice. He was standing by the door, his arms crossed over his chest. “You have no right to take the risks you do.”

Kalas turned fully around. “Be careful how you speak to me, Nazarien.”

Attis dropped his eyes.

Alasdair rubbed the back of his neck. “We’re wasting time arguing in a language I don’t understand. Are we going or not?” he asked in Lodenian.

“Yes, as soon as I can get the ship provisioned. I intend to leave in the morning before someone can burn this ship down.” He switched to Nevaisser. “Have the ship prepared to sail at dawn.”

“You have been betrayed and you know the betrayer is someone in your inner circle, yet you insist that you are continuing on this path. Do you want to die? Is that your goal?” said Parish in frustration.

“My goal is to bring my sister back, nothing more.”

Parish cast a sidelong look at Ellette. “Do one thing for me then. Do not broadcast your plans to everyone. Send everyone away, so that you and I can plan in private. I will have the men mustered and ready to leave on a moment’s notice, but let the time of departure be a secret that just the two of us keep.”

“I am not going to sneak around like a thief, Parish. Double the guard, whatever you need to do, but I am not going to hide from Quinn Laurel like a coward.”

“You don’t have the right to take such risks!” said Attis again, coming forward. “You have two regions reliant on you for guidance. Listen to the Baron and think of others for once. He can send a squad to the island and you never have to set foot outside this sanctuary.”

Kalas focused on him. “Why are you so adamant about this?”

“During Rarick’s time, my people were hunted like dogs. There was a bounty on our heads and people cashed in on it. They murdered my people like vermin, but now we can move freely without fear. I will not go back to a time when we hid away what we really were.”

Kalas frowned. “How can anything I do change that, return it to the way it was? We have laws that prevent such things from happening now, Attis. I just don’t understand your opposition.”

“I know you don’t. You care only for the things that matter to you. You don’t care for your people or how much they need you, your guidance and stewardship. You have to stop thinking of yourself as a man, the same as any other man here. You have to be the King you were born to be. Don’t go to that island. Don’t take such risks. Stay here and let us protect you. You owe it to every person in Nevaisser. I have tried and tried to make that clear to you. I don’t know how to be any clearer.”

Kalas stared at him and things began coalescing. “You had the Queen Astaral burned, didn’t you?”

Attis looked away. “I was trying to protect you from yourself.”

“You’re the leak? You’re the betrayer?” said Parish in disbelief, rounding on him.

Attis’ eyes snapped up to Kalas and held. “I was trying to protect you. I was trying to keep you safe. I thought if the ship burned, you would be forced to stay here. Then my actions almost got you killed. I didn’t know Quinn Laurel would use that opportunity to attack you, but he did. Now I’m more certain than ever that you must not leave this house.”

Silence fell in the room and everyone stared at Attis.

Finally, Parish moved. “I’ll have my men arrest him.”

“I accept whatever punishment you mete out, but I stand by my belief that you must not go to that island. You must not risk your life anymore.”

Parish grabbed Attis’ arm. “Betrayal is grounds for life imprisonment or execution, Nazarien. You have made a fatal mistake.”

“I understood that yesterday, but I did not betray you, Your Majesty. I never alerted Quinn Laurel of my actions. I accept the blame for the burning of the Queen Astaral, but nothing more. I would never align myself with assassins and traitors.”

“Well, you did. You almost fed right into his hands. You almost delivered your King to him, and I promise you, you will pay for it,” hissed Parish.

Kalas held up a hand. “The Queen Astaral was a very expensive vessel.”

Attis ducked his head.

“Very expensive. It will take many years to pay off such a debt.”

Attis’ gaze moved upward, but he couldn’t meet Kalas’ eyes.

“Your actions would be deemed treasonous if they weren’t so misguided.”

“I don’t understand, Your Majesty,” said Parish.

“Attis has protected my life at the risk of his own numerous times. That is not something easily forgotten.”

“What are you saying? He betrayed you. He burned down your ship,” argued Parish.

“Yes, for the purpose of protecting me, and he’s clearly done so. I’m still alive.” He took a step closer to Attis. “However, you owe me a ship, Attis.”

“Where will I get one, Your Majesty?” he said with a bewildered expression.

“Obviously, you’ll have to work it off. Starting tomorrow, you are indentured to me until the cost of the Queen Astaral is paid in full.”

Parish released his hold on Attis and stared at Kalas in disbelief. “What are you saying, Your Majesty?”

“I’m saying that saving my life has more value to me than a ship I didn’t know about until a few days ago.”

“This is ridiculous. He burnt down a ship to keep you here.”

“Which is why he will repay me for it.”

“He took action without your approval.”

Kalas met Parish’s angry look. “If that were the standard by which all of you were measured, every one of you would find yourself in prison or executed.”

Parish slapped his thighs again and walked away, but Attis lifted a hand and scratched at his tattoo, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“As you wish, Your Majesty,” he said, then executed a formal bow.

*   *   *

Jarrett returned to the domes and found Tyla sitting on the sleeping shelf, turning a green orb over and over in her hands. She looked up when he entered and smiled. He felt a blush of happiness flow through him. She seemed stronger than she had in weeks, a faint tint of color in her cheeks. She was still unbelievably gaunt, but the dark circles beneath her eyes had faded a bit.

“How are you?” he said, leaning against the narrowed doorway. He desperately needed to bathe and wash the sweat away. The Wryn had been enthusiastic, if not particularly skilled, students with the spear.

“I had an interesting day.”

“Did you now? In what way?”

“The Delphi summoned me.”

That drew Jarrett into their chamber. “And you went without me?”

She gave him another smile. “You don’t exactly fare well with them, now do you?”

“No, but I don’t like that you went alone.”

“I didn’t. Zimran went with me.”

“Tell me what happened.” He took a seat across from her on the shelf.

Tyla relayed her encounter with the Delphi, recalling the way that Zimran had communicated with Revic, but when she thought about it later, she couldn’t remember Zimran trying to communicate with them the same way. He always spoke to them.

“Why do you think this Revic wanted to see the emerald?”

Tyla shook her head. “I’m not sure, but it reacts in their presence. The same way it does when it’s in the presence of pycantra.”

“Or it responds to you, your power. The Delphi force you to call upon your telekinetics.”

She gave a nod of agreement.

“It worries me that they’re so interested in you.”

“I had to give them a jolt to back them down. I felt a little like a curiosity to them, the day’s entertainment.”

“Day’s? Try week or month or century?”

Tyla laughed and Jarrett soaked up the sound. He reached out and took her hand. “You seem stronger than you have in weeks.”

She squeezed his fingers. “I am. I think it’s safe to say Zimran cured me.”

He was afraid to make that claim too soon and intended to keep putting the rock dust in her food, but it did seem like the crisis had passed. “So what’s with the snot ball?” He motioned at the orb with his chin.

“I was wondering if it would float, or enable a wooden frame to float.”

“You mean use it as the membrane for a boat.”

“Exactly. Now that we’ve found the cure, we need to get back to Kazden, Jarrett. People are dying needlessly. And I thought Kalas would have found us by now.”

He leaned closer to her. “Kalas will find us, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared. I’ll start working on building a small boat of some kind.”

“Thank you for listening to my ideas, even when they seem silly.”

“I will always listen to you, Tyla. And your ideas aren’t silly. They may be risky and ill-planned, but not silly.”

She laughed. “They are never ill-planned. Maybe not Jarrett-planned or Kalas-planned, but certainly not ill-planned.”

“Then wrong-planned.”

She pushed him in the shoulder, but he leaned forward again and kissed her forehead.

She caught the front of his tunic and stopped him from drawing away. Her green eyes searched his face, then she leaned forward and kissed him. For a moment, Jarrett couldn’t respond. Everything he’d suppressed for ten years, every emotion, every feeling, crowded into his throat and he froze.

She drew away, slowly opening her eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

He moved then and caught her by the back of the head, pulling her into him, meeting her lips with his own. He fought the hunger that filled him, the desire to meld them together, and gentled his kiss, angling his mouth to meet hers.

When they finally parted, both of them were breathing fast. He stared into her eyes, losing himself in their depth. “I love you, Tyla Eldralin, now and always.”

Her hand was fisted in the fabric at his throat, but she eased her hold. “I love you, Jarrett.”

“What the hell are we going to do?”

She pressed her forehead to his and closed her eyes again. “We’re not going to worry about it right now. I’ve been given a second chance and I’m tired of getting caught up in whatifs that take place somewhere in the future. I just want to live my life and enjoy what’s happening right at this very moment.”

“I like that philosophy. So what do you want to do at this very moment?”

She leaned away from him. “What were you planning to do when you came back here just now?”

He thought for a moment. “I was going to use the bathing chamber and wash off the grime from teaching the Wryn to use spears.”

A wicked gleam sparked in her eye. “You want some company?” she whispered.

Jarrett felt his heart jolt, then he rose to his feet and pulled her up with him.

The orb tumbled out of her lap and landed on the ground, forgotten, as they hurried from their chamber.

CHAPTER 23

The commercial fishing vessel they commandeered was large and solidly crafted. It cut through the waves, sending spray over the bow. The crew had scrubbed the decks, but scales and bits of entrails stubbornly clung to the corners and between the ship’s timbers. A distinct smell of fish permeated everything, including the sailors.

Parish had stocked the hull with enough provisions for a month’s long journey. He had boxes of cured meat, baskets of fresh fruit, and loaf after loaf of dense nut bread wrapped in wax paper. Added to it were two casks of the finest whiskey from the King’s personal larder. The fishermen had grumbled about losing their catch for the next few days, but the fare, and the generous coffers of the King, went a long way toward smoothing things over. As a result, the rough sailors were very solicitous of their august passengers and a course was quickly set for Delure.

Once they sailed onto the open ocean, Dolan took to hanging by the rails. His stomach rebelled with the pitch of the rough waves, and soon Allistar joined him with a handful of his Stravad warriors. The rest of the soldiers had braved the sea many times and weren’t bothered by it.

Kalas worried his stomach might find the violent rolling unacceptable, but no matter how much the vessel pitched over the swells, he felt fine. In fact, he felt energized. He’d never ridden on the ocean before. Rarick had a general distrust of the sea and therefore, would never permit his heir to venture onto it.

Kalas felt like he understood his father a bit better. There was a freedom, a wildness about the ocean that spoke to him, that enchanted him. Every roll of the timbers beneath his feet reminded him how insignificant they were in the greater scheme of the world and there was something liberating in that idea.

Ellette stood beside him at the bow, the wind whipping her hair back from her face. Although she didn’t smile, the concentration in her expression told Kalas she was experiencing much the same thing he was. For the first time in either of their lives, they were truly free.

“It will be a number of hours, Your Majesty,” said Parish, coming up on his side.

Kalas nodded. Parish was still angry at him for allowing Attis to remain part of his retinue, but Kalas understood how the Cult thought. They took action; they didn’t ask for permission. Attis would never have thought to talk to Kalas about his safety; he just acted to insure it, as misguided as that action was.

“Did you ever sail with my father, Parish?”

Parish glanced at him. If anything could ease the tension between them, talking about Talar was bound to do it. “We used to borrow a small boat when we were teenagers, sail out and fish. We’d spend the whole day out, eating cheese sandwiches and talking. Didn’t do much fishing, honestly.”

“Borrow?”

Parish shrugged. “We called it borrowing. Others might call it stealing, but we always returned it. Your father wasn’t opposed to taking a shortcut once in a while if it served him.”

“Not a very Nazarien-like trait,” commented Ellette.

“Talar wasn’t a very Nazarien-like Nazarien,” said Parish, his voice tinged with nostalgia. He shifted and met Kalas’ eye, then laid a hand on his shoulder before he went off to give his men new orders.

*   *   *

Jarrett and Tyla had just finished eating when Zimran appeared. Mid-morning light was filtering into their chamber and neither of them were in a particular hurry to leave the sanctuary they had built for themselves. Unspoken between them was the knowledge that they needed to get off the island, but stealing one morning for themselves didn’t seem too extravagant.

Zimran’s expression, however, was less than sanguine.

“Ty-la, venir meca.”

Tyla was beginning to understand this phrase at least. “Not today, Zimran. We have other things to do.” She motioned between her and Jarrett.

Zimran might not have understood what she said, but he understood that she wasn’t moving. He shifted weight anxiously. “Ty-la, venir meca cere. Del-phi manda.”

Tyla exchanged a look with Jarrett.

Jarrett shook his head. “I don’t want you going in there alone and since we’ve determined I can’t go, the Delphi will just have to be disappointed.”

Tyla turned back to Zimran. “I’m sorry, my friend. No venir meca.” She shook her head emphatically.

Zimran came forward, then danced back, his expression clearly agitated. “Ty-la, Del-phi manda.” Then, strangely, he placed his hands together in a motion of supplication. “Ty-la, cere.”

Tyla felt torn. “He’s pleading with me, Jarrett. How can I refuse? They saved my life and possibly the lives of our people.”

“Zimran saved your life, not the Delphi, and I repeat, I don’t like you facing them alone.”

“I did it before and nothing happened. I think I can control the situation if it comes down to it. I’m fairly certain they’re just going to try communicating again.”

“I thought we’d spend the day together,” he said, reaching over and taking her hand.

“I don’t think I’ll be long. While I’m gone, why don’t you see if the membrane on the orbs floats?”

Jarrett leaned back against the wall. “All right.” He gave a dramatic sigh. “If you insist, I guess I’ll be productive.”

She stood up and leaned over the table, kissing his cheek. Before she could pull away, he turned into the kiss, curling his hand around the back of her neck and holding her there. Happiness rose inside of her, but she pulled away reluctantly.

“Go get filthy again,” she whispered against his lips, “and I’ll meet you in the bathing chamber when you return.”

His eyes glimmered wickedly as he slid his hand free of her hair. Then he glared up at Zimran. “Hurry this meeting up.”

Zimran blinked his large eyes at him, looking completely bewildered.

Tyla motioned to the door and waited for the Wryn to lead the way. “I’ll see you in a little while,” she said from the doorway, then followed Zimran toward the Delphi arena.

As they wove through the domes, Tyla couldn’t help but wonder at the fact that the rest of the Wryn seemed unconcerned with the Delphi. She believed the Wryn provided all physical sustenance for the Delphi, but beyond that, the Delphi seemed to have little influence in their lives. Although, she couldn’t forget how the Delphi had discarded Avendale when he was injured. The dynamics between the two people was clearly not equal, and yet, she wondered what the Delphi did for the Wryn. It was a lop-sided relationship in her perspective, benefitting only one of them.

Before they arrived at the sun and moon door, it opened. Tyla could feel the pulsation of the Delphi thoughts and the emerald began to hum against her breast. A few Wryn were passing through, and they quickened their pace when they noticed the door was open. Although the cacophony of Delphi thoughts didn’t hurt her, it was unpleasant, like the buzzing of a bee hive inside one’s head. She had to wonder if the Wryn felt the same thing.

She followed Zimran beyond the door, not waiting for it to close behind them. The Delphi occupied their same places around the periphery of the room. She was beginning to notice small variances in their appearance. Revic, with his green band of cloth, was easy to recognize.

He lifted his hand as he had the day before and the hum of thoughts subsided. Then he motioned her forward. Tyla stepped away from Zimran and faced him from the floor of the arena. He pointed emphatically at the emerald and held out his hand.

“No,” she said and thrust back with her power. They weren’t exactly speaking the same language, but when he winced, she knew he’d gotten her message. He lowered his hand and sat staring at her.

Behind her Zimran shifted anxiously.

Revic’s eyes rose to pin him. Tyla felt the force of the Delphi’s thought assault the Wryn. Zimran bowed his head, pressing his hands together. Again Revic directed the full force of his communication on the Wryn. Zimran made a strange noise and lowered his head further. He was nearly bent over at the waist.

Tyla followed the exchange, then moved back to stand beside her friend. She could feel the edge of Revic’s power and could only imagine how it felt to Zimran. Suddenly, he collapsed to his hands and knees, his head hanging between his shoulders, the white stripe of hair standing on end.

“Stop it!” Tyla demanded, kneeling beside the Wryn and placing her hands on his back. He was trembling. Whipping her eyes to Revic, she released her power, causing the benches to roll with it. “Stop it now!”

Revic’s assault cut off, but Zimran didn’t rise. He pressed his head against the tiles of the arena, his breath coming in a pant. Tyla stroked a hand across his white hair and tried to soothe him. Reaching out, he groped for her hand and she gave it to him. His fingers squeezed hers in a motion of communion, a gesture where no words were needed.

Tyla slid her free hand around his upper arm, prepared to help him to his feet, but suddenly two Delphi loomed over them. Tyla’s gaze shot to their implacable faces, the pale ivory of their skin gleaming pearlescent in the dim light of the arena. They reached down and grabbed Zimran under the arms, hauling him to his feet.

Tyla still had his hand and he clutched her, his expression shifting to panic. “Let him go!” she shouted, but they dragged him backward toward the door, his heels sliding across the tiles.

Tyla followed them, clinging to Zimran, but they were too strong and she was afraid to hurt him. Tearing her away from the Wryn, they pulled him up the incline and to the tunnel before the door. Tyla followed, prepared to do whatever she needed to save her friend. His eyes were wild with desperation and fear, and he struggled against them.

As soon as they neared the door, it swung open. They went to the edge of it and thrust Zimran outside with such force that he lost his footing and fell on his backside. Tyla tried to go to him, but the Delphi turned and blocked the entrance with their bodies.

Tyla caught one last glimpse of Zimran as the door closed.

*   *   *

The island of Delure rose up out of the mist, a mass of stone cliffs and verdant jungles with a narrow stretch of beach right at the shore’s edge. Kalas gripped the railing and stared out at it, stunned by its massive size. How would they begin to search for his sister in this alien place?

Around him, the ship’s crew spun in frantic, chaotic motion. He heard numerous comments about rocks and shallow draft. The ship tracked parallel to the island, never dipping back into the fog that surrounded it, but never going closer to shore. Kalas wasn’t sure, but he felt fairly certain they’d sailed around the perimeter of it at least once in the half-day that had passed.

Parish appeared at his elbow, watching the sheer cliffs slide away along the starboard bow. “Captain says there’s no way to get any closer. There’s a spot further along where we can row a dingy into shore. It’ll take a few trips to get us and our stores over there, but the spot he’s picked has a beach where we can camp. It was the only beach access he’s found.”

“Will he wait here for our return?”

“That’s the agreement, but every day the cost goes up. They’re missing some prime fishing.”

“I don’t care what it costs. I just want them to wait while we search the island.” He glanced over his shoulder where Allistar was hugging the railing. “Tell Allistar to get his men ready to disembark.”

“Done,” said Parish, then he turned to go. Hesitating he came back to the rail. “I don’t suppose…”

“No.”

“You don’t know what I was going to ask.”

“I do and it will always be no.”

“We have no way of knowing what’s on that island. We can’t prepare for anything because we don’t know what we face, yet you are insistent you have to risk yourself to go.”

Kalas turned and put his back to the rail. “Since I hate these arguments and we seem to have them so often, let me try a different approach with you, Baron. Whenever you think to challenge my decision, ask yourself the following. What would my father want me to do? Would my father want me to go to this island and look for my sister?”

Parish looked away, down the railing where Ellette and Dolan stood, staring out at the island. “You always use him against me, you know that?”

“Would anything else work?”

“Probably not.” With a last pointed look, he headed toward Allistar.

Kalas stifled the guilt that rose inside of him. He hated having to manipulate people, but they gave him no choice. He wasn’t staying on this ship, while they searched for his sister. He might be King of two realms, and he knew that their concern sprang from that fact, but in this he was just a man fighting to keep the only family he had together.

*   *   *

Jarrett cut the orb in half and hollowed out one side of it. Then he filled one of the cooking orbs with water and settled the hollowed half inside. It floated for a moment, then gradually it began to take on water, until it lost all elasticity and sank to the bottom of the pot.

He fished it out and stretched it in his hands. It was too porous this way, but if he dried it with the fire, it might harden enough to be used around the frame of a boat. Dropping it into the pot again and sitting back, he sighed. How long would it take them to dry enough of the skin to cover a boat big enough to transport both him and Tyla?

Reaching into the pouch on his belt, he pulled out the stone Kerrin had given him, passing it back and forth in his fingers. He hadn’t given much thought to returning and what it meant. Most of the time he’d been filled with a growing dread that they wouldn’t find a cure for Tyla’s illness. Now that they had, he couldn’t help but think of the future. And after the previous day, he knew that the future had to have her in it. Her and his son.

He wasn’t sure how they’d work out the challenges before them. He was still Nazar and she was leader of Temeron. He was fairly certain she would never agree to leave Temeron now, while he was more than willing to leave the Nazarien. And yet he wasn’t. The thought of turning them over to someone who would reverse the gains he’d made, the progress he’d forced on them, made him feel sick inside. He couldn’t just abandon them until he was sure the changes were permanent. And then, who would take over?

If his plan had worked, Tyne wouldn’t want to return to Chernow. He’d want to stay in Temeron, but Jarrett frankly couldn’t think of anyone else he’d trust with an order that wielded so much power and influence throughout Samar.

His thoughts fragmented as he spotted Avendale sprinting down the trail from the orchard. He came to a panting halt before Jarrett, bending over at the waist and fighting for his next breath.

“Jer-red, venir meca!”

Jarrett slipped the rock back into his pouch and rose to his feet. “What’s wrong?”

Avendale motioned back toward the road. “Venir meca! Venir meca!”

Although the words he knew in the Wryn’s language was limited, this phrase was one he recognized. “What’s wrong?” he repeated.

Avendale grabbed his arm and tugged on it. “Venir meca!” His agitation made Jarrett’s heart pick up speed. He looked back at the domes, but he didn’t think Avendale would allow him to search for Tyla and tell her where he was going.

Releasing him, the Wryn grabbed a rock from the fire ring and shoved it in Jarrett’s hand, then he frantically waved his arms toward the road again. “Lacert. Lacert.” He then made a claw motion with both hands.

Jarrett understood. The lizard creature had returned to the orchard. “All right.” Loosening his sword in its sheath, he dropped the rock in the fire pit and motioned for Avendale to lead the way.

The Wryn raced off up the road and Jarrett had to jog to keep pace with him. As they hurried down the road toward the orchard, other Wryn passed them, each stopping to gesticulate wildly at Jarrett. He quickened his pace, following the fleet figure of Avendale until they reached the orchard.

At first, Jarrett didn’t see the creature, but he heard a low humming sound and peered through the trees. Avendale sprinted back to his side and tugged on his arm, pointing toward the middle of the trees where sight was hampered by low hanging fruit and heavy bows.

Jarrett bent over and gathered a handful of stones, hefting them against his palm. He wasn’t sure if they were the explosive rocks he’d found by accident before, but if it was the same creature, maybe it had sense enough to be wary of the man.

Crossing around the trunks behind Avendale, Jarrett searched for signs of the creature. The humming sound was getting louder, thrumming through the air like a large insect. Stepping over discarded baskets and orbs that had spilled out of their containers, he crossed between the rows of trees.

A sudden flash of motion on his left had him spinning in that direction. A dark, swift moving body skittered around the trunk of a tree, sliding into the cover of the grasses growing in a ditch between the rows. Behind him, the humming increased, turning almost into a growl.

Jarrett whipped the other way in time to see a lizard racing toward him, churning up the soft loam beneath the trees with massive, hooked claws. He cast the stones, but they glanced off the armored plate on the creature’s head.

Avendale made a strangled sound and tried to duck behind him, grabbing Jarrett’s arm and dislodging the remaining stones. Jarrett tried to catch them, but Avendale’s hold caused him to stumble backwards, nearly losing his footing.

Glancing up, Jarrett noticed the lizard was half a row away and coming on fast. A rustle of grass behind him drew his attention as a second lizard darted out of the grass and tried to close on his flank.

Jarrett threw Avendale off, and the Wryn toppled into the ditch between the rows. Ignoring the terrified cry of the Wryn, Jarrett wrenched his sword from the sheath and got it up in time to deflect the leap of the lizard advancing from the front. The impact knocked them both over, and Jarrett lay stunned for a moment, staring up at the branches overhead. Then he rolled to his side and got a knee under him. The lizard had landed on its back, its legs waving frantically in the air, trying to right itself.

The second creature leaped at him, but Jarrett was ready this time and dropped to one knee under it, swiping the edge of his blade across its stomach. A ropey length of entrails spilled out of its abdomen as it fell, but Jarrett didn’t have time to deliver a killing blow.

The first lizard had twisted onto its feet again and sprang at him. Jarrett swung his blade at it, catching it in the neck and loping its head off the body. It crashed into a tree trunk behind him and collapsed at its base. Swinging around, Jarrett crouched, prepared to battle the second lizard, but it heaved once and lay still, entangled in its own intestines.

Fingers flexing on the sword hilt, Jarrett shifted in every direction, waiting for more of the creatures to spring at him, but the humming sound had cut off as abruptly as it started. Avendale peeked over the lip of the ditch and surveyed the gory scene, then he crawled out and hurried to Jarrett’s side.

Jarrett lowered the sword tip and braced his hands on his thighs as he fought for breath. Damn, he hadn’t wanted to kill the creatures, but they’d given him no choice. Straightening again, he placed a hand on Avendale’s shoulder. The Wryn turned toward him, his strange dark eyes wide and filled with wonder. Then he clasped Jarrett’s hand and bowed before him, pressing the hand against his forehead.

*    *    *

Kalas climbed out of the dingy and landed in the water. He started to hold up a hand to help Ellette down, but the glare she gave him checked that impulse. He fought a smile as she sprang nimbly out of the small boat and landed before him in the surf.

As they waded toward shore, Kalas had to admit she didn’t struggle as he did. He would have claimed his shoulder injury made navigating through the surging waves difficult, except he wasn’t really using his upper body.

She made the beach with the fastest of Allistar’s Stravad, then turned and waited for him, her hands perched on her hips. He tried to control his panting as he came to a halt before her, but she wasn’t fooled.

“A bit of conditioning would not harm you,” she scolded mildly.

Kalas wanted to retort, but it would make his lack of breath more noticeable.

Dolan came up behind him. He was also breathing hard, but that didn’t comfort Kalas much. Dolan was more than twice his age. “We’ll get camp set and you can change into something dry,” he offered.

Kalas surveyed the beach and the hills rising above them in the distance. He couldn’t see an actual trail, but a thin line snaked its way to the summit. Certainly not well traversed or well-marked, it seemed. Glancing up, he noted where the sun was.

“We have a few hours of daylight. Shouldn’t we at least start searching?” he asked.

Parish’s soldiers were fanned out around them, making a cursory inventory of their immediate area, but Parish turned at his words and motioned around the sheltered spit of land.

“I don’t think you want to get caught without a defensible camp come nightfall, Your Majesty,” he said. “Here we have the ocean on one side and the hills on the other. I think we need to approach this with a bit more caution since we don’t know what we’re facing.”

Allistar left his Stravad and approached the King. “If you’d like, I can send a few scouts out in each direction and report back by nightfall. That way we’ll have a better idea of the terrain.”

“And what action to take come morning,” finished Kalas, nodding. “A good idea. Have them take Attis.” He nodded at the Cult member standing off to the side. He figured Parish would rest easier if Attis was occupied by the Stravad.

Allistar returned to his men and began giving orders, then they dispersed in various directions, a group of three pointing for Attis to follow them. In moments, they’d disappeared into the landscape.

“While we wait for them to return, I suggest we set a base camp here,” offered the Baron.

Kalas shifted anxiously. The salt from the ocean was drying against his skin, but that wasn’t what bothered him. He didn’t want to go walking off into the unknown, but if his sister was here, he wanted to find her and leave. There was something about this island and its unknown secrets that made him edgy. He wasn’t going to tell the others, but he’d half hoped he’d find Tyla and Jarrett camping on the beach, waiting for him.

“Fine. Set camp.”

Parish and Dolan exchanged a look and he realized his voice had come out sharper than he intended.

“If you’d be more comfortable on the ship, I could have the sailors row you back out?” said Parish.

“I would not be more comfortable on the ship,” Kalas snapped.

Ellette cocked her head. “You did not believe your sister would be waiting for you, did you?”

Kalas was shocked by her perceptiveness. Reaching up, he rubbed his shoulder over the healed wound. “I guess I hoped they would be,” he said, forcing himself to moderate his tone. He didn’t want to sound petulant with her.

“I half hoped they’d be too,” said Dolan with a sigh.

Kalas shared a commiserate look with his second. “What if there are alien creatures on this island? What if the reports are true?”

Parish shifted and glanced up at the hills. “If the reports are true, we better damn well hope the aliens are peaceful because we’ve only got a couple dozen soldiers, we’re on strange terrain, and no one knows where the hell we are.”

Kalas gave Parish an arch look. “Marvelous comfort, you are, Baron. Ever so glad to have brought you along.”

Ellette frowned at Kalas in confusion, but Parish just gave him a mischievous wink. “Your dad would have loved it.”

Kalas held up a hand in acquiescence. “People always did say my dad was half-mad. Probably owing to the company he kept.”

*    *    *

The Wryn crowded around Jarrett in the orchard, patting his back and making a strange, high-pitched trilling noise. Jarrett recognized it for what it was, a cry of triumph over the death of the lizards, but the sound made him uneasy.

Carefully winding his way through the jubilant Wryn, he headed for the trail to take him back to the domes. Leaving Tyla this long contributed to his uneasy feeling. She didn’t know where he’d gone and she wasn’t well enough yet to make this trek in search of him.

Avendale jogged to keep up with him, along with a handful of Wryn who had attended his spear fighting classes in the last few days. They chattered happily amongst themselves, encouraging Avendale to act out Jarrett’s battle with the lizards over and over again.

Jarrett smiled in amusement, but quickened his pace. While their joy was infectious, he couldn’t deny the growing feeling of dread rising inside of him. It hummed along his nerve endings and made the hairs on the back of his arms stand on end.

He stopped on the trail and the Wryn circled around him. Holding his hands out from his body, he pushed back the sleeves on his tunic, noting the goose flesh up and down his forearms. The pressure in his head was becoming more pronounced, on the verge of pain. Suddenly the Wryn stopped gamboling and shifted toward the head of the trail as if they sensed something.

Jarrett started running, pushing through the crowd of Wryn. The pressure in his head increased, turning into the familiar buzzing of the Delphi when they communicated with each other. He skidded to a halt on the edge of the tree tunnel, blinking against the painful thrum of their collective thoughts.

A line of Delphi stood before the domes, the pale pearlescent sheen of their skin gleaming in the sunlight. They stood shoulder to shoulder, their hands relaxed at their side, but clearly blocking the entrance.

Jarrett clenched his teeth and started toward them, trying to ignore the pain hammering behind his eyes or the congested feeling against the bones of his skull. He wasn’t sure what he intended to do, but if necessary, he would bodily force his way through them to get to Tyla.

The pain increased, causing him to stumble.

Pressing a hand against his temple, he squinted at them. Obviously, his purposeful approach wasn’t working. He had to try rushing them instead. He closed his eyes and used Tyla’s tactic. He summoned up the happiest memory he could find – the first night he and Tyla had spent together in Temeron more than ten years before. He tried to remember what she looked like, the way her hair cascaded down her back, the way they had melded together as if they could become one person. Then he remembered the previous night with her. Although ten years had passed, the passion was no less, the urgency they felt, the joy of finally joining together – a homecoming, a belonging – completion.

Without opening his eyes, he rushed them. He cleared half the distance between the tree tunnel and the domes before they took him down. They never laid a hand on him, but the assault was as brutal as if they had. One moment he had the sense of running, then falling, then he found himself on his hands and knees, staring at the ground with his head hanging between his shoulders.

He coughed and vomited blood into the dirt, his limbs shaking uncontrollably.

Hands hooked under his arms, pulling backward and he tumbled onto his back, his vision swimming crazily. A second set of hands curled around his chest and yanked backward, dragging him across the ground. He didn’t have the strength to fight them, didn’t have the presence to corral his muscles to defend himself.

When he became aware again, he was lying on his back beneath the tree tunnel, staring at the branches overhead. An anxious face moved into his line of sight and recognition slowly dawned. Zimran.

He sat up quickly, then wished he hadn’t. His stomach rebelled and he rolled to his side, retching violently. A stream of bile mixed with blood projected from him. He closed his eyes and panted, trying to control the nausea. Zimran placed a cloth in his closed fist and he used it to wipe his mouth. Scooting backward, he crawled out of the sun and braced his back on the trunk of a tree. If he didn’t move suddenly, the nausea eased.

Avendale hunkered down beside him and held out a dried orb. Jarrett tilted it and water sloshed over the side. Lifting it to his mouth, he took a mouthful and swished it around his teeth, then spat it onto the ground next to him. It was tinged with pink. He repeated the action a few more times until the water ran clear again. That eased some of his alarm. Whatever they had broken inside of him had obviously sealed itself because he didn’t seem to be bleeding any more.

Bracing his head against the trunk, he studied the Wryn, trying to remember what happened when the Delphi took him down. Avendale and Zimran must have been the ones to pull him away. He tried to feel the Delphi’s psychic communication, but the humming had stopped. They must have decided he was no more threat to them.

“Is there another way into the domes?” he asked the Wryn.

Avendale cocked his head, but Zimran searched his face anxiously.

“I have to get Ty-la. Is there another way in? A way they won’t be guarding?” Reaching out a hand, he picked up a twig and drew a quick sketch of the domes in the dirt, then drew a line where the entrance was. Finally, he drew an arrow pointed directly at the entrance and tapped it with his stick. “This is the way in. Is there another?” He drew a number of arrows around the domes, then held out his hand.

Both Wryn studied the drawing. Avendale obviously had no idea what he meant, but Zimran kept studying it. Finally, he reached out and erased Jarrett’s sketch. “Jer-rid inveni alia enti.”

Jarrett shook his head. He’d never heard these words before.

“Jer-rid inveni alia enti.” He took the stick and drew a strange shape in the sand. It was long like a flattened orb with a line rising out of the middle of it. On top of the line, Zimran drew triangles. “Jer-rid inveni alia enti.”

Jarrett shook his head. “I don’t know what that is.” He reached out and grabbed Zimran’s arm. “I need to get to Tyla. I have to find Tyla.”

Zimran patted his hand, then pointed at the drawing. “Jer-rid inveni alia enti.”

Jarrett dropped his hold. “Forget it. I’ll figure it out myself. There has to be a second entrance into the domes.”

Avendale tilted his head, studying Zimran’s drawing. “Jer-rid inveni alia partici.”

Zimran’s glittering black gaze whipped up to him. He nodded, the white plume on his head dancing. “Jer-rid inveni alia partici.” Then he pointed to the mountains rising to Jarrett’s left. “Partici socios.”

Jarrett focused on them, his gaze narrowing on Zimran’s arm, then he glanced down at the drawing. Reaching out, he carefully traced the lines. “I’ll be damned,” he whispered, then followed Zimran’s pointing finger again. “I’ll be damned. Kalas is on the beach.”

CHAPTER 24

Kalas sat on the camp chair in his private tent, staring into the flame of the candle on the table before him. Dolan sat across from him, while Parish paced the confined interior. Ellette had curled up on the cot, her arms hugged around her knees. None of the scouting parties had returned, night had fallen, and they knew less about this island than they had this morning when they landed.

“Come morning, I say we follow the trails up the mountains. At least that will give us elevation to take in more of the landscape,” said Kalas, running his finger through the melted wax on the candle.

Parish turned. “That wasn’t a trail. It was a deer track, if that.”

Kalas glanced up at him. “It’s all we’ve got.”

“I say we wait for the scouting parties to return first,” offered Dolan.

“And I say you return to the ship, but that isn’t going to happen, is it?” groused Parish.

Kalas didn’t bother to answer him. He glanced over his shoulder at Ellette, but she was staring at the ground fixedly.

Commotion outside the tent brought him to his feet and he started for the opening, but Allistar ducked his head inside, halting him.

“Did you find the aliens?” Kalas demanded.

Allistar gave him a smile. “I found something better.” Pushing open the flap wider, he stepped back to allow another man to enter.

Jarrett ducked beneath the flap and rose to his full, impressive height. Kalas blinked in astonishment and behind him, Ellette rose to her feet.

“Nazar,” she whispered, lowering her head in obeisance.

Before Kalas could recover, two more people pushed inside. At their appearance, Parish took an involuntary step back.

The two creatures surveyed the scene with wide, blinking eyes. Their skin glowed a faint green in the candle light and they had a band of white feathery down running across the tops of their skulls to the collars of their utilitarian green tunics. Their features were pleasant, humanoid, and their overly large eyes gave them a vulnerable appearance.

Kalas realized he was staring and turned to Jarrett for explanation. The Nazar was disheveled. The lines around his eyes were more pronounced, he’d obviously lost weight, and although he wore the same green clothes as the two aliens, his were filthy and torn in numerous places.

“Where’s my sister?”

Jarrett released his held breath in a weary sigh. “She’s being held in the Delphi capital.”

“Held? What does that mean?”

“It’s a long story.”

“You look like hell,” said Parish.

Jarrett nodded. “It hasn’t been my best day.” He turned to the two aliens. “Your Majesty, I’d like to present my companions to you. This is Zimran and Avendale.” He pointed at each of the creatures in turn.

They clasped their hands together and gave Kalas a short bow. Kalas nodded at them.

Parish went to the flap and called for more chairs. They were brought immediately. Kalas suspected the entire camp was hovering outside his tent right now.

“Sit down before you fall down,” said Parish, positioning a chair behind the Nazar.

Jarrett sank into it gratefully, motioning the two creatures to do the same. Kalas forced himself to take a seat as well. “Dolan, would you have someone bring the Nazar and his companions food and some of the spirits Parish so thoughtfully stored?”

Dolan rose to do his bidding.

Jarrett followed him with his eyes. “Something hard and crunchy, please.”

Dolan stopped and gave him a questioning look.

“All we’ve eaten since we’ve been here has been this jelly-like substance.” He gave a shudder. “Tyla calls it snot.”

Kalas nodded at Dolan to continue, then he leaned forward on the table. Ellette had moved behind him, resting her hand on his shoulder, but her eyes were riveted on the Nazar and his companions. “What do you mean my sister’s being held?”

“Before I can explain that, I have to go back to the beginning.”

“Is my sister all right?”

“She’s better.”

“What does that mean?”

Jarrett rubbed his hands against his thighs. “She was infected with the plague, Kalas. She didn’t tell either of us, but that was why she was so desperate to come to the island by herself.”

Kalas clenched his jaw. He’d suspected as much. “And now?”

Jarrett motioned to the creature closest to him. “Zimran saved her life. Tyla was right. They had the cure and Zimran gave it to her. She’s recovering, but she nearly died.”

Kalas rubbed a hand across his forehead. He was getting a headache. “You’re right. You better go back to the beginning.”

So Jarrett did. He told them of their search for Brodie Daegan, their journey to the island, the climb up the mountain and Tyla’s coughing attack that gave Brodie the means to slip away from them and leave them stranded. He described the appearance of the Delphi in the night and the journey to the domed city, where they met the gentle Wryn. He described the domes so vividly, Kalas felt he could almost see them. Then he told them about Tyla’s illness and his attempts to find a cure, only to realize that Zimran had provided it almost from the moment of their arrival.

He wove a tale of Avendale’s injuries, Tyla’s healing, and his own efforts to aid the Wryn in protecting their crops. Finally, he finished with the attack in the grove, his battle, and the return to the domed city to find the Delphi would not allow him back inside.

Everyone in the tent was transfixed, Kalas no less than the others. The strange wonders Jarrett described floored the King and through it all, the two Wryn studied them with quiet, peaceful expressions of wonder. But still, Kalas felt Jarrett was leaving something out.

Just as he described their journey to the beach, Dolan arrived with plates of food. Jarrett stopped speaking and sat, staring at the crust of dense nut bread, the tubers swimming in butter, and the thin slices of meat in a rich gravy.

Reaching out, he lifted the bread almost reverently and just sat, holding it, then he lifted it to his mouth, but rather than take a bite, he drew the scent in and savored it. Finally, he tore off a piece with his teeth and chewed enthusiastically, closing his eyes in pleasure.

The moment he began eating, the Wryn made tentative ventures toward eating themselves. At the crunch of the bread, they suddenly burst into frantic exclamations in a language Kalas didn’t recognize, but the meaning was clear.

Kalas found himself smiling at their childish delight in the simple fare, then his attention returned to Jarrett. “Why are the Delphi so interested in my sister?”

Jarrett reached for his drink and tossed back a swallow, panting as the whiskey blazed down his throat. Opening his eyes again, he slowly lowered the glass. “Sorry. You don’t know how wonderful this all tastes.”

“I’m getting a pretty good idea,” Kalas answered, watching the Wryn frantically trying to stuff as much food in their mouths as they could, all the while chattering to each other about it.

“I’m not sure if it’s your sister they’re interested in or the emerald, but one of them wanted her to give him the emerald.”

Kalas considered that. “She’ll never relinquish it.”

“No.”

Leaning back in the chair, he folded a hand around his chin. “Tomorrow we’ll go to the domed city and demand her release.”

Jarrett finished sopping up the gravy with a piece of bread, placed it in his mouth, then pushed the plate away. He looked up at Kalas as he finished chewing and swallowed. “There’s something you need to know.”

And here it was, the part of the story Kalas sensed he’d withheld.

“The Delphi are telepathic. They don’t speak. All communication is done psychically.”

Kalas nodded for him to continue.

“And they speak all at once. Tyla believes they are speaking a different language, but whatever it is, you can’t understand them. Not even she can understand them.”

“All right?”

“This is how they communicate to the Wryn, tell the Wryn what they want done.”

“Get to the point, Nazar,” said Kalas impatiently.

The two Wryn stopped chattering and looked up at him.

Jarrett shot a glance at them, then fingered the lip of his cup. “The first time I encountered the Delphi, they gave me a severe headache. The second time, they made my nose bleed. This last time, they made me vomit blood. Their psychic communication can be turned into a devastating weapon.”

Tension snaked through the tent.

He motioned to Zimran. “If Zimran and Avendale hadn’t been there, they might have killed me.”

“How does Tyla stand it?” asked Parish.

“She’s able to block them or filter them or something. She tried to show me how to do it, but I couldn’t.”

Kalas nodded. “It makes sense. When Tyla was a child, she was bombarded with people’s thoughts, all people, all the time. She had to learn to filter it or go mad.”

Jarrett wearily rubbed the back of his neck. “Either way, anyone in your company with Stravad blood is likely to be affected too.”

“You think Humans are immune?”

“I don’t know, but I know Stravad are not.”

Kalas leaned forward. “I’m half-Human.”

Jarrett gave him a grim look. “You’re an Eldralin, Kalas. The half of you that’s Stravad trumps the rest of us that are pure Stravad.”

“He’s right,” muttered Dolan.

Kalas’ focus shifted to the Wryn. They were both running their fingers across their plates and licking the residual away. “Parish, do we have any apples in our stores?”

“Barrels of them.”

“Can you get me two?”

“Three,” said Jarrett breathlessly. Then he gave Parish a beseeching look. “Please.”

Parish chuckled. “On it,” he said and left the tent.

Kalas continued to study the Wryn.

“What are you thinking?” asked Jarrett.

“That we might have to go through them…” He nodded at his guests. “…to get to my sister. They’ll be caught in the middle.”

Jarrett looked at them as well. “There has to be a way around that. We owe them our lives, Kalas. I can’t stand the thought of them getting hurt.”

“I know.” He rubbed a hand across his chin again. “But the fact is we may have to use violence to get the Delphi to release her. Any exposure to violence is going to change their society, alter it in ways that are irreparable.”

Parish returned and passed the apples around. The Wryn exclaimed in delight and turned the red orbs over in their hands. Jarrett motioned to them and then showed them how to take a bite. They followed his example, then their eyes went wide in wonder and they began devouring the fruit with obvious enthusiasm.

Kalas smiled. There was something so artless, so pure about the Wryn, something beautiful and genuine. He hated the thought that they might destroy that in order to free his sister. “I need to think,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. He glanced back at Ellette. “Come walk with me.”

She followed him out into the night. Starlight shown down on the surf, silvering the waves as they surged against the shore. A slight breeze had picked up, smelling of ocean and salt, but the temperature was mild. Kalas walked down to the surf and watched the ship bobbing in the distance, rising with the swells, then falling again.

“I’m going to ask something of you and I don’t want you to say no.”

“No,” she answered emphatically.

He glanced over at her. “I didn’t even get to say it.”

“You are going to ask me to return to the ship and I will not go.”

Kalas sighed. “If you stay here, you put me at risk. You heard what the Nazar said. The Delphi cripple Stravad with their psychic communication. If I am worried about you, I’ll be distracted from what I should be doing.”

She gave him an arch look. “If you return to the ship as your people desire, I will go with you. Otherwise, I will be at your side. There is no need to discuss this further.” She didn’t even give him time to respond before she walked away.

In bewilderment, Kalas turned to watch her, but found Jarrett standing a few paces behind him. Once Ellette passed, Jarrett moved to his side and stood looking out over the surf.

“That is the most stubborn woman in the world,” Kalas grumbled.

“Not by half,” said Jarrett wryly.

Kalas had to agree. “You’re right. My sister holds that crown.” He moved back out of the water line and took a seat in the sand.

Jarrett followed him and sat down at his side.

Kalas tented his knees and rested his forearms across the top. “I’m becoming more and more like my father, spending hours staring at the ocean, trying to figure things out.”

“There are worse things you could be,” said Jarrett, then they exchanged a look.

“I suppose you and my sister have renewed your marriage.”

Jarrett’s back stiffened. “How did you know?”

“A man doesn’t vomit blood for just anyone,” Kalas answered wryly.

Jarrett nodded.

“How are you going to work it out?”

“I don’t know. The first thing is to get off this island.” He shifted and met Kalas’ gaze. “I don’t want to leave the Nazarien without a leader and I don’t want to turn them over to someone who will take them back to what they were before, but I know your sister will never leave Temeron.”

“No.”

“We’ll figure something out. I’m not going to stay in Chernow when everything that matters to me is in Loden.”

Kalas rolled his head on his shoulders. “You’re right. The first thing is to get off this island…without destroying an innocent culture. I can’t help but feel our presence here is wrong, that we’re about to change them in ways that cannot be undone.”

“I’m afraid that’s already happened. The moment Tyla and I set foot here, we changed them. They’ll never be the same again.”

“That makes me feel unbelievably sad.”

Jarrett shrugged. “You know what’s worse?”

Kalas met his look.

“If I had to do it all over again, I would.”

*   *   *

Tyla paced to the sun and moon door. In the hours since Revic had made it clear she wasn’t going to leave without handing over the emerald, she’d tried to find a way to open it, but nothing she did made a difference.

She’d tried prying it open with her hands. She’d kicked it and threw herself against it until she felt battered and bruised. She’d hiked all around the Delphi’s benches, trying to find another exit, but found nothing. In a fit of desperation, she’d tried to break off a piece of their bench to use as a lever, but that had been less than successful, except now she had splinters on top of bruises.

Backing up, she took a seat in front of it, crossing her legs one over the other. She rested her hands on her knees and forced herself to take deep, full breaths. Even that wasn’t working and set her to coughing again.

Once the spasm passed, she tried again, but this time she kept her breath shallow and closed her eyes. Worry for Jarrett kept intruding, but after a few minutes, she found herself calm enough to summon her power.

She spent minutes trying to open the door the way the Delphi did with their psychic ability, but she suddenly realized that they were countering her, using their collective power to block hers. There was no way she could best them, not when there were so many more of them than her.

Feeling defeated, she bowed her head and admitted that she was exhausted. Zimran might have saved her life, but her body was still struggling back from the brink of death. Curling up on her side, she pillowed her head on her arm, wrapped a hand around the emerald, and tried to conserve her energy. A few minutes later, she was asleep.

She woke by the brook her father had created the last time she came to the mist. She sat up abruptly, alarmed that she should find herself here. Looking around, she found him a short distance away, seated on a rock by the brook, studying her.

Her hand crept up and clasped the emerald. “I shouldn’t be here,” she said, trying to keep the panic from her voice. “I was getting better.”

He tilted his head in question. “I don’t understand.”

“I was getting better. Zimran found the cure.” She climbed to her feet and moved closer to him. “Am I dead?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “No.”

“But I’m here. Why am I here?”

“Once you find your way to the mist, Tyla, it’s easier to return on your own. Some part of your subconscious must have wanted to come here.”

She sank to her knees in front of him. The strangeness of it all, the worry that she might still be hallucinating bothered her. “It can’t be good that I keep coming here.”

“I don’t think you should put a value judgment on it. It is or it isn’t. Good has no place in this.”

She looked up at him. She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d always talked in such a convoluted manner when he was alive. “The Delphi want the emerald.”

He considered that for a moment. “That brings up a good many questions. First of all, what are Delphi? Why do they want the emerald? And what would they do with it if they got it?”

She realized she hadn’t told him everything in their last meeting, so she gave him a cursory explanation to catch him up. He listened in rapt attention, his eyes glimmering with interest as she described Delure and the strange people they’d found there. Tyla decided her father would have thought of their journey to Delure as an adventure and it would have delighted him. This was a man who had lived for such experiences.

He pulled his lower lip between his teeth as he thought. Sitting here with him, whether hallucination or some trick of the emerald, meant the world to her. He was such a vibrant individual, so alive, so filled with energy. If he’d been half so as a living being, she understood why people wanted to be near him, follow him, devote themselves to him. His charisma was infectious.

“You think they’re blocking your powers with their own?”

“Yes. And there are a lot more of them than me. Besides that, I’m not in the pink of health.”

His eyes narrowed mischievously. “You need a distraction. Something so startling that they will lower their guard for a moment, then you can strike.”

“A distraction? Like what?”

“Bring me through.”

She shifted up on her knees. “Bring you through? Can I do that? And if I can, why haven’t I done it already?”

He gave her a bewildered look. “Probably because I’m dead.”

Tyla’s shoulders slumped. “Were you always like this?”

“Dead?”

“No,” she said slowly.

“Logical?”

“No, snarky.”

“Ah. Yes.”

She laughed despite her frustration with him.

He leaned forward and tapped her in the middle of her forehead. “I meant make them think I’m there. Cast an illusion in their minds.”

“That’s going to take a lot of energy.”

His eyes dropped to the talisman around her neck. “Use the emerald.”

“Do you think I can do it?”

“I did it with Eldon. I brought him through when I needed him.”

She considered that, then she gave him a critical look. “I wonder if I can make you appear seven feet tall.” Then she shook her head. “That’s probably reaching. Maybe six.”

“Hey,” he said in mock insult, then they both laughed.

*    *    *

Jarrett couldn’t deny his anxiety as they neared the domes. He wasn’t sure what he expected to happen, but he shared Kalas’ worry for the Wryn. More than that, the vast majority of Kalas’ troops had significant Stravad blood. If the Delphi acted against them, he wasn’t sure what would happen, but he knew he wasn’t leaving a second time without Tyla.

“When you first came to the domed city, did it take this long?” asked Kalas, walking beside him. Parish went before him, Dolan behind and Ellette on his other side. The Cult member Attis had been forced to walk at the far back with Allistar’s men. Still, Jarrett didn’t mistake that all of them were focused on protecting the King of Eastern Nevaisser to the exclusion of all else.

The irony of that wasn’t lost on Jarrett. Once Kalas had been hated by the people of Adishian. That was when he was under Rarick’s control, but Kalas had changed that. He’d become a benevolent king, a strong leader, and beloved by all who knew him. He’d obviously inherited his father’s charm.

“It took longer. We went over the mountains.” Jarrett pointed to where the mountains rose over their heads. “Zimran and Avendale showed me this short cut yesterday.”

“I’m fair certain I know the answer to my next questions, but tell me anyhow. How did your Wryn friends know we were on the beach?”

Jarrett glanced over at him. “I think the Delphi monitor the beach, Kalas. I think they have people watching it constantly. They can communicate any changes faster than we can because they use their psychic abilities.”

“I figured as much. Which means they know we’re coming?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Kalas sighed. “We aren’t going to avoid a battle, are we?”

“I don’t know. I hope we can.”

They fell silent as they continued the hike. Once they came to the tree lined avenue, Jarrett warned them they were coming very close to the capital. Kalas ordered the men to be prepared for a battle, but asked them not to draw weapons as yet.

Jarrett appreciated his desire to avoid death and destruction, but the Delphi were an unpredictable element. His experience with them was limited, therefore he couldn’t understand their motivation to keep Tyla, unless it was for the emerald. When Tyla refused to surrender it, would they simply release her or would they try to take it by force?

Leaving the tree tunnel, they fanned out across the meadow, staring at the domes of the capital rising before them in the late morning air. Kalas sucked in a breath and Parish made a soft exclamation of wonder.

Jarrett couldn’t deny it was impressive. A few Wryn were about and Jarrett noted that two of them were heating something over his fire pit. He smiled. It hadn’t taken long for them to grow accustomed to cooked food.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Kalas said breathlessly. “All of this is made from a plant.”

Jarrett nodded wryly, then motioned to his own tattered clothing. “Most everything they use is.”

Avendale moved toward the domes, but Zimran hung back. He shifted nervously and seemed distracted.

Kalas pointed to the largest dome, the one that held the Delphi arena. “Is that where they’re holding my sister?”

“Yes.”

“Did you check the back side? Maybe there’s a second way out?”

“I wasn’t allowed to check it. The Delphi attacked before I could get around the dome, but I think she would have found a way to get out herself if there was a way.”

Kalas considered that as he studied the domes.

“What now?” asked Allistar, coming up behind him.

Kalas started to say something, but Zimran suddenly turned toward the domes, his expression panicked. The other Wryn around the fire ring stopped what they were doing and looked up. Jarrett could feel pressure beginning to build in his skull and he tried to alleviate it by opening his jaw wide.

“They’re coming,” he said, turning to Kalas, but the King’s eyes were not focused on him.

Kalas was staring with rapt attention at the domes.

CHAPTER 25

Tyla released her hold on the emerald and sat up, rubbing at the ache in her back from sleeping on the floor. Oddly enough, none of the Delphi had tried to approach her as she slept, or tried to take the emerald away. If they wanted the emerald, they obviously weren’t planning to take it by force.

She tented her knees and considered her situation. There was no exit that she could find. They weren’t inclined to free her and worry for Jarrett was growing. She knew they were either keeping him away or had him restrained. There was no way Jarrett would have waited this long to get to her unless something had happened to him, but the continual hum of the Delphi’s thoughts kept her from contacting him.

Her eyes traveled up the curving lines of the dome. Maybe there was something about this particular structure that held the Delphi’s thoughts inside, which meant it also held her own. What would happen if she did as her father suggested? If she released her power all at once, channeling it into the emerald, would she be able to force the Delphi to free her?

The problem was the Delphi. There were so many more of them than her and each one seemed to have enormous power. Collectively, they were daunting and she wasn’t sure she had enough power, even with the emerald, to overcome them.

Her father was right. She needed a distraction.

Pushing herself to her feet, she swayed dizzily. The illness had been more debilitating than she’d thought and she’d gone more than a full day without eating or drinking anything. When she considered it, so had the Delphi. Certainly they needed nourishment? They were living creatures.

But no one had entered the dome to bring them anything, not since she’d been summoned.

She stored that information away. Perhaps it would give her an advantage when she finally decided to strike.

Stretching the kinks from her tired muscles, she turned toward the dome. Whatever awaited her, she was getting out of this trap before the end of the day.

The Delphi were sitting exactly where she’d left them, but their heads swiveled to follow her as she stepped into the center of the arena. Revic’s obsidian black eyes focused on her.

“I think we need to find a way to communicate,” she said, sending the thought to him directly.

The pulse of the collective fell off, leaving his thoughts by themselves. She tried to find a pattern, something she recognized. There had to be a way to communicate. Curling her hand around the emerald, she closed her eyes.

A picture flashed against the darkness – the domes with the first blush of dawn shading everything in a roseate light. She could feel the emerald pulse against her hand and she realized he’d put that image in her mind himself.

Next the vision panned out, showing her the beach and the white froth of the breakers surging against the shore. She recognized the very spot where she and Jarrett had landed weeks ago. As this vision faded, the arena came into focus, the rows of Delphi sitting around the perimeter, the hum of their thoughts nearly tangible.

Tyla opened her eyes. He was showing her his home.

Using the emerald, she sent him an image of her home – Temeron, nestled in the valley, the shimmering gold of the houses, the winding streets, the forests, the lakes, the curving lines of the mountains that sheltered it. A feeling of homesickness rose within her, so acute she felt tears flood her eyes. She missed Temeron, she missed her people, her son, her grandfather, home. She sent the feeling to him, she poured it into the emerald, the longing, the wanting, the yearning.

She felt the collective reaction, a hum of recognition, of understanding, and she dared hope that they understood how desperately she wanted out of this dome, how much she wanted to be reunited with Jarrett, how much she wanted to go home.

Unfortunately, the feeling lasted but a moment. One instant the hum of their thoughts was soothing, gentle; the next, they pulled back, shifted away from her. Tension snaked through the dome and the Delphi went rigid, their backs straightening, their heads lifting, their attention turning inward.

No, not inward. Outward. Beyond the domes, beyond the arena. Something was distracting them and it wasn’t her. A frisson of fear snaked through her. She wasn’t sure what had attracted their attention, but she worried it was Jarrett. She’d known he wouldn’t abandon her. She’d known he’d fight to get her back.

Then a line of Delphi rose and slid out of their benches. She watched them descend over the lip of the raised platform and she realized there were stairs behind their seats, hidden from her view by the close press of their bodies. There was a second way out of the arena, but in order to get to it, she had to go through the Delphi. She started for the edge of the arena, but a surge of their thoughts staggered her and nearly brought her to her knees.

She looked up to find Revic staring at her, his black eyes glowing with light. So that’s how it was, she thought, shifting to face him. So be it. If she had to go through him, she would, but nothing was keeping her in these domes now.

*    *    *

Kalas stared in amazement as the aliens filed out of the dome, lining up across the front of it, their robes flowing in the early morning breeze. They were over eight feet tall, skeletally thin, their arms hanging far down their sides, their foreheads sloped back and naked of hair. Their eyes were too large for their thin faces, no whites distinguishable from the iris, and their skin glowed a pearlescent white in the sunlight.

Kalas felt pressure behind his eyes, his head felt congested, and his temples throbbed, but he stared in wonder at the aliens, unable to process what he was seeing. Next to him Dolan gave a groan of pain.

“Eldon’s blood,” whispered Parish at his back.

Jarrett turned to them, his eyes narrowed in obvious discomfort. “Ideas?” he said through gritted teeth.

Kalas shook his head. He couldn’t think straight. He wasn’t sure what to do. The pressure was growing in his skull and he feared he was hallucinating. He could almost hear voices, many voices, whispering in his head.

He forced himself to remember why they were there. Tyla. They had his sister and he wasn’t leaving without her. He took a step forward, his hand automatically falling to the hilt of his sword.

Shaking his head, he tried to focus his thoughts against the throbbing in his skull. “Release my sister!” he shouted.

The volume of voices increased and he felt a sharp pain behind his eyes as if something had broken in his skull. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, sucking in a sharp breath. White noise filled his head, hammered in his ears, pounded inside his brain. His body gave a shudder, then he staggered and the next thing he knew, he was on his hands and knees.

Cries of alarm resounded around him, confusing him, and someone pushed him onto his back. He stared up at the lazy clouds floating overhead, then his back suddenly bowed and white light burst in his eyes, blinding him.

*    *    *

Jarrett watched the Delphi file out of the domes and take up a defensive position. The thrum of their thoughts rose to a crescendo in his head and he turned to Kalas.

“Ideas?” That was the only word he could summon. He felt like he was going to be physically ill, that he was going to collapse with the pain of being in their presence.

Kalas glanced at him, then he took a step forward, his hand moving to his sword hilt. “Release my sister!” he shouted.

Chaos erupted. Jarrett stood stunned as the King staggered, then went down on his hands and knees.

Dolan and Ellette cried out in alarm and rushed to his side as he toppled over.

Writhing before them, his back suddenly arched and his hands clawed at his chest, then he went into convulsions.

Parish drew his weapon. “Take aim!” he shouted at the Stravad archers.

Jarrett’s attention was torn between the convulsing King and the Stravad. Although they tried to obey, the assault from the Delphi was making it difficult for them to comply with his command.

“Attack!” shouted Parish, drawing his own sword.

The King’s men drew their weapons and fanned out into formation. Jarrett felt like an observer watching the Humans advance, while the Stravad fought to marshal their bodies. Suddenly, Zimran appeared, placing himself before the advancing line of soldiers, protecting the Delphi from their attack.

Jarrett had only a moment to decide, but he reacted on instinct, shoving between the soldiers and casting himself in front of the Wryn to save him from assault. “Stop!” he shouted and the men halted in surprise.

Just as Parish opened his mouth to belay his orders, the ground pitched beneath their feet and the top of the largest dome exploded into the air, raining green shards down on everyone. Jarrett whipped around, staring in rapt amazement.

*   *   *

Tyla blocked the Delphi attack on her mind, forcing up a barrier against them. Revic rose to his feet and glared at her. She could feel him hammering for an entrance, but her fingers closed around the emerald, using it as a shield against the Delphi assault.

Squaring her shoulders and bracing her feet, she closed her eyes and summoned the image of her father in her mind. She drew on every bit of energy she had to create his likeness from her dreams – the flow of black hair, the golden brown of his skin, the perfection of his features.

She felt the Delphi recoil, their assault breaking off. Opening her eyes, she caught her breath in amazement. Talar Eldralin stood before her, his body awash in light, his blue eyes surveying the surroundings with both curiosity and wonder. His eyes scanned the rows of Delphi and he turned a slow circle until he faced her.

“Well done,” he said, giving her a cocky grin.

Involuntarily she reached out to touch him. He seemed so real, his reaction so genuine – she almost believed she had truly conjured him here. The glow of the emerald rose and surrounded him, bathing him in green light and his attention focused on it, then he turned back to face Revic.

“Release my daughter!” he commanded, his voice echoing in the dome.

Tyla took that as her signal and drew in her power, channeling it into the emerald, then she released it. The resulting explosion knocked her to her knees as blinding green light filled the dome and the pressure rose until it could no longer be contained.

The top blew off the dome and green shards rained down. Tyla buried her head in her arms and closed her eyes as debris fell on her. Her ears rang with the frantic sounds of the Delphi scrambling to get away. Finally, a heavy silence descended and she gradually lifted her head, blinking in the after-glare of the emerald.

The spot where her father stood was empty.

*    *    *

The moment the dome exploded, Jarrett started running. The Delphi still lined the entrance, but Jarrett slammed into two of them, knocking them backward. Somewhere in the mad dash to the entrance, he’d drawn his sword, but they fell away from him and let him pass without interference. His boots skidded on the tiles as he vaulted through the opening.

Wryn were filling the entrance dome, trying to get out, but Jarrett shoved his way through them, fighting against the stream to reach the sun and moon door. He found the door blown open, lying across the threshold. He leaped over it and into the hallway that led to the Delphi arena. Turning the corner, he stumbled to a halt.

Sunlight shown down through the massive hole in the ceiling, green glass fragments littered the arena floor, and Delphi were struggling to right themselves from where they’d fallen off their benches. Standing in the middle of it was Tyla, looking small and frail, the emerald’s glow bathing her in a pulsing green light.

“Tyla?”

She whipped around, her black curls fanning across her shoulders, and her stunned expression turned into a brilliant smile. “Jarrett,” she breathed.

Then he was crossing the arena to her, stepping over debris and pushing past Delphi as they tried to leave the shattered dome. She met him and they came together, falling into each other arms and clinging to each other.

CHAPTER 26

Kalas started awake, finding himself lying on his back inside his tent. Confusion ruled, so he tried to sit up, but a headache hammered against his temples. Clutching his head, he fell back on the pallet with a groan.

“Do not move so quickly,” scolded a voice above him.

He cracked open an eye and caught Ellette’s worried expression before it shifted to one of annoyance. “Ellette?”

She stroked the hair back from his forehead. “Yes.”

“Where’s my sister?”

“Here,” came Tyla’s voice and she appeared on his other side, holding a strangely shaped green cup. “Go slowly,” she said as she and Ellette helped him into a sitting position. While Ellette fussed with pillows to support him, Tyla handed him the cup. “Stamerian…and dirt,” she said, helping him lift it.

He drank it down, grimacing at the surprising metallic taste, then he gave her a confused look. “Did you say dirt?”

“Yes, in case I infected you with the plague before I came here. Everyone’s getting a dose just to be safe.”

He reached for her hand and clasped it, noting how thin she looked, her eyes enormous in her gaunt face. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

When she started to answer, he shook his head, then regretted it as the headache renewed its assault. Reaching forward, he pulled her into an embrace and kissed her forehead. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is you’re here and I’ve finally found you.”

She hugged him in return, holding him tightly. “Jarrett always had faith you’d come.”

He released her and leaned back on the pillows. “What the hell happened? I don’t remember anything except those aliens.” He shuddered. “They were in my head.”

She took the cup from him and settled it on a camp table by his bed. “That’s how they communicate. Apparently, they like Eldralin blood because they focused their attack on you and sent you into convulsions.”

Beside him, Ellette sucked in a breath and bowed her head. Kalas reached for her hand to comfort her. Tyla followed the motion, then gave him a smile. “We’ve moved you far enough away that they shouldn’t be able to affect you any longer. And the assault wasn’t long enough to do any permanent damage.”

“Jarrett said they made his brain bleed?”

“Yes, well, they did a little worse to you.”

“Is Dolan all right? The rest of my men?”

“Everyone’s fine now. Dolan would be here, but he returned to the domes with Jarrett to get supplies.”

“Won’t they come in contact with the Delphi?”

“The Delphi have left the domes. Zimran believes they are hiding in the forest until we leave, or until the Wryn restore their home. I blew the roof off their shelter.”

Kalas narrowed his eyes. “You did what?”

“It’s a long story and you need to rest.”

He leaned his head back against the pillows and resettled himself. “The Stamerian is working, so tell me your story. You can’t tell me to rest when I have so many questions.”

Capitulating, Tyla launched into her tale, telling Kalas and Ellette about their arrival, their abandonment by Brodie, her illness, and the amazing discoveries they’d found here. She sketched out their days in the Delphi capital, her frequent meetings with the Delphi, and the kindness they’d found in the Wryn. Finally, she brought him to her capture and imprisonment, which led to his arrival and the short battle to get her free again.

When she told him about taking off the roof of the Delphi dome, he sensed she was holding something back, but he didn’t interrupt her because he figured she was reluctant to divulge everything with Ellette sitting at his side.

Once she was finished, Kalas turned to his lover and ran his thumb across the back of her hand. “Do you suppose Allistar has anything prepared for supper? I’m getting hungry.”

She rose immediately to her feet. “I will check. Do not get up.”

He gave her a smile and watched her walk from the tent, then he focused on his sister again. “So what are you leaving out?” he asked her.

She immediately dropped her eyes. “You and Ellette are lovers, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but that wasn’t what I asked you.”

She glanced up at him. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Tyla, we can talk about my love life later, when we discuss your renewed relationship with Jarrett, but right now, I want to know what you’re keeping from me.”

She gave him a smile. “I knew you wouldn’t miss that.”

“I could say the same thing for you.” He reached out and took her hand. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Her grip tightened on him. “I saw our father.” She blurted it out, then gave him a wary look from the corner of her eyes.

He sank back against the pillows, studying her face, her bright eyes. “You what?”

She shook her head. “This is why I was reluctant to tell you. I know it sounds barking mad, but I had dreams about him, Kalas, only they weren’t dreams. They were real.”

“Tyla…”

“I know. It doesn’t make sense, but he was there and he talked to me. He asked me about my life and you, how you were doing.”

“Tyla…”

“I could reach out and touch him, and there in the domes, when the Delphi had me, he appeared before them. He gave me the distraction I needed to break through their hold.”

Kalas frowned. “What?”

She nodded, meeting his gaze. “It was his plan. He came up with it.”

“How?”

“Every time I’ve seen him, I’ve been asleep and holding onto the emerald, except this last time. This last time, I was wide awake, Kalas, and I summoned him. I didn’t think it would work, but there he was and he ordered the Delphi to release me. They were so stunned, they broke off their attack on me and I was able to channel enough power into the emerald to blow the roof off the arena.” She hesitated. “Do you think I’m mad?”

Kalas’ gaze lowered to the emerald. “Once when I went to Terra Antiguo to visit your uncles, I met with Shandar.” He lifted his eyes and met hers. “Parish could tell me about our father’s young life, but there were too many holes and I wanted to know more.”

“You never told me this.”

“I planned to, but it hasn’t always been easy for me to talk about our father, especially with you.”

Recognition registered in her expression. She knew what he’d given up for her, but he’d never wanted to talk about it because he feared she’d think he regretted choosing her over a life with Lawyan and Shandar in Terra Antiguo. He’d never regretted that decision, but he couldn’t help wondering what might have been.

Still he didn’t want her to know that.

“Tell me, Kalas.”

He let out his held breath. “I spent a few weeks with Shandar and we wandered all over the mountains around Terra Antiguo. He lives like a hermit, rarely going into the city. He took over the homestead our father built for himself. You should see the way he maintains it as if it were a living tribute to our father, pristine as the day he left it.”

“Did you remember it from when you lived there with them?”

“I remembered everything about it, Tyla.” He gave her a grim smile. “They were so happy there. It may have been only a short time, but for that moment, they were happy.”

Tears filled Tyla’s eyes as she returned his smile. “What things did Shandar tell you?”

He sighed. “So many things, but we’ll have time for that later. The part I want to tell you though is about our father when he was in Loden, when he went to face Erram for the final time.”

Tyla’s smile dried. “He almost died that time, Kalas.”

“I know. By the time he came before Erram, he was hurt and exhausted. He’d prepared himself to die, but he didn’t know what torture Erram had in store for him. Erram’s attack was so brutal, he lost faith and nearly gave up, but just when he despaired, Eldon came to him. Eldon anchored him to this world and wouldn’t let him surrender.”

Tyla’s expression was rapt.

“I asked Tash about it the last time I came to Temeron. Tash swears Eldon was with him, he swears he heard Eldon himself. After the battle was over, our father lay unconscious for days. Tash thought he was dying, but one night when Talar almost slipped away, Tash heard a voice tell him to use the emerald to anchor Talar’s soul to our world. Tash believes it was Eldon.”

“So maybe the emerald is a conduit between both worlds?”

“I don’t know, but Shandar claims that Eldon led Talar to Terra Antiguo, that without Eldon’s guidance, our father would never have found it.”

Tyla closed her eyes and breathed out slowly. “Thank you for telling me this, Kalas. It means the world to me.”

Kalas smiled at her and brushed a curl behind her ear. “Now you can tell me what he was like. I want every detail, all right?”

“All right,” she said, pressing his hand against her cheek. “But you have to tell me about Ellette then.”

Kalas laughed, knowing she would never have let that one go for long.

*   *   *

“You have been a friend to us,” said Jarrett, clasping Zimran’s hand. Sliding his arm around Tyla, he pulled her close. “We would never have survived without you.”

Zimran seemed to understand what he was saying and squeezed his fingers in return.

Tyla eased out of Jarrett’s hold and went to the Wryn, rising up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for my life,” she whispered, pressing her cheek to his.

He closed those glittering black eyes of his and bowed his white head. “Ty-la, Jer-rid, bonum valen.” He patted her hand. “Bonum valen.”

Jarrett smiled. “I think that must be goodbye.”

Tyla stepped back and released him. “Bonum valen, Zimran,” she repeated, then looked up along the ridge. A line of Wryn had climbed the mountain to see them off. They were quite a distance away, but she thought she could just make out Avendale among the others. She held up a hand and waved. As a group, they waved back.

Some part of her would miss the simplicity of this life, the quiet, the peacefulness. Some part of her hoped they hadn’t changed the Wryn too much. Teaching them to defend themselves and cook their food didn’t seem like monumental changes, but who could possibly know what either of those innovations might evoke? A chain reaction of progress would not be anything she wished for these people.

She and Jarrett turned toward the little boat waiting to take them to Kalas’ ship. As they walked, she took Jarrett’s hand. “Are you going to miss the island?”

He was playing with something in his other hand. “I’m going to miss having you to myself, but I’ll be glad to get home.” He held up the thing in his hand. She recognized the rock that Kerrin had given him. “I want to see our boy and Tyne.”

She couldn’t help the joy that washed through her. She was going home to her son and grandfather. She was going home to Temeron.

Parish met them at the boat. He held out a hand to Tyla and assisted her to climb inside. “I can’t believe we went through all of this to bring back boxes of rocks. And they’re not even in boxes. No, they’re in weird green orbs.”

Tyla smiled. “Those rocks saved my life, Parish, so I wouldn’t talk bad about them.”

“Do you know how hard it was to explain that shipment to the captain?” he asked, steadying her as she climbed aboard.

“Where’s my brother?”

Parish gave a long suffering sigh. “I finally got him to agree to one thing I wanted. He and the Nazarien assassin are already on board with Dolan.”

Jarrett climbed in after her. “Eldralin stubbornness,” he commiserated.

“Tell me about it. It’s been the bane of my existence, boyo, the bane of my existence. And these two are nothing compared to their father.”

As Tyla settled into her seat, she reached up and curled her fingers around the emerald, smiling. For all his grumbling, Parish Brazelton had been the most loyal friend her family had ever had.

*   *   *

Tyla and Kalas spent the voyage huddled at the rail, talking about their father. Everyone left them alone, letting them have this time to remember and share stories that they’d never shared before. After all the years of conflict over him, they’d finally reached a place of peace where he no longer divided them from each other.

Jarrett stared out at the rolling sea, agonizing over what he himself was going to do. Now that he’d found his family, he wasn’t giving them up, but the Nazarien still needed a leader, still needed guidance, still needed change. How could he do both?

Ellette approached, curling her hands on the rail. Her brown hair fell down and covered one eye, but the rest had been gathered in a hasty tail behind her. “You are deep in thought.”

“I’m wondering what I’m going to do now that this is over.”

She looked up at him. “You mean whether you will return as Nazar?”

“Exactly.”

“It is a difficult decision. The Nazarien, even those loyal to you, will not accept your wife.”

“They accepted Talar’s marriage.”

“This is different. She is female and she is more powerful than you are.”

Jarrett sighed. “I see your point.” He gave her a pointed look. “What are you going to do?’

She looked out at the ocean. “My future is as tenuous as yours. The King of Eastern Nevaisser will have to marry a Human to keep his people happy. He will have no choice.”

“I wouldn’t be sure about that. Kalas dances to his own drummer.”

She frowned at him. “I have never seen him with a drummer.”

“No, I mean…” Jarrett stopped. Some things would never change with the Nazarien. They would always be so damn literal minded. “Kalas does as he pleases.”

She agreed with that, based on her expression. “That he does. It is aggravating.”

“And yet you care about him.”

She met his eyes. “I care about him more than I should.”

Jarrett smiled. “The Eldralins have a way of garnering devout loyalty from people.”

“Even those you would not expect.” She nodded over Jarrett’s shoulder where Attis stood guard at Kalas’ back. “They command undying loyalty in everyone who aligns themselves with them.”

Jarrett studied the Cult member. It was odd to see a member of the Kazden Cult so singularly focused on something other than his own desires.

“I have a solution for you,” she said.

He looked back at her. “For what?”

“Being Nazar.”

“I’m listening.”

“Make Attis your arm.”

“My what?”

“Your arm. Give him the capacity to act on your orders. He is loyal above all else to Kalas and will do anything to protect both him and the order. He will act for you, giving you leave to return to Temeron. You will remain Nazar, but he will do the actual governing.”

“How?”

“He will do exactly as Kalas says and Kalas listens to me.”

Jarrett narrowed his eyes on her. “In other words, make you Nazar and let Attis be your proxy.”

“Do you doubt how I would run the order?”

Jarrett considered that for a moment. There was something so profoundly poetic about Ellette becoming the de facto Nazar and he didn’t doubt she would keep a tight rein on things through Kalas and ultimately through Attis. “I would expect bi-annual reports.”

“Of course.”

“And no more Procreation Ceremonies.”

She gave him an arch look.

“If there’s trouble, I must know immediately.”

“There will not be trouble.”

Jarrett chuckled. “I gotta admit I like it.”

“There are many things to figure out and we have to talk to Attis, but…”

“But it is a very good plan, Ellette, a very good plan.”

*    *    *

The return voyage was uneventful. They arrived back in Kazden in the late afternoon. A number of carriages awaited them, having been stationed at the docks each day. Kalas’ army had secured the entire area and no ships were allowed in or out without express orders from the military.

After making arrangements to have cases of the Delure rocks delivered to the hospitals in Kazden, Kalas and company climbed into the carriages, anxious to return to the manor house and a well-deserved rest.

Tyla and Jarrett were the most anxious. The promise of real beds and pillows, not to mention food that didn’t jiggle when lifted to one’s mouth seemed a luxury unlike any others. And although they both remarked that they would miss the Wryn’s falling water closet, the privacy afforded by doors and locks was also enticing.

As soon as the King’s carriage moved onto the streets, Allistar’s Stravad took up positions all around it, and beyond them rode a great number of the King’s military force. Kalas relaxed back against the cushions, reaching out to take Ellette’s hand. She wasn’t so relaxed and sat rigid near the window, staring out.

Jarrett watched her, wondering what she would do if Kalas decided he wanted to make her his Queen rather than take a Human woman of noble birth as his wife. Would she accept his offer or would it be too great a change for her?

Tyla leaned her head against his shoulder. He kissed the top of it and sighed. Things couldn’t have worked out any better if he had arranged it himself. As soon as they returned, he intended to have a talk with Kalas about his plan for the Nazarien, then he and Tyla would begin the journey home to their son.

Just as he allowed himself to close his eyes, the carriage came to an abrupt halt, throwing them forward in their seats. Jarrett’s eyes snapped open and he met Kalas’ startled gaze.

“What the hell…” began the King.

Allistar appeared in the window, pulling open the carriage door. “The road is blocked. Your men are trying to clear it.”

“Blocked? By what?”

“A wagon overturned. It was filled with baskets of produce and they’ve spilled out onto the street.”

Kalas nodded and Allistar disappeared. Sitting in the tense silence within the carriage, they could hear people shouting and arguing at some distance from them. A few moments later, Parish strode to the window.

“What’s happening, Baron?” asked the King.

“The road is blocked. We’re going to turn the entire entourage around and go a different way.”

“Fine. Let’s get to it, then.”

“Patience, Your Majesty,” said Parish with a half-smile as he turned to leave.

Sitting directly to Kalas’ right, Dolan frowned. “I don’t like this.”

“We’ll be on our way shortly,” said the King.

Jarrett and Tyla exchanged a glance. At her throat, the emerald was glowing a muted green. Jarrett nodded at it and she looked down, lifting her hand to cover it.

“I don’t think this is just an accident,” she told her brother.

Kalas shifted in the seat, but as he moved, the carriage suddenly lurched forward and came to another halt. Catching himself on the door, he leaned around Ellette trying to peer out. She shoved him back.

“What do you think you are doing?”

“Something’s going on,” he said, reaching for the handle.

Jarrett caught his hand. “Don’t go out there.”

He met Jarrett’s gaze, then eased back in the seat.

“Nazar!”

The voice carried over the sounds of horse and men surrounding them.

Ellette’s panicked face turned to him. “It’s Quinn Laurel.”

“Are you sure?” demanded Kalas.

Ellette’s complexion had lost all color. “I will never forget that voice.”

“Nazar!”

Jarrett looked toward the door, but Tyla placed her hand on his arm, stopping him.

“Tell the King of Eastern Nevaisser that if he doesn’t hand you over, I will start killing his people.”

Kalas’ head lifted.

“Tell him that I start with the children.”

Kalas reached for the door handle, but Jarrett and Dolan wrestled him back.

“You can’t go out there,” Jarrett hissed at him.

“I can’t let him kill my people!”

Jarrett’s jaw clenched. This wasn’t Kalas’ battle, it was his. He’d made the decision to end the Procreation ceremonies, he made the changes to the Nazarien, and he had to be the one to end the threat Quinn Laurel represented to his people.

“This is my fight.”

“No!” Tyla’s fingers tightened on his arm.

He shifted toward her. “I don’t have a choice. I started this and I have to end it.”

“I’m not letting you go out there.”

He curved his hand over her cheek. “I have to. We’ll never have peace unless I end this. You’ve got to trust me.”

“Jarrett…”

“Nazar!” came Quinn’s voice through the carriage. “I start with the girl!”

“I have to go. Please trust me.”

Tears filled Tyla’s eyes. “Don’t do this. Please!”

“I have to or I’ll never be able to live with myself. You’ve got to promise me you won’t interfere, no matter what. Promise me, Tyla.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You can and you will. Please promise me.”

The tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks.

Jarrett wiped them away. “Trust me,” he whispered and kissed her, then he reached for the door handle and threw it open, stepping out.

Parish and Allistar both moved to block him, but not before he took in the scene. A wagon had been overturned, blocking the narrow roadway. Behind it, he could see smoke rising from a fire that had been set. Spectators stood on the sidewalks, watching with horrified expressions and in front of the wagon stood Quinn Laurel with a young girl held clasped before him.

Allistar’s Stravad had drawn on him with their bows and Kalas’ soldiers were standing in formation, but none of them moved, watching the scene unfold before them. The girl was sobbing as Quinn held a knife pressed under her jaw. Behind the Nazarien outcast were a line of his Nazarien followers, their weapons drawn and ready for assault.

Jarrett focused on Laurel, ignoring the motion behind him. He knew Tyla and Kalas would never wait inside the carriage, but he hoped Tyla understood how important it was for him to fight this battle himself. He sent the thought to her, hoping she would receive it as she had in the past.

If he didn’t end the threat of Quinn Laurel today, he would never be free to make his home in Temeron with her and Kerrin. Men like Laurel would hunt them for the rest of their lives. He had to make an example of him and he had to do it on his own.

“Let the girl go,” he said, moving beyond Parish and Allistar.

“Jarrett…” came Allistar’s warning.

Jarrett waved him off, never breaking eye contact with his enemy. “Let her go, Laurel. This is between you and me.”

“Is it? I thought you were too busy hiding behind female skirts to face me.”

“I’m here now.” He held his hands out to either side, his fingers flexing. “Just you and me, Laurel, a Nazarien duel. Victory or an honorable death. No interference, nobody else but us.”

Quinn frowned as he considered it. The girl was trembling violently, her eyes squeezed shut.

“Isn’t this what you’ve wanted all along? This is your chance to prove you are better able to lead. Defeat me and the Nazarien are yours.”

Quinn’s shoulders lifted in a shrug. “You’re almost twice my age, Nazar. Hardly a fair battle.”

“It’s what I offer you…” He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes on the other man. “But perhaps you’re afraid? Maybe you fear you aren’t a match after all?”

Quinn gave a snarl, but he didn’t answer. The girl let out a whimper of pain or fear, Jarrett wasn’t sure.

“Maybe that’s all you can do.” He nodded at the girl. “Pray on women and children. Rape and murder innocents. That’s why you’re not Nazarien. You’re afraid to face your superiors.”

Quinn threw the girl from him. She fell into the street, but the moment he released her, she scrambled up and darted into the crowd of spectators. Sheathing his knife, Laurel drew his sword and advanced on Jarrett.

Jarrett waited, letting his opponent expend the effort to close with him. It gave him a few precious seconds to mark his movements, his speed, his agility, and to catalog any weaknesses.

However, Laurel wasn’t a normal adversary. He was Nazarien trained and his quickness was unmistakable. He didn’t make a sloppy assault. He came directly at him, but at the last minute, he swung away, whirling with the blade slicing the air just before Jarrett’s face. Jarrett reared back at the last moment, but he could feel the parting of the air as the blade streaked by him.

Without missing a step, Laurel feinted the other direction, circling around his back. Jarrett drew and countered the strike, but he felt a sharp slice of the blade against his upper thigh. It wasn’t deep, but it stung.

Before he could recover, Laurel spun around him again. Jarrett parried the strike, but just barely. Quinn Laurel was fast, faster than most Nazarien Jarrett had met. Each time he struck, it was as if Jarrett was reacting to his shadow because he was no longer there.

He tagged Jarrett on his wrist and left shoulder, the tip of the sword slicing through his shirt. None of the wounds were serious, but they were aggravating and he was beginning to feel Tyla’s anxiety as his own.

He forced her from his mind, concentrating on keeping Laurel in front of him. The rogue Nazarien were silent, but Parish’s soldiers were not and they made gasps and groans of dismay each time Laurel did his clever spin around the Nazar.

Jarrett let him dance in and out, tag here, tag there, another few pricks of the blade against the backs of his calves, his forearm, his side. The younger man wasn’t breathing hard, an expression of near mirth on his features. He was toying with him, playing him like a cat with a mouse, but the young fool didn’t understand who he was messing with.

As the battle raged, Laurel’s strokes became bolder, more aggressive – cockier. Jarrett let him gorge on his own hubris, then he struck. While Quinn Laurel was fleet and agile as a housecat, Jarrett was a panther. The moment he sensed that Laurel felt the battle was over, he moved.

He might have been twice Laurel’s age, but he still had his speed, the speed that had saved his life countless times before. His motions blurred as he went on the offensive, throwing Laurel’s pirouettes into a stumbling, halting scramble to defend himself. Laurel’s face twisted first into a look of surprise, then alarm, then terror as he tried to counter the preternatural skill of his Nazar.

Within seconds, Jarrett sent him sprawling, knocking the sword from his hand. He stood over him, the tip of his own blade pressed against the hollow of Quinn Laurel’s throat. A cheer went up from the soldiers, but no one moved to intervene.

“Do it!” hissed the rogue Nazarien. “Give me an honorable death!”

Jarrett fought to regain his breath. “There is no honorable death for a man like you.”

Laurel’s eyes went wide, the white showing around the iris. “This was the bargain you made. Give me an honorable death!”

Jarrett took a step back. “You deserve nothing. You have betrayed the Nazarien faith, you have betrayed your people, and nothing you can do will ever give you back the honor you have destroyed.” He motioned behind him. “I give you your life.”

He heard a cry of protest from Ellette, but he ignored it. He hunkered down beside Laurel and stared him in the eyes. “No matter where you go, you will be hunted by the very men you led. They will seek you out. They will find you, and when they do, mercy be upon your soul, for they will tear you apart.”

Laurel’s chest rose in a frantic pant. He shot a panicked look at his men.

“This is your punishment. This is what you receive for defiling the tenants of our faith. Your emptiness has been cast down before them and they know you for what you are.” He leaned closer, his eyes narrowing. “All that you can do now is run!”

At his last word, Laurel scrambled to his feet and bolted toward the edge of the crowd.

“No!” came Ellette’s scream and she threw herself after him.

Jarrett caught her, stopping her from running him down. She collapsed in his arms, great wrenching sobs rising inside of her. Standing in the middle of the street in the dying light of the day, Jarrett clutched Ellette and watched Quinn Laurel disappear into the crowd. When he glanced over his shoulder, he marked that the rogue Nazarien had faded from view without uttering a sound.

*   *   *

Tyla stepped out of the room, closing the door at her back. Kalas stopped pacing and faced her. Beside him, Jarrett glanced up.

Coming forward, Kalas’ gaze lifted to the chamber door. “What’s going on?”

“I gave her a sedative. She’s calm now.” She touched his arm and offered him a weary smile.

Jarrett looked down. “I’m sorry this happened, Kalas. I should have thought more about how my decision would affect her.”

Kalas shook his head. “You did the right thing. She’ll understand that after the shock wears off.”

“She wants to see you,” said Tyla.

Kalas nodded and moved past her to the door. “Thank you,” he said, as his fingers curled around the handle. He turned it and pushed the door open.

Ellette lay propped up by pillows on his bed, her brown hair lying around her shoulders. She wore a white nightgown and the covers were pulled up to her waist, her hands clasped on top. She blinked sleepily at him and he could tell the sedative was beginning to work.

Crossing the room, he sank down on the bed beside her. She reached out her hand and clasped his. “You are disappointed in me,” she said. Her voice came out a bit slower than usual.

“Lord no,” he answered, giving her a smile. “How could I be disappointed with you?”

Her expression grew troubled. “I lost my composure in front of your men. No one will respect me now.”

He laughed. He couldn’t help it. This was what she was worried about?

She frowned at him. “I do not think my disgrace is a thing of humor, Your Majesty.”

“Please stop calling me that. We’re a little beyond using titles with each other, don’t you think?”

She gave him a bewildered look. “I can never understand the things you find important.”

He laughed again. “That’s okay. I’m willing to accept that.” He covered the back of her hand with his free one. “I know you wanted Jarrett to kill Quinn Laurel and I know why.”

“The Nazar makes his own decisions and I should not question them.”

“Yes, well, that doesn’t completely square with reality.”

“I do not follow.”

“You had every right to want Quinn Laurel dead. In fact, you had every right to do it yourself, but…”

She tilted her head. “But?”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because it would change who you are, make you something you’re not.”

“A killer?”

“Exactly.”

“He deserves to die.”

“I know.”

“But the Nazar was right in his punishment. He did not deserve an honorable death.”

Kalas brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Is there any way we can put him in our past? To move on without him?”

She studied his face. “I would like to do that.”

He smiled. “I’ve been thinking.”

“That is a dangerous activity where you are involved,” she said seriously.

He gave her a puzzled look. Surely that had to be humor? “Really?”

When she didn’t seem to understand him, he brushed it aside. “Look, Ellette, actually I want to talk about us.”

“Us?”

“Yes, you and me.”

“What about us?”

“I want you to be a permanent part of my life.”

“Permanent?”

He smiled. “Very permanent. I want you to marry me.”

“You need to marry a Human with noble blood.”

He leaned closer to her. “Here’s the nice thing about being King.”

She didn’t answer, just watched him closely.

“I get my way a lot of the time.”

“You want to marry me?”

“Yes. As soon as possible.”

“The Nazarien do not marry.”

“Maybe they don’t marry, but it doesn’t mean they can’t.” He eased back and gave her a mischievous look. “Unless of course, you’d prefer I marry a Human noble and bring her in as my wife to share my life, my future, and…my bed.”

Her fingers tightened against his. “I would have to kill her.”

“Kill her?”

She glanced out the doors of his room. “It is a very long way down onto rocks and then the ocean.”

Kalas let out a bark of laughter. “That would be a problem. People might frown on you assassinating my wives and well, let’s be honest, you probably wouldn’t succeed. You aren’t very good at your job after all.”

She glared at him.

“I’d be stuck with a boring noblewoman, forced to have children with her, and you’d be this pathetic ghost floating around the house trying to kill her all the time and failing at it. It would get very sad very quickly.”

“Is this the way Human proposals usually go?”

“No, usually when the King asks, the woman gives a resounding yes.”

She withdrew her hand. “Then if you want blind obedience, marry your Human.”

He smiled. “You know I love you, right? There is no other reason I put up with this.”

Her eyes clouded over. “It scares me how much you mean to me, how much I have come to need you.”

“How much you love me?”

“Nazarien do not…”

“Love, yes, but that’s sort of a ridiculous lie, isn’t it?”

“I find myself frequently aggravated with you, but no one is more important to me. Without you, everything would be without meaning. I guess that is love, yes?”

“I’ll take it.” He eased forward and pressed his forehead to hers. “Will you marry me?”

She sighed, then wrapped her arms around his neck. “To avoid committing murder, I suppose I have no choice.”

Kalas closed his eyes briefly in relief, then he kissed her.

EPILOGUE

Tyla drew her horse to a halt. They were within view of Temeron’s gates. She sat, studying them, a lump of emotion lodged in her throat. They gleamed golden in the dying light of the day, shimmering in the shadows cast by the mountains.

“Stravad Leader?” asked Allistar.

“Go on ahead, my friend. We’ll be there in a moment,” said Jarrett.

Allistar nodded, then signaled to his men and they set out.

Tyla smiled at her husband. “Thank you.”

He waved it off, bringing his horse close into her side. “Once we cross under those gates, everything changes.”

“It’ll no longer be the two of us.”

“I know.”

She held out her hand. “The adventures we’ve had together, Jarrett. Are you sure you’re ready for a boring life of being a husband and a father?”

He exhaled. “I’ve been ready the last ten years.”

She tightened her hold. “So have I. Besides, think of the stories we’ll have to tell our children and grandchildren. We’ll bore them with it until they repeat them themselves.”

“Children?”

She brought his hand to her belly and held it there. “Yes, children.”

His eyes widened and his mouth fell open. “Are you sure?”

“Fairly certain, yes.”

He blinked at her a few times, clearly unable to find his voice.

She laughed. “A speechless Nazarien. Will wonders never cease?”

“Tyla, I…just…”

“It’s okay, love. I know.”

His fingers tightened. “I will be here every minute this time, every second.”

“That might get annoying.”

He let out a strangled laugh. She’d take it. For so long, nothing had made him laugh. “How often do you get a second chance at happiness?”

Tears shimmered in her eyes. “Not often enough.” She looked back at the gates of Temeron. “Come on, let’s go home.”

*   *   *

Quinn Laurel pressed his back to the cave wall. He could hear rustling outside, but he wasn’t sure if it was the wind blowing in from the ocean, whistling through the reeds, or something more menacing. Reaching out, he kicked sand over his fire, trying to douse it. He knew better than to light a fire, but he wanted just a moment of warmth, a moment to feel its heat against his chilled flesh.

Food was scarce, limited to the few things he could trap or steal from the homesteads, and fresh water was always a problem. Nazarien lived very sparse lives, but they never lacked for basic necessities. He’d been reduced to a scavenger and a thief, living on the edge of society, clinging to it.

“Laurel!” came the voice.

He recognized it. Halish. A man he’d ridden beside for months. Once Halish had promised to commit suicide at his command, now he hunted him like a beast.

“Laurel, I know you’re in there. I’ve tracked you for days now.”

Quinn tightened his hand on his sword hilt. He could probably take Halish. If he wasn’t dehydrated and exhausted. Fear would only allow him to catch snatches of sleep. Enough to stave off a collapse, but not enough to refresh his mind.

“Laurel, don’t make me come in there. If you do, I will chop your body to pieces and scatter it for the vermin.”

Quinn slumped against the wall. There wasn’t a back way out of the cave. He’d picked it because it was the first shelter he could find. It didn’t even have defensible space. “If I come out, will you give me an honorable death?”

“I will give you a quick death.”

Quinn shut his eyes, letting out a pant of frustration. “The Nazar deserves this fate, not I.”

“The Nazar defeated you. He decreed your disgrace.”

“The Nazar violated the tenants of our faith. He returned to his wife. He turned his back on us and the decree made by his own father. How can you let that go?”

“He has gone to Loden and is beyond our reach.”

Quinn thought for a moment. “The King of Eastern Nevaisser is not.”

“I will not go against the King. He has the protection of all Nazarien.”

Quinn’s lip twitched. He couldn’t let Jarrett win this. He couldn’t let him disgrace him all over again. “If the Nazar returns to Nevaisser, will you protect him too? Will you ignore the edict of his father, our past Nazar? Will you betray our people?”

“If the Nazar returns to Nevaisser, he is fair game. We will fulfill the edict of his father.”

Quinn chewed his lower lip. It was something, but it wasn’t enough. “Halish?”

“You’re wasting time, Quinn.”

“Just one more boon – promise it to me. You followed me once. You rode at my side.”

“I will not spare your life.”

“No, not that. Will you grant me one thing more?”

“Name it.”

“Extend the bounty further.”

“I will not attack the King of Eastern Nevaisser, Quinn.”

“No, not the King. Extend the bounty to the Nazar’s off-spring, any issue of his loins.”

“Why would I do that?”

“His children bear the taint of his betrayal. They are the embodiment of his disloyalty to the Nazarien. Promise me that if any of them should enter Nevaisser, you will hunt them down.”

Silence met his request. He waited, his fingers twitching over the hilt of his sword. When he couldn’t take it any longer, he shouted into the wind. “Halish?”

“I promise,” came the response.

Quinn closed his eyes, panting with relief. Then he straightened his back, drew in his remaining courage, and stepped out into the gathering dark to meet Halish’s blade.

THE END

THE FOLLOWERS OF ELDON

World of Samar: Book Eight

M L Hamilton
authormlhamilton.net

The Followers of Eldon

Copyright © 2015 M L Hamilton

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed by a newspaper, magazine or journal.

First print

All Characters appearing in this work are fictitious.  Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The World of Samar series began so many decades ago, written first on a typewriter in my parents’ basement. I had a vision for where I wanted this epic journey to go, but I never dreamed that so many years later, other people would share the dream with me.

Thank you to my readers, the faithful, who have read so many pages of my world, and thank you to my family for helping me create it.

May Eldon’s light shine brightly in your lives!

I was born by myself but carry the spirit and blood of my father, mother and my ancestors. So I am really never alone. My identity is through that line.

~ Ziggy Marley

When you have robbed a man of everything, he is no longer in your power.

He is free again.

~ Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

PROLOGUE

Kaelene hesitated at the door to the Human hospital, her hand on the handle. She peered through the glass, seeing a narrow, long room opening beyond it with a number of benches placed against the walls. People sat on the benches, huddled in ones and twos.

A hand reached over Kaelene’s shoulder and grabbed the handle. Kaelene flinched and released it, backing out of the man’s hold. She hadn’t even heard him approach behind her. He glared at her and barked something in the Human’s tongue, but Kaelene knew only a smattering of words and those weren’t going to do her any good here.

His look softened when he caught her confused expression and he opened the door for her, motioning her inside. Kaelene didn’t know what to do. She was afraid to go inside, but Mother was so sick, she needed help and the Nazarien in Kazden had rejected them. There would be no help from their own people, so Kaelene’s last resort was the Human hospital in the middle of the city.

The man made a motion, indicating she should go inside. She lowered her head and moved into the room, feeling all eyes turn on her. The man touched her shoulder and indicated the counter. A tall, spare woman with sharp features and a severe expression glared at both of them.

The man spoke to her, indicating himself, then Kaelene, then himself again. Kaelene didn’t know any of those words at all. The woman listened, then she picked up a leather bound book, set it on the counter and offered the man a quill. He scrawled something on the page below other scribbling and the woman motioned for him to cross to the opening that led beyond the counter.

Then she stepped back and opened a door behind the counter, indicating he should go through the door. The man gave Kaelene a half-smile just before he disappeared, leaving Kaelene facing the woman with the stern features and the severely bound hair. The woman wore a white dress with a white cap and an apron over the front of it. She eyed Kaelene up and down, then tapped her fingers on the counter.

Kaelene didn’t know what she expected. She looked at the other people waiting on the benches in their small groups, but they just stared back at her, not offering her any help.

The woman behind the counter barked at her. Kaelene flinched and lowered her eyes, staring at the floor. She wanted to retreat out the door again, but the memory of her mother writhing on the narrow cot, moaning in pain, kept her where she was.

Forcing herself to look the woman in the eyes, she spoke in Nazarien. “I don’t understand you,” she said in a half-whisper.

The woman cocked her head, considering. Kaelene dared to hope the woman might speak her language, but instead she pointed at a spot on one of the benches, shooing Kaelene toward it. Kaelene walked to the bench and took a tentative seat, hoping she understood her correctly. The woman nodded at her, then she went to the door and disappeared behind it.

Kaelene waited. She waited a long time.

The other people either left or were called behind the counter and through the door, but not Kaelene. The woman with the severe face and the white clothes did not return. Kaelene fidgeted a little, worry for her mother making her anxious. Should she leave? Should she stay?

She picked at her worn trousers and studied the toe of her scuffed work boot, but still the woman didn’t return. Shifting on the hard bench, she sat up straight, trying to see beyond the counter to the door. She wondered if she should go to the door and open it, looking for anyone that might help her.

Hunger and thirst gnawed at her belly. The only food she’d taken had been a heel of bread she snagged just before running out of the boarding house to find a healer. And now she realized she needed to void her bladder.

Just when she was sure she wouldn’t be able to wait any longer, the door behind the counter opened and the stern woman stepped out, leading another person. The stern woman motioned at Kaelene and said something to her companion.

Kaelene looked up hopefully and her breath caught. The second figure was male, but the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. He had short black hair and Nazarien medallions glimmered from his left ear. His features were too perfect to be anything other than full-blooded Stravad, but his eyes were a glacial white. He didn’t look at Kaelene, but his head shifted in her general direction.

Kaelene went still. Even across the distance between them, she could feel this man’s power. The air felt charged with a strange energy and she couldn’t take her eyes from him.

He wasn’t overly tall, but his shoulders were broad, the muscles in his chest straining the homespun shirt he wore. He said something to the stern woman and touched her arm. Her demeanor melted and she gave him a smile, then nodded and retreated back through the door, closing it behind her.

Kaelene glanced around, realizing that they were alone, but her attention snapped back to the man as he crossed around the counter and approached her. Although his eyes remained fixed at a spot somewhere over her head, he didn’t falter.

“I’m Talar,” he said in perfect Nazarien.

Kaelene felt her shoulders sag in relief.

“Nurse Redmond told me you needed a translator?” He took the seat next to her. He smelt of antiseptic, but underneath the hospital scent was an earthier, seductive spice. She wanted to lean into him, but she blinked her eyes rapidly a few times, trying to banish her reaction to this handsome stranger.

“My mother’s very sick. I think she might be dying.” The words almost choked in her throat, but she got them out. Her mother was the last person she had in the world and losing her would leave Kaelene completely alone.

“I see. What seems to be wrong with her?”

Kaelene wrung her hands, dropping her eyes from his. Even so, he hadn’t once made direct eye contact. She was beginning to suspect he couldn’t see. “Her heart beats too fast. She can’t stand up or it makes her faint. It’s also making it hard for her to breathe.” Shifting on the seat, Kaelene faced him. “I don’t have much money, but I have a little. I just didn’t know if the hospital would take us.”

He gave a brief inclination of his head. “They might not. Relations with the Nazarien are tense here, but I can come with you. I have some skill at healing.”

“You work here?”

“Occasionally. I help out when they need more hands.” He gave a wry smile and Kaelene felt her heart pick up speed. His teeth were even and white. “What’s your name?”

“Kaelene.” She pushed a strand of brown hair over her shoulder and glanced at his face. She’d never seen a more beautiful man in her life. “Will you really come with me?”

“Yes, just let me get my pack.”

Kaelene watched him rise and walk to the counter as if his blindness presented no problem. Then he disappeared behind the door. Kaelene felt bereft at his departure, but chastised herself. Her mother might be dying and here she was lusting after a Nazarien man. Her mother would scold her for thinking it. She didn’t want Kaelene having anything to do with men, period, Nazarien men in particular.

She had to remember that as she waited, anxiously, for his return.

*    *    *

He wore a thick cloak, the hood pulled up, obscuring his beautiful features. Kaelene stole glances at him as they walked the streets of Kazden toward the room she and her mother rented.

Their landlady, Mrs. Tanis, hadn’t cared they were Nazarien when she rented them the room, as long as they helped with the cooking and cleaning. She also spoke Nazarien, which was an added benefit. In addition to helping Mrs. Tanis, Kaelene worked outside the boarding house, selling home-canned jellies and jams. Mrs. Tanis let Kaelene grow a few fruit trees off her back porch, as long as Kaelene provided the boarders with as much jam as they could consume during their morning meal.

Halfway there, Talar stopped her. “You came all this way?”

She looked at him and felt her heart sink. She hadn’t told him how far it was because she was afraid he’d refuse to come, but now he looked like he might just walk away again. She caught his hand. It was warm with calluses along the fingertips. She tried to ignore what touching him did to her equilibrium.

“Please don’t go. I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

He covered her hand with his other one and gave her a smile. “I’m still coming. I’m just wondering if we shouldn’t hitch a ride.”

She blinked at that and released him. She’d never gotten a ride before. Sometimes men pulled up alongside her as she walked and offered her things she’d rather not think about, but she’d never hailed a ride for herself before.

He stepped into the street and held up a hand. To her surprise, a large, red headed man in a wagon pulled over to the side and sat blinking at them. Kaelene didn’t move, she was so surprised by the man’s actions.

“We need a ride to…” Talar hesitated and held out a hand to her.

She didn’t immediately answer.

“What street do you live on?” he asked patiently.

“Foam. Way at the end.”

“Foam Street.”

“That’s clear the other side of town,” grumbled the man.

Talar tilted back his head, looking up at the man. “And you’ll be paid for your time.”

The man didn’t argue, just motioned to the back of the wagon. Talar took Kaelene’s arm and led her around the rear wheel, then he placed his hands on her waist and lifted her onto the back, her legs dangling over the side. She tried to ignore the thrill that coursed through her at his touch, but a moment later, he vaulted up beside her, sitting so close, she was awash in his clean scent.

The man clicked his tongue at the horses and the wagon rumbled off. Kaelene frowned at her clasped hands. She’d never thought to ask for a ride before, but Talar had secured one with very little effort.

“I’m confused,” she told him, kicking her legs back and forth. “Why is this man giving us a ride?”

“Because I asked him to,” responded her companion, then he gave her a wink. “Sometimes people do what I ask if I ask very nicely.” The weight of his words registered and her eyes widened. He used his Stravad abilities to persuade the man.

They arrived at Mrs. Tanis’ boarding house quicker than Kaelene had ever gone. Talar jumped from the back of the wagon and handed her down, then he gave the man something and the man drove away.

Mrs. Tanis met them on the front porch. She was a round little woman, inclined to laughter. When she laughed, her eyes squinted up so much she could hardly see out of them. Her brown hair was always neatly gathered in a bun and secured to the top of her head, and she wore an embroidered apron over her plain housedress.

Today she wasn’t smiling.

Kaelene felt her heart sink.

“I tried to take your mother some broth, but she didn’t answer the door and didn’t answer my knock. I peeked into the room, but I couldn’t see anything around the covers piled over the bed.”

Kaelene blanched, then hurried up the steps and into the pleasant boarding house. A few boarders looked up from their spots in the living room, but Kaelene ignored them, rushing for the stairs. She ran up to the top landing, then turned left and sprinted to the end of the hall, pushing open the door.

The room was dark and a strange scent met Kaelene’s nose. She hesitated in the middle of the room, unable to approach the bed, unable to make herself move forward at all. It felt as if her feet were rooted to the floor.

Talar entered the room behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders, then he eased around her immobile form and approached the bed, bending over the figure beneath the mound of covers. Kaelene’s heart crowded her throat, making breathing difficult as he reached out a hand and touched her mother at the throat.

Then he lowered his head and Kaelene knew. She just knew.

Her mother was gone.

*    *    *

Night had fallen and a chill crept into the air. Kaelene sat on the porch of Mrs. Tanis’ boarding house, unable to go back into that room, unable to face what she knew she’d find. Emptiness.

The undertaker had come and gone, taking Mother with him. Talar had gone with him. Kaelene didn’t have any money to pay for a funeral, but Talar had assured her he’d take care of it. She didn’t know how he planned to do that, but she was too numb to protest.

Mrs. Tanis hugged her against her ample bosom, while the undertaker removed Mother’s body, then she promised to clean the room for her. Kaelene didn’t care. There was no one left for her in the world. Mother had been all she’d had for so long.

Stepping out onto the porch, Mrs. Tanis draped a blanket over Kaelene’s shoulders. “Come inside, dear. The room’s cleaned. I put new bedding on the bed for you.”

“I can’t.” Kaelene didn’t even bother to grasp the blanket, she just stared out at the street. “I don’t think I can go back into that room ever again.”

“You have to, dear. I don’t have another room to give you.”

Kaelene closed her eyes. She hadn’t cried. She didn’t want to cry. In fact, she was afraid that if she did give in and cry, she’d break apart into a million pieces, blowing away with the next breeze. “I just want to sit here for a while, Mrs. Tanis, please. Just let me sit here.”

“Of course, dear. Can I get you some supper? Something warm to drink?”

Kaelene shook her head, watching the wagons rumble past the boarding house. “I just want to sit.”

Mrs. Tanis patted her shoulder awkwardly and returned to the house. Kaelene sat and shivered and watched the traffic roll past, trying to keep her thoughts from centering on the very thing she knew she couldn’t handle.

A tan horse with a dark mane stopped before the boarding house. Kaelene focused on it as a man in a dark cloak dropped to the ground and let the reins trail over the animal’s head, then the figure turned to the gate and opened it, striding up the walk.

Despite her numbness, Kaelene recognized the silent, fluid walk, the dark cloak, the hooded features. A thrill raced up her spine as Talar stopped on the bottom step and glanced up at her, the lantern Mrs. Tanis had left her shining on his perfect features.

“It’s too cold to sit outside,” he said, climbing the stairs and taking a seat on the top one. It brought him within touching distance of Kaelene’s blanket-covered knees.

“I can’t go back in there,” she whispered.

“No, I suppose not.” He braced his forearms on his thighs and sat contemplating the street as she’d been doing.

“What’s going to happen with my mother...my mother’s body?”

“I wasn’t sure whether you wanted her interred like a Human, buried in the cemetery, or cremated as the Nazarien would do.”

“She walked away from the Nazarien long ago,” said Kaelene. “Buried, but I don’t have the money for the burial.” She curled her hands around her stomach and hunched over. The loss, the emptiness, was like a physical ache inside of her.

“It’s taken care of.” He lifted his face to her, but his eyes didn’t quite meet her own.

“How? I can’t repay you. I can’t take charity like this.”

“From one past Nazarien to another,” he said, motioning at the medallions in his left ear. “It’s the least I can do.”

“I’ll find a way to repay you.”

“You already have. Meeting another recovering Nazarien is payment enough.”

She felt a smile touch her lips.

“So what are you going to do? Especially since you can’t go back inside.” He motioned to the boarding house.

Kaelene didn’t answer for a moment, just sat and stared at her hands.

He shifted to face her. “There’s a room where I’m staying. You could take that.”

“I do work for Mrs. Tanis to pay for our room now. I don’t have money to pay for another room.”

“Then come work in the hospital with me. Can you cook? They always need someone in the kitchens.”

“I can cook.” She felt a rush of excitement at his words. Working at the hospital would keep her close to him.

“Then, I’ll loan you your first week’s rent…”

“I can’t do that.” Kaelene wrung her hands. Mother had made it very clear what happened to young women when they couldn’t pay their own way. She’d wanted more for Kaelene. She’d left the Nazarien to protect her from men and their advancements.

Kaelene couldn’t meet his gaze. His charisma wasn’t lost on her, his looks definitely created strange feelings inside of her, but she had to honor Mother’s wishes. She had to find a way to live without relying on men.

They’ll take everything from you, Kaelene, and leave you with child, Mother had always said. It didn’t escape Kaelene’s notice that Mother spoke from experience. She’d been left with a girl child at a very young age, something not desirable among the male-dominated Nazarien.

Talar reached out and clasped her hands, even though she suspected he couldn’t see. “Kaelene, whatever you think I want, you’re wrong. I only want to help you. It’ll be a loan, nothing more. You can’t sleep on this porch, now can you? Please accept my offer for what it is. I have no other motive in mind.”

She stared into his beautiful features and realized it didn’t matter. The moment she’d seen him she knew she wanted this man in her life. There was just something about him, something so compelling that no amount of scolding from her mother could make her turn away.

CHAPTER 1

Lyell Vito was the First Advisor to the King of Dorland. Lyell Vito had been the First Advisor since the present King had appointed him seven years earlier. Despite the King’s growing unpopularity among the masses and even in his own court, Lyell Vito remained loyal to him. In fact, Lyell Vito often said that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for his King. Even death wasn’t too great a sacrifice.

Lyell Vito loved the King of Dorland.

To be more specific, he thought of the King as his son, although he’d never say such a thing out loud. The present King’s father, who had also reigned as King before him, paid little attention to his three sons, and then he’d died before any of them had come of age.

Lord Alton Cerik had been an excellent monarch. He’d held his kingdom with a firm hand. Dorland had grown prosperous under his rule and peace had reigned in a land that had known a long history of war and strife. The people loved Lord Alton and mourned for an entire year after his death.

Yet while Lord Alton had been an excellent monarch, he’d been a negligent father. All the qualities that made him a supreme ruler failed him with his own children. The Queen had died during the birth of their youngest son, Alasdair, and the King had dealt with his grief by ignoring his sons.

The oldest son, Adison, became cruel and vicious. Early on, it was evident to the King’s advisors that he would never make a king. The only thing that kept Adison from being banished for his brutal nature was his laziness and ineptitude. He was cunning and often conned others into doing disgraceful acts, but no one could ever prove he was the ring leader; therefore, more often than not, he went unpunished. Despite tradition, the royal advisors knew that to appoint Adison to the throne would, in essence, condone increasing acts of cruelty at his hands.

Alasdair, the youngest, was the opposite of his eldest brother. He was quiet and reserved by nature. He loved books, particularly folklore, and studied many languages in the isolation of his private chambers. Alasdair was also sickly due to his unfortunate birth and unable to lead the hearty, robust lives of his two oldest brothers. No one had ever considered Alasdair for the throne. Everyone in the kingdom knew Alasdair wouldn’t have survived his first year.

These unfortunate circumstances left only Aiden, the middle son, to take the throne upon his father’s death. Aiden wasn’t educated like Alasdair, nor was he manipulative like Adison. Aiden enjoyed the pleasures of nature – hunting, hiking, camping – anything that kept him away from the confines of the castle and away from his negligent father.

Many of the townspeople were surprised to hear the throne had passed, by royal decree, to Aiden. Aiden hadn’t even been present in Dorland to attend his father’s funeral. Most of the townspeople forgot Alton even had a middle son, but Aiden quickly made his presence known.

Aiden was not a good King. He didn’t want to be King, he didn’t like being King, and he knew he wasn’t skilled at it either. Perhaps the wisest thing Aiden did was appoint Lyell Vito as his First Advisor. Lyell would have been a very skilled King, but his bloodline flowed in the wrong direction, away from the throne.

Now as Lyell paused outside of Aiden’s royal quarters, he rehearsed the speech he would give the King. Aiden was late for hearings again. Aiden was usually late for all the duties of his office, despite Lyell’s repeated admonishments.

Drawing a weary breath, he rapped on the door three times. There was no answer. Placing his left ear to the door, Lyell listened. A muffled voice rose on the other side. Straightening to his full height, Lyell rapped again with added force.

The door was thrown open and Lyell stepped back in surprise as the muffled voice burst forth with clarity. Everard, the King’s personal valet, glared at Lyell, his neck veins bulging, his face red. Lyell lifted an eyebrow in interest.

“What’s wrong?”

Everard’s eyes widened. “His Lordship declines my assistance. His Lordship informed me that he would no longer be utilizing my services. His Lordship has dismissed me.”

Lyell drew a patient breath. Every day he was faced with Everard’s dismissal. He found himself wondering if for once His Lordship might not be so difficult, or if once Everard wouldn’t respond with such angst.

“His Lordship is mistaken. He will be in need of your services for a good while longer. I’m sure you misunderstood his intent.”

Everard narrowed his eyes. How could he disagree? To suggest that His Lordship had been in error was to risk a hanging and Lyell knew this. It anguished Everard to admit he’d misunderstood the King, but Lyell had him trapped.

“Would you be so kind as to ask His Lordship for clarification?” said Everard with a forced smile.

Lyell’s round, dark eyes shifted to Aiden’s back as he sat facing the window. He crossed the plush carpet and paused behind His Lordship. Aiden didn’t look up, Aiden didn’t acknowledge him, but Lyell was a tolerant man.

“Your Highness, the royal valet requests clarification of your command.”

Aiden lifted his head and regarded Lyell silently. Lyell stood stiff at attention and accepted the scrutiny. “Lyell...” the King began, but Lyell cleared his throat in warning.

Aiden narrowed his eyes. “First Advisor,” he said, correcting himself purposefully, “do you believe we’ll receive any rain today?”

Lyell broke the first rule of advisorship and royal servitude. He looked down at Aiden with astonishment. Behind him, Everard closed his eyes in disgust, but made no comment. Quickly Lyell recovered his composure and turned on his heels to face the royal valet. “Sir Everard, it seems your services will in fact be unnecessary today; however, I expect to see you at your post first thing tomorrow.”

Everard closed his gaping mouth, then pulled himself up with dignity. “As you wish, First Advisor,” he said. Turning on his heel, he left the room and pulled the double doors closed behind him.

Pursing his lips, Lyell took a seat in the window, facing Aiden. For a long time he stared at his hands, turning them every which way in the bright sunlight. Finally he clasped them and dropped them in his lap.

“Aiden, you really must stop tormenting your servants in this manner. It upsets the status quo, unsettles the castle, and disturbs the kingdom. You really mustn’t disturb the kingdom anymore, Aiden. They aren’t overly fond of you.”

Aiden’s eyes were piercing, a fact that troubled anyone who came in contact with him. The people of Dorland believed that to look another directly in the eye, or to study them intently, was to show ill breeding and disrespect. Aiden’s habit, or so Lyell considered it, did not make him any more popular with his people. In fact, most subjects and servants alike trembled at the thought of appearing before him and withstanding one of his penetrating looks.

“Must you stare at me, Aiden?” said Lyell.

Aiden blinked, then looked down. “I’m sorry, Lyell...”

“You ought to learn how to control that dreadful habit. Against your enemies I’ll grant it’s very effective, but you mustn’t make enemies out of your own people.”

“I’m sorry,” said the King again.

Lyell drew a deep breath. “You shouldn’t dismiss the royal valet every single day, either. It shows ill breeding.”

“I don’t like him. I don’t like him to dress me. I can dress myself.”

“But it isn’t seemly, Aiden,” interrupted Lyell.

Aiden rose to his feet with a heavy sigh and turned his back on his First Advisor. “Is this why you came to see me?”

Lyell pursed his lips again. “No, you’re late for hearings, you’re always late for hearings.”

Aiden turned and rested his hands on the back of his chair, carefully avoiding eye contact with Lyell as agreed. “I’m tired of hearings, I’m tired of dressing, I’m tired of being seemly, I’m tired of this castle.”

“You’re acting like an indulgent child. I don’t like this side of you, Aiden, nor would your father. Come now, pull yourself together, and act like the King you were born to be.”

Aiden didn’t respond, but simply shut his eyes.

Lyell grimaced. This was certainly going to be one of those difficult times. Aiden wasn’t a good King, but worse still, he was a reluctant King. All of the royal advisors and servants knew Aiden shouldn’t be King, but they knew Adison and Alasdair shouldn’t be even more so. As he thought of Adison, Lyell clutched at an idea.

“Would you have Adison grant hearings instead?”

Aiden’s head snapped up. “What?”

“You heard me, obviously. If you won’t attend hearings, I’ll be left no choice but to retain Adison as closest to the throne during the King’s absence.”

Aiden considered this a moment in silence. Lyell smiled faintly. He knew he had Aiden now. Despite his reluctance, Aiden wouldn’t allow Adison to grant hearings. Too many people would suffer under his heavy hand.

Aiden ran a hand through his shock of heavy blonde hair. “You are as manipulative as Adison, Lyell, do you know that?”

Lyell’s smile was grim, but triumphant.

“It isn’t something to be proud of, First Advisor.”

Ever so briefly, Lyell met Aiden’s probing gaze. He rose to his feet and crossed to the King’s side. Laying a hand on Aiden’s shoulder, he said, “I’ll expect you shortly.” His eyes dropped to the clothing lying across the chair. “See that you’re properly attired.”

Aiden’s nod was abrupt, the slightest acquiesce. Lyell paused in the outer hallway and pulled the doors closed at his back. He leaned against them and permitted himself a full smile. First victory of the day, he thought, and it wasn’t yet midhour.

*    *    *

Aiden lounged on the throne, his mind wandering out of the castle to the rolling hills beyond his kingdom. He dreamed of riding his horse, Dancing Thunder, feeling the beating of the wind in his hair and against his body. Beneath him, Dancing Thunder’s muscles rippled with power and speed, his hooves eating the ground at an alarming pace.

“Your Majesty!” Lyell’s voice shattered the carefully built dream.

Aiden blinked and straightened in the throne. He felt the reproachful eyes of his advisors on him and the disgusted stares of the townspeople waiting for him to grant hearings. His eyes passed briefly between Lyell and the two men who were expecting his ruling. With a sickening drop in his stomach, he realized he hadn’t heard anything the two men had said. His eyes made the circuit of the room, attempting desperately to find an ally, someone who could lend him aid in this embarrassing time of need. His eyes lighted on Adison, his oldest brother. Adison was grinning spitefully, enjoying Aiden’s discomfort. His superior, triumphant look only made Aiden more determined not to appear foolish again.

“This is a difficult situation,” he said, choosing a neutral statement as opposed to something specific; however, unfortunately he’d used the exact same opening for all the previous hearings this day.

Aiden felt Adison’s cold smile as he turned it on the waiting townspeople. Hot rage boiled in Aiden’s blood, but he simply could think of nothing more to say. Thankfully, Lyell came to his rescue.

“Yes, Your Lordship, disputes of land are always difficult, especially when livestock are involved,” said Lyell.

Livestock...livestock...Aiden understood the prompt, but what did livestock have to do with this dispute of land? He dropped his eyes to his hands and nodded to buy time.

“Unfortunately, when men put up fences between their neighbors, it often times gives a sense of distrust...”

“Yes, but the problem here, Your Esteemed Lordship,” interrupted Adison, “is that there are no fences between these two plots of land.”

Aiden’s eyes flashed to Adison’s face. Adison, as proper, would not meet the bold stare. A murmur filtered through the hearing chamber. Lyell shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat, a sign that Aiden was again overstepping the bounds of etiquette.

Aiden swept his stare to the ceiling of the hearing chamber and he began to scrutinize the rich tapestries that hung there. One in particular caught his eyes, that of a man in armor on foot, sword in hand, standing beneath the mammoth figure of a green dragon, fire blazing from the animal’s mouth. Aiden aligned himself with the warrior; Adison reminded him of the dragon.

Again Lyell cleared his throat and Aiden shook his head. Mustn’t wander now. Livestock and land disputes and fences were more important than an imaginary battle between the serpentine Adison and himself.

Then an idea struck him. He cocked his head at the two men. “Refresh my memory,” he said. “Exactly how many animals and how much land is in dispute?”

The two men glanced briefly at each other, Adison scowled, and Lyell shifted uncomfortably once more. The rest of the advisors had long ago bowed their heads in irritation.

“An entire herd,” said one of the men with sun wrinkled skin, “and more than ten parcels of land.”

Aiden licked his lips and nodded his head. “Specifically how many animals in a herd?”

Again the two men glanced at one another. “Forty odd,” said the second man with a short, stocky build.

“Forty odd? In other words, you aren’t exactly sure?”

Lyell pursed his lips in interest, Adison leaned forward in his chair, and the other advisors lifted their heads. Aiden was obviously driving at something that seemed remotely relevant to this case.

“No, your lordship, I’d say forty was pretty accurate,” said the first man.

“Yeah, forty’s ‘bout right,” added the second.

Aiden smiled. “Do you realize you both agreed on something? How long have you farmed your individual parcels of land?”

“That land’s been in our two families since before the First Siege of Dorland,” said the stout man.

“Our great grandfathers is both buried on it,” said the weathered man.

Aiden considered this fact. “Any marriages between the two families?” he asked.

The two men nodded simultaneously. "My mother’s sister married your uncle’s third son.”

“Naw, it was his second son by his third wife.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right. And then there was our cousins who run off and started their own farm other side of the kingdom.”

“On our fathers’ side, if I remember right...”

“Well,” said Aiden, interrupting the amicable reminisce. “Don’t you think that with as much as you’ve both shared over these past years, and before either of you were born, that you might be able to find some mutual use for those forty animals and those ten parcels of land? Maybe you could put it up as a dowry of sorts for one of your own children.”

The two men nodded in agreement. “You know,” said the stout one, putting his hand on his neighbor’s shoulder, “my oldest has had his eye on that third daughter of yours.”

“So I’ve seen,” said the weathered man. “Right good farmer, that one. I seen him out working like to beat a storm...”

Aiden smiled as he watched the two men walk out with one of the advisors to sign off their complaint. They’d forgotten to thank him, but that often happened. He was pleased that for once he’d found a solution on his own, without Adison or Lyell or any of the advisors’ assistance. Yet even with his triumph fresh in his mind, his eyes lifted involuntarily to the tapestry of the warrior and dragon. In truth, he’d much rather daydream than sit in this stuffy room, listening to these tedious complaints.

With a heavy sigh, he lowered his eyes to Lyell. Wasn’t it time to put an end to this for the day? He pleaded his case to Lyell in thoughts as he’d read the Stravad were able to do somewhere over the Grozik Mountains or in distant Chernow. As if it worked, Lyell cleared his throat and lifted his voice so it would project throughout the hearing chamber.

“The King will give audiences again tomorrow at the regularly scheduled time, but today he will not be able to entertain any more complaints.”

Entertain...interesting choice of words, Aiden thought. Nothing about hearings, or being King for that matter, was entertaining. Then with a sickening drop in his stomach, Aiden remembered it was now time to visit his invalid Queen.

*    *    *

Aiden paused in the doorway and glanced into the room. His shoulder muscles tightened involuntarily when he heard Carona’s piteous whine of complaint to her nurse.

“Must you be so rough! Really, Maren, you’re going to break a bone or something with those peasant hands of yours.”

Aiden shut his eyes and swallowed. Oh, would this interminable day ever end? One hour...he must pass at least one hour with his wife before he could escape. Many of the advisors had begun whispering that he only spent a few moments with her before fleeing. And in truth, he had. It was horrible to sit, listening to Carona complain about this and that. However, he had only three years left to beget another child with her, or else they might reconsider making Adison King.

Aiden shuddered at the thought of coupling with Carona again. She had actually wept, her eyes squeezed tight, hands clasped on her breast, face turned away from him. How he’d gotten her pregnant the first time escaped him. To make another attempt, after all this time, was almost unthinkable. She was pretty in a fragile, wilting flower sort of way, but she took no joy in anything, especially anything to do with the flesh. For a moment he allowed himself to imagine turning the crown over to Adison. Adison wanted to be King and Aiden wanted to roam the countryside. If he were no longer King, he would be free from hearings and visiting Carona and banquets and all the other auspices of being King. Life would again be pleasurable. And perhaps, just perhaps, there was a spirited young woman out there who wouldn’t shudder at his touch...

“...and this bed is so hard and lumpy; it’s a wonder I don’t wake every morning with bruises all over my body.”

Aiden narrowed his eyes. It’s a wonder you don't have bruises, all right, he thought spitefully, then shook his head. With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself through the doorway and into the room. Carona glanced up at him, then quickly pulled her dressing gown closed about her throat. Aiden noted the action, but avoided making eye contact with her.

“Good evening, my Queen,” he said, crossing the room and taking a seat in the window box. Maren, the nurse, gave him a look of gratitude as she bowed first to her King, then the Queen, and scurried from the room.

The moment Maren was gone, Carona leaned toward her husband and spoke in a hushed whisper. “Aiden, really, that woman is terrible. She’s so rough and unthinking; I’m often afraid that she’s going to do some permanent damage to me.”

Aiden lifted his heavy brown eyes and stared hard at his wife. Immediately she dropped her eyes and began to fumble with her dressing gown.

“What would you have me do about it, Carona?”

Carona glanced up at him in shock. Even Aiden found himself surprised by the note of bitter irritation in his voice. Looking out the window, he took a deep breath. The sun was setting on the lake, its brilliant rays making rainbow patterns on the water. Two black swans swam in and out of the reeds, gliding effortlessly across the water. Aiden watched the graceful motion, noting the way the yellow rays of dying sunshine illuminated the ebony feathers of the birds and made them almost incandescent. The swans were powerful and strong, their proud necks curved, their black eyes examining the world around them critically. The pair had been a gift to the young King and Queen upon their marriage, a gift from Aiden’s father, Alton, but unlike his son and his Queen, the swans were not unlucky in rearing young. Already the pair had passed four fruitful seasons, many of their offspring now fine young swans themselves.

Aiden and Carona’s only child, a son, had died two days after his early birth. Since that time, more than a year ago, Carona had entirely taken to her bed and would not allow her husband to come near her.

Slowly Aiden became aware that Carona was crying, not an outright sobbing, but a quiet shaking of the shoulders and a soft whimpering in her throat. Aiden swung his eyes from the lake and glared at her. Anger welled within him, anger uncommon to the usually passive King, and it startled him. Quickly he choked it down.

“Carona, please, why are you crying?” he asked, forcing his voice to be gentle.

“You are so cruel to me, everyone is so cruel to me, just because I can’t do the same things you can.”

“No, Carona, I don’t mean to be cruel, it’s...” He paused, searching for words. “I’ve had a long day granting hearings. My temper’s short. If Maren offends you, I’ll have her removed.”

Carona lifted her hands to her face and continued the same quiet sobbing. “You don’t understand anything. No one does. Do you think I want to lay here in this bed all day, doing nothing, going nowhere? Do you think I don’t want to go for rides or attend royal functions like everyone else? Do you think I like being an invalid?”

Aiden had to choke back the yes that rose in his throat. “Of course not,” he said, leaning closer to her, “but perhaps if you did get out of bed and got dressed...”He halted in mid-sentence.

Carona lifted her dry eyes and met his gaze, her eyes narrowing into angry slits.

“What are you suggesting, Aiden Cerik?”

Aiden felt himself beginning his customary backpedaling, but he forced his gaze to remain riveted on hers. “I’m not suggesting anything...”

“You’re suggesting that I can leave this bed, that there isn’t anything wrong with me. After all I’ve done for you, how could you be so cruel?”

“I...” stuttered the King, hating himself for cringing in this manner. “I’m not saying that you...”

“I bore your child. I nearly died trying to give you an heir and this is what I get. It’s just like you to take Maren’s side in this. You always take her side, you’re always against me.”

Aiden rose to his feet. “I’m not on anyone’s side...”

“Oh, you say that now, but when I needed you, you showed me who you believed. If I didn’t know any better I might be suspicious about your overwhelming concern for Maren’s feelings.”

“What?" cried Aiden in utter bewilderment.

“Oh, I see the way she looks at you and you look at her. If she wasn’t a peasant’s daughter, you’d throw me out and put her in my bed as quick as I could wink an eye.”

“Carona!” shouted Aiden and she stopped, stunned. Aiden clenched his fists.

“What now, Aiden? Are you going to hit me? Beat me for speaking my mind? Well, go ahead. I can’t defend myself and you know it. I can hardly get out of this bed, so there’s nothing I can do to stop you.”

Aiden gaped at her, astounded. He’d never been anything but exceedingly gentle with his wife. How could she suggest he’d harm her in anyway? True, thoughts of violence entered his mind occasionally, but they were only thoughts, nothing more. To suggest otherwise was appalling. He drew a deep breath, expanding his chest, trying desperately to calm the raging emotions within him.

“Carona, I have never struck you and you know that.”

Again she bowed her head and started her quiet weeping. Aiden shut his eyes, squaring his jaw. Where had everything gone wrong this day? First there was the argument with Everard, his valet, and then the dreadful hearings (he’d forgotten his one success already), and now these few moments with Carona. He opened his eyes and glanced at her, but she was still weeping, her shoulders shaking dramatically, her head downcast.

“Do you want me to leave, Carona?”

She mumbled something that he couldn’t hear. He clenched his jaw harder. Self-constraint, the mark of a good King is self-constraint. Hadn’t his father told him that time and time again? Still, in eight years of marriage to Carona, he hadn’t learned it and things were only getting worse with time.

“I’m sorry, Carona, I didn’t hear you.”

Again she mumbled and he strained with all his might to catch just something...just a few words so he might piece together an actual sentence. “...dun...nuff...”

Dun nuff...dun nuff...Eldon’s star, what did that mean? ...dun nuff...

“Done enough!” he said aloud and her head snapped up, her eyes narrowing suspiciously on him. He clamped his mouth closed, realizing he’d spoken out loud. She looked at him as if he were insane.

“You want me to leave?”

She glared at him, disregarding decorum, her eyes boring holes right through his body. “Get out!” she said in strained courtesy.

Aiden didn’t wait for a confirmation. He bolted for the door and pulled it closed. He moved a few steps down the corridor and leaned against the wall, shutting his eyes. He and Carona had been married eight years. They’d had one unsuccessful pregnancy and a handful of sorry attempts. He had only three more years of his kingship to produce an heir or the throne would go to Adison. Yet if audiences with Carona continued to go as badly as this one, he could almost hand Adison the crown any day now. When two people disliked each other as intensely as Carona and Aiden did, it wasn’t likely they’d spend much time indulging in marital fulfillment. It was a chore for Aiden, a horror for Carona, and a disastrous combination on both their parts. Aiden thought back to the many young women he’d entertained before his marriage. How pleasant it had been, how satisfying – everything that it wasn’t with Carona. He shivered thinking about coupling with her now.

What a miserable, sorry day he’d spent, but just so were many days since he’d taken the crown. In fact, he could count on one hand how many had actually been pleasant. Most of those were spent with his youngest brother Alasdair or when the exotic Nazarien passed through Dorland on their way to Tirsbor, the Nazarien outpost in the Cronin desert. Aiden was fascinated by Stravad. He loved their folklore, which Alasdair told him, and their mysticism. Adison thought it ridiculous to believe they held any special powers that Humans didn’t, but Aiden had seen enough of them in Dorland when he was younger to believe they did.

He opened his eyes and glanced down both ends of the corridors. Guards waited at command for him to move. How tiresome it became to always be followed from one place to the next. Aiden never went anywhere, not even to the lavatory, without a guard close at hand. He shook himself, realizing he was in a grim mood. The only thing that could bring him out of it now was Alasdair, his youngest brother.

Aiden stepped through the door of Alasdair’s library, breathing deeply of the musty book scent. He liked the way the library smelled, not as well as the meadows after rain, but nearly as much. The library smelled of old, deep secrets, hidden knowledge, lost eras. As a consequence of spending most of his time here, Alasdair also smelled like these things, when he didn’t smell of sickness. Aiden always found himself hushed when he entered the library as if to speak loudly would profane the sanctity of it. He walked silently across the deep, plush carpeting, slipping into a chair across from his brother. Alasdair lifted his eyes, a far-off look in them. He raised his hand and pulled his spectacles away from his face, laying them in the book he had been reading. Recognition dawned slowly on him and he smiled.

“Hello, Aiden, how was your day?”

Aiden studied the pale, grey cast to his brother’s features, the odd curvature of his shoulders and spine. Alasdair was the only person at the castle, in Dorland for that matter, that didn’t mind Aiden’s piercing stare.

“My day was wretched as usual. How was yours?”

Alasdair’s eyes took on their distant light again. “Wonderful. I was reading the tale of when Eldon conquered the Orahim without shedding a drop of blood.”

“You should be able to recite that one by heart, Alasdair,” said Aiden with a warm smile.

“Oh, but every time I read it is like the first. I see something new, something I never noticed before. And even if I didn’t, I would never cease to wonder at Eldon’s brilliance.”

Aiden sighed, wishing he had time to pursue such pleasures. His mind worried over the confrontation with Carona again. Why had he allowed his annoyance to show so clearly to her?

Alasdair blinked as if realizing he wasn’t alone for the first time. “Your day didn’t go well, did it, Aiden?”

Aiden met Alasdair’s brief gaze. “No, not well at all. This morning I had an argument with Everard...”

“Not another one?”

Aiden nodded. “I was late for hearings...”

“Again?”

Aiden nodded once more. "My mind wandered during the middle of them so everyone had to repeat their complaints, and I had a vicious fight with Carona.”

Alasdair’s face took on such a grieved look that Aiden was immediately sorry he’d burdened his brother with his problems.

“I wish you didn’t have to be King, Aiden.”

“So do I, Alasdair,” said Aiden, smiling at his brother’s childlike concern. “So do I.”

Alasdair pulled his spectacles out of his book and closed it, rising to his feet. Aiden rose with him and followed his brother’s bent, shuffling gait deeper into the library, back among the multitude of books. Aiden’s fingers trailed along the spines of the books as he followed Alasdair, his eyes reading the titles.

Alasdair replaced the book on the shelf and then continued down the row, scanning the titles with a practiced eye. Suddenly he paused and turned to glance at his brother.

“Have you investigated my charges about the slave trade between Dorland and Sarkisian?” he asked.

Aiden frowned. Alasdair had come to him two weeks prior, worried sick over rumors he’d heard in town regarding a growing slave trade in the outlying lands of both Dorland and Sarkisian. Aiden found it difficult to believe, but since that time there’d been a few reports of travelers turning up as missing during routine runs between the two Protectorates. These travelers were always children, just prior to adulthood, and women, never men. Where these slaves were supposed to be taken and to whom, Alasdair hadn’t known and Aiden couldn’t discover. In fact, Aiden hadn’t gotten any information at all from his search.

In all probability, Alasdair had heard a false rumor; although, it bothered Aiden for Alasdair was seldom wrong and he would never accuse anyone of doing something so heinous without cause.

“I have inquired, Alasdair, but I haven’t found any proof to corroborate your claims.”

Alasdair’s deep, dark eyes took on an urgent look. He stepped forward and grasped his brother’s arm at the elbow. “You must, Aiden, you must. We can’t allow this sort of atrocity to continue. A slave trade, Aiden, think of it. Of all the depravations Humans are capable of, slavery is the worst. They’re taking women and children, using them for unspeakable things. This should be your top priority above all else – above granting hearings, tending to the business of the Protectorate, or wooing Carona.”

Aiden frowned. “It just isn’t that easy, Alasdair. If I had some proof, if one person would come forward and admit he’d been accosted on the roads between Dorland and Sarkisian, that his child or wife had been taken, then I could take action, but as yet that hasn’t happened.”

Alasdair held Aiden’s eyes. It was a rare occasion and one in which Aiden knew he ought to pay close attention to what his brother was about to say.

“Do you think a slaver would allow anyone to escape one of his raids and come back to the Protectorate to warn anyone? You’ve had reports of missing people, entire families, but you haven’t done anything to investigate. You’ve got to find out more. If I’m right, there are slavers in Dorland at this very minute trafficking Humans as property. How can you stand here and do nothing?”

“What would you have me do, Alasdair?” said Aiden, raising his hands in supplication.

Alasdair’s hand tightened on his brother’s arm. “Go into town yourself, Aiden, inquire, look around, keep your eyes open.”

“And if there are slavers, you really think they are going to show their business when the King and his entourage comes into town?”

Alasdair looked down and drew a heavy sigh. “You have to go without guards and retainers, you have to go in disguise. The same way I went when I wanted to learn the truth.” He lifted his eyes and glanced at his brother. “I’ve still got the costume. No one recognized me when I wore it, not even Lyell Vito.”

“You went into Dorland by yourself, Alasdair?” said Aiden, concern for his ailing brother making his voice sharp. “Do you realize how foolish that was? Do you realize the danger you could have been in?”

Alasdair bit his lip nervously. “I didn’t think it was too great a risk to help my people.”

Aiden exhaled in aggravation. He didn’t often get aggravated with his youngest brother, but the thought of him probing the dark, underside of Dorland in disguise without anyone to protect him was maddening. Alasdair couldn’t take care of himself. He wasn’t strong enough. Worse still, Alasdair wouldn’t carry a weapon. He believed it went against his principles. Aiden had respected this choice when Alasdair made it, but after his brother’s most recent confession, he found it nettling and disturbing.

“Don’t go into Dorland again, Alasdair, unless you go with a full retainer and guards. This isn’t a request from your brother, this is a command from your King.”

Alasdair glanced at him from the corners of his eyes. He chewed mercilessly on his lip and fiddled with his fingers. “You’re angry with me, Aiden? You’re angry that I tried to find out if there’s a slave trade in Dorland?”

Aiden shut his eyes and tilted back his head. “No, Alasdair, I’m angry that you took an unnecessary risk...”

“Nothing is unnecessary when you are trying to stop slavers...”

“Curses, Alasdair, there are no slavers!”

Alasdair recoiled from his brother’s anger. He didn’t answer him, but he didn’t need to – the hurt in his eyes plunged deeper into Aiden’s heart than any words could have.

“I’m sorry, Alasdair,” said Aiden wearily, resting a heavy hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I’m just tired and irritated from the day. I’m not angry at you. Please forgive me.”

Alasdair nodded, but didn’t lift his head.

Aiden combed his fingers through his blond hair. “All right, Alasdair, you win. I’ll go into Dorland in disguise and try to find out about this slave trade rumor.”

Alasdair lifted his eyes to his brother’s face and they danced with gratitude. Aiden had just berated him, yet Alasdair was the one who was grateful. Love for his brother swelled in Aiden’s breast. Only Alasdair could be so forgiving.

“When, Aiden, when?”

“As soon as things settle down here at the castle. I have an entire week of hearings booked. I won’t be able to get into town until the middle or last part of next week.”

Alasdair grabbed his brother’s hand and held it tightly. “As long as you go, Aiden, thank you.”

Aiden patted his brother’s hand and nodded, drawing another weary breath. “I’m going to bed. If I’m asleep, maybe I can’t mess up anything else today.”

Alasdair smiled, but he’d already turned his attention to a book just visible over Aiden’s shoulder. Aiden watched his brother retrieve the book and wander aimlessly down the row to the table at which he’d been sitting. A pang of envy struck Aiden. Alasdair was concerned about this slave trade rumor, but once he’d given responsibility of it to his brother, he was no longer bothered. Aiden wished he could let go of disturbing thoughts as easily, but it was his job to worry over them until he found a solution. Aiden wasn’t very good at finding the solutions, but he did a right good job at worrying.

As he left his brother in the library, he began to brood and he knew that sleep wouldn’t come to him for a long time this night. Still that was his job as King and the only other person who wanted it was his brother, Adison. Adison wouldn’t worry over a problem, he’d find the most radical form of action to take, and then everyone would pay for his moment of conviction.

CHAPTER 2

Nakoda was built like the bear he was named after. Well over six feet tall, chest as broad as a board, hands as big as paddles, he was a brute of a man with long dark hair, brilliant blue Stravad eyes, and a pleasant enough face if his eyebrows had been tamed. As they were, they overshadowed his eyes, giving him a dangerous, edgy look.

His mother had been best friends with Amaroq’s mother, the two of them having children within days of each other. Amaroq’s mother had given birth to a small boy with perfectly proportional limbs, quiet and quick in the ways of things, eager to learn, but distrustful of the world around him. Later she would come to understand how the world pressed in on the boy, battered against his senses, how every pain and hurt others suffered hurt him. It made him distance himself, grow wild, untamed, wary. She named him Amaroq, Wolf, a fitting name for one such as he.

The distance he imposed on himself, she came to realize, was a good thing. He drew people’s attention. His brilliant blue eyes, bluer than most Stravad were ringed by thick dark lashes, his features displayed a perfection unique among a people known for their physical beauty, his compact body long of limb, lithe, agile. When he was three, he could scamper up most trees, skip from rock to rock in the stream, and swing across the parapets that lined the caves in Tirsbor, catching the thin support logs and leaping to the next, until his mother was frantic with worry that he’d fall to his death.

He never fell.

He thrived. He grew strong. He grew intelligent.

He had few playmates, and that worked well for him. Nakoda became his closest friend, following along behind him, lumbering in his wake, and Naia, Amaroq’s sister, damaged at birth, unable to speak or hear. He loved her as he loved no other. Beyond those two, he had his mother and her mate, and he was content.

The Tirsbor Nazarien left him to his own devices until he was five. Then they decided he would become a scholar – learn the history of their people, learn the languages of Samar. He rebelled at first, trying to run away, but one did not escape Tirsbor. He was made to learn, to spend hours locked in the caves, studying with the elders, but as soon as they grew tired of his restlessness each day, they released him.

Then he and Nakoda wandered the maze, spending hours exploring. They were never told the way out, never given the precious maps that would set them free. The elders feared to lose Amaroq, feared to allow him his freedom, so they kept him within the maze, let him explore to his heart’s content, but they knew he’d never escape them, never try to leave. Not as long as they had his mother and sister. Not as long as they had that which he loved most of all.

The years passed, many of them, and Amaroq never thought to leave Tirsbor. He was content. The elders warned him that outside the sheltered valley, his affliction, his ability to sense others’ pain would overwhelm him. He felt overwhelmed enough in their small society, so he couldn’t imagine what it would be like beyond the protection of Tirsbor. Besides that, everything he needed was here.

He grew to manhood in the canyon, contenting himself with his books, his studies, and his wanderings with Nakoda. He was not physically imposing as Nakoda, but strong muscled, quick and agile. He could battle with any weapon they gave him, they’d made sure of that, but he didn’t like to fight. He didn’t like to inflict pain. He had skill at hunting, but he hated to hunt, preferring to eat greens and fruit to meat.

Nakoda had no such problem. His large form required much meat and he urged his friend to go with him while he hunted. More often than not, they came back with nothing, but not because of a lack of skill. Amaroq frightened the creatures off when Nakoda wasn’t looking, filling their minds with images of blood and death, so they ran. Still, the two wandered off whenever they could on the pretense of going hunting.

Scrambling from branch to branch, Amaroq made the leap to the next tree and scampered through the boughs, then he dropped down in front of Nakoda without a sound, startling the huge man into a grunt of surprise. Nakoda’s bow came up in defense, then he released his breath and glared at his friend.

“One of these times, I’m going to shoot you, you know?”

Amaroq laughed and slapped Nakoda’s iron shoulder. “Not in this lifetime, Bear. I’m too fast.”

“Too arrogant and you’re a grown man. Too damn old to behave like this.”

Amaroq ran up the trail, then waited for his slower friend. “Hurry. I can smell supper cooking at the caves.”

Nakoda grumbled. “Nothing fresh. Why didn’t you let me shoot the deer? You promised me I could take an animal today.”

“She had a fawn. Did you want to kill both of them?”

Nakoda fell into step beside him and they climbed down the trail into the open area before the caves. Walking along the stream, Amaroq leaped out onto the rocks and picked his way over the slippery moss, always staying above the flow. Nakoda didn’t try to follow. He ambled along the stream bank, keeping abreast of his more nimble friend.

A couple of young women were washing clothes in the stream. They giggled when they saw the two men approach. Actually, Nakoda had no delusions. They giggled because of Amaroq, not him. Although they never spoke to either of them, it was Amaroq with his long black hair, his brilliant Stravad eyes, and his pretty features that drew their admiration.

Amaroq bounded across the rocks and landed in the middle of the women. They threw up their hands and swatted at him, but he danced away from them, leaving them giggling and watching after him as he headed for the caves. Glancing over his shoulder, he laughed, nudging Nakoda with his arm.

“They want us.”

“They want you,” growled Nakoda.

“Which one will you choose for the Procreation Ceremony?” Amaroq said, still looking behind him.

Nakoda bumped him in the side, making him stumble. The women giggled some more. “I won’t get a choice. Neither will you. The new girls go to the elders. You know that.”

Amaroq stopped walking. “Then I’ll refuse.”

“They’ll never let you refuse. You’ll go to a proven breeder. We both will.”

Amaroq chewed on his inner lip. “I want to pick for myself. Just this one time.”

“Ha!” shot Nakoda over his shoulder. “You always say such stupid things.”

Amaroq ran to catch up. The caves rose above them, glowing a rosy color in the dying light of the day. He marked the larger number of warriors patrolling the parapets, quickly counting them. A strange feeling of anxiety permeated the evening, making the hairs on the back of his arms stand on end. He caught Nakoda’s arm.

“Something’s wrong.” He pointed to the caves.

Nakoda squinted, then gave a grunt and continued walking.

“Nakoda!”

Nakoda stopped and turned. “What? What do you feel now?”

“I don’t know, but…”

Nakoda narrowed his eyes on him. He knew Amaroq had feelings, had sensations. He couldn’t read minds like some of the elders, but his intuition was often more accurate, more reliable. And sometimes those feelings crippled him. If he felt something now, something was wrong. Nakoda turned and picked up pace. Amaroq hurried to catch up.

They came to the lowest level and climbed the ladder. Amaroq went first, because he was the most nimble. Nakoda’s family occupied the third tier: he, his mother and youngest brother. They didn’t rank and Nakoda’s father had never gone beyond a simple patrolman. Not that Nakoda ever had anything to do with his father. No Nazarien male ever did.

Amaroq’s family lived on the sixth tier; two below the council, the Tirsbor commander, and the elders. Their status came not from Amaroq’s mother, a Nazarien woman who’d fled the order when she was a girl, but from Amaroq himself, his lineage, his paternity. Naia, his sister, damaged as she was, stayed with them only because Amaroq demanded it. If she’d been on her own, Naia wouldn’t even be granted the right to live in the caves. She’d be relegated to the shanties along the stream, where other defects made their home.

The warriors on patrol marked the men’s approach, but they didn’t greet them, didn’t give them any information whatsoever. This wasn’t unusual. Amaroq held a unique status here in Tirsbor. He didn’t patrol and he didn’t train with the other warriors. Beyond his hours of discussing philosophy and government with the elders, his time was his own. The regular warriors resented it, although they’d never say it, but they resented it just the same.

Climbing to the third tier, Nakoda motioned to his family’s cave and they hurried to the opening, parting the leather curtain. The interior was small, a circle carved out of the mountain with three pallets resting on stone shelves, a cook fire vented through a hole above the door, a few shelves holding dishes and baskets filled with the family’s clothing. Nakoda’s mother and brother were not here.

He glanced over at his friend and chewed on his inner lip. This too wasn’t unusual. Nakoda’s mother often took meals with her closest friend on the sixth tier. Going back out, they climbed to the sixth tier.

Amaroq’s quarters were at the farthest end, the last cave on this level. He outdistanced his friend and arrived at the entrance where the curtain had been pulled back on the failing day. Amaroq’s family had one of the larger caves with individual partitions blocking off sections, so each member of the family had privacy.

In addition to a cook fire, Amaroq’s mother had a stove that her mate had bought for her when Amaroq was a child, building it piece by piece himself. She also had a cache of water in a barrel next to the shelves that housed their cooking utensils. Her mate had also built the privacy screens and besides the regular shelves all Tirsbor Nazarien had to hold their clothing, each member of Amaroq’s family had a chest that could be locked.

Turning into the cave, Amaroq came up short. Light shown from the bowls affixed to the walls, illuminating everything. Amaroq’s mother was huddled in her favorite chair by the fire, while Nakoda’s mother, Honora, sat next to her, her arms around her friend. His mother’s mate paced behind them and Nakoda’s younger brother, Elian, sat in the corner, chewing on a crust of bread.

Amaroq scanned the cave for his sister, but she was nowhere to be seen. A feeling of dread spread through him and he moved toward his mother. “What’s wrong?”

Her eyes snapped to his face, then she looked over her shoulder at her mate.

The large man with the thinning blond hair and the hooked nose moved toward him. “Wolf, we’re glad you’re back.”

Nakoda entered the cave then and stopped. “What’s wrong?”

Tears raced down both women’s faces. Amaroq moved toward his mother, but her mate intercepted him. “We need you to stay calm.”

Amaroq lifted his eyes to the older man. From his earliest memory, Shandar had been a part of their family, providing for them, taking care of everything. They’d lived better than most women and children because of him, because he was always there. No other Nazarien woman in Tirsbor had a permanent mate. It was another thing that separated Amaroq.

“What’s wrong, Shandar?” he said, trying to keep the fear from his voice. His mother’s grief, Honora’s sadness, Shandar’s worry all battered at him, made him want to shut himself away.

“Naia…”

“Where’s Naia? Where’s my sister?” He looked around Shandar at his mother. “Where is Naia!”

Shandar placed his hands on his shoulders, drawing his attention. “We’re not sure. She went out with the patrol to gather greens. They went beyond the canyon and were attacked.”

“Attacked? By who?”

“We don’t know. The warriors believe they were Human.”

“Human? Humans attacked them outside of Tirsbor?”

“They were ambushed.”

Amaroq shook his head, not comprehending. “How many were captured?”

“Just Naia.”

“What?”

“She didn’t hear them coming, didn’t hear the cry of warning. They attacked so quickly, the warriors had no time except to defend themselves. They scattered and came back here. It took hours before we knew that Naia didn’t return.”

Amaroq shook off Shandar’s hands. “This can’t be.”

“The commander sent out two patrols looking for her.”

“No! This can’t be. Why was she allowed to go with them? Why did they make her go if they weren’t going to protect her?” This just reinforced to Amaroq why it was bad to leave the protection of the canyon.

“It was her rotation to go,” said Shandar, attempting to sound reasonable.

“No! No!” Amaroq turned and headed for the door.

“Wolf!” cried Shandar, trying to stop him, but he ignored him, stepping out onto the parapet and moving toward the closest ladder.

Nakoda followed, then came Shandar and his mother with Honora bringing up the rear. Amaroq climbed to the highest level – the level of the elders and the council and the Tirsbor commander. The level reserved for the highest of their order, the level denied him unless he was acting in his capacity as a minister. He didn’t care. All he could think about was his sister, caught by Humans. He couldn’t allow himself to think what they might be doing to her.

He threw open the door flap, startling them. The elders looked up from their spots at the table, the commander rose to his feet.

“Amaroq, you should not be here!” he said forcefully.

Amaroq stormed up to the table and slammed his hand down on it. “I want my sister! Now!”

Tovan held up a hand to forestall the guards from removing him. “We’re working on that. I’ve sent out two patrols…”

“How did this happen?”

“She didn’t hear the warnings. They shouted for everyone to scatter, but she didn’t hear them. The Humans captured her before she even knew what was happening.”

“Why was she taken beyond Tirsbor?”

Tovan held out his hands, palms up. “She must earn her keep, as do we all.”

Amaroq went still. His eyes passed over the elders, the council that decided all things within the canyon. They’d all had a hand in training him, teaching him the languages and the histories and the lore, but now they wouldn’t look at him.

“I’m going after her,” he said, fighting down a rush of fear. “Give me a map, so that I can find my way beyond Tirsbor.”

The commander folded his hands before him. “I can’t allow that.”

“You can’t allow it?”

“You’re too important to us, Amaroq. I can’t allow you to risk yourself this way.”

“But you could let my sister go? You could send her beyond the protection of our people to earn her way?”

He didn’t answer.

Amaroq slammed his hand on the table again, making them jump. “Answer me!”

“She’s a woman and…”

“And?” He glared around at them, but they still wouldn’t meet his eyes. “And!” he shouted.

“And defective,” said Tovan.

Amaroq straightened. There it was. There was his answer. They would never let him go. He felt it in their demeanor, he knew it in every fiber of his body. They would do everything in their power to keep him, but they didn’t know him. They didn’t know anything about him. His sister and his mother were his life, the only things he had.

He turned and walked back to his mother, putting his arm around her and guiding her to the door. She slumped against him, her body shuddering with tears. He left the council, he left the elders, without looking back.

They didn’t know a damn thing.

*    *    *

Amaroq waited until the watch died down. He lay on his pallet, peering around the partition, watching the warriors patrol back and forth. It was warm enough that no one minded the curtain remained pulled away from the opening. Besides that, Amaroq’s mother was so despondent, she hadn’t even noticed when she finally collapsed on her pallet and cried herself to sleep.

Shandar had finally gone to sleep himself. Amaroq waited to hear the older man’s snores, but so far there was nothing. He couldn’t wait much longer. He figured it had to be beyond the middle of the night now, a couple of hours until sunrise.

What he was about to do terrified him. Going beyond Tirsbor, leaving the canyon he’d lived in his entire life, over thirty years. He wasn’t a child any more, he was a man, but he knew nothing beyond his home. Still, the thought of Naia out there, the thought of what they might do to her was more than he could stand. The pain of his mother, the worry of Shandar, they pushed him beyond the cave, made him want to flee and he knew he’d never be able to live with himself if he didn’t do something.

Sliding out from beneath the covers, he grabbed a few changes of clothing, his fire-starting kit, and his favorite knife, strapping the knife around his waist. Then he folded up the Human coat Shandar had bought him one winter and stuffed everything into a knapsack. Sliding his feet into his soft-soled shoes, he rose and crept out of his alcove into the family area.

He didn’t bother with food. He figured that would be sure to wake his mother, and he knew he might have to resort to hunting, but he did snag the empty water skin hanging from a shelf and slung that over his shoulder, then he headed for the entrance as if he had every reason to leave at this time of night.

He peered around the entrance and watched the guards making their way down the parapet to the ladder and begin climbing. They had two more levels to patrol before they’d start their descent again, just enough time for Amaroq to make his escape.

He sensed a presence behind him and turned.

Shandar stood there, a pack slung over his own shoulder.

Amaroq shook his head. “I’m going alone.”

“No, you’re not.”

Amaroq glanced at the pallet and marked that it was empty. His mother appeared at his side, passing a smaller sack to him. He knew it contained food. “You can’t go with me, Shandar,” he told the older man.

“The patrol just passed. We don’t have time to argue.”

“Let him go with you. You can’t go alone,” said his mother. She caught his face in her hands and kissed his forehead. “You need someone with you. You’ve never been beyond Tirsbor.”

Amaroq fought down his immediate protests. He didn’t want to hurt Shandar or his mother, but their anxiety, their worry were making him edgy. “I’m going alone.”

“Not in this, you’re not. I raised your sister as my own. I’m going after her whether I go with you or not.” Shandar paused and gave him a severe look. “You’re wasting time.”

Amaroq exhaled. “You’re too old. I don’t know how long we’ll be gone.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“What about my mother?”

“She asked me to go.”

Amaroq shot a look at her.

She moved forward and hugged him. “I can’t lose both of my children,” she whispered against his chest. “Please let this be.”

Amaroq glared at Shandar, shaking his head.

Shandar didn’t challenge him, just bent and pressed his lips to the top of his mother’s head. She turned and threw her arms around him, hugging him tight.

“Be safe, love,” she said and lifted her face for his kiss.

Amaroq took that opportunity to slip out of the cave, but he hadn’t even made it to the ladder when Shandar caught up with him. He could still move fast and silent for a man of his advanced years. Amaroq had a grudging respect for that.

They climbed down in silence, Amaroq keeping an eye open for the guards, but they met no one. Once on the ground, they jogged to make it to the shanties on the edge of the river. From there they’d meet no more patrols until they made their way to the entrance of Tirsbor. If they made it.

Amaroq had very little hope that they’d find their way out of the maze without a map. If it hadn’t been so risky, he’d have searched the council cavern for one, but he couldn’t chance it. They’d just have to follow instinct and hope they found an exit before they either starved to death, or more likely, died of thirst.

Well, he would. He had no intention of taking Shandar much beyond the stream.

As he neared the shanty, a huge shadow moved to block his way. Amaroq swore under his breath and Shandar dropped into a protective crouch, but the shadow simply stepped into the moonlight, a huge smile lighting the massive face.

“I knew you’d wait until the guard dropped down to a minimum,” said Nakoda.

Amaroq grabbed his arm and drew them both into the darkness between the shanties, glancing back at the cliff’s face for the guards. He could just make out his mother’s small form, watching them from the parapet, her hands curled on the railing. He motioned her back inside and she went.

“I’m going alone,” he said, turning back to them.

“You’re not going without me. We’ve done everything together our entire lives,” said Nakoda.

“This is my mission, my journey, and I’m going alone. I don’t need anyone slowing me down.”

“Who’s slowing you down? I’ve never slowed you down before, besides you need someone good with weapons.” He motioned to the bow slung over his shoulder.

Amaroq glared at Shandar. “Go back to my mother.”

“No. You have no authority over me, boy. I go where I please.”

“You don’t go with me!” He caught himself as he realized his voice was rising. He didn’t want to draw attention. “Please Shandar, I have no idea what happened to Naia, who took her, and I have no idea how long I’ll be gone.”

“Which is why you need me with you. I’m not as old as you think.”

“You are. You’re exactly as old as I think. If you die…”

“I won’t.”

“If you die, I’ll never forgive myself.”

Shandar leveled a look on Amaroq and the younger man couldn’t deny the pulse of his grief. “Your sister’s like a daughter to me. You and your mother are my only family. I’m going with you or without. I hope it’ll be with you. I have a few skills you might need, and something else.”

“What else?” Amaroq crossed his arms over his chest. “What could you have that we don’t?”

Shandar gave him a slow smile. “The way out.”

CHAPTER 3

Aiden opened the door of his private chambers and peered down both ends of the hallway. Breathing a sigh of relief, he eased the door open a little farther and stepped into the hall, riding boots in hand. Shutting the door as carefully as he could to make no noise, Aiden tiptoed down the hall and to the enormous staircase. Again he peeked over the rail, but everything was quiet on the floor below.

His stocking feet made little sound as he hurried down the stairs and to the marble floor of the entry way. Again he checked both sides and padded into the next hallway. He went swiftly now, sure he wouldn’t encounter any servants in this wing so early in the morning.

Rounding behind the kitchens, he eased through the service entrance and halted on the porch, glancing up at the starry sky. He breathed deeply of the clean, pre-dawn air. How he loved this hour before daybreak when the entire world was new made and quiet. Pulling on his boots, he trotted across the yard and to the stables.

The huge stable door creaked on its hinges as Aiden eased it open and he stopped, glancing up at the castle to see if anyone had been alerted. All lights were off and there was no sound. Breathing a sigh of relief, he slipped into the stable and waited for his eyes to adjust to the starless darkness.

Dancing Thunder nickered in the distance as he caught the scent of his master. A pulse of excitement snaked its way up Aiden’s spine. He hurried to the horse’s stall and opened it. Immediately the animal pressed his nose to Aiden’s chest, snuffling affectionately.

Aiden stroked Dancing Thunder’s mane and then set about saddling him. Aiden’s father, Alton, would never have saddled his own horse. Neither would Aiden’s two brothers. Adison thought himself too good and Alasdair was too weak. But Aiden loved the feel of the leather under his fingers, the ripple of Thunder’s muscles as he drew the cinch tight.

“I should have been a farmer,” whispered Aiden in Thunder’s ear. “Not a damned King.”

The horse nickered again and tossed his head, his black mane shimmering in the darkness.

“You agree, eh?” said Aiden, grabbing Thunder’s bridle and leading him from his stall. At the door to the stable, Aiden peered out one last time, then forced the door completely open.

The sky was already beginning to lighten and a lantern had been lit in the castle. Swinging astride Thunder, Aiden turned him toward the distant hills rising behind the castle and the horse broke into an easy canter.

Aiden met no one on the road out of Dorland and he was grateful. He didn’t want to be burdened with niceties on his early morning rides. He chuckled to himself, feeling free and just a little wild. Even Lyell Vito didn’t know about his early morning rides with no guards or retainers. And it was a secret he intended to keep.

Once they reached the downs beyond Dorland, Aiden gave Thunder his head. The horse sprang away, his muscles stretching and lengthening. Wind whipped through Aiden’s blond hair, blowing it back away from his face. Lifting himself in the stirrups, Aiden leaned forward over Thunder, their bodies moving as one.

Faster, faster! urged Aiden, and as if he read the thought, Thunder tore away over the field.

They rode until a stand of oaks rose up to block their path and then Aiden eased back in Thunder’s saddle, causing the horse to slow his pace. Gently Aiden pulled back on Thunder’s bit, bringing the horse down to a trot, then a walk.

The trees closed in on them as Aiden steered Thunder through the thicket. They came to a stream they always drank from and Aiden swung out of the saddle, crouching beside the horse and cupping handfuls of water to his mouth.

A fine sheen of perspiration had broken out along Aiden’s forehead and down his back, and his heart was pounding from the excitement of the ride. Leaning back on his heels, Aiden watched Thunder drink thirstily.

“Beautiful, beautiful animal,” breathed the King, drawing a deep breath to slow his own panting. “That was just what I needed after yesterday.”

The horse lifted his head and nickered. Aiden smiled and sat back on the bank, looking out over the brook. Dawn was breaking in the sky, a gradual lightening of the blackness to a pale pink. Aiden breathed deeply again. Already he could sense the coming heat of the day.

Peace teased at him, followed by a fierce need to run away from everything – the castle, Carona, Lyell Vito and Adison. How much better life would be if he could just disappear into the land, hunting for his food, drinking his fill from the stream, only himself to worry about. Then he thought of Alasdair. What would happen to his sickly brother if he left? And what would happen to Dorland? Despite his protest, Aiden loved Dorland and worried what Adison might do to the beautiful city if he were in control. Raise taxes – that was a foregone fact. How many times had he berated Aiden about increasing the taxes?

Aiden scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed. No, he couldn’t run away. Not now and not ever. He was tied to Dorland and the kingship for the rest of his life, or at least three more years if he didn’t beget an heir soon.

A motion in the thicket caused Thunder to dance and nicker. Aiden looked up and narrowed his eyes, but he saw nothing. Still Thunder was uneasy and backed away from the creek. Aiden rose swiftly to his feet and caught the horse’s bridle.

“Easy, boy,” he said, stroking the animal’s forehead. “It’s probably a deer, or something, come down to get an early morning drink.”

Thunder was not comforted however and pulled against the reins.

“Easy, boy!” commanded Aiden in a firmer voice. “There’s nothing in the brush to hurt you...” Aiden caught himself as he heard the rustling once more.

Thunder nickered and tossed his head again, backing up. Aiden clung to the bridle, but his eyes strained across the creek, searching for the intruder. Strangely the hair on the back of the King’s neck rose and Aiden glanced up at his saddle bags. Fool, he thought, you should never leave the castle without a weapon. Reasoning that it could be a bear or wolf, Aiden swung up into Thunder’s saddle and turned him toward the open downs. The animal was more than happy to respond and broke into a canter despite the earlier run.

Still Aiden was forced to hold the beast in check. Thunder’s senses told him danger lay in the thicket of trees and instinct told him to run for cover, but Aiden didn’t want to wear his favorite horse out with another full run so soon.

As the castle loomed in sight, Aiden glanced over his shoulder. Movement among the trees sent a shiver of anxiety down his spine. Then he caught his breath as three men emerged from the cover of the trees, all mounted on horses. Beards hid their faces and hats were pulled down over their eyes.

Reflexively Aiden tapped Thunder in the side with his heels. The horse needed no more prompting, bunching his muscles beneath him and shooting off over the downs. Aiden glanced back again and saw the three men also break into a dead run after him. Heart pounding in his breast, Aiden wondered if he’d make the castle walls before they overtook him, and he leaned forward in the stirrups.

Thunder rose to the challenge, lengthening out, his hooves fairly flying over the uneven ground. Aiden suppressed a momentary wave of fear for the horse’s safety, then flattened himself out over the animal’s neck as the riders behind him gained ground.

It was a race that would leave Aiden shivering for days, but finally the gates of the castle rose up before him and Thunder shot beneath them, his hooves clattering on the cobblestones of the courtyard. Aiden reined him in severely and looked over his shoulders only to find the three men were gone, like spirits in the night.

Both the horse and the King were breathing hard, their chests rising. Aiden held check on Thunder’s reins and the horse danced beneath him, but the King wanted to be sure the three riders were gone. The noise of his return had alerted people in the castle and they poured out into the courtyard.

Aiden ignored them, tearing his eyes away from the downs and turning Thunder toward the stable. The horse was finally beginning to calm himself, but Aiden was still anxious. It was the first time anyone had ever had the gall to follow him, let alone chase him over his own land. The idea made him furious.

“What happened?” demanded Lyell Vito, appearing suddenly before his King.

Aiden stared down at his advisor. “Nothing I can’t handle myself,” he answered, steering the horse around him.

“You weren’t out riding by yourself, Aiden, were you?” asked the advisor, following the King toward the stable.

“Yes I was, as I’ve been doing for many months now. And before you say anything, I intend to continue, so find something else to punish me with.”

Lyell stopped walking and stared at Aiden’s broad back. “At least you could tell me what happened. The entire castle’s in an uproar. Most of the servants heard you and that black beast ride in here as if Eldon himself was riding on your heels.”

Aiden dropped out of the saddle and grabbed Thunder’s reins, leading him toward the stable. A stable hand came out to meet him and offered to take the horse. Aiden waved him away. He wanted to tend to Thunder himself – the horse had most likely saved his life.

“Some men followed me from the thicket on horseback. No one’s ever had the audacity to do so before.”

Lyell’s eyes widened in shock and concern. “Followed you? What do you mean?”

Aiden glared at his advisor. “Followed me, rode after me. What else, Lyell?”

“To apprehend you?”

Aiden drew a deep breath, his hand running over Thunder’s lathered body, searching for any injuries. “I didn’t stop to ask them.”

Lyell stared at the King over the horse’s back, his mouth agape. “I can’t believe you’d be so foolish as to...”

“Please don’t lecture me, Lyell. I’ve had a bad morning, I don’t need anything added to it.”

Lyell shut his mouth, his jaw squaring. “Then tell me you won’t risk it again.”

Aiden met his gaze over Thunder’s back. “Send a detachment out to see if they can pick up the riders’ trail and follow it. Maybe they’ll be apprehended.”

“Aiden,” persisted the Advisor.

“Do as I ask, Lyell,” responded Aiden without looking up.

Lyell spun on his heel and stormed from the stable. Aiden glanced up and watched him go, feeling guilty for frightening Lyell like that. Lyell had been more of a father to him than his own father had ever been, but sometimes the burdens of being King overruled Aiden’s usual good judgment.

He curried Thunder and then gave him an extra measure of grain before returning to the castle. He had a bath drawn and refused an assistant. By the time Lyell returned, Aiden had dressed himself and was heading down to the hearings without being summoned. He didn’t want to anger anyone else today.

The hearings seemed to stretch on and on forever. Aiden forced himself to appear every bit the King he ought to be, but even so, his mind still wandered. He was more grateful than ever for Lyell. The advisor pulled him back whenever he threatened to drift away, and for once Aiden didn’t look like a mock King before his people.

The day went more smoothly than Aiden could ever remember. The only mar was the return of the scouts. They’d lost the trail of Aiden’s assailants over the downs. Aiden chewed this information over carefully. It seemed logical enough and the scouts had related the story with little hesitation, yet Aiden was still bothered. Something just wasn’t right. However, he dismissed it as a lingering sensation from his fright of the morning.

When the last hearing had been given for the day, Aiden excused all of his advisors, including Lyell, and gave them the remaining daylight hours for their own enjoyment. He rose off his throne and stretched away the tedious duty of King.

His step quickened as he crossed the hearing chamber for the enormous double doors, but his good mood evaporated when he found Adison waiting for him just outside.

“What is it now, brother? Was I too lenient on the poacher? Should I have had his hands removed? Or perhaps his tongue so he’d no longer have a taste for our pheasants?”

“Ah, your wit is like your kingship, a sorry spectacle indeed,” replied Adison. “Actually, I was concerned about your frightening experience this morning.”

Aiden faltered in mid-step, coming to a complete halt, his eyes searching his brother’s face. Like always, Adison refused to meet his stare.

“You were concerned about me?”

Adison’s light brown eyes flitted upward momentarily, then fixed on his boot toe. “Of course, why it could have been myself out there this morning.”

Aiden’s smile was wry. “Of course,” he said, then resumed walking.

Adison quickened his pace to come abreast of his brother. “So tell me what happened.”

“I was followed from the thicket by some strange men.”

“What do you mean followed?”

Aiden turned down the next corridor, quickening his pace so his shorter legged brother was forced to trot to keep up. “Just that – followed.”

“Did they ride as if they would apprehend you?”

“They rode after me. I don’t know their intention, but it didn’t seem friendly.”

Adison caught Aiden’s arm, forcing him to stop. “Did you recognize them? Someone from our kingdom?”

Aiden’s eyes narrowed in memory. “No, I didn’t recognize them.”

Adison drew a deep breath and shook his head. “I wonder why three men would dare to chase the King of Dorland.”

Aiden’s head snapped up and his eyes flashed intently. “What did you say?”

Adison met his gaze. “I wondered why three men would dare to chase you.”

Aiden took a step back, his eyes narrowing even further. He’d told no one how many men there were this morning, not even Lyell.

“How did you know how many men there were?”

Adison glanced at Aiden in surprise and held his stare. “What?”

“Are you deaf, Adison?” said Aiden angrily. “How did you know how many men there were?”

“You said...”

“...nothing. I deliberately failed to state how many men there were.”

“Why ever for?”

Aiden took another step back, regarded his brother intently. He didn’t trust Adison even as much as he trusted a scorpion, yet he couldn’t believe his brother would really wish him any harm. They were related by blood, had the same father and mother.

“I thought maybe if I kept that information to myself it might come in handy in exposing the responsible party. Has it?”

Now Adison took a step back and his look was aghast. “Has it what?” he demanded, then his face became thunderous. “What are you suggesting, brother?

Aiden’s eyes were shrewd. Adison was more than indignant regarding Aiden’s accusation. Still Aiden just couldn’t believe Adison would intend him any real harm. If he was involved, maybe they’d only been hired to scare some sense into the recalcitrant King.

“I’m suggesting nothing,” replied Aiden smoothly, although his eyes said otherwise.

“Well,” said Adison, looking at his boot toe again. “I suggest you take no more foolish rides by yourself if you know what’s good for you.”

“I won’t do so again, brother, I promise.”

Adison glanced at him, then down at the floor again. “Good.” He turned and moved back the way he’d come, his head bowed, his shoulders slumped. Adison had a guilty cast to him, but then he was usually guilty of some misdeed or another. Anything to make Aiden’s life so much more difficult.

Aiden hurried down the corridor toward his wife’s quarters. A half-hour in her company, then off to see Alasdair. Finally the rest of the day would be his to while away as he chose.

He nodded at the guards as he passed and paused outside her door, listening intently, trying to gauge her mood by what he heard or didn’t hear. Today he heard only the soft mumbling of feminine voices. Carona wasn’t yelling or whining, perhaps it was a good sign, but he didn’t dare to hope too much.

He knocked once at the door, glancing at the guards. They gave him a pitying stare and he bristled in humiliation. What other husbands had to knock at their wives’ doors? Grasping the handle, he thrust the door open and glared at his wife where she lay reclining in her bed.

She blinked at him in astonishment and reflexively pulled her dressing gown closed at the throat. Maren looked up from brushing her mistress’s hair and like usual gave him a thankful smile.

Aiden wanted to return the warm gesture, but he knew it would only spark jealousy and accusations from Carona. Why Carona cared, he’d yet to figure out, but she did and it was enough to make his life miserable.

“Good afternoon, my Queen,” he said, moving into the room.

Maren retreated around the bed, laying the brush on the dressing stand and heading as quickly as she could for the door. Carona’s eyes followed her, then passed over Aiden.

“Good afternoon, my King,” she said, laying her head back on the pillows and sighing.

Aiden crossed to her side and took a seat at the window, looking out over the gardens. As usual the pair of black swans were swimming gracefully around the lake. He glanced at Carona and noted the sallow color of her cheeks. Instantly he was angry.

“You ought to get out and breathe some fresh air, get some sun,” he said.

She sighed again and looked down at her pale hands where they rested on her bed clothes. “So he starts,” she mumbled.

This only fueled Aiden’s rage, that and the memory of the guards’ pitying looks when he’d knocked at her door. “What?” He moved swiftly and sat directly on the edge of the bed within touching distance.

Carona recoiled, her hands fluttering up to her throat, her body arching away from him. She refused to meet his stare. “I said you’re starting already.”

“No, you didn’t,” he said furiously. “I don’t damn well know what you said, but it wasn’t that.”

She gasped at his profanity, her eyes fluttering in panic over his face. She tried to move further away from him, but any more motion would require her to actually move her entire body. Aiden took a sadistic pleasure from her discomfort. He knew it was wrong, but he’d spent eight years suffering all her petty little rules and regulations which only acted to make him seem less a man, less a Human in the eyes of his subjects.

He penned her in then, leaning over her, placing a hand on either side of her body. She tried to scramble back, but the mass of pillows at her back prevented any escape.

“Aiden,” she cried out in panic.

“Eldon’s bloody star, woman, you’d think I were an outlaw come to violate your body.”

She was gasping, her chest heaving. “I suppose you expect to rut on me now, don’t you?”

His eyes widened in rage. He rose swiftly and paced to the window, his fist clenching. He tried to take a deep breath to quell his temper, because he was beginning to fear he might strangle her and enjoy it, but it didn’t work.

Moving back to the bed, he grasped her shoulders and threw her down, dropping over her, holding her with his greater weight and size. Immediately she turned her face away from him, her hands braced against his chest. She was actually trembling beneath him.

“Oh my, Aiden,” she breathed and then she did an astonishing thing. She dropped her arms to her sides and shut her eyes. “I surrender,” she said in a husky voice.

He gapped at her, unable to comprehend what had just happened. He’d expected her to be rigid, uncompromising as she’d always been before when he’d tried so desperately to seduce her, but now she was limp and compliant. Revulsion rose within him.

Whenever he’d bedded her before, performing his kingly and husbandly duty, he’d spent hours priming her with food, drink, music, his touch, but nothing had worked. She’d lay beneath him, but was always as unresponsive as a rock. Perhaps this docility was a new tactic to throw him off. If so, it worked.

He rose up, moving off her, but she clasped his arms and held him. “Where are you going?”

He could only stare at her in amazement. “What?”

“I told you I surrender.”

He swallowed at the disbelief and repugnance rising within him. “You surrender? What does that mean?”

She bristled at his question, but her hands had begun to knead his arms. “You threw me down like a brute and prepared to mount me. I’m giving you permission to complete the task.”

He rolled off her, sitting on the edge of the bed, placing his head in his hands. She sat up beside him.

“What’s wrong, Aiden?”

He glanced at her. “You just gave me verbal permission to lay with my wife.” He lifted his hands in a futile gesture and let them drop against his thighs. “Somehow that takes all the fun out of it, Carona.”

“All right,” she said, “I take it back. You may take me by force.”

He stared at her, realizing that they might have been married for eight years, but he didn’t know her at all. She actually wanted him to be violent and brutal with her – well, to a certain point, he was sure. Could it be that his anger and frustration actually aroused her? Something about that knowledge sickened him and he was suddenly weary of his life, of everything to do with it.

“We’re just not good for each other, Carona.”

She didn’t respond for a moment, then in a rare gesture of companionship, she leaned her shoulder against his and swung her legs back and forth over the side of the bed. “I know that, Aiden,” she said softly. “We don’t have much choice though, we never did.”

He nodded, chewing on his lower lip. His eyes drifted out over the gardens. “What are we going to do about it?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. Somehow we’ve got to beget an heir in the next three years or they’ll oust you as King.”

Aiden glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. “You won’t ever have to do without though, Carona. Even if I’m not King, they’ll give me land and an estate to run, more money than I’ll know how to spend.”

“Yes,” she said with a tired sigh, “but then Adison will likely be King and I don’t think I can live in a kingdom where he rules.”

Aiden looked at her and she met his gaze steadily.

“You don’t really think I’m that simple, do you, Aiden? Adison will destroy Dorland.” She looked away, her eyes drifting out the window. “This land has seen enough strife. The people deserve more.”

He felt a strange swelling of warmth toward her. They so seldom spoke to each other civilly anymore, he’d truthfully forgotten she had a brain at all.

“I’m sorry, Carona. I’m sorry for the way I’ve been treating you lately, but...”

“I know,” she said, “you hate being King.”

He nodded.

“And you aren’t particularly happy being married to me either,” she said wryly.

He smiled despite himself. “At least the feeling’s mutual there, eh, my Queen?”

She laughed, a strange sound. He realized he hadn’t heard her laugh in years. “Anyway, like we said, we’re stuck with each other, so we’d best make do.” She reached out and laid her hand on his arm. “Perhaps we ought to try for that heir after all.”

He looked down at the hand resting so intimately against his flesh. It had been a long time since he’d felt her touch, any woman’s touch. Glancing up at her with a glint of mischief in his dark eyes, he asked, “Shall I toss you down again?”

A smile touched the corners of her mouth. “Perhaps,” she said and gasped as he did so.

*    *    *

Aiden woke when it was still dark. Carona had dressed as he slept and turned her back to him, her form unwelcoming in the dim light. He sighed and ran a hand through his sleep tousled hair. Their mating had been quick and rather unsatisfying. She’d been more yielding with him than ever before, yet her response was anything but passionate.

Throwing back the covers, he climbed to his feet. He didn’t think he could bear the look of disgust on her face if she woke with him in her bed. She never seemed reconciled with her choice the next morning.

Feeling petulant and out of place, he pulled on his trousers, slipped his arms into his shirt and picked up his boots. He carefully found his way to the door and opened it, grimacing when the hinges gave a loud protest.

She mumbled in her sleep and curled more deeply in on herself, but she didn’t awaken. How she slept so deeply at night after napping all day escaped him. Aiden hadn’t slept deeply in the last seven years. Ironically the time coincided with his reluctant kingship.

He slipped into the hall and closed her door, cringing inwardly when the hinges protested yet again. He dropped his boots to the ground and bent to pull them on. From the corner of his eyes he caught the sly smile the two guards exchanged at his appearance. Aiden bristled at it. It wasn’t enough that his every movement was watched, but the damn attendants had to know even when he lay with his wife.

Lord, how sick he was of the entire situation. If only there was some way for him to get out, but as there was none, it didn’t do much good to chafe at the bit. He turned toward his own room at the other end of the hall and then stopped. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep now, he was strung as tight as a spring, so there was no use in tossing and turning until dawn.

Sighing heavily, he headed down the other end of the hallway and to the stairs. He hadn’t visited Alasdair today, perhaps his younger brother was still awake, pouring over some volume or another.

Alasdair was awake and he looked up at Aiden as the King approached the table on which he worked. He blinked at his older brother with his huge dilated eyes as if he didn’t recognize him. Then his face lightened and he rose to his feet, catching Aiden in a rare embrace.

Aiden was startled for a moment. First Adison had shown some misbegotten concern for him, then Carona had allowed him in her bed, and now Alasdair welcomed him as he only did when Aiden had been younger and prone to wandering far away.

“I heard about your scare of the morning, Aiden. I’m so glad you’re all right, but I didn’t expect to see you so late.”

Aiden glanced down at the pile of books on Alasdair’s table. “You should get some sleep, Alasdair,” he said, regarding his wane, thin brother critically. “Have you eaten anything today?”

Curses, why was it his eternal duty to look out for everyone except himself, although with Alasdair he was truly concerned.

Alasdair’s frail health wasn’t conjured like Carona’s. He really was frail and unconscious about his own well-being. It brought out the deepest, most protective feelings inside of Aiden. The King often worried about what would happen to his absent minded brother if he died. Again he felt a stab of guilt over his carelessness of the morning. If those men had accosted him as they surely planned, where would Alasdair be now?

“It was slavers, Aiden, sure enough.”

Aiden grimaced and pulled away from his brother. “What are you talking about? Is that all that’s on your mind anymore?”

“It should be all that’s on your mind, Aiden.”

Aiden exhaled in exasperation and rifled through the books on Alasdair’s table. “As if there isn’t enough there already.”

Alasdair grabbed his brother’s arm in a grip that was surprisingly strong. “They should be your primary concern because they’re the biggest threat to your kingdom and yet you don’t believe they exist.”

Aiden stared at the hand on his arm in surprise, then looked up into his brother’s glassy eyes. “Evidence, Alasdair, I need some concrete evidence to act upon. Do you have any?”

“This morning’s attack wasn’t enough?”

“Good land, man, what would slavers want with me?”

Alasdair stared at Aiden as if he were looking at the most simple of children. “What would they want...the kingdom, Aiden. With you out of the way...”

“They’d get an even worse King into the bargain...”

“Who would deliberately look the other way while they carried on their practices.”

Aiden shook his head in exasperation. “No one has come forward to lay claim to your accusations, Alasdair. If these slavers are so abundant, they aren’t trafficking much these days. I remember when slavers were a problem in Nevaisser. Most of the slaves were Stravad and you could buy them on any corner. I haven’t seen anyone for sale lately that hasn’t wished to be sold, if you understand what I mean.”

Alasdair blushed when he caught the gist of his brother’s words, but it didn’t put him off. “The Protectorates banded together to end the slavery of our past, but it didn’t abolish it. Now these slavers are more discrete, selling to private parties, and not just Stravad, although I don’t understand why that should matter. Slavery is slavery no matter the color your skin and eyes.”

“On that I’d be agreeing, but on nothing more. I haven’t received a single complaint about slavery...”

“...except from me...”

“Except from you and no reports of missing persons in the kingdom. Please stop plaguing yourself with imagined fears. If you want to worry over something, I’ve an entire list you may peruse.”

Alasdair sighed in disappointment. It bothered Aiden to see his brother disappointed in him for he really did value Alasdair’s opinion, but Alasdair was being completely ridiculous on this point.

“You haven’t gone into Dorland under disguise like you promised, have you?”

“No, I haven’t. When would you think I had the time, between being chased by potential slavers, granting hearings, fighting with Carona, or listening to your ravings?”

Alasdair withdrew in stunned silence. Aiden immediately felt bad. He didn’t like to hurt Alasdair, but he had to somehow stop his brother’s foolishness or he’d worry himself into a fever.

He put his hands on Alasdair’s narrow shoulders. “Please, brother, stop worrying yourself sick over insubstantials. You don’t sleep, you hardly eat. What would I do if I were to lose you?”

Alasdair softened under his brother’s concern. “I know I’m right, Aiden,” he persisted.

Aiden snapped. “Fine, then perhaps they’ll capture me and take me away from this joyous life I’m leading. In fact, at this point, I’d pay them. Slave in private or slave in public, it really makes little difference in the end. Good night, Alasdair.”

Alasdair flinched from his brother’s wrath and lowered his eyes. “Good night, Aiden,” he said so softly, Aiden didn’t catch the words.

The King’s jaw clenched in fury and he turned on his heels, stomping toward the door. Oh no, he wasn’t going to be suckered in by another person who wouldn’t speak so he could hear. Whatever was so important to mumble just wasn’t important enough for his waning attention.

CHAPTER 4

Amaroq and his two companions walked until dawn peeked over the edge of the cliffs, painting everything in a roseate light. Shandar suggested they halt and leave the main trail, crawling back between the rock formations to get a few hours of sleep.

Amaroq didn’t want to stop. Every moment meant his sister might be getting further away from them, but Shandar reasoned that the elders would discover their disappearance as soon as Amaroq didn’t show up for council, then they’d send patrols out after them, trying to cut them off before they left the canyon.

It was better to hide during the day and sleep, than be overtaken and forced to return to the valley. Reason won out and they left the trail, climbing up on the rock formations where they would be hidden from the ground, but able to see any warriors coming down the trail. Shandar also chose the spot based on the angle of the cliffs overhead. He reasoned they’d have shade during the hottest part of the day, and therefore their sleep would be uninterrupted.

Pulling out their bedrolls, they made a rudimentary campsite. Amaroq opened the bag his mother had given him and distributed the pemmican, the dried jerky mixed with berries and fat. It had been a staple of the Ancients on long journeys, or so Amaroq’s studies had taught him. Now no self-respecting Nazarien ever ventured out into the wilderness without a ready supply of it, but it wasn’t to Amaroq’s taste.

In the bottom of the bag, he found a wooden container that held travel cakes for himself, also made from berries, but fortified with hearty grains that would stave off hunger. Emotion choked him and he realized this would be the farthest he’d ever been from his mother in his life. After they ate and sipped at the water they’d gathered from the stream, Amaroq agreed to take the first watch.

Nakoda stretched out immediately, his hands clasped on his belly and in a few minutes, he was asleep. Shandar lay down, but he watched Amaroq for a while. Amaroq knew he feared he would set off without them if they both slept.

“I’m not going anywhere. I don’t know my way out of the canyon,” he told Shandar. “Besides, I wouldn’t do that to you. If I leave, I leave with you knowing.”

“Just the way you were going to leave last night?”

“I planned to tell Nakoda, so he could tell you in the morning.”

Shandar gave a grunt and settled himself.

“You don’t belong out here, old man. You’re used to sleeping in a comfortable bed in a warm cave.”

“I’ve spent my fair share of nights on the ground, boy, so don’t you worry about it.”

“You realize I’m not a boy any longer. I’m well past adulthood.”

“I raised you from the time you were a pup. You’ll always be a boy to me.”

“That’s not the way I remember it, but age does make one forget.”

Shandar swatted at him.

Amaroq looked around at their surroundings, his arms resting on his bent knees. “How do you know where to pick a campsite? How to avoid patrols?” He reached out and picked up a fallen twig from some long dead tree. “How do you know the way out of the maze?”

“As you keep reminding me, I’ve lived longer than you have. When you’ve lived this long, you’ll know things too. What do you read in those books anyway?”

Amaroq sighed. “Many languages, history. We read the Norrad and the books the Ancients left in Chernow. I study maps and literature. I know how to handle every weapon man has invented.” He pointed the stick at Shandar. “But I don’t know the way out of this canyon.”

Shandar gave a nod, crossing his arms on his chest and adjusting his head on his pack for comfort.

“You get me to Loden and I’m your man. I can read and write Lodenian, might be able to speak it too.”

“I speak Lodenian,” said Shandar, closing his eyes.

Amaroq frowned. “What?”

The older man cracked one dark blue eye. “I said I speak Lodenian. I don’t need you to translate for me, written or otherwise.”

“How?”

“Same way you do. I read it with my eyes, write it with my hands, and when I’ve a mind to, I can speak it with my tongue.”

Amaroq’s gaze narrowed. “You’ve been to Loden?”

“I was born in Loden, boy.”

“Why haven’t you told me that?”

“There’s much I haven’t told you. The elders wouldn’t allow it. I played along because I wanted to stay with you and your mother, your sister, but I had a life before Tirsbor, boy.”

“Tell me. Now.”

“I’m tired, Wolf. I’m an old man. I need my rest.”

Amaroq slapped the stick against his leg. “You said you weren’t old. You can’t have it both ways.”

“You can when you hold all of the information.” Shandar closed his eyes again. “Be good and stay where you are, and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

Amaroq started to answer.

“Later,” said Shandar.

Amaroq smiled. He knew when he’d been had. Shandar knew there was no way he’d sneak off if there was information Shandar had that Amaroq wanted. He found himself curious about Shandar’s past life. There wasn’t a time when he didn’t remember the man being part of his family, but the elders talked about Shandar as if he hadn’t always been in Tirsbor. And Amaroq’s own mother made comments, talked about the time before Shandar came.

Amaroq had never thought to question it. Shandar was a constant. Like his mother, like his sister, but now that his sister had been taken from him, he suddenly found himself wondering about the rest of his family, what secrets they held.

“Why don’t the elders want me to leave Tirsbor?” he asked, knowing Shandar wasn’t asleep yet.

“You’re important to them.”

“Why?”

Shandar rolled his head on the pack and looked at Amaroq. “That is a story for another time.” When Amaroq started to protest, Shandar held up a hand. “But I promise you, before this journey’s over, I’ll tell you. Now let me sleep.”

Amaroq leaned back and studied the older man’s face. It was a face as familiar as his own, but it suddenly seemed foreign, strange. “Keep your secrets, old man,” he grumbled, whipping the stick against his calf. “I don’t need them.”

Across from him, Shandar smiled.

*    *    *

Amaroq dreamed of his sister, pretty Naia, gathering flowers along the stream, braiding them into a crown to place on her hair, dancing to some internal music she would never hear. He made the signs they’d invented to talk, telling her not to wander too far away.

She laughed silently at him and waved him off, dancing along the bank, her bare feet making small imprints in the damp soil. She was getting further and further away from him, skipping right along the edge of the water.

Amaroq’s smile dried and he went after her, wanting to pull her away from the churning water, but she skipped along faster, avoiding him, refusing to look at him so he could signal her. He broke into a run, feeling an overwhelming need to get to her, his heart pounding in his chest. He closed the distance between them and reached out, trying to catch the trailing hem of her skirt, but his fingers closed on air.

She stumbled and dropped over the embankment, landing in the water and sinking almost at once. He cried out, reaching for her, but she was gone.

Something hit his foot and his eyes snapped open. Night had fallen and a million stars winked down at him from the blanket overhead.

“That’s a large patrol,” whispered Nakoda. “Larger than I expected.”

He and Shandar lay on their stomachs, peering over the edge of the rock cluster where they’d spent the day. The air was cool and the sounds of horses drifted up to them.

“What is it?” Amaroq whispered, but Shandar kicked his foot again, glaring him to silence.

He rolled over onto his belly and crawled to a spot between them, peering down. A large patrol of warriors were riding past them, headed away from the direction they’d come earlier, although Amaroq wasn’t entirely sure. Tirsbor folded back on itself at regular intervals, which is what made it nearly impenetrable.

The sun had fallen and deep shadows crept into the folds of rock. Glancing up, Amaroq marked the moon had risen and in a few hours would be directly overhead, giving them enough light to navigate without need of torches.

The patrol rode past them without looking up. As soon as they were out of sight in the bend of the maze, Shandar went into motion, packing away their possessions. Amaroq and Nakoda followed him and in minutes, they were on the ground again.

Shandar led them in the opposite direction from where the patrol had gone. Amaroq felt a wash of uneasiness at this. He worried they were headed back toward the valley, but he trusted Shandar and didn’t believe he’d try to deceive him.

They walked most of the night, winding in and out, following some internal map Shandar had in his head. Finally they came to a cliff wall. Amaroq stopped walking and placed his hands on his hips. Shandar turned and regarded him. He was winded and perspiration shown on his face and throat, but he’d kept up with the younger men admirably. Obviously, now he’d made his first mistake. There was no where left for them to go.

“Shandar, it was a good try, but we might have been better off following the patrol.”

Shandar gave him a wry look. “You have absolutely no faith in me, do you?”

In answer, Amaroq held up his hands, indicating the cliff face. “It’s a well placed doubt.”

Shandar shook his head, then walked toward the cliff. Amaroq and Nakoda watched him, until he halted just before the rock, reached up and touched a strange carving on the face of it, then made a jog to the right and disappeared from sight. The younger men exchanged looks, then hurried to follow him.

The cliff had a false front and behind it gaped the mouth of a cave. Shandar reached inside the cave and pulled out a torch, then held it out for Amaroq to light from his fire-starter kit. While he did so, Shandar gave them instructions.

“Stay close together. I haven’t been in this cave in years, so a part of it might have collapsed. Or there might be sinkholes.”

“Of course there might. No self-respecting cave would be anything without ways to die,” remarked Nakoda.

“Gruesomely,” added Amaroq, but their eyes danced with delight. This was just the sort of thing the lifelong friends lived for. “How did you know about this?”

“Years ago I came to Tirsbor. We had to escape the Sarkisian army and the Tirsbor warriors led us through a tunnel into a massive cavern. I figured where there was one tunnel, there had to be others. When I came to live with your mother, I found this one and marked it.” He motioned to the false wall. Amaroq remembered the mark he’d touched before going inside.

“All of Nevaisser is built on lava tunnels. When I was in Dorland, they did their farming underground. It was amazing.”

“What did they use for sunlight?” asked Nakoda.

“Lodegems,” said Shandar, taking the torch from Amaroq. “Now, follow close.”

They did. The cave led into a lava tunnel as Shandar had said. It bent slightly once they left sight of the outside, but it was clear and straight beyond that. Amaroq marveled at the way the ceiling curved over their heads, the black volcanic rock. He’d studied volcanoes with the elders, but this was different. This was feeling it, seeing it with his own eyes, experiencing it as he never had in the pages of his books.

Emotions crowded inside of him, making his temples hurt. He sensed Shandar’s emotions and Nakoda’s, but mostly his own. When the light from the outside appeared again at the end of the tunnel, he stopped, bracing a hand on the wall, fighting to control his hyperventilating. His ears rang and sweat peppered his chest. He couldn’t get enough air.

Shandar and Nakoda stopped and Shandar came back to him, bracing his shoulder. “Are you all right, Wolf?”

Amaroq shook his head. “I’ve never been beyond Tirsbor before. What if it’s too much?”

“You need to use the meditation exercises the elders taught you. Center only on yourself, not everyone else.”

“I’m the problem!” he cried, slapping a fist against his chest. “I’m the one panicking here!”

“Oh, well, then stop.”

Amaroq tilted his head at him. “That’s your advice? Stop!”

Shandar took him by the shoulders. “You won’t be alone. We’ll be with you, but there’s a whole world to explore, Wolf, new adventures to be had. Isn’t that something? You deserve to see the world, experience it.”

Amaroq forced himself to take deeper breaths and the buzzing eased enough to allow him to continue. He walked to the mouth of the cave, staring out at the landscape beyond. Before him was a meadow of strange, tall grasses that waved in the breeze, danced in the full moonlight. They were on a small incline, but everywhere he looked he could see open land. It made him panic again and he ducked back into the cave.

He caught the look Nakoda and Shandar exchanged, and he bristled at it. They didn’t understand. Shandar had apparently wandered the whole of Samar in his life, but Amaroq had never left Tirsbor, never wanted to leave Tirsbor. The world outside was terrifying. It was hard enough to live in the canyon with the feelings of so many people around him, but this...this was the world.

Shandar curled an arm around his shoulder. “Just step out and sit down. We’ll go slowly.”

“We can’t go slowly. My sister’s out there. We need to find her trail.”

“We can take a few minutes for you to adjust.”

Amaroq stepped out beside the older man and sank down on the grass, bracing his arms on his bent knees. Closing his eyes and drawing deep, slow breaths, he calmed himself, except when he opened his eyes again, the world was still there.

“I’ll scout around,” said Nakoda, then he moved off into the meadow.

“I’m sorry,” said Amaroq to Shandar, feeling ashamed.

Shandar sat down beside him. “Sorry? This isn’t your fault. They should have done more to prepare you for this, but they were happy to keep you in the canyon.”

Amaroq looked around. “There’s so much. How will we ever find my sister?”

Shandar pointed to the far distance, where a band of darkness marked the edge of what looked like a road. Amaroq guessed the dark line indicated trees. “We go to Raimondi.”

“Raimondi?”

“It’s the closest Human town.”

Amaroq shook his head. “No, Shandar, I can’t go to a Human town. I’ve never even seen Humans, except in books.”

“It’ll be all right. I promise you. They aren’t so different from Stravad.”

Amaroq couldn’t answer. He just stared in horror at the line of trees. Something filtered through the panic in his brain. “Hold on. Why are we going to a Human town? We need to find my sister’s trail.”

“We need horses and supplies and information. We’ll get that in a Human town.”

Amaroq narrowed his eyes on the older man. “What aren’t you telling me?” He could sense Shandar’s evasion.

Shandar looked away. “I’m telling you everything.”

“You can’t lie to me, Shandar. What have you left out?”

Shandar shifted and met his gaze. “Your sister was captured by slavers. Some of the warriors saw the slavers’ brand on their mounts.”

“Slavers?”

“They’ve become a problem in recent years. They operate in Dorland and through the south-western part of Nevaisser where Kalas Eldralin’s power doesn’t extend.”

Amaroq shook his head. “I don’t understand. Why hasn’t Dorland done anything about them?”

“They prey on Stravad, Wolf. Women and children, mostly. Dorland probably isn’t even aware of the extent to which they operate.”

Amaroq felt his heart sink. Nausea pressed up inside of him. How would they ever stop slavers if a kingdom the size of Dorland didn’t know how to do it?

“Kalas Eldralin?” he said. He knew of Kalas, had read stories about him, heard reports the council received. He was a good King, a strong King, a fair King.

Shandar regarded him for a long time. “Yes,” he finally said.

Amaroq looked away, watching Nakoda as he loped back toward them, his long stride eating up ground.

“Wolf…” began Shandar.

“Leave it,” he said firmly. “I don’t have time for that now.”

Shandar ducked his head, but he didn’t press.

Rubbing his hands over his face, Amaroq knew he’d have to brave the Humans’ town if he wanted to find information about his sister. That’s all that mattered. That’s all he could concentrate on. He had to get his sister back, no matter what.

“You know you can ask. I’ll tell you. Whatever you want to know,” said Shandar. It wasn’t the first time he’d made the offer, but Amaroq had never wanted to know, had never wanted to hear.

How did you miss what you’d never had? Shandar, his mother and Naia were all the family he’d ever needed, more family than most Nazarien got. It was enough.

“I’m content.”

Shandar gave a lift of his chin, but didn’t respond.

Amaroq focused on him. “I am content, Shandar.”

“As you will.”

Amaroq considered something else. “How will we pay for horses and supplies? Don’t the Humans want coin, not trade? Besides, we have nothing to trade anyway.”

Shandar patted his pack. “I have coin. Plenty of it. I haven’t exactly had cause to use it for years, so we’ll do fine.” He shifted and studied Amaroq. “As soon as we enter Raimondi, Wolf, you need to be prepared. You need to block as much energy as you can. Humans are far more emotional than Stravad.”

“I’ve been told.”

“But you’ve never experienced it.”

“I’ll be all right. I don’t have any other choice. If they know how to find my sister, I have to risk it.”

Shandar gave a short nod, then he studied Amaroq again. “But there’s more.”

Amaroq felt the blood drain from his features. What more could there be? Shandar said they looked like Stravad. What if they didn’t? What if they had some strange abnormalities that he wouldn’t be able to ignore?

“They’re going to be drawn to you.”

Amaroq frowned. “What?”

“I’ve seen it, lived it. They’re going to take one look at you and want to follow you. You have that indefinable something that will draw them.”

“Like the women in Tirsbor?” he said with a wicked smile.

“Yes, but men too.”

Amaroq’s frown deepened. “Men?” He considered. “Interesting.”

Shandar gave him a wry look. “Not for the same reasons... well, some for the same reasons, but most will want to follow you because…”

“Because?”

“Because you’re you.”

Amaroq shook his head. “You don’t always make sense. Do you know that, Shandar?”

“Well, just trust me on this. Stay close to Nakoda and me.” He pushed himself to his feet. “I really thought I wouldn’t have to go through this again, but here I am.”

Amaroq didn’t answer; he wasn’t sure what Shandar wanted him to say.

Shandar touched him in the center of his forehead. “Keep your wits, you hear me? And whatever you do, don’t go following the first pretty wench you see.”

That gave Amaroq pause. What exactly did that mean? He hadn’t heard the Humans had procreation ceremonies. In fact, the elders had often scoffed at the Humans, saying they mated like bunnies.

Amaroq’s eyes widened. “You mean Human women would be willing to…”

“No!” Shandar shook a finger in his face. “No, they won’t! You just stay with us.”

“But Shandar…”

“NO! Human women are forbidden.”

“Why? Are we incapable of mating with them?”

Shandar threw up his hands and paced away, grumbling something about why me?

“It’s just curiosity, Shandar,” he said, rising to his feet and picking up his pack. “Academic study.”

“No academic study, no curiosity, no experimentation. You stay with me and Nakoda and that is all.”

Amaroq gave him a mischievous smile. “If I remember right, you were the one who told me this was my chance to experience the world. Do you really want to put a tether on me just when you’ve set me free?” He passed Shandar and headed down toward his friend. Glancing over his shoulder, he smiled. “You wouldn’t want to do that, would you?”

Shandar gave a laughing exhalation and rubbed at his forehead. “I’m too damn old for another one,” he grumbled, but he followed.

CHAPTER 5

Aiden finally fell asleep a few hours before dawn. His dreams were troubled by Adison’s wicked grin and Alasdair’s whip thin body. He dreamed about being pursued from one end of the castle to the other, always by people demanding his attention. Finally he dreamed of horses’ hooves, galloping down his very hallway, coming right for his door.

He woke with a start, his body drenched in sweat, and he knew that something was very wrong. Before he could even roll out of bed, a heavy body dropped on him, a hand clamping over his mouth. He struggled violently and nearly threw the assailant off.

Aiden was a large man, heavily muscled despite his sedentary life as King, but he was no match for the two figures shadowed in moonlight struggling over him. Still fear was on his side and he kicked and thrashed in the bed clothes, finally sending the trio to the floor.

Thankfully he landed on top and wasted no time. Leaping to his feet, he made for the door and the guards waiting just outside, but one of the assailants caught at his heels and tripped him up. He went down with a grunt of pain, the air whistling from his lungs, and before he could move, they were on him, grabbing his arms and forcing them behind his back.

He kicked and twisted, then he thought to cry for help. The guards waiting beyond his door would have to hear him. The thought registered only briefly before he felt a sharp pain in the back of his skull and then fell headlong into darkness.

Aiden woke to a splitting headache. Reflexively he lifted his hands to brace his temples, but his arms were heavy and rang with the sound of metal on metal. He opened one eye and looked at his hands. He was bound.

Panic welled within him. Where was he? Why was he bound? Memory failed him. He sat up, but that was a mistake. His head exploded in pain and he groaned, pressing it into his manacled hands.

Movement beside him caused him to peek out from beneath his fingers. A young boy, no more than twelve or thirteen, stared back at him. He had dirty red-orange hair and huge green eyes. He met Aiden’s gaze and for once Aiden felt the urge to look away. Instead he looked down at the boy’s hands and feet, bound as were his own.

“Where am I?” he asked, squinting into the gloom.

“Slavers’ quarters, deep in a cellar somewhere,” the boy said, motioning to the tree roots that pushed through the roof of their prison.

Aiden’s eyes snapped back to the boy’s face, his heart pounding. He felt for a moment as if he were going to be sick. “Slavers?” he repeated and everything Alasdair had said came back. “Slavers?”

“Aye,” said the boy, his huge eyes seeming larger in his filthy face. “We’ll move out soon though, always do before the local government catches on. You’re lucky. Aren’t many grown men in the slavers’ holds.”

“Lucky?” said Aiden. “You said slavers?” He understood the word, but he couldn’t understand the concept. Certainly not the concept that he himself was a hostage of them. Panic overwhelmed him and he pulled at his shackles.

“No use,” said the boy, “they’re bound fast as we are, one to another.”

Aiden’s eyes followed the boy’s raised fist in horror. They were bound together. Whatever he did on his end also affected the people on either side. He collapsed back against the damp, earthy wall and began laughing, a sharp hysterical laugh. The boy’s eyes widened even further in shock and he fluttered his hands before Aiden’s face in anxiety.

“Nay, you mustn’t draw their attention. They’ll beat us. Stop! You’ve got to stop!”

Aiden’s eyes snapped. “Beat us! I’m the King of Dorland, boy!” He knew he sounded hysterical. “I’m the damn King of Dorland! Free me at once! Do you hear me, I command you to free me!

“A noisy assed idiot is what you are,” came a voice from the top of the twisted staircase that disappeared in the rooted ceiling. “Shut your mouth or I’ll do so permanently. I don’t want to hear your yowling.”

“Damn you, you release me at once!” cried Aiden, surging to his feet, unaware that he dragged both the boy and a woman on his other side with him. “I’m Aiden Cerik, King of Dorland…”

“Aye, and I’m Eldon himself. Shut up or I’ll make you, Your Lordship!”

The boy tugged on Aiden’s manacles. “Please, don’t do this. Please, I’m begging you!”

“To hell with it,” said Aiden and again lifted his head. “Release me! I command you!”

“Command my ass,” answered the voice and the door closed upstairs with a thunderous shudder.

“Please,” begged the boy. “The chains are cutting into my wrists and Naia’s too.”

Aiden looked down into the boy’s eyes, feeling perilously close to madness. His head throbbed as did his wrists where the metal chains bit into them. “What?”

The boy motioned to the figure in a half-crouch by Aiden’s feet. Aiden looked down into the face of a woman, a Stravad woman no less. Her hands were raised above her head, held there by the taut pull of his own chains. When he realized what he was doing, he immediately dropped to his knees.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but I don’t understand what’s happening and...” he said.

The boy touched his shoulder and shook his head. “She can’t understand you, and she can’t read your lips in this half-light.”

Aiden stared at the boy. “What do you mean?”

The boy motioned toward his own ears. “She can’t hear or speak, been that way since she was caught. I learned some of her language so’s we could speak and she can read lips when the light’s bright enough.”

“Can’t hear or speak?” repeated Aiden, staring at the woman huddling in the darkness beside him.

She was small and as filthy as the boy, but as she looked at him, Aiden sensed a calm pride in her bearing. Her hair was black and straight, her eyes Stravad blue. He couldn’t see the tone of her skin, but he knew it must be dark for he was having a difficult time making her out at all. He suppressed another burst of hysterical laughter and shook his head.

Slavers had him bound like a trussed-up pig. How had this happened to him? He was the King of Dorland. He might not be a good King, but he was King, no one disputed that – except of course Adison, but Adison wouldn’t have sold him to slavers. Killed him outright perhaps, but nothing as diabolical, as horrendous as selling a born King into the hands of bondage.

His body trembled violently. He could feel every muscle bunching, gathering in denial. Slavers – this had to be some insane nightmare. Not reality. He pulled at the shackles again, mindlessly, frantically. No, he couldn’t be bound. They wouldn’t dare. He’d held kingship of Dorland undisputed – supported by even Sarkisian itself, a kingdom once at war with Dorland for her lands.

He grabbed the shackles on his left hand in that of his right and began pulling, twisting, trying to force his left hand to slip through the tight opening. Even when blood began to ooze over the manacles, he still pulled and twisted. He felt the boy and woman on either side of him staring at him with terrified eyes, but he ignored them, his panic growing. A feral cry escaped his lips, a cry so animal-like it startled him into stillness for a moment.

Then he felt the woman’s hands on his bloodied left arm. He shuddered, his breath panting out in a strange hitching sound, but he didn’t try to pull away. Her hands travelled up his arm and across his chest, then her fingers skimmed over his lips silencing his hysterical sobs.

As her fingers slipped behind his head, her manacles sliding onto his chest, he stopped breathing completely, aware only of the odd tingling path of her fingers, once over the lump where he’d been struck, then down to his neck. He went with the pull of her arms, his face coming in contact with her shoulder. He shuddered again, giving over to the exhaustion and terror that possessed him, sinking into the warmth of this strange woman, allowing her to rock him. He realized in a detached way that he couldn’t move, didn’t want to move, only wanted to seek the comfort of her slight form in the dark, dampness of his prison. She smelled of the earthen floor, but also something deeply feminine and comforting, a scent he only remembered when he was a child and had climbed into his mother’s lap for her attention.

And in her arms, their manacles tangling in one another, Aiden fell into a deep, dreamless sleep – a sleep like he hadn’t known in years.

*    *    *

Aiden bolted awake as a sharp pain speared his side. He tried to sit up, but he was unable to, his arms and legs bound by something. Panic prevailed and he thrashed to be free, but found the bonds only tightening.

“Get up, slave!” came a raw, guttural voice and Aiden’s eyes flashed open, narrowing immediately.

He stared up into the brilliant yellow glare of sunlight and a scarred face. The man had thin brown hair, cropped close, and abnormally wide brown eyes. His nose was crooked and he had a scar that ran down the side of his face, disappearing into the collar on his shirt.

Memories stole in on Aiden and he was paralyzed by fear. He was bound and sold to slavers. They’d come in the night and taken him from his bed, his castle. Right now they might have his wife and brothers in this pit with him and he didn’t know it, or his entire family could be dead and Dorland lost.

“Not here one full day and laying down with the animals, eh, Your Lordship.”

Aiden glanced down at the woman beside him. He also remembered her, the feel of her comforting arms around him, his head pillowed on her shoulder, but he didn’t remember that she’d been such an exotic beauty, even under all the dirt and fading bruises. He stared at her, his mind unable to accept everything, a strange lethargy settling in on him. She met his gaze with the same unswerving appraisal.

“Get up, I tell you!” shouted Scarface and Aiden felt the stunning blow of the man’s boot toe in his right side. He grunted and the pain snapped his lethargy.

Springing to his feet, he struck out at the man, his manacled fists smashing into his crooked nose. Aiden heard the satisfying crunch of bones breaking and blood sprayed forth. Knowing he was dragging both the boy and woman with him, he pressed his advantage, throwing his weight into Scarface and dropping him to the dirt floor. He crawled over him, lifting his hands to smash his face once more, but a heavy blow caught him across the shoulders and sent him sprawling over Scarface’s body.

Then he was hauled backwards by a monster of a man with heavy jowls and tiny, beady eyes. A huge paw cuffed Aiden almost playfully on the jaw, but it was enough to snap back his head and send him into an undignified heap at the giant’s feet. He felt the woman and the boy being jerked over him.

Then Scarface was up and braying about his broken nose. Aiden peered through pain narrowed eyes at the man, satisfied by the blood trickling between his fingers.

“Hold ‘em, Elvert, while I break ‘is nose.”

Aiden’s teeth ground furiously and he fought the giant as he plucked Aiden up by the collar of his torn shirt. Then his arms were twisted behind him, almost to the point of dislocation, and he couldn’t move unless he wanted to risk serious injury.

Scarface seemed satisfied and swaggered in front of Aiden, his bloodied fists clenching and unclenching. “I’ll show you what it means to be a slave. When I’m through with you…”

He stopped in mid-sentence, staring at the woman who’d risen to her feet and thrown her body in front of Aiden’s. Aiden opened his mouth to tell her to step aside, but then remembered she couldn’t hear him.

“Get out of the way, whore,” snarled Scarface.

She lifted her head, her tangled mass of black hair sliding down her back, her hands closing into fists at her sides. Aiden felt a rising emotion of admiration and concern inside himself for her. He didn’t want her getting hurt on his account, but he had to respect her bravery in the face of such degradation.

“Don’t hurt her, Hogan,” said the giant behind Aiden.

“What’a you care, you idiot?” snarled Hogan.

The huge paws on Aiden’s arms flexed. “She’s pretty and I don’t like it when you hurt women, Hogan.”

“She ain’t no woman. She’s a slave and a whore.”

The giant’s hands tightened on Aiden’s arms. Aiden grimaced in pain, but he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of knowing it. “I said don’t hurt her and you’re gonna listen to what I say.”

Hogan took a deep breath and grabbed the woman by the shoulders, forcing her down at his feet and stepping on her shackles so she couldn’t rise again.

She pulled at them, throwing her weight against his leg, but he only laughed. “Don’t you worry, darlin’, I’ll take care of you when I’m through with His Lordship here.”

He hauled back his fist and Aiden tensed, waiting for the blow.

“I wouldn’t do it if I were you,” came a voice at the top of the twisted stairs.

Aiden released his held breath and shut his eyes momentarily. A figure descended the stairs and came to stand before Aiden. Aiden blinked in surprise. He recognized this man, he was sure, but he couldn’t place where or put a name to the sculpted face.

The man was dressed well, much better than his consorts – his hair was clean and combed neatly, he wore gloves and a hat, his clothing was pressed and starched, and his moustache neatly trimmed. He was handsome with pale white skin and overly pink lips.

“I told you not to touch his face. My employers want him returned recognizable...and dead, after a long sojourn in our slave ranks.”

Aiden’s eyes widened, glazing over with the madness that had nearly claimed him many times since discovering his fate. “What do you mean?”

The man lifted gloved fingers and stroked at his moustache. “A few hard miles today ought to take the snap out of this animal,” he said over his shoulder.

Hogan frowned. “He broke my nose, Duard.”

Duard glanced at Hogan’s bloodied, swollen nose and lifted his eyebrows. “Now you’ll know to stay clear. I’ve told you that time and time again.” His eyes lowered even farther to the woman, her back to him, still struggling with the manacles under Hogan’s foot. “I suppose the Stravad mouse attacked you too.”

Hogan’s jaw tightened. “She placed herself in front of him.”

Duard laughed, an unhappy sound. “Well, at least the defective little whore has more sense than you do. His face is not to be touched.” He turned back to Aiden. “I know people who will pay handsomely for his golden locks and his kingly profile.”

Aiden stiffened in fury. “You bastard, you know who I am! I demand you release me! I command you to surrender yourself!”

This pronouncement was met with a round of laughter from all three. Aiden fought wildly against Elvert’s hold. The giant tightened his grip until Aiden collapsed against him, panting hard. He fought the growing hysteria that crowded up into his throat, the numbing madness.

Duard’s cold eyes snapped him back from the brink. “See he utilizes this energy in a hard push today. I want to cover at least ten miles before nightfall. I want him to know who is master and who is slave.” Then he turned on Hogan and caught him by the dirty shirt lapels. “But under no circumstances are you to touch his face.”

Hogan nodded and followed Duard to the stairs like a wounded puppy. Elvert waited until the two men had disappeared, then he shoved Aiden to the floor and followed them. Aiden dropped his head in his manacled hands and shut his eyes, trying to hold his sanity together.

*   *   *

They were hauled out of the damp cellar an hour later. Aiden was shocked by the number of slaves who had shared the hold with them in the hours before dawn. They were all chained together, a sorry lot with open wounds, filthy matted hair, and whip-thin limbs. And all, except Aiden, were women and children with a dazed, glassy look to their sunken eyes.

One of the woman had died in the night and her body was released from its shackles and left in the cellar as a rudimentary grave.

The woman on Aiden’s left, Naia the boy called her, couldn’t tear her eyes away from the lifeless body, despite the prodding by an older woman beside her. When Aiden laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder, he felt her trembling. The slavers didn’t give her time to collect herself, but rather than see her beaten for disobedience, Aiden pulled her against him and led her to the stairs. She accepted his guidance, but when she lifted her blue eyes and looked at him, Aiden felt pierced to his soul.

It was then he vowed he would escape this hell and he would take as many of the slaves with him as he could. Damn him, if he’d only listened to Alasdair, but he hadn’t and now fate would show him first hand what he’d scoffed at himself.

As the day and the horrible march progressed, Aiden fought against a growing sense of hopelessness. If he lagged for a moment to look around, Elvert and Hogan prodded him. Many times he found himself wishing they’d run him through. His wrists were sore and chafed by the manacles and his leg muscles had knotted.

The knowledge that he was the only grown man spurned him on, but when they finally called a halt at midday and allowed the slaves to collapse in the scant shade of the scrub brush, Aiden wanted to weep with exhaustion and humiliation. He was a King, a ruler born and bred. For him, the brutal punishment of the drive was punctuated by a severely wounded spirit. He wondered how long it would take before his will was as broken as those around him.

However, despite his exhaustion and terror, Aiden watched and absorbed everything that went on in the slave ranks. The well dressed man, Duard whom Aiden assumed to be the boss, had disappeared after the slaves were assembled that morning. Aiden was sure he wouldn’t dare risk his reputation by being caught in such company. Directly below him were the two foremen so to speak, Elvert the giant and Scarface Hogan. And below the two of them were a handful of lesser, more craven drivers who dealt punishment at measured intervals whether deserved or not.

Twice they’d bumped Naia with their horses, forcing her to her knees. Her thin shirt was so tattered and torn, Aiden was sure they did it to catch a glimpse of her obvious female charms. Even in his degraded state, her beauty hadn’t been lost on Aiden and he wondered how she’d kept it when the other women were so obviously battered and beaten into skeletal waifs.

Aiden also studied the landscape, but that had proven more confusing. In truth he didn’t know where he was. He felt sure he must be some distance from Dorland because he hadn’t noticed a single landmark since they’d begun that morning.

When they were driven to water, a slow moving stream that was less than inviting, Aiden risked asking the boy beside him. “Do you know what body of water this is?”

The boy looked up from his thirsty gulping, water running unattended down his chin. “No, but I figure we’ll have to cross the Ethicon sometime soon. Tis certain we’ll recognize that.”

“How long have you been with these slavers?”

The boy drew a deep breath, his eyes growing glazed. “Four months. The orphanage in Sarkisian couldn’t support us older kids, so they sold us.”

“To slavers?” asked Aiden aghast.

“Aye, tis said they earned enough to feed the rest for more’n a year.”

Aiden’s mind reeled. He glanced at the Stravad woman trying so desperately to wash some of the trail grime from her face and hands. Her actions struck a protective chord within Aiden.

“And her?”

The boy blinked a moment, then his gaze cleared. “Naia,” he said, a faint smile touching his lips. “She can’t stand being filthy. Tries to wash whenever they lead us to water. You see the way they watch her, bump her, knock her down?”

Aiden nodded.

“I’m scared they’re going to take her away, do horrible things to her.”

Aiden swallowed hard. A boy as young as this shouldn’t even know what horrible things could be done to a woman. “What’s your name?”

The boy’s head lifted, a light coming into his huge green eyes. “Leland Hale Rand,” he said proudly.

A burst of mad laughter escaped Aiden’s lips. His name was longer than he was. The boy’s face fell and Aiden tried to smooth over his unflattering outburst. If a name was all one had to cling to, making madness into a twisted sort of order, then it wasn’t something to be taken lightly.

Squaring his shoulder, he offered his hand to the boy. “Pleased to meet you, Leland Hale Rand. I’m Aiden Cerik, not as grand a name, but one I’m told used to command respect.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “You weren’t lying, were you? You are the King of Dorland.”

Aiden glanced at the two foremen lounging in the shade. No, he wasn’t the King of Dorland any longer. He was a lowly slave, chained and sold to the highest bidder, slated to die.

“Then we’re saved. Once your people pick up your trail…”

Aiden’s eyes dropped and his jaw tensed. If what he believe was true, no one would come looking for him anytime soon. He was sure this entire thing had been well planned, down to Alasdair’s raving pronouncements about slavers. Not that he believed Alasdair was involved in any knowing way, but he didn’t know who else he might be able to trust any longer.

Knowing the boy needed just a spark of hope, Aiden met his intense stare. “We’ll be saved, Leland Hale Rand, but we may have to do the saving ourselves. I don’t intend to remain a slave.”

“You won’t fight them anymore, will you? You can’t draw anymore attention to yourself. Every time you do, he’s drawn into it and one of these times tis certain he’ll notice her.”

Aiden glanced at the Stravad woman. As if she felt his gaze, she lifted her head and met his eyes. He was struck again by her exotic beauty. How had Duard failed to notice she was different? Maybe it was her lack of speech and hearing? Maybe those factors had dissuaded him? Aiden didn’t know, but he couldn’t deny the fury knotting his guts. Somehow he’d escape and he would take her and the boy and any others he could with him.

“Don’t worry,” said Aiden, pressing a hand to his bruised right side. “I intend to blend in so completely they won’t notice me anymore.”

It was easier said than done. Before the day was finished Aiden was sure the slavers had been given very specific instructions to harass him every step of the way and harass they did. Naia’s close proximity only fueled them and by nightfall, she was staggering and stumbling, her knees and palms bleeding, her side bruised from their attacks. After hauling her to her feet for the hundredth time, Aiden finally pulled her beside him, protecting her from the worst of it.

Long after night had fallen, they allowed the slave train to come to a halt. Aiden was so physically exhausted he could only give a passing concern to his plight. They were forced to camp in the open and the early spring night was chill. They were given a few mouthfuls of water, a stale piece of bread, and a hunk of moldy cheese. No matter how hungry he was, Aiden couldn’t make himself eat it.

He watched Leland Hale Rand devour his portion and then offered him his own. The boy gave him one of his shuttered looks, then quickly grabbed the food before Aiden could change his mind.

Aiden glanced at Naia. She was leaning against one of the hard boulders, her eyes closed, her uneaten portion still in her bloodied hands. Dark circles shown against the even bronze of her skin and her cheekbones seemed very pronounced. How long she’d gone without real food Aiden could only guess. He surveyed her thin figure. She was far too thin.

He turned to the boy, wanting some answers. “How long has she been a captive?”

The boy stopped in the midst of devouring his food and regarded the Stravad woman with affection. “Not even a week. She was scouting with a handful of Nazarien warriors. The slavers attacked, but the Nazarien were too quick. They all got away, except Naia. She couldn’t hear them.”

The last was said so simply it wrenched at Aiden’s guts. She couldn’t hear them. Had none of her people tried to help her? Then the realization that she was Nazarien struck him. He knew about the Nazarien, they’d come often to his father’s court and a few times to him himself. He knew that life was difficult for a Nazarien woman. They were valued as little more than breeding vessels and workers, but he’d seen the fierce pride in Naia. It was at odds with what he knew about her kind.

His eyes shifted to the slavers. Life might have been hard among the Nazarien, but it was nothing compared with this. He was still reeling from everything that had happened and it helped to focus some of his self-indulgent concern on another.

“Have they...have they been at her since she was captured?” he asked.

The boy nodded, shoving the last of the bread into his mouth. “Aye, and they’d do more, but Duard won’t let them. He keeps saying that an unbroken Stravad woman pays high.”

Aiden blinked at the boy. A hard life had obviously made him older than his years. “How old are you, Leland Hale Rand?”

The boy glanced up at Aiden, his eyes huge and vulnerable. “My friends call me Le,” he said.

Aiden swallowed at the ridiculous but poignant gesture. Why did every natural overture seem so macabre in the midst of this hell? Refusing to give way to his blackening mood, he nodded at the boy. He was sure Le had had precious few friends in his short life. If thinking Aiden one made him feel better, far be it for Aiden to deny him even that sorry comfort.

“Then I amend my question. How old are you, Le?”

“I’ll be fourteen come next Valhall, tis certain.”

Thirteen. Eldon’s star, did he ever remember being that young, and to spend it first in an orphanage and then sold into slavery to feed others...Aiden shuddered. Somehow his own plight seemed petty in comparison.

“Shut up,” growled one of the slavers around the fire.

No food, little water, and driven to the point of exhaustion, then deprived of even the barest comfort of a blanket, Aiden felt a murderous rage heat his blood. He glanced at Naia again in the gathering darkness. She seemed to be asleep, but her body was shivering in the cold. He moved to reach for her, but stopped when the giant, Elvert, rose from the fire and sauntered over to the cowering slaves.

It wasn’t enough that they were exhausted, dehydrated and starving, but he had to further their discomfort by attaching heavy leg braces as well. Aiden’s rage magnified. When the monster came to him last, Aiden was going to make him pay. However his resolve snapped when Elvert brought the leg shackles to Naia.

As his fingers closed about her ankles, her eyes fluttered open in panic and she tried to pull away. What demons she encountered in the moment between sleep and waking, Aiden could only guess, but it wounded him. He wasn’t even aware of the giant moving to his own legs until the braces snapped in place with a wicked click. Then it was too late to act. Even if he’d had the will, he couldn’t tear his eyes from those of the Stravad woman.

“You’d better get some sleep. Morning comes right quick on the plains.”

Aiden broke the stare with Naia to glance at the giant. The beady dark eyes had narrowed in suspicion as if he didn’t approve. As Elvert stomped away, Aiden forced himself to stretch out on the ground on his side, facing Naia. She did the same, her blue gaze studying him. He forced a smile for her.

“I promise we’ll get out of this,” he said.

Her eyes narrowed a moment, then her fingers lifted and traced his lips. Finally she nodded and he knew she’d understood. When the wind howled through the underbrush, she moved closer to him. Aiden didn’t even think as he drew her into the protective embrace of his arms and felt the tension in her body relax. If this was the only comfort left them, the physical and spiritual warmth of another being, then he’d be damned if anyone was going to deny them it.

CHAPTER 6

Raimondi wasn’t a large town, or that’s what Shandar said, but to Amaroq, who’d never been beyond the canyon in Tirsbor, it seemed like the entire world. Buildings rose up around him, two...three stories tall. Horses and carriages and people hurried up and down the streets, always in motion, dodging around each other without making eye contact.

He could read the names on the buildings. His understanding of written Nevaisser was exceptional, but he struggled with the spoken word. People shouted or swore or simply talked too fast for his limited experience.

Shandar had no problem, stopping a small, quick man in a vest and tie, inquiring about lodging. The man sputtered something at him and pointed toward the end of the main road, where a large white house rose, sporting a deep front porch with flower pots hanging from the eaves.

Amaroq exchanged a look with Nakoda. Nakoda shrugged his massive shoulders. He was even more lost than Amaroq – he only spoke Nazarien. Fighting to stave off the waves of emotions battering him, Amaroq eased up to his friend’s side.

“Have you ever seen a place like this before?”

“Once. Remember when I accompanied the Tirsbor commander during my initiation? We went to Dorland. It was larger than this and built on tiers.”

Amaroq’s brows rose. Bigger than this? He’d wind up curled in a fetal position beneath the walkways if there were any more people. His head already ached and his temples throbbed.

Shandar let the little man go, turning to his two companions. He caught Amaroq’s pained expression. “Are you okay?”

“Is there somewhere to get out of this? Is it always so busy?”

Shandar pointed to the white building. “The Golden Ladle has rooms. They’ve also, apparently, got good food and comfortable beds.” He rubbed his lower back. “Something I’m not opposed to finding.”

They walked down the street. Amaroq found himself distracted by the dress of the people. One woman went by with an entire bird perched on her head, its eyes replaced by shining pycantra. Another woman’s backend stuck out so far, it wagged like a tail behind her. Amaroq stopped moving and just stared at her.

Shandar backtracked and took his arm, guiding him up beside him.

Some of the men wore tall hats on their heads, perched precariously on the very top of their skulls. If a strong wind came up, it would blow the hat away. Their shoes shined brightly in the midday sun and their shirts were buttoned to their chins.

Many of them had varying degrees of facial hair. One had a beard that stretched all the way to his belt. Amaroq found that quite intriguing. He scrubbed at his own spotty stubble and wondered if he’d ever be able to grow something that luxurious.

None of them had long hair.

Amaroq drew a lot of attention for his simple attire, designed to blend in with the environment of Tirsbor, all browns and blacks, his soft-soled shoes covered in dust. None of the men had medallions pierced into their ears either. Amaroq touched his star of Eldon and the scythe of the Nazarien, glancing around him.

A few young women caught his eye, staring at him as they passed him on the wooden walkways. They giggled to each other, shooting him shy looks. One of them waved a gloved hand. All three wore hats on their heads and their hair was pulled up, plaited in a bun. Their dresses climbed all the way to their necks as well, sweeping the ground at their feet. Still they intrigued him and he found himself slowing, a smile lighting his face.

That brought more giggles and another gave him a flirtatious wave.

A heavy hand clapped on his shoulder and he glanced up into Shandar’s annoyed expression.

“What did I tell you about pretty wenches?”

“I can’t even look?”

Shandar pointed into the shadows beneath the overhang of a building. Two men were eyeing them, their arms crossed, their expressions hard. Amaroq suddenly felt the wave of their hostility.

“Human men don’t like Stravad men with their Stravad looks panting after their women. Best not to draw attention to yourself, Wolf. You’ll do that enough with your pretty face.”

Amaroq dropped his eyes and followed Shandar to the building called the Golden Ladle. It was three stories tall, painted a brilliant white, with slashes of color from flowers hanging in pots.

Chairs were arranged on the deep porch and a few people occupied them, watching as the strangers approached the gate. One, an older woman with an apron tied around her waist, pushed herself from the chairs and ambled to the stairs, gripping the railing to descend. She smiled pleasantly at Shandar and stopped at the gate.

“Looking for a place to stay?”

Shandar smiled, something Amaroq had rarely seen him do. “Yes, we’d like a room, three beds if you have it.”

Her gaze passed over Amaroq and Nakoda. “Nazarien?”

“Yes.” An edge crept into Shandar’s voice and Amaroq felt the tension rise in him.

“I have no problem with Nazarien. Always leave my place cleaner than when they arrived. Where you coming from?”

As Shandar gave her a brief explanation of their journey, leaving out the part about Naia, Amaroq found his attention snagged by a small green area directly to the right of the Golden Ladle. He remembered from his teachings that Humans called these natural reserves parks and coveted them.

In the center of this park rose a bronze statue. Amaroq wandered toward it, drawn despite himself. He’d seen renderings of statues in his books, but this one looked strangely familiar. When he was close enough to see the statue’s features, he shook his head in amazement. The things these Humans created.

His eyes lowered to the base of the statue and he read the inscription. Nakoda moved up beside him, studying it as well.

“What’s it say?” he asked in Nazarien.

“Talar Eldralin, Protector of the People, May Eldon’s star shine forever on your lives!”

Nakoda grunted. That was one thing Amaroq liked about his lifelong friend. Nakoda never felt the need to wax poetic about anything. Nakoda was a simple man with simple needs. His calm, centered personality suited Amaroq perfectly.

“I have to go inside and sign the ledger,” said Shandar, coming up behind them, then he paused and studied the statue.

Amaroq felt the wave of emotion coming off the older man.

Shandar’s eyes lowered to him. “Interesting bit of art,” he remarked, eyeing Amaroq.

“They built a statue to him, Shandar. They worship him like a god.”

“No, not like a god, but they do honor him.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Shandar flushed with pleasure at the question. “He led the people of Adishian to a haven in Terra Antiguo. He ended the war with Sarkisian.”

“He was just a man.” Amaroq turned his back on the statue. “I’ll never understand Humans.”

Shandar gave him a disappointed smile. “I suppose not. Come on. We should stick together.” He glanced around, marking the people that stared at them. Amaroq had to put them from his mind or become overwhelmed by their curiosity.

Following Shandar and Nakoda back to the Golden Ladle, he passed through the garden gate and entered his first Human dwelling.

*    *    *

In the middle of the night, Amaroq rolled out of the soft bed and reached for his trousers, pulling them on. He could see Shandar’s silhouette sitting in the large window seat, staring out the window. The proprietor of the Golden Ladle had given them a room that overlooked the park.

It only had two beds, a small one and a very large one, which he and Nakoda shared. A fireplace occupied the wall across from the door, but they’d chosen not to light it. The night was warm enough without it.

Beyond the two beds, a small table with a lamp on it, and the fireplace, the only other furnishing was the large window with the cushioned seat. Shandar had pulled back the heavy drapes so he could look out, allowing moonlight to filter into the room.

Rising, Amaroq pulled his trousers around his waist and shook back his long, dark hair, then he moved across the room. Shandar looked up at his approach, giving him a smile.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked.

Amaroq shrugged his bare shoulders and sank down in the window opposite the older man. “Nakoda snores worse than you do.”

Shandar laughed.

“Why can’t you sleep?”

“Worrying for your sister.”

“Tomorrow we’ll get information. I’ll spend all day scouring this town.”

“It might be more difficult than you think. I’m not sure we’ll find anyone willing to talk to us.”

Amaroq looked out the window at the small park. It was empty now, but the bronze statue dominated the view. “Does it hurt you that I don’t ask you about him?”

“No, I respect your choice.”

Amaroq looked back at Shandar. The man was little more than a shadow with a hooked nose and a broad forehead. “Do you still miss him?”

“Everyday of my life.”

Amaroq thought about that. If he didn’t find Naia, there would be a gaping hole in his life forever as well. His thoughts went back to the statue, the incongruity of it. “It’s hard for me, Shandar. People build statues to him.” He motioned out the window. “But he was just a man.”

“I know.”

“But no one else seems to. Everyone seems to treat him like a god, like he didn’t have flaws.”

“He had flaws.”

Amaroq considered that. “My mother loved him, didn’t she?”

“I believe she did.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No, it was before us. How can it bother me? It brought you and your sister into my life.” He caught Amaroq behind the neck and pressed their foreheads together. “I wouldn’t trade the last twenty-five years for anything, Wolf.”

Amaroq encircled Shandar’s wrist. “You know you’ve been a father to me, don’t you? No Nazarien has ever had a better man to model himself after.”

Shandar released him. “Where’s this coming from?”

Amaroq glanced out the window again. “I just want you to know. You have been the man I think of as my father. It’s the same for Naia. You aren’t to blame for what happened to her. You’ve protected her her whole life.”

Shandar’s expression grew grim. “I can hardly stand to think of her with slavers. It makes me feel like I’m suffocating.”

Amaroq nodded. “I know.”

Shandar smiled at him. “I guess you do. I’m sorry for projecting that onto you, Wolf.”

“It just mirrors my own worry.” He folded his legs. “Did he love her?”

“What?”

“Did he love my mother?”

“In his way.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means Talar loved many women, but he had one true love, one love that eclipsed all the others.”

“Shara Eldralin,” Amaroq said.

Shandar nodded.

He knew Shandar wanted to talk. He sensed as much. Usually, Amaroq avoided all discussions regarding this topic. He’d never felt the need to know. He’d never really cared. Nazarien didn’t know their fathers. It was that simple.

But sitting here in the night, worrying about his sister, Amaroq realized he wanted to hear what Shandar had to say. He wanted to know something of the man Shandar called brother. He’d inadvertently brought Shandar and his mother together, he’d brought Shandar into his life.

“What happened? Why did he leave her?”

“She left him. She chose to stay with the Kazden Cult.”

“Why?”

“I think she knew she was pregnant with you. I think she knew she couldn’t run anymore. She picked stability over her love for your father.”

Amaroq pressed his back against the window. “Did he ever have peace from running?”

“Toward the end. He had a few years in Terra Antiguo, but for much of his life, Wolf, he ran. We both did.”

“And you didn’t resent that?”

“Of course I did. I hated it, but what choice did I have? He was my brother. He was my reason for living.”

Amaroq sighed. “How long were they together? Him and my mother?”

“Months. He rescued her after her mother died. He brought her to live in our boarding house. That was Talar’s way. That was always Talar’s way. It wasn’t long before they were lovers…”

*    *    *

Kaelene wrapped her arms around his neck and lifted on tiptoes, kissing him under the jaw. He laughed and encircled her waist with his arms, bending to nuzzle her throat. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“I hate it when you go. I worry all the time. Parish said Sarkisian soldiers came through the gates last night.”

“Not for the first time.” He eased her arms from around his neck and kissed her on the forehead. “Nor the last.”

“He said they’re looking for you.”

Talar shrugged, his blind eyes moving past her shoulder as if he sensed something. It made her squirm in apprehension. His focus returned to her. “That would also not be for the first time.”

She caught his hand, pressed it to her breast. “Do you have to go? You could stay here with me today. I’ll teach you how to make jam.”

He smiled. “I wish I could, but they need me at the hospital and I’m afraid I’d just get in your way.” He motioned to his eyes. “I’m not good with cooking in close quarters.”

She released him. She knew when he was determined and it did her no good to argue. “I have a bad feeling, Talar.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Believe me, Kaelene. This isn’t the first time Sarkisian soldiers have entered Kazden. I’ll be fine.”

She watched him leave, standing on the porch as he disappeared around the corner with his brother Shandar in tow. She couldn’t shake the anxious feeling that rose inside of her, but she decided being busy was the best bet.

She went into the kitchen and began cutting the fruit to make her jam. A few of the residents entered, looking for snacks or wanting to get something to drink, but she spent the morning working by herself and enjoying it.

She was so caught up in her job that the hours flew by and she only noticed their passing when their landlady Mistress Alloway entered the kitchen. She was ex-Nazarien, having fled, as Kaelene and her mother had, after her first Procreation Ceremony. All alone, she’d come to Kazden, met Mr. Alloway and raised a family. To make ends meet, she and her husband had opened the boarding house. He took care of the grounds, while she took care of the rest. Mistress Alloway had a particular soft spot for Talar, but Kaelene hadn’t seen many people who didn’t.

“I need to get the midday meal started.”

“I’ll help you,” offered Kaelene, setting aside her pot of jam to cool. As she and Mistress Alloway worked, the other woman stole glances at her. Finally Kaelene met the woman’s gaze. “Is there something wrong?”

“You’ve been sick the last few mornings. I’ve heard you when I’m prepping breakfast.”

Kaelene smiled. “I need to stop sneaking dessert after everyone’s gone to bed. It doesn’t sit well.”

Mistress Alloway smiled in return. “I was the same way my first time. Every time after that, I didn’t have a lick of problems.”

“What?”

Mistress Alloway gave her a frank look. “Seriously child, you don’t know.”

“Know what?”

“How long did you live in Tirsbor?”

“Fifteen years.”

“So you left before your first Procreation Ceremony?”

“Yes, Mama didn’t want…” She stopped and a flush crept over her. Placing her hands on her cheeks, she took a step back.

Mistress Alloway caught her arm and led her to a table. Then she brought her a cool glass of water. She pressed it into Kaelene’s hand and urged her to drink, taking a seat across from her at the table.

Kaelene drained the glass, lowering it. “I should have known.”

“We don’t always know our first time.”

Kaelene considered that. She should be terrified, but she wasn’t. She was elated. Her hands crept to her belly and she pressed them there. A baby. Her own child. She’d always loved children. To think of having one with the man she loved…

Kaelene covered her mouth again. “He doesn’t know.”

“Well, you’ll have to tell him.”

Panic washed over her. “What if he doesn’t want a child? What if he gets angry?”

“Have you ever seen that man angry?”

“No, but this...this is a lot to digest. It’ll tie him down, and he doesn’t like to be tied down.”

Mistress Alloway nodded. “You’re right about that. That one has the attention span of a cat.”

Tears filled Kaelene’s eyes. “He’s not going to like this. Shandar isn’t going to like this.”

Mistress Alloway placed her hand over Kaelene’s. “He did the deed. He knows the results same as the rest of us. It’s as much his problem as it is yours.”

Kaelene rested her free hand on her belly. Her baby wasn’t a problem, could never be a problem. She just had to make Talar understand this.

“You have to tell him tonight.”

Kaelene nodded. “Tonight,” she repeated.

Mistress Alloway released her and pointed to the stairs. “Now, go rest while I prepare the meal. You need your strength, little mother.”

Kaelene forced a watery smile and rose to her feet, turning to the stairs. Taking a nap suddenly sounded like the best idea she’d heard all day.

*    *    *

She didn’t tell him that night. She couldn’t. Shandar never left them alone, and the entire time he was there, he glowered at her as if he thought she would combust if he wished it hard enough. She knew Shandar didn’t approve of their relationship. She’d overheard them talking a number of times about complications and she was definitely a complication now.

Lying beside Talar in the night, she thought to wake him and tell him then, but sleep pulled her under. She didn’t wake again until he was already up and dressed, prepared to go to the hospital. Groggily, she heard the door quietly open and she flung back the covers, racing after him as he descended the stairs.

“Talar?”

He turned in the entryway and waited for her. She stopped in front of him, wringing her hands in her nightdress. A wave of nausea passed over her, but she fought it down.

He smiled. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. The soldiers didn’t even come near the hospital all day. I have scouts keeping an eye on their movements.”

She moved closer to him, reaching out to smooth his shirt. “I need to talk to you.”

“Sure.” He placed his hands on her hips and pulled her closer. “What do you want to talk about?” He bent and nuzzled her neck.

She held him off. She needed him focused. “Talar, I think…”

Behind him, the front door opened and Shandar poked his head inside. “Let’s go if we’re going. I don’t want to babysit your ass all day. I have errands I want to run.”

Talar gave her an apologetic smile and kissed her forehead. “I’ll be back early and we can talk then.”

She chewed on her inner lip, but she let him go. He’d just made it to the front porch when she chased after him. “Talar?” she caught his arm and he turned. “Please be careful!”

He nodded and stepped up to her, bending to kiss her. His kiss made longing rise inside of her and she curled her hands in the lapels on his jacket. She wanted him and she wanted their baby, and she wanted a life like the Humans she saw all around her. She wanted it with him.

“I’ll be home soon,” he said, then disengaged from her and jogged to catch up to Shandar on the street. Kaelene let him go, feeling a rising sense of dread that it would be the last time she saw him. Nausea forced her to turn and rush back in the house before she retched and embarrassed herself.

Mistress Alloway brought her soda crackers and she ate them with an herbal tea the other woman told her had helped when she herself had morning sickness. As soon as it abated, Kaelene began spooning her cooled jam into the glass jars she would use to sell in the market. Mistress Alloway left her to the chore and went to clean rooms.

Kaelene worried over the situation with Talar the entire time she worked. He’d been very clear with her. He intended to stay in Kazden until the season ended, then they wanted to head west and winter in Raimondi perhaps. He hadn’t asked her to go, but would he once she told him her news?

A banging sounded at the front door, but Kaelene ignored it. People always came to the door, looking for lodging. Mistress Alloway or her husband would handle it. She capped one jar and reached for the next one.

Maybe they could get a house in Raimondi, something of their own. Talar never seemed to lack for money, and she could plant a garden, continue selling her vegetables and jams. Of course, he’d probably insist on Shandar coming with them, but she’d just learn how to get along with the man, find a way to make him approve of her. Maybe if they got married like the Humans did, that would change Shandar’s feelings about her.

She heard shouting in the lobby, Mistress Alloway’s voice raised in alarm and another male voice barking orders in Nevaisser. Talar had begun teaching her Nevaisser, but she only knew a little of it. She wiped her hands on her apron, moving toward the backdoor. Sometimes people got belligerent, demanding lodging when they had none. Usually these people were drunk. Mister Alloway could handle them. He was nearly as big as Shandar. Then she remembered he’d gone to town.

Before she could get to the door, Mistress Alloway stumbled into the kitchen, followed by five Sarkisian soldiers. Kaelene recognized the uniforms, the way they entered the room as if they owned it. She felt her heart pick up speed and she went to Mistress Alloway.

The woman clung to her, pulling her close. “They want Talar,” she whispered in Kaelene’s ear.

Kaelene felt her mouth go dry and her heart hammered in her ears.

One of the soldiers, a man with braids over his shoulder, faced them and glared at Kaelene. He pointed at her and then barked a stream of words at her. Kaelene shook her head. He shoved Mistress Alloway in the shoulder, motioning that she should translate.

“He says they’ve watched you and know you associate with Eldralin,” said the woman, her hands tightening on Kaelene’s arms. “Don’t tell them you carry his child.”

The soldier barked some more, pulling out a document and shoving it at Mistress Alloway. The woman took it in hands that trembled and tried to read it. The soldier barked some more.

“He says he’s Commander Deck Prestar of the Sarkisian Front Guard and he’s here on order of the King of Sarkisian, Rarick. Lord Rarick demands the immediate surrender of the fugitive known as Talar Eldralin.”

Kaelene looked up at him.

He shouted at her as the other four soldiers fanned out in the kitchen.

“How do they have the right to search for Talar in Adishian? Doesn’t the King of Adishian have to give them permission?”

Mistress Alloway gave her a look as she folded the paper and passed it back to the commander. “You don’t want me to say that to them, do you?”

Kaelene didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t give Talar up. “You don’t want me to tell them where he is, do you?”

Mistress Alloway started to shake her head, but the commander snatched a meat tenderizer off the counter and threw it through the glass window, shattering it. Kaelene and Mistress Alloway ducked, clinging to each other.

He moved right up to them and shouted in their faces, a muscle bulging in his jaw. Kaelene could feel Mistress Alloway shaking and realized she was shaking too.

“He says he doesn’t want to hurt us, but he has no choice.”

The commander sank his hand in Mistress Alloway’s hair and pulled back her head. The woman gave a cry and closed her eyes. Dragging her against him, he reached for a knife on the counter. Kaelene watched in horror as he placed the blade against the other woman’s throat.

Mistress Alloway’s eyes opened and her terrified gaze found Kaelene’s. Kaelene reacted, she didn’t think. She had to save the other woman’s life.

“Stop! I Talar Eldralin’s woman!” she cried in broken Nevaisser. “I his woman.”

The commander’s eyes narrowed and he threw Mistress Alloway to the side. As she stumbled into the counter, Kaelene met the other woman’s frantic gaze.

“What are you doing?” Mistress Alloway whispered.

Kaelene’s gaze never wavered. “Run!” she said.

Mistress Alloway hesitated a moment, then she bolted, racing for the front door. The soldiers didn’t even bother to go after her.

Kaelene tightened her hands in her apron and lifted her chin. Whatever happened now, she wasn’t going to let these dogs see her cower.

CHAPTER 7

Adison lounged on the throne in the hearing room, one thigh hanging over the arm. He stared at the glass of ale twirling in his fingertips, well pleased with himself. Could anything have gone so easy?

He was now King of Dorland. Of course it was only in name until Aiden’s body was returned to them, but Adison had no doubt of that eventuality. For seven years he’d wanted the throne. It should have been his as first born, but Aiden had stepped between him and his dreams, and he’d done a poor job. It was better for all parties involved now that Aiden was gone.

He lifted the glass to his lips and sipped. He didn’t want to get besotted before the noon hour. That tiresome Lyell Vito could always tell and then he made things difficult.

Except for Lyell Vito’s disapproval, things were going well. Aiden had been gone less than a week, yet in that time, Adison had put the kingdom and the household to rights. There were so few people coming to court for hearings that he was usually finished before ten in the morning, and the servants tiptoed around as if they feared for their lives – which they were wise to do so. Aiden had been too lenient with them.

Now if he could work his way into the Queen’s bed and pull Alasdair from the library, everything would be perfect. Then of course there was Vito. If he didn’t know the workings of Dorland better than anyone else and if he wasn’t so infernally necessary, Adison would have eliminated that problem even before Aiden’s disappearance.

He chuckled to himself and sipped from the glass again. The thought of Aiden in slavery was almost more than he could comprehend. His free-spirited brother forced to endure the greatest hardship a person could. Was there ever a bigger irony – a bred King turned slave? Aiden who thought his kingship too confining; Aiden who had roamed at will throughout Nevaisser; Aiden who had snuck from the castle to ride his bedamned horse without an escort.

The thought made Adison laugh outright. Aiden was now a slave, most likely so broken and dispirited that he’d welcome death when it came.

The laughter died in his throat when the hearing chamber door opened and Carona appeared. Aiden’s pathetic, invalid wife was striding across the floor as if the hounds of hell backed her. Adison lowered his leg and slid forward in the chair, his fingers tightening around his glass. What did this shrew want of him?

Adison hadn’t expected to be welcomed into her bed. Hell, even his slave brother had a time bedding his own wife, but he’d never expected her to leave the sanctuary of her room and storm into his domain.

His face waxed over with a false smile.

“Carona my Queen, Eldon’s Star, what has brought you from your bed?”

She halted before his throne, fixing her clenched fists on her hips. The look she gave him sent a flutter of fear through Adison’s heart. Betraying his brother had been one thing, easily done, but should he be forced to remove the shrew...someone was bound to question the coincidence.

Her eyes narrowed as she eyed him from head to toe. She wore a heavy gold brocade gown with a long train, her fair hair pulled up around her pale face in a profusion of curls. She was pretty, especially as a flush of anger tinged her cheeks. Too thin and fragile for his tastes, but pretty none-the-less. Should he manage to pry his way between her tightly clenched thighs, the effort might not be completely wasted.

“I demand to know what’s being done to recover my lord husband,” she demanded.

Adison sat back in shock. It was a genuine reaction. “I’m surprised by your concern, my Queen,” he said, recovering himself.

Her eyes blazed with fury. “You are a small, vile man, Adison Cerik, and I loathe to see you sitting on the throne of Dorland. You aren’t worthy to grace the throne of a toilet.”

He blinked in astonishment, then glared at his retainers when a few errant chuckles escaped. “Don’t raise your voice to me, my Queen,” he said dangerously.

She tossed back her head and rolled her eyes. “You may have everyone else cowed, but there is nothing you can do to me and well I know it.”

Adison rose abruptly to his feet, but sank down again when he saw Lyell Vito slip through the hearing chamber doors. He drew a long suffering breath and frowned at the woman before him. “What do you want of me, Carona?”

“I demand to know what’s being done to recover my husband.”

“Everything Humanly possible…”

“Then go farther. Aiden had dealings with the Stravad, particularly the Nazarien in Tirsbor. Send a delegate to them for help. Have you sent to the King of Eastern Nevaisser? Terra Antiguo? Chernow?”

Again Adison was surprised. He’d never imagined the Queen paid even passing interest in the affairs of the kingdom. No, he’d not sent to any of the other kingdoms regarding Aiden, but he now realized his mistake. He’d have to do so at once just to be careful. It was then Lyell Vito approached.

“My lady,” he said, inclining his head. She turned to face the First Advisor. “I have sent messages to each location you mentioned. I fear nothing has been seen of the King. It’s as if he vanished.” The pain in the older man’s voice was palpable.

Adison glanced covertly around the room to check the impact of this information. There was some alarm, but on the whole it was received well. Perhaps they were getting used to Adison as King. He was certainly running things more smoothly than his bedamned brother ever had.

“More than anyone, I want my brother returned to us safely, my Queen,” he said, mustering up a look of suffering.

Carona’s gaze pierced him. “You don’t convince me, serpent,” she hissed. “I know you had something to do with Aiden’s disappearance and if I can ever prove it, I will set the noose about your throat myself.”

Now Adison did come out of his chair, his hands clenching into enraged fists. “Don’t threaten me, shrew!” he shouted, expecting her to cower, but she didn’t. He searched for a more lethal weapon. “You’re the one I question. It’s well known you disliked my brother, that you were never a wife to him. The poor bastard was so besotted that he never took you to task as he should have and look what it got him. Oh, my Queen, I’ve no doubt that you were the one to dispose of my brother, safe in the knowledge that no one would suspect an invalid of such malice, but you just tipped your hand by storming in here, throwing accusations. It’s obvious that you’re neither an invalid nor are you at all remorseful for your deed!”

Her eyes widened in astonishment, but damn her, she didn’t flinch, she didn’t cower, she merely looked at him as if he were ridiculous. A spasm of hysterical laughter threatened in Adison’s throat, but he choked it back. Glancing around, he knew his claim hadn’t had the effect he’d expected. Not a single retainer showed even the slightest indication they suspected the Queen of such a deed.

“Be gone,” he said with a negligent wave of his hand.

Instead of fleeing, Carona dared to step closer. “Heed my words, serpent, your actions in this will be discovered and you will pay. You’d just better hope that things go amiss and Aiden returns alive, for I give nothing for your chances when the truth is revealed.”

Before he could think of a fitting retort, she turned on her heel, flipped her train behind her, and stormed from the hearing chamber. Vito hesitated a moment and studied Adison carefully, then he too retreated.

Adison took a seat again, disgusted to find his hands trembling. True, the shrew’s threats had unsettled him a little, but she had no proof of any misdeed. Perhaps he’d have to force her to bed him, then she’d be too ashamed to say anything against him again. If only he could accomplish the deed without Vito or her servants being aware of it. Should it become public knowledge that he’d forced his missing brother’s wife, he didn’t think the public would be too happy about it, but if he could make it seem that she was willing…

He stroked the coarse stubble on his chin. There were ways to get everything you wanted, you simply had to have the courage to take them.

*    *    *

Adison stormed into the library, thrusting the door back so violently it struck the wall and shuddered. His eyes swept the room, took in the rows of shelves, the multitude of books, Alasdair’s table covered with so much paper the table was no longer visible. He clenched his fists in annoyance. He hated books, had never bothered to learn how to read. Now he recognized his mistake.

Most of his advisors could read. When messages came to court, he had to rely on someone else to tell him what they said. It made keeping things private difficult. How shrewd of Aiden to realize the necessity of this chore. Adison was sure his slave brother cared precious little about the pleasures of reading, but he knew Aiden had quickly sensed the need.

“Alasdair!” he shouted and then shrank back when his voice echoed across the vaulted ceiling. Dusty, tight place – it made the skin at the back of his neck crawl.

He strode forward, his fists still clenched. Cautiously he peered down one row, then the next, searching for his addle-minded younger brother. A book with handsome gold lettering on the binding caught his eye. He pulled it down and opened the creaking cover.

It smelled old and stale, and the papers rustled when he turned them. The yellowed, curling edges reminded him of age and death – all the things foolish people couched in terms of wisdom and worth. Give him the cold, gleaming edge of a sword anytime. Now there was an instrument worth its weight. He hefted the large book in his hands. Unpleasant as it was, this bit of dusty, aged paper had more value at the moment than the comfort and familiarity of steel.

The silence in the library was daunting. It made him want to shout, laugh hysterically, anything to fill the emptiness which sent his mind to spinning wildly. He didn’t want to think any more than necessary, he didn’t want to be alone, but he needed his younger brother. Why, now of all times, did he have to leave this wretched, poor excuse for a sanctuary?

Adison put the book back on the shelf and rubbed his damp palms on his pants. Squaring his shoulders, he stalked out of the library and pulled the door shut behind him.

In the brightly lit hallway, he felt immediately better, but the mysterious, dusky scent of the book still lingered on him. Eldon’s star, he wanted a stiff draught of ale or something even stronger to chase away the crawling sensation sliding up and down his spine, causing his fingers to twitch and curl.

Lifting a trembling hand, he snaked it through his dense, tangled brown curls, surprised to find a sheen of perspiration on his forehead. Damn, why was he letting everything send him into a paroxysm of fear? Aiden was gone, probably dead. He was King. No one in a week had questioned him...except Carona, but who believed women?

Except he could see it in their eyes – the horrible, blank suspicion. He could hang every last one of them, but that look would still be etched in his dreams. Worse, he didn’t know what communication was going on behind his back. Everyone in the kingdom and, he suspected, outside of it knew he couldn’t read. Were they plotting behind his back, sending written messages back and forth, then giving him inane excuses that he couldn’t refute?

He stormed down the hallways, servants scattering as he went. He found Lyell Vito in his private office just outside the hearing chamber. The older man looked up in surprise, then dropped his eyes again as was proper, but not before Adison saw that look once more. Damn, but he’d like to strangle the old codger.

“Where’s my brother Alasdair, Lyell?”

Lyell tapped the edge of his quill against his lips. “Your brother hasn’t been feeling well since the disappearance of his King. He’s taken to his bed and refuses to leave, even to tend the library.”

“Oh, I’ve been to that bedamned library. There are books lying about everywhere. Send someone to clean it out.”

“Impossible! That library’s Alasdair’s domain and I wouldn’t know where to begin. No, I’ll not disturb it. It’s as it should be and if not, then Alasdair knows what must be done. I’ve yet to look for something and not find it.”

Adison opened his mouth to protest, to rant and scream, and finally hound Lyell into agreeing, but he needed to see Alasdair more. “So my brother’s in his private chambers?”

“Yes,” said the advisor without looking up. He returned to checking his figures and adding new ones. Adison waited a moment, wanting acceptance, but he knew he wouldn’t get it.

He left Lyell’s office in an even worse humor. The long walk to Alasdair’s private chambers only fueled his temper. Why had Aiden allowed Alasdair to room so far away from the rest of the family? He had an entire wing off to himself, a wing that backed up to the library. Adison knew quite well why Alasdair wanted it. It permitted him to come and go without being stopped by anyone and forced into an awkward conversation. Aiden had been the only one to seek out Alasdair’s company, the only one Alasdair entertained. Even so, Aiden had always come to Alasdair, had always given in to his unbalanced whims – never the other way around. It was just another link in the chain of hatred Adison toted about regarding his missing brother.

He didn’t stop to knock on Alasdair’s door as would seem appropriate. He thrust it open, much as he had the library door, and it too careened off the wall and shuddered closed. Alasdair started and looked up, then turned back to the window, watching the sun setting over the castle and the lands beyond.

“I looked for you in the library,” said Adison, grinding his teeth.

Alasdair sighed. “I haven’t been in the library in days.”

Adison strode across the room and stopped beside his brother, his fingers twitching into fists. Alasdair shifted, his eyes coming to rest on his brother’s feet.

“The library’s a disaster. I couldn’t find anything.”

Alasdair flickered a glance up at Adison’s face. He seemed even more pale and gaunt than Adison remembered, but truth be told, Adison hadn’t seen his youngest brother since last Valhall when they’d all taken supper together in the main dining room. Even Carona had attended then.

“You can’t read, Adison.” It was stated so simply, so honestly, Adison shouldn’t have taken offense, but it reminded him of the purpose for this humbling visit.

“One pathetic invalid in this family is enough!” he shouted. “Aiden coddled you far too long. I demand that you pull yourself together and return to the library at first light tomorrow! You’ve never been good for much, but that bedamned library is the one thing you do know! Tend it or I swear in Eldon’s name, I’ll set fire to it myself!”

Alasdair looked up again, blinking in horror, then his features waxed into nothingness. “Do what you will, Adison. I tended the library for Aiden, not myself. Since his disappearance, I can’t bear to set foot inside it.”

Adison’s eyes bulged. If he didn’t get something his way and soon, he was going to commit murder or have a seizure. Clenching his jaw and tightening his fists until his nails dug into his palms, he gritted out, “I want you to teach me to read.”

Alasdair looked at him fully now, stared at him through his huge, glassy eyes. “You what?”

“You heard me!”

“You want to read?”

“I need to read. What I want is for someone in this bedamned kingdom to do what I command of them!” He leaned close to his brother, stabbing a single finger in his chest. “Don’t you dare think of claiming you’re too ill! I will be taught to read and you will do the teaching! I don’t care if it kills you in the process!”

Alasdair shrank away from him, lowering his eyes to about midway in Adison’s chest. “All right,” he said softly, so softly Adison didn’t really hear him, but rather than risk a heart attack, he nodded and accepted his brother’s response as acquiescence. It didn’t really matter either way. Alasdair would follow his orders or else.

“Tomorrow morning then!”

Alasdair nodded.

Adison straightened and drew a short breath. Hell, one victory. It cost him, but he’d gotten that much. From now on he’d offer no quarter to anyone. It was going to be his way or let those who opposed him pay the price. He permitted himself a small, triumphant smile. Yes, from now on it was going to be all his way!

*    *    *

Adison slammed his chamber door and crossed the room. His fingers closed over the thin curtains around his bed and he yanked them back. The young girl sitting on the edge whimpered in fear and scampered into the center of the bed. His eyes narrowed and a cruel smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

She was terrified and she ought to be. He had a full night planned for her and none of it took into consideration that she was most likely a virgin. He’d seen her in the hearing chamber with her father, a lowly merchant in Dorland, and he’d known he would have her.

A week since Aiden’s disappearance and Adison was already teaching everyone the meaning of his kingship. He would not be opposed, he would not be denied, and he would not be refused.

Oh, her father and then her mother had pleaded with him, offered him their lives in return for their daughter’s virtue, but their appeals had only fueled his appetite. And it helped that she was pretty and unused.

He must bed Carona eventually, but it wouldn’t be half so pleasant and he knew there would be great opposition to that. Until such time as it became unavoidable, he would slake his need on his subjects’ virgin daughters.

“You be a good girl and maybe you’ll get a gold piece for your time.”

She stared at him in undiluted horror. His smile widened. Oh yes, he was going to enjoy this. Tonight marked a new phase of his reign. Aiden and even his father before him had been servants of Dorland, but that wasn’t as it should be. No, they had the order all wrong. The King was above his subjects, so then shouldn’t he get full use and enjoyment out of them? His father and brother hadn’t been too proud to accept taxes. This was a sort of tax and he intended to exercise it freely.

What made this victory even more sweet was the fact that Lyell Vito had been appalled and horrified by his intentions. He’d gone so far as to threaten to leave. Well, Adison had put a stop to that. He’d made certain Vito knew he was a dead man if he even thought about it again. And as for Vito’s assurance that the people of Dorland would never allow such an atrocity to be committed, Adison would prove him wrong in that also. When faced with higher taxes and imprisonment for not paying, they’d succumbed to even the most unsettling of arrangements.

His eyes travelled over the scantily clad girl. Lifting his hands he began unbuttoning his shirt. “Take your clothes off,” he commanded.

Her eyes grew even larger, her entire body trembling violently. She didn’t obey him.

No matter, he’d show her who was her King and then he’d remove the clothes himself. He wasn’t opposed to a little rough handling. Slipping out of his shirt and tossing it aside, he reached for her, placing one knee on the bed. She scrambled away, off the bed, and huddled in the corner, drawing the curtain around her. Now Adison felt his anger boil.

Playing coy was one thing, but he didn’t have time for this. He needed to see Alasdair for his reading lesson.

“I command you to come here at once,” he said, fixing his fists on his hips. “If you don’t, I promise you’ll be sorry you were ever born.”

He caught the faint sound of her sobbing, but she didn’t move away from the curtain. Grinding his jaw, he stomped around the bed and headed for her. The curtains were trembling and her sobs were becoming louder, more hysterical. Just when he was within distance, his door was thrown open.

He turned, his face flushed with fury, to see Lyell Vito standing in the doorway. If he hadn’t been flanked by guards, he’d have been a dead man. The advisor’s eyes flickered between the hiding girl and Adison.

“What do you want!” shouted Adison, surprising himself with his own rage.

“I must speak with you at once.”

“It had better be of dire importance, Vito, or I swear you’re a dead man!”

For the first time ever, the advisor met Adison’s hate-filled look. “Oh, I assure you it is most dire, Your Majesty.” The last was said with such contempt, the words fairly dripped with it.

Adison cast a glance over his shoulder, then moved a few steps closer to his advisor. “Be quick about it, man!”

“You’d have me speak here, in front of others?” He motioned to the curtains.

Adison’s jaw ground. “Meet me in the hearing chamber,” he commanded, stalking around the bed to retrieve his discarded shirt. He thrust his arms through and then headed for the door. “Get rid of the girl.”

Was he mistaken or did he see a look of relief pass over the older man’s face? Even the guards seemed to be bristling with scorn.

He made his way to the hearing chamber, his scowl causing the servants to scurry and flutter about anxiously. He commanded a glass of ale be brought to him and slumped down in his throne, completely at odds with himself. He should have beheaded that presumptuous fool for barging in on him. What if the little whore hadn’t been so afraid and he’d been in the midst of taking his pleasure? Wouldn’t that have been a compromising position for a King?

His eyes travelled over the tapestry of the dragon and warrior. Well, if this didn’t prove to be dire (and his idea of dire just became a little more specific), Vito was as good as dead. He’d behead him right here in the hearing chamber and then feed his diseased body to Aiden’s black swans. And dire now meant something on the proportion of Eldon’s second coming.

Vito shuffled into the hearing chamber a moment later, his face flushed and damp. Behind him came the rest of the court retainers. Adison’s eyes narrowed. It must be rather important to call all these old sots from their beds.

He leaned forward. “What is it, old man?”

Lyell folded his hands before him in a gesture that almost had Adison out of his seat, his fingers tightening around his sword. “The King of Eastern Nevaisser, Kalas Eldralin, will be in Dorland tomorrow morning.”

Adison slumped back in his chair – not the second coming of Eldon, but damned close. Well, it seemed Vito would keep his head after all, clever old goat.

“He what?”

Vito drew a long suffering sigh and spoke as slowly as he might to a child. “He’ll be arriving in Dorland tomorrow morning to check on the affairs of the kingdom.” He shot a loathing glance at Adison. “Seems he had a meeting in Chernow and was told about Dorland’s misfortune. He comes to offer his aid.”

“What right does Talar Eldralin’s bastard have to oversee us!” shouted Adison, his fingers gripping the arms of his chair.

“Kalas Eldralin has worked long to restore peace between Sarkisian and Dorland. It isn’t likely that he’ll turn his back and allow anyone to bring this kingdom to its knees. He has the power to take control and with public opinion shying away from the local government, he’ll likely do anything he can to set things to rights.” Vito cast a baleful eye on the temporary King. “This doesn’t bode well, Adison, and you know it.”

A muscle bulged on his jaw. “Tomorrow morning? Why wasn’t I made aware of this long before the bastard arrived at my gate?”

“Perhaps it is an issue you would rather take up with Lord Kalas yourself. We received word of his arrival only moments ago.”

Adison tilted his head. “Moments, eh?” Convenient how this announcement had interrupted Adison’s entertainment for the night. He sat back and drew a calming breath, though it did little good. His entire insides had gone liquid at the thought of Talar Eldralin’s bastard. Just as well that the girl was on her way back to her mother and father, he didn’t think it likely he’d have strength to deflower her until the bastard was on his way home again. “Well,” he said, stroking his stubbled chin, “I suppose we ought to make preparations.”

He rose to his feet and stalked off the dais. He brought himself so close to his advisor that the man was forced to take a step back. Neither looked at each other, but the tension between them was palpable to everyone in the room.

“See that everything is put to right, Court Advisor. I’m retiring so that I can make a presentable figure on the morrow.”

Lyell’s eyes flashed up to Adison’s face. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I certainly am,” said Adison. He sidestepped his advisor and headed for the door, but before he’d gone a half dozen paces, he stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Do make certain Talar Eldralin’s bastard finds no cause to leave a garrison in Dorland. If that happens, I’ll have someone’s head and it won’t be mine.”

Lyell turned, narrowing his eyes. “Should the Lord Kalas see the need for a garrison, no doubt you will not be of any concern to anyone. Idle threats make for weak Kings, Adison…” The weighted pause brought Adison completely around. “...but then you aren’t King, are you?”

Adison’s fingers closed into fists. You’re a dead man, Vito, once that bedamned spawn of Eldon’s is gone. Somehow Adison mustered enough control to turn back around and stride for the door. When he reached the hallway, Lyell’s voice called after him.

“Sleep well, my King.”

And Adison knew without a doubt that he wouldn’t.

*    *    *

Adison did find sleep, only to be brought awake by the pressure of something pressing against his throat, cutting off his oxygen. He flailed and struck out, but as his sleep-addled brain cleared, he realized someone was holding him down with a forearm across his windpipe.

He went slack, hoping to throw the attacker off, but the attacker moved, hauling him out of bed and dumping him on the floor. He scrambled back against the wall beneath his bedroom window.

The curtains around the bed parted and a man hunkered down in front of him. By the moonlight streaming through the windows, he could make out well-proportioned features, short-cropped pale hair, and brilliant blue eyes. Nazarien.

“We had a deal,” said his assailant. “And it was so simple. I give you the means and you dispose of your brother, setting yourself up as King.”

“I did as you said,” breathed Adison, recognizing the gravelly voice. He glanced around for something to cover his nakedness. He didn’t like feeling vulnerable like this. “Halish, I did exactly as you instructed.”

“The slavers you hired botched the job.”

“What? Is my brother free? They assured me he wouldn’t get free, that they’d imprison him until his spirit was broken, then kill him. That was what I paid them to do.”

“They attacked a squad of Nazarien outside of Tirsbor and abducted a woman, a very important woman.” Halish leaned close, his breath warm against Adison’s face. “That wasn’t part of our deal.”

Adison frowned at this. What did Nazarien care about women? They used them as breeders, nothing more. He’d always admired it, truth be told. “I don’t understand.”

Halish slammed his hand against the wall by Adison’s head, causing Adison to flinch. “She was the sister of a very important Nazarien. Now the brother’s gone missing. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Adison shook his head. He was so confused. “Can I get dressed? Light the lamp? I can’t think straight like this.”

Halish rose to his feet and backed up, allowing Adison to scramble for the bed and snatch up his robe, slipping it on, then he eased around the Nazarien warrior and lit the lamp. He realized he was trembling as he faced the other man again.

“I should kill you for this,” growled Halish.

Adison set the lamp on a table by his chair and sank into it. He motioned to the other chair across from him, directly in front of the empty fireplace. “Please have a seat.”

If Halish sat, Adison would be closer to the door and help, but instead Halish walked to the window and looked out. His black clothes blended perfectly with the night. “Now, Kalas Eldralin’s involved.”

“Well...” Adison held up a hand. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

Halish whipped around. “No! I wanted to destabilize the region, not bring Eldralin to Dorland.”

Adison had never been clear why. “I know I’ve asked this before, but…”

“It’s none of your business. What was your business was eliminating your brother. You bungled that.”

“That’s not entirely true. I did eliminate my brother. And this problem with Eldralin is easily solved. A little poison in his drink and…”

Halish crossed the room so fast, Adison almost didn’t see him. He grabbed the arms of Adison’s chair, forcing him back into the cushions, and loomed over him. “Nothing happens to Kalas Eldralin, do you understand?”

“Just hear me out.”

Halish wound his hand in Adison’s lapel, dragging him closer. “Nothing happens to Kalas Eldralin!”

“Right. Nothing happens to Kalas Eldralin,” said Adison, struggling to keep his voice level. It occurred to him that a King shouldn’t be manhandled, but he didn’t think the Nazarien were much concerned with Human nobility.

“Here’s what you do, and you do it exactly as I say.”

Adison nodded, afraid to speak.

“You entertain Kalas, you play nice. You show him you are doing everything in your power to find your brother. In fact, you introduce me at court and tell Kalas you’ve employed me to track your brother. I’m well known among my people for my skill.” He slammed Adison back into the chair. “I don’t care what you do, but you get Kalas on the road again, headed for Adishian, believing you have this under control. Do we understand one another?”

Adison nodded. He had a lot of questions, but truthfully, he was too afraid to open his mouth.

“Nothing happens to Kalas Eldralin,” Halish repeated, smoothing Adison’s lapel almost gently. “Nothing...because if it does, you’ll wish you’d been sold into slavery instead of your brother. The things I will do to you…” He slowly shook his head.

Adison didn’t move, just stared as the Nazarien walked to the door and slipped outside. As soon as it closed behind him, though, the King of Dorland dropped his face into his hands and shook violently.

*    *    *

Adison watched the enormous entourage from Sarkisian ride through the gates of his castle and come to a stop in the courtyard. There were more armored warriors than he’d even imagined and he wondered where Lyell would sleep them all and how he’d feed them. He’d certainly have to raise taxes once this bedamned scourge left again.

His eyes roamed over the warriors once more. He didn’t have even a fraction of the number at his command and he knew, with sickening certainty, that this was only a fraction of Kalas’ force. He also knew that Kalas knew his enemy’s weaknesses.

More daunting still was the fact that Adison wasn’t sure which of his warriors he could count on to defend his right as King of Dorland. Most were and had remained loyal to his slave brother.

Adison scratched at his beard. He’d worried it so much of late that a red, angry rash had broken out under his jaw, giving his face a swollen, paunchy look.

He knew about the King of Eastern Nevaisser, although he hadn’t seen the man since he was a boy himself. He knew that Talar Eldralin’s bastard was well loved by his people. He’d united two kingdoms under the promise of peace, and damn him if he hadn’t achieved it. Even the people of Dorland turned to him when things were difficult at home.

Adison searched the crowd looking for his adversary. Lyell Vito was among the warriors, making them welcome and making a complete ass out of himself. He was so anxious to please he looked like a bobbing chicken after grain. Again his eyes raked the crowded courtyard. Which one of these men was the King himself? He started when someone moved up beside him. Looking down, he grimaced. Carona. What better way to make an intolerable situation even worse.

“Good morning, my Queen,” he said, scratching at his jaw. “You’ve made quite a habit out of leaving your bed of late.”

She gave him a withering look from the corner of her eyes. “Stop scratching, Adison,” she said in honeyed tones. “You look like a dog with fleas.”

His hand stopped mid-motion, the muscles in his jaw bulging. “So you’ve come to gawk at the parade of arrogant asses.”

Her eyes took in the courtyard. “You’d do well to remember a shade of your manners. The King of Eastern Nevaisser will eat you alive.”

Adison’s dark eyes swept the courtyard again. Where was the bedamned man anyway? “And just why are you here?”

“Did you really think I’d let you bury Aiden before his body was returned?”

Adison frowned at the cryptic response. “Your concern for your husband is touching, my Queen.”

“And your lack of it is chilling,” she said, catching his glance and holding it.

Adison looked away, his stomach knotting in anxiety. Damn the shrew, but she threw him into fits whenever she made her unexpected appearances. He’d have to change his plans and bed her quicker or he’d never survive this turmoil.

His eyes roved the courtyard again and his hands clenched into fists. Carona tilted back her head and drew a deep, satisfied breath. “He’s the man on the common bay, surrounded by the four largest warriors. Lyell Vito’s approaching him now.”

Adison found his advisor and then followed the line he was drawing through the chaotic assembly. He sucked in his breath, cursing himself. He should have recognized Talar Eldralin’s bastard from the first.

He was dressed no differently than his warriors and rode a horse no more remarkable. The unsettling effect of his blending caused a shudder to course through Adison’s body. How much had the bastard observed from astride his mount without ever tipping his hand? Worse yet was the fact that Adison should have spotted him immediately as Carona had.

He might be dressed as his companions, but the comparison went no farther. The way he sat, his back ramrod straight, the arrogant tilt to his head, the ebony black of his shoulder length hair. In the sun, the strands glimmered like spun silk or like a panther’s fur. His pale blue eyes were shifting, taking in everything, one gloved hand resting on the pommel of his sword, the other on the horse’s mane. His face was serene, his finely chiseled features showing no hint of what he thought. He was more handsome than Adison expected.

True, Adison had seen renderings of Talar Eldralin, but he’d always thought them overly fanciful. Before him was blood of his blood – his features so perfect they could be called beautiful if they didn’t have such a hard, masculine cast to them, and they were hard, cold, calculating. Adison hated him immediately.

With surprising ease, the bastard swung out of the saddle and dropped to the ground. The motion was catlike, the sleek ripple of taut muscles showing in his finely shaped form. He wasn’t over tall, in fact, he looked almost short compared to Lyell’s gangly, long frame, but Adison wasn’t fooled. This man radiated power and Adison felt the first taste of fear.

Carona chuckled beside him. “He’s quite handsome. I’d heard as much, but the myth pales to reality.” She shot Adison a glance. “In fact, next to him, you are a toad.”

The grinding of his teeth would have been audible but for the confusion all around them. “Step carefully, my Queen, lest you trip.”

Again the shrew chuckled. “You’d do well to take your own advice, although, you’d likely step in the dung from one of Lord Kalas’ many mounts.”

Adison forced himself to breathe evenly. He hated to be baited and he knew how good Carona was at the baiting – hadn’t she kept his slave brother in near fits for eight years – but damn him if he was going to be caught in her petty trap. He was King of Dorland and no one was going to take that from him.

Especially not the bastard of Talar Eldralin.

He descended the steps of the castle, aware of how awkward he felt next to Kalas’ accomplished warriors. They all seemed larger the closer he got – large and mean. As he passed through them, their voices fell silent and they followed him with their shrewd eyes like wolves sniffing after prey.

Still he went, throwing his head back and fixing his eyes somewhere in the middle of Lyell’s groveling back. He’d give his kingdom (metaphorically speaking of course) for a dagger which he’d gladly sheathe between his advisor’s shoulder blades.

He reached Lyell only to be ignored by both him and the bastard. Rage was a blinding force within Adison as he carefully lifted his fist and tapped the old man on the shoulder. Lyell turned, seemingly surprised, and stepped back.

Before Adison could speak, Carona pushed between them and extended her hand to Kalas. The man’s pale blue eyes shifted from Adison to Carona and then he smiled. Adison bit back the groan that rose in his throat. The smile transformed Kalas completely. If he’d been a handsome man before, he was doubly so now.

“Your Majesty,” said Carona, dropping a polite curtsy. Adison didn’t ever remember seeing the shrew show any measure of respect to either him or his slave brother. In fact, he felt sure her knees didn’t bend. “It is a great honor to have you here.”

Kalas brought her pale, white hand to his lips and kissed it. “The pleasure is mine. I’d heard Dorland was blessed with a beautiful Queen, but the rumor belies the truth.”

Adison couldn’t stop the twitching at the corner of his mouth. How long were they going to exchange inane pleasantries and ignore him? If they started talking about the weather, he was sure he’d burst a blood vessel.

“We’re sorry that your visit has come at such a difficult time. Our kingdom has been in an uproar since my lord was taken from his bed.” Her eyes narrowed slightly at the words and Adison felt his hands close into fists.

Kalas drew a deep breath, his eyes shifting and passing over Adison. “I’m alarmed and dismayed by this news. I can assure you my kingdom is doing everything in its power to find Lord Aiden.” He leaned closer. “It’s a subject I would like to discuss during the evening meal, but out here…” He made a sweeping motion that took in the entire courtyard.

“Of course, Your Majesty, I understand,” said Carona with a polite incline of her head. “It’s only that I’m anxious to have my husband returned to me. Not only for my sake, but for all of Dorland.”

Adison couldn’t stop the mutinous grunt of disgust that escaped his lips. It did have a desired effect however, for it drew Kalas’ attention. Carona stepped back, motioning dismissively with her hand.

“This is the King’s eldest brother, Adison, Your Majesty, attempting to act in his brother’s stead.” Adison didn’t miss the intended insult, but to his credit, he forced it aside and held out his hand.

“Your Majesty.”

Kalas took the hand in a strong grip. “Prince Adison, I’m delighted to see you again. It’s been many years since we were boys here together.”

“Yes, it has.”

“I’m sorry for your great loss.”

Adison’s false smile dried. “Yes, we’re all devastated. Although I’ve done my best to act as King in my brother’s stead.” He placed particular emphasis on the word king.

“I’m certain you have,” said the bastard. “But have no fear, we’ll discuss our next plan of action tonight, yes?”

Adison gave a polite nod.

“However, I must see to the needs of my men. We’ve had a long journey from Chernow.” He paused and narrowed his eyes. “The Nazar wished me to offer you the aid of the Nazarien in this search.”

“How kind,” said Adison.

Kalas gave a humorless smile. “Now, to my men.”

“This way,” answered Lyell, motioning him toward the castle.

Gallantly, Kalas offered his arm to the shrew, which she accepted. Then they moved off, leaving Adison behind.

CHAPTER 8

Shandar led Amaroq and Nakoda to a run-down building with a warped walk and a sign above it reading The Blind Archer. Amaroq frowned and motioned to it, but Shandar turned and grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him and Nakoda off to the side. Two men in worn-down work clothes and battered boots pushed past them and walked through the swinging front doors.

“What is this place, Shandar?” asked Amaroq. The entire building gave off a feeling of desperation. It made his skin crawl.

“It’s a tavern. The best way to get information, and probably our only way now, is in a tavern.”

They’d spent the day, wandering the town, asking people for news. Shandar hoped someone might let slip something about the slavers, but no one mentioned anything. Their inquiries grew bolder until they were forced to blatantly ask about trouble in the region. Someone mentioned that Kalas Eldralin had passed through a few weeks ago, headed to Chernow, but nothing else.

Finally Shandar broke down and asked the proprietor of the dry goods store.

The man’s face had shut down, the rise in his anxiety palpable, and he’d refused to answer anything even when Shandar offered him money for his information. Amaroq felt defeated and afraid. His sister had been gone nearly a week. Eldon knew what could have happened to her by now.

“Let’s go inside then,” said Amaroq.

Shandar glanced between the two of them. “This place’ll be hard on you, Wolf. And it’ll be dangerous. Worse than that, we’re gonna have to drink.” Shandar motioned between him and the younger man. “Nakoda, you have to stay sharp and watch our backs.”

Amaroq’s frown deepened. “I’ve never drank before.”

“I know.” Shandar looked over his shoulder at the tavern. “And worse yet, the minute you walk in there, they’re going to mark you for Nazarien.”

“So?”

“They’ll shut down unless we can show them we’re just like they are. You’re going to have to drink a lot.”

Amaroq wasn’t liking the sound of this. The Nazarien had always warned against mind-altering substances, but he wanted information about his sister. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Shandar’s grip tightened. “You remember what I told you about people being drawn to you.”

“Yes.”

“There are women in there who will gravitate toward you. These aren’t your sort of women, Wolf.”

“Prostitutes.”

“Yes.” Shandar gave him a surprised look.

“I’ve been educated.”

“The men will be drawn to you as well.”

“They’re also prostitutes.”

“Well, no, but...just be careful, okay? Don’t leave my side, no matter what. You don’t go anywhere unless one of us is with you.” He motioned between him and Nakoda.

“Got it.” Amaroq jutted his chin at the tavern. “Can we just go now? Standing out here’s making me edgy. I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to take it.”

Shandar gave him a final stern look, then nodded and led the way to the swinging doors. Smells assaulted Amaroq the moment he stepped into the room. Nakoda made a choking sound, but Amaroq fought his own reaction.

The smell was a sickly sweet mix of sweat and sour, rotting wheat. The floor felt sticky and tables crowded the tight, narrow space. A fireplace dominated the middle of the room, but thankfully it wasn’t lit because the heat in the tavern had climbed 10 degrees from outside. Chairs were arranged around the tables, but no two chairs were alike and quite a number of men lounged in them, some with the chairs tilted back, their feet braced on the edge of the tables. Across the back wall was a long wooden plank with stools pulled up to it and behind the wooden plank was a mirror, reflecting the room.

Amaroq realized he wasn’t going to be able to stand it in here for long. The dank, dark interior only increased the bombardment of emotions from the patrons. A wave of despair flowed over him, making him want to run.

Before he could bolt, Shandar gripped his shoulder and pulled him up beside him, then pointed to a stool in the middle of the bar. He wasn’t even going to be allowed to remain on the periphery where the pulse of Human emotions was diluted. He was going to be thrust into the epicenter.

He took a seat at the bar next to Shandar. Nakoda sat down on his other side, blocking him in. The bartender, a middle aged man with thin wisps of dark hair combed over his scalp, moved down the bar, wiping it with a cloth that had seen better times.

Amaroq looked up in the mirror, surprised by his own reflection. His mother had a hand-held mirror she used frequently, but this was the first time he could see his full face and upper body too. His dark hair lay on broad shoulders, his blue eyes almost aglow with an inner light. Suddenly he realized why people might pick him out from the others. His eyes looked almost unnaturally brilliant. Winking beneath the thick fall of his hair, he caught the glimmer of his medallions, the mark of his order.

“What’ll it be?”

“Three whiskeys,” said Shandar, plunking down a strange paper bill.

Amaroq wanted to pick it up and inspect it, but the bartender’s gaze was on him as he placed three glasses before them, then reached behind him and grabbed a bottle off the shelf below the mirror. He poured the amber-colored liquid into the glasses, slid them over to the men, and went back to scrubbing the planking with his rag, but he didn’t move away.

Shandar grabbed one of the glasses and tossed back his head, pouring it down his throat. Amaroq’s brows rose in admiration. Placing the glass back on the bar, Shandar jerked his chin at the other two. The younger men grabbed their own glasses and mimicked the older one.

Fire blazed in Amaroq’s esophagus and into his belly. He curled over the bar, coughing violently. Shandar slapped a hand on his back. “The first one’s the worst,” he said.

Amaroq glared at him through watering eyes. “My lungs are burning.”

“It’ll pass.”

The bartender gave a laugh. “Never had a drink before?”

Shandar shrugged, continuing to pat Amaroq’s back. “Been a bit sheltered in Tirsbor.”

“No shit.”

Casting a glance at Nakoda, Amaroq marked his friend didn’t seem to be having any problems. “It isn’t burning your lungs?”

“I’ve been to Dorland, remember?”

Amaroq frowned. That seemed to be the answer for a good many things with Nakoda.

“So what brings you to Raimondi?” asked the bartender, conversationally.

Amaroq glanced into the mirror and saw a number of men were listening to the conversation, but pretending not to. A few scantily clad women were also. One, a pretty redhead, was making her way toward them.

“We’re looking for someone,” said Shandar. “We figure this might be the best place to get information.”

“What sort of information?”

Shandar pushed his glass over to the bartender and the man refilled it, then filled the other two. Amaroq wasn’t sure how he was going to choke down another glass. This time the bartender took the bill Shandar had in front of him.

Shandar tossed back his drink. “We’ve had problems around Tirsbor. Some strange disappearances.”

The bartender’s back straightened. Amaroq paused with the glass nearly to his mouth. He felt the wave of apprehension roll off the man. This man knew about disappearances. “You don’t say?”

Shandar nodded.

Amaroq threw back the drink. It blazed down the center of his body again, but this time it didn’t burn as badly.

“Any disappearances around here?”

The bartender shook his head, but he didn’t answer. He went back to wiping the bar. Amaroq knew he was lying. Before he could say anything, though, a hand slid across his shoulder, brushing back his hair.

“Hey, sweets, since this is your first time drinking, maybe it’s your first time for other things as well.”

Amaroq shifted on the stool and looked down at the pretty redhead. He smiled, a flush of warmth sweeping through him.

“I could teach you.”

“Oh, I’ve participated in many Procreation Ceremonies,” he told her.

She laughed. So did the bartender, but Shandar nudged her aside.

“He doesn’t need any lessons,” he said, forcing Amaroq to face the bartender again.

Amaroq felt a wash of disappointment, but he tamped it down. The redhead slid her hand along his shoulder again. “If you change your mind, sweets, you know where to find me.” A piece of paper dangled between her fingers.

Amaroq reached up and took it, catching Shandar’s eye. He opened the paper as the girl walked away, seeing a number written in thick black script.

Shandar took the number and crumpled it. “What’d I tell you?”

“Maybe she wanted to talk. You said we should talk to people.”

“She doesn’t want to talk with you.”

“You don’t know that.”

Shandar narrowed his eyes on him. “I do.” He pushed his glass forward again for another drink. The bartender filled all three glasses. Shandar and Nakoda downed theirs, but Amaroq had begun feeling light headed. There were too many smells and emotions in this tavern, and the booze wasn’t helping.

Shandar swiveled on his seat and looked around the room. Something caught his eye in the back corner and he nudged Amaroq with his shoulder. “Come on. I’ll teach you darts.” He slapped another bill on the bar. “Beer,” he said and the bartender poured a pale golden liquid into three large glass mugs, sliding them over to the men. Picking up his mug, Shandar walked toward a strange circular object tacked to the wall. The circumference had been divided into concentric rings of diminishing size, which had been further sectioned into wedges that were painted different colors and set off by wire. Three red fletched darts had been driven into the board.

Shandar yanked them out, then backed up to a painted white line on the tavern’s plank floor. Squinting at the circle, Shandar tossed a dart. It landed on the far outside in a wedge colored black. The other two wound up in nearly the same place.

Retrieving the darts, Shandar declared a number. Amaroq understood it was the sum total painted on the wedges Shandar had hit. He handed the darts to Amaroq, motioning to the line on the floor. “Think you can beat me?”

Amaroq set his beer on a table near the mark and gave Shandar a weary look. This wasn’t finding Naia. This was wasting time. He sighted and then cast. His three darts landed nearly in the middle of the board.

“Whoa!” shouted Shandar, going to retrieve them. He recited a higher score than his own and passed the darts to Nakoda.

The big man took his position and flexed his muscles, rolling his shoulders as he squinted at the board. Amaroq picked up his beer and took a sip, but the bitter taste nearly made him retch, so he set it down again.

Finally Nakoda launched his throws. Each one stuck in the dead center of the board.

Shandar whooped and did a little jig. “Bull’s eye!” he shouted, hurrying to collect the darts again.

Nakoda beamed a smile and took a gulp of his beer.

Amaroq glared at him. “Let me guess – Dorland.”

Nakoda shrugged, draining his glass.

After a few more rounds, Amaroq caught on to Shandar’s method. Men were drawn to the game, wanting a chance to play against the big Nazarien with the uncanny skill at darts. A few more rounds of beer and the men began to talk, their natural reticence loosening. Amaroq drank only when prompted, so he stayed relatively sober, devouring everything they said. They made a few mentions about slavers, rumors mostly, but nothing more concrete. Still Amaroq circulated among them, picking up snatches of conversation here and there.

After more rounds, though, the talk turned to women and a running total of how many each man had bedded. Looking at some of these men, with their paunches and their thinning scalps, Amaroq suspected it might be a lot of hyperbole, but who was he to judge? Taking a seat on the edge of a table, he glanced back toward the bar and found the bartender leaning against the wall, wiping glasses with his rag.

Figuring this was his chance to question the man, Amaroq moved toward him, taking a seat on the stool right in front of him. The bartender gave him a passing glance.

“My name’s Amaroq,” he said. “In your language, it means wolf.”

The bartender gave a jut of his chin. “Drake,” he said. “You want another beer?”

Amaroq had left his latest beer back with the darts. “No, I’m fine.”

“You’re not much of a drinker.”

“Nazarien usually aren’t.”

Drake’s eyes fixed on him. “You aren’t like other Nazarien. You smile and laugh. The ones I knowed never did that.”

Amaroq nodded. He felt Drake’s eyes searching him, so he swiveled and turned, watching the game. “The person we’re looking for,” he said casually, “is my sister, Naia.”

Drake made a grunt of comprehension.

“She was out with a Nazarien patrol, beyond the walls of Tirsbor, when they attacked. She can’t hear, so she didn’t hear the attack.”

“That’s bad.”

Amaroq nodded.

“That’s real bad.”

“She means the world to me.” He turned and met the bartender’s eye. “Since she can’t hear, she can’t talk, so we made up this language with our hands. We told each other everything.”

Drake nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“I have to find her. No matter what. I have to find her, but the longer she’s missing, the more I’m afraid…”

Drake looked down at the bar.

“You know what I’m talking about. You know more than these others. How?”

Drake’s gaze rose and swept his patrons. “I don’t want trouble.”

“You won’t get trouble from us.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about. I knowed I won’t get trouble from you.”

“It’s the slavers?”

Drake shrugged, continuing to wipe the same glass. “You don’t know who they are. Could be any one of these guys. They come into town, buy supplies, then go back into the wilderness. Some say they also make deals while they’re here. Maybe they make deals right in my tavern.”

Amaroq nodded. “Give me another beer, so they don’t get suspicious.”

Drake used the glass he was drying and poured another beer, setting it before the Nazarien.

“I had a girl working here. She escaped from Chernow.”

Amaroq curled his hands around the beer and looked up. “Nazarien?”

“Yep.” Drake reached for another glass. “Pretty little thing. Sweet. Soft-spoken. I wouldn’t let her turn no tricks, but plenty of the men, boy, they wanted her.”

“What happened?”

“She left here one night to go home. She rented a room near the dry goods store. She never come back to work. I went looking for her. Her landlady told me she never did come home that night.”

Amaroq swallowed hard. “Did you find out anything more?”

“I asked around. Then I was made to know I needed to stop.”

“How?”

Drake’s eyes rose to the men again, searching them. “Set fire to the trash bin. I just caught it in time before it sent the whole place up. I knowed then to let it go.”

Amaroq shook his head. “Wait. Why couldn’t the fire be caused by something else? Cigar, pipe tobacco?”

Drake set the glass on the counter and leaned closer to Amaroq as he reached for another one. “Their symbol was on it. The slaver symbol – crossed swords with their tips pointed downward. Someone painted it on the bin.”

Amaroq rubbed a hand across his forehead. If they’d threatened this Human man for asking questions, what would they do to three Nazarien snooping where they didn’t belong?

“I wish I could help you more. It’s bad to lose your sister.”

Amaroq nodded, but he didn’t know what more to say.

*    *    *

Amaroq shifted restlessly on the bed. He couldn’t sleep, worrying over the things that Drake had told him and whenever he closed his eyes, he felt like the world was moving. Shandar said it was the drink. Amaroq figured if drinking caused the world to move, he was better off without it.

“Shandar?”

A grunt in response.

“Tell me more of the story.”

“You need to sleep.”

“I can’t sleep. The world won’t stop spinning. Besides you’re not asleep.”

“I was.”

“You weren’t. I would have heard your snoring. Between you and Nakoda, it’s a wonder anyone can sleep in this inn.”

More grumbling and shifting as Shandar turned over.

“Shandar?”

“What?”

“Why can’t you sleep?”

“Too much on my mind.”

“Naia?”

“Yes.”

“My mother.”

“Yes.”

“I know.”

“We’ll find her, Wolf. I promise.”

“What if we don’t? They threatened the bartender when he asked a few questions. What’ll they do to us? I don’t know how much longer I can stay in this town with so many people.”

“You’re doing real good, boy. I thought you’d be bolting long before now.”

Amaroq rolled to his side. “I would, but that doesn’t help Naia.”

Shandar was just a lump in the darkness. He shifted again, rolling to his back. “Okay, you win. I’ll tell you more about your mother, but I don’t remember where I was.”

“She’d just given herself up to the Front Guard and told Mistress Alloway to run.”

“Right.”

*    *    *

The commander of the Front Guard, the man Mistress Alloway said was named Deck Prestar brought her into an office, dismissing his other men, and forced her into a chair. Then he stood over her, watching her, a strange look on his face. Slowly he reached out and ran a strand of her dark hair through his fingers.

She tried not to flinch, but she didn’t want him touching her.

He leaned down, peering into her face. “Where’s Eldralin? Tell me because I don’t want to hurt you.”

She understood that Nevaisser, especially after Mistress Alloway had translated it for her in her kitchen. Besides that, he’d said it often enough on the way over here. “I not know this.”

“You don’t know where he is?”

“No.”

“But you’re his woman?”

“Yes.”

She forced her hands to stay fisted in her apron. She wanted to curve them around her belly and protect the babe growing there, but she didn’t want him to guess she was pregnant.

He said something. She thought she recognized the words, but she wasn’t sure. She squinted up at him and shook her head. He muttered a curse, then walked to the door and yanked it open. He shouted something into the hallway.

Shutting the door again, he went around his desk and took a seat, leaning back, his dark eyes never leaving her face. Kaelene refused to fidget or give anything away. She wasn’t going to let him know how afraid she was. She wanted Talar to come for her, but she was terrified about what they’d do to him.

A few tense moments later, the door opened and a boy came into the room. He was barely a teenager, the first blush of fuzz on his upper lip. The commander motioned to a chair next to her and the boy slid into it. His hands shook and when he glanced at her, she marked his dark blue eyes. He was at least half-Stravad.

“I’m Ozias. I’m employed by the Sarkisian army to translate,” he said in Nazarien.

Kaelene gave him a skeptical look. “Employed or imprisoned?”

He looked surprised by her hostility. “Employed,” he said.

The commander barked something at him. Ozias nodded, then turned back to Kaelene. “Tell him where Eldralin is. He doesn’t want to hurt you.”

“I understood that when he said it the first time, but I don’t know where he is. He left this morning and I don’t know where he went. I never know. That’s how it is with us.”

He translated for the commander. The commander said something else.

“He thinks you’re lying, that you’re trying to protect him.”

“What does the Sarkisian army want with Talar anyway?”

“That isn’t your concern. You should be more concerned with what’s going to happen to you.”

She nodded at the commander. “They hurt women then?”

“He needs to find Eldralin anyway he can. Anyway.” Ozias emphasized the last word.

Kaelene lifted her chin. “I not know this,” she said in Nevaisser.

The commander blew out air. The boy ducked his head and his hands continued to shake. “They will hurt you,” he whispered.

“Then they hurt me.”

Ozias raised his head and looked at the commander. He said a number of things. The commander lifted a hand and rubbed his chin, contemplating. Kaelene watched the exchange, uncertain what they were talking about. She caught a few words, but nothing more. Not enough to string together a whole sentence.

“What? What are you telling him?” she said, tugging on the boy’s shirt.

He brushed her off and continued his conversation with the commander.

“Ozias? Tell me!”

The commander held up a hand and nodded, then he barked something in a stern voice. A moment later the door opened and a soldier appeared. The red panther paw blazed from the front of his uniform. Kaelene felt weak, her heart hammering in her chest.

The soldier reached down and grabbed her under the arm, trying to force her to her feet, but her legs wouldn’t support her. A cold sweat peppered over the surface of her skin and she closed her eyes against the black spots that crowded her vision.

She felt Ozias on her other arm, forcing her to rise. His breath came warm against the side of her face. “They’re letting you go.”

She blinked, trying to see him clearly.

He nodded. “They’re letting you go.”

Kaelene frowned. “Why?”

“They believe you don’t know anything, and they have no reason to hold you.”

That explanation flew in the face of everything she’d heard about the Front Guard, everything they’d been saying since she was brought here, but she wasn’t going to argue. She starched her resolve and pushed the soldier away. Her eyes chanced to meet the commander’s. He was watching her with one brow raised.

Straightening her back, she lifted her chin. This was likely a lie – make her think she was going home, then lock her in a cell, or do worse things to her – but she wasn’t going to let them know how afraid she was.

Removing Ozias’ supporting hand, she followed the soldier from the room and into the barren, blank corridor beyond. He never looked back, expecting her to follow. Not that she could do anything else with Ozias on her heels.

The soldier brought her to a room with many chairs and a large desk, then crossed it to the front door. Unbolting the door, the soldier yanked it open and pointed outside where she could see late afternoon sunlight spilling over the street.

Kaelene’s eyes met the soldier’s and he made an impatient motion. Without waiting for another invitation, she bolted, racing across the room and running out the door. She didn’t stop until she made the street again where other people were walking up and down the boardwalks. Stumbling to a halt, she glanced back and watched the soldier calmly close the door.

Releasing her held breath, she closed her eyes and exhaled, then she gathered her skirts in her hands and began running again, headed toward the hospital and Talar. More than anything she wanted to feel his arms around her, know that he was safe. More than anything, she needed to see him.

CHAPTER 9

Aiden woke when Naia shifted against him. She was lying on her side, her back fitted against his chest, her thighs resting alongside his. Her fingers closed around his wrist, drawing his arm up and over her body as she sought more warmth. She was sound asleep. Aiden welcomed the few hours every night he got to spend with her tucked protectively in his arms.

At his back, Le turned and curled into Aiden’s warmth. Aiden could feel every bone in the boy’s body. If they didn’t escape soon, he was sure Leland Hale Rand would add himself to the list of corpses they’d left on their way from one horrid campsite to the next.

Sometimes at night they were herded into a small outlying settlement where Duard and his slavers held auctions. Aiden lived in terror that one of these times either he or Naia or Le would be sold. He could guess why he was never auctioned. Duard was set on breaking his will. And Le. It was obvious the boy wasn’t well and wouldn’t last a week at hard labor. But Naia was a different matter.

Many of the buyers had asked after the black-haired beauty, no matter what the three of them had done to hide her. Most didn’t care that she couldn’t hear or speak, but Duard wouldn’t sell her or else the price was so high the buyers went on to less appealing, yet cheaper bargains.

And often in the camps at night, while the slavers drank and gambled, they talked of what they’d do to Naia if they ever got the chance. It made Aiden’s blood run like liquid fire. It caused Le to turn ever more pale and drawn. Thankfully, they’d somehow kept the worst of it from Naia herself, but Aiden wondered how long Duard’s protection would last.

He knew, beyond a doubt, that he himself would die protecting Naia. Somewhere in the last weeks, he’d ceased thinking of himself as King. Dorland was years and miles behind him. Now he was only Aiden, a man struggling to survive and maintain his sanity. And somewhere in this hell, he’d found what he’d never dreamed he would – a woman he loved.

Carona, Adison, Lyell Vito, and even Alasdair were faint memories at best. The fact that he cradled one woman in his arms while he was married to another no longer bothered him. He’d never really considered himself married to Carona in the first place. Neither of them had been satisfied with the arrangement. For the first time in his life, he allowed himself to dream of a world in which he could love Naia and shower her with his adoration, a world in which he was free. And without these dreams, Aiden would have lost his mind long ago. Without Naia and Le, he would have found a way to kill himself.

He pulled Naia closer to him. Somehow they had to escape before Le succumbed to the abuse or the slavers took Naia away. Aiden didn’t think he could survive either of these eventualities. To watch them dig a shallow grave and dump Le’s small body inside, or to sit chained and allow them to rape Naia one after another...Aiden shuddered violently.

Naia stirred and caressed his arm in sleep. Her caring and elegant pride had bolstered his courage whenever it threatened to weaken.

He bore their abuse, the lack of food and water, the numbing walks where his legs were no longer a part of his body, but he couldn’t bear the humiliation or the knowledge that the slavers were walking them back and forth over the same land countless times, tracing and retracing their steps, searching for those who would do the unspeakable – buy another person’s life.

It was the weariness that finally wore one down, even more than the lack of food and water. How many times had Aiden found himself close to tears and hysterical laughter at the same time. And he wasn’t alone. Almost daily now one of the other slaves would snap and begin ranting. A beating was often the only way to bring them back under control. And when night came and the giant Elvert brought around the leg shackles, how many had started fighting and not stopped until they were a bloody mass at the giant’s feet.

Chains rattled in the night and a slave began her horrendous hacking. Aiden didn’t understand how the slavers got away with their grisly work. A slave chain made an incredible amount of noise, even in the dead of night. Chains were always clanking and rattling, coughs and sputterings filled the air, and then there was the continual moaning of those in pain, a pain so deep only death would relieve it.

But they were never caught, never even pursued. Was it that they moved in circles no decent man would dare or was it simply that Kalas Eldralin was so near-sighted, he refused to acknowledge the hidden, corrupt truth slinking across the underbelly of his kingdoms? Aiden knew he had been and he cursed himself daily for it.

He rubbed his cheek across the tangled mass of Naia’s hair. How often had he wondered what the ebony strands would look like properly cleaned and combed. Even with all the filth, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and he wished he had the words to tell her so. Someday...someday he would make sure she understood she’d saved his life when he didn’t think it was worth saving. She’d taught him to live when he’d been only sleeping before. But most important of all, she’d taught him to love, to put someone else before his own interest – and he never dreamed himself capable of that, no matter what the circumstance.

*    *    *

Le stumbled and dropped to his hands and knees. As Aiden bent to pull him to his feet, he noticed for the hundredth time the deep indentation of the skin around his wrists and the open wounds where the shackles bit into him. And the dirt – the dirt grinding right into the open sores. How the boy wasn’t taken with fever escaped Aiden. Maybe it was the plants Naia was so determined to find and hide from the slavers. The plants she crushed to get the resin she rubbed into all of their wounds each night. It was never enough to soothe them completely, but perhaps it fought infection.

Aiden pulled the boy to his feet and let him sway against his chest. Aiden was sure he wouldn’t recognize his own body any longer. He’d never been overweight, but he’d also never realized how much excess one carried around. There was no excess now. Every muscle had hardened.

For some reason, the miserable marches had the opposite effect on him than it did on everyone else. Instead of reducing him to a shivering bundle of nerves, it had strengthened him – made him lean and powerful and deadly. Anger gleamed in his dark eyes now, causing the slavers to back away from him, and consequently Naia and Le. He felt it was just as well for if they continued tormenting him as they had at first, he would have committed murder many times over until they were forced to kill him.

“Get moving," snapped Hogan, at a safe distance astride his horse. His scar shown stark in the blazing sunlight and his wide-spaced eyes squinted against the glare.

Aiden patted the boy’s shoulder. “Not much farther, Le.”

“Tis always farther and when it ends, tis always another day.”

“And with another day comes renewed hope that we’ll be free again.”

“Aye, but tis the waiting that’ll kill one in the end.”

Aiden didn’t answer, he couldn’t. Instead he looked behind him at Naia. She stood with her head bent, her tangled mane of ebony hair covering her face. Aiden didn’t like the stoop of her shoulders. Even her resilient spirit was beginning to give under the abuse.

As if she felt his look, she lifted her head and drew a breath, thrusting back her shoulders. He gave her a proud smile and nodded his head, slipping a shackled arm around her and pulling her close beside him. She let her head drop against his chest for a moment, until they were forced apart by the movement of the train.

They went another hundred yards or so before Le’s knees gave out yet again and he sank to the ground. Aiden bent to haul him up and felt the whispered flick of a whip over his shoulders. He straightened immediately, his dark eyes taking on a murderous light.

Hogan met the look and gave the whip an idle flip of the wrist, which sent it writhing over Le’s back. Aiden’s arm shot up, blocking the blow, and the whip curled around his forearm. With a furious yank, he unhorsed Hogan, sprawling him in the dirt; however, before he could get a grip on the weapon, Elvert cuffed him in the chest and sent him sprawling on his backside. Immediately Naia was over him, burying her face in his neck, protecting his body with her own.

Aiden felt the dull eyes of the slave train on him and then the predatory gaze of the slavers waiting for a good beating. He draped a manacled arm over Naia’s back and glared at Elvert, waiting for his decision. The sight of Naia draped over Aiden had stopped the giant in his tracks.

Before he could recover, Duard reined in beside them. He looked at Hogan pulling himself out of the dirt, the riderless horse, and Elvert looming over the huddled figures.

“What’s happening now?”

Hogan came to heel like a mindless pup. “He grabbed the whip from me, pulled me from my horse.”

Dark brows rose. “Then you’d best keep out of his range, don’t you think?”

Hogan looked up in astonishment. “You can’t be serious! The beast needs a good whippin’!”

Duard regarded Aiden. “I don’t think a beating will do anything but make this animal meaner than he already is. He looks like a rabid bull. And I thought he’d have gone a lot sooner than this.” His eyes followed Naia’s slender form, taking in every curve. “So the defective little mouse has taken to His Lordship.”

Aiden caught his breath in alarm. Beside him Le lifted his head and fixed Aiden with a horrified look. Aiden couldn’t meet the stare. As Le feared for more than a month, Duard had finally taken notice of Naia.

The man lifted his gloved fingers and stroked his neat beard. “By the talk around the campfire each night, you men think the Nazarien mouse is quite attractive, even under all that filth.”

Aiden’s arm tightened reflexively. Naia felt the tension and lifted her head to look at him. He couldn’t meet her stare either.

Hogan frowned and looked to each of the slavers, who shrugged. “Beggin’ your pardon, Duard, but what?”

Duard’s smile was slow and vile. “You’d like to get between her thighs.”

Hogan appraised Naia. “I’d like that, yes, sir. We’s all been wanting a piece of that.”

Duard chuckled, then unexpectedly, he dealt Hogan a kick that had him sprawling again. “See you keep your paws off her or I’ll cut off each of your manhood and feed it to my dogs.”

Hogan looked up with wounded pride and the other slavers dropped their gaze. Only Elvert seemed pleased by the threat. Aiden didn’t like what he sensed was coming.

“It’s time we headed for home and laid low awhile. You start them moving in the right direction come morning and we’ll hook up again two days later. I got word Talar Eldralin’s bastard’s on the prowl and I don’t want to tangle with him.”

Aiden’s head cocked in interest.

Duard stroked his chin again, his eyes fixed on Aiden and Naia.

Why, in Eldon’s name, was this spawn of hell giving slavers and slaves alike such information, unless he hoped to tip Aiden’s hand, make him do something careless so he’d get himself killed. Obviously Duard hadn’t expected him to live so long. Someone in Dorland must be getting anxious for Aiden’s head on a pole, but why didn’t Duard just kill him then?

“When you get to my homestead,” continued Duard, his eyes roving over Naia’s body, “see that the Nazarien mouse is brought to the main house and secured there. I think it’s time I sampled the goods I’ve protected so carefully.” Then his glittering eyes fixed on Hogan again. “But I find her used, you’re a dead man.”

Hogan swallowed hard, then nodded like the inane fool he was. Duard reined in his horse and turned it around. “Get this line moving again before Eldralin’s bastard sniffs it out.”

The slavers rushed to comply. Aiden worked his way to his feet, untangling himself from both Le and Naia’s chains. He watched Duard ride away into the distance and thought of all the ways he’d ever heard to make a man die slowly. Suddenly he realized he was holding Naia against him, too tightly. He eased his hold, but either she’d understood more that had gone on, or she sensed Aiden’s anxiety – either way, she buried closer into his side, making Aiden’s heart catch. Eldon help him, he had to protect her...someway.

*    *    *

Naia lay awake that night long after the other slaves had gone to sleep. By the tension in Aiden’s body, she knew he was also awake. How she wanted to talk with him, but in the blackness of an overcast night that was impossible for her. She’d never thought her lack of speech was an impediment before she met Aiden, she’d never known the use of it and therefore couldn’t understand why everyone insisted on making those strange shapes with their mouths continuously, but now she understood.

She felt shut off from everything and frightened. She’d been frightened before, but she knew something had changed tonight.

She tried to draw a deep breath, but the tightness in her chest prohibited it. Her gaze shifted around the campfire. The slavers were there as always, drinking heavily. She didn’t know how they managed to get up again in the morning. Nazarien didn’t drink. Nazarien didn’t believe in drinking.

She was glad they were drinking though. It kept them away from her and she knew what they wanted. The enormous slaver also kept them off. For some reason he didn’t want her hurt. She was grateful for even this twisted kindness. Most of all, however, she knew the deadly look in Aiden’s eyes had the greatest effect.

Since Aiden had come, things had been easier for her and Le. She felt guilty about this however, for she’d give anything for his freedom. Le said he was the King of Dorland. If true, how he’d survived such torment so long baffled her, but he had and he’d even grown stronger under it. And he kept her strong.

Since he’d come, she’d actually slept at night, secure in his protection, warmed by the comfortable weight of his arms. She wished now he’d go to sleep. He hadn’t slept well in far too long – she could feel the tension in every inch of his body.

She needed to be close to him, but it was also a frustration. She felt a pull between her and Aiden, one she’d never felt before. Her interaction with people had always been her family. No one else paid her much mind. She adored her brother and his massive friend, Nakoda, her mother, Shandar. She could spend hours talking to Amaroq alone. Zander, one of the warriors, treated her with something close to kindness, but the rest of the Nazarien avoided her because they considered her defective.

Aiden and Le were the only people besides her family that didn’t look at her that way, that treated her as one of them. More than that, Aiden treated her as something more. With him she felt more feminine. And she was more aware of her filth. She hated it and she knew she shouldn’t lie so close to him, but she couldn’t stop herself. When he reached for her at night, she went willingly, enjoying the comfort they gave each other.

She didn’t have the words for what Aiden meant to her. It was somewhere on the line of what Le meant, but different, deeper. Once Le had tried to attach a hand signal to it – a touching of the heart. That worked with Le. Aiden required a more flamboyant sign, a more emphatic display.

At first, she admitted, she’d been attracted to his sunbright hair. She liked the way the ends curled around his face. She liked the depth and kindness she saw in his brown eyes when he looked at her or Le. She didn’t like the hatred or raw animal fury, but she understood it. She’d felt it herself so many times – it was the need to kill and she’d been surprised to find it so strong within her. She felt protective over him. Whenever they lifted their hands to harm him, she found herself throwing her own body between them. Her logical mind told her she shouldn’t, but her irrational heart told her she could do nothing else.

Yet she knew they’d never let Aiden live, just as she knew her own time was growing short. Once Duard decided Aiden was of no further amusement, he’d take him away. Duard had intended that all along, only Aiden had proved stronger than Duard thought. She knew she couldn’t bear losing him. The feeling was so strong that she prayed nightly for his escape, even if it meant they’d never see one another again.

She thought about her own fate. Soon Aiden’s threat and the protection of the giant would end. Then the men would come after her. The moment they started to paw her with their filthy hands, she would provoke them until they killed her. This she knew beyond a doubt. And she knew that today a time had been placed on her life.

Aiden hadn’t told her what happened and even Le had avoided her insistent questions. She made hand signals at him all evening until it had grown too dark for either of them to see. Finally Aiden had taken her hands in his own and made a few brief signs – ‘Enough, go sleep.’ Then he’d pulled her against him and forced her to lay down. She hadn’t been satisfied, but couldn’t fight it.

She smiled to herself now. How quickly he’d picked up parts of the language she and her brother had created. No one, except Le, had ever been that interested. The Nazarien only learned her language and used it when it was absolutely necessary. For the most part, they expected her to read their lips. Most of the time they were giving commands, not expecting her to have anything to say about it. But Aiden seemed to want to communicate with her the way Amaroq always had. That alone would have made him dear to her. And his frustration when he didn’t understand was amusing.

Of course, all of this meant nothing. Even if a miracle happened and they survived this, nothing could ever happen between them. She had to go home to her family. Just the thought of them made her desperate with worry, and Aiden would go back to Dorland.

He was King of Dorland and she was an insignificant Nazarien woman. She hadn’t even been important enough to warn when the attack came. And no one had come looking for her since.

She didn’t allow herself to dwell on that thought. It hurt too much. She couldn’t believe her brother wouldn’t have come, but then he’d never been allowed outside of Tirsbor his entire life. Maybe he couldn’t come, maybe they wouldn’t allow it. But she’d expected Shandar to come or her mother – her mother wouldn’t allow her to disappear without trying to find out what happened to her. Her family had always protected her, defended her, forced the rest of the Nazarien to leave her alone. Without them, she would have been cast out of the order.

Le and Aiden were the first outsiders to looked at her as a whole person, not as a defective burden. Aiden also felt her worthy of protection. He made her feel like a complete individual, proud and intelligent and whole. The way she spoke wasn’t strange or wrong; it was simply different. And the fact she couldn’t hear didn’t seem to anger or disgust him. It seemed to be a part of the individual she’d forgotten she was, except when she was with her family.

She liked feeling the way she did when Aiden looked at her, pride shining from his eyes as happened when she met the next day’s challenge or when she defended him at her own expense or when she soothed their cuts and abrasions with the Stamerian she was so careful to find and hide daily. She wanted to be with Aiden. She wanted always to wake to his golden hair and bright smile, she wanted to snuggle into the warmth of his arms – she wanted him as she’d wanted no other.

She exhaled and felt her eyes grow heavy. The days were so long, the nights so short. Even if she wanted to stay awake, she couldn’t deny the escape sleep provided. And as every night since her capture, she closed her eyes wondering what horror the next day was bound to bring.

*    *    *

The next morning the slaves were awaken to a flurry of activity. Immediately they knew something had changed. The slavers were riding back and forth into camp, speaking in hushed whispers. Finally Elvert strode among the captives, removing leg shackles and demanding that they stay silent. They were informed that to make noise now would be a death sentence.

Aiden listened to every snatch of conversation he heard. He watched the almost frenzied movements of the slavers through the camp, the hushed dismantling and packing away of everything. Something was wrong and it was just the sort of something that whispered escape to the previous King.

Pulling Le close, he whispered to the boy to remain alert. Then he insisted the boy relay this information to Naia. Naia and Le bristled with excitement and Aiden knew he could count on them to react when he commanded. His keen eye surveyed the rest of the group. If only they weren’t all banded together. The other slaves were too doe-eyed and Aiden knew they’d only be a hindrance during an escape attempt.

Somehow he had to get himself, Naia and Le separated from the others. It never occurred to Aiden to leave either of them. If the opportunity was particularly good, Aiden intended to set all the slaves free, but Naia and Le came first, even before himself.

Finally Duard reined into camp, his mount lathered and frothing around the bit. The bearded man sawed back on the reins, driving the beast right at Aiden. The other slaves drew back, cowering, even Le hid behind Aiden’s back, but both Aiden and Naia met his approach unflinchingly.

Duard’s eyes passed between the two of them, a grim smile hardening his mouth. “Seems I should have finished you a long while ago. Now it’ll have to wait until we reach my stronghold, a good two days march away. But be warned. You’re a doomed man.”

Aiden regarded him. It was difficult to muster any pride when you were filthy and half-starved, but he managed to put even Duard’s cocky assurance to shame. “You look like a hare run to ground by a fox, Duard.”

The man’s eyes narrowed and then he smiled his colder-than-winter smile. “If I’m a hare, Your Lordship, you’re the gnat on my horse’s ass.”

“A part of the animal’s anatomy I hear you have very intimate knowledge of, or so your men say.”

Uncontrolled rage passed over Duard’s face and he pulled the horse’s head around as if he meant to dismount. It was just such an action Aiden had been trying to provoke. If he could get the son-of-a-bitch in his hands, he could force Elvert or Hogan to release him, but at the same moment, Hogan strode forward.

“Duard, everythin’ ready to move out. Should we set pace?”

Duard’s gaze remained fixed on Aiden. Aiden felt Naia’s hand slip into the bend of his elbow, a protective, nervous motion, but he refused to break his stare. Finally Duard backed down, jerking the horse about and kicking his heels in the animal’s flanks.

“Get these animals out of here before Talar Eldralin’s bastard’s all over us.”

Aiden felt his heart skip.

At his side he caught Le’s hopeful look. “Did I hear him right?”

“I believe so. So he is a hare run to ground." But would Kalas be in time? He dropped his gaze to Naia. She was looking at him with a mixture of concern and curiosity. He forced a smile.

‘What news?’ He knew her hand signals wove a much more complex sentence, but he could only pick out a few words as yet and he pieced together the rest. It was better than continuously relying on Le to translate. They’d reached a common ground where they could actually carry on a stilted conversation in her language, although Aiden fully intended to converse with her in sign someday.

‘Free. Soon. I believe.’ It took him a moment to formulate the right communication, but the effort was worth it. Her eyes lit as much from his attempt as the message. Whenever she gave him that proud look, he felt his heart swell with joy. No matter what the slavers had done to him – taken his kingdom, beaten him, starved him, dehydrated him, or exhausted him, he would always be grateful for the gift he’d discovered in a black haired Nazarien woman. She’d changed his life and he intended to spend the rest of it rewarding her.

However, the first line of business was to win back their freedom.

CHAPTER 10

The next morning Amaroq woke with the dawn, pacing about the room while Nakoda and Shandar fought off their hangovers. Amaroq himself had a bit of a headache, but it wasn’t as bad as the other two felt. Finally they went downstairs for breakfast. All three ate heartily, especially after Shandar dosed three cups of tea with Stamerian to ease their miseries.

Amaroq figured they should just suffer, since the suffering was self-indulgent, but he wanted to search for his sister and their slowness this morning was grating. After another hour, they made it into the streets.

Amaroq was immediately beset by the range of emotions all around him. It had been two days in this soup of Human misery and he felt his skin itch. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take, but so far, they’d found out very little about the slave practice.

Shandar suggested they wade into the crowds hustling back and forth on the board-walked streets. Gritting his teeth, Amaroq followed, even when people bumped into him and jostled him in their mindless hurry to get somewhere...anywhere...nowhere.

Shandar led them to a granary and offered the younger men’s services bucking the grain bags into the wagons for a few dollars. The foreman accepted, so Nakoda and Amaroq joined a number of other young Human men, loading wagons to be transported to Terra Antiguo. While the younger men labored, Shandar and the foreman, a ruddy-faced man with a bulbous nose, sat in the shade and talked.

The mindless work allowed Amaroq to forget the broadcast of Human emotions flowing in waves off the men, but he longed to hear what Shandar and the foreman said to each other. Tossing bags of grain into a wagon was not finding his sister.

At noon, the wagons were loaded and the foremen paid them the money he owed. Amaroq and Nakoda obediently followed Shandar back into the street, but as soon as they were beyond hearing of the foreman, Amaroq grabbed Shandar’s arm, stopping him on the crowded boardwalk.

“Well?”

Shandar distributed the bills among the three of them. “He mentioned that he could get free labor, if he was willing to run the risk, but when I questioned him on what he meant, he shut up. He was particularly interested in Nakoda. I wonder if he thought I’d bought him or something.” Shandar gave the huge Nazarien a wry look.

Nakoda grunted. “I’d have to kill you,” he muttered without emotion.

“I suppose you would.”

Amaroq shifted in frustration. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. I hate this place and no one is willing to tell us anything. Eldon knows what’s been done to my sister by now!”

Shandar put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re getting worked up, Wolf. Calm down!”

“Calm down! How, Shandar?” He sank his hands into the hair at his temples. “I can feel their desperation, their misery, inside of me. The entire town reeks of it!”

Shandar cast a sideways look at a couple who were passing on their left. The couple gave Amaroq a strange stare. Amaroq knew he had to control himself, but his heart was hammering and his temples ached.

“Look at me,” said Shandar, catching him behind the head and forcing their eyes to meet. “You’re getting overwhelmed.”

“I can’t stay here. I can’t stand it! But I have no choice. We have to find my sister. We have to do something! But we know less than we did when we arrived!”

“That’s not true. We know the slavers threaten anyone who questions them. We just need to find someone willing to talk. What if we go to the authorities? We can ask them directly.”

“Why would they tell us anything? We’re Nazarien. Right now the slavers are only capturing Nazarien, not Humans. They won’t want to get involved!”

“Calm down, Wolf. You don’t know that.”

Amaroq pushed away from him. “I do. I do know it. None of this is helping! None of this is getting my sister back!” He banged a fist against his chest. “And it’s killing me!”

Shandar didn’t look like he knew what to say. Behind him, a door on a shop opened and a tall, thin woman in a plain dress and apron stepped out. Her brown hair was pulled back into a bun and her features were so sharp, they almost looked chiseled.

“Is everything all right?”

Shandar glanced at her. “Yes, ma’am, we’re fine.”

Amaroq paced. People had started moving around him on the boardwalk, alarmed by his outburst. He hardly noticed them, his heart was pounding so hard.

“Maybe you’d like to come in. I have a lovely hot chocolate that might do the trick.”

“No, thank you, ma’am, we don’t want any chocolate.”

“It’ll help,” she said, placing particular emphasis on help. “Trust me.”

Shandar shifted and gave her a careful study, then he reached out and caught Amaroq by the shoulders and stopped his motion. “Let’s go get some chocolate, Wolf. Then we’ll decide what to do next.”

Amaroq wanted off the streets. The sensations were too strong out here. He let Shandar lead him into the cool interior of the little shop. It was actually a bakery with small round tables arranged before the counter so customers could enjoy a treat while they bought the rest of their baked goods. Everything was decorated in a pleasant, calming blue – from the iron tables and chairs, to the pale blue linens and decorative plates hanging on the wall.

The woman took Amaroq’s arm and forced him into a chair by the window, then she placed a square of chocolate in his hand. He didn’t want to sit and he didn’t want to eat chocolate. His heart was still beating too fast.

“Eat it, darlin’. You need a little sugar to ease your panic attack,” she told him, pushing his hand toward his face. “Trust me.”

That seemed to be her mantra, but Amaroq wasn’t convinced. “I don’t need sugar, and I’m not having a panic attack.”

“Of course not,” she soothed, running her hand over his shoulder and down his upper arm. “But it’ll make me happy if you try my special blend.”

Amaroq popped the chocolate in his mouth and chewed.

“That’s a good lad.” She stroked his arm again, while she looked over at Nakoda and Shandar. “Please sit. You look worn out.”

Hung-over, thought Amaroq uncharitably, but he didn’t say anything.

Shandar sank into a chair, but Nakoda seemed concerned whether it would hold him.

“Sit,” the woman pressed. “I’ll get some hot chocolate. That’ll do the trick.”

She left them and went to shut her front door. Surprisingly, she locked it, giving them a wink, then she went around the counter and disappeared behind a blue curtain hanging over a doorway.

Amaroq frowned. “Why did she lock the door?”

Shandar shifted to face him as Nakoda carefully lowered his bulk into one of the small blue wrought-iron chairs. “I don’t know.”

“Is she going to get someone to attack us?”

“Why would she do that?”

“What if she works for the slavers?” hissed Amaroq, leaning close to him. “What if she’s going to drug us with her hot chocolate and sell us or something?”

Shandar gave him a wry look. “You’re getting paranoid.”

“Am I? The bartender last night almost lost his tavern to a fire when he questioned the disappearance of his worker. The foreman this morning wouldn’t answer you when you asked him about it, and no one else has been willing to talk. Do you know how many times I’ve heard I don’t want trouble in the last two days?”

Shandar leaned back, considering, but Nakoda nodded. “All that’s true,” he said.

“Okay,” said Shandar, “when she comes out with the chocolate, we won’t drink until she does, and even then, Nakoda won’t drink. He’s big enough to fight anyone off who comes for us.”

Amaroq and Nakoda exchanged a look, then Nakoda gave a grunt of agreement. A few moments later the woman returned, alone, carrying a tray with four mugs on it. Steam rose off the top of the mug and a fluffy white substance covered the liquid. As she passed the mugs around the table, Amaroq gave his a critical examination. He sniffed at it and studied the white froth. He’d never seen anything like it. He and Naia had had chocolate before. Shandar never failed to bring them chocolate whenever he went to visit in Terra Antiguo, but this white froth was something entirely new.

“Whipped cream,” offered Shandar, taking a sip. He came away with a white mustache.

Amaroq and Nakoda exchanged amused looks.

“I just made it fresh this morning,” said the baker, pulling up another chair and sitting down between Amaroq and Shandar.

Amaroq tried to get a feel for her, but nothing about her emotional signature seemed off, seemed deceitful.

“Drink, darlin’,” she urged. “You’re looking pale and I don’t think that’s a color you usually wear. You’re a handsome one, aren’t you?” She patted his forearm again.

Nakoda snorted a laugh and looked out the window.

Amaroq raised the drink to his own lips and took a tentative sip. The sweet taste of the cream, combined with the slight bite of the chocolate sent a flush of pleasure through his system. The baker laughed and patted his arm again.

“That’s right. It’ll put the color right back in you. I put a dash of cinnamon in all my drinks. It gives it a little kick.”

“Very nice,” said Shandar, smiling. “Thank you for inviting us in.” He looked around the shop. “This is a pleasant place.”

“Yes, it is,” she answered, sipping at her own drink. “My husband and I ran it for the last decade. He died about two years ago. His heart just stopped. My daughter and I run it now, although she just got married. She’s having her honeymoon at the Capital.”

Shandar nodded politely.

“Drink up, young man. A big man like you needs sustenance,” she scolded Nakoda.

He looked to Shandar.

Shandar gave him a nod. There was obviously nothing wrong with the chocolate. As Nakoda lifted the mug to his lips, he made a sound of pleasure. Amaroq and Shandar chuckled. The baker smiled.

“Good, yes?”

“Good, yes,” said Nakoda.

The woman set down her mug. “Rumor is you’ve been snooping around town the last two days. It’s drawing attention.”

Shandar’s head lifted and Amaroq felt the tension in him. “How do you know?”

“I run the only bakery in town. People come in for their baked goods, but stay to gossip. I don’t just pass out cookies and hot chocolate, darlin’.”

Amaroq shifted to face her. If she was willing to talk, they might as well take advantage of it. “My sister was taken by slavers. We’re trying to find her. We don’t want trouble with them, but I’m not leaving here without her.”

The baker patted his arm again. “Calm down, darlin’. What’s your name?”

“Amaroq.”

“That’s quite a name.”

“Your people know it as Wolf.”

“Ah.” She held out her hand and Amaroq accepted it. “I’m Tansy, and I’m no enemy to you. I pulled you off the street for your own good. Like I said, you’re drawing attention.” She eyed him closely. “Although, you’d likely draw attention no matter where you go, wouldn’t you, darlin’? I’ve seen eyes that blue only once before – when Talar Eldralin came through Raimondi, leading people to Terra Antiguo.” She released him. “You don’t forget eyes like that.”

Shandar shifted uneasily, but Amaroq was done with playing it close to the vest. “He was my father.”

“I see. And your sister?”

“Is not his.”

Tansy nodded. “You’re going to get in trouble, going around, asking questions. People here are afraid.”

“You’re not.” It wasn’t a question.

“What do I have to fear?”

“They tried to burn down Drake’s tavern when he asked about one of his workers.”

“I’m aware. I knew his worker, a young girl. Daera. She disappeared one night. She always shopped here in the morning. Sweet young thing. Such a shame.” She took a sip of her chocolate, shaking her head. “Such a shame.”

Amaroq took a chance and reached for her hand, folding it in his own. “My sister is young too, and she means the world to me.”

“I’m sure she does.”

“She was attacked during a routine patrol. All of the warriors escaped. She didn’t. She can’t hear – she didn’t hear the attack.”

Tansy’s expression shifted to genuine sorrow.

“I have to find her, Tansy. I have to bring her home.”

Tansy studied him a moment without speaking, then her eyes went beyond him to the window. Finally, she shoved aside her chocolate and leaned close. “Everyone knows about the slavers. They try to sell slaves to businesses here – house cleaning, brothels, even to me. Most always Stravad, most always women and children. Never grown men.”

Amaroq glanced at Shandar. Shandar leaned forward. “They come right into town, bringing slaves with them?” he asked.

“No, they wouldn’t dare. They come into town and ask if you need help, then they tell you about an auction. It’s always outside of town, at some spot in the desert. I’ve never gone, but I’ve heard stories. They move every night to stay ahead of the authorities. The King of Eastern Nevaisser, Kalas Eldralin…” She paused and smiled at Amaroq. “Your brother, I suppose, is aware of them and trying to put an end to it. He’s appointed the Baron to seek them out and destroy their operation, but they have a large financial backing and they move continually.”

“The Baron?” said Shandar, rubbing a hand across the stubble on his chin. “Parish Brazelton?”

“The same.”

Shandar smiled, scratching at a spot beneath his jaw. “That old bastard.”

“Anyway, if you want to find your sister, Wolf,” said Tansy. “You have to find the Baron.”

Shandar’s gaze lifted to her. “Do you know where he is? Is he near Raimondi?”

“I’m not sure. He covers a triangle between us, Tirsbor, and Chernow. Sometimes he and his men come into Raimondi for supplies, but Eldralin himself recently went to Chernow to discuss the situation with the Nazar. Unfortunately, I heard yesterday that he left Chernow. He’s gone to Dorland.”

“Kalas has gone to Dorland?” echoed Shandar in surprise.

She nodded and leaned closer to them, dropping her voice. “The King of Dorland’s gone missing.”

Shandar frowned. “What?”

“Aiden Cerik – gone. He was abducted in the middle of the night right out of his own bed. No one knows where he is. Adison, his eldest brother, is acting King, but I’ve heard grumbles about him. He’s not well liked. That’s why Kalas Eldralin went to offer Dorland his aid. With that development, the Baron may have gone to meet up with him.”

Amaroq looked into the dark liquid of his chocolate. It seemed hopeless, futile. There was no way they would ever find his sister again.

“Don’t give up, Wolf,” said Shandar, gripping his arm.

He nodded for Shandar’s benefit, but he didn’t feel any better.

Tansy studied him. “I know you want to find her, but you shouldn’t provoke these men. They take a look at you, Wolf, and…”

Amaroq’s gaze swung up to her.

“And?”

“There are people who would pay for someone with Talar Eldralin’s blood. Kalas Eldralin’s too well guarded and his sister, Tyla, lives in Temeron. You, however, are right here, snooping around. You’ve got to stop.”

“How can I stop? She’s my sister. I have to find her.”

“Find the Baron.”

“How do I find the Baron? You’re not even sure where he is.”

Shandar leaned back in his chair, draping an arm over the back. “We find Kalas Eldralin.” He gave Amaroq a mischievous smile. “What do you say we go meet your brother, boy? I hear Dorland’s beautiful this time of year.”

*    *    *

Amaroq pushed a stick into the fire, watching it catch. Fire licked along the edge of the dried moss clinging to the stick, withering it to black ash. Shandar lay across from him and to his left, Nakoda snored, curled up in his bedroll.

After talking with Tansy, they hadn’t thought it a good idea to stay in Raimondi. Buying supplies and three horses, they left town, putting as much distance between them and Human civilization as they could before nightfall. Amaroq had felt the speculative looks from the townspeople, some more than others.

After they’d pitched camp, he’d agreed to take first watch. Leaving Raimondi behind had eased the constant pressure in his skull, but he could feel the anxiety of his companions and his own growing sense of despair. The world seemed too big, too vast, and his sister an infinitesimal part of it.

In all honesty, Tirsbor had been enough for him. When the press of people grew too much, he and Nakoda had taken off, disappearing into the maze and exploring the land around them. His sister, mother, and Shandar were all the people he needed. He didn’t need to know more. He didn’t need to know his father.

Not that anyone had ever kept his paternity a secret. It just hadn’t mattered.

Now it did.

That fact had been brought home by Tansy. She’d recognized him by his eyes...by the color of his eyes.

And now Shandar wanted him to go to Dorland and meet a brother who had been no more than an idea for all of his life.

“What are you thinking, Wolf?”

Amaroq lifted his gaze. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“The ground’s hard.”

“No, you’re soft.”

“I’m an old man. Besides, you’re thinking so hard, I can hear it.”

Amaroq pushed at the stick, shifting his back against the rock they’d used for cover. The land outside of Raimondi was flat until you went far enough north to get into the mountains that ringed in Terra Antiguo. Such terrain left them exposed, vulnerable to attack, and Amaroq was very aware what sort of attack might come out here.

“It does you no good to deflect, Wolf,” said Shandar, lying on his side, facing the flames. Firelight danced in the hollows of his face, made the lines seem deeper, more pronounced. “I’ve spent a lot of years waiting you out. I’ve learned patience. Your father taught me that, if nothing else.”

And there it was. Since leaving Tirsbor, Talar Eldralin’s ghost had loomed between them, coloring every situation. Leaving Tirsbor had made Shandar nostalgic for the past, Amaroq realized. Traveling with him made the older man remember another time, another man, another Shandar.

“I’m not sure I want to meet Kalas Eldralin.”

“Why not?”

Amaroq shrugged. “He’s everything I’m not. He knew our father. What if he isn’t pleased to know about me?”

“He’ll be pleased.”

Amaroq chewed on his inner lip and folded his arms over his bent knees. “I’m not him, Shandar.”

“What?” Shandar sat up, his blanket falling from his shoulders. “You’re not who?”

“Talar.”

“I know that.” Shandar looked away, looked out into the night. A horse whickered, tossing its head. “I know that.”

“Are you sure?”

Shandar looked back. “Wolf, I know you’re not Talar.”

Amaroq’s gaze never wavered. “I believe you want to find Naia. I know you fear for her, but this isn’t unpleasant for you, is it? You like being on an adventure.”

Shandar didn’t answer for a long while, then he sighed. “I want to find your sister. That’s my primary goal.”

“But?”

“But, these days with you…” He held out his open hands. “What do you want me to say, Wolf? They take me back. They make me remember. I thought I hated the running and I guess I did, but there were times with your father that were…”

“Good.”

“Yeah, very good. We saw things, the two of us. We went places.” He scrubbed a hand across his chin. “Lately, I’ve been feeling old, useless. Being out here with you...well…” He shrugged.

Amaroq gave him a gentle smile. “You want to see Kalas, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do. I remember him as a child, a bright eyed boy playing with a red ball.” He fell silent, contemplating the fire. “So many memories, Wolf. You can’t possibly understand. The young never can. All I do is walk around with ghosts nowadays.”

Amaroq wanted to change the subject. He was beginning to understand what it meant to live with ghosts. “When Deck Prestar let my mother go, you said she ran to Talar. Isn’t that what the Front Guard was hoping she’d do?”

Shandar laughed. “Exactly. And she quickly figured that out.”

“So what did she do? How did she avoid being captured again?”

Shandar settled himself more comfortably. “She went to the Kazden Cult, that’s what she did.”

*    *    *

Kaelene stopped running.

Her thoughts suddenly cleared and she understood.

Someone cursed her and she glanced up, realizing she’d stopped in the middle of the boardwalk. The man moved around her, giving her a glare.

The Front Guard wanted her to go to Talar. They thought she’d betray him.

She stepped out of the flow of traffic and glanced behind her, but she didn’t see any soldiers. Not that she expected she would. They wouldn’t be foolish enough to follow her in uniform. Glancing around at the shops, she located a cafe and ducked through the door. A bell tinkled, announcing a customer, but she didn’t have any money to pay and she didn’t speak the language well enough.

Sliding back along the wall at the entrance to the cafe, she watched the street. People continued to flow past, moving back and forth. She knew she wouldn’t recognize a Sarkisian soldier from the others unless he was in uniform.

Her heart was hammering, her skin felt clammy. What was she going to do? She couldn’t go to Talar and she couldn’t go back to Mistress Alloway’s house. She didn’t want to bring trouble to either of them, but she needed help, powerful help. Help that wouldn’t be intimidated by the Front Guard.

She jumped when a young woman touched her shoulder. Turning, she placed a hand against her chest, her knees feeling weak. The young woman said something to her, her expression kind, open. Kaelene shook her head, indicating she didn’t understand her.

The young woman motioned into her cafe, where a few patrons were having a meal, but Kaelene shook her head no, her attention returning outside the window. Maybe she wasn’t being followed? Maybe they really had intended to let her go?

The young woman tapped her shoulder again and pointed at a table. Kaelene said no again, knowing that she was going to have to make a decision. What could she do? Chance going to Talar? No, she wasn’t doing that. Chance going home? Again, she couldn’t do that.

That left only one choice – a choice her mother had fought against for years. She had to go to the Nazarien.

In Kazden, that meant she had to go to the Cult. Her mother would be disappointed in her if she did. Her mother had wanted more from her, more than being a breeder, but here she was, pregnant and alone, carrying a Nazarien baby. And not just any Nazarien baby, the baby of the most famous Nazarien on the planet.

She had no choice. Her mother was gone and she had to protect this baby.

Just as she made her decision, she spotted Ozias on the other side of the street, looking into the windows of the shops. Glancing down her side of the street, she saw another man doing the same.

She turned to the young woman and pointed to Ozias, then she made a motion indicating she was afraid of him. The young woman looked out, spotting the boy. Kaelene made a hitting motion with her hand, her eyes brimming with tears. The young woman put a hand on her shoulder, soothing her, then she grabbed Kaelene’s hand and dragged her into the cafe.

She led her through the dining room and to a door at the back. The door opened on the kitchens. An older man and woman were working in the kitchen, the man at the stove, the woman chopping vegetables. The young woman said something to them and they nodded, then she led Kaelene through the kitchen and behind a partition. Rounding the partition, they came to a door and the young woman threw it open. The door led to a narrow alleyway, choked with refuse containers and filled with the smell of rotting food. Kaelene fought down her gag reflex and clasped the young woman’s hands, thanking her, then the young woman disappeared inside and Kaelene began working her way down the alley in the opposite direction from Ozias and his counterpart on the main street.

She exited the alley into a part of Kazden she hadn’t been before, close to the docks. Working men shouted at her or made whistling sounds, but she ignored them, ducking her head and walking. She hadn’t been in this part of the city before, but her mother had taught her directions, so she marked where the ocean was and then headed away from it, angling toward the part of the city where she knew the Cult made their home.

Everyone in Kazden knew where the Cult operated. They had a ten block radius above the docks, overlooking the main business section, and they patrolled it religiously. No one entered that part of the city unless they wanted to tangle with the Cult. As soon as they arrived in Kazden, Kaelene’s mother had taken her to the edge and warned her to stay away. She’d abided that edict for years, until now.

She hadn’t gone far when she got the sensation she was being followed. At first she thought it was one of the men working at the docks, but when she paused in the shadows of a warehouse and looked back, she caught the telltale black uniform and she thought she saw a panther paw.

The urge to run grew as she continued, picking up her pace. She had a stitch in her side and a blister was forming on the back of her heel, yet she didn’t slow down. She had to get beyond the boundaries of the Cult before the Front Guard overtook her. Although, some part of her knew she wasn’t their real target.

The streets grew steeper and her breath came in a gasp. The stitch had become a burning pain and she pressed her fist against it. Glancing over her shoulder, she could see the soldier now. He wasn’t even trying to stay hidden.

She wouldn’t have known she was in the Cult part of the city, except a marker on a fence caught her eye – the scythe and star of the Nazarien. She gave a sob and permitted herself a moment to rest, looking behind her.

The one soldier had been joined by another, but they didn’t dare enter this part of the city. They’d seen the marker themselves and knew what it meant.

Kaelene permitted herself a faint smile, then she jumped as she felt a presence loom over her. A huge Nazarien stood before her, a tattoo on his cheek of a falcon’s wing, his ear festooned with medallions, his short cropped white hair standing on end. His pale blue eyes speared her.

“What are you doing in this part of town, girl?” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Kaelene lifted her chin. “I need to see the Cult commander.”

“Why?”

She glanced at the soldiers who stood at the end of the block watching her. “I need protection from the Front Guard.”

He gave them a dismissive look. “You’re not part of us. Go on your way, girl.”

Kaelene felt her heart sink. “I’m Nazarien.”

“No, you gave that up many years ago. Do you think we don’t know who enters our city? Do you think we don’t know about those that reject the faith?”

Tears threatened, but Kaelene fought them back. “I’m Talar Eldralin’s lover.”

“He’s had many lovers. One’s no different from the other.”

She didn’t want to tell this man about the baby, but she was going to have no choice. Once she did, she knew her freedom was over, but maybe they’d get word to Talar. Maybe he’d come for her.

She paused and the weight of her situation settled on her.

Turning, she studied the Front Guard soldiers, then she looked up at the Cult member. She was trapped. She was caught between them and there was nothing she could do. Talar would always be a hunted man, and if she stayed with him, so would she. So would her baby.

All she had was the child in her belly. The only thing that mattered, the only thing that she had left was this baby. She had to protect it at all costs. No matter what. She had to know this baby was safe.

She drew a deep breath and pulled in her will. “I’m pregnant. The child’s his.”

A change came over the Cult member’s face and he took her arm. “Come with me.”

He led her up the street, leaving the soldiers behind. They walked for blocks. Kaelene was limping now, so he stopped her. “Do you need assistance?”

She shook her head. She’d come this far, she could make it the rest of the way. Misery enveloped her. What had she done? What had she given away? Would they let her keep her baby once it was born or would they take it away, spirit it off to Chernow?

Would Talar ever know about the child?

The Cult member brought her to a large home that loomed over the cliffs, the ocean battering away beneath them. The roar of it filled Kaelene’s head. She shivered in the chill breeze blowing off the breakers and followed the Cult member to the front door.

Two more Cult members guarded the door, but they didn’t speak to each other as Kaelene was brought into the house. The entrance was bare of every comfort, except for benches lined along each wall.

“What’s your name?” Kaelene asked her guide.

“It doesn’t matter,” he told her and led her down the hallway to the left. She was taken into a room with a desk, three chairs, and wooden cabinets. The window was bare, looking over the back of the house with a view of the ocean. “Wait here,” he ordered. “I’ll bring food and drink.” Then he was gone.

Kaelene wandered to the window and looked out, her heart full of misery. She fought the tears, but some escaped. A few minutes later, her guide returned with a tray and settled it on the desk. It held bread, a stew with a greyish cast to it, and a bottle filled with water.

She faced her guide.

He marked her tears, frowning. “Are you unwell?”

“I’m scared. Will you send for Talar?”

“Not yet,” came a voice and a handsome man with jet black hair entered the room followed by the largest Nazarien Kaelene had ever seen. The massive Nazarien took a position by the door, while the dark haired one walked around the desk and settled into the chair. “You’re dismissed, Galfir.”

Her guide ducked his head and left.

“Please have a seat,” said the dark haired one. “I’m Dryden, Cult Commander. This is my second, Talmond.”

The giant inclined his head.

Kaelene eased onto the chair across from him.

“Galfir said you’ve asked for our protection?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“The Front Guard took me from my home this morning and brought me to their headquarters. They questioned me about Talar.”

“Eladra?”

“Yes.” She clasped her hands in her lap.

“Are you hungry?”

She shook her head. “Thirsty.”

He reached for the glass placed over the top of the bottle and turned it over, filling it, then he handed it across the desk to Kaelene. She took it, her hands shaking. He noticed her reaction. “Are you afraid of us?”

He was a handsome man. No where near as handsome as Talar, but striking. He too had the falcon wing tattoo and an ear brimming with medallions. His black hair was longer than usual, just touching the top of his shoulders. Still, his blue eyes did not hold the warmth of her lover, the humor, the life.

“Yes, I’m afraid.”

He nodded. “Unfortunate. Please drink.”

She took a sip, sighing as the cool liquid bathed her parched throat.

“Go on. You mentioned that the Front Guard took you in for questioning.”

“Right. They wanted to know where Talar was.”

“And you protected him?”

“Of course.” She couldn’t help the bite in her voice.

“Good. How did you escape?”

“I didn’t. They let me go.”

“I see.”

“Will you please send for Talar?”

“Not yet.” He steepled his hands and tapped his index fingers against his lips. “What made you come here?”

“I didn’t have any other choice, did I? I couldn’t go to Talar and I can’t go home. Eventually, Talar will come home and they’ll catch him. You’ve got to warn him.”

He waved that off. “The Front Guard won’t catch Eladra. He’s already been warned. The people here do love him so.”

“I need him.”

Dryden studied her a moment in silence. “Galfir said you carry Eladra’s child.”

She nodded, wishing she hadn’t told them that. She felt Talmond’s eyes shift to her.

“We want to protect you.” Suddenly, Dryden frowned. “Forgive my manners. I didn’t ask your name.”

“Kaelene.”

“Kaelene, lovely name. Kaelene, we want to protect you.”

She swallowed hard, her grip tightening on her glass. “Thank you.”

“How badly do you want to protect yourself?”

“What?”

“Let me put it another way. How badly do you want to protect your child?”

Kaelene glanced up at Talmond, but he looked away. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m sure you don’t.”

Kaelene would have bristled at the condescending tone, but she was too tired and afraid.

“What you’ve been through today – the questioning, the running, the fear – that is the life Talar Eldralin lives because he refuses to accept his role in the Nazarien. I’m sure you’ve heard his diatribes against us.”

Talar had never said much about the Nazarien, except he wanted no part of them.

Dryden held out his open hands. “Not to say, life isn’t difficult for him regardless of all that. Whether he was part of the Nazarien or not, Talar would be a hunted man. His power, his ability, his paternity would have made that a reality no matter what.”

Kaelene didn’t like where this was going. He was playing into what she’d already been thinking all day. Still, she wanted Talar. She wanted to see him, tell him about his child.

“Is this the life you want for your child, Kaelene? Is this the world you’d give him?”

Kaelene blinked. “Or her.”

“Or her,” he amended.

“What are you saying?”

“I was hoping not to have to say it, but there it is. We can protect you, Kaelene. We can protect you and the babe…”

Kaelene lifted her chin, knowing there was more he wanted to say, hesitated to say. “But?”

“No buts.”

“Then what?”

“We can protect you. We can give you everything you need for a safe, productive life. We can offer you a place to live, food, clothing, education for the child. We can make sure no one ever frightens you again.”

“But?” she repeated.

Dryden gave her a grim, half-smile. “But, there is a price.”

CHAPTER 11

Adison watched from his throne as Talar Eldralin’s bastard moved across the room and greeted the older man just arriving with more of the spawn’s bedamned soldiers. They embraced and then the older man shook hands with Eldralin’s ancient Nazarien lapdog. The bastard never went anywhere without his tail wagging behind him.

Leading the newcomer forward, Eldralin paused before Adison’s throne. “Your Highness,” he said, motioning to the older man. “This is my second, Parish Brazelton, but everyone knows him as the Baron.”

Adison offered his hand, but he didn’t bother to rise. Lyell Vito made a choking sound at the slight. “Welcome to Dorland, Baron,” Adison said as politely as he could.

“The honor is mine, Your Highness.” He inclined his head. Silver streaked his hair, but his green eyes were clear. He dismissed Adison and turned to Eldralin’s spawn. “Your Majesty, there’s much to tell you of our pursuit.”

“Yes, of course. We can discuss everything in the library. By your leave,” Kalas said, inclining his head toward Adison.

The library? What the hell did that mean? “Your Majesty, you’re welcome to discuss the situation here in the throne room. By pursuit, I take it to mean the slavers, yes?”

Kalas exchanged a look with the Baron. “Yes, but the library is more conducive to our needs.”

“How so?”

“Your brother has been good enough to offer his assistance in the matter. He’s apparently done a great deal of research on the topic.”

That brought Adison to his feet. “I think I should be included on these discussions. After all, the King is my brother. I want him returned as much as the rest of the kingdom.”

Kalas made show of looking contrite. “Of course, Your Highness. How could I be so callous? Please join us.”

“I’ll be along presently,” said Adison, forcing a smile.

Kalas inclined his head, then motioned the Baron and his Nazarien attendant to follow him. Lyell Vito gave Adison a cool look, then hurried after them. As soon as they left the throne room, Adison climbed down from the dais and headed toward the doors, ignoring the two guards who flanked him. He went to the guest wing and banged on the first door.

The door opened and Halish stood in the entrance, wiping his face with a towel.

“Who’s the Nazarien that follows Eldralin’s spawn like a puppy?” Adison demanded, waving the guards off and stepping into the room.

“Good afternoon to you, Your Majesty,” said Halish, shutting the door.

Adison rounded on him. “Why weren’t you in chambers? I’d planned to make your pitch to Eldralin’s spawn about seeking out the slavers yourself, but you weren’t there. Who is the Nazarien that follows Eldralin about?”

“Dolan. He’s been with the King of Eastern Nevaisser for over a decade. Before Kalas, he was advisor to Lord Tarnow.”

“Will he recognize you?”

Halish shrugged. “He hasn’t been with the order in more than fifty years, I’d say, but he may still keep abreast of newer members. I would were I him.”

“We had a plan. Why weren’t you in chambers?”

“I wanted a bath, a nap, to eat off the fine silver of your brother.”

Adison took a step closer to him, his jaw tense. “They’ve gone to meet in the library with my invalid brother, Alasdair.”

“Who has?”

“Talar Eldralin’s bastard, this Dolan character, and Eldralin’s second, Parish Brazelton.”

“The Baron?” Halish folded a hand across his chin. “Interesting. He’s here now? Well, he’ll get results, he will, and the people love him.”

“You were going to take care of this.”

“And I will. Surely you don’t intend to let them meet without being a party to it, do you?”

“No, I told Eldralin I would attend.”

“Then bring me in to assist. Tell Kalas I am well-versed in the slavers’ movements and I’m happy to assist the Baron wherever necessary.”

“And you think you can handle this Baron?”

Halish gave him a chilling smile. No warmth lit his blue-eyed gaze. “I can handle the Baron. What’s more, I’ll get Eldralin out of your hair for a bit.”

Adison rubbed his temples. “This has gotten more complicated than I planned. You should have warned me Kalas Eldralin wouldn’t be able to keep his bedamned nose out of it.”

“How was I to know he’d go to Chernow to break bread with the new Nazar? He hasn’t left Adishian much since the birth of his daughter, but it only makes sense that he’d come to Dorland once he heard her king had gone missing. You should have thought of that yourself. Kalas Eldralin has worked too hard to restore peace between Dorland and Eastern Nevaisser. He doesn’t want the area destabilized.”

Adison’s eyes bulged. “I thought that was your goal – destabilize the region.”

“It is.”

Adison shook his head. “I give up. I don’t understand any of this.”

Halish moved close to him, glaring him directly in the eyes. “Then you shouldn’t play with things that are bigger than you.”

Adison took a step back, dropping his gaze. “We should go. I don’t like them meeting behind my back. Lyell Vito went with them and I just know he’s plotting something.”

“Have him killed.”

“And risk a full rebellion, no. This is getting away from me as it is.”

Halish tossed the towel onto the bed and grabbed his uniform jacket, sliding his hands into the arms. “Wait until Tovan, the Tirsbor Commander, sends word to Chernow to give them his news.”

“What?”

“I told you, your slavers kidnapped a very important woman, setting into motion something neither of us predicted. If Tovan goes to Chernow, you’re going to have the entire Nazarien order breathing down your neck.”

Adison felt the blood drain from his face. “You’ve got to stop this. Whatever you have to do, you have to stop it.”

Halish shrugged. “Not sure I can now.” He pulled open the door. “Are you coming, Your Highness?”

Adison straightened his own jacket and smoothed down his blond hair, then he tilted up his chin and strode for the door with more determination than he felt. He led Halish and the two guards to the library.

The stale, musty scent of the books struck Adison immediately. His brother had cleared two tables, joining them together to make a large table, and the entire party sat around it, looking at maps.

Lamps burned along the edges, but Adison could feel the shadows cast by the stacks pressing in on him. He stormed over to the window and yanked back the dusty floor to ceiling curtain. Brilliant sunlight flooded the room.

Everyone made an exclamation of pain and Alasdair hurried over, taking the curtain from him and pulling it closed again. He blinked at Adison myopically from behind his thick lenses.

“Light isn’t good for the books, Adison,” he scolded. “Some of these tomes are ancient.”

“Well, we can’t work in the dark,” Adison snapped.

Eldralin’s bastard motioned to the lamps. “Come to the table, Your Highness. There’s plenty of light here.”

Adison shot a look at Halish, then moved to the spot Eldralin pointed. “Your Majesty, may I present one of my advisors to you?” He indicated the tall, lanky Nazarien. “This is Halish from Chernow. He’s come to offer his aid. He has skill at tracking.”

The entire assembly looked up, surveying Halish. The Nazarien made a low bow.

“Your Majesty, it is an honor to meet you,” he said. “Long have I admired your diplomacy.”

Kalas straightened from where he’d been leaning over the table. “Anyone with expertise is welcome, Halish,” he said. “And I thank you for your compliments.”

Halish inclined his head, but Lyell Vito gave Adison a suspicious look. Adison ignored it. “So what do we have?” he said loudly.

“Baron?” requested Eldralin.

“We picked up the trail of the slavers a couple of times, but as soon as we closed in on them, they were gone. We found a number of campsites, but they move nightly and they’re headed into the hills around Terra Antiguo. The terrain there is difficult. It’s much like Tirsbor with blind canyons and confusing rock formations.”

“How do you know the campsites you found were slaver campsites?”

“We weren’t sure at first. We did get a few people in Marsino and Raimondi to confirm they’d seen fliers for auctions – slave auctions – but no one could tell us when the next one would be or point us to anyone who’d attended the previous ones. Then two days ago, we found a camp and we knew we’d found them.”

“How?” pressed Adison.

“We found ankle shackles that had been hastily discarded. We figure we’d been close to them and they abandoned the site as quickly as possible, leaving evidence behind.”

“Still doesn’t prove it was slavers,” said Adison.

“Adison!” scolded Alasdair.

Adison held out his empty hands.

“He’s right,” offered the Baron. “But we also found a body. Female, Stravad. They hadn’t even bothered to remove her chains. Look like she died of starvation or dehydration or both.”

Kalas drew a breath. “No one has reported seeing a Human male at the auctions?”

“Not that we’ve found.”

Alasdair lowered his head.

“Most of the reports talk about Stravad women being captured or young Humans of both sexes. Why is it assumed the King of Dorland was taken by slavers?” asked the Baron. “It’s out of character for their practices.”

Everyone’s gaze shifted to Adison. He didn’t want to answer that. He felt as if he was standing on quicksand and any wrong move would send him under.

Alasdair blew out a frustrated breath when Adison didn’t answer. “They found the slaver’s symbol written in blood on the door of Aiden’s bedchamber. I wasn’t sure what the symbol was at first.” He reached for a book and drew it in front of Kalas, touching the mark. “Two swords, crossed, the tips pointed down. It’s the mark of the slavers from time immemorial. I didn’t immediately recognize it, but I’ve been warning Aiden about slavers in the region for a month now. Suddenly I remembered where I’d seen the mark – in Dorland, tattooed on the hand of a man in a printing shop. I finally confirmed it in this book.”

“The mark was written in blood?” asked Kalas.

Alasdair nodded grimly. “The slavers killed Aiden’s guards as they stood watch; they murdered them.”

“It was their blood that the slavers used to leave their mark,” finished Lyell. He leaned heavily on the table. He looked older than he had just a few days ago.

Adison hoped the old bastard blew a vessel and died, but he didn’t say it out loud.

“I sent you letters, warning you of the slavers the same way I warned Aiden,” said Alasdair, giving Kalas a pained look.

Adison opened his mouth to protest, but Kalas laid a hand on the Baron’s shoulder.

“And I sent my best man to investigate. It’s one of the things I discussed with the Nazar when I was in Chernow.”

Alasdair gave a nod, but Adison wanted to cuff him. How dare he communicate with another King without the Dorlandian crown being aware!

“Your Majesty,” said Halish, moving to the edge of the table.

Adison looked over, but Halish was addressing Eldralin’s spawn, not him. He bristled a little at that. Kalas wasn’t running this operation, he was. He was King here. He needed to remind them of that.

“Halish believes he might be able to track the slavers,” Adison said.

The looks directed his way were condescending. Kalas arched one single black brow. “So you’ve said, Your Highness.”

Adison clasped his hands and looked down, pretending to study the map.

“We have a bigger problem,” said Halish.

That caught Adison’s attention.

“The slavers attacked a patrol out of Tirsbor at nearly the same time as they abducted the King of Dorland. They took a Nazarien woman named Naia.”

Kalas nodded for Halish to continue.

“Naia’s damaged, Sire. She’s unable to hear or speak.”

“I’m very sorry for this, but as I understand it, they’ve kidnapped many Nazarien women. We intend to find them all.”

“This one’s special.”

Kalas rose to his full height, folding his arms over his chest. “Go on.”

“She’s the daughter of a woman named Kaelene Taheny…” He paused significantly.

Kalas shared a look with his Nazarien lapdog, Dolan. “The name means nothing to me.”

“I understand,” said Halish, but he didn’t bother to elaborate. “She’s also sister to Amaroq Taheny.”

Kalas shook his head.

“Amaroq’s very important to the Nazarien, very important. He has powers unlike any we’ve seen in decades, with the exception of your own sister, Tyla.”

“And?”

“Amaroq’s gone in search of his sister, but he’s never left Tirsbor his entire life. He has no experience with the outside world, even though he’s only a few years younger than you are yourself, Your Majesty. The Nazarien are very determined to recover him and his sister, return them to Tirsbor. I’ve been instructed to give you any aid, any resources at my disposal to assist you in ending this slavery threat, and I will help you search for the King of Dorland, but my primary directive is and will be the recovery of both Naia and Amaroq Taheny.”

Kalas gave an inclination of his head. “We accept your assistance, Halish, and understand your priorities – they aren’t so different from our own.” He studied the map that Alasdair had laid out for them. “I say we head back to the spot where you found the leg shackles, Baron, and search from that point west toward Terra Antiguo.”

“We?” asked Adison, leaning forward. “I heard we.”

“Of course, Your Highness. We. This isn’t the first time I’ve ridden out to secure my holdings,” said Kalas.

“My people are without their King, Your Majesty. I don’t think they’d like it if the next King to take the throne suddenly leaves in the midst of a crisis.”

“An outing might be good for you, Adison,” said Lyell Vito with the slightest hint of a smirk. “Your brother’s stallion Dancing Thunder’s in need of a ride. He’s pining for his master. He’s also been known never to fail a rider, so you should be well protected.”

“If your concern is with my brother’s horse, Lyell, why don’t you go with His Majesty?”

Lyell didn’t answer, but Adison could see how it cost him not to.

Alasdair held up his hand as if he were a boy in the school room again. “Your Majesty, I could ride with you.”

“You will not!” snapped Adison. “You have your duties here.”

“What duties, Adison?”

Adison didn’t want to admit he needed his brother to continue their reading lessons. “This library needs to be cleaned!”

Kalas held up a hand. “Any other information you can gather for us, Alasdair, would be appreciated. Perhaps you and Lyell might go into town and ask questions. According to the Baron, the slavers post fliers for their auctions. If we could see a flier, hear about an auction...”

Alasdair nodded. “I can do that.”

“Good.” Kalas shifted and gave Adison a cool look. “And I certainly understand your position, Your Highness. I wouldn’t deprive Dorland of her King during such a trying time. We’ll send messengers to you with any updates about our progress.”

Adison didn’t give a rat’s ass about progress, but he wouldn’t mind knowing exactly what Halish was up to. He was beginning to think making the bargain with Halish wasn’t such a bargain after all.

“Thank you for your understanding, Your Majesty,” said Adison, forcing a smile.

“Oh, I’m anything if not understanding,” Kalas returned.

Now what the hell did that mean, the bastard?

*    *    *

“Who is Amaroq Tahopi or whatever?” demanded Adison, turning from the window as Halish entered his private suite. “What is he to you?”

“It’s Amaroq Taheny and he has nothing to do with you.”

“I will not be betrayed!” Adison’s temper snapped. He lifted his drink and swallowed a mouthful, feeling the blaze of the liquor slide into his belly. He walked over to the table and poured himself another.

“I suggest you amend that statement,” said Halish, leaning against one of the posts on his bed. “I don’t like to be ordered.”

“Really? ‘Cause you run like a lapdog whenever the Nazar commands you.”

“I do no such thing, but the Nazarien do command my loyalty more than you do.”

“What exactly is the plan, Halish? Why did you want to destabilize the region? What does my brother have to do with this?”

“That isn’t your concern.”

“It is!” Drink made him bold. He took a step toward the Nazarien. “It is my concern! My kingdom hangs in the balance.”

“It has to do with the previous Nazar, not you.”

“Jarrett Trauner? He walked away from the order. He went to live in Temeron.”

“That he did. He betrayed us.”

Adison shrugged and dropped into an armchair before the fireplace. “We all have our reasons, Halish. What does Trauner have to do with Dorland?”

“Again, it’s not your concern.”

Adison leaned forward, his features stark. “Then tell me about this Amaroq character.”

Halish’s jaw worked, but he didn’t immediately answer.

“Tell me or I go to Kalas Eldralin and confess everything.”

Halish gave him a grim smile. “I will kill you.”

Adison shook his head, downing his drink. “No, you won’t because then Kalas Eldralin will get suspicious at the offing of another Dorlandian King. How would you find your precious Tahopi then?”

“You’re drunk.”

“Yep. Now who is this very important Nazarien?”

“Amaroq Taheny is actually Amaroq Eldralin.”

Adison sat forward. “Really? He’s another spawn of your savior? Eldon’s star, the man had no bloody control whatsoever.”

“Careful what you say, pretend King. I might find it worth the risk of offing you.”

Adison waved airily. “So many threats. I’m steeped in them. Does the King of Eastern Nevaisser know he has a brother?”

“Half-brother, and apparently he doesn’t. The name meant nothing to him when I mentioned it.”

“Interesting.” Adison finished his latest drink.

“You should be accompanying us on this venture.”

Adison shook his head. “That’s why I have you, but you could take Lyell Vito with you, if you’ve a mind…oh, and my bedamned brother’s shrew of a wife. Don’t worry about bringing her back. The harpy won’t let me into her bed. Not that she’d ever welcomed my slave brother when he was here.” Adison peeled off into laughter.

Halish rolled his eyes. “You’re a drunken fool.”

“Yes, I am.”

“You make me regret beginning this venture with you.”

“Yes, well, we’re of like mind then,” said Adison, waving his glass at him. “This is not at all what I’d hoped would happen.”

With a disgusted shake of his head, Halish walked to the door and let himself out. Adison didn’t care. Everything was unraveling and being King was a hell of a lot more trouble than he’d ever wanted.

*    *    *

“His name is Dancing Thunder and he’s the best of Lord Aiden’s stables,” said Lyell Vito, running a hand down the stallion’s nose. “Aiden loved this animal like a child.”

Kalas smiled and stroked the horse as well. “I don’t feel right riding him then.”

“Nonsense. He’s pining. He needs something to distract him from his loss. If not, I fear he may worry himself to death.”

Kalas nodded and turned as Adison walked up to them. Thunder tossed his head and stepped back, forcing the stable boy to cling to his harness. Kalas eyed the horse, then the substitute King. Everyone suspected Adison of playing a part in his brother’s disappearance, but they had no evidence to prove it. Kalas’ hands were tied until they could produce something. He didn’t like the situation here, but he wasn’t sure yet how to solve it.

He also wasn’t sure leaving the city was a good idea, but he wanted to get this problem fixed and go home. Ellette and his daughter had been without him going on a month now and he missed them.

“Ride well, Your Majesty,” said Adison. “I see you’re taking my brother’s horse.”

“Yes, apparently he needs a purpose. Who am I to argue with that?”

Adison gave a lift of his chin. “The beast is trained for battle.”

“Ah, I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“I don’t believe the slavers will go quietly.”

“No, I suppose not.” Kalas checked to make sure everything was ready. As he turned to mount Aiden’s horse, Carona appeared from the castle, striding down the wide, narrow stairs, her skirts billowing about her.

Kalas stepped forward and accepted her hand. “Your Highness, thank you for seeing us off.”

She shot a withering look at Adison, then focused on him. “Guard yourself well, Your Majesty. Sometimes the most poisonous snake in the garden is the one directly underfoot.”

Kalas frowned, but Adison grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back against him. “You forget yourself, Carona,” he warned. “Do not take that to mean anything, Your Majesty. The woman is an invalid.”

She elbowed him, forcing him to release her. “I hope that Dorland will welcome you upon your return, Your Majesty,” she said pointedly.

“Of course it will,” said Adison with a forced laugh, rubbing his side. “Why wouldn’t it, Carona? Honestly, woman, have you become infirm of mind as well?”

She gave him a scathing look. Kalas didn’t like the way Adison spoke to her, although he had to admit, her cryptic comments were less than useful.

Kalas took her hands. “I will do everything in my power to see your husband restored to you, Your Highness.”

She peered up at him, her dark eyes searching his face. “Return him for Dorland. Return him for yourself, Your Majesty. A hostile Dorland will forever be a thorn in your side.”

“Honestly, Carona,” snapped Adison, again taking her shoulder and pulling her back against him. “The things you say border on treason.”

“Then consider me treasonous, Your Highness.” She shook off his hold and turned toward the castle. “Fare you well, Your Majesty, fare you well.” A moment later, she was gone.

Adison made a crazy motion near his temple. “She’s daft, is what she is. Too much time breathing the stale air of her bedchamber.”

Kalas lifted a brow. “Then her safety is all the more dear. I would hate to have anything happen to her. It would distress me a great deal.” He said the last with particular emphasis.

Adison’s lip twitched, but he inclined his head. “Nothing will happen to her, Your Majesty, I can assure you that.”

“Excellent. Then we’ll ride.” He grabbed Thunder’s cantle and hauled himself into the saddle. Parish moved up on his right side, Dolan on his left. “We’ll try to send messengers as we can.”

Adison nodded, his gaze moving past Kalas and finding Halish where he rode toward the middle of Kalas’ men. Kalas knew exactly where he was. He’d ordered Dolan to keep an eye on him. He didn’t trust the man yet and he wasn’t taking any chances.

Giving Lyell Vito a smile, he turned Aiden’s favorite mount toward the gates of the castle. “Wish us luck, First Advisor!” he called over his shoulder.

“The very best!” shouted the First Advisor in return.

*    *    *

They rode as far as they could that night. Camp was set and Kalas’ tent pitched. Parish set up a patrol around the perimeter of camp and guards outside Kalas’ tent flap. As they ate, Kalas and Parish reviewed the maps of the area and Parish marked off where they’d found the slavers’ camp and the body.

Dolan ate with them, although even after all these years, the old Nazarien felt it was inappropriate to dine with his King. He only did so at Kalas’ insistence.

Kalas took a sip of wine and settled the glass on their camp table. “What do you make of this Halish fellow, Baron?”

Parish cut a piece of steak, but he didn’t put it in his mouth. “Chernow Nazarien.”

“What does that mean?”

Parish motioned at Dolan with his fork. “Help me out here. The Chernow Nazarien are more staid, adhere more to the basic tenants of the faith...they’re more…”

“Political,” said Dolan.

Parish stabbed the air with his fork. “Political. Every time I deal with them I feel like there’s an agenda, like there are machinations going on behind the scenes.”

Kalas nodded, pushing his plate away. “I see that too.”

“Now your Kazden Cult – bloody crazy bastards the lot of them.” He shot a sheepish look Dolan’s way. “No offense.”

“None taken.”

Kalas smiled. After leaving Chernow, Dolan had joined the Cult for a time. He still bore a faint trace of the tattoo on his cheek.

“And Tirsbor?”

“Traditionalist, but isolated, so they have more of a sense of community. Men and women have to live closely together, so they learn to depend on each other a bit more.”

Kalas reached for his wine glass. “Who is this Taheny fellow Halish mentioned?”

“Amerock or something?”

“Amaroq,” corrected Dolan. “Means Wolf in Nazarien.”

Kalas considered that. “He said Amaroq was very powerful, as powerful as my sister, yet I’ve never heard of him.”

“There may be a reason for that, Your Majesty,” said Dolan. “Such power comes with a price, as well you know.”

Kalas nodded. “Well, our problem is the slavers and…” His voice trailed off as a guard poked his head inside the tent.

“The Nazarien would like a word, Your Majesty.”

Kalas motioned him inside.

The guard ducked out and Halish entered, his tall, lanky body filling up the tight space. He glanced around at Kalas’ comforts, then gave Kalas a bow. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your meal, Your Majesty,” he said.

“Not at all. Come sit. Would you like something?”

“I’ve already dined.”

“Wine then?”

Halish waved that off. “I generally don’t indulge.”

Parish pushed out a chair with his foot. “Sit, then. We’ve been looking at the maps. I think I’ve marked where we found the remains of the slavers’ camp.”

Halish took a look, then sat, clasping his hands before him. “We’ve heard they move frequently. It’s the best way to stay ahead of the authorities.”

Kalas shook his head. “I’ve heard rumors for years, but I never believed them, then I got the letters from Alasdair Cerik.”

“Is that when you went to the Nazar?”

“I figured if anyone could confirm it, he’d be the one.”

“And he did, no doubt,” said Halish.

“He did.” Kalas narrowed his gaze on the Nazarien. So far, Halish had said everything right. It was just a feeling he gave off that made Kalas question him. “Did he send you to investigate also?”

“The Nazar?”

Kalas nodded.

“Yes. He asked me to offer my services to the King of Dorland, but the King of Dorland was already abducted by the time I arrived. Would that I hadn’t stopped in Tirsbor. I might have made it in time to stop his capture.”

“Is that how you knew of Amaroq’s sister?”

“Exactly.”

“Did the King of Dorland go missing while you were in Tirsbor?”

“As I was leaving, yes.”

“Then we were on your heels, weren’t we?”

“It seems you were.”

Kalas stretched out his legs, grimacing at the pull of sore muscles. Dancing Thunder was an excellent horse, but he was larger and more spirited than Kalas’ usual gelding. “Tomorrow we’ll be at the same spot where the Baron found the body. I’ll look to you for help in finding clues as to which direction they went, so we can find the next camp.”

“That’s part of why I wanted to talk with you, Your Majesty. I was wondering if I might scout ahead, survey the terrain before the larger force arrives. Sometimes evidence is tricky to find and we wouldn’t want it to be lost in the elements or the increased number of people traveling over it.”

Kalas exchanged a look with Dolan and the Baron. Suspicion whispered up his spine. “You wouldn’t object to one of our men going with you, would you?”

Halish didn’t miss a beat. “Of course not, Majesty. Send whoever you wish.”

Kalas made a motion at Parish. Parish wiped his mouth on his napkin and rose to his feet, tossing the bit of fabric onto his plate. “I’ll get right on that,” he said, and Kalas knew he’d choose a well-trusted, well-seasoned warrior.

Halish inclined his head.

Kalas picked up his wine and took another sip. He felt sure this man was up to something, he just couldn’t figure out what it was. He’d only arrived in Dorland a few hours before Kalas had, after Aiden had been abducted, so he couldn’t be involved in that. He said he’d come from Tirsbor where the Taheny sister had been abducted, but whenever he spoke of this Taheny, he did it with undisguised worry belying any involvement in her disappearance. He said all the right things and yet something was off.

Kalas intended to keep a close eye on him.

CHAPTER 12

Nakoda found the remains of a fire ring. Someone had tried to put the fire out, but they’d been in a hurry and the circle of rocks around it remained partially intact. Amaroq swung out of the horse’s saddle, patting her side as he moved to the pit and hunkered down across from his friend. They’d been riding since morning, heading toward the spot where Naia had been abducted. They hadn’t found it, but they may have found a slavers’ camp.

Amaroq relished the time off horseback.

Their money hadn’t been able to buy the best bred horses and his mare had a strange hitch in her stride that punished his spine. The rest of the money had gone to buy cans of beans that Shandar heated over the fire. He added a few herbs and wild plants he found on the terrain, but this part of the land was barren, mostly rock and little else. Still Amaroq wasn’t complaining.

He picked up a stick and pushed it into the deepest pile of debris, scattering the ash. A half-burnt piece of paper fluttered free in the late morning breeze. Amaroq caught it before it blew away. Smoothing it on his thigh, he squinted at the half-burnt words.

“What is it?” asked Shandar, coming up behind him.

Amaroq lifted the paper into the light, straining to see. “It’s a flier advertising…” Disgust filled him and he threw the paper back into the pit. “Advertising an auction.”

“A slavery auction?”

Amaroq nodded, feeling something clench tight inside of him. The vile nature of this business became starkly clear. His sister had been captured by men who peddled their fellow man.

He shifted in his crouch, taking in the campsite, cataloguing what he saw. Something caught his eye – a glint of metal in the late-morning sunlight, winking from beneath a bed of dry brambles. He rose to his feet and walked over to it, pulling back the bushes. They came away easily, having been torn from the ground. They hid a makeshift grave – no more than a pile of rocks mounded over a body. The metal was the edge of a shackle showing through the hastily erected cairn.

Amaroq felt his heart kick against his ribs as he knelt and began removing the rocks. Shandar and Nakoda came over to him and Shandar placed a hand on Amaroq’s shoulder. “It’s a grave, Wolf. Don’t disturb it.”

Amaroq kept removing rocks, his hands acting of their own volition. A terrible pain rose inside his belly and his chest felt tight. “I have to know,” he whispered, his heart pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. “I have to know.”

A moment later, Shandar and Nakoda knelt on either side of him and began removing the rocks as well, tossing them behind them. It didn’t take long to uncover the desiccated corpse. The dry wind and heat had leached all of the moisture from it, leaving the skin pulled taut against the skull.

Amaroq closed his eyes and bowed his head, fighting the roar of emotion raging through him. The body wasn’t hers. It wasn’t his sister. This woman was older, lighter haired, lighter complexion. Her facial features had been sharp, pointed, not full and round like Naia.

“It’s not her,” breathed Shandar and the rush of his emotions slammed into Amaroq, making him dizzy. “Eldon’s star, it’s not Naia.”

Amaroq shook his head. “It’s not her, but she’s sister to someone. Mother, daughter. I have to give her a proper burial.”

Shandar looked around. “Burning the body would draw a lot of attention, Wolf.”

“We’ll bury her as the Humans do, in the ground.”

Nakoda nodded. “I’ll look for a flat rock for digging, and a better place to dig.”

“Thank you.”

Shandar sank down across from him, his hands in his lap.

Amaroq met his gaze. “I want to remove the shackle.”

Shandar considered it. “I’m not sure how, Wolf.”

“We’ll find a way – break the lock with something.”

“Your father could open locks with his power.” Shandar gave a grim laugh, wiping the back of his hand over his sweating brow. “Damnedest thing I ever saw.”

“That’s not within my ability.”

“No, I guess not.”

Amaroq went to their saddlebags and searched through them until he found a small hatchet. Carrying the hatchet back to the body, he used the blunt end of it to strike the lock over and over again. The shackles were rusty and it didn’t take much before the lock broke and they were able to release the woman from her bonds.

Shandar retrieved a blanket from one of the horses and they wrapped the corpse in it, straightening out her arms and legs, giving her hands a pose of rest against her breast. In the meantime, Nakoda found a flat rock and a better place to dig, in the shelter of a stunted tree.

Working together, Nakoda and Amaroq managed to dig a proper grave. Their hands were bloody and blistered, their backs strained, but they completed it. They laid the woman in the grave and Amaroq offered a blessing, then they filled it in, covering the new mound with some of the rocks that had been used to bury her before.

Finally they collapsed in the shade of the tree.

Shandar brought them food and water, taking a seat next to them while they ate. Amaroq wanted a bath more than anything, but they hadn’t seen any water for more than a day. There was nothing in their canteens to spare either.

“We need water,” he said, staring at the fresh grave.

“We’re near the Ethicon River. We should be at its bank before nightfall. I thought we’d camp there,” said Shandar.

Amaroq nodded.

Shandar nudged him with his shoulder. “You okay, Wolf?”

Amaroq shook his head. “I thought for a moment that I’d find Naia in that grave.”

Nakoda grunted and went back to chewing.

“I know,” said Shandar. “I thought so too.”

“I’ve never left Tirsbor my entire life, and the first time I do, it’s for this. What sort of world does everyone else inhabit, Shandar? The one I’m looking at is cruel and brutal. People prey on each other, and for what? For pieces of metal with made-up value. I don’t understand it. I don’t think this is the world for me.”

Shandar gave a grim laugh. “You are your father’s son.”

Amaroq looked over at him. “He felt this way?”

“Always. He was tormented by it.”

“And you’re not?”

Shandar shifted, so he could look at him. “Most people, Wolf, learn to compartmentalize the bad, shove it away.”

“Ignore it.”

“Sometimes, yes. It’s survival.” He sighed. “But there are other people who can’t do that, who can never look away. Those people either go mad or they direct that passion. They lead a war-torn people to Terra Antiguo. They end the reign of an evil despot with one thrust of a sword. They become King of two lands, bringing prosperity to both.” He paused, giving Amaroq a sad smile. “Or they spend an afternoon giving a woman a proper burial, then hunt down the slavers who killed her.” He shrugged. “There’s the rest of us, Wolf, and then there’s an Eldralin.”

*    *    *

The Ethicon River flowed out of the mountains ringing in Terra Antiguo, reaching the ocean just east of Chernow. At its upper end, it was volatile – whitewater bounding through rocky crags, over sheared-off cliffs, flowing swift and cold with the run-off from the winter’s snow. Where it reached the ocean it grew broad and lazy, cutting an easier path through sand and limestone.

Amaroq and his companions stood on the banks of the Upper Ethicon, watching it crash and tumble through the breaks in the mountain, cascading past them in a frothing white plume of spray. There was certainly no bathing in this. They were barely able to refill their waterskins and give the horses a drink.

Amaroq’s mare was limping badly now, so he’d taken to walking beside her, trying to spare her any more pain. Leading her to a shallow hollow where the water didn’t rush past so violently, he soaked her sore hoof in the cold water, hoping to bring her some relief.

“She can’t keep going on this way!” he shouted over the roar of the cataract.

Shandar nodded.

Nakoda approached and lifted her foreleg, inspecting the hoof. “She stepped on a rock or something. She needs rest.”

“We could camp here!” shouted Shandar in return.

“And be deaf by morning!”

“What?”

Amaroq shook his head. He pointed behind Shandar where the mountain pass opened into a meadow. “We’ll camp up there!”

Shandar turned and looked, then nodded at Amaroq. They walked the horses up the gradual incline, stopping frequently to give Amaroq’s horse a rest, and came to the meadow less than half an hour later. The sun was dropping and long shadows heralded the beginning of nightfall. The meadow was broad and small streams ran through it. They could see for quite a distance around them and there was plenty of kindling to start a fire.

Nakoda offered to take care of Amaroq’s horse and as he had more experience with them than Amaroq did, he agreed. While Nakoda made the animal comfortable, using Stamerian to soothe the pain, Amaroq went in search of firewood.

Stepping into a small copse of trees, Amaroq gathered dead branches, but as he searched, he became aware of smoke, wafting to him on the late afternoon breeze. He sniffed, trying to pinpoint the direction. Carrying the sticks back to camp, he settled them beside the river rocks Shandar was gathering to make a fire-ring.

“I smell smoke.”

“Forest fire?”

“No, cooking smoke.” He pointed back into the copse. “In that direction.”

Shandar reached for his weapons and began strapping them back on. “Let’s go have a look.” He rose and affixed everything to his belt.

Amaroq carried a knife he used for many things. He’d been trained to fight, all Nazarien were, but beyond defending himself in a pinch, he didn’t like to carry weapons. He felt it invited trouble.

“Nakoda,” Shandar called and the huge Stravad came over, also strapping on his gear.

Amaroq tried not to appear annoyed. The area felt calm, sedate. He didn’t get a sense of anything malign anywhere near them, but then Shandar had more experience out in the world than he did.

“Should we leave the horses?” asked Nakoda.

“I don’t want to move my mare unless it’s absolutely necessary. We’ll just check out the smoke and come back here. The horses won’t go anywhere.”

A few moments later, they set out. Amaroq’s thoughts were preoccupied with the woman they’d found in the grave earlier. They hadn’t been able to identify her. Somewhere, someone was waiting for her to come home and they’d never know what happened to her. Would the same happen for Naia? Would he never know what happened to his sister?

The copse was small and they were quickly through. A larger stream ran toward the meadow on their left side. Beyond the copse was another clearing and tended fields. Shandar reached out and caught Amaroq’s arm, stopping him.

“Stay behind me,” he said.

“Shandar, I don’t sense anything.”

“That said, I want you to stay back. Let Nakoda and me go first.”

Amaroq sighed in frustration, but he let the older man and his friend take the lead. He realized he’d always received special treatment from the people around him. They always worried about him, watched over him. It had never bothered him before.

Someone had planted crops in the field. Amaroq bent down and fingered a leaf just beginning to turn red. Stamerian. He glanced up at his companions, but they were easing down the rows, their hands on their weapons. Clearly the fields were tended by Stravad, probably Nazarien. Stamerian was a well kept secret among his people.

He rose and followed them. The fields ended at a homestead – single story cabin with a wide front porch, barn to the left, well in the center. The area before the cabin was swept clear of debris, tended, the barn in good repair.

Shandar waved Amaroq back, but Amaroq still sensed nothing of concern in the area. By now, he was close enough to see the smoke rising lazily from the chimney. Just as the two men were about to approach the stairs, the door opened and a man stepped out.

He was large and broad shouldered, close to Shandar in age. His long grey hair was pulled back in a horse’s tail and his dark skin coloring marked him as Stravad. He surveyed the two men closest to him and held out his open hands.

“Welcome,” he said, “I don’t get many visitors way out here. Where are you coming from?” His gaze shifted to Amaroq and his face blanched. Swaying, he reached behind him for a chair.

Nakoda bounded up the steps and helped the man sit, while Shandar went to the well after water. Amaroq approached the porch slowly, meeting the man’s searching gaze.

Lifting a trembling hand to his forehead, the man massaged his temple, shaking his head in disbelief. Shandar brought the man a tin cup filled with cool water and pressed it into his hand.

“We didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, urging the man to drink.

Taking a sip, the man lowered the cup, his gaze still roving over Amaroq’s features.

“My name’s Amaroq. My father was the man you knew.”

The man gave a slow nod. “I’m Erjen. I rode with your father once.” He shook his head. “You look just like him.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Shandar and Nakoda visibly relaxed at their exchange.

Amaroq motioned to Shandar. “This is Talar’s brother, Shandar.”

“And where is your father?”

“Dead many years now.”

Erjen’s gaze dropped and his mouth worked. “I’m sorry for that,” he said, brushing his fingers over his upper lip. He pushed himself to his feet. Nakoda reached out to steady him, but he waved him off. “I’m recovered.” He nodded at Shandar. “Thank you for the drink.”

“You’re welcome. If I may ask, how did you know my brother?” asked Shandar.

Erjen considered that a moment, fingering the cup. “That is a long story and one that requires sustenance to be told.” Motioning to the cabin, he reached for the screen door. “Please have supper with me. I can offer you lodgings in the barn, if you’re so inclined.”

“Thank you,” said Shandar. “But we’ll need to retrieve our horses and gear. We set up camp in the meadow beyond your homestead.”

“I’ll get them,” said Nakoda, and he started off.

“Do you want help?” called Amaroq.

Nakoda waved him off and broke into a jog.

Erjen pulled open the screen door. “Please come inside. It isn’t much, but it’s been my home for many years now.”

Amaroq and Shandar followed the man inside. The cabin contained one room, a kitchen combined with a living room. A curtain shut off the bedroom on the far left wall. A rough hewn table, mismatched chairs, and a few armchairs were the only furnishings besides the large bed and a stove. An iron pot sat on the stove and a pleasant aroma filled the room.

Erjen drew back the curtains over the windows beside the door and urged them to take seats at the table, then he pulled out a jug of something from beneath the sink boards and poured out four glasses, distributing them around.

Amaroq took a sip of the woodsy ale and grimaced at the bitter bite, but Shandar tossed back the entire glass and smacked his lips in pleasure.

“Excellent,” he said.

Erjen refilled him. “A man after my own heart.” He left the jug in the middle of the table and went to the stove, stirring the contents of the pot. He eased it off the burner just a bit and covered it with a lid.

“We’ll wait to eat until the other young man returns.”

Coming back to the table, he took a seat, pouring himself another drink, then he stared at Amaroq with unabashed curiosity. “I really thought you were him for a moment.”

Amaroq nodded. “People have told me I bear a close resemblance to him.”

“You do.”

“You said you rode with him?”

Erjen gave a mirthless laugh. “I was assigned to babysit him. Your father wasn’t the most dedicated Nazarien I’ve ever seen.”

Shandar snorted agreement, lifting his cup to his lips.

“I’m not certain I follow. What exactly were you supposed to do?” asked Amaroq.

Erjen fingered the mouth of his cup. “Your father was seeing a Nazarien woman named Adalia. She lived in this very cabin.”

Shandar shifted uncomfortably in his seat and made a sound of recognition.

“Adalia was originally from Tirsbor, but she left the order, lived here alone. Your father visited her regularly. On one particular visit, the Council of Elders despaired of him ever returning. When he did, they forbade him to leave again. Problem was your father didn’t agree. Adalia was pregnant and your father promised to return for the birth of his child.”

Shandar bowed his head, lowering the glass. Amaroq glanced at him. He could feel a mix of emotions coming off the man.

“You know this story?” Amaroq asked him.

“I know it well,” said Shandar. “I lived the aftermath for years.”

Erjen sighed. “We all did.”

“Go on,” urged Amaroq.

“The Council agreed to let him return only if he had an escort – me. However, when we arrived here, Adalia was already in labor. Too early. Your father did everything he could to save her and his daughters…”

“Daughters?”

“Twins. Tiny little things.” Erjen shook his head, his eyes growing watery. “They didn’t stand a chance. They died before their mother.”

“Adalia died too?”

Erjen nodded. Shandar kept his head bowed.

Amaroq looked away. The desolation, the despair, he could still feel it as if it had seeped into the wood of the cabin walls. “What happened then?”

Erjen shrugged. “I don’t know. He left after we buried them. I tried to make him return to Chernow, but he refused. I didn’t go back either.”

“Why?”

“I’d failed in every way. I’d failed your father, I failed the council, and I’d failed my order. Didn’t seem to be much point in returning, so I stayed here.” He filled his and Shandar’s glass again. “How did your father die?”

“That’s a long story too,” said Shandar.

“What happened to him after he left here?”

“He went to Loden to see his mother. My mother. And it nearly killed him.”

Nakoda returned at that moment with their horses and gear. Amaroq rose to help him settle the animals in the barn and use the well to wash the dirt away, while Shandar and Erjen talked and drank and prepared supper.

When they returned, a meal had been laid out for them – stew, rye bread, and fresh butter. They ate heartily. Amaroq realized he was already tired of eating beans, so he welcomed the vegetables in the stew.

After it was over, he and Nakoda washed everything, while Shandar and Erjen continued their discussion of Talar’s life after he met Shara. He’d heard this story many times and it held nothing new for him. It was tragic, but an abstraction. He’d never seen the places Shandar talked about, but this...this was real. He was standing in the spot where his father had stood. Maybe he’d even eaten from this very table.

Finally, Shandar fell silent and sipped at his ale. No one else said anything, just sat and listened to the chirp of crickets and watched a moth flutter around the lamp positioned in the middle of the table.

Nakoda stirred restlessly. “Are you going to continue the story about Kaelene?” he asked Shandar.

Shandar blinked at him. “I didn’t even know you’d been listening to it.”

“I listen.”

Amaroq smiled, exchanging a look with Shandar.

“Okay, but I don't’ remember where I left off.”

“Dryden, the Cult commander, had told Kaelene he’d protect her and her babe, but for a price,” said Nakoda.

“Right.” Shandar leaned back, his face bathed in lantern light. “Of course, Kaelene was afraid of what that price might be, but she had little choice. The Front Guard were not going to stop harassing her and her baby needed stability.”

*    *    *

They gave her a bare cell with a cot and a washstand, a pitcher and a bowl for bathing her face and hands. She was given a rough towel to dry, a bar of soap, a pair of soft-soled shoes and two sack-cloth dresses that reached all the way to her ankles. The cell had a shelf for her to keep her personal belonging. Not that she’d had much, but there was a bracelet Talar had given her, made of shells, back at Mistress Alloway’s house and a hairbrush. They hadn’t thought to bring her anything for her hair.

A woman about the same age as Kaelene’s mother delivered the things, helped her make up the cot, and brought her supper. Kaelene wasn’t allowed to eat with the men. The woman, Brisane, promised to speak with Dryden about allowing her to help in the kitchens. They’d be able to eat there together as well. Brisane was a petite, brown haired woman with a wholesome plain face and pale blue eyes, but she treated Kaelene with kindness, something Kaelene needed at the moment.

Kaelene wanted to ask about the other women of the Cult, but Brisane seemed nervous about staying and hurried off, leaving Kaelene to her own thoughts. She regretted coming to the Nazarien, but she didn’t know what else she could have done.

Her hands curved over her still-flat belly. There was no outward sign of her pregnancy, but she felt the change, knew there was life growing inside of her. Talar’s babe. Talar’s child. He needed to know. He had a right to be told he was going to be a father, but Dryden made it very clear. If she wanted the protection of the Nazarien, Talar was never to know about his child.

He’d given Kaelene the night to think it over, then come morning, if she didn’t give him the answer he wanted, he was turning her into the street. Kaelene went over and over it in her mind. It was wrong to keep this from Talar. Wrong to deny him the right to claim the child as his own. But what then? How would Kaelene protect the child, provide for it? Talar couldn’t stay in Kazden. He wasn’t able to stay anywhere for very long.

The Sarkisian Front Guard hunted him, the Chernow Nazarien hunted him, and Kaelene felt sure any number of others wouldn’t hesitate to capture him if they had the chance. Talar was a man with a price on his head and someday, he was bound to be caught.

What would happen to her and the baby if he was?

And what if it wasn’t enough to set a trap for him? What if the assailants figured things the way Dryden did – that Talar’s child was a malleable version of the original, too young to defend himself, easy to mold, easy to shape into the weapon they wanted the father to be?

She pushed aside the half-eaten supper and looked up at the small window cut into the white stone of her cell. Night was beginning to fall, the sky darkening. Still Talar hadn’t come for her. What if he’d been captured by the Front Guard? What if they’d killed him?

A knock interrupted her frantic thoughts and her gaze whipped to the door. “Yes?”

The door opened and Dryden stepped into the room. He eyed her food tray, then his eyes lifted to her. “Are you unwell?”

“Have you heard from Talar?”

His face registered disappointment before he smoothed it over. “Not yet. Do you mind if I come in?”

Kaelene shook her head and the commander stepped into the cell, closing the door at his back. He grabbed a stool from beneath the washstand and straddled it, sitting so close to her, they were almost touching.

“So, can I assume you’ve made up your mind?” he asked.

“No, I haven’t. I don’t know what to do. It’s wrong not to tell Talar I’m pregnant. He deserves to know about his child. Besides, I’m not sure I can keep it from him.”

Dryden gave a weary sigh. “So you’ll risk the child’s life by spending your pregnancy fleeing from place to place, always being a target of one sort or another?” He held out his empty hands. “Maybe that works at first, Kaelene, but what happens as the child ages? Will you still make him roam the entire region without a home? Without stability?”

Kaelene didn’t know how to answer that. The child was too new a thought to have considered what would happen years from now. It still didn’t mitigate the fact that Talar deserved to know.

“Talar Eldralin is a hunted man. He never remains in one place long. His life is filled with peril. Is that the sort of life you’d provide your child?”

“It’s wrong not to tell him.”

Dryden’s eyes hardened. “We’re Nazarien, Kaelene. Nazarien fathers have little to do with their children beyond conception. How is this any different? You’re simply following our faith.”

Kaelene hugged her arms around herself. She just didn’t know. Her head throbbed with fatigue and she couldn’t think clearly.

Dryden gave her a lift of his chin. “You need rest. Things will be more clear in the morning.” He rose and backed to the door. “If you stay here with us, I can promise you a life with no running.” Then he was gone.

Kaelene lay down on the bed, pillowing her head with her hand. Her thoughts tumbled over one another, but soon she drifted to sleep. She wasn’t sure how long she slept before she felt a presence looming over her, someone shaking her shoulder.

She woke, recognizing his scent, his touch. She launched herself into his arms, clinging to him. He held her in return.

“It’s okay, I’m here. I’m sorry it took me so long to find you,” he whispered in her ear.

She opened her eyes and peered over his shoulder. Shandar and Dryden stood in the doorway, the light from the hall lantern casting them in back glow.

“A man named Deck Prestar took me to the Front Guard’s headquarters and questioned me about where you were. I refused to tell them anything, so he let me go, but it was a trick…”

Talar cupped her cheek. “I know, I’m sorry.” He kissed her forehead. “I’m so sorry they did that to you. They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

“No.” But they’d threatened to. She clasped his hands in her own. “What now? What are we going to do?”

“I found someone to sail us out of Kazden,” he told her, taking a seat on the bed beside her.

“Sail?”

“Yes, won’t that be an adventure!” His blind eyes glowed in the darkness.

Kaelene could see Dryden’s smug look from the doorway.

“Then where?”

“Who knows?” Talar shrugged. “But don’t worry, Kaelene. I promise I’ll keep you safe. You don’t have to worry about anything now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

But she did worry. She had a child now, a child who deserved a stable life, a life filled with security and safety and reason. A life filled with dependability. Talar couldn’t give her that and much as she loved him, she knew she couldn’t go with him.

“Will we ever have a home?”

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“A place to call our own.”

“Kaelene?”

“I want a place of my own, Talar. I want a home. Where can we find that?”

He leaned away from her, his features showing his confusion. “This is my life, Kaelene. I don’t stay in one place long. I can’t. They’ll come after me again – if it isn’t the Sarkisian guard, it’ll be the Nazarien. I can’t have a home.”

Tears filled her eyes and spilled over. She loved him, she really did, but this was too much to ask, especially now.

“Don’t you ever want to stop running?”

He released her hands. “It’s not a matter of wanting. It’s a matter of what is. I don’t have a choice.”

The tears fell faster now, but she knew what she had to do, and she realized she’d already made the decision the moment Mistress Alloway told her she was pregnant. The baby was the only sure thing in her life and she had to protect it with everything she had.

She reached out and clasped his hands. “But I do, Talar. I have a choice.”

And so she made it.

CHAPTER 13

It was the hardest day of marching the slaves had been through. If they’d been fed decently and if they weren’t suffering the debilitating effects of dehydration, and more importantly, if they weren’t so bone weary, they might have made a better show of it for they were terrified beyond reason.

Whenever a slave fell, she was dragged in the traces until she either rose again or slowed the train down too much. Then if she was unable to rise, she was cut from the line and left in the blistering sun while the train moved farther and farther out of sight. It was a cruel fate, but Aiden was beginning to think that perhaps it wasn’t any more cruel than what they were facing.

Only his sheer strength and indomitable will kept Le going. He fixed a hand under Le’s elbow and propelled him forward, catching him when he stumbled. If Le was cut from the traces, there was little hope that Aiden could save him. Aiden had been told he himself was a doomed man and he didn’t doubt it. He just wondered when the deed would be done.

With Kalas of Sarkisian breathing down the slavers’ backs, Aiden had a sickening suspicion it might not be too much longer. Surely Duard would never chance having this band caught with his auspicious baggage still in tact.

Although Aiden didn’t understand anything about Duard’s reasoning, nor had he since this nightmare began. Perhaps if he’d had even a faint hint, he would have been able to effect an escape earlier than this.

Why did the slavers beat their captives? Why did they starve them, deprive them of water and sleep, chill them by night and roast them by day? Why were they driven endlessly over the same terrain until their feet bled and their bodies were so broken as to be completely useless? Especially when the object was to sell them to the highest bidder.

It was a poor way to go about conducting business, Aiden thought ironically. As King of Dorland, he didn’t even treat the cattle they ate a fraction as badly. How could Duard and his slavers expect to gain anything by abusing the product they were trying to peddle?

Naia, Eldon protect her, was still marching well. She’d only stumbled once and Aiden had kept her righted, but he had to admit he was getting tired himself and didn’t know how much further he could go.

They were marched until well past midnight, then told to lie down where they stopped and say nothing. They were given a few sips of water, no food. Aiden pulled Naia into his arms as he did every night, felt Le curl up behind him, then he was asleep. Never before had he given way so quickly or easily, but he could do nothing to halt it tonight.

They were awaken before dawn with the maddening lash of the whip. It was nearly impossible for Aiden to get Naia and himself to their feet, and Le didn’t even make the attempt. Aiden wasn’t ready to give up yet, so he bent and hauled the boy upright, supporting his sagging body until Le’s legs would hold him again.

Aiden wanted to weep with weariness. He could only imagine what the others must be feeling. When he looked Naia over, he didn’t even get the usual half-smile he expected, but she did manage to lift her head and meet his stare.

Aiden felt sure they hadn’t been permitted more than three or four hours of sleep. How they were expected to march the rest of the way to Duard’s stronghold escaped Aiden, but the slavers didn’t seem to care. Four of the slaves wouldn’t be making the attempt. They’d died during the brief rest and were cut from the traces, their bodies left where they lay.

Catching Naia by the shoulders, he forced her to look away. He didn’t like the haunted look that entered her eyes whenever she saw this final act of cruelty. He didn’t like the feeling that each death chipped away at her determination and faith in escape.

‘Today. We go. Escape. I promise.’ Even as he made the hand signs, he cringed. How could he make such a claim? Still, he had to offer her something to bolster her courage and will. He had to make sure she kept fighting, she and Le, for without them there was nothing left for Aiden to hold onto.

Yet as the hellish march continued, Aiden knew they’d never make it. It had become necessary for him to think each step, deliberately placing one foot before the other. Le wasn’t even doing that much anymore, but was stumbling forward, propelled by gravity alone. If they stopped, he would fall and Aiden knew he’d never rise again. Aiden also knew that he couldn’t lift him anymore.

And the worst part was that Aiden didn’t care anymore. He didn’t care what happened to him and he didn’t care what happened to anyone else. He wanted it to end. Death was preferable to this torture – death was at least a sort of freedom.

Naia was the one who finally drew Aiden out of his self-inflicted lethargy. As the slave train came to an abrupt halt, she caught Le and prevented him from sinking to the ground, then she fixed her hand on Aiden’s elbow, pointing into the distance.

Aiden narrowed his eyes in the dying light of the day and peered where Naia indicated. Then his heart skipped a beat. A body of water blocked their path. From where he stood, he could see the swirling of white froth and quick eddies. It was a large body of water – one that was sure to be both deep and cold.

“Tis the Ethicon. I’m sure of it,” said Le, turning his hollow, exhausted gaze up at Aiden.

“The Ethicon, but that means…”

Naia made a few urgent hand motions. Aiden followed her with his eyes, but his brain was so numb from exhaustion that he couldn’t make it out. He looked to Le.

“She knows where we are. By the westward turn of the stream and the lay of the land, she believes we’re twenty leagues or so east of Tirsbor.” Le dropped his voice when he mentioned the Nazarien outpost.

Aiden glanced at the slavers, who were conversing in a huddled group. “This may be it,” he said, making the few hand motions he knew for Naia. “Our escape.”

Naia’s blue eyes danced with excitement. Aiden wished he saw even a fraction of their light in Le’s green-eyed gaze, but the boy was half done in. Again Naia’s hands flew as she tried to communicate.

“Naia thinks we’d do best to utilize the river’s pull to our advantage. Tis certain we’ll attempt a crossing.”

Aiden nodded in agreement. “Yes, soon. I’ve a feeling Kalas is getting closer by the moment and these slavers are about to try something desperate. If only it was desperate enough to unchain us, one from the other.”

“Aye,” said Le, glancing down on his manacles. They’d become such a part of all their lives, it was hard to imagine not dragging the things around.

Aiden forced his strained muscles to bunch and relax, trying to prevent the possibility of a cramp at the wrong time. He knew he might need all his strength, no matter what the slavers decided to try. Come death or not, Aiden didn’t plan on spending another night in their keeping, hoping against hope that the King of Eastern Nevaisser would stop this torment. Aiden intended to escape, and he intended to take Le and Naia with him.

Finally the slavers came to a conclusion. Just as they’d separated, going about their business, Duard reined into camp, not at all pleased to see the slaves standing about idly. He demanded Hogan’s presence and pulled him aside for a quick discussion. Hogan must have informed him of their decision, for Duard moved his horse to the perimeter of the group and watch things unfold.

Elvert then made the rounds of the slaves. He removed their shackles and tied them with rawhide bindings into groups of four, pushing group after group forward where they were met by another slaver who led them toward the churning water.

Aiden watched Elvert hungrily. He counted down the line, trying to figure out whether he’d be split in a group with both Naia and Le. It had to be that way. Eldon’s star, something had to go his way for a change.

Although Aiden made the count over and over again, he didn’t let himself believe it until the giant stopped at the woman to Naia’s left. He unhooked the chain, then moved to the other side of Le and released the line there. Aiden’s eyes fixed for a brief moment on Naia and she gave him a nervous smile. Immediately they were pushed forward.

One of the slavers fell in behind with his horse, driving them toward the water. Le stumbled, but Aiden put out his hand righting him. The slaves were huddled in groups of four on the bank, alternately staring at the fast moving water and looking at each other with huge frightened eyes. Le’s gaze lifted and Aiden saw the same terror in the boy’s face. He smiled and gave the boy a brief nod, then glanced at Naia. She wasn’t looking at him, but there was no fear in her eyes. She was determined and her determination strengthened his will.

Then the first slaves were driven into the water on Hogan’s command. They were pulled by the current, one dragging another under the surface. The slavers screamed orders at them and the slaves remaining on the bank huddled together.

Duard shouted at the mounted drivers and they looked between each other, then one plunged his horse into the water and rode into the middle of the current where the bound group was floundering. He reached over the animal’s side and grasped the closest slave by the back of her torn tunic, hauling her to her feet. Once she gained a foothold, the others were able to do the same.

The slaver moved his horse slowly beside them until they made it to the opposite bank and crawled out, sprawling in the mud on their bellies, unable to move.

Another group of slaves was then driven into the water, followed by a slaver on horseback. Although they were pushed by the current, they were able to struggle to the opposite shore.

Aiden shuddered when they didn’t make the climb up the steep bank and slipped back into the water again. The current dragged them far downstream and he was sure they would all drown, but they finally got a foothold and hauled themselves to shore.

As group after group were forced into the river, Aiden forgot about them, searching the stream instead. He wanted to formulate a plan, but he knew he couldn’t tell the others, that is until they were also in the water. His gaze searched upstream and down, then came to rest on Duard.

The man was watching him, a smile touching the corners of his cold, hard mouth. He lifted his fingers and stroked at his moustache, then kicked his heels into the horse’s flanks and started toward Aiden.

“Hogan,” he shouted. “Take His Lordship here out of the line. I think we’ll let him stay to greet the King of Eastern Nevaisser. Maybe that will put Talar Eldralin’s bastard off our scent.”

Aiden’s throat tightened. For a moment he couldn’t move, couldn’t react.

“Aiden,” came Le’s small frightened voice, but Aiden didn’t hear him.

So close – after everything he’d endured, after fighting to survive when he wanted nothing more than to lay down and die, it was going to end here on the bank to freedom.

This thought alone spurned Aiden to action. He started moving, first at a stumbling gait, then when the others came with him, into a half-run. Duard, realizing what he was attempting, started shouting at his men to stop him, but Aiden had finally gained the bank.

The four people slid in the mud and then tumbled into the water. It was Aiden’s sheer strength that managed to right all of them again. He pulled fiercely, dragging them further into the water. Naia sputtered, trying to shake the heavy hair from her face, and Le merely allowed Aiden to drag him in his wake. The woman on Naia’s left was gasping and sobbing, begging to know what he was doing.

Aiden’s eyes lifted to the opposite shore. Two of the slavers had ridden off the bank back into the river after him. He looked over his shoulder, noting the confusion behind him. Some of the slave groups had taken this diversion as an opportunity to bolt. The slavers were divided between pursuing Aiden and his group, and recovering those who were trying to slip away.

“We need to make it to the middle,” he shouted above the crying of slaves and the roar of the water. “Then the current will be strong enough to take us beyond their reach.”

His words made Le struggle to find his footing, then the boy was helping him pull their unorthodox group into the deeper water.

“You’re trying to escape,” sputtered the woman on Naia’s left. “You’re trying to escape!” Her voice lifted in an hysterical wail.

Aiden didn’t answer her. It seemed obvious to him, but he was glad when he felt her also struggling to assist them. Naia was matching him stride for stride, but as they neared the middle of the stream, her feet met nothing. Smaller than the rest of them, the sudden change in river bottom pushed her under. Aiden hauled back frantically, trying to reach for her and lift her above the surface. She was floundering, unable to use her arms. In reaching for her, Aiden was forced to push her further under the water, but then he had her.

He dragged her to the surface where she gasped for air. Grabbing her elbow, he hauled her with him, only looking up once to see how close the horses were. He nearly gave up when it became apparent they’d never reach the middle before the horses overtook them, but the call of freedom was so strong, so close.

“Lift your feet and lay back, let me drag you!” he shouted.

For a moment, Le and the other woman continued in their efforts, then Aiden’s frantic commands reached them. Immediately Le stopped pushing and became slack against the line, allowing the water to hold him up. The other woman followed.

Aiden hauled forward, gritting his teeth. He felt the current swirling around his legs, the cold, dark fingers of deeper water, then they were in the middle. And the horses were on them. Aiden struck out at the animals’ legs making them dance in a panic. The slavers cursed him and struck at the four with their whips, but the current was moving rapidly now.

By sheer luck, one of the slavers reached down and caught a handful of Naia’s tangled hair, hauling her toward him. A strangled sound escaped her lips and she clasped a hand around his thick wrist, trying to free herself. Vindictively the man leaned further over the horse’s side and pushed her under the churning water.

Rage fueled Aiden and he leaped at the slaver, dragging the other woman and Le with him. He caught a flying corner of the man’s shirt and twisted it around his hand. The horse lost its footing and the animal went down with a cry, throwing the slaver from its back onto Aiden. Naia was plunged deeper into the water beneath the combined weight of both men, but Aiden twisted and threw the slaver off, holding the struggling man beneath the water. He kicked and fought, but Aiden didn’t release him until he went limp.

“Naia!” shouted Le, pushing against Aiden.

Aiden released the slaver, who gasped violently and struggled to gain his footing, trying to get away from them. Aiden hauled his left arm out of the water, dragging Naia with him, hauling her to the surface. She gasped and clawed at him, fighting frantically, but he pulled her against him. He pushed her heavy hair away and turned her toward him. When she saw him, she collapsed against his chest, her breath whistling out in a ragged, choked pant.

Aiden glanced up and noticed that both slavers were swimming to shore behind their horses. On the opposite bank, Duard and Elvert were riding after them, but they hadn’t left the land yet.

Aiden was spent. He glanced at both Le and the other woman, seeing that they too were finished, then he leaned back into the water, allowing the current to take them.

*    *    *

Naia shifted her hands against the log that kept them afloat, but it was difficult to get them to respond. They’d gone numb hours ago so she had to look at them to move them. She couldn’t feel her legs and wondered if the problem was more than the cold of the water. She swallowed against the painful tightness in her throat. It was raw from fighting against drowning and her silent screams of terror.

Her eyes passed over Le and the other woman. They were both hanging onto the log, their cheeks pressed against the damp wood, their lips blue tinged from the cold. Her gaze shifted to Aiden.

He was staring behind them at the banks, searching for any sign of the slavers. It had been hours since the current shifted and left them behind, but she knew he was still afraid they were being followed.

She didn’t think it likely. Not with Kalas so close behind them. Although Duard wouldn’t want his slave King to escape, he wouldn’t risk being caught himself, Naia felt sure.

Aiden’s dark eyes met hers. ‘We’re free,’ he mouthed and she tried to smile but was unsuccessful.

Yes, they were free, but what price had they paid for fighting their way to freedom? They needed to leave this freezing river soon. Once night fell and the outside temperature dropped, they’d succumb to hypothermia, if they weren’t already suffering from it. She knew they were. Or at least she was. Her vision had begun to blur and she was having the strangest sensation of warmth creeping up her legs and into her belly.

But how were they going to leave the river? She couldn’t feel her feet and she didn’t doubt the others were in the same situation. Not to mention the exhaustion. She was beyond exhausted; she didn’t think she could move ever again.

To make matters worse, she was sure she knew where they were and she knew this section of the river only got rougher as it entered the Tirsbor canyon and the narrow rock formations. If they didn’t get out soon, they’d be smashed by the rocks.

Her eyes scanned the banks. They had to leave the river, but it wasn’t enough. Once out they needed to find cover, build a fire, and get warm. It was essential.

Her eyes came to rest on a shallow strip of beach. If they could somehow move into the slower current, they might be able to pull themselves ashore there. She looked at Aiden, then forced her hands to lift and make the necessary signs.

He watched her, then shook his head. He didn’t understand. She watched herself make the signs again. No wonder he didn’t understand. Her numb fingers weren’t responding as they should, but she had to keep trying.

She stopped using the formal language and made dramatic motions with her hands instead, pointing to the log and then to the shallow beach. He followed her, slow to comprehend. Curse their exhaustion, she thought.

Finally he nodded and his face tightened in concentration. She did likewise, trying to force her numb legs to kick in the direction of shore. The current had fallen off and if they didn’t take this opportunity, it would be too late.

Le had closed his eyes, but she slapped the log close to his face, causing him to open them. He looked at her with such unbearable exhaustion. Fear speared through her. Le had suffered more than either she or Aiden, but she couldn’t lose him now, not when they were so close to being free.

Before Aiden had been brought into the group, Le was the single reason she kept going. And even though her feelings for Aiden had quickly become the center of her attention, she still thought of the boy as family, closer than any family she’d ever known, except for her mother and Amaroq of course.

She motioned to the bank and patted the log. He shook his head tiredly and rested his cheek on the log once more. Naia turned her eyes on Aiden, motioning toward her mouth. She watched him speak. Eldon’s star, she wished she could hear his voice, be able to speak with him in return.

Le drew a deep breath and closed his eyes, shaking his head in defeat. Aiden’s face hardened.

Looking over her shoulder, Naia thought the bank was coming closer. Still she wouldn’t let herself hope, but she renewed her efforts at kicking. When she looked again, she caught her breath in surprise. The bank was closer, much closer. She patted the log beside Aiden and he glanced up, then flashed an exhausted smile at her. She made a few motions with her hands, the effort of kicking increasing her body temperature.

Even so, Aiden’s brow furrowed in confusion. He didn’t understand. He was trying to learn her language, but there hadn’t been much opportunity to practice in the slave camp. She intended to rectify the problem. There were things she needed to say to this man that she didn’t want translated by a boy.

Le looked up and watched her, then spoke to Aiden. Naia leaned forward, trying to see his lips, but they were moving so slightly she couldn’t understand him. His translation must have been adequate however, for Aiden suddenly began kicking. After a few more minutes, he stood.

She gasped in surprise, her eyes filling with tears. He could stand. They were close enough to the bank that he had found footing. Although she was too short to stand, she knew Aiden would be able to push them close enough until she could finally lend her own weight.

Pain radiated through her numb limbs a few moments later and Naia tried to support her weight, but failed. Aiden shifted beside her, pulling her up against him. He hauled Le to him and then spoke to the woman on Naia’s left.

The woman tried to stand, but couldn’t. Aiden braced his thighs and held them in place while he untangled them from the log and released it downstream. It seemed a painfully long journey the remaining way to the bank, but they fought, slipping and falling in the water, skinning hands and knees on the rough stones in the river bed. Finally they made it to the sandy beach, ready to collapse, but Aiden forced them a little further onto a dry stretch of land back under a concealing band of evergreens.

They dropped where they stood, gasping for breath. Naia closed her eyes as the dying rays of sunlight moved up her soaked legs, chasing the numbness in waves of agonizing pain before it. She wasn’t sure how long she lay in paralyzed fatigue, but she suddenly became aware of their surroundings. They were free.

*    *    *

They were free. Aiden lay on his back, looking up at the tangle of branches above him. They were free. He never dreamed he’d take such pleasure in just being alive. He ignored the pain in his body as it thawed, he ignored the hunger in his belly, he even ignored the demanding exhaustion that pushed at him.

Then survival instincts took over. They were wet, they were bound together, and they were entirely too close to the shoreline.

He’d been watching for signs of Duard the last few hours and saw nothing, but that didn’t mean the slaver wasn’t still pursuing them. He wouldn’t allow Aiden to go free, even at the risk of losing his other slaves. Should Aiden make it back to Dorland, Duard’s life was forfeit.

Forcing himself to a sitting position, Aiden grimaced when his head spun. He looked at Naia. Her eyes were closed, her back lifting in a shallow pant, her arms twisted by the leather manacles beneath her. His eyes passed over the other woman’s face, her features pale in the waning afternoon light, and then his gaze shifted to Le.

Aiden’s heart caught. Le was staring up at the tree limbs, his eyes open and glazed. Aiden swallowed hard and reached for him, but the boy turned his head and a ghost of a smile touched his blue tinged lips.

“We’re free,” he whispered. “Tis true. We’re free.”

Aiden gave a ragged laugh. “Aye, Le,” he said, mimicking the boy’s accent. “We’re free.”

Le lifted himself on one elbow. “What now?”

Aiden’s eyes lowered to the drenched leather manacles. “These have got to go,” he said. As they dried, Aiden knew they’d tighten until they cut off circulation, but more than anything else, Aiden wanted to be free in all ways.

As he stared transfixed by the leather bindings, he tried to remember what it had been like to be free, to be King of Dorland. Truthfully he could remember very little beyond the last months as a slave.

“How?” The boy’s simple word cut through Aiden’s private musing.

He blinked at the boy, then looked around. How? Freeing them of the bindings was the least of their problems, but the first that must be attended. He looked at Naia again, tugging on the bindings that connected them. She opened her eyes and looked up at him.

“Tell her to roll over, Le,” he said to the boy, never taking his eyes from her face.

Le made a few motions with his hand and Naia complied, rolling to her back. Despite his weariness, Aiden’s eyes roved over her. She was too thin, but to Aiden, he'd never seen a more beautiful woman in his life.

Forcing thoughts away from her, he lifted the leather manacles between Le and himself, searching for any frayed edges. He pulled at the bindings, hoping to stretch them and perhaps slip their hands free, but they gave only a little.

He rose up on his knees and searched the ground immediately around them. He found a sharp stone and pressed it against the swollen, soaked leather. Making a quick strike with it, he noted the deep mark he’d made. Releasing a sigh of exhaustion, he set to work severing the connection between himself and the boy. Night fell, but thankfully there was enough moon for him to see by. He didn’t stop. He listened to the quiet sound of Naia’s and Le’s breathing in the darkness as his aching fingers continued to tear at the manacles. He didn’t intend to spend one more night chained to anyone else.

Finally the bindings between himself and Le gave. It had taken nearly two hours, but as he held up his naked, scarred wrist, he couldn’t believe he was no longer physically attached to the boy. He stared at his hand for a long time, then turned to Naia.

The boy hadn’t awaken, but Naia opened her eyes and lifted her fingers to encircle his wrist. She pulled it down to her lips and kissed it gently. Aiden smiled at her and brushed back a tangled strand of hair, then he searched the manacles connecting them. This bond had been drug over the top of the log most of the day and showed wear on the underside.

Aiden felt his determination strengthened as he started hacking at the leather binding. It took a little over an hour to sever it, but then Aiden found himself completely free. Naia sat up beside him as he held both wrists out in front of him.

It was a staggering sight. The irony of his position didn’t escape him either, nor was it dulled by his exhaustion. Lifting his hands into the moonlight, Aiden closed his eyes and breathed a prayer of thanksgiving. He was free, he was truly free again.

His work wasn’t done, however. He forced his fingers to close over a new stone and moving over Naia, he positioned himself between her and the other woman, who was sleeping heavily. Naia lay back and watched him as he looked the manacle over and then began hacking at it.

*    *    *

Naia woke to sunlight against her eyes. She opened them slowly, feeling disoriented. Where was she? Why had the slavers allowed her to sleep so long? By daylight, they’d usually been marching for hours.

Then she felt the unnatural weight resting against her stomach and looked down. The tangled mass of Aiden’s golden curls met her eyes and she smiled, lifting her right hand to stroke him. Her gaze fixed on her arm. The manacles were gone, leaving vivid pink scars behind. For the first time in months, she’d been freed from the man lying across her.

She caught sight of the dulled rock resting in his open hand. Guilt struck her when she noticed the tips of his fingers were stained with dried blood. Then her eyes followed upward and fixed on the intact shackles, binding her to the woman on her left, the woman Naia had never gotten to know.

She was surprised by the unnatural paleness of the woman’s skin and lifted her eyes to the woman’s face, then choked back the strangled sob that rose in her throat. The woman was staring wide eyed at the sky, her features cast in a grey pallor.

Naia rose up on her elbows and searched the hollow of the woman’s throat for a pulse. There wasn’t any. No rise of chest to indicate she still lived. Bile rose in Naia’s throat and heart beat frantically against her ribs.

The woman was dead and she was chained to her.

The strangled cry that tore from Naia brought both Le and Aiden awake. Aiden caught her shoulders, trying to force her to look at him, but panic overwhelmed her and she pulled at her manacles, trying to break away.

Aiden shook his head in confusion, he didn’t understand, but she was chained to a dead woman.

Then Le was beside her, touching her shoulder. Naia felt her sanity slipping and her hand signals were frantic, crazed. She pulled on the shackles again, appalled by the dead weight that met her efforts. Dead. The woman had died sometime in the night, her body so close that Naia could reach out and touch her.

Le understood and spoke to Aiden, but Naia didn’t see his words. She couldn’t see anything, but the blackness of hysteria seeping in on her. She was aware of Aiden shifting, shielding her with his body, but it wasn’t enough. She could still see the woman’s lifeless eyes, staring skyward.

She gasped for air, feeling as if she would suffocate. She knew Le was speaking to her, but she couldn’t understand his words. All she knew was she had been chained to a dead woman. Then her mad concentration centered on Aiden. He took the frayed manacle in his hands and pulled against it, trying to split it along the seam he’d created with his rock the previous night.

His muscles bunched in his back, along his shoulders, across his forearms. The manacles didn’t give. Naia panted. Hysteria had weakened her and she laid her head against Aiden’s back, closing her eyes, trying to block out all sight and sensations.

She felt a tearing sensation and then a breath of cold air on her left wrist. Suddenly she was being hauled to her feet and propelled away. She blinked her eyes, trying to clear the cloud of panic, but it only made her knees give way and she sagged against the form suspending her.

A moment later, the chill, damp touch of water against her lips brought her around. She blinked her eyes, a prickling sensation of cold sweat running down her back and between her breasts. Lifting a hand, she pushed the tangled mass of hair from her face and looked up. Aiden’s features were hazy, but he was there. She brushed her fingers across his lips and he gave her a relieved smile. She placed her palm against his cheek, then looked at her scarred wrist. She was free. She was completely, entirely, utterly free.

‘I’m free.’ She watched her own hands make the motions. ‘I’m free.’

Aiden smiled at her again and then hugged her to him, cradling her head against his chest. She burrowed into him, shutting her eyes, allowing the marvelous sensation to surround her. She was free.

*    *    *

Aiden left Le with Naia. The boy was talking with her, keeping her mind off the grim task left to Aiden. Her color had returned and her breathing was back to normal. The terror he’d seen in her face when she’d awaken to find herself chained to a dead woman had wrenched Aiden’s heart.

Eldon help him, he intended to see that no one frightened Naia ever again. He wouldn’t allow her to be hurt or scared; he would protect her. He would make sure of that, no matter what it took.

Aiden stood for a moment, looking down on the dead woman. She’d been a constant presence on Naia’s left for weeks now, but the situation in the slave camp had been so bizarre, he’d never learned her name. Any time he’d been given the chance to speak, he centered his attention on the two people who meant the most to him and ignored everyone else.

Now he wished he at least knew her name so he could say a prayer for her when he buried her. No one should die nameless and alone. At least she’d died free. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

He didn’t allow himself to think that their escape, their many hours in the frigid water, had probably brought about her death. What did it matter? Months more as a slave or a few hours as a freewoman. Aiden didn’t even need to think about his choice.

He bent beside her and grabbed her cold arm. Grimacing, he pulled her onto his shoulder and carried her under the evergreens. He had nothing with which to dig a grave, so he contented himself with piling stones over her corpse. Even though it wasn’t much, it took him the better part of three hours to complete.

Afterward, he returned to the riverbank where he’d left Naia and Le. Naia looked up at him. She was sitting calmly before the water, weaving a basket from grasses she’d found growing close by. Le was wandering the bank, searching for berries.

Aiden flashed Naia a smile and dropped to his knees beside her, splashing water on his dirt streaked, sweat stained face and neck. He felt Naia’s eyes on him and turned, allowing his gaze to run over her.

She smiled at his appraisal, then glanced over her shoulder at the boy. Aiden followed her line of vision, then motioned at her basket.

‘There are many roots,’ she said, moving her hands slowly. ‘I get so we eat.’ Inexplicably her eyes brightened, dancing with excitement. ‘I see soap root growing in the bank. We bathe soon.’

Aiden shared her radiant smile. Nothing would feel better than a bath. Then her smile died.

‘You...’ Her motions faltered, her eyes taking on their glazed, agonized look.

Aiden knew what she was thinking and he moved forward, taking her hands in his. He forced her to look into his face. “She died a freewoman,” he said, searching her eyes to see if she understood him. “She died a freewoman, Naia.”

She sucked in a ragged breath, tears glistening on her lashes. Closing her eyes for a moment, she tried to compose herself. Aiden pulled her into his arms, holding her close. They’d seen so much death in the last few weeks, it didn’t seem right that they should witness more, especially now when there was so much to live for. Still he was glad they’d made their escape, and he was glad they’d taken the other woman with them even if it cost her her life.

Then he was aware of Naia cradled against him. She lifted her head and licked at a tear that glistened on her lips. Aiden followed the motion, wanting desperately to do the same. Dirty as she was, her black hair tangled, her clothing threadbare and torn, he’d never seen a more desirable woman and he wanted her at that moment with a passion that surprised him. He never remembered wanting any woman the way he wanted her.

He cast a half-glance at the boy meandering down the bank. Le’s back was to them. Returning his attention to the woman in his arms, Aiden lowered his head. It was far beyond time to claim a kiss from this woman who’d stolen his heart.

But Naia pulled back, the anguished look returning to her eyes. She turned and lifted her head. Aiden followed the motion, trying to see what she saw. In the distance rose a jagged expanse of rocky mountains.

His brow furrowed in confusion.

Naia looked back at him, then she swallowed hard. She motioned toward the boy and then her mouth. Aiden felt disappointed. Maybe she didn’t feel about him the way he felt about her. He’d believed he saw something more in her frequent looks, but maybe he’d only wanted to see it so badly, he’d fooled himself. The thought was staggering.

All this time he’d known there was something special between himself and this woman. He’d begun to believe they were meant for each other, and he’d even vowed he’d do everything in his power to keep them together if they escaped slavery. Now that they had, he’d never stopped to consider she might not feel the same, that she might not be grateful for any sacrifice he was willing to make on her part.

“Le.”

The boy turned at his voice and picked his way back over the bank. He dropped to his knees before Aiden and Aiden couldn’t help but smile. Le’s entire mouth and tongue were purple from the berries he’d eaten.

Naia’s face also broke into a smile and she reached out to tousle Le’s hair.

“I hope you don’t get a stomach ache,” said Aiden with mock severity.

Le’s eyes widened a moment, then he laughed. His genuine laughter eased some of the ache in Aiden’s wounded heart. “Did you want something?”

Aiden nodded at Naia. “I think she wants you to translate for us.”

Le made hand motions at Naia and then waited for her response. Aiden could piece together many signs, but not enough to get the full nuance of a conversation. He hated admitting there was this much distance between himself and the woman he loved. They were never able to have an intimate conversation because Aiden didn’t know enough signs, and he wasn’t willing to share his private feelings with Le. Although he was beginning to wonder if these feelings weren’t one-sided.

*    *    *

Naia could see the anxiety on Aiden’s face. What did he think she was going to tell him? True, she didn’t like her information herself, but it would only bode well for him. He had little to lose and much to gain. She on the other hand…

Naia made the necessary motions with her hands, but her heart wasn’t in it. She’d come to love this Human King. She’d never thought such intense emotions possible, but she knew differently now. What made it more difficult was the fact that Aiden felt something for her in return. She could see it in the way he looked at her, in the misery of his expression right now.

Still he was King of Dorland. There was no place in his life for a Nazarien woman. She couldn’t go to Dorland, not that he would ever consider taking her, and once she returned to Tirsbor, she would belong to the Nazarien again. Her mother and Shandar, her brother, all waited for her. They had always been enough in the past. They had to be enough now.

She forced her thoughts away and concentrated on communicating with Le. The boy was so quick, so intelligent. He sensed her hesitation and asked her what was wrong. She motioned that everything was fine.

Le turned to Aiden, a worried look on his face.

“What, Le? What does she say?”

“Naia believes that we’re two days walk from the Nazarien outpost of Tirsbor. She’s guessing at the distance, but the outpost is in the heart of those mountains.” Le pointed over his shoulder at the jagged mountain range.

Aiden flashed Naia a radiant smile. She forced a smile in return and bowed her head. Glancing at Le, Aiden placed a hand under Naia’s chin and lifted her face until their eyes met.

“What’s wrong?”

Naia saw the excitement in his eyes, knew he deserved it.

“Won’t they help us? Aren’t they your people?”

Naia smiled again. ‘Yes, they will help you. You’re the King of Dorland.’ Le translated as she signed. ‘Likely, they’ll help you return to Dorland, give you as many warriors as you need to secure your kingdom.’

“But?”

She drew a deep breath. How did he know there was a but without hearing it? ‘Things will be different once we reach Tirsbor.’

“What things?”

She glanced at Le. How did she speak about love through a boy, how did she tell Aiden what she felt for him? How did she explain that for her this was the most freedom she would ever know? She couldn’t. Not until she could tell him directly without anyone standing between them.

‘It’s of no importance,’ she signed to Le and then disengaged herself from Aiden. It’s of no importance, she whispered to herself – I am of no importance – but since becoming a captive and fighting for her life, Naia had discovered that she was important.

If not to her people, if not even to herself, she was important to Aiden and Le, and that made all the difference in the world.

CHAPTER 14

Amaroq carved along the lines his father had carved so many years before, trying to reverse the damage the elements had caused. It struck him how people spent so much of their limited time, trying to preserve just one memory of their having been, of having lived, of mattering. These two small graves were all that remained of two beings, two brief lives, like a candle flicker that had been born and died, leaving behind nothing, except a scrap of memory in the mind of a dead man.

And here was his son, trying desperately to preserve what his father had been unable to save. His sisters, two small souls that he’d never met, never got to see the world around them, never were more than a painful memory of all that might have been.

His father had named them Eliora and Dyana. He’d held them in his arms and given them identity. Then he’d laid them to rest, carved their headstones, and mourned. He’d probably sat in this very spot, weeping, questioning why he’d been brought here to witness both their beginning and their end.

Closing his eyes, Amaroq let the knife still against the ancient wood. His heart was pounding, his head buzzing with too many thoughts. This wasn’t what he wanted. He’d always been fine without knowing, without wanting, without longing for more than what was before him. He’d never mourned the loss of the man who’d given him life, he’d never cared, but sitting here, sitting in the very spot where his father had mourned his daughters, Amaroq couldn’t deny he wanted more. He wanted to know his father.

“Wolf?”

He felt Shandar’s hand on his shoulder.

Looking up, he met the older man’s concerned expression.

Shandar hunkered down before him. Behind him, he could see Erjen and Nakoda waiting.

“I have to preserve their memory. He’d want that. He’d want someone to care for them.”

Shandar glanced down at the grave marker in his hands. “All right.” He said it in that careful voice people reserved for psychotics.

Amaroq smiled. “I haven’t lost my mind.”

“Of course not.” Shandar forced a smile in return. “But just the same, I want you to return to Tirsbor with Nakoda.”

Amaroq’s gaze narrowed. “No. I can’t. Naia is out there…”

“I’ll continue to look for Naia. Erjen’s agreed to help me. He thinks he might know something, but this…” He motioned around them at the expanse of open land. “This is too much. I shouldn’t have taken you beyond Tirsbor.”

Amaroq shook his head. “And yet you did. You can’t just expect me to go back, to be content with walls and boundaries. I’ve seen too much to go back.” He released the knife and grasped Shandar’s arm. “I’m all right. I know you worry, but I’m fine. You can’t box me up again, Shandar. Not now.”

Shandar sighed, looking down at the marker in Amaroq’s hands.

Amaroq shifted his attention to Erjen. “What do you know about my sister?”

Erjen moved closer. “There’s a homestead far back in the canyon, many fields of grain. I stumbled upon it once when I was walking.”

Amaroq nodded. “Go on.”

“Women were working the fields, Stravad women. At first I thought it was women like Adalia.” He pointed at the grave. “Women who’d fled the order, but then I saw the guards.”

“Guards?”

“Human men, walking the perimeter, keeping track of the women. I followed the canyon around to the entrance. Armed guards were stationed along the ridge. No one goes in or out without being seen.”

Amaroq nodded, considering. “That must be where they’re keeping my sister.”

“Wolf…” warned Shandar.

Amaroq met his gaze. “I have to do this, Shandar. I have to find her. Don’t take this away from me.”

Shandar nodded. “All right, but you’ve got to understand there’s no guarantee Naia will be there.”

Amaroq swallowed hard. “Like the grave yesterday at the river, I have to know.”

*    *    *

The hike to the canyon took most of the day. As they neared it, the sun tracked over them, dipping behind the mountains, casting shadows over the land. Shadows were the realm of the Nazarien. They could blend with them, become one, sliding just at the edge of sight and awareness. Amaroq and his companions crept to the edge of the homestead, hiding in the scrub brush, blending seamlessly with their environment, making no sound.

Shandar whispered a count of the guards stationed above them on the canyon ridge, hidden behind rocks and trees. Erjen added to it, seeing those that only the most skilled Nazarien could spot. Nakoda gave a grunt of agreement.

Amaroq closed his eyes and felt forth with his power. Why rely on sight when you had other weapons at your command? “Two more,” he said, “just beyond where the road bends.”

Erjen gave him an admiring glance. “I’ve only seen that once before.”

Shandar patted Amaroq’s back. “Same here. Your father could count assailants without sight more accurately than I ever could.”

Amaroq smiled, then his thoughts turned to the problem at hand. “We need to get in there.”

Shandar considered. “We can take out the guards here, but there’s no knowing how many are at the homestead. How many did you see when you investigated, Erjen?”

“I never got an accurate count. I couldn’t get close enough to see the actual compound.”

Amaroq marked the position of the sun. “We have a number of hours before nightfall.” He shifted and faced Shandar. “We need a distraction to get by them. I’m going to sneak up closer, but I’ll do it sloppily so they can find me.”

“What?” Shandar’s expression projected his alarm.

“That way they’ll bring me into the compound, and you can slip in behind while they’re occupied with me.”

“No, they’ll kill you.”

“Why? I’m Stravad. They can add me to their slaves.”

“You’re male. You heard Erjen. The slaves working the field were women.”

“That’s only what he saw. They took the King of Dorland.”

“And we have no proof that he’s still alive.”

Amaroq pointed over his shoulder. “My sister’s in that canyon. I have to try this.”

“You don’t know that, Wolf. We don’t know where Naia is.”

“There’s no other way. Someone has to get in that compound.”

“Not you. I’ll go.”

“They’ll never take you. You’re an old man.”

Shandar glared at him, but Amaroq shrugged. The truth was the truth.

“Then Nakoda.”

Nakoda grunted in agreement.

Amaroq shook his head. “Which of us would you see as a better slave? I’m young enough and less intimidating.”

“No.”

“Shandar, I’ll make sure they take me into the compound.” He gave him a significant look. Shandar didn’t know the extent of his power, but he knew it was great. Amaroq felt sure he could plant the idea deep enough that the Humans would take it as their own. “My sister’s in that canyon, Shandar. I have to get her out.”

“It’s too dangerous. I can’t risk it.”

“You don’t have a choice. Would you try to control me the way the Nazarien have? Would you lock me away?”

“I don’t want to lose you!” Shandar hissed angrily.

“Trust me. Please, Shandar. If no one else does, trust me on this. I can get inside that compound and they won’t hurt me.”

Shandar studied his face.

“You’ve never treated me the way the Nazarien have. You’ve been a father to me. Now, let me prove to you that I’m capable of running my own life. Let me go.”

“We’ll come back tomorrow. I promise you. We’ll find a way in. This...this is too dangerous. Don’t do this. I’m begging you, Wolf.”

“Shandar…”

“I’m not trying to control you, but there are other ways, ways that aren’t so risky. Let’s go back to Erjen’s cabin and plot it out. Please, Wolf.”

Amaroq could feel the panic inside the older man and it moved him. Nakoda gripped his shoulder.

“I feel the same. This isn’t the way. You need to be reasonable about this.”

Amaroq sighed. “All right. We’ll come back tomorrow.”

Shandar nodded, looking away. The wash of his emotions nearly staggered the younger man.

They crept away from the canyon, disappearing into the shadows, never being seen nor heard. The walk back to the cabin took them until nightfall. Once there, Erjen heated the leftover stew and they ate in silence. Weariness pressed on all of them.

After the dishes were cleared, they attempted to make a plan, but in the end they decided they were all too tired to think it through clearly. They agreed to wake early the next morning and formulate something a bit more coherent.

Bidding Erjen goodnight, they retired to the barn. There would be no storytelling tonight. Settling the horses, Amaroq and Nakoda climbed into the loft, only to find Shandar fast asleep. He didn’t even stir when they dropped into their bedrolls next to him.

Lying in the darkness, Amaroq listened to his companions’ snores, waiting for the deepest, stillest part of the night. Sleep would not find him, not when the possibility remained that Naia was close by. When he was certain they wouldn’t awaken, he eased out of his bedroll and crept to the ladder, descending into the barn.

A few moments later, he was loping across the yard, headed back in the direction of the homestead and his sister.

*    *    *

Dawn had just broken as Amaroq picked his way toward the entrance of the homestead. He knew he was taking a risk, but he couldn’t think of any other way to go about getting inside the compound. Fighting down his own anxiety, he held his breath and moved closer. He stuck to the brush, keeping out of sight as much as possible, but not blending the way a fully trained Nazarien would. He hoped it would be enough to draw out the guards he sensed around them.

Sliding into a natural culvert, he climbed the bank and peered through the bushes lining the road. He could count two guards on either side of the ridge, watching the road, two beyond the bend and two more…

“What have we here?” came a voice and he felt something sharp press against the small of his back. “An intruder?”

Before he could turn, hands closed over him and he was bodily lifted, then hurled into the road, landing on his back, the air knocked out of him. He gasped and blinked up at the wispy clouds floating by overhead, his ears ringing with the impact.

He felt the cold touch of steel against the hollow of his throat and a man’s face loomed over him. He had a jagged scar running from his left eye down into the collar of his shirt, close-cropped brown hair, and wide-set brown eyes.

“You knocked the breath out of him, Elvert,” he said, his upper lip lifting in a sneer.

“Let me gut him,” came the deep rumble of a male voice.

Amaroq focused on the huge man, bigger than Nakoda, standing to the smaller man’s right. He had heavy jowls and small, mean eyes. The scar-faced man pressed a knee against Amaroq’s chest. Amaroq gasped, unable to push him off because of the knife pressed against his throat.

“Now why’d you wanna do that? This one’s pretty as a girl.” He trailed his hand down the side of Amaroq’s face. “There’s some that like them pretty.” Reaching into Amaroq’s belt, he grabbed his knife and tossed it to Elvert. “Duard’s gonna wanna see this one.”

“I’m here for my sister!” Amaroq said over the pressure of the man’s knee against his diaphragm. “You took her!”

“Really? That’s a damn shame, innit? But it seems to me, you got bigger problems than she does, precious.” Pressing harder into Amaroq’s chest, he leaned closer. “Tie his hands, Elvert,” he commanded.

A moment later, Amaroq was hauled to his feet, his arms bound behind his back. He staggered, trying to regain his equilibrium. The feel of the slavers’ emotions oozed over him, making him want to squirm. He’d felt rage before and hate, but this was something more, something that made his stomach roil.

Elvert shoved him in the back and he stumbled, but the other man caught his arm and steadied him. “Don’t damage the goods now, Elvert,” he warned.

They forced Amaroq to walk before them, shoving him if he took too long. He tried to get a feel for the lay of the land, the number of guards now focused on them, the way the road curved back into the canyon. He tried to catalogue the sounds, the smells, the sensations, but he couldn’t deny he was afraid now.

What if Shandar and Nakoda couldn’t get past the guards? What if the slavers knocked him unconscious? What if they decided to slit his throat before he could control their actions? He realized he hadn’t thought this through well enough. His experience with people hadn’t extended to those that had no regard for life.

But it made sense. There was no way you could peddle flesh and maintain even an iota of compassion. Amaroq had miscalculated and now he didn’t know if he could pay the price they were likely to extort.

Focusing his thoughts on his sister, he stumbled along before them, forcing down his fear and desperation, forcing himself to stay in control. That was most important. He couldn’t lose control. There was no way Nakoda or Shandar would abandon him in this place. They would find a way into the canyon if they had to kill everyone they met along the way.

The sun rose above the hills and the temperature climbed. Amaroq shivered, but he knew it wasn’t from cold. They continued on, winding deeper into the canyon, the rock formations on either side growing larger.

Finally they came to an open area, the canyon walls rising around them. A number of buildings were scattered in the space, along with hitching posts, a well, and a few horses. Men meandered back and forth, some pitching horseshoes, others sitting in the shade of the trees, watching the procession come their way.

When they reached the middle of the compound, the scar-faced man hauled Amaroq to a halt and waited. A man on the porch of the main house rose and opened the screen door, going inside. A moment later, he returned with another man.

This second man was dressed in strange garb, the shirt buttoned up to his chin, wearing a coat despite the summer heat. The color was a muted brown, matching his hair and moustache. He regarded Amaroq for a moment, lifting his hand to stroke the mustache, his eyes searching him from head to toe.

“I’m here for my sister!” said Amaroq loudly.

“Caught him snooping at the main entrance, Duard,” said Scarface.

Duard came forward, continuing to stroke his moustache. He stopped in front of Amaroq and looked him over, then made a slow circle around his body. Amaroq resisted the impulse to keep him in his line of sight.

The man leaned over his shoulder, his breath warm on Amaroq’s cheek. “Nazarien?” He shifted and eyed the medallions in Amaroq’s left ear. “Important Nazarien. Not many get the star of Eldon.”

“I’m here for my sister.” He forced the words out between clenched teeth. The man made his skin crawl. His emotions were like oil, making Amaroq feel unclean.

“Your sister,” he purred in his ear, then he continued his circuit around him until he stopped in front of him again. “I don’t have your sister.”

“I know what you do here.”

The man snapped his fingers. “Hogan, bring our guest a chair.”

Scarface hurried to the porch and grabbed a chair, carrying it back and placing it behind Amaroq. Then he grabbed his shoulder and forced him to sit, even though his hands were still bound behind him.

Duard leaned over him, searching his features as if he were evaluating him. “These Stravad...sometimes the men are as pretty as the women.”

Hogan gave a laugh, his grip tightening on Amaroq’s shoulder. “I thought you might notice that. There are those who’d pay good coin for one like him.”

Duard held up a hand. “Ah, but he’s older than most. A trained warrior I’ll wager. He’d never be trustworthy. They don’t like that. They don’t want to fear they’ll have their throats slit in the night.”

Amaroq lifted his head, forcing himself to meet Duard’s gaze. “I’m here for my sister.”

“I don’t think you’re in a position to make demands. You were caught trespassing on my property.”

“I know you have her. Turn her over or…”

“Or?” Duard stroked his moustache. “Or?”

Amaroq knew he didn’t have an or. He was in trouble. More trouble than he’d ever been in his entire life. This man was not going to be open to suggestions of any sort. “Or you and your men will die.” Shandar had once told him, when in doubt, bluff your way out. That was all he had at this point.

“How did you know about us?”

“What?”

Duard smiled. “Don’t play. You speak the language perfectly. You know what I said. How did you know about us?” He motioned around him.

Amaroq knew that to tell him would only bring him down on Erjen. He wasn’t giving the man up no matter what. “I followed your tracks.”

“How? We always deliberately hide them. How did you follow us?”

Amaroq narrowed his eyes. “I’m Nazarien.”

Duard straightened and stood regarding him for a moment. Hogan’s fingers flexed on Amaroq’s shoulder. Eldon’s star, he wanted to throw the man’s touch off.

“You’re lying.”

Amaroq blinked in surprise. That was his gift – to tell when someone was lying. He opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t know what to say.

“You didn’t follow us. You were told about us.” Duard grabbed the arms of the chair and brought his face close to his prisoner’s. “Who told you?”

“No one.”

Duard nodded, then straightened. “You might have something, Hogan. I know of people who would pay for one like this.” He grabbed Amaroq’s chin and forced his head to the side, so he could see his profile. “He’s educated, speaks perfect Nevaisser, and he might be broken. Either he’s brave beyond reason, or he’s brash and acts before he thinks. I’m betting on the later. I’m also betting someone would pay big money to get him back, wouldn’t they?” He brought his lips close to Amaroq’s ear. “You aren’t just any Nazarien warrior, are you? You’re special. You’re one of a kind.”

Amaroq twisted his chin out of Duard’s hold and glared at him. “I’m here for my sister.”

“But how to break him?” He went back to stroking his moustache. “We don’t want to mark up that face or break anything.” He snapped his fingers again. “I know. We’ll use the brands. We can brand him where no one will notice. Elvert, bring them here. Hogan, strip him to the skin.”

Hogan reached for Amaroq, but Amaroq fought, kicking out, throwing his head back and trying to make contact with the man behind him.

“Subdue him if necessary, but don’t mark him up!” shouted Duard, taking a step back.

Hogan’s hands were on his shirt, ripping at it as Amaroq saw the huge man move from the direction of an outbuilding with a piece of metal in his hands. Fear pumped hot and furious through him and he slammed his head into Hogan’s chin, rocking the man backward.

“Control him!” shouted Duard.

Hogan raised his fist, the other hand pressed against his bleeding chin. He backhanded Amaroq and sent him sprawling from the chair, his head ringing. He’d caught him in the temple and stunned him.

Amaroq lay for a moment, fighting the blackness that descended, struggling to maintain consciousness. He felt himself being hauled into a sitting position and he kicked, connecting with something yielding. He heard a grunt, then Duard was stumbling away, his hands between his legs.

“I don’t give a damn where you brand him!” he shouted. “I want to know how he found us!”

Elvert came forward with the glowing brand. Amaroq’s attention focused on it to the exclusion of all else. Panic swamped him, made him dizzy. Fear washed over him in a wave. Hogan grabbed a handful of his hair and hauled his head back, immobilizing him.

He’d come for his sister, but he was paying the price. Eldon’s star, he’d botched this whole thing in the worst way possible. His heart pounded so hard, he could feel it in the roots of his hair – it stole his strength.

Just as Elvert stopped in front of him, a commotion sounded at the entrance to the yard. A horse reined in before the main house and a man in a dark cloak addressed Duard.

“Kalas Eldralin just entered the canyon. He’s coming this way. He has a large force with him, larger than what we can muster.”

Duard held up a hand, stopping Elvert. He shoved the huge man backward. “How far away?”

“Not far. You don’t have much time. We can’t stop him. He’s got too many men.”

Duard’s eyes lowered to Amaroq. “Get him out of here. Finish him, then make sure you dispose of his body,” he told Hogan. “And make sure he won’t be found.”

Before he could respond, Hogan hauled him to his feet and forced him across the yard to an outbuilding situated on the edge of the property. So close, so near. Kalas Eldralin was riding this way, but by the time he arrived, it would already be too late.

Hogan wound one hand in the bonds on his prisoner’s arms, and he kept the other on Amaroq’s shoulder, shoving him forward. As they moved across the yard, the other men whipped into motion, clearing things away or rushing out of sight. Amaroq tried to look back at Duard, but Hogan propelled him faster across the ground.

They stopped before the outbuilding and Hogan reached around him, pulling open the door, then he shoved Amaroq inside. The interior was dark and Amaroq smelled the musty scent of grains and other earthy vegetables. The air had cooled considerably and he could make out the indistinct shapes of bundles stacked to the ceiling.

Before they’d crossed the entire room, Hogan’s fingers closed on Amaroq’s shoulder and he hauled him back against him. His hand shifted and he drew back Amaroq’s hair. “Shame to waste such a fine specimen,” he whispered in his ear.

Amaroq shivered in revulsion, then without warning, he threw his head back again, this time connecting with Hogan’s nose. The man jerked away, shouting a curse, and Amaroq wrenched his bonds out of his hand, stumbling to one knee. Before he could right himself, someone stepped between him and Hogan.

Hogan made a guttural sound and slumped against the dark shape, then he slid to the floor. A beam of light fell over his face, illuminating his staring eyes and his shocked expression. A bloom of red spread across his stomach as he gave a last exhalation and lay still. Amaroq sat down hard, unable to stop looking at him, another shiver racing over him.

Nakoda turned and came to his side, sliding his sword into its sheath as he knelt and began cutting away Amaroq’s bonds. Shandar dropped in front of him, dragging his attention away from the dead man.

“Are you okay?”

Amaroq nodded, his eyes drifting back to the body.

As soon as the bonds fell off, Shandar caught him in an embrace. “I didn’t think we’d get here in time.”

Amaroq closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. He was safe. They’d come for him, and he was safe. For a moment, that was all that he could feel. Nakoda’s strong presence at his back grounded him, as did Shandar’s embrace.

Finally he eased away from Shandar and looked him in the eye. “Thank you,” he said. “I knew I could count on you.”

Shandar gave a laugh and caught him behind the head, touching their foreheads together. “Don’t ever scare me like that again, Wolf,” he scolded.

Amaroq gave a grunt of agreement. “I can promise you that I won’t,” he said with conviction.

CHAPTER 15

Naia did find soap root. The three of them took turns bathing, soaking away weeks of dirt. While Naia bathed, Aiden found a thistle flower and worked at it, pulling away the tiny petals until he had a serviceable comb. He wandered the shore, waiting for her.

Tirsbor was two days away, he thought. Help was so close. Then why did he feel anxious? Because Naia was anxious, because Naia didn’t want to go back to her people. Le had told him privately he thought Naia hadn’t been treated very well there, but Aiden would see things changed. He wouldn’t allow anyone to mistreat Naia ever again. In fact, he intended to take her back to Dorland with him, so the stay in Tirsbor need only be as long as it took to garner their help in transporting him back to his kingdom.

He took a seat, drawing a deep breath. He tapped the thistle against his palm and thought about home for the first time in many weeks. He wondered about Alasdair and Lyell Vito. He thought about Adison in passing and concentrated mostly on Carona.

Would she accept the dissolution of their marriage if he permitted her to remain at the castle enjoying the privileges of a queen? He thought it likely, but even if she didn’t, he intended to end his false marriage to Carona and be with Naia instead.

He stopped himself and looked up at the hills that marked Tirsbor. But what if Naia didn’t want him? She didn’t want to go home; however, that didn’t mean she wanted to be with him. He ran a hand through his freshly washed blonde curls.

His thoughts shifted back to Dorland. Wondering about Naia was too painful right now. He needed more time to sort it out. He wasn’t clear about his feelings regarding going home himself, but it was an easier subject to dwell on.

Did he want to be King again? He sighed heavily and lifted the thistle, turning it in the pink light of the dying sun. He needed to go home and set things straight with everyone there, but he didn’t think he wanted to be King. Maybe Adison was going to get his wish fulfilled, maybe Aiden would turn the crown over to him after all.

His mind drifted to his own kidnapping so many weeks before. He’d spent a great deal of time at first wondering why he’d been abducted, how the slavers had made it into his chambers that fated night so long ago. As survival became more difficult, Aiden stopped thinking about Dorland altogether. Now he couldn’t get it out of his mind. He needed to go home, but was it safe to do so?

Someone had wanted him eliminated, that fact was glaringly true, but who?

At first he’d suspected Adison. Who else hated him with such vengeance? But he couldn’t hold that thought too long. Adison might hate him, might be envious of him, but to arrange a kidnapping by slavers? Not even Adison was that cruel. Adison might covet the throne, but he wasn’t a monster. And more than that, Adison would be so afraid of being caught, he’d never act on so nefarious an impulse.

Aiden blinked when Naia stepped in front of him. He’d thought her the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen before, but now...her skin shown flawless and bronze in the half-light, her black hair shimmered despite the few remaining tangles, and her eyes seemed a deeper blue. Unable to speak or move, Aiden held up the thistle comb he’d made for her. He felt like an idiot, but was rewarded with her stunning smile. She was spectacular.

She knelt in front of him, trying to pull the tattered ends of her shirt around her. She took the comb from his hands and began pulling it through her straight, sleek black tresses. It caught in the knots and she struggled to work it out.

Aiden placed his hand over hers and gently pried her fingers from the flower, then turned her until she was sitting on the ground before him. He carefully disentangled her hair from the makeshift comb and began methodically working on the snarls.

It took awhile, but Aiden didn’t mind. Her hair smelled fresh and clean, and was soft beneath his hands. He looked around at her face and saw her eyes were closed. She was enjoying the attention.

Le had come back to their rudimentary campsite after bathing himself and he’d curled into a ball and had fallen asleep. They’d eaten earlier and Aiden had been shocked by the amount of roots the boy could put away. Clean and with a full stomach, he must be feeling more alive than he had in a long time.

As Aiden stroked a hand down Naia’s hair, he smiled at the boy. He intended to take Le with him to Dorland, if the boy wanted to go. He didn’t want to be separated from his unconventional family again.

Impulsively, he wrapped his arms around Naia. She snuggled into his warmth, resting her head on his shoulder. Placing his lips on her clean hair, Aiden couldn’t believe how physically and emotionally exhausted he was, but he was delighted by Naia’s response. Even if she didn’t feel as strongly as he did, she must feel something or she wouldn’t allow him to hold her so close.

*    *    *

Naia paused in the trail and pushed the hair from her face. She always wore it braided in Tirsbor to keep it out of the way, but since becoming a captive, she’d worn it loose. When it had been dirty and tangled, it had at least stayed back, but now that it was clean, it kept catching on the branches or blowing in the wind. She wanted to tie it back, but she had nothing to bind it with.

She lifted her eyes to the rocky expanse of mountains in the distance. Tirsbor. Her heart beat faster and she glanced over her shoulder at Aiden. He was helping the boy climb along the rocky bank of the Ethicon and he hadn’t looked at her. She turned back to the mountains. It was so close now. Less than a day away.

She shifted her gaze around them. She might as well start looking for a campsite now. They’d travelled a good distance, but she could see that Le was tiring. She was also tired, but it was a tired of the spirit rather than body. She wanted one last night with Aiden before he went back to being King.

She knew he had a wife, he had an entire life waiting for him, and it didn’t include a Nazarien woman who couldn’t hear. Besides her mother and Shandar waited for her, her brother. She had a life too, or she’d had one – still, after this experience, after these weeks of being captive, the idea of returning to a life in Tirsbor no longer seemed enough. She wanted more. She deserved more. She wanted the happiness she felt when she looked into Aiden’s eyes.

Her gaze narrowed as she took in her surroundings. She’d been this way before, many times when she went with hunting parties. Naia often went with the hunting parties, the single woman who would make their food and lay out their bedding. She’d been chosen because the men could count on her silence. She grimaced in memory of the hard days she’d spent, carrying packs, cleaning kills, cooking, sewing late into the night to repair torn clothing.

Then she remembered where she was. She looked around again. Of course. They’d often come this way, following the river and the game trails that led to it. It had been almost four years ago that one of the men had found the caves. She squinted her eyes in the bright afternoon sun. There to the right was the outcrop of foothills, and somewhere in there were the caves filled with hot springs.

Once discovered, the hunting parties had never failed to spend at least one night in the caves, enjoying the unusual pleasure of the hot springs. Naia didn’t doubt she could find them, if she could find Round Rock to guide her. For the first time in weeks, the three of them would sleep in warmth and shelter.

*    *    *

Naia motioned when they caught up with her. Aiden followed her hand signs, then automatically looked at Le. The boy was watching her with narrowed eyes, his hands on his thighs as he tried to catch his breath. Then he straightened suddenly and his eyes danced when he looked at Aiden.

“There are caves close by, over there.” He pointed to a small rise of foothills. Aiden’s eyes followed his arm. “Inside the caves are hot springs.”

‘You sure?’ Aiden motioned.

Her face became thoughtful and she glanced around once more, then she nodded. ‘Sure.’

He looked beyond her to the rise that she’d said housed Tirsbor. They’d covered a lot of ground that day. It wouldn’t hurt to stop early. He figured they might make the Nazarien outpost by noon tomorrow if the trail held so smooth. Naia seemed to guess his thoughts.

Her hands were graceful as she spoke to Aiden through Le, like the movement of a butterfly. Aiden studied her, noting the way the sunlight glanced off her black hair.

“Naia says Tirsbor is less than a day away.”

He nodded. It didn’t matter if it was two days. If she wanted to stop early, he’d stop. The pleasure of hot springs wasn’t lost on him either.

‘We follow,’ signed Aiden and he was rewarded by Naia’s smile.

She led them away from the river, back toward the foothills that rose in the distance. Aiden guided Le with one hand on his elbow to steady the weak boy, but a short time later, Naia found the caves with uncanny ease. She did so much without sound that Aiden was truly amazed. He’d heard tales of Talar Eldralin’s skill against the staggering handicap of blindness, but he’d thought most of that myth. He’d had to rethink his ideas since meeting Naia. She was better able to care for herself than most people he’d ever met, and she cared for them as well.

Carona would never have survived her first day in slavery – Carona who had all her senses in tact. Obviously the value of a person didn’t lie in the external or the physical, but then Aiden had always known that. Look at his own brother Alasdair.

Aiden released Le’s arm when he saw Naia peering into one of the caves. He moved to her side and placed himself before her and the dark opening. You never knew what might lurk in caves. As he gazed in at the darkness, he felt Naia’s hand on his arm. Then he became aware of a warmth on his face, and he looked over his shoulder, smiling at the woman who’d led them here. She smiled at him in return.

“Is this it?” asked Le, leaning against the entrance, panting hard.

Aiden nodded. Le needed a warm place to sleep at night and finally they were able to provide it. “This is it, Le,” he said, drawing the damp, moist air into his lungs. His eyes scanned the floor before the cave and he noticed the marks of previous fires. “Ask Naia if the Nazarien often shelter in this cave.”

Le made the necessary hand signals and Aiden was pleased to see he understood most of them. He turned to Naia as she answered and watched her more fluid movements.

“She says they always shelter at least one night here on every hunting trip. They make between three or four hunting trips every month.”

He turned back to the cave, surprised that he could now make out the curving of walls. There was a faint phosphorescent glow coming from deep within the dark recess. Aiden squinted and then felt Naia’s gentle tug on his arm.

He looked at her as she made her hand motions and Le translated, but Aiden picked up most of the conversation on his own. “There’s an inner cave where the hot springs are. The walls are pycantra. She says we shouldn’t be worried about animals in the cave. With the smell of man so regular and heavy, no animal would venture in and if the cave were occupied by Nazarien, a guard would have spotted us down by the river.”

Aiden ruffled Le’s hair. “What do you say to a hot bath? Are you up for it?”

“Aye,” said the boy, “Tis certain I’m ready.”

Aiden laughed. “Then tis certain you shall have one. The longest you can stand.” He slipped an arm around both their shoulders and led them inside.

While Le lavished in his bath, Aiden and Naia explored the outside, searching for something to eat. At one point, Naia caught up his hand, tugging him along behind her. Aiden marveled at his change in fortune. He’d never felt quite so happy and he’d never had so little – material wealth, that is. Even so, the woman walking in the dying sunlight beside him was more than he’d ever dreamed of; he’d never expected to find. Naia had given him life in a very real sense. He’d never known how bereft of it he was until he’d found her. The single bitter feeling to it all was his own uncertainty.

If only he knew how she felt about him.

She knelt and dug with a stick in the dirt, uncovering a few dark roots. She pulled them up and laid them beside her, then probed even further under the dense brush beside the river. Aiden watched her for a moment, then bent and helped her until they’d gathered a dozen or so. He carried them to the water and they washed them in the fast moving stream.

Picking their way back to the cave, they dropped them in the inner room beside the used fire ring. Aiden built a fire, utilizing the flint the Nazarien warriors stored in the cave, along with a little of the tinder. Naia told him they’d replace it the next morning before they left. Warming their hands in the blaze, they looked at each other and smiled.

‘Le bathing?’ motioned Naia, her eyes rolling with amusement.

Aiden laughed and nodded. Le had been wallowing in the warm water for more than an hour. He walked to the entrance of the inner cave and peered inside to make sure the boy was all right. It took awhile for his eyes to adjust to the misty half-light, but then he saw Le stroking from one end of the steaming pool to the other. As Aiden watched, Le lifted his head and started humming. Aiden suppressed his laughter and rejoined Naia.

“Le bathing,” he mouthed, and then he motioned to the entrance of the cave, moving in that direction himself.

Naia walked beside him, then stopped and clutched his arm. He followed her pointing finger and drew in his breath. Sunset was spreading out over the river in rosy pink hues. He swallowed hard, surprised by the sudden rush of tears in his eyes. He was suddenly and profoundly happy to be alive.

He turned to Naia and found her looking at him. A single tear slipped off her eyelashes and ran down her cheek. Aiden caught it and then smoothed it away with his thumb. She blinked at him and lifted her hand, covering the back of his, guiding his palm across her face in a caress. Aiden could only watch as her eyes closed with emotion and she leaned into his hand. Suddenly he had to know exactly what she felt for him or he’d die.

He eased his hand into her hair, passing the strands through his fingers, stroking his fingertips across her scalp. She half-opened her eyes and glanced at him, then closed them again, leaning her head back, exposing the flawless expanse of her throat. Aiden curved his hand around the back of her head and drew her closer to him, bending at the same time and brushing his lips across her throat.

He heard her quick intake of air and looked up at her. She stepped away from him and regarded him with an expression he couldn’t judge. Then she reached for his hand and drew him up to her until they were standing toe to toe. He looked down and twined his fingers through hers, exhaling slowly. Her eyes shifted from his eyes to his lips.

Aiden took it as the invitation he wanted and bent, brushing his own lips over hers. He’d expected some response, but not the immediate one he got. Her arms came around his neck and she lifted into his kiss, covering his mouth with her own. Aiden ran his hands up her sides over her back and sank his fingers into her hair, bringing her closer.

“Aiden.” He heard Le’s voice in the cave and he broke away from Naia. They both stared at each other, panting.

‘Le?’ Naia motioned.

Aiden nodded and drew a deep breath, releasing her.

Later, they ate the roots they’d found and enjoyed the warmth of the fire. Aiden had even found a few rough hewn cups and they shared a toast of water, laughing at the wealth they’d discovered in so unlikely a place. Leaning back, Aiden watched Naia and Le conversing back and forth.

Who would have thought that he could have been content with so little just a few months before? But as he watched Naia reach over to ruffle Le’s hair, he didn’t think it was so little. He’d found a family with these two that he’d never had with his brothers. Le had become like a son and Naia...no words could describe what Naia had become to him. For so long, he’d accepted a loveless marriage and days filled with menial tasks. Now he was glad to be alive, enjoying the warmth of a fire. He remembered a saying he’d once heard – how the mighty have fallen. Funny how much more mighty he felt, basking in the warmth of his small, makeshift family.

Naia looked up and caught his gaze. Le looked at him too, his eyes heavy. The boy glanced between his two companions and then gave a sleepy smile.

“That water in there feels so wonderful. Tis true that nothing’s felt so good before.” He stretched languidly. “Made me so tired, I’ll probably sleep like a bear in the winter, straight through ‘til morning.”

He gave each of his companions a meaningful look and then rolled onto his side and purposefully closed his eyes. It was a dramatic display, but Aiden got the meaning and he was grateful for Le’s adult understanding. In fact, although Le had always been protective of Naia, wanting to keep her unnoticed by the slavers, he’d never seemed the least bit jealous of Aiden’s obvious interest. He seemed to approve.

Aiden chuckled at the boy, added a few more sticks to the fire, and then gave his complete attention to the woman sitting across from him. Holding out his hand, he rose to his feet. She rose with him, their eyes locked on one another. He shot Le one last look, but the boy’s breathing had smoothed out and deepened. Aiden suspected he was already asleep, as good as his word.

CHAPTER 16

Kalas and his men reined into the open area before the buildings. A group of men lounged around the periphery, some playing horseshoes, some at a table with a deck of cards, some sitting on the steps of a large two-story house.

A man with a dark moustache came down the stairs into the yard, giving Kalas a short bow of obeisance. “Your Majesty, I am beyond honored to have you at my humble homestead. What brings you so far from your realm?”

Kalas glanced at Dolan. He knew his second took everything in, never missing anything. He could feel Parish on alert to his right as well. They’d discussed what to say when they approached the homestead. Halish, the Nazarien Adison had sent with them, recommended discretion, but the Baron felt they ought to just come out with it and see what reaction they got.

“We’re searching for the King of Dorland.”

The moustached man blinked. “The King of Dorland? Your Majesty, you’re a good deal too far south for Dorland.”

Some of the men on the porch laughed. Kalas didn’t.

“The King of Dorland was abducted from his bed,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name.”

“Duard, sir, humble servant of the realm.” He gave a grim shake of his head. “What’s the world coming to when the King of Dorland can be abducted?”

“It is a wonder.” Kalas gave him a searching look. “I don’t suppose you’d mind if my men search your lands.”

Duard held out his hands. “What’s mine is yours, Your Majesty. Please, make yourself at home. The honor you do me is beyond all reckoning. Since Dorland is many leagues from here, I insist you treat my home as your own.” He bowed his head, touching his fist to his breast. “I’d be honored if you’d grant me your presence for the night as well.”

Kalas frowned. Interesting move. Invite your enemy to stay the night. He shared a look with Parish, then he gave Duard a cunning smile. “I have many men with me and I’m not certain your hospitality can extend to so many. We’ll move on after we’ve searched for the King.”

Duard straightened, motioning expansively. “Your men are welcome to bivouac right here, while you and your retinue will be granted the finest accommodations I can provide. Honor me with your presence, Your Majesty, please.”

Kalas ran his tongue along his teeth. Trail dust lay in a thin coat over him and he wouldn’t mind sleeping in a bed. He didn’t think this Duard would be so foolish as to try anything with so many soldiers right outside his home. Besides that, he knew Parish and Dolan would be on high alert all night. It gave them more time to search the homestead. Clearly, Duard had hidden his slaves. Otherwise he wouldn’t be so cavalier about them staying with him.

“We’d be honored to accept your hospitality. Sleeping on a camp cot lost its appeal years ago, I’m afraid.”

Duard inclined his head and motioned toward the porch. “Come take refreshments with me, Your Majesty, while your men set camp and…” He hesitated, giving Kalas an oily smile. “...begin your search for the unfortunate King of Dorland.”

Kalas’ men spent the day searching the homestead and into the canyon beyond for the slaves, but they found no trace except for a large number of well-tended fields and one round patch of dried blood in a storage shed. When Kalas questioned Duard about the fields, he said his men worked them. Kalas held back the information about the blood.

Watching the men lounge about the homestead all day, Kalas didn’t buy they were farm workers, but as proof of anything else wasn’t visible, he began to lose faith in their venture. In order to operate a homestead of this size, Duard had to have access to a significant amount of labor, but where that labor was remained a mystery.

Daylight faded to night. Kalas and his companions were treated to a fine meal in the dining room of the house, while Kalas’ soldiers dined in the camp they set up in the courtyard. Duard talked of his business. He grew grains that he shipped to Terra Antiguo for the market.

“My ultimate goal is to plant grapes. I’ve been told they require much less maintenance and the profit is higher. I’m a simple man, Your Majesty, and I’m not as young as I once was. I’d like to turn enough profit here, so that I can retire to Terra Antiguo, maybe find a wife, get me some kids.” He sipped at his wine. “I’ve made an oasis out of the wilderness, but it’s a constant struggle.”

Kalas picked up his own glass and leaned back in his chair. The dining room windows looked over the yard. He watched his soldiers set up a perimeter, effectively encircling Duard’s men, but he still felt tense. Somewhere on this homestead he knew this man held slaves.

“I can imagine it takes an enormous workforce to maintain so much land.”

Duard shrugged. “My men are efficient and I spare nothing to keep them in the latest equipment. You’d be surprised how well they work.”

Kalas sipped at his wine, watching some of these men clear the table. They’d served them their meal as well, but the way they handled the fine china with over-exaggerated care rang suspicious with the King. He’d wanted Halish in on this supper, but the Nazarien had begged off, saying he wanted to continue exploring the grounds under cover of dark. Kalas didn’t completely trust the man, but he figured if anyone could find the missing slaves it ought to be a Nazarien.

“Still, you must pay some hefty wages to keep your men working so hard for you?”

Duard nodded at Parish and Dolan. “Loyalty is its own reward, Your Majesty, as you’re obviously aware. My men look to me for guidance and security. I provide that for them just as you provide it for your men.”

“Ah, but my men are well compensated as well, Duard, don’t mistake that. Were I to deny them the basic things they’ve become accustomed to…” Kalas finished off his wine. “...why, they’d be no more than slaves.”

To his credit, Duard never flinched. “True, true. Ah, then the kingship is a business venture in its own right. Is that what you’re saying, Your Majesty? We’re both entrepreneurs, are we not?”

Parish shifted uncomfortably.

“Entrepreneurs?” asked Kalas.

“We’re men who like risk taking as long as there’s a profit to be had.”

Dolan cleared his throat.

Kalas settled his glass on the table. “Ah, but while your goal is admittedly self-gratification, my goal is the welfare of my people.”

“Yes.” Duard gave that same oily smile. “You are of a much nobler nature than I am, Your Majesty.”

Kalas could see a man hurrying toward the house from the yard. One of the soldiers blocked him from entering, but after a moment’s consultation, he was allowed to pass. He appeared in the doorway of the dining room soon after and Duard motioned him to his side.

The man was clearly agitated. He held his cap in his hands and had rung it into a tube. He came to Duard and said something in the man’s ear. Kalas didn’t catch it. He shared a look with Dolan, but the Nazarien indicated he hadn’t heard it either.

Duard immediately rose to his feet. “It appears I have a problem, Your Majesty.”

Kalas’ brows rose. “Anything we can assist you with?”

“No, but as you said, the welfare of my people is as important to me as yours are to you. One of my most trusted men, Hogan, has gone missing. I hope you’ll excuse me while we investigate.”

“Missing? He left your grounds? Is he not allowed to do so?”

Duard shifted uncomfortably. “My men found blood in one of our storage building. Your men didn’t report it?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact they did, but they felt sure an animal had been slaughtered or something.”

“We fear Hogan may be hurt.” Duard ducked his head again. “Please forgive my hasty retreat, Your Majesty.”

Kalas waved him off. “I understand duty calls and I commend your concern for your man. Besides it’s late. We have a long ride ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Then I’ll leave you to your rest.”

Kalas inclined his head, then pushed himself to his feet.

“May your dreams be pleasant, Your Majesty.”

“May yours be as well, Duard,” he said, watching the man hurry from the room.

*    *    *

Kalas reached for the towel, pulling the knife beneath it close at the same time, then he dried his face and rubbed the fabric across the back of his neck. His shirt tails were loose around his waist, but he hadn’t yet undressed for bed.

Duard had given him lavish accommodations – sitting room, bedroom, and bathing chamber. All of the furnishings screamed opulence from the brocade sofas to the down mattress on the bed. Nothing had been spared in the designs of these rooms, and it must have cost a fortune to cart everything into the wilderness as Duard had said. Since it was on the second floor, he also had a balcony that overlooked the yard, the doors of which stood open, their airy coverings fluttering in the breeze.

He’d taken a bath before dinner, but he wanted to wash up before going to bed. However, someone had entered his rooms while he washed his face and hands.

“I’ve been married to a Nazarien assassin for two years now,” he said, slowly lowering the towel and picking up the knife. “I know when I’m being stalked.”

He whipped around and brought the knife up. His eyes widened as he took in the older man standing behind him in the sitting room of his suite. “Uncle!” He set the knife on the sink and came forward, catching Shandar in an embrace.

Shandar hugged him in return. “Married a Nazarien assassin? Has she been training you in her trade?”

Kalas laughed and slapped him on the shoulders. “That she has, but apparently, I still need work. I thought I was only being stalked by one, when clearly it’s…” His voice trailed off as the second assailant moved into the light.

For a moment...just a moment, he thought Talar had walked into his room, but this man was younger, longer hair, dressed as a Nazarien warrior. He released his held breath as Shandar moved back beside the younger man and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Kalas Eldralin, may I introduce you to your brother, Amaroq Taheny?”

Kalas stepped forward, taking the younger man in, trying to absorb this stunning information. “Amar…” The words failed him.

“Wolf in Nevaisser. It’s what I’ve always called him.”

Kalas gave Shandar a bewildered look. So much of this seemed surreal, then the fact struck him. He had a brother.

Coming forward, he clasped the Nazarien in a hug. At first Amaroq didn’t respond, then he embraced him in return. “I swear I thought you were my father for a moment,” he said, holding Amaroq off with his hands on his shoulders.

Amaroq gave a wary nod, refusing to meet Kalas’ eye.

Shandar laughed, taking him in. “You look good, kid.”

Kalas released his brother. “So do you. How did you find me?”

“Wolf’s sister was abducted outside of Tirsbor. We’ve been looking for her.”

“I was told this by a Nazarien named Halish. He rides with us.”

Shandar didn’t show any recognition at the name.

“The King of Dorland was also taken,” Kalas added. “I’m searching for him.”

“We know. We heard you’d come this way from Erjen.” He motioned the other Nazarien forward. “Erjen rode with your father, Kalas.”

Kalas shook hands with the old Nazarien, his attention snagging on the giant of a man standing in the shadows. “Ellette will have my head when she hears how many people waited in the dark for me.”

Shandar motioned the mountain of a man forward. “This is Nakoda, Amaroq’s best friend.”

Kalas shook hands with him as well. “Nah…” He shook his head.

“I call him Bear.”

“Good to know,” he said with a laugh, his eyes returning to Amaroq. “How is this possible? Why didn’t you ever tell me, Shandar?”

“That was part of the agreement.”

“Agreement?”

“I’m mated to Amaroq’s mother, Kaelene. To stay in Tirsbor, I had to let no one know of Amaroq’s existence. It was easy to keep until Naia went missing.”

Kalas nodded at that. “I’m sorry about your sister,” he told the younger man.

Amaroq nodded.

It struck Kalas that he hadn’t yet heard the man speak, and he still wouldn’t make eye contact. “You’ve lived in Tirsbor your whole life?” He could only be a few years younger than Kalas himself. That meant a whole lot of time in that isolated canyon.

Amaroq nodded again.

Shandar put an arm around the younger man’s shoulders, like a father would a son. “Amaroq’s an empath, Kalas. Being in a place like this is exhausting for him. It’s been a really long day.”

Suddenly things fell into place, the reason for his isolation, the reason why he wouldn’t look him in the eyes. “My sister…” He caught himself. “Our sister,” he amended, bringing Amaroq’s gaze up to him. “She could read people’s thoughts. Not even read them. They just came at her, inundating her until she was overwhelmed. Life was miserable until she taught herself to block it.”

Amaroq’s expression shifted to amazement. “You’re not angry about this?”

“About what?” He glanced around at the veritable crowd in his sitting room. “Frankly, I’m embarrassed I’m not better prepared to defend myself, but beyond that…”

“No, that your father had a son with another woman.”

Kalas laughed. “Our father? Did they not tell you about him? I’m fair certain there are others of us out there somewhere.” He came forward and clasped Amaroq’s shoulders again. “No, I’m delighted to meet another family member. Tyla will be delighted as well.”

Amaroq’s gaze shifted to Shandar. Shandar shrugged. “I told you as much.” He focused on Kalas. “I know you have questions.”

“A few.” Kalas laughed.

“I’ll answer everything, but first, something’s not right here on this homestead.”

“I feel the same.” He motioned to the couches. “Let’s sit. It’s been a long day for me as well.”

They moved to the couches.

Kalas offered the Nazarien something to drink, but they all declined. Still unable to believe it, Kalas studied his brother in the light from the pycantra lamp. How had he never been told he had a brother? Amaroq’s resemblance to their father was uncanny. He and Kalas shared the same eyes and a look about the cheekbones, but Amaroq had Talar’s pure Stravad blood.

“They made you what they wanted him to be,” he said, then caught himself when he realized he’d spoken out loud. He didn’t mean to be offensive. “I’m sorry.”

Shandar held up a hand. “It’s not a secret, Kalas. The Nazarien had other reasons besides Wolf’s ability to keep him hidden.”

“It must be difficult to be so far from everything you know.”

Amaroq looked down at his clasped hands. “I want to find my sister. That’s enough.” But there was a haunted look in his eyes.

“Something happened.”

Shandar gave a grunt. “That Nazarien wife of yours has really been teaching you, hasn’t she?”

Kalas smiled. “She has. I have a daughter now too. Esme. She’s just turned one.”

Shandar slapped him on the knee. “I’m glad to hear it. I’ll bet she’s beautiful.”

“She is. I miss them both and I wish this business was done.”

Shandar nodded. “So do we. It’s been a long search, then we get here and we think we might have found something, but we can’t find any signs of slaves or slave trafficking.”

“Neither can we. The only thing we found was a pool of dried blood in an outbuilding.”

“That was me. I killed one of the swine,” said Nakoda, speaking for the first time.

Kalas blinked at him, then his attention was captured by Amaroq, who bowed his head and closed his eyes. “I’m guessing this man is the missing man, the one they’re searching for?”

“Most likely,” said Shandar.

“What’s the rest of the story?”

Shandar launched into their day, explaining about Amaroq’s departure in the night, his capture, and the subsequent decision Duard made to have him killed before Kalas arrived. Nakoda related how he’d gutted the slaver, how they’d drug his body into a corner and covered it with bales. Then how they’d waited to see where Kalas would be staying and snuck into his room.

Kalas leaned forward, forcing his brother to meet his eye. “I’m sorry that happened.”

Amaroq frowned.

“But that man’s life wasn’t worth anything once he decided to become a slaver.”

“I felt him die,” said Amaroq.

Nakoda rose and walked away, turning his back on the room. “I’m not sorry he’s dead,” he grumbled.

Kalas focused his attention back on Shandar. “I’m not sure Aiden Cerik’s still alive. We’ve found no trace of him, no one has sighted him in weeks. I’m afraid he’s dead.”

“So what do you plan to do?”

Kalas rubbed a hand over his chin. “I don’t know, but I know this Duard has slaves here, Uncle, and I’m not leaving until I find them.”

Amaroq glanced up.

“I say we take apart this homestead tomorrow – every board, every stone, every piece of brick.”

Shandar smiled wickedly. “I like the way you think, kid,” he said.

*    *    *

Kalas tried to make his uninvited guests comfortable in the sitting room. He even offered Shandar his bed, but the old man opted for one of the couches instead. Nakoda wasn’t talking to Amaroq, mad at him for sneaking off in the night, then angry that Amaroq was upset over the slaver’s death. He curled up in a corner and started snoring.

Amaroq gave Erjen the other couch and took the offered blanket from Kalas, lying on the floor between the two. He waited until he heard the others’ deep breathing, while he listened to Kalas moving around in his bedroom. He could hear the King talking to someone.

Sliding back the blanket, he crept to the partially opened door and peered inside. Kalas was sitting on the floor before the windows to the balcony, the curtains billowing around him from the open doorway. Amaroq could just make out a shadowed figure also sitting on the ground on the other side of the doorway.

“I’m stunned, Dolan. I don’t even know what to say. I never expected this. Are you sure you knew nothing about it?”

“The Nazarien have played this one close to their vests. Are you sure Ellette didn’t know?”

“She would have said something. Do you suppose they kept it from Jarrett and Attis?”

“You know they must have. Jarrett would have told you about a brother.”

Amaroq eased closer, trying to see the man on the balcony.

“What bothers me is if Attis didn’t know, and by proxy Jarrett didn’t know, then the Tirsbor Nazarien are moving in their own direction away from the order.”

“That’s been happening, Your Majesty, for years now. The Kazden Cult itself has only a distant affiliation with Chernow. Maybe a bit more now with Attis as Nazar, but…”

“They still have their own agenda,” finished Kalas. He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I’m not going to lie. I’m disappointed in Shandar. He says he made a pact so he could stay in Tirsbor with his mate, but he kept a brother from me and Tyla.” He rested his head against the glass. “Do you think there are others out there?”

“That certainly seems a possibility.”

Kalas fell silent for a while, contemplating. Amaroq wondered if he should go back to bed. It was wrong to snoop on the man, but he wanted to know how he really felt about this development. The emotional signature he got from Kalas was confusing.

“We have a problem, Dolan.”

“We have many problems, Your Majesty, not the least of which is you staying the night in a slaver’s home.”

Kalas gave a low chuckle. “Point taken. But the problem I’m referring to is the missing man.”

“You know where he is.”

“I know where he isn’t. He’s dead. Nakoda, my brother’s friend, killed him.”

“Ah, well, that is a problem.”

“His body’s buried under bales in the storage shed where our men found his blood. When this Duard finds him…”

“Why was he killed?”

“To protect Amaroq. The slaver was under orders to eliminate my brother and dispose of the body before my arrival.”

“Then I say his death was a good thing.”

“True, but here’s what worries me. If Duard finds the body and realizes the game is up, will he kill the slaves? They’re stashed away somewhere on this property, but we didn’t find any trace today. What if he decides to cut his losses and sacrifice the entire bunch? My uncle and Amaroq are here searching for Amaroq’s sister, and I shudder to think that maybe the King of Dorland is here also.”

Amaroq felt as if he’d been gut-punched. Panic overwhelmed him. What if his sister was here and Duard decided to kill her when he was so close to finding her again?

“Halish said he’d spend the night searching, didn’t he?”

“He did.”

“And our men are stationed throughout the homestead. It would be a bad time to commit mass murder, don’t you think?”

Kalas shook his head. “I just don’t know. I can’t get my head around what these men do to start with. I fear what else they might be capable of doing.”

Amaroq abruptly turned away from the door, but he came up short. Nakoda was standing behind him, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Don’t even think it!” he growled, and Amaroq knew he had to contain his panic until morning. Nakoda wasn’t going to play.

CHAPTER 17

Naia moved onto the signal rock and bent, feeling the ashes of the signal fire with her palm. Aiden and Le followed her and stood looking about while she inspected it. Around them rose the steep red clay walls of the Tirsbor maze, an intricate mountain range split by gullies and dry riverbeds that wound about so confusingly it proved an impenetrable fortress for the Nazarien.

Or so it had been for the last two hundred years. On that her people’s lives depended, and it was a fact that always made her uneasy when she stood outside of it, looking in. Should their enemies learn the secrets that guided the Nazarien through the maze, many people would suffer.

At the very heart of the labyrinth was an entire civilization of Nazarien – warriors and their unconventional families – a civilization unlike any Nazarien civilization anywhere else.

Naia rose to her feet, brushed her hands together and looked at Aiden. His head was craned back as he tried to scale the walls with his eyes. In the bright sunlight, his blond hair looked like spun gold and his dark eyes glittered. She loved him, but she choked it down. No use giving in to that. Soon their worlds would split once more – she would be a faceless Nazarien woman and he’d return as King of Dorland, a powerful man in a powerful Human land.

She turned her attention to Le and flashed him a smile. He was as amazed as Aiden, but he was waiting for her to perform some sort of magic. He got that strange look in his eyes when he expected either she or Aiden to amaze him with something.

She began motioning with her hands to the boy. Since making the decision to come to her people for help, she’d ceased seeing any need to teach Aiden her language. When would he ever have need of it again? Still she sensed his immediate, undivided attention and she loved him the more for it.

The boy turned to the older man and spoke to him. Naia followed the movements of his lips, making sure he understood her. Then she shifted her eyes to Aiden’s face. He was so charged with energy, more energy than she’d seen in a long time, and he seemed buoyed with expectation.

‘Light fire and they come?’ he motioned.

Often she didn’t quite catch all of his muddled hand signals, but his general meaning was usually clear. His lack of finesse was tempered by his willingness to try. It was more than she could say for the rest of her people.

She nodded and bent, picking a few sticks from the pile and laying them in the fire pit. She lifted her hands to answer him. ‘Make fire, they come.’ She picked up a pycantra starter from the small basket kept on top of the sticks and struck it over a fluffy piece of floss. It took a few tries, but she finally managed to keep some sparks alive long enough to ignite the tinder. She grabbed a handful of loose hair, held it to her shoulder, bent over the tinder, and blew until she had enough flame to lay it beneath the twigs.

Sitting back she watched it catch and spread, then held her hands out to the warmth. Lifting her eyes, she regarded the steep slopes of the Maze as Aiden had done. It had been a long time since she’d been captured by the slavers. A lifetime really.

She sensed the change in herself, but couldn’t pin any specifics on it. She knew Aiden and Le were responsible in part, but mostly it was her sense of survival when all odds had been against her. She wondered how she’d just step back into her old life, accepting everything that was laid before her as if she had no other choice, as if she were grateful for it. Could she be? Could she be satisfied after tasting what it was like to be free?

She felt a sudden tension in Aiden and Le.

Looking up, she saw that they were ringed by Nazarien warriors. She’d seen this done so many times from the opposite side. Yet being on the receiving end of it, she realized what an intimidating display it was. The hair on the back of her neck rose and prickled eerily. Although she knew how her people appeared out of the very air to surround anyone on the signal rock, she was still awed by it.

She rose to her feet again and lifted her chin, regarding the familiar warriors.

No one moved.

She sensed the warriors were as stunned as her companions. Surely they had considered her as good as dead all these weeks. For her to suddenly appear on the signal rock was close to a miracle, a resurrection of sorts.

It was Zander who moved first, picking his way to the top of the rock, never taking his eyes off her or her companions. He held his weapons loosely in his fingers, but he still held them at the ready, not necessarily a sign of welcome.

Naia’s eyes shifted from his bow to his face and back again. He was just as she remembered. Dusky brown hair cut short and neat away from his face, his deep set blue eyes clear and intelligent. Once looking at him had sent her heart to fluttering – now it was just good to see a familiar face.

‘Naia?’ He made the motion awkwardly, trying to work it around his weapon.

‘Yes.’

He blinked at her, forgetting to watch her hands. Suddenly he remembered himself and slung the bow over his shoulder.

‘My mother? Shandar? My brother?’ she signaled, stepping closer to him.

He shook his head in confusion.

Naia urged Le to come to her aid.

He translated for Zander, then began signing as the Nazarien warrior answered. ‘Your brother and Shandar are missing. They went in search of you.’

Naia gasped. Amaroq had never left Tirsbor before. Missing? What did that mean? She’d hoped he’d come after her, but she hadn’t thought the Nazarien would allow it. Now he was missing? ‘How long?’ she signaled.

‘Weeks,’ Le translated. ‘They can’t find any trace.’

Naia lifted her eyes to Aiden, her expression pained. Zander noticed him for the first time. As the two men talked, she tried to make sense of it. Amaroq had never left Tirsbor. He’d spent his entire life in the sheltered valley. It was hard enough for him in the caves, where the emotions of an emotionless people bombarded him, but out in the open – how would he survive it?

Zander touched her arm.

‘I can't believe you’re here,’ Le translated for him. ‘The people will never believe you’re alive, Naia. And Tovan? Wait until he sees you.’

She smiled, but the gesture didn’t reach her eyes. Tovan was the commander of the Tirsbor Nazarien. He’d shown little interest in her all these years. She didn’t really believed he’d even noticed her absence.

‘What’s being done to find my brother and Shandar?’

‘We sent to Chernow. We have no other leads. How did you escape?’

She shook her head. She didn’t care about that right now. All she could think about was her brother, out in the world somewhere, and Shandar. Shandar was an old man. What had he been thinking? She pointed to Aiden and Le, making the necessary introductions.

Zander turned to Aiden again. As the highest ranking warrior, it was his duty to make introductions and offer assistance. Still, he kept his body shifted so that Naia would be able to read his lips. This gesture created a warmth in Naia that she’d forgotten.

Zander might never have taken her part in front of the other warriors, but he’d always acknowledged her, looked at her as if she were a person. Besides her own family, he had been the only one to show her the slightest bit of kindness.

“We had word that you were missing,” he told Aiden. “How did you come to meet up with Naia?”

Aiden gave her a warm glance. “We were chained together by the slavers.”

Although she couldn’t hear the hiss of surprise from the warriors around them, she felt it like an electrical current.

“You were on a slave line?”

“Yes. I was taken from my room, knocked unconscious, and sold into slavery. It’s a long story and I’m not sure I even understand how it all happened, but it did and now I’m here and I need some assistance.”

Zander took a moment to absorb all of this information “And the boy?”

Naia interjected. ‘Was also chained with us. Zander, this is Le, lately of Sarkisian.’

Zander shook the boy’s hand, then took a step back, crossing his arms over his chest and regarding the three of them. “I just don't believe it,” he said, then gave Naia a rare, small smile. It vanished almost as quickly as it appeared, too quickly for Naia to make anything of it.

‘Zander, Aiden needs our help. He has no idea what’s happening in his kingdom.’

“Neither do we, but we’ve heard Kalas Eldralin is searching for him and the Nazar is on his way here. Once he arrives, Tovan and the Nazar will be able to offer a better idea for our next course of action.” Bending down, he covered the small blaze with dirt and then patted it down with his foot to make sure it was out. “We were on patrols. We saw you approach the signal rock and waited to see your intent.”

Naia nodded. They’d appeared rather quickly.

“There are horses waiting within the draw,” he said, pointing behind him. “We’ll have to ride double.”

Aiden blew out air. She could see how relieved he was. A good meal, a bath, and warmth awaited them – things so long denied they were almost forgotten. Safety also awaited them. Since escaping from the slavers, none of them had lost that furtive look, that animal intensity – the fear of being caught again.

“I’ll bet you’d like to see your mother,” Zander said to her.

‘More than anything,’ she motioned.

Zander indicated they should follow him. She started after him, but in a motion that surprised her, he placed a hand under her elbow, helping her to climb off the signal rock. She saw him looking at her tattered clothing and her ragged shoes. When their eyes met, she saw pity and wonder and pride...and something more.

Aiden and Le followed behind her. When Zander released her to lead the way, Aiden moved to her side and their eyes met. Sadness swamped her. She couldn’t think about their time together or the future without him. She was doing this for him, going back to a place she dreaded so that he could regain his lost past. She knew she was giving up her freedom, but what else could she do. Aiden and his life were more important to her than anything else.

She looked away, fighting tears, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. When he finally left, would he ever think of her again?

They entered the towering walls of the maze and found the horses. Zander turned and looked at her expectantly. The glance lasted a moment, then Zander began giving orders. She caught only snatches of them since he kept turning to look at the warriors in question, but finally he turned back to her, speaking so Le could translate.

Two of the smallest warriors would ride double, taking Aiden and Le behind them. Naia would ride with Zander himself. At this information Aiden seemed distressed and Le looked at the Nazarien captain with obvious suspicion. Naia had to admit the decision seemed strange to her also. Her position with the band had always relegated her to the lowest status. She didn’t know why he shouldn’t have her ride behind the newest, most inexperienced warrior.

Zander reached into his saddlebags and pulled out two blindfolds. “Anyone not of Nazarien descent must wear a blindfold when entering the maze. You likely would never be able to find your way a second time, even without the blindfold, but we can’t take any chances.”

“Fine,” said Aiden, “Whatever we need to do.” He accepted the blindfold good naturedly. Le wasn’t so convinced.

“I’ll close my eyes.”

Zander shook his head. “I can't depart from the rules in this.”

“But I don’t like it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“How can I ride if I can’t see?”

“Your guide will not let you go astray.”

Naia took the blindfold from Zander’s hands. ‘Please, Le,’ she motioned, tucking the cloth away under her arm to speak, ‘Do as they ask. It won’t be long and I’ll be beside you.’

The boy studied her a moment in silence, then allowed her to tie the blindfold in place. Both he and Aiden were helped to mount behind a grim face warrior, and then Zander directed her to his own horse.

Wrapping his hands around her waist, he helped her onto the animal’s back, swinging up in front of her with practiced grace. Then he kicked the horse into motion. The quick pace and the sway of the beast forced Naia to clutch him. He looked over his shoulder at her and flashed another small, rare smile. Naia returned it, but her eyes shifted away to watch Aiden and Le.

She wanted to ask more about her brother, but her position at Zander’s back prevented it. Amaroq had left Tirsbor to find her. How many times had she hoped he’d come for her, but she’d never believed he’d actually do it. Why had Shandar agreed? She and her brother were close, but leaving Tirsbor seemed drastic.

Despite her misgivings about returning, she was anxious to see her mother. She hated that her family had experienced any grief on her part. Her mother had suffered enough because of her. She’d given birth to a girl child and the child had been defective. Dryden, her father and the Kazden Cult commander, had never forgiven Naia’s mother. Such an effrontery rarely happened among the Nazarien, and when it did, the child was usually disposed of discreetly. Naia’s mother had done neither. She’d kept the child and she’d demanded her child be given full rights as a Nazarien. Of course the latter could never be.

For the first time in her life, Naia questioned that reality. Aiden and Le found her worthy, Amaroq had always believed she was no different from him, even Zander had treated her as an equal most of the time. Did she want to accept that she wasn’t again just to fit in where she’d never belong anyway? The answer to that question had always been so easy. It wasn’t now.

*    *    *

Aiden rode behind the Nazarien warrior, lost in his cloak of blindness. He didn’t like being blindfolded, but he understood. If this was the only obstacle these people put before him, he’d consider himself a lucky man.

Without the Nazarien help, he’d never get back to Dorland, and he’d never know what was happening in his kingdom. For the first time in a long time he thought of his brothers, his wife, and Lyell Vito. Were they doing well or had the kingdom fallen on difficulty?

Of course his mind immediately shifted to Naia. He’d felt her anxiety and reluctance about coming to her people for help. The fact that she’d put her misgivings aside for him was also obvious. He would make sure she never regretted that decision. He had no intention of allowing this beautiful, intelligent woman out of his life ever again. If she wouldn’t return to Dorland with him, he’d turn the kingdom over to Adison, Eldon protect him, or let the people decide. But either way, he’d go wherever Naia decided she wanted to live. And as long as Aiden was able, Le would also have a home.

He’d felt jealous when the brown haired warrior had appeared. The man had looked at Naia with obvious desire. His relief had been evident. Was he the reason Naia was so reluctant? Was there a past here that might complicate things?

He knew about the Nazarien. They never took mates, unless the attraction between two people was so strong it interfered in their work. Before Jarrett Trauner had become Nazar, Nazarien participated in fertility rituals where Nazarien men chose the women they wanted to bear them a child. Often the same man chose the same woman over and over again, and a sort of unspoken bond was built between them. People who shared a common child also had a bond.

But Jarrett had outlawed the rites a number of years before, and the Nazarien no longer practiced them, so Aiden didn’t think that was the reason for the possessive feelings he’d sensed coming from Zander. But he couldn’t be sure that something more hadn’t developed between them over the years. Somehow Nazarien found a way to continue procreating after the rites were abolished. In fact, the way this Zander touched her and looked at her almost confirmed this suspicion.

Suddenly, Aiden became aware of a change in the landscape. He could hear water off on his right side and the sun was frequently interrupted by shade. Soon he heard the murmur of voices and the everyday sounds that came with civilization – the clang of cooking pots, people calling to one another, the pounding of a hammer. The horses slowed and Aiden heard Zander call out in Nazarien. He knew only a handful of words in this tongue, but most Nazarien spoke Nevaisser.

The horses slowed even more and finally came to a stop. There were a few shouted answers from a distance and Zander called again. He felt the warrior before him shift.

“You can remove the blindfold.”

Aiden lifted his hands to the knot behind his head. He worked it free and lowered the piece of cloth. Blinking his eyes in the bright sunlight, he stared around him in amazement.

He’d heard the Nazarien stronghold of Tirsbor was magnificent, but he’d never imagined quite what he was seeing. He found himself in an enormous box canyon. Off on his right side was a wide, fast moving stream. The banks of the stream were covered with lush vegetation and grasses. Many women were washing clothing in the stream, but had stopped to stare at the strange visitors.

At the farthest end of the canyon were fields, filled with crops. From his position behind the warrior, he could only make out corn for certain, but he knew there were many others. More women and young men worked in the fields, hoeing and plowing.

Aiden’s eyes shifted to the left side and he sucked in his breath. Here the cliffs rose steep and stark, but were pocked in a multitude of places by caves, each with a leather hanging concealing the interior. Built into the cliff walls and spanning from end to end were wooden planks that served as walkways from one cave to another. Ladders were positioned to assist people in climbing to the various levels. Even now Nazarien women, men and children were scurrying down the ladders and across the walkways to get a look at the newcomers.

The warriors dismounted to greet them, so Aiden swung off the horse’s back and landed nimbly on the ground. He watched the approaching people as he wound his way to Le’s side. The boy was staring with mouth agape and Aiden smiled down on him.

“It’s something. No wonder they’re so concerned about protecting it.”

The boy glanced at Aiden and returned to studying their surroundings. “How did they make all those caves?”

Aiden shrugged. “Maybe they didn’t. Maybe they were always there and they only enlarged them.”

Zander moved up beside them, followed by Naia. “Many were. We made others as our band grew.”

Aiden smiled at Naia, but she looked away, scanning the people approaching them with her blue gaze. Aiden’s attention was captured by a woman picking her way among the throng toward the arrivals. Naia caught sight of her and dashed from Aiden’s side. The woman saw her and broke into a run to meet her, catching her in her arms and holding her close.

The woman was nearly the same delicate, diminutive size, but her hair was more brown than black. She stroked Naia’s hair, holding her away from her, motioning with her hands, and then catching her close in an embrace.

“Her mother,” said Le quietly at his side.

Aiden looked down, surprised by the expression of longing on the boy’s sharp features, then he understood. Le had no mother to welcome him home.

Zander nodded. “Her name is Kaelene.” He glanced at Aiden. “She was brought here with Naia’s brother and Naia from Kazden. Shandar, Talar Eldralin’s brother, escorted them and he stayed, becoming one of us.”

Aiden met the warrior’s blue eyes. “You mentioned that at the signal rock, but I didn’t completely understand before. Shandar lives here permanently?”

“As Kaelene’s mate.”

“And Naia’s father? Who is he?”

“He’s the Kazden Cult Commander, Dryden.” Zander gave a grim shake of his head. “He couldn’t accept he’d produced a child that was less than whole.”

Aiden bristled. “Naia kept us alive. She’s more whole than most people I know.”

“I’m simply relating what happened.”

“And her brother? Is he not whole?”

Zander’s expression shifted and he looked away, refusing to meet Aiden’s gaze. “Amaroq is whole, but Dryden is not his father.”

“Who is?”

“I am not at liberty to say.”

“You said Amaroq had gone missing?”

“Yes.” Zander shifted. “But this isn’t for me to explain. I’ve overstepped my rank.”

Talar Eldralin’s brother lived here. He raised Naia as his own. He’d come to live among the Nazarien because of Naia’s mother? Now that was an interesting bit of information. If Aiden thought back, Shandar had left Terra Antiguo when Aiden was a young boy.

Aiden studied mother and daughter as they hugged and clung to each other. Naia had a family here, a family who loved her and protected her. Her brother and Shandar had left Tirsbor to find her. Why had he assumed she’d want anything to do with him once she returned home?

His gaze shifted to a tall, lean Nazarien that was now approaching, flanked by five warriors on either side. This man wore a cape flung back over broad, strong shoulders, a bright blue shirt and black trousers. His shiny black boots stirred the dust at his feet as he walked. Aiden glanced down at his own tattered, filthy clothes and felt out of place. He sensed he knew who the man was and why he was so important.

“That’s Tovan,” said Zander. “He’s our commander, ranking only below the Nazarien council and the Nazar, himself.”

“He’s the man I need to convince then.”

Zander frowned. “Convince?”

“To help me get home.”

Zander glanced back at his commander. “Perhaps,” he said cryptically.

Tovan’s long stride shortened as he came abreast of Naia. Naia’s mother slipped her arm around Naia’s waist and stood beside her.  Naia faced the stern man and lifted her chin. Aiden felt such pride for her. The man regarded her, studying her face and her posture. The warrior at his immediate right also studied her, but his look made Aiden uncomfortable. It didn’t last long however, for without a word, Tovan strode on, drawing the warriors behind him, and Naia returned to her reunion with her mother.

Before Tovan reached them, Zander moved to intercept. He bowed low to his commander, fist pressed to his breast. All of his unmounted warriors did the same. Even the curious people gathered around bowed their heads. Tovan regarded Zander’s bent head, then lifted his eyes to pierce Aiden. Aiden bore the scrutiny without flinching, but he felt Le shift beside him.

“Speak, Zander,” said Tovan in a deep, resonant voice.

Zander straightened and inclined his head in obeisance. “Commander, I present Aiden Cerik of Dorland to you.”

Tovan’s eyes never moved from Aiden’s face. “The Missing King Aiden Cerik?”

“The same,” replied Zander. “I have not heard his entire story as I thought it best to wait for your attention.”

Tovan’s eyes shifted to Zander briefly and back to Aiden. “You’ve done well, Zander. And the boy?”

Zander glanced at Le. “Leland Hale Rand, sir, of Sarkisian.”

Tovan took in Le’s disheveled form. The stout warrior on his right also regarded Le, looking down his long hawk’s nose, his eyes narrowing. Aiden felt Le shift, but he didn’t look away and for that Aiden was proud. It wasn’t easy staring down these two formidable men, but Aiden was beyond cowering to anyone.

Finally Tovan held out his hand to Aiden. Aiden accepted it, aware of how dirty his own flesh was in comparison. Still, he lifted his chin as he’d seen Naia do so many times. Tovan’s eyes caught and held Aiden’s. “Welcome to Tirsbor, Your Majesty,” he said. “I’m curious as to how you come to us, but I’m very happy to see you. Your disappearance has drawn a great deal of attention in Nevaisser.”

Aiden gave a wry, half-smile. “So I’ve heard.”

Tovan released his hand and stepped back, his eyes tracking a path from Aiden’s disheveled hair to his tattered clothing. “After you’ve bathed and dressed and eaten, perhaps you will enlighten me as to your adventures.”

Aiden drew a deep breath. “I would be honored.”

Tovan gave a slight inclination of his dark head, then turned to Zander. “Since you brought the King to us, I entrust him to your care. See that he and the boy receive anything they’d like and bring them to the council cavern at dusk.”

Zander inclined his head again in obedience. Without another word, Tovan turned, flanked by his elite corps of warriors, and strode back through the silent crowd and toward the towering cliffs in the distance.

“Come with me,” said Zander, motioning after the commander.

Aiden looked about for Naia, but she was gone. He glanced at Le and shrugged. “She probably went with her mother.”

“Probably,” said the boy.

Zander led them to the far end of the cliffs in the opposite direction from the commander and his guard. When they came to the first ladder, Zander started climbing to the upper level without waiting to see if his guests were following. Aiden motioned Le in front of him and started climbing himself. He was aware of the many curious eyes that followed him, but no one spoke or acknowledged him.

They climbed to the third level and then walked along the wooden planking until they came to a hide covered door with strange symbols painted on it. Aiden recognized the star, but he didn't understand what the scythe was for or the moon. Zander pushed the flap back and indicated that they should duck inside.

Aiden did so, blinking until his eyes adjusted to the darker interior. Looking around, he noticed a central fire pit ringed with stones, the five low legged chairs positioned around it, and the raised platforms along the cavern walls piled with furs.

Over each platform was a shelf lined with neatly placed baskets and hanging from pegs beneath it were weapons – knives, bows, quivers, and sometimes a sword. Beneath the raised platforms were more baskets and a pair of boots lined up symmetrically with the wall.

It was a clean, sparse environment. As far as Aiden could see, no where in the entire cavern were any personal effects. In fact, everything was placed and arranged for uniformity. Turning to look for Zander, Aiden was surprised to see that he and Le were all alone.

“Well,” he said, raising blond brows. “Now what?”

Le shrugged. “Aye, now what.”

“I didn’t even hear him leave.”

“Tis certain you won’t. They’re as fickle as the wind.”

Aiden nodded in agreement and cast an eye around the cavern once more. “Maybe we should just sit and wait, eh?”

“Good a plan as any,” replied the boy, moving toward the evenly spaced chairs about the fire pit. He bent and tested the seat before he committed himself to it.

Aiden watched him in amusement, then followed his example. The chair was surprisingly comfortable for all its utilitarian appearance. Maybe it was only that Aiden was so unused to any comfort whatsoever. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Sleep hovered at the edge of his awareness almost immediately.

He blinked his eyes open and rolled his head to the side so he could see Le. The boy also had his eyes closed, his hands loose and relaxed at his sides, his chest rising in a deep rhythm. He was asleep. No wonder. It was the first time Aiden had felt safe since that fateful night in his own castle.

Funny how alert he still was to every sound, every stirring, but the anxious tension had eased a little. If only he knew where Naia had gone.

Nearly soundless, Zander returned, followed by three women. The women were carrying clothing and bathing materials in their arms. Zander looked down at Le, then shifted his quizzical expression to the deposed king.

“He’s asleep,” he said in amazement.

Aiden nodded. “Let him. We’ve gone a long time without proper sleep. He may sleep until next week.”

“Doesn’t he want to bathe, eat?”

“He will later.”

The Nazarien warrior motioned to a sleeping platform behind him. “Why don’t we move him there so he won’t be disturbed? The warrior who occupies that place is in Chernow this week.”

Aiden nodded and rose to his feet, moving toward the sleeping boy. Zander bent to grab his feet. “Not necessary,” said Aiden as he lifted the boy into his arms and carried him toward the indicated platform. “Le weighs next to nothing after what we’ve been through.”

He placed the boy amid the furs and turned back to the waiting Nazarien. The women were eyeing him with curiosity, but when he looked in return, they blushed and lowered their heads.

“These women have brought clothing from our stores. I hope you’ll find they fit. If not, they can be altered.” He motioned at the bundles in the women’s arms. “And they’ve brought bathing supplies. I’ll show you where the men bathe in the stream. The boy will be fine here, won’t he? I don’t need to post a guard.”

Aiden glanced over his shoulder at Le. He was sprawled out on his back, his lips parted, his hands closed into fists by his head. He looked small and vulnerable, and childlike. “He’ll be fine. He probably won’t wake until morning.”

“Then come,” said the Nazarien, motioning at the door flap.

Aiden followed the warrior out, trailed by two of the women. They climbed down from the cliffs and walked toward the distant fields, Zander leading and the women following.

They went through a break in the trees and came upon a secluded part of the river. Aiden looked around, taking in the curve of the box canyon, the rising red rock on either side. It was a beautiful location and safe as long as it stayed hidden.

The women set out the bathing materials and clothing. They waited, but Zander motioned them away. They went obediently without comment and their docility bothered Aiden. If he’d deigned to dismiss Carona, she would have flailed him alive. Then an unpleasant thought struck him. Naia had been trained to be even more submissive than these women.

He looked up at Zander. “After I bathe, will you take me to see Naia?”

“Tovan gave instructions for you to bathe, eat, and then attend him with the stories of your adventure. There won’t be time to seek out Naia tonight.” He paused and his expression hardened. “You’d do best to forget her. She’s already claimed.”

Aiden started to protest, then thought better of it. Zander had nothing to do with this predicament. He would find Naia on his own. Claimed? Nonsense. After what they’d been through, he wasn’t entertaining any Nazarien garbage like that.

CHAPTER 18

Adison sat, gripping the arms of his throne. His stomach ached and his palms sweated. The guard around the perimeter of the room had been ordered to face outward, defending against any sort of intrusion. Their position served two purposes – one, they could spot an attack swifter if they were always forced to be on alert, and two, he didn’t have to see their suspicious looks, their lack of respect. Over the last week, he felt certain they’d abandon their posts if it wasn’t for the fact that he’d doubled all of their wages.

However, doubling their wages meant he had to increase taxes. He’d felt for a long time that taxes ought to be raised, but Aiden had refused. Now the plebeians banged at the doors, demanding an audience. They petitioned, they protested, they stood outside his castle and shouted for him to answer their concerns. Concerns? What concerns?

He had concerns. He had fears. He had worries. Talar Eldralin’s bastard had been gone for days now, but Adison knew he would find something. Halish would betray him, tell him about their plot, and then Kalas would return with his soldiers, and Adison’s own people would rise up against him. And the bastard spawn of Eldralin didn’t have to worry about his men remaining loyal to him. They would follow him to the grave.

Not so Adison’s men.

Adison’s eyes shifted, searching for any sign of inattention. He was exhausted. Sleep came at a cost. He double locked his doors and forced the servants to board up his windows. At night, he slept with a knife under his pillow. He wasn’t going to be taken the way Aiden had been. He wasn’t going to let anyone get the better of him.

The throne room door opened and Lyell Vito stepped inside. He took in the soldiers, then he eased between them, striding toward the throne.

“They are there to keep you out!” shouted Adison, pointing at him. “Turn around and leave!”

Lyell held out his hands. “Listen to reason, Your Highness. The number of petitions have climbed into the hundreds. Your people demand you hear their concerns.”

“I’ll answer to no one!”

“And there’s your problem. You’ve lost your reason, Adison. You’ve broken under the strain of being King. Be advised by me in this. You do not look well, Your Highness.”

“You treasonous bastard!” said Adison, sliding forward in his throne. A few of the guards glanced over their shoulders at that. “Face forward!” Adison bellowed. “Or I’ll have you court marshaled.”

“Court marshaled? Really, Adison, this has gone too far. You don’t know what you do. Please step down and let Alasdair take over.”

“Alasdair! Alasdair!” That brought him out of the throne. “You would throw that wastrel in my face! Alasdair!” He slammed a fist against his chest. “I am King! Do you hear me? Me! I am King!”

Lyell gave him that condescending look he was beginning to recognize. He saw it so often – on the girl who served him his supper, the whore he paid to share his bed, the guard who stood outside his chambers – they all dared to look at him with a mixture of pity and disgust. Him! Unbelievable!

“At least grant hearings, Your Highness. You haven’t granted hearings for more than two weeks.”

“How can I grant hearings when I have so many other things to do?” He sank back into his seat, his vision cloudy. The pain in his belly intensified.

Lyell glanced around the throne room. “Other things to do? You sit here in that chair and you bellow. You’re becoming paranoid. You’ve ordered your own men not to make eye contact with you.”

“As it should be! We’ve grown lax in our deference, haven’t we, Lyell? Aiden started it. I’m just taking things back to the way they were when my father was King.”

“Your father always granted audiences.”

Adison slammed his fist on the arm of his throne. “My father was weak!”

Lyell sighed, looking at a spot over Adison’s head.

Adison turned to follow his line of sight. A fresco of Adison’s father had been painted behind the throne – Alton Cerik in armor, standing with one foot braced on a rock, his hands on the pommel of his sword, his crown resting on his brow – he looked regal and immortal, a king among men. Many times Adison had thought to have it painted over, but whenever he started to give the command, something held him off.

His eyes drifted upward to the tapestries hung from the ceiling. He focused on the one of a knight with sword drawn facing off against a green dragon. The dragon’s maw was open and fire blazed forth. Suddenly everything clicked into place in his mind. He was the knight and Lyell was the dragon, a crafty old dragon scheming behind his back to unseat him from his throne.

“It’s you!” he said, pointing at him.

Lyell gave him a surprised look. “Beg your pardon, Your Highness.”

“The reason it’s all wrong. It’s you! You old lizard, working behind my back, plotting with Alasdair.”

“Plotting with Alasdair?”

“I know it. It’s been you all along. Aiden was always your favorite. You treated him like a son.”

“Adison, this is madness.”

“Is it? I can’t figure out how it’s gone so badly. Aiden was a pisspoor King, but he never suffered this disloyalty, this mutiny!”

“Adison, listen to reason.”

“I have and now I know why things aren’t working.” His attention shifted to the guards. “Guards! I command you to arrest the First Advisor!”

“Adison!” shouted Lyell.

“Escort him to the dungeon immediately!”

“Adison, this is madness!”

“Now!” Adison screamed. Black spots darkened his vision and he sank weakly into the throne, but he permitted himself a smile of triumph as the guards moved to obey him.

*    *    *

Adison sank into the chair at the head of his dining table and stared at the fare on his plate – steak swimming in butter and roasted potatoes with garlic, biscuits in a gravy and carrots with a brown-sugar glaze. His stomach growled with hunger, but he knew if he ate everything that was here, the pains in his abdomen would have him doubled over for hours.

Carona entered the dining room, followed by the two guards who’d been sent to force her here. She looked lovely in an emerald green gown that showed off her white bosom with her hair gathered in an elaborate chignon on the top of her head. She gave him a venomous look before taking her seat at the other end of the table.

Adison reached for the milk he’d ordered his cook to bring him and saluted her. “You look lovely, my Queen.”

“You look like hell,” she shot back, fluffing out her skirt, then reaching for her wine. “You look diseased. Have you seen a physician?”

Adison sipped at the milk. It helped soothe the pain in his gut. “I have no need of a physician. I’ve eliminated one cause of my pain just this afternoon. Lyell Vito’s been arrested.”

“What?” said Alasdair, walking into the room. He looked even thinner and paler than before. “You did what?”

Carona had gone still, but she lowered her wine glass. “You’ve lost your mind.”

Adison slammed a fist against the table, rattling the glasses. “Stop saying that!” He gave her a chilling smile. “It’s offensive.” He motioned to his brother. “Sit, Alasdair, and close your gaping mouth. It’s unattractive.”

Alasdair slid into the seat to Carona’s left. “You had Lyell Vito arrested? On what grounds, Adison?”

“On the grounds that he’s a disloyal old snake and he’s planning to betray me to Eldralin’s bastard when he returns.”

“Nonsense,” said Carona.

“This is ridiculous. Lyell has been a faithful servant of Dorland his entire life. You have to release him, Adison.”

“I have to do nothing of the kind!” Adison leaned forward, pointing at each of them. “I am King and my word is law!”

“Aiden is still King,” said Carona calmly. “You’re a pretender.”

Adison struggled with his control. He wanted to cross the room and drag the bitch out of her chair by the roots of her hair. “You’d do well to find some respect, my Queen. I tire of your petulance and bad temper.”

“And I tire of looking at you.” She tossed her napkin on her plate.

Adison made a tsking noise. “Honestly, my Queen, I see little use for you at this point. You may join Lyell if you find my behavior distressful.”

She gasped.

“Adison!” Alasdair said. “Think what you’re doing.”

“I have, brother, and everything’s become much clearer.”

“Lyell Vito’s family, Adison. He’s been like a father to us since our father died.”

Adison rose to his feet, leaning on the table. “Lyell Vito is not family. Look around you, brother, I am the only family you have left and you’d do well to remember that. I keep you because you’re useful to me. If you out-live that use, well…”

“You’re sick, Adison, demented.”

Adison grabbed his glass and threw it at his brother. Carona and Alasdair ducked. It missed and struck the wall behind them, shattering. “Do not disrespect me anymore!”

Alasdair blinked at him from behind his bottle-bottom glasses. “Adison…” he began, but Carona laid a hand on his arm, giving him a significant look.

“Listen to your brother, Alasdair,” she said in a calm voice. “He deserves your respect.”

Adison realized he was breathing heavily. He looked up at a waiting maid. “Get me another glass.”

She scuttled off to do as he commanded.

Carona gave him a forced smile. “You’re right, Adison. We weren’t showing you proper respect. I see that now.”

He pointed at her. “You’re a terrible liar, woman.”

“No!” She held up her free hand. “I mean it. Please, sit, Your Highness. Let’s have our dinner as a family should.” She gave Alasdair a warning look. “We’re sorry, both of us, for creating a scene. We were shocked by the news that Lyell Vito betrayed you, that’s all.”

Alasdair started to protest, but she tightened her grip, glaring at him. He fell silent, staring fixedly at his plate. Adison eased back into his chair. He didn’t believe her for a moment, but fear was a powerful tool, and if used in the right way, he’d regain control. He smiled. If he could cow Carona, he could cow the entire kingdom.

“I just want what’s best for my people,” he said, wondering how far she’d take it. An obedient Carona would be a boon.

“Of course you do. We know that.”

“And yet you question me.”

“We have no right to do so. Neither of us are King.”

“No, you’re not!” He grabbed the glass of milk from the maid’s hand and took a sip. “I’m King.”

Carona nodded.

“Say it.”

“Say what?”

“Say that I’m King.”

He could see her internal struggle, but finally she lifted her chin. “You are King.”

“Say it like you mean it.”

Carona gave a tense laugh. “You, Adison Cerik, are the one and true King.”

“Alasdair?”

Alasdair looked at him as if he’d sprouted a second head.

“What am I?”

“King,” he gritted out between his teeth.

“King,” repeated Adison, nodding. “Now, let’s eat supper like a proper family. What do you say, Carona? Aren’t we a proper family?”

Carona’s jaw clenched, but she forced the words out, “We are a proper family.”

“Good. Alasdair?”

Alasdair blinked a number of times. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“Alasdair, am I your family? Your only family?”

A shudder passed through Alasdair, but he gave a jerky nod. “You are my family, Adison.”

“Good.” Adison sipped at his milk. “Now we understand one another.”

*    *    *

Adison found himself walking through a graveyard. Headstones rose up out of the earth in neat and manicured lines, their surfaces etched with names and dates. He didn’t recognize this graveyard, wasn’t exactly sure where he was. His father had been entombed in a mausoleum on the outskirts of Dorland with his mother. After they’d laid his father’s body to rest, Adison had never been back. He didn’t see the need. Alton Cerik had been a distant father, far more concerned with the needs of his kingdom than the needs of his sons.

Night had fallen in the graveyard, a dark night with little moonlight. Stars blanketed the sky overhead and an owl hooted from somewhere in the distance. Adison looked around, feeling a little disconcerted by the location. Where were his guards? He forced them to follow him everywhere, always standing at attention.

A noise distracted him and he whipped around, trying to find the source. It sounded like nails on wood, sending a shiver down his spine. The graveyard lay across rolling hills, the gravestones undulating beyond sight. A chill wind whipped over him, sending his clothes to fluttering. Suddenly he wanted out of this place, back to his safe castle with its walls and guards and barred doors.

He picked a direction and began walking. He wanted to run, but a king didn’t run. He had to maintain some semblance of dignity. As he crested a rise, he noticed a grave standing alone at the top of a hill. Light shone down on it, but Adison couldn’t find the source, turning a circle, trying to locate it.

He knew he didn’t want to go near the hill. He wanted no part of that lone grave, but for some reason, his feet started moving on their own, propelling him toward it. Sweat trickled down his spine, ran down from his hairline into the collar of his shirt. His heart was pounding, his breathing ragged and forced.

As he moved nearer, he noticed it wasn’t a grave, but rather a yawning hole in the ground, the dirt mounded to the right of it. A gravestone had been affixed to the head of the opening, its white surface gleaming in the glaring light. Adison walked to the edge of the hole and peered over the lip.

He’d prepared himself to see a corpse, but the grave was empty. Breathing a sigh of relief, he lifted his gaze to the gravestone, reading the inscription. Beloved King and Husband, Aiden Cerik. His breath left him in a gasp. Aiden was dead.

He ran a hand over his mouth, wiping away the sweat on his upper lip. Aiden was dead. No more threat. He could relax now. No one would ever know what he’d done, know what part he played in it. The relief he felt was enormous.

Closing his eyes, he took deep, slow breaths, trying to still the frantic pounding of his heart. A gust of wind sent shivers over him. A moment later, he felt a hand on the back of his neck and his eyes snapped open. The hand shoved him down to his hands and knees.

Adison reared backward, but he wasn’t strong enough. The hand forced his head down, pushing him toward the grave. Panic made him writhe and struggle, but it did him no good. The hand just kept pushing, sending him closer to the edge. Beneath his fingers, he felt the dirt crumbling away, falling into the grave.

Forcing his head up, his eyes came to rest on the gravestone, gleaming in the night. The words had changed. Instead of Aiden’s name, the gravestone read Betrayer, Adison Cerik. Adison struggled, but it did no good. His body was forced over the edge of the grave, and the next moment he felt himself falling.

He came awake, sitting up in bed, clutching a hand to his heart. Just a dream, just a dream, he told himself. He was all right. He was in his bed, in his chambers, and the doors were locked. He scrubbed his hands over his face and forced himself to breath deeply, then he lay back down, but as he did so, he felt under his pillow for his knife.

CHAPTER 19

A knock sounded at Kalas’ suite door early the next morning. Shandar rose from the couch and reached for his weapons as Kalas came out of his room, fully dressed. He also had his weapons. Behind him walked the older Nazarien Amaroq had seen him talking with the night before.

“Shandar, you remember Dolan,” Kalas said to his uncle.

Shandar and Dolan shook hands, then they positioned themselves on either side of the door as Kalas pulled it open. A tall Human with green eyes entered the room, followed by a Nazarien that Amaroq had never seen before.

The Nazarien took in the people gathered in the suite, then his gaze fixed on Amaroq. He gave a brief inclination of his head before turning to the King. “Duard’s gone.”

Kalas blinked in surprise, sheathing his sword. “What?”

“He’s right,” said the Human. “He must have snuck off sometime in the night. We found the body in the shed.”

“How did Duard get past our guards?” demanded the King.

Amaroq moved closer to the door, drawing the Human’s attention. The man’s face drained of color as he glanced over at him. “Eldon’s blood star!” he said.

Kalas nodded. “Baron, meet my brother.”

“He looks just like…”

“Our father.” Kalas motioned to the Human. “Parish Brazelton, this is Amaroq Taheny of the Tirsbor Nazarien.”

Parish bowed his head to him as did the Nazarien, but the Nazarien also touched his fist to his breast in a gesture of respect.

“And this man is Halish, one of your kinsmen, Amaroq.”

Amaroq frowned at that. He’d never seen the man before in his life. Still he made the gesture in return as did Nakoda and Erjen.

“I’m glad to see you,” said Halish. “I’ve been searching for you since you left Tirsbor, Eladrasen.”

Amaroq exchanged a look with Kalas. “Eladrasen?”

“They’ve always called me that too,” he explained, then his attention focused on Parish. “Baron, where’s Duard?”

“We don’t know.”

“The man got past our soldiers. How?”

Amaroq felt a wave of anxiety. “He must have another way out. What if he’s gone to kill the slaves?”

Silence fell in the room and Amaroq could feel the tension like a physical force. Kalas stared at him, then he was moving, shouting orders. Everyone scrambled to do as he commanded, including Shandar. Amaroq didn’t know what he was expected to do, so he just watched the chaos evolve into order around him.

Grabbing a jacket, Kalas swung his arms into it, then he clasped Amaroq’s shoulder and urged him toward the door. “You stay by me. Somehow I think you’re going to be very important in finding the slaves.”

“He’s a natural lie detector,” said Shandar, something close to pride in his voice.

“That’s excellent news,” said Kalas, pulling open the door. “Baron, I want our men to shut down this homestead. No one leaves, no one breathes, no one even dares to piss until the slaves are located.”

“On it,” said Parish, hurrying off with Halish beside him.

Amaroq puzzled over Halish. He got a strange mixture of emotions from the man. He was definitely working hard to hide something. “Kalas?” he began, reaching out to touch his brother’s arm.

Kalas turned to face him.

Amaroq blinked in surprise. The King of Eastern Nevaisser seemed so focused on the task at hand that he hadn’t expected him to stop and listen. “How did this Halish come into your service?”

“That’s a story for another time, little brother.”

Amaroq shared a look with Shandar. “I wouldn’t trust him if I were you. I get a funny feeling from him.”

“So do I,” admitted Kalas. “Believe me, I’m watching.”

By the time they reached the front of the house, Kalas’ soldiers had rounded up all of Duard’s men and every servant that could be found in the house. They were huddled together in the middle of the front courtyard, watching the soldiers with wary expressions. Their anxiety battered against Amaroq, until his eyes came to rest on the huge slaver named Elvert, standing in the middle.

Stumbling to a halt, Amaroq grabbed the post to steady himself. Shandar hesitated beside him, putting his arm around his shoulders.

“Are you all right, Wolf?”

Amaroq tried to draw in air, but his lungs felt tight.

Kalas returned to his side. “What is it?”

Amaroq pointed to Elvert. “He’s the one who was going to brand me yesterday, before Hogan took me into the storage shed.”

Kalas looked over his shoulder at the big man. “Then that’s where we’ll start. Baron, let’s have that man there for questioning first.”

It took two soldiers to haul Elvert forward and force him into a chair before Duard’s front porch. They tied his hands behind him and bound his ankles to the legs of the chair, but he still glared at them as if he could think them to death. Amaroq felt no fear in him. He was just angry.

Kalas stepped in front of him. “Where is Duard?”

Elvert shook his head, clamping his mouth shut tight.

“Has he gone after the slaves?”

“What slaves?” His eyes went beyond Kalas and fixed on Amaroq.

Kalas glanced back at him. “Do you remember my brother?”

Elvert smiled. “We was going to play, but you interrupted us.”

“Play? You were going to brand him.”

“Not where’s it would show.” He made a kissing motion. “He’s too pretty to spoil.”

Amaroq swallowed the rush of bile. “Where’s my sister Naia?”

Recognition flashed in the slaver’s face. “Naia? Now she was a sweet one.”

Amaroq’s fist tightened. Shandar moved up beside him.

“Where is she?” demanded Shandar. “If you’ve touched her…”

Elvert gave his oily smile again. “Lots of them wanted to touch her.” He jerked his head toward the other men.

Shandar started forward, but Nakoda caught him back.

Amaroq moved closer to the bound slaver. “Do you know where my sister is?”

“No.”

He wasn’t lying.

“What about the King of Dorland?” asked Kalas.

“Not my problem.” His eyes shifted back to Amaroq. “You look like her. She was so sweet, so pretty.”

Amaroq shivered in revulsion.

“We coulda had fun, you and me. I woulda liked to hear you scream.”

Kalas grabbed him by the throat. “I’m not known as a patient man. Where are the slaves?”

“What slaves?” he said, never taking his eyes from Amaroq. “No slaves here.”

Kalas released him, shoving him back in the chair. “Baron, this man seems unusually fond of brands. Will you bring them?”

Amaroq’s gaze shifted to Kalas. Was he serious? Would he really use the brands on another person to get the information he wanted? He wanted his sister, but this seemed like crossing a line.

“Last chance,” said Kalas, holding out his hands. “Tell me where the slaves are or…” He sighed. “...we’ll take it in flesh.”

Elvert snarled at him. “No slaves here.”

A moment later, Parish returned with two soldiers. One carried a small brazier, already heating with coals, the other a metal brand. Amaroq looked away as they set the brazier before Elvert and placed the brand inside the glowing coals.

“Good thing we had a cook fire going this morning,” said Kalas. “It’ll only take a few moments to heat the metal.”

Elvert’s gaze moved from him to the brazier and back again. Then he looked at Amaroq. “I liked your sister. She was different from the others. She never complained.”

Amaroq’s jaw clenched.

“Never cried out. Never said a word.”

Amaroq’s hands closed into fists.

“Do it!” snarled Shandar behind him.

Kalas reached for the brand and held it up, looking at the glowing end. “Where are the slaves?”

“What slaves?”

Kalas took a step closer to him, motioning for two of his soldiers to hold Elvert in the chair. “I don’t usually enjoy inflicting pain, but with you, I’m happy to make an exception.”

Elvert’s smile fell and a shiver raced over him. Amaroq could feel his fear as if it were his own. He remembered how he’d felt yesterday when this same man had held the same brand before him.

Kalas brought the brand close to Elvert’s inner thigh. The huge man struggled against the bonds, but they held fast. His breath came in a quick pant, his terror washing over Amaroq. “Tell me where the slaves are!” shouted Kalas.

Amaroq swayed, his heart pounding so fast, he felt like he was having a heart attack. “Stop!” he said, closing his eyes and lowering his head. “Don’t do this!”

Someone grabbed his arm and pushed him back toward the stairs. He sank onto them without complaint, his vision dark. Sweat peppered over his body as a hand tightened on his shoulder, grounding him.

“Take deeper breaths,” said Nakoda.

Amaroq blinked up at him, forcing a nod.

“Get me some water!” Nakoda ordered, then focused on his friend again. “You need to learn to block it.”

“I wish I could.” He braced his forehead with a hand.

Kalas placed the brand back in the brazier and came to the stairs, bracing a foot on the bottom one and looking Amaroq in the eye. “We need to find the slaves.”

“Not this way. We’ll be no better than they are.”

“Then how, Amaroq?”

Shandar passed him a glass filled with water. “Drink!” he commanded, taking a seat beside him.

Amaroq drank, draining the glass. “I don’t know, but there has to be a way. We need to think this through. We need to be methodical, logical. We…” His voice trailed off as his thoughts came into focus. “He had another way out.”

“Clearly,” said Kalas.

“No, I mean another way to leave the house.”

Kalas straightened, his eyes lifting to the structure. “Nevaisser’s filled with lava tunnels. What if he had an escape route in the basement…” Kalas turned, striding back to Parish. “Baron, search the house and outbuildings for a tunnel. He must have hidden the slaves underground and escaped that way himself. Search everything!”

Parish gave a nod, then turned, barking orders at his men. In a matter of seconds, most of them had departed, leaving only a handful behind to guard the prisoners.

*    *    *

Kalas paced the front yard. Elvert still sat in his chair, bound, his eyes following the King, a slight smile on his lips. He was enjoying this. Amaroq braced his head in his hands. Being in this spot with such a conflict of emotions was making his skin crawl. His composure had been destroyed long ago. Where was his sister? What was happening to her? Would he ever find her again?

Shandar nudged him with his shoulder. “Go inside and rest. You need to get away from this for a while.”

Amaroq shook his head. “There’s no escaping this.”

Shandar started to speak, but Parish suddenly appeared, striding across the complex. “Your Majesty?”

Kalas whipped around.

“Come with me.”

Kalas glanced over his shoulder at Amaroq and Amaroq rose to his feet. “Dolan, you’re in charge,” Kalas told his second.

Dolan inclined his head.

The two brothers moved toward Parish with Shandar and Nakoda just behind them. Parish gave Kalas a grim look.

“Well?” Kalas demanded.

“This way.” He turned and led them back the way he’d come.

“Baron, what did you find?”

“We found the slaves.”

Kalas caught his arm. “Alive?”

Amaroq could feel Parish’s despair. “Some.”

“Aiden Cerik?”

“No grown men, Your Majesty.”

They quickened their pace up the road away from the house. They came to a barn, weathered by wind and rain, the red paint peeling away. Soldiers guarded the open doors and Parish motioned inside.

He led them to the back where a trap door had been hidden by hastily strewn straw. Light spilled out of the opening and a spiral staircase could be seen, descending into a cellar of some sort. “Watch your step, Your Majesty. The staircase isn’t the sturdiest I’ve seen. In fact, let me go first.”

Amaroq felt his heart pounding in his throat. His chest felt tight and his hands were sweating. He watched Kalas descend, then he followed him, dropping to the ground inside a lava tunnel that was wide enough for three men abreast and at least six feet tall.

Chained to the walls were people, or what had once been people. Soldiers moved among them offering them water, working on releasing them from their chains. Amaroq counted seventeen, but a few were sprawled against the tunnel walls, their eyes open and glassy, their mouths hanging slack. Dead.

“Eldon’s bloody star!” whispered Kalas, moving down the line.

The smell was overpowering and Amaroq fought down his gag reflex as he followed the King. Hair matted, open wounds, lying in their own filth, these people were emaciated, hollow-eyed, some unable to take the water offered to them. Flies buzzed about their eyes and in their hair, walked across their open wounds.

Amaroq shuddered as misery unlike anything he’d ever experienced washed over him. It pressed on him, hammered in his skull, made breathing difficult. Shandar gripped his shoulder, but it did no good. There was no escaping this.

“Go back up,” Shandar said. “I’ll look for her.”

Amaroq shook his head. “I have to look.” Not that he was sure he’d recognize his own sister anymore. Scars marked skin that wasn’t raw, and flesh had pulled so taut against bones that the faces appeared death-masks to the living forms.

Still he walked down the line and a growing sense of dread filled him. She wasn’t here, but what did it mean if she wasn’t? Did they keep her some place else? Some place worse? Or was she dead? Had they abandoned her corpse along the way as they had that other woman, leaving her to rot where even her family could never find her again?

“No punishment is bad enough!” growled Kalas, his gaze roving down the line. He met his brother’s eyes. “Is she here?”

“No,” said Shandar.

Amaroq couldn’t answer. Panic and despair gripped him so tight, he felt as if he might explode. After all this time, all these miles, to come here to this hell and end up empty handed was more than he could fathom.

Nakoda turned to face him, and for the first time, he saw in his friend’s eyes what he’d feared all along. His sister was dead.

Even as the thought formed, he shied away from it. He couldn’t accept that. He couldn’t believe that Naia with her bright smile and gentle ways was gone forever. Nothing could make him believe it.

He turned abruptly and started for the stairs again.

“Wolf!” shouted Shandar, but he ignored him.

Climbing, he came out of the trapdoor, moving across the barn floor without realizing where he was going. Before he knew it, he was in the open again, the smell of fresh earth and sunlight filling his nostrils. He kept moving, headed downhill toward the compound, his companions hurrying along in his wake, but he didn’t bother to acknowledge them.

He couldn’t, wouldn’t accept that his sister was gone. He had to know. He had to have some proof or he would never be able to move on from this waking nightmare again. He entered the compound and his focus zeroed in on Elvert, still sitting in his chair.

Dolan looked up as he stalked the bound man, but he didn’t realize what he was going to do until it was too late. Amaroq backhanded the slaver, his blow so violent, he sent the man and the chair sprawling onto one side.

Soldiers exclaimed and Shandar shouted his name again, but he didn’t care. He braced a knee in the man’s chest and leaned all of his weight on him, bringing his face close to the other man’s.

“Where’s my sister?”

Elvert shook his head, dazed, and fought for his next breath.

Amaroq pressed more weight on him. “Tell me! Where is she?”

Elvert met his gaze. “She went into the river.”

“What?”

“She went into the river with the Dorlandian King.”

“Did she drown?”

“I don’t know.”

Amaroq reared off him and reached for the brand, hauling it out of the brazier. Elvert gave a moan, but Amaroq didn’t care, bringing the brand back, prepared to bash the man’s brains out.

Just as he started to swing, Kalas threw himself in front of the slaver, grabbing Amaroq’s arm with both hands. They struggled for a moment until Kalas was able to wrench the brand away.

“Not like this!” he shouted, shoving Amaroq in the chest.

Amaroq staggered back, breathing hard.

“Not like this!” He threw the brand into the dirt, then he caught Amaroq’s face in both hands. “I know you’re not a killer!”

“He took my sister!” He couldn’t catch his breath. “He took her!”

“I know and we’ll find her. We’ll find her, Wolf. Trust me!”

Amaroq closed his eyes and fought for air.

“Trust me!” said Kalas again.

And slowly, Amaroq nodded.

*    *    *

Parish smoothed out the map on the kitchen table, indicating a dark circle that had been marked over an area of the Ethicon River. “The slaver estimates they went into the river about here.” He tapped the spot. “It seems reasonable since we found the body here.” He pointed to a dark X near the top of the circle. “And Duard’s homestead is here.” His finger slid over to a second X on the bottom of the circle.

Amaroq studied the map. “The Ethicon flows south toward the ocean, which means the closest point of habitation and the closest place to get help is Tirsbor.” He glanced up at Kalas.

The King stood between Parish and Dolan on the other side of the table. Amaroq’s companions had taken seats, while Halish stood in the open doorway, keeping everyone out. “Would Naia know that?”

“She’d know it,” said Shandar. “And if she’s with the Dorlandian King, Naia would understand how important it would be to return him to his kingdom.”

Kalas took that in.

“The slaves are too weak to travel, Your Majesty,” said Parish. “And we can’t drag the slavers with us to Tirsbor.”

“Which is why you’ll have to stay here with the soldiers.” Kalas glanced over his shoulder at the doorway. “Terra Antiguo is between us and Dorland. Halish will go to Lawyan for help. Lawyan will send healers, supplies, and reinforcements. His soldiers can escort the slavers back to Terra Antiguo for trial.”

“If these are the slavers who abducted Aiden Cerik, shouldn’t they be tried in Dorland?” said Parish.

The King and Dolan exchanged a look. “Terra Antiguo works well for that,” said Kalas.

Shandar followed the exchange. “You don’t trust Adison Cerik, do you?”

Kalas gave a noncommittal shrug. Amaroq knew, however, that he didn’t trust Halish completely either.

“Hold on,” said Parish. “You said I’d have to stay here with the soldiers.”

“You’re my captain of the guard.”

“Where will you be?”

“Headed to Tirsbor,” said Kalas, straightening.

Exclamations rose in the room. Amaroq met his brother’s steady gaze.

“I can’t spare any soldiers right now, Your Majesty!” protested Parish.

“And you won’t.”

“You’re not going out into the wilderness without protection.”

“Dolan will come with me, and I’ll be with my uncle and brother. Nakoda makes five of our men, and I’m not completely without skill.”

“No, I won’t allow it,” said Parish, crossing his arms over his chest. “Tell him this is madness,” he ordered Dolan.

Dolan drew a deep breath and released it. “I think it’s dangerous too, Your Majesty, and I wish you’d reconsider.”

“That’s it! That’s all the stronger you’re going to be about this!” grumbled Parish. He turned to Shandar. “Forbid it.”

Shandar held out his hands. “You don’t forbid an Eldralin anything, Parish. You should know that better than anyone else.”

Amaroq followed the exchange, but he felt anxious to get on the trail again. All the talk these people did was pointless. Still, it occurred to him that Kalas was as much a prisoner of his circumstances as Amaroq had always been, but he sensed Kalas wasn’t one to give up on something when he had his mind set.

Kalas touched Parish’s shoulder. “I promised to find the King of Dorland, in addition to breaking up the slavery ring. We’ve done the latter. All that remains is the former.”

“Let Dolan go with them. You don’t have to go. You can stay here with me. Be reasonable, Your Majesty. If you aren’t going to think of the good of your kingdom, think of your wife and daughter.”

“I’m as well protected in the company of three Nazarien as I am here. And you forget, my uncle protected my father for decades.”

“He’s an old man!” snapped Parish, then he gave Shandar an apologetic shrug.

“We’re the same age, Baron,” said Shandar levelly, “and I’m full-blooded Stravad.”

“Kalas…” pleaded Parish.

“Parish, listen.” He glanced at Amaroq. “I just found out I have a brother. And as you pointed out, my uncle’s an old man now…”

“Hey!” barked Shandar.

Kalas gave a half-smile. “Would you deny me the opportunity to spend time with both of them? I am always the servant of my people, and you know there’s no one more important to me than my wife and daughter, but this, Parish, this is something I want to do for me.” He clasped the older man’s shoulders. “I want to know my brother, Baron. Is that so wrong?”

Amaroq looked down, humbled. He’d been so afraid Kalas would resent him. He’d never expected for more than tolerance, never dreamed he’d receive acceptance. “He will be protected with my life and the lives of those who travel with us, Baron,” he said. “Of that you can be certain.”

Parish exhaled, lifting his hands and letting them fall against his thighs. “Fine. We’ll do it your way. I’ll stay here with the slaves and slavers, Halish will go to Terra Antiguo for help, and you’ll go do some foolishly unnecessary risk taking, while using your Eldralin charm to get your way as always.”

Kalas shrugged. “At least I didn’t pull my King card.”

“I suspect that was next in your repertoire.”

“It usually is.”

Parish nodded. “It usually is, so why do I even try?”

“No idea,” said Kalas, smiling.

CHAPTER 20

Naia entered her mother and Shandar’s cavern after her bath, feeling both happy and strangely disconcerted. Nothing had changed in Tirsbor. Nothing had really changed in her home either, except that maybe her mother had a few more lines around her mouth and eyes and was a little thinner.

It felt good to be clean. It was so good to see her mother, even Zander, but she didn’t like being separated from Aiden and Le. In a short time, they’d become her family and she wanted to be with them. But that wasn’t the way in Tirsbor. Her mother’s relationship with Shandar was one thing. People frowned on it, but they wouldn’t openly denounce it. Shandar was too important to the history of her people to be denied his wishes.

Her mother, Kaelene, and Shandar had been mates for all of Naia’s life. She felt fortunate to be the only female she knew who had a father in more than name. Shandar had always filled that role for her. Without him and her brother here, the cave felt empty. She ached to see them again.

She smiled at Kaelene now as she ducked under the door flap. Kaelene smiled back, holding out her hands. Naia dropped her bundle of rags on the floor and hurried around the fire, dropping to her knees and curling her arms around her waist. She banded Naia with her arms and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

This part of the homecoming felt right.

Her mother’s hand stroked down her hair and Naia looked up into her brimming eyes. ‘I’m so glad you came back to us,’ she motioned, then swiped at the tears.

‘I’m glad to be home,’ she responded, ‘but what about Amaroq and Shandar? What’s being done to find them?’

Kaelene shook her head. ‘We have no word.’

‘Why was Amaroq allowed to leave? He’s never left before.’

“He had no choice,” said Kaelene. Naia read her lips. Brushing the hair off her daughter’s shoulder, she cupped her under the chin. “He had to find you. No one was going to stop him.”

Guilt rose inside Naia. If anything happened to her brother, she wouldn’t be able to stand it. ‘Aiden will help us find him.’

“Aiden? The King of Dorland? I know who he is Naia. Human Kings do not help Nazarien women.”

‘You don’t understand,’ she motioned.

Kaelene looked deep into her eyes. “Forget this King, Naia. You do not belong in the same worlds. He will go home to his people and your world is here with us.”

Naia lifted her hands to protest, but she felt a presence at the mouth of the cavern and looked up. Zander stood in the doorway, awaiting their attention. Naia moved out of her mother’s arms and wiped at the tears on her face. Her mother did the same.

“Tovan requests your presence in his cavern,” Zander said.

She’d been expecting as much, but hadn’t thought the order would come so quickly. She nodded absently and then looked at her mother.

Kaelene covered her mouth with a hand, her eyes brimming again. Naia pulled her hand down and kissing the back of it. ‘It will be all right,’ she signed. ‘Amaroq will come home to us. I know it.’

Kaelene nodded.

*    *    *

Aiden and Le looked up when Naia and her mother ducked under the door flap. They were sitting around the fire in the large main cavern, flanked on both sides by Nazarien warriors, Tovan, and his second-in-command. He and Le had been telling their individual stories just a moment before, but Aiden fell silent.

His dark eyes fixed on Naia. She met his gaze and gave him a warm smile. Her hair was brushed, clean and glimmering blue-black in the lantern and fire light. It hung to her waist and swayed with the motion of her hips when she walked. She was dressed in a clean pair of trousers that hugged her slender shape and a white shirt with full sleeves. Earrings dangled from her ears, all three in the shape of a Nazarien scythe, and a single pendant (the Star of Eldon) hung from a chain around her neck. Aiden couldn’t take his eyes off her.

He caught the negligent motion of Tovan’s hand from the corner of his eyes and Naia and her mother moved to obey him at once. They were seated on the commander’s right side, his second-in-command between them. Naia shot the large, scowling man a glance and dropped her eyes to her hands again. The Nazarien commander didn’t stop glaring at her, however.

“We’ve been waiting,” said Tovan, draping his forearm over his bent knee in a casual gesture. “Our guests have been explaining how they each came to be in the hands of slavers. As we are all well aware of how the girl found herself in the same situation, we can move on.” He made a negligent motion with the hand hanging over his knee. “Continue,” he told Aiden.

Aiden frowned. Nazarien or not, he showed surprisingly little care regarding her return one way or another. And then there was the problem of his commanding tone. Slave or not, Aiden wasn’t used to being spoken to in such a manner.

“If you don’t mind, Commander, I’m curious about your reaction. One of your own has just returned to you after weeks of living among slavers. The fact she made it out alive is a feat worthy of your most skilled warrior…”

Indignant murmurings rose around them. The commander held up a hand for silence. Naia seemed distressed, studying him and the other warriors.

The commander stroked his chin. “You don’t know our ways, Aiden Cerik,” he said. “Therefore, your ignorant remark will be excused.”

Aiden’s anger flared. “Perhaps if you explain why my remark was ignorant, you might educate me against making any more.”

Although they didn’t voice their disapproval, Aiden felt a wave pass through the gathered warriors. Zander looked particularly uncomfortable. Tovan and his second exchanged a brief glance, then the older man made the same annoying motion with his hand.

“Do not compare Nazarien warriors to women, especially women of inferior breeding,” said the second.

Naia’s mother flinched and dropped her eyes.

Aiden tensed. “I wasn’t comparing Naia to a Nazarien warrior. I think what she did proves her superiority.”

The second narrowed his eyes. Tovan’s hand curled into a fist. Aiden knew this wasn’t the way to win their support, but if they thought he’d sit here and let them degrade Naia.

“Perhaps it would be best to get back to your story,” said Tovan.

Le tugged on Aiden’s arm in warning. Aiden gave the boy a comforting smile, then he drew a breath, glanced at Naia, and launched back into the tale. When he finished, the cavern fell silent.

Finally, Tovan shook his head in amazement. “A remarkable story.”

Aiden nudged Le, motioning for him to translate, so Naia could understand. Le’s hands lifted and Naia looked up, focusing on them.

“Yes, well, I can promise you I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Naia and Le. They saved my life.”

“As you saved theirs, it would seem.”

Aiden leaned forward, the fire flickering in the hollows of his face. “How is my kingdom? Have you heard anything?”

“Very little. Just that your brother Adison rules. The King of Eastern Nevaisser passed this way, headed for Dorland when news of your disappearance reached Chernow. Kalas Eldralin was in Chernow at the time, meeting with the Nazar.”

That was good news. He was glad someone had foresight to oversee his kingdom, and he couldn’t think of anyone more qualified than Kalas Eldralin. “Is there anyway to contact Kalas?”

“We’ll send riders to intercept him. We can also send word to Dorland.”

Aiden considered that. “Hold off on that.”

Tovan’s brows rose in question. “You don’t want us to inform your family that you’re alive?”

“Someone attacked me in my own chambers, disposed of my guards, and sold me into slavery. I think it’s safe to say I was betrayed by someone in my inner circle.”

“I can’t say as I completely understand, since such machinations are the purview of Human nobility, but I agree that caution is probably warranted. We’ll do our best to find Kalas Eldralin instead.”

Aiden glanced at Naia once more. “Zander told me Naia’s brother had gone looking for her.”

Tovan’s head tilted back and tension snaked around the room. “That is a Nazarien problem and we are working on it.”

“Right now, Tovan, our problems appear to be linked, so I think we might be a bit more open about things,” said Aiden, not trying to hide the edge to his voice. “The slavers had at least thirty Stravad women and children. Only a handful were Human and I was one. They operate with impunity right under both our noses, selling people as if they were a commodity.” He cast his gaze around the room. “Now, I understand I don’t fully comprehend Nazarien ways, but I’ve been on the inside of this slave trade and I know how it works. These men won’t hesitate to kill, so you might just want to listen when I tell you no one is safe.”

Tovan leaned against his backrest, curling a hand over his chin. “Amaroq Taheny is not open for discussion.”

“Then the information I have isn’t either.”

“You came to us for help!”

“And you’ll give it.” Le made a strangled sound, but Aiden laid his hand on the boy’s head. “Dorland’s the closest Human settlement to both Chernow and Tirsbor. A weak Dorland creates difficulties for the Nazarien. My father worked hard to establish a treaty between the Nazarien and my people, signed by Talar Eldralin himself. I don’t believe you would dare presume to dishonor that bond, would you, Tovan?”

A slight smile curved the lines of Naia’s lips, but the rest of the council moved restlessly. Tovan’s gaze never wavered.

He considered for a moment, glancing at his second, then he lowered his hand. “Well played, King of Dorland. Obviously, we’d be foolish to turn down the information you have.” He gave a tense jerk of his chin. “Amaroq Taheny is the single most important person living in this canyon. We will go to any lengths to recover him safe and sound.”

“Then it seems we have a basis for negotiating this relationship,” said Aiden. “I can show you on the map where we went and you can search those locations for signs of your missing brethren. I’ll also give you all of the information I have on how the slavers operate. In exchange, I get your help discovering who betrayed me.”

Tovan placed his fist against his breast and inclined his head. “We have a deal, Your Majesty.”

*    *    *

“You take risks, Aiden Cerik,” said Zander when they returned to their cave.

Le glanced up from his pallet on the shelf and gave the two men worried looks. Aiden stretched the kinks out of his back. Weariness pressed on him now that the immediate needs for food and cleanliness had been met. He wanted to go to sleep, but he also wanted to see Naia.

“You don’t know where I’ve been, Zander. From now on, I’m playing by a different set of rules. Tell me about Naia’s brother. Why is he so special?”

Zander shook his head. “That is not something I will divulge. I’m already in trouble for saying anything to start with. Now, I must go back on patrol.” He took a step closer to the King. “Tovan is a fair leader, Aiden Cerik, but he doesn’t suffer fools.”

“Neither do I, Zander.”

Zander gave a brief nod, then walked to the door flap and ducked outside. Le collapsed back on the shelf.

“I thought they were going to toss us out, I did,” he said, stretching languidly. “You shouldn’t provoke them, Aiden.”

Aiden moved closer to the pallet and looked down at the boy. “I intend to do more provoking. I’m not leaving Naia here when we go.”

Le sat up. “What? You can’t do that. She belongs here. These are her people.”

“People who call her inferior?”

“He meant because she can’t hear.”

Aiden hunkered down before the boy. “Do you really think Naia’s inferior in anyway, Le?”

Le dropped his gaze. “No, we wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for her.”

“Exactly.”

Le lifted his head and pierced Aiden with his green eyes. “But she isn’t going to leave her people, especially not if her brother returns. She talked about him a lot, Aiden. She adores him. Why would she leave this place when everyone she loves is here?”

Aiden rubbed his forehead. He hadn’t wanted to divulge this to Le, not this way, but there didn’t seem to be a better time. “Because I love her and I think she loves me.”

“You have a wife, Aiden.”

Aiden waved that off. “Our marriage is a sham. It was never real. We were forced into it and neither of us wanted it.”

“What makes you think Naia feels the same way?”

Aiden didn’t want to explain things about men and women to this boy, not this way. “I just feel it, Le. Besides, do you really want to come to Dorland without her?”

“Me?” The boy touched his chest. “You want me to come with you?”

“Of course. I thought we’d make it formal. How would you like to be my son?”

Le sat up straighter. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. What do you think?”

“I think when do we leave.”

Aiden laughed. “As soon as I’m sure I have Nazarien support when we get to Dorland. I’m not going back unless I know exactly who had me attacked in the first place.” He smiled at the boy. “But I promise you, as soon as things are sorted, we’re going to be a family – you, me, and Naia.”

Le’s expression fell. “I hope you’re right, Aiden. I really do.”

Soon after Le fell asleep. Aiden tried to sleep, but all he could think about was Naia. Finally he gave up and walked to the door flap, pulling it open. Ducking outside, he walked to the railing and leaned over, looking up at the cave that Zander had indicated was Naia’s.

The night was clear and thousands of stars shown in the sky. He could smell food cooking in one of the caves and hear the sounds of quiet conversation coming from another. A few tiers above, someone moved along the walkway to the end. A voice called out and was answered, then the flap parted and Naia stepped out, the glow from inside the cave illuminating her.

Aiden frowned and strained to hear who’d come to visit her, but he couldn’t tell from this distance. He eased down to the end of his level, directly below hers, and slipped back into the shadows so they couldn’t see him.

“I’ll ask Tovan for permission to search for your brother,” said a voice Aiden recognized. Zander. Clenching his jaw, Aiden felt a rush of anger. So much for going on patrol.

“She wants to know why you think he’ll grant such a request,” came another voice. Naia’s mother, Kaelene.

“Because I believe he will. He’s as concerned about Amaroq as the rest of us.”

They fell silent for a moment, then Aiden heard the walkway creak. “Naia, now that you’ve returned, I was hoping…”

Aiden tensed. Zander’s voice had taken on a tender quality.

“It’s late, so I’ll be brief. I’m willing to swear my allegiance to you in the name of Talar Eldralin.”

Aiden realized he was grinding his teeth. He knew what that meant. It was the strongest commitment a Nazarien could make, nearly a marriage.

Naia’s mother gave a gasp of delight.

“I can provide for you and make sure that nothing ever happens to you again. I think it is a good arrangement. Tell her that for me. Tell her I would protect her from everything.”

“This is a generous offer, Zander,” said Kaelene. “A very generous offer.”

The warrior didn’t answer.

Aiden held his breath, afraid to hear Naia’s response, afraid not to know. The sound of frogs reached him from the river, mingling with the pounding of blood in his ears. Why would she want to leave this protected canyon? Her people? Le was right. He was a fool.

“What does she say?” asked Zander.

Naia’s mother did not immediately answer.

“Kaelene, please. What does she say?”

Kaelene sighed. “She asks for time, Zander. She’s only just returned and her thoughts are with her brother. She says she can’t think of anything else at this moment.”

The walkway creaked again. “I understand,” said Zander. “She has as long as she wants. Tell her that for me.”

“I will.”

“I need to go on patrol,” he said. “I’ll call on her tomorrow.”

“We’ll be here.”

Footsteps moved down the walkway.

“Zander?” called Kaelene and the footsteps stopped. “It is a good match. Give me time to talk to her.”

“I appreciate it,” he answered, then his footsteps continued.

Aiden stayed where he was, fighting for composure. She hadn’t accepted. She hadn’t turned him down either, but she hadn’t accepted. What did that mean? Did she not want a match with the Nazarien warrior or did she just not want a match at all?

He stood in the shadows and listened for a long time. Zander descended without seeing him and walked off across the meadow on his patrol and still Aiden waited. Finally, he eased to the edge of the walkway and looked up.

He could just make out Naia’s form, bathed in moonlight as she gazed down toward the river. He smiled at the way the moonlight caressed her features, drew highlights in her dark hair. Gods, he loved her.

He went to the closest ladder and began climbing. Looking up, he marked that she’d spotted him and was moving toward him along the narrow catwalk. He stepped off the ladder and faced her. It was darker here, so communication would be difficult.

She stopped in front of him and smiled. He felt as if his heart would explode with pleasure. He reached out and brushed back a strand of her hair. She caught his hand and pressed it to her cheek. Swallowing hard, he disengaged himself and made his halting motions.

‘I heard what he said.’

She followed his motions, then lifted her eyes.

‘I know he’s your people.’ He shook his head in frustration, holding out his empty hands. He just didn’t have enough words yet.

She caught his hand and drew him down the walkway before her cave. Slipping inside, she retrieved a lantern and settled it on a hook outside her door. Aiden smiled at her ingenuity.

‘Tell me,’ she motioned, pointing at her mouth.

“Your mother?”

She waved that off.

He brushed the strand of hair back again. He couldn’t resist touching her. “I heard Zander’s offer. I was listening.” He pointed over the edge of the walkway.

Her eyes widened.

“I know he’s your people. I know this is your home, but I feel like you and me...like we have something special.”

She cocked her head at him, then she made motions with her hands. He tried to follow them, but he caught only about every other word. People? Woman or wife? He wasn’t sure. And home?

Aiden released his breath in a frustrated laugh and scratched the back of his neck. Lord, he needed a haircut. “This is so much easier with Le.”

She gave him a sympathetic look, then she reached for his hand and laid her fingers on the mark where his wedding band had once been. The slavers had removed it from him the first day in their hold. He’d only half known it was gone.

“Right. I’m married, but that marriage isn’t real. Neither of us want it. We don’t love each other.”

Her eyes searched his face.

He looked down, shifting his feet. “Naia, after what we’ve been through…”

Her fingers touched his chin, forcing him to lift his head. He gave a tense laugh.

“Right. You can’t read my lips when I’m looking down.” Scrubbing his hands against his pants, he drew a deep breath. “Here goes. I love you.”

She blinked at him.

“I know you might not feel the same, and I know we have obstacles between us…big obstacles. I know it’ll be hard for you to leave your people and I know that it’ll be hard for my people to accept a Nazarien, but we almost died. So many times, and when I think of a life without you in it...I know it’ll be no life at all.”

She hadn’t moved and her stillness scared him.

“Naia, please. Whatever it is, we can work it out. I know we can. Look what we’ve already been through, look at what’s already happened to us. If we survived that, we can bridge any gap, do whatever it takes to be together. If you accept me, if you say you love me, then I will do everything to make your life filled with bliss. I will…”

She pressed her fingers against his lips, stopping him. He clenched his hands into fists, afraid of what she might say. Afraid of being rejected by her. Of course, his logical mind understood why she wouldn’t accept him. He was married, he was Human, he lived in Dorland. The obstacles between them were enormous, but the thought of leaving here without her felt impossible.

‘I love you.’

Le had taught him the motions when they’d first gotten free, but he wasn’t sure he remembered them right. He searched her face, trying to read her emotions there. His mouth opened but no sound came out.

She made the motion again, then she stepped up to him, grabbed the lapels on the uniform jacket Zander had lent him and pulled him down into a kiss. At first Aiden was too surprised to respond, then he was kissing her back, his hands lifting to crush her against him, and inside, he felt his heart soar..

CHAPTER 21

Kalas proved to be a good horseman. He rode better than Amaroq, but then Amaroq figured he probably had more experience. Often when he and Nakoda went exploring in Tirsbor, they didn’t take horses. Some of the deeper canyons were too narrow or treacherous, and they often went on foot.

The horse Kalas rode was a beautiful animal, black as night, tall and well muscled. Kalas told him the animal belonged to the King of Dorland. Needing exercise and purpose, he’d been given into Kalas’ service because he was grieving the loss of his master. Amaroq wasn’t one to doubt such a claim.

They’d left Duard’s homestead early that morning, Halish toward Terra Antiguo and the rest toward Tirsbor. Amaroq felt relieved once the homestead disappeared behind them. A blanket of grief and suffering lay over that land and as soon as it was lost to sight, Amaroq felt the tension of it lift from him.

He glanced at Kalas as his brother rode beside him. “Your people are very loyal to you.”

Kalas gave a half-smile. “Very, but it wasn’t always like that.”

“How so?”

“I had to earn their loyalty. In fact, for a long time, I was afraid Dolan would murder me in my sleep. Right, Dolan?” he called to the Nazarien riding next to Shandar.

“The thought still sometimes crosses my mind, Your Majesty,” said Dolan without turning around.

Kalas laughed.

“They want to protect you.”

“Yes, but sometimes I have to exert my will when our purposes oppose each other.”

“You married a Nazarien?”

“A Nazarien assassin.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Neither does she. She’s a terrible assassin and not the best Nazarien either.”

“Would she object to what you’re doing now?”

“Oh, without doubt. In fact, she’d threaten to gut me for it.”

Amaroq frowned. “The people who care for you threaten to kill you when you go against their wishes?”

“All in the name of love, brother dear, all in the name of love.”

“That doesn’t make sense either.”

“Well, when you allowed yourself to be captured by the slavers, Nakoda was angry with you, wasn’t he?”

“Very.”

“But he still saved your life.”

“He killed for me.”

“And that’s the point. You have the same thing I do – loyalty in the face of foolishness. Foolishness on our parts, by the way. It’s an Eldralin thing.”

“What is?”

“Loyalty from people, even when they’re frustrated with our actions.” Kalas gave a negligent shrug. “It’s always baffled me.”

Amaroq fell silent, surveying the landscape. They’d found their way back to the river, headed toward Erjen’s house. The old Nazarien intended to part with them there. He had no desire to go back to Tirsbor, even after all these years.

“So, this is your first time out of Tirsbor?” asked Kalas.

“Yes.”

“I figure you’re a couple of years at most younger than I am.”

“I believe it’s nearly two.”

“That’s a long time to stay in Tirsbor. What did you do with yourself all that time?”

“Studied. I’m well versed in all languages, history, mathematics, and the ways of nature.”

“Do you have a woman?”

“I’ve participated in many Procreation Ceremonies, if that’s your question.”

“Procreation Ceremonies? Jarrett Trauner outlawed them.”

Amaroq shot him a look. “They are voluntary now. Women are not forced to participate, but many do. I never want for partners.”

Kalas gave a bark of laughter. “I’ll bet you don’t.”

Amaroq frowned at him.

“You look like our father. Clearly he never wanted for partners either,” answered Kalas, holding up a hand. “Do you have children?”

“No, not yet. But you have a daughter?”

Kalas’ smile softened the lines in his face. “Esme. She’s one.”

“She brings you happiness when you think of her.”

Kalas looked over at him, studied him intently. “That’s part of the reason you never left Tirsbor, isn’t it? People’s emotions, they wash over you, inundate you until you feel like you’re going mad.”

Amaroq refused to meet his gaze. “It’s better now, away from Duard’s homestead. That place reeked with misery.”

Kalas leaned forward in the saddle. “Wolf, our sister can help you. She can teach you to block those emotions. She learned herself. It was just as bad for her, crippling, but she mastered it. She can teach you.”

Amaroq glanced at him. “I need to find Naia first.”

Kalas nodded. “Of course, but after – when this is over…”

“We’ll talk of this later,” said Amaroq, dismissing him. He wasn’t completely sure what Kalas wanted him to do, but he clearly wanted him to leave Tirsbor. Amaroq hadn’t allowed himself to think much about that. He hadn’t thought much about returning, but he knew Tovan would never let him out of sight again if he did. But did he want to stay in Tirsbor? He just didn’t know anymore.

They stopped at Erjen’s cabin for a meal. The Nazarien prepared cured veal on the rough peasant bread they’d taken from Duard’s homestead, then he packed up supplies for them. Amaroq was anxious to pick up the trail again, so they bid Erjen goodbye and left, riding across the meadow and into the trees, finally winding their way down to the Ethicon River.

Deliberately, he positioned himself at the back of the group, riding beside Nakoda. He wanted to talk to his brother some more, but Kalas confused him, made him long for things that he’d never known he wanted. Actually, that had been happening since he left Tirsbor. His world had been simpler before. He had the people he needed in his life and he’d never wanted for more, but talking to Shandar and Kalas about his father made him regret not knowing the man. Knowing he had another sister made him want to meet her. And worst of all, the thought of staying within the confining walls of Tirsbor suddenly felt claustrophobic.

Late in the afternoon, they came upon the spot on the map where Elvert said the King of Dorland and his sister had gone into the river. Shandar called a halt and sat astride his horse, studying the map.

Amaroq swung out of the saddle and wandered the bank, searching it for as far as he could see. Had his sister made her escape here? Had she survived? Had she returned to Tirsbor for help? The sun had crossed the sky and dipped behind the mountains, casting shadows on everything.

Amaroq paused, his gaze catching on something in the middle of the stream. Without thinking, he waded into the river. Nakoda and Shandar shouted at him to come back,  but he waded out to the middle where it was deeper. A piece of fabric had snagged on a bit of flotsam. He untangled it and carried it back to the shore where his companions waited.

“What is it?” demanded Shandar.

“Cloth, torn from someone’s clothing.”

“That’s not Nazarien make,” said Shandar, taking the piece and turning it.

“No, but then the slaver said Aiden Cerik went into the river with Naia,” answered Amaroq. He shifted and surveyed the area. “If they made it out of the river, Naia would know she had to cross in order to reach Tirsbor. I think we should cross here.”

His companions agreed. Amaroq kept his thoughts to himself, but he’d felt the current as he waded for the bit of cloth. Not far from the bank it grew swift, deep, and cold. He shivered even now in his wet clothes. Had Naia escaped the slavers, there was no guarantee she and Aiden had made it out of the river again.

As if he read his thoughts, Kalas clamped a hand on his shoulder. “She made it out, Wolf,” he said, then he handed him a cloak from his pack. “You’re shivering.”

Amaroq ducked his head in gratitude and took the offered garment, sliding it around his shoulders. Then they climbed onto the horses, crossed the stream, and picked up the trail on the other side.

Amaroq insisted they press on until dusk began to give way to night. Stars appeared overhead and frogs began croaking. They found a dry bit of beach and made camp. Nakoda went in search of dry wood for a fire and Shandar laid out their meal – more of the veal and bread Erjen had given them.

They ate in silence, Amaroq staring pensively at the river, then they banked the fire and crawled into their bedrolls. Weariness pressed on the Nazarien, but his thoughts kept going back to Naia. He tried to draw comfort in the idea that she was free of the slavers, but that didn’t help. If she’d gotten free, only to drown, how would he make sense of that?

“Shandar,” came Kalas’ voice from the other side of the fire. “How did you come to live in Tirsbor? Become the mate of Amaroq’s mother?”

Amaroq looked over, interested. He knew most of this story, but in light of the rest, he found himself wanting to hear it again.

Shandar adjusted his head on his pack and sighed. “That has more to do with you than you might know.”

“Tell it,” said Kalas.

“After your father’s death, I wandered around Sarkisian and Adishian, hoping from some sign from you. I was prepared to challenge Rarick for your freedom, but a few years passed and you never sent word for me.”

“I couldn’t. Tyla…”

“I know the reason now, kid. Don’t get defensive.”

Kalas gave a grunt and settled in his bedroll.

“Eventually I wound up in Kazden again. I guess I just wanted to be close to your father. I was in the general store when this boy runs in and steals a stick of licorice, but this child wasn’t like any child I’d ever seen before. Blue eyes, black hair, perfect features, he was obviously Stravad and more obviously Talar’s get.” Shandar smiled at Amaroq. “The shopkeeper had gotten wise to this particular miscreant, so he caught him and was going to give him the whipping of a life when I intervened.”

*    *    *

Kaelene hitched the baby up on her hip and looked around. Eldon’s bloody star, where had the boy gotten to now? She felt a moment of panic, then her eyes lighted on the general store. The imp! Whenever she brought him to town for her errands, he snuck away from her and went into the store. He always came out eating something sweet, telling her the shopkeeper had given him a treat, but she was beginning to suspect otherwise.

The baby laid her head on her shoulder, twining a chubby hand in her mother’s hair. Kaelene pressed a kiss to the dark head and snuggled her closer. The child never cried, never fussed, never made any complaint whatsoever. In fact, she’d never heard the baby make a sound. Dryden said she was defective, but Kaelene ignored him for the most part.

If he didn’t want to claim his daughter, that was fine with her, but she had no intention of spending another Procreation Ceremony in his bed either. The Kazden Cult had offered her safe haven, but that was it. She owed them nothing more of herself.

Picking up her shopping basket, she headed for the store, climbing up on the boardwalk and pushing the door open. Her eyes lighted first on Amaroq struggling to escape the hold of the shopkeeper. In his other hand, the shopkeeper held a paddle. A piece of licorice dangled from Amaroq’s mouth and he was complaining... loudly.

Naia might not make a sound, but Amaroq made up for both of them with his noise. The boy had more spirit than a pack of wild dogs, forever annoying Dryden with his antics. Unfortunately, the other Cult members encouraged him.

Hurrying forward, Kaelene snatched her son from the shopkeeper, placing herself between them. The shopkeeper waggled a finger in her face. “He needs a whippin’. Lemme at him. He keeps stealing from me whenever you come to town.”

Kaelene shot a horrified look at the boy. “Is this true?”

Amaroq rolled his eyes. “No, who’d want to steal his moldy candy anyway?”

Kaelene glared at him. “What’s in your hand?”

Amaroq looked at the hand that she held with her own. It was empty. “Nuthin’.”

“The other hand!”

He glanced over at that. “Now how’d that get there?”

She let out a breath. “I should let him whip you.”

Big blue eyes rose to hers, his mouth drawing into a pout. She knew he deserved punishment, but when he looked at her like that her heart melted.

“The candy’s on me,” came a voice behind the shopkeeper.

Kaelene glanced up. A large man with pale hair and a hooked nose watched the exchange, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. Kaelene felt her heart pick up speed and she looked around the store.

“Shandar?” she asked.

“One and the same.”

She glanced around again.

“He’s not here,” he answered, his expression sobering.

Kaelene moved around the shopkeeper, dragging the boy with her. Shandar reached out a hand to Naia and the baby wrapped her own small fist around a huge finger. He smiled at her.

“Where is he?” Kaelene asked.

“Who?” demanded Amaroq, tugging on her hand.

“Shh,” she scolded and turned back to Shandar.

Shandar’s expression fell and he dropped his gaze. Kaelene felt her heart sink. There was no way Shandar would be here without him. “He’s dead, isn’t he?” she whispered.

“Who? Who’s dead?” insisted Amaroq.

“He needs a good whipping, he does,” said the shopkeeper, going behind the counter and settling the paddle on its surface. “A good, sound whipping.”

“Shandar?”

He touched her elbow. “Let me pay and we’ll go somewhere to talk.” He turned his back to her and paid the shopkeeper, also purchasing the licorice Amaroq had stolen.

Kaelene wandered toward the door, her mind spinning, trying to process what all of this meant. Of course, she’d heard rumors. The Cult whispered things, but women weren’t told anything directly. She’d dared to hope, to pray that the rumors were wrong – in fact, she’d convinced herself they had to be. She realized now that Dryden had been shielding her from the real information.

Shandar returned to her side, slinging his pack over his shoulder, and took her elbow. “Let me buy you supper.”

She nodded absently and allowed him to lead her outside. Once in the open, Amaroq demanded she released him, but she couldn’t. She clung to his hand as tightly as she could, holding on to the last part of him she still had. The boy sensed her upset and settled, pressing against her side as they walked down the street.

Shandar led her to a cafe and got them a table near the window. Kaelene shifted the baby to her lap and pulled Amaroq close, resting her chin on his head. She wanted to cry, but she knew what that would do to her son. It frightened him whenever she became emotional.

Shandar reached over and touched the baby’s fist. She latched onto him, giving him a watery smile. Kaelene was distracted by her reaction. Naia rarely showed much interest in anyone other than her mother or her brother. She never once responded to Dryden when he tried to get a reaction out of her.

“She sure don’t fuss much, does she?”

Kaelene lifted her eyes to his face. He smiled at her. “She can’t hear. At least that’s what I’ve discovered. She doesn’t cry, doesn’t fuss. Usually, she doesn’t acknowledge people at all.”

Suddenly the baby held out her arms for Shandar. He took her without hesitation and settled her on his lap. Kaelene frowned at that. Never had Naia gone with anyone else for even a short time.

“Shame, but she sure is a pretty gal,” he said, bouncing her.

Naia’s face lit up and her little mouth opened in a silent laugh. Kaelene and Amaroq laughed with her.

“She likes you,” said Amaroq.

Shandar nodded, settling the baby into the crook of his arm. “Tell me your name, little man.”

“Amaroq.”

“Amawhat?”

“Amaroq. Means wolf in your tongue.”

“You’re a cheeky one, aren’t you? Just like your father.” His eyes lifted and met Kaelene’s.

“How did he die?”

“No one told you?”

She shook her head. “I think they were trying to protect me. I heard rumors, but I didn’t want to believe them.”

“He died in battle.”

“Who? Who died?” demanded the boy.

“My brother.” Shandar hesitated, smoothing down Naia’s wild hair. “Your father.”

Amaroq tilted up his head. Kaelene laid her hand on his hair, stroking it. That hadn’t been the way she would have told him. She drew a breath, her chest so tight it ached. Amaroq leaned back into her, sensing her pain.

Shandar studied the boy. “You look just like him,” he said.

“I wanted to tell him. I wanted him to know he had a son, but Dryden said…”

“Dryden said?”

“He wouldn’t protect me if I told. The Sarkisian army were after me and I had to make a decision. Dryden promised to provide for me, protect me. I couldn’t run from place to place when I was pregnant. I had to make a choice and I chose the child.” She realized she was leaning forward in her earnestness.

“You did the right thing,” said Shandar. “I’m not faulting you for that. He’s a fine boy.”

A server appeared, an older woman with grey hair pulled back in a bun. “What can I get you?”

Amaroq eyed Shandar suspiciously, then he looked up at the server. “A steak and mashed potatoes. I want lots of gravy and pie. Two kinds of pie.”

Kaelene gasped, but Shandar laughed.

“Stop it!” she hissed at him.

“He can have whatever he wants,” Shandar told the server. “Do you want cream on the pie?”

Amaroq’s eyes gleamed. “Yes, cream. Lots of it.”

Shandar smiled. “What about you?”

Kaelene shifted uncomfortably. She didn’t know how to respond. Shandar brought up so many memories for her, memories of a time when she was happy. The realization that Talar was gone suddenly seemed too much and she burst into tears.

The server patted her on the shoulder, muttering words of comfort, while Shandar shifted uneasily. Amaroq wrapped his arms around her and rested his head on her breast. “It’s all right, Ma. I won’t have the cream.”

Kaelene blindly reached for the napkin and wiped her eyes, hugging her boy with one arm. “No, it’s not the cream.”

“Give us a moment,” Shandar told the server and the older woman went away. Shandar took Kaelene’s hand and squeezed it. “I’m sorry. I should have been more sensitive.”

Kaelene shook her head, hugging the boy tighter. She couldn’t speak, afraid if she did so, she would scare Naia as well. She just couldn’t process her loss, all that might have been, all that would never be. She’d loved him so and he was gone. Some part of her had always believed he’d come back – realize he loved her and want to spend the rest of his life with her and his son. Now that was gone.

“Do something!” urged Amaroq to Shandar.

Shandar opened his mouth but nothing came out. Amaroq glared at him. Suddenly Kaelene burst out laughing. The entire situation was so absurd, there was nothing left for her to do. Shandar and Amaroq gave her a concerned look, but she grabbed her son’s head and kissed the top of it.

“Tell me all about your adventures, Shandar,” she said, folding her arms around Amaroq’s shoulders and resting her chin on the top of his head. “Tell me everything that’s happened since you left Kazden. I know you found Terra Antiguo.”

Shandar slumped in the chair, still holding Naia, a look of relief on his face. “Well, after we left you, we went to Marsino where we met a one-legged knife juggler.”

Amaroq’s eyes grew big and he leaned forward, caught up in the tale. Kaelene smiled at Shandar as she watched him entertain her children, his gestures awkward and expansive, his voice booming. And for the first time in ages, she felt at home.

CHAPTER 22

Adison slammed the book shut and raked his hands through his disheveled brown hair. “This isn’t what I asked you to do.”

“You asked me to teach you to read,” said Alasdair, easing back from him. He always kept his eyes turned away.

Adison grabbed the edge of the table and hoisted it up. Books, papers, and quills fell off, scattering on the ground. Alasdair hurried around the table and began gathering them, cradling the books as if they were children.

Fury raced through Adison and he banged his fist on the table. “I said teach me to read, not show me a bunch of gibberish!”

Alasdair ducked his head, rounding his shoulders. Usually the submission would suit Adison’s mood, but not now. Damn him, he was a son of Alton Cerik. He ought to have more backbone than this.

“It’s not gibberish. You just aren’t comprehending it.”

“Not comprehending!” Adison crossed around the table and leaned over his brother. “Not comprehending! You’re doing this deliberately, aren’t you? You’re showing me gibberish and expecting me to make something of it.”

“No, Adison, I wouldn’t do that.”

Adison straightened, pointing at him. “That’s it, isn’t it? This is your punishment for jailing Lyell Vito! This is how you get back at me!”

“No, Adison. I’m trying. I really am trying, but you just can’t concentrate.”

“Because no one does what I ask them to do in this bedamned kingdom!” Adison shouted, making Alasdair cringe. “Everything’s falling apart because no one listens!”

“You’re the one who isn’t listening.”

Adison went still. “What?”

Alasdair huddled on the ground, the books held to his chest. “You’re not listening to anyone, Adison. Your people come for hearings and you won’t grant them. I tell you of problems in your kingdom and you dismiss me. Lyell Vito wanted to help you, but you had him jai…”

Adison struck before he knew what he was going to do. He backhanded Alasdair across the face and sent him sprawling. Alasdair scrambled over the books and papers and quills, trying to right himself, but Adison stalked him.

“Don’t you dare say such things to me! Do you want to join Lyell Vito, Alasdair? I can make those arrangements!”

“No, Adison, please.” He clambered, trying to get away, his head bowed.

“Do not be disloyal to me, brother!”

“No, Adison.”

“Do not tempt me!”

“I swear I’m not.”

“You have no idea the things I will do!”

“Please, Adison.”

“You wouldn’t be the first family member I’ve disposed of!”

Alasdair went still. Adison caught himself. Lack of sleep and fury had made him say more than he’d intended. Slowly, Alasdair’s head lifted and he fixed his myopic eyes on Adison. Blood ran down his chin from his split lip.

“What did you say?”

“I won’t be made a fool of, Alasdair. Stop showing me gibberish and teach me to read.”

“What did you do to Aiden?”

Adison shook his head. “Don’t ask question you don’t want the answer to, brother.”

“What did you do, Adison?” He reached for the table and hauled himself to his feet. “Where is our brother?”

“I don’t know.”

Alasdair narrowed his eyes, searching him. Adison was the first to drop his gaze this time. “So is that your plan? Eliminate me too, Adison? Have me disappear in the night?”

“Don’t tempt me!” he said, moving closer to him.

“Then do it. Go on. Eliminate me too!”

Adison shook his head, his lips lifting in a slow smile. “No, Alasdair, that would be foolish. For all of your feebleness, you have a quick intellect and I need you still. No, with you I have another weapon.” He held his arms out and looked around the library. “How tragic would it be if a torch was dropped in here? How devastating?”

Alasdair flinched and clutched the book tighter.

Adison moved up to him, leaning into his face. Alasdair tried to shrink away, but he was blocked by the shelves of books. “You see, here’s what I know, brother dear. Every man has his price. Find it and you hold the key to that man. And let’s be honest, shall we? I’ve just found yours.”

Alasdair met his gaze, his own terrified, then he looked away.

*    *    *

Everard took his duty as royal valet seriously. Alton Cerik had been a prince of a man, allowing Everard to dress him in the highest fashion. He didn’t care what he wore, but he had sense enough to leave such decisions to a man better able to handle it.

Aiden had been a chore. He didn’t like being helped to dress and he disdained many of the fashions Everard brought to court, choosing loose fitting garments that were difficult to keep in any form of true style. Still, he was better than the current monarch.

Adison Cerik was a pig.

Everard glanced over his shoulder into the suite to make sure he was still alone. The dressing room was half the size of the main suite, but in here, Everard could attend to the clothes without someone always watching over his shoulder. Adison Cerik watched, loomed, followed him around, accusing him of trying to harm him. Certainly, if there had been a way to soak his clothes in poison, Everard would have done it, but he was a professional.

Dragging the brush over the dusty silk of Adison’s doublet, he tried to remove as much of the food stains as he could. Why wouldn’t the man just eat with his mouth closed or even... shudder... tuck a napkin into his collar to protect his clothing?

The stain was simply not coming off. Picking up the hanger, Everard walked behind the dressing screen and reached for the special cleaner he’d imported all the way from Zelan. It was so expensive, he kept it in a secret hiding spot, behind the cufflinks and watch fobs. If Adison knew he had such a wonderful formula, he’d be even sloppier with his food.

Hanging the doublet on the hook behind the screen, he reached for a cleaning cloth and dabbed a little of the formula onto it, then he went to work on the spot. Not a moment later, the outer door opened and he heard Adison’s heavy footsteps as he threw himself into a chair. Now he would drink himself into a stupor and stumble about the room all night, unable to sleep. Everard could sneak out the secret panel in the back that led to his own chambers, but something stopped him from making that decision. Once he was drunk enough, Adison would just bellow for him to come help him undress. He got most violent when it took Everard even a moment to arrive.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Adison said loudly, startling the valet. He dropped the cloth and bent over to retrieve it, opening his mouth to answer.

Before he could, another voice intruded. “Watch your tone, pretend King. I’ve ridden all day and night to get here.”

Everard didn’t recognize the new voice, but he heard the tinkling of glass as one of them poured a drink.

“Are you alone?”

“Who knows? Everard!” shouted the King.

Everard knew he should answer, but fear held his voice in check.

“Everard!” Adison came to the door and threw it open wider, leaning inside. Everard held his breath, hiding behind the dressing screen. “Usually the damn valet’s in here, fussing like an old woman, but he’s gone tonight.” Adison slammed the door, but it caught on a robe and didn’t close all the way. “What the hell are you doing here? You’re supposed to be with Eldralin’s bastard.”

“No, I’m supposed to be headed to Terra Antiguo.”

“Why?”

“Eldralin found Duard’s homestead.”

Silence, then more tinkling of glass. Everard strained to hear, his knees shaking, his hands damp with perspiration.

“Did he find the slaves?”

“Not at first. Duard put him up for the night, then he disappeared.”

“Duard disappeared?”

“Yes. That bastard’s gonna wish he was dead when I find him.”

“How did Eldralin find the homestead?”

“Apparently that Nazarien wife of his has been teaching him some tricks. He’s not a bad tracker.”

“Wait. You said not at first. Then Eldralin did find the slaves?”

“Yes.”

“My brother?”

Everard held his breath.

“Halish, was my brother with the slaves?”

“No.”

Everard heard the chair give under someone’s weight. He wanted to see the other man, but he was afraid to move. If Adison discovered him now, he’d be in trouble.

“Then he’s dead.” The hope in Adison’s voice was unmistakable.

“Not necessarily. Do you remember the very important Nazarien I mentioned?”

“Amerock.”

“Amaroq, yes. He found the homestead as well. He’s the one who figured out where the slaves were being held.”

“And?”

“He got one of the slavers, Elvert, to tell him what happened to your brother.” Halish gave a laugh. “Didn’t know he had it in him. He was going to bash Elvert’s brains out, but Eldralin stopped him.”

The chair creaked. “Halish, where did he say my brother was?”

“He went into the river.”

“The Ethicon?”

“Yes.”

“Then he probably drowned. I mean, he was malnourished, exhausted, he couldn’t have swum in that strong a current for long.”

“I also told you about Amaroq’s sister.”

“Yes?”

“She went into the river with him. She’s as skilled as a Nazarien warrior. They might have made it out. And she’ll know where to get help.”

“Where?”

“Tirsbor. It would be the closest location.” The glass clinked and Halish’s voice drew closer. “If Aiden Cerik makes it to Tirsbor, everything unravels.”

“He won’t. He can’t.”

“I have to go after Duard. He’s a loose end and if he talks, we’re finished, but I also have to send word to Terra Antiguo. I seem to remember that Talar Eldralin and your father set up an avian message system. It went between Chernow, Tirsbor, Terra Antiguo and here.”

“Right. We use it to order supplies now.”

“I need to send a message through it.”

There was a pause. Everard permitted himself a breath. He couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. Adison and Halish had plotted against Aiden. All of this had been planned and Dorland now suffered under these men. Part of Everard wished he’d never heard. If Adison found out he’d eavesdropped, he’d have him jailed or worse.

“The birds can’t fly at night, Halish. We’ll have to send the message tomorrow morning.”

“That works. I need some lead time anyway, and a night to rest. In the morning, as soon as we can, we’ll send to Terra Antiguo, then I’m off to track Duard.”

“Good, good.” The glass tinkled crazily. “That’s good.”

“Why are you shaking?”

“I’m not.”

“You wanted this. This was your plan.”

“Duard promised me Aiden would die. That’s what I wanted, but he screwed up.”

“He’s not the only one,” came Halish’s low, threatening tone. “If your brother’s alive and he makes it to Tirsbor, or if I don’t catch Duard, know that I will return here, Adison. I’m not going down with you.”

“He doesn’t know who plotted against him, Halish. There’s no way he knows.”

“You’d better hope that’s true, pretend King, because if not, I will come for you.” His voice trailed away.

Adison didn’t respond, but Everard thought he, himself, might have a heart attack and die right here among all the finest silks in the land.

*    *    *

Alasdair touched his swollen lip, then picked up another book that Adison had cast onto the floor. He carried it to the table and settled it there. Glancing up, he saw Carona standing in the entrance. She swept into the room, her skirts swirling about her legs.

“Did he do that to you?” she demanded, seeing his injuries.

Alasdair touched it with his tongue, then dropped his eyes, straightening the books. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Why? Why did he strike you?”

“He thinks I’m giving him gibberish to read.”

Carona paused on the other side of the table, offering him a half-smile. “Are you?”

“No, he’s just thick.”

They both laughed, then Carona sobered. “Don’t provoke him, Alasdair. He’s not well.”

“I know that, but who can say what provokes him anymore?” He fingered the lettering on a spine. He wasn’t sure he should tell Carona what he suspected. After Lyell Vito had been jailed, neither one of them were sure when they’d be next. And Adison wouldn’t let them check on the First Advisor. They didn’t even know if he was still alive.

Taking a seat at the table, Alasdair clasped his hands. “I think Adison did something to Aiden.”

“What?”

“He made a comment about me not being the first family member he’s disposed of.”

She sank into the chair across from him, her shoulders slumping. “Dear lord, Alasdair, you don’t believe that, do you?”

“I don’t know what to believe.”

Suddenly, the door creaked open and Everard poked his head inside. Alasdair frowned. In all the years Everard had been the royal valet, Alasdair never remembered him coming into the library.

“Your Majesty, there you are,” he said, coming forward and dropping to one knee before Carona. “I’ve been searching all over for you.”

“I’m not interested in picking out clothes for tomorrow, Everard. Alasdair and I have a lot to discuss.”

Everard shot a glance at Alasdair. “I’m not here for clothes,” he whispered, shaking his head. “I overheard...I heard...terrible things.”

Their attention focused on him. Carona leaned closer to where he knelt at her feet. “Where? What things, Everard?”

“I was brushing His Majesty’s purple doublet, the one with the silver buttons, when he entered the room. At first I thought he was talking to me, but I was behind the dressing screen, so he didn’t see me.”

“Who was he talking to?” asked Alasdair, adjusting his glasses.

“A man named Halish.”

Alasdair went still. “Halish is the Nazarien Adison brought to council the night they planned to go after the slavers.”

“I didn’t see him, I can’t tell you if he’s Nazarien, but I heard him. He was very threatening.”

“Go on,” urged Carona.

“They were talking about His Majesty Lord Kalas and the fact that this Halish was traveling with him, but he’d been sent to Terra Antiguo. He came here instead.”

Alasdair leaned forward. “Why? What did he say exactly, Everard?”

“If he finds out I told you, he’ll kill me.”

“He won’t find out.”

“I wouldn’t tell you, but...things are so bad now. Adison’s ruining the kingdom.”

Carona reached out and took his clasped hands. “If you know something, you are honor bound to tell us. You pledged your services to the crown of Dorland, which means you pledged yourself to the people and their welfare.”

“Halish scares me. He’s a threatening man. I didn’t think I was going to get out of that room, but finally, Halish demanded Adison get him something to eat. He demanded the King wait on him. He has no respect. When they left to go to the kitchens, I ran to find you.”

“I’m glad you did, Everard. That was very brave of you, but what did Adison say about Aiden?”

“Kalas Eldralin found the homestead of a man named Duard. He was holding slaves.”

Alasdair’s head lifted. Damn it, he knew it. He’d been sure about it for months.

“They found the slaves.”

Carona shook her head in confusion. “I don’t understand what this has to do with…”

“He thought Aiden was one of them.”

Carona didn’t move.

Alasdair buried his head in his hands.

“They thought Aiden was a slave?” Carona asked.

Everard’s mouth moved, but nothing came out. He wrung his hands. “Adison had something to do with Aiden’s disappearance. I’m sure of it.”

Alasdair nodded. “I knew it.”

“Was Aiden with the slaves?”

“No, he escaped, went into the river.”

“The Ethicon? That river’s treacherous!” said Carona, turning to Alasdair.

“Aiden’s a strong swimmer.”

“He apparently had a Nazarien woman with him who’s also skilled,” added Everard.

“What else did they say?” demanded Alasdair.

Everard shifted uneasily. “Halish said that if Aiden made it out of the river, this Nazarien woman would take him to get help in Tirsbor.”

Alasdair thought about that for a moment.

“What are we going to do, Alasdair?” pleaded Carona.

“Let me think.” Alasdair pressed his fingers to his temples.

“Halish is going to send an avian messenger to Terra Antiguo tomorrow like Kalas requested, and then he’s going after this Duard to keep him quiet.”

“Why tomorrow?”

Everard gave a snort of derision. “Adison doesn’t think birds can fly at night.”

“Alasdair, we have to do something!” urged Carona.

“Let me think. Give me a moment.”

“Why don’t we send our own message?” suggested Carona.

“Send our own message?”

“To Tirsbor. Let them know what’s going on here in Dorland. If Aiden goes there, he’ll get it and be warned.”

Alasdair pointed a finger at her. “Yes, and we can send ours tonight.”

Carona hesitated. “If we do this and we’re caught, Adison will try us for treason.”

“And if we don’t do this, we’re still committing treason, Carona. How can we turn a blind eye to Adison’s tyranny.” He gave a violent shake of his head. “He sold my brother to slavers. What other horrors is he capable of?”

“You’re right. It just scares me.”

“But you decided to leave your room. When you did that, you chose to be brave for your people over protecting your own health. I need you to stay strong, Carona.”

She thought for a moment, then lifted her chin. “Let’s send that message.”

*    *    *

“Wake up!”

Alasdair bolted awake, his heart climbing into his throat. “Adison?”

“Get up!”

Running a hand through his blond hair, he squinted at his brother. Adison appeared to be two people. “What time is it?”

“Just dawn. Get up! I need you to do something for me.”

Alasdair realized there was another person in the room. Reaching for his glasses, he put them on, blinking away the sleep fogginess. “Who’s this?”

“It doesn’t matter. Get up, Alasdair, or I will haul you out of bed by the hair.”

Alasdair reached for the bed covers. “What do you want, Adison?”

“You need to send a message to Terra Antiguo through those bedamned birds.”

Alasdair paused for a moment. “Fine. I’ll do it for you. Just let me get dressed. Do you have the message?”

“Oh, no, I’m watching you send it. I’m not having you tamper with things.”

“Tamper with things?”

“Get up!” said the Nazarien, Halish, moving closer to the bed. “Now!”

Alasdair scrambled out of bed. “I need to get dressed.”

“No, you don’t. Put on a robe.” Adison threw the robe at him. It hit him in the face and fell to the floor.

“I can’t walk about the castle in a robe…”

“Put it on or go naked!” growled Halish.

Alasdair grabbed up the robe and slipped it over his shoulders, belting it at the waist. Grabbing his upper arm, Adison forced him to stumble in front of him toward his chamber door. Alasdair felt a momentary wash of fear as they left the safety of his rooms, but the guards were in place, standing at attention.

They wound through the castle to the solarium, their father’s favorite place, and from there onto the roof of the castle. The dovecote stood at the front of the castle where it overlooked the main road leading up from the town. Some taller buildings had been built close to the castle walls, but nothing as high as this. From this vantage point, one could see the whole of the Dorlandian valley stretching away on all sides. The few people walking down the streets of Dorland looked like miniatures in a fanciful artist’s rendering.

Five neatly kept pens lined the edge of the roof and the birds cooed from inside them, preening feathers or sitting on their perches, their round, quick eyes blinking rapidly. A few light, downy feathers floated past on a stray breeze, but other than that, the roof was immaculate.

“What the hell?” muttered Adison. He’d never seen a use for the birds, never even came up here as a child, when natural curiosity should have compelled him. Alasdair was beginning to realize just how shallow his older brother was.

“I’ve seen the dovecotes in Chernow and Tirsbor. Never understood them,” said Halish, curling his fingers through the mesh wiring on one of the pens.

Behind the pens was a small shed. The door on the shed opened and an elderly man stepped out. Alasdair could just make out the attendant’s narrow bed through the open doorway. “Adison, this is Gib. He’s kept our father’s birds for the last fifty years or so.”

“Fifty-two, Your Highness,” said Gib, ducking his balding head.

Adison shook his head in disbelief. “I’ve heard this was up here, but I wouldn’t have believed it.” He looked over the side and marked the steep drop. “You’d surely die if you fell off here, brother.”

Alasdair took a step back from the edge.

Halish pointed to the multi-storied buildings just across from the castle. “Looks like you have competition with your view, Your Highness.”

Adison frowned at that, considering.

“How can I help you, Your Highness?” said Gib.

“I want to send a message to Terra Antiguo.”

“Oh, good, good,” Gib said, shuffling around. “This way.” He led them to a pen a few feet away, on the far edge of the others. “These are the birds that fly to Terra Antiguo.”

“How does it work?” asked Halish.

“The birds are born and raised in their native land, then brought here, where I care for them. When a message needs to be sent, I attach it to a special holder on the bird’s leg and off they go.”

“They always return home,” said Alasdair, adjusting his belt uncomfortably. “Even weeks and months later, they never forget.”

Adison produced a large piece of paper. “This is the message Kalas Eldralin wants sent.”

“Oh, pardon, Your Majesty, but that’s simply too large. We’ll need to transcribe it,” said Gib.

“Fine, but write what’s on here and nothing else.”

Alasdair and Gib exchanged a look, then Gib led Adison to a table affixed beneath a lean-to attached to the shed. He gave him the roll of paper and a quill. “Would you like to write it, Your Highness?”

Adison reared back. “Do I look like a servant, man?”

“Of course not, Your Highness,” said Gib quickly.

“Just get it done,” Adison grumbled.

Gib opened Kalas’ message on the table and began transcribing it. Alasdair wanted to see what it said, but Adison was eyeing him suspiciously.

“Does each pen go to a different place?” asked Halish.

“Yes,” said Gib, his head bowed over his work. “Each pen represents a location we communicate with regularly, except for the larger pen over there.” He pointed to the biggest pen on the opposite end of the line. “Those are our birds, born and raised here.”

“Tell Terra Antiguo we want the bird to fly back with a response,” said Adison, motioning at the paper.

Gib gave him a puzzled look.

“It doesn’t work that way, Adison. The birds go only one way,” said Alasdair.

“How do they get back?”

“They’re carried back in the shipment we receive from that location. They come on horseback.”

“That’s inefficient. You need to train them to come back on their own, Alasdair.”

Alasdair opened his mouth to respond, then thought better of it. “I’ll get right on it, Adison.”

“Where all do you send messages?” asked Halish, walking among the pens and studying the birds.

“Terra Antiguo, as you know. Chernow, Tirsbor, and in the last few years, we’ve developed a healthy trade with Adishian. We regularly send orders there,” offered Gib. He finished the message and held it out to Adison for his inspection.

Adison glanced at it, then glared at Alasdair. Alasdair fought a smile.

“It’s fine,” he grumbled.

“How do you keep track of which bird goes where?”

“Well, at the moment, we have a full complement. We haven’t sent anything out since…” He paused and gave Adison an anxious look. “Since I sent the last bird to Chernow about His Majesty’s disappearance. That bird returned two days ago.”

“But when they’re out, how do you know which one’s gone?”

Gib reached for the ledger on the table and lifted it. “We keep track in here.”

“How many birds do you keep for each location?” said Halish.

Alasdair felt a wave of apprehension sweep over him. He followed the Nazarien with his eyes as he continued to wander around the dovecote. Gib didn’t seem to notice and Adison was peering over the side at the front gate again.

“We keep five for each location and I try to keep ten of our own in case something happens to one of them.”

“What do you mean if something happens to one of them?” asked Adison.

“Sometimes they don’t make it to their destination, Your Highness.”

“Oh, they fly off on their own.”

“No, they’ll always go back to their homes if they’re able.”

Adison frowned. “What do you mean if they’re able?”

“Sometimes they’re killed, Adison. Falcons hunt them. They’re attacked by other predators. Weather.”

Adison nodded. “What happens then?”

“The original location replaces them for us. That’s why I try to keep five for each pen. Five is a good number and keeping ten of our own assures a good stock for us.” Gib opened the pen for Terra Antiguo and removed a bird, kissing its head.

Adison made a face, but Alasdair walked over and stroked the downy feathers, while Gib affixed the message to the bird’s leg.

“Five birds in each of four pens and ten for your own means there ought to be thirty birds here before you send out that one, right?” asked Halish.

Alasdair went still, his fingers poised over the bird.

“Right,” said Gib, holding it out to Adison. “Do you want to launch her, Your Highness?”

“Gods, no. I’m not touching that filthy creature. Just get it done. I feel like I’m crawling with vermin just being near them.”

Gib walked to the edge of the roof and tossed the bird into the air. Her wings opened and she flapped a few times, then she shifted direction, caught a wind current, and flew away to the west.

Halish moved into their line of sight, drawing Alasdair and Gib’s attention. “There should be thirty birds here.”

“Twenty-nine now, sir,” said Gib.

“There’s twenty-eight.”

Alasdair felt his mouth go dry.

Gib’s face fell. “What?”

Halish moved to the pen in the middle of the line. “There’s a bird missing out of this pen.” He pointed at it. “Where do these birds go?”

“Adishian,” said Alasdair quickly.

Gib turned and looked at him, puzzled.

“They go to Adishian,” Alasdair said with more conviction, giving Gib a pleading look.

“Right. Adishian,” said Gib, dropping his gaze.

“You said all birds were accounted for. Why is there a bird missing from Adishian?”

Alasdair’s mind searched rapidly for an answer. Adison gave him a suspicious glare.

“When we sent to Chernow after Aiden’s disappearance, we also sent to Adishian, hoping to catch Kalas in one of those locations. The bird sent to Adishian hasn’t returned yet.”

Halish pointed at Gib. “He said they were all accounted for.”

“And they are,” said Alasdair, trying to control the tremble in his voice. “Show them the ledger, Gib. Let them see where the bird left for Adishian and hasn’t yet returned.” Alasdair held out a hand. “Still accounted for, but not physically here.”

“Right,” said Gib, giving him a confused look. He walked over to the table and picked up the ledger, thumbing through it until he came to the entry for Adishian. His eyes rose and met Alasdair’s.

Alasdair took the ledger from him and glanced over it. The entry carefully detailed the last time a bird left, but the bird had been marked returned. Clenching his teeth, he held the ledger out to Adison. “See for yourself, brother. Gib’s made a careful notation as usual.”

Adison leaned over the ledger, looking at the spot, then he glared up at Alasdair. “Yes, it’s there, all right? See for yourself, Halish.” He pointed to the wrong spot, but Alasdair didn’t correct him.

“I can’t read your Nevaisser chicken scratch!” snapped Halish, “and I don’t have time for this. Now that the message’s sent, I need to be off.”

“Right,” said Adison, his eyes never leaving his brother’s. “Let me see you down to your horse.”

“I want supplies too.”

“Of course, I’ll arrange those as well.”

Alasdair closed the ledger, proud that his hands didn’t shake.

“We’ll talk more later, brother,” said Adison.

“Certainly.”

Adison pointed around them at the birds. “I want these birds to learn how to fly back here on their own. Do you hear me?”

“It will be my primary function, Adison.”

“Good.” He pointed a finger at him, then shot a glare at Gib. The old man ducked his head. “I expect a report in a week’s time, from both of you.”

Alasdair inclined his head as Adison and Halish moved toward the door. “And I’ll see you tonight for our lesson,” Adison called over his shoulder.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Alasdair returned, watching until the door shut behind them. “You thick-skulled imbecile,” he muttered under his breath and handed the ledger back to Gib.

CHAPTER 23

The sun was cresting toward midday when Aiden and Le worked their way down from the caves and wandered toward the river, which shimmered like blue glass in the distance. They found Naia returning from the river, carrying a basket filled with wet laundry. She smiled at both of them and Aiden felt his heart soar. Such a beautiful woman, and she felt the same way about him as he did her. He treasured that knowledge.

She set the basket down and made hand motions. ‘Good morning.’

Aiden recognized that one. She’d made it every morning of their captivity. When Aiden asked Le how she could think any morning in slavery was good, he responded that a morning where you woke up with hope for freedom had to be good.

‘Good morning,’ he signaled back.

‘You look better.’

Aiden laughed, patting his stomach. Every bone in his body showed, but Naia and Le were worse off than he was. They’d been captives longer. “Food and real sleep helps,” he said.

Le translated for him and he followed the boy’s motions, wanting to absorb everything he could. When he questioned a movement, both Le and Naia showed him how to make it, but his movement would always be sloppier than theirs. He figured it was like someone who had a speech impediment, his words would always be just a little more difficult to read.

Naia took his hands and tried to form the word with his fingers. When he failed, the three of them laughed, Naia’s laugh silent. Aiden pulled her to him and hugged her, then he hugged Le, enjoying this moment with the little family he’d created out of the most dire circumstance.

“Your Majesty!” came a stern voice behind him.

Aiden turned to see Zander standing a short distance away. “Zander?”

“Tovan would like a word.”

Naia motioned that she would come. He nodded and reached to pick up her basket for her. Zander’s eyes widened at his action, but Aiden ignored him. “Let’s go,” he said.

“No, just you. He has information for you alone.”

Aiden wasn’t certain what to make of that, but Le patted his back. “I’m just going to nap on the riverbank in the sun. It feels so good, it does.”

Aiden gave an absent nod. Naia reached for the basket, motioning a quick goodbye. He motioned back and watched her walk toward the clotheslines where other Nazarien garments were drying in the sun.

“What information?” he asked, falling into step beside Zander as they headed for the caves.

“It is not my place to tell you that.”

Aiden dismissed him then, focusing on what Tovan might want to say.

“You do know this...relationship can go nowhere, right?”

Aiden glanced at him. “What?”

“With Naia. You are from different worlds.”

“I’m not discussing this with you.”

Zander stopped walking and faced him. “I’ve pledged myself to her. I’ve agreed to take the most sacred oath a Nazarien can take.”

“I know, and I also know she didn’t accept.”

“Not yet, but she will. She’ll realize that she belongs here with her people. She will never be welcome in your world and you both know it. Why do you persist in this?”

Aiden started to explain, then he thought better of it. Zander would never understand what they’d been through, no one could unless you’d been there yourself. “Let’s go.” He pushed past the man and headed for the caves.

He was winded by the time they climbed to the council cavern. He paused outside, bending at the waist and bracing his hands on his thighs. He wondered how long it would take for him to regain his stamina. A lot more rest and a lot more food, he figured.

Zander parted the tent flap and announced him, then held it open, waiting while Aiden regained his breath. Only Tovan and his second were inside, seated in their low-slung chairs. Tovan motioned him to a seat across the fire pit from them and Aiden adjusted the backrest to suit his height. Zander stood at attention by the door flap. Aiden figured he was charged with keeping their privacy. This made him more suspicious about the news Tovan had.

“Good morrow, Aiden Cerik,” said Tovan.

“Good morrow,” Aiden replied. His attention shifted to the second. “I’m afraid I never did get your name.”

“Beck,” said Tovan with a negligent wave. “He leads Tirsbor in my absence.”

“Pleased to meet you, Beck,” said Aiden.

Beck pressed a fist to his breast and inclined his head.

“Zander tells me you have news.”

“That will wait. I want to discuss something else with you.”

Aiden sighed. He could guess what Tovan wanted to discuss. “Go on.”

“We are pleased to offer you our assistance, Aiden Cerik. You were correct when you said a strong Dorland ensures a strong Tirsbor. You were also correct when you said the slavery problem is a problem we share.”

“Good, I’m glad we’re in agreement.”

Tovan held up a hand. “Where we aren’t in agreement is our conduct with one another.”

Aiden tilted his head. “Explain.”

“Frankly, you came to us, not the other way around. You sought our help.”

“I did. I had nowhere else to go.”

“Precisely, which is why I ask that you respect our ways.”

“What ways?”

“We live very sequestered lives. We choose to remain apart from the rest of the world even more so than Chernow.”

“I’m not following.”

“Our ways have withstood the test of time. In our culture, men and women play very different roles. Our women satisfy our basic needs and in turn, we grant them protection and sustenance. It works for us. We keep each to our own, unless necessary, and in doing so, we thrive. I must ask that you observe and obey these guidelines while you are among my people.”

“Meaning that I’m not to see Naia.”

“Precisely. I’m glad we understand one another.”

“Oh, we don’t. Not at all.” Aiden glanced over his shoulder at Zander. “You don’t understand what the three of us endured. I can count every rib on my body by sight alone. I can’t walk up your ladders without getting winded. Every day I was sure I was going to die, and people did. We were all chained together and every morning, we discovered we were lying next to corpses.”

Tovan reared back and Beck’s brow knit.

“We had no blankets at night, so the only thing between us and the cold was the warmth of the bodies next to us and the tatters of clothing on our backs. Our bellies ached with hunger, our feet burned with blisters, and every muscle writhed with exhaustion, keeping us awake.”

Zander cleared his throat, but Aiden ignored him.

“Once in a while, they would come into a camp where one of us was put on a block and bid on like we were livestock – a horse or cattle. And it was our fellow men who sold us, bought us, treated us like animals!”

Tovan lowered his eyes.

“So, after what I’ve been through, after what Naia and Le have survived, I’m not about to listen to some misplaced schooling on Nazarien culture. I don’t give a damn for your ways, and you know what, I’m not Nazarien, so I don’t have to follow them.”

“You came to us for help!” said Tovan loudly.

“And you’ll give it because you don’t have a choice! If Dorland falls, Tirsbor will be right behind it. I cannot stress enough that Stravad made up the bulk of the slaves, Tovan. Stravad, not Humans. If you ignore me and turn me away, it is your people who suffer, not mine!”

Tovan and Aiden glared at each other over the dormant fire pit. Beck shifted uncomfortably.

“Zander has made a pledge for Naia’s hand.”

“He told me.”

“I’ve granted him his request.”

“That’s a shame.”

“You try my patience, Aiden Cerik.”

“As you do mine.”

Beck held up a hand. “It is not so much for you to respect our ways as we respect yours.”

“Not where Naia’s concerned. That’s not open for discussion.”

Tovan reached into his tunic and pulled out a small, round tube. “Maybe this will change your mind.”

Aiden’s gaze tracked from the tube to Tovan’s face and back again. He recognized that tube.

“We had an avian messenger from Dorland. It came in just this morning.”

Aiden held out his hand. “Let me see it.”

Tovan pulled it back. “Remember, Aiden Cerik, that even after you’ve insulted our way of life, the Nazarien of Tirsbor have agreed to help you. I know what a strong Dorland means for my people. Be sure of that.” He placed the message in Aiden’s hand.

Aiden pulled off the top and shook the little roll of paper onto his palm, then he unrolled it. Four words. That’s all there was. Four words written in Alasdair’s hand, but Aiden felt the blood drain from his face, leaving him disoriented. Four words, that’s all it took. After weeks of being a slave, after enduring hardship and starvation, he was undone by four words.

He stared at them a long time, trying to make sense of what they said, but his mind couldn’t wrap itself around it.

Four words.

Aiden, Adison betrayed you.

*    *    *

Aiden lay on his back, staring up at the curved rock of his shelf, trying to process what he’d read. The script had been Alasdair’s. He would know his brother’s hand anywhere, but the words themselves…

Adison betrayed you.

He and Adison had never been close, had never shared the bond that he and Alasdair did, but still they were brothers. They’d been raised together, had endured their mother’s death, then their father’s. Adison had been there for every significant part of Aiden’s life – schooling, marriage, coronation. And yet he’d betrayed him. He’d sold him to slavers.

His own brother had plotted behind his back and paid to have him killed. How could he trust anyone after this? How could he ever believe that anyone was on his side?

Le appeared in his peripheral vision. “Aiden, why are you in bed?”

“Go away,” he told the boy.

“Naia’s looking for you. She’s worried.”

Aiden rolled his head on the pillow. “Go away, Le.”

“What happened?”

“It’s none of your business.”

Le flinched, hurt. He backed away from the shelf and left.

Aiden folded his hands on his stomach and closed his eyes. He might have slept for a while, but he awoke as other people entered the cave, talking excitedly in Nazarien. He recognized Zander’s voice and another’s. They moved about the cave, gathering clothing and other items, then they left again.

Aiden wasn’t sure how time passed after that. He slept for part of it, part of it he battled his thoughts. His stomach ached from hunger, but he ignored that. He got up to relieve himself once and heard commotion outside the cave. He thought about going to investigate, then decided he didn’t care, so he returned to the shelf and went back to his self-absorbed vigil.

With the dawn, he still hadn’t found a solution to his problem. If he returned to Dorland, Adison would oppose him and he had no one he could trust to back his claim to the throne. Alasdair had sent him warning, which must mean that he knew Aiden had survived the slavers, which must also mean that Adison knew. In fact, if Adison had gone so far to remove him from power, he’d likely send assassins to Tirsbor to eliminate him. What about Lyell Vito? Why had the message come from Alasdair and not Lyell? Was Lyell in on it?

This thought stung more than the others. If Lyell Vito had betrayed him, Eldon knew, there was no one he could trust. Lyell had been a father to him, had been his closest advisor, his greatest champion. If he couldn’t trust Lyell, he was all alone.

Sunlight poured into the cave, making Aiden squint. Le appeared at the side of the shelf once again and his young face held such anguish.

“They’re forcing her to marry him,” he said. “Aiden, they’re forcing her to marry the Nazarien right now.”

Aiden turned his head and stared at the boy, trying to process what he was saying. Forcing who to marry the Nazarien?

“She begged for you to intervene, but you won’t. Why? Why would you abandon her now?”

“Who, Le?”

“Naia. In a few minutes, tis certain she’ll belong to Zander.”

Aiden’s thoughts snapped into focus, then he was moving, sliding out from the shelf and going to the door. He threw the door flap back and stepped onto the walkway. He could see a gathering of Nazarien in the field before the river and standing in the middle of them, in a ceremonial gown of white was a slight figure he recognized.

Aiden went to the ladder and began descending. His legs felt weak and his head swam, but he ignored it, moving as fast as he could. Le followed him. As soon as he reached the ground, he ran toward the gathering, his heart hammering, his dizziness increasing. He came to a panting stop behind them.

Tovan stood under an arch covered with flowers. Before them stood Zander in a dress uniform and beside him was Naia, her beautiful face covered by a lace veil. Next to her was her mother.

Naia turned and looked at him, her blue eyes filled with anguish, but slowly she shook her head. It was too late. He’d wasted his opportunity to stop this, and suddenly he realized who he could trust, who would be there for him through every part of his life. He couldn’t allow this to continue.

“I challenge this man’s right to marry!” he shouted at Tovan.

Tovan gave him a bored look. “You are not part of our faith, Aiden Cerik, you can’t challenge anything.”

“This is a sham. She can’t marry him. She pledged herself to me.”

“By your own custom, King of Dorland, you are already married.”

Aiden shook his head, trying hard to catch his breath. “That marriage has been over for years. Naia and I have already pledged to one another.”

Naia made motions with her hands. Aiden looked to Le for translation.

“She says she opposes this marriage as well. She wants to petition the Nazar for help.”

Zander lifted his head. “I challenge Aiden Cerik for Naia’s hand.”

A murmur went through the crowd.

“I accept,” said Aiden without hesitation.

“No,” said Naia’s mother, Kaelene. “You don’t understand.”

“Silence, woman!” snapped Tovan.

Kaelene glared at Tovan, then stepped away from Naia and faced Aiden. “You’ll have to fight him,” she said. “You cannot win. Not against a trained warrior.”

Zander gave him a slow look of challenge.

Aiden straightened. “It doesn’t matter. I have to challenge him. I’m not letting this happen.” He saw Le making motions with his hands. Naia’s eyes widened and she shook her head, responding to Le.

“She says she accepts the marriage to Zander. She doesn’t want you to challenge him.”

Aiden held out his arms, circling around toward Zander’s side. “It’s too late. I’ve already challenged him. He has to answer. He can’t ignore a challenge. Right, Zander?”

Zander shifted to follow him. Tension snaked across the field as the people fell back. Then without warning, Zander rushed him, taking him over onto his back. The air was knocked out of him and pain exploded in his head, but he had sense enough to block Zander’s first blow as he leveled it at Aiden’s face.

Grabbing the Nazarien’s wrist, Aiden twisted, throwing him off, then he scrambled into a crouch to face him. Zander sprang up and came at Aiden again, this time swinging under. The blow glanced off Aiden’s jaw, snapping his head back and he staggered away.

Zander aimed a kick at him, but Aiden deflected it, then he struck at Zander, tagging him in the temple. The Nazarien stumbled and Aiden kicked for his knee, but Zander moved at the last moment. They landed hard and Zander got in a few good body blows before Aiden threw him off. They scrabbled to their feet and faced each other, circling. Aiden could feel blood trickling from his nose and Zander had a cut on his cheekbone.

Zander came at him again and Aiden swung, but his blow glanced off the Nazarien’s jaw. Zander slammed into him, throwing him onto his back. Aiden’s vision went dark for a moment and pain ratcheted through his body. He writhed, trying to catch his breath, but the pain shut out all other thought.

He heard Le screaming at him, but he couldn’t respond. He felt like something had broken inside him, making it impossible to stand again. And Zander was approaching. He could see him circling, waiting for the right moment to pounce.

Suddenly Naia was between them, crouched in a fighting stance. That brought Zander up short and he gave her a puzzled look.

“Move!” he commanded.

She shook her head and refused to budge. Aiden knew he needed to get up. She wasn’t fighting his battles for him, but he couldn’t seem to make his legs respond.

A moment later, Le stepped up beside her, the two of them forming a wall to protect him.

“Arrest them both!” said Tovan.

Aiden rolled to his side and fought to get his legs under him.

“Arrest them!” shouted Tovan, but no one moved to obey.

Aiden got to his knees, but gaining his feet was going to require all of his will.

Zander’s gaze fixed on Naia, then slowly he straightened. “I won’t fight you,” he told her. “If this is what you want, I won’t stand in your way.”

Naia didn’t move.

“I will not be ignored!” shouted Tovan.

Suddenly horse hooves could be heard coming from the canyon entrance. Everyone turned to see the newcomers. Tovan stepped out from beneath the arch and faced the entrance as two Nazarien warriors led a small procession into the valley.

“Amaroq!” cried Kaelene and then she was running for the horses as they wheeled to a stop before them.

CHAPTER 24

Amaroq hauled back on the reins and brought his horse to a stop, then he vaulted out of the saddle and caught his mother as she threw her arms around his neck. His eyes went beyond her to the woman wearing a white formal gown, her features obscured by a veil.

Offering his mother a quick smile, he eased her away and took a step toward the woman in white. She was helping a painfully thin Human man to his feet. Amaroq guessed the man was Aiden Cerik, but a moment later, his attention focused on his sister. She reached up and wrenched the veil from her head, tossing it behind her, then she ran and launched herself at him.

He caught her, laughing and lifting her off her feet, swinging her around. He couldn’t believe he’d finally found her again. Setting her on her feet, he smiled at her, but he could feel her confused jumble of emotions.

‘What’s going on?’ he signed, glancing up as Tovan advanced on them, but before she could respond, Shandar was there, pulling her into his arms and kissing the top of her head.

“Eldon’s star, I’m so glad to see you,” he said into her hair.

She hugged him tight in return as Tovan stopped behind her.

“Amaroq, good to have you returned.” His attention shifted behind Amaroq to Kalas, who was just dropping out of the saddle. “Eladrasen.” Tovan placed his closed fist against his heart and bowed his head.

Kalas moved up beside Amaroq as the Human and a boy approached the group. “Commander,” said Kalas, offering his hand, then he held out his hand for the Human. “Aiden Cerik, glad I am to find you.”

The King of Dorland wiped a line of blood from beneath his nose, offering his clean hand. “And I you.”

“You’ve interrupted a very happy time for us, Your Majesty,” said Tovan, drawing his attention. “We were in the midst of a marriage ceremony.”

“Really?”

“Yes, one of our finest warriors, Zander, has agreed to pledge himself to Amaroq’s sister.”

“Tovan,” began Zander, but Tovan waved him off.

“That’s not happening!” snarled the King of Dorland.

Amaroq turned to his sister. So this was the reason for her confused feelings. Shandar had an arm draped around her and one draped about Kaelene, but his brow was furrowed in concern.

‘Is this true?’ signed Amaroq. ‘Are you pledging yourself to Zander?’

Naia shook her head. ‘Tovan’s forcing it. Aiden challenged him, but he’s too weak to win.’

“Aiden Cerik, may I present Amaroq Taheny to you,” said Kalas. “My brother.”

Aiden seemed to notice him for the first time and his gaze narrowed. Holding out his hand, he took Amaroq’s in a firm grip. “I remember your father well. He was a good man.”

Amaroq inclined his head, his focus shifting back to his sister. “Naia says you’re forcing this marriage, Tovan.”

Tovan opened his mouth to speak, but Kaelene tugged on his arm. “It’s a good match, Wolf.”

Amaroq ignored that. “Are you forcing her?”

Tovan exhaled wearily. “Zander has made a pledge and it will be honored.”

“Wait a moment,” said Kalas, holding up a hand.

“It will be honored?” said Amaroq in a level voice. “You’ll force her to wed?”

“The pledge has been accepted.”

“I don’t care. I care only for my sister’s wishes.”

Tovan’s gaze never wavered. “The decision isn’t yours to make. Nor is it hers.”

“How can it not be hers?” asked Kalas.

“Eladrasen, you must understand among the Nazarien…”

“This marriage isn’t happening!” said Amaroq, squaring up to him. He reached out and took Naia’s hand, pulling her behind him. “My sister is returned to us and you’re forcing her into a bond that she doesn’t want.”

“Zander has agreed to provide for her, protect her. You should be glad of it,” said Tovan with an edge of warning in his voice. “You are returned to us and I’m grateful for that, but you need to remember your place.”

Kalas held up a hand. “Hold on a moment, Tovan. You seem to have forgotten your place. What is the single purpose of the Nazarien?”

Tovan’s gaze snapped to him. A number of the council members shifted uncomfortably. Beck, Tovan’s second, moved up beside him.

“I know what it is, Tovan. Do you remember it?” said Kalas.

Tovan started to respond, then thought better of it.

Aiden Cerik stepped forward. “Naia and I have made our own pledge.”

That drew everyone’s attention.

Tovan held out a hand. “This is the madness we’ve been subjected to, Your Majesty.”

Amaroq turned to Naia. ‘Is this true? Have you pledged yourself to this Human?’

She gave Aiden a fond look and in that there was no confusion. ‘I love him, Wolf. He’s the one I choose.’

“Your Majesty,” said Kalas, “you have a wife.”

Aiden’s gaze shifted to Naia and stayed there. “Our marriage was arranged. Neither of us wanted it and after all these years, it’s become a chore.” His eyes moved back to Kalas. “Life is precious and short, and I don’t intend to spend the rest of it, hoping for things to change. I love Naia and we want to be together.”

“Speak reason, Eladrasen,” said Tovan to Kalas.

“There will be no pledge to Zander,” said Amaroq. “I won’t allow it.”

“That isn’t…” began Tovan.

Amaroq took a step closer to him. “I also know what the purpose of the Nazarien is, Tovan. It’s to protect the Eldralin line. In this, I will not be denied. You will call off this ceremony and leave my sister to me.”

Kalas stepped up behind him. “I think you’d do well to listen, Tovan. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to call on my birthright to back my brother.”

Tovan bowed his head, accepting defeat.

Kalas stepped forward and clasped Tovan’s shoulder, turning him toward the caves. “Come. I’ve a need to send a message to Adishian and Chernow. My wife will want word of my whereabouts and the Nazar will want to know Aiden Cerik has been found.” He motioned to the King of Dorland. “Your Majesty, will you attend us? We have much to discuss.”

“In a moment,” said Aiden. “I want a bath and food first, then I’ll find you in the council cavern.”

“Excellent. Now, Commander, let’s talk about what’s happened since last I was here,” said Kalas, directing the man toward the cliff’s face, Dolan falling into step behind him.

The rest of the Nazarien began departing.

Aiden held out his hand to Naia and she took it, letting him pull her close. Amaroq wasn’t sure what to make of this, but just knowing she was here, safe, was enough for him. “Your sister saved our lives,” said Aiden. He motioned the boy forward. “Amaroq Taheny, may I present to you Leland Hale Rand.”

The boy held out his hand. Amaroq accepted it.

“Without Le and Naia, I wouldn’t be here. They kept me going.”

“How did you escape? I want to know the whole story,” said Shandar, signing for Naia’s benefit.

‘Later,’ said Naia. ‘You must be tired and want food. Let’s go eat and we can talk.’

Amaroq nodded. “You look like you could use a meal, Aiden Cerik,” he said, smiling.

Aiden laughed. “A few. Fighting Zander took the rest of my energy.”

Amaroq put an arm around his mother’s shoulders, hugging her into his side. “Then let’s eat,” he said, heading toward the cliff before them.

*    *    *

Aiden accepted the cup of brandy Dolan handed him. “Thank you.”

The ex-Nazarien inclined his head and moved to sit behind his King. Aiden lifted the drink to his lips and took a sip. The spicy warmth of the brandy heated him to his toes and he sighed in pleasure.

Kalas smiled at him. “Good?”

“Better than good.” He’d eaten with Naia’s family, helping Naia and Le tell their story to Amaroq and Shandar, then he’d bathed and dressed in clean clothes. A healer had seen to his cuts and bruises, easing the pain with Stamerian, and now he sat across from Kalas Eldralin in a cave far more luxurious than the other Nazarien quarters. “How often do you come here, Your Majesty?”

Kalas leaned back in his chair. “Let’s drop formal titles while we’re alone, shall we?”

“Agreed.”

“This is my second visit. Tovan informed me this cave is held for the Nazar.”

Aiden took another sip. “How come you didn’t know about your brother before this?”

“He’s been a very well kept secret, apparently.”

“How have they hidden him? His paternity’s obvious.”

“He’s never left Tirsbor before. Well, not until Naia went missing.”

“Never left Tirsbor? Eldon’s star, that means he’s been stuck in this canyon for…”

“His entire life.” Kalas fingered his own cup. “He’s an empath, he feels the emotions of others. It’s difficult for him around a large group of people, especially Humans. I think it’s easier around the Nazarien, since they subvert their emotions so much.”

Aiden nodded.

Kalas studied him. “I’m not going to lie. I’m a little surprised you survived what you’ve been through.”

Aiden gave a bitter laugh. “So am I, but if it wasn’t for Naia and Le, I’d be dead.”

“Le? The boy?”

“Yes.”

Kalas rubbed the back of his neck. “Aiden, how does this work? The situation with the girl?”

“How did it work for you? You married a Nazarien yourself.”

“Ah,” said Kalas, holding up a hand, “but I wasn’t already married.”

“I wasn’t lying to you, Kalas. My marriage has never been a marriage. It’s been a chore both of us have endured.”

“She defended you, Carona. She demanded Adison do something to find you. She stood by you when it was necessary.”

Aiden absorbed that information. After doubting everyone around him, it was good to hear someone had stood behind him. “I’m glad of that, but it doesn’t change the way things are. I love Naia and I intend to be with her. I’ll provide for Carona and she can remain Queen, but I’m not going to be locked into a marriage of force either.”

“We’ll figure that out later. What we need to discuss is how to restore you to power. My military commander is at Duard’s homestead right now, awaiting help from Terra Antiguo. I sent a message to Chernow, but it’ll take days to muster out troops. Beyond that, we have no idea who attacked you. I can’t just have you ride back into Dorland without knowing.”

Aiden reached into his pocket and pulled out the message from Alasdair. “I know who attacked me, Kalas.” He handed it over. “My brother Adison.”

Kalas’ eyes widened as he read the message.

Aiden drained his cup and Dolan rose to refill it.

Shaking his head, Kalas gave Aiden a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, Aiden.”

Aiden nodded, lifting the cup and drinking.

“I suspected as much, but I had no proof,” said Kalas.

“He always wanted the crown, felt it should have gone to him when our father died.”

“Clearly, your father made the right choice, but why did he deny it to him?”

“He sensed something in Adison, something that concerned him – a cruelty, a lack of concern for our people. I don’t know. He never shared it with me. I heard most of it from Lyell Vito after he was gone.” Aiden shook his head. “Still, I never expected Adison to do something like this. It’s taken the wind out of me, I can tell you. I don’t even know how to accept it, process it, live with it. He’s my brother. How could he do something so horrible?”

Kalas looked down. Aiden didn’t expect him to have anything to say. There was no way to spin this into anything other than what it was – a complete betrayal.

“We’ll wait for the Nazar to arrive with troops. My military advisor will come as soon as Terra Antiguo sends their men.”

“I don’t think the Nazarien are going to help me retake my kingdom, Kalas. Not after I opposed them about Naia.”

Kalas gave him a slow smile. “Ah, but there you’re wrong. I have an ace in the hole.”

“You have an ace in the hole?”

“It’s an ancient’s saying.”

“I know what it is. What is yours?”

“Me.”

“You?”

“Yes. I am Talar Eldralin’s heir, therefore, I can take command of the Nazarien. And if not me, well, there’s always my brother.”

Aiden couldn’t help but smile. “You Eldralins always amaze me. I’m glad you’re on my side.”

“For too long Dorland and Sarkisian were at war. I’m pleased to have you as my ally, Aiden Cerik, just as my father was proud to call your father friend.”

*    *    *

Kalas found his brother, sitting on the riverbank, watching the current. He took a seat beside him and nudged him with his shoulder. “What’s on your mind?”

Amaroq tugged up a blade of grass and began splitting it. “So many things, Kalas.”

“Tell me.”

Amaroq looked around the canyon. “This has been my home my entire life. I never wanted for more until my sister went missing. I don’t know what I thought. I don’t know if I thought everything would just go back to the way it was once we found her, but it’s not. Everything’s different.”

“You’re different.”

“So is Naia. She says she loves this Human King.”

“He says the same, Wolf.”

“But she plans to go to Dorland with him. She plans to leave Tirsbor forever.”

“Well, she wouldn’t be the first. Near as I can figure, there isn’t much for women in this culture and even less for a woman like Naia.”

“This is all I’ve known for my entire life. I never questioned it. I never thought that it might not be right.” He tossed a piece of the grass blade away. “I knew our father ran away from the Nazarien, but I never asked why. I didn’t want to know, I didn’t want to know about him, I didn’t care. Then Shandar started telling his stories about my mother and…” He braced his head with his hand, his elbow on his tented knee. “I don’t know if I can stay here, Kalas. I don’t know if this is enough anymore.”

Kalas nodded. He was glad to hear it. “Well, I have a proposal then.”

“Go on.”

“We help Aiden Cerik regain his kingdom.”

Amaroq gave him a speculative look, making Kalas laugh.

“Hear me out. We help Aiden Cerik regain his kingdom by taking control of the Nazarien together. The purpose of the Nazarien is to protect the Eldralin line. They have no choice. Our father did it when he needed to get the refugees to Terra Antiguo. Together we can do it.”

“I’m not certain what you mean to do.”

“Aiden was betrayed by his brother. We ride into Dorland and oust his brother from power. Adison isn’t strong enough to oppose my men and the Tirsbor warriors. If necessary, we can call up more warriors from Chernow.”

“And you think this man should be King again?”

“I do. I think Dorland was better with him at the helm.”

“What about my sister?”

“I think that’s between her and Aiden. She survived the slavers, Wolf, she’ll survive whatever happens with the King of Dorland.”

Amaroq nodded, his expression pensive. Finally he sighed. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

“Good, then after we’ve done that and we’re sure Aiden’s secure, you come with me to Adishian and meet my wife and daughter.”

Amaroq gave him an alarmed look. “I had a difficult time handling Raimondi, Kalas. How will I survive a city as large as Adishian?”

“How do you know how large it is if you’ve never been there?” teased Kalas.

Amaroq frowned. “I have an extensive education, Kalas Eldralin.”

“Right. Well, here’s the thing. We’ll only stay long enough to pack enough supplies. Once I’m sure Dorland’s secure, we can go to Temeron for a visit. I’m past due. There you’ll meet our sister and Wolf… she can teach you to control your gift.”

Amaroq considered that. “Why do you believe that?”

“Because she taught herself how to control her own.”

Amaroq fell silent, staring out over the river, the sun shining in his brilliant blue eyes, the same eyes that Kalas himself had. He couldn’t believe how much he wanted his brother to say yes, how important it was that he accept this offer. These last few days weren’t enough. Kalas needed more, wanted more. He understood Aiden’s deep hurt. He’d never thought about having a brother before, but now that he did, he wanted to know him, be part of his life. But he knew he couldn’t push. This was a decision Amaroq had to make on his own.

“We see Aiden Cerik restored to his throne,” said Amaroq. He looked over at him and a smile touched his lips. “Then we go to Temeron.”

“Ha!” said Kalas in delight, slapping his brother’s shoulder. “Then we go to Temeron.”

*    *    *

Amaroq watched his mother and sister argue in sign language. Shandar sat across from him, following it as well. They’d been at this for hours now. Kaelene didn’t understand why her daughter wouldn’t accept the obvious protection of a man like Zander. Amaroq had to admit, it was a good match. Zander had always conducted himself well and he seemed to genuinely care about Naia. He’d made an effort to learn her language, which was more than the rest of the Nazarien had done. Still, Naia persisted in her conviction that she loved the King of Dorland and they’d find a way to work it out.

Aiden had wanted to be with her tonight, but Shandar had convinced him Naia’s family needed time with her alone. Finally, he’d relented and went back to his quarters disappointed. Occasionally Naia would looked at her brother, pleading him with her eyes to help her out, but Amaroq had wanted to hear her conviction himself before he intervened.

When she covered her face with her hands and bowed her head, Amaroq couldn’t help but laugh. Her frustration was clear.

“Mama,” said Amaroq.

“Talk some sense into her, son.”

“First I want you to tell me something.”

“What?”

“When Shandar came to Kazden after Naia’s birth, what made you decide to go with him?”

Kaelene frowned, her gaze shifting to Shandar. “Where’s this coming from?”

Shandar scratched his forehead sheepishly. “He wouldn’t shut up and go to sleep at night unless I told him a story. Just like a little boy. You know I’m not good with your Nazarien fairytales, so…”

“So you told him about us?”

Shandar shrugged. “It’s a good story.”

“Why do you want to hear this, Wolf?” she said. “It’s an old story.”

“I just do. Shandar told us up to the point when you were in the cafe. I have a vague memory of that, but how did that one meal turn into a lifelong commitment to each other? Why did Dryden let you leave?”

“He didn’t want her to go. He didn’t want to lose you,” said Shandar.

Kaelene shook her head. “This is an old story.”

“Tell it anyway, Mama,” said Amaroq. “I want to know.”

*    *    *

Kaelene returned to the Cult after the meal with Shandar and put both children to bed. Dryden entered her room, carrying a uniform jacket. She rubbed her lower back as she faced him.

He held the jacket out to her. “One of the buttons has come off. Fix it.”

She took the jacket and threw it on the dressing stand. He came forward and touched her cheek. “Return it to my room when you’re finished with it. You can stay there tonight.”

She backed away from him. “No, you can pick it up in the morning. The children are asleep.”

“So? They won’t stir for the rest of the night.” He shot a look at the cradle, which held Naia. “Besides, that one doesn’t make a sound. She won’t bother anyone if she wakes.”

“Which is why I have to be here. She can’t cry and alert me. I need to hear her moving around.”

Dryden shook his head in disgust. “I shouldn’t have let you keep that child. This isn’t our way.”

Kaelene felt fear move through her. He was always saying things like this. “Stay away from her.”

Dryden held up his hands. “As you wish. Have that button fixed by morning.”

Kaelene placed a chair against the doorknob after he left, then she picked up the sewing. She was so tired she just wanted to go to sleep, but she fixed the button, stripped off her clothes, put on a nightshirt, and brushed the hair back from her sleeping children’s faces. Then she climbed into bed herself, sighing at the blissful comfort.

Dawn had just broken when Kaelene was brought violently out of sleep by someone banging on her door. Amaroq sat up in bed, his eyes wide with fear, but Naia slept on, oblivious to the noise. Kaelene scrambled out of the covers and grabbed the chair, pulling it away.

Dryden stood on the other side, his features contorted. “You met with Shandar in town?”

Kaelene blinked, unable to comprehend what he was saying. She pushed the hair back from her face. “What?”

“Talar Eldralin’s brother’s in Kazden?”

“Yes.”

Amaroq came to her side and wrapped his arms around her waist. She hugged him to her.

“And you met with him?”

“He bought us a meal.”

“You should have told me this.”

“Why?”

Dryden’s gaze shifted to Amaroq. “Did he see the boy?”

Kaelene tilted up her chin. “He did, and then he told me Talar’s dead.”

Dryden dropped his gaze at that.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you hide that from me?”

“You didn’t need to know. I don’t want you seeing Shandar anymore.”

“You can’t tell me who I can see.”

He caught her under the chin, his fingers digging into her face. “I can. It’s by my mercy that you’re allowed to live here with the boy. If you displease me, I will cast you out. You and that defective get of yours.”

“She’s your daughter,” said Kaelene, yanking away from him.

“She’s not mine.” His gaze lowered to Amaroq. “But he is.”

“Dryden?” One of the acolytes stood in the hallway behind him.

He never removed his gaze from Kaelene as he responded. “What do you want?”

“The brother of Eladra is here to see you.”

Dryden shifted at that. “Here? Now?”

“Yes. He’s demanding an audience.”

Dryden looked back at Kaelene. “This is your doing?”

“No, but he knows the boy’s Talar’s.”

“The boy belongs to me.”

She shook her head, hugging Amaroq closer to her. “He belongs to no one.”

“I took you in when you had need.”

“And I’ve repaid you a thousand fold.”

“Commander?”

“I’m coming,” Dryden snapped, then he turned and went down the hall.

Kaelene shut the door and slumped against it. What did she do now? How did she protect her children and herself? Dryden would never let her leave with Amaroq, but she was becoming afraid of his feelings toward Naia. At first he’d accepted that she might get better with time, but as that didn’t seem to be happening, he was growing more and more hostile.

He’d threatened repeatedly to have the baby removed. Kaelene feared what that meant. She had to get out. She had no choice. She had to take her children and run, but they’d hunt her down. Dryden was a vengeful man. He’d take Naia away from her just to punish her.

Amaroq laid his head against her side, feeling her fear. Kazden was becoming a nightmare for the child. He could feel everything that the people around him felt. In the sequestered Cult, he fared better, but the more she took him to town, the more he became overwhelmed. Where would he be safe? Where would they be protected?

Tirsbor.

She and her mother had left so many years before because her mother couldn’t stand the thought of Kaelene being subjected to the Procreation Ceremonies. She’d believed they could disappear into a large city, but that city was harming her son now.

Tirsbor was sheltered, and if she took Amaroq to the Nazarien there, they would protect her from Dryden. She had no choice. She had to get to Tirsbor.

Hunkering down, she pulled Amaroq in front of her. “We need to get dressed and gather our things.”

“Why?”

“I need you to be brave. We have to get out of here.”

“Leave?”

“Yes. Yesterday was a sign. Do you remember the man who bought us the meal?”

“Shandar.”

“Yes, he’s our sign that it’s time to leave, but I need you to be brave.”

He nodded.

“Good. Now we have to hurry.”

Kaelene dressed, pulled together some clothes for herself and the children, then she let Amaroq pick out a stuffed toy and a wooden dog that Naia liked to chew on. Finally, she strapped the baby to her chest and took Amaroq’s hand firmly in hers. Going to the door, she paused and looked around the room. Fear moved through her, but she tamped it down for her son’s benefit, then she pulled open the door and headed to Dryden’s private office.

Another acolyte guarded the door, giving her a confused look. She could hear raised voices behind the portal, causing Amaroq to press close against her side.

“Anger,” he whispered.

Before the acolyte could stop her, Kaelene grabbed the door handle and thrust the door open, stepping inside. The acolyte followed her, reaching for her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Dryden. She got past me.”

Kaelene shook him off and set her bag on the floor, then she looked up at Shandar. He stood on the other side of the desk from Dryden, his face flushed with anger. “I need your help,” she told him.

He straightened and gave her a half-smile. “I’m at your service.”

“I want to go home to Tirsbor. Will you take me and the children?”

“Tirsbor?” said Dryden. “You ran from there. What makes you think they’ll take you back?”

“Because I have Talar Eldralin’s son with me.”

“He’s not leaving here.”

Shandar turned to face him. “We may have a problem then.”

“Shandar, I respect you and who you are, and I don’t want to oppose you, but the boy stays here.”

Naia started to fuss, squirming in the pouch Kaelene had made to hold her. Kaelene bounced her, trying to soothe her, but she grew more agitated, kicking her feet and banging her tiny fist against Kaelene’s breast.

“Kazden’s becoming a problem for Amaroq. He’s inundated with people’s emotions and sometimes I can’t move him. He wakes in the night, crying out. You’ve heard him yourself, Dryden!” she said, swaying to soothe the baby.

Shandar noticed her struggle and reached for the child. “Let me.”

Kaelene unhooked the pouch and lifted Naia free. Shandar took the baby and pulled her close, pressing his lips to the top of her head and crooning under his breath. Naia went still in his arms, looking up at him with her big, blue eyes.

“How are you doing that?” Kaelene asked, smiling despite her worry.

Shandar shrugged. “I thought that if she can’t hear, maybe she can feel the vibration.” He faced Dryden again. “You need to consider something else, Dryden. Talar lived in Kazden a good portion of his life. People remember him here. The boy looks like his father. What happens as he ages and he grows to look even more like him?”

“I don’t follow.”

“People were drawn to Talar. They flocked to him. Do you think this boy will be any different? How will you protect him?”

Dryden’s expression shifted.

“Does the Nazar know you have Talar Eldralin’s son in Kazden?”

“No.”

“What happens when word gets to him that you kept him here? This child needs to be protected. If he has the gifts his mother claims, how is that going to work here in this city as he gets older?”

Kaelene’s attention was torn between watching her daughter calm in the large man’s arms and watching Dryden.

“I’ll escort them to Tirsbor. The valley’s protected. He can learn to control his gifts there. They can help him. And you, you will gain in the eyes of the Nazarien, you who gave refuge to Talar Eldralin’s son.” Shandar leaned close, keeping his voice level so he didn’t disturb Naia. “Otherwise, Dryden, I walk out of here and go straight to Chernow. Either way, you lose the boy and his mother.”

“I don’t like threats, Shandar.”

“I don’t like making them.”

“And if we don’t let you leave.”

“Is that what the Kazden Cult has been reduced to, Dryden? You would kill Talar Eldralin’s brother to keep his son captive? Is that the legacy you leave to your followers? Is that the honor you pay my brother?”

Dryden dropped his gaze. “I do not want war with you.”

“Good, then we’re agreed.”

Dryden nodded reluctantly. “I’ll give you escort to Tirsbor.”

“Not necessary. I can manage on my own, but I’d like a wagon and supplies. A wagon would make things easier with the babe.”

Dryden met his gaze. “You’ll have what you need.”

“Excellent.” He turned and smiled at Kaelene. Naia had fallen asleep against his shoulder. Glancing down at her bag, he shook his head. “Surely there’s more you’ll want to bring. Let me help you get packed.”

Kaelene felt her heart soar, staring at the man with the sleeping babe on his shoulder. Shandar could have done many things to earn her respect, but cradling Naia as if she were precious was enough.

CHAPTER 25

Kaelene leaned on the railing, looking out toward the river. The moon was beginning to wax, but it was still full enough to illuminate the water. Amaroq let the door flap fall closed behind him and stepped up to her side, putting his arm around her shoulders.

“Why did you want me to tell that story?”

“It’s a good story.”

She looked up at him. “That’s not the reason.”

“Why did Dryden let us go? I can’t believe he gave up that easily.”

Kaelene shrugged. “He was beginning to realize he couldn’t handle your power. There were times you shut down, curled into yourself, muttering and rocking, trying to control the flood of emotions. It scared Dryden. Then too, I found out later that Shandar paid him a large sum of money for our freedom.”

Amaroq laughed.

“Why did you want me to tell the story, Wolf?”

Amaroq released her and crossed his arms on the rail. “Kalas Eldralin asked me to go to Temeron with him to meet our sister, Tyla. After Aiden Cerik’s restored to his throne, of course.”

Kaelene faced him. “And you want to do this?”

Amaroq met her gaze. “I do.”

“Why?”

“He’s my brother.”

“But you’d leave Tirsbor?”

“Yes.”

“This is your home.”

“I’m not sure it is anymore.”

“Tovan will never let you leave.”

Amaroq faced her. “Kalas and I will take control of the Nazarien then. We’ll command our birthright. He cannot deny us.”

She searched his face. “Why are you doing this?”

He gave her a grim smile. “Tirsbor isn’t enough anymore, Mama. I thought it was, but then Naia went missing. I saw what’s beyond these walls, and I want to see more.” He held up a hand. “Kalas believes Tyla can teach me to control the emotional flood. She’s done it herself. There’s a chance I might have peace… finally. I need to try.”

She took his hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “You deserve peace, son. I would never deny you that.”

“Then you understand?”

She nodded. “And I understand why you made me tell you that story. Naia needs more too.”

“She does, Mama.”

“But what if he abandons her? What if he hurts her?”

“You took that risk when you left Kazden with Shandar, didn’t you?”

“That wasn’t a risk,” came Shandar’s voice and he stepped out onto the walkway with them.

Kaelene slipped under his arm, hugging him. “No, it was the best decision I ever made.”

He kissed the top of her head. “So how are we getting Aiden Cerik his kingdom back?”

Amaroq laughed. “You plan to go with us for that?”

“I’m the one who started this adventure. You think I’m not going to see it through.”

“Kalas plans to talk to the council tomorrow.”

“And if they won’t listen?”

“We exercise our birthright.”

“Take command of the Nazarien,” said Shandar with a wicked grin. “I like it. I saw it done once before and it was magnificent.” He clapped a hand on Amaroq’s shoulder. “You’re getting to be more and more like your old man, Wolf.”

For the first time, Amaroq felt a flush of pleasure at his words.

*    *    *

Kalas led the way into the council chamber. He ducked his head in greeting as Amaroq moved up on one side, Aiden on the other. Behind them stood Dolan, Shandar, Nakoda, and Kaelene. Naia had taken a spot on Aiden’s other side, their hands clasped.

“Women are not allowed in council,” said Tovan, narrowing his eyes.

“Make an exception,” said Kalas blandly. “We need to plan and we don’t have time for Nazarien histrionics.”

“Histrionics? The King of Dorland flaunts our ways, and now you’re going to insult us yourself, Eladrasen.”

“In his time, my father gave far more offense and yet, he was your leader, your purpose, your reason for being. I know my history well, Tovan. My uncle taught me.”

Shandar made a grunt of agreement.

“I also know the Nazar well.”

Tovan straightened at that. “The current Nazar is but a puppet to your ambitions, Eladrasen.”

A murmur of discontent went through the assembly.

Kalas marked it. “That opinion doesn’t sit well with your people, Tovan. Pray I forget it.”

Tovan exhaled in frustration. “Sit,” he said in defeat, “and we’ll begin.”

Kalas shared a look with Amaroq. They moved forward, taking seats at the table. Acolytes brought forward two more chairs for Aiden and Naia. The rest of the party sat around the periphery.

“The King of Dorland was betrayed by his brother, Adison,” began Kalas, “who is currently acting as king.”

“I’m aware of that development.”

“I was recently in Dorland. The people suffer under his rule and he must be taken out of power. The security of the entire region demands this.”

“Having the real King returned should affect that end,” said Tovan with a negligent wave of his hand.

Aiden drew a breath and exhaled. “That man had me attacked in my own chamber, dragged from my castle, and sold into slavery. He isn’t going to turn over the crown because I show up at his front door.”

“We need troops and Chernow is days away from arriving. My own troops are embroiled in another matter and won’t arrive in time either. I need you to give us men, Tovan,” said Kalas.

Tovan ran a hand over his chin. “The Tirsbor Nazarien have little trade with Dorland. I’m not seeing a benefit to this action.”

Kalas gave him a slow smile. “I thought you might say that.” He glanced at Amaroq. “If you won’t give us troops, Tovan, my brother and I will have no choice but to invoke our birthright.”

“What?”

“We’ll take control of the Nazarien.”

The murmurs grew.

Tovan studied Kalas, then his gaze fixed on Amaroq. “You would side with strangers over your own people? Men who have no respect for our ways?”

Amaroq tilted up his head. “I would side with the side of justice. I would side with my brother. I accept the legacy of my father, therefore, I accept all that comes with it. I will command the Nazarien.”

Tovan visibly dismissed him. “Be careful of your demands, Kalas Eldralin. Commanding the Nazarien is a heavy responsibility and one that you have not been prepared to undertake. You have little knowledge of our ways, our culture, and you have no training.”

“But I do,” said Amaroq. “I have trained all my life for this.”

Tovan made a derisive motion. “And in the first wave of battle, what will you do? When the fear and the rage and the panic of all the men wash over you?”

Shandar shifted angrily and Kaelene made a mew of protest. Kalas wanted to come to Amaroq’s defense, but he knew he needed to face this challenge on his own.

“Tell us, boy. How will you handle the feeling of men dying around you? The regret, the terror, the anguish. I’ll tell you. It will cripple you, make you curl into a fetal position, unable to defend yourself. And the men you think you command will lose faith in you. You will lead them to their deaths and you will watch them be slaughtered in your name.”

“Enough!” shouted Amaroq, surging to his feet and banging his fist on the council table. The council members reared back and Tovan flinched. Amaroq’s eyes glowed as Kalas remembered his father’s eyes glowing. “I am the reason for the Nazarien. I am your purpose, your reason for being. I command you, Tovan, from this day forward!”

Tovan opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Beck, his second, glanced at him, then bowed his head, touching his fist to his chest. The rest of the council made the same motion.

“Amaroq Taheny, son of Talar Eldralin, you command the Nazarien,” said Beck. “Tell us what you want, the number of troops and the supplies.”

Aiden let out a relieved sigh.

Amaroq swallowed hard and looked down at his brother. Kalas gave him a proud nod.

Amaroq turned back to the council. “My brother will give you our demands,” he said, sinking into his chair again.

“Eladrasen?” said Beck.

Kalas gave the council a slow smile. “We need enough men to fill out an army. I’ve sent word to my man, Halish, in Terra Antiguo to send troops as well, but they’ll be days behind us.”

Tovan frowned, tilting his head.

“I also have a large force at a homestead between Tirsbor and Dorland. This is the same homestead where His Majesty was held captive. My captain of the guard has secured a group of slavers there and is offering medical aid to the slaves. We’ve asked for healers from Terra Antiguo to see to their needs, but it would be beneficial if you could send any healers you can spare and supplies. As soon as reinforcements arrive, my troops will return to Dorland.”

Aiden cleared his throat. “Dorland has a large army, but whether they’ll be willing to stand with my brother over me remains to be seen. We won’t know until we arrive, but my youngest brother is on the inside and could rally the troops to him if it becomes strategic to do so.”

Tovan held up a hand. “You mentioned a name, Eladrasen. What was it?”

“I’m sorry.”

“The name of your man? The one you sent to Terra Antiguo?”

“Halish. He’s Nazarien from Chernow. He came in search of Amaroq when he heard he’d gone missing.”

“Halish?”

A murmur went through the council.

Kalas frowned. “What is it, Commander? Do you recognize the name?”

“When Jarrett Trauner was Nazar, he enacted changes, the largest of which was the elimination of the Procreation Ceremonies.”

“I’m aware of Jarrett’s actions.”

“A group of Nazarien felt this was a violation of all we stood for. They broke from the order and founded their own assassin’s guild.”

Kalas felt something go cold inside of him.

“Halish Raesler was one of them.”

*    *    *

“Where did this man come from?” asked Tovan.

The council had broken for the day, but Tovan had come to Kalas’ quarter to talk with him, bringing his second. Kalas had already drawn together his own team – his brother, Dolan, Shandar, and Aiden. Amaroq’s mother had gone back to her quarters, but Naia remained beside Aiden.

The slave boy Le sat on the floor, watching them, his green eyes looking enormous in his gaunt face. Nakoda stood guard at the door. Kalas could see him from his spot at the head of the table since the door flap had been pinned open to allow a breeze to blow through.

“Eladrasen? This Halish? Where did he come from?”

“I don’t know. He said he was from Chernow, that he’d come to Dorland looking for Amaroq and his sister. He offered his assistance, but he told me Amaroq would be his first priority.”

“How did you meet him? Did he present himself in the audience room?” asked Aiden.

Kalas considered that. “He came in with Adison, I think.” He looked over his shoulder at Dolan. “Right?”

“Right,” said the Nazarien.

“We were meeting in the library with Alasdair and Adison arrived with him.”

“How did Adison know him?”

“I can’t remember. He brought him to the library, but he said…” Kalas’ brow knit as he concentrated. “He said he was an advisor. One of his advisors.”

“We have no Nazarien advisors,” said Aiden.

“That’s how he presented him...and he said he had skill at tracking.”

“And he traveled with you?” asked Beck.

“As far as Duard’s homestead.”

“How was he during your travels?”

Kalas shrugged. “I never had reason to doubt him...well, until the end.”

“What do you mean?”

“When we reached Duard’s homestead, he disappeared. Later he claimed to have gone in search of the slaves, but I still felt his disappearance was troubling.”

“But you sent him to Terra Antiguo for help?”

“I didn’t want him traveling with us. Sending him to Terra Antiguo seemed the lesser of the two.”

“Why didn’t you want him traveling with you?”

“He was oddly fixated on Amaroq, and I still had a weak explanation of why he disappeared that night at Duard’s homestead.”

“Something must have sent up warnings inside of you?”

Kalas grimaced in frustration. “I found it odd that he appeared in Dorland so suddenly, but then things in Dorland were very odd. The King had been abducted by slavers in his own bed.” He gave Aiden a sympathetic look. “Honestly, I suspected your brother from the start, Your Majesty.”

Aiden looked down, nodding. Naia reached over to take his hand and he clasped hers, giving her a weary smile.

“The Nazarien are now fully embroiled in this situation. We have no choice but to give you the aid you demand,” said Tovan. “We’ll need a day to provision our warriors, then we’ll depart.”

Kalas nodded. “It’s good to have you at our backs.”

Tovan made the Nazarien motion, then he and Beck left Kalas’ cavern.

After they were gone, Kalas looked over at Amaroq. He seemed troubled.

“What is it, Wolf?”

“He made it sound as if what happened in the council chamber had no meaning, as if I had no meaning.”

“He’s trying to save face. Don’t worry, we got what we wanted.”

Amaroq rose to his feet. “He believes I will fail to lead my people. He has no faith in me.”

“It doesn’t matter, Wolf,” urged Kalas. “We got what we needed.”

“It matters, Kalas. It matters to me.”

Kalas held up a placating hand. “Of course, I realize that.”

“You’ve never cared what he thought before,” said Shandar. “Why are you concerned now? He’s a paper lion, Wolf.”

Amaroq motioned to the cave opening. “How can he want me to stay in Tirsbor when he has no respect for me? He doesn’t think I’m capable of anything more than studying books!”

Nakoda glanced over his shoulder, frowning.

“Wolf…” began Shandar.

“No, Shandar. Don’t try to reason this away! The Nazarien want me to stay here, in this canyon, but why? They have no respect for me and when they have no respect for me, they have no respect for my father.”

With that he turned and left the cave.

Naia rose and went after him.

Silence fell.

Finally Shandar cleared his throat. “He’s wrong about one thing.”

Kalas glanced up at him, arching a brow.

“They had no respect for your father either. He just didn’t give a damn.”

*    *    *

Naia found her brother brushing a beautiful black stallion in the paddock. She leaned on the fence, watching him for a moment before he realized she was there. He gave the stallion one final brush as he moved toward her.

‘I shouldn’t have left like that. I let anger control me.’

She shrugged. ‘There have been many changes in our lives lately. Anger is reasonable.’

He smiled at her. ‘I don’t feel anger in you. I feel happiness.’

‘I am happy, Wolf. I was given a gift, a new chance at life. You don’t get those often.’

‘When I thought you were gone, I wasn’t sure how I’d accept it, but you saved yourself. You took control of your life. I need to do that, but as long as I stay here, I won’t be able to. You saw the way Tovan dismissed me.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Tovan’s an idiot.’

Amaroq laughed. ‘He is. Why does he want me to stay here, Naia? He has no faith in me.’

‘You’re a trophy, Wolf. A possession he doesn’t want to lose.’

‘Then I have to leave.’

‘Come to Dorland with me.’

Amaroq looked off into the distance. She touched his hand, drawing his attention back to her.

‘What?’

‘He’s not wrong, Naia. I don’t think I can stay in Dorland. Too many people. But Kalas asked me to go to Temeron with him. We have a sister there. He thinks she can teach me to control my power.’

Naia felt a wash of sadness. She’d never been without her brother. If he went to Temeron, would he ever return? Suddenly she realized he’d discovered a whole part of his family that she didn’t share, that she wasn’t a part of, and she felt alone for the first time.

He touched her under the chin and lifted her eyes to his. ‘You’ll always be my favorite sister,’ he signed to her.

She smiled and climbed on the fence, reaching over to hug him. He hugged her in return. No one had understood her this way, until she’d met Aiden and Le.

He released her and his eyes went over her shoulder. Naia turned, then smiled when she saw Aiden approaching the paddock.

“Kalas said Dancing Thunder was here,” he said. He touched Naia’s back, then ducked between the crossbars to stroke the stallion’s muzzle. The horse pushed Aiden in the chest, snuffling him enthusiastically. Aiden laughed and hugged him. “I didn’t even realize who he was riding yesterday, I was so intent on stopping the wedding.”

Amaroq signed for Naia’s benefit. “He’s a fine animal. He remembers you.”

Aiden looked over his shoulder, nodding. “Loyalty’s hard to find.” He turned and held out his hand for Amaroq. “Your sister has spoken of you a lot.”

Amaroq took his hand. “Thank you for seeing her home.”

Aiden glanced at her and the smile he gave her warmed her inside. “She saved my life. Without her, I wouldn’t have made it through that first night.”

‘I asked Amaroq to come to Dorland with us,’ she told him.

Amaroq translated.

“Of course. You have a permanent home with us.”

Amaroq inclined his head. “I appreciate it, but Tovan’s not wrong about me. I’d find it paralyzing to be in such a large city for an extended time.”

Aiden nodded. “I understand, but know the door is always open.”

“Thank you.”

“Come meet Dancing Thunder,” said Aiden, reaching through the fence for her. She ducked between the crossbars and straightened beside him. He led her to the stallion.

The animal tossed his head and Naia smiled, then he allowed her to stroke his soft muzzle.

“This is the finest mount any man has ever had.”

She liked his enthusiasm. When he talked about the horse, the lines of worry eased in his gaunt face.

“He saved my life,” he told them. “Once when I went out riding on my own, three men chased me…” He stopped and his smile vanished.

‘Aiden?’ Naia signed.

He stepped away from the horse and leaned on the fence, bowing his head. Amaroq and Naia exchanged a look, then Naia went to him and touched his back. He looked up at her. “The men chased me back to the castle. They almost overtook me, but if it hadn’t been for Thunder, I would have died that day.” His eyes searched her face. “Naia, those three men were Duard, Hogan and Elvert.”

“Hogan is dead,” said Amaroq, his hands making the signs. “He can’t hurt you anymore. Nakoda killed him. I watched him die. And Elvert is under the control of the Baron.”

“What about Duard?”

Amaroq shook his head.

Aiden pulled Naia in against him and she wrapped her arms around his waist. He rested his chin on the top of her head and held her tight. She felt the vibration of his voice and turned so she could see Amaroq’s signs.

‘Duard needs to die.’

On that she could agree.

*    *    *

Amaroq and Kalas, trailed by Dolan, entered Amaroq’s cavern later that night. Amaroq’s mother was cooking on her stove, but Shandar was filling a pack with clothing from their shelves. Amaroq slowed and frowned at him.

“You were serious about going to war, Shandar?”

“I’ve gone to war before.”

Kalas rolled his eyes. “Uncle, you’re too damn old to be so frisky. Stay here until it’s over and we’ll come by before we go to Adishian.”

“I’m going to Adishian with you, then to Temeron.”

Amaroq and Kalas exchanged a look. “Hold on, old man,” said Kalas, moving toward him. “You’re going to Temeron?”

“I haven’t seen my niece in years. I owe her a visit.”

Amaroq gave his mother a concerned look. “What about my mother?”

“What about her?” said Kaelene, glancing over her shoulder.

“You’re going to leave my mother?”

Shandar started to answer, but Kaelene turned from the stove, holding a spoon in her hand. “Of course not. He’d never survive without me.”

“She’s right,” said Shandar with a nod.

Amaroq frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m coming with you,” said Kaelene, setting the spoon on the stove.

“You’re coming to Temeron?”

“That’s right.”

“You haven’t left Tirsbor in thirty years.”

“Neither have you, but you proved you could do it. So can I.” She clapped her hands on Amaroq’s shoulders. “You wanted to hear the old stories. Well, here’s a new one for you. I should have left with Talar when I had the chance, but I was too afraid. I could have seen the entire world, but I didn’t.” She touched his nose. “Now, I’m going on an adventure before it’s too late.”

Kalas laughed, slapping Amaroq on the back. “Don’t know how you argue with that.”

Amaroq moved forward and kissed his mother on the forehead. “I’d be proud to have an adventure with you, Mama,” he said.

CHAPTER 26

“Stay still, Your Highness, or I’m afraid I’ll stick you with this pin,” said Everard, crouching at Adison’s feet.

Adison glanced down at him, then shoved him away, jumping off the stool and stalking across the room. “This isn’t right either. I want it grander. Find the most expensive material in the land and make me some decent clothes. These all feel like rags.” He tore the jacket off and threw it on the floor.

“That is the finest Dorlandian weave, Your Highness.”

“I don’t want Dorlandian weave! Send to Loden for it. I want what their King wears.”

Everard gave him a puzzled look.

“Can’t you do that?”

“I’m not sure, Your Highness. Which king? There are six of them.”

“The High King!” He waved his hand impatiently. “The Lord of Loden or whatever. Kiameron’s son! Make my bedamned brother send a bird. We send them to Loden, right? Don’t we.”

“I don’t know, Your Highness.”

“Why don’t you know?” said Adison, approaching him.

“This isn’t my area. These are the things Lyell Vito handled.”

“Well, Lyell Vito isn’t here!” he said, leaning over him.

“Right.” He ducked his head. “Right.” He clasped his hands together. “What do you want me to do about the jacket?”

“It’s not good enough!” Adison shouted. Lord, did he have to tell people things a thousand times?

“It was good enough for Aiden,” Everard muttered.

Adison could feel his blood pressure surge. He backhanded the valet and sent him sprawling. Pins and buttons scattered everywhere, and Everard scrambled around, trying to pick them up.

Usually this would amuse him, but right now he found it pathetic. No one in this bedamned kingdom knew how to do their damn jobs. He grabbed Everard by the collar of his uniform, hauling him up and placing his mouth near the valet’s ear.

“Have Alasdair send a damn bird to Loden…” His thoughts suddenly coalesced and he threw Everard away from him. The birds? There was no pen for Loden. Except he knew Aiden communicated with them. Where was the pen for Loden? Why hadn’t Alasdair or Gib mentioned those birds? There had to be more than thirty birds, but Gib had been emphatic that all birds were accounted for. “Why was there a missing bird?”

“I’m sorry, Your Highness?”

Adison ignored him, striding toward his chamber door and pulling it open. He grabbed the first guard he found and threw him in front of him. “Get my brother out of the library and bring him to the Audience Hall.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the guard said, hurrying away.

Adison stalked down the hallway toward the Audience Chamber, glaring at anyone who didn’t immediately drop their eyes at his approach. Grabbing the handles on both doors, he threw them open and walked down the center aisle, climbing the dais to his throne.

Slumping in the seat, he stared around at the guards, wondering if any of them were plotting against him. He was probably going to have to create a loyalty test, or else dismiss the lot of them and hire new ones. Damn it all, why hadn’t he thought of that before?

He’d taken Aiden’s guards and thought he could make them his own. He should have had them executed and replaced them with Nazarien from Chernow. Those bastards knew how to be loyal. Look at Halish’s almost obsessive alliance to Talar Eldralin’s bastard. Of course, Halish had betrayed his Nazar and plotted against him, but he damn near glowed with religious fervor whenever he spoke of Eldralin’s spawn. That’s what he needed. He needed followers who treated him like a God.

If Eldon could have such people even after he was dead, why couldn’t he?

His hands curled around the arms of his throne.

Why was there a missing bird?

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. Think! Think! Think! He was so sleep deprived, his head felt constantly foggy.

Why was there a missing bird?

He pulled that day up in his memory. Halish had appeared, telling him Aiden had gone into the Ethicon. If he made it out of the river alive, he would head toward Tirsbor, the closest location where he could get help.

Surely someone would have contacted Adison to tell him his brother was alive by now. If he’d made it to Tirsbor, a bird would be sent with the news, right? Unless they’d gotten warning that Adison had plotted against his brother.

Alasdair appeared in the entrance to the Audience Chamber, blinking behind his thick glasses. He was disheveled and rumpled, looking like he’d slept in the clothes he wore. Two guards followed him to a spot before the King’s dais and stood behind him at attention. Alasdair looked over his shoulder at the guards, then gave Adison a puzzled look.

“What’s this about, Adison? Why did you have me dragged out of the library like a criminal?”

Adison leaned back in the throne, stroking a hand over his chin. “Why was there a missing bird?”

“What?”

“In the dovecote the other morning, there was a missing bird. Why?”

Alasdair shook his head. “I told you. The bird was sent to Adishian to seek help from Kalas Eldralin.”

“Has it returned?”

“Has it returned?”

“Yes, has the bird been returned to us?”

Alasdair shrugged his narrow shoulders. “I’d have to ask Gib.”

Adison studied him, stroking a hand along his jaw. “Right, ask Gib. And while you’re asking Gib, could you ask him where the birds are for Loden?”

“What?”

“The Lodenian birds. I know Aiden communicated with Loden on occasion. Where are those birds?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t work with the birds as closely as Gib.”

“I see.”

“Why do you want to send a bird to Loden?”

Adison shrugged. “I want new fabrics and everything we have here in Nevaisser isn’t good enough.” He slung a leg over the arm of the throne, sinking further into the seat. “Don’t you find it odd the way people worship other men?”

Alasdair gave him a bewildered look. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“Well, Eldon for one. He’s been dead, what? Seventy years or so?”

“Give or take.”

“And yet he still has followers, he still has people devoutly loyal to him.” He held out his hands. “Where are my followers, Alasdair?”

Alasdair shifted weight. “Adison, you aren’t well.”

“Oh, I’m well enough. See, I’ve been sitting here thinking that I can’t trust anyone around me. Do you know how distressing that is, Alasdair? I can’t trust a single person in this castle.”

“You have to earn that trust, Adison.”

“Really? You’d school me on being King?”

“I’m trying to help.”

“Right.” He gave a wry shake of his head. “You’re trying to help, but you know what Alasdair?”

“What, Adison?”

Adison leaned forward in his chair. “I don’t trust you.”

“I’ve tried to do what you’ve asked me to. I don’t know what more I can do.”

“Where is the missing bird!” Adison shouted, rising to his feet.

Alasdair took an involuntary step back. “In Adishian, Adison.”

Adison pointed a finger at him. “If you lie to me, brother, if you lie, I swear I’ll kill you. Do you understand me? I will kill you.”

“I understand.”

Adison forced himself to take a seat again, gripping the arms of his throne. “You’d expect a brother to be loyal to you, Alasdair. You’d expect you can trust family.”

Alasdair’s head lifted and he met Adison’s gaze. “Yes, you would, Adison. You’d especially expect that from your family.”

Adison gave a laugh, then tilted his head. “All I want is some followers, you know? Like Eldon has, just a few, just a few loyal followers who would die defending me. Is that so much to ask for, Alasdair?”

Alasdair looked away again. “No, Adison. It’s not too much to ask.”

“No, it isn’t.” Adison slumped back in the throne. “So glad we had this talk, brother.” He made a motion with his hand. “You can go. Guards, escort my brother back to the library. See that he isn’t disturbed.”

The guards bowed and led Alasdair from the room. Adison stroked his jaw and watched him go. Damn it all, he still wanted to know what happened to the missing bird?

*    *    *

Adison found himself standing at the bottom of the hill with the gravestone shining above him. He remembered being in this cemetery before, but he still couldn’t place where it was. He turned and looked over the undulating hills of gravestones, stretching on into the distance.

“Your time is coming,” came a voice.

Adison whipped around, searching for the speaker, but he was alone. He could hear his own breath, wheezing in and out of him in a panic.

“You would be a god? You?”

Adison wanted to run, but his legs wouldn’t move. He felt rooted to this spot. “No.” The sound came out of him weak and frail.

“Who would follow a pretend King?”

Recognition swamped Adison. He knew the voice. Halish. Looking around frantically, he tried to locate the Nazarien, but there was just him and the graves and the hill and that one glowing headstone. Alone. All alone.

But not alone.

Something swept by him, a breath of air on his face, the touch of velvet soft feathers. The bird swept low, then lifted at the last second, landing on the headstone, bathed in the eerie light that shone down from above.

The missing bird.

A hand clamped on the back of his neck and propelled him upward. He struggled to turn and see his attacker, but the hand held his head immobile. He stumbled over the uneven ground, nearly falling, but the hand kept pushing him up, up, toward the gravestone and the yawning black hole of the open grave.

The bird fluttered its wings and preened, then looked up, its beady black eyes pinning Adison as he was forced to the edge of the grave. He landed on his hands and knees, the soil crumbling away beneath his fingers. The hand pushed him relentlessly forward, right at the edge, his upper body hanging out over nothing.

He lifted his eyes, afraid to see the headstone, afraid not to see it.

Betrayer, Adison Cerik, Pretend King.

Adison pushed back violently, trying to break his attacker’s hold, but the force against his neck redoubled.

“I will come for you,” whispered the voice in his ear.

Then he was cast forward into the grave.

Adison came awake to pounding on his chamber door. His body was drenched in sweat and he could feel the blood surging in his ears. He rolled from beneath the covers and stumbled into the outer room, crossing to the door and slumping against it.

“What?”

“A messenger has arrived.”

“A what?”

“A messenger, Your Highness, from Kalas Eldralin.”

Adison placed his back against the door and slumped to the ground.

“Your Highness?”

“What sort of messenger?”

“Come again, Sire.”

“What sort of messenger?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

“Man or beast, you imbecile!”

“Man. Nazarien, actually, Your Highness.”

“I’ll be there in a moment. Bring my idiot brother from the library and wake the Queen. I want them both in the Audience Chamber when I arrive.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Adison sat against the door for a long while, trying to grapple his wits under control. Why would Kalas Eldralin send a messenger? Why didn’t he just come himself? Talar Eldralin’s bastard had been gone nearly three weeks. His return couldn’t bode anything good.

Marshaling his will, he pushed himself to his feet and began stripping off his clothes. “Everard!” he shouted. “Everard, you pompous idiot, get your ass in here!”

A moment later, the flustered valet appeared out of the closet. Adison stared at him. “Do you sleep in there?”

Everard’s face blanched. “Your Highness?”

“In the closet? Do you sleep in there?”

Everard gave him a bewildered look. Adison wished just once someone would answer him when he asked a question. “Have you lost your senses or are you just this infernally stupid? Do you sleep in my closet?”

“No, Your Highness.”

“Then why were you in there?”

“I came in earlier to prepare your wardrobe for the day.”

Adison turned and looked at his chamber door. It was still bolted. “How did you get in?”

“What?”

“How did you get into the closet? The chamber door is bolted.”

“There’s a panel in the back that leads to the next chamber.”

“There’s a secret panel?”

“It’s not secret, Your Highness. I used it when I dressed both your father and Aiden.”

“How long have you been in there?”

“No more than an hour.”

“You’ve been moving around in there for an hour and I didn’t hear you?”

Everard wrung his hands. “I was just doing my job, Your Highness. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Adison advanced on him, grabbing him around the neck and throwing him toward the closet. “Get me dressed, you simpering fool, and make sure it is the best clothes this bedamned kingdom has to offer!”

CHAPTER 27

A wash of emotions swept over Aiden as he rode Dancing Thunder onto the streets of Dorland. He realized he was breathing hard when Le reached over and touched his arm. He’d never thought he’d see this city again, let alone ride down her streets.

People streamed out of the shops and cafes along the way, watching the Nazarien army pass. When they realized who rode among them, they broke into murmurs and finally applause, warming Aiden’s heart.

He’d been gone for weeks, but it felt like a lifetime had passed. Once he’d chafed at being King, now all he wanted was to spend the rest of his life providing for these people, settling their disputes and making sure they were able to prosper.

He gave Naia a reassuring smile. She smiled back.

Well, maybe he wanted a little more. Maybe he wanted a life with the woman he loved too.

Kalas halted the army outside the castle gates. Aiden brought Thunder to a halt beside him, both of them staring up at the castle rising in the distance.

“We need Adison to surrender before we enter. If he’s able to draw the military to him, we may have to fight our way inside,” said Kalas.

Aiden nodded. “I don’t think he’s going to surrender.”

“I agree, but will his men stand by him?”

Aiden shrugged. He just didn’t know. He hadn’t been the best King, but under Adison, Aiden could already see signs of neglect.

“We’ll send a messenger in.”

“I’ll go,” said Zander, riding forward. “Tell me what you want me to say.”

Kalas and Tovan conferred, then Kalas turned to him. “Do you agree, Your Majesty?”

Aiden glanced over at him in surprise. He hadn’t been paying attention. His emotions were so raw, so wounded, he wasn’t sure what was going on. So many times in the slave camp he’d been sure he’d never see this castle again. Now to be standing outside of it, he felt overwhelmed.

“Yes,” he said, not really caring what Zander would tell Adison. Adison wasn’t going to give up the throne easily, that was certain.

Zander approached the gates and spoke with the guards. Aiden watched them open and admit him. A moment later, he left his horse in the bailey and walked up the stairs to the castle’s front doors.

Outside the gates, the townspeople started to gather. They remained at a distance, but their numbers grew with each passing minute until a crowd had formed. Something about the situation subdued them. They didn’t speak, they just stood in an ever widening circle, filling the streets.

Waiting in the shade of the buildings across from the castle, Aiden felt small and insignificant. His father had built an empire, defending it for decades against a hostile usurper in Rarick of Sarkisian. Rarick would have bent Dorland to his will, plundering her of her wealth and setting himself up as a dictator if it hadn’t been for Talar Eldralin’s interference.

It wasn’t lost on Aiden that he was as indebted to the Eldralin line as his father had been. He shifted in the saddle and gave Kalas and Amaroq a forced smile. “I remember when your father came to Dorland with the Nazarien the last time. He liberated us. My father always told us our inheritance was owed to Talar, not him.”

Kalas smiled in return.

Aiden focused on Amaroq. “He was a great man, your father. He saved many lives during the Siege of Dorland, and now you’re doing the same. I can never repay either of you for this.”

“Dorland is an ally, Aiden,” said Kalas. “You do not repay allies.”

Amaroq reached over and clasped his sister’s hand. “You brought Naia back to us. I owe you, not the other way around.”

Aiden gave a laugh. “In that my debt is tenfold. She brought me back. She’s the reason I’m here.”

*    *    *

Adison took a seat in his throne, biting his bottom lip and eyeing his guards. A moment later, Alasdair and Carona entered. Carona’s hair hung down her back, her gown a simple frock she might use to lounge about her quarters, not appear in court. Alasdair wore the same clothes he had the previous day, a growth of stubble on his jaw. If possible, he looked more gaunt and frail than he had a few days ago.

“What is this about, Adison?” Carona demanded.

Adison’s upper lip twitched. The bitch never knew how to show proper respect. “In a temper, I see, my Queen.”

“It’s barely dawn, yet you haul us in here to dance attendance on you? Why?”

Alasdair looked like he might speak. He shuffled his feet nervously.

“Something wrong, brother dear.”

“The guards told me Kalas Eldralin sent a messenger. He and a large Nazarien force have entered the city. Why are they not being escorted to the castle?”

“I suppose you should ask Kalas Eldralin that very question.”

“Where is the messenger?”

“Being brought in as we speak. Of course, I waited for your appearance before I summoned him.”

Carona and Alasdair exchanged a look. Adison zeroed in on it, and he knew, he knew he’d been betrayed.

He gave a grim laugh. “I like to think of myself as a fair-minded man. Don’t you think I’m fair-minded, Alasdair?”

Alasdair opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“What about you, my Queen? Am I fair-minded?”

“I don’t know why you’re playing these games, Adison. Bring Eldralin’s messenger in and hear what he has to say.”

“In time, in time, my Queen.” He stroked his hand over his chin. “First, let’s finish our discussion.”

“What discussion?” She took a step forward, her hands fisted in her skirts. “Adison, you need to listen to me…”

“Do I?” he said, narrowing his gaze. “I don’t think I do. In fact, you need to listen to me.” He gave her a chilling smile. “I’m trying to be kind, Carona. I’m trying to be benevolent. So I’m going to ask you just one more time. Where is the missing bird?”

Carona gave him a strange look, but it wasn’t one of bewilderment. “This is madness, Adison. You need to remove yourself from the throne at once. Let me address Eldralin’s messenger.”

Adison laughed. “Oh, no. No, I think that would be a very bad idea.” He motioned to the guard at the door. The guard opened it and indicated the man on the other side should enter.

A tall, handsome Nazarien walked down the center aisle, coming to a halt between Carona and Alasdair. Alasdair wouldn’t meet his gaze, but Carona watched him the entire way. The Nazarien placed a fist against his breast and ducked his head.

“Your Majesty, I come from the King of Eastern Nevaisser, Kalas Eldralin, and the Tirsbor Commander, Tovan.”

Adison clenched his jaw, but he didn’t speak.

The Nazarien slowly lifted his head, his blue eyes fixing on Adison. “I also come from His Majesty Aiden Cerik.”

Alasdair’s head jerked up, turning to gape at the man, and Carona gasped, lifting her hand to her mouth. Adison’s upper lip twitched involuntarily.

“So my brother is alive?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“What’s your name?”

“Zander, Sire.”

“Zander? Why does Kalas Eldralin send a messenger instead of coming himself? He brings my brother back to us. Surely, he doesn’t seek to deny us our joy at having our brother returned?”

“The King of Eastern Nevaisser bids you abdicate the throne in favor of your brother’s rightful claim to it. Once you’ve stepped down, he will negotiate the means of your surrender in person.”

Adison leaned forward, giving Zander a tense smile. “The means of my surrender? Ah, the audacity of that spawn of Hell. My surrender?” His voice rose. “So Dorland is to become just another jewel in the crown of Kalas Eldralin’s domination, is it? He’s going to add us to his empire?”

Zander shook his head. “He has no interest in conquering Dorland.”

“Then why are you here? Why is the Nazarien bringing me this information and not Eldralin himself?”

“I speak on his behalf.”

“You speak on his behalf? Since when have the Nazarien become the puppets of Kalas Eldralin?”

“We are not his puppets, but we are his to command.”

Adison paused, tilting his head. “What does that mean?”

“Kalas Eldralin and his brother Amaroq Taheny have exercised their birthright.”

“Which means?”

“They are in command of the Nazarien.”

“Ha!” said Adison, punching the air with a finger. Then he shook his head. “Tell Eldralin that Dorland does not succumb to his demands. We’d sooner have him burn us to the ground than submit.”

“Adison!” shouted Carona.

Alasdair shook his head. “Be reasonable, brother.”

“Oh, I am.”

“Eladrasen acts on behalf of Aiden Cerik, the legitimate King of Dorland,” protested Zander. “He seeks only to return His Majesty to his rightful place and ensure that he’s allowed to govern without interference.”

“Interference? What interference?”

Zander’s expression grew grim. “You, Your Majesty.”

“And there it is.” Adison slumped back in his throne. “Guards, toss this man in the dungeon.”

“What?” cried Carona.

“Adison, don’t do this!”

“Guards!” shouted Adison when the guards didn’t immediately obey.

“You are inviting war upon yourself!” warned Zander.

“Guards, take this man to the dungeon!” said Adison, rising to his feet.

Two reluctant guards came forward and reached for Zander’s arms. He shook them off. “Don’t touch me,” he warned. “I will go.”

The guards led him from the throne room as Adison stepped down off the dais, stalking toward his brother and Carona.

“What have you done, Adison?” said Alasdair, shifting to face him.

Adison grabbed Alasdair by the upper arm and forced him around, then grabbed Carona as well, shoving them before him. “Let’s go find out where that missing bird is, shall we?”

Carona stumbled, but he didn’t care, quickening his pace.

“Adison, stop this madness!” protested Alasdair, trying to pry his hand away.

“You’re hurting me!” whined Carona.

“Shut up!” he snarled and shoved Alasdair, releasing him. Alasdair fell on his hands and knees, but he scrambled to his feet again. Adison grabbed the back of his neck then and propelled him forward, keeping him off-balance.

“Why are you doing this, Adison?”

Adison hauled his brother back against him and brought his mouth close to Alasdair’s ear. “Because I know where the missing bird went and I won’t tolerate being betrayed.”

*    *    *

“Aiden!” came a shout from the top of the castle.

Aiden’s gaze whipped upward. Adison stood on the roof, leaning over the edge where it looked down on the front gate. He was standing in the dovecote and he had a hold of Alasdair by the neck, pushing him toward the edge. Alasdair had his hands braced on either side of the turret, pressing back against his brother, but he was in a precarious position.

A gasp went up from the gathered crowd.

“Aiden!” shouted Adison again.

Aiden rode out of the gathering, moving away from the shade of the buildings. “Adison, I’m here!”

Adison’s eyes lowered and focused on him. “And so you are. Ah, brother, I wish I could tell you I’m happy to see you.”

“Adison, please, don’t do this. Open the gate and let me in. We can talk, but you’ve got to let Alasdair go.”

Adison laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Let him go. Do you mean that?” He shoved him forward and Alasdair scrambled to hang onto the stones.

A collective gasp rose again from the crowd.

“Adison!” shouted Aiden. “Don’t do this!”

“Don’t do what, Aiden!” He shook his head, looking up at the sky. “The crown should have been mine, Aiden. Do you know that? The crown should have been mine.”

“I know. I know it should have.”

Adison looked down at him again. “I was first born. First born. By rights, it should have come to me.”

“It should have, Adison. You’re right.”

“You didn’t even want it. You hated being King.”

“I did.” Aiden swallowed hard. “I did, Adison.”

“And you weren’t a good King.”

Aiden shook his head. “I wasn’t. You’re right, but this isn’t the way. This isn’t the way, Adison. You need to let Alasdair go. He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“Hasn’t he!” Adison shouted. “He betrayed me, Aiden. He sent word to Tirsbor behind my back. Always he’s been plotting against me!”

“Adison, listen to me. You don’t want to do this. You don’t want to hurt him. I know it. I know you aren’t like this.”

Adison gave a grim laugh. “Then you don’t know me at all.” He shoved Alasdair forward, but at the same moment, a small form flew into him, striking him with balled fists.

Alasdair twisted around, trying to break Adison’s hold, but he was too far over the edge and his feet slipped. The crowd erupted in cries of dismay and Aiden felt his heart slam against his ribs.

Alasdair slid downward, managing to catch himself, his upper body sprawled in the opening, his lower half dangling. He threw out an arm and braced it against the turret.

“Get the gate open!” shouted Kalas.

The Nazarien warriors surged forward, slamming into the gate and forcing it wide, then they streamed inside.

In the meantime, Adison had subdued his attacker. He grabbed her by the hair and shoved her into the opening. The blood drained from Aiden’s face as he watched Carona struggle, trying to dislodge Adison’s hand from her hair.

“Call them off, Aiden, or she joins our brother!”

Aiden frantically turned to Kalas.

“Halt!” Kalas called after the Nazarien. They stopped where they were, instantly obedient.

Aiden didn’t have much time. He could see Alasdair wasn’t going to hold on much longer. “Adison, this is enough! Stop this now!”

Adison shoved her forward, ignoring her as she clawed at his hand. “She’s next, Aiden. I swear to you!” He pulled Carona’s head back. “But let’s be honest, I’d be doing you a favor. You never did give a damn about her.”

Before Aiden could respond, Carona stamped down hard on Adison’s instep. He gave an involuntary cry of pain and dragged her away from the edge. At the same moment, something whistled over their heads.

“Down!” shouted Kalas, sending everyone diving for the ground.

Aiden didn’t have time to react. He stared up as an arrow slammed into Adison, taking him over onto his back. Whipping around, Aiden looked up at the building across from the castle, one of two that rose higher than the others, but he didn’t see anything and no more arrows followed the first.

Vaulting out of the saddle, Aiden didn’t waste a moment, racing for the castle, climbing the stairs two at a time. He heard Kalas and the Nazarien pelting after him, but he didn’t stop, skidding around the corner and hitting the stairs running as he climbed to the solarium and then to the roof.

A moment later, he burst out of the door and found himself in the dovecote. Carona had helped Alasdair climb back up and they were huddled against a turret, hugging each other. Aiden hurried to them, dropping to his knees and throwing his arms around both of them.

They were sobbing and talking all at once, but he didn’t care. They were safe. Then he remembered Adison.

Releasing his brother and his wife, he shifted and looked to where Adison’s body lay sprawled between the pens. The birds fluttered madly in agitation, feathers floating on the breeze.

Kalas knelt beside Adison, pressing a hand to the pulse in his throat, but Aiden knew there wouldn’t be any. The arrow had taken him through the neck and a pool of blood was forming beneath his head.

Climbing to his feet, he approached his brother and hunkered down at his side. Adison’s eyes were wide open, staring with shock at nothing, his mouth gaping in a scream he’d never utter. Aiden reached over and closed his eyes, bowing his head in grief.

Kalas placed a steadying hand on his shoulder and Naia knelt by his side. “I’m sorry, Aiden,” said Kalas.

Aiden nodded, glancing up to see his brother and Carona standing side by side, staring at Adison’s still form. For a moment, Aiden couldn’t summon up enough energy to say anything.

The grief was overpowering.

“Aiden,” came Alasdair’s raw voice.

“Yes?”

“Lyell Vito’s in the dungeon. We haven’t been allowed to see him in a week.”

Aiden’s thoughts snapped into focus and then he was moving again.

*     *     *

Aiden stumbled to a halt outside Lyell Vito’s cell. The old man sat at a camp table, sipping tea from a teacup and holding the saucer in the other hand. He looked up at Aiden and his face lit with joy.

“Aiden!”

Aiden curled his fingers in the bars as a guard began unlocking Lyell’s door. “Are you drinking tea in the dungeon, Lyell?”

Lyell looked around as if he realized where he was for the first time. “As a matter of fact I am.”

The cell door opened and Aiden stepped inside, moving toward the table.

“Would you like some?” He motioned to the chair across from him.

Aiden sank into it, realizing his knees were shaking. “You’re drinking tea in the dungeon.”

“The guards have been very good to me, providing me with all the creature comforts, yes.” He glanced around again, settling the teacup and saucer on the table. “I will say, it wouldn’t be bad if there was just a bit more natural light.”

Aiden barked a laugh, relief spilling over him. “I’m so glad to see you, old man.”

Lyell reached over and took his hand. “I’m delighted to see you, Aiden. I was so afraid for you.”

Aiden’s smile sobered. “Adison’s dead.”

Lyell lifted his chin, then he nodded. “Who had the unfortunate task of killing him?”

“I don’t know. He was shot from one of the buildings across from the castle.”

“Someone should probably investigate if anyone saw the shooter.”

Aiden nodded.

“Is Alasdair all right?”

“Shaken up, but he’s fine.”

“A little while ago, they brought a young man down here, Nazarien by the look of him. You might want to investigate that too.”

“Zander. He was our messenger. They didn’t hurt him, did they?”

“As I remember, they were very apologetic. Adison was not a man to garner loyalty, I fear. Something went off in him when he took the throne, Aiden. He was like a madman.”

Aiden nodded. “I think it started a long time ago. Adison’s the one who had me abducted.”

“Ah, yes, I suspected as much.” He gave Aiden a careful once-over. “All said, you’re thinner than you were and there are a few more lines around your eyes, but you look at peace, Aiden.”

Aiden smiled. “So I am.”

Kalas appeared in the cell doorway. “Is everything all right, Your Majesty?”

Aiden squeezed Lyell’s hand and smiled over his shoulder at the King. “Everything’s fine, Kalas, just fine.”

*    *    *

Carona looked into the mirror over her dressing stand as Aiden entered her chambers. Her maid, Maren, stilled in brushing her hair and met her gaze. Carona motioned the girl away and rose, clasping her hands before her.

Aiden dropped his gaze. He didn’t know what to say or how to say it. Now that the moment was here, he felt a wash of guilt so great it choked him. Carona didn’t rush into his arms or make any other overtures of welcome, but she gave him a cool look.

“Welcome back, my lord,” she said.

“Thank you,” he mumbled. “It’s good to be back.”

She didn’t respond and they stood, standing awkwardly across from one another, Aiden unsure how to approach this situation and Carona less than welcoming.

“Dear lord, Aiden, you haven’t come to demand your husbandly rights, have you? After the day I’ve had, I’m exhausted.”

Aiden’s gaze snapped to her face and his mouth opened in shock. “No, no, I…” He gave her a confused look. “I wanted to see how you were, Carona.”

“Clearly, I’m fine. Do I not look fine?”

“Yes, you look…” He stopped and held out his hands. Immediately they’d fallen into the same routine. “What are we doing, Carona?”

She sank down into her dressing chair, bracing an arm across the back of it. “I don’t know, Aiden. It’s always been like this between us.”

He came forward and hunkered down in front of her. “I care about you. When Adison had you dangling over the roof, I was so afraid.”

“I felt the same thing when you were gone.”

Aiden smiled. “I was also proud of you. You were a hellcat up there.”

She beamed with pride. “There’s a warrior’s spirit inside of me.”

Aiden laughed. “There is.”

Her smile grew grim. “I hate the way it ended though.”

Aiden nodded. “I know.”

“He was a sick man, Aiden. I don’t think he knew what he was doing.”

“I agree.”

She brushed a stray lock of hair off his forehead. “You need a haircut.”

“I do.”

She dropped her hand to her lap. “Who’s the woman?”

“What?” He glanced up at her.

“The beautiful Nazarien woman.”

“Naia.”

“Naia? How did you meet her?”

“She was a slave too.” He gave a helpless shrug. “She saved my life.”

Carona smiled softly. “You’ve never been good at hiding your emotions, you know that, Aiden?” She leaned closer to him. “Who is she?”

Aiden looked down. He just wasn’t sure what her reaction might be, but he had to get this out there and he had to do it now. “The woman I love.”

Carona gave a slow nod.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen. It just did. We went through so much together and when I thought I was lost, she was there.”

“We’ve never been good together. You know that, Aiden. This whole marriage thing and the pressures it put on us is awful. If we’d had the choice, we would never have selected each other. If I’m being honest, you are so not the right man for me.”

He gave a startled laugh. “Really?”

“No, I’d so much prefer a man like Kalas Eldralin, now there’s a man. Or that pretty piece he calls his brother. That one has some wildness about him.”

Aiden didn’t know what to say. He gave her an amused look. “Amaroq?”

“Amaroq, yes,” she said with a lusty purr. “Amaroq is quite tasty.”

Aiden scratched at the back of his neck uncomfortably.

Carona’s smile faded. “I’m glad you’re back, Aiden.”

“So am I.”

“I learned something while you were gone.”

“What?”

“Life is short and you should make the most of it while you have it. Seeing Adison die so suddenly just reinforced that.”

Aiden nodded. “I learned that when I was a slave, Carona.”

She leaned closer to him. “Seems to me we ought to grab a bit of happiness now and again, don’t you think?”

“I do.”

“And honestly, being married to you has not made me happy. No offense, mind you.”

“None taken.” He drew a deep breath and released it. “So what do we do?”

“I’m not sure, but I’ll think about it.”

“You’ll always have a home here, Carona, and you will always be Dorland’s Queen.”

She made a face. “Besides the clothes and jewelry, the rest is tosh. I hate state dinners and pretending I like you.”

He chuckled.

She touched his face. “Let me think on it and I’ll come up with a solution.”

“I might be able to help with that.”

“Oh, let’s be honest, Aiden. I’m a lot smarter than you are.”

Aiden pressed his hand against hers, then rose and kissed her forehead. “I’ll grant you that you are, my Queen.”

*    *    *

Alasdair led Amaroq into the library. Nakoda trailed them, looking around as if he feared he’d be attacked, but immediately Amaroq sensed the quiet, the calm of the place. He wandered down one aisle, trailing his fingers over the bindings. The library at Tirsbor wasn’t nearly this expansive.

He smiled at the quiet, shy brother of Aiden Cerik. “I like it.”

Alasdair clasped his hands before him, blinking behind his thick spectacles. “It’s my refuge.”

Amaroq nodded. “I can see that.”

Nakoda made a grunt and slumped into a chair at the table. “It feels like a dark cave. I can get this at home.”

Amaroq ignored the testy comment, wandering to a large map affixed to one wall. He ran his hands over the textured surface, marveling at the detail. “This is amazing.”

Alasdair came to his side and studied it as well. “I like to look at it, imagine the places on it – what they’re like, the languages people speak, the customs.” He pointed to a spot on the right side of the map. “This is Loden. My father used to tell us the rivers run in cream and the mountains were crystalline with sugar.”

Nakoda grunted again, but Amaroq smiled. “Kalas wants me to go to Temeron with him. We have a sister there.”

Alasdair looked over at him. “Are you going?”

Amaroq nodded. “I believe so, yes.” He pointed to the far north. “What’s up here?”

“That’s the Madronic Range. Legends have it that Gava had his fortress in those mountains, but no one’s been there in decades.” He swept his hand south over the ocean. “And out here is Delure, land of the aliens.” He gave Amaroq a nod. “Your brother saw it. He can tell you about them.”

“My entire life was spent in a canyon. I never thought to leave. It was always enough. That must sound crazy, right?”

Alasdair laughed. “You’re standing in my world, so no, it doesn’t sound crazy.”

“Haven’t you wanted to see these places?” He swept his hand over the map. “Experience them yourself.”

Alasdair shrugged. “I have my books. They’re enough.”

Amaroq studied the map, memorizing what he saw. “I want to see more. I want to know what is beyond those mountains. I want to explore all of it.” He gave Alasdair a wistful smile. “I want to see aliens.”

CHAPTER 28

They buried Adison in the vault with their father, laying him to rest with all of the honors bestowed upon a member of the royal family. The townspeople followed the procession and laid roses on his coffin, paying homage more to their returned King, than the usurper who had dared to covet the throne.

Aiden stood beside Alasdair and Carona, unable to hide his emotions as his brother was placed inside the tomb. He should have felt anger and hatred for the brother who had betrayed him, but all he felt was sorrow. Adison had never understood why he’d been shunted aside, overlooked for the crown. In the end, it had driven him mad.

Lyell Vito spoke a few words, invoked a prayer in Eldon’s name, and the vault was sealed again. Aiden helped Carona down to her carriage, handing her inside, then he moved to Naia’s side and took her arm. Together they walked back to the castle, the sun shining down in a brilliant display.

The kitchens laid out a feast for them and everyone milled about the Audience Chamber, eating and drinking, talking in subdued voices. Kalas Eldralin approached with Amaroq beside him. Amaroq kissed his sister’s cheek, then offered Aiden his hand.

“I wish you only peace now,” he said.

Aiden clasped his hand in both of his own, then turned to Kalas. “I can never repay either of you for all you’ve done for me.”

“As I said before, we’re allies. This seals the bonds between our lands,” said Kalas.

Carona moved up on Aiden’s other side, giving Naia a dismissive look. “Your Majesty, might I ask you a question?”

Kalas inclined his head. “Ask anything, my Queen.”

“You have a home that overlooks the ocean, do you not?”

“That I do. It’s a lovely piece of property.”

“Do you find the ocean breezes to be restorative?”

“Restorative?” Kalas glanced at Aiden. Aiden shrugged. “Yes, my Queen, I find them to be exceptionally restorative.”

Carona placed a hand against her throat. “As you know, I have a delicate constitution. I think it’s the dry air in Dorland. I’m certain I would do much better in a more temperate climate like Kazden. Is there any property near yours that might be purchased? My husband has promised to build me a beach home. Haven’t you, Aiden?”

Aiden gave a disbelieving laugh. “A beach home?”

“A beach home,” she repeated, staring fixedly at Naia.

Aiden laid his hand on Naia’s where it rested against his forearm. “Yes,” he said to Kalas. “I am building the Queen a beach home. Do you know of such a location, Your Majesty?”

Kalas shared an amused look with his brother. “I do. I have the perfect location, and furthermore, while your home is being built, feel free to use mine. I will be taking a trip to Temeron soon and won’t have need of it for a good, long while.”

“Oh, you are so kind,” said Carona, running her fingers along his chest. “So kind and handsome.” She gave Aiden a wink, then pressed between the two brothers, trailing her hand down Amaroq’s arm. She stopped and looked up at him. “And you are delicious, aren’t you? What did they say your name was? Wolf, right?”

Amaroq inclined his head.

“Wolf, yes.” She made a purring sound in her throat. “Feel free to visit me as often and for as long as you want.” Then she sashayed away.

*    *    *

“We searched both buildings, but there was no evidence that anyone was inside to take the shot, Eladrasen,” said Tovan, standing before Kalas’ breakfast table in his suite. Behind him stood his second, Beck, and Zander.

Wiping his mouth with his napkin, Kalas settled it beside his plate and glanced at his brother. Amaroq shoved his plate away, shifting to face the Tirsbor Commander, but he didn’t speak. Dolan settled his teacup on its saucer and blew out air, sensing Kalas’ frustration.

“I want a bounty placed on Halish and Duard both,” said Kalas.

“Done,” said Tovan, motioning to Beck. The second ducked his head and left the room.

“Dolan, would you ask Aiden to send word of the bounty to the entire region, Terra Antiguo included?”

“As you wish,” Dolan answered, rising to his feet and moving toward the door.

Kalas gave Tovan a lift of his brows. “Anything else?”

“There is.” He looked at Amaroq for the first time. “We await your orders for departure.”

“I’m not returning to Tirsbor, Tovan.”

Tovan held out a hand. “Things are different now. You command the Nazarien. You won’t be restricted to the canyon.”

Amaroq shook his head. “I’m going with my brother to Temeron.”

“Then I’ll send warriors with you. When you return, we can…”

“I won’t be returning.”

Kalas blinked at that. This was the first he’d heard of that plan.

“I release the Nazarien back to you and the Nazar.” Amaroq rose to his feet and held out his hand. “And I thank you for everything you’ve done for me over the years.”

Tovan opened his mouth to protest, but in the end, he clasped Amaroq’s hand with his own. “It has been my pleasure, son of Talar.” He released him and took a step back. “By your leave, Eladrasen.”

Kalas nodded.

Turning on his heel, Tovan motioned for Zander to follow him.

“Amaroq,” said Zander, stepping forward.

Tovan stopped moving and looked over his shoulder.

“I would like to follow you to Temeron, if you are agreeable to that.”

“I don’t intend to return to Nevaisser, Zander.”

Zander nodded. “I understand that, but still I’d like to follow.” He turned to Kalas. “If you’ll accept my sword, Eladrasen.”

“A skilled sword such as your own will be welcome, Zander.” But his brow furrowed at Amaroq’s words. What did he mean he wouldn’t be returning to Nevaisser? Did he plan to stay in Temeron? Forever?

Zander faced Tovan. “Will you release me?”

“Why? Why do you want this?”

Zander looked down. “I thought things would go a different way. I thought I’d build a life in Tirsbor, but that’s not to be. Still, there’s a way I can serve Naia. I can protect her brother.”

Tovan considered, but finally he gave a sharp nod.

“You have our father’s curse,” said Kalas with a smile.

Amaroq frowned at him.

“Followers, Wolf. Loyal followers who will trail you to the ends of Samar.”

Zander made the Nazarien bow and walked to the door, holding it open for his commander. Tovan shot a final look at Amaroq, then followed him. He’d just reached the threshold when Kalas called on him to stop.

“I also release the Nazarien to the Nazar’s command, Tovan.”

“As you will, Your Majesty.” Then the two of them stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind them.

Amaroq took his seat once more.

Kalas studied him, picking up his teacup and taking a sip. “I thought you’d come back to Adishian with me after Temeron. I’d like to appoint you as one of my advisors.”

Amaroq gave him an uncomfortable smile. “I wish I could accept, but just being here, among all these people is fraying my nerves, Kalas. The only peace I’ve found is in Alasdair’s library.”

“But if Tyla teaches you…”

“I hope that she can, but even if she does, even if I learn to control it, there’s so much of the world I want to see.” He shifted and leaned on the table. “Alasdair said there’s an island off the coast where there are aliens. He said you’ve seen them yourself.”

Kalas laughed. “I have and they sent me into a seizure, Wolf. You don’t want to tangle with them.”

“But there’s all this unexplored land beyond the Madronic Mountains, where no one has been before. I saw it on Alasdair’s map.”

“If no one’s been there, how can there be a map?”

“I don’t know, but I want to find out.”

“You’re going to live in isolation?”

“No, Nakoda’s coming with me and apparently, Zander…” He held out a hand toward the door. “We’ll begin a new settlement, a new world.”

“There’s a flaw in your plan.”

Amaroq gave him a puzzled look.

Kalas felt a punch of disappointment, but he couldn’t deny the enthusiasm in his brother’s eyes. “How are you going to start this new world with three men?”

Amaroq’s lips lifted in a crafty smile. “Why do you think I’m stopping in Temeron first?”

“You’re going to convince Temerian women to follow you into the wilderness?”

Amaroq flashed a toothy grin. Damn if he didn’t look identical to their father. “I can be very persuasive, brother, very persuasive.”

Kalas exhaled and chuckled in amusement. “Spoken like a true Eldralin.”

*    *    *

Parish arrived a few days later with the bulk of Kalas’ men. He swept into the Audience Chamber where Aiden was once again giving hearings and presented his report. Duard’s homestead had been razed to the ground – the buildings burnt beyond repair and the fences torn down. Lawyan had ordered the tunnel be boarded up and the pit where he’d kept the slaves filled with rocks and soil. The slaves were then loaded into wagons and taken to Terra Antiguo for rehabilitation. The slavers would be arriving in Dorland to face charges for their actions in the next few days.

Aiden listened to the report, his hands gripping the arms of his throne, a sheen of perspiration on his brow. His stomach roiled and he sucked in fresh air to still the rise of nausea.

“Your Majesty, are you unwell?” asked the Baron.

Lyell came to his side, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Get the King a glass of water.”

A guard hurried to obey.

Kalas stepped up beside his captain. “Perhaps His Majesty has given enough audiences for one day.”

Lyell nodded, motioning for the guards to close the Audience Chamber doors. “Tell the people His Majesty will give more hearings tomorrow. He needs rest now.”

The guards bowed out of the room.

Aiden fought the panic under control, then he tilted up his head. “I appreciate the report, Baron, but I’d hoped the trials would be conducted in Terra Antiguo. That said, the council can preside over them here.”

“Lawyan Haldane felt you deserved to see justice served, Your Majesty. He’s agreed to come and conduct the trials himself, should you so wish.”

Aiden wiped the sweat from his upper lip with the back of his hand. “He’s right. The trials should be conducted here.” A guard approached with the water and Lyell took it, placing it in Aiden’s hand and steadying him as he took a gulp.

He drained the glass, then passed it back to his advisor. “I think I will rest.”

Lyell nodded and watched protectively as Aiden climbed to his feet.

“If you’ll excuse me, Your Majesty,” Aiden said to Kalas, stepping off the dais. “Baron.”

They both inclined their heads as he walked toward the door leading to the private wing of the castle. He went in search of Naia and Le, and found them some minutes later in the paddock, exercising Dancing Thunder.

He stood in the doorway and watched them. Naia’s hair gleamed blue/black in the sunlight and she made graceful motions with her hands to the boy. Le suddenly seemed taller, no heavier true, but he might have grown a full inch in the last few weeks. His gangly arms hung past the sleeves on his shirt. Aiden was going to have to get Everard to make him some new clothes.

He stepped down the stairs and walked to the paddock fence, ducking between the crossbars. Le smiled at his approach and Naia turned, crossing to his side and wrapping her arms around his waist. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and looked up at Le.

“What’s wrong?” asked Le, signing at the same time for Naia.

Aiden eased her away from him and signed in return. With Alasdair and Amaroq’s help, he was becoming proficient at it. “The Baron returned. Lawyan Haldane’s sending the slavers here.”

Le’s face blanched of color and Naia’s expression grew grim.

“The trials will be conducted in Dorland.”

Le closed his eyes and looked away. “They’re here, in the castle right now?”

“Soon, Le.”

“Why do they have to have trials? Why can’t they just be executed?”

“Because we live in a civilized world.”

Le’s face scrunched up and he kicked at the dirt, turning his back on them and walking away. Aiden let him go, shifting his focus to Naia. She drew a deep breath, then slowly released it, her chin tilting up.

‘So they’re coming here.’ She gave a shrug. ‘The worst is behind us. We survived them already.’

Aiden nodded.

‘Who will conduct the trials?’

‘The council. That’s the only fair thing to do.’

She considered that. ‘Then make sure they know I will testify. Le can translate for me.’

Aiden shook his head. ‘That’s too hard, Naia. I can’t ask that of you.’

‘I’m not asking, Aiden. I will face those men and I will tell the council what they did. I will tell them about the women who died.’ She moved closer to him. ‘I am not going to be afraid of them anymore. They will not cow me, they will not silence me, but they will hear me!’ Her motions were sharp and expressive.

Aiden felt a swell of pride and he clutched her to him, holding her tight. Never had he dreamed he’d find such a love. Looking up, he noticed Le had returned.

“She’s right!” he said with a clenched jaw. “I’ll testify too, and tis certain I will be heard!”

Aiden smiled and held out his arm, pulling the boy into their hug. “You’re damn right you will,” he said, drawing strength from them as he had so many times in the past.

*    *    *

Standing with Alasdair on the front steps of the castle, Aiden watched Naia and her mother say their goodbyes. Both of them had tears streaming down their faces. Shandar shared a look with him, then offered his hand. Aiden took it between both of his own.

“You have a home here when you return,” he told the older man.

“Thank you,” said Shandar, “but we’re thinking we might go on this adventure with Wolf. You will take care of our girl, though, right?”

“With my life.”

Shandar nodded and offered his hand to Alasdair. They shook and then he joined Naia and Kaelene, pulling the two of them into an embrace.

Kalas and Amaroq approached then. “Be well, King of Dorland,” said Kalas.

Aiden clapped a hand to his shoulder. “And you, Your Majesty. My castle is always open to the sons of Talar Eldralin.”

“Thank you.”

Amaroq shook his hand, then reached for Alasdair’s hand, but Alasdair slapped a rolled cylinder into his palm.

“What’s this?” asked Amaroq.

“The map. Use it wisely.”

Amaroq’s face lit with a smile. “Thank you. I will.” He ducked his head and backed up, moving toward his sister.

Aiden watched them signing to each other, then Naia threw herself into her brother’s arms, hugging him tight.

“Aiden!” came a sharp voice.

Aiden turned and held out a hand for Carona as she tottered down the stairs on ridiculously high heels, Lyell Vito behind her. “My Queen?”

“I will have the architect send you the drawings as soon as I reach Kazden. See that you have them approved and send the money post haste. I don’t want to be living on other people’s charity for ages.”

Kalas shared a smile with him, then moved off to check the multitude of wagons that were waiting in the bailey.

“I’ll approve them as quickly as I can and Lyell will make sure to send the payments without delay.”

Carona waved a gloved hand over her shoulder at the First Advisor. “I’ll need you to increase the wardrobe budget, Lyell. There’s sure to be a whole new set of clothes for wearing on the beach.”

“I’ll review it again, Your Majesty,” he said with a sigh.

Carona moved in front of Alasdair and lifted up to kiss his cheek. Alasdair squeezed her elbows and smiled at her fondly. “We had us some adventures, didn’t we?”

“We did.”

“Take care of him,” she said, pointing at Aiden.

“I will.”

Holding out her arm to Aiden, she jerked her head toward her own personal carriage. Maren waited at the steps for her. “Walk me to the carriage.”

Aiden took her arm and supported her as she worked her way down in the ridiculous heels. “I’m half-afraid I’m going to miss you,” he said.

“You aren’t going to miss me at all, and we both know it.” They stopped before the carriage and Carona turned to face him. “Do take care of yourself, Aiden.”

“I will. And you do the same.”

She smiled. “I can’t wait for this adventure to begin. A whole new place, a whole new life, and no more responsibility.”

Aiden lifted a brow at that. Not that Carona had ever been particularly worried about responsibility.

“I’ll give you a divorce if you wish, so you can marry your Nazarien savior, as long as we work out a proper support settlement.”

Aiden looked over his shoulder at Naia. “We can talk about that later. I thought I might come to Adishian and visit with Kalas when he returns from Temeron.”

“That sounds like a plan.” She glanced over at Amaroq, smoothing down the lines of her travel suit. “Now, go away. I don’t want him to see me talking to you. He might get the wrong idea.”

Aiden frowned. “What wrong idea?”

“That I’m attached. I figure there are going to be many long, cold nights on our journey and I might entice him to keep me warm.”

Aiden gave a bark of laughter. “You’re going to do just fine, Carona.”

“Of course I am. Here’s how I figure it. I’ve spent a lot of years being a dutiful wife and Queen, never thinking of myself.”

Aiden started to answer, then decided it wasn’t worth it.

“Now, it’s my turn to play, and…” She leaned closer to him, dropping her voice. “...he’s the perfect toy.”

Aiden dropped his gaze, hiding his smile.

“My dear Queen,” called Kalas, walking among the wagons, “do we really need seven wagons just to transport your wardrobe?”

“Your Majesty, do we really need so many soldiers to guard your luscious backside?”

Kalas’ gaze snapped to Aiden. “Seven?” he mouthed.

Aiden shrugged sheepishly.

“Seven,” he grumbled.

“Hand me up,” Carona said, waving a hand at Aiden. He helped her into the carriage and shut the door. She leaned out the window. “Have a good life, Aiden.”

He nodded, feeling a lump in his throat. “Have a good life, Carona,” he said.

*    *    *

Naia pulled Amaroq to the side. Reaching into her pocket, she drew out two amulets hanging from silver chains, placing one in Amaroq’s hand and holding onto the other. Carved into the surface of each silver amulet was a hand and in the middle of the palm a piece of blue pycantra.

Amaroq unhooked the clasp and placed it around his neck, watching as she did the same. She reached out and touched the amulet in the middle of his chest, then smiled up at him through her tears.

‘Until recently, we’ve never been apart.’

He nodded. ‘You will always be with me.’ He touched his heart. ‘I will never forget the mischievous sister who got me in trouble so often, and never, ever got punished for it.’

Her smile was brilliant. ‘You found your own trouble, Wolf. I saved you so many times.’

He exhaled against the tightness in his chest and looked out at the city spreading around them. ‘You did save me. I would never have left Tirsbor without you. You gave me the world.’

She threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. He held her in return, closing his eyes and fighting against the pain of leaving. Looking up, he met Aiden’s gaze. The King of Dorland remained at a respectful distance, but he was there just the same, waiting to offer Naia his support.

Holding her off, he brushed the tears from her cheeks, then signed. ‘He is a good man, your King.’

She nodded through her tears. ‘He is.’

Etching her face in his memory, he touched the amulet. ‘Never forget.’

‘Never forget,’ she signed in return.

He lifted a hand for Aiden, then he kissed his sister on the forehead. He couldn’t tell her goodbye. He just couldn’t say that word. Releasing her, he walked toward the caravan, meeting Kalas at his horse.

“You okay?”

Amaroq couldn’t speak, but he nodded. Then he permitted himself one last look. Naia stood with the King of Dorland, his arm about her waist. On her other side stood the boy, Le. Naia had found her family, her home, her future.

Lifting a hand, Amaroq exhaled his held breath.

Now it was time for him to find his own.

EPILOGUE

“Temeron,” said Shandar, staring at the walls of the city gleaming like spun gold in the late morning sunlight. “I’ve always wanted to see her famed beauty.” He reached over and clasped Kaelene’s hand, then urged his horse forward.

Kalas and Amaroq rode after them, followed by their entourage. A few moments later, the gates swung outward to trumpet fanfare and a stream of Stravad spilled out of the opening, lining the road into the city.

Amaroq craned his neck as the group parted and a woman glided through the center of them, causing the Stravad to bow their heads in obeisance. At her side strode a tall man with jet black hair and a sleek, pantherish stride. Amaroq recognized him at once.

Jarrett Trauner, the past Nazar.

Kalas brought his horse to halt and swung out of the saddle, passing the reins to a waiting Stravad. Then he hurried forward and caught the woman in an embrace, lifting her off her feet and swinging her around.

Ellette, Kalas’ wife, shifted the child in her arms and rolled her eyes. “Humans and their emotions,” she said, but a faint smile touched her lips.

A moment later, Shandar was hugging the woman as well, crushing her in his massive embrace, while Kalas motioned for Amaroq to descend. Amaroq swung out of the saddle and moved toward the group.

He was surprised at how anxious he felt, how worried he was by her reaction. She was laughing, hugging Shandar, but her expression sobered the moment she laid eyes on him. Disengaging herself from her uncle, she stepped away from the gathering, moving toward him.

She had to be the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, but immediately he couldn’t deny there was a similarity about their features, their hair color, their noses, the shape of their faces. She marked it as well, drawing in a breath and reaching for Kalas’ hand.

He moved to her side, supporting her. “Tyla, meet our brother, Amaroq.”

She swallowed hard. “Amaroq?” she said, then she held out her free hand.

He took it and let her pull him close, her green eyes searching his face. He could feel the force of her power, the conflict of emotions as she studied him. “You have it too,” she whispered.

He blinked, his eyes suddenly damp. He didn’t know how to respond. No one had ever understood before. No one had ever been able to share the burden of his gifts. For once someone noticed something about him besides his appearance.

He nodded.

Then she stepped forward and drew him into her arms, holding him tight. “I’m so happy to know you, brother,” she said against the side of his face.

*    *    *

“Tyla, what is this about? I promised our girls I’d take them swimming in the lake,” said Kalas, stepping into Tash and Thalandar’s parlor.

Jarrett sat on the divan beside Tash and across from them were the old Stravad Leader, Thalandar, and Amaroq. Tyla stood at the opposite end of the coffee table, a black box resting on it.

“I thought you and Thalandar were giving Wolf another lesson,” he said.

“We are, but first I wanted to share something with all of you.”

Kalas rolled his eyes, then focused on Tash. “Haldane, good afternoon.”

“It was better before everyone invaded my home,” he grumbled.

“Stravad Leader.” Kalas inclined his head toward Thalandar.

“Kalas.”

His gaze shifted to Tyla’s husband. “Jarrett. The girls were hoping you’d join us.”

“I’m all yours.”

“After I’m finished,” Tyla scolded.

“Of course, my wife,” he said, giving her a mischievous wink. “Proceed.”

Tyla glared at him, then she clasped her hands, facing the gathering. “I asked you all here because this is an auspicious occasion, but one that I don’t think a host of people ought to share. In fact, I think it best this remain between the six of us.”

Kalas frowned. “Fine.”

“Are we all agreed?”

Everyone gave their consent.

“To the best of our knowledge, the three of us are the only living heirs of Talar Eldralin, direct descendants of Eldon himself.”

Kalas gave her a skeptical look. “You called me here for a history lesson.”

“Shut up!” she said, sticking her tongue out at him.

“I’m on holiday, Tiger,” he protested. “I want to go swimming.”

Placing her hands on her hips, she scowled. “You’ve always been like this, Kalas. Never listening…”

Thalandar cleared his throat.

Tyla drew a calming breath and released it. Kalas thought Amaroq’s confused expression was amusing.

“When I got your message that you were bringing Amaroq here to receive training in controlling his power, I thought the Karhartadon emerald might be of some help. It helped Tash summon his power, and it helped me focus mine. It did the same for our father.”

Kalas shifted weight. He wasn’t sure where she was going with this, but he’d always regarded the emerald as something best left untouched. “All right,” he said skeptically.

“I keep the talisman in this box, as you can see, except when I want to use it. After I got your message, I went to retrieve it, but it fell out of my hands – the box that is, and landed on the ground. I don’t know what happened. I thought I had a firm grip on it, but apparently I didn’t.”

Kalas was growing more and more puzzled. Tyla usually didn’t rattle on like this.

“When I opened the box...well, you can imagine my surprise. The emerald had broken into three pieces. One large one, and two smaller shards.” She reached down and lifted the lid on the box.

Kalas looked inside. Just as she said, there was a large piece that thrummed even now with power, making his skin itch, and two smaller pieces. Platinum wire had been wound around each shard, ending in a loop that could be worn on a chain about one’s neck.

Tyla gaze up at him. “It seemed like fate.”

“What did?”

“The emerald breaking into exactly three pieces. So I thought…”

Kalas took an involuntary step back.

“I thought each of us could take one, each of us could carry a part of our legacy, and therefore, wherever we wind up, we’ll have something that draws us together.”

She lifted the second to largest piece and motioned for Amaroq to stand. He did so and she placed it in his hands. The shard flared, the light suffusing Amaroq’s face. He sucked in a breath and lifted his gaze to her.

“It’s hot,” he said, bewildered.

“Yes. It’ll warn you when there’s danger. It’s also a good conduit for your power. When you need to concentrate, you can focus on it and it will help block the rest of the noise. I’ll show you how to use it.”

Amaroq swallowed hard, but he accepted it from her.

Reaching into the box again, she picked up the smallest shard. The glow from this piece was muted, still Kalas didn’t want anything to do with it, his eyes fixated on the gem.

She held it out to him. “This is yours, Kalas.”

He shook his head, tearing his eyes from it and meeting hers. “No, Tyla.”

Her face fell. “Why? I don’t feel the same sort of power in it as the other ones, Kalas. It’s perfectly safe.”

He shook his head, trying to pull his thoughts around him. “I can’t.”

She gave him a bewildered look. “I promise you it’s all right.”

“What if it isn’t?”

“What?”

“What if it brings out something in me?”

“Like what?”

“Like power.”

“Would that be so terrible?”

She didn’t understand.

He drew a deep breath and released it. “I watched you when we were children, Tyla, I watched you suffer with the power, and I’ve seen Wolf, how it torments him, rides him until he’s exhausted.” He touched the center of his chest. “I felt it once, remember? I felt it tear out of me and I never want to feel it again.”

“I don’t think it will have any effect on you, Kalas.”

“But what if it does? What if it wakes something that’s dormant inside me now? What if it brings it to the surface? I’ve seen what it does, and I like not having it. I watched it rip out of our father, bringing death and destruction, and I don’t want any part of that.”

She lowered her hand. “Kalas, it won’t be like that.”

Amaroq studied him, then he turned to her. “Leave him, Tyla,” he said. “He’s right.”

“But it won’t have that effect on him.”

“How do you know? You can’t possibly be sure of that.” He moved closer to her, touching her arm. “Doesn’t one of us deserve peace?”

Her shoulders slumped, then she looked at Tash.

“Oh, hell no. I already did my time with that demonic piece of glass. I’m too damn old to carry that damn thing around again.”

“I don’t feel any power in it,” she protested once more.

“I don’t care. I remember what it was like myself, and I’m mostly Human.”

She exhaled in defeat, but her gaze lifted and speared Thalandar. She moved around the table and sank down to her knees before the old Stravad. “Thalandar of Temeron, past Stravad Leader, you have always been the teacher of our family. First you taught my grandfather, then my father. Finally, you helped me refine my control and you are teaching my brother. You have been and will always be a loyal mentor, friend, and ally. Will you take this shard as a token of our undying gratitude and the bond that knits our two lines together?”

Thalandar smiled at her and reached out, accepting the shard. “I will, and I will always be the humble servant of the Eldralins.”

Kalas dropped his eyes, wondering if Thalandar understood what he’d just pledged. He didn’t much believe in fate and destiny and prophesies, but even he had to admit, the moment seemed heavy with import.

*    *    *

“I should have known you’d return here.”

Duard’s head snapped up from studying the flames and he reached for his sword. Scrambling to his feet, he drew it and crouched. “I want no trouble with you, Halish.”

The Nazarien stepped into the light of the fire. “Then you should have done as you were told. The King of Dorland lives.”

“I was told to break him, but he didn’t break. He grew stronger.”

Halish held out his arms. He didn’t hold a visible weapon. “Why did you return here?”

Duard shot a look around his ruined homestead. “I didn’t know where else to go. Kalas Eldralin has a bounty on my head.”

“Mine too.” Halish pounded a fist against his chest. “Mine too!”

“That’s your own doing. You wanted to draw the Nazar to Nevaisser, you wanted to destabilize the region, but you didn’t want to bloody your hands with Eldralin’s blood.”

“Kalas Eldralin is off limits.”

“That was your mistake. Had you killed him, the Nazar would have returned and you could have had your revenge.”

“I’ll still have my revenge, Duard. Stravad live longer lives than Humans. I can wait.” He began to edge around the fire.

Duard moved with him, keeping the flames between them. “I did what you asked!” he shouted. “Leave me!”

“No, you die tonight.”

A flash of movement behind Halish drew Duard’s attention –  a shadow glided over the ruined homestead, then another. He blinked, clearing his eyes, but he didn’t see anything more. Simply a trick of the moonlight or the eeriness of the ravaged place. Halish however, shook his head, blinking rapidly a few times. Then he stopped moving. He turned and looked over at the homestead.

Duard thought to leap over the fire and attack him during his moment of inattention, but something loomed out of the darkness behind Halish. Duard let out a cry and stumbled back, losing his footing. He landed on his backside, the sword clattering on the stones ringing in the fire.

A creature stood there – seven feet tall, gleaming white in the fire’s light, large black eyes like polished stone. The skull sloped to an odd point and was bare of all hair. It wore voluminous robes that covered it from neck to feet.

Duard’s mouth worked, but nothing came out.

Halish stumbled away from it, clutching his head.

The creature advanced on him, moving as if it barely touched the earth. Halish pounded his hands against his temples and tried to flee, but his legs crumpled, bringing him to his knees. “Stop saying that, stop saying that!” he moaned. He fell forward on his hands, his head hanging.

Another of the creatures appeared beside the first, materializing out of the darkness. Halish moaned in pain, panting.

“I don’t know,” he cried.

Duard didn’t know what was happening, but a shiver raced over him and he snatched the sword up, gaining his feet. Halish gave a strangled cry and rolled his head on his neck. Blood flowed from his nose and dropped on the ground.

Duard stumbled backward, watching as Halish fell face forward, writhing in the dirt, then his back suddenly arched, flipping him over, his heels kicking at the ground as his hands clawed against his chest. Duard didn’t need to see anything more.

Whipping around, he came up against an unyielding surface. With a cry, he brought the sword up between himself and a third pale creature. The black eyes bore into him, the slash of a mouth thin and cruel. He circled around it, keeping the sword between him and the creature, his body lowered in a crouch.

“Let me go!” he warned as he worked his way into the darkness beyond the fire. “I don’t want trouble.”

The creature followed him around, then it lifted a skeletal white hand and pointed at him. Pain exploded in Duard’s head and he felt as if something had ruptured. White light flashed behind his eyes and he heard a single sound, a single word, then he was running like he’d never run before.

He didn’t know how long he ran, but he ran until he could no longer see the glow of the fire behind him. Gradually he slowed to a walk, then stopped completely, bending at the waist and bracing his hands on his thighs. He still held the sword in a death grip.

Something tickled under his nose and he swiped at it with the back of his hand. Staring down at the damp spot in the moon’s glow, he caught his breath. Blood. He was bleeding.

And worse than that was the fact that the single word continued to reverberate obsessively in his mind, over and over again, like an echo.

Eldralin.

THE END

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The Complete Peyton Brooks’ Mysteries Collection:

Murder in the Painted Lady, Volume 0

Murder on Potrero Hill Volume 1

Murder in the Tenderloin Volume 2

Murder on Russian Hill Volume 3

Murder on Alcatraz Volume 4

Murder in Chinatown Volume 5

Murder in the Presidio Volume 6

Murder on Treasure Island Volume 7

Peyton Brooks FBI Collection:

Zombies in the Delta Volume 1

Mermaids in the Pacific Volume 2

Werewolves in London Volume 3

Vampires in Hollywood Volume 4

Mayan Gods in the Yucatan Volume 5

Haunts in Bodie Volume 6

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Americano Volume 5

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Short as Any Dream Volume 2

Brief as Lightning Volume 3

Momentary as a Sound Volume 4

The Complete World of Samar Collection:

The Talisman of Eldon Emerald Volume 1

The Heirs of Eldon Volume 2

The Star of Eldon Volume 3

The Spirit of Eldon Volume 4

The Sanctuary of Eldon Volume 5

The Scions of Eldon Volume 6

The Watchers of Eldon Volume 7

The Followers of Eldon Volume 8

The Apostles of Eldon Volume 9

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The Year of Discovery

January

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The Moon Light Trilogy

The Moon Thief