Two men dismounted on the road.
“Is this the right one?” one asked, angry. He was wearing thin riding clothes and a tattered cloak.
“It’s got to be,” the other one replied.
There was a quick snort. The first man began the process of storming up the steps to slam the door open, but then stopped at the edge.
“They did say he was fixing it up,” the second man said.
“It’s too strange.”
“You’ve been here before, haven’t you?”
“Twice before, and several years apart. He just wants to make sure they haven’t burnt the place down or anything like that. But he’s never cared about my report—wanted to know if it was still there, not what it looked like or...well. So I’m sure he wouldn’t send anyone to clean it all up.”
“So what do you think?”
“What do I think? I don’t even recognize the bloody thing. He’s done a good job.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is why. I told you. Baeddan himself doesn’t even like to think of this place, let alone…” The man walked in. The second followed, and their conversation became muffled.
Several minutes later, they walked out again. “...looks like he’s gone,” one of them said. “Whoever the hell he is. I’ll have to file a report. I don’t think Baeddan will appreciate us letting this one slip by.”
“Are we getting a witch?”
“Gods, yes. The sooner this is out of our hands, the better.” They returned to their horses and rode away.
When he was well sure that they were out of sight, Kefier returned to the cottage to retrieve his things. That same night, he made camp further upstream, hidden in the woods. He didn’t even risk a fire. Before dawn broke, he stole back to the house and up the tree to wait out the rest of the day.
It was the second morning after the Boarshind men’s first visit that he heard galloping once again. He glimpsed the familiar sight of Baeddan’s black horse on the road. Kefier felt the fear return, but he wouldn’t have much time to get used to it. He found his sword, stashed in a hole in the tree, and then a dagger. The sword he attached to his hip. The dagger, he unsheathed and placed naked around his left arm, wrapped in a leather thong. He made his way back down as silently as he could.
Kefier had more time than he thought he would have. He had climbed in through the kitchen window, instead of going through the front door, where he could risk startling the horse. Peering around the corner, he saw Baeddan bent over the stack of drawings. Time seemed to stop for them. He pressed the dagger against the thong. The blade was so sharp that it cut through the leather effortlessly.
Around them, the birds chirped. It was a clear morning—brisk, not very warm, the kind that made you want to take your child by the hand for a walk after breakfast so you could watch them toddle towards the stream, a minute’s walk expanded to half an hour, and nothing else mattered because the dappled sunlight and your child’s laughter was enough. Kefier knew. He’d had so many of those mornings himself. He needed more.
He didn’t know if Baeddan heard him coming or not. The old man was silent even when Kefier slid the dagger under his throat and pulled him to the ground. A gurgle, but that was involuntary. Baeddan’s eyes clouded over, staring at the ceiling. One hand was clutching the picture of his son.
Chapter Eleven
Kefier was still reeling from the head-rush and the scent of the blood, still-sticky on his fingers, that he didn’t think to leave the way he had come. Baeddan had arrived alone, and that remained true as far as he was concerned. He flung the door open to find himself face-to-face with Algat.
They stared at each other for half a second. And then Algat roared and drew his sword, but he carried a claymore and by the time he had it free Kefier had dropped his knee and stuck his own sword between his ribs.
“Fuck you,” Algat hissed, blood spraying across his belly. He swung again. Kefier couldn’t roll out in time, but there was no power to the strike and Algat’s sword merely clipped his arm.
The man fell to the side. He was already dead, but Kefier pulled his sword out and stabbed him a second time in the throat, just to be sure. The stark contrast between his emotions now, to his conflicted feelings over killing Baeddan, overwhelmed him. For years after his escape from the Boarshind, he had lived in terror over this man’s vengeance. Now he was dead.
Once, cradling Rosha while trying to soothe her back to sleep, he had thought he would never kill again.
It was not quite midday yet. It occurred to Kefier, minutes after he found his own breath, that the rest of Baeddan’s men might come along soon. Also, the farmers tended to head home for lunch, and some of them used the same road outside the cottage to return to the village.
He caught Algat’s horse and tied the body to the panicked creature. The horse dragged the body to the edge of the creek, far enough that it wasn’t immediately apparent from the road. The horse, frightened by the blood, refused to budge after that and he was forced to untie its bridle and let it run loose. He walked back to the cottage and did the same to Baeddan’s horse.
He swallowed and cracked the door open to gaze at the crumpled heap for a moment. He decided not to move the body and closed the door. After he was certain that he had cleared everything from the yard, he left and did not look back again.
He returned to Bargo’s and was surprised to learn that Arlisa had not yet left. The innkeeper, remembering him, gave him a look. “You’ve been gone long,” he remarked.
“I was finishing a job.” He pulled out a chair and ordered the day’s special: roast fowl in a buttery cream sauce with chopped leeks.
The innkeeper called one of the girls before clearing his throat. “Your wife was worried about you.”
“And wine,” he said. “Your strongest.” Now that he was sitting, he realized his knees had begun to shake.
The innkeeper poured him a cup and watched as he drank it in two gulps.
“Gin,” he said after.
The innkeeper obliged.
That did the trick. His head was starting to swim when his food arrived. He couldn’t eat. He had washed the blood from his hands hours ago, but it was all he could smell.
Kefier was still in this stupor when Arlisa arrived. He heard her suck in her breath before taking the seat next to him. “More of the same, please,” she told the innkeeper. When he drew away from them, she bent over. “Where—”
“It’s done,” he murmured.
Lisa raised her eyebrows. That told him, just then, that she had never expected him to succeed. But she said nothing, though she did take a sip of gin from his cup. He watched her through half-lidded eyes.
“That time with Thiar,” Kefier said, his voice low. “What happened to me?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” she said.
“We had one last night together before I told you what I’d done.” He swallowed.
“Right. I remember. I told you it was on the house.” She smirked. “Age-old line.”
“I know. Oji told me.” He rubbed the edge of the cup with his thumb. “I’ve never actually…killed before that. Not like that, deliberate. Planned. The men made up stories about me, and I might have gotten in the way during a fight or two that caused someone to die, but…” He took another drink and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.
“We should take a trip to a witch. Tell Yn Garr.”
He nodded and paid for their drinks and meal, though he still hadn’t eaten a bite. It was almost dark, now. Time could be funny like that. They made their way to the closest witch, paid her, and watched as she went through the rituals. Yn Garr’s face appeared on the agan mirror.
“It’s over,” he told him, explaining the last few days in as few words as possible.
“Are you sure?” Yn Garr’s voice conveyed its usual sarcasm, even with the distorted sound from the agan mirror.
“Yes, I’m sure,” Kefier said. He pulled something out of his
pocket—a belt buckle, with the Boarshind’s insignia on it, and waved it in front of the mirror.
“That does look like his. I’m just surprised you got it done so fast. I’ve been surrounded with so many idiots lately that…” Yn Garr sighed as he ran his hand through his hair. “Perhaps I have underestimated you. You are his brother. I need you and Arlisa to head on to the Boarshind keep in Cairntown. As soon as you’re able. If you’re out of funds…”
“Are you daft?”
“My newfound respect for you lasted all but five breaths.”
“I don’t give a damn. You told me to do this thing, and Rosha gets her freedom.”
“No, the deal was that you do whatever I ask you to do, and you get a say in her future. Don’t ruin this now, boy…not while we’re off to a good start.”
He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples for a moment.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s say I’m willing to listen to you right now. You’re still daft. After what we did, those—” He glanced at the witch for a moment. “People won’t be happy to see us.”
“I imagine they won’t.”
“Then?”
“I still need you to find a way in there. Preferably not with your heads on pikes.”
“How thoughtful of you.”
“I’ll take care of the rest. Kefier—”
“What?”
“You took out two birds with one stone. They’ll be in disarray. Take advantage.” The mirror turned black.
Chapter Twelve
It was the fifth time that week that Rysaran had sneaked out.
The servants, eager at first to serve the prince and the rest of his party (including the warlord and whatever remained of his household), were now becoming tired of his antics. Their master was a town official in Oren-yaro and was the type of man who’d start chopping heads off if anything happened to the prince. As always, they went to Sume first, knocking on her door before dawn.
She was already awake. She accepted a cup of ginger tea, but did not linger over it. She got dressed, put on her warm cloak, packed another, and then she slipped through the gates, the footman directing her to where he last saw the prince headed. She didn’t have to ask. She knew he was going back to Warlord Yeshin’s keep.
She kept her pace steady, so she wouldn’t be out of breath when she got there, which would irritate her, and if she was irritated she might really kill him this time. She caught sight of him just as the first rays of light were streaming from the horizon. He was sitting on the hill overlooking the broken wall of the keep.
“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” she said, coming up from behind him. “I’m not on your payroll. You have more than three dozen from your palace staff who would be more than happy to babysit you.”
“But none of them are as dedicated as you,” Rysaran murmured.
Sume laughed. “That,” she said, “is sad.”
“You see? I don’t get that kind of honesty around me at court. Never have.” He curled his fingers around his knees and turned to face her. “That’s the problem with me, Sume. I have never inspired the kind of loyalty that would allow me to have my pick of companions…”
“So sorry to disappoint you.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He gave a pained smile. “Ever since I was born—”
“For Sakku’s sake, Rysaran, before you start, can we have some coffee first? I brought you some.” She handed him the spare cloak and then a bamboo canister.
“You tire of me,” he said, watching her face as he untied the lid. The hot scent of rice coffee wafted in the air.
“Why does it matter?” Sume murmured. “You’re the prince. I’m nobody.”
“It matters a great deal.” He took a sip and glanced out at the horizon.
“If I may speak my mind, Beloved Prince…”
“As if you ever needed my permission.”
“Perhaps if you were less secretive and allowed more people into your plans…”
“That’s how leaders get assassinated, Sume. But I don’t expect you to understand.”
She drew back. “No. I wouldn’t.”
Rysaran finished drinking his coffee and got up. “I’ve decided. My cowardice ends today.” He started putting on his boots and buckling his sword-belt. “I’ve put it off for too long.”
“But your soldiers have yet to arrive.”
“Sume, it does not take six days for a retinue to ride from Shirrokaru to Oren-yaro. I received word last night that they’ve been camped several hours upriver for the past few days. That kind of defiance is uncalled for.” He swallowed. “A prince with a dragon could ask for more respect. Think of the things I could do for the people, then.”
“You ought not to have to ask, my lord. Demand it.”
“With what?” he asked. “The small army that is rightfully mine is loyal to my cousin Ryabei. And why not? They spirited me away when I was born, before the city could lay their eyes on me. They knew I existed, yet it was Ryabei they saw at court, who they watched grow up, who led the prayers for my father’s funeral. The prophet once said, You cannot change the path you’ve travelled, but you can make a turn. This is it, Sume. I’m making a turn.”
Without waiting for her reply, he skipped down the hill.
She kicked off her sandals, stuffed them into her belt, and took off after him. The sky spun above her.
She ran as fast as she could, but Rysaran was even faster. She saw him down the street, heading towards the temple, and called out to him. He must’ve heard the insults she hurled, but he didn’t even slow down. His biggest failing as a leader; for someone who cared so much about what others thought, he was surprisingly complacent.
She saw him reach into the pit, and she stopped, dropping to her knees. Her heartbeat pounded against her ears. There was a flash, and for a moment, everything stood still.
By all the gods and goddesses…the prince...
The thought did not last. A cloud of dust began to rise around the mouth of the pit. She heard the creature roar and forced herself to look up as it. Its single eye rolled down to gaze at her, dragon-jaws agape.
Warlord Yeshin had assured us it was trapped. What happened?
She realized the creature was still looking at her. She started running for the last shelter she had seen. The creature swooped down to follow her, its bloated body smashing against the walls almost at the same time she ducked into the nearest doorway. She heard it roar a second time and waited for its next assault.
Nothing happened. She heard what sounded like whispering, so faint that she began to question her own sanity. They died down and she closed her eyes. She waited until she could feel her own fingers again before she peered through a window. The creature was gone. A black puddle remained on the ground where it had wrapped itself around the building trying to get at her.
She turned to the sky and saw the winged silhouette making its way north.
Sume returned to the pit. Thick, black sludge caked the mouth of it and she had to gather her wits at the first hint of the nauseating stench. Rysaran’s body was nowhere in sight. She also noticed that the rocks that had lined the entrance were gone. They were stacked in a row on the grassy patch behind her, as if someone had gone through the effort of removing them, one by one.
She didn’t have a clear recollection of how she got back to the official’s courtyard or asking the servants for Yeshin and Sagar. All she knew was that the prince was gone, consumed by this creature that should have never been made in the first place. Not if the gods were real and had mercy, but then, she had stopped seeking answers ever since she found her mother dead by her own hand.
They were standing there now, waiting for her to speak. She found her voice and was surprised at the calmness of it. She explained what the prince had done. Yeshin paced in the back, muttering softly to himself. Sagar’s eyes were wide open. “We need to bring the news back to Shirrokaru,” he murmured. There was no strength to his words—it was a thing you just sai
d because something needed to be said.
“He didn’t tell anyone about all of this,” she said. “Why would they believe us?”
“Because, little girl,” he snapped at her. But it was clear on his face that he thought she was right and he stopped.
“The Ikessar soldiers are camped about an hour’s ride away,” she said after a moment of silence that lasted too long. “Perhaps if Warlord Yeshin rides with us…”
“No!” Yeshin cried. “I will not go with you! Not with that thing out there!” He crashed into one of the rose-bushes and burrowed his head into his arms.
Sagar looked at him and ran his hands over his eyes. “This kingdom is doomed,” he whispered. He sounded exhausted.
Out loud, he said, “Perhaps you should gain control of your senses, Warlord Yeshin. You may be the new Dragonlord soon.”
Yeshin groaned in response.
“What are you saying?” Sume asked. “Ryabei is still alive.”
Sagar shot her a look. “I don’t think you understand how the Jin-Sayeng throne works. While the Ikessar clan has held the throne for several successions, now, it doesn’t mean it holds exclusive rights to it. Ryabei’s father is a minor count from Bara which makes him not of royal blood, which makes Ryabei difficult to proclaim above the other warlords. If this man can get his senses together, Oren-yaro might have a better claim this time around.”
She glanced at the broken, weeping man behind them. “This is the better claim? Are you sure?”
Sagar made a noise that could mean anything. “We’re just servants to the Dragonthrone, girl. It’s not for us to decide.”
“Rysaran’s sisters...”
Sagar gaped at her. “You want women to sit on the throne?” She didn’t reply, and he snorted. “You would. Your father did have a penchant for Kag ideas—must’ve put them in your head. The short answer is: no. They were hidden there for a reason.”
“I thought the reason was so they wouldn’t challenge Rysaran’s position. He was fourth-born.”
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