Twice Blessed

by Taryn Noelle Kloeden

  Once Swann and the women were seated, he leaned out the window and gave the Maenoren salute, two fists to the chest. The soldiers reciprocated before they continued down the road toward the other Fenearens.

  “To Anhorde then, ladies,” Lord Swann said as his coachman turned the carriage north.

  Chapter Eight

  Kado tried to re-capture his enthusiasm for learning, but when he saw Isaac’s papery skin and shadowed eyes, their situation's reality quashed his spirits. Terayan and his men had left them in peace for days, but it wouldn't last. Soon, the Councilor would take Isaac for the last time. The helplessness weighed more heavily than his imprisonment. Kado could not protect Isaac, just as he couldn't save his mother.

  Isaac carried on as if nothing had changed. Though he struggled to stand and a deep cough lodged in his chest, he still riddled and read with Kado.

  “Here's one.” Isaac eyed him over A History of the Kyrean Republic. “I end where I begin. To hear my name, you need only drop me. Who am I?”

  Kado sighed. “I don’t know.”

  “You haven’t tried.”

  “Why should I? I'll soon be back in the arena. I don’t think my captors will consent to a battle of wits instead of a bloodbath.”

  Isaac’s bushy white eyebrows rose. “It seems my efforts have been wasted. You cannot control your future Kado, only your present. You can sulk if you choose, or you can improve yourself. I thought you understood this.”

  “Improve myself?” Kado laughed and did not recognize the caustic sound. “How exactly does humoring an old man improve me?”

  “You’re angry.”

  “Such a wise man.”

  “Good.”

  Isaac’s calm affirmation surprised Kado. He'd expected counsel to not give into such a base emotion. “What?”

  “Your anger—your rage—is powerful. I told you that you shape your reality—write your own story. So use what you’re given. Let your anger fuel you, but always remember with whom you're angry.”

  Kado clenched his fist. His wolf was locked away, but at Isaac’s words, a different sort of beast awoke. It unfurled in his core, settling his rage into a tight beam. “Terayan, Enzo Aronak, and the entire Kyrean Republic. They’re to blame for all of this.”

  “Yes.” Isaac grinned. “Don’t lose sight of that. Your story is filled with villains, and it’s up to you to overcome them.”

  Kado’s new found focus waned. “How can I? I’m a prisoner. I’ll die in the fighting pit.”

  “That is possible,” Isaac allowed, “but the future is yet unwritten. You never know what opportunities you might have. Promise me you won’t waste them.”

  Kado turned away. He would not make a promise he didn't intend to keep. He respected Isaac too much for that. “We should get back to work.” He picked up the first book he saw. It was a thin one they'd not read before. Odd runes inscribed its cover, but Isaac had never said what they meant.

  Isaac watched Kado, but said nothing. He wore the expectant expression he usually had after giving Kado a new riddle to solve.

  Kado ran his fingertips over the runes. A vague feeling of familiarity flowed through him.

  “Can you read that?” Isaac asked, his voice carefully neutral.

  “I think I've seen these symbols before. What are they?”

  “Heitich runes—the language of the Delian Dynasty. Where have you seen them before?”

  Kado touched the runes again and shut his eyes. He pictured one of the symbols in his mind. As he re-traced each line like a traveler through a maze, his lips whispered a word of their own volition.

  “What was that? What did you say?”

  Kado opened his eyes.

  Isaac stared at him. The usually reserved old man leaned forward against the bars.

  “Magic,” Kado repeated.

  “How did you know that?”

  Before Kado could respond, the cell block door opened. Tallis Terayan entered, followed by his five-guard retinue. “Isaac!”

  Isaac grasped Kado’s hands through the bars. “There's no time, my boy. Promise me you'll remember all I've taught you.” He folded something sharp and cold into Kado’s palm—his ring.

  “Isaac?”

  “Keep it with you always. You’ll understand one day. Promise me you won’t waste your chance.” His clouded blue eyes darted toward the approaching Terayan. “Remember who the villains are.”

  “Isaac—”

  Terayan slammed open the door to Issac’s cell. He grabbed the elderly man by the neck and dragged him out of the cell.

  “No!” Kado ran to the front of his cell. The ring dug into his palm as he clenched his fist around it.

  Terayan laughed.

  Icy dread filled Kado’s stomach. Terayan’s laugh sounded so much like his own—cold and cruel.

  “Get up, Isaac,” growled Terayan. “You have one last opportunity to spare yourself a gruesome end.”

  Isaac struggled onto his hands and knees. He wiped a trickle of blood from his mouth. “We both know that isn’t true, Tallis. Don’t lie to me, old friend.”

  Terayan motioned to the guards. A pair lifted Isaac between them.

  “Then shall we?” Terayan glanced at the door and the guards dragged Isaac through it. The door slammed, but Terayan remained. He strode to Kado’s cell, the tapping of his boots in time with Kado’s ragged breaths.

  “All alone again.”

  Kado said nothing. His lips twitched.

  “It must be frustrating.” Terayan lay his hand on the bars. “To have so much strength and no way to use it.”

  “Take this Monil off and we’ll see what I can do.”

  Terayan chuckled. “It won’t be long now. I’ve plenty of prisoners for you to tear apart, my boy.”

  In a flash, Kado snapped his human teeth around Terayan’s fingers.

  The Councilor recoiled with a cry. Terayan shook his hand, removing his glove. Kado’s dull, human teeth had managed to penetrate the leather. Bloody teethmarks embedded Terayan’s ring and middle fingers. “You miserable beast!”

  Kado licked his lips. They tasted of blood and leather. The beast that Isaac had called forth purred with contentment. Tallis Terayan was the most powerful man in the world, but he still bled.

  Terayan grimaced. “Isaac will pay for this, as will you, when your usefulness runs out.” He spat in Kado’s face before exiting.

  Kado wiped his face, finding it wetter than he thought. Tears leaked from his eyes. Despite the satisfaction injuring Terayan had given him, Isaac was still gone. Soon, he would be dead. His sorrow pulled the tears no matter how hard he tried to stymie them. He slunk onto the floor, his back against the bars.

  The strange book lay open on the ground. Kado picked it up, but where the runes had once held meaning, all he saw now were mindless scratches. He threw it through the bars into Isaac's empty cell with a snarl.

  Kado regretted it instantly, but the book was gone now. He cursed his own impulsivity as he leaned his head over his knees.

  Kado unclenched his other fist, revealing Isaac’s ring.

  Beneath the grime and scratches, it was gold. The center stone was red—perhaps a ruby? Kado's blood smeared across the stone where it had bitten into his skin. In the darkness, it seemed as if the dark red stone glowed.

  Isaac’s voice drifted through his mind: Keep it with you always. You’ll understand one day.

  Suddenly, the answer to Isaac’s previous riddle came to him. I end where I begin. To hear my name, you need only drop me. Who am I?

  A ring.

  Why did it matter?

  The old man had left him with one final riddle.

  Tallis Terayan stood on his balcony, overlooking Halmstead’s Upper City. A cool evening breeze rustled his robes. He sipped his wine and breathed deeply. All the magic he'd worked over the past several months had exhausted him. But he had to maintain his strength and composure. It was not yet time to rest.

  Refreshed, Terayan swept back int
o his salon. Captain Garrison stood beside the sofa. His eyes glinted like a dog desperate for table scraps.

  “What do you have for me, Captain?” Terayan refilled his goblet from a decanter.

  Garrison hooked his thumbs in his weapons’ belt. “I’ve received word from my men stationed up north. They’ve found another gold vein.” He grinned. “Of course, that means we’ll need more slaves to mine it. With all the wealth you’re bringing to the Republic, the other Councilors should be licking your boots.”

  “Very good. Send whatever remaining Sylrians you’d like to the mines. I’m sure they’d like to return home.”

  “And Kellan Kemar’s execution is set for six days from now, as you requested.”

  Terayan sat on the sofa. “And it’s being widely advertised?”

  “We’ve already pre-sold most of the tickets.”

  Terayan smiled. “Well, I do hope they won’t be too disappointed if plans change.”

  Garrison’s brow furrowed. “Why would they?”

  “I have reason to believe our gambit has succeeded.” He took a sip.

  “You mean…?” Eagerness lit Garrison’s gray eyes as he approached. “Rayna fell for your trick with the dog? How can you be sure?”

  “The how is Scalthe business. All you need know is that I will soon send you to inspect Krymammer Prison. When I do, you'll be expecting company. But enough of this for now, what can you tell me of the other Councilors’ activities this week?”

  At the mention of the Scalthe—the secret society of dark mages Terayan led, Garrison lowered his head in deference. Garrison did not fully comprehend what the Scalthe was, only that he wanted to be a part of it.

  “Amollo is performing his usual populist routine—walking the Lower City, giving speeches, and visiting orphanages.” Garrison rolled his eyes. “The rabble adore him.”

  Councilor Anders Amollo, a young upstart, greeted Terayan with nothing but smiles, but in truth he was likely the biggest threat. “What of Vazzur Darien and our dear friend Paullus Caere?”

  Garrison shrugged. “Nothing of note. Darien’s gout is flaring up again. He’s been trying all manner of remedies to no effect. Caere has approached both Darien and Amollo about his intent to censure you.”

  Terayan nodded. “Good. Let him try. The Council is reconvening shortly and I do not want to be surprised by anything.”

  “You won’t be, Councilor. I’ll see to that.”

  “Very good. Anything else?”

  “Violent crime is reportedly on the rise in the Lower City. There's been a rash of disappearances.” Garrison smiled. “Terrible thing. The people have taken to blaming the red-haired wolf witch. They have no idea what is really happening.”

  “Hm.” Terayan swirled his goblet. “She makes a convenient bogey man. If that’s all, you may go.”

  “Councilor.” Garrison bowed and left the chamber.

  Terayan finished his wine and glanced out the window. It was full twilight now. Soon the Republic’s true powers would meet. He stood, leaving his receiving salon in favor of his bedroom. His were the most richly appointed rooms in Tenavar Palace. Embroidered silks, velvet, and cloth-of-gold covered the marble walls and floors. The furnishings were carved of rare woods and inlaid with gemstones. His way of dressing reflected the same opulence. That night, he wore a floor-length robe of crushed red velvet, accented with gold buttons.

  Everything about his lifestyle projected an obsession with luxury. The truth was, he would have been satisfied with far less. But like everything Terayan did, his appearance served a purpose. It was an illusion, a trick to lead his enemies to believe they understood his motivations. Caere, Amollo, Darien, even Garrison—they all thought greed and political ambition was at the heart of Terayan’s behavior. Anyone who saw his decadence and knew of his humble beginnings as a drunkard's son would assume the same.

  They would be wrong.

  Assumptions allowed him to act on his true motivations without fear of discovery.

  Terayan pulled off his rings and other adornment. He took the golden circlet from his blond hair, changed out of his heavy robes, and dressed in cheap cotton breeches and a shirt. He added a hooded black robe of equally humble material. Glancing in the mirror, Terayan waved away the enchantment on his eyes, turning them from pale green to concentric rings of black and gold.

  As he took in his true appearance, he recalled the moment his eyes first changed. Terayan could almost see himself as he was then. He'd been a weak child—underfed and overworked, as most peasants living in the Lower City were. He’d cut a scarecrow like figure, with spindly arms and his mother's golden hair. But poverty’s trials had been the least of his problems. His drunken father’s fists were an ever-looming threat.

  He could not remember a time when his father didn’t beat him, but he remembered the first time he heard the voice. It had started small—a whisper in the crackling fire, a thought not his own, and a compulsion to change his circumstances.

  One night, his father had beaten him bloody. Tallis could not remember why. When his mother had intervened, his father had yanked a chunk of bloodied, golden hair from her head. She'd fallen, crying in silence, allowing her husband to return his attentions to their son.

  The voice had whispered then. A simple command:

  Fight back.

  Tallis had obeyed. He swung his tiny fist into his father’s jaw. It did little good. It did not save Tallis from further pain, but it had brought satisfaction nonetheless.

  Over time, Tallis learned he could feed the voice, to make it stronger. If he listened to its commands, he was rewarded. When it told him to lie or to blame others for his mistakes, he obeyed. When it told him to steal, to collect a secret stash of treasures, he obeyed.

  When it told him to beat his father’s head in with a brick as he slept, he obeyed.

  On that night, the night of his rebirth, his pitiful, wailing mother had cried over her husband’s caved in skull. The voice told Tallis that she, too, needed to die. He set her free. The voice fed on their deaths, booming in Tallis’s mind:

  Kill your sisters, too, and you will be mine forever.

  Here, he'd faltered. His wide-eyed, yellow-haired sisters huddled together against the wall of their hovel. The voice demanded their deaths, but they'd done no wrong. It shouted in his mind, promising him this was the only way. The voice had never lied before.

  It led him to the kitchen. Returning with a knife, he made a quick, clean cut across each of their throats. As they bled into the dirt, Tallis Terayan's magic thrummed in his fingertips for the first time.

  In his man's reflection, Terayan still saw that boy of twelve years, with his sisters' blood sprayed across his face. He still felt his monstrous father's brain pulp stuck beneath his fingernails. He grinned, savoring the strength and release the memory brought.

  He approached an oil painting hung beside his four-poster bed. It depicted a famous story of the Kyrean Conquest, the sacking of Daphnaeum—the Delian Dynasty’s last stronghold. Terayan slid his palm over the painting's frame, feeling the magic. Concentrating, he willed it to part. He swung the frame open on its hidden hinge and stepped into the tunnel behind it.

  He blinked as his dark-seeing spell activated. The passage inclined steeply. He was soon several floors beneath his own chambers. After about a quarter-hour he came to a fork in the tunnel. He took the left option, continued for a while longer, before reaching a heavy iron door. He willed it open with a wave of his hand and stepped inside the secret room.

  His eyes adjusted to the torchlight. He was the last of the Scalthe to arrive. The other two members—Councilor Amblin Laevul and his twin sister, Ezra—stood together by a bookshelf.

  Amblin looked up as Terayan entered. He had the same black and gold eyes that marked him as a Covenant mage, as did Ezra. But the Laevuls did not conceal this peculiarity. Combined with their thin frames, close-set eyes, and stringy black hair, no one would mistake them as being overly concerned with appearances. />
  “Amblin, good to see you looking more yourself. How do you feel?”

  “I'm fine. How are you feeling, Tallis?” Amblin cast him an appraising gaze.

  “Well enough to continue,” Terayan said.

  Ezra approached, her narrow face nearly swallowed by her hood. “Are you certain?” She took his hand, feeling his pulse. “You mustn’t exert yourself, not when we’re this close to being able to perform the sacrifice. The white wolf's powers and rage grow. Surely the seer is not as important as—”

  “It’s not for you to decide. We must have both the seer and the white wolf. Speaking of seers, how goes your search for the Soulousian?”

  Ezra stiffened. “I've yet to locate her.”

  “Well then, let us focus on the task at hand.” Terayan gripped Ezra’s wrist, tugging her to the room’s center where a rune inscribed the stones.

  Amblin followed. Taking a free hand from his sister and Terayan so that they formed a triangle around the rune, he spoke. “Forgive us. We shall proceed as usual.”

  They bowed their heads in unison. Terayan exhaled, releasing all worldly distraction. He focused on the energy singing between him and the Laevuls. They'd done the same ritual countless times now: a disruption spell to prevent the twice-blessed seers from viewing a majority of their own visions. Since they did not know the Soulousian seer's name, they could not affect her. The troublesome Alvornian Priestess Marielana had recently found a way to block them from her mind, but they could still reach Rayna. Not even her protections as an Awakened seer could shield her, not since the shift in power when one of the seer lines had ended.

  Terayan and the Laevuls held the intention in their collective minds, but it was Terayan who channeled the majority of the power. As the Scalthe's leader, his connection with the other realm was strongest. Their Master worked through him more than any other. He was chosen.

  In his mind’s eye, a silver light billowed like smoke. Together, he and the Laevuls focused their will. Golden energy disrupted the silver light. All at once, they released it. Terayan sensed the magic melt into the veil—drawn to another place and another mind. But the spell did not travel as far as it had before. Rayna was closer. She was on her way to their trap.