Ashes of Dearen: Book 1
Page 4
*
They went to the topmost balcony, where the moon glowed behind the glittery veil of the Haze, and the purr of distant tigers rumbled through the darkness.
The king stared thoughtfully into the silver light. It drained the color from his purple hair and beard. He pulled off his crown, releasing his hair to the wind, and for a moment he looked like a common man.
“The Wolvens killed my family,” he said at last, “and they won’t stop until our entire bloodline is extinct.”
Fayr could not believe what she was hearing. “I thought your mother died of illness! And your brothers and sisters ...”
“Poison.” His voice came out like the growl of a dog. “Poisoned, all of them. Except my mother, who the assassin smothered when she started to regain health.”
“How on earth did you survive?”
“Funny thing,” laughed the king without mirth. “I was already sick before the Wolven came—typical sour stomach. I threw up everything I ate, so I never ingested the poison. Guards killed the assassin before he got to me.”
Fayr tried to imagine it but she couldn’t. It was too terrible. She didn’t think things like that happened in Dearen. How had her father carried this terrible memory within him, all of his life, while the rest of the world remained oblivious? “Why would anyone do that to you? Who are the Wolvens?”
King Joyhan turned to face his children, one eye catching the moonlight and glowing brightly. “A family bloodline, like our own, of which few remain. They are known for their red eyes and profound lack of empathy for their fellow human beings.” One side of his face pulled up with a sardonic smile. “I also suspect that like our own family, their ancestors made a pact with an ancient god.”
Fayr blinked a few times. “What?”
“A pact.” Joyhan drank more from his flask, then put it away. “Our own Violenese ancestors made a pact with the gods to gain the power to create safra—pure happiness in a simple powder form—but never enjoy its benefits for ourselves.”
“I don’t understand.” Fayr could not even breathe. “Why would we want the power to make safra if we can’t enjoy it?”
“For the same reason I’ve been trying to explain to you all your life!”
The vehemence of his voice made both the children flinch. Fayr remembered her father sticking the blade into the assassin’s shoulder. She’d always known that her father had a temper. But after what she’d seen tonight ...
Joyhan exhaled heavily. The smell of alcohol in his breath cut through the Hazy air. “We make safra to control people. People would do anything to obtain happiness. But if we had it already, why would we care?”
The more he said, the more he confused her.
The king looked to the moon, his eyes clouding over. “Now both of you, go to bed.”
“But Father—”
“Tomorrow I will show you both what you want to know. If you thought today was bad, then prepare to discover something worse tomorrow.”
“Both of us?”
Joyhan looked in puzzlement from one of his children to the other. He could not understand why Fayr found this upsetting.
“It’s all right, sister,” said Kyne. But he sounded about as confident as a bunny rabbit hopping from one bush to another. “I can handle it.”
“That’s not what bothers me!”
“Go to bed, Kyne,” snapped their father. Then, more softly, “We’ll talk again soon.”
Kyne bowed his head and rushed timidly away.
“Something wrong, Fayr?”
She wasn’t sure she could take any more drama today, any more confrontation. She already quivered inside like a bowl of soup. But she couldn’t let this go without saying anything at all. “I have waited such a long time. Asked the same questions over and over … I’m eighteen years old now. But you’re going to let Kyne watch you make safra before he’s thirteen?”
“Any more of this attitude,” said Joyhan, “and I may change my mind about showing you at all.”
“It isn’t fair!”
“Neither is life.”
“How can you be so casual about this? Right now, you’re the last person alive who knows how safra is made!”
He struck her across the face. She felt an explosion of pain, then a rush of wind against her cheek, then the cold scrape of stone under her fingertips. She had fallen sideways and caught herself against the wall, where she now remained, trembling.
“Maybe that’s how it should be,” he said, breathing heavily. Then he walked away.