Ashes of Dearen: Book 1

by Jayden Woods

  Leonard Khan’s meeting with Princess Fayr did not go well at all.

  When Leonard first saw the princess, his jaw dropped and his eyes opened wide. For a long while he did not speak, even when the princess prompted him to. He practically drooled from the mouth by the time he muttered a greeting. Perhaps the safra in his system was partially to blame; the khan was not accustomed to it like Picard, and like most Vikand men he saw its use as a weakness. One way or another, he made a fool of himself.

  All three men of the khan family dined together with the princess so that she might meet them. Picard wondered whether the princess saw them each as a potential suitor or not, which had not been his father’s intention. Whatever she thought, she gave little away, sitting primly in her seat and rarely touching her own food. She listened to Leonard Khan brag about his exploits in battle and she endured his gruesome descriptions of men he had killed. A Vikand woman would have been impressed by those stories. Princess Fayr, on the other hand, carefully changed the subject.

  “So what ever happened to the mother of your sons?” asked the princess.

  “Oh, I divorced her many years ago,” said the khan.

  “Divorce? What’s that?”

  Richard chuckled through a mouthful of bread.

  “It means I canceled our marriage,” said Leonard.

  “And why did you do that?”

  “Because Mother was an arrogant bitch,” said Richard.

  Leonard frowned at his son, as if to reproach him, then burst out laughing himself. “So true!” he roared.

  Picard looked from his father to his brother to the princess herself, who shared none of their laughter. “What my brother means to say,” amended Picard, “is that our mother, called Polemarch in her time, had a greedy and conniving nature. It is an unfortunate fact, but true. If Father had not divorced her, she might have drained our country of its own resources. Fortunately, Father broke off the marriage in time and has kept our nation stable ever since. The whole Vikand Horde has grown to ten thousand men and women of the greatest prowess in all the Three Nations. His personal Royal Horde commands one hundred of the most elite warriors.”

  Princess Fayr regarded Picard for the first time since his arrival. Picard sat calmly, his aching right hand hidden under the table, his left feeding his mouth when the conversation permitted. Strangely enough, now that he was here in Dearen, his consumption of safra had lessened. He wanted to save his personal supply of safra for the time being and survive by breathing in the legendary Dearen Haze. However, this did not add up to the amount he usually imbibed on a daily basis. A hot pain burned up his right wrist, reaching Picard’s mind sharply enough to draw out a wince every once in awhile.

  But most importantly, Picard did not want to consume too much safra because of what his brother once said to him.

  That fucking safra always makes you lose your nerve. And yet safra’s the reason you do everything in the first place, isn’t it?

  Picard wanted more safra. The only way to establish a future supply was for the negotiations with Dearen to go well, or else for that Wolven to eliminate the monarchy. Picard knew that in theory, the Vikand Horde should be able to conquer Dearen easily. But the same thing held them back now that always had: the Haze. No army could maintain its will when they came close enough to the palace. They found themselves happy instead of angry, relaxed instead of violent, and they spread out in the fields and looked up at the sky with languid smiles.

  This was the only way. Nothing could go wrong. Nothing. And as much as he despised it, the edge of pain creeping into Picard’s mind helped to keep him focused.

  The Princess’s eyes also seemed to probe his mind, her gaze sharp and crisp. Picard noticed that her eyes did not possess a single color, instead blending with a range of different gradients. Interesting.

  “Archon Picard—do I have your name right?”

  “Yes, Princess.”

  “You mentioned that your mother held the title of Polemarch. Your father is Khan. What’s the difference?”

  “Well, Princess, the khan is the military leader of the nation. The Polemarch supervises the more secretarial and legal matters of state. They hold equal power but in different areas. It is customary for Khan and Polemarch to marry each other; often the khan is male and the polemarch female, but sometimes the roles are reversed. We have many great female warriors in Vikand, Highness. In any case, Khan and Polemarch must agree to all decisions, and if they disagree, a Senate of Archons and High Chiefs votes for a solution. Archons like myself are subordinates to the polemarch; chiefs are subordinates of the khan.”

  “I see.” Princess Fayr looked around at them thoughtfully. “Your government is more sophisticated than I suspected.”

  Picard bowed his head. “You’re too kind, Princess.”

  “But tell me this, Leonard Khan: why are you both Polemarch and Khan? Did you take that title for yourself when you divorced your wife?”

  “I sure as hell did!” said the khan, biting into a roasted piece of meat.

  Picard could not believe his father’s behavior. Leonard Khan had never been especially diplomatic, but he usually performed better than this, at least. Did safra really turn everyone into such fools?

  “Yet your wife was the greedy one?” said Princess Fayr.

  Leonard’s smile faltered.

  “My father took the title out of necessity,” Picard hastened. “We could not leave Vikand without a polemarch, and there were no other candidates suitable for marriage. So he assumed both titles, and he has ruled well with them—with the ongoing counsel of Archons and High Chiefs to guide him, of course.”

  Princess Fayr stared back at Picard pointedly. Though she wore no expression, her gaze seemed to fix the archon to his chair like a spear. “I have one more question for you all,” she said, though she looked at none other than Picard, “and then I must take my leave, for I have other duties to attend to. I hear that there is a mountain in Vikand known as Wolven Mountain, and that a family of red-eyed assassins lives there. Is this true?”

  Picard gulped. “That is true, Princess, although the khan claims no affiliation to—”

  “This matter concerns me greatly,” snapped the princess, “as I recently discovered that these Wolvens—whether of their own will or someone else’s, I know not—are devoted to killing myself and my brother. I killed the last assassin myself, and I will kill the next one, if he or she exists. But anyone who supports the efforts of a Wolven is my enemy. Anyone who opposes them is my friend. So if I am to consider your offer of courtship with any real weight, the first thing you must do is arrest every Wolven you know of, since they are citizens of your nation, and bring them to me in chains. Understood?”

  Richard and Leonard were at a loss. Picard struggled to pick up the pieces. “What you ask is impossible, Princess. We know little of Wolven affairs, much less who they are or even how many remain alive! Furthermore, the Wolvens are the only ones who can climb to the top of their own mountain; that’s the point of it! And—”

  “I don’t care to hear excuses,” said Fayr, standing up. “If what you say about your Royal Horde is true I certainly hope that you’re capable. Either do it or don’t.”

  She turned to regard a little boy who had entered the room. Picard was still recovering from the weight of her terms, so it took him a moment to notice the boy’s purple hair. It was the young Prince Kyne himself!

  Picard looked to his father, whose frown had deepened. The boy’s presence was a blatant reminder that the Wolven had not yet killed him.

  “Fayr,” said the boy. “Chief Darius is looking for you.”

  “Oh—really?” There was no mistaking the hue of pink that flushed Fayr’s cheeks, or the way she reached up and patted the braids of her purple hair. Her smile could be heard in her voice. “He’s early, I think! Go tell him I’ll be right there.”

  Kyne cast a wary glance at their guests, then turned and hurried away.

  “If you will
excuse me,” said the princess, “I must take my leave. Please enjoy the food on the table, and when you’re finished, any of my servants can show you to your quarters.”

  Then she all but ran from the room, the hint of a smile pinching her cheeks. The four guards in the room followed her out.

  For a moment, none of the three men spoke. They slouched in their chairs, heavy with food and obfuscated by safra. Picard was the most alert of them all. He stretched his aching hand above the table, though this caused a new pain to jolt up his elbow.

  “What the hell,” said the khan. “She can do whatever she wants. We’ll be fine. Eh, boys?”

  Picard slammed his hand down, his metallic fingers scratching against the glass of the table. “That’s not true, Father! That’s the safra talking. Think of how rich you would become if you married the princess of Dearen. Think of what a mighty nation we would become. No, not a nation—a kingdom! Father, you could become a king!”

  The allure of this prospect cut through the khan’s mental fog. “That’s true. That’s what I want. But we can’t give her the Wolvens. It’s impossible.”

  “I know I said that myself. But in truth ...” His mind raced rapidly. He looked around the room, searching for any eavesdroppers, but all the guards had left with the princess. “It may be possible. What if Sean is the only Wolven left? And even if he’s not, who’s to say otherwise? If we tell her that, she’ll believe us.”

  “Hm.” The khan stroked his beard. “We still need the Wolven to kill Kyne. But after he does that, I suppose we could capture him and hand him over to the princess.”

  “Smart plan, Father,” offered Richard.

  “Perhaps,” said Picard. He needed to tread carefully here. He still wanted Sean to figure out how safra was made. If Leonard could manage to marry the princess, then little else mattered: Picard would have the rest of his life to explore the Dearen palace. But if he didn’t … “The princess didn’t say she would marry you if you brought her the Wolvens in chains. She only said that she might. If I remember correctly, she said it was the only way she would consider your courtship with any weight. And who was that Chief her brother mentioned? She looked a little too excited for my comfort. You need to do everything in your power to win her over, Father.”

  Leonard took a deep breath of the Hazy air, then exhaled. Safra fluttered upon his breath. “Perhaps she’s not worth the trouble, then. Maybe I should just settle down with one of those wenches from the courtyard. What do you say, Richard?”

  Richard leered agreeably. The two of them had already grown spoiled by the compliance of Dearen women. In Vikand, bedding a woman often involved a spirited struggle, and if the man was not strong enough, the woman might cut his hands off. Sex resembled warfare, just like almost anything in Vikand. Here, the women did whatever Richard and Leonard wanted.

  Picard tried to use this to appeal to his brother. “You like it here in the palace, don’t you, Richard? Wouldn’t you like to stay here permanently? You can only do that if Father marries the princess.”

  The high chief considered this, his leer drooping. “Father,” he said, “what if you fuck her and get her pregnant? Then wouldn’t she have to marry you, being a princess and all?”

  Leonard stroked his beard again. “Maybe.” Then his beard stretched up with a smile. “Maybe not. But I’d certainly enjoy doing it.”

  Picard’s brother and father shared a good laugh together, but Picard watched silently. For the first time, Picard found himself begrudging this damnable safra.