Sir Blayse laughed. “Go on with you.”
A howl rang through the air.
Jetekesh halted and looked down. Had Aredel dealt the killing blow?
No. Lord Peresen stood above Aredel, who lay sprawled across the flagstones. But the man-giant’s eyes were clasped on Jetekesh’s, sending a shiver up the boy’s spine. Peresen drew a dagger from his belt. Raised it high. Pitched it.
The gleaming blade flew. Jetekesh threw himself forward. Dragged Jinji with him. A heavy weight fell across his back, and he heard Sir Blayse hiss as his body tensed. Jetekesh twisted to catch the knight before he could tumble from the narrow climb. A dagger jutted from the young knight’s back where the armor was weak from rust.
Sir Blayse gritted his teeth, face contorted. “Leave me. Take the storyteller and go on. It’s not so bad as it looks.”
“Or as it feels?” growled Jetekesh. He ripped his sleeve and pressed the cloth to the knight’s back. “I can try to remove the dagger…”
Sir Blayse snatched his wrist. “Don’t bother with me. Go on.”
“But—”
“Go.”
Jetekesh pulled back. He pushed his hair aside, set his jaw, and took Jinji’s arm to drag him up. A glance back confirmed his greatest fear. Lord Peresen had reached the bottom of the stairs. He was coming after them.
Sir Blayse struggled to his feet, leaning heavily against the wall, sword clutched in his hand. “Go on now, both of you. I’ll hold him off.”
Jetekesh swallowed. Nodded. Turned and hauled Jinji up the next step. The next. Keep going. Don’t look back. A lump formed in his throat.
Almost there. A few more steps.
He heard a cry behind him. A crash as swords met. Someone screamed, and an eternity later, Jetekesh heard a sickening thud far below.
Jinji let out a sob. “Poor Sir Blayse. So noble. He served his lord well in the end.”
Jetekesh ground his teeth as fire flooded his body. He trembled beneath it. The lost knight had served Sharo in the end, but he hadn’t known it. Hadn’t remembered what he’d lost and what he sought. It wasn’t fair!
The door was close. Two more steps. He dragged Jinji up, and up. Here. Jinji leaned against the door, gasping. He caught the knob and pushed as he turned it. The door gave way and Jinji stumbled inside, Jetekesh on his heels.
A short corridor. A door on the other end. Jinji staggered ahead and Jetekesh grabbed his arm. He wrapped it around his shoulder again and led Jinji to the second door.
It opened.
Six maidens knelt within, chained by their wrists to the walls of the circular tower room. They looked up, wide-eyed.
Jetekesh faltered. Finding them meant nothing. They were all stuck here, cornered, Lord Peresen right behind them. Aredel was dead. Sir Blayse was dead. Prince Sharo and Sir Chethal were too far away to help.
Where was Ashea? When had she left Jetekesh’s shoulder?
“My friend.”
He looked toward Jinji.
The storyteller smiled meekly. “You have been brave and true. I thank you from my soul.”
Jetekesh narrowed his eyes. “What are you plotting?”
Jinji’s smile grew. “You must go home, my friend. I have made arrangements.”
“What do you mean? I don’t understand.”
Jinji caught his shoulders and spun Jetekesh around until they had traded places. Jetekesh’s eyes widened. Lord Peresen loomed beyond Jinji, charging, sword pointed straight.
“Jinji! NO! NO!”
The sword slid through Jinji’s back and out his chest. Blood dripped from the point. Jinji wore a smile. That infuriating smile!
Lord Peresen bellowed with laughter. Cut off. His eyes widened, and he howled as wind rose, warm, caressing. Light stretched from Jinji’s body. Brilliant, pure. A song whispered upon the wind, and Jetekesh found himself caught in the memory of the tales Jinji had told upon their journey. The ancient willow, where the ugly lass had cried until a fairy took pity. Ashea. The fairy had been Ashea. He saw the young king, humbled by the sight of true beauty. Their wedding party. The start of the country of magic.
He saw a child, fair and bright, swallowed by darkness after the death of his mother. And there, against the glow of memory, he saw the fair child again, but he was grown now. Tall, regal. Comely as morning light but bearing shadows as though he had enslaved the darkness to his will.
“Do you see?” gasped Jinji. “Do you see him, Jetekesh? Sharo? Aredel? ‘Tis the rightful king of Shinac.”
“I see him,” said a voice, distant. Sharo’s. A sob sounded in that voice. “He is yet far away.”
The wind breathed again, lifting Jetekesh from the ground. He saw only white now. Smelled a green and growing world. Rich loam. Sea brine. Ancient trees. The wood scent of a campfire.
Thunder rumbled. A howl rose above the wind, above the thunder. Raging. Wild with anger.
The world settled around him, gritty earth beneath his feet. He opened his eyes and found himself standing in a desert beneath a burning sun. Jinji still stood before him, sword lodged in his chest. Behind him Lord Peresen wavered on his feet, staring at his own chest. There too stuck a sword.
Jinji sank to his knees, and the man-giant followed to his own. Behind Lord Peresen stood Aredel, eyes ablaze. He wrenched the sword from Lord Peresen’s chest and rushed to kneel beside Jinji.
“You fool. Why did you sacrifice yourself?”
“To take Peresen out of Shinac, of course, but alone, without his armies.” Jinji laughed. “I am dying, Aredel. It made sense to use myself. A willing sacrifice is far more powerful than any other, and thus I was granted a request.” He turned to Peresen. “Behold Nakania, land without magic, home of your final rest.” He coughed up blood. “And so, it is mine as well.” A tear tracked down his cheek. “Alas, I would like to have stayed in Shinac until the very end.”
Jetekesh trembled and collapsed to his knees. “You…you can’t die. It’s not fair.”
Jinji turned his eyes to him. “Oh, Jetekesh, friend of my soul. How much pain you have met upon this quest. I am sorry to add to your suffering, but I could not hope for a better way.”
“What of Sharo and his companions?” asked Aredel. “They are lost within that fortress.”
“The contract between Peresen and the Unsielie ended once the former arrived in Nakania,” said Jinji. “The dark fae will return to their woodland homes until another greedy master summons them forth.”
A hollow scream rent the desertscape. Lord Peresen tried to stand, but he staggered and tumbled back to lay in the sand. “You cannot…best me this way.”
“But I have already, Lord Peresen.” Jinji leaned against Aredel’s arm. “I feel the life draining from my body, my friend.”
Aredel shut his eyes. “I saw him, Jinji. The true king of Shinac. He was magnificent.”
Jinji’s eyes closed as well. “So he was.”
Jetekesh looked between them. “Can we not do something to save him?”
Aredel lanced Jetekesh with a dark look. “We are in the middle of the desert. We have no supplies. No transportation. If I move him, he will only die faster.”
Jetekesh bowed his head. “But…” He curled his hands into fists and bit back a sob. It’s not fair. It shouldn’t end this way! Shuddering, he leapt to his feet. “It isn’t fair, do you hear me, King of Shinac? He’s only ever served you! What sort of king abandons his greatest knight! DO YOU WANT HIM TO DIE LIKE THIS?”
“Hush, my friend. I did not serve the rightful king of Shinac so that he might spare my life as it expires. I served him because I love him.” Tears rolled down the storyteller’s face. “I love him as all liegemen love their just and mighty lords. It is reward enough, and yet he granted me a chance to see Shinac before my end. I am satisfied.”
“I’m not.” Jetekesh’s limbs shook. Heat scalded his blood. “Don’t you dare just give up! Stand. Live. Breathe. You can’t just lie there. Has your king asked you to end your life? No! So you can’t die ye
t. Rise, and fight to the finish.”
A deep, gurgling laugh reminded Jetekesh of Lord Peresen.
“Foolish child. Jinji died long ago. ‘Tis only his soul that wanders now, chained by his grief.”
Jetekesh’s eyes widened. “You’re wrong. That’s not true.”
A chill ran the length of his spine. A presence, great and terrible, towered behind him. He couldn’t move.
“You’re correct, Prince Jetekesh,” said a rich and silken voice, lilting as a song, terrible as a storm.
Jetekesh staggered around. Standing in majesty and torrential light was the true king of Shinac, not like a memory, but a man of flesh and sinew…yet so much greater. Clothed in black, crowned in light, pale haired, and fair, just as Jetekesh had seen in the windstorm.
“My lord and king,” said Jinji weakly.
“Ah, Jinji.” The king’s tone was fond, and his pale blue eyes softened. He moved past Jetekesh and knelt on one knee before the storyteller. “Brave, foolhardy man. Could you think of no other path?”
Jinji laughed. “Alas, my king, I am only mortal.”
“So you are, and so you shall remain. I have not finished with you yet.” The king reached a gloved hand to the point of the sword in Jinji’s chest. At his touch, the blade vanished. The stain of blood against Jinji’s shirtfront disappeared. Surprise fluttered across Jinji’s face and he drew a deep breath. A cough seized him.
The king rose to his full height. He was slender, yet well muscled. Tall. “You are not healed of your illness, but nor shall you die of a sword wound.”
Jetekesh bit his lip. “Why won’t you heal him? Can’t you?”
The pale eyes found Jetekesh. Held his gaze, until Jetekesh broke away to stare at the ground.
“I could,” said the man of silk. “But Jinji does not wish to be healed, and I will honor his wishes, except in the matter of this sword. Jinji has not yet finished his task.”
Jinji inclined his head. “So I have not. There is yet another palace I must be banished from; is that not so, my lord?”
A dark chuckle. “It is. I look forward to seeing Emperor Gyath’s face. If you hurry, you will reach the caravan heading toward KryTeer, led by Prince Anadin.” He gestured westward, and Jetekesh found himself staring at three strong horses, one laden with packs and water flasks.
“Go now,” said the king. “I must leave you. It is not yet time for my return to this world.”
Disappointment flashed in Jinji’s eyes, but he said nothing. The king turned back to Jetekesh. “You have much to learn, young prince, but I do enjoy your spirit.”
Jetekesh blinked, and the king was gone.
Aredel pulled Jinji to his feet. “Can you ride?”
“Yes. I think so.” Jinji glanced at Lord Peresen. “He is dead?”
Aredel nodded. “He is. He did not see the king.”
Jinji looked away. “Then let us be on our way. The desert buries all.”
The three moved toward the horses, sights set westward to KryTeer.
31
A Thread of Smoke
A storm grew with the sunrise, out of the east. Rille watched it at the door flap. “Something comes this way.”
She kept her voice soft, but Yeshton’s head shot up, and he looked around until he spotted her at the tent entrance. He climbed from his bedroll. A few long strides brought him to her side. The guard outside the tent straightened his spear and tossed Yeshton a warning glance. Rille was able to wander as she pleased, perhaps because she was a child, but the KryTeer guards considered Yeshton and Sir Palan dangerous, if their furtive glances were any way to judge.
“Is something wrong?” asked Yeshton, keeping his voice low.
“Aside from our present circumstance?” asked Rille, glad her voice carried the level of playfulness she’d intended. Emotions were so hard to convey.
The soldier quirked a smile. “Aside from that.”
She pointed eastward. “We will have company soon. I dreamt of three horses holding aloft a banner: a strange golden cross, whose arms split into three points against a divided field, half white, half black. I have never seen its like. Yet the heralds who bring it signify power, for they carry the storm forth.”
Yeshton’s eyes sought the horizon. His jaw tightened as he eyed the far-off dust riding the high winds. “The storm comes from the southeast. Perhaps from the Drifting Sands. Is it Jinji?”
Hope flooded Rille’s heart, warming her, and she hugged herself. “Perhaps that is so. The banner feels like magic. Perhaps he has returned.” The warmth died as she thought of Prince Anadin, sent to murder his brother. On impulse, she raced from the tent. The guard protested, and she knew Yeshton had tried to follow, but she couldn’t stop now. Across the parched earth she kicked up clouds in her wake as she flew to the prince’s tent. The guards stationed at its entrance swept aside the flaps.
Within, she flitted past silent servants and impassive guards, through a second, voluminous swath of cloth and into a dark chamber whose furniture crouched like great black beasts in the shadows. She faltered, fear chilling her bones, but squaring her shoulders she pressed toward the largest beast-like shadow, guessing it was the prince’s bed.
Patting the surface assured her she’d guessed right. Rille slipped onto the bed, crawled across, and patted around for the prince’s form. A soft sound brought her up short. Was someone crying?
“Anadin?” Her voice was so soft, she doubted he’d heard her, but the crying stopped.
“Sa…hala?” The voice was faint, young, and definitely Anadin’s.
She crawled across the wide cushion until she touched Anadin’s arm and followed that until she could feel his shoulder, neck, tangled locks of hair. Face. His cheeks were wet. “There you are. Why are you crying?”
“Aren’t you mad at me, Sahala?”
She sighed. “No. I understand why you couldn’t come last night. You were frightened and carefully watched by that snake.”
“Snake? Oh, you mean Javanti.” He chuckled. “You seem a fair judge of men, my Sahala.”
“You haven’t answered my question. Why were you crying?”
“Oh, I…had a bad dream.” He sniffed.
“What about?”
“My brother. He was lying in a dark room, bleeding out. Something dreadful towered over him, and I feared to find its face. I feared I would see myself.”
A shiver raced up Rille’s spine. The Blood Prince’s face flashed before her eyes. He rode upon a stallion, holding a banner. “Up. Get up. Your brother is coming. He isn’t dead. You’ve not killed him, but if word reaches your snake guardian that he approaches, you might live out your dream. Up, Anadin.”
The prince climbed from the bed, threw a robe over his dark undergarments, and lit a candle. “Is he coming? Has he returned from Shinac?”
Rille considered the prince’s face. Nothing sinister tinged the color of his earnest devotion for an elder brother. She nodded to herself, satisfied. She had done right to tell him, to get him outside before he could be influenced by Javanti.
“Come. Hurry.”
She took his wrist and led him across the rug-strewn chamber, through the swathing curtain, and out into the larger chamber. Servants dropped to their knees in respect, surprise bright on their faces. Anadin was likely never up so early in all his life.
Rille guided the prince to the tent flap and out into the early morning glow. The sky was pink and gold. The storm drew nearer, but its strength had diminished. The great black cloud was now a faint grey haze. Rille glanced toward the prison tent, and found Yeshton, King Jetekesh, Sir Palan, and Tifen outside, watched by half a dozen armored guards.
Prince Anadin looked around, eyes shining. “Where is he?”
“Not here yet. Be patient.” She sifted through the milling servants.
There. Javanti approached, his pace rapid, eyes intent. “Your Highness!”
Anadin pulled against Rille’s grasp. “What can I do?” he whispered, terror threading a
quaver in his voice.
“Stand steady,” she murmured as she relinquished her grip. Mustering all her courage, she plastered a smile to her face, let out a laugh, and ran to Javanti with outstretched arms. “Holy priest, holy priest!” The man came up short, alarm lining his face, brows creased. Rille threw her arms around his waist as tight as she could, then pulled back and peered up into his wide, wondering eyes. “Prince Anadin has told me that I may convert to the faith of KryTeer. I do so wish to worship a goddess! He said I must be incredibly good and to promise you I would be, and so I do.”
A scowl deepened the lines around Javanti’s eyes, and he shook her off. “Away with you, pestilent child. My holy calling is above mere conversion. You must speak with lesser priests.”
“B-but…” Rille squinted her eyes, hoping it would lend the desired effect of shimmering tears. “But, holy priest!” Her voice rose in a wail. “I want to worship a goddess! Aren’t they beautiful? My mother was beautiful. Is she a goddess now?” She wrapped both hands around his arm and tugged. Hard.
He wavered and growled. “Let me go, child. I am busy.” His eyes darted toward Anadin. “Take your little sparrow.”
Anadin started forward, and Rille bit back a dismayed whimper. How could she rescue him if he obeyed the priest’s commands? Drawing a breath, she took the only path she could see. Swinging her leg with all her might, she kicked Javanti’s shin. He yowled and whipped out his hand to strike her. Rille flinched, but another hand snatched the priest’s wrist mere inches from her face. She looked up. Found Anadin beside her, a sneer across his lips, black eyes lit like coals.
“Do. Not. Harm. Sahala.” He twisted Javanti’s arm, and the priest grunted, but didn’t retaliate. Didn’t struggle. His eyes lowered to the ground.
“Forgive me, my holy prince,” whispered the priest.
Anadin shoved Javanti back before he released his arm. In this moment he was neither young nor weak but looming and seething with ruin and power. Now Rille could see the resemblance between this man and his elder brother. If Aredel was the Blood Prince of KryTeer, perhaps Anadin was its Shadow Prince, cloaked in innocence, forged in sorrow, rooted in darkness. She saw now the tendrils reaching up like chains from the earth, binding his limbs, keeping him caged for nefarious deeds. A great specter, vast and wicked, loomed behind Anadin, bearing the key to those heavy chains.
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