A shout jolted Rille from the vision. She whirled as soldiers ran from the eastern edge of camp. “Your Highness,” cried a burly man, hand pointing behind him. “The Blood Prince is coming.”
A hissing breath turned Rille’s eyes toward Javanti. He’d known. He’d seen them coming. And Rille had kept him from squeezing those chains so that Anadin would turn on his brother. For now.
The shadows fell from Anadin’s face. He let out an exultant call and dashed past the soldiers. “Aredel! Aredel!” The soldiers and servants followed, mixed shouts and cheers rising to the sky.
The storm was now just a strong wind blowing sand from the nearby desert. Rille raced through the crowd, dancing between swinging arms, to catch up to Anadin before Javanti could try anything. She didn’t know what, but she wouldn’t take any chances.
Horses. Three. One was just a packhorse, while the other two—
Rille’s eyes widened and warmth surged through her, exhilarating, triumphant. Here was hope!
Her cousin looked wonderfully haggard, smudged, tangled, ripped, bruised. And leaning against his back atop one noble horse was Jinji Wanderlust; pale, sweat soaked, tattered, but alive. On the second horse, sitting proud, as disheveled as the other two, and blood-stained, sat the First Holy Prince of KryTeer.
“Aredel!” cried his brother again, and he threw his arms around the man’s leg. “Brother, I’m so glad to see you.”
“Greetings, brother,” said Aredel. The fond smile on his lips was all Rille needed to see. He would help her to rescue Anadin. And perhaps in exchange, he would release her and her friends. They could go home. Muster a force. Ride against KryTeer.
She shook her head. That was for another day. Now, this moment, was all that mattered. Her gaze flicked back to Jetekesh and Jinji. Both careworn and bone weary. Her cousin’s eyes roved, half dazed, until they collided with hers. To her shock, he smiled. Actually smiled. It was a faint expression, probably unconscious, but it was real. He murmured something, and Jinji lifted his head from Jetekesh’s back. He searched and spotted Rille. His smile was deep but fleeting. His head lowered again, and he clung to Jetekesh as though his effort was all that kept him upright.
“Bring my guests into your tent,” said Aredel.
“Of course, my brother.” Anadin barked orders. Servants sprang into action.
Rille lost sight of the KryTeeran princes, her cousin, and Jinji. She also lost Javanti in the hustle and bustle. Someone caught her shoulder. She whirled—and blinked up at Yeshton. “How did you—”
He shrugged. “We were forgotten in all the hullabaloo. Alas, we can’t slip away. Not with your cousin in his present predicament.” He nodded toward something Rille couldn’t see at her height.
“What is happening?”
“He’s being escorted along with Wanderlust and the Blood Prince to your Anadin’s tent.”
Her Anadin. For some reason, the words made her smile.
Just which of us is the sparrow?
“We must go there too,” she said, and pressed through the waning crowd of armored bodies. Soon she could see the tent again just as the royal persons and storyteller slipped inside. Her pace quickened and she glided into the dim interior, Yeshton on her heels.
“Out, out. Everyone out.” Anadin’s tone was clipped. Commanding. “Javanti, bring my physician. Go on, man. Are you deaf?” He barked a command in KryTeer’s formal tongue, and the priest moved toward the flap. Rille slinked aside, blending with the darkness. He moved past her, past Yeshton, never noticing, face frigid.
She took Yeshton’s wrist and moved forward as the clingers-on reluctantly retreated.
Anadin’s black eyes flicked her way, at first tense with irritation, but widening as he recognized her. “Sahala. Ah, and your protective brother. Come, come. You were right, Sahala. My brother has returned.” Rille’s eyes followed the motion of his hand, and she spotted the three newcomers seated on the surface of the crouching head table. Jetekesh held Jinji up, but he looked ready to drop himself. Aredel sat straight but pressed a swab of blood-soaked cloth to his waist. Perspiration on his brow glistened against the candlelight. His brown eyes darted between her and Yeshton, and a wan smile haunted his lips.
“So, you’ve become Anadin’s prisoners now?”
Rille felt Yeshton stiffen, but she squeezed his wrist and nodded. “So we are.”
“No,” said Anadin, tone wounded. “She is my Sahala.”
Aredel’s eyebrow arched. “Your sparrow?”
Yeshton’s arm strained against Rille again. She glanced at the soldier to find his eyes narrowed on Anadin, sharp as daggers. “You said it meant the girl who sees true. You said it was an ancient word for Rille.”
A sheepish grin crawled up the second prince’s face. “Ah, that. Yes. I lied. I’d already heard all about Rille from both my father and from Aredel, so I fibbed to read the truth in your face. Sahala simply means sparrow. The closest Old KryTeeran word for Rille would be Lah’al, which means beauty. I don’t even know a single word that means the girl who sees true.” He shrugged.
“Kalakeeridwa would be the closest.” Aredel’s voice. Rille and Yeshton turned to him. The Blood Prince shrugged. “It’s not exact. The most literal translation is one who sees far away. It is a word not used since the ancient days of King Cavalin the Third.”
Jetekesh’s head rose, as a thrill raced through Rille’s body.
“My ancestor,” Jetekesh said.
“And mine,” said Rille. She too carried the blood of that great-hearted soul.
Jinji’s eyes opened. “A more noble king never has lived upon Nakania since Cavalin, for not long before his death a great evil rose up from the sea and tainted the land. It caused the inhabitants to turn greedy; and thus it was that an army marched upon Shinac, and the land of magic fled into a space outside man’s mortal reach. Cavalin fell defending Shinac before it vanished.” He gasped for breath and coughed into his hand. Jetekesh held him steady until the fit passed.
Horror shivered through Rille as the storyteller lowered his hand to reveal flecks of blood against his palm. His face, ashen.
“Oh, Jinji.” Her voice was barely audible.
“So, tell us,” said Anadin above her. His tone was nonchalant. “Did you truly see Shinac, brother? Was it grand?”
The Blood Prince turned from watching Jinji. “It was both grand and horrible, for I saw the elder paths and a fortress of evil.”
Footsteps sounded behind Rille. She turned to find Javanti approaching, a white-robed man behind him.
“Thank you, priest,” said Anadin. “You may go.”
Javanti didn’t move.
Aredel’s eyes narrowed on him. “Did you not hear my brother, priest? Leave us.”
The priest bowed and backed away, while the physician strode forward, a cloth bag in hand. He knelt before the table and peeked beneath the roll of cloth Aredel held. He murmured something in KryTeeran. Aredel nodded, and nothing of pain showed on his face while the physician set to work cleansing the gash.
Anadin’s hand found his throat and he pinched his skin. “You’ll be fine, yes, shaqin? This is nothing to you.”
“I am well enough, shaqel.”
Rille’s nose itched.
“I had a dream,” said Anadin. “You were sprawled across the ground. You were dying, and a great dark thing reigned over you, deeply satisfied.” His eyes were wide and unfocused as he spoke. His tone was edged with panic.
Aredel reached out and snapped his fingers before his brother’s face. Anadin shuddered and blinked rapidly.
Rille sneezed.
“What you dreamt did happen,” said Aredel, gently. “But as you well see, I am quite alive. The towering figure you saw is dead now and rots in the Drifting Sands. None live who harm the first prince of KryTeer. This you know already, shaqel.” He gestured to Jinji. “We have defeated the tyrant lord of Shinac; have we not, my friend?”
Jinji’s head moved in a vague nod.
&nb
sp; Jetekesh gripped his shoulders and glared at Anadin. “Can’t he lie down?”
The second prince stared at Jetekesh without comprehension.
Jetekesh’s face reddened. His voice rose as he asked, “Can you not hear me?”
Anadin shook his head as though to clear it. “No, sorry. What did you say?” He reached up and pressed a hand to his temple. “I’m quite dizzy. I think I need to…lie down…” He turned and stumbled.
Rille made a sound and released Yeshton as though she could catch the prince. Yeshton moved for her. Two long steps brought him to Anadin’s side as the prince slumped.
“He’s cold. Ice cold.” Yeshton studied Anadin’s face. “His breathing is erratic.”
“Healer,” barked Aredel.
The physician was already trotting toward Anadin.
Rille’s nose itched again. The air was thick. Sweet.
She spun around. There. A lean figure retreating through the tent flap. A flicker of light against the shadows. A thread of smoke rising. She raced across the canvas chamber, caught up a stick of incense burning on a silver tray, and threw it to the ground edging the rugs that littered the room. She stamped on it until the flicker died. Smoke danced around her foot.
She looked toward the head table. Every eye, save Anadin’s, rested on her. “Prince Anadin has been poisoned by incense,” she said. “I, I’m not certain what will happen.” Her eyes fell on Aredel. “He’s meant to kill you.” She pointed toward the flap. “The priest just escaped.”
Aredel nodded. “So it is. Anadin must be ready, then.”
Rille stared. Her heart quickened. “You mean…you already know what has been done to him?”
Aredel nodded again, calm. “My father has been grooming him since his infancy, in case I grew too independent. It appears the time has come: either Anadin or I must die.”
32
Envy and Revenge
Jinji lifted his head from Jetekesh’s shoulder. “Aredel, do not mislead everyone. You appear not to care.”
The Blood Prince glanced at the storyteller and exhaled. “I have long known that Anadin—”
The hiss of a drawing sword cut him off. Aredel sprang up and drew his blade in time to knock Anadin’s strike off course. Rille cried out. Where was the physician?
There. Standing calm as could be, an empty sheath in his hand, a triumphant smile on his lips.
“Sir Knight!” Where had Yeshton gone? He’d been supporting Anadin. Where—?
Yeshton slipped from the shadows behind the physician, a candlestick gripped in one hand. He raised it. Swung. Struck the back of the man’s head. The physician crumpled.
Yeshton smiled at Rille. “I’m all right. He thought he hit me hard enough, but he thought wrong.” He wiped a streak of blood from the side of his head. “I’ve now instructed him in the proper method, my lady.”
A clatter tore Rille’s focus from the soldier and back to the struggle between royal brothers. Aredel was pressed against the table, spine straining. Anadin leaned over him, their swords crossing at Aredel’s chest. Teeth gritted, Anadin pushed harder. Leaned closer.
His eyes held no light.
Rille sprinted to the table. “Anadin, stop. You don’t want to hurt him. Fight this, Anadin!”
“Stay back. He will use you if he must,” barked Aredel. His foot lifted and slammed into Anadin’s ankle. Aredel twisted as his brother stumbled, knocked the sword from Anadin’s hand, wrapped his arm around the second prince’s throat, and spun to stand behind Anadin in an arm lock. Both brothers panted. Aredel’s eyes blazed.
“Don’t kill him,” said Rille.
“He has never been my target. But until the incense is out of his lungs, he will try to kill me.” Aredel squeezed his brother’s throat, tight. Tighter. Anadin’s eyes bulged. He gasped for air. His body slumped and his eyes dimmed.
“You’re strangling him!”
“Be calm.” Aredel lowered Anadin to the floor. “I know the moment to stop. He is unconscious.” He straightened and flinched. His hand moved to his wounded side. “Long has my father feared my strength. I suspected he would try to use Anadin, but I was kept away so I could not interfere. I have conquered the world,” his eyes flicked to Anadin, mouth twisting, “while my little brother has been brainwashed and drugged into this inhuman state, whereby he might be useful in killing me.
“Should he fail, my holy father believes I will kill Anadin, and that way at least there will be no extra to worry about. Spares can cause trouble in a royal house. The purpose has always been to let one of us kill the other.” His attention turned to the physician sprawled across the ground. “Is he dead?”
“I hit him very hard,” said Yeshton, hefting the candlestick. “If he’s not, he’s stronger than he looks.”
Aredel stepped from the table, crossed to stand over the physician, and pressed the tip of his curved sword to the man’s chest. “He’s breathing. Barely.” Aredel thrust the blade into the man’s heart.
Rille looked away.
“What now?” asked Yeshton.
“Now?” Aredel turned to Jinji. “Now we let the storyteller rest, and tomorrow we travel on to KryTeer.”
Yeshton glanced at Rille.
“All of us?” she asked.
“All but the physician—and Javanti.” Aredel moved toward the exit.
“Why?” asked Yeshton. “We’ve done nothing to warrant imprisonment. Isn’t Amantier now a province beneath KryTeer? We serve the Holy House of KessRa. Let us go.”
Aredel paused at the door and looked back, a glint in his eye. “And miss the opportunity to use young Rille as bait? My holy father may not desire me to live, but he will also allow me into the throne room of KryTeer so long as I have something he wants.” He slipped through the flap.
“So, we remain prisoners.” Yeshton sighed. “In the end, are we any better off with the Blood Prince than the Emperor?”
“He’s not an evil man.” It was Jetekesh who spoke.
Rille stared at him. “Have you become ill or simpleminded, cousin? I can’t quite determine—”
“Don’t mock me,” said Jetekesh. “Just help me get Jinji to a bed. He’s had quite an ordeal, and we rode through the night.”
Yeshton pulled Jinji to his feet. He and Jetekesh carried the storyteller between them, slipped through the curtain swath at Rille’s behest, and laid Jinji upon Anadin’s bed. Jinji curled up as Jetekesh pulled a colorful blanket over him.
“Tell us what happened, cousin,” said Rille. “Please.”
He described pillars of white sand and singing stars. He spoke of Prince Sharo, the fairy, and the lost knights. Of the elder paths. Of the dark fortress and Lord Peresen. His voice caught as he recounted Sir Blayse’s death. Last he explained Jinji’s plan, the return to the Drifting Sands, and the visit from the rightful king of Shinac. His voice caressed each word with reverence. A light danced in his eyes; something Rille couldn’t quite name. Perhaps the residue of magic. Jetekesh had been touched by it, after all. Infused with it.
Rille studied his face as he lapsed into silence, struck by the alteration in his countenance. He wasn’t quite—well, quite human anymore. An otherworldly quality had settled on his shoulders.
Her heart throbbed. She looked away. Why had Jinji chosen him to travel between the sand pillars? Why had she not been invited?
“Where is my father?” asked Jetekesh.
The ache dug deeper. “Outside, I expect. Sir Yeshton, will you seek him?”
“Of course, Mistress.” The soldier bowed and retreated.
Rille tried to smile. “He’s been very worried about you.”
Jetekesh turned his gaze to Jinji. “As I have been for him. But I’m glad I went.”
Rille looked away again as her breath hitched. Jetekesh still had his father, while hers was dead. Jinji had chosen Jetekesh to enter Shinac. She had no one, except for Yeshton, who served her out of loyalty for her father, not through any merit of her own.
S
he backed away from the bed. Away from her cousin, who had everything she wanted. She slipped through the airy curtains, back out into the main chamber of the tent. Anadin lay on the ground, while the Blood Prince’s men, Shevek and Ledonn, guarded him. The physician’s body had been removed.
Yeshton slipped inside the room, King Jetekesh, Tifen, and Sir Palan trailing behind him. She smiled at her lord uncle, but he hurried across the rugs and into the bedchamber beyond. Alive. Breathing.
Not like Father.
The Blood Prince had killed him.
Her lungs constricted, and she hunched forward. Back then, he’d been a thing of nightmares. A foreign, black entity, looming and untouchable. Father had died by the will and cunning of a monster. It wasn’t until now, this moment, understanding dawned like a blinding sunrise. Aredel. Aredel had killed her father. He had ordered him tortured, drawn, quartered.
Her limbs shook. Tears spilled from her eyes. Her throat tightened, choking her.
Murderer. Murderer!
How could Jinji call him friend? How could Jetekesh say he wasn’t evil? Were they blind?
“My lady?” Yeshton stood at her side.
She sucked in a quaking breath. “Sir Knight…” A sob caught in her voice. “Sir Knight, I want my father.”
He crouched before her and rested his hands on her arms. Their eyes met. “I know, my lady. I…I’m so sorry.”
“Sir Knight…”
“Yes, my lady?”
“I need a dagger.”
He became still. “For what purpose, my lady?”
Her eyes strayed to Anadin. “I intend to kill the Blood Prince. Do not stop me.”
She watched Yeshton’s struggle in the strain of his mouth, the crease of his brow. Felt it in the tightening of his grip. His desire to protect her weighed against her command.
He sighed. “As my lady wishes.” He pulled something from beneath his tunic and placed it in her hand.
Crownless Page 25
