Cold laughter flooded the chamber.
Jinji’s fingers twitched against Jetekesh’s arm. The prince looked at his friend and sucked in a sharp breath. Jinji’s expression was one Jetekesh had never seen before on the mild man’s face. His eyes blazed, leeching the blue until only vivid green remained. Color dusted his face. He released Jetekesh and staggered to his feet, hands fisted and shaking.
“Gyath.” His voice was sharp as steel. “Do you regard common life so little? You, whose line once dwelt in squalor? You, whose ancestors are no more royal than the fishermen of your market squares?”
The laughter faded. Gyath eyed Jinji. He shook off his physician’s probing hands and took a single step toward the storyteller. “Say no more, insolent jutik.”
“I will speak.” Jinji’s entire body shook. His breath caught as he panted. But he remained standing.
Jetekesh pushed to his feet and took Jinji’s arm to support him.
The storyteller breathed in. “Gyath, son of DulShil, descendant of one who unleashed darkness from the sea and thus banished Shinac from Nakania. Hear me all who stand here now: hear me and know truth. Long ago, when Nakania cradled Shinac on its southernmost shores; when this warm desert clime was a scape of winter, and the farther south you traveled the warmer it became—at that fair time, fairies and mermaids and elves roamed our many lands in peaceful years. Cavalin the Third reigned over the middle free lands of Nakania. He supped with the fae and sang their songs.
“I cannot say all was light and good, but people strove for it, even by the sword if necessary. Alas, not all were content with peace. A young man, Tallat by name, hungered for power. He was naught but a fisherman who dwelt near the southern shore of KryTeer, but he longed to become a knight of Cavalin’s court so that he might earn fame and fortune. Such feelings attract foul things, and a great darkness read his heart and whispered to him many promises. And so Tallat took his boat out in a storm as the whispers directed him, seeking those promises. The storm worsened, and the boat sank, taking Tallat with it to the bottom of the vast sea. It was there, beneath the crushing waves, that darkness took him. Possessed him. And Tallat emerged from that raging sea with power unlike any mortal man.
“He swiftly earned his right to serve as Cavalin’s knight in the free lands of Nakania, but that was not enough for the yearning hunger of Tallat. He returned to KryTeer, murdered the king of his own country, and claimed the throne for himself. At first, he thought himself content, but Shinac—pinnacle of magic, pillar of light—began to plague his thoughts, and the darkness of his heart thirsted to conquer that flourishing realm.”
As Jinji spoke, just as in times before, imagery unfurled like a scroll before Jetekesh, and he saw now a vast army of dark fae amassing under the banner of KryTeer. At their head, astride a great war horse, rode a man whose visage resembled the Blood Prince. Greedy men joined the ranks of Unsielie and marched upon Shinac.
Cavalin the Third mustered his army to oppose the dark force, and there he was slain on the battlefield by Tallat, who then advanced upon Shinac. But just as he reached the border, the country of magic vanished, and all the dark fae disappeared with it, leaving Tallat with only his human force of arms. Furious that he had lost his conquest, spurred by the darkness within, he advanced upon the free lands of Nakania to conquer what remained of Cavalin’s kingdom.
But Shing, then a great eastern empire, came to the aid of fallen Cavalin’s people, and Tallat was driven back to KryTeer, wounded and humiliated. There he nursed his wounds and strengthened his lands and allowed the darkness inside of him to fester and grow. Upon his death, Jetekesh watched in horror as a black vapor slipped from Tallat’s lips and into the mouth of his son and heir.
“So it has been, becoming the root of KryTeer priestcraft and the foundation of your monarchy,” said Jinji. He drew a wheezing breath and leaned hard against Jetekesh. “The darkness from the sea has possessed the line of rulers from Tallat down to you, Gyath. Upon your death, it will descend upon your heir. But I cannot abide it. Aredel is a fearsome specter, strong as those before him; but while you are greedy in thought and deed, Aredel serves his people, for he believes that to be right. I will not watch the wickedness of Tallat possess my friend…my brother…”
A cruel grin slid over Gyath’s face. “Assuming all you have said is true, it sounds to me that you can do nothing but watch. But do not fret, Jinji of Shing: I shall yet live a long life. Aredel need not swallow darkness yet.” He laughed. “Your stories are amusing; I shall not dispute this. But you’ve entertained us enough. You have told your story. We are reunited, father and son. The evening is upon us, and it is time for feasting and song! Let us celebrate the arrival of my brave three sons, each back from a battle unique to his skills. Bring wine! Bring dancers!”
Music struck up. Women draped in colorful silks stepped onto the rug and began to sway and twirl, twinkling with jewels and golden baubles. Jetekesh drew Jinji away from the revelry, and the others of their party followed, including Aredel and Anadin.
The Second Prince of the Blood stepped to Jinji’s side. “So, you are truly our brother?”
Jinji smiled wanly at Anadin. “So I am.”
“But your eyes are so light.” Anadin cocked his head. “How?”
“Can you not guess?” Rille pulled Yeshton by his hand to join the group. “It is because he Sees true. It is because all his life he has walked with the princes of Shinac. He is their kin, as much as yours.”
Yeshton frowned. “The real matter is what happens now, my lords? Mistress?” He glanced at Gyath, who had climbed the steps of his throne to watch the dance. “If Jinji’s words are fact, we cannot slay Emperor Gyath. The darkness would then enslave Prince Aredel, and I for one would rather not encounter that scenario.”
“Nor I,” said Rille and Anadin in unison.
“Gyath knows this,” said Father, brow furrowed. “As Jinji spoke, I saw the emperor’s countenance change. He feels that he will be safe, so long as we try to protect Aredel from that fate. But how…?” He glanced toward the throne. Jetekesh followed his gaze. Gyath was enraptured by one of the dancers. The guards stationed around the chamber were too far away to listen. Father turned back to the group. “How can we possibly defeat this…this darkness? Jinji?”
Jetekesh looked at his friend, but the storyteller’s eyes were closed, and a thread of blood trickled from the corner of his lips. Father moved toward Jinji as Jetekesh reached up to touch his friend’s face.
Jinji’s eyes fluttered open, but he slumped forward, and Jetekesh held him up with gritted teeth. Father took his other side. Aredel stepped before Jinji and wiped the blood from the man’s lips.
Aredel looked at Father. “Let me take him. He needn’t stay here for the feast. Prince Jetekesh must come with me. The rest of you will remain here. Stay close to Ledonn and Shevek and say nothing. Eat. Try to rest as best you might. I will return when I can.”
“Take care of my son,” said Father.
Aredel swept Jinji up into his arms. “Your son has a bad habit of speaking his mind, Your Majesty. He will be safest in my company.”
“What about me?” asked Anadin, a pout in his voice. “Jinji is my brother too.”
“Stay near Rille,” Aredel commanded. “Protect her.”
Anadin hesitated but nodded. “Sahala shall be safe with me. So will Kyella.” He smiled at the farmer’s daughter, who looked pale and weary.
The Blood Prince turned away. Jetekesh followed, aware of many eyes on his back. Was one of them Gyath? He’d angered the emperor, and now two good men were dead.
Why am I so foolish?
Aredel led him through a door to the throne room’s side, and beyond, into an arching corridor of white stone and marble. Ornate lamps and tall sconces had been lighted along the corridor. Evening had descended across KryTeer. Jetekesh’s steps echoed along the vast space.
“You have caused a great deal of trouble, Jetekesh.” Aredel never looked back as he s
poke.
Jetekesh scowled at the man’s back. “I spoke truth. No one else would defend Jinji. I thought you, at least, would stand up for him against your father. Isn’t Jinji your friend?”
“Of course.” The Blood Prince halted and turned enough to glance at Jetekesh. “I owe Jinji everything. Thus, I kept my peace. If I were to defy my lord father openly, it would be Jinji’s end, even after all the truths you spoke. Gyath does not want a martyr on his hands. He is afraid. He knows this, and he knows that I know it. But my defiance is yet a greater fear. He would risk all else if I gave him cause to believe I stand against him.” He began to walk again. Jetekesh trotted after him.
“Besides,” Aredel said after a moment, “Jinji came here at the behest of the rightful king of Shinac. I trust that my friend knows what he must do. I don’t wish to interfere with his purpose.”
Jetekesh looked at his feet, cheeks burning. I’m a fool. Of course Aredel knew what he was doing. Why do I never think? Tifen’s death is my fault. I killed him.
Aredel pushed open the door to his bedchamber, careful to keep his arms steady. Jinji had grown so thin, he was light as an adolescent girl. Aredel’s arms barely ached, even after carrying him up four flights of stairs to reach the eastern wing and the blood heir’s private suite.
Jetekesh slipped into the room behind Aredel and barred the door.
The Blood Prince marched to the wide, plush bed, and laid Jinji across the coverlet. The storyteller moaned and rolled to his side, where he curled into himself. His hair was whiter now than it had been this morning.
A pang throbbed in Aredel’s chest. This man, his friend—and all this time, his brother. If only Aredel had known. Not that knowing would increase his affection; how could he love Jinji more than he already did? That wasn’t it. Perhaps he’d not have done anything different, for Jinji had gone his own way, as he always would. But Aredel could have called him brother; could have thought of him so, not just wished he were so.
Aredel stooped over the bed and rested his hand on Jinji’s hair. A few days more, perhaps a week or two, and Jinji’s life would expire.
“He’s so pale,” whispered Jetekesh, hovering close.
Aredel looked up and read the concern etched in the young prince’s face. How much the boy had grown, just since Keep Falcon. How would he fare when Jinji was gone?
No better than myself. We are much alike, Jetekesh and I. Two self-centered children, craving affection. And Jinji gave us what we desperately needed. Will we survive without him?
Aredel pulled his hand from Jinji’s head, trembling. He had always seen Jinji as a fragile man whose soul was greater even than Cavalin of old. “Elder brother” was a term Aredel had never dared to think, yet it was truth.
Too late to say it aloud.
Aredel retreated a few paces from the bed. “We must let him rest. There is much to be planned.”
“Like what? How can we do anything at all?”
What, indeed? Aredel had thought of one solution, but he loathed it. The simplest course was to end the royal line of KryTeer, but that meant taking his own life, and poor Anadin’s, before Gyath could be killed. And now Jinji too was at risk. Could the darkness from the sea possess the storyteller? Likely not, but there was always the chance. It was not a path Aredel wanted to take: especially for Anadin’s sake.
Upon Gyath’s death, there would already be a problem. It was KryTeer law to execute the deceased ruler’s entire harem, along with his sired spare, to avoid messy successions. Even should Aredel not become possessed by the darkness, he could not be crowned until the law was satisfied; and without the title of emperor, he could not rescind the law. Such had always been Aredel’s greatest trouble and his reason not to kill Gyath long before now. He had intended to use King Jetekesh’s life debt to request that Anadin escape with the Amantierans to their homeland, and there hide until Gyath could be dealt with.
But things had grown beyond Aredel’s control.
Motion caught his eyes, and he turned to watch Jetekesh walk to the open balcony. Outside the sky glowed red and purple.
The prince of Amantier leaned over the railing and stared down into the faraway courtyard. “Rille said one crowned by chains would gift Gyath with immortality. I can guess what she meant by the last bit: someone will kill him. But who is the one crowned by chains? You, a slave of your father? Anadin, likewise? Jinji, chained to his illness? Or someone else?” Prince Jetekesh sighed. “She said nothing about what follows, or the darkness, or how to stop it.” He turned to meet Aredel’s eyes. “What can we do?”
“It is a question my lord father ponders as well. He is no fool.”
Jetekesh’s eyes widened. “But he was thrilled when she told him what she Saw.”
“Of course. There is the chance he will be granted such a gift. But he knows better than to believe his perception alone is the only possible meaning of her words. He knows we at least would prefer to translate it another way. He will be cautious, and he will try to kill us all. Tonight, if he possibly can.”
Jetekesh moaned. “You make it sound impossible! Why hasn’t he killed you before now, if you’re such a problem?”
Aredel allowed a smile to flit across his lips. “Did I say he has never tried? I am not so simple to kill as you seem to presume. Consider the lengths he has gone to control my younger brother.”
Jetekesh folded his arms. “Very well. What makes him believe he can kill you now, tonight, where all other times he has failed?”
“Because he is desperate, and because he is greedy.”
Jetekesh shook his head. “Why? What’s changed?”
“Are you familiar with the succession of kings down to Gyath in KryTeer?”
“I am since the time of Cavalin.”
“Can you tell me the common correlation between each generation?”
Jetekesh was silent for a moment, fingers flexing as though he counted. “Well, the obvious theme is that each king always has two sons by his queen: no more, no less. An heir and a spare. Beyond that—”
“That will do. You’ve made my point. My pet theory is that the darkness saw to it that it could continue forward through the royal line since Tallat; an heir to possess, and a spare in case the heir died. Would you agree it’s possible?”
“Well, yes.” Jetekesh’s eyes widened. “You’re proposing to end your line? But that would mean Anadin too—and what about Jinji?”
“Relax. That is only a worst-case solution. I would rather not die, but I’ll thank you for your concern.”
The prince flushed. “What’s your point then?”
“My father has considered another theory. I am less than convinced of its effectiveness, but there is always the risk…” He cupped his hands behind his back and paced the large rug beneath his curled-toe shoes. “Rille said that one crowned by chains would gift Gyath with immortality, yes?”
“Yes.” Jetekesh’s voice was cautious.
“What happens if there is no heir? Nor any spare? No one with the proper claim to succeed the KryTeer emperor? Where does the darkness go should Gyath die?”
The prince of Amantier stared at him, brow wrinkled. “Go? But—” His brow shot up. “Gracious saints preserve us! Do you think the darkness would stay inside Gyath? I mean, indefinitely? You believe it would make him immortal?”
Aredel shrugged. “It doesn’t matter if I believe it possible or not. My father is likely to consider it.”
“B—but even if he killed both his rightful heirs…how could he possibly test the theory to see if it’s true?”
“He likely believes Rille would tell him.”
“He trusts my cousin a great deal without knowing her.”
“She argued a good point. Amantier, as it was, is no more, and your mother’s feud with her father is well known in KryTeer. But that’s not important now. Rille has played her part, and our struggle is how to survive long enough to destroy the darkness before Anadin or I become its host.”
“
It’s not possible! This isn’t Shinac. None of us is fae. Your own country’s magic is most likely derived from the darkness itself. No one possesses the knowledge of how this threat can be conquered—except perhaps Jinji. But he’s too weak to help anyone now. We’re as good as doomed.”
Aredel tilted his head. “I didn’t know you were such an optimist.”
Jetekesh’s scowl was impressive. “Show me a ray of light in all this mess and I’ll seize upon it at once!” He ran a hand through his hair. “I want a drink.”
“There is white wine in that jar on the stand.” Aredel gestured to the bronze bottle. Jetekesh sprinted across the room and poured himself a goblet. Aredel resisted the urge to join him; he must keep his wits sharp as daggers.
Jetekesh’s words echoed through his head. As good as doomed. It’s impossible. Doomed.
There must be an answer. Why come here otherwise? Why would the true king of Shinac appear to Jinji and spare his life, only to have him imprisoned or executed? Then, was Jinji the key? Could he somehow slay the darkness? But how? Jinji was gifted to see into Shinac itself, but that was the extent of his power. He wielded no magic spells, no great sword, no talismans, or charms, not even the authority of a church to exorcise evil, such as the priests in Amantier.
He halted his pacing and turned to Jetekesh. “Would your priests be able to destroy this darkness? They use the authority granted them by your One God, yes?”
Jetekesh lowered his goblet. “Well, yes, possibly. But Emperor Gyath banished all Amantieran priests from KryTeer two years ago.”
“What of a former priest of your faith?”
Jetekesh shook his head. “Impossible. If he’s no longer a man of the cloth, he has no authority from the One God to exorcise spirits or demons.”
Aredel cursed under his breath. “What use is that? You cannot tell me spirits or demons only appear when priests are present to dispose of them.”
Jetekesh’s cheeks colored, but he said nothing as he took another drink.
Aredel began to pace again. There must be another way. The priests of KryTeer would never help. The Shingese believed in spirits of the earth, and their tenets didn’t include exorcism, as far as he knew. Not that he knew much of Shingese faith. Jinji had rarely spoken of it.
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