He’d planned to slice the man’s throat, but the thick muscles and frantically waving arms prevented an opening. A moment of panic swept over Rhoane. The small blade would do nothing to the man if Rhoane stabbed him. Except for one possibility.
Rhoane ducked from being blindsided by a huge fist and strengthened his grip on the man. He grasped the hilt of the giant’s dagger with both hands and thrust upward into the base of Kragor’s skull.
A hush fell over the spectators as Kragor screeched in panicky pain.
The blade sliced upward, through the soft tissue of the man’s brain and out through his mouth, slicing his tongue in two. A horrible wailing started in the crowd, women trilling and men shouting. Cobalt blood sprayed over the sand in a wide arc, lengthening as Kragor keeled forward, taking Rhoane with him.
The Eleri loosened his hold a heartbeat before the brute collapsed on the ground and sent dust high into the air.
Rhoane rolled to all fours, coughing against the sand lodged in his throat. His body shook from the rush of adrenaline. He knelt there, gasping and trembling, while the crowd roared. Approval, disapproval—he didn’t care. He’d killed a man. Never before had he taken a life. Not even in the arena, where it was encouraged of the victor. Always, he’d spared the opponent, ignoring the demands of slaughter from the spectators.
But now he had taken the giant’s life without so much as a thought. If he hadn’t, it would’ve been him lying in a heap on the hot sand. Better his opponent than him.
Rhoane took a last shuddering breath and rose to his full height. Chest out, arms at his side, legs planted firmly, he raised his right fist in the air and brandished the bloodied dagger. Sticky blue fluid oozed over his hand, burning his skin. He stood taller, absorbing the pain the other man’s vital fluids inflicted. He’d won the fight. He’d not show weakness now.
The tribe clamored loud enough to deafen Rhoane. He stood resolute. They could kill him or not—he didn’t care. He was done fighting for their entertainment.
Laird Amdi approached, his glance wary. Rhoane lowered the dagger and wiped it on his tattered tunic. After a moment’s appraisal, Amdi grasped Rhoane’s arm at the elbow and his free hand reached around to pat Rhoane on the back. When Rhoane didn’t return the gesture, Amdi withdrew. A frown caused deep creases in his forehead and jowls.“Congratulations, boy.”
“I am not a boy, Amdi. And I believe I have won my freedom.”Rhoane glanced over his shoulder at the mass of flesh sprawled on the sand.“I require my sword, my clothing, and my belongings, then I will leave your desert.”
“You would leave us?”Kaleigh stepped out from Amdi’s shadow. No longer clothed in the hooded and veiled garment she usually wore, she stood before her prince in traditional Eleri garb. Rows of scarlet gems dangled from strips of silk, scarcely covering her bare skin. Her skirt rode low on her hips, showing off a golden chain. To Eleri, that one piece of jewelry signified she was taken. Rhoane’s gaze went from the gold piece to Kaleigh’s face. To see it unadorned and exposed unsettled him.
“Why should I stay?” he asked her.
“There is much more to learn, First Son.”
“I will not fight for him. My battles are done.”
“Your battles will never be finished. Not until all facets of the prophecy are fulfilled. If you stay,”Kaleigh added in Eleri,“I will teach you the way of time.”
Amdi cut her off with a harsh command to speak in Ullan or Elennish, never Eleri. She lowered her head in acquiescence and spoke to Amdi in Ullan, begging him to allow Rhoane to live among the tribe as a full member, not as a captive combatant. Amdi’s nostrils flared. His eyes bore into Kaleigh’s, as if a silent argument played out between them.
Rhoane was certain she shared her thoughts with her lover. Something she hadn’t done with him. His anger rekindled as he watched the two of them glare at each other, speaking only to grunt a disapproval of something the other had thought. Amdi was going back on his word. Of that Rhoane was certain. But he’d have none of it. If the man refused him his hard-fought freedom, he would take it. By force if necessary.
The sun made a slow dip beyond the mountains to the east, and a chill edged the last heat of the day. It would be dark soon. Time for the night creatures to prowl the skies, looking for prey. Even the guards shifted nervously as they waited for their laird to decide Rhoane’s fate.
Except Rhoane had no desire to allow Amdi, or anyone else, to make decisions controlling his destiny. Not even Verdaine, if it came down to it. He would never again be someone’s slave. Not Amdi, not another ruler, not even the Darennsai. No one but Rhoane would decide what was best for him.
“My sword,”Rhoane said, his tone lethal.“Get it now, or suffer the same fate as him.”He didn’t have to look at the giant for Amdi to know who he meant.
“You dare threaten me, boy?”
“I am tired of waiting. Either you return my sword to me now, or I will destroy this camp tent by tent until I find it.”
“Amdi, please,”Kaleigh said.“He satisfied all of your demands. I would like him to stay on as a friend—to train him, and nothing more. But he will not remain unless you act more civil.”She leaned in and whispered loud enough for Rhoane to hear,“Someday you will have need of him. I have foreseen this. If you do not honor your word now, you are sentencing all Ullans to death. There is war coming, my laird. Perhaps not in your lifetime, but soon, and this man will be Ulla’s salvation. Would you leave your heirs unprotected?”
Amdi’s glance swept the thinning crowd. He settled on two sturdy-looking young men. Both tanned, with the burnished skin of the Ullans and dark hair like their father, but with light eyes like their mother. Kaleigh had given Amdi his heirs. It explained why she refused to leave.
“Tomorrow,”Amdi said.“You will have your belongings then.”
“Why not tonight?”
“Because, First Son, they are hidden in a cave a day’s ride from here. Your sword tried to kill anyone who touched it. I had to hide it to be certain no harm came to my people.”
A grin broke Rhoane’s stern expression. Claidholm Solais would not suffer fools touching him. If he so desired, he could call forth the sword, and it would fly to his outstretched hand. A remarkable idea, but not one he was willing to act upon. Not in front of Amdi and his guards.
“Tomorrow, then.”Rhoane bent low at the waist to bow to the laird.“Tonight, I would like to bathe, and then feast with your people.”
Amdi barked a laugh and clapped Rhoane on the back.“I think I will like being your friend less than I liked being your laird. At least as my captive, you could not order me around. But for tonight, I will make an exception. I believe we can be mutually beneficial to each other, Prince Rhoane.” He clapped his hands, and two women materialized to take Rhoane to the baths.
“Rhoane.”Kaleigh lightly touched his arm.Amdi is still testing you. Be wary. These are his two most skilled concubines.
Rhoane hid his shock at her speaking in his mind. He hadn’t realized the connection had been there the entire time. All he’d had to do was try.I am certain Amdi will once more be disappointed. I know now what must be done, and bedding these women is not part of my path. But I thank you for the warning.
He placed his hand over her fingertips and said loud enough for all to hear,“I look forward to seeing you and your laird at the feast.”Internally, he added,And tomorrow you will teach me to manipulate time.
Chapter 6
RHOANE stayed in the desert another two and a half seasons. During the day, Kaleigh worked with him, showing him how to bend the Light to slow time and warp the Dark to speed time. At first, they worked in secret under the close watch of Amdi’s guards, meeting under the pretense that Rhoane was showing Kaleigh how better to heal. Eleri skills at healing far surpassed Ullans’, and with Rhoane’s assistance, Kaleigh became Amdi’s best healer.
Although he never entered the healer’s tents again, Rhoane often consulted with Kaleigh on difficult ailments, working to f
ind cures to foreign diseases he’d never experienced in the Narthvier. The education was beneficial to everyone. The longer Rhoane lived among the Ullans, the more he came to realize they weren’t a warrior race, as he’d first believed. Yes, Amdi demanded all his tribe members learn to fight, but the desert was harsh, and raiders often rode through the camps late at night, trying to steal horses and women.
The encampment moved several times in the space of two seasons—the nine moonturns they’d spent at the base of the mountains was the longest they stayed anywhere. Rhoane suspected it was his presence causing them to linger overlong in one location, but neither Kaleigh nor Amdi confirmed his suspicions. Yet, shortly after Rhoane’s victory over the giant, the entire camp packed up and moved farther to the east, close to the Jansen Straight. The salty tang of the sea had teased Rhoane’s heightened senses. He longed to be free of the constant sand and wind, but he stayed.
His work with Kaleigh and his budding friendship with Amdi kept him with the Ullans. The laird allowed him to sit in on tribal councils, and Rhoane saw a different form of governance than what he knew from the Weirren. Amdi was laird, but his tribal lords held equal power within the tent. Their concerns were heard and addressed by all present. A vote determined the outcome of every decision. Rhoane listened quietly to the meetings, only speaking or contributing to the discussion if asked.
During his two free seasons in the desert, he and Kaleigh pored over the scroll Carga had transcribed. Often, her eldest son would join them. When the scroll revealed no more clues to his path, and Kaleigh could teach him nothing more about folding time, he knew it was time to leave.
With sadness in his heart, he said farewell to his foster tribesmen, vowing to return again but knowing he might never fulfill the promise. Amdi had presented him with a fine stallion, a dapple grey named Lucitan. Rhoane steered his horse toward the west and Talaith, recalling his sister’s prediction the Darennsai would be found in the capital city. For near on a moonturn, he and Luc plodded onward, seeing few riders as they avoided major cities or towns.
After his long sojourn with the Ullans, Rhoane enjoyed the solitude. His days were spent riding, stopping only to fish or trap his dinner. At night, he bunked down under trees, the stars his only source of light. Many times on his journey he sought advice from his goddess, and each time, silence was his answer.
When he finally crested a hill and saw the glittering spires of the Crystal Palace in the distance, he was both relieved and apprehensive. If Carga had seen true, his mate was somewhere in this city. He only had to find her.
AT THE crossroad leading to the palace, Rhoane hesitated. As an Eleri noble, it was his duty to pay respects to the reigning sovereign, but his instincts told him to avoid the palace. Not one to shirk his duty, he turned Luc to the left, keeping the royal pennants in his sights as he traversed the broad avenues. Unlike Ulla, greenery flowered in abundance in the city. Trees rose above the rooftops, and everywhere he looked, blossoms of every shade, shape, and variety spilled from window boxes and garden beds.
The streets were devoid of trash, the cobblestones worn but in good repair. Talaith was a city of wealth, that much was certain. He plucked at his Ullan tunic. Propriety dictated he bathe and change his attire before he presented himself to the empress, but he had neither the resources to find a bathhouse, nor the energy to expend on trivialities.
The soldier stationed in the guardhouse swept Rhoane with a look of disdain when he requested an audience with the empress, which Rhoane accepted with equanimity. He’d been over three seasons with the Ullans and a moonturn on the road. He most likely looked like a street urchin. Except for Lucitan. No beggar would have a stallion of such fine breeding. Or a sword as magnificent as Claidholm Solais.
A burly man with almond-shaped eyes and skin as dark as mahogany strode toward the gate, his face set in a grimace. In Elennish, he said,“I understand you wish to see Empress Lliandra.” Despite his size, the baritone voice was like velvet. Smooth, with a touch of elegance. This was a man accustomed to his orders being followed. A man probably born to a House of high honor.
Rhoane inclined his head in greeting.“I am Prince Rhoane of the Eleri. I seek an audience with your empress, but first I require a place to freshen up and change my clothing. I am certain your ruler would not appreciate a man too long on the road in her sitting room.”
“Sir Baehlon.”A pretty lady with auburn curls and eyes of amber strolled past the knight.“Surely you aren’t going to keep an Eleri prince waiting? Look at him. He’s half-starved and has been too long in the sun. Take him to the east wing. There is an unused room near my father’s quarters. He can bathe in privacy and get a decent meal in him before he meets with the empress.”
The big man grunted, his look one of consternation and admiration.“And if he is not who he says he is? Willyouexplain to Her Majesty the error of my judgment?”
“Of course.”Her smile lit up her entire face and most of the surrounding soldiers’ as well. A small crowd had grown around them, and the knight fidgeted with the buckle of his scabbard.
“Very well. You there, take this man’s horse to the stables. Give him some oats, and make certain he is well tended.”
“For shame,”the lady scolded,“treating a beast better than our guest.”
“Lady Faelara,”Baehlon said,“you’ve already gotten me in enough trouble for one day. Don’t tempt my generosity any more than necessary.”
Rhoane dismounted and hid a smile. Whatever the relationship between the two, he quite enjoyed watching them volley their words.
“Follow me.” The knight turned on his heel and strode away.
Rhoane dipped his head to Lady Faelara.“Thank you.”
“Don’t make me regret my kindness.” Her words hung like steel around his neck.
He jogged to catch up with the knight and fell into step just before they reached a side door that led into the palace. The darkened hallway gave nothing away as to the interior of the place, and the stairs they climbed were plain stone. Obviously the knight had taken him through a servants’ corridor, which Rhoane had to admit was a wise choice. The fewer courtiers who saw him in his ragged condition, the better.
They sped down a hallway on the fourth floor of the palace, this one decorated with thick carpets and silk drapes over the windows. Torches lit with ShantiMari brightened the space, and Rhoane counted the doorways they passed. On the eighth one, the knight motioned him inside. He was surprised to see the rooms opulently decorated. He’d been fairly certain they’d hide him somewhere near the servants, but this room was deserving of a high lord, at the least.
“I’ll send someone up to help you bathe and dress.”The knight moved close to Rhoane, elongating his height until he stood near on a hand taller than the Eleri.“I am Baehlon de Monteferron, Champion and Protector to Empress Lliandra. If you so much as look at her wrong, I will kill you.”He stared down his nose at Rhoane, unmoving.“Are we clear?”
Rhoane grinned at the man’s audacity.“I knew a man once, taller than you, wider than you by far. Perhaps he was a brother? I left him in the Ullan sands bleeding from a head wound.”All mirth left his tone and a mask of lethal solemnity slid over his features.“If I wanted to cause your empress harm, she would be dead already.”
Baehlon’s eyes narrowed to tiny slits. His nostrils flared with his heated breathing.“What’s an Eleri prince doing fighting in Ulla?”
“Long story. One I would be happy to tell over a steaming mug of grhom. But if you do not mind, I should like to bathe so I might meet your empress looking somewhat respectable.”
Baehlon turned to leave. At the door, he said over his shoulder,“If you are who you say you are, be warned. The empress is searching for her next lover, and you’re just her type.”
“A prince?”
“No.”Baehlon faced him. A wide smile broke the tension on his face.“A man.”
Rhoane bathed and dressed in the only outfit he had besides the Ullan garments, doing
his best to look like the prince he was. On his way out the door, he caught his reflection and winced. At least he no longer appeared like a beggar. The gaunt face that looked back at him minimally resembled the lad who’d left the Narthvier too full of pride. His naturally pale skin was a shade lighter than Amdi’s, his hair a mass of unruly curls with streaks of golden blond. He doubted even his beloved sister would recognize him in this state. Ferran’s bells, he hardly recognized himself.
Gone was the sanctimonious sneer he’d once worn as a badge of honor. Reflected in his eyes he saw an intelligence, an understanding of the ways of the world he’d not encountered at home. As he studied the young man who stared back at him, he felt sorry for the lad who had caused his mother’s death. The sneer was gone, but not his anger. Of what he’d witnessed of the world, he wasn’t convinced the Fadair were worth what he’d lost. The kindest person he’d met thus far was an Eleri. He drew upon the vision he’d had of the woman with platinum hair. She’d called him her beloved. She’d asked him to wait for her. He drew a shaky breath and reminded himself she was worth the fight. The Fadair be damned.
A knock on the door broke his reverie. Waiting in the corridor was a page who led him through hallways and up several flights of stairs, all of which had Rhoane thoroughly confused by the time they reached the huge, ornately decorated rooms of the empress. Without knocking, his escort entered, and he followed. They passed through a small foyer with mirrors on the walls and ceiling, the floor a bizarre pattern of black and white tiles. If he stared too long, he became dizzy and disoriented.
Beyond the foyer was a sitting room with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out across the Summer Seas. He’d never seen the ocean that close before and stared, mesmerized at the expanse of blue. Even when in Ulla, the tribe never went as far as the coast, always staying inland, close to mountains, or near the Jansen Straight.
The Darathi Vorsi Prince (Song of the Swords Book 0) Page 5
