The general fell back, clasping his chin in shock. “Nav—”
But with a cry of fury, Navon fell onto him, slamming his right fist into Jikun’s hand, his left moving underneath his swift attempt at defense and back into his jaw. “You fucking self-centered… bastard! How many times did I fucking tell you to not bed the prostitutes and you did it anyways?! You think I would have abandoned you on trial?! This is where you would have been thrown! I served by your side for a dozen bloody years and at my trial they asked, ‘Is there anyone here to speak on your behalf?’ and you. Weren’t. There.” He continued through a flurry of punches, his voice cracking, “I don’t need your fucking sympathy now. Your sympathy isn’t going to save me. I. Don’t. Want. Your. Fucking. Symp—”
Jikun grunted, fumbling and catching his captain’s right fist as his other hand tightened on his left. He threw him back with a growl, tackling him in the same fluent motion. He grabbed his wrists, slamming them in the damp hay beneath them. “STOP it, Navon!” he bellowed, his hands tightening further. “I told you not to do necromancy! It is not my fault you were imprisoned. You think my words would have saved you then?!”
Navon looked back, his jaw clenched, his lips trembling. Jikun could see a wave of pain and anguish behind them, fighting to stay contained behind his anger.
Jikun inhaled heavily. “I was… afraid.”
Navon’s body grew still, his brow knitting skeptically. He pursed his lips into a hard, thin line. “Afraid?”
“Yes. Afraid. Afraid that they’d… somehow find out I knew you were involved in necromancy. That I’d join you.”
Navon’s eyes hardened and Jikun could feel the Helven’s chest tighten beneath him.
Jikun’s gaze faltered, finding it difficult to speak as the trembling beneath him stilled. “…And that when I saw you up there, threatened with death… I’d have said things I shouldn’t have. Revealed what I did know… That it was my fault for not stopping you.” He sat back, releasing Navon’s wrists slowly. “And then… I couldn’t face that I hadn’t gone…”
Navon shoved him off, drawing back sharply. Jikun could see the venom rekindle behind his eyes. He pulled his right leg back against his chest and his mouth opened to speak. When no words found their way out, he closed it with a quiet snap.
But Jikun didn’t need the words. He could see the sorrow etched plainly across Navon’s face. The fear and anxiety riveting him inward. “And… I am sorry, Navon. I am deeply and truly sorry. I …failed. I forsook you when you needed me most.”
Navon looked away and Jikun could hear him inhale a deep, shaky breath as though he was finally submitting to his confinement.
“But… what I have been trying to tell you,” Jikun spoke after a moment, “is that you are to be released.”
Navon’s head snapped up abruptly, his brow knitting as his head cocked slightly in disbelief.
“You are to be reinstated as my captain.” Jikun stood, dropping a hand down toward Navon.
Navon stared numbly at his hand for a moment, and then his azure eyes trailed up cautiously. Doubtfully. He knew he had no reason to believe that Jikun wove a lie, but still, he questioned him. “…But… how?” He reached out a hand hesitantly, letting Jikun pull him to his feet. “How in Sel’ari’s name did you win my freedom?”
‘…Still saying her name… even after what her people sentenced him to…’ Jikun steadied his captain before drawing away, grimacing inwardly at the boney frame he had once more been reduced to. “I told His Majesty that you were the best captain I could have… And that I wasn’t riding into battle without you. …We go together or not at all.”
He saw Navon smile, the creases in his face softening, the anguish vanishing, as though those words alone had made amends for all his wrongs—healed all his wounds. How had he not noticed how alone his captain had become? Did he truly know him so little?
But he understood him now: Navon had become so alone that he was desperate for any inkling of friendship. And though Jikun’s apology could hardly make amends for his actions, Navon was so desperate for companionship that he had seized upon the first bit of affection and loyalty Jikun showed as though it was genuinely enough to atone for all his neglect.
Still, Jikun felt his guilt ease somewhat as relief flooded his captain’s face. Navon’s eyes shifted toward the door. “With regard to the king, you played our friendship pretty close to the chest, didn’t you?”
Jikun smiled slightly at his sarcasm. “It was my only card to play.”
Navon straightened, rolling his shoulders and rubbing his wrists subconsciously, as though scraping away the feel of the prison chains that must have once bound him. As his new fate seemed to solidify in his mind, he was growing stronger. “We’ll see if it has the same effect at your prostitution trial.”
Jikun rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched into an amused smile. “Come.” He turned and strode toward the door of the cell, aware of the wet fabric pressed against his body where he had touched the floor of the cell. He refrained from outward disgust, knowing Navon was far worse off.
“Gods know we have some planning to do, don’t we?” Navon asked rhetorically, stepping alongside his general as he brushed his hands down his body, as though he could wipe away the past months’ anguish with the dirt.
“We need to go see the male who recently rescued the queen from Saebellus. I need you in this coming battle, my friend, so after that, you will be ordered to rest and eat until we move out—no room for arguing.”
Navon gestured to the door of his cell. “Of course. You’ll need me at my best to keep an eye on you in battle.”
There was the male he knew.
“After you, General.”
Jikun stepped out onto the marble of the low hall before them, opening his mouth cautiously. “Navon,” he began, allowing his voice to reveal the faintest trace of threat, “I must warn you again. You’ve heard me say it before. I’m begging you this time. If you so much as say the word necromancy, Hairem has threatened that you will meet your sentence.”
Navon’s smile broadened, but there was an unreadable glimmer from his eyes. “I will not take that risk.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
“This is it?” Navon asked, a skeptical edge creeping into his tone as he regarded the depressingly decrepit estate.
Jikun glanced surreptitiously toward his comrade. He was one to make a comment about the lowly state of another’s inhabitance. Still, Jikun supposed his captain did look—and smell—remarkably better now. The bath had done wonders for him, but he had still not managed to scrub away the clamminess of his skin. “Supposedly it was once a great manor,” Jikun replied with a shrug, pushing open the old, vine-covered gates to the Rilden Estate. They creaked noisily, echoing out across the canyon beyond in an eerily solitary ring, as though it was the only noise across the precipice.
And perhaps it was. The edge of the city was quiet in the afternoon light. The surrounding citizens had gone off for the day, to peruse the market square or sing praises in the temple or perhaps sample a bite or two of those cream puffed pastries Navon had given him on their last strut about the square.
But here, the estate was still. Dark. Quiet. It was as he had remembered seeing it years before—a wide, flat land spotted with massive, ancient trees and an orchard nearly bare of leaves in preparation for the coming winter. The back land faced the cliffside—no doubt with a stunning view beyond—while the cobbled road leading up to the estate’s doors was overgrown with ivy that crept up even along the pillars and walls of the estate. Jikun imagined that in the summer, the place must be a different sight entirely, but now it was a cold, oddly foreboding structure in the middle of such a grand city; even the shadows of the ancient trees shut out the sunlight. He could glimpse the old Rilden watchtower through the trees, but it appeared in no better condition.
“Are you going to stare at my home all day or are you coming in?” came a call from a cracked window on the second story. A candle
flickered on inside one of the dirty panes and a Sel’ven emerged onto the balcony, a silhouette against the light behind him. “The doors are open.”
Jikun could distinguish nothing about the elf other than his rigid posture—yet somehow, even that scant illumination conveyed disdain. He quickened his steps into the stained marble of the estate, catching sight only of the short ends of blond hair as the elf vanished into the building above him.
Navon closed the door softly behind them and drew up beside his general.
Although covered in dust, the estate was no doubt a stunning testament to the wealth of the previous royal line. The male from the balcony now stood at the top of the steps, a candle held in his hand. From that single flame and the sparse rays that managed to break through the window’s dusted panes, gold inlay glinted off of every carving and unlit chandelier. It was admittedly nothing short of breathtaking.
And if a few orbs of yellow luminescent magic had been released along the ceiling, as the estate undoubtedly had held in its glory days, Jikun imagined that despite the bareness of the manor, it would have rivaled even the splendor of the palace itself.
“General Taemrin, I presume,” the male spoke stiffly, drawing Jikun’s attention away from the grandiose interior as he took brisk steps down the stairs to stop before them. He drew up sharply and was suddenly slightly taller than the Darivalian, a rare achievement to manage for a Sel’ven.
Jikun studied the male briefly above the yellow glow of the flame. Ryekarian. Nobly-born. Wealthy. And he had rescued Ilsevel from the heart of Saebellus’ city. Perhaps he was a foreign military leader of some kind or a member of Sairel’s elite forces. “Yes, and you are Sellemar?” he replied, focusing finally on the male’s unscarred face. If he was military, his hands were remarkably smooth and his face untouched. There was even an air of luxury about his unmarred skin.
‘He is…’ a frown creased Jikun’s features as the Sel’ven’s bored eyes stared into his own. ‘Pretentious. That is the word I am looking for.’ The assessment was not merely due to a flourish of overwhelming wealth across his clothes and jewelry, or the shamefully ornate sword at his side, but rather the look in his eyes as he regarded them. It was unflappably blatant: ‘I am better, older, wiser,’ it said, and conveyed such arrogance in its certainty that the utter lack of regard for their thoughts was apparent from the start.
The Sel’ven lowered the candle. “Yes, I am Sellemar. What can I do for you and…” he paused, looking down on Navon briefly. “Your captain?” There was the faintest flicker of a smile as the Sel’ven regarded Navon, and Jikun was surprised to note that it was not at all spiteful or cynical, as he would have expected after the recent unveiling of Navon’s darker practices. “I am pleased to see that you were released. I apologize for being unable to attend your trial—I was engaged in the mission for Ilsevel’s rescue. Welcome back to the surface.”
Jikun blinked in surprise, glancing sidelong at Navon to find his comrade had been reduced to the same blank stupor, having been caught off guard. Jikun could feel his mouth gape. This Sel’ven knew of Navon’s practices in necromancy… and accepted them? He attempted to recollect his composure as his assessment of the male was addled.
He glanced around, searching for some clue to the personality before him. The halls were remarkably bare and there was no furniture of any kind. Some great prize Hairem had given him—and greater still that the male had done nothing to alter its condition. The unnecessary riches the male wore draped across his body were in stark contrast to the home in which he had chosen to abide. “Perhaps we can sit and discuss the matter at hand somewhere more comfortable?” Jikun began.
Sellemar regarded them stoically. “If you must.” He turned back toward the top of the stairs and moved up. “There is little left in this place for comfort,” he began, as though they had not already noticed. He swung the candle around briefly to catch their expressions.
Jikun could see Navon’s eyes respond with sympathetic agreement. But Jikun knew his own face held a more irritable expression as he recalled Hairem’s instance at having given an “unquestionably great reward.” He scoffed.
“But,” Sellemar continued, turning back around and speaking in a tone unbothered by these details, “there are a few chairs beside the fireplace.”
Jikun narrowed his eyes at the male’s retreating figure as he reached the top of the staircase. He was harder to decipher than he had expected. As he pursued the male, he scanned the old mural on the wall at his right: a depiction of several elves piercing a dragon through with lances: a scene from the War of the Dragons. It was a rather violent mural for an elven estate and he wondered if the True Bloods had been less obsessed with portraying perfect beauty than the other nobility he had encountered thus far. Still, this male wasn’t entirely beyond their tendencies, was he? His eyes fell to the sword at his side.
The worth of that sword alone must be greater than that of the entirety of the Rilden Estate.
“This room here,” he heard Sellemar call from the wide hallway beyond.
Jikun jerked his attention out of his oblivious stupor and hastened to follow Sellemar. ‘We look like wide-eyed children,’ he thought shamefully to himself, hurrying up the rest of the stairs and stepping briskly to the open doorway.
Sellemar regarded them with the faintest eye roll, as though it was indeed children he was entertaining. “Have a seat,” Sellemar offered, standing aside to let them pass into the room before him.
The curtains had been drawn since his appearance on the balcony, but the room was well-lit by a large chandelier and a roaring fire. The dust had been removed, whether by himself or servants, and the marble floors bounced the light back against the glittering walls and crystal vases. Of everything he had seen so far, this room alone held the pristine and royal elegance that was to be expected from the True Blood estate.
Sellemar took a seat before the thick fur rug beside the fire in a stoically formal manner. “I heard that after Rilden was slain here, his family left his room as it was at his death. They considered it a bad omen to move these things with them when they left.”
Rilden’s death… Jikun could remember that event. He had been murdered shortly before the True Bloods had left the continent, brutally and bloodily by a still unknown entity.
Jikun leaned slightly away from the heat as he stepped past the roaring flames. His blood ran colder than theirs—a Darivalian fire rarely rose so fierce. ‘These southerners and their thin skin… Why, even the floor is covered for warmth.’ He glanced down at the rug, raising his brow. “White thakish,” he spoke aloud, his mind flickering back to Kaivervale, wondering what had become of the soldiers Hairem had sent.
“Do you hunt?” Sellemar inquired, his voice briefly adopting a mildly intrigued tone. He gestured to the fur. “I have heard that the Darivalian elves are excellent hunters.”
Jikun let his boot sink into the thick fur. “Yes. Although my skill has undoubtedly waned over the years away from home.”
Sellemar nodded his head in understanding. “I hunt as well… although it is primarily deer, now,” he added with a rueful smirk. “Once it was orcs, but that was many years ago.”
Navon sank into the chair to Sellemar’s left, leaving his thin hands to rest across his thigh. “I didn’t think the orcs were troubling as of the last few centuries. In fact, Ryekarayn hasn’t heard much from them in many years,” Navon hedged, head cocked slightly to the right. His azure eyes were inquisitive, piercing as they gazed at the reticent Sel’ven. “Were you on Ryekarayn before the True Bloods?”
Sellemar’s face grew impassive and all emotions vanished as though they had never been. He settled further into his chair. “You came to ask me something, I presume,” he spoke, his eyes focusing on the general. “Speak.” He set his sword across the stand between himself and Navon, letting the two make themselves comfortable as well before he began.
Jikun dropped himself to the edge of a seat, too focused on his mission to reclin
e comfortably. The weight of the topic seemed to dim the flames, but the force of the heat remained. “King Hairem believes Saebellus may use the True Blood tunnel of Elarium to lay siege to the city,” he began without formality, watching the solemn expression on Sellemar’s face remain fixed. “His Majesty said that you knew of one of the tunnels going into Horiembrig. It seems Saebellus knows of the one into Elarium. If we could find this tunnel—”
“Yes, you would surround him and the war would be won,” Sellemar replied. He tilted his chin, studying Jikun’s face. “But what makes you believe that Saebellus has knowledge of this tunnel? Such information is hardly privy to Sevrigel’s most trusted general, let alone maniacal warlords and traitorous rebels.”
Jikun pursed his lips at the interruption and the followed digression. Exactly who did this male think he was? “These are military matters. I cannot discuss the details with you.”
Sellemar waved a hand, turning back toward the fire with a gratingly haughty laugh. “Unless I have a good reason to believe Saebellus already knows of the tunnel’s location, I will not reveal it to fifty thousand—or however many—males that you intend to lead through it. The tunnels are only of value so long as few people know of them. The moment I tell you of Elarium’s is the moment it ceases to be of value. You do not just… recreate such vast work.”
Jikun leaned forward irritably, narrowing his eyes at the male, yet he couldn’t contest his excuse. Still… “Hairem—King Hairem—said he doesn’t know about the tunnels. If Hairem doesn’t know of them, then what value do they hold?”
Sellemar raised an indignant brow. “I just used one to rescue Ilsevel, as you are undoubtedly aware. That is what value they hold, General Jikun.”
Jikun sat back, petulant to the elf’s tone.
Kings or Pawns (Steps of Power 1) Page 38
