Queen of Stars and Shadows (Pathway of the Chosen)

by Cat Bruno

  “I have been told I have the looks of the Lysandians,” Jarek sighed, disappointed the captain could tell him nothing of the place.

  “Mayhap you do, but it was not a Lysandian that you reminded me of. In a tavern much like this one many moon years ago, my life was saved by a man similar to you, although his eyes were gold and not blue.”

  Jarek grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself, although he feared that the man had already gaged his reaction. With a glance to their surroundings and trying to keep any hint of surprise from his words, Jarek asked how the man’s life had been spared.

  In a lowered voice that sounded as if the man groaned, he said, “A drunkard, who I had briefly employed as a deckhand, attacked me while I stood near the bar, with mugs in both hands. Even though his blade was dull, it sliced my back open. The fool would have killed me had the golden-eyed man not intervened. He put his own sword through the man’s stomach, although neither of us stayed to see what happened next.”

  “And that is the man that I remind you of?” Jarek hissed.

  “Take no offense, boy, for the man was once a king.”

  He speaks of my father, Jarek realized. His hands gripped at his mug until his knuckles whitened and his breath was made of mist.

  Speaking as if he had swallowed sea and sand, Jarek grumbled, “I have heard talk that King Crispin often visited the Lower Streets. If he had not, he might still live.”

  The man’s laughter caused nearby patrons to stare, for it was loud and booming as he cried, “That man long had a death note on him, boy. It was but time before it became signed.”

  Jarek knew that he should flee, for others now watched them, and the captain was half-drunk. Yet there was something about Azzaro that made him stay.

  “How much coin would you charge to take me to Lysandia?” Jarek quietly asked, thinking of the book that Kennet had lent him to read and no longer willing to speak of his father.

  With sparkling eyes, the captain leaned so close to Jarek that he could smell the ale on his breath and whispered hoarsely, “Tell me who you are, boy, and I will see you there without pay.”

  Neither looked away, yet Jarek, for the first time in moon years, struggled to keep his eyes untouched by gold-fire.

  “You think he did not tell me about you? That I knew him for all those moon years, and I knew nothing of his firstborn?” Azzaro spit.

  As quickly as he could, Jarek reached for the man’s hand, squeezing it in warning. “Lower your voice! If you know anything, then you know that I am no man’s son.”

  Azzaro did not pull his hand away as he muttered, “You are alive, and he is not. That alone should prove that he sought to protect you.”

  Jarek yanked his hand free and downed his remaining ale before stating, “For nearly fifteen moon years, I walked the same halls as he did. I know not how many times he strode past me, yet never knew my name, let alone that I was his son! You, a stranger, can recognize me in one glance, but my own father could not.”

  “Boy,” the man growled, “Your father long knew who you were. What a fool you must be to not realize the truth! He could do nothing to set you free. Nor could he speak to you without arousing notice. To keep you safe, he forced himself to forget.”

  Jarek sat silently, uncertain whether to believe the captain’s words. He could not think on how different his life would have been if only Crispin had acknowledged him. If what Azzaro said was true, then even more of his life had been a lie. Jarek did not know which was worse – that his father knew of him and did nothing or that his father never cared enough to find out his fate.

  “I have more to tell,” the captain confessed.

  “I can’t listen right now,” Jarek gasped, feeling the ale’s effects taking hold.

  Sniveling with moons years of salt and sea in his voice, Azzaro warned, “You must listen. I have waited long for the chance to speak with you. It is not often that you leave the palace, and I had no choice but to hope to find you as I once did your father.”

  Jarek tried to rise, but Azzaro was faster, blocking him until Jarek retreated, falling back onto the stool.

  Nearly undone by the last quarter-hour, Jarek muttered, “We must discuss this privately.”

  A smirk crossed the man’s storm-battered face as he said, “None here know of you, and none know of whom we speak. Look around, boy, these are not guards or soldiers. These are Rexterrans, through and through, yet they have never even seen their king.”

  When Jarek did not move or lift his head, which had dropped to his chest, Azzaro added, “Come with me. The piers are near enough, and I have several ships docked.”

  Half-blind, Jarek followed, stumbling as though he had drunk a barrel of ale instead of two mugs. He did not know how long it had taken to reach Azzaro’s ship, yet, soon, they were onboard and descending a small ladder. In an orb-lit cabin, Jarek watched as the captain poured amber-colored whiskey into two sparkling glasses. When he opened his mouth to protest, his tongue felt thick and his lips dry, and no words would come.

  Handing him the glass, Azzaro sighed, “Few knew your father as I did, I think. To me, he was not king or prince or god-touched. He was Crispin, and he was my friend. Aye, he was not perfect; none of us is. And his past choices stained the path that he walked, so much that he no longer knew what it was that he wanted. After Herrin’s death, I begged him to command and rule without Delwin’s influence, as he was the rightful heir. Yet, the deaths of his cousin and the Northern healer weighed heavily on him, so much so that he no longer wanted to be king.”

  “But he was named king, and even Delwin proclaimed it so, for some moon years at least,” Jarek argued.

  After a loud gulp, the captain explained, “Delwin is no fool and saw what his brother had become. With the army behind him, he could do as he wished. And when Crispin realized that you were Delwin’s prized prisoner, he became even more helpless. Any act of revolt or any attempt to rule would have been his death or yours.”

  “How do you know so much?” Jarek asked, sipping lightly at the fire-scented whiskey.

  “After that first meeting with him, I began staying in the King’s City far more often. Eventually, it became my base. Your father still had some power, although it was only with coin and trade. I became rich, more so than most, off contracts that Crispin gave to me. You will not find a merchant fleet in all of Cordisia with as many ships as I own.”

  Clear-headed for a moment, Jarek looked about the room, and finally asked if it was warded, for their words were dangerous ones.

  “Wards would only draw eyes upon me that I do not need. Sometimes no magic is the best defense,” Azzaro stated.

  “Were you with him the night he died?” Jarek asked before the captain had finished speaking.

  The dark, damp room quieted, and Azzaro shook his head. Jarek could see the lines on the captain’s face drop. His eyes, worn thin with age and ale, shined with sadness.

  “A moon before his death we had an argument,” Azzaro confessed. “I remember it well, although we had finished a bottle of Arvumian whiskey. Word had reached me of Delwin’s plans to finally strike Eirrannia, and I warned Crispin that he must rein in his brother and demand to rule as the sole king. I told him that you were a man grown and able to take care of yourself. Over the moon years, Crispin cared little for Rexterra and even less of Eirrannia. Ofttimes, he would ask me to take him to Cossima, so that he could start life anew, as man and not king.”

  Slamming his glass onto a wooden crate, Jarek fumed, “After my birth, he sacrificed me for the throne! And then, moon years later, he wanted nothing of the kingship.”

  Azzaro, with gruff gentleness, told him, “He was a broken man. I know not how else to say it. For Crispin, the throne meant more deaths, and he had lost all allies that day on the field. His father, had he lived, would have ensured that it was Crispin and not Delwin who ruled.”

  “What was his plan for me? That I would eternally be Delwin’s slave?” Jarek cried.

&
nbsp; Suddenly, Azzaro stilled.

  In a voice so silent that Jarek had to strain to hear his words, the captain whispered, “Not slave, never that. He wanted you to be king. But knew that you would need an army first. Crispin knew that the healer’s daughter yet lived. And knew, too, what she would one day become. Together, Rexterra could be yours. And so he waited, working silently and without notice. You must understand that Delwin would have long ago attacked Eirrannia if not for your father’s manipulations.”

  “You said he had no power!” Jarek cried.

  The smirk retuning, Azzaro laughed, “Just as I said he controlled the coin, much of which he transported out of Cordisia and into safe keeping. Little by little, he amassed a large wealth that Delwin did not know about.”

  Finally beginning to make sense of who Azzaro was, Jarek said, “Even I have heard talk of how Rexterra could not afford war.”

  “Rexterra’s gold waits, guarded by men in my employ. It is enough to pay for mercenaries, enough to buy ships. Enough, even, to feed all of Eirrannia.”

  “Why would my father do such?”

  To see the old man nearly weep caused Jarek to tremble, so much so that his hands tingled. Around him, the sea bucked and arched, tilting the ship to and fro and sending the broad-shouldered man stumbling into a wall lined with planks. Azzaro cried out and struggled to stand until Jarek silenced the waves.

  I have been gone too long from the sea, he thought, but offered no explanation.

  Once the ship steadied, the captain said, “He gave up on himself, but never on you. If he could give you nothing in life, then, in death, he would give you a chance to reclaim the throne.”

  “I must tell Syrsha,” Jarek breathed, the confession escaping from his lips like steam.

  At the mention of the girl, Azzaro wiped at his face. Beaming now, his face alit and his eyes shining, he looked toward Jarek and said, “I saw her once. In Cossima. She was but a child then, yet I knew it to be her. With her was the Islander, who I had learned about on a trip to the Cove.”

  “You know much for being a sailor,” Jarek remarked, watching the man for a reaction.

  Another laugh spilled from the captain as he said, “I have succeeded where others have failed in part because of luck. Yet, I have made much of that luck by learning of those I seek to know.”

  “Why would you help a girl whom you have never met?” Jarek asked without trying to soften his tone.

  Lifting rope-scarred hands, Azzaro told him, “I will only offer her aid if it is what you wish. I gave your father my word that I would pledge my ships to your cause when the time came.”

  Rising, for Azzaro was not offering him clear answers, Jarek demanded, “What have you to gain by risking your fortune to help me secure the throne?”

  Azzaro sighed, “I have more coin than I can spend. I have had women, some beauties, some not. I have too many ships to count. And homes in three lands. What more do I need? I could die happy and at peace. But most would forget me. I am a man of my word and that word was once vowed to your father. I would see this game to the end, for it has been moon years coming.”

  “And what will I owe you for the aid?”

  Azzaro stood, too, and both men were of an equal height, although the seaman was rounder. Throwing an arm across Jarek’s shoulder, he barked, “I would like to see the inside of the Grand Palace before I die.”

  The captain shook him roughly, as if Jarek was a naught but a toy. Yet his glee was genuine, and Jarek found himself at ease with the man. Around them, the boat rocked gently, despite the scent of burned lightning that clung to the sea breeze.

  Before Jarek could comment, another glass was in his hand.

  “Drink up! You need not return to the palace tonight.”

  Any objection was silenced by the captain’s bellows, and Jarek reached for the offered glass.

  I will contact Syrsha on the morrow, he decided. Tonight, I will mourn for my father.

  *****

  Ursono was not a small man, and, seated next to Conri, the High Lord of the Bears appeared as an overfed king. There were few men that could match the Bear in size, and even fewer that would not fear him. Moon years removed from the Tribelands and war did not soften Ursono’s voice and, when he spoke, it was with a growl both ancient and new. None could mistake the threat.

  “Tell me why have you come,” he demanded, looking only at Conri.

  Beside Conri sat Ohdra, dressed in the green leathers of the forest, and Conall, who wore a gray-black tunic, much the shade of his shoulder-length hair. None had weapon, although all knew how little it mattered. The visit was the first in moon years, for the Bears cared little for the squabbles between kin and rarely welcomed Wolf or Crow. Once the strongest of the Tribe, now the Bears lived in near isolation. However, their return to Edan Lake had forced both Crow and Wolf to call upon them and seek peace.

  Aware that the Crow Lord Kyran had already visited Ursono, Conri hesitated. Then, slowly, he began.

  “You know why I have come, Ursono. I do not seek to fool you or charm you. I am here, as kin, to warn you of the war that comes to the Tribelands. You know well that the Crown plans to strike. And soon. We must face this threat together or perish.”

  To that, Ursono grumbled, “We may have lived away from the Tribelands, but do not think that the Bears did not hear of the feud between Crow and Wolf. Which makes it difficult to accept that you come to me now speaking of unity.”

  In the presence of so many Bears, Conri struggled to keep his gaze clear. All present understood that it was Rexterra that had allowed the Bears to inhabit Edan Lake.

  “Do not misunderstand me,” he half-warned. “I have no love for Crow. But I would be a fool to strike at kin while another enemy is at my door. I will not lie to you, Ursono. Kyran and his men must pay for what was done to my orla.”

  With a wave of a hair-covered hand, Ursono stated, “Kyran lost a brother that day, if I remember true. And in the moon years since, you both have suffered losses. If the Crown is the enemy to fear, why has so much time been wasted fighting between kin instead of killing the Rexterran King?”

  “Had your son Banso’s mother been murdered, you would have sought vengeance as well, High Lord,” Conri sharply answered.

  With grunting laughter, Ursono replied, “My orla was no weak mortal, Lord Conri.”

  Conall’s hand was on Conri’s leg, pleading silently with his brother for calmness, before Ursono had finished speaking. But it was Ohdra who intervened.

  “Do you forget who chose the mortal, nephew?” she asked, her voice no louder than wind-whipped leaves.

  Chastened by the fennidi queen’s words, Ursono grumbled, “The Bears played no role in the woman’s death.”

  “No,” she said. “You have done little for moon years but eat and sleep, while my people have seen our lands reduced and the Eirrannians starved. Even upon your return, you chose to do nothing. Without Eirrannia, both Tribe and fennidi will have no home.”

  “I did not say that we would not fight, Ohdra,” he told her.

  “Who will you fight for?” she exclaimed without fear, leaning forward and smaller than the Bear by a three-quarters.

  Ursono attempted to smile, but his broad face was still covered by a scowl as he answered, “We fight for ourselves. For our kin and our children.”

  Having heard enough, Conri exclaimed, “The Crown seeks to call you ally with promises of land and freedom! Do not blind yourself to what will come after such promises, Ursono.”

  “For now, the Bears have chosen no side. When we must, it will be to whom has proven to be the strongest. Until then, we wait, without striking or interfering.”

  Conall began to argue, but the High Lord ordered him to silence. Ursono could not be swayed, not yet. In truth, Conri admired the man’s intelligence, for the Bears had never been known for cunning forethought. Ursono had watched his numbers swell, while the Crows and Wolves had dozens die in Tribal battles. And while Ursono had met with the
m without any but his son at his side, Conri knew that the number of Bear cubs born in the last fifteen moon years was high.

  Just before the group departed, Conri called, “Just as you want to see your cubs safe, I do as well, Ursono. But you misspoke when you talked of Caryss, who was mother to my daughter. She was no mere mortal, and my daughter is no mere Wolf. I offer you this now, not in warning, but so that you may understand. Syrsha will be queen one day, not just of Wolf, but of Cordisia as well.”

  Ursono, who now stood as well, towering and wide, replied, “Send her to me when she returns. Let me judge this queen for myself. Maybe then I will order the Bears to battle.”

  His words were as much commitment as Conri could expect, and he briskly nodded and offered a tight bow in farewell. It would not serve the Wolves to make an enemy of Ursono. For now, he played the middle, neutral and unengaged. But, soon, Syrsha would return.

  And the girl must prove herself worthy to rule. The High Lord only needed to find her, and, so far, he had not been able to.

  “Ohdra, have you had word from Gregorr of late? The time has come for the faela to return,” he professed as they made their way to where three epidii waited.

  On silent toes, she hurried to his side.

  “I know little of their whereabouts. But, yes, it is time. I will attempt to make contact with Gregorr.”

  Since the girl’s birth, she had been in hiding, from both mortal and god. And, now, Conri needed her at his side. Vengeance could wait no longer.

  *****

  13

  He did not know if it was luck or chance that caused gray-blue clouds to streak across the starless sky, but Pietro hurried from the castle with a silent prayer. Even Luna was hidden, masked by the brewing storm, as if she was embraced by smoky arms.

  Wearing his light-colored healer’s robe, for he had not thought to bring something night-shaded, Pietro scrambled over an iron-worked fence. In his satchel, the jars clanged against one another, and he slowed his pace, afraid that someone might hear. The path was lined with towering stone pines, which offered little disguise with their top-centered foliage. Cool air scratched at Pietro’s face as he searched for a cloak.