The Elder Blood Chronicles Book 2 Blood Honor and Dreams

by Melissa Myers

  “Tevrae is an herb that slows regeneration in Immortals. Kithkanon is known for coating his swords with it,” Jail replied moving over closer to the bars. “How bad is it?” he asked quietly.

  “It’s just started but Finn already has a wound,” she replied, stepping closer to Jail so he could see the fight as well.

  Her breath caught again as Kithkanon parried each of Finn’s blows easily and shoved him roughly backwards, drawing another line of blood across his stomach. Stumbling, Finn barely managed to keep his feet and clumsily dodged another attack from Kithkanon.

  “Two wounds,” Jala corrected, her hopes sinking as she watched Finn struggle to hold Kithkanon off of him. He was breathing heavily again as he had last night in the pits, as if he was already winded from the fight. “Finn has better stamina than that, Jail, what’s wrong with him? Are the blades poisoned?”

  “No, the judges wouldn’t allow poison. Tevrae is legal but just about everything else is banned,” Jail said with a shake of his head. “I’m not sure if he is playing the crowd or not. If he is, he is doing a spectacular job,”

  “I don’t think it’s an act,” Jala whispered, her eyes going glassy. Hemlock’s words echoed through her mind as she watched Kithkanon draw another line of blood across Finn’s bare chest. I, of course, already know how it’s going to end but I don’t want to miss the expression on your face when you see it. “I don’t know anything about Kithkanon. Can Finn be brought back if he loses?” Jala asked Jail quietly.

  The crowd gave another loud roar as Kithkanon managed to knock Finn from his feet. Rolling quickly, Finn barely dodged Kithkanon’s blade as it sank into the sand beside him. Kicking up with one leg Finn managed a savage blow to the other man’s knee, giving him the precious seconds he needed to get back to his feet.

  “See the swords Finn is using, Jala?” Jail asked quietly and Jala turned her attention to the black blades her husband held.

  “Oh, I thought they were his Barllen blades. I didn’t look at the hilts,” she muttered, unsure how it mattered what Finn fought with. The blades on these looked the same as the Barllen but the hilts held large sapphires in them instead of the silver sculpted women.

  “Notice how Kithkanon’s are the same dull metal only a bit lighter in color than Finn’s?” Jail asked.

  “Yes,” Jala replied, her gaze following Finn as he locked blows with Kithkanon again sending sparks flying from the clashing blades.

  “Both sets of swords are Soulblades. They capture the spirit of who they kill. Finn’s are dark because he keeps the souls trapped there. Kithkanon’s are lighter because he burns the souls for magic. If Finn dies on those swords there is no coming back,” Jail explained softly.

  “Oh Fortune,” Jala breathed, her chest lurching painfully. Swallowing heavily, she nodded. Finn was backing off from the fight again, bleeding from a dozen wounds and breathing in heavy rasps. Warily he kept both swords up for defense and seemed to be trying to buy time to regain his strength.

  Kithkanon circled him with barely a gleam of sweat on his dark skin. Smiling, he flicked a sword in Finn’s direction. “Almost over, pretty boy. What was that you were saying all over town, that you would slaughter me?”

  Please have a little more faith, Vezradesh. I can feel your despair from here, Finn’s voice broke through her thoughts and she caught her breath again.

  Damn it Finn concentrate on the fight. I do have faith, but I have never been so scared in my life. I love you, she sent the thought to him praying she didn’t distract him more and felt tears welling in her eyes.

  “Almost over,” Finn agreed and launched a final assault, his swords blurring with the speed of the attack. Kithkanon met him blow for blow and then everything slowed at once. Jala stared at the scry in confusion as she watched both men frozen in place and then let out a sob as a dull gray sword point pushed through Finn’s back slowly. Blood welled at the corners of Finn’s mouth and it looked as though he was trying to speak. His legs began to tremble and then one knee buckled. His beautiful face held such a look of bewilderment on it that another sob broke from her throat and tears began pouring down her face.

  “Oh gods, Finn,” she whispered, watching as Kithkanon slowly backed away leaving his sword protruding from Finn’s chest, lodged just under the ribs and angling up sharply. It had to be through a lung and dangerously close to his heart she knew. There was no way a wound like that wasn’t mortal. More blood ran down Finn’s chin and he blinked in shock and pain. The crowd in the Arena was as silent as death and Finn’s head began to bow. Smirking, Kithkanon raised his remaining sword to the crowd turning slowly away from his dying adversary.

  In that moment Finn moved with the speed she was so used to seeing from him. His sword plunged up through Kithkanon’s neck and into the skull just as the duelist was turning quickly back to face him. Ragged and panting Finn spat blood into the dead man’s face, his expression frozen in shock. “Now it’s over,” he muttered. “Make sure your opponent is dead before you gloat, fucker,” he added, looking to the judge, pain clear on his face. “Would you kindly announce me the winner so I can get a fucking healer?” he growled.

  Nodding slowly, the judge approached Finn, his eyes locked on the sword blade running through him. “You should be dead,” the man whispered as he took one of Finn’s arms and raised it high. “Finn Sovaesh is the victor,” he yelled loudly to the crowd. A roar that made the others seem faint filled the Arena as the judge dropped Finn’s arm gently, still staring at him with a bewildered expression.

  “Ya, well I’m not,” Finn grumbled and looked down at the sword blade. “Val, a little help here,” he called over his shoulder as loudly as he could manage.

  Valor approached quickly, his face bloodless. “Shit, Finn,” he said, the words faint. “Do you want me to carry you or bring Rose here?” he asked, his gaze locked on the sword hilt.

  “Actually I’d like you to grab the sword hilt and pull the damn sword out of me. I can’t quite reach it myself,” Finn snapped, the pain showing through in his voice.

  “I can’t believe he is alive,” Jail said quietly beside her.

  “Did you truly expect my nephew to lose?” Arjuna asked dryly. “Of course he won. Finn always wins.”

  Looking up, Jala let the scry fade and brushed a hand across her tear streaked face. When she moved her hand away she found Arjuna and Neph watching her with amused expressions. “You knew he would win against Kithkanon?” she asked faintly.

  “Of course, I did,” Arjuna answered without pause or consideration. “He is Firym blood,” he added, as if that settled the matter entirely.

  “I hope Valor still kicks his ass though. He earned it with that drama and I had plans to kill Kithkanon. I consider this theft,” one of the Firym guards muttered from under his helm. Reaching up he pulled it off and winked at Jala. “I’ve seen you looking better Waif,” Havoc said with a smile.

  “What are you doing in the Justicar’s hall?” she gasped. This was the last place she had expected to see a Fionaveir.

  “In the event that things go poorly tomorrow, you will be leaving with me,” he said with a wink. “I’m but a lowly guard today. I will be standing right over there in the corner all night to ensure no one troubles you,” Havoc said, indicating his chosen corner with a hand. Cocking his head toward the other guard, he grinned wider. “And Vic will be standing in the other corner. He isn’t talking right now. Firym don’t have the girly accent that he does so he can’t pretend to be tough like me while talking.”

  “It’s not a girly accent,” Victory protested, his voice muffled by the helm but the musical Fae accent was still clearly audible.

  “See, he doesn’t sound Firym at all,” Havoc said to her with another grin. “Just look how many friends you have now Curly. It’s nothing like it was when you first left the temple.” His voice was reassuring as he regarded the crowded room.

  “Havoc, put your helm back on, shut up, and get in the corner. None of my guards be
have in such a manner,” Arjuna snapped and then looked to her. “Neph, Zachary, and I will be leaving now to ensure the council is tomorrow. You should be safe enough here tonight with your “guards” and Jail. I would expect a visit from Finn as well if they allow him upstairs.” Nodding to her, he turned to leave the room with Zachary and Neph close behind.

  “This will be fixed tomorrow, Jala. Just remember the appearance of power,” Neph said as he closed the door behind them.

  “You do have a lot of strength on your side,” Jail said quietly, his eyes moving from the door to her face.

  “I think I’m going to need it all,” Jala replied with a slight frown.

  Chapter 11

  Avanti

  Long tables lined with food covered the sunlit room. Truce regarded them absently as he moved to stand by a window. From the amount of food present, his father expected quite a few guests. A flicker of movement across the room caught his eye and he looked up to watch Sovaesh approach. The red-haired man was as silent as usual, his long grey coat making the only sound as it brushed against the back of his boots. His dark green eyes met Truce’s as he drew closer and it seemed to him that they held anger. It was hard to judge Sovaesh’s expressions, though, due to the half mask that seemed to always cover the Assassin’s lower face. He couldn’t blame the man for being angry if he was. Cassia had practically started a war with his son, and even he was getting sick of it.

  “Sovaesh,” Truce said in greeting as the man stopped beside him.

  “Truce.” The Assassin returned the greeting. As usual, he didn’t bother with titles. Sovaesh was almost always impudent when speaking with anyone but High Lord Avanti.

  “What can I do for you for you?” Truce asked cautiously, wondering why Sovaesh had sought him out. His father-in-law had barely spared ten words for him since his wedding three years ago.

  “I’d like a private word with you before the meeting,” Sovaesh replied his voice barely a whisper.

  “That doesn’t give us much time to speak,” Truce pointed out, his gaze flicking to the clock on the mantle. “Perhaps ten minutes,” he said his eyes going back to Sovaesh.

  “More than enough time,” Sovaesh said and nodded in the direction of the garden door. “Outside though,” he said and began moving before Truce could even respond.

  With a last look toward the over-laden tables, Truce sighed and followed after the man at a leisurely pace. He couldn’t help but be curious at this meeting but he was cautious as well.

  He caught up with the Assassin at the bottom of the stairs standing near a trellis of climbing red roses. The air was thick with the fragrance and Truce inhaled deeply. Wordlessly, Sovaesh began walking again. His steps guided them past the lush flower beds and he seemed to be heading toward the small brook that ran through the center of the gardens. Truce followed behind silently, eyes roving over the bright colored flowers to the perfectly trimmed grass. I wonder how many gardeners we actually have, he mused as he noted the pristine condition of the grounds. Not a leaf was out of place and not a weed could be seen.

  “I want to know where you stand on the current events,” Sovaesh said quietly, pausing by a small waterfall.

  Truce pursed his lips and dropped lightly onto a bench beside the brook and shrugged. “Personally, I had planned to try to talk my father out of it. I doubt I will have much success however,” he said, keeping his voice low. It wasn’t a good sign that Sovaesh was showing interest in politics. That would make his father nervous.

  “What would you do if you were in charge?” Sovaesh asked, one slender brown eyebrow raised in question.

  Truce regarded the man carefully, reminding himself that Sovaesh was his father-in-law and if he didn’t choose his words very carefully, he would have either his wife or his father coming down on him. “I would not go to war. There is no profit in war,” he answered carefully.

  “And what of my daughter-in-law? Would you still wish to see her dead? Or Finn, for that matter?” he asked his voice level.

  “I believe Cassia is acting in excess,” Truce answered vaguely and shifted slightly as the Assassin’s eyes narrowed. “No, I see no point in killing either of them. I like Finn,” he clarified. “Sovaesh, you aren’t actually planning on killing my father are you?” he asked. The question was a bold one but one he would greatly like the answer to.

  “Would you be upset if I were?” Sovaesh asked, and the question gave him pause.

  Sitting quietly, Truce contemplated it and slowly shook his head. “I have no wish to see my father dead. I would greatly prefer finding a way to talk him out of this current situation,” he said finally and wondered if he shouldn’t be calling for guards. It would be the proper thing to do, he knew. If Sovaesh was plotting against his father it needed to be stopped now.

  “If it makes you feel better I have no intention of making a move now. I simply do not like the direction things are going,” Sovaesh said, drawing Truce once more from his thoughts.

  “I can’t say that I do either. I think war is the last thing we need with the difficulties in Gaelyn. And truly I cannot understand why there is such a fuss over your daughter-in-law. She is just a simple girl. I don’t see how she could be a threat at all.” He paused thoughtfully and smiled at Sovaesh. “You know, I met her at Finn’s wedding. She seemed sweet and shy. I have no idea what Cassia has against her.”

  “Jealousy,” Sovaesh said simply, letting the single word hang.

  Truce stared at him for a moment and shook his head slowly. “Why would Cassia be jealous over a girl with no money or station?” he asked finally, realizing Sovaesh had no intention of elaborating.

  “My son used your sister like a whore and then married this girl. Shade catered to this girl’s every whim and shunned Cassia. Half of the high lord children live in the same hall as Jala and love her. Now tell me, why should your sister be jealous?” Sovaesh explained slowly as if speaking to an imbecile.

  “Well when you put it that way …,” Truce muttered and let his words trail off. He truly hadn’t considered it in that light. Cassia was prideful. It was no wonder this girl’s presence was pricking her ego. “But what do you want from me, Sovaesh? I can’t stop Cassia any more than I can my father. Cass is his golden child,”

  “I want you to do everything you can today to steer your family in another direction. I want you to soothe your sister and I want you to get your family to leave my son alone,” Sovaesh said, his tone definitely holding a note of anger. “I am a patient man, Truce, but I am quickly losing my patience with the Avanti,” he added, and nodded to Truce before turning on his heels and leaving the way he had come.

  “Wonderful,” Truce muttered as he watched the Assassin disappear into the house. “And for my next Miracle, the Barrier will fall.”

  Standing slowly he shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at the immense windows of the dining hall. Guests would be arriving any time now and he would need to be inside to greet them. It wasn’t a task he looked forward to at all. He knew for a certainty that Lord Morcaillo would be there and the man had been acting odd lately. It was also likely that Lord Rivasa would be there as well and Truce had never cared much for the man or his sons. With a resigned sigh, he headed back to the house and opened the doors just as the opposite doors were opening with the first guest. Freezing in his tracks, Truce stared at the woman for a brief moment in absolute shock. She was the last person he had expected to see. She was examining the room with a critical eye. The long black skirts of her high collared gown brushed lightly against the marble causing a rustle with her every move. “High Lady Nerathane, what an honor to have you here,” Truce called and walked toward her with a smile.

  Turning her dark eyes on him, she raised a slender copper eyebrow, her expression doubtful. “Why am I being greeted by an heir and not the High Lord?” she asked, her high voice grating to his ears.

  “I’m afraid my father is not available yet. He is an extremely busy man. I assure you he will be down sho
rtly,” Truce said keeping his voice pleasant. Bowing before her he kissed the back of her hand lightly, fully expecting the pale flesh to be cold to the touch. She was certainly cold enough in personality.

  “I see,” she replied in disapproval and carefully pulled her hand away, glancing down at the plentitude of rings as if she expected one to be missing.

  Ignoring the insult, Truce smiled and motioned toward the table. “Perhaps you would care for some refreshments,” he offered with a smile.

  She looked over the table fleetingly and shook her head ever so slightly. Raising a hand to assure herself that her coppery hair was still up despite the movement, she sighed at him. “No, I don’t think so. Why don’t you busy yourself somewhere else, child.” Waving a hand at him as if dismissing a servant, she walked toward one of the wide windows.

  Truce nodded slightly and bit his tongue. Keeping the smile plastered on his face was getting more difficult by the moment. The sound of the door opening again drew his attention away from the high lady. His mood sank even further as the dark haired man stepped through. He was perhaps six foot and more heavily muscled than the typical High Lord, but then one would expect the High Lord of the Seravae to be muscled. He was, after all, a renowned Soulblade. “What the hell,” Truce muttered under his breath and bowed low to the new arrival. “High Lord Jexon, what an honor. May I be the first to welcome you to the Avanti house?” Truce called in greeting.

  Jexon snorted in amusement at Truce and raised an eyebrow. “Are you playing servant today?” he asked, his voice deep and cynical.

  “I’m honored to attend my father’s guests until he can arrive,” Truce answered, fighting to keep his expression pleasant and idly wished he had ordered Sovaesh to stay. Having the household Assassin in the room would likely have kept the guests more cordial.