by Kel Kade
“Impossible,” she said.
“You should know. Your power has saturated the room since you entered. You are a truthseeker, are you not?”
“Yes, yet I sense no power from you.”
Her power surrounded him as he met her dispassionate stare. “I am not a mage.”
“What are you?”
“I am the King of Cael, True King of Ashai.”
A spark lit in her honey-colored eyes, and she gazed around the room. Her voice echoed off the walls as she said, “Lon Lerésh does not recognize your claim to Cael until it is recognized by Gendishen, and we do not recognize your claim to Ashai until you wear the crown. You are not granted the immunity due one of royal blood—unless you would like to submit proof of such a claim?”
Rezkin said, “Any woman who attempts to claim me will end up disappointed and without a champion.”
Erisial grinned. “We shall see. For now, you will be my personal guest at the table, and we shall dine.”
She waved a man forward. He had the bearing of a soldier, but the clean-cut impassivity of a politician. “This is my consort, Serunius. He will serve you.”
Rezkin’s icy gaze flicked to Serunius. The man did not look pleased. Erisial observed Serunius’s expression and said, “Is there a problem, my love?”
The man turned to her with dark eyes, and some unspoken message passed between them. He appeared resigned as he said, “No, My Queen. I understand.”
Rezkin understood, too. The fact that the queen would have her consort serve him made her intention clear.
He said, “You will not get what you want.”
She smiled knowingly and said, “You will change your mind.”
They spoke no more of it during dinner. Instead, they discussed numerous other subjects from history to politics to art and culture. At first, Rezkin felt like he was being quizzed by his masters, but he knew what the woman was doing. It was for the same reason that she had listed his accomplishments and emphasized the power behind the gift of the torque. She wanted to impress. She wanted everyone else to know of his superiority. Like the woman, Nayala, with her consort, the queen was bragging.
When Rezkin and his companions finally returned to their suite, he was disconcerted.
“What is wrong, Rezkin?” said Frisha.
He glanced at her and then went back to checking for traps and poisons. “The queen intends to claim me.”
“What? No!” she blurted. “I mean, she can’t do that, can she? You are a king. She can’t claim a king.”
“She does not recognize me as an independent monarch. We are in her country, and she may do as she pleases.”
Frisha said, “But, you don’t have to accept her. It’s not like she can force you.”
“She can. She has the entire army of Lon Lerésh at her disposal, and I cannot possibly escape with all of you in tow. Plus, we would leave without Oledia.”
Frisha’s anger and frustration seemed to get the better of her as she said, “You don’t need her daughter. You don’t need King Privoth’s recognition. You said before that we can just keep Cael. It’s enchanted. No one can force us from it.”
Rezkin said, “No, they likely cannot make us leave, but they can besiege us. You all are expecting me to take back Ashai, and darker forces are in play. I cannot prevail without allies and trading partners. Still, you are correct. I do not have to accept her claim if I beat her champion. Only a woman can challenge her claim, though.”
“Well, I can—”
“No.”
“Why not?” Frisha said.
“You are not Leréshi. The only way she would recognize your claim is if you were my wife, which means you would have to marry me.”
Frisha seemed at a loss for words, and he shook his head. “We are not doing that, Frisha. You made your decision after much deliberation. You will not change your mind in a moment of perceived duress.”
Reaylin, who had been watching the interplay with rapt attention, said, “Yserria is Leréshi, so she wouldn’t have to marry you, right?”
Rezkin glanced at Yserria who flushed deep red. “Yserria is my ward,” he said as he crossed the room to inspect the fireplace.
“Yeah, but it wouldn’t have to be a big deal,” said Reaylin. “She claims you as her consort, but it’s not like anything has to come of it.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” Yserria mumbled. “If it were so easy to claim a consort who can serve as your champion, don’t you think all women would go around claiming everyone?”
“What do you mean?” said Reaylin.
Rezkin pulled his head from the chimney and said, “For Yserria’s claim to counter the queen’s, I would have to accept it. If I accept the claim, the union must be consummated—in front of witnesses.”
“That’s barbaric,” exclaimed Frisha.
Rezkin said, “The Leréshi are much freer with their lovemaking.” He then crawled onto the floor and slid halfway under a sofa to examine the underside.
Nanessy bent over to look at him as she said, “You think the queen intends to force a claim on you?”
“No,” he replied, sliding from beneath the furniture. He stood and frowned when he looked down at himself. “She is confident that I will change my mind. In fact, she is so confident that she is giving her opponents time to scheme and present their own challenges. She believes I will accept her claim and choose to fight as her champion against any challengers. I have no idea what she intends to hold over me.”
“Us, maybe?” Frisha said, worrying at her lip. “Do you think she would hurt us or hold us hostage?”
“It is possible, but she is conniving. Threatening you would serve no purpose besides changing my mind, and that would alienate me in the process. I would guess she has bigger plans.”
Now covered in soot and dust, and frustrated with his lack of insight, Rezkin no longer wished to continue the conversation. He excused himself to bathe with instructions that none of them were to leave the suite.
Just as Rezkin closed himself into the bathing chamber, a timid knock sounded at the door. Wesson opened it to admit Celise and then took a seat on a chair in the corner, hoping to go unnoticed.
“Lady Yserria,” Celise said. “I am in the middle.”
They all looked at the woman, waiting for her to say more.
Celise looked at the curious faces and said, “I am in the middle?” When they did not respond, she said, “There is a man. I speak with you, and I am in the middle.” Still, they were puzzled, so she tried, “The man … um … wishes to be with you, and I am in the middle.”
After not receiving the response she had expected, she sighed and switched to Leréshi.
Yserria said, “Ooh, she is acting as an intermediary.”
Celise nodded and said, “Your matrianera would to be intermediary, but he asks me. I know the man.”
Yserria nervously fingered the hilt of her sword. “You are saying that a man wants me to claim him?”
“Yes, Lady Yserria. This man wants to be claim of you.”
“No—” Yserria started.
“Wait, Yserria,” Nanessy said. “You should at least hear about this man. He might be the love of your life. Can you imagine having a man totally devoted to you?”
“Yes,” Yserria hissed. “I almost had one.”
Nanessy said, “I am truly sorry about that, but you should at least hear her out.”
Yserria said, “Fine, what about this man?” She had attempted to soothe the acid from her tone, but she was not sure she had succeeded.
Celise smiled. “His name is Coledon. He is handsome. He is good sword man. Very large man and strong. He is royal guard. He is good choice for consort. My mother … she want for me claim him.”
“But you haven’t,” Reaylin said suspiciously.
Celise looked embarrassed. “No. I have not claim.”
“Why not?” Frisha said.
“My mother. She want warrior man for me. Big man. Guard to be cham
pion for me to be higher. But … big mans are … um … I am afraid.”
Frisha said, “I thought Leréshi men are good to their women.”
“Yes, yes, are good, but warriors are dangerous. Um, they have a look. They want. Um … desire. Some say they can be rough. Some matria like this. I do not like this.” She looked quickly to Yserria. “But this man is good, and you are strong. You are warrior. You are not afraid, and he is desired by many.”
Reaylin said, “If he is so desired, why hasn’t he been claimed?”
“His matrianera, his sister, will not let him go. He is great champion. She does not want to lose.” She turned to Yserria and nodded toward the bathing chamber where Rezkin could be seen soaking in the bath through the stained-glass windows. “If you claim Coledon, she will not risk her consort to challenge claim.”
Yserria crossed her arms. “So, this Coledon does not have any interest in me. He just wants to get away from his sister.”
Celise shook her head. “No, you are beautiful and strong. You not give to queen as she wants. Coledon likes this.”
“I have no interest in claiming anyone,” Yserria said. “Besides, I have accepted my king as my guardian. That means he must approve of anyone I marry.”
“You give him this power?” Celise said, obviously bewildered. “Your king does wish to marry you?”
“No!” she said, shaking her head emphatically. She glanced at Frisha’s bitter expression and, less certainly, said, “I don’t think so. I-I don’t know.”
Celise stared at the torque around Yserria’s neck and gave her a doubtful look.
Yserria balled her fists and tried to keep her voice low as she pointed at Frisha and exclaimed, “He was supposed to marry her!”
Celise glanced between them and then finally turned to Yserria. “You will speak with Coledon?”
“No,” Yserria said. “I am not claiming anyone.”
Celise appeared crestfallen. She nodded and turned toward the door, thanking Wesson as he hopped up to open it for her.
When he turned back around, he paused and said, “Where is Rezkin?”
The ladies turned to peer through the stained glass, but Rezkin was gone.
Rezkin clung to the stones on the parapet as the wind whipped around him. Most of the shutters were locked tight against the approaching storm, and the wall patrol was having a difficult time keeping the torches lit. He climbed over the barrier of the walkway just as the first drops threatened to make the walls too slippery to climb. The door stood open, and Rezkin wrapped his cloak around him tightly as he stomped into the guardhouse, turning and shaking as he went, sure to keep his face hidden as he made his presence obvious. The guards paid him no attention as they waxed and oiled their supplies, continuing with their banter and complaints about the turning weather.
“It’s starting already, is it?” the one with a long mustache muttered. “Can’t get a dry night, can we?”
“The foreigners brought it with ’em,” said a younger man.
“Bah, that’s a load, and you know it. It’s been rainin’ for more than a week, and they just got here.”
“Don’t mean they didn’t bring it. It’s an omen,” said the younger.
“It’s not an omen, you idiot. It’s called the changing of the seasons. Happens every year or are you too green to remember. Mayhap you were still suckling your mother’s teat last year, eh?”
“I’m just saying, there’s a king in the palace. You know that’s an ill portent.”
“Queen says he’s not a king. It don’t count.”
“Yeah, well, I hear things go wrong everywhere this one goes. He took the Channerían princess, and now they’re in a civil war. The latest is there’s trouble in Jerea, too.”
“He hasn’t even been to Jerea,” said the older man. “At least, not that I’ve heard.”
The young man shrugged. “They’re sayin’ it’s his fault, anyway. And you heard about the torque. He’s been to see the Adana’Ro, which means he’s been to Ferélle.”
“I haven’t heard of no trouble there.”
“If he’s in league with the Adana’Ro, there’s trouble. Now Gendishen seems to think they’re fulfilling that old prophecy, but the purifiers are saying he’s not human, and he’s got a mighty powerful mage with him.”
“The woman? Mage Threll. She’s a pretty one. I wouldn’t mind being claimed by her,” said the older man.
“No, I heard it was a man, a battle mage.”
The older man chuckled, “Must be one scary bastard to have the purifiers shaking in their boots.”
The men went on to discuss less interesting gossip, and Rezkin left the guardhouse, entering the palace wing typically reserved for visiting officials. After slipping from the bathhouse via a secret passage he had found behind the water fixtures, he had slinked through the palace to the barracks where he had hoped to procure a uniform. The building was crawling with people who obviously knew each other and would have noticed a newcomer. One particularly intoxicated guard, who had apparently thoroughly enjoyed the feast, had the misfortune to require the use of the outhouse. Rezkin shot him with a blow dart laced with a toxin that would induce sleep for several hours. He was taller than the other man, but most people were too preoccupied to notice an ill-fitting uniform.
He watched the maids carrying trays to and from the rooms to determine the location of his target and then rapped on the Channerían ambassador’s door. The ambassador’s aide answered and admitted him without question.
“He is not here,” the aide said as Rezkin surveyed the suite. “He enjoys taking advantage of the benefits of Lon Lerésh. He rarely spends time here.”
“It was my understanding that ambassadors to Lon Lerésh must be married to prevent a conflict of interest,” Rezkin said.
The man said, “They are. Most of the Leréshi do not care, though, so neither does he.” After latching the door, the aide warded the room to prevent eavesdropping. He approached Rezkin, saluted, and bowed. “Your Majesty, it is my honor to serve you. Please tell me I am to be recalled.”
“You do not care for your assignment, Striker Akris?”
“Your Majesty, I will serve in whatever way is required, but this assignment was supposed to last no more than eight months. Bordran sent me here nearly three years ago. I had begun to worry that I was forgotten.”
Rezkin nodded. “It is possible. I cannot say.” He made sure he had Akris’s attention and said, “I am not Caydean.”
Akris peered at him pensively. The man was on the leaner side, for a striker, making him appear less formidable. He had the dark, wavy hair and eyes more common to Channería. Even now, he spoke Ashaiian with a Channerían accent, probably out of habit.
Finally, the striker said, “I know you are not Caydean.”
“And you know that I am his rival,” Rezkin said. “If you serve him, then you are obligated to attempt to kill or capture me.”
“I do not know Caydean well. Since I spent little time in the palace, I only met him briefly, on a few occasions when he was younger. Everyone who has ever spoken of him claims him to be insane. With each piece of news that reaches my ears, I am more convinced these are not rumors politically motivated by his opponents.”
“And what have you heard of me?” Rezkin said.
“Some call you a rebel. Others say you are the rightful king. I heard that two strikers have sworn fealty to you already. Apparently, they did so after you took the entire tournament without so much as a scratch. Some say you killed Prince Thresson, while others say you kidnapped or rescued him. Most reports agree that you are holding the Wellinven heir hostage, along with a few others. From there, the rumors become increasingly unbelievable. I have heard that you are a powerful battle mage who fixed the tournament and then tried to destroy everyone when they would not give you the prize. They say you stole the bride of Prince Nyan of Jerea. I have even heard that you are a demon who wields a black blade forged in the Hells.”
“You
r rumors are surprisingly thorough yet only salted with truth,” Rezkin said.
“As I thought.” The man glanced down to the hilt at Rezkin’s waist and said, “Is that it? Is that the so-called black blade?”
Rezkin frowned. “This? No, this is not mine. It belongs to the man from whom I borrowed this uniform. It will kill, should the need arise.”
“Of course,” Akris replied. “So, are you here to recruit me, kill me, or just seeking information?”
Rezkin said, “Do you want to be recruited?”
“I heard you carry proof of your claim. I am willing to see it, if you are willing to share.”
Akris read the paper Rezkin proffered. Without looking up, he said, “I wish to go home to my wife.”
Rezkin said, “No one in my company will soon be returning to Ashai. In addition, the families of those known to be in my company are slated for imprisonment or death. Caydean is not a friend to the strikers, though. If they do not slough their honorable ways to do his dirty work, he will treat them the same as any enemy. You are an absent striker, yet to make your loyalty known. When he hears of my visit, he may consider you to be an important player. He may have already contacted you.”
The tingle of power filled the air, and Akris said, “I swear by mage oath that I have had no contact with Caydean, his agents, or any other strikers since I took this assignment.”
“And yet you could be acting on your own accord, satisfying your duty to report to your king or carry out his decree regarding my capture. You are an unknown factor.”
“But you made contact anyway,” Akris said.
“I am not afraid of the unknown. I recognize that if you choose to serve me, it might end in betrayal. It will not stop me from using you in the meantime. Be assured that I make contingencies for such events, and your efforts will fail.”
Akris appeared skeptical. “Even a failed betrayal can do much damage.”
Rezkin shrugged without concern. “The final result is what matters.”
“So you do not care who gets hurt in the process?”
“No one is indispensable,” Rezkin said with a trifling discomfort in the back of his mind. Upon noticing Akris’s displeasure, he felt it prudent to amend his statement. “My concern extends only insofar as my duty to those I must protect and honor. I have taken responsibility for many people, and I am seeking responsibility for more, including all of Ashai. I would prefer for few to suffer, but war is generally not accommodating.”
