Kingdoms and Chaos (King's Dark Tidings Book 4)

by Kel Kade

  “Gah, you blame Barbarus. If you were one of the other men, I would beat you senseless.”

  “But you know his are always half dead when they arrive.”

  “I can’t argue with that, but you should know that means they need extra care when they get here. How did I get stuck with an idiot for a son? Put her with the women and get rid of this one.” As Ipon walked away, he shouted, “And give them extra food and water.”

  Uthey leaned over. “What did they say?”

  Tam glanced at him in annoyance. “Weren’t you listening? They think he died of thirst. They’re going to move her with the women and give us more food and water.”

  Uthey’s gaze followed Fiero as he dragged away the body. He said, “How did you know what they were saying?”

  “I’m not deaf,” Tam said.

  “That’s obvious, but they were speaking Verrili, and so were you.” Then, Uthey smacked Tam on the back. “You’ve done us a service. My thanks, friend.”

  Tam was uncomfortable being thanked for killing a man—at least, not only because they would receive extra food and water. He had done it for Malena, and she had been separated from them. He supposed it was better for her to join the women. He felt a drop of moisture on his hand and looked down. His nose was bleeding again. Then, it was as if a light burst before his eyes.

  The port city of Havoth was in an uproar as Rezkin rode through the streets. He was surprised by the size of the fanfare, considering the event had only been planned and implemented in the little more than a week that it took to establish order in and return from Bromivah. Rezkin rode toward the rear of the procession, surrounded by royal guards and soldiers, while Moldovan’s coach was in the lead. It was a symbolic gesture, the ushering in of a new king. Farson and Mage Threll rode at his sides. The sounds of horns, pipes, and drums, and colorful scarves and shiny objects lobbed by jugglers filled the air. Acrobats twisted and flipped along the flanks, and amongst them, and Rezkin caught sight of a pair of blue eyes staring at him from behind a red mask.

  Mage Threll erected a sound shield around the three of them, and then she and Farson fell into a discussion, with Rezkin silently existing between them.

  She said, “You never told me he was a legitimate prince of Ashai.”

  “I was not aware,” replied Farson.

  “You knew.”

  “I suspected. What does it matter to you?”

  “It would have made the choice to follow him easier.”

  “You made that decision on your own.”

  “Yes, but I would not have been so conflicted.”

  “You did not seem conflicted when you ran off with him against my wishes.”

  Rezkin saw her glance at him out of the corner of her eye. He continued to survey the crowd, giving the appearance that he was not listening, even though he would have needed to be deaf not to hear them.

  “I did not run off with him. I was running with the escapees.”

  “You knew I was near and that I would come for you. You also knew I had forbidden you to go near him.”

  She glanced at Rezkin again, and her expression turned to resolve. “You are glad I did. Besides keeping me safe, you desire nothing more than to be at his side.”

  Farson did not answer, nor did he meet her accusatory gaze.

  Rezkin said, “He desires only to keep me in his sights. He watches for weakness.”

  Mage Threll turned to him. “You know that is untrue. He is depending on you to fix Ashai—and, I suppose, every other kingdom you have claimed.”

  Farson muttered, “They would not need fixing if he would stop claiming them.”

  Nanessy ignored her uncle and spoke to Rezkin, “At this point, you are the only one who can do it.”

  Rezkin said, “If chaos reigns, someone will step in to seize power and instill order. My participation is unnecessary.”

  “Your participation is necessary to ensure that it goes in our favor.”

  He finally looked at her. “Who is to say that it should?”

  She appeared surprised. “What do you mean?”

  Rezkin returned his gaze to the crowd. “Your uncle knows me. He knows what I am. He does not believe I am worthy of kingship, yet I now bear several crowns. These people call me emperor. Perhaps I am the enemy you should seek to destroy.”

  Farson glanced at him, but Mage Threll was having none of it. “You are not the one using demons to do your dirty work. It is spreading. It was a demon in the tower, was it not?”

  Rezkin said, “I believe the demon was housed in the vessel. I killed Boulis before it could possess him.”

  “Then what happened to it?”

  “I would assume that, without another willing vessel, it returned to H’khajnak.”

  She said, “I would prefer not to assume anything with regard to demons. How did it get here in the first place? I doubt Boulis had the power or knowledge to summon it.”

  Farson said, “I doubt he had the courage.”

  “No,” replied Rezkin. “He waited until the last minute. He had hoped to gain power without it. Someone else was behind the demon.”

  When they arrived at the docks, Moldovan made a show of boarding Stargazer with all the pomp and circumstance due a departing king. Rezkin felt that by agreeing to wear the impractical attire, he had fulfilled his duty; but, Moldovan had been disappointed, desiring to bedeck Rezkin in such royal fashion as to make movement practically impossible. As it was, he wore an outfit similar to the impromptu coronation attire, except that the king’s amulet hung around his neck, and his short cape had been replaced with a long, black cloak lined with soft, black and silver pelts.

  Rezkin offered an obligatory wave toward the crowd then turned to examine the ship repairs. Stargazer was in top condition. Beside him, Moldovan said, “I took the liberty of having your ship repaired. The shipwright said he had never seen such damage, and the other vessel had virtually none, yet they surrendered.”

  “That’s because the third ship was obliterated,” said a female voice from behind him.

  Rezkin turned to see Reaylin standing there with a hand on her hip.

  Moldovan narrowed his eyes at the young woman wearing the panels of a healer’s apprentice over warrior’s armor. He said, “I shall be intrigued to hear the tale.”

  Reaylin glanced at Moldovan curiously then turned to Rezkin. She looked him up and down and smiled suggestively. “You look better than ever. I don’t see anything that needs healing, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make you feel better.”

  Rezkin said, “I am well, Reaylin, how is Frisha?” He had learned his lesson. He was supposed to check on Frisha—always.

  Reaylin rolled her eyes. “I don’t know. Why are you wearing a crown?”

  Rezkin glanced at Shezar who had joined them for the briefing before returning to the Ashaiian ship. They had renamed it Sea Devil, in recognition of its tumultuous past. Shezar said, “We did not know how much to tell them, so we said nothing.”

  Rezkin turned back to Reaylin. “This is King Moldovan—”

  “Prince Moldovan,” the former king said. He grinned and said, “Somehow, just saying it makes me feel a bit younger.” The old man looked up at Rezkin and said, “But, you have my permission to call me grandfather.”

  Reaylin’s eyes were wide as she glanced between the two of them. Rezkin said, “Have my belongings moved. Prince Moldovan may take my quarters.”

  Moldovan said, “Nonsense. You are the emperor. We must ensure that everyone remembers that.” He frowned at Reaylin. “Have my belongings placed in one of the other berths. I will make it a priority to teach your people how to show their emperor proper respect.”

  Reaylin glanced at Rezkin. “Emperor?”

  Rezkin turned to Moldovan. “This is Apprentice Healer Reaylin de Voss. She is … a friend. She need not observe the formalities”—he looked back to Reaylin—“so long as she continues to adhere to her oath.” Then, he said, “Do as Prince Moldovan requests, and send for
Frisha.”

  Reaylin bobbed her head and strutted away, swinging her hips a bit more than necessary.

  A few minutes later, Frisha strode up to them. She glanced at his attire but did not ask. She said, “Welcome back.”

  “Are you well?” he said.

  She nodded. “Yes, as well as can be. Why?”

  He said, “I felt it important to inquire as to your well-being.”

  She blinked at him and lifted her chin. “Oh. I am well, thank you. You don’t need to check on me all the time.”

  He said, “You were upset when I did not.”

  “Well, yes, but that was before, and nothing has happened since you disappeared.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “How many did you kill this time? Any new wives I should know about?”

  Moldovan looked at Rezkin. “Another friend?”

  “Yes.”

  Meanwhile, Mage Threll stepped forward to confront Frisha. “Perhaps you should ask how many he saved this time.”

  Moldovan glanced at Mage Threll. “You seem to have many female friends.” With a grin, he said, “My grandson does an Esyojo proud.”

  Frisha looked at Moldovan for the first time. “Grandson?”

  “Lecillia’s father,” Rezkin said and then turned to gaze over the crowd gathered around the dock. He searched for blue in a pool of red, but she did not make it easy. The ebb and flow of the crowd was like a wave, and suddenly she appeared in the midst of a group of women as they briefly parted. He met her gaze and then stepped to the top of the gangplank, holding out his hand. The woman sidled forward, her black cloak catching in the breeze to reveal a formfitting red dress. The end of the matching scarf she wore over her face fluttered in the breeze. Her movements were reminiscent of a serpent as she flowed toward him. She took his hand, and her eyes held a smirk behind her veil.

  Frisha was used to Rezkin’s attention wandering. He always watched the crowds, but she was not prepared for the odd display that happened next. It was as if he had been looking for someone, and then she appeared. By her dress and sensuous movements, Frisha first thought the woman a Leréshi. Then, she saw the eyes, and her blood turned to ice. She recognized that woman. As Rezkin led her toward the cabin, the woman glanced her way. Her eyes held a glint of laughter, and Frisha wanted to slap her as much as she wanted to run and hide.

  The man Rezkin had introduced as his grandfather chuckled, an aged, wheezing sound. “Yes, that one is an Esyojo.”

  Frisha swallowed her bile as she watched them enter the cabin. She said, “That woman is not his lover. At least, I don’t think she is. I don’t know anything anymore, but she is just as likely to die in there as she is to live.” When she turned back to Moldovan, he was staring at her, his aged gaze calculating.

  “Who are you?” He stepped closer. “You are too familiar with your king. You scold him, yet you fear him.”

  Frisha raised her chin. “I am Frisha Souvain-Marcum. I am Rezkin’s friend.” She paused and then added, “We were to be married, but I … I called it off.”

  “You? To be queen? Then, you and I shall become well acquainted. I wish to know the woman my grandson chose to wed.”

  “As I said, we are no longer betrothed.”

  “Why? Why would you sacrifice your position? You would be empress.”

  “Empress?” she said weakly.

  Moldovan chuckled as his manservant came to lead him to his berth.

  After the two men walked away, she was left standing with Farson and Nanessy. She looked to Farson questioningly.

  “Moldovan abdicated to Rezkin. He is ruler of multiple kingdoms now. That makes him an emperor. He has named his empire Cimmeria.”

  Finding her voice was difficult for Frisha at that moment. It came out soft and shaky. “He said he would give me every kingdom if it was what I desired. I thought it an exaggeration, a romantic gesture. I thought his sweet words too good to be true.” She blinked away her tears. “It was too good to be true. It was never meant to be romantic.” She laughed without mirth. “To him, a gift of an empire is just as practical as a scarf.” She pulled the filmy, green fabric from her neck and balled it in her fist as she fled to her berth.

  Nanessy looked to her uncle. “Is she equating a scarf with an empire? I fail to understand why she is upset.”

  He said, “Frisha knows that Rezkin would take her back if she asked. She has had to choose between being a queen—or empress—and being loved.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She wants Rezkin to love her. He does not.”

  Nanessy felt terribly guilty for the sudden thrill that caused her heart to flutter. “I thought—I mean, he seemed to—”

  Her uncle gave her a knowing look. “He is incapable of love.”

  She flushed. “No one is incapable of love.”

  “He is no one,” said Farson.

  She frowned at him but said, “Love can grow in time. Minder Finwy says that love can heal the darkest of souls.”

  “He has no soul to heal,” said Farson. He growled in anger, “We destroyed it.” He took a calming breath and shook his head. “I admire her for her decision. I believe most women would not have had the strength to reject such an offer.”

  Nanessy thought about Rezkin standing there in his regal suit and cloak, with the gold and silver crown atop his raven-black hair. She considered the way he moved, like a predator after his prey as he wielded the power of kings. She saw his icy blue eyes, so full of intelligence and cunning, the knowledge of ages glinting from above a heart-stopping smile. She said, “If she has the man she loves, and he treats her well, perhaps it does not matter that he does not love her in return.”

  Her uncle frowned at her sadly and then left her to her fantasies.

  The woman entered his berth ahead of him. She had come into his domain alone, and he would not give her the chance to test her skill. Rezkin allowed her to inspect the space, and then she returned to face him in the center of the room.

  “We will not be overheard?”

  “The room is enchanted. No sound will leave here.”

  “Then, no one will hear my screams?”

  “If I choose to kill you, you will not have time to scream.”

  The secrelé smirked as she reached up to remove the veil. “That was not exactly what I had in mind. No, you are a single-minded man, and yours is not like that of most men.” She ran a finger along the crease between her breasts and said, “Would you, could you, ever let down your guard to lay with me?”

  “That would be folly,” he said.

  She had a husky laugh. “Yes, it would.”

  “What do you want?” said Rezkin. “You have Oledia. I have the sword. Our business is concluded.”

  “Is it?” This time she looked at him uncertainly. “The great mother was concerned that you might have been a little perturbed that we did not have the sword for you. She thought you might consider another visit—one less pleasant.”

  “There was nothing pleasant about the last one.”

  She glanced down and smirked. “For you, perhaps. I, for one, enjoyed the show.”

  “If she was so concerned about my seeking retribution, why did she not send you to reacquire the sword for me—or at least let me know you did not have it?”

  “We could not have gotten the sword. We tried to discover its location, but Moldovan never told anyone where he hid it. In truth, the great mother did not expect you to be successful in your endeavors. We did not believe you to be the Riel’gesh. That is why I have come and why I have revealed my face.”

  She knelt on the floor and then slowly drew eight throwing stars from where they were hidden about her person. Each one, she laid around her, and he knew they represented the points of an octagram, an eight-pointed star. From a pocket in her dress, she withdrew another veil, one Rezkin recognized as belonging to the great mother. The secrelé positioned the filmy fabric around her in a circle and then opened her palms toward him.

  “I, Arethia, tasked to
speak on behalf of the great mother and the Adana’Ro. We follow the path of Riel’sheng, and we recognize you as the Riel’gesh. Your will is our will. Our swords are your swords. Our bodies are your bodies. We serve you in life and follow you unto death.”

  Rezkin looked down at the woman, frustrated yet pleased. Having the Adana’Ro at his disposal would be useful, but he did not feel comfortable with their belief that he was more than human. He said, “I did not ask for this.”

  “Yet, it is given,” she said, for once without a hint of humor.

  When Tam awoke, it was night—either that or they were in a cave, because no light seeped in between the cracks of the boards. The absence of the jarring and creaks of the wagon’s skirmish with the rutted road was what woke him. Day after day was a monotony of dreamy hazes, and every night was a waking nightmare as he struggled to hold on to the memories of a better life. Ilanet—had he known her or was she a dream? He ran his finger over the bracelet on his wrist. He could not have made it for himself. And Frisha. Sometimes she was a little girl chasing him through the yard with ribbons in her hair. Other times, she was a grown woman staring dreamy-eyed at a vicious god. Had he known a god?

  The door opened, and Fiero growled at them to get out of the wagon. After hours of sitting in one position, stuffed between the other filthy prisoners, Tam stood on shaky legs that cramped with the effort. He clenched his teeth against the pain. It was not as bad as the headaches, which, for the moment, had subsided. He felt better in the dark, especially when it was quiet.

  Uthey tumbled into him as he stepped out of the wagon, and Ipon struck them both with his stick for causing trouble. Tam felt no anger toward Uthey for inciting Ipon’s ire. It was pointless to hold a grudge when the next time it would likely be his own fault. As one of Ipon’s men lit the fire with his talent, Ipon ordered the prisoners to relieve themselves in the bushes. Once that was done, they were made to walk in a line, circling around the fire again and again. Afterward, they jumped for a while, then did sit-stands and push-ups. They received more food than at any other time since his capture. Ipon said he would get more money for them if they were strong when they arrived at the quarry, enough to make it worth feeding them.