The Crown of Stones: Magic-Scars

by C. L. Schneider

  “All right,” he yielded. “I’ll speak to her when she returns from Kael.”

  “Lirih went back to Kael? Why?”

  “She took Liel. He’s researching something for me.”

  “So I was right. He isn’t a page anymore.”

  “Liel does reconnaissance now. Covert work, really, gathering information as needed from various places.”

  Anger leeched into my voice. “You turned that boy into a spy?”

  “It was a natural progression. All those years Liel spent as Guidon’s page, learning to be invisible. His talent for knowing when to be subtle is quite refreshing.”

  I ignored the slight. “Kael just lost their King and Queen. The realm must be in chaos. They shouldn’t be there right now.”

  “Liel’s been in training with the Arms Master for the last two years. He’ll be fine. Besides, Kael was his home. No one will see him as a threat. And I didn’t force him. He volunteered. He’s looking into those black columns you tapped into, trying to learn their history. What mine they came from, when they were dug up. There has to be a reason channeling them left a mark.”

  “That’s smart, Malaq. Thanks.” Even pissed, I was impressed. “I understand the Shinree artifacts Jillyan unearthed are here on Kabri. I’d like to take them with me.”

  “I’ll have the crates packed up for transport. Maybe you can find a record of casting that induced scarring similar to yours.”

  “It has to be related to the Crown of Stones. The obsidian it left in me must have had some kind of reaction with the pillars.”

  “But we don’t know why. And if this is something different, something not connected to the crown, we need to know.”

  “You’re right. Thanks,” I said again.

  Still sitting in his spot by the railing, Malaq looked up at me. I’d caught him a few times now, showing more expression than he was prone to in the past. But at the moment, his eyes and face were empty. “Please understand, Ian. I’m not doing any of this solely out of concern for you. The future of the realm, of all Mirra’kelan, depends on you repairing the crown and being able to wield it with a clear head. Make no mistake. I still want to do this the right way. I want my status as heir announced. I want the people to choose me. Forcing myself upon them makes me no better than any King they’ve had before. But I am not ignorant to the fact that my chances for that are dwindling. Jem Reth and his magic users, the eldring, my brother’s army—things are building to a point where they may have to be dealt with all at once, swiftly and decisively. No hesitation. No uncertainty. If it comes to that, I must be able to count on you to eliminate our enemies regardless of consequence, or personal sacrifice. Can you do that?”

  I held his stare with one as vacant as his own. “What are you asking? If I can be the weapon you need? If I can kill for you, no matter the cost?” I smiled. “Of course I can, Malaq. I’m a Reth.”

  TWENTY TWO

  I thought the looks I got the first time I walked into camp were bad. Coming through the door with Liel and Lirih, leading Kya harnessed to a wagon overloaded with dusty crates, with my face looking as it did now, everyone within twenty feet took one giant step back. Clearly, news of Kael had spread

  The door shimmered closed, and Lirih swayed. We touched, and she jerked away. I had too much on my mind to call her on it, but her continued cold-shouldering confused me. I didn’t think it was done out of fear. From what I’d seen, Lirih didn’t carry herself as someone who was easily spooked. In fact, she demonstrated a great deal of poise and self-confidence for a blind woman. She’s comfortable with herself, I thought. I envied that, even if her condition did strike me as odd. If Lirih was so important to Malaq’s resistance, why hadn’t he taken her to a healer? Why hadn’t she gone herself?

  Beside me, Lirih teetered again. She looked so helpless. I grabbed on firmly this time and held her straight. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m…” Her voice gave out, then her legs.

  I let go of Kya and picked Lirih up. There was a weak protest, but the oversized hood fell down over her face and muffled her words. Her gasp of surprise, as I turned and passed her off to Liel, was much louder. Given Lirih’s behavior toward me, I thought she’d prefer him. I didn’t think Liel would mind either. She weighed next to nothing. Nevertheless, the boy looked uncomfortable as hell cradling the semiconscious girl in his arms. I tried not to look amused. “You good?” I asked him.

  “Yeah.” Liel grunted as he repositioned her. “Ian, I know we didn’t have a chance in Kabri, but we have to talk about Kael.”

  I gave him a doubtful look. “No, we don’t.”

  “You need to know what happened, what I saw.”

  “I know what happened, Liel. I made it happen.” Giving Kya a tug, I headed for my tent. Stubbornly, Liel stayed beside me. We walked along the main thoroughfare and more refugees scattered. They tried to hide their unease, to pretend scurrying like frightened mice was completely normal. A few tossed brief greetings in my direction, flashing tense smiles in hopes of covering up what they were really doing: questioning the sanity of having me here; worrying if the danger I posed outweighed the benefit. I was pretty sure it did.

  “Hey.” Liel hollered, struggling to keep up. “Can I come by later?”

  “Not today, kid. I want to get through some of these crates.”

  Groaning, he shifted Lirih’s weight. “Tomorrow?”

  He wasn’t getting the hint. I thought about yelling, but as I came to a stop Liel looked noticeably grateful for the rest. I nodded at the girl he was barely holding. “You better do something with her. Malaq won’t be happy if you drop his door-maker in the dirt.” As red crept across Liel’s face, I hid my smile and left him.

  We’d come in nowhere near my tent. As I meandered my way through the rest of the camp, I decided to let the gawkers off the hook and avoid eye contact with everyone. It wasn’t hard. One look at the swirls of black on my face and heads immediately lowered in favor of counting the grains of sand on the ground. The Arullans were the only ones unconcerned with my change. It was normal for their kind to ink themselves in intricate designs. Either they assumed I’d done the same, or they just didn’t give a shit.

  Reaching my destination, I unhooked the wagon and unloaded the crates. As soon as I stepped inside with an arm-full, I knew I wasn’t alone. I didn’t react. I let my visitor assume they’d gone unnoticed as I went in and out a few times, bringing everything inside. I brought Kya in, too. Now that I’d found the mare again, I wasn’t keen on letting her out of my sight.

  Removing Kya’s bridle and the two packs of clothes Malaq had given me, I was undoing the cinch when I heard the footfall behind me. It was soft but purposeful. The voice that came with it was sensual. “I think black is your color.”

  Lifting the saddle down off Kya’s back, I set it out of the way before I glanced at her. “Queen Jillyan.” I’d intended only a quick look, but her attire had me lingering.

  Evidently, Jillyan had a flair for such things. The gown she’d sported in Guidon’s chamber had been flattering and elaborate. I’d been even fonder of the bit of Arullan wedding silk she’d worn before that. But I couldn’t argue that the woman knew how to fill out a pair of breeches. The brown leather was light and supple. The scoop-necked bodice that cradled her breasts matched the breeches perfectly. So did her boots. Tall, with the cuffs past her knees, a red ribbon up the front laced them shut. It was a showy touch, but I liked it. The way the garments molded to her shapely frame, I was tempted to start at the top and slowly peel the leather down over her body, an inch at a time.

  “Nice boots,” I said.

  Jillyan let out an unprompted, throaty laugh. Knowing nothing of shyness, she sashayed up and ran her hand through my hair; twisting her fingers into the black and white strands, then over the lines and curves of the new ‘art’ on my face. “Never let it be said that Ian Troy does anything halfway. Not sex and certainly not magic.” Her hand fell. Her tone took on a serious note. �
�You scared me, Shinree.”

  “I’m guessing that’s not an easy thing to do?”

  Jillyan’s head tilted. Her mane of silken hair, gathered up high and bound at the crown, tilted with her. “You were so focused, so eager. I knew whatever spell you had in mind would be epic.”

  “Sounds like you were aroused not afraid.”

  “Must the two be mutually exclusive? You know as well as I that fear stimulates the blood and the mind. In the right circumstances, it can be wildly exhilarating.” She edged closer. The leather creaked as her body pressed against me. “Erotic, even.” Eyes on mine, Jillyan undid the ties on my shirt. Loosening the neckline, she lifted the garment up over my head and tossed it.

  “We aren’t alone,” I reminded her.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing your horse hasn’t seen before.”

  “I meant the camp full of people outside.”

  In response, she gave me an unconcerned, blank stare.

  I gave her a hard one. “You don’t care that I killed your husband.”

  “Someone had to.” Her fingertips slid across the scars on my shoulder.

  “You governed his people for years. Their deaths don’t bother you?”

  “They were Kaelish. Moreover, they were greedy, shameless fools that believed Draken was their deliverer and Guidon his disciple. Stupidity killed them. Not you.”

  I pulled her hands off me, turned away, and resumed tending Kya.

  “Don’t get rude,” she bristled. “It’s not my fault you liked it.”

  “I did, actually. I liked blasting your husband and his castle to bits. It ranked right up there with the day I slaughtered your brother’s army and drove him insane.”

  She didn’t reply right away. “Go ahead then. Say it.”

  “Say what?”

  “That it was a mistake to sleep with me and you couldn’t possibly do it again. Our people are enemies. And one afternoon in bed doesn’t mean anything.”

  “It doesn’t.”

  “Then we are of like minds.” Jillyan came over and put a hand on my shoulder. She trailed her fingers over the pattern of scars, following them down my back. Her touch was cool. Her nails were long as she dragged them over my skin.

  I shrugged off her hand and turned around. “Why are you here? I wouldn’t imagine the swamp would agree with your Queenly constitution.”

  “I told you in Kael. I want to put an end to Draken’s reign.”

  “And challenge Malaq’s claim to the throne?”

  “Not at all. I’m happy to reclaim the title of Princess. A supported and well cared for Princess, naturally.”

  Her fingers were on me again and I frowned. “What do you want from me?”

  “Are my intentions not clear?”

  “Your intentions are about as murky as this damn swamp.”

  “Then I’ll be blunt. Your episodes of scarring fascinate me. Now that you’ve recovered my collection from Kabri, I intend to search the ancient texts for references to any Shinree experiencing what you have. I thought it might help if you described the experience in detail. What it felt like. How they formed. These new ones on your face, did they appear all at once or gradually?”

  “So you were lurking in my tent in hopes of studying me?”

  “Among other things.” She smiled suggestively. “Unless, when your memory returned a measure of scruples came with it?” I grunted a laugh and her smile widened. “I may be short on resources, but I have much to offer Malaq’s operation. I know Langorian strategy. I have considerable knowledge of your people. And if I can run a castle, I can help run this camp. I can help defend it as well.”

  “You can fight?”

  “I am Langorian.”

  “That’s why I asked.”

  Her generous lips pursed. “It’s telling how readily you insult a Queen, Shinree.”

  “Sorry, Your Grace, but Langorians aren’t known for elegance with the blade.”

  “Ah. Well, my kinsmen are also not known for elegance with their tongues. Perhaps you should judge me by a different standard?” Jillyan spun away. Her bodice was fastened in the middle of her back with the same red ribbon as her boots. The single lacing, tied in a bow, left a good deal of skin exposed above and below.

  I ignored the temptation to untie the bow, grabbed her arms, and pulled Jillyan back against me. Behind her, my lips against her ear, I whispered, “If I find out you’re playing me…”

  “To what end?”

  “You tell me. Because you’re damn sure not doing any of this out of the goodness of your heart.”

  “While I’m offended by your assessment of my charity, Shinree, my reasoning is simple.” She made me wait for it. “Stimulation.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” I let go her, but she didn’t move away.

  Close as before, Jillyan pivoted to face me. “Putting my kingdom back together after the war was a challenge. Unearthing the ruins of your ancestors, searching for a way to free my brother from your spell, was a mystery that needed solving. Kael, on the other hand, was a bore. I was Queen in a land where my biggest responsibility was to choose which soup to serve with dinner.”

  “You could have worked to improve the state of the realm. Clearly, your husband had no interest in his citizens’ welfare.”

  “As I said, his people were as narcissistic and immoral as their King.”

  “They have a reputation, yes, but that description doesn’t apply to all Kaelishman. Just like not all Langorians are bloodthirsty brutes.”

  Jillyan raised a carefully shaped brow. “Does it pain you to admit that?”

  “A little,” I said, making her smile again.

  “I am not a complicated woman, Shinree. I am merely drawn to what makes me feel alive.” Jillyan dropped her gaze. As she eyed my scars once more, there was a sense of anticipation about her, an air of hunger in the fast pace of her breath. I wasn’t sure if my nearness roused her, or if it was the prospect of some new angle to her research I might provide. “At the moment,” she looked up, “what stirs me is you…and Malaq’s rebellion.”

  I almost believed her, but I wasn’t done. “When Sarin died and the eldring attacked Kael, you sent your healer to save my life. You and I had never met. I destroyed your kingdom and your brother. Your husband despised me. Yet you took a personal interest in my recovery. Wasn’t Draken bathing Sarin’s hall with blood enough stimulation for the day?”

  “Once again, the answer is simple. I saved your life back then so that one day, should the need arise, you would save mine. And you have.”

  “I saved you from a danger I created. I’m not sure that counts.”

  “Then I suggest you keep your eyes open for another opportunity.” Jillyan moved off then. She strolled over to the crates I’d stacked against one wall of the tent. Her hands wandered the sharp edges of the wood in that same ravenous manner as they had my scars. Stopping at one of the crates, she slid a slender dagger out from her boot. The lid groaned in protest as she used the blade to pry it off.

  Moving up, I peered over her shoulder at the dozens of scrolls packed inside. The papers looked old enough to turn to dust. The box smelled like they already had.

  Sneezing, I stepped back. “How are these still intact?”

  “I believe they’ve been spelled to withstand time. Unfortunately, not all were treated in such a fashion. There were many artifacts that were lost to a careless touch.”

  “You have anything in there that can help improve the accuracy of my doors?”

  “Opening a door is a difficult thing, Shinree. Be glad you’re an erudite or it would be a dangerous one as well.”

  “Dangerous how?”

  Jillyan chose another box. She opened it gently and thumbed through the selection of books inside. The cracked, faded bindings were possibly the oldest I’d ever seen. She lifted one out from the middle of the stack and handed it to me. “This is an account of a woman door-maker. It was written by her son. He was a healer, after his father. I b
elieve the writing of it was for his own peace, since the young man could provide none to his mother.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “Crafting a door puts a great deal of strain on the caster. They are essentially linking two locations, collapsing the distance between them, and compressing what remains. To hold that unwanted space at bay, their minds must absorb all that lies between, as well as what exists at both ends. The physical and mental drain can be considerable. It is not a spell to be cast often.”

  “So when Lirih opened the door just now, her mind was here and in Kabri?”

  “It’s a dual existence most of us can’t even comprehend. The abundance of overlapping sights and sounds bombard the caster for as long as the connection remains open. Over time, the mind simply reaches its limit. It begins to push what it considers nonessentials out to make room. That woman,” she nodded at the book, “eventually lost the ability to recognize her own son.”

  “Will this happen to Lirih if she keeps casting for Malaq?”

  “From what I’ve read, yes. The greater the distance and more frequent the spells the sooner the decline; which explains why the door-maker line became so rare toward the end of the empire. Oracle spells work in much the same way, but it’s a gentler process. The caster makes a connection between two time periods, but exists only in one and experiences nothing tangible along the way. They pass through now and then like a ghost.”

  I nodded; fascinated by Jillyan’s extensive knowledge. “Have you read all of these?” I gestured at the crates.

  “Not all. Some I had trouble deciphering. Others are too faded to attempt translation. The rest I simply abandoned after discovering the binding spell.”

  “All those years you spent digging holes in the desert…” I shook my head, trying to envision Jillyan kneeling in the sand, sifting through the relics. “You wanted Draken back that badly?”

  “He was my brother,” she said unequivocally. “But I didn’t simply want to save Draken, Ian. I wanted to fix him. I thought Shinree magic was the answer.” Jillyan sat down on the edge of the crate. Her gaze wandered. I knew there was more, but I was still surprised when she kept talking. “When I was little there was a light in my brother’s eyes. It’s impossible to imagine now, but I saw it. I remember it. He was a handful of years older. I looked up to him. I was in awe of his every accomplishment. Then suddenly the light was gone and he was this cruel, merciless… He became our father. He became worse than our father.” Quiet a moment, Jillyan gave a resigned shrug. “It took Draken binding with your father to see it, but I lost my older brother long before the Crown of Stones turned him mad.”