“I have to,” I shouted back, “that’s all I’m made of!”
With another hard shove, Malaq threw himself off me. He put some space between us, retrieved his drink, and scowled at me over the rim.
I scowled back. “They took him because of me.”
“I know. And I swear, Ian, just give me a chance. Give me some time. I’ll do everything I can to get Jarryd back,” he said, and I believed him. Malaq meant his vow to me, just as I meant mine to Neela when I swore to save her sister.
I gave my word. But it wasn’t good enough for her either.
Malaq rubbed his eyes. He sighed in surrender. “Draken wants a meeting with you. Neela refused to allow it, but…there’s a chance he’ll trade.”
I reached up and closed my fist around the black stone. “I can’t give him this.”
“It’s more than that now. He wants you to fix whatever you did to the crown.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“It has no power.” Malaq gave me a funny look. “You didn’t know?”
“Why would I? I channeled it and put it back. If something’s wrong ask Sienn or my father. From what I hear, they had it last.”
A trace of worry tensed his features. “Reth thinks it was you. He told Draken you could repair it. That’s part of the reason he agreed to Neela’s request to spare you.”
“Draken trusted my father? Gods, he should know better than that.” I moved for the door. “I’m guessing Neela is gone. How long ago did she leave?”
“Right after you passed out.” Guilt leached some of the color from his skin. “We couldn’t have you slaughtering her escort.”
“What route did she take?”
There was regret in him, but he still said, “I can’t.”
“I know I’m a shitty friend, Malaq. But you really don’t want me as an enemy.” My stare tightened. “Think about that while you draw me a map.”
Malaq’s curses followed me out of the library and down the hall. I yelled a few times for Liel until his head finally popped out from around a corner. He slunk toward me, head hanging like a child waiting to be scolded. “My Lord,” he said timidly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to deceive you.”
“Never mind that now,” I said, brisk but kind. “With General Aldous dead, who are you pledged to?”
“I took an oath to Queen Neela. But,” he sounded lost, “she surrendered her reign. Perhaps the new Regent will ask for me if I make myself useful. Or, maybe I should just go home.”
I put a hand under Liel’s chin, demanding his eyes. “Swear yourself to me.”
Beneath the hair, I caught a glimpse of his forehead scrunching. “To you?”
“I need help, Liel. And right now you’re the only one I come close to trusting.”
A shy smile crept over the confusion. “Thank you, My Lord, but—”
“I have to leave and I need you to look after something for me while I’m gone.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.” I talked over his protest. “This is where the vow comes in, Liel. If you want to serve the Regent, I understand. If you want to go home then go. Do what you like with your life. But what I’m about to ask of you must stay between us. No one else can ever know. Especially if I don’t come back,” I added. “Do you understand?”
Some of his spirit back, he nodded vigorously. “What can I do?”
“I need a stone. Do you know where the healer’s chamber is?”
“Yes, My Lord. Only, he isn’t there. The Queen said he was taken by the Langorians weeks ago.”
“I figured that. But I’m betting they didn’t give him time to pack.”
FIFTY SIX
I was three days past Rella’s western border and two from the edge of Langorian territory, in the middle of a vast, desert wasteland. Around me were the bare, rocky hills and arid valleys that had once been a part of the Shinree Empire. As far as the eye could see and beyond had been lush, fertile lands, and a great gleaming city.
More recently, the region had been a well-used battlefield. Year after year, waves of men would roll up over the peeks and down into the hollows, rushing toward a victory that was always just out of reach. A victory both sides had coveted for so long, their soldiers had no idea what they were dying for.
I ended that with the Crown of Stones. I created an empty, desolate expanse that after ten years nature still didn’t know how to heal. It was just as I left it. Even the bodies were still here, buried underground. Their numbers had been too great to bring home. Instead, wagons full of Shinree slaves were shipped in to dispose of the remains. Numbed by the Kayn’l, incapable of grieving the enormous loss of life, the slaves didn’t care that they were dumping the remains of Rella’s finest soldiers to rest for all eternity in giant mass graves with their enemies.
I was thinking the soldiers cared though, which was why they were haunting me.
I could hear the bones that weren’t there, underfoot, shattering and crumbling with each fall of Kya’s hooves.
I could see their corpses; transparent, decaying specters shimmering in and out of existence across the barren land. Ghostly scavenger birds hopped on tiny feet, picking hungrily at empty eye sockets and gaping mouths, tearing at shriveled skin as it baked in the blistering afternoon sun. Illusion, I told myself. Then more emphatically, “Reth.”
I dug my heels into Kya’s side with an abrupt kick. Her hooves, sliding in the loose dirt, found purchase, and we sped up the steep grade in a sudden rush of hot wind and crunching bones. The momentum she built wanted to carry us down the other side, but when we reached the top, I had to rein her in with a rude yank.
“Sorry, girl.” Moving Kya brusquely back from the edge, I retrieved the spyglass from my pack and jumped down amid the phantom bodies. Lying on the hot sand beside them was damn unnerving so I kept my focus straight ahead and trained my sights on the valley below.
We were up high. With no landmarks, I couldn’t be certain. But judging by the hills and the rock formations, I was looking at the exact place where I discovered the Crown of Stones. It was also where Jillyan of Langor had undertaken her extensive excavation project in an attempt to break the spell I put on her brother.
I hadn’t expected it to be still ongoing. Or that it would be so huge.
The entire valley floor was peppered with open trenches and crisscrossed by an intricate system of tunnels. Inside the shafts, sunlight stretched down to gleam off exposed sections of ancient stone roads, walls, and other pieces of Shinree history long forgotten. Fractured columns, toppled statues and buildings, all protruded proudly up from the sand.
Above, portions of the area had been plowed flat to make way for more modern roads. Occupied by slaves, soldiers, and oxen hauling carts, the roads looped around the ruins and trenches, passing by an assortment of tents and makeshift buildings.
Large, wooden pens were scattered about the outskirts of the camp. One was below me. It looked to be constructed as a corral for animals. At the moment, it was full of people. Hundreds of Rellan, Kaelish, and Shinree prisoners were crowded inside, huddling together on the ground, roasting in the heat; because there was no roof, no shade, and no room for them to do much else. They certainly couldn’t escape. The sides of the fence were too tall to climb. Just in case anyone thought to try, the tops of the posts had been sharpened to fine points. Lashed to several of the posts were the bodies of what I assumed were uncooperative prisoners. None were moving.
As a bonus deterrent, guards were everywhere. More than twenty surrounded the nearest pen. Five lurked at the edge of each ditch, overseeing the slaves. Two stood at attention at every tent. Even more watched over the larger pavilions.
It wasn’t ideal, but if that were all I had to contend with, I could manage. What tipped the odds completely in the wrong direction was the army spread around the base of the dunes. About half the soldiers were decked out in shining mail and crisp leather. The rest wore uniforms that were old, tattered, and caked wit
h mud. Their weapons, showing signs of age and battle, were discolored with rust and blood. Yet, despite the poor condition of their arms and attire, they stood at attention, immobile, tall and proud—which was interesting since they were most definitely dead.
This time I wasn’t looking at flashing, transparent specters. The scores of deceased soldiers defending the parched plain below were solid, if not whole. Missing limbs, jaws, and other significant pieces, clumps of putrefied skin clung to their visible bones. Skulls were cracked. Chests were caved. Dry, vacant eyes dangled from fractured sockets. Moldy, twisted fingers gripped axes, swords and clubs. On some of the uniforms, spots of crimson and gray were visible between the grime. On others, it was blue and black.
They were the soldiers that died here. They were the men I killed with the Crown of Stones. They were my victims. And my father brought them back.
Evidently, he was expecting me.
Closing the spyglass I slid away from the edge. I didn’t want to wait. With Jarryd in prison and Neela about to be married, every second counted. Yet, I had my doubts that bargaining with Draken was going to work like I’d hoped. My only alternative was to hold off until nightfall and sneak in. At least then I had a shot of getting Neela out.
I swung up into the saddle. I was about to turn Kya around when I heard the army begin to march. They only took a handful of steps. Then each and every one pivoted in my direction. Without hesitation, collectively, they directed their weapons to the crest of the mountain and aimed them precisely on my position.
They must have seen me. Or, I’d triggered a boundary spell. Regardless, instinct was shouting for me to run like hell. I had a good chance. The valley floor and a whole mountainside stood between us. But, knowing my father, it might as well have been spitting distance. And with the work he’d put into my welcome, he wasn’t about to let me escape. Not when I had something he wanted.
My first plan, and now my second, of no use, I steered Kya to the edge of the sandy ridge and headed down. It was a sharp drop so I kept it slow. As I drew closer to the valley, the prisoners in the pen took notice. The bulk of them stared in silence with starved, sunken eyes. Some rushed to the fence, and as word of my presence started spreading through the crowd, I heard my name.
More voices joined in the chorus. Kya’s hooves hit level ground and scrawny arms stretched through the posts, reaching for me. Bodies pushed and shoved against each other, wailing and screaming, begging to be heard.
Their pleas went through me like a bitter wind. Their curses, as I kept going, hurt more so. But I couldn’t help them. Casting here, without so much as a single blade of grass within fifty miles for my spell to draw from, would leave the prisoners as dead as their captors.
I picked the closest road and held Kya to a leisurely, unthreatening pace as I traversed the camp. No one stopped me. I kept my weapons sheathed, though I was itching to draw them, and looked around. I was a bit in awe. Langorians in civilian dress (something I had rarely seen) worked diligently, brushing dust away from great slabs of stone. Others assembled broken statues and pottery with great care. Slaves hauled buckets of dirt and sand up out of great, gaping holes. They gave me barely a disinterested glance as I went by. They had no grasp of the significance of what they were doing, but I envied them anyway. Touching the walls our ancestors once touched, walking on the same pieces of road they once traveled. I would have relished the opportunity to uncover such ancient sites, to dig for bits of a life that seemed so incredibly foreign.
I was quite a ways in when soldiers, both dead and alive, approached from all sides. They herded me in a strange, silent procession to the rear of the site. It was less busy here. There was only one, large pavilion sitting at the base of a tall dune. The center post boasted a red flag with a gold and gray snake in the shape of a circle. The same emblem was sewn into the wall of the tent and burned into the faces of the Langorians guarding the opening. Well-armored, and alive, their bulky garb was in sharp contrast to the female Shinree exiting the tent. Wearing a thin wrapping of pale green over her breasts and a matching swathe for a skirt, without thought or expression, she held the flap open and waited.
She would stand there all day if that were her orders, but it only took a moment for her master, King Draken, to appear in the doorway.
Pausing, surveying us all in smug silence without ever actually looking at a single one of us, Draken seemed even more majestic than usual. Remarkably clean-shaven, the King’s glossy, silver tunic gleamed in the blazing sun. A lavish cloak of leather and fur rested on his broad shoulders, fastened shut with the famed serpent clasp. Fake or not, the pin was blindingly shiny in comparison to the lackluster stone circlet resting on his head.
The Crown of Stones had definitely seen better days.
Draken stepped aside. A woman emerged and it took a moment for her identity to register; her blood-red gown was crafted with far too little material to be fit for a Queen.
Sheer, almost to the point of being nonexistent, the skirt of Neela’s dress was split into strategically placed strips of gossamer layers that hung to her ankles. The bodice had no sleeves, only a set of gold chains that extended down from the shoulders to cuff at the wrists. Large rubies—tantalizing against dark skin—studded a neckline that laid bare a good half of Neela’s breasts and kept going, all the way to the gold chain girdle about her waist.
Her hair, even more elaborate, was gathered high atop her head and contained in a casing of leather a hands-width tall. The restrictive binding stood straight up, forcing the bulk of her curls to burst out from the top and fall back down, surrounding her face and shoulders like a dark, erupting volcano.
By Rellan standards, her appearance was scandalous and disgraceful. It was also incredibly erotic. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I was still gawking when Draken leaned down to whisper in Neela’s ear.
Jealously, I followed his hand. It glided across the rubies adorning her fingers and up over the golden bracelets on her wrists. No, I thought, not bracelets.
My heart jumped as I looked closer. They’re serpents.
Understanding their significance, I stared in dread at the snakes wrapped around Neela’s wrists. Then Draken brushed a curl back from her downcast eyes, and my horrified gaze transferred to the branding on the left side of her face.
I was too late.
The imprint was barely a few hours old, but Draken’s claim was evident. No one could dispute Neela’s new title as Queen of Langor, or her status as Draken’s wife.
I swung a leg over the saddle. As I slid down off Kya’s back, Draken’s smooth voice glided like silk across the sand. “I knew you would come,” he said with a smile. “Your endless pursuit of martyrdom never fails to entertain.”
“Consider it a wedding present.”
“Ha!” he laughed. “I have a present for you as well.” Draken tossed something small through the air. Catching it, I folded my hand closed over a jade archer’s ring. “It might be a bit bloody,” he grimaced apologetically. “My men tend to get overzealous.”
“It’s fine.” I reached behind me and slipped the ring down inside one of the packs on my saddle. “You can scrub it clean…after you let Jarryd go.”
Snickering, Draken tugged Neela closer. “I can see why you like this Shinree, my love. He’s so confident.” His tone darkened. “It’s a shame it won’t last.”
“Threats. Intimidation. Abduction.” I forced a thin smile. “You have all the foundations of a happy marriage, Draken. I wish you luck.”
“How thoughtful—considering Shinree don’t believe in luck.”
“You’ll need something if you don’t want to end up with a blade in your chest like your father did.”
“To the contrary, Troy. My wife is most accommodating. She knows exactly what’s required to safeguard the lives of her people.” Gently, Draken placed a hand on Neela’s stomach. “Already there could be a child growing inside her. And when he is born, there shall be another. One for Langor’s throne. One
for Rella’s. Both of them mine. None of them yours.” He stared down his long nose at me. “Don’t worry. Our union was very unlike the dreams. There was no blood, no forcing of any kind. Neela’s screams were those of pure pleasure. Isn’t that right, my love?” Grinning, Draken eyed her with a lewd sneer. “Shall we show him? Here? Now?”
Faintly, Neela answered. “If you wish, My Lord.”
“Oh, I do.” Draken slid his hands unceremoniously inside the bodice of her dress. Glancing at me with mocking eyes, he pushed the material aside, putting her on display. “Beautiful, isn’t she?”
I grabbed the sword at my hip. “She’s your wife. Show some fucking respect.”
“Or you’ll what? You’re powerless here, Troy. Impotent. I, however, am nothing of the kind.” To prove his advantage, a dozen decomposing soldiers edged up behind me. “I have dominion over this land.” Kneeling down, Draken took the divided hem of Neela’s dress in his hands. He parted the fabric up to her knees. “And over her.”
My hand clutched the sword tighter. “Let her go.”
He raised the dress higher, to her thighs, and I squeezed the grip so hard my hand ached.
Higher still, and the muscles burned up my arm.
There was no doubt about it. The sight and smell of the dead, with bits of mud and flesh hanging off their bones, disturbed me far less than Neela’s quiet allowance of Draken’s touch. Her indifference, her submission, was killing me. Standing, exposed, in a camp full of leering men, she was calm and poised, not moving or protesting, letting Draken do as he pleased to her—while I was screaming inside.
Draken pulled Neela close. He tossed me a sly grin, and buried his face between her legs.
“Goddamn you!” I drew both swords and the dead closed in around me. The living guards pulled their weapons, aiming them at Neela’s back. She was unaware of the danger. As Draken continued to devour her, Neela’s eyes had fallen closed.
The Crown of Stones: Magic-Price Page 48
