A King's Caution (The Eternal War Book 2)

by Brennan C. Adams

  Oswin swallowed, his teeth gritted at the hard truths she spoke.

  “So, I’ll give you one more opportunity because, while we can, we spies should have every chance to live our lives to the fullest. Tell me now what I want to hear, or I’m returning to the ball, and we’ll never speak of this again.”

  Still, he hesitated. Ring shook her head, more at her presumption than anything else, and turned to find the nearest source of alcohol. She didn’t enjoy getting drunk but thought tonight, she could make an exception.

  “I love you, Silivren! Please don’t go!”

  Stopping short, Silivren smirked. Took him long enough.

  She flung herself at him, tugging, pulling, caressing every part. Then he joined her, gasping with desire, and the momentary shrieking alarm which always accompanied a man’s passion-fueled embrace never came because this time was different. This time it was him, the man she’d grown up with, trained with, laughed with, fought beside. He’d saved her life when she was a panic-driven thirteen-year-old girl, and she’d saved his multiple times in repayment.

  He knew her, and that understanding showed. He was gentle when she needed it, rough when she wanted it. After years where sex was completely focused on her partner, now she was the only one who mattered, and it brought tears to her eyes. He wiped them away, disgruntled, and kissed her. Don’t think of the past. You’re here, now, with me.

  Her uncontrollable giggling started as they cuddled later.

  “What is it?” he murmured, running fingers through her hair.

  “I’ve wanted this for years, spent so many hours imagining how it would be, and we end up here. In a broom closet.”

  Her laughter loudly pealed. She couldn’t help it. Something about the situation tickled her fancy.

  “You’re the one who insisted we couldn’t wait,” Oswin said with a pout.

  “Oh, don’t get your feelings hurt,” Silivren teased, rolling over to lay on top of him. “The setting may be funny, but the sex… Alouin, you’ve been holding out on me, Oswin.”

  “So… it was good?” he asked.

  Men and their insecurities.

  “Oswin. No one has ever made me scream before,” she told him.

  He beamed, she cuddled into his chest, and the door rattled. They both stiffened.

  “Is someone hurt in there?” Kylorian hollered, banging on wood. “Do I need to call for aid?”

  “Do you mind?” Silivren asked.

  Oswin would know what she meant. She nursed a pet project, same as every Hand member. Hers happened to coincide with work. She would find the traitor who plotted against her King, even if it killed her.

  Only a few names remained on her suspect list, and Kylorian was among them. The Minister of Public Safety would probably prove innocent, a fact she found likely considering she was already almost certain of her culprit, but this opportunity could prove an excellent time to cross him from the list.

  Smiling, Oswin drew her in for one more kiss. “Be careful, Ring,” he whispered.

  ‘Thank you,’ she mouthed.

  On her feet, Ring quickly pulled her hair into a bun and straightened her clothes. As a last touch, she pinched her lower eyelids to redden them.

  “Don’t get help, Minister,” she called as she pulled the broom from the door handle. “I’m coming out.”

  Checking that Middle safely hid behind an equipment rack, she pulled the door open and instantly recoiled from an intense scent of alcohol. Kylorian wobbled while he peered at her.

  “Have we met?” he asked.

  “I’m Ring,” she answered. “I escorted your sister the other day. The tavern, remember?”

  Kylorian’s face brightened. “Oh, yes. I remember now. You’re very… funny.” He hiccupped. “Why do you-? Have you been crying?”

  “I’m from the Southern Kingdoms, although my parents claimed ancestry to this place,” Ring answered. “The dancer at the festivities’ start made me homesick is all. I found a private corner where I could cry.”

  Kylorian seemed the type to prefer a damsel in distress. After years of practice, Ring could usually pigeonhole a man’s penchants after only a few minutes together.

  Speaking of festivities, a thunderous, popping boom shook the palace, and Ring instantly crouched, hand on her sword. Well, there went the damsel in distress angle.

  “What was that?” she snapped.

  “The Qenans’ ‘fireworks’, I guess,” Kylorian shrugged. “Hey, can you help me to my room? The world’s spinning like a top right now.”

  “Had one too many?” Ring asked.

  “You could say that.” Kylorian suppressed a belch.

  “It’s happened to the best of us. Which way are we headed?”

  “This way. I think.”

  Kylorian unsteadily tottered to the left. Winking at Middle, Ring blew him a kiss before letting the door fall closed.

  She hurried to catch up. The Minister did need help. He wove from one side of the hall to the other, reaching for the walls’ support. Once she was even with him, Ring tossed his arm over her shoulders, bearing the slight pressure he placed on her without complaint.

  Here was a prime example of why, in Ring’s mind, Kylorian was so low on the suspect list. The man was in his cups too often to make an effective spy. Besides that, when he wasn’t around Raimie and Kheled, Kylorian truly was a sweet man. He went out of his way to do what he could to help those in need. Several of Uduli’s orphanages and charities had been established by Ren’s older brother, and he nightly joined his officers in patrolling city streets. Ring suspected he took solace in brandy so often these days because he despaired of solving the heightening conflict between Esela and humans.

  With a better suspect already in hand, Ring had almost tossed Kylorian from the pool before tonight, but if she could cross him from her list, she could focus on her prime suspect, Gistrick, with a clear conscience.

  The Zrelnach commander maintained his posting at Da’kul even now, a posting Ring knew he despised. His reports to the King contained nothing but complaints of boredom on the rare occasions they crossed Middle’s desk, but it was widely known he made lengthy, unsanctioned trips away from Da’kul. Ring’s contacts had yet to discover where he went on these sojourns. Add to that the bad blood between him and the King and the rapidly narrowing suspect pool, and Gistrick quickly topped the list of contenders.

  “Aren’t these your rooms?” Ring asked, dragging Kylorian to a stop.

  “Oh, look! We’re here!” the Minister slurred, withdrawing his arm and banging the door open.

  The accompanying ‘firework’ bang was louder. Kylorian hesitated before leaving Ring in the cold.

  “Would you stay with me tonight? Not like that,” he rushed to clarify at the look on her face. “I- I can’t sleep most nights. I thought someone in the room might help.”

  “I’ll do you one better.” Ring smirked, breezing past him.

  So, here was a minister’s room. Rather plain, all told. A fireplace, a simple bed, a rickety table with a crate beside it. Ring had expected… more. Nothing here could expose the Minister for a spy.

  “I’m an excellent masseuse,” she told Kylorian. “If you can’t find sleep when I’m done with you, I promise I’ll stay overnight.”

  Maybe she should botch the massage. Watching over the Minister would give her plenty of time to snoop further.

  “What do I-?” Kylorian asked.

  “Take your tunic off and lay face down on the bed.”

  “I don’t- I don’t know,” Kylorian muttered, hand going to the back of his neck.

  Irritably blowing a lock of hair from her face, Ring circled behind him. “I won’t judge your body, Ky,” she said, gently pulling his hand away. “I’ve seen many ugly scars in my…”

  Ring trailed off. She wasn’t often wrong, but when she was, the error completely caught her by surprise. This one shocked her to a standstill.

  Hidden beneath Kylorian’s long hair and high collar, a s
narl of Corruption pulsed beneath his skin.

  “You saw, didn’t you?” he tonelessly asked.

  “I’ve certainly never seen a scar like that before,” she quipped, nervously laughing. “Not one so small at least. How have you kept it in check?”

  Kylorian rounded on her, jaw set but hands trembling. His body spoke indecision to a woman long trained in reading other’s emotions. She could handle hesitancy, even in an especially drunk person. Talking people down was a specialty.

  “Let me get Raimie.” Don’t mention a source of jealousy, and if you must, minimize the source to a simple name. Avoid titles at all costs. “He can draw that evil crap from you.” Offer a viable solution. “Ren’s long shared her excitement for her baby to meet Uncle Ky. That meeting will never take place if Kiraak Kylorian gives Auden to Doldimar.” Mention loved ones and the consequences to them if the subject continues along this course.

  “Why did she have to carry a child now?” Kylorian mournfully asked.

  So mournfully. Time for the dangerous part. Ring took a deep breath, loudly speaking so her voice carried over cracks and bangs. The fireworks display must be coming to an end.

  “I’m leaving. I’ll return momentarily with help. You stay here until I’m back.”

  Ring turned on her heels as the pops petered out. A final, deafening bang finished the display, and she got another two feet before dropping to her knees. Reluctantly, she looked down, staring with fascination at the hole below her ribs.

  Kylorian came into view, violently sobbing. “Sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  Prodding at the charred skin around the hole, she tried to laugh-murdered by Oswin’s creation-but she couldn’t find the air. Confused, she tried to-

  -take a breath. Her rescuer moved too quickly, and the barely healed soles of her feet shed their newly grown skin.

  The sounds of pursuit had long ago faded, and as if prompted by this development, the boy ducked into the alcove of a nondescript home’s front door. He rapped once, paused, three times, paused, and twice. After a moment, the latch slid back, and the door opened.

  They tumbled into such luxury she cringed, instantly taking her hand from the boy’s and hugging herself. Resolutely turning her back on the silks and sheers, she came face to face with an unknown man. Shivers raced up and down her spine, freezing her in place.

  “Are the alarms your fault?” he asked, eyeing her.

  She couldn’t answer the question. He was too close. If she moved, even to open her mouth, she’d turn into a wailing pile of flesh.

  “Partially,” the boy answered, out of view. “I had to shoot one of them.”

  His eyes weren’t on her anymore, and their absence gave her the strength to back to a safe distance, all while the man reprimanded the boy.

  “You USED it?!” he asked. “Great! This was supposed to be a quiet infiltration, a possible recruitment mission. With your slipup, the Southern Kingdoms will know someone’s gotten their hands on new technology.”

  Southern Kingdoms? These two must be northerners. Why were they so far from home? Why had the boy helped her?

  She wondered what she was supposed to do. The man scared her. She couldn’t stand to be in his presence much longer. Could she slip away while they argued?

  “I’m sorry, spymaster,” the boy said, scuffing his foot along the floor.

  Spymaster? Really? Unprompted, a snort flew from her nose, drawing their attention. So much for slipping away.

  “What about her?” the supposed spymaster asked. “How’d she do?”

  The boy uncomfortably shifted, obviously torn. “She tried a new tactic today. Good instincts. She wouldn’t have lasted much longer where she was. Got caught while making to leave. That caused the alarm.”

  “So, she started this whole mess?” the spymaster asked, shaking his head. “She’ll never make it in the Hand. Get her some food and coin, Oswin. We need to quickly return home. Kaedesa will soon wonder where her spymaster has gone.”

  “But Aramar!” the boy whined.

  The man’s casual dismissal riled her so badly that for a short period she forgot her fear of him.

  “Excuse me. I don’t know who you are or why you’ve been watching me, but I find it a little offensive you reject me from your Hand, whatever that is, because of a small mistake,” she snapped. “Am I not allowed to speak in my defense?”

  The spymaster, Aramar, bemusedly eyed her. “You may speak,” he answered.

  Anger was quickly draining, so she launched into her explanation as quickly as she could before fear paralyzed her once more.

  “I seduced the Little Lord, and after he was finished with me, I slit his throat. While his body lay cooling, I escaped through a grate, dislocating my shoulder in order to fit. I’ve survived for THREE MONTHS without the Little Lord’s guards finding me. The only reason they caught me today was bad luck.”

  She almost squeaked the last word, so great had anxiety grown. Defiantly, she stared the spymaster down even if she couldn’t move.

  “How old are you, child?” he eventually asked.

  Only with the absolute monotone of his question did she realize how his muscles strained against his skin.

  “Thirteen,” she whispered, fear dragging her eyes to the floor.

  Fatigue hit her like a surprise visit from boisterous cousins after an especially long dance practice. She swayed, wincing at the pain spikes from her feet.

  “Oswin,” the spymaster said, and the boy was at her side, lifting her.

  He sucked in a sharp breath. “Aramar, her feet!”

  “It seems I’ve business to attend to in the city,” Aramar hissed. “Try to save the feet as best you can, Oswin. She’ll need them if she’s to be a member of the Hand. I’m going out. I trust you can make the pitch?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. I won’t be more than an hour.”

  The door slammed, and for a moment, blissful silence occupied her as she huddled against the boy’s chest. The room moved around her, and she flinched at the sight of the sheers floating past.

  “I’m going to set you down, Silivren, but before I do, I want you to know I won’t hurt you,” the boy said. “No one will ever hurt you again.”

  She lay on a bed, and silks met her back, and she wanted to scream and cry. For some inexplicable reason, though, she also trusted this boy. She held perfectly still while he washed her feet, dabbed cloth in a salve, and wrapped it in circles around her wounds.

  “You’re Oswin?” she asked. “That’s a strange name.”

  “I had strange parents.” Oswin shrugged. “And you’re Silivren. Does that mean your parents are normal?”

  “My parents, if they live, thought it better to sell their daughter to a slaver than to find a better way to pay their debts,” she whispered, biting back a sob.

  Oswin nodded, knowing she needed no response.

  “Would you like to leave this city? Train to become a stronger person, someone who can defend herself-”

  “Does it mean I get to stay with you?” she asked.

  Oswin nodded again.

  “Then, yes.”

  -take a breath, but her lungs wouldn’t properly work.

  It was all right. Oswin was here, standing over her, and he’d always take care of her. As long as she was near him, everything would turn out shiny.

  She’d meant to tell him something before she’d left. It was of supreme importance, central to who she was. He was so close now, holding something bright and glistening before her eyes, and she labored to remember. Her thoughts wouldn’t stop swirling.

  “Did you know I’ve always loved you, Oswin?” she mumbled. “From the beginning, I’ve only ever loved you.”

  She’d more she wished to share, plans for the future, places they should visit together, but her lungs had run out of air. That was fine. Oswin would know. He always knew.

  A sob broke through her circling thoughts, the bright gleam moved forward, and a crunch filled her mind.
Then nothing.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  17th of Second, 3479

  Auden has peace. It comes after a great effort and with a high price, but we have peace. So, why am I uneasy?

  Doldimar was not as I expected. From every tale told about Daevetch primeancers, I expected the Eselan to be utterly mad. Instead, he was entirely reasonable, if a little twitchy. He claims his conquest of the Esela Haven and Lyzencroft served only to free his people from humanity’s oppression. The Esela leaders had to be removed in order to change the Haven’s conciliatory practices, and the overthrow of Lyzencroft’s royal family served as a demonstration of Esela strength, a removal of a harsh oppressor.

  The assertion that her family was anything but fair with their Esela neighbors made Illasaya furious. She’s always been an advocate of Esela rights, and I think she believes her family was as well, but I KNOW time can distort memories. Perhaps her recollections of a benevolent royal family simply originate from a nostalgic glow. Perhaps that’s wishful thinking on my part.

  Doldimar assures me he’s satisfied with the extent of his new domain. He says he has no designs for Auden, but I don’t know if I can believe him. Alongside Lyzencroft, Auden played its part in the Haven’s domination. What happens if Doldimar decides he needs another demonstration? Unfortunately, I have no choice but to accept his word.

  Why, you ask? Simple, really. He knows my secret.

  During the talks, one of my Ministers allowed anger to take control. She boasted that I, the one chosen by Alouin to wield Ele, could easily destroy Doldimar, the Daevetch primeancer, if he didn’t show some respect. Doldimar merely smirked at me and said he’d like to see such a miracle.

  He knows. Doldimar is inexplicably aware that nothing substantial stands between him and Auden.

  So, to the dismay and disbelief of Emri and the Ministers, I conceded to his demands, including the one which whisked my youngest son away to serve as hostage.