by Megan Derr
Nobody noticed that Esta lingered just outside the yard, her eyes wide with surprise and locked on Dieter. A minute later, she finally left, a frown marring her features.
*~*~*
Dieter laid his sword on the table and collapsed in a chair, enjoying the waves of heat from the fire that washed over him. Even with constant activity, his hands and face were frozen. And in an hour he'd be back in it.
What he wouldn't give for trained soldiers right then. Even fresh Krian recruits would be useful—every last one of them knew the basics of combat before joining. Training men his own age in those very same basics was nothing less than aggravating, if only because doing so cost every last one of them a great deal of their pride, if only in their own heads.
Of course, everything would have been far easier if so many of the officers and no small number of foot soldiers had not quit outright. If they were in Kria, they would have been executed for such traitorous behavior. Matthias was perhaps wise in not doing so, but only because tensions were already so high.
Regardless, he'd make the lessons stick eventually. Patience was the key, and he had nowhere else to be. At least not until the snow melted, and then he would have to see about getting some respectable blacksmiths.
He barely noticed as food was brought in, nodding absently to the girl who scurried out after depositing her burden on the table. The food smelled wonderful. The spices were hotter and more varied than what he was used to in Kria, but good all the same.
They had finally figured out that he didn't drink anything containing alcohol. It made his stomach roil to even think about it. Dieter shoved the thoughts aside as idiotic and focused on what he had to do that afternoon. Mornings had been given over to those who showed the most promise—younger men who caught on quickly, older ones who seemed to pick up the new skills with ease. Still, he could have bested them all when he was thirteen.
Everything would have been easier if he had trained soldiers to match them with. But he didn't, so that was the end of that. Dieter let his head fall to rest against the back of the chair and closed his eyes. He would lunch for an hour, then return to the yard until dinner. It was unfortunate the days were still so short. Were it spring, he could extend practice to the after-dinner hours. He laughed, thinking of the protests that would be sure to arise. Just as his own men always had while they waited for the snow to melt completely and signal the return to the Regenbogen.
Were his men dead yet? Probably not. Benno wouldn't bother to dispose of the Scarlet until late Spring when travel was easy. Was there any way to warn his men? Had anyone bothered to send a message about what had transpired?
Again, likely not, Dieter admitted bitterly. For daring to follow him, five hundred men were going to be put to death or carted off for the Coliseum next winter. Because Benno knew it would upset him, wherever he was. Dieter clenched his right fist, wishing he had his sword, and that Benno was impaled on it.
At least he did still have his sword. Dieter opened his eyes and stared at it, caught by the way the jewel in the hilt glowed in the firelight. Why he still had his sword, he did not know. He probably never would. Beraht was nothing if not confusing. He doubted Beraht understood his own actions half the time. Certainly only an idiot would behave as he did—from shadow killing to saving his captor to nearly killing himself playing with foreign magic.
Dieter frowned, remembering despite himself the way Beraht had looked on the floor of the Crystal Chamber. He'd been nearly as pale as his surroundings, and his normally brilliant eyes had been flat, dim. He really had seemed dead. How he had survived, no one really knew.
He tried to banish the image, displeased that it would not leave him, unwilling to deal with the reasons why. His only concession on that point was naming his sword. Turning away from the complicated tangle of thoughts that Beraht always caused, he directed his attention back to the problems at hand—problems which would not disappear for decades. Problems that would linger until he could train soldiers who had never known magic. It was strange to think he would be here that long. The fact that he was still alive and living in Illussor carried a dreamlike quality to it.
Biting back a curse, Dieter once more tried to direct his thoughts back to the soldiers. What was wrong with him? If he could control nothing else, he could usually keep order over his own thoughts. Perhaps the task set to him was a trifle more demanding than he'd anticipated.
Dieter pinched the bridge of his nose, willing every last stray thought away. His head thumped against the back of the chair again, and he began ticking off his plans for the afternoon and how to deal with the more problematic of the soldiers…
*~*~*
Matthias knocked on the door, then frowned when there was no response. He knocked again, then after a moment of hesitation, pushed the door slowly open and stepped inside. His eyes flicked immediately to the window, but Dieter wasn't there.
A quick glance around the room revealed Dieter at the table beside the fire. Mathias looked. Twice.
Dieter was asleep. He looked dead, he held so still. Not a snort, a twitch, nothing. Matthias wasn't certain, but he rather suspected Dieter neither slept during the day nor stayed asleep when someone walked into his room.
Which meant something must seriously be wrong. Without a sound, Matthias turned and left, pulling the door carefully shut behind him. He frowned at the man waiting for him. "Inform the soldiers that afternoon practice is cancelled, that General von Adolwulf has been called away to assist me. If anyone has further questions, tell them too bad."
"Yes, Highness." The man departed. Matthias remained standing in front of Dieter's room, frowning in thought.
It had been three weeks since Matthias had forced his people to live without magic. The reports coming in were mixed, and there was no doubt in his mind history would not remember him as one of the more popular kings. The ministers were doing their best to have him dragged out into the streets and hanged.
Throughout, Dieter had been working diligently to teach his men how to fight in a brand new style. Those reports weren't mixed—there was enough tension in the ranks he could cut it with a sword. And the swords were another problem. They were sufficient for practice, and had been made quickly for that purpose, but Matthias had seen Dieter practice on his own a few times.
Dieter's sword made it painfully clear that the swords used by his soldiers were cheap imitations. Still. Dieter practiced before the sun was up, between breakfast and lunch and then until dinner. It was amazing he had only now succumbed to exhaustion. Knowing what he did of Dieter, Matthias knew he would be furious with himself when he woke. Matthias' frown only deepened as he slowly made his way through the halls back to his own offices.
Something would have to be done. Well, a great deal would have to be done. It was harder than even he had anticipated, suddenly doing without something he'd always had. Even if he had used magic as sparingly as possible since learning the reality of it, not using it and not having it were two different things. Painfully different.
He was getting every headache he'd anticipated and plenty more besides. Esta was tired from doing what he could not, as were Kalan and Iah—who received grief both for his eyes and his lover.
Matthias rubbed his forehead as he sat down and noticed the tray someone had set at the corner of his desk. He smiled faintly at the sight of his favorite foods and wine. Esta, he knew. The servants and nobility alike had lately been as wary of him as they were of his new general. It was a wonder he'd gotten even one to follow him when he'd gone to find Dieter.
Problems and more problems. But they'd resolve themselves one way or the other. At least he wouldn't have to worry about sending men back to war. That announcement he was saving for the End of Winter Ball. It would do a lot to dispel the resentment running thick through the air, but in the meantime, fear of war would drive his men to relearn how to fight.
He hoped.
Of course, they wouldn't be learning anything if he killed his general with wo
rk. Matthias drummed his fingers across his desk as he thought.
A knock at the door broke his thoughts, and then Kalan stepped into the room. His oldest friend looked tired. "How is he?"
"Your father," Kalan said with a shrug and perched on the edge of Matthias' desk. He snitched a piece of fruit from the tray. "He's not half so weak or sick as he's letting everyone think. His attitude is doing nothing but causing problems."
Matthias nodded, accepting, unspoken, the sentiment that it would have been easier if the loss of magic had rendered his father too sick to do anything. He refused to think further than that.
"So why did you steal Dieter away from training? I thought he'd be here with you."
"He's sleeping," Matthias replied.
Kalan paused with a bite of bread halfway to his mouth. He grinned. "He does that?"
"Not often enough," Matthias said morosely. "I'm not a very good ruler, am I?"
"No, you're not." Kalan said levelly then smiled. "You're an excellent one. I'm sure when the Wolf wakes the only one he'll be mad at is himself. And Beraht. Somehow I'm sure he'll find a way to blame his nap on Beraht."
Matthias' lips twitched. "So what else have you heard?
"Snarl this, stupid that, burn them at the stake, so on and so forth. But there are a few, and their number is growing, who accept and even approve. Esta, of course, is largely responsible for that. Even the council won't growl too much if she's within earshot." Kalan picked up another piece of fruit. "Showing them what's left of the chamber and Benji's body helped put them in their place, so a well-earned point to you. I think if we—rather, Dieter—can whip the army into shape we'll be well on our way toward avoiding that riot you were worried about."
"Word from the villages?"
"Some were hit pretty hard, but it's something we knew would happen. Others are doing well enough; it's nothing that won't heal over time if done properly. Make it a special day, throw in a festival, and eventually all will be well."
Matthias shook his head. "You're such a politician, Kal. However did you turn out this way?"
"It's fun, if right now a trifle gruesome. Besides," he grinned and stole the last of the fruit, "there has to be at least one politician in your pocket. You're not a respectable royal if you don't play favorites somewhere."
"I am glad you're on my side, it's true." Matthias sighed and stood up.
"Where are you going?"
"I don't know, but I don't feel like sitting here. I'm certain there are things that I simply have to do, and Essie hasn't yelled at me yet, today…"
Kalan laughed. "By all means, let us go get yelled at."
*~*~*
Esta held lightly to Beraht's arm, knowing how awkward he still felt about everything. People, when they saw him now, either nodded and smiled or faltered and looked away. No one was quite willing to snub him, not with his relationship to the crown, but many came close.
Beraht wasn't taking to any of it. Hero or hated, it seemed no one, himself included, could really decide which he should be. Well, the relevant persons considered him a hero. By the time of the End of Winter Ball, she was determined that everyone would. He deserved it; even if Beraht would be the first to say otherwise. "You should try smiling," she scolded, gentle but firm. "Honestly, Dieter scowls enough for everyone."
"I really hope you didn't just compare me to him."
Esta frowned. "Why do the two of you hate each other so much?"
"Because he's a bastard," Beraht snapped.
"I see," Esta said patiently. "No one is ever going to tell me, are they?"
Beraht shook her head. "It's not an interesting story, and I'm sure Sol or Iah would say it's best to leave it in the past."
"Then why don't you?" Esta asked.
"Because every time someone says my name," Beraht said, "I am forced to remember everything all over again." He pulled away. "If you will excuse me—"
"I'm sorry," Esta said. "I didn't mean to drive you away. I just hate seeing you so upset. If you don't like your name, why not choose a different one?"
Beraht's face clouded. "I will not go from one stigma to another. I don't expect anyone but a Salharan to understand, but I will tell you this: were I not a traitor and returned home this very moment, I would be put to death for being so weak as to permit a Krian to give me a name."
"I am sorry." She hesitated then pressed on with her more characteristic resolve. "Are you certain it's such a bad name? It—" she frowned to herself in thought, not quite ready to give up what she'd learned that morning. "It seems to suit you."
Beraht's expression was bitter. "It's a mockery; it has been from the start. Now if you'll excuse me, I would like to retreat to rest." Without another word he left her standing in the hallway.
Esta sighed and turned to travel another route, perhaps a walk would prove refreshing, or least too cold to think. She was truly growing tired of thinking.
Familiar laughter brought her head up. Kalan and Matti, who could probably find a reason to laugh even if they lay dying. It was a trait she both loved and hated. Esta lifted a brow as they drew close. "And just which unfortunate minister are we laughing at this time?"
"Just us, Essie." Matthias grinned. "Trying to predict the ways in which I'm going to be assassinated. Then it occurred to us that the ministers have been trying to kill us both with boredom for years."
Esta glared at them both, then turned on her heel and stalked off. Kalan's laughter chased after her, and after a moment they managed to catch up. Matthias frowned. "Aw, come on, Essie. There was a time you would have at least cracked a smile."
"Don't you think we have enough problems," Esta said slowly, as if she thought them too stupid to understand her otherwise, "without my having to listen to jokes about people trying to kill you? Especially in light of recent events? If the ministers think you're children, it is probably because you act like children!" She jerked free of Matthias' grip.
"Essie…" Matthias let her go, but it was with obvious reluctance. "What's wrong with you? You know better than to take me seriously. What has you so upset?"
"Nothing," Esta replied. "I'm just tired. I think I'm going to rest before dinner; Goddess knows those have become tense affairs of late. If I were you, I would move up the ball. If we wait longer than a couple of weeks, I fear the consequences. People are putting up a good front, but for every smile there are three nasty looks." She sighed, feeling tired. "We need a more obvious hero than Beraht is proving to be. No one saw him do anything; they only felt the effects. And he is not someone used to dealing with people, not in this manner." She looked at each of them in turn. "The Ball will distract people and improve the general mood."
"But there is no real cause for a celebration, Essie." Kalan looked just as unhappy. "If Dieter could at least bring the soldiers together, and with some degree of skill to display, that would be something. As it is now, there is little to no morale. Nothing we do helps, either. A party now would just make things worse."
Esta nodded. "I will see what can be done at dinner. Without some visible victory or accomplishment, the people will see only that something has been torn out of them."
"I can't pull something like that out of thin air," Matthias said.
"I suppose not. I will see you both at dinner." They watched her walk away, head and shoulders up as if she had not a care in the world.
Chapter Twenty Three
"I'm going to get something to drink," Sol said softly. "Do you want anything?"
Iah smiled in the dark, but did not stir from the warmth of the blankets. "Only for you to hurry back."
Sol laughed. "Of course." He slide from bed and slipped into breeches and a linen shirt, pulling on ankle boots instead of his usual knee-high ones. The palace was quiet; almost eerily so. He knew there was a night staff, but at the moment it seemed as though not a single soul save him was awake. Sol wasted no time in reaching the kitchen and retrieving a drink and, at the urging of the kitchen maid, a late night snack.
Humming softly, Sol reached his hallway—and stopped. He had closed the door before leaving. It was now wide open, and light from the lamps spilled into the hallway. When he'd left, only the fire had been ablaze.
A sick, heavy feeling settled in his stomach as Sol dropped his wine and pastry and ran for the room. For the first time since he'd destroyed the last of it, Sol felt and regretted the lack of arcen in his system. Iah lay on the floor, far too still. Sol knew he was biting back sounds of pain, and could see the dark stains on the floor beneath him. He wondered how long Iah had to live.
"Tawn."
"Dear Brother-in-law," Tawn said, moving around Iah and closer to Sol. "I've been sent to retrieve two stars."
Sol barely kept from letting his dismay show as a thought struck him too late. "You already killed Beraht?"
"The peasant? I'll take care of him later."
He drew closer, and Sol recoiled. "What have you done?"
Tawn's eyes were a rich, dark red, the exact color of an arcen flower in its seventh year. It was a beautiful color; women attempted to match it in their apparel, and jewels of the same color were highly sought. But in eyes it was a color of madness. "Done? I have achieved complete mastery," Tawn said.
"Complete mastery, yes," Sol replied. He had to end this quickly, or Iah would not live. Tawn could kill him all too easily, and without arcen Sol had no way to counter. He didn't even have a dagger, and he was not stupid enough to think he could get close enough to break Tawn's nose a second time. Sol tensed for the inevitable. "But it is not you who is the master."
Tawn laughed, but Sol noticed when the laughter flowed into a spell. Razor, it was called, for the way it made the victim feel as though his skin were being sliced open. With yellow arcen, it was effective enough to fell a Krian if cast properly. Red could make it far more painful and far more deadly. The fact that he was alive made it clear that Tawn intended to toy with him. The spell struck twice, thrice, and Sol crumpled to the ground.
