by L. L. McNeil
He stood up to greet her, even though he towered over her by a good two feet. Palom bowed his head to shorten the distance, raised a hand to her cheek, and cupped it with his palm.
She was covered in snow, already melting in the heat of the tavern, her face flushed from the walk, and she looked as beautiful as the last time he’d seen her. His stomach knotted at his mistake, masking the sadness for a few moments.
‘I’m not in the business of letting people down. I thought you’d know that by now. Isn’t that why you wanted to meet? A messenger from the palace, indeed. How curious!’ Lathri pressed her cheek into his hand with a coy grin and took her seat opposite him. ‘I’ve ordered food. You look like you’ve not eaten in months.’
Palom shook his head and sat down, reaching across the table to clasp her hands in his.
‘I have not eaten as I should,’ he admitted stiffly. ‘It is hard to eat when grieving.’
Lathri’s eyes dropped, and Palom studied her face. She was much as he remembered her: long, blonde, almost translucent hair, high cheekbones on a smooth face, and stunningly vibrant orange-brown eyes. Her eyes hinted at her true form, and they glittered in the reflected firelight. She wore a brown woollen cloak with white fur and feathers lining the neckline and sleeves, and she’d removed her moleskin gloves to reveal thin, supple fingers. He’d always thought they were musician’s hands.
‘We’ve all been touched by Aciel’s war,’ she said after a respectable silence. Energy pulsed gently around her, warming his hands where they held hers, and his sadness eased, somehow softening around the edges.
He’d forever be grateful for her education at Berel University.
‘Will you go to the funeral?’ Lathri asked.
Palom nodded, grateful at the respite the healer brought him. ‘I am part of parade.’
Her eyes widened, but she quickly masked her surprise. ‘I thought the Imperial Guard—’
‘Are under control of princess,’ Palom interrupted. ‘She has permitted me to carry…’ He shuddered, fighting back the sobs that threatened now his emotions had been loosened by her touch.
Lathri rubbed her thumb along his. ‘I know how much this means to you. You don’t need to explain yourself.’
Palom dropped his eyes. He knew his skin sagged, that he was a shadow of his former strength, and hated himself for showing such weakness in front of her. But Lathri had never been one to judge, and she’d seen him worse off. That was a comforting thought.
A serving boy approached the table with a large platter. ‘For the hero of Linaria and his beautiful companion,’ he announced with a grin. Palom scowled at him and held a growl back, but Lathri smiled politely and passed him a few coins.
The smell of food overcame Palom’s irritation, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, his stomach grumbled. Thick slabs of bacon cooked in butter and sugar lay across bread inlaid with wedges of cheese. Lathri had also ordered them a large pot of tea, its heavily-scented liquid steaming from the spout.
Palom winced. Moroda and Eryn’s father had been a merchant of tea and coffee before he’d died. It had been why he’d offered to look after them in the first place. He tried to ignore the stabbing guilt picking at the back of his mind as he poured the tea.
‘You were instrumental in stopping the war,’ Lathri said, taking the knife to cut herself a piece of bread and meat. ‘Many people have sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, who were part of that battle. If they weren’t on the airships, they were on foot, or in the palace, or producing the weapons and armour.’ She gave him a look.
‘They don’t speak like that to Imperial Guard.’ Palom shoved bacon into his mouth. ‘Why am I special?’
Lathri sipped her tea, it’s heat reddening her cheeks where she held the mug close. ‘You must know. The main reason is resting against the wall.’ She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head.
Palom looked over his shoulder at the glowing sword and the few sober Ittallan who hung around it, eager for a peek at the famed weapon. He looked back at her with a huff.
‘I can feel its power, even sat here. It’s far too strong. It has just one purpose: to destroy, and that’s what it’s done. That’s what it’s doing now—to you. Surely you can see that? Feel that?’
He chewed his lip. Lathri was clearly upset, but the sword was the reason he’d survived the battle against Aciel’s troops. The reason Aciel had lost. It had been a simple blade, a test weapon, and it had absorbed the power of the dragon-ore and transformed into something miraculous.
The sword hummed as though it were alive, and sent shivers up his arms, his meraki piqued. ‘It…is…special…’
‘You’ve made the stuff of legend, Palom. You are the stuff of legend, whether you want to accept it or not.’ Lathri put her mug down and ate.
He felt her withdraw. He understood her hatred of the sword, fear, even, and somewhere deep down, he agreed with what she said.
But he couldn’t get rid of it. Not after everything he’d gone through to forge it in the first place. He didn’t know if it could be destroyed, even if he’d wanted to. He picked at his plate in silence, hunger squashed as quickly as it had surfaced, and he longed for her touch again.
‘People have seen what you’ve made, seen you in battle. You know tigers are rare enough.’ Lathri said after she’d eaten several mouthfuls.
Palom let her words hang in the air, remembering his first visit to the city when he’d been barely sixteen. The Imperial Guard had requested he joined them as soon as they’d learned what he was—not that he’d been in the right frame of mind to join, anyway.
Of all hunter Ittallan, tigers were one of the strongest. Aside from Mateli, of course—but he was an exception. Palom shuddered as the painful memory of Mateli’s frenzied bloodlust floated, unbidden, in his mind, and he glanced to the Valta Forinja.
Palom had come to Taban Yul full of sadness, and Lathri had helped him. Now he was back in the same city under the same circumstances, and once more, he’d turned to her for help.
He took her fingers in his own and squeezed them, exhaling slowly as her magic dissipated the memories. A small weight in his jerkin pocket pressed against his side, and the faintest smile touched his lips.
A gift for her. A promise.
He thought of the best way to explain how he felt, preferably in a way that didn’t seem selfish, but Lathri spoke before he had the chance to say anything.
‘It is emonos, Palom. I don’t care what you did to create it. I don’t care what you’ve achieved with it.’ Her warmth vanished in a heartbeat, her eyes cold and clear. ‘You can’t run forever. I’ve some friends I’d like you to meet tonight. We might be able to help each other.’
Palom withdrew his hand, all thoughts of his desires forgotten. ‘What friends?’
‘Eat, first. You need your strength.’ Her smile was back.
Palom stared at the food and ignored its inviting smell.
Emonos.
That’s what she’d called it.
Unclean.
Evil.
A word in the old tongue to describe the death of a traitor. It was a hammer blow to his gut.
Whether it was the word’s meaning or the fact it came from Lathri, Palom suddenly wanted nothing more than to rid himself of his sword. But his fear of being too weak without it kept him from moving.
‘Palom?’
He looked up, wincing at the obvious concern in her face. ‘I am okay,’ he muttered, and ate.
*
‘Kylos and Aetos are from Tum Metsa. Do you know it?’ Lathri asked as they pushed their way through the crowd. If anything, there were more people now than earlier in the evening, and while many patrons attempted to make way for the pair, most fell over themselves to shake Palom’s hand or touch the sword at his back.
Palom grunted at those who stepped aside for them but ended up shoving more people out of the way than shaking hands. When they were finally across the room and clear, he thought
of the towns in Val Sharis. ‘Tum Metsa is in north? Near sea?’
Lathri nodded, casting a sympathetic look over her shoulder at the crowd that stared after them. She led him through a door to a passageway at the back of the tavern. ‘That’s right. They came to Taban Yul shortly after the ball. Word spread quickly of what Sapora did, of those who perished that night.’ She looked away when she spoke, her hair masking her face.
He had the feeling she was choosing her words carefully and appreciated the care she took over his emotions. ‘So, they have come for revenge? Knowing Sapora is in palace?’
‘You know us Ittallan. We hold our grudges.’
He said nothing at that, immediately thinking of Mateli, and more recently, Kohl. Anger passed through him.
‘Voulhrik also lost someone. His mentor,’ she continued. ‘One of the councillors had given him work in the palace. His name was Elafion, a stag. Unfortunately, Elafion disliked Sapora’s claim to rule. Killing for loyalty is never the way to go about it. Voulhrik still works in the palace, though. A glorified messenger, really. But some of the things he’s heard…’ She shuddered. ‘Better for you to hear it from him.’
Palom frowned. What did Lathri have to do with the palace and politics of rulers?
She strolled confidently to the unguarded door at the end of the passageway. Palom waited a few heartbeats before continuing—partly to ensure no-one followed them, and partly to enjoy the view and memories it evoked. She knocked once, opened the door, and walked through, Palom accompanying her inside.
The room was furnished simply, with six beds, a large round table, and several chairs. Three of the chairs were full, and all three occupants got to their feet, weapons grasped. When they saw Lathri, they relaxed.
Palom felt his sword flare with energy, and he took several deep breaths. He could tell two were hunters—a man and a woman, no doubt Aetos and Kylos—but the last man was taller and broader even than he was. He had to be Voulhrik. Fighting any of them would be a challenge.
No. He wouldn’t need to fight.
These were Lathri’s friends.
Conflicting emotions warred within him for a long second.
‘Please, sit,’ Lathri said, shrugging out of her cloak and laying it over the back of an empty chair. ‘This, as I’m sure you all know, is Palom.’ She ran her fingers through her hair and took her seat at the table.
Palom watched as a flicker of recognition appeared across their faces. He sighed, bracing himself for their reactions.
‘Sorry about that. Never can be too careful, Lathri. The state the city is in…’ the big man said, waving a long dagger before sheathing it and taking his seat. Palom disliked his thin moustache and beady eyes but tried to let it slide. He was here for Lathri.
‘It’s fine.’ Lathri brushed down her long sleeves.
‘Palom? The tiger?’ The woman, Kylos, asked, still standing. ‘So, you’re the one the whole country is in love with.’ Her black hair was long and smooth, tied back with gold clips. Her eyes were a lighter orange-brown than Lathri’s, more yellow, but no less cunning.
Palom looked to the man beside her—he was half a head taller than Kylos, but with matching hair and eyes. The resemblance was clear. If they were friends of Lathri, he should have nothing to fear. But suspicion ran deep when allies betrayed you, and he didn’t let his guard down.
‘You must be… Kylos?’ Palom asked her, eyeing the short, curved blade she sheathed at her hip. She nodded once, sharply, and sat down, her brother following suit.
‘Things are getting worse, Lathri,’ Aetos said, his voice scratchy, as though he didn’t use it often. ‘Everyone on the south side of the city has gone mad. People walking into the freezing river, jumping in front of moving wagons, or just disappearing into the forest. So many families have up and left their homes, some leaving full winter larders. Others have been found curled up, babbling to themselves, making no sense. Our medics can’t help them. Most have died. I’ve never seen a sickness like it.’
‘Who has died? People here? In Taban Yul?’ Palom asked.
‘Yes, most people on the outskirts. Whatever disease this is, whatever’s causing this, it hasn’t reached the inner city yet,’ Aetos replied. ‘No-one seems to know what to do. They say it’s an omen with Sapora in charge now.’
‘And of course, we’ve got the Varkain moving themselves in like they own the place,’ Kylos added. She grimaced at the mention of the race. ‘The snakes rarely come here. Never in winter, anyway. But, now…’
Lathri’s brow wrinkled in concern. ‘I know. It’s a worrying sign.’
‘Why don’t you talk to Princess Isa if you have concerns?’ Palom asked, sitting down beside Lathri at last. Though he hadn’t been in Taban Yul for over half a year, the city was still his home. If his fellow Ittallan had problems, it was down to the palace to fix them. ‘I know Princess Isa. Is that why you brought me here, Lathri? So that you could speak?’
‘Isa’s been compromised,’ Kylos said quickly, folding her arms. ‘With half the council gone thanks to her brother, there’s no Ittallan left in Val Sharis who’d trust her. Talking to her alone would be ideal…but she’s not stupid enough to meet strangers without an escort. Do you have that kind of influence?’
Palom shrugged. ‘No. But Princess Isa still cares about Taban Yul.’ The princess had been a little vain, of course, but she was royalty. It was to be expected. But compromised? ‘I can take you to her after funeral. Then, you will see.’
‘With Sapora listening to every word? Don’t make me laugh. She’s probably in league with the Varkain! She was at the ball, too, don’t forget,’ Kylos continued, clearly the most vocal of the three. ‘This war isn’t over by a long shot. We’ve just changed enemies.’
Palom sighed.
Lathri remained quiet, listening to the talk around her.
Aetos spoke again, ‘The snakes can wait. They’ve been at our doorstep since Linaria had four moons. They won’t go away any time soon. The problem is the sickness in the city.’
‘The sickness may pass. Sapora and his Varkain are a bigger threat,’ Voulhrik said, his deep voice rumbling.
‘Then talk to Imperial Guard!’ Palom said, exasperated. Whether there was a sickness in the city or they had concerns about the Varkain moving in, he didn’t see how it was his problem—or theirs.
‘The loyal ones have been killed. Those remaining in the Imperial Guard are in Sapora’s pocket now,’ Lathri said quietly. ‘Perhaps even those in Niversai, as well. They’ve always been our allies, and if his snakes have their fangs into Corhaven’s capital… Half the world could be under his poison.’
‘Surely you saw they’re under Sapora’s thumb while you were swanning around in the palace?’ Voulhrik said with a sneer. ‘Or were you too busy counting your Varkain gold?’
The difference in behaviour from regular townsfolk to these three jarred Palom. ‘I was not swanning around!’
‘Voulhrik, I know you’re hurting. Don’t take it out on Palom,’ Lathri said. Heat emanated from her, diffusing the tension in the space of a few breaths, and Voulhrik backed down.
She rubbed her eyes, suddenly looking tired. ‘To answer your question, I’d hoped you’d join us. You know Sapora and his ways. You know the princess. You could easily get into the Imperial Guard—especially after everything you’ve done against Aciel—and help influence things away from the Varkain. Sapora couldn’t refuse a fighter like you in his ranks. Voulhrik is doing what he can, but one palace worker isn’t enough. If we had someone in the thick of it, someone higher up, who knew what Sapora’s plots were…You could help find out what’s happening in the city, what they’re planning to do with the crystal now he has a guard set up there—’
‘Moroda is inside there!’ Palom bellowed, aware he was shaking but too angry to do anything about it. ‘It is not something to look into. It is burial site. She made blood oath with Sevastos to save your skins. Amarah and Kohl left Taban Yul to find way to break her free!’<
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Lathri blinked, taken aback. ‘But don’t you see? That’s why you should stay with us.’
Palom balled his hands as he fought to restrain his anger, fought against the urge to grab his sword. ‘You have not said what is your plan to do.’
‘Do you trust Sapora?’ Aetos asked.
Palom shook his head. ‘I don’t trust any Varkain.’
‘Exactly. At least Vasil kept the snakes to their tunnels. But this new king is young, a half-breed to boot, and more ambitious than any Varkain we’ve known. If he’s planning anything, I’ll bet a thousand crowns it’s against the Ittallan.’
Knowing Sapora, it wasn’t an unfair statement.
‘There’s been talk that Sapora plans to wipe us out. For good, this time.’ Voulhrik said, drawing their attention. ‘I’ve heard him talk of ancient powers, keys, seals…’
Palom swallowed and went very still.
‘He whispers of it to the Varkain he has guarding him. His personal guards. Only a handful of them. Whatever he’s cooking up, he’s keeping it quiet.’
Palom’s mind whirled. If Voulhrik was right...If those things had been mentioned...He shuddered to think what it could mean for the Ittallan.
‘Isa is one of us more than he is. We’d hoped she would one day be our queen, but it looks like we’ll be overrun by the Varkain before we can recover from Aciel’s attacks and get her in power,’ Lathri said, breaking Palom’s thoughts. ‘If it comes to it, we need to be ready for whatever Sapora has planned against us.’
Palom’s sword pulsed at his back. Conversation exploded around him. Why was Lathri leading this? Had she forgotten what Sapora did to those he disliked? What he’d done at the ball was the very reason her allies were all here.
Panic swelled, rising from his belly to his throat.
‘Lathri, stop this,’ he shouted, slamming his palms flat on the table. The sudden yell reverberated around the room. ‘You can’t fight Sapora. Alone, he’s stronger than any of you. Now he is ruling as king of Varkain and Ittallan. He is untouchable.’
