I’d fallen almost halfway back to earth. That may be why Van insisted on altitude. He knew the blast could easily reach us, even if it exploded in the lake. Speaking of Van, where was he? As he could outfly me any day of the week, I knew that if I survived the blast, so did he.
At the lake, the cascading water had fallen back in upon itself, huge waves rushed the shoreline. Heavy black smoke lay like a pall over the area, stinking of sulphur. Blaez’s shrapnel continued to fall in a shower, striking the lake and the high-altitude forest. Bits rained down on me, harmless, sticking in my feathered mane. I shook my neck, sending some flying into space.
I soared over the lake, searching the sky for Van. As he’d flown into the east, I drifted in the direction, calling his name.
“Van?” I yelled. “Vanyar!”
No answer. I cocked my head, listening hard. I knew he hadn’t died in the explosion, for he was too damn smart to be killed in such a fashion. I circled higher, scanning the hilltops and trees on the far side of the Ice Shin. The water below settled back into its bed, though the choking cloud took its sweet time in dissipating. I coughed after inhaling too much sulphur and shouted again.
“Come out, you no-good, bucket-brained bastard. So help me, if you’re dead I’ll piss on your corpse.”
“Over here.”
Van’s weary voice, dim with distance, came from the hill. I swung sharply right and winged hard. He rose on sluggish wings from behind the trees, and flew slowly toward me. His body had taken a beating, just as mine had, but his grin hadn’t changed a jot. As a human, as a Griffin, his grin was infectious. I couldn’t help myself but grinned back.
“Yo, Flynn,” he called, circling over me. “You look like shit.”
“No way.”
“Way.”
Like fools, we grinned at each other as though we’d know each other since, and been friends since, birth. Incredibly comfortable to be around, Van’s natural charisma drew me to him, and oddly enough, I knew he truly liked me for me. What does one call such an odd arrangement?
Friendship.
“Damn. A prince should dress like one, my mother always said.”
I caught the strange glance he tossed me. “You’re King now, Flynn.”
His words jolted me from my merry attitude. Bloody hell, if he wasn’t right. My father was dead. The King is dead. Long live the King. I didn’t kill my father to snag his throne, but because he deserved to die for what he’d done. He knew my mother planned to seize control of the world through her black magic and demonic pals, and he supported her. He not just knew she’d kill Fainche and Sofia. He bloody approved.
“So I am,” I replied. “Come on, old son. Don’t know about you, but I could use a stiff drink.”
Wingtip to wingtip, we winged slowly southward, back to the castle and the folks we both saved. I felt very tired, sore and bearing a burden heavier than that bloody box. Duty. I now had a duty that felt like a mountain on my shoulders. I never was much good at being responsible. Time to change that, I supposed.
Van was silent for a long moment. “You know, once upon a time I needed that stiff drink. But right now, I don’t want it. Is that crazy, or what?”
“Yes. The whole world’s gone stark raving nuts.”
In companionable silence, we flew toward Castle Salagh, side by side. Reaching the tall towers and ramparts of the castle, I circled, gazing down on all the people looking up. The keep, the walls, windows, doorways filled with all manner of creatures, waiting. Waiting for us. Humans, Centaurs, those big beasts, the Minotaurs of Bryn’Cairdha, mingled freely with the soldiers, the nobles, and the common folk of Raithin Mawr. Bright Faeries, their bodies glowing bright amid the new sun’s rays, buzzed like hummingbirds over the crowd. As though the hundreds of years of fear and hatred had been washed away in a single night. As though the dawn of the great power, when the sun and the moon stood together brought two warring nations into a new realm of peace.
“Flynn?” Van asked. “You good?”
I sighed. I didn’t want to go down there. Although my adventures in the last few insane weeks changed me from the hate-ridden old Flynn to the powerful Flynn who sought redemption, my people down there didn’t know that. All my life they’ve hated me, and I them. The very last thing I wanted was to witness, yet again, was their scorn.
Duty is heavier than a mountain.
“I’m good.”
Dropping into a dive, Van hard beside me, I aimed for the center of the keep, the middle of the thick crowd. Griffins, like flocks of pigeons, soared upward, flying up to meet us, yelling words I didn’t catch. The big dark Griffin, the one Van called Windy, and a slightly smaller Griffin, flew in close.
“You did it, lads!” Windy crowed. “You bloody well saved everything!”
“Vanyar!” the other Griffin, a female, shrieked. “You all but killed yourself, you ignorant ass!”
Van tossed me a quick wink. “Girls,” he muttered from the side of his beak. “Sky Dancer, meet King Flynn. Your Majesty, this is Lieutenant Sky Dancer of Bryn’Cairdha’s Weksan’Atan.”
Sky Dancer attempted a swift on the fly salute that actually conveyed true respect. “Glad to meet you, Your Majesty. Vanyar, don’t even think of ignoring me!”
He winced, his grin changing, like magic, into a grimace.
“Don’t you outrank her?” I asked, my tone low.
Van shot me an incredulous glance. “Outrank a female? Get real.”
Though I’m certain Sky Dancer didn’t hear us, she huffed and flanked Van while Windy circled around to fly beside me. The crowds drew back, making way for our descent, created a choice landing space. Iyumi waved up, her arms frantic as she stood beside a man aboard a saddled golden Centaur. Her father, I surmised. A large Faery, more subdued than the others, sat on Roidan’s shoulder. As Van aimed toward them, I did as well, though the thought of meeting the enemy King made me cringe inwardly.
A roar went up. From thousands of throats, folks started cheering. I recognized deep Minotaur voices mixed within as well as Griffins yelled from the air around us. Centaurs reared, hands filled with swords or bows raised high. That bad boy, Malik, standing behind his King, pumped his fist in triumph. Folks hung from walls, from windows, screamed and clapped their hands – in joy. In praise. Cavalry soldiers galloped in circles, mine as well as theirs.
Astounded, I almost forgot to fly. When I suddenly dropped several rods, I remembered to cup my wings. “What the hell?”
“They’re cheering for you, Your Majesty,” Van said.
I shot him a dark look. “Don’t call me that.”
“Better get used to it.”
Swarming like ants, people shouted my name, Van’s name. Heroes they called us, saviors and some hollered the word champions. That’s not me, I thought. Surely they’re mistaken.
“Are you two going to hover all day?” the King demanded. “Get your asses down here, pronto.”
“Down we go,” Windy said cheerfully. “You first, Your Majesty.”
Calling him vile names under my breath, I dropped lightly to the cobbled stone floor of the keep within the midst of the delirious crowds of onlookers. Beside me, Van furled his huge wings over his back and stalked regally toward the Bryn’Cairdhan monarch. Windy alighted beside me, as though assigning himself my royal guard, while Sky Dancer circled, trying to hover, over Van.
On two unsteady legs, bleeding, his clothes blackened, Van changed into his human self. He saluted his King, his fist thumping his chest as he bowed low. “Your Majesty.”
Tears wet on her cheeks, Iyumi rushed into his arms. Unwilling to watch their embrace, I glanced aside and down. King Roidan gazed up, craning his neck, a thin smile on his haggard face. He doesn’t look very royal, I thought. My father always dressed the part of a King, in bright silks and brocade. If he didn’t wear his heavy crown, he utilized a light circlet that enhanced his dark good looks. On the opposite end of the royal spectrum, Roidan wore simple cotton and wool, cavalry boots to
his knees and armed himself with a sword. No crown. No silk, no royal demeanor. At once glance I knew this man was more King, more warrior, and more royal than my father could ever have been.
Despite his seat on a tall Centaur, I stared down on him. One single strike from my talons could take his head off. But none of the Centaur and Minotaur guards seemed much concerned I and my ferocity might do him harm. Malik and that white and bay Centaur I remembered actually smiled. Well, Malik didn’t really smile, but his expression wasn’t quite as dark as I remembered.
“Greetings to you, Flynn of Raithin Mawr,” Roidan said. “I’m finally able to meet you, face to face.”
“And kill me, I suppose?”
The King chuckled. “I’d much rather extend my hand in friendship.”
Damn him if that isn’t just what he did. His slender right hand lifted up, toward me. He waited, patient, smiling gently, knowing bloody well I’d take it. Just as I knew I would. I thought to enclose my talon around his hand, but drew back. That’s not right, I thought.
I willed myself back into my own body. The change came quickly, easily, and I knew now I could change myself into any creature I desired to be. At this moment, I wanted to accept his gift as myself. Standing on my own feet, surrounded by the enemy, I never before felt so safe, so confident. Enclosing my dirty, bloody hand around his, I met his kind blue eyes with mine.
“Your Majesty,” I said, a small grin surfacing though I didn’t call for one.
His tone didn’t mock. “Your Majesty.”
I chuckled. “I reckon this means our nations no longer hate one another. Did we just bury something? A hatchet, perhaps?”
“Only if you subscribe to the old legends.”
“I don’t. It might be true, though.”
“I ruddy hope so,” Roidan replied. He waved his arm. “If not, all the shit we just went through will be for nothing.”
“Sire –” Malik began.
“Shut up, Malik.”
Thinking I just missed something, I glanced around at the crowds as their wild cheers and yells slowly died down. The Faery, their queen I suspected by her cool demeanor and the tiny crown on her tiny head, hissed into Roidan’s ear. He dismissed her with a shoulder roll. Van flung his arm around my neck, tugged me into a hard embrace and kissed my cheek. His free fist pumped the air. “To the King!” he bellowed.
“To the King!” the crowd answered, roaring.
I wasn’t used to smiling, I didn’t know how. Despite all, a big silly one burst across my face without my permission. Where once only hate and anger filled my heart, those ugly pieces of me drained slowly away. Joy and hope filled it instead. The Flynn my sister, and even Sofia, recognized and loved emerged finally. Perhaps I was finally a Flynn that someone could like.
“Are we a team, or what?” Van laughed, shaking me roughly.
“Sure we are,” I agreed. “But kiss me again and I’ll deck you.”
“Maybe you’ll permit me,” Iyumi said, stepping forward and reaching for my shoulders. Van released his grip on me as Iyumi pulled my face down to hers. Her warm lips teased my cheek, planting a soft kiss on my scar. As she drew back, I gazed down into those blue on blue eyes and chuckled. “Friends?”
She chuckled. “Friends.”
“I think it’s jolly time for a party, what?”
Roidan’s voice rolled across the castle and I turned toward him. His eyes twinkled. “Well, Your Majesty?” he asked. “Think you can host a grand party to celebrate our new and lasting peace?”
“Whyever not?”
Turning in circles, I raised my fist to the crowds of people, Bryn’Cairdhans as well as Raithin Mawrn. The applauding rose again, rising on fanatic cheers, their love pouring on me like a warm river. If our countries can have peace, I thought, perhaps I might find some, too.
In order for my voice to be heard above the noise, I implemented a wee bit of magic. My voice boomed across the castle as I shouted a single question.
“Are we ready to rumble?!”
Epilogue
Hand in hand with Iyumi, I walked across the broad stone keep the next morning, Flynn striding, silent, beside me. The wild party of yesterday’s new peace celebration continued well into the night, and much of the castle still slept. Despite the freely flowing wine and ale, I felt little urge to drink of it. Somehow my need for alcohol dried up completely. Flynn, on the other hand, passed out sometime after midnight. His mercenary trio carried him to his chamber, and stood guard over his door under the ribald jokes of several young Raithin lords.
Malik, stalking on Iyumi’s other side, drank too much strawberry wine and almost broke into a smile at one of Roidan’s clever jokes. Fortunately for him, he refrained from farting in the presence of both Their Majesties. Padraig, oddly enough, had followed me everywhere yesterday and still did, his hooves marching implacably at my back. Like me, he didn’t imbibe during the wild party, and steadfastly ignored my questioning glances. Though I’d accepted his apology for his role in making me the Atan scapegoat, he appeared strangely protective of me. Edara stalked beside him, her bow in her hand, and quite interestingly refused to look at him.
I smothered a small smile. I knew why she ignored him. Just as I understood the tiny, confused glances Padraig shot her every now and then. Windy and Sky Dancer rubbed shoulders as they walked and this time I didn’t conceal my grin. Windy finally caught Sky Dancer’s eye. They make a handsome pair, I thought, suspecting they’d announcing a mating ceremony soon. Perhaps they’d ask Iyumi to officiate. Why not make it a double? I thought, eyeing Padraig and Edara steadfastly not looking at one another.
Behind Flynn paced his three henchmen: Buck-Eye, Torass and Lyall. Like Padraig, they stuck to Flynn’s back, and guarded it faithfully. Though our nations clearly found peace, I wondered if they felt suspicious of us, that we’d still murder Flynn in his sleep. Or, instead, they simply liked their duties as Flynn’s watchdogs. They certainly appeared quite loyal.
The keep wasn’t empty, despite the early hour. Small crowds of people, mostly Raithin Mawrn nobles and merchant folk, bowed low to Flynn as we passed. The Centaurs, Minotaurs and Griffins, as well as Bryn’Cairdhan human soldiers, saluted us. Flynn didn’t notice, nor did he acknowledge the respect offered him as the new Raithin Mawrn King. His face lowered, he appeared deep in thought.
“King Roidan has planned for us to depart on the morrow,” I said. “That all right?”
“Hmm? Oh, sure. Stay as long as you like.”
“Well, he did explain why we invaded,” I went on. “And that we don’t, and never will, intend conquest. But perhaps your folk might not see it that way. They may see us as a threat and begin the conflict all over again.”
Flynn shrugged. “I don’t much care what they think.”
I eyed him askance and stopped. Of course, the entire procession halted as well, milling around us. Iyumi fondled the end of her braid as she frowned slightly, staring at Flynn, as though trying to read his mind. Malik snapped his fingers and instantly a ring of casual-seeming Minotaurs and Centaurs stepped forward to circle us round. Folks of both nations drifted closer, perhaps wanting to see the new King for themselves. And eavesdrop on a juicy conversation.
“Flynn? You good, bro?”
He rubbed his thumb down the long scar of his cheek, his wild mane of blonde hair lifting under the light breeze. He half-turned toward me, but spoke over his shoulder. “Torass, do me a favor and fetch Bayonne, will you?”
“Certainly, m’lord.”
As Torass trotted off, shouldering his way through the crowd, Iyumi and I exchanged a quick glance. “Going riding? I thought we were to discuss a new treaty.”
Flynn finally met my confused gaze. He half-smiled, his handsome features lightening a fraction from the old glower I recognized from the days beyond his family’s deaths. “Well, right, but that may not be necessary.”
“Flynn –”
“Your Majesty! I say, Your Majesty!”
C
ut off by the high, nasal voice of a thin, balding man rapidly pushing his way toward us, I stopped. Flynn folded his hands behind his back and waited, watching as the man, gasping for breath, arrived at a damp halt before us. He held an object wrapped in rich scarlet velvet with obvious reverence. The man failed to offer Flynn any manner of salute or deference, and Flynn’s eyes instantly flattened. I knew that look. So did Iyumi, for her hand tightened within mine. The newly hatched amiable Flynn vanished, and the icy prince who once murdered a man in cold blood and sacrificed a child for black power gazed out from those chilling eyes. Obviously, the one targeted by his unnerving, intense regard utterly failed to notice his danger.
“I brought it, Your Highness,” the puffing little man said. “As you requested. But why I should bring it now, I’ve no idea. Your coronation ceremony won’t be until next week.”
Flynn held out his hand in silence. In handing the object to Flynn, the man yanked off the covering velvet.
The Raithin Mawrn royal crown, a gold circlet bedecked with diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and brilliant sapphires, gleamed under the light. Richly trimmed in silver, the emblem of Raithin Mawr – crowned unicorn dancing with a spotted cat – hovered at the brow. Above them, a huge glittering diamond, worth perhaps a king’s ransom, lay wrapped in gold laurel leaves. A hushed silence fell over the crowd as Flynn held it up, admiring.
Flynn stared around at the watching crowd of onlookers, turning this way and that, still holding the crown for all to see. “My first act as the King of Raithin Mawr,” he said, his voice loud enough for all to hear, “is –”
Silence fell. The crowd hungered for his words, leaning from windows, nudging one another for quiet, and staring with rapt attention. I knew he played to them, strung them along as a musician played his lute. He gathered their eyes without really trying, as they hung on his every movement, his every breath. I smothered a small smile, seeing an artist in the making. Flynn certainly knew how to make his audience dance and they stepped but lively.
His flat gaze found the sweating messenger. “Sergei.”
The Unforgiven Page 59
