The Fourth Runi (The Fledgling Account Book 4)

by Y. K. Willemse

  “All right,” Rafen said, flopping onto his back and staring at the canopy bed’s ceiling above him. “You’re annoying.”

  “Oh – why?” Etana said indignantly.

  “Well,” Rafen said, thinking over the time he had known Etana, including the thousands of years before his birth, which he vaguely remembered. “You’re opinionated… stubborn… bossy. Snobby. And so good-looking it’s a crime.”

  “Oh,” Etana said.

  He glanced quickly at her to make sure she wasn’t offended.

  “You’re probably right,” she said bleakly.

  “I love you.”

  “I know. Why?”

  Rafen grasped her hand under the covers. “You’re selfless. You’re always growing and becoming better and better. You’re brave. You saved me.”

  He moved closer to her, already imagining the passionate kiss that was to follow. Warmth flushed her cheeks; she seemed happy again, excited.

  Then Etana sat bolt upright, pushing him away. “Rafen, do you know what the time is? The sun’s probably been up for an hour. What if we’re discovered?”

  “We’ll show them the marriage certificate.”

  “Sherwin’s got it. And do you know, Rafen, while it means that what we’re doing isn’t dishonorable, it doesn’t mean Richard is going to like it.”

  “You have to come with me now, Etana,” Rafen said, sitting up too. A cold despair was washing over him. “We married. Now you can come with me.”

  “Where? Back to your father’s place? Oh, Rafen, don’t you understand, all I want is to be with you! But I can’t. I’m supposed to be preparing to take the throne, and—”

  “You can’t stay here, Etana,” Rafen said, holding both her hands now. “Richard is a Tarhian; he treats you like a slut!”

  “Shh,” Etana said, extricating one of her hands and putting a finger to his lips. “You mustn’t say that.”

  “Why? Because it’s true?” Rafen said. He felt like he was losing her all over again. He slid closer in desperation.

  “Rafen, I won’t be with Richard forever,” she said. “I’ll tell Father that you are the Runi. I’ll tell him what we’ve done and then he’ll have to let us be together. He will smooth everything over. The most important thing now is to get you training again with Demus, or someone. If we manage things peacefully with Richard, we shall get you men and protection. You shall live at the palace and become who you were meant to be. You will be the king, and through Siana, you will win the support of the all people of the West. They will help you fight Nazt! Father shall manage it.”

  Rafen marveled at the faith she had in King Robert, even after seeing how her father had given up all hope in the Hideout and nearly given the country away after that.

  “I will go and speak to your father myself,” Rafen said, trying to keep the fury from his voice. “He stopped my lessons with Demus, and I want them resumed. I’ll show him the feath—”

  “What?” Etana gasped. “Rafen, no! Don’t you understand what that does to a Runi?”

  “I’ve never tried it before,” Rafen said. “Yet I’ve kept this hidden too long.”

  “Trust me, Rafen, revealing a phoenix feather is a curse,” Etana breathed. “Alakil did it, and Nazt drove him mad. You’re more susceptible to Nazt when you show your phoenix feather. It attacks you. And you have Spirit Awareness, which would only make things worse! Even if you showed it to prove who you are—”

  “You’re saying I’m weak.”

  “No, Rafen. I’m saying you’re vulnerable, like every other Runi was. Please, Rafen, don’t do it.”

  “Etana, I belong here – here in this palace. I know I do; I’ve felt it for ages.”

  “Mother didn’t want you back,” Etana said, her eyes glistening with tears. “Oh, Rafen, I’m so sorry.”

  Rafen put a hand to her face. “I’m not angry at you,” he said softly. “But your family has let me down. And Jacob. It’s my parentage. My father has ruined everything for me. Some days, I wish he hadn’t survived the battle for Siana.”

  He knew it sounded horrible, and he regretted saying it instantly. Etana flinched.

  “I’m sorry,” Rafen said quickly. “Really, I am. I need someone to help me get back into the royal courts, someone to help prepare me for the throne. And to be honest, I don’t think it’s going to be your father.”

  “Rafen, please,” Etana begged, “let me tell him. Give him a chance. You’ll see you’re wrong about him. He cares deeply for you, Rafen, he just hasn’t been able to show it recently. Promise me you’ll wait before you do anything desperate. Promise me you’ll wait until I send you word about his response. I will do it. You can trust me. And I think you can trust him.”

  “How long will all this take?” Rafen asked, drawing nearer still.

  “Have faith in Zion, Rafen,” Etana encouraged him. “You will be here well before your birthday in Ki Zion, training and fully protected. In the meantime, you must do everything possible to continue your kesmalic progress. You will practice constantly, Rafen. You must. You must read absolutely everything Francisco owns on philosophy, jarl, and daniit kesmal, and battle strategies. Most importantly, you must try to remember the past.”

  “I remember it best when I’m around you,” Rafen said.

  Footsteps sounded distantly outside Etana’s wing of rooms. Rafen threw the covers off and quickly slipped out of bed. He moved toward the glass doors he had come through last night and looked around at the wing before leaving, taking in the cushioned ottomans and settees; the ornately carved desks that were groaning under the weight of tomes, parchments, and inkstands; the mahogany doors adjoining rooms full of clothes or books on the latest philosophies. He remembered it all from over six months earlier, when he had been recovering from the Soul Breaker’s Curse. Then his eyes met Etana’s. She looked so lost amid it all. She had told him last night how Richard was treating her, and as Rafen took his sword off the small desk near the doors and fixed it to his belt again, he imagined beating Richard to a pulp. One day the Sartian prince would regret he had ever touched a treasure that wasn’t his. Rafen surged forward and clasped Etana to him once more. She embraced him fervently, and Rafen was horrified to realize she was crying. They broke apart, and he kissed her over and over, smoothing back her hair and brushing away her tears.

  “Don’t worry,” he told her.

  “Do hurry,” she sobbed. “I would risk writing, but he would find out. I’ll send word when it’s safe.”

  “We’ll see each other soon,” Rafen said. “Don’t delay, Etana. Remember what I said: this is where I belong.”

  She nodded, rubbing her eyes.

  “I love you,” he said again.

  “I love you too,” she whispered.

  He opened the glass doors, thrilled to hear her say it.

  Chapter Six

  Richard’s Edict

  “You wished to speak to me, my dear?” King Robert said, turning in his wide-armed chair to see a servant usher Etana in.

  “Yes,” Etana said breathlessly.

  King Robert’s fashionable Sianian moustache and well-groomed hair, which reached past his pale face and chin, were a similar red to Etana’s. He had gained weight since his time in the Hideout, and he was visibly healthier, though he had never attained his former corpulence. Today, he wore a scarlet embroidered coat, from within the wide cuffs of which the ends of his slashed sleeves were visible. Since Richard had come, he had taken to styling his hair so that the golden circlet the previous Sianian kings had worn, and that he had been crowned with on his coronation long ago, was clearly visible. On his right hand, he wore a plain gold ring on his index finger.

  Though he looked a little strained, his watery blue eyes lit up at her approach.

  The servant closed the door behind Etana, and she nervously moved further into the room, smoothing out her white satin dress.

  “Have a seat, Etana,” King Robert said, rising.

  Etana lowered herself onto
a settee near his desk and glanced around the wide study. Shelves against the left wall were laden with maps, scrolls, and tomes of old prophecies. To the right of her father’s desk, mullioned windows let in the bright spring sunlight.

  King Robert settled down again in his chair, turning it so that he faced her. His circlet glistened.

  “I’m not very good at keeping secrets,” Etana said softly. “You see, Father… oh, please believe me. Richard’s not the Runi. Even though philosophers have been saying for decades there would be a Runi in the Sartian line, he’s not. Everyone prophesied it would be the son of a Sartian monarch, and in Uncle Albert’s day, they said it would be a child called Richard Patrick. It’s all a deception.”

  She was speaking very quickly now, and she glanced anxiously at her father’s sagging face.

  “Etana,” he said in his low, rumbling voice, “you must be careful what you are saying. If you have proof of this—”

  “I do,” she said, leaning forward to grasp his warm, comfortable hands. “You remember how you said my betrothal would never hurt me, that the kesmal would work so that I wouldn’t be attracted to anyone except the last Runi?”

  “Yes,” King Robert said, looking into her face and seeming very lost.

  “Father, I love Rafen. We married each other.”

  King Robert started as if he had suffered a spasm. “What?” he howled.

  “Shhshhh,” Etana said frantically, placing a finger to his lips. “Father, please. I haven’t hurt you. Have I?”

  She was shaking.

  “No, no, my dear, of course not,” King Robert said, “but normally there is courtship, something of a warning before—”

  “Can’t you see that wouldn’t have worked with Richard around? Father, Rafen is the Runi, and we’re asking for your help.”

  “What help could I possibly give?” King Robert asked.

  “You could bring him here in secret and train him in the palace, under Demus. You could arrange for him to have men. You could let us be together.”

  King Robert was gripping her hands rather tightly, his forehead furrowed. “Etana, this all has to be explained to Richard. Did you make the kesmalic vows, the ones from the temple?”

  “Of course. They are the vows royalty make.”

  “You realize that should you break the vows or truly make such vows to another, you will suffer the curses of that covenant, and completely lose your kesmalic powers? Even possibly go mad?”

  King Robert’s fingers trembled on hers.

  “I know, Father,” she said. “I know the meaning of the vows I made last night. So does Rafen. We said them together, and I felt the final commitment in my heart.”

  “Then you must tell Richard why you cannot possibly marry him. He wants to marry you in three months, Etana.”

  “Please help me, Father,” Etana implored.

  “Of course I will, my darling,” he said in a tense voice, leaning forward and embracing her.

  Etana nestled in his arms as she had when she was a child, willing herself to believe that he could make things right. However, she could already tell from his tentative touch that he was confused; he didn’t understand. He was thinking about Rafen, hurt that he hadn’t been told or asked first.

  “Rafen is really the Runi then?” he said, drawing back and staring at Etana.

  “Yes,” Etana said. “He let me feel his phoenix feather. He’s had it for years, since the night he saved your life when the Lashki attacked you in your bedchamber.”

  “To think,” King Robert mused, leaning back in his chair, “that all this time, the Fourth Runi was right under our noses. We picked him up in Tarhia, and only barely at that! You know, Etana,” he said, straightening, a glint appearing in his eyes, “it is really well. Richard is such a – such a dolt, that I was more than a little worried about your marriage and his rule. Good Zion, it was eating me up. Arlene is all for it. She entirely believes in the Sartian conventions and wouldn’t dream of serving a human Runi, and the son of Roger Ridding, of all people. I do wish Rafen had told me, Etana. It does seem so very hard to believe. But I want to believe it, my girl. It means Siana might last a little longer yet. It means, I hope, you will have a marriage much better than mine. I always wanted that for you.” He reached out to stroke her chin. “Rafen might have spoken to me about his interest in you though, my dear. It’s only polite. I feel, and not a little, passed over. Yet now, I shall break it to Richard gently.”

  “Father, do be careful.”

  “I must get him to admit that he is not the Runi. If he does, Rafen can be brought here as you plan, and he will be trained for the Runiship and groomed for the throne, in full protection. If Richard’s confession is not forthcoming, however, we will make plans for you to escape during the Festival of Zion, and we will give Rafen some men.”

  “And what then?” Etana whispered, sweaty. They had only just won Siana back.

  Her father’s face sagged, and for a moment, she saw the old despair coming over him. He narrowly checked it. “Then we will have to try all over again to do what is right.”

  *

  King Robert tried to cross the red and white checked floor in his heeled boots noiselessly. He felt like the throne room no longer belonged to him. It was not a favorite haunt of his anyway. He could never forget some things that had happened in it. His current Sianian advisor Lord Harte followed him, his eyes eagerly fixed on Richard, the supposed Fourth Runi. Richard Patrick stood by the narrow windows looking out onto the gardens. Not a hair of his blond head was out of place. Yet his face was not wearing the habitual supreme expression. His hand was pressed to his temple as if he were trying to solve a difficult problem.

  “Ah, Richard,” King Robert began timidly. “Just the person I wanted to see.”

  “It is,” Richard said in a deadly voice, “My Liege.”

  King Robert wanted to comment that actually it wasn’t, that actually they should have been calling Rafen that a long time ago, but he refrained. The pointy-headed Lord Harte bowed loyally, murmuring his obeisance.

  Lord Harte had long shanks, an unusually broad torso, and a disproportionately small, triangular head on top of it. He was given to wearing hats of grand sizes that rectified the imbalance his body naturally created to the eye. Today, his hat was a great broad-rimmed affair with the front folded up. It spilled red feathers.

  “My Liege,” King Robert said, sketching a shallow bow, “something is troubling you.”

  “Nothing troubles me,” Richard said with feverish bravado. His eyes lingered on King Robert’s brow, where the golden circlet bearing the royal amethyst gleamed.

  King Robert steeled himself. He had felt out of his league when Frankston had given away the country. There had been a war to fight, and King Robert was not good at wars. He was not an aggressor, and he was not talented at planning military maneuvers. Yet here, he realized, was something he could do. Diplomacy. Persuasion. Clever words. They had never fooled his wife Arlene, which was why Rafen lived in a hovel, and why his education had not been continued in full. Still, Richard was young and more pliable than Arlene. There was a chance here.

  “Perhaps now is not the time to perplex you,” King Robert said, slowly making for the double doors again. Lord Harte turned in bewilderment to follow him.

  “No,” Richard said quickly. “I am not perplexed. What is it? A kingdom matter? I can take any challenge.”

  He arranged himself in an affected pose in the sunlight that streamed through the windows. The look in his eyes suggested he thought himself a god.

  The boy has a problem, King Robert thought sadly.

  “But of course,” he said. “It was really only a question – a silly one at that. I had a lord asking me the other day where most Runi keep their phoenix feathers, and I had to say I wasn’t truly sure. I was certain my brother kept his in the button hem of his shirt, although I couldn’t confirm it.”

  “Of course they keep them in the button hem of their shirts,” Richa
rd said. “Why wouldn’t they?” He strode over to the gilded throne and sat down on it, crossing his legs and looking superior. “The phoenix feather must be kept in the folded material near the heart. It is a symbol of identity. No stitching is needed to keep it there, as it adheres to its master with its own gentle tenacity.”

  Lord Harte nodded, his face alive with interest.

  “Indeed,” King Robert said. “I suppose the closer it is to the heart, the better one can remember the past it is symbolic of. That must be how it has been in your experience, My Liege.”

  “It is,” Richard said.

  “You remember it often?” King Robert said, approaching with studied indifference as he looked out of the windows. Out of the corner of his eyes, he observed Richard’s expression.

  “Always,” Richard said. “How could one not remember the purity of that time? The superiority, the flight… I shall never forget. It is a mundane place I have come to. The world of flesh is weak and unendurably corrupt. I am a purer element.”

  King Robert was sorry he had asked.

  “That human – Rafen,” Richard said, straightening, “he is now living with his blood father, is he not? One Roger Ridding, who served in the Tarhian army. Ha! When did you discover he had a father, Robert?”

  King Robert’s blood boiled. Richard no longer had any respect for him as his uncle or as a king.

  “Rafen discovered it himself while the country was under Tarhian rule,” he said.

  “It seems wrong a human worm should have the name of the Fledgling,” Richard mused, leaning back in the throne. Lord Harte made a sympathizing noise. “Imposters have claimed it before him, so it shouldn’t have surprised me. But it really must not be allowed to continue!” He leapt up. “After all, people were executed for lesser things.”

  “My Liege must not forget,” King Robert said, turning away from the windows, “that Rafen fits the description of the Fledgling. He came out of the East; he has been a leader to the people of Siana as the Sianian Wolf; and he has done the kingdom innumerable services. Besides all of this, when I questioned her about it before she died, his mother claimed to have had a vision in which the Phoenix himself told her what her firstborn was to be named.”