The Stones of Kaldaar (Song of the Swords Book 1)

by Tameri Etherton

  “Don’t you ever do something so rash and undisciplined again. You could’ve been killed, you stupid girl.” Despite her words, there was no harshness in her voice. “That was a brave and foolish thing you did.”

  Taryn debated telling her to make up her mind. Was she brave or stupid? Instead, she pulled away. Without warning, Taryn’s stomach roiled. She ran to the bushes where she emptied the remains of her lunch. For several minutes she stayed hunched over, until she was certain nothing remained.

  Mortified the others had watched her get sick, she rejoined the group and with a little shrug said, “Sorry.” She looked at Lliandra, expecting some retort, but all the woman did was touch her cheek before moving away.

  The princesses surrounded her, but she pushed through them to the carriage, flinging open the door to flop on the soft seat within. The world spun with vicious intensity. Never again would she wonder what it felt like to be in battle, or to experience the thrill of striking an opponent. She liked the feeling she’d had when she plunged her sword into the creature, of hearing the crack of his jawbone, of knowing she’d defeated the beast. It felt good to win.

  She must have dozed. When she woke, camp had been set up, with lights glowing softly in orbs around the fire. When she stepped from the carriage, Baehlon offered her his hand, and she jumped in surprise.

  “Forgive me, Princess. I thought you knew I was here.”

  She stretched her aching body, working out a cramp in her leg, wincing at the wound in her side. “Just for the record, those carriages aren’t all that comfortable. And why would I think you’d be here?” They walked together around the tents, following the sound of voices.

  “As your protector, it is my duty to keep you safe. Asleep or awake.”

  “I keep forgetting you’re my babysitter.”

  His jaw tightened. “Protector. There’s a difference, but,” his voice was low, “I’m not above giving you a good cuff if that’s what’s needed.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.” She tried to punch him, but a jolt of pain shot up her body. “Damn.”

  Baehlon held out her left arm, whistling at the gash he saw. “Why didn’t you mend this?”

  “In all the excitement, I forgot.” He turned them away from the fire toward her tent. “Baehlon, when I killed that creature, it was,” she searched for the right word, “satisfying. Does that make me a bad person?”

  “Nay, lass, it doesn’t. If you’d killed a man and enjoyed it, then I’d say we have a problem.”

  “Today, I just put myself on autopilot and did what had to be done. It was a kill-or-be-killed mentality.”

  Baehlon nodded slowly. “That’s the way it should be on a battlefield. There’s no place for emotions. If you hesitate, you die.”

  She lay on her cot, staring up at the tent ceiling. “I was afraid to use ShantiMari.”

  Surprise lit across his face. “You killed that beast with only the strength of your sword?”

  “Remember that day on the road to Paderau with all those feiches? I couldn’t risk something like that happening. Not until I learn to control my ShantiMari. All of it.”

  Faelara entered the tent, glancing first at Baehlon and then Taryn. “Where is she injured?” Of course, Baehlon would call Faelara to help. Taryn tugged her tunic up to show them. “This is from no blade.” Faelara touched her skin, pulling her hand back immediately. “Vorlock venom.”

  “As in poison?” Taryn groaned. “Just my luck.”

  “Why didn’t you call for me sooner? We need Rhoane,” Faelara told Baehlon.

  “No. You can’t tell Rhoane,” Taryn begged.

  Faelara gave her a long look. “I need his help to heal you.”

  Taryn dragged her sword from its sheath. “We can do it without him. This is different from the poison on the sword, I can feel it.” She placed the blade against her skin and bit back a scream. Instead of healing her, the sword burned through her skin, leaving a dark red blister over her festering wound.

  Faelara ran from the tent, returning with bandages and water. After she cleaned the dried blood and pus, she poured an inky liquid into the wound that made Taryn squirm. Searing pain ripped across her midsection every time Faelara touched her. She gave Taryn a cup of wine, and she drank it in one long gulp, willing the alcohol to take immediate effect. When Faelara pulled out a needle and thread, Taryn bit her lip to keep from crying.

  It took seventy-four stitches and three cups of strong wine to close the gash, each stitch burning more than the last. After another dousing of the black liquid, Faelara rubbed a paste onto the wound while saying a few healing words. Her Mari embraced Taryn, sinking into her skin. After she wrapped Taryn’s middle in clean bandages, she put another ward over the cloth and kissed Taryn’s cheek.

  “Do try to be more careful. At least this seems to be from an adolescent vorlock whose venom is not yet at full potency.” Faelara’s voice was gentle. “A little like you.” She tweaked Taryn’s nose.

  “Thank you, Fae.” The wine was working on the pain, but a deep throbbing continued. “Why do you think the sword didn’t work?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps there was still vorlock venom on it, but that’s just a guess. I do know this—you were lucky you only suffered a burn.”

  They joined the others by the firelight. Several soldiers stood to salute her while others regarded her with curiosity. She nodded shyly to them, not wanting any added attention.

  Marissa approached first, taking Taryn’s hands in her own. “Sister, we owe you our deepest gratitude for what you did today.”

  “Thank you.” Giddiness and a bit of lightheadedness from the wine, compounded with her shock from the battle and the venom that still coursed through her blood, made her sway on her feet.

  “Are you well?” A genuine concern for Taryn shone in her sister’s lavender eyes.

  “Well enough. I’m just exhausted.” It was with no small amount of difficulty that she took her seat beside Sabina.

  “I was afraid I would lose my best friend today,” Sabina whispered.

  Taryn glanced at Rhoane. “Me, too.”

  THE rest of the trip was tense for the travelers. Conversations were hushed and stops brief. When they camped for the night, myriad threads stretched overhead, warding the group against any nighttime invasions. Each day, Faelara checked Taryn’s wound, applying a fresh paste and bandage. The pain diminished, but every pit in the road threatened to tear her flesh anew.

  Each night she slept fitfully. Her anxiety grew the closer they got to the Narthvier. A dark presence dogged Taryn’s vision, much as it had her first days on Aelinae when she’d traveled with Rhoane to Ravenwood. Whoever or whatever it was that followed them, she hoped it couldn’t pass through the fabled veils of the forest.

  When at last they approached the huge expanse of trees, her breathing became more labored, her pulse quickened to dizzying levels. What lay behind them was only slightly less terrifying than what lie before her.

  Rhoane and Janeira rode ahead of the group, parting the mystical veil that kept the Narthvier protected from enemy invasion. Lliandra stiffened as the veil lifted, looking around quickly to make certain there were no ambushes waiting for them. Since that one brief show of emotion after the battle, Lliandra had once again withdrawn her feelings. The disappointment slid off Taryn like an oiled cloak.

  The trees, as old as Aelinae itself, towered over their heads. Their white trunks stretched up, their branches making an archway for them to ride beneath. Rays of sunlight drifted through the natural latticework to caress the ferns and flowers that grew alongside the road. The forest smelled fresh, like after a recent rainfall. Like Rhoane.

  They left the bulk of Lliandra’s entourage at a clearing just beyond the first veil. The Eleri were protective of their land, not often letting visitors through. All of Lliandra’s guard, save for the captain, and most of her ladies and maids would stay at the camp until the group departed the Weirren. Marissa pouted that her favorite, Lady Celia, c
ouldn’t accompany them. No amount of begging changed the outcome, and so it was a smaller group continued, leaving a disgruntled Celia and Herbret behind.

  The procession traveled through the woods, stopping often to raise another veil or to close the one behind them. By the time they reached Lan Gyllarelle, the great lake of the Narthvier, Taryn had counted eight veils. Janeira greeted the two Eleri riders who met them at the lake with a hand over her fist and a low bow. Rhoane nodded to one of the men before giving a quick bow to the other. Lliandra emerged from her carriage, followed closely by Marissa and Myrddin. The empress curtseyed prettily to a young Eleri man and laughed at something he said.

  Janeira stood beside the man, the same one Rhoane had bowed to, a protective look on her face. He had to be Rhoane’s brother. Carga had told her of the warrior’s commitment to the prince. Similar in features to Rhoane, Bressal’s hair shone like sunlight on water, a shimmering expanse of white and gold that flowed down his back. He wore a handsome circlet on his head that caught the light when he turned his horse to lead them on.

  When Rhoane walked toward Taryn, she saw the misery in his eyes. Her hand moved to him instinctively. “Rhoane.” Her voice caught as she said his name. The simple acknowledgment was the first time since the battle that she’d spoken to him.

  He glanced her way, shaking his head while he kept walking. Her gaze followed him and then she turned, only to meet Janeira’s unblinking stare. She lifted her chin and met the woman’s gaze. Janeira inclined her head to Taryn before moving off.

  Chapter 35

  THEY passed through two more veils before reaching the heart of the Narthvier, the Weirren. It was not a single structure but a series of graceful buildings connected by arched walkways high above the ground. In the center of the Weirren sat an enormous tree that reached far into the sky—its trunk half as wide as Paderau Palace. Taryn followed Baehlon through a set of doors that dwarfed even the large knight. They stood in an immense entrance hall carved from the trunk of the tree, with passages leading off in every direction.

  The interior was as ornately decorated as the Crystal Palace in Talaith, if not more lavish. Paintings and chandeliers hung from internal branches, and a grand staircase wound its way up the trunk, to dizzying heights. A page led her to a set of rooms even more spacious and opulent than the hall below.

  She’d imagined the room would look like a hollowed-out burrow, but once inside, she couldn’t tell the difference between the rooms at the Weirren and Paderau. Only the bed gave any hint she was in a tree. A four-poster, it was made from living branches that arched above the mattress. A cascade of leaves and flower blossoms created an enchanted canopy.

  A cry escaped her lips at the sight.

  The page nodded appreciatively. “It is one of the wonders of the Weirren. These are Queen Aislinn’s rooms.”

  Taryn looked at him, surprised. “Are you sure it’s okay that I stay here? I wouldn’t want to upset His Majesty.”

  “It was he who bade me bring you here.” The man bowed to her. “I am King Stephan’s third son, Eoghan.”

  He looked to be Eliahnna’s age, a young teenager. His eyes sparkled as he spoke, mesmerizing Taryn with their three shades of blue, dark to pale, with gold flecks around the irises. Their depths intrigued her.

  Taryn curtseyed low to him. “I am Empress Lliandra’s second daughter, Taryn. Thank you, Eoghan, for escorting me to my rooms.”

  “I was impatient to meet you, and now that I have, I am well pleased. You are even lovelier than the trees led me to believe.”

  Two girls no taller than Tessa arrived, and Eoghan gracefully bowed in farewell, saying he would see her at dinner. The maids helped with her bath, applying a thick paste to her wound, followed by a soft wrap tucked around her midsection. Between her little Eleri and their broken Elennish, Taryn discerned they were sisters, Illanr and Carld. When she introduced herself, they gently corrected her.

  “Nen, vu tendl Darennsai.” They kissed their thumbs before placing them to their foreheads and then over their hearts. Their greeting and Eoghan’s compliment left her hopeful about her meeting with the Eleri king.

  The gown they laid out for her was, by far, more beautiful than anything she owned, save her coronation gown. When she touched the fabric, it moved beneath her fingertips like a living, breathing thing, seeming to react to her body heat. She ran a finger down one of the folds, gasping when the fabric drew in on itself like a sea anemone.

  By the time they were done styling her hair, it hung straight down her back, nearly to her hips. The silver strands Nadra had given her were several inches thick, with only a hint of her golden hair shining through. The girls grinned and nodded to her, saying in their broken Elennish, “Princess pretty. So pretty.”

  “Thank you.” She searched her scant knowledge of Eleri for anything that might convey her gratitude.“Celaina.”

  They nodded again. “Yes,celaina. Thank you.”

  She slipped into a pair of silk slippers, welcoming the softness against her callused feet. Eoghan arrived just as she finished dressing.

  His eyes widened when he saw her. “Princess Taryn, you are a vision to be sure. Like a forest nymph emerging from a budding flower to greet the sweetness of the day.”

  She blushed furiously and curtseyed a thank you before taking his arm. They passed several Eleri, who greeted them with polite interest. “You look a lot like your brothers. Do you resemble your mother or your father?”

  “It is difficult to tell. All Eleri look alike.”

  Taryn shook her head. “Not my maids. They don’t look like any of you.”

  “That is because they are not Eleri. Carld and Illanr are Faerie folk.”

  “Aren’t they supposed to have wings?”

  “Carld and Illanr are woodland faeries. They do not have wings, as such. Only air faeries do.”

  “I didn’t know there was a distinction.” She sighed. “Just when I think I’ve got it figured out, something new pops up.”

  Eoghan looked down at her. “You are a very curious creature, Taryn ap Galendrin.”

  “I get that a lot.”

  They stood outside two enormous doors carved with detailed pictures of the Narthvier. Taryn studied the images to keep her mind occupied and nerves settled. If her mother feared the Eleri king—Taryn shuddered—what must he be like? The chamberlain announced Eoghan first and then simply, theDarennsai. She was so accustomed to hearing her name and titles that when the doors opened, Taryn stood awkwardly, waiting for the rest of an introduction that never came.

  Eoghan nudged her, and they entered the Great Hall. The Eleri elite wore gowns in every color, but no ornamentation in their long hair, or around wrists or necks. Slim gold chains hung from a few hips, but that was the only decoration Taryn saw. The only jewels that sparkled in the room came from her dress and what her family wore.

  Eoghan led her to the high table, taking the seat to her right. Beside him sat Bressal and next to him, Rhoane. At another table sat her mother, Marissa, Eliahnna, and Tessa. The rest of her friends sat directly in front of them. An empty, ornate chair occupied the space between her and her family.

  The chamberlain banged his staff three times, and everyone in the hall rose. “His Majesty, King Stephan of the Narthvier, Ruler of the Eleri, and trusted son of Verdaine.” The doors opened, and King Stephan entered. Tall, with hair the color of freshly fallen snow, he held himself with such authority that even without the chamberlain’s announcement she would’ve known he was the Eleri king. His people made an elegant bow to him, sweeping their right legs and arms out to the side. Taryn stood with the others at the high table, keeping an eye on Eoghan for any clues as to what she should do.

  King Stephan made his way through the crowd, stopping to greet a few of the nobles. When he reached Myrddin, he patted the man on the back. They shared a few words, and then Stephan moved on to greet Duke Anje. He made his way past Taryn’s sisters, giving Lliandra a warm embrace before standing in front o
f his great chair to address the gathered crowd.

  “Friends,” he said in Elennish, “we have gathered here this evening to mark an auspicious event in our lives.” He turned to his left, gesturing toward Rhoane. “My son, thesheanna of Verdaine’s prophecy, has returned.” The crowd mumbled under their breath. A few of them made a figure eight in the air. “With him, he brings Empress Lliandra, Lady of Light.” Lliandra gracefully bowed to the nobles. “With her, come her daughters. They are my guests in the Weirren and therefore should be shown every courtesy.” His voice was tense.

  The Eleri’s distrust of the newcomers thrummed throughout the room. Stephan raised a hand for silence. “With them also travels thegyota of Verdaine’s prophecy.” Their stares traveled to Taryn. She kept her eyes trained on the king. “Who presents her to our court?”

  Taryn expected Rhoane to speak, but he remained silent. Her face flamed with indignation at his slight. Myrddin stepped forward, as did Eoghan, the duke, and Lliandra, but it was a clear voice from the crowd that made Taryn’s heart stop.

  “I do, Your Majesty.” Janeira, ethereal in white silk, her dark hair framing her tanned face, strode to the high table.

  The king gestured to her. “Janeira, tell us why you believe we should accept this girl as ourDarennsai.”

  Rhoane glared so hard at his kinswoman, Taryn worried his eyes might pop out of their sockets.

  “I have had the opportunity to observe this girl. Although she may be impetuous at times, she has shown herself to be among the bravest of fighters I have ever known.” The crowd twittered, and a few nobles looked at Taryn with newfound respect.

  “That is quite a claim, warrior Janeira. What is your proof?”

  Rhoane’s fists clenched and released as Janeira continued. “Without so much as a season of training under her belt, this girl destroyed a vorlock with her sword. Nothing more. She bears the mark of the vorlock’s venom even now.” Janeira paused, taking in those gathered in the hall. “It was not for her own safety that she risked this injury.” Finally, Janeira looked at Rhoane. “It was to protect the Eleri prince, who was under attack.”