A Prince Among Killers

by S. R. Vaught; J. B. Redmond

  When he made eye contact with her, he felt suddenly foolish. Her gaze was both warm and concerned, as well as guileless. Nic had a similar expression—polite concern. Nothing more. There was no undercurrent running between the two of them, as Aron had so often observed between Dari and Stormbreaker. As people no doubt noted between Dari and himself.

  Yet as he gazed at the two of them sitting beside each other, staring at him, there was … something. Some sensation apart from the two of them, yet related to them.

  Aron felt his brow furrow even as he said, “Nothing’s wrong. I’m sorry. Let’s move along with the lesson.”

  Dari hesitated, and for a moment, Aron thought that she didn’t believe him, that he wasn’t really upset about anything. Then he realized she was uncomfortable about what she planned to have them do today.

  He heard the concern in his own voice when he asked, “What?”

  Dari placed her hand on his knee, at the point where their legs made contact. “I think it’s time, Aron. I want you to try compelling a person to do something. A simple action, limited, with no potential for harm.”

  Aron’s entire essence rebelled against the idea, so much so that a tremor ran through him and he wanted to get up and flee the chamber. Gods, but weapons practice and riding Tek were so much simpler than this, so much more a part of who and what he wanted to be.

  “No,” he said, his voice growing more hoarse by the second. “I don’t want to. Not unless I have to.”

  Nic’s frown communicated sympathy, but Dari’s face reflected determination and conviction, which made Aron groan.

  “Lord Cobb and Lord Ross are only a short time from arrival.” She gave Aron’s knee a forceful squeeze. “Stone scouts have sent word that Brailing and Altar contingents are approaching through Cobb’s grasslands, with Mab forces not too far behind. We even have word of more Thorn envoys on the road. Shortly after your trial at the Ruined Keep, we’ll be beset.”

  Aron closed his eyes, though he knew he couldn’t shut Dari out, least of all if she really wanted something from him.

  “If you don’t begin to master this skill now, it will be too late, Aron. The need for the full measure of your graal might present itself, and you wouldn’t be certain and confident in using it.”

  Aron opened his eyes to find her studying him with that stubborn expression he knew only too well. He would either do this, or she would invent ways to torture him until he agreed. And he knew he needed to try, to have a grasp on using his legacy to achieve an end other than saving his life or someone else’s in a desperate situation. His grasp on the skill was too tenuous, and he needed practice—but at the expense of some hapless, random stranger?

  As if reading Aron’s thoughts word for word, Nic said, “There’s no need to seek a stranger. I volunteer.”

  Aron’s eyes went wide, as did Dari’s.

  “I can’t. No. Not you.” The refusal spilled out of Aron even as Dari choked out a similar rejection, but Nic only smiled at them.

  His blue eyes were calm and earnest. “My consent removes most of the ethical dilemma of using your graal. Just don’t make me suck my toes, or do anything embarrassing in front of a lady.”

  Aron laughed in spite of his mounting dread. “I could make you bray like a mule.”

  “Or strut about like a deranged rooster.” Nic’s laugh sounded bright and relaxing. “But I know you won’t.”

  “I’m thinking the mule idea has much merit,” Aron said as he eased his attention and focus into the patterns necessary to slide through the Veil. He then had to spend another few minutes gaining control of his senses in such proximity to Dari. Her multicolored brilliance on the other side of the Veil was nearly overwhelming, even though he had seen the totality of it several times now. She used the force of her graal to pull a curtain of essence around the three of them, so their thoughts and words and deeds would remain private, even from those who sought to pry, and Aron welcomed the pleasant hum of her energy as it joined with his.

  He gazed at Nic, who like Aron, looked very much like himself in this enhanced plane of senses and existence, except for the outline of ruby coloring that never quite left him.

  Go ahead, he said to Aron, and closed his eyes. Do your worst. But remember what I said about the toes—and no chickens. And no mules.

  Aron felt the essence of his chest expanding as his body drew a deep breath. He sent his best imitation of a rooster’s crow in Nic’s general direction.

  Nic brayed at him like a blond-headed mule.

  When Aron reached his thoughts toward Nic’s, he encountered no resistance.

  But in the first moment of contact, Aron felt a rush of confusion and uncertainty. He was as overwhelmed by the totality of Nic as he was by the nearness of Dari’s powerful essence, and he didn’t know which of Nic’s deliberate or random ideas to seize upon, and which to ignore.

  Ignore them all, came Dari’s instructions. What’s in his consciousness is of no concern to you beyond what you wish for him to do. Don’t let your attention linger on the complexity of his mind, or you’ll risk losing yourself to it forever.

  Aron withdrew from his close contact with Nic, confused and embarrassed, but he managed to stay on the other side of the Veil.

  All minds are this complex if you truly gaze into them. Dari sounded patient and unsurprised, as if she had expected this. Even a rock cat has some rudimentary thoughts and sensations, Aron. You are full of your own ideas and energy, so you can’t absorb the wholeness of another being—and you don’t need to.

  Aron’s embarrassment faded, but not his uncertainty. I don’t understand what to do. It’s not as easy like this, when there are so many options.

  Sharpen your focus, Dari told him. Just as you’ve done when necessity demanded it. Make your own thoughts a wedge, or a blade, or an arrow. Find an opening, insert your will into Nic’s mind, and give him an instruction with the force of your graal behind it.

  Aron had a sense of queasiness, but he once more let his thoughts flow forward until he found the web of ideas and images and sensations that were so distinctly and uniquely Nic. As before, Nic offered no reaction or resistance, allowing Aron access to whatever Aron chose to hear or observe.

  Aron closed the essence of his eyes to avoid becoming too distracted and overrun by the activity in Nic’s mind. He wished he could shut out the sounds, the smells, the multitude of tactile memories that rushed through his awareness and threatened to topple his self-control. He saw the image of a dark-haired woman, wild-eyed and obviously insane, and knew her for Nic’s mother, Lady Mab, the mad queen of Eyrie. He saw a dying girl, and felt awash in Nic’s grief for his dead sister. A father. Brothers. All gone. All dead. And his body, huge and stiff and useless—no, wait, it was Nic’s body, before he fell—

  Ignore it all, Dari cautioned. You are not Nic, and he is not you. You may share energy, or draw energy from each other, but don’t assume his thoughts and memories. That’s not your purpose. You’re a blade. You’re an arrow. You have a target. Now strike it.

  Aron was aware of his physical body taking another breath, and he allowed the essence of his eyes to open again. He shifted his perspective until he could see both Nic and Dari, in their relative splendor. They were right in front of him, and it was all Aron could do to resist the lure of Dari, of touching her and experiencing her thoughts at such a depth, with or without invitation.

  He quickly shifted his perspective again, terrified he’d commit such a transgression, and this time when he gazed at the two people before him, Dari and Nic seemed to blend together like matching aspects of some beautiful and mysterious creation. Like a tree, with a powerful trunk, but also leaves and branches—only Aron couldn’t tell which of them was which aspect of the tree. The image had such a solid, total feeling of truth that it guided his next action, almost as if it were he, Aron, being compelled.

  He focused on Nic’s right hand, which on this side of the Veil had no bent fingers curling inward to impair its m
otion or grip.

  Move, he instructed, imagining what he wanted Nic to do.

  Nic’s hand twitched, but remained still.

  Aron refocused his thoughts and tried to summon some of the graal energy he remembered throwing behind commands he had used in desperation. His awareness sharpened even more, until he imagined he could see the blood flowing through the veins in Nic’s wrist, pulsing across the back of his hand.

  Move, Aron commanded again, once more imagining the action he had envisioned.

  Nic’s right hand lifted until it hovered above Dari’s. Moments later, his fingers settled over hers, as Aron had commanded.

  Colors sparked and flowed between the two of them, and Aron again saw them blend into a tree—this time a huge, impressive heartwood, the likes of which could only be found in legend, or perhaps in the forgotten depths of the Adamantine, never before observed by human eyes.

  This image was something outside anything Aron had experienced before, even more real than Snakekiller’s hood snake phantasm, or the images of the goddess and gods he had encountered. It possessed a veracity that went beyond his understanding, beyond this world.

  Fate.

  The word echoed through his awareness, and for a moment, Aron sensed the eyes of those dangerous gods and the wicked goddess focusing on him from somewhere on the other side of the Veil.

  He didn’t want them to see the tree, but he couldn’t stop admiring it.

  Was the tree a creation of his own mind, or had he accidentally shared a piece of Nic’s graal, and seen the future—not just his own, but in some strange way, the future of Eyrie?

  Not the future, no. That didn’t feel correct. Aron searched his mind, his legacy, and came to a better understanding. He was seeing the truth, and truth knew no boundaries of time or place, or even decency.

  With a start, Aron lost his grip on his concentration. He slipped back through the Veil, and sat breathing as if he had run to the Den all the way from the main gate and keep. He slumped forward from the bone-melting exhaustion he had experienced only from longer Veil sessions, and stared at Nic and Dari in their human forms.

  They sat motionless, still lost on the other side of heightened awareness.

  Nic’s hand rested on Dari’s, and as Aron watched, Dari’s hand moved until her fingers laced through Nic’s.

  A lump rose in Aron’s throat, and a host of emotions exploded in his belly and chest. He couldn’t name any of them, and neither could he stand them.

  He knew Dari and Nic were at no risk, that Dari would guide herself and Nic back to this side of the Veil. Aron didn’t want to be there when they came back to full awareness. He didn’t want to have to explain himself when they opened their eyes, so he departed Dari’s chamber so swiftly and quietly that Iko at first didn’t rouse from his guard’s stance outside the door.

  Aron was halfway down the Den steps when he sensed Iko catching up to him. As Aron fled the Den, he passed Stormbreaker, and Aron turned his face away. He had an awful sense that he had just cost them both something precious and irreplaceable, but he had no way of explaining it in a way that might be believed.

  Perhaps not now, not today or even next week—but soon, Dari would be lost to them. Some part of her heart was already gone. Aron saw the mythic heartwood in his mind, and the way Dari’s fingers had intertwined with Nic’s, and he sensed the loss like a new hole in his soul. He had no idea what to do with this fresh pain, save for saddle Tek and ride her and practice with his blades until exhaustion drove him straight into the ground.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  ARON

  It was difficult, staying away from Dari and from Nic as well, but Aron managed it by riding Tek for hours each day, and by throwing himself even more completely into Stone’s weapons and combat training. He worked from sunrise to moonsrise, then collapsed into his bed, hoping to avoid any dreams or visions. Many nights, he was blessed with peaceful, dark sleep, but on some nights, he had nightmares of the massive heartwood made of Nic and Dari. The tree was dying, cleaved down the center and bleeding a pool of sap at the feet of the angry goddess who always seemed to hover at the edge of Aron’s awareness. Aron took this for an ill omen, a warning that the goddess would kill one or both of his friends, if given the opportunity, but he couldn’t understand why—or how that opportunity might present itself.

  The day before Aron’s trial, High Master Falconer finally made his departure from Stone, leading with him a contingent of thirty-four children he had wrangled, argued, and bargained for with Lord Baldric. They departed with a scant escort of Stone Sisters, who had instructions to see them to the edge of the valley that contained Triune, where Falconer insisted his Thorn escort was to meet him.

  Aron stood on the battlements with Raaf and Zed and Stormbreaker, watching them leave. Most of the children seemed happy and eager, but a few walked slowly and stopped often, as if they wanted to bolt and run back to the only home many of them had ever known. For those children, Aron’s heart ached.

  “Falconer made a fevered argument for you to accompany them,” Stormbreaker said to Aron. “Had you expressed any desire to go, Lord Baldric might have agreed to allow you the freedom to choose.”

  Stormbreaker’s assertion gave Aron pause, and he felt more pain in his chest. “Why? Haven’t I earned my place at Stone?”

  “No one is certain if Stone’s traditions and laws should apply to you,” Stormbreaker said, keeping his eyes on the retreating caravan below.

  “You’re different,” Raaf said as Triune’s main gates closed behind those who were departing.

  “Not so different.” Zed snorted and punched Aron in the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble against the rock abutment in front of him. “If I pitch him off this wall, he’ll break and bleed like anybody else.”

  Raaf looked offended and Stormbreaker gave Zed a worried glance, but Aron laughed. “And if I spit in the wind, I’ll get wet for my troubles.”

  “Exactly,” said Zed. “Now come with me. We’re going to the main kitchens, and you’re going to eat enough to sustain you through your trial. It’ll be a new tradition, one we’ll follow when I’m ready for my own trial.”

  Aron smiled and nodded, then followed Zed off the battlements, feeling vaguely odd about facing his test before Zed, though Zed had come to Triune before he did. As Stormbreaker had told him upon his arrival, though, the time of trial was different for everyone. Zed hadn’t asked for the privilege as yet. In fact, he told Aron he didn’t feel ready.

  I’m quick with weapons, but slow in my thinking, he had told Aron a few days ago. Until I get that sorted out, I better keep my tunic and breeches.

  As always, Zed’s shameless honesty served as a model for Aron, and he wondered if Zed knew how much his manner influenced everyone around him.

  “I can eat, too,” Raaf called out from behind Aron as he ran to catch up with them. “I can always eat.”

  Zed snickered and slowed his pace, and Aron and Raaf fell into step beside him.

  “I’m glad to see the back of that Thorn Brother,” Zed said as they reached the bottom of the battlement steps. “I hope he doesn’t come back.”

  “Thorns fester,” Raaf observed. “But stones can crush them.”

  “Except thorns grow high above stones.” Aron thrust his nose into the air so high he would drown if a sudden rain exploded from the sky. “Didn’t you know?” he asked with the best accent he could muster, and Raaf and Zed laughed with him.

  Still, as they left the battlements behind, Aron couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder, squinting to see through the passageway of the main keep, to where the massive wooden doors stood still and firm between him and the departed Thorn Brother.

  Thorns fester. Aron repeated Raaf’s flippant observation in his mind, feeling a deeper truth associated with that statement, though he couldn’t explain the sensation, even to himself.

  • • •

  The morning of Aron’s birthday dawned bright and warmer th
an usual. He finished the fael’feis beside Zed, as always overly aware of Dari, who had danced across the courtyard beside Nic. She spent the greater part of her time with Nic now—though seemingly only as Nic’s friend and companion. Aron often saw them together, deep in discussion of some point or other, even loudly debating Fae politics, or whether or not the Stregans should remain in hiding. Yet they didn’t touch or gaze at each other, or behave as though they had deeper feelings.

  “I don’t know enough to advise others on matters of the heart.” Zed inclined his head toward Dari as he buckled on his weapons belt. “But do you think it’s wise, not talking to her before you go to your trial?”

  Aron said nothing, but kept his gaze on Dari, who noticed, turned her back on him, and walked away toward the wall of the Den courtyard.

  Zed tracked Aron’s gaze, and elbowed him in the ribs to make sure Aron was listening. “She didn’t do anything to you,” he said as Aron coughed and wondered if Zed had broken a bone. “You said so yourself. I don’t understand why you’ve chosen to isolate yourself from Dari and Nic, but you’ve hurt them both. It’s unwise to face the Ruined Keep with so much unsettled between you and those you love.”

  “All right, all right.” Aron held up both hands. “You’re right. And I’m an ass.”

  “So do something about it.” Zed lowered his head for a moment, then raised it and met Aron’s gaze without a hint of his usual mirth. “I’ll be at the forge today. I’ll probably be there when you return.”

  Aron understood Zed’s meaning, and watched him go without comment. He pitied the sparring partners Zed would face today, and wondered if any of the training dummies would live until morning. If his position and Zed’s were reversed, Aron would behead every last one of the straw men and barrel dummies they fought when no partners were available. It would be a reasonable way to burn through the anxiety and worry he would feel for his friend.

  As soon as Zed was out of sight, Aron turned his attention to Nic, who was standing near the Den steps with Snakekiller. When Snakekiller saw Aron approaching, she withdrew with the quicksilver grace Aron associated with Stone Sisters, leaving Nic to speak with Aron alone.