A Prince Among Killers

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

  Dari thought he was offering more than a walk. His attention. His strong embrace. It was a kindness, but she didn’t want that, at least not tonight. For a moment, she worried that Stormbreaker would be jealous or peevish because of her concern for Aron, then dismissed the worry. He was concerned, too. And, Dari realized with a start, she really didn’t care if Stormbreaker became upset with her.

  What did that mean?

  Once more, she wondered if Nic was awake in his bedchamber in the infirmary. If she went to see him, would Snakekiller let her pass?

  Her skin chilled, and she dug her nails into the wood of the windowsill. “Something feels wrong to me this night.”

  Stormbreaker let out a breath. “Trials test the nerves of all who care for the apprentice.”

  “It’s not that.” Cayn’s teeth, but Dari wanted to slap the man. “I mean, yes, it feels wrong to hurl Aron into mortal peril for no reason save guild tradition. But aside from that—there’s strange energy about. Unrest.”

  “Perhaps you’re sensing the forces gathering to attack Triune.” Stormbreaker placed his own hands on the sill, and his tone softened—which was as much feeling as Dari could usually mark, when it came to him. “Such a thing has never happened in Eyrie’s history.”

  “Stone can defend itself.” Dari spoke the words even as she thought, Like Aron. But she didn’t feel convinced.

  Stormbreaker nodded. “Triune is more of a fortress than our foes suspect. And help will come to us, if nothing stops Lord Cobb or Lord Ross.”

  When Dari didn’t respond, Stormbreaker lingered a few more moments, then excused himself, stating he would be in the Den library if Dari changed her mind about a late-night hunt, or a late-night walk.

  His absence came as a relief to Dari, which surprised her. Yet she couldn’t stand the stillness and silence that descended on her chamber once he departed. After a few unbearably quiet minutes, she wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and headed for the infirmary.

  Triune’s grounds seemed unnaturally quiet to her, or perhaps it was the absence of Blath and Iko, who had gone to the main kitchens for mead and bread. It was traditional for Sabor to eat and drink when they prayed, and they would be keeping vigil for Aron until morning. As would she—though in her own fashion.

  Soon she came to the crossroads that led to the Shrine of the Mother, that spot that had so bedeviled Aron since her arrival at Triune. She glanced toward the spot out of habit—and stopped walking.

  A silvery glow rose from the direction of the Shrine, faint, barely detectable. Almost like a wisp of smoke. It vanished before she could take a step in that direction.

  “I’ve seen that a few times,” said a voice from beside her, and Dari startled so badly she swung her fist as she turned.

  Her blow connected with Nic’s jaw, sending him staggering to one side. He collapsed on the byway as she grabbed her smarting knuckles and let out a shout of surprise.

  “Nic. Oh. I’m—I’m so sorry.” She ran to him, her heart squeezing from shock and regret. Had she damaged him? What if he went into a fit?

  But he was already pushing himself to his knees as she reached him, and he was laughing. The bright, happy sound put her at ease immediately, and she appreciated him for his ability to relax her so easily.

  “I think it’s me who owes you an apology,” he said as she helped him to stand. He rubbed the spot on his jaw where she had connected, and even in the moonslight, Dari could see his skin darkening. “I should know better than to startle a lady.”

  “That wasn’t very ladylike, was it?” She brushed dirt off his tunic, grateful that she hadn’t made him bleed all over his clothing. “I don’t think playing the role of a proper noble female suits me well. What are you doing on the road in the middle of the night?”

  Nic’s grin flashed in the moonslight. “I could ask you the same question, but I’d like to hope you were on your way to visit me.”

  Dari felt her face grow warm. “I was. I couldn’t sleep.”

  “I couldn’t either, so I told Snakekiller I was heading for the Den.” Nic’s grin faded. “All I can do is worry.” He glanced over his shoulder, in the direction of the Ruined Keep. “I would have gone with him, though I might have been a liability.”

  “Aron would have been fortunate to have your company.” Dari wished she could go to the Keep herself, just to see that Aron was intact and fighting his way through the night. She looked away from Triune’s far wall, and her attention returned to the byway she had been about to take when Nic startled her. “Did you say you saw something at the Shrine?”

  “A few times. A light, or maybe some stray energy. It’s never very strong, and it’s always gone when I arrive.” He gestured to his misshapen legs and limped a step. “I’m not very fast, you know.”

  Dari did know, but she had never felt pity for Nic. He didn’t seem to seek it either, but brought up his disabilities only to explain himself or illustrate a point. He was an absolute contrast to Stormbreaker, vulnerable and open, and different from Aron, as well, without that ever-present menace of anger and well of misery. How had Nic been through so much, and emerged so affable? Dari thought she should take lessons from him, in both disposition and resilience.

  “Aron’s had trouble with the Shrine,” Dari said, allowing herself to begin to enjoy the steadiness of Nic’s presence. “He’s had visions there, but none of us has ever found anything out of the ordinary.”

  “Perhaps Aron has the stronger sight, at least where the Shrine is concerned.” Nic rubbed his jaw, sending Dari into a small frenzy of guilt.

  “I can’t believe I hit you.” She put her hand on his arm. “I was distracted.”

  “No worries. I can take a punch.” He caught her hand with his own. “Let’s pay the Shrine of the Mother a visit, for Aron’s sake.”

  Dari found herself smiling despite her worry, and would have kept smiling if Triune’s bells hadn’t started to ring.

  She and Nic stopped at the same moment, gripping each other’s arms.

  Dari’s breath stopped, and she was certain she would hear the pattern announcing Aron’s death. Tears rose to her eyes so fast she couldn’t form even a meager defense. Sobs followed, fast and hard, and then Nic was holding her, soothing her, rubbing her shoulders as he said, “No, no, it’s not that. It’s visitors. Nobles. I haven’t learned all the patterns yet—but it’s not Aron, Dari. Look at me. That’s it. Look at me.”

  Nic’s features seemed fuzzy through tears and moonslight. He stroked her cheek with two gnarled fingers, his touch as soft as a reed brushing across her skin. “It’s visitors,” he repeated, and slowly Dari understood what he was saying.

  “Nobles,” she murmured. Then, “Nobles? Nic.” She gripped his shoulders. “You have to get back to the infirmary.” She was already shifting some of her awareness through the Veil, wrapping it around Nic’s essence and choking out the ruby hue that clung to him, announcing the strength of his Mab legacy.

  Soft, running footfalls caught her attention, and instinct made her turn Nic loose and reach to her waist for a dagger that she didn’t have.

  Tiamat Snakekiller charged into view, both hands on the hilts of her own blades. Her light hair hung loose at her shoulders, and her benedets gave her a wild, deadly look. Dari recognized the barely controlled panic in the other woman’s face, and knew she must care very deeply for Nic, after rescuing him and guarding him so closely, even to the point of almost giving her life for him.

  “I’m trouble all around tonight,” Nic said as Snakekiller reached them. He bowed to Dari, adding, “Forgive me. I had intended for us to give each other comfort until Aron returned. Now it seems I’ll just cost you energy and effort, shielding my legacy.”

  “Come.” Snakekiller didn’t spare Dari a glance. Tension was evident in every tight line of her face and neck. “We don’t know who’s approaching, or what treachery might be afoot.”

  Nic acquiesced, following her away toward the infirmary, where Snakekil
ler would conceal and protect him until these visitors departed. For her part, Dari would maintain her own protections on Nic, for as long as she believed them to be needed.

  Another figure approached at a rapid pace from the direction of the Den, and Dari recognized Stormbreaker. She saw him acknowledge his sister and nod to Nic, who waved once before disappearing with his guardian into the darkness of the road.

  “You should return to safety yourself,” Stormbreaker said as he drew even with Dari, but she had no intention of retreating until she understood what kind of dangers Nic might be facing. Stormbreaker didn’t argue with her as he fell into step beside her. They didn’t speak to each other, and Dari couldn’t help noticing a tension that went beyond the stress of the moment.

  Was Stormbreaker angry with her?

  Not that he’d ever put his feelings into words, even if she asked.

  Long minutes later, as they approached the main gate and keep, he slowed, and Dari noticed that he had pulled his robes aside to give himself easy access to his daggers and short sword. His longer blades, as always, were crossed on his back, and his hard, distant expression suggested that he would draw them on the smallest provocation.

  As he tended to do, he took her arm for added safety as they crossed the moat. Below them, mocker-fish splashed and gurgled, hoping a fresh meal might tumble to them by happenstance.

  “Is Nic well tonight?” Stormbreaker inquired, his voice tight.

  “As well as might be expected, given the worries we all share.” Dari had answered him out of habit, but she found herself staring at him, surprised by the force of his question.

  Stormbreaker’s next comment shocked her even more. “It’s good that he could offer you ease when I could not.”

  “Wha—are you—do you think—” Dari almost laughed at him, at the implication that she had met Nic for some romantic purpose, but she thought better of it.

  First Aron, now Stormbreaker.

  Did both of them believe she was secretly having some tryst with Nic?

  The idea struck her as ridiculous. Nic was her friend, her companion. Nothing more.

  Yet she did share an ease with him she had never known with another person save for her twin. And she did seek his company over everyone else’s—but that was because he helped her relax and he made her laugh. Besides, she had a responsibility to Nic, as she once felt a responsibility toward Aron, to see to his training and safety.

  Dari would have discussed this with Stormbreaker, likely with some volume and emphasis, but they had reached the entrance courtyard, and two riders thundered through the archway.

  Dari recognized the first man by the way he handled his horse, despite the fact that he had let his beard grow even longer, and that he was dressed in the breeches and cloak of a farmer, without his signature battle helm.

  “Lord Cobb,” Stormbreaker said as the man pulled up sharply in front of Lord Baldric, and dismounted in a single fluid motion.

  The other rider was less at ease on horseback, and much taller and more muscled than his companion. His hands were gloved and his face was wrapped in silken scarves like he hailed from Dyn Altar’s deserts, and for a moment Dari was reminded of Canus the Bandit. No trace of legacy issued from the second rider, but he felt familiar to Dari.

  As the taller man reined his mount, that sense of familiarity doubled, and doubled again.

  She was running toward him before she fully understood that she was moving, her heart pounding so fast she wondered if she would faint before she reached him. She released the protections she had wrapped around Nic, and concentrated only on her strides, on the wind in her face, and on the man in front of her.

  Stormbreaker shouted to her, but Dari ignored him. All of Triune faded away from her as the rider turned in her direction, then removed the scarves from his face. Moonslight struck his high cheekbones and arched nose, playing off his dark skin and the rich, fragrant oil in his tightly cropped curls.

  As he pulled off his gloves to reveal his large, powerful hands, Stormbreaker’s calls ceased, and Lord Baldric bowed his head.

  Dari reached her grandfather in two steps, and threw herself into his waiting embrace.

  “He wouldn’t wait,” Lord Cobb was explaining to Lord Baldric. “Not another day. Not another hour. It was this, or he would have landed a contingent of Sabor in your fields and gardens to make certain he reached her.”

  Lord Ross’s arms closed around Dari, crushing the air out of her lungs as his deep voice grumbled a greeting only she could hear.

  “It’s a fine thing,” Lord Ross said, “when I must take my Guard and go to war, just to see my own family.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  ARON

  As dawn broke over the Ruined Keep, Aron’s body ached, and his head burned like his mind might catch fire and drive him into madness along with his captor. He kept dreaming he saw a glow about Falconer, bright light, like the silvery light spilling off the goddess who had so often sought to deceive him in his visions. Sometimes he thought he saw the goddess, and during those moments, Falconer would thrash and kick in his sleep, and moan like someone was torturing him. Once Aron even imagined he saw Dari standing with the goddess, holding her arm, as if lending the terrible phantasm the strength of her Stregan graal.

  “No,” he whispered, surprised to hear the hoarse rattle of his own voice. His words sounded slurred as he said, “Leave Dari alone. Leave her alone!”

  Aron closed his eyes, and when he startled awake some time later, Falconer was gone. Aron realized he was probably getting rid of the bodies of the hunters—whatever the manes hadn’t consumed.

  In moments, the Thorn Brother would come back, and he would haul Aron away from his home, away from Stormbreaker and Nic and Dari. Aron knew he should be leaving the Ruined Keep, making his way back to the safety of Triune, and hearing the bells, the bells ringing to announce his triumph in the trial. By early afternoon, his friends would be worried. Then the bells would toll to mourn his failure. There would be a search, and blood would be found—much of it his, if anyone had the ability to assess that.

  He would be given up for dead, and be trapped in the grip of this madman, this god-impostor. How long could the man keep him drugged? How long before he had use of his graal again? Was Thorn capable of preventing him from communicating through the Veil forever?

  Thorn has need of your strength….

  What did that mean?

  Aron tried to struggle against his bindings, and found he had a shade more strength. Falconer’s healing had reduced the misery from his wound, and his side felt better. The wine and sleeping must have restored some of his strength, because he didn’t feel so close to blacking out.

  From the levels of the Keep below Aron came bumping and thumping noises, along with whistling. The image of Falconer whistling as he disposed of the bodies of killers he had hired and sent to their doom made Aron gut-sick.

  He tried again to move his wrists, and felt the cloth ties cut into his skin.

  Do it, he told himself aloud, then in his mind, making it an order, making it a command, reaching for the force of his legacy, which he still couldn’t access.

  Aron imagined Dari crying for him, saw the tears in Nic’s sad eyes. Stormbreaker and Zed would be more stoic, and Iko, and even Lord Baldric might grieve him. How could he let these people down, when they had invested so much time and trust in his success?

  He kicked his leg, but his ankle only flopped against its ties as below him, the whistling continued.

  Perhaps Falconer would climb the stairs and use his dagger to slice open Aron’s throat. If the man was truly insane, what boundaries did his madness know?

  Aron strained backward, smacking his head against the stone wall hard enough to make himself see bursts of white light. He blinked against the bright flares and the throbbing ache blooming behind both of his temples. At the same moment, his wounded side stabbed at him, and he choked out a few curses, directed at Falconer and Thorn and the hun
ters.

  As his vision cleared, an image rose before him as if it were sliding up from the floor that separated Aron from the murderous Thorn Brother. He leaned back to avoid it, figuring it for some mind-trick Falconer was playing to keep him off balance and helpless.

  The image coalesced into a young woman with dark hair and dark skin, wearing a sparkling silver robe. Her braids hung in thin rows, pulled to her neck at the center, and her dark eyes glittered like night stars as she studied him.

  “Dari,” Aron whispered, his surge of excitement helping him throw off another measure of Falconer’s drugging.

  She was whole and solid and real, as beautiful as any vision had ever been, yet Aron couldn’t shake a sense of strangeness, of desperation and danger. His blood surged, and his instincts, dulled as they were, clamored for him to leap from the nearest window rather than deal with this creature.

  Aron knew she could be a trick, a hood snake illusion, something false and treacherous, but his heart refused to accept that possibility. Dari didn’t seem to know him, yet she had clearly come to check on him, maybe even rescue him.

  Was that possible?

  Iko had walked on the other side of the Veil, seemingly with his real and actual body. If Sabor could manage such a feat, could Stregans do it?

  Dari swept toward him, almost dancing across the floor, until she was standing only inches away.

  “Help me,” Aron croaked, flopping against the wall and floor as he struggled to snap the bindings on his wrists and ankles. “It’s Falconer. I think his mind has gone over a cliff. I think he—”

  Dari put a long, graceful finger against her lips, and glanced toward the chamber door as if Falconer might hear Aron’s pleas.

  Aron clamped his teeth together.

  Dari held out both hands, as if she might be assessing Aron. He felt the heat of her mental touch, but couldn’t discern it because of the lingering effects of the bullroot. Rainbow light played off Dari’s fingers, surrounding first her, then him. Warmth spread from every point on Aron’s skin, driven by that light, spreading upward and outward until his fingers and toes tingled. He gulped a breath, and felt his chest move more normally. An intangible pressure on his mind eased, then re-formed as Dari leaned toward him, closer, closer, as if she might be bending down to kiss him.