by Kel Kade
“How is that going to make anything better?” she whined.
Padding silently into the room, Rezkin took a seat in a chair on the opposite wall and lounged casually as if he had been there all night.
“It was a gift from the prince. It will help you relax,” the older woman said as she settled the goblet on the vanity directly in front of her young charge.
The princess sighed heavily and reached for the wine.
Rezkin said, “I would not drink that if I were you.”
Chapter 5
Ilanet squealed upon hearing the unexpected male voice. She spun as she rose from her seat, causing her skirts to become tangled in the legs of the vanity bench, and she tumbled to the ground. Nurse Mables shouted in alarm and flung her arms out to the side, upsetting a vase that she somehow managed to rescue, despite fumbling it. Mables held the vase before her as a shield.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?” Mables shouted. “Guards!”
“You know as well as I that there are no guards to be summoned,” the intruder said.
Ilanet battled her ball gown as she regained her feet. “What? No guards? Why are there no guards?” she asked, directing the question to Mables.
Before Mables could answer, Ilanet grabbed the vase from the woman’s hands and threw it at the intruder. He did not bother to move, and the vase fell short. It had been a bit heavier than she expected. She turned to the window to shout for help, but she was suddenly wrenched from her feet. She cried out as she was tossed into the air and then landed with a thump on the bed. The nurse’s blubbering ceased with the sound of a smack, and then Ilanet was being pulled by the ankles. She grabbed at the bedcovers and kicked, but the intruder was twisting her own skirts about her legs so that she could not move. She hollered and grabbed the first thing that fell into her hands. She swung the pillow at the massive man, but he snatched it from her hand. He flipped her over and used the bedcovers to bind her arms to her sides. She opened her mouth to scream, but her efforts were foiled when he stuffed the linens between her teeth.
Ilanet was completely immobilized in seconds, and her ineffectual screams fell on deaf ears. She stared angrily up at the intruder while blinking away tears. If she had not been so terrified, she might have thought him handsome. The lines of his face were harsh in the lamplight, and his icy gaze was haunting. He appeared empty, devoid of heart and soul. She began to panic all over again when she saw the sword hilts at his back, the blackened armor, and the sheaths and hilts of multiple knives strapped to his body. She screamed again, the sound muffled by the linens, and her chest heaved as the tears began to flow.
To her minimal relief, the menacing intruder stepped away. He bowed slightly, a courtly bow, and said, “Greetings, Princess Ilanet. Once I have your attention, I will explain to you my presence.”
A refined killer, she thought. An assassin. She cried harder and struggled with her bonds to no avail. This was so much worse. A professional assassin could not be reasoned with and would likely not be influenced by her position or wealth. The fact that he had not yet killed her gave her some small amount of solace. It meant he wanted something, and hopefully he would not kill her once he had it. She swallowed her sobs, nearly choking on the linens, and tried to temper her terror as she peered back at him.
“I have no intention of harming you,” he said. “Quite the opposite.”
She did not believe him, but hearing the words brought her an inordinate amount of joy. She might have laughed if she could, sure that her fear had driven her mad. A groan from the floor reached her ears, and she was relieved that Mables was not dead. Not yet, at least. Her nurse whimpered, and Ilanet could finally see the woman as she leveraged herself into a chair holding her head.
The intruder turned, presumably so that he could keep both in his sights. “You are smarter than most of the people I deal with, Princess. Most are cowards overcome with fear. Their arrogance betrays them when they try to hide behind their wealth and perception of power. You at least tried to fight for your life and freedom before I overcame you. Had you been faced with a lesser opponent, you might have succeeded. Though, your nurse must die.”
Ilanet screamed and shook her head violently as Mables sobbed and begged for her life.
“Silence,” ordered the intruder.
Mables continued to blather, even sliding to her knees as she pleaded for mercy. The intruder backhanded the woman, and Ilanet could just barely see Mables’s head as she cowered against the chair. She would not give the intruder credit for withholding, but she knew from experience that her father struck much harder when angry. She shivered when he turned his attention back to her.
“This woman tried to poison you,” the intruder said.
Ilanet screamed and shook her head. She tried to tell him that Mables would never do such a thing. The woman had raised her since infancy. If she had not been a servant, she might even feel like family.
“No, you are correct, Princess,” the intruder said, somehow interpreting her meaning. “Your nursemaid does not have the constitution to carry out such a deed on her own. She merely served you the poison. The archmage and his colleague produced it. Can you guess who might have arranged this assassination?”
She stared into the stranger’s icy blue eyes as the dread struck. Only one man in the kingdom had influenced with the archmage. No, it was preposterous. The stranger was lying. There probably was no poison. She scowled at the intruder attempting to convey her disbelief.
“No? You do not believe me.” The stranger nodded as if this was to be expected. “Perhaps your nursemaid still carries the poison on her. Woman,”—he turned his attention to Mables—“empty your pockets.”
Mables got to her feet and backed into the wall. “What? No, of course, I have nothing like that.”
The intruder drew a knife from his belt. It was long and curved and had wicked serrations across the back. Mables’s eyes widened, and she whimpered as she pulled a green vial from her skirt. After collecting the vial, the intruder held the empty vessel close for her to see. She glanced at Mables, who was sobbing against the wall. Surely not. Ilanet shook her head uncertainly.
The stranger cocked his head curiously. “I will remove the gag if you agree not to scream. If, by the end of this investigation, you remain unconvinced, I will leave you to your fate in peace.”
Ilanet searched the man’s face for deceit, but he was unreadable. She had difficulty believing he would go to all this trouble and then leave, but really, what other choice did she have? She nodded her agreement, and he pulled the linen from her mouth.
She swallowed several times to wet the dryness and then said, “That vial could have contained anything.”
He studied the bottle and then looked back at her. “Look at the woman. Do you really believe that?”
Ilanet did look to Mables, and her nurse did appear quite guilty. Ilanet squirmed and said, “Unbind me.”
The intruder shook his head. “If I do that, then you will try to run away, and we have not yet concluded our business. What will convince you of the truth?”
“How about you drink the wine, and we will see if it kills you,” she snapped. She immediately regretted her tone and cringed in expectation of a blow that never landed. Her eyes opened slightly to see him staring at her, his face implacable.
“Woman,” he barked, and Mables jumped. “Drink the wine.”
Mables’s panic was obvious as her gaze darted between them and the wine. “N-no, no, no. If it is poisoned, then I shall not drink it.”
Ilanet scowled at her nurse. “Mables, drink the wine. Show him it is not poisoned. You would not do that to me!”
“But, Princess …”—her eyes widened—“It was the prince! The prince is trying to kill you.”
Ilanet heard the edge in her own voice when she said, “Mables, drink the wine.” She still clung to the faint hope that none of this was real, that it was all a mistake.
“No, Princess, I cannot,” the woman cri
ed.
The intruder shook the knife in the air before Mables’s eyes. The razor edge and jagged serrations glinted menacingly in the lamplight. “The wine … or the knife,” he said.
Mables stared at the silvery omen of her fate with a quivering lip. She slid stutteringly along the wall and then reached for the goblet with a shaking hand. Sobbing, she put the cup to her lips and drank. The knife flashed again in the light, and she drank more deeply. She sputtered. Wine poured from her lips and dribbled down her chin. The goblet struck the floor with a clunk, and to Ilanet’s dismay, the woman doubled over and retched on the rushes. Ilanet shifted and rolled to the side of the bed so she could see the horror unfolding. After the initial upset, the red liquid that continued to spill forth was much too dark and voluminous to be wine. Ilanet cried as she witnessed the terror that might have befallen her. She continued to cry when Mables collapsed and then throughout the jostling of being unwrapped.
Then the intruder was moving away. He was heading for the door.
“Wait! Where are you going? You cannot just leave!”
He turned, and she thought she saw a flash of surprise on his otherwise impassive face.
He said, “A moment ago, you sought my death, and now you do not wish for me to leave?”
“That was before. Please, tell me what is happening. Why did she try to kill me? Tell me”—she choked up, and then in a whisper—“was it my father?”
“I think you know,” he said.
“But why? And why are you here? Did someone send you here to save me?” she asked.
Her questions burst forth in a rush, and even so, they were only a small portion of the turmoil that flooded her mind.
Rezkin stared down at the small-woman. She was distraught and desiring of solace, but he did not have time for such things. She would have to find comfort elsewhere.
“I do not bear the answers you seek, Princess. I came here on other business. My involvement with you was merely happenstance. I became aware of the plot against you and decided to intercede for reasons of my own.”
Rezkin admitted to himself that he was not certain of what those reasons were at that moment.
To her, he said, “I suggest you seek someone you can trust, or at the very least, someone who has an interest in your survival—your intended perhaps.”
“No! I cannot marry him!” she shouted and threw herself at him. Rezkin held her hands against his chest so she could not access any of his weapons. The princess looked up at him with eyes the color of sapphires. Her caramel hair was mussed, and her cheeks were stained salty with tears. “My father chose him. If my father wants me dead, then Prince Nyan could be in on it.”
Rezkin surveyed the body on the floor. The blood had poured not just from the woman’s mouth, but also from her nose and ears. It spread through the rushes turning them varying shades of red and pink.
He looked back to the small-woman, not quite grown, and tried to soften his tone. “This was not a simple poison to put you to sleep, not one to be hidden. It was meant to appear a gruesome death, a death that would naturally incite outrage in the castle. The poison was placed in the wine sent to you as a gift from your betrothed. I believe your father intended to blame the murder on the prince, probably with the intention of receiving some recompense or ransom from his father, King Vergos, for the deed.”
The small-woman seemed to age before his eyes as her face sobered.
“I knew he would marry me off to get what he wanted, but to take my life?”
She pulled away from him and paced as she wiped at her tear-streaked face.
“Nyan has been here for months trying to convince my father to accept his proposal. He is a second son, though, and Father was holding out. He wanted a better match—a crown prince or king. Initially, I was supposed to marry King Caydean of Ashai … but then last week, Father suddenly accepted Nyan’s offer.” Her face turned petulant, and once again he saw her for the small-woman she was. “He is thirty-seven years old. Ancient! And, I do not love him.”
“From what I know of such things, love has nothing to do with royal marriages, or almost any marriage, for that matter. You should go to Nyan. He has the means and resources to see you safe, provided you both leave the city immediately.” He turned toward the door. “I must go.”
She grabbed his arm. “Please, you cannot leave me here. People want to kill me! Now that I know, he most certainly will finish it. You decided to help me once. Please do so again. I will pay you. I have gold and jewelry. Please. I cannot go with Nyan, and if I stay here I will die.”
Rezkin shook his head at the absurdity. He did have the resources to help her, or at least he would in a few days, but she did not know that. To her, he was only a stranger who, while obviously up to nefarious business in the castle, decided to break into her bedchamber, toss her around, and kill her nursemaid.
“What do you expect me to do with you, Princess? Where would I take you?”
“It does not matter. You look like a man of means. Take me anywhere but here—a cave if you must.”
His eyes followed the sweep of her gown and then trailed back up to the jewels dangling from her ears. “You would not care to live in a cave.”
She lifted her chin and said, “I would be alive. From there I would find some way, somewhere.”
At least she was not the blubbering mess he had expected of the horrid, petulant girl the nursemaid had described. With another look into her pleading, sapphire eyes, Rezkin knew he would concede. He could not say why, but it was useless to argue with himself when he already knew the result.
“Very well. Stay here and lock the door. Do not open it for anyone. Change into something travel worthy, pants if you have them. A servant’s clothes would be best. And cover your hair. You may pack one bag, and you must be capable of carrying it long distances on your own. If you attempt to bring too much, whatever you cannot carry will be left behind.” He pulled the sack of alchemical materials from his belt and said, “Take this. I will retrieve it when I return. This will be easier if I do not have to carry it with me.”
Ilanet hesitantly took the small, bulbous sack. “What is in it?”
“The materials and references needed to make the poison that killed your nursemaid,” he said. Upon seeing the alarm on her face, he added, “I happened upon the mages when they were storing these away, so I took them.”
Her eyes were once again fearful as she asked, “How do I know you did not make the poison?”
Rezkin shrugged. “Do you wish to stay?”
“No!” she blurted. “I mean, no, I will go with you. You will come back for me?”
“I will return when I am finished with my other business.”
The princess’s eyes held questions, but she did not voice them. Rezkin opened the door a crack and searched the corridor. A guard was retreating around a corner, and two servants shuffled into the servants’ passage. Rezkin slipped into the hall and closed the door behind him. He waited only a moment before he heard the click of the bolt, and then he rushed down the corridor to the king’s chambers. He was not sure what he would find once he entered. The guards could be manning the door from the inside, or the mages could still be in attendance. He did not care to test his Skills against an archmage.
Rezkin rapped lightly on the door as he listened carefully for sounds of motion inside. No guards immediately answered. He sensed a ward around the door, and it felt personal. The king had likely set it once the mages had left. The assumption was not worth the risk, though, so he drew Kingslayer from its sheath. He gathered his focus in preparation for a battle with the mages and felt the answering thrill of battle energy as it surged through him.
The door opened smoothly without a hiss, but the anteroom was dark save for a small fire in the hearth. His instincts spoke to him of more than one presence in the rooms. His roving gaze searched the dancing shadows as he barred the door behind him. The firelight did not reach the far side of the room where the door to the king’
s bedchamber stood open. A black figure was silhouetted by the moonlight streaming in through the large window behind him. He stood tall and still as Rezkin’s gaze searched out the other presence.
“I knew you would come,” said the shadowed figured. “You did not think you could threaten a councilor without my knowledge, did you?”
Councilor. Only one—certainly Onelle. Rezkin had counted on her reporting their meeting, though. He did not answer the distraction. Energy probed at him from two sides, sensing, seeking, grasping for knowledge.
“My ward remains undisturbed, and yet I see you here, in this room. You obviously hold unusual power to simply walk through such wards, though I feel nothing from you—only the emptiness of a mundane.”
Rezkin was surprised at the scorn the king showed for those who comprised the vast majority of his people.
Rezkin had his answer regarding the personal ward. The king had not sensed the breach, or so he said. It was something he would need to test further with his own mages when he had the time. He crept to his left, farther from the flames, into the darker recesses of the room. He could feel the foreign vimara emanating from its source, and he would rather be the hunter than the prey. The source shifted, and Rezkin understood. He was in the center of the web.
Strands of power suddenly wrapped around him from all directions just as a lithe figure dropped from the rafters. Rezkin shifted and slashed at the strings, but his sword was useless against them. In the dark, without his eyes to tell him otherwise, the strands of vimara almost felt solid, tangible. A flush of air warned him of an attack, and he ducked in time to avoid his opponent’s blade. A second slashed at him from the other side and was met with the swift stroke of Kingslayer. The strands of power wound more tightly and he could feel them pressing against him. They abruptly cinched as his opponent muttered a verbal spell, but to the man’s dismay, they did not hinder Rezkin’s movement.
Rezkin drove forward, and the man backed into a table knocking its contents to the floor with a crash. The man dodged a thrust and then jumped atop the table as Rezkin followed through with an upward swing. The man parried, throwing Rezkin’s sword wide, and then he kicked at Rezkin’s head. He caught the leg and yanked it forward, causing the man to crash onto the table. The strands of power tugged at Rezkin from all sides like a strong wind ripping at his clothes. Without thinking about what he was doing, he grabbed at the strands with his free hand and was surprised when his fingers seemed to meet with solid substance. He gripped the strands tightly, winding them around his hand for leverage, and heaved. The opponent shouted as he was dragged from the table. When the man struck the floor, the spell unraveled. Rezkin stood poised to deliver the final blow when the man suddenly bellowed.
