by Kel Kade
Tieran’s brows rose. “You have an actual cat in a bag.”
“What other kind of cat would I have?” Rezkin asked as he passed the two and headed toward his quarters.
Tieran and Tam shared a look and then followed.
“Why do you have a cat?” Tieran asked.
“You have a cat?” Malcius asked, nearly colliding with them on the stairs.
Rezkin sighed. “Yes, I have a cat, and I am taking it to my quarters.”
“But why?” Tam and Teiran blurted simultaneously.
“So it will not get injured on the deck,” he said as though it was obvious.
He held on to the bag as he searched the room for hidden dangers.
“Rezkin, what is the purpose of the cat?” Malcius asked.
Rezkin scowled at his friend. “It is a cat, Malcius. Its purpose is to be a cat.”
“Fine, but what is your purpose in having the cat?” Tieran asked with bemused frustration.
“Do I need a purpose?” Rezkin asked. “Everyone in Channería has a cat. Why is it odd that I possess one?”
Rezkin was irritated that they were interrogating him about his decision to bring the cat. He had no idea why he had claimed the little beast. It had been an impulse. Rezkin paused when he noticed the mood between his friends had suddenly lifted. They were smiling. Why were they smiling?
Malcius remarked, “I did not know you were a cat person, Rez.”
“A what?” he asked.
Malcius and Tieran snickered as Tam said, “Someone who, you know, likes cats.”
“There is a name for such a person?” Rezkin would never understand outworlders’ obsessions with frivolous details. He shook his head. “I did not say I liked it. It is a practical animal.”
“A dog is practical,” Tieran argued. “Cats are just annoying. One of my aunts had a cat that she adored. Then, my cousin got one of those fancy, colorful birds. The cat ate the bird, and my cousin was so angry that she kicked it out of the third-floor window. The cat lived, but it did have a limp ever after. It hated my cousin.” He paused upon noticing Rezkin’s expression. “What?”
Tieran’s story had ignited within Rezkin feelings of anger, although he did not know why he should care. It was just an animal, and it was not even his. Still, he felt it was wrong to punish an animal for doing what it was naturally inclined to do. The cat had not been malicious, just hungry. He was reluctant to express the undesired emotions, so he struck upon Tieran’s other remark.
“Dogs can be useful, true, but they require maintenance. They must be bathed and fed, and you must ensure they get enough physical activity. They are impractical for keeping indoors since you must continually take them outside to relieve themselves. Cats are self-sufficient, and their hunting activities reduce the rodent population.”
He released the cat from the bag, and it immediately hid under the desk, its yellow eyes glinting in the candle light. Rezkin glanced around the small space. The creature would need somewhere to relieve itself. He headed for the door and ascended the steps. Malcius, Tieran, and Tam followed.
“I cannot believe we are having this conversation,” Malcius said. “It never goes anywhere.”
“You have had such a conversation before?” Rezkin asked as Shezar and Kai approached.
Tam laughed, “I think everyone has this conversation.”
“I have never had this conversation,” Rezkin said.
“Welcome to the club,” Malcius remarked with a chuckle.
“There is a club for this?”
They paused in their conversation to greet the strikers.
“You all look a bit tense,” Kai observed. “What is happening?”
Rezkin said, “Apparently, I joined a club of individuals who argue over their preferences for certain domestic animals.”
The strikers exchanged a quizzical look.
“Cats or dogs?” Tieran muttered with a smirk.
“Dogs,” Kai answered immediately.
“Cats,” Shezar said. Kai frowned at Shezar with disapproval, and Shezar shrugged unashamedly.
Rezkin looked at them in wonder. “You too?”
Tam grinned, “See, I told you. Everyone.”
Rezkin wondered why anyone would care to have the conversation at all, much less a large percentage of the outworlder population. It was a tradition that had even managed to span the gap between common carpenters and high-standing nobles, and it had been denied to him. Although he doubted the actual importance of the conversation, it reminded him once again how poorly he fit into outworlder society. For such a menial custom, the apparent lack on his part left him feeling even more distanced from his companions.
“Tieran, what did your aunt do to contend with the cat’s need to relieve itself?”
Tieran sniffed as though he could smell the offensive odor at that moment. “I cannot say that I ever cared to know. I am sure the servants dealt with such issues.”
Rezkin could feel a sense of irritation creeping up on him, another undesired emotion. He smothered it and said, “Find out what we need and make sure we have the appropriate supplies.”
Tieran’s expression was a mixture of bewilderment, disgust, and annoyance. “You do realize you are ordering the future Duke of Wellinven to procure supplies to collect cat excrement.”
“You would prefer that I do it?” Rezkin asked.
“No, but …”
Tam said, “I could …”
“Just do it, Tieran,” Rezkin snapped.
Tieran clenched his jaw and glared at Tam before storming away. Malcius glanced around uncomfortably and then hurried after Tieran. Rezkin turned to Kai and Shezar, who were both watching him with calculating eyes, and demanded an update. After learning that neither the treaty nor the priests had yet arrived, Rezkin sent Kai into the city to determine the source of the delay. He then dressed in the guise of Dark Tidings in preparation to receive the king’s envoy and the princess. Shezar informed him of the ship’s affairs and security concerns, and Tam went over the cargo manifest. Rezkin conferred with the captain and then did a quick inspection of the ship and passengers. One issue concerned him more than any other—he was growing impatient. He told himself the emotional upwelling was due to sleep loss, but never had he felt such a slip in control. He needed deep sleep and time to meditate—and food. He was hungry again.
As he was crossing the deck, he came upon a deckhand lugging a crate filled with soil and a small tree. “You!” he called. “Where did you get that?”
The deckhand paused, startled. “Ah, it were brought aboard with the cargo, Yer Majesty.”
Rezkin sighed, but the disturbing sound that emanated from the mask caused the deckhand to step back. “Take it to my quarters,” he said. Then it occurred to him that if he was not careful, that tree would eat his cat. Abruptly, he said, “No!” The deckhand jumped with a start and nearly dropped the crate. “Take it to the women’s quarters, those in which Lady Frisha is staying. Place it in front of the porthole. Also, prepare another bunk.”
He had no idea if a katerghen tree required light, but he had no need of an irritable fae creature aboard his ship. Fleetingly, he considered that Bilior might eat the women. The creature had assumed a protective role over the princess, and Rezkin hoped that he would continue to do so.
Turning to Shezar, he said, “You should prepare for another occupant in your berth as well.”
“A striker?” Shezar asked.
“No, he is the guard for the young lady that will be joining us—the one that I told you about before.”
They paused upon Captain Estadd’s approach. “Your Majesty, a large group of people is demanding to be allowed to board.”
Rezkin began to step away and then thought better of his decision not to inform the strikers that a master assassin would be bunking with them. He turned back and said, “He is of maximum threat level and should be watched carefully.”
Rezkin caught the disgruntled expression on Shezar’s face as they followed the c
aptain to the railing. None of the strikers would appreciate being left in the dark about the Jeng’ri. Below on the pier, over thirty bedraggled people were huddled before a unit of the king’s guards. Most of them appeared to possess no more than they could carry, but a few stood beside small carts or pack animals loaded with belongings. Some of these even had cages and crates filled with smaller livestock. To one side stood a few people of higher station, wealthier merchants or nobles, as evidenced by their apparel and the servants who were tending to their belongings.
One of the guardsmen and two of lesser rank pushed through the crowd to ascend the gangplank. These were followed by three additional men dressed in the garb of priests.
“Permission to board, Captain?” said the senior officer.
With a glance at Dark Tidings, Captain Estadd said, “Permission granted. What is this about?”
“I am Dronnicus, captain of the Channerían royal guard.” He held up a rolled parchment tied and secured with the king’s seal. “I seek an audience with the King of Cael. I come to deliver the treaty.”
Shezar stepped forward and took the proffered parchment. After a quick examination, he handed it to Rezkin. Of course, they would need to name him in the document, and Dark Tidings was hardly an appropriate name for a King. As usual, Rezkin did not care what people called him so long as his claim to the island was legitimate. The treaty was succinct, the terms exactly as agreed, without the flowery embellishments typical of interkingdom bureaucracy. It was very much like Ionius. So was the unexpected mass of people on the pier.
“Who are they?” Dark Tidings said with a nod toward the crowd.
“By order of King Ionius, all Ashaiians, regardless of station or immigration status, are to vacate the kingdom, by force if necessary. Our merciful collectiare suggested you might have a desire to provide aid or refuge to those we have collected from the city thus far. He has generously directed us to deliver them here under his authority.”
Rezkin turned his fathomless dark gaze on the guard. “If I do not?”
“Your Majesty?”
“If I do not desire to take on the responsibility of additional refugees? If I choose not to take them on a ship with a questionable fate to an uninhabitable and inhospitable island? What then? What becomes of the Ashaiians who came to this kingdom under the banner of friendship and trade within a centuries-long alliance?”
Dronnicus’s gaze flicked away and then returned so quickly it might have been missed by a less observant man. It was a subtle, involuntary gesture that spoke volumes. Then, his hazel eyes hardened and glazed over with professional detachment as he repeated his orders. “All Ashaiians are to be detained and removed from the kingdom.”
“A costly endeavor. I doubt Ionius intends to absorb such a deficit.”
“Indeed, he does not,” Dronnicus said. “Deportees are required to pay for their own travel expenses. If they are unable to pay, they will be delivered to a willing patron.”
“And the identities of these so-called patrons?” Rezkin asked.
“We are not required to keep record of identities or destinations. Those without a patron will be hosted in guarded camps and made to work.”
“Tell me, Dronnicus, captain of the Royal Guard, how do you feel about slavery?” Rezkin asked.
Dronnicus’s gaze sharpened, and he met Dark Tidings’s black stare. “It is a despicable practice in direct opposition of the tenets of the Temple and has long been illegal in Channería.”
“Is it?” Rezkin asked.
Dronnicus glanced away, and any response he might have made was lost when the eldest priest stepped forward.
“The collectiare has issued a proclamation of temporary sanctuary within the temples to be granted any Ashaiians who wishes to seek refuge in Cael. He apologizes that he was unable to discuss this matter with you in advance, but the king’s decree was issued only hours ago. You will, of course, need to arrange for transportation of future deportees.”
“The collectiare did not seem particularly supportive of me or my efforts,” Dark Tidings said.
“I cannot speak to the collectiare’s personal opinions, but the Temple is of an open mind. As Captain Dronnicus has said, the Temple does not suffer slavery. You are an unknown, unstudied and untested. A man cannot be judged by his origins nor by his actions alone.”
“How do you judge a man, Minder?” Rezkin asked.
“By his intents, his purpose, his desires. We shall see what flourishes in your heart, Dark Tidings.”
“I do not claim to have one beyond that which pumps blood though my veins,” Rezkin said. “I did not get your name, Minder.”
“Ah, forgive me, Your Majesty. I am Elder Minder Barkal.” He motioned to the middle-aged man behind him and said, “This is Minder Thoran, and the younger one there is my assistant, Minder Finwy.”
“Which of you will be travelling with us?” Rezkin asked.
Barkal smiled graciously and said, “We all intend to accompany you. With so many people, you can use the assistance.”
What the Elder Minder said was true. This many frightened and angry refugees would be a delicate burden, but the assistance of the priests came with a price that he was not willing to pay.
“The agreement was for two priests, no more. Two of you may stay, but the third must depart.”
Barkal protested, “But Minder Finwy is an assistant.”
“Then Minder Thoran may leave,” Rezkin said.
“I see,” Barkal said with resignation. “Travel of this sort will be rough. Perhaps it is best to leave it to younger men.” He met Dark Tidings’s gaze and said, “You should know that the results of your decision are not likely to be in your favor. Minder Thoran is not as understanding as I.”
“So be it,” Rezkin said. “I will not cater to the desires of the Temple.”
Barkal pursed his lips and bowed, the gesture imitated by the other two priests, and then they stepped to one side to engage in heated conversation.
Rezkin turned back to Dronnicus. “We will take these refugees,” he said, gesturing toward those gathered on the pier, “so long as they swear allegiance to the Kingdom of Cael. We sail to the unknown, though, and our resources are restricted to what we carry with us. There is no guarantee that we will even be able to land on the island. I require time to consider the retrieval of additional Ashaiians.”
Dronnicus nodded and spied the bickering priests out of the corner of his eye. “I believe the collectiare acknowledges this, but even his patience is limited. I would not expect it to extend beyond the spring.” Rezkin nodded once, and Dronnicus took pensive breath. “There is another, more sensitive, issue,” he said with a glance toward the ship’s captain and the gawkers that had gathered around the deck.
Rezkin tilted his head and then strode toward the railing on the starboard side. Deck hands and passengers scattered like sheep from a wolf, and he was left alone with the royal guardsman. He lifted his gaze and spied Wesson standing afar on the quarterdeck. With a nod toward the ever-observant mage, Rezkin felt the tingle of a mage ward surround them. Dronnicus tensed at the sensation.
“What is this?” Dronnicus asked with barely contained alarm.
“A sound ward. I am sure you are familiar with them,” Rezkin said.
“Composed of nocent power,” the captain mused. “I have never seen one so finely woven—and subtle. I doubt I would have noticed the destructive power if it were not my specialty.”
Rezkin tilted his head. As usual, his knowledge of magical things was lacking, but he found it particularly odd that he had not been informed that the captain of the Channerían Royal Guard had an affinity for destructive magic. Although he could not be expected to know everything about everyone in every kingdom, this was one man about whom he knew many details. He knew, for example, that Dronnicus was partial to the Ubellian martial style, preferred ale to wine, and spent much of his free time reading in the north castle tower. Yet, he had not known the man was a battle mage. This r
evelation led Rezkin to wonder why Ionius had not depended on the man for defense against the Raven. Perhaps all was not well between the king and his captain, or maybe Ionius feared the loss of Dronnicus’s loyalty should he discover the plot against the princess.
Dronnicus’s gaze was fixed on Wesson, but the younger mage met his stare without wavering. “So young to have such skill,” the captain absently muttered.
“What is this about, Captain?” Rezkin asked.
Dronnicus returned his attention to Dark Tidings. “It is the matter of the princess. She is … not quite ready to depart.”
Although the man was steady, Rezkin had seen the flash of uncertainty—or distress—in Dronnicus’s eyes. In the guilt of a lie, Rezkin saw an opportunity. He could not blame Ionius for his stubborn refusal to bow to the demands of a notorious criminal. In fact, he would have lost respect for the king had he been so malleable. As it was, though, Ionius had proven himself unworthy purely though his own actions. With a glance toward Wesson, he considered his previous assertion that destruction was not always a bad thing. Rezkin decided to stir the pot.
“You mean to say that you have not yet found her.”
The royal guardsman failed to conceal his surprise. With more caution, he said, “What do you mean?”
“Exactly as I said. The princess is missing, and you do not know where to find her. It must be quite embarrassing since it was Ionius who insisted that I take her.”
With a dash of hostility, Dronnicus asked, “What do you know of it?”
“I know why she was taken, when she was taken, and by whom.”
“Tell me what you know,” Dronnicus said. “On behalf of the king, I demand you tell me.”
Rezkin shook his head and said, “Be careful for whom you speak, Dronnicus. Ionius already knows all but her location.”
“You lie. King Ionius has been beside himself since she was discovered missing this morning. He has charged me with the task of finding her and bringing the abductors to justice.”
“Then your king has set you up for failure, Captain. Her location is simple enough. In fact, she is below on the pier, hidden in the crowd.” Dronnicus gave a start but restrained himself from rushing to the other side of the deck. “Her location is no longer of consequence to you, however. Do not forget that your king has given his daughter to me.” Rezkin saw the tightening of muscles as Dronnicus clenched his jaw. “She is now a ward of Cael. You should be more concerned with the why, when, and whom of her disappearance. Be warned, though. Your king does not wish for you to know the truth.”
