by Cindy Dees
What? What is this? Anton exhaled so hard he nearly expelled the contents of his stomach as well. A joke. That’s it. The Emperor jested. The old warden looked nearly as flabbergasted as Anton, and shocked silence echoed in every far-flung corner of the Golden Throne Room.
“Come forward, Volen,” Maximillian ordered. The warden stumbled to Anton’s side, and the Emperor reached out to wrap the man’s gnarled fingers around the key already resting in his aged palm.
The Emperor’s voice lowered so the court at large could not hear his next words. “I sent you a prisoner some years ago with orders never to let him see the light of day. Do you remember?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Volen croaked.
“See to it he remains in the dark and never walks free.”
“So shall it be,” Volen muttered.
A seed of rage took root in Anton’s breast, growing rapidly into a living thing invading every corner of his mind. Why the colors presented to him? Why the cursed swords? Was this all an elaborate plan to humiliate him?
“Anton Constantine,” Maximillian said formally, “I hereby appoint you First Advisor to the Governor of Dupree.”
First advisor? The unfortunate whoreson who does all the grunt work, wades through endless piles of paper, attends to all the minutiae and gets none of the glory? None of the wealth? None of the power of a virtual king?
“Tread carefully, Anton!” the Emperor snapped.
Maximillian then devolved into a lengthy series of orders for the new governor regarding resource development, production, guild participation, and who knew what else. Anton jerked back to attention when the Emperor mentioned something about Volen naming guildmasters.
That was supposed to be his privilege. He’d spent weeks in consultation with Ammertus devising his list of appointees.
Volen mumbled, “I have given no such thing a thought, Your Resplendent Majesty.” The old bastard turned to him and had the gall to say generously, “You may name a guildmaster if you wish, First Advisor.”
“Kenzarr,” Anton blurted. “He shall be Master of the Slaver’s Guild.”
Volen frowned faintly but nodded his assent readily enough.
It wasn’t much. But the appointment would have to be enough. With his man in the Slaver’s Guild, Anton would have access to manpower. A little extra income skimmed on the side. Retainers here and there with specialized skills. And eventually, an army. It was so little in the face of what he could have had—
His enraged gaze lifted to Endellian. Two seconds. Had she delayed a miserable two seconds interrupting her father earlier, he would have been the governor of Dupree and not that doddering old fool Volen! Seething fury ripped through him as he stared at the great key now hanging from Volen’s hip, winking at him in the candlelight as if this had all been a great joke upon him. That key should have been his. Overwhelming desire to snatch forth one of his new short swords and bury it in the princess’s bosom roared through him—
Panic exploded across his brain as the direction of thoughts dawned on him. He revised his murderous thoughts frantically.
—I would, of course, only kill her if the Emperor so wished it and for the greater glory of the Empire of Koth.
Endellian threw him a murderous look that declared him exceedingly lucky to be standing in her father’s presence and not hers alone.
Anton was too appalled at his momentary loss of control to hear it. That slip had just cost him years. Cursing himself for being a thousand kinds of fool, he reluctantly conceded that, after revealing such violence to his liege, if anything even remotely suspicious were to happen to the new governor—should the old coot die of anything other than an unquestionably natural death of extreme old age—the Emperor would now suspect him.
Anton turned to face the court and descended the golden steps heavily. The overriding emotion emanating from the sea of faces smirking up at him now was derision. Amusement. He spied his wife near the front of the crowd in time to see her turn her back on him, a look of disgust on her face.
It had all been right there. Moments away from being his. The rage and ambition roiling in his gut formed a poisonous sludge with a life of its own. It took a name—revenge. Everyone present this night would pay for laughing at his humiliation. He would show them all. He would accomplish in the colonies feats beyond their wildest imaginings and would achieve such wealth and power that they would tear their hair with jealousy.
He cast his contemptuous gaze across the crowd … and caught the eye of one in the crowd who visibly shared his sentiments exactly. Ammertus. Yes indeed. There would be retribution for this night’s mischief by Maximillian.
The archduke made his way to Anton for a private word, which was not difficult to achieve given that suddenly no member of the court would speak to him.
Ammertus growled significantly, “You will do your best for the Empire and the Emperor in the colonies, will you not, Anton?”
“Of course, Your Dread Grace.”
“You and I have both seen the potential of the place. Develop it for the Empire. Exploit it to the fullest.”
The briefest mental image of a storeroom filled to the ceiling with gold, precious gems, and other riches flickered into Anton’s mind. He nodded infinitesimally. Message received. He was to squeeze the place until it bled.
“Do not ever relax your vigilance. Press hard and keep pressing hard for the Empire.”
“Of course, my lord.”
“Let no threat to the Empire arise on your watch, Lord Constantine.”
“Never, Your Dread Grace.”
“I trust my colonies into your able stewardship, Lord Constantine.”
Ammertus could not have been clearer. His man Anton had the archduke’s permission to do whatever he pleased in Haelos as long as the Empire’s political interests were served.
Ammertus leaned close and breathed in Anton’s ear, “I shall see to it you have short swords even more spectacular than those paltry toothpicks. And mine shall be infused with even greater magic.”
With Ammertus’s endorsement in hand, in the most guarded and secret corner of his mind Anton commenced scheming anew. Circumspect. Subtle. Patient. He must now be all of those things. Each one galled him to his core, but he had no choice after his earlier mental slip. He could no longer reach his goals by the simple, straightforward means he’d planned before. But his goal remained the same. Dupree and every ounce of its wealth would be his.
CHAPTER
2
SIXTEEN YEARS LATER, IN A REMOTE SOUTHWESTERN CORNER OF THE COLONY OF DUPREE IN HAELOS
A distant cicada buzzed in the noontide heat, the harsh note rising until it broke, leaving behind only a lazy breath of breeze. Raina, second daughter of the House of Tyrel, lay on a carpet of fine, soft grass, gazing up idly at the trees overhead.
As far as anyone could tell, a land as large as or larger than Koth stretched away to the west and south of the lone inhabited corner of this great continent, as yet unexplored. Dangerous. Unknown. The colony of Dupree clung to its little corner of the continent tenaciously, carving a place for itself in the great forests and untamed wilds of a new land. Tyrel lay at the very edge of that inland expansion, not entirely safe, but not entirely uncivilized, either.
The day’s warmth, its stillness and somnolence, called for a nap. Even the swarm of gnats flitting in and out of the dappled sunlight like tiny sparks of faerie dust moved more drowsily than usual. Only the little brook at her feet was in a hurry, rushing from rock to rock on its busy way to wherever it eventually went.
“I know a secret.”
Raina turned her head indolently to gaze at her companion and the source of the words. Her surrogate big brother and best friend in the whole world, Justin Morland.
Lanky and lean, he was two years her senior and showing signs of becoming a man. He ought to be training with the men-at-arms this warm afternoon. But instead, he’d invited her to go fishing. Just like the old days when they were carefree children.
A rare treat, this, what with his duties around the castle and her studies occupying so much time.
She retorted, “Of course you know a secret. Today is my sixteenth birthday, and my mother tasked you with getting me out from underfoot so my surprise feast can be laid!”
He grinned, flashing devastating dimples. “Well, there is that. Promise to act shocked so she doesn’t have me caned.”
Raina plucked a blade of new grass and commenced chewing the stem. “She’s strict, but she’d never flog you. You’re like one of her own sons. Still, I vow to act positively stunned.”
They both chewed on grass stems for a time, extracting the sweet green tang within. Then Justin drawled, “I know another secret. A big one.”
That roused her to a more alert state. “Do you know what my birthday gift is?”
“No. But I know where it comes from.”
“Where?”
He didn’t answer.
She sat up. “Tell me!”
“I’m not sure I should.”
“You can’t tell me you’ve got a secret and then not share it!”
“But I like tormenting you.”
“Tell!” Raina pounced on him, pummeling his chest with her fists. They were probably too old to be cavorting thus, but they’d grown up together scrapping like a pair of puppies and it was simply what they did. Their mothers would be appalled—after all, he and Raina were no longer children. Awareness of his maturing masculinity and her budding femininity hovered at the edge of her consciousness, but she pushed it away. This was her Justin.
“Your mother told my mum you’re getting a visitor. He’s bringing your surprise.”
“Who?” Raina demanded. She ought to play coy if she wanted Justin to tell her anytime soon, for he was a terrible tease. But she was too curious about all the heavily charged secrecy surrounding her birthday gift this year to restrain herself.
He sat up abruptly, dumping her on her backside. She laughed up at him, and without warning she attacked again. They wrestled like the old days, except he was careful with her now. They both knew he was stronger and a more skilled fighter than she. Still, he let her win.
Panting, her face hot and her hair flying akimbo out of its braid, she straddled his chest, her skirts tangled around them both. The necklace she never took off dangled between them, its silver medallion embossed with a tiny tri-petaled blue flower nestled among three leaves, winking in the sunlight. “Do you yield?” she demanded.
He grinned up at her. “To you, my lady, I shall always yield.”
“Then spill. Who brings my gift?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where does he come from?”
His voice pitched low as befitted the telling of something forbidden, Justin murmured direly, “Alchizzadon.”
Alchizzadon.
The word whispered through her mind like a dark incantation, thick with threat. The sun slid behind a cloud just then, and a chill shivered across her skin. Or was it the single uttered word itself, shrouded in mystery and menace, that sent foreboding chattering down her spine?
What little she knew of Alchizzadon was stolen knowledge, overheard in tiny bits gathered over many years. The word made her father’s jaw go rigid with fury. But in the privacy of Lady Charlotte’s solar, the word made Raina’s mother’s eyes wistful, filled with regret and … if Raina wasn’t mistaken … longing.
What was this place, Alchizzadon?
She’d pored over every map in her family’s magnificent—secret—library and never once found it. No village or city bore the name, no castle or keep. She’d asked her older sister, Arianna, once if she knew what or where it was and had gotten slapped for her troubles, along with a hissed warning never to utter the word again. And the mystery around Alchizzadon had only deepened.
She was to have a present from that very place? She climbed off Justin and plunked down in the grass, hugging her knees to her chest. The laughter suddenly sucked out of the day, she asked on a sigh, “How long are you supposed to keep me out here?”
He squinted up at the sky. “At least another turn of the hourglass.” Then he grinned up at her. “I bet I can catch a bigger fish than you.”
“Hah! Do you have line and hooks?”
“Of course,” he replied scornfully.
He always had them stashed in a pocket or pouch somewhere on his person. She rose to her feet and reached down to help him up. His hand swallowed hers nowadays, new calluses on his palms abrading her tender flesh. He rose to his full height, a hand span taller than she, even though she was somewhat tall for a human female. He was growing up. They both were.
But they had today.
“I’ll race you to the willow grove,” she challenged.
He laughed. “With those skirts? Hah. You’ll eat my dust.”
Laughing, she darted off through the trees. He didn’t let her win this time and was casually trimming a long, supple sapling when she finally arrived, breathing hard. She held her side until the pain in it abated and then picked out a likely fishing pole. Using the dagger from her healing pouch, she sawed at the young willow.
“Let me do that. We’ll be here all day waiting for you to cut it through, muckling.”
She scowled. He’d called her muckling after the manor’s squealing piglets for as long as she could remember. “You’re still a pest!” she retorted.
He lifted the dagger from her hand. “You adore me and you know it.”
“Hah.”
Grinning, he made short work of cutting down the tree. “You need to keep this dagger sharper. You never know when a keen blade will save your life.”
“You sound like my father.”
“He’s a fine swordsman. He knows whereof he speaks.”
“I care not for such things.”
“Of course not. You’re a girl. Not to mention you stink with swords.”
She stuck her tongue out at him, but he was right. As talented as she was with magic and healing, she was equally untalented with anything that had to do with weapons.
The two of them made their way to the stream and got down to the serious business of fishing, arguing good-naturedly over whose fish was bigger. The largest on her string was a finger width longer than any of Justin’s, but his biggest catch was the heaviest of all, a fat female with a belly full of roe.
Regret tugged at Raina as the sun inevitably began its descent toward the horizon. As excited as she was for her birthday feast and her mysterious visitor bearing gifts, she didn’t want this day to end. A perfect day.
Finally, reluctantly, they declared the fishing contest a draw. Justin picked up both strings of fish and threw them over his shoulder. She captured his free hand and swung it back and forth jauntily as they hiked out of the woods. As the trees thinned and the low, gray outline of the keep came into sight, he gently disentangled their fingers.
“It is not meet for us to be seen skipping along holding hands.”
“Why not? We’ve done so our whole lives.”
His face went closed. Serious. “Times change. People change.”
Sudden dread coursed through her. Call it premonition or silly, girlish superstition, but her chest clenched so tight she could hardly breathe. She stopped, dragging at his hand to swing him around to face her, and forced words past the heavy lump in her throat. “Promise me you’ll never change.”
He frowned at her. “Why do you say that?”
“Just promise.” She added earnestly, “Please?”
“All right. Fine. I promise.” A pause. “And you’re still a silly muckling.”
Her throat relaxed of a sudden, and all was right with the world once more. He would always be her Justin. They continued on, walking toward the long shadow of the walls looming ahead. Her family’s keep was neither fancy nor large, a lump of rock designed for practicality and defense. But it was home.
“What do you suppose the visitor is bringing for my birthday?”
“A bucket of spiders.”
He snorted. “You hit like a girl.”
A new, arch voice intruded from nearby. “She shouldn’t hit at all. It isn’t ladylike.”
Arianna.
Raina rolled her eyes at Justin. As usual, her older sister was perfectly turned out, every glossy lock of brunette hair in place, her gown impeccable, her manicure flawless. Raina abruptly became painfully aware of the dirt caked under her own broken fingernails from digging in the riverbank for worms. She glanced down furtively. As she feared. Her dress was covered in grass stains and dried mud. Wisps of hair straggled in her face, as fair and golden as her sister’s was dark and sable. Raina pushed her disheveled locks back defiantly.
“At least we did something productive today. Justin and I caught your breakfast for the morrow while you sat around being pretty and useless.”
Arianna drew herself up and said huffily, “I shall be the bride of—” She broke off.
“Of whom?” Raina challenged. To her knowledge, no match had been arranged for her or her sister. Tradition held that the elder daughter got to travel the wide world and seek a husband far away for herself while the younger daughter stayed home and managed the family’s lands and holdings. It wasn’t fair in the least, not that anyone had bothered to ask her about it.
“You’ll find out soon enough. Sooner than you know,” her sister replied smugly.
Raina didn’t have the slightest idea what Arianna was talking about and, furthermore, couldn’t care less. Such matters were still a lifetime away for her. She shrugged and continued walking toward the keep.
“Who’s that?” Justin asked suddenly.
She followed his pointing finger and spied movement on the rise where the Tyrel Road topped it. A cluster of robed men walked this way at a steady, traveler’s pace. “Probably guests arriving for my party.”
“I don’t recognize them. Nor the blazons and symbols on their robes,” Justin muttered.
Raina frowned. The only strangers who came to this remote little corner of the colony were tax collectors. But it was far too early in the year for that. She squinted at the two tall figures leading the little party. Justin was right. The dark green cloaks and angular silver runes upon them were foreign to her.
