A King's Caution

by Brennan C. Adams

  From behind, pressure wrapped around his shoulders and stomach. He twisted violently, flailing at whatever held him. It lifted him from the ocean and into the air. He dangled as it pulled him over a ship’s railing, and when pressure released, he flopped to the deck.

  “Son!” A familiar, rough hand caressed his face, and he grabbed it.

  “Mama?” he asked, eyes clearing for a brief moment to take in his father’s anxious face.

  “She’s fine. Waking up now, Raimie. What happened?”

  “My fault,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. “Misjudged the required propulsion. Clung too hard, and mama fell.”

  “It wasn’t his fault,” mama snapped with a cough. “It was the OTHER.”

  “Samantha, you should be resting!”

  “No, Aramar! We need to address this!” mama coughed again. “Contact the witch in Allanovian! IT needs to be erased!”

  He gave up on consciousness, but before he drifted away, he caught Nylion angrily grumbling.

  Four days later, he and his mother fell ill. They traveled to Allanovian, and both Nylion and his mother were stolen from him in that awful place.

  Someone had replaced Raimie’s heart with a hollow, throbbing wound. He’d forgotten how to breathe, how to speak, how to think.

  “Raimie?” two figures he was sure he should know asked.

  “…why?” he managed to croak.

  “Why what?” the dark one asked, and Raimie recoiled.

  “How… could…?”

  Striding between the light and the dark, Nylion crouched, his horribly beaten and bruised face creased with concern. “I am sorry,” was all he said.

  “You… knew…”

  “Everything except precisely who cursed us so,” Nylion acknowledged. “I knew our scheming bitch of a mother was involved, but as for the others… I did not know how deep the betrayal went. Eledis, Gistrick, father… and that was Uncle’s flagship at the end. We should assume Marcuset was privy to the decision as well.”

  Sitting up, Raimie clutched his head in his hands, attempting to force two versions of his past into some sense of order, to reconcile the two separate lives he’d led. One of happiness. One of truth.

  The life in Daira explained so many inconsistencies he’d never thought to question. If tutors had worked with him since he was a toddler, it was no wonder he’d breezed through his lessons with Zetaneb, Ferin, and Kheled. He’d already studied what Zetaneb and Ferin had meant to teach him and already learned the skills Kheled had imparted. As for how quickly he mastered Kheled’s lessons, his ability to replicate a skill after observing it once helped with knowledge gain, but it couldn’t replace muscle memory, something only repetitive practice could develop. He’d experienced an abundance of that, however, in training with weapons masters. The tutors also explained why, occasionally, he went from the ignorant country bumpkin to a somewhat skilled diplomat. Mediation had been drilled into him since birth.

  But his happy childhood in the forest! It was all a lie?

  “Yes. Every part of it until we turned nine,” Nylion answered. “At least you get to keep half.”

  Small consolation.

  “Are you quite well, Raimie?” someone asked. “Your fall didn’t look that bad.”

  His hands fell from his head. “How long have you two been with me?” he croaked without looking up, his ability to logically speak lurching into working order. “I know I accessed Ele and Daevetch before Shadowsteal.”

  Only quiet answered him for a time, and Raimie waited. He was content with the silence. It was a direct contrast to his current inner turmoil, and he didn’t think he could move or do much else in any case. Out of curiosity, he asked his legs to straighten, and they twitched instead.

  “Since you were born,” Bright answered his previous question.

  “Can you imagine? You caused so much trouble as a toddler primeancer, running circles around your parents,” Dim chortled.

  “Why didn’t you tell me… when you came back? You said nothing after Shadowsteal,” Raimie dragged forth.

  “Would you have believed us?” Bright asked.

  “And Esela magic like what afflicted you is unpredictable,” Dim added. “If we’d told you, our revelation might have broken the spell, or it might have clamped harder on you instead.”

  Raimie nodded, satisfied, if not pleased, with the answer. Upon attempting to move his legs for a second time, he found they could accomplish more than a twitch. Unsteadily climbing to his feet, he pulled Ele through his source, quelling the burgeoning of something dark and violent with its peace.

  “What will you do?” asked one of the three unseen but very real men behind him.

  Raimie didn’t check which. “My family has much to answer for,” he muttered. “I’m going to have a chat with them.”

  * * *

  The next six days followed an unchanging sequence. Every morning, a restive, internal fire greeted Raimie when the sun’s rays dragged him from slumber, a blaze which twitched him down the road. Ele barely restrained a veneer of red from clouding his vision as he ran. White light followed his race like a dog to a bone, driving his travel ever faster until a journey which should have taken weeks only consumed days. In the late afternoon, he’d leap into the forest’s canopy, hiding among the leaves from the Kiraak who patrolled below.

  The evenings were the hardest part of his days. Because he refused to call upon it, Ele couldn’t hold the fire at bay, and so, it burned on his resolve instead. Long were the hours Raimie fought for his sleep rather than indulging in a tumble from the trees to slaughter and dismember Kiraak to his heart’s content. The fire even followed him into his dreams, lighting his mind with visions of death until he woke with an aching jaw to begin the day once more.

  Upon his return to Tiro, Raimie dispensed with the gate, leaping and clambering up ivy until he perched at the top. Without checking what lay below, he jumped into the abyss, landing with a shower of light into the midst of shouting people. Hands reached for him, and he scrambled away to smoosh into a wall of flesh advancing from behind. Why were these civilians attacking him?

  Then, he heard the chanting. “Our King! Our liberator! Auden’s hope!”

  Raimie’s hands drifted away from weapons. How had these people-?

  One of Ren’s underlings nodded a cloth-swaddled head toward him, and he sighed. So, Tiro wished to honor him for the victory at the Birthing Grounds, but they were going about it exactly the wrong way.

  He’d rather have them greet his soldiers when they eventually returned. They were the ones who deserved such a celebration, but if the city insisted on honoring him, he wished it would come in the form of support for his next endeavor, not as a party.

  Raimie pushed through the crowd, plastering a pleased grin on his face for their benefit, but he refused to stop. Soon enough, he broke through the crowd’s fringes onto an empty street and picked up the pace. The noise of celebration continued unabated behind him, and he was content the crowd’s joy wouldn’t break because of his absence.

  Eledis waited for him outside Riadur’s house, probably wanting a personal report of the battle. Raimie nearly stopped his stride at the presumption. Somehow, he found the strength to keep his feet moving despite the desire the draw Silverblade and run the old man through. Violence-murder-would be frowned on in such a public place, and besides that, Eledis would handily defeat him if he didn’t have the element of surprise on his side. His grandfather was stronger, more powerful, and more conniving than Raimie’s ignorant, former self could have comprehended. Of all his targets, Eledis was the most dangerous. Best not to start with him but with the weakest instead.

  When Raimie flung open the door to his family’s borrowed room, his father looked up, surprised, from the book he’d been reading.

  “Son!” Aramar exclaimed. “I didn’t expect you for a few more days. How did you…?”

  He continued rambling, and Raimie half-listened as he closed and latched the door behind him.r />
  “Nylion says hello,” he interrupted his father’s prattle.

  Aramar stiffened, and his eyes darted to mama’s bow, leaning at the foot of his bed.

  “Don’t do it,” Raimie warned. “I’d fill you with holes before you reached it, even if you are my father.”

  No need to mention the damage would come from the pistol which rested at the small of his back, not the dark energy he usually had on hand. The thought of touching Daevetch so soon after the overuse he’d recently employed made him shaky.

  “Who speaks to me now? My son or his dark reflection?” Aramar asked.

  “You’re not dead, so who do you think?”

  “Raimie clings to control,” Aramar breathed, casting his eyes heavenward. “Thank Alouin.”

  “That bastard…” Nylion growled beside Raimie.

  “Nyl has only ever taken control of our body when I permit it,” Raimie snapped, biting his tongue to hold back more scathing words.

  “Not strictly true, is it?” Aramar quirked an eyebrow. “Or has he avoided telling you about-”

  “I’m not here to argue, dad,” Raimie interrupted. Wandering to a bed, he collapsed, one arm covering his face and his head in Nylion’s lap.

  “Why are you here then?”

  Good question. He’d rushed to Tiro, sped by white hot rage and indignation, but now that he’d arrived at his destination, those intense emotions had retracted their help, and their absence left him with a clear head.

  “I thought I wanted an explanation, a reason why so many loved ones were intent on locking half my soul from me, but now…” Sighing, Raimie rubbed his face. “Now, I’ve decided I don’t care why you did it.

  “I thought I wanted revenge. Your actions caused me grievous harm, but I suppose, in a way, my lack of action led to an injury of similar degree for you: your paralysis. I’d argue that instead exacting vengeance on one another, we make recompense.”

  “What are you doing?” Nylion asked.

  Dispensing justice, Raimie thought at him. Trust me, this will be much more satisfying than simply killing him.

  “How?” Aramar asked.

  “If we wish to fix our past mistakes, each of us would face difficult burdens, but I believe my form of restitution will be more comparable to surmounting the impossible,” Raimie mused. “I’ll need to convince Kheled to restore your legs, something I’m confident he’ll refuse to do.”

  Aramar nervously chuckled. “I can see how that would seem impossible seeing as paralysis isn’t fixable and your friend has been… absent for a few weeks.”

  “What?” Raimie asked, pushing to his elbows to fix his father with a confused stare. “Right! You think he’s dead!”

  “Son, he is. That fact’s been firmly resolved.”

  “No, we faked his death.” Raimie chuckled, the half-truth easily passing from his tongue. “The beating he received was very real, but that attack made us realize the revelation of his powers had placed him in mortal danger. We spread the rumor he’d succumbed to his injuries, and he assumed a human form with his Esela magic. He goes by Keltheryl now.”

  At some point, Raimie would need to examine why the lie hadn’t come with the extreme awkwardness which usually accompanied his falsehoods, but the more important question at the moment was whether his father would believe it.

  “I knew something was off about that man!” Aramar breathed. “How does he maintain the shape change? The drain must be punishing.”

  “Not your concern,” Raimie snapped. “Nor is how I plan to make up for my failing. You should concern yourself with the opposite.”

  “Honestly, I don’t understand why we must play this game,” Aramar said as he rolled toward the door. “You’re not at fault for my paralysis, and what we did to lock Nylion away was for your own good.”

  Raimie shot upright on the bed, and Nylion leaped to his feet, hands straining to strangle the man he couldn’t touch.

  “How can you say that?” Raimie ground through clenched teeth. “Losing Nylion was the worst thing to ever happen to me, and you caused it. You made me forget him, a crime comparable to me erasing your love of mama. Worse, because he’s a part of me! Not to mention the complete and total manipulation of my memories! How foolish have you made me that I thought I lived my whole life on the farm? Why would you take Daira from me? Stealing Nylion wasn’t enough? How can you argue doing something so destructive was ‘for my own good’?”

  The door banged open, and both high-strung men flinched at the noise. Ren blocked the exit, one hand bracing against the doorframe and the other keeping it from swinging closed. Sweat glistened on her brow, and she desperately heaved air.

  The sight of her nipped Raimie’s rising anger in the bud. Had she sprinted to greet him after learning he was home? She must have missed him.

  “Tell Kylorian to stop with the jokes,” she gasped, and Raimie’s smile slipped. “He claims Hadrion fell in battle. Bastard insists it was your fault.”

  “Why don’t you come in and sit down, my dear?” Aramar offered.

  When she hesitantly complied, he escaped through the open door behind her. While normally his father’s cowardice would have Raimie chasing the older man in a fury, currently all he wanted was to switch places, creating distance between himself and Ren. Obsessed with rage over the wrongs committed against him, he’d forgotten what awaited him when he returned to Tiro. Forgotten the grief and guilt spurred on by the death of an innocent teenage boy.

  Ren flopped beside him on the bed, whatever exertion she’d put forth to find him quickly calming. The sweat clinging to her body raised goose bumps on her flesh.

  “Why did you fake it this time?” she asked. “Hadrion isn’t in danger as far as I’m aware. Everyone he’s ever met loves him. Did one of the Kiraak take a shine to him as well?”

  Oh, the irony in her teasing words. Raimie’s heart broke for her.

  “Ren, it’s not a joke,” he informed her. “Kylorian speaks the truth. An Enforcer snuck up on us while I was distracted. She took him hostage, and rather than allowing me to take his place, Hadrion… Well, he died. I’m so sorry.”

  She refused to say anything for the longest time, her face speaking for her as it washed of all color. Raimie was glad she’d sat first. He didn’t trust his ability to catch her.

  “Get out,” she eventually growled.

  Raimie blinked. He’d expected a host of reactions from her: weeping, beating her fists against his chest, screaming. This wasn’t one of them.

  “Are you…?” but he wasn’t sure how to finish the question.

  “Out before I do something I regret.”

  Her voice trembled with ferocity, and tears shone in her eyes. He retreated from the force of her fury. The door snicked closed behind him, and Raimie collapsed against it.

  Would she forgive him, or was he destined to endure the sum of her displeasure until the end of his days? Could he bear it if she decided to blame him?

  “She will eventually absolve you, heart of my heart,” Nylion said. “Vengefulness is not in her nature.”

  “What will I do if she looks at me with nothing but hate, Nyl?” he whispered back.

  Heavy footfalls jerked Raimie’s head up, and he stared into icy pits of blue.

  “Is Ren in there?” Kylorian asked.

  Raimie nodded. The question required no further explanation.

  “Did you convince her I wasn’t joking?” he asked, but hostility came attached to the inquiry.

  “Of course I did! I’m not a monster,” Raimie made a face, “despite what you might think. I won’t lie to her simply to save myself pain.”

  “I want to see her,” Kylorian grumbled, trying to reach around Raimie for the knob hidden behind his back.

  He knocked the hand away. “That’s not a good idea. She wants to be alone.”

  “Are you certain she simply doesn’t want to be anywhere near you?” Kylorian asked, trying again.

  The thought had crossed his mind,
but Raimie didn’t find it likely. Ren liked to show the world a strong face. She allowed very few people to attend her when she was vulnerable, and while her family sometimes carried the burden of her helplessness, this was a personal grief she wouldn’t want to share with anyone. Even with two times practice, mourning a sibling wouldn’t be any less painful. The initial outpouring of rage and depression sure to cascade from behind this door was for Ren and Ren alone.

  Grabbing Kylorian’s questing hand, Raimie used it to twist the other man around.

  “I’m sure,” he growled. “We both leave her alone until she wants to see us.” He shoved Kylorian away. “She’ll come out when she’s ready. In the meantime, maybe you should find another activity to occupy your time. I’ll buy drinks if you wish to join me at Sigemond’s,” Raimie offered.

  “I’d rather drink with the Kiraak,” Kylorian snapped, rubbing his hand, “but perhaps you’re right about Ren.”

  “Feel free to wait with me if you like. If not, I’ll let you know when she’s ready,” Raimie couldn’t help taunting.

  Huffing distastefully, Kylorian stormed toward the house’s front door. Raimie delayed outside the bedroom until he was sure the other man had indeed left.

  He understood Kylorian’s actions. His own emotions berated him for keeping the door closed, for not doing whatever he could to comfort Ren. He could only imagine what her older brother felt, but if she needed space, space is what he’d give her.

  A ridiculous number of responsibilities crowded his plate, providing a welcome distraction from the worry which gnawed at his head. He could catch up with his father and finish their conversation, or see what Eledis had devised regarding plans to liberate Uduli, or he could find Riadur and personally apologize for Hadrion’s death before a subsequent near-to-death beating and exile from Tiro.

  Raimie winced at the last idea. When next they met, he’d be lucky if exile was all Hadrion’s father imposed upon him.

  “Finish the conversation with father,” Nylion muttered, biting off each word. “The rest can wait. We- I need to resolve the pain that man caused us.”