by R. J. Larson
Caitria closed her eyes for an instant, then lifted her gaze and chin. Courage. Face this with dignity. You are a Thaenfall.
Devise a plan!
In his quiet, lamplit bedchamber, Akabe lifted a silver writing stylus from a nearby tray, tapped it in the crystal ink vial, then wrote, Commanded and signed, Akabe of Siphra.
Would this order provide enough guards to protect the temple site and its workers? Akabe winced, remembering how close Dan Roeh, his most knowledgeable stone mason—and father of Siphra’s most renowned prophet—had come to being killed by Ison of Deerfeld.
Well-enough. He’d already relocated the Roehs to a walled residence, secured and protected by loyal guards. And his other workers would soon be as safely sheltered. . . .
A light tap and click at the door alarmed Akabe enough to reach for the dagger at his belt.
Caitria padded into his chamber, distractingly lovely, swathed in new embroidered robes, and armed with an attitude of cool defiance. As she dumped a small armload of gear onto his bed, Akabe frowned. “Lady? What’s wrong? Does the queen’s apartment have no bed?”
“It does.” Not looking at him, she picked a square of fabric from her gear, settled into a chair before the hearth, and began to polish her fingernails. “But Naynee snores.”
Oh? That was an excuse if he’d ever heard one. So she hated her new bedchamber and was planning to commandeer his? Or was she here to spy on him? Very well. He could, on occasion, speak to her of the Infinite—and perhaps deduce her motives. “If you are determined to spend your evenings here, then you must at least begin to talk to me.”
“As you command, Majesty.” She studied her fingernails in the firelight, then resumed polishing. “With the exception of religion.”
She meant with the exception of the Infinite. Could he be silent concerning the One who had sustained him through his agonizing, often bleak years as a renegade hunter in the Snake Mountains? Unlikely.
Smiling, plotting tactics, he selected a document and failed to concentrate on reading.
A springtime breeze snatched at Kien’s cloak in the evening light. Reining in Scythe, he adjusted the flapping garment, looked ahead, and grimaced. ToronSea—that barnacle of a border town—clung to either side of the coastal road, framed by the ocean to the east, and bright green meadows and distant stands of evergreens to the west. The last time he’d been here, Kien suffered a sling-stone strike that nearly got him trampled by his horse.
Not to mention being flung into the ocean by the Infinite as an abject and rebellious failure.
Kien shuddered at the memory and goaded Scythe forward. Things would be different this time. For starters, Scythe would defend him against attack—unlike last year’s scatterbrained little horse. And this time, Kien would ride straight through ToronSea. Camping in the woods again this evening was preferable to this place.
But words rang in his thoughts. You will stop here.
His Creator. Speaking to him.
Kien swallowed. Fine. “Infinite? May I ask why?”
10
The hair on Kien’s scalp seemed to crawl the instant he asked why.
The Infinite’s voice, amused—amused!—slid into his mind. Do you believe your work in ToronSea is finished?
“No.” Even as he spoke, Kien’s mind was flooded with last year’s instructions to him. Trying to contain the sudden rush of words, Kien dropped the reins and clutched his head. You will warn My faithful in ToronSea of My displeasure because they are beguiled by certain Siphran worshipers of Atea. Tell the one who speaks for them that he must be faithful to Me and seek My will. You must also speak to certain deceived ones who love Atea. Tell them only that I see their failings and seek their hearts. The wise will hear Me.
Kien’s brain reeled with the effort of bringing his senses under control once more. No wonder huge visions sent Ela into a spin. At last, still dizzied, Kien regathered Scythe’s reins. The beast had stopped, his big black ears flicked back, clearly listening and waiting for Kien to recover. Unnerving, this destroyer’s perception. Kien forced out a queasy command. “Walk.”
Scythe grunted, moving forward tentatively as if he’d gauged Kien’s headache to its exact level of endurable pain. Kien took deep breaths as he rode, trying to quell his nausea. To distract himself, he looked around.
ToronSea hadn’t changed much in a year. A muddied main road, edged by rough walls and small stone houses, many with miniature towers. And the inn, rustic yet welcoming. Until someone yelled an alarm from within the building. “Monster!”
“They’re referring to you,” Kien told Scythe.
The huge beast snorted and stomped, sending vibrations through all the nearby buildings.
Shrieks echoed up and down the street. Shutters slammed closed. But the inn’s door opened and a man peeked out, brown-haired, thin, smooth-shaven, and understandably nervous. Kien recognized him. Giff, leader of the Infinite’s faithful in ToronSea. Infinite, thank You!
Kien grinned. “Good afternoon, Giff.”
Disgruntled, Giff sidled out of the doorway, clutching its frame. “You again—and riding a monster this time. You don’t quit!”
“I’d like to.” Kien raised his voice. “Now, Giff, you know what I’m going to say. Politely this time.”
Giff backed up against the door, watching Scythe. “So say it.”
“The Infinite is displeased because His followers in ToronSea are beguiled by worshipers of Atea. They, and particularly you, must be faithful to our Creator and seek His will.”
Looking from Scythe to Kien, Giff’s expression changed, not easing, but quieting. “I’ll admit last year I was angry with you. But I’ve considered your warning every time I see . . .”
“Every time you see one of the Ateans?”
Giff nodded. “Yes. I feel the Infinite’s Spirit, waiting and watching.”
“Not comfortable, I’m sure, if you’ve been ignoring Him.” Kien looked around. “Where are the Ateans?”
“Where aren’t they?” Giff complained. “Look for their symbols and you’ll find them.”
Symbols? “Thank you.” Kien nudged Scythe onward, scanning ToronSea’s stone walls until he saw the serpentine goddess coils, all death-dark, worn by entrenched Ateans. Worn by Akabe’s first would-be assassin. “Infinite? Have the Ateans deepened their grasp on ToronSea?”
Yes. But there is more here than you perceive. Do as I have commanded.
“Lead me,” Kien prayed. “I am Your servant.” He eased Scythe’s reins, watching, sickened each time he glimpsed the goddess coils painted on ToronSea’s buildings. When Scythe grazed before a fine stone residence with a particularly large goddess coil incised on its open gate, Kien asked, “Here?”
Yes. Speak only to the ones who answer the door.
Bracing himself to confront whoever lived in this residence, Kien dismounted. While Scythe watched, leaning his big, dark head over the wall, Kien entered the courtyard, crossed it, and rapped on the heavy wooden door. Whoever answered would surely slam the door; he looked disreputable in his rumpled, travel-begrimed clothes.
A pretty young woman opened the door. Clad in soft green, her hair hidden by a knotted scarf, she gaped at Kien, her blue eyes widening, particularly when she saw Scythe. “Oh!”
Behind her, a grizzled older man stared suspiciously. “Sir?”
A sensing of the Infinite’s compassion and His love for these two struck Kien with an almost-physical impact. He smiled at them. “The Infinite has seen your failings and seeks your hearts.”
Paling, the young woman clasped her work-smudged hands to her throat. “What do you mean?”
Kien lowered his voice, realizing he’d frightened the poor girl. “I’m only His servant. That’s all I was commanded to say. I’m sure that if you speak to your Creator, He will answer.”
Praying he hadn’t said too much, Kien bowed. And started to leave.
An imposing, dark-cloaked man appeared from a side gate adjoining the residence, e
yeing Kien as if considering him an enemy. “Who are you?”
Mindful of his orders, Kien departed in silence, aware of the three watching him ride away on Scythe. Had he looked foolish? He certainly felt foolish right now. And why should he have ignored that arrogant man? Kien looked up at the graying sky. “Am I finished here?”
Yes.
“It seemed too simple.”
I require simple things. You, My children of dust, always complicate matters.
“Guilty.” And forgiven. Kien grinned. “What now?”
Munra.
Ela! Kien rubbed his knuckles into Scythe’s massive shoulder. “Find Ela! Go!”
Scythe bolted, galloping through ToronSea, leaving tremors and screams in his wake.
Freshly scrubbed and properly clothed, Kien stared at his apartment within the palace and shook his head. Who would believe he’d spent the last few nights sleeping on sodden grass near muddy roads, guarded by an irritable, ever-hungry destroyer?
He settled at his desk and wrote two notes. One to Aeyrievale’s steward, Bryce, the other to Akabe, thanking him for offering shelter while Kien sorted out his legal and financial issues.
Finished, Kien sealed the notes and paid a servant to run them to their destinations.
Just as he was considering a brief nap, a thump sounded at Kien’s chamber door. He shook out his still-damp hair and flung open the door. Three vaguely familiar, richly attired graybeards stared at him, and their eyebrows lifted in unison, as if by prearranged signal. One, boasting a spectacularly curled and waxed beard, inclined his head. “Lord Aeyrievale. I am Lord Faine, calling with regard to a matter of some importance. Lords Trillcliff and Piton wished to accompany me.”
He motioned toward his comrades, who bowed to Kien as if the move was choreographed. Alarming. Kien bowed and retreated, holding open the door. “My lords, please step inside.” What was Siphran courtly protocol for receiving unexpected nobility? When in doubt, practice good manners. “Are you thirsty? May I request drinks for each of you?”
Lord Trillcliff’s thick upswept silver eyebrows rose all the more, looking oddly spiked. He shut the door. “No, Aeyrievale, thank you. We’ve come to welcome you and to warn you.”
The third lord—Piton?—chimed in, “The king will send for you this evening, my lord, no doubt. However his circumstances have changed.”
“Changed?” Kien looked from Piton to Faine, then at Trillcliff. “Is he stepping down?”
Faine sniffed and lowered his voice. “Hardly, sir. He’s now married. To a girl from an Atean family.”
“Atean!” Kien couldn’t hide his shock. Akabe, of all people, married into an Atean family? Impossible! “Sirs, how did—”
“Shh!” Piton interposed. “Aeyrievale, lower your voice! Though we argued against the matter, the king married the young lady to legally acquire the temple site. Guard your words around her, my lord. She might prove to be a spy. We’re trying to think of ways to . . . ahem . . . mitigate any power she might ultimately wield.”
Wonderful. Kien rubbed a hand over his chin. In the palace less than half a day and already swept into court intrigue—surrounding Akabe, no less! “I’m sorry to hear of it.”
“Another thing . . .” Faine sniffed. “You’re partly to blame for one of the king’s recent disappointments.”
“I’m to blame?” Kien shook his head. “How? I wasn’t here.”
Trillcliff leaned toward him, widening his golden eyes, almost ferocious. “Sir, the king’s previous disappointment involved the rejection of his marriage proposal to Ela of Parne—after he’d long cherished a most tender and hidden admiration for her. She refused to marry him—first, because she wishes to never marry, and second, because she loves you!”
Oh. Well, now Akabe’s disappointment made sense.
Sounding offended, Trillcliff muttered, “If the prophet didn’t love you, and if he had married her, we wouldn’t be fretting about this Atean queen now.”
Almost prim, Piton murmured, “Conversely, had he known you’d offered marriage to the prophet, my lord, and that she loves you, the king would never have suffered such sharp distress. He would have honored your friendship—as he did the instant he realized the situation.”
Nodding, Faine added, “If you two hadn’t kept the true nature of your relationship a secret, there’d be no potential awkwardness now. Just to warn you.”
Kien almost winced, humiliated. But why? He’d done nothing to be ashamed of. “My lords, you make my understanding with the prophet sound scandalous. It is not!”
“Nevertheless,” Trillcliff sighed, “be prepared for the king’s possible displeasure. Talk to him of the temple to . . . distract him.”
“I’m sorry. And I pray that the king’s marital difficulties are soon resolved.”
Leaning closer, Faine said, “Help us to resolve them! Legally, if you can think of a way.”
Piton lifted a cautioning hand. “Do not mistake us, my lord. We are genuinely concerned for the king. He is a remarkable man. Potentially one of Siphra’s greatest kings—the rebuilder of our temple and the restorer of our country’s reputation! But this marriage could ruin his legacy.”
The noblemen nodded together, and Kien nodded with them. Wait. He hesitated. Did he want to be in agreement with this ambush of lords?
However, these three noblemen truly respected the king and liked him. And, unless Kien could be somehow reinstated as a citizen of the Tracelands, these lords were now part of his life. Best to accept the situation. He smiled at the three, meaning it. “Thank you for warning me. Your regard for duty is invaluable to the king and to Siphra.” As they straightened, subtly, yet visibly pleased, Kien continued. “Rest assured, my lords, I am equally concerned, and I will do everything possible to help protect the king from any Atean threats.”
Lord Trillcliff beamed. “We’d hoped to depend upon you.” His golden eyes lit with sudden inspiration. “Do you know anything of the king’s lineage, my lord?”
“No, sir. I suspect he’s of some highborn family. Why?”
Piton sighed as if defeated. “Because of your friendship, we hoped he’d mentioned some hint of his past to you. He’s said almost nothing to us, and it’s important that we know.”
Lord Faine shrugged and turned to the door. “Until this evening, Aeyrievale.”
“Thank you, sirs.” Kien closed the door, pondered his situation, then grinned. Grabbing his cloak, he strode from his rooms, asking directions at every turn to navigate this maze of a palace. At last he reached the royal stables and his gluttonous destroyer, who was tended by a handful of nervous stable hands.
Clearly intimidated by Scythe’s monstrous form and by the huge crescents he’d bitten into the rim of his water barrel, the stable hands backed away. Scythe grumbled threats at his hapless handlers while crushing a chunk of wood between those gleaming destroyer-teeth. The stable hands fled. Kien stifled a laugh. “Hush, you monster! And enough wood. You’ll give yourself indigestion.”
Scythe curled his equine lips slightly, but continued chewing as if Kien didn’t exist.
Fine. How might a master best gain his irritable monster’s attention? With one word. “Ela.”
The black ears perked, and the chewing halted. Kien grinned. “Let’s shine you up a bit, then we’ll depart. You can track her down for me—at a quiet walk.”
Poor unsuspecting prophet. A good thing she’d never been able to predict what Kien Lantec might do next, because he wanted to catch her completely off guard.
She must answer for the blame he’d just accepted.
11
Finished tidying her study area at the temple site, Ela kneeled in the evening light with Tamri Het and Matron Prill beneath the canopy to wait for Father. “It’s been a long day. But at least there’s been no trouble. And, look. . . .” She dug into her leather coin purse and pulled out her newest treasure. “Barth gave me his latest baby tooth!”
Tamri laughed. “That is an honor, Ela-girl. He
’s in love with you, I’m sure.”
“He’s a flirt, but a wonderful student.” Ela smiled at the small white tooth and tucked it safe inside her purse again. Barth’s class was her favorite by far.
Matron Prill’s thin face puckered with worry. “Are you truly keeping his tooth?”
“Of course, Prill. I must. Knowing Barth, he’s going to start every class for the next month by asking me if I still have his tooth.”
“True,” Prill admitted. “But you’d think his parents would want it.”
“We’ll offer it to him next time we meet, just to be sure. I—” A shadow passed through the sun’s evening rays, dimming everything beneath the canopied study area. Ela glanced toward the light’s obstruction, then looked again. A massive black beast was crossing the temple site, approaching her. A destroyer? Recognizing the animal, Ela’s spirit leaped. Her destroyer. “Pet!”
And Kien! Oh, Kien . . . Even within the shadows, she saw his dazzling grin—gorgeous man. Safe. And here, finally! “Infinite, thank You!” She snatched up the branch and rushed to greet her favorite monster-horse and his master.
Behind her, Tamri called in a warning tone, “Ela-girl, don’t you dare run away!”
“I won’t!” But what a wonderful thought. If she were anyone else . . .
Pet—she wouldn’t call him Scythe—greeted her with a tender nose-nudge and a gusty wood-scented sigh. Careful to avoid smacking Pet with the branch, she tiptoed and hugged as much of his neck as possible. “Dear monster! I’ve missed you!”
Jumping off the last rung of the destroyer’s war collar, Kien protested. “What about me?”
Ela looked up at Kien and caught her breath. She must not hug him, and certainly no kissing. That would be bad prophet behavior. But how dare he look at her in such a way—admiring her openly, his gray eyes gleaming so avidly that she blushed. “Yes, I’ve missed you too. How long will you be visiting in Munra?”
