by J. C. Owens
Taldan frowned, glancing at his Chosen. “He was not lying about that perhaps, but his very presence here was a lie.” He shook his head, fighting back the powerful surge of emotions—anger, loss, fear, desire—that tore through him at the very thought of his lost concubine. “I want to know what their next move will be now that their first has failed. Perhaps they saw Demarin’s stepping down before his time as a sign of weakness or an opportunity. They might have hoped that I was young, weak and ill-prepared for the role. I intend to prove them wrong.”
Naral met his look with such confidence in him that Taldan had to look away for a moment, controlling the feelings that rose with his friend’s actions. He couldn’t understand why his emotions seemed so close to the surface since his ascension. Was it some normal occurrence once the Illumitae had entered his body? Perhaps there was a period of adjustment to the magic growing within him. He wanted wholeheartedly to believe that such a thing was the reason, to deny that the event with his concubine was eating away at him.
Unfortunately, telling himself that was only a lie.
Suddenly, he wanted to turn to Raine, to touch his Chosen, to take comfort in his heat, his soft words. But right now he was wearing the golden mask of the emperor. He could not kiss his Chosen. He could not show weakness, especially with enemies moving against him.
He needed to be strong. He needed to be strong for everyone who was counting on him right now. There was a war to end. There were murderers to bring to justice. And somewhere, Hredeen was out there, exiled at Taldan’s command.
Despite Naral’s concerns, right now an heir seemed like a very small, very inconsequential thing.
CHAPTER NINE
Zaran
Zaran rode near the head of the column with Gratolin, his bodyguard, beside him. The other two of Naral’s men, Vrandir and Yaine, ranged directly behind them. Three Shadows rode in front with the rest ranged behind Zaran and along the length of the marching soldiers, keeping a keen eye on everything. There were no arguments or signs of ill will when the Shadows were present. It was like having the emperor’s eyes upon them.
The day was windy, the pennons snapping in the breeze. It thankfully cleared away the cloying smell of smoke that lingered everywhere they traveled.
Zaran had eased up on the pursuit, mostly because he wanted the men rested and prepared for battle. He was quite sure that the Odenar troops had reached their objective and encamped by now, and speed would no longer be of use. Better to save their strength. The insurgents would no doubt be entrenched around the mine’s mountain town. It was concerning that the rebels would have the high ground, but the Shadows would even the odds. If his forces could keep the element of surprise, he was certain they could destroy the rebel Odenar army.
He wanted to return with honor. That honor would no longer be in his father’s name, but in Taldan’s. His brother was now emperor. He wished fiercely that he could have been there, to support Taldan when it had all gone so terribly wrong. If he had been there, he would not have allowed Hredeen to leave, despite his brother’s orders. He would have hidden him away until things could be smoothed over.
Instead, Hredeen was out there somewhere, alone, on his mission to assassinate the Yoldis brothers. Strategically, that would be a great advantage for the imperial army. That was one of the traditional roles for War Guild assassins—taking down enemy generals and officers and cutting the head off the snake.
But Zaran couldn’t help but worry about Hredeen. He remembered the air of exhaustion and despair that had emanated from his friend. He considered Hredeen as much friend as lover. He held no personal doubts that the concubine hadn’t enjoyed their times together. There had been no coercion, no force involved. Yet Hredeen’s heart had clearly belonged to Taldan. It had been clear, even then.
He feared that Taldan would be looking at his years with Hredeen very differently. His brother had always held himself to an almost impossible degree of excellence and perfect behavior. The discovery of Hredeen’s true identity, the fact that his brother had never detected the slightest hint of deceit would bother Taldan immensely, make him question his own competency. Zaran could only pray that this did not drive his brother further within himself and isolate him even more. It had always been a pleasure to watch the interaction between Taldan and Hredeen. It had brought a part of Taldan to light that Zaran had only seen given to either Naral or Zaran himself. A part that held humanity and gentleness.
Something that would not please their father.
Zaran grimaced at the thought, his fingers tightening upon the reins. His biggest fear was that with ascension his brother would become exactly like their father.
He needed to get this mission over with, so he could return home and protect Taldan from himself.
It had been misty early in the morning, but now the emerging sunlight was burning it away. The sky was tinted softly pink with a promise of another painfully hot day. The heat was another factor that decided on their speed. None of them were prepared for such a temperature difference. Back in Persis, the days could become hot, but there was not the moisture in the air to amplify it. They had to constantly ensure they had enough water to hand when everyone was so abnormally thirsty from sweating in their armor as they marched.
He glanced over his shoulder, far back where the wagons trailed along under heavy guard. Cermin was curled up in one of them, along with some paper and a stick of charcoal. Turned out the boy had considerable talent in drawing, something he had brought up during one of their nightly conversations. Zaran had managed to wrangle some paper and a stick of charcoal, and Cermin was instantly lost.
It was difficult to coax him out of the wagon at the end of each day. Truth be told, Zaran was relieved that the boy remained squirreled away. The scenes of destruction that they frequently passed were nothing he wanted the child to view. Sooner or later, the trauma he had undergone, the loss he had endured, would come to the fore. Zaran wanted to be there for him when it did, not bound by duty and responsibility.
He had grown inordinately fond of the boy. He had never spent any time around children before Cermin. Zaran was the youngest, with no little brother to help raise, and he found he was quite happy to spend time with Cermin in a way he would never have suspected lay within himself.
There was a sharp signal from one of the Shadows that led the way, and the soldiers drew to an abrupt halt, hands to weapons. They’d been passing through a short stretch of trees that grew along a winding river. Ahead of them would be a return to the endless expanse of grasslands so vast that it conspired to make their large numbers seem small and insignificant. The grasslands ended at a mountain range. They would find the mine and the rebel army there.
They had been wary upon entering the trees, for it was the only cover for miles in any direction. If anyone wanted to create a significant ambush, it would have to be here.
Zaran urged his stallion forward as one of the Shadows turned to glance at him, making a gesture with his hand that indicated his presence was needed.
Ahead, there was a bridge that spanned the river, and on the other side…
Hredeen.
Zaran felt a smile curl his lips, relief raising his spirits, only to slide into caution as he realized that his friend was not alone.
The man beside him, larger by far, fairly radiated danger, though his expression was pure calm.
The Shadows were on high alert, their intense stares never leaving the newcomer. Obviously they were sensing exactly what Zaran was. This man was dangerous. Extremely so.
Zaran’s wary gaze moved back to Hredeen. Now that he was comparing him to the stranger, he became more aware that his friend held a great deal of the same edge. He had never sensed this before regarding Hredeen. It was disconcerting how completely Zaran had believed Hredeen only a beautiful, graceful concubine. He became uncomfortably aware that he was seeing the reality of what his friend was. An assassin, and not just any assassin but one trained to the almost impossible standards of the War Guild.
They were known as cold-blooded killers, without mercy or conscience.
Looking at Hredeen’s expressionless face with nothing of warmth or familiarity within those beautiful eyes, he could not help but shiver.
His friend dismounted. The Shadows tensed further, several of them dismounting as well, to meet the assassin on equal ground. Horses were only a complication.
Zaran found himself holding his breath.
Hredeen sank down to one knee, hand to his heart, an open palm that indicated personal respect.
Zaran could breathe again. He dismounted, handing his reins to Gratolin, who had drawn his sword and was eyeing the newcomers with deep suspicion.
Hredeen looked up, meeting Zaran’s gaze, and there was the man he knew, a warmth in his eyes despite the weary lines that etched his face.
Whatever else, his Hredeen was still there, not lost, not a lie.
He shot a glance at the other man, who had remained seated upon his impressive stallion, his body relaxed, hands well away from any weapons. He watched Zaran with keen attention, but his expression was calm.
Zaran was not fooled. This man was a weapon of unparalleled abilities. A true predator. He could only be a product of the guild.
Another assassin.
Zaran’s heart sank. Had Hredeen already met up with someone sent to bring him back?
He gritted his teeth. He would not allow it. He would not let his friend return to the soulless cruelty that was reported to be the guild’s way. Hredeen was worth far more than that to those that loved him.
His friend shot a glance of warning at the tall man before stepping away and walking to the center of the bridge.
Zaran walked forward eagerly, coming to within eight paces of Hredeen before the Shadows around him held him back, their weapons out, their cold stares intense upon the assassin.
Hredeen went to one knee again, meeting Zaran’s gaze.
“It is done, my prince. The rest is up to you and your men.”
Zaran let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was even holding. “They are encamped within the town at the mining site?”
“Yes. Most of them will scatter like rats once your attack begins. The only order in their ranks will be through the two generals, who actually seem to have a degree of control over their own troop contingents. The rest will fall apart.”
Zaran felt a surge of satisfaction. “Perfect. How far?”
Hredeen eyed the wagons. “With supplies, three days. With a quick march, two.”
Zaran turned to one of the Shadows. “We’ll leave the wagons behind with guards. I want to surprise these bastards before they scatter to the winds and we have to chase each one down. I won’t leave a single rebel behind to further torment Bhantan.”
The man nodded, bowed slightly, and turned to stride away, his cloak billowing in the wind.
He turned back to Hredeen, growling at the Shadows as they attempted to halt his steps toward his friend.
He held out his hand.
Hredeen hesitated, something in his eyes shamed, as though he feared to taint Zaran by no more than his touch.
Fool.
Zaran grabbed his arm, dragging him up with sheer strength and pulled him into a heartfelt hug.
He could not believe that he was displaying such a thing before the Anrodnes military, which saw him as a cool, remote being, but at this moment, he could not say he cared.
Hredeen was stiff in his embrace, then he slowly softened into the familiar form Zaran remembered, his arms wrapping round Zaran tightly.
He could feel his friend trembling ever so slightly, and it broke his heart that Hredeen clearly had expected rejection or at the very least distance upon his return.
“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispered, gently pushing back the hood that covered Hredeen, hid him from the world. “I thank you for taking your talents and making my task so much simpler.”
Hredeen gave a painful choking laugh. “Talents? Yes, as a killer I excel.”
Zaran shook him lightly, pushing him back a little so they could meet eye to eye. “You are a warrior. You did this for Anrodnes whatever others might think. You are no different than any other soldier here. We will fight; we will kill. No better, no worse.”
There were faint tears in Hredeen’s eyes that he desperately attempted to blink away. “You just aren’t seeing the reality of me.”
Zaran shook his head. “No, I already have lived with the reality of you for eight years. That is the true heart of you, the loving man I met there, who taught me that emotions were not to be feared. Without you, Taldan and I would be nothing but shells of men. You are the one who isn’t seeing the reality of who you are.” He reached out and gently laid his hand over Hredeen’s heart. “You are far more than simply an assassin. You are my friend, my lover. You belong with us. Come home.”
CHAPTER TEN
Isnay
Isnay pushed back his hair, tucking it behind an ear impatiently before leaning back down to gently cleanse away the blood that spattered across the child’s face.
Large brown eyes, wide with shock and residual terror, stared up at him, one tiny hand fisted in the cloth of his pants as though the child feared that Isnay could disappear at any moment. Like the boy’s parents, who were presently being buried on the far side of the devastated village.
The healers that Dransin had brought were tending to the badly injured. Isnay had set himself to help with the little ones. He came from a large family, the second oldest of six, and he was completely comfortable dealing with children.
There were four little ones ringed around him, each one silent and still, like rabbits terrified of predators. It broke his heart to see it when he had no doubt that just days before they had been normal, happy children, playing in the streets, completely unaware of what was to befall them.
He knelt down in their midst, continuing to wipe the smallest boy’s face, the soft strokes as much about comfort as any need for cleanliness. The mite couldn’t be any more than three, if that, and the others, a set of twins, might be four, the single girl, five or so.
They pressed close as he came down to their level, shivering against him, each of them gripping onto him, instinctively sensing that he was a bastion of safety in their torn world. He murmured soft nonsense as he worked, the calm even tone easing them down from the edge of terror that they had been riding since the attack some three days ago.
The smell of death hung heavy in the air. He could see Dransin digging along with his men, his expression drawn with banked rage. Dransin seemed to have no strictures about his own royal title. He did not stand around and let others work for him. He had ensured that the healers had everything they needed before leading the way to find a burial site and then digging furiously, perhaps an outlet for the anger that surged within him.
The same anger that Isnay felt. He had pushed it deep, filing it away. Anger would not help these children. He drew on years of practice at disguising his own emotions, ensuring that his actions, his words and manner were everything these little survivors needed.
They had found no sign of the predators that had created this scene, and he hoped with all his heart that Zaran had caught up with them. He’d never been a man of violence, but he could not find it in his heart to feel the slightest shred of mercy toward those that perpetrated such horrific deeds.
They truly were the demons that they had seemed to the villagers.
A shadow fell across him, and the children shrank back, whimpering.
Dransin crouched down, eyeing Isnay and his small charges, a sadness in his eyes, a softness that Isnay would never have credited him with.
The children eyed him, then the little girl leaped at him, wrapping her arms around his neck in a stranglehold, sobs wracking her little body.
He sat down in the dirt, pulling her into the cradle of his arms and body, tucking her close against his strength. He murmured softly, rocking her, and slowly the twins inched forward before crawling int
o his lap as well. The king simply extended his hug by including them, a little huddle of tiny humanity, broken and torn.
He whispered to them, large hands stroking gently over their hair, and their panic began to die down. Within a short time, they were limp within his hold, fallen deeply asleep for the first time since their world had gone up in flames.
Isnay eyed the tableau, his heart melting.
So large a man, but children could not be fooled. They knew.
When Isnay was finished cleaning the boy, he tucked away the bloody cloth and drew the littlest one into his arms, sitting down beside Dransin so that they were shoulder to shoulder. It was difficult to give the man the respect his title deserved when he so diligently sought to make others forget it.
The little boy curled into him, eyes drooping with exhaustion. Isnay murmured to him until he dropped at last into healing sleep, never letting his grip loosen on his shirt.
Dransin raised his head, viewing the destruction with a mixture of anger and despair intermingled in his expression. “If I had been more swift with building the fort system, this wouldn’t have occurred.”
“Did you not tell me that you had had to struggle with your own people to do so?” Isnay felt the need to comfort him.
Dransin curled his lip in a silent snarl. “Am I not the king? Should I not have the power, the ability to do what is right beyond what others refuse?”
Isnay laid a gentle hand upon his forearm, surprised at his own temerity in touching a royal without permission. He had been raised in formality, and yet, here and now, he was having extreme difficulty maintaining it.
“That is the way to being a tyrant. Those that rise to such powers often end up believing that they know best and will not listen to reason from others.”
“You describe my father…and perhaps my sister.” The weariness in the tone told a story all on its own. “My father thinks he knows everything that happens within the country, but does not make the effort to travel or to speak to those below nobility. He believes that because we have peace now, we will always have peace. He listens to sources that are less than creditable, simply because he is friends with them, or knows the families. It created an imbalance of power that I am seeking to rectify.”
