by Jayne Castel
Elias tore his gaze from where the enchanter had just disappeared and let out the breath he’d been holding.
Enough.
He couldn’t help her; he had problems of his own to contend with. Straightening in the saddle, he let his gaze roam around the Great Square. This wasn’t how he’d envisaged returning to Veldoras. He’d hoped to have some time to work on his father before Nathan moved.
He couldn’t believe the Rithmar army was only a day away. Nathan would have pushed hard to travel south so fast.
Elias’s attention shifted from the walls—where men were setting up cauldrons for boiling oil and frames for catapults—over the steepled rooftops of the large city, to The Swallow Keep itself. The fortress, made of grey-blue stone, had a brooding quality this afternoon.
His father would be there waiting for him, and he would be wanting answers.
Let’s get this over with.
With a heavy sigh, Elias wheeled his destrier around and followed Ryana’s path out of the square, his escort following behind him.
29
Son of Mine
ELIAS STRODE INTO the throne room. His gaze swept to where his father sprawled in his throne. The Swallow Throne dwarfed the king; it was a carven silver monstrosity with a back the shape of a swallow’s tail.
Not slowing his pace, Elias walked across the vast floor toward the dais. All the while, his father watched him, tracking his progress. Elias passed rows of pillars the width of oak trunks. His boots whispered on the iron-grey marble that had been polished so that it shone like a shield boss.
As always, Reoul was dressed finely, in black leather breeches and a quilted silk vest that left his muscled arms bare. The king was alone, which surprised Elias. His father usually liked to have an audience in the throne room. His lover, Saskia, was normally in attendance, but not this afternoon.
Reoul had a dagger out, which he was idly playing with, flipping the blade from hand to hand. Elias recognized it instantly. Reaper—his father’s favorite knife. The jewel-studded hilt and long thin blade made the weapon easy to spot.
Misgiving feathered across the back of Elias’s neck. Blades were a core part of his father’s identity, and yet the way he rhythmically flipped and tossed the dagger made Elias wary.
The king wasn’t in a good mood.
Stopping a few feet back from the dais, Elias bowed low from the waist. “Good day, father.”
Silence stretched out between them, and when Reoul eventually spoke, his voice was soft. “Is it?”
Elias straightened up and met his gaze, waiting for the storm to hit.
“How did you manage to mess this up?” his father asked, his voice lowering further still.
“Santino thought I was taking too long to strike,” Elias replied carefully. “He took matters into his own hands, but the princess killed him. I was forced to flee.” Weaving such a lie chafed. Elias preferred the truth, as ugly as it was. However, he also was aware than being Reoul’s son wouldn’t save his neck from the noose. If his father knew the truth, he was a dead man.
As he’d anticipated, his excuse didn’t please the king. Reoul’s lip curled. “You ran without finishing the job?”
Elias stifled a wince. “Aye, father … thanks to Santino, my cover was blown.”
Reoul’s gaze burned. “Twice now you fail me … there won’t be a third time.”
Elias dropped his gaze to the floor. He didn’t do penitence well, yet he knew it was his only hope now. “I am sorry, father.”
“Not half as much as I am,” Reoul growled. “Two sons, both useless. I should have dealt with the girl myself.”
Anger stirred within Elias then. You’ll have your chance soon enough. He looked up, meeting his father’s eye once more. “I found out what happened to Saul,” he said coolly. “He retrieved that piece of The King Breaker from the Gordi Isles … but lost it. Saul died in the north trying to get the stone back.”
Reoul stared back at him, his expression as unyielding as ever. “Like I said … useless.”
A chill silence stretched out between them. “I’ve just heard that Rithmar marches on us,” Elias said finally.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t know?”
“No … as soon as I left The Royal City, I traveled south as swiftly as I could.” He drew in a slow, deep breath. This wasn’t going to be easy—every word would have to be chosen carefully. “While I was at The Royal City, I negotiated peace with King Nathan,” he continued. “Over the space of a few days, we organized terms favorable to both kingdoms.”
Reoul snorted. “So what? It was all part of your role while you got close enough to the princess to kill her.”
“I dealt on your behalf in good faith, father. In return for us abandoning the leagueforts, Nathan agreed to order all Rithmar’s weaponry from us over the next decade. They’ve also agreed to buy in only Anthor wine. In return we will get most of our minerals from Rithmar. We spent days agreeing the terms … Nathan will still have them.”
Reoul had stopped flipping his dagger and was now toying with the blade. “Well … you both wasted your time,” he said after a long pause. “There will be no treaty with Nathan of Rithmar.”
Elias took another step toward his father. He wasn’t beaten yet. “There’s still time. When the Rithmar army arrives at our gates, there will be a parley. Go to Nathan, tell him there will be peace. Negotiate the terms if you wish, but don’t waste this opportunity … you won’t get another.”
Reoul went still. “What’s happened to you?” he hissed. “When you left here you were a soldier, a military commander, but now you stand before me as a diplomat?”
Elias held his ground. “There are times a man should fight … and times he should put down his sword and work toward something greater than himself.”
The king barked out a harsh laugh. “And now you’re a philosopher?”
Dragging in a deep breath, Elias clenched his hands by his sides. He wasn’t getting anywhere with this, he was only digging himself a bigger hole with each passing moment. “Nathan of Rithmar is open to the idea of peace with us,” Elias ventured, making one more attempt to sway his father. “He’s angry now, but he would still respond to negotiations.”
“Then he’s a fool,” Reoul countered.
“You’re the fool.” Elias’s temper finally frayed. He’d had enough. “Is this what you want for Anthor? To burn and conquer lands that have nothing to do with us? Even if you manage to take Rithmar, you’ll never be able to return home. You’ll spend the rest of your life fighting to keep the lands you’ve stolen.”
His father’s sharp intake of breath echoed through the throne room, and a heavy silence fell.
Elias had gone too far. He clenched his fists tighter, readying himself for the storm that was about to be unleashed.
Reoul’s rage, when it hit him, was wintry. “One more word and you’ll swing from a gibbet tonight.”
Elias straightened his spine, raising his chin. Yet he held his tongue.
A nerve flickered under the king’s right eye. Elias might not have used a blade, but with his last words he’d managed to wound his father. It would be a short-lived victory, however.
After a long pause, Reoul resumed toying with his knife. Elias wondered if he was considering throwing it at him. “You will fight on the walls tomorrow,” his father said finally. “In the front line.”
Elias slowly let out the breath he’d been holding. As far as punishments went this one wasn’t so bad. He was a soldier after all.
But the king wasn’t finished with him.
“You’d better make sure you don’t live through the battle,” Reoul continued. “For you are no longer a son of mine.”
As soon as she left The Spiral Way, Ryana dismounted her horse. Unlike the deserted square before the gates, the streets in this area were thronged with Anthor soldiers and locals alike. Ryana passed men and women with gaunt faces and hollowed eyes. They were preparing to lock themselves indoors for a
while, preparing for another army to lay siege to Veldoras.
Let’s hope Nathan manages to liberate this city, Ryana thought as she passed a pale, thin young woman who carried a wailing babe.
Her thoughts then turned, traitorously, to Elias. He’d have reached The Swallow Keep by now and would be likely standing before his father. She didn’t like his chances of convincing Reoul to make peace with Nathan.
Ryana frowned. She shouldn’t care what became of Elias—and yet the thought of him being imprisoned, tortured, or killed for failing his father made her feel queasy.
Stop it. Ryana shoved aside her worries. He made his choices … and I’ve made mine.
A block in from The Spiral Way, she sold her gelding to a merchant for two silver talents. The horse was worth more than that, but Ryana didn’t have the time or the patience to haggle. Slapping the gelding on the rump in farewell, she threw her small leather pack over one shoulder and continued on her way.
The slums lived up to their name: a network of narrow, fetid alleyways that stank of rotting rubbish and urine. Washing criss-crossed many of the streets, giving an air of industry to an otherwise depressing area.
Ryana walked the narrow streets, looking out for the stag’s head knocker that would alert her she’d arrived at her destination.
Along the way, she noted she was attracting some stares. A woman shaking out a rug on her front step gawked at her. Ryana was aware that she was an odd sight. Locals likely didn’t see many tall blonde women wearing Anthor attire: black leather breeches, long boots, and a black silk shirt. The clothing was surprisingly comfortable, although it drew unwelcome attention.
Ryana felt the weight of the woman’s gaze tracking her down the cobbled street.
When another woman, who was sitting outside her door shelling peas, spat at her, Ryana quickened her stride.
She needed to find the House of Light and Darkness, before she attracted too much attention.
Eventually, she located the House.
It sat halfway down a narrow, shadowy lane. All the facades were crumbling and peeling here. The cobbles were cracked and missing in places, meaning you had to be careful not to twist an ankle. Wrinkling her nose as she stepped over a pile of human excrement, Ryana picked her way up the steps. She fastened her fingers around the iron door knocker and banged three times—hard.
It took a while for anyone to answer. Meanwhile, Ryana spied figures approaching from the far end of the street. A mob was gathering. She needed to get inside.
“Anthor whore!” someone shouted.
Ryana loosed a weary sigh. If only they knew.
The door before her creaked open then, and a small woman with a gaunt face wearing a stained house dress peered out. “What do you want?” she asked, her gaze narrowing as she dragged it down the length of Ryana.
“Slut!” A man’s rough voice echoed toward them.
Ryana favored the servant with a bright smile. “You’d better let me in,” she greeted the woman, raising her right hand to reveal the Star of Darkness.
Elias walked from the throne room in a daze.
That was it. He’d been disowned, stripped of rank and honor. He was no longer Prince Elias of Anthor. He was a grunt, just one of the many soldiers who’d give up their lives to defend the city during the initial siege.
As the shock settled over him, another emotion surfaced.
Relief.
He was a condemned man—and yet his father had just unwittingly set him free. He’d felt a similar sensation upon fleeing The Royal City, but it was stronger now.
He was no longer welcome in the keep. Tonight he would be expected to sleep in the barracks with the other soldiers. He no longer mattered. He was invisible.
To his surprise, Elias realized he wasn’t upset about that. Years of responsibility sloughed away. For the first time in his life, his duties were straight-forward. He no longer carried his father’s expectations upon his shoulders.
Elias descended the graceful spiral stairwell that led down to the bottom level of The Swallow Keep. High windows let in the daylight. An overcast day that had followed thunderstorms was merging into an equally grey dusk. Servants were moving up the stairwells, lighting banks of candles. They ignored Elias as he passed.
Emerging from the keep, he halted on the top step for a moment. From here he had a view of the inner bailey, the walls, and the sea of roofs beyond.
Elias drew in a deep breath. He wondered how Ryana was getting on. Had she tracked Gael down? Had she killed him?
He’d been planning on warning his father about Gael, to tell him not to trust him. However, things had gotten out of hand in there. If he’d pushed Reoul any further, he really would have thrown the dagger at him.
And if Ryana had succeeded in killing Gael, it wouldn’t matter.
Elias’s gaze swept right, to the roof of a long, low-slung building: The Swallow Guard barracks. Before it was a high-walled yard, where training was taking place. Elias studied the figures, who appeared to be going through drills. A plume of fire roared up into the air, causing Elias to draw back in surprise.
That wasn’t sword practice.
The enchanters were here, inside the keep’s walls.
Elias frowned. Was Gael amongst them? His gaze searched the crowd below, settling upon a tall, dark-haired figure in their midst. The man, dressed in a charcoal robe, was shouting out instructions, his commanding voice ricocheting off the surrounding stone. “Stronger!” he roared. “Show me what you’re capable of!”
Elias’s mouth thinned. He needed no introduction. That man was Gael, he knew it.
Breathing a curse, Elias continued down the steps. He needed to find Ryana.
30
A Complicated Tale
“GAEL’S NOT HERE.” Mysandra informed Ryana. Her tone wasn’t friendly. Like the locals outdoors, she’d concluded that despite her pale northern looks, Ryana had sided with the enemy. “And neither are the other enchanters … they all reside in The Swallow Keep these days.”
Ryana breathed a curse, raking her hands through her hair. Her fingers snagged on knots, making her wince. “Why?”
“They’re valuable to the king now,” the High Enchanter replied. “Reoul wants them nearby.”
Ryana frowned. “Then why are you here?”
Mysandra pursed her red mouth. She was a striking woman: neatly coiffed and made up, her body draped in pristine white robes. The two of them stood in the paved courtyard at the center of the house. The High Enchanter had ventured out to meet Ryana there. “I refuse to take part in this,” she said after a pause. “Although I’m the only one.”
The accusation in her eyes made Ryana tense. “I’m not dressed this way out of choice,” she replied, her tone sharpening. “I told you … I’m an enchanter of Rithmar.”
“So you say.” Mysandra still didn’t look convinced. “Do you know if Asher received my goshawk message?”
Ryana nodded. “It’s the reason King Nathan is marching on this city.”
The High Enchanter watched her for a moment, before her face sagged. She suddenly looked much older, and tired. “He’s too late,” she murmured. “Gael controls both the enchanters of Veldoras and Mirrar Rock now. He’s harnessed the use of Stynix.”
The despair in the woman’s eyes was contagious, and Ryana felt hopelessness tug at her. Fighting it, she replied. “Rithmar has Ninia. I’ve been training her in the Dark over the past months … the girl possesses incredible power.”
Mysandra heaved in a deep breath. “But is she strong enough to take on fifty enhanced enchanters?”
Ryana went still. Possibly not.
Mysandra muttered a gutter curse, one that was at odds with her genteel appearance. “What a mess.”
Ryana didn’t disagree with her.
At that moment the servant reappeared. “High Enchanter … what time will you be wanting supper this eve?”
“Now will suit,” Mysandra replied. “Thank you, Isla.” She then shif
ted her attention back to Ryana. “It will only be simple fare, I’m afraid … but there will be wine. Care to join me?”
Ryana shook her head. “I can’t. I have to track down Gael and kill him.”
The High Enchanter inhaled sharply. “You’re mad. He’s locked inside the walls of The Swallow Keep. Even if you cloaked yourself in shadow, you’d never get to him without being detected.”
“I have to try,” Ryana shot back. “Someone has to stop him.”
“Aye … but your reckless plan isn’t the way.”
Ryana scowled. “I can’t sit around and wait for Gael to lead those enchanters into battle.”
“You can’t prevent that now,” Mysandra countered. “With or without Gael the battle is going ahead, and those enchanters will be using Stynix. If you want to bring Gael down, do it when his focus is elsewhere. If I were you, I’d wait until he’s out there in battle. Your best chance is when he is already distracted.”
Running a hand down her tired face, Ryana sighed. This woman talked sense. “Alright … I’m listening.”
Mysandra smiled. “Come on … join me for some supper in my garden, and we can form a revised plan.” She favored Ryana with a shrewd look then. “One that, hopefully, doesn’t get either of us killed.”
The High Enchanter’s courtyard garden was a haven from the rest of the world. Ryana stepped into a lush space that was a riot of color. Water trickled over a small fountain in the form of a diving swallow.
“Shadows,” she whispered, her gaze traveling over the garden. “It’s lovely.” The light was fading, and a brazier had been set up in the center of the space upon a tiled patio. The warm, humid air was heavy with the scents of rose, lavender, and honey-suckle. Standing in such a spot, you could believe the surrounding city didn’t exist—that war wasn’t breathing down their necks.
Mysandra smiled. “Aye … welcome to my sanctuary.”
