by Anna Carven
Power
Dark Scions Book 3
Anna Carven
Copyright © 2020 by Anna Carven
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
Contents
1. Kaim
2. Amali
3. Amali
4. Amali
5. Kaim
6. Amali
7. Amali
8. Kaim
9. Amali
10. Kaim
11. Kaim
12. Amali
13. Kaim
14. Amali
15. Kaim
16. Kaim
17. Amali
18. Kaim
19. Kaim
20. Kaim
21. Amali
22. Kaim
23. Amali
24. Kaim
25. Amali
26. Kaim
27. Kaim
28. Amali
29. Kaim
30. Kaim
31. Amali
32. Kaim
33. Amali
34. Amali
35. Amali
36. Amali
37. Kaim
38. Amali
39. Amali
40. Amali
41. Kaim
42. Amali
Epilogue
Also by Anna Carven
One
Kaim
When I regain consciousness, I’m trussed upside-down on a long bamboo pole like a suckling pig, and I’m being carried through the jungle. My ankles are crossed over and bound together tightly by a length of teklen rope. Bent at the elbows, my useless arms are hooked over the pole and tied in a similar fashion.
At least they’ve tightly bound the stumps of my arms with bandages. The raw severed ends were exquisitely painful, but now the pain has faded to a dull throb that’s almost bearable.
Two Ven are on either end of the pole, shouldering my weight with ease as they run through the verdant scrub. We are in the middle of a single-file convoy; there are two Ven in front, and two more guarding the rear.
They will run non-stop until we reach the mountains.
They could run like this for days if they had to.
After the storm, the jungle is even more tangled and chaotic than before. I stare up at the skeletal branches of the trees, which have been stripped of most of their leaves. Some sit at strange angles. Some are broken, having been brutalized by the wind. We pass several ancient trees that have completely blown over, their dirt-encrusted roots hanging in the air.
None of this will matter to my captors. They are Ven, trained to move with ease through any sort of terrain.
Just like me.
If only I had my fucking hands…
I would find a way to untie these cursed knots. I would slaughter these assholes before they reached the mountains.
But there is no point in lamenting. Let them carry me. I must conserve my strength and think.
I must find a way out of this.
I must.
Their voices swim around me. “Can’t believe we actually have him.”
I don’t recognize this one. He sounds younger than the others.
“Took a dragon to bring him down, though. Hate to say it, but we couldn’t have done it on our own. Don’t let him out of your sight, Kirun. Don’t ever let your guard down, even when he’s like this. See what happened to Erul? Now the poor bastard has to stay in Golkar until he’s fit enough to travel, and they don’t even have a proper healer there.” The other speaker is Tyden. I detect a hint of grudging respect in his voice. Typical Tyden. In training, he was never exceptional, but he was consistent and competent and slightly honorable—for a Ven.
And once or twice, he even questioned his orders when something or other didn’t sit well with him.
I have nothing against Tyden, but I will kill him once I get free.
That’s just the way of things in our world.
“If he’s so bloody dangerous, why don’t we just kill him?”
“The Grand Master wants him. Who are we to question his orders?”
“Hm. But haven’t you wondered what the Grand Master really wants with this pale-skinned demon? Rel’s been looking weird lately, don’t you think? Always wearing that hood, only coming out when the shadows get long… When was the last time you saw him spar in the marble square with the rest of us during morning training? Hasn’t aged a day for more winters than I care to count. One might even think he’s gone and become a—”
“Khelion Rel does what’s best for all of us,” Tyden snaps.
Ah. I close my eyes as the Ven hit a patch of rocky terrain. Each footstep sends a jolt of terrible pain through me. Khelion Rel… So he is the Grand Master now? I always assumed Djeru the Infiltrator would take over, but perhaps he is too old now… or even dead.
I might have killed every single one of them that came after me, but the Ven are so secretive that even I could not find out who had inherited the mantle of Grand Master after Temekin died.
Khelion Rel was Temekin Elenthall’s third-in-command, and if there ever was a man who hated my guts, it was—is—him. He had me flogged and locked me up in the dungeons for as little as looking at him the wrong way.
The torture and abuse was incessant… until I started to become stronger than him.
“Khelion Rel is a vain, sadistic prick who wants nothing more than to hold power for the sake of his own fragile little ego,” I say softly. My voice comes out as a cracked whisper, because my throat is parched. “I almost pity you for having to serve under that bastard. Deadly though you may be, you have no will of your own.”
The one called Kirun lets out a snort of disbelief, which is quickly stifled.
“Shut up, Kaim,” Tyden growls, a hint of familiarity creeping into his voice. “Next time you open your mouth, I’ll slap you back into unconsciousness.”
“You can only afford to say that because I’m tied up and without my hands,” I rasp. “Make wise decisions now, Tyden, because I will get my hands back, and when I do, I can either kill you quickly or slowly and painfully.”
Kirun lets out a barking laugh. “He’s proper mad, this one.”
“Khelion Rel was always mad… and stupid,” I counter. “I’d rather die than serve under him.”
“Careful what you wish for,” Tyden snaps. He slows down then comes to a complete stop, signaling to Kirun with one hand.
Then he drops his end of the pole, sending me crashing into the hard ground below. My shoulder takes the brunt of the impact, pure agony exploding through my body.
“I’d gag your bloodless fucking mouth, demon, but it’s easier to do this,” Tyden mutters. He sounds weary, but it doesn’t stop him from being a complete asshole.
The next thing I see is his fist, coming straight for my face.
As his brutal punch slams into my left eye, the realization hits me.
I’m in the fold again. This is the Order of the Ven, the cruel sect that raised me to become a mindless killer then thought nothing of eliminating me.
Here I am again, back amongst vipers.
But this time, I’m completely powerless.
Fuck.
Are the gods playing a cruel joke on me?
“Useless,” I mutter, reeling from Tyden’s blow. My vision goes dim, and I bitterly curse the mysterious figure that visits me in my dreams.
Empty promises.
Bastard.
And as my consciousness fades away and darkness engulfs me, I thank the useless gods that Amali will never have to know this side of my existence.
I need you, my sweet Tiegling…
The last thing I remember before I sink into oblivion’s deep spell is a terrible feeling of yearning, so powerful that it completely consumes me.
I will return to her.
I will, even if I have to give up my freedom.
I would trade my fucking soul to have my hands back right now… to have my powers back… to have this cursed poison gone from my body.
You hear that, old man? I am here. Come and get me. I will do whatever you ask, as long as you grant me power.
And as long as I get to keep her.
Two
Amali
We sail for three days and three nights, across impossibly blue seas and clear, starry nights, always keeping within sight of land.
All the while, I pine for Kaim.
I miss his intensity; his dark, brooding stares, his all-consuming possessiveness.
I miss the feeling of his deft hands against my bare skin. Warm or icy-cold, I don’t care.
I miss knowing that I’ll be perfectly safe as long as he walks by my side.
But all of that is insignificant compared to my fear for him. Dread burrows deep into my soul and hollows me out from the inside.
Where are you, Kaim? Are you safe?
He’s the strongest, most dangerous being I’ve ever known, but he’s only one man, and he has a lot of enemies.
What can I do, though? I can only follow his orders and travel north. I can only keep going, hoping that he will somehow overcome the dark forces against him.
He is a dark force in his own right, after all.
On many occasions, I find myself closing my eyes and saying a silent prayer to Celise, the goddess who has shunned me.
Enak gives me orders and teaches me his Inshadi sailcraft, making me work harder and harder as his body begins to fail him. He gives me strict instructions on how to repair the broken mainsail. He shows me how to read the wind and trim the sails. He explains the ropes and how to tie them. He teaches me how to read the wind and steer the ship using the wheel.
He shows me how to navigate using the map of the glittering night sky.
We follow the coast until thick green jungle gives way to wide, flat plains covered in grey and bone-colored gravel. Not a single blade of grass grows on these plains. The only signs of life are the gnarled trees clinging to the banks of wide, serpentine rivers which spill their crystal-clear water into the blue shallows of the ocean.
The further we travel, the weaker Enak grows. His gait starts to drag. The trembling in his hands is so bad he can no longer hold a rope or cup or even a simple spoon.
In the evenings, I cook for him and help feed him.
And even though he’s a big, stoic man who tries not to show it, he’s clearly racked with pain.
For the last three days, I have been torn.
Kaim’s instructions were clear, and I understand the reasons behind them, but this is too much.
Kaim is ruthless. Life has shaped him to be like a cold steel blade.
But I am not like that.
There is so much at stake, but this does not sit well with me, at all.
On the fourth morning, I find Enak standing at the ship’s bow, staring out at the calm, glistening water. The wind is at our backs, carrying a hint of winter from the mountains.
“Not far to go,” he rumbles.His hands are folded behind his back. He clutches his wrist tightly, trying to keep the trembling at bay. “Another day and night, and we should be within sight of the promontory.” His back is turned, but somehow he senses my presence before I’m even halfway there. A strange chill courses through me. Sometimes, very rarely, the half-Inshadi healer’s intuitions give me the feeling of otherness.
A bit like Kaim, only Kaim’s unearthliness is a thousand times stronger.
Gods, I miss him. I can’t do a thing to save him, and that makes me feel so cursedly helpless.
I just have to trust him.
As I reach Enak’s side, the Nekkuri hits a big wave, sending a spray of cold, salty water over us. The impact causes Enak to lose his footing. As he tumbles forward, I grab his arm and pull him back, careening wildly across the slippery wooden deck to save him from going overboard.
We both land on our asses with a thud. The ship sways up and down. Enak’s breathing heavily.
He curses fiercely in Inshadi. I wipe the seawater from my eyes and study the big man.
His proud features have become haggard and drawn.
There are dark circles under his eyes.
His magnificent curly hair is tangled and matted and dull.
His vitality has drained away.
The strange markings on his face—his enkari—have faded from deep red to dull grey.
For the first time since we left the Coast of Bones, he looks utterly defeated.
I can’t do this anymore.
This man has helped me without complaint or bitterness. I can’t let him suffer anymore, no matter how logical it might be.
Kaim has his ways.
I have mine.
“M-my legs are gone,” he says hoarsely.
“Then I’ll drag you inside.” I scramble to my feet and move behind him. I hook my hands under his arms and start to pull, grunting with exertion. He’s a big man, and heavy. “Come on, Enak. I need you to use all the strength you have left. Help me out here.”
“I’ll try.” He writhes around on the deck, and somehow, with my pulling and his flailing, we manage to move him inside. “I feel like a dying swamp-eel,” he grumbles as I pull him past the doorway. The wind helps slam the door shut behind us.
“Not for much longer,” I reassure him. “Tell me where I can find the following: an iceflower petal, marmok horn crystals, and widow-spider milk.”
Enak lets out an incredulous laugh. “You’re asking me for three of the rarest and most expensive things in the history of healing-craft.”
“Do you want to shake this paralysis, or not?” I start to grow impatient.
Enak’s features soften as he starts to understand. “Ah. You know, the assassin is lucky to have you. You’re too pure for him.”
“Don’t judge a flower by its petals,” I grumble. “I chose Kaim. Would I do that if I were some sort of virtuous saint?”
Enak chuckles. “Fair point. Most people in your situation would be terrified of a man who seems more demon than human, but not you.”
You don’t know what I’ve seen or done, healer. I change the subject. “Do you have the ingredients I asked for, or not? Because if you don’t, you’ll die here.”
“I am a Master Healer of Mahdulu,” he snorts. “Of course I have those things. There’s a loose floorboard over there.” He lifts a trembling finger and points. “Third one from the wall. Inside you’ll find a small metal chest. Bring it to me.”
“I’m supposed to mix and inject—”
Enak waves his hand dismissively. “Of course. All good nerve-poison antidotes are injectable. Bring me the box. I’ll tell you exactly what to do.”
And that’s how I became not just a sailing apprentice, but also an apprentice in the mysterious healing arts of Mahdulu, whatever that means.
From the way he said it, it’s something important, no doubt. Just like Kaim, Enak is a man of secrets.
I can only hope my reading of his character proves to be correct.
Three
Amali
Fingers trembling, I hold the strange device called a syringe above the wide crook of Enak’s arm. It’s made from the large hollow fang of a serpent, and it’s been fitted with a lever that pushes liquid out through its tiny pointed tip.
&nb
sp; I aim for the plump blue vessel that bulges beneath Enak’s smooth brown skin. It helps that he’s in good physical shape, muscular and fit like a fighter.
Come to think of it, Enak doesn’t look like any healer I’ve ever seen. He’s a strapping and fine looking man. The women in the village would be all over him.
But he does nothing for me. Kaim consumes my every waking thought. My man is perfect for me in every single way.
I love his coldness, his darkness, the mystery in his depthless eyes.
His inhumanness.
I love his warmth, his tenderness, the way he whispers eternal truths in my ear, his lips caressing my earlobe, his breath feathering my skin, his body curled protectively around mine.
The boyish innocence on his face when he finds pleasure in the simplest of things; the first rays of early morning sunlight in the mountains, or the sight of me naked.
His humanness.
I don’t care what he is or what he’s done.
I love him.
And he will come back to me. I must believe it, otherwise I can’t go through with this.
But now I must help Enak, because he doesn’t deserve to suffer, and my instincts are screaming at me to pull him out of his venom-induced misery.
I hesitate. What if I miss and doom him to a terrible agonizing death?
“Take your time,” the healer says, his deep voice eerily calm. “You have only one chance. If you don’t hit the vessel, the medicine will be wasted, and you’ll have to make it again, but that is impossible, because I don’t have another vial of widow-spider milk.”
