Assassin's Bond (Chains of Honor, Book 3)

by Lindsay Buroker

  “Yes,” Yanko said solemnly.

  “Excellent. Thank you.”

  Zirabo nodded toward Falcon and Father, then headed off toward the ships by himself, save for the parrot riding on his shoulder. He wasn’t Prince Zirabo with an entourage of bodyguards and supporters, but “Zir” with nobody. Nobody except Yanko and whoever here would be willing to support him. If that was what he wanted. As Dak had once pointed out, Zirabo did not seem to crave power, and it was unlikely he would want to put himself forward as a candidate for Great Chief.

  What would he want? To marshal enough ships to go claim the new continent to one day feed the millions of Nuria?

  Yanko hoped so, but it was possible he was being naive again, to believe they could gather ships while Nuria was embroiled in civil war. And what if a Turgonian fleet had already staked out the continent?

  “Father is impressed that you destroyed a soul construct,” Falcon announced, limping up.

  Yanko promptly felt bad that he hadn’t hurried to go to them. That leg looked like it still bothered Falcon and might continue to do so for a long time. Not for his whole life, Yanko hoped.

  “Honored Father.” Yanko pressed his hands together in front of his chest and bowed, for he, too, had come over. In the back of his mind, he hastily recited two lines from the Song of Prayer, asking the gods for strength. Why did he always feel he needed strength when dealing with Father? “I am pleased that you are alive. I know the conditions must have been horrendous, but I hope you will recover soon, and that we’ll all be together with good food around the—around a fireplace.”

  Yanko assumed that his brother had told Father that the homestead had been burned. He hoped they could rebuild it once the war was over, that they would be able to keep what had been their family land for so long.

  “Yes,” Father said. He didn’t smile—he never smiled—but he nodded again and rested his hands on Yanko’s shoulders. “It is good that you came, and I am pleased that you have continued training, despite your disastrous entrance exam for Stargrind.”

  Yanko held back a wince. Leave it to his father to deliver some faint praise at the same time as he reminded Yanko of his failings.

  “I have been working on my magic,” Yanko said, deciding not to mention that his mother had been the one to help him unlock some of his potential. He also didn’t mention that he’d used earth magic on the soul construct instead of flinging fireballs, as his father had always wanted him to be able to do.

  “I am relieved, also, that you came for us,” Father said, “though it is unfortunate that your name and actions will get back to those who lead these rebellions.” He shook his head slowly. “It would have been better if you—if the family—followed Zir’s example and hid, avoiding attention. We may be targets now.”

  Yanko couldn’t hold back the wince this time, both because his father was disappointed and because he realized it could be true. He’d gotten used to being a target these last couple of months, but most of his family didn’t have any ability when it came to magic. They couldn’t defend themselves easily from those who did. Even Falcon, with his army training, wouldn’t be a match for a mage.

  “Better to have done something to help people than to cower behind a rock,” Falcon said, lifting his chin.

  He’d always been Father’s favorite, and Yanko hadn’t seen him challenge their father before.

  “Mm,” Father said, not noticeably affronted by the challenge but clearly not in agreement. “We shall see, boys. We shall see.”

  He turned and headed for the ships. As Yanko watched him go, he couldn’t help but feel disappointed by their reunion.

  Falcon squeezed his shoulder. “You did the right thing, Yanko, and I’m proud of you.”

  “Thank you, Falcon.” Yanko nodded to accept the praise, though it was hard to find what he needed in it. Why was it that the human mind focused on the negative and so quickly brushed aside the positive?

  “I don’t know how Father expects you to return honor to the family while hiding under a rock.” Falcon lowered his hand and shook his head. “That never should have been your duty, anyway. It’s been odd being trapped here with him and really talking with him. There wasn’t much else to do. It was a bit like talking to a parrot that repeats the same things all the time.”

  “I can’t imagine,” Yanko murmured, surprised to hear his brother speaking poorly about their father.

  Falcon had been away from home for a couple of years, so maybe that had changed his perspective. Yanko couldn’t bring himself to say anything derogatory, as the need to respect one’s elders was too drilled into his head, but he wasn’t as displeased as he should have been at listening to someone else do it.

  A squawk sounded, and Kei appeared, flying back toward them. Yanko had been wondering if the bird would take to Zirabo, who he had known longer, and forget about him.

  But Kei landed on his shoulder, called him a puntak, and demanded crackers.

  “Well, not quite like talking to a parrot, I suppose,” Falcon said.

  “Father probably doesn’t interrupt you to demand you feed him.”

  “Not usually, but food has been scarce here.” Falcon started walking toward the coast where the longboats were taking the first wave of prisoners out to the ships.

  “Actually, let’s go this way.” Yanko pointed to a path that led around the fortress. Tynlee had gone that way earlier with Dak, Lakeo, and Arayevo. “I don’t think Consul Tynlee will mind if I invite my family to ride on her yacht.”

  Yanko also wanted to check on Dak and make sure his willingness to help Yanko on this side trip wouldn’t prove disastrous for him, at least in the medical sense. There was no telling how Turgonia would react when his leaders learned that he’d helped free prisoners from one of the dominant factions vying for power. What if the Swift Wolves ended up wresting control of all of the Great Land and putting their candidate on the dais? As his father had suggested, there might be trouble for anyone who had stood against them.

  He supposed Dak would have thought ahead and known that was a possibility. And this side trip had resulted in them finding Zirabo, which was what his mission had been, so—

  Yanko’s thoughts jerked to a halt. Side trip. Had it truly been that for Dak? Or had he somehow known Zirabo was here? Was that why he had, after questioning people in the city, been so easy to persuade to come this way?

  What? Pey Lu spoke into his mind as Yanko and Falcon slowly skirted the fortress on their way to the dock, Falcon slowed by his limp and Yanko slowed by his thoughts. I’ve come all this way, and you’re not going to come visit me?

  I didn’t know you would want me to. Yanko couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or serious. Her tone, even in telepathy, always ran dry.

  You could use more lessons, and having mages throwing fireballs around should intimidate the prisoners and keep them from pestering me.

  I think your reputation will be sufficient for that.

  Yanko had meant the words as a joke, but she sounded almost grave as she replied, Let’s hope so. Where do you want me to dump them off?

  Where would be safe? Anywhere? He was half-tempted to suggest they be taken to the new continent, but Yanko doubted there was anything to eat or any fresh water there.

  I’ll ask Zirabo, he replied.

  The kid with the flute? Wonderful.

  Kid? Yanko had a feeling Zirabo wasn’t that much younger than she. But since Zirabo was the youngest son of the Great Chief—the former Great Chief—maybe the nation would always see him that way. Another reason why he might not be the best candidate to put forward.

  I remember when he got in trouble for running away from home after the war, she thought. If your father truly wants honor and a return of power for the family, you could put yourself forward as a candidate. Most of those twits don’t have a blood relation worth mentioning, so it’s not as if that’s going to be required.

  “Me?” Yanko croaked, only realizing he’d asked the questi
on aloud when Falcon glanced at him.

  You have a fleet that you might be able to talk into helping you take the Great City, Pey Lu said. Though you’d have to promise a lot more than two-hundred zekris to pirates to get them to cooperate.

  It was two-fifty, he replied, more out of reflex than because he cared. And a magical sword. Why wouldn’t you just put yourself forward?

  I’m not young and wholesome and determined to help the country. Your earnestness might win you favor, especially if you had some might behind you and a couple of advisors the nation could respect.

  Yanko shook his head, both because the idea of being in charge horrified him and because he couldn’t believe any sane person would accept a teenage ruler.

  Think about it. I’m not backing a kid with a flute.

  Yanko couldn’t believe she would consider backing anyone after the times she’d spoken about how little the nation meant to her.

  It may be the only way you can get your father’s ancestral land back, she added.

  Right, I should take over the nation to ensure we can build a house by the lake again.

  Maybe it would finally make him proud of you.

  Father?

  He swallowed. Had she been monitoring their conversation?

  I’m not talking about your Turgonian bodyguard, she thought.

  No, as strange as it was, Yanko suspected it would be far easier to win Dak’s approval.

  He rubbed his head, grimacing at the bruises he encountered. The aches in his battered body were the only thing making him believe this night had truly happened and that he wouldn’t wake up in his bunk on the yacht to find it all had been a dream.

  “Are you all right, Yanko?” Falcon asked, stopping at the head of the dock. Kei spotted the yacht and launched himself toward it, to look for crackers, no doubt. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”

  “No, I did that earlier. Now I’m just lost and confused.”

  “So, not much has changed for you these last couple of months, eh?” Falcon threw a friendly arm around his shoulders, and they headed for the yacht.

  “Not much,” Yanko murmured. “Not much.”

  Epilogue

  As soon as his family was aboard the yacht and the fleet set sail, Yanko headed belowdecks to check on Dak. He wasn’t sure when he would be able to introduce Arayevo to his mother, since he didn’t want to inadvertently facilitate a reunion between his father and Pey Lu—he couldn’t imagine she would appreciate that. Yanko assumed he would find the opportunity eventually. Arayevo wouldn’t likely let him forget.

  He ducked and squeezed past people, glad that they didn’t have to travel far to reach the mainland since the yacht was as packed as his mother’s ships. He spotted Jhali talking to someone in grubby and tattered white garb similar to hers and hoped that meant she’d found a few friends from her sect alive on the island.

  Most of the prisoners rode on his mother’s ships—they’d managed to get everybody aboard while leaving the few dozen soldiers left alive tied up in their fortress. Yanko imagined they would figure out a way to untie themselves, but he feared they would take their own lives before the next supply ship arrived. Their superiors would consider the escape a huge disgrace, if not believing the soldiers had made a deal with the enemy and let it happen. And what man wanted to live life disgraced and dishonored?

  Before Yanko made it to Dak’s cabin, someone reached out to stop him, touching his sleeve. The sleeve on the vibrant red warrior-mage robe that he didn’t have the right to wear but had once again forgotten about in the chaos. He’d needed it when he faced the soul construct, and he doubted anyone would have failed to notice it then, but he should have taken it off before returning to the yacht. Before someone halted him and accused him of impersonating a warrior mage.

  “Greetings, Honored Sir. May I help you?” Yanko arranged his expression in one of polite inquiry, such as a clerk in a cheese shop might offer. Definitely not the expression of a criminal impersonating a Stargrind graduate.

  “You’re the one who killed the soul construct and rescued us from that awful place,” the man said. “Honored Mage, we are forever in your debt.” He bowed deeply. So did everyone else in the corridor, even though the tight quarters made it difficult without clunking heads.

  “Oh. Uhm, thank you.”

  “No, no,” another man said, “it is we who must thank you.”

  “Only in the tales of old did mages battle soul constructs and win,” a woman said. “That was magnificent. Legendary!”

  Yanko decided not to point out that his mother had destroyed a soul construct by herself recently, and that her power was more impressive than his. He also didn’t mention that Dak had slain one without any magic at all. He did not want to encourage further discussion. What he wanted was to slip away from all the eyes turned toward him.

  He’d worried about being pointed out as a fraud. For some reason, this didn’t feel much better. Maybe because he still knew he was a fraud. Sooner or later, someone would link him to the deaths at the Red Sky prison and realize he had no right to this robe, no matter how many constructs he’d battled.

  “Thank you,” he murmured, bowing his head several times as he maneuvered past the crowd.

  Yanko stepped into the cabin that he and Dak shared, hoping to leave the strangers behind.

  But Dak wasn’t there. Yanko had to return to the people-filled passageway, smiling and nodding as more ex-prisoners reached out and touched him—and the robe. He checked in Lakeo and Arayevo’s cabin, but it was also empty. It finally occurred to him that Tynlee might have had taken Dak to her cabin to heal him.

  He knocked and sprang inside before anyone answered, rushing to shut the door so he could avoid being touched by more strangers.

  Dak lay propped against pillows in the bed, his hands folded over his chest, and his eye open and alert. Tynlee sat next to the bed and had been leaning over him, checking a bandage or some such. Though Yanko didn’t see any bandages. It had mostly been Dak’s head that had been injured, hadn’t it?

  “In Turgonia,” Dak said, “it’s customary to knock and then wait for someone to invite you in before bursting through the door.”

  Tynlee gazed over at Yanko with her typical serene smile, and he realized one of her hands rested on Dak’s. She must have been finishing up healing him.

  “I was worried about you.” Yanko decided not to admit that he’d felt the need to flee from all the people outside.

  The latch rattled, and Yanko jumped to the side so that he stood behind the door when it opened. Someone stuck his head inside and said, “Oh, pardon, Honored Consul. I thought I saw the mage who saved us come in here. I—a lot of us want to thank him.”

  “No, he’s not here,” Tynlee said blandly, not glancing at Yanko.

  “Oh, that’s disappointing.” The speaker withdrew, and the door closed again.

  “Nurians have extremely poor door etiquette,” Dak said.

  If he was cracking jokes, he had to feel better. That was good.

  “Perhaps we should lock it. Or should have locked it. I suppose there’s little point now that Yanko’s in here.” Tynlee patted Dak’s hand.

  “You just said he wasn’t here.”

  “Did I? I must have been mistaken. My mind isn’t as sharp as it used to be.”

  Dak snorted. “Now you know why I was so hesitant to answer your questions and trust that my answers wouldn’t be fed straight to the Nurian government.”

  “I offered to show you the first seven chapters of my novel. When we return to the consulate.”

  Yanko almost asked if any of those chapters featured Turgonian muscles, but the way Dak and Tynlee were gazing at each other mostly made him want to stay quiet and sneak out of the cabin at the first opportunity. Tynlee had been giving Dak looks like that for most of the trip, but this was the first time Yanko had seen him return the moon-eyed expression. Moon-eyed. Was that the right term? Could one be moon-eyed with only one eye? He decided s
o and gazed down at the cracks between the floorboards.

  I certainly hope he’s moon-eyed, Tynlee spoke into his mind. A woman doesn’t like the man she’s been kissing to regard her with indifference.

  By the pregnant badger goddess, is that what they had been doing? Yanko stared harder at the floorboards.

  Yes, Honored Consul, he replied carefully in his mind. He used his senses to check the passageway, again considering flight, but there were still people milling out there. Maybe there would be for the entire trip, since there were far more passengers than cabins.

  Healing someone’s brain requires an intimate mind link, Tynlee said. And for you to let your defenses down so you can focus on your work. I didn’t quite mean for Dak to see all of my thoughts—I didn’t even know he was playing possum on me—but since the result was him finally realizing that I’ve had feelings for him all these years, I don’t regret it.

  Er, yes, Honored Consul. Uhm, would you like me to leave? I could ask Arayevo to come in.

  Arayevo? Why?

  Well, this sounds like woman stuff, so I thought you might like a woman to talk to.

  “Woman stuff,” Tynlee said out loud with a sniff. “Really.”

  Dak twitched an eyebrow.

  “Yanko doesn’t wish to hear about my feelings for you,” she explained.

  “Naturally,” Dak said. “He’s a man.”

  Though Yanko was pleased to be called a man rather than a boy, he said, “I just came to see if you were all right,” in the hope of altering the direction of the conversation.

  “I am now.” Dak gave Tynlee the moon-eyed look again. She returned it.

  Yanko had a feeling he wasn’t going to get much useful information from either of them that night, but he still needed to give his mother a port to head for. He’d told her that he would ask Zirabo, but he was far more familiar with Dak and Tynlee and valued their advice.

  “Captain Pey Lu wants to know our destination,” Yanko said. “For dropping off the refugees. I assume we’re not taking them to Turgonia.”