A Heart of Blood and Ashes

by Milla Vane

  Maddek grunted his approval. “Well seen.”

  Pleasure flushed her cheeks. “But it could not be a scythe, could it? What else could do that?”

  He could name many creatures, but only one of that size. “A giant millipede—which also tells us there is likely a stream nearby. They are usually near water, or areas where the ground remains moist.”

  “A millipede?” Eagerly she glanced at the path. “I’ve heard they are tasty.”

  Maddek grinned. His bride had claimed he only saw a person’s weaknesses, and he thought it fair to say that Yvenne’s stomach was her greatest one. “We will hunt a millipede only after you have had more practice.”

  She shot him a curious look. “Are they a danger to us? I thought they only ate vegetation.”

  “They do. But they are not defenseless. Jaws that slice through grass can slice through flesh. And some millipedes emit a foul musk that burns the skin,” he told her, frowning as for the first time since their lesson had begun, Yvenne glanced distractedly behind them.

  She faced forward again as Kelir called out, “I would not object to millipede this night, if she would observe the hunt instead of joining it.”

  All of the warriors had been invested in her lesson this day, though they had not interrupted Maddek’s teaching. Now she looked to Maddek hopefully, clearly wanting to watch them hunt, before her brow furrowed and she turned again.

  “What is it?” Maddek asked, suddenly caring nothing of hunts and millipedes. “A chill?”

  “Not a chill. I . . .” Her uneasy gaze searched the road behind them. “I know not what it is. As if . . . something comes.”

  He held up a fist and the others immediately halted, falling silent and listening. Maddek heard nothing but what he expected to hear. He looked to Fassad, who was studying his wolves.

  The other warrior shook his head. The dogs sensed nothing. Yet they had not at the ruins, either. His bride was more sensitive to magics than they.

  “How near, my lady?” Banek asked her softly.

  Unneeded apology filled her reply. “I am no good judge of distance. But it does not feel close. Only . . . coming.”

  “Then we will put more distance between us,” Maddek said grimly. For he had ignored Yvenne’s instinct once. Never would he again.

  * * *

  • • •

  They rode hard until nightfall, when Yvenne said she could no longer feel the presence behind them. Maddek knew not if that meant they had merely outpaced it or if it no longer followed—and it mattered little either way. No more easy nights could be had. Even if the magic Yvenne had sensed was no threat, if her brother’s soldiers had taken this southern route along the river, they might soon be.

  When they came across a copse near a stream, Maddek called a halt. The trees provided better shelter than the long grasses did and could be climbed for a better vantage—and the monkeys that chattered and screeched overhead suggested that whatever stalked their party had not yet befouled this spot.

  While the others made camp, he and Kelir rode a wide perimeter, searching for any threat. Beyond a long-toothed cat, which the wolves would alert them to if it approached the copse, there was little.

  Still Maddek knew Kelir was as unsettled as he. Yvenne’s vague unease was something they’d both heard from others before, during the campaign against Stranik’s Fang, when dark priests used their foul magic from afar. If so, they had much to be worried about. Yet he would not assume that was what she sensed. It might have been like the wraiths at the ruins—dangerous, yet well behind them now. And if dark magic stalked them, they would face that threat when it came.

  He saw the same remembrance upon Banek’s and Ardyl’s faces when he returned to camp, as well as the same determination not to make early assumptions. And he saw that a hunt had been completed, after all. A small millipede roasted over the fire. Brought down by Toric, he quickly learned, when Yvenne happily recounted that young warrior’s victory, and that he’d shown her how to pester the millipede from a distance until it rolled into a ball, then safely pierce the creature’s segmented carapace with a spear.

  The jealousy that roared through Maddek then was fierce and fanged and as foul as the magic that stalked them. He knew Toric had taken a sweet liking to his bride, yet never would the warrior act upon it. Maddek believed that Yvenne never would, either. Her ambitions were too great and she would not risk their marriage with an idle flirtation.

  And Maddek himself had encouraged her to seek affection from anyone but him. She’d befriended all of his warriors. He should not resent Toric hunting a millipede for her, or Ardyl receiving her smile, or Banek sharing in her laugh.

  Yet he did resent them all. Furiously.

  Wordlessly he left again to care for his horse, hating the unworthy emotion burning in his chest. Hating the frustration that put it there. Because with him, Yvenne built walls. And as far as he could see, she had raised none between herself and his Dragon.

  It should matter not at all what she did. Such turmoil should not be raging within him. She was but a vessel. A tool for his vengeance.

  And he was a thrice-cursed fool, to feel such resentment and jealousy and fury. None served him well.

  But his Dragon guard did. And Yvenne did, too. From nearly the moment they’d met, she’d guided him toward becoming a better king. Now she might serve as warning against a danger that none of their eyes could see.

  A piercing shriek sounded as he returned to camp, yet the shrill noise—and Yvenne’s startled scream in response—only made him grin. That horrible shrieking signaled that their dinner was ready, as steam whistled from the millipede’s carapace. His warriors’ laughter greeted him at the fire, and they each screamed in turn to match Yvenne’s. She sat giggling, facing the flames with her saddle bracing her back, as the others did.

  Dropping his saddle onto the ground, Maddek took his place beside her. She glanced at him, the warmth of the fire reflecting in her pale eyes, but when she spoke it was directed to Toric, apparently in response to one of the endless questions he always had for her during their meals.

  “You have seen the Tower of the Moon in Ephorn?” she asked him, and the young warrior nodded. “It is much the same.”

  “What is the same?” Maddek accepted the bowl of water Fassad passed to him, then quickly tore off a few of the millipede’s spiky legs and dropped them in.

  “She is telling us of Syssia,” Toric said.

  Eagerly she watched the legs hiss in the water before looking to Maddek. “Have you been?”

  “Only through the outlands. Never to the queen’s city.”

  “Only I have been,” Banek said. “The Syssian tower resembles the Ephorn tower in appearance, but the Syssian is much larger.”

  “Because we knew the tale of Ran Bantik stealing the pearl from the Moon tower,” Yvenne said, grinning. “My foremother would not risk the same, so she built hers much taller.”

  “Do you also keep your treasures at the top?” the old raider asked.

  Yvenne shook her head. “It is the chamber where I was imprisoned. Where my mother and I were.”

  Maddek’s mother, too, but he would not spoil the mood by saying so. He only poked at the legs, though the way they floated told him they had not yet cooled enough to eat.

  It was Kelir who said what Maddek probably should have. “So there was treasure at the top.”

  Then Maddek was glad he’d not said it, because Kelir’s comment might have pleased a barmaid, but it only brought a frown to Yvenne’s face. “I am not Syssia’s treasure. Her people are.”

  Maddek grinned as he realized how fully she’d misunderstood Kelir’s meaning. “When we speak of Ran Bantik stealing the pearl, sometimes that pearl refers to the king’s daughter, whom he also stole from that tower.”

  “Oh.” A blush colored her cheeks as if she recalled what else
Maddek had called a pearl, yet amusement danced in her eyes. “So he scaled the walls to have her?”

  “And stole her away to the Burning Plains.” As Maddek intended to do with his own bride. Yet there the similarity ended—as Yvenne must have realized, as well. For although she smiled faintly, the amusement in her eyes dimmed.

  “He must have loved her very much to attempt such a dangerous feat.”

  “The legends say nothing of love,” Maddek told her, and plucked a leg from the water. “Only that after Ran Bantik saw her beauty, he could not resist it.”

  Kelir laughed. “And if all that remains of her in legend is a pearl, I daresay it wasn’t the beauty of her face that Ran Bantik could not resist.”

  A pearl was not all that remained of Ran Bantik’s queen. Her blood ran just as strong through Maddek’s line as the thief-king’s did. Yet he did not need to explain that to Yvenne. Her own line celebrated warrior-queens whose lovers were rarely even acknowledged in their legends. So he only said to Yvenne, “The story of the pearl is but good for feasts and song. Ran Bantik’s true legacy was in uniting the tribes.”

  “And defeating the Scourge.” Her hungry gaze was locked on the millipede’s leg as Maddek snapped off the pointed tip and gave it to her. “I’ve heard that tale, though not how he united them. Only that he did.”

  She mimicked Maddek when he demonstrated how to suck out the sweet, buttery jelly, her full lips wrapping around the broken tip. Her cheeks hollowed and her gaze widened with delight; then bliss closed her eyes as she sucked fiercely on the leg.

  Hanan be merciful. The ravenous, pleasured sounds she made could stiffen a corpse. In full arousal Maddek stared at her, dimly aware of Ardyl’s snort and playful shove at Toric, who also stared, and of Kelir muffling his laughter by burying his face in his hands. Yvenne was oblivious to them all.

  Until beside her, Danoh said, “Ran Bantik, the thief-king, was born squalling upon Temra’s altar.”

  Yvenne’s eyes flew open—less likely because of the warrior’s words but because of their rarity. Then Banek, who sat at Danoh’s other side, spoke next and Yvenne’s attention followed.

  “Unburned the plains were, yet fires of war divided the thirteen tribes,” the old warrior recited.

  Then came Toric, his cheeks hot and gaze averted. “The embattled clans allowed silver-fingered Rani no rest.”

  “Countless riders she took,” Ardyl said next, “eyes spitting lightning, spilling tears of rain.”

  “She carried them upon her dragon into Temra’s waiting arms,” Kelir said.

  Fassad continued. “Over the Astal Mountains she flew—but one night was unseated.”

  It had come Maddek’s turn, and Yvenne’s enraptured gaze moved to his face. He snapped off another leg tip and gave it to her, speaking the words he’d known longer than any others. “From the sky she plunged, for the flaming peaks had erupted the Scourge.”

  Danoh started the round again. “Spitting fire, the demon consumed flesh of dragon and riders.”

  “The Scourge then turned ravenous fiery eyes to the unburned plains.”

  “With tears steaming, Rani sped to warn the northern tribes and clans.”

  “Countless warriors fell before the demon, breaking their blades on obsidian skin.”

  “Her dragon lost, Rani could not fly the newly fallen into Temra’s arms.”

  “She implored the embattled tribes to unite against the demon Scourge.”

  Maddek recited gravely, “Or the plains would become a realm of blood and ashes.”

  Eyes wide after that dire warning, Yvenne eagerly looked to Danoh, who continued, “Hearing her, he who was not yet thief-king looked weeping upon the burning plains.”

  “Of thirteen tribes, only seven remained—and a grieving Bantik the last of his.”

  “With torn heart, he called upon the clans to unite, but they listened not to his voice.”

  “Too many years the tribes had warred, too many warriors had been lost to battle.”

  “Too many lies had been spoken,” Kelir said softly. “Too many oaths had been broken.”

  “So the seven tribes only united in fleeing west before the demon Scourge.”

  “There, upon Temra’s sacred altar”—as that goddess had, Maddek pounded his fist into the ground—“Ran Bantik vowed to always speak truth.”

  “From the tribes he asked warriors to come and speak for their clans.”

  “They also vowed to speak truth, never to break an oath or use sly tongue.”

  “Each clan listened to their own warriors and trusted the words spoken.”

  “They in turn each listened to Bantik, he who was not yet thief-king.”

  “To the glass fields he led them, and the demon’s fire turned night into day.”

  “Seven tribes united, the warriors flew into battle, as one with their mounts.”

  Keeping rhythm with the recitation, Yvenne’s gaze moved to Maddek’s face. As it always did, passion and triumph filled his chest as he spoke the next verse. “And the Scourge fell before Bantik and the riders of the Burning Plains.”

  “As the demon lay dying, the tribes spoke as one, and Ran Bantik he became.”

  “Rani touched Ran Bantik with her quick and cunning, and a thief-king he became.”

  “Then splitting open the stomach of the Scourge, she reclaimed her swift dragon.”

  “Carrying the countless dead, silver-fingered Rani finally flew them into Temra’s arms.”

  “And from Temra’s scorched skin grew the firebloom, as red as blood spilled, as red as fire burns.”

  “To remind the tribes never to be divided, only to ride united, and only to speak truth,” Fassad said in solemn voice.

  Sucking on yet another leg, though more quietly now, Yvenne looked to Maddek, who had counted the remaining verses and filled his mouth with jelly. With a frown she pulled the leg from between her pursed lips. “You broke the rhythm!”

  He grinned at her as the others laughed. “It is done.”

  “Done? It cannot be. No mention was even made of how Rani rebreathed life into her dragon! Or how the six other tribes chose the warriors who became Ran Bantik’s first Dragon guard!”

  “It was but the opening song,” Maddek admitted. “The full legend of the Scourge requires three days to tell.”

  That only slightly mollified his bride. “Then at least say how Ran Bantik destroyed the demon.”

  Maddek’s grin widened, because he knew of no one who did not ask the same after first hearing the tale. “By uniting the tribes.”

  “Yes, but . . . was it with sword? Spear? A baleful stare?” She bestowed her own upon him.

  “By uniting the tribes,” Maddek repeated, more gravely this time. “The method matters not at all, because the Scourge could not have been slain if the riders had not stood together as one.”

  Heavily she sighed. Then her eyes narrowed. “So Parsatheans know full well the value of an alliance.”

  “We do. As we know it is only strong if allies all speak true and keep their vows.”

  And those in the Great Alliance did not. But unlike this morning, Yvenne made no earnest claim that she would not lie to him and never had. Instead her face shuttered and she looked away from him.

  Maddek’s jaw clenched. Another wall she put up between them. But this one she seemed to think was of his making. He’d been unforgivably wrong last night in their bed when he’d snatched her tongue. Now he believed she’d spoken truth then. He’d also accepted her claim that she hadn’t conspired to murder his parents. But was he supposed to forget other times she’d spoken with a sly tongue or her insistence that his mother approved of her as his bride? Was he to believe that while his mother had been imprisoned and interrogated and raped and beheaded, she’d given Yvenne her son to wed?

  He could not. So that wall wo
uld stand.

  To the others she asked, “The tribes spoke as one voice to name Ran Bantik king. What if they do not speak as one voice to name Maddek? Are there others who might be named?”

  Others she believed might be a better king—or a better suitor? Foul jealousy speared him again. Silently he tore away the white meat from within the millipede’s steaming carapace.

  The warriors looked to Maddek, deferring the answer to him, but when he gave none, it was Ardyl who spoke. “Each tribe can put forth a candidate. But they will only name Maddek.”

  “Because he is of Ran Bantik’s line?”

  “No.” Irritatedly Maddek answered her now. “My father was not of Ran Bantik’s line and yet he was named Ran before he married my mother, and then she was also named. Our Ran are not chosen by blood but by who has proven capable of leading—as I have upon the banks of the Lave.”

  She looked to him then with sharp amusement. “But were you not named commander of the Parsathean army because you were the son of two Ran?”

  “Perhaps my mother looked to me first for that reason.” And because his parents had made certain he would learn the lessons a Ran needed to know. “But she would not have looked to me at all if I hadn’t proven myself in the campaign against Stranik’s Fang—and if the other riders did not agree, they would have spoken out against me.”

  Banek nodded. “We would have. Whether leading warriors or all of the tribes, he must have the support of the people.”

  “But surely the tribes are not always in agreement? What if some dissent?”

  “As two did when we joined the Great Alliance?” Banek asked. “Our queen and king heard and considered what they had to say. That is also the Ran’s duty and his respect for the people—to listen, for he knows they will only come to him speaking truth.”

  Her expression tightened. “Listening to someone’s words shows respect?”

  The older warrior nodded.

  “What if he has heard them and still there is disagreement?”

  “Then he must speak his own truth and attempt to persuade them—as Ran Ashev and Ran Marek persuaded the tribes when the alliance was created.”