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Seated on the ground in the darkness near a tent, Danek grimaced. He was a fool to watch Eliya from the shadows, admiring the exquisite outline of her face, her ever-present regal composure, not to mention those occasional alluring hints of curves beneath her cloak. He’d surrender his personal fortune gladly if their situation could be changed. If only he’d ruled Trisguard instead of the Walhaisii. Or if she’d been some lesser-born lady he could have married. Instead, he must remain at an unbearable distance, watching as she and Torena turned away.
A thin creak and a whisper of sound caught at Danek’s senses. Before he could spy the noise’s source, an arrow hit with a low, resounding thud, just below the level of Torena’s heart as she turned—a direct strike through her cloak.
Eliya screamed as Torena staggered. But when Eliya caught her teacher, Torena broke the arrow’s shaft from her mantle, then revealed her beloved Rone’en, pierced by the arrowhead. She’d survived. Yet someone meant that strike to be lethal. Danek bellowed a battle cry to his men. “Walhaisii!”
His men set aside their evening meals and ran to join him, their weapons clattering in the darkness. Sion reached him first, his bearded face alight at the prospect of a chase. Danek motioned in the direction of the would-be killer.
A horse whickered in the gloom beyond. An unseen man’s footfalls sped in the horse’s direction, whipping through aged grass, crunching over twice frozen patches of snow. Danek charged at the noise.
Sion followed, his breath gusting, his weapons clattering against his belt—the muted noises echoed by all the Walhaisii following in the dark, hunting their prey.
ELIYA ALL BUT DRAGGED Torena to the nearest fire—stepping around the Walhaisii’s abandoned tin bowls of simmered grains and dried meat. “You’re sure you’re not wounded?”
“The Rone’en took my wound. Thank the Eternal!” Torena sat down before Eliya could coerce her, and she lifted one stern eyebrow. “Lady Eliyana of Ariym and Khelqua ...”
Her full name. Torena’s next words would be death-serious. Eliya winced. “What? Tell me.”
“That arrow was meant for you. Only an instant before—when the bowman took aim—you were his target. I’m sure I stepped into your place as the arrow took flight.”
Eliya stilled as the realization sank in. Someone truly wanted her to die. Worse .... “Then the fire was set for me as well. And the cad didn’t care that you and Vaiya would have died with me.”
A man’s voice called to her, “Lady Eliyana!” Aretes rushed toward her, wildly disheveled in a loose tunic and cloak, like a man shaken from sleep. Gasping as if panic had stolen his breath, he knelt at her feet and opened his bare hands, subjecting himself to her judgment. “My men told me that you ... and revered Torena were attacked. By the Eternal ... I had nothing to do with this! I told Lord Valo. He’s coming.”
Even as Aretes spoke, Valo and Valeria hurried toward the Walhaisii fire. Valo’s golden eyes reflected fear within the flickering light as he studied Eliya. “Are you hurt?”
Valeria edged into their conversation, clasping Valo’s hand and Eliya’s arm. “Another attack? Eliya, we must find the felon—hunt him as he’s hunting you!”
“Lord-king Danek and his men are chasing the man—they’ve a strong guess as to his whereabouts.” Lifting her free hand, Eliya motioned to Torena, who was staring at Aretes. “The Rone’en took her wound. Symbolic, don’t you agree?”
Valo made an impatient face. “Let’s not talk theologies right now. Aretes, what can you tell me of this attack?”
The tousled Aretes insisted, “As the Liege lives, I had nothing to do with this. I wish no ill toward the Lady Eliyana. Nor you, my lord, nor the Lady Torena.”
Valo shook his head. “What if I don’t believe you?”
“Sir, it’s true!” Aretes turned his hands palms up, bared toward Valo. “Kill me if you must, but believe me, it’s true!”
Her face austere, formidable in the firelight, Torena said, “I believe you, commander. But now you pledge by the name of the Liege, whom you previously scorned. Why?”
Resting his hands on his tunic-draped knees, Aretes lowered his gaze and confessed. “Years ago, I laughed at the Liege’s prophecy—that Ariym would be swept away, joining Khelqua’s fate. And now it’s happened as He foretold and as you believed. I was wrong and He has been like a searing bolt, burning my conscience as I sped here from Khelqua.”
Eliya lowered her hand to make the humbled former commander look her in the eyes. “Yet you told Laros Rakiar first and you appeared among his men, wearing his colors, not Khelqua’s. Why?”
“I rode day and night to reach the meeting place at the agreed time. I arrived last night, late. You weren’t there. His men were, and they insisted I must speak to Rakiar. He insisted I wear his colors and pledge loyalty to him, reasoning that I no longer had a lord to serve. I was one man, lady, and they were many.”
His tone distant, Valo asked, “What did Laros Rakiar say when you told him Khelqua was drowned?”
“He said nothing, my lord. It was impossible to read his face. He remained silent and walked away. I regret my pledge to him, my lord-king. I serve you.”
Valo’s expression hardened. “Do not call me lord-king! We can’t be certain my lord-father’s dead, therefore I refuse the title.”
“Yes, my lord.” But Aretes’ voice betrayed his conviction. Rodiades, tetrarch of Khelqua, had died with Ariym.
A fresh wave of grief reduced Eliya to silence. But around the encampment, torches and lamps blazed to life, and Belvasae’s servants called out in the night, heralding their lord-king’s royal presence as Belkrates and his guards stormed through the shadowed encampment toward Eliya and Valo.
Eliya caught her breath, then rushed to meet the approaching horde, turning them away from the Walhaisii encampment to protect the abandoned dishes of food.
She’d no way to repay the Walhaisii, except to be sure they’d eat tonight.
STRAINING TO SEE AMID the moonlight’s meager glow, Danek raced toward the noises and shadows of the errant man and waiting horse. Eliya’s would-be killer vaulted into his saddle. Sion pitched a stone at the felon’s silhouetted back. The stone thudded against its target, then struck the horse, which reared in the gloom. Unseated, the dark-cloaked man hit the ground and cried out, then shrieked beneath his panicked horse’s hooves. Danek dragged his quarry away, while Sion’s men crooned to the horse, then soothed it to a standstill.
Clearly lacking his mount’s sense, the rider kicked, clawed, and snarled at Danek, “Release me, or I’ll kill you!”
Danek cuffed the man, flung him to the ground, then stomped a booted foot onto his chest. “I doubt it.”
While his captive wheezed for breath, the Walhaisii grappled with each other like hounds tussling to reach their game. Danek stepped back. “Strip him of his cloak and boots and all weapons. Don’t kill him.”
Sion said, “If you’d stomped him any harder, my lord, you’d have done the work yourself. Is he still breathing?”
Obviously fighting to answer, the captive sucked in a thin, reedy breath, then grunted unintelligibly dark words.
They bound the man, slung him over his horse and returned to the encampment. In the firelight’s glow, Danek grasped the offender’s dark, tangled, odiferous hair, then raised the man’s head to glare into his face.
Into the eyes of the man they’d seized near the ambushed cavalcade.
“You soulless worm!” Danek wrenched the man off the horse and let him fall to the ground. “Obviously, you don’t have enough skill to survive your work. Why are you stalking Khelqua’s princess? Do you really want to die?”
His dark eyes glittering savage malice, the captive snarled, “What does it matter? We lowborn are a mere breath—you highborn are living lies.”
Torena stepped into the light and gazed down at the man, her pale face and calm voice catching everyone’s attention. “Is that reason enough to kill my lady? She’s an exceptional young woman who’d listen to your complaints and resolve any with merit. Why kill her, after you’ve pledged she’d be safe?”
“I lied. No highborn are ever good! You’re all corrupted!”
Accompanied by Valo, and the Lady Valeria, Eliya approached. Calm as if attending some courtly function, she knelt beside her failed assassin. “Obviously my death is vital to you. I’m sorry you’ve been given reason to think all highborn are corrupt. If I’ve ever done you harm ... tell me how, so I may beg forgiveness.”
The man turned his face away, as if he couldn’t bear to meet her gaze.
Why? And his expression ... furious yet laced with guilt. Danek growled to his men, “Search him, and his horse.”
ELIYA STOOD AS LORD-king Aniketos approached, closely followed by Adalric, their mantles’ gold-embroidered edges gleaming and flashing in the firelight. Danek and his Walhaisii stepped back, allowing Ceyphraland’s ruler entry into their circle.
Aniketos stared down at the prisoner, then looked from Eliya and Valo to Danek. “Has he talked?”
Valo grimaced. “Only to call us living lies. It’s clear he meant to kill Eliya. But if he hates highborn so much, then we’ve more tempting targets around this encampment. Why kill my sister?”
Adalric leaned over the grimly-silent prisoner, then nudged him with a booted toe. “Is he sane?”
Torena answered, her teacher’s voice mostly neutral—but carrying the slightest shade of compassion. “Not if he harbors such unreasoning hatred for all highborn. Someone’s served him a near-lethal dose of poisonous injustice.”
Gazing down at the man, Eliya saw his eyes widen, then turn disinterested once more, as if Torena had guessed a truth he must conceal. What had the man suffered at the hands of some nobleman, to foment such hatred? Was this her life’s appointed task? To overturn injustices inflicted upon the powerless?
Danek’s men returned and placed the man’s saddle and gear at the Walhaisii lord-king’s feet. Sion said, “We found nothing to hint at who he is or where he’s from. His horse is unmarked, his clothes are a mix of Ceyphraland and Trisguard, like a man who’s been crossing borders for years.”
“Or,” Danek added, “stealing from hapless citizens after he kills them.”
Again, Adalric nudged his boot into the prisoner’s belly, making the man glare. “What’s the best way to get such a beast to talk?”
Eliya waved off Adalric. “Don’t shame him, sir! I want to hear his story!”
Adalric chuckled and shook his head, but he stepped back. Though Valo stared as if Eliya had finally gone mad. “His story? He can tell any lie he wants! I wouldn’t believe his least syllable!”
The prisoner grunted out a laugh, then looked up at Valo, irony twisting his thin lips amid his rough-whiskered face. “No? Well, believe this: Guard her!”
Valo flinched as if struck, then dove for the man, grasping his clothes just beneath his chin, shaking him. “What do you know? Say the words before we start cutting them out of you, slice by slice!”
The man howled out a laugh—a savage’s cackle. A raving fit of mirth against the jest of his life, ending with a choked sob. “You highborn! You highborn ....”
He turned silent, staring at their boots, until Aniketos ordered his heir and their men, “Take him to your fire and guard him until we can question him by daylight—don’t beat or wound him, but don’t let him sleep either.” To Eliya and Valo, he said, “Come with me. We need to talk. Valeria, you too. And Lord-king Danek, since you’ve made yourself responsible for Khelqua’s own.”
They sat on low-folding seats in Ceyphraland’s spacious tent. Aniketos offered bread and drinks then dismissed the servants with a silent wave. Glancing from left to right, as if certain lurkers were listening just outside his tent’s makeshift canvas walls, Aniketos muttered, “Take no offense at what I’m about to say.”
Seated between Valo and Valeria, Eliya inhaled, bracing herself. No one ever bade others to take no offense without giving offense. She flicked a glance at Lord-king Danek. He waited, his dark gaze impassive, his hands resting on his knees. But Valo tensed, and Valeria eyed her royal uncle warily.
Aniketos said, “Khelqua’s gone. Therefore—”
Therefore, they were of no use to any country, politically or fiscally. Beyond doubt, Aniketos was about to tell her, politely, that Ceyphraland’s heir would look elsewhere for a worthy and wealthy bride. Adalric hadn’t courted her for love, any more than Laros of Trisguard had. Why should the northern king want her now?
Beside Eliya, Valo gripped his sword’s decorative hilt, his tensed knuckles and fingers paling against the shimmering gold. “Therefore, my sister and I are now worthless to the Syvlande Empire.”
As if relieved that someone else had voiced the dreaded words, Aniketos exhaled, then rubbed one hand over his face. “Just know that you’re welcomed in Ceyphraland, if you’re willing. Swear fealty to me and I’ll grant you lands enough to comfortably support you and your progeny—and to provide a dowry for Eliya later, if anything should happen to Laros. But if Laros outlives you, Lady Eliya ...” he shrugged.
What had prompted his taciturn attitude toward Laros? Eliya tugged her mantle closer and murmured, “Sir, thank you for concerning yourself with our future. Tell me ... do you dislike my future husband?”
Ceyphraland’s tetrarch frowned, compressing his full mouth, as if pondering his true feelings for Laros. At last, he said, “Laros Rakiar always keeps his word. We are polite to each other, yet he’s not someone I would choose as a friend. He trusts few people. With reason. His father was a brutal ruler and parent. I didn’t approve of how the elder Laros treated his family.”
“That’s more information than I’ve ever heard of him,” Eliya admitted. “I’ve been told little except that he’s regal, a fearless fighter, and a handsome man.”
“True.” Aniketos helped himself to some of the soft, salted bread left by the servants, then reached for his gilded silver cup. “He’s more regal than I am. He bests my Adalric in most of their private archery contests, though Adalric always outlasts him in hunting, dancing, and eating. He guards his opinions, and—be warned, lady—he’s sparing with gifts, unless he has reason to seek favor.”
Mustering courtesy, Eliya smiled. “He sent impressive wedding gifts. However, those will return to Trisguard when we marry. If we marry. I did wish he would attempt to communicate with me more.”
Valo leaned toward Eliya. “Do you have concerns?”
“None that matter. Father signed the contracts and, from what I’ve been told, I can’t break the pending marriage. Nor can Laros. Unless I’m proved barren or I commit adultery.”
“And what about him?” Valeria sniffed. “What if he commits adultery?” When her uncle lifted his grizzled royal eyebrows, visibly shocked at her question, she huffed, “Well? Sir, what if he does? Not that I’ve heard scandalous rumors, but how is such a contract fair toward any wife? Particularly a defenseless wife from some foreign land?”
“In theory,” Valo muttered, “Khelqua’s power would have restrained Laros and protected my sister.”
Yet Khelqua was no more.
Into the bleak silence, Danek said, “We pray no such concerns blight the Lady Eliya’s marriage.” He eased his shoulders, then nodded toward Aniketos. “While we’re all speaking freely, I’ll ask—for my country’s sake—what other reasons did you have for gathering here and waylaying the Lady Eliya’s wedding cavalcade? Am I right to be suspicious of this meeting between three of the four tetrarchs?”
Aniketos waved aside Danek’s concern. “The Walhaisii aren’t our targets. However, Belkrates and Laros Rakiar ought to be present before we discuss our overriding concern—even above the suspiciously clandestine negotiations surrounding the Lady Eliya’s marriage. Laros should have consulted us.” His wearied gray eyes reflecting sadness, Aniketos studied Eliya and Valo. “You are both too young to be cast adrift amid the Syvlande’s chaotic politics. Belkrates and I considered sending for your lord-father—how I wish we had!”
If they had, then Father might still be alive. Eliya clenched her hands together, fighting the impulse to berate Aniketos. To accuse him. And to cry.
Dry-voiced, Valo asked, “Why didn’t you?”
“Because ...” Aniketos sighed, then began again. “We feared he’d believe we were accusing him, though we were not.”
“Yet,” Eliya said, “you would have accused Laros Rakiar.”
“Not accuse. We wished to understand his motives for arranging his wedding so hastily and secretively.”
Valo leaned forward, his golden eyes wide, his voice emphatic, its veneer of courtesy thinning further. “Last year, my lord-father wrote to Ceyphraland and Belvasae, requesting suggestions for my sister’s marriage prospects. Neither of you replied. What was he to think? How was this marriage contract secretive if Laros Rakiar was the only tetrarch to respond?”
“He wasn’t the only one. As you now know, your lord-father never received our replies. Nor did our messengers return. What am I to think? You both saw my last cavalcade.”
A shiver slid over Eliya’s skin and prickled her scalp, almost feverishly intense. Had Laros Rakiar condemned that doomed cavalcade?
Sharp taps sounded against the tent’s metal doorpost and Adalric called out, “My lord, your presence is required.” Ceyphraland’s heir swept inside, his dark cloak flowing back from his pale tunic, which was speckled with blood. As Eliya and the others stood, Adalric said, “Sir, one of Trisguard’s men killed the prisoner lest he attack the Lady Eliya again.”
Nausea threatened, forcing Eliya to swallow hard. A man had died because of her. Not for her, granted, but still ... because of her.
Rage reddened and mottled Aniket’s blunt face. “A deliberate murder! Does he think himself judge above all? May the Eternal strike him if I don’t! Where is he?”
Eliya followed as Aniketos stormed from the tent and snatched a javelin from one of his startled guards. Adalric hurried just behind his lord-father, whispering fiercely, “He was angry. He considered it a favor to Ceyphraland to kill one of the men who attacked the Princess Eliya and our cavalcade. Half our men agree with him, and the other half are undecided. Trisguard’s men too, are debating the death. We require their good opinions if we’re to win our purposes from this gathering!”
While they walked, Eliya followed, listening. Until Valo, Lord-king Danek, and Valeria closed ranks around her, suffocatingly near. She shoved gently at Valo. “Back off!”
He grasped her arm, his low and fierce. “You’re the only family I have! Our prisoner spoke two true words: ‘Guard her!’ And so I shall. Two attacks on your life are enough, aren’t they?”
Eliya’s throat constricted, hurting too much to speak—almost too much to allow breath. As they walked onward, she gripped her brother’s hand hard. Valeria attended her only one step behind. Beside her, Danek walked close as another brother. But when she finally looked up at him, his glance said far more.
Why couldn’t he be Laros Rakiar?
She looked away, at torches and fires turned to wavering, glittering lights by the burning threat of tears. Blessed Eternal Liege ... how would this end?
Aniketos halted as a clutch of men dragged a captive toward him. They dropped the man at his feet. Ceyphraland’s tetrarch snarled, “Who are you to defy my orders within my realm! Answer, sludge-gullet, before I stomp you flat!”
His nose bloodied, his lip split, the yellow-cloaked man lifted his voice just enough to be heard. “I’m Treven of Fieldsend in Trisguard. Forgive me, sire, I had no right to do what I did. But that man attacked my future queen! Not once, but twice from what I’ve heard. Who knows if there be others of his kind? I was angered beyond reason. Punish me as you please—I bow to you.”
Aniketos backhanded Fieldsend’s dark-matted scalp. “Don’t bother bowing to me, wretch! You deserve the flesh slit from your muscles, and your offensive corpse shredded before it’s tossed into a fire! Your air of humility reeks of arrogance—and I’d not trust you with cleaning up after my enemies’ dogs!”
As Aniketos ranted, Eliya studied her supposed defender.
Treven of Fieldsend, who’d been so offended for her sake, and so willing to make an example of her failed killer, hadn’t looked at her once. Obviously, he didn’t give a copper-weight for her safety or good name—he’d wanted her attacker dead for another reason entirely. What had the prisoner known that must be kept secret?
And why would a man of Trisguard silence him?
Finished raving, Aniketos whacked the miscreant’s ribs with the javelin’s blunt end. “You will bury the man you murdered then hurry your sorry carcass out of my realm before I fling you into the grave myself! May the Soul Hunter blight your path and stalk you to death!”
As the man scuttled away, followed by Ceyphraland’s guards, Valeria whispered, “He didn’t once look at you.”
“I noticed. And I wonder why.”
THE SUN’S MIDDAY WARMTH mingled with birds’ songs, beneath a cloudless, brilliant-blue sky.
Sheltered between Torena and Valeria during midday meal, and watched by Valo and Danek and their men, Eliya could almost imagine that last night’s nightmare had been exactly that; a nightmare. Except that a heap of raw-damp soil rested over a grave just beyond the encampment. Once the tetrarchs finished their meeting, her murdered attacker would be left in this remote stretch of land, with no one to tend his resting place. She could almost see him standing near, as if still living, shaking his head, muttering, “You highborn! You highborn ...”
As Eliya dropped the last bite of herbed bread—too full to finish her meal—a flourish of hunting horns sounded from the opposite side of the camp, breaking the morning’s superficial calm. Among the Trisguard faction, more hunting horns blared, as men shouted, “Lord-king Laros! All stand! Laros Rakiar of Trisguard!”
For an instant, Eliya stared at the tumult, her benumbed thoughts stumbling over themselves. Her future husband was about to enter the encampment.
And, mercy, he’d see her looking ghastly as any woman who’d suffered a terrible night’s tears.
Followed by Valeria and Torena, she fled for Valeria’s tent, to Vaiya’s capable hands, praying as she ran.