And So It Begins (25 page)

Kherin shook his head against the trader’s words. He had never heard of the Akhael, and he wondered where this Dar had come across any stories of them, or how he would even find information on them, and why. Or why he would tell Derek of them.

“I was never a student of his, but I have spoken to him many times, my prince,” Derek answered the unspoken questions, smiling as curiosity softened the prince’s face. “There are few people of importance I haven’t spoken to in any of Llarien’s cities, at least to some degree. It’s not only rumors from the commoners that hold importance for your father.”

Kherin scowled again at the explanation. He knew that, and he shouldn’t have needed to be told that Derek’s contacts stretched through every caste in the kingdom, but he still felt his cheeks heat at the fact that Derek had seen fit to remind him.

But Derek’s smile was forgiving. “As for the Akhael, even when Dar did include them in his teachings, he was still particular about who he relayed that teaching to.” His smile widened as Kherin frowned questioningly. “Yet the stories endure, regardless, and with the stories of the Akhael come the rumors of the magic they were said to have commanded.”

“Magic?” Kherin sat up straighter, frowning deeper at the word. “There is no such thing as magic anymore, if it even existed in the first place. Which it did or didn’t, depending on which scrap of parchment you read.”

Derek gave a genuine laugh at that. “True, but also beside the point. What matters is that the idea of reviving the magic in the kingdom has come up in Dennor, with a particular interest in the brand of magic the Akhael possessed. Which, my prince, appears to be blood magic.”

“Blood magic?” Kherin’s scowl returned. “Like sacrificial rites?”

Derek shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know what that means. The person to ask would be Dar. However that, my prince, is also beside the point.”

Kherin bit back a muttered reply but couldn’t help rolling his eyes, drawing another small laugh from the trader.

“Then what, exactly, is the point?” he demanded shortly.

Derek’s eyes glinted mischievously. “Ah, my prince. Think back, and you will remember the army I told you of that was being raised in Dennor as a response to the appearance of northerners.”

“The one being raised by the councilman’s son,” Kherin stated evenly, remembering full well what Derek had told him in his father’s library while his leg still healed from its break.

“And had you been listening the day after your venture into the Mouse, you would be more aware of how quickly things had changed there.”

Derek’s expression hadn’t changed, but Kherin grunted as the memories of that conversation in the Crossroads flitted back—and what he remembered was how his own churning emotions that day had made whatever Derek had said of the northerners and port city irrelevant. Derek’s glittering eyes said the trader knew he had struck his point home, and Kherin wasn’t going to argue, not when they both knew Derek was right. He felt his cheeks heating, but he met the trader’s eyes squarely.

“All right. I’m listening now. Get on with it.”

Derek’s quiet laugh was accompanied by another gentle sweep of his fingers against his cheek. “As you will, my prince. The rumors of the army are true, and though it began with a group of bored and wealthy sons, the Leader happens to be a young man named Sethan Alderson, who happens to be the son of one of Dennor’s councilmen. One of Dennor’s
highest ranking
councilmen, in fact. And through his own connections or his father’s, Sethan has also learned who it was that could teach him and his group about the Akhael and their blood magic, and so he sought out Dar to hire his services.” Derek’s eyes lost their mischievousness as something colder took its place, and his hand fell away as his tone turned darker. “As it happens, Sethan was quite put out when Dar refused. His connections then cost Dar his position, his home, and his money. Revenge, in part, but a threat as well.”

Kherin sat up completely and stared at the trader as sheer disbelief echoed in his words. “They would destroy Dar’s life simply because he wouldn’t teach them about some kind of magic that may not even exist?”

Derek’s level gaze was answer enough, and Kherin let out a disgusted sigh. “Doesn’t Dar have any family who could help him?”

“Yes, he does,” Derek answered. “But they have since left Dennor, and Dar refuses to do so. He knows what that group is about, and he knows how dangerous that magic would be. And yes, Dar believes the magic is real, though he refuses to teach what he knows of it. And thus, Dar would rather be homeless in Dennor, where he can keep an eye on this group, than have a roof and a bed somewhere where he can’t.” Derek shook his head slightly. “Sethan calls on him every few days or so, at least that was his habit when I was last there, and Dar knows, as long as Sethan keeps asking, he hasn’t yet discovered anything dangerous. Dar believes the peace of mind alone is worth sleeping in an alley.”

“But they could kill him!”

Derek shook his head. “If they did, they would lose the only source of the information they need. Both Dar and Sethan are well aware of that.”

Kherin continued to stare, grasping at the enormity of the game taking place in Dennor. All else aside, he felt a measure of respect for the old tutor, homeless and penniless because of his refusal to give out information, but effectively maneuvering Sethan’s group into an impasse. With nothing left to lose, they had nothing else to hold over him. Clever. A bitter triumph, but clever.

Kherin shifted on the bed, looking at the trader fully when he had stilled. “So what does all of that have to do with the northerners, or with their attack on Adrien?”

Derek shrugged. “Maybe nothing. But the point, my prince, is that since there is one person in Llarien who would recognize the word ‘Akhael’, it may not be only the northerners who can provide the answers we are looking for. It may be that Dar knows something that can tell us what is happening here.”

“And so you are going to go ask him.” Kherin finished with gut-wrenching certainty. Derek was right. The Akhael may be gone, and their magic gone with them, but with the sudden emergence of northerners in Llarien and the fact that
they
had used that same word…. Dar might or might not know what it was the northerners were after, but they had no choice but to find out for themselves. Not if they were going to keep Llarien safe. Even if learning it would mean losing Derek in Gravlorn. He dropped to sprawl on the bed, rubbing his eyes with one hand as the reality of the words sank in.

He didn’t want Derek to leave, not when there were things between them that were still unsettled, not when they had so recently mended the breach Kherin had never intended—and not when what had hung between them since the way-stop had been confirmed in the Harper’s Den and answered with that kiss in the hall of the hospice.

But he couldn’t ask Derek to stay, not when there was a chance he was right. Not when it was his job to travel the kingdom and learn what he could. Not knowing Derek’s responsibility was to more than the second prince of the Llarien. He couldn’t do it, not when what Derek learned could save Llarien from a potential war with those familiar with the ancient ways of magic.

The sadness that touched Derek’s smile said the every emotion he felt showed clearly on his face, and the trader no doubt knew the moment when understanding of the necessity of Derek’s traveling to Dennor settled at last in Kherin’s mind. Derek’s fingers threaded through his hair again, and his voice gentle when he spoke. “I had planned to travel there before now, and now there is a very good reason to do so,” he told Kherin softly, and Kherin swallowed at the truth in those words.

“I know,” he answered quietly, dropping his hand to the bed but not taking his eyes from the ceiling above him. It was here in this room that he’d first learned the dreams and fantasies that had made up so much of his adult life weren’t as far out of reach as he had believed, and here in this city that he had learned that while he may have fallen in love with Derek a long time ago, he hadn’t fallen in love alone. It was here that he’d learned what it would be like to be with Derek for more than his brief visits to the castle, and he didn’t want to face the thought of suddenly not having him near.

“I’ll see you again in Delfore, my prince,” Derek went on, easing down beside him, “with Adrien returned to health and the kingdom secure from the northerners once again.”

Derek was offering platitudes, Kherin knew that, and he didn’t want to hear them any more than he had wanted to learn the trader was leaving. Sudden resentment fueled his movements as he pushed himself to his feet, his anger directed at everything and nothing and finding a target only in the world in general. He adjusted the clothes he wore—the same ones he had dressed in yesterday—with short, quick touches of his hands, aware that Derek watched him, and met his gaze only after he was finished.

“We’re still crossing tonight,” Kherin told him, calmly and coldly. “Even if you find the answers in Dennor, we can’t wait.”

“I know,” Derek answered soothingly, standing and then coming around the bed to stand close to the prince, accepting the change of subject without judgment. He again brushed his fingers against the prince’s cheek, then slipped them under his chin to lift Kherin’s eyes to meet his own. He released his breath slowly, and it seemed to take the words he wanted to say with them. The words he spoke in their stead were at odds with what was written in his eyes. “I would tell you again to be careful, but I know you have heard that enough. Instead, I will only wish you luck.”

Kherin nodded mutely and remained still as Derek unsurprisingly leaned forward and kissed his forehead gently, as he had done so many times in the past, lingering over it before pulling away.

“I will be in Gravlorn until tomorrow morning, and I will see you again before I leave, my prince.”

Kherin's throat closed in a sudden wave of emotion, and his chest tightened with a cold feeling of loss. But as much as he wanted to pull the trader to him and beg him to stay, he instead drew a determined breath and stepped back, putting space between them.

“I need to report for duty in a few hours,” he said roughly. Derek gave a slight nod, his eyes filled with understanding and regret, and Kherin couldn’t meet them for long. “I’ll see you after my patrol.”

With that, he turned away, moving to the door and pushing through it, taking the stairs to the main floor in a driven flurry of motion. His eyes stung by the time he reached the bottom, and he forced himself out of the inn. The chill air hit him as he stepped into the street, and he squinted against the wind that had not been present earlier.

It was cold, but it couldn’t match the coldness he felt in his gut.

And should anyone ask, he would blame the wind for the tear that escaped as he left the inn behind.

T
HE
weather only grew worse as the day went on, and the first drops of an icy winter storm slapped against Kherin’s cheek, distracting him enough that the arrow he shot flew wide, hitting the loose dirt and bouncing sloppily to lie with the other blue and black fletched arrows scattered on the ground. Practice arrows, or so Gresham had told him, though what difference they held from armory arrows, he had no idea. But they were all that could be found, in the camp or in the city, and they would have to do. The target of cloth and wood erected nearly a hundred yards distant stared back at him resolutely, its surface marred by only a few shafts burrowed deep into its stuffing. Far fewer than the number of arrows he had fired, which in truth wasn’t truly surprising. His skills with a bow had always been passable at best, but today his accuracy was particularly poor. The trail of his thoughts blackened his mood as much as the thunderclouds roiling in the northern sky darkened the horizon. What had begun as a clear winter morning had turned into a dark, threatening day.

Gresham had moved quickly, he would give him that, creating a practice field near the stables and presenting it to the prince when his duty had brought him along this part of the river, little more than halfway into his patrol. It was narrow and crowded, barely fitting in the space given by the trees, but like the arrows, it would have to do.

The Defender Leader had said nothing when Kherin tapped another Defender to continue his patrol, instead nearly glowing as he showed off the arrangement of bows that had been found in the city, and the arrows purchased or acquired with the kingdom’s coin. Gresham had wanted Kherin to be the first to test the new weapons.

“How many Defenders do we have that can actually use these?” Kherin asked the Leader shortly, gesturing at the pile of weapons, counting less than twenty bows in all. Arrows, on the other hand, were plentiful, even if they were only practice ones.

“Ronel is seeking out the qualified archers even as we speak, my lord,” Gresham told him succinctly. “He is aware of the number of bows, and will only pick the best we have to use them.”

Kherin’s lips tightened, not hearing anything he didn’t already know. If the choice were his, he would have chosen Delfore Defenders, if only because he was sure of their ability. But the choice wasn’t his, and he would have to accept those chosen by Ronel.

He reached for another arrow, and then stopped suddenly as shouts erupted loudly behind them. Kherin and Gresham both whirled, recognizing the urgency even if they couldn’t make out the words. Heart pounding and instantly alert, Kherin paused for only a breath to determine where the shouting was coming from. Then he broke into a full, ground-covering run.

As the ground passed beneath him, the shouting grew louder, coming from the east, on the other side of the camp, where the barracks had been built. He didn’t need to see them to know that northerners had been spotted, and the sound of fighting soon confirmed it. He slowed as he neared the source of the fighting and watched in horror as the mix of Defenders and northerners exploded around the barracks, twisting and tangling as the Defenders fought for the advantage. His lips curled into a snarl—the northerners had breached their defenses, caught them by surprise on their own side of the river—again. And they outnumbered the Defenders. Greatly. Anger surged through him as he dropped the bow he carried and slipped his sword free.