Double Life - Book 1 of the Vaiya Series (15 page)

Hands trembling, as he realized that he was
the sole center of attention, he noticed Princess Saeya staring at
him.

“Could you explain yourself further, Ian?”
she questioned gently, as if coaxing him, not showing any annoyance
for his long pause or his short answer. “Surely you didn’t die or
you wouldn’t be here.”

His mind wracked with anxiety, he somehow
managed to keep his voice calm. “I do remember that they used some
spells against me, Your Highness.” Pausing, he tapped his fingers
against his tunic, not knowing how they’d react to his next words.
“But for some reason, they didn’t have any effect on me.”

As his voice faded away, all the elves around
him stared at him in silence, the king’s eyes frozen with
bleakness.

Before Kadeth could reply though, the
princess spoke up, her face emotionless. “Are you a Chardin then,
Ian?”

Chardin?
He stared at her blankly, the
word still not registering. “I don’t know, Your Highness.”

“You don’t know?” she murmured softly, her
eyes tinted with sudden bewilderment, as she exchanged mystified
looks with her brothers. “I do not understand. Surely you’ve heard
the word before.”

Ian felt a wave of anxiety rush over him.
“Actually, I don’t think I have, Your Highness.”

Her face grew rather astonished at these
words, especially considering she was of a race that was rather
good at hiding their emotions. “By the Mazian Ocean,” she whispered
skeptically, “you’ve truly never heard about the Chardin Academy in
Sarith?”

He gave her a glazed look and a shrug,
causing her face to light up with faint contempt.

“Impossible,” she said, tapping her sandals
softly on the floor. “Is your heart inside of a river?”

Frowning inwardly at the weird expression, he
replied as best as he could, “Probably, Your Highness.” He then
took another drink of the raspberry, honey liquid, a frustrated
look on his face, hoping she’d now explain to him what in the world
a Chardin was.

Unfortunately, however, her face only grew
more solemn, as she stared at him without any trace of humor. “If
your story about the Elayans is true, Ian, then you are definitely
a Chardin--and a very powerful one as you didn’t even use any
artifacts to protect yourself.

“However,” she continued, gazing at him
darkly, while adjusting the emerald tiara on her forehead, “as we
all know that the Elayans have died out centuries ago, there is
only one possible reason left.” Here she paused, deathly coldness
in her eyes, before she continued, her compassionate nature pushed
to the dark crevices of her mind, “Though I have generously
overlooked your deceitful tongue, Ian, this lie is far too
dangerous to disregard.”

Before Ian had time to recover from the shock
of her words, she spoke again:

“Surrender the facade, Ian. You have nothing
to prove. You’re not the first one to claim to have seen the
Elayans, nor will you be the last. Even though I do not believe you
to be a spy,” here she glanced over at King Kadeth, who returned
her steady gaze with an equally solemn one, “you are, nonetheless,
the most unethical human I’ve ever laid eyes on. I’ve never even
seen an ill-bred pirate as vile as you.”

As she finished speaking, anger immediately
flung open Ian’s heart, her false charges maddening him. Sure, he’d
not always been the most truthful person, but to say that he was
the most unethical person she’d ever seen, that he was worse than a
pirate? That was way too harsh. And here he’d thought the princess
more attractive than Hazel. To hear these brutal words from her, it
felt like betrayal.

Biting into a large piece of an almond,
chocolate, and pumpkin flavored roll to try to calm his nerves, Ian
saw a dark shadow flickering in the king’s eyes, as he set his eyes
eerily upon Ian.

“Come with me!” the king ordered sharply to
Ian, as he motioned to his sons to follow him.

Ian blinked, fear penetrating his heart, his
heartbeat suddenly rapid and pounding. The feast wasn’t nearly over
yet. He’d hardly eaten anything. Whatever the king wanted to say to
him wasn’t going to be good.

Getting off his chair promptly, as hushed
whispers from the richly dressed nobles on the other three long
tables spread rapidly throughout the banquet hall, Ian quickly
followed behind the king and his two sons, his eyes locked on the
floor, not even caring to keep a huge gap between them anymore as
he thought it irrelevant now, while at the same time trying
desperately to ignore all the gossip and the intent stares.

As the king led Ian through various corridors
and hallways, they eventually reached a silver door, which the king
immediately opened, commanding Ian to enter it.

Torment raging in his mind, Ian hurried into
the small-enclosed room as his mind shook with terror--he’d never
been so scared before. The room, without any windows, having only a
long round table and ten bronze chairs around it, as well as
several drab-looking paintings of fortified towers, looked the
ideal room for another interrogation, or perhaps even an execution.
Its cold gray walls pounded away the faintest glimmers of his
happiness.

As he stared around the lifeless room, his
heart now thumping within him, the king motioned him to take a seat
around the table. Obeying promptly, Ian quickly pulled out a chair
and sat on it, while the king and the princes all took seats across
from him, with the king right in the center of them.

Staring at him morbidly, now that they had
all taken their proper seats, King Kadeth put his hands upon the
table, as his eyes grew narrower. “Ian,” he said, frowning deeply,
once the door had been shut by a guard. “Why did you lie to
me?”

In agony, Ian felt like he’d been whipped.
“What do you mean, Your Majesty?”

The king gave him a sharp look. “You
confessed that you were a fool; that you never saw the Elayans.”
Here he leaned forward, closer to Ian, his voice, although calm and
collected, raging with hidden fury. “And yet moments ago you
claimed to have seen them again.”

Ian’s eyes widened, terror screeching in his
mind at his grave mistake, a mistake he should’ve never made, as he
was unusually consistent in his stories. How he could have so
quickly forgotten his previous confession to the king, he didn’t
know. Was his memory that bad? Or was he just so stressed out from
the trauma of the day that it somehow slipped his mind?

Whatever the case, he’d unknowingly put
himself into a horrible dilemma as just minutes before he’d
admitted that the Elayans had chased him and had cast spells at
him. To deny that he’d seen them now would be akin to insanity. The
king would never believe him after he’d already changed his word
twice.

This left him with but one option, one he
desperately wished to avoid and had sought to avoid but could do so
no longer. As much as it pained him, he’d have to stick with his
first story.

Besides, if the sorcerers he’d seen were
really the Elayans, he would be doing the elves a huge favor,
warning them about their enemies’ whereabouts, powerful enemies
they didn’t even think existed. His caution about the Elayans might
even save some lives.

With those thoughts, light breaking through
his misery, Ian folded his hands, a sober innocent expression like
that of a pious priest dawning on his face. He glanced around him
nervously; the king was growing extremely impatient and looked
ready to have him beaten.

Gathering his thoughts together, Ian exhaled
deeply, dreading the effect his next words would have on them,
while questioning if this were truly the only wise way to go about
this: “Your Majesty,” he began softly with a dignified air about
him, “I shouldn’t have lied to you, but I was afraid of what you
would do to me if I didn’t.” Seeing their already grave faces, he
bit his tongue and said no more, as silence of the worst sort
permeated the room.

The princes sat transfixed in their chairs,
barely even breathing, Prince Taishan’s face unreadable, Prince
Saku’s unusually solemn, while King Kadeth gazed coldly at Ian, his
face covered in mists of darkness.

After an eerie quiet, the king calmly lifted
himself from his chair and swiftly extracted a scroll from his
robe. His eyes bored into Ian’s. “Do you have any idea how much
chaos would erupt in our kingdom if the Elayans were found to be
alive?”

Ian bit his lip, his voice trembling: “No,
Your Majesty,” he muttered truthfully, having the sudden urge to
flee from Kadeth’s presence.

The king just gazed at Ian bitterly. “Then
let me explain.” He unraveled the scroll and placed his long finger
on a worn-out portion of it. Two thin lines appeared on the sides
of his face. His forehead wrinkled. “Three centuries ago during the
Calri War, when my great grandfather Aridon Riverstone ruled the
kingdom, the Elayans ruthlessly murdered all of my family members
except me, nearly extinguishing the royal line.” A myriad of horror
patterned his face, as his voice grew louder. “I hate them for what
they have done to me, to my family, to my people, to my
kingdom!”

Ian’s heart froze, while the princes stared
down at the table, not making eye contact with anyone.

Before he could blurt out an apology though,
the king’s face burned with black wrath as he vented his boiling
anger: “No more lies!” he yelled, his brow chiseled with fury, a
huge contrast to his former calm demeanor, as his two sons stared
at him with glazed astonishment--they’d likely never seen him so
upset before. “I don’t know who you are or why you’re here, but you
are worse to us than ten thousand criminals.”

Ian’s tongue clung to his mouth; guilt filled
his heart--he truly felt like a serial killer.

Before Ian could even catch his breath, the
king hurled out a fierce command: “Never mention the Elayans again.
I have far too many problems as it is without them interfering.”
Scorching Ian with a malevolent look, Kadeth stormed towards the
metal door. Just about to leave, he stopped as the door burst open
and a messenger entered.

“Blessings and strength, Your Majesty.” He
bowed low to the ground, backing away reverently from the king,
before completing his assignment. “An ambassador from Verandur
desires to speak with you.”

“Verandur? What do they want with us?” He
tightened his lips, his face quickly resuming its regal mask, his
fiery fury completely buried.

“I do not know her full intent, Your Majesty.
But I do know she wants to make an alliance with us.”

The king’s eyes danced with dark light, his
face growing rigid and somber. “Bring her in.” He then turned
around and faced his eldest son. “Escort Ian to the garden room,
Taishan,” he commanded. “And bring him to the sun chamber promptly
at dew hour. Master Thargon will be testing him.”

“Thargon Windblade?” inquired Taishan, fear
making his usually strong voice quiver. “In truth, Your
Majesty?”

“In truth,” he uttered spitefully. “I would
have no one else.” He gave Ian a sharp look, then turning to his
son, quietly flung out his left arm to the side, signaling the end
of the conversation.

Gravely, the elder prince gestured to Ian to
follow him by stretching out his right hand towards his own feet,
before leading him out of the room down a grand hallway with murals
of sunlit forests, bubbling springs, lovely elven princesses and
handsome elven princes.

Moving further down the corridor, until they
were out of the guards’ earshot, Taishan spoke, whispering into his
ear: “Ian, your life is in the wolf’s jaws. Master Thargon is a
mighty sorcerer recently banished from the palace for abusing his
power.” The prince paused eerily, as a thick pervasive darkness
spread over the conversation. Then he continued, “Do you know why
he was banished?”

“No,” replied Ian, trembling, hating this bad
turns of events. First, he was nearly killed by the Elayan, then
almost thrown into the dungeon, and now this? Whoever this Thargon
guy was, he didn’t sound like somebody he’d want to meet in the
back alley at night. “What happened?”

With the voice of a doomsday prophet, the
prince stared at Ian and murmured, “He was deposed for murdering
many prisoners by practicing his dark arts on them.”

Chimes of terror resounded within Ian. All
these happy murals on the wall mocked him. His life was cursed and
all he’d done was tell the truth--well, mostly. Taking a deep
breath, he faced the prince, bewildered as to why he was suddenly
so concerned for him. “And what’s this to you? Why do you
care?”

Taishan’s eyes flickered for a moment as he
cautiously looked around him--there was still nobody within
earshot. Drawing nearer to Ian, he whispered, “I sense that there
may be some good in you.”

“Like what?” Ian blurted out with
astonishment, never expecting to hear something so positive from
these elves.

“I do not know,” he murmured coolly. “But,
nevertheless, I do not want you to die.”

Ian scrambled his brain for a response. “Ok,
so what should I do then?”

“By the shade of the forest, beg the king’s
mercy,” said Taishan. “Confess your lies and entreat him with your
face against the ground.”

“Is that all I can do?” asked Ian mortified,
as he felt a ponderous weight settle on his heart. Even if he did
do this humiliating act, there was no way the king would be
convinced and show favor to him. He had changed his story so many
times that it was now set in stone. Unless the king actually saw
the Elayans for himself, there was no hope for him.

“Yes, that is all,” Taishan replied
thoughtfully. The elf stared blankly ahead. “Master Thargon has no
feelings; his heart is as dead as a corpse.”

Images of buzzing carrion and decaying hearts
soared through Ian’s mind. He leaned back against the wall to keep
himself from staggering.