Guild Wars: Sea of Sorrows (46 page)

“These people are Kryta’s allies. They hold back the risen undead of Orr, and we should be
supporting
that effort, not removing their ability to defend us.” Isaye’s hazel eyes flashed. “I ask you to stop this. Now. Make a treaty that recognizes Lion’s Arch’s independence and make peace with her citizens. It’s the only way Tyria will survive the coming storms.”

Edair sat forward in his throne, thrusting his finger toward Isaye. “You’re defending them? After they burned your ship. Threw you out! By Balthazar’s fire, you cling to your loyalty like a child hiding under a cloak, thinking blindness will keep you safe.” The audience had fallen completely silent, watching the exchange breathlessly. This was exactly the kind of theater Edair wanted. “I don’t care what information you gave my father over the years. He was a fool to listen to you. Kryta should have attacked Lion’s Arch years ago.” Isaye’s cheeks flushed red, and Edair tapped his fingers rhythmically on the arm of his golden throne.

“Lion’s Arch is a
Krytan
city. For too long we have swallowed their fables about ‘the dangers of Orr.’ They tell tales of this mythical undead force so that we will be too afraid to attack the pirates and smugglers who stole Krytan land!” Leaning back easily, Edair let his gaze play over the room, taking in the opulent wall hangings and the golden decorations. He smiled to a group of maidens on the upper balconies and then returned his stare to Isaye. “I’ve heard men say that charr are twelve feet high with star beams shooting from their eyes. They can jump so far they might as well be flying, and when they hold their breath, they’re practically invisible. They have fur of iron and claws of fire, and they can’t be harmed by
human blades.” The prince shook his head disdainfully. “I’ve fought in Ascalon. I know the difference between legends and truths. Charr are made of flesh and blood. They’re nothing more than animals, barely capable of walking on two legs.

“These pirates tell us stories of an undefeatable Orr. They say it’s a living dragon-island, that hundreds of thousands of undead roam there, unkillable, with magic so powerful we can’t begin to understand it. And we’re supposed to be
grateful
to Lion’s Arch for the ‘protection’ they provide.” He smirked. “I’ll tell you what else I know. Orrian zombies wash up on the beaches in Kryta, too, and just like the charr . . .” The prince of Kryta took a deep breath and intoned harshly, “They can be destroyed.”

Edair rose, holding his hands up in reassurance. “Don’t listen to the lies told by these pirates. Orr isn’t a cursed kingdom; it’s nothing more than a waterlogged, desolate lump of stone. Yes, there is some magic within its shores, but it is old, withered, and impotent, or why else was it lost for so long? The kingdom of Orr was destroyed hundreds of years ago, cast to the bottom of the ocean, and it’s no more dangerous now than it has ever been.

“They say we should be grateful to Lion’s Arch. For what? Fighting off zombies? Sinking a few rotting ships? These traitors preen about insignificant victories won against feeble opponents. For that, we should give these brigands Krytan land and say thank you? I say no!” Several members of the audience raised their voices in agreement, and a wave of applause rippled through the nobility. Edair shook his fist and accepted their laudations with a calculating smile. The Seraph guards pushed Isaye back into line, warning her to keep silent unless spoken to again.

Cobiah clenched his teeth, his hands twisting against
the iron manacles that held him bound. He was on the wrong side of this situation, unable to fight while every instinct urged him to attack. It was galling to stand silently while someone tore down his accomplishments, threatened his friends, and called him a liar. Yet Cobiah reined in his temper. Twice, Isaye had asked him not to attack the prince. He didn’t know her reasons, didn’t entirely trust them given their past, but something in the way she’d asked still gave him pause. There was more to this than he knew.

The exemplar swayed across the dais to the prince’s side, placing her hand on his arm. “Your Demetran crystal-wine is here, Your Highness.” She gestured to one of the Shining Blade, and the man approached, holding out a goblet etched with the sigil of the royal family.

Blinking away his spontaneous ferocity, Prince Edair lowered himself once more onto the golden throne. He took the glass from the silver tray and balanced it in his hand, smelling the fresh bouquet of the wine. “Ah, yes. Thank you, Livia.”

Livia
.

That name was familiar. He’d heard rumors—everyone had. Livia was the self-appointed protector of the ruler of Kryta, and if whispers were true, she’d been so for
generations
. Some tales said she’d sold her soul to become an immortal lich. Others claimed that Livia sacrificed prisoners in the dungeons of Divinity’s Reach and used their blood to give herself eternal youth and beauty. He’d heard a hundred legends, usually during the autumn festival when children were trying to scare one another with spooky tales. Still, all the stories agreed on one thing: Livia was
powerful
. Cobiah felt a chill run through his body as the woman glanced toward him again, her smoky eyes obscured by the curtain of her
white-streaked hair. Maybe she was the reason Isaye was so frightened.

“Commodore Marriner.” Edair singled him out. He paused to swirl his expensive wine while the Seraph pushed Cobiah forward. A shadow darkened the prince’s face as he considered his next words. “Once the majority of the Seraph, my army, is gathered to the north of Lion’s Arch, we will march on your city, and we will be victorious. If that happens, I assure you, Commodore . . .” Edair examined him as though he were an acquisition he was deciding whether to buy. “There will be a great deal of bloodshed.

“Although I would enjoy the excitement of honorable battle, I realize we would be marching seasoned military troops against civilian militia. Exemplar Livia has convinced me,” he said, setting the goblet down, “that we should first seek other ways of resolving this conflict. I’ve gone to great lengths to get you here in the hopes that you can help me avoid such an outcome. I had my
loyal
friend Isaye watched by spies. I intercepted her messages. I gave her good reason to think I had an assassin in your city, and to save your life, she did exactly as I’d hoped. She brought you here.” Edair laughed lightly. “Really, Cobiah. You should be flattered at the amount of trouble it’s taken to make you a guest aboard my magnificent galleon.”

“You should have saved the trouble and stuffed this galleon up your—” Grymm didn’t get any further. One of the marines rammed the butt of a spear into the norn’s belly, doubling him over and knocking the wind out of his words. The Seraph struck him across the back, forcing him to his knees, and shoved the point of the spear against his chest. Blood trickled down from a wound where the spear cut into the norn’s flesh. Bronn growled
and tried to step toward his brother, but in a flash the guards had their swords at his throat. Around the ballroom, Seraph and the Shining Blade stood at the ready, weapons out and magic coalescing as elementalists concentrated their will in preparation for battle.

“Enough!” Edair snarled. His face had reddened, and he clenched his fists so tightly the knuckles turned white on the arms of his throne. Clearly, the prince was used to getting his way. “This is not a discussion.
This is a royal command.

“Either you tell the Lionguard to stand down and disarm the city defenses, or I will show you why you should fear the Krytan throne, Marriner.” He rose slowly and took a step forward, using the height of the dais to tower over Cobiah and his friends. Edair’s body was as tense as a bowstring, his voice brittle with the fraying of his temper. “I assure you, I am not bluffing.”

“You can do what you want, Edair; the answer is still no.” Cobiah’s heart pounded, all fear replaced by the certainty of impending death. “I wish I could. I wish you understood what you were doing, and by Dwayna’s white wings, I’d like to find a way to keep my people from harm. But I’d rather have you kill them quickly by the sword than take the city and underestimate the Dead Ships. If that’s the choice, then I believe every living being in Lion’s Arch would wish for the death you’ll give them over the blasphemous unlife they’ll receive at Orrian hands.”

“You filthy, dishonorable blackguard!” At last, the prince’s control broke, and Edair raised his voice in a ferocious shout, like a child being denied a toy. “You
will
do what I tell you! If you don’t, your friends will suffer my wrath one by one.”

Bronn growled, low in his throat. Stiff and unyielding
despite the weapons arrayed against him, the bearded norn declared, “My brother and I would gladly die rather than submit to a coward such as you.”

Edair reddened further. “I’ll kill her!” He pointed at Isaye. “And him!” His finger moved on to Tenzin. Seeing that Cobiah wouldn’t budge, Edair lowered his hand and paced across the stage. Livia tried to catch his attention with a subtle gesture, but Edair strode past her without even acknowledging the exemplar. “You’re so self-sacrificing. So very stalwart. I’m offering you a chance to save the lives of innocents—women and children—but you’d rather have a knife through your heart. Fine. Let’s see how much solace that is when the repercussions are staring you in the face.”

Spinning away, the prince made a sharp gesture. “Get the boy.”

The guardsman snapped a salute, hurrying across the dais to the door through which the prince had entered the room. A terrible light flashed in Edair’s eyes. Livia approached him, murmuring softly, but the prince dismissed her words with a quick chop of his hand through the air. Cobiah frowned. What cruelty was this? Thinking that perhaps Isaye knew more than she’d had time to reveal, Cobiah turned to whisper to her—but the words froze in his throat as he took in the pale, horrified look on Isaye’s face.

The door opened, and the pale-haired Shining Blade guardsman from before entered the stateroom, leading a small child by the hand. The child was young, a boy not more than three years old, with a mop of dark hair and bright blue eyes. Burbling happily to himself, he kept one hand in his mouth, the other wrapped around the Shining Blade’s fingers, toddling along despite his drooping eyes and sleepy smile.

“Commodore Marriner,” the prince said, his voice holding a note of cold-blooded pride, “may I present the
Trident
’s newest visitor? He arrived just two days ago.” Edair settled back into his throne, keeping his eyes on the prisoners standing before his dais.

There was no chance for Cobiah to respond. Fighting to be free of her restraints, Isaye shoved her way toward the dais despite the Seraph, not caring if their swords dug bloody gouges into her skin. “Dane!” she called out, stretching her manacled arms toward the boy.

At the sight of her, the child brightened. “Mama!” He pulled the hand out of his mouth and waved at her eagerly. Spotting Tenzin, the boy tried to pull away from the Shining Blade and run toward them both, but the guard prevented him from escaping by sweeping the child gently up onto his hip. Tears leapt to Isaye’s eyes.

So this was what she’d been protecting.

Cobiah’s chest tightened. He couldn’t breathe, his heart pounding so hard that he could hear the blood thumping in his ears. It seemed as if the world around him had stopped turning, shrinking down to one small, dark-haired boy. He whispered a prayer to Dwayna and the Six Gods, begging for their forgiveness as he took in the meaning of the scene before him. Isaye’s son. Isaye had a son. His wife . . . had a child by another man.

All of the warmth that had been regrowing toward Isaye suddenly withered inside Cobiah’s heart. Justifications leapt into his mind. She’d been gone for years. He’d even called her his ex-wife. She deserved to be happy. But the one thing that kept returning and returning to his thoughts was the image of Isaye, meeting alone in an inn room with a Krytan agent, carrying copies of Cobiah’s council notes. How long had she been meeting with him in secret? Cobiah didn’t even know who the man was;
he’d barely gotten a glimpse before the agent leapt out the window and escaped.

What if they had been meeting for more personal reasons?

Edair stared down at them as he spoke, lingering over the words with obvious relish. “I sent for him several days ago, Isaye. My spies had been watching you for some time to see if you were loyal, and you’d proven yourself to my satisfaction. As a reward and an apology for my lack of trust, I planned to surprise you with my thoughtfulness. Imagine my chagrin when my spies brought me concrete proof that you’d betrayed me and allowed a ship through the blockade with a message for Lion’s Arch.

“
Steadfast
Isaye.
Loyal
Isaye. Always playing the part of the devoted Krytan. You fooled my father, and you nearly fooled me.” Scorn dripped from every word. “How easily you were discovered.”

“Don’t you
dare
hurt him!” Isaye bristled. She pushed forward. The Seraph’s weapons drove into her skin, forcing her to step back again. As blood stained her linen shirt, Tenzin’s hands flexed, reaching automatically for a weapon that was no longer at his side. Behind her, Cobiah’s face darkened, making the connection. Tenzin was younger than Isaye, yes . . . but he was old enough.

“Be still, both of you.” Bronn clenched his hands around the iron chain of his manacles. “Your actions bring even more danger to the child.”

“Listen to your gargantuan friend, Isaye,” Edair said quietly. “None of us want to endanger the boy. Isn’t that right, Commodore?”

All around them, the nobles of Divinity’s Reach stood in rapt attention, captivated and perhaps fearful of the scene playing out before them. Women pressed their hands to silk bodices, and men questioned the king with their eyes, afraid to say anything that might draw the
prince’s attention. The
Balthazar’s Trident
rocked gently in the water, lanterns swaying from the balcony, casting mercurial shadows from wall to wall. Cobiah set his mouth in a grim line, understanding the threat implicit in the prince’s words.