The Beauty of Darkness (20 page)

“All right,” I answered.

“I could use the practice,” she said as she approached. “I had training with my brothers, but they emphasized dirty fighting.”

“There's no other kind when you're fighting for your life. First thing, let's find a sword that's suited for you.”

I walked over to the rack of practice swords, testing their weights. “Try this one.” It was a lighter sword that wouldn't fatigue her arm as quickly but still had a decent reach. I selected a shield for her too.

Sven stepped forward. “Your Majesty, is this wise?”

Lia leveled a death stare at him. I knew she was already weary of every decision being deferred to me. “We'll be fine, Colonel.”

“Astute move, Your Majesty,” Lia said under her breath. “Or I might have had to take your steward down.”

We went through a few slow thrusts and parries so she could get the feel of her weapon and then I applied more pressure.

“Don't use your sword to block or defend unless you have to,” I said as our blows reverberated through the yard. “Advance! The sword is a killing weapon, not a defensive one. If you're using it to defend, you're missing a chance to kill.” I showed her how to use her shield to deflect and unbalance her opponent to her best advantage, while at the same time using her sword to thrust and cut.

“Attack!” I yelled, baiting her just as I did the other soldiers. “Attack! Don't wait for me to wear you down! Keep me on the move! Let surprise be your ally!”

She did, in earnest. The dust kicked up around us.

The soldiers hooted. I had no doubt it was the first time they'd ever seen a woman sparring in the work yard—with their king, no less.

Her reflexes were fast and her concentration dogged—excellent qualities for a swordsman, but I had the advantage of height, weight, and strength, as most opponents she might face would.

To her advantage, she seemed to naturally understand the concept of movement and timing. Some soldiers planted their feet like trees, as if their sheer size would keep them upright. I had seen many of them felled by soldiers not much bigger than Lia. Her face glistened with sweat, and I was caught by a surge of pride.

“Watch your shins,” someone called out. I glanced toward the crowd. Kaden. Our audience had grown.

Her sword skimmed my ribs, and cheers erupted. Like a wolf tasting blood, her thrusts became ravenous, her movement a graceful chaos that kept me increasingly alert. I advanced, pressing harder, and her strikes slowed against the pressure. I knew every sinew in her shoulder had to be burning with fire.

“Go for the kill,” I yelled, “before the choice is taken from you.”

She was a fast learner, using her shield well, deflecting my blows expertly, but then a piercing horn sounded, dividing her attention. I pulled back on my swing, but not before the flat of the sword caught her in the jaw and she went flying backward to the ground. The shocked groan of the crowd ricocheted through the yard, and I rushed to her side, falling to the ground.

I gathered her into my arms. “Lia! My gods. Are you all right?” Soldiers closed in around us and I yelled for someone to get the physician.

She grimaced, reaching up to hold her jaw where the redness was already turning blue. “Stupid,” she hissed.

“I'm sorry. I didn't—”

“Not you. Me. Walther told me a hundred times I couldn't let in distractions.” She pushed my hand away and opened her mouth, testing to see that her jaw was in working order. “I still have all my teeth. Stop fussing.”

The horn sounded again. “What is it?” she asked.

I wasn't sure. “A warning or a welcome.” I looked up at the watchtower, and a soldier waved the Dalbreck banner. “Our soldiers!” he yelled.

The rotation of troops had arrived.

I'd be able to leave for Dalbreck with Lia at last.

 

CHAPTE
R
THIRTY

That evening, no one mentioned my tumble, whether to spare me or their king I wasn't sure. But if Sven said anything, I was prepared to point out that two of Rafe's sparring partners had fared worse—one a knot on the head, and the other a cracked knuckle. I hadn't sparred with Rafe to prove a point the way I had with Kaden. I knew a time might come when I would need greater sword skills, and I wanted to learn from the best.

With the arrival of the troops, everyone lingered over dinner, then dessert, eagerly eating up news of home from the newly arrived Officers Taggart and Durante.

While both officers were relieved to learn that Prince Jaxon had been found alive, I noticed Rafe grew quieter as the evening progressed and news was shared. Some of the reports were lackluster—betrothals, harvests, promotions in the ranks—but when it turned to the squabbles among the assembly and cabinet, and the rumblings of generals, Rafe's eyes narrowed and his fingers curled around the arm of his chair.

“We leave in two days. It will all be addressed soon enough,” he said. His tense composure didn't escape the officers and further news of grumbling generals stalled on their lips.

Colonel Bodeen turned the conversation back to a lighter topic—the party that was planned for the next evening—and he noted the good timing of the troops' arrival. Apparently Officers Taggart and Durante were well-versed in Bodeen's celebrations.

“Be prepared, ladies,” Taggart said. “There aren't enough of you to go around. You'll be dancing all night.”

“That's fine by me,” Vilah said. The other women chimed in with agreement.

“You too, Your Highness,” Captain Hague said, lifting his glass to me.

This prompted another round of toasting, this time to dancing. Soon the conversation turned elsewhere and I became lost in my own thoughts, as detached from the party plans as Rafe seemed to be. I fingered the bone in my pocket, feeling a strange emptiness that a party wasn't able to fill. I had accumulated a small pile of bones back in my tent. It was a habit I couldn't let go of: the jingling tokens of remembrance and worry for those I had left behind. I feared the cruelties they would suffer at the hands of the Komizar, and worried for the greater needs that still lay ahead. Morrighan could be extinguished—snuffed from memory with only a few broken memorials to prove we were ever there.

Shouts jostled me from my thoughts. Everyone startled, looking toward the door. An angry scuffle was going on outside on the veranda. The door slivered open, and a soldier entered, apologizing profusely for the interruption. “We found one, Your Majesty, just like you said. Caught him lurking around the back wall. He's a small one, but wild. He slashed one of our guards on the arm before we could tackle him. He's demanding to see, er—” He looked down briefly as if embarrassed. “He wants to see the princess. He says he knows her?”

Rafe, Kaden, Griz, and I were all on our feet.

“Bring him in,” Rafe said.

We heard more yelling, then two guards stumbled in trying to control their prisoner.

“Hold your place before I knock your head into the next world!” one guard growled.

The prisoner locked eyes with me, and my heart stopped.

It was Eben.

Though I knew better than to fawn over him, I couldn't stop myself and ran, pulling him from the guard's grip. Kaden and Griz were right behind me.

“Eben!” I drew him into my arms. “Thank the gods you're alive!”

His arms circled around me, unashamed, and I felt all the ribs and angles of his thin body. I pushed back an arm's length to look at him. His cheekbones were sharp, and his eyes hollow and circled with shadows. He was half starved and looked more like a wild animal than a boy. Dried spattered blood covered his clothing.

I saw emotion well in Griz's and Kaden's faces. Kaden stepped forward, grabbed fistfuls of Eben's shirt, and pulled him roughly into his arms.
“Drazhone.”

Brother.

Eben was their comrade. A Rahtan in training.

Griz did the same, then checked a scrape on Eben's cheek. When I turned from our tight-knit circle, I saw Rafe watching us, not with curiosity like everyone else, but with dark scrutiny. Kaden's shoulder brushed up against mine, and I stepped away, creating some distance between us.

Eben's attention shot to Rafe, and he eyed him suspiciously. He had only known Rafe as Dalbreck's emissary, and I realized he probably still didn't know Rafe's true position here. His gaze shifted to Jeb, once a filthy Vendan patty clapper, hardly recognizable now with his neatly combed hair and pristine clothing. Next he looked at Sven, the one-time governor of Arleston, who now wore a high-ranking officer's uniform, and then Orrin, the governor's mute guard, also in Dalbreck uniform, drinking from a crystal goblet.

Orrin grinned. “Surprise,” he said lifting his glass toward Eben.

I made introductions.

“
Fikatande chimentras
,” Eben said under his breath.

I looked at Rafe, wondering just how many of the choice Vendan words he knew.

“Yes, we're liars,” Rafe said, answering my question. He leaned forward, aiming a frigid stare at Eben. “We lied to save the princess's life. Do you object to that?”

Eben's chin lifted, defiant, but then he shook his head.

Rafe sat back in his chair. “Good. Now, someone bring the boy some food. We have talking to do.”

Colonel Bodeen suggested it was a good time for the officers and their wives to retire for the evening. They all left except for Captain Hague.

It was more like an interrogation than talking. Rafe, Kaden, Griz, Tavish, Sven, and I all took turns asking questions as Eben wolfed down food.

He had barely escaped with his life. He had been in the far eastern paddock with Spirit when they came for him. His voice wobbled when he mentioned the name of the young foal that he had to leave behind. He was oblivious to what had happened back on the Sanctum terrace, but he saw Trahern, Iver, and Syrus—one of the tower guards—kill a paddy clapper without a word. He knew something was wrong, and when they caught sight of him, he knew he was next. He ran, hiding in stalls, barns, between stacks of hay, wherever he could as they chased him down. Finally Syrus cornered him in a loft. Eben killed him with a pitchfork in his chest. He spent the rest of the day moving from one hiding place to the next, finally ending up in an abandoned room in the South Tower, where he was trapped for two days. That was where he pieced together what had happened. Because of his close association with Griz, he had been targeted. Anyone who was known to have been intimately speaking with the princess, Griz, Kaden, or Faiwel was suspected as a traitor and systematically hunted down. He heard the screams of the slaughtered. He closed his eyes, and I thought he might not open them again. When he did, his lids were heavy and his eyes swam in his head. It wasn't terror but exhaustion undoing him. His head lolled briefly to the side. With a full stomach, he was barely able to stay conscious.

“Where did you stay in the South Tower?” Kaden asked.

“Right below the Komizar's room. I could hear almost everything through the flue.”

“Do you know who he sent to hunt us down?” I asked.

Eben rattled off the names of everyone sent after us. He saw them leave from his hiding place. We had killed everyone he mentioned back in the Valley of the Giants—except for one who hadn't been among our attackers. Malich. Which meant he was still out there somewhere.

“Eben,” I asked, before I lost him completely, “is the Komizar ruling now?”

Eben looked at me, fear briefly pushing aside the stupor in his eyes. He nodded as if too afraid to speak the Komizar's name. “The ghouls down in the caverns took care of him with their own potions. He's different now. He wants us all dead, and I'm the only one who didn't do anything.”

“Except slash one of my men,” Rafe said. “What am I going to do about that?”

“It was only a scratch on his arm,” Eben chided. “Probably won't even need a stitch. He shouldn't have gotten in my way.”

Rafe looked across the room at the guard who had brought in Eben. The guard nodded confirmation, and Rafe turned back to Eben, this time with a sterner gaze. “And where do your loyalties lie now, Eben?” he asked.

“Not with
your
kind,” he answered, a snarl lifting his lip, but then his head bowed and he whispered, with all the misery and confusion the world could hold, “but not with the Komizar either.” He'd been cut loose from the only life he knew—for a second time. His focus shifted to the far wall and then his head fell back against his chair, his eyes closed and his mouth open, finally succumbing to his exhaustion. He started to fall to the side, but Rafe grabbed him, scooping his limp body into his arms.

“I'll be right back,” he said saying he was taking him to the physician's barracks to bunk, and to check on the soldier Eben had slashed.

“Be sure to post a guard on the urchin,” Sven reminded him as he walked out.

Rafe's footsteps faded, and the room was heavy with silence, then a few mumbled words erupted among the officers. Unimportant words. Nothing like the ones that pounded in my head.

The Komizar rules Venda.

It was the truth I had known all along.

The truth Rafe had tried to deny.

The truth even the Komizar knew as he lay bleeding:
It's not over.

Even Dihara whispered to me,
jei zinterr.
Be brave.

She knew it was only beginning.

He wants us all dead.

The vision I'd had of Civica when I was back in the Sanctum seeped into the air before me again, like fingers of curling smoke that had been waiting just outside my field of vision. The citadelle was destroyed, the ruins only broken fangs on the horizon, and piles upon piles of bodies lined the roads like stacked stones in a wall. The cries of a shackled few, to be taken back to Venda as prisoners, hung in the smoky air.