The Crown of Stones: Magic-Price (51 page)

“Its purpose was to compel you to defend the realm when threatened. But other methods were needed to cement your devotion since, as you know, spells can be broken. They can weaken over time. Or, on occasion, fade altogether when the caster dies.”

Certainly, I knew that. But for some reason I’d never entertained the idea. I’d never thought
this
spell might have expired. “It’s still on me though. Isn’t it?”

“Honestly?” Neela studied me like the answer was on my face. “I don’t know.”

I nodded, realizing I found a weird sort of consolation in her uncertainty. It was better than a definitive answer. Hearing that my devotion to Rella was truly no longer induced would mean that I hadn’t been made to come back. That the commitment I felt to the realm was my own to uphold—or to break. And if I knew the spell had worn out years ago, before I went to war, that would mean a whole other level of anguish.

Neela continued. “To safeguard against the possibility of the spell failing, you were immersed in Rellan society. Living among those you were born to defend, growing as one of them, you learned their culture alongside your own. Witnessing your mother’s healing helped to teach you the value and frailty of life. Just as schooling you in the dangers of magic kept any ethical issues regarding the status of your race from arising.”

“Ethical issues…like sympathy?”

“It was crucial that you accept slavery as a logical, necessary solution to the threat magic poses. Otherwise, you might revolt as your father did. Every activity, every moment, was to foster a strong, natural desire to defend Rella. Including, taking you to the front line to watch the two sides’ battle.”

“I remember that,” I said, her words sparking something I hadn’t thought about in years. “The Langorians soldiers were like giants. The way they tore those Rellan soldiers apart…I’d never seen people die like that before.”

“Exposure to the atrocities of combat at an early age instilled in you a deep, unconscious hatred for our enemy.”

“What it did was give me nightmares.”

“You were quite small. And new recruits are often unprepared.”

“You mean they die faster?” Neela offered no response, and her shortage of emotion was telling. “They were sent in for my benefit, weren’t they? Sent to die so I could watch?” Still she said nothing, and I plopped down on the edge of the bed; hands on my knees, eyes on the floor. “You controlled everything. Even my hatred.”

“It was imperative that you witness the depth of Langorian butchery.”

I threw her a scowl. “Is it any deeper than Rellan cruelty? You conditioned me. You shoved it down my throat that the Rellans were good and the Langorians evil.”

“They
are
evil, Troy.”

“That’s beside the point. What your family did was wrong. But you know that. You know it and you aren’t disturbed in the least that those soldiers never had a chance. That your family, your father, took a boy and turned him into a killer.”

“That tendency was already in you. We simply refined it. Rella made you the man you are now.” I gave her a look that said exactly what I thought of that, and Neela’s eyes flashed. “You were our last chance to get it right. At the first sign of any undesirable qualities you would have been executed in your sleep.”

“Taking your mother’s life wasn’t undesirable enough?”

“That was my father’s call. And he made the right one. So did you.” Abruptly, Neela’s ire cooled. Her stare calmed. “My mother was wrong, Troy. She should have let you at those bastards from day one. What happened after was on her.”

“What happened,” I said, trying not to growl, “was that Rella lost its Queen.”

“That is regrettable. But she knew the risks of war. And your tactic won us years of peace. All that you did wrong was to leave Draken alive.”

If it was an act, I couldn’t see through it. It appeared as if Neela hadn’t merely accepted my use of the crown, as Jarryd did. She supported it. She saw the massacre of thousands of Rellan troops as a strategy. And that implied things about her I wasn’t ready to believe were true. “Why a Reth?” I said; letting my concerns about her lie for now. “If your people really wanted a soldier, others survived the quake besides us.”

Neela seemed reluctant. “Are you sure you’re ready to hear this?”

“No. But I have to.”

“Then please understand, Troy. This is not something I would normally share. It’s of a particularly sensitive nature. And I do believe there are times when too much knowledge can be a hindrance. Our own minds our greatest enemy.”

“Yeah,” I laughed soberly. “I’ve tussled with mine a time or two.”

“But I will not treat your service to the throne as my father did. If I am to trust you with my realm, you should not be ignorant of its origins. Nevertheless, what I am about to tell you requires the highest discretion.”

“I understand. It stays between us. And Jarryd,” I added.

“Naturally,” Neela frowned. She sat down next to me on the bed. “As you might imagine, the catastrophe that befell your civilization was sudden and fierce. The city was buried. Many of the mines collapsed. The land was turned inside out and the shaking continued for months, making the entire area violently unstable. Survivors were forced to seek shelter in other realms. They begged for aid, but none would take them in. The Shinree Empire had formed their alliances with fear and most were glad to see it end.”

“Why were they begging at all? My people weren’t exactly helpless.”

“No. They were sick. At first, it was thought to be a plague. But the source couldn’t be identified and nothing would ease their symptoms. They had no idea the illness was due to a rapid and merciless cleansing of magic. At that time, most Shinree were not even aware of the magnitude of their addiction.”

“How is that possible? How could they not know?”

“The elite castes never went without anything, including magic. The commoners, the workers, used the stones of their profession daily. Channeling was routine, and done with so few restrictions that it masked the extent of their hunger.”

“That’s a hell of a lot of spells bouncing around. Where did they get the energy?”

“Many kept farms. The higher castes were erudite-trained. They knew how to minimize the cost of their spells so they drained their livestock slowly, over time.”

“Their herds must have been massive.”

“You mistake me. It wasn’t animals the Shinree were farming.”

“What then? Crops?”

“To properly answer you, I need to go farther back. You see, my Rellan forefathers weren’t originally from
Mirra’kelan
. They came from across the sea and claimed the southern half of the continent as their own. What resistance they met was minimal. The natives were a simple people. Passive. Reclusive.”

I thought of Danyon’s speech at the Wounded Owl. “The Langorians. They owned the land Rella stands on now. It was their home.”

“They called themselves something else at the time, and their settlements actually spread far to the west, all the way into what is now Kael. But they were spaced far apart. They had no military might, no structure for defense, and my ancestors subdued the Langorians quite easily. The Shinree were a different story. We had heard of their ways, their sorcery. We knew better than to attack so we established trade with the one product we had that was unique to this land.”

“Which was?”

“Slaves. We sold them the Langorians. My people introduced the concept of slavery to yours, Ian. But they ran with it. The Shinree utilized the Langorians in ways my ancestors never would have. They weren’t given shelter or cared for in any way. They weren’t just used as servants and laborers. The Shinree worked their Langorian slaves mercilessly, often to death, in every capacity; in the mines, as amusement in arenas and houses of pleasure—to nourish their spells. Gender and age were no concern. They simply farmed more.”

I swallowed; my throat felt too tight for words. “History says nothing of this.”

“It wouldn’t. When my people learned of the atrocities being committed by the Shinree, they were horrified. Ashamed. Our part in it was not to be spoken of. Scholars were forbidden to write of it. Only one scribe was allowed to record the true events. To this day, his scrolls are kept locked away by a priest. They are taken out only when a new Rellan leader is crowned so that they may understand what truly drives the Langorians to make war with us.” Neela turned slightly toward me. “Obviously, this doesn’t excuse what they’ve done. Or what they became. After the empire fell they could have went back to—”

“Back to what? You took their land. My people took their spirit. The Langorians became what they had to in order to survive.”

“Still, that doesn’t pardon their butchery.”

“Of course not. But there’s sure as hell plenty of blame for it to go around.”

Neela declined to comment on that. “When the survivors fled the quake, there was no time to pack. Only a few had the foresight to bring stones with them. The rest were suddenly deprived of something that was as natural to them as breathing. As the truth of the sickness became known, all semblance of society fell apart. Civility was lost. Thefts and murders were rampant. Davyk Reth, Emperor Tam’s only surviving son, established himself as their leader. But by then, the situation was hopeless.”

“That’s when the other races allied against us and attacked?”

“That is what’s written.”

“But not what happened,” I guessed.

“Davyk begged for an audience with Rella’s King. He came under the guise of a treaty. Even his people believed his motives were true. But once he gained entrance to the castle, he used magic to murder the King’s infant daughter. He threatened more deaths would follow unless he was given protection for himself, his wife, and any of his future line. The King granted his demands and in return Davyk gave Rella a way to contain the Shinree threat forever. He gave us his father’s formula for
Kayn’l
.”

“My ancestor was responsible for the slavery of our entire race?” She nodded and I wasn’t sure what was worse: saying it out loud or the complete lack of empathy in her eyes. “I always thought the formula was stolen from us. But he just gave it to them? He condemned us all to save himself.”

“Rest assured that Davyk was punished for his betrayal. Once Rellan Alchemists learned how to produce the
Kayn’l
themselves, Davyk was the first Shinree to receive the drug. After they were all subdued, there were public executions. Many called for the entire race to be wiped out. One of the King’s council suggested otherwise. He believed their magic could be used to our advantage, specifically the aggression in the Reth blood. That was when the breeding of your kind was first attempted. It took time to develop a way for Shinree to create offspring while under the influence of
Kayn’l
. Even longer to understand what lines would overtake others. But once the process was refined it was found we could produce any type we desired.”

“So you started farming us. A little ironic, don’t you think?”

“Once the route was ventured down, there was no stopping it. With the risk that Shinree magic poses, as the population grew, the numbers had to be managed and controlled. Now, with camps all over the kingdoms, it’s
even more important. Not so much as a single birth can be left to chance. Even free oracles and healers are required to gain permission from their King before they are allowed to procreate.”

“Then I’m supposed to ask you every time I want to
—
” her scowl stopped me.

“Do you think under your father’s rule it would be any better? Reth knows he can’t control so many magic users off
Kayn’l
. He has two choices. Keep them drugged. Or use other measures that are far worse. Either way, your people will trade one form of oppression for another. Is that what you want for them?”

“No.”

“Then you agree the Shinree need to remain as they are?”

My answer didn’t come as quick as it used to. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. You have an emperor’s blood in your veins, Troy. You know there is no clear and good solution for this. And don’t tell me they can stop casting because that didn’t work very well for you.”

With that, Neela’s lecture was done. I offered no response and we sat on the bed together in silence. She pretended to straighten the skirt of her dress and I brooded over her comments.

Undeniably, they were dead on. It was her callous delivery I had trouble with. The way she saw my people as little more than domesticated animals made me sick. It made me want to shout, to argue our right to freedom—to vow that I could guide them better than my father. And that worried me. For the simple reason that I couldn’t be sure if it was Sienn’s soul rioting inside me, or if discovering my true lineage had awoken an instinct I didn’t know I had; a natural desire to defend and lead my people.

“Is there a problem?” Neela stared down at the bed between us. The covers were balled tightly in my fists.

“No.” I unclenched my hands. “No problem.”

“Your father will never be anything more than he is,” she said, misinterpreting my distress. “Whatever empathy you have, whatever fanciful thoughts or wishes he triggers in you, must be blocked out. You cannot afford to feel anything for that man.”

“I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I’m not like you. I can’t shut everything off. I can’t pretend I don’t care. And I don’t want to.” Anger seeped into my words.
“If I stop feeling for myself then I stop feeling for others. I risk becoming like Draken and my father. Men who shed blood as easily as sweat. Rulers who shut themselves off from the people they are sworn to protect.”

“Do you mean me? You assume that I order men to their deaths without trepidation? That I have no grasp of what I ask? No compassion?”

“If you do, I don’t see it.”

“It’s not for you to see. It is a ruler’s curse to live while others die. To deny that truth, to coddle those who serve you with undo affection, to weep and mourn like their deaths weren’t expected, only cheapens their sacrifice. This, I accepted a long time ago.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

“I do what is required.”