Wielder of Tiren (The Raven Chronicles Book 3) (4 page)

Chapter Seven

“
Y
ou look exhausted,” Duke Ramberti didn’t bother to hide the concern in his voice. “I know the loss you feel is heavy, Arwenna, but you are needed still. I would hate to see you give up when we still need your counsel.” He leaned back in the chair, leveling a direct look at her.

              “I haven’t given up, Ramberti. Far from it. If anything, Senyan’s sealed his own fate now. There is little mercy left in me when it comes to that creature.” She barely spoke above a whisper. “Joss’ death is… I’ve grieved for him before. Even then, I held out hope that he might come back to me. I didn’t perform the ritual myself, because he asked me not to. It took a God, not the daughter of one, to purge the curse from his veins. This time, I know better.” Her voice trailed off. The nightmare still concerned her. If ever there was a sorcerer who could, and would, defy the Gods just to torment her, it was Senyan.

              Ramberti leaned forward, laying a comforting hand on hers. “We will all miss him, my friend. And he will be honored by us. But time is not on our side. There are things that will come, sooner than either of us would like. I need my advisor at my side more now than ever. I know you want your vengeance. Rightly so, in my mind. And you know anything you need from me to enact it is yours for the asking. But I do not know if now is the right time for such deeds.”

              Arwenna met his gaze. “Why wait? I’ll meet with this suitor of Sera’s, put an end to this matter once and for all. Either he was trying to help her, or he’s working with others. If that’s the case, we need to know if it’s Senyan or someone else. It won’t take me long to decipher the truth. Once that’s settled and she’s safe with my father, I have every intention of finding Senyan. He has outstayed his welcome.” A vehemence crept into her voice, startling her. Part of her soul cringed away from the part that wanted to obliterate the man she once loved.

              Leaning back again, the Duke sighed. “It’s the King, Arwenna. He’s grown increasingly erratic the last six months. He’s dismissed all but a very few advisors. Even his physicians. Then, defying all logic, he moved his residence. Now he summons all his potential heirs to his new seat of power. He does not see reason, Arwenna, and I fear the halls of his new home will run red with blood before the succession is settled. I need you with me. Frances needs you. Neither of us will come out of this gathering alive without your aid.”

              She shook her head. “Ramberti, I don’t play politics well. You know this. I refuse to allow my power to be used for political gain by anyone. It makes you too dependent on me, your hold too tenuous. Whatever the King’s wishes, it will be for the best. He’s a good man. He wouldn’t leave his kingdom to one who would run it into the ground.”

              “He’s moved the Court to Tanisal, Arwenna. And he elevated Curtis to the Baronial seat that Keriat used to hold. Took it away from the man who’d filled the post for the last sixteen years! Do you want
him
to be king?”

              A gasp escaped her throat. Hearing the name of Bohrs’ father made her stomach churn. The idea that he may wear the crown? She shuddered. The only difference between father and son was the level of discretion used. Curtis was just as cruel as his son. “When’s the gathering, Ramberti?” she asked quietly. Her vengeance would have to wait.

              “In a few weeks. We were set to leave when Sera and Hala were attacked. Then word came of Joss and that you were on the way. We’ve delayed as long as we can, Arwenna. We have to leave by first light if we’re to get there in time. Any delay could mean…”

              “That Curtis ends up with the crown. I understand, Ramberti. I’ll find Y’Dürkie and pay a visit to this man Sera claims to love. Once that’s settled, we’ll be ready to ride. Hopefully, I can get her safe before dawn.” She rose, slender hands smoothing the front of her riding skirt. “How does Frances like the idea?”

              He shrugged. “She knew it was a possibility from the moment we started our courtship. The King’s last son died in the takeover of Tanisal. All the barons and dukes have been testing the waters, and loyalties, for over a decade now. She and I both know our chances are good, depending on whom the King listens to. Curtis has some advisor in the shadows. Someone who controls him but no one sees. A bargain has been struck, one that I fear. If Curtis is named successor, I shudder to think what he owes the person who got him the crown.”

              Arwenna stared unseeing at the books lining the walls of the study. “We will go to Tanisal, Your Grace. All of us. If there is blood to be shed, it won’t be yours. Something tells me we’ll both get to do what must be done at the same time.” She looked back at her friend. “Curtis was loyal to Corse and Senyan, as much as he
ever was to anyone. If Curtis is there, Senyan won’t be far away. It
wouldn’t surprise me at all if he was the shadow advisor.” She kept her tone even. “Are there any candidates you see as capable, besides yourself and Frances? I need to know who we’re backing before we get there.”

              Ramberti looked at the glass of wine in his hand, a finger tracing the rim for a moment. “No, Arwenna. I don’t say that out of desire for the crown or a thirst for power. The others simply don’t have the experience, maturity, or desire to rule the entire kingdom. I believe it’s going to come down to a choice between me and Curtis, even if I don’t like it very much.”

              “And that, my friend, is why you are the perfect choice. I’d sooner trust the rule of someone who is reluctant to take up the burden than someone who craves it.”

              Rising, she walked toward the door. Resting a hand on the knob, she looked back at him, “I’ll get Y’Dürkie, we’ll go see this suitor of Sera’s. Once that’s settled, I’ll have to get Sera safely to my father’s realm. If I’m not back by morning, go. I’ll catch up.”

She silently opened the door and went in search of Y’Dürkie.

Chapter Eight

“
T
anisal? Vhy vould the King vish to go back there?” Y’Dürkie asked.

              Placing her hand on the heavy iron ring, she pulled open the massive oak door. “I have no idea. There isn’t anything left there. Not even ghosts. Just abandoned homes and nightmares. I didn’t ask for a reason, but I’m sure there is one. We just won’t like it.” Arwenna stopped, pulling a lit torch out of the ring in the wall. “Ramberti keeps his dungeon well lit, at least,” she commented as they began to walk down the narrow stone staircase.

              “It is not a happy place, no. I did not think there vas anythink left standink vhen ve left.”

              “Tiren restored the land, Y’Dürkie, when the battle was over. Remember? It’s been almost twenty years since then. Families have started to farm again, and the port is in a key location. But I would’ve thought they’d have razed the town and rebuilt. After what Corse and his army did to the residents…” Arwenna’s voice trailed off. She knew her friend remembered the things they saw when they entered the city as well as she did. Some of those images still haunted her.

              “Ho! On the stairs! Identify yourselves!” A deep male voice called out from below.

              Arwenna made the final turn and stepped into the central room. Six corridors ran off like spokes of a wheel. The master jailer stood, sword in hand. “Relax, sir. We come to see the prisoner named Kial.”

              He bowed deeply, “My apologies, Daughter. His Grace told me you were coming, but not when. Given the nature of my workplace, caution is necessary.”

              “Have no worries, sir. Caution is always a good thing.” She handed the torch to Y’Dürkie. “Shall we?” she asked the jailer.

              Sheathing his sword, he unhooked a set of keys from his belt. “Right this way. We gave him a bucket of water and told him to make himself presentable. Not sure that he used it, but we tried.” He led them down one of the corridors. “This is one of our nicer cell blocks. What he’s accused of is horrid, of course, but he presented himself as quite the gent. Hasn’t given us a minute of trouble since he arrived.” He stopped in front of one of the cells. “You! Boy! You have visitors!”

              Arwenna waited until the guard unlocked the gate and opened it for her before she looked at the man inside. Young, clean clothes, and resigned to his fate. That was her first impression of the man her daughter had chosen to love.

              She glanced over her shoulder and addressed the guard. “You can leave us, sir. He won’t hurt us.”

              The guard nodded as he shut the door. “I’ll be down at the end of the hall, when you’re ready to leave.” The mechanism turned, locking the cell.

              “I would rise and give you a proper greeting, Daughter, but I’m in the middle of washing right now.” He shuffled his feet in the bucket of water in front of him. “I suppose this kills any hopes I had at making a good first impression to you and your Lord.”

              “My husband, Sera’s father, is dead.”

              The young man stared at her, unblinking. The pale eyes seemed familiar somehow, but she couldn’t place it right off. “When? Does Sera know? She’ll be devastated…” his voice trailed off.

              “He died before we reached the city. Before you tried to kidnap her.” She took in his blonde hair tinted with red and her heart sank.
It can’t be
, she thought.
Please, anyone else.

              “I didn’t…wait. Before? That’s impossible. She saw him, in the alley. Right before the attack.” He stared up at Arwenna, confusion on his face.

              “Tell me what happened, Kial. All of it. I want your version, not Sera’s.”

              Picking up a rag, he lifted one foot out of the bucket and began to wash it as he spoke. “I’d gotten an apprenticeship with a local hat maker. Master Connor doesn’t take on many students, and I was lucky to be chosen. I asked Sera not to mention me to you until I had a trade of some kind to show I could support her.

              “Sera’d come into the shop. I didn’t expect her. I’d sent her a note to tell her about the job, but thought she’d be too busy with lessons to come for a while. When she walked into the shop, I asked her to go around back. I had to do one or two more things before I could get a break and talk with her.”

              “Vas one of these thinks lettink your friends know she vould be there?” Y’Dürkie kept her voice neutral.

              Kial shifted his attention to her. “No! Absolutely not! I would never hurt Sera. Or Hala, for that matter. I’m telling you the truth! We got jumped…there were four or five of them. One picked Sera up off the ground. I tackled him. She hit her head on the side of the building when he dropped her. I was checking on her when the city watch rushed into the alley. Hala had been fighting three of them by herself. More than one was bleeding from that dagger of hers. I’d never seen someone wield a blade that fast.” He changed feet, and started to clean the other one. “It was a blur of green and silver for a while, then the gang was gone. And I was being arrested.”

              Arwenna stopped listening to his story. Instead, her eyes caught the flash of something on the bottom of his foot. “Kial, what’s that?” She pointed a finger at his foot. The fear of his identity taking hold. She knew who he was now, what he was.

              “Huh? Oh, that.” He stopped moving the towel so Arwenna and Y’Dürkie could get a clear view. “It’s just an old scar. My parents were traveling merchants. They said I wandered across a smoldering fire when I was a toddler. That’s all.”

              Arwenna felt Y’Dürkie’s gaze fall on her, but she couldn’t tear her eyes from
Kial’s foot.

              Or the black raven feather marring the bottom
of it.

Chapter Nine

K
ial watched in silence as the two women left his cell. They’d exchanged a look, full of fear and concern, and left without a word to him. They knew something, something about him. And they didn’t share it.

              He threw the rag into the bucket in frustration. Sera had described her mother to him before. He’d even seen her once, from a distance. The power she controlled was almost impossible to comprehend. But he’d never felt scrutiny of that level before. And it had nothing to do with her daughter.

              Glancing down, he took a closer look at the scar on his foot. It’s not like he remembered getting it. And his parents wouldn’t have lied to him. They were very truthful people. Honest. They were respected by the villagers they traded with. No one questioned their integrity.

              A vague memory surfaced. Of a strange man with dark hair
who visited
them one night. He didn’t talk to Kial much, just watched him. Asked his parents strange questions about where they normally traded. Had they ever been near what remained of Serenity? Or Lake Brahl? Traded with some monks up in the Dragonhills, perhaps? Only, Kial remembered feeling like he was under intense scrutiny. It was as if the man thought he was someone else. His sleep that night had been full of strange dreams. Unseen hands reaching for him, flashes of green and silver. When he awoke, however, the stranger was gone. And they never saw him again.

              He plunked the foot into the bucket and leaned back against the cold stone wall. What did it matter, anyway? His one hope was to convince Arwenna that he was no danger to her daughter. That, above all else, he wanted nothing more than to keep her safe. For the rest of his life. Sera had told him her father was the more reasonable of the two. With him dead, how could he hope to convince Arwenna of his sincerity?

             
Ah, Sera. I should be with you now, comforting you over your loss. Not rotting in some cell for a crime I didn’t commit!
He closed his pale hazel eyes. She adored her father. As much as she hated to admit to being so much like her mother, it was Joss that she truly talked about. The way she spoke, he was the type of man Kial could only hope to be one day.

              Sure, some of that could be chalked up to normal daughter hero worship. It was how she described how he loved his wife that touched Kial the most. Above all else, he wanted to keep Arwenna safe. Kial could understand and respect that.

              “Hey, you. Best get your shoes on. His Grace wants you upstairs.” The jailer called out from the other side of the bars.

              Kial drew a steadying breath. That didn’t take long. Whatever Arwenna saw in him, it’d been reported to the Duke already. And he was ready to pronounce his judgement. It was time to learn his fate. Deliberately, he made sure each foot was dry before he slipped his short leather boots back on his feet. He could hear the keys rattle in the lock. Only, he had no idea if that was the sound of freedom or his own death. The cold iron shackles placed around his wrists offered little hope. He didn’t fight them, or the jerk on the chain leading between him and the guard. Instead, he swallowed. And prayed.

              They took their time heading up the narrow staircase. Each step echoed in his heart. Was Sera and Hala even allowed to tell what happened? Would they make her be there and see him sentenced? By the Gods, he hoped not. He didn’t want her last memory of him to be that.

              The walk wasn’t long, but it felt like an eternity. Sidelong glances from the staff, a mixture of pity and curiosity, met him the entire way. He knew he was a special case. For most crimes, he would’ve been kept in the city jail. Seen a judge. Been able to plead his case. But he was accused of something far more serious. The assault on two guests of the Duke’s household. That warranted special attention.

              Attention, Kial found, he could do without.

              The guard halted before two doors, painted in red and gold. One of the two doormen opened a small panel in the wall to whisper to someone on the other side. They were making sure all was ready for his judgment to be pronounced.

              The doors swung open, admitting them to the chamber within. Kial concentrated on everything but the people until the echo of the doors closing behind him stopped reverberating. Only then could he look up.

              There weren’t many there to hear his fate. The Duke and Duchess sat on the intricately carved thrones. Sera and Hala stood off to his left. Three others stood behind the two of them. One was the warrior who’d accompanied Arwenna to his cell earlier. Given the resemblance, it was possible that it was Hala’s mother. Sera’s brother, and another man, stood with her. He dared a glance to Sera, hoping to reassure her that he was well. It was a sham, and he knew it. His stomach churned like a volcano about to explode.

              At last, he settled on Arwenna. His heart sank. For the first time, he was seeing not the mother of the woman he loved, but the Daughter of Hauk. The green sunburst on her shoulder,
the Mark of her God, her Father, stood out against her pale skin. The black hair framing the porcelain face, so much like Sera’s, held an otherworldly
calmness. There was something else there, too. But he had no idea what it was.

              The Duke rose, and Kial instantly went to one knee. But he did not bow his head. Whatever his fate, he would hear it without showing fear.

              “We have heard the evidence in this case. And find that you did nothing wrong. Release him.”

              Kial could barely breathe. Rising, he stared at the Duke, barely aware as the guard removed the shackles from around his wrists. “Your Grace, I…” he stammered. He had no idea what to say. Thank you seemed too little.

              “Don’t thank me. The truth was discovered. I do not condemn innocent men for love.” The Duke sat back on his throne.

              Kial dared a glance to Sera. Her smile lit up the room. “I take my leave, then, Your Grace.” Bowing, he moved slightly.

              “We are not finished yet.” Arwenna’s voice cut across the room.

              He straightened, looking first at Sera. Puzzlement crossed her features as she moved toward him. “What do you mean, Mother?”

              Her hand slipped into his. Kial gave it a gentle squeeze. Whatever the problem, they’d face it together.

              He watched Arwenna as she rose from her seat at
t
he Duke’s right hand. Her presence filled every space in the room. “Kial, there is something that must be said. And Sera must hear it. I will not allow you to go from here ignorant of who you are. Of what you are. I’ve lived a life that’s a lie. I will not do that to another person.”

              “I know who my parents are, Daughter. What are you talking about? I know who I am, what my life truly is.” Kial watched her as she walked toward him.

              A wry smile crossed her face. “No, Kial. You do not know everything you think you do. Your name, to begin with. It’s not Kial. It’s Lu’Kial. You are the son of the man who murdered my husband, and the demon who spent a millennia playing my family against his because of love. You are the Son of Corse.”

              He heard Sera gasp beside him. His mind reeled from the implications of Arwenna’s words. “You’re wrong…you have to be. No. My parents were no demons! They were merchants! My father was a gentle man. He never killed anyone.” He staggered slightly, but held his stance.

              “I wish I was. By the Gods, I want to be wrong. But there is no mistaking it. The proof is on your own foot. That is no scar, Lu’Kial. That’s the Mark of Corse. Much like my own.”

              He dared to meet her gaze. “My name is Kial. I don’t know who that other name belongs to. But it is not mine. There may be a mark. I can’t change that. I can, however, control my own fate. I will not be a pawn in a game of Gods and Demons.”

              “Mother, how do you know all of this?” Sera spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

              Arwenna shifted her attention to her daughter. “When you were still very young, just after Liam was born, word reached your father that Senyan had a child. The woman who’d been caring for him was another demon, one who gave Corse his power initially. Given this history, Y’Dürkie and I went to pay them a visit. I thought I could save the world from the devastation that a Son of Corse would bring. Only, I couldn’t bring myself
to kill an innocent child.” She looked back at him. “We left you with the people who raised you. Told them you were an orphan we’d found in a burned-out house
. That the scar on your foot was a result of the fire. And I prayed that I made the right choice.”

              “You have, Daughter. I am no sorcerer. I have no magic at my disposal. I only want to live a quiet life. With Sera, if she’ll have me.”

              She kept her focus on him, the weight of the gaze all but making his knees buckle. “I hope that’s true, Kial. I really do. For all of our sakes. But, until I know this, I have to keep you with me. You’re coming with us to Tanisal in the morning.” She started to walk back toward her chair. “Understand this, Kial. If I ever have any indication that you are not the man you claim to be. Any sign that you’re wielding the type of
magic your parentage
makes you capable of, I will stop you. By any means necessary.” She sat, leveling a direct look at him.

              Kial swallowed, knowing she meant that as a promise. It was no hollow threat.

              “If that happens, I welcome death at your hands. Better that than harm Sera, or anyone else.”