Storm Without End (Requiem for the Rift King Book 1) (19 page)

The girl nodded.

“Then it’s settled,” Breton said.

“I hope this isn’t a mistake,” Maiten groused.

“It was a mistake as soon as we took the Yadesh in. We picked this road, what’s one more companion as we see where it goes?”

“What do you want me to do with this dagger?”

“Wrap it up and shove it in a pack. I don’t think we need to let her tear her hands up on that thing. Defending her is our job now.”

“Your lead,” Maiten said.

Breton tossed Verishi up on Perin’s back and stared at the smoking ruins of Land’s End before mounting. “Let’s get out of here before that Yektrik fellow discovers she’s gone.”

Maiten nodded his agreement. Verishi squirmed and pressed as close to him as she could. Breton sighed and wrapped his arm around her. He couldn’t stop from laughing.

Just like Kalen had so many years ago, Verishi fell asleep immediately.

Chapter Eight

A week went by in a blur where all Kalen did was sleep. He was warm, it was quiet, and he was content to hide beneath the thick blankets. The bed served as his sanctuary, and so long as he didn’t leave it, he could ignore everyone’s existence as well the fact that he was an unwilling guest.
 

The door creaked open. Kalen grumbled and buried himself deeper into his nest.

“Get up. It’s time to fix that hand of yours,” Marissa said.

“If I lie really still and quiet, will you believe I’m still asleep?”

“No. You’ve recovered enough this won’t kill you. You’ll just wish it did.”

Kalen cringed. A week hadn’t softened the edge in the woman’s voice. A cold sweat beaded on his brow and dripped along his jaw. He shivered despite the warmth of the blankets.

“At least you can faint with no harm done if you can’t handle the pain,” she said in a sweet tone that added to the growing dread in his gut.

“You’re going to break them again, aren’t you?”

Marissa sighed and Kalen heard her feet patter across the hardwood floor of the room that served as his prison. “The nerves in your hand are damaged and I can’t fix them until the bones are set properly. Now that we have an understanding, will you cooperate or will I have to have you restrained?”

“Would you need to be restrained?” Kalen challenged.

“Yes, I would.”

“I’m so glad we have an understanding.”

The pacing halted, followed by the rapping of a booted toe. “I hope you scream the entire time.”

“I’ll strive to avoid giving you that satisfaction.” Kalen wrinkled his nose and pondered if it was possible to burrow so far into the blankets that he ended up under the bed. “Go away so I can get dressed.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“Be considerate, Marissa. He is our guest,” Lord Delrose said from the door.

It wasn’t possible to retreat any further into the blankets, so Kalen settled with a displeased grumble.

“Then, by all means, ensure he gets dress, my Lord.”

“I shall.”

The door closed, and Kalen was all too aware of the soft steps approaching the bed. He let out a few low curses.

“You’re in a marvelous mood this morning,” Lord Delrose said.

“How about I break a few of your fingers? I hear the sharing of common experiences draws people closer to each other. On second thought, let’s not. That would be unpleasant.” Kalen struggled to untangle himself from the blankets without the use of his hand. He didn’t doubt the woman’s verdict; it didn’t hurt despite the fact that his fingers were bent at impossible angles and that he couldn’t move any of them. “I can get dressed on my own.”

“We’d have to wait for hours as you tried to use that hand.”

“You could just send for Ceres or Varest,” he replied. Hope stirred within him. Even if he could see one of them and confirm that the Kelshites had kept their word, he’d be content enough.

“An excellent effort, but it’d be terribly rude of me if I didn’t return their father to them in perfect health.”

Kalen grunted.

“I keep my word. Your Guardians are safe. Displeased and anxious, but well. Everything they require is being provided for them. Your good behavior will ensure that continues.”

“Bastard.”

“What does that make you, then?”

“
Vekakati
!” Kalen spat the word out, rolled over, and hoped the man would go away. It didn’t last; the anger flowed out of him faster than it took him to draw his next breath. For all he had claimed Arik’s foals as his own, for all he had
tried
to be everything Arik hadn’t been, he had hidden behind the label of
Vekakati
by choice.

Alone. Severed. Without dam or sire, without mother or father, without children.

His was a voice in the song of the ancestors waiting to be erased.

But even his claim of
Vekakati
couldn’t withstand the truth. It crumbled apart a little more each time Arik’s children named him Father, and it broke beneath the weight of the man who had sired him.

The blankets were yanked off of the bed and Kalen hit the floor on his back, tangled in the covers. He yelped. Another yank jerked him over and he was dumped out of the blankets as though he were the contents of a pack being emptied out on the floor.

“Are you going to cooperate or will we fight and roll around on the floor like children? I’ll win, and you know it.”

Kalen sat up and tried to blink the sleep out of his eyes. He rubbed at his eyes with the crook of his elbow and tried not to look at the black and blue bruises that mottled his hand and forearm. “Do what you want,” he mumbled.

“I thought you’d see things my way. I do wish we could have attended to this sooner.” Lord Delrose took hold of his arm and pulled him upright. Kalen winced and fixed his stare on the far wall to avoid looking the man in the eyes.

By the time he was dressed, Kalen was drenched in sweat. The numbness in his hand was almost a relief compared to the waking aches and pains in the rest of his body. He couldn’t even escape the phantom pains stabbing at his left shoulder.

“Please forgive Marissa. You challenge all we’ve been taught and she is still weary.”

When Kalen didn’t reply, he was herded from the room and into a wood-paneled hall. Many doors lined it in both directions and ended in a set of double doors.

“There is a proper healing room at the end of the hall.”

Marissa stood in front of an opened door and gestured for them to join her. Lord Delrose propelled him forward with a hand against his back.

Kalen was shoved through the door and made it a single step before he was yanked forward by the front of his shirt. His startled cry was muffled by a black tunic smelling of horses. He was clapped on the back and embraced before hands on his shoulders pushed him back. Ceres circled around him before focusing on his broken hand.

“I thought you were keeping us apart,” Kalen said, wincing as Ceres prodded at his forearm.

“This looks terrible,” his Guardian growled.

“I’ve spent an unpleasant amount of time consulting with your Guardians, and thought it wise that one was with you. I’ve been told they’re quite aware if you’re in danger,” Marissa replied.

“And I knew if they sensed danger, it’d lead more of them right to us even quicker,” Lord Delrose said in smug tone. “That, and I didn’t want them tearing apart my villa trying to get to you. For some reason, neither believed we’d keep our word.”

“And if you’re in that much pain, Father, someone has to be around to keep you from killing them,” Ceres said. “Not that I would feel too terribly if such a thing were to happen. But, she can heal your hand and I can’t.”

“Can we just get this over with?” Kalen asked.

“Sit on the table. Ceres, hold him still. This will hurt more than when they were broken in the first place.”

Kalen eyed the polished wooden table warily. Bloodstains marred its surface. Metal rings jutted out from the edge of it with straps dangling from them. Before anyone could offer him help, he took two steps and jumped up and twisted around to land on the table. The backs of his knees bounced hard against the edges of the tabletop.

Ceres settled behind him, and the Guardian’s breath was hot against his ear. “Do you want me to take them?”

Kalen shook his head.

“Lord Delrose, if Ceres is unable to hold him, help. I suspect he’s the type to react poorly to restraints, so I’d rather not use them unless necessary.”

“I wouldn’t try tying him down to anything. We did. Once,” Ceres replied.

A shudder coursed through Kalen at the little memory of it he had. Trails could collapse beneath anyone, and he was no exception, Rift King or not. He still wasn’t sure how he’d survived; no one had told him anything more than how poorly he reacted to restraints.

By the time he’d managed to escape, he had injured several guardians, knocked out one of the healers, and had half-killed himself in the effort. He almost wished he remembered it.

Kalen leaned back against Ceres and forced his muscles to relax one by one. The relief that the Guardians were safe was almost enough to overwhelm his apprehension of what Marissa was about to do to him. Almost.

“All I will be doing today is breaking and setting the bones, splinting, and Healing the nerves. The amount of Healing work that is needed is minimal, so even if you faint, there will be no danger. Until the nerves are restored, I can’t Heal your hand as I did your foot. I can’t tell you how long it will be until your hand can be removed from the splint and cast, but I will do the best that I can. Understand?”

“Thank you,” he said, and meant it.

The healer managed a smile.

“Anything else I should know?” Ceres asked.

“By the time I’m finished today, I expect he’ll have screamed himself hoarse. Do your part and hold him when he thrashes. Try not to be one of those who is convinced that I’m killing the patient when I’m not.”

Kalen closed his eyes and braced for the pain. Marissa’s hand was hot against his forearm. If she touched his hand, he couldn’t feel it.

He heard, rather than felt, the first bone break beneath the pressure of her fingers. He jerked, and Ceres’s arms tightened around him. Kalen clenched his jaw and remained silent and still until the blessed relief of unconsciousness claimed him.

~~*~~

Arik smiled instead of parrying, and Kalen’s blade sliced through flesh and bone without resistance. That smile didn’t fade, not even after the life fled from the Rift King’s dark eyes. The sword fell free from the man’s chest and clattered to the stone.

No matter how hard Kalen pressed his hands against the wound, he couldn’t stop the flow of blood or bring back color to the dark-skinned man’s face. He couldn’t restore the light to Arik’s eyes. Tears blurred his vision.

Arik had only been trying to teach him. They’d only been sparring. Kalen’s breath choked off in his throat, and he shuddered.

The clatter of hooves on stone broke the silence. Farasorian’s nose quivered as the gelding breathed in the dead man’s scent.

“I-I didn’t…” Kalen plucked at Arik’s black tunic. It was sticky under his hands and the once supple material stiffened as the sun baked the blood dry. Arik’s horse let out a long, low sigh and nudged at the body. When Farasorian lifted his head, blood stained the horse’s coat. With another sigh, the gelding stretched out to nuzzle Kalen’s shoulder and throat.

He hadn’t even earned the friendship of a horse yet. He didn’t deserve the sympathy of Arik’s.
 

He deserved the trial. He’d broken the Code.
 

Arik was dead, and it was his fault.

Many eyes bore into him, and the weight of their accusation settled over his shoulders and chest, threatening to smother him.

Footsteps approached him from behind. Something prickled at the back of Kalen’s neck. Farasorian let out an explosive snort and reared. The gelding’s challenging scream pierced the quiet and echoed off of the canyons that towered over them. Black hooves struck out over Kalen’s head, but didn’t strike him.

The thunder of galloping hooves and an answering scream echoed Farasorian’s. Kalen’s left hand curled around the hilt of Arik’s sword.

A jolt coursed through him, and he tightened his grip on leather wrapping the hilt.
His
sword.

Farasorian hopped forward on his hooves. Kalen didn’t remember standing; didn’t remember lifting his sword to block the blow aimed at his back.

Sliding a foot back, he braced for impact, but it didn’t come. A shadow fell over him and the black-clad figure before him crumpled to the ground. The Guardian’s skull was pounded to paste beneath the hooves of a horse—a stallion—that Kalen didn’t recognize.

The stallion didn’t cease trampling the man’s head into the stone until the body no longer convulsed and twitched. Kalen shuddered.

“The horses have spoken.” It was Breton’s voice, and Kalen jerked around. Terror silenced him, and grief tightened his throat and chest. As always, the man towered over him.

The sword slipped from Kalen’s numb fingers but Breton’s hands wrapped around his and restored his grip on the blade. “Don’t let go of your sword so easily, son.”

Son. Breton didn’t turn his back from him. Didn’t abandon him. Didn’t leave him alone. Kalen couldn’t obey; his hands shook and he couldn’t tighten his hold. The sword hit the ground with a clatter. Breton knelt beside Arik’s body and unbuckled the man’s belt. It was too big for Kalen and had to be wrapped around his thin frame twice. Breton lifted Ariks’s sword.

The stallion’s hoof slammed against the ground with a clap similar to the breaking of a great and terrible storm. With both ears back and teeth bared, the horse hopped forward a step and slammed both hooves against the stone.

“Take your sword and acknowledge Tavener.” All Kalen could see in Breton’s expression was pity. “The horses have spoken. Ride well, Rift King.”

~~*~~

~Mine,~
the First said. Kalen jerked awake. Or, he thought he did. Darkness greeted him. He tingled from the aftermath of pain, but even that faded until he was left with nothing.
 

It was how death was supposed to be, dark and cold.