The Crown of Stones: Magic-Price (12 page)

“Not all of these people were a part of that.”

“
Those without weapons would have stood by and watched you die without a moment’s guilt. I see no difference.”

“I do.”

After a small delay her healing spell lifted and I felt awful again. I crawled the short distance to Malaq’s side and struggled to pull him up onto my lap. Weak, strangled sounds were coming out of him. Very little air was going in.

“What are you waiting for?” I shouted at her. “I swear woman, if he dies, you die. Make your choice.”

There was no response. I was hoping the silence didn’t mean she was going to call my bluff. Unmistakably, the woman owned a magical stamina that far surpassed mine. If I went after her with a spell and failed, I’d be at her mercy. If I went after her with my new-found access to the Crown of Stones I wouldn’t fail, but my conscious was full enough without adding a tavern full of deaths to the tally.

There was only one other way I could think of to handle her. It was desperate and foolish. It was something I shouldn’t even consider.

Carefully, I slid Malaq to the floor. I stood up and addressed the woman in Shinree. “
Kay’ta Roona, areen’a
. Do you hear me?
Kay’ta Roona
!” I took a deep breath and said, “An oath for a life,” translating the words into Rellan to remind myself what a completely horrible idea it was. “Grant my request. Save these people, and I offer you gratitude. Two fold,” I threw in.

“As in the ways of the Empire? For their lives you would bind yourself to me in such a manner? Why?”

“My own reasons.”

“And you will do for me without question?”
Anticipation overrode the sensual nature of her voice.
“Twice?”

I didn’t like how happy she was at the prospect, but Malaq was turning blue.

“Yes,” I vowed. “Two debts to repay as you see fit.”

“An oath made in the old ways is governed by them as well. If I come to you and you deny me, I have the right to compensation. Your life could be forfeit, if I so choose.”

“I understand how the oath works. I won’t refuse you.”

“You cannot refuse me
.
”

“I cannot,” I echoed her, and the words left a cold chill on my skin. Immediately, I wished for a way to take them back. My pledge to her was irrational and thoughtless. It was a mistake that I had no doubt would hunt me down and bleed me later on.

But it worked. Already Malaq and the others were sucking in great gulps of air and I couldn’t sense the woman’s presence anymore. She had taken my offer and ran.

I looked down at Malaq. “You better be worth it.”

Coming around, he squinted at me and groaned some unintelligible response. I didn’t bother asking him to repeat it. I was so exhausted and sore I just fell down where I was and went to work adding up the bodies I’d been too late to save. I felt a little better watching the ones that made it stumble to their feet. A few stumbled all the way to the bar. Most fled into the growing darkness outside.

The staff, or what remained of it, diligently started the unenviable task of cleaning up. One of them lit the hearth and I could see the color creeping back into Malaq’s face. He was still drawing in deep, fractured breaths and his hands were shaking like it was mid-winter, causing the multiple rings on his fingers to clack out a nervous rhythm. Thick and gold, the rings were all similar, but for one.

A black pearl, cut in half and set in the middle of a plain band of deep blue coral, its design was simple for a nobleman. Understated even, if black and blue weren’t the colors of the Rellan flag, and if black pearls (due to their worth and scarcity) weren’t a trinket afforded only by members of the Rellan royal family.

My interest in his identity piqued, I was still studying the pearl when Malaq moved his hand up the front of his cloak. His fingers stopped. They closed on the pin holding the cloth together at his neck with a kind of desperate relief that seemed out of character. Malaq must have thought it was too, as his regal features held the expression so briefly that by the time he dropped his hand, the outward manifestation of his anxiety was gone. Mine was all over me.

Seeing the clasp wasn’t a normal circle as I’d first thought, but a golden serpent swallowing its own tale, my pulse started racing.

Like the pearl ring, the pin was a symbol of royalty. But it wasn’t Rellan in origin. The serpent was a sign of Langor. Handed down from father to son, I’d last seen the clasp on the cloak of King Draken, the morning of our last battle, just hours before I unleashed the magic of the Crown of Stones.

I glanced down at the ring, then up at the serpent again. I looked at Malaq’s finely crafted Kaelish sword, his expensive Rellan boots, and wondered,
thief?

But that didn’t sit right.

“Why do they bother with walls if they have no floor?” Malaq grumbled, slapping at the dirt on his cloak as he stood. He reached an absent hand down to help me up and I stared at it. When he realized I had no intention of taking his offer, he pulled his arm back with a hiss. Yanking the nearest chair upright, Malaq sat down and began furiously dusting the floor from his trousers. “Ungrateful fool,” he murmured.

“I’m not ungrateful. I’m skeptical.” I winced as I sat up and leaned against the bench behind me. “I haven’t met a Langorian yet that hasn’t tried to kill me.”

“Perhaps it’s because you’re always trying to kill them.”

His remark pulled a shaky grin out of me. “I’d get it if the Owl was a Rellan tavern, but the Kaelish generally don’t give a damn about me. And the Arullans, after all this time, looking for revenge, allying with a Langorian…it doesn’t make sense.”

“So you’re ill-mannered
and
skittish? Wonderful.”

“No offense,
Nef’areen
, but skittish doesn’t come close. With your dialect, your clothes, and your face, I have no idea where we stand right now.”

Malaq stared down the sharp angle of his nose. “Did you just insult me?”

I recalled my words. “Possibly.”

“What is that, then?
Nef’areen
?”

“Don’t do that. Don’t speak Shinree with a Kaelish accent and shove it out of a Langorian mouth. It sounds wrong.”

“Remind me why I rescued you?”

“I have no idea. And it isn’t an insult.
Nef’areen
is a title, a way of addressing a nobleman, like a lord or a Prince.”

Malaq’s eyes grabbed mine. “You believe me royalty? Why?”

“That fancy, Kaelish sword, for one. King Sarin has a weapon of the same craftsmanship. Though his is without that special, second blade.” I glanced at Malaq’s hand. “The ring makes you a possible heir to Rella.” Then up at his neck. “The snake pinned at your throat says you’re currently ruling the fine realm of Langor. Except, Draken’s sister, Jillyan, is Queen there. And she has no husband.”

“Oh, Jillyan has a husband. She married Prince Guidon Roarke not a week past.”

My mouth gaped open. “Guidon? Sarin’s son? You’re telling me Kael’s Prince is married to Langor’s Queen?”

“Former Queen. Jillyan gave up her crown in Langor to be Princess of Kael. Of course that means when Sarin dies, and Guidon inherits the throne—”

“Draken’s sister will rule Kael at his side.” I really didn’t like the sound of that. “How the hell did this happen?”

“Well, there was a wedding,” he said dryly. “It was your typical over-the-top, Kaelish affair of lavish debauchery. And that was just the ceremony. The feast after lasted for days. Don’t ask me how many because it’s all a bit of a blur. In fact, I believe half the kingdom is still hung over.”

“I missed something.”

“That, my friend, is a very
large
understatement.”

I gave him an irritated frown. “Why would Sarin ally himself to Langor?”

“He hasn’t. Not officially. Perhaps, Sarin was simply hoping to disguise Guidon’s worthlessness with a strong match. A good woman can make all the difference, you know.”

“She’s Langorian,” I said plainly.

Malaq’s eyes narrowed. “So?”

“I’ve seen Langorian women. The only thing good, or strong, about them is their thighs. So whatever Guidon is up to by taking Jillyan as his bride—there’s no way Sarin approved.”

“You surprise me, Troy. Being born of a persecuted race I expected you to be a bit more broad-minded. We’re not all slobbering, brutes, you know.”

“You’re right, Malaq. You’re a fraud. Or, a thief…or, a Prince.”

Watching me, he grinned. “My identity troubles you that much?”

“Just the Langorian part.”

“I’m half Langorian. And I was raised Kaelish.”

“I can hear that. But you’re only Kaelish on the outside.”

“That’s not good enough for you?” I said nothing and a whiff of his temper poked through. “You know, I could have let them kill you.”

“And I could have used magic and killed them all. Including you.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t.” I thought of the Shinree woman in my head and what I promised her. “I guess that makes us both fools.”

A trace of somberness settled on Malaq’s face as he got up from his chair. “What it makes us, my friend, is outcasts.” He reached for me again. “If we don’t help each other, no one else will.”

Relenting, I let him pull me up. “Thanks.”

Malaq’s response was a satisfied grin that was just begging to be punched.

Curbing the urge, I went in search of my swords. I spotted them against the wall on the far side of the room. Someone had actually collected my weapons into a nice pile instead of stealing them. Today was one surprise after another.

I went to retrieve them and a woman’s hand came over mine. Behind me, her long, delicate fingers trailed over my wrist and up my arm. In the wake of her touch, my skin tingled.

It was impressive, considering a shirt and a leather brace stood between my arm and her fingers. “So you’re back,” I said, taking a guess. “And in person this time.” Eager to see the face of the Shinree woman I indebted myself to for Malaq’s life, I started to turn around.

I didn’t get so much as a glimpse. Out loud, soft and husky, she said, “Now, I will heal you.” And I was unconscious before I even hit the floor.

ELEVEN

L
eaning back in his seat, Malaq inclined his mug in my direction. “You’re heavier than you look, my friend. And those swords of yours...” he shook his head. “Why would you want to carry around all that steel? Mine weighs half as much and it works just fine.”

I persuaded my head up off the table and scowled at him. “I like my swords,” I mumbled. Blinking, trying to wake up, I pushed at the tangle of hair in my face and glanced around. “We’re still at the Owl?”

“That we are.”

“And you’re still here.”

“That I am.”

“I need a drink.”

“You know, I’d be happy to let you give Natalia a try. You can’t deny the results.”

I thought a moment. “Your sword? You named your sword?”

“Why wouldn’t I? She’s beautiful. She sleeps beside me every night. Most importantly, Natalia never lets me down.” Malaq pointed an accusing finger at me. “It’s no different than you naming your horse.”

“Everybody names their horse.” I motioned for his cup.

“Not true,” he argued, sliding his drink in my direction. “To give that beast I ride a name would imply that he was tame—which has been proven impossible. I’d have more luck breaking one of those giant, bald creatures that runs around eating goats in the hills of Arulla.”

Wrapping my hands around the cup, I took a long swallow and looked at him doubtfully. “A skin bear?”

“That’s the one. Were you aware that Langor used to train their soldiers by throwing them in a ring with those hairless monsters?”

The image made me grin. “I’d like to see that.”

“Actually, so would I, but the practice died out fifty years ago. Someone with a smidge of intelligence finally realized the realm had more lame men than fighting men. Of course, they couldn’t have been that smart or they would have shipped the beasts back to Arulla instead of turning them loose in the highlands. They don’t breed much thank the gods, but they eat. There’s not a single mountain goat left in the whole of Langor.”

Draining the cup, I slammed it down. “Congratulations, Malaq. That was the most pointless conversation I’ve ever had.”

His jaw twitched slightly. “I see you left your manners in the swamp.”

“Right next to my patience.” I turned in my seat. We were the only customers in the entire tavern. “A little lack of air and everyone goes home.”

“Like I always say, the Kaelish have no stamina.”

My eyes went to one of the broken windows. “It’ll be dawn soon.”

“Tell me about it.” Malaq picked up his empty mug and tapped it on the table. “Do you realize how many of these I’ve had to drink waiting for you to wake up? You’d think as much as I’ve paid the man he could at least bring me something that didn’t taste like horse piss.”

“You didn’t have to stay. Really,” I added; spending the night hunched over on a sticky, tavern table, unconscious from a healing I didn’t ask for, hadn’t left me in the best of moods. Neither did being trounced by two of my own kind in a matter of weeks. I wasn’t used to being outmatched and it wasn’t doing much for my attitude, or my confidence. “But since you are here,” I said, “what do you know about Shinree magic?”

“That’s a vague question. Why?”

“Because I’ve been talking to myself for weeks and it isn’t helping.”

“Okay,” Malaq said slowly, with a bemused, sideways glance. “Well, Shinree are one race, but your blood defines and divides you. It limits your magical abilities. Which, determine your value, or lack of it. Take you, for instance. Your mother was a gifted healer. But your father’s line was stronger so you inherited his magic, his skills as a soldier. That’s all you can do. You
can’t alter time or the weather or conjure a drop of water, unless you can somehow use it as an offense or defense.”

He’d give me a lot of details for a vague question, but I let it go. “What about slaves? You clearly have some sort of clout here in Kael. Heard of any unusual lines being bred? Any accidental births?”