The Crown of Stones: Magic-Price (13 page)

“Accidental births aren’t possible. The breeders are too well trained, too well versed in which lines are dominant.”

“What if, one of us couldn’t be classified so neatly?” I asked, thinking of the man that hired Taren and the woman who invaded my head.

“You’re all classified, Troy, by blood strength, by line, by status. If you were put into one of the camps as you are right now, they’d mark you down as a full pedigree soldier with regulated freedom and no previous owners.”

“Damn. You rattled that off pretty quick.”

“I don’t deal in slaves, Troy. But the world does. It helps to know the language.”

“I’m betting you know all the languages.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I think you understand perfectly.”

“Does that mean you’ve finally figured me out?”

“I’m working on it.”

“Mind if I hear what you have so far?”

It was a clear challenge. I studied him a moment then took him up on it. “Your basic features are Langorian, but they’ve been softened by privileged stock and diluted by what I’m thinking is Rellan blood. That’s what slims you down and stretches you out. It gives a thinner shape to your nose and a higher brow. Tames your hair too and keeps it from being that foul shade.”

“My hair is black.”

“Not Langorian Black.”

“There’s little difference…”

“There is to me. There is to a lot of people in Rella.”

“We aren’t in Rella.”

“We aren’t in Langor either. But I suppose that’s a good thing because if we were someone might take offence to that royal Arcana ring on your finger and chop it off.”

Malaq looked down in silence at the dark pearl and I went on.

“From the elegance in your Kaelish accent and the obvious price of your clothing and weapons, you’re connected to King Sarin’s court. Loosely though, or you wouldn’t be associating with a pariah like me in public. Now that,” I said, pausing to point at the clasp on his cloak. “That confuses me. I can’t figure how you got your hands on a pin that’s supposed to be worn only by the King of Langor. Unless you stole it.”

“Not bad,” Malaq nodded thoughtfully. “Your conclusion?”

“Don’t have one.” Hands on the table I pushed to my feet. “Sorry, Malaq. But it’s late, and I have enough riddles to solve without adding you to the stack.”

“You’re right,” he said. “The clasp was stolen. Draken’s is a fake.”

I sat back down. “I’m listening.”

“For generations the serpent was passed from father to son, from Langorian King to his successor. But all those years ago, the night Taiven was found dead, the pin disappeared. The heirloom was such a well-known sign of Langor that a replica was crafted and presented to Draken on the day he took the throne. I’m not sure he even knows. The truth is so well hidden.”

“But you know. How?”

“My mother killed King Taiven and took the serpent off his body.”

I laughed. “You really have been at the ale the whole time I was out.”

“I have. But that doesn’t change the truth. She was held in the dungeon at Keep Darkhorne in the mountains of Langor. It’s a particularly unpleasant place. For the King’s most prized prisoners.”

“I know what it is. But Taiven died in battle. I’ve heard the tale a dozen times.”

“And are all the tales of
your
exploits completely true? I certainly hope not.”

I let out a weary sigh. “You have proof?”

Malaq looked away. His stare fixed on the wall next to our table. It was an empty wall. The wood was rotting and dirty. But as he looked intently at it, I got the feeling he was seeing something far different than the smoke-wrapped walls of a grungy tavern.

“The pin wasn’t the only thing my mother brought out of Darkhorne,” he said at last. He looked me square in the eyes. “She brought me.”

“That’s where your Langorian ancestry comes from. She conceived in prison.”

“She was raped in prison.”

“Of course. I’m sorry.”

“There were rescue parties. But there was no way to breach Taiven’s defenses.”

Suspicion crept up my spine. “Rescue parties weren’t sent that far into Langorian territory for just anyone.”

“She wasn’t just anyone. Neither was my father. But that didn’t stop her from stabbing him in the heart with a table knife.”

“Brave woman.”

“Desperate woman. She was afraid of what I would become raised in that place…by his side.” Malaq drew in a long, slow breath. He let it out like it hurt. “So, you see, Troy, you were right. I am a Prince.”

His implication sunk in. “You’re saying King Taiven was your father?” He nodded and my first reaction was to laugh it off. Malaq’s claim was outlandish. But looking at him, at his features, how he carried himself, the way the story affected him, it was entirely plausible he was the son of Langor’s late king. “And your mother?”

“I’m not sure how she escaped. It’s been suggested that Taiven was drunk and she stabbed him in his sleep. But the facts remain unknown. It was pure luck the Rellan soldiers even found her. The winter had turned brutal. They were packing up to leave. From what I understand, they shouldn’t have been there at all. Their incursion into Langor hadn’t been sanctioned by Rella’s King. It was undertaken by a young, idealistic Prince desperate to bring his sister home. And it hadn’t gone well. Most of his men were dead. Supplies were near gone. The order had been given to mount up when someone spotted her in the snow.” Malaq tried to stifle it, but a wave of grief thinned his voice. “She gave birth to me on the frozen ground in the middle of the Langorian Mountains and died an hour later. Without ever knowing how her life would impact the world.”

“Hold on.” I could feel my headache coming back. “Are you suggesting that the Prince was Raynan Arcana, and that your mother was his sister, Lareece—the Princess that King Taiven kidnapped over thirty years ago?
The
Princess whose infamous capture sparked a twenty-five year war between Rella and Langor?”

“I’m not suggesting.”

“So, Raynan Arcana is your uncle and Draken of Langor your brother?”

“Half-brother.”

I looked at him a long moment. “That would make you an heir to both thrones, Rella and Langor. And you’ve been living in Kael all this time, unacknowledged and anonymous? You walk around with that ring and that clasp, looking as you do, and no one questions it? No one challenges it?”

“This is the first time I’ve worn them in public.”

“Yeah, I can see where they might cause a stir.” Frustrated, I shook my head. “So why now? Why risk exposing your existence after all this time?”

“Circumstances have made it necessary.”

I couldn’t help it anymore. I let out a short, skeptical laugh. “I’m sorry, Malaq. King Taiven died on the battlefield and the woman you claim was your mother, died in prison. Lareece Arcana was never rescued. And she never had a child.”

“I’m sitting right here, Troy.” Malaq leaned in. “Because of the shame my existence brought to my Rellan grandfather, because of the Langorians need to preserve their king’s name, the two realms came together and fabricated the story.” He threw himself back angrily. “And who said Rella and Langor couldn’t find common ground?”

“If there was an agreement, why did the war escalate? Before Taiven died there was talk of a treaty.”

“Yes. And even after Draken was crowned, my grandfather tried to end the hostilities. Both realms had suffered such a great loss. He felt enough blood had been spilled on both sides. Draken felt differently and launched a major strike against Rella.”

“The raid that came on the heels of Taiven’s death, the one that nearly burned Kabri to the ground—that was in retaliation for what your mother did?”

“It was.”

A flash of resentment tore through me. “Do you have any idea how many died in that attack? How many were lost to starvation and disease in the weeks after?”

“It was a terrible tragedy.”

“It was a slaughter. I was six years old when the Langorians sent Kabri up in flames. I couldn’t stop it. I had no real magic yet. I couldn’t do a damn thing.” I gripped the table to keep from coming out of my seat. “I watched the people I was born to protect being butchered in the streets. I watched them burn alive.”

Quick enough to make me jump, Malaq stood. “And you were responsible for the deaths of how many men? Can you even count that high?”

“I know what I did, Malaq. Believe me. But the repercussions of that woman’s actions run just as deep. That attack on Kabri was a turning point in the conflict. If she never killed Taiven—”

I may never have gone to war. Never found the Crown of Stones.

Never used it.

“Nine years,” Malaq said, slowly sitting back down. “Can you imagine being a prisoner of Langor for nine years? What they would do to you? What lengths you would be driven to? What you would become?” He took a long, deep breath and tried to move on. “A King’s Healer was with the rescue party. She delivered me. She kept me warm and nourished. Without her I would have died too.”

“Whose life did she use to keep you alive?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“In the army, our healers used captured Langorian soldiers to feed their spells. Old, young…it didn’t matter, as long as Aylagar’s troops were restored.”

“I should think that would have made you happy.”

“It did.”

Malaq’s lips pursed. “Things happen in times of crisis, yes. But from my experience, most healers keep a good stock of animals. If necessary, they use condemned men. But they’re already dead.”

“Sorry,
Nef’areen
, but they’re very much alive when the spell drains them.”

“So you prefer Sarin’s way, then? Using Kaelish healers that can’t pull out a damn tooth without killing their patients? And mercenaries like you who carry out justice by hunting people like animals?”

“If you act like an animal, you deserve to be hunted like one.”

Releasing a perturbed breath, Malaq peeked in his cup like he forgot it was empty. “This particular King’s Healer,” he said, going back to his story,
“carried me all the way to Rella. She presented me to the court where my grandfather declared I was an abomination. After berating his son for even attempting the disastrous rescue, he decreed I be put out and left to die.”

“Nice homecoming. What changed his mind?”

“A young, Kaelish Prince by the name of Connell Roarke.”

“King Sarin’s brother?” Now I was really confused. “Isn’t he dead?”

“No. Connell was betrothed to my mother. Out of his love for Lareece, he took me in, and named me as his own. And for that kindness he was disowned and exiled. We both were.” Malaq gave me a level stare like he was waiting for me to say something. When I didn’t, he said tightly, “It was your mother, Ian. V’loria Troy was the King’s Healer that saved my life. Did you know?”

Part of it, I did. But saying my mother told me she was there when the Rellans tried to rescue their Princess, and admitting that she deceived me about the outcome, wouldn’t change anything. It certainly wouldn’t alter the fact that Malaq was staring at me with eyes that resembled Draken’s and Raynan Arcana’s all at the same time.

So I ditched his question for one of my own. “What are you doing here, Malaq? If you lent me a hand tonight as repayment for what my mother did…consider your debt settled.”

Finding a knot on the tabletop, he studied it. “A Royal Messenger is staying at Sarin’s castle. He hails from Kabri and carries the Arcana seal. Go see him.”

“I don’t need to.”

“The messenger is here for you, Troy.”

“If he’s here to tell me that Rella’s in danger, I already figured that out.”

Malaq’s stare lifted. He looked at me. “You should speak with the man.”

“I should do a lot of things.”

“Does that mean you aren’t going back with him?”

“Of course I’m going back. I have no choice. Rella calls and I answer.”

“And you resent that.”

“I’m under a spell that compels me to fight for a realm that’s not my own. Some would say it’s no different than a chain around my neck.”

“A chain that hasn’t been pulled in a very long time,” he reminded me. “But, I’m sure tramping across the country, stalking Kael’s most notorious, is
more fulfilling than defending an entire kingdom. It certainly pays well, with all the money you were throwing at the barkeep.”

My gaze narrowed. “You were here from the start?”

“I stepped in when things got bad.”

“It wasn’t bad when Danyon was kicking me?”

“I didn’t want to swoop in too soon and damage your pride.”

“It wasn’t my pride he was damaging.”

Malaq frowned at me. “See the messenger, Troy. Then we’ll talk.”

“We just did.” I slid out from the bench and stood up.

“I didn’t say you had to talk to him
now
. Sit,” he said. “I’ll tell you all about growing up in a Kaelish fishing village. It’s really far more exciting than it sounds.”

Almost, I sat back down. It wouldn’t hurt anything to spend a little more time with Malaq and his past. We could trade jests and insults. I could listen to his stories as he spit them out in bits and pieces. I could, maybe, make sense of his motives.

But the ale was gone, and I wasn’t sure I could tolerate him without it.

“No thanks,” I said. “I came here for answers, Malaq, not a drinking companion, or a bodyguard. I certainly didn’t come looking for the exiled, half-breed stepson of a Kaelish Prince.”

If Malaq took offense, he didn’t show it. “The messenger and I both arrived in Kael about a fortnight ago. Every morning since, he’s gone out to the tournament field at some ungodly hour…like this one. Do yourself a favor though. Don’t sneak up on him. He’s awfully prickly for a young fellow.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I reached into my pocket and dropped the last of my coins on the table in front of him. “Have a round on me, Malaq. For Natalia,” I added. “She did good tonight.”

TWELVE

B
reaking over the top of the rise, sunshine blazed at my back. Long, warm streams stretched across, bringing light to the neighboring summit and the towering, forested bluffs that stretched far beyond my range of sight. In the distance behind me, the echoes of men punctuated the fog as the city woke up and came to life. Closer, at the castle, morning bells rang to mark the guard change at the main gate.