The Crown of Stones: Magic-Price (18 page)

It was incredible; the strength, the vigor. I felt exuberant, vital and alive. A shell of quivering, black energy overlaid my skin and I was too intoxicated to care that it might be visible to anyone in the room. I wanted to drain the column dry and move on to the next, drinking in their magic one by one, until the blood turned black in my veins.

I could lay waste to Langor without a single stone,
I thought excitedly.

I could take out the entire realm and obliterate all traces of their civilization.

If Rella were finally made safe, then maybe I’d be free.

“Ian,” Jarryd said then. “Come on.”

“Leave me be,” I told him.

“Are you all right?”

My tone darkened. “I said, leave me be.”

“They’re going to move Sarin’s body. I thought you might want to see him.”

With effort, I pried my hands away from the column. I stepped back, and immediately felt like shit. My wounds throbbed faster and harder than my speeding pulse. If possible, my limbs were weaker than before. And I was angry. I was
so
angry; at Jarryd for interrupting; at myself for being careless. I wanted to dive into that rich, untapped well and let it take the pain away. Let it take everything away.

What did I care for the Kaelish and their decadent ways, for Jarryd and his ridiculous, immature notions that I could save everyone?

I wasn’t Rella’s champion. I was her destroyer.

I could be Kael’s too. So easily.

Too easily.

“You need to be in bed,” Jarryd said to me. “You’re not well.”

I know
. Trying like hell to redirect my rage, I closed my hands into fists and a twinge of pain shot through my injured arm. But it wasn’t enough.

I squeezed tighter. The pain intensified.

Tighter, and my knees buckled. I certainly wasn’t thinking about magic anymore.

Jarryd caught me just before I hit the floor. He tried to rest me against one of the columns and I tore out of his grip. “No!” I yelled, stumbling away.

Glancing around, he rubbed an impatient hand over his face. “I have to get you out of here.” Jarryd reached for me again. I dodged his hand and he started cursing. He cursed louder as I walked away.

I went over to the dais. Between the legs of the King’s remaining council members, I got a quick glimpse of Sarin. Face distorted in pain and terror, his once strong, solid form was slumped over; eviscerated, bloodless, and limp. Then the crowd shifted and my view was gone.

“Well,” a man drawled, coming up beside me. “It’s about time you showed up.”

Knowing the voice, I thought,
damn it
. There was no way to avoid acknowledging him, so I looked at Sarin’s son, Guidon, and immediately swallowed the first words that came to mind—thinking they might get me hung. I swallowed the second ones too. Accusing the Prince of hiding under a bed during the attack likely wouldn’t go over well. Yet, from his appearance, that was exactly where he was. Lacking so much as a smudge on his soft, rectangular face, a wrinkle on his silk clothes, a blonde curl out of position, or a drop of blood on the long knife hanging from the sash at his waist; he certainly hadn’t been in the hall defending his father.

I offered him a polite, but icy, “Prince.”

Guidon didn’t give me that much. “How is it that Draken has come into my home, slaughtered my people,
my King
, and all you’ve done is bleed on my floor? Champion of Rella, my ass,” he muttered. “If you can’t put your magic to good use, then perhaps, Troy, you should be put on a shorter leash. In fact,” a slow, sly smile strolled across his lips, “I have one bolted to my chamber wall that’s about your size.”

“I bet you do. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to pay my respects.”

Guidon put himself in front of me. “You haven’t earned the right to see my father. You weren’t even here when he was dying.”

I raked my eyes up and down the front of him. “Neither were you.”

“Filthy, witch,” he hissed. “It’s appalling how much faith my father put in your hands.”

“He might have put some in yours once in a while…if they were more capable.”

His nostrils flared. “You go no farther.”

“You think you can stop me with words?”

Guidon’s hand caressed the hilt of his knife. “The point of my blade was what I really had in mind. But from the looks of you, a nice, easy shove might do it.” He put out a hand and I stepped into it. The pressure on my ribs hurt like hell. But the strongest muscle in Guidon’s body was his tongue, and even injured, I had no trouble pushing him back a step.

“You might want to try the knife,” I suggested.

“Be gone from my hall, Shinree,” he fumed. “You are not among friends here.”

“I never am.”

With a rough jerk, Jarryd pulled me aside. “He’s baiting you. Just let it go.”

“That fool has no idea what I could do to him,” I said in a cruel, breathless whisper. “Before he could even open his mouth to scream I could suck out his worthless soul and send it into oblivion.”

“I’m sure you could,” Jarryd said uneasily. “But maybe that’s not a good idea?”

“Damn it, Jarryd, he should be the one lying dead on the floor. Not Sarin.”

“And you’ll be lying on the rack if you don’t stop. Guidon is about to be King.”

As if on cue, the Prince called out with a flourish, “My loyal subjects!” Backing into the center of the room, he hopped up onto one of the only tables still standing. “In the morning,” he said, loud and thoughtlessly cheerful, “General Aldous will lead a force of men into Rella. He will join the newly crowned, Queen Neela Arcana, in her fight against the foul Langorian invasion, dispatching the enemy quickly and mercilessly. He will offer Kael’s assistance to rebuild all that was lost, and ensure that such a heinous tragedy never again happens on Rellan, or Kaelish, soil!”

When the cheers died down, I spoke up. “General Aldous is an instructor. He has no battle experience.”

“That is true.” Guidon’s mouth stretched in a taught smile. “But the General will have a contingent of trained soldiers and capable advisors at his side. He will make do.”

“My Lord Prince,” Jarryd said, stepping forward. “With all due respect, King Sarin pledged three contingents to Kabri, not one.”

“Did he?” Guidon quipped. “What a shame that he isn’t alive to confirm that.”

Jarryd tried to keep an even tone. “Your father granted us aid, not scraps. We need men, weapons. Supplies. We have a treaty.”

“Now that you mention it—Messenger,” Guidon said sharply. “It isn’t my name on the treaty with Rella. And I am, basically, King now.”

Jarryd’s jaw set hard. “Is this an official withdrawal of support? Or do the Kaelish honor all their agreements with duplicity and double-talk?”

“Don’t get testy,” Guidon said, jumping down from his perch. “Aldous will fight for Kabri, as promised.”

“With one contingent? That won’t be enough.”

“Fine,” Guidon sighed. “You can have two. But maybe your little Princess might not be in this muddle if she had spent more time in council, and less time in your bed.”

“You son of a bitch.” Jarryd’s voice trembled. “Kael will rot under your rule.”

Guidon’s hand shot out and wrapped around Jarryd’s arm. “Your devotion to Neela, while pitiful, is absolute. So, as badly as I want to skin you where you stand, Kane, I believe a much more satisfying torment is awaiting you in Kabri.” He lowered his voice and said with mock distress. “I fear you may never recover from the loss.”

Jarryd jerked out of his hold. “What are you talking about? What loss?”

“You don’t know?” Guidon searched through the rage and the passion in Jarryd’s eyes, looking for something. When he didn’t find it, he let out a muted, guileful laugh. “I can’t believe she didn’t tell you. Draken has extended an offer of marriage.”

“Marriage?” Bewilderment dimmed Jarryd’s rage. “To Neela?”

“Of course to Neela, you fucking simpleton. Unless your, washed-up, half-dead Shinree over there can pull off a miracle, Draken will unite the Restless Lands under one rule as High King, and Neela will be his wife. She will be his lover and the mother of his children, while you, Kane, will be just another filthy peasant conscripted into his army.” Guidon leaned in. “Did you know a Langorian soldier’s rank is branded into the side of his face?” Wincing, he forced a quiet shudder. “Gruesome, isn’t it?”

I moved up next to Jarryd. “Don’t let him bait you.
Remember
?”

He didn’t even look at me. “No,” Jarryd said dully. “I don’t believe you.”

“Don’t then,” Guidon shrugged. “But think on this, errand-boy. If Neela let a scrawny, castle servant like you have a taste, imagine what wonders the little bitch would do for a King?”

“Okay,” I said, nudging Jarryd back. “That’s enough.”

“Let me go!” Resisting, Jarryd made my attempt to prod him to the exit, hard and painful. “I’m not through here,” he growled at me.

“Maybe you’re not,” I winced, slumping against the wall. Fresh circles of red were dripping out of the bandages on my arm. “But I am.”

“Better listen to the witch,” Guidon clucked at Jarryd. He waved a bored hand then in my direction. “I will endure your continued, brief, presence in my home Shinree, in honor of my father’s good memory. But once you quit my realm, if you return under my reign, you will be arrested and chained to my wall for the rest of your life.” He was still going as we left the hall. “And
what
did I just say,” Guidon roared, “about bleeding on my floor? Disgusting witch-blood,” he muttered. “Who knows what it’s infected with? Someone,” he shouted, “get over there and clean that up before it stains!”

SIXTEEN

“Y
ou did what?”

Wincing at my tone, Malaq strolled farther into the room. Crisp and polished in steel gray and black, his long, casual strides brought him quickly to the foot of my bed. He gestured at the mass of bandages on my upper body. “You’re still breathing, aren’t you?”

I struggled to sit up. “I told you how I feel about King’s Healers.”

“You did. But I decided you might feel more strongly about staying alive.”

That I couldn’t argue. “Where did you get him? Sarin didn’t keep Shinree healers in the castle.”

“Jillyan brought one with her from Langor. And no one was harmed,” Malaq said, addressing my concerned expression. “Unfortunately, the man’s title does seem to be a bit of a stretch. Draken bestowed him on Jillyan as a parting gift and, if his skill at healing is a direct reflection of brotherly love, Draken clearly doesn’t think much of his sister. Anyway, the major damage was repaired before the man passed out. But as you can no doubt feel, the rest was up to that pleasant, old Kaelish fellow I saw running out of your room a while ago. So don’t expect the stitching to be pretty.”

“I don’t remember any of that,” I said, trying. “It’s all fuzzy after that drink Liel gave me.” I looked at Jarryd, still in the doorway. “When was that?”

“Four days ago,” he replied, moving in.

“Shit.” I ran a hand through my hair. “I can’t afford to lose that many days.”

“We can’t afford to lose you,” Jarryd said simply. “Malaq found no trace of Draken’s Shinree in the city, so that means he’s still out here. He’s still a threat. And you’re Rella’s only chance against him.”

His earnestness made me cringe. “I’m not the one with the Crown of Stones.”

“Then we take it,” Jarryd replied, as if it were an easy thing to do. “We kill Draken and retrieve the crown from his Shinree. Then you can use it against him. That is the plan, right?” When I didn’t answer, he eyed me funny. “You do have a plan?”

“Don’t take it personal, Kane,” Malaq butted in. He swaggered over to the window and hitched himself up on the sill. “Men like Troy don’t work off plans. It’s part of his roguish charm. Besides,” he yawned. “It’s a long way to Rella. He’ll think of something.”

I shook my head at Malaq. “I still can’t believe you bartered with that woman.”

“Bartered,” Jarryd laughed. “You have no idea.”

Malaq threw him a frown. “Do you even know what the word subtle means?”

Jarryd crossed his arms. “I know what dodging looks like.”

“Would you prefer,” Malaq said stiffly, “that I left Ian in the care of that Kaelish physician with his implements of torture? That saw of his wasn’t even sharp!”

“Stop,” I told them. I looked at Malaq. “What did you give Jillyan?”

“
He
didn’t give her anything,” Jarryd said.

“Kane, I swear…” Malaq muttered. “Payment was made. No need to bore the injured man with the details.”

“Come on,” Jarryd said hotly. “Ian knows anything borrowed from the former Queen of Langor comes with a steep price.”

“Steep how?” I asked, and they both looked at me.

A faint grimace pulled at Malaq’s mouth as he searched for the right words.

Jarryd wasn’t so picky. “She asked to bathe you.”

“She what?” I scowled. “Well that’s not going to happen.”

“Already did,” Jarryd said, giving me his crooked grin. “It’s really too bad you can’t tell us what happened. It’s rumored Jillyan has quite an appetite for Shinree men.”

I shivered in disgust. “Vile woman.”

“I’m sure,” Jarryd said, still grinning. “But if you let her do more than wash you next time, maybe she’ll convince Draken to give up.”

“Don’t be a child, Kane,” Malaq scolded. “It was a simple business transaction. Without the loan of Jillyan’s Shinree, Ian would be dead.” He turned to me. “You’d lost too much blood. The physician wanted to cut off your arm and you probably still wouldn’t have survived the night. And it’s not like she harmed you.” A slight smile forming, Malaq tried to smother his amusement. “Most likely it was just the opposite.”

“Gods,” I groaned. “Couldn’t you have just offered her money?”

“Jillyan doesn’t need money,” Malaq reminded me. “However, she did ask one more thing. To see you, before you leave Kael.”

“I think she’s seen enough of me already.”

As Jarryd laughed heartily at my expense, I leaned back against the headboard and closed my eyes. Despite being in and out of sleep for days, I was tired. Tired of hurting every time I breathed, tired of owing my life to people I didn’t know.