Chapter 50: King of Blades: Chapter 8

Shelton refused to enter Deandre's office unless there truly was a reason to and, now that Wildas had been given all the documents and other things he had a right to from the office, there really was no reason to go there. He and Yvona entered their suite of rooms through his own office and Yvona would cross Deandre's empty chamber for her own room. Sometimes she hardly said goodnight to him.

This time she walked halfway across Shelton's room before he stopped her. All it took was for him to speak her name.

"What is it?" he asked gently, taking a step closer. She had seemed perfectly fine during the farmers' banquet only a few minutes ago, despite all the pain they were both still in and the threat of war.

She didn't speak for several long moments and her gaze was level with his feet. For a while he didn't think she'd speak, until she finally answered him in a broken voice.

"These rooms are so empty."

Shelton took another cautious step forward. He had been feeling much the same way and fully agreed with her. "I don't think Wildas would be offended if we moved to a room in the next wing."

Yvona shook her head and sniffed. Shelton had rarely seen her cry and he hated that she seemed to be on the verge of tears now. She was usually so very strong.

"You're as empty as these rooms," she whispered, her tone sad but not accusing.

The words pierced his heart like a sword. "Why would you say that?"

She shook her head. "I know you're trying to cope by pushing forward and being there for Wildas. The gods know things aren't beginning well for his reign. But it hurts me that you won't share the pain with me. I'm mourning, too. It's just the two of us left now, and you've pulled yourself so far away that I wonder if you no longer care."

"Of course I do," he assured her. "Wildas needs me. This country needs me."

"Your wife needs you!" she sobbed, finally raising her gaze. The tears shining in her eyes were easy to see in the light from the hearth.

His heart broke even more and he reached out a hand to her, which she ignored. "Yvona..."

"Do you even still take your tea?" she demanded.

He knew she meant the tea he had been required to take as the Second King to cause temporary infertility. Why she would ask him such a thing, though, made no sense to him.

"Of course," he answered.

"Because it's simply a habit?"

"And because I wouldn't want to disappoint you."

"I'm past the age of childbearing."

"I've heard of older women conceiving and having dangerous pregnancies. I wouldn't risk that with you."

"Nor would you risk causing a scandal for Wildas."

Shelton spread his arms in mild frustration. "Why are you angry with me? You've been no better to me than I have been to you."

Yvona shook her head and wiped her eyes. "I don't know."

"Yvona, what do you need?"

Her shoulders shook. "I don't know!" she repeated.

Cautiously, he stepped closer and pulled her into his arms. She leaned her head against his shoulder.

"I love you," he told her honestly. "Come to me when you need me. Don't suffer this alone. And stay here with me as often as you want to. Every night if that's what you need. For whatever kind of comfort you're looking for."

She wrapped her arms around him. "I love you, and don't you suffer this alone either. It's only us now, and I'm here with you for whatever comfort you need."

Much to Shelton's surprise, he felt his own sorrow, which he had kept in check with constant distraction, overwhelm him then. For a long time they simply stood there in each other's arms, seeking the genuine support they both needed.

***

Coulta hated the atmosphere of the castle. Everyone seemed to be pretending to live their lives like usual while everything about their lives was shrouded in fear. Even the farmers and their families had seemed nervous about returning home five days ago, despite having waited until morning to do so. He supposed the threat of war could do that to people, but it hadn't been this bad when they knew Varin was truly leading a civil war upon them.

He didn't know much about necromancers, only that they were different from sorcerers in that they used blood magic associated with death. He'd seen Shelton use blood in spells before, but he had explained that the difference was that he didn't seek any power over death with his magic. And supposedly necromancers could feed off the souls of the recently dead, which was what made them especially dangerous in battle; they could only grow stronger as the battle raged on.

But, Shelton had assured him, not even necromancers could truly harness death itself. They weren't any harder to kill than any other mortal man. The only trouble was getting close enough to cut one, or to shoot an arrow around a magical shield if the necromancer was using one – which they usually did.

So if the necromancers could be killed, the only thing they would need to do as the defenders was to find ways to kill them. He knew the solution wouldn't be simple, but they could think of it if they worked to solve it instead of simply fearing what was to come. The fear in the air was oppressive.

It was so oppressive that he left the castle as often as he could, despite the cooling temperatures, and usually joined Rohan and Yvona in the training of the new recruits. Other times he simply watched the practice sessions and reported observations to Rohan and Yvona later.

That's where Wildas found him one afternoon, dressed in his practice leathers and leaning on the fence. The arena was mostly empty, except for Rohan and Jaimathan. It seemed that the Algoman prince needed someone to keep him in fighting form.

"Duel?" Wildas asked as he leaned against the fence beside Coulta.

Coulta glanced at him and smiled. Ignoring the nearby gate, he climbed into the arena over the fence, then waited for Wildas to clamor over. Coulta used his magic to temporarily dull their swords, then assumed a fighting stance.

"No magic," Wildas reminded him.

"Of course," Coulta replied. He never used magic in a practice duel unless his opponent asked him to. He knew that Wildas liked to practice with him because, even without magic, it was a true test to fight him. Relentless training to be an assassin had made him incredibly fast and so agile that Wildas usually argued that he had to be using magic in his movements even when he wasn't. It helped that Coulta's blades were made of Altmyr, a rare metal that was lighter than any other. It also channeled magic perfectly, a great advantage in true combat.

Wildas was a skilled swordsman in his own right. Being a prince meant being trained for battle, and Coulta had seen the tiny sword Wildas had learned to use as a small child. But he had been trained to fight from horseback and with much larger swords than what Coulta had always used. Wildas was trained for honest battle, unlike Coulta. It was a difference he felt keenly during these duels.

As usual, he held back while they fought. Several times he could have ended the match with an easy strike, but they were strikes few but him could have made, and that wasn't fair.

It also wasn't fair to end it so quickly and humiliate Wildas in front of the gathering crowd. They always drew spectators when they practiced.

The crowd grew even more when Rohan came to his brother's aid. Coulta had no qualms about fighting both of them. It gave him a slight challenge and he truly appreciated it.

Skilled as they all were, they were still growing tired when Star called to them from the fence, "Your Majesty, I was sent to retrieve you. You are late to your appointment with Prince-Admiral Pavle."

Wildas called a truce and gave Coulta and Rohan each a meaningful look. "Come with me," he murmured.

Curious, Coulta followed Wildas out of the arena and toward Star. When they were finally away from the crowds he asked softly, "What's going on?"

"That was a code. I have no appointments today."

***

Prince-Admiral Pavle, commander of the navy, threw a small square of red cloth onto the table in front of him, then drove a dagger down into it. Wildas didn't recognize the symbol on the cloth – he could hardly make any part of it out – but he knew the ritual with the dagger meant that the cloth was a pirate sign. They left the small signs on pillaged ships to warn others that they considered themselves the rulers of the seas.

But Pavle could have been more mindful of the tabletop.

"Just in our seven day patrol we found three different ships that had been plundered. All were empty of crew, passengers, and supplies. Almost nothing left but that cloth and the manifests and crew lists. Hardly any bodies, either. Only one of the ships was ours. One was a Nair and the other Orman."

"What were they transporting?" Shelton questioned.

"Our ship was coming home with spices and exotic animals from Mahlon. The Nair carried mostly cloths and jewels, and the Orman was hauling various metals and common livestock. We returned the documents to the home ports and ceremoniously sank the ships."

Out of the corner of his eye, Wildas saw Coulta glance up sharply from the cloth, which he had been studying since Pavle had pinned it in front of them.

Pavle must have seen a surprised look cross Coulta's face, because he clarified, "Bad luck to sail a ship that has already been plundered. Everyone regrets the loss of a merchant ship, but there's nothing else to be done. Otherwise it's the pirate's curse."

Wildas went tense like he always did whenever someone talked about curses in front of Coulta. Especially considering that others were usually only speaking superstitiously.

"That I can understand," Coulta replied evenly.

"I meant no offense," Pavle assured him, actually looking slightly embarrassed.

"I take none," Coulta stated. "My past is my past and I don't expect the world to change for me. Speak freely."

"And do continue," Shelton added.

Pavle nodded. "Very well. We've seen this symbol before," he went on, pointing to the cloth. "They call themselves the Kracken Killers. That's what that shape is supposed to be, a kracken. They are the largest band, and I don't know how they don't kill each other regularly. Most other crews are single ship units. This is a band of two to three ships at any given time. There's no hope for any ships who run into them."

"You don't usually bother to keep us informed about every pirate attack," Shelton pointed out, voicing Wildas's own thoughts. "What's different about this?"

"Aside from the frequency of attacks, this." He pointed to a smudge that stood out at one corner of the cloth.

They all leaned closer to see, and Coulta was the one who discerned it first.

"The letter D?"

Pavle nodded. "They've turned privateer."

"I wonder if it was by choice or force," Wildas muttered. The thought of anyone freely choosing to serve Emperor Kemale made him feel ill. But he supposed pirates would do anything for more plunder.

"In the scheme of things, it doesn't much matter," Shelton pointed out. "However it started, it's going to severely hurt trade between our three lands of Phelin, Algoma, and Berk, and the other three lands of Nairiume, Orman, and Mahlon. That, of course, is exactly what Kemale wants. He knows he can't fight them, not with so many Asirim among the Nairs, so he'll do what he can to stop them from trading with us."

"Too bad we don't have any of those Asirim ourselves," Pavle sighed.

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"We might have one," Shelton said quietly, gazing at the fire in the hearth. "With any luck."

***

Shelton had heard about a ritual that could be performed to unlock an Asir's powers outside of his homeland, but he struggled to find any sort of documentation confirming what he had heard. He hadn't even bothered to tell Jaimathan yet, thinking it was best not to get the prince's hopes up too high. It wasn't until five days after the pirate discussion that he found what he was looking for in the castle library.

It was a thin book bound in blue leather with silver lettering on the cover. He almost skipped over it for its unusual title: Opening the Way to the Soul. But he had extended his search to include anything that mentioned souls when just looking for titles about Asirim hadn't yielded any results. There was also the fact that the book was written entirely in the old language, not the modern one. It was therefore either deeply religious, deeply magical, or very old. Not exactly what he had been expecting to find the answers in.

Once he started skimming the pages, however, he realized it was exactly what he had been searching for.

It was all he could do not to sprint to the castle temple, and then he waited with immense impatience while Brother Pelles finished his afternoon meditation before approaching him.

"I have something I need your help with," Shelton began, holding out the book.

Brother Pelles took the book and tucked it under his arm. "I know. I don't know how to do the ritual, but I will study this and prepare."

Shelton wasn't surprised that the priest knew what he wanted. He had been selected for the position because of his visions, after all.

"Do you know who I plan to involve in the ritual?" he asked.

Brother Pelles shrugged one shoulder. "You want to know if it will work. Yes, if you give me time to prepare, it may work."

"Even if he has no ability to use the powers of the Asirim himself?"

"The power is there, whether he can use it at will or not. You know this as well as I."

"How long do you need to prepare?"

"As long as it takes. I will inform you when I am ready. Gods bless you."

"Thank you." Shelton bowed his head at the dismissal and turned for the door.

He hoped they had enough time.

***

The days seemed to drag on endlessly. Without much else to occupy his days aside from occasional meetings and assisting in the military training, Coulta began meeting with Shelton's mages in the Great Hall. He found himself learning more from them than he had expected. All anyone had to do was demonstrate a spell and he could copy the result without using the spell itself. Knowing where his magic came from, few people seemed surprised by the ease with which he mastered things.

He was often in attendance when other mages arrived from all over the country – sometimes from other countries, so seriously did they consider the threat of Dyrai gaining more power – and thought nothing of it when a group of travelers arrived one day while he was working with the mages. There were four people in the group, two women and two men.

The second man didn't even remove the hood of his cloak until his companions had all paid their respects to Shelton and Coulta. When he did finally lift the hood, Coulta felt a jolt pass through him. Memories he hadn't even known he'd possessed flashed to his mind.

Trailing after an older man through the countryside when all he wanted was to rest and eat.

"Don't ask to rest again. We just started for the day. And stop saying you're hungry. You just ate breakfast."

He'd wanted to say there were sores on his heels from the shoes that no longer fit right anymore, and he was ready to admit that he'd accidentally spilled his porridge while his father had been using their roughly-dug latrine, but the words stuck in his throat like a thick lump of meat fat once had. He'd choked then, and he nearly choked now. He knew his father was mad about how dirty Coulta had gotten, but his father's command to eat his breakfast is what had caused him to try to eat it off the ground after spilling it. But he hadn't been able to get much before his father had returned from the latrine and commanded him to stop playing in the mud.

Coulta wasn't sure why he needed to be clean. After all, they'd been traveling for days. Sometimes his father was nice enough to carry him, but then he'd complain Coulta was too heavy and make him walk. The only thing to be grateful for was that they walked at Coulta's pace, not one set by the man with the longer legs.

Then they reached the city. It was dirty and crowded, even then. They'd walked through stinking streets where they were eyed by many strangers. Even at five years old, Coulta could feel the danger around him. He dared to ask where they going in this city.

"I'm finding you a good job to do," his father had answered.

And so they went to the castle on the other side of the city and asked to see the city's lord. Coulta's first sight of Lord Varin filled him with dread. There was something about the way the man held himself that suggested he could kill someone with the snap of his fingers. That was all young Coulta could think when he looked up at that towering form. In later years he would understand how true that first impression had been.

Then his father said the words that forever changed Coulta's life.

"I've brought you the most valuable servant you will ever employ."

Somehow, even after nearly twenty years, Coulta still recognized that rough face and those deep blue eyes.

Markiel dropped to his knees before Coulta, both of his hands over his heart. He hung his head and gasped out, "Please forgive me. I'm here."

Coulta wasn't sure precisely how to feel about his father's sudden appearance. He wasn't sure if he had assumed the man long dead or if he just hadn't cared. Either way, he had never expected to see him again, and he was utterly unprepared to deal with him.

He needed more time to accept this.

"I have nothing to say," were the only words he could force out. Then he turned quickly away and left the Hall, leaving Markiel to explain himself to Shelton.

Coulta was sitting in the courtyard watching the fairies when Shelton found him some time later. He was fascinated by the tiny creatures and found it peaceful to simply sit and watch them at times. He was amazed by their perfectly proportioned, tiny human bodies and their colorful butterfly wings. Most of all, he found it intriguing that Wildas could understand their language of whistles and chirps, thanks to the magic Coulta had shared with them, but Coulta could understand none of it.

The fairies seemed equally fascinated by him. They always wanted to touch and trace the marks of his magic that covered his skin. According to Wildas, fairies were curious by nature and it seemed that his presence pleased them.

Several of the fairies fluttered over to Shelton as he sat down on the bench beside Coulta. He didn't turn his attention to Coulta until the fairies had spoken to him for several moments.

"They're concerned that you're unhappy," Shelton explained. "They want to do something to cheer you up."

Coulta had a feeling that turning away a fairy's gifts would be unwise, so he nodded. "I would appreciate that."

Shelton relayed this to the fairies, using their language. Immediately a number of fairies fluttered off.

"Now," Shelton began, turning back to Coulta, "do you want me to excuse him from service?"

Coulta knew immediately who Shelton was referring to. As badly as part of him wanted to never see his father again after all that had happened to him since being abandoned to work for Varin, Coulta knew their situation. He shook his head reluctantly. "We need every bit of help that we can have."

Shelton nodded. "This is true. But if his presence offends you, or makes you unhappy in any way, you have a right to excuse him from the castle, or even the country if you truly wished it. I wouldn't fault you for it."

"Just because he's here doesn't mean I need to forgive him for indirectly causing the nightmares that keep me awake at night."

"This is also true."

The fairies returned then, each with a tiny pink flower from a blooming bush in the corner of the courtyard. Coulta had no idea what kind of plant could flower so close to winter, but he was aware that there were spells within the courtyard to help the plants grow. Most were herbs that were needed year round, after all. He had worn his hair tied back to keep it out of his eyes while practicing magic, and the fairies set about putting their flowers into his hair. By the time they finished, Shelton was clearly trying to suppress his laughter. The queen fairy hovered in front of him, chattering.

"They want you to take the flowers to Anil," he translated, still smiling. "And I will warn you that they will be offended if you remove them from your hair before you can give them to her."

Coulta hoped Anil would be in her room. He could hide himself from view to get there, but it wouldn't be realistic to hide himself for the rest of the day.

Shelton stood to leave, but paused. "I wouldn't expect you to offer your father forgiveness this moment, but I hope you can at least come to an understanding before this is over."

***

Out of all the seamstresses and tailors who worked for the royal family, Teeya was Anil's favorite. She was always smiling and had the most creative ideas for new gowns, especially now that Anil's pregnancy was becoming more obvious. She was also the closest thing Coulta had to family. According to Coulta, Teeya had been a personal seamstress for the late Lord Varin and she had also raised Coulta despite being only a handful of years older than him. She was essentially his older sister and he had journeyed back to Arren soon after Varin's death just to find her and bring her back to Ryal.

Anil hadn't seen Teeya in nearly a month, thanks to the looming war. The military needed all available seamstresses and tailors to help make all the extra uniforms required by the newest recruits. But Wildas's birthday was quickly approaching and none of Anil's best gowns would be suitable for the celebrations now that she'd grown in size.

Anil and Dala, her lady-in-waiting, were watching Teeya sketch on a small slate drawing board when there was a soft knock on the door. Dala answered it and giggled as she let Coulta in.

Anil quickly joined in the amusement. Coulta was often referred to as Wildas's shadow because of his tendency to wear dark clothes, and he had dark hair, dark eyes, and the black lines of magic across his skin. It was comical to see his black hair festooned with tiny pink flowers.

"That is quite the silly look," she teased, smiling.

Teeya turned and laughed outright. "It's certainly not a look I thought I'd see on you," she added.

Coulta took the teasing with a genuine smile. "I was sitting in the courtyard and the fairies wanted me to bring these flowers to Anil. I think they wanted to bring some amusement to some of the people here."

"They certainly succeeded," Teeya commented. "I wonder if they'd be upset if I incorporated some of the flowers into the dress?"

"Will they last that long?" Anil asked.

"They're probably magic in some way," Dala pointed out.

"I would like some in the dress, if possible," Anil agreed. "But I'll arrange the rest on the mantle."

Coulta sat down and patiently waited while the three of them carefully removed each of the tiny flowers. There were at least fifty of them. Teeya took half to work into the gown design, and the rest were arranged with care along the stone mantle above the crackling hearth.

Before leaving, Coulta gave Anil a light kiss and hugged Teeya.

Teeya smiled at Anil when he was gone. "I'm so glad to see him happy."

Anil returned the smile, thinking of how Coulta had changed since they'd arrived in Ryal. Though he could still be quiet and reserved around others, among his spouses he smiled freely and enjoyed conversation. The only time he usually fell back into his aloof self was just before bed. Intimacy made him happy again, but he usually slept with a frown.

If only the nightmares would leave him be, he truly would be happy.

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