The lonesome crown, p.2
The Lonesome Crown, page 2
Sashenya bowed her head in acquiescence.
Icelyn hooked the coiled scorch whip back onto her silver belt, then drew a long silver dagger from the folds of her dark cloak and eyed the ravaged body parts scattered about with an eagerness and hunger. She stepped over a pile of horse entrails and crouched over the nearest dead fisherman. Her white dragon-scale armor creaked softly as she sliced away both of the human’s ears with the dagger, then quickly moved to the next. Stefan drew back farther behind the boulder, for these strange knights were brutal in all they did.
“ ’Tis an ancient ritual the Aalavarrè perform,” Mud whispered. “ ’Tis the ancient oghul way. Mutilate. Disfigure. Taking the ears of the enemy so as to make it hard for anyone to tell if the dead are human or Vallè. Those severed ears are then collected and later used in the Blood Cauldrons of Hragna’Ar. ’Tis quite normal, really.”
Normal? Stefan listened to the oghul in cold fascination, figuring every corpse looked the same once the maggots had done their job, ears or no ears. The dead were dead. The rotting were rotting. And I am born anew!
As for the five Cauldron Born, one thing Stefan knew for sure: within the heart of their leader, Icelyn the White, firstborn of the blood cauldrons of Hragna’Ar, there clearly lived a need for revenge, for a devouring, for an absolution. And the heart of Icelyn had infected the heart of the other four Aalavarrè. For they were all savage killers.
Icelyn knelt on the hillside, face seemingly etched in joy, silver eyes squinting against the harsh sun as she cut the ears from the dead. She cast her gaze out to sea several times during her task, watching as the boat carrying Nail and Val-Draekin and the black angel stone sailed away. And my bow, Gisela, Stefan thought. Gisela goes with them, stolen by the girl with two white feathers tied in her hair.
In that final day of Fiery Absolution, the grand vicar shall take a bride most beautiful and young.
—THE WAY AND TRUTH OF LAIJON
CHAPTER TWO TALA BRONACHELL
6TH DAY OF THE FIRE MOON, 999TH YEAR OF LAIJON
AMADON, GUL KANA
The Val Vallè ambassador, Val-Korin, and his bodyguard, Val-So-Vreign, escorted Tala Bronachell into the king’s bedchamber. Val-Korin’s daughter, Seita, followed them. All three Vallè bowed low to Jovan Bronachell upon entry.
Tala did not bow. She would not bow. She planned never to obey any of Jovan’s wishes again. In fact, under her tattered cloak she wore simple leather leggings and a black shirt—boyish clothes that were sure to displease the king. She let the cloak fall open just enough that her brother could see her offensive garb.
“Where has Lawri gone off to now?” King Jovan fired the question, his voice deep and accusing. He eyed Tala and her ragged clothes with distaste.
She’d known the king’s summons was going to be full of questions about Lawri Le Graven. Every time Tala thought of her cousin, she couldn’t help but shudder. Her missing arm! And those ever-glowing eyes of green!
Jovan stood upon the thick bearskin rug set before his four-post mahogany bed. He was wrapped in a luxurious red-trimmed black velvet cloak fastened with a brooch of Vallè-worked silver. Under the cloak he wore black leather pants and a decorative black leather tunic festooned with red gems up the center. Silver necklaces draped his neck and silver bracelets circled each wrist. His wavy brown hair fell just past his shoulders and was confined by a silver band—the royal crown. Sky Reaver—the sword that used to belong to the White Prince, Aeros Raijael—hung at his hip.
“You know where she is, sister.” His eyes narrowed. “Mona Le Graven hasn’t seen Lawri since early this morning. Her daughter went off with a wicker basket and two Silver Guard escorts. The escorts say they lost track of her. Those escorts are now being dealt with for their gross failure. I know you had something to do with her disappearance. Just as you facilitated her disappearance before.”
“I told you, I had nothing to do with Lawri’s disappearance the first time,” Tala countered, her back growing rigid. “I thought we already went over all that.”
Truth be told, Tala was just as confused that Lawri Le Graven had vanished. She was probably more worried than her brother was. Where have you gone this time, Lawri?
Her cousin wasn’t hiding in Jovan’s bedchamber, that was certain. The place was well-lit from the large open window to the east, though low-hanging clouds blanketed the sky, dimming the room some. Sconces lined gray stone walls draped with brilliant velvet tapestries and decorative swords, opulently shined blades with bejeweled and sculpted crosspieces that glittered dully in the light. Also casting a dull shine were the numerous golden trinkets, goblets, and Laijon statuettes atop the various scrollworked armoires and cabinets in every corner. Jovan’s room was always too fancy for Tala’s tastes.
“May I interject, if it please Your Excellency?” Val-Korin spoke in his peculiar taut voice, bowing respectfully as he did so. “Perhaps you accuse the wrong sister for Lawri’s disappearance this time.”
“You think Jondralyn is behind this?” The king’s brow furrowed even more as he met the Val Vallè ambassador’s cool eyes. Val-Korin was clothed in just as much finery as Jovan. He wore a long black robe, and the red brass pendant of his rank dangled from a slender, gem-studded chain about his neck.
“She acts most suspicious,” Val-So-Vreign added.
Jovan’s gaze fell on the ambassador’s bodyguard, a green-eyed Vallè with coal-colored hair. He then glanced at Val-Korin’s daughter.
Seita bowed, then said, “Jondralyn has not been seen in the castle since Lawri went missing.” Her round green eyes were ever watchful and did not stray from those of the king. The Vallè princess looked stunning as always. She wore tanned leather breeches laced up the sides, a black belt, and a dark umber tunic under a shimmering white cloak. Her hair was the glowing hue of fine silk, hanging sleek and loose over the sides of her face and tapered Vallè ears and even over her forehead.
Does her hair cover a bruise? Tala fixed her eyes on the delicate pale skin of the Vallè’s forehead, but she couldn’t tell for sure if there were any flaws there. If she is bruised, she’s not only covered it with her hair but likely some ashy makeup, too.
“Jondralyn had nothing to do with Lawri’s disappearance,” Tala said with a trace of strained conviction in her tone. She gave both Val-Korin and Seita a flat stare.
Val-Korin’s thin hand rose to his chest. He held her eyes a moment. “What makes you so sure Jondralyn is not hiding Lawri?”
“Jovan is paranoid, and you two are only feeding into that,” she answered without hesitation, coldness in her voice. “He thinks both Jondralyn and I are out to betray him at every turn, when in reality—”
“Oh, hold your tongue,” Jovan cut her off, voice dropping to a threatening whisper. “You and Jondralyn are both full of mischief and betrayal. That is known. We’ve had this pointless conversation numerous times already.”
“I have never betrayed you,” Tala fired back. “And neither has Jondralyn.”
“Nonsense,” Jovan said. “The answer to this vexing problem has now been made simple. You shall be watched at all times, Tala Bronachell. You shall be held under guard until further notice. You shall be held in Mother’s old chamber, where it will be easier for the guards to keep track of you. You are not to be allowed back into your own chamber. In fact, you are not allowed anywhere without permission from me.”
“What?” Tala’s heart beat furiously under her ribs. “Why?”
“You shall be watched,” he repeated. “Watched and watched and watched until you confess all your sins and betrayals against me, until you tell me exactly where Lawri Le Graven is. Only then will you be free.”
“This is not fair!”
“It is beyond fair in the eyes of the Silver Throne!” Jovan shouted back at her. “I wouldn’t put it past you or Jondralyn to have been instrumental in Lindholf’s escape from the arena. Think about that, Tala. Think about where both of your cousins lie hidden, both Lawri and Lindholf. Only when you have the answers to those mysteries will I allow you to roam free.”
* * *
“This is a day long overdue.” Glade Chaparral had a cocky sneer pasted on his smug face as he strolled up the corridor toward Tala. “Given to all manner of mischief and sneakiness and betrayal, and now our king finally sees fit to place you under guard, to lock you away. Indeed, it is long past time.”
Tala stood with Val-Korin, Val-So-Vreign, and Seita in the corridor just outside Swensong Courtyard. She felt her whole body stiffen at Glade’s approach, for he had the knack of making even the most horrible of situations worse.
Glade was clothed in polished Dayknight armor, helm in the crook of his left arm, long black sword dangling at his belt. His three rakish Dayknight lackeys strode casually behind him—Tolz Trento of Avlonia, Alain Gratzer of Knightliegh, and Boppard Stockach of Reinhold. All three were tall and imposing and good-looking, their own polished helms in the crooks of their arms, swords girted at their hips. Ser Boppard was so casual in his approach, he actually had a half-eaten chicken leg in one greasy hand, tearing at it with his teeth as he walked.
In Tala’s estimation, Tolz, Alain, and Boppard were the scoundrels who had helped Glade frame Lindholf Le Graven for the murder of Sterling Prentiss and implicated him in the assassination attempt on Jovan. They were now assigned to escort Tala from the courtyard to her mother’s bedchamber and then help the Silver Guard set up a twenty-four-hour watch rotation outside her door.
“I’ll escort the princess from here?” Glade bent his knee to the Val Vallè ambassador.
“Then we shall take our leave.” Val-Korin bowed in return. With another bow to Tala, he whirled and strode down the corridor, Val-So-Vreign following, their boots clicking loudly on the tiled floor.
Seita did not go with her father. She lingered, eyeing Glade suspiciously.
“What’s this?” Glade’s gaze darted between Tala and the Vallè princess. “Two girly lovers not willing to part?” He laughed. The three Dayknights behind him laughed too, Boppard’s thin lips sucking at the chicken leg now, grease around his mouth.
“How’s our delicate Vallè flower today?” Glade’s laughing eyes met Seita’s. The Vallè princess did not answer, just stared, not even a trace of anger sparking in her eyes. Just calm. “Cuddling up to Tala, cuddling up to the king’s sister, I see,” Glade continued. “Don’t think the entire court hasn’t seen the doe-eyed looks you two girly lovers give each other. Tala and the delicate Vallè flower.”
“You’re not the first to call me a delicate Vallè flower,” Seita said flatly. “I’m just here to make sure you get Tala to her chamber safely, make sure there are no side trips, make sure nothing… untoward happens.”
Glade turned to his companions, grinning wildly. “To make sure Tala gets to her chamber safely, she says.” He looked back to Seita. “You don’t think we can do the job?”
“Oh, I’m sure four Dayknights could do the job all right.” Seita yawned, hand up to her mouth as she looked around. “But I don’t see four Dayknights here, do you?”
Glade’s face darkened.
“Leastwise not any real Dayknights,” Seita finished.
Glade, Tolz, Alain, and Boppard had been knighted full-fledged Dayknights by Jovan under less-than-deserving circumstances. During their initiation, Tala had detected many disapproving looks amongst some of the older Silver Guard and even a few of the Dayknights present.
Glade quickly recovered, not letting Seita’s jibe affect him. He carried on with his lame joke. “We’ve all been making bets on whether you two were lovers. Seems that we’ve found out. Took forever for confirmation, though, or so it seems.”
“Well.” Seita stared at him blankly. “Any conversation with you, Glade Chaparral, is enough to make us all know what forever feels like.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Means whatever you want it to mean.” Seita shrugged.
“Whatever.” Glade shook his head in feigned disgust. “Dumb bitch.”
“Well, I’m done then.” Seita cocked her head. “It just can’t possibly be worth it, intellectually sparring with one as unworthy as you. Ridiculous, even.”
“You think I’m ridiculous?” Glade’s helm dropped from the crook of his arm to the floor with a clatter. He balled up his fists, stood in a mock fighting stance. “I’ll box your fragile Vallè face in, you call me ridiculous again.” He flashed a sly grin and laughed. The three knights behind him chuckled too.
“When does your boorishness ever end, Glade?” the Vallè princess asked.
Tala noticed a subtle skulking darkness deep set behind Seita’s eyes now.
“And who is gonna stop my ‘boorishness’?” Glade asked. “You? Always strutting about this castle like a man, not a princess. Makes one wonder, do you have hairy balls and a thin Vallè cock under those leather pants? Is that your secret? Is that why you and Tala get along so famously?”
Glade grinned madly at Tala. “So have you let Seita dip the ol’ noodle yet, Tala? Let her go down on that sweet little honeypot twixt your legs?”
Boppard actually giggled, taking another loud chomp out of his chicken leg.
Glade continued, bolstered by Boppard’s laughing. “Is Seita’s wee Vallè noodle gonna just get lost up in there, Tala? Or did some bloodsucking oghul-faced loser like Lindholf already loosen you up good?”
Glade reached for Seita’s crotch. “What exactly is under them pants?”
Seita blocked his hand, eyes throwing off sparks now. “Just stay clear of me and shut the fuck up.”
“Shut the fuck up, you say?” Glade laughed. Boppard giggled too.
Seita continued, “Every bully I’ve ever known could never keep their hands to themselves or their fucking mouth shut.”
“Oh, really.” Glade moved toward her, hand reaching for her crotch again. “Feisty.”
Seita thrust the palm of her hand forcefully into Glade’s chest plate, sending him awkwardly tumbling backward, his flailing arm knocking the chicken leg from Boppard’s hand. Boppard didn’t giggle at that.
Glade’s rear smacked the floor with a thud. “Rotted angels!” he raged, scrambling to stand, slipping on the smeared grease from the chicken leg, awkwardly falling face-first to the tile floor. “You savage elf bitch!”
“What did you just call me?” Seita’s eyes were narrowed and sharp.
“An elf bitch.” Glade was on hands and knees, glaring up at her.
“Say that again and I’ll poke this right into your mouth.” Seita smoothly produced a thin black dagger from a hidden pocket somewhere in her leather pants. The black blade in Seita’s hand reflected no light. Tala was instantly on guard, afraid. The weapon looked like a Bloodwood dagger.
Glade scrambled back across the tile on his butt, reaching for his sword. Tolz and Alain already had their weapons drawn. Boppard stared at his chicken leg on the floor.
“Kill her!” Glade shouted.
“I’ll gut the bitch like a wet herring!” Tolz cried out, attacking.
Seita ducked under his wild swing and answered with a powerful strike of her own, disarming the knight. She whirled and aimed straight at Glade still on his haunches, back against the wall. He threw up his blade, but a fraction too late. The quickness of Seita’s blow knocked the sword from his hand. Worry lined Glade’s face, but Seita allowed him no respite, and her dagger slashed a swath of wavy hair from the top of his head.
Alain struck at her from behind. Seita kicked out backward. Alain’s left leg buckled as her kick landed square against the front of his knee. He jerked away and went down awkwardly to the hard stone floor.
Tolz struck again, having gathered up his weapon. But with a flick and twist of her blade, Seita sent his sword spinning away a second time. Tolz fell back to the stone floor, landing hard on his back.
Boppard drew his sword last, chicken leg now forgotten. He lunged at Seita’s exposed back. Tala threw herself between the Dayknight and the Vallè princess. Boppard’s heavy rushing bulk knocked her aside, sending her sprawling to the floor. She slid on her back helplessly in the opposite direction of the fight.
Boppard swung his sword at Seita’s back again. But she spun away, knocking the knight’s sword from his hand with seemingly scant effort. Boppard scrambled to grab it, tripping over Tolz and Alain. All three of them were piled up on the floor now in a tangle of arms and legs.
“You must have forgotten our dagger lessons in Greengrass Courtyard.” Seita knelt and put the point of her black dagger to Glade’s throat. “Or did you think this delicate Vallè flower was just playing games that day?”
Glade shrank away from her, for it was clear Seita was just toying with them, that she could have slain them all easily. He was scared.
Seita sneered, “I ought to kill you now, you small-minded little asshole.” She pressed the tip of the blade into his skin, drawing blood.
“Leave him be, girl.” Grand Vicar Denarius’ hand was suddenly on Seita’s shoulder, his fleshy jowls red with anger. “Just leave him be.”
Seita rose to her feet and faced the grand vicar, black dagger hidden behind her back in one hand. Glade swiped the droplet of blood from under his quivering chin.
Denarius wore the burnt-orange cassock of his station, silken priesthood robes underneath. His chest was hung with jeweled necklaces of gold. He was bald as ever, sweat beading up on his head.
