Though they seemed to have stopped life itself, the Moonlings were anxious out in the open. They moved with a contrived slowness, but their quick gazes took in their surroundings and Draken and his friends.
Draken knelt as well, on both knees, and inclined his head. They were eye to eye when he lifted his gaze. Hers were the brown-black of fertile soil. “The honor is mine, my lady.”
“To provide aid, even when need is dire, is a slight to some,” Oklai said gravely. “I would never wish to offend one so honorable as yourself. If I have done so, you may take equal insult from me.”
“No offence taken, Lady Oklai,” Draken replied. “Indeed, I offer many thanks.”
“We hoped interference would not be necessary, but after the rafter lost her life and so many errings appeared, we felt we should.”
“The honor is ours, then, to have been deemed worthy of your efforts,” Osias said.
“Indeed, we owe you protection, as you protected one of my kind when you first arrived.”
Draken’s brows dropped. “The Moonling I freed from Reavan…you know her?”
“She is my sister.”
He considered this and nodded. “She followed me before they caught her, didn’t she? I thought someone was.”
“She did. We wondered what you were about.” Oklai turned her dark eyes on Osias. “No word of the Abeyance must pass, Prince Osias.”
Osias inclined his head. “And none shall.”
“Come, then.” Oklai clapped her tiny hands and her people began to move. “Let us go about making our guests comfortable.”
The Moonlings erected an awning and laid refreshments. Oklai pulled two female Moonlings aside and directed them in her own language, gesturing to Aarinnaie. But as they led her away, Draken felt the need to interject.
“She is my prisoner until I return her to her father,” Draken said. “I’d feel better if there were more guards present to see she does not make a fugitive of herself again.”
“Where shall I run?” Aarinnaie said. “Into the mists and sky?”
Oklai, too, gave him a nonplussed look, but a nod at her people added two more guards armed with spears to the ones designated to help her.
The Moonling Lady then invited them to sit, and served them wine and soft breads and cold, sweet, black fruit. It had been days since the small troop had fresh food; the fare was barely passable in Reschan, and they traveled light on the river.
“Not to offend,” Draken began. “But how...how did you do it? Have you stopped time?”
“The veils between the worlds are ragged and unstable and many. Like the sea kissing the shore, edges overlap, filling where another leaves off.” Oklai arched a tiny eyebrow and added pointedly, “Or perhaps, one might think of the worlds as a man with two souls, separate but the same.”
A cold that had nothing to do with Bruche swept through him. “Is this Ma’Vanni’s world? Have we died?”
Oklai seemed amused. “You think Ma’Vanni will have you, when you follow her brother Khellian to your wars?”
Under her reproachful gaze, Draken swallowed the rest of his questions.
Osias changed the subject, speaking to Oklai in her own soft language for a time, every so often interrupting himself to inform Draken of what they were discussing. He told her of the banes, of his own King’s suspected betrayal, of news from Auwaer, and of all which had transpired since he had found Draken in the woods.
“This troubles me,” Oklai said in Akrasian. “For you provide additional witness to what we have seen and heard.”
Draken knew he should be paying attention, but Thom caught his eye. The young Gadye sat huddled in his cloak, pale as his moonwrought mask. Finally Draken could bear no more. He moved closer to Thom and spoke in a low, kind tone.
“Your sister fought bravely. I deeply regret her passing.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Thom’s voice was so soft Draken had to strain to hear.
“I understand if you want to go back,” Draken said. “But your daring during the fight didn’t go unnoticed, either. I could make use of courage such as yours.”
“I’m honored to see my sister’s duty done, my lord. I will take you as far as Brîn and then… I shall see.” The young Gadye summoned a smile, but it was of such forced ghastliness Draken couldn’t smile back. He touched Thom’s stiff shoulder and turned his attention back to his hostess.
Oklai watched the interaction with curiosity. “You are respected, and with good reason, Lord Draken. You are one of strong sword and generous heart.”
“Speaking of swords,” Osias said. “I’d like you to see the Night Lord’s blade. Draken, if you would…”
Draken drew his sword and laid it between them on the rug.
Oklai’s dark eyes widened. “Might I lift it?”
“Of course,” Draken said.
The sword flickered with the black, unreadable lines as she touched it and then brightened back to white. But the signs burned on Draken’s mind as if they’d been branded on it. “
Akhen Khel
,” Oklai breathed. Even the guttural Brînish sounded light on her tongue.
A murmuring rose among the Moonling guards.
“So I’ve been told. You know this sword?” Draken asked.
She lifted her gaze to Draken’s face, and her expression was as veiled as a Gadye’s. “How do you come by it?”
“A gift from my Queen,” Draken replied, letting his head and chest dip forward in an agreeable, if not subservient, bow.
Oklai’s eyes dropped to the pendant hanging against his black leather armor. She lifted the sword. “You must be fair curious why she gave you such a gift.”
“I am her Night Lord,” Draken said, resisting the urge to shrug. The Moonlings were unlikely to recognize such a gesture or might think it rude. “It is all I know of her opinion as to the gift, Lady Oklai. Truth? I only just learned what Seaborn was.”
“She did not tell you.” Again Oklai’s piercing gaze, suspicion less veiled now.
Something in her astute gaze inspired honesty. “I think she thought I knew. She believes Brîn to be my homeland.”
“And your sword-hand?” The words were clipped, all music gone from her tone. “Did he recognize it for what it is?”
Aye, tell her I knew. Or hoped, rather.
“He says he knew what it was.”
Her expression went harder, if possible. “He ought to know it. He was killed by it.”
Bruche shifted within Draken’s muscles, causing a cold, nauseating quiver in his gut as Bruche’s realization spread through him. Bruche had no real memory of his death, just fighting, and then the darkness of Ma’Vanni’s underwater lair.
“What can you tell me of it, Lady Oklai?” Draken asked brusquely. He didn’t like this ambush.
Her reply was flat, emotionless. “Forged under the seventh moon, it was cooled in the waters of your Blood Bay. Legend holds it relays messages from the Gods to those who wield it over the sea.”
One trick isn’t enough? thought Draken. But Oklai’s solemnity stayed his tongue. He inclined his head instead.
Now her voice hardened. “There is deep magic embedded in this blade, potent, natural powers untapped for long whiles. Why would you, a foreigner, think you can control it?”
Draken took a moment to restrain his defensiveness. “I only know if what Osias—Prince Osias—says about the banes is truth, I must try any weapon I’ve got.” He hesitated. “Can it destroy them somehow?”
“They must be destroyed by something sacred, something imbued with the power of the gods. Perhaps this sword is that thing. Or not.” Oklai still held the sword aloft, and though it was half her height, her small arm seemed untroubled by the weight. At length she turned it, and presented the hilt to Draken. He took the sword with a dip of his chin. “It is a Moonling-made blade, and we carry gods-given magic. It was forged from the Khial Akrasian vein, while we yet worked it.”
Tyrolean looked up from seeding a piece of fruit with his long fingers. “A vein of legend, Lady. It’s only called Akrasian because we’ve searched for it at length...” He stopped, and for the first time Draken saw him look embarrassed. He put down the fruit. “Many Moonlings died from our efforts.”
Oklai returned a gentle smile. “I do not hold you responsible for the deeds of your forebears, First Captain.”
Tyrolean’s brow creased above his lined eyes. “But we don’t have to condone them, either. Moonlings are considered enemies to Akrasia. We enslave you, harm your people.”
Oklai tipped her head. “Do you consider me an enemy?”
“No, my lady. However, I’ve always believed in Akrasian rule.” Tyrolean glanced around at his companions. “Recently, though, I wonder if we’re meant to live in equal peace.”
“Not yet, I fear.” The Moonling’s sad smile creased the thin skin around her eyes. Still, she seemed immune to age somehow, as content as a child and as wise as an old tree. “I would expect you, being of an enlightened, educated House, would appreciate your own people and history. It does not make you poorer in soul, Captain.”
“Knowing your kindness now, and your gracious hospitality, I must think again on our history, perhaps with a more open eye than before.” To Draken’s surprise, Tyrolean bowed his head to the Moonling Lady, his palms resting on his thighs.
Oklai reached out and laid her fingers on Tyrolean’s cheek. “You are wiser than you know, Captain, and you give me great hope with your words.”
She turned her attention back to Draken. “Night Lord, you wish to know the history of your sword. It was made by Moonlings for a particular Brînian King thought to be a demigod.” Her stare seemed to go right through Draken and he suppressed the urge to look away. “Certainly his family ruled Brîn for a time longer than seemed mortal, dozens of generations. When he finally died and the sword passed to his son, the Akrasian King Hekron, Elena’s grandfather, tried to steal it. He thought the power to rule Akrasia, and a sort of immortality, resided within it, and he thought Akrasians more enlightened than Brînians. After defeating the Gadye and taking Reschan, the Akrasians turned their efforts toward Brîn. But they could not take it, and they could not find the sword. King Hekron died in the campaign. For a generation of skirmishes, the sword was not seen in battle and was considered lost, though the same Brînian royal family continued to rule Brîn.”
“Which family, my lady?” Draken asked, held rapt by her musical voice.
“Mine. House Khel.” Aarinnaie had returned. She was cleaned and redressed in clothing made for Moonlings; the long tunic she wore barely skimmed her knees. She knelt near them and reached forward to touch the hilt of the sword. “Seaborn was hidden away, but my father brought it out when he was Prince.”
Oklai caught her wrist within her own deft grasp. “Not yours to touch without the asking.”
Aarinnaie lifted her blue eyes to Draken’s.
“I want Lady Oklai to finish her story,” he said.
Aarinnaie sank back in a posture of defeat, all but her eyes, which narrowed and never left the plain-wrought blade.
“Aarinnaie is correct,” Oklai said. “Her grandfather, the Brînian King, was wise enough to keep it hidden, long enough for even legend to fade. My people hoped it had found its final resting place at the bottom of the Bay. But the Akrasian crown never forgot. And Prince Khel was…” Oklai stole a glance at Aarinnaie, “another sort. Spoiled and foul, and is to this day. For a simple slight, he started to murder a young Gadye slave. The boy’s mother pleaded to give her life in his stead. Prince Khel killed the boy and the mother, too, and invoked the spell on a whim. Onlookers reported when the mother died, the boy’s cut healed and he was as fit as if he’d never been injured. It was too close to legend to be ignored. Elena’s father sent the entirety of his army to retrieve the sword and take Brîn.
“It grew into war over Seaborn. Brînians were driven from their homes, fighting like wild creatures, but to no avail. Many escaped to Eidola, battering the gates. The living do not fare well there and the Mance King sent them back, half dead for their trouble, or infected with banes.”
At every turn the Mance King came up. Draken glanced at Osias, but the Mance ignored him.
“Legend holds bane madness drove mothers, fathers, and children off the cliffs into Blood Bay—” Oklai’s smile was acerbic— “Legend grounded in truth. I witnessed the slaughter. The assault stopped only when Aarinnaie’s grandfather offered the sword and his allegiance to Elena’s father. Alas, his son Prince Khel, had disappeared. Most thought he went to Eidola or died in the bay. The Akrasian King thought him hidden away for future rebellion. Though he tortured the Brînian King to death, he would not reveal where his son hid.”
“He didn’t know,” Aarinnaie said.
Draken found himself thinking aloud. “I believe the bit about a life for a life; I’ve seen it happen. But the rest—”
He’d gained Oklai’s sharp attention. “You’ve experienced this exchange of lifeblood?”
Draken nodded and explained what had happened with Baron Urian.
“So Seaborn still breathes its feral majicks,” Oklai said. She did not look happy about the prospect.
“Feral? Wild, you mean. Uncontrollable.” Draken sighed and rubbed his hand across his forehead, trying to erase his lines of worry. “The power to rule can’t actually reside within the sword. And if it were true, Elena never would have given it to me. She is Queen. She is my liege.”
The Moonling Lady lifted a hand, and then let it drop in an apologetic manner. “As I said, I do not know for certain rule is part of its majicks. But I know history claims the one who wields the sword often does rule.”
Draken sat back, needing a moment to think. It all made a horrific sense if one believed the legend, and, worse, it reeked of manipulation. What had Elena meant by giving him the sword? Was she trying to make him a Brînian prince, loyal to her crown? That she had taken him to her bed made him even more suspicious of her motives. Va Khlar’s voice echoed in his mind.
“I think Elena means for you to take command, Night Lord.”
Every eye was on him. They were waiting for him to speak. Draken’s throat constricted.
Bruche? What do you think?
You’re my king whether you wear a crown or not.
Draken finally found his voice. “I don’t want it. I’ll give the sword back to Elena.”