Kingsteel (The Dragonkin Trilogy Book 3) (44 page)

The Bloody Prince closed the door, flipped the knife, and sheathed it. “I’m running out of healers, Iron Sister. Strange that even bruised and stitched, you manage to be beautiful.”

Igrid forced herself to meet his gaze. Though her heart pounded painfully in her throat, she refused to look away. After a moment, the Bloody Prince nodded in what looked like grudging approval, stepped forward, and grabbed a blanket off the floor. He covered her.

“Believe it or not, as much as the thought pleases me, I have no intention of raping you. Nor will any other man so long as I’m alive. I have other plans for you. That’s why I put you in my own bed, so that I could be close enough to protect you.”

Queen Sharra’s bed,
Igrid realized.

“Do you have any idea how strange it is that you’re still alive? Fever, infection, the depth of your wounds, one of which was actually poisoned… yet here you are.” He sat down at the edge of the bed.

Igrid went rigid.

“Clearly, the Dead God wishes it so, as do I.” The Bloody Prince withdrew something from his belt and dangled it in front of her.

When Igrid realized what it was, she tried to claw Karhaati’s eyes out despite her bonds. He smirked. He dangled the dark lock of Ailynn’s hair over Igrid’s face a moment longer, then sniffed it, grinned, and tucked it back into his belt. He stood. “Do I have you nice and rankled, Iron Sister? That’s good. You see, I mean for you to regain your strength, all of it, before I kill you. I want you at your very best, understood? Either you give me a good death, or I give you yours. That’s what warriors like us deserve.”

He moved slowly around the room, extinguishing one lantern after another. Igrid panicked again as darkness began to swallow the room. He gave her a chilling look, his face half lit by firelight. Then he extinguished the last lantern. Igrid braced herself, prepared to fight as hard as she could, if only to open her wounds and speed up her death.

For a long time, nothing happened. She could hear the Bloody Prince standing near her bed, breathing heavily in the dark. Then he opened the door, left the room, and closed the door behind him. A moment later, she heard the door lock.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

The Challenge

“T
his is mad. You know that, right?”

Royce blinked at Saanji’s accusation then smiled faintly across the council table. “I thought we’d already settled this. We can’t wait for the Dragonkin to bring up his army and attack us from the rear. Either we withdraw and brace for a siege ourselves… which we might have to do later, anyway… or I kill the Bloody Prince right now, in front of his city, and remove one enemy from the game board.”

“This isn’t a game,” said the female Isle Knight seated to his left.

Saanji nodded, pointing at her. “Gods-damned right, it isn’t!” Realizing he was standing up, he sat back down. He picked up his goblet and took a long drink. “You’re good, Royce. I’ve seen you dance circles around men in the practice yard, and the gods know how much trouble you made for my brother. But this is a needless risk. Spring will be here in fewer weeks than I have fingers. Just wait. My brother’s own men will kill him soon enough.”

But Royce was already shaking his head. “And what if they don’t? Or better yet, what if they do? We’ll just be replacing one enemy with another. Better the Bloody Prince dies in humiliation while the Dhargots are already vulnerable.”

Someone said, “Loyalties aside, perhaps our one-eared friend just doesn’t feel like watching his kin die. He can hardly be blamed for that.” The speaker was the young, bronze-skinned prince of the Queshi, who also happened to be the tallest man Saanji had ever seen. While the others had arrived at the council wearing armor, the Queshi wore only plain riding clothes and a dagger. His sand-colored hair had been pulled back in a tight braid. Nothing about him betrayed his rank besides the fierce-eyed bodyguards standing with crossed arms behind him.

Saanji lifted his cup. “Do not be concerned, Prince Kentua. I promise you, I’ll gladly kiss the hands of any man who guts that bastard.”

“The goddesses know he’s in dire need of gutting,” Haesha added, lifting a goblet of her own.

The Dwarrish prince, Leander, spoke next. Despite his muscular frame and dented armor, and in spite of all the horrors Saanji guessed the young man must have witnessed, his eyes remained shy and downcast. “My men and I didn’t come here to fight Dhargots. We didn’t come here to save the Hesodi, either… as much as we sympathize with their plight.” He nodded toward Haesha, who answered with a stony scowl. “I’m sure Kentua can say the same. We came here for Chorlga.”

Kentua nodded. “Chorlga and his metal devils didn’t just do harm to our Dwarrish neighbors. We Queshi once had a city of trade near the southern border of Stillhammer, at the base of the mountains. It’s gone now. Women, children… all happened as you would imagine. Chorlga must answer for that. And by my arrows, he will.”

“But the Bloody Prince is the Dragonkin’s strongest ally,” Royce countered. “Chorlga might be powerful, and his Jolym might be gifted killers, but he cannot hope to rule all of Ruun without help. He’ll use the Dhargots to enforce his will throughout every kingdom, including yours.” He nodded to the two princes, who sat beside each other.

“Agreed. Better we break the bastard now.” Haesha rose unsteadily to her feet, one hand on her sword. “And I should be the one to do it, not you. No disrespect, Lancer, but I’m the closest thing to a captain that the Iron Sisters have left. I speak for them. Better I honor our slain by slicing the Bloody Prince throat to cock and feeding him to the crows.”

Maybe if you hadn’t already drunk more wine than I have,
Saanji thought, listening to the faint slur in her voice.

Royce gave the Iron Sister a respectful nod. “I admire your passion. If I fall… which I don’t expect I will… then you are free to issue any challenge you like. But I’ve brought thousands of men from Ivairia, and if I might speak bluntly, more than a few of them are anxious to go back. Our own king has ordered it. My men need to be reminded why they’re here in the first place. As much as the Bloody Prince has to die, I have to be the one to kill him.”

Saanji glanced at the only two people at the table who had not yet spoken. Seated at the far end, Rowen Locke looked as pale as the snow still piled outside Royce’s tent. Sweat glazed his forehead. The sight reminded Saanji of how he himself felt when he ran out of wine.

It’s that sword. Having it, then not having it, has done something to him.

Seated beside Rowen was Jalist Hewn. The Dwarr had so far divided his attention between concern for Rowen and furtive glances toward Prince Leander. Saanji had already guessed that the two must have been lovers at one time, though the Dwarrish prince seemed to be making a point of pretending otherwise.

Deciding that he would receive no help from either, Saanji changed tactics. “At the very least, we should wait for Zeia.”

Rowen glanced up sharply at the mention of Zeia, but Royce said, “Why?”

The question caught Saanji off guard, but he formed an answer quickly. “Because she’s a Shel’ai, because she’s fey as a greatwolf, and because she’ll be coming back with a magic sword that, if what I’ve heard is true, can slice through city walls like a hot knife through butter. How are those for reasons?”

The members of the council all turned to Rowen for confirmation. The Knight of the Crane said nothing.

After a tense pause, Aeko Shingawa said, “It makes sense to face an enemy when you’re at your strongest.”

Haesha shook her head. “The wytch might be back within the hour, or a few days from now, or maybe never. We can’t wait.”

“Nor should we,” Royce added. “If Zeia’s task is as important as she claimed, the more we distract the Dhargots, the better. Short of launching a full attack on the city, I know of no better distraction than summoning all of them to the walls to watch me cut their beloved prince to shreds.”

Saanji frowned. He settled back in his chair, studying his friend. “Why do I get the impression that you’ve already made up your mind?”

Royce smiled. “Because I have.”

Prince Leander cleared his throat. “No offense, Lancer, but you don’t command this host.”

Haesha laughed. “Well, he certainly commands the biggest share of it.”

“I don’t presume to speak for the Dwarrs,” Royce added quickly. “This is my fight, my risk.”

“But this alliance belongs to all of us,” Aeko countered.

“Says the woman in command of just twenty-odd Knights,” Haesha snorted.

Aeko faced the Iron Sister, unperturbed. “Says a Knight of the Lotus with years of battle experience and as much desire to watch our enemies burn as you have.”

Haesha looked prepared to argue, but Kentua stood up, his tall frame nearly brushing the top of the tent. “This bickering will count for nothing if the Jolym attack us from behind. If the Lancer wants to issue his challenge, so be it. I’ll leave this siege to the rest of you. My riders have no interest in Hesod, anyway. Our skills can be put to greater use if we ride east to protect the rear.”

Leander nodded. “My Housecarls will go with you.” He turned back to Royce. “I assume the Cassicans you command will want to stay with you, since it’s the Dhargots they want revenge on, but if you have any archers, you should send them with us. They’ll be put to best use fighting Jolym.”

Aeko rose to her feet as well. She held up her hands. “I suggest we not disband our alliance before it’s even one week old.”

The Army of Three Princes,
Saanji thought.
Only a week ago, they were calling it the New Alliance. Probably doesn’t bode well that we can’t settle on a name.

Kentua said, “We’re not disbanding, Knight. We’re facing two great armies, one at Hesod, the other at Cadavash. It makes sense that we divide our forces. Besides, my horse-archers wouldn’t be much use in a siege, anyway. We’re better suited to putting arrows through the eyes of Jolym while our strong Dwarrish friends hold them down.” Smiling, he clapped Leander on the shoulder.

Saanji turned to Rowen, who was seated across from him at the far end of the table. “Gods, say something,” he muttered, too quietly for anyone to hear. He could feel it all unraveling. Who better to unify them than the man chosen to wield the sword of Fâyu Jinn? But Rowen continued to sit, pale and silent, arms crossed as though barely holding himself together.

“Our Queshi friend speaks the truth,” Royce said finally. “If the Queshi and the Dwarrs agree to guard our eastern flank from Chorlga and his Jolym, we’ll contend with the Dhargots. Once they’re defeated, or at least once the Bloody Prince is dead and the city in chaos, we’ll march east to relieve you.”

Leander stood and nodded. “If such aid proves necessary, it will be most welcome.”

Everyone else still seated rose from their seats, Rowen last of all.

Royce said, “Then it seems our council is concluded. I’ll issue my challenge to the Bloody Prince within the hour. With luck, he’ll answer at once, and I’ll have him roiling in Fohl’s hells by sundown.”

Leander said, “The siege is your business, but we’ll stay long enough to watch you kill him.” He reached across the table and offered Royce his hand. Royce shook it.

Haesha said, not unkindly, “Just so you know, Lancer, I plan on spending the next hour praying that the goddesses let me take your place.”

Saanji said, “And I’ll be praying that that legendary sword arm of yours doesn’t get overconfident. My brother is no bumbling squire, you know.”

Royce tapped the hilt of his kingsteel sword. “I never said he was. Luckily, I’m not, either.”

Sweet gods, I hope so!
“Good,” Saanji said. “Then dance circles around the bastard until he’s pissing blood.” He stepped forward and embraced his friend. Then, after casting a final disappointed glance at Rowen Locke, he went out to pace the camp and see if Zeia had returned.

Rowen rose last from the council table, stirring only when Aeko touched his shoulder and startled him out of an odd daydream. In the daydream, he kept shifting from burning alive to transforming into the very flames that burned him, then back again. He blinked at Aeko then looked around and saw that the others had already left. Two of Arnil Royce’s squires were busy removing the cups and wine from the table. One gave them a sour glance, hinting that he wished them to leave so that they could finish tidying up.

“So much for the meeting.”

“Yes,” Jalist said, appearing at his other side. “I think everybody wanted to retire and consider your thoughtful words.”

Aeko gave Jalist a dark look, but Rowen said, “What did you expect me to say? I’m no general.” He looked down and flexed his fingers.

Aeko said, “You know more about magic than anyone here, including me.”

Rowen shrugged. “Royce seems like a competent general.”

“But he’s used to fighting muscle and steel, not magic. I doubt, present company aside, if any of these commanders have ever even seen wytchfire before.”

“Don’t forget Zeia,” Jalist muttered.

“Won’t matter,” Rowen said. “You heard them. They’re only going after the Dhargots right now. Chorlga is
my
problem.”

Jalist picked up his long axe, which he’d leaned against the council table, and rested it over his shoulder. “Wake up, Locke. Chorlga is
everybody’s
damn problem.”

“But mine more than yours.” Rowen glanced down at the Ivairian bastard sword hanging where Knightswrath used to be. “Somehow…maybe when Zeia gets back with the sword, I can…”

Jalist grabbed his arm and shook him. “Gods, Locke! Did someone burn the brains out of your skull while I was asleep? What’s wrong with you?”

Aeko moved to separate them. Rowen blinked as though he’d just been startled awake again. In a low voice, he said, “If so, kill him for me. I’m not sure I’m up to it.”

Jalist’s expression went from angry to worried. In a softer voice, he repeated, “What’s wrong with you?”

“I should have gone with her,” Rowen muttered.

“Who? Zeia?”

Rowen nodded. “Zeia. Igrid. Maybe Silwren. All of them. I should have gone with them.”

Jalist and Aeko exchanged looks. Aeko said, “Speaking on behalf of every woman on Ruun, I release you from any foolish obligations you have in mind. Now go and get some sleep, Squire.”