Oathkeeper (32 page)

To extract promises from the king and then to murder him . . .

A new surge of wrath pushed him on.

And Rivvek.

Flames curled round the edge of Dolvek's gauntlets. To invite their father's killer to attend his Test of Four? Dolvek had been prepared to accept his brother as his father's chosen successor, had expected the choice for decades, despite his older brother's . . . disability, but this . . . this . . . outrage. It could not stand. Dolvek refused to let it.

*

Sitting on the side of the Big Road, eating a bit of raw hare, wind blowing through her head petals, Yavi spotted a figure flying in the distance, trailing fire in his wake, a wounded heart streaking through the sky.

Looking at him through spirit eyes, she knew him at once. Rage, pride, hurt, and vengeance in such quantities, combined with the working of multiple elements at once, meant it had to be a member of the royal family, and the only member she could think of who would be headed from the outskirts toward Port Ammond with revenge in his heart . . . well, it didn't take a very clever daisy to forecast that weather.

“Dolvek!” she shouted, flinging the remnants of her meal far from the road so the scavengers could eat it more safely. “Prince Dolvek!”

*

Dry scales had all but flaked away from Tsan's body as they traveled toward the twin trees of Hashan and Warrune. She plucked the last stubborn remnant of her male skin away from the back of her neck with an absent flick of her hind paws. Surely it would be more appropriate to meet with Queen Kari with her new scales unblemished by the detritus of her former self. By the time they'd reached the outskirts of the twin trees, her Root Guard escorts were gawking openly.

“My gender switch,” Tsan explained to the one-armed one.
Arri?
Tsan noted the location of various guard posts overhead in the branches, but only out of habit.

Hardwoods grew larger toward the center of The Parliament of Ages, but she recognized on the macro scale what she had destroyed in miniature at Tranduvallu. Each outpost grew at the optimum distance from each adjacent outpost and the twin trees at their center. She assumed the Vael, of all races, knew why that happened, but even if they didn't, it confirmed a suspicion Tsan had held for hundreds of years. The Vael did not arrange their cities themselves. Not exactly. The Root Trees followed a growth pattern similar to that of leaves on a plant. Each leaf or sprout at the perfect angle needed to maximize access to resources and minimize duplicated effort.

“Sooo,” Arri asked. “You're a boy-type person now?”

“The reverse,” Tsan answered, not sparing the conversation much thought and focusing on her observations. So the trees were arranged the same, but were the numbers identical as well? Would Tsan need the information? She doubted it, but it was useful to know how to tear things down and break them apart. Would the Weeds be disturbed by her natural examination of their defenses?

Most certainly. But if they thought the Aern failed to do the same, the charming little plant people were fooling no one but themselves. As if Kholster had not spent a portion of his centennial trips to and from Oot making the exact same observations.

Rising from all fours, Tsan spared herself a moment to bask in the delight her more flexible form allowed. How wonderful for bipedal motion to feel stable and strong.

Outposts
, General Tsan reminded herself.

Tranduvallu had possessed six outposts, but—though it was harder to spot here—she observed the same basic arrangements now that she knew what to look for. Based on the spacing, she guessed twelve outposts for the twin trees. Moss and hanging vines acted as natural camouflage netting to obfuscate overhead walkways, where limbs of one tree literally fused with its neighbor's, and guard stations.

“Reverse how?” Arri asked.

“How am I a girl-type person?” Tsan flexed her foreclaws before dropping back to all fours, sighing in relief at the continued lack of pain in her joints. An urge to test herself against the nettlesome Root Guard in single combat rose and died quickly.
I already proved them inferior. Why give them a second taste of poison?

“Now that I have brighter scales?” Tsan continued the thought, watching the one-armed Weed for a reaction.

“Yes,” Arri asked.

“Your reasoning isn't flawed,” Tsan purred, cherishing the sensuous way her tongue moved in her mouth. Even the sound of her voice was more pleasant: confident, strong. “Unlike birds, who possess the color variation you seem to have expected . . . brighter for males and less colorful for females . . . more blending in for ease of hiding . . . our maker wanted to be able to tell at a glance when we changed from male to female.”

“Your maker?” Arri scratched at the stub of her arm. She shooed away a curious sproutling who peeked out at them from a walkway overhead. “Kilke?”

“No,” Tsan laughed, amused by the way her susurrant trills made the Weed recoil. “Our mutual maker.”

“What do you mean?”

Tsan tasted the scent of the Weed's confusion with her forked tongue, but offered no explanation.
If I'm going to explain this once
, Tsan thought,
I'd better wait until the important Weeds arrive
.

CHAPTER 23

THE TEST OF FOUR

Rivvek entered from behind the throne on which Rae'en sat. She felt his presence, looming behind her, waiting for the room's attention and for all scattered conversations to cease. Rae'en couldn't imagine why instead of quieting down the conversation spiked until Feagus sent her the view from his vantage point.

Darkly handsome once, by an Oathbreaker's skewed sense of aesthetics, Rivvek was the single most attractive non-Aern Rae'en had ever seen. She'd heard he was disfigured, but no one had mentioned that the so-called disfigurements were actually battle scars. Shirtless, the prince stopped next to her, smiling regally with black eyes rather like his father's, only where Grivek's had been guilt-haunted and pitiable, Rivvek's gaze was confident and friendly.

Now, him I might not mind mating with
, Amber thought, and Rae'en came close to choking.

“Thank you for agreeing to this, kholster Rae'en.” Prince Rivvek gave her the barest nod, granting her a spectacular view of his melted ear, the mottled pink, brown, and white at the side of his head where the hair, instead of grown long to cover the scarring, had been shaved short in a revealing arc.

Foot-long trails of what had to have been a Ghaiattri's grip on his left side, just above the hip, like a claw print in wet clay, disappeared below the waistband of his dark-blue trousers. Rae'en realized she was staring openly at his bare chest, turned her downward gaze into a matching nod, and switched back to Feagus's view.

The leather belt at his waist was corded in an approximation of the style Kholster had preferred, the buckle a brass gear. He carried a thin golden crown in his right hand, but if Rae'en's breath had been taken by the scars on his front, she was mesmerized by the scars on his back.

My father's scars
, she thought as the prince moved past the throne and down the four steps toward the testing table. She hadn't been expecting the prince to be so well-muscled, either. Eldrennai tended to have a certain softness to them.
Well, Wylant didn't. Maybe that was part of being Aiannai? Maybe her father only took the hard ones, the battle-ready?

No
, she thought better of that. It wasn't a fitness test. Being Aiannai meant you could be trusted to keep your word. It meant that you understood slavery was wrong. It meant—did it really mean all of that?

I've seen Aern who made it through the Demon Wars with less impressive scars
, Rae'en thought at Glayne.
How did he survive
—?

It's not as bad as all that
, her temporary Prime Overwatch answered.
Well, maybe for an elf, but my eyes—while unpleasant—aren't the most painful injury I've ever felt.

Really?
Rae'en asked, embarrassed she'd brought that up with Glayne of all Aern.

This was the worst of it
, he sent the memory to her. She didn't scream, but only because Glayne cut it short.

And that's why everyone is afraid of you
, Rae'en growled back.
What in Kholster's name are you thinking you
—

I'm thinking there's a reason your father put his scars on the boy's back, Rae'en.
Glayne sent her the image, not just of her father's scars but of the winged outline of what had to be the most varied collection of elemental foci material she'd ever seen.
You can ask the king about it after, but I suggest you remember that as impressive as his battle scars are, and as much of an honor it was that Kholster put his scars on the elf's back, Grivek named him heir because he thought Rivvek could stop your army.

Point made, but don't—
She caught herself, quickly rephrasing the order as her father might have.
I mean to say, I would appreciate a little more warning before you send that type of transmission again, please
.

Pay attention
, Feagus broke in,
they're shouting about something
.

“This is unseemly, Prince Rivvek,” one of the oldest Oathbreakers in the room, Hasimak—according to her mental map—said as he stood. “There is a dress code to be maintained . . . a certain sense of decorum that—”

“No,” Rivvek said without turning to face the old Elementalist. “There is a suggested mode of dress set out by Hurrek the Third and further amended by several other kings, queens, and even yourself, High Elementalist. I counted two concordances dealing with trousers alone, but none of that is law.”

“It is—” he paused to meet the eyes of Hasimak, and a succession of other important dignitaries, before finally settling on Rae'en herself, “—merely custom. And customs are going to change.”

Rae'en flushed to meet his eyes again. Her father had once described the eyes of the royals as rat droppings stuck in bird squirt, but Rivvek's had gone from convivial confidence to smoldering: controlled emotions, passion reined in and kept on a tight leash filled those eyes.

Try not to pant
, Amber's voice gently chided.

Amber!
Rae'en admonished.

Or drool
, Amber continued.

What are we drooling about?
Feagus asked.

No one is drooling!
Rae'en thought.

I was
, Amber thought back,
but only a little bit. Tell me you don't want to see what kind of scars he's hiding under those pants. I mean, was all that one Ghaiattri, or did two get their hands on him? And how did he get away? If he actually killed one, I think I'll marry him.

Rae'en watched as a sketch of Prince Rivvek loomed off center of her visual of the prince himself. Each of her Overwatches save Glayne began annotating his scars, theories about how he had gotten them. Had he stopped one of the extra-dimensional beings on this side of a port gate or in their home plane beyond?

Enough.
Glayne's thoughts cut in.
Take this talk to a sideboard. You're distracting kholster Rae'en!

You're the one who sent her memories from one of Uled's torture sessions
, Amber countered.

Hush!
Rae'en sent.
What did I miss?

Rivvek and Hasimak argued politely
, Glayne sent.
General Treyk joined in, too. Then the Stone Lord and Lady Flame sent Sargus to retrieve the necessary volumes to prove the prince's case.

Rivvek stood before the testing table, right hand resting on its edge, waiting as Sargus rushed into the room trailed by two acolytes in brown robes carrying massive leather-bound tomes.

*

Patience
, Rivvek reminded himself.
If I rush him, he will ask for a recess and that sort of delay . . .

“This may take a candlemark longer, Prince Rivvek.” Hasimak's voice quavered with concentration. “Perhaps you would prefer to—”

“In your own time,” Prince Rivvek interrupted. “Please call on any additional resources you may require. I am certain the Aern will not begrudge a brief span to ensure everything here is done in accordance with the law of our fathers, but their patience is not endless.”

Rivvek saw the spark of the idea form in Hasimak's eyes and resisted cutting an amused glance to Sargus. The Test of Four had been addressed by the late King Grivek as well, but Rivvek had no intention of pointing that out.

“Let Hasimak find the proof upon which your argument hinges,” Sargus had told him last night in the prince's quarters. “Point it out to him and he will argue earlier precedent. Let him find the new information himself and he will latch onto it and make your case as if it were his own.”

“Where—” Hasimak licked his dry lips, “—are the late king's compiled rulings, judgments, and proclamations? I do not see them here.”

“I'm sure his rulings would not be of any greater weight than the combined wisdom before you, High Elementalist,” Rivvek said, looking away.

“Has your father commented on the Test of Four, my prince?”

“That's an excellent question. I . . . ah.” Rivvek frowned, not liking the charade but glad to be able to avoid an actual lie. “Sargus?”

*

One retrieved document and some arguing later, Rae'en's eyes had long since glazed over. A wind she could not identify as cold or hot blew across her back smelling not of the docks but of the sea. Did they manage that with magic, too? Probably. Rae'en would have been fine with the fish scent of blood, offal, and death that might normally have blown in from this close to a major harbor, but she liked the sea smell, too.

Not drumming her fingers on the throne in an outward display of impatience took an extreme effort.

Are the others still discussing something?
Rae'en thought at Glayne.