Resistance (Ilyon Chronicles Book 1) (29 page)

Mick’s frown deepened. He glanced around at the other men. Most wouldn’t look at him. While they were not as outspoken as Holden, it didn’t appear they were willing to give Jace the benefit of the doubt. He shook his head and turned away, though he paused just long enough to look back at Holden.

“Keep in mind as you condemn Jace the courtesy and grace Trask has extended toward you.”

He left the men to mull this over, dished up a plate of eggs and bacon, and poured a cup of hot coffee. Plate and cup in hand, he headed across camp. Silence had overtaken the group at the fire, and though he didn’t look behind him, their eyes bored into his back.

Jace shifted restlessly as he approached and eyed him with a cool, wary look that revealed an internal preparation for either fight or flight. Mick couldn’t blame him. Fierce as he may appear, it didn’t hide the redness around his eyes or the dullness of their typically bright blue.

“Here, didn’t want breakfast going cold on you.” Mick offered him the plate and cup.

Jace stared at them as if they were objects he’d never seen before.

“Thanks,” he barely murmured when he did accept them.

He glanced toward the fire, and Mick looked over his shoulder. Almost everyone stood watching. He refocused on Jace.

“Ignore them. Most are a bunch of farm boys. They haven’t yet seen enough of the world. Give them time. They’ll come around.”

Auréa’s library exceeded anything Kyrin had ever seen. Six stories of balconies, holding more books than she could imagine, edged the massive hall that stretched three hundred feet long and another two hundred wide. The library at Tarvin Hall was known as one of the largest in Valcré, but the palace held almost double that amount of books. So much knowledge to glean, if only she had the time. But even she couldn’t imagine the words of so many books locked away in her mind. Her head throbbed just thinking of it.

In one corner, she browsed a shelf of history texts. Though not surprised, it still saddened her to find many of the early volumes missing—volumes that surely spoke of Arcacia’s first kings and their devotion to Elôm. It was as if someone had erased that history and replaced it with whatever the emperor and his predecessors chose. History at Tarvin Hall had centered on
Aertus and Vilai and how they’d brought the kings to power and prosperity to Arcacia. If not for Sam, she would never have known the truth. She took a deep breath to fight the mix of despair and ire that welled inside her.

The door at the far end of the room banged open and shattered the silence. Kyrin jumped and spun around. She froze as Prince Daniel strode in, followed immediately by his father.

“You stand and face me like a man when I’m talking to you.” Daican’s sharp voice echoed down the hall.

Daniel halted and spun on his heel. He threw his arms out. “What’s there to talk about?”

“You, that’s what,” Daican snapped as he came to stand eye to eye with his son. “Your conduct is unacceptable. You’re the crown prince of the greatest nation in Ilyon and will one day be emperor. It’s time you acted like it.”

Daniel snorted, and the emperor’s face grew red.

Kyrin shrank back against the bookshelves and darted a look to both sides. How could she escape such a precarious situation without making her presence known? To witness such an angry outburst from the emperor turned her core to ice, but she had no escape. Moving now would only draw their attention. Shoulders pressed to the bookshelves, she watched and prayed they would take this argument elsewhere. But they stood their ground.

Eyes flashing, Daican declared, “You are about this close to being disowned.” He gestured with barely a centimeter between his thumb and forefinger.

“Excellent,” Daniel responded. “What can I do to push you over the edge and make it official?”

Daican literally shook and spoke with failing restraint. “You are of a long, proud line of kings, chosen to rule this kingdom by Aertus and Vilai—”

“Maybe I don’t believe in Aertus and Vilai.”

The air seemed sucked from the room. For a moment, Kyrin couldn’t breathe.

Daican glared flames at his son. Very slowly, very evenly, he said, “You are treading on dangerous ground.”

Daniel scoffed. “What are you going to do? Execute me?” Planting his fists on his hips, he challenged, “Go ahead. At least it will provide me escape from the throne.”

Kyrin really thought Daican might hit him, but he only roared, “You are my son! You
will
learn your place, and you
will
be emperor one day!”

He ended the argument by storming out of the room.

Daniel stood motionless with his fists balled and his jaw muscles ticking as he glared after his father. But then, muttering under his breath, he reached out and snatched a book off a nearby table to hurl across the room. It sailed straight toward Kyrin. She lurched to the side, and Daniel picked her out immediately. Kyrin gulped, pinned under his still scowling gaze. Her insides trembled. What might the prince or his father do to her for having witnessed the exchange? Would it matter that it had been by accident?
Oh, Elôm, help me.

Daniel’s eyes narrowed a little. A shiver passed through her, but his expression relaxed.

“Miss Altair, isn’t it?” His voice no longer held any anger.

She swallowed to loosen her tongue enough for a meek reply. “Yes, my lord.”

One of Daniel’s brows quirked up. “I assume you heard all that.”

“Yes,” Kyrin admitted reluctantly, “but
…” But what? She had no excuse except that she’d been here before they arrived. To say so would be placing blame on them. That surely would be the wrong move. “I apologize, my lord, I—”

Daniel just waved it off. “Don’t worry on my account.” He stepped closer and studied her. “Not what you’d expect though, is it? A prince with no desire to be king?”

Kyrin hesitated. Did he truly expect an answer, or was he just blowing off steam? He continued to stare at her, prompting a response.

She shook her head. “No, my lord.”

“Well, it’s true. I don’t desire to be king…at least not one like my father.” Contempt laced his voice. He sank down in a chair near her and propped his feet up on the table. “He’s a cruel man, you know.”

Kyrin’s gaze jumped to the door. She shouldn’t be here—shouldn’t be listening to this, not even from the emperor’s own son. Every sense of self-preservation screamed to flee. But how could she, little more than a servant, just walk away from the prince?

“Really, he is,” Daniel insisted, recapturing her attention. “He doesn’t care about people, only their submission. Me, on the other hand, I like people. He thinks I’m weak.”

The prince let out a hard chuckle. Looking him in the eyes, Kyrin found an unexpected display of hurt and resentment. This was no random, rebellious outburst. This was something stronger, deeper,
harbored inside him. Something only grown with time.

He stared at her, almost as if trying to read her the way she did him. Or perhaps he was searching for something.

“I heard you’re close to your father.” He tipped his head a little. “What’s it like to have a father you love and respect, and who loves you in return?”

Again, Kyrin sensed he waited for an answer. She licked her lips. “It’s a great blessing.”

“I bet it is,” Daniel murmured and stared off into space.

At these soft and sadly spoken words, something stirred inside Kyrin. Deep down, he was hurting and longing for what she cherished. The nurturing and loving support of a father.

“I’m sure your father loves you,” she encouraged him.

Daniel snapped back to reality. “I doubt it,” he said with an unhappy smile. “He loves power; he loves controlling this grand plan for his legacy. And he loves my sister.”

The bitter sting in his voice was hard to miss.

“She should’ve been the firstborn son. She’s the one who cares about all the politics and scheming. Not me.” He shook his head. “That’s why I find it hard to believe in Aertus and Vilai. Why would they ever have given my father me as a son? And, for pity’s sake, they’re moons. How are two balls of rock supposed to be gods? It’s never made any sense to me.”

Daniel fell into a contemplative silence, and Kyrin’s heart drummed against her ribcage. Here the prince of Arcacia, heir to the throne, had admitted to not believing in his father’s gods. It laid before her the opportunity of a lifetime—a chance to share with him her knowledge of Elôm. It waited on the very tip of her tongue, right there, for her to open her mouth and speak. But her jaw locked shut. What if Daniel reported her straight to his father? He himself had mentioned the possibility of execution for not believing in the gods. What if even the mention of Elôm’s name brought her such a fate?

Her mind and instincts wrestled—one calling for bravery, the other fighting it. In response to her silence, Daniel released a heavy sigh and rose.

“Well, thank you for putting up with my ranting.”

He turned away and walked to the door.

Her heart tripped.
Stop him! Call him back!

But once he was out the door, it was too late. A heavy oppressiveness fell around Kyrin. She sank into the chair Daniel had just occupied and buried her face in her hands. Tears leaked from her eyes. She’d failed. Elôm had presented her with a life-changing opportunity, and she’d failed Him.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured as the tears slid through her fingers. “I’m a coward.”

I
t filled Trask with contentment to ride into camp in the mornings and see the way his plans had come together. His father had cautioned him not to set his hopes too high. After all, he’d started out with only two men, whom most considered to be fugitives, and an empty clearing deep in the forest. Now, a little less than a year later, he had over a dozen men and an organized camp. The way things were going, that number was sure to increase.

He rode up to the edge of the corral, where Holden met him before he even had a chance to dismount. The man’s unpleasant half scowl would repel just about anyone who didn’t know him well, but he
was given to brooding, so Trask just smiled and greeted him cheerfully.

“Morning. What’s going on?”

“We need to talk.”

The sharp, immovable tone replaced Trask’s smile with a frown. He went to great lengths to make camp a comfortable and satisfactory place for the men to live, and therefore he took all problems seriously. “All right.”

He dismounted and secured his horse at the rail, and then turned his full attention to Holden. “What’s on your mind?”

“Jace.”

Trask held back a sigh. He should have guessed, though he’d thought the matter settled. It wasn’t often that anyone questioned him. “What about Jace?”

“You, Mick, and Warin might not be able to see it, but he’s dangerous. You’re risking the entire camp by allowing him to remain here.”

Trask gave a quick shake of his head. He might not know Jace yet, but he did know Warin and trusted his judgment. “He’s not dangerous.”

“With respect, my lord,” Holden said, voice taut, “you don’t understand what ryriks are capable of, and don’t think because he’s only half ryrik he isn’t just as capable. All you have to do is look at his eyes. They’re the eyes of a killer.”