Blood of the Guardian Page 29

  Emery nodded and ran a shaking hand over his beard. “I’m terrified. And I can’t let them see—I’m their king, for Brim’s sake.”

  “We might not have a war at all,” Nolan said. “At least we have Rayen.”

  “Yes, Rayen, praise Brim. Thank the light Alec was stubborn enough not to listen to me. I’ve put him in charge of protecting her.”

  “Is he up to it?” Nolan asked.

  “Darkness no,” he said. “But there is no stopping the boy once he gets his mind set on something. He’s also one of the most talented fighters I have. He’ll be motivated to keep her safe.”

  A knock sounded at the door before it opened; Kael poked his head in. “It’s time, Your Majesty. They are willing to talk.”

  “Have you relayed my orders?”

  Kael’s jaw tightened. “All will be as you wish.”

  “What orders?” Nolan asked.

  “I told them if diplomacy fails, they are to detain the Talasians without killing them.”

  Nolan’s brows rose. “They probably won’t offer the same, Emery.”

  “I know.” Emery exited the throne room with Nolan at his side; a platoon of guards joined them at their flanks. “But they have already lost twenty men to my soldiers. I will not add to their numbers if I can help it.”

  The doors to the castle opened, and an extraordinary sight met them. The Rol’dan army, in its entirety, had formed into ranks on the lawn. Rows and rows of soldiers were organized by color. Strength Rol’dan in red tunics gripped large war hammers. Blue-cloaked soldiers held bows. Swords sang from the sheaths of Speed Rol’dan. And even Perception and Empathy soldiers wielded weapons: some with spears, others with bows, and still others with swords. Black-robed Healers stood in ranks intermixed between the other rows, all clutching quarterstaffs.

  Emery strode in front of the throng, not showing them the fear he’d displayed to Nolan just moments before. Now, he was the embodiment of a king.

  “Where’s Maska?” Emery asked.

  Kael pointed. “On his way.”

  A figure trailed across the field, stepping wide of the Rol’dan army. Maska approached dressed … well, he looked quite nice. It appeared the seamstress had gotten ahold of him, and he didn’t seem very pleased about it.

  Maska wore brown breeches with a silky sheen. The fabric of his tunic was white and made of the same fine material. There was an excessive amount of buttons on his boots; unfortunately for Maska, the seamstress had outdone herself.

  Maska pulled at his doublet. “Emery, how does this help me fight?”

  “You aren’t fighting. You’ll be a part of the negotiations. And if those go poorly, you still won’t fight your people.”

  Maska frowned, though a tremor of relief pulsed from his emotions.

  “I want them to know you’re a facet here,” Emery said.

  “They hate me.”

  Emery smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. “You are important to me.”

  Kael motioned toward his army. “They are ready, Your Majesty.”

  Emery nodded. “Remember, unless something happens, they are to stay behind the wall. We don’t want to give the impression of hostility.”

  “Hostility? You mean like the army standing with weapons at our gates?” Kael grumbled, sarcasm lacing his tone.

  “General!” Emery scolded.

  “Sorry, Your Majesty,” Kael added, though his emotions held no remorse. “What if they attack?”

  “My general, they are Shay-less. If they attack … ” Emery leaned in, as if whispering. “Well then … just run away from them really fast.”

  Kael snorted and turned toward his army. He made a motion with his hands, a chopping gesture. The rows separated, and archers jogged at a trot toward the stairs to the wall. The others marched forward, making ranks in the courtyard, positioning themselves so they could storm through the gates, if needed.

  A Perception Rol’dan stepped toward them. “Your Majesty. A group approaches.”

  “Let them in,” Emery said as a tremor of fear leaked through his restraint.

  The large doors groaned open, and Nolan caught sight of what awaited them. A multitude of tan-skinned, tattooed warriors covered the field.

  Rows upon rows of spears pointed to the sky. A sea of emotionless faces stretched across the army, but a stream of Nass pulled from the warriors, gathering to darken the already tense mood. It had been months since Nolan had cleansed Faylinn of the creatures. And now the sky hosted a freshly born batch of Nass. Nolan clenched his fist so hard his knuckles cracked.

  A small contingent stepped across the field, a half-dozen or so, led by a warrior with so many tattoos they nearly covered the entirety of his skin. Nolan had never seen so many, not even on King Kamalin. The war party stopped in front of them.

  “King Emery,” Maska said. “This is Tosho, incumbent ruler and war commander of the Talasian people.”

  “Welcome,” Emery said with a small bow to the Talasian warrior. “You left too quickly after our previous, tragic visit. I didn’t have an opportunity to give my regrets.”

  Maska translated, and the warrior’s emotions intensified. He stared at Maska, hate oozing from him so thick it nearly showed on his face. Abruptly, his emotions changed. He nodded and shifted to Emery.

  “I told him that Rayen lives,” Maska said. “That your man saved her, and that you have captured those who are to blame.” One side of Maska’s mouth rose. “He seems pleased.”

  “Pleased?” Kael said. “How can you tell?”

  “There is more than facial expression to show how one feels.”

  Tosho, the warrior, rattled off something in the Talasian tongue. His dark eyes locked on Emery, his stare intense.

  “Is there somewhere we can talk privately?” Maska translated. “We can discuss the particulars of this, Ekon, you said his name was?”

  Emery held out his hand in a flourish. “Please. Step this way.”

  Kael made some swift hand gestures, and the captains stepped forward, along with a small group of guards. Captain Vikas, along with some others, followed them inside.

  Vikas leaned in. “What do you think, Nolan?”

  Nolan shrugged. He didn’t know what to think. So far everything seemed to be going better than they’d hoped. The volatile emotions emanating from the small party had faded, though some still held their mental guard.

  They headed toward the throne room, and Rayen and Alec waited for them by the door. Rayen wore her traditional Talasian clothing, though it looked as if the seamstress had repaired it and added embellishments.

  Tosho bowed low and punched a hand to his chest in greeting to his queen. When they entered the conference room, Emery and Tosho sat, positioning themselves on opposite sides of the table. Maska and Rayen also took their places, along with several of the Rol’dan captains.

  The rest of the room stood, including the Talasian warriors. The room had never held so many before. Alec perched protectively next to Rayen’s chair, one hand on her shoulder, the other resting casually on his sword.

  Emery unhooked his cloak and threw it over the back of his chair. “Let’s keep this brief so we can go back to talks of peace. Maska, if you could explain what happened that night. Leave nothing out.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “We have nothing to hide.”

  Maska nodded before he began. The warriors listened, some supporting themselves on their spears. The war commander leaned forward in his chair, hanging on Maska’s every word.

  After Maska had finished, the war commander asked a question.

  “He wants to know what happened with this Ekon,” Maska said.

  “He is imprisoned for now,” Emery said. “We haven’t yet decided what to do with him.”

  Maska translated.

  “He wants to know if they could punish him.”

  Emery snorted. “I’d cut off his head and stick it on a platter myself if it would prevent war.”

  Maska lean
ed forward to translate, and Emery grabbed his arm. “Crows, don’t tell him that.”

  A few of the Rol’dan snickered, and Rayen’s mouth quirked up in a grin.

  “Tell him,” Emery said, after some thought, “tell him we will allow whatever Talasian punishment is fitting for his crime. They can implement it here, in front of both our sides. I want justice done as well.” He turned to Rayen. “Of course, if you agree.”

  Her face grew hard. “I’ll do it myself.”

  Nolan relaxed as the discussions continued. Everything seemed to be falling into place. Even though the warriors were angry, it didn’t seem to be directed at them.

  Nolan scanned each warrior, feeling similar emotions from each. Along with the anger for Ekon, their emotions pulsed with relief. More than likely, they weren’t too keen on fighting an army of Shay Rol’dan.

  Nolan paused. A warrior, whose skin was less adorned than the others, had an incredible mental guard, even more impressive than Maska’s had been. The man stared at Emery, scowling. Nolan froze. Was he scowling? Why would a Talasian scowl?

  Nolan summoned more Empathy and pushed again, trying to punch through the warrior’s resolve. The man’s eyes flicked to Nolan, and his eyebrow raised. Had he somehow sensed Nolan’s inspection? If so, how? Only those who have a Shay can feel.

  The hair on Nolan’s arms prickled. Something wasn’t right about this Talasian, something wasn’t natural. Nolan grabbed the arms of his chair, readying to stand. Suddenly, violet light flashed in the warrior’s dark eyes.

  Nolan stood, grabbing the hilt of his sword. As he did, the warrior’s legs and arms stretched, lengthening, growing before their eyes. Long braids sprung from the man’s scalp and crept down shoulders that were no longer bare.

  Nolan blinked back his shock as Jezebelle stood in the warrior’s place. Her glowing eyes met his, and a smile spread. Her Empathy hit Nolan like a hammer blow.

  Nolan’s world froze. His arms. His legs. He pressed his Empathy against hers, but his power was too low and her Shay too strong.

  Her eyes changed from Empathy to Speed, and in the flash of a second, she was crouched on the table between Tosho and Emery, a dagger plunged into each of their chests.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  NOLAN’S MIND SCREAMED while his lips couldn’t move. He could only watch as she murdered his friend before his eyes.

  Emery jerked, his eyes blinking in shock. Jezebelle yanked out the blades, and both Emery and the Talasian leader fell forward onto the table, the fronts of their chests flooding with red.

  Jezebelle spun toward Rayen, her daggers extended, and met the lightning reflexes of Alec Deverell. She growled and tried again, but Alec parried every attack.

  The Rol’dan awoke from their shock and dove toward the gypsy.

  She dodged and spun and slit the throats of the Rol’dan and Talasians coming at her, and then she continued toward Rayen.

  Nolan’s heart thundered. He pushed against Jezebelle’s invisible hold, and slowly, the mental dam stretched.

  Vikas attacked the gypsy, and in a flurry of moves, he fell, thrashing on the ground.

  Jezebelle screamed in frustration and healed her own wounds.

  Nolan pushed again, straining. Then Jezebelle’s hold fell like a sheet dropping from a statue. Immediately, Nolan flung spikes her way.

  Jezebelle screamed as they pierced her back. She threw her Empathy at Nolan again. This time, he blocked the mental attack.

  She flew out the door, and the cries of pain and moaning erupted from the throne room.

  Nolan jumped up, his breath heaving, rage coursing through his veins. He raced toward the door, ready to pursue her, but he stopped abruptly, as he took in the dead and dying covering the room. He focused his Perception, listening. Jezebelle had cut a path through the castle and the forces outside; she’d already left the walls of Faylinn.

  Refocusing on the devastation, Nolan caught sight of Emery slumped over the table. Blood drained from Nolan’s face. He dove to his friend, but as he turned him over, glassy eyes confirmed his fears. Nolan’s heart sank. Oh, Emery.

  Kael stormed in, his sword raised, as the gold blaze faded from his eyes. “What happened? Where did she come from?” His eyes widened as he locked on Nolan. “Crows! Crows, no!” He grabbed Nolan’s arm, yanking him away; Emery’s head thudded to the table.

  “Kael, what are you—”

  “Get away from him!” Kael shoved Nolan farther away. “We need you.”

  Then it struck him. Kael assumed Nolan would try to bring Emery back to life. And though he hadn’t thought of it yet, he could see himself doing it.

  Kael pointed to the others. “Focus on them. I swear, if you touch the king, I’ll cut off your hand.”

  Nolan blinked. Kael meant it.

  Nolan forced his eyes from Emery, tucking aside his grief. Vikas trembled on the ground paces away. Nolan knelt and met the older man’s wide eyes. He touched his cheek, sending Healing into him. Vikas arched, gasping, and then relaxed, breathing normally again.

  Captain Tiohan circled the room, healing those he could, while Nolan did the same.

  “How about out there?” Nolan asked, pointing to the throne room.

  “Lady Megan showed up. She’s helping—”

  Standing in the doorway, Megan stared, her mouth open and her fine dress stained in blood. Tears swelled and traced paths down her cheeks. “Emery,” she whispered.

  She ran, but Kael caught her on her way.

  “He’s gone,” he said.

  She wrenched against him. “Let me go!”

  “No, my lady. I won’t let you.”

  She slapped him, but Kael didn’t release her.

  “Let! Me! Go!”

  Kael held her, his face set in a pain-filled scowl. He grabbed her shoulders, shaking her once, before he spoke to her, inches from her face. “I won’t let you. You have no idea what it’s like—to wake from death with the one you love lying beside you. No. I won’t let you do it.”

  At his words, Alec stiffened. He’d been kneeling over an injured Talasian warrior. “He’s right, Meg. You’d bring him back, but kill him on the inside.”

  Her resolve fell, and she collapsed into Kael’s shoulder, sobbing.

  Kael blinked, taken aback, his arms up, unsure what to do. Finally, he awkwardly wrapped them around her and rubbed her back.

  Nolan closed his eyes and took a breath. He couldn’t deal with this right now. Emery was one of his closest friends, but even so, Nolan had to protect those who lived.

  “I’ll do it,” a voice said.

  Tiohan stood from healing Maska. Blood was streaked across his wrinkled face.

  “Do what?” Kael’s face fell when realization sunk in. “Captain … I can’t order you to do this.”

  “I am the Captain of the Healing Rol’dan. It is my duty. He’s my king.”

  Megan’s tears stopped; she stared at Tiohan, both horror and hope leeching from her.

  Kael gave one nod and looked away.

  Tiohan motioned toward the table. “Set him on here.”

  With a swipe of his arm, Nolan cleared the debris off the surface. Maska lifted him, his eyes flaring red as he tried to set him down. Emery’s body slipped, and Maska cursed under his breath. It was then when Nolan saw Maska’s right hand.

  Three fingers were missing, cut off at an angle. Blood stained his sleeve, as well as coating his wrist and hand. What was left of his fingers had been healed, but Nolan could tell Maska struggled using them.

  “Your hand,” Nolan said.

  “At least I am alive,” Maska said. “She aimed for my throat.”

  Jezebelle had to have used a lot of Strength to slice through Maska’s Strength-hardened muscles and bone. Several of the others in the room hadn’t had the same luck. Most of the Talasians’ necks were slit, as well as some Rol’dan soldiers’. The few remaining warriors, along with Rayen, were tending to their dead, which included the Talasian war commander.


  “Are you certain, Captain?” Kael asked the older Rol’dan.

  Tiohan gave one small nod.

  “You’re a good man.”

  “You are too, General. Though you’re too stubborn to let people know.”

  Kael gave him a sad smile. “Please forgive me if I don’t stay. I … just can’t.”

  Tiohan nodded. “Understood.”

  Kael released Megan, and she ran to Emery’s side, taking one of his limp, pale hands in both of hers.

  Kael strode toward the door, his posture erect.

  “My General?” Tiohan asked.

  Kael paused and turned his head, giving them his profile.

  “I have a sister,” he said. “In Boden.”

  “I will make certain she knows.”

  The room cleared. Alec gave Nolan a look of apology before he darted from the room. Only Tiohan, Megan, and Nolan remained. Megan turned to Tiohan, her face wet with tears. She opened her mouth to speak.

  “Shh, now, lass,” Tiohan said. “I know what I’m doing. And no, it should be me, not you.”

  She tried to speak, but couldn’t. She blinked, and tears trailed down her cheeks. Her emotions were a concoction of grief, and hope, and guilt. Nolan swallowed. He felt much the same. Part of him wanted to bring back Emery himself; he was his friend, after all. The other part, the logical one, knew Kael was right; they needed him to fight Jezebelle if she returned. And from the thoughts going through Jezebelle’s mind as she’d killed, she would return.

  Nolan ripped open the front of Emery’s tunic; full contact made the job easier. The dagger had done its job quickly, going straight to Emery’s heart. His body was flawless except for that one wound.

  Tiohan’s eyes caught his. “Will you … stay with me?”

  Nolan nodded, unable to speak. Waves of guilt stabbed him.

  “You have done this before, Lord Emissary?” Tiohan whispered, his voice trembling.

  Nolan nodded slowly. It was a moment he could never forget.

  Chapter Forty

  EMERY SHRUGGED OFF HIS SOILED TUNIC, tossing it to the ground on the stones near the base of the castle stairs. Blood coated his bare chest. The gore spread up his neck and mingled with his beard. Red striped his breeches to his knees. He and Nolan emerged into the open courtyard, and all heads turned. For once, Nolan wasn’t the center of attention.