A Crumble of Walls (The Kin of Kings Book 4) (2 page)

“In the morning, then.”

“He’ll be too busy tomorrow to deal with you. You must tell me what he needs to know.”

She was surprised to find Yeso was telling the truth, at least as he saw it. She doubted Ulric would’ve bluntly said, “I’m too busy to deal with Sanya.”

“Ulric is certain Tauwin will send an assassin for him soon,” the Elf continued, his face contorting as if in pain. “We need to be certain who he will send.” Yeso looked hard into her eyes. “Who is it?”

Finally. A task that only she could help them with that didn’t involve a threat to her life.

She should’ve figured Tauwin would send an assassin sooner or later. Then she could’ve had an answer ready for Yeso. Now she was forced to think quickly as he stared impatiently.

She thought of the least trustworthy people to Ulric first, Stanmar and Cheot, who had both shown a penchant for betrayal. Cheot had betrayed the first king, James Kerr, by allowing Tauwin to storm into the castle with his army. But Stanmar was more dangerous, because while Cheot was satisfied to be Tauwin’s most trusted councilman, the army commander would do anything to increase his power. If he thought Tauwin would win this battle of the Takarys, Stanmar would switch sides again. But would he do something as foolish as sneaking into Ulric’s room and stabbing him as he slept? No, and neither would Cheot.

Both men might send someone else, though, on Tauwin’s behalf. No, the young king was foolish at times, but not foolish enough to surrender such a decision to anyone else. He would select the assassin himself.

“You don’t know the answer,” Yeso said.

“Give me a moment. You want the right person, don’t you?” He didn’t reply to her rhetorical question. “Then don’t rush me.”

Tauwin would pick someone he trusted wholeheartedly. That limited his choices to his psychics and his family. His mother would never take on such a task, and Sanya doubted Tauwin had any aunts, uncles, or cousins who would kill another Takary. That meant it had to be a psychic.

Bliss.
If she were still alive, she’d be the prime suspect. Memories of that annoyingly beautiful young woman ground away at Sanya’s mind. She had made so many mistakes. Too many were decisions based on what she’d felt in her heart instead of her head. She’d known it was wrong to bring back her mother from the dead, especially when Nick, Alex, and others had to die for Sanya to accomplish it. But she’d stayed true to her goal no matter the cost, and now there was no chance of redemption.

But there was also little left to lose.

Whoever she named as Tauwin’s assassin would certainly be killed, yet Sanya couldn’t summon any sympathy. His psychics were strange and unemotional, doing nothing more than detecting lies. Sanya imagined the type of people who wanted to live like that as having little joy.

Then again, how happy was she? Her life had become one grab for power after another. What had her ambition brought her besides heartache and guilt?
Why do my thoughts always sink into hopelessness? And at the worst times.

“The assassin is the psychic who Rockbreak nearly killed,” Sanya finally informed Yeso. “Tauwin would assume this man will want vengeance for the embarrassment Ulric caused him, and killing Ulric would prove to Tauwin and to the psychic himself that he’s more capable than Ulric made him seem.”

“Good, I agree. You will kill him tomorrow.”

What?

Yeso folded his arms. “This is a demand from Ulric.”

“How do I know you’re not lying again?” she asked, already knowing he was.

“That this comes from Ulric?” Yeso acted surprised and confused. “Why would I lie about that?”

“Because you’ve admitted you want me gone. I’m likely to fail and be executed. I know nothing of assassinations.”

Yeso squinted as if in concentration. He suddenly reached up and grabbed her head. An invasion of psyche tore through her mind. She’d put up a wall between the energy her body produced and what she’d let Yeso read, but it crumbled under the weight of his power. She was completely vulnerable.

“Say it again!” Yeso yelled through his teeth as he dug his fingers into her scalp. She grabbed his wrist and struggled to stay on her knees as agony overwhelmed her.

She could easily break the bastial energy around them, then take the knife concealed in her robe and end Yeso right now. But how would she explain it to Ulric? She couldn’t hope to kill Yeso without getting blood on her robe, and the castle staff was sure to find traces even if she laundered the silk herself.

“Again!” Yeso repeated. “Tell me you know nothing of assassinations. Lie to me again!”

The bastard Elf must’ve felt something in her energy she’d failed to mask. She fell to her knees as pain sapped her strength. It felt as if every muscle was twisting to the point of tearing.

He reached in her robe and found her knife. He clicked his tongue as if disappointed as he discarded it, then searched her for more weapons.

“You can die from pain,” he said. “Your heart can stop. Your body gives up, knowing that death is the only relief.”

She grunted in anger. Even without the dagger, she could kill him. She wanted to get her hands on his head as he did hers. She would slam it against the wall until he stopped moving. She just had to break the energy. It was as easy as snapping her fingers, but what would become of her after the Elf was dead?

She would have to run.

I might have to anyway if I agree to carry out the assassination, but I’ll definitely have to flee if I kill Yeso.

She reached up and grabbed Yeso’s wrists, but she hadn’t the strength to push him away.

“Say it!” he demanded.

“I
know
about assassinations,” she admitted.

He smiled smugly as he let the spell come to a blissful end. Sanya sprawled on the cold stone as her chest heaved. She felt as if she’d been released from a coffin.

“You can keep your secrets so long as you do what you’re told,” he said. “But if you go against me—and I know you’re smart enough to understand what I mean by that—the two of us will have a
conversation
with Ulric, and he will hear the truth about your past. Much more than I heard tonight.”

He plans to pain me again in front of Ulric.
The important question was whether Yeso would do it even if she killed the psychic whose name she hadn’t cared to learn. She was glad for that now, as it seemed that murdering him would be her best option.

“You don’t seem to care if the man I kill turns out to be innocent,” she said.

“Neither do you.”

He left her panting on the floor, but not before kicking her dagger back to her.

Anger roiled in her chest. She sat up and grabbed her weapon by its hilt. It took all of her restraint not to chase Yeso down and plunge her blade into his chest.

CHAPTER TWO

Freezing rain sapped all the heat from Basen’s body. There were two endless lines of people, and Basen and his father stood between them. Abith put himself at the front of one, while Terren crouched at the head of the other, reaching for his sword slowly with all eyes upon him.

“Don’t, Terren,” Basen whispered, realizing he was in a dream yet unable to wake up.

The Academy headmaster didn’t listen as his fingers crept over the hilt of his sword. He charged Abith.

“Stop!” Basen yelled, but the rain beating down was too loud for him to be heard. Abith grinned. He would kill Terren in front of everyone and enjoy it.

The Redfield bell rang out as the two men clashed swords. For a breath, everyone was still.

“Battle!” Terren screamed.

“Battle!” Abith mimicked.

Everyone ran toward the ringing and disappeared. Basen tried to follow, but something kept him from moving. A tight grip on his wrist.

“Come on, Father,” Basen pleaded. “The bell is ringing.”

It continued to beckon them toward battle, but Henry wouldn’t let go.

Basen turned to find it was Fatholl holding him, the Elf’s grip stronger than tree roots clinging to the soil.

Basen gasped and struggled to get free. The bell was calling to him. He needed to fight.

He fell out of bed and hit the floor, the dream dispersing like a cloud of steam. He groaned as he slowly pushed himself up, then heard the sound.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

The Redfield bell! He wasn’t dreaming. He shook his head and slapped his cheek to dispel the grogginess as he stumbled toward the door.

“My pants,” he grumbled, then stopped to tug them on one leg at a time. “Dammit, why do they have to attack while I’m sleeping?”

The bell continued to ring as thunder rattled the windows. Basen got his pants up and his belt tightened, then checked to make sure his wand and sword were secure in their sheaths. There was little point of fighting without a weapon, but a shirt he could forgo.

Now fully awake, he rushed out into the hall between his and Annah’s rooms. She was just opening her door as he reached the front of their shared house at the Academy.

“You must be insane!” she yelled after him.

“No time,” he replied, figuring she must mean his lack of a shirt.

He threw open the door and stepped out. Screaming wind seemed to blow right through him as freezing rain hit his back. His breath was forced out in a loud and sudden curse that nearly shocked him as much as the blast of cold. All the heat was gone from his body in an instant, the shivers attacking so violently that he bit his tongue and tasted blood.

By the time he turned to retrieve a covering, Annah was there with his cloak.

“Thanks.” He secured it around his neck and held it shut as he ran against the wind. He and Annah headed south with the other students emerging from their houses.

It felt like a longer run than usual as Basen wondered whether this would be his final battle. Annah seemed so small as she hunched against the cold. Basen had to remind himself that she wouldn’t need protection. Being a psychic, she was probably more capable than he was.

From the darkness ahead came screams of warnings. There was a powerful crash that shook the ground and startled him into grabbing Annah to pull her behind the nearest student home.

A rumble followed, like a castle collapsing…
like a wall falling
, he realized. They were running again before it ceased, Annah squeezing his hand in obvious terror.

He recognized Terren’s voice ahead of them. “Move back! Move back!”

Through the haze of darkness and rain, Basen caught sight of hundreds being herded toward him.

“Stay back and await orders!” Terren yelled.

Everyone flinched with the second crash. The sound was like a mountain collapsing, mud exploding out from the darkness ahead and raining down on them. Basen could think of only one thing that could cause such destruction. Catapults.

He’d heard his father speaking about weapons of war yesterday, but Henry had made it seem as if they had more time to prepare.

Perhaps it’s just one catapult
. That would explain the delay between each attack.

Basen joined the mages in shining light at the southern wall ahead. There was a gaping hole directly in front of them, but that seemed to be the only breach so far.

*****

By the time Terren organized most of the Academy, Abith and his followers from Tenred had finally arrived to help. Abith angrily told Terren they hadn’t known which wall to go to, but the headmaster gave no reply. Instead, he shouted, “Henry, are you ready?”

It was surprising to hear Terren yelling to Basen’s father, as Basen hadn’t seen him here yet. He joined the many mages in aiming light toward his father’s responding voice but still couldn’t locate him.

“Ready, Terren!”

Everyone stood away from the wall to avoid being crushed by hurled boulders, back where the student houses and classrooms blocked Basen’s view in all directions. He figured the rest of his allies were gathered in the paths between buildings and waiting for the inevitable charge, but he needed to see them to know for sure.

Why hadn’t the headmaster announced how many soldiers were preparing to invade the Academy? Was the number likely to be disheartening?

They needed courage. Stanmar’s recruitment trick last evening had left spirits low, but not Basen’s. He yearned to fight, determined to end this damn war.

He climbed up the side of the nearest mage classroom by jumping to grab the awning, getting his forearms up, then pulling the rest of his body over. It was a short jump from the awning to reach the top, and soon he was all the way up where he could see the rest of the Academy’s army.

Basen couldn’t find Henry, though he recognized his father’s troops by their ugly gray uniforms. Whether it was because of Terren’s or Henry’s order, they were gathered near the open gate and looked to be lined up in columns as if to charge out of the Academy. Basen had seen the entirety of his father’s troops yesterday; there weren’t more than a thousand. Why would they go alone?