Resistance (Ilyon Chronicles Book 1) (16 page)

Rebekah’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, Jace, I’m so sorry.” She shook her head, tears turning her eyes a watery blue. “Who would do such a thing?”

“Rebekah,” Laytan’s sharp voice cut in, “I think it’s time they left.” It was more than a friendly suggestion.

The buildup of emotion in Jace’s chest brought on more painful coughing and made him gasp for breath. He hated
for Rebekah to see it—or her father, since it would only confirm what he said.

Rayad stepped forward and asked Laytan, “Do you have anything that might help him?”

Laytan shook his head, but Rebekah hurried to a shelf and grabbed a dark bottle.

“This might. My grandmother makes it. It does wonders for a cold. Just rub it on your chest morning and night. I think it’s the smell as much as anything that helps.” She pulled the stopper and held the bottle up for Jace. He breathed in the scent of the remedy. The strong, herby smell did soothe his lungs. She replaced the stopper and put the bottle in his hand. “No charge.”

Her father grumbled her name, but her eyes remained on Jace.

He looked down at her and wondered at her kindness. She was one more rare exception to add to the list. “Thank you.”

She gave a wobbly smile. “It’s the least I can do.”

Jace stared at her for another moment. Would he find such kindness and acceptance where he was going? He probably should have tried to get to know her better when he had the chance.

Pulling his eyes away, he turned and followed Rayad and Warin outside, where they packed up the supplies. He took Niton’s reins and gripped the cantle to drag himself up into the saddle, settling in with a wheezing sigh. If only he could lie down instead. He glanced up the street, his eyes catching on a familiar figure. His muscles went taut, and his heart paused. Morden had just stepped out of a nearby building. Their eyes locked. A spark flared to life inside Jace. He squeezed Niton’s reins in his fist, but the sheer weight of sorrow and exhaustion tamped down the flame. For the first time, he had no real desire to act.

Morden, however, narrowed his eyes, one rimmed in a dark purple bruise, and stalked down the boardwalk. Despite the thorough
beating he’d received the day before, he apparently wanted to try his luck again. But then Rayad stepped into view. His eyes landed on Morden and leveled him with such a menacing glare that the young man actually took a step back. Morden’s gaze flicked down, resting on Rayad’s hand, which gripped the hilt of his sword. Without a weapon of his own and his friends to back him up, Morden stepped away, slowly at first, before scurrying off.

The sun disappeared behind the thick tangle of trees and cast deep shadows across the road. Warin was prepared to ride another mile or two, but coming upon a small clearing, Rayad reined his horse to a halt. Beside him, Jace hunched over in his saddle.

“We’ll camp here tonight,” Rayad said.

Warin gave an accepting nod. He had no command over his companions. Rayad held seniority anyway, and Warin was quite content to follow the lead of his old friend. Even after three years, it came naturally.

Rayad slowly lifted himself from the saddle and slid to the ground with a grimace. Jace didn’t appear any better off, Warin noted, but they probably weren’t as used to long days in the saddle.

The darkness deepened around them as they unsaddled the horses and built a fire to heat their supper. A warm meal in their bellies restored some energy. When he finished, Jace rose and went to brush his horse, which left Warin and Rayad alone at the fire sipping coffee. Tapping his fingers on the rim of his cup, Warin peered at Jace across camp and considered the shopkeeper’s comment back in Kinnim. There was a story here to be sure. He turned to his friend and lowered his voice so as not to be overheard.

“He’s a ryrik.”

Rayad looked up, his eyes refocusing as he came out of deep thought. He glanced at Jace and then faced Warin. “No. He’s half ryrik.”

Warin’s brows shot upward. “Half ryrik?” He stared at Jace again. “I didn’t think that happened.”

“Neither did
I.”

“Do you know how?”

Rayad poked at the fire and a shower of sparks rose into the air. “No, and neither does he. He was a slave as far back as he can remember. I found him in Troas, right after I spoke to you. He was a gladiator, or at least that’s what his master wanted him to be. I saw him, in the arena. Then, on my way out of the city, I came across his master beating him for not killing his opponent. I paid for his freedom, and he’s been with me ever since.”

Warin shook his head. Remarkable. “Weren’t you afraid he’d kill you? I mean, not to sound harsh, but how did you know he wouldn’t behave as a full-blood ryrik?”

“I didn’t, but I couldn’t just leave him there.” He stared at Jace. “He struggles with his ryrik blood. With the energy and the anger it causes. But he’s no cold-blooded killer. I don’t believe he ever was, and he certainly isn’t now. He has faith in the King.”

“You believe that?”

Rayad’s gaze shot to Warin, and his eyes and expression grew cold. Warin held up his hands passively, quick to explain. “It’s not that I doubt you, it’s just, you know what people say.”

The hardness transferred to Rayad’s tone. “I’ve never cared what
people
say. I know Jace has a soul.” Then his voice softened, and he said, “It’s convincing him that’s difficult.”

A moment of silence followed. Rayad drank down the last of his coffee and set the cup aside. “I trust that boy with my life. He may appear hard and cold, but that’s his shield against the cruelties of this world. It’s not easy to earn his trust, but once you do, it reveals a
whole different side to him. Underneath it all, he has a very kind, gentle, and generous heart. You just have to get past the pain and scars he bears.”

Warin watched the emotions play across his friend’s face. Interesting, the way he defended the young man.
He knew Rayad better than just about anyone. Rayad had always been the practical, straightforward one—never the sentimental sort—but Jace brought something out in him that Warin hadn’t seen before. He loved that young man like a son.

Jace joined them a short time later. He looked from one man to the other, probably sensing the solemn mood that had fallen between them. Hoping to lighten it, Warin turned to Rayad again and asked, “I have to know. That fine animal can’t be Niton, can it?”

“He is indeed,” Rayad answered with a nod.

Warin whistled. “He sure has matured into an impressive-looking stallion. I hardly recognized him without his ears laid back and his teeth flashing at me. But how did you ever get a saddle on him? I thought that was next to impossible.”

“I didn’t.” Rayad nodded across the fire to where Jace sat next to his wolf. “He did. Actually, the day after we met, he hopped on Niton and rode him just like that. Didn’t even need the saddle.”

Jace ducked his head, but Rayad continued the praise. “He’s got a gift with animals. You should see. People would think that horse is a dog the way he’s got him trained. He even taught him to sit and lie down.”

At this, Warin let out a laugh. “Really? That beast trained like a dog? That’s impressive. I’ll have to see it one of these days.” He paused as a thought formed. “You know, people would pay good money for horses with that kind of training, if you ever had a mind to get into that sort of thing.”

Jace gave a shrug, staring into the fire, but Warin was serious. It could be a good living if one were to pursue it.

K
yrin smoothed non-existent wrinkles in her jerkin yet again before her hands stilled. She shook her head and forced her hands back to her sides.
Ridiculous
. The nervous thrill that raced through Tarvin Hall was getting to her. All around, her roommates chattered as they prepared for the ceremony, fussing over their hair and uniforms. She sighed and prayed for it all to end. Then she could focus on helping Sam arrange a meeting with her father before he left Valcré.

But even such thoughts couldn’t distract her from the way the room seemed to shrink and lose oxygen. Her heart bashed her chest as if trying to follow the growing urge to escape the confined space. She scolded herself and the panic, but let out a huge breath when the call came to go downstairs. The cascade of young women and girls joined with the boys in the main hall. Though students crammed the area, Kaden appeared at Kyrin’s side as the instructors ushered everyone toward the great auditorium.

“Ready for another one of Master Zocar’s droning speeches?” His long-suffering tone drew out Kyrin’s smile. “You’ll have to tell me if he deviates at all from the speech last year.”

Kyrin chuckled, but she caught the head mistress giving them a smoldering look. They both fell silent as they entered the grand auditorium. The room had a way of drawing eyes upward, and with good reason. The massive arched ceiling, painted in exquisite, complex designs, towered high above them, making even the largest man appear tiny, let alone Kyrin. Once she’d taken an awed look, her gaze dropped down to the many rows of long benches facing a raised stage at the far end. Enough seating for all of them, totaling almost four hundred. Her stomach gave another uncomfortable flutter.

Everyone knew the drill, filing into the spaces between the benches, remaining with their age groups. The boys grouped to the right side while the girls had the left. Everyone between nineteen and twenty naturally headed to the front.

“See you after,” Kaden murmured.

Kyrin nodded. If only he could stay with her. It would help her nerves. But they parted, and she made her way to her place with her roommates. No one sat yet, however. Once all had found their places, a hush fell over the auditorium as everyone sensed the magnitude of the occasion. For a long moment, quiet reigned until Master Zocar ascended the side stairs to the stage, his sure steps and tall stance befitting a former general. How he could look even more imposing than usual was beyond Kyrin. Behind him came a few of the other instructors of Tarvin Hall, as well as several of the emperor’s own officials. They walked to the center of the stage and spread out evenly, with Master Zocar in the middle. His penetrating gaze swept over the attendants.

“Students of Tarvin Hall.” Though the room dwarfed everyone, it carried his voice all the way to the farthest row. “Today marks a great milestone in the lives of many of your classmates. Today they have reached the ultimate goal that you all spend years training and preparing for. Today they will be granted the greatest of honors in moving on to begin their service to our emperor.”

A chorus of applause sounded, and Master Zocar gave the signal to be seated. In one mass movement, they sat straight-backed and attentive. Kyrin clasped her hands firmly in her lap and focused on keeping her knees from bouncing.

With everyone’s attention fixed on him, Master Zocar went on to give a long, drawn-out speech about the majesty of Emperor Daican and the privilege of serving him. Kyrin mentally compared it to the one last year and cast a discreet glance to her right. By chance, she caught Kaden’s eye across the main aisle. At his comically raised eyebrow, she fought against a giggle rising inside her and promptly looked away.
Troublemaker
. She glanced at the other students. Though all sat in rigid rows, eyes wandered or blinked in an attempt to stay alert. The excited buzz from earlier drained during this portion of the ceremony.