Storm Without End (Requiem for the Rift King Book 1) (25 page)

Taking a seat across the table from him, his sire propped his elbows on the edge and let out a long sigh. “I thought it was the best idea at the time, all things considered. We were in a hurry with the Danarite ambush, and I didn’t want to involve you and the children.”

“You could have told
me!
”

“What good would it have done?”

“So it’s true,” Aden said. Kalen looked over at his brother. The younger man frowned.

“Isn’t that what I said?” he asked.

“Not explicitly. Why’re you called Kalen?”

“Because that’s my name,” he replied, glaring across the table at his sire.

“Forgive him, Aden,” Lord Delrose said. “I fear he is still quite cross with me.”

“Cross? That’s a gentle way of putting it. Maybe if you had a little more backbone and acted like a man, I wouldn’t have a reason to be cross, now would I?”

“Satoren!” His mother slapped her open palm down on the table top. “That’s quite enough.”

“I think not,” Kalen said. “Explain to them just what you’ve been up to. While you’re at it, why don’t you explain why Derac isn’t here too? I thought he’d be the ideal participant in your little scheme.”

“Derac doesn’t know. I told no one what I intended to do except for Satrin.”

“And here I thought he possessed a little more in terms of common sense. How disappointing. Well, tell them, then. Perhaps once you’re done explaining they might just understand why I’m so cross with you.” Kalen lifted his arm enough that he could duck his head out from under the sling. The cast hit the table with a heavy thud. The tips of his fingers tingled.

“I was warned by a Guardian not long after you reign started that it wasn’t wise to ever cross swords with the Rift King—particularly you. You’ve a snake’s tongue,” his sire said in a dry tone. “Sit down, m’Lady. This isn’t a short tale.”

His mother straightened and stared down at them with pursed lips. “I’ll make some tea.”

Kalen eyed his cast. While most of his thumb was encased, his index finger could move. He hoped it was enough to handle a cup.

“You shouldn’t take it out of the sling,” his sire said.

“Come between me and that tea, Lord Delrose, and I will beat you to death with it.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Aden asked.

“Of course I’m serious,” Kalen replied, turning to his younger brother. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Satoren,” his mother growled out.

“Kalen,” he replied, tapping the tabletop with his one functional finger.

“You can talk while I make the tea, Bresalan. I can hear you just fine from the fire,” Lady Delrose walked to the stone fireplace across the room with a pot in hand. She hung it from a hook before turning to face them, hands placed on her hips. “Explain.”

“Almost twenty years ago, I went into an agreement with the Rift King. He wanted information. I wanted something only he could give me.”

“And you accused me of being cryptic,” Kalen muttered. “If you aren’t going to explain it properly, I’ll do it.”

“Would you stop that?” His sire slammed both hands against the table and rose to his feet.

Kalen narrowed his eyes and didn’t move. “Well?”

“Explain it yourself then, if you think you know it all.” With a scowl, his sire sat back down.

“Lord Delrose is an
Akakashani
. A spy I inherited from Arik, my predecessor. Contact was established between Delrose and the Rift King, as he said, some twenty years ago. Coincidentally, this was at the same time where His Royal Highness, the King of Kelsh, started looking for ways to expand his kingdom.”

“Is that why you weren’t able to sleep very much? Why you were always finding something to do with yourself and pretending like we didn’t notice? Is that why your hands shook all of the time?” Lady Delrose asked. Kalen glanced over at his mother. Deep lines marked her brow. She lifted a hand to shove a lock of her black hair behind her ear.

“That’s right. It was vellest poisoning.”

“So what happened?” his mother asked in a whisper.

“I’ll take over from here. You’ve made your point, Kalen,” his sire said. “Before I became the Rift King’s
Akakashani
, King Aelthor talked me into using this vellest to make Satoren immune against poisonings. Vellest wasn’t the only one we used. It was just the one that caused the most problems. It was my job to administer the doses. That kept going until he turned eleven. That’s when Aelthor took over. That’s also the time where he got far sicker than before, and I started to suspect what was going on. I sent word to the Rift King requesting the cure. Except when the cure arrived, Satoren disappeared. I believed you dead until Derac showed up with you.”

“Well, that
is
what I wanted everyone to believe. Just imagine the panic that’ll happen when people realize that the Heir-Consort of the Kelshite throne became the Rift King.”

“How did you know about that? We didn’t tell you. We didn’t tell anyone!” His sire stared at him with his mouth hanging open.

“Heir-Consort?” Aden asked, eyes widening.

“I’m the Rift King. I’ve probably forgotten more over the years than you know. I certainly can’t mediate if they
do
call a Council of the Six without knowing their dirty little secrets, now can I?”

The silence was broken only by the sounds of pottery clattering. Kalen glanced toward the window over the washing basin. A dark-haired figure ducked out of view.

“How do you like your tea?” his mother asked.

“In a cup?” Kalen glanced at her. “How else would I like it?”

“I was wondering if you wanted it sweetened.”

Kalen furrowed his brow. A shudder went down his spine. “Plain, please. Thank you.”

“You used to like it sweet,” his mother said in a low voice.

Had he? He couldn’t remember. Shrugging his shoulders he stared at the fire that crackled and popped. Its warmth didn’t quite chase away the bone-deep cold that left his joints aching now that he sat still. “There aren’t many sweet things in the Rift.”

The lines across his mother’s brows eased, and she placed a steaming cup in front of him. Kalen hooked his finger through the handle and managed to smother his triumphant grin as he lifted it to take a sip. The tea’s warmth flooded him, and he let out a sigh.

“How did you become the Rift King?” his mother asked, sitting down next to his sire.

 
A sneeze itched his nose. Setting the cup back down, he lifted his arm enough to rub at the end of his nose. He cleared his throat and stared down at the steaming tea. “The same way Arik did before me.”

“That doesn’t tell me anything,” his mother replied.

His sire gestured at him and shook his head. Kalen let a breath out in a huff and ran his finger around the rim of the cup. “I killed him. It was in an accident during sparring practice, but it was my hand that ran him through regardless. Rift Kings live by the sword, and they die by the sword.” He lifted his cast to display it. “This does put me in a rather unfortunate position,” he said in a wry voice. “It’s either a death sentence or imprisonment in the Rift.”

“The death sentence part I understand,” his sire replied. “But why imprisonment?”

Kalen’s laugh burst out of him, and he doubled over in a coughing fit. He gasped for breath and waited until he could speak without wheezing. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? The Guardians aren’t there to protect
me
.”

“You’re testing my patience. If they aren’t supposed to protect you, what are they there for?”

Lifting his cast, he gestured in a broad, sweeping motion. “To protect others from me, of course.”

Chapter Eleven

Breton shielded his eyes against the rays of the late-day sun. The strand of Ferethian’s tail fluttered through the air, circling around them. Verishi pointed at it and muttered something under her breath.

“We’re not to go farther this day,” she said, her brows furrowing. “But we could ride for hours longer.” Her whine cajoled a laugh out of Maiten and a snort from Dorit, but Breton sighed and couldn’t manage to force a smile.

Patting Gorask’s neck, he swung down from the saddle and turned in a slow circle. Ancient trees ringed the clearing and a stream trickled along its edge. “It’s a good place to rest. We rode all through the night and much of yesterday. I’m exhausted.”

The strand of black hair draped over the back of his left hand and fell limp. The golden light extinguished, but not before the warmth of the desert flooded through him. He lifted the strand of hair and breathed in the scent of horse and sun. It crumbled to dust in his hand and blew away with the breeze.

“Have trust in Her,” Verishi said. “It isn’t our place to question Her.”

“I wasn’t,” Breton said, closing his hand into a fist before turning to tend to the horses.

Even if there was a Danarite goddess, She had no use for them, nor them for Her. But, if Verishi could take them to Ferethian, he wouldn’t question it. Even if finding Ferethian didn’t lead him to Kalen. His eyes burned and he drew several deep breaths.

~I’ve been thinking,~
Dorit murmured in Breton’s mind. Unable to bring himself to look at the Yadesh, he worked at unsaddling Gorask.
~What if another Knight found your king? Garint was with a Danarite, and they had, at one point, held your king. We know that to be the truth. But it’s also true that the Rift King hadn’t died like they’d implied. So who found the Rift King? If it’s true that he was injured to the extent they claimed, he couldn’t survive without help. So, who helped him and why? I can’t imagine your king would be open about revealing himself.~

Maiten drew a sharp breath. “Ceres and Varest.”

Gorask’s saddle fell from Breton’s numb hands. The groan slipped out before he could stop it. “
Hellfires!
Curse the ancestors! Blast it all to the deeps!”

Maiten leaned against the shoulder of his horse and let out a high-pitched laugh that dissolved into a low giggle. “You said hellfires.”

“Shut it, Maiten!”

“We’re old fools, you know that?” Maiten muttered with a shake of his head.

“I’d forgotten just how much of a start they had on us,” Breton admitted.

~Who are Ceres and Varest?~

“Two of Kalen’s foals, also Guardians,” Breton replied. With a helpless laugh, he stooped down and lifted Gorask’s saddle. “They left right when…”

“Breton!” Maiten glared at him. Breton snapped his teeth together.

“Hellfires.”

“And you accuse me of mouthing off,” Maiten muttered.

“Well you do.”

~Many pardons, Guardians, but what are you talking about?~

Breton coughed and looked anywhere other than at Maiten and the Yadesh. Verishi met his eyes and her smile sent shivers down his spine. She bent down to one of the packs and drew out the wrapped dagger she’d been carrying at Land’s End.

“Verishi, put that away before you get hurt,” he said, stepping over to her. She thrust the weapon towards him, hilt first. Breton took it with a puzzled frown. “What do you want me to do with it? It was fine in the packs.”

“It’s lonely. It wants to be with the pretty sword.”

“It’s just a dagger, Verishi. It doesn’t have feelings,” Maiten said.

“It’s fine. I’ll put it with the swords if it makes her happy,” he said. Setting the blade on Gorask’s saddle, he unbuckled his sword belt and put his weapon down as well. “I need to whet the edges anyway.”

“That’s not the pretty sword!” Verishi stomped a foot and pointed at Perin and the packs he still carried. “That one.”

“Verishi, you’re starting to really, really unnerve me,” Maiten muttered. “There aren’t any other swords.”

“Ah, actually, there is,” Breton admitted.

“There is no way that you, the stiff, uptight, perfectionist Guardian would…” Maiten trailed off and looked at where Verishi pointed. “You didn’t, did you?”

“I didn’t what?” Breton asked, staring at the other Guardian before glancing at Verishi out of the corner of his eye.

He hadn’t shown anyone Gorishitorik. He’d buried the sword in the longer supply packs and masked its presence by stashing it with the spare poles for their horse-hide tents. How had she known it was there?

Maiten rubbed at his brow. “Please tell me you brought one of the replicas.”

“Why would I bring a replica?” Breton asked, staring at the other Guardian.

~Um, pardon my interruption, but what are you talking about?~

“Ceres and Varest left the Rift earlier than the rest of us did,” Breton said. “That’s all you need to know, Dorit.”

The Yadesh snorted.
~And this sword you’re talking about?~

“You wouldn’t have, would you? Really, Breton? Really?”

“Gorishitorik belongs with its wielder,” he replied. “Its wielder isn’t in the Rift, now is he?”

“You stole Gorishitorik? I don’t even believe this.”

“I left one of the replicas in his study. But how did you know, Verishi?”

“
She
told me.”

“That’s disturbing,” Maiten said.

“Well, there’s no point in hiding it anymore, is there?” Breton went to the packs and unloaded the long sack with the sword and the metal poles in it. He pulled out the cloth-wrapped sheath and set it down beside his own blade and the dagger. “There, Verishi. Are you happy now?”

The girl nodded and smiled at him.

~So what is that sword?~

“The Rift King’s sword, of course,” Breton said. “Since he’s wandering around, I thought he’d want it.”

“I understand, but it’s never left the Rift. How are we going to explain this when we get back to the Rift?”

“Who said anything about explaining it? I don’t see a need to.”

“That sword belongs to the Horse Lord?” Verishi asked.

“Yes,” Breton said.

Her smile brightened her eyes. “She can show you the way to him, then. If it is his and he belongs to it. If that is Her wish. For now, She wishes you to find the Horse Lord’s horse.”

Breton rubbed his temples and shook his head. “I can’t believe we’re taking orders from a nine year old who believes some goddess is talking to her.”

“We are?” Maiten asked. “We’re still going to seek out Ferethian?”

“First we save the horse. Then, we’ll save the man,” he replied, looking down at the wrapped-up weapon. “Or we’ll need to be saved from him if he finds out we let Ferethian die. May the ancestors have mercy on any who get in my way.”