The Crown of Stones: Magic-Price (60 page)

“Yes.”

“Well that’s a shitty plan.”

“I was trying to protect you.”

My glare was cruel. “Bullshit.”

“You’re like no man I’ve ever met. You rouse things in me I didn’t know existed, and I,” her confidence wavered, “I wanted this one time, this one moment.” Blinking, on the verge of tears, Neela shook her head. “I thought if I could keep you out of it, if could keep you alive, that maybe someday we could…” she left off with an awkward smile. “It’s a fool’s wish, I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lied to you. Forgive me.”

It was straight up, unabashed feminine wiles at work. The way her sad, round eyes pleaded with me to trust her, to forgive her and not be angry. She deceived me, tricked me. She was still doing it. But despite that, and even knowing she was under the influence of the dream weave—knowing she didn’t really want me, I had the impulse to grab her and run. To take her away from Draken and my father and anyone who would ever think to hurt her.

But staring at Neela felt like things tearing apart inside of me. And with her scent on my skin and the taste of her still in my mouth, I couldn’t think.

I needed distance, space. I started from the room. “I’m going after my father.”

“You don’t even know where he is.”

“I’ll find him. And Draken.”

“Let it go, Ian. Rella is gone. There is no one left for you to save, nothing left for you to do.”

Her words brought me to a halt. “You told me that before,” I said, recalling the first night I dreamt of her. I remembered the feel of her warm, wet arms around me as she spoke, trying to convince me that it was okay to stand down. Even then, the idea didn’t sit right. “I can’t turn my back on this, Neela. Your father made sure of that a long time ago. He made me indifferent to my own people and responsible for yours. He made me fight for them. Kill for them. Care for them. And now you expect me to walk away like none of it ever happened, while you give everything that I bled for—everything your mother died for—over to the enemy?”

“If you challenge him, Draken will kill you.”

“Then he kills me. It’s been a long time coming anyway.”

“No. I won’t have it. I couldn’t bear losing you.”

“But that’s just it, Neela. You could bear it fine, because what you’re feeling is nothing but a byproduct of the spell I used to heal you. And when it’s gone, you’ll go back to your royal protocols and your icy disregard. And I’ll go back to being just another slave for you to scold.” I hopped over the wrecked door and out into the cave.

“Wait,” she called after me. “Ian, please…I love you.”

My insides sunk. “No, you don’t. You
can’t,
” I said, backing away. “You’re just a dream.”

FIFTY FIVE

S
omething was in the wine.

Whatever it was, it was strong. It had only taken a few sips to realize I should call for help. Then about one second to realize it wouldn’t do me any good. The old library where Liel had brought me to wait for the ambassador was an out of the way chamber in a lesser-used corridor. For anyone to hear me they would have to pass right by. The way things were going lately, it was likely the only person passing by would be the one that wanted me unconscious in the first place, so I didn’t bother.

Coming to now, in hindsight, I should have spent that second stretching out on the floor in front of the fire. Passing out in the chair as I did, had left my backside numb and my neck feeling twisted like a washerwoman’s laundry.

Rubbing at the ache, I got up. I was facing a wall with a row of tall windows. When I first entered the room, I’d thrown open all six curtains. Morning sun had filled the ransacked room, making clear the degree of loss to the most extensive library in all of Rella. Now, as moonlight streamed across the floor instead, something else was clear. I’d been set up.

I was guessing the lone figure leaning against the frame of the open door had something to do with it. Watching me, standing beyond the range of the fire, in a persistent spot of darkness, the definite masculine shape pushed off the threshold and left the shadows. Fire and candlelight converged on him, and the sight bolstered my spirits.

I knew him.
At least I used to
, I thought, my optimism swiftly dwindling as I worked out what his presence meant.

The Malaq Roarke sauntering toward me wasn’t here as my friend. He was here as Draken’s Ambassador. And damn did he look the part.

In place of his normal, distinctive, fitted attire was a more billowing, embroidered silk tunic and breeches, both in the deep gray and red of his father’s land. His cloak had been swapped out for a sleek, black waistcoat. He’d forsaken Natalia, too. In her place, two short, thick swords hung from his belt. They were ugly, functional weapons compared to her style and beauty. The coral ring that identified his claim to Rella (the one I spelled) was missing, or perhaps hidden under the studded, gray gloves that covered his hands and forearms. His hair was uncombed, his goatee a little neglected, and he was flaunting the beginnings of a beard.

It was odd to see him this way. Yet, I understood his need to infiltrate and blend, and I didn’t look twice at the serpent clasp fastened to the collar of his coat. It wasn’t even the most flagrant example of his Langorian lineage and loyalty that put me off—though I did have trouble looking at the coin-sized, circular symbol burned into the left side his face. What I really couldn’t stomach, was how easily Malaq wore it.

“Troy.” Reaching me, he slapped a firm hand on my arm. “It’s good to see you.”

“Same here,” I said, though with less enthusiasm.

As he took a step back, Malaq’s smile was reserved. His sharp, gray eyes held their usual shroud of nothing. “Sorry for the accommodations.”

“So,” I said, not surprised, “I do have you to thank for my nap.”

His smile twitched, making the serpent on his face jump. “Let’s talk.”

At a sound, we both turned to watch Liel walk into the library. A tray in his hands, the boy gripped the edges so tightly that, as he walked, its contents shook. Crossing to the only erect table in the room, Liel placed the tray down. His blatant avoidance of my eyes was downright uncomfortable as he filled two mugs from a tall, slender bottle. After, he left without a word.

Staring at the door as he closed it behind him, I said, “Is he angry with me?”

“With you? No.” Malaq pointed at the mugs. “Shall we?”

Returning to my chair, I threw myself down in it. “I think I’ll let you drink first.”

He frowned a little. “You must know this was for your own good. Any attempt to prevent Neela’s marriage to Draken will only make the situation worse. For all of us.”

“Not if it works.”

The frown passed into his voice. “You really have no idea what it takes to govern, do you? What it takes to be responsible for the daily welfare of thousands?”

“Apparently, it takes drugs and deception.” I took one of the cups and sniffed it. “
Coura,
” I said, pleasantly surprised. “You know, this stuff used to be hard to find, especially in Rella. Now you guys invade and suddenly it’s everywhere.”

Malaq grabbed the remaining cup and drank half, as if to prove it was clean.

“Drugging me doesn’t really do much for our friendship,” I told him plainly.

“I could have had you thrown you in a cell.”

“And I could have knocked you out cold before we got there. But we’ve had this conversation before, haven’t we?”

Wiping a hand over the hair on his face, Malaq made a weary, resigned sound. “Forgive my ill temper.” He pulled over a chair and sat down. “I haven’t slept in days.”

“You should try whatever you slipped me. It’ll put you right out.”

“What’s it going to take for you to let this go? A formal apology?”

“How about an explanation?” I tipped the
coura
and took in a mouthful, enjoying the burn. “Why don’t you start with that brand on your face? I didn’t think you’d be joining the family so soon.”

“I had to take the mark and pledge myself. Refusing would not have gone well.”

“You’ve been to Darkhorne?”

“A thoroughly dismal place,” he said with a shudder. He leaned closer, as if someone might hear. “Draken is building an army there.”

“When isn’t Draken building an army?”

“This one is different. It’s all Shinree. Handpicked. Sorted by the strength of their abilities. It’s remarkable what that man, Reth, can employ as a weapon. At the moment, he has only a handful that can do any real damage. But I fear that will change.”

“What do you know of him?”

“Reth?” Malaq crossed his legs and brushed the dust from his boot. “I know you’re his son.”

“Have you seen him? Recently?”

“Unfortunately, I have. And I assure you, Troy, I find little family resemblance.”

“But he is alive?”

Malaq looked up from his grooming. “Yes.”

The air left my body. I sunk deeper into my chair. “I had him, Malaq. I beat him. He was dying. But…so was she.” I tossed back the mug and drained it. “I should have cut the bastard’s head off. I should have made sure he was dead.”

“Saving Neela is no small feat.”

I sensed more. “But?”

“You can’t believe sleeping with her was a good idea. And that night in the Faernore, what you did to save Jarryd was entirely ill-conceived.” Malaq’s lips pursed. “You’re too close to all this, Ian.”

“I thought you’d be happy I left my hermit ways behind.”

“I’d be happy if you stopped being an ass. Stopped making rash decisions and attachments that could get you killed.”

“Jarryd was dying,” I said tightly. “If you’d seen him, you would have done everything in your power to save his life. My power just happens to be a little different than yours.”

Swearing under his breath, Malaq sucked an impolitely large amount of
coura
into his mouth. When he was done, he refilled the cup and drained it again. Glancing around, pretending to be interested in the few remaining rows of books lining the shelves, he shifted in his chair, fidgeting with the armrest.

His right leg started bouncing.

“You’re nervous,” I said.

“Me?” he laughed. “I’m never nervous.”

“I know.” I leaned over and clamped a hand on his leg. “Which makes me nervous,” I said, letting him go. “So start talking.”

Malaq looked away. Then back again. “It’s Jarryd.”

His grim tone turned my blood cold. “He’s not dead. I would have felt that.”

“No. He’s not dead. Draken wants him kept alive.”

“Goddamn it.” I rubbed the anguish from my face. “Where is he?”

“Darkhorne.”

“That’s why he’s blocking me. Pain overwhelms the link.” I swallowed the lump building in my throat. “He’s trying to spare me.”

“It could be Reth. He said he found a way to interfere with your connection.”

I started to ask how. But that wasn’t what I wanted to know. “What the hell happened?”

“It appears the eldring were given specific targets. General Aldous, being one of them, was killed immediately. Jarryd, they were careful to apprehend with minimal harm. My brother has one of those Shinree that makes doors, and—”

“Jarryd’s capture was planned?” I held Malaq’s stare. “Did you know?”

Indignation set his jaw. Fighting it, Malaq emptied more drink into his cup. He set the bottle down deliberately. “I didn’t.”

“Have you seen him?”

“I made a request. It was denied.” He took a quick drink. “I heard him though.”

Slamming my mug down on the table, I stood, and Malaq bolted out of his chair.

“Where are you going?” he said.

“Where do you think?”

“Langor? Really, Ian?” Malaq’s laugh was short and irritated. “Do you think Draken is going to make it that easy for you?”

“I don’t want easy, Malaq. I want blood. I want to torture and dismember every Langorian between here and Darkhorne until Jarryd is free.”

“Then you’d be killing innocent men for no reason.”

“They’re Langorians. They’re far from innocent.”

“Look,” he said, jaw grinding, “I’m as scared for Jarryd as you are. I’ve toured my brother’s dungeon. I know what goes on there.”

“Then you know I will bring all of Langor down around me to get him out.”

“No, if you plunge the realm into chaos, it will shut itself off again. There will be no hope for peace.” Malaq stepped closer. “I can’t let you do that.”

“Get out of my way.”

“We can negotiate. There are proper channels for this sort of thing.”

Even now, Malaq was going for diplomacy. And it really set me off. “Fuck you and your fucking proper channels. While you spend months, or years even, lobbying for his release, making deals with fat noblemen in back alleys, Jarryd will be chained to a wall. They’ll beat him until he’s pissing blood every goddamn day. Just how long do you think he’ll last?”

Solemnness steeled his jaw. “Jarryd’s got you in him, Ian. He’ll last.”

“Don’t pull that bullshit on me, Malaq. Now, move.”

“Ian…”

I called to the shard. It warmed against my throat, glowing as bright and eager as the look in my eyes. “I won’t ask again.”

“So this is what it comes to? This is your answer?” Malaq shook his head in disgust. “This is always your goddamn answer,” he said, his voice turning into a snarl. “You stubborn, son of a bitch. What the hell is wrong with you?” I didn’t answer fast enough and he charged me. Balling my shirt into his fists, Malaq rushed us both backwards into the shelves and started yelling. “Think about what you’re doing! You can’t solve everything with blood and magic!”

“I have to,” I shouted back, “that’s all I’m made of!”

With another hard shove, Malaq threw himself off me. He put some space between us, retrieved his drink, and scowled at me over the rim.

I scowled back. “They took him because of me.”

“I know. And I swear, Ian, just give me a chance. Give me some time. I’ll do everything I can to get Jarryd back,” he said, and I believed him. Malaq meant his vow to me, just as I meant mine to Neela when I swore to save her sister.

I gave my word. But it wasn’t good enough for her either.

Malaq rubbed his eyes. He sighed in surrender. “Draken wants a meeting with you. Neela refused to allow it, but…there’s a chance he’ll trade.”