“Shut. Up. Brandt,” Malcius said. “If you want to tell war stories, you cannot tell the good parts first! You have ruined the story.”
“You’re both idiots,” Yserria said as she passed.
Tieran sputtered. “You are going to let her speak to you like that?”
“You are welcome to try to make her stop,” Malcius grumbled.
Tieran looked to his king. “Rezkin, are you going to do something about this? We have a hierarchy for a reason.”
Rezkin watched the redheaded warrior trudge into the warehouse under the weight of her armor, weapons, and pack, while leading her newly acquired horse. She had not complained once during their excursion, and she had set aside her emotions to put up with undeserved criticism.
He looked back at Tieran and said, “Arrange a ceremony.”
Rezkin dropped his belongings in his room and checked on Cat, who vibrated when he stroked her fur. After changing into a set of simple traveling clothes, he left the palace. Before anything else, Rezkin wanted to check the site of the battle against the demon. Although people kept constant watch on the area and were mapping the tunnels, he preferred to perform his own assessment. As he walked through the city, he had a sense of being watched. It was not an unusual sensation, considering the seventeen elven wraiths that inhabited the citadel, but this felt more substantial. He checked around every corner and in every shadow and still found nothing. Something about the island or the citadel made him suspicious, and the only way he had found to counteract it was the stone he wore around his neck. Even that was not completely effective.
He stepped beyond the corveua, taking the garden path around the city’s perimeter toward the wooded area. The tenseness in his shoulders began to relax as he walked further from the citadel, and he realized that his concerns must have been in his mind. As he approached the drop-off that led to the pool where Yserria and the others had been held, he felt the thrill of battle energy burst through his veins. He felt a sense of motion in the air, a spurious whistle on the wind. He dodged then ducked behind a tree. He looked back the way he had come, searching for the source of the attack. Then, he surveyed the tree trunk to find a slim, silver throwing dagger lodged in its bark.
After calculating the direction of the projectile’s source and maximum possible distance over which it could retain enough force to sink into the tree, with consideration of its size and probable weight, he realized the assailant had to have been within ten yards. Rezkin withdrew the small crossbow that was hidden beneath his cloak and made a circuit of the area. Despite his earlier sense of impending doom, he no longer felt the presence of another. As he returned to his original position, he spied Shezar and Millins walking toward him. When they reached him, Shezar’s gaze flicked to the crossbow. Then, he examined Rezkin with a critical eye.
The striker said, “May we assist you, Your Majesty?”
“Yes,” said Rezkin. “You can search for whoever just attacked me.”
Shezar and Millins both tensed and glanced around them. Shezar said, “He got away?”
Rezkin surveyed the foliage as he spoke. “I never saw him. I sensed the attack and managed to avoid the knife he threw at me.” He pointed to the tree, but the knife was gone.
Shezar and Millins both looked at the tree and then back to him. Shezar said, “We have seen no one out here besides you. Where is your escort?”
“I need no escort.”
“My pardon, Your Majesty, but if you are being attacked—out in the open, no less—you should be accompanied by guards and at least one mage.”
Rezkin considered the details of the attack. “I do not believe it was his intent to kill me. It was an excellent throw, well-practiced. Perhaps it was a warning or an announcement of his presence.”
Shezar glanced back at the tree and then returned his gaze to Rezkin. “Are you sure it was an attack? Perhaps a branch broke—”
“I know an attack,” said Rezkin. “It was a small, silver throwing knife, only slightly different from my own.”
“Are you missing any?”
“No, and I own none like it.” He eyed Shezar suspiciously and then dismissed the idea. The attack would have come from the wrong direction, and Shezar had been with Millins.
Rezkin stepped up to the tree. He could see a divot that might have been caused by the tip of a blade. With another glance backward, he ordered Shezar to lead the rest of the way to the demon attack site. Millins took the rear. Rezkin was uncomfortable with the man at his back, but Millins was slow. He was sure he would be able to fend off an attack from the sergeant.
In the receiving chamber of the makeshift throne room, Frisha looked at herself in the strange mirror. In the dark, the mirror was clearer than glass and she could see right through it, but the light of the lamp caused it to become reflective. The image was of her wearing one of the few gowns she had kept for herself. For this particular occasion, she felt a more somber appearance would be appropriate. It was not her ceremony, after all. Her appearance was not all that important. She had donned the black skirt with the fitted tunic bearing Rezkin’s crest or, rather, the crest of Cael.
“Are you jealous?”
Frisha glanced at Reaylin. “No, of course not. Why would I be jealous?”
Reaylin shrugged. “It’s Yserria. Tall, beautiful, exotic Yserria. I’m jealous.”
“Well, I don’t see any reason to be jealous,” Frisha said. “I never really thought it through before. I mean, it was new and different and seemed exciting, but”—she glanced at the warrior chieftain standing across the hall—“since Rezkin has been gone, I have concluded that this is definitely something I don’t want.”
“I guess you know yourself best, but I think it’s just an excuse. I didn’t realize Rez was paying that much attention to Yserria—you know, after the thing with Palis.”
“She deserves this. She is a strong warrior, and that is important in this new kingdom.”
Reaylin said, “I still think it’s weird that you’re involved in the ceremony.”
As Frisha turned toward the entrance to the largest chamber where a dais had been built, she said, “So do I.” She then entered and stood upon the raised platform between Tieran and Ilanet.
Rezkin appeared at the entrance to the hall, and her thoughts of not wanting him fled. Even when he had been dressed in filthy traveling clothes and worn armor, he had been strikingly handsome, but the dark warrior king who looked at her now with ice in his eyes was something otherworldly. His confidence flowed with every graceful motion, a certainty of his being endowed each movement with intent. His fluid approach was on silent feet, and she briefly wondered if this ethereal man was, in fact, another specter forged of the mystical citadel.
He stopped in front of her, a few steps short of the dais. He gave her a slight bow and said, “I am pleased that you agreed to be a part of this. A public show of your support will be significant in the future.”
Frisha caught herself staring at his lips and then reminded herself to speak aloud. “Of course, I am honored you would ask me, but I do not see how my involvement is important.”
His topaz gaze was enchanting, and she could barely follow his words as he said, “Everyone knows of our betrothal. The people were already inclined to look to you for guidance.” He glanced at Tieran and back. “It has been brought to my attention that you have gained the favor of many. Yserria is about to receive an official position of power. She, being a woman, will need your support.”
“I understand,” she said, “but I still feel uncomfortable with this.”
“I know,” he said, “but you will get used to it.”
He then turned to greet Ilanet who stood, as both a visiting royal and Rezkin’s ward, to Frisha’s left.
Ilanet smiled and said, “Master Tamarin will be upset that he missed this.”