“Yes, interesting that,” Connovan said with a wink for Yserria. The woman scowled and flicked the pommel of her sword in warning. Connovan chuckled and turned his gaze on Frisha. “Marcum’s niece. I hear you sought a betrothal, although I cannot imagine how it fits into your plan. Did you intend, from the beginning, for it to fail. I think you will find that the lady is no longer certain of her desires.”
Rezkin glanced at Frisha, his curiosity piqued. She flushed and looked away.
Connovan twirled a finger, indicating the room in general. “This is a bit ostentatious for you, is it not?”
“This?” Rezkin said, perusing the hard-gotten luxuries. “This is not for me. It is for them. It is a gallery to display the accomplishments of the people of Cael, and what better way of honoring the people than to display their works in the king’s office?”
“Right, the king,” Connovan said mockingly. “I have tried to piece together the events, but it seems you have been all over the place. I think, by now, your influence has spread farther than you know. Where are your ghosts, by the way? I have heard they rise to your defense. Perhaps they are not as attentive as you thought.”
“No doubt why you directly attacked me only outside the corveua.” Connovan tipped his head, and Rezkin said, “They have specific instructions.”
Connovan nodded. “Interesting. You recognized me on the dock.”
“I remember your many disguises—a delivery man, a horse trainer, a mercenary, a messenger. You remained afar, but when you came, you were always watching.”
“I told Bordran it was a mistake for you to see me, but he wanted updates.”
“Who are you?”
“You already know.”
“Rez.”
Connovan grinned.
Malcius sat up straighter, pushing Frisha off of him. “Wait, you are the Rez?”
The man tilted his head. “No more. My duty was to serve Bordran.” He looked at Rezkin and said, “Why do you continue to call yourself Rezkin?”
“It is my name.”
The man rolled his eyes. “Really?” He glanced at Farson, who shrugged and then locked his gaze on the far wall. Connovan said, “That is not your name. It is a title—one you should not be wielding in public.” He sat forward, as if to give a lesson. “While you were in training, you were Rez kin, the kin of the Rez. Once you completed your training, you became the Rez.”
Rezkin frowned and dove into his memories. He looked at Farson. “That is why you started calling me Rez. I thought you were shortening my name like the others, but you knew.”
Farson turned to him. “I thought you knew. I believed your apparent lack of knowledge to be an act.”
Rezkin looked back at Connovan. “What is my name?”
“You do not have one, just like I do not have one, and every Rez before us did not have one.”
“Everyone has a name,” said Malcius. “Even a deceased infant is given a name.”
Connovan leaned back. “To receive a name, you must have first taken a breath. Your mother was told you were stillborn, so you were never given one.”
Frisha gasped. “He was stolen from his mother?”
“At birth.”
Uninterested in the useless details, Rezkin said, “Why have you come to this island?”
Connovan sat back and swirled the wine in his goblet, but he did not drink. “Before Bordran’s death, there were only three people who knew of my existence: Bordran, Marcum, and Queen Lecillia. It was my duty to serve Bordran. It was your duty to serve his successor. Bordran died early, and you were not scheduled to finish training for close to ten years. I was forced to serve Caydean until you could take your place as Rez.”
“If I am now the Rez, then what are you?”
Connovan chuckled. “I am no one. I am no longer supposed to exist. The first duty of the Rez, as you should know, is to seek out and kill his predecessor.” He tilted his head in a manner strangely familiar. “Shall we go into the yard and have that duel to the death? I am certain you will win. You probably desire answers first, though.”
“You are willing to talk?” Rezkin said, knowing that a Rez who offered information could not be trusted.
“I am obliged to share,” said the man. “After all, I have nothing to lose. Besides, I am hoping you will return the favor. I have many questions.”
Tieran still clung to the back of the sofa as he scowled at Connovan. “Rezkin, before you kill him, I have a question. Caydean is a monster. If he did not know of you, why did you serve him at all? I do not think Aunt Lecillia or Marcum would have been displeased had you disappeared.”
“He is the king,” Connovan said, as if it were obvious. “It was my duty to serve him.” He looked at Rezkin. “It is Rule 1.”
Frisha glanced at Rezkin. Her voice shook as she said, “I thought Rule 1 was to protect and honor your friends.”
Connovan frowned at her and then turned to Rezkin. “That is the directive you have been following? You did not make it to Caydean then?”
Rezkin shook his head.
“The scene at the fortress was confusing,” Connovan said, “particularly since I arrived at least a month after your departure, and you disturbed it when you collected all the weapons. Tell me, how did you kill all the strikers and both the masters, and more importantly, why?”
Frisha gasped, and the air seemed to heat as several of his companions directed their horrified gazes at him.
“I was given the order to kill the strikers, but the masters killed each other. And, I did not kill all of the strikers. One stands there,” he said with a nod toward Farson.
Connovan glanced at Farson. “I noticed one was missing at the scene. I figured you killed him elsewhere. Why have you allowed him to live?”
“Because I am no longer beholden to any master, and I will decide if he needs killing.”
Connovan paused, as if frozen in place. He said, “You are free?”
“I am to honor and protect my friends,” Rezkin said, “and I have sworn fealty to no one.”
The woman beside Connovan raised a hand to hold back a sob that escaped as a whimper.
Connovan said, “You came up with this True King business to wrest the crown from Caydean?”
“Not I,” said Rezkin. He nodded to the room’s other occupants. “Them. It was their interpretation of Bordran’s designs, and their implementation. They are my friends, and Ashai is no longer safe for them. To make it safe for them to return home, I must unseat Caydean and put things back to rights.”
Connovan’s narrow-eyed gaze was calculating. “You expect me to believe that these strikers and nobles got together, without your influence, and decided to tell everyone you are the rightful king? And Lord Tieran went along with this?”
Tieran finally popped up from behind the sofa and said, “I am not an idiot. I know my duty to Ashai. I recognize Rez as the True King because he is Bordran’s rightful heir, and he has the document to prove it.”
The woman gripped Connovan’s arm tightly. He said, “You have proof of this claim?”
Rezkin withdrew the tube containing the parchment and tossed it to the man. Connovan unrolled it carefully, showing it to the woman as he read. The woman choked back another sob as she reached for it. He allowed her to take the parchment as he looked back to Rezkin. He said, “The majority of the document was written in Bordran’s hand. The second belongs to Jaiardun.”
He tapped the arm of the chair and then got up to stand behind the woman, gripping her shoulders. “I can see how this could be interpreted in such a way. More telling, though, is the sword. I have seen the official list of Sheyalins. I have had to … reacquire … a few in my time. None are named Kingslayer. Bordran changed the name of that one.” He said the last with a nod toward the longsword at Rezkin’s hip. “I think his intentions are clear enough.” The woman gripped his arm again, and he patted her hand as if truly concerned.
While the others appeared pleased with further proof of their suspicions, Rezkin followed a different line of thought. “You did not answer my question. If you serve Caydean, and you know I am to kill you, why have you come here?”
“I no longer serve Caydean,” said Connovan. “You freed me.”
“How?”