Rezkin cocked his head. “I am the weapon. Anything else is merely a tool, and I count at least thirty-seven I could reach before your people posed a reliable threat.”
The woman laughed again, perhaps not taking him seriously, since he stood at least five paces from any people or furniture. Then again, she was the Great Mother of the Adana’Ro, so she may have found joy in the belief.
She said, “Then, I am glad we had the foresight to ensure your cooperation.”
The great mother raised a hand, and Xa appeared on one of the balconies to Rezkin's left. He was surrounded by two women in red scarves and one in blue, all with their swords drawn. Rezkin knew what would come next. The jeng’ri would not be parted from his charge. On a balcony to his right was Frisha. A single black-clad warrior stood behind her. Her face was pale, but her gaze remained strong. Rezkin looked back to the great mother, careful to school his expression to one of indifference.
“You should not blame him,” she said. “The jeng’ri is good, but he is not better than a dozen Adana’Ro. He killed four of ours before we incapacitated him. He serves you well. I do believe he would have died to protect your woman.”
“You needlessly sacrificed four of your people. I did not come here to kill you.”
She said, “We will never know. After your show at the Black Hall, we had to be sure.”
“I told you why I came. You have not yet said what it is you want.”
“You have been avoiding us,” she said.
“On the contrary, I have engaged your people every time they chose to interact. They lost.”
“So I have heard,” she replied. “I still find that difficult to believe. It is more likely you used some trick to enchant them. What is your talent?”
“I am not a mage,” he said.
“You lie,” she snapped.
He shook his head. “You bear the talent. Do you feel any of the power in me?”
With determination, the woman stood and stepped down from the dais. Unlike her warriors, she wore a long, airy, diaphanous robe that danced on a non-existent wind. She circled him several times, her spiral tightening until she came to a stop so close her breasts nearly grazed his chest. She looked up to search his icy gaze. Her callused fingers caressed the bare skin of his arm and then trailed across his shoulder to rest on his chest.
“No, I feel no power from you. It is impossible. You could not have scaled the cliff without it. And … you are warm. You should be wet and frozen.”
Rezkin grasped her hand and held it tightly as he generated a small potential ward. He allowed the tiny ward to dance along her skin, spreading in a prickly wisp up her forearm. Her green-gold eyes widened as she tried to pull back her hand. She was strong, but he was stronger, and he did not release her.
He said, “I am not a mage.” The great mother’s wind and tendrils of power lashed at him, but he held firm as he leaned in and said, “I am something more.”
His potential ward silently crackled and snapped, releasing energy along the fringes of its form. The woman yelped as it burned into her skin. The smell of scorched flesh reached his nostrils as she squirmed and yanked her arm, but she did not call for assistance from her people. When the marks blackened and began to bubble at the edges, he finally released her. It was the first time he had used a potential ward in such a way, and he was surprised that it had worked as he had intended.
The great mother beckoned a young man who rounded the statue, presumably from a hidden corridor. He hurried to her side, and Rezkin felt the trill of power as the healer prodded at the wound. The blisters healed quickly, but the blackened lines remained.
“What have you done to me?” she hissed.
“A reminder of your duty,” Rezkin said. He pointed to the archaic script on the ceiling above the throne, an exact match to the scorch marks on her flesh. “Do you know what those symbols mean?”
She glanced up and then looked at him. With confidence, she said, “It is Jahartan for Riel’sheng dak ro, meaning grantor of death to save the innocent.”
He hummed under his breath. “Actually, it is Adianaik, and it means in service to the Gods. It was universally understood, at the time, that the will of the gods was to protect the innocent. The inscription is a reminder to all that it was the responsibility of the knights who served their respective gods to eliminate those who threatened them.”
“It is the same thing, then.”
“An interpretation rarely holds the full meaning of the intent,” Rezkin said. “Either way, it is something you have forgotten.”
He nodded to where Frisha stood on the balcony at the mercy of her captors. The great mother scoffed and returned to her seat in a huff.
“I have difficulty believing she is ro, considering that she is betrothed to the Raven and protected by the jeng’ri. Regardless, I have no intention of harming the girl.”
“So long as I cooperate,” said Rezkin.
“Your cooperation was guaranteed. We can tell you where to find what you want in exchange for a price. Her presence was merely an assurance that you would not attempt to kill us before we made a deal.” Her lips turned upward into a playful smile. “And we were curious. What kind of woman does the supposed Riel’gesh desire?”
Rezkin sighed in boredom. “I never said I desired her. She was a means to an end—one that is no longer relevant. The betrothal was called off before you took her.”
The woman’s smile fell, and she glanced at Frisha, who was looking at Rezkin in shock.
“Is that so?” the great mother said. She drew her fingers along the glyphs burned into her arm. “You seem very protective of one who means so little.”
He tilted his head. “I was not protecting her. I was protecting you.”
“How so?”
“You are sworn to the code of the Adana’Ro, who follow the path of the Riel’sheng. I take oaths quite seriously. If you break your oath, I will kill you. Shall we move on to negotiations?”
“Very well, but there is nothing to negotiate. We want one thing. If you want the sword, you will bring her to us.”
“Her?”
“Oledia.”
“You wish for me to kidnap Queen Erisial’s daughter?”
The great mother waved her hand, and a black-clad small-woman bearing a tray laden with a pitcher and two goblets came to her side. “Oledia will come willingly. She has written to us several times requesting entrance to the sect. She wishes to learn the skills and develop the strength necessary to claim her mother’s throne, presumably upon Erisial’s death, although I would not put it past her to make the attempt sooner.”
“So, I am to help her escape her mother’s grasp?”
The woman shook her head as she poured liquid into two goblets and took one of them. “No, of course not. That would be too simple, and you know we are perfectly capable. You must bring Oledia to us with her mother’s blessing.”
“Erisial would never grant her daughter to the Adana’Ro.”
“No, she would not, which is why you must convince her. It is the only way she will be permitted to join us and still return to Kielen to claim the throne.”
Rezkin said, “The Riel’sheng do not seek crowns. You are meant to serve, not dominate.”
The woman narrowed her eyes at him. “You are said to be the Riel’gesh, yet you have laid claim to two thrones.” The small-woman with the tray stopped at his side, and the great mother nodded for him to take the goblet. She said, “We do not seek the crown of Lon Lerésh, only to gain influence with its next bearer. Oledia will be released from her duty to us if she is successful.”
The great mother raised her goblet and stared at him expectantly. He peered into the metal cup. The golden-pink liquid was slightly syrupy and smelled of nectar. With a sigh, he raised the goblet, as she did hers, and together they drank.