“Bah, Frisha is with Rezkin,” said Kai. “She could not have remained hidden from him for long. She is fine. Our focus should be on Tam.”
“Agreed,” said Jespia. “If we find him quickly, we may be able to minimize the damage enough to save his life; but, he will never be the same.”
Kai said, “I can go.”
Tieran shook his head. “With the other strikers gone, we need you here.” He tapped the desk as he considered his options. He swallowed hard and then looked to Kai. “Send for Connovan.”
Farson glared at Rezkin as he boarded the ship. He said, “I hear there was a wedding.” Rezkin met his gaze and kept walking. Both strikers followed. “She is upset,” said Farson. “I believe she is in her berth crying at this very moment.”
“Who?”
“Who do you think? Frisha, the woman you were to marry until two days ago.”
“What does it matter? She called it off. Besides, you were the most outspoken against the union. I would think you would be pleased.”
“I am not pleased about you marrying the Leréshi queen.”
Shezar said, “The marriage is not recognized outside of Lon Lerésh.”
“Yes,” said Rezkin as he ducked through the small doorway to his cabin. “Nothing has changed, except that I now have an entire army and sizeable navy at my disposal.”
“I will grant you that,” said Farson. “This will not help matters with Privoth.”
“Privoth will get what he wants—only, it will take a bit longer.”
“What now?”
“Moldovan has the sword.”
Shezar said, “Knowing how much he hates Privoth and that prophecy, he has probably already had it melted down and made into dinnerware.”
“Let us hope that is not the case,” said Rezkin. “Moldovan is a mage. He knows the prophecy is a farce and is unlikely to feel threatened by it. Gendishen takes it seriously, though, so Moldovan is probably holding the sword for ransom.”
Captain Estadd strode through the open doorway and saluted. “Your Majesty, a man is requesting permission to board the ship. It looks as though he intends to stay, but he travels light.”
“I will see to it,” said Shezar.
Rezkin said, “You stay. Farson, see the man aboard. Bring him here.”
Farson glanced between them before leaving. Shezar said, “Do we have a problem?”
Rezkin shook his head. “Not you. Them. Neither should be trusted, yet they are both valuable. Keep an eye on them.”
“Them? Who is coming aboard?”
The dark-haired man ducked into the room, followed by Farson. He wore a servant’s coat but had dropped the air of subjugation. He glanced around the room and nodded “Shezar.”
Shezar appeared surprised. “Akris. It has been some time.”
“Too long,” Akris grumbled. “Who is this?” he said with a nod toward Farson.
“This is Striker Farson.”
“Farson? I do not recognize you, and you are too old to be a new recruit. The name sounds familiar, though.”
“You have likely read it in the histories,” said Rezkin. He looked at Farson. “The accounting of the dead.” The remark elicited a scowl from the surly striker.
“Another long-lost brother, then?” He looked at Shezar. “What of me? Am I dead, too, or just forgotten?”
“Do not lay blame at our feet, Akris. You were to remain at your post on Caydean’s orders, as were all the deployed strikers.”
Akris gave a start. “Some were in far more sensitive positions. It would mean capture or death for them to stay too long.”
“Indeed,” Shezar said, with a hint of sadness. “Roark has gone to recruit those who survive.”
“It is true, then.” He motioned to Rezkin, who had taken a seat at his desk. “You and Roark serve him now. How many others does he have?”
Farson said, “You do not sound as if you are eager to join us, and you ask many questions.”
“I am here, am I not?”
“You could be a spy,” said Shezar.
Akris glanced at Rezkin. “I saw his proof. By the looks of him, I would say there is much he has not disclosed. I saw him put down the queen’s guard in the practice yard, and now he bears the title of First King of Lon Lerésh. I am beginning to believe the rumors. He spreads destruction everywhere he goes, yet those who should be fighting him are staunchly loyal. I would not be fit to be called striker if I were not wary.”
Rezkin said, “I think you overestimate their loyalty. Most of my allies would kill me if the opportunity arose. The rest are more interested in unseating Caydean at the moment. My appeal ends with his reign.”
Akris glanced at the two strikers and then looked back at him. “You are not what I expected. At the palace, you seemed to think yourself quite deserving.”
“No one deserves to be king, and those who desire it do not fully understand the position.”
Akris nodded but appeared suspicious. “You do not seem to think highly of your followers and allies. You believe they will betray you. It speaks of the same madness that is said to possess Caydean.”
“On the contrary. Caydean is chaos without order. He is madness. I am prepared for betrayal because it is dictated by the Rules: 9, 24, 87, 96, 164, and 257.”
“You are a striker,” Akris said with surprise.
Rezkin stood and rounded the desk. He met Farson’s gaze before turning to Akris. “Strikers have honor. I do not. Strikers are praised for their service. I am feared. Strikers belong to a brotherhood. I stand alone. Strikers answer to a master. I am the master. Do not mistake me for a striker.”
Akris said, “You bear a hardness that is difficult to accept in a man so young.”
“The ship is about to set sail,” said Rezkin. “You kneel and swear fealty or leave. This is the only time I will give you a choice. If you choose the latter, I suggest you remain in Lon Lerésh and accept your new life.”
Akris looked at Farson and then Shezar. His gaze lingered on the lightning bolt that adorned the black and green tabard. He turned back to Rezkin. “You are shrewd. Queen Erisial may have gotten what she wanted, but I fear that somehow you had the upper hand. You may see betrayal everywhere, but I trust in my brethren and in King Bordran. The fact that I am here speaks to my intention to serve you. I will follow you, and you will take me home.”
“You do realize, Lord Tieran, that I do not serve you.”
“Yes, I know that,” said Tieran. His voice was a tad weaker than he would have preferred. “But, you are supposed to serve the king of Ashai. Rezkin is the true king. Since his Rez has not been trained, you must serve him.”
Connovan tilted his head in a manner eerily similar to the way Rezkin did. “That is an interesting tale you weave; but, even if that were true, it does not explain why I should do this for you.”
“I am Rezkin’s heir.”
“But not the king.”
“Look, Tam is important to Rezkin. If he were here, he would want you to do it.”
Connovan chuckled. “If this Tam is important to him, then Rezkin would probably not want me anywhere near him.”
“I concede the point, but we need to find Tam. He is Rezkin’s best friend.”
“Is that what he tells everyone? The Rez has no friends.”
Tieran gritted his teeth. “Rezkin is more than the Rez. He is not you.”
“Oh, that one is far worse.”
Tieran paced behind the desk. He stopped to stare at the disturbing painting and then looked back at the most feared assassin in the world. “Tam has only been apprenticing with him for a few months. He cannot fend for himself—”
“This Tam is Rezkin’s apprentice?”
Tieran paused. Connovan’s sudden interest triggered equal amounts of hope and concern. “Yes,” he said slowly, “he has been training him—well, since they met.”
“What does he teach this Tam?”
“Fighting, swordplay,” said Tieran. “Other things, too. He makes him read everything we have to read. Tam complains about the boring subjects, and I cannot say I blame him. That is the whole reason we are in this mess.” He pointed to his temple. “I told you about the hole in his mind. If we don’t get him back soon, he’ll die.”
The Rez looked at him and grinned. “Tell me about Tamarin Blackwater.”
Tieran suddenly worried that he had made a mistake.