The Ruin of Kings (A Chorus of Dragons, #1)

That left me on the beach with my new “teacher.”

Doc beckoned. “Come on. Let’s not stay here. At some point the Old Man will figure out he was tricked, and it would be best for all of us if we’re not out in the open when he returns.”

“Tricked…” I hefted the harp. “You’re the reason he acted so weird?”

“Yes. Now follow me. It’s time for your first lesson.”

“I’m injured. I haven’t slept.”

Doc gave me a hard look. “And it will be a while before you do. Your enemies won’t wait for you to be well rested before they strike. Why should I do differently before we train?”

“You’ve got to be joking.”

He didn’t smile. He wasn’t joking.

Doc walked back toward the caves. I watched him go before turning back to the ocean, and the draconic volcano the Old Man was still building. Doc was right: the Old Man would come back. He wouldn’t be happy when he did. Then there was the matter of what Doc had done to make the dragon attack thin air. How had he pulled that off? How had he disintegrated that wall? Was he a wizard?

There was only one way I was going to find out.

I followed him.

Doc led me past the caves, to the far side of the mountain, where he stopped before some recently cleared vines and an old stone door. I hadn’t seen this place before. Hell, this might have been the first door I’d seen yet on the island. I didn’t think they used doors there.

For someone who claimed he wasn’t a member of the Black Brotherhood, Doc seemed to know all their secrets.

Doc pushed against the door. It swung openly easily, even though it was carved from a ton of solid basalt. I expected darkness beyond, but I guess Doc really had been waiting for me, because lamps were lit. The room looked more like something associated with the temple than the natural caves the Brotherhood using for sleeping quarters. The floor was satin smooth and the walls looked like scales carved straight from the rock itself. The accoutrements of weapons training—a rack of blunted swords, wooden mannequins, a training ring with positions—lined the walls and marked the floor.

A loaf of crusty bread and a pot of tea sat on a table. Smelling them, I was reminded I hadn’t eaten since the day before.

I set the harp down by the door and pointed to the food. “May I?”

Doc nodded. “Help yourself.”

I did. The tea was plain and the bread was a rough, dark grain, but both were at that moment the most delicious things I had ever eaten.

I looked up from the food. “You’re not human, are you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Well, I have been accused of being hard on my students.”

“No, I meant…” I paused, exhaled, tried again. Everything was a bit fuzzy, kind of like feeling drunk. “You’re too tall, you’re wearing that tsali stone, there’s that thing between you and Khaemezra, and the way you act like you’ve hated Teraeth’s father for a thousand years. Which I’m thinking might be literally true. I figure that makes you some kind of vané, just disguising yourself as human. You get bored in the Manol or something?”

“Color me surprised. You’re not as stupid as you look. Although your guess is based on a few fallacies. For example: Khaemezra isn’t vané.”

I blinked at him. “What?”

He shrugged. “She’s not vané. There are other races in the world besides vané and human. Originally there were four, all immortal, but gradually the races fell, lost their immortality. The vané are the only immortal race left. The others? The voras became human. The vordredd and the voramer retreated and hid. Khaemezra is voramer.”

I exhaled. “Not immortal. So that’s why she looks old.”

“Khaemezra looks old because she wants to look old.”

“Wait. What does that make Teraeth?”

“Complicated.” He laughed. “Never let it be said the goddess Thaena doesn’t have a sense of humor. Or should I be thanking Galava for that practical joke?”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about.” Eating wasn’t helping my dizziness. I still felt weak.

“I’d be surprised if you did.”

I tried to focus my eyes, my thoughts, but they kept slipping away. “Why … why are the vané the only race that’s still immortal?”

“Ah.” He sighed and looked down at his hands. “That’s my fault.”

“What? You’re personally responsible?”

“Yes. Me personally. The vané were supposed to have been the ones to sacrifice their immortality, not the voramer. It was, as they say, our turn.” Doc slapped the table and stood. “Ancient history. What’s important now is that you have a great deal to learn,” Doc said, “and as you’ve seen, your enemies will not go easy on you because you’re young and inexperienced. For that reason, neither can I.”

The edges of my vision blurred. I looked at the cup of tea. Neatly camouflaged among the rest of the tea leaves floated small slivers of riscoria weed.

Wine was the best way to hide the taste, but strong tea was almost as good.

“I take back what I said about you being smarter than you look. A smart man would have been much more paranoid about eating or drinking something handed to you by a stranger,” Doc said.

“You—” But my intention to call him bad names and hurt his feelings was short lived. Dizziness overwhelmed me.

My blurring sight became a soft blackness that wrapped around me and gently pulled me down to the stone floor.





46: THE CRYPT





(Talon’s story)

“We’re not supposed to be here,” Galen cautioned as they crouched together in a five-foot-high servant’s access at the far side of the palace. He held up a blackened iron key with sober dignity. Galen regretted showing the hidden room to his new brother so soon, but he relished the opportunity to share such a juicy secret. He didn’t see any way his new brother could fail to be impressed.

Kihrin grinned at Galen. “Aw, but that’s when it’s the most fun.”

Galen couldn’t help himself. “Yes! It is, isn’t it? Uncle Bavrin showed me this room, and I think he learned about it from one of his older brothers, Sedric or Doniran, before they died. I come here when I don’t want anyone to be able to find me.”

He unlocked the door and pushed against it. It didn’t open smoothly, even though Galen always oiled the hinges. The edges of the rough flagstone floor caught at the base of the door. Galen kicked at the bottom until the edge cleared the worst of the obstruction and the gap widened enough to allow them both to enter. Slipping inside had been easier when he was ten.

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