Chapter Eighteen Decision #3
They separated and circled each other, both moving to their right. The Prince no longer felt the icy coldness he’d felt with Tomaz. Leah always managed to provoke him, no matter what he did. Well, this would shut her up, once and for all.
He rushed forward, sword flashing from side to side, the weight of the valerium blade perfect for his fighting style. The girl dodged away, daggers flashing.
He spun to follow her, and this time managed to force her to engage. He swung for her head, a brutal blow that would have decapitated her in actual battle; but she ducked, and the sword sailed over her head. She stepped forward and thrust her daggers at his stomach and chest.
Using his momentum, he twisted away, and the daggers passed within inches of striking him.
The crowd gave out a yell, half cheers and half disappointed groans. The Prince tuned them out and retreated back across the arena, studying the girl. She shifted so that she was holding both daggers down by her sides, and eyed him too.
She was too fast for him, he knew that. He wouldn’t be able to beat her the way he’d beaten Tomaz. What she lacked was his reach and the weight of his blade.
He shifted into the Warrior sword style, blade held high, directly over his head, and stepped into the center of the practice arena, watching her circle.
She feinted left, then charged him, but before she could close the distance, he brought the sword down, and she only barely dodged to the side. But then she was in his face, and all thought of tactics disappeared as he simply strove to meet her twin daggers with his sword.
He didn’t know for how long they fought; it seemed like a moment somehow suspended in time.
Their bodies spun and their weapons clashed, striking out again and again, neither able to land a blow.
They were both panting now, gasping heavily, but still moving, unable to stop, caught up in the deadly dance, pushing each other and being pushed in return.
And then out of the corner of the Prince’s eye, he saw Lorna and Davydd come up next to Tomaz, and a thought passed through his mind.
It hit him like a lightning bolt, and suddenly everything was clear to him.
He knew what the Prince of Oxen was doing, and he knew how he was getting so close to Vale.
In his shock, he fumbled a simple parry and found Leah, breathing in gasping pants, with her dagger at his throat, her face an inch away from his.
There was a loud burst of sound, and the large crowd of gathered soldiers cheered Leah’s win.
A number of Rogue and Ranger pairs swarmed the arena.
One stopped to grasp the Prince’s hand; something was said to him, but he didn’t hear it.
He was looking from Davydd to Lorna to Tomaz to Leah, back again to Davydd.
A tracking spell.
It was a Bloodmage trick, weaved into the making of Daemons.
It was rare because it was only activated upon the Daemon’s destruction…
and it required the sacrificial death of a Bloodmage to create the bond.
But Bloodmages who had been moving through the mountain ranges of Roarke must have known that there was a way for Exiles to destroy Daemons.
And if the Prince knew his brother Ramael, he didn’t doubt that the Prince of Oxen had forced a Bloodmage to submit to the torturous sacrifice on the off chance the Daemon would be fought and destroyed.
If the group that the spell latched onto remained in close proximity, then the spell would allow the Bloodmages to track them from one edge of the world to the other…
or through centuries-old enchantments, leading an invading army and a Prince of the Realm straight toward the city of Vale.
At that instant the crowd parted and there was Leah, beaming at the praise from those around her.
She lifted her head, and their eyes met, and the Prince realized just how stunning she was when she smiled.
It was as if the hard stony exterior she so often assumed was pulled away, leaving behind just a girl.
A rebel, said a voice in the back of his head.
And the Prince of Oxen was coming to kill her.
A crack formed in the hard, bitter hate that had encased him the night before.
The crack spread, splintering and spiraling outward, and when it reached the edges of his mind it shattered.
Just that easily, the icy stillness that had given him clarity and helped him harden his heart melted and ran, and his breath came faster.
He spun on his heel and began moving through the crowd that was still cheering Leah’s victory. A victory that would be short-lived indeed if his brother arrived with no warning. He would come here and she would be smiling no more, she would only be—
A rebel!
He neared the edge of the large domed building, turned a corner, and sank to the ground, finding himself alone in the stone-lined hallway.
His brother was coming; he could feel the energy from the Ox Talisman shining like a bright red light in his mind.
This was his chance at redemption if he wanted it.
He could claim credit for the tracking spell, claim he’d known that it was in place, that by doing nothing he had helped his brother overthrow the Exiled Kindred and reclaim the final piece of the Empire.
But what if that wasn’t good enough? What if even that didn’t lead to redemption?
“It will!” he hissed out loud. The spitting, hateful noise echoed down the corridor. He clutched his head in his hands.
Are you a rebel, too? Or are you a good and loyal son?
Nearly two decades of training under the hands of the Empress, the Children, and the Imperial Scholars crashed down on him, blanking out his mind and trying to wipe such a terrible thought out as if it were an ink blot spreading quickly over a clean piece of parchment.
But he couldn’t do it this time, and his mind kept working.
He was sitting in the very heart of the enemy’s capital city, welcomed as a friend, welcomed by a people who should have hated him, and had every reason to kill him on sight if they knew him for who he was.
His brother was approaching, coming closer with every minute—every breath he took was a breath wasted if he wished to warn the Kindred.
But if he remained silent, if he allowed his brother to attack the Exiled Kindred, it would be the end.
There would be no more Kindred, there would be no more resistance. The Empire’s power would be complete.
The Prince of Oxen was not the leader that Rikard was, but this job required no finesse.
He was a club, and the city of Vale little more than an overripe fruit.
He was ruthless, heartless, concerned only with physical power—conquering, destruction, annihilation of the Empire’s enemies.
If the Prince of Oxen found this place, marched on it with his army, he would crush them all.
This valley, while well hidden, was not defensible against the likes of him.
And if I help him, the Prince thought, I’ll be allowed to come home. They’ll HAVE to take me back then. If I open the gates to let the army in, or sabotage the defense with false information or… or take out the Council of Elders.
Chills ran down his back at this final thought.
Yes. He’d entertained the thought wildly the night before, but he knew he could truly do it.
Strike off the head of the snake, and that would be it.
The Prince of Oxen would arrive to find no resistance, and the Prince of Ravens would be hailed as the greatest servant of the Empress the Empire had ever seen.
He’d be known as the one who made the attack possible, who had infiltrated what could not be infiltrated.
But could he betray the Kindred? Did they deserve it?
Of course they do! he roared at himself. They’re lawfully opposing the rule of the Empress; they deserve their fate!
The assassination attempt on his seventeenth name day flickered across his vision. He remembered the slave auction in Banelyn. He felt the depths of despair to which he’d sunk in the bowels of the Seeker’s lair.
And he saw again the scars that covered the body of Leah Goldwyn, daughter of the Exiled Kindred, Spellblade, eshendai, traitor, rebel, criminal, outlaw, wanted for conspiracy to overthrow the Empire, the crime for which was death, death so gruesome that—
No! a tiny voice sobbed, forcing the litany to stop.
His wanted to remain stoic, he wanted to blot out all emotion. But a single tear traced a line from the corner of his eye, down his cheek, and along the line of his jaw. Slowly, it fell, and by the time it had reached the ground, he was on his feet and moving.
He had made up his mind, once and for all.
A quick surge of energy, and he was moving down the corridor, purpose lending the strength and speed of determination to his movements.
As he made his way back toward the arena, his mind was working ceaselessly, counting cracks in the wall, noticing tiny defects, anything to keep from thinking too deeply about what he was about to do.
He rounded the corner and saw that the crowd gathered around Leah had mostly died down, though there were some who were asking her questions about her technique. Davydd and Lorna had disappeared. Good—they would only get in the way.
The Prince began to move toward Leah but stopped, catching sight of a looming figure off to the side, sitting in the shadows honing an enormous greatsword with an equally large whetstone. The Prince changed course and made for Tomaz.
“Well, Raven,” the big man said, “what did you think of…?”
The mountainous man trailed off into silence as he met the Prince’s gaze. Surprise and wariness combined with the barest hint of fear crossed the large, bearded face.
“Where are the Elders meeting?” the Prince asked without preamble.
Tomaz’s eyebrows rose.
“Why would you need to know that?”