22. Chapter 20
Chapter 20
Caelan
T ajawl was dragged away while Eave stood in the corner, her white-knuckled hands clutching shackles smeared with blood. I didn’t like the way she hunched in on herself with her arms wrapped around her stomach.
“Let me see,” I said, and peeled her arms away. Her gash had bled through the simple white shift I’d given her. But it wasn’t my biggest concern.
The fresh punctures marring her cheek—a cheek I owned —bothered me much more than the injury I’d given her in battle. Yellow skin surrounded the wounds in the hollow of Eave’s cheek, the sickly color darkening each moment; tomorrow, they would be purple.
Tajawl had gotten into my room and hurt my property with his fist. For once, Amon was right about something. I should have been here to protect her. Now I owed Amon a blood debt.
Fuck.
The punctures leaked droplets of blood that trickled down Eave’s cheek like tears. I probed each wound for depth, my thumbs stretching her skin tight. Father, her head was so small I could practically encapsulate the entire thing in the palms of my hands.
“Are you all right?” I offered my gentleness quietly.
“Of course,” she said. She was gathering herself. Her arms dropped to her sides and her shoulders pulled back. The brave mask that Tajawl had knocked off was settling back into place.
There was blood dried on her cheek near her lips. Without thinking, I spat on her face. She jumped, her breath catching, then coming faster as I rubbed gently to cleanse the blood away. I could’ve asked for water, but it was an instinct of the moment. I had not even considered how the intimate act of spitting on her might quicken my own blood, and hers. Heat rose in the space between our bodies, which were close but not touching. We were dual suns circling each other, making each other hotter.
Was it anger or arousal that made her breath come so fast? Perhaps both. I felt both.
“These are deeper than I’d like,” I said, to diffuse the tension I hadn’t meant to summon. It was deep wounds that festered, nurturing diseases in their depths.
“They’ll be fine.”
“You sound as though you’ve healed from such wounds before.”
“Of course. I’ve lived with demons for cycles. This is not the first time I’ve been hit by one.”
Images of Tanead beating her face until it was peppered with such marks flew into my mind. I should’ve fucking killed him in the plains.
Eave’s hand came up to rest on my forearm. I felt pressure rather than sensation there; my scars from Arbaaz’ claws were thick. “During sparring,” she clarified.
“Can the Touched read minds?” I asked her, admitting that she’d understood the direction of my thoughts.
“Only the minds of dragons.”
I looked at her sharply. “Can you read the mind of the dragon that was just born?”
“Asherah. Yes. It’s more like pictures and feelings than words.”
My heart hammered. Such an ability could be a powerful weapon against the Reborn. I should turn Eave over to the priests of the Temple of Divine Right as soon as we returned home. Offer my father two prizes instead of one. But as soon as the thought entered my mind, I knew I wouldn’t do it. Eave was mine now.
My very own secret weapon.
“The dragon is alive?”
“Of course. She was born during the eclipse. But you already knew that.”
Yes, I did.
“Has she Bonded?”
“No. She’ll Bond with Tanead.”
“Why’s that?” I’d stemmed the bleeding in her face and my hands had fallen back by my sides.
Eave laughed. “Do you think I will offer you the secrets of the gods so that you can kill them?”
I went to the sideboard and poured myself a glass of wine. Eave's eyes hungrily eyed the bread and fruit. I’d intended to bathe her with my own hands and then after, reward her with grapes and wine. But the mark across her back had shattered the mood building between us.
It was a reminder that she wasn’t mine. Not truly. Not yet. I could tell her what to do and make her do it. I could toy with her and pretend. But as soon as she bowed, her body would shatter the illusion, reminding me where her true loyalties lay.
I raised my glass. “To the death of the gods.” The traditional Slayer toast had new meaning now that one of those gods was more than a distant memory. I drained the glass. “You may eat and drink. Then we sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day.”
***
I woke early to oversee the preparations of the soldiers. Junaid’s death had robbed them of their High Commander and morale was low after the losses taken during Tanead’s escape attempt. Though Commander Idris was all but guaranteed to fill Junaid’s position, it wouldn’t be official until my father formally made it so. There were no congratulations as he circulated among the men. It was considered ill luck for warriors to celebrate a boon brought about by the death of a comrade.
“Wish I could fucking kill ‘im meself,” one man said to me of Tanead.
“Lucky you’ll get to torture him, eh?” said another. The sentiment was echoed all around me.
I felt Joab’s loss strongly as our troops approached readiness. More than once, I turned to address him and found him missing. No thudding boots mirrored my every step. There was no one I trusted to bring Eave down to me.
“I want to see Baris,” I told a soldier. The idea had come all at once, and seemed obvious as soon as it occurred to me.
Baris approached with a comfortable rolling walk.
“You look well-rested,” I said, not quite voicing my relief at his lack of injury.
“A bed’s a fine thing, as I was recently reminded.”
“Yes, it is.”
We fell into an unusually awkward silence. I suspected Baris might know already why I’d called him, but if he did, he didn’t say. He only blinked up at me with patience, rocking slightly back and forth on his toes. He was always moving, always ready. It was why I needed him. That, and my trust in the man.
“Look, Baris, I need a new guard. Will you take the position?” My father or Amon would’ve managed to make it sound like they were bestowing a great honor, but my offer came out gruff and direct.
Baris’ eyes narrowed slightly. “I’m not qualified.”
“Of course you are. There’s no man better with a sword.”
“Doubtful. But that’s not what I mean.”
I knew just what Baris meant. He wasn’t a lord. Though his grandfather had been Lord of the Embrace before Baris was born, he sided with the Traitor and lost his title, his lands, and his head. Baris’ father had been allowed to live as a landless nobody. It was this shame that Baris hoped to overcome with loyal service and excellence at swordsmanship, but such things followed a man regardless of excellence.
“I know what you mean and I care nothing for it. I say you’re qualified,” I said.
Baris leaned in. There were always ears listening. "Prince, I must council wisdom, which I do not believe this to be. I am the grandson of a traitor. You must not be seen to elevate such a man.”
“Why did you pick up a sword in the first place if not to elevate your position? Do you think you hide your ambitions so well that I don’t know about them?” I was growing angry. I just wanted him to say yes.
“That’s different.”
“Why?” I was too loud and a man nearby looked over. He leaned slightly in our direction, straining to hear more.
Baris spoke in the same low, measured voice as before. “In the army, a man earns his way up through swordsmanship alone. He may make a name for himself through his skill. Such humble work may, through generations, wash the shame of my name clean.”
“If you’re satisfied with so little, then I don’t understand you.” I said plainly. “But anyway, fuck the honor of the position. Is that all you see in it? I need a man I can trust.”
“People will talk if you trust a traitor’s blood so easily.”
“Let them talk. It’s no concern of yours.”
Baris pursed his lips. Strategic calculation took place in his eyes. I’d never seen him like this before. He was so light-hearted, never took anything seriously. I’d expected him to accept with little thought or hassle.
I sighed and spoke nearly in a whisper. “Look, Baris. I need a man I can trust to do more than just protect me with his life. Not to say that’s nothing—Joab died for it. But I valued the other things he offered just as much. His back to mine in a fight. His lips closed to everything his ears heard and his eyes saw. He was a man I could trust, and so are you. I could find a dozen good swordsmen, but I know few men I wouldn’t worry about leaving in a room alone with my new companion. I know only one man I wouldn’t mind standing outside the door while I’m in there with her. And that’s you. So will you take the position?”
Baris sank to a knee with grace and bowed his head. Eyes looked on all around us, but that was fine. It would soon be no secret that I’d made him my new personal guard.
“Prince Caelan, it would be an honor. I vow to protect your life with my own. Your secrets will be kept safe in a vault in my heart. From now until your dismissal or the end of my life, I am your servant, loyal to you above all others, even my own mum.”
It was a traditional vow, embellished some by Baris, of course. He couldn’t help but make even sacred words sound like a joke. But the seriousness of the commitment was still there beneath his teasing.
As he spoke the words, I felt a pang of loss and a hint of doubt. He’d been my friend before, but this commitment changed things between us. He could not be my friend anymore—not in the same way. I’d just given up one of the only friends I had.
“Hers, too,” I said, forcing myself to sound strict and not to think about how I would feel if Baris ever lost his life protecting me and mine.
“Whatever is yours, I will protect,” Baris intoned with great solemnity.
I cleared my throat as the moment dragged on. “Good. Between you and me, you might have to protect me and mine from her ."
Baris' eyebrows rose, but he stayed uncharacteristically silent and nodded solemnly in understanding.
"Stand up, then, damn it.”
Baris grinned as he rose.
I wanted to thank the man, but I felt too emotional to risk it with so many eyes watching. I’d find some way to do it later.
“Go get my companion and my things.” I slipped the key to her shackles from my pocket and passed it to him covertly.
Baris raised another eyebrow at that, but said nothing, and I didn’t explain. At court, I’d be able to claim that Eave wore chains to serve my sexual enjoyment. But here in this fortress, alone in my chamber? I had no such excuse. I couldn’t allow people to realize how tenuous my control over her really was.
It occurred to me that I’d just claimed a rebel as my personal companion and the grandson of a traitor as my personal guard. Maybe Baris had a point about how this would be perceived. I’d have to be very careful with who saw Eave’s tattoo and knew of her hatred for my family.
As soon as Baris left, I called for Tajawl to be brought up. The troops returning with us to the capital were already mounted on their alwashi. Arbaaz was hidden away in the mews wagon, watched over by Selim. Wagons of supplies stood ready to roll out.
A dozen men retrieved Tajawl from his dragonstone cell. The warped hilts of the swords he’d stolen from the guards were proof that Tajawl could melt metal, despite what Eave had told me. Only dragonstone was impervious to his powers. Had she known and lied, or been mistaken about the full range of his magic? Another damned mystery.
The dragonstone shackles that now adorned Tajawl’s wrists and ankles had been found in an old storage locker, along with the dragonstone spears carried by his current escorts. They shoved him with the tips instead of touching him as he shuffled out the gate.
Father, he looked bad. His face was a mass of purple lumps and red skin scraped raw. His nose was twisted. The dried blood on him had not been cleaned. His body had fared better. He could walk, at least, though he stumbled with his eyes swollen and half-closed.
“Good morning,” I called cheerfully. Eave had arrived just before Tajawl and was mounted on Ufuk, waiting for me.
No cocky, clever answer from Tanead. Only silence. We’d deprived him of water; perhaps his throat had trouble making sounds. But I thought he would scream just fine.
“You damaged my property last night. You killed some of my men.” I spoke loudly so those gathered could hear. The vengeance I was about to take was for me, oh yes, but it was also for them. They’d lost some of their own.
“You’re welcome,” Tanead croaked. “She’s a traitorous bitch and your men didn’t deserve to live.” The words were strong but the volume of them was weak. I doubt they carried to the men behind me.
I imagined striding up to him and slicing my sword across his throat. Blood would waterfall down his clothes and the pale purplish cast of death would color his face. I wanted to do it.
But the difference between Amon and me was that I considered military assets and responsibility, and not just the song of bloodlust that made my fingers itch to draw my scimitar.
“Bring me a hammer and stone,” I declared.
Tajawl began to chuckle as we waited, a nervous sound. It was music washing over me, soothing my rage.
The hammer and stone table arrived, and trailing them came my brother with a wary curiosity on his face. I worried he might interfere, but he only crossed his arms over his chest and leaned easily against the side of a wagon.
“Bring me a flagon of ale,” he commanded a servant. He was here to watch the show.
Tanead stopped laughing when I laid his hand down on the stone block and told a guard to restrain his wrist.
“Prince Caelan, Demonhunter. It’s work to live up to a name, isn’t it, Brother?”
I ignored Tanead’s words, my focus on his hand. I turned it to the side so his thumb pointed to the sky. The tips of his fingers were scarred from cuts that had been cauterized. “I suggest you keep still. It is not my intention to shatter your hand, but accidents do happen. Make a fist.”
He obeyed me, and the thrill of his obedience passed through me like lightning. I didn’t allow it to distract me from his hand as I raised the hammer into the air and brought it down hard on the horn of bone that jutted from his first knuckle.
Tanead grunted. The force of the blow must’ve been tremendous, reverberating up his arm. But I’d aimed true. Tiny shards of bone littered the table. The horn on his first knuckle was missing its tip. Only a flat circle of bone still protruded from his skin.
On to the next one. And the next.
The third had a thin ring of dried blood around the base. Even I wasn’t sure if it was an accident when my hammer struck his hand, shattering both horn and knuckle. Tanead grunted, a controlled scream. He shook, but he did not unfurl his hand or try to take it back. Instead, he brought his ruined face very close to me, breathing hot breath on my cheek, impaling me with his attention.
I shattered the last two horns. Then I dropped the hammer and walked away from him. I strode to Ufuk, nodding to Idris on my way. He glanced to my brother for permission before shouting, “Move out!”
Wagons lurched and men shouted their assent. Alwashi cantered forward.
But Amon still leaned casually against a wagon, drinking his ale. He called me over and I went, with Eave seated behind me on Ufuk. I twisted my mount to keep her behind me, but his eyes swept by me to find her anyway.
“I hope you don’t mind my little display, Brother,” I said. “Only I heard you wanted to take his hands. I thought I’d get you started.”
Amon’s lips curled into a smile. “I like a good show in the morning.”
I nodded curtly, wondering when Amon’s fangs would next snap at my leg. Right now, he had the credit for the capture of Tanead and he had my blood debt. He was feeling magnanimous. But eventually, he’d come for Eave, just because he could.
“Perhaps I should be afraid of you after all, Prince Caelan,” Eave murmured as we trotted forward.
“You should. Me and only me.” I spun in my seat to meet her eyes. “You’re mine now, Eave. If anyone else touches you, a shattered hand will be the least of their punishment. But if you come after me in my own court, well…” I allowed the threat to hang unsaid in the air and grinned a feral smile, allowing the cruelty I kept locked down to leak free and show on my face.
Eave swallowed, her eyes nervous. Did I imagine that they also looked intrigued?
I threaded through the troops, correcting positions and ensuring order. If we put Tanead in a wagon, he’d set it on fire, so he was condemned to walk to the capital on the end of a long chain. Guards flanked him to be sure he didn’t run forward to touch the mount that chained him. Given the pace I intended to set, I didn’t think Tanead would be running anywhere.
I stood lightly on my toes in the stirrups, bouncing easily with the gait of the animal. The clean earthy scent of him brushed my nostrils, the heat of the day baking it, strengthening it. Eave’s hands rested lightly on my hips. I’d given her a woman’s riding dress—pants beneath a billowing skirt wide enough to span Ufuk’s back. It was plain. Already I thought ahead to the silks I’d dress her in at court. The colors I’d choose, and how I might show off her body, or hide it.
The Fortress of Archeon’s Last Breath disappeared behind us like a mirage, hazy in the waves made by the heated air, swallowed by distance. A black smudge amongst green razor grasses and purple sky. The place was a grotesque statue of remembrance, a corpse made to house kings, and yet I felt strangely at home there. There was nothing glittering about the stark and unforgiving dragonstone. It held none of the artifice of my father’s chosen seat, the Palace of the Suns. It was a warrior’s castle, the one Calathan the Conqueror himself had ruled from, along with his son and grandson.
Perhaps that’s why I preferred it. I’d always felt a special connection to the Dragonslayer, who was a powerful altayr. I’d named Arbaaz after his bird. While Calathan fought Archeon, Arbaaz flew on the thermals in the fiery air, getting close to Archeon’s eyes. He gouged them out with his claws and Calathan was able to sneak in close and land a killing blow.
Selim, the Imperial Falconer who trained me in secret, was furious when I named Arbaaz. Too telling, he said. But my disguise had held. Until now.
Junaid's death meant my secret was still safe, but I had no delusions about Selim's reaction. I'd deliberately avoided him since returning to Archeon to put off the scolding. But he had a right to know what had happened. Nobody had ever done more to protect me.
We followed the river north. In my imagination, the wide, snaking riverbed was red, frothing with white bubbles and littered with the bobbing heads of corpses. Such fanciful thoughts were the result of my childhood reading of tales of the many battles that had happened here. Today the river was a clean, fresh blue, topped by white caps that danced around rocks.
At lunch, I instructed Baris to shadow Eave and I sought out Selim alone. I passed Priest Farad as I walked. He offered me a formal bow of respect. Something about him set me on edge, though I figured he was just another ambitious backwater clergyman hoping to find promotion in the capital.
Selim was with the mews wagon, of course. The small messenger pigeons within cowered away from Arbaaz, who took up an entire corner of the wagon on his own, the golden feathers topping his head nearly grazing the ceiling.
“He wants to fly,” I noted.
Selim bowed deeply, the picture of propriety and formality. “Good morning, my prince.”
I gestured for him to rise. Though Selim was well past middle age and ought to have retired already, his work had kept him limber and he had no sons to pass his job to. The strength it took simply to hold out one’s arm and allow an Imperial Eagle to rest there was staggering, and yet I’d seen Selim do it dozens of times.
There was an old tale from many generations ago when the palace was under siege. It was said that the Imperial Falconer, who had turned traitor, held the iron gate open by resting it on his shoulders. It broke his back, but not before three hundred men snuck beneath its points. That’s how strong an Imperial Falconer must be. The birds we flew were giants.
But Selim had gotten old in the cycles since I’d first run to the mews, sobbing and fearful of the sudden manifestation of powers I didn’t understand. Lines now spidered around his warm brown eyes. He wore a turban above a well-trimmed beard. He’d told me his family came from the hills in the northern Flesh, but in all the time we’d spent together, he’d never shared other personal details.
“It is a good sign,” he said, responding to my comment about Arbaaz.
I frowned. “Why? Has he been unwell?”
“No, my prince. Only tired after his return.” I heard the question that hid beneath the comment. It was always like this with us, our exchanges guarded and clipped.
It was Selim’s idea to keep my magic a secret when it initially manifested at the age of eight. I still remembered his hand wrapped around my upper arm, shaking me in little bursts to punctuate his words. “What do you think the emperor will do if he finds out you carry the ancient power the Father offered to rulers of your line when he and your older brother do not? Do you think he will hug you and be proud? Think, little prince, think.” His eyes flew to the corners of the mews as if afraid a spy might be crouched in a corner.
I knew my father well enough to answer. He would use me if I was lucky. A suspicious accident would claim me if I wasn’t.
And it turned out Selim was right. Just my frequent trips to the mews were enough to raise my father’s suspicion. For reasons I still didn’t understand, he flew into a rage upon discovering my love of falconry and ripped my fledgling eagle apart in front of me.
After that, I couldn’t even meet Selim at the mews to practice my magic. He sought me out in secret, bringing the smallest falcons he had for me to practice on. These thoughts drew my mind to Junaid’s betrayal, and I wondered how to tell Selim about it in coded words.
“My raid demanded strenuous flying,” I said. “He was in the air for days, he flew quite far. Further than I believe he ever has.”
Selim’s eyebrows didn’t even twitch to demonstrate surprise, if he felt any, yet I suspected he understood my true meaning—that I’d stretched the limits of my connection to the bird further than ever before.
“Did he encounter any enemies? I noted some cuts on him,” Selim said. I doubted this was true. If it was, he would have shown them to me.
“Yes. He was forced to defend himself on a hunt.”
Selim’s mildly clipped tone betrayed his disapproval. “That must have been something to watch.” Did anybody see him protect you?
I hesitated. I’d decided not to tell my father the truth about Junaid’s death, but Selim wasn’t my father. “Yes,” I said. “Junaid Fakoury witnessed it before he died. As did my prisoner, Tanead Tajawl.” Somehow, I didn’t mention that Eave knew, too. Even the deepest bonds of trust only go so far.
Selim’s eyes sharpened at my confession. His mind must be whirring, considering all the possible scenarios that could fit with the few details I’d given him.
“A blessing you returned safely, my prince,” Selim said, his formality returning, offering not a single hint of anything beneath the mask.
“Yes. Take care of him on the road, Imperial Falconer,” I said as I began to walk away. “I’ll see that he’s settled when we get to Havard.” I’ll tell you the whole story when we get home.
“As you wish, Prince Caelan.” The old man bowed as I walked away.