Chapter 8 Brothers in Arms #2
It would not be an easy weapon to conceal—but that wouldn’t be a concern in the Abyss. He imagined the roar of the shot, the recoil that would jolt through his arm, and the unmistakable impact of its shined ammunition.
Would it stop a daemon at twenty paces? Fifty paces? A hundred?
He needed to test it, but how?
Suddenly, the door opened behind him.
“Elias! There you are, you stormy stag! Why are you lurking about in the dark on this happy day?”
“Kiran,” Elias grunted, glancing up from the gun.
First Officer Kiran Kindale strolled into the dark room with a familiar pep in his step.
He wore a white jacket and trousers with a dark indigo vest underneath, a stunning ensemble that perfectly complemented his warm brown skin tone.
His hair, styled in a mop of careless curls, was dark brown at the roots and faded into a blondish-gold color at the ends.
His eyes were a stunning reddish amber. Kiran’s family hailed from the island kingdom of Illysea, where his rank was similar to a baron.
Illysea’s princess was engaged to Forsynthia’s crown prince, so the island’s food and clothing were very trendy at the moment.
Kiran’s breezy accent, curly hair and brown skin were almost a fad.
Elias raised an ironic eyebrow at his old friend.
His father had taken on Kiran as a ward when he was still a boy, so Kiran and Elias grew up like brothers.
Both Luminaries enlisted in the army together when the Daemon King spawned a decade ago.
Still, the two noble sons were like night and day.
Kiran was shorter and outgoing, with a puckish nose and a jester's grin.
Elias was taller, paler, quieter, and more withdrawn.
With a tap of his fingers, Kiran activated the shined sconces on either side of the door. Red flames flickered to life, casting an ethereal glow about the study.
“Red?” Kiran muttered. “Why did you change them?”
“The blue light bothers my eyes.”
“Is that why you're hiding in here? The daylight? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were turning into a daemon.”
“Let’s not jest,” Elias said in a low voice.
“Your mother is looking for you, you know. She was awfully upset that you didn’t show up to the Teacup Tournament. She’s trying to draw you out.”
“I have no interest in fencing.”
“Why not? You spend all day overseeing new recruits at Firehelm Fortress. I thought a little swordplay would rouse your passions. Two gold medalists competed for your hand, and you weren’t even there! It was absolutely delightful. Your mother was fuming.”
“I was dealing with party business, if you must know. Her party business.”
“I don’t believe it. That’s why your father hired a steward.”
“That’s what I thought, too.” After a pause, Elias asked, “Do we have any guests from Sera’naya attending the ball?”
“How should I know? I haven’t seen any.” Kiran strolled across the room and flopped down on the high-backed chair behind the desk.
He kicked his boots up onto the walnut wood tabletop and put his arms behind his head.
“I hate to side with your mother on this, but it’s your birthday party. You should at least greet your guests!”
“A party I didn’t want on a day I care nothing for,” Elias grumbled. “I have more pressing concerns to deal with.”
“Like what?” Kiran gave him a reproachful look.
“Like this.” Elias held up the gun. Kiran’s face instantly changed.
“What’s that?” Kiran gasped.
“The guildmaster from Gigas calls it an anti-mana pistol.”
As Elias described the Starcaster’s dual-chamber action, Kiran leaned forward across the desk, a manic light entering his amber eyes as he gazed at the new weapon. He pushed an unruly lock of blondish-brown curls from his face.
“Posh,” Kiran murmured in admiration. “Will these become standard issue for the Daemonguard?”
“As soon as they’re proven safe . . . yes.” Elias raised a dark eyebrow in thought. “On that note, how is your new hand?”
“Thank you for asking.” Kiran lifted up his right hand, displaying a shiny gold prosthetic with five moving fingers and a detachable wristwatch. “Flexible.”
“I see you haven’t blown it off yet.”
“Third time’s the charm,” Kiran winked. “These flimsy prosthetics were designed for old diabetics in mind, not S-rank soldiers. But Dr. Shelley tells me this one should be more resilient. I take it as a challenge. We’ll see if I can’t blow it off by Brumadir.”
Elias smirked. His right hand twitched. He glanced down at it, then away.
Kiran noticed. His face fell slightly. “You can laugh, you know. I do. I don’t regret it at all. After what you did, the whole kingdom owes you their right hand.”
“I know.”
His oldest friend cleared his throat and forced a jovial smile. “Now, do I get to play with your new toy, or are you keeping it all to yourself?”
“It’s not loaded,” Elias said, passing the new weapon to his second in command.
Kiran spun the gun about in his shined hand as though he was born with a Starcaster in his grip.
He made the weapon’s clunky size look sleek and lightweight.
The gun’s shined plating caught the solitary beam of light from the window, casting a mesmerizing glimmer across the polished wood floor.
Kiran marveled at the intricate craftsmanship, his fingers tracing the smooth slide.
Barbaros’s artificers had made it beautiful, with filigree engraved on the interlocking gold and silver components.
“Well, this is a mighty fine piece of ingenuity,” Kiran finally said and placed the gun back down on the desk.
He climbed to his feet. “I wanted to check on you, but I see you’re just as moody and sullen as I expected.
Your mother sent me with a message—she has invited you to dinner with Meister Barbaros.
They’ll be in the dinette just off the library this evening.
His daughters will be joining him.” Kiran waggled his eyebrows.
“They’re twins, you know. They’re quite lovely.
And they’re dying to meet the Mad Dog duke. ”
“I’ll take my dinner alone in my office, Kiran,” Elias said dismissively.
“Are you patrolling again tonight?”
“Do I have a choice?”
Kiran’s eyes flickered again to the mess of spilled bottles seeping into the rug. “Those tinctures are expensive, you know, and Doctor Shelley gave them to you for a reason. You need to sleep, Elias. You can’t stay awake for days on end like we did in the Abyss.”
“I sleep just fine,” Elias snapped.
“Prove it. Go to bed right now.”
Elias rolled his eyes. “You sound like a nursemaid.”
Kiran’s voice turned chiding. “Don’t do this, Elias.
It’s your birthday. You have other soldiers you can post on patrol.
I brought four members of the Daemonguard from Firehelm, just like you asked.
They’re in the servant quarters having an absolute ball, I might add.
Let them work. You should enjoy yourself.
” He sighed. “I can go to the infirmary to request more laudanum for you, but how am I going to explain this to Forrest? The man will want to know if you’re relapsing—”
“No, Kiran.” Elias glanced up and caught Kiran’s eye, fixing him with a deadpan stare.
“I don’t need laudanum. I sleep soundly.
I’m patrolling tonight because it is my duty.
The men should enjoy themselves unless there is a true emergency.
Allow me this one pleasure—to roam my father’s grounds without a crowd of servants and houseguests staring at my back. ”
Kiran tried to return Elias’s formidable gaze, but it wasn’t in his nature to look so stern.
The solemn expression quickly faded from his amber eyes, to be replaced by a terrible look of pity, which made Elias uncomfortable.
Then his old friend gave an exasperated shrug.
He adjusted the cuff of his jacket to better cover the shined prosthetic on his right arm.
Then abruptly, Kiran climbed back to his feet.
“You know where to find me if you want some company.”
“Have a good evening, Kiran.”
“You too, brother.”
His right-hand man left the office as quickly as he had come in. Kiran shut the door behind him with a softness that belied his earlier humor.
Elias rubbed a hand over his eyes. He looked around his chambers, surrounded by books, atlases, shadows and shined instruments, relieved to be alone.
Her hair was the color of raspberries. She slipped away quick as a whisper, like someone used to being unseen.
He really shouldn’t be thinking about that girl. He doubted he would encounter her again.
Elias stood up. He walked around his desk, where he took hold of the heavy drapes and pulled them closed.