Chapter 8
Half the table is now on their feet. Not just Ranveeg, but also Brida, Stefan, and several other men and women, hands raised, many already holding icy blades.
Blades which, I know from experience, can easily be plunged through a heart.
‘You are the storm wielder,’ Ranveeg hisses at Kyor. ‘You have struck down hundreds – thousands – of our men—’
Kyor holds his hands up, displaying his own empty palms. Though the gesture means less when you can command lightning bolts from the sky.
‘I have fought on the front line, yes,’ Kyor says, trying to sound as neutral as possible.
I can feel the static of his power buzzing in his skin, but he knows better than to let it loose here.
Even a fragment of his power could bring down every one of these people, but what of their power?
Of Magnus’s? There must be a reason why the palace is unguarded.
And if we are related and my powers are even a fraction of his…
I nearly killed Jonas by mistake with mine when I was angry.
Maybe Kyor could battle his way out of here, but there is no way all seven of us would survive.
And Kyor knows that too, which is why he is yet to act, calmly sitting at the table.
He lowers his hands, resting one on the surface of the wooden table.
With the other, he casually lifts his spoon and takes another mouthful of riverweed, utterly nonchalant about all the blades drawn and the Issen hungry for his blood.
Despite the appearance of their weapons, the Issen do not move. Do not act. Instead, they continue to watch. Waiting for orders from Magnus.
My eyes go to the king, and to my surprise, I find he is also happily tucking into his dinner just as nonchalantly as Kyor is.
Uzra, too, has remained seated.
‘You knew?’ Ranveeg says, aghast, to her king. ‘You knew who he was?’
‘I had my suspicions, yes,’ Magnus replies easily. ‘He has a regal look about him and similar features to his father – though he is better looking than Korvane was at that age. The eyes, I assume, are like those of his mother.’
My heart tugs. Magnus can’t possibly know the import of those words. Kyor does indeed have his mother’s eyes, because he changed their colour to match hers after her death.
Her death, which he wrongly accused my mother of causing.
‘Sit down,’ Magnus impatiently orders his people.
‘In case it has escaped your notice, the prince is here as the guest and companion of our princess, for whom tonight’s celebration is meant to be.
And now that she is here, now that they are all here, it is time they heard the full story of Korvane’s visit. As long as they are ready to hear it.’
‘The truth,’ Uzra adds, ‘not the parts of the story that Korvane chose to share.’
While most of the Issen take their seats immediately, there are one or two who are slower to move. It’s no surprise that Ranveeg is among their number.
‘You fought with my father,’ Kyor begins, his eyes solely on Uzra.
The former knight nods. ‘For your father,’ he corrects. ‘For many years. The initial ones, all faithfully.’
A muscle twitches in Kyor’s jaw as he turns his head to look at Magnus. ‘And you’re saying that you’ve met with him too? Met my father? That he came here?’
‘Yes,’ the king replies. ‘It was in my early days of ruling, and it is safe to say I suffered a great humiliation at his hands. One that almost cost us everything.’
‘What happened?’ I ask, shifting my gaze between Uzra and Magnus.
‘The same old story.’ Uzra tips up his wine glass, only to find it empty.
He reaches for a bottle to refill it rather than waiting to be served.
I don’t blame him. I feel like this story will go smoother for all of us with a glass of wine in hand.
‘Korvane wanted what wasn’t his and tried to take it. ’
‘But how?’ Benny interjects. ‘There’s no mention of this city in any of the books I’ve read. How did Korvane know this place even existed?’
With a slow sigh, Magnus’s shoulders slump.
‘That was my fault. It’s the way of those who long for peace.
The eagerness not to see that single viper in a pit of grass snakes.
We are a peaceful people, the Issen, despite what you may have been told, and so when the young prince declared that he wanted to broker a full peace to last for generations, I desperately wanted to believe him.
We met in private several times, across several years, building what I believed was a true friendship.
Then we let them into Isthyr – Korvane, a small contingent of his knights, and some priestesses.
We didn’t have the pyrrhic illusion then, so it was easier to find us, though the Hirathean Pass presented its own challenge, as it still does now. ’
‘Illusions are Morathkian magic,’ I say more to myself than to the group. ‘Powers often possessed by people from Dorain. How is the pyrrhic even possible?’
‘Dorain is my hometown,’ Uzra replies.
‘His illusion power is legendary. He could make your worst nightmares come to life,’ Kyor murmurs. ‘It disrupted the battlefield utterly, allowing his soldiers to pick off the disoriented and terrified with ease.’
Uzra grimaces. ‘Those were dark days. Days I am not proud of. But now I am one of those who helps, not destroys. I help maintain the pyrrhic on the mountains. There are a couple of others blessed with the same magic who also keep it going, help to keep this place safe from Korvane.’
‘You have to be lying,’ Kyor says, but as he speaks the words, I can see he doesn’t believe them, even if he desperately wants to.
‘Uzra isn’t the only defector from your father’s harsh regime,’ a woman replies gently. ‘We have hundreds of soldiers – Morathkian soldiers – who can prove otherwise.’
‘Too many,’ another female voice mutters. My eyes flicker in the direction from which the words came. Whether it was Brida or her mother, I’m not sure, but I’m positive it was one of them.
Kyor is shaking his head, as though trying to dislodge what he’s just heard.
‘No, no, I can’t believe you. If his men – my men – were here, I’d know it.’
‘What reason would Uzra have to lie?’ Ranveeg weighs in with what I am beginning to think of as her ever-present sneer.
‘Out of guilt, for betraying his own people,’ Kyor spits back, glowering at Uzra. ‘That has to be why he’s here. Because he betrayed us. Switched sides. He broke his oath as a knight. He should be ashamed.’
‘How dare you!’ Ranveeg slams her hands against the table.
Confused, I seek out Caz down the other end, and she grimly nods. They’re telling the truth. All of them.
‘Wow. Ranveeg defending me,’ Uzra comments lightly as he picks up his wine and takes a mouthful. ‘Never thought I’d see the day.’
His eyes meet mine, a slight hint of humour in them. He might be okay dining with the son of their sworn enemy, but it’s clear that plenty aren’t. A part of me is grateful that the issue of the markings on my arms is fading away in the face of the truth of Kyor’s birthright.
‘I say we kill the prince now,’ Ranveeg continues to rage. ‘After what that monster Korvane did—’
‘Enough!’
Magnus’s voice cuts through the room like a blade. It’s the closest I’ve heard him come to shouting.
He looks directly at Kyor.
‘Prince Kyor, that is your name, is it not?’ he asks evenly.
Kyor nods sharply. ‘Well, Kyor, I am sure you have heard many things about us. About battles in the past. From people you trust. But perhaps, during your time here, you will come to learn our version of events as well. You may ask any questions to any man or woman you so choose, but do not be surprised if they find it difficult to talk about their experiences.’
‘Big feet, big feet,’ Loch murmurs at the end of the table. ‘Big feet. Stamping. Stamping.’ He mimics the sound, stomping his feet under the table, and Thessa takes his hand and strokes it reassuringly while making soft, shushing noises.
‘Have some food, buddy,’ Ruben suggests, passing his plate of riverweed over to the older Rettling. ‘You need some energy.’
But rather than calming, Loch becomes more and more agitated.
‘Stomp. Stomp. Stomp! Too near now! They’re coming! They’re coming!’ he shrieks.
Several of the Issen jump from their seats, ice blades once again flashing in the candlelight.
‘It’s all right, it’s okay, there’s nobody coming,’ Caz soothes, her hand on Loch’s arm. He shakes her off, and Ruben and Benny are quickly on their feet and moving towards him.
‘Come on, buddy. Let’s get you back up to the room.’ Benny reaches out to take hold of his old companion, but Loch swipes out. Forcefully. I’ve seen Loch act strangely plenty of times since we found him again, but never quite like this. Never against Benny.
His hands claw into his head before he lunges at a nearby Issen woman, hands gripping her shoulders. ‘They’re coming! Coming!’ His panic is raw and visceral, making my scalp prickle. What does he know that we don’t? What does he hear?
‘Loch?’ I call softly, rising and making my way to him. ‘What is it? Who is coming?’
‘Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.’ I can see the whites of his eyes as he looks at me. ‘They’re coming!’ he all but screams.
My heart is thundering now, and most of the Issen are back on their feet.
Some, like Toren, are moving notably closer, as if they want to help, though most have swords drawn and their expressions make it clear that help is the furthest thing from their minds.
‘We’ll take him up to his room,’ Ruben suggests.
‘It’s been a lot for him, all of this. So sorry…
’ He’s still apologising to the room at large when a piercing alarm blasts through the air.
‘They have breached the border!’ Stefan barks grimly.
I let out a sigh. Really, I should know by now to always expect danger and death at banquets and balls.
‘Jotnar,’ Loch finally says, his voice as clear as day. ‘The jotnar have come.’