Resistance

  The path leading up to this jutting area of the cliffs narrowed and made it impossible for anyone to pass by him unseen. Kyrin smiled at the arrangement. Now she and Kaden would have the perfect opportunity to speak alone.

  The two of them picked their way up along the path another hundred yards and came to the ruined base of an ancient stone wall that once lined the cliffs. Disturbed seagulls screeched and scolded them as they climbed up to a formation that served as the perfect natural bench. Here they sat to enjoy their pies and the view.

  When Kaden finished, he brushed his hands against his pants and settled his gaze on Kyrin. No easy humor sparkled in his eyes.

  “So, tell me about the emperor.”

  He may not have a perfect memory like Kyrin, but he surely hadn’t forgotten a word she’d said to their grandfather concerning Daican.

  She shook her head. “You know I couldn’t tell Grandfather everything I felt.”

  “Yeah, but it all sounded pretty genuine.”

  Kyrin hesitated. How did she explain when he hadn’t witnessed everything she had? Close as they were, she didn’t see him accepting this easily. He was too stubborn.

  “That’s because it was. What I said was true. Emperor Daican is very different from how we imagined him. You’d be just as surprised as I was by how personable he is.”

  Kaden frowned at her and said flatly, “So you’re defending him?”

  “No.” Kyrin shifted and ran her fingers along her skirt. “But he’s so disarming, it’s hard not to like him.” She stared at the ocean. Her forehead wrinkled when she returned her eyes to her brother. “Things don’t add up with what we’ve heard. I think he’s the hardest person I’ve ever tried to read. We’ve always thought of him as cruel and evil, but that’s not what I see. Either we’ve heard exaggerations or he’s better at hiding his true nature than anyone I’ve ever met.”

  Kaden’s gaze never wavered and never lost its seriousness. “He’s manipulating you.”

  Kyrin swallowed, and Kaden continued, adding to the tightness in her throat.

  “He’s fully aware of your abilities and what he has to do to make you like him. And why wouldn’t he? You’re helping to protect him. Of course he wants you to side with him and believe he’s a great man.”

  Kyrin hung her head. Was he right? The sugary pastry in her stomach turned to a hard rock. She glanced over her shoulder and around the area to make sure no one had wandered too close. Trev still stood where they’d left him out of earshot.

  “Actually, I’m more afraid of Princess Davira than the emperor,” she said in a hushed tone as she swung her eyes back to her brother. “There’s definitely something cold and cunning about her. She sees far more than she lets on. I have this horrible feeling she’s just waiting for me to make a mistake.”

  Kaden’s frown deepened. “You have to be careful…with both of them.”

  “I know,” Kyrin murmured, but the entire thing made her head hurt. Did every day have to be such a challenge?

  Kaden’s eyes remained fixed on her. She wasn’t sure she’d convinced him of her understanding. He appeared to wrestle with something before finally coming out with it.

  “The emperor had Meredith’s parents killed.”

  A spike of ice stabbed into Kyrin’s gut. “What?” Her breathing grew faster. “How do you know that?”

  “She told me.”

  “But how did she know?”

  Expression taut, Kaden shook his head. “I don’t know. She wouldn’t say, but she saw something.” He paused. “They were followers of Elôm.”

  Kyrin wrapped her arms around her middle, afraid she’d be sick. She wanted to deny it, for both her sake and Meredith’s. Between this and the instance of the father and son who owed the debt, her already frustrating and confused thoughts toward the emperor grew far more muddied.

  “That’s why you must never let your guard down,” Kaden pressed.

  Kyrin gave a nod, her voice choked off by an upwelling of tears that poured into her eyes.

  Kaden winced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  She shook her head, but couldn’t blink away the tears. “It’s just hard. It’s exhausting to try to hide my feelings, watching every word I say and action I take, and always wondering what will happen if I slip up.”

  Two large teardrops dripped over her eyelids and rolled down her cheeks. Kaden put his arm around her shoulders, comforting her just with his presence.

  “I miss you, Kaden.”

  He gave a short nod and cleared his throat.

  “And I still wish Father were here. Marcus and Liam too.” She rubbed away the tears with the palms of her hands. “I just miss home. It’s been on my mind so much lately.”

  A short silence came.

  She looked at Kaden with moist eyes, though the tears no longer fell. “How do you feel about Mother?”

  Kaden frowned slightly, and then shrugged. “I’m not sure. It’s hard to remember back that far. I’m not even sure I remember what she looks like. I guess I don’t think about her very much.”

  Kyrin sagged forward under a weight she could only attribute to guilt. “I do remember, but…” She bit her lip. Would he understand? “I’m afraid I don’t love her. I want to, but I just…don’t know. I remember how she treated Father sometimes and always took Grandfather’s side, and I just can’t seem to find any feelings for her.” Tears welled up again on her lower lids. “Am I horrible?”

  “No,” Kaden replied with comforting ease. “It’s unfortunate you ever saw how things were between them, but you couldn’t help that. It wasn’t your fault.”

  Still, the weight remained.

  “I shouldn’t talk to you about this. I don’t want to affect your opinion of her.”

  But Kaden offered immediate reassurance. “Things changed when we were taken to Tarvin Hall. We’re pretty much all each other has. We’ve always talked about everything.”

  Kyrin managed a small smile, but it drooped. “I think, deep inside, I blame her for all this. I wish I didn’t, but I can’t help but think if she hadn’t wanted it so, Father would have found a way to protect us. To keep us home.”

  Kaden processed this in silence, his expression thoughtful but not providing many clues to his thoughts. Kyrin waited until he was ready to speak.

  “Well, what do you think Sam would say about it? Ultimately, it wasn’t Mother who placed us here, but Elôm.”

  The words seeped into Kyrin’s mind, and a little weary laugh escaped. “Of course, you’re right.”

  Jace stood in the arena again. Hundreds, thousands of people screamed down at him. His hands oozed with warmth, and his fingers gripped the sticky leather hilt of a sword. He looked down. Crimson stains glistened all the way up his forearms. The roar of the crowd died to one shouting voice, and the words pounded into his skull like physical blows.

  “Murderer! Monster!”

  His eyes lifted to Holden, who glared at him. He took a step back but the man pursued him and sneered in his face, “You murdered them!”

  The whole scene changed. He was no longer in the arena, but at home, at the farm. Two figures lay at his feet—Kalli and Aldor. His eyes widened with horror at the sword in his hand that dripped with fresh blood. Again, Holden’s accusation pierced his mind.

  “You murdered them!”

  No, Jace screamed inside, but he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t deny it.

  “Murderer!”

  “Monster!”

  All the faces from the arena reappeared and screamed at him over and over…

  Jace bolted upright with a hoarse cry, shaking and drenched with sweat.

  “No,” he gasped, unsure if the dream held any truth. He couldn’t have killed them, yet hadn’t he killed in the past? Hadn’t the heat of his ryrik blood kicked in time after time and driven him to fight, to overcome, to kill?

  Someone said his name, and a small flame flared to life. He squinted in the candlelight. It illuminated his three compani
ons and Tyra, who stood at his side, whimpering. Rayad said his name again.

  “Are you all right?”

  Jace didn’t answer. His cheeks flushed hot over waking his three companions and who knew who else in camp. He rose and stumbled out of the tent. Tyra followed right behind him. Even now, he shook uncontrollably. Sleep had faded enough for him to know he had no part in Kalli and Aldor’s deaths, but he couldn’t dismiss the others as only dreams. Their blood was on his hands. He tried never to let himself think of it, but the thoughts crept in now while he was too weak to stop them—what if those men had families? Wives? Children? He ground his teeth together and squeezed his eyes shut. Why hadn’t he let himself die in the arena? Why hadn’t he let the first man he ever faced just kill him?

  His ryrik blood. Always, it willed him to fight.

  A hand touched his shoulder. He recoiled and spun around to meet Rayad’s gaze.

  “Jace, it’s all right,” Rayad said. “It was just a dream.”

  But it wasn’t. It was so much more—the haunting of his past and the things he had done.

  Words stuck in his throat, and he shook his head hopelessly as he backed away.

  “Come on, Jace. Come back to the tent. Try to get some more rest.”

  “No,” the word broke free, raw and anguished. He couldn’t abide the thought of sleeping again—of risking another dream. A deep shudder trembled through his body.

  “Jace…” The lines in Rayad’s forehead deepened, his eyes searching and uncertain as he tried to see Jace in the dark.

  Gulping in the cool air, Jace grabbed hold of his emotions, just enough to master his expression and temper his voice. “I just…I’m fine.” The lie stung, but the truth remained trapped inside. “Just go back to sleep.”

  He turned and left Rayad to watch him walk away.

  Wandering off to the edge of camp, he sank down at the base of a tree and put his head in his hands. Tyra nudged him with her nose and rested her chin on his arm, but even she couldn’t comfort him this time. Not when the dream so quickly replayed in his mind with such vivid detail. His pulse quickened again. Of all his nightmares, none had ever been so painful. Holden’s words echoed in his ears and drove deeper and deeper into his heart. Murderer. Monster. He covered his ears with his hands, but couldn’t make it stop.

  The tantalizing smell of fresh bacon drew Mick down to the fire where the clanking of tin plates and murmur of voices signaled breakfast. Of course, Jace was not among the men. Mick looked around and spotted him at the edge of camp, where he sat hunched over near a tree. He frowned at the unhappy sight. As if in response, he caught the hushed conversation circulating around the fire of Jace’s cry waking them in the night.

  “About scared me to death,” one of the younger men said as he darted a cautious glance at Jace. “Thought maybe he was going to come and kill us all.”

  It was no surprise that Holden seized on this opportunity to further his case. “I told you. That ryrik blood of his is evil. We won’t have any peace or safety until he and that wolf are gone.”

  More than a couple of the men nodded in agreement.

  Mick’s mind also traveled back to last night, but contrary to his companions, fear had no part in it. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Holden’s eyes flashed to him and flickered with an almost wild mix of deeply entrenched hatred and horror. “Have you ever witnessed a ryrik attack?”

  Mick held the searing gaze. “No. But I did see Jace last night. A man doesn’t dream like that unless he’s in real pain.”

  Holden snorted. “Feel sorry all you want. Just remember when you find yourself at the end of his blade during a ryrik rage that I told you so. He doesn’t belong here, and I aim to see that Trask understands the danger.”

  Mick’s frown deepened. He glanced around at the other men. Most wouldn’t look at him. While they were not as outspoken as Holden, it didn’t appear they were willing to give Jace the benefit of the doubt. He shook his head and turned away, though he paused just long enough to look back at Holden.

  “Keep in mind as you condemn Jace the courtesy and grace Trask has extended toward you.”

  He left the men to mull this over, dished up a plate of eggs and bacon, and poured a cup of hot coffee. Plate and cup in hand, he headed across camp. Silence had overtaken the group at the fire, and though he didn’t look behind him, their eyes bored into his back.

  Jace shifted restlessly as he approached and eyed him with a cool, wary look that revealed an internal preparation for either fight or flight. Mick couldn’t blame him. Fierce as he may appear, it didn’t hide the redness around his eyes or the dullness of their typically bright blue.

  “Here, didn’t want breakfast going cold on you.” Mick offered him the plate and cup.

  Jace stared at them as if they were objects he’d never seen before.

  “Thanks,” he barely murmured when he did accept them.

  He glanced toward the fire, and Mick looked over his shoulder. Almost everyone stood watching. He refocused on Jace.

  “Ignore them. Most are a bunch of farm boys. They haven’t yet seen enough of the world. Give them time. They’ll come around.”

  Auréa’s library exceeded anything Kyrin had ever seen. Six stories of balconies, holding more books than she could imagine, edged the massive hall that stretched three hundred feet long and another two hundred wide. The library at Tarvin Hall was known as one of the largest in Valcré, but the palace held almost double that amount of books. So much knowledge to glean, if only she had the time. But even she couldn’t imagine the words of so many books locked away in her mind. Her head throbbed just thinking of it.

  In one corner, she browsed a shelf of history texts. Though not surprised, it still saddened her to find many of the early volumes missing—volumes that surely spoke of Arcacia’s first kings and their devotion to Elôm. It was as if someone had erased that history and replaced it with whatever the emperor and his predecessors chose. History at Tarvin Hall had centered on Aertus and Vilai and how they’d brought the kings to power and prosperity to Arcacia. If not for Sam, she would never have known the truth. She took a deep breath to fight the mix of despair and ire that welled inside her.

  The door at the far end of the room banged open and shattered the silence. Kyrin jumped and spun around. She froze as Prince Daniel strode in, followed immediately by his father.

  “You stand and face me like a man when I’m talking to you.” Daican’s sharp voice echoed down the hall.

  Daniel halted and spun on his heel. He threw his arms out. “What’s there to talk about?”

  “You, that’s what,” Daican snapped as he came to stand eye to eye with his son. “Your conduct is unacceptable. You’re the crown prince of the greatest nation in Ilyon and will one day be emperor. It’s time you acted like it.”

  Daniel snorted, and the emperor’s face grew red.

  Kyrin shrank back against the bookshelves and darted a look to both sides. How could she escape such a precarious situation without making her presence known? To witness such an angry outburst from the emperor turned her core to ice, but she had no escape. Moving now would only draw their attention. Shoulders pressed to the bookshelves, she watched and prayed they would take this argument elsewhere. But they stood their ground.

  Eyes flashing, Daican declared, “You are about this close to being disowned.” He gestured with barely a centimeter between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Excellent,” Daniel responded. “What can I do to push you over the edge and make it official?”

  Daican literally shook and spoke with failing restraint. “You are of a long, proud line of kings, chosen to rule this kingdom by Aertus and Vilai—”

  “Maybe I don’t believe in Aertus and Vilai.”

  The air seemed sucked from the room. For a moment, Kyrin couldn’t breathe.

  Daican glared flames at his son. Very slowly, very evenly, he said, “You are treading on dangerous ground.”


  Daniel scoffed. “What are you going to do? Execute me?” Planting his fists on his hips, he challenged, “Go ahead. At least it will provide me escape from the throne.”

  Kyrin really thought Daican might hit him, but he only roared, “You are my son! You will learn your place, and you will be emperor one day!”

  He ended the argument by storming out of the room.

  Daniel stood motionless with his fists balled and his jaw muscles ticking as he glared after his father. But then, muttering under his breath, he reached out and snatched a book off a nearby table to hurl across the room. It sailed straight toward Kyrin. She lurched to the side, and Daniel picked her out immediately. Kyrin gulped, pinned under his still scowling gaze. Her insides trembled. What might the prince or his father do to her for having witnessed the exchange? Would it matter that it had been by accident? Oh, Elôm, help me.

  Daniel’s eyes narrowed a little. A shiver passed through her, but his expression relaxed.

  “Miss Altair, isn’t it?” His voice no longer held any anger.

  She swallowed to loosen her tongue enough for a meek reply. “Yes, my lord.”

  One of Daniel’s brows quirked up. “I assume you heard all that.”

  “Yes,” Kyrin admitted reluctantly, “but…” But what? She had no excuse except that she’d been here before they arrived. To say so would be placing blame on them. That surely would be the wrong move. “I apologize, my lord, I—”

  Daniel just waved it off. “Don’t worry on my account.” He stepped closer and studied her. “Not what you’d expect though, is it? A prince with no desire to be king?”

  Kyrin hesitated. Did he truly expect an answer, or was he just blowing off steam? He continued to stare at her, prompting a response.

  She shook her head. “No, my lord.”

  “Well, it’s true. I don’t desire to be king…at least not one like my father.” Contempt laced his voice. He sank down in a chair near her and propped his feet up on the table. “He’s a cruel man, you know.”

  Kyrin’s gaze jumped to the door. She shouldn’t be here—shouldn’t be listening to this, not even from the emperor’s own son. Every sense of self-preservation screamed to flee. But how could she, little more than a servant, just walk away from the prince?