Legacy

  Cannan motioned to an oak tree thirty or so feet from where I was hiding. As the group of men moved toward it, I jerked back to avoid being seen, but to my mortification, did not move fast enough.

  “Princess, you may as well come out,” Destari called, and my heart began to pound as I anticipated how irate Cannan would be with me.

  I stepped out, knowing there was no use in pretending that my presence by the house had been a coincidence, and approached the men, my eyes on the Captain of the Guard, trying to gauge his reaction. To my relief, he turned away without a word, and it occurred to me that he saw no point in issuing an order for me to leave, as he could not ensure I would obey without assigning Destari as my escort.

  I stood beside my bodyguard, the house to our backs and the tree on the right, roughly twenty feet away. Narian watched Cannan for an indication he should commence the demonstration, displaying no particular reaction to my arrival. At the captain’s nod, he reached into the pouch hanging from his belt and secured a small handful of powder, which he threw to the ground before us.

  The flash was blinding. My hands flew to my face as I stumbled backward, and I would have fallen had Destari not seized me and pulled me into the protection of his arms. As I squinted through my fingers at the thick swirling smoke, I began to feel dizzy. The scent of the substance threatened to choke me, though it did not taste or smell exactly like smoke. It was sweeter, and with every breath, my eyes grew more unfocused.

  The haze finally began to clear, but my mind remained clouded for a few moments longer. When I could think coherently again, I saw Koranis shaking his head back and forth and Cannan scanning the area, for Narian had taken advantage of our disoriented state to slip from view. Then we heard a resounding thunk, and our heads snapped toward the tree where a knife now protruded at eye level.

  Destari loosened his hold on me and we all turned to look at Narian.

  “If you want to examine the dagger, I have another,” Narian commented, arresting Cannan in midstride on his walk toward the tree. The young man then knelt down and extracted a second knife from one of his boot heels. Cannan, having reversed direction, held out a hand, and Narian extended the grip of the weapon to him. I watched tensely as the captain checked the blade, which was relatively narrow and only about six inches in length but designed with jagged tines along its edge to tear flesh to shreds. Narian walked to the tree and jerked the other dagger out, slipping it into his boot heel as he waited for Cannan’s reaction.

  “So the thicker soles on your boots allow for a hidden sheath for the dagger.”

  Choosing to let his actions speak for him, Narian took the second knife from Cannan and returned it to its hiding place.

  “And this powder—let me see it,” the captain commanded.

  Narian untied the pouch from his belt and passed it to him without objection. Cannan opened it and removed a small amount of powder, rubbing it cautiously between his fingers. The substance sparked, but there was not enough of it in his hand to create the same effect we had just witnessed.

  “Is every soldier in Cokyri equipped with similar weaponry?” Cannan inquired, a lift in his eyebrow the only indication that Hytanica’s military was not familiar with weapons such as these. “Not everyone.”

  The captain waited for Narian to elaborate, but when he did not, handed the pouch to Destari for further examination.

  “Other than the weapons we took from you when you were arrested and that are in my possession, have we now seen your arms in their entirety?”

  “No,” Narian replied shamelessly.

  For the first time, the Captain of the Guard looked as if he had lost his patience. Narian was not being forthcoming, and I knew from personal experience that when Cannan asked something of a person, he expected him to comply and to do so without delay.

  “Then show us whatever else you have,” he ordered, his jaw rigid.

  Narian held Cannan’s eyes for a moment, then reached toward his belt, lightly brushing the dark stitching with which it was adorned. He pinched the end of one of the stitches between his thumb and forefinger and withdrew a sharp, slender dart. I held my breath, terrified of that tiny needle.

  “Poisoned darts,” he explained, holding the barb up for all to see. “If I removed this wax from the tip and pierced your flesh, you would be dead within minutes.”

  A look flashed between Cannan and Destari, and I heard Koranis murmur, “God save us.”

  “And is there an antidote?” Cannan asked, holding out his hand to take the dart.

  Narian shook his head. “The poison affects the body too swiftly for an antidote to be effective.”

  “And you wear these next to your own skin?”

  “Cokyrian warriors are willing to live dangerously and, if necessary, to die as a result,” he confirmed without emotion.

  “I will keep these items for now,” Cannan said, passing the dart to Destari. “I would like our alchemists to examine the substances.”

  The Elite Guard wrapped the dart in Narian’s soft leather pouch before tucking both into the shaft of his boot. The captain turned on his heel to stride toward the rear of the house, Koranis a pace behind. Stopping abruptly, Cannan once more faced Narian.

  “You will report to my office at the palace in two days. Our military would be well served by learning as much as we can from you about Cokyrian weaponry and fighting techniques. I will return all of your weapons to you at that time, including those taken upon your arrest.”

  Cannan turned to Koranis in response to the Baron’s sharp intake of breath.

  “Your son has had the opportunity to kill a number of my guards and your family several times over, not to mention certain members of the royal family. As he has shown no inclination to harm anyone, I believe he can be trusted.”

  Koranis, his face drained of color and his blue eyes wide with alarm, unwisely attempted to challenge the Captain of the Guard’s decision.

  “That is easy for you to say, as he does not live in your house! I want him off my property, tonight!”

  Cannan glared at Koranis, and I could see a rage building within him that was out of proportion to the stated demand. He stepped toward the Baron, who recoiled until he collided with the side wall of the house. Moving in front of the cowering man, Cannan leaned toward him, supporting himself with one hand upon the wall.

  “You are pathetic, an empty imitation of a father,” he spat, glowering down at Koranis with loathing in his voice. “It is extraordinary that Narian is alive, a miracle that he somehow returned to Hytanica. There is no justice in the fact that, of all the grieving fathers in the kingdom whose sons were stolen by the Cokyrians, it is yours who found a way home. You, who would thrust aside this blessing for which the rest of us would kill. You fail to appreciate the gift you have been given.”

  Koranis cringed and tried to slide sideways away from the captain, but Cannan grabbed him by his dress coat, almost lifting him off the ground.

  “The sight of you sickens me,” he seethed, the controlled quality of his deep voice making him all the more terrifying. “I would give anything for it to have been my son who returned. I would have embraced him regardless of how he had been raised or by whom.”

  With that, Cannan released the quaking man and stepped back from him, although his deadly glare did not abate. It was a testament to the level of fear that gripped Koranis at the thought of Narian’s continued residence within his home that he spoke again.

  “I have a wife and four younger children to protect,” he blubbered. “I cannot run the risk that you may be wrong.”

  When the only discernible reaction Cannan showed to Koranis’s statement was a crease in his brow, the Baron straightened. “Take him with you, enroll him in the Military Academy, do whatever you think best. Just keep him away from me and my family.”

  Despite his attempt to regain his poise, Koranis was clearly pleading. I inched closer to Destari as concern for the Baron welled within me. I thought it possible from Ca
nnan’s threatening posture that he might do the man harm. I glanced skyward in prayerful thanks when the captain, shaking his head in disgust, took another step away, seeming to recognize that he needed to keep Koranis out of his reach.

  Gesturing toward Narian, Cannan admonished, “Like it or not, you have an obligation to the boy. If you won’t let him live here, then I will move him into your city residence.”

  He paused, and when he continued, there was a hint of resignation in his words.

  “I know what it is like to have a son who is headstrong, who, like yours, has taken my weapons and horses without permission and who has cost me innumerable sleepless nights. Still, I would not relinquish a single moment of time with him.”

  Although he did not make a move toward the Baron, I could once again hear anger rising in Cannan. “You, on the other hand, have not even tried to reach out to your son. I feel no compassion for you, and have but one regret—that I ever entrusted him to your custody.”

  Cannan looked almost yearningly at Narian for a long moment, and I thought I saw a flicker of the same emotion in the young man’s eyes.

  “You act as though Narian is a disappointment when it is, in fact, he who has been cheated. Narian deserves a better father than you.”

  Cannan turned and strode down the hill. Without waiting to see what I would do, Destari took hold of my arm above the elbow and pulled me alongside him as he followed the captain, leaving Koranis alone to face his son. If not for Destari, I would have remained rooted in place, reeling from shock. I struggled to comprehend what I could only interpret as Cannan revealing that he had lost a son to the Cokyrians.

  I regained my voice as Destari and I joined the guests who had gathered at the top of the hill and were entering the tent for the feast.

  “Did Cannan have a second son?”

  Destari drew me aside, unhappy with my question, and I didn’t know if I would receive a lecture or an answer.

  “Yes. Like a number of others in Hytanica, the captain had an infant son who was abducted and killed by the Cokyrians, and whose body was among those returned for burial by our enemy. Now, let the matter rest.” Well acquainted with my persistence when my interest was roused, he added, “Don’t ever raise such a question around Baroness Faramay. She never fully recovered from the ordeal.”

  I nodded, but continued to cling to my bodyguard’s side a moment longer, quietly absorbing this information. How different would Steldor’s life have been if his brother had survived? I couldn’t imagine my life without Miranna. A wave of sympathy crashed over me for Cannan, Faramay and even for Steldor, although he probably had few memories of his younger sibling.

  As I thought of the Captain of the Guard’s face while he had harangued Koranis, I understood the reason Cannan had, from the beginning, treated Narian well, and so differently, from our other prisoners. Was this also why he had so readily taken Galen, a fatherless boy, into his heart?

  And what of Narian? Was he, at the age of sixteen, already a Cokyrian warrior? His words had seemed to suggest as much. I shivered as I thought of the weapons I now knew he had carried concealed on his person the entire time he had been here in Hytanica. I remembered the first time I had met him and recalled that even then he had been wearing his boots and belt—the only articles of his clothing that Cannan had let him retain. I once again felt as if I did not know him at all. The only certainty that resonated in my mind was that there were more things in the world of which to be afraid than I had imagined.

  CHAPTER 21

  THE GREATER SIN

  MY APPETITE HAD DIMINISHED ALMOST TO THE point of nonexistence, but I joined the line of people at the serving table and allowed my plate to be filled, for it would have been impolite to refuse the elaborate feast. As I exited the serving line, my eyes fell upon Steldor and Galen, and my flickering hope that they would not attend was extinguished. They were standing at the end of one of the long dining tables, their plates of food forgotten in front of them on the wooden tabletop. Galen, wearing a white shirt and black trousers, was flipping a dagger between his right hand and his left in a manner that I had come to associate with Steldor. Steldor stood by his friend with one booted foot upon the table’s bench, resting his elbow upon his knee.

  He was wearing a black leather jerkin with split sleeves that showed the white shirt he wore beneath, and black breeches. Given my new curiosity about weapons, I took in the silver sword at his side. The grip of the weapon was wrapped in black leather overlaid with silver wire, and its pommel was set with rubies, which might have given it a sophisticated look were it not for the winged and barbed guard that gave notice of its power. His dark apparel suited his dark features and gave him a mysterious and brooding look. In spite of my jaded feelings toward him and my subdued mood, he took my breath away. Just then he glanced at me only to avert his eyes. Although I liked to think myself too indifferent toward him to care, his reaction surprised me, and I was pleased to discover that I held some sway over him.

  I held my head high and chose a path through the tent toward the front table at which my family would dine. My parents were already seated and were being attended by servants. My route was calculated to take me between the tables that were farthest from Steldor and Galen, so I would not have to risk a conversation with either of them. As I proceeded, however, I saw my strategy spoiled.

  Galen moved away from Steldor and began to walk toward me, coming down the same aisle that I had entered, but from the opposite direction, so I would have no way of avoiding him without making it blatant that such was my desire. I did not know Galen well, but I was not likely to hold in high regard any friend of Steldor’s. As he approached, he absently played with the hilt of his sword, then bowed respectfully, his wavy ash-brown hair shifting fluidly with his movement.

  “Princess Alera, may I guide you to your table?”

  I was not inclined to trust him, knowing there had to be a purpose behind his sudden attentiveness. But I consented, permitting him to take the plate from my hands and carry it for me. It was a short walk to the high table, so whatever he intended to say or do, he would have to accomplish it with a measure of haste.

  “How are you finding the evening?” Galen asked genially.

  “I am glad for the respite from my usual duties.” Unable to resist putting forth the insinuation that I was content to maintain my distance from Steldor, I continued, “I have found the festivities to be quite entertaining and the companionship thus far to be quite pleasant.”

  Galen caught my implication, and his tone became more serious as we arrived at the table to stand only a few feet from where my father was seated.

  “I’m afraid Lord Steldor has found it quite the opposite, My Lady, for he cannot enjoy himself until he knows he is forgiven.”

  I could hardly believe what I was hearing. Had Steldor actually been too cowardly to approach me to apologize? Or was such an act of contrition beneath him? Or perhaps he suspected I would refuse to listen to him, but would not as readily brush Galen aside. Regardless of Steldor’s motives, I knew I was being manipulated, and scowled in annoyance.

  Galen handed my plate to a servant, then reached into a pouch that hung from the belt at his waist to remove a stunning silver pendant necklace. He laid it across the back of his hand to show how the silver of the pendant swirled around to cradle at its center a teardrop-shaped sapphire. The necklace was beautiful, expensive and a perfect companion to my gown. I marveled at how my erstwhile suitor had managed this feat. Perhaps he had purchased several necklaces with different gemstones so he would have one that matched any gown I might have worn. Or perhaps he had an informant. Knowing how infatuated the majority of the female population was with him, I had no doubt that my maid could have been charmed into revealing my planned attire.

  “Steldor wishes me to give you this as a token of his affection and as an indication of his longing to mend his relationship with you.” Galen proffered the necklace in such a way that anyone watching would certainly
see its splendor. “He would be honored if you would wear it tonight, but if you choose otherwise, he will accept your decision with grace and humility.”

  I understood the real alternatives that Galen was presenting to me. Wear the necklace, and Steldor would assume all was forgiven; refuse, and he would leave me alone for the rest of the evening. Making my choice, I gazed at Steldor for a moment, trying to first tell him that I intended to decline before informing his friend of the same, but I vacillated, temporarily at a loss for words. Steldor had not moved and was atypically alone. One hand was resting on the table beside him, and he was drumming his fingers upon it. His expression was not haughty, nor was his stance. Rather, he looked more vulnerable than I had ever seen him in my life, as if he were actually troubling himself over the nature of the conversation Galen was having with me, and an unexpected sense of compassion swept through me. Steldor did have some fine qualities, a fact that escaped me on most occasions, for I had a difficult time seeing past his intolerable conceit. But now, as that aspect of his personality was subdued, I almost wanted to make peace with him. We might make a good couple, after all, I told myself, as I pictured us together. If there were some way to contain his ego.

  As I returned my attention to Galen, my father winked at me, and I came to understand how clever and cunning the two friends could be. They had expertly executed their scheme. It would have been just as simple for Galen to give me the necklace before we’d reached the table, or to do it at a later time in the evening, but instead he had waited to be in the presence of my father, who I knew had heard the essence of our exchange. If I now refused Steldor’s gift, I would not only be disappointing Steldor; I would be disappointing the King.

  I bit my lower lip, resentment burning in my stomach, then assented, turning my back to Galen so that he could fasten the pendant around my neck. I glanced once more toward Steldor, whose attention was now upon me, and saw his face brighten as I accepted the gift. To my dismay, I also witnessed a return of his typical air of condescension.