Prince of Stars, Son of Fate Page 6

  Chapter Six

  When Kay and his men returned to the darkness, they found several more dying starshard fragments. From the way they were scattered about the land, some imbedded into the frozen earth, others having shattered the trees, it was obvious that whatever had happened there had been quick and devastating. Thankfully they encountered no more grimbears or even grimwolves, only a few sickly elk, weakened from cold, starvation, and exposure to foul magic. Kay and his men slaughtered them to put them out of their misery.

  As they further penetrated the bank of foul fog, the starshard fragments became more frequent. Sometimes they still held living spirits that Kay could free, but most were now reduced to no more than dirty glass. Kay’s insides twisted. A starshard was more than a source of light and heat. It housed and sheltered thousands if not millions of tiny spirits, good spirits, creatures, who in the few encounters he’d been blessed to have, had only wanted good for their fellow creatures—even if they were the reason the heartbond had chosen him instead of the better suited Olyn.

  The memory of the heartbond brought it from his subconscious. Arynne’s soul churned in his mind, restless, anxious, like a caged cat-owl hissing at the forbidden sky.

  A hand on his shoulder jolted him back to reality. Frole jerked his head towards their left. “I hear something. Can’t see anything in this soup, but listen.”

  The group paused mid-step, ears open. The sound of the wind and their own breathing masked all other noise, then so faint it might’ve been his imagination, Kay caught a rustling, not with the wind.

  “Idyne, Crede, watch our rear,” Kay murmured. “If it’s any sort of animal, it’ll come from behind. We’re getting close. I can feel it.”

  With every step, in fact, the oppressive magic grew heavier over him. It muddied his connection to Arynne, weakening their bond. That alone would’ve been enough cause for distress, but a second presence replaced her: cold, grasping hands prying at his soul, looking for weak spots. He drew from his magic, calling light from his core to surround him like a shield. A faint glow suffused his skin. Frole cast him a glance, gave a short nod, and drew his sword.

  A muffled sound wafted through the murk, faint at first like a distant river, but growing louder as they cut deeper into the mists.

  “What is that?” Crede shouted over the din.

  “Our target,” Kay yelled. “Watch my back. I’m going in!” Unshouldering his pack, he dug through it until he found a starshard roughly the size of his head, harvested from the cave where they’d stayed for their rest. With this clasped between both hands he took a determined step forward.

  Wisps of dark fog snaked towards the shard, reaching for its light. The spirits inside quivered. His magic sparked to life within his blood. It rose to their aid, and a burst of brilliant energy rippled from him. The fog fled, pushed back by the wave of magical light, revealing a circular area perhaps ten yards across. At the edge of this, in the center of a ring of broken, darkened starshard fragments, lay a gaping hole, seething with dark energy.

  Kay’s jaw clenched. The gap was as wide as he was tall and twice as long. How deep it went was impossible to say for shadows so black as to seem solid filled it. Twisting mist, gray and with a scent of charred flesh, undulated out of it, pouring over the earth. The roar echoed from it, the cry of angry, evil magic.

  “Is that it?” Crede continued to shout.

  “Yep,” Idyne answered.

  “So the Lingering Dark is beneath us? Like under the earth?” The boy shot a confused look to each of the older wardens in turn.

  “It’s not that simple.” Kay strode towards the pit, keeping the starshard in front of him. “Watch my back. I’m going to close it.”

  However, as his feet touched the earth at the edge of the pit, a wave of sickly energy coursed through him. He tightened his grip on the starshard and reached for his connection to Arynne. It had strengthened him twice already, and he needed all the help he could get.

  Her quiet strength trickled through him, chasing away the unease and growing nausea.

  Unwanted ... Cursed ... Doomed ...

  Athan’s voice echoed in his skull. Kay gritted his teeth.

  “Shut up,” he said through clenched teeth, glad the roar from the pit to cover his voice.

  Magic welled up in Kay’s chest like the warmth from a good meal. He could do this. Deep breath, ignoring the putrid odor, then exhale. His power escaped with his outbreath. It rushed over the starshard and into the pit as a stream of silver light. The roar heightened to a shriek.

  Crede cried out. Kay flinched but shut his eyes and sent his will through the channeled magic. He imagined it lacing across the rift, covering it and pulling it tight. The dark powers pushed against him. Their resistance jerked through the cords of power, shaking him, forcing him to brace every muscle in his body just to keep the connection.

  You will lose everything.

  “No, you will.” Kay’s heart beat frantically. Sweat beaded on his brow. Steam rose off him in the freezing cold. “Ever help me!”

  You cost your kingdom everything. You cost your brother everything. Everyone you claim to love suffers from your existence.

  Kay threw a desperate burst of magic forward. A flash of light pushed the darkness further into the pit, but the voice wasn’t silenced.

  You are a mistake. Meaningless. If you had any courage, you’d throw yourself into the darkness before you. No one wants you.

  Kay sought Arynne. With his last strength, he latched onto their heartbond and sent another pulse into the pit. There was a great sucking noise and a blinding flash. Kay’s head swam, and he hit the ground hard. Blackness closed in on him.

  Hands on his shoulders, pulling him into a sitting position, brought him back to awareness what might’ve been seconds but as easily could’ve been hours later. He blinked several times. Pale moonlight illuminated the space before him. The world was quiet. Traces of the choking fog lingered, but a cool breeze was already chasing it away. A cool breeze? Actually it was freezing. A shiver cut through him, and his teeth chattered.

  “Here.” Idyne wrapped a blanket around Kay’s shoulders.

  “You broke a sweat.” Frole clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “That’s dangerous out here.”

  “I know!” Kay rasped. His limbs hung limp from his body, and there was a little magic left in his blood. He wondered if he might still have enough energy to travel, but with how much he’d put into the rift-closing, it probably wasn’t worth the risk. Idyne briskly rubbed his back and shoulders, stirring his blood and bringing feeling into his extremities again.

  “We did it,” Crede breathed. He stood at the edge of what had been the rift. Now, instead of an unending shaft into unknowable depths filled with churning dark powers, it was just a pit, perhaps two feet deep at most. Simple charred earth made up the bottom. “So ... where is the Lingering Dark?” Crede furrowed his brow.

  “It’s not really in this world.” Kay managed a weak laugh. “I’m afraid I don’t even understand it ...” Even after he’d been there. He shuddered at the memory. He drew several more deep breaths then staggered to his feet. For a split second, he wobbled, and both Idyne and Frole put out their hands, ready to catch him, but then he widened his stance and managed to keep his balance. “I’m ready to walk back. We’re done here.”

  Crede brightened. “Are we going back to the Starspire, then?”

  Kay winced. His men deserved a rest after a hard mission so far from home ... but he couldn’t return, not without breaking his life oath and suffering the consequences. “That’s certainly the end goal.” He stood a little straighter. “But for now, let’s just focus on getting some place warm and dry, all right?”

  As he turned away from the closed rift, a sense of foreboding gripped him at the base of the neck. Yes, this rift was closed, but there would be others. As long as Athan remained alive, Frorheim was in danger.

  Chapter Seven

  Arynne clutched her tea cup between her ha
nds, trying to absorb the warmth of the steam into her body. Her magic simmered in her chest like coals longing for fuel to burst alight again. Normally Arynne’s own inner heat was enough to satisfy her magic’s hunger, but for the last two moonnotches, she had felt nothing but cold. During the last dimming period, she’d woken up several times, shivering. Unable to warm herself, she’d cuddled up in a tight bundle of blankets and concentrated on her link to Kay. The comforting presence of his soul tied to hers soothed her to slumber.

  However, when the Starspire had flared to full intensity again, and she’d woken, her muscles ached. Stiff and cold, she had spent the first half of the brightening huddled in front of the fire, wrapped in a cloak. Sigid didn’t understand her complaints but had spent the last several hours bringing her cup after cup of steaming tea anyway. Arynne must’ve had at least three pots worth by this point.

  “I really don’t think it’s that cold this brightening.” Sigid clicked her tongue. “It’s actually rather pleasant.”

  “It’s never this cold in Solea,” Arynne snapped. “You Frorians don’t know what warm is if you call this pleasant.”

  Sigid paused. “Well, I suppose if I had lived my whole life in an oven, I’d find this an adjustment too. I wonder if a second pair of stockings would help.”

  She bustled out of the sitting room and into the bedroom where the wardrobe was kept.

  Sol yawned, stretched, and launched from his perch to land on the couch beside Arynne. She hazarded a shaking hand out from under her cloak and rubbed him between the ears. Even the cat-owl’s normally warm fur felt cold to the touch. She shuddered.

  Someone knocked on the door.

  Clutching a pair of stockings in one hand, Sigid rushed from the bedchamber to the door and popped it open. A young page stood on the opposite side.

  “King Evyd is requesting an audience with the Princess Arynne in his study.”

  “The princess isn’t feeling well—” Sigid began.

  Arynne lurched to her feet, untangling herself from her cloak, and sending Sol skittering under the couch. “I’m just cold, Sigid, not ill.” She didn’t want to be fussed over. “Maybe a quick walk to stir my blood is just what I need.” She eyed the page. “Does the king want me now?”

  “He said as soon as you could get there.”

  Arynne glanced down at her garments. While the heavy cloak covered her to the extent that she didn’t mind the page seeing her, underneath it she still wore the sleeping dress she’d fallen asleep in, having been too cold to bare her skin even for the short time it would’ve taken to dress.

  “I’ll need a few minutes to change. You can wait for me outside.”

  The page nodded and shut the door.

  “It’s good to see you getting out of this room.” Sigid grinned. She tossed Arynne the stockings. “You’ve been cooped up like a broody hen for the last several moonnotches, and I was starting to worry about you.”

  “I’m fine. It just takes a while to adjust to the weather.” Arynne rubbed her arms, trying to ease the goosebumps away. “I think I’d like to wear the sage green dress with the fur collar.” It was one of her warmer garments, while still being palace appropriate.

  “Of course. Also those fawnskin boots with the seal lining?” Sigid tilted her head to one side.

  “Those sound perfect.”

  As Sigid disappeared back into the bedroom, Arynne crossed to the writing desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out Friya’s vial. A strange, sickly heat, more like fevered skin than sun or firelight, radiated off the glass, though the liquid inside remained clear and unassuming.

  She fingered the vial. She’d had no word from Kay since their dream meeting, or much emotion from him either outside the spike of fear and despair that had sent her leaping from her bed screaming in the middle of the dimming only a few moonnotches before. It had faded quickly, but left her anxious for a long while. Olyn thought Kay might’ve been in combat. After all, a Starwarden was a position that required fighting and danger. She couldn’t expect him to always be safe and calm. Still, she would’ve given anything to have him in the palace again, secure, with nothing trying to kill him.

  If you do it, if you slip the king a drop of what he deserves, Kay might return. Kay might come home to you. Kay might love you—as a man, a physical presence, not just a sensation in the back of your mind, little more than a memory and a dream.

  Biting down hard on her bottom lip, she shut the drawer, keeping the vial tight in her hand. If a chance presented, then it was fate. No point in denying fate.

  A difficulty of her plan—if she could call it a plan—presented as soon as Sigid returned carrying a bundle of clothes. Arynne managed to keep the vial hidden in her hand as Sigid helped her remove her sleeping garments and get her clothing on. When Sigid turned her back for a moment, Arynne slipped the vial into one of her stockings. The strange heat seeped into her leg, and a giddy relief spread through her. She was going to do it. She’d made up her mind, and all that was left to do was find and grab an opportunity.

  Kay will come home. I’ll see Kay again.

  Properly dressed, she stepped out into the hall where the page waited to escort her. While the brisk walk through the palace didn’t warm her as much as she hoped, it did keep her mind off the gnawing cold that still plagued her. Finally the page opened an ornately carved, wooden door leading to a room with a crackling fire, a white bearskin rug, and two awaiting men: Olyn and Evyd.

  One corner of Olyn’s mouth perked up in an encouraging, if half-hearted, smile, though Evyd only continued to glower. Come to think of it, Arynne didn’t think she’d ever seen the older man with a look on his face that could be described as pleasant.

  “Took you long enough.” He tossed a scornful glance in Arynne’s direction before settling into a large chair beside the fire. The page scurried to his side at a jerk from his king’s head. Without a word from the king, he brought out a tumbler and a carafe of golden liquid from a cabinet built into the side table by the king’s chair, filled the tumbler, and set both the full tumbler and the carafe on the table top. He then hurried out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

  Olyn offered Arynne one of two smaller chairs before himself sitting. Arynne gripped the arms of her chair, very aware of the vial within her stocking. The king’s alcohol would be the perfect vehicle for the poison. As far as she knew, only he ever drank it. The question was how could she get herself alone with it long enough to do what needed to be done?

  The heat from the vial spread up her leg and into her core, and for the first time that brightening, she didn’t feel cold.

  “Well, we’re both here now, Father.” Olyn tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair. “Would you mind telling me why you sent for us?”

  “Maybe I just want to spend time with my son and heir and his future bride.” Evyd took a sip of his drink.

  Neither Arynne nor Olyn replied, but Arynne sniffed, and even usually placid Olyn squinted skeptically at his father.

  “All right, all right. We’ll cut to the core of the issue.” Setting down the tumbler, Evyd leaned forward in his seat. “I’ve set a date for your wedding.”

  Arynne’s breath left her, and Olyn’s jaw dropped.

  “Are you insane?” Arynne gasped.

  Evyd flashed her a glare, his lips curling in a snarl.

  Olyn held up his hand. “Father, while I understand this is a goal of yours—”

  “And it should be a goal for you as well.” Evyd jabbed a finger at his son. “The girl agreed to come here as your future bride. It’s time she fulfilled her purpose.”

  “I’m still tied to Prince Kajik through the heartbond,” Arynne protested.

  “And the bond can end through estrangement,” Evyd said. “I don’t know about you, but if I heard the girl I stole from my brother had finally given up and married that brother, I’d call it an estrangement.”

  Arynne’s cheeks heated. Kay hadn’t stolen anything—at least nothing she had
n’t freely given.

  Evyd stood and pushed back his chair. “You can protest all you want, but the people have already heard that the heartbonding ceremony went wrong.”

  Because you told them. Arynne’s fists clenched as her magic stirred within her, powered by the heat from the vial of poison. It would be so satisfying to throw an orb of fire the size of a rivermelon in Evyd’s insufferable face.

  “If they don’t see a wedding soon, more rumors will spread, panic will take root, and before you know it, the kingdom will be in chaos.” Evyd crossed his arms. “For the good of the people, we need to show them a union between the Star Prince and a Sun Princess.”

  “But we can’t.” Arynne cast a hopeless glance at Olyn. While she was no stranger to arguments, normally the other party had at least some semblance of common sense. Evyd apparently thought he could bully reality into being what he wanted by sheer camel-headed obstinance.

  Olyn hopped to his feet and grasped Evyd’s shoulder. “Father, I really would rather wait until the heartbond has faded between Arynne and Kajik before we—”

  “We can’t afford to wait any longer!” Evyd crossed his arms. “The heartbond isn’t fading. It’s been nearly three mooncycles! You need to break your brother’s hold on the girl. A dimming in your bed should do the trick.”

  Olyn coughed, and Arynne’s stomach twisted. Did Evyd really think Olyn sleeping with her would end the heartbond?

  “But how can I ...” Olyn’s ears reddened. “The heartbond links Arynne and Kajik’s souls. They feel each other’s emotions.”

  “I’m aware of how it works.” Evyd frowned, his face impassive.

  “Father, I can’t ... make love to Arynne knowing that Kay will ... I just can’t.”

  “And I wouldn’t let him!” Arynne stood and stomped her foot.

  “What you want doesn’t matter in this case, princess.” Evyd took a threatening step towards her. Arynne’s heart quickened, but she stuck her chin in the air and stared him down. “You promised yourself to my son and heir. He has a claim to you, whether you’ve changed your mind or not.” He shrugged a shoulder in Olyn’s direction. “As far as I’m concerned if he bedded you this dimming, willing or unwilling, it’d be his prerogative.”