Storm Surge (17 page)

Even he needed a healer after being bitten by a kingmaker, although he’d survived several encounters with the often-lethal serpents.

“That’s possible. When your Guardians come, why don’t we ask them? They’d know, wouldn’t they?”

“Probably.”

“Do you remember what happened in Morinvale?”

“Not really. Bits and pieces, but not a lot. They were going to sacrifice children again.” Kalen swallowed. He had been so impotent, unable to save the Kelshite children from the Danarites and mercenaries.

In Morinvale, he had been ready and willing to throw everything away, including his life, to stop it from happening again. That was where his memories became a blur, right up until the Crimson Eye’s senior healer, Parice, had healed his deafness.

“For that, Your Majesty, we will make them pay in blood,” the witch swore.

Kalen believed her.

Waiting was the worst part. Breton needed something to do, something other than standing still and silent guard, watching over the tent of the Delrose herd. He listened to the soft murmur of their voices. They had settled into their new routine, which involved a lot of staying in one place doing nothing.

Losing track of the time wasn’t like him, even at night, but the minutes stretched into hours, and while the mercenaries with any sense at all were asleep, the Delrose herd refused to rest. Breton wanted to pace, but he’d done enough of that for three men already. Seeking out Ceres wouldn’t do either one of them any good. Kalen’s foal needed sleep almost as much as Breton did.

While he wanted to express his worries, speaking wouldn’t help, not when he couldn’t act on anything.

All that was left for him to do was wait.

The mercenaries of the Crimson Eye settled into the same pattern they had embraced at Morinvale, with two differences that kept him close to the Delrose’s tent: more of them lurked on the edges of the camp, and all of them had their swords drawn.

Swords wouldn’t do them any good against the skreed, but there was an equally dangerous enemy in the night. Desperate men from a broken company had nothing to lose. Breton had heard some of the less reclusive mercenaries whispering about it when they thought he couldn’t hear them.

If they were lucky, the Wolf Blades would surrender and beg to be absorbed by Silvereye’s company. If not, they might make a run at them to finish what they had started.

Breton sighed. Rolling his shoulders, he winced a little at the tightness surrounding the spot where the skreed had injured him. While the brand no longer hurt, the silver, gold, and black markings were warmer than the rest of him. While it helped drive away the evening chill, it didn’t comfort him.

All it did was leave him with even more questions. Why had the skreed spared him in the Rift? The four in Morinvale had let them go as well. Breton rubbed at the brand engraved on him. Why hadn’t the swarm left its banks to devour them all?

It wouldn’t have been difficult for it to wipe them all out, but it hadn’t. They’d been spared, save for the few who hadn’t moved fast enough. Their deaths, at least, had been swift.

If Crysallis was right, and the swarm
was
skreed, Breton didn’t want to think about how many of them would be hunting the forests—or how they’d fight them off. He’d been helpless against the four in Morinvale. They hadn’t hurt him or the other Guardians. If anything, they had stood guard over them. They hadn’t touched the Rift King, either.

The skreed had no such sympathies for the Wolf Blades or Danarites. But why?

All he could think about was his very first encounter with the skreed in the Rift, when he had been branded by it. Who—or what—was the Eldest, and why did the skreed seem so interested in it? What did it have to do with
them
?

Breton didn’t have any answers, and without anything to distract him or keep him busy, all he could do was think. Frustration welled up, leaving him anxious for action. He wanted to hit something—or someone—but he couldn’t even do that. Maiten was gone, and he didn’t dare spar with anyone else.

He didn’t trust himself to hold back.

Lady Delrose shoved her head through the tent flap. Her gaze settled on him. “Don’t you ever get tired of standing out there?”

There was no doubt in Breton’s mind that the woman was the Rift King’s dam in that moment; while their eyes were a different shade of blue, the intensity was the same, as was her exasperated tone.

It was enough to cajole a faint smile out of him. “Good evening, Lady Delrose.”

“I’m awake. They are not,” she whispered, emerging from the tent. She adjusted her cloak on her shoulders. “Find another guard so we can walk together.”

Deciding it wasn’t worth the effort of arguing with her, Breton nodded, retreating to the line of tents. When he stood in the light of one of the lanterns, he gestured as Captain Silvereye and instructed. One of the mercenary guards jogged up to him. “Sir?”

“Lady Delrose wishes to stretch her legs. Can you find someone to keep watch on the rest of them?” he asked.

“I can take your watch. If you leave the camp, don’t leave without a patrol. We’re on alert.” The Mithrian relaxed his stance, but his eyes were bright and wary.

“We won’t leave the camp,” Breton promised. Returning to Lady Delrose, he clasped his hands behind his back, settling into place a half step behind and to her right. “Where shall we walk, Lady Delrose?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, and true to her sentiment, she picked a direction and set off, her pace as brisk as her tone. “Bresalan likes to think himself clever. He thinks he can fool
me
. Since he isn’t talking, you will. I want to know what has happened to my son, and I want to know what you’re planning to do about it.”

Laughing at the Rift King’s dam wouldn’t do him any favors. Breton swallowed several times to keep his mirth contained. “Four Guardians and a witch are out hunting for him, Lady Delrose. He was separated from us when the swarm came. He is alive. That’s all I can tell you.”

“That’s more than what my husband has told me,” she replied. She crossed her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes as she came to a halt under one of the pole-hung lanterns. “Four Guardians? There were only four of you before. More have come? Are you aware that Princess Tala is here?”

Ignoring her questions regarding the numbers of Guardians present, Breton replied, “She came in with your foal’s horse. I’m aware. I have not seen her yet.”

“As she is, she’s an unacceptable match for the Rift King.” Lady Delrose sniffled. “She’s entirely unsuited for what he needs. Bresalan seems to think he can ignore me in this matter.”

Breton didn’t envy Lord Delrose. The Kelshite woman’s eyes were harder than sapphires, cold, and so entirely like her foal’s that it hurt him to look at her. “His Majesty is not, I assure you, interested in a Queen at this time. He has already declared that if he selects a Queen, she will be his court mate, which is not something taken lightly.”

“Explain.”

“Court mated couples wear rather venomous, partnered serpents. Once a pair is bound together, they remain so until death. My sire and dam are such a pair. It is uncommon among us. Most prefer the freedom of picking and choosing their partners at leisure.” Breton shrugged. “It forces absolute loyalty in the couple. To betray one’s mate is to court a very swift death.”

“Good.” Lady Delrose wrinkled her nose. “While I think she’s a nice enough girl and might make a good wife for someone, considering the circumstances…”

“His Majesty needs a Queen who is his equal.” Hiding his smile behind a fake cough, he stared off into the darkness. Had Crysallis or the other Guardians found his wayward foal? He hoped so.

Without Honey to protect him, Breton worried.

“She was much different as a child, when we arranged their betrothal. They were well-matched, equally serious and determined.” One by one, Lady Delrose cracked her knuckles, her eyes narrowed. Breton wasn’t sure he wanted to know what she was thinking that gave her such intensity. “That changed.”

“After he disappeared,” he guessed, careful to keep his tone neutral.

Lady Delrose clasped her hands in front of her and stilled. “You saved his life, didn’t you?”

Breton couldn’t help himself; he smiled at the memory of a much younger Kalen, determined despite everything. “He saved his own life. I simply helped him along a little.”

“Is that so?” Kalen’s dam refused to look at him, as though worried if she started asking serious questions—the things she really wanted to know—he would cease talking altogether.

“Why don’t we find a quiet place to sit, and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

She jerked her head up. “You will?”

“In exchange, you’ll tell me what you know of Kelsh’s princess.”

Lady Delrose’s smile was the reflection of Kalen’s at his worst. “I think I can help you with that.”

~~*~~

The quietest place Breton could find with a place to sit was at the pickets among the horses. The mercenaries watch them with interest, but gave them space without him having to ask for it. Lady Delrose sat on a log, her hands clasped together on her lap.

“I’m surprised you’re not wearing breeches,” he said as he sat beside her.

“If I had them, I’d wear them,” she grumbled. “We didn’t have time to grab much when we left our villa.”

Breton grinned. “I’ll talk to Captain Silvereye about that, if you’d like.”

“Please do. Bresalan’s angry that you call our son your son. I am not stupid. He’s angry because our son calls
you
father, not because
you
consider him a son. I’d like to understand.”

Breton sighed. “Then I’ll be direct, Lady Delrose. I can’t have children.”

Her eyes widened, and after a long moment of thought, she nodded without saying a word.

“The proper place to begin is at the beginning. What do you already know about your foal, Lady Delrose?”

The woman’s eyes hardened, and she sat straighter. “My husband and the king were poisoning him. Bresalan claims it was to help him, to make him resistant against poisons if someone tried to kill him. Something went wrong, and the king tried to kill Satoren instead.”

“That’s pretty accurate. It was politics. Kelsh’s king is obsessed with eliminating Danar once and for all. Judging from my experiences with your foal, his personality and sense of justice went against that goal. It’s unfortunate. A sense of justice is something Kelsh’s king could use a bit more of.”

Lady Delrose snorted. “Such a masterful understatement, Guardian.”

“I won’t go into the specifics of how I knew who your foal was when I found him. I trust you understand that?”

At her nod, Breton stretched out his legs, considering how best to tell her of how he brought Kalen into the Rift. He could have told her about all of the circumstances, the reasons Kalen had done what he had done, but Breton suppressed the desire.

That was for the Rift King to handle, not him.

“When I first met him, he was trying to steal my horse,” Breton said, unable to keep his amusement out of his voice. In the Rift, horse theft was among the worst violations of the Code, but he hadn’t been angry, not when faced with a desperate and dying foal. “That’s how I knew something was wrong. In normal circumstances, Perin wouldn’t have tolerated it. He would have either ran or killed the person trying to steal him. Instead, he brought your foal to me.”

“He tried to steal your horse?” Lady Delrose’s voice rose in pitch.

“He has a good eye for horses. It is well enough that he picked Perin. If he hadn’t, you would have found his body outside of Elenrune.”

“You’re serious.”

“You will need to speak to Lord Delrose for his part of the tale, but I was given orders by His Majesty’s predecessor to deliver a rather important message. I never made it into the city. I knew what I carried, and when I saw your foal, I understood why I carried it. Unfortunately, we did not know the true severity of the vellest poisoning. The amount of antidote I was carrying was only enough to save his life, not reverse what had been done.” Breton scowled, the old simmering anger revived as he remembered carrying Kalen’s limp body in front of him, wondering if Perin could make it to the Rift in time.

It had been close—too close.

“Go on,” Kalen’s dam said, her tone quiet and troubled.

“I turned Perin for the Rift and rode as fast as I could. The antidote kept him asleep for the first day. After that, it was a race—would I reach the Rift before he died from the vellest? While the convulsions didn’t kill him, he couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t without the antidote. So, in that, Lord Delrose and Kelsh’s king had done well by him. He didn’t die. Any other man likely would have. It took me three months to get him deep into the Rift.” Breton considered what else he could tell the woman. How would she react when she found out what had actually saved her foals life?

He’d only find out by telling her. Sighing in resignation, he ran his hands through his hair. “I named him Kalen because of his inability to sit still. He didn’t care where I was taking him, so long as we were moving forward. Unlike him, I had to sleep. He was, as he is now, a ceaseless, restless wind.”

“He never liked sitting idle. He always wanted to be doing something,” Kalen’s dam whispered.

“Nothing has changed.”

“So you made it to the Rift city and got him the antidote?”

“His Majesty has the luck of the Rift. No, we didn’t make it to Blind Mare Run. We were a day into the Upper Reaches when he found an abandoned serpent’s nest. I warned him to leave the eggs alone, but he didn’t listen. In that, nothing has changed either,” he admitted in a wry tone. “They were kingmaker eggs, and despite my hopes, they were still quite alive. He kept them warm, and they hatched.”

“Kingmaker eggs?”

“They’re serpents. When they’re newly hatched, they aren’t dangerous; they don’t become venomous until they’re around a foot long. But once they’re adults, they’re among the most lethal things in the Rift.” Breton shook his head. “I should be grateful that he couldn’t let those eggs go. Before he had a chance to let the newborn hatchlings go, another kingmaker found him. He was bitten.”