Storm Surge (27 page)

Kalen felt his brows rise, and he gawked at Breton. “I was not considering her as my Queen. You know that. You’ve seen how many rejections I’ve sent.”

“Good. I won’t have to beat sense into you, then.”

Kalen opened his mouth to say something, snapped it closed with a clack of his teeth, and tilted his head as he tried to make sense of Breton’s behavior. “What? But…”

With a chuckle, Maiten clapped Kalen’s shoulder. “He’s teasing you, foal. Let him have his fun.”

“She’s really Kelsh’s Heir?”

“Unfortunately,” Breton rumbled.

“She didn’t seem stupid,” he said, furrowing his brows. “Her Rifter was barely passable. Still, why was she going to Morinvale? Silvereye, perhaps we should summon my sire and Her Royal Highness. I think it’s time to ask them some questions before we consider what to do about the Wolf Blades. She might know something we don’t.”

“Why Lord Delrose?” the Shadow Captain asked in reply.

“I might not like him, but he’s not a fool, and he might learn something from what she says that we miss. I’m about as much a Kelshite as you are at this point.”

“Moritta, fetch them,” Silvereye ordered. The woman headed for the flap.

Both Breton and Maiten winced. Kalen glared at them. “What’s that reaction for? While I’m hungry, I’m not going to eat them.”

“And on your way, Moritta, ask someone to bring us some food from the mess, please.”

“Of course, sir,” she said before ducking out of the tent. Sunlight streamed through the opening.

“Breton?” Kalen asked, hoping the demand in his voice would force an answer from his Guardian.

“It is the torture of a survived serpent’s bite,” Maiten said, shaking his head. “You’re a nibbler on a corpse once you start asking questions, Captain.”

“If that Knight has the answers we need, Maiten, I will ask questions until I cough blood if necessary.”

Breton snorted. “That’s what we’re afraid of, Kalen.”

“It’s still a good idea. Delaven, go after Moritta and tell her we’ll meet in the command tent. There’s too many of us to fit in here as it is, let alone with extras. I think we’re all going to need some tea to get through this. I’d rather that my co-captain didn’t start coughing blood while interrogating Her Royal Highness.”

While Kalen was skeptical over how warm it was outside, his new co-captain assured him he wouldn’t need any more than a tunic, trousers, and fur boots to keep the mud off his feet. He grabbed his cloak anyway, taking gleeful delight in how much simpler the task was when he could see.

Gorishitorik’s weight comforted him as well, and he basked in the security of having his blade and being able to use it. Kalen followed after Captain Silvereye, squinting in the sunlight. The warmth of summer had melted the snow from the previous day’s storm, leaving behind puddles and thick patches of mud.

By the time they crossed the camp, Kalen’s boots were caked in thick gunk, weighing twice as much as they should. While Captain Silvereye held open the flap to the large command tent, Kalen fought his way out of his boots, cursing them and their muddied laces.

“I told you it was warm,” the Mithrian said.

“The air is warm; the mud most certainly is not,” Kalen countered, setting the boots aside so he wouldn’t trail filth all over the command tent’s canvas flooring. How the material hadn’t been soaked through by the mud was a marvel, but one he appreciated as he crossed the tent and claimed a stool.

“It’ll be better in a few days, unless another storm decides to blow through.”

Kalen twisted around, narrowing his eyes at his co-captain. “Don’t even think it.”

Silvereye laughed.

One by one, Kalen’s Guardians filed into the tent, dumping their muddy boots in a pile. Breton stifled a yawn, dropping down on the stool nearest the flap.

Moritta stood next to Breton, her hands clasped behind her back. “They’ll be coming shortly.”

All signs of Silvereye’s amusement vanished. “Is there a reason for the delay?”

With pursed lips and a flinty look in her eyes, Moritta replied, “When I left, Lord Delrose was attempting to impress upon Her Royal Highness that she did not have the authority to refuse your invitation.”

“I see.”

A headache blossomed behind Kalen’s forehead. The First stirred and murmured its disgust before quieting. Kalen ran his hand through his hair, wincing a bit as his fingers snagged in a tangle. While he waited, he worked at the knots until the worst were gone.

“It’s gotten long,” Breton commented in a neutral tone. “I need to braid your hair.”

“While you can do the braids, you are not coming near my hair with anything sharp,” Kalen retorted.

The last time he had his hair cut to stop it from falling into his eyes, Breton had left him with an uneven mess, making him the primary source of entertainment in Blind Mare Run for a week.

“I’ll cut it,” Maiten offered, chuckling. “We need you looking at least somewhat respectable. I promise it won’t look like a horse has been chewing on your head.”

A mercenary pushed his way into the tent carrying a tray covered with cloth. With a nod, the dark-haired man left it on the large table, snapped a salute, and hurried out.

“Since we’re waiting anyway, we may as well eat,” Silvereye said before sighing.

“Galen’s raiding the supplies for a better tea and will send it over once he’s satisfied.” Striding across the tent, Moritta plucked the cloth off the tray, folded it, and set it aside. She picked up a small loaf of bread and offered it to Kalen. “From my understanding, you don’t like most meats, sir?”

Kalen reached over and took it. The bread was still warm, and the loaf was heavier than he expected. He took a cautious bite, discovering a sharp, melted cheese within. “I have a dubious relationship with meat.”

“I was wondering about that,” Captain Silvereye admitted. “Parice was pretty strict about what he was giving you. I had noticed the odd absence of meat.”

Kalen made a sour face, taking another bite of cheese and bread.

“Those were my orders,” Breton admitted, crossing to the tent to grab a loaf. “He tends to spend a day or two unable to eat or drink anything other than water after. It’s unpleasant for all of us involved.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Kalen muttered.

“All meat?” The curiosity in Captain Silvereye’s tone was partnered with a frown.

“I like rabbit,” he said wistfully.

“Can you eat it without throwing up everywhere?” Breton asked suspiciously.

“I’d be willing to take the risk to find out,” he replied with as much dignity as he could muster.

“It’s your stomach,” his senior Guardian warned.

“He’s your foal, so it’s your mess to clean up,” Maiten countered.

Varest burst into laughter. “As if that will stop Father.”

“Anything else I should know about?” Shaking his head, Silvereye claimed a loaf for himself, breaking a piece off and eating it.

“I don’t drink wines or spirits,” Kalen said before one of his Guardians decided to share one of his more notable embarrassments with the Mithrian Shadow Captain. “A glass now and then, but nothing more than that.”

It didn’t surprise him when his Rifter-born Guardians snickered.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Varest murmured.

Captain Silvereye arched a brow. “Oh?”

To Kalen’s disgust, Maiten grinned and said, “He likes to sing.”

“He likes to sing,” echoed Silvereye.

“He’s quite good at it, too. He’ll only sing once he’s got enough poured into him, though,” Maiten said with laughter in his voice. “We make a point of spiking his drinks every festival.”

“I hate you all,” Kalen muttered, shaking his head, almost wishing he could remember more about what he did once he started drinking. There was only one thing he knew for certain: no one had ever tried to kill him while he sang.

“It would be a very severe violation of the Code if we were not blessed with your singing at least once a festival,” was Maiten’s solemn reply.

Ceres nodded. “It’s true, Father. We wrote it in as an addendum. Any Rift King with as good of a voice as yours must sing once per festival. You’ll just have to live with it, I’m afraid.”

“So he sings, but only if you get him drunk first?” Captain Silvereye chuckled. “You have my attention. You’re welcome to a bottle of my wine, so long as I can hear the results.”

“Don’t encourage them, Silvereye,” Kalen muttered.

“I’m not encouraging them, Blackhand. I’m encouraging
you
. After the Wolf Blades are dealt with, I think we’ll have to get to know each other better over a few bottles of wine.”

“You won’t need that much,” Kalen muttered under his breath.

A mercenary pushed aside the tent’s flap. “There are two Kelshites here to see you, sirs,” he said in Mithrian.

“Bring them in,” Captain Silvereye replied, also in Mithrian. “Here comes trouble,” he murmured barely loud enough for Kalen to hear.

Kalen’s sire ducked into the tent first, followed by the blond-haired Knight he’d met in the forests outside of Morinvale. Unable to stop from frowning, he watched her. Red splotches marked her cheeks, and her eyes were bloodshot.

He couldn’t tell if she had been crying or was tired.

~Crying,~
was Satrin’s disgusted response. Kalen got the impression the comment was meant only for him. A moment later, the Yadesh stuck his head through the flap.
~May I come in, Captains?
~

“Of course,” Silvereye replied. “Make space.”

Delaven and Moritta shifted the excess stools out of the way to make room for Satrin. After snatching the cloth from the table, Derac wiped down the Yadesh’s legs and hooves.

With a long sigh, Lord Delrose settled on a stool. The Knight chose to remain standing, straight and stiff, refusing to look at anyone other than Captain Silvereye.

“Captain,” his sire greeted in a tired voice.

“Captain Blackhand and I have questions for you about Kelsh.”

The Knight’s eyes widened in surprise, and her gaze drifted from those gathered until settling on him. “You’re Captain Blackhand? But you said you’re a Rifter.”

Kalen arched a brow and stared at her until she lowered her eyes.

After clearing his throat, Captain Silvereye said, “Mithrian companies, such as this one, do not care about the circumstances of one’s birth. Rifters are cunning men, and their horses are worth their weight in gold, Princess Tala.”

Tala stiffened, lifting her chin. “Captain, I—”

“Enough, Your Highness,” his sire snapped. Kalen arched his brow at the annoyance in the man’s voice. “I told you this several times. You can’t pretend you aren’t who you are, not with these men. I already informed you that the Yadesh had told them.”

The Knight’s cheek twitched. “Very well, Council Member Delrose. Captain Silvereye, Captain Blackhand, what do you want with us? Why do you insist on holding us hostage?”

Lord Delrose sighed again. “Your Highness, if we were hostages, they wouldn’t let us freely wander the camp.”

“They won’t let us leave; that makes us hostages.”

The two glared at each other. Kalen rubbed his forehead, feeling his headache worsen as the pair snarled at each other.

“I have already informed you we are under the protection of the Rift.”

“Protection? Protection? You consider
this
protection? Do you really expect me to believe a makeshift band of hired thugs led by an old man and a cripple can protect either one of us?”

His sire paled. His Guardians stood straighter, their full attention focusing on Kelsh’s Heir. Lowering his head and shaking his mane, Satrin said,
~I apologize for her behavior.~

Once again, the Yadesh spoke to Kalen and him alone.

Clasping his hands together in front of him, Captain Silvereye watched the Knight. “It is no small wonder that the Danarites wish to remove Kelsh from every map, if her royalty is inclined to such behavior. It makes me question why I came such a distance for my hire.”

Tala’s jaw whitened, but she said nothing.

Kalen turned to his sire, meeting his gaze. “We’ve already learned how much a Knight’s word is worth, haven’t we, Lord Delrose? Perhaps she ought to learn the truth of her people before she speaks further.”

His sire swallowed. “That might be wise, but that tale is not for me to tell.”

Spinning on his heel, Kalen turned to Satrin. “Satrin, please inform her Royal Highness of the circumstances.”

~All of them?~
was the Yadesh’s reply.

Kalen shivered at what Satrin might reveal, but he nodded. “All of them,” he confirmed in a quiet voice.

~Very well, if you’re certain.~

“Why isn’t your Knight here?” Tala asked.

Kalen made his way to the table, leaning against it as close as he could get to Maiten and Breton without touching either one of them. The chest-tightening unease returned full force, and he forced himself to take several long and deep breaths.

Leaning down, Breton whispered, “You’ll be fine, foal.”

Kalen jerked his head in a nod.

~I have no Knight,~
Satrin announced after the silence stretched long enough that Kalen fidgeted.

“What? You do. His name is Garint,” Tala said in rebuke.

~Never!~

The woman’s mouth fell open at the force of the stallion’s denial.

~When I met Captain Blackhand, he and Derac were taken hostage by Garint and the Danarites he was working with. Marist and his Yadesh were murdered. Garint tried to kill me, but he failed.~
Satrin hung his head, ears flopped in equine misery.
~Garint aided the Danarites in torturing Captain Blackhand in their effort to gain information regarding the Rift King.~

“That’s impossible,” Tala whispered, her eyes widening. Her face paled to a sickly gray-green hue.

~When he refused to speak, they broke every bone in his hand and many in his feet. In order to track down and kill Lord Delrose, they released Captain Blackhand, planning it so Derac would lead them to his uncle.~

“Garint would never do something like that, never! He’s a Knight,” Tala cried out.

“Every word is true,” Lord Delrose said, his tone cold. “Captain Blackhand, two of his children, and Satrin helped prevent the slaughter of my wife, my children, and my workers. The Crimson Eye has been protecting us while also working to foil the Danarites.”

“Your Knight betrayed you, Satrin? Is it true?”

~Every word I have spoken is true.~

“But why? How? Why would he condone torture?” Disbelief warred with horror in the Kelsh Princess’s expression.

“I believe your king ordered it. I was hoping you could help us find the truth of the matter,” Kalen said, standing as tall as he could. Next to Breton, it didn’t help much. He felt shorter than usual.

For a long moment, he was certain that the woman would argue, but instead she asked, “How?”

“Why were you sent to Morinvale?”

The Knight flinched. “Relas and I were sent to serve there, to help me learn how to rule.”

It took every shred of Kalen’s will not to snort his disbelief and disgust. “It was a town hardly worthy of a future queen,” he countered, unable to mask the scorn in his voice. “On a Yadesh as swift as yours, it would take some ten days to reach Elenrune. You were alone.”