The Doom of Kings: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 1 (5 page)

There was a gown laid out on her bed. It was deep crimson silk, with full Fairhaven sleeves and a stiff collar of fine gnomish lace. Something inside her stirred and she knew that the cut and color of the dress had been chosen to flatter her height and features—

With a wordless cry of fury, she snatched up the sword and plunged it through the gown, stabbing deep into the mattress beneath. The blade pierced silk, bed-clothes, ticking, and stuffing to jam hard into the wood frame beneath. Ashi released the hilt
and staggered away, her lips drawn back. “It’s not supposed to be like this!” she snarled through her teeth.

A year ago she hadn’t known about the cut of gowns or the origins of lace. She’d barely known anything of the world outside of the Shadow Marches. She’d been content as a hunter of the savage Bonetree, one of the most feared of the Marcher clans. She’d dimly been aware of the thirteen dragonmarked houses, knowing them only as distant clans rumored to carry magic in their blood.

Then she’d discovered that she carried that magic, too.

She raised her arms in front of her. Bright blue-green lines traced her skin from the backs of her hands to her shoulders, disappearing under her shirt. The Mark of Sentinel wrapped her in a pattern that covered almost her entire body, from feet to face. Only her fingers and palms and a strip from her cheekbones to just above her eyebrows were unmarked by the power within her. The dragonmark was far larger than the one on Baerer’s shoulder. Larger even than the mark that Vounn carried on the inside of her right arm and that curled over her wrist. The scholars of the civilized world called it a Siberys Mark, rare and powerful.

Sometimes Ashi couldn’t call it anything except a curse. It was the reason she was here, wasn’t it? When the wizard-swordsman Singe had first opened her eyes to the corruption of the Bonetree and the possibility that another clan waited for her beyond the Shadow Marches, she’d actually been afraid that House Deneith might not accept her. All she’d had to prove kinship had been a sword inherited from her grandfather, an outclanner captured and brought into the Bonetree to sire new children. Then she, Singe, Ekhaas, and her other new friends had faced Dah’mir the dragon, and she had, without thinking, reached out with all the force of her will to deny Dah’mir a hold over the kalashtar Dandra’s mind—and succeeded. Dandra had been shielded from Dah’mir’s influence. In the same moment, the dragonmark had drawn itself across Ashi’s skin in a flash of color, undeniable proof that she belonged to Deneith.

But was the mark really a curse? Her anger ebbing, Ashi let her arms fall. The power that the mark granted her to shield a mind from magical influence had not only protected Dandra, it had
made the defeat of Dah’mir possible. Even indirectly the mark was a blessing: Deneith’s desire to bring her within its fold had been so strong that she’d been able to barter her willing surrender in return for the use of mercenaries from Deneith’s Blademarks Guild to stop one of Dah’mir’s mad schemes. The fighting men bought by her freedom had saved lives.

And if she had to admit it, there was a lot about House Deneith that fascinated her. The House was like nothing—no clan, no home, no life—she’d ever known. In the eight months since she’d left her friends and been taken away to Karrlakton, she’d discovered so many new things. Strange customs. New people and sights. A sense of history that was sometimes frightening—Sentinel Tower was, at its core, many centuries old, and the lore of Deneith contained even older tales of those who had borne the Mark of Sentinel. She’d had the chance to train with the masters of a martial house. She’d witnessed the awe-inspiring advance of the Darguuls and very nearly performed for them. Who among the Bonetree or even among her friends could claim the same?

Ashi turned around. A tall mirror hung on the wall of her bedchamber, and she looked at herself—at the reflection of a strong woman marked by a rare power. She drew herself up straight. The dragonmark was no curse. In fact, if any curse had been visited on her, it was—

The outer door of her chambers creaked open. “Ashi!” called Vounn. Footsteps in the sitting room said that the lady seneschal had not waited for a response or an invitation.

Ashi’s jaw tightened again. Most members of Deneith were brought up within the House, surrounded by its traditions and by the trappings of civilization. To have a savage of the Shadow Marches wielding the greatest power of the House had been too much for many of them. The lords of Deneith had welcomed her to Sentinel Tower, then had given her into the care of a mentor. Someone who could shape a rough savage into a proper lady of Deneith, a true asset to the House.

To the world, Vounn d’Deneith was a consummate diplomat, gently guiding the relationships between Deneith and the nobles of the nations of Khorvaire, maintaining good relations at the highest
levels. In private there was nothing gentle about her. Charm and grace became an unyielding, single-minded focus on her goals with no mercy for anyone who got in her way. One of those goals was shaping Ashi.

The lady seneschal appeared in the doorway of the bedchamber. Her lined face was hard. “Ashi, you left the reception before—” Her voice stopped as she took in the discarded robe, the impaled gown, and Ashi’s face. Her lips pressed together until they were thin lines. “You were supposed to wear that gown to the feast for Tariic tonight,” she said, her voice cold.

The anger she had felt earlier surged back through Ashi’s gut. “I was
supposed
to perform the sword dance for him!”

Vounn folded her hands, unmoved by her rage. “That doesn’t justify storming out of the Hall of Shields before proper introductions were made.” She went over to the bed and began working the sword free with practiced ease. Deneith was a martial house. Even the diplomats knew how to handle a weapon. She kept talking as she pulled at the sword. “You know how significant Tariic’s visit is for Deneith.”

For you, you mean, Ashi thought. She didn’t say it, though. Instead she repeated what her history tutor—hired by Vounn, of course—had drummed into her. “When Haruuc led the clans of the goblin races in the rebellion that carved Darguun out of southern Cyre thirty years ago, he did it on the back of a betrayal to Deneith, leading tens of thousands of hobgoblin mercenaries in turning against the House and the nations that employed them. Baron Jannes d’Deneith saved the honor of the House by entering Darguun and making peace with Haruuc, who personally guaranteed the future loyalty of mercenary troops supplied to Deneith. The ties between Deneith and Darguun have been strained, though. Tariic’s visit is the first to Sentinel Tower by an emissary of Haruuc since the founding of Darguun.”

The message that had arrived only a little more than a month before from Lhesh Haruuc, delivered by a uniformed gnome of House Sivis, had been unexpected but had set off waves of excitement. Vounn had brought it to a classroom where a tutor was conducting one of Ashi’s excruciating reading lessons—there had
been little need for reading and writing among the Bonetree—and stood over her as she puzzled out the words.

Lhesh Haruuc accepts your invitation and will send his personal emissary to meet with House Deneith to discuss matters of concern to us both
.

Such a short message for all the chaos that had followed it.

“I’ve been working on persuading the Darguuls to make a diplomatic visit since I was raised to my rank,” said Vounn without looking up. Her voice warmed with ambition. “It will be the first step to equalizing the relationship between Deneith and Darguun. We hire Darguuls, but they want nothing from us. That’s going to change. Too much depends on this visit to leave anything to chance.” The sword came free and Vounn set it aside, then added, “I saw you practicing the sword dance before the reception. Your steps were too raw. I had Baerer dress and slip into the ceremony to take your place. Based on the Darguuls’ reaction, I think it was the right decision.”

Ashi’s face burned. “Why didn’t you just use Baerer from the beginning, then? Why put me through the training?”

Vounn raised an eyebrow. “Having the sword dance performed for you is a statement of honor. To have the sword dance performed by the bearer of a Siberys Mark is a statement of strength.”

For a moment, Ashi could only stare at her. Blood thundered in her ears and her vision dimmed as the urge to strike the older woman burned through her. She held back, though. Sometimes the ways of the Bonetree came too easily. Instead, she just clenched her fists and said, “You only wanted me to dance because of my mark?”

“It’s your duty to serve Deneith,” Vounn said without hesitation. “I did think you might have a talent for it, but I see I should have given you more time.” She lifted the gown from the bed and inspected the holes in it. “The cuts are clean. Call for a seamstress, someone with magewright training. A mending spell will close these, and you can still wear the gown to dinner.”

Anger shifted inside of Ashi. “I’m not going to dinner.” The words sounded childish, but they came from deep inside her. Vounn blinked, astonishment at this rebellion leaping into her face. Ashi cut her off before she could say anything. “You heard me. I’m not going.”

Vounn’s astonishment vanished into a cold neutrality. “You have a place of honor two seats from Tariic. You must go.”

“Baerer can go in my place.” Ashi put her back to Vounn and went to her wardrobe. Her fingers fumbled with the seams of her fitted dancing shirt, then she simply grabbed the fabric and tore the stitching apart. A sleeveless shirt—the better to show off her dragonmark. Her mouth twisted in disgust. Flinging the rags away, she reached into the wardrobe. “Or better yet,” she said, “let my mark sit in the chair. Ah, but you can’t, since it’s coming with me.”

The shirt she pulled from the wardrobe had long sleeves. She tugged it over her head, then grabbed the fingerless gloves and scarf she habitually wore, when away from the enclave of Sentinel Tower, to hide the magical pattern on her skin.

“You can’t do this,” said Vounn.

Ashi glanced over her shoulder at the lady seneschal. There were two spots of color high on her cheeks. “Why not?” she asked her. “Because it will spoil your plans? Because it will mean trouble for the relationship between Deneith and Darguun? I don’t think my being there or not will make that much of a difference.”

She reached back into the wardrobe and took out one thing more: her sword. Her real sword, not the lightweight piece of metal from the dance but a proper blade, the one thing she’d carried away from the Bonetree clan and her old life. Singe had identified it as an honor blade of the Sentinel Marshals of House Deneith, a weapon presented only in recognition of the most heroic acts. It had belonged to her grandfather, a legacy along with the blood of Deneith. Ashi buckled the sword belt around her waist, then turned to go.

“You’re not leaving Sentinel Tower,” said Vounn. She hadn’t moved, as if frozen with disbelief that her charge would disobey her. “You
will
be at that dinner.”

Ashi stopped and met her gaze. “How will it look to the Darguuls,” she asked, “if they see House guards dragging the bearer of the Siberys Mark of Sentinel through the halls and up to the dining table?”

Vounn closed her mouth, but her eyes remained hard. Ashi could guess what was going on in her mind. There was more than one way to get an unwilling person to do something, and she didn’t doubt
that Vounn would use any means at her disposal. Fortunately, Ashi had the ultimate defense against any sort of mental manipulation. She narrowed her eyes and concentrated. For a moment, the lines of her dragonmark seemed to brighten. Heat flared across her skin, wrapping her in a flash of warmth that, when it faded, left a kind of hard-edged clarity behind it.

The power of her mark had stood against Dah’mir and against his lord, the terrible, alien daelkyr known as the Master of Silence. It would stand against anything Vounn could throw at her. What was more, its power would conceal her from any divination magic the lady seneschal might order used to try to locate her.

“Give my regards to Tariic,” said Ashi, and she walked out of the room.

T
he passages of Sentinel Tower were generally bustling at any hour, but as Ashi stalked from the living quarters of the great tower into the more public areas, it seemed to her that even more people than usual were rushing about. Most were talking about the Darguuls, about Tariic and the evening’s feast, about Baerer and his performance of the sword dance. Ashi did her best to avoid the thickest knots of gossip—a goal made easier once people got a look at the fury on her face and quickly moved out of her way. She’d never been good at concealing her emotions, and while Vounn had managed to teach her some control, the last thing Ashi felt like doing was following Vounn’s lessons.

No, she realized as she turned a corner and stopped sharply, following Vounn’s lessons was the second to last thing she felt like doing.

Around the corner, as startled and frozen as she, was Baerer. Her one-time instructor was dressed in fine clothes, clearly ready for dinner. His face still glowed with the joy of his dance, though that glow vanished even as she watched, replaced by a kind of haunted shame. “Ashi—”