Tower of the Arkein: Kan Savasci Cycle Book 2, page 21
Aeden watched the archduchess work for a moment. His thoughts slipping away like dust in the wind. Her movements were deft and certain. Her hands were delicate and beautiful, even when partially covered in his own blood.
“And you prove to be good with a needle,” he said half-heartedly.
She stuck him again. Aeden winced. She thread the sharp sliver of bone through his skin and tied the end of the cat gut into a simple knot.
“There, that should heal better,” she said.
Aeden looked at her work. Tiny drops of blood swelled under the pressure of a cat gut suture. His arm tingled strangely, and the warmth of her touch lingered.
“Thank you,” he said.
She took the needle and rinsed it in the lone basin within the simple room.
“That was a brave thing you did,” she said as she worked.
Aeden smiled. He felt his face flush under her praise. The smile was short lived. Praise for death was an odd thing. It was too easily given, without any comprehension of the finality of such actions.
“Stupid though,” she continued. The Bodigan grunted in amusement. “You could have gotten yourself killed.”
Her voice trailed off. Aeden detected genuine concern, which rather surprised him. Along with an admonishment. It was a mild rebuke that she likely had grown accustomed to under the tutelage of the High Priest.
“I feel,” the archduchess’ voice trailed off into silence.
Aeden glanced about the room feeling Alina’s discomfort. The Bodigan sat in a corner. His massive bulk was hard to miss, yet he had a way of blending quietly into the background. Aeden couldn’t imagine what the large man had been privy to.
“I feel indebted to you,” she said again, finding courage in her words.
Aeden looked up. This time he couldn’t hide the surprise on his face. An archduchess indebted to him? His experience with nobility was extremely limited. The Jal’s gratitude allowed Aeden to escape with his life, his friend, and another task to be accomplished.
“Kyle,” Alina said.
The Bodigan looked up, attentive.
“Could you please leave us for a moment and guard my door.”
The large man looked at Aeden for a moment, a warning in his eye. He then looked to the archduchess, his eyes softened and were filled with concern.
“I’ll be fine,” she said gesturing him away.
“Of course, my lady.”
The large man lumbered out of the room, leaving the two of them together, alone.
Suddenly Aeden felt his cheeks flush. He felt awkward and at a loss for words. The room felt smaller than it had a moment ago. He had been alone with the archduchess only twice before. Once on her balcony in the middle of the night and more recently in the carriage. Although the carriage didn’t quite count. This was different, purposeful.
“Is there anything you desire,” the archduchess started, before catching herself, “in terms of repayment I mean?”
Aeden’s heartbeat quickened. Was she talking about money? He suddenly felt like he knew nothing about women. He knew his time in the monastery hadn’t helped, and the A’sh had been even worse. What could he say?
“I don’t know,” he said carefully.
Aeden was worried that if he misspoke, the moment would flee like a startled banshee lizard.
“Everyone wants something,” she said quietly moving to sit opposite him.
Aeden could now smell her. Wild flowers, honey, and the dusty hints of the Calenite Road.
“What I want is unattainable,” he said more seriously, his mind drunk with her proximity.
She sat across from him and leaned forward. Her hair fell about her face, framing her delicate features. She studied him the way one would study a curiosity from the far side of Verold.
“Try me,” she said, leaning forward even further.
What was happening here? Why couldn’t he control his wildly beating heart? In the heat of combat, he had slowed his breathing, steadied his mind, and remained focused. His intention had been in the moment. Now it took all his control to simply look into her eyes. Such beautiful eyes that he wondered if he should try his hand at poetry in an attempt to describe them.
“You really are like the heroes from the storybooks I read as a child,” she stated, “a member of the fabled Thane Sagan.”
Her last words were a whisper. He didn’t know how to respond to that. He didn’t need to know.
She now sat at the very edge of her seat, precariously balanced on her toes. Aeden’s thoughts scattered like Hearvest leaves before a Vintas wind.
An unseen energy drew him to her. And before he realized what he was doing, he too leaned forward. Their lips graced each other’s softly at first. Probing gently. It was the delicate dance of butterflies.
His head spun and suddenly the contact was broken.
Alina simply stared at him for a moment. Her eyes were filled with the intensity of desire. Her hands were firmly folded in her lap and she bit gently at her lip as she leaned away. Her eyes spoke for her. They decried her passionate prison of self-control.
“Tell me what the Thane wants?” she said, her voice was raspy.
Aeden’s mind swirled. He felt strangely dizzy. He was thirsty, tired, and hungry. He wasn’t thinking clearly. He couldn’t think clearly.
“I want the power to avenge my people,” he said.
Alina now sat back. Her eyes narrowed in confusion.
Aeden realized what he had said. His mind was foggy and thick with desire. He struggled to think of words to say, to fill the empty space he left between them.
He wanted her. He wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to place his rough hands on her soft skin and feel her gentle body against his. But he hadn’t said any of this. Instead, he let the moment slip away like a butterfly caught in a storm.
“You’re the last of your kind,” she stated, staring at him, “Aren’t you.”
Aeden merely nodded.
How did she know? Had she pieced it together from what he’d said? Was she gifted with the Sight? Had he told her in a fit of emotional weakness? He no longer cared. He wanted someone to listen. He wanted someone to comfort him, to tell him he was released from his impossible burden.
“You won’t find your answers here,” she said at last.
Silence fell before them as heavy as the ocean. Alina now sat back with her arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes were cold, calculating, and devoid of the desire that only moments ago marked them.
“Guard,” she said just loudly enough to be heard.
The door opened immediately. The Bodigan stepped in and quickly glanced at the two of them.
Was she toying with him the way a cat would with a captured mouse? His heart thumped heavily. His mind spun with the turn of events and the change of emotion. It was almost too much to process.
Finally, Aeden nodded to himself. He knew when he was no longer wanted. With a heavy heart, he stepped out of the room.
Chapter 45
“One can no more hide the moon from the night sky, than hide the truth from one with the Sight.” A Study of the Gifted – Library of Galdor
Aeden awoke in the middle of the night with a knife pressed to his throat. His eyes flitted open to an oppressive darkness. His mind was thick with the fog of sleep. The small room he occupied was empty and silent save for the breathing of another.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” a familiar voice commanded.
The bite of cold steel pressed into his neck. Aeden grew still. He slowed his breathing and strained his other senses. The smell of sweat and the metallic tinge of blood were upon the air. There was noise from below, the faint sounds of drunken conversation and music drifted languidly to his ear.
The touch of metal upon his skin ushered in a rash of thoughts.
Had this man already killed the archduchess? The Bodigan? Yates?
No, Aeden would have heard commotion. The man wanted something. If the man had wanted to kill him, he would have already done so. At least that’s what he told himself, they were nothing more than the desperate pleas of a half-blind mind.
“Why did you do it?” the assassin asked.
Sleep rolled off Aeden’s brain like a receding tide. He blinked his eyes, waiting desperately for them to adjust. Shadows of dark grey formed indistinct lines and fuzzy images. That voice was so familiar. Why couldn’t he place it?
“You caused me a lot of fucking pain,” the man said, pressing the knife tighter to Aeden’s neck, “I will end you and find my answers elsewhere.”
Suddenly the voice became clear. Aeden knew where he had heard it from. He knew who it belonged to. He chided himself for the plodding pace of his thoughts. A half-formed strategy was the root of a warrior’s grief.
The voice belonged to Dixon. He had survived.
“Wait,” Aeden said, struggling to piece the situation together.
Fragments of a greater picture began to fall about him like an afternoon rain. Words his gevecht teacher had once told him drifted to mind, “…don’t let me influence you, when I hurry, you deliberate, when I deliberate, you strike in a flurry of action…”
“I’ll talk.”
Aeden’s mind raced. What did Dixon want? Was he involved in the raid against the archduchess? Aeden wasn’t sure where to begin or what to say. Scraps of thought prostrated themselves before him, like pieces to some unseen puzzle.
Some puzzles allowed for ample time to ponder and uncover the layers of hidden truth. Others barely allowed one time to breathe before action had to be taken. This fell somewhere in between. Aeden needed to solve the pieces of this puzzle if he was going to live out the rest of the night.
“Yates said you didn’t make it,” Aeden said, the faintest remnants of surprise bleeding into his voice.
Dixon didn’t respond immediately. Instead, the darkness of the room filled in the fuzzy lines with dangerous shadows. The knife felt sharp and heavy. Every pulsing heartbeat served as a resounding reminder of the fragility of his life.
“Tell me what happened after you met the men on the road,” Dixon said.
Aeden swallowed hard. If Dixon was working with those men he wasn’t going to like what he heard, yet, he couldn’t think of any way to lie about it. If Dixon was there, he would have seen the aftermath.
Bloody images dripped into Aeden’s mind. He swallowed back the growing lump in his throat, feeling the sharp edge of Dixon’s knife cut at his skin. A trickle of blood welled at the blade’s tip and Aeden felt the gentle tug of gravity pulling the crimson drop earthward.
“I ran into the jagged maze,” Aeden began, struggling to make out Dixon’s shadowed features, “Men ran at me with their swords drawn and death in their eyes. I cut them down as I went.”
Aeden closed his eyes waiting for the knife to slice through his jugular and spill his life force. He waited for his pain to end, and for death to grant him relief from his vengeful burden. It never came.
“Who helped you?” Dixon hissed.
Aeden was shocked.
“No one,” he replied slowly.
Dixon leaned in close. The smell of him now weighed heavily as Aeden felt the man’s breath upon his face. The movement swirled into the darkness that cast the room into muted lines of unperturbed futures.
“You think, I believe that some little shit, killed over a dozen trained men?”
There was anger and disbelief in his voice. The words were sharp with incredulity.
What had his father once told him, “desperation reeks of dishonesty, wash yourself off and come back when you’re ready to speak like a man.”
Aeden could see the disapproval on his father’s face. Was he watching now? It was a stupid question. The kovor had yet to be released. He could feel his father’s grimace from above as he looked down, judging him. Waiting for Aeden to avenge his people.
It was time to adjust tactics. He needed a reprieve from the pressure of the knife. Just enough to shift his weight and make for his sword. The time for deliberation was nearing its end.
“I don’t give a shit what you believe,” Aeden said forcefully, “those men were there to kill the archduchess and I stopped it, something you and your buddy Yates failed to do.”
Aeden wasn’t done. He felt his temper flare. He could see it, yet he felt powerless to stop it. It was like watching a forest burn. There was nothing to do but stand clear.
“This pup has earned his name. I am the last warrior of the Thane Sagan, and my honor is my sword.”
There it was. The subtle shift in weight Aeden had been waiting for. The knife pulled slightly away as if fearful of Aeden’s anger.
Aeden’s hands shot up and gripped Dixon’s knife hand. Simultaneously Aeden rolled toward Dixon, folding his wrist and pushing the man off the bed.
Aeden landed on top of him, and pressed Dixon’s hand down. The blade of the knife now bit uncomfortably into Dixon’s neck. All Aeden needed to do was lean forward to end another man’s life. It was almost too easy, yet he hesitated.
“Don’t ever threaten me again,” Aeden whispered.
Dixon smiled, then let out a bellowing laugh. He shook with it. The darkness receded at the sound.
“I didn’t think you’d betray her,” he finally said, “not with the way you’d been ogling her, but I had to be sure.”
Aeden leaned forward, bending Dixon’s wrist further and stripped the knife from the man’s hand with his fingers. He then took in a slow, calming breath. His hand was shaking ever so slightly.
He stood and moved silently a step back, to the side of his bed. He reached out toward his sword, it hummed in the blackness. He strapped it to his back. The weight of it felt calming. A shiver of pleasure traveled the length of his spine.
“How did you make it here?” Aeden asked, facing Dixon.
His eyes had adjusted to the darkness. Candlelight spilled in underneath the doorway. A hint of moonlight cut through the distorted glass panes of the inn. Just enough to cast everything in faint strands of shadowy luminescence.
“I couldn’t let you have all the fun,” Dixon said, his voice turning serious, “Yet, as I tried to find you, all I found was a trail of bodies.”
Images of broken limbs and mutilated carcasses, combined with the remembered screams of agony. These images attempted to penetrate Aeden’s conscience. He refused their entry. He’d seen too much pain. They had attacked first. They had tried to kill him and someone he cared for. They deserved what they got.
It was a weak justification, but one he clung to desperately. He couldn’t allow doubt to obscure his moral rectitude, for his sanity hung in the balance.
“Do you know who did this?” Aeden asked.
Dixon didn’t say anything at first, but his posture changed. There was a sudden weight and texture to the silence the way water holds shape. The shadows shifted as a cloud passed over the moon. It was in the relative darkness that Dixon answered.
“Now I do.”
Chapter 46
“Trust is the lynchpin upon which betrayal hangs its bloodied armor.” Chapter Three of the Bocain
Aeden sat quietly in the archduchess’ room. It was the best room the Drunken Pony had to offer. And tonight, it acted as her council chambers. Her perfumed scent did little to mask the sweaty anger of Dixon, the smell of the road from the Bodigan, or the sweet metallic taste of Aeden’s own blood.
A window was cracked open, allowing in a hint of the outside air. It only aided in the oppression that was Sawol’s rocky wasteland. It added the subtle taste of dry, pulverized stone to the aromas already mentioned.
The distant sound of howling wolf monkeys caught the wind. They preyed on the smaller animals that scavenged through the geological formations at night. It was said that on a blood moon they craved human flesh. It was nothing more than an old wives’ tale to keep children afraid and obedient.
Aeden looked across the room. In the opposite corner was Yates. He leaned casually against the wall, ignoring the howling, and instead concentrated on Dixon. He wore a serious expression the way a child would. He rubbed at his strong chin as if contemplating Dixon’s words.
“It was the Master of Arms men,” Dixon stated again.
Alina shook her head in disbelief. Her expression was cold. Had ice sat upon her features, it would not have melted. But there was no ice, only her stony gaze.
“I refuse to believe Rory tried to have me killed,” she said firmly. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
Her words struck across the room with the resounding weight of rejection. As if in defense of the archduchess, the Bodigan spoke for the first time that night. His voice was a counterweight, strong, careful, and skirting the edges of possibility.
“Perhaps he wasn’t targeting you my lady,” he said, looking toward Aeden, “He may have had another in mind.”
The archduchess nodded as she thought on his words. The room fell silent. Aeden watched the Bodigan for a moment. His expression was as unyielding as Kardal’s had been. Dixon turned from Yates to Aeden, his expression, serious.
All eyes turned back to the archduchess. There was a sense of gravity about her, gathering wandering eyes the way a river-basket gathers water.
“Of course,” she said as she thought aloud, her eyes turning to Aeden, “You had embarrassed him in front of his men. Rumors had spread across the grounds and beyond into the High Courts of how easily you had disarmed the famed Master of Arms.”
Aeden frowned. He hadn’t been aware of the extent of the rumors.
“I wouldn’t say easily,” Aeden whispered in his defense, feeling the tide of truth sweeping back out to the ocean.
Alina’s brow knitted in consternation. The Bodigan shook his head. Dixon plowed on.
“My lady,” Dixon said, “I recognized one of the dead,” he paused, taking in a breath, assuring all eyes were upon him, “He was one of Rory’s men.”
She looked at Dixon sternly, and he fell silent. A battle for understanding played across her face.
