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Kaeleer
1 / Ciraea
The Master of the Guard is going to die. Not that Jakob wouldn’t be glad to have one less enemy to worry about, but there have to be cleaner ways to commit suicide than challenging Sadi. Of course, who is Jakob to talk? He has already made the mistake of revealing his existence to the Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince.
A man, Jak supposes, is allowed to be foolish once in a while.
A Warlord Prince cannot afford to be foolish.
He keeps a good distance as Nyx walks the streets of Havenstry, often not following until there are several people around to mask his psychic scent. There is a Green Jewel on a short chain around Nyx’s neck. Jakob does not make the assumption that this is the man’s Offering Jewel. Rumors are that Nyx is much stronger than his Queen, though she holds his leash. Phaedra, Jakob knows, wears a light Opal.
As a young boy, Jak had been proud that he wore an Opal like his mother. Now he is thankful that it was his Birthright and merely the stepping stone to a darker power. A better chance of survival.
Nyx steps onto the boardwalk around the corner from the Inn. A group of guards gather close to him and Nyx issues orders that Jakob cannot hear. Then the men break up as the Master of the Guard strides past them to the front entrance of the Rose & Thorn. When Nyx walks inside without a moment’s hesitation, Jakob knows that something very bad is about to happen—and that only a man with a trick up his sleeve would meet Daemon Sadi on a potential battlefield. He mutters “May the Darkness have mercy” and tucks into the back of a growing crowd to watch and wait.
Eyan explains the circumstances revolving around Jakob—that their rogue leader is in town but what his plans are is anyone’s guess.
The Warlord Prince of Dhemlan merely raises one elegant eyebrow.
Eyan is unsure of how to respond. Just when he thinks that he is about to put his foot in his mouth—or incite Sadi’s rage—Theia saves him from a grave mistake.
“Prince Sadi, Jakob—” she pauses, says, “—my son is strong-willed, passionate in his beliefs and not always careful, but he has a good heart.”
Sadi’s eyes are intent on Theia. “Your son.”
The witch raises her chin. “Yes. Not by blood but by choice.”
Lady SaDiablo has a bluntness foreign to most Aristos. “We’re all someone’s child, sugar. That doesn’t give a male the right to break the Queen’s laws.”
Eyan finds it difficult to look away from her, like a curious child at a spectacle; those sharp green-gold eyes and exotic face whisper of the rarely seen, fiercely private race called the Dea al Mon. Even more so, her psychic scent tastes dark—much darker than most of the Blood that Eyan knows.
Theia has that look in her eyes that means trouble. Eyan reaches across the table to take her hand and squeeze it. That action, at least, stops her from saying something uncomplimentary to Sadi’s cousin.
He addresses Lady SaDiablo and Prince Sadi, knowing that now is the time to speak. “What I have, as a person, is the right to defend myself.”
The slight incline of the Warlord Prince’s head spurs Eyan on.
“You can accuse us of wrong-doing and I’m not sayin’ the truth is any opposite. But I don’t lightly break the law—not unless I can’t make a better choice.” His voice goes rough with memory. “The Queen before Phaedra—she was a good woman and a good Queen. When she died, every Ciraean heart mourned the loss. Phaedra—she’s not lived up to her promises and I don’t think that she intends to. Ciraea has always been my home. I want my children to grow up here. I want them to be able to tell their children that this is a fair and just land.”
No one indicates approval of his words but they do give him the courtesy of listening.
“We don’t harm the land or the people—but we cannot turn a blind eye. We’ve been quiet in our misery for far too long.” He sighs. “You don’t understand. I’ve heard the tales of the taint in Terreille. I don’t want that to happen here but I’m afraid that it will. So I choose to step up to the line—and so do others. You call us rogues. I call us Ciraea’s cry for justice.”
“I lived in Terreille before the Purge, Prince. I understand very well why a male defies a Queen.”
Eyan tries not to think on why Sadi’s words have that soft, bitter tinge.
Something unnerving—unbalanced—flickers through those hard gold eyes. “Going rogue is more than defiance; it is a declaration of war.” The Warlord Prince of Dhemlan asks too softly, “Do you want war?”
His heart says no but he thinks if it’s the only way.
Sadi watches him with an almost sleepy look, and Eyan feels cold despite that the tavern is always warm.
“I can find him,” Lady SaDiablo says quietly, breaking the tension.
Eyan’s stomach drops because him means Jak. She is offering to hunt Jakob.
Sadi looks at the witch, but whatever reply he intended to give is abandoned in the next heartbeat. The man pivots in the direction of the entrance, slips his hands into his trouser pockets and generally scares the shit out of everyone with the croon “It seems that we have company.”
Eyan stares at the stiletto that the narrow-eyed witch calls in and doesn’t envy the man who meets her in a fight. The other Warlord Prince, the one who Eyan has encountered before, has kept silent and appears to be the least dangerous of the group. Eyan realizes that his assumption is wrong as the man swiftly takes a position beside the door, arms loose and face suddenly so intense that the Prince does not doubt that this male knows how to fight—and win.
Then the one of the people Eyan fervently had hoped to never see enters and he wants to excuse himself from the imminent bloodshed. Instead he pulls Theia from the table and over to the far end of the bar. Lawl has circled the bar to Theia’s other side. Eyan is only vaguely surprised at the mean-looking knife in the Warlord’s hand.
He is strangely glad that Sadi is here to face Queen Phaedra’s Master of the Guard, despite that an unleashing of the Black is likely to send them all careening back to the Darkness.
Prince Nyx steps into the room. There is a moment of bated breath while Eyan, Theia, and Lawl wait for a fatal blow to land.
“Prince Sadi” greets the Master of the Guard.
“Prince Nyx.” That croon deepens, turning Eyan’s insides to water. “Welcome to the Rose & Thorn Inn—though I suspect that you have already paid a visit.”
“I have.” The man doesn’t look fearful. Eyan wonders if Nyx is simply too much of a fool.
Sadi’s smile is chilling. “Unfortunately, darling, that was your mistake.”
Eyan watches as the Master of the Guard jerks once and goes motionless. There is a sensuousness in Sadi’s glide, in the way that he cups Nyx’s chin with one hand and leans in to whisper in the man’s ear. But then Nyx, whose eyes had unfocused with desire, blanches to a sickly color. Sadi steps back and exits, his captive bound by the Black and floating helplessly in pursuit of the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan.
Lady SaDiablo glances at their tight little group and follows Sadi.
The Warlord Prince remains in the tavern. His face is grim and his voice even grimmer as he says, “Prince Sadi has… another matter to attend. He asks that you wait for his return.”
Shit.
Unable to decline, everyone settles down at the bar. Eyan cannot stop imagining what must be happening to Prince Nyx—and if they will be the next ones to suffer.
When Daemon Sadi casually strolls out of the Inn, the instantaneous wave of fear from all corners of the street drives a wicked punch into Jakob’s gut. Then Prince Nyx is just as casually tossed by an invisible hand past Sadi and into the middle of the street. The man lands rather ungracefully and slowly staggers to his feet.
There is a heat in Nyx’s voice when he snarls, “You bastard!”
Sadi has a strange look on his face. Jakob has never seen anything like it—not even when he faced the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan some weeks ago.
“Your Queen ignored my orders and will answer for her actions. For this reason, I will allow you and any male who serves the Queen of Ciraea to walk away.” Sadi adds simply, “If you stay, I will kill you.”
No sooner than the announcement is made, there is an undercurrent of psychic threads running through the air.
Nyx commands, “To me!” The guards visible in the street seem to unfreeze. However, one by one, they slowly unsheath their weapons and lay down arms.
Jakob watches as Nyx whirls on Sadi and growls something too low for a by-stander’s hearing. Sadi looks bored in the face of Nyx’s rage, despite that the other male issues a blatant challenge.
“Don’t be a fool,” warns the Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince.
Any person can clearly see that Nyx vibrates with the wildness of a man on the killing edge. Sadi is still, so very still, that Jakob wonders if the man is waiting for the first strike or if, more frighteningly, that stillness is a prelude to something dark and terrible.
He doesn’t want to find out. Slowly but surely, Jakob edges back. Others are responding the same way, not fleeing, not daring to ignite a battle that will tear apart Havenstry, but all the same retreating from the streets with measured, careful steps.
Can they get out of range in time? How far does an unleashing of the Black travel?
He imagines being swept away in a wave of power like the rush of a swollen river. Choked by it, sure to be crushed and drowned.
Once Jakob is between two crowded stores, in a place he knows well, the man turns to disappear. His thoughts, until then only consumed with self-preservation, grow sharp with the word family and death.
Sadi was in the Rose & Thorn Inn.
With his family.
Jakob does the less sensible but more important thing: he quickly loops through the winding side streets until his feet carry him to the back door of the Inn. Without a second thought, he goes inside.
Lucivar lands close to a group of huddled Queen’s guards almost pissing themselves with fear and knows that his brother is definitely in town. In a single sharp glance, he assesses the field. A hooded figure stands not far away, tightly gripping a young, stammering Warlord’s arm. A female voice carries.
“There is a tavern I seek. You must take me there.”
Lucivar’s upper lip curls at the imperious undertone of those words. Then he catches the psychic scent despite a light-Jeweled masking spell and thinks, Queen.
The Ebon-gray-Jeweled Eyrien Warlord Prince takes a moment to consider the implications of a Queen attempting to protect her identity. In a snap decision and a flick of Craft, Lucivar trades out his Offering Jewel for Birthright Red.
His voice doesn’t need to be Craft-enhanced. “This town’s got more than one tavern, Lady.”
The Warlord is released and quickly scurries back to the group of guards. The witch approaches, face still half-hidden in the darkness of a cowl. She appraises him first, then says, “It… belongs to a family member. I am needed there.” She pauses. “Thorn—the Thorn Inn.”
He scratches his chin. “Know of a Rose & Thorn Inn…”
“Yes! Show me.”
Not only a liar but a stupid bitch as well.
When she reaches for him, Lucivar automatically steps back, teeth gritted against the urge to strike out. If she touches him, his first reaction will be to rip off her arm. Perhaps a trace of that sentiment is clear because the witch drops her hand and pulls the long robe more tightly about her, as if for protection.
There is little that will protect her from Lucivar—or where he plans to take her.
With a pivot, Lucivar strides in the direction from which most people are running. He doesn’t bother to check if she follows simply because he knows that she will.
Won’t Daemon be surprised?
Lucivar grins to himself.
*Hey, Bastard, what smells like a bitch and talks like a bitch?*
Daemon sighs mentally in response to the current of mischief running along the spear thread. *Prick. As much as I would love to play your game, I am rather invested in one of my own.*
*Fine. You’ll just have to discover the answer when she arrives.*
His thought is silky smooth and has just a hint of the Sadist in it. *And who would that be, Prince?*
*The greatest Ciraean bitch of them all. Found her asking for the Inn. I volunteered as a personal escort.*
Daemon feels the Sadist murmur his appreciation. Phaedra.
At that moment, the Master of the Guard decides to foolishly call in a weapon. A phantom hand knocks it from Nyx’s grasp. Daemon feeds a little more power into his Black shield and says, “Not that I won’t take great pleasure in killing you, but let’s wait for the rest of the participants, shall we?”
He finds Nyx’s bared teeth quite amusing.
They are one street from their destination when Lucivar receives the sharp question “Where is everyone going?”
The Queen stops walking the instant that Yaslana does. She repeats her question.
His shoulders lift in a shrug. “Probably to hide.”
He sees the moment she realizes that she failed to take heed of her surroundings. “W-What do you mean?”
His mouth curves in a lazy, arrogant smile. “You’ve pissed off my brother.”
She stares at him for too long, face paling. Then the bitch tries to bolt. Lucivar grabs the back of her robe, stitches ripping loudly, and hauls her into place.
A hand immediately tries to claw at his face and the warrior easily captures her wrist, squeezing until the woman gasps at the pain. Her eyes are wet.
“Don’t waste your tears on me,” he warns.
“Let go! I demand that you let me go!”
Because she refuses to stop struggling, and he doesn’t want to carry the bitch over his shoulder, Lucivar unfurls his wings and launches them into the air. That makes matters rather simple.
Especially when he dives down the other side of a building, the woman screaming, and sees Daemon and a very angry-faced Warlord Prince squaring off in the street.
The terrified witch drops to her knees, limp, when they land. Lucivar snaps his wings open once, decidedly, and then folds them in.
“Bastard.”
Daemon looks from Lucivar’s smug expression to the crying Queen and back again. An eyebrow lifts. “Was that necessary?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Phaedra!” The shout is almost distracting. The unfamiliar Warlord Prince charges forward with an enraged battle cry. Lucivar lifts the corner of his mouth, calls in his war blade, and shifts to the proper stance. But he does not get to meet the other male in combat because Nyx is slammed back to the ground by a burst of Black and pinned there.
Daemon does not pause in his glide past the panting and crazed Master of the Guard. Lucivar steps aside so that the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan can address an errant Queen under his rule.
“Hello, darling,” croons his brother.
Phaedra lowers the hand against her mouth. “Y-You can’t treat me like this! I am the Queen!”
Daemon’s eyes are glazed and sleepy; the look in them too familiar. Lucivar shifts, just enough to draw the Sadist’s attention. *What did Jaenelle make for you?*
Those eyes stare into him, then flick over to the Queen of Ciraea. *A token for the Queen.*
Lucivar isn’t sure what to make of that. *Do you need it now?*
*Not yet.*
*Do you need me?*
Finally, the Sadist subsides enough that Lucivar can see a glimpse of his brother beneath that cold face. *Not yet.*
“Well, since you’re busy, Bastard—” Lucivar idly runs a thumb along the edge of his war blade, looking at Nyx, “—I’ll go have a drink.”
The Queen looks like she wants to ask the Eyrien to stay, despite that she must know he is more likely to help Daemon pick her apart than act as a buffer.
Daemon meets Lucivar’s eyes as Lucivar’s shoulder brushes past him. “Have fun, Prick. I’ll join you soon enough.”
He snorts and walks away. Surreal eyes him from the top of the Inn’s steps.
“Enjoying the show?” he asks.
“Could be gorier.”
Lucivar gives her a sharp grin. “Be careful what you ask for, little witch.”
She ignores him. “The Inn serves decent ale.”
“I remember.”
“Then you’ll remember that Rainier will like a mug of it too.”
Fair warning, Lucivar decides, that the Inn harbors trouble as well.
Surreal makes no move to join him as he enters the Inn. Lucivar accepts her choice to remain with Daemon and leaves the outside work to his brother and cousin. He is certain there will be just as much entertainment for him inside.
He lays a hand against the wood of the kitchen door and concentrates. There is someone in the tavern who doesn’t belong; yet he almost recognizes the person, someone he has met before. Jakob stretches his senses a little further, tastes the flavor of mixed psychic scents, sorts through those he knows by heart and…
His eyes snaps open.
Of course. The Opal-Jeweled Warlord Prince who serves Sadi.
The man is obviously on guard, under orders from the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan.
Jakob utters an almost inaudible sigh and slumps against the doorframe.
Nothing has happened as planned. He can’t even distract the Master of the Guard and allow his family to escape. No, not with another—more terrible—force at work. But surely he should not leave Theia to Sadi’s mercy?
And Sadi will kill Jakob without a second thought—perhaps playing with him like a cat does a mouse. Exactly as Sadi is playing with Nyx.
Hell’s fire.
What is he supposed to do now?
He has to lure Theia into the kitchen. If Jak can just speak with her, if only for a moment, they might be able to think of a way to survive.
The risk is great but he must try.
Jak very carefully aims a psychic thread at his long-time friend, whispers, *Eyan…*
Theia is tired of waiting by now; and she is extremely tired of playing someone’s captive.
The Mistress of the Inn sets down her mug with more force than necessary. Rainier, the Warlord Prince who quietly rests a hip against her bar, raises an eyebrow.
Lawl is wise enough to say nothing but Eyan opens his mouth to speak. Well, if the man is foolish enough to wonder what could possibly be the matter, she won’t be liable for her actions.
Then Eyan starts, a strange look passing through his eyes, and lowers his head marginally.
The riled feeling in Theia subsides to something more quiet and concerned. But she isn’t given the chance to figure out what might be bothering Eyan.
Another man walks into the tavern.
The winged Warlord Prince Yaslana.
Oh, Mother Night.
She decides suddenly that it might be prudent to hold her tongue—especially when the Eyrien narrows his eyes and makes a fast assessment of the situation. Theia grips her mug tightly and waits.
Then Yaslana fixes his eyes on her and his mouth relaxes. “Lady.”
She blinks.
“Prince… Yaslana, welcome. Won’t you make yourself comfortable?”
Apparently that was along the proper vein because the Eyrien lets out a short bark of a laugh as he pulls out a bar stool.
Theia decides on a course of action. “Lawl, fix the Prince a drink.”
Lawl, the man that Theia never has to worry about arguing with her, looks suddenly mutinous. She puts a bit of snap into her voice, “If you please, Lord Lawl.”
Apparently that tone works on Lawl as well as when her boys are being stubborn. The bartender slides behind the bar and grudgingly goes to work.
There is amusement saturating the air from both Rainier and Yaslana. Theia sighs.
It is Eyan who says in a quiet voice, “Perhaps your guests would appreciate some food too.”
Despite the sharp look that Yaslana fixes on Eyan, and the sudden paleness of Eyan’s face, Theia decides that that isn’t a half bad idea. She stands.
“Would you care for something, Prince?” Her question is directed to both men.
Yaslana flicks a glance at the mug that Lawl uses Craft to set beside his hand, the Warlord still staying out of immediate range of the warrior. Lawl is now vigorously polishing a glass.
Then the Eyrien shrugs and leaves the decision up to her.
Rainier follows her around the bar and she has to stop and stare at him. “I don’t need a man hanging over my shoulder at the stove,” she says tartly. Before he can reply, she adds more quietly, “And you have my word that I won’t run.”
He looks at her for a moment, then steps back and inclines his head. Theia notes with satisfaction that Yaslana does not issue an order otherwise.
She shakes her head once, in a kind of exasperation and relief, and pushes open the kitchen door with more force than necessary.
The muffled “Ow!” startles her.
Then a sight shield drops and Jakob is staring at Theia, aggrieved, and rubbing an injured elbow.
Clamping a hand around her mouth is the only way to prevent her from giving him away to the men in the tavern. It doesn’t, however, stop her from pulling the boy into a tight hug.
She doesn’t realize that she is shaking until Jak’s arms tighten around her and he whispers, “It’s okay, it’s okay” like a mantra.
“Jak,” is about all that she can manage.
He continues to rub her back in soothing circles until she feels her muscles responding, relaxing.
Finally, Theia eases back. Then it occurs to her exactly how much danger Jakob is in. “You stupid, stupid boy!”
Jakob has the decency to look contrite. “I’m sorry” is mumbled.
“Jak, how could you even consider coming back? Mother Night, of all the fool-headed, thoughtless…”
Jakob releases her mid-beratement and says fiercely, “I had to, Theia. I had to. You shouldn’t have to suffer because of me!”
“Maybe you should have thought of that before you went rogue!” She instantly regrets those harsh words the moment they leave her mouth. “Oh, Jak…”
“No.” He looks pained. “You’re right. I was selfish and a fool twice over. I-I should have never—”
She doesn’t give him the chance to wallow in regret. “What’s done is done. Now you have to find a way to fix it.”
The young man turns his back and braces himself against the kitchen counter. “It’s gone too far,” he says quietly. “Theia…. I can’t see a way to fix it—any of it.”
She lays a hand on his shoulder. “I know you, Jak. You have honor.” At his bitter laugh, she squeezes. “No, listen.” The next words are hard to say. “You can… run, Jakob, just as you were running when I first met you.”
He is so very still. She keeps going.
“I don’t know what caused that and I promised that I would never ask. I won’t now. But—” Her voice trembles, because she knows what she is saying, “—I believe that you need to stay.”
“I’ll die.”
She almost bites her bottom lip bloody to keep the rising anguish inside. When Theia has herself under control, she says, “Nothing is certain.”
Jakob nods once, then turns back to her. The resolution in his eyes breaks her heart. “I love you, Theia.”
“I love you too.” She touches his face. “You’ll always be my boy.”
He buries his face in her shoulder and it is like a dam breaks inside her. She tries to tell him over and over how sorry she is, how much she loves him. Eventually Jakob steps back, his eyes slightly red.
She feels helpless when he walks to the swinging door, never looking back, and exits the kitchen.
It is easy to sag against the nearest counter and weep.
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Related Posts:
- [BJT Big Bang] The Rogue of Ciraea (masterpost) – from March 5, 2011
- The Rogue of Ciraea – Preface – from March 3, 2011
- The Rogue of Ciraea – Epilogue – from January 29, 2011
- The Rogue of Ciraea – Chapter Six (2/2) – from January 23, 2011
- The Rogue of Ciraea – Chapter Six (1/2) – from January 18, 2011
