Page 36 of The Sundered Blade

The only way out of this now was through, and Karreya did not intend to let anything stop her. Not her aunt, not her friends, not an entire city full of enemies. The reckoning was coming, and only time would tell who would remain standing at the end of it.

CHAPTER11

The flight from the hidden valley was a silent one, but for once, it was not an awkward silence, only thoughtful.

They’d left Yvane still reeling from the news, but unwilling to share any details of her own plans. She’d said it was better if they did not know the details, but that she intended to join the fight against Modrevin.

With every new ally, Vaniell’s burden ought to have grown lighter, but too much had changed over the last few days—not the least of which was Vaniell himself. And now, he was about to confront a moment he had long been convinced would never come.

He was about to meet his brother and his ex-fiance, in a kingdom he had once nearly helped to destroy. And he had no idea what either of them truly believed—about him, about the past, or about his present ambitions.

There was no denying the weight of apprehension resting on his shoulders. But oddly, after the events of the past few days, that apprehension was brightened by the faintest light of hope. Hope that they had not given up on him. Hope that eventually they would forgive him.

When they landed at last, it was not at the palace gates, as Kyrion had done in Eddris. Instead, he landed outside the city, shifted to his night elf form, and turned to Vaniell with a raised brow.

“I thought it best if we walk in from here. The guards at Arandar are considerably more alert than those in Eddris, and having been shot out of the sky here once before, I have no desire to experience it again.”

“A reasonable precaution,” Vaniell agreed. “And if you prefer to travel separately, I understand.”

“Because you do not wish to be seen with a night elf?” Kyrion said the words without rancor.

“Because they might like you better if you aren’t seen in company with a rogue Garimoran prince,” Vaniell retorted. “In these lands, I suspect I’m a far more unwelcome visitor than you.”

“Possibly true.” Kyrion’s lips actually seemed to turn up at the corners and twitch slightly. “But if I abandon you now, I would not be on hand to enjoy your discomfiture. I hope you would not deny me that long-awaited pleasure.” His eyes glittered, but Vaniell would have sworn it was not with malice.

“On the contrary, Your Majesty.” Vaniell bowed low, with a sweeping flourish. “I live only to provide for your amusement. Would you also like me to recite poetry? Perhaps sing an epic ballad or two?”

“Can you?” Kyrion regarded him with unwavering stoicism, eyes still glimmering faintly.

“Can? Yes to both. But can and should are very different things.”

“And here I was under the impression that Prince Vaniell of Garimore was accomplished in all the courtly arts.”

“Only the useless ones, remember? Want someone to play the part of a wealthy reprobate? I’m your man. Require a dancer who can smile for days and never step on your toes? Look no farther. But for the love of all Abreia, don’t ask me to do something useful. I might faint.”

“Then I suppose we’d best travel together, after all,” Kyrion murmured, one brow curving upwards. “If you faint and break that face of yours, it’ll be left to me to explain our purpose here, which would require far more words than I prefer to employ in the middle of the day.”

Vaniell felt a grin threatening to break free. “Then I suppose I’ll have to save you from such a wretched fate.”

“Indeed.” Kyrion locked eyes with him, his gaze suddenly serious. “And in that case, I suppose I would be forced to thank you.”

The air left Vaniell’s lungs, and all temptation to smile vanished. They were no longer talking nonsense. This was about something else.

“What exactly are we talking about now?”

Kyrion’s head tilted slightly. “The gem you gave to Princess Caro.”

A fist seemed to clench in Vaniell’s chest. The spell gem. He’d been using them to pay for his travels and fund his network’s activities, but once, they’d had a far more sinister purpose. One Kyrion was all too familiar with.

It was a gem very similar to that one—enchanted with a spell of control—that had permitted Modrevin to manipulate the enspelled armor that had enslaved Kyrion for so long. The armor had turned him into the Raven—feared assassin and terrifying bodyguard, unable to resist his king’s commands, and forced to commit unspeakable atrocities at the king’s whims.

And Vaniell had been the one to enchant it.

“Yes,” he said through frozen lips. “What of it?”

“You once gave one very like it to Leisa, in front of the king… In front of Modrevin.”

Vaniell blinked at him, utterly taken aback.Thatwas what Kyrion had chosen to remember in this moment?

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