Page 122 of A Crown of Lies

He offered a smug smile and dragged his eyes slowly up and down Aryn’s body. “So far, you’ve lived up to expectations.”

Aryn couldn’t help but feel a little proud that he’d managed to keep Niro on the hook for so long without having to do much at all. He nodded. “Then I shall do my best to continue to meet those expectations.”

Thirty-Six

TheRunecleaverclanhousewas the largest in D’thallanar, spanning two city blocks. Double walking bridges ran in arches over the roads in their district, connecting one side to the other. In some ways, it made sense. They were one of the largest clans, second only to the Craiggybottoms. Unlike the Craiggybottoms, who allowed people to purchase their way into the clan, membership in the Runecleaver clan was strictly limited to those who could demonstrate irrefutable proof of Runecleaver ancestry. They used magic to certify the blood of anyone wishing to petition for entry, making their membership process the most rigorous in the city.

Ruith stood outside the gates of their clan house, looking up at the great three-tiered pagoda. Some of the rooftiles had been painted gold to resemble the shape of a rising sun.

Ruith had been inside their compound many times as a youth, mostly whenever Taratheil needed them for some political measure. He remembered two things about the inside of the Runecleaver estate. First, he recalled the massive blood maple at the center of their inner courtyard. The leaves had looked like fire, but what had really struck him were the lines of bright crimson sap weeping from the bark like bloody tears.

Second, he remembered Vinolia Runecleaver’s wrinkled, old face. She had been ancient when he was a boy, and she was even older now. How old, no one seemed to know. Elves could live to be five hundred years or more, but many believed Vinolia was much older than that. Perhaps as old as the very dirt she’d planted that blood maple in a thousand years ago.

“Big,” said Will, eyes huge to take it all in.

Brick barked in agreement and wagged his tail.

Faelyn put a hand on the war hound’s head and swallowed, looking up at the gates. The last time he had been inside the compound, it had been as Taratheil’s slave to fetch things and pour drinks.

“Are you ready?” Ruith squeezed his son’s shoulder.

Faelyn looked up and nodded.

“Are you?” Isheda asked.

Ruith tried not to think of everything he had learned about Isheda and Niro earlier that night and failed. He looked away. “One is never truly ready to come face to face with the Runecleaver matriarch,” he mumbled and reached to ring the bell at the gate.

There was a slight delay before the gates split, swinging inward. Ruith stopped himself from thanking the humans on either side. They were slaves, and in Elvish society, acknowledging a slave was to show weakness. So, he bit his tongue and strode in with Isheda at his side. They passed immediately under an ancient arch where runes glowed bright blue in their presence, indicating a protection spell in place.

No mere torches illuminated the entry garden. Instead, globes of pure white light floated about, swinging back and forth on invisible strings of sustained magic.

A young elf—perhaps fifteen—stepped forward to greet them with a bow. Despite his young age, he came with a sword at his side and four amber taps. “Grandmother sends her greetings, Primarch Ruith, and to you, Isheda, honored cousin. Regretfully, age prevents my grandmother from greeting you in person, and so she has sent me to guide you to her instead. I am…” His voice cracked. The boy flushed, cleared his throat and started again. “I am Eri. It’s an honor to receive you.”

“And it’s an honor to be received,” Isheda offered with a bow of his own.

Ruith did not bow. He was the Primarch, and Primarchs were neither supposed to bow or speak to such low standing members of a clan. That Vinolia had sent him instead of whomever her heir was would’ve been considered an insult by many.

Ruith couldn’t be bothered to care. The Runecleaver boy was clearly nervous about his reaction, so Ruith did the one thing he knew he wasn’t supposed to: he spoke directly to the boy. “Thank you for meeting us, Eri.”

Eri’s eyes widened and Ruith nearly started as a familiar dimpled smile slashed across the boy’s face. He could easily pass for a younger, darker haired version of Katyr.

The boy seemed to remember himself a moment later and bowed again. “This way, please. She’s waiting.” He turned, guiding them through the public courtyard.

Isheda glanced at him, letting him take the lead.

Ruith followed the boy down a golden path of stepstones running through the center of the courtyard.

Immediately to their right, a group of children who couldn’t have been more than twelve gathered around a pit of sand, watching as two mages sparred. Lightning flashed in the pit, and fire flared with a shout. The only adult in the group raised his left hand and the children around the pit cheered, nearly drowning him out as he called forward healers to see to the wounded combatant.

A little further on, a group of even younger children sat in a circle, concentrating hard on a flame floating in the air between them. Their tutor walked along the outside of their circle, his hands folded behind his back, a long switch dangling from his fingers. He eyed Ruith with obvious irritation before turning back to his pupils.

They passed beneath the boughs of the smaller blood maple, which had grown significantly over the years. Each of the four courtyards would have one, with the most ancient sitting in the innermost courtyard.

On the other side of the blood maple was a small company of mages with swords, sparring with each other. They were all painfully young, some of them no older than Faelyn. As they passed the group, Ruith looked down at his son, who was watching the other boys practice with interest.

Isheda put a hand on the young boy’s shoulder and leaned down to whisper, “You already have a far more capable tutor.”

Faelyn looked up at him curiously, but Isheda nodded to Ruith.

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