Riven (The Arinthian Line Book 2) (3 page)

“It is so, Sydo Ridian.” He stood calm, hands idly by his sides, eyes unfathomable.

“Are you a Leyan?”

“A Leyan I am.”

“Yet you know the element of fire. I saw you build all this … I saw your arm.”

“It is as you have observed.”

“How many stripes do you have?”

“That is quite enough, young prince,” Mrs. Stone said. “Please join us at the table.”

The prince hesitated, made a face, and took a seat opposite Mrs. Stone. Bridget, Leera and Augum took a seat to her left, Mya and Thomas to her right.

Mrs. Stone gestured to the food. “Well it won’t eat itself now, will it?”

All hands but those of the Leyan reached forward.

“That was a very strange night,” Leera said, inspecting red fruit in the shape of a star.

Mya’s cheeks reddened. “I apologize for being so—”

“—it’s all right,” Augum said a little too quickly. Bridget and Leera snickered into their hands while he shrank.

“No apologies necessary, young lady,” Mrs. Stone said, glancing over at her husband. “My word, Thomas, time has certainly dulled your tongue.”

“Time is meaningless. The moment is real.”

Mrs. Stone grunted, pulling out a black apple from a bowl.

“Mrs. Stone,” Bridget began, cheeks pink, “if you’ll forgive me, but, how did you and Mr. Stone meet?”

“That was a very long time ago now, young lady. It happened back when we were in the academy together—and yes, even I was a schoolgirl once.”

The girls, including Mya, exchanged warm looks.

Mrs. Stone looked off into a brazier and smiled to herself before clearing her throat and dabbing at her lips with a cloth. “But I shall not bore you with tales.” She turned to her husband, ignoring the dramatized groans from the girls. “Where are the others?”

“They stand observing change.”

“Has change observed them?”

“All things change.”

Mrs. Stone nodded slowly.

“Thomas—err—Mr. Stone,” Augum said, unable to resist the question any longer. “Um, how are you so young if you’re my great-grandfather?”

Everyone stopped eating to listen.

“That, Augum Stone, only a Leyan may discover.”

“Has my royal father ever come here?” Prince Sydo asked while Mya peeled a pink banana for him.

“That I do not know.”

“But are you not supposed to know
everything
?”

“I find I know very little.”

Sydo rolled his eyes as he took the banana from Mya. “So what
do
you know then?”

“Manners, young prince,” Mrs. Stone said.

Sydo turned away and silently mimicked her.

“Are we going to train here?” Bridget asked.

“For a time,” Mrs. Stone replied. “Thomas will train you while I investigate what is happening to Ley.”

Augum shifted in his seat, barely able to contain his excitement. They were going to train with a real Leyan! To think of all the ancient arcanery the man knew—and how much of it was off-the-books?

“Begging your pardon, m’lord,” Mya began, folding her hands neatly, “I cannot help but wonder what would happen if the Lord of the Legion acquired all seven scions.”

The group quieted down. Augum felt a prickle at the mention of his father.

“Thomas, the vow—”

“—has already been broken, Anna.”

And what was all this vow business about?

“Fifteen-hundred years ago,” Thomas continued, bronze skin shining in the brazier light, “in the time when Leyans mingled with the mortal world, seven scions were forged and distributed to seven warlocks, for the purpose of defeating a necromancer by the name of Occulus.”

Augum exchanged knowing glances with Bridget and Leera. One of those scions was gifted to Atrius Arinthian, his great ancestor and the one who ended up slaying Occulus.

“When Occulus was vanquished, we let mortals keep the scions as gifts. Yet we suspected a day would come when one would covet all, seeking to bathe in frothing shores of never-ending influence. Thus, precautions were taken.”

Mrs. Stone folded her cloth napkin. “Precautions. And what, pray tell, were these precautions?”

Thomas fixed his black eyes on his wife. “Possession of all seven scions results in self-destruction.”

The fire from the braziers fluttered as Mrs. Stone’s face darkened. “Do you mean to tell me, Thomas Stone, that if Lividius finds the other six, I need only give him the seventh to vanquish him?”

“Perhaps. The future is as yet unwritten.”

“Surely there must be another way—”

“That is conceivable.”

“With only two scions, Lividius will most certainly annihilate all of Solia and every kingdom beyond in search of the rest.”

“The path of the river of time is as yet unwritten. We cannot know what is unknowable. That is for the Seers.”

Mrs. Stone stared at her husband, tapping the table with a bony finger. “You have given us much to think on.”

The group ate on in silence. Only Thomas did not eat. The clouds grew dark and the wind picked up, forcing them to bundle in their robes and draw their hoods. The great oaks creaked, leaves rustling softly. Mrs. Stone dabbed at her lip with a cloth, cleared her throat, and stood.

“I am going to leave you all under Thomas’ care for the day. I should return in the evening. I expect all of you,” she eyed the prince in particular, “to behave accordingly.”

The prince smoothed his fiery hair, which did not appear to be cooperating. Augum had the impression Sydo was not coping well without his daily royal bath and flock of servants attending to his every need.

Thomas stood. “Then let it be so. Mya Liaxh, Sydo Ridian, Leera Jones, Bridget Burns, Augum Stone—please follow me.”

Augum wondered how Thomas knew their last names. Had Mrs. Stone told him?

Mya Liaxh. Even her surname was pretty.

Thomas led them to a small clearing apart from the beds and table. As they gathered round, Mrs. Stone vanished with a loud THWOMP. Thomas stood there observing the swaying oaks, pants fluttering in the breeze. He did this for so long that Sydo plopped on the ground and started fiddling with the grass.

“Your Highness, that is unbecoming of you,” Mya said out of the corner of her mouth.

Sydo glared up at her slender frame. “Do not presume to lecture me, servant—I am still your prince!”

Mya curtsied. “As you say, Your Highness.”

“ ‘As you say, Your Highness,’ ” Sydo mocked under his breath. “Gods—listen to her drivel … pathetic.”

Augum was about to say something vicious to Sydo when—

“ ‘Gods—listen to her drivel,’ ” mocked a
second
Prince Sydo, striding from between the oaks. He was dressed in a similar royal doublet, but finer and in impeccable condition. He had makeup on, as if attended to by the King’s own artist, and his velvet pants were unblemished and without creases. His hair even appeared redder and parted perfectly down the middle. He held his arms behind his back, his twisted expression reserved solely for the real Sydo.

Sydo sprang to his feet. “What dark trickery is this—?”

“What a shame,” the imposter said, shaking his head. “Look at this cheap, royal imitation. I have witnessed rats with better grooming.”

“How dare you—I am not the imposter, you are!”

“ ‘How dare you,’ ” the imposter mimicked, exaggerating the whine and making a gesture as if crying. Leera snorted, quickly silenced by an elbow from Bridget.

Sydo looked upon Thomas with frantic eyes. “This is not humorous! I demand that you stop this at once!”

Thomas’ face remained a bronze mask.

“Oh, did nobody bother to tell you—?” the imposter continued. “Allow me to speak in simple terms, so even
you
can understand.” He gesticulated as if talking to a very stupid boy. “You—are—being—re—placed—by—me!”

Sydo blanched. “No …”

“Oh, indeed yes. Why have a filthy, obtuse, overindulged, and inferior prince when you can have a brilliant, witty, funny, and caring one?” The imposter made a graceful gesture at himself. “Oh, and did I mention I am much
friendlier
too?” He bowed to the group, winking at the real Sydo. “That is quite right, my silly little pretender—if they want, they may have me by their side, and there is nothing you can do about it.”

Sydo shook his head. “This surely must be a … a jest … a farce!”

“I am afraid not, my dear halfwit prince. There is going to be a vote, the most ultimate, final,
delicious
vote.”

“A vote?” Mya’s face scrunched with worry. Her almond eyes flicked between the princes.

“Quite right—a vote,” the imposter repeated in a whisper. “Think of it—you would never be treated poorly again, but rather with respect and courtesy, as befits your many excellent years of service.”

Mya swallowed while the imposter turned to Leera, whose brows rose.

“And you, dear companion. Could you not imagine someone kind by your side, even helpful, as opposed to a spoiled little brat—?”

Leera took one look at the sorry state the real prince was in, and Augum could just see all those terrible things he had said to her running through her mind. “Well, now that you mention it—”

Bridget gave her a scandalized look before the imposter turned to her.

“And you, dear Bridget—could you not imagine me actually
returning
your affections instead of throwing them to the dogs?” He took her hand in his and kissed it.

Bridget went redder than a summer apple.

The imposter next turned to Augum, but the real prince intervened.

“Wait—! Please, I beg of you, before you vote to replace me, hear me speak—”

“Ah, the piglet wants to squeal.” The imposter crossed his arms. “This shall be amusing. Make it quick then. I have training to do with my new companions.”

Sydo dropped to his knees. “Augum, I beg of you, I am … I am sorry for … for being a brat, I really am! Please do not vote for him,
please
…”

The imposter shook his head. “They do not believe you, Your Royal Highness. Now stop groveling, it is beneath your station and you are making us
both
look quite beastly.”

Sydo did not appear to hear. He crawled over to Bridget with clasped hands, further dirtying his pants. “Dear, beautiful, kind, merciful Bridget … I am so sorry, I … I did not know! I shall promise to treat you right from here on. Please,
please
—do not vote for this … imposter.”

Bridget could only stand there, mouth hidden behind her fist. Finally, she reached out to help him stand, but he was already crawling over to Leera.

“Still begging,” the imposter sang.

This time Sydo seemed to realize what he was doing and quickly got up, trying to dust off his doublet and smooth his hair. “Leera—” he began, hands splayed in welcome.

Leera raised an eyebrow and folded her arms. She looked like she was enjoying this.

“Leera …” Sydo repeated, looking her square in the eye. “I apologize to you. I apologize for being a brat, and for the things I called you. I’m sorry for what I said about your parents, I know they didn’t deserve to die, I’m so sorry for that. If you give me a second chance, I promise I’ll do better.”

Although he was saying the right things, Augum noted the tone sounded flat.

After a long pause, Leera’s face softened and she unfolded her arms.

“I would make this last plea impeccable,” the imposter said as Sydo moved on to Mya. “For they might be the last words you ever utter.”

“Mya …” Sydo began, grasping her porcelain hands. She towered over him, blushing. The trees groaned in a particularly strong gust. “My loyal servant, I have treated you unkindly over the years. Of everyone here, I am least deserving of your
vote. I should apologize—”

“All right, enough of your whining,” the imposter said, stepping between them. “Hark! It is time to vote! Now who will it be—a better, smarter, wiser,
kinder
Prince, or a foul, useless, spoiled brat? Come now, step beside the one who wins your vote.”

The two princes stood apart, one with a victorious grin, the other trembling.

Mya was the first to the real prince’s side, placing a supple hand on his shoulder. He closed his eyes and stiffened. Bridget was next, standing beside Mya. Augum glanced at Thomas, who stood serenely by. What he felt from his great-grandfather was not judgment, but compassion. He stepped to Bridget’s side.

“You can turn the tide, dear Leera,” the imposter said, hands outstretched as if ready to give a great hug. “All I need is
one
vote.”

“
One
vote? Well then I hope the changes you promise are genuine.”

“Oh, yes, they truly are,” the imposter replied, smile widening.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Leera said, stepping to the real prince’s side.

When the imposter realized what she had done, he screamed and flailed like a little child. His cries soon morphed into loud cracking as the color drained from his face and clothing. He grayed and stiffened, until finally he was nothing more than a stone statue.

Sydo fell to his knees, clutching his chest. Mya and Bridget attended to him as Leera fixed Augum with an impish grin.

“He’s just lucky I didn’t vote first.”

Prince Sydo wiped his face with a cloth, staring at the imposter now permanently frozen in a tantrum. Thomas stood beside him, studying the statue dispassionately. For a while, there was only the sound of swaying oaks, hissing braziers, and the gentle flapping of robes.

“Witness before you a reflection of that which could have been,” Thomas said at last.

Sydo felt the stone buttons of the imposter’s doublet. “Was … was the choice real?”

“It was real, as is the karma we carry.”

Sydo breathed a slow sigh of relief.

Leera elbowed Augum, whispering, “Not even a thank you.”

That was some spell, Augum thought. He bet it was off-the-books. Probably ancient and high degree too.

After a time of quiet reflection, he decided to ask his great-grandfather a nagging question. “Um, Mr. Stone, what do you know of Dreadnoughts?”

“Dreadnoughts are an ancient race of smiths and warriors. Legend says they are the lion children of Treyus, the God of War—”

“—Mr. Stone!” Mya cried, a hand over her mouth. “You mustn’t speak the name of the Unnameables. It brings ill tidings.”