Stormseer (Storms in Amethir Book 3) (39 page)

Xellax's nose brushed his hair. IT WAS NOT WHAT WE WISHED FOR YOU. WE MEANT TO BRING YOU STRENGTH, NOT TO DIVIDE YOUR MIND FROM ITSELF. Yar could feel the deep sorrow in her words. He sighed.

IT HAD BEEN TOO LONG SINCE WE HAD A VOICE, said Darixu, lifting his head and backing several steps. WE HAD FORGOTTEN.

Yar glared up at them. "It didn't help that you told me to eat my grandfather."
You filled me with all these thoughts and urges I didn't understand,
he wanted to shout at them.
You ruined me!
But they resonated sorrow and regret, and somehow he didn't have it in him to wound them.

HE WAS WICKED, Xellax said simply.

Yar straightened, standing away from her support. "He's dead. Azmei killed him." He folded his arms across his chest. He still wasn't sure how he felt about that, either, but he couldn't change it, and now at least he was free of the Patriarch.

Rexiel bugled, stretching his scarlet head to the sky. AZMEI OF TAMNEN HAS SERVED YOU WELL.

Yar scowled, turning to face him. "She's a princess. Probably I ought to be serving her," he said. Though he didn't think most princesses would care one way or the other about a strange young man from a textile family—or even a family of assassins. Then again, Azmei didn't seem much like a princess at all.

NAY. WHEN THE VOICE OF DRAGONS SPEAKS, THE WORLD SHOULD LISTEN. That was Darixu's Wise Uncle Voice, the one that quelled arguments and spoke the law.

Yar was thirsty. He looked around and found a rock that would make a comfortable enough seat. "Dragons aren't exactly revered. For that matter, you're only even remembered as stories. No one sits around wondering what dragons think about this or that."

Xellax gave a dry, whispery chuckle like the rasps of scales against stone. NO ONE MUCH REMEMBERS WE EXIST. BUT WE WILL REMIND THEM. Her tongue flickered out and licked her scaly lips.

Yar sat up straight. "Are you going to take over the world?"

Laughter rumbled around the circle of dragons. TOO MUCH TROUBLE, said Vetterix, letting herself drape down over her menhir.

BUT WE KNOW THINGS, added Darixu. IMPORTANT THINGS. YOU MUST SPEAK FOR US, VOICE OF DRAGONS.

Yar stared at him, but the dragon sat calmly, his metallic eyes reflecting light back at him. The other dragons all looked serious as well. Yar spread his hands to either side. "How?"

YOU WILL FIND A WAY, Xellax assured him.

FIRST THERE MUST BE THE JOINING. Darixu stood, spreading his wings so they stretched like a canopy over Yar's head. YOU WILL KNOW US MORE FULLY ONCE WE ARE JOINED. WE WILL NOT OVERWHELM YOU AS MUCH THEN.

Yar wanted to cover his face and hide. He wanted to curl up inside his cloak and pretend the world didn't exist. But where would he retreat to escape from the dragons? They had been in his head all his life. Where would he go?

Did he even have a choice? What if he refused, would they kill him? Make him a prisoner? Would they hurt Azmei and Firefoot and Hawk?

Xellax lowered her head, meeting his gaze. Her smoke-silver eyes were full of sorrow, hope, and love. Yar had never felt that love when she was whispering to him of bloody things and revolution, but facing her now, he couldn't doubt it. He sighed and looked down.

"All right. What do I do?"

BLOOD AND FIRE. The words slid into his thoughts. He jerked his gaze up to Xellax again. She was watching him. She said nothing else.

"B-blood?" His calf throbbed at the thought. But they said he wouldn't be overwhelmed by them if he did this. Wasn't that worth a little blood? "How?"

BLOOD, Xellax whispered again, AND FIRE.

"Fine!" he shouted. He drew his dagger from his belt and sliced it across the inside of his left forearm before he could think about it. The knife was a good one—even the freaks of the assassin family knew how to care for their weapons. The pain took several heartbeats to register. Xellax's head thrust forward, her tongue darting out. It licked across his arm, fire dancing along her tongue and searing the wound.

Yar screamed. The touch held him immobilized, his blood boiling in his veins and searing through his skull. He squeezed his eyes shut. It felt like he was being turned inside out like a dirty shirt. Then something shifted inside him, something clicked into place, and the agony was past. His forearm pulsed where the dragon's tongue had scorched it, but when he pried one eyelid open and looked, only a white welt remained, its edges turning red. There was no blood.

Yar stood panting and staring down at the arm. Now he had a scar on each arm, one from his childhood and one from the dragons. He looked up at Xellax again. He drew in a long breath.

"I don't feel any different."

"You will," Xellax replied. Her voice didn't hiss and echo around in the corners of his mind anymore. He could hear that quality about it, but he didn't want to cringe from the ill-fitting corners that used to poke his thoughts. "Rest, Yar. The dawn will come soon enough." She settled down on the ground, her serpentine body curling like a cat. She stretched out her wings and looked at him with open invitation.

Yar crawled under her wings, snuggled against her side, and slept.

Chapter 28

Azmei woke only once in the night. She could hear Hawk breathing. She rolled onto her side, staring across the dark stall to where he sat, propped against a bale of hay. Was he standing watch? She didn't bother to fight the warm fondness that rose inside her at the thought. She nestled deeper into her blanket and let the sweet fragrance of the hay lull her back into sleep.

She was up before dawn. She'd slept deeply and peacefully, but at the first thump of horses rattling their wooden feed buckets, she was fully awake. Hawk was no longer in his place. Azmei stood and stretched. The stable was dim, the first hints of light not yet reaching in as far as the stall they had chosen for their sleep. She wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. She buckled on her sword belt and went to find her companion.

Hawk was out in front of the huge stone palace. He was stripped to the waist, going through a series of stretches that almost looked like combat forms. Azmei licked dry lips, wondering if that was something he'd learned in Strid, or a routine he'd devised himself. The rays of the rising sun limned his figure with gold. He was too skinny, probably from all the years spent in prison, but she couldn't ignore the lean strength of his body. Except for the slight limp, he was grace incarnate, and even that was a badge of honor, something he had earned in service to his kingdom.

He must have caught sight of her during one of his turns. He stopped moving and straightened. Azmei jerked her gaze away, feeling her face get hot. She hadn't meant to interrupt, and now she had been caught.

"Azmei. I didn't mean to wake you." His words were hesitant. She glanced at him, wondering if he felt as awkward as she did.

"You didn't. I think it was one of the horses. But I'm ready to be awake. I slept well." She smiled. She wished she knew how to thank him for standing watch last night without making things even more awkward. "Can you teach me what you're doing?"

He raised his eyebrows. "You must have your own practice routine."

"Yes, but I like learning new things." She smiled. "And then perhaps we could spar against each other."

"You are almost certainly more skilled with the blade than I."

She stepped across the paved yard to join him. "I doubt it. I am good at killing in controlled environments, and I am good at creating those environments. But you survived years on the battlefield, which I have not done."

"You've also been honing your skills for several years, where mine have been rusting," Hawk countered, half-smiling at her. "But very well." He fell into a loose stance, his weight distributed on the balls of his feet, and stretched his arms over his head. "Mirror my poses. We'll go slowly at first."

Azmei did as she was told. At first she had to focus on following his movements, but soon he looped around to the beginning and she realized everything he did was based on half a dozen stances. He varied where his arms were held, or the combination of poses, but once she had learned those stances, she found the routine almost meditative. Hawk's poses were like the stretches she had learned, but with more purpose; his could be turned into martial movements with little adaptation.

It was a mixed blessing, she discovered. With her body occupied by the routine, her mind wandered back to the situation in which she found herself. Stuck in a hidden valley with one companion taken by dragons. Her brother and father threatened by assassins, certainly sent by one of the Nine Families, possibly by her cousin. What was happening in Tamnen City right now? Was Tanvel still alive, or had he been killed? Was her father still alive?

"You aren't concentrating anymore." Hawk's voice was neutral, his gaze observant on her but not condemning.

"I'm sorry," she said anyway. "I'm afraid my mind keeps wandering."

He just nodded. "Perhaps the swords, then. That should keep your mind from wandering."

Azmei laughed. "I hope so! I don't have a practice blade with me."

"We'll be careful." He glanced over at her, waiting until she nodded slightly. It wasn't usual to practice with live steel; the purpose of practice was to make the motions instinctive, and if you pulled your strokes in practice, your instinct would be to do so in a real fight. But this once, it wouldn't be a problem.

She drew her sword and waited while he walked to where his shirt and sword belt were draped over a stone. She fell into a ready position and watched as he drew his sword and worked his shoulders.

He attacked without warning. Azmei had been watching, but his muscles hadn't betrayed his intent. He simply struck. She parried and countered, but he blocked her own attack easily. After a few traded blows, she found herself smiling. It was a joy to match herself against him. It had been months since she'd last sparred with Tanvel, and he had been the last opponent who outmatched her. As she and Hawk tested each other, she realized that he, too, outmatched her, both with strength and with cunning. She was in better condition, but only just. Her biggest advantage was that she had been trained in the fighting styles of three nations, and Hawk had only one.

Still, he pressed her hard. Soon she was sweating, grateful for how it cooled her in the dry air. It gratified her to see that Hawk was breathing hard, the same fierce joy on his face that she felt on her own. Their feet scuffed sand against the stone yard, the clang of blade against blade and their panting and grunts the only other sounds. She had to admit it was a relief when Hawk's blade finally darted in to stop a few inches from her throat. "Check," Hawk gasped, and Azmei replied, "Yield."

They lowered their blades, grinning at one another. The happiness in his eyes pleased her. Until then she hadn't realized just how sad he looked most of the time. She was proud to have brought him such pleasure. She wondered, as he stared at her, if he was feeling much the same.

"Thank you," she said. She wiped her blade against her trousers and slid it into its sheath. Later she would check it for nicks, but now she slid into a stretch, making sure her muscles would stay loose.

"You are skilled, indeed," he said, following her example.

"But not as skilled as you." She smiled. "You will continue to improve as you rebuild your stamina. I'll have to work hard to keep up with you."

There was a brief pause. She wondered if he'd caught what she'd let slip—that she wanted to try to keep up with him. It wasn't possible. He would have duties when she returned him to her brother. And she would have duties of a very different sort. But for now, hidden away in the Shrouded Vale, waiting for Yar to return with his dragons, Azmei could dream.

"You're capable of it," Hawk said finally, and twisted at the waist. He bent over, working at his thigh. She'd seen him favoring it some during the fight, but it didn't hinder him. He knew how to fight through the pain.

"We should eat," she replied. "There's a little meat and bread left."

He nodded and followed her back to their stall, where she handed him the food pack. She grabbed the kettle and filled it with water while they returned back to the yard. Hawk portioned out the food while she built a fire and began heating water. When the coffee was ready, they ate. They didn't speak much, but Azmei felt more relaxed with him than she had anyone except Tanvel and, longer ago, Razem and Guira and Venra.

"Hawk?" she ventured, as they lingered over their coffee. He looked over at her, his charcoal eyes curious and open. It made her hesitate, but she couldn't forget what they'd discovered about Arisanat. She licked her lips. "Tell me again how Aris reacted when you first met."

He frowned, the curiosity fading from his eyes, though the openness remained. At last he shrugged. "He was tense. Cold. I saw hatred in his eyes, but I thought it was for me alone. I lived while his brother did not."

She frowned too. For Hawk alone? But it wasn't, was it? There was no reason Arisanat would have ordered her death without having any involvement in the attack on Marsede. Something nagged at her memory. There had been something about what Hawk said that caught at her. What was it? "What did he say to you? Exactly, if you remember?"

"He said a prisoner exchange does not bring peace." Hawk's gaze turned sad. He sipped his coffee, letting his gaze drop to it instead of Azmei's face.

She sighed. "He must have been more destroyed by Venra's death than I realized." She shook her head. She missed Venra, too, but he had been dead four years, and she had lost others she loved since then. Time had not erased the grief, but it had dulled it. "I loved Venra myself. I...I think he meant to ask my father about an alliance between us. But I was still very young when he went to war."

"Did you..." Hawk trailed off, looking awkward. Perhaps he had realized the question he started to ask wasn't the sort of question a warrior ought to ask a princess. But Azmei didn't mind.

"He was my dearest friend after Razem," she said. "But no. I could have learned to love him, I know. But it was not to be." She smiled sadly at Hawk, who looked soberly back at her.

"His love for you is not shared by his brother," he said.

"It was once. Aris looked after us all. We got into all sorts of mischief, the three of us—my brother, Venra, and I—but Aris tried to keep us out of the worst trouble. He worked to keep us safe." She laughed. "It was like he was a herd dog, and we his sheep. We caused him no end of headache and worry, but we were devoted to him, and he to us." She bowed her head. "Perhaps it was my agreeing to the treaty with Amethir that drove Aris to hatred."

"A man is responsible for his own actions, Azmei." Hawk's words were quick and low. "If Arisanat chose hatred, it was
his
choice, not yours."

Azmei shook her head, not denying it, but unable to accept it, either. "He must be very lonely."

They were silent for a time. Azmei poured herself a second cup of coffee. Hawk set down his cup and drew his sword, going over it for any blemish. The breeze picked up Azmei's hair and ruffled it. She looked away, down the length of the Shrouded Vale, and wondered if she saw dragons flying in the distance.

"Was it difficult to be away from your father and brother for so long?" Hawk asked finally.

Azmei glanced over at him. "As difficult as it probably was for you." She smiled. "But I have only been dead for three years. You were a captive for...what? Five years? Six? I've lost track."

"Ah. Six." Hawk didn't look up from his blade, which he worked carefully with a whetstone. "But I have no family."

"There were still people you loved, surely," Azmei murmured. "You must have missed them."

He lifted a shoulder. "Emran Kho was a friend. Your cousin Lord Venra was, as well. It grieved me deeply to learn of his death."

She sat forward, watching his face. "You knew Venra?"

"He was my commander in Rivarden. I liked him."

"Was he well-loved?" Azmei had exchanged letters with Venra, but he had always been humble. He had felt drawn to right the wrongs in the Kreyden, to attempt to rule the district as peacefully as possible while protecting the citizens from the Strid. But he had never claimed to be a popular leader or a visionary. She had always wondered what he left out of his letters.

"Aye, and respected." Hawk's lips curved up as he spoke of his commander. "He had a keen mind for strategy, but he was always willing to listen to advice or opinions. He knew he had been well educated, but he acknowledged that experience often tops education. He never stood on rank." Hawk's hands went still, his eyes unfocused. "He was generous."

Azmei smiled. "I can tell you loved him. It was churlish of Aris not to be kind to you. He should value anything you can tell him of his brother."

Hawk's eyes focused and turned cold. "I must beg your pardon, my lady. I call him worse than churl. I call him traitor."

Pain stabbed through Azmei's stomach. She clenched her muscles against it and drew in a long breath. "I know." She bowed her head, staring down at her hands, folded tightly in her lap. "Aris tried to have me killed." Hawk was silent. "He tried to have my father killed. He will likely try to have my brother killed." Still Hawk made no answer.

Azmei sighed and lifted her gaze to meet his. "He plans rebellion."

Hawk nodded silently. His sorrowful gaze was steady on hers. Azmei swallowed. There didn't seem to be anything else to say after that. They had to get to Tamnen City and stop this. She didn't know how they would accomplish it, but it was her duty, now that she'd brought Yarro to his goal.

Hawk looked away first. "My lady—" He broke off, pointing down the valley.

Azmei followed the line of his arm, not bothering to remind him to call her Azmei. Approaching them, far enough that they were still out of earshot, was a phalanx of dragons. At this distance, she couldn't make out their colors, just the shapes. But she could tell that the lead dragon carried a human figure on its back.

"Yarro," she said.

"Let's hope so." Hawk's voice was grim.

"There's no reason for them to have lured us here and then harmed us. It makes no sense."

He glanced over at her. "Do dragons make sense?"

Her lips quirked at that. She rested a hand on her sword hilt and waited.

Soon they could hear the ponderous beat of dragon wings. As they drew closer, Azmei saw it wasn't the golden dragon in the lead, but a sinuous green dragon. To its left flew the golden dragon, and to its right was another green. She wondered if their colors signified anything, or if they were just like kittens, born several different colors from the same mother sometimes. She wondered if she would ever have the chance to learn.