It had been a long time since Rellen had even seen the lands of the Kari’Ma.

  He stuck his finger upon Corsia and ran it down a dotted line marking the stretch of the King’s Highway that led straight to the river port city of Svennival. He glanced over his shoulder.

  “I can meet—Mygal, was it?—in about six or seven days, assuming I leave in the morning and the rains don’t delay me.” He turned and took in what had once been their father’s war room… and was now Stevar’s. He wondered if he would ever get used to that.

  Banners covered the other three walls, mixed in with a smattering of weapons from across the kingdom. A great fireplace filled the center of the far wall, but it hadn’t been used since the last time the kingdom found itself in an active war. Rellen and his brother had come here often as boys to escape chores, studies, and every other responsibility inevitably piled upon the shoulders of princes. In the war room, above any other place in the palace, the two had always been just brothers, not lords, not princes, and certainly not future kings.

  “Good,” Stevar replied. “That should give Mygal time to heal up completely.” He wore a loose-fitting tunic of crimson and black leather pants tucked into high, leather boots. He’d undone his braid, and his dark brown hair flowed out like a lion’s mane. He pushed the decanter of whisky closer to his older brother. “And you’re dry.”

  Rellen looked at his glass and smiled. “We can’t have that, can we?”

  “No,” Stevar said. “We can’t.” He eyed his older brother, and his expression turned serious. “You crossed a line today, you know that, right?”

  Rellen stiffened for a moment, meeting his brothers’ gaze, and then let out a slow breath. “The bit about mentoring Mygal?” he offered.

  Stevar nodded slowly, an expectant look on his face.

  “Yeah… I’m sorry about that.” Rellen set his glass on the table. “It caught me by surprise is all. You know I don’t like working with others, and being a mentor is even worse.”

  “I know,” Stevar said. “I also don’t care, and it’s about time you did it. It comes with that tattoo, and you know it.”

  “You sound like Father,” Rellen said, and gave his younger brother a faint smile.

  “That’s because I’m speaking as king.”

  “I know,” Rellen replied. “I give you my word, I won’t cross that line again.”

  “Good,” Stevar said. “By the way, Svennival’s Manifestation Festival starts next week, so you should get a good show, if you can take the time. There are several bloodlines there that have always produced remarkable talent with the magical arts.”

  “I remember Father speaking of it.” Rellen was grateful for the change of subject. His brother—no, the king—was letting him off the hook, but he needed to make sure he was never on it again. “Here’s to hoping I can.” He poured himself another shot.

  “Something tells me you won’t,” Stevar said, a concerned look on his face.

  “You’re worried about it, aren’t you?” Rellen asked. His brother’s posture was relaxed, but he knew Stevar well enough to know those eyes.

  “Svennival?” His brother let out a long breath. “Yes, but not just because one of my dukes has been murdered. That would be trouble enough. There’s a lot going on, all across Pelinon. I go to bed wondering if its more than I’ll be able to handle.”

  “Tell me,” Rellen said in the same manner he used when they were young and his brother was anxious about their father’s ever-weighty expectations.

  Stevar put his feet on the floor and sat up straight. He stared into his brother’s eyes for several moments. He’d recognized Rellen’s tone too, and they fell into an old cadence.

  “Well,” Stevar started, his eyes shifting to something far off, “at a glance, one might think the kingdom is running along smoothly—high times, even.” He shook his head. “In the Conclave, I mentioned the possibility of sedition in Mallorand, right?”

  Rellen nodded.

  “That’s one of four, but Mallorand is the only one we had knowledge we could act on. The others are just rumors—solid rumors, but no names, no places—just that something is festering. I’ll be honest, I’m more than a little worried about the possibility of sedition to the east, west, and south. There’s also been an increase of Kari’Ma raids along the northeastern half of the Strakha line. They’ve hit villages around several keeps, including Strakha Havaari and Strakha Kleemar. Lightweight stuff, so far, but it feels like they’re probing our defenses again. Do you remember Galphoreth?”

  “The Wolf Lord emissary?” Rellen asked. Galphoreth had been Charon Vai’s emissary to Pelinon for over a decade, and one did not forget a Charonos. He stood seven feet tall, had deep black fur, and like the rest of his kin, had a muscled body topped by a wolf-like head. Galphoreth wore clothing as a matter of etiquette, but the Charonos rarely wore garments or armor, preferring only leather harnesses to hold tools and weapons when they needed them. Pelinon had maintained a truce with the fearsome race for over two hundred years. By treaty, they held the northeastern passes against Kari’Ma raids into Pelinon. In exchange, the Pelinon traded metals and other goods. “How could I forget him?

  “He came to me last week and said the Soo Kari’Ma may be looking to break the truce and declare war. They’re seeking an alliance of some sort with the Wolf Lord High Council. I don’t have to tell you how bad that could be for Pelinon. Galphoreth assures me the council has no intention of allying themselves with the Kari’Ma, but I had to send more troops into those mountains, as has the Kapron Duke Syditios K’Dural. We’ve reinforced the entire line.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “No reason you should,” Stevar said easily. “I also have trade negotiations coming up with the Rikarri Nations—those Guild bastards are talking about increasing rates for both cargo and passengers. I could deal with one on passengers—the nobility would absorb the bulk of that cost. But cargo?” Stevar shook his head. “The royal coffers would take a significant hit, and I have to be prepared for the possibility of a war on several fronts.” He looked at Rellen. “That’s why I sent Grall out to Caspari. I know he can get the job done, and I need all the leverage I can get to deal with that Elwhari’Ma dynast. I swear, she is a real a ball-breaker.” Stevar closed his eyes for a moment and let out a long breath. “Bah!” He downed a shot of whisky and reached for the decanter. “But enough about matters of state.” He poured himself another drink.

  Rellen stared at his little brother for several heartbeats, and then a sad smile turned up the corners of his mouth. A wash of memories flowed over him—of Stevar, their father… and their mother.

  “What is it?” Stevar asked, looking confused. “What’s wrong?”

  “Wrong?” Rellen fought the emotions raging within him and shook his head. “Nothing… Everything.” He met his brother’s questioning eyes. “It just hit me really hard that you’re not my little brother anymore. You are my king, and it suits you. Father would be so very proud… little brother.” He let out a long, pained breath. “You are a far, far better king than I ever could have been.”

  Stevar smiled. “I don’t know about that. In fact, most of the time, when I’m faced with really hard decisions, I ask myself one of two questions.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, if it’s something to do with money or politics, I ask, ‘What would Father do?’ And if it has to do with conflict, the question is always, ‘What would Rellen do?’” He tossed back his whisky.

  Rellen stared into his glass. “I don’t know what to say.” As the words passed his lips, the swell of guilt and shame he’d been holding back crashed into him, carried on a storm of memory he’d kept buried for a very long time. His shoulder’s slumped, as if the air had been let out of him.

  “Nothing to say,” Stevar soothed. “We are who we were meant to be, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Never forget, Father would be proud of you too, Rellen… of all you’ve accomplished as a soldier, kurios, and Guardian. You are one of Pelinon’s greatest assets. You know that, don’t you?”

  Rellen just stood there, frozen, reliving old pain.

  “Rellen?” Stevar asked, suddenly worried.

  Rellen shook his head, trying to clear the vision of his mother’s dead body floating in a bathtub. “I’m just good at getting into trouble…” he finally said. He lifted his gaze and stared at Stevar, a haunted look upon his face. “… and running out on the people who depend upon me. You know that better than anyone alive.” There was something he needed to say—something he should have said a long time ago.

  “What is it?” Stevar asked. “What’s wrong?”

  Rellen was silent for several moments, and with each heartbeat, his guilt and shame bubbled up in his breast.

  “I need to apologize,” he said softly.

  Stevar looked perplexed. “For what?”

  Rellen looked around the room, but he was really looking at the palace that surrounded them both… a place that had filled him with dread for decades.

  “For sticking you with… all of this.” He motioned to the walls and beyond. “I know you think we’re doing what we were meant to, but when the time came, I ran out on Pelinon, on Father’s wishes, on you… and for the second time.”

  “Second—”

  “The throne,” Rellen said, cutting him off, “and Mother.”

  Stevar’s eyes went wide, and he got a pained look on his face. “We swore we’d never talk about that.”

  “I think it’s time we did,” he said. “If I’m going to apologize for one, I have to apologize for both. When I abdicated the throne, I told you it was because I thought I could serve the kingdom better out there. That was only part of it.” He swallowed hard. “I was scared.” He expected his brother to be surprised, to interrupt him, do something or say something. Stevar just stared, a patient, compassionate look on his face. “Scared I’d let Pelinon down like I let her down.”

  Stevar’s tone was even. “That wasn’t your fault.”

  “Yes, it was.” Rellen met his brother’s gaze. “Father left her in my care—mine. He charged me with making sure nothing happened to her while he fought another war. You were there. You know. All I had to do was stand outside a door and listen. Instead, I told you to do it and went off to play games.”

  “There wasn’t anything to hear. I told you that the day she died. She never made a sound.”

  “You were just a kid,” Rellen snapped.

  “So were you,” Stevar barked back, and there was iron in his voice. “Her seizures… that gods-be-damned curse… there was nothing either of us could have done. Either way, Father never should have left it up to us.”

  “But he did,” Rellen said, “and I’m the reason she’s dead.”

  Stevar searched his brother’s face. “I was seven, and you were eleven. You’d been standing outside that door every night for two months. Not once did Mother have a seizure while she bathed.” He raised an eyebrow. “Is any of that not true?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I think…” Stevar’s voice trailed off as a hard expression filled his features. “No—I know it does.” He let out a frustrated breath. “It makes all the difference, Rellen.”

  Again, Rellen saw the shadow of his father in his brother’s expression. He looked around the room. He didn’t—couldn’t—admit his brother was right. That was the reason he hated coming back to the palace. It brought up too many old ghosts, old guilt, old pain.

  He motioned toward the map behind him. “You know, out there, my life boils down to clarity of purpose. Out there, I can right wrongs by spell and sword. I hunt the wicked. This palace… it was Father’s cage. I left because I couldn’t let it be mine. This cage made him helpless. The only time he ever really made a difference himself was when he left it. And, of course, when he did, Mother died.”

  “What are you talking about now?”

  “How helpless a king can be.”

  Stevar gave him a strange look. “I’m not helpless—”

  “Yes,” Rellen said. “You are.”

  “Rellen,” his brother said, stiffening, “I command armies. There isn’t much I couldn’t achieve if I wished it.”

  “You give orders, Stevar. You know when and how to give them, but you don’t actually do anything. Don’t get me wrong. We needed a good king, and in you we got one, but you need people like your generals, your dukes, your Guardians. We do what needs to be done in your name.”

  “I think I see what you’re saying, at least a little… but I have no idea why.”

  “I failed Mother when she was made my responsibility. I knew I’d fail Pelinon if it was left in my care. The only skin I have to worry about anymore is my own. If I’d become king, the whole of Pelinon would have depended upon me. Me.”

  “I guess so, but—”

  “That’s why I didn’t—don’t want to be a mentor to anyone. If I do, they’ll depend upon me, too. I’m sorry about Mother. I’m sorry about abdicating. I’m sorry about everything I’ve piled upon your shoulders.”

  Stevar’s face turned more compassionate than Rellen had ever seen. He rose out of his chair and wrapped his arms around his older brother. Rellen hugged him back, fighting back tears that rarely saw the light of day.

  “You can be so thick sometimes,” Stevar said, squeezing his brother. He let go, stepped back, and stared into Rellen’s bewildered eyes. “Neither of us could ever be anything but who and what we are.”

  Rellen’s tears came. “But—”

  “Rellen,” Stevar said seriously, “you didn’t abandon Mother, me, or Pelinon. At every turn, at every step in your life, you got stronger, more capable, and you did it to serve Pelinon in the best way you could. You’ve always been there for me, protecting me—fighting for me. You still are.” He clapped his brother on the shoulder. “What sort of brother—what sort of king would I be if I didn’t understand you better than you understand yourself?” Stevar shook his head and gave Rellen a warm smile. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, although, I suspect these feelings will be with you for a long time.” Stevar’s expression once again reminded Rellen of their father’s wisdom. “Someday you’ll understand how easy it was for me to take up this one burden. Then, maybe, you’ll be able to forgive yourself.” He grabbed the bottle of whisky and poured himself another drink. He looked to Rellen’s glass expectantly. Rellen held it up and Stevar filled it. “You’re right about one thing, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I do need my generals, dukes, and Guardians to get anything done, and that includes you.” Stevar stared at his brother for several heartbeats. “You’re such an asshole sometimes,” he finally said with a smile.

  Rellen let out a relieved breath. His brother had known exactly what to say. “I’ll drink to that,” Rellen said, raising his glass in a toast. Stevar raised his own, and they tipped their glasses back.

  Stevar placed his on the table and looked at his brother. “It’s getting late. Be sure to check in with Corwyk as soon as you arrive in the city.”

  “I will.”

  “And promise me you’ll be careful down there.” Stevar looked genuinely worried. “Those Nissran bastards are out of their minds, and they don’t take prisoners.”

  “Hey, you know what a cautious fellow I am.”

  “That’s what worries me.” Stevar turned to leave but turned back again. “Oh, and one more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Mygal Durintur… I had no trepidations about selecting him to replace Voren. I know you and Voren were close, so I hope it won’t be a problem.”

  Rellen nodded. “Thanks. I’m alright about it though. I don’t really have any friends… well, it’s a short list. Voren was who he was, and he wouldn’t want us to dwell.”

  “You’re not wrong,” Stevar said. “As to Mygal Durintur, you need to be his mentor whether you like it or not. That being the case, he’s rather full of himself. It’s not undeserved. He’s good at what he does, which is why I chose him. He’s the perfect infiltrator, but he sometimes uses his majea to play with people’s heads. Nothing serious, just mischievous. He kind of reminds me of you a not-too-long time ago. He’s young, but he’s proven himself to be quite capable. Get to know him. Let him get to know you before you… school him. Promise? It’s not babysitting. It’s mentoring, and you benefited from the same thing when I made you a Guardian.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  “Good. Then let’s call it a night. You have to head out in the morning, and I have to deal with a list of problems a mile long before the sun sets tomorrow night.”

  “You’ve got a deal,” Rellen said, and grabbed the decanter one more time.

  Chapter Five

  Svennival

  Rellen pulled back the hood of his cloak as Shaddeth’s great hooves clopped down a stretch of the King’s Highway that cut through the heart of Svennival and continued south. It connected all the ducal seats in Pelinon. Unlike any other road in the kingdom, the King’s Highway was three carriage-widths across and made of sturdy, timeless, pale gray stones that seemed impervious to the passage of time.

  He’d pushed the black stallion on their journey south from Corsia, but Shaddeth’s muscled frame was tireless. The sun was just coming up, burning away clouds that had drizzled all night long. He’d been on the road for several hours already, having risen from a restless night in the damp forests north of the city. He hadn’t tried to keep a fire, although that was nothing new.

  The whole of Pelinon was subject to rains throughout most of the year, in drips and downpours. As a soldier, he’d come to terms with riding—and sleeping—in the rain long ago. He was pleased, however. He’d made the journey from the palace in only six days rather than seven.