Tyrant’s Blood

Her smile echoed her father’s. ‘It’s upstairs, sirs,’ she lisped.

Their room was very large, with a big window, two beds, and a fabric screen that surrounded a small basin for privacy.

‘Nice,’ Kirin said as Tillie left.

‘Glad you approve,’ Freath said, setting down his small leather bag. ‘So, down to business. A message will be delivered to us but I don’t know—’

A tap at the door interrupted Freath. ‘Yes?’ he called but Kirin moved to open it.

‘sorry to disturb you, sirs,’ Tillie said, the words accentuating her lisp as she curtsied. She was carrying a vase of mountain flowers.

Freath was irritated by her re-entry. ‘Pollen makes me sneeze,’ he said.

Kirin glared at him. ‘Over here, Tillie. I’ll keep it on my side.’

She smiled gratefully, closing the door behind her as she entered the room, which irritated Freath all the more.

‘Was there something else?’ he asked, frowning.

‘Yes,’ she said clearly, her lisp gone. ‘You are Master Freath, are you not? From Brighthelm?’

Kirin glanced at Freath, shocked. Freath had no choice. If worst came to worst, he decided in that moment of alarm, they could overwhelm the girl. ‘I am,’ he replied, masking his fear.

She nodded, her composure surprising him. ‘Thank you, sir. I was asked to give you a message.’

‘I see,’ he said, clearing his throat of the relief that was clogging it. ‘What is it?’

‘I’m to tell you to be ready for when the games begin.’

‘Games? Ready? For what?’

She shrugged. ‘I’ve given you the message I was told to deliver, sir. There was nothing else.’

‘But what games?’

‘I don’t know, sir.’

He nodded, resigned. ‘All right. Keep that information to yourself.’

‘I have and I will continue to do so.’

‘Do you know who we are?’ Freath asked.

‘No, sir. Nor do I wish to. I’m being paid to do this and the man who paid me frightened me. I do not want to be involved.’

Freath nodded and she quickly left the room. He looked at Kirin. ‘What do you make of it?’

Kirin gave him a look of disdain. ‘You know what I think. Freath, you’re a household servant of the palace and I am a man of the Academy who has also spent his last decade as a curious sort of servant to the ruler. But we’re acting like spies or assassins or something equally clandestine and, even worse, we’re pretending we know what we’re doing. What is in our heads?’

‘Loyalty’s in mine,’ Freath replied with equal disdain. ‘But I’m scared too, Kirin. There’s no shame in it. If anything, it will keep us sharp.’

‘For what? Our own deaths?’

Freath smiled humourlessly. ‘A long time ago Clovis told me you were the one who convinced him that the throne of Penraven and the honour of our Crown was worth rallying for…worth dying for, in fact. I’m sure he said that.’

Kirin grimaced. ‘I’m sure he did.’

‘Dying is easy, Kirin, my friend. Staying alive—especially in our situation—is much harder, and far more honourable.’

‘I’ll carry that thought with me as a blade enters my belly,’ Kirin said, scowling.

Freath sighed. ‘I suppose chasing here after hopes and shadows means we could be missing out on word of Piven.’

‘Clovis will get more word to us when he can.’

‘Piven will be almost fifteen anni. Imagine that,’ Freath commented, awed by the thought.

Kirin’s voice dropped to a low murmur. ‘And our king, if this idea of yours bears fruit, will be a man. I’m sure in your mind you see the boy.’ Freath nodded sadly. ‘Well, he’s going to be twenty-two anni, more than old enough to fight for his crown. Have you considered that?’

‘I have,’ Freath admitted wearily.

Kirin gripped his arm. ‘We’ve probably aged twice as fast in living our lie at the palace all these years. Leo is likely brimming with bitterness that is fuelling his anger and passion.’

Freath looked at his friend. ‘He’s kept it well under control or someone has helped him to. But,’ he sighed again, ‘the time is nigh. Valisar must rise again or be lost forever.’

‘Have you also considered that this peace we enjoy might be a better alternative?’

‘What?’ Freath said, pulling away.

Kirin raised his hands. ‘Hear me out.’

‘No. I can’t believe you’re thinking like this.’

‘I don’t care for bloodshed, you know that. What we went through a decade ago—all those deaths. Just think about those boys we personally had to witness being killed to save one life. What about the queen giving hers so cheaply to ensure your safety?’

‘Don’t you dare—’ Freath began but Kirin overrode his protest.

‘And Genrie? How about her agonising death to—’

‘stop!’

Kirin held his tongue and had the grace to look abashed. He sighed. ‘The point is, Freath, we have peace. You yourself admire Loethar…you’ve expressed that to me on many occasions.’

‘I do—I even like him in a strange sort of way. But that doesn’t mean I would ignore who rightfully owns the throne of Penraven. My loyalties have not changed.’

‘But does it matter anymore? Does it really matter what you or I, or any loyalist, wants? We feel it more because we were right there, wading through the blood. But look around you, Freath. Everyone’s getting on with life. Penraven continues to be as prosperous as ever, the Set thrives and the realms seem more in tune with each other than ever before—surely you would admit that?’

Freath felt his lips thin. He refused to reply, hating Kirin for not only stating the obvious but for reminding him just how well the new empire was functioning. He knew it. He did not need it rubbed in his face.