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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Thanks to a neat little bribe and some charm, this party hasn’t been all that bad. One of the serving staff has been meticulous about bringing every new offering from the kitchens to me first—with the exception of the time he had to either stop and serve the king or walk past him. That’s perfectly understandable—I wouldn’t expect him to snub the king in his own palace just for the sake of some coin.

The king also did his retiring captain the honor of bringing out a very nice wine vintage, and despite Tia’s disapproval, I’m on my third goblet. She’s of the opinion that we shouldn’t imbibe while we’re “working.” I’m of the opinion that if something happens that requires me to be sober, we’re fucked anyway. And Jaimin can probably heal the drunk out of me.

I frown. If it’s something he can heal, does that mean he can feel the “wrongness” of it? Is me getting tipsy going to cause him discomfort? I search the room, my gaze finally falling on him in conversation with two strangers. He’s smiling, but there’s something different about his face. An element of strain. Being in such a highly populated city—not to mention this crowded room—is probably wearing on him.

Suddenly the wine isn’t so appealing. I don’t want to contribute to his problems, and since I don’t really understand how it works, I guess that means abstaining until I can talk to him about it. Which he might not want to do, now that he thinks I don’t trust him.

This has become way too complicated.

Haftel sidles up beside me. “Any luck?” she asks, sipping from her own goblet. I bite back my envy.

“Nothing,” I report. She and I stole a few minutes earlier to haggle out our butter-for-brandy bargain, and it turned out well for us both. She reminds me a lot of my master, only more inclined to put up with the bullshit of others. It surprised me—I expected a court mage to be a lot more… pompous.

“It’s not giving you any clues at all?” She sounds disappointed, and I don’t blame her.

“Well, it’s not letting me leave.” I tried that fifteen minutes ago, and the stone very firmly insisted I should stay. “So either there’s somebody here that I need to meet, but the time isn’t right, or they have—” My gaze lands on a small group of soldiers fifteen or so feet away. They’re in their dress uniforms, fancy swords by their sides, and they seem to be having a heated conversation.

The stone hums in my mind.

“Who are they?” I ask Haftel, taking in the details of each of the four men. She turns to look.

“Those men? The two with the gold insignia on their shoulders are lieutenants in the King’s Own Guard—two of the better ones, to be frank. I don’t care for all of them.”

“Hmm.” The stone doesn’t react as I examine them, so I turn my attention to the next. “And the sergeant?”

“I don’t know him well, but he’s been attending a few events lately—I think they may be grooming him for a promotion. There’s likely to be some movement in the ranks now that Jurgen is retiring.”

The stone’s still not interested. That leaves only one—the only one who doesn’t have rank on display. That’s unusual, right? All the other soldiers here tonight are officers or sergeants. The others are at the barracks party… where I wanted to slip away to before the stone stopped me.

I study the fourth man. He is, frankly, beautiful. Huge—well over six feet, and broad through the chest and shoulders—and possessing curly golden hair. I can’t quite make out his eye color from here, but it looks like it might be dark. And as he throws back his head and laughs, a dimple pops into view.

The stone urges me toward him. I’m not opposed… but I want to know more first.

“What about the blond? Why’s he not wearing his rank?”

Haftel sighs, and I glance over to a wistful little smile on her face… and a fair dose of lust. That’s… unsettling. “He doesn’t have any. Not in the guard, anyway. That’s Coryn, Duke Kelter’s youngest son. He’s one of the finest fighters you’ll ever see—absolutely superb. Hasn’t lost a fight or been bested in training for years. People actually come here just for a chance to fight with him and learn from it. Between that and his father’s rank, he’s always mingling with the court.”

I keep my eyes on the blond man—Coryn—as he begins debating something with the sergeant. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but whatever it is has the sergeant throwing up his hands in exasperation as Coryn shakes his head stubbornly and the senior officers look on in amusement. “Do the other guards resent that? Is that why he hasn’t risen through the ranks, even though he’s so good?”

“ Resent Coryn? ” Her shock is clear, and then she laughs. “Oh, no. Nobody could resent Coryn. He’s the sweetest, kindest, most generous man. Everyone loves him, even the people who want to hate him.”

The stone is still insisting I need to speak with him, but I resist the urge. “I don’t understand, then. He’s an excellent fighter, well-liked, experienced, has rank of his own and could only be of value to the king… why isn’t he already a sergeant at least? And being groomed toward one day being captain of the whole outfit?”

She hesitates, and for a moment, the ambient noise level in the room dips just enough that I can hear what Coryn is saying.

“…telling you, it’s possible! If you flip the world around, the sun would rise in the west!”

“Oh,” I say.

“Yes.” Haftel’s grimace is clear in the single word.

“He’s an idiot.”

“Weeeeeell… that’s a harsh way to put it.”

“He’s a kind, talented fighter who completely lacks intelligence?” I suggest.

“We like to think that the gods were so generous in every other part of his life that they had to compensate somehow.”

I’d laugh, but the stone is still urging me toward the man arguing that… I can’t even bring myself to think it. Really? I send the thought winging toward the source of all creation. That one?

The affirmative is firm, and I sigh. “I need to meet him.”

Haftel’s eyes bug out. “What? Coryn? Are you sure?”

“The stone is.”

“I…” She glances helplessly between me and the big blond. “I suppose it knows what it’s doing.”

“You have more faith in it than I do.”

Haftel brightens suddenly. “Maybe it wants you to be introduced to the duke, or somebody else Coryn knows well. He could be a link to the person you need.”

Let’s hope that’s it and not that the stone has decided the champion is someone so pure of heart and mind that an original thought never polluted his brain.

I chide myself for being mean. The man can’t help it if he’s not intelligent. His other qualities obviously make up for it, anyway.

Following Haftel, I remind myself to be kind… or at least courteous. If I do need his help, insulting him is not a wise choice.

“Gentlemen?” The master speaks at a normal decibel, but the men instantly cease their conversation and turn to face her. Coryn’s face breaks into a happy grin, and he lifts his hand in a little wave.

“Master Haftel,” one of the lieutenants says. “Are you keeping the king in line?”

“Of course.” She chuckles. “Though if you ask him, it’s the other way around. I’d like you all to meet a colleague of mine from the City of Knowledge. This is Talon Silverbright. Mage Silverbright, Lieutenants Legg and Paier, Sergeant Trigg, and Lord Cor?—”

“Not Lord,” Coryn breaks in, his jaw setting stubbornly. “Just Coryn.”

Haftel rolls her eyes. “ Guardsman Coryn Kelter.”

I exchange pleasantries and handshakes with them all, then turn my attention to Coryn. “I understand not wanting the whole lord thing,” I commiserate. “Well, not exactly. My father’s only a baron.” Thank fuck. People still try to call me “Lord Talon” sometimes, but not as much as he must get. “But I didn’t want any part of it.”

He brightens. “Yes! I don’t want to be Lord Coryn and get married and… stuff. I want to fight and ride my horse and be useful to the king!” His face shines with unbridled enthusiasm and idealism.

My heart sinks.

He’s coming with us, isn’t he? I ask the stone. Its positive pulse is smug. A horrifying thought strikes. He’s not the champion, is he?

A strong negative, and I breathe a little easier. He’s a good fighter—the best, if Haftel’s right. He’s pleasant enough to talk to. And he’s definitely pretty—he’ll be something to look at during our travels.

“Could you come with me for a moment? There’re some people I’d like you to meet.” I reach out to Tia. She’s going to love this.

Haftel points us toward a small parlor where we won’t be disturbed, and Coryn happily follows me there.

“Are you really a mage?” he asks as I make myself comfortable in a plush chair. “Only every mage I’ve ever seen wears robes.” He eyes me. “And is older.”

“You’re probably used to seeing masters,” I explain. “They’re older because it takes them a while to become masters.”

“What about the robes?” He leans against the mantel and folds his arms, but it’s not an intimidating posture. Instead, he looks entirely too delicious. “Mage Silverbright?”

I blink and drag my thoughts away from their contemplation of his bulging arm muscles. “What? Oh, robes. They’re uncomfortable.” The steward or whoever has the responsibility of looking after my room had the forethought to supply a robe for me. It was fresh and new and wrinkle-free… and I completely ignored it. If the people of Lenledia won’t take me seriously as a mage purely because I’m not wearing a robe, that’s their mistake.

Coryn nods sagely. “If I was a mage, I wouldn’t wear them either. All that material flapping around… how’s a man supposed to fight like that?”

Mages don’t usually fight with swords and fists, but pointing that out might shatter the tenuous connection between us that I definitely am going to need to convince him to abandon his life to go up against zombies. In the winter. So I just smile. “Do you want to sit down? They should be here in a moment.”

He shakes his head and taps the ceremonial sword at his waist. “Can’t. Not on that kind of chair, anyway. The scabbard isn’t designed for it.”

I hadn’t thought of that. Just another reason to be glad I’m not a soldier. “Could you sit on the arm of one of the chairs? This might take a while, and I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable. Or we could have a different kind of chair brought in.” Something without arms.

He smiles sunnily at me. “You’re so nice. I’m okay, though. Thank you.”

The door opens then, saving me from having to think of anything else to say, and Tia and Jaimin come in.

“What did you— Whoa. Hello.” My sister’s jaw drops at the sight of Coryn, and I can’t say I blame her. With the light from the lamps gleaming off his golden curls and his smile still in place—not to mention the muscles—he’s something to behold.

Then he straightens, takes a step forward, and sweeps an elegant bow. “My lady, it is my honor and pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Tia breathes, and I choke back a laugh. “That is… I mean… please don’t call me lady.” Her flustered words are matched by the red that stains her cheeks, and as Coryn straightens, I intercede. She can thank me later.

“This is Guardsman Coryn Kelter,” I say. “Coryn, meet my sister, Rider Tavia Silverbright, and Master Jaimin Kahwyn.”

Coryn’s face brightens. “You’re a dragon rider? That’s amazing! Is the dragon here?” He looks around as though the thirty-foot-long dragon—plus tail—might have followed Tia into the room. “Can I pet it?”

Sense returns to Tia with a rude slap, and she shoots me a look that says Oh. I know exactly how she feels. “He’s outside the city right now,” she says gently. “It’s not a good idea to pet dragons without their permission, though.”

The crestfallen expression on that pretty face is just too much to bear.

“I’ll ask him,” she continues. “But I can’t promise he’ll agree.”

I reach out telepathically and let her hear my mental laughter.

Coryn brightens again. “Thank you. You’re just as nice as your brother.” While Tia chokes on that, he turns to Jaimin. “You’re a mage too?”

“A healer,” Jaimin corrects. “Would you like me to help with that scrape on your lower back?”

“That’s kind, but I couldn’t put you to the trouble. Healers are precious, and it’ll be much better tomorrow. I slept on the stairs, is all.”

Jaimin blinks. “Pardon?”

“I slept on the stairs,” Coryn repeats. “There was a leak in the barracks roof right above my bed last night, so I couldn’t sleep there.”

“No, of course. But… when you say you slept on the stairs…?”

He nods. “I didn’t want to clutter up the floor in the bunkroom or the hallways, because you never know when we’re going to get called out. People would not be happy to trip over me. But the stairs up to the old watch room have been blocked off for years, so nobody ever goes there. It was the best place to stretch out.”

“Wait,” Tia says. “You mean you lay down on the stairs? Not… sat on one and propped yourself against the wall or something?”

“That might have been a smarter idea,” he muses thoughtfully. “Do they teach you stuff like that at the rider academy?”

Tia’s mouth opens and closes twice before she musters the brainpower to say, “Something like that.”

Before the conversation derails any further, I clap my hands. “Coryn, now that you’ve met Tia and Jaimin?—”

“Tia? Who’s Tia?” He looks around again, presumably for a third person. Jaimin shoots me a worried glance.

“That’s me.” Tia gives him a little wave, and he frowns.

“I thought your name was Tavia.”

She nods. “It is. Tia’s for short.”

The frown only deepens. “Why not Tav?”

I can tell my sister’s patience is wearing thin by the vicious way she tugs on the connection between us, but there’s no sign of it on her face or in her voice as she says, “Because my twin’s name”—she points at me—“is Talon, and even when I was a little girl I thought Tal and Tav sounded ridiculous.”

The frown clears up, replaced by that sunny smile. “Ohhhh. What’s it like being a twin? I tried to convince one of my brothers to be my twin, but he didn’t want to.”

Oh steaming holy gods’ turds.

“We can talk about that another time,” I interrupt hastily. “There should be plenty of time if you agree to come with us.”

“Where are you going?” he asks, instantly distracted. “It’s kind of you to invite me, but I have duties here to the king.”

“Yes, I know,” I assure him. “But I’m certain the king will be happy to assign you to travel with us. He knows all about why we’re here.”

“Okay then,” he agrees, and I’m taken aback.

“Okay?”

“Yes. If the king says it’s okay, I’ll come.”

“Don’t you want to know more?” Jaimin asks gently.

Coryn shrugs. “Like what?”

“Where we’re going… why? How long it will take?”

He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t know all of that if it was a guards’ assignment.” He stops. “Well, maybe some of it. My sergeant keeps telling me things that I don’t remember.” He rolls his eyes in exasperation.

Jaimin turns to me with an expression that clearly demands I fix this. Honestly, my inclination is to just let it go. He’s happy to come with us if the king orders it, which he will, and if Haftel and the stone are right, he’s capable of protecting us. This is a win-win. No need for messy explanations.

But Jaimin’s scowl won’t relent, and I don’t like to see it on his face. Plus, the stone is buzzing persistently in my head, so I sigh. “That’s great. I’m glad you’re coming with us. Let me tell you a little bit about the job, so you can protect us better.”

That gets his attention. “How much protection do you need?”

“You, for now. Five days ago, our camp was attacked in the middle of the night by a dozen men.” I leave out the zombie bit. I’ll get to it later. “They targeted us specifically because of our mission. We got word to the king, and he sent an escort of the guard to bring us here. You may have heard about it?”

He frowns. “Was that Pim’s squad? They just got back from escort duty.”

“Yes.”

His eyes widen. “Wait, are you the mage that flipped Clem upside down?”

I’m tempted to ask him how many other mages might have been escorted to the city by the King’s Own Guard today, but I restrain myself. “Yes.”

“Can you do that to me?” His face lights up like a small child’s. “Please?”

Nobody has ever asked me that before. I don’t know what to say.

“Not indoors,” Jaimin says firmly. “And not while you’re wearing your sword. Maybe tomorrow.”

Coryn pouts but nods. “Okay.” He looks at me expectantly.

“Okay,” I echo, then pull myself together. “We expect there will be further attacks. Our plan was for Leicht—the dragon—and Tia to be our protectors, but?—”

“That’s not a good plan,” he interrupts. “Dragons are perfect for battle, but traveling on the highway…” He shakes his head. “There’s too many villages and trees. How’s a dragon gonna do his job if he needs to worry about not setting things on fire?” He looks over at Tia. “And no offense to you, Rider, I’m sure you’re deadly, but one fighter woken from sleep against a dozen attackers? Those are bad odds.”

Relief floods through me. He may not be the smartest person I’ve ever met, but clearly he knows what he’s talking about in this situation.

Tia smiles at him, her thoughts following the same path as mine. “We learned that the hard way.”

“That’s why you need me?”

I nod. “That’s why. When the next wave comes—and it will—we can’t be weakened again. We lost two days of travel time waiting for the escort.” It pains me to say that, because I enjoyed those two glorious days at the inn, but it was time our enemy has been using for ill. We need to stop them fast .

“I can do that,” he assures me confidently. “With Rider Tia’s help.”

“Just Tia is fine.”

He grins at her. “I’m Just Coryn!”

Tia’s confusion is delightful, but I explain anyway. “Coryn is the Duke of Kelter’s son, but he prefers to be just Coryn.”

“Mm,” Jaimin says. “I’ve met your father. He’s a great man, but I can understand needing some distance from the title.”

The stars that appear in Coryn’s eyes as he gazes at Jaimin with newfound hero worship make me… something. Irritated. Because we don’t have time for him to develop a crush.

That’s all.