The Two Kings Read online

  I marched up the rickety birch stairs with the eight of them trailing behind me. The inn was eerily silent. All that could be heard above our breathing and beating hearts were the snores of those who were about to die.

  Godromar’s treacherous pets had remained in Arus and met my arrival with a small show of power. Oba was determined to wrest control of the town. I had heard from several passing traders that the man regularly proclaimed that Godromar intended the title to pass to him. But the laws of succession had been codified centuries before either of us were born. Back before all the cities existed and there was just one people and one land.

  Nobody challenged those. It was a fool’s errand that brought unwanted attention from the other cities.

  They must have felt free and safe out here in the deep woods. This village had no name and was several days’ ride from any town and even farther from the cities. They slept deep in their cups with their bellies exposed. Stupid and cheeky.

  How could they have thought I wouldn’t chase them down? My first week in Arus had been spent unraveling plot after plot to unseat me. All birthed from these spineless criminals who hid behind the innocent and sent others to their deaths in order to save their own lives.

  Godromar’s loyal dogs had to be put down.

  With our keys in hand, we crept to our assigned rooms. Blood surged through my body in anticipation. I waited for everyone to be in position and ready. All the while, a roar of energy stampeded through me. I could feel my muscles heating, swelling—readying themselves for a fight to the death. My strength felt limitless, and my mind steady.

  I drew in a deep breath and released it. When my lungs stilled, I nodded.

  My wrist twisted, and the lock released. A cascade of metal clinks erupted down the hall. I pushed through the door to find a pair of sleepy eyes staring back at me. They widened with realization seconds before a shriek burst from her lungs.

  Oba sat up with a start. His gray eyes were still half-closed and his jaw bobbed out a yawn. Under the off-white sheets, his legs kicked around, stretching.

  I rushed him.

  “Oba!” The woman wailed as she lunged out of bed and pressed her naked backside to the wall. She huddled in the far corner. “Oba, do something!”

  I looped a segment of rope around his wrists and tried to tighten the knot before his senses came to him. But I was too slow.

  A blast of spit pelted my face seconds before his head slammed into mine.

  The blow dazed me, sending me stumbling back. Oba stood and charged.

  As he neared, the whore dashed between us, sprinting for the open door. Her shoulder clipped him, and the collision threw her balance. She tripped, barreling toward me.

  I grabbed her by the arms and shoved her at Oba. The distraction bought me enough time to unsheathe my sword.

  Oba knocked the women out of the way, sending her into the wall. His crazed eyes turned to me. The white had gone red, placing the cool blue irises on a bloody backdrop. “I’ll never surrender,” he bellowed, ripping off his rope restraints. “And you can’t do anything to me. All political opponents are staunchly protected under the codex. It’s—”

  I lifted my sword and swung as hard and as fast as I could. The sharp steel bit into his neck, slicing the flesh with ease. The momentum carried the heavy weapon clean through. Tissue, bone, tendon, and muscle split and were laid bare to the open air. His head hit the floor before his body, spilling blood on the old wood.

  The woman’s frightened shrieks rattled the wooden boards around me. I took a deep breath, calming the rushing pump that stormed through me.

  Brungen popped his head around the doorframe, craning his neck to get a full view of the scene. “I thought you said not to kill them here?”

  III

  Burned Blessings

  Svotheim and I passed through a long hall draped in tapestries that told tales of massive victories and conquests. Between the long woven epics, thin, pointed windows allowed the crisp autumn air to flow into the warm palace. It carried the thick smell of moist soil and pine needles on its back, a telltale warning that rain was on its way. But there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, yet.

  Evening had descended upon the bay, with only a sliver of light skirting across the flat sea. From the fourth story of the hovve, I witnessed the sun’s descent in all of its iconic brilliance. It painted the city’s dark walls a myriad of oranges, reds, and purples. The stones lit like embers in a furnace.

  Our long trek through the dark palace came to an end when the guards stopped before a set of braided wood doors that aligned with the setting sun. The glass within the ash wood glittered to life, reflecting off of our ebony cloaks and the guards’ black leather armor.

  Despite its radiance, there was something unsettling lingering beyond these doors. I could feel it. Or rather it could feel me, reaching through the doors to grasp me. An unknown energy crawled across my skin, practically taunting my fledgling powers.

  Like black ink in water, panic spread throughout me. I opened my mouth to warn Svotheim, but the guards reeled the heavy doors open before I could speak. My heart thumped in my chest as the hint of a godly presence washed over me, but that wasn’t the source of the foreboding atmosphere. It was coming from something or someone else.

  The guards stepped aside, ushering us along. But they didn’t follow. They closed the doors at our back, and I heard a metallic click as the latch slipped into place. I swallowed down the lump of fear that had built in my throat.

  We were greeted by a long narrow room. The floor was cleaned, polished, and decorated with differing shades of wood. At the front stood a large empty altar that had had its wooden surface chipped from years of being bitten by a blade. The beginning patter of a storm’s rain beat out a melody on the arched glass ceiling. It cast shadows along the walls of carved faces. Each etching resembled the likeness of one of their gods, cast in a position of power or prowess.

  “What is this place?” I whispered, careful not to disturb any dark spirits that might be lingering within these walls.

  There wasn’t a single light in the room to guide our way, and the growing storm above our heads stamped out the dying sun’s rays.

  “It’s the royal family’s personal temple.” I heard him swallow. “Rituals and ceremonies happen here that aren’t meant for the eyes of commoners.” He lifted his arm and pointed toward a slender door on a far wall. The warm glow of candlelight slipped through the cracks, creating a pale border around the door. “I bet they’re in there.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked. “Something about this feels…” I couldn’t find the words. “Wrong?”

  “I know what you mean,” Svotheim said. “It’s because she’s here.”

  “Who?” What wicked creature had they invited into the heart of Varund?

  “Let’s go. We shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

  Before I could get another word out, Svotheim took a step forward and I had to follow. We proceeded down the long room, climbing up the shallow dais and rounding around the altar. His hand gripped the tiny dark knob and twisted. I could hear the mumble of voices on the other side. The small door creaked open, and the voices fell silent.

  Before us spread a small chamber with a fire pit, warped wardrobe, bowed bed, and personal altar that stood empty save a wood-carved figure of Othun and a black wax candle. The walls were bland in comparison to the temple’s, and the floors were plain stone that hadn’t been swept for some time.

  Two faces turned to us, draining of their playful expressions. Somber and serious tones took over. That ominous energy that I had sensed before enveloped me. My chest tightened as a chill sprinted down my spine, telling me to run. My anxiety soared.

  The Ark’s eyes glanced once more at the spade, lingering for a moment. His expression softened into a tender sadness, teetering on the edge of regret. But it vanished when he turned back to us. His old, hard stare solidified.

  “Svotheim, the bearer of my hopes, you have no idea how muc
h it pleases me that the two of you have come on such short notice.” Ark Ulfur stood and clasped my master’s wrist with his hand. Svotheim accepted the embrace, but his movements were jerky and awkward. He was uncomfortable. It was a greeting reserved for equals.

  “It would be foolish to ignore this opportunity. It’s rare for the spade to visit. I am honored she is willing to bless our voyage,” Svotheim responded.

  “He looks almost exactly like his father, no?” the spade said.

  She was dressed in a simple gray shift that reached all the way down to her shoes. Her appearance was more humble and feminine compared to the thick, heavy, and unruly funeral furs she had worn at the beach. The several moles that dotted her face had seemingly disappeared. Her head was no longer bald, and her white locks had been woven into a long braid. Deep lines formed in the rippled skin along her neck, mouth, and eyes. Despite her age, a certain beauty still lingered. During the funeral, I had thought her a monster. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

  But there was no denying the foreboding pressure of her presence. Her strength and power were practically tangible, surrounding every square inch of my body. It was her dark energy that had stretched out to me.

  “Yes, but a bit taller,” Ark Ulfur agreed.

  “And thinner,” the spade added. “But you get that from your mother’s side, no? Her lot are full of tall, lanky people.”

  “Yes, they are,” Svotheim answered.

  “You all are much like the trees you cut down to build your boats.” Her voice drifted at the end. “And who is this?” She pointed to me.

  “My slave. Her name is Derethe. I captured her during our early spring raid in Sairasee.”

  “Hmm…” She licked her lips. “I’ve heard a different tale. One where you were gifted her during a raid in Sairasee.”

  A pale pink flushed Svotheim’s cheeks. “I was gifted her. That is true.”

  Her fingers traced along the arm rest of the wooden chair in which she sat. There were tie bindings attached, used to keep a person in place. One set had blackened ends, singed. “Shall we begin?” Her voice cracked with age.

  “Please.” Ark Ulfur slid to his knees before the fire pit.

  “Come and kneel,” the spade directed Svotheim and I.

  We took our place beside Ulfur while the spade breathed life into the pit. The embers brightened with a red heat before the logs caught fire. She gave one more great big blow, and the wood popped from the heat, sending a flurry of crimson ash into the air.

  Her frail hand reached out for a nearby metal rod. At its end was a simple circle, no bigger than the palm of my hand. The spade brought the iron circle toward her until it lingered inches from her mouth. Her eyes closed. The sound of deep breaths sweeping down her lungs filled the room. Only the pop of the fire joined its chorus. After several calm seconds, the spade’s voice slipped from her mouth. “May the godly three fare you well. May the seas help you along, and the stars guide your path. May your minds stay guarded and your hearts stalwart. May your feet never miss a step and your swords always find their targets. May you return home to us triumphant and whole at your journey’s end.” With each word and breath, the metal heated. “Of this, I beg you.” When she finished her prayer the metal circle shown a faint red for a small moment.

  “Your arm, Ulfur,” she demanded.

  He did as she requested and bared the underside of his forearm. The spade took his wrist in her fingers and pulled him forward so that his arm hovered with the fire below and the hot metal above. “Fare you well,” she whispered as she pressed the circle into his arm, branding him with her blessing.

  The Ark’s face turned scarlet as pain flared in his face. His breath boomed from his mouth, inflating his cheeks. When the man began to shiver from the agony, she pulled the metal away.

  Ark Ulfur yanked his arm away, cradling the seared flesh.

  “Svotheim.” The spade held out her hand to him.

  He gave it to her freely, following Ark Ulfur’s action. Sweat built along his brow as the branding iron hovered above his forearm.

  “Fare you well,” the spade said, and again she pressed the hot metal into Svotheim’s skin. He released a sharp whimper that was silenced as soon as his teeth snapped shut. His jaw clenched hard, and the veins along his neck raised.

  When she released him from her fiery grip. Svotheim’s head dipped back in relief, gleaming with perspiration. His eyes were red and watering.

  “Derethe.” The spade said my name with a hiss.

  I didn’t want this dark witch to place any of her magic upon my body—blessing or otherwise. The urge to stand and run pelted me, but I stayed firm on my knees. My arm unrolled despite myself. She pushed back my sleeve, revealing the clean, dark skin. Not even a scratch or bruise marred the surface.

  “Fare you well,” she echoed, and terror sprinted through me. The branding iron came down upon my flesh and burned with a raging agony. The muscle twitched beneath the sweltering heat. A scream caught in my throat, choking me. I gasped for air, writhing beneath the relentless fire.

  When she pulled back the metal, there was no mark. The air reeked of fried flesh and singed hair, but my skin remained clean.

  “What?” Svotheim breathed.

  “It is as he said it was,” the spade murmured to herself.

  “What? As who said it was? What happened, Kona?” Ark Ulfur asked as his eyes dashed between my unmarked arm and the spade.

  “Did the gods refuse to bless her? Are we fated for ruin?” Svotheim words were rushed and panicked.

  “No, you are not fated for ruin.” She answered him with a calm tone. “In fact, I think you may be far more fortunate than you realize.”

  “Why is her skin untouched?” the Ark asked.

  She shrugged and smirked. “The gods work in mysterious ways.”

  Ulfur’s lips flattened into a thin line. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “I demand a clear answer.”

  The spade held out her hands in defense and opened her mouth to say something, but Ulfur cut her off. “Don’t let our past cloud your judgment. I am still the Ark of Varund.”

  Kona shook her head. “Tsk, tsk, Ulfur. You know better than to threaten me. We spades are outside your rules. Don’t try to use your might to bend me to your will. I’ll burn down your city in a single breath.” There was a menacing bite in her last sentence. “Now, go to your mender so he can dress your wounds. I want a few minutes alone with Derethe the First of Sairasee.”

  Ark Ulfur’s eyebrows drew together and lines creased his forehead. “You push me far too much, Kona.”

  Her breath stuttered as she drew in the air. Kona seemed a bit taken aback by his reaction. “I’m doing you a favor.”

  “It’s not a favor. I gave you payment for the blessings.”

  Kona gave her hand a flick as though she were brushing aside his anger. “Don’t be cross with me.”

  The Ark blew out a puff of air, irritated. “Come, Svotheim.” He rose to his feet. “I’ll see you mended and fed while you wait for your slave.”

  Svotheim glanced at me before standing. “Yes, Ark Ulfur.”

  “I wasn’t referring to the blessings,” Kona whispered as the men left the cramped room.

  The door shut with a bang. The slam rang in my ears as dust from the ceiling rained down on us in powdery clouds, thick enough to make me cough.

  “He puts on an air of being calm, cool, and collected. But for as long as I’ve known him, Ulfur is a fiery hothead. It’s his position of power and privilege that keeps his attitude in check.” There was venom on her tongue. “One slip of that rage and—” Kona snapped her fingers. “The people of Varund would throw him out of the hovve.”

  Her frank speech shocked me. I didn’t know how to reply, so I kept my mouth shut. It would be unwise to speak ill of the ruler of Varund in front of the city’s spade.

  “You’re a shy one, huh?” She licked her weathered lips.

  I shook my head. “I’m not shy, but
I understand the importance of holding my tongue. I am a slave after all.”

  “Yes, you are.” Her face creased as she grinned at me. “I must admit. I was surprised when Iver came to visit and told me about you—Daughter of Athiss. The priest must have sensed it, and that’s why he titled you.”

  “What?” My heart thumped hard in my chest. “What did Iver say?” The question flew from me, reeking of desperation.

  “Oh, that’s got your attention, has it?” She laughed to herself. “I can’t blame you. He’s rather easy on the eyes and appears to be quite beloved by the gods. If I were fifty years younger, I’d be after him too.”

  She wasn’t wrong. He was both handsome and favored by fortune, but there was no benefit in admitting my attraction. “That’s not it.”

  “Then what is it?” She crossed her arms, expecting an answer.

  “Before he left, we had an… arrangement. An exchange of knowledge and influence to be exact, but his recent elevation to ark has made the deal null.”

  “Funny, I wouldn’t think that’s the case at all.”

  “No?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “He came to me after he’d been named Ark of Arus. I guess it was still on his mind… or rather maybe it was you that was on his mind?”

  I shook my head. I couldn’t allow her to lead my thoughts in that direction. If he intended for anything more than some harmless flirtation and a kiss, then he would’ve done something. He would’ve offered to buy me from Svotheim or stolen me in the dead of the night. But he did nothing. He didn’t even say goodbye.

  “Why didn’t the metal brand me?” I didn’t want to continue discussing Iver. “I felt the pain.”

  “Spades can’t bless other spades.”

  So, she did know the answer. “Why did you lie to Ark Ulfur?”

  “Because he doesn’t know you’re a spade yet, and I think it best it remains that way for a while.” She chewed on her lip. “Once I heard the news, I tried to ignore it. Nobody wants to look upon the face of their own death, but I finally summoned my courage and came down from the mountains to meet your eyes. Sorry, about the uh—” She nodded toward my arm. “Pain, but I had to know for certain that you were a spade.”