A crack formed in the hard, bitter hate that had encased him the night before. The crack spread, splintering and spiraling outward, and when it reached the edges of his mind it shattered. Just that easily, the icy stillness that had given him clarity and helped him harden his heart melted and ran, and his breath came faster.
He spun on his heel and began moving through the crowd that was still cheering Leah’s victory. A victory that would be short-lived indeed if his brother arrived with no warning. He would come here and she would be smiling no more, she would only be—
A rebel!
He neared the edge of the large domed building, turned a corner, and sank to the ground, finding himself alone in the stone-lined hallway. His brother was coming; he could feel the energy from the Ox Talisman shining like a bright red light in his mind. This was his chance at redemption if he wanted it. He could claim credit for the tracking spell, claim he’d known that it was in place, that by doing nothing he had helped his brother overthrow the Exiled Kindred and reclaim the final piece of the Empire.
But what if that wasn’t good enough? What if even that didn’t lead to redemption?
“It will!” he hissed out loud. The spitting, hateful noise echoed down the corridor. He clutched his head in his hands.
Are you a rebel, too? Or are you a good and loyal son?
Nearly two decades of training under the hands of the Empress, the Children, and the Imperial Scholars crashed down on him, blanking out his mind and trying to wipe such a terrible thought out as if it were an ink blotspreading quickly over a clean piece of parchment. But he couldn’t do it this time, and his mind kept working.
He was sitting in the very heart of the enemy’s capital city, welcomed as a friend, welcomed by a people who should have hated him, and had every reason to kill him on sight if they knew him for who he was. His brother was approaching, coming closer with every minute—every breath he took was a breath wasted if he wished to warn the Kindred. But if he remained silent, if he allowed his brother to attack the Exiled Kindred, it would be the end. There would be no more Kindred, there would be no more resistance. The Empire’s power would be complete.
The Prince of Oxen was not the leader that Rikard was, but this job required no finesse. He was a club, and the city of Vale little more than an overripe fruit. He was ruthless, heartless, concerned only with physical power—conquering, destruction, annihilation of the Empire’s enemies. If the Prince of Oxen found this place, marched on it with his army, he would crush them all. This valley, while well hidden, was not defensible against the likes of him.
And if I help him, the Prince thought, I’ll be allowed to come home. They’ll HAVE to take me back then. If I open the gates to let the army in, or sabotage the defense with false information or… or take out the Council of Elders.
Chills ran down his back at this final thought. Yes. He’d entertained the thought wildly the night before, but he knew he could truly do it. Strike off the head of the snake, and that would be it. The Prince of Oxen would arrive to find no resistance, and the Prince of Ravens would be hailed as the greatest servant of the Empress the Empire had ever seen. He’d be known as the one who made the attack possible, who had infiltrated what could not be infiltrated.
But could he betray the Kindred? Did they deserve it?
Of course they do!he roared at himself.They’re lawfully opposing the rule of the Empress; they deserve their fate!
The assassination attempt on his seventeenth name day flickered across his vision. He remembered the slave auction in Banelyn. He felt the depths of despair to which he’d sunk in the bowels of the Seeker’s lair.
And he saw again the scars that covered the body of Leah Goldwyn, daughter of the Exiled Kindred, Spellblade,eshendai, traitor, rebel, criminal, outlaw, wanted for conspiracy to overthrow the Empire, the crime for which was death, death so gruesome that—
No!a tiny voice sobbed, forcing the litany to stop.
His wanted to remain stoic, he wanted to blot out all emotion. But a single tear traced a line from the corner of his eye, down his cheek, and along the line of his jaw. Slowly, it fell, and by the time it had reached the ground, he was on his feet and moving.
He had made up his mind, once and for all.
A quick surge of energy, and he was moving down the corridor, purpose lending the strength and speed of determination to his movements. As he made his way back toward the arena, his mind was working ceaselessly, counting cracks in the wall, noticing tiny defects, anything to keep from thinking too deeply about what he was about to do.
He rounded the corner and saw that the crowd gathered around Leah had mostly died down, though there were some who were asking her questions about her technique. Davydd and Lorna had disappeared. Good—they would only get in the way.
The Prince began to move toward Leah but stopped, catching sight of a looming figure off to the side, sitting in the shadows honing an enormous greatsword with an equally large whetstone. The Prince changed course and made for Tomaz.
“Well, Raven,” the big man said, “what did you think of…?”
The mountainous man trailed off into silence as he met the Prince’s gaze. Surprise and wariness combined with the barest hint of fear crossed the large, bearded face.
“Where are the Elders meeting?” the Prince asked without preamble.
Tomaz’s eyebrows rose.
“Why would you need to know that?”
“There’s no time to explain, Tomaz,” he said, pitching his voice low so that people couldn’t overhear them. “You need to trust me.”
The Prince was surprised at how controlled and emotionless his voice came out, considering the turmoil going on inside him.
“Council cannot be interrupted,” Tomaz rumbled slowly, confusion drawing his eyebrows down and close together as he looked at the Prince as if seeing another person. The Prince allowed a small hint of the inner turmoil to show through.
