THE BLUE KING - CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

It's long ... and there's some weak parts ... but I like it. It's very drama. :D Not rated R, because that's not generally how I write, but I have my moments. Hum. I can't really think of anything else ... so enjoy!

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The next morning began before the sun had risen. The inn was a small hub of activity, all done in utter silence, gathering up packs and cloaks and saddling horses for the ride to Genor. J’engar moved like shadows from room to room, making sure no sign of them remained, and as the sun barely touched the hilltops, they were gone, a line of horses in the morning light.

At their front rode Daeun and Ianna, Daeun upon Tsuunai, and Ianna upon a bright dun whose temper had immediately appealed to the J’engar assassin-queen. The J’engar were awkward on their steeds, unused to riding any beast at all, but they managed because they must. Ianna in particular seemed to have no difficulty adapting, though she rode with her heels closed tightly around the dun’s belly.

They stayed, that night, in Bano, upon Daeun’s insistence. He left them in the hands of a woman named Beo, who put them all in a dark, damp room in the side of a hill, and fed them slimy cheese. Both Caelun and the delegates expected Ianna to protest—loudly—this treatment, but she suffered it in silence, and not once did her eyes change colors.

Daeun returned to them after several long hours of dark silence, followed by harsh-eyed man with a bent nose and craggy features. The man’s clothes were old and weathered, and at his waist hung a long, straight sword, polished to a high shine. “Fenn, my man at arms,” Daeun announced, closing the door snugly behind him.

“I am Queen Ianna, Head Thief to the High King, and—” Ianna began, rising formally.

“Huh,” Fenn grunted. His silver eyes glanced warily at Daeun. “They’re foreign. M’lord.”

The lightness that seemed ever present in Daeun’s manner fled, and the look that Daeun gave Fenn would have boiled water. Fenn’s head dunked low, and his shoulders hunched just a little. “Begging your pardon, m’lord,” Fenn said, in a low, respectful voice. “It will not happen again.”

“No,” Daeun said flatly. “Her Majesty will be treated with all honors, Fenn. Do not make me regret my decision.”

It was clear that his decision had nothing to do with Ianna, but rather with Fenn personally, for Fenn paled instantly. “M’lord—I—you know I am loyal to the death—no one could ever say otherwise—I—I am your humble servant—”

“I thought so,” Daeun snapped. “Now tell them what you told me.”

Fenn’s hands were shaking, but his voice was steady when he spoke to them. “Agulin has been supplying his ranks with more than home-grown stock. Bettin and Schoi have thrown in their lots with the king, as well—instead of a few hundred men, we’re now facing thousands.”

“Bettin is a fool, but he is a powerful fool,” Daeun said shortly. “His father built up a veritable empire off the backs of nearly two thousand men—and Schoi is likewise immensely powerful. He, however, is not a fool, but the king’s cousin, and just as despicable.”

“That is a problem,” Ianna said, and snapped her fingers. One of the men—the magician, Daeun thought—knelt instantly before her and spread his fingers wide, creating a long flat plane of silvery material out of thin air. On the surface of the material appeared a man’s face; he was starkly royal, his very gaze imperious. Daeun had no doubt that this was the man Ianna so proudly claimed allegiance to, for all that he was dressed simply. His eyes were a warm brown, his hair the same dark brown-black of Ianna’s, though his had little streaks of grey running through it.

“Ianna,” the man in the substance said happily. “Are things going well?”

“No, Your Majesty,” Ianna murmured, her voice respectful. It was humbling to hear her speak thus, for it spoke loudly of the man before her. “We have walked head-first into a snake pit. There will not be peace, not with this king.”

There was a brief silence. “And with another?”

“I would seal the treaty with my own blood,” Ianna replied instantly. “This king is powerful—assassination will not cripple his empire.”

“Of course not, or you would have already acted,” he observed with a wry chuckle. “Bring him into view, Ianna.”

Ianna looked startled, eyes looking up to meet Daeun’s, and he responded before she had a chance to signal him. He stepped up beside her, looking down into the man’s face, trying his hardest to look like a foot soldier.

“Ah,” the king said. “The man who would be king. I am Aedaan, Daeun.”

Daeun looked over at Ianna, startled, but she only shrugged. “His Majesty has many powers at his disposal,” she said, by way of explanation.

“Look at me,” Aedaan said abruptly, and both Ianna’s and Daeun’s heads whipped around as if they’d been struck. Aedaan scrutinized them both, eyes narrowed. “Ianna,” Aedaan said wrathfully. “A Talon, Ianna. Your people’s days are numbered, you have only one heir and he a bastard—and you choose a Talon?”

Ianna did not move. “I have chosen nothing.”

Aedaan pursed his lips. “And him? With his pretty blue eyes, and trusting mouth? What has he chosen?” Aedaan waved a hand, frustrated. “Never mind. Tell me of this snake pit.”

“Several thousand men,” Ianna intoned softly. “At least one adept sorcerer, and countless men and women loyal to—if not frightened of—the crown. The Resistance is small, and incapable of handling such an opponent.”

“You know how they fight, Ianna,” Aedaan said frankly. “How would we fair, hmm?”

“J’engar-ai is but a hundred—using every last drop of our magicks, we could handle perhaps twice our number. J’engar-bei and J’engar-fai would do well against the Talon—perhaps a thousand each.”

“And if I call for J’engar-ha’s numbers to be added to that?”

“Perhaps a thousand more.”

Aedaan’s mouth formed a thin line. “And if you fight?”

“With you beside me, cousin, we could handle the rest,” Ianna boasted, but her heart wasn’t in it. “Perhaps a hundred—not enough. Not nearly.”

“How many men does this Resistance have at its command?”

“In total, a few hundred, but only half those may fight,” Daeun replied, shaking his head. “And for all that you boast one of your men to two of ours, it is not so for us.”

“This is not a war that will fall in our favor, cousin,” Aedaan said finally. “We will not act upon it.”

Ianna looked about to argue, but held her tongue. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

“However,” Aedaan said, before Ianna could wave away the silver material, “I will order the immediate training of the mages.”

Below them, Taejon gave a sharp gasp, and his hands trembled ever so slightly. Ianna looked immeasurably pleased with herself. “J’engar-ai will aide in the building of your army, sire,” Ianna said eagerly, the title an apparent surprise, for Aedaan’s eyebrows hitched upwards.

“Only for you, Nani,” Aedaan teased, and with that, disappeared from the surface of the material as if he had never been there.

“Mages,” Daeun repeated.

“Sorcerers trained for battle.” Ianna grinned down at Taejon. “I will begin your training immediately, Taejon.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Taejon whispered, thunderstruck.

“I take you are a mage, then?” Daeun inquired softly.

“From birth.” Ianna spread her hands wide. “J’engar-ai is a hold of mages, of sorcerers, and of warriors—and above all that, we are also the only hold to have produced Thieves thirteen generations in a row.”

Daeun fought back a chuckle. “Well, then. It seems fate steered me in the right direction.”

“M’lord,” Fenn interrupted warily, “perhaps now is not the time, but—Genor is not well. You have not returned home in nearly a year, and your cousins seek to take the throne.”

“Again?” Daeun looked bored. “For heaven’s sake, does a letter mean nothing to these people?”

“When your lord skulks about on a black horse and speaks to no one but spies, you will begin to question his existence too,” Fenn snapped, flushing. Daeun roared with laughter, clapping his man at arms on the shoulder.

“As always, Fenn,” Daeun said, wiping at his eyes. “As always. You needn’t have worried—we’re heading there anyway.”

“And—and m’lord,” Fenn said haltingly, looking at Ianna briefly, “there is a letter—from Mhaea—” Jerkily Fenn drew the crumpled document out of his waistband, holding it gingerly out. Daeun’s expression did not change, but he accepted the letter coolly, and spent no time at all ripping it carelessly open.

“You never gave her the rank of lady, m’lord,” Fenn said, sounding braver now that the letter had been delivered. “She can do nothing about the family without the title.”

Very, very slowly, Daeun began to rip the letter to shreds. “ ‘Dearest,’ ” he mocked snidely, his blue eyes flashing. “She calls me dearest. Tell me, Fenn, have I slept with her? Have I gotten heirs from her womb? Have I in any way acknowledged this farce my mother strapped me with?”

Fenn gave a wicked smile. “Course not, m’lord. Though she is mighty fearsome without you there to pour water on her fire.”

“She is your wife,” Ianna said coldly from the other side of the room.

“Huh,” Fenn said, disgusted. “On paper, maybe. She doesn’t even live at the castle.”

“My wife!” Daeun exploded, and very suddenly, it was hard to iamgine him as the brightly cheerful man they'd come to know. “She is a noble-born whore, created to keep me in check! A ball and chain tied around my very neck!”

“I do not understand,” Ianna said slowly, brow furrowed. “Is she your wife or isn’t she?”

Daeun cast an evil eye around, but there was nothing to break, and settled on pacing. “We are married,” Daeun said waspishly, “but in Talon, in order for a marriage to be considered legal, it must be consummated, and that I have sworn to never do. I obeyed my family’s wishes, but I would not—will not—allow that sorry excuse for a noble anywhere near my lands.”

“What is so wrong with her, that you would refuse her?” Ianna asked, standing with her arms folded over her chest.

“She’s a spy, of course,” Fenn broke in, grinning. “And she’s so bloody beautiful it’d make the moon cry tears of gold. And since she’s such a beauty, she’s sleeping with the king, ain’t she, and he’s using her to break m’lord’s rule. As soon as it’s consummated, the king kills off m’lord, and easy as that the king’s got control of Genor.”

“I can’t kill her off because I’ve got morals,” Daeun said, as if he’d never been so ashamed of himself. “Now that we’re done baring my soul, we should leave. If she tries to assert her authority—what little she does have—she’ll wreck havoc.”

“That and those cousins of yours,” Fenn added. “I can’t figure what is worse—cousins wanting to off you, or refusing a woman like that every night.”

“Silver-tongued murderers I can handle,” Daeun muttered as he left. “Women, however ...”

Fenn chuckled.