Chapter 29

Chapter 29

He proved to her how well he’d recovered a few days later.

One night, after a quiet evening of a simple dinner and a bottle of outstanding wine, Killen led Sana’a to his bed.

Kione, who was not only Killen’s Second Armourer but also a Maleficus enchanter able to perceive the health of the King, had declared him free of any malicious íkantations earlier that day.

The smouldering gaze Killen had scorched onto Sana’a’s skin at the announcement had held the promise of what was to come.

Now, his eyes were filled with an intensity she had never seen before, burning with a fiery desire that grew with each passing instant.

The lines of his face were etched with raw emotion, his mouth pressed against hers with a fervour that made her heart quicken.

She savoured the remnants of the ambrosia they’d drank on his tongue, adding a hint of sweetness to the moment.

Her skin burned where his hands roamed, igniting every single nerve in her as he trailed his fingers down her spine.

His touch was electric over her nipples as his fingers brought one nipple to a stiff peak. While the other was engulfed by his lips, sending shivers of pleasure through her, heating with each caress.

His eyes locked onto hers with an intense gaze, never wavering as his heated cock throbbed against her thigh.

His body was fluid and controlled, his muscles rippling under his skin as he moved lower.

Parting her legs, he bent his head.

She gasped as the graze of his mouth on her clit and pussy was like fire and ice. Igniting a spark within her as, she thrust up at him, chasing her orgasm.

He suckled at the sensitive flesh, his tongue darting in and out, sending waves of bliss through her while his fingers teased and explored the folds of her pleasure spot.

The sensation was intense, and she responded with a ferocity she never knew she possessed.

She twisted herself and found his cock, palming and stroking it, laughing when he hissed at the contact.

He continued to caress and stimulate her in ways she had never imagined, building the tension to a breaking point.

With a growl, he lifted his head, leaving her on the edge of ecstasy, yearning for release.

‘Nada, Killen,’ she gasped, her voice hoarse and needy. She thrust her hand in silver locks. ‘Please don’t stop now.’

But her lover just smiled, his eyes gleaming with wicked delight. ‘This is just the beginning, woman.’

Angling himself over her, he pushed the head of his thickness inside her.

The euphoria was indescribable.

It was as if they’d been designed, fitting together like they’d been carved from the other.

His movements were slow at first, drawing out the pleasure.

Every inch of him, ridge and vein, and the pulse of his erection imprinted on her as his member stretched her, filling her.

The sensation of his cock touching every inner part of her, of their bodies becoming one was more than she could handle, and she surrendered to the ecstasy.

Each touch was amplified, from the sweat dripping down their naked bodies to the sound of their urgent breathing.

His lips brushed against her ear, the roughness of his beard contrasting with the softness of his stroke. ‘I want you to come with me, Sana’a,’ he growled.

His touch was ignited with an intensity that rippled through her, setting ablaze every nerve and leaving her quivering with the fervent elixir of his ardour.

He slowly ramped his pace, his thrusts becoming deeper and harder, each one driving her closer to the brink.

His hands gripped her hips as he pounded into her, their skin slapping together as his cock slid in and out of her soaked pussy, the sound of their bodies colliding filling the room. Her breath came in gasps, her eyes glittering with the moment’s intensity.

As she approached the edge, she could feel her orgasm building, growing stronger with every thrust. She cried out his name, unable to hold back the ecstasy any more.

He rode the pleasure wave with her, roaring as he came apart, thrusting his throat and neck back as he surged into her, engulfing her to overflowing.

It was as if he had flipped a switch inside her.

With a ferocity she hadn’t realised she possessed, she met each of his thrusts, her body arching to meet his, her nails digging into his back.

With a groan, he pulsed within her, the heat of his climax flooding her pussy and coursing through her veins alongside her own.

He found her mouth once more as they came down; he held her close, slicking in and out of her.

The moment was so poignant that tears leaked once more from her eyes.

‘Ah, khany’s,’ he rasped, wiping her cheeks as he blinked back a sheen of moisture in his eyes.

Sweat glistened on their skin, mingling with the salt of their tears and the tang of their arousal as he lowered his lips for a sky-shattering kiss.

When he lifted his mouth away, she was still panting.

She buried her face in his chest, which was heaving with the exertion of their passion.

When he pulled out of her, his cock was still hard and twitching, a droplet of cum trickling down its length.

His kiss was gentle yet intense, his tongue darting in and out, tasting the salty sweetness of their lovemaking.

She reclined spent and panting, her body glistening with dampness and desire.

He climbed off her and returned with a warm cloth. He wiped her clean, his touch tender and loving.

‘You okay?’ he asked, concern creasing his chiselled face.

She nodded, her eyes glazed with pleasure and gratitude.

‘You are something else, Killen Sable,’ she whispered, her voice shaking with emotion.

As they lay interlaced in the aftermath, she couldn’t deny this man’s wild, untamed nature.

He was an elemental force, a potent storm she had invited into her life.

She was abounding, thriving, overflowing with an incandescence she never thought possible.

She’d never dared think of a future with him.

But now, entwined in his arms, she jolted in a heart-quaking realisation. For she couldn’t see one without him.

Training in the íkhara ceased as Killen worked towards full recuperation.

The break meant Sana’a had time to pursue some intel she’d received.

One morning, after a sweet, long lovemaking session, she turned to her lover. ‘Can I leave you in the hands of Kaxim and Kione for a day or two?’

Killen pulled back from her chest where he’d been lying. ‘Where are you going?’

They lay in his bed in the kíota, their naked limbs kissed by the glow of the early morning sun and their recent passion.

Her eyes fell on the view outside the window, her expression lost in a far-off thought. ‘I have a personal matter to take care of,’ she said.

He stroked her hair, noting she’d skirted around her reasons for leaving.

‘Khany’s, you can trust me with your mystery trip,’ he urged, nuzzling her neck, stroking the skin under her breast bone and tracking lower.

‘Can’t a woman have her secrets?’ she murmured.

Glimpsing the tautness in her jaw, he let it go and kept silent, not having the will nor right to control her.

‘I’ll only be for a day or two,’ she promised.

‘That’s one day or two without you,’ he groused, his lips capturing hers.

Before long, she was moaning and twisting in his arms as he brought her to yet another incandescent orgasm.

A few hours later, she was ready to leave.

With a sweet kiss on his cheek, she soared away from the sky-high edifice, angling into a steep dive to the surface.

Not long after, accompanied by his two Armourers, Killen left the kíota and flew south to the Kainôs encampment.

‘You’ll be safer amongst the warriors,’ Kaxim insisted. ‘Also, we don’t want to babysit you while the army trains without a Commander.’

‘Neither do we want to be the ones watching over you as you brood without your woman?’

Killen’s eyes narrowed as he wheeled to a stop mid-air. ‘You know about us?’

Kione guffawed. ‘Pay up, Xim, he’s admitted it! I was right!’

‘Fokk,’ Kaxim sucked his teeth, handing over a gem to his fellow Armourer.

‘What the hell is going on?’ Killen grumbled although he’d caught onto the gist of it.

Killen chortled. ‘We bet that you and Sana’a were kicking it. You just confirmed it and made me one gem richer. For that, I thank you, Kíríga. What an awesome benefactor of a King.’

Killen joined Kaxim in his exasperation, turning his wings away and racing off towards the falling sun.

Now Killen stood just outside his tiny tent, beside the commanders’ kälajan, where Kaxim had placed him while continuing their ruse.

It was just after their evening repast. Most warriors were either in their tents half asleep or wiling their free time, playing their horns and flutes before a series of great outdoor fires.

Without Sana’a by his side, Killen was bereft as if he’d mislaid a limb.

He rubbed at his chest, trying to soothe his aching soul.

It was to no avail.

He missed her.

She’d been an angel when he’d almost died at Kultur’s hand.

It’d taken a few days, but he’d made a quick recovery.

The perpetrator himself had disappeared, exposed as an arokí sympathiser.

After failing to catch the kāugur in flight, Kaxim had sent out a Klós K’lia hunting party after him. They’d still yet to find him.

Killen peered beyond the darkened camp to Mount Karth, which drew his eye as it did most nights.

His hawkstone told him his attacker had disappeared somewhere within its ridges. Even from so far away, he sensed Kultur’s malevolence.

Even through the gloom and cold fog, he made out the mountain’s peaks and beyond to the íkan dancing on the pinnacles.

It whirled like gold-laced snowstorms across the pinnacled landscape. Yet as his eyes travelled to the highest apex, the ancient runes of kätu stormed and leapt, turning into phantoms calling him.

He groaned. His hawkstone’s hereafter visions were getting darker each time he glanced up at the leaden pinnacles.

He shook his head as a rush of old dark power memories hit and threatened to overwhelm him, to lure him to the shadows of the past.

With a groan, he fell to his knees and let his hawkstone rip, its unseen power pulsing through his head and out over the plains and mountains beyond.

It was enough to quell the siren lure of kízakan, and relief flooded him as the darkness ebbed away.

Minutes later, the trudging of boots sounded, and he turned to see a Kärd sentry approaching.

‘Someone here to meet you, Sable,’ he whispered with awe. ‘They have the royal seal that lets them in without question.’

Curious, Killen rose to his feet and followed the sentry.

At the welcome platform of the ornate gold-plated leather kälajan entrance, a shrouded figure was flanked by two massive Klós gilded eagles in full transmutation.

Kaxim stood with the trio, hands behind his back, speaking in earnest with his guest.

Killen lifted a brow and followed the Kärd to the steps of the kälajan, where he jerked his chin to Killen before turning his eye to the visitors.

‘Someone sent for me?’

‘I did.’

The soft, lilting voice was haunting.

‘Who might you be?’ Killen murmured, intrigued.

The silhouette stepped away from their guards and descended two steps to stand just above Killen so they met each other eye to eye.

Slender fingers pushed back their shroud to reveal the features of a woman.

Her bright blue eyes sparkled with vivacity, her smile warm.

She reached out a hand. ‘Kesia Djan. You don’t know me, but I am -’

Killen stretched his hands out to embrace her. ‘My aunt. My mother’s sister-in-law.’

‘You do know me.’

Killen grunted as he released her from his arms. ‘How could I not? She esteems you no end.’

Kesia clapped her hands together with joy. ‘She spoke of me?’

‘All the time. She adores you and considers you as a blood sister.’

‘To hear that gives me so much happiness. I miss her so.’

‘I’m sure she misses you too. I’ll invite her to visit once calm reigns over Katánē.’

‘Calm, Killen?’ Kesia said. ‘That might take a while.’

He smiled. ‘Which makes me the eternal optimist in a fokkin’ hurry.’

She stared at him for a beat. ‘I now understand why the hawkstone chose you. You have a gravitas and charisma that can move mountains. Helps that you’re a freakin handsome devil with brilliant charm, and I sense cocky, sometimes arrogant, genius-level intellect.’

Killen laughed in a deep rumble. ‘Some say that. The fact is I’m a mess of contradictory virtues and vices. Beneath my enigmatic smile lies a poet-philosopher and a debilitating doubter on some days.’

Kesia laughed, nabbed his hand and pulled him away into a far corner of the kälajan’s compound where the wild grass beat up against the rocky terrain in the evening wind.

Killen flicked a hand, and an invisible barrier of íkan rose around them.

The Katánian noblewoman gifted him a half smile. ‘Apologies for interrupting your night, but I couldn’t wait any more to meet you.’

‘De nada,’ Killen rasped before leaning in closer. ‘It warms me to welcome someone eager to be acquainted with me outside my close companions. Many want me dead, I hear. All because I wear a fokkin’ precious jewel on my forehead.’

He gave a dry laugh, one free of humour.

Kesia must have sensed the storm inside him, so she reached out and squeezed his arm.

‘Don’t be so hard on yourself, nephew. You can do this. You are ready enough.’

‘Am I?’ he rasped.

She nodded. ‘The hawkstone chose you for such a time as this. It will help light the way even in the darkest path.’

He shot a grateful smile. ‘Sante aunt, I’ll hold onto those words. For they remind me of something K’Elisa would have said.’

Kesia’s eyes darted up to his forehead. ‘May I touch it? The hawkstone, I mean?’

His eyes narrowed with a gleam. ‘Why is everyone so mesmerised by my flasher?’

‘It is the stuff of legends,’ Kesia added. ‘Some even doubt it exists. They say it is forever lost.’

Killen cocked his head and studied the woman for a beat.

With a sigh, he flicked a finger, and a curtain of gold íkan strands shielding them thickened even more. ‘Take care, aunt, it can get a little bright.’

Kesia stared as he swept aside the messy, silver hair falling over his brow. He stood tall as the hawkstone unleashed itself and revealed its full brilliance.

Kesia gasped as she threw her hands before her face to stop the light from burning her irises.

‘That Killen Sable is Kagṣān’s eye, without equal.’

‘You’ve no idea,’ he drawled. ‘It’s a double-edged sword—a blessing and a curse. It lights the way, reveals shadows, and casts the living into the dead. While freakin’ tiring me out. Out of interest, why did you call it the eye of the eagle?’

When he dimmed his lodestone once more, Kesia stirred, walking to the edge of the compound where a ledge overhung the training grounds in the valley below.

‘That’s because it is,’ she said, facing Killen.

‘Go on?’ he pushed.

‘The hawkstone is rumoured to be one of the eyes of Kagṣān.’

His gaze narrowed. ‘I’ve been told of the legends of the great bird.’

‘You may know then that he was a mythical giant lightning eagle that Khiron commanded thousands of years ago with his hawk stone. A leviathan of the skies whose feet rested on the planet while his head reached the sky. His wings were so huge that they darkened the sun when they unfurled. Kagṣān was said to tear apart armies in seconds with its thunderbolt and talons. The great eagle, however, is a myth unseen for eons. Only the hawkstone remains, which was his good eye. The other was the vulstone.’

‘The what now?’ Killen rasped.

‘The vulstone, his eye dedicated to kízakan, to the darkness beyond. In theory, this meant that the hawkstone was filled with kσχύς. The two lodestones, however, were linked. So, the wearer experienced both aspects of good and evil. However, it is said that indulging in the darker lodestone allows kízakan to take over their mind and will.’

Killen pursed his lips and thought for a beat before letting out a whistle under his breath. ‘Which might explain the dark visions I’m privy to. I’ve even witnessed revenants of your father-in-law, Tempest Light, leaning into the vulstone.’

Kesia gave a sad shake of her head. ‘I’m not surprised he was playing with the kízakan aspects of the vulstone as his marauding worsened. Koreau shared as much with me.’

‘Is that right?’

‘Did you know that it was only by Koreau’s secret intervention that the hawkstone was saved from being lost to darkness and given to your mother? It chose her, and Koreau helped her escape her father when he hinted he’d have her killed to reclaim it.’

‘That bit I remember her sharing,’ Killen growled. ‘What happened to the vulstone?’ Killen asked.

‘Tempest Light inherited it,’ his aunt answered. ‘When your mother fled Katánē with the hawkstone, he turned to use the vulstone and its shadowed secrets to gain more influence.’

‘Why was he playing such a dangerous game?’

‘Why else? He was drunk with power and coveted more. His council and the elders were getting high on looting and pillaging, and they wanted more íkan to conquer their enemies and, above all, be superior to the Kythnians. Enamoured by the dark visions of grandeur the vulstone fed him; he went after the hawkstone. Worse still, Kultur and the Kiama council found an old poem that told of the possibility of awakening Kagṣān. And how riding the great eagle once more, with both his eyes, would bestow immense power to Tempest Light. It also stated that the old King needed the Eye of Elysium to find the location of the mythical eagle.’

Killen snapped his eyes to Kesia. ‘The One SHärd?’

She nodded. ‘Indeed. It turns out he was complicit in exterminating the Shotelai. Because he wanted the SHärd —the third eye—to show him where the SHärd eagle, Kagṣān, lay under the surface of Katánē.’

Killen whistled under his breath. ‘Fokkin’ hell. How do you know all this?’

‘I’ve put it together over the years, based on what my Tempest Light said and even what Kalila herself has revealed. What I learnt horrified me at how much my father-in-law had let kízakan control him. You did us all a favour.’

‘When I killed him?’

‘Naam. At first, my husband and I, as well as Kamilla, thought it was sacrilege for you to have murdered him. Until Koreau shared that he was on Devansi to try to capture the Lost SHärd. To use it to find Kagṣān.’

Silence fell between them.

‘One more thing,’ Kesia went on after a beat. ‘Kalila is the carrier of the vulstone. She inherited it, which is why she is beholden to dark íkan and has taken on her father’s mantle. She has stated that if she can’t continue her brother’s mission to find Kagṣān, she intends to raise Khiron.’

‘Is that right?’ Killen murmured.

‘She has a mad, crazed idea that she can resurrect the first Kíríga to life.’

‘To what end?’ the Kíríga drawled, half-amused.

‘To use him, or rather his influence and legend in Katánē, to take the throne.’

Killen huffed. ‘How?’

‘She will use all the dark íkan she can and the power of the nýkhta lance to raise him from the dead. From what I hear, only Khiron can wrench the lodestone from your head with the night lance in hand. But first, she needs to both raise him and find you.’

Silence fell between them as her words sunk in.

Kesia’s eyes clouded as she studied him. ‘She has ramped up her search for you. Word is she is commissioning the arokí to conjure up a spell cast to seek you out. I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you, so I came. Later this evening, she plans a meeting of her koven, those who will conjure the hex with her. This is what I came to warn you of.’

Just then, a cry and great clamour came up from the edge of the camp.

Killen and Kesia shared glances as he reduced his hawkstone’s size and dropped the íkan veil, hiding them from outside eyes.

His eyes were drawn to a figure racing from the centre of the kambí.

Kesia and Killen rushed to the commander’s tent from where Kaxim, Kione, and several Kainôs commanders were striding out.

A young warrior ran up to the kälajan.

His face was stricken with horror and streaked with utter terror.

‘What is it?’ Kaxim growled.

The warrior bowed and sunk to one knee. ‘A cluster of Kärds and a squadron of hawks were found on the outskirts of the camp. Murdered. Torn apart, their bodies dismembered,’ the young warrior trembled. ‘There’s evidence of a terrible koya battle. But also, giant footprints and ripped rachís that point to a rukh.’

He brandished an elongated and fronded feather with jet-black, menacing runes dancing over it. It was also covered in the dying remnants of dark, sticky, sickly íkan.

Kaxim stepped forward with a curse, nabbing the offending plumage to study it.

Killen cocked a brow. ‘Can someone tell me what in Devansi hell a rukh is?’

Kaxim came to his rescue. ‘It’s a cross between a raptor and an eagle, but one of enormous size, so big that its quills are twelve paces long and just as thick in proportion. They’re so strong that they will pluck giant Känˌdôrs in their talons. They can carry them high into the air, drop them so they’re smashed to pieces, then swoop down at leisure to disembowel them.’

‘However, they keep to themselves, and most live on a deserted continent far from here. There are very few on Kos. The only one we know of is—.’ Kione paused and swapped glances with Kaxim.

‘It can’t be,’ Kaxim growled.

Kione gave an emphatic nod. ‘If he’s been infused with kízakan, it can be.’

What the fokk are you two talking about?’ Killen snarled.

Kione turned to the Kíríga. ‘Kytan. He’s a rukh. He is also our Kalamuskínduna commander, leading our skirmish support wing, the King’s strengtheners. Which squadron has given their lives?’

The young warrior’s face fell even further. ‘The Kalamus are all dead.’

‘Fokk!’ Kaxim roared. ‘That’s over one hundred souls. Where is the creature now?’ he growled at the young warrior.

‘Gone, flown off to the south when the Klós from a kínduna nearby appeared and chased him off.’

The group exchanged grave looks.

The atmosphere in the tent grew heavy, an ominous stillness settling over them. The news struck them like lightning, shattering the illusion of safety within their fortified camp.

Kaxim’s battle scars stood out, etched across his cold face as he approached the trembling youth. He placed a firm hand on the warrior’s shoulder. ‘Stay calm, lad. We will get to the bottom of this. Return to your kínduna and wait until I decide what happens next.’

The warrior took off.

Kesia took a breath as she turned to her companions. ‘It’s Kalila. Her campaign has begun.’

‘How can you be sure?’ The King’s armourer growled.

Kesia narrowed her eyes. ‘I got word via Kamilla that something was brewing and that Kalila’s koven was meeting. Perhaps this was a first step in her plans to assault the Kainôs camp. To prevent them from protecting you, as she believes they’re hiding the usurper here.’

They all fell into an uncomfortable silence.

‘We were warned of a traitor, but I must admit I thought it’d be more in the form of a spy, trading secrets,’ Kione admitted, his voice laced with regret. ‘Never imagined she’d use kätu to direct one of ours to attack their own men.’

‘But we were wrong,’ Kaxim added, his words hoarse with frustration. ‘Our enemies are getting bolder. They lurk within our ranks, sowing chaos and terror.’

The group shifted with unease, the weight of the burly warrior’s words settling with heaviness.

The reality of the situation began to sink in, and they were facing ruthless and cunning adversaries.

‘What happens next?’ Kione asked.

Killen took an inhale, an unholy rage flickering in his eyes. ‘We prepare for the unseen,’ he rasped. ‘For whether we like it or not, the enemy draws near.’

The King’s First Armourer jerked his chin. ‘If what you say is true, we cannot waste time. Each moment brings us closer to more bloodshed.’

A murmur of agreement rippled through the small group.

‘Kalila, Kultur, and the arokí are also becoming brazen and far more sinister now than ever,’ Kesia added.

‘Fokk, I’m sick of the never-ending scrimmage,’ Kaxim snarled. His voice was bitter, and his gaze hardened with the burden of past experiences.

‘Why are we like this?’ Kione growled.

Killen sighed. ‘Because we, for so long, Katánē entertained, toyed with, and was even proud of the terrible concept of embracing a marauding, bloodthirsty identity. Now that the cancer is turning inward, it is shaking its planet to its core, bringing it to its knees. Is it not?’

‘’Tis,’ Kaxim said with weariness.

‘Your previous kings lost paradise and left you with an abyss.’ Killen’s voice rumbled, his timbre deepened by the gravity of the shadowed predicament that hung in the air like a thick fog. ‘The only way forward is to rid the place of this cancer. To do that, we have to incise it. We must unearth the source of this evil and cut it out.’

Just then, a fierce wind whipped through the kambí.

Killen’s head cocked, and his eyes flew to the gossamer cloud skies above.

‘What?’ Kaxim asked, approaching his friend.

‘Not sure. Yet,’ the Král-In-Waiting rumbled. ‘But Sana’a needs me.’