12. Nine

I brought my sword down with all my strength. If my target had been living, I would have taken his head with that swing. As it was, the damn thing lodged itself in the wooden target, sending straw flying everywhere. The sword I'd chosen was supposed to be a training sword, dull but weighted enough to mimic the real thing, but the wood was shoddy and snapped when I struck it.

It was unfortunate that ?nor's master at arms didn't construct his dummies to be as tall and infuriating as Ruith …Or as handsome.

I shook the last thought from my head and put my foot up on the base of the target to pry my sword free. With a grunt, I yanked the target from the post and gestured to the young squire—Reynard or Renar or Refnar…another bloody Stoneriver. I didn't know his name. The lad knew his role well, however, and didn't seem inclined to argue with a human. He grabbed the next straw dummy from the pile and ran up, quickly hammering it into place before moving out of the way.

I stepped back and wiped sweat from my brow. The air was warm and humid. Even the weather in this gods forsaken land was a traitor.

"You'll break the sword swinging it like that." Aryn strolled out of the shadows to my left.

I frowned and leaned past him to glance at the archway where he'd been standing. There was no door, no gate, no window. "Where did you come from?"

One corner of his mouth quirked up in a half-smile, but he offered no answer. "That's the problem with you humans. All strength and no finesse. You all seem to believe if you hit something hard enough, you win."

"I generally find that to be a true statement," I said with a shrug.

Aryn jerked two knives free from where they were hidden in the loose folds of his clothing and spun them. The blades themselves were black as night. Even the light seemed to flee them when they passed through the afternoon air. "And what if you never get the chance to strike? Tell me, which is more dangerous: the enemy with more skill, or the enemy you did not see coming?"

I frowned. "Either way, I'm dead, so what does it matter?"

"In Savarra, they believe how a man dies defines his afterlife more than how he lived." Aryn started pacing a slow circle around me. "They have a handful of assassin's guilds there, each one with masters of their craft. Some have trained a lifetime and will only ever carry out a single assassination. They dedicate their lives to it and everyone from kings to cobblers accepts it is the way of things. They welcome death so long as it fits within their strict rules. For example, when one encounters an assassin from the House of Masks, it is considered an offense to the gods to remove his mask. An honorable man would rather let himself be killed than break the rule and look upon his killer's face so that he may die with his honor intact."

I turned, trying to keep him in my line of sight. "We are not in Savarra."

"That is true. Here, dead is dead whether you smash in my rib cage with all your strength or if I slit your throat while you sleep."

A cold breath on the back of my neck made me shiver. "We are allies."

"You and Ruith are allies," he corrected, coming to a stop. "I am my brother's loyal blade, promised to strike where and when he cannot. That is the only promise I have given anyone. Everyone else is fair game."

I let the tip of the practice sword rest in the dirt. "Do you think I want to go on this hunt with Ruith? I know nothing of your kingship rituals. I should be here, training my people to fight."

He huffed and pointed to the broken dummies. "If that's how you intend to teach them to fight, you needn't bother. As for the coronation hunt, it is an old tradition. The heir apparent embarks on a hunt and whatever animal he returns with becomes a symbol of his kingship. He is anointed with its blood, the sacred oaths are given, and he is king."

"Yes, but why must I go with him? Surely someone else would be better suited to serve as his second. Someone who understands these things."

Aryn slid his knives back to wherever he kept them and tilted his head to one side. "Who understands the burden of rule better than another ruler? This rite is less about the hunt itself and more about knowing oneself. There is a reason he chose you to be by his side at this important moment, Elindir."

"He chose me because he is planning something!" I sighed and tossed the sword aside. "Does it not bother you that he's always scheming? That he uses the people around him, treating them as lesser?"

"Is that what you think he's doing?" Aryn crossed his arms.

"It's what he did before. It's how I got into this mess in the first place. He manipulated everything. He made me…" I trailed off, unwilling to say the last part aloud, though it was no less true.

But Aryn was no fool. He saw everything. "He made you love him," he said simply.

I turned away. "He made me feel something for him, but I would not describe it as love."

As angry as I was with him, we were bound together, and I could no more harm him than I could harm myself. I craved being in his presence, but every time I was, I got unreasonably angry and had to leave. I was a man of two minds. One part of me wanted to cut his head from his shoulders and the other wanted to kneel at his feet and beg for his hand around my neck again. It was madness, this toxic obsession we had with each other, and I needed to be done with it. If only I knew how.

Aryn put a hand on my shoulder. "It's what he does to all of us who are close to him now. Even me. When we first met, Ruith and I were enemies and yet now I am his most loyal supporter."

I turned back to him with a frown. "But isn't he your half-brother? Were you not raised together?"

"Ruith was unaware of my existence until a few years ago, though I knew of his. I knew everything about Ruith." He folded his hands behind his back. "You should ask him about it tonight when you have dinner together."

"Dinner?" I wrinkled my nose. I had planned on taking my evening meal in my room. Alone.

"Ah," said Aryn with a sharp smile. "Didn't I mention? That's why I came all the way down here. King Ruith has requested the honor of your presence in his quarters this evening for a private supper. I was instructed to tell you that new clothes had been delivered to your room and that he would be very appreciative if you would wear them. I was also instructed not to let you say no."

I sighed. "Typical Ruith."

What game was Ruith playing now? Inviting me to a private dinner, insisting I wear clothes he had chosen for me... it felt like another move in the endless chess match between us, another attempt to exert his control over me. And yet, a traitorous part of my heart quickened at the thought of being alone with him once more.

But then my thoughts turned to Taelyn, Ruith's new wife, and a fresh wave of guilt washed over me. What must she think of this invitation? Did she care?

I clenched my fists. The rational part of my mind screamed that this was a trap, another of Ruith's manipulations designed to keep me off balance and under his thumb. But the treacherous yearning in my heart whispered that perhaps, just perhaps, there was more to his invitation than mere scheming.

I turned away from Aryn, not wanting him to see the conflict surely written across my face. My gaze fell upon the shattered remains of the training dummy, bits of straw and splintered wood scattered across the packed earth.

With a heavy sigh, I spoke without turning around. "Fine. Tell Ruith I accept his gracious invitation."