Chapter 5

Chapter

Five

TAMAS

The great hall at Ironhelm filled fast with the raucous chatter of the clan leaders. I spied Kaldor, Macmillan and Giraldus amongst them, heads of the three strongest clans, each having fought bravely during the Ashenlands war. Now they were without their strongest warriors.

I'd put on an excellent feast, filling the great hall with mouth-watering aromas of succulent roast meats, scores of deer, boar and pheasant and ensured braziers burned in each corner of the hall. Then I instructed the most troublesome and the powerful clans to be separated at the tables. All for nought, as I was sure they'd aired their fury to each other behind my back already.

There was a restless prowling energy taking hold within the hall, not least of which came from my heart. I wasn't ready to face them, but not doing so was the greatest cowardly act of all.

This is what it meant to be a strong leader: solidarity during hardship and failure. Truth was, I didn't want to be anyone's leader, not even the Razohan. It was Romelda's influence that won me my place. Her persistent demands, sharpening the haunting voice of my shame, refused to let me free. And this is where I found myself, promising success, then condemning them all to failure.

Had I not spent the night with Tressya, I would have killed King Henricus in plenty of time to take his soul, then his place as king, which would have changed the outcome, making us the victors. Perhaps the war need not have happened. However, that's not how it went. And I was forced to face the consequences of my actions and the fury of the clan heads.

Garrat, ever the diplomat, tried his best to pacify their anger, but somehow the rumors grew wings, and everyone was talking about the queen of the south, listening to whispers of our secret liaison. Garrat and Osmud argued that resentment fed the rumors, but with so many grievances, the rumors stuck. And why shouldn't they? After all, they were true.

I sprawled in my seat overlooking the hall and the vast stretch of filled tables before me, and wished, for one spineless moment, I was far from here, far in the north, running with the Huungardred, leaving the woes of men behind. But I was a Razohan, living firmly in the world with them.

This was all my doing. It was time I faced my responsibility .

Garrat left Kaldor's side and approached my seat, raised on a wood dais, so that I may see every corner of the room and everyone in it.

I studied his face as he approached, reading the mood of the conversation he had with the Wildelm clan leader by his expression. Gratitude for the blessed arrival of the two orphaned boys, Garrat and Osmud, into the Razohan clan never once failed to humble me. I owed my sanity, perhaps even my life, to my two best friends. And I was doing a poor ass job of repaying them for the unrelenting loyalty they gave me.

Garrat climbed the steps and slid into the seat I ensured remained beside mine for moments like this, when either of the two needed a private word, usually to talk sense into my stubborn head.

"Kaldor's eating his weight in deer," I said.

"You've provided it."

I gave a subtle nod. "He's furious then?"

"It doesn't help when he believed my words of glory and is now forced to provide for the widows who've lost husbands, sons or daughters, most both."

I sunk my head to my chest, staring at my belt buckle, unable to look Garrat's way. I couldn't even say I had tried my best because I hadn't, far from it. My best would have seen the line of the House of Tannard destroyed before any of the north stepped foot inside the Ashenlands. With the line destroyed, the Salmun would have no choice but to accept me. I, who knew Tressya was the second bloodborn the moment I met her, did nothing to eliminate the threat she posed to our success. While I was finding love, the northerners were suffering defeat. Was that the true way of a king?

"The clan heads have not come to hear your feeble excuses or listen to your sorrows." Garrat read my mood, like he always did.

"I can't give them back their sons or daughters."

"But you can give them assurance you'll right the wrongs."

Not my wrongs. Such was his loyalty, Garrat would never blame me.

"I'm ready to atone for what I've done."

Garrat surged forward in his seat. "But you won't, at least not verbally." He nodded his head toward the clans filling my tables. "They haven't come to hear you moan and weep. What's done is done. You'll stand up there and tell them how you plan to fix everything. Because I know you have a plan."

I met his unflinching gaze, then couldn't stop the smallest twitch of my lips. "Perhaps we need to trade seats."

"Not on your life."

"You're a better man than I."

"We're better men for having each other." He clapped me on the shoulder. "Each of us have our skills. Mine is for diplomacy?—"

"A skill for true leaders, or kings."

"But it's a most effective skill for the king's advisor. Talking rather than fighting?—"

"Again, it's a trait all good leaders or kings should possess."

"There comes a time when talk no longer works and action is best," growled Garrat, sounding exasperated with my interjections. "That's when a true leader is needed. One that won't hesitate regardless of the cost to themselves and…the cost to others if it ultimately achieves the right end."

I stared at my boots stretched out before me. I knew Garrat too well, knew this for what it was, approval, cloaked as a lecture.

It all came down to that one moment when I stabbed my blade through my father's heart, the moment I believed I'd truly cursed my soul. I'd shut out the songs of praise surrounding me when he lay at my feet. During endless, sleepless nights, I had to learn to shut out the vision of Father's cheeks puffed and flaming with rage, eyes dark and wild with savage hunger, lips pulled back in fierce fury.

In the north, there was no hesitation in killing the deranged. They were a lethal blight within the clans. A sword through their heart was the only cure for their insanity.

Some told me I was strong in making the choice, taking it upon myself, when many would've accepted the offer from another to spare any pain. But no one understood. It wasn't a weak will that allowed the evil spirits in to twist his mind, neither was it a sickness developed from something he ate or for exposing himself to the rare blood colored moon for too long, or a curse buried within the Razohan bloodline for Sophila's crime of mating with a Huungardred. It was grief, so deep and profound it ate him up inside. He simply couldn't live without my mother.

I liked to think my sword through his heart ended his suffering, but I knew deep down that was my attempt at easing my own. But his torment would've only intensified when he discovered he'd killed his only son because of a lie; he was not the bloodborn, and would never inherit the Etherweave or sit upon the Bone Throne.

"You know I don't like to rant," Garrat said.

"When you do it frequently with gusto."

"I do it when it needs doing. And if you think it's frequent, then it's because you're a stubborn fool who won't listen."

I raised my hands in surrender. "Okay. I'm listening."

Garrat snorted, then repositioned himself in his seat. "Then let me lend some friendly advice."

"Is that what you call it?"

He huffed a sigh. "Fine. This is what you'll do. You're going to stand up and tell these people exactly what they want to hear. You're going to praise all for their fealty and courage, pay homage to those who fell, then tell them the Ashenlands fight was a setback, but not the end of the war."

At my grunt, he said. "Stop wallowing in your self-pity and think of all those before you. They didn't send their sons and daughters to die so that you could hang your head and brood on all your mistakes.

"Yes, you fucked up, Tamas. For your own good, I won't hide that fact. But they don't want to hear that. They want you to tell them how you're going to win because winning is the only way to replace their losses."

Their willingness to knock sense into me was one in a very long list of things I cherished about Osmud and Garrat .

I glanced across at him. "Succinct as always. No wonder you're the diplomat." Osmud would've punched me in the face, which was usually just as effective.

I covered his hand with mine, giving a firm squeeze of thanks, before I rose from my seat and faced the crowd. The raucous din, echoing through the great hall, quietened in moments as heads turned to face me.

I surveyed each of their faces before I spoke, gauging my audience. There was not a friendly expression amongst them, and I didn't blame their hostility.

Glancing once at Garrat, who gave me a subtle wink, I sauntered down the steps and paced closer to the tables. I stopped beside a young man and placed my hands on my hips, sliding my gaze across the crowd once more, ensuring to meet all eyes.

"Words are inadequate to express my gratitude for the courage you all displayed during the Ashenlands war. It was a brutal conflict against a deadly foe. I can only imagine what it must've felt like for you all when you first faced the Ashenlands' beasts and the Creed's magic. Yet." My voice rose as I continued to trawl my gaze across all the turned faces. "Not one of you baulked. Not one of you deserted. You fought brutal, and you fought hard because you fought for the north: your loved ones, your homes, your future."

I allowed the silence to cloak the room and pull us all in tighter.

"For that, I'm grateful beyond measure. And for all the vacant seats at your tables, I bestow the great honor a brave warrior deserves. "

I reached across the young man and swiped up the closest tankard, then raised it into the air. "To the fallen."

The room erupted in chorus as everyone chanted my words as I gulped down the warm ale. Once the tankard was finished, I slammed it down on the table, silencing the room once more.

"But you didn't make the long journey from your homes to hear me praise your worthiness as fierce warriors of the north. You came here with questions."

"Too right we did," someone yelled to a jeer of agreement.

I waved my hand to settle the crowd as I nodded. "And you all deserve answers."

"Is it true you fucked that bitch?"

Hands on hips, my head sunk, eyes softly closing as I inhaled. I owed them the truth for their fealty and for their losses. But would the truth ease their suffering or their fury? Or was I thinking only of myself in hiding the shame of my choices? "I had not expected Tarragona's new queen. Her presence was unforeseen. She is..." I paused, searching for the right words to use in front of these men that would neither be a lie nor the whole truth.

"But you spared her life when you were meant to kill her," shouted another voice from far across the room.

Only those who had sailed with me knew of my plans to kill Tressya that fateful night, which meant one of my own had confided in others outside the Razohan. Stars, this was bad if even my own people were speaking against me.

"I won't deny it. I made a fateful decision to spare her. The consequences are heavy upon my conscience. "

A tall, aged man, thin and stooped, struggled to his feet. "What about our slain? I doubt they would accept your heavy conscience as punishment enough for their deaths."

A round of agreement rippled through the hall.

"You're right. But not even the Nazeen can unravel time and undo the wrongs."

"You may not be able to undo them, but we still demand reparation for our losses." Kaldor rose to his feet, amongst claps and cheers.

He was a short man, with a graying beard that reached his middle and thick club like arms covered in tattoos. His gray eyes were like wolves, his sneer as savage because Kaldor had come here to cause trouble. He wasn't looking for apologies, but a way to gain advantage.

Historically, the Razohan were the strongest clan in the north because of our shapeshifter abilities and powerful ties with the Huungardred. That didn't mean we were favored, just feared. If he could muster enough hatred toward the Razohan, gather all the clans behind him, it would strengthen his position and perhaps his courage to rise against us. Already it seemed at least one within my clan had betrayed me.

I ran my tongue on the inside of my cheek and slowly nodded. He'd sensed an opportunity, felt it ripple as agitation through the crowd. This was his moment, what he'd been waiting for. And now he was sinking his teeth deep like a predator with its prey. I was powerless to do anything but listen to his demands lest I lose the faith of everyone present.

"You will take my daughter, Luecia, as your bride."

The sudden uproar spun my tumbling mind. I placed my hands on my hips, head bowed as I tried to think of something plausible that would not turn all in this room against me. Unfortunately, I could think of nothing they would want to hear.

"That's not possible," I managed over the fracas.

"Not possible!" bellowed Kaldor, determined to be heard as much as he was determined to see me chained to his demand.

"It's the only way to demonstrate your loyalty to the northern clans." He glanced around him, agitating agreement. "Take a bride from amongst us and prove the rumors are false."

It was in Kaldor's nature to manipulate each opportunity to align with his interests and exploit the defeat of others to further his advantage. I rubbed my forehead, furious with myself for not seeing this coming.

"It's not possible…" Garrat said as he strode up behind me. "Because Tamas has already received such a proposal."

He stood beside me, casting me a sad smile before facing Kaldor.

"What is this?" Kaldor said.

"This is a private matter. One Tamas is considering very carefully for the good of all northerners."

Kaldor's face reddened.

"It can't be an offer from anyone here," shouted a voice from my right.

Looks and shrugs were exchanged. People shook their heads, but it was only a matter of time before someone worked it out.

"Thaindrus," roared Kaldor. "Is it not enough you bed that witch in the south, but now you plan to bed a beast?" He made no attempt to disguise his disgust.

Claws punched through the tips of my fingers before I could douse the flames of my fury. Unable to control my actions, I demolished the distance between us, hand gripped tight around Kaldor's throat and dragged him backward onto the table, slamming him down on top of a plate of meat, sending a tankard of ale sloshing to its side "Utter one more word against my good friend," I growled, leaning over to goad him, my claws indenting into the skin at his throat. "One word." Then I bared very sharp and long teeth. A drop of blood-stained saliva dripped to his chin.

A hand rested on my back.

"Ease up, Tamas." It was Garrat.

Only his soothing voice of reason could break through the black vision of my fury.

I squeezed Kaldor's neck a little tighter, allowing one sharp claw to pierce his skin just below his chin, then released him and stood away. The hall remained draped in a silence so heavy it felt like it would burst through the stone floor.

Claws retracted, I forked my hands through my hair, turned my back on Kaldor and paced away. I couldn't look at him again lest I unleash more than fangs and claws.

"Do you see that?" Kaldor bellowed. "The Razohan has shown us where his allegiance lies. He chooses beasts and evil whores over his own people."

I closed my eyes, arching my head back, feeling the strain of the last few weeks turn me to stone. It seemed I was destined to follow one mistake with another until I met my demise.

Like one gigantic slow moving beast, everyone in the hall came to life. The harsh cries of outrage rang through my ears until they dulled to a constant wail. I shut out the noise, fearing if I heard anymore remarks like Kaldor's, it wouldn't be claws I sprouted. I wasn't in the mood, and I feared not even Garret's sane words would pull me back before I did something unthinkable.

"I withdraw my allegiance, Razohan. You'll get no support from the Wildelm clan." He raised his voice. "The rest of you would do well to follow my lead. We find ourselves standing amongst traitors."

I kept my eyes closed to the chorus of agreement as the sound of chairs scraping across the stone floor ran a vibration down my spine. The hard smack of boots followed, like a great army on the move, as clans stomped out of the hall.

Above the clamorous departure of the crowd, Kaldor's voice bellowed, ensuring all would hear, perpetually seeking an audience and a throne to deliver his declarations.

"It's not wise to make enemies of your neighbors, leader of the Razohan."

Those exiting the hall stopped as he spoke, while I slowly turned to face him.

Locking eyes with me, he said. "Your love of those beasts shall be your ruin, as much as theirs."

Threat delivered, he turned to go.

"You have no idea what I'm capable of." My voice was like the sharp edge of a blade, but I didn't bother to raise it.

"Is that a threat? "

"Was yours?" I slowly prowled toward him.

I gained no satisfaction in seeing the glint of fear in his eyes because I was deadly serious. Kaldor, being Kaldor, stayed his ground as I came close, towering over him.

"Be careful, young Razohan. A threat against me is a threat against the northern clans."

"No threats, loyal friend. But I will say this." I leaned down to speak in his ear. "I can become your worst…nightmare."

Kaldor jerked his head away, then did the one thing I didn't expect him to do. He spat at me. Given his size against me, it landed on the top stone button of my shirt.

Without waiting to see my reaction, he spun on his heel and marched away. Like a wave clawing sand from the shore, his departure drew the rest of the clans after him, none looking back as they left the hall.

"That didn't go exactly as I planned," Garrat said, coming up beside me.

I grunted, suddenly feeling as tired as I did when I arrived back in the north, bleeding half my blood from the sword wound.

Garrat slapped me on the shoulder. "He's a conceited, arrogant fool."

"With a big mouth, a lot of coin and a gift for stirring trouble. And I have done a sufficient job of turning the clans against us."

"That may be, but men like him will cause no more trouble once you take the Etherweave."

It all came down to the bloody Etherweave.

"You've been spending too much time with Romelda. "

"Curse that witch. You know me, Tamas. I respect the woman, but I am not about to spend any of my valuable time listening to her pronouncements."

"But you believe in the prophecy. You believe I'm the rightful bloodborn."

He leveled his gaze at me. "No. Tamas. I just believe in you."