34. Thirty-One

It was an exercise in control to ride down into the camp at a leisurely pace. My heart was in my throat the entire time, and I was choking on it. Father was supposed to be in D'thallanar, at the capital. He should have been days away, lounging in his offices at the Hall of Wisdom, hearing petitions from clan leaders, overseeing votes in the assembly.

Instead, he was in the command tent of my camp. When I pushed through the tent opening, I found him lounging in my chair as if he himself had ordered the army to make camp. I half expected to find him in armor, ready to ride against me. Instead, he wore a fine tunic with the sunburst and evergreens displayed proudly on his chest. It was as if he'd come to our camp at Godsfel expecting to hold court, and not do battle, but I knew better. Every conversation with Tarathiel was a battle.

Two slaves attended him, kneeling on either side with their hands on their knees, faces turned respectfully downward. Gold glinted on their throats and wrists, the mark of a Primarch's ownership, but there was a third slave. Somehow, Nessir's presence at my father's side wasn't the shock it should have been. He knelt at my father's feet, in the place only a favored would occupy.

My brothers stood scattered around the tent as if he had summoned them. Katyr waited near the end of the table, all his taps at the ready and his eyes full of wariness. Aryn was right next to Ieduin, a hand tightly clutching Ieduin's shoulder as if he were holding them back. Perhaps he was. Seeing Nessir at Tarathiel's side would have devastated Ieduin. Nessir was much more than a slave to them.

Tarathiel looked up from the parchment he was reading when I entered, giving me only a glance as if he were irritated at the interruption. "Ah, there you are." He dropped the parchment back on the table. "Good of you to join us finally. You certainly took your time with the crossing."

"The weather was against us," I said carefully. "And the king of Ostovan—"

It was habit that made me halt when father held up a hand. I should have kept speaking over him, but I found myself incapable. His eyes snapped to something behind me, and my blood ran cold. In my haste, I had forgotten to tell Elindir to wait outside. Like the loyal servant he was, he'd followed me through.

Tarathiel's lips pursed. He pressed his hands together and promptly demanded, "Kneel, slave."

There was only a brief hesitation before Elindir fell to his knees, mirroring the position of the slaves at my father's feet.

My heart pounded as Tarathiel strolled forward, circling Elindir. "This slave seems to have lost his collar. No matter. I have a spare." A single finger twitched in order.

Nessir rose, a gold band in his hands.

"Father—" I broke the protest off.

What could I say? That he was mine? Tarathiel had never cared what I wanted. Everything I owned was at his pleasure, available to take simply because he wanted it.

And we weren't ready to move against him. Once I played my hand and he had proof that I was leading a rebellion against him, all the houses would ride to his side. I needed more time to gather more men.

"This one is disagreeable," I settled on. "Untrained. He doesn't listen."

"And yet you let it wander about without a collar." Tarathiel snatched the gold collar from Nessir's fingers. "Perhaps you forgot, just as you forgot to disband your army and send the gift of slaves to D'thallanar to join my household."

"He bites," I heard myself say. "He should be better trained before you take possession of him. Let me—"

"Clearly, you lack the discipline to handle such a spirited beast. Either that, or he's beyond training. If that's the case, better to put him down now. Should I call in my executioner? He's right outside. We can make it quick."

I clenched my jaw and lowered my head. "No, it's as you said. I…I lack the discipline to train a bed slave."

He sighed. "I don't know why I'm surprised. You've always been soft when it comes to slaves."

I clenched my fists at the sound of the collar snapping tight around Elindir's neck. Father affixed a leash to the collar. I waited for Elindir to lean forward, to bite, to spew insults and venom at his new master, but he did nothing. Just knelt there in silence. It felt like a betrayal.

"Tell me, at least, that you've broken this one in for me," Tarathiel said. "Was its performance satisfactory?"

I felt sick. "I…"

"Speak up, boy."

"Ruith wouldn't know," Aryn offered in my place. "After the slave refused to service him, Ruith had him whipped, and I took him. You'll be better off giving him to one of your wives. This one has no taste for cock."

"That's an affliction we can cure him of soon enough." Tarathiel threw the leash to Nessir. "My new pet will train him. I will take possession of the rest of the slaves as well. My men deserve rewards for their hard work in the human lands, and they have you to thank for keeping that from them this long. As for the men under your command, they'll be dismissed and for their role in the Runecleaver dispute, they will forfeit their share of the spoils from this year's raids. Some of them seem to have forgotten that there is a cost when elves fight elves."

"What of my uncle Niro?" Katyr dared to ask. When Father looked at him, he shrank back slightly.

"Commander Niro and the rest of the Broken Blades are kinslayers and traitors to the assembly," Tarathiel replied coldly. "He abandoned his post in the Yeutlands and attempted to instigate a civil war at the border. They are prisoners of the state. They'll be executed in the Traitor's Pit in D'thallanar, as the law demands."

Katyr's face blanched.

"Unless you wish to contradict Nessir's testimony?" Tarathiel arched an eyebrow.

"You mean to execute a respected warrior on the word of a slave?" Ieduin's glare at Nessir was full of pain and anger.

Nessir blushed and turned away, nuzzling into his new master's side like a scared puppy.

"I mean to execute a traitor and a coward on the word of a loyal servant." Tarathiel placed his hand on Nessir's head. "Nessir was granted his freedom this morning."

Ieduin's face turned even redder, and they clenched their fists. I thought for a moment they would say something they'd come to regret, but Ieduin held their tongue long enough to storm out of the tent without being dismissed.

Tarathiel ignored Ieduin's exit, folding his hands behind his back and turning to me. "There is one more matter we need to discuss, Ruith, and that is the matter of your marriage to Caelina Runecleaver."

I wanted to laugh. Of course that was all he cared about, using me to secure his position. Instead, I stood there in silence, knowing any protest I had would simply be discarded. My father was proving once more that, no matter how carefully I made my plans, he was always one step ahead of me.

"It is high time you and Caelina Runecleaver were wed," he announced.

"But father, she is—"

"Beautiful, unmarried, and most importantly, fertile?"

"She's an inbred snake," Katyr said. "A monster who delights in torturing people. How can you send him to her bed?"

"I suppose you would know something of the dangers of inbreeding among Runecleavers?" Tarathiel spat.

Katyr folded his arms and looked away, color in his cheeks.

Tarathiel turned back to me with a glare that chilled the air. "You will do as you are told, Ruith. You'll marry the Runecleaver girl and fill her belly with an heir and a spare. After that, you can do as you please with your cock. But you will do it if it must be done at the edge of a blade. I will tolerate no further insubordination. Is that clear?"

My fingers twitched, itching to draw my blade and run my father through. I could do it. He was before me, unguarded, unarmed. Alone but for his trio of slaves. Such a fool to come to me unarmed. Such a brazen fool.

But if I knew anything about my father, it was that he did not make such a move without having other pieces in play. His guards were right outside. If I cut him down now, I'd have to kill them all. I'd lose all credibility and what little support I had if I killed my father over a slave. With the stroke of a blade, I might win the battle but lose the war. Yet, if I did nothing, I would lose Elindir. I could rebuild. Find another. He should have been utterly replaceable, but my soul knew what I could not yet acknowledge: that he was exceptional.

So I said, "Yes, father," through clenched teeth and did not draw my sword.

"Good." He snapped his fingers. "Come, Nessir, and bring your new pet. He can walk beside you on the ride back to Wolfshed."

"Yes, Primarch. Thank you, Primarch." Nessir smirked and jerked on Elindir's chain.

Elindir rose and followed Nessir and Tarathiel. He paused in the doorway to look back at me, worry creasing his brow. Then the chain pulled tight, and he was quickly dragged away.

Ieduin pulled free of Ayrn's grasp, storming for the door.

"Ieduin, wait!" I called, but there was no stopping them.

They tore through the tent and shouted, "Father!"

I made it outside just in time to see Tarathiel stop.

Ieduin balled his fists and stood up straighter. "Why?" they demanded, but the question wasn't directed at Tarathiel. They were staring straight at Nessir as they spoke. "I gave you everything. What did he buy your loyalty with? What about me wasn't good enough for you?"

Nessir's lips parted to speak, but Tarathiel stilled him with a hand.

"He was a slave," Tarathiel said coldly. "And you are the child of a whore. There was no future for you, Ieduin. This really is for the best. In time, you'll forget all about him. Ask your brother. Slaves are easy to forget, are they not, Ruith?"

I looked at Elindir, longing to go to him, to take him away from my father, knowing that whatever fate awaited him, it would be awful. Yet it would be worse for him if I intervened. If father truly knew the value of his captive, he would never let Elindir live.

I forced my shoulders to relax as if I didn't care that he was taking away my dearest piece on the board. "It's for the best," I said numbly.

Then I turned and walked away.

I went up the hill over camp and watched it all happen. The banners of the Broken Blades were torn down and cast into a fire to burn. Katyr went again to plead with Tarathiel for his uncle's life and freedom, but was turned away without even being allowed near Tarathiel's sunshade. Ieduin tore through the camp, kicking over barrels on their way to the archery targets. There, they took up a bow and fired arrow after arrow into wood until the bowstring snapped. Then they broke the bow over their knee and crumpled, head in their hands.

The slaves were rounded up, chained together in two columns. Any who showed even the slightest hint of resistance were beaten into submission. One refused even then, taking the lash and standing in defiance. Tarathiel's executioner—Gorim Wolfheart—got down from his horse and summarily cut off the defiant slave's head. After that, there was no more resistance. Women, children, men all fell into line, some of them sobbing, and they were marched out of the camp to whatever new horrors awaited them.

As for Elindir, I caught only a single brief glimpse of him being tied to Nessir's horse. He looked around frantically for someone to intervene, but no one came. I should have. I should have gone down there, yanked Nessir from his saddle and taken back what was mine.

But Elindir had never been mine. It was all a lie. An illusion I had let myself believe. Now he was gone, and with him my hopes of mounting any viable army to challenge my father.

"What are you doing?" Aryn's voice came from behind me. He stopped several paces back, his eyes heavy on my back.

"Grieving," came my reply.

"Pouting, more like."

I looked over my shoulder at him, narrowing my eyes. He stood with his arms crossed, watching all the movement in the camp below. Briefly, his pale blue eyes darted up to meet mine. It was the only trait we had in common, he and I. Our father's eyes. Mine were darker, but then everything about me had always been dark. Aryn looked like Tarathiel. Silver haired, blue eyed, regal. Technically, he was a bastard like the others, even if he was born of one of Tarathiel's many mistresses. At any time, Tarathiel could have legitimized his birth and elevated him, and there was a time when Aryn would have wanted nothing more.

But Tarathiel would never see Aryn as a son, because he wasn't born with a cock. It was a fact that never should have mattered to anyone but Aryn and whomever he chose to take to bed—an honor that he bestowed rarely—but to Tarathiel, it meant he was lesser. Untrustworthy. A pretender. My brother was nothing of the sort. He was a cold-blooded killer, an effective assassin if ever one lived, but he was somehow the most honorable among us.

"I never gave Elindir to you," I said. "Why did you lie?"

He frowned. "Elindir?"

"The slave."

"So, that's his name." Aryn's gaze swept over the camp. "You know how Father is about me. If he thinks I fucked your slave, he won't touch him. I disgust him. I had hoped to buy your slave some leeway."

"You think it's better that he was given to Nessir?"

Aryn's eyes fell on me again. "I thought," he said, "you would seek to reclaim him. Was I wrong?"

I sighed and shook my head. "What would you have me do? Tarathiel has an army."

"So do you."

I turned to him. "We would be outnumbered three to one."

Aryn glared at me, his gaze like ice. "Does he mean so little to you? Does your dream mean so little? Where is your ambition, brother? Where is your pride?"

"We don't have the men," I insisted.

"I don't think it's men you need, Ruith."

"The Spine tribes won't fight for us until after the eclipse, and none of the riders have returned. We have no allies, Aryn. No supplies, no hope of victory. If I march after him, we die, and our chance to remove him from power dies with us. No, if we wait for the riders—"

"Elindir will be dead," Aryn finished. "And Niro will be dead. All the Broken Blades who pledged themselves to you will be dead."

I choked on the thought, the sour taste of defeat spreading over my tongue.

Grass whispered and Aryn came to stand in front of me, the wind tugging at his hair. "Hold here and perhaps the riders will return. Perhaps we will find allies in the other clans. Perhaps we can still build an army and perhaps we can find someone else for the slaves to rally behind, and perhaps they will still rise up to join us, giving us the numbers we need. But the heart of what you hoped to build will be cold and empty. Your heart, Ruith."

I closed my eyes. "He means nothing to me."

"He means everything to you. Even if you hate him for it. Even if you don't understand it. He's what you want. What you need."

Like the moon needs the sun.

My eyes opened, and I saw two paths. One took me forward into uneven footing through quicksand and fire. At the end, a treasure wrapped in venom and spikes, but one worth having nonetheless. The other was safer, steady. Lonely. It was the path my father had walked. He'd come far, been victorious at every milestone. He was a hero with songs and poems to sing his deeds, immortalized in art and worshipped by thousands. Yet he stood upon his precipice, forever alone, always yearning for the next peak. Never satisfied.

I took a breath, let it out slowly. "Ready my horse."