others…” she hesitated as she saw the nobles shake their heads. “There is first-blood in North Marches…” she began.
“And we know nothing of them,” Kellachan said. “Lachlei,” he said, turning to her. “You, alone, know what killed Fialan — I can see it in your eyes. You know what we may be up against. The High Council agrees — those with the Sight have seen darkness ahead. We believe you alone might see us through.”
Lachlei looked around at the familiar faces. They had served her husband well. Now, they were putting their trust in her. As the commander of the Chi’lan . As queen. Her gaze strayed back to the tapestry of Lochvaur and Rhyn’athel. Did she really know what killed Fialan? Did they really suspect something as sinister as she did?
Her thoughts turned to her son, Haellsil. If there were a demon out there, as she suspected, the creature might not be satisfied with Fialan’s life. If it targeted Fialan, what was the chance that it might search for Haellsil?
Cold fear gripped her. Haellsil would not have a chance to grow up, much less make Chi’lan or become king. She tried to remember the old stories about demons. They didn’t simply go away after they killed — they drank the life force of those who held power. The demon may have killed Fialan because he was a powerful Lochvaur . Would she simple sit idly by and let the demon grow more powerful until it came for her and her son?
Lachlei knew the answer. For a moment, she thought of Rhyn and his power. Perhaps he too sensed the demon. Perhaps he knew something she didn’t.
Lachlei sighed and shook her head. “Very well,” she said, meeting Laewynd’s gaze. “I don’t want the throne, but I will take it. At least until my son is old enough to become Chi’lan and prove himself.”
CHAPTER Thirteen
Cahal led Rhyn into the mead hall where the warriors had gathered. The enticing aroma of cooked meats reminded Rhyn how hungry he was. In the smoky light, he could see warriors drinking, talking, and playing various games with dice or daggers around the lit firepit. Rhyn hadn’t expected the chatter to be so loud, but he felt at ease here. These were his Chi’lan — the soldiers sworn to the warrior god — and he knew each of them by name.
Cahal nudged him forward, and together they walked in. Heads turned to see the new Chi’lan as he strode by. Cahal led him to a bench just beside the fire, not far from the gamers. Servants brought them plates of food and mugs with amber liquid in them.
Rhyn’athel took a swallow of the amber liquid and grinned. It tasted honey-sweet with spices. Picking up one of the pieces of venison, he bit into it. The hot meat tasted salty with herbs. This was something he could get used to, he decided.
“I’d be careful with the metheglyn,” a familiar voice said. Rhyn’athel looked up to see his brother standing beside him, arms crossed. Suddenly, the room became still as the god halted time.
Rhyn’athel glared at him. “This will draw Areyn’s attention.”
“Not likely — I’ve done it before,” Ni’yah remarked. “We need to talk.”
“About what?”
“Metheglyn,” he said pointing to the mead. “You’re not used to it and it affects gods more than it does mortals.”
“How would you know?” Rhyn’athel replied, taking another gulp of the mead.
“Experience,” Ni’yah said. “I once fell unconscious after downing a flagon.”
“First time you ever stopped talking?”
“Not funny,” Ni’yah replied. “The first-bloods avoid it because they have no resistance, thanks to our blood. It affects demons too, so they don’t drink it either.”
“I’ll remember to offer Areyn a drink the next time I see him,” the warrior god remarked.
“Do you want my help or not?”
“I seemed to be doing all right,” Rhyn’athel said smugly.
“Well, you haven’t gotten yourself killed, I’ll give you that,” Ni’yah said. “But this is a tough
“And we know nothing of them,” Kellachan said. “Lachlei,” he said, turning to her. “You, alone, know what killed Fialan — I can see it in your eyes. You know what we may be up against. The High Council agrees — those with the Sight have seen darkness ahead. We believe you alone might see us through.”
Lachlei looked around at the familiar faces. They had served her husband well. Now, they were putting their trust in her. As the commander of the Chi’lan . As queen. Her gaze strayed back to the tapestry of Lochvaur and Rhyn’athel. Did she really know what killed Fialan? Did they really suspect something as sinister as she did?
Her thoughts turned to her son, Haellsil. If there were a demon out there, as she suspected, the creature might not be satisfied with Fialan’s life. If it targeted Fialan, what was the chance that it might search for Haellsil?
Cold fear gripped her. Haellsil would not have a chance to grow up, much less make Chi’lan or become king. She tried to remember the old stories about demons. They didn’t simply go away after they killed — they drank the life force of those who held power. The demon may have killed Fialan because he was a powerful Lochvaur . Would she simple sit idly by and let the demon grow more powerful until it came for her and her son?
Lachlei knew the answer. For a moment, she thought of Rhyn and his power. Perhaps he too sensed the demon. Perhaps he knew something she didn’t.
Lachlei sighed and shook her head. “Very well,” she said, meeting Laewynd’s gaze. “I don’t want the throne, but I will take it. At least until my son is old enough to become Chi’lan and prove himself.”
CHAPTER Thirteen
Cahal led Rhyn into the mead hall where the warriors had gathered. The enticing aroma of cooked meats reminded Rhyn how hungry he was. In the smoky light, he could see warriors drinking, talking, and playing various games with dice or daggers around the lit firepit. Rhyn hadn’t expected the chatter to be so loud, but he felt at ease here. These were his Chi’lan — the soldiers sworn to the warrior god — and he knew each of them by name.
Cahal nudged him forward, and together they walked in. Heads turned to see the new Chi’lan as he strode by. Cahal led him to a bench just beside the fire, not far from the gamers. Servants brought them plates of food and mugs with amber liquid in them.
Rhyn’athel took a swallow of the amber liquid and grinned. It tasted honey-sweet with spices. Picking up one of the pieces of venison, he bit into it. The hot meat tasted salty with herbs. This was something he could get used to, he decided.
“I’d be careful with the metheglyn,” a familiar voice said. Rhyn’athel looked up to see his brother standing beside him, arms crossed. Suddenly, the room became still as the god halted time.
Rhyn’athel glared at him. “This will draw Areyn’s attention.”
“Not likely — I’ve done it before,” Ni’yah remarked. “We need to talk.”
“About what?”
“Metheglyn,” he said pointing to the mead. “You’re not used to it and it affects gods more than it does mortals.”
“How would you know?” Rhyn’athel replied, taking another gulp of the mead.
“Experience,” Ni’yah said. “I once fell unconscious after downing a flagon.”
“First time you ever stopped talking?”
“Not funny,” Ni’yah replied. “The first-bloods avoid it because they have no resistance, thanks to our blood. It affects demons too, so they don’t drink it either.”
“I’ll remember to offer Areyn a drink the next time I see him,” the warrior god remarked.
“Do you want my help or not?”
“I seemed to be doing all right,” Rhyn’athel said smugly.
“Well, you haven’t gotten yourself killed, I’ll give you that,” Ni’yah said. “But this is a tough
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