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Caelan picked up a eudorite dagger from one of the worktables. Its blade was as long as his forearm, the metal such a deep, rich black that it seemed to absorb the light around it. The nearest blacksmith watched him examine the weapon, open hatred on the man’s grizzled face. His expression made it clear that he wanted nothing more than to drag the dagger’s blade across Caelan’s throat.
“They’ve lived their entire lives being taught that my people are wretched, soulless monsters. They’ve watched their friends and family sail off to war and never return. And I have no doubt that they’ve been told all manner of horrific tales about what my people would do to their women and children if we won the war,” Caelan said as he twisted the dagger, watching the light of the forges play across the strange blade. “Hatred is a good motivator, but vengeance is a better one.”
Domhnall didn’t look entirely convinced, but Caelan could see it perfectly in the icy glares the Rivosans shot his way. There were fewer than forty men in the entire ruined city, all thoroughly isolated from the rest of the kingdom. Their days were spent in a scorching forge, crafting weapons to wield against his people, and their nights spent trading stories of the Erdurians’ evil. Civilian ships caught in the fighting. Merchant vessels sunk to starve their people. Fathers and sons meeting their deaths in the cold embrace of the Tranquil Sea’s waters. Here, their hatred could fester, eating away at them until it was all that remained. Until they themselves were weapons, their hearts as cold and hard as the blades they forged.
Caelan knew that was the case because that was exactly what he would have done, had he been in King Domhnall’s place.
A chill crept down his spine at the thought, and he returned the dagger to its place on the worktable. Domhnall led him out of the workshop and onto the main road, the bright sunlight blinding. The Empire had claimed the lion’s share of the eudorite, but even after years of mining, the various boxes and crates were barely enough to fill the cart. That was why King Domhnall hadn’t ordered his military to wield the blackblades in battle yet. It was a long, dangerous, laborious process to mine eudorite, and he had wanted to ensure that he had enough to strike a single, decisive victory in the war.
Prince Domhnall’s expression was sorrowful as his gaze swept over the boxes and crates, but he smoothed his features into an emotionless mask before striding toward his stallion. Caelan mounted his horse and rode up beside him as the rest of their guards fell into formation around them. Once the last of their men was in position, the Crown Prince turned to address the Rivosi soldiers, who had gathered on either side of the street to see their prince off.
“Let this be an end to the hatred and violence between Rivosa and Erduria,” he said, his voice carrying through the ruined city. He looked to each of the men in turn, meeting their cold, grief-filled stares. “The sacrifices of those you have loved and lost were not in vain. This may not have been the victory my father promised you, but because of this treaty, no more children will grow up without their brothers and fathers to guide them. No more widows will go hungry so they can feed their sons and daughters. With this treaty, we usher in a new era of peace and prosperity for both our kingdom and the Empire.”
As he spoke, a few of the faces in the crowd softened. Prince Domhnall smiled at them, ever the dashing young prince with his fine clothing and brilliant white stallion, and wheeled his horse around to face the crumbling eastern gate through which they had arrived. Caelan rode alongside him as they set out, the horse-drawn cart clattering over the broken and uneven cobbles, and he couldn’t help but admire the prince’s confidence. Despite his inexperience, Domhnall held himself like a man born to rule.
“We will heal,” the prince murmured as they passed through the broken eastern arch and started toward Crafford. He seemed to be speaking to himself as much as Caelan, willing the future for which he longed into existence.
* * *
Caelan had known Kenter was poor, but he hadn’t imagined that the grandest of the duchy’s ships would be at this level of disrepair. The carrack creaked and groaned as it bobbed over the waves, and Caelan had to fight the bile rising in his throat as it listed to one side. He stumbled, nearly dropping the heavy crate in his arms as he caught his balance on the wall of the narrow hallway in which he stood.
Someone roughly pushed past him, sneering over his shoulder. “Ay, were you born yesterday, you oaf? Find your sea legs or find a new line of work. We haven’t even left the harbor yet, and you’re walking like a bride after her first bedding.”
Caelan spat a Kentari curse at the sailor’s back and readjusted his grip on the crate as the man slipped into one of the cabins, ignoring his insult completely. Once the door slammed shut, Caelan let a smug grin spread across his lips. From what he’d observed, the vessel had a crew of eighty or ninety men, and none of them had glanced at him twice as he joined the flurry of ship hands working to load a week’s worth of supplies onto the ship. He was just one in a sea of nameless faces. It had only been a matter of finding a threadbare, sun-bleached tunic and trousers among the stores on the Erdurian ship, and then smearing enough dirt and grime onto his skin to hide the fact that his face bore none of the creases that accompanied a life spent at sea under the relentless sun. With a crate in his arms and a rough Kentari accent lilting his words, it was almost comical how easy it had been to slip aboard the vessel.
A faint sheen of sweat had broken out across his brow by the time he arrived at the lowest level, a result of carrying the crate and attempting not to lose the meager lunch he’d eaten. The hall ended with a door guarded by two men in Kentari livery, swords sheathed at their sides. Caelan’s mood lifted considerably when he saw them. All that was stored in the hold were the food and other supplies for the week-long voyage to the northern continent; there was no reason for royal guards to be posted at the door.
No reason, unless it held something that Duke Valerian did not want falling into the wrong hands.
The lantern hanging from the low ceiling swayed with the rocking of the ship, causing the shadows on the walls to dance as Caelan approached the door. One of the guards turned to open it for him.
The crate thudded to the ground, splintering into pieces, as Caelan pulled a eudorite dagger from his waistband and slammed its pommel into the guard’s temple. The man cried out and whirled, a trickle of blood rolling down the side of his face as he reached for the sword at his hip. Caelan caught his arm and twisted it behind his back until his elbow popped out of place, then shoved him into the other guard, throwing them both off balance. They went down in a heap of limbs and steel as the ship listed, and Caelan swapped his eudorite dagger with a rag he’d doused in a powerful soporific. He didn’t want to kill the men—he only needed them unconscious. The blade was meant for someone else.
He stepped over the broken remains of the crate and kicked one of the men in the ribs when he tried to rise. The guard gasped, and Caelan knelt on his chest as he held the rag over the man’s nose and mouth. It only took a few heartbeats for the man’s body to go limp. The other guard—the one he’d struck in the head—fought to push to his feet. Auberon pressed the rag to his face, and the man fell unconscious in seconds.
Caelan dragged their bodies into another room, and then opened the door to the hold.
A cold smile skated across his lips at the sight of the man standing in the middle of the room, his shackled wrists chained to a lantern hook in the ceiling. Someone had cleaned the blood from Lord Farquar’s face, but his nose was still a bruised, broken mess, dark shadows pooling along the bone and around his eyes. Valerian may have given him his life, but it was clear from the pain on the lord’s face that the duke wasn’t feeling particularly merciful when it came to the newest member of his court.
“Who are— What are you doing?” Farquar asked as Caelan shoved a heavy stack of crates in front of the door, barring the entrance.
“Making sure we have privacy,” he responded as he turned back. The confusion and apprehension on the lord’s face vanished when Caelan stepped fully into the light, something hateful and wicked unfurling within him.
“Prince Auberon,” Farquar breathed.
Caelan smiled, savoring the fear that filled the lord’s eyes as he pulled the eudorite dagger from his waistband. This one was smaller than the one he’d been examining at the blacksmith’s workshop, the blade only as long as his hand. He had taken it from one of the crates his men had loaded onto the Erdurian ship, deeming it a satisfactory replacement for the emerald-hilted dagger he had given to Riona. How fitting that the first blood it tasted would be that of the man who had tried to end her life.
He stalked forward, all too conscious of how little time he had before another person would arrive with more supplies. Farquar’s gaze remained trained on the blade, and he stiffened, his chains jangling. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, but he remained silent. Caelan had to give him credit for his show of bravery, even if it wouldn’t last long.
“You tried to have me killed,” he said. “If I were the only target of the attack, I might have let you go mostly unharmed. Enough people have tried to kill me that your attempt wasn’t particularly noteworthy. Honestly, I had expected worse from the court of my enemies.” His voice turned icy, laced with the promise of blood. “But you attempted to murder the woman I love, and you managed to weasel your way out of facing justice for what you’ve done. Not only that, but you helped instigate the attack that claimed her mother’s life. Riona was only achild, and you stole her mother from her.”
“I was acting under my king’s orders. Like them or not, I was a captain of his navy, and I obeyed the commands I was given. Doing so kept us from losing the war. It kept countless innocent people from dying—if Riona’s mother had to die to save thousands more, then it was a price the kingdom was right to pay.”
Fury flared within Caelan. “That was notyourdecision to make. Not yours, or your king’s.”
The lord sneered. “Foolish boy. Lady Rhea died to ensure the Selannic Isles would continue supporting us in the war. Riona would have died to keep the eudorite ore from falling into the hands of men like you. Because of her, we are ruined.”
“Because of her, your people will know peace for the first time in thirty years,” Caelan snapped, then shut his mouth. Farquar was purposely trying to twist his words, to distract him from the terrifying blade in his hand. He shook his head and let his rage rush over him, burning away what little decency and kindness he still had.
