The lance thrower, p.6
The Nine Births of Carnage (Cross Academy Book 3), page 6
But Joy was not impressed.
She grabbed another cup and spat in it, then she glared at Seduce like she wanted to spit on him. “You are the prince of the Ice—”
He shook his head. “I’m not the prince. Not really.” He lowered his voice. “You know that, Joy.”
It was something he hated to admit but had found relatively easy to open up to Joy about. Maybe it’d been her liquor in his system, making his judgment questionable. But Seduce remembered the night he’d confessed his woes to the shriveled bartender. He’d told her how he wasn’t real royalty, wasn’t even a pureblooded Farron, as the streaks of black through his white locks would indicate. He had a Farron father and a nameless bar wench mother, born in a pleasure house and given the name Seduce because the Mistress of the house had intended to raise him as her prized possession. The white-haired gem, stiped like a snow tiger.
And then a great general of the Ice Army heard of the white-haired boy born to the common harlot he’d paid for months before. As some sort of attempt to be a good father, the general took Seduce in and raised him for all of four years before dying to darklings on an excursion in another Region.
In honor of the greatly esteemed general, the childless King Valarion took Seduce in and raised him side by side with Princess Vyanna, as if they were cousins. The king had watched Seduce grow, had taught him everything he knew. Had called him his own. But he’d never adopted him. Never named the boy as his heir.
Seduce was just … there.
They called him the Crownless Prince, and the name was fitting. The High Council would have staged a coup if King Valarion dared to name the bastard child of a pleasure house wench as the heir to the Ice Throne. So he bore no royal titles and held no royal honors, despite being raised as the king’s only child. That’s why he hated the North so much. Hated the Ice Fortress. And tried to convince himself that he hated his adoptive father too.
Joy touched his hand, startling him. “Go, boy. Do the right thing for once. Before the Wind catches up to you.”
He nodded tiredly. “I’ll set out first thing in the morning.” Travelling home would be long and exhausting. First, he’d spend the night with Geneva—
Joy whacked him in the ear with an open palm, making Seduce yelp. “What was that for!”
“You’ll leave right now, boy. Don’t wait on this.”
He glowered. “You know, striking a prince is punishable by death in the North.”
She grinned. “Aye, but you’re no real prince. And this ain’t the North.”
Seduce grumbled to himself as he pushed from the bar and made his way across the tavern to the front doors. He had to collect supplies for Joy’s payment anyway, might as well just pack up and go. Other than fishing and drinking and enjoying women, there wasn’t much else to do in the swamp.
Still…
He pushed through the swinging double doors and stepped into the muggy air. With the heavy overcast and the thick canopy above, it was impossible to tell the time of day. Seduce made his way toward the clearing so he could see the expanse of the rivers that surrounded the swamp, but he heard a voice behind him and stopped his stride.
“Hey! You promised!”
Seduce turned and found Geneva waiting with her arms crossed just outside the bar. “Plans changed,” he called to her.
Geneva took to the air and landed right in front of him. She looked like a child with him towering over her, but the anger on her face was womanly and fierce. “So you’re leaving?”
“I am.”
“You made a promise. Me and you.”
Well, it hadn’t been as serious as all that… but how could he say that now?
What to do…
Seduce palmed the back of his neck. “I’ve got to return home.”
“So soon?”
“It’s complicated.” He grinned. “The Wind is travelling.”
Geneva tilted her head to the side. “What on earth does that—” she cut herself off, staring wide-eyed at something over Seduce’s shoulder.
He knew who it was when he felt the temperature drop ten degrees. It sent a chill skirting up his spine, making his sweat feel cold against his skin. He turned, not surprised to see dark figures appearing in the fog. There was no point in waiting for them to clear the screen of cover; Seduce extended his arm and swiped his hand in an arc in front of himself. The fog dissipated at his command, revealing a platoon of floating men and women.
The ones in the distance were young and untrained, riding gliders through the wind as they commanded it around them. The closer ones wore capes, manipulating the currents around their long cloaks to keep them afloat. And the ones who flew in front were most powerful, wearing no capes, using no gliders to help them fly. They had learned to tame the wind long ago, commanding it through the wide legs of their pants or into the sleeves of their long tunics to help them fly.
The prince had heard the Wind was travelling, he’d never guess it was coming to see him.
The group descended from the sky to levitate right in front of Seduce, hovering just above the wide river. Seduce waved. Geneva gawked.
“Who are they?”
He pressed his lips together. “Technically, they’re wind-dancers. But the pretentious jerks don’t like to be lumped into the Dancing class of blessings. They call themselves something else.”
Geneva blinked up at him, expectant.
“Windsoars,” he said. “Flying little brats.”
“We can hear you,” said the windsoar in front, a woman with brown skin, calm eyes, and a bald head. She drifted over the river to stand before Seduce, her feet made no sound as she walked toward him.
“How did you find me?” he asked.
“You have a reputation.” She shrugged. “It wasn’t as hard as you think.”
“You two know each other?” Geneva cut in, glancing back and forth.
Seduce nodded. “This is Rossa. A windsoar I used to travel with.”
He thought he was imagining the look of jealousy that crossed Geneva’s face, but before he could analyze it, her expression changed.
For some reason, he felt the need to explain. “Windsoars and seadancers often travel together. It helps with their training.”
“How?” Geneva asked.
He faltered. “Well … it’s difficult to explain.”
“I didn’t come for training this time,” Rossa said, matter-of-factly. She passed Seduce a little scroll. “I came to deliver this.”
The ice crown seal told him exactly who the letter was from, but it was the message inside that robbed him of words. Seduce stared blankly at the writing, knowing full well that it was not fake or forged. He would recognize his adoptive father’s neat cursive letters anywhere. It wasn’t difficult to believe he’d written to him after all this time, it was difficult to believe what he’d written.
“Are you alright?” Geneva asked.
He blinked. “I—I’ve been summoned home. To the Ice Fortress.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
“Amazing,” he whispered. “I’m being named as the heir. The Crown Prince.”
“If that’s the case,” Geneva said, “shouldn’t you be smiling?”
He should be. But he couldn’t find any joy because he knew there was no way King Valarion would ever dare to name him as the next in line for the throne. Not unless he had no other options. And not unless he was dangerously close to…
Seduce squeezed his eyes shut. This can’t be. He stumbled to the side as he tried to walk forward, not surprised when a light breeze pushed gently against him, helping him regain his balance. He cast a knowing glance at Rossa and offered a weak smile. She nodded in reply.
Geneva stepped toward him, and he answered the question in her eyes before she could ask it. “My father is very ill. And he wants me to return home to be with him.”
“Well…” Geneva swallowed. “At least he wants you by his side.”
“Yeah.” Seduce turned away.
He wanted him there to take the throne. To rule the North. To carry on his legacy. It was everything he’d ever wanted. But it came at a price Seduce wasn’t ready to pay.
How dare he… the prince ground his teeth together. How dare he summon me home. How dare he ask me to return just to watch him die…
6
KI
Outside, a chicken clucked as it pecked the dirt in search of grain. A field of perfectly green grass stretched beyond the feeding pin, papery blades twisting in the calm breeze. There was a distinct smell of citrus riding on the gentle wind, like someone had sprayed a fine mist of fruit juice into the air. In the distance was a river, quite a walk from the little cabin—but if you held your breath and concentrated, you could just make out the sound of rushing water. It was, perhaps, the most beautiful place to live in all the earth. It was home.
And yet…
Zuri sighed as he clutched the hem of his oversized tunic; it was so large it brushed over his knees, making him seem smaller than he already was. He hated being tiny. The kids who swam in the river always made fun of him whenever he went to fill his pails. They’d be so heavy he could barely carry them back home without spilling half along the way.
Even Hosenké made fun of him. But he was always making fun of everyone, pulling Tara’s pigtails and sometimes even making jokes about Seganamé behind his back. He liked to say Seganamé wasn’t really their master or instructor. He was just another demon, like the ones that’d burned down Zuri’s home. And had kidnapped Tara and sold her to slavers. And the ones who’d raided Hosenké’s village, making him the poorest prince in the history of his people.
But that couldn’t be true.
Seganamé had saved Zuri, the boy wouldn’t even be alive if it weren’t for him. And he’d rescued Tara from slavers and had taken in Hosenké when he had nowhere else to go. Yet, cruel gossip was how he repaid Seganamé’s kindness. If Zuri was older or bigger, he would sock Hosenké right in the mouth. But as it was, he was a tiny kid who barely met Hosenké’s chest when they stood together. Not even when he was on his tiptoes.
Zuri sighed again and walked slowly to the window. He’d finished his breakfast ten minutes ago, Seganamé would be expecting him to join Hosenké and Tara for training. They had been working hard every day since Seganamé took him in, exactly one year ago. Zuri could still remember the first time he saw the little cabin tucked away in the woods; there was a garden on the backside of the house and a coop with four chickens and a noisy rooster. They even had a goat that gave them good milk.
Zuri liked his new home.
But Seganamé told him he would have to learn how to protect himself, so that what’d happened to his village would never happen again. Hosenké took to training quite well, he liked to punch things, angry as he was. And Tara was quite good, moving lithely and striking true each time she held a weapon. She had already learned to fight before the slavers took her, that’s what they wanted her for—to join the fighting pits in the big city of Kaboo. But that never happened because Seganamé intervened. And now he would show Zuri how to be as strong as him.
But … Zuri wasn’t sure how much more training he could take. He already had a black eye, thanks to Hosenké who didn’t believe in ever holding back, and yesterday he sprained his wrist, not to mention he was still sore from carrying the pails of water every day. He was only six years old, he shouldn’t have to work so hard or train so much.
Tara’s only nine, he told himself, and she was going to fight in the pits. And Hosenké’s eleven. Technically, they were all too young for the rigorous routine Seganamé put them through, but they tried their best to keep up, nonetheless. At least, everyone except Zuri tried.
Today he was tired. Today he wasn’t sure how much he could take.
Zuri blew out a breath until his cheeks expanded. He leaned against the window, his eyes finding Tara in the yard. She was going at it with a dummy, striking it fiercely with a blade. Meanwhile, Hosenké lounged beneath the cherry tree just a few yards away, his mouth full of the plump sweet fruit, even though he’d just eaten breakfast.
The sun was still tired, hanging lazily overhead, sending down shy beams of light to punch through the canopy of leaves leaning over Hosenké. He looked so pretty lying there, long legs crossed with his foot bouncing to the beat of the song he was humming. His black bangs had gotten long enough to fall into his face, making him look boyish and defiant. For once, Hosenké was too fat and full to frown or scowl like he always did. But even though he looked somewhat peaceful, placated by his basket of cherries, Zuri was not going to take his chances in going over to ask for some of his fruit. Hosenké was likely to throw the basket into the dirt just to make him eat off the ground before he willingly shared anything with the young boy.
Zuri wrinkled his nose. Cherries would be so good right now.
“Why don’t you go out there?” a voice asked over his shoulder.
Zuri froze, too shocked to even turn around. He was used to Seganamé sneaking up on him, quiet as a ghost, but he wasn’t used to being caught sulking and watching the others.
He turned around, an embarrassed blush tainting his cheeks. “I don’t want to go out there.”
“Why not?” Seganamé set his basket of eggs on the counter. There was a piece of straw caught in his hair, sticking straight up. Zuri stared at it as the man knelt in front of him. “What’s wrong, Zuri?”
“Training is hard,” he said
“Of course it is. But it won’t be so hard once you get stronger.”
“Will I ever be as strong as you?”
Seganamé thought a moment. “If you want to be.”
Zuri reached out and plucked the straw from his hair, twisting it between his fingers. “Hosenké says I can’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“He says none of us will ever be as strong as you because you aren’t human.”
Seganamé’s eyes narrowed. Slowly, the calm expression on his face shifted into something darker. Something Zuri had never seen on him before.
Anger.
It was such an odd expression on him, Zuri didn’t know how to react. In a moment, Seganamé had gone from his normal, smiling kindness to this rigid, stony-faced man before him. Every muscle in his body had stiffened, his jaw clenched, and his eyes seemed to sharpen to a point.
Zuri clutched the straw. “S-Seganamé?”
He blinked, suddenly back to his normal self, though Zuri could hear the edge in his voice as he said, “Where did Hosenké get that idea from?”
“The kids in the river. Sometimes they talk to us when we go to bathe or fetch water. They said we live with a demon. Hosenké says it’s true.”
“I’ll have to punish Hosenké before supper. I’ve warned him about gossiping with the village children.”
Zuri felt his cheeks warm; he hoped Hosenké wouldn’t blame him for being a tattle tell. On instinct, his little hands curled into fists at just the thought of the larger boy cornering him later. He’d probably punch him in the gut or pinch his arm until he squealed. And then he’d threaten to do it again if Zuri told.
Seganamé reached out and took his clenched hand, making Zuri startle. When he opened his hand, he winced; there were welts all over his palm, raw skin bruised and bloodied from training. Seganamé took the straw from Zuri and kissed his palm. A cool sensation ran through his fingers, up to his wrists. Zuri gasped, resisting the tickling urge to close his hand.
When Seganamé leaned back, Zuri realized the welts were gone, his skin no longer bruised. As if the injuries had never occurred.
He stared at his flesh, too stunned to voice the questions swirling in his mind.
“And what do you think of me, Zuriel?” Seganamé asked quietly, almost in a whisper. “Do you think I’m a demon too?”
Zuri looked up at him. Seganamé couldn’t be a demon. Demons were evil and his master had been nothing but kind since he’d rescued him a year ago. But…
He looked down at his hand again. It’d been healed by a simple kiss. That wasn’t something a normal human could do.
Zuri swallowed hard. “Um… I—I don’t know.”
Seganamé chuckled as he pushed to his feet and pet Zuri’s head. “Don’t worry, little one. There are things in this world that cannot be explained. Things I will show you. Powers I want to give you.”
“Give me?” Zuri’s eyes widened. “You mean I could do that too?”
Seganamé nodded. “If you finish your training, I’ll teach you many things.”
Warmth flooded the boy’s body, forcing a smile onto his face. He was grinning ear to ear, as if the sun itself had taken up dwelling inside him. “I’ll go start training right now then!” he exclaimed which made Seganamé smile too.
His master turned toward the door. “Let’s go then.”
As he walked away, his red cloak swayed behind him, dragging the floor. Like always, the dirt on the ground never touched him, even the shadows backed away as Seganamé passed through. When the sunlight from the window splashed over his face, he lit up like a lantern, pearlescent skin glowing brighter than Zuri’s smile.
He can’t be evil, the boy reasoned. He wants to share his power with me. He wants to train me. To make me as strong as him.
There was no way that could be evil. It was so kind of Seganamé. So generous. After all, who else would take in three orphans, raise them, provide for them, and ask for nothing but their loyalty in return?
Zuri still remembered Seganamé’s words to him a year ago, the vow he’d made. Come with me, little one. I’ll keep you safe. I promise.
He’d kept that promise. Had done everything in his power to take care of the young boy as if he were his own. Secretly… Zuri wished he was his own. Wished so badly that he could call Seganamé his father.
He can’t be a demon, Zuri decided. Demons were bathed in darkness. Meanwhile, the shadows themselves hid from Seganamé, the dirt and the dust swept aside. There was no darkness in him. Only light. The most beautiful light Zuri had ever seen. And he loved Seganamé for it. Loved everything about him. He wanted to be just like him when he grew up, wanted to run behind him as he walked into the field, stretch out his miraculously healed hand and touch the hem of his garment. Wanted to feel his power flow into him at the simple contact.
