The Adani Chronicles: Birthright

Ryn’s progress was quick after that day in the garden. Within days she was able to call her power and hold it in her physical hands whenever she liked. Kenelm was beside himself with pride; he said her progress was excellent, especially for one who had no experience with the arcane.

Now she had a different problem, however.

“Steady, girl, settle.” Kenelm’s voice was low but urgent. “Don’t force it. This is natural; let it come on its own, you need only manage the flow of it.”

Ryn, who felt dizzy and hot and distinctly like she was about to lose what little she’d eaten for breakfast that morning, bit back a retort about just how natural this all was and tried to relax a bit. The magic, now that she’d learned to hold onto it, was like a raging river that had been dammed up far too long. It swamped her when she allowed it, and fought her when she didn’t, resulting in a host of physical symptoms that ranged from merely uncomfortable to downright irksome. She hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in a week, and had been battling debilitating headaches at least that long. Worn down by exhaustion and pain, she was actually regressing in her training. She couldn’t let the magic simply run ram shod, but the more she bore down, the more slipped through her grasp. It was disheartening work. Kenelm swore it would pass, that she would break through this hurdle, and she believed him—acquiring any skill worth having proceeded in much the same way—but she feared something catastrophic happening if she were to lose focus.

So the headaches got worse, she ate less and less, and her sleep continued to suffer. Now her hold on the magic was slipping during training, and it was only a matter of time before Kenelm called her on it. Redoubling her efforts, she furrowed her brow as she tried to stem the flow of power pulsing through her veins.

Ryn thought of the nagrat camp as she fought to stem the tide of her power. She could not afford to lose control like that again, not here, not so close to her teacher and Kota. The power did not seem to pay any mind, though. It sang through her veins, pounded in her ears, crawled through her bones. Come on, she thought, growing more frustrated by the minute. I can do this.

“Hold,” Kenelm commanded, and she relaxed, letting go her grasp of the magic so it could trickle back inside her bones, where it would roil and fester, as it had since she first discovered it. But it took half a second to realize something was wrong. Goose flesh raced over Ryn’s skin, hairs on her body standing straight up as though lightning was nearby, a roaring filling her ears.

The power wasn’t retreating.

“Kenelm—” was all the warning she was able to give before the roaring reached a fever pitch and something hot broke through her skin entirely, a blinding blast that seared everything in a circle around her—again—and threw her to the ground. Her ears rang and all she could hear was her own ragged breathing as she forced the power back behind the dam and shored it up tightly as she could. She opened her eyes moments later to find herself sprawled half-sitting on blackened grass.

“Ow,” she moaned as she moved slowly to get up. There was no response forthcoming from either of her companions, which prompted her to look up. Her heart stopped.

Kenelm slumped against a nearby stone wall, his face slack and eyes closed. Kota hadn’t fared any better, lying too still beneath a large tree twenty feet away. The spot in which she had been standing looked like lightning had struck there; a blackened crater with cracks that spidered out from its epicenter, almost ten feet across. Every living plant in sight was dry and brittle, like it had been dead for months. Ryn sucked in a shaky breath as she forced herself to her feet, ignoring the screaming protestations of every nerve and muscle in her body, stumbling to Kota’s side and struggling not to panic.

"Kisa,” she murmured, not daring to touch him but wanting—needing—to be sure he was all right. He was breathing normally, the rise and fall of his flank told her that, and seemed to be coming around, twitching and whining as he woke. “Kota!” Ryn almost sobbed. “Come on, kisa, come back to me!” He did, with several low moans and a sudden snarl and swipe of his giant paw. Immediately, her lynx rolled over and stood, casting about, disoriented. He growled dangerously for a moment until his yellow eyes focused on her. He panted, then stepped closer, his trill a question she could not answer. Ryn drew back as though stung, but hurried to Kenelm’s side now that she knew Kota would be all right. He, too, was coming around slowly, in obvious pain but not dying as far as she could tell. She called his name, shaking him firmly. He blinked blearily at her, pupils uneven, and gave her an intoxicated grin.

“You never mentioned you had such an explosive temper,” he quipped.

“You’re hilarious,” she said, fingers searching gently for any damage to his skull. She studied him for a moment, then pushed him back against the wall when he tried to stand.

“Sit,” she ordered. “I’m going to get the healers. You took a nasty rap to the head, I think.”

“Wait, wait.” Kenelm grabbed her hand and motioned for her to come closer. His dark eyes fixed on hers. “You’re a healer. You heal me.”

Ryn recoiled. “You’re addled. I just nearly killed you simply attempting to hold my magic—”

“You broke it, you fix it,” her teacher countered, grinning in a vague sort of way. “I’ll talk you through it.”

“You are out of your mind,” Ryn muttered in answer, but knelt beside him anyway.

“Take your stone,” Kenelm instructed, his eyes unfocused and bright. Ryn held it in a sweaty palm. Kenelm gestured vaguely. “Over the wound.” She placed her shaking hand gently on his forehead, the rough stone between her skin and his, willing her stomach to quit roiling. “Good girl. Take energy from the plants.”

“I killed them all,” she croaked, voice cracking. Kenelm coughed a laugh.

“No, you didn’t, not this time. They are only a bit charred. Try.”

Ryn did as he said. She dug for her power, barely twitching this time when the clearing lit up with a myriad of glowing colors. Kenelm was right, she realized; she hadn’t sucked the life out of anything. The mighty oak had barely noticed the fiery blast, and though the grass was blackened, its root system was unharmed.

Carefully, carefully, she drew out life force from the grass’ communal center, from the oak’s giant roots, and from the various small animals that lived beneath the ground. Minuscule amounts she drew, forcing her magic to comply; only enough, no more. It pooled around her free hand and arm, warm but not hot, bluish-bright. “I have it,” she said through gritted teeth, blinking sweat from her eyes. She had no idea if she had enough, but it...felt right.

“Send it through the stone into my head,” Kenelm’s voice was weaker now, and Ryn wondered how long the process of drawing the life force from the garden had taken. She could tell her teacher was struggling to remain conscious. “Will it to...heal the damage...inside.”

Taking a deep breath, Ryn closed her eyes and focused on Kenelm’s aura. His purple-and-silver was fractured around the edges—a sure sign his body was in distress—and tangled, knotted around his head. A tiny dark spot rested in the center of the blinding mess, and that’s where Ryn sent her magic. It flowed, scarlet mist working its way through Kenelm’s skull to the injury, and there it swirled for several minutes, until the dark spot dissipated and the rough glass edges of his aura had smoothed out. Operating on instinct, Ryn released the rest of the energy as she opened her eyes. It danced back to its sources, disappearing into the earth and nearby trees.

She sighed, feeling better than she had in days. The magic flowed through her still, she could feel it, but it was...comfortable. It ebbed through her like blood through veins, pulsing gently in time with her heart; but it lacked the wild, fretful force of before. Her head didn’t ache, her stomach had calmed, and when she looked to Kenelm and saw his brown eyes clear and smiling, she couldn’t help but smile back.

“Well, that went better than I expected,” Kenelm said, sitting up. “No pain at all, no lingering effects.” He stretched experimentally, then probed his forehead with weathered fingers. “Well done, Healer Ryn.”

Ryn flushed at the praise. Kota butted her affectionately with his head, and she rubbed his ears. “Magic can be unstable in the hands of younglings.” Kenelm said. “There is no shame in an honest mistake made while learning, Y’ra.” Ryn nodded, but the movement drew her attention to the Skyshifter’s temple. She reached out and ran a finger over it before she could stop herself.

“There’s a scar,” she remarked, awed and a little confused.

“Aye,” Kenelm answered. “Your magic speeds the process, but the body still does most of the healing itself. Scars will remain.”

“Oh.”

“Tomorrow you will rest again,” Kenelm continued. “Soon we will work on healing something more substantial than a knock on the head.”

Ryn nodded and let him speak, prattling on about his plans for her training, wishing she’d be here to see it through. But something in her bones told her it would not be. They would be leaving Thaliondris.

And soon.

Brandt looked over to Ryn, just out of earshot and leaning against the stone frame of one of the open arches the Eloni were fond of here. The garden outside was walled, to afford the guests privacy, but the arrangement was still far more open and vulnerable than he liked. Ryn was apparently of the same mind; she stood stiffly, alert. Kota lay in the corner, watching his mistress.

Both Brandt and Evin had, perhaps subconsciously, taken to spending a good deal of time inside and away from prying eyes. The Eloni had made no real attempt to locate the Princes that Râza was calling for, not that he could tell; but he and Evin had not hidden their brotherhood since arriving, and Brandt was sure someone would eventually make the connection.

Ryn, he suspected, was probably already wondering about it, but he hoped—foolishly—that she would write off their strange behavior as lingering exhaustion from their long journey here.

“What did the blacksmith say?” the woman asked, pushing off the stone arch and moving fully into the room.

Brandt made a face. “That we shouldn’t even consider leaving until the roads are safe again.”

Ryn snorted. Evin looked up.

Brandt went on. “I told him our mission would not wait for some upstart barbarian to lose interest in his prey.” Evin laughed, and Brandt smiled. “He seemed confused enough not to berate me after that.”

“How will we get out?” Ryn asked from beside the fireplace. She wasn’t nearly as amused as Evin, but then that was fairly normal. Fear tickled in Brandt’s spine; it was not the first time he’d considered that same...potential difficulty.

“They can’t hold us here,” Evin spoke up, serious now. “We are not Eloni citizens.”

Ryn shook her head. “I mean Râza. He will surely recognize you both, will he not?”

Brandt looked to his brother, who appeared to be searching for an answer that would not confirm them to be the sought-after princes. He was as clueless as Evin evidently was.

Ryn sighed after the silence drew out to an uncomfortable length. “Let’s all stop holding daggers up our sleeves,” she said, pushing her fingers through her short dark hair and fixing troubled eyes on Brandt. “I know who you both are, Your Grace.”

There was silence for a beat; Evin’s mouth was opening and closing around the start of several different questions, but Brandt just wanted to know, “When did you realize?”

Ryn shrugged. “Neither of you gave it away, but I didn’t get this far on my own by not paying attention.” She smiled then, a little, though worry was sketched plainly on all her features. “The quality of your gear and your manner pointed to your nobility. Frequent and familiar references to the Royal Family made me realize you two were, if nothing else, close to the King. The way you’ve been hiding in this room since Râza’s attacks started was the final puzzle piece.”

Brandt sighed. “I suppose it was inevitable, though we rather hoped you wouldn’t discover the truth.”

Ryn raised an eyebrow. “Why is that, exactly?” she asked. “Surely your journey would be easier if you told everyone you were the Crown Prince?”

Evin huffed indignantly. “Really?”

Half of Ryn’s mouth quirked up in a quick smile. “Well, present situation excepted, of course. I mean you could be staying at the best inns, eating the best food and enjoying the best entertainment, have an entourage and all the protection you need all the way to Retwood and beyond; and yet you choose to travel in disguise.” She locked gazes with Brandt. “Why all the secrecy?”

Brandt considered before answering. He could tell her the entire truth, he doubted she would betray his trust, but having the Val’gren involved had changed things. He wasn’t even sure of the entire truth himself, now. Perhaps a short, simple answer was best, at least for the time being. “Each Crown Prince is assigned a jofurr aetla, a quest that he must complete before he is deemed worthy to lead the kingdom.” He looked to his brother. “Traditionally the mission is a secret to all but the King, the Prince, and one companion. The Prince must fulfil the quest on his own merits, not relying on his position or his fame to help him along. I was to be Gunnar’s companion, but when he died, the quest itself became mine.”

“And I wasn’t about to be left behind,” Evin interjected, quirking a grin.

Brandt’s lips twitched. “Indeed.” He turned back to Ryn. “We are to recover a family heirloom that was stolen many years ago by a creature that lives near Retwood.”

Ryn studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Well then. You need not worry; your secret is safe with me and Kota.”

“Neither of us would think poorly of you if...” Evin petered off, but then gathered himself. “Given your recently-discovered…abilities…and training with Kenelm, along with who we are, and the fact that none of us signed on to be hunted by the Warmaster of the Val’gren...you could not be blamed for leaving us to our own way.” He looked to Brandt, as though a little unsure of this last. “We would even still pay you. One day in the Royal Archives, as agreed.” Brandt nodded his own accord; it was only right.

Ryn’s eyebrows furrowed and her face twisted into something resembling offense. “If you think I would leave you now, you have sorely misjudged my character, Evin.” She used his name, not his title, and Brandt realized it was deliberate; she did not intend for things to change, regardless of their identity. He found himself relieved, and somewhat surprised by it.

Evin opened his mouth to reply when there was a knock at the door. Closest to it, Brandt turned and pulled the handle. Before him stood the youngster they’d seen running errands from time to time; he had been the one to deliver Ryn to them when she was released by the Menders nearly two weeks prior. Faelar, Brandt remembered. He favored the lad with a smile and a nod.

“Master Faelar, how may we assist?” The boy blushed to the roots of his white hair and bowed.

“My Lord, the Master of our city, Lord Áed, has requested your presence, and that of your brother and guide, in his council chamber at your earliest convenience. I’m, er—” he fidgeted, and Brandt gave him an encouraging smile. “I’m to accompany you there.”

Brandt wanted to sigh, though he kept his features carefully neutral. So it is to be this, he thought. They have discovered us. He nodded to young Faelar. “We will come momentarily; only give me a moment to speak to my brother.” Faelar hesitated, but agreed.

But the Crown Prince of Laendor turned first to his friend, the Guide he had hired, the Woman with the Lynx. Her eyes were hard, her face impassive. “This is your last chance,” he said. “Remain here, with the Eloni. Tell anyone who asks that you knew not who we are. Disavow us, and you may escape our fate.” He glanced to Evin, who was watching Ryn raptly, clearly torn between wanting her to accompany them and wanting her to stay here, be safe. Ryn spoke a soft word, and Kota rose to stand beside her. She tangled her fingers in his red spotted fur and planted her feet.

“Your fate will be ours,” she said. Kota trilled, as though agreeing with her. Brandt nodded once, a gesture of respect as much as approval. He turned to Evin.

“Then let us go to meet it.”

The trek to the city’s center took far less time than Brandt would have liked, and in short order, they were brought before the Lord Áed in his receiving chambers. The Master of Thaliondris was every bit as stately as his title would suggest; he was tall and slender, almost willowy, after the fashion of his people; the swirling gold tattoos that bespoke his station covered so much of his skin that only hints of his milk-white complexion were visible. His flaxen hair and beard were near long enough to tuck into his sash, and he wore robes of scarlet-and-gold silk. There rested upon his brow a circlet of bone, cunningly wrought, carved and inlaid with gold runes. The Ossein Crown, legend called it, and it was said to have been crafted by Lord Áed’s own father—for the Eloni were exceedingly long-lived—from the skull and teeth of the last dragon Ecalder a half-century past.

Lord Áed greeted them amiably enough, bowing his head briefly and twisting his hand over his heart after the way of his people. “Young Masters,” he nodded to Brandt and Evin. “My Lady of the Y’ra, Friend Lynx,” the Elon favored Ryn and Kota with a wide smile. “You are all welcome to me. Thank you for answering my summons so swiftly.”

Brandt reminded himself not to be drawn in by the wood elf’s good manners. Lord Áed of Thaliondris was an ally, true, but he was also an Elon, an elf of the Red Wood and fae of the Sapphire Lake, a creature older than Brandt’s great-great-grandfather, wild and unpredictable as the mountain snows. This was no meeting over ale with his training fellows; rather a dangerous negotiation for the life of his brother and friends, however innocuous the trappings of it. He bowed deeply, the greeting of a Prince to a fellow Sovereign. “It is a pleasure, my Lord. You look well.”

The Elon laughed at that, pointed teeth flashing white. “I look much the same as I have your entire life, young one. Come, let us dispense with the pleasantries and move straight to the point of this meeting.” With a word, he sent away the few servants who scurried about the room, though Jorlan remained at his post, right behind Lord Áed’s right shoulder. The Master gestured an invitation; near the great fireplace on the East wall was a collection of the Eloni’s strange wooden chairs, these covered in thick moss, around a small oaken table that also looked to be grown straight from the ground. “Please sit,” Lord Áed was saying. “And be at ease, we shall not be overheard here.”

Brandt sat, between the fierce wood elf and his brother. Ryn chose the seat nearest the edge of the semi-circle, and Kota stationed himself nearby, alert and straight-backed. He offered no threat, no growl or snarl, but his amber eyes never did leave the Master of the City. Jorlan took up a watchful stance behind Lord Áed’s chair.

Once they were all situated, Lord Áed steepled his fingers and looked to each of them in turn. His bright green eyes fixed on Brandt’s last. “You seem to have brought ill luck with you, Prince Brandt. It is long since Râza has been seen this close to my city.”

Next to him, Brandt heard Evin mutter, “Does everyone know who we are?” Brandt ignored him, though Lord Áed laughed.

“Not everyone, Sir Prince; only a select few, among them myself.”

“But...how?” Evin asked aloud, trying and failing to mask his frustration at their apparent inability to travel in disguise. Lord Áed’s lips twitched and he sat back comfortably.

“I know a great many things I am not told, Evin.” Lord Áed smiled again, somehow managing to make the expression genuine and non-threatening despite the pointed teeth and crown of bone.

“Like how to get us out of here without alerting every Val’gren within twenty leagues?” Ryn asked, only half-challenging. Brandt winced; this would be difficult enough without her offending their host before Brandt even had a chance to plead his case for their release.

But Lord Áed laughed again. “Indeed, my Lady, I know that too.”

Ryn just looked at him. After a moment, the Eloni king nodded once and elaborated. “There is a spy in my city. A man, merchant by trade, who has been…convinced…to work for Râza and his ilk.” Brandt felt his eyebrows climb toward his hairline. Râza had been recruiting?

“You mean extorted,” Ryn cut in. Lord Áed’s lips quirked in a smile.

“As you say. The Dark One does have his family in captivity and uses them to motivate the spy.”

Brandt winced visibly, looking to Evin almost subconsciously. His brother’s hazel eyes were very wide, and his face was slightly paler than normal. He looked vaguely horrified.

“Regardless of the spy’s intentions,” Lord Áed continued. “The fact remains that he is working for the Val’gren now, searching about and asking questions to try to find you two,—“ he gestured to Brandt and Evin, “—and in the process, alarming both my citizens and honorable guests.” The Eloni’s eyes narrowed and his lips thinned. “This must end. And I have a plan to end it.”

“What plan?” Evin asked, eyes still the size of tea saucers. Lord Áed sat back again, nearly reclining, and folded his hands together. The smile on his face was predatory.

“Râza wishes to have you, he shall have you.”