Amaskan's Blood by Raven Oak (the best e book reader .TXT) 📗

“You’ve always been a spoiled child, not worthy of the throne your father left you,” the man hissed as he leaned in close. Behind him, the scraping of steel sounded as guards stepped forward.

Leon ignored them all. That smell. Sour ale and something else, something bitter or tart.

His face must have changed as Goefrin leaned back in a rush, but King Leon seized the front of his shirt and pulled the man closer. “Your breath smells familiar… foul. What sorcery is this? What play are you running, traitor?”

The ear-splitting grin of heavily yellowed teeth caught Leon off guard, and he released the man in too much of a hurry. Goefrin’s chair fell back and toppled the old man to the hard floor. “Recognize it, do you? You should. You’re intimately acquainted with it, Your Majesty.”

Leon’s eyes widened further as the memory crept over him, his father’s body still warm as it lay in the massive bed he’d called home for the six months prior to his death.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” the healer had said, and Leon had flinched at the use of the title. “Your father, the King, is dead. Gods be with him.”

Beside the bed laid scattered brews and bowls of poultices meant to ease the King’s suffering, too late as he no longer had need of such things.

Leon had expected the room to smell different—sour with the smells of death and illness, but instead the odors had been surprisingly clean and fresh as if summer stood outside and not the harsh chill of winter. Leon had glanced to the window, expecting it to be open, ushering in the scent of the pine trees outside. But the glass had stood shuttered.

Like his father’s eyes.

“Did someone clean this room?” he had asked the healer.

“Yes, Your Majesty. Advisor Goefrin ordered it at your father’s passing. He thought it better that the family receive the King’s body in proper peace.”

At the time, the words had made sense. In fact, Leon had been grateful for the idea, not wishing to subject his new bride to such a sight as his father’s death filled bedchamber. Especially not the mess it had become in his final days.

Despite the cleanliness of the fresh sheets and fragrant room, it had been Catherine who’d first noticed the odd smell lingering about His Majesty’s body—a bitter smell that soured it prematurely. The healers had not known what it was and had chalked it up to mere humors of the body. As they had prepared the former King to be received by sacred ground, Leon had pushed it from his mind. He had believed them.

But now sitting before Goefrin, the pieces slid into place. “You killed my father.”

The advisor’s only answer was a smile, which faltered as the man’s eyes rolled back into his head. King Leon lunged forward to catch him, and his nose caught the smell again. “What have you taken? What have you done?” he shouted and shook the man who lay limp in his arms.

Goefrin’s eyes fluttered open a moment and that hideous grin returned briefly. “I came… prepared.”

The body convulsed in Leon’s arms. “Fetch the healers. Be quick.” Leon shouted.

They’ll never reach us in time. Goefrin’s body ceased convulsing, and his chest stopped rising with the air of life.

Alone with the body, King Leon ran his trembling hands through the man’s pockets. In the smallest pocket sewn inside his overshirt, Leon discovered a vial of deep brown liquid with a few drops remaining.

Leon opened it carefully. The strength of the bitter odor sent the room spinning, and King Leon’s hands faltered. He dropped the vial as he rolled back. His head missed the chair’s corner, and the soft rug on the floor pushed up against his cheek.

Feet moved. He could hear them in the distance, but his vision swam so that all that appeared before his eyes was a whirl of color and then blackness.

Hoof beats announced Ida before she spoke. “This is difficult for us both. It wasn’t my place to make this revelation to ya, but ya insisted on knowing everythin’. Your father, King Leon, used my connections to the Order to bring ya home.”

“Why? And why now? What connection could you possibly have that would result in this?” asked Adelei as they continued through the trees. The sun dipped lower in the sky, and the forest grew darker with each minute. Soon they would need torches to see at all.

“Your father used a friend, someone he trusted with his life… and yours, to arrange your escape from Alexander. To keep ya safe, he sent ya to the Amaskans. What better place to hide ya, to protect ya, than with those whom everyone feared? Not even the Boahim Senate’s brave enough to come after the famed Order of Amaska. Ya were to be hidden there ’til it was safe. But somethin’ went wrong. Your father was betrayed, and you—ya were gone.”

“The Amaskans aren’t kidnappers.” The moment she said it, she winced. She, too, was lying. Her brain tried to flee the deluge of memories and failed.

How many times had the Order kidnapped someone, to make the killing easier? Longer? Or just to gain the information needed to trap someone? For justice. Her mind sifted through the histories stored in her brain. It was done often enough—she had played a part in several.

“Ya weren’t supposed to stay there. It was meant to be temporary. They were to instruct ya in subjects… more appropriate to one of your station.”

A rich, bubbling laugh escaped Adelei in her panic. It sang among the trees like a dying songbird. “I was sent there until it was ‘safe’—but never to become an assassin.” Her laughter tensed her thigh and shoulder muscles. “That’s rich. The princess returns home a killer. Welcome home and hello, Papa. Need someone killed today?”

Ida sighed. “Ya weren’t supposed to be gone forever. King Leon was told ya were captured and killed on the way to Sadai.