Tyrant’s Blood. Fiona McIntosh

is it?’

      ‘I’m to tell you to be ready for when the games begin.’

      ‘Games? Ready? For what?’

      She shrugged. ‘I’ve given you the message I was told to deliver, sir. There was nothing else.’

      ‘But what games?’

      ‘I don’t know, sir.’

      He nodded, resigned. ‘All right. Keep that information to yourself.’

      ‘I have and I will continue to do so.’

      ‘Do you know who we are?’ Freath asked.

      ‘No, sir. Nor do I wish to. I’m being paid to do this and the man who paid me frightened me. I do not want to be involved.’

      Freath nodded and she quickly left the room. He looked at Kirin. ‘What do you make of it?’

      Kirin gave him a look of disdain. ‘You know what I think. Freath, you’re a household servant of the palace and I am a man of the Academy who has also spent his last decade as a curious sort of servant to the ruler. But we’re acting like spies or assassins or something equally clandestine and, even worse, we’re pretending we know what we’re doing. What is in our heads?’

      ‘Loyalty’s in mine,’ Freath replied with equal disdain. ‘But I’m scared too, Kirin. There’s no shame in it. If anything, it will keep us sharp.’

      ‘For what? Our own deaths?’

      Freath smiled humourlessly. ‘A long time ago Clovis told me you were the one who convinced him that the throne of Penraven and the honour of our Crown was worth rallying for…worth dying for, in fact. I’m sure he said that.’

      Kirin grimaced. ‘I’m sure he did.’

      ‘Dying is easy, Kirin, my friend. Staying alive—especially in our situation—is much harder, and far more honourable.’

      ‘I’ll carry that thought with me as a blade enters my belly,’ Kirin said, scowling.

      Freath sighed. ‘I suppose chasing here after hopes and shadows means we could be missing out on word of Piven.’

      ‘Clovis will get more word to us when he can.’

      ‘Piven will be almost fifteen anni. Imagine that,’ Freath commented, awed by the thought.

      Kirin’s voice dropped to a low murmur. ‘And our king, if this idea of yours bears fruit, will be a man. I’m sure in your mind you see the boy.’ Freath nodded sadly. ‘Well, he’s going to be twenty-two anni, more than old enough to fight for his crown. Have you considered that?’

      ‘I have,’ Freath admitted wearily.

      Kirin gripped his arm. ‘We’ve probably aged twice as fast in living our lie at the palace all these years. Leo is likely brimming with bitterness that is fuelling his anger and passion.’

      Freath looked at his friend. ‘He’s kept it well under control or someone has helped him to. But,’ he sighed again, ‘the time is nigh. Valisar must rise again or be lost forever.’

      ‘Have you also considered that this peace we enjoy might be a better alternative?’

      ‘What?’ Freath said, pulling away.

      Kirin raised his hands. ‘Hear me out.’

      ‘No. I can’t believe you’re thinking like this.’

      ‘I don’t care for bloodshed, you know that. What we went through a decade ago—all those deaths. Just think about those boys we personally had to witness being killed to save one life. What about the queen giving hers so cheaply to ensure your safety?’

      ‘Don’t you dare—’ Freath began but Kirin overrode his protest.

      ‘And Genrie? How about her agonising death to—’

      ‘stop!’

      Kirin held his tongue and had the grace to look abashed. He sighed. ‘The point is, Freath, we have peace. You yourself admire Loethar…you’ve expressed that to me on many occasions.’

      ‘I do—I even like him in a strange sort of way. But that doesn’t mean I would ignore who rightfully owns the throne of Penraven. My loyalties have not changed.’

      ‘But does it matter anymore? Does it really matter what you or I, or any loyalist, wants? We feel it more because we were right there, wading through the blood. But look around you, Freath. Everyone’s getting on with life. Penraven continues to be as prosperous as ever, the Set thrives and the realms seem more in tune with each other than ever before—surely you would admit that?’

      Freath felt his lips thin. He refused to reply, hating Kirin for not only stating the obvious but for reminding him just how well the new empire was functioning. He knew it. He did not need it rubbed in his face.

      Kirin continued, his tone now peppered with bafflement. ‘The thing is, Freath, what we’re pursuing now is more bloodshed. Is this what we want? Loethar has achieved what felt like the impossible all those years ago: peace, cohesion, dare I say harmony between not only the realms, including Droste, but also the Steppes people. We are truly part of an empire and are considered as such by kingdoms as far away as Percheron and Galinsea. We’ve had an envoy from Pearlis in Morgravia on behalf of the Triumvirate to lavish good wishes on Emperor Loethar’s rule and I’m sure its ally Tallinor would gladly support that if it could ever make such a massive journey. Seriously, Freath, our people are strong and protected and peaceful—’

      ‘If not happy,’ Freath interrupted sourly.

      ‘Who says they aren’t?’ Kirin countered. ‘You are not happy perhaps. And I may not be happy, and a very small band of rebels that we think might include a Valisar king are likely not happy. But think of the greater folk of our lands. They are content. Do you really think after what they’ve survived they care anymore who is on the throne? The fact is they live in peaceful, prosperous times and Loethar seems to have defied us all and got it right. I know I’m risking your fury saying this, but he’s a good ruler. He’s been frightening in the past but he’s fair and his touch is light and if not for the hideous empress, life could almost be considered sweet in the palace. Yes, he took his crown from a sea of blood but he’s made it up to the people of the Set ever since.’

      ‘Damn you, Kirin! Don’t you think I know it?’ Freath’s anger bubbled over. ‘I work alongside him every day. And every day I have to temper my admiration with memories of how he drove Queen Iselda to demand her own death, how he forced our king to suicide and let’s not forget how he roasted and ate Brennus in front of the queen and Piven. You conveniently forget he butchered thousands of good people on his way to claiming this throne, and—’

      ‘I haven’t forgotten!’ Kirin growled back at him. ‘I just don’t want to live through it again and that’s what your plotting is consigning us to. War again, when this realm and this Set has finally settled into peace. We want peace, Freath. Not more bloodshed.’

      Freath waved a hand angrily. ‘Then go, Kirin. You are no use to me.’

      ‘I’m not sure I ever have been.’

      Freath’s head snapped up. ‘How long have you felt like this?’ he asked, shocked.

      Kirin shook his head, clearly angry with himself. ‘Why can’t we just accept life as it is? Why are we pursuing something that we know will provoke war?’

      ‘Because there’s a king out there,’ Freath all but hissed, his finger pointing beyond the window. ‘A rightful king whose throne has been usurped by an intruder. I gave my word to King Brennus that I would do everything in my power to work against Loethar and that somehow, someday I would help his son wrestle back his crown. I will not break that oath. I made it in blood.’ He raised his palm to Kirin to show the scar.

      Kirin looked back at his companion of a decade and his sorrow