His Royal Highness Prince Ruenen,
I never thought I would write those words again to a Nevandian royal. I remember your parents fondly. They were the only two Astyean leaders I could stand. My husband, King Maes, and I were pleasantly surprised to learn of your sudden appearance, let alone existence. You have quite the story, so I’m told. Something about King Rayghast and shadow creatures? I would love to hear all of this from your own lips one day.
In regards to your letter, you have intrigued me with your request for a meeting. This is not typically the first task of a newly seated king. I would imagine you’d have more pressing matters to attend to, what with Tacorn and Rayghast at your doorstep. Perhaps this meeting has something to do with forging an alliance against him. I cannot fathom any other reason you would write to me at such a pressing time. If that is indeed your intention, King Maes and I would consider hearing your plans, but we’d like to speak with you directly, Your Highness. In person.
Well wishes on your successful reign,
Queen Nieve of Grelta
*Postscript: Sending a notorious vampire in your stead was not the wisest way to make friends.
Chapter 15
Rayghast
His spies in Nevandia all returned to Dul Tanen with the same news: Prince Ruenen had declared himself.
Rayghast couldn’t believe his own failure. He’d had twenty-two years to dispose of that whelp, and he’d failed. His soldiers, his commanders, his mercenaries, all failed. Now, Nevandia would rally behind the prince. Perhaps other kingdoms sympathetic to the boy’s cause would ally themselves with Nevandia. He had a good sob story. Foolish leaders like Nieve might feel compelled to give support.
Rayghast wouldn’t let that happen.
“At least we now know where the boy is,” Commander Shaff said. “Nevandia’s army is still weak. Their soldiers are the sons of farmers and miners with limited training. I don’t believe it will take much to penetrate the walls of Kellesar.”
“How do you intend to scale those enormous walls, Commander?” Dobbs asked through narrowed eyes. “It’s a fortified keep, as much as ours here in Dul Tanen. And Kellesar, like an island, is surrounded by the Nydian on all sides.”
“I suggest a siege. With Varana’s numbers, we can surround the city, pummel them with our trebuchets, and starve them out,” Shaff said with a wave of his hand, as if his idea was so plain and obvious that everyone at the table should have thought of it already.
“That will take months,” Rayghast said, drilling his fingers on the armrest of his throne. “There are far too many opportunities for the prince to escape during the siege. If we take the city, if the boy lives, Nevandia will survive in him. He could take refuge in another kingdom. He could rally another army. No, Commander, it must be one brutal, swift attack that ends it all.”
Shaff frowned; his face was permanently set that way behind bushy eyebrows, but Rayghast supposed the man frowned deeper.
“As you wish, Your Grace,” said Shaff. “I shall meet with my other commanders to discuss the complete strategy. Once Varana arrives, we should be able to set this plan into action.”
“If Varana arrives,” grumbled Wattling to his neighbor. “Suli has been most difficult of late.”
“The queen’s latest letter did the trick, at least,” said Councilman Verdenian, who was ambassador to Varana. “The Emperor finally replied, and agreed to send his troops.”
“He’d better not recant,” Dobbs said.
Rayghast snapped his fingers, and a gray-cloaked man, his spy Falien, came out from the corner of the room, and handed him a pile of letters and scraps of paper.
“These rumors are getting out of control. Notes full of lies have been found scattered around the city.”
Untidily scrawled on scraps of paper were accusations and conspiracies about Rayghast, himself. One of them claimed he was an illegitimate son of the late King Hershen. Absolute nonsense, of course. His birth had been overseen by Cronhold. Each stage of his life had been documented.
But the “curse” theory had evolved, now stating that Rayghast had killed his three previous wives and his unborn children. That he was losing his mind, or that he’d never had one to begin with.
“My guards found one of these notes in a stable. Five tavern patrons were overheard discussing it, and were arrested, then beheaded publicly as of this morning,” Rayghast said with quiet authority. He hadn’t taken part in those killings. He’d been alone, kneeling on the moor outside the city, releasing his pent-up aggression and dark magic through the earth by sucking the life from Nevandian lands. This was a weekly ritual for him; an invisible way to expel the dark magic that writhed in his bones, aching for destruction. To anyone watching, it appeared as if Rayghast were praying. “Another note was found by a servant in this castle’s own library.”
The council murmured and grunted as they passed the notes down the table.
“Are they all written by the same hand?” asked Dobbs, analyzing two letters.
“It’s not one individual,” said Rayghast’s spy, voice rasped like a crackling fire. Rayghast didn’t even know the man’s name. “It’s the same four or five people writing them. We think one hand might belong to the author of those coded messages, as well.”
“What is the morale within the barracks, Commander?” asked Cronhold to Shaff. “Are the soldiers hearing these, uh, rumors?”
Shaff’s mouth tightened in hesitation before he spoke. “The men are certainly hearing these conspiracies, my lords. Those who repeat them are being punished appropriately.”
“We cannot afford to lose the loyalty of our soldiers,” stated Dobbs, pounding a fist onto the table. “Doubt among the men could weaken us.”
Dark magic and frustration made Rayghast shiver.
Release, that oily, sinister voice demanded inside his head.
Rayghast was about to satiate that need, to prowl down to the dungeons, when a soldier burst into the room.
“Your Grace, Commander, forgive my intrusion, but I have news,” he said, tucking his helmet in the crook of his arm. The man’s face was splattered with dirt and blood.
Rayghast halted. A vein throbbed in his temple as magic rushed through him, restless and annoyed. He had no desire to stay in this meeting a moment longer. The magic needed to be expelled now before he combusted in this very room.
“My unit was attacked on the road last night.”
“By Nevandian patrol?” asked Cronhold.
“No, my lords, their bodies were . . . ripped apart,” the soldier said with a disgusted grimace. A ripple of concern traveled up and down the council table. “I could hardly see in the darkness, but the attacker used magic, creating strange burn marks on the bodies.”
Rayghast tensed. Another magic user?
