Amilia couldn’t quite believe what was happening. These men and their damnable honour. “Elyon, you don’t actually mean to…”
He kicked at the glove. “I’m honour-bound. Yes, I mean to. Maybe I’ll be able to knock some sense into him.”
“You’ll kill him,” Amilia said, gasping. “He won’t stand a chance against you with that blade.”
He snorted, glancing down at the Windblade. “Wouldn’t stand a chance against me anyway. But don’t worry, I’ll fight him evenly.”
There was still a great deal of noise coming up the steps, the guards puffing and panting as they finally poured out onto the landing. Amilia recognised their captain, an old palace guardsmen by name of Tollin Hodge with a sour face and milky left eye. “My lady,” he said, breathless, as he saw them. “This man…there’s a warrant…for his arrest. He barged straight in without my leave, and…”
“He has my leave now. You may go, Tollin.”
The man spluttered. “But my lady…that warrant was by order…of the king.” He squinted at Elyon. “He’s a murderer.”
“And the king? What is he?”
The old guardsman was stumped. “My lady?”
“The king, Captain. The king who issued the order. Is he not a murderer too? Do you not recall the riots in White Shadow?” She did not care to hear his answer. “Go and return to your posts. Now, before I issue some arrest orders of my own.”
That got the men scampering back off, though old Tollin Hodge stopped to give Elyon a final distrustful squint with that good eye of his before he left. Elyon could not have looked less interested in all of that. This is beneath him, Amilia thought. She’d heard all about Elyon’s heroics, and no doubt he’d festooned himself with a good many more triumphs since then. I can’t let them fight, she thought. They were friends, good friends before. No one needs to suffer for a dead girl’s honour.
“Was that true?” she asked, when the guards were gone. “What you just said. About Melany?” She could barely even say it. “She poisoned Aleron?”
“Yes.” The word came out a grunt. “She told me she never expected him to die. Aleron was only meant to lose. And she had no choice, lest she incur your grandfather’s wrath. The rest…”
“I know,” she said.
He nodded, slowly, a hard look on his face as he reflected on those times. “I remember your scream,” he said, softer. “When Aleron’s throat was cut. That sound…and the crowd…and the rain…”
“I know,” she said again, in a way that made him look at her. “About your brother,” she went on. “About Jonik.” She paused, watching his eyes change. “I spent time with him, Elyon. There are some things you ought to know.”
He stared at her, disbelieving. “You…spent time with him? Where?” He looked around, eyes sharpening. “Is he here?”
“No.”
“Where is he?” By instinct he reached to his blade, wind stirring, as though the Ghost of the Shadowfort would come creeping from the darkness, Nightblade to grasp, cackling like a demon. Amilia had thought that of her cousin too, once before. Until I got to know him.
“He isn’t here,” she said. “Though he was, briefly.”
“When? When was he here? When did he leave? When, Amilia!”
She withdrew half a step at the force of voice. “That’s a long story. I…”
“I’ll hear it. All of it. Every word and every detail of it. Right now.” His eyes blazed down upon her, those silver-blue eyes that Aleron had had. She saw in them a terrible rage, a bloodlust and something worse. Something deeper and darker. The Windblade has a grip on him.
“I don’t want you to kill him,” she said. “You need to swear me that, Elyon. By godsteel. I’ll have your oath.”
He laughed aloud. “No. That’s an oath I’ll never make.”
“Then I’ll not tell you where I met him, or when he was here, or for how long, or what he intends to do now. Your oath for information. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”
He looked at her as though she’d gone utterly mad. “He killed your betrothed, the man you loved! He killed my brother, Amilia!”
“That wasn’t his choice. And you know it wasn’t.”
“He might have said no!”
“He’s my cousin, Elyon.”
“I know!” he shouted back at her. “I know about that. Vesryn told me. He’s your cousin and he’s my brother, and I don’t care. I cannot make that oath, Amilia. I won’t.”
“Then you’ll learn nothing from me.” She spun on her slippers, striding away, her chest heaving up and down. What was it with these bloody Daecars? She’d done the same with Jonik when he was here, the night before he left. Arguing in the open corridor, turning and marching away. Jonik had not followed her then, and it seemed his half-brother was no different. Before long she found herself alone, speeding her step along a pillared colonnade, the winds blowing in through the open windows, brisk and biting, the skies dark beyond.
Much as she’d mocked Jonik’s holy mission, she did not want to see them clash. They should be helping one another, working together, not tearing at each other’s throats. It would all be for nought in the end, of course, with the world ending anyway, but why deny them the chance to try? But if he wants to be stubborn, so be it. I’ll not open my lips until he says the words.
“Amilia.” The voice was right behind her.
She spun, startled. “How in the hell did you..”
“I can move quietly when I fly.”
“Well don’t do it again.” She put a hand to her chest, felt her heart smashing at her ribs. “Gods, Elyon, are you trying to kill me?”
“No, and I won’t kill Jonik either.” Elyon Daecar gripped the hilt of the Windblade with his right hand and reached out with his left. “My oath, by this shard of Vandar’s Heart, to not kill Jonik, if and when I meet him. If that’s what it’ll bloody take, fine, you win. Now take my hand, and let’s get this done.”
She took his hand, and he spoke his oath - reluctantly, of course, but he said the words all the same. To some they were just words, wind, to be spoken and then ignored thereafter, but not Elyon Daecar. Oh no, he’s far too honourable. He makes a godsteel oath, and he keeps it. Same as all Daecars.
She smiled once he was done, and drew her hand away. “Good. Well done. Beautifully said, Elyon.”
