Page 6 of Winds of Destiny

Doric tries to say something, but his mouth is frothy with blood. He grabs Turo by the arm and hauls him in close. “Get them inside,” I think I hear. “Take them to the king. Do…your duty.”

He turns and looks at me next. “And you must do yours,” he mouths before his words dissolve into coughs. Turo is leaning in, trying to roll Doric and help clear his throat, but I suddenly can’t look at the man anymore.

Do my duty.I stare dully at the Dellians who surround me, their expressions ranging from serious to curious. Which of these huge, intimidating men is myduty, I wonder? Or did Prince Eleas even bother to come and get me himself?

Can I really blame him if he didn’t? Look at what’s happening here now.

Doric chokes and shudders. Turo pulls him in close, urgent whispers that I can’t quite make out passing between them, but it’s too late. A moment later, he’s still. Dead, after over fifty years of loyal service to my father. Fifty years, and what did he get out of it in the end?

The promise of peace.Looking at the Dellians, so tall and strong and well-armed, I can’t help but think that peace might be the last thing these men want.

Chapter Four

Turo

The throne room of Zephyth is an architectural marvel, carved out of the solid stone of the mountainside and gently enhanced with living coral that makes its features ever-changing. The throne in the center of it is utterly unique, covered in the opalescent scales of Zephyth’s patron god. When the king sits there, he is an intimidating figure, as wise and distant as the moon itself.

When he is pacing around the space in front of the throne screaming at you over your foolishness, he is equally intimidating but far less reserved.

“Absolute idiocy! Incomparable stupidity! What were the two of youthinking, charging out onto the plains when our guardsmen were already on their way to take care of things? It beggars comprehension, it truly does.” He glares between me and his son, dark eyes daring one of us to open our mouths.

I can’t. I have nothing to say to excuse myself.

I do my best to keep my expression neutral, but I know there are cracks in the stone of my facade. I’ve only been shouted at by the king a few times before, but each time has been regrettably memorable.

This one is the worst by far.

King Perael steps toward me, long white hair in disarray, fury and fear in equal measure in his voice as he points a finger at my face. “You, especially, astonish me, Turo. Out of the pair of you, I thought thatyouat least had afinger’s breadthof sense in your body, but you’ve proven me wrong today. You endangered my son’s life with this stunt of yours, you who should treasure his life above all others.”

Even yours, he doesn’t say, but I hear it loud and clear.

I bow my head in acknowledgment. He’s right, after all.

Cam speaks up then, always driven to protect me even when I don’t deserve it. “Father, the guard was being cut down like weeds! Your preciousDellianslikely wouldn’t have survived if I hadn’t gone out there and moved the whelvers into a position of cover. And—”

“Don’t start with me on what waslikely,” the king shouts, spinning toward his son. “Given your disadvantages in that fight, it waslikelythat you would be murdered in front of my very eyes before I could get anyone out there to save you!”

His anger is plain, but so is his fear. “Do you take me for a fool, not to realize what was going on out there? I heard Doric’s horn as well as you two did. I had reinforcements on the way, battle-armored troops who could have supported the Dellians without needing you to use forgottenherdingtechniques to move our whelvers again.”

“Father, please.” Gilraen, Cam’s older sister, tries to interject here, but not even her soothing voice and calm presence are enough to calm the king’s rage.

He brushes aside her gentling hand and shakes his head. “No. I will accept no more excuses for the behavior between the two of them. The time for allowing the two of you to run unchecked like a pair of wild jaka is over.”

He looks from Cam to me and back again. “You are engaged, my son. It’s time to turn your mind and your heart toward your new home and your new husband. He might not be here himself”—a fact which had made Cam simultaneously grateful and a bit offended—“but his representative is. Your engagement is to become a proxy marriage between you and your betrothed before you leave Zephyth.”

Cam went pale. “A proxymarriage?” he exclaimed. “Can’t you wait for me to get to Huridell before you officially sell me off?”

“Apparently not, given your recklessness. I’ll see you married here to Prince Eleas by proxy and assure your safety, and the future safety of the home you profess to love.” The king levels Cam with a look. “It also takes away the temptation for you to look for some way out of it on the journey to Huridell.”

He turns to me before Cam can react beyond an outraged gasp. “And you.”

The king is looking at me, but not at my face. He’s staring at my hands.

They’re covered in blood. Doric’s blood. I flex my fingers, and little flakes fall to the floor. The itch that starts in my hands throbs with each poundingba-bumpof my heart. Every nerve prickles on the edge of pain. It’s like my body doesn’t belong to me right now; I can’t control these strange sensations. It’s all I can do to keep my back straight as the king finally looks at my face.

“You were his greatest protégé,” King Perael says, and the soft tenor of his voice is more cutting than any of his harshness has been. “Doric always intended for you to succeed him as Zephyth’s spymaster someday, whether that meant you served me or one of my children. I want to know if you will uphold his word, TuroDetyrr.”

The emphasis is deliberate. A reminder that Doric gave me my last name, making me as good as family.

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