A Prince Among Killers - By J. B. Redmond Page 0,8
a flash of guilt over what his people had done to Dari’s people during the mixing disasters. The Fae had feared and turned on their more powerful though peace-loving neighbors. In a coordinated effort in every dynast save for Dyn Ross, the Fae drugged Furies at feasts and celebrations, then massacred them as they slept—much as Lord Brailing wiped out his own dynast subjects along the Watchline.
“Those betrayals were horrible.” Aron said. “But they are a long time past. The perpetrators have been dead for generations. This war, it’s not ancient history. It’s happening now, and it’s killing that could be stopped.”
Platt seemed to consider his argument, maybe even how ending the war would help Dari and Kate. But after a time, he shook his head. “No, Aron Weylyn. The mixing disasters were not so long that we have forgotten the lessons. Only death comes from mingling with the Fae. Your people crave power and value ambition over life itself, and Stregans want no part of your society—or what is left of it.”
Frustration struck inside Aron’s belly like an angry mocker-snake, but he controlled his reaction and didn’t give in to the wave of hopelessness for Eyrie, and for Dari’s quest to find her sister. His thoughts moved immediately to people like Galvin Herder and Lord Brailing, and he sighed. “People in power can’t imagine people who don’t want it.”
Platt once more inclined his head, accepting Aron’s observation, and his mood shifted again. More peaceful now. Contemplative and focused. “My people will not act against our beliefs with respect to war again.”
Aron held the man’s gaze, staring deep into Platt’s black eyes. “I understand.”
“You do. I see that.” Platt didn’t blink, and Aron felt the touch of Platt’s graal—though he couldn’t really call it that. It was more like being seized by unimaginably powerful hands and squeezed until his knees shook and his breath came short. He had been sized up and evaluated in an instant, every aspect of his body, being, and character. Of that, he had no doubt.
Platt seemed to debate with himself a moment, then come to a decision. His formidable mind-talents released Aron, who wavered a moment before regaining a firm stance and keeping eye contact with the Stregan king.
“I came here to save you, Aron.” Platt watched Aron’s reaction carefully, and Aron knew he must be seeing Aron’s surprise, and his disbelief.
The Stregan king’s assertion didn’t seem possible, or real. Why would a king—especially this king—deign to intervene in the fate of one boy, only an apprentice—and in a guild that practiced arts abhorred by the Furies?
Aron shook his head before he realized what he was doing, unable to accept what Platt was saying.
Platt gestured to Aron. “Do not measure your worth by your role in Fae society. That is of no consequence to me, or to my people. Iko came to me and asked me to see to your safety because you are important to Dari, and to Iko, because of his personal pledges to his god.”
When Aron couldn’t respond, Platt added, “A request from a friend to save a life. That’s reason enough for me to act. Does that surprise you?”
“Yes,” Aron whispered, still numb with shock. Platt was telling him the truth, but perhaps not the full truth. There was more to the king’s motives, and Aron’s graal told him it had something to do with Iko’s beliefs, which were similar to Zed’s. Old ways. Old beliefs.
Zed had told Aron that in desperate times, fate watches, fate circles, then dives like a hungry hawk, striking people who will be important to Eyrie. Aron had ridiculed him for such a thought. Now, though, here above the mists of the Deadlands, the sands of the Barrens, and the rocks and pits of the Outlands—here in the Ruined Keep of Triune, staring into the liquid-coal eyes of the king of the Stregans, who had journeyed from the safety of his own stronghold just to rescue one boy—Aron believed for the first time that he might have some unusual destiny.
Tears formed in the corners of his eyes, because he didn’t know how to figure out what great task he needed to accomplish. How could he know that? How could he shed the anger and grief that he had only just realized held him back from his potential and made him less useful to his chosen family of Stone, and discover what task had been set for him by fate itself?