Lacuna - N.R. Walker Page 0,9

also up, so Tancho could not see their faces.

“King of the Southlands,” the centre figure said to the door in the west of the room. “Welcome.”

Three dark green cloaked figures entered next. They were tall and broad, and their faces hidden by their hoods also.

Tancho’s belly tightened to the point of nausea. There was only one more to be introduced . . .

“King of the Northlands. Welcome.”

Though from the corner of his eye he could see two men stride in, Tancho kept his face straight ahead, chin raised. From the periphery, he could see their cloaks black as the night without stars, hoods up, faces cast in shadow.

The birthmark on his wrist felt as though it might catch fire. Now there was pain. Not a mild burning as there had been, now it burned like a blacksmith’s forge. He wanted to scream and curse but choked it back. He dared not even flinch.

He couldn’t show any weakness.

“My name is Adelais,” the centre figure said. “I stood in this very room when you were but four newborns destined for greatness, and it is an honour to stand before you again. The Consul of Elders have been guardians of the Aequi Kentron, equal centre of the Great Kingdom, and this grand hall, the very centre of the compass, joining all four lands.

“Once every thousand years, and on the equinox of your twenty-fifth year, we will witness the Golden Eclipse. A truly wondrous celestial event, where the two Sister Moons eclipse the sun, and for one week, the skies turn everything golden.”

Adelais looked at the four groups, smiling. “Our ancestors mapped the stars and, from this, found the north star,” she said to the men in black robes. Then to the others, “The south star, the east, and the west, the Great Kingdom was divided equally. Even Aequi Kentron follows the lines of the compass.”

Tancho knew all this. It was part of his teachings, and he assumed everyone knew this and Adelais was reiterating the details for theatrics. He wished she’d get to the point, and that she’d stop talking about the birthmarks. Because the more she talked about it, the more he thought about it, and the more it burned.

“Your birthmark marks you as the true ruler of your land,” she went on. “As it is claimed in our traditions and laws, ‘Who bears the mark wears the crown.’”

A buzz burst through Tancho’s blood. Hearing those words, making it official. It was beginning. His fate was now.

“Speaking of your birthmarks,” Adelais continued with a smile. “They burn, do they not?”

None of the four regals nodded, none dared show weakness.

Adelais’ smile twisted as though she expected such a reaction. “Tancho, Samiel, Elmwood, Crow. Please step forward. Hold out your wrists,” she said. “Maghdlm will attend them.”

Tancho could feel Karasu’s unease beside him, but he knew she would keep herself in check. He walked toward the centre, his chin held high, and was joined by the others. Samiel and Elmwood stood to his left and the black-cloaked man stood at his right. He didn’t dare look. He didn’t have to.

He could feel him.

Beneath the pain of the birthmark, there was something else . . .

A pull. A drawstring between them being pulled tight. And that fascination he’d always had with the King of the Northlands became a tangible thing.

Physically they did not touch—there must have been a foot between them—but the birthmark on Tancho’s wrist burned as a white-hot branding iron. He shied away from the tall figure, as much as he could without being obvious, and gritted his teeth and held out his wrist. He could feel how his body reacted to Crow being close, how his skin heated, how his blood warmed as if trying to pull him closer.

Crow was a half-head taller than him, much broader. His mere presence was intimidating and intoxicating.

What is this?

In all his teachings, in all his training, no one had prepared Tancho for this reaction.

Samiel and Elmwood both held out their right arms and it reminded Tancho of the instruction he had been given. He lifted his arm, his hand upturned, exposing his wrist, expecting to see the birthmark red and burning, yet it looked just the same.

Crow held out his hand as well, showing no sign of discomfort.

Could he feel it? Did his burn the same?

Maghdlm, one of the other yellow-cloaked figures, came forward then. Much shorter, and when Tancho saw her face, he realised, much older as well. Wrinkled like linen, creased with time