A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,65
a thousand White-Wings, and now Kol was giving them all over to Aphra and Lorina, the two captains who had supported his coup.
Aphra frowned, but said nothing, and Lorina smiled, the act not much changing her dark, severe features.
“So, to my new high captains, and to a new order. Cheers,” Kol said, raising his own cup. Aphra and Lorina also raised theirs and drank. Kol stared at Riv, arching an eyebrow.
Riv did not feel much like celebrating, still remembering Sariel’s look of revulsion as he had called her an abomination.
But I am still alive, and it looks as if I will not be put to death in the immediate future. That’s something, I suppose.
She sipped red wine from her cup, discovered that she liked the taste.
“That’s the spirit,” Kol said.
Riv found his endless joviality irritating.
A day had passed since Kol’s revelation in the Great Hall, during which Riv had kept herself hidden away in these chambers. She was greatly encouraged by the response of Drassil’s residents to her, after Kol had worked a little of his oratory magic, and a large dose of manipulation.
But alive is alive.
“So, now the Ben-Elim and Drassil’s residents are reconciled to… you—” Kol looked at Riv—“thus paving the way to a more relaxed, intimate relationship between Ben-Elim and mankind.” He drank from his cup, smiled.
“It just leaves Ethlinn and her giants to win over,” Aphra said.
“They will be far easier to pacify than Sariel and his Ben-Elim,” Lorina murmured.
“I should hope so.” Kol sighed. “Though I doubt we have heard the last of Sariel.” He shrugged. “The first and hardest step has been made. As for the giants, I think once the situation is on firm ground here, that I should take my new… figurehead to go and see Ethlinn and her giants.”
Figurehead! Riv didn’t like that.
“Where is Ethlinn?” Riv asked.
“Dun Seren.” Kol sighed again. “I suppose I may as well deal with them as well as the giants and get this all over and done with.”
“The Order of the Bright Star?” Riv said.
“Aye. A den of stiff-necked fools, but stiff-necked fools that we need, at least until the Kadoshim are annihilated.” He smiled.
Kol’s going to take me to the Order of the Bright Star! Riv felt a thrill run through her at that thought. As she grew up with the White-Wings, the warriors of the Bright Star were always considered allies, but also competition. The issue of who was better was an oft-asked question.
We are.
She had seen a small group of the Order before. A scouting party sent to give information to Aphra on a suspected Kadoshim nest. There had been a giant upon one of their great bears—Riv was used to giants and bears, so that hadn’t overly impressed her—as well as a huntsman with a brace of wolven-hounds and two more warriors. They had seemed to lack the discipline and uniformity that the White-Wings prided themselves upon, but they had all displayed a certain grace, an air of self-assurance and fluidity around them. And even when they were just standing, they exuded a confidence, a deep-seated knowledge and security in their abilities that set them apart as masters of their art.
Because war is an art. Just a deadly one.
It will be interesting to finally see them train. Maybe spar with a few of them.
“The Order of the Bright Star are none too fond of me,” Kol said. “I have had… disagreements with them in the past.”
Sound like sensible people. She felt a smile twitch her mouth at the thought.
He shrugged and poured himself some more wine. “The joys of ruling.”
There was a surge of wind through the high-arched window, a turbulence as a Ben-Elim hovered in the air beyond. The guard standing there shifted to block entry, hefting his spear.
“I bear a message from Sariel,” the Ben-Elim beyond the window called out.
“Let him in, Hadran,” Kol said with a gesture, and the Ben-Elim in the window stepped back, raising his spear-point, though Riv noted that Hadran still held it ready.
A Ben-Elim flew into the room, great white wings furling as he touched down gently and approached Kol. He was tall, his hair so fair it was almost white, and classically handsome in the Ben-Elim way, with chiselled features and sharp, intelligent eyes.
He held out a rolled parchment, proffering it to Kol.
“What does it say, Kamael?”
“That you are summoned to the Moot, to answer for your deviation from the Way. It meets two days from now.”