Kieri’s stomach twisted; dark memories stirred deep in his mind. “I do not,” he said past clenched teeth. “What are you doing here?” His hand moved to his sword.
The man ran his hand under Falki’s chin, lifting it a little, and slipped his fingers into the neck of the child’s shirt and ripped the light fabric, baring his chest. “I have missed this,” he said. Falki twisted, distress on his face. The man leaned a little forward and pressed his lips to the boy’s hair. “Shhh …” he said. “Be still, child.” Kieri could feel the power in the man’s voice. Tears welled in Falki’s eyes.
“Get away from him,” Kieri said. The memories rose to the surface—what he and Arian had talked of—what he had most feared. He pushed them back. It could not be … it must not be.
“Would you rather I petted you?” the man asked. Then, in a voice Kieri had never forgotten, “Kneel to me!”
Kieri’s knees loosened for a moment, then rage swamped all fear as he knew without a doubt what mind lay behind that unfamiliar weathered face. “You …” he breathed. “Sekkady.”
“Ah, yes. I knew you would remember soon enough. You thought you had escaped me, didn’t you? And so you did, for a while … but I knew the time would come.” The man who had been many men, including the Duke of Immer, and was now once more Edigone Baron Sekkady smiled a too-familiar smile. “A long wait makes the feast sweeter. Kneel to me, vas’tanho.”
“No,” Kieri said. He could scarcely breathe for the mix of horror and rage. He struggled to remember what of his magery might work against Sekkady.
“No? Do you not care for your child? Have you forgotten so much?” The hands moved, one finger stiffening—Falki flinched, eyes wide, but still silent.
The words came into Kieri’s mind and out his mouth in a long flow of power; Sekkady’s arms flew wide, strained back. Kieri took the three strides to Falki, picked him up and cradled him, then stepped back.
“You—you—I took that from you—” Sekkady said. “You have no powers.”
“No,” Kieri said again. As the man tried to stand, Kieri spoke another word of power and knocked him flat. “How many have you destroyed, Sekkady, outliving your own body to seek me? And why? You had other slaves.” Falki whimpered softly. He spoke to his son. “There, lad. It’s over.”
“It’s not! You will kneel—you will see your child as you were—”
“Be silent,” Kieri said with a flick of his fingers. The man’s mouth moved, but no sound came out. “You silenced others: now I silence you. You will speak only to answer my questions … and you will answer.” Deep in his mind he felt the touch of Sekkady’s power and tossed it away. “How many lives?”
“Hundreds—thousands—what does it matter? Not all were spent hunting you …” Now the voice was harsh, strained.
“And you pulled their power, their life, into your bloodstone,” Kieri said. “You still have it, I’m sure.”
The man’s eyes shifted, a quick glance that told Kieri where. That pocket, of all the pockets in his shabby clothes, or in a pouch beneath.
Kieri heard a sound behind him. He turned and saw Arian behind him, face white as salt, eyes blazing, her sword drawn, and with her two of her Squires, one of them holding Tilla. How long had she been there? What had she heard? “I will deal with this,” he said to them. “Arian, take Falki and Tilla out of this.”
“I want to kill him,” Arian said a little breathlessly. Kieri had never seen that expression on her face before.
“No, love,” he said. “You could, of course—but you must not. It would hurt you in the end.”
“No one came for you,” she said, “but I have come—why should you bear it all?”
“Someone did come in the end. And as for why: I am the king.”
Her expression softened a little.
“Yes,” he said, as if she’d spoken. “Put up your sword and take our son. Our very brave son,” he said, nuzzling Falki’s neck. “You were brave and good,” he said to the boy as Arian sheathed her sword and moved to his side. “And you will remember that and little else.”
“Kieri—”
“Do not fear,” he said. He did not fear. He had passed through his greatest fear and lived; he had saved his son before his son had been hurt as he had been. Sekkady no longer controlled him; that threat about the bloodstone had been a lie. He felt calm then, neither enraged nor terrified … that had passed. Falk, he thought, had taken it away, leaving him the power to think, to make decisions.