Rhydderch

Rhydderch sat on a bench in the kennel, finishing the last of his ale. Two of his favorite beasts—Brael and Aggie—lay curled at his feet. Brael still limped where the drug-peddler had stabbed her in the neck, almost severing her spine.

Rhydderch narrowed his eyes and took another sip. The peddler had nerve—Rhydderch had to give him that much. Spoiling the man’s wine had been petty, but it had also been the only thing to keep Rhydderch from spoiling his brain.

But it wasn’t Vespasien that was bothering him on this night. Extracting his vengeance on the peddler would be easy enough, when the time was right. Instead, there had been something in the air recently, a tension that left the fibers of his being strung tighter than usual.

It had something to do with Agathe, but the more he watched, the more Rhydderch realized that the oldest Ganlin wasn’t the cause. It was something else.

Disturbed, Rhydderch had spent the past few days looking for it. As of yet, however, his efforts had come up fruitless.

The few times he’d caught a glimpse of the little Rockfarmer girl, Rhydderch’s hair had stood on end. But, unfortunately, he had never been able to pin her down long enough to have a talk with her.

Still, the tension didn’t feel like it was originating with the girl, either. It eddied around her, but the source was somewhere else. He could feel it, almost like the tingly, expectant feeling of veoh, and it filled the entire Spyre.

Ever since that damned drake escaped again, Rhydderch thought, swirling the dregs of his ale in the bottom of his stein.

...and since his dogs had been killed.

Rhydderch had ridden off to chase the peddler through the countryside for almost seven days, and upon his return, the Spyre had been seething with the tense, high-strung feeling that he always got right before something big was going to happen.

The last time he had had this feeling, Etro had invaded on the eastern border, through the Hundredmile Pass, and their surprise attack had taken almost two-thirds of the Vethyle borderlands before the Spyre caught wind of it. Even so, forty-three Aulds died in the battle to push them back through the pass, most of them lost to tszieni.

One of which had never been found.

Rhydderch still remembered following it into the forest, losing it amidst the trees.

After the war, though Etro officially denied using tszieni, Rhydderch had disguised himself and had gone to Etro. He had gotten one of their top generals deep in his cups in one of the border villages, and had listened as the man confessed in tears that they had unleashed hordes of the creatures upon the world.

Rhydderch had gone back to Bryda grim. His troops had missed the one that Thibault had used to spawn them all. The natural tszieni born of his own vile hatred toward everything living. Pathenian.

Thinking of another war with Etro, Rhydderch swirled his ale again, then finished it and set the cup aside. Getting up, he stroked Brael and Aggie, then put them back in their kennels. Then, setting his jaw, he decided to go pay his niece a visit.

As much as he hated being in the same room with her, Rhydderch knew that if there were anyone in the Spyre who knew what trouble was brewing, it was Laelia.

“Come in,” she called, when he knocked on her chambers door. When she saw who stepped through the great mahogany frame, however, her face soured. “Uncle.”

Rhydderch shut the door behind him, then leaned against it and crossed his arms. “What’s happening?”

She smiled up at him, like the innocent child she was not. “Whatever do you mean, Uncle?”

“I mean,” Rhydderch said, “Why does it feel like I’m just waiting for someone to stab me in the back?”

“I really don’t know. Have you investigated your help?”

Rhydderch waited.

Laelia sighed. “I’m going to kill some Ganlins.”

He froze. “What?”

His niece laughed. “Really, Uncle, whose side are you on?”

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“Which Ganlins?” Rhydderch asked, barely able to find the breath to speak. But he already knew. The coldness pooling in his stomach, twisting his gut, told him it was Agathe.

“Don’t fret on it, Uncle. We’ll have you or Cyriaca installed as Auldheim in two months, at most. Leave the details to me.”

Rhydderch uncoiled from his stance and took two steps toward her. “You are going to kill Agathe?” It came out as a whisper.

“You sound displeased,” Laelia laughed, though her eyes glittered with intelligence as she analyzed his reaction.

“I am,” Rhydderch said. “Do you realize the Auldhunds would slaughter us all if they realized you planned on killing the Auldheim of Bryda?”

She waved a dismissive hand. “We’ll kill them, too.”

And, horrified, Rhydderch realized his niece was serious. From past experience, he also knew she had the brilliant, yet cruel mind necessary to plan such an endeavor, and that she would have no qualms with murdering her own kin, should they get in the way. He let out a breath, slowly, and considered killing her right there.

Then he closed his eyes, remembering the babe he had held in his arms the moment Marius had brought her out from the birthing chamber; the little girl sucking her thumb, following him into the kennels; the teenager who had chosen him to be her monitor; the woman who had molded herself after him in all ways but in his empathy for the Ganlins.

“How long have you been planning it?” Rhydderch asked, softly.

“Long enough.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Laelia cocked her head, then let out a mirthless laugh. “Uncle, I’m not stupid.”

“Yet you tell me now?” Rhydderch snapped.

“The plan is already set into motion,” Laelia said. “There’s nothing you could do.”

Those words gave Rhydderch a chill. “Who’s involved?”

“My mentor trained me too well to give you names. Even if you are a Vethyle, sometimes I’m not sure where your loyalties lie.”

Which meant she was willing to kill him. Mentor or no.

At least that made two of them. Rhydderch took a deep breath. “If you kill Agathe—”

“What?” Laelia said coldly. When he said nothing, she stood up, pushing her chair back with a scrape. “What will you do, Uncle? We were going to install you as the next Auldheim, but perhaps we should install you in the tower, instead.”

Rhydderch stared at her. How cold she had grown over the years. How calculating the happy little girl had become. Even when he had been teaching her to play chess and she began to beat him, he had never once thought he would face her like this. He had never thought that she would be the one to make him choose.

“We don’t expect you to kill anyone,” Laelia continued, settling back into her chair, “But we expect you not to get in the way, either.”

“What you are suggesting will start a war,” Rhydderch said.

“Which you would be ideal to fight,” Laelia said. She flashed a cunning smile. “As your record with Etro proves.”

“No!” Rhydderch snapped, slamming his palm against her desk. “Laelia, I don’t know what’s going on in your mind right now—I stopped knowing around your twelfth birthday.”

“The day I beat you at chess,” she said, lips stretching as she remembered.

Rhydderch stared at her. “This isn’t a game. These are lives.”

“Ganlin lives,” Laelia said, staring back at him in cold challenge. “Which matter to me just as much as the lives of the lice that share their beds.”

“You always shared Cyriaca’s unfounded hatred for them,” Rhydderch said softly. “They never did anything to you.”

“You think not?” Laelia laughed. “They killed Ariane. As payment for Agathe’s twin. That little sideshow freak Raedher.”

Raedher isn’t dead, Rhydderch thought. With the thought, he lost the ability to speak.

Laelia leaned forward into the silence. “My little sister was raped and slaughtered by a Ganlin because one of my ancestors killed Brael’s son, four hundred years ago.”

Raedher’s not dead, Rhydderch’s thoughts insisted, stubbornly. Unwanted, they continued, a desperate mantra that had constantly ebbed and flowed in the back of his mind for almost four hundred years. He’s not dead, he’s not dead, he’s not— Then Rhydderch closed his eyes and slammed his fist against the desk to clear his brain.

“My thoughts exactly,” Laelia said, though she leaned back in her chair, giving him an odd look. “Ariane has yet to be avenged, and it seems I’m the only one willing to put in the effort to see it happen.”

Rhydderch peered at her, forced his locked jaw to loosen. After a moment, he managed to bite out, “Cyriaca doesn’t know of this?”

Laelia laughed. “That featherhead? Please, Uncle, you know me better than that.”

Rhydderch did, and it frightened him. “It’s you and Taebin.”

Laelia’s eyes narrowed. “Amongst others.”

Rhydderch stood, and they locked gazes for several moments. Laelia was the first to break contact, under the guise of searching for something on her desk.

“Listen to me,” Rhydderch said, placing his palms on her desk and putting his weight on them. “I have seen war, child. It is not something I want to see again.”

“Then betray us to the Ganlins,” Laelia said, looking up. Her smile was as icy as her eyes. “I can promise you won’t see another one.”

Rhydderch stood up and went to the door.

“And Uncle?” Laelia called.

Rhydderch stopped, but didn’t turn.

“You were a father to me. Those long hours of chess by firelight are my fondest memories. It’s the only reason we didn’t kill you months ago.”

Rhydderch turned back, finding some hope in her statement. “Laelia, if there’s any way I can change your mind—”

Her softness was gone, replaced by frigid danger. “There’s not.”

Taking a deep breath, Rhydderch pulled open the door and went into the hall.

Ten minutes later, he was back at Cyriaca’s party, seating himself beside Agathe. The peddler was still there, laughing across the table with her. “Begone, beggar,” Rhydderch snapped, upon Vespasien’s sulking look. “I must talk to the Auldheim alone.”

“It’s late to talk politics,” Agathe sighed, watching Vespasien rise with her eyes.

Rhydderch waited for the peddler to be out of sight before he said, “Agathe, my niece is going to try to kill a Ganlin very soon. Maybe within days.”

Rhydderch met her startled green eyes, wishing he could tell her everything trapped within his head. Then, like an unwanted fluttering in his brain, he thought, And that Ganlin is going to be you, sister. As soon as the idea passed through his mind, his jaw locked so hard he could barely breathe. When Agathe leaned forward, asking if he was serious, Rhydderch could not speak.

He hurriedly got up and went to his private chambers before she could see his tears.