Prince of Storms by Kay Kenyon Read Free Book Online Page A

could be as they had been—on the steppe with her one true friend—she would gladly give up the crystal bridge, the people’s love. The coming war.

    The old Jout had seen villainy in his day, but never murder. Now four citizens lay in their own blood on the Ascendancy’s hangar floor, struck down by Tarig lords.
    Breund felt sickened and angry, and though he was old and no great personage, he spat out at the nearest lord, “These deaths will be remembered.”
    The lord’s hand came up, claws extruded.
    â€œLeave him be.” Lord Inweer had moved between Breund and the other lord. “He is mine.”
    The claws retracted. “Kill him yourself, then.”
    Breund steeled himself, though his petaled skin would make him hard to kill with mere claws. Lord Inweer resented him, he felt sure. Constantly at the lord’s side, ready to report any irregularities. But Inweer made no move.
    Across the hangar, Tarig crowded into the brightships. Just the solitaires, of course. The ones who feared the Heart.
    The lord who had threatened him said, “We must all leave at once. Choose your ship, Cousin.”
    Lord Inweer’s deep voice came softly. “But all these ships are going to the same place. Therefore there is no difference among them.”
    â€œNo, my lord, we will separate. We will spread out.”
    â€œStill. The brightships will fall from the sky.” Lord Inweer surveyed the five ships, adding, “Each one.”
    â€œAh? That never fell from the sky before?”
    â€œA manner of speaking, Cousin. But you will all perish. Where can you go? We are hated, blamed for the Long War, despised for our very selves. Better to stay.”
    Breund allowed a deep breath to fill his chest. Lord Inweer would stay. Breund would keep his prisoner. The regent had chosen a congregant of the Red Throne to watch over Lord Inweer, and it would not redound to the society’s credit should he fail.
    The other Tarig stared blackly. “Titus Quinn will force us back to the Heart. We will lose our particularity. You are one of us, Cousin. You wish to reform in the fire?”
    â€œOne does not wish it, but Titus Quinn can reprieve. He needs us.”
    â€œHe does not. He will have the Jinda ceb Horat. You are foolish, Cousin. With our lesser cousins, you will walk into the fire.” He turned and strode toward the nearest brightship.
    Lord Inweer watched as the lord leapt through the open access hatch of the ship. The gap closed behind him. Inweer murmured, “Your regent will not banish this bright lord, Breund. Do not fear losing your post.”
    Breund had never asked to be the lord’s keeper and did not, in fact, fear losing his position so much as his good name.
    A shimmer overhead. The shield above the hangar had evaporated. Without pause, the brightships leaped from their berths, rushing into the air like a flock of dragons. In perfect synchronicity, they shot out at angles, separating toward what might be their destinations in the five primacies. But who knew the Tarig mind? Surely not Breund, a retired merchant, an elder of the Red Throne, a common sentient who never knew the Ascendancy until the change of power came upon them.
    He watched as the brightships vanished into the bright. What could they hope to do, these solitaires? Who would they rule, or where would theyfind mansions to contain them? Titus Quinn would pursue them. Oh, but now all the ships were gone. Perhaps, when the Jinda ceb came, they would build new ones.
    The lord gestured toward the nearest doorway, flicking his wrist in a casual gesture. “Make your report, Breund.”
    â€œFirst we look to the wounded.” Breund kneeled down beside the nearest guard.
    â€œWhen a Tarig means to kill, success is usual.”
    The lord might be right, but Breund knelt to his task, by each of the four guards. The solitaires had dispatched all of them with a stroke to each throat. So close to