Storm and Steel by Jon Sprunk Read Free Book Online

thing. He followed the pattern through each of the four elemental quadrants to the central circle, inside which sat the figure of a tiny man stitched in bright platinum thread. When he had first started meditating with the ganzir , the pattern had served to calm his mind as well as focus it. But lately that tranquility had become more and more elusive. Rather than moving forward, it felt like his study of the zoana was regressing, which only made him feel less confident, feeding a cycle of uncertainty and apprehension. Lord Ubar tried to help, but it seemed no one could diagnose this particular problem, which made it all the more infuriating.
    Each day he expected a revelation, a sudden epiphany that would make sense of this power dwelling inside him. Yet day after day, week upon week, he fought and struggled for the barest scraps, failing far more often than he succeeded.
    He'd learned that the power was often passed down from parent to child, which explained the structure of Akeshian society. However, nothing in the texts he'd read said anything about outlander magic. His parents, for certain, had possessed no special gifts of mysticism, or anyone else in his family. His entire life before the crusade had been mundane, with neither great sorrows nor extravagant bliss. Until he'd lost Sari and Josef. And since that day, nothing had been the same. Some part of him had driven him to the sea after their deaths to seek his own obliteration. Suicide hadn't been a conscious decision, but looking back he could see how he had been on a path to self-destruction.
    Then he'd wrecked on the shores of this new, ancient, bloodthirsty land, and everything had changed. Battered and floundering, he clung to the only lifeline within reach—his power—and prayed it would someday carry him to a safe haven. Each night he went to sleep exhausted and disappointed.
    He let out a deep breath and stood up, his joints aching as if he'd been sitting for hours. The image of the dark clouds lingered. It's gone now. Just a figment of my imagination.
    The words did nothing to ease his anxiety as he crossed the room. Large and beautifully decorated, with marble accents and fine hardwood furniture that reminded him of the great palaces of Avice, this borrowed suite was on the same floor as the queen's apartments. But in a different wing, for which he was especially grateful. It wasn't easy living in the royal presence for a ship-builder of modest birth.
    He left the parlor to enter the bedchamber. Horace took off his sleeping robe and tossed it on the bed as he went to one of the two large wardrobes. Selecting a lightweight tunic and skirt, he put them on with a pair of comfortable sandals. When he had finished lacing the footwear, he looked himself over in the tall cheval glass in the corner. The white silk tunic was embroidered with gold thread in interconnected squares along the high collar and down the neck. The same pattern was repeated down the side of the long skirt and around the bottom. The broad leather belt had rings to hold a scabbard, but he didn't have a weapon here. He'd decided to leave the blade of the First Sword at home. After all, this was supposed to be a vacation.
    His hair was getting long. He pulled it back in a queue like the young Akeshian men wore but then decided to let it hang free. No use pretending to be something I'm not. Not that anyone would let me forget I'm a foreign savage, even if I shaved it all off.
    He was heading back out to the parlor when the suite door opened and a young male slave entered. He bowed from the waist and said, “The queen is ready for your arrival.”
    He was the first to arrive.
    Twelve red leather couches surrounded the long dining table. Goblets of beaten gold and crystal were arrayed on the polished surface along with avariety of porcelain bowls and cups. At first glance Horace took the utensils to be gold, too. Then he looked closer at the pale hue and decided they must be an