Oathbreaker Read online

  Daniella met Kenton’s dark eyes, and though she rarely felt that she had any idea what was going through that man’s thick skull, she knew they were now thinking the same thing.

  Putting a blade to Daniella’s throat could be a very bad idea.

  Daniella swallowed. Maybe this was also a bad idea. Going to Kenton for help?

  Kenton released Nikaenor, who stumbled forward and stretched his arms out with a wince. “Fine, go get some food. We’ll try again later.”

  Nikaenor grinned his thanks at Daniella, and she couldn’t help but smile back. It was still hard sometimes to remember that Saara, fierce and driven and now the queen of an entire nation, was roughly the same age as guileless Nikaenor. And yet, though Daniella respected Saara in many ways, she knew which one of them she’d pick to have as a younger sibling in a heartbeat.

  Kenton slid the dagger back into the sheath in his belt and eyed her warily as Nikaenor bounded off to the galley. “I take it you aren’t here for self-defense lessons?”

  The snide hint to his tone made her want to tell him she wasn’t here for anything to do with him at all actually, that he didn’t own the boat deck. But that would make asking for his help more difficult. And really, he hadn’t been nearly as obnoxious to her since Berlaith. He’d mostly just been . . . wary.

  Which, she supposed, was justified.

  She chewed the inside of her cheek before answering. “I actually wanted to talk. To you. About . . . me.”

  He raised his eyebrow, but, to his credit, didn’t respond.

  Damn it. Why were even simple conversations so difficult with him? “About what I did, back in Tir Neren. And about, um.” She looked down at her feet. “About what I did to your father.”

  When she glanced back up at him, he was studying her carefully.

  “All right,” he said, folding his arms and leaning back against the ship’s railing in a deceptively casual pose.

  She hesitated. “I don’t remember killing him.” She believed he’d seen it, though she didn’t know how she could have done that, as a small child—killed a man who wasn’t even threatening her.

  Then again, she didn’t know exactly how she had killed the guards who had been threatening her. And if she didn’t know how she killed, then she couldn’t hope to keep herself from doing it again.

  Kenton nodded, looking briefly out at the sea. “You were young, though. Very young. It makes sense that you wouldn’t remember.”

  “Right.” Daniella scuffed the toe of her calf-skin shoe against the deck. She hadn’t told anyone about this next bit—not Jaeme, not Perchaya or Sayvil—and yet here she was, about to tell Kenton, of all people.

  Still, as much as she hated the thought, it felt right. She needed someone who knew it didn’t matter whose fault it was or how Daniella felt about it. Someone whose main priority would be the same as hers—figuring out what she was and how to keep her from killing again.

  She drew in a deep breath. “There’s more, though. More that I don’t remember. I think what happened in Tir Neren, how I killed all those people at once . . . I think that wasn’t the first time.”

  Kenton’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything.

  Ignoring the pit in her stomach, she continued. “I told you how I overheard Erich and Lukos in the Chamber of Binding, how they said I was a weapon. But after, Erich came to my room. He told me that I’d killed people before. Lots of people.”

  Kenton nodded slowly. “Other Drim, like my father.”

  “No. He was talking about when I was older, when I was eleven. He said—” Her throat tightened against the words she didn’t want to say. “He said my father locked me up for months, and I went mad. And one day I just—I killed people. Through the walls, he said. Guards and servants, I don’t know how many. I didn’t—I couldn’t—believe him at the time, but now . . .”

  Kenton straightened, no longer even feigning casualness. “I suppose I understand why you’d want to leave that bit out when you didn’t want me shipping you back in a gift-wrapped package to your father. But why tell me now?”

  “Because I don’t remember.” Tears pricked at her eyes, and she blinked them away. “I was eleven years old and I was locked up in a dungeon for almost a year, but I have no memory of that. I remember I was sick that year. I remember being on a country estate with my governess. I remember spending most of my time in bed but taking walks in the fresh air when my legs were strong enough.”

  “Maybe that was the following year. Maybe your father sent you away after you killed all those people.”

  For once she was grateful for Kenton’s bluntness. How he didn’t try to assure her of her innocence, but just stated the facts.

  I killed all those people.

  She shook her head. “No. Erich said it was the same year. That I wasn’t ill, not like I remember. I don’t think I was ever on a country estate at all. I think my real memories were taken from me and replaced with something else. You’ve spent years trying to figure out what my father is doing, right? Figuring out the prophecy and how to stop him. I just thought—do you know if that’s even possible? To change someone’s memories?”

  Kenton considered for a few moments. “There are herbs that can make a person forget the past few hours and Vorgalian potions that can do so for a day, but months’ worth of memories? Even if you were being fed that potion every day, I would think at least some memories would slip through. And that doesn’t take into account the adding of new memories. That I’ve never heard of at all.”

  “What about blood magic?” Daniella repressed a shudder. “That’s what I’ve been doing somehow, isn’t it?”

  Kenton ran a hand through his dark hair, looking back out to the sea again. “It seems so.” He sighed and shook his head. “But it’s also something new or different. Blood magic requires blood to activate. A specific person’s blood to control them, or another’s blood in general to do various things, like how Lukos increased his size and strength. Blood and years of training in how to use it. Both times I’ve seen you kill, you’ve had neither.”

  Both times. And there were times he hadn’t seen. Maybe more times than she even knew of. “But the memories? Could that have been blood magic?”

  Kenton shrugged. “I can’t say for certain, but I’ve heard many tales of blood magic powers, and that’s never been one of them.”

  Having read so many books herself, history and philosophy and even fictions, she was forced to agree. Nothing like that was ever mentioned. The disappointment was sharp. Ridiculous, too—she was upset now that maybe this wasn’t blood magic?

  No, she was disappointed because she had no answers. And no answers meant no solutions. No way to guarantee she wouldn’t hurt anyone else.

  Daniella gripped the railing tight enough that her fingers ached. “Will you . . .” She trailed off, one last stubborn gasp of pride catching the words in her throat. “Will you help me figure it out? If I can get my memories back, my real ones, maybe I can piece it together. What I am. What I can do.”

  She grimaced, knowing what he had every right to say. We already know what you can do. We almost died because of it.

  But he didn’t. He continued to study her. “You’d want your memories back of something like that?”

  “I don’t want any of this,” she said. “But I don’t think that matters, does it?”

  He nodded, and she thought she saw a flicker of something like respect in his eyes. “You know, I thought we should leave you in Tir Neren. I thought bringing you with us was too great a risk.”

  The sea air tossed her hair up, and it swirled around her face like streams of blood. “Why didn’t you?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Jaeme told me where I could stick the Earthstone he’d never help me find.”

  A smile tugged at her lips, and her heart thumped a bit harder, remembering the warmth of Jaeme�
��s lips against hers. The feeling of complete safety in his arms.

  A safety she could never return for him.

  “I still think it’s too great a risk,” Kenton said flatly. “But yes. I’m willing to help you prove me wrong.”

  She blinked against the tears that had formed again, tears she didn’t want to shed in front of him, of all people. She knew she should thank him, but he’d already turned away, gathering up a few training weapons from the deck.

  So she walked away, more emotions than she could sort churning in her heart. She’d almost made it back to the ladder leading down to the cabins when Perchaya emerged.

  Perchaya’s wide smile slipped when she saw Daniella’s face. “Daniella, what’s—” Her eyes caught sight of Kenton, and she groaned. “Did you two fight again?”

  “No,” Daniella assured her quickly. “No, it was fine.”

  “Good,” Perchaya said, though her eyes still lingered on Kenton for a moment longer. “Were you looking for Jaeme? Because I’m pretty sure Sayvil strong-armed him into helping her sort all the new herbs she picked up in Tirostaar. And I’m also pretty sure he’d appreciate the distraction.” Perchaya’s smile became sly.

  Daniella flushed. She hadn’t told Perchaya about the kiss, though she’d wanted to, several times. But something always stopped her. The same something, perhaps, that kept her from seeking out time alone with Jaeme, from reaching out to hold his hand or folding herself into his arms again, no matter how much she longed to do so.

  She couldn’t bear to think about her feelings for him, about what they could mean. She couldn’t bear to discover that the things he seemed to feel for her were, as with Erich, shallow shadows of real love.

  She couldn’t stand the thought of looking in his eyes when he realized she wasn’t worth it. Or worse, of corrupting him somehow, like Erich.

  “Daniella?” Perchaya eyed her with concern. “Are you sure you’re okay? Because if Kenton said something, if I need to talk to him . . .”

  Of all the emotions swirling through her, all the fear and guilt and horror, one fought its way to the forefront. She threw her arms around Perchaya the way Perchaya had done for her in the throne room, hugging her tightly.

  Perchaya stiffened only for a heartbeat, from surprise, but quickly returned the hug, and hot tears rolled down Daniella’s cheeks.

  Kenton had wanted to leave her in Tirostaar, but he hadn’t. For once in her life, she’d been included, even if grudgingly. She hoped that what Kenton said was possible—that somehow, by discovering the truth, she could prove she wasn’t dangerous.

  Never in all her life had Daniella wanted so much to be wrong.

  Four

  As their sailboat docked in the town of Ithale, Kenton found it reminded him of exactly every other small fishing village they’d just sailed past. The streets were narrow, lined crookedly with small houses and run-down shops, which were closed now as the day was gasping out its last pinkish-golden breath.

  Perchaya stood at the ship’s rail beside him, her pack at her feet. “This is it, then,” she said. “Back on Diamis’ soil.” She didn’t look frightened, only determined. No matter how long they traveled together, Kenton continued to be impressed by her ability to narrowly escape violence and terror and then stand back up and do it again.

  It was true of all of them, he supposed. But some of the others annoyed him so often he forgot to be impressed.

  “Do you think the godstone is in Ithale?” Perchaya asked.

  Kenton sighed. Nikaenor had insisted that he didn’t feel inclined to get off the boat at any of the other ports, only to continue back to his family’s inn. But while Saara’s god had been housed in her family’s home, one look at Ithale told Kenton that not one building had been standing for all of a hundred years, let alone the millennium that would be required for the stone to be found there. “I don’t know,” Kenton said. “But I know I want to get out of here and into Mortiche as quickly as possible.”

  “Diamis won’t know we’re here,” she said. “He won’t know where we’re landing, so he won’t have as many soldiers on hand as he did in Peldenar.” She paused, fidgeting with the end of the long sleeve of her simple linen dress. “Speaking of, something’s been bothering me.”

  “What’s that?” Kenton asked, watching as the bosun threw a rope to shore. One of the dock workers attached it to a crank and drew the ship in.

  “Why didn’t he kill us?” Perchaya asked. “When Diamis had me prisoner, he kept me alive to get to you. But then when Erich met up with you—”

  “It wasn’t so easy to kill me as all that,” Kenton said. “If you recall.”

  “I know, but Erich didn’t try. He said his orders were to take you alive to the Lord General, and he was going to do it. Until you made him angry enough to go against his commander.”

  Kenton shrugged. “You’re the one who ran him over with a wagon.”

  “I’m serious,” Perchaya said. “If Diamis needs us dead to free Maldorath, why tell Erich to bring us in alive?”

  Kenton sighed. “Hubris, I guess. Diamis has been hunting me since I was six years old, and you practically since you were born. After all that time, I suppose he wants to look us in the eyes before he kills us.”

  “That doesn’t seem like a very good reason,” Perchaya said. “It’s not what you would do.”

  Kenton shot her a look. “And you think Diamis and I have so much in common?”

  “Of course not. But you’re both good soldiers with a sense for tactics. Diamis didn’t get to where he is by prioritizing grudges over expediency.”

  “I don’t know,” Kenton said. “Killing all of our people, one by one, down to a man—that seems like a plan born of a grudge to me.”

  “I just think there might be more to it,” she said. “I mean, Daniella was the one to kill your father. A two-year-old doesn’t make for the most efficient weapon, powerful magic or no. Why send a child to do a sword-hand’s job? There has to be some explanation, some reason he can’t just kill us.”

  He’d considered this point before and never come to any solid conclusions. After all, his father might have been killed by Daniella, but plenty of other Drim had been struck down by soldier’s blades. “It’s entirely possible.”

  Perchaya eyed him. “Do you have any idea what that reason could be?”

  Kenton shook his head. “And I intend to stay far enough ahead of Diamis’ men that I never have to find out.”

  When the plank was lowered and the boat lashed to the deck, they all hefted their packs and descended into the town of Ithale. It looked no less dingy and dilapidated on closer inspection. Also, it reeked of fish.

  “Mmm, fish,” Perchaya remarked with a grimace.

  “Come on, it’s not that bad,” Nikaenor said, loping up beside them. “In fact, it’s starting to make me hungry.”

  “Does anyone else see the irony in that?” Jaeme asked. He grinned at Daniella as she jabbed him in the ribs.

  Sayvil wrinkled her nose in disgust.

  Nikaenor turned around mid-stride and stumbled back a few paces. “What’s gross about that? I’ve eaten fish my whole life. Just because I get scaly occasionally doesn’t mean I am one.”

  “You never know,” Jaeme said. “I hadn’t heard that Mirilina was goddess of cannibalism, but if the shoe fits—”

  Nikaenor scowled at Jaeme, but the knight only laughed. “Plenty of fish eat other fish,” Nikaenor muttered. “It’s not cannibalism.”

  The boy’s scowl didn’t last long. They turned down a street that to Kenton seemed even more pungent, and Nikaenor pointed excitedly. “There it is!” he said. “Home!”

  The building he was pointing to was easily the largest on the street, and one of the few in town with an upper floor. Light spilled out from the windows, and the wooden sign swinging above the door read “Fish Hook Inn.
”

  They moved toward the inn with a quicker step—no doubt all of them looking forward, as Kenton was, to tall drinks and real beds that didn’t sway in the night with the waves.

  The night was early, but the tavern was still less crowded than Kenton had imagined it would be. A few tables were filled with travelers taking their supper and local fishermen nursing their ales. A portly middle-aged woman with a large tray heaped with bread and steaming bowls of soup bustled past them with barely a glance, except to shout “Welcome to the Fish Hook! Seat yourselves and I’ll be with you soon!” By the time she finished speaking, she was already passing out the bowls to a nearby table and chatting amiably with the patrons there.

  Nikaenor looked after the woman with a stunned expression. “Mum—” he said, but he was cut off as a young towheaded boy came hurtling at him and attached to his leg with a gleeful cry of “Kaeno! Kaeno!”

  Nikaenor laughed. “At least Tam notices me.” He bent down towards the child. “How are you, Tam?”

  The boy beamed up at his brother. “I hurted my fumb.” He removed the wounded thumb from his nostril for display.

  Nikaenor’s mother wheeled around at the commotion and stared openmouthed. “Nikaenor! By the Four, you’re back!” She enveloped Nikaenor in a hug, then immediately started tsking at the shaggy state of his blond hair. The patrons were now watching the group with great interest.

  Attention. Just what they needed.

  “Nikaenor,” Kenton said. “Perhaps you could show us to some rooms and—”

  But neither Nikaenor nor his mother seemed to hear him.

  “—it took you far too long to write to us,” the woman was saying. “And on your way to Tirostaar of all places. What on earth were you doing there? I’ve been worried sick about you and—”

  Kenton stepped up and put a hand on Nikaenor’s shoulder. “You wrote your mother,” he said in a low voice.

  Nikaenor winced. “Technically, Sayvil wrote the letter for me.”

  Kenton shook his head. He turned to the others. “Did anyone else write home?”