“Galiana Calestis,” the woman added.
“Hmm,” Ryne said. “Both old Ostanian names unless I miss my guess.”
They gave slight but noticeable starts before acting as if nothing happened.
Ryne swung one leg over the table’s edge and rested his foot on the floor. He stopped when Stefan tensed. “Last I checked I had crossed the Sea of Swirls into Granadia.” Ryne made his tone as conversational as possible. “Of course, my bearings might be wrong. I tend to be bad with directions.” He smiled sheepishly.
Galiana gave an almost imperceptible nod to Stefan. “You are indeed correct. We are of Ostanian descent, but then so are you, if your skin, features, and size are a good judge.”
“I did say I crossed the Sea of Swirls.”
“And you came to Eldanhill for?” The edge in Stefan’s voice could slice skin from flesh.
Ryne smiled again, this time allowing his eyes to become serious. “For your boy, Ancel.”
“How did you-” Stefan cut off, an expression that could crack rocks drifting across his face. “What do you want with my son?”
“I think you both know.”
“What makes you say that?” Galiana shuffled over to a wall and picked up a staff. With the polished wood for support, she tapped her way over to the desk and sat.
Obtaining your divya and putting distance between yourself and me, then. “Well first, if a man appeared with the mess my face feels, carrying a sword like I have, and caused me to use my bow,” Ryne met Stefan’s scowl, “I would either kill him or leave him where he was. I wouldn’t save him.”
“Maybe we did so out of kindness.” Galiana shrugged.
Stefan muttered something under his breath.
“Possible,” Ryne agreed. “However, not only did you save me, but when I mentioned I was here for your son, you didn’t immediately try to kill me. In fact, neither of you appeared the least bit surprised. You showed more shock at me knowing you were Ostanian than at me saying I’m here for the boy.”
“Maybe we aren’t intimidated by you,” Stefan said. “By the way, he’s not a boy. He’s quite the young man.”
Ryne didn’t allow his smile to touch his eyes. “Overconfidence can be a man’s downfall.”
“As self-doubt is the precursor to failure,” Stefan said, finishing the quote from the Disciplines. His eyes narrowed for a moment.
“I would be confident too if with a split second’s thought and a divya bow I could kill a man.” Ryne fingered where the arrow had pierced. “Another reason I realized you both know why I’m here. The fact the weapon worked confirms I’m either a shadeling or a Matii. I’m sure our Galiana here can tell I’m no shadeling. After all, unless I again miss my mark, those golden eyes confirm she’s a Matus of considerable skill, at least a High Shin. Only those who’ve practiced for centuries see such a change.”
Those words brought Galiana to her feet before she eased herself back into her chair.
Ryne smiled at her restraint. “I wonder what that makes you, Stefan? Either there’s been trouble with shadelings in … what did you call it? Eldanhill? Or an issue with Matii. Or maybe both.”
Stefan gave him a grudging nod.
“We can sit here and play this game, but there’s only one reason someone like me ends up linked to one such as your son.” Ryne pointed at his Etchings. “He’s received his first set of these from a netherling. You all felt the surge of Mater he released, how primal those essences were. Precious few exist who can teach him what he needs before his power consumes him and drives him to destroy all he loves. Of those, more than their fair share are insane or will kill anyone who dares approach within a few miles. So, either you can allow me to do what I’ve been summoned for, or I can leave and let events play out as they may.”
Stefan opened his mouth to speak, but Ryne held up his hand.
“Alternatively, I can simply take him. Without me, he will lose control.” Ryne stared down Galiana. “You both know what that entails.”
“I stopped you once, I’ll do so again.” The edge to Stefan’s voice was sharpened silversteel.
Greatsword in hand, Ryne shrugged, swung his other foot casually off the table, and stood, his full height forcing him to bend his neck so he wouldn’t bump his head on the ceiling. “That will not happen twice.”
In response, Stefan’s hand flew to his sword hilt in an eyelid’s blink.
With a shake of his head, Ryne sheathed his weapon in the scabbard on his hip. “I need you to trust me.” He glanced from one to the other. “Both of you.”
“You talk as you do, look as you do, threaten me and mine, and now you ask for trust?” Stefan gave him an incredulous stare.
“Yes. I won’t make things appear less dire than they are. A darkness exists within the boy. He’s hurting. From the look in both your eyes, you’ve seen it. It will consume him if you deny him my help.”
For the last few minutes, Galiana had appeared deep in thought. Now she spoke. “If we are to trust you or begin to, I need to know something.”
Ryne nodded.
“A netherling, one of the most powerful creatures written about in the legends of the world, presumably a descendant of the gods themselves, bestowed a power on Ancel. It tells him someone is coming who will train him. You appear covered in the same power of which he only has a tiny portion.” Galiana’s golden-eyed gaze met his. “Who or what are you, Ryne?”
Ryne allowed his face to become deadly serious. “I’m Ryne, the other part of your legend about gods, netherlings, and daemons. I’m an Eztezian.”
Gasps escaped Stefan, but Galiana appeared unsurprised. An instant later, Stefan’s eyes narrowed, his hand drifting to his sword once more.
“There’s no need to worry,” Ryne said, the lie rolling from his tongue smoothly. “My power is fully under control. I’ve not used enough of it for me to go mad or cause senseless destruction.” But in training your son I will surpass that threshold. He’d long accepted that fact on the way here. Teaching his ward was necessary, even if it meant he sacrificed himself.
In the back of Ryne’s mind, several other pinpoints came to life, bonds similar to the one he had with Ancel, but of a lesser quality. He frowned as they veered away from the path he would have expected. No sense in worrying over them now, they could handle themselves. His purpose here called to him.
Chapter 11
Doubt seeped into Irmina with the thought of the Exalted’s orders to kill Ryne and his mentor. Although she knew it meant Ancel, she prayed she might be mistaken. In her mind, she imagined Ryne visiting Eldanhill only to find he was wrong about the person he thought he’d felt that day in Castere. It helped a little. What didn’t help was picturing Ancel and her when they were younger, flirting, playing together. They would engage in their favorite game of taking a chunk of glass and watching as it reflected rainbow-like colors on the Whitewater Inn’s walls. She gritted her teeth against the memory.
To make the situation even worse was the sinking suspicion that the tiny knot inside her head was Ancel. This close to Eldanhill, she found it incredibly difficult to ignore. And it had grown.
At the Iluminus, her goal seemed so clear. Now, when she considered Ryne’s power and Jerem’s words she wondered how she would be able to complete her mission. She harbored no illusions of defeating Ryne in a fair battle, maybe not even in an unfair one, but she was willing to try. Ryne had said he was going to Eldanhill for Ancel, to help him, and that he needed her too. What can you possibly know of Ancel or me, for that matter?
Hunched into her horse’s saddle, she fidgeted with her clothes, smoothing the front of her thick woolen tunic. The pants fit a bit snug, showing off her shape, but served the purpose of allowing her to tuck the ends inside her boots. She buttoned her fur-lined overcoat once again.