Serpent's Claim (Serpent's Touch 2)

KYLLEN

He pushed the lightweight board ahead with even strokes of his paddle. The lake was choppy from all the water traffic at this evening hour. He had to spread his feet wide apart and crouch down a bit to keep his balance.

It’d been two days since Queen Amira announced the tournament to the cheer of the people. Excitement had been buzzing in the air ever since. The nobles welcomed the chance to compete for the crown, even if it came with the queen’s hand attached to it. And the common folks cherished the prospect of more games and festivities. It wasn’t every day that High Lords were willing to die for their entertainment.

The tournament was the day after tomorrow, and he was on his way to secure an ally.

The golden season had started, cooling the air and replacing the green in the tree canopies with yellow.

The sunset was in full bloom, painting the sky and the lake in a vivid palette of gold, orange, and red. Gold-winged dragonflies glided over the water. The tavern where he was heading was already surrounded by swarms of lighting bugs. Clusters of them hung under the lattice that served as an awning over the rafts with tables. The sectional rafts were placed around a thick trunk of a tree on the outskirts of Ufaris.

Several patrons were sitting at the tables. Some were still finishing their dinner. Others had already taken enough of the after-dinner wine to be unsteady on their feet.

A customer stumbled to one of the paddle boards tied to the dock by the entrance.

“Hey, Ezon!” A barmaid carrying six steins of sweet wine, three in each hand, yelled at him. “Are you sure you can get home on your own?”

Ezon waved her off, mumbling something incomprehensible. With a lurch forward, he stumbled onto one of the boards, lost his footing, and plopped into the water, face first.

The patrons at the tables laughed, stomping their feet and slapping their thighs. Setting the wine steins on the table, the barmaid snickered, propping her hands on her ample hips.

Kyllen braced his legs against the wake from Ezon’s fall. Once the swell had passed, he maneuvered his board next to the unfortunate fellow.

The man was floating in the lake, his face down, his light brown senties spread in a circle around his head, making it look like a twenty-four-legged squid.

Kyllen grabbed the rope from the front of his board and threw it over one of the pegs in the dock. Once on the more stable surface of the tavern raft, he reached for Ezon and grabbed him by the back of his tunic. He hauled the poor fellow onto one of the tied-up boards. The man snorted, shifting into a more comfortable position, but didn’t wake up.

“Thanks, my lord.” The barmaid sauntered toward Kyllen. “He’s a lightweight, that one. A jug of lily ale was all it took. He’ll be fine after a nap. Are you here for dinner?”

“I’m meeting someone here.”

“Oh, of course.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Well, follow me inside then.”

Unlike the much larger outdoor portion of the tavern, the inside of the small building attached to the tree was completely empty save for one customer. Dressed in black, he sat at the table by the window. With his chair placed away from the golden glow of the sunset, he remained shrouded in the shadows.

“Is that the man you are here to see?” the barmaid asked them both.

The other man nodded.

“Yes.” Kyllen moved another chair to the table and took a seat.

“Wine?” the barmaid offered.

A blown-glass stein full of golden honey wine stood on the table in front of the other lord.

“Sure.” Kyllen nodded, and the barmaid departed.

Lord Adriyel, the heir to the High Lord of Mevon, folded his hands on the table in front of him. His dark-blue senties lay motionlessly on his shoulders, demonstrating the enviable control he’d mastered over his emotions. He waited until the barmaid delivered Kyllen’s wine.

“I believe I know the reason you requested a meeting with me, my lord,” Adriyel said in a calm, even voice when the woman had left.

“Right. The tournament.” Kyllen took a swig of wine from his stein. Cool and sweet, it was rather strong. He had to pace himself, drinking that.

“You’re looking for an alliance.” It wasn’t a question. Adriyel didn’t seem surprised.

The rules of the tournaments were clear and simple, every contestant performed solo, each competed for himself against the other twenty-three participants.

However, contestants had rarely been punished for bending the rules. In fact, forming alliances had long been regarded as a cunning strategy to improve one’s chances of winning. Though in the true fae fashion, backstabbing also happened often.

Adriyel slid the tip of his finger up his stein. “Many others have already asked me.”

“But you haven’t agreed yet, have you? Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here now.”

The lord gave only a noncommittal shrug in reply.

A century older than Kyllen, Lord Adriyel was in great physical shape. He also seemed exceptionally motivated, more than any other High Lord that Kyllen had the pleasure of interacting with in the past two days.

“I’ve seen you on a board,” Adriyel finally said. “Your skills are impressive.”

Kyllen smirked. “I’ve won quite a few tournaments back in my time.”

“I’ve heard.” Adriyel wrapped his long fingers around the handle of his stein but didn’t take a drink.

There was nothing exceptional about Adriyel’s skills on the board, but that wasn’t why Kyllen wanted the lord on his side.

“I’ve heard you’re ruthless in battle.”

“Mhh,” Adriyel conceded with a hum. “I’m unstoppable,” he said with obvious pride.

“We’ll make a great team, then.”

Adriyel cast a glance from under his brow. “Depends on the promises you’re willing to make.”

A trickle of unease prickled down Kyllen’s spine.

Promises severely limited one’s freedom. Some of them were short and straightforward. They only lasted until they were fulfilled. Some were conditional—if one party failed to deliver on the condition, the other was automatically relieved from their part of the agreement. Others, like the one he had made to Amira, were a lifetime commitment.

The promise to her didn’t burden him. Giving one to Lord Adriyel, however, was a different matter entirely.

Adriyel continued with a slightly bored impression, “So far, I’ve been tempted with riches, favors, lands, and a couple of rather appealing brides. What do you have to offer me?”

“The Crown of Lorsan.”

A ripple ran down Lord Adriyel’s senties. His eyes flashed with ambition. He quickly schooled his expression into that of calm indifference again. But Kyllen knew his offer got the lord’s attention. Adriyel wanted to be the next king. Badly.

With the High Lord of Mevon on his death bed already, Adriyel was the sole uncontested heir to his father’s throne. But he obviously aimed higher.

“The crown is not yours to give,” Adriyel said skeptically.

“It could be if I won the tournament the day after tomorrow.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Help me defeat the others. Then, when it’s only the two of us left, the crown is yours. I’ll give it up in your favor, even if I win. With me, your chances of getting the crown would be that much higher.”

Adriyel stared at him suspiciously, and not a little confused. He then leaned back with a smirk.

“Do you honestly think I believe you? Why would anyone give up the prize they won?” The heir of Mevon certainly wouldn’t. Everything in his posture and expression screamed that.

Kyllen laced his fingers on the table in front of him and said as earnestly as he could, “I don’t want to be the king.”

Adriyel just scoffed at that, making a move to get up.