Free Unhewn Throne 01 - The Emperor's Blades by Brian Staveley Page A

wasn’t there to do a ’Kent-kissing thing about it.”
    She shook her head. “It’s not your fault, Valyn.”
    “I know,” he replied, reaching for his ale.
    She stopped his hand with her own, forcing him to look at her. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have protected him.”
    “I know,” he said again, trying to believe the words. “I know, but maybe I can protect Kaden.”
    “Two months,” she said once more, leaning in as though to will her patience upon him. “Just hold on.”
    Valyn freed his hand, took a deep swig from his tankard, then nodded.
    Before he could otherwise respond, however, the door clattered open and Sami Yurl stepped in. The youth scanned the low room with an expression of amused distaste. He had left his father’s gilded halls nearly ten years ago, but he still seemed to regard the workmanlike buildings of Hook and the other Islands as beneath his dignity, and he crossed under the lintel as though condescending to enter.
    “Wench,” he said, snapping his fingers at Salia. “Wine. Whatever’s not watered down too horribly. And a clean glass this time, or I’ll introduce you to my displeasure.”
    Salia cringed and bowed her way toward the kitchens, nodding obsequiously.
    Lin growled deep in her throat, and Yurl, as though he heard the sound, turned to the corner table where she and Valyn sat. Salia came hurrying back with the full glass of wine, and he took it without looking at her, then raised it toward Valyn with a smirk.
    “Congratulations! One step closer to the throne!”
    Valyn moved his tankard to the side slowly, then reached down for the handle of his belt knife. Lin caught his wrist beneath the table, her grip surprisingly strong.
    “Not now,” she hissed.
    Blood hammered in Valyn’s ears, behind his eyes. It was partly the ale—he understood that dimly—but only Lin’s hand kept him from drawing the knife.
    “Not now,” she said again. “You fight him, and you’ll end up in the brig for the Trial. Is that what you want?”
    Yurl watched the whole scene from a few paces away, sipping at his wine with an amused smile. Like Valyn and Ha Lin, he had left his swords behind, relying on his belt knife and Kettral blacks to keep Hook’s more enterprising criminals at bay. Valyn flexed his hand beneath the table. Yurl’s knifework was good, better than good, but nothing like his swordplay. Knife against knife, Valyn would have a chance. Not to kill the bastard—he’d end up hanged for that—but to cut him down a peg or two … but then, as Lin had already pointed out, he’d miss his chance at the Trial. He put his hands back on top of the table deliberately.
    Yurl smiled even wider. “Don’t tell me you don’t want the Unhewn Throne,” he mused, grinning.
    “My brother has Intarra’s eyes,” Valyn grated. “My brother will sit the throne.”
    “How filial.” Yurl turned his attention to Ha Lin. “And what about you? You figure if you fuck His Most Radiant Highness here enough times, you can ride his gilded cock to wealth and glory?”
    It was a groundless gibe. Despite Valyn’s confusing feelings for Lin, they had never so much as kissed. If they shared a blanket sometimes on a miserable patrol exercise, all the Kettral did as much—it was just to stay alive, shivering against each other beneath the woolen fabric, trying to save a little warmth from the hard ground below and the chill air above. The truth was, Valyn went out of his way to avoid such situations, wary, lest she realize he thought of her as more than a fellow soldier. Yurl, however, had never bothered much with the truth.
    “Don’t be hard on yourself,” Lin sneered, “just because you don’t measure up.”
    The youth chuckled as though amused, but Valyn could see the jest had hit home. Of all the people on the Islands, only Yurl seemed to harbor any lust for Valyn’s position.
    He sneered, then turned toward the bar.
    “This wine is swill,” he said to Salia, dropping the