Free Gonji: The Soul Within the Steel: The Deathwind Trilogy, Book Two by T. C. Rypel

Garth.
    “Herr Gundersen, how is Wilfred? I miss him so—oh my!” Quickly dismissing her startled expression at Garth’s bruises, she stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, and after a moment’s hesitation the burly smith self-consciously bent to oblige her.
    “He’s fine,” Garth said. “Stubborn as always.” He averted his eyes from hers, rather rudely, it seemed to the others.
    “ Bitte , tell him to have a care. It’s so dreadful around here these days. The castle is full of dangers. The soldiers are everywhere. Monsters and giants roam the grounds freely. Have you seen them?” She was whispering with awe now.
    The delegates all muttered their agreement. And then, before their voices had ceased to echo, Genya was speaking with Milorad, making a show of interest in his and Anna’s well being in the new social circumstances.
    All the while Gonji could feel the girl’s consuming curiosity about him, though she never once regarded him directly.
    She was an operator, of that he was sure. Good fortune with this one, friend Wilfred .... He watched with keen interest how adroitly Genya shifted from dignity to respect to affection to anxiety, coyly affected innocence lubricating the transitions.
    Then she was through with Milorad and looking just past Gonji, eyes dropping diffidently floorward. He decided to accept the invitation.
    “I’m Gonji Sabatake, a friend of Wilfred.” He bowed slightly, and she curtsied, eyelids fluttering closed. “He asked me to give this to you, a token of his undying affection.” He handed her the blossom from Wilf.
    Her lips parted silently, and for the first time she seemed touched by genuine emotion.
    “ Danke —thank you,” she whispered.
    And then her breath caught in her throat, and her eyes had suddenly outgrown her face, fear rimming them as she looked over Gonji’s shoulder. The others were all staring.
    Gonji turned, and a chill shot through his spine. He was gazing into the masked face of Mord. The sorcerer’s diamond-hard black eyes appeared to be smiling with private amusement.
    Gonji bowed, and a long moment later the magician returned the gesture, bending forward slowly and dreamily, like a reed under water.
    “We’ve...met?” Mord asked in his murky basso profundo voice.
    Gonji’s nape prickled with fine pinpoints of tension. His palms were cold and moist, but his face betrayed nothing of it.
    “Not unless you’ve been to Honshu,” he replied evenly.
    The sorcerer’s gleaming filigreed mask tilted almost imperceptibly, as if the arch reply had thrown him off guard. Then his piercing ophidian eyes appeared to shift, to cloud over with a dull film, to pulsate hideously as if about to burst their sockets.
    And an instant later Gonji was gazing with barely disguised shock into the fiery red orbs of the wyvern.
    Cholera.
    Gonji’s face grew hot; his senses reeled with an instant’s indecision. He could feel his companions’ breathless anticipation. Against his leg—the solid comfort of his sword hilts where they leaned. Then—
    “All kneel!”
    Gonji slowly joined the jostling, clinking throng in dropping to one knee, striving to control his bewilderment, to plan, to reestablish his wa , his harmony of spirit....
    “Know ye the righteous liege lord of the Isle of Akryllon and all its possessions, Successor to its throne, Preserver of its heritage, Supreme Commander of the Akryllonian Royalist Forces.... Know ye King Klann, Him Who Is Called the Invincible!”
    And in the reverent silence that had fallen during the heraldic pronouncement, it seemed that nothing had moved or stirred the air.
    And then the legendary King Klann was among them, and all eyes were on him. All eyes save Gonji’s.
    Gonji peered furtively over his shoulder.
    But Mord was gone.
    * * * *
    They sat alone over dinner in the stillness of the house, Michael Benedetto missing his murdered brother’s bright chatter more than ever. Two tapers cast their cold glow over the meal. The