An Oath Of The Kings (Book 4) (9 page)

“We can’t go any further!” the wagon driver screamed over the storm. “The bloody roads are washing out and I can’t lose my goods!”

Flashes of light in the roiling clouds above etched out his intense features as he navigated the treacherous path. They lost track of the other wagon a few leagues back and it surprised her that he had managed to stay on the road this long. Kiernan wiped the rain from her eyes and nodded.  

The man pointed to a cobblestone farmhouse up ahead. Off to the side, away from the house, stood an old barn—one that had doors large enough to drive the wagon through. Kiernan hoped the owners of the farm wouldn’t mind travelers taking refuge on their property. If they could even see them at all through the heavy curtain of rain.

When the driver guided the horse off the road toward the barn, Kiernan screamed, “I’ll get the doors!” She caught the driver’s look of surprise as she jumped out of the wagon. Her sandaled feet sank into the mud and she grimaced but sloshed ahead toward the barn. The rain lashed at her, cold and biting, drenching her to the bone. She finally stumbled against the doors and pushed up with all her strength on the wooden bar that latched them closed. It gave way, and the doors swung open wide, sending a brood of chickens scurrying in a hail of squawks and feathers. She ran back to grasp the horse’s bridle to lead him inside, but the animal needed no further prompting to get out of the storm and stepped in with a contented huff and shake of his head.

The driver jumped down and closed the doors shut.

“That’s a good boy,” Kiernan cooed and reached out to pet the horse’s nose. “What is his name?”

The man raised an eyebrow at her. “You wish to know the name of the horse before the name of the stranger you’re about to spend the night with?”

The confines of the large barn suddenly grew smaller as the man loomed closer. He was taller than she originally thought. His wet shirt clung to his skin, outlining the curve of powerful muscle in his arms and chest. Long, wet hair curled around his face giving him a wild, untamed look. Yet, his words didn’t concern her. She could easily mindshift any untoward advances aside, and she still had the man’s dagger for protection. Although, he had asked for it, she had not yet returned it. “I suppose you make a good point. All right, I will have both.”

Warm brown eyes flashed with amusement. “The horse is Tinker and I am Cael Trathen. And, your name, my lady?”

Kiernan readied the lie she had time to perfect on the ride. “Larkin. Larkin Malley, and I am no lady.”

“Not until your husband arrives with his dueling rapier, that is,” he muttered.

She grinned. “I told you, I am not highborn. I am…I
was
a simple scullery maid for the royal family.”

He eyed her dress suspiciously for the second time.

Demon’s breath!
“This dress was gifted to me by the royal seamstress for a favor owed. That’s all.” She hated to lie to him, but what other choice did she have? How could she trust Cael Trathen when she couldn’t even trust her own memories?

He snorted, but didn’t comment. He obviously didn’t believe her, but at least her response ended the questioning.

She rubbed her hands over her arms and shivered.

“You better get out of those clothes.” He lifted the tarp on the back of the wagon and handed her a shirt and a pair of trousers. “Put these on. They will be far too large, but at least they’re dry.”

Kiernan accepted the garments gratefully and went into one of the horse stalls to change. Cael was right. The shirt hung down to her knees and the trousers refused to stay on her hips no matter how many times she rolled the fabric. She eyed a piece of rope hanging in the stall and used it to tie around her waist.  

“So, where are you headed, Mistress Malley?” Cael asked.

This was the uncertain part of her plan. Trying to convince him to turn around and go back north. “I really don’t have any family left, so with the loss of my post in the royal kitchens, I thought I would look for work outside of Nysa.”

“Iserport is probably your best bet if you’re looking for work.”

Kiernan swept her long hair up into a knot and walked out of the stall. “What about north?” she asked hopefully.

“Northfort?” He shrugged. “I’ve never been there. I’ve only been as far north as the marketplace. Or are you talking about Bardot?”

Northfort? Bardot?
She had never heard of either, yet she didn’t want to come right out and ask about her land of exile either. “Well, where are you going?”

He unfolded a blanket and laid it on the ground. “Lewstin. A small town just north of the Illian.”

She dug through her fractured mind for the names of towns and cities in Iserlohn. “I’m not familiar with Lewstin.”

His expression darkened. “We don’t get many visitors.”

“What do you do there?”

He hesitated. “It’s a mining town.”

So, he has secrets of his own.

He studied her face. “You really have no idea where you’re going, do you?”

She slumped down on the blanket. “Not exactly.”

“What are you running from, Mistress Malley?” he asked, joining her.

Thinking of Beck, she said, “I think I’m running
to
something only I don’t know where that something is at the moment.”

He mumbled something about
bloody nobles
under his breath. “I suppose you can travel with me as far as Janis. From there you should be able to find a caravan to Iserport.”

She didn’t answer him, having no answer to give. They sat in silence for a moment before she asked if he had a mirror.

Cael looked confused at her request, but stood and rummaged in the wagon once again. He came back with a small mirror and handed it to her.

Kiernan took it and glanced at the image staring back at her. She wasn’t surprised at the years she saw in her face. It was hard to explain, but even though she couldn’t remember her life since Pyraan, she knew it existed.

Tears threatened again, but she willed them away. What she saw convinced her that there was no sense going north. No sense chasing a blue-eyed boy whom she may not have seen in over twenty years.

She also had no desire to confront her father right now, especially after what had happened to her in Nysa. She found it hard to believe that her father would ever order her harmed, but she also knew how assiduously he held to the order of the law—family be damned. Until she knew more, it was probably wise to put a few days and several leagues between her and her missing memories. Maybe time away would even help recover them. Or maybe not. At least with Cael, she didn’t feel so alone. Mind made up, she said, “I will go with you to Lewstin.”

His face darkened further. “You don’t want to do that.”

“Why?”

“People don’t come to live in Lewstin, Mistress Malley. They plot to escape.”

****

Beck pinched the bridge of his nose as the arguments continued. It was now dawn and he hadn’t slept a wink.

“We must ascend a monarch immediately!” Duncan Bartlett blustered, his jowls heaving with every word.

Gage Gregaros shook his gray head. “Just yesterday you requested an extension for your oath and today the crowning must happen straight away? When the ruling heir is conveniently missing?”

Elinor Morningstar sat forward and, not surprisingly, took up Lord Bartlett’s position. “Duncan is right. We need stabilization now. The…rumors,” she said with a sidelong glare at Mila, “are creating disturbances.”

Beck sighed. It was true. In a few short hours, the gossip on everyone’s tongue alleged that Mila Stowe had been discovered in his chambers dressed in a robe and Kiernan found out and left him for it. Poor Mila suffered the brunt of the disapproval and couldn’t walk outside without a shouted reprimand hurled her way. Even now, she slouched in her chair, quiet.

Beck nodded in response to a servant’s offer of tea, inwardly cursing the storm outside. After finding Gidon’s body, he rushed out into the city to cast another seeking spell, and his heart soared when it detected her presence. But, by the time he penetrated further into the crowded marketplace, she was gone. The bodyshifters tracked her to the southern end of the market and then lost her scent.

At least he now had proof that she was alive.

First, he had to deal this mess.

He cleared his throat. The arguing stopped and all eyes swept his way. He was not the ruling heir, but for the next three days, he was still Prince of the land and he had the final word on this matter. Elinor and Duncan’s request for an extension had been the best thing that could have happened. “Another monarch will not be raised until Kiernan is back home.”

“But, the rumors—”    

He slapped his hand on the table. “Do you think I give a demon’s last breath about ridiculous rumors when my wife—
your
Princess—is missing?”

“Nothing is able to crumble a nation as fast or as completely as a rumor.” It was Johan Hamilton that recited the well-known quote by Galen Starr.  

Beck gave Johan a humorless smile and leaned in close. “Oh, I could probably come up with something just as effective.”

Johan lifted one corner of his mouth, clearly not amused.

A Saber slipped into the room and strode to Beck’s chair. “They’re here.”

“You will have to excuse me,” Beck said, standing to signal an end to the meeting.

Duncan Bartlett scraped his chair back and heaved his bulk upward. “You have three days, Prince, with or without your wife.”

Cold fury seeped into Beck, curling around his lungs, cutting off his breath. “Is that a threat, Lord Bartlett?”

“Let’s not sidestep the issue any longer,” Bartlett said, smoothly. “I will make a bid for the throne against House Everard.”

Lady Knapp hissed through her teeth. Everyone else in the room fell into a stunned silence. Even Elinor.

“You would condemn the lives of good men for your petty ambitions?” Beck asked in disgust.

“Men die for less noble reasons every day, Your Grace.”

In that moment, Beck realized why Kiernan fought so hard to retain the Crown. She did it to keep bastards like Bartlett from power. “Lord Bartlett, unless you want the stone of this castle to serve as the foundation for your crypt, I suggest you leave. Now!”

At last, the arrogance faded from his features and he licked his fat lips and moved toward the doors. The rest of the Court followed quickly behind.

Beck sighed and dragged his fingers through his hair.
Where are you, Kiernan? I wouldn’t be here fighting this arduous fight if not for much I know it means to you. I’ll do what I can to save your realm, but I won’t stay idle for long. I can only promise so much.

After the last Court member left, two others filed into the hall. Gil Jordin in the short black cloak of the Order, and the sorceress, Diamond, wearing a white floor-length dress, her long pale hair hanging straight down her back.

At sight of the magic users, optimism washed over Beck. If anyone could help him find his wife, it would be this pair.

He didn’t bother to offer seats or drink. This was too important. “Gil, a witness to King Maximus’s death claims he was killed by a Mage.”

The bald man furiously shook his head. “No. Never.”

“The witness claims the man used a spell.”

Gil hesitated, his brow furrowed in thought. Finally, he shrugged. “The assassin may have overheard the spell from one of the
Dagarmon
and used the word to throw everyone off. To frame the Order, perhaps?”

“It’s possible. The only suggestion I’ve heard that makes sense, anyway. Diamond? What do you know? What does your stone tell you?”

The scowl on her face was answer enough. “Although Sapphire removed the spell on my Divination stone, it may as well still be clouded for all the clarity my last reading provided.
All roads lead to Nysa
is the phrase I keep seeing and it’s accompanied by a terrifying portent that I can only describe as a tornado of black seething clouds swarming this way.”

All roads lead to Nysa?
As far as Beck was concerned, all roads to his wife led
away
from Nysa.

“Thank you, Diamond. Gil, I want the entire Order working on a longer-range seeking spell. Kiernan is no longer in Nysa and I need to know where she went.”

Gil bowed his head. “As you wish.”

Beck turned back to Diamond. “Are there any other sorceresses practicing spell casting? One of the Gems would have more experience in this area and may be able to assist Gil.”

Diamond smiled. “The Gems may have disbanded many years ago, but most sorceresses never truly give up working their stones. I’ll ask around and send any I find to Master Jordin.” The tone in her voice held a hint of hesitation and Beck suspected she wished to say more.

“Speak your mind, Diamond,” he prompted.