King (17 page)

Were her fears for him as much as for herself? Akabe prayed it was the truth. For all her stubbornness, Caitria wasn't the one to be blamed for her situation.

He was.

Could he protect her from vengeful Ateans if he set her aside?

Aware of his courtiers all staring at them, doubtless trying to read their faces and lips, Akabe murmured, “Lady, you've read the wrong books. And you've been queen for two months—too soon for anyone to pass judgments. I won't discuss setting you aside.”

Even as he spoke, Akabe's thoughts sped through his plans. He'd been so zealous to acquire those temple lands that one thing hadn't occurred to him: The instant he'd married Caitria, she and her family had become traitors to the Ateans for bringing the sacred land into his control. He'd made her a target for death. Which brought up another thought. “Have you heard from your lord-father?”

For an instant, she hesitated, as if unable to speak. Then she said, “I wrote to him one month ago, asking for my books . . . my other belongings. My message was returned last week. The servants said that after our wedding, my lord-father and Cyril paid their debts, then left on an extended journey and refused to divulge their destination. But I believe they're hiding, because of the temple.”

Hiding? Akabe hoped so. Otherwise, after such a long absence, Caitria's father and brother must be dead, executed by Ateans for enabling the temple to be rebuilt.

“You should have told me about your lord-father.”

Toneless, she said, “Perhaps it's best he remain hidden.”

As she should be hidden.

Infinite? Akabe eyed his wife as they walked. How could he save her?

Barth scampered toward Akabe from where he'd been standing with his mannerly father. Lord Siymont offered gracious obeisance as his small son trotted behind Akabe to follow him. “Majesties,” Siymont murmured.

Caitria's somber face lit with a smile, beautiful to see.
Understandably she was fonder of Barth than anyone else in this marble prison of a palace. Akabe suspected she would be a doting mother . . . if they survived to become parents.

Yet a child would surely present another battleground, a realm of emotional conflict, pitting the royal council against the queen and her Atean family.

Sickening thought. Not the sort of life he'd ever imagined for his wife and children.

Infinite, let my plan work! Save us and let my enemies be confounded.

Let my wife turn to You. . . .

He
must
implement his plan and send for Kien and Ela.

Now.

As her smile faded, Caitria nearly stumbled, bringing herself to reality once more.

Today, one of her cousins would die a traitor.

Today, she'd faced a silent, unseen court of enemies while her father and brother had fled unseen, abandoning her like cowards. Had they joined Atean conspirators? Swallowing, she forced herself to accept the truth. Her own relatives might kill her.

And she could do nothing but continue to walk beside the man who'd unintentionally fomented this lethal tidal wave of hatred that would claim both their lives.

But
why
must Akabe die? He was very nearly perfect, except that he believed in that ancient, antiquated Infinite.
And
he persisted in building that horrid temple!

Caitria paused. Oh . . . Had she—like some naïve little fool from an epic poem—fallen in love with her husband despite their differences?

Even as Caitria faltered over the realization, Akabe squeezed her cold hand, warming it within his own. When she looked up at him, Akabe smiled, his golden brown eyes and those dimples encouraging her to pretend that they might survive the coming maelstrom of Atean conspiracies.

 17 

H
eedless of her wild hair and her randomly snatched tunic and robes, Ela ran through the dawn-lit courtyard toward the huge arched stone gate. Wonderful, after four weeks, to finally rush around without pain! Unless, of course, she stepped on a jagged rock and gouged her foot.

Behind her, still descending the stairs, Kien yelled, “Slow down, Ela! You'll trip and hurt yourself again.”

She turned and waited, folding her arms to express her impatience. “My lord, you sound like some old married man! And you're walking too slowly.”

Though he was certainly worth waiting for.

Infinite? Wasn't a month of marriage supposed to cure her of infatuation?

Kien's reply was obliterated by a low, vibrant destroyer-call. Remembering her reason for standing barefoot and rumpled in the courtyard before breakfast, Ela tugged her husband's sleeve. “Pet's calling, and Flame is waiting!”

“Which is why you don't need to run. And his name is Scythe.” Kien wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed, provoking a jab of pain.

“Ow! The shoulder . . . careful of the shoulder.”

He winced in sympathy, sliding his hand to her waist. “Sorry. You've seemed so perfectly healed that I forgot.”

They hurried through the highest gate, nodding to the grinning guard before descending into the huge stable arena. Pet leaned over a stone barrier, whickering invitingly. Ela kissed the destroyer's big face and smoothed his neck. “Will she allow us to see your baby?”

But even as Ela asked, Flame beckoned her from the wide, stone-sheltered pen adjacent to Pet's. Ela crooned, “Ooo, there's the beautiful mama!”

Ela approached her destroyer cautiously, relieved when Flame nosed her in welcome. After scenting Ela's hair and brooding over the tender shoulder wound, Flame retreated toward the darkest area of her pen. A shadow moved just beyond the mother destroyer, black upon black; then a form appeared, all gangly legs, blocky body, long neck, and handsome little destroyer face. A second shadow moved behind the first, its inky mirrored-image. Ela slapped both hands over her mouth to stifle shrieks. Twins!

She danced around Kien and hugged him, whooping beneath her breath, “Twins! Twins!” Oh. Twin destroyers. “Oh no . . .”

Kien laughed and kissed her hair. “Well, that was a short celebration. What's wrong, Prophet? Are you envisioning destroyer-disasters? Don't worry. We can afford them.”

“But will Aeyrievale survive toddler-destroyers?” She returned to Flame's pen and stared at the handsome babies. They eyed her as if she might be food. Oh, dear. Best to command this pair at once. She scowled and lowered her voice to absolute sternness. “No biting us! Not Ela, not Kien, and . . .” She hesitated, distracted as Bryce and Prill entered the stable yard. “Particularly no biting Bryce and Prill! See them? Obey!”

Small destroyer-grumblings answered, with stomps and huffs. Flame herded away the foals, who squealed in protest as if disgusted by the loss of potential food sources. Flame tossed her elegant head. Pet curveted. Which reminded Ela. “No kicking either!”

Bryce approached, a slight smile tracing his thin sun-browned face. “It seems Aeyrievale will now be known for aeryons, sapphires, and destroyers.” Somber again, he bowed to Kien, offering
him a heavily sealed parchment. “My lord, this arrived last night after you retired.”

Obviously reluctant, Kien removed a dagger from his belt and slid it beneath the seal. He read the message, not appearing the least surprised. “A summons from the king.”

Bryce shut his eyes hard, then opened them as if preparing himself for bad news. “My lord, the last time Aeyrievale received such a parchment, our previous lord and lady were killed. I don't intend to sound superstitious—I'm not—but is there any way to escape this summons?”

“No.” Ela cringed inwardly, wishing she'd bitten her tongue instead of speaking.

Kien stared at her, one dark eyebrow lifted. “Prophet, what haven't you told us?”

“I can't tell you much,” Ela replied gently. “But I notice you're not surprised either, sir.”

Prill leaned into the conversation, her thin face as worried as Bryce's. “Ela, what's about to happen? Are you two in danger?”

The truth. “I don't know.” She looked from her dear former chaperone to Bryce. “Ask everyone in Aeyrievale to pray for us while we're gone. And pray for the king and the queen. Our enemies are gathering.”

For one chilled instant, looking inward again at her vision once more, Ela studied the young queen. Was she Atean? Could she be persuaded of her Creator's love?

Sickened, Ela retreated from her vision.

From ashes and death.

With Kien and Prill looking on, Bryce placed a locked metal box on his worktable and handed Ela a key. As she accepted the key, Bryce explained, “We finally managed to retrieve this yesterday from our treasury—the tunnel leading up to the chamber was flooded. These are the few pieces that remained after our former Lady Aeyrievale's death.”

Her murdered predecessor. Infinite? Did she love You?

Yes,
His voice assured.
She is now beyond her enemies' reach.

But Ela, prophet of Parne, was not.

Beside Ela, Kien slid an arm around her waist and kissed her cheek, somber. “It's all right. Open the box, love.”

Ela pressed the key into the lock and slid its iron bar aside. Nestled among several leather pouches, an exquisite feather-patterned tiara of white and yellow gold glimmered with clear, intensely violet-blue sapphires, some dangling in elegant face-framing pendants.

Prill gasped. “Ela, it's beautiful!”

Stunned, Ela could only nod. Slowly, she opened a leather pouch and withdrew its contents—a matched pair of intricate sapphire bracelets designed to cover the backs of her hands like mitts. She, plain Ela of Parne, was supposed to wear these? “These are spectacular. But—”

“Necessary,” Bryce interposed. “You represent Aeyrievale at court, lady. If we reopen our mines, you'll have more to choose from within a few years.”

“Reopen the mines,” Kien told Bryce. “Continue with our plans as we've agreed.”

“Very well, sir. But if anything happens to you, we will close the mines immediately. Why pour Aeyrievale profits into Atean hands?”

Kien scowled—so ineffectively stern that Ela almost smiled. He said, “Bryce! Enough fretting. Reopen the mines! Let's clear out our documents today and finish up any business before I leave.”

Back to business. Ela tucked the sapphires into their box and closed the lid. The jewelry reminded her of another yet-unfinished task. “We need to return your mother's tiara to her.”

Gloom shadowed Kien's face, no doubt provoked by distress for his still-grieving family. “Box it up and I'll send it to the Tracelands with my next letter. We'll also see to pasturing the destroyers. Naor found a near-perfect place. A meadow walled
off and unwanted by the villagers or the aeryons, for this season at least. What else?”

Bryce cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow at Prill. She blushed. “Ela, we'd prefer to be married before I leave with you for Munra.”

Remembering her visions, Ela shook her head. Before the pledged couple could misunderstand, she said, “Prill, you're not accompanying us to Munra, so you'd best marry Bryce. While we're gone, we'll trust you to manage the destroyers and work on the improvements we've discussed—the chambers, the windows, and the gardens.”

“Good,” Kien said. “Now we can stop chaperoning those two.”

“Oh!” Prill sniffed. “We've never been the trouble you were, my lord—admit it!”

“Me? Trouble? Never!” He nudged Bryce. “What are the civil requirements for marriage in Aeyrievale?”

“Your say-so, sir.”

“I say so. Sir.” Kien grinned at Prill. “And
lady
. We'll gather with all the villagers this evening, before sunset. Send word to Aeyrievale's priest and go find your wedding clothes, both of you!”

As the betrothed couple hurried off, Kien touched Ela's face. “You've been preoccupied this morning. What aren't you telling me?”

What could she tell him? Trying not to revisit her vision, she hugged her husband tight. “We're in danger. All four of us. You, me, the king, and the queen. Because of the temple, and our love for the Infinite. Truly, it won't matter where we are. Our enemies will find us.”

Kien's gray eyes darkened, somber as approaching clouds. “Will we die?”

“I don't know.” Fragments of emotions and images cut at her now, so sharp that she flinched. Desperation rising, she explained, “I see only the queen, and—much as I wish I could—I can't help her! I don't know where you are, but I want you to
be safe, and I'm praying for you and the king!” She shut her eyes against the tears, saw the vision, and stopped. Better to be with her husband now than in the vision. Hugging Kien again, Ela hid her face against his chest, inhaling his scent. “Promise me, whatever happens, you'll stay alive and fight! If it's a choice between somehow saving me or saving the king, then you must save the king! Promise!”

“What?” Kien held her at arm's length, making her look at his now-ashen face. “Will I be forced to choose?”

“I don't know. As ever, I can't see your path. We must depend on the Infinite. But for Siphra's sake, and the temple's, the king is first—promise me!”

Kien shook his head. “Do not ask this of me! Don't expect this of me, Ela, please. I'll fail!” He pulled her close again, kissing her hair fiercely, his now-hushed words sounding like a tormented prayer. “Infinite, I will fail!”

In silence, Ela prayed. Oh, Infinite, sustain my husband!

Let him live. . . .

Twining his fingers around Ela's and breathing the ocean air, Kien paused and scanned the crowded, mazelike palace garden. Any reception, informal or not, was torment enough to make him flee. Except that with the courtiers scattered throughout the garden, he could speak to the king with less danger of being overheard. Akabe stood near an ornate fish pond, talking with Faine and Trillcliff while the queen lingered nearby, flanked by her noticeably
un
talkative ladies.