The Blood King (32 page)

“I’ll give you a special rate.”

“I just hope there is an ‘after,’” she said with a sigh. “The closer we get to the trip into Margolan, the more unlikely this whole thing seems. I never really expected to get caught up in a revolution, you know. Cam and I went looking for a cure for Donelan’s illness.”

“I know the feeling. Tris and Ban and I were just celebrating Haunts, and by midnight we were want-ed men. It may sound romantic in the ballads, but it didn’t seem that way when we were outrunning the guards.”

“I’m glad that Cam was able to take back an elixir from the Sisterhood to help Kiara’s father bear up under the wasting spell. But King Donelan won’t be cured until we destroy Arontala. He’s the mage who caused the sickness. Cam and I had only been apart once before. I miss him terribly.” She managed to grin.

“Although without me around, he’s probably taking the opportunity to woo the ladies. He always said he intended to marry the daughter of a tavern keeper, so that he would never lack for fresh ale and good food!”

Carroway chuckled. “Funny, that’s Harrtuck’s idea of an ideal girl, too. Now if we found an innkeeper with two daughters, they’d be set!”

“Well,” Carina said finally, rising from her seat. “I’d better get back to making some powders for us to take with us on the road. It won’t be too much longer before we head for Margolan. Gabriel might not need the potions and remedies, but I’ll sleep bet-ter knowing that the rest of us have them handy.”

Carroway went back to his lute and soon he was strumming softly and singing to himself, working on a difficult bit of fingering. Carina returned to her potions, but she found her thoughts straying back to Isencroft and to Cam until the midnight bells tolled and she finally headed for bed.

THAT EVENING, TRIS walked Kiara back to her rooms after a grueling session in the war room. For a time they walked in silence, holding hands, con-tent with each other’s company, deep in thought over the conversations of the day.

Tris could feel a looming pressure as the winter days passed and the time for their departure into Margolan grew closer. Fear, excitement, dread, and purpose all rolled together in anticipation.

“Skrivven for your thoughts,” Kiara teased as they walked along the palazzo.

They had taken the long route back to her rooms, content for a few moments to be alone. The guards who were their

new constant companions hung back, permitting them some privacy.

“I was thinking about my dogs, to tell you the truth,” he admitted. “Two wolfhounds and a bull mastiff. I didn’t dare keep them at the palace— Jared had a way of making animals disappear. Father owned a hunting lodge, up near Soterius’s father’s lands. Kait and I spent as much time up there as mother would allow, escaping from Jared, and court. I kept the dogs at the lodge.

“You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve thought about them since we left Shekerishet,” Tris said. “Father’s retainers lived at the country house and kept it up, but with Jared on the throne, who knows what happened to them? Kait’s falcons were in the mews at Shekerishet; they were something even Jared wouldn’t touch. They seemed to know what Jared was like, and they’d peck and swoop any time they saw him. I’d love to know that they’ve survived—it would be like having a little bit of Kait left.” His voice drifted off, and Kiara squeezed his hand.

“The lodge sounds nice,” she said. “Maybe we can keep it as a sanctuary, just you, me, the dogs—and Jae!” she added as the little gyregon flew in a circle around them and came back to land on her shoulder. “Back in Isencroft, he always joined on the hunts with the falcons. They seemed to have some kind of arrangement—it was as if they could understand each other. The falcons and Jae would work as a team. The fal-cons harried the prey—they were faster—and Jae usually made the kill, since he was larger and a bit heavier. Quite a spectacle!”

Tris turned to her, and took her other hand so that she faced him. “These past few months, I’ve been the closest I’ll ever be to knowing what life would be like without the crown. One of the rea-sons I never wanted to be king was that I wanted the freedom to make my own decisions.

“I’ve always thought that the king was less free than anyone in the kingdom,”

Tris said quietly. “Council, pressuring for one decision or another, always driven by the self-interest of the nobles. Gossip and intrigue at court. Retainers, crowding for favors. So many people who want to be your friend, so long as you give them what they want.”

Tris smiled sadly. “I always counted myself fortu-nate to be the second son. I wasn’t required to be at Council, and no one cared about my comings and goings. I was just a spare, in case something happened to the heir.” He paused again, longer this time.

Tris sighed. “I used to dream that when I mar-ried—if I ever found someone—we could go off to the lodge, out of sight of the court and the gossips and Jared.” He met Kiara’s eyes. “More than any-thing, I don’t want the court and the crown to taint what we have, Kiara. I want to find some little cor-ner where we can still be the way we were on the road, two nobodies from nowhere, without the crown and the throne looming over us.”

Kiara stepped forward and reached up to kiss him. Tris folded her into his arms.

“Another nearly died bearing me, so there were no other children,” Kiara said quietly. “I always knew the scrutiny of being the heir. And as Abelard told you, my parents’ romance was something of a scandal, but there was more than that.”

“If Eastmark was unhappy about losing its princess to a foreign kingdom, there were many in Isencroft who were even less happy to have a for-eign queen,”

Kiara said wistfully. “Over the centuries, Isencroft was overrun by every nation on its borders—and even by some on the far side of the Northern Sea. So we’re fiercely independent. Mother could never rid herself of her Eastmark accent, though she spoke Croft fluently. And she never gave up her devotion to the Lover, while Isencroft worshipped Chenne.”

“While she and father were very much in love, that love wasn’t shared by many in the kingdom. The ladies at the court were merciless. Nothing father did seemed to help. So mother made sure that there was nothing they could say about her daugh-ter.” Kiara laughed bitterly. “I had to be more thoroughly Isencroft than anyone. I had to excel with the sword, because that was the Isencroft way. I had to make public devotion to Chenne, so that no one could say I was a heretic. Mother fought teach-ing me Markian, because she wanted me to speak Croft without any accent.

“The betrothal contract with Margolan was always in the back of her mind,”

Kiara went on, leaning against Tris’s shoulder. “I learned to speak Margolense as a child, from Margolan tutors, so that I’d have no accent. I made devotion to Chenne in public, and to the Lover in private, with mother. My tutors taught me the ways of the Mother and the Childe, so that when the time came I’d make a proper queen for Margolan.” Kiara smiled sadly. “Mother didn’t want anyone to be able to say a word about my suitability. I’m afraid she kept me quite protected. And it ruled out suitors, being betrothed from birth.”

“So I was your rebellious fling on the road?”

“Even a princess can dream,” Kiara said. “But father might have sent the guards after me if I’d taken off with a tent rigger from a caravan.”

“Do you think your mother would approve—of your tent rigger?”

Kiara smoothed back a lock of his white hair. “She’d approve that I followed my heart. That was one thing she always did. And if we can add horses to the menagerie at the hunting lodge, I know she’d approve. Mother loved horses.

That’s how she died—out riding.”

“She’s proud of you, you know,” Tns said. Kiara looked at him oddly for a moment, and then under-stood. “She’s with you, just out of sight. Even on the road I could sense a presence near you, a guardian spirit.”

“I’ve seen her on Haunts. She loved me fiercely, and I knew she would be near.

So you’ve met her?”

“Not formally,” Tris said. “I try not to intrude on other people’s ghosts without permission.”

“Even with all of the intrigue at court, she and father never stopped being in love.” Kiara touched his cheek. “Perhaps we can carve out something of the same for us.”

“We will.” Tris promised, bending to kiss her. “I promise.”

In his mage sense, Tris felt the strong presence of a spirit, and saw the ghost of the beautiful Isencroft queen. Viata’s ghost extended her hands in blessing. Tris drew back from his kiss with Kiara, feeling oddly embarrassed, as if someone had walked in on

their embrace. He had the strong sense that Viata wished to be seen.

“About that introduction—”

“She’s here, isn’t she?”

“I think she’d like to speak with you.”

“I’d like that, too.”

Tris stepped back. He let himself stretch out onto the Plain of Spirits and lent his power to Viata’s ghost until the queen stood before them. Tris saw an immediate resemblance between Viata and Kiara. Kiara took a half step forward, and the ghost moved to embrace her.

“You’re as pretty and clever as I knew you would be,” Viata smiled.

“Father says I take after you.”

“I was afraid Donelan would be joining me before his time,” Viata replied, growing more seri-ous. “But at least for now, the wasting spell is halted. While I want our spirits to be together even-tually, there is no hurry.”

Viata looked past Kiara to Tris, who felt himself suddenly color. “And this is your young man?”

Kiara wiped away her tears and reached out to take Tris’s hand. “I’d like you to meet Tris—Martris Drayke of Margolan, Bricen’s second son. My betrothed.”

Viata nodded solemnly. “I was grateful that Bricen intervened with the marriage pact because I didn’t want war. But I worried as I came to know more about what kind of man Jared Drayke had become. I’m pleased that you’ve found a more desirable solution.”

Viata’s ghost met Tris’s eyes. “I’ve seen your training, and I’m most impressed.

You have my blessing to wed Kiara, and my prayers to the Lady that your quest will be successful.”

Tris gave a courteous bow. “I’m honored, m’la-dy.”

“Kiara,” Viata said, and Kiara turned toward her mother’s ghost. “Even when you can’t see me, never doubt that I’m watching over you. I’ve resolved not to go to the Lady until Donelan can join me and you are safely established. Death doesn’t end love.”

“Thank you,” Kiara whispered. “I love you, too.”

Tris bade Viata’s ghost farewell and the spirit faded from view. Kiara leaned against him, letting him hold her in silence, until the bells sounded mid-night.

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“HOW DO YOU like my garden?” Jared of

Margolan asked the middle-aged noble at his side. It was early in the second month. The day was cold but clear. A light snow no deeper than a horse’s fetlock covered the ground. Jared and the noble stood outside Shekerishet, next to the pattern of long, sharpened stakes that from above made the crest of the House of Margolan.

Thirty stakes, and on each of them, a body.

Some were impaled through the back, others face down through the gut. Vayash moru were staked facing east, so that Jared might see whether they burst into flames at dawn. Others, around the perimeter, were either coated alive in wax or soaked in oil, making human torches that burned as night fell.

Jared’s favorite punishment, however, he reserved for those from whom he truly wished to exact the greatest revenge. A sturdy, sharpened pole impaled the victim between the legs, on a stake just tall enough that the victim could remain on his toes for several candlemarks, until his strength failed, and he finally sank low enough for the stake to pierce vital organs. Jared found the death dance mesmer-izing. Today the moans of his dying victims sounded like a distant wind.

Lord Curane’s expression was neutral. “Your par-ties are always memorable, Your Highness.”

“It’s been a good day,” Jared said amicably, taking another deep draught from his flask. He had been drinking Tordassian brandy since early in the day, even before the show trials of a dozen deserters, tracked down by faithful officers and brought back in chains. The deserters had been hanged at noon in the castle square and their bodies still dangled from the nooses, a cautionary tale to any who might have contemplated similar treason.

The real event, however, was the trial and execu-tion of General Lothe. Jared felt his mood darken just thinking about Lothe, who claimed to be loyal to Margolan, and apolitical when it came to kings. Whether Lothe was a convincing liar who remained loyal to Bricen or whether he had a change of heart, Jared neither knew nor cared. What mattered was that Lothe had tried—and failed—to poison him, and for that, Lothe had paid dearly.

Broken on the rack, his skin seeping with fresh burns from the torturer’s irons, what was left of Lothe was poisoned with the same tincture that Lothe had tried to use on Jared. Jared found it par-ticularly satisfying to watch Lothe writhe in pain as the slow poison worked, and then, finally, to have Lothe’s body burned in the public square.

The executions were well attended, and a party mood filled the air as the sun set. Musicians played lively tunes, but remained circumspect in their choice of ballads and songs, taking caution from the disappearance of a few of their fellows who had the poor judgment to sing of Bricen and his victo-ries in battle. The smell of roasting sausages mingled with the odor of burning flesh from the human torches, and ale flowed freely. Jared knew that one maiden already awaited his pleasures inside the castle, a girl he had chosen from the crowd and pointed out to his guards. Yes, he thought, it was a good day, a very good day indeed.

“A fine party, Your Majesty,” Curane agreed, snapping Jared out of his thoughts.

“But I wonder, my king, if I might have a word with you.”

“Speak.” Jared took another long draught of his brandy.

“I bear tidings from my wife’s uncle, Lord Monteith,” said Curane. His voice dropped. “As you may recall, my king, the Monteith family is one of the oldest noble houses in Trevath, and quite well-regarded by their king. They have significant influence on the opinions of the Trevath crown.”