The Blood King (58 page)

The side wound had pierced no vital organs, but the blood loss was sub-stantial.

Wormroot made the healing more difficult. Worse was the drain Carina could sense in Tris’s life force, from the injuries, the poison, and the strong magic he had worked despite the wormroot. She could feel his life thread flickering.

Tris’s skin was gray, and his breathing shallow. A rapid, irregular pulse sounded in Carina’s mind and she threw her energy into the healing. Tissue knit and sinews repaired under her touch, but replenishing blood would take time.

Carina knew she was racing death.

There was something else, there in the darkness of the healing trance. Another presence, old and strong and essential, a Summoner who was not Tris. The image of a man with golden blond hair and green eyes like Tris’s own came to her mind: older, saddened, with a haunted look in his eyes. His power was helping to sustain Tris’s life. Carina was sure of it, just as she was certain that Tris was very close to death.

“Don’t let go,” she whispered, unsure whether she was talking to Tris or to the stranger. “Just don’t let go.”

TRIS SAW HIMSELF on the Plains of Spirit but the spirit realm felt different, more solid. Tris looked backward, toward his own body. As if from a far distance, Tris heard the cries of the soldiers. Tris saw Soterius, panic-stricken, grasping his unrespon-sive body by the shoulders, shaking him and calling to him. He wanted to respond, but the power to do so failed him. I’m dying, Tris thought. Or perhaps, I’m already dead. He felt the palace ghosts, newly freed from their exile, swirling past him and through him, bearing him up with their power, ral-lying around him.

Do you want to live? The question came in the stranger’s voice, and Tris saw the man again, walk-ing toward him. His green eyes bored into Tris’s soul. Tris met those eyes, and knew.

Lemuel, Tris said, and the tall man bowed. So grandmother was right—the Obsidian King did possess you, but he didn’t destroy your soul.

Tris could see the weight of that horror in the man’s eyes, and Lemuel nodded. I foolishly thought I could control power that I should never have sought. The price I paid was possession, and the torment of seeing my own body used for the work-ing of one abomination after another.

Tris found the courage to ask the question that lay between them. How is it that your eyes are so like my own?

I can answer that. Another spirit joined them, and Tris knew his grandmother’s presence. He was sur-prised to see her, not as the old woman he had always known, but much younger, still in her second decade, determination and character in her features.

Bava K’aa’s spirit stood beside Lemuel on the Plains of Spirit, and Tris could sense the bond between the two. In the last days of the Great War, I was captured by the Obsidian King. ‘The armies of three kingdoms and the Sisterhood laid siege to his castle. The Obsidian King wanted to knoiv hoiv to make the elixir that would extend his life. He want-ed to be immortal.

Why didn’t he become vayash moru? Tris asked.

Because vayash moru are beholden to their mak-ers for many lifetimes, until the fledgling gains the strength to survive the destruction of its maker. The Obsidian King didn’t want to answer to anyone— not even to the Lady Herself.

During my imprisonment, the Obsidian King did everything he could to force the secret from me. He thought that if he broke my spirit, and my body, that I would tell him. And he used every weakness that he could exploit. Including rape.

Can you even imagine what it was like, Lemuel said, his expression pained, to have your body used, against your will, to inflict pain on the woman you love? I had no choice but to witness everything, knowing that it was my body used as his instrument. It made the act that much worse because of it.

I believe the Obsidian King also hoped to break Lemuel, and destroy him, if from grief alone, Bava K’aa said gravely. Yet all the while, even during the worst, I knew that it was not Lemuel.

Lord Grayson rescued me—we three had been friends all our lives. I knew that Grayson loved me and stepped aside for Lemuel. But he would not let me die.

When Elam healed me and he knew that I bore a child—your mother, Serae—

Grayson swore to wed me and raise the child as his own. He told no one, until the day he died and I made his passage to the Lady. Tor a lifetime, we kept that secret.

Now do you understand? I couldn’t free Lemuel’s soul, but I couldn’t destroy him, knowing how greatly he had suffered.

Bava K’aa met Tris’s eyes. I knew that magic often skipped a generation. When Serae showed no power, I knew you would be my mage heir—you, whose blood descended from the two strongest Summoners of their age.

You haven’t answered my question, said Lemuel. Do you want to live?

In the distance, on the Plains of Spirit, Tris could already hear the soulsong of the Lady, the sweetest thing he had ever heard, pulling him toward his rest.

Here in the realm of the dead the pain of his wounds was gone, and he knew the freedom of pure spirit. Below, as if in a distant dream, he saw Carina rush toward his body, felt her power stretch out, struggling to heal him. Holding his spirit to his body was a thin blue thread, sustained not by his own life force, but by Lemuel.

Do you wish to live?

Tris looked to his grandmother, and reluctantly toward the song of the Lady, then back to Lemuel. Yes, Tris replied. I want to live.

Lemuel nodded, and raised a hand in farewell. Then this is my gift to you, Lemuel said. I will sus-tain you, until the healer’s work is through.

Tris felt himself return to his body, and darkness.

“How is HE?” It was Soterius’s voice Tris heard, though he lacked the energy to open his eyes. Every muscle ached. His head throbbed as if it might explode.

His side, where Jared stabbed him, felt like it had been filled with hot coals.

Lemuel’s presence was gone.

“He’s resting,” Tris heard Carina answer, the strain of the healing evident in her voice. “Alyzza helped me make two more healings. I don’t know how long it will be until he comes around. We

almost lost him, Ban. I thought we had—and then, I can’t explain it. It was like the time Tris helped me hang onto Jonmarc, when he almost died in the slaver’s camp. There was something—someone— there with us, holding on to Tris while I healed.”

Tris wanted to reply, wanted to open his eyes, but his strength was gone. He surrendered to the black-ness that engulfed him in its nurturing folds, content to be alive.

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IT TOOK Two days and several more healings for Tris to awaken. He found himself stretched out on a bed, Carina asleep in a chair beside him.

“Welcome back,” Gabriel said, moving from the shadows near the wall. “We weren’t sure you’d be joining us.”

Tris managed a weak smile. Carina awoke and moved to bring him water. “I wasn’t too sure myself,” he managed. “Thank you.”

Carina shook her head. “Someday, you’ll have to explain what happened,” she said, taking his hand. “But right now, I’m glad to have you back.”

“Kiara—and Jonmarc?” Tris asked, closing his eyes.

Gabriel chuckled. “Neither one would let anyone touch them until they knew whether you would live. Ban’s battle healers took care of them. Kiara is exhausted, but unhurt. Jonmarc is going to take a little longer—I fear you’ll have a house guest for the rest of the summer. It will be a while before he can think of using a sword, longer until he can ride.”

Tris smiled. “Tell him he can stay as long as he wants.”

“Soterius and Mikhail are out rounding up Jared’s troops and freeing the prisoners in the dun-geons. They’ve had the help of the palace ghosts. Seems that when your power was out of control, you managed to summon every spirit within a league of the palace—not few of whom were Jared’s victims. Between the victim’s relatives and the angry ghosts, Jared’s soldiers are turning up dead faster than Soterius can hunt them down.” Tris looked at Gabriel. “Will the truce hold?” “Between my people and yours?” Gabriel asked. “It should. Nothing will be won by breaking the peace, now that those who hunted us have been punished.”

Carina cleared her throat. “There’s someone waiting to see you.” She stepped aside, revealing Kiara in the doorway.

Gabriel made a courteous bow. “Until later,” he said, addressing both Tris and Kiara. Gabriel and Carina left the room.

Kiara took a step toward where Tris lay. “Good to see you awake,” she said, with a tired smile. Tris held out his hand to her, and she moved closer to sit on the edge of his bed. “You gave us a real scare. Carina and I took shifts. We didn’t want to leave you alone.”

Although his memory of the battle was blurred by the wormroot, the image of destroying the Obsidian King in Kiara’s body was searingly clear.

Tris wondered whether the battle had changed things between them.

“I was afraid you might not forgive me, for what happened,” Tris said quietly.

The pain of those memories flickered in Kiara’s eyes. “When the Obsidian King pushed his way through my shielding, I wanted to die. I was afraid that you wouldn’t—wouldn’t be able to stop him, or wouldn’t free me. I didn’t want to exist like that.” She paused. “Thank you.”

Tris thought of Lemuel, and of his grandmother’s story. “I knew I was dying,”

Tris said. “If the sepa-ration spell and the elixir didn’t work, I knew we would be together in the arms of the Lady. But I couldn’t let the Obsidian King take you.”

Kiara blinked back tears. “I’m just so glad to see you—we were afraid we’d lost you. You took an awful chance.”

“Lemuel saved me,” Tris murmured, closing his eyes. “Grandmother was right.”

Kiara brushed the hair back from his face and leaned down to kiss him. “Hush now. You can tell me all about it later. But Carina will chase me out of here with a broom if she needs to heal you again because of me.”

Tris opened his eyes and met her gaze. “Don’t go far—promise?”

“Promise.” She kissed his hand and released it. “Now get some rest. As soon as you can walk, Ban and Mikhail want to get you crowned and make everything official.”

Tris watched her leave the room. He shut his eyes and sank back against the pillow, grateful and amazed to be alive. Everything was going to change; all the duties of kingship that he’d never coveted would be his. His wedding would be a bright spot on a very dark horizon. While Carroway and others could see to some of the essentials, like restaffing the palace, there were many things that Tris knew only he could do as King and Summoner. Trials and tribunals to preside over, as the generals and lords loyal to Jared were cap-tured and brought for sentencing. Working with Soterius to rebuild an army and bring order and safe-ty to the land. Mediating for the scirranish, who would require his help to make peace with the ghosts of their murdered loved ones.

Tris could feel the energy of angry spirits bound by the pain they suffered at the hands of Jared and Arontala. He doubted Shekerishet would be livable until he exorcised those troubled souls. He would need to appoint an exchequer to find out how badly Jared had looted the treasury. Equally important, he would need to stave off riots and unrest as winter came; ruined fields meant hungry people.

Now comes the hard part, he thought. Cleaning up the mess that Jared made.

Two DAYS LATER, over Carina’s protests, Tris insist-ed on getting up. When he managed to make it through a hot bath and a shave without collapsing, the healer gave up her arguments. A fresh outfit replaced his blood-soaked clothing, which Carina sent to be burned.

Kiara was waiting for him in the parlor outside his rooms.

“Keeping a vigil?” he asked as she started. Kiara rose to greet him, then remembered herself and dropped to a curtsey.

Tris took her hand with a pained expression. “Please no,” he said as he raised her to stand. “Not between us, Kiara. I don’t want your fealty. I want your love.”

“Always,” she said, reaching out to touch his cheek. He pulled her close to him and kissed her. She rested her head against his shoulder.

“Now that you’re up,” Kiara said, “Ban will want to get you crowned until there can be a real coronation. Technically, you haven’t taken the throne.”

“There’s something I need to do first,” Tris said. “Something I have to settle.

Will you come with me?”

Kiara smiled. “Anywhere,” she murmured. “To the gates of the Lady herself.”

Tris made his way to the family’s chambers in the palace and opened the door to Kait’s room. The sky beyond the window was beginning to lighten, soft-ening the shadows of his torch, only bright enough to cast a dim light over the room. Tris placed the torch in a wall sconce and walked into the silent room.

He closed his eyes against the tears, held back these many months. He found that he could finally weep for Kait and Serae, the first of the innocents who had blocked Jared’s path to power. Bricen was a man of war, accepting the dangers of the throne. But Tris’s mother and Kait were inconvenient pawns in Jared’s desperate bid. It was for them that Tris had returned, far more than the abstract need for justice in Margolan. In the half-light of the early-morning he let his grief find voice, allowing the loss and pain to wash over him and through him, permitting the tears to come until his throat was raw and he could weep no more.

Now, Tris thought, perhaps he could do his moth-er and Kait one final service.

“I’ve come for you,” he said to the empty air. “I’ve come to set you free.” Tris closed his eyes, stretching out along the spectral plains where the restless spirits walked. He felt the touch of a familiar soul, and then another. He opened his eyes to find Serae and Kait standing in front of him. Weakened as they had become within the orb, they had not been destroyed. Tris tried to retain the presence of mind to work the magic he must do. He used his power to make the ghosts visible to Kiara.

“You’ve won!” Kait said, beaming with pride. “I knew you could. Look at you, king now and a mage!”

Tris had to swallow again before he found his voice. “You know I wish it had never been neces-sary. I miss you terribly.”