The Dread: The Fallen Kings Cycle: Book Two (69 page)

Soterius walked over near the fire. He moved stiffly, and Tris knew that although Soterius downplayed the wounds he had received in the last battle, he had nearly died from his injuries. Tris poured two glasses of brandy and walked over to where Soterius stood. He handed one glass to Soterius and sat down, swirling the brandy in his goblet in silence.

“Alle told you what happened with Cwynn while we were gone?”

Soterius let himself carefully down into a chair and took a sip of his brandy. “It wasn’t the first thing we talked about,” he said, flashing a wicked grin, “but it did come up. So it really was Cwynn that Scaith was after?”

Tris shrugged. “Cwynn was certainly one of the prizes. Mikhail says the soldiers intercepted several suspicious strangers who might have been sent to kidnap Cwynn, but we had Cwynn too well protected, physically at least. When Scaith couldn’t snatch him, he tried to take his soul. That’s the part that gets tricky. Fallon and I don’t pretend to understand exactly what happened. I’m sure that Royster will have a wonderful time looking for clues in the Library at Westmarch’s archives.”

“You rescued a piece of his consciousness when you went into the barrows.”

Tris nodded. “And from the letter Kiara sent, I gather a part of him fled to where she was for safety. Alle and Eadoin were beside themselves to tell me the story as they lived it. From their perspective, Cwynn had a bout of night terrors, and then became completely unresponsive. They called in healers, and it was clear that Cwynn was still alive, but they couldn’t rouse him.”

Soterius nodded. “I suspect the version Alle gave me was even more complete than what she told you. She and Eadoin were terrified. They were sure Cwynn was bewitched, but neither the healers nor the mages could figure out how to break the spell.”

“Until I went after the part of his soul Konost stole.”

Soterius repressed a shiver. “Let’s not talk about that, huh? That whole thing is unsettling.”

Tris chuckled. “It was worse in person, believe me.” He sighed. “And I’m sure Kiara will have her own story to tell, since she was rather guarded in her letters. If Cwynn really can touch the Flow—and I believe he can—it’s going to be a challenge raising him. His magic may take him down another path, away from the throne.”

“That’s why you’ve got another son on the way, isn’t it?” Soterius took another sip of brandy. “And just so you know, all the time Alle spent with Cwynn has made her rather set on having a child of her own, so don’t be surprised when we make an announcement one of these days.”

“The only thing that surprised me was that you didn’t have that project underway before we left for war.”

“Not for lack of trying.” Soterius grinned, and then grew serious. “What about Sister Rosta and the mad mages? Vistimar was destroyed when the mages broke through the wardings. Where will Alyzza and the others go?”

“Mikhail suggested a perfect solution. Lord Guarov’s manor has stood empty since he was hanged for treason last winter. Since he died a traitor, his lands revert to the crown.” Tris paused. “In gratitude for the role the Vistimar mages played in the battle, I’ve granted Lord Guarov’s land and manor as a sanctuary, on the condition that it remain outside of the Sisterhood’s control and that the rogue mages are welcome there as well.”

Soterius chuckled. “I’ll bet Sister Landis loved that.”

Tris shrugged. “It was her choice to keep the Sisterhood out of the war. The mages who joined us did so at their own risk. They earned their reward.”

Tris grew quiet. He finished the last of his brandy and set the goblet aside. The logs in the fireplace danced with flames that did not quite heat the large old castle room.

“So now what?” Soterius broke the silence. “The war’s over. For the first time since you’ve taken the throne, no one’s trying to kill you. By all the reports I’ve heard, even the plague seems to have run its course. What next?”

Tris drew a deep breath and managed a tired smile. “With luck, we get down to the business of actually running a kingdom, instead of defending it. Father reigned for over thirty years, and most of those years were utterly boring. Nothing could make me happier than to see the next several decades be normal, prosperous, and completely uneventful.”
Except that I’ll see ten less of those years. But so be it
.

Soterius raised his glass. “I’ll toast to that.” He finished the rest of the brandy in one swallow, and sighed. “There was a letter from Danne, Coalan’s father—my sister’s husband. While we’ve been off saving the kingdom, he’s kept working on repairing Huntwood.” He shook his
head. “I still can’t believe the mess Jared’s soldiers made of it. But the good news is that Danne thinks he’ll have at least part of the main house habitable by spring. The
vayash moru
refugees who stayed there before the war helped quite a bit.” He paused. “After all this time, Coalan and I can finally go home.” He grinned. “At least, when the king grants us leave from his service and we’re not needed here, of course.”

Tris gestured toward a pile of papers on a desk. “You’re not the only one who had letters waiting. There was one for me from Carroway. He and Macaria are planning to head back from Dark Haven now that Carroway’s hand is healed and Carina’s had the twins. She’d asked them to stay with her and play music during the birth, since Jonmarc wasn’t back from the war in time.”

“Jonmarc, a father,” Soterius mused with a grin. “Now that is going to take some getting used to.” He glanced toward the pile of papers and sobered. “Anything from Jair?”

Tris shook his head. “Just the note he sent before he left for Dhasson. From what he said in the note, the plague hit Dhasson’s nobility pretty hard. It wasn’t just Uncle Harrol who died; several of the key lords in his council were also killed. Jair’s going to have his hands full for a while.”

Soterius stared into the fire. “Amazing how everything can change in such a short time, isn’t it? Two years ago, the thrones of the Winter Kingdom looked as constant as the sunrise. Your father, Staden, Donelan, Harrol—they all could have easily ruled another twenty or thirty years. Now, those kings have all fallen. It really was a War of Unmaking. Everything’s been turned upside down, and a whole new generation is in power.”

“Let’s hope that we can keep any surprises to a minimum for a long, long time.”

Soterius frowned. “There’s still the matter of Jared’s bastard, hidden in Trevath.”

Tris shrugged. “The child’s no more than a year old. It’ll be years before anyone can make much of that. By the time that’s something to worry about, I’m hoping that we’ll know for certain what Cwynn’s capable of, and have the Isencroft issue settled.” He stretched. “Right now, I just want to keep the people fed through the winter and get the crops planted. No war. No magic. No excitement of any kind, if I can help it.”

“Do you think that will actually happen?”

“No, but I can dream, can’t I?”

A candlemark before dawn, Tris stood on the landing of Shekerishet’s broad front steps, watching as a shadow drew closer to the palace. In the still, cold air, the sound of hoofbeats carried over the distance, and before long, he could hear the crunch of carriage wheels in the snow. Three
vyrkin
arrived first, effortlessly loping ahead of the entourage, their thick fur glistening with snow in the torch light. Behind the
vyrkin
rode a dozen guards, and Tris recognized some as
vayash moru
. Kiara’s carriage followed, drawn by six large geldings. Behind the carriage rode another dozen guards.

Tris realized he was holding his breath as the carriage door opened and servants hurried to help Kiara down from the coach. He smiled. She wore a sensible, if somewhat unconventional, traveling outfit of trews rather than a gown, and Tris had no doubt that she also wore a sword and cuirass under her heavy cloak. He hurried down the
steps toward her and took both Kiara’s hands in his, sending a flicker of magic through the touch to assure himself that both Kiara and the child she carried were well. Then he caught her up in a tight embrace and kissed her, heedless of the small group of guards and servants around them.

“Welcome home,” Tris murmured, his throat tight, as he took Kiara’s arm and escorted her into Shekerishet. Royster and Cerise alighted after Kiara and followed at a distance. Jae stirred sluggishly from his spot on the carriage floor, flexed his leathery wings, and flew to the top of the stairs.

“It’s good to be back,” Kiara replied. Behind them, Mikhail took charge of assigning servants to see to the queen’s belongings. A servant took Kiara’s cloak and Tris gave instructions for food to be brought to his rooms. Tris and Kiara made the way up the stairs to the privacy of the king’s parlor. Tris opened the door, and Kiara gasped. Alle and Eadoin waited inside with Cwynn. Kiara rushed toward the baby, and then slowed, not wanting to wake him. Tris watched as emotions played across Kiara’s face: joy, longing, and hesitation, as if Cwynn might not know her when he woke.

“Since the war ended, he sleeps through the night,” Alle confided, gently transferring the bundle in her arms to Kiara. “Whatever he heard, it’s gone now. And what an appetite!”

Lady Eadoin patted Kiara on the shoulder. “Alle and I will stay as long as you need us, my dear. We thought you might welcome some time to rest and get reacquainted with the king,” she added with a sly smile as Kiara blushed.

“Thank you,” Kiara replied, looking down at Cwynn
with an expression that combined both wonder and sadness. “And I want to hear all about how he’s been, but maybe not tonight.”

Eadoin smiled. “Those tales will keep. I warrant you’ve got some stories for us as well.” She stroked the back of Cwynn’s small hand, and his fingers curled reflexively. “So small to be the crux of such large intrigue, isn’t he?”

Alle and Eadoin took their leave as a servant appeared with a tray of food and a pitcher of warmed wassail. Kiara brought Cwynn and sat next to Tris by the fire, nestling Cwynn into the crook of her left arm as she sipped from a mug of the warm drink. Kiara rested her head on Tris’s shoulder and relaxed against him as he wrapped an arm around her. “I missed you,” she murmured.

“Not as much as I missed you.”

“Don’t be too sure.” As Cwynn slept, Kiara and Tris took turns recounting what had happened in their time apart. Kiara picked at the food as Tris told his part of the story, and finally, she set the empty mug aside.

“Royster’s taken custody of the burning glass while he’s here at Shekerishet. He wants to study it and make notes for posterity. After that, we’ll need to find a suitably safe place to store it—if there is such a place.” She grinned. “Royster’s written quite a bit in his chronicles about the war and the way it played out in Isencroft, so don’t be surprised if he hunts you down to hear your side of things, for the archives.”

“So the gifts of your ancestors’ spirits actually turned the tide?”

Kiara nodded. “Thanks to the necklace, Tice was able to broker a truce with the Western Raiders. They’ve
agreed to sell us grain, which should stave off famine and help get Isencroft through the worst of the winter. The burning glass made all the difference in the battle. As for the runes, they’ve been mostly silent, but I wonder, now that I’m here with you and Cwynn, what they might say.”

Carefully, so as not to wake the sleeping child in her lap, Kiara found the velvet pouch of rune stones that hung from her belt and took the bits of polished bone in her hands. “They’re warmer than usual,” she murmured. “That’s odd.”

Tris cleared the table surface and Kiara held the runes tightly in her fist next to her heart for a moment and then gently let them fall across the wood. This time, only one of the bones refused to speak. Tris rose and went to the door, speaking a few words to the guard outside, who returned in minutes with Sister Beyral, who did not look fully awake.

“We thought you might be able to help Kiara interpret,” Tris said, as Beyral bent closer to look at the runes.

“This is very interesting,” Beyral mused. “
Katen
, the rune of succession, lies akimbo. Something about the succession of the throne is not clear, but to which kingdom the rune speaks, I don’t know.
Telhon
, the rune of family, lies at cross quarters to
Est
, the rune of days. In that position, it refers to an eldest son. So this reading is specific to Cwynn.
Aneh
, the Chaos rune, lies beneath
Tivah
, the rune for the Flow of magic. There will be tension between the power of chaos and the power of the Flow, and Cwynn will be at the center of that conflict.”

Beyral indicated the next three runes. “
Sai
, the death rune, is inverted and lies next to
Vasht
, the burial rune. That’s the ‘summoner’s couplet’—it confirms that Cwynn will inherit his father’s abilities, but differently, as the
rune for the Flow indicates.
Vayash moru
will play a significant role, but how that will happen isn’t clear.
Fia
, the power or crown rune, is face down. It would appear to mean that Cwynn will not ascend the throne.” She held up a hand to forestall their comments. “But look.
Lyr
lies face up and at the top of
Fia. Lyr
is the rune of swords and athames. In this position, it speaks to distinction as a warrior or mage, perhaps both.”

Beyral spread her hands, palms up. “That’s all the runes tell me. I’m sorry it’s not clearer, but the runes rarely are.”

“Thank you,” Kiara replied, still staring at the runes as Tris and Beyral walked to the door and conferred in low tones before the seer left them.