The Fox (49 page)

The city streets were crowded, cold as it was. When he passed, cheers and fists against hearts were proof again that that mysterious act of will on the parts of people he had never met had transformed him into a king.

They rode through the great gates of the castle to the central courtyard and stopped at the passage between the great hall and the throne room. The big iron-reinforced double doors to the throne room stood open, black-sashed guards at either side to hold back the crowds of city folk gathered there despite the freezing air. More cheers, more fists thumping chests as he and his entourage passed inside, joining all those already gathered there. Someone blew the bugle-call for the king’s arrival, and all fell silent. Evred could hear breathing, felt the weight of gazes, as he walked up the broad stone steps of the dais.

Hadand waited at the side of the throne, dressed in Algara-Vayir green except for a black sash. At her left, in Shield Arm position, stood Cama Tya-Vayir; Evred knew it was he who had taken control of the Guard. To her right stood Buck Marlo-Vayir. Both wore formal House colors.

Hadand greeted him with her fist against her heart.

He held out his hands to her, met those wide-set, honest brown eyes, and felt a faint shock when she drew in a small breath and her eyelids gleamed with sudden tears. But they did not fall as she briefly touched his hands. “I have kept everything as it was,” she said so only he could hear.

Evred opened a hand, already distracted, for every pair of eyes watched him, each face a mirror of questions, demands, exclamations held in check.

He lifted his voice. “Let the word be spread through the kingdom: as is traditional, the coronation will be held Midsummer’s Day.”

A tumult of voices rose, echoing off the stone to a skull-shattering roar. Evred walked off the dais through the narrow door at the side, followed by those who had awaited him there. Hadand’s Runner shut the door after the last, diminishing the noise to a distant roar.

“Where is Jarend-Adaluin?” Evred asked, turning from one to another.

“Went home. Declared justice given. Took his banner. And Joret,” Cama said, his voice rougher than usual. “We’ve been holding the Yvana-Vayirs in the garrison, and
their
Runners.” He glanced upward with his one eye on the word “their,” and Evred knew he meant the Runners of his brother and uncle. “The few left alive.”

More mess: so the old Jarl hadn’t died of the wounds Hadand had given him. Damn. And what would he do with his brother’s Runners? His uncle’s?

“Take me upstairs,” Evred said to Hadand. “Everything else can wait.”

The two of them left the anteroom, followed by their personal Runners, who shut the outer door and guarded it, as signals went from female to male guards. In concert they began conducting people out of the throne room and to the gates.

Neither Hadand nor Evred spoke on that long journey to the upper level of the residence.

They walked through the doors locked for more than a month and shut their Runners out to guard. A muffled thump had to be Nightingale setting his back to the door; they heard Tesar’s low murmur as she introduced herself and took up a stance beside him.

They were now alone. In Aldren-Sierlaef’s rooms the smell of old blood hit them, and Hadand moved to open windows to the freshening flow of snow-laden air. The bodies had been Disappeared, but the blood and disarray lay untouched, unwanded, so that Evred could witness it.

“I have reconstructed what must have happened,” Hadand said after a long pause. “Different bands of Yvana-Vayir armsmen went after your brother and uncle, probably at the same time. Aldren took down four of them before a fifth got him. Your father came in right after—but I think you know the rest.”

Evred grimaced. “Noddy and Cherry-Stripe did not know what happened to my uncle, but assumed he was dead.”

“Yes.” She pressed her fingers briefly against her face, her fingertips against her closed eyelids. Then she dropped her hands and opened her eyes. “I found your uncle lying in Aunt Ndara’s inner chamber. He had died of so many cuts I can only guess that an entire riding came after him, too many for him to fight. He had one of his own knives in his ribs. He fell very close to her. She too was considerably cut up, but mostly about the arms, except for a long one on her neck and several on her upper back. In short I don’t know if Ndara died by assassins’ blades, or by his hand. The Yvana-Vayir men we questioned insisted she was dead when they saw her.” Hadand hesitated, unsure whether or not to share her speculations about Ndara’s death.

“I think I’d rather not find out the truth, since it changes nothing,” Evred said, and when she opened her hands in agreement, “Was there much fighting otherwise?”

“Very little. I sent my women to hold the castle as soon as I discovered there was trouble.” Hadand added wryly, “As for the Guard barracks, I suspect the Marlo-Vayirs and Yvana-Vayirs did not want to fight one another any more than they wanted to fight us. Not when they’d been riding together for over a week.”

“And the Guard?”

“My father rode up and took over. Ordered them all to stand down. Half of them were exhausted, having been riding through the snow for days with the Sierlaef. They’d just gone off duty. The others were tired from doubled watches. Nobody argued.”

Evred could imagine their confusion, the consternation that there was no invading enemy, only Marlovans, and which colors would be the enemy? “So the Marlo-Vayirs did not know about Yvana-Vayir’s plans?”

“Not a hint. Mad Gallop only talked of justice. The Jarl of Marlo-Vayir ordered his men to stop the Yvana-Vayirs after their Jarl gave his orders to kill. I think certain of the Yvana-Vayir captains knew the plot. Had promises of future glory. The captains give confused testimony, some saying they had an idea, some swearing they didn’t, but once the killing began, they all knew they had crossed that inward boundary between treason and what one called making history. He talked a lot about that, I gather. ‘Making history.’ It seems to be defined by killing. You will not have a pleasant task, judging them.”

“No. So this assault took you, too, by surprise?”

“Completely.” Her color changed again. “All I knew was that the Sierlaef had apparently—well, it no longer matters. I’d heard two days before from Chelis about Barend and the owl ring, and that my father was coming with a war banner. If he did appear and throw down a war pennant before the throne, that would be king’s business, but I’d had my women on alert. So everyone had been going about armed with their bows and we let the Guard think it was drill. Thus we were able to deploy fast.”

“So I must first examine the Yvana-Vayirs,” Evred said, feeling a band of tension tighten around his skull. It was a familiar sensation, the one he’d felt whenever he had to sit in judgment between Marlovans and Idayagans. “Before I do, I’d like to hear your conclusions.”

Hadand drew a shaky breath. “I believe the plot began and ended with Mad Gallop Yvana-Vayir. Hawkeye was as surprised as the Marlo-Vayirs when Mad Gallop announced his real plan—and hinted that someone was sent against you.”

“It’s true. Sindan died instead.”

Hadand recoiled, shock and sorrow widening her eyes. “I thought . . . I thought he was . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“Left in charge of Ala Larkadhe? I don’t think I could have prevented him from coming home, had he known about—” Evred waved a hand toward the bloodstained rugs, then rubbed his forehead.
Kill the king
. Anger burned into fury behind his ribs, but he had to get control. Think, not feel. He’d seen the evidence of letting emotions control actions. Seen it and lived it in his own mistakes. “You’re certain Hawkeye knew nothing?”

“As certain as I can be. He refused at least twice, in front of witnesses, to obey his father’s will. Surely Cama told you that?”

“Yes. But I wanted to hear it from you.” Evred opened his hand, then turned slowly, looking from object to object in the room. She watched him covertly.

He was so tall, his austere profile so like his father’s, and yet so unlike. His dark red hair waved up into its clasp and hung down to the small of his back, his hands were the long, fine hands of his family, roughened by daily drill. He was her own dear Evred in his academy gray, yet he wasn’t; there were faint lines around his eyes from his long rides in the northern summer sun, from whatever tensions he’d endured during that time. Though only twenty he was a man grown, and despite the ravaged chamber, despite her awareness of the many waiting outside to demand the new king’s attention, her heart fluttered in her ribs like a caged swift. She fought the urge to step closer to him, to hear his breathing, to smell his scent, to look up into his eyes. To touch him.

But he didn’t want her. He would never want her.

She forced her mind away from awareness of him, disgusted with herself.
Here he stands, not a handbreadth from where his father bled out his life, and all I can think of is . . .
She shied away from even that much acknowledgment of her emotions. “Maybe if people weren’t already tired of the demands of war there might have been more trouble,” she said, because this was what mattered to him most, and he would need her help. “Under all the talk of loyalty and oaths I hear a fear of chaos. People want you to fix what’s wrong. And there’s a lot wrong.”

She paused, and he gestured agreement. She resumed, her even tone and the flow of words now sounding rehearsed to him, who was sensitive to every subtlety in her voice.

“After that first week we had ridings appear from Ola-Vayir, from Stalgrid Tya-Vayir—the one you call Horsebutt—from friends and foes of your uncle, some demanding fulfillment of secret promises your uncle Anderle had made, others demanding justice in the form of more lands and grants. But my father’s warriors and Cama and the Marlo-Vayirs forced them all to sheer off. Cama stood at my shoulder looking tough, and he had the Guard drilling in the open, armed, at all times.” She smiled briefly. “Cama was my Shield Arm. Joret arrived,” she added after a pause. “Your brother’d sent men to Darchelde to fetch her—doesn’t matter why—”

“We know why. Was there trouble with Darchelde?”

“Not a bit. Joret said she had promised the Sierlaef she would come, in order to prevent bloodshed.”

Evred knew Hadand too well to think that the mention of Cama and then Joret were unrelated. “What happened with Joret?” he asked quickly. “No trouble with Cama, surely?”

Hadand sighed. “I had some fears for a time that she would follow poor Kialen, for she felt that she had chosen dishonor rather than risk causing civil war. Your brother wanted to marry her, you see, which made her sense of dishonor more unbearable—the fact that in marrying him she would turf me out as queen.”

Evred made a warding gesture. “Why didn’t she just take a knife to him?”

“Because she knew that, by his own strange reasoning, he was doing the right thing, the ‘honorable’ thing, by offering to make her a queen. So she was grieved and confused and ashamed. But then she met Cama.” Another little smile. “The only bearable thing in a terrible month. When they’re together the heat could banish winter.”

Evred pinched his thumb and forefinger to his nose. “No. Not Cama and Joret.” He dropped his hand, smiling wearily. “I should say, under ordinary circumstances, what you call heat couldn’t happen to two finer people. But his family—
her
family—”

“Exactly,” she said, looking grim. “If Horsebutt found out, he’d try to force Starand out and gain alliance with Choraed Elgaer by insisting on a marriage. And Starand, of course, would go home to Ola-Vayir, wailing and insisting she’d been dishonored—she would love nothing better than a clan war in her name. She would in fact do anything for that much attention. So Cama and Joret had just a few days together, and when my father went home, she went with him, and Cama stayed by my side.”

He sighed. “Honor again. What a cost.”

Hadand’s smile faded. “Honor indeed. I just hope they don’t pay the price the rest of their lives.”

Evred shook his head, then moved to the next painful item on his list. “What about Kialen? Where is she? You said ‘follow’.”

“Dead. But not by violence. We found her lying on her bed. Tesar insisted she smelled distilled white kinthus in the room, and there was an empty crystal vial on the night-stand next to the unlit candle. Though I don’t know how she could have gotten it, as Tesar acted as Runner for her, too. She couldn’t bear to take a stranger as Runner. Anyway I’d told her to hide. I had to get to the queen. My first duty was to guard the queen,” she added, her voice going high.

“I know. You could not be everywhere at once. Poor Kialen! I don’t think she spoke a single word to me in the year before I was sent north. Yet I tried to be as gentle with her as I could.”

“Oh, Evred, I tried so hard to make her happy, but she got stranger and stranger, like she half lived in a world we didn’t see.” Hadand’s voice trembled. She made a fierce effort and stilled it. She looked up, blinked, then turned to the fire. “Aunt Ndara confessed to me not long ago that the Cassad family had decided she was going the way of a mysterious Cassadas great-grandmother seldom mentioned, who saw and even spoke with ghosts. I did my very best to try to keep her with us, but when she wasn’t in her own dreamworld she was always afraid. I should have kept her by me at the end, but I didn’t know if they’d come after the queen, and I did not know what she would do.” Her face was averted.

Evred moved to where he could see her. He could feel the effort she made to marshal her emotions.

“At least Barend is recovering,” she said, glancing his way and attempting a smile.

“Barend! Vedrid told me he had returned, but subsequent events so overtook me I completely forgot. And the others never mentioned him.”

She said reasonably, “Well, your academy friends don’t know him, do they? He showed up the day after, when everything was upside down. He was more dead than alive.”