The King of Forever (Scarlet and the White Wolf, #4) (21 page)

He retreated through the lonely rooms and paused at the main door. “And thanks for the book.”

He closed the heavy door after him with the same unmistakable feeling that he had when he prayed to Deva, the deep instinct that he had been
heard.

The rune he recognized in the book was one of the few known well by Hilurin. He had seen it painted on the crossroads of the Old Salt Road between Rusa and Lysia as a dire warning to travelers, and he had seen it in his vision of the Overworld.

The rune was
Senkhara
, the god of the Minh.

***

L
iall was not in the Leaf Court when Scarlet came down. The portcullis—a giant iron affair, forged in a pattern of thorny vines and leaves—was open. Fires were blazing in great iron pits throughout the yard, driving out the lingering chill.

The courtyard alone was bigger than the whole village square of Lysia, surrounded by walls twenty feet high and three feet thick, overshadowed by the towering structure of the massive palace itself, which rose like a pale mountain topped with spires and towers and endless stairs. The Leaf Court was one of many such yards in the Nauhinir. Scarlet had never bothered to count them all.

He spotted Theor by the gatehouse. The master of horse wore leather armor over a padded gambeson and was saddling a blue-black horse of alarming size.

The horse dipped his neck low and snuffled when Scarlet came near. He held out his hand to let him sniff. “Hello, boy. Big fellow, ent you?”

Theor watched. “The beasts like you.” One broad hand the size of a plate gentled the horse’s mane.

“He just wants a treat,” Scarlet said, but he was pleased.

Theor shook his head. “I’ve been watching them. When you come into the stables, it’s as if a summer wind blows through the pens. They look for you.”

Scarlet smiled and ducked his head. “My father was a wainwright. I’m just comfortable around horses. Maybe they sense that.”

“No,” Theor said. His gaze was level, measuring him. “They sense a kind spirit, and maybe that you have a weakness for them. You never visit your pony without a treat.”  

Scarlet chuckled at Theor naming his mount a pony. That animal was as big as any horse in Byzantur. “Where is Apples? I thought I’d be riding him today?”

Theor turned and searched the yard. “I did order him to be saddled, ser. Damn that fool groom. Serves me right for letting a green boy do my work. If you will hold Argent, I’ll bring him.”

Scarlet took the reins, surprised that Theor trusted him to control the horse. “Yes, of course,” he murmured, looking up at the great black head. If Argent bolted, he’d be dragged like the tail on a kite.

Argent snuffled his hair, seeming as amused as a horse could be.

Scarlet stroked the silken lines of Argent’s neck and clucked his tongue soothingly as Theor strode off.

The guards changed duty at the gatehouse as he waited, and servants came and went through side doors into palace kitchens and up winding stairs that led high into open battlements and parapet walks. Black smoke curled up in twisting ropes from the fires and vanished over the walls. Scarlet stamped his feet and wiggled his toes in his boots. The sun might be warmer on his shoulders today, but the ground was cold as ice. Liall said only the top layers of the land would melt. Deeper below, it had remained frozen for thousands of years.

Two columns of freeriders came in through the open gates, leather-clad and grim as winter, their long white hair flying in the wind. Their horses were as weathered as the riders. Grooms scurried to bring the men water and their mounts grain, for by law, the freeriders who patrolled the roads and highways in the king’s service were entitled to shelter anywhere, even the palace.

Theor returned with a face like a thundercloud. Liall followed him, blue cloak whipping around his knees, his shoulders hunched.

Whatever was wrong, Argent seemed to feel it, too. The beast turned his head to watch Liall and exhaled heavily from the great bellows of his lungs.

“We’re leaving for Sul now,” Liall said without preamble. His fists were clenched.

“Where’s my horse?” Scarlet asked Theor.

“Now,” Liall said, his jaw tight. He took the reins from Scarlet’s hands. “Theor, return Argent to the stables. Call for me when the sleigh is ready.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Theor patted Argent’s neck, who had sensed the change and begun to chew the bit.

Scarlet waited until the master of horse was out of earshot. He looked at Liall. “Is it bad?”

Anger flashed over Liall’s features. “I’m sorry, Scarlet. Apples can’t make the trip to Sul.”

“Is he ill?” At Liall’s nod, Scarlet turned to follow Theor. “Let’s go to him. I could cast a withy. Magic works on animals, too, you know.”

Liall took his arm and drew him back. “I think you shouldn’t.”

Scarlet stared, trying to puzzle out why Liall wouldn’t want him in the stables. Then, he knew. “That prancing purple bastard,” he swore. “Did he hurt the poor creature just to stick a pin in me? I’ll stick one in him!”

I’ll set his boots on fire
, he thought darkly
. I’ll make him burn like the sails of the Minh ship.

Liall grabbed his shoulders. “Scarlet, stop!”

Only then did he realize that his hands were burning with heat. He smelled smoke and tore his gloves off, throwing them on the ground.

Liall seized his hands and examined them. “Are you hurt? Are you burned? T’aishka
, look at me.”

Scarlet shook his head, trying to clear the fiery haze from his mind. “I’m fine. I just... fine. I’m sorry.” He took a deep breath and stared at his hands in amazement.

Liall’s fingers were trembling. “Gods below, what was that?”

What, indeed? Was he really thinking of setting Jarad Hallin on fire in the stables, around all that hay and timber? It would have gone up like a torch, along with the horses.

“I was imagining Hallin hurting Apples. And then it got away from me.” He looked at his palms. They were flushed pink. “It’s becoming hard to control,” he whispered in a shaking voice. “When we left Byzantur, I could barely summon a withy big enough to light a candle. Now...” He shivered, suddenly cold. “Now there’s a lion chained under my skin. It wants to devour everything. I try to starve it by not using magic, but it only grows hungrier.”

Liall’s blue eyes were wide. “Can it harm you?”

Scarlet frowned.
Could it?
He exhaled, growing calmer. No one was hurt. It hadn’t gotten away from him this time. “I don’t think so. My dad always said that Deva’s gift to us was drawing the magic out, that it had been inside of us from the beginning. Can one flame harm another?”

“A greater flame can overpower a smaller one, yes. The small flame is absorbed, the larger prevails.” Liall rubbed his thumb over Scarlet’s palm. “But we won’t play philosophy with your life. We must find a way to master this magic of yours.”

Scarlet nodded helplessly. They must, but how? He had no one to turn to in this. No father, no mother, no village. In Lysia, he could have asked old Hipola, or Jerivet, who was a wonder with animals. “Is Apples going to be alright?”

“He’ll live,” Liall said. “Theor will make sure of that.”

“I want to help.”

Liall shook his head. “No more dancing to Hallin’s tune. I wouldn’t wager money on his survival if either one of us confronted him right now. Let’s leave him here to shovel the shit from his damned
bride gift
.”

Scarlet spied Alexyin approaching from the stable gates. He knew they weren’t going anywhere until Alexyin had his say.

“Sire,” Alexyin greeted Liall with a respectful nod, and a shorter one in Scarlet’s direction, which was better than no acknowledgement at all. Scarlet suspected the dry courtesy was for Liall’s benefit. Alexyin saw the burned gloves on the ground and shot a curious look to Liall.

Liall ignored that look and glanced at the stable gates. “Theor told you?”

Alexyin nodded. “He did. I should speak with the Tebeti, allay any fears the delegation might have regarding the incident, if there are any.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” Scarlet blurted.

Liall took his hand. “Hush,” he said, not unkindly. He glared at Alexyin. “That’s your advice? Appeasement?”

“It’s a horse, sire,” Alexyin said flatly.

“It’s a message!” Liall shot back. “And a threat. I had to send Tesk to guard my apartments—
my
apartments in
my
home—because of this.”

“The very last thing they want is for you to come to harm.”

“Well, of course,” Liall mocked. “Without me, there’s no royal wedding, is there? Don’t play the mummer. You know what I fear.”

“A fear we all share, sire,” Alexyin said easily.

Too easily.

Liall’s eyes narrowed. He dropped Scarlet’s hand and stepped close to Alexyin, nose-to-nose. “Do we?” he asked softly.

Scarlett heard the red violence in Liall’s voice and shivered.

Alexyin met Liall’s gaze calmly. “I am loyal, my lord.”

“If I believed otherwise, I’d be having this conversation with a head impaled on a spike; one that was lately a Setna.”

Alexyin’s jaw dropped. “Nazheradei ... my Prince...”

“Your king,” Liall reminded him.

Alexyin was shaken and seemed to grope for words. “Sire, I am sworn to the Camira-Druz. Sworn for life. I’m only a man, but I’m faithful and I advise the crown to the best of my ability.” He squared his shoulders. “Wars are perilous and uncertain. Before the first battle begins, my earnest counsel is for you to marry Lady Ressilka. At once.” His glance shifted to Scarlet for an instant. “A king may keep a consort and still take a wife.”

“Just one consort?” Liall bantered back. “Why stop there? Is that why you prompted the baron of Jadizek to offer me a formal mistress?”

“He what?”
Scarlet roared. Heads turned all over the yard.

Alexyin ignored him. “My lord, this is how alliances are made,” he said with patience. “How they have always been made, with marriage and children and beds.”

Scarlet could keep quiet no longer. “D’you know the difference between a Rshani court and a brothel? The brothels post their prices on the front door!” he stormed. “Giant, piss-mucking, whoremongering, sons of—” his curses descended into gutter Falx.

A wry grin curled a corner of Liall’s mouth. He made no move to stop the tirade, though Alexyin looked like he’d swallowed a fish whole and was choking on the fins.

“—pack of turd-smelling goat-fuckers!” Scarlet finished, breathing heavily.

Liall shrugged. “And there, my learned advisor, is your answer. No mistress, from Jadizek or anywhere.”

Alexyin’s nostrils flared. “Cestimir was a prince who heeded his counselors!”

“Perhaps that’s why he’s
dead,”
Liall shot back.

Alexyin snapped his mouth closed in shock. He threw Scarlet a look of pure venom before bowing deeply to Liall. “As my king commands.”

Scarlet was shaking as he watched Alexyin vanish into the palace. Liall took him in his arms and stroked his hair.

“We’re leaving,” Liall whispered into his ear. “You longed to go adventuring again, my redbird. I fear what’s coming will be much more than you bargained for.”

***

T
hey took fifty men and sheltered at a freerider’s fort a thousand feet below the Nauhinir. Scarlet could see the towers of the palace from his window, the points of spires glittering in the sun. He’d seen it from a distance before, but now that he was leaving, it was like looking back on a dream. He was shocked to realize that he considered the Nauhinir as home now. That impossibly immense palace—dwarfing the king’s castle at Ankar—and filled with grand halls and wealth and strangeness; how could that ever be his
home?

Because it’s Liall’s home,
he thought.

He turned from the window and crawled into the bed. The ranger had given up his room to the king, and Liall had gone to take supper with his men. Scarlet had begged off, saying he was tired after the incident at the Leaf Court. Liall had nodded and offered to send for a curae, but Scarlet had refused. A quiet place to sleep was all he wanted.

A small fire smoldered in the hearth of the ranger’s room, which was quite large for one man. Scaja’s little cottage would have fitted entirely inside of it. He reclined against the deep pillows and closed his eyes, trying to picture his home: the painted window, his narrow bed in the back of the cottage, the weave of the woolen curtain that had separated it from the larger room. It was the only home he had ever known, before Liall. He couldn’t see the cottage in his mind, but he could smell phantom smoke. He sighed and rolled over. It was futile to dwell on sadness.

What month must it be now?
he wondered. Liall said it was Greentide in Rshan, so... the Month of Kings?

The trade routes from Rusa would be open, or would they? Had his entire country dissolved into civil war, as Liall had predicted, or had the Flower Prince found a way to make peace with the Aralyrin?

Rannon’s caravan would have been on the move for months. He wondered how the old bastard was, if he’d found someone to make him happy or was still spending his evenings drinking himself blind and staring into campfires. He hoped the man was well.

I’d have been dead thrice over if he hadn’t taught me the long-knives,
he thought. Rannon was owed a prayer to Deva for that, at least. And for much else.

"On danaee Deva shani,"
he whispered. He turned his head to look at the patch of sky. "Remember my family, Goddess. Bless the souls of my father and my mother, who wait for me in the Overworld. Please watch over Annaya and Shansi. They’re going to need it, I think. Bless Rannon, even though he’s a slaver and probably doesn’t deserve it or even believe in you. He’s got a hard heart, but he never went looking for that. The world gave it to him, poor man. Bless Liall, because he’s a good king and wants to be a better one. Bless my friends Tesk, Jochi, Nenos, and Nevoi. Oh, and Alexyin, too. He doesn’t like me much, but maybe that isn’t his fault either.
On danaee Deva shani."