The King's Sons (The Herezoth Trilogy) (4 page)

“One of
those women who take up with a powerful man and need everyone to be aware of
it.”

The
assumption was absurd. Anyone who had lived in Herezoth without being deaf and
dumb for the last quarter century could have said that Kora had known the king
while he was dispossessed, and only then. What power had he held during
sorcerer-dictator Zalski Forzythe’s reign? Rexson Phinnean’s first act as
monarch had been to exile the woman.

Kansten,
however, could not draw attention to the obvious, not with Vane’s breath heavy
on her neck. She felt ill to condone the insults against her mother, but all
she could think to say in response was, “She must be one of those women, yes.”
Kansten turned back to the mural, as though to study it out of curiosity, while
a twinge of hot guilt made her mouth twitch.

Vane led
Kansten back to the courtyard. His pace had her trotting to the start of the colonnade,
some hundred yards before the Palace. Kansten stopped there, out of the
guardsmen’s range of hearing, and whirled the duke to face her. Before she
could speak, he said, “I know how hard that is.”

“I feel like
a snake.”

“Want to go
home?”

Kansten
scoffed. “Home to Triflag? Look, I know quite well that idiots like that, they
don’t want me here. They’d lose their minds if they knew who my mother is. I’m
staying, and I’ll have a good chuckle over it every night at Oakdowns.”

“The last
laugh’s theirs if you let them turn you bitter. They’re not worth your time,
not a second of it. Half of them don’t even know what they’re saying.”

“That fool
sure didn’t.”

“I’ve dealt
with the nonsense for years, and it’s not one bit easier today than a decade
ago. At least you can see for yourself now you can’t shout about where you come
from.”

“What about
my accent?” Kansten demanded. “You think it won’t draw attention?”

“I was
meaning to talk to you about that. I have a spell that would mask it, if you’d
let me use it on you. You’d speak like a woman from Podrar.”

Kansten
gulped. “Would it hurt?”

“Just a dull
sting for a few seconds. I had your uncle cast it on me after I found it.”

“Cast it,”
said Kansten. “Go ahead, right now. I’m not leaving Herezoth, so if the spell
will make it easier to fit in….”

“You’re sure
you’re all right with this? You’ll sound different, to yourself even. That’s a
substantial change, and if you aren’t sure….”

“Is it
reversible?”

“I can
remove the spell any time you’d like.”

“Then say
the blasted incantation.”

“All right,
then. If you’re ready.” Kansten nodded, and Vane whispered, “
Voza Podrarum Estandarum
.”

Kansten
massaged her throat, though as Vane had warned, it stung her only lightly and
for less than a minute. “So, what do you think?” she asked, and clasped a hand
to her mouth. Her voice had the rhythms and the vowels of a Podrar native,
crisper than those of her natural Traigland accent. Her words rolled off her
tongue too fast, or faster than she was used to. Vane smiled at her.

“You sound
very like my cook. Maybe more like her daughter, come to that.”

“I guess
sounding like I’m from here’s good,” said Kansten. “I’ll get used to it. I just
need to talk some.”

“I can
always remove the spell,” Vane reminded her. “Or we could come back in a day or
two.”

“No way. I
want to see the Palace. Can we go in the main doors?”

“I’m afraid
not. It’s the servants’ entrance for the likes of us—well, the likes of
you.”

They took
off to cross the rest of the courtyard. The duke spoke with the guard at the
servants’ door, said he had made arrangements for the king to speak with a
harpist from Ingleton who was hoping to play at an upcoming banquet. That got
Kansten inside, where she planned to talk to Vane as they walked, to accustom
herself to her new voice.

The Palace
rendered her speechless. Its narrow hallways, rich carpets and tapestries, and
lamps that each were different in some way kept her silent. Her awe increased
as Vane led her out the servants’ quarters into the Palace proper and through
the domed vestibule with all its marble, its curved staircase, and its crystal
chandelier. The duke stopped to show Kansten the library filled with floor-to-ceiling
shelves before backtracking a bit and climbing a flight to reach the king’s
antechamber.

Kansten’s
stomach had never felt so knotted. “What do I call him? What should I say?”

Vane told
her not to worry, that the king would want her to address him by his name
rather than a title, and he knocked on the door. The king himself opened,
though Kansten didn’t realize he was the king. He didn’t look like any king; he
was dressed as her father would be to go to his smithy.

Rexson
Phinnean was as tall as Vane, with the build of a man who had fewer than the
king’s almost fifty years behind him. His hair was blond and thinning, his
light eyes bright, and his posture was impeccable. He greeted the Duke of
Ingleton, who began, “This is….”

“You’re
Kora’s daughter,” said the king. Kansten nodded, surprised, and Rexson Phinnean
shook her hand. “You have your mother’s nose.”

Vane said,
“I told Kansten to call you by your name.”

“What other
should she use? Please, come in.” The king led them into a cross between a luxurious
parlor and a spacious, orderly study. His desk was so organized it had no
clutter at all; Kansten assumed he used another room as his functional office,
and calmed herself by imagining that area as far from immaculate. The king and
his guests took seats in armchairs arranged about an empty hearth, and Rexson
Phinnean asked, “Your name is Kansten? I knew the woman who bore it first, and
she’d be honored to know you share it. I hope the Palace has met your
expectations.”

“It’s
remarkable, Sir. I can’t believe I’m here. People in Traigland talk about the
Palace, and I’d read about its history, but to see it….”

Rexson gave
a slight nod. “I’m not fond of the building, I have to say. Most people whose
opinion I value feel the same, so it’s nice to know you appreciate the place
for what it is. Vane told me you’d apprentice with Cline Dagner while you’re
here? In architecture?”

Kansten admitted,
“I’m trying to feel more excited than nervous.”

“You’ve no
reason to fret. Your mother could adapt to anything, and I imagine you’re very
much like her.” A light gleam came into the king’s eye. “Just try not to
outshine your master, if you don’t mind. He’s one of my more renowned subjects,
and his fame is very much an asset to my realm.”

Kansten
laughed. “I don’t think you need to fear for him, Sir.”

“Feel free
to call me Rexson, like Vane told you.” Kansten nodded, and the king went on,
“I have Dagner employed at the moment, if you didn’t know. My sons wanted a
vacation home in a more rural area. Well, the youngest did. Dagner’s designing
his cabin.”

Vane told
Kansten, “I suggested Fontferry for the location.” The duke had spent his
childhood there, in the care of an innkeeper.

“Fontferry
sounds lovely,” said Kansten. “Up north on the river, near the mountains. I
bet….”

She got no
further. A sharp, insistent pounding on the door cut off her voice.

Vane and
Rexson exchanged startled looks, and everyone rose as the king admitted a
soldier, one wearing a dirt-stained uniform. The newcomer looked to be the
king’s age, perhaps some years younger. His face had few lines, but his hair
was a brilliant shade of gray beneath his rimless cap. The man’s air was
powerful, his step strong, and Kansten almost thought she smelled impatience
reeking from his pores, but the odor that reached her was sweat. Dark circles
lined his eyes. He bowed to the king, while Vane said, “Gratton?”

“Gratton,”
said Rexson, “what are you doing here? Have you come from Partsvale?”

The soldier
affirmed, “Almost without sleeping. Killed two horses and had to change
uncounted more.” Then he noticed Vane. “It’s good Ingleton’s here. We’d have
had to send for him.”

Vane asked,
“What in God’s name…? Kansten, go to the library. You can find your way back
there?”

Kansten’s
voice was weak. “I imagine I can.”

The duke said,
“Go there, if you’d please. I’ll meet you as soon as I can.”

Kora’s
daughter left the room without taking leave, and Vane shut her out with a soft
incantation. The corridor was clear, so Kansten pressed her ear against the
door’s edge, praying Vane would cast no spell to prevent her listening. He did
not: at least, not right away.

The king’s
voice asked, “What’s happened, Gratton?”

“There’s a
damned group of magicked malcontents up north planning a siege near Partsvale,
that’s what happened. The leader’s amassed followers over the last decade. He’s
got two hundred or so supporting him, all empowered. He, of course, would be a
sorcerer. Claims his sorcerer father died to put you on the throne.”

“Petroc?”
said the king. “Petroc had a son?”

“
Contenay Ruid,
”
spoke Vane, and Kansten cursed beneath her breath before heading
back to the library. That was the only thing to do, now a sound barrier was up.
She would hear nothing more. Her uncle had cast that spell before, and she knew
how well it functioned.

CHAPTER
TWO

The
King’s Sons

Kansten
found the Palace library empty, which calmed her. Her shock from the beginning
of that guardsman’s exposé couldn’t prevent her from examining the
awe-inspiring room in which she found herself.

A white
marble floor with burgundy-tinted rugs. Shelves against every inch of every
wall that wasn’t taken by the door, the hearth, or one of several arched
windows. The room rose three stories, and Kansten could appreciate the
nondescript nature of the chestnut wood that composed the library’s staircase
and two platforms. Those platforms extended around the shelves’ perimeter;
their design drew the eye to the tomes in the royal family’s collection.

The woman
climbed to the top-most level and studied manuscript after manuscript as she
walked along. She was afraid to touch any of them; the highest placed, at
least, looked ancient, and she would not have been surprised if some of them
crumbled to dust at the brush of her hand. After her circuit she descended to
the floor and grabbed a more recent volume, some legend about Herezoth’s first
warlords.

The syntax
was complex, and trying to decipher it diverted Kansten’s mind from the soldier
in the king’s antechamber. She had no idea how long Vane would be, and no
concept of how much time she had spent on a settee, engrossed in her tale,
before a young man walked in.

The man was
younger than Vane, around Kansten’s age, with thick brown waves in the hair
tied at his neck, a moustache that suited the curves of his face, and a beagle
in tow. The dog had some gray around its muzzle, but its fur was white with
various spots of brown. Its master wore a servant’s clothing.

Kansten
judged him a gardener, for his tanned skin and his build implied an active
life. He had a thin, chiseled nose she found attractive, and he stood taller
than she did, though she could say that of few men: at least, few men from
Traigland.

“Hello,” he
said. He stared at Kansten with an awkward expression, and she felt her cheeks
grow hot. “Wasn’t expecting anyone in here.”

“The Duke of
Ingleton brought me. He asked me to wait while he speaks with His Majesty. I’ll
be staying at Oakdowns for a while, and….”

The young
man appeared more perplexed than ever. “With the duke and his wife? Do you know
him, then?”

 
“I’ve known him almost my whole life.”

“What’s your
name?”

“Kansten
Cason.”

The beagle,
which had been sniffing at the young man’s feet, started off toward Kansten,
but its owner stooped to grab it by the collar. He looked up at the library’s
other human occupant with his mouth hanging open.

“Kora
Porteg’s daughter?” Kansten nodded, and the man said, “We’ve met before. I’ve
met your entire family. Visited Traigland when I was eight.”

Kansten
thought back to the occasion. Three brothers and their sister had come from
Herezoth; they had stayed with her uncle for a number of days, and Kansten and
her siblings had kept them entertained. One had even been bitten….

“You’re
Ryne’s brother? Ryne and the snake? Good heavens, you’re Brant, aren’t you? Is
your father still a butler here? Do you work at the Palace now?”

The man let
out a powerful but good-natured laugh. “Hardly. I just returned from a trip to
the meadow with my dogs…. I’m Hune Phinnean.”

Rexson
Phinnean’s youngest son. “No you’re not,” Kansten shot.

“I’m afraid
I am.”

“Then your
brother Tommy, he….”

“He would be
the crown prince.”

Kansten felt
dizzy, and leaned back against the settee where she sat. “There is no way
that….”

The dog had
given up on seeking Kansten’s company, so the prince let it lie and rose to his
full height. “My father wanted us out of Herezoth,” Hune explained. “Some fools
had threatened us. He sent us to your mother and uncle, because he could trust
them. He gave us false names.”

“And you
used them. Your brother lied to me.”

The oldest
brother, “Tommy”—Tommy who would be king, Valkin Phinnean by
birth—had named his father a butler and his mother the queen’s maid.

Hune’s glee
departed. That awkward look from when he first noticed Kansten, it returned in
full force. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“You? What
did you do?”

“Nothing, I
suppose. I….”

Hang
Kansten’s candor. It was always making men uncomfortable, and this was a
prince. She softened her tone.

“Are you and
your brothers close?”

“As close as
most are.”

“If that
means close enough to tell them you met me here, I wish you wouldn’t.”

“If you’d
prefer that,” said the prince, “then I won’t. I don’t see the harm in
mentioning you’re visiting Vane, but….”

“We got
along as kids, me and your oldest brother. I’d feel so awkward if he tried to
say hello or wanted to reminisce. I mean, I had no clue who he was….”

The beagle
turned its attention to the door at its master’s back, and two more men
appeared.

Their attire
was formal enough to include fitted vests. They looked twenty years
old—surely neither was yet twenty-five—and they were blond, with
their hair tied in the same manner as Hune’s. One wore glasses, the shorter of
the two (though only by an inch). Both gazed at Kansten while Hune stood mute.

“Who’s
that?” the spectacled man asked the prince. Kansten replied from her seat.

“Hello,
Tommy.”

Tommy—or
Valkin—stared at her face. He studied the freckles she had never lost and
shook his head in disbelief. “Kansten?” he said. “From Traigland?”

“You must be
Neslan Phinnean,” she greeted the other blond man. The brother that snake had
nearly killed. His nose was thinner than Valkin’s, slim like Hune’s, but his
cheekbones were the most prominent of the three. All the brothers were comely
in their way, with handsome if varied features. Their poise and their confident
airs did much to push their appearances past respectable; already the crown
prince was recovering from his shock.

Neslan
asked, “What are you doing in Podrar? At the Palace?”

“Vane
brought her,” said Hune.

The crown
prince asked, “How long will you be in the capital?”

“I’m not
sure. I’m hoping to see much of the kingdom. Vane can take me all over, after
all.”

“Why would
you want him to?” asked Neslan. Kansten clenched her jaw. “You’re Kora Porteg’s
daughter, aren’t you? A sorceress. What if people found out you were in
Herezoth? I don’t mean to be churlish, but you…. You’d be in danger.”

Who do you think you are, to know what’s best
for me?

This man
knew nothing about her life or her apprenticeship with Cline Dagner. Kansten
rose from her seat. “I’ll be as safe here as anyone. My mother might be famous,
but I haven’t a drop of magic. Not that my magic’s any concern of yours. The
king knows who and where I am. If it comes out I moved to Herezoth, I’ll make
public that I’m powerless. No one will attack me for my sorcery, Your
Highness.”

“No magic?”
said Hune, with a warning glare at Neslan. “In truth?”

“In truth.
Valkin, you never told them?”

Kansten and
Valkin had found Zacry Porteg’s spellbooks while the princes were in Traigland.
They had tried to cast incantations, and Kansten had discovered her lack of
sorcery in front of the boy; she had broken down in stunned sadness.

Valkin told
her, “I never said a thing.”

She
sputtered, “Well, that…. That’s right decent of you.”

The crown
prince’s smile was a bit too smug as he told her, “You’re welcome.”

Wow. You can be both decent
and
a pompous ass.

A contrite
Neslan walked up to shake Kansten’s hand. He said, “Never thought our paths
would cross again. Sincerely, though, you’re welcome here, at any time. You
found the spell that saved me from that snake venom. If Vane brought you, what
are you doing in the library?”

“I’m not
sure. Vane’s with your father. I think there’s…. Something urgent’s come up. In
Partsvale.”

Valkin and
his brothers shared a confused glance. Hune asked, “How do you know that?”

The princes
already knew Kansten’s greatest shame. She might as well share another. “I
listened at the door until Vane cast a sound barrier.”

Neslan
expressed approval with a tart “good woman,” while Valkin groaned out of
exasperation.

“He always
casts those things. On scores of occasions we’ve tried to eavesdrop.”

Hune
admitted, “We don’t need to listen in, though. Not really. Father tells us most
everything, all three of us, but to overhear his conferences with the
nobility…. We could pick up more. Potent pauses, odd turns of phrase….”

Kansten
smirked. “You’re a curious bunch, aren’t you?”

Valkin fired
back, “
We’re
curious? You’re the one
who eavesdropped tonight. Seems I’ve unearthed the reason your mother called
you Kancat. Does she still do that?”

“I hate
cats,” Kansten muttered. “And curiosity’s not why….” She peered at the eldest
prince, shocked. “You remember my mother calls me Kancat?”

Valkin said,
“I remember our stint in Traigland distinctly. We all do, seeing Neslan was almost
killed. That damned serpent….”

That sent
Kansten’s mind back. She remembered the snake attack more vividly than she had
in years: how the day had been so hot she’d twisted her hair up; how Neslan had
fallen, his hand sliding under a log; how the red and yellow bands on the coral
snake had glistened in the afternoon sun as Valkin, with a wave of his hand,
smashed them time and again against an oak.

With a gasp,
Kansten pointed at the brothers. She whispered, “You have magic. I saw it;
you’re telekinetic. You’re all…. Do people know?”

The royal
family—the king’s sons, and perhaps the king himself—had magic
powers. Kansten felt dizzy again, and retook her seat. The princes exchanged
uncomfortable looks. Hune’s beagle sniffed around Neslan now as Valkin sat next
to Kansten. He told her, his voice quiet, “Hune’s no magic, but Neslan and I
are telekinetic like our father. The public doesn’t know, of course. Common
citizens can never know. There’d be riots in the streets.”

So there
would. As peaceful and prosperous as Rexson Phinnean’s reign had proved, people
would panic at the thought that he, like the dictator who had ruled before him,
could call on magic to aid tyranny at his slightest whim. Kansten was now party
to a secret that could destroy her parents’ homeland.

Vane and the
king would never let her stay in Herezoth. They would send her back to
Traigland. Back to that festering pit of boredom where the only thing of value,
the only thing she cared the slightest bit about, was her family, and even they
were constant reminders of how worthless she felt for lacking sorcery.

“Don’t tell
your father I know. I beg you, all of you…. He can’t find out I saw you kill
that snake with magic. Vane can’t realize, or he’ll make me return to Triflag
Bay. That place smothers me. I can’t go back there, I….” Kansten peered into
Valkin’s lightly tinted, spectacle-covered eyes, because he sat at her side.
“You told no one I can’t do magic. I’ll tell no one you can, I mean that. The
knowledge will go to my grave. I have no misconceptions about how important….”

Valkin
patted her arm. “We won’t tell Father that you know, don’t worry. Will we,
boys?”

“Of course
not,” said Hune. Neslan’s affirmation was more hesitant, but he gave it.
Kansten thanked him, her voice still hushed, and let out a relieved sigh. The
relief was only temporary, as her mind went back to why she waited in the
library in the first place. What further news did that soldier have for the
king? What was going on in Partsvale with that band of “magicked malcontents”?
Would Partsvale pull Vane from the capital? Might Kansten have to return to
Traigland after all?

*
* *

In the
king’s antechamber, Vane listened as Rexson explained more about whom Petroc
had been. The duke had read about the man before but had found no reason in
years to think of him, while Gratton, Vane guessed, knew little about the deceased
sorcerer.

“Are you
familiar with the
Librette Oscure
?”
Rexson asked his duke. “Perhaps from that journal your mother kept? The one I
gave you?”

“A
spellbook,” Vane responded. “The
Librette
’s
an old spellbook, known for dark magic.”

“Your uncle
sought it while he ruled. We in the resistance found it first, and were
determined to keep it from him. Well, Petroc interfered. He’d been hiding at
the Hall of Sorcery in the mountains, so we didn’t expect he’d pose a problem,
but he stole the
Librette
from us.
When Zalski took it from him, he helped your mother, Kora, and me in our final
assault on the Palace. He died here, all to settle what he viewed as a debt. He
was a bit unhinged, to put it mildly.”