Tyrant's Blood (30 page)

Loethar returned his attention to the servant. ‘Tell me about the biscuits.’

Roland looked baffled. ‘They were freshly baked. I brought a few on a plate as instructed. The rest I left where they were in the empress’s chambers.’

‘Were all the ones you brought to the orchard eaten?’

Roland frowned, looking down. ‘Yes, I believe they were, my lord. There were only crumbs left.’

‘I ate one,’ Valya lied, glad that Roland hadn’t noticed the leftover biscuits. ‘Your mother ate the rest rather greedily,’ she added sourly.

Loethar ignored her. ‘Go and fetch the tin of biscuits, Roland, and bring them back here.’

The man nodded and walked to the door. To Valya’s discomfort, Loethar followed him and quietly muttered something before Roland left the chapel.

‘Biscuits?’ she snapped, moving into the theatrics she knew were now necessary. ‘You don’t honestly think I would—’

Loethar cut her off. ‘I don’t know what to think, Valya. Yesterday my mother was hale. Today she lies dead before me.’

‘You don’t seem terribly upset.’

‘Neither do you. And the difference is, I don’t share my emotions with everyone. How I feel is nobody’s business. You
unfortunately do show your every mood, which is why these fake tears and quivering lips have me baffled.’

‘Loethar!’

‘No, let me finish,’ he said, holding up a hand, his voice annoyingly calm and even. ‘You and my mother were not friends; you were not even good companions. But as much as you disliked her, Valya, she disliked you.’ She noticed he ignored her look of indignation. ‘I feel no sympathy for either of you. We can’t be forced to like one another but I did hope you could get on.’

‘We did. In fact, today was my effort to try and build some bridges. As I explained, I thought if she could give me some advice, perhaps take more interest in our child, we might go a long way towards being closer. But she said the most cruel things.’

‘Surely that didn’t surprise you.’

Valya realised she couldn’t win. She made her voice sound weary. ‘I suppose so, Loethar. I’m very, very sorry for your loss, truly I am.’

Vyk swooped back to Loethar’s shoulder, calling again. Valya scowled, wishing she’d thought to poison the bird somehow as well.

There was a second knock at the door and, after Loethar’s command to enter, Roland re-appeared, bearing the tin she recognised. He bowed. ‘Here is the tin of biscuits, my lord.’

‘Good. Open it.’ When Roland did so, Loethar leaned in and inhaled. ‘Mmm, lovely. You baked these?’ he said with surprise, turning to Valya.

She nodded, and maintained wearied tone. ‘They were for you. I know you like those buttery things. Me, I can hardly bear to smell them in my condition,’ she said, rubbing her belly. ‘Certain foods make me feel ill.’

He regarded her now with even deeper scrutiny, his expression creasing into a quizzical one. ‘And still you managed to eat one only today.’

Valya blinked, but recovered instantly. ‘I was being polite,’ she said. ‘I’m quite sure it’s why I feel so unwell now.’

‘Ah, and there I was thinking that it was having to sit this close to my mother’s corpse.’

‘Loethar, I don’t want to play your games. I ate a biscuit, I feel ill, your mother’s dead. Where is this going? You think the biscuits are poisoned? You think I killed her?’

He stared silently at her. Vyk stared intently at her too.

Valya gave a long sigh. ‘Loethar, please select a biscuit. Any one.’

When his gaze narrowed, she sighed again. ‘I’ll have to hurry you, my love. I really don’t feel terribly well. I make no jest.’

Turning and staring into the box, Loethar pointed to a biscuit.

‘Roland,’ Valya said. ‘Bring me that biscuit the emperor has chosen, would you?’

The servant did as he was asked. Valya took the biscuit and very deliberately ate it. As both men watched in silence she made a show of swallowing the final morsel. ‘Now I shall need a drink and a rest. If I should start to foam at the mouth or suddenly writhe all over the chapel gardens, you will know I am dying from the poison that I put in the biscuits I made for you!’ Her voice had turned wintry. She curtsied. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, my lord, I shall retire to my chambers.’

Valya swept to the door, Roland only just getting there in time to open it. Silently she strode out, her head high in feigned self-righteous indignation.

It was only when she’d ascended to her chambers, closed the door to her salon and leaned back against it, that she permitted herself to breathe evenly…and to smile with triumph. She’d beaten them. And the old hag was dead.

Her waters broke moments later.

Loethar had paced before the same balustrade that ten anni earlier another king had paced for an identical reason. Both had awaited the birth of their son.

Both had been given daughters.

‘What?’ Loethar exclaimed.

Valya had banished the tribal women from her chambers; she had wanted a Set midwifery team. The eldest of those women now looked lost for words as she stood before her emperor.

‘You have a daughter, my lord,’ she said, as reluctantly as she had spoken the words the first time.

Loethar placed two fists, balled tightly, on the balustrade that overlooked the private courtyard, once a place of play for the Valisar dynasty. He lifted his chin and let out such a roar of anguish that the midwife not only stepped back, but turned and fled into the birthing chamber.

Loethar placed his fists against his forehead. ‘I am indeed cursed,’ he murmured, his eyes closed.

The silence lengthened. At last a physic appeared, awkwardly and unsure, from Valya’s chamber.

‘Do you wish to see your daughter, my lord?’ he asked, his tone soft, his manner careful.

‘No,’ Loethar growled.

The man cleared his throat. ‘Perhaps you should, my lord. She is…’

‘What?’ Loethar said, opening his eyes, spinning around to face the hesitant man. ‘She is what?’

The physic looked pained. ‘She is sickly, Emperor Loethar.’

A rueful smile of acceptance ghosted fleetingly past Loethar’s lips. ‘Will she die?’

At first the man didn’t reply. Finally he said, ‘Probably, my lord, if my experience is guiding me correctly.’

‘Then my child is already lost to me. I have no reason to stare at someone soon to be a corpse.’ Loethar turned and strode away.

‘My lord…your wife?’ the physic risked calling after him.

‘She was lost long ago!’ Loethar yelled and all but ran down the palace steps. He ran all the way to the chapel, where he ordered an immediate cremation of his mother’s body.

Father Briar looked alarmed. ‘Emperor Loethar, surely a more public mourning time, a proper—’

Loethar’s expression darkened like a sky gathering for thunder. ‘My mother was not a public figure. None of the Set people cared about Dara Negev and will not mourn her, Father Briar.’

‘But your brother and—’

‘My half-brother and I will mourn our mother in our own way, Father Briar. Burn her today. I will witness it. I want her ashes by tonight.’

‘My lord, that’s not—’

‘Tonight!’ Loethar roared. ‘Or you’ll go on the pyre with her,’ he bellowed and stormed from the chapel.

Elka could see he knew everything again. She saw it in the blink of an eye as he walked towards her now, looking tense and embarrassed but also like a man unburdened. Ten anni of her life she’d dedicated to this man, a stranger. He had built a new life while learning to walk again, convalescing and returning his body to the fit, strong person he was today.

Only tiny snippets of his past had revealed themselves over the many moons he had lived in Lo’s Teeth. He had readily admitted that although Regor was definitely not his name it nevertheless resonated with him, so perhaps it was meaningful. He was convinced that he belonged to a family. And they’d all worked out easily enough for themselves that Regor was not of common stock.

Regor’s wit and charm had worn away her brothers’ reserve and suspicions. They had taught him to ride bareback, to shoot arrows accurately over long distances, and to drink copious amounts of the mountain brew they called Lo’s Fury. Regor had been accepted by her family as a new brother. Even though he was overshadowed in height—even by her mother—and looked nothing like the tall, powerful people he’d joined, he had effectively become one of them.

The Abbess reached her before he did. ‘Are you ready?’

‘He already looks different,’ she remarked, trying to hide her disappointment.

‘No, Elka, he was different with you. Now he is back to the person he truly was…is.’ The woman squeezed her arm and Elka felt the conveyance of sympathy, the older woman’s urging to be strong. ‘After your grandmother lost your grandfather, she joined us here. Her memory lives strongly among us. You know you are always welcome, if just to talk.’

‘I know, thank you.’

‘He will need to return to where you found him. You must let him go—wherever that is.’

‘I just want to take him home,’ she said, finding a soft smile for her companion of the last decade as he drew closer across the courtyard. He did look changed.

‘His home is not in Lo’s Teeth, dear one. Be warned.’ The older woman took her hand away and turned towards Regor. ‘Welcome back.’

Elka watched his embarrassment deepen. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I am back, in more ways than is obvious.’

Elka felt her composure slipping but she kept it hidden, determined to let the unravelling happen only inwardly. ‘So what’s your name?’

He regarded her with bright eyes that, despite all his recent sadness, could never hide their mischief, or their openness. Suddenly, in that pause, she wished she had told him everything: all that she’d felt for him these anni past, the fact that it didn’t matter that he was Set or short, or didn’t know his real name. She loved him. She couldn’t help it.

‘My name is Gavriel,’ he said, his voice shaking slightly. ‘I have a twin brother.’ She saw his eyes mist and he looked down. ‘I…my father was killed, murdered.’ He returned his gaze to her and she felt her heart break.

The Abess stepped away. ‘You two have much to discuss. Welcome back, Gavriel. I’m glad our Quirin helped you.’

He turned. ‘She is wonderful. I am so grateful to the convent and will find a way to repay your generosity.’

She nodded, smiling, before turning to Elka. ‘Look after each other,’ she said and withdrew.

‘Elka,’ he began.

‘No wait. Not here,’ she said, finding her courage again. Her own voice was back under control, as was her mood. She was Davarigon: a strong, independent member of the tribe who needed no man to fend for her, least of all a puny Set man. They were friends. She had saved his life once, helped him forge a new one, and that was that. Now he must return to his life, perhaps his wife! She was afraid to know. ‘Let’s leave. You can tell me as we travel.’

‘Travel to where?’

‘To the pass. At least that’s where I’m going. I am going home, Regor…sorry, Gavriel. I don’t know what your plans are now.’

‘Stop, Elka. Don’t talk like that.’

Their horses had been brought from the stables. Her Elleputian—the bigger species of horse the Davarigons bred specifically in the valleys—dwarfed his.

‘I’m being realistic,’ she said, forcing herself to sound strong.

‘No, you’re acting like a woman.’ She gave him a look that would have made most men step back but Gavriel had seen it before. ‘Don’t scowl at me. This attitude is so typical.’

‘So typical of whom?’

‘Women.’

‘Oh, you remember them now, do you?’ He laughed, only making her angrier. ‘You know where we live…if you ever want to visit,’ she said, trying to disguise her heartbreak.

But Gavriel grabbed her wrist as she climbed onto her beast. His grip was surprisingly strong. She paused, shocked. He never touched her. ‘Ride with me,’ he said. ‘I have lots to tell you.’

‘I don’t think I can.’

‘Elka, ride with me,’ he urged, his tone matching his grip.

‘To where?’

‘Back.’

‘Home?’ she asked, keeping the hope from her voice.

‘Not yours. Not even mine.’

‘Where then?’

‘Where it began for us. The Deloran Forest.’

She began shaking her head, but Gavriel persisted. ‘You yourself have told me that Davarigons travel through the empire more easily now.’

‘I’m not worried about that.’

‘What is it, then?’

‘I fear what you’ll discover.’

He shrugged. ‘I have to do this. It’s important. No, listen,’ he said when she began pulling away again. ‘I really mean it. It’s not that
I’m
important. But what I was doing before you found me, before they attacked me, was. It was critical to the security and future of Penraven.’

She frowned. ‘What are you talking about? Who are you?’

‘Ride with me. I will tell you everything.’

Kilt found himself standing before a beautiful building of elegant proportions, currently accommodation for the man known as Vulpan, the emperor’s latest weapon against the Vested.

‘He doesn’t take visitors,’ the guard repeated.

‘You’ve already said that. I simply have a question for him. Perhaps someone could take it to him and bring me his answer?’

Before the guard could respond, the door was flung open and a tall man appeared, his dark eyes matching the colour of his trimmed beard. He looked like a magistrate. ‘What is this? Your voices are disturbing my work.’

‘Are you Master Vulpan?’ Kilt asked. The man sounded too impressed by his own importance to be anyone else.

‘I am. And why does a clergyman need to know?’

‘Pastor Jeves, Master Vulpan,’ Kilt said by way of introduction. ‘I believe you might have met my sister recently. I’m trying to find her with some urgency. Please forgive my interruption of your work.’

‘I know of no woman called Jeves.’

Kilt hated having to even say the words. ‘She’s married. My apologies. Master and Mrs Felt. Her name is Lily.’

‘Lily!’ The Vested nodded. ‘Ah, the beautiful Mrs Felt. Indeed, I do recall her,’ he said, licking his lips, making Kilt wince inwardly. ‘She never mentioned a brother.’

Kilt shrugged. ‘I can’t imagine why she would. She hasn’t seen me for many anni.’