Dark Lady's Chosen (28 page)

“You know how the court takes a small lie and makes a huge scandal out of nothing. Why should this be any different?”

“I’ve let Kiara down,” Tris said, accepting the steaming trencher. “I left her alone too soon, and I should have known what the court was like. Whatever’s happened, it’s my fault. With the pregnancy, she’s more vulnerable than ever.” He sighed. “She’s carrying my child.

Beyral says it’s a son. He’s the heir to both kingdoms. Even if her feelings have changed, we don’t have the option of walking away from this. But maybe I can win her back. I love her, Ban. And I won’t let her

go without a fight.”

Whatever Soterius was going to say was interrupted as one of Tris’s guards leaned into the tent. “M’lord. Trefor is here with a visitor—and he says it’s urgent.”

Tris nodded, and Trefor entered. With him was a
vayash moru
Tris didn’t recognize. Trefor made a perfunctory bow. “Your Majesty. This is Yent, one of Lady Riqua’s brood. He bears a most urgent message from Dark Haven.”

Tris exchanged glances with Soterius as he rose. “Dark Haven?”

Yent nodded. “We’ve ridden in relays, human and
vayash moru
, for three days straight.

Lady Riqua said it was of the utmost importance. The fate of the Winter Kingdoms and the lives of Lord and Lady Vahanian depend on it.” He withdrew a sealed letter from the pouch beneath his cloak and handed it to Tris.

Tris recognized Carina’s handwriting immediately. His magic could feel the emotional residue of the writer, and he sensed fear, sorrow and a resignation to death that chilled him.

There was a touch of magic, Taru’s signature and seal. He broke the wax and read down through Carina’s careful, small writing. His breath caught as she recounted the attack at Westormere and Jonmarc’s vow. He swallowed hard, reading on through the failed attempts to harness the Flow and Jonmarc’s battle to stop Malesh, even as the Truce shattered. He handed the letter to Soterius, and watched the other’s expression register the same horror and sadness he felt.

“Sweet Mother and Childe,” Soterius swore as he lowered the paper. “I never figured Jonmarc to swear the Bargain, and I didn’t think, after all we went through to stop Jared from killing
vayash moru
, that one of their own would start a war like this.”

Both Trefor and Yent looked down in shame. “M’lord, most of my people are grief stricken over these attacks. And they’re terrified, because the mortals have begun the burnings again in retribution,” Yent murmured.

“Carina thinks she might be able to heal the Flow. If she can, it might not just save her life. It could also turn the war.”

“Can you do what she’s asking?” Soterius questioned. “Anchor her soul through the Flow at this distance?”

“I don’t know.”

Soterius’s eyes flashed a warning. “As Jonmarc was fond of saying last year, if you get your royal ass fried, the rest of us hang. I’ve seen how the Flow chewed you up the last time you tried to draw on it. What’s to keep it from killing you if you try to access it now?”

Tris met his gaze. “What’s to keep it from killing all of us if I don’t? Blood magic is stronger because the Flow is damaged. If Carina can heal the Flow, our side might just have the edge we need to defeat Curane.” He turned away. “I owe Carina—and Jonmarc—my life more times than I can count. I have to try.”

“Will it save Carina?”

Tris knew Soterius could read the pain in his expression. “I don’t know. From her letter, she doesn’t think so, although I take it Royster and Taru disagree. If Carina is right and the Flow really is sentient, if it’s been seeking her out—that changes so much of what we thought we understood about it. If it can do that, then what’s to say that the Flow couldn’t heal her?”

“That doesn’t help Jonmarc.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Tris looked to Trefor and Yent. “Thank you,” he said, barely trusting his voice. “I can’t imagine what it took to bring word over that distance so quickly. The camp is hardly luxurious, but whatever comfort we can offer you, I’m in your debt.”

Trefor and Yent bowed and left them alone. Tris spoke a word to the guard outside to summon Fallon. He took the letter back from Soterius and re-read it. Carina had kept nothing back, and he knew her well enough to know how desperate she must be to seek his help against all odds. Tris struggled against his own emotions for control.
Once again, my
world is coming apart, the people I love are being hurt, and there’s so little I can do to help.

Damn! What’s the use of being a king and a mage if I can’t save the people I care about?

Fallon ducked into the tent just a few minutes later, shaking the snow from her cloak.

“What’s wrong? The guard said there’d been an urgent message from Dark Haven.”

Tris handed her Carina’s letter, and watched as Fallon’s expression registered its implications. “By the Crone,” she whispered, lowering the letter. “You know this stands as much chance of killing you as it does of saving Carina or healing the Flow.”

“I know.”

“And you’ve already made up your mind.”

“Yes.”

“Then we’d best let Senne and Rallan know how this changes the plans for battle tomorrow.

If you’re to be anchoring Carina at seventh bells tomorrow night, you’ll need me to shield you and pick up the pieces afterward. That takes two of us away from the assault. They’ll need to factor that in.”

Tris nodded. “The good news is that if it works, we may be able to completely preempt anything Curane’s blood mages had in store for us.”

Fallon’s gaze was sharp. “And the bad news is, if you go ‘poof,’ Curane wins anyhow.” She glanced at the floor by Tris’s feet. “What’s that?”

Tris stepped aside from the drawing of the dagger he had made earlier. “Something I saw in a dream. Do you recognize it?”

Fallon nodded, and moved closer, bending down to look at the drawing. “You’re sure this is exactly what you saw? The dragon hilt, the lines in the blade?”

“As well as I can draw it in dirt. Why?”

Fallon sat back on her heels. “Tell me what you saw.”

Fallon’s frown grew deeper as she listened to Tris recount his dream. “That’s not good,” she said, straightening. “Especially not now.”

“What are you talking about?”

Fallon looked from Tris to Soterius. “Tomorrow is Candles Night.”

Tris felt as if everyone around him had suddenly started to speak in code. “So? Bonfires and roast mutton. What does that have to do with anything?”

Fallon shook her head. “Long ago, Candles Night was much more than it is now. A dagger like the one you saw in your dream, a
damashqi
dagger, is a ceremonial knife that was used in the Candles Night celebrations. Back then, it wasn’t a ewe that was slaughtered. It was the pregnant wife of a rival chieftain. Her blood was said to make the ground fertile for the spring planting. But more than that, the sacrifice worked a powerful blood magic that was controlled by the winning rival.”

Sweet Chenne. Kiara.
“So you think the dreams are a warning? That Curane means to strike at Kiara while the army is tied up here with the war?”

“It would appear so.”

“It’s a four to five day ride back to the palace if we’re not moving the whole army,” Tris said, beginning to pace. Fear welled up in his throat. “A man riding hard might make it in four days, if he changed horses and barely slept—assuming the roads are passable.”

“Could you send Trefor to Mikhail, warn him?” Soterius said.

Outside, tenth bells tolled. “There are only eight candlemarks until dawn. He’ll never get far enough. And even if he could get a mortal to ride by day, at best the rider will only be halfway by night. There’s no way to warn them.”

“It could be a false sending. There’s been no record of anyone trying to work the old blood magic in centuries. All of the kingdoms made it punishable by death.” Fallon’s tone was steady, but Tris knew from her eyes that she was not convinced of her own words.

Tris felt his breath leave him as the horror of the possibilities unfolded in his mind. “Curane’s intended this as a two-front war all along. He planted someone at court to raise the old scandal about Carroway, hoping to discredit Kiara and isolate her. He’s turned the court against her, spreading the story that she’s betrayed me. No one remembers the old ritual for Candles Night. If Kiara’s murdered after being suspected of adultery—”

“They’ll think you had her killed.” Soterius finished grimly. “Your heir will be dead. Isencroft will attack. And Curane gets to sit back and wait for the dust to settle to put Jared’s bastard on the throne.”

They were silent as the possibilities sank in. “Then we’d better settle this war soon,” Fallon said. “Because you have another one to fight when you get home.”

Kiara stood at the window of the hunting lodge, watching the snow fall. It drifted deep around the lodge, and the light from the windows stretched out across the unmarred snow, across the kitchen garden, toward the forest. She had been watching out the window for some time, and just beyond the edge of the light, Kiara could swear she saw shapes moving that had nothing to do with wind or snow.

Kiara jumped as Cerise laid a hand on her shoulder. “Sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to startle you. What do you see out there?”

“My eyes must be playing tricks on me. I’ve been watching just at the edge of the light. I could swear I see figures out there, as if there are ghosts moving back and forth.”

Cerise peered into the darkness. “I don’t have your keen eyes. But earlier, before it snowed, Macaria and Alle placed warding runes in a circle around the lodge. They’re supposed to keep ghosts and spirits at bay. It might have disturbed some of the local haunts, and they’re trying to figure out where to go.” She smiled. “Or maybe you’re just tired.”

Kiara let Cerise lead her away from the window toward the fireplace, where two freshly poured cups of tea awaited. “Where are Alle and Macaria?” When Cerise did not answer, Kiara looked askance at her long-time confidant. “Cerise, what aren’t you telling me?”

Cerise sighed. “Macaria’s having a difficult time of it. She’s trying to be brave for your sake, and she knows her duty lies in protecting you, but she’s frightened out of her wits for Carroway’s safety. Sometimes it gets the best of her. Alle went to comfort her. Please, don’t say anything to her. I’m afraid that would just make it worse.”

Kiara nodded. “She and I are about the same age. I know how I feel, worried sick about Tris. I can only imagine how Macaria feels.” She gave a wan smile. “After all, I did have all of last year to get used to seeing Tris nearly get killed time and time again.”

“And it doesn’t get easier, does it?”

Kiara shook her head. “No.” She grew quiet, staring into the amber liquid of her tea.

“There’s more on your mind, my dear, isn’t there?”

Kiara shrugged. “I’m scared, Cerise. Queens aren’t supposed to admit that. But I am. The regent magic has failed me so often I shouldn’t believe my dreams, but they’re dark. Last night, I dreamed of Tris in the middle of a great storm, lightning striking down all around him. At first, I thought he was controlling the storm, but as it grew worse, I realized that it was completely out of control. I saw him disappear into a sheet of flames.” Her voice broke, and she covered her face with one hand, waving off Cerise’s attempts to comfort her as she struggled for control.

“I’ve had nightmares about everyone I love. I dreamed about Cam, alone in a dark place. I don’t dare tell Alle, but I dreamed that I saw Soterius stabbed in the back. Carina, Jonmarc—I’ve had dreams about all of them, but the dreams aren’t good. What’s happening, Cerise? I knew that pregnancy affects the humours of the body, but by the Whore! I didn’t expect to lose my mind!”

Cerise put an arm around her shoulders. “These are difficult times, Kiara. They would try the most seasoned monarch. You and Tris have shouldered the burden of the crown at a most unfortunate time. I know from being your mother’s confidant that it’s never easy. But there are times when it’s much harder.”

“I know.”

They sat in silence for several minutes. Finally, Kiara turned to Cerise. “Do you think Crevan’s told Tris… about the rumors? If I could just hear from him, I’d know, but Tris hasn’t sent any word at all. I thought he’d want to know about the baby, how I was doing, but there’s been nothing.” She was sure that Cerise could hear the hurt beneath her worry.

What if Tris believes the rumors? I can’t stand by and let him destroy Carroway, but
anything I do to intervene will only make it worse. And if he thinks I’ve betrayed him, what’s
left to us?

“If he believes the rumors, he still won’t be able to set our vows aside. We made a ritual wedding, and even if we hadn’t, something like that would invite war with Isencroft.

Margolan couldn’t survive a war like that—and neither would Isencroft. But what’s to become of us, Cerise? I had been counting the days until he could come home. Now I’m dreading his return. I’m afraid for Carroway. And I’m so afraid that even though Tris can’t renounce me in public, he’ll have already renounced me in his heart. All the battle training in the world hasn’t taught me how to fight something like that.”

Cerise drew her close and let Kiara rest her head against her shoulder. “You’ve always been a good judge of character, my dear. Now, all you can do is hold fast to what you saw in Tris when you made the decision to marry him. And if he’s the man you believe him to be, he’ll find a way through this. Don’t lose heart yet.”

Kiara managed to smile and sat up. “Thank you, Cerise.” She began to stand, but before she reached her feet, a blinding pain lanced through her head. Kiara cried out, clutching her temples, and staggered. Cerise shouted for help as she reached to break Kiara’s fall. Kiara tumbled, landing on the floor as Alle and Macaria came running.

“What happened?” Alle asked breathlessly.

Kiara groaned and curled into a ball. “Where does it hurt?” Cerise asked, as Macaria ran to get the healer’s bag from the other room.

Kiara ran her right hand up over her ribs. “There,” she said, panting from the pain.