The Blood King (20 page)

By the eve of Winterstide, Staden’s palace was aglow in banks of candles. Velvet and brocade pen-nants with the four light faces of the Goddess fluttered in the cold night air, and bonfires lit the courtyards. Tempting smells of baking bread and roasting meats wafted from the kitchen, over the scent of mulled wine and warm cider. Before the feast came the day of fasting, from sundown the night before Winterstide through midnight on the evening of the solstice. Staden’s court did not neg-lect the fast in preference for the revelries to come.

While the castle prepared, Vahanian sought out Carina. It was more difficult than he expected. When she was awake, she spent most of her time studying healing lore with Royster. Even with Kiara Carina seemed withdrawn, and Vahanian won-dered again about the terms of Tris’s training with the Sisterhood.

He had glimpsed Carina in the crowd earlier that evening, when Tris had presided with Staden over the initial rites of the festival. Tris’s presence as a Summoner made it possible to acknowledge parts of the liturgy that had gone unspoken and ignored for years, and the crowd was thicker than usual in anticipation. With Tris’s help, Staden accepted the fealty of long-departed nobles whose loyalty or desire made them remain near the court. Tris stood with Staden as the king gave a benediction over those who had fallen in battle—no small number given Principality’s popularity as a mercenary haven.

Thanks to Tris’s power, the war dead gained the power to make themselves visible, to receive the blessing of their king and his dismissal, freeing them from their oaths of honor and sending their spirits to rest. Other spirits whose tie to the palace out-lasted life itself came to the ceremony, drawn by Tris’s power. Staden was shaken to receive the bless-ing of long-dead members of the royal family, who had chosen to remain and watch over their descen-dents.

At the tenth bell, a large crowd gathered in the courtyard. Staden had ordered his servants to build a dais, and on the dais there were life-sized statues of the Lady, one for each light Aspect, and on its reverse, its dark face. In the center of the dais was an altar covered with a cloth of midnight blue, dec-orated in a complex pattern of silver embroidery. Banked high around the large dais were rows of unlit candles. Vahanian waited in the throng, near the front but slightly to the side, out of old habit so that he might have the best view of any approach-ing trouble. He spotted Kiara in the crowd, and Carroway with the bards. Carina was with Kiara, in the front row. Vahanian wondered if Carina’s position was out of reverence, or if she was on hand should Tris collapse from the exertion.

A red carpet defined a walkway through the crowd. Staden sat on a throne in a tall viewing box with the queen and Berry. But here, everyone had come to see the Summoner.

A hush fell over the crowd, and Vahanian turned. Tris stood at the far end of the walkway. He was dressed in gray with a heavy gray cloak, looking the part of a Summoner and, Vahanian had to admit to himself, every inch a king. Tris’s long blond hair stirred in the wind as he strode toward the altar on the dais.

Slowly, Tris climbed the steps and knelt in front of the altar. Vahanian saw Tris’s lips move. The banks of candles burst into flame, lighting the night. From beneath the altar cloth, Tris removed a large honey cake and a tankard of ale, the tradi-tional gifts to the Lady. And, on behalf of the vayash moru which were more numerous than usual in this night’s crowd, he also set a flagon of goat’s blood on the altar.

“Lady of Many Faces, hear me!” Tris began in a voice loud enough for all to hear. “Tonight, the veil is thin between our world and the next. Accept these gifts from your children, the living, the dead, and the undead, and show your favor.”

The night seemed to grow even colder. All around Vahanian spirits gathered, far more numerous than before. Many found a place with someone standing in the crowd: an elderly man’s ghost next to an old woman, a young mother’s ghost beside a harried-looking young man holding a small child. Some of the vayash moru stood apart, while others were joined by the spirits. Tris was making it possible this night for the spirits that had chosen to remain with the living to be seen and to take part in the festival. In the crowd, Vahanian saw a vayash moru man who looked to be his own age in mortal years standing with an elderly woman who was very much alive. They were holding hands, and the woman inclined her head against the man’s shoulder.

Vahanian realized with a start that it was the gesture of a wife, not a mother. He could not look away. If they had been together when the young man was brought across, then decades would have passed, during which the young man remained unchanged and the years did their slow damage to his wife. Vahanian did not realize that Gabriel had slipped up beside him until the vayash moru spoke.

“Some of us choose to remain among mortals much longer than others,” Gabriel said.

“I just never thought—”

“Here in Principality, and especially in Dark Haven, such things may be done openly. In many other places we must watch over our families from a distance, to protect them from those who fear us.”

Vahanian realized that Kiara was no longer alone. The spirit of a beautiful, sad-eyed woman stood with her, a woman whose unmistakable resem-blance to Kiara must mean she was the late Queen Viata. With the king stood the spirits of several men, each clad in the formal robes of bygone days, the dead kings of Principality. Vahanian saw Carina startle, and noticed that she had gone quite pale. He followed Carina’s gaze toward a spirit on the edge of the crowd.

Hanging back in the shadows stood the ghost of a young man in his mid-twenties, dark-haired, in the uniform of an Eastmark mercenary. Vahanian knew by the resemblance to General Gregor that it was Ric, Carina’s lost betrothed. He felt a stab of jealousy. Ric’s memory, and Carina’s guilt over Ric’s death, were implacable rivals for her affection. The ghost stepped back into the shadows and vanished.

On the dais Tris stood, his arms outstretched toward the four figures of the Lady. “Thank you, Lady Bright, for the bounty of the fields and the vineyards, the health of our livestock, and the rains that sustain us. We ask your blessing on this kingdom, and we beg you to give succor to the spirits who do not rest and to Those Who Walk the Night, showing your mercy on us, the living, dead, and undead.”

Tris lowered his arms. The candles dimmed, but did not go out. Around them, some of the spirits lost their distinctive form. Tris bowed his head as he turned toward the crowd. The cowl hid his face from view, but Vahanian could tell his friend was near exhaustion.

“He can’t keep pushing himself like that—not if he’s going to live long enough to challenge Jared,” Vahanian murmured to Gabriel.

Gabriel followed Tris’s exit. “He feels the burden of the Lady,” the vayash moru replied. “There’s nothing heavier.”

VAHANIAN HOPED FOR a chance to see Carina alone. He decided that the chapel was the place to wait after the ceremony in the courtyard, as the twelfth bells approached. As guests of the king, the palace’s chapel was opened to Tris and his friends. It was there that Vahanian waited, expecting the opportunity to encounter Carina.

Vahanian staked out a shadowed corner of the chapel, watching as a steady stream of courtiers

brought their gift of honey cakes and ale and lit candles in remembrance of a loved one. Finally, near the twelfth bells, when most in the castle assembled in the great hall in anticipation of the feast, he spotted a lone figure in green.

Carina brought her offering to the crowded alter, made the sign of the Lady, and murmured the words of dedi-cation, lifting a wavering taper to light a candle.

Vahanian fell into step beside her as she left the chapel. “Heading up to the feast?”

Carina shook her head. “Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”

“You’ve been pretty busy helping Spook with the witch biddies at the citadel.”

Vahanian’s irreverence made Carina smile. “You really are incorrigible,” she murmured.

“Completely,” he said, grinning. From a distance, Vahanian could hear the music begin in the great hall. “Come on. At least get some food. And who knows—Carroway said he was going to try out a new song he’d written about the last couple of months. You might be famous.”

Carina blushed. “I hope not.” She let Vahanian steer her toward the great hall, where they found food and ale set out to break the fast. She seemed to relax.

From where they stood near the back of the room, they could see the succession of musicians, jugglers, acrobats, and parlor magicians begin the all-night revelries.

Although Carina demurred when the dancing began, the music seemed to lift her mood, and she did not press to leave. For his part, Vahanian enjoyed the long-overdue opportunity to talk with her. He had no doubt that Berry’s endorsement had won him his initial acceptance in Staden’s court, and that Tris’s friendship along with his new title and lands made him more acceptable to the purists. But as the weeks wore on, he found himself includ-ed in the plans for battle and the preparations for war. He credited Staden with the rare genius to cre-ate a court where talent and ability counted at least as much as bloodlines. Some of that success emboldened him now, as he attempted to draw Carina out in conversation.

Carroway did debut his song, a spirited ballad about the caravan and its valiant defense against weather, bandits, and raiders. The crowd loved it, even as it became a moving lament. Vahanian saw emotions flicker in Carina’s eyes that hinted at a more melancholy reception.

“I think it’s really time for me to go,” she mur-mured, stifling a yawn.

“Let me walk you back,” Vahanian offered. “There’s quite a crowd here tonight,”

he added before she could turn him down. “Staden can’t know all of them personally. I’d feel better if I saw you safely to your room.” His hand fell to the sword at his belt. At Berry’s request, and in acknowledgement of their unusual circum-stances, Staden permitted Vahanian the great honor of wearing his sword in the presence of the king.

Carina looked as if she might refuse, and then smiled. “Thank you. I’m a bit too tired to bash any-one with my staff tonight. Besides, I left it in my room,” she joked.

The outer corridors were nearly empty as they worked their way from the public chambers of the

palace. Carina slowed as they crossed an outdoor palazzo. Below them in the courtyard burned one of many huge bonfires that were part of the evening’s celebrations. They could feel its heat and smell the rising smoke.

Carina was beginning to shiver, and he offered her his cloak. “I miss Winterstide in Isencroft,” she said quietly. “It was always wonderful. I don’t know if it will ever be like that again.”

“Maybe not.” Vahanian looked out over the courtyard, where the songs and merriment from within the palace were beginning to spill outside. “Things change. Sometimes, maybe even for the better.”

Vahanian reached out and gently tipped Carina’s chin up. Her expression was open, unguarded. “Something’s been bothering you since we got here. Whatever happened, happened a long time ago. Forgiving yourself is hard. But the people who care about you would like to help you try.” Her eyes filled with tears and she turned away, but she did not shrug off his arm from around her shoulders as they walked the length of the palazzo in silence. They stopped at the door to the rooms she shared with Kiara, and Carina slipped out of Vahanian’s cloak.

“You’ll need this; it’s cold outside.” Carina hand-ed the cloak back to him.

“Thank you.”

“I enjoyed the company. I haven’t celebrated Winterstide in years.” He reached out for her hand and kissed the back of it. To lighten the moment, Vahanian made an exaggerated bow and clicked his boot heels together. “Sleep well, m’lady.”

He could not read her smile or her expression, or the emotion in her eyes. “You too, m’lord,” Carina slipped through the doorway and closed the heavy door behind her.

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contents

ON THE FEAST day of Winterstide, Staden’s court outdid itself with merrymaking. Through Tris’s efforts with the Court of Spirits, some of the balance between the restless spirits and the living had been reconciled. Tris could sense a change in the currents of magic. Even after the fes-tival was over, Tris suspected that his Court of Spirits would remain in high demand for as long as he stayed in Principality.

A highlight of the feast was Staden’s announce-ment of Tris’s betrothal to Kiara.

Tris wondered whether any of the nobility at court knew of the old arrangement between Donelan and Bricen; wags would quickly discover a hint of scandal. On the other hand, there was scandal enough for the gos-sips in Tris’s status as an exiled prince, in Vahanian’s reputation, and in the friends’

journey unchaperoned for months on the road together.

After the death mark Jared set on his life and on Kiara’s, Tris cared less about the loose talk of court than ever before.

This night, Tris was resolved to push aside any fore-bodings and enjoy the moment. Kiara seemed equally determined to enjoy the evening, and Tris was happy just to have her beside him. He looked around at the greatroom, bustling with guests. At the far end of the room, Royster was surrounded by a cluster of adoring ladies, who indulged the white-haired librarian and his tales of the chivalry of ancient heroes.

Soterius and Harrtuck, resigned to appearances at court, joined Tris and Kiara in good spirits, well into their ale. Berry, seated nearby, was radiant in her gown of midnight blue Mussa silk, her hair twisted into a high braid. Berry’s appearance made it difficult to remember the tomboy they had res-cued on the road north.

She was Carroway’s most enthusiastic patron, and beamed at the announce-ment of Tris and Kiara’s betrothal as if she had brokered it herself.

Once again, Staden’s palace staff had outdone themselves in outfitting Tris and his friends. Tris’s tunic and trews were in charcoal satin, with a con-trasting wine-colored brocade doublet and a matching dark gray velvet cloak. Kiara’s gown picked up the dark claret of Tris’s doublet perfectly; Tris was sure Berry had had a say in the choice of their wardrobe. The rich dark hues complemented Kiara’s complexion and her auburn hair, with a headpiece of fine gold chain that matched the thin gold collar on Jae’s throat. The little gyregon preened and posed on Kiara’s shoulder as if he knew he was on display.