The Blood King (25 page)

Rafe stood. “The Council will adjourn to delib-erate. Lord Gabriel, you will join us,” he said. Mikhail moved to stand beside Tris. The Council filed from the room, leaving their seconds behind. Tris was immeasurably glad for Mikhail’s company.

“So it’s really true what they say, that you can speak with the spirits?” asked the blonde woman who stood behind Riqua. “I’m Elana. She held out out a fine-boned, ice-cold hand in greeting.

“Yes, it’s true,” Tris said, taken aback at the jar-ring incongruity between the formality of the Council meeting and this casual small talk.

“I remember Bava K’aa,” said Rafe’s second. He had the look of a scholar or a priest, with eyes tired from too much reading in dim light. Tris guessed that even in life, the young man had been pale from time spent indoors. “My name is Tamaq. I fought against the Obsidian King in his first rising,”

“Then the Council permitted intervention before?” Tris asked.

Tamaq shook his head. “I was mortal at the time,” he said sadly. “I would have died on the bat-tlefield, had not Rafe found me and brought me across.”

There’s more that’s not being said, Tris thought. The Council maintains its neutrality, but what, then, was Rafe doing harvesting the battlefield on the side opposed to the Obsidian King?

More to the point, Tris wondered, does any of this matter once you’re no longer afraid of death? When you’re able to outlive kings and petty mortal politics, wealthy enough to buy your safety, superi-or in abilities to outmaneuver all but the luckiest or most concerted efforts against you, why should you care?

The real question, Tris realized, was not whether he could sway the Council to support his quest for the throne. The true question was why they should care at all.

“I’m more interested in this new Lord of Dark Haven.” The speaker was the beautiful young man who stood behind Uri. “Is it really the smuggler Vahanian—the one with the royal death warrant in Eastmark?”

“Leave it alone, Malesh.” The warning came from Astasia’s second.

Malesh regarded the challenge with a smirk. “Go back to bed, Cailan. Stay out of the discussion, and I won’t feel obliged to damage anything your mis-tress plays with.”

“I’ll let Jonmarc make his own introductions,” Tris said, feeling distaste for Malesh. “My business tonight is with the Council.”

Elana smiled at him and licked her lips. A shud-der ran down Tris’s spine.

Elana was quite beautiful, even by mortal standards. “I’m told you announced your betrothal tonight,” she said in a coquettish voice that, together with her posture, gave Tris to understand she considered him fair game. “Congratulations, Prince Drayke.” She slid a half step closer.

“You’re the Lord of the Dead and Undead,” she said teasingly. “And while a mortal bride may be necessary for heirs, do consider the alternatives once that obligation has been fulfilled.” She gave a look that left nothing to his imagination.

Tris blushed, seeing in Elana’s eyes a spark of tri-umph. Even dead, she was a damnably attractive woman, and while her offer had no appeal to him, it was impossible to completely ignore her sensual-ity. He made a courteous bow.

“I’m flattered, m’lady, but this betrothal is an affair of the heart. I’m spoken for.”

Elana gave him a knowing smile. “In fifty years, or in one hundred, my offer will remain the same, and my gifts to match. Can your mortal lover say the same?”

“That’s enough, Elana,” Mikhail said firmly.

Tris met Elana’s eyes. “I know how transient this mortal body is, and how brightly the spirit glows within. It’s true that our bodies fade and die, but a Summoner can extend that union beyond death. On the spirit plain, there is no fading, and no dying. Even vayash moru are not eternal.”

Something in his words touched a nerve, Tris thought with satisfaction, or perhaps, Elana was unused to being spurned. Pouting, she withdrew to the edge of the group, turning her conversation to Cailan instead.

Malesh took the opening. “It will be most inter-esting to have a lord once again in Dark Haven,” he said, with a dangerously smooth tone. “Though it is said that the Dark Lady Herself chooses, we have had some… turnover… in the lords of late. I hope the hand of the Lady rests on Lord Vahanian.” Malesh’s voice only thinly veiled his malice. “It sounds like he’ll be a breath of fresh air,” he added, watching Tris closely.

He knows about the poisoning, Tris thought, forcing down his anger at Malesh’s baiting. And if the knife hadn’t been meant for me, I’d wonder if he or his master had a hand in it.

“I’ll pass along your sentiments to Lord Vahanian,” Tris replied carefully.

The doors opened and the Council filed back in. Mikhail and the others returned to their places. Tris felt as if he had just run a very dangerous gauntlet.

He looked at Gabriel, but he could read nothing in the vayash moru’s face.

“The Council has reached its decision,” Rafe said, when the others took their seats. Tris glanced at the Council members. Gabriel appeared as tense as Tris had ever seen him. Riqua looked angry. Uri was posi-tively furious, with a barely controlled rage that roiled behind his dark eyes as he looked away from the oth-ers. Astasia seemed annoyed, her beautiful features clouded by a dark mood. Rafe betrayed little, but Tris thought the Council spokesman looked tired.

“After much discussion, it is the will of,, the Council that we rule in favor of Prince Drayke, per-mitting the participation by individual vayash moru in the matter of the Usurper on the basis of con-science,” Rafe declared.

“One more example of why the truce is a flawed, idealistic mirage,” muttered Uri.

Rafe ignored Uri’s interruption. “Prince Drayke, do not regard this as an endorsement by the Blood Council. We agree that Foor Arontala must be removed, and that your efforts may present the best hope of doing so. But be clear on this point—it is to preserve our freedom that we act, not out of inter-est in any mortal kingdom.”

Tris gave a shallow bow. “I’m grateful to the Council for your ruling. I give you my pledge that should I live to take the throne of Margolan, I will restore the truce and bring to justice those mortals who have broken it in malice.”

“If you live to take the throne,” Uri repeated qui-etly. The very stillness of his voice chilled Tris. “Right now, Prince Drayke, that is a very large ‘if.’”

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contents

CARINA WATCHED THE notches on the candle burn down as the night wore on. It was well past midnight, and Tris had not yet returned from the Blood Council. That alone worried her. But of more immediate concern was that so far, none of their efforts had made any noticeable dif-ference at all in Vahanian’s situation. She was starting to panic.

The partygoers had fled after the assassination attempt. Carina, Kiara, Taru, and Berry kept vigil over Vahanian in the small sitting room off the greatroom. It had been designed for more intimate gatherings than the huge ballroom, with several groupings of settees, tables, and comfortable chairs. Now it resembled a sick room, with basins of water, pots of steaming herbal mixtures, vials and bottles of elixirs, and bags of medicine strewn across every tabletop. Royster and Carroway were still huddled at a table on one side of the fireplace, poring over tomes and scrolls in search of a remedy.

Carina looked over to where Jonmarc lay. Although he was breathing, his body was unnaturally still. He was much paler than usual, and where they had stripped away his shirt and waistcoat, a large bandage covered the wound left by the knife. It took all of Carina’s willpower to force back tears. Once again, someone she cared about was going to die, and once again, it would be her fault.

Knowing that Jonmarc was in love with her only made it that much worse.

This was exactly what she’d feared if she let herself care about someone again.

And while she had berated herself for responding to Jonmarc’s advances, admit-ting those feelings to herself scared her even more. A healer can’t do her job if she lets feelings get in the way, Carina told herself. I’m no good to anyone if I can’t heal. What if Tris can’t win back the throne, can’t stop Arontala, because I’m not able to heal Jonmarc? The entire fate of the Winter Kingdoms is riding on this, and I’m failing the test. But as frightening as that thought was, there was another, even more terrifying fear that loomed in the back of her mind, one she refused to allow herself to dwell on.

What if I’ve returned to Principality City, only to fail miserably—again—at saving someone I care about? Someone who had the bad luck to care about me.

“Maybe you should rest,” Kiara said gently, lay-ing a hand on Carina’s shoulder.

Carina shook her head stubbornly. “No. Not yet. We don’t know how much time we have.”

Kiara frowned. “Tris bound Jonmarc’s spirit to his body. He set the magic to keep Jonmarc’s heart

and lungs working. Perhaps by morning the poison will begin to wear off. You said yourself you don’t know how long it will last.”

Carina brushed back a strand of dark hair and secured it behind her ear. “I don’t know if it will wear off at all,” she said tiredly. “That’s what scares me. Do you remember what I told you about Maynard, the man who led the caravan we traveled with? He used to take a bit of Mussa poison each day to build up a tolerance, so that he would be harder to kill. I healed him once. I could feel the poison in his body, in his muscles. It didn’t wear off—it just took a much stronger dose to really hurt him.”

“The body is a complex set of humours. Breath and blood are part of it, but not all. I don’t know if Tris compensated for everything—if he even could—or if that’s in the hand of the Lady herself. The longer this lasts, the more damage there could be.”

Sister Taru walked over to join them, checking on Vahanian as she passed.

Berry slept sprawled in a chair near the fire, adamantly refusing to leave. Royster sat between two candles, doggedly paging through yellowed texts. Carroway brought with him a plate of food and some watered wine when the last of the palace entertaining was finished. Both food and drink went untouched. Royster set the bard to deciphering some healing rhymes and songs, and Carroway willingly complied.

“He’s asleep,” Taru said, and took a seat beside Carina. “As far as I can tell, he’s in no pain. But you’re correct—the magic Tris set won’t hold indefinitely.

Jonmarc will need nourishment. Even if we could magic a way to sustain him, if we can’t heal him, Tris will be obliged to free his spirit. A man like Jonmarc wouldn’t want to remain like this forever.”

“I haven’t had any luck with what I’ve tried so far. I can’t heal around the poison; there’s too much of it in his blood. The wormroot has begun to wear off—it doesn’t last as long in a non-mage, and all it did was make him throw up. It isn’t nearly the problem it is when I’m healing Tris. It’s the other poison that worries me.”

Carina balled her fist in frustration. “So far, none of the antidotes I’ve tried have worked. From what Royster could find in his books, it’s closest to snake venom, but I don’t know from which snake. If I had to bet, it would be one Royster found that is native to Trevath, down on the southern plains. It’s a sandsnake, and it kills with one bite. But there’s no antidote—there isn’t time for one.

Sweet Chenne— you saw how quickly it took him.”

Carina fiddled nervously with the pendant that hung around her neck. “What I need is a filter,” she said. “If there were a way I could isolate the poison and drain it off—”

“Can you do that?” Kiara asked worriedly.

Carina grimaced. “Taru and I tried two candle-marks ago, when you went to see if Tris was back yet. I hoped that if I could pull the poison away from Jonmarc, Taru could purify it in the Flow, a big river of magic energy.”

“The Flow is all that and more,” said Taru, “but my power isn’t sufficient to use the Flow in that way, and we dared not try it with the unknown poi-son unless we could make it work with the wormroot. We couldn’t.”

Royster looked up suddenly, as if he only just heard the conversation. “Did you say, ‘filter?’” he asked.

Carina nodded. Kiara pressed a mug of tea into her hands, and she drank the warm liquid mechanically, utterly exhausted. Jonmarc’s going to die and it’s going to be my failure, Carina thought. Just like Ric.

“A filter,” Royster repeated, humming a little ditty to himself. “What do you make a filter from, I wonder?” He mused aloud, reaching from one book to another to flip pages. “Cheesecloth.”

“It’s not on the outside of his body,” Carina protested.

“A fine metal strainer.”

“Too big, and we can’t get to the poison, it’s in his blood,” said Kiara.

“Rock.”

“Rock?”

Royster nodded without looking up. “Ever been in a cave? Water filters down through rock. So do other things. Not just any rock…” He flipped pages, then glanced up at Carina and smiled.

“Turquoise,” he said, eying the large, flat stone in Carina’s necklace, “and onyx.

Healing stones. Stones to remove impurities from the body. Ward off poison.

Filter.”

Carina fumbled with the clasp on her necklace, and Kiara reached over to help.

“Do you really think it will work?” she asked.

“If it doesn’t, you’re no worse off than you are now.”

They all turned as the door opened behind them, and Tris entered. Carina thought he looked worried and exhausted, but Kiara brightened at his return.

“Looks like Gabriel made good on his promise not to let them eat you,” Kiara joked wearily. Tris bent to kiss the top of her head and sat down next to her.

“Your meeting with the Blood Council—was it successful?” Carroway asked.

Near the fireplace, Berry awoke, rubbed at her eyes, and padded over to join the group.

Tris shrugged. “Gabriel thought so. We’ve won their neutrality, and with that group, I guess that’s a lot.” He looked at Vahanian. “How is Jonmarc?”

Carina peered over Royster’s shoulder at a thick, old tome. Her necklace lay on the book and they were both noting passages in the text. Carina looked up. “No better. Royster thinks we might be able to filter out the poisons with the gemstones, but I don’t want to risk it alone. Taru can lend me power and help with deep healing, but she can’t anchor Jonmarc’s spirit. You can. He’s fading. I need your help.”