The Blood King (59 page)

“The Lady chooses our paths,” Serae’s spirit said, her voice as calm in death as it had been in life. “You serve her well.”

“I can let you rest,” Tris said brokenly. “If you wish.” His own heartfelt desire to keep them close to him went unspoken; it was an imposition he dared not make. “But there’s someone I want you to meet. This is Kiara of Isencroft, daughter of King Donelan. My betrothed.”

Kait grinned and clapped. Serae extended her hands in welcome to Kiara, stepping forward to give a ghostly kiss on each cheek. Serae reached out and laid her hand on Tris’s arm.

“With the crown and a bride, you have all that you require to rule Margolan, my son. You don’t require my blessing, but I’ll give it to you anyway.” The ghost smiled at both Tris and Kiara. Kait threw her arms around Tris. Insubstantial though she was Tris welcomed the contact, glad for the chance to sense his sister’s spirit at peace.

“When you were born,” Serae said, “Mother told me that it would be you who would wear the crown. I never told anyone, not even your father. I never wanted that burden for you. But she was right. You’re her heir as much as Bricen’s and my own. You’ve done well.”

Tris sensed the presence of two more spirits, revenants strong enough to make their appearance plain to Kiara. Bava K’aa and Lemuel stood beside Serae, and Bava K’aa embraced her daughter. Serae looked from her mother to Lemuel.

“I heard what you told Tris about the Obsidian King,” Serae said. “And while I loved Grayson dearly as my father, I can sense in my spirit that what you said is true.”

Bava K’aa nodded. Her eyes held the memory of remembered pain. “I’m sorry for the deception, my dear. It was necessary to save your life—and per-haps mine, as well. And to spare Grayson from humiliation that he did not deserve.

Now all is known.”

“Will you also go to the Lady?” Tris asked his grandmother and Lemuel.

Bava K’aa nodded once more. “I chose to stay on after my death to protect you, and in the hopes that one day I might be able to free Lemuel. You no longer need my protection, and Lemuel is free.

We’re ready to go to our rest. We would be honored if you would make the passing over.”

Tris looked down, unable to speak. He willed himself to raise his head and meet his mother’s eyes. “Then let’s begin,” he said in a voice like gravel, squaring his shoulders. He closed his eyes once more, stretching out along the currents of magic, feeling the power rise to his command. He felt the shift in his soul that signaled his presence in the spirit world as well as the world of light. For a few precious moments he gathered his family around him, warm and real to the touch. Then he spoke the words of power that freed them, sending their spir-its to rest with the Lady.

“Never doubt that you are the Chosen of the Lady,” his mother’s voice sounded from afar. “She does not choose her champions in vain.”

“Goodbye,” Tris whispered. When he opened his eyes again, they were gone. He bowed his head, and Kiara wrapped her arms around him. She waited as he swallowed back the last of the tears. Then she took his hand, and they stepped into the corridor together.

Carroway was waiting patiently for them, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, grinning widely.

“You don’t waste time,” the bard jibed good-naturedly. “A throne and a queen.

Now if you’ll just appoint me Master Minstrel…”

Tris slipped his arm around Kiara’s waist, winc-ing as his newly healed ribs protested. “Be careful what you wish for,” Tris teased. “You’re already in charge of planning both a coronation and a wed-ding.”

Carroway grinned wider. “Suits me fine. I’ll help the steward plan the food, and I’ll arrange the best entertainment and decorations in the Winter Kingdoms.

That’s how reputations are made, after all,” he said with an exaggerated courtly bow.

“Let’s wait until tomorrow to start planning the menu, if it’s all the same to you,” Tris asked tiredly.

“It’s been tomorrow for a while now,” Carroway replied. “Carina is with Jonmarc. He won’t be going anywhere for a long time. I promised to send orders to the kitchen—if the servants ever return— to have their meals sent up to Jonmarc’s room.” Carroway grinned conspiratorially. “Maybe there’ll be a double wedding, before all is said and done. Ban left orders that you’re not to be disturbed until noon, but a line of petitioners is already forming and one or two of your father’s old retainers have come out of hiding.

“That makes it possible, and probably wise, to convey the crown later this morning.” Carroway held up a hand to forestall any protest. “Mikhail pointed out that kingdoms can be lost on technical-ities. You’ve won the crown, but you haven’t actually been proclaimed king. He tells me there is protocol for a field coronation—King Hotten was crowned that way, so there is precedent—and we can worry about all the pomp and circumstance later.”

Carroway shook his head. “We’ve got a mess to clean up just restaffing the castle,” he went on. “And we have to convince the servants that the vayash moru will keep the truce, or they won’t step foot back in the kitchen. We’ll be eating cheese and salt beef for the rest of our lives.”

“I don’t know,” Tris teased, “all that time on the road kind of gave me a taste for salt beef.”

“Trail rations never hurt anyone,” Kiara joined in. “Builds character.”

Carroway rolled his eyes. “I’ve had my character built enough for ten lifetimes.

Now I just want one of those comfortable court positions where I can write songs immortalizing the king and his lady and become one of the most honored bards of the king-doms.”

“Let me know if you don’t have enough material for good stories,” Tris said. “I can send you back out for a while with Ban. Or maybe Gabriel would take you in.”

Carroway gave him a sidelong glance. “No thanks. I think I’ve got enough to work on.”

Kiara laughed. “You two have got business to take care of. I’ll go see how Carina and Jonmarc are doing. Don’t worry—I’ll be with you shortly.”

Tris kissed her and let her go, watching as she headed down the corridor.

Carroway looked at Tris, dressed in a borrowed tunic and trews, and shook his head. “I can see that the first order of business is to get you outfitted like a king and not like a tent rigger. Come with me, and let’s see what we can find.”

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contents

SIX WEEKS LATER, the palace courtyards were again filled with cheering crowds for the formal coronation of the new king of Margolan.

“Carroway really outdid himself.” Kiara sat with Tris in the banquet hall after the coronation cere-mony.

“Remind me never to make him a dare again,” Tris replied. True to his word, Carroway had engi-neered a fete of grand proportions on short notice, with musicians, entertainers, bonfires, and jousts. Tris protested, to no avail, that far too much had been made of the event.

“Staden’s enjoying himself,” Kiara added. She glanced toward where the Principality king sat, regaling the others at their table with hunting sto-ries.

Berry sat next to him, resplendent in a gown of emerald brocade, looking bored.

Royster, still unready to return to his self-imposed exile at the Library, was exuberantly keeping the noble ladies on the terrace entertained with his stories.

“He’s certainly entitled to it,” Tris replied. In addition to the reward treasure they had left behind in Principality and Vahaman’s gold, Staden and Berry presented Tris with a generous coronation gift of precious gems.

“Harrtuck looks no worse for the wear.” The burly soldier came into view, milling among guests and guardsmen who greeted him with cheers and back slapping.

“I almost think he enjoyed himself out with the mercs,” Tris said. “He’s certainly enjoyed telling stories about the adventure.”

Harrtuck had returned a few days before the fes-tivities began, riding from the Principality border after dismissing the mercenary troops. The nights before the coronation had been filled with an exchange of stories. The friends had sat up late, trading news of the last days of the campaign over brandy and the cellar’s best dried fruits.

“Now there’s an odd couple.” Kiara looked across the room to where Sakwi and Alyzza bent together in conversation. Sakwi had been successful in his journey to Eastmark to hold back the Nargi troops. This was the first time since his return that Tris had seen the pair without Royster, with whom the two mages eagerly exchanged lore.

“I imagine Royster will have two more visitors, assuming Alyzza and Sakwi don’t move in with him altogether,” Tris chuckled.

Jolie and Astir moved comfortably among the guests. If any of the nobles thought amiss of Jolie’s presence, they said nothing. Jolie brought gifts for the occasion, with bolts of fine Mussa silk and casks of aged Cartelesian brandy, whose origin Tris decided not to consider too carefully. Maynard Linton joined them; it was clear that Jolie and Linton were long-time trading partners.

For Kiara, Jolie brought bolts of creamy Noorish satins and silks. She gave them to Kiara with an aside that brought a crimson blush to the princess’s cheeks.

Along the back wall, the innkeeper Lars and his wife Tabethe were dressed in fine clothes. They looked dazed, as if they could not believe them-selves guests at the king’s coronation. Tris had no doubt that once the designation of “king’s favored inn” was widely known, Lars would never again lack customers.

“Damn fine feast, Tris,” King Harrol boomed, clapping Tris on the shoulder.

“Your father would have been proud.” Harrol, Bricen’s brother-in-law, was more than pleased to preside over the corona-tion and present Tris with the crown, bringing with him welcome news that the magicked beasts on Dhasson’s borders were destroyed.

“Blame Carroway,” Tris grinned. “He’s out to build a legend.”

Harrol laughed heartily. “He doesn’t need to. He can tell your stories until his dying day and never lack for an audience.” He looked down at Kiara. “Remind me to tell you some stories of my own, about Tris’s fostering, sometime when there’s a flask of brandy on the table,” he said with a broad wink to Tris.

Kiara gave a wicked grin. “That sounds tempt-ing.” If Tris intended to make a rejoinder, it was cut off as the musicians struck up a lively tune. Harrol moved away with a wave, seeking out one of the noble ladies to dance with him as the celebrants crowded the dance floor.

“I haven’t seen Carina in a while,” Tris said, watching the festivities.

“She’s probably out walking with Cam,” Kiara replied, her toe tapping to the music. King Donelan, thinking it unwise to leave Isencroft so soon after his recovery, had sent Carina’s twin brother as his ambassador. Cam had arrived from Isencroft with news of King Donelan’s full recovery. The brother and sister had retreated for many long, private walks, recounting their separate adventures. Cam had also carried a private correspondence for Kiara, within which Donelan granted his unreserved per-mission to honor her betrothal contract with Margolan’s new king. Although she and Tris had announced their betrothal in exile, proclaiming it at the coronation made the celebration even more fes-tive.

“How’s Jonmarc putting up with the competi-tion?” Tris chuckled.

“Reasonably well. He hasn’t squabbled with Carina in a day or two, so it must be true love. Honestly, those two deserve each other!”

Even the palace ghosts, now returned from their long banishment, were determined to make the coronation memorable. They appeared freely to the guests, and Tris could sense their whole-hearted approval and blessing.

Tris watched the entertainment restlessly. A near-ly endless line of well-wishers and boon-seekers formed to greet him and offer their fealty, renewing pledges made to his father and grandfather. But in the tower on the far side of the palace were the nobles who had freely assisted Jared, along with dozens of soldiers loyal to Jared who had been imprisoned for their crimes. Their trials and, most likely executions, loomed ahead, an unpleasant part of assuming the kingship.

Kiara squeezed his hand. “Don’t borrow trou-ble.”

“Sorry,” Tris said with a smile. “An old habit.”

“I have to admit, you know how to throw a party.” Vahanian joined them, making a perfuncto-ry bow. Even with his leg in a splint, Vahanian managed to stride across the room as if he owned it. A sling of black silk held his still-healing sword arm, but the splint on his leg was more difficult to hide.

Vahanian was dressed in black with a dark burgundy long coat, his swordbelt notably visible. Tris gladly granted him permission to wear his sword in the presence of the king, though until Vahanian’s arm healed the gesture was largely sym-bolic.

“You’re going to miss us,” Tris said, grinning. “Although you might have your hands full with Dark Haven.”

Vahanian grinned. “Carina and Gabriel and I’ve been making plans; I’ve had nothing to do but play tarle and wait for my bones to heal for the last six weeks. Gabriel made drawings of the manor house, and we’ve put a plan together to make it habitable again. We think we can get the lands profitable in a season or two. Once the party is over, Gabriel is going back to get things started between now and the royal wedding. As soon as I can ride, I’ll go up and see how I can help.” He paused. “I’ve asked Carina to winter at Dark Haven.

She’s said yes—if Donelan can spare her.” Kiara grinned. “I can arrange that.”

Vahanian smiled. “Who knows? I might even be able to convince all of you to visit.” Carina and Cam joined them. Vahanian slipped his good arm around Carina’s waist and kissed her. “After all,” he added, “celebrating Haunts in Dark Haven might be a whole new experience.”

Carina, beautiful in a dark red gown that matched Vahanian’s long coat, merely laughed and patted his good arm. “I wouldn’t know what to do with my time if you quit making a target of your-self. You’re my star patient.”

Vahanian turned to her with a wicked smile. “I might be able to suggest some other pastimes,” he said and she reddened.

“I’ll have to bring my chaperone.” Carina looked to Cam, who drew himself up to his full height. “I can be bribed,” Cam said “We’ll talk later,” Vahanian said.