The Bloodsworn (35 page)

Following Erik's glance, Sakhr said, “Do your guards not fear letting armed strangers near their king? Especially those who were once your enemy?”

“You were never my enemy,” Erik said. “And now you are allies.”

Qhara eyed him shrewdly. “And you are making a point.”

Erik smiled. “Perhaps.”

The tribeswoman's green-gold gaze travelled the compass of the room once more. “Your bodyguard. She is not here?” Sakhr frowned and said something in their own language, and his sister winced. “Forgive me, I had forgotten. She was wounded in the battle. How does she fare?”

“Well enough,” Erik said. “I have given her some much-deserved time off.” Gesturing at the cluster of plush chairs, he added, “Please, sit.”

The Harrami lowered themselves warily onto the chairs, eyes widening briefly as they sank into the upholstery. Erik recalled only too well what passed for chairs in their culture.
Compared to a tripod of sticks and a saddle of leather, the Andithyrian wingbacks must have seemed ridiculously soft.

“King chairs,” Sakhr muttered, not flatteringly.

Qhara had already lost interest in the chairs. She was staring at Erik even more intently than she had done in Harram, when he had felt her eyes on him at every turn. She had stared at him on the battlefield too, as they had exchanged their brief greetings. What fascinated her so, Erik could not guess. He arched a questioning eyebrow, and it was all the invitation she needed. “Is it true?” she said. “Did the Oridians control your mind?”

Sakhr blurted something exasperated. “Forgive my sister. She has no respect.”

Qhara scowled. “I have plenty of respect. The more so if the stories are true and he was fighting off the dark witch even while he met with the
pasha
.”

Erik hesitated a long moment before replying. He could not allow his composure to slip, a task he still found difficult when discussing his ordeal. He meant what he had said—these people were not enemies—but Alden was weak, and the health of her king was the subject of much speculation at home and abroad. He needed to convey strength and stability, especially in front of foreigners. “It is true that I was under the influence of an enemy bloodbinder,” he said carefully.

Qhara was not about to let him off that easily. “Even while you were in Harram?”

“Yes.”

“Your words to the
pasha . . .
”

“My own,” Erik said firmly. “Though it was difficult for me to speak them. The spell the enemy had cast upon me made it hard to concentrate, and even harder not to become emotional. It was a struggle.”

Sakhr grunted. “It did not show. Your words convinced the
pasha
that the time had come to fight the foreign
mustevi
once again, as our ancestors did before us.”

“That,” Qhara said, “and yet another provocation from the Oridians. They were fools to cross the pass again. Your words resonated even more after that.”

“I am glad,” Erik said. “And I have not yet had a chance to
formally express my gratitude. Who leads your armies, that I may thank him or her personally?”

“We have no single leader,” Sakhr said. “The tribes agreed to plan and fight together, that is all.”

“And your tribe? Who led them on the battlefield?”

Qhara laughed. Even the solemn Sakhr looked amused. “You did not know? My sister led our army.” He glanced at her, and with unmistakable pride added, “A great honour.”

“A punishment,” she said wryly, “for my words that day with the
pasha
. Since I spoke for you, Ghous thought it only fitting that I carry the responsibility of seeing through what I had set in motion. I think it amused him.”

Erik smiled. It sounded like the old man. “I did not know you were a commander general.”

She made a dismissive gesture. “I led our kinsmen this time. The next, it will be someone else.”

“Regardless, the Kingdom of Alden owes you a great debt, all of you. If there is any way I can repay you, do not hesitate to ask.”

Qhara didn't hesitate. “You can tell Ost to release us. Give back our lands and leave us be.”

Erik sighed. “That I cannot do. I have nowhere near enough influence with King Omaïd to treat on your behalf, especially not now. You may be aware that we quarrelled over the fate of the mountain tribes while I was in Ost. It is why the Harrami legions did not respond to my call for aid.”

“But the
sukhadan
answered your call,” Sakhr said.

“You did, and I am eternally grateful, but . . .”

“But Omaïd will be even more angry with you now,” Qhara finished.

“Very probably. Your bravery has shamed him, and my extending you full diplomatic courtesy will not ingratiate me, either.”

Qhara hitched a shoulder indifferently. “His friendship has no value. Therefore, it is no loss.”

Erik was inclined to agree, though it would not do to say so. “Is there anything else you would have of me? Something within my power to give?”

Qhara and Sakhr exchanged a look. “We will think on this,” Qhara said. “It must be discussed with the
pasha
and the Council of Twelve.”

“Of course. I will await your reply.”

They rose. Sakhr started for the door, but Qhara said, “You go. I have something else to discuss with the king.” Her brother arched an eyebrow but took his leave.

Qhara turned back to Erik, and there was a glint of mischief in her green-gold eyes that had not been there before. Glancing over him, she said, “You look better than you did in the mountains, Imperial Erik. Like a proper king. But you grew the beard back. I do not like it.”

Erik laughed, rubbing the week's worth of growth on his jaw. “I needed a change. And it's my way of honouring someone.” A twinge of pain as he said that, somewhere in the deepest part of him.

Qhara went to the window and gazed out into the rose garden. It had hit its full exuberance these past few days, rows of yellow and white and bloodred crisscrossing over sparkling white gravel. “The roses in my lands are not like this,” Qhara said. “They are strong and covered in sharp thorns, but not so beautiful.”

“These are strong and sharp too,” Erik said, “even if they are beautiful.”

“I believe you.” She turned and gave him a strange look. “They suit you, I think.”

Erik wasn't quite sure what to say to that.

Qhara reached for him. Erik flinched away instinctively—this woman had been his captor, after all—but she only touched his cheek, trailing her fingertips gently through his beard. She grimaced. “You imperials with your face hair.” Then, quite without warning, she leaned in and swept a fleeting kiss across his lips.

For a moment, Erik was too astonished to speak. “What was that?”

“The beard. I have always wondered.”

He laughed. “And?”

“It is not so bad. Perhaps I will try again sometime.”

Sobering, Erik said, “In earnest, Qhara, thank you. I think this makes us officially even.”

“No, not even. You owe me, Imperial Erik, and one day I will collect.” The words were lightly spoken, but there was a hint of iron in her eyes that signalled something deeper.

Erik inclined his head. “Until then.”

It was only after she had gone that Erik remembered she had stayed behind to tell him something. Perhaps, in her own way, she had.

Alix appeared in the doorway. “What was that?” she said, hooking a thumb over her shoulder.

“I honestly have no idea.”

“She looked like the cat that found the cream.”

“Never mind Qhara—why are you walking about?”

Alix waved him off irritably. “If I stay in bed any longer, I'll go mad.”

“Where is your husband? Terribly remiss of him to let you out . . .”

“Taking Rudi for a walk.”

“Don't we have people for that sort of thing?”

“To walk Rudi? You want some poor servant to lose an arm?”

“Fair point.”

Gingerly, Alix sank into a chair. “Rig says he's off tomorrow.”

“I heard.”

“I'm worried about him. After so long at war, going home to find Blackhold a shadow of its former self. And now this business with Vel . . .”

“He'll be all right. He'll hurt for a while, but Rig is strong. He'll get past it.”
We all will
, he added silently.

A solemn look came over Alix, as if she had heard his thoughts. Hardly surprising; she knew him better than anyone in the world. “You're right,” she said. “For the first time in a long time, I believe that.”

Erik reached out and took her hand—tentatively at first, mindful of her injured wrist, but she didn't flinch.
It's healing
, he thought.
Slowly, but it's healing.

Glancing up, he saw that Alix had read his thoughts again. She smiled.

“A
tournament,” said Albern Highmount, stroking his beard. “An interesting notion, sire.”

Erik snorted softly. Highmount had two ways of pronouncing the word
interesting
. The first meant that the chancellor indeed found the idea of interest, the second that he thought it complete rubbish. His inflection just now was decidedly of the second variety. “I know what you're going to say. We can't afford it.”

“I believe that is what your brother His Highness would refer to as the understatement of our age. We are quite thoroughly bankrupt, sire.”

“We'll work it out. Taxes or some such.”

“Taxes,” Highmount echoed dubiously.

“The people need something to take their minds off the war. Celebrate our glorious victory, so on and so forth. You know I'm right.”

“I do not dispute the sentiment, Your Majesty, it is the state of the royal treasury that concerns me. We are already borrowing heavily from Onnan to purchase Harrami grain.”

“You say that as though I didn't sign the documents myself. Don't be such a pessimist, Chancellor. There is always a way.”

“I shall make a note of it, Your Majesty,” the old man said dryly. “Now, if we may pass to the next item on our agenda?”

Erik's gaze strayed to the window. It was a splendid day outside, and he wanted nothing more than to take a stroll through the rose garden. How was it that the peacetime agenda managed to be even more cumbersome than in wartime?

“Sire?”

“I'm listening,” Erik said with only the faintest sigh.

“I will indulge you, sire, and skip to the last item, which is the lynching in Andithyri.”

Just like that, Erik's good mood evaporated. “It's confirmed, then?”

“I am afraid so. Two Andithyrian bloodbinders, both hanged by the mob—in full view, they say, of the city guard.”

Erik shook his head grimly. “It's started, then. Just as we feared.”

“It was all but inevitable after word got out of what happened here.”

“I understand the anger against the Oridians, but to murder their own?”

“The Andithyrian bloodbinders did work for Sadik for over two years, however unwillingly. Besides, all bloodbinders carry the stain of what happened in this war. First the Priest and his thrall army, and then the King of Alden . . . The bloodbond is tainted now, as are those who wield it. People fear it as dark magic, and in their fear they do beastly things.”

“But the danger has passed.” So far as they knew, at any rate. Nevyn believed himself the only bloodbinder alive to have mastered the Priest's secret, and was convinced that would remain the case until he died. As usual, however, he had been damnably vague about the details of his theory.

“That was obviously of little comfort to the mob,” Highmount said.

“Perhaps we should release Nevyn from service. He may be in danger. Perhaps it's better if he finds someplace discreet to wait this out.”

“And let a man with such power roam free?” Highmount's bushy eyebrow climbed.

“I suppose you're right. Still, we had better put a guard on him. His has become a deadly profession, it seems.”

Highmount made a note of it on his ledger. “Just one more thing, Your Majesty . . .”

“Oh no,” Erik said, holding up a hand. “That's enough for today. I have barely an hour of sunshine left and I mean to take advantage of it.”

“Very well,” Highmount said, rising. “I will add the remaining items to tomorrow's agenda.”

Erik waited until the door clicked behind the chancellor. Then he said, “You can stop smirking at me like that.”

“What?” said a voice behind him. “I'm not smirking.”

“Of course you are, and I know why. It's frivolous of me, I'll grant you, but I've simply a very low tolerance for doom and gloom these days.”

“No need to explain,” Alix said. “I quite approve, actually.”

“You approve of me being frivolous?”

“I approve of you taking some time for yourself. The gods know you deserve it.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “As do you, so if there is nothing else, you are through for the day, Captain.”

There was a time, not so long ago, when Alix would have needed convincing. But she was anxious to get back to Liam, so she just nodded and headed for the door. “See you at breakfast.”

“What, you'll miss supper?” Erik asked, all innocence. “Again?” He burst out laughing as the blush flamed across her cheeks. It was cruel to tease her, perhaps, but he couldn't resist. It was just so good to see the two of them basking in each other's company once more.

He took his time strolling through the rose garden, soaking up the fading rays of early summer. Ducks frolicked and flapped in the pond, and a low hum of honeybees droned in the air. If he closed his eyes, Erik could almost pretend that everything was as it had been two years before, and peace truly meant
peace
, instead of merely the beginning of a long and difficult journey back to normalcy. For the kingdom, and for himself.

“A crown for your thoughts, sire,” said a rasping voice.

Erik's mouth twisted sourly. Somehow, he was not surprised to find Alix's spy skulking among his roses. “If you wish to have authorised access to the royal gardens, you need only ask.”

“And pass up the chance to test my sneaking skills? Besides,
I would not be much use as a spy if my face were known to every man and woman at court.”

“That ship has most likely sailed, as the Onnani saying goes. You were paraded before half the city as a traitor.”

The spy shrugged. “They will forget me in a few months. I have one of those faces.”

“Perhaps,” Erik said. “Still, I owe you a debt. You did your best to save my brother from my madness, and in return I nearly took your head. If there is anything I can do to reward your loyalty . . .”

“Someday, perhaps. In the meantime, I thought you might be in the market for a skilled set of eyes and ears, what with Gedonan politics in such disarray. These are dangerous times, and I have strong networks abroad.”

Erik frowned. “You are already employed.”

“By a great many people, to be sure. And my first loyalty is to my lady of Blackhold. But I presume your interests shall rarely, if ever, diverge.”

“You may be sure of that, spy.” Now more than ever, that truth was the anchor to which all else in Erik's world was moored.

“In that case, Your Majesty”—the man bowed low—“you may call me Saxon.”

*   *   *

“Back early?” Liam said, tossing a book aside as Alix walked through the door.

“What are you . . . ?” She froze in her tracks. “Are you
reading
?”

“That's fantastic, Allie. Try to sound a little more surprised.”

“Sorry, it's just . . . I don't think I've ever seen you with a book.” She glanced down at the discarded volume. “
An Illustrated History of Harram
?”

“It has pictures,” Liam said solemnly.

Laughing, Alix tossed herself into a chair, not even bothering to remove her armour. Rudi came over, nub wagging, for a scratch behind the ears.

“And how's our good king today?” Liam asked.

“Cheeky. He mocked me for being . . .
unavailable
 . . . these past few evenings.”

Liam winced. “Awkward. Do you suppose people are talking about it?”

“I really don't care,” Alix said, and was half surprised to find that she meant it. “If it pleases people to imagine us in our marriage bed, they're welcome to it.”

“Someone's in a sprightly mood.”

“I had a good day.
We
had a good day. He's doing so much better, Liam. He's even talking about having a tournament, if we can find the coin. Part celebration, part distraction.”

Liam hummed thoughtfully, sliding into the oversized chair beside her. “Not a bad idea. People could use some cheer, that's for sure. It might even be a good way to help identify some new recruits for the Wolves.”

“Are you worried? About finding new recruits, I mean.”

“A little. I'm not keen on filling out our ranks with squires and stableboys, especially now that I've lost so many experienced officers.”

“A pity Rona resigned. I wonder why? She seemed to be doing so well. Perhaps she feels she's needed at Brownhold.”

“Could be.” Liam looked away, fidgeting with his discarded book.

Alix picked it up and thumbed through the pages. “Learn anything interesting?”

She expected a gibe, but Liam's tone was unexpectedly contemplative. “Quite a few things, actually. Did you know the Onnani and Harrami are meant to be distant relatives?”

“I've heard that theory, yes.” It was possible, she supposed—it would explain the skin colour, and why neither race could grow beards.

“I think I'd like to see it someday. Harram, I mean. Do you think you'd ever be willing to go back?”

“I'm not sure I would, frankly. But it doesn't much matter anyway—I don't think a member of the royal family could visit Harram anytime soon with things as they are between Erik and Omaïd.”

“Onnan, then. Wouldn't you like to see the ocean? They say everyone should see it at least once.”

Alix regarded her husband with a bemused smile. “Why the sudden thirst for travel?”

“Not sure,” he admitted, shrugging. “I guess it's never
really been an option for me before. Now that the war is over, it feels like we should experience the world a little.”

She sighed. “The war might be over, but these are still dangerous times to be abroad. The largest empire on the continent has just collapsed. It's hard to predict what comes next.”

“I guess we'll just have to be ready for anything, then, won't we?”

“Yes,” Alix said, leaning back into the cradle of her husband's arms. “I suppose we will.”