The King's Sons (The Herezoth Trilogy) (21 page)

Kansten’s
eyes grew wide. “Matters like what Vane’s doing now?”

“Of
course not. Nothing clandestine. At least, nothing darkly so, so get that out
of your head this instant.”

Kansten
grinned. “That’s precisely what you’d tell me if you were the king’s assassin.”
Zacry rolled his eyes, and Kansten said, “Relax. You’re not the assassin type.
Would have gotten yourself killed on your first assignment. Subtletly’s not
your specialty, Uncle Zac. Nor stealth, though to be fair, you almost gave me a
heart attack when you came in here.”

“Talking
like that, you’d deserve it if I had,” he said. Kansten saw the twinkle in his
eye, a fresh twinkle, and never doubted he jested.

She
pressed, “What’s the king have you do, then?”

“He
asks my advice about touchy political matters, ones involving magic. I’ve taken
his sons to Hogarane, so they could see the village I was born in. Could have
it be something concrete in their minds. I’ve also spoken at length with the
crown prince about sorcery, its power and limitations. He needs to understand
sorcery, and fully, if he’s to rule Herezoth. Vane could have taught him, but
Vane’s so blasted busy day in and day out….”

“What
else have you done?”

“I’ve
made quick repairs around the Palace and the Temple, with my magic. I keep the
council’s school protected with new spells every so often. I’ve made the
prisons in Yangerton and Podrar more secure. I’ve kept telling myself, two more
months, five more weeks, after this is done…. And I never leave. I’m starting
to doubt I ever will. Returning to Hogarane had a powerful effect on me. To see
the changes there, how it’s thriving…. I felt responsible to do my part to keep
the village growing, when it gave so much to me in my early years.”

“And
how exactly can you do that through the council?”

“Our
latest project, it’s a museum about magic. It’s neither to hide sorcery’s
abuses nor understate the blessings magic’s brought to the realm. I convinced
the crown we should build it in Hogarane, out of tribute to Brenthor. He
settled in that area after helping his king put down Hansrelto’s Revolt all
those centuries ago. Know much about him?”

Kansten
said, “He was the head of the Sorcerers’ Court. After Hansrelto, he lived in
hiding from hateful crazies for the rest of his life. Hid from the people he’d
fought to protect. We only discovered this century where he actually went after
his victory.” She paused. “I’ve read your history books, you know.”

Zacry
smiled in approbation. “Wish Viola would.” His daughter, eleven years old. His
two children felt no desire to study the history and lore of multiple kingdoms.
Since they lived in Traigland, and had their mother’s dark skin and hair,
theirs was a Traiglander’s education up to the moment. Zacry had not yet begun
to teach them spells, for both had inherited his sorcery.

“Leaving
the council when the museum’s settled, then?” Kansten asked.

“Perhaps,”
Zacry conceded. Kansten knew he was lying. Hune’s voice echoed in her brain.

Herezoth grips a person.
How content are your parents, your uncle, in Traigland? I’m sure their lives
are comfortable enough, but don’t they long for something else? Some
where
else?

The prince
had spoken true. For good or ill, this kingdom where her parents had been
children—this place her mother would have died for in her time with the
Crimson League, the place her uncle couldn’t bring himself to forsake—it
would never leave her be. It had already touched her soul, through Hune’s pleas
on its behalf.

CHAPTER
NINE

Terrance Returns

When
Vane returned to Partsvale, he found Francie awake with a closed book at arm’s
length. She made a startling sight, now that the bruises around her eyes had
turned a vivid shade of navy and the scratches on her cheek had swollen. The
swelling in her lip, at least, had diminished. She indicated the cheaply bound,
inexpertly printed volume she had laid aside.

“Latest
popular romantic trash,” she said. “Howar picked it up for me, to take my mind
off things. Kind gesture, but I couldn’t get through two pages. My head’s still
pounding, and I feel like I’ll swoon each time I try to focus on the words.”

“Do
you know where Howar’s gone?” Vane needed the baker’s reaction to the Yangerton
plot. The sorcerer almost shook, to think how close the king and his army had
come to defending the wrong city.

“He
doesn’t give me explanations when he comes and goes.” Francie forced a smile,
then winced in pain, and let the expression fall. “You look better since you
slept a bit,” she said.

“Do
I? At least that makes one of us.”

“They’re
just bruises,” Francie offered, with a chuckle that turned into a groan. “Don’t
make me laugh.”

“I’m
sorry,” Vane said, and pressed her shoulder. “Can I get you anything? Do
something for you?”

Francie
pursed her busted lips, hesitating to speak, and Vane lowered himself to the
edge of the bed, careful not to jar her. He insisted, “If there’s something you
need, just name it.”

“I’d
like to ask you something,” she said. “I’ve been thinking, and fearing, and I
know I’m pregnant, Vane. I just know it. I have no clue where I’ll go when I
leave this place, or what I’ll do, because I can’t stay on the council, but
none of that worries me right now. Not compared with the thought of a child. I
can’t raise that man’s child. I can’t do it, not alone, and my family would
spurn me. They’ve been spurning me for years. You know what a hateful witch my
mother is. She never wanted me to join the council. Right disowned me when I
did.”

“It’s
completely her loss, Francie.”

“Wish
I could feel that way. I could use a mother right now, for sure, and she….
She’d slam the door in my face. Tell me she’d warned me about something like
this, and I brought it on myself, and I can deal with the consequences without
bothering her.”

“She’d
really do that?”

“You
know her, Vane. Don’t act like I’m wrong.”

Francie,
unfortunately, didn’t err in her assessment of her mother. The woman had chased
Vane and the innkeeper who’d raised him out of Fontferry when Vane was a child,
because Francie told her she had seen the sorcerer’s mark on Vane’s back. She
doted on Francie’s worthless brother, but had never been as fond of her
daughter. She had never overcome her prejudice against magic, and Francie’s
brother had no powers. To imagine the woman would accept a sorcerer grandchild
wrought of rape….

“I
can’t go to my family, we both know that. And I’ve been thinking, about the
resources you have. About how much I respect you, and how beautiful your family
is from the way you talk about your wife and kids. About how my baby, it’ll
have magic like that monster does. Like you and your children.

“I
know this is immense to ask, especially after all you’ve already done for me.
And I realize this could come to nothing, because I might not be pregnant at
all, or might miscarry. I don’t want you to feel obligated to agree to this,
because there’s always the option of an orphanage.”

Vane
nodded, his expression somber. Francie admitted, “It’s not a pleasant thought,
because no family would take an infant sorcerer in, which means the baby would
grow up alone. Still, I could bring the baby to an orphanage. I’d rather it
have parents, though: a mother like August, a father like you. Vane, if you’d
take it, if you’d raise it like your own, I’d like to entrust the child to you.
In all honesty, that’s the best thing I could do, to provide for it. I imagine
the king’s been asking of me….”

“Of
course he has.”

“And
I know he would give me anything I need, but I’m too proud to ask his help, and
even with his full support, I wouldn’t be able to look at the child without
resentment. Without remembering. I couldn’t handle that.”

“Francie,
I….”

“You
don’t have to answer right now. You’ll have to talk with your wife first, and I
don’t imagine she’ll be thrilled by the idea of taking that man’s son or
daughter in.” Francie shuddered, and Vane took her pale, cold hand. She said,
“Don’t you dare feel obligated. I mean that.”

Vane
replied, “I’d be honored, Francie. That child doesn’t belong in an orphanage. I
was an orphan myself, but my aunt took me in. When I think where I otherwise
could have ended up…. August would love your child like her own. Dalen, my
youngest, he’d love a little brother or sister to cuddle, and the twins would
dote over the baby like they did Dalen himself. As for tainted blood, you’re
one of the strongest women I’ve ever met, and if you think that strength
doesn’t run in your veins with enough force to destroy any influence from that
cretin, well….”

There
was a note of begging in Francie’s voice. “Don’t,” she pleaded. “Don’t
compliment me. Not you of all people.”

“Francie,
I swear to you, you’ll overcome this. Nothing’s ever beaten you down. I meant
what I said: you’re strong.”

She
whispered, “I’m not.” Vane had the impression she would have yelled, had every
muscle in her face not caused her obvious pain with each word she spoke. “I’m
not strong, Vane. Not when it comes to you. Ten bloody years it’s been. Ten
blasted, bloody years, and I’m still every bit in love with you as I was when
we first met again at my council interview. My interview two months after you
married. I’m that absurdly weak, so I mean it, don’t compliment me. I can’t
handle that, not now. It’s pure torture to think I owe my life to you, all
right? And while I know the best arrangement possible is for you to take any
child I might birth, it’s torment to think that you of all the people in this
cursed kingdom might raise my child without me. If I hoped to stay on the
council I wouldn’t say a word of this, but I can’t keep on. I know I can’t. I
can’t continue to work with you, and you must be on the Magic Council. You’re
its spokesman. You’re its only noble, the source of any respectability it has.
The idea of a king’s council with no nobleman at all, it’s laughable. You must
stay on, so I’ll have to leave.”

“Francie….”
Vane ran a hand down his face. “Francie, you know I never meant….”

“You
haven’t given me a reason to hope something might happen between us. Not in a
decade. You would never betray your wife, and I’ve never dreamed otherwise.
This is entirely my problem, and entirely my fault. My fault, Vane, for
failing, and failing, and failing again to move past an impossible attachment.
For being fool enough to accept the king’s appointment in the first place, when
I should have known that attachment would strengthen as we became colleagues.
Ten years I’ve wasted. Ten years of my life, gone, and come to this.” Tears
brimmed in her blackened eyes. “I have no idea what to make of myself now. What
I’m fit for, without the council.”

Vane
told her, “I can’t prevent you thinking that, but I won’t let you say it.
Wasted ten years? Francie, you put more time and sweat into founding the
council’s school than the rest of us combined. You moved to Carphead for a year
and worked as the headmaster’s assistant, when the woman we’d hired resigned at
the last second because of threats. You’ve held your head high despite curses
and jeers. Despite arson. You haven’t wasted your life, do you hear me? This
kingdom owes you an incredible debt. The work you’ve done, the feats you’ve
accomplished for its sake….”

“Have
ruined me,” she persisted. “I never should have joined the council. I never
would have, had I known. Why did you have to be at that library, Vane? Why did
you bloody save me? You should have let them kill me. Good God, I’d be better
off!”

“You
listen to me,” Vane said, “I swore on Teena’s chickens I would see you through
this. I don’t back away from a chicken swear, never have and never will. I didn’t
risk exposing my loyalties to the king at that Hall for you to despair over
surviving. I know things seem hopeless now, but you’re Francie Rafe, damn it.
You don’t give up. You didn’t when your brother tried to drown that runt. You
were only seven, but you kicked the boy in the knee, grabbed the dog, and ran
to Teena’s.”

“This
is different, Vane.”

The
duke insisted, “You didn’t give up when Conroy Blake rebuffed our offer to be
headmaster of the Carphead Academy. You knew he was the perfect choice for our
school, given his record in Podrar. He didn’t even apply for the post, but that
didn’t stop you. You wouldn’t take no for an answer, and he’s still down in
Carphead six years later. The Academy is thriving thanks to him, and he
considers his work not just an occupation, but a calling.

“Francie,
you didn’t forsake your calling to the council when those thugs tried to burn
your aunt’s store, and you won’t give up now. Not on life. If you need to leave
the council after a full ten years of dedicated service, for whatever cause,
that’s one thing, but you won’t give up on life. You’re too smart and too brave
for that. You’re worth too damn much, do you understand me?”

Francie’s
only response was to allow tears to flow down her battered face. Vane softened
his voice, but he repeated, “Do you understand that, Francie?” She nodded, and
Vane wrapped his arms around her, let her weep into his shoulder. He held her
until she’d cried all the tears that would flow and made a weak effort to pull
away from him. He told her, “You will have a life. You will. Any post you might
want as a secretary at the Academy or the Palace, it’s yours. You’re qualified
for that kind of position, and you’ve earned it. If you want to return to
Fontferry, to your roots, we’ll find employment for you on a farm there. You
were always wonderful with animals. If you want to try your hand at gardening,
the king’s man could train you. If you want to cook, same thing. Rexson won’t
turn his back on you. You’ve served him much too faithfully for far too long. I
swear to you, you’re not alone now, and even if you were, you’d overcome.
You’re Francie Rafe. That’s what you do.”

“Vane,
I’m sorry. I should never have told you how I feel about you.”

He
told her, “I knew. I’ve always known. No one can help what they feel, Francie.
You of all people should know that, with your power what it is. You’ve never
once acted in a way that was inappropriate, never tried to pull me from August,
and I’m not ungrateful for that. I just wish there were something I could do,
to help you feel differently.”

Francie
took some deep breaths, to collect her thoughts. Finally, she said, “You can’t
stop me feeling my own emotions, Vane. What you can do is take away my magic,
to stop me feeling what others do. You told me years ago you could do that, and
I wouldn’t let you, because I needed my power. I couldn’t stay on the council
without it. If I’m leaving all that now, my magic’s nothing but a burden. All
the jolts and spikes of anger, or passion, or a boredom that’s not even mine:
it’s exhausting. You have no idea how very tired I’ve been, all my life. After
all that’s happened, the last thing I need is that magic sucking away what
energy I have. It….”

The
woman stopped, embarrassed. Vane told her, “You can tell me, Francie.”

“Each
time you touch me, I pick up on things I shouldn’t. How much you love August,
how you grudge having to leave your family, how frightened you are about
something. My power can’t tell me what, but the fear’s there. A dread. Leaving
your kids with no father?” she guessed.

“You
know me well, don’t you?”

“Always
have.”

“Francie,
your magic’s tied to objects, not skin. How are you…?”

“Your
wedding ring,” she whispered. “People never connect their wedding rings with
my….”

“I
see.”

“You
play with yours quite a bit, Vane.”

Vane
knew he did. He started to tell Francie he would gladly destroy her powers,
once she were strong enough to withstand the spell’s weakening effects, when
they both looked to the door that opened to the landing and the steps down to
the bakery. Someone was coming up, one foot jolting the stairs harder than the
other. Rushing.

“That’s
Howar’s step,” said Francie. “Why…?”

A
scream from her own lips cut off her question. She and Vane were not alone.

Vane
yelled “
Adarg Reflayha
,” and a large,
triangular shield the same shade of ice blue as his mother’s eyes, his
children’s eyes, burst into being before him and the invalid, just in time to
protect them from a flaming jet of air that sped toward them. The shield
sizzled, dissolving as it turned black in an instant, and Vane shouted “
Desfazair”
in the direction of the
corner beside the door. An auburn-haired sorcerer with a patched tunic and
faded black trousers popped into view with a snarl on his face. The expression
made the right side of his bearded chin hang lower than the left.