The King's Sons (The Herezoth Trilogy) (23 page)

“Thank
the Giver you did.”

“I
should thank you just as much, Zac. Damn you, you know I hated those random
attacks of yours back in Traigland.”

Zacry
smiled. “They were hardly real assaults.”

“Really?
I’d be eating, or studying, or helping Joslyn wash dishes, and you’d sneak up
from nowhere and bind me.”

“Only
until you could defend yourself,” said Zacry.

“I
never understood why you did that.”

“You
were fifteen,” said Vane’s mentor. “Too young to be thinking about your future.
Returning to Herezoth, joining court…. It was my place to consider that. To
prepare you. I knew you’d have strong opposition. Not every sorcerer in the
kingdom would be pleased to have you here, reminding everyone of Zalski’s
crimes committed in the name of magic.”

“Well,
I owe you my life for those annoyances. And Francie owes you hers.” Vane
paused. “We should check on her. If she’s come to, she’d be glad to see
you—you’re a friend. A familiar face. She needs friends right now, more
friends than me.”

Vane
couldn’t bear the prospect of further transporting, so he and Zacry walked to
find the Cason family. Kora was kneeling on the floor, using her necklace.
Kansten, as somber as Vane had ever seen her, was cleaning Francie’s face and
neck of soot with her wash water, because the woman was still unconscious.
Walten and Wilhem spoke in hushed voices about anything more they could do for
her.

Wilhem
told Vane, “We cast a calming spell, and that one we know to steady breathing
and pulse, because her heartbeat was erratic. Before we came, Mom thought to
cast a cleansing spell on her lungs and airways, and that multiplication spell
we know on her blood, because you’d mentioned she’d lost a lot.”

Zacry
noted, “That was brilliant.”

Walten
said, “Couldn’t make the effect too strong, for safety’s sake, but even a
little more blood in her would help.”

Vane
agreed, “In her condition, that helps. It helps significantly. She was weak
even before the shock of that second attack.”

At
Vane’s words, Kora stirred. They must have provoked her to break her
connection, because she stood and lifted the chain from around her neck.
“Terrance paid a social call to your baker,” she told Vane. “Linstrom didn’t
send him to kill anyone. He knew nothing about the visit. I’d have warned you
if he had. It was just bad timing, with Francie upstairs. Howar must have tried
to keep Terrance away….”

Vane
said, “That hardly matters now.”

Kora
said, “Perhaps. The fire’s spread to twelve other buildings. The smoke could be
seen from the cobbler’s shop, so Linstrom went to investigate. People know the
blaze started at the bakery, and if he saw you again, Linstrom would grill you
about where Howar might be. You can’t go to any more plotting sessions, Vane.
It’s too dangerous. Let him think you died in that inferno, because that’s what
it’s become, an inferno. I’ve seen it through Linstrom, and there’s no way
there’s a fragment left of any person in that bakery to be identified.”

Vane
sighed. “Howar was a decent chap. Right kind to Francie, and her a stranger…. I
don’t know how I’ll tell her he’s dead.”

Kora
threw a motherly arm around Vane’s shoulder. The gesture meant more to him than
he could have described, as grimy and stained as he was. Zacry suggested, “I’d
begin with the news of Terrance’s death.” Vane gave him a somber nod.

“He
was a beast.”

The
duke never would have thought a second memory could sear his soul like that of
Francie tied to a stake in the Hall’s library, the woman voiceless, beaten,
desperately denying who she was. Just as soul shaking was that shriek from
Howar’s bed reverberating in Vane’s mind.

Walten
and Wilhem had drawn back, out of the scene, observing with an intensity Vane marked
even in his state of distraction. Kansten, on the other hand, seemed not to
hear a word of Vane’s conversation with her mother and uncle. Having cleaned
the unconscious Francie as best she could, she had moved on to braid the woman’s
hair in a single plait. The battered councilor had awakened an air of mixed
pity and respect in Kansten that Vane had never seen.

Once
Kansten had secured Francie’s braid, she wet the councilor’s forehead to keep
her cool. Then she told Kora, “I finally see why you care about this place.
It’s because of the people like you, people like her, who work so hard and give
so much to make things better and end up beaten down. You came back because you
hope that, someday, those brave souls won’t meet rejection like you did.
Eventually, they’ll have to succeed. They have to, Mom. Knowing Francie’s
career like I do, as much as I admire her, to see her like this….” Kansten
turned to her brothers. “You see this woman? This is why you’re here, why we’re
all here.”

Walten
nodded, his Adam’s apple bouncing down as he gulped a breath of air. Wilhem
told his sister, “We’re here for her, the same as you are. They can’t do that
to someone and get away with it to threaten more people. Not while we can stand
against them.”

Kansten
sent her brother a weak but grateful smile. Kora took the damp towel from her
daughter; she placed it on the table by the bed before taking Kansten in her
arms and holding her tight, holding her in that way only a mother could. Vane
had known many such embraces from his Aunt Teena, most especially when the
local thugs had forced them to leave Fontferry over Vane’s sorcerer’s mark. He
had always wondered whether his actual mother’s touch would have granted him
more solace. He could not imagine so, could not slight the good woman who had
raised him by thinking that, but still, each night, he reveled in the knowledge
that his children had their mother beside them, and their father, when he
himself had known neither of his parents. Terrance Vole had come so close to
leaving Vane’s children fatherless….

Vane
shivered despite the sticky heat of summer, and transported away to wash before
anyone—mainly, Zacry—could comment on the involuntary movement.

CHAPTER
TEN

Lottie

Kora
soon returned to her chain, though in the room next door. She left Zacry to
tend to the unconscious Francie, so the woman would wake to someone she knew,
and took her children from the sickroom.

Rexson’s
spy found the stocky, black-haired Linstrom in an elegant, femininely furnished
sitting room. The space was small; a rug with a floral pattern covered most of
the floor. Yellow roses filled two vases on the table. A painting of wildflowers
hung above the door to the kitchen, while wooden shelves against the wall held
bottles of colored glass.

Linstrom
sat with a fat-cheeked woman maybe thirty-years-old on a faded settee. She wore
her blonde hair cropped, too short to pull back or arrange in any fashion, and
her cotton dress, empire-waisted, was in good condition. Linstrom was telling
her of the fire on the high street, which had disrupted all business that day.

“From
what I’ve heard, it started at the bakery.”

The
woman’s eyes grew wide. “Howar’s bakery? Do you think the king’s discovered
us?”

“Don’t
be a fool, Lottie. He’d have burned my shop, not Howar’s, if he was going for
that kind of thing. People are saying it started on the second floor, but
that’s ludicrous. It had to start in the kitchens.”

“One
would think that’s logical,” Lottie said. She sounded unwilling to let her
fears about Rexson Phinnean go, but didn’t mention them again. “Howar could
have been using a stove upstairs, you know. Have you seen him since?”

“Terrance
left in that direction. I’m not sure where he was going, but perhaps he found
himself in the right place to help.”

Lottie’s
expression hardened at the mention of the auburn-haired sorcerer. “He’s gotten
out of hand, Evant. Terrance has. What he did to that Rafe woman was obvious,
and….”

Not this again. Damn it!

“Let
it go, Lottie. It’s done. Be the bigger person, won’t you, and leave off
antagonizing my most faithful supporters. You spoke up in the Hall, and I
placated you there.”

Lottie
crossed her arms. “Placated? You made sure to keep the woman happy so she
wouldn’t cause trouble, is that what that was? What about mercy? He beat and
raped and clearly terrorized that woman, without your consent.” She paused. “He
hadn’t your consent?”

“Of
course he hadn’t. I sent him to create a diversion. I had no idea what he’d
chosen to do.”

“He
crossed a line. We’re here to right an injustice, to bring it to the world’s
attention, not to assassinate councilors after torture.”

“Lottie,
the king spat in your face the same as he did mine when he ignored our
applications. You knew this work would involve some unsavory tasks. That’s all
this Rafe business was.”

“This
was beyond anything necessary, Evant, and you know it. To kill the woman as
painlessly as possible, that’s one thing. That I understand. Rafe was the
king’s supporter, and a well-known one, with a power so trifling she had no
place on that council, not when sorcerers like us could have taken her seat.
But to torture her as Terrance did…. Would you have sanctioned that, had he
brought his plan to you?”

“I
would not have,” Linstrom claimed, and truthfully. “I was forgoing the chance
to question her about the king, about Ingleton, when I ended her suffering at
your request.”

“Thank
you,” said Lottie, “for heeding me.” She mastered the slightest of tremors, one
so small Linstrom almost failed to mark it. “That woman’s blood is on all our
hands.”

This I won’t have. Not
guilt. Not doubt.

Linstrom
raised a hand to Lottie’s plump cheek. He held her chin gently as he told her,
“You knew there would be deaths.”

“I
had no idea I’d be requesting them of you.”

“You
requested the greatest mercy we could afford to grant the wench. She couldn’t
live, not after Terrance brought her to the Hall.”

“Damn
that man,” Lottie muttered. “He shouldn’t have brought her to you that way.
Made a spectacle, just to boast. Damn him!”

The
line of Linstrom’s mouth thinned.

This quarrel will cause
trouble.

“I
assure you, nothing of the kind will happen again.”

“You
promise?” she demanded.

“I
swear it,” he said, and she kissed him out of gratitude, her arms around his
neck. He decided to change the subject; the less she focused on her resentment
of Terrance, the better. Her family, that should be a safe conversation. Lottie
was utterly sentimental, to the point it sometimes ate at Linstrom’s nerves.
Who cared about her family? Most were magicless, which meant worthless. The
ones who did have magic had no aspirations at all.

“Your
nephew,” he said. “The free spirit.”

Lottie
smiled. “The artist?”

“The
one you helped raise.” As good as a son to Lottie. Not a practical thought in
the young man’s head, in Linstrom’s experience. “What’s he been doing?”

“Just
moved to Yangerton. Refused my help to get there. He always does; he’s proud
that way. He wanted to live in the city. Has a small apartment on the western
outskirts; plans to walk to the Central Plaza each day to write. Wants to try
his hand at poetry.” Lottie sighed. “He’ll return to painting soon enough, I
imagine. He’ll love that plaza, though. It’ll furnish him quite a few scenes to
recreate.”

The Plaza? HANG that
useless fool of a boy!

Linstrom
gave no outward sign of his shock or his hatred for the adolescent. Lottie
chattered on, oblivious to the fact that her lover had been planning for weeks
to raze her nephew’s latest haunt. “He’s not a bad youth. Just lacks guidance.
He’s no real plans for the future. Has no concept what he should make of
himself. If my brother and his wife hadn’t died in that carriage accident
outside the capital….” Lottie shook her head. “It breaks my heart to think he
hardly knew his parents. The same as you, Evant. Well, you didn’t know your
father.”

“Knew
my mother well enough,” he agreed. “Chore of a woman, and a pitiful seamstress.
It’s no surprise my father spent only a night with her. In fact, I assumed he’d
lied to her about his name, his taking refuge in the Hall of Sorcery during
Zalski’s regime. He hadn’t, it turned out. I found ample evidence of his
lodging there when I first trekked to the place. He was the sorcerer he claimed
to be—the Petroc who died to reinstate the king—though for all the
king’s favor that sacrifice has heaped on me….”

Miserable tyrant.
Deceitful, thankless….

“I
know quite well what you think of the king, Evant. I feel the same way. To snub
your father’s son as he did, when you plainly wrote him of whose line you came….”

Linstrom
kissed her, with clear intentions for that kiss to lead somewhere. Distract her
from Terrance, from prattling on about her nephew…. Linstrom would deal with
the nephew problem later. The plans to assault Yangerton were in his desk,
secure. Only he and Terrance had seen them. He could alter the operation easily
enough, if he must. For now, keep her content. He couldn’t have her
questioning, making protests.

Lottie
took his advances as a pleasant surprise. When she gave no sign of rejecting
him, Kora broke her connection. She had never invaded Zalski’s romantic life,
and felt queasy at the thought of invading Linstrom’s.

Immediately,
Kora sent Walten to fetch Vane. Kansten headed to the Palace for the king.
Wilhem could have gone, and faster, but Kora wanted to speak with Vane before
Rexson joined them. So many years had passed since she last had worked with
Rexson, and Vane knew him so much better than she did….

Vane
appeared within five minutes, washed and in fresh clothes with his hair still
wet. When Kora’s sons refused to leave, she had to speak before them. She and
Vane sat on the edge of the bed, while Walt and Wilhem stood nearby.

“What
do you know of that Lottie? The woman who spoke up for Francie?”

“I
assumed she was Linstrom’s lover,” said the duke.

“She
is,” Kora affirmed. “And I think she’s the key to his destruction. She resents
what Terrance did to a fellow woman. She knows Linstrom’s plot will harm
innocents, but she hasn’t come to terms with the idea. It unsettles her, even
now. She’s not convinced the king wasn’t behind that fire Terrance started, so
she’s uneasy about that too. Self-preservation’s a powerful instinct.”

Vane
nodded, respectfully, but he said, “I’m not sure, Kora.”

The
sorceress said, “I was with the Crimson League for a year. I’ve experience with
this kind of thing. We can turn her. Play upon her fear, her conscience. I know
we can make her feel betrayed by Linstrom.”

That
increased the duke’s interest. “How?” he demanded.

“She’s
a nephew in Yangerton. She’s practically his mother, from what I gathered, and
he spends much time at the Central Plaza with quills and paints. We just have
to reveal Linstrom’s true intent. She won’t be happy he plans to attack
Yangerton and didn’t trust her enough to confide in her. Then she’ll have to
confront that he’d risk her nephew’s welfare. Linstrom’s willing to change his
assault plans for her, but she doesn’t need to know that, does she?” Kora
paused. “I know where she can find documents to prove our claims about Linstrom
and the plaza.”

Vane
said, “My claims, you mean.”

“If
I can figure out where she lives, would you speak with her? Offer her amnesty
to betray Linstrom, assuming the crown agrees?”

“The
crown will,” said Vane. His voice was much dryer than his dripping hair. “The
crown will, and I’ll do it.”

Kora
gave his arm a motherly tap. “I had similar ventures myself. Well, similar
enough: your mother sent me to turn Zalski’s general. Let’s hope your success proves
more timely than mine. I imagine it will; I had absolutely no leverage. You’ve
the weight of the throne behind you, Vane. Use it.”

“I
shall,” he assured her.

* * *

When
Francie came to, her swollen eyes stung from the bakery’s smoke. Her vision was
blurred, so she couldn’t make out the face of the man beside her. At first, she
could only tell he was neither Terrance nor Vane, because his hair was too
dark. The thought reached her, in a haze, that Linstrom had black hair like
that, and a dull panic threatened to make her faint again, until the man took
her hand, his touch gentle, and a familiar voice assured her, “You’re at
Oakdowns. Vane brought you here. Both you and he made it out, and the man who
attacked you’s dead.”

No,
that wasn’t Linstrom. Linstrom’s hair was longer, and he had more bulk to him.
Zacry Porteg was with her.

Zacry’s
words calmed Francie, but also set her aching head to pound with a greater
intensity. Vane must have killed that bastard. She owed her life to Vane again,
as though once hadn’t been too much…. And then, there was Zacry. She would have
been mortified Zacry was seeing her as she must look, but she was too tired,
too weak, and in too much pain to feel anything other than dizzy. Her colleague
told her to rest, and she consented to shut her eyes, but she asked him, “How
long was I out?”

“A
good three hours.”

“It
was because of the council, his first attack on me. He and his cohorts, they
hate us. All of us. It’s good he picked me, though, over another councilor.
Everyone else has kids. The Giver only knows what he’d have done to….”

Zacry
told her, “You’ll be all right, Francie.”

She
had just been starting to recover before Terrance reappeared. Her pain had
dulled, or she had grown accustomed to its constant presence. Her vertigo had
lessened. She could move her arms with less of an effort, which meant her
strength was waxing. Now with the fire, and her shock, and another loss of
consciousness that had, from the feel of things, brought her head to fall
forward and slam her knee, all that progress had been eliminated. Choosing not
to focus on the shame of being seen in her condition—her shut eyes made
that easier—she rasped to Zacry, “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Do
you need something? Water?”

Francie
made an attempt to shake her head. She was parched, without doubt, but her
throat seared so much from the fumes she’d inhaled that she doubted she could
swallow even liquid. Instead she croaked, “You taught Vane well. I’m lucky.”

“You
and he both,” said Zacry. There was a note of tension in his voice, and Francie
pressed, “You’re sure he’s alive?”

“Alive
and unharmed, I promise. Howar didn’t make it, though.”

“The
Giver rest him. He took good care of me.”

“Are
you sure there’s nothing I can do for you?”

Francie
took a series of shallow breaths. Then she said, “You can help me get settled
in Traigland, when I’m well enough.”

The
statement was impulsive, but Francie knew as soon as she spoke that leaving
Herezoth was her best option. She needed distance from her horrid family, from
Vane, from the council that would prove too tempting not to abandon should she
remain in the kingdom of her birth.