The King's Sons (The Herezoth Trilogy) (27 page)

Valkin
nodded, and August continued, “What I’ve always found interesting about Tanya
is the comparison between her treatment of me, whom she judges a common whore,
and those she deems her peers. She’s haughty even around her equals. Even
around the queen. Your first danger is that she’ll judge meeting with you, and
not your father, to be an insult.”

“I
plan to assure her I’ve taken all the king’s duties. That her business is too
important to postpone discussion.”

“Good,”
August approved. “That will stress your decision is final. That’s important.”

Valkin
sighed. “So I’m not alone in thinking she might seek my father out when her
session with me ends poorly?”

“She
won’t if you explain things as you just outlined them. She wouldn’t dare.”

“I
can’t have her thinking she can force her will on me. On top of that, I won’t
have the woman bothering my father when he’s occupied with…. With what he’s
trying to settle.”

August
smiled. “Valkin, you’re astute. You know your strengths, and more importantly,
can admit your weaknesses. That’s something Tanya Greller can’t say. Don’t
doubt that your father taught you well. You could handle far more contentious
matters than those of the Duchess of Yangerton.”

August’s
last words convinced Valkin she could sense his dread of the future, and he
would not dishonor her with a lie on that account. Neither could he admit what
he felt, but she didn’t ask him to.

“Don’t
forget you handled a crisis as difficult as any your father’s faced, at the age
of eleven. I watched you do it, over some forty days, when my sister and those
sorcerers kidnapped you. When I found out what she’d done and first went down
to see you, do you remember what you did?”

The
prince thought back. “I didn’t know who you were. That you had nothing to do
with your sister’s crimes. I thought you were another member of her enterprise,
another sorcerer like that man who’d taken us.”

“You
jumped in front of Hune and Neslan,” she reminded him. “Shouted that you were
the oldest, the crown prince, so I’d have the most to gain from using you as a
bargaining tool. If I were to threaten someone, or hurt someone, it should be
you. That if I wanted something from your father in exchange for his sons’
return, holding you hostage by yourself would be sufficient. I should release
your brothers, you said. That would make the king more open to negotiations.
I’ll never forget how you bargained to save your brothers, not as long as I
live.”

Valkin
sighed. “I told the real culprits the same, but it did no good. They were too
thick to listen. As thick-skulled as Tanya Greller.”

“You’re
eleven no longer, Valkin. And you’re approaching Tanya from a position of
power, which is more than you could say of trying to convince my sister to
release Neslan. To return Hune home. You spoke as well as anyone in your
position could have, and never, may I add, for yourself. When your pleas went
unheeded, you turned your attention to maintaining an unstable status quo that
at least kept you all unbound and uninjured, if locked in a basement while you
trusted your father to see to your rescue. And he did. What you accomplished
through the course of that month, almost two, it was no small feat.”

August
let out a little sigh. “I still wonder from time to time whether I couldn’t have
done more for you. I was terrified of making a horrid situation worse, like you
were. I worried that if I interfered beyond what my sister allowed, you would
suffer for it.”

“August,
we’ve always known you did everything you could for us. Always loved you for
that. You bringing us food, that’s one thing. I imagine your sister made you
see us fed, and even if you did nothing else, that much would have deserved our
thanks. But no one made you spend hours with us, telling jokes, reading
stories, keeping our spirits up. You did that out of the goodness of your
heart. Words can’t describe how glad I’ve always been you married Vane. He’s
the only man I can think of who comes anything close to deserving you.”

“If
I can learn to be a duchess, you can be king, Valkin. You can.”

He
kept the bitterness he felt from his voice, but could not help correcting her.
“There’s no
can
or
can’t
about it. I must,” he said. He
could trust her to keep this exchange private. She patted his hand again, and
he returned the conversation to the Duchess of Yangerton. “I’ve rarely spoken
alone with Tanya Greller. What must I avoid doing, in your experience?”

August
went into specifics: mistakes she had made, tart exchanges she had witnessed
between Tanya and other noblewomen. Valkin had never realized how observant
August could be, how apt her memory for a facial expression. He made a note of
that. Those skills could prove useful in the future. When August finished
speaking half an hour later, Valkin knew he would have no trouble with the
Duchess of Yangerton.

Valkin
kissed August’s cheek as he rose to depart, and said, “I’m glad you’ve become
more visible at court these past years. You do understand, no, that those whose
opinion holds weight are never loath to see you? That those who snub you pay
for being crass, in subtle ways? My mother sees to that. And then my father,
his advisers, they hold those factions in small esteem. As do I. As shall I
always. You’re worth more than the net value of those blackguards’ estates.”

“Thank
you, Valkin. Ever so kindly.” August paused, as though debating whether she
should say something more. She decided she should. “I never told you I walked
in on a conversation last month concerning you. Well, no, I overheard it. I
stopped before I could enter the room and cause a disruption.

“I
was at Thad’s summerhome, north of the city,” August said. “Lorence Vierno was
there from Carphead—Thad’s parents invited him—and Rayla Amison.”
Tanya’s younger sister. “Rayla was the only person with something negative to say
of you. She commented you were too much like your father, not enough your own
man, and Vierno rebuked her. Why shouldn’t you follow the king’s lead, when
he’s fair rebuilt the realm? He said he’d remember the speech you gave in
Carphead, to the students of Val’s school there, for years to come, and that it
was nothing like your father’s style. Your father finds it difficult to put the
politician aside on formal occasions, but you managed to do that. You spoke to
the children. He deemed that appropriate, as the school is theirs and for them
before all else.”

“In
truth?” Valkin took his seat again. “But Vierno hates that the school’s in
Carphead. He wants it nowhere near him, and his speech….”

“He
spoke as Carphead’s count. His role is different from yours, he said. Your
future role as king is to understand not only the policies you enact, but your
subjects too. Subjects like those students. He said you’re preparing yourself
well. If Vierno has to deal with all the trouble that school brings him, he’s
damn glad to see you at least take its mission seriously.” August smiled. “His
words.”

Valkin
was so wrapped up in what August was saying that he’d failed to notice he was
biting the inside of his cheek. It went numb.

“The
nobility revere you, Valkin. As they should. They can see for themselves how
capable you are, and they take comfort to know they can trust the kingdom to
your hands, when that time should come. I’m telling you this,” she specified,
“not to frighten you with high expectations, but to make you aware you’ve
already earned their goodwill and their honest respect. Don’t wonder if you’ll
live up to Rexson’s standard. You already are.”

“I
had no idea Vierno would speak like that of me. He’s never been supportive
those occasions I’ve met with him.”

“That’s
why I thought you should hear what he said.”

“Thank
you,” Valkin told the duchess. He felt renewed, full of a sudden energy, as
though a fever had lifted. Though he’d eaten little for lunch and nothing
since, he felt no hunger. He felt satiated, filled with peace instead of food.
That peace would be temporary; he had known it before, and was aware how
fleeting it would prove. That only made it more precious. “Thank you,” he
repeated. “August, take care of yourself until the king cleans up this mess. Not
only your children, all right?”

“I
will,” she promised. “Take care of yourself as well.”

“I
shall,” he said, and kissed her on the cheek again. He would send a servant to
the kitchens when he returned to the Palace. Mustn’t forget that. He had no
appetite, but he’d have to eat after speaking with the brewers’ guild. Perhaps
he’d feel hungry after his trek to City Hall.

August
had been right to remind him to see to his own needs. Valkin let out a
frustrated sigh as he walked down the corridor, and his peace collapsed around
him. Once he was king, would he ever feel like eating? Would even that become a
chore?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Turning the Enemy

Lottie
lived in a cottage on the eastern edge of Partsvale, in the oldest section of
the village, which had spread west through the centuries. Kora was able to
describe the house and where to find it, because she had joined Lottie and
Linstrom on a walk down the nearest road. Linstrom had complained the historic district
was picturesque without being practical; the old wells were rarely usable, and
the roads too narrow for modern carriages or big carts.

Vane
knew the road Kora depicted, a major road to Partsvale by which pilgrims
entered the village, and he took her with him, as Rexson had suggested.
Invisible, they made their way down a deserted dirt path in the last light of
day, and Vane had little trouble finding Lottie’s blue-shuttered, white-doored
cottage with apple trees out front.

“That’s
it, no?”

“Yes,”
came Kora’s voice. “I’ll go back to Oakdowns, to the garden somewhere. I’ll use
my chain for the next full hour, to make sure Linstrom doesn’t interrupt you.
If he does….”

“You’ve
got my back, I know.”

Kora
transported off, leaving Vane alone. Keeping a slow pace to silence his steps,
he avoided the front walk to cut a more direct path to a window at the front of
the house, on the right side. The room he discovered was dark, not in use, but
he could tell he peered into the kitchen. Someone had lit a lamp around the
corner, and he crept toward its glow.

He
found Lottie’s living room, with all the flowers and the homey, feminine
touches Kora had referenced. And there, napping on the couch, was the
full-cheeked blonde who had demanded Linstrom kill Francie in as painless a way
as possible. Vane needed a moment to control the anger that overtook him at the
sight of her. How could she sleep, knowing what Terrance had done to Francie?
Knowing her guilt by association in a good woman’s torment? How could she still
accept Linstrom as a lover?

Well,
Linstrom would not interrupt what Vane had come here for. Lottie’s lover was
tucked away in his office, poring over his plans to attack Yangerton and
wondering where in the Giver’s name Terrance had gone, whether that fire had
claimed him. Linstrom gave the fire’s other victims—the homeless, the
resourceless—no thought, since the flames had been controlled before they
spread to the cobbler’s shop.

At
least, Kora had found Linstrom in his office when she last checked in. And if he
did make an appearance….

Vane
forced his resentment of Linstrom and Lottie aside. He had to. He had to make a
positive impression on this woman; earning her trust was pivotal.

With
a transport spell Vane entered Lottie’s parlor, to stand on the floral-patterned
rug before the couch. Such eccentric décor. Vane had never seen the like. He
wondered to what extent Lottie’s sorcery was responsible for the furniture’s
intricate patterns and bright dyes. Then he whispered the same muting spell he
had used to incapacitate Terrance.

Neither
the incantation nor the shiver it caused its victim woke Lottie. Vane’s binding
spell—the lavender-hued ropes that wrapped themselves around her wrists
and ankles—did. Lottie jerked to consciousness, tried to scream once in
shock, then again in pure terror as she realized her voice was gone. She
struggled with her bonds to no avail as Vane, using
Mudar
, moved her from the couch to a wooden chair painted a soft
yellow with a bright blue cushion. Another binding spell tied Lottie’s torso to
the chair back, ensuring she wouldn’t move. Vane spoke
Desfazair
clearly, and ended his invisibility. At his appearance,
Lottie’s gut reaction was to shrink against the chair. Her fat cheeks sunk in
upon themselves.

Vane
waited some twenty seconds before he spoke. He knew that was a tactical error
as well as unmanly. He knew he would judge himself for it later, but he
couldn’t forget the hours of terror Francie had endured because of the plot
this woman supported. Let Lottie sweat for half a minute.

When
Vane opened his mouth, he said, “I’m not going to kill you, though perhaps I
should. That’s not why I’ve come. I merely needed to ensure you wouldn’t attack
me.”

Vane
could see in Lottie’s eyes that she didn’t dare believe him, not yet. Her bound
feet left the floor as she pulled her legs into her body in a defensive
gesture. Vane continued, “The king knows what Linstrom’s plotting. He knows
what Linstrom’s plotting more fully than you, my dear, and he knows more about
you than you ever could have dreamed. He sent me to offer you amnesty, in
exchange for your aid.”

Lottie’s
feet returned to the ground. She studied Vane’s face, marked his visible age,
her expression as curious as fearful. “Ingleton?” she mouthed. Vane nodded.

“Lottie,
I know you hated Terrance. I know you loathed him for what he did to Francie
Rafe, and I know you tried, if nothing else, to end the woman’s suffering at
the Hall of Sorcery. I can tell you Terrance is dead, burned in the bakery fire.
He started the blaze. I can also tell you Linstrom was here this afternoon, and
you told him your nephew had moved to Yangerton.”

The
woman shook her head in denial, then gave that up. Almost gawking, she spoke
wordlessly; Vane could read her lips.

What magic is this?

“It’s
not my magic you should fear, either for your sake or that of the boy you
raised. You know what Linstrom and his supporters are capable of, thanks to
Terrance. You were the only one to plead for a swift death for Rafe: you alone,
of all Linstrom’s band. Reflect on that as I tell you Linstrom’s been lying all
this time. His true goal isn’t the destruction of Partsvale. The Central Plaza
in Yangerton’s his target. Has been for months.”

The
plaza her nephew would be frequenting. Lottie shook her head, aghast.

“The
proof is in his office, written by his hand. You’ll find it easily enough if
you go searching. Lottie, the king can’t allow a sorcerer to lay waste to
Yangerton. Linstrom’s finished. He is, though he doesn’t know it yet. His
grievance against the crown may be legitimate, but why should your nephew pay
for his revenge?”

Lottie’s
breathing was so fast and shallow Vane could hear it from near the sofa.
Whether he lied and planned to murder her or spoke true, he realized, neither
scenario would bode well in Lottie’s mind. Vane had to convince her of his
sincerity. He urged, “Betray the scoundrel. You must leave him. Perhaps you’re
not as familiar with the Central Plaza as I am: unattended children run errands
there routinely. Children. You think Linstrom plans to attack in the dead of
night? He’s after attention. As much attention as he can garner to his slight,
with no thought for the innocents he’ll harm to get it. He claims people will
blame the king as much as anyone else for the casualties.”

Again
the woman shook her head, unwilling to accept Vane’s revelations. He pressed,
“Think! How many do Linstrom’s supporters number, in sum? Would he dare entrust
knowledge of his actual plans to that many? He’d be a fool to! Perhaps you’re
thinking he’d trust you. He’d tell you. Well, you’ve had doubts about the
enterprise from the beginning, I’d wager. Linstrom knew you’d have qualms about
attacking Yangerton. That didn’t make him reconsider his plot, though. It
merely brought him to keep you in the dark. He planned to keep you there until
things reached such a point that you couldn’t back out. You know he’s capable
of that. If you doubt me, investigate Linstrom’s office.”

This
time Lottie nodded, pain in her eyes. That visible anguish signaled to the duke
he had her.

“You’ll
help stop him?” Vane asked. Lottie’s gaze hardened in resolve. She nodded once
more, and Vane slid a folded document from where he had stuffed it in his
sleeve. He approached her, to show her its seal.

“This
is the king’s crest,” he said. “From the king’s own ring. Like I told you, I
speak for him. He offers you amnesty. Will you accept it?”

A
third nod. Vane unbound her with a spoken word, though he kept her silent, for
now. She read the king’s letter, a letter Vane had helped compose; it assured
her no previous crime on her part would be held against her. She was to
continue to support Linstrom in the capacity of royal spy, telling him nothing
of Ingleton’s visit and following all instruction Ingleton was to give her.
Vane knew, with all the secrets in her life he’d already exposed, she wouldn’t
risk revealing a thing to Linstrom. Even so, he warned her, “If you betray the
king, I’ll know of it.”

She
mouthed, “I won’t,” then jabbed a finger at her throat.

“No
spells,” Vane warned. “Not one.” And again, he spoke
Desfazair
. The risk he took in allowing her to speak was worth
establishing some level of trust with her. Lottie’s voice came in a croak at
first. She was too stunned to rise from her chair.

“Why
would you not kill me on the spot?”

“Despite
what you think of the king, he’s not an evil man. He takes no pride in having
women slaughtered.”

“But
you knew Francie Rafe. You worked with her, for years. You know what Terrance
did to her.”

For
caution’s sake, Vane would not reveal that Francie was alive. “How would making
you suffer in kind restore her life?”

“You’re
not…?” she paused. “You don’t kill for the king?”

“Of
course I don’t kill for…. Do people say that!?”

“Some
do. I always assumed you did. What assassin could move with greater stealth
than…?”

“I’m
no assassin. Nor would I ever be.”

Ten
years, ten, and people still believed things like…. What more could Vane do to
gain the public trust outside Ingleton, where the residents, at least, knew
they could respect their duke? Would he have to die for Herezoth before its
people realized he was not his cursed uncle? He worked himself ill to serve the
king. He’d risked, perhaps even invited, the Duke of Yangerton’s assassination
attempts a decade ago, and had borne assaults on his name and property, all to
serve the crown. When people noticed his zeal, rather than respect his loyalty,
they assumed the king used him as a hired killer. He would have thought, if
nothing else, that time would numb him to the injustice of it all.

Lottie’s
voice remained hoarse, but held an apologetic note. “I realize you’re no murderer.
I’m lucky that’s the case. Ingleton, I can’t think Rafe received the slightest
indication of the king’s snub against us sorcerers, not ever. The blame didn’t
lie with her, for Terrance to….”

“Rafe
applied for the Magic Council when the king announced its formation. The same
as dozens of others. The same as I did, in fact. She was ignorant of the slight
you blame the king for. Though I should think,” Vane added, “you might
reconsider your opinion of Rexson Phinnean, as he offered you your life when
one could argue you’re guilty of high treason. I told you I don’t kill for him.
He could have sent someone else here.”

Lottie’s
fat face reddened. Her eyes sparkled for a moment, and Vane thought she was
fighting tears, perhaps of guilt over Francie, but no. She was trying to
contain her anger—at Linstrom, as a diatribe revealed.

“The
king sent you to offer me my life. Linstrom sent Terrance to Podrar, and see
what the serpent dealt Rafe. I can mark that contrast easily enough.” Lottie
slammed a hand on the arm of her chair, propelling herself to her feet. “How
dare Evant lie to me? Use me like a common…? You’re right, Ingleton. You’re
right. If my choices are the king or that animal, I choose the king. At least
the king was upfront about rejecting my application. He never led me to believe
he was considering it, did he? Never sent the slightest word about it. I can
respect a man who’s forthcoming when he deals with me. Tell your king he may
expect the same treatment from my end.”

That’s one for Kora
, Vane thought. Lottie
viewed Evant’s secrecy as betrayal, the kind of deep and total abandonment that
could press a person to one of two extremes: the depths of despair and
self-pity, or prideful revenge. For most women, Kora explained, that thirst for
vengeance could be quenched by forgetting the sop and moving on with life. From
the way Lottie clenched her fist, gritting her teeth so that she would have
seemed lupine with a narrower face and more pointed features, Vane suspected
her desire for revenge against Linstrom would require more—far more when
all was said and done—than leaving the man behind. He trusted she didn’t
feign her raw emotion, not when Kora had foreseen precisely this reaction. The
only thing left was to make sure Lottie realized, fully, to what she pledged
herself.

Vane
hazarded, “You misspoke, in the heat of the moment. That happens to me often.
I’d think you meant to reference
our
king
.
”

The
rebuke, gentle though it was, took Lottie aback. She blinked twice, rapidly,
trying to make sense of Vane’s words before she brought herself with an obvious
effort to agree, “Our king.”

“Lottie,
I can’t give you Rafe’s seat on the council. The king mentioned no such
bargain, but he’ll have to replace her. Serve him well in this….”

“Understand
me right now, I’m no traitor. I’m not turning on Evant in the hopes of earning
a spot on that council. For any sort of personal gain. I aid you to repay him,
in kind, the ill done me. As long as I find that proof you mentioned….”