The King's Sons (The Herezoth Trilogy) (41 page)

As for Dorane Polve,
Arbora Anders, and Ursa Hincken, they have the crown’s assurance they will
suffer no harm as they live out their days in prison. My solemn word there
binds you, no matter how justly you hate them for having kidnapped you. They
know you have magic. Imagine what trouble you would cause yourself if you
attempted to stick a knife in Polve’s back and failed to finish him.

Valkin
scowled there, but his
father was
right. The bloody kidnappers…. He would gladly arrange to have Polve killed,
and without a twinge of conscience, but the risk was too great, and his
father’s word did tie his hands. If he would feel no guilt over Polve’s death
in and of itself, he’d feel wretched betraying his father. At least he could
hope Dorane sweated more than a little when he learned the boy he had
terrorized was now free to exact any vengeance he desired.

I know you did not choose
the crown. You are far too decent to desire it, and for that you possess not
merely the love of your father but the deepest respect of your king. Before all
else you are my son, and I hold you dear. I have felt no greater pain in all my
life than that which descends upon me when I think of the burden I must place
upon you with my death. I swear to you, if I could, I would remove it. Try not
to resent me overmuch, and believe me—for I know you’ll not believe it of
yourself—you are worthy to be Herezoth’s steward. May every blessing
possible for the Giver to grant descend upon your head.

The
scroll was signed, “Your proud and loving father.”

No
more wondering: Rexson had known his son’s true feelings. He’d even blamed
himself for the direction Valkin’s life was now to take. Of course he’d blamed
himself. How had Valkin not realized the man would feel guilty?

It’s not your fault.

Valkin
could hold back his tears no longer. Alone, he felt no shame in letting them
fall hard and fast; he simply pushed the scroll away, so as not to wet and ruin
it. He would open it often, regularly, for years to come.

It’s not your fault. It
isn’t; you didn’t deserve this end. You deserved to hear me say I don’t resent
you. How could I grudge you a thing? You did all you could to bring me joy in
life.

The
new king could only trust that Rexson, deep down, had recognized his guilt as
unfounded and his son as wise enough to do the same. As much as Valkin longed
to assure his father of his respect, of his conviction to live his life and
rule his kingdom in imitation of his predecessor, he could not. He must trust
that years of close observation and thoughtful questions, without complaint,
had proven his goodwill to his father.

That
father was gone. He had his brothers, though. What had Rexson written about his
brothers? Valkin grabbed the scroll again.

Listen to their
concerns, most especially their concerns for your peace and health, for they
know you as well as anyone alive does.

That
last was true, very true. And Neslan had voiced no concerns about Valkin’s
preparation. Neslan had called him ready, and Neslan wasn’t one to pander to
his brother. He considered it his particular duty to be as bluntly honest as
possible.

Don’t be too proud to
allow them to comfort you in moments of grief or weakness.

Valkin’s
tears had stilled, which he took as a sign he should seek Hune and Neslan.
Their mere presence would console him, and he knew they would sit with him,
would grieve their father with him, either in silence or by sharing memories.

The
king’s first footfall was shaky, but his step grew firmer with each stride
toward the door. He had not expected the timing, but he was ready. He truly was
as ready as he could hope to be. Otherwise, his father would never have risked
his life in battle. If Valkin started to feel overwhelmed, he would remind
himself: his father had judged him worthy.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Adage and Trite

Back
at Oakdowns, Kora basked in the simple joy of reuniting with Hayden Grissner
and undoing her disguise to hug her sons in a closed off guestroom. The best
distraction she could imagine was to feel the boys hale and whole, still hers,
and she threw her attention on them and not on thoughts of Rexson. Wilhem,
overwhelmed by the bloodshed in which he’d taken part, returned to himself at
his mother’s embrace. Walt was coping better; he mentioned Rexy, that young
sorceress Jane Trand had trained, and said he wanted to check she was doing all
right. She wasn’t injured, but that kind of carnage….

Kora
hugged Walt again and, despite her hesitance to let him go, sent him off as she
wondered whether Kansten would be her only child to wind up in Herezoth for
good. Wilhem followed his brother out, to help with the post-battle efforts it
was better Kora avoided, considering the death sentence on her head. She was
lucky enough Rexson’s troops had accepted Vane’s account of a sorceress on his
staff who’d come forward during evacuations, to admit her powers and offer her
aid. She refused to press her luck.

Her
sons left her to Hayden’s company: dear Hayden, still blond and thick-haired as
he approached forty, still clean-shaven, still tending to reticence. He had
laid his bow and quiver against the wall, and stood with an arm around Kora. He
was the only person left to her from the Crimson League.

Hayden
would never begin the conversation, so Kora did. “This isn’t right. It’s just
not right. Rexson should be here. He should know his son’s a hero, that his
Hune saved my boys.” Walt had told the story of how Adage died. “He’d be so
proud….”

“He
knows, Kora. He does.”

Kora
began to pace the room. “The man died for me, and I can’t thank him properly. I
can’t tell his family how I grieve with them. I can’t even attend his bloody
state funeral.”

In
response, Hayden smiled at her. As she turned, to walk back the length of the
room, she caught his expression and froze. His eyes were watery, but he was
smiling. “How can you…?”

“It’s
amazing to see your face, that’s how. Despite everything, it’s nice to speak with
you. And Kora, Rexson was no stranger to either one of us. If he’d known
interfering on your behalf would kill him, he’d still have done it. I won’t say
he didn’t care for Gracia, won’t even say he didn’t love her, because he did in
his way, but he…. He always loved you something more.”

“I
know.” Kora sank to the bed. “I moved on somehow. He never was able. How could
he, trapped in that blasted Palace? He loathed the place.”

“More
than you realize.”

“That’s
twice he saved my life: first from that mob, and now tonight.”

Hayden
said, his voice hesitant, “He saved my life too. After my cousin died, when we
were in Fontferry…. I slipped away from everyone to go to the river. To throw
myself in. Everything seemed so pointless after they killed Bidd.”

Hayden
and Bidd had joined the League together. Bidd had lost his life trying to sneak
into the capital; Zalski’s soldiers killed him.

“I
took a bucket, to make it look like I was going for drinking water, but Rexson
suspected differently. He followed me, and when I was tumbling in the current
he used his magic to drag me to the bank. He made me realize how I shouldn’t
have, how I couldn’t…. And yet he didn’t judge me. He spared me the shame of
telling anyone what I’d done. He didn’t even tell you.”

“He
never told me,” Kora confirmed. She hugged the oldest friend still left to her,
because Hayden had started shaking. “I had no idea. Hayden, I…. I can’t say how
glad I am he pulled you out the Podra.”

“I’m
glad he did too.”

Kora
squeezed her friend’s hand, and Hayden walked with her to a set of identical
chairs on the far side of the room, where he returned to reminiscing.

“Remember
how Rexson stood up to Zalski that last day, when we thought the man would kill
us all?”

“Rexson
won’t be forgotten,” Kora said. “Not by us. Not by Herezoth.” She paused and
cast a transfer spell, moving a bottle of vintage wine from Oakdowns’s cellar
to her hand. She had explored the room an hour before, to ensure none of
Linstrom’s men had made his way there; now she remembered how she and Rexson
had once drunk to the memory of fallen members of the Crimson League. She had
no glasses handy, but she uncorked the bottle with a second spell and raised
it.

“To
the king,” she said, and took a swig. She passed the wine to her companion, and
wordlessly, he drank to Rexson Phinnean. With that, Kora knew that she, Hayden,
Herezoth, they all would move on, their lives changed—and for the
better—by their relationships with the late king. Kora would miss him,
she would. But that was nothing new. Though she could say, and truthfully, that
she loved her husband and that Rexson belonged to her past, she had missed the
man already for twenty-five years.

* * *

The
general moved Rexson’s body to the main parlor. While living soldiers were
identifying their less fortunate comrades-in-arms and preparing to burn the
corpses—Vane himself, his heart in his throat, gave Gratton’s remains a
name to accompany them—Lottie recognized many a hapless old accomplice.
Such guilt shook her voice as she named Linstrom’s men that Vane took her from
her work; he led her to the children’s piano room.

The
lamp Vane placed on a table was their only light, and by it he saw how torn, how
terrified Lottie’s full face was. He told her, “Rexson promised you amnesty,
and you’ll have it. You upheld your end of the bargain. I’ll let no one make a
liar of him.”

“When
I took up with Linstrom I never wanted…. I never thought….”

“We
were able to stop him because of you. Because of your insights.”

Vane’s
words brought no visible comfort. “They’re all dead,” Lottie told him. “All of
them.”

“They
died by choice. At least twenty killed themselves.” When she had no reply to
that, he offered, “I wanted to thank you, for Zacry Porteg. That man has always
been a brother to me.”

“So
many dead, Ingleton. So many wounded. Wretched burns caused by spells, and
severed limbs, protruding arrow shafts….”

“It
never occurred to me they wouldn’t surrender. That they’d prefer to die to the
last man. Perhaps they were thinking that would cast the king in a cruel light,
when people learn what happened here.”

“Perhaps
they knew it would weigh on me,” Lottie said, and shivered. “I should return to
my work,” she told the duke. “No one else can identify the enemy.”

“I
suppose not,” said Vane, and let Lottie walk out. He would have to speak with
Jane Trand, convince her to accept Lottie as an aide and partner at the
Academy. Trand could use someone to help demonstrate spells for her students,
and Lottie…. Vane couldn’t imagine the woman would be safe returning to
Partsvale. Linstrom’s followers were dead, but they had families. Friends.
Lovers. The only safe places for Lottie were Oakdowns, the Palace, and the
Carphead Academy. The Palace guarded too many secrets, and Vane wanted no
living reminder of this night to linger at his home. That left the school.
Lottie was sensible, and would agree to work there for security’s sake. Trand
was trustworthy enough to keep an eye on her.

Vane’s
next stop was to Thad’s room. The hour was late, but he suspected his friend
wouldn’t sleep that night; his weakness would annoy him too much.

The
duke assumed rightly. Thad lay in the bed where Vane had left him because he
had no strength to leave it, but his eyes were feverishly alert. He greeted
Vane with, “Hune’s brothers know now? Both of them?”

“Valkin
asked me to be his Chief Adviser.”

Thad
gave a half-hearted smile. “That’s all the proof I need he’ll be as astute a
monarch as his father.”

“I’ll
have to leave the Magic Council, Thad. That council needs a noble to replace
me, or it becomes nothing but a joke. Listen: you deserve directness from me,
so I’ll be blunt. You’re empowered. You have to take the seat I’m vacating.”

Thad
let out a heavy breath. His bloodless face turned even paler, but Vane pressed
his case. “You do realize a troop of sorcerers committed
regicide
tonight? Magic blood will be spilled in every street from
Carphead to Partsvale unless Valkin…. He must support the Magic Council, and
that council can’t be a laughingstock.”

If
Thad hadn’t been lying back, Vane imagined he would have fallen against his
pillow in frustration. The duke said, “You think I want to ask you this? How
many years have I known you’re magicked without involving you in my council?
Thad, there’s no alternative now.”

“Go
to Gilbert. Go to my brother who saw fit to expose me to you.”

“I
plan to go to Gilbert. I plan to ask both of you to take seats on the Magic
Council. Two nobles would be better than one, especially when one’s in line to
become the next Duke of Podrar. Thad, you’re no coward. I spared you from this
for as long as I could as a courtesy, not because I doubted you’d the strength
to come through. Tell me you’ll join the council.”

Silence,
for a good forty seconds. Vane’s heart was pounding. If Thad gave in, Gilbert
would have no reason not to follow, because Thad’s actions would reveal him
anyway, but should Thad refuse….

The
nobleman said, “Tell my king it’s my honor to serve him on any council to which
he’d name me.”

“You
have my undying thanks.”

“You
can thank me by taking me to my feverish wife. She picked up whatever was
ailing the children, and fretting over me can’t be helping her health. Nothing
like two pitiful fools feeling miserable together, eh?”

“Nothing
at all. Let’s get you home.”

Thad
handled the transport better than Vane expected. Vane turned him over to his
wife, and not long after that, the duke found himself in a Palace guestroom. He
slipped into bed beside a slumbering August.

At
least, he thought she was sleeping. As he settled beneath their sheet she
turned her head, and after opening one eye, snuggled tight against him with a
soft but tired smile. He could barely make it out in the scant moonlight from
the window.

“The
kids are in rooms across the hall,” she said. “And you’re with me again. My
liar’s all mine.”

Vane
crinkled his brow. “Liar?”

“How
many times did you swear you’d see me tomorrow? It’s not tomorrow.”

Ah,
that…. Vane shut his eyes. Next to August, no visions of death and bloodshed
plagued him, though he had thought they might. He said, “It’s past midnight.”

“I
saw you well before midnight. And even if I hadn’t, it’s still dark.
Tomorrow
means after dawn, liar.” She
kissed him. “My liar.”

“Your
liar,” he conceded.

“How’s
Valkin?”

“He’s
prepared,” was all Vane said. There’d be time the next day to discuss Valkin’s
selection of Chief Adviser. Time the next day to confront everything that
wasn’t the perfection of this moment.

“I
can’t believe Rexson’s gone,” said August. “I can’t….”

“Focus
on the good,” Vane said. “We’re together. We’re safe. The children are safe,
and happy. They’ve been playing?”

“They’re
perfectly content, the dears. After all,
they
don’t know their father’s a big fat liar.”

August
snuggled closer, planted a sleepy kiss on his face, and they both fell asleep
with her hand against his cheek.

* * *

Kansten
woke the morning after reaching Teena’s cottage dismayed to have dozed off. The
armchair in her room had lulled her from consciousness.

Was I that exhausted?
Did I sleep through it all? I should have been praying. People were dying, and
I…. What if the boys were hurt?

She
was petrified to think of her family, so she focused on the invalid entrusted
to her care.

Whatever
horrors might have passed at Oakdowns, Francie Rafe was doing better, in every
way. She claimed the salve helped soothe her aches, and even her spirits were
on the mend. She had spent all afternoon and most of the evening talking with
Kansten about Traigland.

Come
the morning, Kansten still had no word about her brothers or anyone else at
Vane’s manor. She brought Teena some firewood from her store out back and
helped prepare a gruel for Francie, who protested about her smoke-savaged
throat each time she had to eat.

A
knock on the door jarred their attention. Kansten’s heart rose in her throat:
news from Oakdowns. Since Teena was in the kitchen, Kansten ran to admit the
messenger.

Vane
had sent her Uncle Zac. He studied Teena’s bushes, his face turned to the side;
Kansten threw her arms around him before he could look at her. “You’re all
right!” she cried.

“So
are Kora and the boys. Vane too, and Hune.”