The King's Sons (The Herezoth Trilogy) (6 page)

CHAPTER
THREE

Partsvale

August,
Vane’s wife, was shorter than she would have preferred. Though she was almost
thirty, her blonde hair curled as tightly as it had at eighteen, when Vane had
convinced her to elope, and she twisted her index finger in her tresses while
her husband spoke of Gratton’s race to Podrar.

Vane told
August and Kansten together of Gratton’s tidings, hoping the girl’s presence
would strengthen his wife. He took them to Oakdowns’s parlor, where the only
portrait Vane possessed of his parents hung above the unlit hearth. Kansten
took an armchair, one she gripped so tightly the lamplight exposed the
musculature of her arms. August sat next to the duke on a luxurious settee, and
clung to him with the hand not tangled in her locks.

The duchess
kept her rounded nose tilted upward—a mark of her resolve not to
crumble—and her lips pressed tight. Neither woman interrupted as Vane
told them he would have to go to Partsvale in the morning to spy upon a group
of two hundred magicians and a score of sorcerers determined to make trouble
for the king. As soon as he finished, however, Kansten raised a trembling
voice.

“I can go
back to Traigland, if you need me to.”

Vane said,
“You should be safe in Podrar. In Oakdowns especially, with all the spells I
have around the place. Your apprenticeship starts next week, and to be honest,
I’d like to know August has you here with her.”

“Val….”
choked the duchess. She was the only person who called Vane by some variation
of his birth name, Valkin Heathdon. That had been his father’s name; his
innkeeper “aunt” had raised him with his pseudonym, and he still preferred most
people to use it. That included the nobility, now that he’d released his
personal history to the newsletters. “Val, you can’t do this, you…. Twenty
sorcerers?”

“I won’t be
challenging them. I swear I won’t challenge anyone. It’s information gathering;
Rexson has to know what’s going on.”

August
pressed, “Can’t Zacry do it? Why can’t you go to Zacry? His magic is as strong
as yours. He taught you everything you know, and frankly, he’d never let you….”

“That’s
exactly it. He’d never let me do this. He’d insist upon doing it himself, and
if things went badly…. August, you and the children would be fine without me.
You have the king and the Duke of Podrar’s family, this vast estate, all my
family’s wealth. Were something to happen to Zacry, where could his wife turn?
Where could her children?”

Kansten
spoke up then. Vane had never heard her voice so gentle, so womanly; he had
always considered her a child, but not at that moment.

“Perhaps I
shouldn’t talk,” she said. “I know I’ve no right to take part in this
discussion, but August, Vane’s right. You’re tougher than Zacry’s wife. She
would fall to pieces straightaway without him, and not only because she’d be
close to destitute without his teacher’s salary. I love and respect Joslyn,
with all my heart. She’s a wonderful mother to her children, and she helped me
through some of the hardest times I’ve known. She helped me find self-respect
again, when I realized I’d never cast a spell. Joslyn’s strong in her way, but
you’d be better equipped to carry on if, if the Giver forbid….”

If Evant
Linstrom and his followers discovered Vane belonged to the king and saw him
slaughtered. Vane paled at the thought, and squeezed August’s hand.

“I should
leave you two,” said Kansten. “I know where my room is. I’ll head there.
August, if I can do anything to help you while Vane’s away, I want your word
you’ll tell me.” August nodded, and Kansten turned to the man as good as her
older brother. “Vane, I admire you so much…. A thousand blessings, do you
hear?” Vane smiled at her, the first time he had smiled since ordering her from
the king’s antechamber. She hugged him, and he told her:

“I won’t see
you in the morning. I’ll be off before dawn.” Kansten threw her arms around him
again, then kissed August on the cheek before she exited the room.

August had
been born a commoner, but she’d adapted to the role of duchess through the
years. Vane expected she’d have the grace to maintain composure in Kansten’s
presence, but with her guest away, a watery film covered her eyes, and her
bottom lip shook so dreadfully her husband kissed it to make it still. He
removed her hand from her hair and held it between them, alongside her other.

“This isn’t
right,” August protested. “We’ve been through too much as it is, the both of
us.”

Vane
couldn’t contradict her in good faith. He let her go on.

“My sister
endangered me kidnapping the king’s sons. You risked your life to rescue them,
and saved me at the same time. You joined that Magic Council on the king’s
behalf. For the good of his realm. That horrid duke ten years ago, he nearly
slew the pair of us and the twins to boot. Now this. The king can’t ask you to
do this, he….”

“He didn’t,
though I can’t say he wouldn’t have. I volunteered. I had to. We have to
unravel this plot before Linstrom acts.”

“I can’t
lose you,” she pleaded. “I can’t. Val….”

He kissed
her again, to quiet her. He reminded her that Gratton had one spy already
planted, which helped calm her. He warned, “You can’t let people know I’m away
from Podrar. Tell the servants, the children, everyone, that I’m holed up in
the Palace for council business.”

“Val, why
not the school? Why not say you’re in Carphead?”

“It’s better
if people think I haven’t left the capital.”

“Safer, you
mean. It’s safer, because Linstrom’s a sorcerer with nineteen more at his
disposal. He could have someone transport to Podrar and ask questions, if he
suspects you might be….”

“Precisely.
That’s why I’m at the Palace, understand?”

August
nodded, and said, “Wake the children. In the morning, before you go.”

Vane had been
sick only once in his life out of fear, when he’d returned to Oakdowns for
wedding rings the day he and August eloped. He had found the night sky lit with
the glow of protesters’ torches, protesters who did not want a sorcerer, and
especially not Zalski Forzythe’s nephew, on the king’s newly announced Magic
Council. He now fought the impulse to empty his stomach as he thought of his
children sleeping in their beds: his twin daughters, Luce and Esper, inseparable
and with minds as bright as the golden hair they had inherited from their
mother; his sons, Harren and Dalen, strong-willed and fond of August’s bedtime
stories. All four had Vane’s mother’s ice blue eyes, though Vane did
not—he had his father’s eyes, a murky brown—and he felt his parents
stare down from the mantle.

The twins
were ten. That was too young to lose their father, much too young, and the
twins were the oldest. Harren was seven, just beginning to read to Vane at
night instead of being read to, and Dalen, Dalen was three. He couldn’t even
pronounce
father
correctly.

Vane
promised his wife, “I’m not leaving without telling the kids goodbye. I’ll be
back, though. As soon as I possibly can, and not a minute later.”

Vane looked
to the portrait of his parents, as he had done countless times before. Parents
he had never known. His raven-haired mother peered back, and Vane turned his
gaze away. He could not bear those eyes, not if he wanted the acids churning in
his stomach to remain there. Those eyes belonged to his steady and studious
girls, to his curious, fearless boys. To the children he
must
see grow up.

He stared
into August’s face. That always calmed him, as though peace somehow emanated
from her skin. His nausea didn’t vanish, but at least it stopped intensifying,
and he admitted to her what he could never have admitted to another soul in
Herezoth.

“I think I
might be sick before the night’s through.”

August
unlaced their fingers to bring their faces together and place her hands around
Vane’s cheeks. “I know you can do this, Val. If anyone can, that’s person you.
Not even Zacry would have a better chance. He’s too hotheaded. Too impulsive.
I’ve always judged you more resourceful than he is. Your instincts are better,
and they’ll get you through this. On top of that, I’ll be praying constantly:
for your safety; for your success; for you and Rexson and Gratton to put a stop
to this, before anyone’s hurt and everything we’ve worked a decade to achieve
comes crashing down. We’ve worked so hard, Val. Herezoth’s made such strides
toward peace…. I know you can do this,” August insisted. She kissed her
husband. “I know you, and you can do this.” She kissed him again, and he threw
his arms around her waist to transport them both to the manor’s master suite
for greater privacy.

*
* *

Vane reached
the Palace the next morning before sunrise. He found a bleary-eyed Gratton
stationed to let him and his travel bag inside through the servants’ door, as
the Palace was impregnable by magic. (Vane’s usurper uncle had seen to that.)
The duke and soldier found their king waiting in his antechamber, the same as
the previous night. The queen, this time, was also present.

Gracia
Phinnean was a chestnut-haired beauty even still, with her age closer to fifty
than forty. Vane had long considered her poise and elegance unmatched, even in
the midst of crisis. Her Highness had always taken special interest in Vane,
and striven to protect and counsel August. Now she gazed into Vane’s eyes with
an expression of maternal love that restored the confidence leaving his family
had shaken, and he said, “I’ll be back at midnight with my first report.”

Gratton told
Vane, “The king and I discussed your aims, and we agree you shouldn’t wait to
contact the plot’s mastermind. Evant Linstrom lives in Partsvale. He’s a
cobbler, works off the high street. You can speak with him in private there. If
things take a turn for the worst, at least you’ve only him to deal with, not
his fawning supporters.” The soldier paused. “Real bulky, he is. Black hair, no
beard. His nose is crooked. Works with one of his accomplices, but you won’t
have trouble picking Linstrom out.”

Ingleton
marked the description. “Ryne Howar,” he then pressed. “Our spy. I want to meet
him before I see Linstrom. If I’m to tell Linstrom Howar pointed me his
way—if we’re to pass ourselves off as acquaintances, or long-lost
cousins—Howar must know what I look like.”

The
gray-haired soldier sighed. Vane only then realized how much the man regretted
sending him to Partsvale. Partsvale was a small town, and Linstrom would have
his eye on it. One misstep on Vane’s part….

Vane had not
seen Gratton in years before the previous night, but the man and his wife had
been instrumental in helping Vane settle into life at court. In helping him and
August survive a stint of violent opposition upon their marriage. Bendelof,
bless the woman, had even died to protect August. It was for Bendelof’s sake,
Vane knew, that Gratton wanted to protect him now. He wanted to preserve what
Bennie had given her life to safeguard. Well, that was out of the question.
Gratton told the duke:

“Howar owns
a bakery. It’s down the street from Linstrom’s workshop. Buy some bread from
him for breakfast, and clue him in. Subtly, understand? He’s a transplant to
Partsvale, so the cousin thing should work.”

Eat
breakfast at Howar’s bakery…. Vane might as well. The queen placed a hand upon his
shoulder. “How will you alter your appearance?” she asked. “Rexson told me you
would, and I insist you do. Why not cast those spells now, for us?”

The
suggestion was logical. Vane’s allies could alert him to any flaws, any
imperfections in his magic. Spells could sometimes be fickle….

One of
Vane’s more recent spellbook acquisitions held a distortion spell the king had
deemed more powerful than any he remembered from his time with the resistance.
That was the spell Vane thought to cast; he muttered beneath his breath, “
Disfrasay
,” and felt an uncomfortable
warmth around the region of his face as his features changed. His head ached,
and a sharp pain exploded behind his eyes, but only for a matter of seconds.

The queen
held Vane at arm’s length to study him. “That’ll do,” she announced. Gratton
and the king agreed, and Gracia handed Vane a mirror she must have taken from
her dressing chamber.

Vane’s
auburn hair had turned a vibrant shade of red, as well as lengthened. His chin
had widened and sprouted a thin beard. His large eyes were less so, and his
ears more pointed at the bottom. He handed Gracia back her glass, and asked the
men, “We’re sure this is wise?” His voice sounded the same as before, so he
spoke the incantation he had used on Kansten, to give himself a Podrar accent
instead of the neutral tones he’d been raised to utter. His voice grew deeper.
Sharper. “Are we sure this is wise?” he repeated. “What if Linstrom decides he
won’t take chances and reverses these spells, checking for intrigue?”

Gratton
ordered, “Don’t let him,” and Vane rolled his eyes. Easy enough to say, that
was.

The king
said, “It’s a chance we have to take.”

The queen
raised an eyebrow. “A chance Vane has to take,” she corrected. “The rest of us,
we won’t find ourselves surrounded by….”