The King's Sons (The Herezoth Trilogy) (9 page)

“Her
Highness will love you,” August promised, “as long as you address her that way.
She’ll appreciate the formality. And I wouldn’t mention your mother.”

“Right,”
said Kansten. There was a history of sorts between Kora and the king, dating
back to the resistance. Kansten had never dared to ask specifics, but she had
picked up that much through the years. The queen might have a jealous streak….

The
queen was the most stately woman Kansten had ever laid eyes upon. August had no
noble blood in her, and Kansten suspected right away that she’d learned poise
and posture by imitating Gracia. The dignity with which the queen held herself
unsettled Kansten, who was all too glad to find that, after an initial
introduction, Rexson’s wife more or less ignored her. The act was not for
coldness, but to pay August due attention, and Kansten blessed her for it. They
met in the library, and while August and Gracia secluded themselves before the
hearth, Hune, who was also present with his beagle, took it upon himself to
entertain Kansten. They sat on a velvet rug before the shelves, beneath the
platforms.

Hune
observed, “I don’t imagine this is how you pictured your first days in Podrar.”

Kansten
tried to smile, but couldn’t. “In the Crystal Palace? While Vane’s off in some
corner of the kingdom, spying on thug magicians? No, this isn’t what I
imagined.”

“There’s
not a man in Herezoth I respect more than Vane, except my father. He’s a
brother to the both of us, no?”

Kansten
nodded. Despite Hune’s comfortable informality, she doubted whether she should
explain what most weighed upon her. Still, his blue eyes were kind. They
invited her to speak, so she overcame her reticence, trying to forget the man
was a prince. “I’m terrified for Vane,” she said. “I’m beginning to feel…. He
may be a brother, but I hardly know the man. I thought I did, but the Vane I
grew up with, he’d never consider doing what he’s doing. He’d never take that
upon himself. He’s never spoken of kings or manors, never mentioned dukes
plotting his ruin.”

“Herezoth
didn’t exactly welcome him,” said Hune. “Traigland, your family…. They must be
escapes for him. They’re the one place he needn’t mention those things, or
think on them.”

Once
again, Kansten nodded, and the prince’s beagle plopped down beside her. White
with large brown spots, it laid its head in her lap, and Hune said, “He likes
you.”

Kansten
scratched the beagle’s ear, noting some gray on its muzzle. “He’s a nice dog,
isn’t he?”

“You
wouldn’t say that if you were a doe.”

“What’s
his name?”

“Adage.
After the knight from the storybooks.”

“The
coward who speaks in clichés?”

Hune
smiled. “You know of him. I was always fond of those tales…. Does your family
have dogs back home?”

A
guffaw was Kansten’s reply. “Do you remember my dad’s house? We hardly all fit
there ten years ago, at the time you saw it, and my siblings and me, we’re
bigger now. There’s no room for any dog.”

The
dog rolled over for Kansten to rub its stomach, and she obliged. Hune sent a
wary glance toward his mother and the duchess, then asked, “How’s August
doing?”

“Marvelously
well, considering.” Kansten sighed. “It’ll be a long two weeks before Linstrom
attacks.” To change the subject, because her chest ached to think of Vane, she
asked, “What’s it like to live here? In the Palace?”

Hune
petted his beagle while he considered the question. “It is what it is, I
suppose. Hard to find people on occasion, if you don’t have an inkling where
they’ll be. I get out when I can, take my horse or dogs into the city.”

Kansten
lowered her voice to a whisper. “You don’t have magic, like your brothers?”

“I’m
different from my brothers in a number of ways. That’s the least of them. I
don’t grudge lacking my family’s powers. It’s not as though Valkin and Neslan
can make use of theirs, is it? The magic’s inconvenient at best, imperils them
at worst.” Hune paused. “You’re Kora Porteg’s daughter? And not a sorceress?”

“Ridiculous,
isn’t it?
I’m
….”

“You’re
not ridiculous, Kansten. Is it really that awful, not having magic?”

“They
treat me different, my family. My brothers especially. My Uncle Zac started
teaching them two years ago, and I assumed they’d flaunt their spells in my
face. I’d prefer that to what they’ve done, which is tiptoe around me like I’m
made of porcelain or something. They don’t discuss magic around me. What
they’ve mastered, what they’re working on: I couldn’t tell you a thing about it.
My parents never mentioned magic much, and that hasn’t changed, but now it’s
like I chase the ease out of any room I enter. I’m older than my brothers,”
Kansten said. “I don’t need protection from my strange normality. I’m the
normal one, after all. I’m damn sure smarter than they are, and I’d put my
brains against their incantations any day.”

Hune’s
eyes, the light eyes his father had given him, they were penetrating.

Good Giver, I cursed
before a prince. I….

The
only thing to do was to ignore the faux pas, which was a good gut inclination,
because Hune didn’t stare so intently for her unfortunate choice of words.
Kansten almost shrank away as he admitted, “I’m jealous of my brothers too.”

Kansten’s
protested, “I’m not jea….”

Hune
spoke over her. “You are. You’re jealous of their powers, and you resent them
walking on pins and needles around you in your own home. In my case, I’m not
jealous of the magic. What I hate is the way I feel superfluous.”

“Hune,
you’re hardly unneeded around here.”

“Really?
My father refuses to rest, though he didn’t sleep, so he’s in more meetings
about Vane’s situation with his Chief Adviser. He pulled Valkin away this
morning, I can only think to have him cover his daily obligations, because
Valkin’s disappeared since then. Neslan too. Must be helping him. My mother’s
helping August, and there’s some value in that, I’d say. Me? What am I doing?
I’m talking with you.”

Kansten
narrowed her eyes. “You don’t have to be, Your Highness.”

Hune
sighed. “I mean no offense. You’re a pleasure to speak with. My point is, if
they can’t find a use for me in the midst of all this, when will I ever have a
purpose? When Valkin steps out, which is rare, I can’t breathe for all the
people rushing about demanding where he’s gone. That even happens when Neslan
leaves. I can count the times I’ve left and come back to find someone waiting
for me with urgent business on one hand.”

Adage
left Kansten to curl up near the prince, who went on, “My father keeps me
informed, at least. He makes a point of that, because he was the younger
brother in his day, and he knows how it is. I attend all the meetings my
brothers do, and offer my opinion from time to time, but no one ever asks it.”

Kansten
frowned. Her mind had taken her backward in the conversation. “Did you say your
brother’s running the kingdom? Has he done that before?”

“Can’t
say he has. He’ll know what he’s doing, though.”

“What
are you doing with me? You should find him. Help him with something. He
probably feels like he’s drowning.”

“He
probably does,” said Hune. “He hasn’t asked me to jump in after him, has he?”

“Then
offer to. He’ll be grateful, I’d think, whether or not he says so. If you want
to be useful, isn’t this your chance?”

“Perhaps
you’re right,” said Hune, after thinking for a moment. “You just might be
right. He’s in my father’s office, I’d wager.”

Kansten
dared to give him a nudge toward the door, and Hune set off, his beagle leaping
up to follow.

Hune
passed Adage off to the first servant he saw and made his way to his father’s
office. He knocked lightly, then entered without waiting for admittance. Valkin
sat behind the desk, half hidden by papers, while Neslan had a chair in front
of it. The crown prince barked with a gruff beckon, “Where in the Giver’s name
have you been?”

“You
never asked my help, Valkin.”

“Well,
I need you, so come here! I swore to Father I wouldn’t embarrass him.”

Hune
bit back a retort. Kansten’s assumptions had been accurate; Valkin felt
overwhelmed. The last thing that would help him was for Hune to criticize him
for being a prig. That didn’t mean he wasn’t a prig, and wouldn’t make him any
easier to suffer, but….

“You’ll
always have my help, and I say that in all sincerity. What can I do?”

“Neslan
and I are crafting the agenda for tomorrow’s meeting with the Traiglanders. Can
you write me a welcome speech for them, for tonight? Before the dinner? You
won’t be there, but only because Father wants you in the party to speak with
Vane when he returns.”

Hune
grabbed his chest. “Father wants me to hear…?”

“Vane’s
updates, yes. So you can report to Neslan and me afterward.”

That
wasn’t news Hune expected. To hear Vane’s briefing…. He shuddered to think what
Vane might say. Dreaded the possibility that Vane might never come. He gulped,
and told his eldest brother, “A speech, right. I’ll get you a speech. How long
should it…?”

“No
more than five minutes.”

Neslan
glanced up from the writing tablet in his lap. “You’ll write a great welcome,
Hune. You’re personable. That’s one of your strengths.”

Hune
nodded his appreciation, and went to the empty table after gathering what
materials he needed. He blessed Kansten beneath his breath for sending him
away, and set to work. He wrote for a full hour, though it felt triple that,
before a man and woman knocked and entered. Hune knew them well, as did his
brothers: a married couple, both members of the king’s Magic Council. Hart and
Casandra Quin.

“So
sorry,” Hart apologized. He was a muscular man of forty years, and his face
showed his age. His hair was graying at the temples. “We were looking for your
father. Thought Francie Rafe might have sent him word as to why she couldn’t
make a meeting with us. We’ve been waiting an hour for her.”

Francie
Rafe was one of Hune’s favorite members of the Magic Council. She had grown up
with Vane and was as young as he, maybe a few months older.

The
princes exchanged confused glances upon Hart’s statement. Neslan observed,
“That’s not like Francie. To miss an obligation with no excuse, no clear
reason….”

Hune
said, “Not like her? She’s the most responsible woman I’ve met. Perhaps she
fell ill?”

Valkin
told the Quins, “The king should be in his antechamber. Go find him. He’ll need
you, need the assistance of the Enchanted Fist.”

It
was Hart’s turn to look confused. “The Fist?”

The
Enchanted Fist was a secret society, one composed of empowered individuals and
dedicated to magic’s political advancement. It had been rogue members of the
organization, a decade before, that had kidnapped the king’s sons, but the
guilty individuals had been stripped of their powers and were serving life
sentences in prison. The rest of the organization had never caused the royal
family problems. In fact, Hune found Hart and Casandra quite pleasant.

Valkin
insisted, “His Majesty will need the Fist. He’ll need the support of any magicked
individual who’ll aid him. Go find him, Hart.”

* * *

Back
in Partsvale, Vane wrapped up his meeting with Evant Linstrom and Terrance Vole
without any danger to himself. He had them fooled, and was beyond lucky for
that. Otherwise, they could have joined forces to kill him in that closet,
casting any grisly spell they desired beneath the sound barrier’s protection.
No need to worry about screams; they could have tortured him as thoroughly as
they chose, and he would have suffered as long as they persisted in letting him
hold the Lifestone.

Vane
forced himself to think of other things as he headed down the high street for a
meal at a tavern before he met the bald baker again. He breathed easier in the
open air, and judged the most perilous moments of what he had set out to do
behind him. Still, he doubted he would keep something more substantial than
soup from coming back up, so soup was what he ordered. The tavern had potato
soup that day. Fine.

Vane
tried and tried to make sense of Linstrom’s explanations as he ate, then waited
on the clock. Linstrom hardly seemed to be lying, or Terrance, when they
claimed the crown had ignored them during interviews for the Magic Council.
Vane, though, had seen the stack of applications. He had helped the king sort
through them and had even written some of the negative replies on Rexson’s
behalf. No sorcerers had expressed the slightest interest beyond himself and
Zacry.

Perhaps
Ryne Howar would know more. When Vane returned to his shop, the baker led him
up a set of stairs in the back to his living quarters, leaving his apprentice
to tend to any customers who might wander in.

Howar’s
living area was comfortably furnished, though cluttered with books, empty sacks
of flour, dirty plates, and half-filled glasses. While Howar cleared two chairs
for himself and the duke, Vane cast a sound barrier and even muttered “
Encanta
” various times beneath his
breath. That spell would alert him if Linstrom had enchanted an object nearby.