The Return of Nightfall (61 page)

Edward groaned, and his lids fluttered open. His eyes rolled, without focus.

“Ned,” Nightfall tried. He knew lightning could kill a man, leave him unscathed, or any of a variety of conditions between. He had heard of paralyzations, memory loss, ruined hearing, headaches, blindness, burns that ran the gamut from minor to severe. Any of these might last a day, a week, or forever. It seemed foolish to ask if Edward was all right when, just a moment earlier, he had literally been dead.

The king sat up, wincing as he did so, and a grimace of pain crossed his face. He groped in front of him.“Sudian?”

No more lies.
“It’s Nightfall, Sire.”

“Nightfall?”

Nightfall lowered his head. Jacquellette’s spell had left him aching all over, and he could feel the soft squish of blisters on his knees. Kelryn had been right; she always was. Now that he had taken back the mantle of Nightfall, he could never return to Sudian. He did not belong in Alyndar, had no right to friendships with kings and commanders of prison guards. He was the lowborn child of a prostitute mother, unworthy even of her love, let alone the trust of nobility. All the crimes, once pardoned, belonged to him again. He had broken his promises to Edward and Kelryn, had actually reveled in the power of a demon who ruled the nights by murder and intimidation. As Kelryn had stated, once he took back the title of the demon, he could never return to Alyndar; but it was not because he found the role irresistible, not because he loved the power and status that came with the title. He simply deserved nothing better.

Edward licked his lips, moving stiffly to his feet and managing to touch, then catch, Nightfall’s arm. “Nightfall,” he repeated, “let’s go home.”

Chapter 23

—Dyfrin of Keevain, the demon’s friend

 

N
IGHTFALL WASHED AWAY the last remnants of his shattered disguise in the basin in Xevar’s makeshift garderobe, then studied his reflection in the hand mirror. It was Sudian’s face staring back at him beneath a mop of hair that still retained the sandy coloring of a young slave house spy. It seemed wrong, out of place. He knew what lurked beneath all the dyes and dirt, all the mud and putty, the manipulated expressions and molded features, yet it seemed impossible he could ever again see the fair skin, the strong chin, the straight nose and ears that defined Sudian. The character had died within him, and it seemed grossly wrong to see it so clearly and easily reflected. He tossed the mirror to the bed, where Edward sat in silence, still gathering his strength.

“What’s the matter, Nightfall?”

Nightfall whirled to face the king, though the grandiosity of the maneuver was wasted. Edward could not see a thing. “What’s the matter?” he repeated incredulously.
“What’s the matter?”

“It’s rude to echo royalty like a deranged parrot.”

Nightfall went stock-still, scarcely daring to believe Edward was blind and obviously in agony, freshly clawed back from death, but could still find the strength to lecture him on manners. “Do you understand who I am?”

Edward fixed his sightless gaze far to Nightfall’s right. “I’m dizzy, not addled.”

“I’m Nightfall. Not Sudian. Not Balshaz.” Nightfall added, “He’s dead, by the way. Not any of a dozen others.
I am Nightfall.
” He waited for some reaction from Edward, a dawning of understanding to sweep across his face, a spark to flash through those unseeing eyes. Anything but the lack of reaction he had so far gotten.

“I know who you are. I heard Jacquellette. That’s why I came out when I did. That’s why I put myself between you and her lightning.”

The king’s words struck Nightfall dumb. He could do nothing but stare.

Edward broke the awkward pause. “I can practically hear the stupid look on your face.”

“When you . . .” Nightfall finally managed, though it required him to lick dry lips a dozen times to continue. “When you said, ‘Let’s go home,’ did you mean . . . ?”

“Yes.”

“Me?”

Edward rolled his eyes, though even that small movement seemed to hurt him. “I’m not going back to Alyndar without my adviser. You tracked me over at least half the world, and only the Holy Father knows what you suffered to find me.”

“You want me . . . I’m still your . . . ?” Nightfall shook his head. He could not make sense of this. “I traveled the world to find King Edward Nargol of Alyndar. I have no idea who you are.”

“I am King Edward Nargol of Alyndar.”

“No.” Nightfall sat on the edge of the bed. “King Edward is a grand and glorious man who lives by immutable law and rigid scruples. King Edward would never associate with a lying, thieving, murdering demon.”

“A wise man once told me the world has grays. That sometimes it’s necessary to stretch one’s honor, one’s ethics, if the end result is a far greater good.”

“Who told you that?”

King Edward heaved an exasperated sigh. “You did, you simpering moron.”

“Ah.” Nightfall finally found his sense of humor. “So I’m a wise moron.”

Apparently cued by the feel of the bed beneath him, Edward faced Nightfall directly. “Look. I’m not going to lie and say I prefer the company of the demon Nightfall to that of my loyal adviser, Sudian. But, if that’s the identity you insist on taking, I’ll take my advice from the demon and defend my choice to anyone who dares to challenge it.”

“Even if it means abdicating the throne?”

Edward never hesitated. “Even if.”

Nightfall smiled. “Now, I see it. You really are the same underexperienced, overprincipled lunatic I escorted around the world.”

“You know you can’t talk about the king like that.” A frown scored the handsome features. “Nightfall, don’t make me pardon murder, only to have you executed for treason.”

This time, Nightfall rolled his eyes. He could imagine guileless Edward doing exactly what he threatened. “Sire, forgive my rudeness.” He rose to make a formal bow, then sat again. “I just find it hard to believe you would give up the rulership of Alyndar for a thug.”

“Nightfall, didn’t I just get finished saying I can put you to death for insulting nobility?”

Confused, Nightfall squinted, though Edward could not read his expression. “I used ‘Sire,’ I bowed, I begged for clemency. I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but I fail to see the insult this time.”

Pain turned Edward’s answering smile into a grimace. “First, we’re alone; it’s Ned. Second, I didn’t say you insulted me. I said you insulted ‘nobility.’ I believe you called my chancellor a ‘thug.’ ”

“But—”

Edward did not let him finish. “By now you surely know what the position you accepted entails.”

“You mean the position
Sudian
accepted.”

“Sudian, Nightfall. They’re one and the same.”

Though technically true, the words stunned Nightfall. “But—”

“Stop ‘butting’ me.”

“Is it rude?”

“No. But it’s irritating.” Edward continued making his point, “You call me unworldly and guileless; yet you don’t understand the most important lesson of all, one that, from what Kelryn told me, your friend Dyfrin tried to teach you your entire life.”

The king had Nightfall’s full attention now; any mention of Dyfrin did that. Nightfall had made comparisons between the two men before, both dangerously caring and instinctively virtuous in a way even the most pious rarely achieved or truly understood. It did not seem possible Edward could grasp something in a single conversation that Nightfall had not done in decades. Such a thing would have to come of that same natural bent shared by two men who had never met.

“You can change what you look like, how you move and act. You can’t change your heart or soul. Inside, where it truly matters, Nightfall and Sudian are one and the same.” Edward’s grin turned playful, almost to the point of evil. “You know, I’ve got a mind not to return to Alyndar at all. That would leave you king, Nightfall, king of Alyndar. Did you know that?”

Nightfall studied his hands. The washing had cleaned them satisfactorily, and the scrubbing had opened some of the blisters. Angry and red, they oozed a clear liquid. He had sustained burns in the places where his body contacted the ground at the time of the lightning strike. “Not anymore. I’m under order of execution.”

“What? Why?”

“As Nightfall, for hundreds of murders. Not that it matters, but very few of which I actually committed. As Sudian, for killing . . . you, Sire.”

“But I’m not dead.”

“Alyndar believes you are.”

“But—” Edward seemed to have too many words vying for his tongue at once. “But—” Apparently realizing he had become the one “butting,” Edward forced himself to say something coherent. “You should have been the acting-king. What arrogant courtier dared to believe he had the authority to pronounce sentence on the king of Alyndar?”

Nightfall tried to recall the words that had condemned him. He had always hated politics; yet, to his surprise, he recalled the quotation verbatim: “. . . in the event that the king is killed, missing, or incapacitated leaving no blooded heir on the throne . . . the Council is granted overriding discretion in all matters of judgment provided it has the full consent of the High Council and a majority vote of the Council in Full.” He studied Edward. “Apparently, that comes from a book of Alyndarian law.”

Edward appeared stunned. “You—you memorized it?”

Nightfall shrugged, not fully understanding it himself. He always did have an exceptional memory; without it, he could never have maintained so many facades for so long. “I tend to remember words that condemn me to death.” Suddenly realizing he had not directly answered Edward’s question, which usually annoyed the king, he added, “Your Admiral, Nikolei Neerchus, is the one who read that passage, and the general of Alyndar’s army sentenced me.” He did not add his concerns about Khanwar. By now, Volkmier had the situation well in hand; and he saw no need to further burden Edward. Nightfall could add the significant details on the journey home, after the king’s pain faded and his vision returned.

Edward’s face purpled. “That sounds like a law in need of changing.”

Nightfall smiled. He could see the crusading spirit reawakening in a king no longer quite so naive and dead-on righteous. Perhaps Edward the Enthusiastic would become Edward the Just after all.

 

Still hunted under Sudian’s description, Nightfall had no choice but to don another disguise as he led the blinded king of Alyndar to the docks of Hartrin. He made only one stop, to release the boy held in Xevar’s dungeon and suggest he find a way to Schiz and the protection of Brandon Magebane. After only a dismal day or two in the lockup, the boy seemed more determined to return to his home and parents, a decision Nightfall did not attempt to sway. Though he could not understand running back to the mother and father who had sold their son, Nightfall supposed he might not have a full grasp of the situation. Xevar’s magical ability to sway emotions could have driven even the most loving parents to an act of foolishness, especially since they could not possibly know the slaver was a sorcerer intent on stealing the boy’s very soul. Unlike King Edward, Nightfall harbored no illusions he could save the entire world from its own folly.

Nightfall settled King Edward at a table in the Dockside Inn and ordered a hot meal consisting of roast mutton, chalky tubers, and early winter melon. Before taking a single bite from his own plate, Nightfall carefully cut up the king’s portion into bite-sized pieces easily speared by a fork. Edward would never stoop to eating with his hands, and Nightfall could just imagine him cutting off his own fingers in an attempt at self-sufficiency. Weeks of captivity and recent injury overcame the king’s legendary grandeur and zeal, at least for the evening. They ate slowly, and most of the conversation consisted of describing the inn room scenery to Edward. The specifics of each man’s ordeal could wait until they had safely boarded whatever ship they found to return them to Alyndar. This time, Nightfall doubted he would have any trouble finding transportation. Surely every captain, from the Hartrinian admiral to the lowliest fisherman would be thrilled to have the king of Alyndar aboard.

Nightfall frowned, preferring to maintain a low profile for reasons he could not wholly explain. Though he had not disguised Edward per se, he had dressed him in simple linens rather than attempting to cram him into Xevar’s tailored silks. The usually soft golden hair now hung in too-long dirty strings, and he had not shaved in several days. The unseeing eyes had lost their glow and focus. The subdued and aching king little resembled the grand and glorious prince who had championed every moral cause with a passion bordering on stupidity and sometimes, in Nightfall’s opinion, crossed that line.

Nightfall did not know enough of politics to guess whether King Edward might face danger in his own country. He trusted Volkmier to handle the traitor; but, last he knew, a number of individuals eyed the empty throne. Nightfall did not know if things could go far enough to drive once loyal courtiers to regicide. Less than a week remained before the kingdom declared Edward dead, and Nightfall had no idea what might happen if he returned after that proclamation. Perhaps every man and woman of Alyndar had taken a side, and the true king’s return would interfere with plans too far along to put to rest. Once they pronounced him, was his murder a crime or a foregone conclusion? At best, Nightfall and Volkmier would have to weigh the allegiance of every man in Edward’s employ, which might result in many changes, from the lowliest servants to the High Council. Those who loved Edward could not afford to allow his drive to forgive and forget, to afford second, third, and fourth chances, to put his very life at risk.

The king reached awkwardly for his mug. His knuckles caught an edge and would have upended it had Nightfall not steadied the base. Edward readjusted his hand properly around it and drank, never realizing his chancellor had saved it from a spill. That, Nightfall realized, was the way the regime would have to work as well, with men like himself behind the scenes to keep the kingdom running smoothly, and apparently seamlessly, to protect Edward from his own well intentioned actions.