Wings of Wrath (5 page)

She drew in a sharp breath as if to protest, but he raised up a hand before she could begin. “You asked me to set aside my vows in order to become king. That I will do, in proper time. Until that hour I am what I am, Mother. You called home a priest. Would you expect me to comport myself as anything less?”

She bit her lip for a moment. “You are as stubborn as your father was, you know that?”

“So my teachers told me. Often.” He bit off a piece of the bread and washed it down with a mouthful of water. It quieted the beast in his stomach somewhat.

“However,” she said, “You must eat a good meal before your coronation. You cannot afford to look weak before the vassals of Danton's empire.”

He opened his mouth to argue the point—but then he saw the resolve in her eyes and he sensed the steel will that lay hidden behind her black silk and gentle manners. It was already a lost battle, he realized. Even Danton had given way to her when he saw that look in her eyes.

Swallowing the last bite of bread (and how his stomach cried out for more!), he turned his attention to a nearby window and the view it offered of the devastated landscape surrounding the palace. “Tell me how my father died. I have heard the public details, of course, but I wish it from your tongue.”

It was a horrific tale, one that began with a proud king's mental dissolution and ended in his bloody death at the hands of his own family. Gwynofar played but lightly upon that last part, perhaps not wishing to discuss why the High King's own son had decided he must die. The fault did not lay with Danton; she made that quite clear. A foreign Magister allied to a Souleater had used Danton like a puppet and their family had paid the price for it. Salvator nodded as he listened; that much he had already been told.

But it was when she spoke of the Souleater itself that he listened most closely. It was the first detailed description he had ever heard from someone who had actually seen one of the demons, and it made his blood run cold as a strange elation that was half fear and half awe suffused his veins.

This, this is the Scourge of the Destroyer, that was sent in ages past to humble mankind. My father tried to stand among the gods and he was brought down for it. Now we must await our Creator's judgment as he decides whether one such warning is enough, or whether those ancient horrors must be repeated in their entirety in order for us to learn our lesson
.

He did not speak of such things to Gwynofar, of course. She was of a different faith, one based upon human pride, that dreamed of a final battle between Souleater and man, which man presumably might win. It was a primitive faith, simple in its understanding of the world, and in time he would have to address it. But not now. Now was a time for strengthening the bonds of family, not straining them.

We stand at the edge of a precipice,
he thought,
one step away from a great and terrible darkness. If we fail to keep our balance, who is to say whether our descendants will ever find the light again?

“You must decide where you wish your coronation to be held,” his mother was saying. “Little else can be done until that choice is made.”

With a start he realized that he had missed her last words.
Time for meditation later,
he admonished himself. “Here, of course. What better place to demonstrate the continuing strength of the High Kingdom than Danton's own seat of power?”

She frowned; clearly the choice did not please her. “You know the palace cannot shelter so many. We will wind up with royal encampments in a charred ruin. That is hardly an appropriate setting.”

“Perhaps it will inspire them to reflect upon the nature of the world. That life as we know it is but a fleeting indulgence and that same god who created us can just as easily destroy us.” He walked over to the table as he spoke and broke off another piece of bread. Reflex. After a moment's thought he put it down again. “Or perhaps it will inspire them to reflect upon the last time this land was cleared, when war ravaged the region, and no prince could afford to offer an enemy cover this close to his gates.”

He put down his cup and brushed a few stray crumbs from his robe. “But come now, Mother, show me what changes you have made in this place, and how the ancestor trees have grown in my absence. Meanwhile I shall attempt to answer all the questions you have for me, and we may begin our planning.”

Sunset lay like a wound along the western horizon, spilling crimson clouds into a bruised purple sky. On the black earth below a hundred lanterns sputtered as workers continued to haul away the charred remnants of a great royal forest, struggling to accomplish it by the deadline they had been given. The ground beneath their feet was bleak and barren as far as the eye could see; only the single castle that looked over it, and the stark mountains to the north, broke the rhythm of the landscape.

Standing alone atop the building's highest tower, wrapping her arms against the sudden chill of the evening breeze, Gwynofar remembered when the forest had burned. Kostas had started the fire—Kostas, that vile creature posing as a Magister who had stepped in to counsel her husband when Ramirus had left them—and then ordered all of Danton's servants to let it burn to its natural end. For three days and nights the sky had spewed forth ash in furious waves, a foul and unnatural storm. At the time Gwynofar had thought the fire no more than an act of spite, meant to strangle her heart with sorrow so that she would be more easily manipulated. Perhaps, she had reasoned later, Kostas had wanted her to hate him so blindly that she would not wonder at the strange supernatural chill that ran up her spine any time he entered a room. But no, even that was not enough to explain it. No matter how much she added up the pieces of the puzzle now, it was still not enough. Kostas had served a Souleater. Souleaters fed upon life. What did either of them stand to gain from such utter devastation? Surely her own discomfort, no matter how pleasing it was to him, was not enough to explain what he had done.

There was another piece of the puzzle somewhere. All the instincts in her
lyr
soul told her that it mattered. She had to find it.

“Your Majesty?”

The voice was familiar to her, a memory from a better time. She turned toward its owner with an ache in her heart.
Would that things could go back to the way they were a year ago,
she thought.
Would that the gods had not decided to test us so cruelly
. “Ramirus.”

The ancient Magister bowed his head ever so slightly; his flowing white beard stirred in the evening breeze. “I promised you I would come.”

She sighed heavily. For a moment words deserted her.

“I take it things did not go well?”

She looked out over the landscape once more. “He means to hold his coronation here, Ramirus. He said that Danton's ruined forest will serve as a reminder to both men and monarchs that life is but a fleeting thing, and that the same gods who created the earth can also destroy it.”

“Ah, yes. The creed of the Penitents. A curious tradition.” He came to where she stood, near the outer wall, and gazed out upon the landscape beside her. “You made a strange move, choosing that one to succeed Danton.”

She did not speak until she was sure she could do so without emotion. “There was no real choice.”

“You could have left him in the monastery. He might have spent a lifetime happily chanting his prayers and denying himself a woman's pleasure, and never mourned his lack of temporal power.”

“Perhaps,” she agreed. “Or instead he might have discovered, after a few years of watching his younger brother rule, that there was more to existence than such a sterile plan . . . and then perhaps he would decide that he had been cheated and he would divide the High Kingdom against itself to claim what should have been his by birthright.” She sighed. “My summons was a test. If he had not answered exactly as he had, I would have placed my fourth son on the throne and left Salvator to his strange two-faced god. But Danton's blood is strong in my second-born. Strong enough that when he heard the call to power he set aside his vows of faith to answer it without hesitation. Do you honestly believe such a man would have remained quietly in the background for his entire life? Do you think Valemar would have been strong enough to contain him?”

“Better, perhaps, for a woman to claim the throne.”

She looked at him sharply.

“It is not unknown in the north,” he pointed out.

“And we are not in the north. Do you not think that a goodly portion of Danton's vassal princes would rebel in an instant if I gave them such excuse? I am foreign-born; they will not forget that. And rumored to be some kind of snow-witch, or changeling, or . . .” She laughed shortly. “I can't even keep track of the rumors these days. Whereas Salvator . . .”

Her voice trailed off into silence. For a moment she shut her eyes.

“You asked him about choosing a Magister,” Ramirus said. A question.

She nodded.

“He refused, didn't he?”

“He said his god would not permit such a course. That he would rely upon witches if he had need of power.”

“I warned you that might be the case.”

“Yes.” She bit her lip. “You did.”

“And now?”

She shrugged stiffly. “We go on. I make the best of the hand the gods have dealt me. As always.”

He nodded tightly. “Then you should leave here, Majesty. As soon as protocol allows.”

Her jaw tensed. “I will not abandon him.”

“You would not be abandoning him. Merely . . . traveling. Visit your parents. Or your daughters. You told me often enough how much you wished you could see them more frequently. Now is the time.”

“He needs me by his side—”

“Your presence here cannot save him from the consequences of his own foolishness.” His tone grew stern, as a father's might when admonishing a favorite child. “What will happen the day some prince that Danton pressed into fealty decides he wants no more of Aurelius leadership? Such men have Magisters of their own, you know. And they will be free to act now. There will be no Law dictating what they may or may not do to your son. Do you understand what that means?” When she didn't answer, he continued, “A single word from an enemy's Magister, and the whole of this palace may come crashing down upon his head. Or the earth may open up to swallow him whole, along with all his household. It is only a matter of time, Majesty. I am sorry, but that's the truth. And I would rather not have you be here to share his fate when it happens.”

Her hands clasped the edge of the parapet tightly as she worked to keep her emotions under control . . . or at least to keep Ramirus from seeing them.
There must be a way,
she thought desperately. All the debates she'd had with herself since the night Danton had died raced through her head again. What other path could she have chosen? Danton's High Kingdom was a fragile construct which the wrong move might topple. Now it seemed that the man best suited to inherit it would not survive long enough to do the job.

Then, with sudden insight, she knew what had to be done.

“Make your contract with me,” she said. She drew herself up to her full height as she turned to face him, pride lending strength to her words. “I am Queen Mother of House Aurelius. Make your contract with me.”

It seemed for a moment that he had lost his voice. “That is . . .” He hesitated, seeking the proper word. “Irregular. To say the least.”

“So are Souleaters, and the Magisters that serve them. So is a royal household robbed of three kings in a single night. So is—” She waved toward the black wasteland beyond the castle, her long silk sleeve fluttering in the breeze. “—all of
this
.”

“And how do you think Salvator will take it when you tell him you have done this? Defied his will, and invited the wrath of this Destroyer he worships?”

“I won't tell him. It will be our secret.”

“It cannot be a secret,” he pointed out. “Not if your family is to be protected.”

“Then let it be known among Magisters that a contract has been made with House Aurelius. Nothing more. They don't need to know all the details, do they? The mere fact that a contract exists will mean that other Magisters cannot strike at my family. That is your Law, is it not?”

“Aye.” He shook his head slowly. “That is the Law. . . .”

“And Salvator would be protected in that case, as my son. Yes?”

“Majesty—” His eyes were hard and cold, but that was not necessarily a bad thing; she knew him well enough to understand that when his emotions were strongest they were most carefully hidden. “What is it you propose to offer in return for this . . . secret alliance? We who serve royalty do not do so for love of servitude, but rather for what we are given in return. The chance to take part in creating and sustaining great nations, to share in our patron's status and posterity. These things cannot be provided by a secret contract. What can you offer that has equal value?”