Lisbet paled. She felt, even, the blood leave her lips as she attempted to speak. “Dain Rhiagain is dead. He died as a boy. Everyone knows this.”
“Khain ordered his son’s death, but words were not enough to compel a man to commit such an act, even from a king. Dain was quietly placed with the Sylvaines, who were not told what child they were taking. The lie nearly died with the king’s chancellor. He at last confessed it, on his deathbed, and that truth was carried first to Khain, and then to Eoghan. Khain may be dead, but Eoghan is not, and he knows Dain is alive. His very survival threatens Eoghan’s.”
Lisbet fought back a wave of stinging tears.
“But Khain was also not Dain’s father. It was a sorcerer, Isdemus, who spelled Khain’s wife and saw that it was his seed that proved strongest when it came time for her womb to quicken. Ash is the son of a creature capable of magic greater than any in this kingdom, and also the son of a Rhiagain, through his mother. He and his three children are in grave danger. If this kingdom stands, it will be because the four of them prevailed in their destiny. If it falls, it will be because they could not.”
Lisbet could make sense of this later. For now, she needed her questions answered, before Kian decided he was no longer keen to do so. “But Valen... Ash... Dain...” She shook her head in frustration. “Ash. Who are his other two children?”
“I will tell you the identity of one of them.”
“All right, then.”
Kian nodded. “You, Lisbet. You are his daughter.”
“No.” Lisbet shook her head, setting her mouth in a firm, hard line. “No. I am my father’s daughter. I look just like him.”
“I do not think even Ash knows it,” Kian went on, ignoring her protests. “Or your mother, for it happened years after his ‘death,’ when he came to her as if a ghost, though very real.”
“No!”
“And now, you are free to leave.” Kian stood.
“I’m not leaving here until I understand why you would say such things!”
“You have the choice where you go. You could even choose to follow Drystan and tell him what I have told you,” Kian said. “But know that if you do, he will fail, and he will still die. You cannot save him. He will die no matter what choices you or he make from here on. Some things cannot be changed.”
“You have just told me Drystan is a Rhiagain, a Rhiagain! And the true heir to this throne!”
“Yes.”
“And that… that…I am a Rhiagain as well? That we both share the blood of our enemy? No. No.”
“Yes, Lisbet.”
“They would have married me to my uncle!”
“They did not know.”
“It cannot be true. It cannot. Why, why would you lie to me? Tell me such things, and then tell me… tell me that my beloved Drystan will die and that I should do nothing? Just let it happen?”
“You were intended to see this for yourself.” Kian sighed, lowering his head. “Your belief of it would have come much easier.”
Tears poured down her face unabated. “If what you say is true, I have to see him! I never even had the chance to say goodbye, and you tell me I’ll never see him again? That he will die, no matter what?”
Kian nodded. “You say I am not acquainted well with the truth, but I would not lie to you. I have never lied to you. I have said only what I was allowed to say.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Kian looked at her sadly. “Yes, you do.”
“What am I supposed to do with these terrible ‘truths’ you’ve given me, Kian?” Lisbet sobbed. “What good are they to me, when my brother is going to die, my father is... is...” She buried her face in her hands. Kian’s heat swirled around her as he approached. He didn’t touch her, though she felt that he wanted to.
“I cannot say, for they are your truths, not mine,” Kian said. “But it is time for you to leave. Today. You, Eavan, the others. You may lead them out of our lands, unmolested, and your destination is your business. You need not tell me.” He half-grinned. “I’ll see it, anyway, eventually.”
Lisbet drew a hard breath. She squeezed her eyes shut. Where would she go? In all her desperation these weeks in the Hinterlands, she’d never considered where they’d head if they did find themselves free. She had no news of the outside world. Was the kingdom at war, because of what she and Eavan had done? Could she go home? Was Wulfsgate even her home now?
“Starcaller awaits you,” Kian said. “I kept my promise.”
“What if I’d rather stay?”
Kian didn’t look surprised by the question. “You cannot.”
“Why?”
“This is not your home.”
“It didn’t stop you from imprisoning us!”
“You were never the prisoners you thought yourselves to be. I thought you might see that now. You were here so you could, all three of you, come to the moments you each find yourselves in now.”
“Ash and Drystan are meant to kill Mortain, but what of me? You tell me who I am, but now what I’m supposed to do!”
“You will know when you know.”
“Agggggh!”
“Frustration harms only you,” Kian said evenly. “We must go now.”
“Wait. You didn’t tell me who Ash’s other child was?”
“I will not. For they have not yet come upon that truth themselves.”
“But you know?”
“Go on, Lisbet. You are free. Choose your path now, in this freedom.”
Lisbet realized then that she would miss Kian. She would miss all of this, even the maddening daily interrogations. She would miss the colors in these woods that she’d never see again anywhere in the kingdom, and the simplicity of her day.
More than that, she would miss the veil of obliviousness she’d lived in until only moments ago. She would regret asking the questions. Regret leaving. Coming here. If she’d only told her mother to intervene in Drystan’s affair with Ravenna, they could have stayed home, safe. Their blood wouldn’t have mattered, for no one ever would have known. Lisbet would have married her uncle, but in ignorance, and Drystan’s life, though ordinary, would not soon be ending.
“That was never your path. To stay,” Kian said. He did not apologize for reading her mind.
“No,” she agreed as she stole a greedy gulp of air.
Kian’s hand hovered over her arm. She knew he could hide his sadness if he wanted to, but he didn’t, for her. He would never say the words, but she read them, in his eyes, in his beautifully curved mouth.
“What would you do, if you were me?” she whispered. “I ask you as a friend.”
“I would go forward. I would never look back.”
30
Brewing Chaos
Stefan kicked the bundle of straw down the hall, pretending it was a ball and that he was preparing to win a game he had never played before, much less defined. It barely resembled a ball at all, haphazard straw bound together with leather scraps, but he was no stranger to imagining things as he wished them to be, not as they were.
One of the Magi had rolled it together for him. He couldn’t remember her name, but she was very nice, smiling as she noted that a little boy should have toys. He happened to agree. He wanted to tell her that anything in the world could be a toy if you were inclined to think of it that way, but he didn’t know how to talk to adults who were not his mother. So he’d grinned in delight and accepted her handcrafted gift with gratitude.
“Careful, young one,” a Magi said as Stefan nearly ran smack into him. They were always patting him on the head, or tongue-clicking at him. They weren’t mean to him, but he could tell that they were not used to someone his size at the Sepulchre. He asked his mother if he should be a better boy, and she answered that he could be more mindful, of course, everyone could, but that he was already the best boy and there was no room for improvement there.
He felt better after that, and more confidently kicked the ball down the hallway, which was so long he was afraid t
o find himself on the other end. He was better at dodging the tall people in their silver cloaks now, too, and it seemed they’d stopped realizing he was even there! Mother would say they’d grown used to him, but Stefan knew he’d just become a better boy after all.
The ball rolled toward the top of the stairs. He gasped inwardly, willing the ball backward through space. For a moment it looked as if his unseen magic might work, and then it teetered over the stone, making soft crunches as it bounced down to the floor below.
Stefan twisted his lips, running his teeth over them. This was a dilemma. He was not supposed to leave this floor. His mother made him promise, and Wyat, too. He liked Wyat, because Wyat would play with him, but he hadn’t been around lately to play. He was off on a quest, Stefan’s mother said, which sounded very exciting, but at the moment, unhelpful. If Wyat were here, he’d know what to do about the ball.
Stefan looked down both ends of the hall. He was alone, for now. No one to see him disobey his mother. But her words lived in him nonetheless. You must behave even when no one is looking, for that is when it most counts.
He groaned, then stopped himself when it started to sound too much like he was crying. No matter what he did about this ball, he would not cry about it. He was not a baby.
Stefan decided to go for it. He was, after all, only going to grab the ball and run back up the stairs. There was no trouble in that.
He darted toward the staircase, spiraling down. His mother complained that the Sepulchre was nothing but stairs, but Stefan thought she might like them better if she was allowed to play on them. They were almost magic themselves, the way you could see no more than several steps ahead and had to just believe that there would be more stairs with each corner you rounded.
Aha! He spotted the ball lingering on the third step from the bottom. Sucking an inward sigh of relief, Stefan gingerly moved down the remaining steps and reached for it. If it had rolled out and into the hall, he might have been spotted. The Guardians were on his side today.
Stefan paused when he heard voices. He recognized one of them, as it came from one of the few people he’d talked to more than once here. The Head Magus. It was then that Stefan remembered what his mother had said about the floor beneath theirs. I am told this is where the elders reside, their private quarters. You must never disturb them, Son. It is no place for either of us.
He began to reach for the ball, slowly, but he saw his shadow looming into the stone hall when he moved forward. He jumped back. “Mother’s blood,” he whispered, using the phrase his mother employed when she was frustrated.
“We cannot afford a war at our doorstep. You know this,” the one whose voice was unfamiliar to Stefan said. He sounded like what Stefan imagined a bear would sound like.
“Nor can we break our sacred vows, Elder Thorsen. Once we are possessed of a truth, it is ours to keep, not to spread,” said the Head Magus. I should not need to remind you of this.”
“What are vows if we are no more?” asked The Bear.
“You speak in the riddles of a philosopher, not the practicality of a leader,” the Head Magus snapped. “And this is not suitable conversation for a hallway. Shall I even ask you how you came in possession of such information when it was only I who knew it? Knew of them?”
“Tymagen. Come on. You are new to your rank, but even you know we cannot keep the child of a fugitive prince here forever.”
“Nor will we.”
“The Rhiagains will know. Soon. If they do not already.”
“A secret that I should trust you to keep, not spread.”
“You know I will not. Have not. But it is known just the same. What will we do when the Rhiagains send their guards here?”
“We shall tell them we do no more than honor our laws of sanctuary. We did not invite this. It landed upon our doorstep, as is the way for all those seeking sanctuary. These laws are inviolate, even to them.”
The Bear laughed. “You think they will care?”
“They have respected our way for hundreds of years. They do not want a war with us, either. Especially one we will not fight with swords.”
The Bear dropped his voice. “Spread the word. Draw their eye away, to where it belongs. To the prince.”
“I will not.”
“Then I will.”
“No!” the Head Magus yelled. The sound echoed off the stone, and Stefan nearly fell back. He was breathing so hard now that he was sure they would hear him, but they didn’t. He wanted to leave, but he couldn’t without the ball. If he didn’t retrieve it, they’d know what he’d done. He had no choice but to wait.
“Where is your loyalty, Tymagen? To a crown or to us?”
“I cannot be loyal to us without being loyal to who we are, Thorsen. As an elder, I would expect you to know this, and to see this truth honored, not reviled. If we violate the trust of ones who have come to us in the vulnerability in sanctuary, then we are no better than the Reliquary, swaying to the wind of convenience and expediency. I will not. And if you do, I’ll see you excommunicated.”
The Bear gasped. “You are choosing outsiders over your own elders, Tymagen. You will live to regret it.”
“I will live safe in my conscience,” the Head Magus answered. “And in knowing that this is why some of us are meant to lead and others are not.”
Angry footsteps sounded next, and they slowly disappeared down the hall. The Bear lingered a moment until he, too, stormed away, moving in the opposite direction. He passed the stairs but didn’t notice Stefan cowering in the shadows. Stefan exhaled his relief.
Quickly, he grabbed the ball and raced back up the stairs. When he reached the top, he again checked to ensure he was alone, and then returned to kicking the ball. This time, more carefully. More mindfully, as his mother would say.
But now, his heart wasn’t in it anymore. He didn’t understand the strange exchange between the Head Magus and The Bear, but it troubled him just the same. It left a dark feeling in his belly that took all the fun out of whatever playtime remained to him before supper.
Suddenly, he knew why he felt so afraid. He had no choice but to tell his mother what he had heard, but to do so, he would also reveal that he’d gone to the forbidden floor.
Stefan picked up his ball. He felt like crying, for reasons he didn’t understand. But he knew he was done playing for the day. He had to find the courage to confess to his mother what he’d done, so he could tell her what he’d heard.
Maybe tomorrow he’d feel like playing again.
* * *
“Tell me why your womb has not quickened with my son,” Eoghan demanded. “Are you burdened by the thought of your father in my prison? Has that interfered with your fertility?”
Assana was frustrated, but not by this. “No, Your Grace. He belongs in prison.”
Eoghan almost smiled. “Yes, he does. I’ve given it some thought, and I think I may let him die there. What do you think?”
“I think there are worse fates for a man like my father.”
“And the Easterlands? What would they say?”
“Some men follow other men because they are called by inspiration. Others follow for fear of losing their heads. He has perhaps one or two who are driven by the former motivation. As for the latter...”
“I will put your uncle on his seat,” Eoghan said with a pleased look. He seemed to be admiring his own ideas as he paused. “I hear they love him.”
“My uncle Corin is loved. But the people will expect my brother, Cian, as he is next according to tradition.”
Eoghan’s grin faded. “You are suggesting I chose wrong?”
Assana shook her head. The king’s ever-shifting moods were exhausting. He was exhausting. Even watching him try to move his frail body left hers laden by an invisible weight. “Only sharing with you my own knowledge of my homeland, Your Grace.”
“Hmm,” Eoghan grunted. “If not your father, then what? Do I not fuck you enough?”
If Assana had been attracted to him in th
e slightest, this comment would have elicited a flush in her cheeks. A boy she’d once believed she’d marry had used this word with her, not so long ago, and it had been all she could do not to tell him about the burning between her legs at his frivolity with her. With Eoghan, the words produced a dire need for her to control the bile forming in the back of her throat.
“I don’t know why I have disappointed you in this, Your Grace,” Assana replied, affecting her best version of humility. “If my mother were here, I believe she would have counsel for me on the matter that may prove useful.”
“Your mother?” Eoghan looked directly at her for the first time. His sad eyes focused only on her. “Do you miss her?”
Assana looked down and nodded. She did miss her mother. No one had known the limits of Aiden’s cruelty as Maeryn had, but it had not slowed her from her duties to her children. Assana’s anger at Eavan for thrusting her into this world hadn’t waned, but her acceptance of her circumstances had leveled out. With that had come the realization of all she missed at home, and that was true of nothing or no one more than her mother.
Eoghan rolled his head to the side, still watching her. “I could send for her. Would you like that?”
Assana brightened as she looked up again. “You would do that for me?”
He shrugged. “Not for you. For me. Oldwin will arrive in a moment to either lie to me or tell me there is chaos brewing in the kingdom. There will be no relief from that until I have an heir.” When Assana clapped her hands over her mouth to hide the beaming smile, Eoghan sighed. “Go on, then. Leave me.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. Your kindness humbles me,” she said as she bowed, backing away.
“Yes, yes.” Eoghan waved his hand. “Oh, there is one more thing. Your mother. Has she any younger children?”
“Your Grace?”
“Little ones! Of the age that still consume her milk.”
Assana shook her head. She tried to look confused by the question, though she understood it quite well. All of Duncarrow seemed to know about his strange proclivity. “No, Your Grace. My youngest brother is twelve. And she never nursed her own children. My father wouldn’t allow it."
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