The Blood of Kings

by Kyle Alexander Romines

  Berengar shrugged. “It’s been a while since I was at court. I spend most of my time on the road. In truth, the castle here is probably more impressive.”

  Elaine seemed disappointed by the answer.

  “I’m looking into the king’s murder.” Berengar noted that at the mention of Mór, Elaine’s bottom lip seemed to quiver. “Laird O’Reilly said you might have some useful information for me. He mentioned you were one of Queen Alannah’s ladies in waiting.”

  “I was more than that,” she said with obvious bitterness. “Once.”

  Berengar wasn’t sure he understood her meaning. “In your time at court, did you notice anything that troubled you?”

  Elaine nodded. “Despite appearances to the contrary, the royal marriage was not a happy one. The king and queen were fighting more and more as time went on. Then there was the gossip about Alannah and Ronan. I even heard a rumor that Alannah left her chambers the night of Mór’s death, though by then I had been banished from court.”

  Berengar frowned, already uneasy about the nature of the relationship between Alannah and her thane. “You were close to the queen. Was there any truth to the rumors?”

  “Ronan loves her, that much was clear. A woman always knows these things,” she added before he could interject. “A fleeting glance here, a light touch there…”

  “And did the queen reciprocate his feelings?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know the answer to that. If she did, she would have been careful to conceal the truth from Mór. A secret like that could have cost her dearly.”

  “You mentioned you were banished from court. Why?”

  She sighed wistfully. “Alannah was too old to produce more children, and the king desired another male heir. Mór was going to set his wife aside and take a new queen.”

  Berengar realized the truth had been staring him in the face all along. Elaine was one of Mór’s mistresses. “And he told you it was going to be you.”

  “We were in love. When she discovered us, Queen Alannah exposed the affair, and I was asked to leave court. She ruined my life. Because of the scandal, I was disowned and disinherited by my family. My father permits me to retain one of the household servants and provides me with a meager allowance each month, but there is no chance any man of worth will have me for his wife. I might still become some wealthy merchant’s mistress, but no more than that.”

  Elaine’s words cast everything he knew about Alannah and Ronan in a new light. There was a history between them; he had learned that much from Ronan himself. Berengar wondered what it must have been like for Alannah—or for Ronan, who loved her—to suffer the indignity of Mór’s endless parade of mistresses. He doubted Mór ever really intended to make Elaine queen, but if the king was planning to put Alannah aside, she would have had motivation to kill him.

  These are dangerous accusations, he mused. I must tread carefully. Even if he discovered that the queen arranged her husband’s murder, he could not act without the High Queen’s permission. It was unlikely Alannah would allow him to leave Cashel with his life if he learned a truth that could end her reign. Then there was Ronan. Were the two working together, or had the thane acted alone to avenge his queen’s honor and create a place for him at her side? None of those possibilities explained Gorr Stormsson’s part in the events surrounding the king’s assassination, or the veiled magical threat Agatha spoke of.

  Everything assumed he could trust Elaine, who clearly harbored a grudge against Alannah, not to mention Laird O’Reilly, who seemed to have an agenda all his own. It was O’Reilly who had spoken against Ronan, though it was notable he did so only in private. Looking around the room, Berengar questioned what Elaine might have been willing to say in return for compensation, as she was well accustomed to the trappings of finery.

  Before going on his way, he thanked Elaine and requested that she keep what she told him to herself. She had given him much to ponder. Berengar had agreed to Laird O’Reilly’s request with the hope of finding answers. Instead, he was left with more questions than before. I hope Morwen has had better luck.

  Upon his return to the castle, he made the climb up the tower’s winding stair until at last he reached the magician’s quarters. Again the door opened of its own accord when he knocked on it, and Berengar briefly wondered if the charm she’d placed on it had a way of distinguishing friendly visitors from unwelcome guests. The scent of musty parchment had replaced the smell of sulfur from Morwen’s distillation apparatus, which had been removed from her alchemy workbench. On the whole, the chamber was even more of a mess than he recalled, with vials, spell books, and strange contraptions scattered about the room in no discernable pattern.

  “Keep away from that,” he muttered when Faolán sniffed a blue powder in an open container. Morwen might not have the ill intent of the witches they’d encountered, but that didn’t make her possessions any less dangerous. The last thing he needed was Faolán turning into a mouse or sprouting antlers.

  His battleaxe lay beside a stack of spell books atop an enchanter’s table. Berengar stared down at a page of an open book. Though unreadable to him, the text appeared to be a set of incantations. There were also accompanying illustrations of several weapons, including a sword, a dagger, and an axe. He returned his focus to the axe and noticed that the silver runestone she’d given him had been set permanently in place. When he gripped the weapon, a series of blue, green, and yellow symbols appeared, running the length of the haft. The charms quickly faded, leaving the axe looking exactly as it had before he left it in Morwen’s custody. He shifted the axe from hand to hand to get a feel for it and realized the magician was watching him.

  She used her staff to move about the room. “Do you like it?” Morwen popped the lid from a bottle and choked down the clear liquid within before making a sour face. “Dreadful stuff, although at least I won’t have to walk with this awful limp the rest of my life.” She placed the empty bottle beside others of its kind in a cupboard and crossed the room to join him. “Anyway, what do you think of the axe? There was only room for three enchantments. I used a charm of endurance, which will keep your axe from breaking, and a charm of resilience, which will keep it sharp so that you won’t need to get it repaired or replaced.”

  “You mentioned a third charm.”

  “The last enchantment was the most difficult to manage,” she said with considerable pride. “It’s a spell of sanctity. Your axe will repel creatures of evil. It can even draw on the magical energy the rune absorbs to do increased damage to your foes.”

  Berengar stared at the axe in awe.

  “Well, don’t just stand there. What do you think? I could alter the enchantments if you like.”

  Berengar shook his head and returned the axe to its harness. “It’s perfect.” The axe was his weapon of choice and had seen him through many battles. Now it was even more formidable than ever, and its legend would continue to grow. “How can I repay you for such a gift?”

  Morwen grinned. “Wait until you try it out first. Casting enchantments is more difficult than alchemy, but I think I managed well enough.” She hobbled across the laboratory and settled at her desk, surrounded by a sea of papers and scrolls. “I heard there was some excitement in the throne room earlier.”

  He briefly recounted all that took place after the messenger’s appearance, along with how Ronan had flown into a fury when it was discovered the Dane had disguised himself in order to slip past the guards. Berengar felt it was unlikely the messenger managed such a feat on his own and wondered if Gorr Stormsson’s accomplice at court had assisted with the task. In the aftermath, Corrin promised to tighten security even further—there was even talk of restricting access to court to all but the most powerful and wealthy lords—but the risk remained all too real. If Stormsson could smuggle a man into Cashel, what else might he be capable of?

  Morwen appeared particularly uncomfortable when he told her what he had learned from Lady Elaine. He could tell she didn’t want to believe the
worst of either Queen Alannah or Ronan. She also implied Elaine wasn’t particularly trustworthy, recalling the disgraced noblewoman as a silly girl from her days as a lady in waiting. Berengar wasn’t convinced. He still needed to know more.

  “Were you able to learn anything of use from the inquest records?” he asked once he’d told her all he knew.

  “I think so.” She shifted through a heap of papers. “Most of the information comes from Ravenna’s account. There is little information about the crone herself—mostly stories and conjecture. No one in the kingdom knows where she came from, or even her name.”

  “I’m aware of the rumors that the crone placed a curse on the king’s house. Some even believe the curse has been responsible for all the hardships suffered by the royal family over the years.” He thought again of Ravenna and all she’d endured.

  Morwen shook her head. “According to these records, most of the heroes and mercenaries who fell to the crone were sent by the crown after Aiden’s death. I found nothing to suggest a reason for animosity between the crone and any member of the royal house before that. If there was a cause, it’s been stricken from all records.” She showed him another set of reports. “King Mór even consulted with a seer from Albion who told him though it was possible such a curse existed, she did not sense it.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that earlier?”

  “The king never informed me he’d consulted a seer. It was done in secret.”

  Berengar recounted the story as told by Ravenna, which was confirmed by the reports. Prince Aiden had ridden in secret from Cashel with the intention of slaying the crone, his sister in tow. When his horse became frightened, it threw him, and he died after striking his head on a rock.

  “It still doesn’t make sense,” Morwen said. “It’s always bothered me that the prince just decided one day he was going to slay the crone, all by his lonesome. Even Prince Aiden wasn’t foolhardy enough to take such a risk or bring his sister into harm’s way.”

  “Perhaps the crone drew them to her with a spell. In one stroke she could have eliminated both the king’s heirs.”

  “Perhaps.” Morwen appeared unconvinced.

  “Did you find anything that might link the crone to Gorr Stormsson or the déisi?”

  “I’m afraid not. The crone shuns all others. She’s not like the coven we countered. It’s a shame Agatha was less than forthcoming with us. The witches might have been able to provide more information, but they took their secrets to the grave.”

  “Even so, the threat of magic remains,” Berengar muttered. If Agatha was to be believed, there was another magic user in Munster. With the Witches of the Golden Vale unable to help, there was only one place he could go for answers.

  “You’ve got that look in your eye,” Morwen said, frowning. “The one you get when you’re about to do something dangerous.”

  He nodded. What were the wardens for, if not to do what others could not, to venture where they would not?

  “I’m going to the Devil’s Bit to find the crone. I’ll get the truth from her, one way or another.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  There was another attack in the night. A group of hooded assailants in masks seized a widow from her home after dark and burned her at the stake. The murdered woman was a reclusive seamstress from an impoverished district. During a dispute earlier that day, one of her neighbors had accused her of being a shape shifter, though Berengar thought it unlikely—rather than suffering the flames, an actual shape shifter would have taken another form to escape. The confederates fled before the guards on patrol arrived to find the poor woman’s remains.

  The crime was simply the latest example of the widespread anti-nonhuman sentiment that had gripped Cashel since the king’s death. In the aftermath, the queen and her counselors—including Morwen—gathered in the throne room to discuss what to do. No sooner had Berengar arrived than the guards dragged a man into the chamber, along with evidence he had participated in the attack. Instead of denying his crime, the man actually seemed proud of it, believing he was acting to defend Munster’s people from the monsters at their door.

  “What should be done with him, Your Grace?” Corrin asked when the man refused to name his confederates.

  Berengar only watched. If it were up to him, they’d take the man’s head then and there and be done with it.

  One of the Rí Tuaithe suggested the queen show leniency, which drew a sharp rebuke from Ravenna.

  “He killed a defenseless woman for no other crime than he thought she was different. I believe the penalty for murder is clear. He should pay for the crime with his life. Or do you believe the lives of peasants and nonhumans are worth less than your own?”

  “I would counsel restraint, Your Grace,” Laird O’Reilly told the queen. “Public sentiment is on this man’s side. If the crown orders his execution, it could provoke more uprisings in the future.”

  Ravenna appeared to find it incredible that the queen would even entertain such a proposal. “We cannot stand by and watch as magical blood is shed.” She looked to Morwen for support. “As court magician, surely you agree with me, Lady Morwen. He must be punished.”

  Morwen averted her gaze uncomfortably and did not answer. Berengar suspected she could not bring herself to condemn anyone to death, no matter what they had done.

  Alannah kept her gaze on the prisoner. “And he shall be. Henceforth you are banished from the realm of Munster under penalty of death. Your assets are forfeit and are now property of the crown. Now remove this man from my sight.” She sank back on her throne when he was gone. “Marcus is right. We can’t risk turning the people against us, not with Gorr Stormsson in open rebellion.”

  “A wise decision, Your Grace,” O’Reilly said. “Though I fear there will be more of these unfortunate incidents in the days to come. The king’s assassination has thrown the people into a panic. Even the church has decried these atrocities to no effect. Half the city believes magic and monsters lurk around every corner. Just this morning one of my servants encountered a man who claimed a strange woman attempted to drink his blood after nightfall.”

  Berengar stepped forward. “I’ve heard enough. It’s clear this isn’t going to end as long as there’s suspicion that magic was involved in the king’s death.”

  The warden announced his intention to seek out the crone that dwelled in the Devil’s Bit, followed by an audible gasp from several of the lords of Munster. Even the normally stoic Alannah appeared shaken, the memory of her dead son likely weighing on her mind.

  “This is madness,” O’Reilly said. “No one has ever survived an encounter with the crone.”

  “Then I’ll be the first.”

  “Take me with you,” Morwen said. “You’ll need my help.”

  “No,” he replied firmly, as he had when she brought up the subject when he first shared his plans with her. “You’re still on the mend. You’d only put yourself in danger, and me in the process.”

  She folded her arms across her chest, and her eyes narrowed at him in irritation. “You saw how you fared against those witches on your own. What makes you think this time will be any different?” She knelt before the throne. “Send me to accompany the warden, Your Grace.”

  “She’s right,” Ravenna agreed. “Warden Berengar should not go alone.”

  “Then I will go,” Ronan volunteered. “The warden and I are more than capable of leading the hunt for the crone. You are needed here, Lady Morwen. If there is treachery afoot, you will sense it.”

  “I agree,” Berengar said, secretly pleased. This was exactly the reaction he’d been hoping for. Hunting for the crone together would give him the chance to get to know the kind of man Ronan really was. They’d be on the road for hours, an ideal situation for questioning an unwitting suspect. Moreover, outside the castle walls, they would be beyond Alannah’s reach.

  “It’s settled, then,” Ronan declared. “I’ll assemble a force of my best soldiers and we will set off at once—that is,
with your leave, Your Grace.”

  Alannah nodded somewhat reluctantly, giving her assent. “Very well, my thane. I trust you know what you’re doing.”

  Ronan bowed. “Together we will avenge Prince Aiden’s death and bring justice to the crone. I will make preparations for the journey.”

  Morwen rose, clearly unhappy with the queen’s decision. “You might have told me this was your plan from the start,” she muttered under her breath.

  She has courage. I’ll give her that, Berengar thought as she stalked away, still leaning against her staff for support. Morwen had only barely survived their encounter with the witches, and now she appeared ready to throw herself into harm’s way again. Still, there was a fine line between bravery and recklessness—a path Berengar had walked for a long time.

  Ravenna caught up with him just outside the throne room. “You’ve only just returned, and now you’re leaving us again?”

  “You’re not going to ask me to stay, are you?”

  “From what I know of you, there’s probably nothing anyone can do or say to dissuade you when your mind is made up. I suspect we’re alike in that. No, I came to tell you to be cautious. I have not forgotten what I witnessed at the Devil’s Bit.”

  “I’m a warden. Danger goes with the job. I’m used to it by now.”

  She stared at him hard. “Doesn’t it ever trouble you that you’re always on the road with nowhere to call home? Throwing yourself into fight after fight, facing death—perhaps even welcoming it?”

  Berengar frowned. He could handle being treated with contempt, or even revulsion. They were familiar reactions—comfortable in the way one grew accustomed to an old scar—but this… More so even than Morwen, the princess seemed to see into his very soul. He knew what he was, deep down, and he didn’t like being reminded of it.