Wraith King

by Argyle, Amber

  “Well done.” The boy grew under her praise. “Don’t go anywhere. I’m going to need your help today.”

  He nodded vigorously. She took the packet and hurried back inside her chambers. Letters from Garrot, Gendrin, Aaryn, Magalia, and a dozen other people. She set them on Denan’s nightstand and went to the bathroom. She came out with a wet rag that she laid on Denan’s forehead.

  “Oversleeping, are we?” She forced her tone to be light instead of worried.

  Denan shifted under her ministrations as if struggling to wake. She reached out and kissed the top of his head.

  “Save those for later,” he said in a rough voice.

  Her lips curved into a smile. “One of the pages, Farwin, found Nesha.” Denan finally opened overbright eyes. He made to swing out of the bed. She didn’t move, effectively blocking him. “You’ve been working too hard. You need to rest.”

  His gaze searched hers. “I can’t let you face Garrot alone. Not after what he’s done to you.”

  She’d been so worried about her husband that she’d forgotten all about Garrot. As they always did, the memories assaulted her. She flared her sigils, grounding herself in the painful buzzing, in her strength.

  “He doesn’t frighten me. Not anymore.” It was a relief to realize she meant it. “Besides, your father will be with me.”

  Denan studied her as if trying to assess her truthfulness. “You’re sure?”

  “Save your strength for the funeral tomorrow. Gendrin and your mother can handle searching the populace. Let Mytin and I handle the druids and Nesha.”

  Frowning, he stared at his hands. “You’ll take Tam with you?”

  “He hasn’t come in this morning—Alorica is still fevering. I’ll take West and Atara instead.”

  Denan clearly wasn’t happy, but he didn’t argue. “You’ll send me updates if you find any ardents?”

  Knowing she had him, Larkin stifled a sigh of relief. “If you promise to let me send in a healer.”

  He shivered and pulled the blankets higher. “Fine. But we still need to come up with a plan for you to get a message to your sister.”

  The new butler asked for admittance. Larkin noted the red scab on his arm with relief as he set breakfast on Denan’s nightstand. After he left, Larkin mulled over how to reach Nesha.

  She poured Denan a cup of feverfew tea. “Farwin found her room. He could sneak something to her.”

  “Failing that, we could bribe someone.”

  Oh, she liked that idea. “West might know someone willing to take some gold in exchange for delivering a message.” After all, he’d worked with them for years. She tested the tea with her upper lip. Too hot. She blew across the surface. “And if she wants to leave with us?”

  He studied her. “I studied the law on the subject. They aren’t married, she is not his heartsong, and her child isn’t his. He has no legal claim on her.”

  That was all she needed to hear.

  “But I don’t need another incident to rile up the druids and my council. Keep it quiet.”

  She nodded.

  Denan was silent a moment. “I want you to take some gilgad venom—just in case.”

  Someone pricked with a dart dipped in gilgad venom would be paralyzed within a minute. It was how Denan had almost captured her the first time—almost because she’d repaid the favor.

  Denan’s gaze shifted to worry. “But what if you’re caught?”

  She tested the tea again. Still too hot, but better. She handed it to him. He took an obedient sip and tried to hide the trembling in his hands.

  Trying not to let her worry show, she busied herself eating her breakfast. “You said yourself that Garrot knows which lines to cross when. Do you really think he’d risk harm to the Alamant’s queen?” No matter how much of the populace disapproved of her.

  Denan was silent as he considered every outcome, every option. Finally, he nodded. “At worst, he would use you to try to gain some leverage, but he’s surrounded, so I still have the upper hand. Send one of my pages to purchase the venom and darts.”

  “You don’t keep it on hand anymore?” she teased. “What if I escape?”

  He chuckled softly. “I’d come for you.”

  “Always.” She finished the last of her food and settled his breakfast on his lap. “Try to eat something.”

  She sent Farwin to purchase venom and darts and meet them at the academy. She took a quick shower, dressed in her full armor, tucked the druid ledger into a satchel, and swung it over her shoulder.

  “Apparently, there are people sick all over the Alamant.” Denan lifted one of the letters. “Mother said twenty-three were too ill to show up for duty. Gendrin had thirty-three. Three of them are bad enough to be in the healing tree.”

  “We can’t afford a plague in the middle of the war,” Larkin said.

  “I’ll write Magalia. See if we can quarantine the sick at the healing tree.”

  That would give him something to occupy his time while she was gone. She kissed his forehead and headed for the doorpane.

  “Larkin,” he called after her.

  She turned back to him.

  “You’re a queen. Remember it.”

  She lifted her head high and nodded. West and Atara waited outside. It would be dawn soon. And judging by the cloudless sky, hot. Light, she missed afternoon swims.

  “No sign of Tam?” she asked.

  West eyed her armor in approval. “I’m going with you.”

  “I’m counting on it.” She started down a level.

  “The bridges will be faster,” Atara said, clearly thinking Larkin was heading to the docks.

  “I need to check on my sister.” Larkin relayed their plan for the druids as they went.

  Atara and West waited outside while Larkin slipped past the guards and into Mama’s room. Brenna slept in her crib. Mama was nowhere to be seen.

  Larkin sat beside Sela, whose forehead didn’t seem as hot. “How are you today?”

  Sela opened her eyes. “You’ve seen it, haven’t you?”

  “Seen what, Sela?” Larkin tried to smooth out her sister’s matted hair. It would be painful to brush out. The old Sela would have run screaming and hid somewhere by the river. The new Sela would endure the yanks and tugs without a word—as if she couldn’t even feel it.

  “The weaves.”

  Larkin’s mouth fell open. “How do you know about that?”

  “They’re the shape of music. The language of it.” Sela tugged Larkin’s amulet out from her tunic and rubbed the edge of her thumb against the sharp branch. “The White Tree wants you to practice the weaves.”

  Did the White Tree know how exhausted Larkin was? How desperate for sleep? Larkin rubbed at the headache she could feel forming across her brow. “We have a year.”

  “Less now that I’ve used up so much magic.”

  “How long?”

  “Maybe nine months.”

  Nine months until the source of their magic winked out. Nine months to prepare. Feeling completely overwhelmed, Larkin breathed out. She put her worry and fear into a chest like Denan had taught her and locked it up tight. She’d deal with it later.

  Right now, she had the druids to deal with. “After all this mess with the assassins is over, I’ll practice every day. All right?”

  Sela nodded.

  The butler entered with a breakfast tray.

  “Stay with her until my mother returns.”

  Nodding, the man handed Larkin a wrapped parcel. “Your lunch, Majesty.”

  Larkin tucked it into her pocket. “Thank you.”

  The man nodded.

  Larkin stepped back out to her waiting guards and glanced at the sky, blue overtaking the gray. “We’re going to have to hurry.”

  Enchanter Academy

  Twenty minutes later, Larkin, Atara, West, and a handful of pages left the main bridge for the smaller one that led to the Enchanter Academy. The hundred enchantresses Aaryn had sent parted to let them through. Above, th
e Enchanter Academy came into full view. Larkin had been here a couple times to see Wyn, Denan’s younger brother, before all the boys were sent home to make room for the druids.

  Three colonnades formed a triad, with three massive trees at the ends. Facing them was the point of the triad, the Hall of Ivy, where the students were taught. The tree on the back left was the Hall of Althea and served as the barracks and dining hall, with the kitchens on the lowest levels, the smell of beans and baking bread rising like heartburn.

  The last tree on the back right was called the Hall of Thorns. It had a large practice area on the main floor and sleeping chambers on the upper levels. It was also the tree most likely to hold Larkin’s sister, though they hadn’t been able to spot her before Farwin.

  Below was a lake garden, where boys usually tended their lake greens. Now, it stood empty, the leaves waving forlornly with the current.

  This was where the Alamant trained her sons to become soldiers in a never-ending war. To become men who would someday steal their wives. Men who would do what they must to protect their people.

  Larkin, Atara, and West passed through the last of the enchantresses, who snapped back into formation. Caelia stood at their head. The woman hadn’t even come to the embedding ceremony to avoid confronting Garrot. Larkin could only think of one reason she’d be here.

  “I know you want justice for Bane,” Larkin said. “Believe me, I know.”

  Caelia gave a hard, brittle smile. “I’m not going to kill him. Just make sure he can’t hurt anyone else.”

  Larkin studied the woman, trying to decide if she believed her or not. She didn’t seem murderous. But then, who did? “I mean to rescue my sister from him. Killing him will make that hard.”

  “Nesha was only a few years younger than me; she was always tagging along with me and Atara, much to our chagrin.” Caelia’s gaze was distant, troubles. “I won’t risk her.”

  Larkin gave a curt nod.

  Mytin strode out of the Hall of Ivy’s rotunda to meet them, a pair of guards trailing a step behind. Her father-in-law wore his mantle of office, the heavy jewels dangling, and bore a staff—a simple, gnarled branch taken from the tree.

  Farwin trotted ahead of the Arbor, the boy practically bouncing on his heels in excitement. Maybe bringing him wasn’t such a good idea—he wasn’t nearly as nervous as he should be—but it wasn’t as if she had a choice.

  He stopped before her and opened his light jacket, revealing a hollow tube and blow dart.

  Larkin pushed the boy’s jacket shut before the druids noticed.

  Caelia raised a brow. “For Garrot?”

  “For whoever stands between me and my sister,” Larkin said.

  Caelia grunted. “Do me a favor. If you do hit Garrot, don’t give him the antidote.”

  Larkin eyed her. “You’re sure you can handle this? I won’t judge you if you can’t. I almost lost control the first time I saw him again.”

  Caelia ground her teeth. “How do you stand it?”

  “Don’t think of it as needing him,” Larkin said. “Think of it as using him.”

  Caelia frowned.

  “Can you do it or not?” Larkin asked.

  “I can do it,” Caelia said.

  Mytin rested a hand on Larkin’s shoulder in greeting. “Where’s Denan?”

  “He’s fevering.”

  Mytin frowned. “Poor timing, but then, sickness always is.” He shot meaningful glances at her guards. “Atara and West, be alert.”

  West certainly doesn’t need the encouragement, Larkin thought.

  Mytin gestured to his own guards, an enchanter and an enchantress. “Devon and Jenly.”

  Nodding in greeting, Larkin handed Mytin the satchel. “It’s the druid manifest.” He was a much faster reader, and besides, she had a sister to rescue.

  Nodding, Mytin settled the satchel over his neck.

  Larkin pulled Farwin aside. “You understand that this is dangerous?”

  His eyes widened. “Yes, Majesty.” She didn’t quite believe him. He withered under her scrutiny. “I promise to be careful, Majesty.”

  “Which tree is she in?” Larkin asked. He gestured to the Hall of Thorns on the back right. “Don’t say a word to anyone about the darts. Keep them out of sight and wait until I call for you.” She pushed him toward the pages behind her.

  The boy opened his mouth as if to argue before remembering himself. Head hanging, he joined the others.

  “We need to test the men in the Hall of Thorns,” Larkin said.

  “Easily done,” Caelia said.

  Larkin turned to Mytin. “Denan told you about Nesha?” He nodded. “If a fight breaks out, your priority is to get out. Garrot doesn’t need both of us as hostages.”

  Mytin frowned, but he knew he wasn’t much of a warrior. “All right.”

  The guards spread out around them as Caelia, Larkin, and Mytin strode past the Alamantians stationed at the outer archway. They entered the rotunda. Larkin’s light-blinded eyes were slow to adjust to the dimness.

  Above, the pattern of the beams reminded her of a spiderweb. Below her feet was a seven-pointed star in shades of gray and black. The arched windows were bare of either glass or panes. Lacking any decor and robbed of light, the atmosphere was austere, unwelcoming.

  Larkin imagined Denan crossing this space as a young boy. Was he frightened? Excited? Both? Well could she imagine such a place producing a man as undaunted as her husband.

  The three of them stopped before two stern druids guarding the hazy doorpane. She could only make out vague shapes moving on the other side, but she knew from experience that beyond, colonnades veered to the right and left.

  Larkin was grateful for the presence of their guards around them, as well as Mytin and Caelia beside her.

  “We’re here to see Master Garrot,” Mytin called.

  Garrot’s second-in-command, Met, stepped through the doorpane; he’d clearly been waiting for them. He was young and handsome, but for his constant sour expression. He’d wanted to beat her after Garrot had murdered her grandfather. West had stopped him.

  Met’s gaze met hers. She didn’t look away. Didn’t balk from the simmering rage in his eyes. Beside her, Caelia subtly shifted her weight to the balls of her feet.

  Larkin hoped the woman didn’t do something stupid. “After all his letters, I thought Garrot was eager to speak with us. Perhaps I was wrong.”

  Met gestured to the hundred enchantresses behind her. “Why them?”

  “‘Why them, Majesty,’” Caelia corrected.

  Met glared at Caelia, who met his gaze without flinching. He lowered into a mocking bow. “My apologies, Majesty. Would you like to give a reason for this . . . visit?”

  “I would not,” Larkin said.

  Garrot walked through the doorpane. She hadn’t thought it possible for him to look worse than the last time she saw him. She’d been wrong. He’d aged ten years since she’d seen him last. He’d gone from thin to skeletal, his skin sallow and sagging. Despite the heat, he wore a cloak drawn close about his shoulders, and he was slightly breathless, as if he’d come at a run.

  He was obviously ill. The same illness Denan had? The druids had probably brought it to the Alamant. She never should have made this foolish bargain. The druids couldn’t be trusted, not even to keep their sickness to themselves.

  Larkin felt an all-consuming rage. If he’d done something to Nesha or her baby, Larkin would kill him.

  “Garrot—” Met began, concern clear on his face.

  Garrot held out a hand.

  “You’re sick as well?” Mytin asked.

  Garrot raised a brow. “As well?”

  Larkin wanted to kick her father-in-law. Garrot didn’t need to know Denan was also sick. “There are quite a few people ailing,” she said quickly.

  Garrot grunted. “Majesty, Arbor.” He nodded to a greeting each of them, the cravat covering his blight firmly in place over his neck. He looked expectantly at Caelia.

 
; “Unit Commander Caelia,” she responded, her demeanor and voice betraying nothing of the turmoil she must be feeling.

  He nodded to her as well. “I assume this is about all the letters your king has ignored.”

  Larkin could flare her magic and lunge, her blade slicing through his neck faster than he could scream. But she’d promised Denan she wouldn’t. Instead of answering, she let out a long breath.

  Mytin shot her a sideways look. “We’ve spent the last few days testing our leaders, military, and constables for ardents. Today, we begin with the populace, starting from the top down. Will you submit yourself and your people to be tested?”

  Garrot folded his hands behind him. “Tested how?”

  Caelia pulled up her sleeve to reveal a scratch just above her wedding sigils. “If your blood runs red, you are clean. Black and you die.”

  She sounded a little too eager. Larkin tried to catch the woman’s gaze, but Caelia didn’t look away from Garrot.

  Garrot looked between the two women. “Why has your king sent his wife and father to tell me this instead of coming himself?”

  That was none of Garrot’s business. She ignored the question. “I have other tasks requiring my attention. Will you submit or not?”

  He studied her. “We were promised magic. You have yet to deliver. I see no reason to submit until you do.”

  “I will not risk giving ardents magic,” Mytin said. “Only the men who pass the test will receive thorns.”

  “When?” Garrot asked.

  “Two days.” Mytin’s gaze narrowed. “After the king’s funeral. Taking thorns before then would be highly disrespectful.”

  Garrot considered them. “I will test my men myself. If we find any ardents, we’ll inform you immediately.”

  “You don’t know who to trust,” Mytin said.

  “My enchantresses have all tested clean,” Caelia said. “We will guard your men in the Hall of Althea’s dining hall. One at a time, they will be taken across the bridge to the Hall of Thorns’s training hall. We will encircle the man to be tested in a shield wall, and they’ll cut their own arms.”

  Garrot’s eyebrows were halfway up his forehead. “I politely decline.”

  Larkin gave a humorless laugh. “You misunderstand, Garrot. We will test your men or escort you from the Alamant. You choose.”