The King's Sons (The Herezoth Trilogy)

by Grefer, Victoria

  Unlike the king, who preferred his office, Valkin used his antechamber as a personal study. His desk was strewn with papers, quills, and inkwells, and his shelves, attached to the stone walls, overflowed with books stacked one atop the other. Loose documents had fallen to the floor.

  Valkin and Neslan were sitting in chairs when Hune entered, chairs they had turned from the hearth to face the door. They beckoned Hune to a third, and he told them, “The good news first. Vane’s fine. He came as planned.”

  Neslan said, “There’s bad news?”

  “He explained why Francie Rafe missed that meeting with the Quins.” Hune related Francie’s abduction, and then the queen’s startling admission. The youngest prince could never imagine his brothers at a loss for words—Valkin was so hot-tempered, Neslan so eager to offer his opinion on any and every topic—but Hune’s update left them silent. The tension was as thick as the summer air when Hune ran out of things to say, and the three young men stared at one another, all looking some strange mixture of awkward, horrified, and angry.

  Eventually Neslan said, “By the Giver’s drum….”

  Those who praised the Giver held he rewarded his servants, his Instruments, in the afterlife and punished those who refused to open their hearts to his call for service. As such, swearing by the Giver’s “instruments” was common in Herezoth. Hune interrupted his brother.

  “Mother feels right guilty, as she should. She couldn’t even look at Father. She couldn’t meet anyone’s eye. Think what you will of what she did ten years ago, but there’s no need to speak to her of this. To chastise her. She understands the breadth of the disaster she’s caused. This one act aside, she’s in no small part responsible for Father’s successes, and she needs our support, not our judgment.”

  Neslan said, “She burned applications for the Magic Council? Every sorcerer’s application? What was she thinking to…?”

  “She acted out of love for us. Her love for you, Neslan. She couldn’t forget the sorcerers who had kidnapped us and held us for over a month. Her actions were wrong, and their result unfortunate….”

  Valkin spat, “Unfortunate? That’s all you think to call this?”

  Hune said, “This situation’s unfortunate, and more, but Mother never suspected this mess would arise. Let’s not lose sight of the true villains here; that’s all I’m proposing.”

  “All right,” said Valkin. His temper was starting to flare, which relieved Hune. Valkin in a temper was a Valkin Hune knew how to handle. That silent one…. “All right, then. Let’s focus on the true villains. According to you, Father has two options: ambush them quietly at the Hall of Sorcery, or stop them at the Partsvale guardhouse. People’s lives are at stake here. People we care about. What the hell am I supposed to tell Father when asks me how I’d handle this?”

  Hune eyes grew wide. “You think Father would ask…?”

  “I know he’ll ask. And he’ll give my words weight, so I’m asking you, what in the Giver’s name am I…?”

  Neslan began to talk, but Hune held up a hand to stop him. “I’ll speak first. I was the one at Vane’s briefing, and Valkin addressed me.” Neslan, thin-lipped, let Hune continue. “This is not the kind of decision I’m comfortable making, and I won’t tell you how to advise the crown. I will, however, talk through the points that concern me in regards to each option. The ambush at the Hall would be a perfect strategy, if we could take down all of Linstrom’s men and keep the fact silent. Unfortunately, neither of those things is likely. Vane specified that about one tenth of Linstrom’s men met at the Hall tonight, no more. Then, to think that Linstrom’s cohorts number in the hundreds…. We can’t kill two hundred men and women, each magicked, without it being noticed. Valkin, I wish we could keep news of Linstrom’s plot in the Palace. Herezoth’s peace depends on public ignorance, but that’s a dream.

  “That leaves us, then, with publicly confronting Linstrom’s assault. A different kind of ambush. We could attack in greater numbers in Partsvale. The Partsvale guard would know their battlefield, and to my mind, that’s no small advantage. While the public would see Linstrom’s ferocity, they would also see the bravery of our magicians: Vane, Zacry, Jane Trand. That’s another factor to weigh. Of course, if we allow a public battle, there’s a chance that panic would spread so quickly nothing our sorcerers do would matter.”

  Neslan said, “Father’s reign becomes unstable no matter how we confront this. Hune’s assessment is astute, Val. Attacking the Hall becomes the better option if, and only if, we keep the entire operation confidential. That’s a child’s fantasy. Suggest Father defend Partsvale.”

  Hune determined not to scowl. Typical Neslan: since Hune would not direct Valkin how to take men’s lives in his hands, he would. What right did Neslan have to speak, always, with such confidence? On matters of life and death?

  “It’s Partsvale I’ll speak for, then,” said Valkin. “Thank you. Thank you both.”

  And then there was Valkin. The oldest son would never let his father suspect the reticence he’d displayed to his brothers. He would never show that weakness, never give Hune the credit he deserved for his part in informing the crown prince’s decision. That was Hune’s place, though. He lived at Valkin’s beck and call, no matter the recognition he did or did not receive for his service. At least Valkin had thanked him.

  Neslan’s confidence, the crown’s high opinion of the heir apparent: Kansten Cason wasn’t the only one jealous of powerful siblings, Hune thought.

  What exactly do I envy, though? I’d never want to be king. Never want Father coming to me for the counsel he’s seeking from Valkin. Counsel? No, it’s not for Father’s benefit. It’s for Val’s. It’s preparation; that much is obvious. I’d never want to make those kinds of decisions. Kansten might be jealous, but me….

  Blast it, Hune couldn’t get the woman out his head. Their paths had crossed two times, in as many days. They had spoken for a grand total of less than forty minutes. Kora Porteg’s eldest daughter…. Absurd, to think she was no sorceress. Absurd that Hune found himself obsessing over what she thought of him, whether she judged him for lounging in the library while Valkin had need of him.

  Hune hadn’t explained about August. He and Ingleton’s duchess had been close since he was eight-years-old and she had formed a habit of reading his favorite books to him. He had gone to the library to see August: to let her know she was not alone, though she found herself unexpectedly deprived of Vane. Hune hadn’t gone there to piddle around while his brothers prepared to run the kingdom. Kansten, though, would think just that.

  What difference does it make what Kansten thinks? Is how she judges me going to affect Vane’s mission? Success in Partsvale? The doubt that’s plaguing Valkin?

  Valkin’s problems provided something else to think about. Hune asked his brother, “Did dinner with the Traiglanders run smoothly?”

  Neslan took it upon himself to answer. “Hardly. They drank so much wine they won’t remember a word of the speech you wrote, and that’s unfortunate. It was worth remembering, Hune.”

  “Thanks,” said the youngest prince. Neslan never lavished praise lightly.

  Valkin said, “If they won’t remember the speech, maybe their heads will be pounding too hard tomorrow to argue in those treaty sessions.”

  Neslan told him, “There’ll be no problem getting those men to agree to Father’s terms. They’re Traiglanders. Everyone knows how Traiglanders are.”

  Everyone knew, though no one at court ever voiced the appropriate terms. Weak, would be one. Cowardly. Pushovers, as Hune’s friend Rock, who worked in the stables, would describe the foreigners. Herezoth’s regular political turmoil was at least good for hardening diplomats to take a stand for the kingdom’s benefit. Traigland, through centuries of peace and prosperity, had grown soft. Malleable. Kansten, Hune realized, had noticed that about the realm of her birth. No daughter of Kora Porteg, magicless or not, who had the heart and the strength to long for Herezoth belonged in a place like
Traigland. Hune felt guilty for thinking it, but Kansten was better than Traigland. She was made for bigger places.

  I’m at it again, thinking of her. Good Giver, this is ridiculous!

  Hune returned his attention to his brothers. He asked Valkin, “Would you like me to attend those meetings with the Traiglanders?”

  “I would, actually. It would be nice to have you there. Father threw all this upon me suddenly, and….”

  “I’ll be there,” Hune assured the crown prince.

  Neslan told Valkin, “I know this turn of events was unexpected. Unwelcome, even.” Then he smiled. “You’re doing fine. I wish Hune could have seen you deliver that speech tonight.”

  “I’m sorry I had to miss it,” said Hune. He normally loathed state dinners, but would have liked to hear the speech, if nothing else. Seeing Valkin in their father’s chair at the head of the dining chamber would have been surreal. “I’ll be at the treaty talks, at least. Right now, I need to sleep.”

  “We all do,” said Neslan.

  Hune said, “I’m going to bed.” He made sure to give Valkin a supportive slap on the back on his way out the room. He hoped the crown prince would manage to rest that night. In Valkin’s place, Hune would not have slept a wink.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The Queen and the Sorceress

  When the sun rose some hours after Vane’s midnight meeting with the royals, Queen Gracia sat before a full-length, claw-footed mirror in her dressing chamber. She had not tried to sleep, had not even put on her nightdress, so she wore the same gown as the previous day. She was trying to find the strength to let her brown curls down, to brush them, but kept thinking of Francie Rafe.

  She remembered the first time she had seen Francie. Rexson had arranged a dinner for the newly appointed members of the Magic Council to meet his queen and Chief Adviser. Her first thoughts about the woman had been: this girl? This child, to undertake such an enterprise? Thus came Gracia’s first twinge of guilt for interfering with the council interviews.

  Francie could not have been twenty. She had been as young as Vane, with large eyes, though not as large as his. Being from a small village and unaccustomed to grandeur, she’d stared at everything in the dining hall with awe. Then Gracia had spoken with her, and she came to understand the king’s appointment. Francie was a quick thinker, and well read in political matters. She understood her post’s responsibilities, as well as the risk involved.

  Gracia had ruined Francie, and she feared Francie was only the first. What life could the woman have, presumed dead by all? How many more would lose their lives, not symbolically but truly? The queen knew only one thing for sure: she could never face Francie Rafe again.

  She was reflecting on her wretchedness, on how her head ached and dark circles framed her eyes, when her husband came in.

  The king had slept some hours by sheer force of will, if Gracia knew him at all. And Gracia knew him, by the Giver’s lyre. She knew he had always been fond of her, in his way. Appreciated her devotion to their children. She also knew she had lost his respect by betraying him.

  “Please,” she begged, “just go. Don’t waste your time with me. You’ve a brimming disaster to confront, and I don’t deserve your attention.”

  The king’s voice was firm. “You didn’t sleep.”

  “After what I’ve done you’re struggling not to hate me, and I can’t bear to see that in your face. In the Giver’s name, leave me to my peace!”

  He refused. The shock and the judgment in his expression, in his eyes, was too much for her, and she spat, “Don’t you dare throw this all on me! All the blame…. You know we should have killed the magicked blackguards who stole our children, and you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t listen to reason, wouldn’t listen to my counsel. You should have ordered the prison guards to take them to the woods and dispose of them. If you’d treated those maniacs as they deserved, I wouldn’t have panicked as I did. I wouldn’t have been so frightened you’d trust other sorcerers too much. You gave me cause to fear you’d appoint a dangerous man with great cunning to the Magic Council. You did. That’s why I….”

  A wooden stand near the door held a vase. Gracia had daisies that morning, two days old and beginning to wither. In response to her verbal attack, Rexson upended the piece of furniture and let the vase crash to the floor, where it broke in three large pieces and soaked his wife’s rug. The queen jumped up with a gasp.

  Rexson said, “You had no warrant to burn applications. The Giver’s bloody harp, Gracia! You should have brought those fears to me. Should have approached me.”

  “Yes, because you took my concerns so much in account when the boys were missing. You were so considerate of….”

  “I know I overlooked you then. We discussed that ten years ago, and you heard my apologies. I won’t apologize again, and I’ll tell you right now, nothing I did or didn’t do gave you reason to…. You will not name me culpable for this.”

  The queen felt her resolve breaking. She could not burst into tears before him. “Go!” she cried. “Just go, hang you!”

  “Not on your life. Not before we discuss this.”

  There would be no sending the man away, and with that realization, Gracia mastered herself. Her voice sounded quiet when she spoke; she hoped Rexson would judge her tone contrite. “I know you’re not responsible for my actions. I do. I was wrong to insinuate…. I’m not sure yet how to respond to this, but I’ll learn. I swear I will, and we’ll carry on somehow. Rexson, you really should go tend to other matters. I only need one thing, and that’s your word you’ll summon me if there’s some task for which you could use my aid.”

  “You have it, Gracia.”

  “Please, go now.”

  He glanced at the broken glass and drenched rug, at the stand on its side. “I apologize for….”

  “The vase doesn’t matter. It was no heirloom.”

  “Not for that,” he told her. “Not only for that, at least. I’m sorry I brought you into this…. Into this miserable building. Into my life here. You’re a good woman, and you’ve always deserved a better husband than I’ve proved.”

  Gracia wouldn’t permit herself to look away from him, though to watch his tormented face seared her. She couldn’t say how she found the strength to stand. She would have been mortified to find her legs buckling, but somehow, they continued to support her.

  “I should never have taken a wife. I think I’ve always known that, and tried to deny it. I didn’t want to admit that no woman in Herezoth could….”

  “Could ever earn your love? Please, don’t do this to yourself. Don’t lend any credence to my lashing. I spoke from frustration, I…. We both know you had to marry. You were the sole member of your family to survive Zalski Forzythe. Who was that man, besides a sorcerer?”

  “Lanceton’s son.”

  “The Duke of Lanceton’s son,” Gracia agreed. “And Vane’s uncle. He orphaned his own nephew to steal the crown. Well, he was far from the only ambitious noble. I watched them court his favor, Rexson. My mother tried to shelter me, but when she couldn’t find an excuse to keep me home, I watched dukes and counts flatter that murderous lout. I saw them fawn over his wife, and it destroyed my childhood illusions about the good of humanity. Zalski killed my father the same as yours. The nobles had known and loved his victims, and still they sought to advance themselves by charming that monstrous…. I promise, were you to die heirless, there’d be no shortage of people willing to force civil war to take the throne.”

  The queen approached her husband. The wetness of the rug seeped through her slipper, but she paid that no mind. She put her hands on his shoulders and said, “I married you willingly. My mother would have forced the match, would have guilted me into marriage on my dead father’s account, but she had no need. It’s strange to think, but I feel like I knew you better at the beginning than I do now. Our first years, they had their share of good moments. The bottle of wine we drank after settling that first trade dispute with Traigland…. The nig
ht that followed…. Valkin was conceived that night. The sheer fright on your face the first time you held him, I’ll never forget it. You said….”

  “I said resisting Zalski had been one thing. Being a father was something else entirely.”

  “You’re a marvelous father, and more than fair a king. When I think of this trouble I caused you—because I caused it, I alone—the shame near chokes me. You haven’t been a perfect husband, but you’ve never deceived me the way I deceived you. Rexson, I knew what duties I undertook when I married you. I knew what my station was, and I forsook that, to horrid consequence. I must ask you to leave, and not because I’m angry with you. I’m angry with no one but myself. I need some time alone right now.”

  “I understand.”

  “No,” she said, “you couldn’t possibly. You have nothing like this weighing on your conscience, and I pray you never shall.”

  Rexson told her, “You’re Herezoth’s queen. You made me swear I’d inform you if I found a role for you to play in solving this mess, and I shall.”

  “I know you will. I’ll spend no more than an additional hour with my thoughts, and then I’ll return to my duties.”

  “That’s good. Yes, that’s good. Just be sure to hold yourself to that resolve.”

  “Rexson, you really must leave. You must.”

  He did. With her head pounding harder than ever, Gracia returned to her chair.

  Her husband was a good man. Someone less would have struck her for the claims she had made against him, not overturned a flower stand. Why had she blamed him?

  She’d been seeking a companion in her guilt, someone to share the burden, but would find no such person at the Palace. Gracia should have taken her fears about the Magic Council to him, as he’d said. She should have kept them locked inside, should have done anything instead of….