The King's Sons (The Herezoth Trilogy)

by Grefer, Victoria

  “Rafe’s alive, you know. She’ll resign from the council, but she’ll live.”

  Lottie looked at Vane as though he were mad. “She can’t possibly be living. I watched Evant bleed her dry. They found her body in Podrar. One of Evant’s new men took it away.”

  Vane muttered a spell beneath his breath, the spell he had used to alter his appearance before first heading to Partsvale. He grimaced with the transformation’s fleeting pain, and Lottie jumped back with a start.

  “It was you! You kept her from death? She’s alive after all?” Vane nodded. “The Giver be praised! I never dared to hope Rafe might…. Howar’s cousin,” she blurted. She took another step away. “Evant claimed you were Howar’s cousin. That’s why he trusted you. Howar’s a spy?”

  “Howar’s dead,” said Vane. “Terrance killed him. I killed Terrance in self-defense.”

  Lottie could not speak. Vane cast Desfazair to return to his normal self, and told his new accomplice, “I should go. Don’t let on to Linstrom you know more about Terrance’s fate than he does. Or Howar’s, poor man. I’ll be here tomorrow. If it’s safe for me to attend that meeting at the Hall, I’ll arrive before you, leaving from here.”

  Lottie asked, “How will you know if you can join us?”

  “I’ll know.” Vane’s tone was flat.

  “What kind of magic is…?”

  “That’s not your concern.” Lottie shrunk into herself, and Vane’s voice came kinder when he spoke again. “I should go now. The king and I, we’re just trying to maintain public order, I swear. To save lives. We can’t succeed without you.”

  Linstrom’s lover spoke softly. “The assault on Partsvale, it was supposed to be against property and men who wear the king’s uniform. To begin at the guardhouse. Civilians were never a major target, Ingleton. They would have had time to save themselves. That’s why I convinced myself I could go along with the plan. If what you say is true, if Evant’s true target has been the Central Plaza all this time….”

  “You’ll see that for yourself soon enough.”

  Lottie’s gaze hardened. “You’ll regret it if you’ve lied to me.”

  “I haven’t. The plans are written in Linstrom’s hand,” Vane reminded her. “Until tomorrow, then.” Her nod of dismissal was barely perceptible. Within five seconds of it, he disappeared.

  From Lottie’s home, Vane transported to Thad’s antechamber at the Duke of Podrar’s estate. Thad had returned to his wife soon after Rexson’s first visit of the day to Oakdowns, so Vane had lost any chance to speak with him in private. He hoped to find the nobleman alone, and his timing proved favorable; Thad sat at his desk with an old book, one recounting the history of sword strategy and how it had changed battle tactics through the years. Vane had loaned it to him the month before.

  The Duke of Ingleton had such a habit of paying unexpected calls that Thad failed to look up from his book when Vane cleared his throat to announce his presence.

  “Just a minute. This paragraph’s on strategy. Could prove useful.”

  Thad’s favorite sword—sheathed, with a line of emeralds on the hilt—was propped in the corner against the desk’s side. Studying it, Vane asked, “You’ll join whatever stand against Linstrom the king orders?”

  “Promised your wife we’d fight together.”

  “Thanks for that.”

  Thad held up a silencing finger. He hadn’t yet untied his dark, wavy hair, and of his clothing for the day he had only removed his boots. They stood together against the wall, beside two similar pairs. Finally, after a minute or so, he rose to shake Vane’s hand. Vane rarely noticed anymore he was four inches taller than his best friend, but Thad drew his attention to the fact by saying, “Thanks for what? For depending on your magic to protect us both? To move us to safety if things go ill? I’m not the most intimidating figure on my own.”

  The twinkle in Thad’s eye was as strong as always when he jested. The man was as adept with poor jokes when uncomfortable topics reared as he was with a blade, and Thad routinely won fencing matches against swordsmen of note.

  Vane preferred a light tone, but knew he’d never maintain one, not with the way he must follow Thad’s last statement. It gave him the perfect opening.

  “I wouldn’t think your magic can transport you away. You can vanish a threatening spell rushing at you, though.”

  Thad froze midway in sinking to his seat. He had the leg strength to propel himself back up, and he gawked at his guest. Vane told him, “I’ve known for years. Gilbert told me, to show support, when I first returned to Herezoth after killing his brother-in-law.”

  “My brother told you…?”

  “Mentioned you held the family record for the longest time vanishing something.”

  “Not anymore,” Thad muttered. He and Gilbert, and probably the rest of Thad’s siblings, could make objects disappear temporarily. “I can’t believe Gilbert told you. He’s never even told his wife. Doesn’t want Tanya fussing over him with sympathy.” Vane let out a careless snort. Where any but her children were concerned, Tanya Greller was as about as warm as a winter storm, though she administrated her duchy with an efficiency and a skill Vane had long admired. Thad went on, ignoring the interruption, “None of Gilbert’s children share the family talent. He was lucky there, or she’d have to know, as their mother. A suspicious mind might wonder if he’s actually their father, but since they’re each his spitting image….”

  Vane grinned, but said, “Come off it.” Anyone who had met Tanya once knew she was the last woman in the world for an affair. Even had she wished one, her duties left her no opportunity.

  Thad shook his head. “My poor nieces….”

  Gilbert’s daughters took a bit too much after him in looks to be considered comely. With an effort, Vane removed the mirth from his expression and demanded, “Stop that.”

  “Stop what?”

  “That thing you do with uncomfortable topics: making light of them. Changing the subject. This is serious. I’m being serious.”

  Thad nodded. “I’ve always felt I should have told you. That you had some right to know, facing the kingdom’s constant attention as you do for your own magic.”

  Vane assured his friend, “I’ve never resented your silence. I understand it all too well. I envy just a smidge too much the peace my mother knew before Zalski exposed her powers. Do you think I’d admit to the sorcerer’s mark if my birth hadn’t made concealing it impossible? I’d be a fool to judge you for acting as I wish I could.”

  “I thought you would judge me a coward.”

  “No coward would have his weapon set out for access at a moment’s notice. If we do have to fight, and your power can save you or can help someone else, don’t be so much of a prig you won’t make use of it, all right? That’s all I meant to say on the topic.”

  Thad nodded. He observed, “You look like someone took a hammer to your soul. I know the feeling, Vane. It’s the one I get each time Carlina’s parents visit. You should sit a while.”

  “I really should get back to Oakdowns.”

  “August can handle Oakdowns and whatever’s happening there. Sit first. Have something to eat. Have you had dinner?”

  Vane had not. Thad retook his seat and pulled a string that ran down the wall within reach of his desk chair. A bell sounded, and Vane dropped with a pounding headache into a cushioned chair across from his host.

  “I’ll have food brought you,” Thad said. Vane took no note of the statement, for it wasn’t an offer.

  “I killed a man today.”

  “And some wine,” Thad added. He kept his voice cheery.

  “That’s better than the man killing me, I suppose. That was almost the case.”

  A servant came to the door and awaited Thad’s instruction. He bustled off to grab “whatever you can find in the kitchens to constitute some kind of dinner, and wine. A strong one.” When he had left, Thad asked, “He give you those bruises on your neck?”

  “He tried to throttl
e me, when I took his voice. I had to. He was a sorcerer.”

  “Seems he got what he was asking for.”

  “Linstrom’s lover thought she would get the same. Thought I’m some kind of assassin for the crown.” Thad choked on air, and Vane asked, “Have you heard that about me? I want the truth.”

  “Once or twice, on the street in Yangerton. Walking past a room at Gilbert’s where some servants were talking. I told him to dismiss them.”

  Vane rose to leave, but Thad was up and around the desk to grab his arm before he reached the door. “You will sit. And stay. There’s food coming. Must I treat you like Hune’s pack of hounds? I’ll trade you for them if you don’t behave. They listen better. Though perhaps,” Thad advised, “you shouldn’t listen, not to nonsense like those comments I overheard. No one worth a bronze piece takes them seriously.”

  “Lottie did.”

  “Linstrom’s lover? Some wench plotting to destroy Partsvale? You’re making my point for me.”

  “I suppose that’s true.” Vane sighed, and took his chair again. His head had stopped aching, but it felt eerily airy. He rubbed a temple, and Thad settled once more behind his desk. He closed the book he had been reading and put it in a drawer. The two men sat in a comfortable silence until the servant returned ten minutes later with a tray that held a bottle of wine from the prized vineyards west of Podrar, two glasses in which to serve it, a fresh bread loaf, and two bowls of a chilled tomato, basil, and mushroom soup, a summer standard in the capital.

  “That’s all there was on hand, Your Grace.” A duke’s son took the same title as his father in Herezoth. Thad thanked the servant and dismissed him, and immediately poured Vane a glass of wine. Vane hadn’t realized how thirsty he was, or how much he longed to put the day’s events away from him. He drank the glass in two gulps, though when Thad refilled it, he knew he should moderate his pace. He took only a sip of the second serving before reaching for a bowl. He held it, but waited to eat.

  “The man I killed,” said Vane, “Linstrom’s second-in-command, he attacked me at Howar’s. The baker-turned-spy.” Thad nodded. “There was a period of time I couldn’t be sure Linstrom hadn’t sniffed me out. That he hadn’t gone to Oakdowns to avenge himself on my family. I had Francie with me. I saw what they’d done to her, and I could picture my wife in that condition, my daughters, all raped and beaten a few breaths away from death.” Vane shook his head in self-accusation. “It was supposed to be me at risk, not them. Never them. Not….” There went the second glass of wine. Thad moved the bottle to the far end of the desk, out of Vane’s reach. “I should have thought ahead of time to seal Oakdowns against transports. When I went to stalk a sorcerer I should have thought…. I didn’t, Thad. My family could have died.”

  “Your family’s fine,” Thad reminded him. “You know they are, don’t you?”

  “I’ve been lucky. Been too damn lucky. The luck will run out at some point, and when it does…. I have a horrible conviction it won’t be me who pays the price.” Vane paused. He was feeling the effect of the alcohol now. It had loosened his tongue, most certainly. He would never speak this bluntly without wine, or with this much bitterness; he was speaking as he imagined Zacry might, in his place. Would Zacry be the one? Or worse, one of Kora’s sons, hardly yet begun to live? Who? The flush of drink rushed to his face.

  “What if Linstrom had chosen a different path to vengeance? What if he’d gone after the king’s pet sorcerer, as I called myself, before news of the plot reached Rexson? He’d have slaughtered my entire family. Harren, dead at seven. Dalen at three, probably as he whimpered for his murdered mother.”

  Vane’s bowl remained balanced on his legs. He was sober enough not to create a liquid mess for someone to clean up, but threw his empty wineglass against the wall, well clear of Thad, who jerked up and away from it nonetheless. It shattered with a satisfying, high-pitched clang and sprayed the rug with shards. Thad walked up to the duke and took his soup bowl from him, placing it on the desk. Vane did not try to stop him.

  “I wondered what it would take,” Thad whispered. “When Amison couldn’t break you, after gutting you…. I should have realized it would be your children. Them in danger.”

  “I shouldn’t raise them here. It’s unforgiveable, me doing that.” Vane swore beneath his breath.

  “You’ve done nothing unforgiveable, nothing wrong at all. Those children could not be blessed with a father more watchful or more caring than you. One more involved in their lives, more determined to do the absolute best for them he can. Vane, you’re to eat that soup.”

  Vane finally chose to protest something. Thad would not hear him out. “You’ll eat that soup, because you need sustenance. You need to keep your strength up for what’s ahead. After you eat, you’ll return to Oakdowns in my carriage, because I’ve never seen a man look so depleted. You won’t waste energy transporting. After that, my carriage can return here with your children, and they’ll stay with my family for as long as you deem wise. As long as you feel Oakdowns is threatened.”

  Vane could not express his gratitude. He merely nodded, and flushed redder in shame over the broken glass. Thad peered at the cluster of shards. “It’s lucky your three-year-old didn’t see that little fit. He’s never been one for tantrums, I understand, but any youngster as small as Dalen would have to deem that a challenge, sure as a tossed glove.” He then glanced at the soup on the desk, and raised an eyebrow. “Eat. You must eat, Vane. Must I threaten again to bring Hune here and trade you for one of his dogs?”

  Good-naturedly, Vane flung his first spoonful of soup at his best friend’s face. The dish was meant to be served cold; it wouldn’t burn him. Both men collapsed in laughter as Thad’s nose and cheek took the bulk of the hit, and Vane chuckled all the more when he imagined August’s expression if she could see him now. She’d raise her hands to her mouth in horror until she lowered them to chide.

  You’re a DUKE, Val!

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Linstrom’s New Plan

  After her promised hour in the garden to make sure Linstrom kept from Vane—the cobbler stitched boots as he waited for his work partner—Kora ate dinner in the new room she was to share with Kansten. August served broiled chicken and stuffed mushrooms, a Podrar specialty, to mother and daughter, and as they ate, Kora forced herself to speak nothing of the royal family. She swore she wouldn’t, though she believed the king’s fears about Hune were justified.

  Most days Kansten was quick to start conversation, but not that night. Though she responded to her mother’s questions about Oakdowns, and Podrar, and how August was carrying on (extremely well), she introduced no topics for discussion, and Kora suspected she would have liked to enjoy her meal in silence. This despite the curiosity that should have been devouring her: What had Kora learned with the chain? How had Vane fared? What was he doing now? Something had Kansten distracted, or more likely, someone.

  The chain revealed nothing of note after dinner, besides Linstrom’s continued ignorance of Vane’s errand. Lottie made no attempt to warn her lover about the Duke of Ingleton; Vane’s latest task, Kora surmised, had been successful. The duke proved her right around ten o’clock, when her sound barrier disappeared and he came in to assure her all had gone to plan. When he left, Kora put the sound barrier back up, mostly so that no servants could stumble upon her in the night. The spell would seal the door more securely than any lock.

  Kansten ceded the bed to her mother, but Kora didn’t sleep. Her time with the Crimson League had taught her the value of physical stillness when her mind wandered restless in the dark, and in locations far less comfortable than the mattress on which she now lay: barn lofts, woodlands, the dirt-floored basement of a derelict cabin. Knowing she would never forget how she’d determined to kill Linstrom for the king if need be; sure her daughter’s heart would soon belong to the prince, if it did not already; doubtful of her courage to send the king away, should he return to speak with her; terrified her sons, her brother, or
Vane would come to harm before this fiasco drew to a close: all these contemplations gave way to a different wondering, a wondering she cultivated because it didn’t make her stomach twinge like all the previous.

  This place had been Laskenay’s home. Vane’s mother and Kora’s mentor, the duchess had known happiness here for a time, though nothing approaching the full life she’d deserved. She’d envisioned herself growing old at Oakdowns with her husband at her side, and her son, with other children to follow. Instead she had found herself widowed, without her infant, fighting to destroy not some nameless, unknown force that had thrown the kingdom all atwitter with its unexpected regicide, but a brother who had dispossessed her of everything.

  The emotional significance of that loss had always struck Kora, but in all these years she hadn’t once considered its physicality. The soft fabrics of gowns such as August’s, and linens like the sheet on Kora’s bed; the taste of stuffed mushrooms and tender cuts of meat, of the best wines available; the calming fragrances that wafted from herb bowls in the parlor, or from the gardens through open windows; the sight of familiar artwork in a favorite room; the sounds of servants bustling to and fro, cheery as they went about their work, straightening up the knick-knacks on a table or loading a tray with the leftovers of the morning tea: Laskenay had lost all that in an instant. All that had been the least of the woman’s griefs. Not once had she spoken a word of such things, not to Kora. She had worn stained and ill-fitting frocks appropriate for a farm girl, slept in forests without a tent, and subsisted on “meals” of ill-seasoned vegetables, fruit overripe, and nuts, always nuts, without the slightest complaint. Kora had grudged the physical discomforts of life with the Crimson League not a little. Had she known this place, lived in this place before falling so hard and so fast….

  Laskenay had died in the Crimson League’s final campaign, but she needn’t have. Like Kora under exile, she could have taken to the sea. Upon word of her brother’s coup, she could have taken her infant son to the coast and paid passage on any ship bound for Triflag Bay or another Traiglandian port. The woman had been a duchess; payment would not have escaped her means, nor would her brother have been able to detain her. He’d contained word of his coup before expanding his power, and his sister, warned by Rexson, had used that blessed time to travel not from Herezoth but to Fontferry, a small village northward where she’d left her child in the care of an innkeeper.