The King's Sons (The Herezoth Trilogy)

by Grefer, Victoria

  Resist the temptation I know you’ll feel to spare your brothers from difficult and unpleasant duties. They are capable, and they’ll wish nothing more than to aid you. Far from being grateful, they will grudge you if you resist their help. You would mean it as a kindness, but they would view it as a snub, and rightly so. You are not above their support. Listen to their concerns, most especially their concerns for your peace and health, for they know you as well as anyone alive does. Don’t be too proud to allow them to comfort you in moments of grief or weakness.

  Yours is a fiery spirit, and while that is in no way a fault, you’ll want to remember the imprudence of acting in the heat of strong emotion. Hold dear the lessons learned from your abduction. You ignored the impulse to fight a stronger enemy or attempt a desperate escape, and kept not only yourself but your brothers safe in following the counsel of your reason, not your anger, fear, and frustration. You are king, over yourself first and foremost. Emotion alone must not rule over you.

  As for Dorane Polve, Arbora Anders, and Ursa Hincken, they have the crown’s assurance they will suffer no harm as they live out their days in prison. My solemn word there binds you, no matter how justly you hate them for having kidnapped you. They know you have magic. Imagine what trouble you would cause yourself if you attempted to stick a knife in Polve’s back and failed to finish him.

  Valkin scowled there, but his father was right. The bloody kidnappers…. He would gladly arrange to have Polve killed, and without a twinge of conscience, but the risk was too great, and his father’s word did tie his hands. If he would feel no guilt over Polve’s death in and of itself, he’d feel wretched betraying his father. At least he could hope Dorane sweated more than a little when he learned the boy he had terrorized was now free to exact any vengeance he desired.

  I know you did not choose the crown. You are far too decent to desire it, and for that you possess not merely the love of your father but the deepest respect of your king. Before all else you are my son, and I hold you dear. I have felt no greater pain in all my life than that which descends upon me when I think of the burden I must place upon you with my death. I swear to you, if I could, I would remove it. Try not to resent me overmuch, and believe me—for I know you’ll not believe it of yourself—you are worthy to be Herezoth’s steward. May every blessing possible for the Giver to grant descend upon your head.

  The scroll was signed, “Your proud and loving father.”

  No more wondering: Rexson had known his son’s true feelings. He’d even blamed himself for the direction Valkin’s life was now to take. Of course he’d blamed himself. How had Valkin not realized the man would feel guilty?

  It’s not your fault.

  Valkin could hold back his tears no longer. Alone, he felt no shame in letting them fall hard and fast; he simply pushed the scroll away, so as not to wet and ruin it. He would open it often, regularly, for years to come.

  It’s not your fault. It isn’t; you didn’t deserve this end. You deserved to hear me say I don’t resent you. How could I grudge you a thing? You did all you could to bring me joy in life.

  The new king could only trust that Rexson, deep down, had recognized his guilt as unfounded and his son as wise enough to do the same. As much as Valkin longed to assure his father of his respect, of his conviction to live his life and rule his kingdom in imitation of his predecessor, he could not. He must trust that years of close observation and thoughtful questions, without complaint, had proven his goodwill to his father.

  That father was gone. He had his brothers, though. What had Rexson written about his brothers? Valkin grabbed the scroll again.

  Listen to their concerns, most especially their concerns for your peace and health, for they know you as well as anyone alive does.

  That last was true, very true. And Neslan had voiced no concerns about Valkin’s preparation. Neslan had called him ready, and Neslan wasn’t one to pander to his brother. He considered it his particular duty to be as bluntly honest as possible.

  Don’t be too proud to allow them to comfort you in moments of grief or weakness.

  Valkin’s tears had stilled, which he took as a sign he should seek Hune and Neslan. Their mere presence would console him, and he knew they would sit with him, would grieve their father with him, either in silence or by sharing memories.

  The king’s first footfall was shaky, but his step grew firmer with each stride toward the door. He had not expected the timing, but he was ready. He truly was as ready as he could hope to be. Otherwise, his father would never have risked his life in battle. If Valkin started to feel overwhelmed, he would remind himself: his father had judged him worthy.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Adage and Trite

  Back at Oakdowns, Kora basked in the simple joy of reuniting with Hayden Grissner and undoing her disguise to hug her sons in a closed off guestroom. The best distraction she could imagine was to feel the boys hale and whole, still hers, and she threw her attention on them and not on thoughts of Rexson. Wilhem, overwhelmed by the bloodshed in which he’d taken part, returned to himself at his mother’s embrace. Walt was coping better; he mentioned Rexy, that young sorceress Jane Trand had trained, and said he wanted to check she was doing all right. She wasn’t injured, but that kind of carnage….

  Kora hugged Walt again and, despite her hesitance to let him go, sent him off as she wondered whether Kansten would be her only child to wind up in Herezoth for good. Wilhem followed his brother out, to help with the post-battle efforts it was better Kora avoided, considering the death sentence on her head. She was lucky enough Rexson’s troops had accepted Vane’s account of a sorceress on his staff who’d come forward during evacuations, to admit her powers and offer her aid. She refused to press her luck.

  Her sons left her to Hayden’s company: dear Hayden, still blond and thick-haired as he approached forty, still clean-shaven, still tending to reticence. He had laid his bow and quiver against the wall, and stood with an arm around Kora. He was the only person left to her from the Crimson League.

  Hayden would never begin the conversation, so Kora did. “This isn’t right. It’s just not right. Rexson should be here. He should know his son’s a hero, that his Hune saved my boys.” Walt had told the story of how Adage died. “He’d be so proud….”

  “He knows, Kora. He does.”

  Kora began to pace the room. “The man died for me, and I can’t thank him properly. I can’t tell his family how I grieve with them. I can’t even attend his bloody state funeral.”

  In response, Hayden smiled at her. As she turned, to walk back the length of the room, she caught his expression and froze. His eyes were watery, but he was smiling. “How can you…?”

  “It’s amazing to see your face, that’s how. Despite everything, it’s nice to speak with you. And Kora, Rexson was no stranger to either one of us. If he’d known interfering on your behalf would kill him, he’d still have done it. I won’t say he didn’t care for Gracia, won’t even say he didn’t love her, because he did in his way, but he…. He always loved you something more.”

  “I know.” Kora sank to the bed. “I moved on somehow. He never was able. How could he, trapped in that blasted Palace? He loathed the place.”

  “More than you realize.”

  “That’s twice he saved my life: first from that mob, and now tonight.”

  Hayden said, his voice hesitant, “He saved my life too. After my cousin died, when we were in Fontferry…. I slipped away from everyone to go to the river. To throw myself in. Everything seemed so pointless after they killed Bidd.”

  Hayden and Bidd had joined the League together. Bidd had lost his life trying to sneak into the capital; Zalski’s soldiers killed him.

  “I took a bucket, to make it look like I was going for drinking water, but Rexson suspected differently. He followed me, and when I was tumbling in the current he used his magic to drag me to the bank. He made me realize how I shouldn’t have, how I couldn’t…. And yet he didn’t judge me. H
e spared me the shame of telling anyone what I’d done. He didn’t even tell you.”

  “He never told me,” Kora confirmed. She hugged the oldest friend still left to her, because Hayden had started shaking. “I had no idea. Hayden, I…. I can’t say how glad I am he pulled you out the Podra.”

  “I’m glad he did too.”

  Kora squeezed her friend’s hand, and Hayden walked with her to a set of identical chairs on the far side of the room, where he returned to reminiscing.

  “Remember how Rexson stood up to Zalski that last day, when we thought the man would kill us all?”

  “Rexson won’t be forgotten,” Kora said. “Not by us. Not by Herezoth.” She paused and cast a transfer spell, moving a bottle of vintage wine from Oakdowns’s cellar to her hand. She had explored the room an hour before, to ensure none of Linstrom’s men had made his way there; now she remembered how she and Rexson had once drunk to the memory of fallen members of the Crimson League. She had no glasses handy, but she uncorked the bottle with a second spell and raised it.

  “To the king,” she said, and took a swig. She passed the wine to her companion, and wordlessly, he drank to Rexson Phinnean. With that, Kora knew that she, Hayden, Herezoth, they all would move on, their lives changed—and for the better—by their relationships with the late king. Kora would miss him, she would. But that was nothing new. Though she could say, and truthfully, that she loved her husband and that Rexson belonged to her past, she had missed the man already for twenty-five years.

  * * *

  The general moved Rexson’s body to the main parlor. While living soldiers were identifying their less fortunate comrades-in-arms and preparing to burn the corpses—Vane himself, his heart in his throat, gave Gratton’s remains a name to accompany them—Lottie recognized many a hapless old accomplice. Such guilt shook her voice as she named Linstrom’s men that Vane took her from her work; he led her to the children’s piano room.

  The lamp Vane placed on a table was their only light, and by it he saw how torn, how terrified Lottie’s full face was. He told her, “Rexson promised you amnesty, and you’ll have it. You upheld your end of the bargain. I’ll let no one make a liar of him.”

  “When I took up with Linstrom I never wanted…. I never thought….”

  “We were able to stop him because of you. Because of your insights.”

  Vane’s words brought no visible comfort. “They’re all dead,” Lottie told him. “All of them.”

  “They died by choice. At least twenty killed themselves.” When she had no reply to that, he offered, “I wanted to thank you, for Zacry Porteg. That man has always been a brother to me.”

  “So many dead, Ingleton. So many wounded. Wretched burns caused by spells, and severed limbs, protruding arrow shafts….”

  “It never occurred to me they wouldn’t surrender. That they’d prefer to die to the last man. Perhaps they were thinking that would cast the king in a cruel light, when people learn what happened here.”

  “Perhaps they knew it would weigh on me,” Lottie said, and shivered. “I should return to my work,” she told the duke. “No one else can identify the enemy.”

  “I suppose not,” said Vane, and let Lottie walk out. He would have to speak with Jane Trand, convince her to accept Lottie as an aide and partner at the Academy. Trand could use someone to help demonstrate spells for her students, and Lottie…. Vane couldn’t imagine the woman would be safe returning to Partsvale. Linstrom’s followers were dead, but they had families. Friends. Lovers. The only safe places for Lottie were Oakdowns, the Palace, and the Carphead Academy. The Palace guarded too many secrets, and Vane wanted no living reminder of this night to linger at his home. That left the school. Lottie was sensible, and would agree to work there for security’s sake. Trand was trustworthy enough to keep an eye on her.

  Vane’s next stop was to Thad’s room. The hour was late, but he suspected his friend wouldn’t sleep that night; his weakness would annoy him too much.

  The duke assumed rightly. Thad lay in the bed where Vane had left him because he had no strength to leave it, but his eyes were feverishly alert. He greeted Vane with, “Hune’s brothers know now? Both of them?”

  “Valkin asked me to be his Chief Adviser.”

  Thad gave a half-hearted smile. “That’s all the proof I need he’ll be as astute a monarch as his father.”

  “I’ll have to leave the Magic Council, Thad. That council needs a noble to replace me, or it becomes nothing but a joke. Listen: you deserve directness from me, so I’ll be blunt. You’re empowered. You have to take the seat I’m vacating.”

  Thad let out a heavy breath. His bloodless face turned even paler, but Vane pressed his case. “You do realize a troop of sorcerers committed regicide tonight? Magic blood will be spilled in every street from Carphead to Partsvale unless Valkin…. He must support the Magic Council, and that council can’t be a laughingstock.”

  If Thad hadn’t been lying back, Vane imagined he would have fallen against his pillow in frustration. The duke said, “You think I want to ask you this? How many years have I known you’re magicked without involving you in my council? Thad, there’s no alternative now.”

  “Go to Gilbert. Go to my brother who saw fit to expose me to you.”

  “I plan to go to Gilbert. I plan to ask both of you to take seats on the Magic Council. Two nobles would be better than one, especially when one’s in line to become the next Duke of Podrar. Thad, you’re no coward. I spared you from this for as long as I could as a courtesy, not because I doubted you’d the strength to come through. Tell me you’ll join the council.”

  Silence, for a good forty seconds. Vane’s heart was pounding. If Thad gave in, Gilbert would have no reason not to follow, because Thad’s actions would reveal him anyway, but should Thad refuse….

  The nobleman said, “Tell my king it’s my honor to serve him on any council to which he’d name me.”

  “You have my undying thanks.”

  “You can thank me by taking me to my feverish wife. She picked up whatever was ailing the children, and fretting over me can’t be helping her health. Nothing like two pitiful fools feeling miserable together, eh?”

  “Nothing at all. Let’s get you home.”

  Thad handled the transport better than Vane expected. Vane turned him over to his wife, and not long after that, the duke found himself in a Palace guestroom. He slipped into bed beside a slumbering August.

  At least, he thought she was sleeping. As he settled beneath their sheet she turned her head, and after opening one eye, snuggled tight against him with a soft but tired smile. He could barely make it out in the scant moonlight from the window.

  “The kids are in rooms across the hall,” she said. “And you’re with me again. My liar’s all mine.”

  Vane crinkled his brow. “Liar?”

  “How many times did you swear you’d see me tomorrow? It’s not tomorrow.”

  Ah, that…. Vane shut his eyes. Next to August, no visions of death and bloodshed plagued him, though he had thought they might. He said, “It’s past midnight.”

  “I saw you well before midnight. And even if I hadn’t, it’s still dark. Tomorrow means after dawn, liar.” She kissed him. “My liar.”

  “Your liar,” he conceded.

  “How’s Valkin?”

  “He’s prepared,” was all Vane said. There’d be time the next day to discuss Valkin’s selection of Chief Adviser. Time the next day to confront everything that wasn’t the perfection of this moment.

  “I can’t believe Rexson’s gone,” said August. “I can’t….”

  “Focus on the good,” Vane said. “We’re together. We’re safe. The children are safe, and happy. They’ve been playing?”

  “They’re perfectly content, the dears. After all, they don’t know their father’s a big fat liar.”

  August snuggled closer, planted a sleepy kiss on his face, and they both fell asleep with her hand against his cheek.

  * * *


  Kansten woke the morning after reaching Teena’s cottage dismayed to have dozed off. The armchair in her room had lulled her from consciousness.

  Was I that exhausted? Did I sleep through it all? I should have been praying. People were dying, and I…. What if the boys were hurt?

  She was petrified to think of her family, so she focused on the invalid entrusted to her care.

  Whatever horrors might have passed at Oakdowns, Francie Rafe was doing better, in every way. She claimed the salve helped soothe her aches, and even her spirits were on the mend. She had spent all afternoon and most of the evening talking with Kansten about Traigland.

  Come the morning, Kansten still had no word about her brothers or anyone else at Vane’s manor. She brought Teena some firewood from her store out back and helped prepare a gruel for Francie, who protested about her smoke-savaged throat each time she had to eat.

  A knock on the door jarred their attention. Kansten’s heart rose in her throat: news from Oakdowns. Since Teena was in the kitchen, Kansten ran to admit the messenger.

  Vane had sent her Uncle Zac. He studied Teena’s bushes, his face turned to the side; Kansten threw her arms around him before he could look at her. “You’re all right!” she cried.

  “So are Kora and the boys. Vane too, and Hune.”

  Thank the Giver! Kansten withdrew to arm’s length, and only then noticed the part of Zacry’s face that had been hidden from her. She fell back a step. “Uncle Zac!”