The King's Sons (The Herezoth Trilogy)

by Grefer, Victoria

  “No,” the queen agreed. “No, I was only its motivation.”

  “Gracia, Linstrom was a monster. Suppose Rexson had seen his application. Interview or no, there’s no way your husband would have seated that man on the Magic Council. The scoundrel would have felt the same sense of insult that led him to plot against the crown. He was that mad.”

  The duchess said, “Your children need you. They need the sense of continuity your presence would provide. They need your help with preparations to move forward.”

  “Starting with breaking the news to the court,” said Vane. “Neslan and Hune are sending notice of Rexson’s death to all the nobility in the kingdom. It’s your duty, in Podrar, to make an announcement before the local nobles and city leadership. At City Hall. Valkin’s called a meeting for tonight.”

  “Vane, I can’t face my children.”

  “I’m telling you, Melinda needs her mother. Valkin needs you just as much, though for different reasons.”

  Gracia nodded, feeling sick. Rexson’s sons, his young daughter: they needed her? Needed to spit in her face, that was what they needed. The queen’s stomach churned with violence, and she stepped aside to vomit on the grass. The duke and his wife had the grace to pretend they noticed nothing as she wiped her mouth with a handkerchief. Then Vane informed Gracia’s guard he would take her to the Palace, while August warned her transporting was hard on the lungs and stomach.

  Gracia had never transported with a sorcerer in her life. To postpone the act, she asked, “You two, what will you do now? What’s the state of your manor?”

  August squeezed Gracia’s shoulder, a mark of thanks for the queen’s concern, but she didn’t smile as she then took Vane’s hand. “My husband and I discussed that this morning. Repairs will take time, but with Rexson gone, we’ll have to restore Oakdowns and return there. We have to appear unbreakable, untouchable, if Val’s to be the king’s adviser. Everything we do now reflects on the crown, so….”

  August’s voice broke there. Vane assured the queen, “We’ll be fine at Oakdowns. We’ll live there with our heads high.”

  The duchess said, “I never realized how hard it must have been for Rexson, living in the Palace. How did he do it?”

  “The same way we will,” Vane told his wife. “We’ll remember the blessings we’ve known at Oakdowns and think as little as possible about this week. About last night.”

  August agreed, though her tone lacked confidence, “We’ll do what we have to. We’ve always done what we have to.” She embraced Vane. “When I think what I could have lost yesterday, I know I could live anywhere, as long as you’re with me.”

  “I’ll be with you,” he said. She hugged him tighter. To watch wrenched Gracia’s heart, for she had never known that closeness with Rexson. When they separated she said, “Bless you both. I’m so sorry that madman tainted…. I suppose we should go to the Palace now.”

  “I suppose we should,” said Vane, and offered Gracia a hand.

  August was right about transporting. Gracia felt short of breath and sicker than ever when she, Vane, his wife, and Gracia’s horse materialized outside the Palace stables. Vane handled provisions for the animal, and August walked with Gracia across the grounds all the way to Melinda’s chambers. The queen was glad for her silent company up to that point, but that was where it ended. August said, “I’ll see Melinda after you do.”

  Gracia’s waves of guilt reached a new height as she imagined her daughter’s grief. Eleven years old, was Melinda.

  The princess was alone, but she opened her locked door for the queen. Her green eyes were swollen from weeping, and she hadn’t brushed her long, blonde hair. She looked so much like Rexson’s family…. Hune alone of Gracia’s children resembled their mother, and the Giver be praised, the similarities ended with looks. Hune would never have burned those council applications, and though he wouldn’t spurn Gracia, would never forgive her doing so.

  Listening to Melinda go on and on about her loss, her pain, her fears, eased the queen’s conscience. The experience was so miserable for Gracia that she could only consider it some kind of expiation, and when she finally left her daughter to August’s company, she found herself steeled to come face to face with Valkin.

  Gracia’s son was in Rexson’s office, with Mason Greller. Both wore black; Gracia had not yet changed from her riding clothes. Mason greeted her solemnly, Valkin with a strong embrace that reminded the queen of him at age two or three. He drew strength from her; Gracia had no doubt he welcomed her presence, and she welcomed the distraction from her own tortured thoughts as she settled down to discuss her role in that evening’s event at City Hall.

  Rexson would want her to devote herself to their children. To ease Valkin’s transition into the kingship with her experience of some thirty years as queen. Though a part of her felt she did not deserve to live, that conviction made living for her sons, for her daughter, all the more vital. That was what Rexson would ask of her, what she owed to him, and by the Giver, she would not disappoint. She had failed in her duty to her husband. She would not leave her firstborn to flounder.

  * * *

  Three days into Valkin’s reign, Vane brought Kansten to lodge at the Palace while Oakdowns was under repair. Trite came with her, and her first act, after handing off her bags to servants, was to scoop the puppy in her arms and carry him to Hune’s quarters.

  The prince was in his antechamber. He wore black the same as Kansten and most of the city, and smiled wider than she could ever remember when he saw what she held. Pulling her inside, he took the dog from her. Somehow, it knew how good a friend Hune would prove. It felt Hune’s joy at its arrival, or perhaps, Kansten’s care had made it less wary of people in general; whatever the cause, it licked the prince’s face in greeting. One of its floppy ears slapped Hune across the cheek.

  “Kansten, he…. He’s wonderful.” Hune put the pup on the ground, and knelt to pat its head. It rolled over in a state of bliss as Hune scratched its chin. “Is he for me?”

  “He needed a home. You needed a dog. I know he can’t take the place of Adage, and he’s not a trained hound, but….”

  “A dog similar to Adage would only make me miss him more. How can I ever thank you?”

  “You can keep the name I gave him.”

  Hune glanced up, first startled, then wary. “You gave him a name?”

  “And I’d like you to keep it.”

  “You do know how important a dog’s name is? As important as a person’s, in all seriousness.”

  “I know, Hune.”

  “What have you called him, then?”

  “Trite,” said Kansten, and Hune’s grin returned.

  “Like Sir Adage’s horse. It’s perfect.”

  While Trite ran around, pulling a knotted rope toy that had belonged to Adage, Hune stood to kiss her, but Kansten held him at bay with a laugh. “You’re covered in slobber. And what happened to slowing things down?”

  “So sorry,” he said. Kansten could only laugh harder, though good-naturedly, as he flushed. “I just…. I’m so grateful. I love the dog already.”

  “That’s good, seeing he’s wasted no time making himself at home.”

  “He hasn’t, has he?” Hune tugged against Trite’s resistance on the rope. Trite growled happily, and then let go as he toppled to his side. Hune rubbed his stomach. “Adage wasn’t fond of that game. A bit beneath the dignity of a hunter. Trite, on the other hand, takes to it quite well. He’s wonderful,” said Hune again. That seemed the only assessment he could make of the animal.

  The prince and his guest moved to a settee. Hune wiped his face of drool with a handkerchief, and Kansten asked, “How’s His Majesty?”

  “Valkin is… Valkin. He’s fulfilling his duties, with Mother and Mason Greller guiding him. Vane makes sure he looks after himself. The king spends half an hour each evening with Neslan and me, during which we don’t allow him to speak a word about ruling. And he’s had Father’s records moved from that offi
ce, so he can avoid it. He uses a different meeting table, a square one, and a desk of a more recent style. I think he felt sad, being in that room with so many memories of Father. Sad and overwhelmed. The Giver knows we’ve rooms enough here for Valkin to take his pick of them.”

  “It makes sense he’d choose a different office,” Kansten said. “And you?”

  “The changes become more routine, more familiar each day. I’m so glad you brought Trite. The silence in here was driving me stark mad.”

  “He’s a sweet dog,” said Kansten.

  “I’ll take good care of him.”

  “I know you will, but don’t keep him to yourself. I think Valkin could benefit from some time with him as well, and Neslan. During that half hour when politics are off-limits.”

  “And Melly. Oh, Melly would adore him. Put the two alone and she’d pour all her little secrets in his ear.”

  “I wish I’d had a dog like Trite at her age.”

  “We’ll be all right,” Hune said. “All of us. For the first time since Father died, watching Trite run himself dizzy” —the puppy was chasing its tail— “I know we really will keep moving forward. It’s for the dog to run in dazed circles, not those ruling a kingdom.”

  Kansten put a hand on his. “You’ll keep moving forward,” she agreed. “We all will. Your personal efforts, your brothers’ toil, Herezoth will be better for that, and your father, he’d be prouder than ever of his children.”

  EPILOGUE

  One Year Later

  Vane transported Hune to Traigland on a steamy summer day. As the prince headed up the walk to a brick-fronted cottage he had visited once before, at age eight, he calmed his nerves by thinking of his current trip’s first stop.

  Hune had paid a call to Francie Rafe. He could only hope this second stop would exceed his expectations as much as the first, for he’d found Francie in a much better situation than he’d dared to imagine a mere twelve months after her abduction. Physically, she looked wonderful. Zacry binding her powers had vastly improved her attitude and her quality of life. As for Terrance’s attacks, not a visible trace remained of all she’d suffered beyond a three-month-old daughter she smothered with kisses, a daughter who looked incredibly like Francie.

  “I never thought I’d keep her,” Francie admitted. “I had every intent of giving her to Vane, and from time to time I still wonder if I should have, but when she was born, and I held her in my arms…. She was so beautiful. Twelve weeks later I still don’t understand how something so perfect, so innocent, could have come from something so unspeakably awful. She doesn’t look a thing like him. I couldn’t have borne the sight of her if she had, but she’s my reason to live now, the main one. I’ve found so many.”

  Francie worked from home copying manuscripts for Triflag’s small library, and she had married three weeks before.

  “He’s a boatman, on the river that runs from Traigland City. I rented a room to start out in the house next door to him, so that’s how we met. He checked on me each and every day, brought me souvenirs from each trip he made to the capital. I wish you could meet Rall. He treats Mayvie like his own…. I don’t wonder too much how all this happened, Hune. I just try to accept how blessed I am that my daughter will know a father like him, because Rall’s her father, he is, bless the man. He’s already agreed to let Zacry teach her magic.”

  Hune smiled, remembering Francie as he knocked on a sturdy wooden door. He’d brought her Valkin’s offer of a diplomatic post in Traigland City, and she’d jumped at the opportunity. She would have to relocate, but Rall had been wanting for years to move there, and with Herezoth providing lodging for them—the king housed all his ambassadors at his cost—they could save Rall’s earnings for their children. The only thing she demanded to know was whether this was a pity offer. The prince responded, “You’re perfect for the job. Your skills, your experience…. You know we replaced you with three people on the Magic Council, and together they can’t accomplish as much?”

  Now a familiar face, though with the unfamiliar beginnings of a beard, peered at Hune around the thick, green curtains of a window. As soon as it disappeared, the prince found himself staring at Wilhem Cason around the edge of the cottage door.

  “Your Highness? There’s not a problem in…?”

  “Everything’s fine in Herezoth. You could call this a personal visit. Are your parents in?”

  Wilhem frowned, but led Hune to the kitchen. Kansten’s father, a broad-shouldered, ruddy man with a thick but cropped beard, was slicing a melon while his wife searched the cupboards for a bowl to hold the pieces. Both stopped short at the sight of a stranger in the house. Then Kora remarked, “I know you. Aren’t you…?

  Wilhem said, “This is Hune Phinnean.”

  While Kora Porteg shut the door to her cupboard, looking resigned, her husband, Parker, laid down his knife and crossed his arms. “Hune Phinnean the prince? Come from Herezoth?”

  A Yangerton accent. Hune gave a small but deferential bow.

  “Mr. Cason, Mrs. Cason, I’ve come to ask the honor of your daughter’s hand in marriage: on the assumption, of course, that she’d accept mine.”

  Kora let out a little gasp, though she’d suspected why he’d come. Her Kansten, her Kancat…. Rexson had warned her about Hune before his death. Kora, deciding to let the situation work itself out, had never heard a word from her daughter about the prince and had barely spoken with him during her trip to Oakdowns. She grabbed her husband’s arm and ordered a gaping Wilhem from the kitchen.

  Hune looked Parker in the eye as he said, “I love Kansten, and swear I’d defend her as far as my death, though I’ve no reason to suppose she’d be threatened, not as my wife. No one would dare. I’ve the full support of my brother the king, with all that entails. In addition, Vane’s behind us, and after he and the army cut down Linstrom’s forces last year the way they did, no one would oppose him over something as trivial as the marriage of a royal with no marked ambitions. I’ll make it plain to all that if they oppose Kansten, or me, they oppose not only the king but also the Duke of Ingleton.”

  Parker asked, “Where do you propose to live with my daughter as your wife?”

  “In the Palace, sir. The security of the Palace. She would want for nothing, neither safety nor affection.”

  Kora eased her grip on Parker’s arm as her nails dug into him. She held onto him, though. She needed to, for support. Her head was spinning. Hune continued, “I understand the thought of this is foreign to you, and unexpected, but Kansten’s spent much time at the Palace this past year. She’s learned much from August Heathdon, who as a commoner marrying Vane accomplished something not unlike the transition that awaits Kansten as my spouse. Your daughter knows what challenges lurk should she make a home with me. I believe if I asked her to marry me, she’d accept, and I pledge I would make her comfort my first priority. I’d never ask her to forsake her architecture. For one, I don’t believe she would, even if I begged her. Mr. Cason, you and your wife raised a marvel of a daughter.”

  Kora’s heart was pounding. Her husband turned his attention to her, and she said, “I’ve no doubt Kansten loves him. Parker, Hune saved Walt’s life at Oakdowns. Wilhem’s too. If Kansten wishes this, if Vane and the king hold no objections…. Vane would have come to us, if he feared for our daughter.”

  Hune said, “My brother’s made it clear he’s no patience for hate crimes. And there were some, after Linstrom’s assault. Lynchings of those with magic. I promise, public hangings of those responsible put out any fires my father’s death stoked. Kansten will face murmurs—lots of them—but I anticipate nothing worse. And she’ll have guards, of course.”

  Parker studied Hune, studied him carefully, and at his first question, relief flooded Kora. “There’s fishing on the Podra by the capital, I believe?”

  “Good fishing, Mr. Cason.”

  “Kansten’s always loved fishing. I can’t bear the thought of her living without it. The biggest trout I ever saw, she caught. I
have your word fishing’s not beneath her new station? You’ll take her, and often?”

  Hune smiled. “As often as she’d like, sir.”

  “Then you have my blessing to ask her hand.”

  “Thank you. Thank you, sir. I’ll try to be worthy of her.”

  Parker shook the prince’s hand, with his other around his wife. “Seems to me you are already are. Why hasn’t my daughter mentioned you?”

  “She didn’t want to alarm you, either of you. And to be honest, I think a piece of her has always expected something would separate us.”

  Kora hugged Rexson’s son, feeling a bit light-headed. Tears stung her eyes, the most beautiful pain she had ever known. Walten was marrying that Rexy: a Magic Councilor, she was, and a dear, if a little forward at times. He already was living in Herezoth, and now Kansten and the prince. Her daughter, and a royal.

  Kora didn’t want to let go of Hune. She whispered in his ear, “You take care of my Kancat.” Only when the prince swore he would did Kora release him. Parker told her:

  “I had my doubts, but we did right by the kids after all. You can’t argue with results. For the king’s councilor and his brother to judge them worthy companions….”

  Kora nodded, and asked Hune to stay for supper. He said he was glad to, and began a conversation with Kansten’s blacksmith father about swords.

  * * *

  That evening, Kansten paid Hune a visit in his antechamber. The prince had trained Trite well for the occasion, but he still worried the dog would mess things up. As they sat on his settee and Kansten talked about a new theater her master architect was designing, he listened with honest interest. Then he stretched an arm out; that was Trite’s signal.