Qoatch could not, so he did not.
“I should have you killed.”
Qoatch didn’t even flinch.
“The empress told me you made a root garden from a plant Chieftess Charlon had given her. I want it. Zithel Lau and a squadron of ten soldiers will help you carry it here.”
“There’s very little,” Qoatch said, knowing Jazlyn wouldn’t like losing her garden.
“I care not. Miss Amala says Sâr Shanek will give me a lesson if I supply my own evenroot. The empress has helped herself to my stores. I intend to return the favor. Go. Now.”
Qoatch started for the door, but before he could leave, Dendron appeared not two steps in front of him. Qoatch slowed to a stop.
Lady Islah is not in her tent, the great said.
King Barthel scowled at Dendron. “Her guard must have taken her to use the privy.”
There is no guard, Dendron said. Captain Orbay had no answer as to the man’s whereabouts. It seems he has fled.
King Barthel pushed off his throne. “This is Sir Kalenek’s doing. He must have taken Islah and the prophetess.”
Not Sir Kalenek. The Armanian root child carried her to Armanguard.
“That cannot be.” The king began to look panicked. “Without her bond . . . everything is lost.” He shoved past Qoatch and out of the tent. Qoatch had never seen the man move so quickly. He and the other acolytes followed. They arrived in time to see the king exit a small tent behind his own.
“She’s gone,” he told the great. “What can be done?”
We will continue our plan to make use of the root child Shanek, Dendron said, his dark eyes fixed upon the king. He must give me Dominion, or you must. Otherwise, I will leave.
King Barthel’s lip curled. “Bond with Shanek.” He stormed past the great shadir, back toward his tent.
Qoatch didn’t know who Lady Islah was or what any of this meant. Could the shadir convince Shanek to bond? Qoatch hoped Jazlyn returned soon. He didn’t want to be here when such a thing took place.
Kalenek
Kal woke screaming, the reek of blood and death as thick as the flies feasting on the fallen. He swatted at the insects buzzing around his face. “I’m not dead, you scavengers!”
“Sir Kalenek?”
The voice made him shiver. Where was he? “Livy?”
“It’s Onika. Are you well?”
A nightmare. And the buzzing, only mosquitoes. Kal breathed deeply of the chilled night air, of snow and bark and moss. He and Onika had made camp for the night. He wished he could see her face, but it was too dark. “Forgive me. I was dreaming.”
“How did you feel?” Onika asked. “In the dream?”
“Feel?” Terror, helplessness, devastation, rage . . . “I don’t know. Angry? That so many good men were dying.” What was the opposite of anger? Delight? Happiness? Peace? “It won’t do, Onika. I can find no good in the death of so many.”
“They held the border, didn’t they? Kept the enemy from your lands?”
Kal pictured Liviana and their child, dead in their beds. “Some still managed to cross. It’s how my wife and son died.”
“You blame yourself.”
“She wanted to go to Everton. If I’d let her go, she would’ve been safe.”
“You didn’t kill them,” Onika said, then inside his head, “You’re innocent of this.”
He was not innocent. “Someone has to pay for their deaths.”
“Vengeance is Arman’s, Kalenek. Trust the God to judge those who killed your wife and child. But know that forgiveness also belongs to him. Give your regrets to Arman, and he will not only pardon you, he will free you from the burden. You cannot atone for yourself. No amount of good deeds or punishment will ever be enough.”
Her words buzzed in his mind like a wasp. It was true. Nothing he’d tried had been able to make up for his crimes. But Arman had let Livy and their son die. He’d let Wilek die. He’d allowed Shanek to come into this world and be used.
A god like that could not be trusted.
The castle was an impressive structure that had been built on an island on the northern end of a massive lake. The bargeman asked no questions as Kal and Onika boarded. Onika had sent word ahead to King Trevn. They were expected.
For the briefest of moments, Kal had thought about leaving Onika on the barge and riding away. The True Prophet needed to get back to her king, but Kal had no desire to see the man. Wilek had warned him not to return. Death was all that awaited him inside those stone walls.
They exited on the island and stopped at the gatehouse. And still he did not turn back.
“Sir Kalenek,” a man called.
Kal scanned the crowd until his gaze met that of Master Hawley, Rosârah Brelenah’s onesent. Kal had known Master Hawley since he and Wilek had been boys. Kal led Onika to the man and released her long enough to clasp hands with the onesent.
“The king is waiting for you in his office,” Hawley said. “I’ll take you there.”
“You’re working for the rosâr?” Kal asked.
“My mistress offered me as his onesent and His Highness accepted.”
“Smart move.” Kal doubted there had been many good options for the position.
A soldier, who was staring his way, nudged a comrade and whispered. Soon it seemed everyone they passed was gawking and muttering about the pale prophetess and the assassin.
Hawley led them over icy ground sprinkled with pine needles and slivers of wood. They passed under a second gate, through a smaller inner bailey, and into an open archway that served as the front entrance to the keep.
Inside, a round foyer circled a wide spiral staircase. Up they went to the third level, then around the circular landing to a door where two guards were posted. Kal recognized them as sailors from the Seffynaw. Both looked him over as he led Onika after Hawley into a wedge-shaped room. There, behind the desk Kal recognized from Rosâr Echad’s office aboard the Seffynaw, sat Sâr Trevn—king now. No sign of Mielle, but Sir Cadoc was leaning against the wall. At the sight of Kal, he jumped to attention and edged closer to the king.
Trevn hadn’t aged a day since Kal had last seen him aboard the Rafayah, except for the creases lining his forehead and a pathetic attempt at a beard. He might have a bit more muscle on his arms, though that could be an illusion from the fancy sleeves of his tunic. The top button was undone, as if he’d found the neck confining. He wore a sliver of a crown over hair worked into warrior’s braids that ran just past his shoulders. Kal noted a single kill braid woven in. He also recognized the signet ring on his finger from having kissed it dozens of times over the years.
Trevn looked up from his desk and his glance flickered between Kal and Onika. He released a long breath, briefly closed his eyes, and muttered, “Thank Arman.”
“We are here in King Trevn’s office,” Kal whispered to Onika.
He bowed. Onika curtsied.
Trevn stood and clapped his hands together. “Welcome to Armanguard, Sir Kalenek. Miss Onika, welcome home. I’m sorry I was unable to liberate you sooner.”
“All was done in Arman’s perfect timing,” she said.
“I’m glad of that. Now, I’m afraid if we’re to do this right, we must call in some witnesses. As we talked about, Miss Onika, it may get a bit ugly, but I’ve prepared them, and your testimony will help immensely.”
“I will do my part, Your Highness,” Onika said.
Trevn looked past Kal to the door behind him. “Hawley?”
The onesent nodded and left the room.
Kal didn’t like being the only one without a notion of what was going on, but considering his crimes, he had no right to complain.
“You saw Rogedoth’s camp, Sir Kalenek?” Trevn asked. “What’s it like? How many men does he have?”
Well, he did get straight to the point, didn’t he? Kal rather admired that. “It’s a military camp in concentric formation, lowest rank on the outside circle. It had six rows around the command center. My guess
is he’s got about a thousand men, maybe a quarter of them Kinsman.”
“Voluntary Kinsman soldiers?” the king asked. “Why, do you think?”
“Men are loyal for many reasons,” Kal said. “My guess is they like Rogedoth’s power. He might also have made them promises. Could be a few criminals in the bunch. I know I saw some pirates.”
“And Chieftess Charlon and her . . . son? Tell me about them.”
Kal’s heart sank to think that Trevn saw Shanek as a threat. But of course he was. “Charlon believes Shanek should rule Armania. It’s an old Magonian prophecy.”
“I’m familiar with the prophecy,” Trevn said, “though they’ve misinterpreted it. Go on.”
“They have no plan—not that I’m aware of, anyway. Charlon has developed a new magic using gowzals.”
“Gowzal? The ancient word for bird?” the king said. “What do you mean?”
“It’s what Charlon named the birds native to this land. They’re black. Look like rats.”
The king frowned. “I know them.”
“Yes, well, when fed evenroot, they can be commanded.” And Kal went on to explain about the new evenroot and how the magic worked.
The door opened and Hawley returned with three men in tow: Barek Hadar, Danek Faluk, and Oli Agoros.
“Holy gods,” Oli whispered, his gaze locked on Kal.
“So it’s true,” Barek said.
“You think me a liar, Your Grace?” the king asked the Duke of Odarka.
“I almost hoped you were,” he mumbled.
Trevn chuckled darkly, clearly amused by something only he understood. “Miss Onika, I’m sure the gentlemen meant to welcome you back safely rather than criticize my rule.”
All three fumbled with apologies.
“Miss Onika,” Trevn said, “please tell these men how you came to be here.”
She tipped her head toward the king. “Sir Kalenek rescued me from my prison in Barthel Rogedoth’s camp just outside New Rurekau.”
“This is excellent, Sir Kalenek,” the king said. “You have done Armania a great honor in bringing back the God’s prophet.”
“I’d do anything for Miss Onika,” Kal said. “And for House Hadar.”
Barek snorted. Kal met his gaze, and the duke withdrew his handkerchief and wiped his nose.
“Sir Kalenek also rescued Master Grayson from the Magonian ship when we were still at sea,” the king said. “I’ve decided to appoint him High Shield to the young man.”
Kal froze.
“What!” Oli cried. “He cannot be trusted with someone so—”
“Important? Precious? Powerful?” The king raised his eyebrows at the Duke of Canden. “Sir Kalenek brought Miss Onika all this way, unharmed. Is not our prophetess all of those things and more?”
“Yes, sir,” Oli said, a little more firmly than necessary.
Kal fell to his knees, needing to make it clear he asked for no favors. “If it’s my life they want, Your Highness, I gladly give it. I owe it many times over to House Hadar.”
“I want your life in service,” King Trevn said, “as would have Wilek. I pardon you for the crimes of which you are accused.”
Kal gaped. He couldn’t believe it. A pardon?
“Your Highness, are you sure this is wise?” Barek asked.
“I’m not,” Oli said.
“Fortunate for Sir Kalenek that I am king instead of either of you,” Trevn said. “Unless Duke Highcliff also objects to my decision?”
“Not at all,” Danek said. “You are Arman’s chosen king, and I trust you to decide what’s best for all of us.”
Barek and Oli shot the man glares, but the king seemed appeased. “Well, I’m glad someone does.”
“Perhaps the Wisean Council should discuss this further, Your Highness,” Barek said.
“My decision is final,” Trevn said. “Sir Kalenek is pardoned and will serve as Master Grayson’s shield. Arise, Sir Kalenek. All is forgotten.”
Kal could not rise. Not until he did right by his new, merciful king. “First I must pledge my service to you, Your Highness. You have my loyalty and my sword.”
“I accept your pledge, Sir Kalenek,” the king said.
“You honor me, Your Highness.” Kal pushed to his feet.
“I’m sure you well know that Master Grayson is a challenge to keep up with,” the king said, “but he’s one of Armania’s most valuable assets and must be protected. You’ve known him longer than anyone, save Master Jhorn and Miss Onika, and I think you’ll do him some good. I know Duke Canden has been struggling to teach him swordplay.”
Oli grunted and looked away.
Kal had no idea if he could teach anyone swordplay, let alone fight to protect a charge. He wanted to tell the king about his malady, but now, in front of these men, was not the time.
“Council members, you may go,” the king said. “Hawley will have you sign a document stating you witnessed these testimonies. After that, Duke Canden, please see that Miss Onika’s chambers are made ready, and notify Master Jhorn and Grayson of her return. They’ll be eager to see her, I’m sure.”
Oli bowed his head and departed, his cloak swirling behind him. Danek followed. Barek frowned at Trevn and Kal, then strode out the door.
“Take a chair, both of you,” Trevn said, claiming his own seat.
Kal helped Onika into one of the two chairs across the desk from the young king.
Trevn waited until both were seated, then began anew. “Tell me more about this root child, Shanek. What’s he like?”
It hurt to talk of the boy as an enemy. “Though I love him as my own child, he’s always been difficult to control. At present he looks to be your age and fancies himself in love with Amala. She came to Magosia with Sir Kamran, who had maltreated her on the journey. Shanek killed the man to avenge her.”
“I heard Sir Kamran was killed, but not how,” Trevn said. “Was it a duel?”
Kal sighed deeply. “No, Your Highness. Shanek can kill with his magic. He’s done it twice now, that I know of, and I don’t understand it. The first victim was a young woman Chieftess Charlon had given him as a concubine.”
“He can’t be old enough to have a concubine!” Trevn said.
“He’s not, really, but as I said, he has the body of a man. His mind has developed rather quickly, though for someone who looks twenty, his understanding of human interaction is quite limited—often to the point of ignorance. Anyway, Shanek and the concubine fought, and in his anger, he created green light with his hands. I don’t know if the light killed her or his desire. He told me he grabbed her thoughts with the intention of making her say nice things and she died.”
Trevn stared at Kal, his eyes wide with shock. “That’s quite a skill.”
“Grayson has this power too,” Miss Onika said.
Kal recoiled. “What?”
“His demeanor is such that he rarely gets angry,” she said, “and Jhorn trained him not to use his magic, so it doesn’t come naturally to him. But he once killed a fang cat with light from his hands. It was attacking Dunmore, and Grayson struck it. Dunmore said Grayson’s hands had been pulsing with green light. As far as I know, it only happened that one time.”
Heavy silence stretched over the room.
Kal compared the two stories and found them different. “Shanek didn’t touch the girl, nor did the light ever leave his hands. I didn’t see him kill Sir Kamran.”
“I don’t pretend to understand how any of this works,” Trevn said, “but is it possible that Shanek killed the girl with his voicing magic? Perhaps someone powerful enough could in fact use the voicing magic to compel someone to die.”
Kal certainly hoped not. “If you’re right, Your Highness, I doubt Shanek knows he can do such a thing.”
“If I’m right, let’s hope he never figures it out.”
“Arman made mankind upright, but they seek out many evil schemes,” Onika said.
The young king’s eyes, wide and brown, shifted to th
e prophetess. His throat bobbed. “You’re right, prophetess. This power the God has given us . . . it’s a great and terrible responsibility. I wish he’d better taught us to use it.”
“Do not blame Arman for your failures,” Onika said, her crystal gaze fierce. “A man knows what is right, and when he chooses to act otherwise, he offends Arman. But the Father is forgiving, and he who confesses his mistakes and forsakes them will obtain mercy.”
Trevn nodded. “I’m not proud of all the ways I have used my powers. I know I’ve crossed the line. I have forsaken such temptation, prophetess, I promise you.”
“Make your promises to Arman,” Onika said, “and may he hold you accountable.”
Kal turned his attention back to the king and noticed for the first time that he was wearing his blacks. “Your Highness, I’m deeply grieved by Rosâr Wilek’s death. Had I been with him, he would not have died alone.”
“He didn’t die alone,” Trevn said. “Novan Heln was with him.”
Kal’s chest constricted. “Novan was killed too?”
“No,” the king said, “but Master Heln did all he could to save my brother. I have pardoned him, and Captain Veralla too, and will hear no complaints about it. Wilek would not have wished them harm. Or you.”
“That’s a brave notion, Your Highness,” Kal said, “one my neck very much appreciates.”
Trevn chuckled. “Yes, well, Master Heln has struggled greatly with losing Wilek. Fonu Edekk set five giants upon them. It was an unwinnable situation, yet Master Heln managed to kill Fonu and escape with Wilek’s body. Such a feat deserves honor, in my opinion, not ridicule and shame. Due to Master Heln’s determination, Wilek’s head was buried with his body instead of being carried all over Er’Rets on a pike. That’s not nothing, Sir Kalenek. It’s more than I could have done.”
Kal couldn’t imagine what he would have done had Wilek died in his arms. “I know much of failure. If it isn’t an inconvenience, I’ll take Novan as a backman.”
“Thank you, Sir Kalenek,” Trevn said. “But he is one of my guards, and I’ve grown rather fond of him. And I think if you took a tally, you would find more successes in your career to count than failures.”
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