The King of Forever (Scarlet and the White Wolf, #4)

by Kirby Crow

  “But you were strong enough to destroy Melev, whom not even our greatest swordsman could have bested,” Alexyin said harshly. “Tell me; how is it that your magic destroyed a creature that not ten of our warriors could bring down, but you could not save the future king of Rshan? Or was it because you wanted Nazheradei to be king?”

  Scarlet recoiled. He suddenly realized that Alexyin believed him to be just as sly and evil as Vladei, that he suspected him of helping Liall to the throne over Cestimir’s dead body. The thought made him cold, and he recalled it was one of Liall’s oldest and most trusted friends that he was alone with. A true friend will risk much to protect those they are loyal to, even murder.

  I’m beginning to think like one of them.

  Scarlet stared at Alexyin, wondering how to reach him. “I am not Rshani,” he said quietly. “I’m not one of you. I will never be one of you.”

  Alexyin’s glare wavered. “I don’t take your meaning.” He half-rose from his chair. “I should go, ser.” He looked at Dvi, who shot an uncertain look at Scarlet.

  “Sit down,” Scarlet commanded. When he obeyed, Scarlet took a deep breath and leaned forward.

  “You keep expecting me to act like one of you, like a Rshani would, and you don’t know me. You don’t know my kind at all.” He held up his left hand with the missing finger, turning it so Alexyin could see the difference clearly.

  “Isn’t this enough to prove I’m not like you? That I’m not like Vladei or Shikhoza or whoever you imagine? Your politics, these ambitions... I don’t have them. I don’t care about power or wealth or having men obey my commands. I’m only here because I wouldn’t leave Liall, and now he can’t leave. I would have preferred Cestimir to be king. Liall and I would probably be on our way back home by now, and happier to boot. We’d damn sure have more time together.” He gritted his teeth. “I don’t like your buggering land. It’s too cold. There’s no sun. I don’t recognize the trees or plants or the songs the birds make, and there’s no one here with a face like mine. You speak my language but none of you know anything about Hilurin beyond legends of evil magic, and everyone here mistrusts me, is frightened of me, or just plain hates me. Cestimir told me you were a wise man, but you wouldn’t know a Hilurin heart from a turnip.” Scarlet put his hand down, his throat tight. Would he never be done with this suspicion and dislike from Liall’s people? “And now you can go.”

  Alexyin rose slowly, looking down at Scarlet, his hard face as closed and inscrutable as ever. “You have spoken plainly, so now must I: The king must marry and produce an heir. Only then will his reign be established, the kingdom secure, and his person safe. If you love him so much, put your own feelings aside and convince him of that. Then I may believe that you remain with my king for more than your own benefit.”

  He was not hurt by the words, but he’d thought better of Alexyin than this. “I’ve been named whore by your lot already, Alexyin. More than once. I’m fucking tired of it.”

  Alexyin bowed. “I apologize,” he said, sounding anything but apologetic.

  Dvi showed the man out and did not return, and Scarlet was glad for it. He stared at the cup of che Alexyin had refused to drink. After a while, he picked it up and dashed the liquid into the fire. Coals popped and steam hissed up in a long finger of white, vanishing up the chimney.

  Liall is the one thing I truly love about Rshan, and they’d be happy to take him away from me. They might even succeed. What would be left for me here, then?

  There were several hours of the evening left and he had little to occupy him. He went to his couch under the big window and tried to read, but the pictures in the Sinha books—sketches of Ancients, snow bears, and patterns of stars—did not please him and the lines of script blurred together. Learning to read made his head ache and the silence of the apartment seemed to ring in his ears. Scarlet turned the page and idly traced his finger over the Sinha script. He recognized several words: bear, red, sword, battle, love, blood. Those were words that went well with stories. Raja meant red, and in a way so did Keriss.

  “Red,” he murmured, his index finger following the curling lines of the word.

  It began to glow.

  He was so shocked that he threw the book to the floor. He pulled his feet up into the chair and looked down. The book had fallen page-down, its spine facing the ceiling.

  Did I imagine that?

  He stared at the book for long minutes, almost afraid that it would come alive and go flapping around the room like some demon-bird. Slowly, his courage returned and he reached to pick it up. The pages sighed together normally. When he rested it in his lap and turned the leaves, nothing happened. Nothing happened when he traced the letters again, and even when he found the initial word for red and attempted to repeat his actions exactly, nothing happened.

  I’m idle too often. Mum always said idleness made me moody and prone to silly fancies. Maybe I did imagine it.

  But he knew he had not. This ability was something new with his Gift, and unlike the incident with the apple tree, he had no clue what it could be used for. What good were glowing words on a page? It wasn’t like a healing chant or lighting a damp fire. It seemed very wrong that he should even be able to do something so useless with his magic. Everyone knew that Deva’s Gift was meant to help the Hilurin survive in a harsh world. Glowing words couldn’t do that.

  He shook his head and got up to replace the book in the heavy wooden case. “Silly books,” he muttered. “Maybe Mum was right.” He abandoned trying to puzzle it out and began to undress for bed.

  When Liall returned late in the night, he pretended to be asleep.

  ***

  “Up! Keep your guard up, I say!”

  Golden motes of hay drifted through the torch light as Scarlet circled his opponent with a sparring long-knife in each hand. No matter how much Nevoi spat and shouted, Scarlet persisted in going for the low point, dodging under every one of Nevoi’s slashes and darting past him, behind him, always appearing where he was least expected. The horses stamped and snorted in their stalls, their instincts enticed by the sounds of combat. Nevoi’s sword clanged against Scarlet’s blunted blade, shearing sparks as Scarlet slipped past the attack once more. Another feint from Nevoi, pressing him on the left. He dropped his guard and dodged right, keeping Nevoi at bay with the dangerous point of his blade. Nevoi cursed and tried to bat his long-knife aside. Clashing steel rang like a bell.

  “Guard up!” Nevoi roared.

  He was running out of breath. Scarlet spun on the ball of one foot, favoring his injured leg, turning, his long-knife slashing the air in a wide arc...

  And hit nothing. Nevoi was no longer there. A cold line of metal kissed the side of Scarlet’s throat.

  “Circles close, little one,” Nevoi panted close to his ear as they both stood frozen in fighting stance. “There’s your weakness.”

  “I yield,” Scarlet wheezed, drawing in ragged breaths of air.

  “I accept,” Nevoi grunted. The blade of the swordmaster rang as he slammed it back into the hilt at his waist. “Explain yourself.”

  Scarlet dropped his stance and lowered the double long-knives. His arms felt heavy as stone. “How do you mean?”

  “I told you to keep your guard up.”

  Scarlet shook his head. His leg ached fiercely and it stung where the stitches had pulled against his skin. Esiuk was supposed to cut them out later today. “Keeping my guard up won’t do much good if the man can smash me like an acorn. You’re too strong. I can’t just guard and take the hit. I’d get hammered.”

  “So you disobeyed my instructions, ignored my lesson?”

  Scarlet straightened his back and shrugged.

  Nevoi smiled. “Good.” He slapped Scarlet’s arm. “Very good. Next time, you practice with the sperret.”

  “Oh, no you don’t.” Scarlet limped with him to the alcove where their edged weapons hung on an old quintain packed in from the sparring yard. “I’m not letting you that close.” A sperret was a sho
rt, stabbing foil, more like a thick needle than a knife. It was a light weapon that could be easily hidden and quickly deployed. Kasiri fighters were known to favor the sperret, and so were women.

  “Tradition says the sperret must be practiced with a shield. It’s a good weapon for small fighters, even better than the long-knife.”

  “It’s a weapon for a girl or a thief.”

  “We will not argue the point,” Nevoi conceded with good grace. “But I insist that you try, at the least. If it’s not your weapon, we will soon know it. You may be wiser than I when it comes to your limits.”

  Nevoi always pushed him to the brink of what he was capable of, and the master steadfastly refused to allow Liall to witness their sparring.

  “The young man is not your consort when he’s under my training,” he had informed the king, “but my student, and only that. If you wish for me to instruct him, you will allow me to do it in my customary way or you must find another teacher.”

  Liall had been put out, but even he listened to Nevoi on matters of the sword.

  “I wasn’t aware I had any limits,” Scarlet said with a cockiness he did not feel.

  “Good. Never let me convince you otherwise.”

  Scarlet’s sword belt hung from the battered, ancient helmet of the quintain. Nevoi took it down and briefly admired the twin pair of curved Morturii long-knives. The steel was pure black etched with silver in wondrous shapes depicting the violent Hilurin tale of Deva’s creation of the world.

  “I never tire of seeing these weapons,” he said. He traced his finger over the spun wire of the hafts, which had no guards. “They’re quite beautiful. How did you come by them?”

  Scarlet smiled, remembering Masdren’s leather shop and his pack of noisy little children. “In Ankar. They were a gift from a friend of my father’s.”

  “Is all the metalwork in Ankar so fine?”

  “Yes. And my knives were not even made by a true master. Just an ordinary smith in the souk. The Morturii are wondrous fond of iron. Suits them, I guess. The soldiers are just about as hard, and they forge better steel than the Minh, even.”

  “I have never met a Minh,” Nevoi said thoughtfully. He handed Scarlet the sword belt.

  “Trust me, you don’t want to.” Scarlet buckled the belt around his waist.

  “Was this Masdren a smith?”

  “A leatherworker. He made the sheaths, see?” Scarlet turned to show Nevoi the craftsmanship of the tooled leather, black to match the knives.

  “Black steel is rare in Rshan,” Nevoi said. “Our land lacks the minerals to forge it properly, and the Morturii charge a dear price to trade for them. Since a bright sword cleaves as well as a dark one, it doesn’t seem worth the cost. That is, until you see black steel for yourself. Then nearly anything is worth it.”

  Several of the horses lifted their heads and neighed. From the far end of the stables, a huge set of iron-barred doors creaked mightily as they parted, letting in a rush of chilly air. Shadows moved over the timbered walls as pale spring daylight crept in. Scarlet could not recall those doors ever being opened when he was present.

  The stallion in the nearest stall whickered and twitched his ears, the whites of his eyes showing.

  “New additions to the stables,” Nevoi said. The sound of shod hooves clacking on stone rang out, and all the stabled horses stirred with interest. “Many, from the sound of them. Shall we go and see?”

  Scarlet nodded eagerly. He was infatuated with the fine warhorses of the palace stables, and had made a point of learning all their names. Horses were one of the familiar things of Rshan, though they were much larger than Byzan horses and bred to endure the fierce cold.

  A host of men in unfamiliar livery led a double line of horses into the stables. Most were the dappled grays and sables that were the norm for northern breeds, but a matched team of superb white stallions with eyes like red jewels captivated Scarlet.

  The white horses were led by a lean, sharp-faced man. He wore purple riding clothes with the badge of a sail on his tunic, and sported the fussiest beard Scarlet had ever seen.

  Nevoi frowned. “Tebet colors,” he murmured aside to Scarlet. “Perhaps we should go.”

  Scarlet stared at the proud animals, unwilling to leave. None of the strange grooms or the Nauhinir guards made to speak to him, but he saw Theor, Liall’s great bear of a horsemaster, overseeing the process. Scarlet waved to him.

  Theor looked alarmed. He shook his head and shot a glowering look at Nevoi.

  “Let us leave,” Nevoi said, taking Scarlet’s arm.

  “Ser Keriss!”

  Nevoi muttered a low curse and turned with Scarlet. The lean man in purple swaggered in their direction and threw back his cloak so that his sail badge was clearly visible. His clipped beard was a thin line tracing his jaws and meeting in a sharp point on his chin. Scarlet noted his hair and beard had a tinge of red.

  “I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time, ser,” the man said in Sinha, stopping a few feet away and hooking his thumbs in his belt. He looked Scarlet up and down and bowed briefly. “Lord Jarad Hallin, of Tebet.”

  It took Scarlet a moment to translate the words the man had spoken. “You know me, ser?” he replied in Sinha. He knew his accent was poor, though he practiced it daily.

  Hallin turned his head and spoke in rapid-fire Sinha to the grooms and armed men accompanying him. Scarlet could not follow it, but the men in purple laughed and cast scornful looks his way.

  Scarlet was determined to keep his manners in check. “Pardon me?”

  “Don’t bother, ser Keriss,” Nevoi said in Bizye. “The man is baiting you. Come.”

  “Baiting?” Hallin said with a grin, his Bizye perfect. “Not at all. I would not so insult the consort of the king. Not when I come bearing the bride-gifts of Tebet.”

  Scarlet felt his face go hot. “Bride?” he blurted.

  “Aye, as I said.” Hallin swept a hand expansively toward the horses. “These magnificent animals are a bride-gift from the king’s future wife, the Rose Lady of Tebet.”

  Scarlet’s cheeks burned as if he’d been slapped, and he was suddenly very aware that he was armed. Twice armed, if he counted his sparring blades. They were blunted, true, but they would make a nice dent in Hallin’s nose.

  “I know it’s spring, but she’s a bit early to the dance, this rose,” he said, his back stiff with anger. Bride? Not if I have anything to say about it. But do I? “She might find the ballroom empty when she gets there. The king hasn’t agreed to marry anyone.”

  “Formalities.” Hallin smirked, placing a hand over his middle and bowing again. “Mere formalities. We expect the announcement daily in Tebet. Everyone knows that the king’s dear kinswoman is the logical choice for his queen. Logical, and,” he held up a finger, “quite necessary. A monarch must breed and a dynasty must have an heir. Unless...” he touched that finger to his mouth and evinced an air of shock, “unless you plan to fill that role for the king?”

  Behind Hallin, Theor smacked one of the white stallions on the rump to get him moving. “Let’s move it along!” he bellowed. “Are we stabling these beasts or gabbing them to sleep?” His face suffused with an angry color that turned his dark skin the hue of red oak.

  Nevoi took the cue and nodded to Hallin. “Good day to you, ser.” He took Scarlet’s arm in an iron grip and marched him away.

  Once they were through the stables and at the foot of the stairs leading into the palace wardroom, Scarlet wrenched his arm from Nevoi, his face burning in shame.

  “Why did you do that?”

  “To save you from having to speak to a fool.”

  “I can speak for myself,” Scarlet said hotly. “I had a thing or two more to say to that puffed-up purple rooster.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Nevoi said calmly. “You had much to say to Lady Ressilka, but she wasn’t there. Her father’s fool was. Lord Hallin, my arse!” he snorted. “His lands in Tebet are rotten ice and petrified forests, and he’s
a mongrel half-blood to boot. He is Ressanda’s low creature, one the baron doesn’t mind making into a jackass. A true lord would have had more respect for his baron’s name than to engage in the farce we just witnessed.”

  “He was lying, then?”

  Nevoi looked down at Scarlet. “What are you afraid of? That your lover will marry without saying a word to you about it and promptly forget you ever existed? That’s not the Nazheradei I’ve come to know.”

  “I’m not afraid,” Scarlet lied.

  Nevoi slapped him on the back of his head.

  “Ow!” Scarlet rubbed his scalp. “What in three hells was that for?”

  “For lying.”

  “I thought the fucking lessons were over for today,” Scarlet muttered dangerously. “And I didn’t lie. It’s not fear, it’s...” He groped for words. “All right, maybe it is fear.”

  “So fight back. Fear isn’t a very useful emotion for a warrior. Rage is better.”

  “I’m not a warrior. I can’t fight back. Not like she does. I don’t care for the idea of putting myself in her dress.”

  Nevoi tilted his head, as if he were trying to puzzle out a particularly good riddle. “Her dress. You mean you don’t want to fight like a woman would.”

  “I can’t very well challenge her to swords, now can I?”

  “You could. It’s been known to happen.”

  “Liall would have a fit. Besides I’m not fighting any girl.”

  “That girl is nearly half again your size.”

  “I don’t care!” Scarlet burst out. “She’s still a girl.”

  Nevoi chuckled shortly. “There is a place for youthful chivalry in the world, but you’d be a fool to be gracious in this battle. The Rose Lady would smile gently and hike her skirts up so she could plant her heels into your back on her way to the throne. This is not Byzantur, ser. The men of Rshan hold the reins of power in both family and state, but our women are not the soft and obedient creatures of Kalaslyn. Here, they can kill as efficiently as the men, and it is folly to give quarter to an affirmed enemy once the battle is engaged.”

  Scarlet kicked at an errant bit of hay on the flagstones. “I don’t want her as an enemy. I don’t want any enemies. I just want to be with Liall for as long as I can. I want some measure of peace and happiness for us. We’ve damn well earned it.”