Blackmark (The Kingsmen Chronicles #1): An Epic Fantasy Adventure

by Jean Lowe Carlson

  Olea saw Elyasin tap her index finger upon her long pale-blue gown. It was a nervous tic. Elyasin was rattled by what she had just heard. But as Olea gazed down the long red-carpeted hall, she realized her Dhenra was also rattled by the appearance of this next suitor. King Therel Alramir of Elsthemen loped down the red carpet with six of his fur-clad swordsmen. Well-built, gracious, he had a handsome frame and a strong jaw, and once again wore the plain garb and wolf pelt Olea had seen him in all week during negotiations, though he’d added an unadorned circlet of gold today upon his white-blonde hair. He presented his gifts with a flourish at the foot of the dais, a trunk full of keshar pelts and raw silver bars. The Dhenra motioned her herald forward to accept them, giving words of thanks. King Therel stepped up the dais, leaving his men behind. Olea’s gaze roved over Therel’s retainers, her hand tightening on her sword. But Alramir’s men, including that shrewd First Sword with the white hair, gave not even the slightest hint of threat, idling placidly at the foot of the dais with Fenton and Aldris.

  As the King drew near, the Dhenra began to show more nervousness, rubbing viciously at one knuckle and finally locking her hands together, flushing to the roots of her golden hair. Olea knew the reason for that nervousness. Therel had been sexual and intimately alluring with the Dhenra all week, though sometimes he’d shown a gentler, almost tender side with Elyasin. And for her part, Elyasin had returned that attention. Olea was almost certain the Highland King had already won the Dhenra’s favor.

  But Olea caught a glimpse of the King’s eyes as he bent to kiss Elyasin’s hand. Though his demeanor was impeccable, Therel Alramir’s pale blue eyes roiled with lust. A thing of coldness ran beneath his trappings, as if he was certain he had already won the prize so formally fought-over today. Though he was the picture of courtly grace, he had the air of a killer, howling victorious in the darkness.

  Olea recalled the rumors about him, that he was ruthless as a keshar when necessary. She wondered if she was likely to find Elyasin diced up in pieces and stuffed in trophy jars the morning after their nuptials. Olea gave the man her best glower, and his gaze flicked to her. She thought she saw a hint of smile at the corner of his lips, or a snarl. His pale blue eyes roved over Olea before moving back to the Dhenra.

  “Elyasin.” King Therel was far too familiar, clasping the Dhenra’s hand as if it was his. Elyasin trembled at his touch like a populus leaf. Therel stepped close, reaching up to stroke her face with the backs of his knuckles. “You’re shivering. On such a hot day, in such fine silks, one would think the sweetgrapes would be sweating upon the vine, dripping with moisture…” Olea’s fingers tightened on her sword. She saw Therel note her subtle change. He was no fool.

  “King Therel.” The Dhenra’s voice was breathy, but she held her strong posture. “We look forward to mutually beneficial trade with your noble nation.”

  Therel Alramir’s chuckle was sexual. “As do I. Trade with you would be most sweet. I would lick your Menderian wine from my fingers, and plunge my tongue into the moist chalice from whence it came.”

  He leaned down, executing a perfect bow over Elyasin’s hand, letting his lips linger. But he did not take his gaze from Elyasin. Something simmered between them, like the thickness of air before lightning. At last, King Therel straightened, but not before rubbing his thumb over her fingers. Elyasin shuddered and made a small, aroused sound. And with a contented smile Therel was gone, striding back down to his retainers and moving off towards the side-hall where Arthe den’Tourmalin had gone. Wary, Olea made a mental note to double her guard around the Elsthemi suites, and to have Therel Alramir tailed until the end of the week.

  King or no, men like that caused trouble.

  At last, the list had come to an end. Elyasin raised her voice in ceremonial words of thanks, giving a pretty speech about peace and prosperity for the futures of all lands. It was well done, and the lords and ladies in the long hall clapped politely. A raucous cheering came from the balconies high above. Elyasin lifted her gaze, nodding first to one side, then the other, which made them cheer more, elated. Elyasin had remembered her commoners today, as Olea had previously advised. She had made this concession for them the entire week, that the balconies be available on a first-come basis to the general populace, though many of her Chancellors had advised against it. It had raised her popularity overnight. People had thronged the Central Plaza all night just to be here today, and Olea was certain it would continue for the duration of the week.

  A fanfare came from the Royal Hornsmen near the dais, clarion hunting-horns calling an end to the proceedings. Dhenra Elyasin turned at last, sweeping from the hall with regality. Olea fell into step just behind her, eyes canvassing the gables as they recessed through an alcove. Tailed by the Chancellors of her cabinet and the Castellan, Elyasin retired to the Greenhouse’s Sun Lounge. Late afternoon sunlight slanted in through the south-facing windows, which curved up and over in a latticework, giving the impression of an arched waterfall of glass cascading over a forest. The Sun Lounge was a nightmare of places for an assassin to hide. Olea’s gaze swept the densely-vegetated space, wilting today with a humidity like southern Cennetia.

  “I must rest before the banquet tonight. Leave me.” Elyasin dismissed her Chancellors curtly, then turned her back, staring out the windows. All left with only a few murmurs and bows, except Castellan Lhaurent, who hovered expectantly. “You, too, Lhaurent. I need to be alone.”

  “As my Dhenra requires. May I send in a tray and beverages to refresh you? And some of your ladies to attend?” He didn’t even spare Olea a glance. Lhaurent believed himself superior to Olea, untouchable. It was all Olea could do to not draw her sword and strike his sneaky head from his shoulders. But suspecting a man of spying behind the walls was not enough. She had no proof that he was connected with the Kingsmen killings inside the palace. But Olea was just as relieved to not have to face him today, as he might suspect if she acted more severe around him than usual. She set her jaw and sufficed by giving Lhaurent her best Guardsman glower, which he consummately ignored.

  Elyasin nodded over one lace-framed white shoulder. “Give me an hour before you do. I wish to be undisturbed a while.”

  “As my Dhenra commands.” Castellan Lhaurent frowned slightly. But he knew his place in public, at least, bowing his way backwards and turning to leave. At last, the Dhenra turned to regard her Guard-Captain. Olea dropped to a bow. Light fingers passed over her hair, tracing a blue-black curl. Elyasin had sent one of her ladies earlier in the morning to oil it and coax Olea’s mess into something honorable.

  “Your hair is longer than I thought.” Elyasin said at last, letting her fingers fall away.

  Olea looked up, then stood. “I thank you for your kind gifts, Dhenra.”

  Elyasin’s mouth quirked. “One might almost call you respectable, Captain. Indeed, I hardly recognize you.”

  Olea nearly smiled. “Almost. But the boots will be scuffed terribly by the end of the day.”

  “Alden could never keep new boots nice, either.” Elyasin’s face had softened into wistful sadness, but swiftly deepened into a worried frown. “Olea. I must have your opinion on what King Arthe—”

  “Which is something that takes the fresh air of the Rose Courtyard to help us review.” Olea cut her off quickly. “Shall we?” Olea offered her arm, as a proper Kingswoman. The Dhenra’s green eyes narrowed upon her, affronted, but then she sighed.

  “Yes, I suppose it is too stifling in here. And the Rose Courtyard should be quiet from any of the celebrations enough to talk, shouldn’t it?”

  Olea nodded, her arm still proffered. At last, Elyasin took it. Together they made their way through the Greenhouse, Olea scanning the vegetation for threats, Elyasin silent, her steps slow and clearly exhausted from standing for the past eight hours in the scathing heat, even though she’d enjoyed occasional refreshments. Olea selected a little-known staircase that wound down through the Sixth and Fifth Tiers and opened out into the gardens. Moving left, s
he led them through a set of tall hedges, and into a small courtyard of bluestone fresh with fountains and topiary, giving a wide view upon all sides.

  Roses wound up trellises and statues, magnificent pots in bright glazes held rare varietals from far over the southern seas. Guards lingered at the entrances, and Olea flicked her fingers, sending them in to sweep the high stone arches and lace-carven lattices before she and the Dhenra strolled. Olea saw Aldris step into the courtyard, having trailed them down from the Greenhouse. He saluted, then leaned idly upon a centaur statue, far enough away to be out of earshot. Stopping now and then to smell the flowers in their heady early-summer riot, Elyasin and Olea strolled the garden, enjoying the late-afternoon breeze that finally tickled the greenery and cooled their sweat.

  At last, Elyasin spoke, lifting her voice up through the drowning scent of summer roses. “Why the garden, Olea, to discuss what King Arthe just said to me? What aren’t you telling me that you began to the other night?”

  They’d come to it at last. Olea would have preferred a less stressful time to speak to her Dhenra about Roushenn, but the young woman had not made time in the past week, and it couldn’t be helped now. Olea took a breath, then spoke plainly. “The palace isn’t safe, Dhenra. Not for such discussion. And not for you.”

  Elyasin snorted, waving a tired hand. “Your men and women patrol it, Captain! If it isn’t safe, whose head shall I take?”

  “The halls my men patrol are safe as they can be,” Olea pitched her voice low so it didn't carry. “But there are other halls that have no guards.”

  “You’ve sealed off the Unterhaft, as a precaution for my coronation, correct? As we discussed? And the entries to the Deeprooms?”

  “All as you commanded, yes. But Dhenra, the palace isn't safe because there is a palace behind the palace!” Olea argued softly. “That’s what I wanted to tell you the other night, the reason I requested we ride out. Because an entire labyrinth of rooms and corridors exists behind the walls, where people can spy, traverse, and listen. And all of it can be accessed by secret means. I’m not even sure this courtyard is safe for you! Or for us to talk…”

  Elyasin stopped, blinking wide in surprise and distress, her hand elegant in the way it fell, making Olea turn towards her. The Dhenra was upset, fidgeting with all the news she had heard today. And when Elyasin became upset, she became angry. That temper flared now. Elyasin’s demeanor was piercing upon her Guard-Captain. “What do you mean, Captain, a palace behind the palace? Speak plainly!”

  Olea paused, knowing how this would sound. Her Dhenra was a storm about to break, Olea could read it in every line of the young woman’s body. But this news, like Arthe den’Tourmalin’s, had to be told.

  And now might be her only opportunity.

  “The walls of the palace move,” Olea breathed urgently. “Everything moves. I don’t know how, but they do. There are passages behind the halls! It’s part of how the Alrashemni were killed the night they came to Roushenn. They were shown to rooms, split up that night. And while they slept, the walls moved on them. Changing, confusing them. And some kind of poison was released into the air to disorient them and make it impossible to fight back! They were slaughtered, Dhenra. Slaughtered to a man, quietly. Because Roushenn is a weapon for whomever it is that controls those walls! I still don’t know why the Kingsmen were killed, but I know partly how it was done. And if the palace wasn’t safe then, it’s certainly not safe now. Because of this, security for your coronation is already compromised. Don’t you see? There’s no possible way I can keep you safe if any wall, at any time, could move, Dhenra. You mustn’t remain here! We need to postpone the coronation until we know more. Or move it altogether to the Winter Palace in Fhouria. And get you out of here. Tonight.”

  Elyasin was gaping at Olea. Her eyes went from incredulous, to furious. “Are you jesting with me, Captain?! Do you think to dissuade me from my coronation, from ruling by some cruel joke, by making me feel unsafe in my own palace, especially at a time like this? Have you seen this yourself?”

  Olea shook her head, her heart sinking that Elyasin was suddenly taking the whispered advice King Arthe had given, and mistrusting her own most loyal until she had proof. “No, but I met a man who escaped the slaughter that night. He saw it, though he was drugged by whatever was in the air at the time.”

  “Drugged? And who is this man? You trust his word?”

  “He is a silversmith in the First Tier, an Alrashemni Kingsman. I trust his word completely. Dhenra, I have seen things myself. A piece of furniture replaced here. A twist to the hall that I don’t remember there. Strange things.”

  “But have you seen this behind-the-palace? Have you seen palace walls move of their own accord? Do you know for a fact that his words are true? Have you verified any of this?”

  The Dhenra didn’t believe it. She thought Olea was speaking false. It was going from bad to worse. Olea’s mind raced frantically for any information that could convince her of the truth. “No, Dhenra, I have not seen it, but I assure you it’s true. Those tomes I told you about, the ones Uhlas led me to find, they chronicled the history of your house. Your lineage is Alrashemni, Dhenra, right back to the founding of this nation. Your House, den’Ildrian, is directly related to House den’Alrahel, the original founders of Alrou-Mendera, the ones who first made a peace treaty with the native Menderian tribes—”

  “Den’Alrahel.” Elyasin had gone very still. “Are you saying to me that you believe your own house to be royal?”

  “So it said in the tomes Uhlas gave me, but you’re missing the point, Dhenra. Your lineage is Alrashemni and whoever is killing Kingsmen—”

  “Silence!” Elyasin was livid now. Severely rattled, the Dhenra was reacting, not thinking. Olea’s dire warnings were not just falling on deaf ears. They were being badly misinterpreted as Elyasin’s temper roared. The Dhenra’s cheeks flushed hot and red, her green eyes searing with wrath. “I asked you to uncover the fate of the Kingsmen!” Elyasin shouted at Olea, her voice ringing around the courtyard. “And you give me fae-yarns! Today of all days! You know what this week means to me! Are you trying to derail this coronation? My marriage? My rule? Are you trying to set yourself up as Queen by asserting a blood-relation to the throne?!”

  Olea knelt quickly to the gravel path, one hand going to her Inkings without even thinking, so desperate was she. “Dhenra, no! I swear to you, I would never—”

  “Silence! Guards!” Five of Olea's guards came at a run from behind a set of potted rose-trees, confusion spreading over their features to see their Captain-General on her knees upon the gravel and their soon-to-be-Queen livid. “Take her!”

  Two of Olea’s best hustled in, still confused, but unable to shy from a direct order. They seized Olea by both arms, hauling her up, relieving her of her sword and longknives, apology in their manner. A Guardsman coughed discreetly by a rosebush. Olea glanced over to see Aldris, his green eyes flicking nervously between Olea and the Dhenra, severe worry in them.

  “Pardon, Dhenra.” Aldris spoke quickly, his clarion tenor cutting through the commotion. “Where are we to take Captain-General den’Alrahel?”

  Elyasin was rubbing her knuckles viciously, flushed with fury. “Somewhere… anywhere! Out of my sight! You are dismissed from duty, Captain den'Alrahel, until my nuptials and coronation are over! Your First-Lieutenant Fenton den’Kharel will be my bodyguard for the duration. And you will spend the week in the Upper Cells, to think about why it is unwise to spin fae-yarns and falsehoods to me!”

  The Dhenra nodded to the guards. Olea did not resist. Her eyes locked upon Aldris as she was hustled away, and he gave her a very discreet, very worried nod.

  * * *

  Torchlight flickered in the brackets along the stone wall as Aldris den’Farahan offered a flagon of klippas-ale through the bars of Olea’s cell. The Upper Cells still smelled like a prison, damp with rot and rat droppings, but at least they were warm as a potato cellar rather than a glacier. Olea’s dark cell ha
d a cot with a decent pallet of fresh straw, plus a thick wool blanket, a ceramic basin with a fresh pitcher of water, and a proper chamber-pot with an actual lid. It was generous, really, compared to the cesspit starkness of the Lower Cells. Aldris’ casual stance seemed amused as he leaned up against Olea’s bars, but Olea could see his vast worry beneath.

  “Pissed off the Queen. Nice move, Captain.”

  Olea took a long swig before handing the flagon back, worry and anger ripping through her gut, making it hard to even keep down the ale. “She’s not Queen yet, not for another six days. Dammit! She needs me up there to protect her, Aldris, not rotting away down here all week!”

  Aldris shrugged, took a swig. “Seems she doesn’t think so. Thinks she can just protect herself, apparently. Maybe she’ll wind up stuffed in a trunk on her wedding day…”

  Olea leaned on the bars, arms crossed, giving Aldris her best scowl. “That isn’t funny.”

  He grinned, handing the flagon back, but his grin was dire. “She gussies you up all fancy, then shits in your stew? You must have pissed her off good. Everyone knows you’re her favorite. She allows you liberties she doesn’t give anyone. The men call you the Dhenra's Champion, did you know that?”

  Olea scowled. “Some champion. I can’t do anything for her from down here!”

  “What got her lace in a bunch?”

  Olea shook her head. “Don’t ask me about it.”

  Aldris smiled knowingly. “The same don’t ask me that gets me and Fenton covering your shifts two to one while you sneak off all around the palace and the city? Where have you been going, Olea? I was gonna have you tailed, but Fenton and I talked, he thought it was a bad idea. Said you’d hear me and chuck me down here in the cells!” Aldris laughed, amused at his own joke, then took a swig from the flask, still chuckling.