The Swampling King (The Windwalker Legacy Book 1)

by Ben S. Dobson

  “I… I suppose I do,” he said reluctantly.

  “And will you go along on the purge? I know you would rather be anywhere else, but your father wants this, and that means it will happen. The sooner you do it, the sooner it will be over.”

  Josen knew that was true. He could resist, maybe flee, but Gerod would find him, and never let him leave the Keep again. And besides that, he’d promised Rudol that he would behave. But knowing that did nothing to stop the dread that crawled over his skin when he looked at the Deeplings. “I’m… I’m scared, Eian.”

  “I know, lad,” Eian said gently. “There’s no shame in that. You weren’t trained for this, and you never asked for it. But the longer you wait, the worse the fear will be. Your imagination can conjure things far worse than what you’ll see beneath the mist.”

  Josen gestured weakly at the Deeplings. “Worse things than those? I doubt it.”

  “I can’t promise that you won’t see any more like them, but you aren’t likely to. You will be well guarded, and the swamplings will be taken by surprise if all goes well. They won’t have much time for summoning or deepcraft.” Eian didn’t push any further, just looked at Josen, waiting for an answer.

  And Josen couldn’t see a way out. “I’ll go,” he said.

  I just don’t know if I’ll make it back.

  9. Old Friends

  Shona

  Even her garden couldn’t keep Shona’s mind off the rapidly approaching dinner with Josen.

  Most evenings, the work sufficed to distract her. She’d water and prune and mulch, pull and pick what needed to be pulled and picked, and forget the responsibilities of the day for a few hours. She liked the feel of the earth in her hands, the way the plants took shape under her guidance, even the smell—damp soil and blooming flowers over a hint of decay, just enough to give an edge to the more pleasant aromas.

  The rear grounds of the Falloway manor was no small space, some six thousand square feet, and all of it was hers. The garden had started small, just a patch in the corner—a gift from her father. When Shona had been young, she’d loved to walk the fields with him, to dig in the dirt and help the farmers plant their seeds, but in time that had become less appropriate for the growing daughter of a duke. To make up for it, he had given her a piece of earth behind the manor to do with as she wished. Over the years, it had grown with her, until it took up every inch of the yard

  She’d taken pains to make it appealing, had curling cobbled paths laid down and decorated with benches and birdbaths, even left some grassy areas here and there for picnic lunches and the like. Between those concessions to aesthetics, she grew carrots and leeks and pale orange sunberries, cloudbloom bushes bursting with fluffy white flowers, green and red and purple grapes from Orimscourt—though they struggled somewhat outside their native climate—and dozens of others, leaves and blooms and roots in every shape and color.

  It was hers, and there were few things that she took greater pride in. The manor’s staff never touched the garden except under her direction, or to keep the plants watered and fed when she was called away; it appealed to her to let it thrive or fail based on her own diligence. And usually, when she needed it, just looking at what she’d accomplished—though there was always more to do—made her feel better.

  Today, it wasn’t enough.

  Keeping busy did help—sometimes, pulling weeds and spreading mulch, she went as much as a quarter hour without thinking about Josen. But however long it took, she always came back to the fact that she’d soon have to see him again. Less than an hour, now.

  She’d managed civility when she’d welcomed him and Rudol at the baskets yesterday, but a formal—and short—greeting was different than sharing a table all night. She didn’t know if she had it in her to fake pleasantries for that long. Find a way, she told herself. There are enough things that could go wrong already. You’re not going to add to them by screaming in Josen’s face. It was satisfying—very satisfying—to imagine taking him to task in front of everyone, but the satisfaction wouldn’t be worth the cost.

  “I thought I would find you here.” Her father’s voice interrupted the same argument she’d already had with herself a dozen times.

  Shona continued loosening the dirt at the base of a prickle-weed with her trowel. “One moment, Father.” She didn’t like to leave a job half-done. Gripping the plant near the roots in one gloved hand, she pulled it up and tossed it into her nearby pail, already near to full with more like it. Then, after laying her trowel down, she stood to face her father.

  Grantley Falloway was more than seventy, and his age showed in the multitude of deep lines that creased his gaunt face. He was a slim man, and tall—features he’d passed on to Shona—but there was a stoop to his shoulders now, as if the weight of his years was too heavy to bear. He had a full head of hair, though, once brown like hers but now thoroughly grey. And in his best moments, there was still a gleam of intelligence in his brown eyes that Shona loved to see—and hated to see fade, in the worse ones.

  Just then, though, his eyes were bright, and he smiled when she turned to him. “My daughter the groundskeeper. One would hardly think you were hosting the king’s sons in less than an hour.” He reached out and rubbed a spot of dirt from her cheek with his thumb. “You usually look happier when you’re digging about in the soil. Worried about this dinner, I presume?”

  “A little bit, perhaps. But the arrangements are all made. I’m… certain it will go smoothly.” She’d done all she could to ensure that it would. There would be no guests but Josen, Rudol and his wife, and Duke Castar; only a handful of servants would be waiting on them, ones she knew for certain would say nothing of what they saw. If something went wrong, she didn’t want any gossip getting out. And the smaller the audience to her father’s potential humiliation, the better.

  “Your face says differently. You don’t have to hide the truth from me, Shona. I may be old, but I am not as fragile as you think I am.”

  He was having one of his good days, then—on the bad ones, he wouldn’t have noticed the evasion. “It… isn’t just the dinner,” she admitted. It wasn’t something she wanted to burden him with, but the truth was that even his good days could turn quickly. She couldn’t help but fear the worst. “Are you certain you’re ready for this, father? We can still put it off.”

  “At this hour?” He shook his head firmly. “It’s far too late to do that with any sort of dignity. I will be fine. I’ve done this a hundred times before. The only thing you need to be worried about is that I won’t be able to hold my tongue when I see Prince Josen.”

  “I was just thinking the same thing,” Shona said, with a small grin.

  “You see? I should be worrying about you, not the other way around. After what that boy did to you…” Her father frowned. “I don’t care for him. I certainly don’t think you ought to marry him.”

  The smile fled from Shona’s face. “Father… that is what he did to me. There isn’t going to be a wedding. You remember that.”

  “Of course I… I remember.” Confusion dimmed her father’s eyes, and broke Shona’s heart. “That’s just what I meant. And Gerod would have had me give you to him still, ignoring the way he insulted you. Did the boy ever even apologize for himself?” That was the essence of the rift between the Falloways and the Aryllias. King Gerod had hoped to go through with the wedding after Josen was found, but Shona’s father had refused. He was a proud man, and he loved his daughter; he couldn’t forgive the hurt she’d been dealt that day. Sometimes she thought he still felt it more keenly than she did—especially when the five years that had passed since fell from his memory.

  “Not in so many words,” she said. “But you can’t say anything about it, Father. In fact, it might be best if… if you said very little. Will you promise me that?” She hated to ask, but even that momentary slip was more than they could afford in front of Castar and the king’s sons.

  For a moment he looked as if he might argue, but then he sighed, a
nd nodded his head. “I’ll do whatever you think is best.” He offered a smile, though it was weaker than before. “You’ve earned that much. I know it hasn’t been easy for you, these last years, but no one could have done better. I feared for a long time what would become of Greenwall when I was gone. But when I look at you now, I have no fear at all.”

  “I had a good teacher,” she said, and felt moisture at the corner of her eyes. To hide the tears, she stepped in close and leaned her head against his chest, just like she had when she was a girl.

  He wrapped his arms around her and held her for a long while, and then he cleared his throat and said, “The same signal as always, I suppose.”

  Shona looked up at him and nodded her head. “I’ll tap your leg, and cough.” They’d worked that out years ago—if she needed to bring things to a close quickly, she would give her father that signal, and he would excuse himself, citing some ailment of old age.

  “Then I am ready whenever you are.”

  “They’ll be here soon, won’t they?” Shona stepped back to peel off her gloves. “I suppose I should get ready. Let’s go inside.”

  She took the arm her father offered, and together they walked back toward the house.

  * * *

  Shona shifted in her chair and tugged at the train of her lacy green gown where it had bunched up beneath her.

  She hated wearing the thing. As far as she was concerned, such ostentatious gowns looked ridiculous on her lanky frame, and she’d never gotten the knack of maneuvering comfortably in them. It wasn’t that she hated wearing dresses in general—she had something of a reputation for wearing mens’ clothing, but that was only when she was walking the wall or the fields. Her tastes just tended toward lighter, free-flowing garments that she could move in.

  There’s no helping it, though. Entertaining the king’s sons called for something appropriately fashionable. Especially with Rudol’s wife in attendance. If Carissa Theo saw any sign of impropriety, it wouldn’t be long before everyone in the Nine Peaks heard.

  They were too few to justify the banquet hall, but the smaller dining chamber Shona had chosen was hardly modest. Dinner was laid out on a great oak table edged with gold filigree, and a gilded chandelier hung overhead, encircled in expensive gas-lamps—lit only for occasions like this, when the cost could be justified. The Falloways weren’t as wealthy as the Castars or the Aryllias, or even some of the merchant counts, who could afford the luxury of gaslight year-round. Candles and oil-lanterns had to suffice for everyday use.

  The sound of Carissa speaking her name pulled her focus back to the conversation. “I’m sure Shona agrees with me—you men wouldn’t understand.”

  The men all nodded dutifully and kept their mouths shut. A moment of silence followed before Shona realized with some surprise that Carissa was actually waiting for her to respond. A first time for everything, I suppose. Even Duke Castar—never a slouch at dinner conversation—had struggled to get a word in all night.

  What was she talking about again? Shona couldn’t quite remember. In truth, she’d barely been listening. She preferred to stay silent and observe at such functions; in her experience, the hidden glances and mannerisms of the guests said far more than the inane chatter. But she smiled anyway, and said, “Oh, yes. Absolutely.”

  Shona’s mother gave her a knowing wink and patted her knee under the table. Shona fought to keep herself from grinning back while Carissa was looking. Bad enough that she had taken so long to answer—she didn’t want to make the woman feel like she was being mocked.

  Carissa hardly seemed to notice the pause. She was speaking again almost before Shona finished. “It’s just ridiculous! And everyone knows she said it…” Shona let her attention lapse again. It would be some time before the woman stopped for breath.

  For perhaps the thousandth time that night, she glanced worriedly toward her father at the head of the table. She still wasn’t entirely sure he was ready for this. So far, though, he was handling himself well enough. The usual pleasantries had gone smoothly when the princes arrived, and Carissa had left little space for anyone else to talk after that.

  A few years ago he would have been leading the conversation, not hiding from it. Grantley Falloway had been known for his sharp wit and clever tongue once; watching him eat in silence, she wished more than anything that she could bring those days back. He looked up from his plate and smiled at her, and she gave his hand a quick squeeze. Wind of Grace, let the rest of the night go this well. If his mind fails him in front of Gerod’s sons, it will kill him.

  She felt eyes on her, and turned toward the men across the table. Castar was watching her, smiling the rakish smile that made most of the noblewomen in the Nine Peaks swoon. There was a hunger in it that made Shona uneasy, but for the sake of diplomacy, she forced the corners of her mouth up before shifting her gaze down the table. Rudol jerked his head away when Shona’s eyes met his and tried to pretend he hadn’t been looking. He’d lost the black curls and round cheeks he’d once had, but even so he looked thirteen again for just a moment, embarrassed to be caught watching her the way he always used to. And Josen… Josen seemed determined to not so much as glance in her direction, though he was more than happy to smile at the serving girl and whisper jests whenever she refilled his drink.

  My two closest friends in all the world, and they won’t even look at me. She felt a sudden urge to laugh, but it was a sad, bitter kind of amusement, and she held it back. By the Above, that’s depressing. She glanced longingly at the goblet of wine in front of her, but decided against it. Best if she kept her wits about her—if she started drinking, it wasn’t going to be with any kind of moderation.

  Again, Carissa said her name, saving her from her thoughts. “…and Shona was attacked just yesterday, Rudol tells me. Duke Falloway, you must tell us what’s to be done about these Deeplings!”

  Shona’s heart seized in her chest, but she kept her face calm as she looked at her father. She’d known that he couldn’t stay completely silent—the entire purpose of the dinner was to convince their guests of his health—but it still made her nervous. How did she get from empty gossip to this? Damn it to the Deep, I should have been listening.

  “Oh, yes, well…” The duke paused to clear his throat, and glanced questioningly at Shona. She gave him a small nod. No point in putting it off, I suppose.

  “Eian mentioned that too,” Josen interjected before her father could continue. And he was looking at her now, with those deep brown eyes that had so fascinated her, once. “Are you… you weren’t hurt, were you?”

  “I’m fine,” said Shona. His sudden scrutiny made her uncomfortable, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. “I’m more worried about the wall.”

  Josen nodded, but the concern in his eyes didn’t dim. God Above, it was easier when he wasn’t looking. Better he ignore her than worry about her—the idea that he still cared that much made her feel worse, not better. Finally, she turned back toward Carissa, who was still addressing her father.

  “But how will you stop the Deeplings from just tearing the wall down again? My father says that without Greenwall the kingdom would starve, and I would so miss dinners like these.” Carissa smiled, looking so lovely and innocent that Shona wanted to pinch her just to ruin the effect.

  “The Knights of the Storm have something planned, I believe.” Shona’s father deflected the question with a gesture at Rudol. “Your husband must know. Gerod, you shouldn’t let your wife worry so.”

  Shona cringed. Gerod. That won’t go unnoticed. She quickly surveyed the faces at the table to measure their reactions to the slip—mild discomfort and embarrassment, mostly, but Duke Castar was watching her father intently. Oh, perfect. She saw Rudol’s brow crease as he looked down at his plate. Trying to decide if it would be impolite to correct him, she guessed. Spirit of All, what was I thinking? I should never have put Father in this position. She opened her mouth to intercede.

  Her father spoke first. “Ah, I said Gerod, did
n’t I? Forgive me, Prince Rudol. I can just see your father in you so clearly.”

  Shona let her breath out quietly and tried not to show her relief. She doubted that it had been a simple slip of the tongue—her father’s mind frequently wandered into the past of late, and it was not uncommon for him to call people by the names of old friends. But it was heartening to see him recover with a hint of his old composure. Perhaps the Wind of Grace had answered her prayer after all.

  “No need to apologize,” said Rudol. “And yes, Duke Castar will be leading a raid on the swamplings.”

  “What, no mention of the fact that you’ll be my second?” Castar asked, and laughed when Rudol flushed and ducked his head. “Don’t be so humble, Rudol—you’ve earned this.” He leaned over the table toward Carissa with a grin and a conspiratorial tone in his voice. “Don’t worry Lady Carissa, he wasn’t keeping it from you. He only learned today. We leave at turn’s end.”

  “So soon?” Shona frowned. “I’d heard that the raid would be on Aryll Rest.” She glanced back at Josen, who was making little effort to hide his unhappiness. His mouth was a tight line, and he buried his fingers in his thick black hair—a sign of anxiety she’d seen many times before.

  “The lord general and I thought it prudent to keep our plans quiet,” said Castar. “But it is too late now for word to spread far, I should think.” He was watching Shona’s father a little bit more keenly than she liked. “I hope you’ll forgive us for not telling you, Grantley, but—”

  “You must be so proud of Rudol, Carissa,” Shona interrupted hastily. “You’ve married a prince and an accomplished knight at once. Every woman in the Nine Peaks envies you, I’m sure.”

  “Oh, yes! No Aryllia has risen so far in the Storm Knights since…” Carissa turned her bright smile on Josen, who was still scowling. “Since the Knight-King, I suppose. You were named for him, weren’t you Prince Josen? How funny that Rudol is following in his footsteps instead of you, don’t you think?”