“Do not touch your weapons.” Bashan looked down at Shade. “Else we all die.”
The king silenced the wights by raising a hand.
He asked his son a question, and Diaz shook his head.
The king turned back to the critic. See? The wight shrugged it off. He pointed his knife at Diaz once more, then circled it to include the humans.
“He brings humans into this…hall, maybe? He and they must die,” Owen translated from the corner of his mouth. The wight spoke calmly, as though their deaths were a minor thing, an embarrassing inconvenience. “This is the law.”
“Oh great, more things Diaz forgot to mention,” Nora muttered under her breath. It was a pattern with him. First, Cumi being a blood witch, then his marriage to the bitch queen, now their imminent death for trespassing wight law, and the fact that he was obviously the son of the High King, of course. And she had thought he found it difficult to talk about his feelings, when all this time he had simply been preoccupied with all the things he wasn’t sharing with anyone until it was too late. He wasn’t the aloof, brooding type after all. Just always juggling secrets.
The king drew himself up to his full height, and it was impressive.
“No law demands I kill my son in my own hall,” Owen translated. His hand reached out for Nora’s, and she grasped it tightly like she would the antler hilt of her knife. No word of it not being legal to kill humans in his hall.
The critical wight rose, and a retinue of warriors stood with him. His black eyes flashed coldly, but his voice was smooth as he asked a single question.
“Then may I?” Nora whispered into Owen’s ear in the ensuing silence. “Is that what he said?”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much what he just said.”
“Shit.”
She held her breath along with everyone else, squeezing Owen’s sweaty palm.
The king shifted his weight to face down his opponent, which wasn’t difficult, as he towered over the other wight. He opened his hands to show his palms and spoke as softly as the rasp in his voice allowed him, as though reasoning with a child, a moronic one. Nora imagined him saying something along the lines of “I am the king. My word is the law, motherfucker. What are you going to do about it?” But she was embellishing on the basis of what she would say in that situation. Owen held quiet, so she nudged him, prompting.
“And?” she breathed when he still wouldn’t answer. The atmosphere in the enormous cavern shifted, as though the lights were slowly burning out, shrouding them in a gathering darkness.
“Er…I think that was just a very direct threat.”
“A threat?”
“More a promise. The words ‘rip off your head with my bare hands’ might have fallen. I’m not sure, though.”
“Whatever you do,” Bashan hissed, “do not touch your weapons unless one of those hairless lizard fuckers comes at you directly or I tell you to.”
Next to Bashan, Garreth grunted, fingers twitching over the hilt of his sword. A trickle of sweat pearled down his graying temple, though the temperature in the throne room seemed to have dropped considerably in the last few minutes.
“We have an agreement, or maybe…a contract?” The wight wagged his knife at the king as Owen translated for Nora. “By means of it you could have another son. A pure son. Consider this well.”
After a slight pause, listening intently to the speaker, he went on. “We have an agreement, and nothing my half-wight son says or does has the power to break it. You, on the other hand, do. Consider that well.”
At that the wight sheathed his knife. He half smiled and inclined his head toward the High King, then bowed before the rest of the gathered wights. The humans quickly shuffled aside as the wight and his warriors shoved past them in their proud retreat.
After they left, a murmur ran through the other wights still assembled. The king raised a hand once more, and the murmur grew more subdued, though it did not die as completely as it had before. He turned to Diaz, looking weary. His gaze roved over the small group of humans, lingering on Nora in an unwelcome stare. It reminded her of those early calculating looks Diaz had given her, back when he was nothing more than an annoying half-wight bodyguard, trying to figure out what stupidity she would get herself into next.
“I will listen to your reason for bringing humans into our lands, Neris’s son.” The king’s words were not only spoken to his son, but also to the entire assembly. He paused to let Owen finish translating. “I will listen and I will judge whether they are good and sound reasons. Then I shall decide whether you may stay and whether they may live.”
The murmur turned into sighs of approval.
“Fuck that fucking half-wight.” Bashan shot the approaching guards a dark look, but he nodded as they barked their commands. The spear points jabbed at them spoke louder than words.
For a moment, Nora visualized Bashan putting up a fight and dying in a spatter of blood on the white marbled floor. Problem with the Blade solved by wight hand. Poetic justice. But unfortunately for the world in general, Bashan complied. As they were being led away, she looked back and saw the king clapping a large hand on his son’s shoulder. Diaz looked like he was about to puke. Didn’t seem any of them would be getting out of this mess that easily, then.
* * *
His father took him to what seemed to be the High King’s private chambers. It was a great room, high-beamed, the wood dark against the white marble surfaces, a large fire burning at the center. The huge bed looked untouched, the furs unruffled. High King Aellen closed the door, setting a guard to each side of it for his protection, but also as witnesses to the conversation that was to come. The High King’s flat refusal of anything Diaz had to say must be passed on. So, this was an act. Diaz relaxed a little as his father beckoned him forward, taking off the iron crown, massaging the imprint on his forehead.
“Take a seat, Telen.”
Diaz found a seat on a wooden chair with rounded arms carved in the likeness of lion’s heads. The back of the chair was inset with ivory, though of which animal, Diaz wasn’t sure. It seemed out of place here in the north, much more suited to a wide sun-kissed terrace of a villa in the Kandarin Empire. Out of place, just like he was. He wondered whether his father had chosen this chair for his private room for the same reason.
“Gobann has a valid point, of course.” His father spoke as though they were in the middle of a conversation already. He walked over to the far side of the room, stripping out of the royal reds and changing into a simple white linen shirt. “Though his delivery is, as always, unnecessarily sharp.”
“I did not wish to ruin any marriage negotiations you may have entered as High King.”
His father’s head snapped up, but he must have decided Diaz had no hidden agenda with the simple statement, and the tension eased out of his shoulders.
“You can’t,” he said with amusement, pouring himself a drink in a crystal glass. “I’ve already met his daughter, and she’s worse than her father.”
“Ah.”
He poured more glasses and invited the guards nearer to give them their drinks before handing a glass to his son. He sat down on another wooden chair, opposite, and took a sip, closely watching Diaz with curiosity. Maybe checking whether the picture he had of him in his mind matched up with the man who sat before him now. At least, that was what Diaz was doing.
“So.” Aellen smacked his lips. “What are you doing here?”
“Does a doting son need a reason to visit his elderly father?” Diaz spread his hands wide, careful not to spill his drink.
A corner of Aellen’s mouth twitched.
“Elderly? They say I’m the youngest High King to ever have been elected.”
“I believe it.” His father wasn’t older than four hundred, maybe four hundred and fifty. Diaz suddenly wasn’t sure. Years were not counted by the wights the way they were with humans. “Congratulations, by the way.”
Aellen grunted and leaned back in his chair, eyeing Diaz over the rim of his glass.
“You’ve become a fine warrior, I heard.”
Diaz wondered where his father had heard this, but then shrugged. “I learned from the best.”
“I could still lay you over my knee for lying, son,” Aellen growled. “So tell me why you’re really here.”
“Why would I be here, do you think?”
His father took another sip. “You didn’t come for your mother’s funeral. So I assume it must be business.”
Why would he have come to his mother’s funeral? He had left twenty years before she died and had said his last farewell then, knowing he wouldn’t see her again on his life’s road. It had been painful enough watching her grow old and frail. Seeing her mortality. He hadn’t the strength to watch her die. “This isn’t me, this decaying piece of flesh,” she had told him that day. “Don’t you dare remember me like this, Telen.” So he tried not to. He swallowed a gulp of the fine dry red wine.
“Yes, Lord King. Just business.”
His father scowled at the title. “Well, if it has something to do with that human prince of yours, the answer is no, whatever your business with him is.”
“He was unrightfully banished and now seeks to return to his throne. For that he needs allies.”
“He must need them desperately to come looking for them among us.”
“He is a desperate man.”
“Then he is not worth your loyalty, son. Nor mine.”
Diaz bowed his head in silent agreement. When he raised it once more, his father was smiling at him.
“You wasted your time, Telen, but…I’m glad you came.”
He rose and so Diaz rose quickly, too, swallowing the last of his wine.
“What of my travel companions? Will you spare their lives?”
The crystal clinked against the slim wooden table as his father put the glass down.
“Roth,” he addressed one of the guards. “Tell my son for what I am most known in Gimmstanhol.”
The guard swallowed and stood at attention.
“You are the youngest High King, my lord.”
“No, tell him what they whisper behind my back when they think I can’t hear them.”
The guard’s face darkened.
“They say…you are called the human lover, my lord.”
Aellen sighed and looked at his son.
“The human lover,” he repeated. “Can you possibly imagine why?”
Diaz allowed himself a smile in response. “Because of your human-friendly politics?”
“If only. However, I suppose there are plenty of worse things they could call me,” his father went on, and a warmth entered his gaze that made Diaz shift uncomfortably. “Thankfully, it means no one here will be truly surprised when I let your humans go free, if they do not cause any trouble. Though there’ll be a lot of huffing and puffing.”
“We’ll keep a low profile and move on quickly.”
“Good.”
Aellen clapped a hand to Diaz’s back and pulled him into an embrace.
“Your hair tickles.” His father laughed, and the guards smiled with him. “You used to shave it, I recall.”
Diaz ran a hand through his hair self-consciously. He had kept it short, but it inched through his fingers. His father steered him toward the door, waving the guards out of his chamber. He waited as they left, checking Diaz.
“Tomorrow,” he said in a lower voice, “Gobann will leave Gimmstanhol. He’ll be suspicious and angry that I let you live, but I don’t care much for his suspicions. He can talk to Vakar of the Pines all he wants. Vakar knows why he voted for me to sit on the throne. We will talk more privately tomorrow.” As they drew level to the doorway, he added louder: “And I should like to see the human girl you brought for me.”
“The girl?” Diaz looked at his father, bewildered for a moment, a question forming on his lips. “Nora? She came along of her own accord.”
“Oh. A beautiful name. Short for Noraya, yes? Is she…spoken for?”
Diaz stared. Then he became aware of the guards’ burning ears and understood. The human lover. Oh gods. He cleared his throat.
“I believe not,” he managed.
“Good.” His father actually grinned. “Bring her along tomorrow.”
Chapter 11
A set of guards led Diaz back to his father’s chambers early the next morning. He entered after knocking and found the High King urinating in a sink hole behind a curtain.
“Sleep well?” his father called over his shoulder.
Diaz shrugged. “Good enough.”
“Must be nice, not being king. Actually sleeping through a night.”
Diaz had spent most of his night in meditation. Sleeping, giving himself over to deep dreaming, was still dangerous. His nightmares were worse when he slept.
“When did they elect you High King?”
“About thirteen years ago now.” His father was washing his hands in a large bowl on a night table the length of the bed. “I still need to get used to it.”
“Thirteen years is a long time.”
“For the young it is. For those impatient to collect years as though they were trophies.”
“You’re still young, father. Not yet middle-aged. I’m surprised the elders even allowed your name to be entered into the vote.”
His father’s eyes shifted over to the guards before the door. Diaz understood. No politics before witnesses.
“I buried my life when your mother died.” His father gave an evasive answer, throwing a towel to the floor in the knowledge that someone else would pick it up later. “And whatever I build in the meantime, it will be destroyed when I must bury you, son. Being not yet middle-aged is of no benefit to me, as you can see. Come now, let me see this human girl.”
They walked briskly through the dawning streets of Gimmstanhol toward a grand house next to the guard barracks. There were a lot of people about already, bustling away on errands in the opening shops of the vendors or to work on the large market squares.
“Lots of people,” Diaz prompted.
“Yes, I called a Wort. The chieftains know my cycle has nearly returned, and they want to get me married and producing an offspring. Cattle market. It seemed as good a reason as any to get them all together.” He looked up at the towering multistoried houses lining the main street. “Once this used to be the capital city of only the Pine tribe. Now it can host nearly all of the remnants of our people, regardless of which tribe. After fifty generations, the elders and chieftains finally realize that just waiting out this human epidemic is not an option anymore.”
They walked into the grand house, into the waiting hall. A wight guard held Nora by the elbow and shoved her without ceremony toward the king. Her hands were tied before her. As she stumbled forward, the guard moved the shaft of his spear so that she tripped over it and sprawled on the floor, scowling, but thank the gods, not swearing. She awkwardly pushed herself up on her elbows until the guard stooped to hoist her back to her feet, as though she were merely clumsy. Her cheeks flushed red. Her gaze shifted, and she shot Diaz a dark look for good measure, simply because he was present.
“I was going to kneel, anyhow,” she told the guard over her shoulder, gracefully going down on her knees before the king, and then making a rude sign when she thought Diaz wouldn’t see. He groaned inwardly. Thankfully, the wight guard didn’t see it but kept his eyes straight, greeting the king with a salute.
“She speaks Moran,” Diaz’s father said in wightish. “So she is from the north?”
“Yes.”
“She doesn’t look it. You translate for me.”
“But you speak Moran, Father.” Diaz frowned as Aellen smiled.
“I know that, and you know that. Do the humans know? I do not mean to let them find out. Tell her to get up.”
Diaz turned to Nora. “You may rise.” She rose, dusting her knees off. “But bow to the king. Lower.”
“You really do enjoy seeing me bow low, don’t you, Master?”
His
father kept a straight face. “I wish to talk a little with our esteemed guest.” He pointed at Nora, her eyes sparkling. “Privately. Maybe show her the wonders of the palace.”
Aellen waited for Diaz to finish translating before he added: “The best of which can be seen in my bedroom chambers.”
Most of the guards present kept their trained stony silence. Some of them barely kept the corners of their mouths from twitching, and his father narrowed his eyes, assessing them. To remember. Diaz felt the heat rise to his ears. He cleared his throat, wondering how to make that statement slightly less offensive to Nora, who was waiting for his translation. No, make that slightly less offensive to his own ears.
“That was a test, son. It’s always a test.”
“Of course.” Diaz licked his lips. A test of what, though?
Aellen held out his arm for Nora, who looked at Diaz first, as though puzzled what to do next, nearly shy. Then she pulled herself together and slipped her arm under his father’s, chin raised high. A set of guards moved to fall into pace around the king, but he waved them down.
“I’m sure my charming ways and roguish smile will keep Noraya here from pummeling me to a pulp,” he said, still flashing his white teeth. “You can shadow us at a distance, please. Out of earshot.”
He led on with Nora, Diaz trailing behind, wondering what in the world his father was up to and whether he really wanted to know. Aellen first toured the city, commenting on its historicity and the different tribes. Nora occasionally asked polite but empty questions, which Diaz then dutifully translated, giving his father a moment to consider how to answer without revealing too much. On their way back to the palace, Aellen detoured toward the gardens. The gardens were a green gem, a huge bowl-shaped cave with shafts opening to the upper world, allowing in the sunlight. Every opening was sealed by glass windows, each piece cased with iron, the glass colored, so that each window was fashioned in the likeness of a flower. The gardens’ glass domes had been the model for the Shrine of Hin, a lesser copy by lesser artisans. Now the sunlight filtered through a dense patch of fresh white snow, but Diaz knew that sooner or later during the day, someone would travel up and shovel the window free.
On the Wheel Page 14