Kel looked at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. “I have my own problems. Why does this matter to me?”
Hira stepped up to him and yanked his chin around and down, forcing him to stare into her face. “You fool, Kel. They are starving, and no one is helping them. There is violence in the cities. Ask your refugees. They are coming, here. Hungry and violent and not caring for anyone else. We are facing an invasion.”
“Let the King cope with that,” Kel said. “I am just a man whose livelihood was stolen by a righ who already had too much of his own. I want his head.”
“The King can defeat the Ha’lasi invasion,” Hira Noh agreed. “After all, they are just poor, starving people with no weapons, right?”
Rhin nodded.
But Kel frowned. “They are starving, and desperate. And they are not unarmed. They have burned villages. Some of them are led by guardsmen who fought in the south. They are not to be disregarded. But the King can defeat them.”
“Sharpeyes will no longer be on the throne to defend us,” Callo said.
Kel looked at him, then spat. “What? Do you yearn for the throne yourself, Royal Bastard?”
“I do not. But I do crave justice, as do you. You should understand that.” Callo was frustrated with all the talking. He knew some of the crimes this group had committed over the last few years, and regretted them even as he understood the rebels’ desperation. If only he did not need these people—but he did, and he thought they needed him, too.
“So we will have an invasion, and no King but a fifteen year old boy to protect us,” Hira Noh said. “He will be overthrown, by a righ or ku’an, it matters not. I can tell you both, the Sword of Jashan will be destroyed in the tumult. Our aims will fall to the side, and in two years’ time we will be dead, and our families ruled by yellow-eyed ku’an from Ha’las.” She looked at Kel. “And you will never have your righ’s head, Kel, because he will have thrown you and yours at the invasion like food for the sword, and you will lie dead with your blood feeding flowers while the righ and the ku’an reap the results of the war.”
There was a pause while they assimilated that. Even Callo, who had presented the argument to Hira Noh the previous evening, was surprised by the passion in her voice.
“If we help this man,” she nodded at Callo, “He will give us what we want. Aye, it will be in a form we did not expect—but it is what we have fought for all the same.”
“So. What is so valuable it will make you sell your people to this righ?” Kel asked.
Hira Noh shoved Kel, fearless as she put her shoulder into his chest. He wobbled backwards, his balance gone. “Stop your mouth,” she hissed. “You are so full of spit you cannot see what is before your face.”
Rhin said, “Hira, he’s offered ya no hurt except his usual whinin’ mouth. Tell him what ya agreed to.”
“I will do that.” Callo listened for a moment as he heard the sound of horses’ hooves beyond the guard line. In a moment it became clear the horse did not herald the arrival of Yhallin or her men; there was a friendly hail, and the loud greetings of a man who had been out on patrol.
“I offer you a voice,” Callo said. He looked at the belligerent Kel. “You will have a seat on Council, and one of you will have a place at the King’s side, to advise him as you will on what concerns you in the courts. King Ander will look at your grievances, one by one, and if they are true you will be recompensed. It is more than you could have gained in a decade of rebellion. In fact, the more righ you rob, the more carriage horses you maim, the more righ blood you collect, the more your chances of dying on the gallows, and the less your chances of ever having a say in the King’s decisions. But I offer you this, and without years of travail. Who knows where you can go from there? You should thank me, and Hira Noh, instead of spitting on us as you have.”
“How can you be trusted?” Kel said. “How in hell can you promise such things?” His hand was on his sword hilt. Rhin, standing beside his comrade, laid a sturdy hand over Kel’s, stopping any action.
“He can promise because he will be King,” Hira Noh said.
“No, I will not. I will not fulfill my royal uncle’s schemes that way. But Lord Ander Alghasi Monteni will be King, my cousin, a boy of fifteen who will need advisers. And he will listen to me when I recommend him a Council. And the Council will agree, or lose their places, too.”
Kel shoved Rhin’s hand off his and let his own arm dangle to his side. He laughed, shaking his head. “You are fools, Hira, you and Rhin. You should kill this mage now and spare us this ill-considered foray. Did you not hear the Ha’lasi men out there? Do you not know what a ku’an can do? He could be making you trust him. He could be manipulating you right now.”
“You do not sound very bespelled,” Hira Noh said. Her voice gentled. “Kel, it is the only way. Terrible times lie before us, if we do not alter our course. Righar will be safe if there is only someone able to defend it—someone with the backing of the Collared Lords, and the merchants, and the Lord Commander. Such is not us.”
“You was raised to think o’ politics,” Rhin said to Hira. “Ya gotta remember, we weren’t. I’m just a tenant farmer, ya know. Got a great head for growin’ good stuff, not so much fer wars and armies.”
Hira pulled Rhin toward her, one strong arm around his neck, and pulled his black head down so she could brush her lips against his skin. “You are a treasure, Rhin. Do not forget it. Nor you,” she said, glowering at Callo. “Just because your words make sense, do not think we’ve all fallen in love with you like that chit of yours.”
“I would not think so,” Callo said, bowing.
A woman entered, her graying hair clinging to her forehead with sweat. “Hira, I bring word,” she said. “Scouts have followed a band of men from Deephold to the eastern plains. It seems they are going back to Sugetre. They wear dark livery—they look like Yhallin Magegard’s men.”
“Are there any among them who are not soldiers?” Callo asked. “Servants, perhaps, or a young girl with short, curly hair?”
The messenger shook her head. “There are others there—servants, I am sure. I know nothing of any children, however.” The messenger looked at Hira Noh. “And other word has come, from our friends in the city. The King leaves his castle in a sennight, Hira. He goes on a journey to Collar the son of the lord of Meent.”
“Then it is time,” Callo said. “We must retrieve our own from Deephold, then ride to waylay the King.”
“We may not make it out of that confrontation alive,” Kel said.
“Jashan send we will,” Callo said. He smiled, showing his teeth. Kel’s eyes narrowed at the expression. A feeling of purpose came across him, as for the first time in months he readied for a mission he knew he could fulfill.
Chapter Sixteen
Balan showed up at Ander’s door to introduce the new manservant he had hired. Thodon was a stocky man who wore two earrings in the style of the Leyish. Instead of the jeweled earrings worn by the wealthy, Thodon’s were made of a red lacquered material that still looked exotic in comparison with his gray servant’s tunic and breeches.
“He was referred by my sister,” Balan said. “Absolutely trustworthy, and in need of a position. He will make sure everything you consume is safe.”
Ander greeted the man and wondered to himself if Thodon would taste his food. He did not feel comfortable asking such a question while looking into the man’s dark eyes. After Balan had gone, he spent a half-candlemark acquainting the new man with his schedule and habits. Thodon went to work right away organizing the clutter that had accumulated in Ander’s rooms since he had dismissed the last, suspect manservant. Then he went back to work at his easel, trying to transfer to canvas the miniature his betrothed bride had sent him.
He had discovered his dark-eyed Leyish princess was older than he was, almost twenty. The miniature showed her in court dress, wearing the jeweled earrings of her rank. Ander thought her beautiful, and hoped she would be happy at Sugetre. It coul
d not be easy to be yanked out of one’s home and betrothed to a strange lord in another country for political reasons. He had been assured by Lady Dria Mar that his betrothed was willing, but he had read enough history to only hope this was true.
He had been told that the Leyish princess had mage talent in her bloodline, talent she had inherited from her righ mother. That was what made her eligible to marry Ander, the strongest color mage in years. Dria Mar hoped their children would be even stronger.
A loud rapping at the door startled Ander. He replaced the miniature and watched as Thodon opened the door.
“My lord! It is Hon Balan again.”
Ander nodded to admit him, but Balan was already inside.
“Lord Ander! You must come immediately.” Balan was breathing hard, as if he had run up the stairs. His face was pale. “The King has taken Lady Dria Mar.”
“Taken her! Where?”
“To the small audience chamber. They hauled her away from her rooms with no warning. Two royal guardsmen, my lord. She is under arrest.”
Thodon was already there with a valus-trimmed cloak fit for court. Ander allowed the man to adjust the cloak and pin it with a jeweled brooch, and then followed Balan as the man strode down the hallways towards the small audience chamber. Along the way, watchful eyes followed them but no one spoke. The word was out, in this crowded place that ran on gossip, that someone was in trouble.
Just before they entered the central hall, a familiar shape burst through a set of side doors. “My lord!” Froman called. His voice boomed through the hall.
Ander paused. “I cannot wait, Lord Froman. I must go.”
“I will go with you, Lord Ander,” Froman said. He thrust out his jaw. “You need another man with you.”
Balan stepped in front of Ander and got into Froman’s space. “You are not needed here.”
“I thought you didn’t even like me,” Ander said. “Why put yourself under the King’s eye in there?”
“I never said I liked you,” Froman said. “But you treated me with forbearance, when I told you—what I told you, after our last match. I swore I would be at your back, and I will keep that. Step back, ran Gesset, and let me be!”
Ander sighed. He must respect the man’s loyalty, but this was a bad time for Froman to decide he was a worthy man. “You are in enough trouble with the King,” he said. “Stay back. I will need men later who are free to aid me, not in trouble on their own accounts. My thanks, though, Froman.”
Froman glowered, but stepped back. “I will be here if you need me, my lord!”
Ander smiled at him through his own fear. It was a surprise that he did indeed feel stronger, buoyed by Froman’s belligerent loyalty. He glanced at Balan as they headed toward the small audience chamber. The big man wore an exasperated look.
“He is rash,” Balan said. “Better to stay unnoticed by the King.”
Guards swung open the ornate chamber doors as they approached, without announcing them. They were clearly expected.
A frightened thrill ran through Ander as he saw that King Martan was on the carved chair on the dais. Lord Dionar, the King’s military commander, stood beside the throne, looking gaunt and expressionless. The King narrowed his eyes and said: “Now we are all here, I think.”
The doors closed behind him.
Ander looked around. His mother stood in her morning dress before the King, her hair not yet dressed in the usual gold clips. The black curls falling around her ears made her plump face seem older by contrast. She was flanked by two armed men as if she posed some sort of physical threat. Ander felt his throat tighten at the insult.
On the other side of the room, another guardsman held a curly-haired girl of about ten, dressed in a servant’s tunic and breeches. She wore a fierce frown as she stared around the room. Yhallin stood near the dais, arms folded before her. Lord Callo’s manservant, Chiss, stood with his back against the wall. There was no sign of Lord Callo.
What in Jashan’s name was Chiss doing here, without his lord? And why were there no scribes? The gathering in the chamber was suspiciously short on the usual officials, those who ran the court with precedent and ceremony. The ones whose decisions were public, and recorded by the missing scribes.
Ander bowed to the King and began to speak, but Balan nudged him to silence. “My lord, wait,” Balan said. “You do not know what is happening here.”
“My dear sister in law,” King Martan said. “I hope you are having a pleasant morning.”
Dria Mar held her head high. “I have, thus far, Your Majesty.” Ander had to give her credit for appearing untroubled in these ominous circumstances. He himself was almost trembling with anxiety.
“Do you recognize this girl?”
Dria Mar turned and examined the girl as though she had not been wondering about her since she had entered the room. She said, “No, Your Majesty, I do not.”
Sharpeyes leaned back in his chair. “She knows you.”
The girl spoke up. “I have never seen this righ lady before, yer majesty.” She glowered at everyone, stupidly bold, Ander thought. “I tol’ ya I never saw her.”
“I should say, she knows of you.” Sharpeyes ignored the girl’s rudeness, much to Ander’s surprise. Beside him, Balan tensed like a bowstring.
“Well, I do not know of her. What is this, when I am hauled forth from my chamber to attend the accusations of some slum vermin who has come to spread rumors about her betters? Your Majesty, I know not what this is about.”
The King gestured to Lord Dionar.
Dionar looked around the room. “This girl was in custody, apprehended at the same time as a man who confessed to the attack on Lord Ander at Lake Heart. He confessed and was punished according to the law, but this child escaped. Mage Yhallin brought her in this morning, along with the man Chiss, the manservant of Lord Callo ran Alkiran.”
“I know Chiss,” Sharpeyes said. “I will require of him later exactly why he returns without Lord Callo. For now, however—” He nodded at Dionar.
“Tell us again, Mot,” Dionar said. “Tell what you told others, at Deephold.”
Mot wavered. “Well, I will—I said I would. I guess someone must’a heard us talking there, cause I never told the bald mage. But you made promises, and now I doubts they’re true. I don’ wanna end up like Da’s friend, with his head chopped off in the cells without any trial or nothin’.”
“These witnesses are here to attest that we will hold to our promises, and Yhallin is to remind you of what you said if you should forget it.” There was a hint of threat in Dionar’s voice. Ander shivered.
Sharpeyes growled. “I grow weary of this, Dionar.”
“You will be safe,” Dionar said to the girl. “Tell the King what you told the Healer at Deephold.”
“Which I wouldn’a, if I’d known you would find out,” Mot glowered. “All right then. It wasn’t a yellow-eyed righ who hired my da and his friends to take Lord Ander.”
“Who was it, then?” Dionar asked.
“A righ, right enough, Da said. But it was a woman.”
Goose bumps rose on Ander’s arms. He knew he had paled. The King was looking directly at him, eyes noticing everything.
“So, my lady sister in law,” Sharpeyes said, “There are only a few righ women who might have both the funds and the inclination to hire such a deed.”
“Who are these women?” Dria Mar asked. She held herself very still, and did not look at her son.
“There are only two of them here in this room, and who have been in Sugetre for long enough to have accomplished such a thing.”
“Why would I do such a thing? He is my son.”
“Your son, whom you have labored long to groom to take this throne when it is time.”
“A time we hope will be in the distant future, Your Majesty,” interjected Lord Dionar.
Sharpeyes silenced him with an irritable wave. “What have you to say, Dria?”
Lady Dria Mar finally turned to look at Ander. �
�I repeat, he is my son. As you say, I have groomed him for the job he is destined to take. I have worked here in Sugetre to find supporters who will aid him when he rules. I would never plot to have him killed. I would do anything in my power to ensure he succeeds as he was born to do.”
Ander felt the familiar lightheadedness come over him again. He took a deep breath, cursing his weakness. After a moment, it receded. Why, indeed, would Dria Mar plot to hurt him in any way? Her life had been built on his hopes. Surely Sharpeyes—who knew all—was aware of this.
“I think it is your pet mage Healer,” Dria Mar added. “She who stands right over there, under no suspicion as far as I can see. Your pet halfbreed mage, Martan.”
Red magery traced the King’s hands as they lay on the armrests. Although he did not show any reaction in his face, the loss of control betrayed that King Martan was furious with Dria Mar over this form of address.
“You will address His Majesty properly,” Lord Dionar said.
“He is my brother in law. I was wife to his late brother Yarin. I may address him with the familiarity of family. Why would I do this thing you accuse me of? It is clearly the outsider, the interloper, that mage who has been so friendly with the Royal Bastard. She has tried to take my son’s life, to advance her lover’s cause.” Dria Mar turned on Mot, who did not flinch from the woman’s scrutiny. “For that matter, who believes this vermin tells the truth?”
“It is the truth,” Yhallin said.
“I don’t tell lies!” Mot said, hands on hips.
“You were ready enough to tell a lie when you were paid for it. A yellow-eyed righ, is it? And now you change your story. Perhaps the payment did not come through?” Dria Mar stood, eyes flashing, as if she were dressed for court with her black curls in their usual golden clips instead of loose around her ears. Not for the first time, Ander admired her through his growing dislike; she was defending her life with ferocity and grace.
He did not know whom to believe. He realized his breath was coming fast, and felt Balan’s hand on his arm, steadying him. From above, the cool gray eyes of the King looked down at him without expression.
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