The Reluctant King

by Jill Williamson

  That much was true. Ottee had already become frantic over the prospect.

  “The obvious choice is Master Schwyl, who served your father.”

  “No,” Trevn said. “That man was as corrupt as my father had been. Still no sign of Dendrick?”

  “Miss Onika believes he was killed when she was taken captive.”

  Immense sorrow rushed through the soul-binding. “How terrified she must be,” Mielle said.

  “Has she discovered her location or who is holding her captive?” Trevn asked.

  “She has not, Your Highness. Both Empress Inolah and the Duke of Canden have been voicing with her, but they have been unable to discern her whereabouts.”

  Trevn’s first thought was to send Grayson to find her, but if she was injured or being poorly treated, well . . . Grayson might look Trevn’s age or older, but he was really only a boy. Trevn would have to consult Master Jhorn before sending his son on such a mission.

  “Have they learned anything helpful?” Mielle asked.

  “We do know that her captors speak Kinsman,” Barek said. “It seems they were some of Randmuir Khal’s pirates who joined up with Fonu Edekk before he left the giant village of Zuzaan.”

  “Is she certain they are loyal to Rogedoth?” Trevn asked. “Hinck has heard nothing about the prophetess being captured and doesn’t believe Rogedoth knows.”

  “She overheard her captors talking about their plans to take her to King Barthel in exchange for favor or bounty.”

  “He’s no king,” Trevn snapped. The duke’s use of the title gave the traitorous usurper respect he didn’t deserve. “Might we pay the bounty instead?”

  “Duke Canden believes the men are afraid to come to Armanguard after fighting against us in the Battle of Sarikar.”

  “They should be afraid,” Trevn said. They were partly responsible for Wilek’s death, and Trevn intended to see someone brought to Justness in that matter.

  The carriage crested a hill and Lake Arman came into view. The worn trail stretched out before them, drawing a faint line through the landscape until it reached the lake. There it curved along the shore, working its way around the body of water. Large swaths of the land along the east coast of the lake had been cultivated. Dozens of Kinsman people, most dressed in black, dotted the fields, working the harvest. Too many had died in the battle that had claimed his brother. That these people who had endured so much could still get out of bed each day and carry on with life impressed Trevn. Armanians were survivors.

  “There have been three claims to the throne of Armania besides your own,” the duke said. “King Barthel, of course, and one from Emperor Ulrik submitted by Taleeb, his onesent, on behalf of the Rurekan council. They believe the succession should pass through Inolah as King Echad’s firstborn.”

  “The Rurekan council has no say in Armanian matters,” Trevn said, annoyed. “They know we’ve never followed the right of first blood. Besides, Wilek named me his Heir the day our father died. The matter is not open to contestation.”

  “Your mother fully supports you, of course,” the duke said.

  Trevn did not doubt that for a moment. It had been his mother’s lifelong dream to see him crowned king of Armania.

  “She has asked your permission to come to Armanguard.”

  Trevn’s father had banished her from the realm due to her treasonous involvement with the Lahavôtesh cult. Trevn didn’t think he could handle his new role if his mother was here, causing trouble. “Who is the third claimant to the throne?”

  “It comes from Magosia. Ridiculous as it sounds, Chieftess Charlon claims to be warden over Sâr Janek’s son. Says she can prove the child’s heritage.”

  Already she was trying to use the babe? No wonder Wilek had been worried. “He is baseborn, but she is not lying about his heritage,” Trevn said.

  The duke’s jaw twitched. “How is it you know this?”

  Trevn ignored the man’s offended tone. “The child cannot be much more than a year old. Does she really expect us to hand over our realm to a babe?”

  “She claims he is a child of prophecy. Says he has magical powers that enabled him to grow faster than normal.”

  Trevn grimaced. “I suppose that’s possible. He is special, in the same way Grayson, son of Jhorn, was born special. The gray speckled skin. A root child.”

  The duke sighed, leaned back against the carriage wall, and folded his arms. “Your Highness, you must not keep such things from me. If I am to advise you, I need all the facts.”

  Trevn stiffened at the duke’s condescending tone. He had not expected the man would lecture him.

  Mielle’s love gusted over him so suddenly he turned to look at her.

  “Just helping you keep your temper,” she said, smiling.

  He pulled her hand into his lap. “I did not ask for advice about Janek’s son, Your Grace. Wilek swore me to secrecy in regard to the child, and I would ask the same from you until we know if this threat is real or not.”

  “You just confessed that the child has magic. Sounds like a real threat to me.”

  “We shall see,” Trevn said.

  The duke cleared his throat. “Well, the legitimate line of ascension is only five names long before it extends to distant Sarikarian cousins. It wouldn’t take much effort to wipe out the entire Hadar line.”

  The carriage swept into a deep stand of trees, and Trevn glanced out the window at the naked branches, marveling how quickly the leaves had turned shades of orange, red, and yellow, then fallen to the ground. Soon it would snow again.

  “Who is in the line of ascension?” Mielle asked.

  “Oli and Hinck,” Trevn said.

  “Emperor Ulrik is technically first,” the duke said, “then his son Adir and his brother Ferro. Then Oli Agoros and finally Hinckdan Faluk.”

  “Why do Rurekans rank above Armanians?” Mielle asked.

  “Because they are Inolah’s children,” Trevn said, “and she was my father’s firstborn. But as I’ve said, Armania does not follow the right of first blood, so none of that matters.”

  “It matters because you have yet to be crowned and to name your successor,” the duke said. “Since you have no brothers or children, there is no obvious choice for your Heir. That has people digging deep into the line of succession for other options.”

  Mielle’s annoyance flared. “Even though Rosâr Wilek named Trevn his Heir?”

  “Transfer of power is always a tenuous time,” the duke said.

  If Trevn was going to keep trouble at bay, he would have to deal with this quickly. “Schedule my coronation ceremony as soon as you are able. Mielle will be crowned beside me—on that I will not negotiate. As to my Heir, I will write a directive bypassing my nephews and any children they have or might have.”

  “I am not so sure we should write out Emperor Ulrik altogether,” the duke said. “He has experience ruling a nation.”

  “Very little,” Trevn said. “And his values do not align with mine or Wilek’s. After all you and your father did to get an Armanite on the throne, I’m surprised you would even consider a follower of Sheresh.”

  “I certainly don’t want that at all,” Barek said. “I do feel, however, that stability is the most important factor at present. Oli was raised much like Sâr Janek and was a member of the Lahavôtesh, so—”

  “Which he betrayed to help Wilek,” Trevn said.

  “Still, his faith is questionable. And Hinckdan Faluk—”

  “Converted when Arman saved his life,” Trevn said.

  “Yes, but many think him a traitor from his behavior aboard the Seffynaw. Besides, there is little hope of introducing a new faith to the general populace with King Barthel threatening to overthrow us.”

  “Barthel Rogedoth is not a king, Your Grace! You will stop calling him such.”

  The duke blinked. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I meant no offense.”

  “As to the succession,” Trevn said, pausing in an effort to calm himself, “that puts
Oli and Hinck as First and Second Arm.”

  “Until you have an heir of your own.” The duke looked out the window and swallowed. “May I suggest you work on that right away?”

  Mielle squeezed Trevn’s hand, and her amusement wound through him.

  “You may suggest it. . . .” Trevn squeezed back. “So, Oli will become First Arm, but if Hinck is to act as Second Arm, he cannot remain a spy. He is currently looking for a way to sabotage Barthel Rogedoth’s evenroot supply. Once he succeeds, we must find a way to bring him home.” Trevn motioned to the duke’s scroll, pleased how naturally the task of ruling was coming to him so far. “Write that down.”

  The duke sighed heavily and scratched his nub of charcoal over the parchment. “Very well, Your Highness. You must also make a new appointment to the Wisean Council.”

  To replace Rystan, who had died far too young. “Joret Vohan,” Trevn said. “If he is willing.” The other nobles all had ties to Rogedoth, but the Earl of Idez had always supported Wilek.

  “Poor Zeroah,” Mielle said. “She has lost everyone who mattered to her. How is she?”

  “She has been in confinement,” the duke said. “I hope seeing you both will cheer her.”

  The carriage passed out of the forested area and the castle came back into view, still several miles off and seeming to float on the surface of the lake like a ship. The fortress looked small from here, especially compared to what Castle Everton had been back in the Five Realms.

  “Another thing, Your Highness. You must start holding court.”

  “No.” Trevn felt strongly about this. “Wilek did not hold court, and I see no reason to do so either.”

  “There is a very good reason,” Barek said. “The nobles feel unimportant.”

  “They are no better than any commoner, in my opinion,” Trevn said.

  “That is untrue, Your Highness. Nobles have more power than commoners—they can influence the people to serve you or not. You need their support—their soldiers, their laborers. The kingdom is confused and somewhat divided after Rosâr Wilek’s short rule. He hadn’t enough time to develop stability in the realm. Holding court is a quick way to let your nobility know they matter, and if they know they matter, they will extend that feeling to the people.”

  “I cannot stomach bootlicking,” Trevn said. “And the people have always liked me.”

  “I could go in your place,” Mielle said.

  “No, Mouse,” Trevn said. “I would not wish that upon my worst enemy.”

  “I agree it can be ridiculous nonsense,” Mielle said, “but I can do it. Do you think it would help if I held court in Trevn’s stead, Master Barek?”

  “It’s ‘Your Grace’ when speaking to a duke, Mielle,” Trevn said. “A prime reason why you are not ready to hold court.”

  “The queen can be taught,” Barek said. “She will need to learn such things, anyway. She could be a help to you, though some will not attend a court of the queen when it is the king’s ear they want.”

  Trevn frowned at Mielle, not liking any of this. “If you took Zeroah or Inolah with you—at least at first . . .”

  “If they are willing,” Mielle said. “It might be too much for Zeroah, in her grieving.”

  “You ask Inolah and I will ask Zeroah,” Trevn said. “If one of them will accompany you, I will permit it.”

  He felt annoyance simmer within Mielle, who looked out the window. Why would she be upset when he had given in?

  “Are you angry?” he asked her.

  “No.”

  “I can feel it, Mouse.”

  “If I am a Mouse, what are you? A cat?”

  “What?”

  She shot him a quick, glossy-eyed glare, then resumed looking out the window. “Can I look forward to begging for your consent any time I want to do something?”

  Now Trevn’s own annoyance mingled with Mielle’s, quickly enhancing the emotion. “That’s not fair,” he said aloud.

  Cadoc frowned at Trevn, looking puzzled.

  “Beg your pardon, Your Highness?” Barek asked.

  Trevn’s cheeks heated. “Sorry.”

  “No need to apologize,” Barek said. “If you are displeased, I would like to know why, so that—”

  “I was voicing Mielle,” Trevn said.

  “Ah.” Barek looked between them and fought a smile.

  His reaction only fueled Trevn’s displeasure. “Something amuse you, Your Grace?”

  “No, Your Highness.” He sobered and grew suddenly interested in his scroll again.

  A sudden lightness flooded Trevn’s heart, and a giggle pulled his attention to Mielle, who was holding her hand over her mouth, eyes still moist but now sparkling as they held his gaze.

  He pulled her hand away and tucked it behind his back. “Now you’re laughing too?” he voiced.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, leaning close. “But he sure jumps to please you.”

  “At least somebody does.”

  She elbowed him. “Don’t be a nuisance. I know you’re simply trying to keep me safe.”

  He kissed her cheek. “So you forgive me?”

  “I will always forgive you.” She pressed her mouth to his, her emotions quickly consuming him. He leaned into her, happy to indulge in a moment of reprieve.

  A faint awkwardness pressed against Trevn’s senses. Mielle pulled away, rested her head on his shoulder, and closed her eyes. Trevn sat back and realized that the source of the awkwardness was coming from Cadoc and Barek, who were each looking out the windows.

  This amused Trevn, and he sat back and looked out his own window. They passed through grassy plains, hilly in parts, with sparse trees of average height—none so magnificent as the trees in the giants’ forest. The procession passed by two settlements of the nomadic Puru people. They had followed the herd south for the summer and, if last year was any indication, would be starting north again soon.

  “How safe is Armanguard?” Trevn asked. “I know we lost many in the battle. Are we vulnerable?”

  “Castle Armanguard is currently well fortified,” Barek said, “as is the surrounding settlement. Rosâr Wilek took only half his army so that we would be protected. With those who survived the Battle of Sarikar, we have just over twenty-four hundred soldiers. General Zeteo Agoros, as you know, has joined his wife in supporting Rogedoth, so you will need to appoint a new general. Under-General Collak Ensley has been temporarily filling the position, and I think he would make a fine—”

  “Why not promote Captain Veralla to general?” Trevn asked.

  “He has never served in the army, Your Highness, but in the Queen’s Guard, and then unofficially as Rosâr Wilek’s captain of the King’s Guard after Captain Alpress’s death. Under the circumstances, appointing him to any new position would be unwise.”

  “Has Captain Veralla’s condition changed?” Trevn asked, alarmed. “I thought the physician released him.”

  “You misunderstand me, Your Highness. The captain is in fine health, but he is in the dungeon awaiting his trial for deficiency. Novan Heln faces the same charge.”

  This Trevn found absurd. “Since when is it a crime to lose a war?”

  “It is a crime to fail to defend and protect the king. Both took oaths to do so, and both violated them when they allowed Rosâr Wilek to die.”

  “The council brought forth these charges?” Trevn asked.

  “That was not necessary, Your Highness. It is tradition. They will hang, once you sign the order.”

  A pang struck Trevn’s heart. “Absolutely not,” he said. “They are well-trained, experienced men. We need them.”

  “You said you wanted Justness for your brother’s death,” Barek said.

  “For those responsible for luring us into a trap. Barthel Rogedoth and whoever was working with Fonu Edekk. Not Wilek’s closest friends.”

  “But they are failures,” Barek said. “The other soldiers will not follow anyone so accursed.”

  “Superstitions are the makings of nonsense
, Your Grace,” Trevn said. “You have read the Book of Arman. I am surprised you would entertain such folly.”

  “The lesser penalty is to have their sword hand chopped off, but the king’s death is worth more, don’t you think?”

  “I think you are not hearing me,” Trevn said. “Wilek would be mortified to hear us contemplating the execution of his two closest companions for nothing more than obeying his orders. It will not be done, and that is final. I want both men released immediately.”

  Trevn felt Mielle’s pride course through him. The duke, however, looked to be fighting an outburst.

  “I am glad to see you found your confidence on the journey home,” the duke said. “But I must caution you in making rash decisions without consulting your elders. Just because you are the king of Armania, don’t think that means you can change decades of tradition to your liking. There will be consequences to every choice you make, so choose carefully.”

  Mielle’s anger burned into Trevn, and he had to fight to keep himself from being swept along. His mind-speak magic enabled him to sense that the duke’s words had been kindly meant, but they only increased the pressure looming over Trevn. He’d never considered that he and Barek Hadar would differ on so many issues, but the duke’s little speech had reminded him that this man was not Father Tomek. Trevn couldn’t rely on assumptions in regard to any man’s character. He would need to quickly figure out dozens of agendas, because everyone would be watching him, criticizing his every move, waiting for him to make mistakes. He could not afford even one misstep. The wrong choice could ruin them all.

  Oli

  Oli knew without asking that the empress was on the roof. His voicing ability had developed into a sixth sense when it came to locating other gifted people. He only need let his mind quest, then seek out her uniqueness. It was difficult to explain how he did this since it happened rather instinctively. He followed the circling stairwell to the roof, and as he passed through the doorway, a gust of cool wind lifted away the stuffy castle air. Inolah stood at the parapet looking southeast.