The Reluctant King

by Jill Williamson

  That is no way to make friends, Rurek said.

  But King Barthel bowed deeply. “The empress misspoke, Chieftess. I am heir to Sarikar alone, and seek only to act as regent in Armania until your son comes of age. I have no doubt that Sâr Shanek is worthy of his inheritance.”

  “He is, indeed.” But only Charlon would be Shanek’s regent.

  “It is an honor to finally make your acquaintance,” the king added. “I have heard much of the woman who killed a great shadir. I do hope you will tell us the tale.”

  They would have none of her secrets. “I am weary,” she said. “We were told you would house us. Is there someplace I might rest? For a short while?”

  “Of course, you must be exhausted,” the empress said. “I hate traveling myself. Qoatch will lead you to your rooms.” She waved forward a handsome young man. “We have planned a ball in your honor after first sleep. Qoatch will return for you then. I hope you will be rested enough to attend.”

  A ball? Charlon knew nothing of such things. In all her time wearing Lady Zeroah’s mask, she hadn’t needed to attend even one formal dance. “Magosians are not accustomed to such formalities,” she said.

  “You will be sitting with me and the king at the high table,” the empress said. “It will be entertaining enough to watch, I promise you. And of course you are under no obligation to participate.”

  You could at least try to be agreeable, Rurek said.

  “I’m sure I will be rested. By then,” Charlon said.

  The manservant ushered Charlon to the second level of the fortress. That she had no need to grovel and beg for ahvenrood pleased her. The substance held no temptation at present. She hadn’t taken any in weeks. Much to Rurek’s annoyance. She had been using the little stored within. To maintain her contact with the great and to see the Veil. She didn’t dare take more. Hoped to be with child soon. If she had need to defend herself, the new magic would serve her well enough.

  Charlon bathed. Tried to rest. But she could not sleep. The solid roof loomed overhead. Threatening to fall in and crush her. She missed the softness of her tent. The familiarity. She finally rose and dressed for dinner. Left her bedchamber. She found Miss Amala in the front room. Hugging her knees on the longchair. Weeping and looking quite green.

  “What has happened?” Charlon asked.

  The girl sniffled. Wiped a finger under her nose. “Forgive me, Chieftess. I did not mean to startle you.”

  “Answer my question.”

  “I had an unpleasant conversation; that is all. I am well, truly.”

  “With whom did you have this conversation?”

  Miss Amala frowned. Shook her head slightly. Tears welled afresh.

  Frustration rose. “I demand you tell me this instant!”

  “I saw Master Harton. He—” She took a deep breath. Began to sob.

  Charlon tensed at that name. The name of her brother who had sold her. To a brothel. So young.

  Who is Master Harton? Rurek asked from where he was perched atop the gowzal cage.

  Perhaps this was how Charlon might reveal her new magic. She would kill Harton. Someone who must die, she said to Rurek as she sat beside the girl. “Tell me what was said.”

  Miss Amala hung her head. The girl’s shame brought back memories. Charlon’s many compulsions had hidden her own dark past. She wanted it to stay hidden.

  “He said that he and Sir Kamran used me to escape the Seffynaw,” Miss Amala said. “That neither of them cared a whit about me, but only paid me compliments to trick me into helping them. He said I was a drab, silly girl, who was too stupid to know when I was being made a pawn, and that it’s my fault Sir Kamran is dead. He threatened to tell Lady Zenobia as much. She was Sir Kamran’s mother and is one of King Barthel’s mantics.” A fat tear rolled down her bronzed cheek, but when she next spoke, her voice grew fierce. Bitter. “That they both used me ill is bad enough, but that Master Harton would blame me for Sir Kamran’s death . . . as if Sir Kamran were some sort of casualty. That man deserved death and more for his many crimes.”

  “Harton has always been a monster,” Charlon said. “Listen well, Miss Amala. No man can ever be trusted fully. No woman either, for that matter. Trust no one in this life—and you have a chance at survival.”

  “Not even you?” Miss Amala asked.

  Charlon leveled a stare at the young woman. “Especially not me.”

  Miss Amala sniffed. The pallor in her cheeks had faded.

  Discomfort made Charlon stand. Such sentimental moments unnerved her. “I must prepare. Once Harton knows I am here, he will certainly try to kill me.”

  “Oh, but he wouldn’t!” Miss Amala said. “King Barthel invited you here as his guest. He needs you, and Master Harton has no choice but to be loyal to the man who feeds his addiction.”

  Charlon chuckled. “You learn quickly, Miss Amala. But I know my brother better than anyone. Harton might pretend to serve masters when it suits his purposes. But he is his only master. He knows I will come for him. So I must attack before he does.”

  You would kill your own brother? Rurek said from the gowzal cage.

  Yes, Charlon said. And you will help me.

  That night Charlon dined at the high table. Looking out over the open great hall. Empress Jazlyn sat center front. King Barthel on her right. Beside the king sat Rosârah Thallah. Then the king’s various retainers, Harton and Lady Zenobia included. Charlon had been seated on the empress’s left. Astaa, Roya, and Amala beside her. Dinner had come and gone. Many were dancing now. Roya and Amala included. Charlon had brought Rurek. Hidden in the gowzal perched on her shoulder.

  Long enough, Charlon had glared. Glared at Harton as he danced with one woman after another. Now that he was eating, she could ignore him with ease. A mixed group now danced on the floor below. Some formally. Some as the music moved them. Rurekans, Barthians, and Magosians. Noble and common. Shadir clouded the air. Spinning and looping among the dancing bodies like insects.

  Do you see the king’s great shadir? Charlon asked Rurek.

  No, he said. There are some powerful commons here, but no sign of Dendron.

  She regarded the giants. Dressed in fur, leather, and feathers. Standing in groups of three to five. Along the outer walls. Hovering over the food-laden tables. Why were they here? Hadn’t they recently attacked this fortress?

  “How did you make peace with the giants? So soon after their attack?” Charlon asked the empress.

  “The giants you see here are from a different tribe than those who attacked us,” came Jazlyn’s answer. “The raiders sought slaves to work their mines. These giants seek to know us better.”

  “I did not know there were different tribes,” Charlon said.

  “The Five Realms supported dozens of different peoples,” Jazlyn said. “Why should the new land be any less diverse?”

  “Who is that dancing with Miss Amala?” King Barthel asked.

  Charlon followed the king’s gaze. Stiffened. The young man’s back was to their table. But Charlon recognized Shanek in an instant. He was here. Dancing with the girl.

  Masi, tell Shanek to leave at once, Charlon said as she wrestled away her shock. Tried to pretend nothing was amiss. “One of my tribe, it looks like.” She chuckled. “See how poorly Magosians perform the dances of the father realms?”

  “They are doing remarkably well compared to others,” the king said. “You must have someone in your tribe who knows the dances of the father realms.”

  “Perhaps Sir Kalenek taught them,” the empress suggested.

  How dare she mention Sir Kalenek’s name? Charlon shot the empress a dark glare. But the damage had been done.

  King Barthel leaned toward Charlon. “Rosâr Wilek’s former shield?”

  “Yes,” Charlon said, offhandedly, pleased to see Masi appear near the dancing couple. “Sir Kalenek is in my service now. A more loyal man I could not purchase. Isn’t that right, Astaa?”

  “Indeed, Chieftess,” Astaa said. “Sir
Kalenek needs no magic to be formidable.”

  “He is your great-grandson’s protector,” Empress Jazlyn added.

  The woman’s loose tongue continued to annoy.

  “Is he?” the king said, narrowing his eyes. “I wish you would have brought Sâr Shanek along. I so desire to meet him.”

  “Someone had to rule in my stead,” Charlon said. “Who better than my own son?”

  “Rule? He couldn’t be more than two years old,” Rosârah Thallah said.

  “He is a root child, Your Highness,” Jazlyn said. “So he has grown much faster than the years he has lived. My own Jahleeah is already a full hand taller than her brother, without the aid of extra ahvenrood that Prince Shanek was given.”

  “Fascinating,” King Barthel said, taking a sip from his goblet.

  Masi appeared on Charlon’s left. Prince Shanek does not wish to leave.

  Shanek and Miss Amala neared the end of the line. Her son turned the girl in a half circle. To lead her back. Face exposed for all to see. Charlon cringed.

  Empress Jazlyn gasped. “Why . . . that is Prince Shanek,” she said. “I did not recognize him from behind.”

  “Nor did I,” Charlon lied.

  “Why, he is nearly a man!” Rosârah Thallah said.

  “So he likes to think,” Charlon said.

  “You said he did not come with you,” King Barthel said. “Did he hide himself in the procession?”

  “He did not hide himself,” Charlon said. “Nor did he travel with me. He has a fervent attraction for my fifth maiden. He must have come on his own.”

  The king chuckled. “Very like a young man to travel so far for a female, though I do hope his desertion of his post did not leave Magosia vulnerable.”

  “Sir Kalenek and my other maidens are more than capable. Of ruling the realm for a few days.” Charlon tried to keep her voice calm. Indifferent. But within, she raged. How could Shanek betray her like this? And Miss Amala should be here on the platform. Ready to help in the attack against Harton. What fools!

  “You will introduce us now, I hope?” King Barthel asked.

  “Astaa,” Charlon said, “go to Prince Shanek. I wish to see him and Miss Amala at once.”

  “Certainly, Chieftess.” Astaa stood and departed.

  “They do seem very fond of each other,” King Barthel said, watching the pair dance through the sequence.

  “He is very handsome,” one of the king’s women said.

  “He looks like Sâr Janek,” Rosârah Thallah said.

  “I think so too,” cooed another of the king’s women.

  Charlon seethed. Kept her eyes on Astaa. Watched her weave her way around the dancers. Close in on Shanek and Amala.

  Her son’s presence had distracted her. She must push the conversation elsewhere. “This giant tribe is peaceful?” she asked, eyes on Shanek.

  “The Jiir-Yeke have caused us no harm,” Empress Jazlyn said.

  On the dance floor, Astaa tapped Shanek on the shoulder. He turned. Drew back from the maiden. Then vanished. Taking Amala with him.

  Gasps abounded from the high table. Charlon stared wildly at the empty space. How? How had he done it?

  “Extraordinary!” the king said. “Did he make them invisible?”

  “So it would seem.” Though Charlon knew better. Shanek had traveled away. And while he had done so many times, she had never before seen him carry anyone. When had he developed this ability? And why had he kept it from her?

  “Look there!” the empress said, pointing to the opposite corner of the room.

  Shanek and Amala were dancing in the new space. As if nothing were amiss. Chagrin overwhelmed Charlon. Fools. Both of them. That Shanek could ever rule a nation was laughable.

  “He traveled in an instant,” King Barthel said, his voice laced with wonder. “I knew root children could move through the Veil, but I had no idea they could take another with them.”

  Charlon feigned boredom. As if all Magosians could move in such a way. But the king’s interest in Shanek terrified her. After all she’d done to keep him hidden. He had dangled himself in front of the very people. The people who would seek to exploit him.

  Astaa set off toward Shanek’s new location. Charlon wished the woman would hurry.

  “It’s incredible,” the empress said. “Oh, I do hope Princess Jahleeah will be so gifted.”

  “I daresay he could abduct anyone,” the king said.

  Charlon could not let such a comment pass. “As I told you, Prince Shanek and Miss Amala have a special friendship. I doubt even he understands how his ability works.”

  “But he could try, couldn’t he?” the king asked.

  “Oh, he must!” Jazlyn said. “To have such a gift and not explore its potential would be a terrible waste.”

  “Why would Prince Shanek wish to abduct anyone?” Charlon asked. “My son is not a spy or mercenary. Nor is he a novelty to be played with.”

  “I mean no disrespect, Chieftess,” the king said, “but if your son could be trained, he could abduct Rosâr Trevn and bring him here. To deprive our enemy of their regent would make the goal of conquest much easier.”

  “Abduct Trevn, but not harm him,” Rosârah Thallah said.

  King Barthel inclined his head to the portly queen. “Of course, Your Highness.”

  Charlon did not like it. “You say ‘our enemy.’ As if your nation and mine are one and the same,” she said. “But Magosia has no treaty with you.”

  Astaa reached Shanek again. This time when he disappeared, he left Amala behind.

  “It seems my son has had enough dancing,” Charlon said. “I’m sorry I will not be able to introduce you after all.”

  “Another time,” the king said. “I did not mean to push my aspirations onto you, Chieftess, but I hope you can see what an asset such an ability would mean to all of us—Sâr Shanek, most of all.”

  Again he implied that Charlon had already joined his cause. She had not—and would not. Shanek was meant to be king of Armania. And she would be his regent. Not Barthel Rogedoth. “I will not risk my only heir,” Charlon said. “He is poor in combat. A trained swordsman might kill him.”

  “I would never put the young man in harm’s way, Chieftess,” the king said. “We must think of whom he might bring to us instead. Until that is decided, he should be trained to fight.”

  Charlon fumed. That this man felt he could order her . . . “I will consider your ideas, Your Highness. But I decide what Shanek will and won’t do.”

  “Most certainly, Chieftess,” the king said. “I meant no offense.”

  A tense silence descended upon the high table. What could she do? Nothing. Nothing but continue with her plans to reveal her power and kill Harton. When King Barthel and the empress saw what she was capable of, they would cease trying to manipulate her and her son.

  But where had Amala gone? Charlon did not see the girl. Fine. She would do this herself. Once she killed her brother, King Barthel would see. That she needed no man.

  “Have you sworn fealty to this man as your king?” she asked Empress Jazlyn.

  “I have not, nor will I ever,” Jazlyn said.

  “I see.” Charlon fixed her gaze on the man. “Well, King Barthel? We are both of us here. Speak, mighty king. Tell us what you want to say to us together. So we can both return to the important business of ruling our nations.”

  “Very well, Chieftess. What I want is simple. The three of us must unite against Armania and Sarikar.”

  “I have no fight with Sarikar,” Charlon said. “But Armania is my son’s to rule.” She did not want the king to think she was against him. She relaxed her tone and her words. For now. “I am sorry he behaved so poorly tonight. Had he known you were in the room . . . I’m sure he would have been eager to meet you.”

  “Why do you feel so strongly that he should rule Armania?” Empress Jazlyn asked.

  “He is the son of Sâr Janek. Ranked before Sâr Trevn.”

  Rosârah Thallah g
runted.

  “But illegitimate,” Jazlyn said. “And therefore he has no rank in Armania’s eyes.”

  “Even if his being baseborn were not an issue,” King Barthel said, “Armania does not practice the right of first blood. The current king names his successor, and Rosâr Wilek named Sâr Trevn. You must have another reason Prince Shanek should inherit.”

  “It had been prophesied,” Charlon said. “The Deliverer will unite the mother and father realms. Shanek is flesh of Armania and Magosia. He is our Deliverer. Come to bring unity. Ruling is his destiny.”

  “But that’s wonderful,” the king said. “Don’t you see? I am of the father realms. I can teach the boy many things about Armania. I can groom him to rule. And as I have no heir, I can make him heir of Sarikar.”

  Two nations for Shanek? Charlon did not trust the man. “You have experience with root children?”

  His hesitation was enough. “Not I,” he said. “My great shadir, on the other hand . . .”

  “Your offer is generous, King Barthel. But I have a great shadir of my own. We two will suffice to prepare Shanek for his calling.”

  King Barthel narrowed his eyes. “I can see from your eyes that you aren’t using root at present.”

  “From your eyes I would say the same,” Charlon said.

  “Yes . . .” the king said, “but Chieftess, if you have run out, I can help you get more.”

  The nerve of this man. Believed himself so important. “You think I bluff about my power?”

  A shrug. “You brought less than two dozen shadir with you, none of them great.”

  “Nor do I see your shadir Dendron.”

  “You know Dendron?”

  “I know many things, King Barthel. You may have bought the empress’s favor with your bribes. But let me make this very clear. That will not work for me.”

  “He has not bribed me,” Jazlyn said.

  “Rurekau would never ally with this man, Empress,” Charlon said. “Your doing so tells me that you are either afraid of him—or greedy for power.”

  “I would rather be on his side than against him!” Jazlyn snapped. “Is that what you will be, I wonder?”

  “Would that void our treaty?” Charlon asked.