“Fine,” agreed the king, and Zacry vanished.
“I’m still here, don’t forget it,” Kora warned the Enchanted Fist.
Dorane seemed out of immediate danger from his injuries, so Ursa’s attentions had returned to herself.
“Can I see my sister?” she begged. “Before any trial?”
“If she’ll see you,” said Rexson. “You’ve traumatized the girl enough. August’s within her rights to want nothing to do with you. If that turns out to be the case, I’m not forcing her.”
“But you’ll tell her I asked for her? You’ll let her know?”
The proposition was not to Rexson’s liking. He spoke through gritted teeth, but he assented.
Arbora said nothing; she felt nothing where the topic of a trial was concerned, felt only a general grief. Her rashness, her lack of foresight, her inability to guide the younger generation, all that had killed Crale. She had killed him, a man more like a father to her than her real father had ever been. With no hope left for herself, the only question was: should she ruin Kora Porteg with her? At least attempt to? All respect for sorcery and its masters aside, she abhorred the woman so much she dared not give herself the satisfaction of destroying her.
I don’t deserve that victory. Not after what I did to Crale.
The absurdity of Arbora’s failure, its avoidable nature along with its completeness, overwhelmed her. Ursa and Dorane would likely hang. She herself was finished, and Crale with her. She was wrapped in the agony of what it meant to lose a role model, a mentor, a parent. Try as she might, she could not forget that Kora Porteg was now Kora Cason, and Kora Cason was the mother of five small sorcerers.
* * *
When the guards that Zacry led back to Crale’s cabin carted off Dorane and Ursa, along with Arbora as their accomplice and protector, the king gave strict orders not to allow the captives to speak a word, and Kora transported back to Bennie’s room from the kitchen now almost unrecognizable as such. After all that had occurred, she still felt she had done right to risk her own well-being over Vane’s, as young as he was and as much as she owed to his mother. Even so, the strain of the day had been more than she cared to admit. The shock of her exposure, the uncertainty of whether Arbora would keep her secret, the verbal and magical duels, the smoke in her lungs and fatigue in her muscles, the old man’s death, Rexson’s cruel treatment of Dorane: all these things combined to make her feel queasy. She was glad to find Bennie still away, and let her invisible body collapse on the bed, where, as in the days of the Crimson League, she managed to sleep.
The shriek of the door’s unoiled hinges woke Kora sometime later. She rose to a sitting position with a pounding chest and a lump in her throat, but the newcomer was only Bennie, with her back turned to close the door behind her; Kora would recognize that head anywhere. The inn worker jumped as Kora evoked a sound barrier.
“I thought you’d gone back to Traigland by now.”
“Desfazair,” responded Kora, and appeared where she sat on the bed. She pulled her legs in to make room for Bendelof. “You met up with the others, then?”
“With Zac,” Bennie clarified. “Just Zac, and he told me everything. He said they saw you. Kora, you need to go home.”
“I know I do. And I will, though there’s no guarantee I won’t be hounded even there, if any of that trio opens their mouth. It’s fine. It’s fine, it is. Rexson won’t let them speak, and even if they do, I knew what I was risking and I’d risk it again, so I have no regrets. A part of me, though…. Bennie, I’d really like to stay.”
“That’s no surprise, Kora. This is Herezoth. Your home.”
“But it isn’t, not any longer. It never can be again, not even for my kids, and I, I’m glad to know that for certain, as painful as it is. If that’s how things have to be, it’s better that I know.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been idealistic about my children. I’ve wanted them to know this place, and I’ve dreaded the day they’d be old enough to come here and leave me behind. They’ll still leave, of course. They’ll have their own dreams to chase, but they’ll never be welcome here. Forget welcome, they wouldn’t be remotely safe. Bennie, do people really say the king’s their father?”
Kora expected Bennie to blush, but she blanched instead. “People talk about the idea,” she admitted. “Some actually believe it. Me, I know the both of you. I know there’s no way you’d hurt Parker like that, or Rexson Gracia, but I can’t say a thing about it, can I? I can’t admit my past. Who knows who might overhear?”
“Of course you can’t,” said Kora. “I’m not blaming you, I’m not. I just wondered if people talked like that.”
“They do,” said Bennie, and the sorceress shook her head. “I’m really sorry, Kora. You don’t deserve that, and those people…. If they had the smallest idea of what they’re depriving their nation by rejecting you and yours, well, they would kick themselves.”
Kora smiled, a sincere smile, and put a hand on Bennie’s arm to quiet her. “Thank you,” she said. “Truly.”
“I suppose you should go back now.”
“In a bit.”
“I wish I could tell you to drop in again. I wish you could. Well, I know you can, since there’s nothing stopping you, but listen: my selfish wish to catch up isn’t worth what could happen to you here. Especially after today.”
“Don’t worry, Bennie. As much as I’d love to visit, I’m not fond of the thought of a noose.”
Bennie shivered. “Do you think the kidnappers will hang?”
“I’m not sure. There’s a chance Ursa and Dorane will, at least, and I’m not anxious to join them. But, well, I’ve got an idea.” Kora’s voice filled with an enthusiasm Bennie hadn’t heard there all day. “Maybe, from time to time, I could send Zac here for you, and you could visit me. To transport that distance, it takes a toll, so I swear I’d never grudge it if you’d rather just keep writing, but….”
Bennie said, “Writing? Over the chance to talk? To meet your kids? Are you kidding?”
“I’ll send Zac then.”
“I could get Hayden to come too. I’m sure he’d he love to see you, he….” Bennie paused. “He’s downstairs, you know. Eating. He wanted to support the inn. I could fetch him.”
“How would you explain bringing a man back here?”
“Man alive, I hadn’t thought of that! Can I bring you food back, at least?”
“I’ll eat in Traigland, at some inn or other. I’m exhausted already, and after I transport…. I can’t go home today. I’ll do that tomorrow, but I will leave Herezoth, I promise. And I’d love to see Hayden. I’d love for his last memory of me to be something else than a swollen neck and bloodshot, teary eyes back when I was eighteen, but the fact is, too many people have already seen me. It doesn’t make sense to leave more proof of my visit, not even with someone I trust as much as him. I do trust him, just as much as you….”
“I know,” Bennie assured her. “Hayden took part in the raid on Ursa’s mansion. What if the Fist comes after him? Their leadership’s arrest could provoke them. Now, I don’t think that’ll happen. We’ve no reason to think that at all, but you never know. We never thought Zalski would find our headquarters, did we?”
“Don’t mention that,” said Kora. “Goodbyes should be positive. Look, I won’t wait too long to send Zac: a couple weeks, no more. My mother still makes the best cherry tarts you’ve ever tasted. I know you liked those before you left Traigland, so I’ll have her make some. Parker loves them too, and Kansten, they’re her favorite.”
Bennie smiled. “I like your daughter already. She has good taste. Now, you on the other hand….”
“I still prefer the blueberry.”
“Inexcusable. Just inexcusable.” She wrapped Kora in a hug and sniffled. “Monstrous, really.”
The sorceress pulled back. “Don’t you cry. You’ll set me off too. I’ll be seeing you, all right? In two short weeks.”
“Zacry better be h
ere.”
“He will,” Kora promised, and hugged Bennie again.
* * *
That afternoon, Dorane, Ursa, and Arbora found themselves the only occupants of one of the holding cells in the ancient palace used for centuries now as the Yangerton prison. The room was large enough to fit three comfortably, but unfurnished, windowless, and dark, lit only by a candle on the wall. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all of heavy stone, which muffled the sound of voices from adjacent cells but not the footsteps of the armed guard who paced outside the grated door, the guard placed to ensure the prisoners complied with the order not to speak. None of the inmates, though, felt any temptation to talk. Arbora, for one, felt too nauseated. The image of Crale crumbling to dust kept replaying in her mind, and she thought she would vomit if she opened her mouth.
Ursa was wishing she could be alone. She had never been good at interpreting her emotions, but she was fairly sure, after the king beat Dorane, that she was in love with the sorcerer. That would explain why he frustrated her so easily, why she always felt on edge around him, why she bought those books she had no desire to read, and most of all, why she had let him talk her into the kidnapping scheme when she had known all along his was a horrible idea. At any rate, Dorane’s presence was disturbing when she was trying to figure out her sentiments. All she knew was she’d be damned if they hanged him. Maybe she could take responsibility, claim she had hatched the plot. But would Dorane let her do that? If she claimed it was for his kid, he just might. Anyway, at least for the moment, Ursa didn’t care what happened to her. She had been horrified beyond anything at the thought of arrest, which was why she had refused to turn herself in; now she wished she had surrendered. If she had known she would end up in jail regardless, why not?
Perhaps August would come see her. That would be nice…. The idea was brighter to Ursa than the candle, and she let herself bask in its glow. Perhaps she did care after all about her fate. Yes, she did care; she did not want to die. She wanted to see her sister, in particular. She definitely wanted to live, though if she could spare Dorane somehow….
Dorane huddled in the corner, weak and aching, his spirit paining him more than his body. His powers were gone: his one gift, his validation, his entire structure of self-worth. He too wished to be alone, with the belt the guards had removed from him, so he could kill himself and be done with it. As things were, with Ursa and Arbora in the room there had been no need to take his belt. The two would have stopped him before he strangled himself, and even if they couldn’t, he would never have subjected them to that. Not unless doing so would somehow grant him a Sorcerer’s Council.
Why didn’t Rexson just kill him? What was he waiting for, after that display at Crale’s cottage? And why—why?—had that idiot essayist intervened when the king would surely have beaten Dorane to death if left to his own devices? Hatred of Zacry Porteg pulsed through Dorane, setting his nerves on fire.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sunset
While the Enchanted Fist waited listlessly for whatever might come to pass, Kora awaited sunset in her favorite tavern on the Triflag coast, her favorite because it never seemed so busy that she couldn’t find a seat, or so noisy as to prevent her gathering her thoughts. White linen curtains, mirrors on the walls, and wicker furniture gave the place a pleasant, carefree air that Kora wished might penetrate her heart.
The sorceress perched on a barstool, watching families, lovers, and groups of friends come and go while she sipped a pint of beer that had thoroughly chilled her fingers. A bandana covered her ruby. Like those she and her brother had stripped of magic mere hours earlier, she was lost in contemplation, and grew to ignore the frequent swinging of the tavern’s door. She failed to notice right away when a group of three men walked in, rather nondescript, two dressed in the standard fashion of Traigland: a simple shirt of cotton, tunic-styled, with black or tan breeches. Their blond and thinner-haired companion wore a white worker’s shirt with long, fitted sleeves, one like Parker or any other smith would own. It was this last man Kora first noticed; he left his companions by the entrance to approach her.
“Zac thought we might find you here,” said Rexson. “The four of us should talk.” Kora marked her brother and Laskenay’s son. “A walk along the coast?”
“All right,” said Kora. She fingered her half-filled mug, and then offered it to Rexson. “Finish it,” she said. “I don’t want it, and it’ll do you good. If I know you at all, you haven’t touched ale since that time we drank it in Fontferry.”
“That time you threw it in my face,” he corrected with a smile. Kora forced herself to follow suit. She’d pretended he wanted to marry her when she’d sloshed him with ale, to create a diversion to save Hayden from some thug, and the memory was painful when she thought about the rumors of her children’s parentage. The king took one sip to taste the brew, then downed what remained. “Come on,” he said, and the foursome left the tavern, walking the two blocks of general stores, restaurants, and public stables until they reached the shore. It was sandy, with few shells, and strewn with driftwood.
Enough people were about that no one marked the new arrivals. And yet, beachgoers were sparse enough that Kora’s group could speak without being overheard. The sun was beginning to sink to the horizon, and the sorceress stared out to sea to watch it descend.
“We found the spy,” Zacry told his sister. “Well, Vane did, I should say. While we were in Yangerton. A kitchen hand.”
Kora nodded. That meant Gratton was in the clear and would not pursue her arrest, unless he were in cahoots with this man from the kitchens, which seemed unlikely. She turned to the king and blustered, “What are you doing here? Don’t you have other things to tend to?”
“What in God’s name were you doing in Herezoth?” he replied. “That’s why I’m here, to figure out how to handle this mess. All three of those clowns saw you.”
“Zacry invited him here,” Vane said. “We figured that was better than him visiting Treel…. Dorane’s spy.”
Kora recalled what Rexson had done to Dorane, and approved of Zacry’s logic. She told the king, “Don’t you worry about me. That’s not your concern. I went back to Herezoth of my own volition, and I’ll accept what consequences come of it. Whatever happens, you’re not to blame.”
“That’s easy enough to say. I’ll be damned if I let the public force me into hanging you when you came back on my account.”
“I remind you, someone would have to arrest and extradite me first. I have ways of making that difficult. So forget me. Just forget it. You have the kidnappers in prison, don’t you? You each have leverage, right? So compromise. Work out some kind of deal where you scratch each other’s backs. No trial, that would be a madhouse.”
“I can and will put them on trial,” the king insisted.
Zacry said, “And risk what they could reveal? With the numbers of people who’d be watching the proceedings? What charges would you draw? What motive would you propose they had? You can’t admit the truth. If they let out the magicked have organized to seek political power in the form of a council, you’d have mass hysteria on your hands.”
The king reminded him, “I have an army to handle mass hysteria. Those pigs deserve a trial. They deserve the shame, need to hear a death sentence levied.”
Zacry said, “I’m not suggesting you let them off. But don’t put them on trial. There’s too much to lose there. You do realize Kora and I just obliterated their magic? Obliterated it. They’ll resent that, and they could easily destroy you with themselves, out of spite. Even Dorane’s son will matter nothing to him now, not compared to his sense of violation. He’d love to tear you down. Why would you give him that platform? A public trial, it’s the perfect opportunity for them. Look, did we or did we not just hunt these people down to prevent them making public you’re telekinetic? As much as you’d hate to, give them their lives. They’ll be less grudging then, and you need them not to grudge you. Give them their blasted council if they insi
st, and make the council public. You can present a case for it as your idea. That’s preferable to what would happen if they leaked news of it at trial. After Zalski, if people knew a sorcerer meant to blackmail you, or if you tried to keep this council secret and failed…. I realize I’m not your adviser. But you gave me advice once, good advice, and as a friend I can say I don’t wish you the turmoil a trial could cause. I don’t know I could wish it on Zalski himself.”
“Zacry, they deserve to hang. After official sentencing. I can’t just….”
Kora said, “You can’t? You can’t do what? Are you king or aren’t you? You can do what you like. You can stab them in the gut and leave them to bleed out. In secret. That would solve the problem, though I wouldn’t recommend it if you want to sleep again.”
“Oh, I could sleep,” Rexson told her. “I’d sleep as soundly as my infant daughter.”
Kora said, “For a while you might. For a year or so, but we both know your conscience would catch up to you. You do remember that guard from my first raid, don’t you? The one Argint told me had all those kids? How’d you deal with killing him when all was said and done?”
“What’s that?” said Vane. He looked to Kora, intrigued. He had never heard her mention the Crimson League so directly, except when he asked her questions about Laskenay, but no one replied to his question. Vane longed for Kora to say more. His morbid curiosity got the best of him, but she returned to the topic at hand.
“Yes, you could kill them without a trial. No repercussions. That has to be tempting, after what they did to your children. I’m a parent myself, and if someone hurt my kids, I…. But that’s not the point. The fact remains, killing these people is very much the Zalski move, and you know it. You won’t go down that road. As much as you’d like to and as much as you bluster, we all know you won’t, you included, so if we take slaughter off the table…. You could try them, like you say. You could be vindictive enough to sacrifice not only yourself but Gracia too, and the future of your children, just to see the Fist shamed. You know that’s ridiculous. So your option is to compromise. It’s either that, or have your magic and their plot exposed in a courtroom. Do you really have a choice?”
The Magic Council (The Herezoth Trilogy) Page 22