Royal Exile

by Fiona McIntosh

  “We must have a physic take a proper look at you. It’s probably something transient, the result of the pain in your head.”

  “I think we both know that is a kind lie. I know what this is. I think the damage is permanent.”

  Freath didn’t respond immediately, instead walking ahead, pointing to the herb garden. “Piven was lost here, apparently.” He bent to pluck some leaves, which he crushed, inhaling their aroma. “This was Iselda’s garden. She planted it as much for its scent as for its practicality. She loved to chew kellet; I recall its soft spicy fragrance on her breath.”

  “I did it, Freath. It was me,” Kirin blurted as they circled the herb beds.

  Freath paused before he sighed, not looking at the Vested. “I know. I worked it out.” Silence stretched between them. “Did you keep that a secret from me for any reason?” he finally continued.

  “I didn’t know I could do that,” Kirin replied, his voice laden with irritation. “I don’t know what even possessed me to try—desperation, no doubt. The alternative was to watch either, or both, you and Genrie be murdered before our eyes.”

  Freath nodded. “Both, I would imagine. The Droste woman is highly suspicious of Genrie and Loethar has yet to fully trust me. That’s why he tested me. I don’t know what to say to you. Words don’t seem enough. Frankly, I’m still lost in my own astonishment.”

  Kirin looked at him sideways. “It was my choice to attempt it.”

  “Did you know what you were trying?” Freath asked, allowing his awe to creep through.

  “I can’t remember. I think I decided in that moment in which I realized how badly wrong this was all going for you. I thought if I could just get into Genrie’s mind, maybe I could force the right answer by letting her see the right boy’s head in my mind. To be honest, when she chose the right one I assumed it was luck, a pure coincidence.”

  “So did I.”

  “When Loethar called in Father Briar I wasn’t going to try again. I was already dizzy with nausea and I didn’t want to fall over, draw attention to myself. But then I saw your face. I saw how frightened Father Briar looked and I understood how much was riding on this…how many lives stood in the balance. So I tried again, with no idea if what I was doing was right. I was losing consciousness before I could see which head the priest chose. Luckily Clovis caught me, kept me upright long enough for the hysteria to pass and Loethar to leave.”

  “Can you remember how you did what you did?”

  “Not really. I don’t think I ever want to try that again, though.”

  “Kirin, you must realize you are not only looking into people’s minds but are influencing them. That is an incredibly powerful magic.”

  “That’s prying. Now that I’ve had some time to consider it, I believe they both knew I was there in their minds. I suspect they’re confused now but eventually they’ll realize that something unusual has occurred.”

  “Genrie already suspects. She’s waiting for my explanation, I think. They were both left dizzied, disoriented by the experience. She can put two and two together.”

  “What will you tell her?”

  “Nothing! No one but us will ever know this. Did Clovis say anything?”

  “If he did I didn’t hear it.”

  “Well, then that’s possibly three of us. Two too many! The secret remains between us.”

  Kirin nodded bleakly.

  “I’m sorry about your eyesight, Kirin. I don’t know what to—”

  “It cannot be helped. I think perhaps this is what the seer on Medhaven was trying to tell me about my talent. She was right to frighten me.”

  “If you use this magic, it harms you—is that what you mean?”

  Kirin looked away toward the forest. “I suspect that’s the truth of it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  The man of magic shook his head. “If not for you, Freath, I would be dead already. Many of us would be dead already. You have no blame in this.”

  “There are moments where I feel as though I am to blame for all the despair.”

  “I agreed to fight back. I made Clovis bury his sorrows as best he could and fight back. We have to, whatever the cost.”

  “Brave words,” Freath murmured softly.

  “They’re all I have,” Kirin said, equally quietly. “What now?”

  “We must be very watchful. Will you be another set of eyes and ears for me?” At Kirin’s nod, Freath continued. “We’ve managed to get this far relatively unscathed but I have no idea what lurks in Loethar’s mind. He is a hard man to read and he is far, far more incisive than many may believe.”

  Kirin nodded. “Are we over the worst of it?”

  “For now. He believes all the Valisars have now been dealt with and, apart from his genuine regret over Piven, he will be feeling relatively secure. I imagine he will turn his attention to his nuptials and to settling down the various realms. He is charismatic enough to win the nobles’ support. They have seen enough bloodshed, suffered enough destruction and despair. Everyone will want peace and an end to the brutality.

  If that means living under barbarian rule, they will. He understands this.”

  “His metamorphosis from barbarian warlord to western emperor is astonishing,” Kirin commented.

  “That’s all part of it. He knows what he’s doing. Given time I believe he will even behave fully as a Set king. He was born to lead—of that there is no doubt. It’s a pity he was born into the family on the Likurian Steppes.”

  Kirin looked at Freath, surprised. “You can’t mean that?”

  “Why not?” Freath shrugged. “He isn’t like Stracker. He isn’t even like the mother. Stripped of the barbarian adornments and dressed in De Vis’s wardrobe, he doesn’t look like a man of the Steppes.”

  “I don’t share your admiration. He’s a butcher!”

  “So was Cormoron all those centuries ago. We regard him as a hero in Penraven because he fought on our behalf, built this land, formed the Set. The Steppes people obviously worship Loethar with a similar loyalty.”

  “What about Stracker?”

  “Stracker is a different person altogether. I’ve never seen anyone with such bloodlust. The man simply likes killing.”

  Kirin nodded knowingly. “All right. I’ll watch and listen. I hope Clovis found Piven, and found some peace as well.”

  “Poor Piven. Who knows what will become of him. Clovis is our only hope; my hands are tied.”

  “Is it worth it?” Kirin stepped back at Feath’s wounded expression. “I mean, he’s so lost, really, isn’t he…is he worth risking a life for?”

  Freath’s expression became even more haggard. “I gave my word to my lady queen that I would let nothing happen to her sons. I have lost both of them in a matter of days. I can offer neither of them help. I can offer neither protection. Why would she have put her faith in me?” he asked, shaking his head, turning away.

  “Because she trusted you. And if you hadn’t had the foresight to make it look as though you’d turned traitor, her sons wouldn’t even be alive. At least King Leonel has a chance.”

  “That’s true. And perhaps Piven, too. Thank you. I have to think that way or my grief will stop me in my tracks. Come, let’s get you to a physic.”

  “There is no point, Freath.”

  “Why?”

  Kirin stared at him coolly. “Because I know you plan to ask more of the same from me.”

  Within the palace that evening all was quiet. Loethar was somber. Although his lovemaking had been more gentle than usual, in that slower, more peaceful manner Valya sensed his distance. He was more untouchable than ever this evening and it was strange that he had taken to his bed so early. Though she didn’t mind so long as she was beside him.

  It was wonderful to relax in a huge, soft bed again, beneath a lush canopy and enclosed by velvet drapes. True privacy, as well as luxuriating between silk, her head cradled by pillows of down, were treats she had certainly forgotten. She had been lying in a sleepy wa
rmth of sated lust but now she turned beneath the sheets and regarded Loethar’s solemn face.

  “I enjoyed that, my love. Thank you,” she cooed, her voice languorous. He said nothing. She risked stroking his chest, devoid of hair, unmarked unlike his brother. “How is it that you have no tatua and yet you are the ruler of the Likurian people?” She’d never dared ask before.

  He shifted his head on the pillow slightly away from her and she thought he would ignore her question but he answered, “The first tatua are made when you have marked one hundred and twenty moons against your life. It is a special time for fathers to formally welcome their sons into the tribe as warriors.”

  “So why not you?”

  “I did not have a father to do those honors. And my mother chose not to mark me.”

  “That was brave.”

  He turned now, regarded her with an expression she couldn’t read. “What an extraordinary comment,” he said, his dark eyes glittering from the lamplight overhead. “Why do you say that?”

  She shrugged, her breasts quivering, though he didn’t glance away from her face. “I imagine she would have been eager to mark you as soon as possible to herald your position.” At his nod, she continued. “Instead she chose not to. I can only assume this was to set you apart somehow. I suspect it would have created much discussion, possibly anger, from the elders of your people.”

  “It did.”

  “Then it took courage to stand her ground.”

  “Indeed. That’s very insightful of you, Valya. I’m impressed. It really was an incredibly brave decision on my mother’s part.”

  “I don’t only bring you beauty and a realm, Loethar,” Valya said playfully, but he was having none of her coquettish behavior. He rested himself on an elbow, facing her fully, and she watched the muscles ripple on his lean frame.

  “What else do you sense?”

  She shook her head girlishly.

  “No, I mean it. Don’t play coy. There is nothing shy or reserved about you, Valya. One of the reasons we’re together is because you are always so direct, so obvious in what you want and how you get it. I respect that. Tell me what else you have noticed in the short time you’ve lived among us.”

  She gave a soft sigh. “Well, you’ve all always kept me at arm’s length so I’m not sure I can make the sort of observation you want. But I have to wonder why you are ruler when you’re not the eldest male in your family. Why does Stracker allow it?”

  Loethar nodded approval of her question. “Because I’m stronger.”

  She snorted, surprised.

  “Not here,” he said, pointing to his tensed arm. “Here,” he said, moving his finger to his temple.

  “So in your culture an heir can be overlooked?”

  She saw momentary amusement in his eyes. “In our culture, Valya, there is no such thing as an heir. We fight for our right to rule.”

  This took her by surprise. “What? I, I thought you were royal?”

  “I am.”

  “No, of royal blood, lineage,” she explained, frowning.

  “I am,” he repeated.

  “But you’re saying that anyone could have been king.”

  “Yes. I fought many warriors for my right to be king.”

  “Wait a minute. You fought Stracker?” she asked, disbelief engulfing her.

  He nodded.

  “You beat all the other eligible warriors?”

  “You should not be so surprised,” he admonished gently. “Every male is eligible. If our king had died when I was only eleven, I could have fought then for the right to rule. I simply had to be prepared to lose my life—that’s all it takes.”

  “I had no idea,” she said. “How many did you fight?”

  “Twenty-nine.”

  “How many died?”

  “Twenty-eight.”

  She understood in a blink. “You spared Stracker?”

  He nodded.

  “I see. You spared him because he’s your half-brother?”

  He didn’t say anything, simply stared at her, waiting for her to work it out.

  “No, that didn’t matter a whit to you, did it? You spared him because he was your mother’s son.”

  “It would have been awkward,” he said, smiling briefly as he said the final word.

  “And that’s why Stracker is so beholden to you. You spared his life and now he owes you.”

  “I’m not sure either of us see it that way but possibly my mother does. Certainly the various families do. Stracker knows his life was forfeit.”

  “And you trust him?” she asked.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  She nodded. “Good. But that doesn’t answer my original question. Stracker has the tatua and he was seemingly equally capable of being king. Why were you spared the inks?”

  “You’ll have to ask my mother that,” Loethar said, leaning back on his pillow again.

  Valya knew she was highly unlikely to broach such a subject with Dara Negev. “Does no one from the tribes mind?” she pressed.

  “No one minds,” he echoed. “I won my title, my right through blood. That is how it is done. If I choose not to mark myself as the warrior I am, it is my loss. That’s how they would see it.”

  “So you could still take the tatua?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you won’t.”

  “Not now. Not as Emperor of the Set and the Steppes.”

  “I don’t think you would have regardless of that,” she said, staring at him.

  “Probably not.”

  “Why not?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer. “Changing the subject,” she said, “I’m glad the Valisar boy is dead.”

  “You mean Leonel?”

  “Of course.”

  “I couldn’t be sure to which you referred. You never showed any warmth toward Piven.”

  She gave him a look of surprise. “Do you blame me?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “Well, I suppose I’m sorry about him.”

  “Are you?”

  She squirmed beneath his penetrating question. “I know you liked him, even though you might as well be speaking to a wall or a piece of furniture,” she said, touching the smooth dark wood of the four-poster bed.

  “I did like him. He turned into the very pet I thought I could ridicule him as. I wasn’t prepared to be fond of him but I was, in the end.”

  “You don’t miss him, surely?”

  “No, but I regret that he will die hungry, lost.”

  “That’s rather sentimental of you. If it eases your mind, I doubt he’ll register even that much, my love.” She smiled. “How curious that you can kill people with such ruthlessness and then mourn the loss of a single halfwit child.”

  “I see something of myself in Piven,” he admitted softly.

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” Valya scoffed. Then, changing the subject again, she asked, “Do you feel you can relax now that Leonel is dead?”

  “I can focus on what I came here to do, which is to rule. Our wedding will herald the beginning of festivities that will bring the Set together again, start blending our peoples. I am sending for the warriors’ women and I’ve also told Freath to hire staff for the palace—you may want to supervise that alongside him?”

  “Most certainly I will,” she said, making a mental note to speak with Freath the following morning.

  “Bring the wedding forward. I think we should marry in leaf-fall.”

  This was wonderful news but it also made her nervous. “But, my love, that’s just a moon away.”

  “Then you have plenty to do, Valya,” he replied, turning his back on her.

  He was asleep within minutes and Valya had never felt more lonely. It was still early enough to see through the windows. She was vaguely hungry, not tired and suddenly disgruntled. She had rung for Genrie but the girl had taken an age to arrive, then looked sullen at the request. She’d said it may take a short while because she was the only person on the staff and Dara Neg
ev had ordered hot water be brought up. Valya had ignored what she considered whining.

  “I am soon to be empress,” she had reminded Genrie, “and you’d do well to get your priorities in the right order,” before she then slammed the door in the girl’s face.

  Overly restless, she decided not to ring for Genrie but to go down to the kitchens herself. Maybe she could find a beaker of milk, perhaps something to eat. She pulled around her shoulders a silk robe that she’d taken from Iselda’s rooms, its quality attesting to the unmistakeably heavy, exquisitely embroidered fabric from Percheron. She’d found matching slippers too and those she put on as she tiptoed from the bed.

  She turned to look at Loethar, who in a rare occasion was sleeping deeply. His mouth was slightly parted and she could see a neat row of teeth beneath the expressive lips that had been so well hidden once below the scraggly beard. He really was an intensely attractive man. She couldn’t see his eyes but she knew that arresting dark gaze lurked beneath those closed lids and long dark lashes. Sometimes those eyes excited her. Mostly they frightened her. She wished she knew what thoughts roamed behind them, but he kept that part of him remote from everyone.

  Loethar stirred, obviously aware of her scrutiny and more alert than she had given him credit for.

  “What are you doing?” he murmured.

  “Your piece of theater quite put me off my food this evening, my love. Now I feel hungry and can’t sleep.”

  “Wake the girl. Genrie can fetch you something.”

  “No. It’s too early for me to sleep, anyway. I think I’ll go fetch myself a cup of warmed milk.”

  He murmured something.

  “Pardon, my love?”

  “I said, throw some liquor into it.”

  She smiled, hoping he was concerned for her restlessness but suspecting he simply wanted her to stop disturbing him. Still, she touched him on the shoulder gently. “Sleep well, beloved,” she said softly, dropping a soft kiss to his hair.

  He turned over in the bed, the sheet falling away, and she saw once again the silvery lines of long-healed wounds on his body. She could only imagine the number of blades that had attempted to take his life when he fought for the title of ruler of the Likurian Steppes. Well, now he was Emperor of the Denova Set and the entire region. She must remind him to rename the whole area in order to fully stamp his mark onto his new empire. And she would be his empress. She smiled. She couldn’t wait to see her parents’ faces when they learned the truth of whose arms she’d run to a year ago and to whom they must now pay fealty.