King's Folly

by Jill Williamson

  Bringing up his brother was the deepest of insults. “I must dress for dinner, Etta. We are through discussing this. You may go.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she spat.

  Wilek strode to the door and opened it, held it wide, staring at Etta as he spoke. “Kal, Lady Lebetta requires an escort from my chamber.”

  “It would be my honor.” Kal walked inside, but before he reached Lebetta, she screamed and stormed out.

  Wilek stood still, heart pounding hot with anger. He watched until she turned the corner at the end of the hallway, then pushed the door closed.

  “Are you well, Your Highness?” Kal asked.

  Well enough. “Send a boy to fetch Dendrick. I must dress for dinner.”

  Trevn

  A few days after Trevn had moved back to Armania, he had asked the heralds to stop announcing him with his trumpet song, a custom he found pompous and unnecessary. The heralds had all agreed, so long as Trevn arrived before the king. So Trevn made a habit of showing up early whenever possible to spare himself the pomp every time he entered a public room.

  Trevn nodded at the herald as he and Hinck passed into the great hall for dinner. The narrow room stretched out long before them. Five tables spanned the dais, and another fifty covered the floor. Father cared more for superstition than symmetry.

  On the dais, the center table belonged to the king. Since he had not yet arrived, his fifth, newest bride, Rosârah Ojeda, sat alone, near bursting with her first child. The other four tables were designated for the other four queens and their children, though now that Wilek and Janek were of age, their tables belonged to them and their mothers were merely guests. In another two months the same would happen with Trevn’s table, though he might forget to invite his mother to dine.

  The princes and princesses were permitted to invite nobles to dine at their tables. Concubines and the king’s stray children were not allowed on the dais and had tables assigned on the floor.

  Trevn and Hinck approached the dais by way of the center aisle. All five queens were now present, as were the princesses Hrettah and Rashah and their nurse. No sign of Wilek or Jan—

  “Little brother, there you are!” Speak of the demon himself, Prince Janek popped up from one of the floor tables, his face beaming, one arm outstretched in greeting, the other holding a potted plant.

  Janek knew how handsome he was, how strong, and how his very presence made women swoon and men eager to pledge lives of service to his cause, no matter how perverse. What bothered Trevn most was how quickly Janek could go from furious one second to a gleaming smile the next. He was the best actor in the Five Realms.

  Janek had been sitting at the Agoros table, which belonged to the family of Sârah Jemesha, Father’s sister. At a quick glance, it was full of all Janek’s dearest acquaintances: the type of people who blindly followed idols. The kind of people Trevn loathed. Not a potential Renegade among them.

  A funny sound came from Hinck’s throat, a cross between an indecipherable word and a whimper. Not surprisingly, he was gazing longingly at cousin Eudora.

  Janek put his arm around Trevn’s shoulder, smelling of wine, women’s perfume, and the soil from his plant. “I’ve been meaning to introduce you to Lady Kyree of Fogstone.” He twisted Trevn around to see a girl who had been standing behind him.

  Lady Kyree was about Trevn’s age. She was a nervous, silly girl who talked faster than her brain could manage. As the daughter of Baron Faxon, Trevn had met her often enough over the years.

  Trevn nodded politely. “How do you fare, Lady Kyree?”

  “Magnificently, Your Highness,” she said. “And Lord Dacre. What a day! Good evening to you both.”

  Hinck jerked his attention to Lady Kyree. “Evening.” His eyes bounced right back to Eudora, who, as always, pretended to have no idea that Hinckdan Faluk, Earl of Dacre, existed.

  Janek drew Trevn a step closer to Kyree. “Lady Kyree is staying with the Agoros family for a few weeks. Cousin Eudora has been gracious enough to share her with our little group.”

  Eudora shot Janek a glare. The young women around her giggled.

  “Indeed, that’s quite right,” Kyree said. “My mother sent me for a visit. Sâr Trevn, did you know Lady Eudora and I were second cousins?”

  “I did.” Didn’t everyone?

  “Oh, well, I suppose you would. How foolish of me. You’re a sâr of Armania! I suppose it’s a sâr’s duty to know all about his subjects.”

  “A duty my brother takes very seriously,” Janek said. “I’m sure he knows you’ve reached your majority, Lady Kyree. You had a celebration, did you not?”

  “I did! Of course, you were both invited. Though I know Fogstone is a desperately long journey for sârs to attend a simple ageday party. We had a suckling pig and fifteen eels, in honor of my age—isn’t that fun? And dancing too! Never before had I danced so much that my feet—”

  “My brother was no doubt buried in his studies,” Janek said. “He’s to join the priesthood, you know.”

  Lady Kyree frowned. It could be difficult to follow Janek’s quick-changing subjects. “The priesthood is a noble profession,” she said, finally, and, for Kyree, quite succinctly.

  “Do not despair, lady,” Janek said. “Priests are permitted to take concubines.”

  Kyree touched her face. “Oh, yes. I suppose that’s true. I had, um, heard that, I mean. We have but one temple in our barony. It’s staffed by an elderly widower.”

  Trevn saw where Janek was taking this. He needed to leave before he and Lady Kyree were thoroughly embarrassed. He twisted out from under Janek’s arm and stepped away. “My mother is expecting us, Janek. Enjoy your dinner, Lady Kyree.”

  “Thank you, I shall. I could smell it in the hallway, and I told Eudora that it was going to be delicious. Didn’t I, Eudora? I do think I smelled eel and perhaps—”

  “Trevn,” Janek said, “ask your mother if your new concubine might move in to your chambers tonight. Honored Lady Kyree, what say you?”

  Her eyes flashed wide. “Oh . . . well . . .” Her bottom lip trembled. “The rosâr. He would have to speak with my father . . . I’m not at all certain he would allow me to become a, um . . . however respected such a position is, I . . . I don’t think he would approve.”

  “But might he consider it?” Janek asked.

  “That’s enough, Janek,” Trevn said.

  “Enough stalling, yes,” Janek said. “Come, lady, don’t be rude. What is your answer?”

  Seated at the table beside Eudora, Fonu Edekk spoke up. “If Sâr Trevn won’t have you, maybe Hinckdan will.”

  The sound of his name jerked Hinck from his Eudora-induced reverie. “Don’t answer them, lady,” Hinck said. “They’re playing games.”

  Kyree’s brow crumpled. “I don’t understand. Eudora?”

  Eudora and her friends burst into laughter.

  Kyree bobbed a quick curtsy. “I beg your highnesses excuse me.” She turned and ran from the great hall.

  Janek shrugged at Trevn. “I don’t think she likes you.”

  Trevn funneled his anger into words. “You mock me for being young, but I ask you, who is more juvenile: The man who pours himself into knowledge? Or the man with no interests beyond humiliating his peers and misusing women?”

  Low hums from Janek’s friends.

  “A cutting rebuke, little brother,” Janek said. “I’d take offense if you weren’t a virgin.”

  Fonu snorted.

  One of the concubines tittered.

  Always with Janek, it went back to sex. “Forgive me,” Trevn said, “but it’s not my goal to bed every girl in the Five Realms.”

  “It’s my fault,” Janek said. “I should have never allowed Father to send him away. The Sarikarians have ruined him. Not only is he devoutly chaste, he thinks himself better than everyone else.”

  Typical that Janek would now blame an entire realm for his losing an argument. “You’re a slave to gratification,” Trevn said. “History tea
ches us that living for pleasure alone is a good way to bring ruin on oneself. Take heed from the catastrophes of those who have come before you, and pick up a scroll.” Trevn pushed past Janek and strode to the dais.

  “He always ends with a scroll,” Janek said behind him. “Does he think me illiterate?”

  “Aren’t you?” Fonu asked, and laughter rang out.

  Trevn jogged up the steps past his father’s table, far enough away now that he could no longer hear Janek and his friends.

  “You shouldn’t fight with him,” Hinck said.

  “Janek might be able to best me with a sword, but a debate is an intellectual battle. Even at six years my senior, his brain is no match for mine.”

  They walked behind Wilek’s table where Grandmother and Queen Brelenah sat together, Brelenah with two tiny dogs on her lap and three more grazing the table.

  “One doesn’t need much of a brain to act like a ruffian,” Hinck said. “He’s a dangerous enemy.”

  “He’s an imbecile.”

  “So are you to overlook his power, Your Stubbornness.”

  A fair point. Trevn sighed. Why did everyone think they could tell him how to live?

  They reached his mother’s table. Trevn sat down on her right. Hinck on Trevn’s right.

  Everything about Queen Thallah was swollen. She had a bulbous nose; fish eyes; massive breasts that hung to a plump midsection; and short, stumpy legs like a pair of pillar candles. She also had the biggest hands he had ever seen on a female, hands that had slapped him senseless more than a few times.

  “I saw you speaking to Sâr Janek and his friends.” Mother leaned her cheek toward Trevn.

  He kissed her quickly. “Good evening, Mother.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Nothing much.”

  “Truthful lips endure forever, Trevn. I’m still angry with you for abandoning me this midday.”

  “I am clever, Mother, but not even I can predict earthquakes.”

  She banged a massive paw on the table, shaking the goblets of wine and bowls of food. “To rude words, deaf ears, Trevn. I’ve spoken with the rosâr. Since you continually risk your life traipsing all over the city unattended, he agrees that you should have a shield.”

  Sands no. Trevn gritted his teeth. “Completely unnecessary. The Armanians love me. Besides, a shield could not keep up.” Nor could anyone wishing to do him harm.

  “Captain Veralla assigned Sir Cadoc Wyser to the position,” Mother said. “The captain says he is the best available.”

  “Mother, I—”

  A trumpet cut him off. The king’s tune. Trevn stood with the rest of those in the great hall and watched their rosâr enter.

  Father had gotten old in Trevn’s absence and had given up swordplay. That and several illnesses over the years had turned muscle to flab. Add five layers of clothing, including an embroidered tabard and a thick velvet cape, and the man waddled down the aisle like a duck, even with five attendants carrying the hem of that insanely long cape.

  Every eye watched until Father sat in his throne at the high table. With a wave of his hand, he permitted his subjects to sit and continue eating.

  “It’s not only your reckless excursions that have caught my concern,” Mother said. “Prince Janek humiliates you every chance he gets. And you allow it. Part of Sir Cadoc’s job is to keep you from speaking to Prince Janek or any of his patron friends. You’ve fallen victim to their pranks for the last time. No woman will trick herself onto you again.”

  Trevn’s anger balled up in his throat and he fought to keep it there. “That was well over a year ago.”

  “A foolish son brings grief to his mother. The subject is closed. Sir Cadoc starts his shielding duties first thing tomorrow.” She leaned in front of him. “Hinckdan, how is your mother?”

  “Very well, Your Highness, thank you,” Hinck said, reaching for the wine.

  Trevn sat back and tuned out the conversation. Months away from his majority ageday, finally gaining a true measure of freedom, and now he was to have a shadow.

  Movement at Wilek’s table caught his attention. Wilek had still not arrived, but two young women curtsied to Queen Brelenah and took the seats on her left. Lady Zeroah and the girl from the carriage this midday. The mystery girl had changed from the pink dress into a light blue one. She was big, but not like his mother. She must be close to six feet tall. Her arms were as thick as Trevn’s, though he visited the practice field less than Hinck.

  Perhaps Lady Zeroah had been saddled with a shield of her own.

  The thought made him smile, but this woman was too young and wore no sword. She reached for a bread roll and knocked over her goblet. Wine bled into the tablecloth. She ripped the roll in two and pressed both sides into the liquid. Grabbed another roll and did the same. Lady Zeroah and Queen Brelenah were oblivious to the chaos, locked in conversation with one another.

  A servant passed by the table, saw the mess, and stopped to help. The girl pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve, but Lady Zeroah had finally noticed the situation and a quiet word sent the girl’s hands to her lap to stay. She watched in silence as a second servant arrived and helped the first mop up the mess. A new goblet was set before the girl and filled to the brim. The servants departed.

  The girl glanced at Lady Zeroah, who was again talking to Wilek’s mother. Her hand came up from her lap. Tentative, long fingers curled around the stem of her goblet. She picked it up, glanced to her left, then to her right. Wide brown eyes met Trevn’s and grew even wider.

  He winked.

  She turned her head so fast that wine sloshed over the rim of her goblet and down her arm.

  Trevn chuckled.

  “What are you laughing about?” Mother asked. “For Cetheria’s sake, eat something. You’re far too skinny. One morsel helps in the next.” She grabbed a lamb’s leg, dunked it in a tureen of gravy, and dropped it on his trencher.

  Trevn’s cheeks stung. He wanted to leave, to get up and stride from the room, to show his mother he would no longer tolerate public humiliation. Instead he picked up the leg of lamb and poured his fury into eating.

  Wilek

  Wilek stopped on the threshold of the great hall, Kal beside him.

  “Why not skip dinner tonight?” Kal asked.

  “Because Lady Zeroah asked to meet me. It’s rude to desert her twice in one day. I must keep her happy if I am to put my best foot forward for Heir.” He made eye contact with the herald at the door. “Announce me.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” The herald picked up his trumpet and blew Wilek’s call, then announced, “His Royal Highness, Wilek-Sâr Hadar, the First Arm, the Dutiful.”

  Every person but the king went to their feet—even Janek—and bowed as he walked past. Lady Zeroah stood beside his mother at his table, watching him—actually looking at him. How odd. Lebetta’s usual seat at the royal concubine table was unsurprisingly empty.

  Wilek stopped before the king’s table and bowed deeply to his father, who waved him on with barely a glance as he sucked on a leg of lamb.

  Wilek jogged up the steps. Kal took his place on the wall. A servant pulled out Wilek’s chair, which had a sleeping dog on it. Mother scooped the creature into her arms, and Wilek sat between Mother and Lady Zeroah.

  The women, and everyone else in the great hall, reclaimed their seats.

  Mother snuggled the puppy to her cheek. “Where have you been, my son?”

  “Forgive my lateness,” Wilek said. “I was detained.”

  “Young people are too busy these days,” Gran said.

  “Is anything wrong?” Lady Zeroah asked, looking directly into his eyes.

  Her golden stare raised goose bumps on his arms and made him smile. “Nothing at all.”

  She glanced away, took a shaky breath, then looked back. Smiled again.

  Curious.

  “The lamb is dry tonight,” Gran said. “Take it with gravy.”

  Wilek filled his trencher. One of the dogs on the tab
le sniffed and licked his food. He pushed it away. He hadn’t come here to eat. He must talk with his betrothed so his father would see he was the best choice for Heir. “How was your first sleep, Lady Zeroah?”

  She glanced at Mielle. “It was good.”

  Good. “And you, Miss Mielle? Did you enjoy your first sleep?”

  “I didn’t sleep, Your Highness. I was far too upset.”

  “I hope it was nothing too dire,” he said.

  “You must not,” Zeroah whispered to Miss Mielle, then added something Wilek couldn’t hear.

  Mielle met his gaze, then looked down. “Nothing important, Your Highness.”

  Something was going on between these two, but Wilek was too tired of female drama to try to puzzle it out. He searched for something else to say, but the remainder of his day had held nothing that would interest a lady. “Is the wine good?”

  “Very.”

  Gods, he needed to do better than this. “Did you enjoy your time at the Sink?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Three words must be Lady Zeroah’s limit for dinner conversation. He sat back in his chair, bored already. Lady Zeroah and Miss Mielle whispered again. On his left his mother and grandmother were whispering too. He was surrounded by women with secrets.

  “Too much food,” Gran yelled suddenly, making him jump. She pushed her trencher toward the dogs on the table.

  “I am full as well,” Mother said on a sigh. “Let us retire, Avenelle.” She elbowed Wilek and murmured, “Enjoy your conversation. I insist.”

  Gran leaned around his mother. “Yes, boy. Do the job right.”

  Wilek stifled a groan. One secret revealed, at least. “Good evening, Gran, Mother.”

  Mother gathered up two of her dogs. “Lady Zeroah, Miss Mielle, thank you for the lovely company. I hope to soon see you at the court of the queen.”

  “I hope so as well, Your Highness,” Lady Zeroah said. “Good evening. To you as well, Your Highness,” she added to Gran.

  How was this fair? Nine words to his mother, six for Gran. Each received at least double his three. Wilek watched the two queens depart the great hall, arm in arm, heads bowed in conversation, leading, between the two of them, a dozen honor maidens and five dogs.