“I know you will.” She gazed at him so long he turned away, looked at the door. “Yes, go get dressed for dinner,” she said, patting his arm. “I will see you there.”
Trevn, Hinck, and Cadoc walked in silence to Trevn’s chambers. When they arrived, Trevn waved them all inside and closed the door.
“How did this happen?” he asked.
“It’s my fault,” Hinck said. “I came to meet you after your lessons, but Father Tomek said he let you go early. So I came here to see what you had decided to do about . . . you know. But you were already gone. And when I came out, Cadoc, well, he . . .”
“I could tell from the look on his face he hadn’t seen you. I entered your chambers, confirmed you had left, and informed your mother of the situation.”
Trevn looked from Cadoc to Hinck, mustering up his most disappointed frown. Captain Veralla was correct. They were his to command, and he needed them on his side. “I apologize, Cadoc. I’m not used to having a shield. But I am your master, not my mother. From now on, I will ask your help when I want to meet someone privately without my mother’s knowledge.”
“I appreciate that, Your Highness,” Cadoc said.
Hinck’s grin claimed his entire face. “So you met her? And there’ll be a next time?”
Trevn fell into his chair by the fireplace and smirked. “I hope so.” He would meet her tomorrow, if he could make his list by then. The more information he could gather about Wilek, the longer Miss Mielle’s lips would be on his.
Wilek
Unfortunately every avenue of investigation failed to yield results. The Magonian women in the dungeon claimed to be illiterate and swore they weren’t mantics. The guards he had posted at Lebetta’s door affirmed that she had not left, yet a chambermaid had seen her walk past the laundry in the basement. Those were his only clues besides the mysterious rune. How had Lebetta gotten out of her room? Could she scale the walls like Trevn, or were the guards lying? And what had she been doing in the basement? The lack of logical answers left Wilek cross and irritable.
He arrived late to dinner so that all would see him enter. The herald played his tune, and he moved slowly up the aisle, proudly bearing his official blacks, which Dendrick had found within moments of entering Wilek’s wardrobe. Father was not here. Ill, so his attendants claimed. Wilek knew better. He was hiding.
The people stared and murmured. Wilek relished every shocked expression. Until his eyes met Lady Zeroah’s. Again, he had forgotten she would be here. He winced inwardly, knowing that his scene might cause her pain.
His mother and Gran merely stared, silent, perhaps for the first time in their lives. It would not last long. A servant pulled out his chair and he sat. Kal took his post on the wall.
“Good evening, ladies,” Wilek said. “I trust you all enjoyed first sleep?”
“Wilek,” his mother breathed.
Wilek drained half his goblet of wine, hoping it might dull his frazzled nerves. Lady Zeroah glanced about the great hall, from the king’s table to the floor, to Trevn’s table. “You are the only one wearing blacks, Your Highness,” she said softly.
He steeled himself. “I mourn the Honored Lady Lebetta.”
“I see.” Her chin trembled and she pushed back her chair. “I am sorry for your loss. I shall leave you in peace until the five months have . . .” She stopped and set her hand on the edge of the table as if to steady herself. “Will you be wearing black to the wedding?”
Mikreh’s teeth. “I shall mourn Lady Lebetta only fifteen days,” he said. “I mean no offense.”
She took this in, nodded. “Then we will return after that time.” She stood, pulled her skirt out from the legs of her chair. “Mielle, let us depart.”
“You are leaving?” Wilek asked.
“I am afraid we must.” Lady Zeroah curtsied. “Enjoy the rest of your meal, Your Highness. May you find peace in your time of grieving.” She walked past him, down the steps, Miss Mielle at her side.
“She handled that well,” Mother said.
“I’ve always liked her,” Gran said. “Quiet, but those eyes are so intelligent. She’ll make a fine queen.”
“I’m glad you both approve,” Wilek said.
Mother frowned at him. “How terribly rude of you to wear blacks to sit with your betrothed. You risk your marriage and position as Heir with such behavior.”
“I must mourn her, Mother.”
“You’re a good boy,” Gran said. “This quail is divine, Brelenah. I think Hara discovered a new spice.”
“It is good,” Mother said. “Tastes like cumin, only sweeter. Cinnamon, perhaps?”
Gran had a way of saving Wilek from lectures. She could maneuver a conversation better than anyone, leading his mother into a debate over the cook’s culinary surprises. Had he done the right thing? Just because Lebetta was gone and he was suffering did not change the fact that he must marry Lady Zeroah in two months’ time. He would need to make peace with her, and soon.
He remained in the great hall long after Mother and Gran had gone. With only fourteen more days to wear his blacks, he might as well make the most of it.
A chorus of laughter pulled Wilek’s attention to the Agoros table. Janek was there now, holding court. Over half of those at the table were watching Wilek. Janek said something softly, and they all laughed again.
Wilek sighed.
“Wilek?” He turned and saw Trevn pull out the chair on his right. “May I?”
“Please,” Wilek said.
Trevn sat and ate a berry off Lady Zeroah’s abandoned trencher. “Was Lady Zeroah feeling ill?”
“I don’t think she appreciated the color of my tunic.”
Trevn glanced at Wilek’s clothes. “Oh, right.”
“Nor does the king. Nor does my mother. Nor does Janek, who mocks me to his friends. Does it bother you, brother?”
“Not at all. Mourn if you must. It’s your right.” He grinned. “I rather like the fit it gave our father.”
That others knew that Wilek had annoyed the king made him smile. “I confess, that was part of the reason I did it.”
“What’s your favorite color?” Trevn asked.
Wilek frowned, thought it over. “Uh . . . I suppose I prefer blue. Why?”
“Just wondering. What’s your favorite pastime?”
“Well, I enjoy music, both playing it and listening to it.”
“How about food? What’s your favorite?”
Of all the bizarre . . . “Trevn, why do you ask these things?”
He shrugged. “Because I want to know you better.”
Oh, well, no harm in that. “All right. I like fish, and Hara’s rose pudding is divine.”
“Rose pudding, fish. Got it. Um . . . whom do you most admire?”
“Rayim Veralla. Kal. Gran. My mother.” When Trevn didn’t respond with another question, Wilek asked, “Is that all? Have I satisfied your curiosity?”
“Almost.” Trevn furrowed his brows, like he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say next. “What weather do you like?”
“Cloudy, so it’s not so hot.”
“Moon or stars?”
“I abhor the moon. It reminds me of . . .” Wilek stopped. He’d never told anyone but Kal and Gran how much he hated the offerings in The Gray. Trevn, he supposed, might understand. “It reminds me of the night Chadek was killed.”
Trevn’s eyes swelled at those words, then he smiled. The boy found humor in Chadek’s death? “That’s great. To know, I mean. It’s terrible that it happened. Human sacrifice is an archaic practice.”
“And you to be a priest?”
“Wasn’t my idea.”
Wilek chuckled, but it felt wrong to laugh while wearing black, and it quickly died. “I do not worship the Rôb Five like Father, his council, and the priests. I substitute Arman for Barthos.” It was on Wilek’s insignia.
“Because of the sacrifices?”
“Partly. Arman demands sacrifice of life service, while Barthos demands sa
crifice of life blood. Service gives more value to a man’s life than a one-time outpouring of his blood. Arman values life over death, and so do I.” He caught sight of Dendrick walking toward them. “Anything else, Trevn? Dendrick is coming, and it looks as if he has something on his mind.”
“No, that’s good. Thanks, brother.” Trevn slapped Wilek’s shoulder and dashed away, sprinting through the great hall as if it were on fire.
How very odd.
As Dendrick ascended the stairs to the dais, he glanced back at the blur that was Trevn. “Your Highness, a messenger has just arrived. Your father requests your presence in the Throne Room.”
Wilek stood and followed his onesent along the dais to the exit on the far end.
“Nice blacks, brother,” Janek yelled from the Agoros table.
Janek’s minions snickered. Wilek ignored them but caught the gazes of the Honored Ladies Pia and Mattenelle. For the first time ever, his brother’s concubines looked on him with something like respect.
A handful of advisors were already in the Throne Room with the king when Wilek arrived. Among them were Pontiff Rogedoth, Canbek, Jervaid, and Princess Nabelle. A sharp stench drew Wilek’s attention to a man in clothing so filthy he could have been pulled from the Blackwater Canal.
“Wilek!” Father yelled. “Finally. Read the message again for my son.”
The filthy man cleared his throat and read from a scroll. “‘Rosâr of Armania, hear our cry. The city of Farway is no more. On the fifth day of the second week of the third month of spring, an earthquake swallowed our fair city into the depths of the Lowerworld, killing thousands, including my father, mother, and three sisters. We are a deserted people without home, food, or even water. Please send assistance at once to Farmman Geffray’s claim.’ Signed, ‘Estin Dobry, Earl of Farway, which is no more.’”
Wilek leaned against the wall, stunned. Into the Lowerworld? He couldn’t fathom such a thing. “Underground, you mean?”
“It’s the Five Woes come at last,” Canbek said. “I warned you. I’ve been saying it for—”
“Oh, shut up with your woes,” Jervaid said. “I tell you the whole thing is impossible: woes and earthquakes that swallow cities.”
“We all saw what happened to Cape Waldemar,” Rogedoth said. “Barthos is angry still.”
“Arman is angry,” Princess Nabelle said, glaring at the Pontiff.
“An entire city, though?” Jervaid said. “I don’t believe it.”
Wilek did not like the idea that the Five Woes were upon them; still . . .
“Why would the boy lie?” he asked.
“To pilfer money from the rosâr’s coffers,” Jervaid said. “Probably killed his father for the earldom.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Wilek said. If anyone was pilfering, it was Jervaid. “Estin is fourteen. He needs our support.” He looked to the messenger. “Why is he staying on a farm?”
“His father’s advisors were farmmen, the lot of them,” the messenger said. “With the city gone, that’s where the food is.”
“I say we send someone to confirm this claim,” Jervaid said. “We cannot take the word of this lout.”
“Wilek will go,” Father said, looking to him.
The command shocked him senseless. “To Farway?”
“Take fifty men including yourself, no more, no less. If Farway is truly gone, the people must have angered Barthos. Set up a shrine and make sacrifices. One for every five survivors. There is a Gray at the northernmost tip of the King’s Canyon.”
“You are very wise, sire, to think of such things,” Rogedoth said.
No, he was insane. The both of them were. Wilek would never sacrifice anyone to Barthos.
“Why must you send Sâr Wilek?” Princess Nabelle asked.
“I trust no one else,” Father said. “Janek will accompany me to Canden next moon.”
Wilek had a feeling his father only wanted to get rid of the embarrassment of Wilek’s blacks. It would take ten days to reach Farway. The rest of Wilek’s mourning period would be seen by no more than his forty-nine men and any commoners they saw along the way. But he wavered only a moment. Anyone else would obey Father’s command to sacrifice survivors. Plus, being so close to the border between Armania and Magonia, perhaps he could find a mantic to translate Lebetta’s rune.
“I will leave the day after tomorrow,” Wilek told the messenger.
“Excellent,” Father said. “Go now and prepare.”
Trevn
Trevn sat on the bench inside the rotunda of the roof garden, bouncing one knee, worried. Miss Mielle was late. He didn’t like how it made him feel powerless and at her mercy. He jumped up and jogged down the steps, around the curved path to where Cadoc stood guard.
His shield looked up. “Patience, young sâr. She comes now.” He nodded across the roof.
Indeed a woman was coming toward them, alone. Trevn ran back to the rotunda, to his spot on the bench. Moments later he heard the slap of approaching sandals on the stone path.
Then Miss Mielle came into sight. She had changed her hair. It was done up in dozens of minibraids, part of them twisted into a knot, the rest hanging down her back. She wore a green dress with gold ribbon lines down the seams that made her look even taller.
Trevn popped to his feet. What was it about this woman that made it difficult to even breathe? “Hello, Miss Mielle.”
She climbed the three steps to the platform and curtsied but did not meet his gaze. Her forehead was wrinkled, and her eyes glinted with distrust as she looked around the rotunda, up to the ceiling, behind him. Something was wrong.
“My, this is . . . remote,” she said. “No one should ever find us up here.”
That was the idea. He tried a smile.
“Because you can’t risk being seen with me again.” This she said to the floor.
He stared at her, afraid to speak or move. He had seen his mother behave like this and feared Miss Mielle was working her way toward an outburst.
She walked past him, sat on the bench, still avoiding his eyes and still looking very angry. “I assume you have some information to share or you wouldn’t have summoned me.”
His chest burned. Something had changed. He feared speaking would only make it worse. He walked slowly toward her and sat down, careful to leave a large space between them.
“Well? Let’s hear it,” she said. “Lady Zeroah needs all the help she can get.”
Trevn wanted to know what was wrong but was hesitant to upset her further. “I remembered that he collects knives. She might give him one, as a present.”
This information softened her demeanor. “That’s helpful. Anything else?”
“His favorite color is blue. His favorite pastime is music—playing the lyre and listening to it.”
“You already told me that.”
“No I haven’t.” He’d told her that Wilek played the lyre but not that music was his favorite pastime.
“Yes you have. Because I told my lady, and she interviewed a player to learn about the instrument.”
“Well, I have more. He prefers any kind of fish. Favorite dessert is rose pudding. He most admires Captain Veralla, Sir Kalenek, his mother, and Grandmother. He likes cloudy weather because it is cooler. And he hates the moon. Want to know why?”
She shrugged and looked away, as if disappointed in his efforts.
He had imagined this information would earn him a long and thankful kiss. Now he simply wanted to lighten her mood. He also hoped Wilek wouldn’t find out he had told anyone. “Please use this information with care, Miss Mielle. If he learns I told you . . .”
Her eyes rolled up as if he were a silly child. “I shall be most discreet, Your Highness.”
Trevn bit the inside of his cheek, trying to decide if he should tell her or not. He really did want to help Wilek and Zeroah find happiness together. “It’s the sacrifices.”
She looked at him for the first time since entering the rotunda. “Which sacrifices?”
<
br /> “The full moon sacrifices at The Gray. Once a month my father goes to Canden to sacrifice a convict to Barthos. It reminds Wilek of when our father sacrificed some of our brothers.”
Miss Mielle’s lips parted. “The king killed his own sons?”
“You didn’t know? It was before I was born. Wilek was nine. Father dropped them into The Gray as sacrifices. Got his advisors and nobles and soldiers to sacrifice their children too. There were fifty Armanian males offered to Barthos that day. Newborns to grown men. All for favor to win the war.”
Miss Mielle stood up, hands balled into fists. “Fifty?” she yelled.
Trevn flinched. “That is why Wilek hates the full moon.”
She twirled away from Trevn and paced to the wall, her green skirt fluttering out behind her, briefly revealing part of her leg. “Of all the horrible, monstrous . . .”
“Miss Mielle, forgive me for asking, but is something bothering you? You seem upset.”
She spun around and stalked toward him. “Do I?”
He shrank back as she neared. “Did I do something?”
She plopped down beside him and folded her arms.
He wanted to reach out and touch her but didn’t dare. “Miss Mielle?”
“Yes?”
“You don’t have to kiss me if you don’t want to. I’m happy to help Lady Zeroah any way I can. I want her and my brother to find happiness. You as well.”
She sighed, deflated a little. “Sâr Trevn, I am but a servant to my lady. My happiness matters not, now or ever, it seems.”
“Oh.” So what was she saying?
“I was introduced to your mother today.”
“Ah.” Mystery solved. That explained everything.
“Since your father was feeling ill, Lady Zeroah and I visited the king’s court. This time, however, his advisors were there—and your mother, who I understand only comes when the king is gone.” Her eyes were glossy with tears, which she somehow managed to keep from leaking out. “We should never have gone. Your mother approached us, greeted Lady Zeroah. Talked of you and how clever you are. I told Rosârah Thallah that you and I had dined with Sâr Wilek and Lady Zeroah. I said you were charming and kind. Do you want to know what she said?”
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