King's Folly

by Jill Williamson

  “That shows how little you know Miss Mielle,” Trevn said.

  The soft voices of Lady Zeroah and Miss Mielle drifted up to his ears. Trevn listened to them climb into the carriage. The doors clicked shut. He had already asked Hawley not to signal him today. The man climbed up beside the driver, winked at Trevn, and they were off.

  A thrill flamed within Trevn’s chest. Today he would know whether or not Mielle Allard was a Renegade.

  Trevn kept his head down until they passed the protestors at the gatehouse. Then he wasted no time. “I’m going in.”

  Cadoc nodded and braced himself: one hand over the far edge of the carriage, the other held out to Trevn.

  Trevn took hold and slipped over the side. He fell fast, legs flailing a bit before finding the open window. “Lower me!” he yelled, which Cadoc did, little by little.

  The women screamed, which made Trevn grin. They were hitting his legs too, as if he were some kind of villain. Once his backside rested on the window ledge, he let go of Cadoc’s hand and slid inside, landing in a crouch on the floor of the carriage.

  The screaming ceased.

  Lady Zeroah and Miss Mielle were sitting across from one another against the far wall of the carriage, watching him, wide-eyed.

  “Good midday, ladies,” Trevn said, quite pleased to have frightened them.

  “Sâr Trevn.” Lady Zeroah inclined her head.

  Miss Mielle slid down the bench and slapped his shoulder repeatedly. “You reckless madperson!”

  Trevn slipped to his knees and grabbed her hands. “Miss Mielle, I promise you I have no intention of marrying or taking concubines or building a harem. Rest assured, my mother will continue to behave poorly and try to run my life, but I will make my own decisions. I realize friendship with me is a risk. I hope it is a risk you will consider taking.” He gazed up into her deep brown eyes and pinched his brows into the penitent expression that had always worked on his mother.

  Miss Mielle said nothing. Merely stared. The carriage rattled around them, horses’ hooves clomping, tack jangling.

  Then finally: “Kal says I should avoid you.”

  Did he? Kalenek Veroth’s caution was to be applauded. “And you have! Just look what I had to do to get a word with you. Will you forgive me for my part in upsetting you?”

  She glanced to Lady Zeroah and back, stiff posture wilting. “I forgive you, Your Highness.”

  Trevn grinned and slid up to sit beside her. “Will you come with me? To the roofs?”

  Her eyes doubled in size. “I mustn’t abandon Lady Zeroah. Besides, who would chaperone us?”

  “Cadoc is with me. And Lady Zeroah has Hawley and the kitchen maids, isn’t that right, lady?”

  “Indeed, Your Highness,” Lady Zeroah said. “Do go, if you like, Mielle. But be careful.”

  Trevn pulled Miss Mielle to the window. “I will bring her to the almshouse in two hours, lady.”

  Miss Mielle gripped the sides of the window, looked out and up. “How will we get up there?”

  “Turn your back to the window and lean out. I will lift you, and Cadoc will pull you up.”

  At this moment most women would have refused. Not Miss Mielle. She spun right around and nearly crawled out herself.

  Sands, he liked her.

  Unfortunately, when Hawley saw what was happening, he slowed the carriage to a crawl, which greatly minimized the risk and Trevn’s thrill. Once Miss Mielle lay on the roof between Trevn and Cadoc, the carriage resumed its regular speed.

  “We are approaching the drop to the Sink,” Trevn said. “It will become quite bumpy.”

  “Is that where we jump?” Miss Mielle asked.

  “After the turn where the cobblestone ends.”

  “Don’t be afraid, Miss Mielle,” Cadoc said.

  “Oh, I’m not afraid,” she said, eyes wide and eager.

  The carriage jolted as it hit the dirt road of the Sink and rattled over the pothole-filled road. Trevn pushed to his knees, eyeing the distance to the bakery. Miss Mielle mimicked his actions.

  “See that long brown roof?” Trevn pointed ahead. “The road narrows there. The carriage will slow to avoid hitting the buildings. That’s where we jump.”

  Trevn went first. The moment his feet made contact with the roof, he spun around to watch Miss Mielle, who was already hurtling toward him, her hindrance of a skirt clutched in one fist at her hip. He skipped aside to catch her, but she landed fine, skidding a bit on the soot. Cadoc landed hard, weapons jangling. He stumbled but quickly caught his balance.

  Seeing them both safe, Trevn turned and ran. Over the inns, down the sloped roof of the chandler’s shop, up to the bathhouse, then to Mama’s Shelter, and down to the leatherworks. He bypassed the leap over the alley and went Hinck’s way, which was longer but safer. Roof to roof he ran until finally climbing onto the red-and-brown striped roof of Thalassa’s Temple, where he sat in the center.

  Miss Mielle sank to her knees beside him, studying the view. Several tendrils of hair had escaped the knot of braids on her head and framed her face. “It’s wonderful up here.”

  Trevn pointed. “That used to be Cape Waldemar. The earthquake pulled it under the sea.” He fished his grow lens from his hipsack and passed it to Miss Mielle.

  She squinted through the lens and sighed. “I lived there as a child. When my parents died, Kal and Livy moved in to take care of us.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, wondering what had happened later that forced them to live in the Sink.

  Miss Mielle shook off her sorrow with a flip of her hair. “I want to go there and get a closer look. Not today, but soon.”

  So did Trevn. And now he had reason besides his own curiosity. “Next week perhaps? The rest of this week will be consumed with my ageday ball.” He paused. “Would you come?”

  “To a sâr’s ball?” She shook her head. “That wouldn’t be proper.”

  “It would if I invited Lady Zeroah.”

  She gave him that slow smile that twisted his insides into a knot. “I will convey your invitation to Lady Zeroah. I’m sure she will accept.”

  Trevn released a careful breath, not wanting her to know how much she intimidated him. “And will you dance with me there?”

  She flushed, but her eyes lit with joy. “I won’t refuse, though won’t it upset your mother?”

  Oh, it would. Trevn was counting on it.

  Trevn had barely taken his seat in the great hall for dinner when his mother attacked. “You were seen walking with a woman in the Sink. Who was she?”

  Just like that, his happiness over a perfect day with Miss Mielle vanished. “If your spies were unable to identify her, perhaps you should employ better ones.”

  “Proud talk brings a rod of discipline. I know who she was.” Mother glanced pointedly to Wilek’s table where Miss Mielle and Lady Zeroah were sitting with Queen Brelenah and Grandmother. “Really, Trevn. After what happened with Shessy Wallington, how can you be so careless?”

  Trevn picked at a wedge of cheese. “Do you know how rare it is to find a girl willing to run the roofs?” He doubted there was another in all of Armania who would.

  “A sâr should not run the roofs at all. Now, about your ball, I invited two groups of young ladies and requested they dress appropriately. Potential brides will be dressed in Hadar blue. Potential concubines in pink.”

  Of all the . . . “Father Tomek says a priest should avoid concubines.” Nor would a Renegade take one, curious or not.

  “Concubines are the fashion for sârs,” his mother said. “I won’t have people mocking you for not following the trend. Your reputation is everything.”

  Trevn agreed. But the core of a Renegade’s reputation was to oppose everything fashionable and conventional.

  “The night of your ball you will choose your favorite for a wife. I will choose as well, and hopefully Mikreh will bless us with agreement. I care less about your choices of concubines. Pick ten. That should please your father.”

 
; “Ten!” Trevn barely knew what to do with one woman. “Not even Janek has ten concubines.”

  “Which is why you should have more. Listen to your mother. Now, remember, not everyone is able to attend.”

  Trevn rested his elbows on the table and fisted his hands together over his mouth.

  “For a wife, do seriously consider Princess Saria.”

  “Saria is like a sister to me.” A pesky sister.

  “And you must also think of your cousin Mihah for a concubine. She will be better trained than most. No realm instructs women in the art of lovemaking like Rurekau. It still shocks me that the rosâr has cast me aside.”

  Trevn dropped his head into his hands. His day had gone from blissful to nightmarish in too short a time. His only comfort was imagining the look on his mother’s face when he chose Miss Mielle for the first dance at his ball.

  Kalenek

  Five days’ ride southeast from what had once been Farway brought Kal and Novan Heln within sight of the border. The southern crack of the great Smoke Canyon stretched out before them like a gaping wound. Before it, the city of Raine. The Rôb temple spire pierced the skyline. Beyond, the Cross Canyon Bridges looked like nothing more than a few gray hairs coiling over the golden chasm.

  Not since the war had Kal come this far east. The gleam of the yeetta’s obsidian knife flashed in his memory. He touched his gloved hand to his face and pushed the nightmare down.

  The second largest city in Armania, Raine stretched several leagues across at its widest point. It stank of rot and sewage without a nearby sea and waterwheel to flush clean its canals. The tolls and taxes on the bridge brought in a tremendous amount of wealth for Lord Edekk—and crime, since he kept most of the money in his own coffers.

  Kal stopped to buy them each a change of clothing so they could travel out of uniform. He took a room at the Cracked Cistern, a sandstone inn owned by a man who dealt in impossible situations. The tavern on the ground floor was packed. Kal preferred to have his back against the wall, which afforded him the best view of potential threats, but the only empty table was in the center. He claimed one of the four chairs. Novan sat across from him.

  A bowl boy approached their table. “Hungry or thirsty?”

  “Both,” Kal said. “And I’d like to see Eenar.”

  The boy frowned. “Two coppers for stew, four for mutton, one for ale. Pay first.”

  Kal withdrew a ten-penny from his coin purse and handed it to the boy. “Two muttons, two ales. Eenar?”

  “I’ll see if he’s in.” The boy scurried away.

  Kal scanned the room, uncomfortable with his back to so many. Most of the patrons were in groups of two. A man in a Magonian kasah with a knife on his belt sat alone. A shriek of laugher pulled Kal’s glance to behind Novan. A woman in a group of six was cackling, head thrown back in utter delight. Her companions laughed as well, though it seemed more at her expense.

  Movement in the doorway captured Kal’s attention: a man in torterus-shell armor with a jagged scar across his cheek that made Kal’s scars tingle. Eenar.

  Kal stood. “Wait here,” he told Novan and made his way around the tables. Eenar stepped into an alcove that held a shrine to Mikreh. Kal followed him.

  “Didn’t expect to see you again,” Eenar said.

  Kal hadn’t intended to return. “I need a pastone into Magonia. Or a mantic. Whichever is easier.”

  “You won’t find a mantic this side of the border. The hazak monitor them.”

  “The mantic needn’t be practicing. I seek a rune translation.”

  “I couldn’t find such a person without asking my Magonian contacts.”

  Kal was afraid of that. “I’d rather not call attention to myself. A pastone, then.”

  “It’ll cost you a gold.”

  Kal withdrew the coin from his purse and handed it to Eenar. “Anything going on in Magonia I should know about?”

  “I hear the Chieftess and her court are in the father realms.”

  The news rocked Kal. Had the party seen near Dacre included the Magonian Chieftess? Headed to Everton to fulfill her dubious prophecy? “She passed through Raine?”

  Eenar shook his head. “Went around the Ebro Tip. King Jorger should take more care with his eastern border.”

  Kal would have to send word to Wilek. “Any idea why she’d break the treaty?”

  “I put nothing past a Magonian female. They—”

  “Sir Kalenek!” Novan’s voice.

  Kal stepped from the alcove in time to see a man in a red uniform grab Novan by the front of his tunic.

  Kal dodged around the tables and wedged himself between Novan and his attacker, who was half a head taller than Kal. “Is there a problem?”

  The man’s eyes flitted over Kal’s scarred face. “He was asking about runes.”

  “Why is that your business?” Kal asked.

  “I am hazak. We guard the border from mantics.”

  “Do you sense magic in me or my companion?” Kal asked.

  The man hesitated.

  “We’re not mantics. Look.” Kal held up his hand, baring his shield ring. “We’re on the rosâr’s business. We seek a mantic murderer.”

  “There are no mantics in Raine,” the man said. “We see to that.” He stomped away.

  The bowl boy arrived then, holding a tray. He transferred two plates of mutton and two mugs of ale to the tabletop.

  Kal glanced across the room to the alcove. Eenar had gone. He fell back into his chair and pulled his mutton close. “I do the questioning, Novan. You do what I say. That clear?”

  “Yes, sir.” Novan sat down and started eating without question. Kal liked that about him. Harton talked far too much for his liking.

  They ate in silence. Just as Kal swallowed the last of his ale, the bowl boy returned and set a small stone on the table. It was engraved with the insignia of Magonia on the top. Kal nodded at the boy and picked up the stone, flipped it in his palm, and verified the insignia of King Echad on the back.

  He pocketed it. “We leave at dawn.”

  Crossing the bridge at night was prohibited, so Kal and Novan rose with the dawn bells. They dressed in plainclothes, which included head scarves to keep off the sun, and then it was down to the stables to rent camels for the journey into the desert. The stableman taught them the commands to make the camels sit, stand, walk, run, and stop. Kal’s was a creamy-white female, Novan’s a golden male. They mounted and set off for the bridge.

  “They’re so high, sir.” Novan clutched the saddle horn with both hands. “Why can’t we take the horses?”

  “I don’t like the height either,” Kal said. “But camels are more practical in the desert and don’t need as much water. Plus our fine horses would stand out. I aim to blend in.”

  Even this early the line at the border was considerable. As they waited, Kal studied the zigzagging bridges with trepidation. Fifteen stone arches connected a series of buttes and mesas across the narrowest section of the canyon, which was still a two-league distance. A camel could walk two leagues in less than two hours, but combine that distance with the awkward staircases, paralyzing height, and two-way traffic, and it would take half the day to cross.

  The gatekeeper noted their pastone without comment and waved them under the entry arch. The Smoke Canyon gaped below, a half league deep, its floor a wilderness of rock crags, hoodoos, and cracks. Jagged rock walls displayed layers of sediment in a rainbow of earth tones. River holes gaped like pores across the rock face and spilled water in stripes down the wall.

  The first bridge ended on a butte. The guard at the bridge house inspected their pastone and sent them on. A set of long, shallow stone steps twisted down the butte to the start of the next bridge. Kal and Novan came to a standstill behind two men wrestling a team of oxen and a cart down the steps.

  Kal sighed, seeing no way around.

  “I’ll try to help them.” Novan gave the command for his camel to sit.

  Helping had not occurred
to Kal, which shamed him. In his years of royal service, he’d grown used to having the right of way.

  The men readily accepted Novan’s assistance. The boy took hold of the back of the cart, and the three of them got the animals moving. At the start of the next bridge, the men insisted that Novan and Kal go around.

  Bridge after bridge, they made their way across the canyon. Novan’s camel had a tendency to run, and the boy was constantly trying to slow him down. Halfway across the eighth segment, they passed under a stone arch topped with a statue of the goddess Magon.

  Kal shivered. They had entered Magonia.

  Novan reached the ninth bridge house ahead of Kal, who arrived in time to catch the Magonian guard trying to charge Novan to enter.

  One look at Kal’s sword and scarred face and the man changed his mind.

  “I bet the oxen men won’t be so fortunate,” Novan said as they rode on.

  Yes, well, sometimes being horribly disfigured came in handy.

  As they neared the other side, the small sections of stairs on the buttes and mesas began to go up, and Novan fell behind. He eventually had to get off his camel and bribe it with carrots to make the climb. By the final bridge, Kal had also gotten down to walk. They managed to drag the camels to the other side, where they could see the city of Hebron stretched out before them. It didn’t look all that different from Raine, except for the abundance of red-tile roofs and the gold-clad spire of the Temple of Magon that gleamed like a star in the setting sun.

  “It’s beautiful,” Novan said.

  Kal merely grunted and led his camel toward the bridge house and solid ground. The guard there took one look at Kal’s pastone and waved them through. They mounted their camels and rode into the city of Hebron.

  “Where do we look first, sir?” Novan asked.

  “In Lifton,” Kal said.

  “That’s another week’s journey. Why not look here?”

  “Hebron devours ignorant foreigners,” Kal said. “It’s dangerous enough to ask questions in daylight; it’s suicidal to ask them at night. If we keep moving, we look like men on a mission, and men on a mission aren’t helpless.”

  After one stop at the public well to water the camels and fill their jugs, they rode quickly for the city gates. Not until they were outside did Kal slow his pace.