King's Folly

by Jill Williamson

  Trevn found a worn pair of trousers he knew to be comfortable and pulled them on. “You followed her?”

  “Yes. Until she went through a door that, when I reached it, was locked.”

  Trevn came back into the main room, lacing his britches. When he finished, he sat across from Hinck at the table and helped himself to a piece of chicken. “Locked from inside?”

  Hinck shrugged. “It had a keyhole. I didn’t see whether she used a key or if someone let her in.” Hinck tossed his chicken bone on the table and leaned back in his chair. “How was the Cape?”

  “An adventure. But my mother and Janek seek to ruin my fun.” Trevn explained what had happened in the Sink and since he had returned.

  “Evenroot milling. Sands,” Hinck said. “But Miss Mielle should be safe from Janek at Fairsight Manor, at least.”

  Trevn sighed. “But far from me.”

  “She wants the Renegade mark. She’ll be one of us forever. Seems promising, though I can’t imagine a woman would really cut herself.”

  “Mielle would.” And hopefully not her whole hand.

  “Oh, it’s Mielle now without the Miss, is it? What else went on in the Sink?”

  Nothing Trevn would ever tell Hinck. “I dislike how Janek is getting cozy with Father in Wilek’s absence. I bet he knows where Cousin Eudora went in the bowels of the castle. I want you to start spending time with him and his friends.”

  “Janek? Why?”

  “That rune Eudora carried is no coincidence. She is part of his retinue. This will be safer than you following her everywhere.”

  “There you go again, changing my life with a few casual words. Do you even know your brother? He’ll never call me friend.”

  Likely true. “So make it about Eudora. Everyone knows you love her.” He sighed. “This is important, Hinck. A woman has been murdered. There must be a link somewhere to the symbol. I cannot go. You can.”

  “You mean to use me. As always.”

  “Why shouldn’t I? We’re royalty. Our mere existence marks us as pawns in a game that never ends until we sail away on our death boats. I may have stumbled upon a sphere of influence that could harm Wilek. I must confirm or deny it.”

  “Eudora will laugh at me. Remember what she did when the Rurekans were here and my mother tried to make us dance?”

  “Of course they will all mock you ruthlessly. They mock everyone. But this is the only way.”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “Hinck, if something should happen to Wilek, Father will certainly make Janek his Heir. . . . Can you imagine Janek as rosâr?”

  Hinck grimaced. “It’s a night terror I have every so often.”

  “So you see why you must do this.”

  A heavy sigh. “They’ll ask why I’m not serving you.”

  “Tell them I’m busy with my lessons.”

  “All the time? Even you don’t read that much.” He pursed his lips. “I could tell them you’re with Miss Mielle?”

  That brought a grin to Trevn’s face. “An excellent notion. Janek will be thrilled.”

  Hinck

  Hinck awoke early and rode toward Seacrest. He took his time, enjoying the cool morning air and imagining the worst the day ahead might hold.

  Hinck was an earl but never got to act like one. He had spent the last ten years with Trevn in Sarikar, complacent in the sâr’s shadow. Whenever they had visited Everton, Hinck had suffered scores of humiliating practical jokes from Janek and his friends—some with violent consequences.

  Trevn knew this, of course. It still shocked Hinck that Trevn felt sending him to face them alone a justifiable request. But he must stop pitying himself. He had known what it meant to be Trevn’s backman upon accepting the position. And Lady Eudora had been carrying a stone with the same rune the Honored Lady Lebetta had drawn in her dying moments.

  Hinck arrived at Seacrest and handed the boy his horse with as much indifference as he could muster in hopes of imitating the behavior of Janek’s friends. That included barging in the front door, and the racket he made sent five servants scrambling into a line to greet him. Their behavior so surprised him that he almost apologized for his rudeness.

  Timmons, Janek’s onesent, stood center front. “Your lordship. How can I be of service?”

  Hinck forced himself to answer with confidence. “I’ve come to visit Sâr Janek.”

  “I see, sir. I didn’t realize you and Sâr Janek were friends.”

  Hinck flushed, annoyed that a servant would question him, but not surprised that Janek had trained his man to be particular. “Sâr Trevn gave me the day off. My father has encouraged me to make new acquaintances, so I figured . . .” Hinck’s bravado dwindled. “Will he see me, do you think?”

  Timmons shrugged. “Sâr Janek’s moods change more than the tides, your lordship. I shall announce you, and I daresay his answer won’t be long in coming.” Timmons left Hinck in the foyer. The other servants scattered.

  Hinck should have written first, but that would have given Janek opportunity to decline. Showing up unannounced was a gamble, though. He forced himself to keep from pacing, worrying what was to come and hoping Janek might refuse him so he could go home.

  Timmons returned. “Your lordship, the sâr would like to speak with you.”

  “Excellent.” Though inside, Hinck cringed. He knew Janek wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to ridicule Hinckdan Faluk in front of his peers.

  Hinck followed Timmons through the house. The walls were masoned sea stones with a row of shells nested along the top, around the windows, and on the door frames. Furniture had been crafted from driftwood and cushioned with blue-and-gold damask. Everything was vaguely familiar. Hinck had been to Seacrest a few times as a child, long before Janek had claimed this place for himself.

  The courtyard seemed smaller than Hinck remembered. It was much greener too. Someone had put in a garden. Paths of white gravel separated sections of plants and trees. In the center a blue canvas canopy covered a graveled area. On the far end Janek sat on a driftwood throne, holding a potted plant on his knee. His concubines shared a blanket by his feet. Eudora’s brother—Oli, Duke of Canden—reclined on a longchair, tossing a leather ball up and down. Fonu perched on a stool between Oli and Janek, a goblet in his hand that was likely filled with wine. Hinck also recognized Sir Jayron, Janek’s Rurekan shield, standing beside the throne, his arms folded. Lady Eudora sat beside Shessy Wallington on a longchair, their heads tipped toward one another as they whispered and giggled. Heat flooded Hinck at the sight of Eudora, and while no one had yet seen him, he quickly looked away.

  “Your Royal Highness,” Timmons said. “May I present the Earl of Dacre.”

  All faces turned to Hinck, who gave Janek a deep bow.

  “Dacre Dan,” Janek said, looking Hinck over like one might a potential tunic. “You bring a message from my puppy brother?”

  “I have no message, Your Highness,” Hinck said, softly.

  Janek’s brows sank, reminding Hinck of Pontiff Rogedoth for some reason. “Then why are you here? You want something?”

  “I ask no favor but your company.” He tried to hold a confident posture and firm voice.

  “Shouldn’t you be chasing Trevn all over the realm? Isn’t that what backmen do, Oli?”

  The duke, expressionless, tossed and caught his ball.

  “Sâr Trevn has dismissed me for the day,” Hinck said.

  Another frown from Janek. “Dismissed his servant? Why?”

  “Janek,” Oli said. “He’s no more a servant than I am.”

  “Well, fetch me a drink then, Oli, and show him how the job is done.”

  Oli threw the ball at Janek. It thwacked off his chest, released a small burst of feathers and dust, and rolled over the gravel, stopping in the middle of the open area.

  “You almost hit my sandvine!” Janek yelled, frowning at the white sliver of a bud in the pot. “Timmons, take this inside where it will be safe from my careless guests.”

/>   “Yes, Your Highness.”

  Everyone watched in silence as Timmons retrieved the potted plant and carried it into the house.

  “Why are you here?” Janek asked Hinck.

  “He’s come for Eudora,” Sir Jayron said, his gaze cold.

  As if on cue, everyone looked at Eudora. Fonu snorted. Oli dipped his head to hide a smirk. Yet Eudora watched Hinck, her eyes sparkling.

  Janek raised his eyebrows. “Have you?”

  Hinck kept his gaze on Janek, though he could sense Eudora awaiting his answer along with everyone else. He had rehearsed this reply on the ride over, knowing someone might make the accusation. He hoped he wouldn’t botch it. “Lady Eudora’s presence always thrills my soul, Your Highness, but I didn’t come here to pursue her.”

  Someone—Fonu, Hinck thought—oohed.

  “Why did Trevn dismiss you?” Janek asked.

  “He had lessons this morning and plans all afternoon,” Hinck said.

  “Dallying with that honor maiden of Lady Zeroah’s, I bet,” Fonu said.

  This made the ladies giggle.

  Hinck pounced on that theory. “I suspect that’s his plan exactly.”

  “An encouraging turn of events.” Janek scooted to the edge of his throne and clasped his hands. “So the young earl, dismissed by his lascivious young master, seeks the favor of my company. Well, why not? Perhaps you can help me reach that fickle brother of mine before he goes the way of Wilek.”

  “I wonder if Sâr Wilek has captured the killer of his concubine yet,” Oli said.

  “Didn’t I tell you?” Fonu said. “It was I who killed her. An accident, of course. Do not waste tears for her. She died in ecstasy.”

  “Do shut up, Fonu,” Eudora said. “This is nothing to joke about. I always liked Lady Lebetta.”

  “You would,” Fonu said. “She probably taught you all your tricks.”

  “Tricks you’ll never experience,” Eudora said.

  “Temple prostitutes have better tricks than you,” Fonu said.

  “Only a man who cannot win a woman frequents the temple harems,” Eudora said.

  “Plenty of real women favor me,” Fonu said, “it’s your type that—”

  “Friends!” Janek’s voice cut through the ribbing. “I’ll not have you deviants corrupting the young earl with your bawdy talk.”

  A moment of silence passed as everyone exchanged glances, likely trying to decide whether or not Janek was being serious. That’s what Hinck wanted to know. He decided to brag a little and, hopefully, prove he was one of them.

  “I’m fifteen,” Hinck said. “On my ageday my father bought me an hour with a temple prostitute. So nothing you say will shock me.”

  This made everyone burst into laughter. Hinck’s cheeks burned, bewildered by their reaction.

  “So we can say what we want,” Fonu said, grinning at Janek.

  “Not everything,” Janek said. “Like you, Fonu, Hinckdan hasn’t yet learned Lady Eudora’s tricks.”

  Shessy Wallington gasped. Eudora shot Janek a glare that could smelt ore.

  Fonu snorted. “What good is a lady when he’s had a temple prostitute?”

  “Enough,” Eudora said, standing. “You’re all worse than children.” Shessy stood with her, and the two swept into the house without another word.

  Hinck watched them go, sorry that Janek and Fonu’s teasing had fallen on Eudora. But he would be less nervous with her gone, so perhaps it was a blessing.

  “Come, Hinckdan,” Janek said, standing. “Let me show you my garden.”

  Janek strolled down a gravel path, so Hinck chased after him, eager to obey for some strange reason.

  “Much is in bloom now,” Janek said. “There’s the cat’s claw. The coral leaf is fantastic. Roses, always going strong. I like them in mass. Gives me some color. A little prickly leaf and some bitterbrush. I put in this pea stone path. I love the sound it makes when you walk on it and the pale contrast against all the green.”

  “It’s wonderful,” Hinck said, slightly bewildered, as though he’d stepped into a different world where Janek was almost normal.

  “The pond is fed from the sea,” Janek said. “I’ve got an underground duct on both sides. Moving water gives a restful feeling, and I wanted to create a sense of peace when people enter the garden. How did you feel when you first came in?”

  Scared out of his mind. But Hinck said, “Peaceful.”

  Janek nodded. “Then it’s working. Good. I hear the gods in my garden, Hinckdan. Dendron and Barthos share energy and wisdom when I touch soil, leaves, or blossoms. All this beauty is my offering. Dendron and Barthos both fell in love with Magon, started a war over her. But they don’t need her. Together nature and soil give life. There’s magic in that, Hinck. Power.”

  And maybe a little insanity?

  They returned to the courtyard, where Oli, Sir Jayron, and Fonu were laughing about something. Janek took his throne, and Hinck stood awkwardly beside it.

  “The ladies have given you their seat, Dacre Dan,” Janek said, gesturing to the longchair. “Relax in the company of greatness.”

  “I’d throw my ball at you again, Janek,” Oli said, “but I’d have to get up, and you’re not worth the exercise.”

  “Hinckdan,” Janek said. “Fetch His Grace’s ball. I abuse him greatly, and pelting me with a scrap of leather is his only release.”

  Hinck collected the ball. Oli held out his hand to catch, but Hinck pitched it at Janek instead. The ball smacked the sâr on the left shoulder, leaving a dusty mark before falling to his lap.

  Everyone stared, mouths gaping as they waited to see how Janek would respond.

  A smirk. “Oh, I do like the sparks in you,” Janek said to Hinck. “Trevn must bore you to madness with all his maps and history lessons.”

  “Sometimes,” Hinck said, which was completely true.

  “But I cannot let you strike me without consequence. You aren’t the Duke of Canden, you know.”

  “You’re going to punish me?” Hinck asked, feeling slightly faint.

  “I’m going to test your worth.”

  “Janek, let it go,” Oli said.

  “This is an opportunity to mold a future soldier.”

  “He’s not a soldier. Nor am I, as there’s no war at present.”

  “There’s always a war!” Janek snapped. “We are in battle every day, fighting for our place in this world. Young Hinckdan must as well. He issued a challenge with his toss of the ball. I shall meet it. Should he pass my test, I shall claim him as loyal. Should he fail, I’ll have him flogged on the pole and shipped back to Trevn in a death boat.”

  “He’s joking,” Oli said to Hinck. “He won’t really kill you.”

  Hinck wasn’t so certain. He ground his teeth to keep his chin from trembling.

  “Must you play with everyone?” Oli asked Janek. “He’s too young to stand up to your challenges.”

  The duke might have been trying to help, but his insults were almost as bad as Janek’s threats. “I’m not afraid of a challenge,” Hinck said.

  “See, Oli? He’s not afraid. Besides, this challenge doesn’t require brawn. Hinckdan Faluk, Earl of Dacre, I challenge you to tell me what bodymark hides under Lady Eudora’s clothing.”

  The blood drained from Hinck’s face.

  “Why does he get this challenge and you sent me to fight in the diamond?” Fonu asked.

  “We all saw how the earl glowed in Lady Eudora’s presence,” Janek said. “I must know if he is capable of taking what he wants. If he cannot charm that drick, he is useless to me.”

  Oli swung his legs off the longchair and stood. “You call my sister a drick?”

  “I test you all,” Janek said. “And you remain here only because you continue to pass my tests.”

  Hinck’s mind galloped with the reality of this challenge. “How long do I have?”

  “Five weeks,” Janek said. “And if any of you breathes a word of this to Lady Eudora, you’ll all face t
he pole.”

  Oli rolled his eyes. Fonu and Sir Jayron glared at Hinck, who pondered the challenges before him. Two tasks from two sârs. To fail Janek’s challenge would inevitably mean failing Trevn’s. Eudora’s runestone had started this, so getting closer to her might at least help him find answers for Trevn, even when he failed Janek’s challenge, which, of course, he would.

  “Very well,” Hinck said. “I accept.”

  Janek leaned back and smiled the smile of a man who enjoyed playing with people’s lives. “Good. Now sit and relax, Dacre Dan. You’re safe. For now.”

  Hinck perched on the edge of the longchair, but he didn’t relax or feel the least bit safe.

  Charlon

  Five days’ travel from Dacre across the King’s Gorge to catch up with the Chieftess in Sarikar. This land had trees. Bizarre yet beautiful. Mreegan’s camp hid in a canyon. Charlon dismounted and handed her horse to Vald, number Three. Ordered Torol to take Prince Wilek to her tent. It felt good, ordering the men. But she had failed. Could not lie with the prince. Could barely touch him.

  Now she must confess.

  Reluctantly she approached the red tent. No hillock in this canyon. The men had erected the Chieftess’s tent on a cliff. Charlon climbed rocky switchbacks. Felt the prince within. The soul-binding allowed him to see what no man should. He knew her heart. Her desires. Her fears.

  She could sense him as well. His frustration and anger choked her. His wrists burned from the ropes holding him. He cursed his stupidity. He must escape. He could not.

  Magon help her. She pushed his thoughts down. Tried to ignore him. Approached the tent.

  Rone stood guard outside. Opened the tent flap. “Welcome back, Mother.” Kindness and respect for the Mother, fueled by fear.

  No time for pleasantries. She entered. Knelt before the throne where Mreegan sat.

  The Chieftess lit up with a smile, stroked the pale newt on her lap. “You have him?”

  “Yes,” Charlon said. “All went as planned.” Almost.

  Mreegan cocked her head. “You pity him.”

  The words pinched Charlon’s heart. “He is sad.”

  “Good. If he is beaten, he won’t cause trouble.”