King's Folly

by Jill Williamson

  “Not entirely,” Inolah said. “The boys are together. We cannot reach one without the other knowing.”

  The stone hung in place. Inolah could imagine the priestess scowling as she weighed the situation.

  “Fine,” the priestess said. “Let us enter and see what Prince Ulrik will do.”

  Praise to the God. Inolah made the sign of The Hand.

  The gold-leaf door opened and the stone entered. There was a small commotion as much of the group collided in the doorway, unable to see each other. Eventually they were all inside and someone closed the door.

  Ferro was jumping on a canopied bed, oblivious that the door had opened. Ulrik, on the other hand, stood against the wall, sword in hand, staring warily around the room.

  “You told your father not to underestimate me,” the priestess said, making only herself visible. “In that you showed the first hint of wisdom.”

  Inolah’s arms prickled. Something had happened that the priestess had neglected to share. Had Inolah put Ulrik in danger by bringing the mantic here?

  Ulrik twitched and his gaze fixed on the priestess. “Priestess Jazlyn, good midnight. You look . . . tired.”

  Inolah walked around the bed to get a better view of Jazlyn. The woman’s cheeks were pale, and heavy circles ringed her eyes. Her magic was waning. They needed to go. Now. “Ulrik,” Inolah said, “we’ve come to help—”

  The priestess lifted her hand and silenced Inolah’s voice.

  “Mother?” Brow furrowed, Ulrik’s gaze darted around the room.

  Inolah touched her throat and yelled for Ulrik, but no sound came forth.

  “What have you done with my mother?” Ulrik asked.

  “What does your father want from me?” the priestess countered.

  Ulrik shook his head. “I cannot say.”

  “Hey,” Ferro’s small voice said. “Father said no women in here.” He jumped to the floor and ran toward Ulrik. Jazlyn moved to intersect, but before she could reach Ferro, Ulrik tucked the boy behind his back. Good.

  “Priestess Jazlyn is a powerful mantic, Ferro,” Ulrik said, “so we must be careful to show her our respect.”

  He was catching on. Appealing to the priestess’s pride might induce mercy. Inolah moved to stand near her sons. She did not touch them, however, did not want to frighten them.

  “Can you make me fly?” Ferro asked the priestess.

  “Certainly.” Her voice was sweet, but Inolah knew better. The woman wanted Ulrik to answer her question and would not rest until she succeeded.

  Priestess Jazlyn lifted one hand above her head. “Ra’am.”

  Ferro shot into the air, whooping and giggling. Inolah cried out silently, reached for him, and missed. Ulrik caught hold of his foot, but Ferro’s small boot slipped off in his hand. Ferro continued to rise until he lay against the ceiling.

  Ferro laughed and flapped his arms. “Look, Rik! I’m a bird!”

  Ulrik moved beneath his brother, looking up. “Please don’t hurt him.”

  “Tell me,” the priestess said, “and I won’t.”

  “Father has been learning magic,” Ulrik said. “He hopes to trick you into teaching him.”

  That fool! How could Nazer meddle with black spirits?

  “His shadir swears to be stronger than any other,” Ulrik added.

  “They all claim that,” the priestess said.

  “This one hates women,” Ulrik said. “Father calls it Dendarholn.”

  Priestess Jazlyn’s eyes narrowed. “Dendron?”

  “The god?” Ulrik asked. “Surely not.”

  Inolah had the same thought. If Nazer could petition the god of nature, he would need no instructor.

  “If Dendron is here, my shadir would sense him,” the priestess said. She waved her hand, and Ferro floated down into Ulrik’s arms. Another wave, the word “pasas,” and both boys vanished.

  “Thank the God.” Inolah’s voice had returned. “You witch!” she yelled. “How dare you silence me?”

  “It was necessary to discover the emperor’s intentions,” the priestess said.

  “Mother?” Ferro cried out. “I can’t see you. I can’t see my feet! Rik, are you—”

  When he didn’t finish, Inolah called out. “Ferro? Where are—” Her voice muted again.

  “I have silenced you all!” Tension rang heavy in Priestess Jazlyn’s voice, more like pain than frustration. “Empress, lead on. The rest of you, follow the stone. We must hurry.”

  Inolah pushed aside her own impatience and led everyone down a back stairwell into the bowels of the castle. From there they went to the laundry room and out a chamber off the back end to a hidden door that led to a tunnel. This they traveled for quite some time before exiting through an abandoned tailor’s shop in the middle of the city.

  Moonlight covered everything in a bluish glow. They passed through a labyrinth of stinking, muddy alleyways and out onto a wide street. There Inolah stopped, trying to discern which way to the evenroot mill. She tapped her throat, wishing to speak, and fixed her eyes on the floating stone.

  “Why have . . . you stopped?” the priestess asked, speaking slowly. “Answer.”

  “We have left the Imperial Quarter,” Inolah said. “Where are your Protectors?”

  “Camped in the . . .” The priestess panted. “In the Open Quart—No!” She faded into view, pale, like a ghost.

  “What is happening?” Ulrik asked. His voice came from behind Inolah.

  “She is fading,” Qoatch said. “She must purge, but she sent her shadir to watch the emperor.”

  “It’s too late, anyway,” Ulrik said. “If she hadn’t silenced me, I could have warned you.”

  “What . . . you mean?” the priestess rasped.

  “My father’s shadir will know we have escaped,” Ulrik said. “And even if he doesn’t, the guard changes at a quarter past night bells, which rang just before you arrived in my chambers. They will have found the guards you attacked and—”

  “Enough!” the priestess hissed. “Gozan is here. What have you learned?” The priestess and her eunuch were focused in the same place, but whatever they saw was invisible to Inolah. “Empress!” Jazlyn yelled suddenly. “To the Open Quarter. Hurry!”

  Inolah became visible then, only partly. They all did. Like specters on the Night of Ships. She took three steps toward the Open Quarter, but her son’s voice stopped her.

  “The first thing my father will have done is close the city gates,” Ulrik said. “We are trapped. We should return before he . . .” Ulrik coughed. “Wha . . . ? Stop thaaa . . .” He trailed off in a wheezing breath.

  Priestess Jazlyn had raised her hand toward Ulrik. “What are you doing?” Inolah asked. “Don’t hurt my son!”

  Ulrik fell to his knees in the mud, clutching his throat. Inolah ran to him, knelt in the mud beside him. Ulrik’s face darkened a shade.

  “Stop it!” Inolah wailed.

  Ferro ran to Ulrik, grabbed his arm. “What’s wrong, Rik?”

  Metal clanked. Dozens of footsteps squished over the muddy ground. Igote guards flooded the street, some on foot, some on horseback. In the middle of the back row, Nazer sat his war-horse.

  “One would think that when trying to escape, silence would be key,” the emperor said.

  Holy God, have mercy! Save us from our enemy, my husband.

  Everyone who had once been unseen was now fully visible. The priestess looked to be using all her efforts to punish Ulrik.

  “Let us go or . . . I will kill . . . your heir,” Jazlyn warned, a trembling hand still raised against Ulrik.

  The emperor shrugged. “I can make more sons. This one betrayed me.”

  “No!” Inolah lunged at the priestess, grappled for her hand. When she failed to catch it, she gave up and punched her.

  Priestess Jazlyn flew back a full two paces and landed on the muddy ground. Qoatch knelt beside her. Inolah rushed to Ulrik, who was gasping. She helped him stand.

  Fighting broke out behind
them. Nazer’s Igote attacked Priestess Jazlyn’s Protectors, who were hopelessly outnumbered. Five to one, the Igote cut them down, all but the eunuch and Jazlyn, who seemed too ill to perform any magic.

  “Arrest the Tennish witch!” Nazer said.

  The guards advanced. Qoatch stood between his Great Lady and two dozen Igote. He kicked the nearest guard in the chin and, as the man stumbled back, drew the sword from the Igote’s scabbard. He spun to face a second guard, slicing the sword across the man’s neck and partially severing his head. He faced the third and fourth with ease. As he fought, his sand-cat pelt slid from his torso and into the mud. He had killed eight guards when the emperor called out.

  “Stop!”

  The fighting ceased. Qoatch backed up, bestride over the legs of his priestess, who lay on her back, muttering at the dark sky. The eunuch lifted the bloodied sword to the emperor. “Get back,” he said, his voice a low growl.

  Inolah stared at Qoatch. My, but he was a glorious warrior.

  The emperor applauded. “How long might you last in one of my arenas, I wonder? Look around you, slav. You could kill more of my men, but in the end you would die, and I would take your priestess. Wouldn’t you rather live and continue to serve her?”

  On the ground, Jazlyn shifted, whispered, “Stand down, Qoatch.”

  The eunuch dropped the sword. The guards quickly bound his hands and feet and tossed him into the back of a wagon.

  “Bind them all,” the emperor yelled.

  Priestess Jazlyn was trussed and thrown in beside her eunuch. Inolah and Ulrik were also bound and loaded into the wagon. They huddled together.

  Qoatch squirmed until he was beside the priestess. “Great Lady,” he whispered to her, “you must purge.”

  Her eyes moved as if they were the only part of her that could. She looked ghastly, on the cusp of death.

  The guards lifted Ferro up onto Nazer’s lap. His massive war-horse tossed its head as Nazer steered him to the wagon.

  “You will learn what it means to betray me,” he told Inolah.

  “Mamma!” Ferro reached for her.

  “I made the boys come,” Inolah said. “It was all my fault.”

  “I am not a fool!” the emperor screamed. “You will remain in the dungeon until you give birth. Then you will die. And after I publicly disinherit my ungrateful son, I will execute him as well.”

  “No!” Inolah screamed.

  “Ferro shall replace him. You are young enough to forget your mother, Ferro, aren’t you?”

  Ferro continued to reach for her. “I want Mamma.”

  Nazer chuckled. “You won’t for long, boy.” He steered his war-horse away.

  The wagon tugged forward in a jerky fashion, squishing over the muddy ground. Inolah leaned against Ulrik and wept. How could everything have gone so very wrong?

  “Can you purge without your altar mat, Great Lady?” Qoatch asked the priestess. “I fear the poison is taking you from me.”

  Her face was chalky gray and had started to wrinkle. “I cannot . . . sit up.”

  The guards had bound Qoatch’s hands in front, which enabled him to help the priestess to her knees.

  “What are you doing?” Ulrik asked.

  “She must pray,” Qoatch said.

  The priestess slouched sideways, completely limp. Qoatch settled beside, propping her up with his own body.

  “Purge now, Great Lady, please.”

  Priestess Jazlyn wheezed in two shallow breaths and tried to speak, but all that came out was a raspy bray. Purging the poison to a shadir was the only way to heal when one had taken too much evenroot. Wait too long, and death would come. The eunuch stayed close and began to pray for her.

  Inolah had never seen a more devoted servant. Sadly, it did not look as if Priestess Jazlyn would survive the night.

  Trevn

  Trevn clutched the dry pages of the Book of Rôb to his chest as he ran through the halls of Castle Everton, head pounding with each jolt. He had worked until his hand cramped, managing to transcribe all of chapter five. Those pages he had hung to dry in the secret room. Chapters one through four he carried with him.

  He ran all the way to Hinck’s chambers, where he found his friend still in bed. He set the pages on the side table and pulled the covers off. “Hinck, wake up.” He shook his shoulder, then pinched his nose. “Hinck.”

  “Get off!” Hinck slapped Trevn’s hand away.

  The volume of Hinck’s voice rattled Trevn’s headache. “I completed four chapters of the book. You must take them to Rogedoth.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Morning. I’ve been up since dawn.” Trevn sat on the edge of the bed and sighed heavily, hoping to guilt Hinck into action. “If they kill me, it will be your fault.”

  Hinck’s eyes squinted open. “Why can’t Beal deliver your precious papers?”

  “Because Beal is already delivering a message.”

  “To Miss Mielle, I suppose?”

  “See how clever you are?” Trevn walked to the door. “I must return to my work. You will take the chapters to Rogedoth?”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “Remember, you misunderstood that he wanted everything and figured four chapters would be enough. Come to Mother’s apartment and tell me what he says.”

  “Yes, yes, yes!”

  “You are terribly grumpy in the mornings, Hinck, you know that?”

  Before Hinck could throw something, Trevn departed and returned to his mother’s apartment. There he found that Beal had returned with company. His mother sat in the front room with Lady Zeroah and Miss Mielle.

  Trevn paused on the threshold, both thrilled and terrified by the scene. Mother and Mielle in the same room? Dangerous, indeed. Though perhaps Lady Zeroah’s presence would diffuse the situation somewhat.

  “Trevn, my son!” Mother cried, rising. She curtsied deeper than she had in ages—survived it—and waved for him to sit. “I hoped you had not gone far.”

  Lady Zeroah and Miss Mielle stood and curtsied as well.

  The furniture was arranged in a rectangle. Two long couches faced each other with a chair on each end. Mother sat alone on one of the couches; Miss Mielle and Lady Zeroah occupied the other. Trevn glanced at Beal, hoping for a hint as to the current mood, but his ashen-faced onesent gave nothing away.

  “Lady Zeroah, Miss Mielle, good morning.” Trevn bowed his head politely and sat on one of the chairs.

  “We felt it best to bring our reply in person,” Mielle said.

  Mother scowled at Mielle. “They will not say what you wrote to them.”

  “There was no secret in my message, Mother,” Trevn said. “I simply expressed my condolences to Princess Nabelle after the loss of Father Tomek.”

  “Oh,” Mother said. “I had forgotten Father Tomek was related to your father, Lady Zeroah. My deepest sympathy to you and your mother.”

  “Thank you, Rosârah Thallah. You are most kind.” Lady Zeroah smiled wanly and turned back to Trevn. “His Grace, the Duke of Odarka, is still coming to terms with the loss of his father. He asked me to convey that you are welcome to visit him anytime. In fact, he said he was eager to speak with you about your future.”

  “Future?” Mother turned her scowl on Trevn. “Have you reconsidered marriage to Lady Brisa?”

  “No, Mother. I simply wanted to pay my respects after the death of the duke’s father.”

  Mother humphed, clearly annoyed by something. Everything, likely.

  “Your Highness,” Lady Zeroah addressed Trevn, “has there been word from Sâr Wilek or his abductors?”

  “I’m afraid not, lady,” Trevn said. “But do not lose hope. I know of no man more persistent than my brother Wilek. He has taught me much.”

  Mother sniffed. “And I suppose I taught you nothing.”

  “On the contrary, Mother. You taught me how to dress for a ball. I daresay that is a skill I will need throughout my life.”

  Mother narrowed her eyes as if she knew Trevn ha
d somehow insulted her but could find no criticism with his comment.

  “I have always been impressed by Sâr Trevn’s courtly manners,” Lady Zeroah said. “He is a very good dancer too. Do you agree, Miss Mielle?”

  “I’ve never danced with his equal,” Mielle said.

  “Nor will you,” Mother snapped. “An honor maiden is fortunate to have ever danced with a sâr.”

  For sand’s sake, Mother!

  Mielle smiled warmly. “Then I am fortunate, indeed, Your Majesty. Rosârah Brelenah has declared us her favorite pair and insists we dance exclusively in her presence, hasn’t she, Trevn?”

  “You will address the sâr by his proper title!” Mother yelled, stomping one foot.

  The room fell silent. Mother glared as if hoping the anger might shoot from her eyes and burn Mielle to ashes.

  Mielle frowned apologetically. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I misspoke. It is only in private that your son asked me to call him by his given name.”

  Trevn closed his eyes.

  A knock on the door kept Mother from exploding. Hinck entered, wide-eyed, as the scene presented itself. He looked from lady to lady until his gaze fell on Trevn. He tipped his head slightly. When Trevn didn’t move or speak, he jerked his head to the side.

  “Uh . . .” Trevn stood. “Excuse me, I . . . must speak with my backman.”

  “We should go as well,” Lady Zeroah said, standing. “Rosârah Thallah, thank you for your gracious company.” She curtsied to Mother. Mielle mirrored her movements. They again thanked Trevn and bid him contact them should he hear anything about Wilek, then swept from the room.

  The moment the door shut, Mother started railing. “Of all the rude, obnoxious . . . That chit is forbidden from entering my apartment again, you hear? And what is this talk of dancing for Rosârah Brelenah?”

  “Excuse me, Mother,” Trevn said. “It seems Hinck has urgent news.”

  “If Hinckdan barges into my private apartment bearing urgent news, he can speak it in front of me.”

  “In that case, Mother, I too shall go.” Trevn left. Cadoc and Hinck followed him out the door.

  “Impertinence!” she yelled. “That honor maiden has corrupted you! I will not—”

  Blessedly, the door fell closed. The threesome headed toward Trevn’s chambers.