King's Folly

by Jill Williamson

  Hinck

  Hinck still couldn’t face Janek. Not after what he had learned about the prince and Lady Eudora. After days of training with Oli and, well, hiding in the castle, his only plan to avoid the pole was to beg Lady Eudora for mercy. It was a risky move. She could very well laugh in his face—likely would—but he was running out of time. He had to try.

  The Agoros family kept a house on High Street, and Lady Eudora also had a private apartment on the east wing of the castle. Hinck went there first. To his delight, the maid greeted him warmly and led him into the sitting room to wait.

  Hinck wandered the room, seeking any sign of runes, hopeless he would ever fulfill either of his quests. Eudora clearly liked rocks. They were displayed on shelves, tables, and pedestals. A rock mosaic of the people tree hung on the wall. No sign of the runestone, however, so he sat down on a footstool to wait. His nerves were so frazzled that he soon stood up and circled the room again. He picked up a crystalized chunk of rock.

  “Lady Eudora to see you, lord,” the maid said.

  Hinck spun around so fast he dropped the rock. He crouched to pick it up, and when he rose, he found Lady Eudora standing before him in all her glorious beauty. He stared into her amber eyes, and words evaded him.

  “I do believe you’re blushing, Lord Dacre,” she said, taking the rock from him. “Oli told me what happened. I’m sorry if the situation caused you any discomfort.”

  “I’m not your mother, lady,” Hinck forced himself to say. “You owe me no explanation.”

  But Eudora went on as if she did. “It’s odd. I can never manage to say no to him. He is most persuasive.”

  That Lady Eudora’s interlude with Janek had not been the first was yet another blow, though now that Hinck thought about it, how else would Janek have known about Eudora’s bodymark? Oh, Hinck was the biggest of fools.

  “He will be king someday,” she whispered. “One does not refuse a king.”

  “Sâr Janek isn’t likely to rule,” Hinck said before thinking it through. “The king’s health hasn’t worsened. And Sâr Wilek is strong, or are you afraid he won’t return?”

  Eudora sighed, as if she had better things to do than listen to the ramblings of a fool. “Everyone who matters knows that Sâr Wilek will be a terrible king.” She narrowed her eyes and set the rock back on the shelf. “You’d be wise to change your allegiance to a stronger candidate, Lord Dacre. I’ll say no more.”

  Hinck found himself momentarily speechless. In light of present company, he’d completely forgotten to play his role. Yet this might be good. He might be stumbling onto something important. He grasped for words that might open up the conversation further. “I’ve sworn my allegiance to no one but my king and my master, Sâr Trevn. To either of his brothers, I’ve made no pledge.”

  “And what of Sâr Trevn?” she asked, eyes blazing eagerly. “Would he ever support Sâr Janek?”

  Not in the five levels of the Lowerworld or beyond. “I cannot say, lady. Sâr Trevn and Sâr Wilek have become close.”

  Eudora groaned, disappointed. “That’s what Janek says.”

  Janek, this time. Such familiarity spoke volumes about Lady Eudora’s relationship with the Second Arm of Armania.

  “Janek is hoping you can persuade Sâr Trevn to, well, broaden his mind a little.”

  Oh really? Apparently Hinck’s time with Janek had not been spent in vain. “I can certainly try.”

  Eudora beamed, touched his arm. “Oh, I knew you would, Lord Dacre. You’re so obliging.”

  Hinck’s cheeks burned at her praise, despite how manipulative it had been.

  “How rude of me,” she said. “You must sit. I’ll ring for refreshments. What do you prefer? It is early for wine, but if you would like it . . .”

  Hinck sat on a silk-covered longchair. “Nothing for me, thank you.”

  “Nothing?” Eudora sat across from him. “Then why have you come?”

  Gods help him. “To confess, lady.” He studied the floor and cursed his cowardice. “First that I have always loved you. I only came to Seacrest to see you.”

  “Lord Dacre, please.”

  He glanced up, and upon seeing her horror-struck expression, he instantly focused back on the floor. “I know you care nothing for me. I will, in time—should Yobatha have mercy—get over my infatuation with you. But Sâr Janek has challenged me to a task he knows I’ll fail.”

  She huffed. “That sounds very much like him.”

  Her tone gave him the courage to look up again. “I’ve come to beg your mercy, lady.” He took a deep breath. “If you’ll tell me a small secret, it will save me from the pole.”

  “Janek has threated to have you whipped?”

  Hinck swallowed his fear. “Unless I can tell him what mark adorns your body.”

  She gasped and stood. “That pig!” She stomped across the room with the finesse of a soldier, arms crossed, muttering indiscernible words under her breath. She spun toward him, then away again, speaking this time to the hearth.

  “I’ll tell no one,” Hinck said, thinking it might help to remind Eudora that he was still in the room.

  She glared at him. “Why should I believe you?”

  He stood and tried to look noble. “I can give you my word as an earl. I’m young, but as far as I know, my reputation is excellent.”

  Eudora stopped pacing and stared at him before falling into a fit of giggles. “Oh, Lord Dacre. You’re so incredibly droll.”

  “Thank you. I think.”

  “Oh, but we must punish him.” She walked past, spun back. “That is his test, you know.” Her gaze met his. “To see how well you play his game.”

  Hinck shook his head. “I confess I know not how to play this game.”

  “You came to me, did you not? That shows a certain shrewdness and humility. Janek has plenty of shrewdness, but no humility. That, my dear earl, is your strength over him.”

  She had called him dear. “But how can humility stand against shrewdness?” Hinck pictured a dune cat eating a beetle.

  “Because you asked nicely, where he is trying to manipulate us both.”

  “Ah.” Hinck still didn’t follow her logic.

  “I could simply give you the answer,” she said. “You would be safe from the pole, and Janek would wonder how you came by the information.”

  “I’d be most grateful, lady,” Hinck said, feeling hopeful for the first time in weeks.

  “But wouldn’t it vex him so much more if it were true?” She grinned wickedly.

  If what were true? “The location of your bodymark?”

  She sauntered toward him, chuckling softly. “No, dearest Hinckdan. Sâr Janek’s darkest imaginings as to how you discovered that mark.”

  Hinck’s eyes widened. She had called him by his first name and was standing ever so close. The moment her lips touched his, he thought for the briefest moment that his heart had stopped. When it began to thunder in his ears, he realized that Yobatha and Mikreh had accepted his offerings, and he applied himself fully to the cadence.

  “I knew there was something!” Hinck stood beside the desk in Trevn’s secret room. Trevn was transcribing, as always, but had stopped to tell Hinck about the painting of young Prince Mergest III he had seen at the Duke of Odarka’s home. The news lightened Hinck’s sorrow for the moment. “So the banished prince came to Everton to live in secret, created a new identity, rose within the ranks of the Rôb church, and eventually carried on an affair with Queen Laviel.”

  “I am not convinced, as you are, that he is Janek’s father,” Trevn said. “But it sure did look like him. And it does explain the runes and his contempt for the Armanite faith.”

  “What are you going to do?” Hinck asked.

  “Nothing as yet. Hopefully Wilek will return soon. If he does not, I will have to think of something.” He stood to hang a completed page on one of the lines. “How did your visit with my cousin go?”

  Hinck sighed, eager to shock his friend, though the end res
ult of his day had left him bitter and depressed. “She gave herself to me.”

  He watched Trevn for a reaction but, of course, none came. The prince merely sat down again, set a clean sheet of parchment before him, and picked up his quill.

  “Afterward”—Hinck swallowed—“she insisted we travel immediately to Seacrest, which we did. We entered the garden together. Timmons even announced us together.” Another glorious moment. “She hung on my arm and didn’t let go the entire afternoon. Janek could tell something was different, and he toyed with us until I tired of his games and announced that I had accomplished the task he had set before me. He looked rather shocked, which was, I confess, delightful for me. Then he demanded I give the answer aloud, in front of everyone.”

  Trevn had yet to look up from his writing, so Hinck forged on. “I had to choose between obeying the sâr or humiliating a lady publicly. I simply couldn’t shame Eudora and told the sâr as much. This made him laugh, and he bid me whisper the answer in his ear. With Eudora’s permission, I did so. Then he announced my words to the entire assembly! Lady Eudora flew into a rage, had the audacity to slap Janek, then stormed out. Since I had arrived with her, I made my apologies and left. Her driver had just shut her into her carriage when I caught up. Then I did something stupid. I offered to challenge Janek to a duel, to avenge her honor. Trev, are you listening?”

  “I am.”

  “Don’t you want to know what she said?”

  “If you wish to tell me.”

  His indifference angered Hinck. “No, I don’t think I will.”

  Trevn looked up and pursed his lips. “I am being hunted by corrupt priests, Hinck. I’ve given you a task. If you have information about that task, report. If not, say what you like, but don’t expect me to pause my transcribing to laud the fact that you slept with a woman who has bedded half of Everton.”

  “I knew you’d say that.” Insufferable royalty cared only for themselves. “Well, she laughed at me, Trev. When I offered to defend her honor, she laughed a very long time.”

  “Because she has no honor,” Trevn said. “It’s really quite funny.”

  “Let me finish! She thanked me for my courage but said she didn’t want me to die, and if I dueled Janek, he would kill me. Then she said the most insulting thing of all.”

  Trevn looked at him, and Hinck knew that his friend truly did want to know what had happened, even if his pride wouldn’t let him admit it.

  “She said I was a sweet boy, and that I’d make a charming man someday.”

  “Oh,” Trevn had the decency to say. “So that’s why you’re not dancing around my table.”

  “She doesn’t love me, Trev. I’m not even sure she’s capable. She used me to punish Janek. She lifted me to the height of all I ever wanted, made me feel as though I was the only man alive who could ever please her, and then she squashed me under her heel like a beetle. I am a beetle.”

  “You’re a beetle?”

  “I’m brokenhearted. Spent. The abuse is too great. I cannot face them and pretend she hasn’t eviscerated me like the cruelest soldier on a bloody field of battle.”

  “Enough,” Trevn said. “I know you’re upset, but you’ve played their game well. They’re livid with each other, but your reputation to both remains unscathed.” He sighed and went back to transcribing that infernal book.

  “How did you throw off the humiliation when Shessy betrayed you?” Hinck asked.

  “I knew everyone was watching me, so I pretended I didn’t care.”

  “So must I, then.” Hinck couldn’t let Eudora know how she had devastated him. “There’s more.” He told Trevn all Eudora had said about supporting Janek for king.

  This news was grave enough that Trevn set down his quill. “If Eudora is talking openly about this to you, she must believe you are one of them. That is excellent. But I cannot let anyone believe I support Janek. With Wilek gone, that might embolden Janek to make his move. He has been campaigning hard in Wilek’s absence. What can I do? The people will support Janek.”

  “Surely not,” Hinck said. “Everyone knows Janek’s reputation.”

  “So? My father’s reputation is incorrigible. Maybe that is what people expect in a king.”

  “Isn’t this beyond us?” Hinck asked. “It is your father’s decision to choose his Heir.”

  “My father hasn’t made a decision on his own in years. The men and women who whisper in his ear rule Armania. At this juncture, I’d set the crowns on the heads of Rosârah Laviel, Janek, and Pontiff Rogedoth.”

  “Get closer to your father, then, so you can whisper too.”

  “There’s no time. They’ve been at this for months. Years, likely.”

  Hinck did not want Janek to be declared Heir. “What can be done?”

  Trevn’s eyes went glassy as he stared into nothing. “I will make a public statement of support for Wilek. It’s what Father Tomek wanted.”

  “Won’t that be dangerous?”

  Trevn met Hinck’s eyes. “It will give the people something to gossip about that involves Wilek—to remember that he is still a viable choice for Heir. And by drawing attention to myself in such a public way, the villains who seek to threaten me will be forced to lie low for a while and bide their time. Hopefully until Wilek finds his way home.”

  “Unless those very villains are keeping him away.”

  “We must pray to Arman they are not.”

  Trevn, pray? “You’re not the praying sort.”

  “It was Father Tomek’s dying wish that I weigh Arman for truth. Cannot hurt to try.”

  As long as Hinck didn’t have to. The father god had too many rules for his tastes. “What about me? What should I do?”

  “Ride to Seacrest first thing tomorrow. Tell Janek I was in a foul mood and cast you out. That way you won’t be here to know what I’ve done. You’ll learn about it with Janek and the others. Better yet, tell them my mother forbade me to see Miss Mielle because we don’t match in fives. Tell them you’re afraid I’ll do something rash because I’m madly in love with her.”

  “Are you?”

  Trevn shrugged. “How should I know? You tell me.”

  “Can’t help you, Your Cluelessness, for I’m equally clueless. My experiences with women have taught me less about them, not more.”

  “Well, it has been far too long since I saw Mielle. Perhaps I will have to visit Fairsight Manor and face the princess.”

  “That should get someone talking,” Hinck said.

  He left Trevn to his scribblings and wandered toward his chambers on the fourth floor, overwhelmed with the mere act of breathing. He still ached over Eudora’s words. How long would it take for the wound to fade?

  As he passed the servants’ stairwell, a man in a cloak stepped out and grabbed his arm. Hinck yelped and reached for his sword, but the man had already disarmed him. He pushed Hinck against the wall and held Hinck’s own blade to his throat.

  “The gods have taken notice of your worthiness, Hinckdan Faluk.” The voice was a scratch of cat’s claws on leather. “A hundred souls have their eyes on you. You’re being measured. Will you listen carefully for the call?”

  Hinck stammered and managed to utter, “I-I will, sir.”

  The man grunted. “Your answer is noted and will please the tribe. Discuss this with no one.” He dropped Hinck’s sword on the floor and fled.

  Hinck remained against the wall for quite some time, dizzy with fear. Finally he crouched to retrieve his sword. As he sheathed it, it occurred to him that he might have accomplished what Trevn had asked him to do. This was an invitation. He replayed the cloaked man’s words again. Yes, he was sure of it. He was being measured. He would, indeed, listen for their call.

  Wilek

  Wilek mashed his pole into the urn. This batch was broken down enough. Good. The sun was already low on the horizon, and he was starved. He carried his urn toward the dry screens and the wagon. No sign of Four. Odd.

  Behind him, flesh smacked flesh. A ma
n grunted.

  Wilek tensed and kept walking, hoping Roya wouldn’t bother him today. He dumped out his mashed root onto an empty screen beside a wagon and caught sight of a man’s feet on the ground. He stepped around the wagon to see who it was.

  Four. Bleeding from the chest. Eyes closed. Dead?

  Wilek spun around. Three Magonian slavs lay motionless on the ground. Over by the laundry lines, two men shrouded in black were attacking two acolytes.

  Who were they? Should he run? Join them?

  “Wilek Hadar!”

  A middle-aged man with twisted locks of hair ran toward him from the rocky cliffs.

  “You Sâr Wilek Hadar?” the man asked, slamming to a stop beside him.

  Hope rose like a wave in Wilek’s chest. “That’s right.”

  The man grabbed Wilek’s arm and pulled him away from the harvest yard. “Ready to go home?”

  “Yes!”

  They sprinted away, but as they neared the rocky ledge, Wilek’s legs began to slow. He was getting too far from Charlon.

  “I cannot leave.”

  “By that hair I assume they compelled you.” The man glanced at the back of Wilek’s neck. “Sick witches. A shame, that. Gonna have to fight it. And it’s gonna hurt. I’d knock you out, but I kill too many people that way. If you’re dead, I don’t get paid.”

  “Thank you for taking the precaution. Who are you?”

  “Call me Rand.”

  Wilek stopped entirely. “Randmuir Khal of the Omatta?”

  The man beamed. “You’ve heard of me! A learned man, you are, Wil. I like that.”

  Wilek wasn’t sure he wanted to leave with the famous assassin. “Who are you working for?”

  Rand laughed. “Let’s save the niceties for later, eh? If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead. Keep moving!”

  Wilek ran beside Rand, who kept a tight hold on his arm. His leg muscles ached. He had abandoned his work without permission. Now he was straying too far from camp.