“I have a general idea, sir. I’m to act as a witness to the events described within.”
“You can trust Cadoc,” Dendrick said. “Sâr Trevn as well.”
“As well?” Trevn was tempted to snatch the scroll and decode it himself. “Why am I an afterthought?”
“I meant no disrespect, Your Highness,” Dendrick said. “Clearly this guardsman has been through an incredible ordeal. I only wish to reassure him he has not failed his orders.”
Chastised, Trevn shrugged one shoulder. “Do continue.”
“I shall decode this.” Dendrick lifted the scroll. “But there is no reason Master Heln cannot tell us his tale first. Let us hear it in Father Tomek’s chambers.” He pushed in the door, and they all went inside.
Trevn was afraid.
He didn’t like being afraid.
That Janek might be conspiring against Wilek . . . That his father might send a Knife to kill whomever he pleased . . . How Sir Kalenek’s warning so eerily echoed Father Tomek and Barek Hadar’s talk of the end of the world . . . And the pale prophetess Sir Kalenek had not only discovered, but believed had prophesied the coming of the Five Woes . . .
Could she be the one from the prophecy? The Prophet that Barek and his companions were preparing for? And what was Trevn going to do with all he had learned?
For now, he could only proceed with his plan. He crossed the castle foyer, keeping out of the way of the builders who were repairing the broken pilasters. Dendrick and Cadoc walked on either side of him. Trevn missed Hinck’s company. He needed a laugh, but unfortunately there was little to laugh about these days. At least Wilek was well and on his way home. Trevn had asked Dendrick to inform the gate guards that he was to be awakened the moment Wilek returned, no matter the hour.
Queen Brelenah’s guards saw him coming. They were used to him now and opened the doors, likely assuming he had come to dance with Mielle.
He wished that were true.
Trevn passed into the courtyard and climbed the steps to the colonnade. Some three dozen courtiers were present today, well over half of them women. Several honor maidens and matrons sat on pillows, talking to one another. A lutist played a rengia, and three couples were dancing before the queen. Mielle was one of them, dancing with Sir Kamran DanSâr, the youngest son of Father’s first concubine.
Trevn hated him. He hated anyone who danced with Mielle.
None of that, now. He focused his attention on the queen and the task at hand.
He had trained every herald in the castle to stop announcing his arrival with the trumpet. Today he had to ask the man to play the hateful tune.
The herald looked confused but quickly obeyed. The sound of the horn halted the music and dancing and drew the gaze of everyone present. The silence was so complete, Trevn could hear a bee buzzing in the garden.
He disliked so many staring at him when he had an important task to accomplish. But this had to be done in public. That was the whole point.
Do your duty, Renegade.
“His Royal Highness, Trevn-Sâr Hadar, the Third Arm, the Curious,” the herald said.
Trevn approached the wicker throne. People bowed in deference to his rank. Two of the queen’s dogs charged, jumping and yipping at his legs. He stopped before the throne and tried to look brave despite how his insides felt like liquid leaking out the bottom of his boots.
His mother was going to be furious.
Mielle stood so close he had to force himself not to look her way. Since he outranked the queen, he did not bow but smiled, hoping to ease her confusion. “Your Highness,” he said in a voice loud enough that all could hear. “I’m elated at the news that my brother Sâr Wilek is well and will soon be with us again.”
The queen’s concerned expression brightened. “As am I, Sâr Trevn.”
Before she could set him dancing, he went on. “There are few men who have mentored me in such a way as my brother, your son,” Trevn said. “He has given me much, and I wish to return the favor.”
The queen’s brows furrowed, and she tipped her head to the side. “How so?”
A deep breath. It seemed as though the silence was even greater than before. “In this time of uncertainty, I felt it would be opportune to voice my loyalty aloud.” He knelt then, on one knee, as men did before being knightened. “Your Majesty, I pledge my loyalty and service to Wilek-Sâr Hadar, the First Arm, the Dutiful, and in doing so, I pledge my loyalty and service to you, should your ambitions remain constant with that of your son.”
The queen’s eyes glittered with moisture. She extended her hand. “Sâr Trevn, I accept your pledge gladly on behalf of my son and welcome you.”
Relief filled Trevn at a task well done. She had accepted him. Let the people talk.
He rose and kissed her hand. The crowd murmured their approval. Some applauded.
“You have been gone from us for too long, Sâr Trevn,” the queen said. “Miss Mielle has been without a satisfactory dancing partner.” She glanced toward the dance floor. “Oh, do not mistake me, Sir Kamran, you are very charming. But I’ve always felt that your beard aged you too much to stand with Miss Mielle. You’ll dance instead with Lady Duvelle.” She waved Sir Kamran toward one of her older maids, and he obeyed. “Much better. Now, Sâr Trevn with Miss Mielle. Lutist? Something merry.”
The lutist began a nevett. Trevn offered Mielle his hand. She quickly curtsied and placed her hand in his. Her touch sent tingles up his arm.
Trevn led her in the dance. The moves were constant. Not slow, but not terribly fast either, which enabled them to speak softly to one another.
“Why did you say those things to the queen?” Mielle asked.
“By announcing my loyalty to Wilek, I publicly stand against Janek.”
Her intense gaze made him tremble. “I think you are incredibly brave.”
Well, that was kind. “I certainly don’t feel brave.”
“Have you missed me?” she asked.
Desperately. Every moment. They held hands, and he turned her in a circle. “I would much rather climb into caves with you than stand in the way of a plot to murder my brother.”
“What if they come after you?”
“I have Rosârah Brelenah’s protection now. Her guards will watch over me, as will my own.”
The dance required a twirl, which ended with Mielle briefly in his arms.
“I’m still afraid,” she whispered.
Afraid for Trevn’s life. How would she feel if she knew the world might be ending? He hoped he would never have to ask her.
Trevn crawled into his bed, exhausted from the day. He didn’t like being responsible. All in all, though, his plans seemed to have gone well. Queen Brelenah had been delighted with his oath, and he had greatly enjoyed the unexpected pleasure of spending time with Mielle again. It would likely be a few more days until Wilek returned. Trevn hoped he had startled the enemy long enough for Wilek to fix any harm Janek had caused.
Raised voices in the hall caught his attention. He pushed to one elbow and strained to hear. The guards were arguing with someone. His chamber door swung open.
“Please wait until morning, Rosârah,” a guard said.
Mother. Of course. He had expected her sooner.
She charged to Trevn’s bedside, a sheepish King’s Guard in her wake. “How dare you!” she screamed.
“Dismissed,” Trevn told the guard, who quickly exited the room and closed the door behind him.
“By my own son, my only son. Betrayed.”
Trevn took a deep breath and sat up. “I did not betray you.”
“How is pledging your service to the rosâr’s first wife not a betrayal to his third wife?” She waved her hands. “He who brings trouble on his family will inherit the wind.”
“I did it for Wilek.”
She paced to the end of his bed and back. “Why? If he is crowned rosâr someday, then yes, pledge your service to him and his mother. But until then she is not Mother Rosârah and deserves no extra respect.”
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br /> “My life is in danger. By voicing my support for Wilek as Heir, I garnered extra protection until his return.”
Mother stopped her pacing. “What do you mean? How is your life in danger?”
Trevn swung his legs off the side of the bed. “A war is brewing. I had to choose a side.”
“I have guards too. I can protect you.”
She would never understand. “I am being watched. In pledging my service to Wilek, I showed them that I am not a child to be bribed or frightened. I am a sâr of Armania. And I will choose my own path.”
She shook her meaty fist. “You will go to the king and take it back. Tell him you pledge allegiance to him alone. That you want no part of this war between your brothers. I am your mother. You will obey me.”
He met her gaze. “Not in this.”
Her eyes bulged with fury. “You are a man now, is that it? Well, there is a way that seems right to a man, but in the end it leads to death.” She stomped to the door, wrenched it open, spun back. “Do you want to die?”
“My mind is set.”
“I always knew you would betray me.” She left, slamming the door behind her.
The walls shook. Sands! Was that her, raging down the hallway?
Glass shattered in the distance. Someone yelled. The candlestick on Trevn’s bedside table rattled to the edge. He caught it just before it fell.
No, this was an earthquake.
He sat still, feeling the motion, wondering how it worked. Was the ground caving in far below the surface? Was it the river holes? Coal mines? Harvested evenroot tunnels? A combination of all?
He noted that this shaker moved differently from the last. It rattled rather than rocked. And still going! He had never felt such a long one.
A crash. Stone rumbled, loud and long, worse than thunder. The floor rattled with the impact. In the distance Mother screamed.
Trevn jumped out of bed and ran into the hallway. Dust filled the air. He pulled his tunic over his nose and squinted, trying to understand what he was looking at. The shaking had stopped. He crept along, reached the hallcross, and turned right, toward the crossbar of the castle’s A shape.
The crossbar had been ripped away entirely. Ahead on the left, he could see down into the queen’s garden. On the right, the front steps to the castle and the fountain of the Rôb Five were visible. Where had all the bedchambers gone? The walls?
He edged toward the broken floor. Three guards were crouched by the jagged edge that had once been part of the hallway. His mother was hanging over the side, gripping the ledge with both hands, sobbing and screaming. The guards were trying to pull her up. Fear spiked through Trevn, and he lunged toward her, wanting to help. Beyond her—below—nothing but dust and darkness.
Cadoc caught hold of him. “Let’s keep you back, Your Highness. They’ll get her.”
Trevn’s mind raced, trying to figure out if he knew anyone who resided in the crossbar of the castle. Hinck was on the fourth floor of the west wing. Princess Nabelle’s apartment was on the fourth floor of the east wing. Of those he knew, only Father Tomek had lived in the cross.
“Get me up!” Mother screamed. “Get me up right now, you fools!”
“Be calm, Mother,” Trevn said. “All will be well.” Though how could it be? Their world was dying.
“Trevn! Tell these pathetic guards to pull me up this instant!”
“Make haste, men,” Trevn said, wincing as the three struggled to drag his overweight mother up onto the floor.
When they finally got her on her feet, she smothered Trevn in a hug. “Oh, my son! Praise Mikreh you are alive!”
“You as well, Mother.” Trevn hugged her back, truly thankful she was well. He pulled her aside and tried to make peace. “I am not afraid of Janek.”
“You should be.”
“No, Mother. I must do what I feel is right.”
“You’re too young to know what you’re doing.”
Trevn lowered his voice. “Listen to me, and listen well. I am no fool. I have thought this through. Mother, I want you to be part of my life. But it is my life, and you must let me rule it. If you take that from me again, if you continue to berate my every choice, I will renounce you. Do you understand?”
Her eyes went wide and her bottom lip trembled. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I must. Do you want Janek as rosâr?”
Her watery eyes went hard. “You know perfectly well I do not!” A moment of silence passed, and she began to weep. “But he is too strong to stand against.”
Fear again. Always afraid. “I disagree. So trust me, Mother. I am asking you to trust me.”
A sniffle. “Very well, my son. I will trust you.”
Though she looked unhappy, Trevn realized that she truly cared for him. Perhaps, in time, his mother would become an ally instead of an adversary.
The dust had settled some, though it was difficult to see the extent of the damage in the darkness. From the chasm came a commotion of voices and screams. Trevn felt helpless, but he could do nothing until he saw his mother to safety.
But was there any place safe in all Armania?
“Sâr Janek said you have sided against him,” Hinck said. “Said it’s his fault he lost your loyalty. That he neglected you for too long. Should have put in more effort.”
“More?” Trevn asked. “What does the man consider effort, I wonder? I cannot see that he ever put in any.”
“Mocking you takes great effort, of course,” Hinck said.
“I suppose.” They were sitting by the fire in Trevn’s tent. The King’s Guard had set up a small village of military tents in the Rosâr’s Garden behind the castle. No one was permitted inside until the master builders could conduct an examination in daylight. So far it seemed that the earthquake had felled the entire east wing of the castle, the crossbar, and part of the inner west wing connected to it.
“Janek told me to watch you close, to tell him all you say and do,” Hinck said. “This is my second test, and I’m not to fail him.”
Wonderful. “This earthquake has overshadowed my fealty to Wilek,” Trevn said. “Father has commanded we all go to Canden, where he can sacrifice the wounded to Barthos. He thinks Barthos meant to kill all who are injured—that they were disloyal to the god of the soil. Since Janek and Laviel’s rooms were also destroyed, I suggested that perhaps Barthos meant to kill them. Father did not find that amusing, nor did Rogedoth, who jumped in to tell my father that Barthos had made sure Janek and his mother were at Seacrest before he took out his vengeance on those in the castle.”
“Wasn’t Princess Nabelle staying on the east wing?”
“Yes, but Cadoc learned from some guards that she left after the queen’s court this midday, angry, it seems, that Miss Mielle danced so long with me. My appearance in Brelenah’s court today likely saved all their lives.”
They sat in silence. Trevn couldn’t stop thinking about how Mielle might have died tonight. One doomsday theory, he could easily ignore. But all of them together, matching the ancient tablets, affirmed by men he respected . . . It left him with but one choice.
“So, to Canden,” Hinck said.
“You, yes. But not me.”
“What does that mean?”
“Father has commanded I go to Canden, but I must wait for Wilek. So I will defy the king.”
“You’re insane,” Hinck said.
He was. He would likely face the pole for ignoring his father’s command. Unless the Five Woes culminated before then. “I plan to ask my mother’s help. Send her to me.”
Hinck stared at him. “Beyond insane.”
Trevn simply waited for Hinck to obey. His friend eventually got up and walked toward the exit.
“Hinck,” Trevn said. “Be careful.”
“Yeah,” Hinck said. “You too.”
Kalenek
A rotten breeze wafted over Kal. Something wet and rough brushed his face. He opened his eyes to rank and matted white fur. A camel’s neck. The
animal nipped at his hipsack.
Kal patted the camel and laughed. “Caught up with us, did you, girl?” He dug half a carrot from his hipsack and fed it to her. “That’s all I have, so don’t ask for—”
The wagon trembled. The camel brayed and spun in a circle.
“Take it easy,” Kal called after her. “This barely counts as an earthquake.” He sat still until the shaking stopped. Everyone else was still sleeping. Kal stood, stretched, and carefully climbed over the side of the wagon. His boots squished into goopy mud. A quick inspection showed that a mud drift had buried the back bottom half of the wagon. They would have to dig it out before they could replace the wheels.
Grayson stood, hair frizzing out like a sticky snare. “What’s to eat?”
“Mud.” Kal turned and took stock of their surroundings. Mud and more mud. No sign of the other animals. The camel nibbled on some limp desert plant. Kal searched through his grow lens but saw no sign of civilization. He had no idea where they were.
“Are you the mantic?” Grayson asked.
“I am Priestess Jazlyn, Sixth Great Lady of Tenma,” a woman answered.
Kal spun back to the wagon and regarded Grayson and the woman, who looked no more than eighteen. She was all eyes and mouth and curves and coils of the blackest hair. Still wearing her filthy white gown and diadem.
Kal shivered. The mantic had successfully purged, which meant her shadir was nearby, whether Kal could see it or not. He didn’t want the creature here, yet he’d like to ask the woman about Wilek’s rune. First and foremost, however, he needed to keep Onika and Grayson out of the woman’s sight.
“Grayson,” he said. “Get down here and help me with this mud.”
“Sure thing, Sir Kalenek.” The boy scrambled over the side.
Kal was pleased to see the priestess lie back down. He set about digging the mud drift away from the wheel. He had no shovel and had to stab the mud with his sword to loosen it, then Grayson dug it aside with his hands.
Eventually, Ulrik joined in. Jhorn climbed out and tried to help, but the soft mud made it difficult for him to move on his canes.
Inolah awoke and started work on the other side of the wagon. “Why not harness the camel and see if she can pull us out?” she asked.
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