“I trust Teaka’s judgement. And her answer matched Hinckdan’s theory.”
“Two theories do not equal proof.”
“I am decided on this, Trevn. Second, bring Lady Zeroah back here. She and I must marry right away. And the third thing you must do is help Princess Nabelle and Lady Zeroah convince King Jorger to join the Nahtan.”
Trevn frowned, confused. “You know about them? How?”
“Gran is their ringleader.” Wilek smiled wryly. “Has been for years. I never paid much attention to it before. Thought it was her Armanite nonsense. My mother has joined them as well. She has your orphaned root harvesters filling crates with food and loading reamskiffs. Joining them seems the best option. My men, my mother, you . . . all the evidence supports a seaward evacuation. We must continue to prepare. So do your best to convince King Jorger to join us. I should be back by the time you return. If not, you must begin the evacuation. And if I never return, set sail without me.”
“What? I wouldn’t leave you behind.”
“It’s your duty, brother. Besides, you’ve always wanted to go to sea. If I don’t return, save whom you can. Find new land, and become rosâr over our people.”
Trevn felt sick. He did not want to be king.
“Say you’ll do it,” Wilek said.
“I will,” Trevn said meekly. “I promise.”
“And I will do all I can to return so that you do not have to. Go prepare. Send for me when you are ready to depart, and I’ll see you off.”
Trevn left Wilek’s chambers and met Cadoc outside. “We are going to Brixmead.”
“Shall we sail or ride, Your Highness?” Cadoc asked. “The sea would be faster.”
Trevn smiled wide. “The sea it is, then.”
Kalenek
Days passed as Kal led the camel from one tunnel to the next through what felt like a never-ending labyrinth. They had only three candles left for the lantern. They rationed their food and water and were still running low. Dead newts littered every path, but Kal didn’t dare eat them.
Every crossroads was an argument over which way to go. Priestess Jazlyn seemed to think she should lead. There were times when they reached a dead end or the tunnels got too narrow or low that they had to backtrack and find another route. When any of this happened on one of Kal’s chosen routes, the priestess lectured him. When it happened on one of hers, Kal said nothing. This was his caravan to lead, his camel, and his supplies purchased with Armanian coin. But the woman outranked him, as did Prince Ulrik, who always took her side. So Kal practiced silence.
Burk did not. “I should have stayed in Kaptar.”
Kal wished he would have. The boy complained more than Jazlyn lectured.
“See that?” Grayson yelled. “See the blue?”
Kal followed Grayson’s pointed finger down a tunnel. “What did you see?”
“A glowing blue light. In the tunnel.”
Kal saw no such thing. They continued through the musty darkness. The tangy smell of soil overpowered his senses. No matter how much care anyone took, the taste of dirt invaded every breath, every meal.
Kal helped the camel maneuver the wagon around a sharp bend, and the tunnel opened to the shores of an underground lake that glimmered in the lantern light before stretching into darkness. There was no way to tell how big it was. Kal stared, listening. No rivers.
“It’s stagnant,” he said. “Not part of the ream.”
“Maybe not from this side,” Jazlyn said.
Before Kal could respond, an earthquake shook the ground. Dirt sprinkled on their heads. Clumps followed. Inolah screamed.
“Under the wagon!” Jazlyn commanded. “The tunnel is caving in!”
Kal stepped toward the wagon, but his boot sank into spongy soil. He held his lantern to the ground, where it met water and hissed out. Water? “Stay in the wagon!” he yelled. “We’re sinking!”
There was no time. The ground turned to sinksand and the lake advanced, a formidable opponent Kal could not fight. It swelled around him, surprisingly warm, and sucked him into the darkness. Poison! Terror gripped him, but there was nothing he could do but swim. His clothing stuck to his body, making him heavy, but no tingle of poison affected his skin.
The rumbling stopped. All was silent but for splashing. He could see nothing. “Ho, up? Who’s out there?”
“It’s hot!” Grayson yelled. “Like a bath.”
“It stinks,” Burk said.
The camel brayed, clearly unhappy.
“Us four are still in the wagon!” Jhorn called. “My lantern went out. I’m searching for the flint.”
“Rustian is here as well,” Onika said.
“Qoatch?” Priestess Jazlyn called.
“Here.”
A green ball of light flamed to Kal’s left. Priestess Jazlyn floated out of the water, holding the light in one palm.
Kal treaded water, speechless. The light shone over the heads of Ulrik, Burk, and Grayson, who was already shimmying up the side of the wagon. The camel, still harnessed to the front, was struggling. Her stamina amazed Kal. He swam toward her, trying to keep clear of her kicking legs. The knots attaching the harness to the wagon were too tight, so Kal drew the knife from his belt and severed them. The camel swam away. Kal wanted to call her back, but he feared she might capsize the wagon.
Kal moved down the side of the wagon. Inolah and Grayson were pulling Ulrik in. Qoatch and Burk were already inside. The witch was still floating above the water, holding her light orb.
Qoatch and Ulrik lifted Kal in next. “Is this wagon going to hold us all?” he asked Jhorn.
“It should,” Jhorn said. “Most poured-stone skiffs this size hold twenty grown men.”
“If we have trouble, I will help.” Jazlyn floated into the wagon, rocking it when she landed. Kal had to turn away from the brightness of her orb.
“We don’t need your magic here, witch,” Jhorn said.
“Very well.” The light went out. The instant blackness made Kal’s arms prickle. He blinked and found he could see.
“Look what you’ve done,” Ulrik said. “Priestess, please bring back the light.”
“She already has,” Burk said.
“That is not me,” Jazlyn said.
The lake gleamed with colored lights. Beneath the ripples drifted swaths of blue, pink, and yellow. Kal found a close one. Green. It was some kind of worm, flat and ruffled.
“The blue ones are bugs!” Grayson yelled, which brought Kal’s focus to the nearest speck of blue. Indeed, the blue lights were round and flitted about in the water.
“We are drifting,” Jhorn said.
Kal could feel it—could see it by the way the glowing bugs and worms seemed to shift past each other. “Wish we had some longpoles.”
A debate ensued over what to do next. Ulrik wanted Jazlyn to use her orb to illuminate the cavern so they could look for exits. Qoatch said his lady needed to purge and rest. Jazlyn said she had enough strength to maintain a light orb. Jhorn wanted someone to get out and swim, to tow the wagon until they found the wall, which they could then follow to an exit. Onika said the answer would come if they were patient.
Patience, it seemed, was not something Priestess Jazlyn was used to practicing. She conjured her green orb, which showed that they were nearing the opening of a tunnel. The wagon picked up speed as it swept toward the river hole.
Kal spotted the camel swimming off on their right. He whistled, but the camel ignored him.
“Kal, watch your head!” Inolah shouted.
Kal looked up. At the mouth of the tunnel, dripstones hung low from the ceiling. He ducked into a crouch.
They sailed silently and swiftly into the tunnel. A sharp turn made the wagon smack a rock wall. Kal winced, hoping poured stone could take a beating. Priestess Jazlyn’s light dimmed. Her face had started to thin. She should listen to her eunuch.
The light went out completely, and the eunuch attended to the woman like a devoted son.
�
�Is she well?” Ulrik’s voice. Worried. A second devotee.
“She has been pushing herself too fast, too often,” Qoatch said. “She must rest.”
She had plenty of time to. Their wagon boat continued to sail along in the darkness, occasionally knocking against the sides of the tunnel. Jhorn managed to work his flint and light his small lantern. Soon they had a small glow of light with them again.
After a while, the tunnel spat them out into a larger river. Kal grabbed the side of the wagon to keep himself from falling on Onika. Again he worried whether there might be poison in the water. The glow of Jhorn’s lantern was enough that Kal could see they had entered a massive underground river. It must have been fifty paces across, three times as wide as any river he’d ever seen. The cavern stretched above some three or four levels high. The walls on either side were jagged, like canyon cracks. River holes emptied more water into the main.
“What happened to the camel?” Ferro asked.
Kal didn’t have time to worry about the camel. He tried to figure where they might be. This river had to run into the Eversea. Three days—five at the most—he guessed, and they would reach the end. He only hoped the river did not let out at the top of a cliff.
Hinck
The caravan reached Canden House without discovering that Trevn had stayed behind. Rosârah Thallah ordered Hinck to sleep in Trevn’s chambers to continue the façade.
There Hinck received a summons to join Sâr Janek and his friends in the rosâr’s Throne Room and to dress his best.
Odd. Why would Janek revel in Rosâr Echad’s Throne Room?
Intrigued, Hinck changed into the ensemble he’d worn to Trevn’s ageday ball and set off.
The guards admitted him without question. A small group of people had already arrived, Rosâr Echad, Pontiff Rogedoth, and the prophet Yohthehreth among them. The king sat in his rollchair looking ill—worse than Hinck had ever seen him. Janek stood with his mother, Timmons, and several other attendants. Also present were Avron Jervaid, Oli, Fonu, several King’s Guards, and Sir Jayron standing with a chubby woman and a little girl, who was dressed better than Queen Laviel.
The prisoners he’d seen at Seacrest. Why were they here?
Oli crossed to Hinck. “Good evening,” he said in a low voice. “Welcome to the wedding.”
Hinck fought to contain his shock. “The what?”
“Janek is marrying the Rurekan princess. The marriage won’t be legal until it’s consummated when the princess turns fifteen,” Oli said, “but it will give Janek the advantage he needs.”
To be declared Heir. “So he invited guests?” Hinck asked.
“As witnesses,” Oli said. “Twenty-five witnesses must sign to make a wedding legal.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Stuff it away,” Oli said. “You never know when you might want to marry in a hurry.”
So Hinck stood beside Oli and witnessed Pontiff Rogedoth join Sâr Janek and Princess Vallah of Rurekau in marriage. The girl sobbed the whole time. To Hinck’s horror, only Sir Jayron’s knife at the girl’s throat could encourage her to speak her lines of agreement. It took three King’s Guards to hold back the nurse, who screamed constant curses upon them all.
She drew much attention, but sadly no one stepped in to help.
When the ceremony ended, a contract was signed, and Hinck wrote his name as one of the witnesses. Janek patted his bride on the head, wished her a good evening, and ordered her taken to her chambers. Then he left, dragging Oli and Fonu with him.
Hinck was not invited. Not that he cared.
He wished he could tell Trevn what had happened.
He couldn’t believe what had just happened.
His growling stomach led him to the kitchen. Hara was there, arguing with the Canden cook. In Everton, Hinck would have sat at one of the kitchen tables and flirted with the maids when they passed through, but the argument between Hara and the Canden cook seemed to have scared the maids away. Hinck grabbed a bowl of stew and some berry tarts and headed back to Trevn’s chambers.
Canden House was nowhere near as large as Castle Everton. Hinck reached Trevn’s chambers quickly. He pushed in the door and nearly ran into a man, soup sloshing onto his hand when he startled.
“Beal!” He quickly set the bowl on the floor, then wiped the stew off his hand onto his trousers. “Gods! Are you mad?”
Hinck looked up, glaring, and realized the man was not Beal. The stranger was dressed all in black, hooded, and was holding out his hand, something small and round in the center of his palm. Hinck stepped closer.
A stone marker with a red rune inked onto the surface.
Hinck’s stomach twisted. “What’s this? Who are you?”
The man placed the marker in Hinck’s hand. “You have been weighed and accepted,” he said, his voice unfamiliar. “Bring this token to the dungeon immediately after night bells tomorrow. Wear black. At the end of the cells you will find a door. Give this token to the doorman or you will not enter.”
“Enter what?” Hinck asked.
“Wear black,” the man said. “Tomorrow.” And he left.
Hinck stood staring out the open door, heart pounding. He glanced at the stone in his hand, then rushed forward and closed the door.
He had done it. Gotten his own runestone. Wait till he told Trevn! He was going to find out how all this was connected to the plot against Trevn and Wilek, and to Lady Lebetta’s murder.
A jolt of fear sizzled through him.
He picked up his stew and sat on Trevn’s bed, but he was no longer hungry. Tomorrow night he might come face-to-face with a murderer.
Wilek
The long journey to Canden gave time for Wilek’s anger to grow.
Rogedoth had taken over Armania in secret. He’d gained so much influence over Father, and Janek had conspired with him to take Wilek’s place as Heir. Somehow Lebetta had gotten caught up in it all—her life cut short. And now Trevn was involved too.
Charlon came to mind then. How Wilek missed her, wished she were near.
Fool thoughts! He had no time for this bonded nonsense. His people’s lives were in danger. He forced his thoughts onto the present crisis. Before he had left this morning, Gran had sent messengers to the Nahtan contact in every city in Armania, telling them of the prophet Kal had found. Wilek worried it might be too soon—that they should wait until Kal returned with the woman. Confirm who she was. Gran wouldn’t hear of it. “Time is short,” she’d said.
Her seriousness had inspired Wilek to make a contingency plan with Rayim. If things went poorly when Wilek spoke with Father, Rayim knew to ride immediately back to Everton and assist Gran, Mother, and Trevn in the evacuation.
No matter what happened to Rosâr Echad, Sâr Wilek, or Sâr Janek, a remnant of Armanians would survive the Woes.
It was just after first sleep on the third day when Wilek arrived. He sent Rayim and his men along with Teaka and Errp to search Canden House for evenroot, and then he and Harton went to the Throne Room.
Captain Alpress was standing watch outside. When he saw Wilek, his eyes bulged. “Sâr Wilek!” He bowed quickly, as if barely remembering to, then proceeded to stare at Wilek’s short hair. “We did not expect to see you in Canden.”
“I have come to see my father.”
“Yes, of course. Uh . . . he’ll be surprised to see you.”
Surprised. Not happy or relieved. “What has happened in my absence, Captain? What did my father do?”
“Nothing as yet, Your Highness. Sâr Janek was married last night to Princess Vallah of Rurekau. And the rosâr is planning to—”
“Inolah’s girl? She cannot be more than—”
“Six,” the captain said.
“That’s insane!” Harton said.
Not insane, ruthless. Marriage to a royal ally was one of Father’s stipulations for Heir. Janek had blundered his first pairing. And now he had married a child—his own niece—in order to win the eventual crown.
“I’m sorry, Captain,” Wilek said. “I interrupted you before. What is the rosâr planning?”
“To induct Sâr Janek as Heir at week’s end. He has already given him the ring.”
Though Wilek had expected it, the confirmation stung. “Then it seems I arrived just in time. Wait outside, Hart.” Wilek pushed past Captain Alpress and entered the Throne Room.
Father sat in his rollchair, clutching a goblet of wine. Three women knelt on the floor around his chair, one massaging his bare feet. Schwyl sat at a table by the window, scribbling on parchment. Two King’s Guards stood inside the door.
Everyone stared at Wilek. Father choked on his wine.
Normally Wilek would have demanded privacy, but he needed the gossip and scandal to be wild and swift. He needed anarchy. At the same time, he must tread carefully. To attack his father outright would only make the man defensive.
“My boy!” Father said, his voice weak. He handed his goblet to one of the women. “I’m delighted to see you.”
“Surprised to see me yet living, I’m sure.”
“What did you do to your hair? Warrior locks are a matter of honor.”
“The Pontiff was unsuccessful at having me killed.”
“Rogedoth?” Father frowned and waved the women away. “Out,” he told them.
The women exited swiftly.
Father licked his lips and squinted at Wilek. “Why accuse Rogedoth of such treason?”
“The day I went missing, the Pontiff attempted to hire Randmuir Khal of the Omatta to track me down and kill me,” Wilek said. “Fortunately for me, my mother had already arranged for Rand to bring me safely home.”
Father leaned forward in his chair. “Why would the Pontiff do that?”
“To put Janek on the throne—once you die, of course. He likely has plans to kill you once Janek is declared Heir.”
“Ridiculous! What of your kidnappers? They are my real concern. What did they do to your hair?”
Would Father hear no evil against Rogedoth? “The Chieftess of Magonia took me captive, hoping I would marry her Heir and join our realms. She now knows that is impossible. My hair will grow back.”
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