Gasps and murmurs flitted through the crowd.
“How did you escape?” Trevn asked.
“I was sacrificed,” Wilek said. “I faced Barthos and won.” He nodded to Rayim, who motioned Oli and Hinckdan toward Wilek. The men came forward, dragging the smelly Barthos head between them. They dropped it before Wilek and his grandmother. Wilek bowed low and held his breath—the head was starting to rot. “I honored your god, Mother Rosârah, when I killed my father’s god. Arman blessed me with victory, and my father declared me Heir.” He raised his fist for all to see the ring.
“Sâr Wilek killed Barthos!” Harton yelled.
“The Godslayer!” Oli added.
And from Hinckdan, “All hail the Heir!”
A cheer rose up from the crowd. Wilek had them. Word would spread. As long as he continued to starve Rogedoth and his mantics of evenroot, he might see the other side of this conspiracy of mantic priests.
“Search the castle for evenroot,” Wilek commanded Rayim. “Mantics will not be tolerated in Armania.”
Rayim bowed. “It will be done.”
“Take that head to the tanner,” Wilek told Oli and Hinckdan. “See if he can preserve it.”
The men, thankfully, removed the head at once.
Wilek said nothing of Rogedoth and Laviel’s arrest or Janek not being a prince of Armania. He would leave that to Father. For now, he greeted Trevn with a nod and approached Lady Zeroah, who curtsied to him. She looked every bit the skinny girl she had been when last he had seen her.
“Thank you for fetching my bride,” Wilek told Trevn.
“Your hair,” Lady Zeroah said, her gaze flitting over his head. “You cut it?”
“My captors did.” He had refused to wear a wig like his father and resisted the urge to feel the shortness as she and several others stared. Thankfully he had found a high-necked tunic in Canden to hide the rune on the back of his neck. He needed to have the mark removed.
“Were you frightened?” Lady Zeroah asked.
“Let us talk of that another time, lady.”
“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” she said, eyes downcast. “I didn’t mean to offend.”
Wilek was too tired to play the courting game. “Do not think on it.”
“Lady Zeroah has been preparing for your wedding,” Mother said.
He met Zeroah’s golden eyes. “Have you?”
“King Jorger was upset that we missed your ageday,” she said. “If it pleases you, we can be married tomorrow morning.”
“How thoughtful.” Wilek fought to keep his expression plain, but his stomach clenched at the idea of marrying anyone just now. Not knowing what else to say, he took her hand and kissed it, breathed in the smell of rosemary on her skin. It took him back to the day she had given him the dagger. He remembered feeling hopeful for their marriage back then. Now he was not so certain. What had changed?
“Unless you would rather wait,” his mother said. “As long as you marry before Lady Zeroah’s next ageday, all will be well with the kings.”
“I see no reason to wait,” he said, pained. Marrying would only strengthen his role as Heir. “But I would like to first appraise the evacuation plans. I might find it necessary to delay a day or two.”
Lady Zeroah curtsied deeply. “As you wish, Your Highness.”
Wilek sat in his chambers with Trevn, numb from the endless drama in the Five Realms, the fact that he was to be married tomorrow, and now this news of Rosârah Thallah’s ransacked apartment. “Rogedoth, Yohthehreth, and Lau were all with us in Canden,” Wilek said. “Someone else must be working with them who wants your book. Or they left a loyal man behind.”
“I’ve been home from Brixmead a week,” Trevn said. “Any loyal man would have come after me by now if he was going to.”
“Might he know you seek to trap him?”
Trevn frowned. “Perhaps.”
Wilek’s mind drifted to the evacuation and Avron Jervaid’s betrayal of the rosâr. The day the procession had started back to Everton, Jervaid had left for Faynor with a host of nobles and the pregnant Queen Ojeda. When the king discovered that his fifth wife had run off with a member of his council, he sent a contingent of soldiers to bring her back and placed charges of treason against Jervaid.
Despite all this, thousands had fled south to Faynor in Sarikar, drawn in by the tale. A bard had already written a song of Jervaid and Ojeda’s secret love affair that had begun long before the king had ever met the young actress. Many believed the child she carried belonged to the Elderman.
Even with the small migration south, there was still nowhere near enough boats to save the people of Everton, let alone the rural population or those from other cities in Armania.
“Have the lots been passed out to the commoners?” Wilek asked.
“Yes, but your mother and Miss Mielle have procured another boat to fill with orphans.”
That was three boats now that his mother and Miss Mielle had claimed for the poor. “Let them have their boat. There is no way to make this fair. I arrested a merchant for selling places on his ship. Another was hung today for having murdered three families for their lots, which he was selling for a gold a piece.” And Father was still ill, despite the mantics being imprisoned.
“Have you and Father decided what to do about the Admiral of the Fleet?” Trevn asked.
“It will be Hanray Vendal. But I persuaded him to make Aldair Livina captain of the Seffynaw.”
“That’s a fair compromise.”
“The Admiral plans to sail the fleet first to Odarka, where we can meet up with the ships from the northern cities, then allow Captain Livina to lead the way to his island.”
“I confess, I am excited to see it. What about your wedding?”
“There’s no reason to wait,” Wilek said. “Are you still concerned?”
“I know not. Miss Mielle said Lady Zeroah has been more herself lately. Perhaps it was fear for her grandfather’s health that made her act so strangely.” He paused. “Are you happy?” he asked. “To marry Lady Zeroah?”
“Happy?” Wilek chuckled dryly. “We are sârs, Trevn, you and I. We have a higher calling. We are responsible for ruling a nation. Our people’s happiness matters more than our own. If I become king, know that I will make you Heir immediately if only to keep Janek or any other from trying to claim that role. Now, I hope to live to be an ancient king in my rollchair with my sons crowded around me. If I succeed, you will be free to find every happiness you crave. But should something happen that prevents such a future . . .”
Trevn shrugged off the warning. “Who would dare challenge the Godslayer?”
Wilek smirked at the title, which was already being spread throughout the city. “There is always someone, brother. Will you promise to put our realm first? Before even your own happiness?”
“I pledged my service to you. Is that not enough?”
Unfortunately no. “This is the only wedding gift I ask of you, Trevn.”
Trevn sighed heavily. “Fine, I promise. But that makes my goal keeping you alive until you become that ancient king with all the sons, putting me twentieth in line behind your brood.”
Wilek chucked at the image. “Good enough, brother. I welcome the help.”
Wilek’s wedding day began early. First to the bathhouse for the symbolic washing away of his bachelor status and to purify his body for the ceremony. His father and Trevn were there. Also present were Rayim, Harton, Oli, and Hinckdan.
It was tradition for family and friends to offer advice to the groom. Father lectured on the fickleness of women and how Wilek only needed to get Zeroah pregnant and he could return to his harem. Rayim said that women were sometimes temperamental but simply needed to hear kind words each day. Harton remained silent, and Oli, extra moody since the loss of his arm, gave his condolences on the whole affair. Trevn and Hinckdan surprised Wilek by agreeing that women liked nothing more than a man who was a good listener.
After Wilek’s bath, Dendrick
dressed him in royal-blue silk and velvet with a sand cat cape as long as his father’s. On his belt he wore his great-grandfather’s sword and the dagger Zeroah had given him.
Once he was dressed, Wilek’s men escorted him to the King’s Garden in back of the castle. Zeroah was waiting, dressed in a gown of green and gold, the colors of Sarikar. Miss Mielle stood beside her, holding a sheathed sword—the traditional wedding gift a bride gave her husband.
The king sat in his rollchair throne, which had been parked before the statue of King Halak II. Mother and Gran sat on his left, Trevn on his right. Behind the king stood Janek’s new bride—Wilek’s niece—six-year-old Princess Vallah. Wilek had met the girl three years ago but doubted she remembered. Ree stood with her. Wilek smiled at his old nurse, wishing he had known she was here so he could have made time to visit. He hoped Father would have a priest annul his niece’s marriage to Janek as soon as possible.
With all the castle priests in the dungeon, Wilek sought out a medial priest named Burl Mathal to perform the ceremony. Father Mathal came forward and called the attention of the gods. His assistant carried in a goat that would be sacrificed to Tenma, the mother goddess of fertility. Wilek handed Lady Zeroah’s dagger to Father Mathal, who used it to slit the goat’s throat. The blood was drained into a consecrated bowl, which Mathal placed on the altar.
Wilek and Zeroah came forward and knelt. Mathal dipped an ironthorn branch into the blood and sprinkled it over Wilek’s and Zeroah’s heads as he chanted a prayer to Tenma, asking for blessings upon the couple. Then he butchered the goat, cut off a piece, and threw it into the flames. He prayed again for blessings on the couple, then cut off two bites from the roasted portion and fed them to Wilek and Zeroah.
They stood then, and Wilek removed his great-grandfather’s sword from his belt and held it out to Zeroah. “This sword belonged to my great-grandfather King Nathek Hadar. It’s the sword of my ancestor for you to hold until the day you gift it to our first son.”
Zeroah took the blade and handed it to Miss Mielle, who in turn passed her the other sword. Zeroah held it out. “This sword of my father I give to you, husband. A symbol of the transfer of guardianship and . . . protection from him to you.”
Wilek took the sword and marveled at it a moment before clipping it to his belt. It was a hand-and-a-half creese sword with cast fittings of solid brass over an onyx grip. Beautiful, but not terribly functional.
“Kneel again at the altar,” Father Mathal said, “and clasp hands.”
Wilek dropped to his knees and reached for Zeroah. Her hands were trembling, or maybe that was his hands.
“In the sight of these witnesses,” Father Mathal said, “we ask the gods to bless—”
The consecrated bowl began shaking on the altar, stone against stone, rattling and scraping slowly forward, twisting.
“Earthquake,” someone whispered.
Wilek held his breath, trying to discern the intensity.
Father Mathal continued, “We ask the gods to bless this couple and—”
The bowl slipped off the side of the altar and smashed at Wilek’s and Zeroah’s knees. Blood spattered the gray stone and Wilek’s left side. He flinched and released Zeroah’s hands.
“Remain calm,” Father Mathal said. “It will end momentarily.”
But the trembling increased. The ground bucked beneath Wilek’s knees. A cracking sound pulled his head around. The statue of King Halak II split diagonally across the face. Father’s attendants pushed his rollchair forward just as the statue’s eyes and nose slipped from the head and shattered on the stone path.
Screams rang out. The audience scattered.
“Stay out of the castle!” Wilek jumped up. “Remain outside!”
The words had barely left his mouth when the earth splintered and yawned open from the castle doors to the broken statue. A man leaped over the crack to a lady on the other side.
His mother screamed. What was left of the statue of King Halak II tipped toward her and Gran.
Wilek sprinted toward them, picking up Gran and carrying her out of the path of the statue, which crashed behind them, splintering to pieces. Wilek’s fur cape choked him; a chunk of marble had pinned it to the ground. He set Gran down and yanked off the cape, letting it fall. The ground was still shaking. An earthquake had never lasted this long. Could this be the end?
“To the boats!” he yelled, not willing to risk being wrong. He spun around, found Dendrick and Harton behind him. “Dendrick, prepare a carriage for the queens and princesses. Meet us at the fountain in front. Harton, with me.”
Dendrick sprinted away. Where was the king? Wilek searched the crowd. Saw no sign.
“Prince Wilek, don’t leave me!” Lady Zeroah appeared beside him, clutching his great-grandfather’s sword, Miss Mielle with her. Zeroah looked at Harton and gasped, eyes wider than a whitefish.
Wilek glanced between Harton and Zeroah, wondering over her reaction to his backman. “Find your mother and get to the king’s ship. I’ll meet you there. Or, if you prefer, you can ride with my mother.”
Zeroah tore her horrified gaze from Harton and looked pleadingly at Wilek. “I must go to Fairsight Manor first. My trunks are there.”
Trunks? Wilek had no time to think of anything but getting as many people as possible on the ships. He put his arm around Gran and led her to the circle path. Mother, her maids, the dogs, and a half dozen other royal females followed.
Zeroah did not.
Wilek glanced back to see her standing by the fallen statue, crying, holding the sword he’d given her, Miss Mielle tugging on her sleeve.
Five Woes. “Get to the boat, lady!” he yelled, then turned the corner of the building.
The sound of breaking stone induced a cacophony of screams. Wilek looked up at the castle. A crack crawled down the wall, slowly making its way from the roof to the western entrance.
Wilek and Harton hurried the women on. Guilt made Wilek look back for Zeroah, but he could no longer see the King’s Garden. He thought of Trevn then, and Oli, Hinck, Rayim, and Kal. The thoughts overwhelmed. If only he could wish everyone on board a ship in an instant.
The earth stilled as they came around the front, but there was no sign of Dendrick or the carriage near the fountain. Wilek spotted Rayim on the porch steps with Queen Thallah. “Take the women to the fountain, Hart, and get them into the carriage when it comes. I’ll be right back.” He ran toward the castle and sprinted up the steps. “Rayim!”
The captain, clutching the third queen by the arm, looked as if he had been caught stealing. “I am terribly sorry, Your Highness, but I cannot find the other queens.”
“There.” Wilek pointed toward the fountain of the Rôb Five. “Waiting for the carriage.”
Rayim looked past Wilek to the huddle of women, and the panic in his eyes faded. “Thank the gods. Those women have given me the slip far too often.”
“The king?” Wilek asked.
“His attendants put him in a wagon and left for the boat.”
“Sâr Wilek,” Queen Thallah said, “please ask Captain Veralla to release me at once.”
“She intends to go looking for Sâr Trevn,” Rayim said, “but I must take her to the ship.”
“Leave your son to his capable guards, Rosârah,” Wilek said.
The ground jolted and again began to shake. Chunks of stone rained down from the castle wall and splintered against the marble steps. A piece struck Wilek’s arm. Rayim pulled Wilek and Queen Thallah against the castle wall until the stones stopped falling.
A child’s cry drew Wilek’s attention to the bottom of the steps. Princess Vallah stood alone, Ree on the ground beside her. Gods, no! Wilek ran to Ree and saw her eyes were wide and glassy. Blood matted her hair. No breath. She was dead.
He moaned, shocked with a heavy dose of sorrow. His eyes glazed at the loss of this woman who had raised him and Inolah. He picked up his niece and hugged her close just as the shaking stilled again. “Will you stay with my mo
ther, Vallah?”
She looked down on the nurse. “We must not leave Ree!”
“Ree is gone, Vallah. I am sorry.”
A curse from Rayim drew their attention. The man, still dragging Queen Thallah, stared toward the front gates. “I look away for a moment and they disappear!”
Wilek glanced at the fountain. The carriage rolled to a stop, Dendrick inside. Queen Valena and her daughters and their maids were waiting, but Mother, Gran, their maids, and the gaggle of dogs were gone.
Five Woes! Wilek carried his niece to the carriage and lifted the girl inside.
“Stay with Hrettah,” he told Vallah, then asked his half sister, “Where did my mother go?”
“Back for her chair,” Hrettah said, then screamed as yet another earthquake began.
That blasted wicker throne! “Rayim, stay here and make sure the carriage waits for my mother and Gran. Harton and I will fetch them.”
Wilek sprinted back around the castle, Harton trailing behind. His footsteps landed awkwardly on the moving ground, rattling his bones. When they reached the Rosâr’s Garden, sure enough, his mother had found two guards and was directing them in carrying her wicker chair.
“Mother!” Wilek yelled. “You would risk the princesses for a chair?”
“The trembling has stopped.”
Wilek stilled a moment. So it had. “That is not the point. You endanger the others.” He looked around, not seeing his grandmother. “Where is Gran?”
Mother’s eyes widened. “She was right here. I thought . . . Oh, no. Wilek, she wants to stay. I did not think she really meant to.”
Stay? Was everyone going mad? “Harton, take the chair. You men, find the Mother Rosârah and bring her to the fountain of the Rôb Five.”
The guards obeyed. Wilek took hold of his mother’s arm and ran, dragging her behind him. They reached the carriage and found that several servants had climbed in with the women. A man stood on the front seat, strangling the driver. Another man fought Dendrick. Rayim lay on the ground, holding his head.
“Stop this at once!” Wilek demanded.
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