King's Folly

by Jill Williamson

  Harton dropped the wicker throne and went to help Rayim. The driver punched his strangler, who stumbled back. His heel stepped over the edge of the driver’s bench and he fell. Harton pounced upon him.

  Wilek lunged back from his mother and drew his sword. “Get out of that carriage. Now. All of you who do not belong!”

  A half dozen servants scrambled out.

  “In, Mother. Quickly. The dogs too.”

  Harton and the driver had run off their attackers. They gathered the mutts and handed them up to the women. Rayim stood slowly, picked up a dog.

  “Make room for the girls,” Mother said, waving her maidservants forward. Wilek helped all six honor maidens into the carriage, which now looked past capacity.

  “May I come too?” Miss Mielle stood at Wilek’s elbow, face streaked with tears.

  He glanced behind her. “Where is Lady Zeroah?”

  Miss Mielle choked back a sob. “They left me!”

  What? Wilek had no time to ponder what this meant. “Make room for my betrothed’s honor maiden.” He took hold of Miss Mielle’s elbow and helped her up.

  “Wilek, my chair!” Mother said.

  Curse that chair! “I will have a new one made for you.”

  “No! I love my wicker throne.”

  “It is very light,” Queen Valena said. “If you hand it up, we can hold it.”

  Wilek stifled a retort, and he and Rayim passed the chair up to the women.

  “Ride with them,” he told Rayim. “See that they all get on the Seffynaw. Harton and I will find Gran and bring her on horseback.”

  “Make sure you reach the docks in time,” Rayim said, gripping Wilek’s arm. “I shall not let them leave without you.”

  Wilek nodded, and Rayim climbed up beside the driver just as another earthquake began.

  “To the docks,” Wilek told the driver. “Hurry.”

  Mielle

  Mielle sat wedged between Princess Hrettah and one of Queen Valena’s maids. She held one of Queen Brelenah’s puppies in her arms and stroked it repeatedly, trying to calm the trembling animal and herself. The earthquakes couldn’t seem to decide whether or not to stop. And while they were frightening, Mielle couldn’t stop replaying the scene in her mind when Princess Nabelle had ordered Mielle out of their carriage and Lady Zeroah had allowed it.

  She had truly lost her friend. But how? Why? Something had changed drastically after they’d traveled to Brixmead. If only she could understand.

  The carriage slammed to a halt. Most of the women inside screamed, pulling Mielle’s attention to the street. They were parked at the harbor, a mob of commoners blocking the way to the ships. The driver cracked his whip at the crowd. Captain Veralla was standing on the driver’s seat, sword raised, yelling at the people to get back. The mob looked ready to kill them all. Over their heads, Mielle could see a wall of King’s Guards blocking the paths to the gangways of the ships, fighting to keep the crowd back.

  This was dreadful! For everyone. Why couldn’t they make room for all the people?

  Captain Veralla climbed down to the street and began dueling a man who looked to be a mercenary.

  From the ship, several guardsmen pushed through the crowd toward the carriage. She recognized Novan Heln, one of Trevn’s new acquaintances, as the first to arrive. He drew his sword and waved it in an arc. “Everyone move back!” he yelled.

  Some obeyed. Others pressed forward. Novan jabbed the point of his sword toward a fat butcher with a bloody apron, who was standing right in front of the horses.

  “Get out of the way, man,” Novan said.

  The butcher pulled a knife. “I’ve a blade of my own, boy. You poke me, I aim to poke back.”

  “Don’t make me kill you,” Novan said. “If you don’t have a lottery coin, you cannot board.”

  “All the lots went to royals and nobles,” a woman said from behind the butcher.

  “Or soldiers,” said another woman.

  “It ain’t fair,” someone shouted behind Novan.

  Of course it wasn’t. How could it be? Mielle hated this. Where was the Justness in it?

  “They are not my rules,” Novan said. “But I have vowed to enforce them.”

  “I’ve killed enough pigs in my day,” the butcher said. “You won’t be all that different.”

  He jabbed the knife at Novan, who dodged and drove his blade into the butcher’s gut. The man screamed so loudly Mielle shuddered and looked away. More screams followed as the other guards engaged the crowd. When next Mielle looked, Novan had raised his bloody weapon to the circle of onlookers. “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he shouted. “You let this carriage pass, or I’ll kill you all. Now get back!”

  The people shifted, staring with wide, accusing eyes. Two men grabbed the butcher’s arms and pulled him out of the road, leaving a dark line of blood on the dirt.

  The driver cracked his whip, and the carriage jerked forward.

  “Well done, Heln,” Captain Veralla said as he joined Novan in front of the horses. Together they led the way, swords waving before them like deadly flags. People jeered, some threw rotten food, but no one else challenged with force. They reached the Seffynaw, and the guards opened up a path for the ladies and the dogs to board the ship.

  Mielle climbed down, then turned to help Princess Hrettah. The girl kept hold of Mielle’s arm and walked with her.

  “That was so frightening!” Princess Hrettah said.

  “It was,” Mielle agreed. “You will be safe soon.”

  “But the people . . .”

  “I know,” Mielle said, hating this.

  The ground was still for the moment, and the guardsmen ushered them toward the gangway.

  Princess Hrettah stopped before Novan and pulled a blue ribbon from her hair. “Thank you, brave guardsman.” She reached up and tied the ribbon around the top of one of his braids. The girl was only twelve, but since such a gesture was meant to honor a brave knighten, Novan bowed low.

  “It was my honor, Your Highness.”

  Such sweetness in the midst of chaos brought a smile to Mielle’s face.

  “Hrettah!” Queen Valena yelled from the gangway.

  Mielle pulled the princess away and hurried the girl onto the ship.

  Mielle stood on the deck of the Seffynaw watching a group of men load horses onto the ship. The animals were increasingly skittish. Many protested and kicked as they were strapped into canvas slings, then pulleyed over the side of the ship and lowered into the hold. The same was happening on other ships all along the docks. On the Rafayah—the ship docked to the south of the Seffynaw—a lifted horse nearly bucked himself out of the sling. He hung thrashing, with the canvas caught around his neck and front legs. The men lowered him and tried to put on a new sling, but the horse wanted none of it. He kicked two guards overboard and trampled a third before they managed to subdue him.

  As this went on, Mielle glanced between the animals and the angry crowd of commoners in the harbor. Mielle loved animals, but it did not seem right to allow horses to take up space while people died. She wondered if Queen Brelenah would agree.

  A sailor looking through a grow lens shouted, “Admiral! There are ships out there. An entire fleet!”

  A man in an impressive blue tunic trimmed in gold strode to the sailor’s side and looked though his own lens. “Rurekan flags. Send a dinghy out to meet them. Make sure they keep back. We’ve no room for docking. And if they get too close, the people might try to board them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The sailor ran off to obey the orders. Mielle left as well, setting off to find Queen Brelenah and do what she could to bring more of the people on board the ship.

  Trevn

  Trevn started up the servants’ stairs, Cadoc, Hinck, and Oli right behind him. Cadoc and Oli’s swords clanked, as both had dressed in formal King’s Guards attire for the wedding.

  “Why are we inside the crumbling castle?” Oli asked.

  “There is something I must f
etch,” Trevn said.

  “Wonderful,” Oli said. “Send a servant to fetch it and let’s get ourselves to the docks.”

  “I must get it myself,” Trevn said.

  “Why didn’t you load your belongings ahead of time like everyone else?” Oli asked. “You even had a head start on those of us who were in Canden.”

  “I could not preload this,” Trevn said. Perhaps he should have taken the book to the Seffynaw already, but he still didn’t know who, beyond the priests, wanted it destroyed.

  “You could not,” Oli parroted. “Princes. I swear you are all so full of yourselves you will kill us all in the end.”

  “Watch your words, Your Grace.” This from Cadoc.

  “Yes, yes, I’ve insulted a sâr of Armania. Send me to the pole, if you must. I survived the god Barthos, I shall survive the pole too.”

  Trevn grinned. He could see why Hinck had grown to like Oli Agoros and couldn’t resist baiting him again. “Wilek killed Barthos, not you.”

  “Half my arm assisted the sâr, in case you failed to notice,” Oli said. “I’d like to see how you would have fared.”

  “I would have died,” Hinck said, panting as they rounded the fourth landing.

  “Oh, but we all would have died if you hadn’t slipped Sâr Wilek that dagger, Hinck,” Oli said.

  They reached the fifth floor, and Trevn flung himself around the corner and into the hall. He skidded to a stop at a hole in the floor. The gap was only a few paces, but it surprised him.

  “The castle is falling apart.” Cadoc grabbed Trevn’s arm and pulled him back.

  “Which is why we should be outside,” Oli said.

  Trevn yanked free of Cadoc and jumped the gap. He ran to his mother’s apartment, inside her bedroom, and into the privy. He didn’t bother being discreet and opened the secret door in plain sight.

  “Now see?” Oli said behind him. “I told my father we were not true royalty until our home was filled with secret passageways. I tell you, the man refuses to listen.”

  Trevn went inside and looped the Book of Arman—which was still stuffed inside a map tube—over his head and left arm. Then he rolled up the maps on his table and shoved them into an empty tube. He handed it to Cadoc, grabbed his other tubes filled with the rest of his collection of maps, and held them out to Hinck and Oli.

  “Help me carry these?” he asked as the floor shook anew.

  He froze, waiting to see what this shaker would do, but it lasted no more than ten seconds. The men each took three map tubes, leaving no extras for Trevn. He carried only the Book of Arman. He gave the room one last glance, then ran back through his mother’s bedchamber and into the sitting room. There he found Beal waiting with five Queen’s Guards.

  “Sands, I’m coming!” Trevn said, sensing his mother was behind this.

  “I care not what you do, Your Highness,” Beal rasped. “Give me the Book of Arman or I shall be forced to take it.”

  Charlon

  Charlon had fought with Nabelle. She hadn’t known what else to do! She could not leave. Not without Zeroah. Could not keep up the spell without the girl alive and nearby. Only Chieftess Mreegan’s ongoing magic had maintained Charlon’s disguise today. The distance from Fairsight Manor to Castle Everton was too great without help. Charlon needed her on board or all would be lost.

  Charlon reached the house. Ran down to the basement. Banged on the door to Flara’s chambers. “Chieftess, let me in!”

  The door opened to Flara in her maid’s dress. “Thank the goddess! I almost came looking for you. All the servants left when the neighbor’s house collapsed. I considered going to the boat. What’s happening?”

  “They’re evacuating the city. Nabelle tried to take me to the ship, but I jumped out of the carriage. Help me get the trunks upstairs. We must hurry.”

  “We cannot carry the trunks!” the Chieftess said. “Nor can I use magic on them in public.”

  “I told Nabelle I needed them,” Charlon said. “She’ll come for her daughter.”

  “You’d better be right.” Chieftess Mreegan muttered words that lifted all three trunks into the air. Charlon ran ahead and opened the doors. The trunks floated behind her. She ran to the front porch. Saw the carriage approaching. Slipped back inside.

  “She’s coming! Set them down.”

  Mreegan lowered the trunks just inside the door, then they worked together, tugging one over the threshold with strength alone.

  The carriage stopped out front with Princess Nabelle, Hoyt, and the driver inside. It was the open carriage, intended to have carried the prince and princess through the city to greet the people after they were married.

  Still not married.

  “Help her!” Nabelle screamed to the men.

  The driver and Hoyt ran up the steps.

  “Zeroah, get in this carriage now!” Nabelle yelled.

  Charlon obeyed, Chieftess Mreegan as Flara beside her.

  “How could you forget three full-sized trunks?” Nabelle asked. “They should have gone to the ship days ago.”

  “The wedding . . .” Charlon lowered her face to her hands. “He left me!”

  “He has more responsibilities than any regular man,” Nabelle said. “And you are not yet his wife. If we don’t get to the docks soon, you never will be.”

  The trunks were loaded. The carriage circled around. High Street was deserted, but Procession Way was thick with people. None of them willing to part for a carriage of their betters.

  Charlon couldn’t blame them.

  “Make way for the Princess of Sarikar!” the driver yelled.

  “She can die like the rest of us!” someone yelled back.

  “Insolence,” Nabelle muttered.

  The ground trembled. Up ahead some two dozen people sank through the cobblestone. Screams ripped through the air. The crowd scattered but for two, pulling up a man from the edge of a crevasse that had formed in the street.

  “Drive, drive,” Nabelle shouted. “Go around it!”

  The driver cracked his whip, and the carriage rolled toward the hole.

  Kalenek

  The Baretam had reached Armania and dropped anchor just outside the Port of Everton. The harbor was filled with so many boats that Kal couldn’t see the shore from the main deck. He went up to the quarterdeck, where Emperor Ulrik stood with Captain Durinn.

  “Sir Kalenek,” Ulrik said, motioning to starboard. “Someone comes to visit us.”

  Kal walked to the railing, saw the approaching dinghy, and withdrew his grow lens from his pocket. A quick look and he instantly recognized the King’s Guard uniforms. What relief! Perhaps Kal would finally get back to Wilek.

  “Sailors from the Seffynaw,” he told Ulrik. “I’ll talk to them.”

  “Excellent,” Ulrik said. “I will receive them in the great cabin.”

  Kal nodded and walked away, uncertain whether or not he would obey the young emperor. The boy had taken an instant liking to his new crown, but Kal’s allegiance was to Wilek. If he had a chance to get off this boat, he would take it. And he could not allow Ulrik to claim Onika for himself.

  He went all the way to the foredeck, where the dinghy was being hoisted up the side of the Baretam. He grabbed a nearby sailor. “Fetch Empress Inolah, the man named Jhorn, the boy Grayson, the prophetess Onika, and her cat,” he told the man. “I must have them all. Tell them we are leaving.”

  “Master Burk as well, sir?”

  “No,” Kal said. “If he is with them, it cannot be helped. But do not seek him out.”

  “Yes, sir.” The sailor ran off.

  Kal felt a twinge of guilt at leaving Burk behind, but the boy did not belong with them anymore. He would need to find his own way.

  Kal studied the destruction of Everton. Throughout the city, clouds of dust puffed up like chimney smoke, and actual fires were spreading. Over a dozen ships had already set sail and were headed out of the harbor.

  The dinghy reached the top, and the King’s Guards boarded. T
hey instantly recognized Kal, though he did not recall their names.

  “Sir Kalenek,” the first said, “a terrible earthquake has spurred an evacuation of the city.”

  “The quakes keep coming,” said the other. “On and off for the past hour.”

  “The people have gone mad,” said the first. “Admiral Vendal says it’s best you keep these ships back, where they’ll be safe from the mob.”

  That message must be given to the captain, but Kal did not want to risk lingering where the emperor might insist he stay. He grabbed another sailor and bid him take the message of keeping the ship back to Captain Durinn.

  Inolah approached then. Jhorn vaulted along behind her with Onika, Grayson, and Rustian following a few steps back. No Burk. Good. Kal sighed, relieved. They just might escape without trouble.

  He watched Grayson. The boy’s aging had finally slowed during the long sea voyage from Jeruka to Everton. Had Burk been walking with him, they would have looked the same age, despite Grayson being only eight years old.

  So strange.

  Inolah reached Kal first. “I must take the prophetess to Sâr Wilek,” he told her.

  She stepped close and whispered, “Ulrik will not allow it.”

  “Onika is not his,” Kal said. “She must go to Wilek.”

  Inolah glanced at the pale prophetess. “You must leave quickly then.”

  Kal set his hand on Jhorn’s shoulder and addressed the King’s Guards. “Board this man and his companions.”

  “The youngsters first,” Jhorn said.

  The guards grabbed Onika and lifted her over the side and into the dinghy. Grayson went next. Rustian leapt up onto the railing, ran along it, and hopped down beside Onika.

  Inolah took Kal’s hand, tears in her eyes. “I could not bear it if so many years passed before I saw you again, my friend.”

  Her words pricked his heart. “I hope you will visit the Seffynaw soon.”

  She kissed his cheek. “Tell Wilek I will come. I promise.” She released his hand and started up the steps to the stern deck.

  Kal hefted himself over the side and sat between Grayson and Onika. He noticed Jhorn then, still on the ship, peeking over the railing, eyes bloodshot.