Son of Avonar

by Carol Berg

  More guests streamed through the side doors. A young woman in a white gown took her place in an island of red carpet at one end of the music room, twisting her fingers and glancing anxiously toward the opposite end of the room where the wide main doors remained closed. As we were seated, she was joined by a hollow-eyed young man with a harp and an enormously large man with a flute, who settled his bulk on a precariously fragile chair. The ensemble did not look promising.

  The entertainment could not proceed until the king arrived. Sir Geoffrey circulated among the guests, joking about the wait. “Worth it, as you’ll hear,” he said. “I picked up this one in Valleor. Such a find! She was the favorite of a Vallorean merchant until his palace fell in on him in the earthquake last summer.”

  Karon shifted in his chair, peering between the heads in front of us. I felt his arm stiffen, but before I could question him, the double doors were thrown open and a royal herald stepped into the room. Everyone rose.

  “His Most Gracious Majesty Evard, King of Leire and Valleor, and Protector of Kerotea.”

  Evard strode into the room. An ermine-lined red velvet short cloak was removed by one of his attendants to reveal a tight, gold-encrusted doublet, its exaggerated point dipping all the way to his groin over puffed breeches of gold brocade. A shirt of red and gold patterned silk poked out at his wrists and at his neck in great ruffles, above a wide, flat collar studded with sapphires and rubies. As did the rest of the ladies, I dipped my head and curtsied as he passed. Karon and the other gentlemen bowed. Evard’s fair hair drooped rakishly across his brow as always, but the hard gray eyes underneath peered about uneasily, as a fluttering Sir Geoffrey guided him to a seat on the front row.

  The queen did not accompany him. Tomas and Darzid followed just behind him, however, as did at least twenty aides and serving gentlemen.

  I had not seen Tomas since Evard’s wedding, though I’d heard the news of his marriage to the seventeen-year-old daughter of Evard’s chancellor. Though as stiff and wary as his royal master, he looked well, apparently none the worse for the Kerotean disaster.

  Darzid alone seemed relaxed. He strolled through the aisles greeting every high-ranking noble as if he were himself a duke, whispering in ladies’ ears, sharing a laugh or a word with the gentlemen. His behavior brought to mind a recent comment of Martin’s. “It seems as if, nowadays, when you turn over any slime-covered stone in Leiran society, Darzid slithers away. And I don’t believe it’s your brother that sets him to it.” I wished we had not come.

  The performance began, and, for a while, royalty, politics, Darzid, and the unnerving reference to the Vallorean earthquake were easily forgotten. The music was glorious. A find, indeed. The girl’s fidgeting evaporated with the first silvery note of the flute, and when she answered the ringing note with her own clear tone, I thought it might be difficult to tell which was which. But as she began to weave her voice about the music, it became clear that the instrument could not rival the purity of her voice. She wrapped this loveliness about a song of love undying, a song not out of the ordinary way, but when she was done, few eyes in the room were dry. For the next hour the anxieties of the past weeks were forgotten, as if the noble assembly had heaved a great sigh. As Karon’s mentor had taught him, nature bestowed many gifts that magic could not surpass.

  Karon was entranced, his rapt expression telling me that he was storing up the beauty against the day when he could use his power again. But when the music ended, and the guests rose and began to crowd their way toward the supper rooms, he whispered in my ear. “The girl will know me.”

  Dread wrapped cold arms about my heart. “Then we must go,” I said.

  Karon nodded. His face was calm, but his grip on my arm was tight as he guided me against the flow of the crowd toward the outer doors. Acquaintances attempted to turn our course, but I pleaded an unsettled stomach as the reason for an early departure. A quarter of an hour and we were almost clear, but just as we reached the doors that led to the foyer, Sir Geoffrey waved his hand above the crowd and called after us with a hearty voice. “Karon, my lad, where are you going? His Majesty has asked for you.” The old gentleman forged through his milling guests and clamped his hand on Karon’s shoulder. “I inquired how he liked the Dorian monolith standing at the entrance to the Crown Vault, and he asked was it the new commissioner’s choice? I said it was either his or his lady’s, and he said he would like an opportunity to express his appreciation.”

  “I was just going to take Seri home,” said Karon. “She feels a bit ill tonight.”

  “But of course you can’t refuse His Majesty’s summons. Perhaps your lady would like to lie down in a guest chamber. Or I could supply an escort to take her home.”

  Karon looked at me, questioning.

  Only one answer was possible. “I’ll wait with Karon, Sir Geoffrey. Perhaps it will shorten the formalities. The evening has been exceptional.”

  “It has, has it not? Misara will be the most brilliant star of our musical firmament for a generation.” He laid one arm across Karon’s shoulders and crooked his other arm for my hand. “Now come. This could be excellent for our plans. I’ve been worried that the discouraging military news might preclude our proceeding with the expansion, but if His Majesty himself is taking an interest . . .”

  Evard was holding court in the drawing room beside a pink marble mantelpiece carved with dolphins. Above the mantel was a gigantic mural of a naked Jerrat holding a lightning bolt, surrounded by crashing waves, sea monsters, and storm-wracked vessels. As Sir Geoffrey forged our way through the glittering company like one of the brave ships in the painting, Karon gave me his most reassuring smile. All will be well, it told me.

  I didn’t believe it.

  The king was tapping one foot, looking anywhere but at his companion, a beribboned matron pontificating on the virtues of her gangly son, who looked, conveniently, just old enough to be knighted. Evard himself appeared older than the last time I had been near him, his gray eyes harder, his face more angular, even his blond beard more wiry and pointed. Perhaps life was not going as he had planned.

  My brother stood next to Evard and took no notice of me. One would think he was seven years old again, trying to show his displeasure at some slight. He, too, looked older than when I’d seen him last. Regret at our estrangement still bubbled its way to the surface of my heart. Karon stood close and squeezed my hand.

  Sir Geoffrey quickly swept the fond mother and her goggle-eyed progeny to the side. “Your Majesty, may I present the Royal Commissioner of Antiquities—”

  “I’m sure your lady has told you of our long and . . . intimate . . . acquaintance.” Evard scarcely glanced at Karon and did not acknowledge Sir Geoffrey’s presence at all. The full weight of his attention fell on me.

  “An honor, Your Majesty”—Evard twitched a finger and Karon rose from his genuflection—“and my wife has indeed told me of her privilege to be a friend of your youth.” Despite my apprehension, I had to smile. Was this meeting just curiosity or did Evard hope to plant some seed of discord by his implications?

  “You’ve likely not been introduced to her brother, the Duke of Comigor. Tomas, have you met your sister’s chosen lord and master?”

  “No, sire.” Tomas raked Karon with a glance. His lip curled slightly. Karon bowed, but the courtesy was not returned. Tomas jerked his head at his lieutenant. “My aide, Captain Darzid.”

  “A delight, of course.” Darzid smiled cheerfully as he bowed to me, and, in a surprisingly intimate gesture, offered Karon his hand. Karon did not rebuff him, of course, and as they touched, Darzid stared with unabashed curiosity. When he finally released Karon’s hand, Darzid grinned at me in his most charming and mischievous manner. “Sorry I can’t stay,” he said. “My lord’s business calls.”

  He genuflected gracefully to Evard, bowed to Tomas, and leaned toward me with a not-at-all-private whisper. “I wish we had found time to talk about my dreams, my lady. Too late now, I’m afraid.” He bowed to
me and left the group.

  Sir Geoffrey, courteously ignoring the awkward greetings, reminded Evard of the matter which had drawn his interest.

  “Ah, yes. The monolith. An interesting choice to guard the Crown Vault.” His lack of interest in artifacts was quite apparent.

  “Such was its function in the Dorian Empire, Majesty,” said Karon. “It seemed proper.”

  “It serves.” Evard drew two fingers along my jaw. “You look exceptionally well, my lady. Town living must suit you. At some time during this cheerful season, we must dine together.”

  I curtsied, which put my face nicely out of his reach. “Thank you, Your Majesty. My husband and I would consider it a privilege to dine with you. We wish you and your queen a fair Seille.” That for you, you sly devil. Two can play these games.

  I had begun to think that all might actually be well, for Darzid was gone, Tomas distracted, and Evard already engaged by a giggling young woman who looked as if she would be thrilled to have the king’s fingers trace her jaw. But before we could withdraw, Sir Geoffrey bustled toward us again, towing someone in his wake. “Karon, Lady Seriana, don’t leave yet. Your Majesty, may I present the belle of the evening, Misara, the Lark of Valleor?”

  Karon quickly slipped behind me, as if to make room for the singer.

  The girl made full obeisance in the Vallorean way, which was the way of penitents in Leire, kneeling, arms spread wide with the forehead touching the floor. Evard frowned and gestured to one of his attendants to pull her up. “No penance is necessary for such a performance as we’ve heard this night,” he said. “Now you must excuse us. We have other business.”

  The guests bowed or curtsied as Evard moved toward the supper room. We were almost free. But as we rose from our genuflections, the singer came face to face with Karon. “Mi Dispóre!” she cried. Dropping to her knees, she grasped Karon’s hand and kissed it.

  At the young woman’s exclamation, Evard glanced back and saw what she did. “What’s this?” he said, scowling over his shoulder.

  Misara, tears streaming down her face, said in broken Leiran, “It is the Dispóre, Majesty, the saving hand. After the earthshaking, my family were dead, their house fallen. But this one digs . . . so careful . . . all night. Pulls the stones away, crawls in the tiny passage, earth still shaking, again and again, and we thought he was to be dead, too. Such a long time. But then each one he brings out: my father, my mother, Leno, Jasra, Tegro, Niste. All living. Five days were they under the stones, Majesty.”

  Sir Geoffrey leaned toward Evard. “Karon was in Xerema to examine an ancient tomb site and was himself injured in the terrible earthquake.”

  “I am in your forever debt, mi Dispóre. Command me,” said the singer.

  Karon spoke softly, looking only at the girl. “Everyone who could so much as stand or lift a stone did the same.”

  Now quiet your tongue, foolish girl, I thought.

  But she would not stop. “Not like you, sir. You were everywhere bringing hope. I sought for you to save my family because I heard of you. Everyone knew. It was a miracle . . . the Dispóre.”

  Evard cut her off. He flicked his hand in dismissal, spun on his heel, and murmured to Tomas, loud enough that we could hear. “Might have expected Seri to dredge up a paragon.”

  My hand was already on Karon’s arm, my feet moving toward the doors. “Dear boy, one more thing.” When Sir Geoffrey accosted Karon yet again, I wanted to scream. “I do wish you would view this manuscript given me earlier today by Jahn Gronne who is just back from Iskeran. I must value it and return it to Gronne by morning, so if you could spare one more moment before escorting your lovely wife home . . .”

  Karon pressed my hand and smiled at me with encouragement. “Only a moment.” Then he followed Sir Geoffrey to his library.

  I remained by the hearth, not at all cold, but most definitely shivering. What if the girl had seen Karon work his magic or mentioned the rumors of the supernatural that had floated about Xerema?

  Karon was back in a quarter of an hour. “Good night, Sir Geoffrey. A marvelous evening.”

  “I hope you will soon feel yourself again, my lady,” said the old knight.

  I curtsied. “I’m sure I will. Thank you, Sir Geoffrey.” Once more Karon and I moved determinedly toward the exit doors. I breathed easier when we walked into the cooler air of the spacious, lamplit foyer. But no sooner had the porter summoned a footman to fetch our cloaks than two men appeared between us and the outer doors. One of them was Darzid. The other was the fish-eyed sheriff I had last seen in the innyard at Threadinghall. No time to think. Frontal assault was always the surest tactic. “Captain Darzid,” I said. “I was beginning to wonder if you were a separate being from my brother, and now I see you are attached to someone else. It’s refreshing to know you’ve not taken root upon my family tree. Introduce me to your friend.”

  Darzid glanced at his companion. “I believe you have already met Maceron.”

  “Oh, yes,” said the sheriff. “No doubt of that.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “I never forget an acquaintance.” I approached my brother’s lieutenant, all the while screaming in my mind for Karon to run. But instead, I felt him stroll up behind me. His hands would be clasped behind his back as always, as if waiting patiently for the cloaks and his foolish wife. “So what mischief are you about, Darzid?” I asked, fighting to make sure the man could not read my terror.

  The sheriff was not to be fooled. “I’m sure of them both. The woman is the whore from the inn, and the man”—his thin lips parted in a smile of purest hatred—“the man is the sorcerer.”

  The devastating accusation hung in the air like a hawk poised on the wind, ready to dive for his prey. Karon put his arms around me from behind, bent forward, and softly kissed my hair.

  A moment later, green-clad guards ripped him away, and I whirled about to see such love and regret in his blue eyes that I thought my heart might crack. Maceron shoved me aside, and while two guards pinned Karon’s arms cruelly behind him, the sheriff smashed a brutal fist into Karon’s face. I cried out, “Stop!” and reached for Maceron’s arm. But Darzid grabbed me and held me fast. A second blow left Karon dazed and with a bloody gash above one eye.

  “There’s an easy way to confirm our contention,” said the sheriff. “If we’re right, he’ll be wearing his perfidy, not on his sleeve, but inside it.”

  Karon shook his head groggily. “Wait—”

  The fish-eyed man struck Karon again, this time across the mouth, and then pointed one thick finger at me. “The next blow will fall on the woman.”

  I wrenched my arms from Darzid’s grip and found my voice, shaking though it was. “What is the meaning of this, Captain Darzid? How dare you lay hands on a daughter of the house of Comigor or an official of the king’s household? Where is Sir Geoffrey? Where are the guards? My brother—”

  “Ah, no.” Darzid raised a finger in warning. Never had I seen such cold darkness as his gaze. “I learned years ago not to underestimate you, my Lady Seriana, so you needn’t fear I’ve left anything to chance. Your brother has been properly notified of my suspicions, as has His Majesty. They are awaiting my report. If I’m wrong, then the mistake was an honest one . . . but I’m not wrong, am I?” He knew. Blessed Annadis be merciful, he stripped the truth from me even as I stood there. A wintry smile brushed his narrow face.

  Darzid pushed me into the hands of one of the guards. Drawing his knife, he slit Karon’s left sleeve from shoulder to wrist, exposing the scars for the crowd that had begun to gather by the music room doors. No assault could have been more devastating. Karon, blinking and trying to shake off the blows to his head, struggled to pull his arm close in to his body, but he could not move.

  “Take them to the king,” said the sheriff, motioning to the heavily armed soldiers who had appeared behind him. “Have a care with the man. He is dangerous beyond your imaginings. Bind his eyes. Keep four spare guards ready at all times.”

 
; Darzid took my arm again. “If he utters a sound, I’ll kill the woman.”

  We passed a blur of wide-eyed onlookers, including a bewildered Sir Geoffrey, as Darzid propelled me down a softly lit, wood-paneled passageway and into a comfortable sitting room. Evard slouched on a brown velvet couch, and Tomas stood stiffly behind him.

  “Your Majesty,” said Darzid, with a deep bow. “The information provided by Sheriff Maceron has proven correct. It is no paragon of virtue to whom the Lady Seriana has gotten herself wed, but to a sorcerer—if such a sublime state as matrimony can be said to apply to a fiend.” Underneath his display of shock, I felt him laughing.

  Four soldiers shoved Karon into the room. A scarf of incongruously bright green was tied about his eyes. Blood soaked one side of it.

  “Your Majesty, I beg you right this injustice,” I said. “Is this the way your servants treat members of noble families or men who hold positions in your household?”

  Evard looked past me to Darzid. “He is incapacitated?”

  Darzid nodded. “He’ll not be dangerous as long as we control him, prevent him from speaking, and keep his eyes covered. And as long as we have the woman.” He was as cool and matter-of-fact as if he were discussing the finer points of a new horse.

  Nodding, Evard rose from the couch, walked over to Karon, and stared at his arm. “Oh, Seri, my dear girl, what have you done? You could have been queen of the Four Realms. Instead you’ve chosen to consort with a demon.” He bent over to examine Karon’s scars more closely. I wanted to scream.

  “He’s bewitched her,” burst out Tomas. “This is all Gault’s doing.”

  “Gault will be dealt with.”

  “Is that what this idiocy is all about?” I said, desperate to gain some foothold. “Martin has long relinquished all claim to the throne. You’ve no need to manufacture some fantastic plot to discredit him. Tomas, can you believe I would marry a sorcerer? I had the same tutors as you.”