Hinck caught Lady Pia staring as he waxed poetic in the role of Athos, god of justice. She often watched him closely when he was acting, and it made him nervous. Of the two concubines, most men fawned over Lady Mattenelle, a goddess of a woman, to be sure, with her voluptuous body, huge amber eyes, long coils of black-and-gold hair, pouty lips, diamond nose ring, and a helpless way of talking that made men want to open doors and canisters for her.
Lady Pia, on the other hand, had an athletic body with just enough muscle to make her intimidating. She had dark brown eyes, a black onyx nose ring, and wore her hair straight and cut at a circular angle, starting at her left shoulder and tapering around to her right elbow. Everything about her seemed strong and fierce, yet she served Janek with the utmost humility and her alto voice sounded like music.
A guard pulled aside the tent flap for a maid carrying a platter of food. It was Shemme, Cook Hara’s daughter. She wore a black dress under her apron, still mourning the loss of Kell, her betrothed, who had died in the Woes.
“Put it here on the end of my bed,” Janek said, his devious gaze locked on the girl. “What is your name, maid?”
Shemme kept her gaze on the dish. “I am Shemme, Your Highness.”
She grasped the lid, but Janek set his hand over hers. Hinck’s stomach lurched. Surely Janek wouldn’t pursue Shemme? She was pretty in a gangly, young sort of way. Hinck’s age and terribly shy.
“Your skin has a red tint. Have you Magonian blood in your veins?”
Her eyes flashed wide and her bottom lip trembled. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Janek gave her that slow, confident smile. “You’re not in trouble, Miss Shemme. I find Magonians delightfully mysterious.”
Before Shemme could reply, Sir Jayron let in a page boy. He handed a roll of parchment to Sir Jayron, who read it, narrowed his eyes, and carried the message to Janek.
“What is it?” Janek asked with a hint of exasperation. He took the message and read it. Whatever words were scratched upon the parchment changed all his plans. “Leave,” he told Shemme.
The relief on the maid’s face as she scurried from the tent matched that in Hinck’s heart.
Once she was gone, Janek told the page, “My answer is yes. Deliver it instantly.”
The boy nodded and ran off.
“What is it?” Kamran asked.
Janek handed him the scroll. “Do take note that I have done nothing to instigate this visit. She comes of her own accord. So you see, it is obvious that I am the favorite of every woman.”
This type of comment usually produced a snorting laugh or snide comment from Kamran, but the look on the stray prince’s face after he read the scroll could only be described as stunned.
A breath later Hinck saw why. The drape pulled aside, and Lady Zeroah Barta entered. Alone.
Was she insane? What did she mean by coming here by herself?
“Sâr Janek.” Lady Zeroah took hold of her black skirt and curtsied. “I hoped to get to know Sâr Wilek’s brothers better and thought I would visit you first. I did not realize you had company.”
“They were just going,” Janek said. When no one moved, he clapped his hands. “Get out!”
Everyone jumped to their feet. Hinckdan moved toward the exit, staring at Lady Zeroah in a daze. What madness had come over her?
All five exited the tent. Sir Jayron took his post outside the doorway with the other guards. Lady Mattenelle wandered off toward the soldier’s tents. Kamran mumbled something about getting some food and chased after her.
Hinck stumbled down the path to the main tent, his thoughts a fog of confusion. Where was he going? He stopped to rub his eyes, frustrated that he did not know his own mind. Lady Pia passed him by, and suddenly he remembered. Janek had sent them away. Why, he could not recall. A new woman, likely.
Lady Pia set off down the trail toward the ocean. Hinckdan followed, wanting to sit on the sand and think. He willed Lady Pia to take the next path to Lady Zenobia’s tent. Instead she slowed, turned her head, and met his gaze.
He stopped in his tracks.
“Sorry.” She stepped off the path and into the waist-high grass. “Am I blocking your way?”
“No,” he said, nervous to be speaking to her alone, to be so close. They were nearly the same height, and Hinck suddenly longed to be tall like Trevn.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“I’m not sure,” he said.
“Me either. Was Kamran smoking his pipe tonight?”
Hinck tried to remember. “I think so.”
“Perhaps he was smoking something other than tobacco.”
That would explain why Hinck felt so strange. He grinned, relieved not to be losing his mind. “I bet you’re right.”
Lady Pia’s dark gaze seemed to cut through his, as if she had the power to read his thoughts. The moonlight glinted in her eyes and off the black onyx jewel in her nose.
She blinked and the spell was broken. Women should not have such power over a man. Hinck didn’t like the way it made him feel completely helpless.
He thought of Lady Eudora and how she had used him. “Lady Pia, do you think love and fidelity possible? I mean, have you ever known it to be true?”
“You ask such a question of a concubine? What would I know of love and fidelity?”
A fair point. “Forgive me . . . my thoughts are scattered. It’s only . . . Why do so many women say they want loyalty, then allow themselves to be used?”
“I cannot speak for so many women. Can you be more specific?”
“Well, yes. Lady Eudora told me she never wanted to be queen. So why marry Pontiff Rogedoth?”
“You have more experience with Lady Eudora than I do. Did she say something different before allowing you to use her?”
Hinck sucked in an injured breath and stalked off through the grass toward the ocean, annoyed at himself for bringing up the subject in the first place.
He reached the beach and dropped onto the soft, dry sand, leaning back on his arms. The night sky was clear, the waning moon still plump and bright. Out on the glassy water the fleet sat like floating candles, lighting the sea as if reflecting the stars above. The waves rushed in and out, splashing against a cluster of rocks off to his right and sizzling up the hard-packed sand toward his feet before sliding away again. Distant music and laughter trickled from the camp on his left. The peacefulness set his mind at ease.
Footsteps scuffed through the sand behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. Lady Pia. She walked straight toward him, her silky skirt swishing with each step. She stopped on his right. “Something bothering you?” she asked.
He squinted out to the dark sea. “I realize it is no secret how much I once admired Lady Eudora.”
“Once?” Lady Pia asked. “Don’t you admire her still?”
He shook his head. “She used me to anger Janek. She never truly cared for me.”
“You sound like a jilted female.”
He looked up to her, saw her fight back a smile, which made him desperate to defend himself. “I am not so bad, you know, as young men go. I have a fortune and land—well, I did. Sâr Wilek assures me I still have my title, so unless we all drown, I will likely own land again someday. I am not cruel. A woman could do far worse than to marry me.”
Her eyebrows rose. “You want to marry.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, flustered. “Sit down if you insist on talking to me. Looking up at you is giving my neck a crick.”
In one sweeping motion she sank crosslegged beside him, her skirt fanned out like a seashell over her legs and feet. He leaned forward, lifting his hands from behind him and setting his elbows over his bent knees.
“There was a time when you and Sâr Trevn were inseparable,” Lady Pia said. “Do you miss his company?”
“Sometimes.” Trevn could be trying, but Hinck missed his friend a great deal.
She sighed, staring up at the night sky. “If only we had a minstrel to employ,” she said
, mercifully changing the subject. “This evening is too beautiful not to be cast into memory by words.”
“Are not concubines learned in such things?” Hinck asked.
“We are trained to entertain, but that does not make us gifted.”
The waves rushed toward them and fizzled out but two paces from where they sat. Hinck watched them glide back out to sea.
“I can’t imagine your occupation would be easy,” Hinck said.
“It isn’t, even with a kind master. Lady Lebetta was an exception. Sâr Wilek treated her almost like a wife. The rest of us are not so well off. Our occupation, as you put it, often leads to an early death.”
Her words shocked him. “Sâr Janek hurts you?”
She chuckled. “Nothing so dramatic as that. It is stress that kills so many concubines and mistresses. The stress of having to constantly be flawless. Beyond the physical demands of our relationship, we have one duty we cannot fail.”
“Obedience?”
She winked at him. “Not if we are clever. We must learn our charge well. Know his needs before he asks. Listen to his woes. Comfort him in the way that best fits his personality. We must be unfailingly charming, devoted, amusing, and beautiful yet never detract attention from our lord, lest we outshine his glory.”
“That sounds near impossible.”
“Perfection is impossible, but that is our role.”
They sat in silence and stared into the night. Lady Pia began to fidget, threading her fingers together and apart. He wondered what she was thinking. Why she was here. What could possibly be making her nervous. While Hinck’s memory was still foggy, he was nearly certain that Janek had not commanded her to give Hinck any special attention. So what did she want?
A minstrel, she’d said. Someone to cast the beautiful night into words.
Hinck looked up at the starry sky and made his best attempt at poetry. “In a boundless expanse are we, two, where grains of sand are the multitude. In a black field is the moon, one, abounding in stars . . . thieving . . . its solitude.” He winced inside, hoping that would do.
From the edge of his vision, he saw Lady Pia’s head turn to look at him. His cheeks burned at her scrutiny and he shrugged one shoulder. “Not very good.”
“You made that up?” she asked. “Just now?”
Another shrug. “I like words.”
“You are very good with them, Lord Dacre. You without any training at all as a concubine.”
Hinck chuckled, pleased by her praise and teasing. And in that moment everything changed. He saw Lady Pia, not just as someone Janek owned, but as a human being. And he liked her very much.
Kalenek
Stay in the line!” Kal’s commander yelled.
Kal stood with the other soldiers, side by side, forming a shield wall, waiting for the impact of obsidian pikes. Hundreds of hooves tore into the earth, charging them.
Any moment now.
“Brace yourselves!”
Pikes splintered against the shield wall. Kal flew onto his back. He quickly rolled to his feet, moving his hand just as a hoof stabbed the ground. He thrust his sword up under the horse, nearly gutting the poor animal. It reared back and Kal tripped over a broken sword, this time falling on his face.
“Now! Now!” his commander yelled. “Kill the horses! Kill the camels! Kill the men! No prisoners! Strike them down! Go!”
The horse’s limp legs fell over Kal, and for a moment he played dead, watching its rider through slitted eyes. The man found his feet and engaged one of Kal’s comrades. Kal wriggled out from under the animal. Something thudded beside him. A head. Derson’s. A young man from his squad.
Kal woke with a jolt and found himself lying on a cot in his tent, the light of day brightening the blue canvas overhead.
He had been wounded in an attack against Wilek. He recognized the bitter taste of a soporific on his tongue and wondered how long they’d kept him asleep. The wound on his side stung terribly. He lifted his arm and took a moment to inspect the damage. It wasn’t as bad as it had first seemed. The knife had pierced through Kal’s shirt and sliced off a swath of skin and muscle. This left the wounded area quite large but not all that deep. Kal would have to change the bandages often to keep away infection, but it had stopped bleeding and wasn’t painful enough to keep him laid up.
He climbed out of bed and put on his shirt, sober as he reflected on all that had transpired. The members of the royal family had done a better job of protecting themselves against their attackers than Kal had done as High Shield. His debility left him feeling impotent and ineffective. Wilek could have died. It was unfair to the realm that he continue in his position. The Heir of Armania was simply too important—worth far more to the welfare of the realm than Kal’s pride.
The secret had gone on long enough. It was time to confess.
He left the tent and made his way along the scythed grass path to Wilek’s tent. The guards nodded to him, let him pass without question.
Would this be the last time Kal entered Wilek’s domain so freely? His chest tightened at the thought. He made no sound as he entered. Wilek was, thankfully, alone, poring over scrolls at his desk. Kal cleared his throat. “Good morning, Your Highness.”
Wilek looked up, his face brightening as he stood. “Kal! It’s good to see you. Should you be out of bed so soon?”
“A flesh wound. It will scar like the rest.”
“You saved my life.”
“You would have fared better on your own, Your Highness.”
“I doubt that very much.”
Kal removed his shield ring and set it on Wilek’s desk. “I must resign as your shield.”
Wilek frowned, face pinched in confusion. “You cannot be serious.”
“I am very serious, Wil. Please allow me to say all that I must before you object.”
Wilek sat down, somber. “Go on.”
Kal pushed emotion aside and forged ahead. “You know of my occasional bad dreams.”
“Night terrors. About the war.”
Kal hated calling them night terrors. It sounded so weak. But he was weak. And it was time to admit the truth of it. “It is more than that. They come nearly every time I sleep. Also when I engage in battle.”
“Dreams of battle?”
“No, Your Highness. This is while I’m awake and fighting. The clash of swords, the screams, any sign or smell of blood . . . it takes me captive, and suddenly I am in the war again. In Magonia. I see my old enemies. And I lose myself in the haze. I am able to fight only with part of my senses. And worse . . . my hand.” He lifted his right hand and formed a fist. “The moment I strike out, it begins to lose feeling. Eventually my entire arm goes numb and I—”
“You drop your blade.”
Kal hung his head. “You have seen it?”
“I’ve heard rumors. I thought I might have seen it once, but I assured myself it was merely coincidence. How long has this been happening?”
“Close to two years now.”
“Two years!”
“At first I thought it would go away. Then I believed I could will it away.” Kal shook his head. “Truth is, I’m a broken man, Wil, unfit to serve you even as a guardsman.”
“Have you spoken to the physician?”
“I spoke to one in Highcliff when I was there last year. He was perplexed. Said many men who fought in the war still suffered mystifying ailments. Suggested I find a new trade and choose a life of peace.”
Wilek sat back in his chair. “Kal, I just can’t believe it. Is this in any way connected to your financial problems?”
Kal had not expected Wilek to ask that. Did he know Kal had lost Liviana’s family house on Cape Waldemar? Did he know that Mielle had applied as Lady Zeroah’s honor maiden to help cover expenses? “That’s not important.”
“Explain,” Wilek said.
“I would rather not, Your Highness.”
“Kal, you are my friend. What could be worse than what you’ve already shared?”
Kal sighed deeply. “Very well.” Though when he tried to say the words, he found it more difficult than he had ever imagined. “Captain Alpress is a friend of the physician I saw in Highcliff. He heard of my visit—my problems, my diagnosis. He threatened to tell you everything if I did not pay for his silence each month.”
“That is how you lost the house on Cape Waldemar?”
So he knew. “It is, sir.”
“I thought maybe you gambled, though I had never seen anything to hint at it. That the captain of the King’s Guard would blackmail anyone is unacceptable. You should have told me. I would have found you a position elsewhere. Did you truly fear otherwise?”
“It was my pride that refused to let me confess. I have always wielded a sword. I still can’t imagine life without one at my waist. I know no other trade. And I feared the disgrace such a confession might bring upon Mielle and Amala.”
“You fear too much,” Wilek said. “I will not let you go from my service, Kal. I have told you before: You are my friend. I do not make friends easily. I cannot do without you.”
“I’m afraid you must.”
Wilek stood. “Hush and let me think!” He paced behind his desk, arms crossed.
Kal watched, pained that he had done this to such a worthy man. He did not wish to abandon Wilek. Life would be bleak without his friendship.
“I would make you my advisor if that would not be so suspicious. I do not wish to make your secret known.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.”
“You have heard the talk that I should wed Miss Onika?” Wilek asked.
Kal winced. “Yes.”
“Calm, Kal. I have no intention of doing so. But her unmarried status makes her a mark to many men. I wish to honor her above myself and set her apart, if that is at all possible. Therefore I will do two things. I will make Inolah her companion. Between the two of them they can choose their retinue of women and maidens. That will do to protect her honor. You will be her High Shield.”
“Wil, I cannot shield anyone!”
“This is in name and reputation only. In this position you may assign a squadron of guards to you both. Let those men protect her life while you act as her eyes.”
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