King's Blood

by Jill Williamson

  Father growled. “The ages are wrong. It will upset the gods.”

  Wilek felt the door closing and switched to another path. “Should they actually marry, it very well could. But . . . things might never get that far. Trevn has always enjoyed flouting authority. If you refuse his request to court Miss Mielle, I fear he might do something rash. But if he were granted permission to court her . . .” He turned to Zeroah and gave her a quick wink. “He will likely grow bored.”

  Father smiled slowly. “You mean to trick him.”

  It might happen the way Wilek suggested, though he knew enough of his youngest brother to doubt it. Trevn had a disposition much more like his own than Janek’s. While they were all of them spoiled, Trevn’s upbringing in Sarikar had done for him what Chadek’s sacrificial death had done for Wilek. They both had seen the corruption in Armania and disdained it, rather than embraced it.

  “If that’s what it takes,” Wilek said.

  Father chuckled, delighted by the deception he thought he understood. “Very well. If that is the wedding gift you wish for yourself, give them my permission to court. But if you sense he is not tiring of the girl, let me know at once and we will come up with a plan to separate them.”

  Wilek kept his expression plain. “Thank you, Father. You are very wise.”

  The king gave a sad smile in return. “I am dying, Wilek. You know that, don’t you?”

  Wilek stared at the king. His father. It was the first time he’d heard the man admit weakness. “The physician fears as much.”

  “It is my dying wish that Rogedoth be thwarted in his attempt to rule anywhere. I mean to write a will passing over Janek as my second.”

  “Are you certain, Father?”

  “I was wrong to doubt Janek’s loyalty, but I cannot risk Rogedoth using his grandson against us if he gets the chance. We must never give him that chance.”

  “I fear Magonia more than Rogedoth,” Wilek said, surprising himself. Rarely did he share so honestly with his father. Still, he did not say he feared never finding land most of all.

  “Don’t. Those women are trouble, make no mistake, but Rogedoth has invested his life in taking the Armanian throne. He may have claimed Sarikar for now, but it’s Armania he wants. He will make his move. You must be ready.”

  “I will be, Father.”

  “I know there’s little that can be done while we live on water, but . . .” A wildness filled the king’s eyes, driving out the steady somberness of the moments before. His hands began to tremble. He leaned close to Wilek and whispered, “We must keep a close eye on my mother. She and Brelenah have been plotting against me. If you see them together, inform me at once.”

  Wilek tried to keep his expression plain. He dared not remind his father that Gran had died in the Five Woes. “I promise to do so.”

  “Good,” Father said, wheezing. “Now I must rest. Enjoy your new bride, my son.”

  “Thank you, Father.”

  As the king’s attendants wheeled him away, Zeroah took hold of Wilek’s hand and squeezed. He smiled at his bride and wondered how much longer the king would live and how Janek would take his being written out of the succession. Now that Wilek had married, he felt more vulnerable to attack. But as long as Janek had no access to evenroot, Wilek could handle him.

  Trevn

  In the recent upheavals and the panic of the serpent attack, a new order of command ruled the ship. Livina was now admiral, and with Quen arrested, Bussie had been made captain. This promoted Nietz and Shinn to first and second mate, respectively, which turned out to be no help to Trevn at all. Shinn now was at the whip more often. He knew full well that Trevn had no fear of heights, so rather than send him to work in the rigging, which was thought of as one of the worst jobs a sailor could draw, Shinn always made Trevn clean up messes and swab the decks.

  For this evening one watch, he’d ordered Trevn to clean the railings on the stern deck. Thankfully this watch was only two hours long and Mielle would be waiting at the end of it, so Trevn didn’t mind as much. He sat on the deck along the port rail and used his boot knife to pick grime off the posts, then rubbed them clean with a rag. As he worked, he pondered yesterday’s council meeting in which Master Granlee had come to share his concerns about Nivanreh’s Eye.

  The farther north they traveled, the lower the southern pole star sat in the night sky. It was clear to the navigator that if they kept on, they would eventually lose sight of it completely. The terrifying concept of sailing without the guide star had sent the council into a commotion. Once Wilek had calmed them, Master Granlee shared his discovery of a new steady trio of bright stars that had been rising in the north. He had first seen them a month ago and, after careful study, believed them to be northern pole stars. Master Granlee suggested that once they lost sight of the Eye, they should sail on the trio instead.

  The idea thrilled Trevn, but Canbek had been terrified. He felt they should keep Nivanreh’s Eye in sight at all costs, even if that meant turning back. This was folly, of course—they must keep sailing to the northwest. Canbek’s ignorance on the subject of astronomy made him irrational.

  Wilek had granted Master Granlee permission to use the trio as a guide, but both he and Trevn knew that once Nivanreh’s Eye no longer appeared in the night sky, people would panic—and not only on the Seffynaw.

  Trevn sighed and turned his attention back to the task at hand. He had never realized how beautiful the Seffynaw was before he’d cleaned it himself. The posts along the inner rails of the stern deck, quarterdeck, and forecastle were each carved in a figure of one of the Rôb Five and intricately painted.

  Cleaning a post that depicted the goddess Thalassa with fish leaping around her waist made Trevn think of the food shortage. Nearly eight weeks had passed since they’d left Bakurah Island. The entire fleet was running low on food, and the fish had not been biting in these rough seas. This did not bode well for those, like Rosârah Valena, who had fallen ill and needed nourishment. Dozens of people had already died from fever or other illnesses. With so much filth and little freshwater, it was impossible to fight off infections.

  In addition, they’d had no more rain since the downpours and had started rationing the drinking water. Wilek was supposed to make a decision regarding the horses. The animals consumed far too much water and should be killed and eaten, but no one liked talking of such things.

  Trevn stood and stretched, realizing his thoughts had turned bleak again. It was hard for them not to. For most, life on board was no better than a prison. Still, it was all they had, and if cleaning the ship improved things even the tiniest bit, then that’s what he would do.

  When the bells rang for the watch change, it was nearly sunset. The farther north they sailed, the shorter the days. Trevn told Ottee that he was going to meet with Wilek and wouldn’t need him until after dinner. Then he set off for his cabin, where Mielle should be waiting. Cadoc had promised to fetch a dinner tray and bring it there, where Trevn and Mielle could share a private meal.

  A week ago, life had changed after Wilek had received Father’s blessing for Trevn to court Mielle. This had been exactly what Trevn had thought he’d wanted. But courting, it turned out, was painstakingly tedious. The king’s blessing elevated Mielle’s status to a place equal to any noblewoman. And apparently nothing was more important to a young noblewoman than her reputation. Trevn and Mielle were now permitted to keep company with one another as much as they pleased—but only when properly chaperoned.

  No wonder Sir Kalenek and Wilek had insisted upon it.

  This meant that Mielle was never to go anywhere alone with Trevn, and Trevn, in order to see Mielle on his off-hours, had to dress like a sâr and attend the “court of Rosâr Echad,” suffering through simpering conversations with the most ignorant of people. How could these royals and nobles be so utterly clueless as to their fate? To actually waste time lecturing Trevn on courtly manners when they could all very well be dead in another month or two? It was madness.
/>   Trevn knew exactly how much food and water was left in the hold and how long it would last. Unless it rained again, they had no way to replenish the drinking water. As to the food, all their hopes swam beneath the waves. Add the various fevers and illnesses . . .

  All of it had Trevn concerned. He desperately wanted to live. He was doing all he could to make that happen, but if they were all going to die, he did not want to waste the few days he had left learning which tokens were acceptable gifts to give a lady. It mattered to him not at all.

  So Trevn spent no more than one hour each day officially courting Mielle. The rest of the time, he’d found fun ways to slip her private, coded letters, proposing secret meetings in obscure locations. Rather than use her name, he called her mouse, and Mielle had started calling Trevn jack, short for jackrabbit. “Because of the way your hair poofs out like a rabbit’s tail when you tie it back,” she had said. All of this was a risk, he knew. If Sir Kalenek discovered even one private meeting, they could lose his goodwill. But in light of the strict courting regimen and plain common sense, they both felt it a risk worth taking.

  Trevn entered his cabin and found Mielle sitting on the floor inside, face streaked in tears.

  “What’s happened?” he asked, fearing the fever had taken Nurse Darlow.

  “Your brother, Sâr Janek,” she spat, looking up into Trevn’s face. “He threatened to make Amala his mistress and tried to kiss me!”

  Pressure filled Trevn’s chest and he sank to his knees beside her. “Where did this happen? When?”

  “Only just. On the foredeck. I went to visit Darlow in the infirmary, and Sâr Janek was there with his Order of the Sandvine. He said the infirmary was now under quarantine and that I was not permitted to go inside. As you can imagine, I was very upset. I started to cry, and he took my arm, told me that he understood, and said that if I insisted on visiting Darlow, he would sneak me inside, but only if I arranged a secret dinner between him and Amala!”

  Typical Janek. Trevn took hold of Mielle’s hand, annoyed that his brother was such a reprobate. “What did you say?”

  “I told him I would not, and he said I must think on it and decide what was best. Then he tried to kiss my hand farewell, and when I told him not to touch me, he said I really should be nicer to him and help him convince Amala to become his mistress! When I tried to walk away, he grabbed my shoulder and tried to kiss me! So I punched his eye with my knuckles, like you taught me.” She paused to gasp in a breath. “Then I ran down here and hid.”

  Trevn’s anger instantly lifted. “You punched him?”

  She met his gaze and brightened, laughed a little. “I didn’t know how else to get away. He was determined to vex me.”

  Trevn brushed the tears from her cheek. “No, Mouse. He maltreated you. Did you tell Sir Kalenek?”

  She shook her head. “His temper has been worse than ever. I’m afraid he might hurt Sâr Janek.”

  Good. “It would be no less than he deserves.”

  “But he is a sâr! Kal would be hung. Or at the very least face the pole.”

  That much was true.

  “Do you think Darlow has the fever?” she asked.

  “I know not.”

  “Is it as bad as people say?”

  “Yes,” he admitted. “I knew that Wilek might set up a quarantine area. But I didn’t think he would put Janek in charge of it.”

  “The food is truly low?”

  “It is. But the drinking water is the bigger concern.” They had enough for another three weeks—if they got rid of the horses and rationed aggressively.

  “Wilek and Zeroah’s wedding was a good day, wasn’t it?” Mielle asked.

  “It was.”

  “It was the last good day I remember. We’re going to die, aren’t we?”

  “Don’t say that, Mielle. You must have hope.”

  “But you said the water is almost gone.”

  “We have time. We could find land any day.”

  “I don’t think we will.”

  “Of course we will!” he said, wanting to stay positive. “I’ve studied the horizon, and the Northsea is so much bigger than most people think. There is lots more land out there, likely with other people already living on it.”

  “That’s not very comforting,” she said. “If people are already living there, they might not want to share with us.”

  “They will when they see what skills we bring. We have carpenters and laborers and weavers and artisans and women who are good with orphans.” He tugged on her earlobe. “The Five Realms all traded with one another. It will be no different with new cultures.”

  “I’m trying to be hopeful, but it’s just so hard.”

  It was hard, yet Trevn refused to waste time cowering in fear of what might be. “That’s because you’re putting your hope in you or me or Wilek or Admiral Livina. People are fallible, but Arman is not a man that he should stumble or fall into fear. He has promised us land. Will he not do as he said? Will his promise mean nothing? I don’t think so.”

  Those dark brown eyes stared into his. “I want to believe. I’m just afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  She looked away, wincing. “That Arman is not all you believe him to be.”

  Trevn smiled, knowing exactly how she felt. “I thought that over and over as I was transcribing the book. Do you know what changed my mind? Besides the arrival of Miss Onika and her prophecies?”

  She shook her head.

  “That truth is truth. No matter what you believe. My father made laws to defend his lifestyle. Sacrificed people in the name of his truth. Until Wilek killed a cheyvah beast and proved that Barthos was nothing more than an animal.”

  “But what if Arman is nothing more than a sunbird?”

  Trevn laughed, but her question had merit. “For years I have studied the prophecies of four different religions. Only in the Armanite faith did I find the hand of He Who Made the World. Prophecies that had been fulfilled and those that were fulfilling before my very eyes. He has shown himself to those willing to set down their pride and seek him. Will you look, Mielle?”

  Her brief nod was enough. He kissed her, and for a few moments nothing else mattered in the Northsea but their two souls, entwined.

  He finally forced himself to break away. “I must speak with Janek,” he said, standing.

  Mielle scrambled to her feet beside him. “Oh, Trevn, don’t!”

  “Do not dissuade me, Mielle. It is my duty to defend your honor. Besides, it is time someone put Janek in his place. Wilek is far too busy to be bothered, so I will do it. Go to dinner in the dining room. I’ll meet you there.”

  Trevn found Janek’s cabin door unguarded, which likely meant he was elsewhere. He hoped he hadn’t sent Mielle straight to him in the dining room. Entering, he discovered Lady Pia sitting in a chair by the window, watching the sea. She stood and curtsied. She appeared to be alone.

  “Where is Janek?” Trevn asked, perusing the room for any clue.

  “I know not, Your Highness. He was on the foredeck this midday with his Order.”

  “Yes, I heard.” As Trevn walked toward her, his gaze fixed upon the sideboard under the window and the array of pots upon it. Only one held any sign of life. A small sandvine. He changed direction and picked it up. “This will do.”

  “You mustn’t take that! He will blame me.”

  The look of horror on Lady Pia’s face confirmed his assumption. Janek cared more for his plants than anything. Trevn shifted the pot into the crook of one arm. “You give him this message, lady. Tell him that I have his plant, and if he wants it, he can come and get it.”

  Trevn took the sandvine to his cabin and tucked it into his hanging cot, then made his way to the captain’s dining room. There he found every member of the royal family except Rosârah Valena, who was ill, and Janek. Also present were Rystan, Miss Mielle, and her sister, Amala. Father was asleep in his rollchair.

  “Good evening, Miss Mielle,” Trevn said, taking
his seat beside her.

  “Any signs of land?” Wilek asked.

  “None, I’m afraid, though Master Granlee believes that the lack of fish might be due to a change in the ocean’s temperature. It has grown cooler. Much more so than the waters around Brixmead.”

  “Might we be headed toward a polar desert?” Wilek asked.

  “That is Master Granlee’s theory, yes. If we find land too cold to live on, we could still harvest ice and snow for water, then sail south along the coast until we reach a warmer climate.”

  Father grunted awake, his eyes sleepy and roving over those at the table. “Where is the prophet?” Father asked. “She must interpret a dream I had.”

  “She is not feeling well,” Wilek said.

  “I hope it’s not the fever,” Father said. “Are any of you ill?”

  All shook their heads.

  “If you are, I want to know at once. We must not let any affliction go untreated for even a day.”

  “Tell us of your dream, Father,” Wilek said.

  “Yes, well, I was a great fish, swimming in the sea. Above me a flock of birds circled. One at a time they dove down and pecked at my eyes. What do you think it means?”

  Trevn frowned, thinking the dream rather ominous.

  “Perhaps it means that land is near, since birds are a sign of land,” Hrettah said.

  “Have you seen any birds flying in the sky?” Zeroah’s brother asked.

  “I have not,” Father said, “but perhaps I will soon.”

  The outer door burst in, and Janek tore into the dining room like a starving sand cat. His left eye was red and the cheek below it marred by a puffy red scratch that Trevn gave Mielle credit for. Janek surveyed those around the table until his enraged gaze fell upon Trevn. He stalked around the table, glaring. “Where is my sandvine?”

  Trevn stood to meet him, took a deep breath. “Why should I tell you?”

  “Because it’s mine!”

  “You think your claim is enough to keep me from taking whatever I want?”

  “What’s mine is mine,” Janek said.