King's Blood

by Jill Williamson

  “Even better,” Fonu suggested, “get Janek to use the newt. It will find the root in no time.”

  “We are not going to do anything to jeopardize this opportunity,” Zenobia said. “There is no point in stealing the juice. When Hara hears my vow, she will gladly give it over.”

  Not if Hinck could stop it.

  They devised a plan for the mutiny. Once Lady Zenobia received the root juice from Hara, she would again summon a meeting. Everyone would get a sip, then all would set off to take the royals into captivity. They divided the list of targets between them. Lady Zenobia would poison the king. Sir Jayron would deal with Sâr Wilek. Canbek would distract his brother, Danek. Lady Mattenelle volunteered to subdue Sârah Zeroah. When Hinck volunteered to capture Trevn, Fonu jumped in and said he had a plan to lure Sâr Trevn to another ship and keep Janek out of the way too. Lady Zenobia instead assigned Hinck the task of abducting Miss Onika. With the other royals confined, the guards would have no choice but to comply.

  “The call could come at any moment,” Lady Zenobia said. “You must be ready.”

  They left one at a time so as not to be seen together. When Hinck’s turn came, he headed to his cabin. He wanted to go straight to Sâr Wilek, but Lady Pia’s warning still rang in his mind and Lady Mattenelle’s offhanded comment to have a shadir follow Cook Hara frightened him. It had never occurred to him that shadirs could do that. Had they been following him all this time? Did the entire Lahavôtesh know he was Sâr Wilek’s man?

  Surely he would be dead by now, if that were the case.

  He entered his cabin and secured the door behind him, aware that doing so would not keep out a shadir. The waning moon outside sent pale light through his small window. Barely enough to see by. He sat on the bed he’d made on the floor under his hanging cot and sighed heavily. What was he to do now? Sâr Wilek had to be informed at once. But when? How?

  “Was it that bad?”

  Hinck pushed to his knees at the sound of the woman’s voice and squinted in the dimness. Lady Pia, dressed all in black, sitting cross-legged on his desk.

  “Lady Pia.” He sank back to the floor.

  She hopped down, and Hinck saw that she was wearing men’s trousers. He had never seen a woman in trousers before.

  “Come now, lord.” She sank beside him and bumped her shoulder with his. “If they’ve sent you out, there isn’t much time. What happened?”

  Hinck relayed the main points of the meeting, feeling heavy. “I fear they still suspect me. I am sure to bungle this and end up dead along with everyone I am trying to protect. I found out tonight there are shadir everywhere. They could be watching me. I’m certain one of them will overhear a conversation between me and Sâr Wilek, or me and you, and they will kill us all.”

  “Worry not,” she said. “Shadir cannot kill without a mantic to direct them. And the mantics do not have any evenroot. Yet.”

  “They will soon,” Hinck said. “In the meantime Sir Jayron has a sword and a long reach.”

  “Chin up, poet. We are nearly there. I will tell Sâr Wilek what happened. In the morning he will advise you.”

  Hinck sighed. He’d grown weary of spying and longed for the days when his biggest concern was how Trevn had managed to lose him on the rooftops of Everton.

  Lady Pia threaded her fingers with his. “I sense a connection between us, lord.”

  He looked into her eyes, and she surprised him with a kiss.

  He went rigid. Or tried to, anyway. His lips trembled under her soft, sure ones. A beautiful, glorious woman liked him. Him! Hinckdan Faluk, who never, ever won the girl.

  But this couldn’t happen.

  It took all his strength and willpower to turn his head and break the connection.

  Her brow creased in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

  He chose his words carefully, not wanting her to misunderstand. “Forgive me, lady. You are not wrong about my feelings for you, but I . . . You are his.”

  Understanding softened her expression. “I belong to Sâr Janek, you mean.”

  He glanced down at their entwined fingers, suddenly embarrassed. “Yes.”

  She squeezed his hand and stood. “I must take your news to Sâr Wilek.”

  As Hinck watched her go, loneliness threatened to choke him. It didn’t matter. One more night and all this madness would end. Sâr Wilek would arrest the traitors, and Hinck would be free to return to his life as Trevn’s backman.

  All he had to do was wait.

  Wilek

  Wilek had slept poorly yet again. Rough seas and Lady Pia’s late-night message from Hinckdan about the rebels’ latest plans had ruined any chance at rest. Wilek did not want to raise suspicion by calling a meeting in the middle of the night, especially with the growing concern that there might be shadir watching them all. At sunrise he bid Dendrick discreetly summon the few people he trusted on board the Seffynaw.

  He surveyed the faces gathered in his cabin thus far. There were five besides himself: Rayim, Novan, Oli, Jhorn, and Miss Onika.

  A knock at the door preceded Dendrick, who came to Wilek’s side. “I was unable to locate Sâr Trevn, Your Highness. Captain Bussie says two of his men sent Sâr Trevn and Sir Cadoc down the boat fall just a bit ago.”

  Wilek sighed. Trevn must have found out that Miss Mielle had gone to the Rafayah. He cursed his own thoughtlessness at forgetting to tell his brother about Miss Mielle’s temporary assignment.

  “We will have to proceed without him.” Wilek stood and waited for every face to focus on his. “I have gathered you here because I have discovered a plot against me and my father. There are some mantics on board in search of a bottle of evenroot juice. When they find it, they intend to use it to kill the king.”

  Gasps of surprise and shock passed between them.

  “We must find the evenroot first,” Rayim said.

  Wilek nodded. “Our searches to this point have turned up empty.”

  “Seize Sâr Janek’s newt, then,” Novan suggested.

  “Janek claims the creature has been stolen. I thought he must be lying, but my spies confirmed he is not. We must prepare for the worst. Should these traitors find the root before we do, what can be done to stop them?”

  “Nothing outright,” Jhorn said. “In the Great War a fresh mantic would destroy hundreds, until the moment she knelt to pray to her demons for healing. Then we’d cut her down.”

  “Was there no way to prevent the first attack?” Wilek asked.

  Jhorn’s brows pinched in thought. “Attacks depended on several criteria. The amount of evenroot taken, the skill of the mantic, the strength of the shadir. To take a life, a well-trained mantic needs a powerful shadir and a lot of root.”

  “At least a full vial,” Oli said.

  “These traitors must be arrested and executed at once,” Rayim said. “It’s the only way.”

  “But if they have taken evenroot, can’t they do magic to avoid arrest?” Wilek asked.

  “That or to escape,” Jhorn said.

  “We should move the king to a different ship,” Rayim said.

  “That might buy some time,” Oli offered. “But . . . there is another way.”

  A hush fell as every eye focused on the duke.

  “I have a bottle of evenroot juice in my cabin,” Oli said.

  Fire flowed through Wilek’s veins. “You kept this from me?”

  Oli held up his good hand. “I know, I know. You went on a crusade to purge root from the fleet. The truth is . . .” A breath quivered from his lips, and he lowered his gaze. “I’ve been suffering from the lack of root. When I heard about the mantic Charlon pretending to be Sârah Zeroah, I searched her cabin and found a canister of root powder.”

  “The stash Janek was looking for?” Wilek asked, stunned that so much root might be within reach of the people wanting to kill him.

  “I stole it, that is the truth, but Empress Inolah discovered it and made me dump it into the sea.” Oli glanced up at Wilek. “Except the
empress didn’t know that I had already made myself several bottles of juice from the powder. I kept it in wine bottles and have been taking it still, trying to wean myself slowly.” He paused. “It’s easier than going without.”

  No one spoke. Rayim and Jhorn were glaring at Oli as if they’d like to send him to the pole. The others watched in silence.

  This was no time to deal with Oli’s crime. Wilek needed to keep the discussion on topic. “You said there was another way?” he asked.

  Oli took a deep breath and stroked the grain of wood on his fake hand. “I have bonded with a shadir to heal me from the root’s poison. That means I can see into the Veil. If I am with you during the interrogations, I can—”

  “One should not engage with a worshiper of demons,” Jhorn said. “Arman forbids it. You’ve probably brought a host of them in here, listening to every word we say.”

  “I see none here now,” Oli said, looking around. “Let me help.”

  “You cannot trust shadir,” Wilek said. “I learned that the hard way.”

  “I know that,” Oli said. “But shadir feed off their bonds with humans. Someone like me, rationing root, trying to wean myself . . . I give off so little power. Noadab won’t share me with anyone. If he had told others, they would have come by now. And no others have.”

  “I can’t deny that logic,” Jhorn said. “Shadir have always been self-absorbed.”

  “I could also ask Noadab to make one of you a seer,” Oli said. “I will tell him it’s a grand joke I wish to play. He’ll like that because shadir love tricks and they love humans who can see them.”

  “Who would you choose?” Wilek asked.

  “That’s your choice,” Oli said. “But I must warn you. A seer is vulnerable to shadir if he makes himself known to them, so it would be best if the seer pretended he couldn’t see the shadir. Like a spy.” He gave Wilek a knowing look.

  He meant Hinckdan. Wilek’s heart sank for the young earl. House Hadar had asked too much of him already.

  “Too dangerous,” Jhorn said.

  “But knowledge is power,” Rayim said. “It would help to know where these creatures were and who they had bonded with.”

  It might be their only chance at an offensive. “Do you know the spell?” Wilek asked. “And the runes?”

  “No,” Oli said, “but Noadab has offered to do tricks for me, as pranks on my friends. He’s eager to try to heal my arm, which has been difficult to resist, yet I know such a thing would require massive amounts of evenroot, increase my dependence, and give Noadab too much power over me. Not even the return of my arm is worth that.”

  “Now you’re starting to grasp the meat of it,” Jhorn said. “These are black spirits, yet you suggest we partner with one to help us, and the rest of you agree as if this is the best plan in the Northsea? It’s daft, I tell you. Completely irresponsible and sacrilegious to boot.”

  Wilek paled at Jhorn’s rebuke. His words mirrored those Trevn had once said to him, words Wilek had ignored. “Miss Onika?” he asked. “Are we wrong to consider asking the shadir to—”

  “This is what the Sovereign Arman says: ‘You did not destroy the evil as I commanded, but you mingled your nations and adopted the customs of your enemies.’” Her mesmerizing voice welled up from inside Wilek’s head. “‘You worshiped idols, which became a snare to you. You sacrificed your sons and daughters to black spirits, and the land was desecrated by their blood.’” She turned her glassy stare upon Wilek. “The sacrifices of pagans are offered to demons, not to Arman, and he does not wish us to be participants with black spirits. You cannot drink from the cup of Arman and the cup of Gâzar. Submit yourselves to Arman. Resist the temptations of Gâzar and his shadir, and they will flee from you.”

  Goose pimples had cropped up over Wilek’s arms. “Thank you, Miss Onika. We seek to give honor to Arman and trust his guidance.”

  Still, he felt defeated. Here Oli had offered up what had seemed like the perfect solution, yet as it was against Arman’s decrees, Wilek had no choice but to reject it.

  “Duke Canden, I appreciate your offer to make a seer for House Hadar, and while I admit it might make everything easier, it is an order I cannot give. We will have to find another way, and you will surrender your bottles of evenroot juice to me at once.”

  “I understand perfectly, Your Highness,” Oli said, looking shaken. “I cannot change the mistakes I’ve made, but the root I have ingested today will enable me to see until sometime tomorrow. If you do your interrogations now, you could at least make use of my eyes while I still have them.”

  “You can’t trust a shadir, though,” Jhorn said. “Never.”

  “I’m well aware of that,” Oli said. “But my shadir would not be there. Only me. With eyes able to see any other shadir that enter.”

  Wilek wanted to accept, but he deferred to his expert. “Miss Onika? What say you? Am I wrong to suggest that using Duke Canden’s eyes is not so different than using the eyes of a root child?”

  Miss Onika closed her eyes and released a soft breath, as if she were going to take a nap right there at the table. Her body swayed with the rocking of the ship, and people began to fidget as time passed. A second exhale and her eyes opened, staring just past Wilek’s right shoulder. “Arman gives me no immediate answer on this, Your Highness,” she said. “I will pray about it, but in the meantime, it is my opinion that as long as the duke is not colluding with any shadir, I see no harm in him telling you what he sees.”

  It was all the answer Wilek needed. He picked up a scroll from his desk and held it out. “Rayim, arrest the people on this list and put them in the hold. Miss Onika and Master Jhorn, I thank you for your council. You are dismissed. Duke Canden, you will remain here.”

  It was time to put a stop to these traitors once and for all.

  Two guards led Hinckdan Faluk into the compartment in the hold and pushed him onto the seat across from where Wilek and Oli sat. The young earl’s hands were bound before him. He glared at the guards, stood and bowed to Wilek, then took his seat again. Wilek nodded at Dendrick, who ushered the guards into the crossway and closed the door, leaving Wilek, Oli, and Hinckdan alone. The lantern hanging above the table swayed violently—the seas had been growing more turbulent as the day wore on.

  “Your Highness, why have I been detained?” Hinckdan asked.

  Wilek held up his hand to silence the man before he gave himself away.

  “This conspiracy against your father is worse than the Five Woes,” Oli said.

  That was the code they had worked out in advance. Each time the guards left after delivering a prisoner, Oli was to say something that included the number of beings in the room—human and shadir combined. That the duke had said five meant that two shadir had entered with Hinckdan. Of the eight people Wilek had interviewed so far, seven rebels and the cook, each had been accompanied by at least one shadir. Three of the creatures had come in with Fonu Edekk.

  Wilek wanted to warn Hinckdan that there might be shadir present so he wouldn’t give himself away. All he could think to do was to say something so utterly false and ridiculous that the earl might catch the hint that something was amiss.

  “Lord Dacre,” he said, “I had been prepared to grant your request to marry Sârah Hrettah, despite it having been Rosârah Valena’s wish that she marry Lord Barta and the fact that you do not match in fives.”

  Hinckdan’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, eyes narrowed in thought. His gaze flicked toward Oli, then back to Wilek. He looked confused.

  That’s right, Wilek urged him. Play along.

  “I am honored, Your Highness,” Hinckdan said at last.

  A polite and careful answer. Good. Wilek hated to put the young man through this, but he didn’t want to lose Hinckdan’s place amongst the traitors. Locking him up with the others was the best way to keep him safe.

  “But that was before,” Wilek said, continuing his fake interrogation. “I’m afraid Sârah Hrettah must be disappointed.”
<
br />   Hinckdan’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Must she?”

  “Did the guards tell you why you’re here?” Wilek asked.

  “One of them said you think me a traitor.”

  “I had hoped it was not true,” Wilek said. “You who have been a close friend to my brother Trevn. But I do not understand why you would attend a meeting with those plotting my father’s murder.”

  Hinckdan frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “When did you first join the Lahavôtesh?” Wilek asked.

  Hinckdan thought about it a moment. “In Everton, shortly before the Woes came upon us.”

  Wilek had expected him to claim ignorance here as well. He hoped he would not answer the next question honestly. “Why did you join?”

  He shrugged. “I was curious.”

  When in reality Trevn had made him join. “The Lahavôtesh is conspiring to murder my father. What is your role in the plot?”

  “That’s terrible! I don’t know anything about that.”

  “Do you know that a bottle of evenroot juice is missing?”

  A flicker of fear lit in his eyes. “No, Your Highness.”

  “Then you don’t know who might have it?”

  “I do not.”

  Wilek went on, asking Hinckdan all the same questions he had asked the others. Who were the other members in the cult? Were any of them on board the Seffynaw? Of those, were all of them mantics or only some? Who was their leader? Was Sâr Janek or Kamran DanSâr involved?

  To all of these questions, Hinckdan claimed ignorance. Wilek ended his interrogation with the same words he’d said to all the traitors. “I’m disappointed in your disloyalty to House Hadar. You will remain in the hold until you are tried by the Wisean Council for treason.”

  “That is most unfair, Your Highness. On what evidence do you accuse me?”

  “I will not reveal my sources until the trial,” Wilek said. “Duke Canden, fetch the guards.”

  Oli stood and went to obey.

  “Will you tell Sârah Hrettah about this?” Hinckdan asked.

  Wilek almost smiled at the young man’s brittle expression. No wonder the earl made such a good spy. He had a flair for acting. “No,” Wilek said, “but she will likely hear about it once the trial has taken place.”