King's Blood

by Jill Williamson

  Hinckdan nodded and said no more. The guards entered to take him back to his cell. Once they had gone, Oli returned with Rayim, Dendrick, and Novan.

  Novan closed the door, and Wilek waited for Oli’s signal. “Five,” he said.

  Wilek sighed, relieved that they were finally alone. “Tell us,” he said to Oli.

  “There were nine different shadir,” Oli said. “Two were commons, which is the second strongest type of shadir. Kabada is one of them, and she is bonded to Lady Zenobia, who I’d guess is the most powerful mantic aboard the Seffynaw.”

  The king’s oldest concubine. Interesting. “Which would explain Kamran’s involvement.”

  “He has always fully supported his mother,” Oli said.

  Yet Kamran and Janek had not attended the last secret meeting and so Wilek had not arrested them, despite knowing they were allied with the traitors.

  “What about Master Edekk?” Wilek asked. “He had three shadir with him.”

  “Fonu is the second most powerful mantic aboard,” Oli said. “He has both his own shadir and a common that once served Beal.”

  “Trevn’s former onesent?”

  Oli nodded. “When Hinckdan killed Beal, the common took up with Fonu.”

  “And the third shadir?” Wilek asked.

  “Kabada. She came inside for every interview. My guess is Kabada reports to Pontiff Rogedoth as well as her mistress.”

  “Shadir can go from boat to boat?” Wilek asked.

  “Oh yes,” Oli said. “Through the Veil.”

  “No one admitted taking the root,” Wilek said.

  “Of course they wouldn’t,” Rayim said. “The question is, could Hara be lying about having evenroot in the first place?”

  “She had root at some point,” Wilek said. “I know this for a fact.” He had not told Dendrick or Rayim about Miss Shemme. “I can’t imagine she’d be fool enough to offer root to a mantic if she had none. She either gave it to a mantic already or has hidden it somewhere.”

  “Or with someone she trusts,” Novan suggested. “If she gave it to a mantic, the prisoners would have escaped by now.”

  “I will question her staff,” Rayim said. “She might have given it to somone to hide.”

  “Could you make a list of all those on board who attended Sâr Janek’s court?” Dendrick asked Oli.

  “That wouldn’t hurt,” Wilek said, “but the Lahavôtesh has been around since before Janek was born. There could be someone on board who is loyal to Rogedoth but not Janek. Rayim, make a separate list of those who attended my father’s court on a regular basis—their servants as well. There must be someone we’re missing.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Rayim said.

  However, most of the nobles were aboard other ships. Wilek could not think of another noble on board to suspect. Danek Faluk would not have been involved. And surely Wilek’s mother and the sârahs were innocent. Perhaps one of their maids or one of the guards? “Dendrick, work with Schwyl to make a plan for moving the king. I’d like to hear it tonight after dinner. Let’s all meet then and see where we are. Rayim, we must find Teaka’s newt. It’s the best way to—”

  “Seven,” Oli said.

  A fearful moment of silence passed. Wilek hoped the shadir had only just entered and had not overheard anything important.

  “I’d say all nine are guilty,” Dendrick said, covering for Oli’s outburst.

  All but Hinckdan. Wilek stood, wanting to be away from the creatures. “You have your orders. Dismissed.”

  Trevn

  Approaching the Rafayah by dinghy, Trevn realized how much he’d learned about ships. He saw how she sat higher on the water than the Seffynaw and had high castles fore and aft with a low, open waist in the middle for the main deck. During the Centenary War the Rafayah had served as a flagship for Armania, and her visage was mighty indeed. The evergold hull was painted bright red and covered in carved multicolored motifs of grinning Rôb gods and goddesses slaughtering Magonian yeetta warriors.

  “It would have been wise to tell Sâr Wilek where we have gone,” Cadoc said.

  “He would have made me stay,” Trevn replied, annoyed that Wilek had kept secret the fact that he’d moved Mielle to a different ship. If what Kamran had said was true, and Janek was already aboard the Rafayah . . . If he harmed Mielle in any way . . . “No wonder I couldn’t find her these past few days.” He shook his head. “Why didn’t Wilek tell me?”

  “He must have had his reasons. I wonder why you didn’t check with Sâr Wilek first. Are you sure Miss Mielle is really here? This might be a prank Kamran and Janek stirred up to—”

  “No,” Trevn said, staring at the red hull. “Miss Amala confirmed it. She was supposed to have told me days ago but forgot. Mielle is here.” She must be. And if Janek broke his vow and dared lay one hand on her, Trevn would break more than his finger.

  By the time Trevn and Cadoc climbed out of the dinghy, a crowd had formed on the Rafayah’s foredeck, including the captain and several of his crew.

  Cadoc acted the part of herald and introduced Trevn. “His Royal Highness, Trevn-Sâr Hadar, the Third Arm, the Curious.”

  “I have come seeking Miss Mielle Allard, Captain . . . ?” Trevn paused.

  “Stockton, Your Highness,” the captain said. “And I thought as much. I have sent a man to inform Miss Mielle of your arrival. I welcome you aboard the Rafayah and hope your stay with us is a pleasant—”

  “Trevn!”

  With Mielle being so tall, Trevn caught sight of her head as she pushed through the crowd. When she finally reached him, she threw herself into his arms. He stumbled back a step and turned in a circle to keep from falling.

  “You do know how to scare a fellow,” Trevn said, gripping her arms. “Why didn’t you say you were coming here?”

  “Didn’t Amala tell you?”

  “Not until I asked her an hour ago.”

  Mielle growled and stamped her foot. “Tuhsh! She cares for no one but herself.”

  “What of Janek? Has he been bothering you?”

  She frowned. “Janek is here? I haven’t seen him.”

  “So there’s the trick of it,” Cadoc said, shaking his head.

  “But why would Kamran say Janek was coming for Mielle if he wasn’t?” Trevn asked. Kamran had found Trevn on the stern deck this morning and mocked his ignorance of knowing where Miss Mielle was—told him that Janek had come to the Rafayah at Fonu’s dare that he could not steal Mielle from Trevn.

  “The important question is: What would Sâr Janek gain from your coming here?” Cadoc asked.

  Before Trevn could answer, a sudden devotion to Mielle seized him. “I will never allow us to be parted again.” He pulled her close and kissed her.

  A lone whoop brought forth scattered laughter from the crowd. Someone whistled.

  Mielle turned her head, buried her face against his shoulder. “Trevn . . . people are watching.”

  Trevn made eye contact with an elderly woman who was grinning at him. Beyond the old woman many more faces stared: a man with rotten teeth, two little girls, a woman holding a child, and a young Magonian woman.

  “Let them watch,” he said. “I cannot go on like this another day.”

  Her dark eyes searched his. “What do you want?”

  In a surge of recklessness, he fell to his knees, gripped her hands, and blurted out, “Marry me,” shocking even himself.

  Mielle stared at him as if he were mad. Well, he was mad. For her. He could not bear to be parted from her again. Not even for a moment. “I am tired of being away from you,” he said.

  “But your father will never approve.”

  “Then we will marry here, aboard the Rafayah. Father may rail at me afterward. Please, Mielle. Say you will.” He would die if she refused him. Such a thought seemed melodramatic for someone as level-headed as himself, yet he could not deny the fear pulsing within his heart.

  “But it isn’t the proper way!” Mielle said. “Kal will be angry. S�
�r Wilek too.”

  Trevn lifted her hand, folded it into a fist, and set her Renegade R against his. “I care not about the proper way or what anyone might say. I love you. And I want them all to know I mean it when I say so.”

  A slow smile. “I love you too.”

  He jumped back to his feet and looked into her eyes. “We will stay here on the Rafayah, where no one can order us about.”

  “Sâr Wilek will send for you eventually,” Mielle said. “And the king will say our marriage isn’t binding.”

  Trevn’s mind raced to find a solution. “If we marry here on the main deck in front of all these people, then have them sign as witnesses, Father and Wilek cannot part us without upsetting the public. Say you will, Mielle. Please?”

  She pulled his hand to her heart. “How could I refuse you?”

  A thrill of contentment settled over Trevn. He lifted their joined hands above their heads and turned to face the crowd. “She said yes!”

  The sea of strangers cheered wildly. Mielle laughed and threw her arms around his neck. He held her close, knowing that somehow, despite the nagging doubt in the back of his mind, this had been the right thing to do.

  “Your Highness.” Cadoc’s voice interrupted Trevn’s blissful reverie. The shield was standing beside them, grim. “I must caution you against this plan.”

  Trevn sighed. “Must you?”

  “If you and Miss Mielle marry without the consent of your elders, I fear you will both regret it.”

  Cadoc’s words troubled Trevn, but only for a moment. He led Mielle by the hand to Captain Stockton, who was still standing with his men, watching the goings-on. “Captain Stockton, will you marry us?”

  The man cleared his throat. “May Athos deal with me, Your Highness, be it ever so severely, but I dare not anger my king in submitting to his son. If he gives his blessing, it would be my honor to hear your vows to one another.”

  “He will not give his permission,” Trevn said, then raised his voice. “Is there a captain or priest aboard this ship who will hear our vows to marry?”

  A remarkable silence ensued, and Trevn knew a moment of dread.

  Why was he doing this? Wilek had gained them Father’s permission to court. In time, surely he would also permit them to marry. Why rush things and risk angering the king?

  At that thought he glanced at Mielle, and another deluge of affection for her drowned all doubt. No. Time was short. They might never find land. Trevn wanted to seize every happiness while he still could.

  “Very well,” he yelled to the crowd. “We must find a ship with someone who will hear our vows.” He tugged Mielle toward the boat fall.

  She stopped, pulled against him. “I can’t leave,” she whispered.

  “Why not?”

  “I can’t say. Not here, anyway. There are too many people who—”

  “I will hear your vows,” a man said.

  The crowd parted, revealing a bronze-skinned man wearing the cobalt robes of a Rôb priest, though he had a shaved head and the henna tracings of a Rurekan Igote soldier.

  “And you are?” Trevn asked.

  “Father Zeeshan, Your Highness.” He bowed swiftly. “Unless you think the king might not honor vows heard by a Rurekan priest.”

  “Why wouldn’t he?” Trevn asked. “Armania is allied with Rurekau. As long as these fine people will act as witnesses.”

  The crowd cheered.

  “When would you like to marry?” Father Zeeshan asked.

  “This very moment,” Trevn said.

  “Wait until tomorrow at least, Your Highness,” Captain Stockton said. “Our cooks will need that much time to prepare a feast.”

  “We require no feast,” Trevn said, not wanting to recklessly deplete the food stores. “No, Captain, I must insist we marry now. To tarry will only give room for opposition.”

  A young Magonian woman stepped forward. She stood a full head shorter than Trevn and Mielle and wore a blue-and-green kasah tied over one shoulder, leaving the other bare. Her reddish skin and gray eyes set him instantly on edge.

  “This is Sonber,” Mielle said, surprising Trevn. “She is one of the midwives aboard the ship. We are taking care of a mutual friend.”

  Trevn didn’t like that Mielle had befriended a Magonian mantic.

  Sonber curtsied. “Pleased to know you, Sâr Trevn. Might I offer a blessing as a wedding gift?”

  “No,” Trevn said. “No magic.”

  “Trevn, don’t be rude,” Mielle whispered, then to Sonber, “I’m sure it’s not magic. Is it?”

  “It is merely a prayer of blessing,” Sonber said. “For my dear friend. On this special day.”

  Mielle squeezed his hand, eyes eager. “That’s very kind, don’t you think, Trevn?”

  He supposed it was harmless, especially if Mielle trusted the woman. He lifted their entwined hands and kissed the back of hers. “As you like, my dear.”

  “During the ceremony,” Sonber said, stepping back into the crowd.

  The next hour became utter confusion. Trevn and Mielle were whisked to the main deck. Trevn caught glimpses of similarities to Wilek and Zeroah’s ceremony—Father Zeeshan spoke familiar words and sacrificed a crow—but there were many differences as well. Sonber presented a seashell on a cord that she bid them clasp between their hands as she sang her blessing in what sounded like ancient Armanian. Her words made Trevn’s chest ache with cold. When she finished, she put the shell necklace over Trevn’s head. Father Zeeshan continued the ceremony with blessings and prayers of his own.

  While Trevn meant every word of his oath to Mielle, he almost felt as if they were playing a game instead of truly becoming man and wife. Like the whole event might be a dream. Perhaps that was because they were surrounded by strangers.

  Except for Cadoc. Trevn’s shield had reunited with his parents and seemed pleased about that fact, but each time Trevn met the man’s disapproving gaze, he wished he had listened, dreading that his shield had been right and this would only bring heartache when the king ripped Trevn and Mielle apart. But they’d gone too far now. To stop would hurt Mielle. So Trevn kept silent and refused to let his hesitation show.

  With no wedding tent prepared, a group of sailors whisked Trevn and Mielle into the captain’s cabin, shoved a white handkerchief into Trevn’s hands, and firmly shut the door in his face. The men’s laughter and teasing carried inside the room. Mielle sat down on the edge of the bed and burst into tears.

  An overpowering sense of hopeless confusion rushed upon Trevn, pricking his eyes with moisture. He somehow knew with a shock that these were Mielle’s feelings, not his.

  “Please don’t cry, Mouse.” He sat beside her and took her hands, fighting the overwhelming pull of her mood. The imprint of a seashell on her palm surprised him, and he turned over his hand, wincing when he saw that the same symbol marked his own.

  What did it mean?

  “It all happened so quickly,” Mielle said, her breaths coming short and fast as she searched for words. “It’s not that I don’t want to marry you—I do! It’s only . . . I don’t know those people out there. I’m just so . . . so . . .”

  “It’s my fault,” he said, knowing it was true yet not understanding why he’d been so adamant to do this. “I guess I got carried away. If you want to go back to the Seffynaw, we can forget all this ever happened.”

  “You would erase our wedding?” Now her anger surged within him—all sorrow gone without a trace. “We are married, Trevn. You cannot pretend we aren’t.”

  “I won’t . . . We did . . . We are . . . You’re right.” Being unable to find his own mind apart from hers made him want to scream. “I only meant that I didn’t mean to pressure you into this.”

  “I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t want to,” she scolded. “I’m only embarrassed.” She eyed the handkerchief with disgust. “I don’t think I can . . . Not with those people out there.”

  “Then we won’t.”

  “But we must! They are wait
ing.”

  Trevn pulled his boot knife and held it to his finger. “This will convince them, no?”

  “Don’t!” Mielle grabbed the wrist of his empty hand, turning it so that his palm faced upward. She stared at the red lines the shell had left on his skin, but instead of fear, her love flooded him, chasing away all negative thoughts.

  Sands, women were seesaws of emotion.

  Mielle turned her eyes to his. Her shy smile was all the invitation Trevn needed. He dropped the knife and kissed his bride.

  To hear Hinck brag of his time with the temple prostitute had given Trevn the impression that such an act would happen almost by the magic of wanting it to. The folly of that thought quickly became clear as Trevn and Mielle’s shared ignorance carried them from one awkward moment to the next with surprise, gentle floundering, and occasional laughter.

  They had no expectations to disappoint, no memories to intrude. They gave themselves to each other with unfettered eagerness and somehow knew exactly what the other needed. It was over far sooner than Trevn had imagined it would be, which surprised and amused them both. They put themselves back together as best they could and left the room, handkerchief in hand and blushing deeply as they moved through the crowd of strangers to sign the contract Father Zeeshan had drafted.

  As Trevn stood watching the line of witnesses sign their marks, Mielle fingered the seashell that hung around his throat. She wanted to wear it. But she also wanted him to be happy. As happy as she was. She couldn’t believe he had married her! Had it been the right choice? She knew it had. But, oh, what would the king say when he found out? Would he—

  “You wear this,” Trevn said to Mielle, removing the necklace. Hearing her thoughts so vividly in his head jarred him, but he might as well put it to good use.

  His wife beamed at him as he put the cord over her head. Trevn, my husband. He is my husband, now and forever. No one will ever part us again. Not even Janek, let him try.

  “Janek had better not try,” Trevn said.

  She gasped. “How did you . . . ?”