King's Blood

by Jill Williamson

  “I remember nothing after that,” he said.

  “I had to call the guards lest I be implicated,” Pia said. The rest of her story matched what had already been stated. “Had Sir Kalenek not quickened his death, Sâr Janek would have died from my blade alone.”

  Wilek rubbed his face, weary and angry that he must deal with this mess. If he had made time for Kal yesterday when he’d come seeking his replacement on the Rafayah, this might not have happened. Wilek would have told Kal he hadn’t found a replacement—would have sent Kal back to watch over Miss Shemme. “The two surviving guards did not see Pia strike Janek,” he said. “They both implicate you, Kal, as the murderer. What can I do?”

  “I will confess,” Pia said.

  “That will only kill you both,” Wilek said.

  “Janek is dead because I sought to kill him,” Kal said. “The blame is mine, and I will confess that before the council. There must be Justness. A life for a life as is law. Leave Lady Pia out of this.”

  “That you would take your punishment willingly is admirable, but as sâr-regent I must be the one to put steps in motion toward your execution. I must sign your death warrant!” Wilek sighed, and the breath hurt his lungs. Arman, why?

  “More than anything, I regret causing you pain, Wil. I did not intend to.”

  Wilek choked back his emotions. “Justice always has repercussions, Kal.” He tried to imagine what they might be. Kal hanging for Janek’s death. Miss Mielle and Miss Amala hating Wilek for killing the man who’d raised them. Trevn siding with Miss Mielle, forcing the two remaining sârs to become estranged. Rogedoth and Rosârah Laviel waging war upon Armania to avenge Janek.

  Worst of all was a world without Sir Kalenek Veroth. The man had been by Wilek’s side nearly ten years. They had weathered many storms together, and Wilek had missed him these past few weeks. Rystan might be his new half brother, but he wasn’t even a man yet. And Novan Heln, while smart and capable, was almost too good. Too polite, anyway, without a hint of Kal’s sarcasm or bluntness.

  What, if anything, could Wilek do for this man? His friend?

  A thought came to him softly, like a breeze. Wilek focused on it, let it grow.

  Yes, it very well might save Kal’s life and at the same time protect Armania against her enemies.

  “Lady Pia, you are free to go,” Wilek said. “Speak to no one about this or the attack on Janek without first speaking to me.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” She curtsied and left.

  Wilek waited until he was certain she had gone. “Before I call the guard to arrest you, I would have you do something for me.”

  Kal’s pained gaze met his. “Anything.”

  “Go to the Rafayah. Move Miss Shemme to another boat—preferably a Rurekan one. I will write a missive to Emperor Ulrik asking him to accept you. Send a bird to me when the child is born and remain with it as its guardian. If the babe is indeed a root child as we fear, once we reach land, take a new name and raise the child in a place where it will be safe, as Jhorn did for Grayson. Any who discover this child might seek to use it to rule Armania. You must keep it hidden. Note any unnatural abilities. Any people who take an unhealthy interest in the child. Remain with the child as long as it lives, and keep me apprised of anything important. Should it become a problem . . . deal with it.”

  “Kill a child?”

  Arman would not like that. “Only as a last resort.”

  “You’re letting me go free?”

  “Rayim is already looking for you. He will find Alpress in your cabin, and I will have no choice but to issue the warrant for your arrest. You must not be found aboard the Seffynaw. Likely someone will recall your leaving the ship, so move quickly and try not to be seen. You can never return to the Seffynaw. And once we land . . . if you are captured by Armanian soldiers, you will be tried and executed. I cannot imagine a future where I could pardon you for conspiring to kill a sâr of Armania.”

  “What will become of Mielle and Amala? My crime has forced them into a life of poverty.”

  “I will adopt them as my own wards, though I cannot help that their reputations might become tainted by association to your name.”

  Kal set his hand over his heart and then kissed his fingers. “Thank you, Wil.”

  “You must go with haste, my friend,” Wilek said. “The longer you tarry, the greater the chance of your arrest.” Wilek stood and held out his hand.

  Kal removed his gloves and took hold, allowed Wilek to help him stand. “Forgive me, Your Highness, for my many failures and crimes and for abandoning you. I will miss our friendship.”

  Wilek held his sorrow in check and gave his friend a curt nod. “As will I, Kal.”

  He watched Kal retreat into the king’s royal cabin. It occurred to him that he had forgotten to send guards to bring Trevn back from the Rafayah yesterday. He prayed that if Kal found Trevn there with Miss Mielle, he would stay in his right mind.

  Surely Kal would not kill two princes of Armania.

  Kalenek

  Since Kal couldn’t go to his own cabin, he went to Novan’s and changed into a new set of plain clothes. He and Novan were close to the same size, though the shirt was snug across the shoulders. Kal took a few more essentials, wrote a letter to his girls, and set off to see Onika.

  There was no way to sneak in. As High Shield of Arman, Kal had seen to that. So he took a risk and went to her cabin on the hunch that Nayman and Tanor wouldn’t yet know of the recent happenings.

  “Good dawning,” Kal said as he walked up to the door and knocked.

  “Sands! Look at you,” Nayman said. “I heard you got a piece of Sâr Janek last night, but it sure looks like his dogs got you good.”

  Kal was suddenly aware of the ache in his nose. Rescuing Amala seemed to have happened days ago, not merely last evening. “I did what I had to.”

  “What most all of us have been wanting to do for years,” Tanor said.

  “Do you know what happened in Sâr Janek’s cabin last night after they arrested you?” Nayman asked.

  Kal feigned ignorance. “Something wilder than the High Shield of Arman attacking a sâr?”

  “I’d say. Lady Pia came tearing out well after night bells. She brought back at least a dozen guards, and—”

  Blessedly the door opened and Kempe, Onika’s maid, looked out. When she saw Kal, her eyes widened and lingered on his bruised face. “Sir Kalenek, welcome back. Miss Onika will be pleased you are here.” She opened the door wider.

  Kal entered, dreading what he must say. Did Onika know what he’d done?

  He found her sitting in a chair by the window, Rustian curled up by her feet. While he was still several steps away, she spoke.

  “Sir Kalenek has returned, Rustian. No man walks with such purpose as he.”

  Kal stopped beside her chair and looked down on her face. The candlelight made her skin ghostly in the surrounding darkness of the cabin. It made him smile. Onika always brought light to the darkness.

  “You are quiet this dawning, Sir Kalenek.”

  “I have come to say farewell.”

  Her brow pinched. “But you’ve only just returned.”

  “My work aboard the Rafayah is going to take longer than I had first thought. I . . . don’t plan to return. Ever.”

  Her glassy eyes did not shift, but Kal caught the quiver of her chin. “So we are here. Who will Sâr Wilek put in charge of my guards now that you are going away?”

  “Oli, I suppose. He will do a fine job.”

  “I prefer you to the Duke of Canden or anyone else.”

  “I am sorry, lady.” He paused, digging deep for the courage to confess. “I have done something that even Sâr Wilek as my friend cannot forgive.”

  She reached for him, clutched his tunic near his hip. “Arman always forgives. Do not forget that.”

  “Not this, I’m afraid.”

  “Yes, Sir Kalenek! Even this, whatever it is.”

  “I—”

  “Do not
tell me! I am not a god to hear the confessions of men.” She settled both hands in her lap, linking her fingers. “If you must leave, then promise me that should you see Grayson again, you will give him this message. Tell him: ‘Hold tight to your secret until you come to those twice your size. Then embrace who you are and let all know what you can do.’”

  Her words clogged Kal’s thoughts. What was she talking about? When would he see Grayson? “That makes no sense.”

  “It will to Grayson when the time is right.”

  He repeated her message aloud, memorizing it, and said, “Should I find the boy, I promise to tell him.” He crouched beside her chair, took hold of her hand, and gave her the letter he wrote to the girls. “Will you see that Mielle gets this letter when she returns?”

  “Yes, of course. But why don’t you give it to her yourself?”

  “I have my reasons. Miss Onika, time and again you have spoken of a future that gives me reason to hope that all is not lost between our friendship. I beg you now to explain.”

  She fixed her glassy stare on his face, her lips frowning slightly. “I don’t know for certain. You have always been Rescuer to me, a title given you by Arman. You found me in Magonia and led me safely here. And you will find me and rescue me again. This separation will be a difficult period for both of us. We will suffer greatly before Arman brings healing.”

  Always she came back to her god’s healing. She needed to know the kind of man he was. She deserved so much better. “Suffering is all I deserve, Miss Onika. I’ve toyed with darkness my whole life. Now it has consumed me. Darkness wins, Miss Onika. Darkness always wins.”

  “You are wrong,” she snapped. “Darkness only wins those who give themselves over to it.”

  “I have done just that.”

  “Then step back into the light! It is always one choice away.”

  She made everything sound so simple, but Kal knew better. Life was a tangled knot of pain that could never be straightened.

  “You are not the only one who struggles with darkness, Sir Kalenek. Everyone does. It is coming to me as well.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Darkness will soon take me captive. If I can trust Arman in that place of horror, he will sustain me and help me keep sight of the light.”

  “Miss Onika, if you sense trouble, flee from it. Do not draw close to the darkness. Stay safe at all costs.”

  “Is that what you did on Bakurah Island when you stepped between Sâr Wilek and his assassin?”

  Shame threatened to overwhelm Kal. She thought him a hero and knew nothing of the villain he really was.

  “Some walk into the darkness eagerly,” she said. “Some dread the duty. Yet others have darkness thrust upon them. But all who seek the light again will find it.”

  His words tightened in his throat. “I will miss your censure, Miss Onika. And your hope.”

  “And I your steady voice and hand in my own.” She reached out, and he took hold of her hand. “Will you kiss me good-bye?”

  She wanted his kiss? He glanced across the room at the maid and struggled to keep his voice calm. “That would not be appropriate.”

  “Propriety is the least of my worries. Besides, I will need the memory of your loving kiss when stolen kisses seek to rob me of my sanity.”

  After such an invitation Kal did not hesitate. He knelt before her chair and kissed her. Her lips were soft against his rough skin and tasted of salt water and mint. Her hands slipped up to his face, smooth thumbs caressing scarred cheeks. So long, it had been, since anyone had touched him this gently. That such a woman cared for him at all was miraculous indeed.

  “I don’t want you to go,” she said.

  Kal hugged her to him and kissed her hair, his chest and throat tight. How could he let her go, knowing something horrible loomed in her future? “When, Onika? How long must I wait until we meet again?”

  “I know not.”

  Kal kissed her once more, which only placed a fierce longing in his heart to take Onika with him. He could not do that, however, and finally forced himself to walk away from a woman he had come to love deeply.

  Outside her cabin door, he passed by the guards. “Keep her safe,” Kal told them, walking away.

  “Isn’t the prophetess coming out for breakfast?” Tanor asked.

  “You’ll have to ask her.” Kal continued on, making his way toward the forward boat fall and an uncertain future. Strangely the bittersweet longing of leaving Onika behind felt justified. He deserved no happiness.

  Kal reached the vice flagship just as the sun crested over the horizon. The waves had been raucous, and he was thankful to be on a ship again. He led himself to the door of the tiny cabin on the lower foredeck where he had left Mielle with Shemme—Kellah now, he reminded himself.

  He nodded at the guards outside and knocked. “Are they here?”

  “Uh . . .” The guard on the left side of the door looked across to the guard on the right. “I, uhh . . .”

  “You don’t know?” What kind of guards were these?

  Kal pushed the door open and stepped inside. Someone lay in the bed, covered by a thin blanket. “Mielle?” Sorrow seized his heart. How could he leave Mielle and Amala? Yet how could he not? Watching him die as a murderer would be no better than abandonment.

  He settled on a chair beside the bed, where he could sit and look upon her face.

  But it was not her face he saw.

  It was Sâr Trevn’s face.

  Kal drew back, despair seizing every inch of his body. Had he entered the wrong cabin? A quick glance revealed Mielle’s cloak in the corner.

  Despair quickly shifted to rage. One step and he had dragged the young man from the bed and onto the floor. Sâr Trevn wore only a pair of trousers. His chest and feet were bare. “Get up! Now!”

  The young sâr sat on his heels and squinted up at Kal. His expression of confusion quickly faded, and he had the decency to look ashamed of himself. “Sir Kalenek, allow me to explain.”

  Kal fell upon him again, grabbed his arm, and yanked him to his feet. “You think me a fool? I know exactly what has happened here. A thief has committed a crime and he must be punished.”

  “We are married!” Trevn blurted out. “I beg forgiveness that I did not ask your permission first, but my father and brother would not have approved and we feared you would side with them.”

  Kal shook him by the arm. “You aren’t the first sâr to stand through a false ceremony to convince a woman to lie with you.”

  An expression of horror crossed the young sâr’s face. “I would never do that. I love Mielle. A Rurekan priest married us yesterday on the main deck. Ask anyone on board.”

  A Rurekan priest? “Where is she?”

  “With Miss Shem—Kellah. The girl is having pains. Mielle feared the baby is coming and took her to the birthing tent.”

  “So soon?”

  “Mielle believes the child is a black spirit. I think not. Miss Kellah confessed that her mother forced her to take evenroot when the child was conceived. I believe this early labor is an effect of the poison.”

  Sâr Trevn’s logic was to be commended, but Kal had no desire to play friends at present. “Take me to them.”

  “I must dress first,” Trevn said.

  “Dress, then! I shall wait outside.” Kal left the cabin and posted himself with the two now sheepish guards. “A little warning next time? And where is Sir Cadoc?”

  “Sâr Trevn sent him to accompany Miss Mielle,” one of the guards said.

  At least the prince had some sense.

  Married! It was too much. Yet his anger toward Sâr Trevn had already abated. How dare Kal wield judgement against Mielle and Trevn in light of his own crimes?

  A short while later Sâr Trevn exited the cabin and frowned at the sky. “It’s clouding over again,” he said. “Swells are running deeper too. A storm is approaching.”

  Wonderful. Kal was not eager to row through waves worse than those he’d just experi
enced. “Lead the way to your wife, Your Highness.”

  Trevn’s gaze latched briefly onto Kal’s before he walked past him down the lengthway. He caught the arm of a middle-aged maid and bid her run ahead and tell Mielle they were coming to see her. “And tell the master’s mate on duty to put out the water barrels. We must collect the rain.”

  The woman curtsied and ran off.

  As they made their way up to the main deck, Kal shared his concern that the king would have Sâr Trevn’s wedding annulled. “Did you not think of Mielle’s reputation when you married so hastily?” he asked.

  “Sir Kalenek.” The prince stopped at the bottom of the galley steps and faced him. “I realize that words will not convince you of my honor and worth, especially when I have initiated this secret wedding without your permission. Let me ease your distress. I will never leave or forsake Mielle. Even if my family forces us apart, I will not give her up. I would renounce my heritage first, so great is my devotion to her.”

  Kal scoffed. “You think Sâr Wilek would allow that? I confess myself a fool, for I had conceded that you were well on your way to being the most intelligent of your brothers.”

  “I don’t appreciate your tone. You may dislike me and what I’ve done, but I am still a sâr of Armania and should be treated with respect.”

  “Boy . . .” Kal gritted his teeth in an attempt to rein his temper. “I am no longer a citizen of Armania, so I owe you nothing. Sir Cadoc, good morning.”

  Trevn stopped outside a tent assembled on the main deck, where Sir Cadoc was standing guard. Sounds of crying infants were drowned out by the erratic screaming of a woman in pain.

  Sir Cadoc nodded to Kal. “Glad to see you, sir.”

  “This is the birthing tent?” Kal asked.

  Sir Cadoc nodded. “Men aren’t allowed to go in without an invitation.”

  “What did you mean by that, Sir Kalenek?” Trevn asked. “No longer being a citizen of Armania?”

  The door flap opened, and Mielle exited. “Kal!” She threw her arms around his neck.

  Grief stabbed low and deep in light of Kal’s newly bestowed exile. How could he leave this girl who had become like a daughter?