King's Blood

by Jill Williamson

  Wilek interrupted Oli’s writing. “Now that would kill him,” he said. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I have to agree with the duke, Your Highness,” Rayim said. “If he stays here, he’s already dead. At least this way he has a chance.”

  Could that be true? Wilek had already asked too much of Hinckdan Faluk. Sending him to Rogedoth seemed downright cruel. “Why did you do this?” he asked Oli. “For that matter, you continued to take evenroot after I forbade it and used your shadir to do magic when you attacked Harton. How much root do you still have?”

  “One flask.”

  “Give it to me now.”

  Oli reached for his belt, hesitated, then removed his hip flask and handed it over.

  “Such carelessness risks Arman’s wrath against our realm.” Wilek walked to the window and dumped the contents. When he turned back, Oli was on his feet, staring longingly out the window.

  “The evenroot is gone, Duke Canden,” Wilek said. “Now why did you disobey me?”

  Oli slowly took his seat again. “I thought it was what you wanted.”

  “I specifically said it was not!” Wilek said.

  “Forgive me, Your Highness, but your exact words were, ‘It is an order I cannot give.’”

  “Sounds clear to me,” Wilek said.

  “Yet a misunderstanding remains,” Oli said. “My father has said as much to me or his men time and again. Those words meant that while he could not ask me aloud for the sake of his reputation or the law, he wanted me to act anyway. It is a common practice in the military when something of questionable morals needs to be done.”

  Wilek turned his attention on Rayim. “Is that true?”

  “Not all officers make use of the practice, but it happens,” Rayim said.

  How did Wilek not know of this? Because he was the Dutiful. No one would have dared suggest such a thing to him. “It is now a forbidden practice,” he said. “If something is of questionable morality, the Book of Arman will give us our answer. Is that understood, Captain?”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Rayim said. “I will see that word is passed through the ranks.”

  Wilek would have to do so much more to retrain his people. He needed the nation to submit to Arman, to obey his decrees. But how?

  He would have to think on it. There had to be a way.

  In the meantime he would execute the traitors, then get his father back aboard the Seffynaw. But first he needed to get a message to Hinckdan Faluk, and if the shadir were watching, he must take care how he communicated the possibility of sending the earl into the enemy’s lair. No matter what options were presented, he would let Hinckdan choose for himself how he would like to proceed.

  Wilek would force him no longer.

  Hinck

  Hinck sat leaning against one corner of his new prison cell. Captain Veralla himself had brought him here, and without speaking a word, Hinck could tell from the gentle way the man had handled him that he knew Hinck was Wilek’s spy.

  Yet hours later, here he remained, haunted by the look on his father’s face when he realized his only son was a traitor.

  Hinck’s new cell was no bigger than his last had been, but it had a clean privy bucket, fresh hay covered the floor, and a warm tub of seawater and a hard bar of soap had been waiting when he’d first arrived. He’d wasted no time dousing his head and scrubbing his face and hair. The salt water had made his skin tight and grimy, but he’d felt so refreshed that he’d tried to wash the rest of himself too. Sadly, Captain Veralla had not thought to bring Hinck fresh clothes, though he supposed that would have looked suspicious should he be questioned again.

  They had separated the traitors this time. With two dead and Fonu overboard, there were only five left imprisoned—six counting Agmado Harton. Hinck bet they were none of them near each other.

  To pass the time, he sang to himself and recited his favorite plays. Someone shoved a meal under the door. A tray of warm food as fresh as one could get aboard the Seffynaw these days. Again Hinck suspected Sâr Wilek was trying to make up for the unfortunate situation.

  He was mumbling the words to Magon’s Betrayal when the lock of his cell clicked and the door slid aside. He straightened, expecting to see Captain Veralla or Sâr Wilek, but the lithe, black-clad female who entered was far more welcome.

  Lady Pia slid the door closed behind her and knelt at his side, facing him. “I am told you can see shadir.”

  “Oli put a spell on me, apparently. And here I thought he was my friend.”

  “He is a better friend than you think. Do you see any now?”

  “No. I haven’t seen any since Captain Veralla put me here. I think the guards spread us out so far apart that the shadir can’t remember where we all are.”

  “Listen well, poet. You are in the fore of the ship. Here is a key to the cells.” She placed a cold piece of metal against his palm. “Lady Mattenelle is in the first cell on the left, just before the stairs. You are to rescue her and take her to the boat fall where Sâr Wilek has arranged there to be no guards.”

  “Why her?”

  “It was my idea. I thought people might think it sweet when they heard that the Earl of Dacre had run away with one of Sâr Janek’s concubines.”

  Was she joking? “That’s not very funny.”

  “You’re so serious, Lord Dacre. The truth is, it would look suspicious if only you escaped. Sâr Wilek feels he can part with Nellie since she is useless to Rogedoth now that Sâr Janek is dead.”

  “What about the others?”

  “Our Dutiful sâr wants to watch them hang before he eats his breakfast.”

  Hinck shivered as he pictured the scene in his mind. “And where am I going? Another ship?”

  “Of course you must board any ship if you become desperate, but Sâr Wilek hopes that you might consider boarding the Amarnath.”

  Hinck sputtered. “Rogedoth’s ship?”

  “Oli thinks Nellie could ask her shadir to lead you there. If you can keep up the ruse long enough that you are one of them, you might yet be able to help stop Rogedoth.”

  “If . . . might . . . I don’t know if I can act well enough to fool Rogedoth.”

  “Shh, I’m not finished. If you’d rather not do this, Sâr Wilek will admit to all that you are his spy. That would free you from your prison cell and give you back your life. But Kamran and the shadir would know the truth, and word would eventually get to Rogedoth.”

  “He’d kill me. Or send someone to.”

  “That is our fear as well. Sâr Wilek leaves the choice to you.”

  Hinck could only laugh at the ridiculousness of his choice. “Oh, how thoughtful.”

  “Isn’t it? I rather like Sâr Wilek as a ruler.”

  “How would I get in contact with Sâr Wilek if I learn anything important?”

  “I knew you would go.” Her fingernails lightly scratched up the back of his neck and into his hair. Her touch soothed his frazzled nerves. “I have never met a braver man than you, Hinckdan Faluk.”

  He chuckled darkly. “Truth is, I’m terrified to do this.”

  “Yet you do it anyway. That’s what makes you brave.” She kissed the side of his neck, his ear. Her warm breath tickled and he shrugged away.

  “Lady Pia, I’m fairly disgusting.”

  He heard a smile in her voice when she said, “Yes, you were always the fashionable one, weren’t you? Which drives you madder—being locked up or covered in filth?”

  He contemplated. “It’s a draw.”

  “Janek is dead and still we cannot be together.”

  Hinck could not answer that. It was too horrible to think about. All of it.

  “Everything about our circumstances has the stench of waste,” Pia said, then kissed him full on the mouth. With lips still touching, she asked, “How was that for poetry?”

  He smiled against her. “That’s not poetry, really, though the double meaning is clever.”

  “Listen to me,” she said, tone commanding whi
le she splayed her hands on either side of his face. “If you must carry on a romance with Nellie to keep up your ruse, I will not hold it against you.”

  He shook his head. “No, I couldn’t—”

  She set her forehead against his. “Do not argue. I want you to live, and Rogedoth will test you. You must behave like them. There is no room for a kind, gentle poet in their society.”

  “I don’t wish to go.”

  “This is the only way to keep you safe. Oli says not to take any evenroot and not to let them know you can see shadir. You can do this. I believe in you, Lord Dacre.”

  “Call me Hinck?”

  “I believe in you, Hinck.” And she kissed him for a very long time.

  When she finally stood to leave, he grabbed her arm. “I want Sâr Wilek to tell my parents that I’m no traitor. Please?”

  “If Sâr Wilek refuses, I will make sure they learn the truth somehow.”

  “Thank you, lady.”

  She kissed the top of his head. “Until next time, sweet poet.”

  She left the door cracked open behind her. Hinck glared at the dim stripe of light, tired of longing for things he could never have.

  Fool! He had thought that in denying himself Lady Pia he would protect his heart from another disaster like Eudora. Yet here he sat, alone and without hope. No, not fully without hope. “Until next time,” she had said.

  Hinck doubted there would be one.

  Lady Mattenelle went eagerly with Hinck, clinging to his arm with every step.

  “Is your shadir with you?” he asked, leading her up the fore companionway.

  “No,” she said. “Why?”

  “I was hoping it could lead our boat to the Amarnath.”

  “We’re leaving the ship?”

  “I heard a guard say we’re to be hanged in the morning.”

  “Oh!”

  “Shh,” he said.

  “How did you get out?”

  “The guard who put me in the cell didn’t fully latch the door. A piece of wood was wedged in the crack. I didn’t even notice it until my dinner came.”

  “You had dinner?”

  Oops. “You didn’t?”

  “No. Where are the others?”

  “I came around the corner just as you were being put into your cell. I don’t know where anyone else is. If we go right now, I think we can escape. But you don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to.”

  She squeezed his arm tighter, eyes round and shadir-like. “I’m coming with you.”

  They continued on, slowing when they reached the foredeck. Hinck listened, heard no voices, peeked out, saw no one. He pulled Lady Mattenelle toward the boat fall, then helped her over the rail.

  How was he supposed to lower the boat if they were inside it?

  He was studying the crank when someone slid the flat of a sword along the side of his neck. He choked in a deep breath, then dodged to the left and over the rail.

  Now standing in the boat, he looked on his attacker. Kamran DanSâr? And behind him his mother, Lady Zenobia, with Lilou Caridod, Agmado Harton, Sir Jayron, and . . .

  “Miss Amala?” Hinck said.

  “She is helping us,” Kamran said.

  “But why?” Hinck asked.

  “Because she knows Sâr Wilek will ruin Armania,” Kamran said, tweaking her chin. “What are you doing here, Hinck? How did you get out?”

  “Got lucky,” Hinck said. “Thanks for coming for us.”

  “We could say the same to you,” Sir Jayron said.

  They glared at each other until Miss Amala’s voice broke the silence.

  “Why did you bring her?” Amala asked Kamran, glaring at Lilou as Harton helped the king’s young mistress into the boat.

  “We couldn’t leave anyone behind for the sâr to kill, could we?” Kamran said.

  “Except for me and Lord Dacre, apparently,” Lady Mattenelle said.

  “We came for you, Nellie, but you were gone.”

  “And Lord Dacre?” she asked. “You came for him too?”

  “No,” Kamran said. “I do not trust Lord Dacre.”

  “Well I do!” She folded her arms and glared out at the dark sea.

  “Nellie, don’t be cross,” Kamran said, but she did not respond to his plea.

  “When will I see you all again?” Amala asked, glancing at Harton.

  “I am not going anywhere,” Kamran said. “We will see the others when we reach land.”

  “But . . .” Amala gave another longing look to Harton as he climbed into the dinghy. “Can’t I go with you?”

  “I need you here,” Kamran said, putting his arm around her. “Get in the boat, Mother. Miss Amala and I will lower it.”

  Hinck watched Kamran and Amala work the cranks, nervous now that the other four had joined Mattenelle and him in the boat. When he finally lowered his gaze to those seated around him, he caught sight of the first shadir, a great golden bird hovering beside Lady Zenobia as it whispered into her ear. Hinck couldn’t tell whether or not the woman heard, for she made no response.

  The dinghy reached the water, splashing a few cold drops onto Hinck’s arm.

  “Unhook the other end,” Sir Jayron said to Hinck.

  He got up to obey, and soon the pulley lines sailed into the air. Hinck inched back to his seat beside Lady Mattenelle, but just as he settled down again, Lady Zenobia gave an order.

  “Take up the oars, men. We have a long way to go.”

  Wilek

  Wilek woke the next morning to news that—save Cook Hara—all of the prisoners had escaped. Livid, he summoned Lady Pia, who swore Hinckdan had understood his instructions perfectly. Wilek had no reason to doubt her. He hadn’t told her where the others were being kept, nor could Hinckdan have known. Someone else must have helped them escape. Wilek had a guess who and hoped he might catch Kamran in some nefarious behavior very soon.

  “Is that all, Your Highness?” Lady Pia asked.

  “What happens to you now that Janek is gone?”

  She curtsied. “My life is yours to command. Consider my training and your needs. How can I best serve you?”

  She best served as a spy. Who did Wilek need to spy on now that Janek and all the traitors were gone?

  Kamran DanSâr.

  It felt wrong to ask such a thing of a woman not yet a full week free of Janek, but he took up a fresh sheet of parchment, in case any shadir were lurking about, and wrote:

  I believe Kamran DanSâr is one of the traitors. I would like to catch him in his treachery. Could you become his concubine?

  She nodded. “I know him well. He preferred Mattenelle, but with her gone, he will not refuse me.” She left in a swirl of robes, and Wilek felt glad to have her on his side.

  But as the day wore on, Wilek had doubts about his choice. What would Zeroah have said if she knew what he’d done? There was likely another way to capture Kamran, though Wilek could not think of one.

  Reluctantly, he ordered Cook Hara’s execution. He hated to do it, knowing she had been defending her daughter’s memory, but Wilek could not pardon a conspiracy to kill the king. Once that was done, he sent Rayim and a squadron of King’s Guards to bring the king back to the Seffynaw, then ordered the signalmen to relay messages to the rest of the fleet about the prisoners’ escape. Three squadrons of guards searched the Seffynaw for clues. None were found.

  Waiting for morning to execute the traitors had been a risk. Wilek couldn’t believe he’d cleared the deck for Hinckdan and made it easy for the others. Hinckdan’s life was worth the lost prisoners, though, and they could not be so valuable to Rogedoth with Janek gone. He consoled himself that there should be no more shadir aboard the Seffynaw, save whatever creature Oli had secured. Though now that Oli’s root juice had finally been disposed of, even that creature should move on eventually.

  Wilek’s father returned, nearly catatonic. By the time Wilek saw him resituated in the king’s cabin, he caught himself wishing the man would die. Thoughts of mercy killin
gs flitted through his head, but that would be too charitable for a man who had killed so many innocents. Wilek supposed the king should suffer as long as Arman willed it.

  He left the king and found Dendrick waiting for him with Master Granlee, the navigator, who informed Wilek that they had finally lost sight of Nivanreh’s Eye last night. While this seemed to upset the navigator, the news filled Wilek with hope. They could no longer be steered by the superstitions of the past. The future lay before them now, unhindered.

  At lunch Zeroah mentioned that it might be time for Wilek to tell Trevn about the missing ship.

  With the storm and the traitors, Wilek had ordered Rayim to keep Trevn sedated for his own safety. Twice now his brother had woken and stumbled from his bed, desperate to fetch Miss Mielle from the Rafayah. He must have sensed her absence. As Zeroah said, now was the time.

  Wilek set out for his private cabin. He had insisted Trevn be kept there since the room had a framed bed, which was easier to get in and out of than Trevn’s hanging cot. He found Sir Cadoc standing outside the door, eyes drooping. Wilek set his hand on Cadoc’s shoulder, and the shield jumped to attention and grabbed the hilt of his sword.

  “My pardon, Your Highness,” Cadoc said, yawning. “Might you send a trusted guard or two to relieve me for a few hours?”

  “After my visit,” Wilek said. “How is he?”

  “Awake but half dazed from so much soporific. He woke last night, tried to dress himself, ordered Captain Veralla to prepare the boat fall so he could look for Mielle. The captain got him sedated again, and I put him back to bed. He awoke again just a few minutes ago and tried to leave, so I’ve locked him in. He is not happy about it.”

  “He wanted to go to the boat fall again?”

  “This time to the mainmast. Said if he could get to the crow’s nest, he’d find the ship that everyone was too blind to see.”

  “He’s heard the news, then?”

  “Ottee told him a day or two ago when he was conscious,” Cadoc said. “That boy has a bigger mouth on him than the Bay of Jeruka.”

  Immense relief filled Wilek at one nasty job he didn’t have to do. “How did he take it?”