King's Blood

by Jill Williamson

  “You’re so good with him,” Charlon said.

  “I think he’s ready for adult food,” Kal said. “He’s growing so fast; he needs the energy.”

  “I’ll tell the cook to feed him. Whatever we eat tonight.”

  “Sit him in the circle with the rest of us,” Kal said. “He will need to learn manners if you expect him to someday make an impression on the Armanian court.”

  Charlon sighed. “Whatever you think best is—oh!” She clapped her hand over her mouth.

  “Miss Charlon, are you well?”

  She ran to the railing, bent over it, and heaved.

  A prickle of remembrance swept over Kal. He set Shanek on the deck, gave the boy another biscuit, and went to Charlon at the rail. “You are with child.”

  She swiped the back of her hand over her mouth. “Don’t be ridiculous.” But this she said in a weeping whisper as tears filled her eyes.

  She had been gone from the Seffynaw too long for it to be Janek’s. They’d only been here two weeks, but considering the amount of evenroot she took, Kal made a guess. “Torol is the father?”

  “Do not speak of it! You mustn’t.”

  “I would imagine the news would please him.”

  “I haven’t told Torol yet. Haven’t decided. What to do.”

  “What is there to decide?”

  She flung out her hand toward Shanek. “Look there and know my answer.”

  Understanding settled in Kal’s mind. “You will die. Because you take evenroot.”

  “And I would leave Mreegan with two children. To study and use to her liking. My child would not be Deliverer. It would be expendable. Like your friend Grayson. Nothing but a tool. A tool for Mreegan to use how she sees fit.”

  “Could you avoid evenroot from now on?” Kal asked. “A normal child wouldn’t be so easily used.”

  Charlon’s brows sank as she considered this. “Mreegan would know.”

  “Would she? You move in separate circles. She has asked little of you but to raise Shanek. As long as we’re at sea, I can’t imagine she would need much else from you in the way of mantics.”

  “I could not hide the child for long. Not dressed like—” She focused suddenly on something Kal could not see. A shadir, likely. He’d grown used to the way the mantics interacted with the invisible creatures.

  “We will come right away,” she said. Her attention shifted back to Kal. “The Chieftess likely knows the truth already. Pick up Shanek and come. She has summoned us.”

  “Make the boy kneel,” Charlon said as she sank to her knees on the straw mat.

  Though the compulsion forced Kal to obey, last week he’d found a way around this particular command. He had no intention of making the boy kneel before the Chieftess and had instead been teaching him to bow respectfully. Shanek thought the words kneel and bow meant the same thing, so when Kal set the boy on his feet and whispered, “Kneel to the Chieftess,” Shanek bent over until his hands and head touched the floor.

  The boy turned his head, grinning at Charlon as if enjoying a splendid game. The servants in the cabin chuckled, endeared as they believed this the best little Shanek could do. Kal stood at attention beside Charlon and Shanek.

  “Magon tells me many interesting things,” Chieftess Mreegan said. “Her swarm has discovered land to the west. I have informed the captain, who has altered our course.”

  Land. Kal’s chest swelled with hope. Perhaps this would be where Kal and Shanek could escape and make their way to a place where he and Onika might be reunited.

  “She also tells me that Sâr Janek is dead,” Mreegan said, staring at him. “Why did you not share this information when you first came to us, Sir Kalenek?”

  Kal’s daydream shattered. “It was not your concern.”

  “Should not the Mother know that the Father is dead?” Mreegan asked, gesturing to Charlon.

  Kal had nothing to apologize for, not in this court. “Had any of you asked, I would have told you. I am not ashamed of my actions.”

  “Your actions?” Charlon asked.

  “Oh yes, Mother. Our dear ambassador killed the sâr himself,” Mreegan said. “Why was it, Sir Kalenek? To avenge your child?”

  “Something like that.”

  “What you have done is a boon to Magonia,” Mreegan said. “Sâr Janek’s death puts Shanek next in line for the throne of Armania.”

  “Shanek is illegitimate,” Kal said. “Strays cannot rule Armania.”

  Mreegan waved her hand. “A technicality that can be easily explained away when the time comes.” She stood and sauntered toward him. The newt on her shoulder shifted to get a better foothold, curling its tail around her throat. “I reward those who serve Magonia, Sir Kalenek.” She stopped before him and looked down on Charlon. “Take the child and leave us. All of you go. Now.”

  Charlon rose slowly, scooped Shanek into her arms. She glanced at Kal as she departed, gaze curious, on edge.

  Nothing had been said of her unborn child. She should be thankful for that.

  When all had gone and Kal was alone with the Chieftess, she pointed to the floor between them. “Kneel before me, Sir Kalenek. I would bestow upon you a great honor.”

  “I have already been knightened by Rosâr Echad for my service in the Great War,” he said.

  “You have not been knightened by me.”

  Kal supposed he could play along—having a rank here could only help his position—though he did not recall that Magonia knightened their soldiers. He lowered himself to his knees, apprehensive.

  “Qadosh Magon âthâh. Bâqa ze mishchâth. Châdâsh hay ânaph ba Kalenek. Te lo châlaph.”

  A chill clamped down upon Kal’s face. His skin grew cold and tight. He lifted his hand to his cheek and wiped away blood.

  “What are you doing?” His breath hissed out in a vaporous cloud. His lips grew dry and stiff; the curly hairs of his beard turned white with frost. His eyelashes clung together with each blink. He shivered, watching the frost creep across the floor from his knees, painting the mats, fur rugs, and the checkered floor in swaths of ice crystals.

  The Chieftess’s dark hair turned white. Beads of sweat on her brow froze into pearls of ice. The newt became a statue. Kal closed his eyes for the last time and felt himself falling.

  He stood on top of the ocean, the waves barely lapping the sides of his boots. An illusion of some kind. Why?

  Mreegan appeared before him, ocean breeze blowing her gown against her body, her hair waving about her face like eggs dropped in boiling water.

  “Give yourself to me, Kalenek Veroth, and you will find the peace you seek. I can heal all your wounds, inside and out.” She reached toward him, and the moment her dark fingertips touched his face, he woke, back on his knees in the Chieftess’s cabin.

  The hair on his arms danced as he tried to understand what her spell had done. He looked up into her eyes and found her staring at him with a hunger that made him instantly uncomfortable.

  “You are a handsome man, Sir Kalenek,” she said, extending her hand to him. “But I left the scars on your body. I rather like them.”

  Kal reached up, touched his face. The smoothness he felt churned his stomach. He jumped to his feet and pushed past the Chieftess to a mirrorglass bolted to the wall. He stared, both astounded and repelled by what he saw.

  Dark brown skin, smooth and perfect. Unmarred eyebrows, dark and thick. The line of his beard full and trim.

  She had healed his face. Removed his scars.

  He wheeled around and roared, “What have you done?”

  She frowned as if surprised by his reaction. “This does not please you?”

  “I deserve those scars. Earned them with my own blood. They are all I have of my men. Of Liviana and our son.”

  Mreegan bristled and crossed her arms. “I make you beautiful and you rail at me about the past?” She strode back to her throne. “I meant to make you my favorite, but now I’ve changed my mind.”

  “I have no desire
to be anyone’s favorite,” Kal said. “I am here only to protect Shanek.”

  “You are here because you have nowhere else to go,” Mreegan said. “Return to the Seffynaw and you will be executed for murdering Sâr Janek. You are mine now, Sir Kalenek, and I do what I like with my people. They serve me alone. Your rudeness has put me off from you today, but you will not evade me forever. Get out and send Torol in your stead. I will tell Charlon it was your idea that I take him as my new favorite.”

  Her words churned in Kal’s mind as her command compelled him toward the exit. When the door closed behind him, he stopped and leaned against the bulkhead to feel his face again. She had assaulted him in the worst way. Had taken the curse he deserved.

  Perhaps Onika would like him better now?

  Truth instantly replaced that vain thought. Onika had seen his scars and accepted him, felt each track and pockmark, traced the trails in his beard and eyebrow where hair refused to grow.

  Onika would not recognize him now.

  Wilek

  Wilek stood on the main deck with his wife watching the shipping ceremony. Today they were sending only six dead to Shamayim. One was a sailor who had died in a brawl, and the other five were commoners, dead of the fever. One was Darlow, Mielle and Amala’s nurse, and two were children under ten. Wilek’s gaze continually roved to the small bodies wrapped in strips of shredded clothing. He felt responsible.

  It didn’t help that so many glared at him.

  It was not only deaths that angered his people but his refusal to allow any more traditional shippings. There were no more death boats to spare for the dead, no more old sails to be used as shrouds. Mourners were left with no choice but to ship their loved ones without a boat.

  Despite all this, Wilek felt hopeful.

  Not one new case of fever had been reported in the past fourteen days. The quarantine seemed to have accomplished its purpose. And while two hundred and twenty-seven had died thus far, fewer died each day. Wilek believed they were on the other side of the crisis. Not only that, but his wife was expecting a child, and encountering the pales had given them all hope that land would be discovered soon.

  When the shipping was over, Wilek left his wife with her guards and set off to meet with the Wisean Council. He had invited Admiral Livina, Captain Bussie, and Rayim to report.

  The admiral went first. “The pirates have taken out both warships on our western flank and three merchant ships.”

  “So many?” Wilek asked.

  “They are working as a team now. Two or three ships circle one. Pirates come aboard. Some survivors say that there is fighting. Others say people throw themselves into the sea willingly, though they cannot recall why.”

  “Stinks like magic,” Oli said.

  “Perhaps he has allied with Magonia.”

  “Rand wouldn’t work with Magonians,” Wilek said, though maybe Teaka hadn’t been the only mantic among Rand’s people.

  “How do they move so fast?” Inolah asked. “I thought the Seffynaw led the fleet.”

  “That she does,” Admiral Livina said, “but with so many ships staying together as a group, we move mighty slowly. Plus it’s been too long since any of us beached to clean our hulls. I’ve a feeling we’re all carrying a lot of barnacles beneath us.”

  “What have we done to reinforce our western flank?” Wilek asked.

  “I brought around one of our eastern warships to fill in for the time being,” Admiral Livina said. “I’m currently in the process of commandeering two new vessels, but it’s taking time to relocate the passengers. There is little room on any ship to take on so many newcomers.”

  “Thank you, Admiral. Captain Bussie? Tell me you have spotted land on the horizon and end all our misery.”

  “I wish I could, Your Highness,” Captain Bussie said. “We are maintaining a heading of north-northwest. My lookouts have seen no change in the water, no debris, no birds, and very few clouds. No change in the wave pattern either.”

  “What about the pales?” Admiral Livina asked.

  Wilek sighed. “We’ve yet to find a way to communicate with them. Sâr Trevn has given himself fully to the task, and I’ve no doubt he will succeed, in time.”

  “We have little time left, Your Highness,” the admiral said.

  Wilek nodded. “I’m well aware of how much time we have, Admiral.” He glanced at Rayim. “Captain Veralla? How are the people?”

  “Going mad, I’m afraid. Though disease has tapered off, the people are still afraid. They’ve lost friends and family. Food is low, and we’re not catching enough fish to keep up. A rumor has begun that the only healthy people on board are mantics.”

  “That’s nonsense,” Oli said.

  “Fear brings out the worst in people, I’m afraid,” Wilek said.

  “Crime is also at a high,” Rayim said. “When we first set sail, violent crimes were a weekly event. They happen several times a day now. There is no room for another soul in the hold, so I have been flogging offenders on the pole. But as the closest thing this ship has to a physician, I can tell you that a flogging is a death sentence with such malnourished people and the ease of infections.”

  Wilek looked around him, really looked at the faces around the table. They were all of them gaunt and greasy-haired. Everyone’s eyes seemed to have dug deeper into their skulls. Clothing hung on bony frames. Wilek had sores on his arms and what looked like bruises, though he couldn’t recall having been hit by anything. And he was royalty, ate better than most.

  “How many horses are left, Rayim?” Wilek asked.

  “Six, Your Highness.”

  “Kill another.” A horse would feed the entire ship one meal for four days. “Hunger, dehydration, and confinement will continue to turn the best man, or woman,” he added with a look to Inolah, “into animals. We have no choice but to continue using the pole as a way to keep people in line. We can’t afford not to.”

  Wilek entered the cabin where they had housed the pales. Trevn sat on a crate across from the youngest pale man, who was sitting on the narrow bed built into the bulkhead. Behind him two other pales lay head to toe, asleep.

  “Wil!” Trevn stood, smiling from ear to ear, a sheet of parchment in each hand. “I’ve made an important discovery.”

  His brother’s unbridled joy surprised Wilek. He looked truly happy. No moping or pining for Miss Mielle, for the moment, anyway. The sight brought Wilek great relief.

  “Tell me,” he said.

  “It was Randmuir Khal of the Omatta who attacked Maleen’s ship, as you suspected, but there was another ship there. Rogedoth’s. He and Randmuir are working together.”

  “Impossible.”

  “See for yourself.” Trevn thrust the sheets of parchment at Wilek. “I asked Maleen to draw the ship that attacked his. He drew two.”

  Wilek accepted the pages from his brother and smoothed them out in his hands. “Maleen?” he asked.

  The pale man tapped his chest. “Ingohah Maleen.” He pointed at Trevn. “Ingohah Trevten.”

  “Trevn,” his brother corrected.

  His brother had learned the pale’s name. This was excellent. “Well done, Trevn,” Wilek said, hoping to bolster his brother’s sense of accomplishment.

  He examined the sketches. They were indeed drawings of two ships. Similar in size, both were three-masted, though one was wider than the other, and the jagged letters on the hull of each gave them away. The first said “Malbrid.” The Malbraid was the ship Wilek had given to Rand to help his tribe escape the Five Woes. The second ship had higher castles in the bow and stern, and the name scratched onto the stern hull was also misspelled yet unmistakable: “Armanah” could only be Amarnath. The flag drawn from the mainmast confirmed it, bearing the unmistakable rune that Lebetta had drawn in her dying moments.

  “Rogedoth has declared himself king of the Five Realms,” Trevn said, “married Eudora. It’s clear he seeks to take the fleet right out from under us. Maleen says the pirates kept his father aboard
the Amarnath. I bet Rogedoth is trying to get him to lead them to land. If he gets there before we do . . .” Trevn winced. “It would be bad, don’t you think?”

  If Rogedoth landed first, he could spin whatever tale he liked to any natives who lived there. He would have first say. And Wilek, coming after that, might have a great deal of trouble earning the trust of the people he hoped would share their homeland with the passengers of six hundred ships. “I want the Seffynaw to land first and greet the native inhabitants peaceably. Can your friend direct us to land?”

  “I think so. But you’ll have to let him come up to the quarterdeck and advise the helmsman which way to sail. Plus, look at this. Maleen?” He gestured to Wilek. “Powhatu koi.”

  The pale held up some kind of square locket on the palm of his hand. The lid was open, hinged on one side.

  “This is the best discovery yet,” Trevn said, grinning wider than he had in weeks. “He calls it powhatu koi. See the markings? I believe they signify north, south, east, and west.”

  Wilek stepped close to the pale man and looked down on the locket. Inside, a sliver of black stone—pointed on one end, forked on the other—hovered above markings Wilek did not recognize. “Is it magic?”

  Trevn shook his head. “The spinner is made of lodestone. No matter which way you turn the device, the arrow points south. Can I take Maleen to Admiral Livina right away? I want to show him the locket and see if Maleen can point us in the direction of his homeland.”

  “Absolutely,” Wilek said. “I insist you go at once.”

  “Excellent. Thank you, brother.” Trevn opened the door and waved the pale to follow. “Come on, Maleen. We’re going to see the admiral.”

  Maleen’s locket fascinated Admiral Livina, who summoned Master Granlee, the navigator. Wilek stood by, watching as Trevn and the two old men showed their navigational tools to the pale. There was more demonstrating going on than talking, since the pale could barely understand the Kinsman language. The foursome went out onto the admiral’s balcony with their tools, looking through them, taking down measurements. Wilek paced inside, anxious to have an answer—to have good news to share with everyone.