King's Blood

by Jill Williamson

  But Mreegan lifted her hand. Toward Torol. “tsar hebel.”

  Torol fell. Into the snow beside Charlon. Silent. Unmoving.

  “No!” Charlon screamed. Lifted Torol’s limp hand. Clutched his bearded cheek. “Bring him back. Magon!”

  “You abandoned the goddess,” Mreegan said.

  Charlon shook her head. Everything blurred. Tears blinding. She wiped them away, desperate. Desperate to look clearly upon Torol’s face. While she still could. “Magon can revive him.” She dug through the snow. Grabbed fistfuls of icy dirt. Rubbed it on her face. “Goddess, please. Have mercy on your servant.”

  “She will not.” Mreegan stood tall and fierce, glaring down. “This man divided your loyalties, caused you to keep secrets from Magon, from me. He made you forsake us both by ceasing to take ahvenrood.”

  Sobs shook Charlon. Stabbed shards of pain within. “My idea.” She heaved a breath of air. “Not his.” Another breath. “And only for a time.” Only so she could live through the child’s birth.

  “Magon is a jealous goddess,” the Chieftess said. “She shares her people with no one.”

  Charlon wept. Choked as the tears clogged her throat. So unfair. So cruel. “Torol was loyal. To you. To us all.”

  “No, Charlon. He was loyal to you.”

  He was! Torol had always been loyal to Charlon. He had been her One. And Mreegan had killed him.

  Fury welled up from within. Brought inexplicable strength. Take revenge, her heart said.

  Charlon sprang to her feet. Tackled Mreegan. They fell into the snow. Charlon punched the Chieftess. Pulled a handful of hair. Clawed her face.

  A single word from Mreegan sent Charlon flying through the air. She hit the ground on her back. Felt something break inside. The strength from anger wilted. Without ahvenrood, she could not. Could not stand against Mreegan’s power.

  “Put her in the wagon,” she heard Mreegan say. “I will deal with her later. For now, let her suffer.”

  Rone appeared above. Crouched and picked up Charlon. Movement sent shocking pain. Pain that pulled Charlon into darkness.

  Charlon woke. Lying in her tent on a bed of furs. A fire crackled in the brazier. Beside it Sir Kalenek sat with elbows on knees, staring into the flames.

  Her head ached. Her limbs trembled. But other than feeling the loss of ahvenrood, Charlon felt no pain.

  “Sir Kalenek?” Her voice sounded small. Broken.

  The knighten looked toward her. Got up and approached. “How do you feel?”

  “Fine. Mreegan healed me?”

  “Roya.”

  Fear spiked through Charlon. “The child?” She pressed her hand against her stomach.

  Sir Kalenek’s lips drew into a straight line. Since Mreegan had healed his scars, his expressions were far easier to read. “Roya said it died when you fell.”

  When Mreegan had thrown her.

  Anger stretched deep. Anchored roots within. Fight back, her heart said.

  Charlon would fight. And Mreegan would pay. For everything.

  “Roya also said you’re no longer the Mother,” Sir Kalenek added.

  Panic pushed anger aside. “Where is Shanek?”

  “The Chieftess is keeping him in her tent. She says . . .” His voice grew hoarse. “We cannot be trusted.”

  A mournful cry came from Charlon. Like the drone of One’s lure.

  Mreegan had taken everything.

  Too much pain, her heart said. We must fight.

  But Charlon could only weep.

  She remembered little after that. Deep sobbing. Ceaseless tears. An endless ache. Life without hope.

  And arms that picked her up and held her.

  If not for Sir Kalenek’s merciful arms, Charlon would have died from sorrow.

  She had no doubt.

  Trevn

  Seated on a longchair in his tent, Trevn stared at Oli Agoros, concentrating with every ounce of strength and focusing on the man’s mind. A week ago, almost accidentally, he’d overheard his sister Hrettah’s thoughts, and since then it was almost the only thing he could think about. He’d had no trouble listening in on Wilek’s or Hrettah’s thoughts, but he hadn’t been able to hear anything from Rashah, Vallah, or Inolah. Now Oli’s mind was proving difficult as well.

  “Are you thinking at all?” Trevn asked.

  “Yes, Your Highness, about the fire.” Oli grinned from where he sat beside the brazier and stretched his hands toward the flames. “Having trouble?”

  Trevn squinted, focusing more and more, hoping for even a single thought to emerge. Oli sat back and tucked his hands behind his head.

  Nothing. This new gift was tricky.

  “Sâr Trevn Hadar,” a voice whispered in Trevn’s mind. “This is Hinckdan Faluk. If you can hear me, answer.”

  Trevn answered right away. “These are thoughts, Hinck,” he said. “What are you whispering about?”

  “I don’t want to be overheard.”

  “You don’t have to talk out loud to use the voices, you fool. Why must you make everything harder than it need be?”

  “I’m not speaking out loud, Your Bossiness. I just don’t want Rogedoth to know I can do whatever this is. He spoke to my mind a few times this morning. I ignored him, but I’m worried he knows I’m ignoring him.”

  “Rogedoth can mind-speak?” Trevn asked, dismayed.

  “He has royal blood,” Hinck said. “Apparently Arman doesn’t discriminate.”

  Arman had given them this magic as a way to guard against the evil they’d brought to this land. If Rogedoth wasn’t evil, Trevn didn’t know who was.

  “Oli,” Trevn said, “Hinck has contacted me. You and I will continue this experiment later.”

  “Very well.” Oli pushed to his feet and left the tent.

  “Did you figure out where you are?” Trevn asked.

  “We’re on some islands. Not the islands Rogedoth was trying to reach. At least that’s what Nellie’s shadir said. They’re off the coast of your continent, not terribly far from where Emperor Ulrik is building New Rurekau. About twenty leagues, I heard Timmons say.”

  “A rider could make twenty leagues in a day,” Trevn said. “Three days for an army.” He’d have to tell Wilek to send a warning to Ulrik that Rogedoth was closest to him.

  “But there’s three leagues of water between the islands and the shore,” Hinck said. “So that would add some time to the journey.”

  “Any ideas as to Rogedoth’s plans?” Trevn asked.

  “He hasn’t said outright. I eavesdropped on his mind, as you suggested.”

  “It worked?”

  “Yes. At first all I heard was him thinking about root, root, and more root. He’s got a ton of the stuff hoarded up in his fortress of reeds, but he wants to grow more. He has compelled a bunch of native pales and has them plowing. He’s paranoid he’ll run out and be powerless.”

  A powerless Rogedoth. Ideal. “We need to sabotage that field,” Trevn said. “I’ll ask Captain Veralla for ideas. What else has been happening?”

  “He’s thought a lot about building an army. He thinks Sarikar is rightfully his—married Eudora to satisfy the Sarikarian law that a king must be married—but he wants Armania too. Thinks Wilek stole the Heir ring from Janek unfairly.”

  “What does that matter now? Janek is dead.”

  “That’s just it. Laviel is crazy mad about Janek’s death. She wants to kill lots of people to make them pay for it. Wilek is one of them. I told you what she did to Sir Jayron, and it looks like a fang cat scratched my face. But no one will heal me because Rogedoth says our scars are badges of honor or some such nonsense.”

  “Yes, yes, I’m sure you’re hideous. Stay on topic. Rogedoth wants Armania . . . ?”

  “Right. He wants to conquer Armania to avenge Janek, though he isn’t sure how to go about it. Randmuir Khal helped him steal a lot of ships, but the pirate abandoned Rogedoth and kept half the fleet for himself. Plus now that both Sarikar and Armania are planning to mov
e north, Rogedoth no longer thinks it best to attack from the sea. He’s made Agmado Harton his general, and they’ve had a few meetings on the subject. Harton has been telling him all Armania’s war tactics.”

  “Harton has never fought in a war for Armania,” Trevn said.

  “No, but he trained in our military. He knows plenty, Trev. Trust me. I’ve listened in on his thoughts too. He has some ambitious ideas for attacking just about everyone, Magonia included.”

  “You listened in on Harton’s thoughts? How? He shouldn’t have the mind-speak ability.”

  “Oh, he doesn’t,” Hinck said. “But I can hear him just the same. Nellie too. And Timmons and Lady Zenobia and Lilou.”

  “That’s fascinating,” Trevn said, slightly jealous of his friend’s effortless mastery. “I haven’t yet succeeded with eavesdropping on non-gifted.” On all the gifted either.

  “Is Lady Pia well?” Hinck asked. “She helped me escape my cell on the Seffynaw. I’ve been, um . . . curious if she survived.”

  “She’s around. Wilek gave her to Kamran, I believe.”

  “To Kamran?!”

  The connection between them vanished.

  “Hinck?” Trevn called out, concentrated, tried again. “Hinck?”

  “I’m here.” He seemed to be whispering again.

  “You closed me out of your mind. How did you do that?”

  “You think you have a right to hear all my thoughts? You’re unbelievable. Anything else I can do for you, Your Royal Nosiness?”

  Trevn didn’t know what had upset Hinck, but when he tried to read his thoughts, he found them blocked off, as if Hinck had hidden them somehow—while he was voicing. This was new. Another twist in the gift Arman had provided them. He wondered how many more twists they would find.

  “Keep pretending you can’t speak with the voices,” Trevn said, “and keep eavesdropping on everyone. In the meantime you and I will practice blocking our thoughts and closing our minds to each other like you just did to me. Because if you can listen in on Rogedoth’s thoughts, we need to make sure he can never get into any of ours.”

  “Can’t argue with you there,” Hinck said. “He’s the last man I want reading my mind.”

  The moment Trevn severed his connection to Hinck, the soul-binding he shared with Mielle settled upon him, a dull ache that had no remedy. It had remained steady ever since they’d landed a few weeks ago, but the distance between them must have been too great to sense emotions because Trevn had not felt any distinct thoughts or feelings from her since he’d been at sea.

  “Are you ready to go, Your Highness?” Cadoc asked.

  “In a moment.” Trevn sent thoughts to Wilek, filling him in on all Hinck had shared. News that Hinck could listen in on any mind sent Wilek into a panic, terrified that someone might spy on him. Trevn did his best to calm his brother, promising that he would continue to study the gifts and find a way to protect them all. Now he and Hinck only needed to work out how Hinck had closed his thoughts.

  Since landing, Trevn had spent nearly all his hours helping Wilek deal with thousands of refugees and establish their new home. They weren’t nearly close to done yet, but being trapped in one place when there was a whole new world to be explored was driving him mad. Trevn had convinced Wilek to let him go hunting and scavenging today with Captain Veralla, Maleen, and Cadoc. Hunting had never been one of Trevn’s interests, but he was anxious for any reason to see the new country and possibly draw closer to Mielle.

  “I am ready now,” Trevn said, standing up from his chair.

  “Can I come?” Ottee asked.

  “Not today,” Trevn said. “See that my fire is kept up. I will likely be frozen when we return. Now help me with my cloak.”

  Ottee sighed but said, “Yes, Your Highness.”

  The boy brought forth Trevn’s heaviest cloak and a pair of leather gloves. When Trevn was dressed, he and Cadoc left the tent to meet up with Captain Veralla and Maleen. The young pale man did not recognize this land as his own, but Trevn hoped he might at least have some ideas of what might be edible here in winter.

  The horses that had survived the voyage were still too malnourished to ride, so they set out on foot, walking north through a village cobbled together from freshly constructed log cabins and formerly abandoned brush shelters, now covered in leather and furs. It wasn’t long before the slushy pathways gave way to a snow-covered prairie. Trevn sank up to his shins with each step, and the snow quickly soaked his pantlegs.

  As they hiked, Trevn tried to listen in on the thoughts of those around him, again practicing. If Hinck could master the skill, he could as well. He focused on Captain Veralla’s mind and instantly heard the man reminding himself what he knew of rabbits as he sought out prints in the snow.

  Amazing.

  When it worked, eavesdropping simply required him to concentrate on someone’s mind, as he did when voicing, and he could hear the person’s thoughts until he pulled away.

  Trevn next fixed on Maleen, and the pale man’s thoughts came in a language he couldn’t understand. He focused on Cadoc and heard the man thinking about his parents, hoping they were somewhere on this land, perhaps to the north. They might even stumble upon them today.

  Trevn doubted that. Cadoc’s parents had been on the Rafayah with Mielle, and Mielle felt far from their current location.

  At the thought of his wife, the soul-binding magic panged. The idea of trying to hear what Mielle was thinking came upon him suddenly, and while it seemed too far-fetched an idea, he focused on his wife as he had with the others, but this time he spoke as well. “Mielle?”

  The soul-binding surged upon him like an anchor pressing on his chest. It was so powerful that he slowed, his boots shuffling in the snow. He pictured her in his mind: big brown eyes, wide smile, finely braided hair. “Mielle, can you hear me?”

  “Trevn? Is that you?”

  Trevn slipped. He caught his balance on his hands, crouching in the cold wetness, and yelled after the others, “Wait!”

  The men stopped and looked back.

  “She’s alive!”

  As he had the night of their wedding, he could sense everything about her. She was tired and a little hungry. Her heart pounded at the excitement of hearing his voice. He smelled smoke and the tang of the sea. All of these things had wrapped around him instantly, as if he were sitting beside her—no, as if he was her. Yet her voice had come into his mind, the same way Wilek’s had with Arman’s new magic.

  “Yes, it’s me, Mouse,” he said. “Where are you?”

  He felt tears well in Mielle’s eyes. “I’m aboard the Rafayah. We can see land but are caught up in ice not far off the coast. We hunkered down to wait it out, cleared space in the ship’s hold, and converted it into living quarters. We have a good stove but are running out of fuel. Captain Stockton sent men down onto the ice to try to chop a path for the ship, but it hasn’t worked. We also met some natives who were walking on the ice.”

  Natives. “Are these pales?”

  “Yes. They traded us furs, which has greatly helped us stay warm.”

  Were there pale-skinned natives here in Er’Rets? Or had the Rafayah found Maleen’s homeland?

  Captain Veralla, Cadoc, and Maleen returned to Trevn and circled around.

  “Who is alive?” the captain asked.

  “Mielle. A moment please, Captain, while I determine her whereabouts.” Then to Mielle he thought, “We’ve made landfall on a snowy plain, though there are trees and a mountain range in the distance. One mountain looms higher than the rest and is covered in snow. What does your land look like?”

  “I looked through Captain Stockton’s grow lens only once. We are surrounded by a snowy flatland. I do see snow-topped mountains in the distance to the south, but I cannot see that one is higher than the rest.”

  “Which side of the ship is land on?”

  “The starboard side.”

  “You were traveling along a western coast. We made landfall on the southern
tip of a great land mass. You might be on the other side of the continent from us. Or it could be that you are in a different place altogether. Is the Rafayah alone?”

  “There were eight ships with us, all Armanian. Four managed to escape the ice when we turned south. The other three are stuck with us. I don’t know their names from memory, but I can ask the captain.”

  “Please do. Wilek will want to know.”

  “Trevn, how are we talking? Is it the soul-binding?”

  “Partially, perhaps. But there is a new magic here. I will explain later. First let me tell all this to Captain Veralla. We are out hunting, and he’s looking at me as if I am mad.”

  Trevn told Captain Veralla, Cadoc, and Maleen all that Mielle had said, somehow remaining connected to Mielle and hearing in his mind her additions to his version of the story.

  “My parents?” Cadoc asked, and Trevn put the question to Mielle.

  “Yes, they are here,” she replied.

  Trevn passed on the news, and Cadoc whooped for joy.

  “What a happy turn of events,” Captain Veralla said. “I am pleased for you both, and for everyone else who feared having lost loved ones aboard those missing ships.”

  “Only eight of the twenty-two missing ships,” Trevn said, “but it is still a blessing.”

  They continued walking, and Trevn filled Mielle in on all that had taken place since the Rafayah had vanished. He told her that her sister, Amala, had taken on the role of honor maiden to Lady Zeroah and seemed to be doing well, and that Wilek and Zeroah planned to name their child Avenelle if it was a girl, after Gran, and Chadek if it was a boy, after Wilek’s elder brother, who had been sacrificed to Barthos. All this news pleased Mielle, who had been passing the time by helping the captain’s wife and Cadoc’s mother care for the orphans aboard the Rafayah.

  Trevn would have to attempt mind-speaking with Captain Stockton soon. Perhaps he could use navigation to determine the whereabouts of his ship.

  Trevn followed Captain Veralla and Maleen across the snowy flatlands, paying little attention as he conversed with Mielle. At one point the captain found tracks of some kind and must have set several snares, which Trevn discovered the hard way when he set one off; he had been too distracted speaking to Mielle to pay much attention. As Cadoc helped him up, Captain Veralla said, “Your Highness, I am thrilled that Miss Mielle is well, but would you mind continuing your conversation when we are finished?”