King's Blood

by Jill Williamson

  Laughing, Randmuir tipped back his head, which was the only part of him that wasn’t tied in place. “See now? You royal spawn use people enough, they’ll pay you back.”

  Trevn hadn’t come here to be insulted. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Master Randmuir?”

  His face twisted in sorrow. “Help me break this compulsion. I can’t go on like this.”

  “I’m sorry,” Trevn said. “I don’t know how.”

  Randmuir’s face darkened with rage and he screamed, straining against the ropes that bound him.

  Zahara raised her voice over her father’s fit and asked, “Why did Sâr Wilek kill my grandmother?”

  That quieted Randmuir.

  “He didn’t,” Trevn said. “Charlon Sonber killed her.”

  “That crow who soul-bound your brother?” Randmuir asked.

  “The same. She has also killed the Magonian Chieftess and taken the role as her own. Last I heard, she has settled midway up the Great River. We suspect she means to attack us at some point, so Wilek is doing all he can to ensure peace between the realms.”

  “See now? That’s exactly why I hate royalty. Who do they think they are to tell the rest of us what to do? I’m done with it. Because of your brother king, my mother is dead and my son is still deformed. We’ll all be better off when Wilek Hadar becomes worm food.”

  Trevn didn’t care for the pirate’s threats or caustic tone. “I understand your anger, but your blame is misplaced. All of our troubles have been caused by mantics and their shadir, looking to further their own agendas. If you want to blame someone, look there.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Randmuir snapped. “But what else can I do? My daughter has had to bind me so I won’t lead my tribe into madness.”

  “Trust Arman,” Trevn said, thinking of how the God had saved Hinck. “Only the Father God can set you free.”

  Randmuir chuckled at this, so Trevn went on.

  “My friend Hinck was dying when he called out to Arman. The God answered his faith by healing him. I ask only that you consider the possibility. Understanding takes time.”

  “Crazy royal spawn,” Randmuir mumbled. “You have no idea how powerful shadir are, do you? They are always watching. You might think you can hide things from them, but you can’t. They see everything.”

  “Without Arman, the only way to remove the spell is to find a mantic,” Trevn said. “There are no mantics in Armania anymore. If you want one, you have to go to Rogedoth or Charlon. Otherwise, the compulsion will stay with you your whole life.”

  Randmuir’s eyes widened. “Finally an option that makes sense. Dying is the way to free the Omatta tribe from my compulsion. Zahara, bring me a knife.”

  “No one is dying,” Zahara said. “I thank you for coming, Sâr Trevn. I’ll walk you out.”

  Trevn voiced Captain Bussie as they left the Omatta camp, and with Grayson’s help, by dusk, they had reached the ship. Trevn stepped out of the dinghy and onto the quarterdeck, where Captain Bussie, Nietz, and Rzasa were waiting.

  “Shinn is in the hold?” Trevn asked.

  “Yes, Your Highness. Still doesn’t know why, though.”

  Trevn had no time to talk with Shinn now. “He’ll have to go on wondering. We’ll stay here for the night and leave at dawn to find Mielle and the others.”

  “How will we find them?” Cadoc asked.

  “With Grayson’s help.”

  Trevn sent Ottee to fetch Mielle’s cloak from the cabin. The moment he returned and placed it in Trevn’s hands, Mielle felt closer.

  “The mind-speak magic doesn’t work well between strangers,” Trevn said, handing Grayson the cloak, “but as I learned with your boots, if you hold a personal belonging, it can create a link. Use this and see if you can travel to Mielle. I’ve already told her to expect you and what you look like. If you can find her, maybe you can figure out the best route to reach her.”

  “I’ll do it right now,” Grayson said, and he disappeared.

  “Can he not give a warning?” Cadoc asked. “Say farewell before he pops away?”

  “He is eager to please, Cadoc. I like that about him.”

  “I don’t see her,” Grayson voiced.

  “Don’t give up so soon,” Trevn said.

  “I’ll find her, Your Highness. I promise.”

  Trevn hoped so.

  It took a lot of willpower not to voice Grayson and Mielle constantly to ask whether or not they were together. Trevn stood on the main deck with a grow lens and surveyed the surrounding land. From this vantage point the great forest ran for leagues to the south. The mountain range filled the distant southwest, with that one massive peak towering above the others. Directly west were flatlands and forest. And in the distant north another mountain chain stretched out of sight. Mielle was somewhere between the two mountain ranges, that much Trevn knew.

  “Are you going to leave me behind?”

  Trevn lowered the grow lens and regarded Princess Saria. She had cleaned herself up but still wore the uniform of a Sarikarian soldier. “I claim no authority over you, Princess,” he said. “Whatever I have is at your disposal. If you want to leave, feel free. Or you are welcome to remain on the Seffynaw.”

  “Being here makes me nervous,” she said. “I had no desire to step foot on a sailing ship ever again. Might we go with you? My men would double your numbers.”

  “I would welcome the help.” Trevn had no idea what they would do if they met giants; he also doubted Mielle would be pleased to see Princess Saria in his company. He would have to warn her ahead of time.

  “Your Highness!”

  Trevn had barely spotted Grayson waving at him from the quarterdeck when the boy vanished and, in a blink, appeared at Trevn’s side. Saria yelped and clapped a hand over her heart.

  “You scared me!” she said.

  “I found her, Your Highness,” Grayson said. “There’s a—” His eyes lost focus as he stared just above Trevn’s head. “Ragaz is here. We should talk in our heads. There’s a great lake not too far that way.” He pointed west. “It stretches for leagues and leagues. We are at one end of the lake, and Miss Mielle is at the other.”

  Because of the presence of Fonu’s shadir, Trevn wrote out his orders to Captain Bussie. Trevn would take a party west on foot, heading toward the great lake. The Seffynaw would remain anchored until receiving further instructions.

  “We will await your orders, Your Highness,” Captain Bussie said. “It sounds like a fair distance to travel on foot. How will you find her?”

  Trevn tapped his temple. “We will find each other, Captain. Communication is the most powerful tool Arman has given us. If we use it well, we cannot fail.”

  Qoatch

  Months had passed since Empress Jazlyn’s magic had run out. A small wooden castle had been built in New Rurekau, and still Qoatch wasn’t used to his Great Lady’s true visage, especially now that she was pregnant.

  The child was growing far too fast. It must have somehow kept a portion of its mother’s magic, even though she could no longer wield any power. In late summer the labor pains began.

  Emperor Ulrik and his great-aunt sent in their midwives, but Jazlyn cast them out and called her own women to attend her. Qoatch was commanded to stay. He was a eunuch, after all, and the empress’s most loyal servant.

  Qoatch did not recall seeing Masi the slight leave, but as the Tennish midwives coached Jazlyn through one of her greater pains, Gozan arrived in all his intimidating hideousness. Qoatch hadn’t seen the great shadir since he had deserted them months ago and left Masi behind to spy.

  “What are you doing here?” Qoatch hissed. “Leave us be.”

  Gozan swelled in size until his head brushed the ceiling. Do not worry, eunuch. I’ll not interfere.

  “You’d better not,” Qoatch said, as if there was something he could do about it. “Did you find a new host?”

  That is none of your concern.

  “Neither is our life any longer yo
ur concern, yet you leave Masi to spy on us and report back to you. Now you come here where you are not welcome. What do you want from us?”

  I have invested many more years with this woman than you have. I’ve earned the right to witness this moment.

  Qoatch doubted Jazlyn would agree. “Stay then, but once the baby arrives, take your slight and be gone.”

  Gozan chuckled. So fierce for a eunuch.

  Qoatch fought the urge to continue arguing with the creature. The labor did not seem to progress, and he worried for his Great Lady. Tenma had laws against women taking root when they meant to conceive, and for good reason. Everyone knew that a woman who conceived while taking ahvenrood would surely die. Qoatch hoped that the little root Jazlyn had taken to maintain her beauty hadn’t been enough to matter.

  Day passed into night, and still the baby did not arrive. Qoatch mopped Jazlyn’s brow with a wet cloth. He fanned her. He sang when she asked and ceased when she lost her patience. He prayed continually to Tenma for mercy and even made offerings to the bronze figurine of Tenma in Jazlyn’s chambers.

  Just before dawn, nearly two full days after Jazlyn’s pains had begun, she delivered a boy with dark brown skin and eyes like coal.

  The women cooed and cheered and exclaimed over the child. He did not seem overly large. Had Jazlyn somehow managed to hoard the last of her magic to speed up the pregnancy but keep it from affecting her child? That didn’t seem possible, yet here was a healthy baby boy, squealing and delighting all the women. At fifty-four years of age, his Great Lady had given the young Emperor Ulrik a son and lived. Praise to the great goddess Tenma for her generous mercy.

  A scream from Jazlyn silenced the revelry. The baby was handed to Qoatch as the women rushed to the empress’s side.

  “There is a second child!” one of the midwives exclaimed.

  A second.

  Things happened quickly this time around. Qoatch barely had a chance to comprehend the idea when a girl was lifted into the air to a round of exultation.

  Two children?

  The girl was slightly larger than her brother, had gray eyes, and skin like a dapple gray. Qoatch instantly thought of the boy Grayson, who had traveled with them through Rurekau and had left the ship with Sir Kalenek. What did it mean?

  Gozan’s laughter caught Qoatch’s attention.

  “Why do you laugh, dark one?” Qoatch asked.

  She does beat every expectation, does she not?

  “I am proud of her,” Qoatch said.

  Two children. And one a root child. My, won’t Chieftess Charlon be jealous?

  “Root children are myth,” Qoatch said.

  I assure you they are not, Gozan said. If not for the boy, the female would have grown overly large and Jazlyn would have died.

  “Then I am grateful for Tenma’s provision,” Qoatch said. “I shall go now to make an offering of thanksgiving. When I return, I hope you will be gone.”

  Jazlyn named her children without input from her husband. The girl she called Jahleeah, the boy Jael. She sent Qoatch to make the announcement to the people waiting outside the castle walls. A great cheer rose up, and a soldier demanded that Qoatch bring the children to the emperor’s chambers so he could meet them. Jazlyn allowed only one child to leave at a time, worried that Ulrik might try to keep them from her. When the midwife brought Jael to trade for Jahleeah, she informed Jazlyn that the emperor had renamed the children Adir and Noyah.

  “He is impossible,” Jazlyn said. “I am hungry. Bring me some food.”

  Worried that someone might try to poison her now that the children had been born, Qoatch went to the kitchen, prepared her food, and served her himself. Once she was calmly eating, he told her about Gozan’s visit and what the great shadir had said about Jahleeah being a root child.

  “He is right, you know,” she said. “I can feel the magic in her. If only there was some way to harness it.”

  “Gozan said that Chieftess Charlon of Magos would be jealous of you. She might have access to ahvenrood, but you have a treasure she would covet.”

  “Is that so? I must travel to Magos and meet this new Chieftess. As soon as I have recovered, I will take Jahleeah, and together we will form an alliance. The mother countries must help each other in this time of transition. While I am gone, you must—”

  “A thousand pardons for interrupting, Great Lady,” Qoatch said, bowing, “but Gozan has again sent Masi to spy on you. He is here now. Know that whatever you say, the slight will repeat to his master.”

  Masi hissed at Qoatch.

  Jazlyn’s face darkened into a mask of rage. “After all our years together Gozan would betray me? Fetch me parchment and quill.”

  Qoatch did, and his Great Lady wrote:

  Jahleeah and I will travel to Magos and meet the new Chieftess. While I am gone you must kill Ulrik and his brother Ferro. Do it discreetly so that you are not caught or suspected. And keep my son safe. My goal is to barter enough ahvenrood from the Magosians to take control of New Rurekau in the aftermath of the emperor’s death. If the Chieftess refuses my offers of riches, I am prepared to offer her Jael. He is male, but his being a prince should more than make up for his gender.

  “Do you understand me?” she asked when he finished reading.

  Qoatch nodded. As a trained assassin it would not be difficult to follow through on the order. His concern was that Jazlyn had overestimated her chances of success, and he didn’t like being parted from her. He flipped over the parchment and wrote on the back.

  The risk is too high. Gozan could have been lying about the Magosian Chieftess’s interest in the child. If she were to refuse all your offers and you came home without ahvenrood to find the emperor and his brother dead, the emperor’s officials would take the boy from you and put men in place to rule until Jael comes of age.

  The Magosian Chieftess might simply kill you and keep Jahleeah for herself, then attack Rurekau and take Jael as well. You are too vulnerable without ahvenrood of your own.

  “Which is why I must get some,” Jazlyn said, crumpling the parchment. “I am just as vulnerable now, so I might as well try. You worry too much, Qoatch. The mother countries have always worked together. My plans remain unchanged. You have your orders.” She handed him the parchment. “Burn this.”

  Jazlyn’s impending trip to Magos would be the first time Qoatch had been parted from his Great Lady since he had been given to her as a child. He helped her prepare for the trip in secret while pondering the orders she had given him. He was torn. The odds that the Magosian Chieftess would give up even a single vial of precious ahvenrood were absurd. And since the Chieftess was Rurekan born, he doubted she would care about the history between the mother and father realms. Qoatch feared she would kill Jazlyn, conquer New Rurekau, and take both children as her own. If that happened and Qoatch killed the emperor and his brother, he would only be making a takeover easier for the Magosian Chieftess.

  Yet he could not deny his Great Lady.

  The killing, however, would be difficult. As a Kushaw assassin trained in countless ways to kill, his current circumstances made most of them impossible. Qoatch did not dare risk a physical attack, and he no longer had access to the poisons or venoms found in plants and animals from the Five Realms. Poison existed in all things. The danger was in the dosage. Anything could be toxic if one ingested enough, but Qoatch did not have time to test local plants. He needed something trustworthy. He opened his kit and found it poorly stocked. Most of his herbs were so dry they likely had no toxicity left, and his powders were quite low.

  He picked up a vial of ground torterus fangs, and an idea seized him. When burned, the powder produced noxious fumes that, when inhaled in large quantities, put one into a dead sleep. Rurekans were obsessed with incense and burned it while sleeping. If Qoatch were to coat an incense stick with a liquid version of the powder, he would accomplish his task without leaving any kind of trail. After inhaling the poison, Ulrik and Ferro would die in three to four weeks witho
ut an antidote, and the dead sleep would give Qoatch ample time to prepare for Jazlyn’s success or failure. Unless she was killed in Magos, he would be able to ensure her survival and position of power in Rurekau whether or not she succeeded in her own plans.

  That decided, Qoatch created the incense sticks and ran through several test runs as to how he would deliver the poison, preparing for every eventuality. He did not want to get caught.

  One day when Emperor Ulrik, Prince Ferro, and their men had ridden into the mountains to hunt, Jazlyn took her daughter and her Tennish retinue and set off for Magos under the guise of taking a picnic. Masi went with her. Qoatch did not.

  Qoatch’s duty was to distract Queen Thallah from Jazlyn’s departure, so he took Prince Jael to the woman and asked if she might be willing to keep watch over the boy for a few hours, claiming that Jazlyn was sometimes overwhelmed by having two infants. The only stipulation was that Qoatch remain as the child’s bodyguard.

  Queen Thallah was delighted to spend time with the babe, annoyed that the empress felt Qoatch superior to her own guards, and filled with criticism and advice for Jazlyn’s care and rearing of the princeling. Qoatch bore it as well as he could. The longer he remained with Queen Thallah, the farther Jazlyn’s party would get before anyone noticed they had not returned.

  The day passed. Queen Thallah left for dinner, so Qoatch took Jael back to Jazlyn’s chambers. Still, no one had noticed the empress was missing.

  To be fair, Jazlyn had not been the most popular woman, even before her deceit had uncovered her true age. Despite her not having cast a spell in months, many still feared her. They had accepted her as empress only because Ulrik had chosen her, and once her true age had been revealed, she became hated. Giving birth to the twins had lifted some of the animosity against her, but Qoatch knew she was still thought of as rude, condescending, and unyielding.

  Qoatch left Jael in the care of his nurse, and while the royal family was at dinner, he gathered his poisoned incense sticks and set out. He made an easy task of slipping into the emperor’s bedchamber unnoticed. There were five incense holders in the room: three positioned near the bed and two on the opposite wall. Qoatch removed the incense sticks in each holder and replaced them with his own.