King's Blood

by Jill Williamson

  He went to Ferro’s bedchamber next and met a maid there. He tucked his hands behind his back, hiding the incense sticks, and greeted her warmly, quickly spitting out the first excuse that came to mind.

  “Might you help me? One of the midwives hinted that Prince Ferro had a box of toys from his younger days that he no longer plays with. She thought there might be something in there to please the twins.”

  The maid’s face lit up. “Yes, I imagine there would, but I’m not certain where that box might be. So many things are in the wrong place after moving from the ships to the tents and then into the castle. Oh, perhaps in the wardrobe. Let me just take a look.”

  When the woman entered the wardrobe, Qoatch switched out the incense in the holders. Here there were only two, mounted on the walls on either side of the bed. Prince Ferro was much smaller than his brother. Qoatch hoped that two would produce enough smoke to affect the boy.

  He folded the remaining incense sticks into his gathered waistband and awaited the maid. She returned shortly with a small box, which she set on the bed and opened. Qoatch moved to her side and inspected the contents as she lifted out a coconut rattle and shook it.

  “They should like that, don’t you think?” she asked.

  “So much that they might fight over it.”

  The maid pulled more toys from the box, cooing over each: a carved wooden bear, a ceramic spinning top, a wooden ox on wheels, and a striped ball made of linen. The sight of these worn things birthed a terrible chill in Qoatch’s heart. Ferro had always been a nice child. Qoatch didn’t like the idea of killing him.

  “I should get back,” he said, closing the lid on the box. “Thank you for these.”

  “I’m just glad I found them,” she said. “Every child should have a toy.”

  Qoatch had never had a toy. He tucked the box under his arm and returned to Jazlyn’s apartment. He found Jael awake and tried to give him the rattle.

  “He’s too little to hold that now,” the maid said. “Another six months, perhaps?”

  Qoatch realized he knew nothing at all about children beyond guessing their weight to figure the proper dosage of poison. Ferro’s face flashed in his mind again, and relief at having completed his assignment warred with regret.

  Qoatch would remain here in Jazlyn’s apartment until he heard news. Had he any peers, the action might be considered cowardly, but he felt it better not to risk a chance at meeting the eyes of the child he had murdered.

  Charlon

  Charlon had achieved all she’d desired. She was now Chieftess. Both Mother and ruler. Ultimate power. It didn’t matter that some of Magon’s shadir had fled. Refused to serve Rurek. Charlon had plenty of loyal supporters.

  As summer neared its end, Charlon ordered the harvest—of the natural crop, grown without spells to quicken growth. Tested it. The root remained plain. No magic through human ingestion.

  No matter. She was learning to make magic here. Using the gowzals. The abilities were different than what she could power with magical ahvenrood. Gowzals could be used to create masks and illusions. The creatures could even be turned into weapons like balls of green flame, arrows, or swords. But Charlon could not use them to cast compulsions. She could not inflict pain. And she could not control the forces of nature.

  Still, in light of her dwindling ahvenrood stores, she was thankful to be able to perform some magic. She had told no one about her discovery. So while her ahvenrood stores from the Five Realms decreased and her mantics despaired, Charlon remained powerful. Respected by her people. Safe.

  No one could hurt her again.

  So why did she feel so unsettled?

  The prophecy Mreegan had lived by promised renewal. Promised that the Deliverer would restore the mother countries to power. Maybe then Charlon would find peace. For now, Shanek wasn’t ready.

  Rurek appeared at her side. Empress Jazlyn of Rurekau comes with a contingent of thirty guards and twenty more servants. My slights say she will arrive before nightfall.

  A tinge of fear. “Comes here? Why?”

  I did not ask her.

  “How many shadir accompany her?”

  None, Chieftess. My guess is that she comes seeking ahvenrood.

  Amusing. The empress had once been a Great Lady, Priestess of Tenma. A highly revered mantic. But the woman had run out of ahvenrood. Had married the young emperor to retain some level of power. Charlon pitied her. Saw again how her new magic set her apart. Gave hope for the future.

  An hour later Gullik escorted a messenger to the red tent. Charlon sat the ironthorn throne. Received them.

  “You bring word of Empress Jazlyn, I presume?” Charlon said to the messenger. “She will be here before nightfall.”

  The young man’s eyes swelled. “Yes, Chieftess. How did you know?”

  “I know many things,” Charlon said. “Your empress is welcome. Will she require lodging?”

  “No,” the messenger said. “We have brought tents. I will tell her she is expected.”

  A nod of dismissal and the messenger scurried away.

  “What do you think?” she asked Rurek.

  My opinion has not changed. She comes to beg ahvenrood.

  “Shall I give her some?”

  That would be foolish. She is cunning and not to be trusted.

  “Yet she would make a powerful ally.”

  To what end? Magos has no threats at the moment.

  “But we might someday,” Charlon said. “Best to have friends in place. Before trouble comes.”

  Magos prepared for visitors. Prepared a feast. Planned a celebration. Charlon received Empress Jazlyn in the red tent. Shanek and her Five Men were all present. Sir Kalenek permitted only four of Jazlyn’s guards to enter.

  Charlon had heard rumors. The old mantic priestess had fooled the young emperor into marriage. She now had long gray hair and a slight frame. Regal posture. Fierce brown eyes. She honored Charlon with a deep curtsy.

  “Welcome to Magos, Empress,” Charlon said, nodding.

  “I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” Jazlyn said, straightening back to her full height, which wasn’t much taller than Charlon. Her dark gaze flitted between Sir Kalenek and Shanek, brow creased. Something about the men bothered her. “Thank you for receiving us so warmly. Your predecessor did not approve of Tennish mantics.”

  “We are the realm of Magos now,” Charlon said. “Everything is new. The one called Mreegan is dead. Along with the great shadir Magon.”

  Jazlyn’s eyes widened. “How was this done?”

  Charlon smiled, amused. Did the empress think her foolish? Foolish enough to share such information? “That is my secret to keep.”

  She will ask about me next, Rurek said in Charlon’s ear. Tell her I am Mitsar.

  As if Rurek had read Jazlyn’s mind, she asked, “What shadir powered such magic?”

  “She is called Mitsar,” Charlon said.

  Shanek laughed. Sir Kalenek scowled, shushed the boy.

  Charlon’s answer seemed to pacify the empress. “I am surprised to see Sir Kalenek of Armania here,” she said. “Is he your prisoner?”

  She knew Sir Kalenek? Charlon tried not to let surprise show. “He is the first of my Five Men. Shield to my son Shanek.” Charlon nodded to Shanek, who dutifully dipped his head to the empress. Behaving again, thankfully.

  Jazlyn fixed all her attention on Sir Kalenek. “His scars are gone. He looks different.”

  “Magic can change appearances. As you well know,” Charlon said.

  Jazlyn sighed. “But the shadir decide when to make it permanent or temporary. My beauty required a continual spell. After I ran out of ahvenrood, my true age was revealed.”

  “Yet you married,” Charlon said. “Married the man who destroyed your root.”

  Annoyance flashed in Jazlyn’s eyes. “I did what I had to do to maintain some level of power. Otherwise my people would have been forced to live in Rurekau as foreigners with no rights. You have a vast settlement here. I
s that field I passed all ahvenrood?”

  How quickly she steered the conversation. In the direction she wanted it to go. “It is.”

  She is desperate now that she has no root, Rurek said.

  “No root, no root,” Shanek said.

  Irritation flared. Could Sir Kalenek not keep the boy silent?

  Jazlyn peered at Shanek, but she spoke just as Rurek had predicted. “How I would love a taste of Er’Retian root,” she said.

  “I fear it would disappoint you,” Charlon said. “It does not grow the same here as it did in the Five Realms.”

  Concern wrinkled Jazlyn’s brow. “I would like some just the same.”

  “Why would I give ahvenrood to my enemy?” Charlon asked.

  “We are not enemies,” Jazlyn said. “Tenma and Magonia are allies.”

  “They were allies. But this is no longer Magonia. This is Magos. And you are no longer from Tenma. You are from Rurekau. And Magos and Rurekau are not allied.”

  “Perhaps we should make a new allegiance,” Jazlyn said.

  “I am willing. To discuss the possibility,” Charlon said. “But the emperor rules Rurekau. Not you.”

  “He will not rule for long,” Jazlyn said. “There are many who hate him. I should not be surprised to find him dead when I return.”

  Interesting. Had she plotted to kill her husband? “That matters not,” Charlon said. “Ahvenrood grows here. But it has no magic.”

  Jazlyn’s eager expression folded. “That . . . that cannot be.”

  “It is,” Charlon said. “See for yourself. Vald, bring the empress an ahvenrood plant. Wrap roots and soil in a moist cloth.”

  “Yes, Chieftess.” He departed.

  “You would give me a plant?” Jazlyn asked. “For nothing?”

  Charlon waved away the woman’s surprise. “It is no great gift. My ahvenrood from the Five Realms is all but gone. I planted most of it. Hoping to reap a great harvest. Alas, the roots have no magic. The soil is missing something. Or perhaps the overabundance of rain swamps it. Whatever the reason, the root has no magic.”

  Wild eyes. Fidgeting fingers. Charlon had crushed the empress’s hope. “I don’t believe it.”

  “This is a new land, Empress,” Charlon said. “It will take time. Time to understand it fully.”

  An awkward moment of silence filled the tent. Jazlyn’s dark gaze shifted from Charlon to Shanek and back.

  “I don’t know whether or not you’ve heard, but I recently gave birth to twins. A female and a male. I have brought my daughter Princess Jahleeah with me. Might I present her to you?”

  “If you like,” Charlon said.

  A whisper from Jazlyn. One of her ladies scurried away. Returned shortly with a babe. A babe dressed in white linen like her mother.

  Rurek had told Charlon about the root child. Dappled skin did not surprise Charlon. This child was much smaller. Smaller than Shanek had ever been. Yet the sight startled Charlon. Something foreign tightened inside. Brought back memories.

  Shanek had grown far too fast.

  “I cannot help but notice that my child and yours share the same skin and eyes,” Jazlyn said, glancing again at Shanek. “Such attributes are rare, yet Sir Kalenek and I knew another young man like this. I did not know what he was at the time or I would not have parted with him.”

  More secrets? Charlon met Sir Kalenek’s eyes. “Who was this root child?”

  “His name is Grayson,” Sir Kalenek said. “He traveled with us out of Rurekau during the Five Woes.”

  Grayson. The boy Sir Kalenek had helped escape the Vespara.

  “What mantic birthed Grayson, Sir Kalenek?” Jazlyn asked.

  “I know not,” he said.

  He is lying, Rurek said.

  Charlon would make Sir Kalenek talk later. Once the empress had gone.

  “Darlis,” Shanek said, drawing everyone’s attention. “Sister to queen, Kal says. Rogedoth Mergest’s daughters. He a prince, like me.”

  “Shanek, hold your tongue,” Kal said.

  Rogedoth, the man who had betrayed Armania? Grayson’s grandfather? No wonder Sir Kalenek had helped. Helped him escape. But why had Kal told Shanek this?

  “You help him?” Shanek asked Sir Kalenek, eyes wide with surprise. “Mother said it.”

  Mother thought it. “What magic is this? Not even a root child can read minds.”

  “It appears to be the new magic they call voices of blood,” Jazlyn said. “According to my husband, the god Arman bestowed the mind-speak magic upon the royal lines of the father realms. This Rogedoth has royal blood in the line of Sarikar.”

  Charlon recalled the voices that had driven Shanek mad. When they’d first arrived in this new land. Voices she had thought came from deviant shadir. Voices Sir Kalenek had taught the boy to silence. “You knew Shanek could do this?” she asked Sir Kalenek.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “How? And when did you discover it?”

  Sir Kalenek stiffened. The compulsion made it impossible. He could not lie to Charlon. “Rosâr Wilek told me about it.”

  More betrayal? Rage welled within. “You speak to the rosâr? About us? Tell him where we live? What we are doing?”

  Sir Kalenek grimaced. “Yes.”

  “I forbid you to speak to Rosâr Wilek again.”

  Sir Kalenek took a step back. Face contorted. Bringing to mind the scars he once had. “Take back that command.”

  “I will not.”

  “Please.” His voice was choked. “He is my friend.”

  “You have compelled Sir Kalenek?” Jazlyn asked, thin lips twisted. A faint smile.

  “Mreegan did it,” Shanek said. “She punish him ’cause he help Grayson get away. Mother no stop it ’cause she like controlling him.”

  “Stop doing that!” Charlon yelled. “Sir Kalenek, make him stop speaking my thoughts.”

  “Come, Shanek,” Sir Kalenek said. “Let us see how the preparations for dinner are coming along.”

  Charlon watched them go. Furious and embarrassed. To have been kept in the dark. About this new magic. About so many things.

  Sir Kalenek would pay for that.

  “Would you like to hold Princess Jahleeah?” Jazlyn asked.

  No, Charlon would not. Sir Kalenek’s betrayal had soured her mood. But she said, “Yes.” Took the babe in her arms. Looked down on Princess Jahleeah’s face. So much smaller than Shanek had been. A great ache welled within. To look upon this child hurt her heart. Why?

  You should have this, Rurek said. Use your magic. Keep her child as your own.

  Charlon met the shadir’s cold eyes. Typical of a man. To suggest such a thing. I will not take a child from its mother.

  But I can see that you want it, Rurek said.

  I want Torol’s child. My child.

  Ahh, a child of your own flesh would surely heal the wound inside you.

  Yes. Charlon remembered. So much hope. And joy. Talking with Torol about their child. Making plans. Guessing what the babe would look like. Wondering whether it was male or female. Arguing over what they might name it. Had Charlon’s child lived, would it have had dappled skin? Would it have been a root child? Would it have been a girl or a boy? Would she have survived the birth? Would its existence have kept her from becoming Chieftess?

  Charlon finally returned the child to the empress’s servant. Her guests departed to rest until the feast. Charlon watched them go.

  Rurek had seen her pain. Spoken truth. Charlon now understood what she was missing. Surely having a child of her own—a normal child—would appease the ache within. And now that she no longer needed to consume ahvenrood constantly to do magic, such a thing was a real possibility. She would have to plan carefully. To go without ahvenrood would make her vulnerable. Even with the new magic. She would have to hide the old root from her maidens. She could not let them do to her what she had done to Mreegan.

  Sir Kalenek was the only logical choice for the child’s father. She had watched him raise Shane
k. He was firm yet patient and kind. Shanek loved him. Besides, the other men had been compelled for so long, they had no minds of their own. Charlon needed someone who understood what was at stake.

  Sir Kalenek owed it to her, after his treachery.

  He would refuse. He loved his blind woman too much to betray her. Charlon would have to compel him. Yet compulsions rarely masked all thoughts. If he discovered what she was doing, he would grow to hate her.

  It might help to trick him with kindness. Give back his freedom from the other maidens. Allow him to talk with Sâr Wilek. As long as he could not speak of Magos or Charlon or Shanek.

  That just might work.

  Charlon liked this plan. She was Chieftess of Magos. Shanek would someday rule Armania, but Magos needed its own heir.

  Sour mood lifted. Charlon feasted with Empress Jazlyn. Talked of alliances. A future of peace.

  A treaty was drafted. A celebration followed. A celebration of peace and mutual support. And plans. Many plans for the future.

  Trevn

  Trevn, Saria, and their men traveled west, following Grayson’s lead. The boy flashed from location to location—popping, he called it. Back and forth he went, trying to find the best route. He led them due west, and finally, near sunset one evening, they came to the shore of a great lake.

  “Keep back from the water,” Trevn called to his men. “At least until Master Jahday can test it for poison.”

  The young explorer set out at once for the water’s edge.

  “It’s not nearly as wide as it is long,” Grayson said.

  Trevn couldn’t see any distant shore. “Which way does it stretch?”

  “Uh . . .” Grayson turned around, squinting up the shore. “That’s the long way,” he said, pointing to the northwest.

  “And that’s the way we must go?” Trevn asked.

  “Yes, or we can go around the end and walk up the southern side. Miss Mielle is on the south shore, but she’s also on the end of the lake. We can get to her both ways, and I think the northern route is faster.”