The Children of Wrath

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  The leader wrung her hands, appealing to Kevral. “Visiting royalty will take offense, my Lady.”

  The other escort, a plumply curvaceous Béarnian female, placed a guiding hand on Kevral’s injured shoulder. “Let His Majesty’s guards handle that problem, Zelshia.” She released Kevral to open the door.

  Kevral finished buckling her belt, the weight of a sword at each hip finally dispelling the discomfort that had assailed her from the moment the other woman had removed it. Her time in the bath had revealed a definite swelling where the baby floated quietly, exhausted by its mother’s battle. Her abdomen seemed to have grown visibly since that morning.

  “Come, please, Lady Kevral.” The women led Kevral into the hallway toward the stairs. As they walked with a quiet dignity that little resembled the scramble to ready her, Kevral finally considered the details. She hoped but doubted the “visiting royalty” referred to Tae’s father or emissaries from some small Western kingdom that needed the assistance of Ra-khir and herself. Yet, logic led her to the proper conclusion. Pudar. The word had become a curse the equal of coward. For the first time, she considered Zelshia’s request. If King Cymion had come, all of Béarn’s and Pudar’s guards together, even the vows of self and Ra-khir, might not keep her from killing him.

  The servants led Kevral through Béarn’s straight corridors, down a series of stairs and toward the main court. But, instead of taking her there as she expected, they stopped in front of a smaller suite nestled among strategy rooms, studies, and libraries. Ra-khir awaited Kevral there, surrounded by milling male servants and straight ranks of stony-faced guards. Some wore Béarn’s blue and gold or tan, while others sported Pudar’s brown tunics over armor graced, front and back, with silver wolves. Ra-khir had dressed in his best knight silks, black shirt and britches under a blue tabard emblazoned with Béarn’s golden bear. A deep saffron cape covered the orange circle and black sword of Erythane on the back of the tabard, and a gold brooch clasped it into place. A pristine hat with a delicately veined feather perched on his head. Strawberry-blond hair cascaded from beneath it only in the back, combed to a sheen.

  Kevral’s mind refused to focus on the coming events; they could only enrage her. She allowed her mind to wander off on minutiae, identifying which Pudarian guardsmen she had trained. She also wondered, for the first time, why Erythane and Béarn insisted on maintaining clashing color schemes, then expecting their most elite and gallant warriors to wear both. She marveled at how the knights managed to arrange those colors without looking tawdry. Though always handsome, Ra-khir appeared positively breathtaking in his knightly proper garb. The uniform accentuated the chiseled refinement of his features, and the multicolored silks heightened the emerald-green of his eyes.

  Ra-khir maneuvered through the crowd with a dignified smoothness that barely revealed movement. Drawing to Kevral’s side, he placed an arm around her waist. Having done their work, the servants disappeared, leaving knight and Renshai to face the guards alone. Ra-khir deliberately avoided resting his fingers on Kevral’s hilt. His presence hampered her draw enough, and touching another’s sword without permission was insult. He did whisper a reminder, “We’re under oath to personal honor.”

  “I haven’t forgotten,” Kevral spat back, most of her irritation stemming from the need to focus on the proceedings again. Staring at Ra-khir pleased her more.

  “They’re not going to let you take those swords in.”

  “Anyone who tries to stop me had better get used to fighting left-handed.”

  Ra-khir’s brows rose, but he gave no other response to the threat. “Even me?”

  Kevral did not hesitate. “Even you.”

  “Ahh,” Ra-khir quipped. “So it’s negotiable.”

  Kevral did not bother with a reply. She watched the guards ready themselves into two ranks: the Béarnian and the Pudarian.

  Ra-khir tried again. “It’s difficult enough for them to allow us to meet with the prince alone. They can’t permit weapons.”

  Kevral stiffened, returning her gaze to her husband. “We’re meeting Le alone?”

  “Prince Leondis,” Ra-khir reminded. “He can’t very well discuss the details in front of others.”

  No, I suppose he can’t. Kevral fought rising memories and the rage that had to accompany them. Her fingers banged Ra-khir’s arm, the first indication she had reached for her swords. “Bad enough I’m fat. I’m not facing an enemy naked.”

  “You’re not fat, you’re pregnant.” Ra-khir continued to speak in a low voice that the guards could not hear. “He’s not an enemy. And you’re certainly not naked.” He studied her outfit. “That just might be the most feminine thing I’ve ever seen you wear.”

  Kevral ignored the final comment for the more important issue. “Without my swords, I am naked.”

  Ra-khir did not bother to argue. “I vowed to keep you from revenge. You’ll have to kill me to get to the prince.”

  “I’m not going to kill you,” Kevral assured. “Or the snake’s damned son.”

  “Good,” Ra-khir returned. “I’ll talk with the guards—make sure they understand that you need those swords but won’t use them.” His subtle head shake made it clear he expected more difficulty than his words conveyed. “If I get them to agree to the weapons, could you do me one favor?”

  Kevral nodded.

  “Could you please not address the crown prince of Pudar as ‘the snake’s damned son?’”

  Kevral smiled. “I’ll be polite. And I won’t kill anyone who doesn’t try to kill one of us first.”

  “Deal.” Ra-khir approached a Pudarian whose reversed colors revealed him as a leader. For several moments, guard and knight engaged in animated discussion, Ra-khir’s every movement fluid and dignified, the Pudarian’s brisk and jabbing. Finally, the captain threw up his hands and opened the door. He disappeared into the room, and the door clicked shut behind him. Shortly after, he emerged, his lips pursed to white lines and his dark eyes bright with irritation. He said something to Ra-khir, punctuated by a raised fist that made a heavy point without threatening.

  Ra-khir returned to Kevral, suppressing a smile until he reached her. “The prince agreed to let you bring your swords, and he still wants us alone.”

  Though Kevral had hoped for no other outcome, the ease of the victory bothered her. She wondered whether she should take offense that the prince did not worry for the threat of an armed Renshai.

  Apparently reading something in her face, Ra-khir addressed the concern. “Can’t have it all ways, Kevral. I’m sure he wanted to avoid an argument he couldn’t win, and he trusts our promises.”

  Kevral suspected Leondis trusted Ra-khir’s promise, not hers; but it did not matter. As much as she would have enjoyed quibbling with Leondis and his entourage, it seemed prudent to conclude their business as soon as possible. The longer she faced them, the more likely she lost control and caused an international incident.

  A guard whisked open the door, and four others ushered Kevral and Ra-khir through it. The one at the portal announced, “His Highness, Prince Leondis. Sir Ra-khir and the Renshai, Kevral.”

  The windowless room contained a table ringed by a dozen wooden chairs. Bookshelves held maps, rolled parchments, and books in a neat, dustless array. Leondis sat in the head seat, dressed in fur-trimmed satin. Dark brown hair with just a hint of curl tumbled to his shoulders, and long lashes striped his blue eyes. Kevral could not help seeing him as the charming young warrior who had wooed her and offered to legitimize the twins by marrying her moments before their birth. The man who had tearfully forced himself upon her while she lay, chained and helpless, seemed like a distant nightmare, wholly unrelated.

  A movement at Kevral’s back sent her scurrying sideways. A guard’s kick, intended to remind her to kneel, brushed by her right calf instead. Had it connected, Kevral could not have stopped herself from inflicting a painful warning. As it happened, she gave him a sour look, then curtsied with a brevity that barely detracted from R
a-khir’s stiff formality. Though the knight performed the proper sequence for royalty, he omitted the respectful and highly personal flourishes that would have brought the gesture to life. The hat ended in his hands and remained there.

  The four guards filed out. The last gave Leondis a look every bit as pleading as Zelshia’s had been.

  In response, Leondis pointed to the hallway, and the guard closed the door with obvious reluctance.

  Kevral waited only until the door clicked closed before asking gruffly, “What do you want?”

  Ra-khir nudged his wife to remind her of her promise. “Your Grace, what she means is that we would like very much to know the reason for our summoning.”

  Leondis tented callused fingers on the table. “Sir Knight, I know exactly what she meant.” He gestured at the chairs. “Please sit.”

  “No,” Kevral said as Ra-khir moved to obey.

  The knight paused, glaring at his wife. “Kevral, what happened to ‘polite’ ?”

  It vanished when he raped me. Kevral forced control. She had promised. “No, Sire,” she amended.

  Leondis tolerated the disrespect as his father never would. “Suit yourself.”

  Ra-khir continued to a chair but hovered over it, likely torn between following orders and remaining close enough to maintain the shred of influence he might hold over his wife. He set the hat on the table.

  “I see no reason to drag this out,” Leondis continued. “We came for the baby.”

  “Baby, Your Highness?”

  Even Kevral looked at Ra-khir, who seemed to have suddenly become stupid.

  “My baby,” Leondis prompted.

  “Your baby, Your Highness. Of course.” Ra-khir lowered his bottom to the chair but remained facing Kevral. “I apologize for my confusion, but Béarn has been recently blessed with babies. And the one you speak of, Sire, hasn’t been born.”

  “Due in less than three months.” Leondis shook back his thick mane of hair, and perfume wafted briefly from the locks. “And her last babies were early.”

  Kevral bit her lip, allowing Ra-khir to speak. All of the positive feelings reawakened by seeing Leondis became crushed beneath the understanding of what he had come to accomplish.

  “Twins, Sire,” Ra-khir reminded. “Always early.”

  Leondis sucked air through his nose and looked at Kevral. As his gaze slid from her face to her abdomen, the soft regret in his expression gave way to a sparkle of innocent excitement.

  Kevral could not hold her tongue. “It’s my baby, Leondis.”

  “Your Highness, Prince Leondis,” Ra-khir corrected with a deferential nod.

  “Let’s not make this more difficult than it already is.” The prince dropped the formality that had never suited him. “Kevral, I hate the circumstances surrounding the baby’s conception. My father had a desperate decision to make and no time to consider it. Never before or since has a woman had a child forced upon her. But that baby, and no other baby, carries the royal bloodline of Pudar.”

  Ra-khir went silent, unaccustomed to nobles departing so abruptly from convention, especially in the presence of a knight. Nothing in his training prepared him for this.

  Where Leondis’ straightforward approach befuddled Ra-khir, it slightly diminished Kevral’s anger. “Why can’t you lie with other women who have just given birth? Or the young ones with cycles just starting?” She named the only two conditions that allowed women to remain fertile since the svartalf’s spell. “Surely more than one would couple willingly with a prince and joyfully carry Pudar’s heir.”

  Leondis flushed at Kevral’s open discussion of sexuality, but he did address her questions. “Don’t think I haven’t tried. Yours was the only successful . . .” The word came with more difficulty from him. “. . . coupling.”

  Ra-khir cringed, knowing what had to follow, and Kevral did not disappoint. “That, Your Highness, is because it’s not your baby.” She clamped a hand to the bulge beneath her tunic.

  Leondis rolled his pale eyes. “Kevral, you came to Pudar rather . . . uneducated on the matter. But surely you know now how conception occurs.”

  Kevral glanced at her husband, worried that her choice of words, intended to hurt the prince, might fall hard on Ra-khir’s ears as well. He avoided her eyes, running a finger along the brim of his hat. “While your father held me prisoner, I coupled with another man.”

  Leondis jerked backward, shocked only a moment by her revelation before he laughed. “Impossible.”

  “It happened.”

  Leondis leaned onto the table. “Kevral, you were chained in an underground dungeon under guard. No one could have slipped past without their knowledge.”

  “A god came to me and offered his son. I accepted.”

  “A god.” Leondis blinked, his expression going from challenging to pitying in that instant. His tone softened to the ginger caution usually reserved for the dangerously insane. “All right, then. A god.” He glanced at Ra-khir who returned the look with earnest silence.

  An intense hush followed, broken by Leondis. “Well then. When this god comes to claim his child, we’ll have no choice but to surrender it, will we?”

  Kevral glared. “Stop speaking to me like a puppy.” She bit her lower lip with a fierceness that drew blood. “He’s not coming.”

  “Of course not.” Leondis again focused on Ra-khir, demanding his interference.

  Ra-khir winced but complied. “Your Highness, she did sleep with an immortal’s son.” He chose the term that Colbey preferred. “But there’s no way to know which of you conceived that baby.”

  Leondis stared fanatically at Ra-khir. Knights of Erythane did not lie, and it seemed unlikely that Kevral’s madness had become contagious. His tone turned patronizing again. “Love can make a man accept the impossible.”

  Ra-khir made a noncommittal motion. “Your Majesty, I can tell you only that, if it’s his conception, the immortal wants me to be the child’s father.”

  “He told you this?”

  “He told Kevral, Sire.”

  “Ah.” Leondis’ earlier comment covered the situation. “Enough of this.” Though he surely did not believe them, he gave them the benefit of his doubts verbally. “There’s at least a high likelihood this baby is mine. The other possible father is willing to allow others to raise the baby. I’m not.”

  Possessed of a sudden urge to bite the insolent expression from the prince’s face, Kevral spoke before thinking. “Neither am I.”

  “You made a vow,” Leondis reminded.

  “I retract it!”

  Ra-khir swung toward Kevral. “You can’t do that.” His tone revealed sorrow, not anger.

  Leondis tore his blue gaze from Kevral to lay it solidly upon Ra-khir. “And you, Sir? Do you retract your vow as well?”

  Kevral thought she saw rising tears, though Ra-khir’s voice did not crack. “No, Sire. I can’t do that.”

  All the seriousness returned to Leondis’ features, and a flame sprang to light in his eyes. Kevral had never before seen him angry. “Kevral Tainharsdatter, know this. Pudar will not leave without its heir. If it means directing your own husband to tear it from your arms, that will happen.” He rose from his chair, emphasizing his points with a stab of his index finger. Never before had he so resembled his father. “If it means declaring war against Béarn, it will happen. Even if it means cutting you open and tearing the infant from your bleeding womb!”

  Ra-khir leaped to his feet. “Your Highness, I draw the line there.” Necessary decorum stole the warning from his words, especially in the wake of the other’s anger.

  At least, it claimed Leondis’ attention momentarily. He gave the knight a measuring look, wholly lacking bluff. “Sir Ra-khir, you will follow the letter of your vow, no matter what it entails.”

  The hand on Ra-khir’s hat band shook, and scarlet crept across his cheeks. Rage otherwise fully hidden, he spoke with impossible composure. “Your Highness, I only mean it will not come to measures so desperate.”
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  Oh, it can. And it will. Kevral narrowed her eyes and bared her teeth, counting on Leondis’ pique to assure that he surmised her thought.

  The prince did not look in Kevral’s direction, likely anticipating an impertinent expression that could only further claim his control. “My father insisted that we either pull Kevral from the mission or that my entourage and I join you to keep her from doing anything that might harm the heir. King Griff convinced us not to risk it. He claimed you would act reasonably.” He shook his head and finally met Kevral’s eyes. “I should have known better than to trust a Renshai.”

  Enraged beyond worry for consequence, Kevral drew and charged. Ra-khir scrambled between Renshai and prince. Only Kevral’s abrupt check deterred a collision. She came to her senses then, calling up Renshai mind training to douse the fire in her veins. Suppressing the urge to hack down Ra-khir and the prince a moment later, she resheathed her weapon with a violence that accidentally slammed the hilt across her husband’s shoulder. His eyes revealed an instant of pain but none of the fear any other who had barely escaped a Renshai’s attack would display.

  Realization of how near she had come to slaying a loved one sapped the rest of Kevral’s rage, though not the hatred. Without another word, she stormed from the conference room, leaving Ra-khir to handle parting amenities and ruffled feathers. Not for the first time, she would have to apologize to a loving husband whose loyalty and gentleness made him the obvious, but undeserving, target of her rage and mood swings.

  The baby fluttered and kicked inside her.

  * * *

  Tae huddled in the dense shadows of the conference room bookcase, bombarded by an oppressive silence that followed Kevral’s tempestuous exit. A cautious peek revealed Prince Leondis’ back, muscles balled beneath satin and fists clenched at his sides. Ra-khir knelt in front of him, head bowed, waiting patiently for a formal dismissal. His hair dangled in even red curtains, and he clutched his hat to his heart. Nothing about him revealed the anger that had to seethe within him. Tae could picture him pinning the prince with green eyes full of the promise of murder, spitting the words Tae so wished he would say: “I surrendered my knighthood once for Kevral and declared war on Pudar. Do not think I would not do so again.”