The Children of Wrath

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  “The staff-test,” Thialnir reminded, revealing at least superficial attention to the matter, “no longer exists.”

  Aerean finished her point, “Perhaps, then, we could make excepting elves from the old laws’ conditions dependent on restoration of the staff-test. Or give the human offspring of Béarn’s rulers preference as heirs.”

  Saxanar waved briskly for acknowledgment, barely waiting for it before speaking. “One could argue that those not of strictly Béarnian bloodline should not become nobles at all.”

  That comment earned the elder statesman several angry glares. In Griff’s cabinet, the honorarily titled outnumbered primary nobility. Only Saxanar and Franstaine qualified, the latter a second cousin of Griff’s through his mother. Richar and Local Affairs Minister Chaveeshia had enough recent contamination to put their lines in doubt. Aerean, Zaysharn, and Davian carried only honorary titles, with little or no blooded gentry among their ancestors. Captain Seiryn claimed no nobility while Kedrin, Darris, and Thialnir bore no Béarnian blood at all.

  Saxanar weathered the hostility. “I’m not claiming superiority, only that the laws clearly intended to keep the Béarnian ruler Béarnian in bloodline. Surely you can all see that that’s the reason for defining primary nobility the way the ancient lawmakers did.”

  Wiping damp palms on his breeks, Darris looked at the king. He sat quietly, his demeanor uncharacteristically stiff and his swarthy features almost pale. He had much riding on the results of this meeting. The idea of disappointing the gentle king pained Darris, but at the moment he was clearly losing the battle. I should have waited. Should have thought this out longer. He cursed Kevral’s need for time that had caused him to bring up the subject before he had fully prepared. Yet he also realized he had had more than enough time to ready words for this moment. If Kevral had not instructed him to stall, he might have dragged the matter out for years, long after the birth of Tem’aree’ay’s baby.

  Zaysharn claimed the silence, as he rarely did. “I believe, Darris, you said ‘first.’ That implies at least a ‘second.’”

  “Quite right.” Darris tried to remember his intention, befuddled as much by Griff’s discomfort as his need to make points without the support of a musical instrument. “Second, the current definition of who the king or queen can marry is so twisted it’s almost incomprehensible.”

  “It’s worked thus far,” Kedrin pointed out. “For centuries.”

  Darris grinned. The knight had practically baited his trap. “Mistakes have been made.”

  Kedrin stiffened in clear surprise. The pale eyes, nearly white, widened in question.

  Only the bardic quest to know everything had driven Darris to examine the minutiae of history, using the mass of knowledge his research had granted. “Zoenya, who ruled in AR 50-61, married Avishar as her third husband. He missed primary nobility qualification by one Béarnian ancestor. Yvalane, Kohleran’s father, took a half-Erythanian fathered by a long-lineaged noble as his third wife of ten. Myrenex, AR 173-189, married ten times, including sisters who didn’t meet the requisites because of a fine detail of law. He left no progeny, but that doesn’t change my point. The convolutions of ascension have bewildered past councils. It recommends, I would even venture requires, rewriting.”

  “Well taken,” Prime Minister Davian said, dark eyes shining. “I suggest we set up a group at once to consider the bard’s proposal. At least, it could make the same laws easier to understand. And, if the group saw fit to change details, we could consider them in the future.”

  “Any other suggestions?” Griff said halfheartedly. Davian’s idea, though difficult to fault, meant long delays.

  “I would offer my support to that,” Darris said, “but I still believe we need to address the issue of elves and the ascension, since we know the current laws contain nothing in this regard.”

  Saxanar gave Darris a look that suggested the bard had suddenly turned stupid. “We’ve already voted that they’re included in ‘people’ for the purposes of Béarnian law? Why should we separate elves out for special treatment?”

  Darris thought he had already explained that well enough. “Because of their lifespans. And their lack of lineages.”

  “Then we would have to apply that to all of our laws.”

  “Indeed.” Davian conceded to Saxanar. “Life imprisonment, for example. Is it fair to span a punishment across ten kings’ rules?”

  Franstaine corrected the math, “Try a hundred kings.”

  The issue was not worth arguing as it depended too much on the length of the reign, the age of the elf at the time of confinement, and their lifespans, which he had heard ranged from a few centuries to multiple millennia. Ultimately it did not matter. Darris could not imagine lysalf committing a capital crime, even over the next several thousand years.

  Saxanar did not let go. “We can deal with those issues on an individual basis, and I don’t really believe we’ll find many. If we can solve the problem by simply defining elves as people, without rewriting Béarnian law, why should we consider any other way? Why should elves receive special treatment over our other allies?”

  A pause followed. Even the youngest ministers rocked their heads, without reason to contradict. Darris’ heart sank, and he forced himself to look at his king. Griff’s face seemed to shrink within the mane of hair. He wore an expression of ultimate sorrow, the type Darris had only seen from children who believed themselves betrayed by loving parents. He had tried too hard. And failed.

  Darris’ support came from an unlikely source. Unable to capture Griff’s attention, Knight-Captain Kedrin accepted Matrinka’s recognition. “Because, Minister Saxanar, the situation is different.” He rose. “The bard, my son, and several others have risked their lives repeatedly to retrieve the tools necessary to reverse a spell that renders humans sterile.” He repeated for emphasis, “Sterile.” The pale gaze ran over the entire assemblage. “If they succeed, Captain never guaranteed he could lift the curse even then. We’ve found another way to escape it—humans interbreeding with elves. That’s not a sure thing yet, either; but the elves say Tem’aree’ay’s baby seems healthy. Friends, the time is already upon us. Our very survival as humans depends utterly on the lysalf. That other, darker, elves placed us in that position is immaterial. The lysalf are innocent, and they have risked themselves to rescue us.”

  Kedrin shook back a thick mane of copper-blond hair. “What message should we send our new allies: we’ll use your women’s wombs, but we do not find them worthy of marriage? Your offspring sired by our king are not good enough to sit upon our throne? If the sterility cannot be reversed, we shall be left with only one human heir. What if we regain the staff-test and she fails it? Even should she pass, the line of kings must end with her.”

  Only Saxanar did not fall victim to the spell of Kedrin’s appeal. “Shouldn’t we wait until we see whether or not the sterility spell can be lifted?”

  “Ethically?” Though twenty years Saxanar’s junior, Kedrin responded like a peer. “We can’t. It would send the message that the lysalf only become worthy when we desperately need their reproductive capacity. Now that the issue has been raised, we’re morally obligated to make the change in our law now. Or not at all.”

  Saxanar contemplated Kedrin’s words more carefully than he would have any other at the meeting. They rarely disagreed on anything, especially matters of ancient design and protocol. “Doesn’t that morally bind us to open the ascension to other allies?”

  “No.” Kedrin glanced apologetically at Griff as minister and knight took over the meeting. The king waved control into the captain’s hands, appreciating his assistance as much as Darris. “There’s nothing unethical about designing the royal line, per se. It’s worked thus far. But as Darris pointed out, the elves present a special case with their magic, culture, and longevity. They should be treated as such.”

  Chaveeshia brought Saxanar’s point down to a personal level. “So, if Saviar wanted to marry Marisole, it wouldn’t b
other you that he couldn’t. But any elf could.”

  “My grandson’s unhappiness would bother me, but I wouldn’t consider it unfair. He wouldn’t be the first nonnoble to love an heir. I would hope his father would instill the morality to handle it as graciously as our fair bard has.”

  Darris turned scarlet from the roots of his hair to his neck. If Kedrin only knew. At the moment it pleased him that the knight did not. Matrinka looked away.

  Griff smiled. “Do you all feel prepared to vote on the matter?”

  Kevral, where are you? Darris found another means to stall. “Sire, might I suggest a short break for discussion and consideration prior to a vote?”

  Griff’s grin wilted. Surely, he wanted the voting finished, while the knight’s words still hung strongest in every mind. Yet he would not use circumstance to bully through what he wanted. “All right. Let’s take a break. Return when you feel comfortable with a stance.” He rose to leave the room, the others skittering to their feet as well.

  Darris waited until Griff left, ministers following in lines, their conversation a dull buzz of incomprehensible sound. Only then, Darris slumped into an empty chair, head sagging to arms folded on the table. Kevral, where are you?

  CHAPTER 27

  Parley

  Kings who do not serve as their own generals risk losing their followers to heroes.

  —Colbey Calistinsson

  SUNLIGHT warmed the purple glass in the fourth-floor study window where Prince Leondis reclined with a tome balanced across his knees. The histories of Béarn’s kings could scarcely compete with green gardens just beginning to bud in patterns and rows. Children raced between flower beds and statuary with a carefree excitement that seemed wondrously misplaced. Leondis flicked an errant curl from his shoulder, the first smile in months easing onto his features. He envied the ignorance that underlaid their joy. He would give much to shed the burdens that weighted his broad shoulders, to regain his childhood—and his innocence—for a day.

  A presence entered the zone of danger, stealing Leondis’ attention. He tried to ignore it, maintaining his focus on the children, assuring himself that no one but Boshkin could come so close without challenge from his guards. Yet the instincts of a warrior would not allow the lapse. No matter how fanatically he trained his gaze on the children, the moment was lost. His interest trickled inexorably back to the one near enough to pass for threat. With a sigh, he looked at his steward.

  The middle-aged, balding man in Pudar’s colors gave a respectful nod to acknowledge the prince’s regard. “Sire, Sir Ra-khir and Lady Kevral wish to meet with you as soon as possible. They say it’s important.”

  Leondis’ heart rate quickened, and possibilities marched through his thoughts. He hoped, but doubted, they had finally both agreed to present the baby without a fight. He knew he would get no apologies, nor would he give them. The best he could hope for was grudging conciliation. The negative possibilities spanned a larger spectrum, everything from a verbal battle to a physical one. He would have preferred to dodge the meeting and spend the day in the courtyard, enjoying the sun and the sweet aroma of new growth, watching nobles court and children play. The responsibilities of a kingdom already plagued him, and he wondered if he could ever learn to stop mulling situations, to live with his mistakes.

  “They chose a suite on the fifth floor for the meeting, Sire. We’ve examined it minutely and have guards stationed at the door. It’s safe. There’s a second entrance from a separate hallway. Béarn has security handled there to our satisfaction.”

  “Thank you, Boshkin.” Leondis vaulted gracefully to his feet. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Together, they headed for the door. Boshkin knocked once, and it swept open to reveal two of Leondis’ personal guard. The other four, he knew, stationed themselves at the meeting site. The prince and his steward headed down the corridor to the stairs, the guards taking positions at Leondis’ either hand.

  As Boshkin climbed a stairwell that contained a spiraling mural depicting the Ragnarok, he questioned. “Sire, would you like an escort for the meeting?”

  Leondis would have liked to meet the Renshai with an army at his back, but circumstances demanded he confront the two alone. He trusted his wits and battle knowledge, as well as the knight’s honor, to keep him alive. The thought brought his hand to his side, where the sword his father had given him hung at his hip. Lantern light reflected from the jeweled scabbard, winking highlights across the artwork that made the movement seem theirs instead of his. Kevral would respect him more for bringing the weapon. That slight edge might gain him much in these new talks. “No escort. Delicate negotiations. Just myself and them.”

  At the top of the stairs, Boshkin bustled down another corridor, glancing frequently at his prince.

  Leondis kept his own gaze forward, resisting the urge to script the meeting in his head. He could only guess at Ra-khir’s and Kevral’s current mind-set, their reasons for calling a sudden conference now. His kingdom required that he learn to think quickly, especially in situations of greatest stress. “And don’t let anyone hassle Kevral about her swords. I prefer to face a Renshai armed rather than angry.” He headed toward the door where the other four members of his honor guard waited.

  “Yes, Sire.” Boshkin went still while the guards repositioned, then opened the door for his prince to reveal unoccupied guest quarters similar to his own.

  A huge, square bed sat dead center, cedar columns supporting a royal blue canopy. Pulled taut and meticulously tucked, a blanket covered the bed, the same color as the canopy except for a central circle surrounding Béarn’s rearing bear symbol. Two well-oiled chests of drawers filled one wall, while a wardrobe and a personals box took up most of another. Above it, sunlight streamed through a glassless window that admitted an intermittent breeze and the occasional distant squeal of children. Two openings interrupted the last wall. The smaller one, set off by a door, obviously led to a privy. The other opened into a chamber nearly as large. Before taking a close look, Leondis ascertained that Kevral and Ra-khir had not yet arrived. Though never one for formality, it irritated him that they had defied this particular convention. The time of a crowned prince should take precedence over that of anyone but the reigning king and queen. He believed the disrespect, in this case, very deliberate.

  Leondis gestured for Boshkin to close the door, which he did immediately. The panel clicked against its jamb, leaving him in a silence that amplified the muffled conversations and giggles from the courtyard. He preferred it to the sounds of his guards: the brisk swishes of their movements, the occasional clink of mail, the slap of leather sheath against greaves. Prince Leondis explored the second room. One door led into a hallway perpendicular to the one his guards protected. A desk near the window sported a delicately carved pattern that perfectly matched the chair in front of it. The opposite wall had a lengthy mirror. Beneath it, a table held a basin containing a pitcher, a comb, and a shaving knife. A bathing tub, flat on adjoining sides, fit perfectly into the corner, its semicircular lip jutting into the room. A second chair, much like the one at the desk, stood beside the tub. A rectangular rug covered most of the floor. Like the study, the wide ledge beneath the window held a cushion for those who wished to sit and study the courtyard below.

  Leondis had just moved toward the window when the latch clicked. He smoothed his silks, feeling abruptly uncomfortable. Unaccustomed to being the first in any room not his own, he did not know how to greet them. Needing something in his hands, he reached for the desk chair, scooting it around to a more proper speaking distance from the window seat. The door glided open to admit Kevral, Ra-khir, and Tae.

  Leondis froze.

  Quietly, Kevral threw the bolt, locking the Béarnian guards out in the hallway. She wore her usual tan linens, designed to allow free movement, and a sword graced each hip. Ra-khir looked resplendent in his knight’s garb, and he executed a bow appropriate for royalty. Leondis had never seen Tae wearing tailored silk before. A ba
ndage enwrapped his head and another encased his hand. He limped forward, dark eyes questing the prince’s.

  Leondis glared at the Easterner for only a moment before moving on to Ra-khir. Of the three, the knight seemed most worthy of his attention. “What’s he doing here?”

  Kevral snapped a lock over the bolt, displayed the key, then placed it in her pocket. She answered for Ra-khir. “Tae’s here to talk to you. Ra-khir and I are going over there . . .” She pointed through the entry. “. . . while the two of you work this out.” She headed toward the bedroom.

  Leondis’ mouth fell open, though he had no intention of speaking. “What? How dare—?” He turned to watch Kevral leave. Then, realizing this placed his back to Tae, he whirled to round on Ra-khir. “You? A Knight of Erythane? Do you belittle your honor enough to keep a prince hostage?”

  “Two princes, Sire,” Ra-khir corrected. “To forestall a senseless war, I believe it well within my honor.” He added with a smile, “Believe me, Sire, I won’t be the one standing in front of the door to prevent your calling on your guards.”

  Leondis glanced toward the bedroom.

  Kevral waved.

  “This is preposterous!” Leondis lost track of Tae but refused to deliberately look for him. “If I shout loud enough—”

  “They won’t hear you.” Kevral tapped the walls. “Why do you think we chose this room?”

  Leondis glanced at the window, finding Tae at its ledge.

  “Sire.” Ra-khir bowed again. “I wouldn’t advise screaming into the courtyard. It might make a dignified man look silly, and it seems extreme just to avoid a conversation.”

  Leondis felt a trail of sweat tickle down his spine. “I won’t chat with my brother’s murderer.”

  “I didn’t kill Severin,” Tae said.

  “There,” Kevral called from the opposite room. “You’re talking already.”