Half-Demon's Fortune

by Lina J. Potter

  Still, soon, I had my hands full with other things. New problems came up and then I was visited by a familiar face—Lidarn, Knight of the Church.

  “Your Majesty, I’m happy you’ve agreed to receive me straight away.”

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t bother anyone without due cause,” I paid him a compliment.

  The knight sat in a guest chair and went straight to business.

  “Your Majesty, we’re going to restore the Church.”

  At the last moment, I bit my tongue to stifle a decisive “I won’t give you any money!” Of course, I wouldn’t give it to them anyway, but why strip a man of hope?

  “And so, we want to ask you something. We’re going to announce that not all mages are evil, and we want you—”

  I felt sick.

  “Lidarn, are you—”

  “I’m not out of my mind, Your Majesty.”

  That’s exactly what I wanted to ask him, I just didn’t know how to put it without offending him.

  “Don’t get us wrong. We’ve had a discussion, and we reached a conclusion: there are certain things that harm the Church and they need to be...fixed. For instance, warlock magic is a sin.”

  I was in complete agreement. Nothing could be worse than pulling demons into our world. I already felt like there wasn’t enough space for just myself.

  “What about magic?”

  “If it serves the Church and its cause...”

  Great.

  “So what do you want from me?”

  “A royal decree, of course, that all mages can live freely as long as they use their gift for the good of the Church.”

  Whoa, what an appetite! With that decree, I would hand over the mages—all mages—into the clutches of the Church. It didn’t really matter that the latter was weakened; that was temporary. Eventually, they would get fat again.

  Whatever. They would have to go without my help.

  “Lintor, what about those who cannot work for the Church physically? Such as fire mages...like myself.” I lit up a small fire on my palm to convince the templar of my gift. “What should we do for the good of the Church? Burn evil? Light candles?”

  “The Church wouldn’t turn anyone away.”

  I shrugged.

  “The decree is ready, anyway. Nobody’s going to persecute the mages. And if any of them decide to go to the Church, let them.”

  Yeah, right.

  All mages were selfish. They would never want to ally with the Church. Ministration, abdication...nope, that wasn’t the case.

  “Your Majesty, I think that we should make some changes to it.”

  I narrowed my eyes.

  “First, I would like detailed information. What exactly do you want mages to do for the Church using their gifts? All right, earth mages can build things, and air and life mages could protect and heal, even if you never really hunted the latter, whatever you might say. Anyway, first you write me the whole list, then I issue the decree.”

  Lintor pursed his lips.

  “Your Majesty, you might want to put more trust in the Church.”

  “And the Church might want to consider that they’d better live in harmony with the throne,” I said, shrugging. “I’m not asking you for something unknown. But you must provide me with that information. Or did you think that you’d come to me and say that the Church needed something and I’d be your puppet?”

  “The will of the Bright—”

  “Has he told it to you himself?”

  Finally, he caught the irony in my voice. Lintor looked at me angrily.

  “Your Majesty, as the king, so is the Church.”

  Oh, should I start worshipping Argadon?

  “Lintor, you understood me. First, explain to me your exact plans, then I’ll think it over.”

  The templar was clearly displeased, but he didn’t object. He bowed and left, and I stayed there, contemplating. Truly, if there was dung, there would be flies. Somebody had already managed to pull the wool over the eyes of the faithful.

  I would have to order Temilen to make his people infiltrate the Church, too. My shoulders would bear that burden as well.

  Ugh!

  ***

  Your Majesty,

  With my deepest condolences, I have to tell you about the death of your wife.

  Her Royal Majesty Queen Dariola died in childbirth, but bore you a wonderful son. In line with your order, he was named Rickard Henry Radenor.

  The prince will be presented to the public upon your arrival.

  That was the main gist of the letter; the rest was rubbish: titles, commiserations, laments, sentiments, pleas for mercy...

  That was Martha’s doing, I would bet, and what a fine decision that was! Now they couldn’t accuse me of killing my wife. After all, I couldn’t very well get there from Riolon and back. Their king was no long-distance runner.

  Some rumors were bound to turn up, of course. They would say that I ordered her death, that...

  Whatever! It’s not like it would be the first time!

  They had already had a field day gossiping about Rudolph and his family, about Lavinia...Dariola would simply become the next in a long line. I would survive that.

  I announced the letter to the Riolonian court and declared mourning, dressing all in black and feigning grief. Black certainly didn’t become me; the picture of me could be called “a dying mourner visiting his parents’ grave at night.”

  I also announced that Rickard Henry would succeed me, in Riolon, at least. What about Radenor? Well, it depended. If I married once again, if I had more children...but that would be decided later.

  For now, I was grieving.

  Everyone looked at me with sympathy, or at least pretended to, especially certain ladies. They were sighing so deeply that their bosoms almost fell out of their deeply cut dresses, demonstrating such wealth that I was afraid to look. Who had taught them that?

  The only one to spoil the picture was Lintor, too sharp-witted for his own good. He was clearly itching for a question and I had to indulge him. I invited him into my study and poured us wine.

  “Baron, come on, ask me whatever you want instead of throwing me your sad looks.”

  “Your Majesty!”

  “Should I do it myself? Fine. Alexander Leonard Radenor, did you murder your wife?”

  “Your Majesty!”

  “And I’ll give you an honest answer: I never attacked her. Never.”

  Lintor raised his eyebrows.

  “I, however, was attacked twice. Two assassination attempts, the first one planned by Darius, I know that for a fact, and the second by Dariola’s own hand. And still...I know that Innis and I would have a lot of problems, but I’d rather Dariola remained alive.”

  I was a good actor. The baron even seemed to believe me a bit.

  “Your Majesty, you don’t have to—”

  “I’m not exonerating myself, Baron. I’m simply explaining things to you. I want us to have a long and fruitful cooperation with each other. That’s impossible if you’re going to suspect me of all kinds of crimes.”

  “Your Majesty, I would never!”

  “Well, at least of my wife’s murder. How could I kill her if I’m still here?”

  Lintor narrowed his eyes.

  “Your Majesty, but what about a hex?”

  “I never cursed her, I can swear on anything, if you’d like.”

  “Do so, then.”

  “No marriage for me if I ever hexed Dariola.”

  It’s not like I was lying. I had never used magic against her, nothing like that. Now, my claws...

  Lintor sighed.

  “It’s just...the timing is very suspicious.”

  “You know, Baron, sometimes things happen regardless of our wishes. Such is life.”

  “But there should be life mages at court...”

  “They didn’t help my mother,” I remarked dryly.

  That was enough. Lintor breathed out, clearly relieved. Was he afraid I would hang him? Well,
I was a riddle; who knew what to expect of me?

  Sometimes, I was even afraid of myself.

  I missed Innis like crazy.

  When will I get home, to Radenor?

  ***

  Life wasn’t perfect.

  If I didn’t want to announce Innis to everyone as my mistress, I had to keep up appearances. The only thing that occurred to me was to take a score of courtiers in order to “teach the heir to love his mother’s homeland.”

  The selection process was careful. I picked the most useless people unable to bring absolutely anything to the table: carpet-knights, pencil pushers...

  There were also a few unmarried girls other than Innis; that was important and not just for appearances. I wanted Riolon and Radenor to join together in a couple of marriages in the near future. I specifically picked only dowerless girls, pretty if possible, so that the Crown would provide them with the dowry. The stronger the ties between the countries became, the easier it would be for me to merge them into one kingdom under my power...and then under Rick’s. What would help that better than families?

  The girls realized this as well. I talked to each of them and could vouch for everyone. Basically, I was giving them a shot. In Riolon, they were modest nobility, third or fourth daughters or nieces, with no money or prospect. Who would they become in Radenor? That depended on them, but I picked no fools. Let her be homely, but smart, rather than the opposite. A clever girl would find a way to look pretty, but a stupid one wouldn’t do much good even if you showered her in gold. By the way, I eliminated the idiots based on a simple principle: they tried to make eyes at me basically right off the bat. Hoping to get lucky, I guess.

  Foolish girls...

  In the end, I had eight girls, three couples, and five men, also unmarried. They could gain positions and income, provided they found a good match.

  I never said anything aloud, but I watched them like a hawk. Yep, kings were sometimes like kennelmen, selecting the best matches for mating. I didn’t derive any pleasure from it, but such was the necessity.

  Innis returned without Tyrimma and I rejoiced. I respected Auntie Madie, but her daughter? Pfft.

  Apparently, Rimma had wasted no time and was already betrothed. The wedding was to be in two months. Thank the Bright Saint!

  I offered to let Innis rest for three days and then go to Radenor, and she agreed. Her mood wasn’t even spoiled by the courtier’s mocking grins. The Andagos were an old bloodline, with an upbringing to match. Innis wasn’t haughty and arrogant, I knew that, but the only opinions that mattered to her were her associates.’ As for the rest, let them speak whatever they wished, as long as they didn’t touch her. She saw no point in raising hell about every rumor.

  I could have used my power to end that, of course, but killing all courtiers wasn’t a feasible approach. The rumors would only grow.

  Have you heard? The king and his mistress...

  And people would listen.

  But if I didn’t feed into the speculation or added my own fuel...

  Nine girls were going to Riolon. Yes, one of them was Countess Andago—so what? Were the others also the king’s mistresses? Oh wow, what a stud!

  The king talked to the countess behind closed doors? But the others also had...interviews. Afterward, the court life mage examined each girl and affirmed that they all remained virgins, so as to preclude any gossip.

  That was sometimes done to preserve a girl’s good name; even the late unlamented Abigail had done that back in her day.

  There was nothing unusual in young people traveling to Radenorian court. As for Riolon, it would soon receive Rene, as the appointed governor, who would also get his own escort. He and I would also sit and discuss taxes, road and bridge repair, building new inns and trading posts...

  To merge the two countries, we had to be so clever that any offer to separate them again would get the people up in arms. Merchants, craftsmen, peasants... We could draw on the nobility, but they were far from the majority. Still, I was going to use them.

  One thing I had already realized. Innis would be happy to help me. That’s how she was raised; her place would be by my side—not as my shadow or as an accessory, but as my friend and companion. She would take her title and her responsibilities as seriously as I did, and if she understood my goals...

  But what were my goals? Now, when my soul was at peace, I could indulge myself and dwell on such thoughts. I had been born and raised to take revenge—and the throne. Was that my goal? No, the throne could never become the be-all and end-all, or such a ruler would soon find himself in the grave. What was my goal, then? Power? Money? A war? Necromantic gift? I couldn’t say I didn’t care about such things. It’s like a coin: two sides and the edge. There could be no coin without them, but the edge wasn’t the entire coin. Those things weren’t the goal, they were just integral parts.

  As for the goal... In truth, I had laid it down for myself back when I had watched that poor woman be burned at the stake. I couldn’t save her and I didn’t want that to happen ever again. I wanted mages and people to live side by side in peace, herbalists and witches to keep using their craft, and Radenor to become a rich and prosperous country.

  Was I naive? Perhaps. Was I making things happen through dirty means? Yes. But I had never been the one to act first.

  It was all so complicated. I felt a desire for a conversation...and so, I decided to summon Argadon. Who else could help a half-demon sort himself out? Only a demon.

  But first, I would have to get some blood. Demons did drink wine, but blood...

  I didn’t kill anybody, no. The murderer who shared his scarlet ore with me remained alive, even if not for long, as the gallows awaited him. But then, nobody had forced him to break into a shop, armed with a knife, and cut down the entire family of the shopkeeper, who had woken up at the wrong time—not just the man himself, but his wife and the children too.

  I didn’t hold a lot of love for ruffians.

  Argadon appeared almost right away.

  “It’s been a while, son.”

  He stared at me, giving me the creeps. It’s like he is trying to see something...or can’t see it? What is that?

  “How about we talk about life?”

  “Don’t you have anybody else to talk to?”

  “Being a king is a lonely job.”

  “You’re lying, boy.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “Really?”

  “You’re not lonely. You’re...in love, I believe.”

  “You can see that?”

  “We can. It’s in your aura, like a scarlet glow.”

  “I am.”

  “What about her?”

  “It’s mutual.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Why?”

  “You would have made a good demon. You had all the makings.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Do you have anything to drink?”

  Reflexively, I pushed a bottle of wine mixed with blood into the pentagram. Argadon caught it, summoned a cup out of thin air, and touched it with his lips.

  “Blood of a murderer? Not bad. Cheers!”

  He transformed into a rose-wearing noble and drained the cup, then licked his lips. That was a real sight. Once, I had thought that I could scare people, but I would never reach that level of contrast in my life.

  And then, Argadon told me a story.

  A half-demon, he said, was still a demon, even if flawed. And when I had decided to wear the crown, he had thought that the cat was in the bag.

  What is required to raise a demon? Blood. Dirt. Pain. Deaths. A familiar list, isn’t it?

  Each time I had gone against my heart, each time I had told myself that my latest misdeed was for the greater good, I hadn’t been shutting myself off from the pain. I had been killing the human inside myself.

  After all, demons didn’t feel pain…ever. What changed, though?

  Demons can’t feel love, either, and they can’t be loved. One can
not love a cruel uncontrollable murder-craving creature. And if some did, they needed the help of a life mage to cure such a malady of the soul.

  That’s what Argadon told me as he drank the wine.

  I emptied a glass as well, upon realizing what could be in store for me.

  “So I could become a demon?

  “Most likely, you would have ended up in my legion.”

  I narrowed my eyes.

  “I see. You’re the oldest kin and stronger than me, at least, in your world. I couldn’t lay a hand on you, and you would have taken care of the oaths, but strengthening you... You’re such a—”

  “I’m a demon. De-mon. Or have you confused me with a bunny?”

  The noble carelessly waved the rose in his hands. I couldn’t help but snort.

  “Not really. Had I become a demon, the choice would still have been mine...”

  “If you had one.”

  “Right...so I might not have gotten it?”

  “Why have you decided that you’d be a supreme demon like myself?”

  “What about blood?”

  “Blood matters, but who knows what you might be reborn as. Some things the demons consider normal may terrify you.”

  “So it also depends on ruthlessness? Bloodthirst?”

  “Yes. If you derived pleasure from the things you did, you would become a supreme demon. But if you simply ran toward your demonic nature horrified of your own actions, the lowest caste would be your lot.”

  “Well, I’ll have to remain a human and a king, then.”

  “That’s not bad, either. Is she worth it?”

  I smiled, remembering Innis.

  “Each minute that we’ll have together.”

  “Great.”

  “What made you so soft-hearted?”

  “If she betrays you, your chances are good.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have shown your hand.”

  “Not really. If you make the choice knowingly, I’ll get a stronger—”

  “Servant?” I squinted, wary.

  Argadon laughed, scarlet sparks in his eyes.

  “A necromancer? A fire mage? A servant? Only a warrior, or I would be an idiot!”

  I winced.

  “You won’t.”

  “I might not.”

  “Why haven’t you said anything until now?”