Return of the Guardian-King

by Karen Hancock

  Trinley was speaking again. “. . . and if he’d never married her, it wouldn’t have happened. I say he got exactly what he deserved.”

  “So then, we’re better off without ’im? Better off with Gillard and his Mataians?” Rolland shoved to his feet, the bench shrieking backward over the stone floor. “Ye’re a fool, Oakes. All caught up in yer bitterness and blame. Ye’re not the only one who’s lost things, ye know.”

  He took his leave then. Trinley watched him go without comment, then snorted and fell into a silence no one else was willing to break. After a few moments the group began to disperse, going off to their various morning duties and pursuits. Abramm headed down toward the cleared-out stable where they practiced their stickwork, pondering the ramifications of the breakfast conversation.

  His loss of the scepter had been a bitter blow, and for a time during his convalescence he had pondered who might have taken it. Blackwell was a known betrayer and could have taken it virtually any time. But Leyton Donavan had had motive, funds, and opportunity. He had asked to borrow it more than once—and had been refused—and Abramm wouldn’t put it past him to take it upon himself to borrow it without asking. He almost hoped it was Leyton, for at least that would mean Gillard didn’t have it.

  But the mystery of who’d taken his scepter was not one he’d solve anytime soon, and so it did not interest him nearly so much as Rolland’s revelation that he had known Abramm when he was king. Never once in their journeys had he shown the slightest indication of recognition. True, Abramm had no recollection of Rolland, either, but he had been the king, and Rolland had obviously been impressed by the few times Abramm had spoken to him. One would think he might recall something—Abramm’s voice if nothing else. . . .

  “You fight a losing battle. No one remembers him anymore.”

  Were the rhu’ema somehow blinding these men to who he really was?

  When he reached the stable, the big blacksmith was already there faced off with Galen and still grumbling about Trinley.

  “Come on, Rollie,” Galen said as Abramm hesitated in the doorway. “Ye know how he is.”

  “Aye. Blind and stubborn and can’t even hear how wild he sounds anymore. I could understand some high-hills shepherd holding to such beliefs, but Oakes was an alderman. Why can’t he just let it go about Abramm? The man is dead.”

  “I don’t know, but . . . why does it matter? Ye barely knew him.”

  “He was my king.” Rolland stood in silence a moment, then added in an anguished voice, “I watched him die, Galen.” He glanced at Abramm. “To my everlasting shame, I stood and watched him burn.”

  Well, Abramm thought, that explains a lot. If he saw me die, he sure won’t be expecting to find me in Caerna’tha, his traveling companion of many months.

  Rolland pulled himself together and turned more fully to Abramm. “That’s why I want t’ learn t’ fight. Havin’ t’ stand there and watch it, knowin’ I could do nothing but get myself killed if I tried to stop it. I hated that.”

  “Even if you’d known how, you couldn’t have stopped it,” Abramm said. “What was happening there was far bigger than one man.”

  “You were there, too?”

  “No.”

  “Well, maybe I couldn’ta stopped it, but it don’t change how I feel. So I thank ye for trainin’ us with the sticks. I hope soon ye’ll teach us a bit of the sword.” He lifted his chin. “When we reach the southland and I get my family settled with Daesi’s uncle, I mean to find the queen and give her my allegiance. Or maybe little Prince Simon if he lives.”

  When Abramm said nothing to this dismaying revelation, Rolland prodded him. “That’s what ye’re goin’ t’ do, isn’t it?”

  And at that Abramm gave a long sigh. “Aye, that’s what I’ve planned. . . .”

  “Don’t throw rocks at the fish, Simon,” Maddie called, watching her firstborn hesitate, small arm raised to send another missile splashing into the moss-lined pool at his feet. It was one of many here in Fannath Rill’s renowned waterpark, all of them stocked with Ronesca’s prized golden carp. Now Simon looked over his shoulder at his mother, a bright, mischievous grin on his face. Maddie saw the wheels of his mind turning, weighing the tradeoff of inevitable punishment with the pleasure of continuing on his chosen path. Beside him Ian crouched on chubby legs, squealing with excitement and pointing at the huge orange fish as they sidled through the dark water before him.

  It was Eidonsday and they’d just finished Terstmeet. A month after the boys had been returned, and now, in the midst of a very rainy winter, they’d taken the opportunity of a clear day to come out for a late morning stroll with Carissa and Conal, the latter asleep in his carriage behind them under Prisina’s care. Captain Channon and Lieutenant Pipping also accompanied them as they meandered through the mostly deserted waterpark. Trap had gone off to a meeting in town and the rest of the court was still over in the Great Kirikhal, whose service would not conclude for at least another hour— which was why Maddie had agreed to come out here, being well advanced in her pregnancy now and supposedly confined to her apartments.

  Now she stopped in her tracks and frowned at her son. His grin widened, and then he turned and flung the rock, not exactly at the fish but toward the side of the pool. It smacked the stone edge and raised a good splash, which Ian applauded with another squeal and a clapping of his chubby hands.

  Carissa snickered as Maddie tightened her lips. With a sigh she waddled to her son’s side and seized his arm before he could flee, grunting with the effort of bending over. She felt as big as a river barge, and about as unwieldy.

  “What did I just tell you, Simon?” She shook her son’s arm.

  Unbelievably his grin was still there. “Not to throw rocks at the fish! And I didn’t, Mama. I threw it at the moss.”

  She stared at him, befuddled anew by the fractured logic of a four-and-a-half-year-old. “I don’t want you to throw any more rocks at anything at all.”

  “But Papa throws rocks. Why can’t I?”

  “Your papa doesn’t throw rocks, Simon.”

  “Yes he does. With his leather strap. He throws the little red stones. Him and Uncle Trap and Great Uncle Simon.”

  She stared into his big blue eyes, astonished that he would remember that at all. That day when the three of them had taken it upon themselves to have another contest had to be more than a year ago. “Yes, well. Papa threw his stones with a sling, and you do not have a sling. And he did not throw them into your grandfather’s ponds or at your Auntie Ronesca’s golden fish. She would be very upset if she knew you had done that, Simon. What if you hurt them?”

  “I wouldn’t hurt them, Mama. They always swim out of the way.”

  “No more rocks, Simon, or you’ll go back to the apartments for a switching. Do you understand?”

  Simon nodded contritely.

  She turned her attention to Ian, who watched both of them with wide eyes. “And you aren’t to throw rocks at anything, either, Ian. Do you understand?” The little boy stared up at her, wordless as always, but finally he nodded.

  She hesitated before sending them off, wondering what else she hadn’t thought to tell them not to do, then gave up trying. They ran around to one of the bridges and raced across it, back and forth, delighting in the booming echo of their footfalls.

  Maddie left Lieutenant Pipping watching over them and strode on with Carissa, Conal’s carriage squeaking along behind them.

  “See what you have to look forward to?” she muttered to her sister-inlaw.

  Carissa laughed and shook her head. “Simon is so much like Abramm, it’s shocking sometimes.”

  “I thought Abramm was sickly.”

  “He was. But in between he was always into something. Never anything you would expect. Never anything anyone had thought to tell him not to do.

  And he could argue rings around our nannies. Drove them crazy. Especially when he got older.”

  They circled a great pond where swans glided. Overhead the
sun shone down thinly from a clear, winter-blue sky, the air almost mild now at midday. Around them, streams chuckled, fountains sprayed and danced, and the waterwheels and buckets clanked and ground and whooshed as they raised the liquid high so it could flow beguilingly down its manmade courses. Palm trees lined the way, birds squawking and rustling in their fronds.

  Maddie still marveled at the return of her sons. Some days she sat in wonder, thanking Eidon with all of her heart for this gift. Others she felt Abramm’s loss more keenly than ever, perhaps because so many seemed to think that having regained her sons, she should stop mourning the loss of her husband. In any case, her sons’ return had sparked a series of receptions and, more importantly, had moved Ronesca into a much more pleasant and solicitous mood. Maddie suspected Garival had spoken to her, because the very morning after the boys’ return, she had arrived at Maddie’s chambers, professing relief at catching her before she’d left. “It would not be good to put your sons at risk on yet another journey, especially when they have so recently arrived,” she’d said, adding that Maddie could do her lying-in at the palace and she would begin interviewing midwives and wet nurses that very day.

  She’d been friendly and helpful ever since, showering the boys with gifts that included a special spiritual tutor with puppets and bright sparklers of Terstan light. Maddie had sent him away, kindly but firmly, and was astonished when Ronesca had accepted the decision without one word of criticism. But perhaps that was because shortly afterward Ronesca’s own sons returned home from the front—the war temporarily shut down by wind and weather and the withdrawal of the Esurhites. The last two weeks had been downright peaceful.

  At least on the surface. Maddie continued to fret about her father’s condition, which Garival said seemed more an ailment of mind and mood than body. He was erratic, emotional, prone to uncharacteristic fits of temper and sometimes stubbornly and even aggressively irrational. His aides were at their wits’ end for how to deal with him. Garival thought it might be the strain of the war, and hoped that a few months at home in Fannath Rill with his daughter and grandsons would help to ease him.

  But as the days passed and still no word came of the king’s return, Maddie had grown more and more uneasy.

  As for Leyton’s ill-fated attempt at drawing the Esurhites into a trap on Torneki, Garival claimed there was no talisman so far as he knew, though there had been an attempt to draw the Esurhites into the bay at Torneki. It had gone horribly wrong, but more than that he would not tell her.

  “So,” Carissa said. “I understand you’ve received yet another gift from Draek Tiris. A book of nursery rhymes and some figs?”

  “Sorite nursery rhymes,” Maddie corrected. “And the figs were gold.” She lifted her skirts as they started up one of the wooden footbridges. With her monstrous belly hiding all sight of her feet these days, she had to step carefully and hope she didn’t trip.

  “I thought the golden figs were out of season now,” Carissa said.

  “For eating, yes. These are solid gold.”

  “Off the same magic tree that made the edible ones a few months ago?” Skepticism colored her voice.

  “Aye. Whether it’s true or not, I still have no idea what I should do with them. Would you like one?”

  Carissa looked at her in surprise, then shook her head. “Oh no, my lady. I’m sure he meant those just for you. Perhaps you can use them as paperweights.” And they laughed together at the notion.

  When Ronesca had informed Maddie that a proper princess needed a coterie of noble ladies-in-waiting, she undoubtedly had in mind some Chesedhan ladies to recommend for the position. Instead Maddie had chosen Carissa. Besides being her boys’ aunt, Carissa needed a position in the court beyond “exiled Kiriathan princess.” Though Maddie had not wished to draw her from husband and baby when they’d first arrived, now, with Trap living across the palace from her, and Conal needing her less and less, she’d seemed lonely and at loose ends. Serving Maddie as lady-in-waiting was the perfect solution, and she had called upon her services frequently of late. As a result they’d grown closer than they’d ever been—Carissa’s recent pregnancy and Maddie’s current one, plus the antics of their boys, providing a wealth of subject matter for discussion. Now, apparently, Tiris ul Sadek was to be added to the mix.

  “You two are developing quite the relationship,” Carissa remarked as they came down the other side of the bridge.

  “I don’t know that I’d call it a ‘relationship.”’

  Her sister-in-law shrugged. “Not a day goes by you don’t hear from him. He visits you in person several times a week and showers you with expensive gifts. Exotic fruits and flowers, that amazing cloak, the gold-trimmed lirret with those fancy strings you were so excited about, jeweled books of Sorite music, all those dragon things. . . .” Here she grimaced and uttered a little groan of distaste. “Those, though, are just plain odd. Whoever heard of sending someone a dragon sculpture as a courtship gift?”

  “Well, lots of folks say I’m odd, so I guess it fits.” She shrugged. “He knows I have an interest in dragons. He knows why, as well.”

  “Nevertheless he’s obviously courting you.”

  “I have no interest in Tiris ul Sadek, Riss. At least not like that. And I’ve been entirely forthright about that with him.”

  Carissa chuckled at her. “Abramm said you were stubborn, and now I see why. Why in the world do you fight it so? Tiris is rich, charming, erudite. And he is a very attractive man.”

  “So was your brother,” Maddie said tartly. “In ways Tiris will never be.”

  For a moment Carissa was silent. Then she sighed wearily. “Maddie, Abramm is gone. Don’t let that rumor mess this up for you.”

  “I’m not. Even if it’s false, Abramm has not left my soul. I doubt he ever will.”

  “Maybe not, but you’ll still need someone to support you. And your sons.”

  Maddie looked at her in surprise. “Didn’t Trap tell you? As First Daughter, all Briellen’s holdings are mine now. He’s been traveling the realm this last month visiting each of them, getting to know those who oversee them, gathering tribute where it’s due.” Which was almost everywhere.

  Carissa stopped in surprise, and when Maddie stopped a step afterward and turned to face her, she said, “You mean he’s not even been in Fannath Rill all this time?”

  “Doesn’t your husband tell you anything?”

  Pain flashed across Carissa’s aristocratic features, swallowed up by that mask of impassivity the Kalladornes were so good at. She lifted her chin to gaze across the hills and fountains and moving waterwheels. “I haven’t seen him in weeks,” she said. “And no, he tells me very little.” She started walking again.

  Maddie fell in beside her, dismayed by this revelation but having no idea what to say. How in the world could things have gone so wrong between those two? After their unexpected marriage, she had hoped to see the promise of love that had always sparkled between them finally grow to fruition. Instead it seemed to have shriveled and died away altogether. Ever since that day she’d pressed Trap into asking Carissa to come with him to the inn and she’d refused. It hadn’t been long after that she’d learned he’d moved out of their shared apartments to live in his office across the palace from them. He’d claimed it was Carissa’s desire and more convenient for him, and Maddie hadn’t pressed him.

  Now, feeling she might be partly to blame for it all, she was hesitant to intrude again.

  “He’s given me his name,” Carissa said tightly. “He’s taken my son for his own and all the evil talk that goes with it. Is that not enough?”

  They walked on in silence, the crunch of their feet on the gravel path overlaying the ever-present trickle of water. When Carissa said nothing more, Maddie decided she couldn’t leave the matter without probing further.

  “You told me once that you loved him,” she said cautiously. “Do you still?”

  “That was years ago!” Carissa protested. But she didn’t answer the qu
estion, lapsing into silence again. Just when Maddie was about to try another tack, she sighed. “I know he doesn’t love me, Mad. He is kind and attentive and unfailingly polite, but never anything more. Finally I suggested he shouldn’t pretend what he didn’t feel, that I would never expect any more from him than he’d already given. That’s when he left.”

  Maddie’s stomach dropped to her toes. “Oh, Carissa . . . you actually said that to him?”

  “I gave him his freedom and he took it.” Carissa wiped a tear from her eye. “I’ve even heard he’s found a mistress, a tavern maid down by the river.”

  “Well, since he’s not been in town for the last month, I find that very hard to believe.” She shook her head. “Abramm said Trap’s loved you since he was seventeen. I really don’t think the problem is that he doesn’t care.”

  “You’re saying this is my fault? That I drove him away?” Carissa’s ire rose quickly, fueled by her pain. “You didn’t see the expression that came over his face when he thought I wasn’t looking. Miserable and sad and hopeless.”

  “Maybe he looked that way because you asked him to leave.”

  “No. He looked like that before I asked. I know—”

  She was interrupted as hurried footfalls on the gravel path behind them brought both women around. One of the royal guardsmen ran up to them.

  “Your Highness?” he gasped, bowing sketchily to the First Daughter. “The king has been wounded, my lady. They’re bringing him through the city gates as I speak. He should be here shortly.”

  “Wounded? How can he be wounded when the war is paused?”

  “I don’t know, my lady. It may be the old wound. I’ve heard it was inflicted by the Shadow. They feared he’d not reach Fannath Rill alive. As it is, they don’t expect him to last much longer.”