Willpower was the only power Kansten had. Though they had raised her on the kingdom of Traigland’s coast, both her parents were natives of Herezoth, and her mother had been born with the attribute Herezoth was most noted for overseas: sorcery. Kora lived in exile for her talents. Magic had been a painful subject—and a dangerous possession—in Herezoth a quarter-century before.
Kansten tucked a strand of long, straight hair the same shade as Kora’s chestnut curls behind her ear and away from her freckled face. “Listen, Mom, I’ll miss you guys. But I need to do this. I’ve always wanted to see Herezoth.”
Kansten would never accept that she, the only one of Kora’s children not born a sorcerer, was also the only one with a passion to discover the place where magic originated. She was always raiding her uncle’s library for books about Herezoth’s cities, its culture, and its ancient history.
Kora understood Kansten’s fascination. Even more than Kansten’s father, Kora understood, though Kansten hated discussing Herezoth with her mother; she always walked away feeling guilty for turning Kora’s attention to the land that had forsaken her. Kora never spoke of any longing to go back, but her daughter suspected she would return to Herezoth in a heartbeat if she wouldn’t pay for the deed with her life. And return in a heartbeat Kora could: through the use of a transport spell. That was how Kansten would reach Podrar, Herezoth’s capital. A family friend would transport her.
After adjusting the bandana she used to cover her forehead, the sorceress placed a hand on Kansten’s shoulder. “I’m so glad you can go,” she told her daughter. “Kancat, I know what this means to you. For a while I didn’t think you could ever visit Herezoth. I never thought it might be safe.”
Kora had always called her daughter Kancat, since the girl had been an infant and developed the habit of pumping her fist as she slept like kittens did while feeding. Kansten didn’t care for the nickname, but she would never convince her mother to stop using it. Rather than protest, she shrugged.
“The king’s done a lot to bring the magicked back into society. His Magic Council, its school…. Guess I can thank Uncle Zac and Vane for this trip.”
“You’re quite welcome,” came a male voice from the doorway. It belonged to Vane, the spokesman for the Magic Council Kansten had mentioned, on which her uncle also served.
Vane Unsten was the son of Kora’s sorceress mentor. Kora and her brother had helped raise him, as he’d found himself orphaned by the civil war that had seen Kora banished; they had taught him magic, because even Vane was a blasted sorcerer…. That seemed fitting, somehow. Though his father had been a duke and Kansten’s father was a smith, Vane was family. In that family, Kansten and her father alone lacked the power to cast spells.
The current Duke of Ingleton was nearing thirty. His auburn hair was thick and well groomed, and the large, dark eyes set in his shaven face shone with genuine excitement to give Kansten a home in his manor, Oakdowns, as she apprenticed with an architect. His garb was casual—a tunic-styled shirt and trousers with shining boots—but it fit him well, and did nothing to subtract from the air of confidence he had developed over the years. Kansten was always amazed to remember him as the quiet, awkward teenager he had been in Traigland.
Kora threw a protective arm around her daughter, and asked her surrogate son, “You’ll take care of her?”
“Like my own girls. I doubt Kansten will need me for much, though. She knows how to get things done.”
“Mom, you have nothing to worry about.”
Kora kissed her daughter’s cheek. “I know I don’t. And I’m sure you’ll excel with that man as your teacher. I’m so thrilled for you.”
Vane had arranged the apprenticeship, and he told Kora, “You should be. Cline Dagner’s made a name for himself, and he wouldn’t take just anyone on. Especially not any female.”
“I’ve no doubt you’ll excel, but if you want to come home, Kansten, at any point….”
Kansten shrugged off her mother’s arm. “I know I have only to ask. Vane will bring me straight here.”
“You’ve my word, Kora,” said the duke, and Kora thanked him.
“Listen, Mom, I’ll visit tons. I just…. I need to see Herezoth. To live in Herezoth. This place….”
Triflag was a beautiful coastal town, but dull: no real culture to mark, no culinary specialties or music, and one small theater known for the failure of its productions. Then there were the people. Traiglanders, they didn’t look like Kansten. Traiglanders had rich, dark complexions, nothing like Kansten’s pale, freckled skin.
“I’ve never fit in here, Mom. Wilhem, Walten, they get on fine, but me….” Kansten’s brothers had always had more friends than she did. “I have to get out of Traigland.”
Kora smiled, revealing crow’s feet around her eyes. “I’m so relieved you can. I thought I’d ruined any chance of that for you, for your siblings.”
“You’ve ruined nothing for me, all right? I’m damn proud to be your daughter. You saved that place. Somehow you can speak of it with kindness, even after they tossed you aside like last week’s fish. Well, I know there are rumors about you. I know people say hateful things. They’d better keep their mouths shut in front of me, because….”
Kora and Vane spoke as one. “You will keep your head down.”
At that, Kansten let out a shocked little laugh. “Well, that was interesting.”
Vane began, “Listen,” but Kansten cut him off.
“I’m not some stupid child.”
The duke marched into the room. He grabbed her arm and slammed her next to the travel cases on her bed, on a pile of unpacked dresses. Never in his life had he been so rough with her, and Kansten leaned away, grabbing her aching tricep as he demanded, “You will listen, or I’m taking you nowhere.
“Herezoth’s not like Triflag. Things have improved from what they were, but the very idea of magic still causes tension. Palpable tension, you understand? Podrar’s dangerous. You’ll be safe enough if you don’t draw attention to yourself, so you will not draw attention to yourself. I don’t care what you overhear. If people call sorcerers dogs, you’ll ignore it. If they name me a butcher or your mother a hag, if they call her the king’s whore or courtesan, you won’t retort. When they insult your uncle’s intelligence and dismiss the articles he’s written, you will treat it as a joke. I’ll have your solemn word on that, or you’re not staying with my family.”
Kansten forced herself to speak. “What’s gotten into you?”
“You won’t endanger yourself while you stay with me. You won’t put my family in peril. I was nearly killed once for my magic, and that won’t happen again.”
“What?” said Kansten. “What are you talking about? When…?”
Vane said, “You remember when I came back to Traigland? After my marriage? August was pregnant with the twins.”
“Of course I remember. You were sick.”
“If you call the Duke of Yangerton stabbing me in the gut because my magic was a threat to him falling ill, then yeah, I was sick.”
Kansten’s mouth fell open. Then she turned to her mother. “You told me he was ill. You said…. I sent you to him with Pup!” The plush puppy her grandmother had sewn for her in infancy. Kansten would cuddle with Pup when sick, and still owned the toy. She had packed it at the bottom of her bag, in fact, though she would never have admitted that.
Kora rubbed her elbow, but displayed no other sign of unease. “That was ten years ago,” she told her daughter.
“Mom! Vane almost died, and you never saw fit to mention what happened?”
Vane said, “It was better you didn’t know. I’m telling you now because if you come to Podrar, you will have to control yourself. What happened to me, that could be you or someone who’s with you if you can’t keep your temper. I swear you’ll be safe if you keep to yourself….”
“I’m not frightened.”
“But you must keep to yourself. Is that clear?” The girl nodded. “You can control your tong
ue? You’re sure of that? You swear to me and your mother that when some prejudiced fool says something like I described, you won’t react?”
“I swear,” said Kansten. Her voice was hardly audible. She still gripped the back of her arm, and Vane gave her an apologetic shoulder pat.
“Didn’t mean to be so harsh with you. But you have to understand….”
“I do,” said Kansten. “I get it.”
Kora walked up and hugged her daughter. “You’ll be fine there, Kancat, and you can have all the success in Herezoth you want. I’ll never think otherwise. If you decide you don’t want to be there, for whatever reason, just come home, all right? Don’t make yourself miserable to prove something.”
“I won’t, Mom. Can I just…? I need to finish packing. Then I can tell everyone goodbye.”
Vane suggested, “Think things over. You’re a thousand times welcome to come to Oakdowns, but you don’t have to.”
“Oh, I’m going back with you,” Kansten assured him. The duke and her mother left her.
I’m going to Herezoth. There’s no way around it, I….
I have to go. I can’t let this chance slip away because I’m a bloody coward. All right, so some noble stabbed Vane ten years ago. I’ve longed for this my entire life. I guess I just…. I pictured this moment hundreds of times, and it wasn’t like this. I never saw myself scared when I could finally leave this place.
Kansten allowed herself a slow, steadying breath.
Dagner’s work, it’s world-renowned. I’ve read about it even here, and he wants to train me. ME.
Kansten brought herself to her feet and packed the last of her belongings. She gave her small, untidy room a nostalgic glance. There was nothing remarkable about the space, but it was hers. It had always been hers. Her brothers and sisters knew better than to disturb her when she shut herself away here with one of Uncle Zac’s books about Herezoth or her school materials. These plain, wooden walls had been her haven.
In the parlor, which had been a mess in years past but grown neater as Kansten’s siblings aged, Kansten found her entire family: Ilana, her grandmother, in her favorite rocking chair; Parker, her father, his face ruddied and his muscles toned from the smithy, with an arm around Kora’s waist; her sisters Laskenay and Tressa, thirteen and eleven, drawing together while they waited; her brothers Walten and Wilhem, barely younger than Kansten, discussing a trip to Traigland City while Vane listened.
Kansten’s father said, “Your first trip back we’re going fishing. Just you and me.”
Kansten smiled. “It’s a deal.”
Kora told her eldest child, “Make sure Vane shows you the mural on the side of the king’s palace.”
The Duke of Ingleton glanced up when he heard his name. “The mural of the royal crest?”
“That’s the one,” Kora said. “Your mother and I cast the spell that put it there.”
Vane’s large eyes grew even wider. “I assumed it had been there for ages.”
“No, I’m responsible for it. Your mother wrote the spell, the only spell she ever crafted. It took her forever to get right.”
Vane’s mother had not only been Kora’s mentor, teaching her magic to fight in the resistance movement against sorcerer-dictator Zalski Forzythe. She had also been Zalski’s twin, which made Vane Zalski’s nephew. Zalski who had killed all members of the royal family, save one. Who had stolen the crown and ruled for three years before falling to the king. Maybe, Kansten realized, Zalski’s legacy had something to do with the Duke of Yangerton stabbing Vane.
The thought made her want to vomit the cherry tart she had eaten after dinner, so she diverted her mind from those contemplations and hugged both her sisters, who ran up to her. Laskenay, who shared Kansten’s freckles but whose hair curled more, said, “We’ll miss you.”
Kansten smiled. “You’ll take over my room, is what you’ll do. Don’t think I don’t know.”
Tressa said, “You don’t mind?”
“It’s not like I’ll be here to stop you two. Leave my things alone, that’s all I ask.”
Kansten’s brothers approached her then. They were taller than Kansten, with their father’s thin nose. Walten, the older of the two, sported a thin beard because he finally could grow one, and gave Kansten a hug. “You’ll do great with that architect. I’m excited for you, Kans.”
Wilhem, sixteen and smooth-chinned, added, “Me too. I know how much this means to you.”
The younger brother looked much like Walten, except for his hair; Wilhem had his mother’s curls, unmanageable ones. Walt’s hair was straight like Kansten’s, though cut so that it barely reached an inch in length. Kansten told the boys, “You could visit sometime. You could see Podrar, or Yangerton. You know Dad’s from Yangerton. One of the good things about you two apprenticing with him is he’d let you off from the smithy for a few days…. ”
Walten protested, “I’m not interested in Herezoth. I’m a sorcerer, Kansten. So is Wil. You think Herezoth would be interested in us?”
His sister could only admit, “It wouldn’t. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go.”
Wilhem shot, “Would you, if you were a sorceress?”
Images of Vane bleeding out from a stab wound flashed across Kansten’s mind. She mumbled, “Maybe not,” and dropped the subject. Her brothers each flashed her a gracious smile.
The Cason family finished its farewells. Vane went for Kansten’s bags, and then, as Kora tried to hide that she wiped a stray tear from her cheek, the duke grabbed Kansten’s hand to transport. Her father told her, “Do us proud over there.”
Kansten nodded, afraid her voice might crack if she tried to speak. “Ready?” Vane asked. The aspiring architect responded with another bob of her head. They were about to leave, courtesy of an incantation cast by the duke, when Kansten recognized her uncle rushing up as she gazed through the open parlor window. The moon shone brightly that night, bright enough to throw him in relief against the grass.
“My brother and his timing,” Kora muttered. She shook her head, but she looked pleased. Kansten hadn’t expected Zacry to see her off, because she’d eaten dinner with his family the night before. He waved to his niece and let himself in.
Zacry Porteg looked to have lived some thirty years, though his actual age of thirty-six put him closer to forty. He was neither barrel-chested nor slight of frame. His hair was darker than his sister’s chestnut curls, and straighter, clipped close to his head, while his beard was thicker than Walten’s but just as short. He told Kansten:
“Glad I caught you. I should tell you to watch out for Herezoth and all that, I suppose. Honestly, it’s more likely the place needs a warning about you. Podrar has no idea what’s about to befall it.”
Kansten had always looked up to her uncle. Zacry Porteg was an academic, and Kansten had read every essay to his name, though she struggled to comprehend the complexity of his arguments about the politics of magic. She considered him a second father, and found that his presence heartened her as she took him in a bear hug.
“I wouldn’t call Podrar ill-prepared,” she said. “You’ve spent quite a bit of time there these last few years, Mr. Councilor. That’s enough to give Herezoth fair warning.”
Kora laughed, her wet eyes sparkling. “The girl’s got a point,” she told Zacry. She was always saying Kansten was just like him, in all the bad ways. That she only knew how to handle her daughter from having dealt with her brother his whole life. Kora’s words made Zacry scowl, an exaggerated, juvenile reaction that renewed the woman’s chuckle, and Kansten realized he had come more for his sister than for her.
“Ready?” Vane asked again, retaking Kansten’s hand and the bags he’d set down to greet her uncle. Kansten said she was, and after some last goodbyes the duke transported her to a deserted section of a beach, one she had never seen.
Shells, not sand, littered the shore. They would have cut Kansten’s feet had the soles of her sandals been thinner. Her heart raced as though she’d been runnin
g for a good hour, and her breath came in pants. The sky was lighter than at home, where all was dark; dusk looked only about to fall here.
“Is this Herezoth?” she asked. Vane, his breath as labored as Kansten’s, said it was. He dropped her bags.
“The eastern coast. We crossed the ocean. Give it a minute, and we’ll go to Podrar.”
Herezoth. The air on the coast was as salty as in Triflag Bay, but those shells…. Kansten had never seen such shells, some the size and shape of her sisters’ dollhouse bowls, others conchs, as large as her palm. Most were broken, and Kansten bent to collect a large, curved piece.
After so much longing, so much wondering about the place, Kansten was in Herezoth. A minute ago she had been at home, surrounded by her family like every night of her life until that point, and now, as Vane had said, she stood on the opposite end of an ocean. Her pulse and the shell in her hand told her she had indeed moved far. Her parents and siblings were a month’s journey away by boat.
Her siblings…. She already missed them. Kansten’s sisters were too young to contemplate politics, but Kansten’s heart ached to think her brothers would spend their entire lives casting spells, and yet felt no obligation to cross the sea as she’d just done. The boys were old enough to know Traigland was enough for them. They routinely changed the subject when Kansten tried to discuss Herezoth: when she asked what they imagined it might be like to live there, or which of its cities they most wanted to see.
“Yangerton, I guess,” Walten had once replied. “It’s the largest, isn’t it?” And that was the extent of his response. Wilhem couldn’t understand why his sister had any desire to go to Herezoth in the first place. He was jealous of Walt’s “beard,” but not of Kansten’s travels.
Kansten gazed down the shore; to the right she glimpsed a pier with fishing boats, and beyond, the first scattered buildings of a town. Cottages of some kind.
“Is this Carphead?” The Magic Council’s school was in Carphead. Kansten had heard much about the village from Vane and her uncle.
“No, Carphead’s farther south. Much farther. We’re near Trouton here, even with Podrar.” Vane paused. “I imagine this is where your mother and uncle left from, when they sailed for Traigland. At least, Zacry brought me here once. He could only have done that if he’d been here before.”
The King's Sons (The Herezoth Trilogy) Page 2
