The King's Sons (The Herezoth Trilogy)

by Grefer, Victoria

  “Is that how transporting works?” Kansten asked. Then she paused, feeling stupid, and explained, “My mother doesn’t speak much about magic.”

  “I know,” said Vane. “You can ask your uncle about spells, if you’re curious. Or me.”

  “I think about asking sometimes. All the time, really, but then I decide I don’t want to know. What good would it do me? I can’t use incantations.”

  Kansten’s voice had turned bitter, and Vane asked, “How old were you when you discovered you couldn’t do magic? Ten?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I would have given anything at that age not to be a sorcerer. To just be normal. I’d never cast a single spell, and never thought I would. I determined not to learn magic.”

  “Really?” said Kansten. “What changed your mind?”

  “The king. When I was a few years older, he suggested I reserve judgment until I met your family. I refused to travel that far, but agreed to read the first of your uncle’s essays. It seemed a small enough concession. That was enough to convince me.”

  “To learn some spells?”

  “At least to meet Zacry: to speak with him, as the king urged. When I turned fourteen, I went to Traigland. The king brought me himself.”

  “You’ve known Rexson Phinnean forever, haven’t you? What’s he like?”

  “You can find out for yourself, if you want to.”

  “What?”

  “He said he’d like to meet you, when I told him you were coming to Oakdowns. Told me to bring you by the Palace.” Vane’s obnoxious grin, one of the things Kansten loved best about him because it usually meant a surprise, and a good one, spread across his face. “I might have forgotten to tell you before now. And that might have been on purpose. Your mother, I’m not sure how she’d feel about this.”

  Kansten’s heart had just slowed to its normal pace, and now it set off once more, so quickly that it pained her. “He said to bring me by the Palace? Inside the…?”

  “Shall we go? He’s free this evening.”

  Kansten hesitated to meet the king, though he was the closest thing to a father Vane had known. He’d served as Kora’s fellow combatant in civil war, and his banishing the sorceress had been not vindictive; it was a desperate attempt to keep her alive when he’d reclaimed the throne and a mob had threatened her. Kora’s daughter could only consider him a friend, but he was nonetheless, and above all else, a royal. A monarch. Kansten had no idea why he would wish to see her, but to go inside the Crystal Palace…. That building was so unique, people spoke of it even in Traigland. People who had never set foot upon a ship.

  “Let’s go,” she said, and grinned back at her host. Vane assured her the second transport would not be strenuous like the first, and he was right. He said distance was the factor, and Kansten took him at his word, because she found herself breathing fine and itching to run ahead when they appeared in front of what smelled like some kind of stables in the light of the setting sun. Apparently, this was where Vane transported when visiting the Palace so as not to startle the guardsmen. He set her bags against the building.

  No soldiers or stable hands stood in sight. Kansten asked Vane, “That mural…. Is there some way we could walk around the building before we go in?”

  They could reach the wall in question through the courtyard. Vane claimed no one would stop him, as the guardsmen knew him by sight. In the gardens and near the colonnade this late in the day, the only people about would wear gray uniforms.

  The white stone of the Crystal Palace reared in front of Kansten. She approached from behind, but even its back looked majestic, its stone meticulously labored. Vane led her past the servants’ entrance (or so he said) to the courtyard and colonnade at the building’s front. Kansten would have liked to examine the quartz statues of the kings in depth, up close, but let them maintain their peaceful watch beneath their arches, which had been built into the building to house them. She scanned the Palace’s facade for its famous empty nook, and found it toward the right.

  On the other side of a wrought iron fence, citygoers scampered past and paid Vane and the girl no mind; neither the duke’s nor Kansten’s clothing would mark the pair as something other than servants in street garments. Kansten realized only then why August, Vane’s wife, had insisted on sending her patterns of the latest style of dress in Podrar. Hems were shorter, waists higher, and sleeves a different shape back in Traigland, but Kansten’s new dresses looked much like those the women in the street wore. Though she preferred the Traiglandian style objectively, she couldn’t deny Herezoth’s dresses suited her lanky frame better.

  Vane led the way across the colonnade to a stone path that circled the building. Turning the corner, Kora’s daughter stopped cold.

  “Our mothers did that?”

  She meant the question to be rhetorical, but Vane replied, “I suppose they did. I thought it had been there much longer.”

  The mural depicting the king’s coat of arms had not faded in the twenty-five years since its creation. Kansten was familiar with the image: a striking lion on one half, crimson-backed, beside a lamb on a field of green beneath a cloudless sky. Even so, she hadn’t realized the crest would cover the wall’s entire surface. The lion’s nose was the size of her torso.

  “Can I see it up close?”

  “If you want to, go ahead. You’ll ruin the effect, though.”

  Kansten stepped forward, and then again, as quickly as she could, though she hardly moved at all. Such was her awe. Vane kept with her, and by the time they approached the mural, two women were walking by on the opposite side of the fence some ten feet away. They looked to be Kansten’s age. The taller wore glasses and asked Vane, “You on a short break?”

  The duke let her misconception that he worked at the Palace stand. She went on, “Impressive, isn’t it? Wanted to show my cousin. It’s her first time in the capital. You know, I heard Kora Porteg of all people’s responsible for this.”

  “The coat of arms?” The spectacled girl’s shorter companion laughed. “I’d believe it. Guess the sorceress is one of those.”

  People still knew Kora by her maiden name here, then. Kansten’s throat went dry. Vane placed a warning hand on her shoulder, which increased her insult. What did he think, that she was fool enough to tell two strangers at the Crystal Palace she was Kora Porteg’s daughter? Kansten threw off Vane’s hold and demanded, “One of what, exactly?”

  “One of those women who take up with a powerful man and need everyone to be aware of it.”

  The assumption was absurd. Anyone who had lived in Herezoth without being deaf and dumb for the last quarter century could have said that Kora had known the king while he was dispossessed, and only then. What power had he held during sorcerer-dictator Zalski Forzythe’s reign? Rexson Phinnean’s first act as monarch had been to exile the woman.

  Kansten, however, could not draw attention to the obvious, not with Vane’s breath heavy on her neck. She felt ill to condone the insults against her mother, but all she could think to say in response was, “She must be one of those women, yes.” Kansten turned back to the mural, as though to study it out of curiosity, while a twinge of hot guilt made her mouth twitch.

  Vane led Kansten back to the courtyard. His pace had her trotting to the start of the colonnade, some hundred yards before the Palace. Kansten stopped there, out of the guardsmen’s range of hearing, and whirled the duke to face her. Before she could speak, he said, “I know how hard that is.”

  “I feel like a snake.”

  “Want to go home?”

  Kansten scoffed. “Home to Triflag? Look, I know quite well that idiots like that, they don’t want me here. They’d lose their minds if they knew who my mother is. I’m staying, and I’ll have a good chuckle over it every night at Oakdowns.”

  “The last laugh’s theirs if you let them turn you bitter. They’re not worth your time, not a second of it. Half of them don’t even know what they’re saying.”

  “
That fool sure didn’t.”

  “I’ve dealt with the nonsense for years, and it’s not one bit easier today than a decade ago. At least you can see for yourself now you can’t shout about where you come from.”

  “What about my accent?” Kansten demanded. “You think it won’t draw attention?”

  “I was meaning to talk to you about that. I have a spell that would mask it, if you’d let me use it on you. You’d speak like a woman from Podrar.”

  Kansten gulped. “Would it hurt?”

  “Just a dull sting for a few seconds. I had your uncle cast it on me after I found it.”

  “Cast it,” said Kansten. “Go ahead, right now. I’m not leaving Herezoth, so if the spell will make it easier to fit in….”

  “You’re sure you’re all right with this? You’ll sound different, to yourself even. That’s a substantial change, and if you aren’t sure….”

  “Is it reversible?”

  “I can remove the spell any time you’d like.”

  “Then say the blasted incantation.”

  “All right, then. If you’re ready.” Kansten nodded, and Vane whispered, “Voza Podrarum Estandarum.”

  Kansten massaged her throat, though as Vane had warned, it stung her only lightly and for less than a minute. “So, what do you think?” she asked, and clasped a hand to her mouth. Her voice had the rhythms and the vowels of a Podrar native, crisper than those of her natural Traigland accent. Her words rolled off her tongue too fast, or faster than she was used to. Vane smiled at her.

  “You sound very like my cook. Maybe more like her daughter, come to that.”

  “I guess sounding like I’m from here’s good,” said Kansten. “I’ll get used to it. I just need to talk some.”

  “I can always remove the spell,” Vane reminded her. “Or we could come back in a day or two.”

  “No way. I want to see the Palace. Can we go in the main doors?”

  “I’m afraid not. It’s the servants’ entrance for the likes of us—well, the likes of you.”

  They took off to cross the rest of the courtyard. The duke spoke with the guard at the servants’ door, said he had made arrangements for the king to speak with a harpist from Ingleton who was hoping to play at an upcoming banquet. That got Kansten inside, where she planned to talk to Vane as they walked, to accustom herself to her new voice.

  The Palace rendered her speechless. Its narrow hallways, rich carpets and tapestries, and lamps that each were different in some way kept her silent. Her awe increased as Vane led her out the servants’ quarters into the Palace proper and through the domed vestibule with all its marble, its curved staircase, and its crystal chandelier. The duke stopped to show Kansten the library filled with floor-to-ceiling shelves before backtracking a bit and climbing a flight to reach the king’s antechamber.

  Kansten’s stomach had never felt so knotted. “What do I call him? What should I say?”

  Vane told her not to worry, that the king would want her to address him by his name rather than a title, and he knocked on the door. The king himself opened, though Kansten didn’t realize he was the king. He didn’t look like any king; he was dressed as her father would be to go to his smithy.

  Rexson Phinnean was as tall as Vane, with the build of a man who had fewer than the king’s almost fifty years behind him. His hair was blond and thinning, his light eyes bright, and his posture was impeccable. He greeted the Duke of Ingleton, who began, “This is….”

  “You’re Kora’s daughter,” said the king. Kansten nodded, surprised, and Rexson Phinnean shook her hand. “You have your mother’s nose.”

  Vane said, “I told Kansten to call you by your name.”

  “What other should she use? Please, come in.” The king led them into a cross between a luxurious parlor and a spacious, orderly study. His desk was so organized it had no clutter at all; Kansten assumed he used another room as his functional office, and calmed herself by imagining that area as far from immaculate. The king and his guests took seats in armchairs arranged about an empty hearth, and Rexson Phinnean asked, “Your name is Kansten? I knew the woman who bore it first, and she’d be honored to know you share it. I hope the Palace has met your expectations.”

  “It’s remarkable, Sir. I can’t believe I’m here. People in Traigland talk about the Palace, and I’d read about its history, but to see it….”

  Rexson gave a slight nod. “I’m not fond of the building, I have to say. Most people whose opinion I value feel the same, so it’s nice to know you appreciate the place for what it is. Vane told me you’d apprentice with Cline Dagner while you’re here? In architecture?”

  Kansten admitted, “I’m trying to feel more excited than nervous.”

  “You’ve no reason to fret. Your mother could adapt to anything, and I imagine you’re very much like her.” A light gleam came into the king’s eye. “Just try not to outshine your master, if you don’t mind. He’s one of my more renowned subjects, and his fame is very much an asset to my realm.”

  Kansten laughed. “I don’t think you need to fear for him, Sir.”

  “Feel free to call me Rexson, like Vane told you.” Kansten nodded, and the king went on, “I have Dagner employed at the moment, if you didn’t know. My sons wanted a vacation home in a more rural area. Well, the youngest did. Dagner’s designing his cabin.”

  Vane told Kansten, “I suggested Fontferry for the location.” The duke had spent his childhood there, in the care of an innkeeper.

  “Fontferry sounds lovely,” said Kansten. “Up north on the river, near the mountains. I bet….”

  She got no further. A sharp, insistent pounding on the door cut off her voice.

  Vane and Rexson exchanged startled looks, and everyone rose as the king admitted a soldier, one wearing a dirt-stained uniform. The newcomer looked to be the king’s age, perhaps some years younger. His face had few lines, but his hair was a brilliant shade of gray beneath his rimless cap. The man’s air was powerful, his step strong, and Kansten almost thought she smelled impatience reeking from his pores, but the odor that reached her was sweat. Dark circles lined his eyes. He bowed to the king, while Vane said, “Gratton?”

  “Gratton,” said Rexson, “what are you doing here? Have you come from Partsvale?”

  The soldier affirmed, “Almost without sleeping. Killed two horses and had to change uncounted more.” Then he noticed Vane. “It’s good Ingleton’s here. We’d have had to send for him.”

  Vane asked, “What in God’s name…? Kansten, go to the library. You can find your way back there?”

  Kansten’s voice was weak. “I imagine I can.”

  The duke said, “Go there, if you’d please. I’ll meet you as soon as I can.”

  Kora’s daughter left the room without taking leave, and Vane shut her out with a soft incantation. The corridor was clear, so Kansten pressed her ear against the door’s edge, praying Vane would cast no spell to prevent her listening. He did not: at least, not right away.

  The king’s voice asked, “What’s happened, Gratton?”

  “There’s a damned group of magicked malcontents up north planning a siege near Partsvale, that’s what happened. The leader’s amassed followers over the last decade. He’s got two hundred or so supporting him, all empowered. He, of course, would be a sorcerer. Claims his sorcerer father died to put you on the throne.”

  “Petroc?” said the king. “Petroc had a son?”

  “Contenay Ruid,” spoke Vane, and Kansten cursed beneath her breath before heading back to the library. That was the only thing to do, now a sound barrier was up. She would hear nothing more. Her uncle had cast that spell before, and she knew how well it functioned.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The King’s Sons

  Kansten found the Palace library empty, which calmed her. Her shock from the beginning of that guardsman’s exposé couldn’t prevent her from examining the awe-inspiring room in which she found herself.

  A white marble floor with burgundy-tinted
rugs. Shelves against every inch of every wall that wasn’t taken by the door, the hearth, or one of several arched windows. The room rose three stories, and Kansten could appreciate the nondescript nature of the chestnut wood that composed the library’s staircase and two platforms. Those platforms extended around the shelves’ perimeter; their design drew the eye to the tomes in the royal family’s collection.

  The woman climbed to the top-most level and studied manuscript after manuscript as she walked along. She was afraid to touch any of them; the highest placed, at least, looked ancient, and she would not have been surprised if some of them crumbled to dust at the brush of her hand. After her circuit she descended to the floor and grabbed a more recent volume, some legend about Herezoth’s first warlords.

  The syntax was complex, and trying to decipher it diverted Kansten’s mind from the soldier in the king’s antechamber. She had no idea how long Vane would be, and no concept of how much time she had spent on a settee, engrossed in her tale, before a young man walked in.

  The man was younger than Vane, around Kansten’s age, with thick brown waves in the hair tied at his neck, a moustache that suited the curves of his face, and a beagle in tow. The dog had some gray around its muzzle, but its fur was white with various spots of brown. Its master wore a servant’s clothing.

  Kansten judged him a gardener, for his tanned skin and his build implied an active life. He had a thin, chiseled nose she found attractive, and he stood taller than she did, though she could say that of few men: at least, few men from Traigland.

  “Hello,” he said. He stared at Kansten with an awkward expression, and she felt her cheeks grow hot. “Wasn’t expecting anyone in here.”

  “The Duke of Ingleton brought me. He asked me to wait while he speaks with His Majesty. I’ll be staying at Oakdowns for a while, and….”

  The young man appeared more perplexed than ever. “With the duke and his wife? Do you know him, then?”