“I’ve known him almost my whole life.”
“What’s your name?”
“Kansten Cason.”
The beagle, which had been sniffing at the young man’s feet, started off toward Kansten, but its owner stooped to grab it by the collar. He looked up at the library’s other human occupant with his mouth hanging open.
“Kora Porteg’s daughter?” Kansten nodded, and the man said, “We’ve met before. I’ve met your entire family. Visited Traigland when I was eight.”
Kansten thought back to the occasion. Three brothers and their sister had come from Herezoth; they had stayed with her uncle for a number of days, and Kansten and her siblings had kept them entertained. One had even been bitten….
“You’re Ryne’s brother? Ryne and the snake? Good heavens, you’re Brant, aren’t you? Is your father still a butler here? Do you work at the Palace now?”
The man let out a powerful but good-natured laugh. “Hardly. I just returned from a trip to the meadow with my dogs…. I’m Hune Phinnean.”
Rexson Phinnean’s youngest son. “No you’re not,” Kansten shot.
“I’m afraid I am.”
“Then your brother Tommy, he….”
“He would be the crown prince.”
Kansten felt dizzy, and leaned back against the settee where she sat. “There is no way that….”
The dog had given up on seeking Kansten’s company, so the prince let it lie and rose to his full height. “My father wanted us out of Herezoth,” Hune explained. “Some fools had threatened us. He sent us to your mother and uncle, because he could trust them. He gave us false names.”
“And you used them. Your brother lied to me.”
The oldest brother, “Tommy”—Tommy who would be king, Valkin Phinnean by birth—had named his father a butler and his mother the queen’s maid.
Hune’s glee departed. That awkward look from when he first noticed Kansten, it returned in full force. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“You? What did you do?”
“Nothing, I suppose. I….”
Hang Kansten’s candor. It was always making men uncomfortable, and this was a prince. She softened her tone.
“Are you and your brothers close?”
“As close as most are.”
“If that means close enough to tell them you met me here, I wish you wouldn’t.”
“If you’d prefer that,” said the prince, “then I won’t. I don’t see the harm in mentioning you’re visiting Vane, but….”
“We got along as kids, me and your oldest brother. I’d feel so awkward if he tried to say hello or wanted to reminisce. I mean, I had no clue who he was….”
The beagle turned its attention to the door at its master’s back, and two more men appeared.
Their attire was formal enough to include fitted vests. They looked twenty years old—surely neither was yet twenty-five—and they were blond, with their hair tied in the same manner as Hune’s. One wore glasses, the shorter of the two (though only by an inch). Both gazed at Kansten while Hune stood mute.
“Who’s that?” the spectacled man asked the prince. Kansten replied from her seat.
“Hello, Tommy.”
Tommy—or Valkin—stared at her face. He studied the freckles she had never lost and shook his head in disbelief. “Kansten?” he said. “From Traigland?”
“You must be Neslan Phinnean,” she greeted the other blond man. The brother that snake had nearly killed. His nose was thinner than Valkin’s, slim like Hune’s, but his cheekbones were the most prominent of the three. All the brothers were comely in their way, with handsome if varied features. Their poise and their confident airs did much to push their appearances past respectable; already the crown prince was recovering from his shock.
Neslan asked, “What are you doing in Podrar? At the Palace?”
“Vane brought her,” said Hune.
The crown prince asked, “How long will you be in the capital?”
“I’m not sure. I’m hoping to see much of the kingdom. Vane can take me all over, after all.”
“Why would you want him to?” asked Neslan. Kansten clenched her jaw. “You’re Kora Porteg’s daughter, aren’t you? A sorceress. What if people found out you were in Herezoth? I don’t mean to be churlish, but you…. You’d be in danger.”
Who do you think you are, to know what’s best for me?
This man knew nothing about her life or her apprenticeship with Cline Dagner. Kansten rose from her seat. “I’ll be as safe here as anyone. My mother might be famous, but I haven’t a drop of magic. Not that my magic’s any concern of yours. The king knows who and where I am. If it comes out I moved to Herezoth, I’ll make public that I’m powerless. No one will attack me for my sorcery, Your Highness.”
“No magic?” said Hune, with a warning glare at Neslan. “In truth?”
“In truth. Valkin, you never told them?”
Kansten and Valkin had found Zacry Porteg’s spellbooks while the princes were in Traigland. They had tried to cast incantations, and Kansten had discovered her lack of sorcery in front of the boy; she had broken down in stunned sadness.
Valkin told her, “I never said a thing.”
She sputtered, “Well, that…. That’s right decent of you.”
The crown prince’s smile was a bit too smug as he told her, “You’re welcome.”
Wow. You can be both decent and a pompous ass.
A contrite Neslan walked up to shake Kansten’s hand. He said, “Never thought our paths would cross again. Sincerely, though, you’re welcome here, at any time. You found the spell that saved me from that snake venom. If Vane brought you, what are you doing in the library?”
“I’m not sure. Vane’s with your father. I think there’s…. Something urgent’s come up. In Partsvale.”
Valkin and his brothers shared a confused glance. Hune asked, “How do you know that?”
The princes already knew Kansten’s greatest shame. She might as well share another. “I listened at the door until Vane cast a sound barrier.”
Neslan expressed approval with a tart “good woman,” while Valkin groaned out of exasperation.
“He always casts those things. On scores of occasions we’ve tried to eavesdrop.”
Hune admitted, “We don’t need to listen in, though. Not really. Father tells us most everything, all three of us, but to overhear his conferences with the nobility…. We could pick up more. Potent pauses, odd turns of phrase….”
Kansten smirked. “You’re a curious bunch, aren’t you?”
Valkin fired back, “We’re curious? You’re the one who eavesdropped tonight. Seems I’ve unearthed the reason your mother called you Kancat. Does she still do that?”
“I hate cats,” Kansten muttered. “And curiosity’s not why….” She peered at the eldest prince, shocked. “You remember my mother calls me Kancat?”
Valkin said, “I remember our stint in Traigland distinctly. We all do, seeing Neslan was almost killed. That damned serpent….”
That sent Kansten’s mind back. She remembered the snake attack more vividly than she had in years: how the day had been so hot she’d twisted her hair up; how Neslan had fallen, his hand sliding under a log; how the red and yellow bands on the coral snake had glistened in the afternoon sun as Valkin, with a wave of his hand, smashed them time and again against an oak.
With a gasp, Kansten pointed at the brothers. She whispered, “You have magic. I saw it; you’re telekinetic. You’re all…. Do people know?”
The royal family—the king’s sons, and perhaps the king himself—had magic powers. Kansten felt dizzy again, and retook her seat. The princes exchanged uncomfortable looks. Hune’s beagle sniffed around Neslan now as Valkin sat next to Kansten. He told her, his voice quiet, “Hune’s no magic, but Neslan and I are telekinetic like our father. The public doesn’t know, of course. Common citizens can never know. There’d be riots in the streets.”
So there would. As peaceful and pro
sperous as Rexson Phinnean’s reign had proved, people would panic at the thought that he, like the dictator who had ruled before him, could call on magic to aid tyranny at his slightest whim. Kansten was now party to a secret that could destroy her parents’ homeland.
Vane and the king would never let her stay in Herezoth. They would send her back to Traigland. Back to that festering pit of boredom where the only thing of value, the only thing she cared the slightest bit about, was her family, and even they were constant reminders of how worthless she felt for lacking sorcery.
“Don’t tell your father I know. I beg you, all of you…. He can’t find out I saw you kill that snake with magic. Vane can’t realize, or he’ll make me return to Triflag Bay. That place smothers me. I can’t go back there, I….” Kansten peered into Valkin’s lightly tinted, spectacle-covered eyes, because he sat at her side. “You told no one I can’t do magic. I’ll tell no one you can, I mean that. The knowledge will go to my grave. I have no misconceptions about how important….”
Valkin patted her arm. “We won’t tell Father that you know, don’t worry. Will we, boys?”
“Of course not,” said Hune. Neslan’s affirmation was more hesitant, but he gave it. Kansten thanked him, her voice still hushed, and let out a relieved sigh. The relief was only temporary, as her mind went back to why she waited in the library in the first place. What further news did that soldier have for the king? What was going on in Partsvale with that band of “magicked malcontents”? Would Partsvale pull Vane from the capital? Might Kansten have to return to Traigland after all?
* * *
In the king’s antechamber, Vane listened as Rexson explained more about whom Petroc had been. The duke had read about the man before but had found no reason in years to think of him, while Gratton, Vane guessed, knew little about the deceased sorcerer.
“Are you familiar with the Librette Oscure?” Rexson asked his duke. “Perhaps from that journal your mother kept? The one I gave you?”
“A spellbook,” Vane responded. “The Librette’s an old spellbook, known for dark magic.”
“Your uncle sought it while he ruled. We in the resistance found it first, and were determined to keep it from him. Well, Petroc interfered. He’d been hiding at the Hall of Sorcery in the mountains, so we didn’t expect he’d pose a problem, but he stole the Librette from us. When Zalski took it from him, he helped your mother, Kora, and me in our final assault on the Palace. He died here, all to settle what he viewed as a debt. He was a bit unhinged, to put it mildly.”
Gratton confirmed, “So’s his son, Evant Linstrom. Goes by his mother’s last name. I don’t know if your Petroc ever knew about the boy, but he’s a sorcerer like his father, and I’d daresay just as mad. Rexson, I have one magicked officer in my Partsvale troops, and he’s sent his brother to infiltrate Linstrom’s plot.”
“That’s a start,” said the king.
The soldier continued, “Our plant can make objects explode. Says material’s no factor, only size. I guess Linstrom’s thinking he can get rid of swords and weapons used against his men, crossbows especially. The sorcerer trusts him.”
Vane nodded. Few with magic nowadays were born true sorcerers, though many, like this spy, held vestiges of sorcery in their blood that manifested through some power or other. The duke asked, “What’s the plant’s name?”
Rexson furrowed his brow. “Why do you ask?”
“He’ll need assistance, and I’ll give it. I’ll need to know whom to trust.”
The king protested, “You’re not joining this man.”
“You need a spy in Linstrom’s ranks with power beyond causing small explosions.”
The king insisted, “You’d be recognized. You’re known in Partsvale. You take your wife there on a regular basis.”
“I’ll change my appearance. I’ve a spell for that. Rexson, I can join Linstrom’s movement and transport back and forth to keep you in the know, as well as the Partsvale authorities. It’s our only option.”
Gratton told the king, “He’s right. I’m no happier about him risking his neck than you are, seeing my wife died to protect his family, but he’s right. Your Majesty, do you think I want him involved in this?” Looking resigned, the soldier turned to the Duke of Ingleton. “Our man’s Ryne Howar. He’s bald and bulky, and he’s waiting for some help. Linstrom’s cronies meet almost nightly at an ill-reputed tavern called The Dancing Drake. For secrecy, they leave from there to transport to the Hall of Sorcery.”
Vane blinked. “The Hall of Sorcery?”
The king noted, “Linstrom must have been curious about his father. He made the same trek to the Hall that I did with Kora, which means he’s found the old library, Vane. The entire collection of magic the ancients compiled.”
The Duke of Ingleton gulped air. He hoped Gratton and the king failed to notice, and gave no other signal of the dread that had descended upon him. Anyone who knew a thing about sorcery knew it had degraded through the years, that ancient spells were more powerful as well as more daring in their focus.
Vane observed, “This is a full-blown crisis, then. How many men did you say Linstrom’s gathered, Gratton?”
“Two hundred, a few more than that. All empowered.”
“How many sorcerers?”
“Twenty.”
Vane cursed. “Should I go for Zacry, Rexson? Bring him with me?”
The duke would have liked his teacher’s help in this. He hated to involve Zacry Porteg, but the thought of doing so calmed his nerves a bit. Wishful and selfish thinking, all: the king was right when he reasoned, “The subtler our infiltration, the less likely Linstrom is to suspect it. Does the scoundrel have a date in mind for his assault, Gratton?”
“Two weeks.”
Vane swore again. “We have to stop them. Before they do anything violent.”
“Before,” Rexson agreed. “Even should we beat them back, if they attack, all the advances we’ve seen in Herezoth since I took power are undone. Your school would close. I could well have to disband the Magic Council.”
Gratton said, “We’ll stop the son of a bitch. Between Ingleton and your army….”
Vane felt like vomiting. Instead he said, “I’ll be in Partsvale first thing tomorrow. Gratton, I’ll meet with your soldiers there, no?”
“Afraid not. Far too risky. I can give you a full briefing, because my men shouldn’t know what you’re doing. No one should but Howar. No visits even to the Duke of Partsvale, you got that? Your cover can’t be blown. Linstrom won’t only slit your throat, he’ll know the king’s aware of him and launch his assault the following hour.”
Vane muttered, “Damn it. Damn it to hell, I thought I had a rough time of it joining the Magic Council….”
Rexson put a fatherly hand on Vane’s shoulder. “You can manage this, son. I would never let you try if you couldn’t manage this, understand?”
Vane nodded. He said, “It’s got to be done, and it will be. Let’s leave it there, no?”
* * *
The crown prince had never seen Vane so stoic, so expressionless, as when the man walked into the library to fetch Kansten. The duke’s air confused Valkin more than anything else; the king’s son began to worry when he saw all color had drained from his father’s face, and felt queasy when he recognized the gray-haired man in uniform who followed Rexson two steps behind, like one of Hune’s dogs.
“Gratton,” said Hune, his voice doubtful. He shook the soldier’s hand. “What are you doing here?”
Rexson told his sons, “We’ll talk tomorrow. First thing. Right now, I need to fetch your mother from her sister’s. Vane and Kansten are going to Oakdowns.”
Valkin’s shoulders tensed, because something was wrong, all right. Exceedingly, horribly wrong, for the king to speak of taking a carriage to the outskirts of Podrar after dark to get his wife. The queen had planned for a weeklong stay with a sister she rarely saw.
Vane left with Kansten. The duke made no acknowledgment of anyone beyond
the fraternal arm he slung around her shoulder. With the girl gone, Valkin looked to his brothers, but they both displayed the same unease and exasperation that plagued him. Neslan echoed Hune’s question, and the king repeated, “In the morning. I promise, we’ll speak in the morning.”
Hune sighed, which brought his beagle to him, and Gratton told the princes, his tone distracted, “Always nice to see you three.”
The king beckoned his soldier and the two set off, leaving the brothers in silence.
Neslan bit his lip, as he sometimes did when lost in contemplation. He dropped into an armchair, while Hune shook his head and scratched his dog behind the ears. The men and the animal all jolted when Valkin flung a book that Kansten had left on the settee.
“What do you think’s happened?” Hune dared to ask.
Neslan reasoned, “It’s to do with Partsvale, whatever it is. Kansten heard as much, and Gratton’s been in Partsvale for years. He must have rushed to the Palace. Didn’t stop on the way to wash, by the smell of him. This bodes ill.”
“Perhaps,” said Hune. “At least we know the trouble’s there. Partsvale’s small, with few people. Things are fine in the capital.”
Valkin huffed. His spectacles trapped a puff of air near his face. “You sure about that? Did you see Vane? He’s never looked so…. Defeated, that’s what it was. Lifeless.”
“Numb,” Neslan specified. “He looked numb.”
Hune insisted, “Things are fine in Podrar. Father would have told us if….”
Neslan cut Hune off, glaring at Valkin. “Things are not fine here. A woman we met once in our lives, a decade ago, knows we have magic and just went prancing out the room. Valkin, what in God’s name were you thinking? We should have told Father….”
Valkin said, “Told Father she knows we’ve magic? What bloody good would that do but get her sent home? It’s not her fault she knows. And don’t forget what we owe her family: her uncle rescued us after we spent a month with kidnappers, and her grandmother saved your life healing that snakebite.”
“We were mere boys then,” Neslan argued.
The King's Sons (The Herezoth Trilogy) Page 4
