The King's Sons (The Herezoth Trilogy)

by Grefer, Victoria

  Linstrom smiled. “It’s met.” He shook Vane’s hand. “Your name?”

  “Rickard Holler,” Vane announced.

  The bearded man offered his hand as well. “Terrance Vole. You’re most welcome here. We can always use more sorcerers, and if you’re Ingleton’s enemy, you’ll be tickled by tonight’s surprise.”

  Vane raised an eyebrow. “Tonight?”

  Terrance said, “Meet us at the Dancing Drake after dark. We’ll transport from there to the meeting.”

  Next to Vane, Linstrom huffed in impatience. “For the last time, Terrance, you will tell me what this is about.”

  “I’ll do no such thing. It’s nothing to jeopardize our plans. You can wait like all the rest.”

  Vane shot at Terrance, “You one of those twenty?”

  Terrance lowered the neck of his tunic. On the upper right quadrant of his chest was a triangular-shaped birthmark, colored coffee brown. The sorcerer’s mark. Vane’s own was behind his shoulder.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Valkin’s New Duties

  Wonderful. Just wonderful. I won’t be talking to Father anytime soon about myself, not when he’s this mess to mop up.

  Valkin sat in the Palace library once more, with his brothers and his parents. The king had just explained Gratton’s visit from Partsvale, the urgency of its nature. Not one of the princes had any misconception about what was at stake in Vane’s mission. Neslan ran a hand down his face, and Valkin could almost see his mind working, laying out the worst-case scenario for the young man to consider. More bookish than his siblings and fond of history, Neslan knew—more precisely than Valkin, the crown prince would bet—Herezoth’s tumultuous past and the legacy of conflict between the magicked and the rest of society. He looked dumbstruck. Hune, on the other hand, couldn’t stop asking questions. He was thinking aloud.

  “So Vane’s in Partsvale as we speak, risking his life? You sent him to do that?”

  Rexson said, “Vane volunteered. If you’ve another option, or suggestions for when he returns tonight, I’ll listen. I no more want him endangering himself than you do.”

  “How will the army get there in time? Can it? Troops from Podrar? Is there some way they could transport? Two weeks…. They wouldn’t make it to Partsvale on foot, even on horse.”

  “We could call upon Zacry and Vane to transport men. Jane Trand and the elder of her students.” Trand was the sorcery instructor at the Magic Council’s school in Carphead, one of the major fishing villages off the coast southeast of the capital.

  “Have you spoken with Gerr Bruan?” The king’s general. “Mason Greller?” The Duke of Podrar and Rexson’s Chief Adviser.

  “Hune, we three were up all night. Well, the general and I were. Greller for half.”

  That was a substantial sacrifice on Greller’s part. The man had to be past seventy. The king himself was not young, Valkin thought. Nearing fifty. The previous night, in fact, looked to have aged him at least five years; his eyes looked sunken, his complexion pasty.

  As much as Valkin loved the king and cared for Vane—as much as the thought of something happening to Vane froze his insides with a jolt—Valkin could not help but, once again, consider himself while staring at his father.

  My eyes will look like that in thirty years. Good Giver, what if Father weren’t here? If I had to handle this? I wouldn’t have the slightest concept how to respond, I….

  Neslan must have guessed where Valkin’s thoughts were running, because he put a steadying hand on Valkin’s shoulder. Though Hune and Gracia both studied the king with worried expressions, it was Gracia who told him, “You should rest, dear. Vane, Gratton, the general: they’re all seeing that what needs to be done is done, and they would agree with me. You need to rest. At present, we can only wait for Vane. You’ll have another long night once he returns with his report, and he will return. Sleep while you can.”

  The king’s response was to ask his eldest son to accompany him to his office, which was on a separate floor and in a different wing. Valkin walked behind his father because the Palace halls were narrow, and his face flushed with uncomfortable anticipation. What did the king want with him? To ask his counsel? That seemed unlikely, but it was possible. To discuss Valkin’s future? Even if Neslan had spoken with the king since last night, this hardly seemed an occasion to broach the topic of Valkin and the crown. Not with Vane possibly finding himself murd—

  Valkin refused to finish the thought, to consider Vane might be dead. Not when Herezoth needed the man like it did, when Valkin would need him so desperately during his reign.

  Most likely, the king was planning to use this crisis to train Valkin in some way, to give him greater responsibilities. Valkin was past twenty, after all. Twenty-one. He had no legitimate protest should the king suggest he take over some of his duties, though entwining himself ever more, even inextricably, into the fabric of the government was the last thing the crown prince desired.

  The king’s office door swung open at Rexson’s touch well before Valkin felt prepared to enter the room. He hated that room; he always had, though he readily admitted it was spacious, lushly carpeted, and well ventilated. Rexson’s office was where Valkin always held unwanted conversations with his father. The cedar table where the king hosted meetings with his nobles was too large for Valkin’s taste, and the suit of armor on the wall, behind the desk with its organized clutter of papers, seemed to judge the prince somehow. Every time he looked at it, it judged him. That bloody visored helmet….

  Rexson led Valkin to the table, where they pulled out adjacent chairs. Once seated, Rexson said, “This business in Partsvale will demand my full attention. And Mason Greller’s, along with your mother’s. There’s nothing else to be said. These maniacs could provoke a civil war.”

  “I realize that.”

  “I need you to see to my other obligations, until the crisis passes. The hearing tomorrow evening between the brewers’ guild and those disgruntled alehouse owners, you’ll adjudicate. You must host that state dinner tonight with the Traiglanders. Later in the week, Lorence Vierno’s requesting funds from the treasury for Carphead. He’s demanding a larger percentage of the surplus, citing the growth Vane’s school has brought his region. I was going to give him two percent more. He’s to be grateful for half a percent or take nothing. The Giver only knows what we’ll be spending on war costs.”

  Valkin nodded. He couldn’t foresee any way to avoid arms, if only for one battle.

  “Tanya Greller, she’s called a meeting with me to discuss redistricting Yangerton. It needs to be done, but not at present. We’ve pressing matters at present, so placate her as best you can…. You can handle all that?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “You’re more than prepared for this. You have been for some time. I should have liked to give you greater warning before thrusting this upon you, but….”

  “Don’t worry, not about the day to day business. You’ve my word, I’ll see it done.”

  The king displayed his support, and his gratitude, with a squeeze of his son’s hand. “No word must escape as to the reason you’re taking my place at court. We’ll name it part of your training, for it will function as such. Stress its temporary nature.”

  Temporary, yes. For the moment, it was temporary.

  “Valkin, about the Traiglanders: you’ll need to discuss that new tariff program with them in the morning.”

  “I know. I was with you and Greller when you met with the Foreign Affairs and Finance Councils day before yesterday. I know what you need Traigland to agree to. And I know you’re willing to lower tariff rates on imported furniture, if it’ll have the Traiglanders importing more of our wool at a lower tax. You can trust me to represent you, Father. Don’t spare a thought over this.”

  “I’m well aware I can trust you. I could trust you with greater things than these, should the necessity arise.”

  Valkin forced himself to smile. “I’m glad you feel that way.”

  �
�You won’t be able to speak with Vane tonight. You’ll be at that dinner…. I’ll ask Neslan to attend as well, shall I? Hune can update you both afterward. I’m curious, son: at what point in this fiasco would you involve other sorcerers? Zacry Porteg? The Trand woman Vane hired at his school?”

  Valkin’s heart rate nearly doubled.

  “You ask my opinion as to…?”

  “Vane’s too close to Zacry to make a proper decision concerning him. And Vane knows Jane Trand. He’s worked extensively with her. He would let his attachments interfere if I discussed this with him, so I’ll avoid that. I’ve spoken with Gratton, though. I’ve also asked the general. Now I question you: when would you have me send Vane for Zacry?”

  The prince couldn’t say he knew Zacry well, but the man had rescued him after abduction ten years before, then taken him into his home. He now served on the Magic Council, and Valkin shrank from involving him at all. Wanted to leave him his peace. Zacry Porteg had earned his peace, and he had young children, children as young as Vane’s.

  “Valkin, Linstrom has twenty sorcerers at his disposal. As of the moment, we’ve Vane Unsten. He can’t do this alone. It’s not easy to go to others, I understand that. It wasn’t easy to summon Zacry when you and your brothers disappeared, but I did so. It wasn’t easy to let Vane take part in the raid that saved you. You know how lucky you are I made that choice. So I’m asking, at what point would you involve our allies?”

  Valkin’s words tasted bitter. Like some kind of noxious poison. Weren’t they venom, after all? Couldn’t they signal Zacry’s death, or that of an innocent woman, a schoolteacher? Valkin knew nothing of her. She could be as young as the prince, or slightly older, with babies.

  “When we’re ready to formulate a plan to bring down Linstrom. That’s the moment: when we understand our options as to a preemptive strike, because we must strike preemptively, no?”

  Rexson creased his brow in thought. Holy Giver, he looked exhausted…. Not weak, though. Never weak. Valkin knew he needn’t worry until the king lost marked strength. His eyes might be sunken, but their gaze was strong as he nodded in approbation.

  “Good, son. I believe we’re of one mind.” The king clapped Valkin on the back. “It would take you ages to move my papers elsewhere. You can commandeer the office. I’ll be occupied, but if you need me….”

  “I’ve got this under control, Father.”

  “I’ll send Neslan straight to you.”

  With that, Rexson left his eldest son alone to ponder his new schedule, and Valkin let his mind wander.

  The crown prince had realized ten years ago, after he and his brothers were kidnapped, that he would rather not be royal. No one would have threatened him, were he not royal; his family’s telekinesis would not be such a guarded secret, such a danger to them, were his father a blacksmith or a tailor, a lawyer or a teacher. Valkin’s resentment had only strengthened with time. He wanted nothing more than to live in an old, drafty cottage, a cottage he could leave whenever he wished to take a walk or bring a bow to the archery range. And though he knew those images were absurd, just to have them in his head was a comfort. He never would abdicate, but to think that he could, to pretend that he might, gave him solace. That very solace would be a casualty of the days ahead.

  Neslan came in half an hour. Valkin had moved to the desk by then, and was staring at his father’s stacks of parchment, which all blurred together. He had made no progress in any task thanks to an aching head.

  Neither brother mentioned Neslan’s accusations of the night before. There was no time to reference anything other than the upcoming sessions with those diplomats.

  “The Traiglanders,” said Valkin. Thank the Giver, his voice didn’t crack. “Neslan, about the Traiglanders….”

  Neslan nodded, a proud smile on his face, and pulled up a chair. He found the stack of papers relating to the tariff debates, and assured Valkin, “You’re doing the right thing, stepping in for Father.”

  “Well intentioned or not, I’ll make a mess of it all if we don’t get straight to work. The Traiglanders….”

  * * *

  On her first afternoon in Herezoth, Kansten visited the Crystal Palace for the second time in as many days. She couldn’t define how she felt about that as she climbed down from August’s carriage at the guest stables where Vane had transported her the night before, but she did know, if nothing else, that she had to be there.

  She had come with August, because Vane had woken her that morning after all. In the dark, with a candle. He made her promise she wouldn’t leave August alone, and she gave him her word. August had then mentioned over breakfast she must visit some friends at the Palace, so Kansten insisted on tagging along.

  “It’s a Thursday,” August had explained. Her powder blue gown and the ribbons braided in her hair made Kansten feel horribly out of place in her cotton housedress. “I’m at the Palace every Thursday. Val told me not to alter my routine, to act as though nothing’s happened. He’s just working with the king for a while, you understand? The children, they’re to remain at Oakdowns like normal.”

  So the women had gone to the Palace. They entered through the servants’ door again, which Kansten deemed odd, until she remembered that August had worked as the princess’s nanny for a time. The friends Vane’s wife went to see were servants of the royal family: a stout chambermaid and two sisters who were kitchen hands. When they mentioned the queen had returned from her trip away, August dismissed herself to find Gracia and took Kansten with her, to the girl’s chagrin.

  Well, Kansten had already met the king and three princes. What was a queen as well?

  “Her Highness will love you,” August promised, “as long as you address her that way. She’ll appreciate the formality. And I wouldn’t mention your mother.”

  “Right,” said Kansten. There was a history of sorts between Kora and the king, dating back to the resistance. Kansten had never dared to ask specifics, but she had picked up that much through the years. The queen might have a jealous streak….

  The queen was the most stately woman Kansten had ever laid eyes upon. August had no noble blood in her, and Kansten suspected right away that she’d learned poise and posture by imitating Gracia. The dignity with which the queen held herself unsettled Kansten, who was all too glad to find that, after an initial introduction, Rexson’s wife more or less ignored her. The act was not for coldness, but to pay August due attention, and Kansten blessed her for it. They met in the library, and while August and Gracia secluded themselves before the hearth, Hune, who was also present with his beagle, took it upon himself to entertain Kansten. They sat on a velvet rug before the shelves, beneath the platforms.

  Hune observed, “I don’t imagine this is how you pictured your first days in Podrar.”

  Kansten tried to smile, but couldn’t. “In the Crystal Palace? While Vane’s off in some corner of the kingdom, spying on thug magicians? No, this isn’t what I imagined.”

  “There’s not a man in Herezoth I respect more than Vane, except my father. He’s a brother to the both of us, no?”

  Kansten nodded. Despite Hune’s comfortable informality, she doubted whether she should explain what most weighed upon her. Still, his blue eyes were kind. They invited her to speak, so she overcame her reticence, trying to forget the man was a prince. “I’m terrified for Vane,” she said. “I’m beginning to feel…. He may be a brother, but I hardly know the man. I thought I did, but the Vane I grew up with, he’d never consider doing what he’s doing. He’d never take that upon himself. He’s never spoken of kings or manors, never mentioned dukes plotting his ruin.”

  “Herezoth didn’t exactly welcome him,” said Hune. “Traigland, your family…. They must be escapes for him. They’re the one place he needn’t mention those things, or think on them.”

  Once again, Kansten nodded, and the prince’s beagle plopped down beside her. White with large brown spots, it laid its head in her lap, and Hune said, “He likes you.”

&nbs
p; Kansten scratched the beagle’s ear, noting some gray on its muzzle. “He’s a nice dog, isn’t he?”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you were a doe.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Adage. After the knight from the storybooks.”

  “The coward who speaks in clichés?”

  Hune smiled. “You know of him. I was always fond of those tales…. Does your family have dogs back home?”

  A guffaw was Kansten’s reply. “Do you remember my dad’s house? We hardly all fit there ten years ago, at the time you saw it, and my siblings and me, we’re bigger now. There’s no room for any dog.”

  The dog rolled over for Kansten to rub its stomach, and she obliged. Hune sent a wary glance toward his mother and the duchess, then asked, “How’s August doing?”

  “Marvelously well, considering.” Kansten sighed. “It’ll be a long two weeks before Linstrom attacks.” To change the subject, because her chest ached to think of Vane, she asked, “What’s it like to live here? In the Palace?”

  Hune petted his beagle while he considered the question. “It is what it is, I suppose. Hard to find people on occasion, if you don’t have an inkling where they’ll be. I get out when I can, take my horse or dogs into the city.”

  Kansten lowered her voice to a whisper. “You don’t have magic, like your brothers?”

  “I’m different from my brothers in a number of ways. That’s the least of them. I don’t grudge lacking my family’s powers. It’s not as though Valkin and Neslan can make use of theirs, is it? The magic’s inconvenient at best, imperils them at worst.” Hune paused. “You’re Kora Porteg’s daughter? And not a sorceress?”

  “Ridiculous, isn’t it? I’m….”

  “You’re not ridiculous, Kansten. Is it really that awful, not having magic?”