She had lost his respect, and for good. Oh, he would never speak ill of her before anyone. He would treat her kindly, uphold her dignity, and allow her to hold her head as high as possible, but never again would he respect her. The pain of that knowledge racked her, because she still respected him. She would respect him always. He had his imperfections, but she felt him entitled to those. His life had not been easy: overlooked in favor of his brother as a child; betrayed by Zalski Forzythe, whom his father had trusted; hunted for years, forgotten by his first love, and then forced to drive away the only woman in his life who could ever deserve him.
Gracia had wondered many a time how often her husband compared her to Kora Porteg. Not frequently, she hoped, for she would never come out the better.
During Zalski’s rule, Gracia had been young. An adolescent. Her mother had forbidden her most days to leave the safety of the family estate, and she’d believed the king’s entire family dead. The royal death that had ached her most to think about was Rexson’s, for he alone had passed more than mere pleasantries with her. She had always thought him more affable than his older brother, and a bit more dashing. At one gala, he’d even had musicians change from a faster-paced tempo to something slower, so she would feel comfortable dancing with him.
When the news came, out of nowhere, that Rexson was alive and had killed Zalski Forzythe to claim the throne rightly his, Gracia dared not believe the blessed tidings until she witnessed the coronation a month later. The king asked her to dance at the subsequent feast, and a year after that, to marry him. She had believed herself in love and the happiest woman in Herezoth.
She soon learned she could never take the place of Kora Porteg. While Gracia had hidden herself away for fear of Zalski, the sorceress had been fighting for survival alongside Rexson. The man owed his very life to her companionship. Years later, when renegade sorcerers had kidnapped Rexson’s sons, Gracia had fallen ill from her heartache and her grief. Kora Porteg had risked her life returning to Herezoth to apprehend the criminals; she had fought, once again, beside the king. Was there any question which woman was the braver, the more impressive, the worthier of Rexson? Which of the two would claim his heart? Though Gracia cursed the situation—she would have given every jewel she owned to buy Rexson’s love for herself—she never could blame the man for his attachment to Kora. She held him dear enough that some nights she wished, sincerely, she could change the past and arrange for him to marry the sorceress instead.
Rexson never had treated his wife with contempt. Had never spoken a word to make her feel inferior to another woman or unworthy of her station before that argument just passed—and that horrid display on his part had been Gracia’s fault, like so many other things. She had crossed a line striking out to pin her guilt on him.
When next they spoke, they both would act as though nothing had occurred between them. She had apologized for provoking him, and he would have the grace to forgive her, to treat her the same as he always had. His life had taught him to adapt to unpleasantness, and soon he’d be able to look at her without evident disappointment or disdain. Never again, though, would he respect her.
The queen sighed, and moved to her desk. The sun was beginning to rise, and she had promised the Duke of Ingleton to write his duchess. She could—the thought helped release the tension that made her chest sear—she must devote herself to August. That was the least she could do for Vane, considering the danger she had brought to him.
* * *
As Kansten ate her second breakfast at Oakdowns with August and August’s children—bread and cheese, with melon and blackberries from the garden—a maid came in to deliver the day’s copy of the Podrar Bugle, apologizing for the delay and claiming the newsletter had come out much later than normal that morning. August nodded her understanding, in perfect control, and the woman left as the duchess began to read. Kansten watched Vane’s wife and sipped some tea.
I don’t know how August keeps up appearances this way. I suppose because she must. Her arm’s shaking a bit, but beyond that….
August laid the paper on the dining room table. She had dressed as formally as the previous day, and looked every bit a duchess in her emerald-hued gown with a high waist and flowing sleeves. Her hair was braided in two strands, twisted, and tied to the back of her head.
Something was wrong, because August’s lip trembled. In an instant she lost what color she’d possessed since Vane left Oakdowns, despite largely maintaining her poise. Luce and Esper, her twin daughters, exchanged worried glances, and the latter asked, “Is something the matter, Mother?”
“No,” said August. “Just some trouble at the mill north of the city. A poor boy’s drowned in the Podra. Not much older than you are, either.”
Luce offered, “That’s dreadful.” Harren, age seven, was giving three-year-old Dalen more berries and paid no attention. The twins returned to their breakfast, looking solemn, and August passed Kansten the paper, her hands shaking worse than ever.
The story about the drowning, unfortunately, was real. On the front page. The notice beside it had been the one to affect August, and Kansten’s eyes opened wider and wider as she read.
Magic Councilor Assassinated
Francie Ilea Rafe, longstanding member of His Majesty’s Magic Council, was found floating in the Podra River near the southern border of the capital. A member of the Duke of Crescenton’s household made the grisly discovery late Thursday night. Cause of death was a blade wound to the neck.
The Capital Guard has said nothing regarding an investigation, but the king claims Rafe was honorable in all respects. He suspects political motivation. The crown’s official statement reads:
Kansten couldn’t finish the notice. Francie Rafe had been everything she admired, her greatest role model. She asked her Uncle Zac about Francie often, and had heard Vane mention her once or twice. The woman had worked with them. Rafe’s murder, could it be connected with the plot Vane had infiltrated?
Fighting to keep her voice steady and her expression nonchalant, for August’s sake, Kansten asked, “Have you heard from Vane since he left?”
“Not a word.”
Esper said, “Father often spends two or three days at the Palace. His Majesty keeps him busy. He sends a note here when he finds the time, but often he can’t.”
August mastered herself. She smiled at her daughter and said, “He’s busy helping the king with those Traiglanders. He’s spent so much time in Traigland.”
Luce told Kansten, “He’s taking us next year for the first time. Me and Esper, for our eleventh birthday. We made him swear he would.”
“And so he will,” said August. “All finished?” Her daughters and elder son nodded. “Then it’s off to prepare for lessons. Harren, you’ve been reading more than enough lately. You’re to work at sums today.”
Harren groaned. “I don’t need sums.”
“I think you’ll find you do need mathematics. Off to the study with you, go on.”
Harren and his sisters slipped from their chairs, passing by their mother for a kiss on the cheek before exiting the dining room. Dalen, in a higher chair next to August to accommodate his short height, was smashing berries with his spoon. Kansten judged it safe to speak before the three-year-old.
“Vane’s perfectly fine. I’m telling you, he has to be.”
“What do you think this means? A councilor?”
Kansten reminded August, “There’s no proof this is related to Vane’s business.”
The duchess nodded, then reached for her son, to remove him from his seat. She jumped instead as the door opened behind her, and Dalen began to fuss. “Down, Mommy!”
Another servant had entered, wearing a non-descript cotton frock. She handed the duchess a letter. “This just came from the Palace, Your Grace.”
The shaking of August’s arm became imperceptible with the presence of her maid.
“Mommy, down!”
“Just a moment, Dalen.” August passed the letter to Kansten
and took her son in her arms. He giggled as she swung him in the air and planted a kiss on his cheek. “All finished?” she asked.
“Yes, Mommy. Thank you.”
August kissed Dalen again and set him down. He went off with Clara, the servant, to find his nurse and read a book, and tremors shook August once more as she dropped to the nearest chair.
“You’ll have to read it to me. I can’t, Kansten. Please….”
Kansten broke the wax seal shaped with the king’s crest. The missive was from the queen.
August, dear, we’ve seen Vane. He’s ingratiated himself with Linstrom, and is safe and sound. He came to us after midnight, almost a full day after leaving you. Rexson wishes me to tell you that Francie Rafe owes her life to your husband. She was kidnapped by Linstrom’s men, but he procured her safety. Rexson announced her death to the Bugle forthwith, to maintain Vane’s place in Linstrom’s gaggle. Realize no one must know Rafe is alive, save you.
You should expect Zacry Porteg and Jane Trand at Oakdowns today, to meet with Vane in safety. Keep servants from the main parlor, for Vane intends to transport there.
August, I’m so sorry for all of this. I’m so very, very sorry.
A long outpouring of breath came from the duchess. Then she snatched the letter. “She speaks as though she’s responsible somehow.”
Kansten placed a steadying hand on August’s shoulder. “He’s unharmed. I told you he would be. I can’t imagine better news than this letter contains. August….”
“This crisis is hardly settled. Disaster still could….”
“I know. But Vane’s earned Linstrom’s trust. Without rousing suspicion, from the sound of things. That’s marvelous, August, he…. Vane’s something, isn’t he?”
“Perhaps I shouldn’t admit this to you, after how kind you were to call me strong in front of him. To reassure him that way. Kansten, you’re forbidden to speak a word of this to Val, but I…. I can’t live this life without him. I wouldn’t know where to begin, to administrate his duchy. It’s been ten years, and I feel just as insecure around nobility as that first official dinner Val brought me to. I can’t face those people alone.”
A male voice spoke from the threshold. “Come now,” it said. “Are we really that intimidating? We deserve better faith than that after a decade.”
“Thad!” August cried, and ran to embrace the newcomer. He was short for a man, with a thin moustache and wavy brown hair tied at the base of his neck. He dressed more elegantly than Kansten had ever seen Vane clothe himself: a silk vest and tailed coat over a linen shirt and tailored trousers.
“Kansten,” said August, pulling her new guest forward, “This is Thad Greller. Val’s best friend, the Duke of Podrar’s son.”
“The youngest son,” Thad specified, with a courteous though understated bow.
Kansten said, “Your father, then, he’s the king’s Chief Adviser?”
“Has been humbled to hold the post since His Majesty’s coronation.” Thad turned to August, who bit her lip to hold back tears and hugged him a second time. He patted her on the back. “My father told me everything last night, over a late dinner. I came here as soon as I woke up, to make sure you’re getting on.”
August told the nobleman, “The children know nothing. And they shouldn’t. There’s a reason Val forbade me to speak a word to them. Thad, I don’t know how much longer I can go on pretending, not when any second they could kill my husband. I….”
“Have you heard anything?”
August handed Thad the queen’s letter. He read it and said, “That seems positive enough.” Then he smiled. “The queen’s always treated you like a daughter. Makes my wife right jealous from time to time. How you can get on so well with royalty and still fear us muckdwellers of dukes and counts….”
August smiled. “It’s foolish, I suppose. Though you wouldn’t imagine for an instant I ever feared you.”
“I can’t call braving my presence much of a feat. By her dress—which is, by all accounts, quite lovely—your friend’s got no more noble blood in her than the man who opened your front door for me, and she clearly considers me caricaturish. A dandy.”
Kansten gawked, embarrassed. That was precisely the impression he’d made on her. The nobleman let out a disarming chuckle.
August specified, “That’s Kora Porteg’s daughter, Thad.”
“No wonder I strike her as pompous. Her mother’s as genuine a hero as they come, her uncle a world-renowned scholar.”
Kansten protested, “I never once called you pompous.”
“I only jest,” Thad assured her, with a bow to dissipate ill will. “Was trying to maintain some kind of smile on August’s face, poor woman. Looks like I succeeded.”
August told him, “It means a great deal to me, you coming here like this.”
“I couldn’t miss the breakfast spread, could I?”
The duchess said, “I know you ate already. Still, you’re welcome to anything you’d like.”
“I’m not hungry,” Thad assured his hostess. “Shall I stay a while? Carlina’s home with the children. They both have a slight cough, else she would have been breaking down your door before dawn, you can count on it. I’m glad to see, at least, that you haven’t been alone.” Thad told Kansten, “Carlina’s my wife. And Kora Porteg’s your mother? Have you come to aid Vane with this mess?”
“No,” said Kansten, her cheeks turning red. They always flared when people assumed she worked magic. She couldn’t fault the strangers, exactly—she would make the same assumption in their place—but the whole situation made her feel awkward, every time it arose. “I’m not here to join Vane in Partsvale. I’m not a sorceress. I’ve never cast a spell, I….” I’m an utter disappointment. “I’m not like my siblings. They’re sorcerers, like our mom. All younger than me.”
“That’s fortunate,” Thad offered. “I’m a youngest sibling myself, so I assume from experience your presence is enough to keep your brothers and sisters in line, magic or no.”
Kansten had to smile. “I do a decent job of that when I’m around. Wonder if the girls have conquered my room yet.”
“Again, as a youngest sibling, I advise you assume the worst.” Thad chuckled, then turned to August, his expression sobering. “You, on the other hand, have every reason to hope for your husband’s safe return. The queen’s news is promising, August. You’ll see Vane today.” The duchess nodded. “All the opposition he’s faced since claiming his title has shaped him, you know. Honed his instincts. Prepared him for a situation as damnable as this one.” Thad squeezed August’s hand. “Listen to me: if it comes to arms, Vane will have me there. I swear I won’t leave his side, nor he mine. With his magic and my training as a swordsman, the two of us can handle whatever this lunatic and his followers bring. I won’t leave him, you understand?”
August nodded her thanks. Thad went on, “There’s not a man in Herezoth more important to this realm than your husband, and I include the king when I say that. That school Vane opened on your property, the kingdom needs it. We need Vane’s Magic Council. We need Vane himself, as a sorcerer respected and a noble beloved, at court. The king knows that as surely as I do. He won’t let Vane be lost to Herezoth, my dear. Nor will I.”
Speechless, August wrapped Thad in her arms. The first tear that Kansten had seen stain her cheek slid away from her nose as she found her voice. “The Giver bless you,” she whispered. Thad slung an arm around her.
“Let’s go secure the parlor, shall we? Those are royal orders. They mustn’t be disregarded.”
The nobleman led August from the dining room. Kansten, feeling awkward enough to wish she were anywhere else—except maybe Traigland—matched their slow gait.
* * *
Back in Traigland, Vane had gone to meet with Zacry Porteg. The duke had always considered Zacry’s presence, especially in confined spaces, more powerful than people would expect given his average size, and Zacry’s house was not a large one. He sat in his study’s one ch
air, his booted feet on his desk and one fist clenched. He held the other to his bearded chin.
Zacry’s sister stood behind him, gripping his seat for support. Kora pressed her lips in concern, and the lines around her mouth were deeper than Vane had ever seen them. Too deep for a woman only forty, still possessed of her subtle but not unremarkable beauty. The bandanas she always wore contributed to her rustic grace.
Like Vane, Zacry Porteg had been present at all interviews for the Magic Council. He had worked on the council for ten years, and his anger at Vane’s tidings was so hot it burned white in his cheeks instead of red.
“These men raped Francie and slit her throat with a spell?”
“I was able to save her, but yes.”
“Why the hell are you only now coming here?”
“I’ve been with her. She’s understandably…. I couldn’t leave her alone, Zac.”
The doctor and his student had given Francie some brew to encourage her to sleep, so Vane had found her resting when he’d returned to Partsvale from the Palace the night before. The medical professionals, they foresaw a full recovery but wanted her in bed for at least three days after the amount of blood Vane claimed she’d lost. They could not for the life of them understand how she still lived. Vane, who could say nothing of the Lifestone, had attributed the miracle to his quick use of magic and dismissed the doctors.
Through it all, Francie had slept. Vane had lain open-eyed beside the bed for what remained of the night, anticipating an early morning rendezvous with Linstrom. He was alert to comfort Francie at dawn when she woke after a nightmare. Even in slumber, she relived her ordeal.
Vane’s attention returned to Zacry when he threw his feet to the floor and jolted his desk in a temper, though he kept to his seat. “These animals will pay,” he swore.
“We plan to make them,” said Vane. “But we’ll need your help.”
The King's Sons (The Herezoth Trilogy) Page 12
