The King's Sons (The Herezoth Trilogy)

by Grefer, Victoria

  The roads outside Fontferry were falling in disrepair. The village needed funds as well as men to get them in order, before they became impassable. Valkin ignored his aching head and granted the count’s request. Those roads were highly traveled by pilgrims on their way to the Shrine of the Giver in Partsvale; the crown had a responsibility to maintain them, and there was, technically, a surplus in the treasury, though heaven knew how much would remain after a military action and the possible need to rebuild Partsvale from the ground. If Linstrom brought about the destruction he sought….

  Linstrom, Valkin reminded himself, was his father’s problem. The roads were Valkin’s. Concentrate on that. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and redoubled his efforts to get rid of the count. That objective met, Valkin returned to preparing for that evening’s business, but only for a scant half hour before his mother appeared.

  The queen was not herself. A forced aspect to her posture—tension in her neck and arms—ruined the image of poise she had always presented. Other than that, the great difference lay in her brown eyes, which looked lightless. Hune had been right: she felt her misdeeds to the full, felt them to a degree of which Valkin would not have judged her capable. The sight of the woman unnerved him, and he forced himself to smile at her, to hide any demonstration of his unease. She seated herself in a chair before her husband’s desk. Valkin sat behind it.

  “How went negotiations with the Traiglanders?”

  “Well, I’d say. Quite well. At least, we agreed to the deal Father wanted.”

  “I’m proud of you, taking over for him this way. Your brothers are aiding you?”

  “With no grumbling to speak of.”

  The queen nodded. “I’d expect nothing less from sons of mine. Of your father. And you: from what I understand, your success is the talk of the servants’ quarters.”

  Valkin nodded his thanks, a thanks he did not feel. Oh, he needed to succeed in this venture of running his father’s realm. Of playing at being king. Each victory felt hollow, though. He could not help but judge that with each triumph, fate was driving him more and more inextricably into this role he could fulfill but would never relish.

  “You look very like your father sitting there. Just remove the spectacles….” The queen did so, reaching over the desk. “You’re every bit his son, and will make every bit the king he’s proven. Promise you’ll make a wiser choice of wife than he.”

  “Mother, I….”

  “One who won’t cause you the grief I’ve brought upon him and his kingdom. I know Hune’s told you of what I did. Promise me.”

  Valkin did so, to appease the distraught woman.

  “You’re very like him,” she repeated, “in so many ways more significant than appearance. Don’t repeat his one mistake.”

  Valkin bit back the condemnation he felt toward the queen. He put his glasses on and told her, “You’re not a mistake. You’re a human being, Mother. All people err.”

  “I suppose that’s true,” Gracia muttered. She kept her son’s eye. “Can I help you in something? Anything at all?”

  The prince nodded. She needed a part in her family’s efforts to keep the damage she had caused to a minimum; she needed that, and he could provide it.

  “I’m to meet with Tanya Greller tomorrow,” he said, “about redistricting Yangerton. I’m at a loss how to handle the woman. You know her far better than I. I can’t offer the help such a project requires, and I fear she’ll go over my head and seek out Father.”

  “Don’t allow her the opportunity. Make sure she understands she’s to accept your decision as from your father’s lips, and he won’t take kindly to any childish attempts to run around the authority both he and your birth bestow on you. Valkin, remember she’s a duchess. As such, her focus is upon her duchy, which is what should be. She hasn’t the insights you possess into the kingdom as a whole, into the crown’s responsibility to balance its resources throughout the realm.”

  Valkin nodded, and the queen said, “You could also mildly flatter, to remove the sting from your ruling.”

  “Flatter?” Flatter that old horse-faced…?

  “Not her looks. Thank her for the passion she brings in representing her duchy. Say her thoroughness aids the king in no small manner, and the king will know of it. But make this plain, the crown must consider all of Herezoth, not merely Tanya’s lands. Is that helpful?”

  “Very much so.”

  “You should speak with August, you know. She’s handled a fair amount of tension with Tanya, and with adeptness, ever since Tanya’s brother almost slaughtered Vane and wound up dead himself.”

  “August has enough to worry about without me bringing my trivialities….”

  The prince was relieved to see his mother’s eyes liven. Brighten. The graceful energy he had always associated with her reappeared in a flash. “Valkin Phinnean, you gaining the respect and cooperation of the Duchess of Yangerton is no triviality. There’s a not a woman in Herezoth, save myself, with more sway than Tanya Greller. You had best understand that, and understand it to the full.”

  “Of course I do! But compared with August’s troubles right now….”

  “You’ll furnish her a welcome distraction. Have you any idea how out of place, how unsettled, August still feels around Vane’s peers? She’ll cherish this rare opportunity to counsel you, cherish it. Vane will thank you for that, and you know how vital it is to make Vane understand that you respect his good opinion.

  “Speak with August. I’m not suggesting you send her a summons, dear. Go to Oakdowns. Allow Neslan to handle your documentation while you’re gone. You’ve already given Hune a fair portion of it…. I’ll send for Neslan and explain what he’s to do in your absence.”

  If he left now, Valkin would just have time to visit Oakdowns before heading to City Hall to deal with the tavernkeepers and the brewers’ guild. The prince kissed his mother’s cheek and left for the stables.

  * * *

  Kansten gained admittance to the royal stables, and to the Palace, by showing a special coin with the Phinnean crest; Vane had provided it, so she could prove herself an official messenger. The guardsman who opened the servants’ door called a butler, who led her to the king. When her guide said they would find him in the library with his son, she assumed that meant the crown prince.

  It meant Hune. Three ornate but small tables had been moved into the room since the last time Kansten had been there; Rexson’s youngest son sat at one of these with a quill, an inkwell, and a small mound of documents. The king, wearing a sapphire-hued robe, had been writing on the opposite side of the room, and rose when Kansten entered. Hune went on with his work as though he hadn’t marked her.

  “Your mother sent you?”

  Kansten spoke of Vane’s return to Oakdowns. Of Francie’s presence there and the fire in Partsvale. She said that Kora had something else to report that seemed urgent. “She wouldn’t give me a description. Won’t tell me anything.”

  Kansten’s tone came out bitter, and the king told her, “She means only to protect you, and your brothers, as much as she finds it’s in her power to do so. You should have seen her mother Zacry in the old days.”

  “She’d have mothered him,” Kansten agreed. “He was a child when she fought with the Crimson League. I see the way she still treats me, and I’m grown.”

  “I don’t imagine you need her shelter,” the king offered. Kansten knew she had sounded petulant, and she flushed at his words. That always made her horrid freckles stand out. “You’re her daughter, though. An infant or an adult, you’re her daughter. Never doubt she wishes you naught but blessings.”

  “I’m well aware, Sir,” Kansten responded.

  The hour was five o’clock. The king could be at Oakdowns before six if he left the Palace immediately, and leave he did, draping his outer garment on his chair. Upon his exit, Hune smiled up at Kansten and came to greet her. He’d been ignoring her on purpose, she realized. He’d refrained from interrupting her er
rand. The king’s time was valuable.

  “Valkin set me to his research,” he explained. “Documents he’s to discuss with the Duchess of Yangerton.”

  Kansten said, “I don’t mean to disturb you.”

  “I don’t mind a short break. These old political maps, the notes from redistricting sessions years ago: they’re beyond dull. We should find you a book or two to take back to Oakdowns, something more interesting than what I’m trudging through. You can see we’ve quite the collection.”

  Kansten’s mind was not on books. “How did you know?” she asked. Her cheeks flared up again. “How did you know about me and Herezoth? Know this place would grab at me?”

  Hune stared at her, slack-jawed. “Has it? Already?”

  “Seeing Francie Rafe…. I’ve always imagined myself following her on the Magic Council. That’s impossible, of course, but knowing all she’s done, all she’s sacrificed these ten years…. I only understood what you’d told me about Herezoth when I saw her.”

  Hune nodded. “How’s she faring?”

  “Vane said she’ll live, but she didn’t look it.”

  Feeling mortified, Kansten blinked to keep tears from her eyes. She couldn’t cry before a prince. She could curse, she had cursed, but not….

  Hune took her hand. Gave it a gentle squeeze. She found herself hoping he wouldn’t let go, and for some reason, he didn’t. He said, “Magic Council be damned, you can impact this place as much as she has. You can do so in her honor, if you’d like.”

  “That’s ludicrous, Your Highness.” She chose to be formal. Her uncle’s warnings were swarming around her head like a cloud of gnats.

  “Hune,” he corrected her. Kansten swore inwardly.

  “That’s ludicrous, Hune. You know I have no magic, not even the passive power Rafe boasts. How can you suggest I…?”

  “Come with me,” he told Kansten.

  “Your brother left you work. You have to report to him.”

  “The report can wait. There’s something you need to see.” Hune had never dropped her hand; he used it to guide her from the room, and she uttered no further protest. She pulled her fingers back from his only because some servant would be bound to cross their path.

  Hune led her back through the corridors she had taken to the library. He told the guardsman at the door he was showing Ingleton’s messenger to the stables; he must have done such things often, as a mark of respect to the noble houses his father’s couriers represented, because neither the guardsman nor anyone they passed in the halls gave them a second glance.

  The prince took Kansten to the garden out back, a garden with a pleasing balance of birch trees for shade and flowers for beauty: fragrant lilac, yellow roses, dark-hued snapdragons all had their place. They found the gate unguarded but locked; Hune had a key. Once inside, the pleasant mix of scents eased Kansten’s mind, turning her worry about what Hune would show her into a calmer wondering. She discovered the answer soon enough.

  In a far corner of the garden was a graveyard of sorts, albeit a small one. Kansten marked it by the headstones of marble that rose from the ground in regularly spaced increments.

  “This is the Royal Cemetery,” Hune told her. He looked directly at her, trusting that his feet knew the terrain. Did he come here often? “The name’s deceiving, as the royal family has a crypt in the Temple. This cemetery’s reserved for those few of common birth the kings honor with state burial, usually in recompense for service rendered. To keep that honor from being cheapened, each king’s granted two or fewer burials here. My father’s allowed one. The first woman.”

  Kansten couldn’t let Hune say more without warning they had company. The prince smiled to see the gray-haired soldier Kansten had met the night she arrived in Herezoth, the man who had first brought news of Linstrom’s plot. He looked different now: he wore a fresh uniform, a spotless one. He had bathed and shaved his face, and made a striking figure even sitting as he was beside a gravestone of white marble. He did not look up, but gave no sign of surprise when Hune touched his shoulder in a gesture of solidarity. The prince remarked, “I was hoping to find you here. Visiting Bennie?”

  Gratton said, “I couldn’t come to the Palace without ambling out this way.”

  Hune asked Kansten, “You’ve heard of Bendelof Esper?”

  Bendelof had fought with the king and Kora Porteg, in the Crimson League. Kansten had met her once or twice; she had come to one of Kansten’s birthday celebrations.

  “Of course I’ve heard of her. I don’t know much about her, though.”

  Hune asked Gratton to say something more. “You’ve more right than I, and you’ll do your wife greater justice than I could.”

  Gratton didn’t stand, but he made sure he had Kansten’s full attention. Then he told her, “Bendelof Esper put the king on his throne and put an end to Zalski Forzythe’s reign of terror. She was as responsible for Rexson’s unexpected coronation as any person living at the time. Years later, she went undercover to save Hune here and his brothers when some renegade sorcerers had them kidnapped. Thanks to her work as a spy, the king knew how and where to rescue his sons. The year after that, when a scoundrel nobleman tried to assassinate the Duke and Duchess of Ingleton—they were expecting their twins then—Bendelof died to buy the couple time to escape. Escape they did. Everything that pair’s accomplished, girl—the lives of their children, all the Magic Council’s done—it’s thanks to my Bens.”

  Kansten swallowed air. Air and shame. Gratton’s eyes bore into hers, and Hune demanded, “Ask me again how I can say a lack of magic’s no reason you can’t leave your mark on Herezoth. Bendelof had no more magic than my dogs do.”

  “Hune, I was making no comment about Bendelof. I spoke of no one but myself. I’d never take away from the sacrifices my mother’s friends….”

  Gratton asked, “Who’s your mother? Did she know Bennie?”

  “I’m Kora Porteg’s daughter.”

  Gratton rose to his feet. He shook Kansten’s hand with genuine gusto. “Bennie spoke nothing but warmly about your family. I owe your uncle a great debt, though I can’t claim we see eye to eye. He saved my career when Bennie died, when I would have drunk it to destruction.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Kansten stammered. Hune led her back toward the Palace, she imagined to let Gratton have his privacy. He put an arm around Kansten’s shoulder as he walked her to a secluded bench, one beneath a birch and in front of a row of lilac. The flowers’ fragrance was bewitching, but not enough to distract Kansten from her fear of discovery.

  “Are we all right to be here?”

  “No one without royal permission can enter the garden. Not even guardsmen.” The prince took Kansten’s hand again. “You have to stop this,” he said. “You can’t compare yourself like you do with your siblings. I did the same thing as a boy.”

  “Did that man say you were kidnapped?”

  Kansten longed to hear more, but Hune only said, “No harm came of it.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Eight. That was a long time ago, and a tale for another moment.” Kansten nodded. “What I’m trying to tell you is, I compared myself to my brothers a lot at that age. I envied their telekinesis, even though they never used it. Even though they never could. It wasn’t fair that they were bigger than me, stronger, treated differently by everyone I knew—my parents were the exception. On top of all that, I wasn’t their equal in magic. They had a power, a substantial one, while I had nothing. I was far too young to understand my lack of magic was an advantage in our situation. I wanted those powers they had.”

  “Anyone would,” said Kansten. Why was he spilling his soul this way?

  “I was walking a dangerous road, and when my mother noticed, she and my father set me straight. They showed me I had talents Valkin and Neslan couldn’t claim. They helped me believe I wasn’t inferior because I lacked the magic that ran in my family.

  “Kansten, you have no less potential than your siblings. Y
our brothers haven’t stood by August through all of this. They can’t claim the courage and the wit not to be dumbstruck by royal birth. You saw them when they met me.”

  Kansten screwed her eyes shut. “I’m so sorry. They….”

  “That had nothing to do with you. Listen, they’re no factor in what you’re worth, and I’m telling you, you’re worth more than what you esteem yourself.”

  Kansten opened her eyes. She was horribly aware that he still held her hand, and firmly. Her voice came in a whisper. “Why do you tell me these things? Why would you trouble at all about me?”

  Hune admitted, “I don’t know. I don’t, and that’s been annoying me, distracting me, for two days now. What I’ve seen of your personality, knowing where you come from…. You have the chance to be significant here. To improve this place. I guess I can’t stand the thought of you squandering that because you can’t cast a spell.”

  Kansten sighed. Her uncle, he was wiser than she gave him credit for. Perhaps Uncle Zac simply knew the royal family well. “Which do you hold I could become?” she asked. “Significant to Herezoth? Or to you?”

  “Isn’t that the same thing?”

  Kansten bit her bottom lip. “I suppose it would be. Hune, what do we do? We shouldn’t risk something happening between us. We can’t….”

  “We can’t do this?”

  Hune kissed her. Kansten drew away from him, gaping. Upon her rejection, he looked so horrified of his own daring, so repentant, Kansten’s shock soon gave way to a soft smile, and she succumbed to her instinct to return his kiss before she regained control of herself. Her hand shaking as she pulled it off his, she said, “This is precisely what we can’t do. We can’t develop feelings for each other.”