The King's Sons (The Herezoth Trilogy)

by Grefer, Victoria

  “Thank you, Valkin. Ever so kindly.” August paused, as though debating whether she should say something more. She decided she should. “I never told you I walked in on a conversation last month concerning you. Well, no, I overheard it. I stopped before I could enter the room and cause a disruption.

  “I was at Thad’s summerhome, north of the city,” August said. “Lorence Vierno was there from Carphead—Thad’s parents invited him—and Rayla Amison.” Tanya’s younger sister. “Rayla was the only person with something negative to say of you. She commented you were too much like your father, not enough your own man, and Vierno rebuked her. Why shouldn’t you follow the king’s lead, when he’s fair rebuilt the realm? He said he’d remember the speech you gave in Carphead, to the students of Val’s school there, for years to come, and that it was nothing like your father’s style. Your father finds it difficult to put the politician aside on formal occasions, but you managed to do that. You spoke to the children. He deemed that appropriate, as the school is theirs and for them before all else.”

  “In truth?” Valkin took his seat again. “But Vierno hates that the school’s in Carphead. He wants it nowhere near him, and his speech….”

  “He spoke as Carphead’s count. His role is different from yours, he said. Your future role as king is to understand not only the policies you enact, but your subjects too. Subjects like those students. He said you’re preparing yourself well. If Vierno has to deal with all the trouble that school brings him, he’s damn glad to see you at least take its mission seriously.” August smiled. “His words.”

  Valkin was so wrapped up in what August was saying that he’d failed to notice he was biting the inside of his cheek. It went numb.

  “The nobility revere you, Valkin. As they should. They can see for themselves how capable you are, and they take comfort to know they can trust the kingdom to your hands, when that time should come. I’m telling you this,” she specified, “not to frighten you with high expectations, but to make you aware you’ve already earned their goodwill and their honest respect. Don’t wonder if you’ll live up to Rexson’s standard. You already are.”

  “I had no idea Vierno would speak like that of me. He’s never been supportive those occasions I’ve met with him.”

  “That’s why I thought you should hear what he said.”

  “Thank you,” Valkin told the duchess. He felt renewed, full of a sudden energy, as though a fever had lifted. Though he’d eaten little for lunch and nothing since, he felt no hunger. He felt satiated, filled with peace instead of food. That peace would be temporary; he had known it before, and was aware how fleeting it would prove. That only made it more precious. “Thank you,” he repeated. “August, take care of yourself until the king cleans up this mess. Not only your children, all right?”

  “I will,” she promised. “Take care of yourself as well.”

  “I shall,” he said, and kissed her on the cheek again. He would send a servant to the kitchens when he returned to the Palace. Mustn’t forget that. He had no appetite, but he’d have to eat after speaking with the brewers’ guild. Perhaps he’d feel hungry after his trek to City Hall.

  August had been right to remind him to see to his own needs. Valkin let out a frustrated sigh as he walked down the corridor, and his peace collapsed around him. Once he was king, would he ever feel like eating? Would even that become a chore?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Turning the Enemy

  Lottie lived in a cottage on the eastern edge of Partsvale, in the oldest section of the village, which had spread west through the centuries. Kora was able to describe the house and where to find it, because she had joined Lottie and Linstrom on a walk down the nearest road. Linstrom had complained the historic district was picturesque without being practical; the old wells were rarely usable, and the roads too narrow for modern carriages or big carts.

  Vane knew the road Kora depicted, a major road to Partsvale by which pilgrims entered the village, and he took her with him, as Rexson had suggested. Invisible, they made their way down a deserted dirt path in the last light of day, and Vane had little trouble finding Lottie’s blue-shuttered, white-doored cottage with apple trees out front.

  “That’s it, no?”

  “Yes,” came Kora’s voice. “I’ll go back to Oakdowns, to the garden somewhere. I’ll use my chain for the next full hour, to make sure Linstrom doesn’t interrupt you. If he does….”

  “You’ve got my back, I know.”

  Kora transported off, leaving Vane alone. Keeping a slow pace to silence his steps, he avoided the front walk to cut a more direct path to a window at the front of the house, on the right side. The room he discovered was dark, not in use, but he could tell he peered into the kitchen. Someone had lit a lamp around the corner, and he crept toward its glow.

  He found Lottie’s living room, with all the flowers and the homey, feminine touches Kora had referenced. And there, napping on the couch, was the full-cheeked blonde who had demanded Linstrom kill Francie in as painless a way as possible. Vane needed a moment to control the anger that overtook him at the sight of her. How could she sleep, knowing what Terrance had done to Francie? Knowing her guilt by association in a good woman’s torment? How could she still accept Linstrom as a lover?

  Well, Linstrom would not interrupt what Vane had come here for. Lottie’s lover was tucked away in his office, poring over his plans to attack Yangerton and wondering where in the Giver’s name Terrance had gone, whether that fire had claimed him. Linstrom gave the fire’s other victims—the homeless, the resourceless—no thought, since the flames had been controlled before they spread to the cobbler’s shop.

  At least, Kora had found Linstrom in his office when she last checked in. And if he did make an appearance….

  Vane forced his resentment of Linstrom and Lottie aside. He had to. He had to make a positive impression on this woman; earning her trust was pivotal.

  With a transport spell Vane entered Lottie’s parlor, to stand on the floral-patterned rug before the couch. Such eccentric décor. Vane had never seen the like. He wondered to what extent Lottie’s sorcery was responsible for the furniture’s intricate patterns and bright dyes. Then he whispered the same muting spell he had used to incapacitate Terrance.

  Neither the incantation nor the shiver it caused its victim woke Lottie. Vane’s binding spell—the lavender-hued ropes that wrapped themselves around her wrists and ankles—did. Lottie jerked to consciousness, tried to scream once in shock, then again in pure terror as she realized her voice was gone. She struggled with her bonds to no avail as Vane, using Mudar, moved her from the couch to a wooden chair painted a soft yellow with a bright blue cushion. Another binding spell tied Lottie’s torso to the chair back, ensuring she wouldn’t move. Vane spoke Desfazair clearly, and ended his invisibility. At his appearance, Lottie’s gut reaction was to shrink against the chair. Her fat cheeks sunk in upon themselves.

  Vane waited some twenty seconds before he spoke. He knew that was a tactical error as well as unmanly. He knew he would judge himself for it later, but he couldn’t forget the hours of terror Francie had endured because of the plot this woman supported. Let Lottie sweat for half a minute.

  When Vane opened his mouth, he said, “I’m not going to kill you, though perhaps I should. That’s not why I’ve come. I merely needed to ensure you wouldn’t attack me.”

  Vane could see in Lottie’s eyes that she didn’t dare believe him, not yet. Her bound feet left the floor as she pulled her legs into her body in a defensive gesture. Vane continued, “The king knows what Linstrom’s plotting. He knows what Linstrom’s plotting more fully than you, my dear, and he knows more about you than you ever could have dreamed. He sent me to offer you amnesty, in exchange for your aid.”

  Lottie’s feet returned to the ground. She studied Vane’s face, marked his visible age, her expression as curious as fearful. “Ingleton?” she mouthed. Vane nodded.

  “Lottie, I know you hated Terrance. I know yo
u loathed him for what he did to Francie Rafe, and I know you tried, if nothing else, to end the woman’s suffering at the Hall of Sorcery. I can tell you Terrance is dead, burned in the bakery fire. He started the blaze. I can also tell you Linstrom was here this afternoon, and you told him your nephew had moved to Yangerton.”

  The woman shook her head in denial, then gave that up. Almost gawking, she spoke wordlessly; Vane could read her lips.

  What magic is this?

  “It’s not my magic you should fear, either for your sake or that of the boy you raised. You know what Linstrom and his supporters are capable of, thanks to Terrance. You were the only one to plead for a swift death for Rafe: you alone, of all Linstrom’s band. Reflect on that as I tell you Linstrom’s been lying all this time. His true goal isn’t the destruction of Partsvale. The Central Plaza in Yangerton’s his target. Has been for months.”

  The plaza her nephew would be frequenting. Lottie shook her head, aghast.

  “The proof is in his office, written by his hand. You’ll find it easily enough if you go searching. Lottie, the king can’t allow a sorcerer to lay waste to Yangerton. Linstrom’s finished. He is, though he doesn’t know it yet. His grievance against the crown may be legitimate, but why should your nephew pay for his revenge?”

  Lottie’s breathing was so fast and shallow Vane could hear it from near the sofa. Whether he lied and planned to murder her or spoke true, he realized, neither scenario would bode well in Lottie’s mind. Vane had to convince her of his sincerity. He urged, “Betray the scoundrel. You must leave him. Perhaps you’re not as familiar with the Central Plaza as I am: unattended children run errands there routinely. Children. You think Linstrom plans to attack in the dead of night? He’s after attention. As much attention as he can garner to his slight, with no thought for the innocents he’ll harm to get it. He claims people will blame the king as much as anyone else for the casualties.”

  Again the woman shook her head, unwilling to accept Vane’s revelations. He pressed, “Think! How many do Linstrom’s supporters number, in sum? Would he dare entrust knowledge of his actual plans to that many? He’d be a fool to! Perhaps you’re thinking he’d trust you. He’d tell you. Well, you’ve had doubts about the enterprise from the beginning, I’d wager. Linstrom knew you’d have qualms about attacking Yangerton. That didn’t make him reconsider his plot, though. It merely brought him to keep you in the dark. He planned to keep you there until things reached such a point that you couldn’t back out. You know he’s capable of that. If you doubt me, investigate Linstrom’s office.”

  This time Lottie nodded, pain in her eyes. That visible anguish signaled to the duke he had her.

  “You’ll help stop him?” Vane asked. Lottie’s gaze hardened in resolve. She nodded once more, and Vane slid a folded document from where he had stuffed it in his sleeve. He approached her, to show her its seal.

  “This is the king’s crest,” he said. “From the king’s own ring. Like I told you, I speak for him. He offers you amnesty. Will you accept it?”

  A third nod. Vane unbound her with a spoken word, though he kept her silent, for now. She read the king’s letter, a letter Vane had helped compose; it assured her no previous crime on her part would be held against her. She was to continue to support Linstrom in the capacity of royal spy, telling him nothing of Ingleton’s visit and following all instruction Ingleton was to give her. Vane knew, with all the secrets in her life he’d already exposed, she wouldn’t risk revealing a thing to Linstrom. Even so, he warned her, “If you betray the king, I’ll know of it.”

  She mouthed, “I won’t,” then jabbed a finger at her throat.

  “No spells,” Vane warned. “Not one.” And again, he spoke Desfazair. The risk he took in allowing her to speak was worth establishing some level of trust with her. Lottie’s voice came in a croak at first. She was too stunned to rise from her chair.

  “Why would you not kill me on the spot?”

  “Despite what you think of the king, he’s not an evil man. He takes no pride in having women slaughtered.”

  “But you knew Francie Rafe. You worked with her, for years. You know what Terrance did to her.”

  For caution’s sake, Vane would not reveal that Francie was alive. “How would making you suffer in kind restore her life?”

  “You’re not…?” she paused. “You don’t kill for the king?”

  “Of course I don’t kill for…. Do people say that!?”

  “Some do. I always assumed you did. What assassin could move with greater stealth than…?”

  “I’m no assassin. Nor would I ever be.”

  Ten years, ten, and people still believed things like…. What more could Vane do to gain the public trust outside Ingleton, where the residents, at least, knew they could respect their duke? Would he have to die for Herezoth before its people realized he was not his cursed uncle? He worked himself ill to serve the king. He’d risked, perhaps even invited, the Duke of Yangerton’s assassination attempts a decade ago, and had borne assaults on his name and property, all to serve the crown. When people noticed his zeal, rather than respect his loyalty, they assumed the king used him as a hired killer. He would have thought, if nothing else, that time would numb him to the injustice of it all.

  Lottie’s voice remained hoarse, but held an apologetic note. “I realize you’re no murderer. I’m lucky that’s the case. Ingleton, I can’t think Rafe received the slightest indication of the king’s snub against us sorcerers, not ever. The blame didn’t lie with her, for Terrance to….”

  “Rafe applied for the Magic Council when the king announced its formation. The same as dozens of others. The same as I did, in fact. She was ignorant of the slight you blame the king for. Though I should think,” Vane added, “you might reconsider your opinion of Rexson Phinnean, as he offered you your life when one could argue you’re guilty of high treason. I told you I don’t kill for him. He could have sent someone else here.”

  Lottie’s fat face reddened. Her eyes sparkled for a moment, and Vane thought she was fighting tears, perhaps of guilt over Francie, but no. She was trying to contain her anger—at Linstrom, as a diatribe revealed.

  “The king sent you to offer me my life. Linstrom sent Terrance to Podrar, and see what the serpent dealt Rafe. I can mark that contrast easily enough.” Lottie slammed a hand on the arm of her chair, propelling herself to her feet. “How dare Evant lie to me? Use me like a common…? You’re right, Ingleton. You’re right. If my choices are the king or that animal, I choose the king. At least the king was upfront about rejecting my application. He never led me to believe he was considering it, did he? Never sent the slightest word about it. I can respect a man who’s forthcoming when he deals with me. Tell your king he may expect the same treatment from my end.”

  That’s one for Kora, Vane thought. Lottie viewed Evant’s secrecy as betrayal, the kind of deep and total abandonment that could press a person to one of two extremes: the depths of despair and self-pity, or prideful revenge. For most women, Kora explained, that thirst for vengeance could be quenched by forgetting the sop and moving on with life. From the way Lottie clenched her fist, gritting her teeth so that she would have seemed lupine with a narrower face and more pointed features, Vane suspected her desire for revenge against Linstrom would require more—far more when all was said and done—than leaving the man behind. He trusted she didn’t feign her raw emotion, not when Kora had foreseen precisely this reaction. The only thing left was to make sure Lottie realized, fully, to what she pledged herself.

  Vane hazarded, “You misspoke, in the heat of the moment. That happens to me often. I’d think you meant to reference our king.”

  The rebuke, gentle though it was, took Lottie aback. She blinked twice, rapidly, trying to make sense of Vane’s words before she brought herself with an obvious effort to agree, “Our king.”

  “Lottie, I can’t give you Rafe’s seat on the council. The king mentioned no such bargain, but he’ll have to replace her. Serve h
im well in this….”

  “Understand me right now, I’m no traitor. I’m not turning on Evant in the hopes of earning a spot on that council. For any sort of personal gain. I aid you to repay him, in kind, the ill done me. As long as I find that proof you mentioned….”

  “In his office,” Vane reminded her. “In his own hand. Some documents in Terrance’s hand as well; that’ll prove I didn’t plant them. Just be discreet, by all that’s holy. Confront him about nothing, and don’t let him suspect someone’s rooted through his things.”

  “Pending what I find, the king has me as an ally. Is that acceptable to you?” Vane said it was. “I’ll accept no orders until I’m sure Evant’s planning an attack on Yangerton. I won’t betray you, though. I realize that would mean the end of me: arrest and prison, if nothing worse. Return here this time tomorrow, and I’ll search the office before then. I can do that tonight. It’s downstairs, a room off his workshop. Evant sleeps above, and soundly. His sorcerers, we’ve a late meeting planned tomorrow, but if you come early, we can speak beforehand. You can relay the king’s instructions.”

  That seemed wise. And if she hadn’t said our king, neither had she resorted to that your again. Vane agreed to Lottie’s timeframe, and she told him, “You do know that when I pleaded Rafe’s death, I meant it as a kindness?” Vane raised an eyebrow. “It was the most I could do. She had seen too much, and I know Evant. He would never have granted her release.”

  Vane’s rebuke lacked heart as he said, “Which means a greater kindness would have been transporting her to safety against his will.” He could resent Lottie’s nap, for he couldn’t sleep, at least not well, but to hold what aid she’d attempted to give Francie against her when he himself had done less….

  Less in a sense. He’d saved her in the end, he reminded himself. Saved her life. He would never feel that was enough. Oh, who was he to hide from Lottie the true story? Perhaps admitting everything would cement her trust.