The King's Sons (The Herezoth Trilogy)

by Grefer, Victoria

  What thoughts had plagued Laskenay, to bring her to choose that course? Why forsake the chance to escape with little remained of her family? Had she been unwilling then, as Kora was now, not so much to let her loved ones die without her as to let them kill? Had she known she must take revenge, lest her son grow to take it for her?

  Kansten had used chair cushions to create a makeshift mattress on the floor, where she slept no better than her mother. She judged Kora sound asleep, though, and tossed as she thought of Hune. Two certainties battled for prominence in her mind: the first, that the course of action she’d chosen regarding the prince was unwise; the second, that she would continue down that path until she knew where it brought her. Back to Traigland, in shame and sorrow, seemed a likely destination.

  Hune, she had no doubt, had halfway given his heart to her, as her uncle had warned. Uncle Zac knew the princes. He’d foreseen this, but Kansten had ignored his admonitions. She now worried the major draw to her, for Hune, was her lack both of noble birth and control over her tongue. The first classed her with nearly every girl in the kingdom, and would never be enough to hold his attention. The second was hardly a virtue, especially where royalty was concerned.

  Clearer to her were her thoughts about him. She appreciated, quite simply, that he’d already sacrificed some time for her in the midst of aiding his brother. He’d entrusted her with opinions he could never give publicly, and somehow, hardly knowing her, he’d placed a finger on her greatest doubts about herself and sought to ease them, all without coming across as superior, judgmental, or pitying. He too had no magic in a family of empowered individuals. His elder brothers overshadowed him, just as Kansten had always imagined Walt and Wilhem towered over her.

  She wished she could be speaking to Hune now. Could speed the passing of the hours. After all, he could lose interest in her in two weeks, or two months, and she yearned with a feverish intensity to know whether he would. If all she represented to him was an escape from his princely duties, then he would tire of her company when he discovered a maid or cook with whom he could speak freely.

  That gave Kansten a jolt. Hune had a valet, no? Surely, some servant had gained his friendship and his faith enough that the two spoke freely. It seemed impossible he had no one to confide in. And then, that kiss…. Why kiss her when he had, at the moment she’d expressed a conviction against forming attachments? Had he wished to calm her fears by showing her the sky would not fall in when their lips touched? If their hearts should meet? Or had something within him pushed against the restraints in his life, so that he’d seized the opportunity to strike back in whatever way he could? So Kansten could see herself doing in his place.

  She needed to see him again. Once she knew him better, she could better judge these things. Until then, she refused to envelop herself in some imagined fairy tale; she had never been a fanciful girl. Discovering she lacked magic had taught her early that life was not romantic, and romantic expectations would only crush her. Though not exactly cynical—she had never dreamed Herezoth would be as dangerous, as unwelcoming as it proved—she had never been an unguarded idealist, and she and Hune, were they to be together, would have strong barriers set against them:

  Kansten’s mother would be horrified, would immediately envision the worst that could come to pass. Kora would read assassination, civil unrest, or some other disaster into a relationship with Hune.

  Hune’s family, Kansten could only assume, would never support the match. What did Hune or Herezoth stand to gain from a woman like Kansten?

  Then there were Linstrom and the public outcries against sorcery he could reignite. The timing for a prince to marry into the family of the most infamous sorceress of the age could not be worse.

  There were long-standing laws, from centuries past, prohibiting marriage links between anyone five steps removed from the throne and common blood. Hune was third in line. The king, of course, could suspend those laws upon his slightest whim, but why should he?

  Kansten turned to her side with a slow exhalation, full of dread. Her eyes popped open, though she saw little in the dark despite the soft, yellow glow of her mother’s sound barrier. The room was too large, and Kansten too near its center for the walls’ light to dispel the nearest shadows.

  Far too early to entertain thoughts of marriage, she decided. She almost wished Hune would push her away, and soon; she almost hoped he would realize he loved not her, but the thought of striking against the boundaries his birth imposed on him. He was an honorable man. Once aware of that motivation, he would never abuse Kansten’s feelings or her time, and Kansten almost found herself praying neither one of them would wish to pursue a relationship.

  Almost.

  * * *

  Kora found old habits much harder to kill than Zalski’s ambushing soldiers had been. She was up before dawn, like in the old days, to toss that monstrous chain over her head and make sure Linstrom was not already awake and causing trouble. Unfortunately, that was the case.

  He had slept poorly. His thoughts were sluggish, and the dark circles beneath his eyes were more prominent than on the previous day. He wore a loose-fitting nightshirt over his stocky frame, and maintained a state of forced calm as he combed every inch of the office beside his workshop. Kora needed half an hour to piece the situation together from a snippet of thought here, a reflection there, but soon, her blood was running cold.

  Unable to rest as he admitted Terrance might have died in that fire after all, Linstrom had considered the Yangerton assault: or the Yangerton problem, thanks to Lottie’s worthless nephew. He’d decided that attacking the theater district would make his point as surely as demolishing the Central Plaza, with the benefit of endangering the boy less. Since sleep escaped him, he had gone to his office for a map of Yangerton.

  He’d told himself he imagined the flickering light, as from a candle, he saw filter beneath the door, then disappear, until he’d entered to find all the maps he had drawn of the plaza, all his notes for the Yangerton attack, out on his desk with drops of wet wax on them.

  Linstrom had surprised someone rooting through his office. A sorcerer, who had scampered off at the interruption, and not just any sorcerer: the Duke of Ingleton. Who else could it have been? Terrance would not have fled. Hang it all, Terrance would have let Linstrom know he lived. The only conclusion was that Ingleton had been here. The king was on to Linstrom, which meant the time to act was now. This day. This evening, when his troops already planned to meet at sundown at the Hall of Sorcery.

  Impossible, now, to wait for newsletters to print word of the king’s deceit. Purposeless too. If the king had Linstrom figured out, then the articles would cast no doubt as to who was behind his riots; Rexson Phinnean would never blame sympathizers of the ignored sorcerer applicants. Linstrom had to assume that Ingleton knew everything: the decoy plot against Partsvale, the genuine plan to attack Yangerton first. Everything. Well, Ingleton would regret sticking his noble-born nose in a real sorcerer’s business. Linstrom would take his assault to Oakdowns. That would impact the public less, but deliver his message loud and clear to the kingdom’s tyrant, and to all Herezoth when Linstrom moved on from there.

  “Wh…? Mom, wha…?”

  “Get up, Kansten.”

  “Mom, it…. It’s still dark.”

  “Thank the Giver that’s the case. That it’s this early. We need every second we can get. Vane’s here, isn’t he, at Oakdowns? Go wake him.”

  “Mom, I….”

  “He needs to go for the king. There’s no time to waste with horses, not when he can transport.”

  Kansten only then noticed the chain that still hung on her mother’s neck. She bolted upright, so suddenly she nearly slammed into Kora, who bent over her. “Linstrom’s at something? At this time of day?”

  “Kansten, go!”

  Fifteen minutes later, Vane, August, and the king were in Kora’s room with her. Kansten they had sent away, to the girl’s (thankfully silent) chagrin. The duke had thrown on
a clean but rumpled cotton shirt and fitted trousers. The king was dressed much the same. August had changed her nightdress for a sundress, a far cry from her gowns of the days before, and her blonde curls she had pulled back in a sloppy bun. Kora had done the same with her darker hair, and changed into a clean housefrock.

  “We’ve three options,” Kora noted, when she had explained the situation. “We attack them at the Hall, before they come here, or we plan to defend Oakdowns. Or….” Kora forced herself to voice the proposition. “Vane takes me to Partsvale, and I take care of Linstrom now.”

  August grabbed her husband’s arm with a jerk that pulled him up against her. Vane himself paled a bit, but seemed to be considering what Kora had suggested. Rexson was the one to say, “I won’t have you bloody your hands that way, not when it might not solve the problem. There would still be his followers. And there’d be his lover, no? She’d know what we’d done. What I’d ordered. She might rally Linstrom’s men against us, and we’d be more or less at the same place we are now.”

  Vane loosened August’s grip on his bicep to take her hand in his. He said, “We’ll defend Oakdowns. As best we can. If we want to maintain order, it’s better he attack me here than raze a public space. Herezoth won’t spook like a timid horse over a personal beef between two sorcerers. We can portray it thus. And he’ll have no clue we’re prepared to meet him.”

  The king reminded his duke, “There’s the Hall, Vane.”

  “There is, but I know Oakdowns. I know every nook and cranny of the place. Linstrom doesn’t, and if he burns it to the ground, I can’t say I’ll mind. I can’t look out a window without seeing those protesters with their torches at the fence, the ones who came when you announced the Magic Council. I can’t walk the grounds without cursing how big they are. Ten years it’s been, and I still say had there been less to search here, I could have saved Bennie that day she died for August. Could have gotten to her sooner. I came here first….”

  Vane gave August’s hand a squeeze, and emphasized, “I don’t care if the manor’s destroyed, Rexson.” The king nodded grimly. Kora knew he could relate to Vane’s sentiments, knew he loathed the Crystal Palace. It scorched his soul to live in a building where he had seen so many die. He told the duchess:

  “Come to the Palace. Bring whatever you discreetly can.”

  August stood straight-backed. Determined. Unbreakable, was the impression she gave Kora. She said, “The portrait of Val’s parents, I can’t leave that. And I’ll go to the children’s rooms, right now. I know which of their things they hold dearest. I’ll take those too, in case we’re forced to spend some time as your guests.”

  The king told her, “You’re welcome for as long you need to stay. Duration’s no issue…. Lottie, Kora?”

  “Vane should bring her here. We have to protect her. After all, she didn’t go running to her lover. She was trying to prove his lies, and he interrupted her. It was a horrid case of bad timing…. We can’t leave her to Linstrom’s mercy. I don’t know how well she could play a part if he went to see her, and she’ll be safe with us. She can help with Oakdowns’s defense.”

  The king told Vane, “Get her now. Bring her here, but not a word about Kora. Take her to the parlor.”

  The duke squeezed his wife’s shoulder, and then left the room to obey the king’s command. August excused herself, to collect her children’s things, and followed him. Kora found herself alone with her old comrade-in-arms.

  “You might not want me bloodying my hands, Rexson. I’ll tell you plainly, since there’s no one else to listen, the same as I told you yesterday: I’ll bloody them, and gladly, if it keeps my…. If I can keep my boys from danger, I would have no qualm.”

  “His supporters, Kora. Linstrom’s supporters, they number two hundred. Believe me, I wish I could eliminate this problem sending you after him.”

  Kora held back tears of fright as easily as in the days of the Crimson League. She even kept her voice firm, and was sure the supreme effort that cost her was her secret, unless she betrayed herself with the way she grabbed her wrist. “Send my sons home, at least. Send them home. I’m begging you, as your friend….”

  With a sigh, Rexson sank into a chair. She hoped he might divert his gaze, but he looked directly in her eyes. He had always done that when speaking difficult truths to her. She considered it a mark of respect, and imagined he treated everyone that way. When Rexson must deal disappointment, even anguish, the least he could give a poor soul was the satisfaction of knowing he realized the pain he caused.

  “As your friend, I’d gladly restore your sons to you. You can’t doubt that. I’m a father myself. I’m also the king, and as your king, I’d remind you that no matter the good fortune that’s befallen us with Linstrom’s new choice of target, should Oakdowns fall to him, he won’t stop here. He’ll be straight off to the Great Square or the Palace courtyard, if not Yangerton and its Central Plaza. Any of that constitutes an eminent catastrophe for this kingdom.

  “Kora, your sons are sorcerers. Herezoth needs them here, though I will say this: I don’t conscript them. I couldn’t, even if I wished to, as natives of Traigland. If they choose to leave my realm, they’re free to go. You’re free to urge them to make that choice. But they came on their own to offer their aid, came with you yourself.”

  With that, Kora’s voice did break. “They love Zacry and Vane too much not to be here. I know that. I know I must support that kind of unselfishness, but I…. Forgive what I asked of you.”

  “It’s no affront to me that you’re a mother to those young men.” He paused. “And fine young men they are. They’re quiet, aren’t they?”

  Kora found herself smirking. “Quiet? I suppose they must be, if you’re comparing them to their sister.” Then her expression turned serious. “They’re unnerved by all this. They’re not quiet at all, not at home or when they’re together. Walt and Wil, they’ve always been close, and Kansten’s two sisters have each other. Kansten, on the other hand, has always set herself apart. Always taken the role of guardian. It’s been hard for her, to see her brothers don’t need that any longer. She’s felt lonely for years in my crowded house.”

  “That girl is your daughter through and through.”

  The sorceress sighed. “Don’t I know it.”

  “She protects her brothers? I’ll never forget all you did for Zacry in his youth. How you strove to safeguard him. Your entire soul was in your voice when you begged me to convince him to go to Zalski’s school.”

  Kora would always remember eavesdropping on the subsequent discussion between the prince and her twelve-year-old brother. It took place outside the barn where the Crimson League was hiding. Rexson had explained Zalski’s plan to educate the magicked, to train them for work in his government. He had convinced the boy he had no choice but to follow the path Zalski would force upon him.

  The king said, “You can’t realize how painful that conversation was for me. How much it did to prepare me for the throne. The thought of ripping Zacry’s freedom away, his future, and making him see why he had to give them up…. It was the only thing to do, for his own good. He had no other options with Zalski in power, but that didn’t make me feel less torn about what I did to the boy. I’ve always considered that discussion my first act as king. I imagine my son’s came this week.”

  Kora had no idea how to respond, or what he wanted her to say, or whether she should say anything. Still standing, she looked down on him in his chair; his effortless, perfect posture was the only sign of the life he led, except his words.

  “The most damnable thing about being king is knowing Valkin must do it after. To wield that power myself, and live with the guilt of each life and death decision, that’s one thing. To prepare my son to do the same….”

  The sorceress pursed her lips. She remembered the elder brother he’d survived, the man who should have ruled; the contrast between them had never been so marked.

  “Your brother’s death was the only thing you refused t
o speak to me about. Not whether or how deeply you grieved. Not what it meant for you, should you survive. Nothing.”

  “I refused to taint you with all of that, refused until I must.”

  “Which would have been?”

  “Sometime after your crest on the Palace wall inspired that mob to form and forced me to rip your heart out instead of talking things over.”

  Right after Zalski’s death, that mob had trapped them in the Palace vestibule. Rexson had waited as long as possible to interfere with the situation, to banish her, in the hopes he could avoid doing so. When Podrar’s citizens threw her, voiceless and defenseless, to the floor and began to beat her, he had acted, with the sole intent of keeping her alive.

  Kora didn’t say how she blamed him for nothing. She had told him that before, years before, and had no desire to repeat the words. She had to emphasize the impassable barriers that had always separated them. That was not what he wanted to discuss, but she needed to remind herself of them, to remember her life was in Traigland.

  “I’m no noblewoman, Lanokas. I could never have been happy in the Palace. I think I always knew that, deep down, and I think you did too. There were moments we managed to forget, that’s all, and never both at once.”

  That summary of their relationship was accurate, if painful. It set Kora’s arm to aching, and Rexson’s back tensed up. “I still don’t know whether that last part is lucky or regrettable.”