The King's Craft (The Petralist Book 6)

by Frank Morin

  “You’re right. What was I thinking?” Hamish said. “Verena never does anything half way. If she decides to let loose, she’ll go for the record.”

  Jean gave Hamish a playful cuff on the back of the head and said, “Don’t be such a brute. Verena does not enjoy distance vomit contests like you guys.”

  Instead of looking disgusted, Verena’s expression turned mischievous. “You never know, Jean. Someone has to show these boys what focused vomiting can really accomplish.”

  Hamish barked a laugh. “Ha. I love optimistic rookies.”

  Kilian said, “The vomit-distance championship will have to wait, even though I guarantee I would win.”

  Verena looked affronted that Kilian would attempt to steal her moment. Jean looked disgusted with them all, and Shona looked like she was ready to bolt from the room.

  Kilian continued. “Unfortunately, we need to make plans tonight. Today we set in motion events that guarantee our peace is about to end. The mind bombs are triggered, we’ve sent her spy running home with reports, and unleashed the sculpted scones. She will hopefully believe most of the Builders are dead and all of us distracted. I have no doubt she will unleash her forces against Merkland.”

  That snuffed out the good mood. Connor dropped his last sweetbread. The moment they’d dreaded was upon them, and despite the incredible progress they’d made, he could not fool himself into thinking they were ready to face the dread queen.

  Aifric declared, “Connor’s mind is free. He must ascend.”

  Her features shivered for a split second and her posture straightened a little as Student Eighteen took over. “That means we need to head to Jagdish, to my people.”

  That was something Connor was both eager to get on with, and very nervous about. The queen posed such a clear and immediate threat that he believed the Mhortair would embrace him as an ally and assist his ascension with serpentinite. However, there was always a chance they would try to kill him instead. That way they could still remove the lesser threat before he could grow as powerful as the queen, thus making their ultimate mission to purge Blood of the Tallan from the world that much easier.

  Shona said, “If you plan to travel to Jagdish, we should stop in Merkland on the way.”

  “It’ll be good to get back to Merkland,” Ivor agreed. “Rory will be thrilled to get some more reinforcements. Merkland stands alone against the queen in Obrion. She’ll strike with her full might against us there.”

  Wolfram said, “I’ll contact Lady Briet and mobilize the Arishat League forces. We had hoped the roads and passes would be dry by the time we mobilized. We have a lot of equipment to move. Those Tabnit death tubes are very heavy.”

  Kilian said, “I’ve already sent word for the mobilization to begin. We knew this would be the next step after triggering the mind bomb. I’ll leave it to you to coordinate with them to push the mobilization as fast as possible.”

  Jean added, “We can send Ilse and a squad of Sappers along with the ground forces. She can keep the roads clear and watch for ambushes.”

  They spent a few minutes discussing the various forces available to send to Merkland to help defend the city against the queen’s armies. Crushing Merkland would clearly be the queen’s first military priority. When she stamped out that hotbed of revolution, she could move against Granadure and from there against the rest of the Arishat League.

  Granadure had been marshaling their forces throughout the winter. The bulk of the army was gathering outside of Altkalen, and Wolfram assured them those forces could begin to move immediately. The plan called for them to marshal at the pass, prepared for fast deployment via windrider troop carriers before the battle.

  Verena and Hamish discussed the status of their research. Ilse’s Revenge was not quite ready. With their recent successful tests of Verena’s new engine and strum currents, all they needed was final assembly. That would probably take at least a couple of weeks.

  The Arishat League had been massing an army outside of Maninder, the capital city of Ravinder. They could move against Obrion from the west, right up the great western trading road into Raineach. Everyone marshaled around New Schwinkendorf could move out as early as the next day. Most of the Petralists in the area would mobilize with them, along with stockpiles of Builder mechanicals.

  The problem with moving so many forces burdened down by so much heavy equipment would take a lot of time. Even with the fleet of windrider support, and Jean’s flight companies, the mobilization would probably take a matter of weeks.

  “What about the battalion deployment platforms?” Kilian asked.

  “Not quite finished, but close,” Verena assured him.

  Connor had spied one of the giant transport platforms from a distance. When finished, it could fly hundreds of soldiers into battle. All together, they could field an impressive host, but he feared they might have delayed too long for deployment.

  The queen could hit Merkland on her own in a matter of days, not weeks. Their group, his closest friends, would stand in the vanguard against her. All of their supporting forces and armies would prove vital in countering the queen’s armies of Petralists and summoned creatures, but all of that would serve as but the backdrop for the real contest.

  Connor and his closest friends would have to somehow defeat the dread queen. If they failed, she could single-handedly destroy everything else they had worked so hard to build. Together his group of close friends represented an amazing concentration of power and brilliance, but would that be enough?

  Connor had no idea, but one thing was abundantly clear. If he did not ascend, they were doomed. He had no choice but to risk the trip to the Mhortair.

  Student Eighteen interrupted the discussion as they focused on supplies and logistics. As if reading Connor’s mind she said, “We have to go to Jagdish. I’ve given the Kill Council more than enough time to commit to joining our cause. The time for hesitation is past. They must make a choice.”

  Hamish scowled. “I still can’t believe they haven’t committed yet. What are they waiting for?”

  She shrugged. “It’s not easy to throw off three centuries of hatred and tradition. Our mission before the queen rose from the long slumber would have been clear as a drawn dagger. My clan would have instantly united to remove Connor from the face of the planet.”

  Hamish pointed a sweetbread at her. “But she is back. That changes everything.”

  Ivor added, “I have no doubt your people will see the need to ally with us.”

  That was easy for him to say. He was not the one that they were going to attack if they decided to be stupid rather than clever.

  Kilian said, “I’ve had a long and unfriendly history with the Mhortair. The fact that I’m allied with Connor no doubt has added to their hesitation.” His expression turned grim and his voice hardened. “But my patience is at an end. We will go to Jagdish, and we will make every effort to set the past behind us and reach a joint defense accord with them. If they join us, perhaps together we can stop my crazy mother. If they refuse, if they continue to breathe out threats against us, I will give them war.”

  As he spoke, tiny specks of white-hot fire danced in his eyes and in that moment, Connor felt immensely grateful that Kilian was on their side. He might have tricked Kilian in their duel the previous morning, but he held no illusions that he’d survive long if Kilian really wanted him dead.

  Student Eighteen did not look pleased, and Connor was tempted to tap chert and try to listen to her thoughts. She was extremely good at shielding most of the time, but she might let her guard down. He couldn’t do that to such a trusted friend, but he would love to hear the opinions of the many different women in her head.

  Student Eighteen was Mhortair and would bristle at any threat against her people, no matter how justified it might be. At the same time, Connor suspected some of the other ladies in her head might view Kilian in a different light. He was suddenly glad he had not tapped chert. That was a complicated situation that he did not want
to know more about.

  General Wolfram rose, bowed to Jean and to Shona, and said, “Then if you’ll excuse me, I will initiate the orders to prepare to move out.”

  Shona and Ivor followed after him, already talking about what supplies they could bring with them. Connor might be heading to Jagdish with some of his friends, but not everyone could go. Ivor and Shona would join Rory in preparing Merkland for defense. Jean would remain in New Schwinkendorf, supporting the mobilization from her end and ensuring final production of Ilse’s Revenge completed soon, along with as many mechanicals as they could finish. No doubt, the already frenzied pace they had maintained through the winter was about to double. Connor had no doubt that the stalwart citizens would prove themselves up to the challenge yet again.

  As the group dispersed to their various duties, Connor took Verena’s warm hand in his and met her determined gaze. “Here we go again.”

  She nodded, her expression serious. “Let’s hope she gives us just a few more weeks.”

  Connor doubted they would get that much time. As they headed for the door, he glanced back and was surprised to see Water standing in the air above the table. Her long tresses were blowing gently, like waves in low tide, but her eyes were black like deep pools on a moonless night. Her expression was grave, and she held one hand extended toward him.

  He hadn’t realized he’d tapped soapstone, and he definitely wasn’t drawing from it. Water floated toward him, her mouth opening, her expression intent.

  She was trying to tell him something.

  “What is it?” he whispered as a feeling of foreboding settled over him. He loved how the elements appeared in his mind when he tapped their affinities and felt he was getting to know them somehow, but this seemed different. She seemed to want to warn him of something.

  Water stopped in front of him and extended her hand. Red and green energy mixed across her skin in eye-twisting patterns, and for a second he felt like they were forming letters, but the patterns changed too fast for him to read them.

  “Connor, are you okay?” Verena asked, breaking his concentration.

  “Yes. Just give me a second.”

  When he turned back to Water, she was gone. A chill crept across his arm, as if he’d dipped it in the Wick on an autumn day.

  Connor shook off the lingering sense of foreboding. His worry about the queen was messing with his head. He rejoined Verena and took her hand. They had tons of work to do, but on a whim he said, “Let’s take the Swift up Anika’s Gulch for an hour.”

  She smiled. “Good idea. Might be the last quiet time we get for a while.”

  29

  Fear the Scones

  Ailsa sat at banquet in the magnificent feasting hall of the central palace. The queen liked taking her meals there, surrounded by lords and ladies and courtiers. On the surface that ensured every feast appeared a grand, festive affair. Queen Dreokt did not seem to care that the hall was always unusually quiet, as people spoke in hushed tones, constantly glancing furtively toward her, terrified they might draw her attention.

  The hall was a great, vaulted room, held up by gilded pillars. Enormous paintings on the walls depicted Obrion in its heyday. A bank of windows opposite the queen allowed a panoramic view out over Loch Mealt and the expanse of the city.

  Ailsa only lightly sampled each course, but she appreciated the diversity of dishes and the excellent quality. That night they feasted on lamb stew. The thick broth was bursting with delectable chunks of lamb, perfectly seasoned and so soft they seemed to melt as she chewed. Plates of ripe fruit cleansed the palate before the next course of roasted duck and pecan-encrusted chicken, spread on a bed of grilled potatoes.

  Other courses followed. Beef and greens, stuffed mushrooms, spicy pasta, and lemon-seasoned fish on yellow rice. It would be so easy to indulge and eat far too much of the excellent food, but she resisted the urge. She sat at the high table, to the left of the queen. Other high level officers and counselors sat to either side, all down the length of the long table.

  In addition to offering opinions on any topic the queen might abruptly show an interest in, Ailsa provided the queen’s supply of power stones. It wasn’t like the queen needed much stone, though. Ailsa still had not figured out how the queen could embrace her affinities so often without needing a far greater supply. She suspected it had to do with the final threshold, but had not managed to figure out a way to broach the subject without drawing too much attention and potential suspicion from her monarch.

  As always, she carefully maintained the surface thoughts of her current persona, the queen’s advisor, a role that she wore even closer than a concealing blanket. It was more like a second skin. More than just a well-crafted, fake front that she projected in the queen’s presence, Ailsa truly became the queen’s counselor. The reason the queen never plucked treasonous or improper thoughts from her mind was that when she stepped into that role, none of those thoughts existed.

  “My inner thoughts are mine alone because you will never have a reason to dig deeper.”

  In quiet moments alone, or in her workshop, when she allowed herself to risk stepping into other aspects of herself, Ailsa looked forward to the time when she could interview Aifric in much more depth. The assassin girl was the only person Ailsa had ever met who could assume a different persona even more completely than Ailsa could, but the similarities were striking.

  Ailsa was no Petralist, but she understood power stones in some ways better than any Petralist ever could. She would love to understand more how Aifric partitioned her mind, but that was only one of dozens of inquiries she planned to make when the time and opportunity presented itself.

  After the main course, several delectable deserts were passed around to all attendees by perfectly silent staff. The selection looked wonderful. Ailsa spied traditional Obrioner puddings, cake sliced into small pieces, and several varieties of sweet cookies. The servers had all been mind-wiped and retrained by the queen to act as perfectly worthy servants.

  As usual, everything was cooked to perfection. The cooks in Donleavy had always been exceptional, but after the queen had melted one of them in his own oven for producing a dish she felt unworthy, they triple-checked everything before allowing it to leave the kitchen. Ailsa was not sure how long they could keep it up without cracking, but she had to admit the results were spectacular.

  A terrified-looking assistant chef hurried into the room, pushing a large rolling cart. The cooks rarely entered the room, and this fellow looked close to passing out from terror by the fact that he needed to.

  His entrance drew the queen’s attention. As the chef rushed toward the high table, pushing his multi-leveled cart piled with breads and pastries she demanded, “What is the meaning of this? The bread course was delivered earlier.”

  The chef blanched, turning as white as his hat, but still continued his advance. He looked like he expected to be murdered, but had decided to die with honor, fulfilling his life’s work.

  “Forgive me, my queen. Somehow the serving staff failed to deliver this final cart. Since you require that all baked goods be served within the hour of coming out of the oven, I did not wish to anger you by disobeying that command.”

  “Good move, reminding her of her previous wishes. Sometimes she forgets.”

  The queen regarded him with a little frown, which usually heralded imminent and violent death. But then with one of her inexplicable mood swings, she grinned, looking delighted. “Well done, young man. You’re absolutely correct. It would be a shame to waste so many delicious pastries. I commend your integrity for not concealing the oversight from me. It’s unusual for the servers to miss anything, but that’s why I have layers of servants to back each other up.”

  She laughed, as if that was particularly funny. The entire gathered company, who had been bracing to witness a gory murder, instantly erupted into frantic laughter to mimic her current mood.

  Looking so relieved he nearly fainted, the young cook beamed as he swept the first si
lver tray off the top of the cart and presented it with a flourish to the queen. It was covered with muffins, scones, cream-filled tarts, and half a dozen other pastries, all bite-sized so they could be popped into the mouth whole.

  The queen did not like watching people gnaw away at large portions. She considered such efforts beneath nobility, reminiscent of the linn rabble who worked to support her existence. She selected a scone and a round, cream-filled puffy pastry.

  The cook moved down the high table, offering desserts to everyone. A dozen of the mindless servers converged on the cart and carried other trays full of pastries around the room for the nobles and courtiers to sample. Even though they had started eating dessert, no one would refuse a pastry for fear of somehow offending the queen.

  Ailsa selected a small muffin that was still soft and warm from the oven. She placed it on her plate and glanced down the rest of the table. In addition to her and the queen, the high table held Aonghus and Rosslyn, and her father, High Lord Feichin. Several other high-ranking officials, noble men and women, and other chief advisers.

  The queen was a stickler for propriety, and she never began consuming a new course until it had been distributed around the entire room. She did not like the distraction of eating while the servers were still moving about. That did not mean she did not insist upon taking the first bite of every course, though.

  Soon all the pastries were distributed and the still-beaming cook pushed the empty cart from the room. Queen Dreokt popped the cream-filled tart into her mouth with a happy expression. Instantly, everyone else in the room grabbed a pastry and did the same. Most people did not spend much time savoring their food, but swallowed the small treats as quickly as possible. They seemed more interested in savoring the fact that they still lived.

  Ailsa picked up her little muffin and moved it to her mouth, but instead of eating it, she palmed it into her pocket. She did not think about the act as she did it in case the queen noted her deception, but she doubted it would draw anyone’s gaze. She was quite skilled at such a simple sleight of hand.