Silence stretched between them as Hazmul went off on a tangent of possibilities into which Vesprit finally intruded with great wariness:
“Warhast, you have lost me completely. I thought . . . I thought this was something we didn’t want to happen. I thought . . . Won’t this only strengthen him more?”
“Oh no. Prosperity is one of the most powerful tools we have. Let him have his kingdom and his woman and his children for a time.”
“Children, sir?”
“If he can pull it off, I’d love to see more than one. Let him get comfortable with it all. Let him grow to rely upon it, get attached to it. . . . Let him think that with the lighting of the guardstar and the myriad conversions, we have been driven away and defeated. Meanwhile, we will continue to work behind the scenes, nurturing our own family. Gillard is coming along nicely. And Eudace has tremendous potential, particularly now that he’s been so unfairly imprisoned.”
Hazmul moved on to the next painting, as if he could actually see something in the darkness. “The more he has to lose, Vesprit, the harder he will fall. And the harder he falls, the more likely he’ll never get up. In fact, if all goes as I envision, he won’t be able to get up at all, for he will be dead. At the hands of those he loves most.”
EXECUTION
SQUARE
PART FOUR
CHAPTER
34
“Papa! Papa, look at me! Can you see me?”
“Aye, Simon, I can see you,” Abramm called, grinning at his towheaded young son as the latter clung to the saddle of his gray pony. Philip Meridon, at twenty-five the physical match of his older brother, held the beast’s reins just under its chin and led it about the yard, while Jared, taller than Philip now, walked along beside to make sure the little crown prince didn’t fall.
Abramm stood with Byron Blackwell in the afternoon shade of the elm trees, holding his other son, Ian, who had one chubby fist fastened tightly to the back of Abramm’s doublet as he waved the other in his big brother’s direction. “ ’Ima! ’Ima!” he said.
“Yes, Ian. That’s Simon,” Abramm said to him. And Ian jumped up and down in his arm, laughing.
“I’m riding the pony, Papa!” called young Simon. “Do you see me?”
“Aye, and a fine rider you are, too, my little man.”
His son’s smile was glorious to behold. The boy turned his attention to Philip. “Make him go faster, Lieutenant.”
“You must kick him with your heels, Highness,” Philip told him.
Simon complied readily, though the kicks could only have registered to the beast as a strange disturbance high on its back, not anything to be heeded and obeyed. But Philip clucked and tugged at the reins and the pony broke into a trot as Simon squealed with delight.
At Abramm’s side, Byron Blackwell shook his head and murmured, “Hard to believe he’s already four years old. Seems like yesterday he was born.”
“It does, indeed. I swear he’s a gotten foot taller since I left for Elpis.” Though Abramm had been home from that trip for several days now, he still couldn’t get over how much his firstborn had changed in the mere three months he’d been gone.
Byron chuckled. “So much for your fear he’d be small. Frankly I think it’s astonishing how much he favors you—in mind and body.”
Abramm gave his secretary a doubtful glance. Simon was very blond, and very blue-eyed, but beyond that Abramm could see no similarities between his son’s round features and his own scarred, hawkish countenance. If Simon resembled anyone it was Maddie. But everyone was constantly remarking on how the boy was clearly Abramm’s progeny. Maybe it gave them comfort to know the heir was truly the heir.
Simon’s birthday party was being held on the clipped green at the center of the grove of oaks and elms just north of the East Terrace. The cleared space had been created for ninepins and mallet ball, and for small outdoor parties such as this. Red-striped pavilions lined its perimeter, and multicolored pennants rustled in a languid breeze. It was a fine spring day, with a cloudless, deep blue sky and just enough stirring of the air to keep things from growing too warm.
The festivities had begun at two o’clock with an egg hunt, followed by various games and then the unveiling of the Favor Tree. Afterward there were twistbreads, oranges, sausages, and fruit comfits; and finally Simon had received his gifts, the most exciting being the pony, of course. With the official celebration to be held in conjunction with the Spring Fair and parade tomorrow, only close friends and family had been invited today—Trap, Carissa, and the elder Simon being conspicuous in their absence. The latter was with the army up north, dealing with the border-lord situation now threatening to erupt as the snowmelt opened the passes. Trap and Carissa were merely late.
Movement across the yard beyond Simon and his pony drew Abramm’s attention to his wife, now emerging from one of the pavilions. Four of her ladies-in-waiting accompanied her, young noblewomen Maddie had been shocked to discover not only admired her, but genuinely liked her. Even more amazing to her, they actually enjoyed being sent off to old rooms in the University library to hunt up ancient books. Or joining in on some musical composition she might be formulating. And of course all four doted on her sons.
She stopped near the circle in which Philip was leading the pony with its small rider and exclaimed at her son’s expertise. He beamed at the praise and started up a lengthy monologue about his “bestest present ever.”
Abramm only had eyes for his wife, who all but glowed in the lateafternoon light. Her hair, more softly braided than in the past, shone with red glints, and as always, that endearing tendril dangled alongside her face. Though she fussed about the bit of weight she had put on during her pregnancies, he thought it made her figure finer than ever, thought, in fact, that she was the most beautiful woman in the world. She always laughed at him when he told her so and accused him of saying it only to please and flatter her.
Now, as Simon finished his discourse and turned his attention to the pony, she looked up, meeting Abramm’s glance—as if she knew full well he had been watching her. He wondered for not the first time how it was that she had only to look at him to ignite his desire for her all over again. A desire he’d thought was slaked after three nights in her company, yet here he was, wildly impatient at all he had to do before they could be alone again.
Three months was far too long to be away.
As usual, she read him perfectly, smiling and blushing in that way that only stoked his fire and caused her ladies to exchange knowing smiles among themselves.
Ian’s small fingers touched his beard, then stole up the doubled white lines of the scars on his face. Abramm looked down to find his younger son staring at him with wide and very serious blue eyes. For a moment they looked at one another. Then the little hand patted Abramm’s face. “Papa home,” Ian said soberly. With that, he stuck his thumb into his mouth and laid his head on Papa’s shoulder, content as Maddie said he’d not been for all the three months Abramm was away.
He’d hated having to be gone, but he hadn’t met with King Hadrich face-to- face since the Chesedhan ruler had come to Springerlan four years ago. Given that Abramm had just agreed to send more troops to help fight the Esurhites along the shores of the Strait of Terreo, he wanted to meet with the man to whom he’d entrusted them. He’d also been invited to participate in the planning of a new offensive campaign, which he was especially happy to do since he’d long thought Hadrich’s defensive posture was never going to win the war. It was also good to get better acquainted with his sons’ grandfather. He’d hoped to talk with Leyton, too, but his brother-in-law had been south, heavily involved in the fighting at Salmanca.
His musing was interrupted then as Master Belmir approached to say his good-byes. “Have to prepare for the ceremony tonight,” he said with a rueful smile.
“Tonight? I thought it wasn’t for another couple of days.”
“That’s the official consecration. This is a repentance and purification ritual for
those who will be conducting it.” For several years the Holy Keep in Springerlan had lain in ruin, abandoned by the High Father, first for the one at Sterlen and then for the new one being built north of the River Snowsong. Recently, though, a partial restoration of the Springerlan Sanctum had been completed and it was to be officially reinstated as a place of worship this week. Which was the reason Belmir was in town.
Now Abramm’s old discipler bowed. “Thank you for inviting me, sir. It was a delightful afternoon. Your sons are charming.”
“Glad you came, Master Belmir. And I hope your having spent the afternoon with a pack of heretics like ourselves won’t bring you too much grief from your associates.”
A flicker of uneasiness crossed the old man’s face. Then he smiled. “Well, that is what purification ceremonies are for. Besides, they know I have not given up hope of bringing you back to the fold.”
“A futile hope, old friend, as I keep telling you.”
“Time will tell.”
He took his leave, and Abramm couldn’t help smiling after him. He thought if anyone was being brought into the fold it was Belmir, who had spent the entire afternoon in conversation with Everitt Kesrin.
“I don’t know why you invited him,” Blackwell grumbled. “He’s an old man. He’s not going to change his mind now.”
“He’s still alive, Byron.”
“He’s only here to convert you. And now, probably, your sons, as well. He just as much as admitted it.”
Abramm only smiled the more. “Perhaps. But it wasn’t me or my sons who held the greatest interest for him today.”
Blackwell frowned and flicked a glance at Kohal Kesrin, now in conversation with the queen.
Not long after that, Trap finally arrived, without Carissa, Abramm noted unhappily, though he had promised to go to her flat specifically to bring her with him. The moment Simon saw him, he burst into smiles, calling out excitedly, “Look, Uncle Trap. I have a pony.”
“You certainly do!” Trap exclaimed, stopping to watch the boy as Philip led the pony around. “And what a fine animal he is, too. What will you name him?”
“Warbanner!”
“Warbanner?”
“Just like Papa.”
“Ah.” Trap grinned over his shoulder at Abramm. “But . . . if you give your pony the same name as your papa’s Warbanner, how will we tell them apart?”
“Because mine is smaller than Papa’s, just like I am smaller than Uncle Simon. And you can tell us apart, can’t you?”
Whereupon Trap laughed and admitted that they could.
“Where’s Auntie Crissa?”
“She’s not feeling well, Simon. She had to stay home.”
“Again?”
“Afraid so, soldier. But she promised she’ll make it up to you as soon as she’s feeling better.” He gestured toward the green. “Now, I want to see you ride that steed around the yard again. Are you sure you can handle him?”
“I’m sure, Uncle. Make him go fast, Lieutenant.”
And Philip coaxed the newly christened Warbanner into a trot again as Simon hung on to the saddle for dear life, shrieking delightedly with every wild bounce.
Trap drifted over to greet the king.
“So what kind of illness is it this time?” Abramm asked sourly. “The same old sit in the chair and stare out the window illness?”
Trap kept his eyes on the crown prince and his pony, a frown creasing his brow. “She’s really not feeling well, sir.”
Abramm had thought that once Carissa had taken the Star, her moodiness would end. And for a while it had. She’d been so happy for him and Maddie, and the way everything had worked out. When Simon was born she’d doted on him to the point they’d hardly even needed the nanny. But he’d barely turned one when the darkness returned.
Abramm knew she wanted the kind of relationship he had with Madeleine, knew she wanted children of her own, as well, and that her longings for both sometimes got the best of her. It couldn’t help her to see all she so desired playing out before her every day, with no apparent hope of ever seeing it fulfilled in her own life. Though he’d thought for a time she and Trap might get together, whatever romantic relationship was developing between them had died three years ago with her first melancholic episode. And though Abramm thought she was the one who’d pulled away, not Trap, there was no persuading her of that. She’d even remarked to Abramm once that it didn’t seem fair Eidon would give him everything he’d ever wanted, and reserve for her nothing but disappointment. He’d had no idea how to respond to that, and reminding her that Eidon’s plan was marvelous beyond description did not seem to help. So he’d told her what Eidon had told him: that sometimes one had to wait.
Though her moodiness had resurfaced off and on ever since, it had worsened dramatically in the last eight months. Maddie said she’d not visited the palace the entire time Abramm was in Elpis. And the few times Maddie had visited her, Carissa had been so closemouthed and cool it hadn’t been easy to stay long. Nor to make the effort to visit again.
Now she’d even skipped her favorite nephew’s birthday party. I’ll have to pay her a visit myself and see what’s going on, he thought grimly. Not that he had any idea what he could do about it.
As twilight gathered, a chill crept into the air and the garden torches were lit. The children ran about squealing, playing tag and hide-and-seek, and at seven o’clock, they all moved to the East Terrace, where a small orchestra played and tables of food stood out beside the ranks of chairs and benches arrayed around the platform reserved for the royal family. His hip aching after all the hours of standing, Abramm settled onto one of the two large chairs on that platform, Ian still in his arms. Maddie sat in the one beside him, Simon bobbing between them, his excitement at the prospect of seeing the fireworks almost more than he could bear. Two small chairs had been set up at the couple’s feet, but it was unlikely they would be used, Simon being unable to sit at all and Ian unwilling to let go of his papa.
To the west, the sky still glowed a murky russet behind the palace’s looming silhouette, but directly ahead of them the stars were one by one coming out to shine over the bay, as out on the western headland the guardstar at Graymeer’s shone brightly against the dark sea beyond.
Suddenly, the first rocket shot into the sky and exploded in a burst of golden stars, the boom lagging behind. Ian squealed and buried his face in Abramm’s shoulder even as Simon clapped his hands to his ears, shrieking with delight. More rockets screamed up, and soon plumes of red and blue mingled with gold to drift down toward their reflection on the bay. Around him people oohed and aahed, while out on the points of both headlands, the garrisons there launched their own rockets, tiny fountains of light blooming over the dark humps of land.
“There, Simon, see?” Abramm said, bending down to his firstborn. “They’re all for you. The whole city telling you happy birthday.”
Simon beamed up at him and clapped his hands, then faced forward as another sparkler burst across the sky. It was one of those moments when everything seemed to come together for Abramm into the perfect distillation of pleasure and happiness, and he gave heartfelt thanks for it all, not least that all those rockets could be shot off just for fun.
After the fireworks they trooped down to Terstmeet, where even with taking notes, Abramm found his thoughts drifting off the message and back to his wife. Finally, though, the obligations were met, the sons put to bed, and they returned to the king’s bedchamber, where they dismissed all the servants and shut the doors on the world.
“Kesrin was really in a mood tonight, wasn’t he?” Maddie exclaimed as she sank into the chair and pulled off her shoes. “All that gloom and doom. It’s probably these Mataians in town for the consecration.” She said something more, but as Abramm was now enjoying watching her slip off her stockings, he had no idea what it was.
She dropped her skirts around her ankles and said, “You’re not listening.”
“No.” He smiled, then offered his hand to
pull her up out of the chair. “And right now the last thing I want to talk about is gloom and doom and Mataians.” He grimaced. “Especially not Mataians.”
She came up into his arms but laid her hands upon his chest, keeping her distance so she could stare up at him, her eyes dark and deep with emotion. Then she ran her fingers through the short whiskers of his beard. “It is so good to have you back, Abramm. I missed you so. . . .” She caught her lip between her teeth and her eyes teared up. Then she shook her head. “Sometimes I love you so much it scares me. So much I fear Eidon will take you away just so I can learn to love him more.”
Abramm regarded her with concern and then dismissed her fear with a chuckle. “Surely you already do love him more,” he said, burying his face in the crook between her shoulder and neck to kiss the tender skin there.
“Of course. It’s just . . .” Her hands squeezed his arms. “He is not here like you are, strong and handsome and solid. I can’t feel his arms around me, and he doesn’t do things . . .”
“Like this?” Abramm nibbled on her earlobe.
She giggled. “No. He doesn’t do that.”
“Or this . . .” He moved his lips to the edge of her jaw, then worked his way down her neck to the base of her throat as she gasped and giggled anew.
“Oh no, he has you to do those things. And a splendid job you do of them, too.”
He kissed her full on the mouth then, and her arms slid up around his neck as she pressed her body against his with a practiced intimacy that said he wasn’t the only one who had been impatient with the evening’s activities. It wasn’t long before he picked her up and laid her on the bed, then settled himself beside her to unfasten the long line of buttons that closed the front of her gown. . . .
Later, languorous and profoundly content, he lay staring up at the folds of the canopy over his bed, Maddie nestled under his arm, her cheek upon his chest. Sometimes the gratitude and wonder welled up in him with such power his flesh could hardly contain it. Blessings . . . beyond anything you can ask or imagine. . . . Just as Eidon had promised.
Shadow Over Kiriath Page 47
