King’s Wrath

by Fiona McIntosh

  KING’S WRATH

  BOOK THREE OF THE VALISAR TRILOGY

  FIONA McINTOSH

  We miss you Kipper, our most loyal four-footed friend

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Epilogue

  Glossary

  Acknowledgments

  Excerpt from Odalisque

  Excerpt from Myrren’s Gift

  Praise

  By Fiona McIntosh

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Prologue

  They fell swiftly, silently.

  Any moment they would hit the ground and it would be over. She didn’t know why he had chosen to kill her; she was his only friend. How bizarre then that she had never felt safer, even though death surely beckoned. She knew the drug had dulled her senses but she thought she heard air rushing by in a strange shrieking. And she could feel Reg’s presence: the hardness of his body against hers, his long, strong arms holding her securely. Despite the disorientation, she felt wholly connected to him—down to the soft scratch of his beard against her skin.

  Maybe this was right. They were lost souls anyway, neither of them able to get on easily with others. And her work at the hospital drew the wrong sort of interest; people had begun hailing her as having powers above and beyond genuine skill and talent. It was ridiculous, of course, but it was understandable given her uncanny knack for healing.

  A healer. That’s how she viewed herself. She was a curer of ills; she’d never said it out loud but it seemed Reg alone had understood it . . . and understood her.

  And because of that she couldn’t hate him for killing them both. Without him her life would be empty. Without his friendship, like a rock jutting out of the ocean that she could cling to, she would be adrift in a sea of meaningless comings and goings—even her work would feel empty, pointless.

  Why was it taking so long for them to hit the ground? What was that screaming noise, as though the very air was being torn apart around them?

  Had she just heard Reg say something? Maybe here we go, Evie? She felt him hold her tighter still, if that were possible, tucking her head into the warmth of his neck, shielding her face from the whistle and buffet of that wind they were rushing through.

  And then suddenly they were tumbling on something solid. Her fall was cushioned though; first her legs, then her back and shoulders touched inanimate objects. She had no idea what but it didn’t hurt. How did that happen? She wanted to open her eyes but they were squeezed shut with fear. It sounded as though branches were snapping! Trees? . . . How could that be?

  With no warning the breath was sucked out of her as Genevieve, the first princess of the Valisars to survive in centuries, blacked out.

  And across the empire, various people felt the stirrings of a mighty magic they had never felt before.

  Chapter One

  Though the two men walked side by side they looked anything but companionable.

  “Did you feel it?” the younger one asked.

  Greven didn’t want to admit it but there was no point in hiding much from Piven these days. While his mind was essentially his own, his actions were not. It didn’t matter how hard he fought the bonding magic, it had him completely at its mercy. “I felt it,” he said, gruff and disinterested.

  “And what do you think it is?”

  “Why are you concerning yourself with what I think? I just do as I’m told.”

  “Is this how it’s going to be from now on, Greven?”

  “What did you expect?”

  Piven made a soft scolding sound, clicking his tongue. “And I can remember not so long ago your telling me just how much you loved me and wanted to protect me.”

  “I did. But my love was given freely then. And I had two hands then. And I didn’t know what you were then.”

  “And what am I? No, don’t, let me say it for you. A monster? Is that the right word?” When Greven said nothing, Piven continued, “Because I really haven’t changed that much, you know. I still love you, Greven. I always have.”

  “You once loved your brother.”

  “Ah, but you haven’t deserted me as my brother has. He must pay for that.”

  “Your sister had no choice in her desertion.”

  “This is true,” Piven admitted, slapping at some tall grasses at the side of the Tomlyn road. “She was helpless. But she is helpless no longer, and you know as well as I she will try to destroy me now. That disturbance we just felt was likely none other than her returning home.”

  Greven was genuinely startled. “I felt the disturbance but hadn’t given it much thought . . . of course you’re right. Are you frightened?”

  Piven threw him a wry glance. “No,” he replied with a gentle scoff. “I have you.” He pointed to where the main road forked. “We go left to the capital.”

  “Let’s go right, Piven. Let’s head south, keep you safe.”

  “I am safe. You are here.”

  “I think you are depending on me too much.”

  “But that’s the role of the aegis. To be entirely dependable. Come on,” he said, increasing his speed. “And don’t claim fatigue; I know you don’t even feel it. That must be amazing. No need for food or water, rest or any form of sustenance.”

  “Does that not strike you as a living death?”

  Piven smiled openly. “Not at all. It’s surely immortality. I envy you.”

  “Don’t. Just tell me why we are going to the capital, please.”

  “Ah yes,” Piven said, a skip in his step as though he were enjoying their awkward journey. “I was saying that I am a loyalist and indeed a royalist. My family’s throne has been usurped. I intend that a Valisar will rule from that throne again.”

  “Then you should throw your support behind Leonel. Imagine what the pair of you could achieve together. The people would flock to the idea of the rightful heir trying to reclaim his throne.”

  “That is a nice thought, Greven, and I applaud your charming notion of fraternal harmony, but sadly Leo squandered his right to my support when he abandoned me to the tyrant.

  “I’m afraid I can’t forgive him. And besides, I’m not as sure as you of the people’s support. Life doesn’t seem to be so bad under Loethar. I can’t imagine Denovians will happily go to war again for a family they consider long dead.”

  Once again Greven was struck by Piven’s maturity. The boy was nearing sixteen but carried himself like a man a decade older. It was deeply unnervin
g, particularly as just a few anni ago Piven had been so juvenile—charming, even—in his childishness.

  “In fact I would leave the whole ruling thing to Loethar,” Piven continued expansively, “if he had not brutally stolen my father’s crown and were I not truly Valisar. No Valisar could let theft and murder of his own go unpunished.”

  “Well, what about your sister? Let her rule.”

  Piven looked at Greven sideways. “Why would I? She is younger than me. We must do things properly, Greven,” he admonished, as though explaining to a child. “If she wants to, she can fight me for the crown. Besides, we hail the Valisar kings down the ages. We have never bowed to a queen.”

  “There’s always a first time.”

  “She is a child, let’s not forget!” Greven gave a grim gust of a laugh. Piven ignored it. “She will have no idea of how to rule at such a tender age. Frankly, I’m intrigued to see who has been protecting her and where she has been. Definitely not in the empire—if she has been, I would have sensed her long ago. No, Greven, this is why I think my sister is a threat: she is too young at ten to be making decisions for herself and so has been returned by someone who wishes to make use of her powers. We must ask ourselves who her the puppet master is.”

  “Her aegis perhaps?” Greven offered, distaste flooding his mouth at the idea.

  Piven shook his head. “No. Impossible. I doubt any aegis would freely offer himself. And if my sister—funny, I don’t even know her name—has been living a long way from here it’s unlikely that her aegis is aware of her or she of the aegis. I am guessing they are still to find each other.”

  Greven silently acknowledged Piven’s grasp of situations. His cunning and agile mind had already thought through every scenario that could threaten him, it seemed. “Which makes her vulnerable.”

  “Exactly. I’m hoping to meet her long before she has that protection.”

  “So you plan to kill your siblings and the emperor?”

  “And all who support either. A Valisar will sit the Penraven throne again. I will make my father proud.”

  “Are you sure of that?”

  Piven laughed. “Well, we’ll never know but I like to think so. My father was ruthless, Greven. You need to understand this fact. He adored his sons but he could still make some very hard decisions—he was able to leave Leo as a nemesis for Loethar and was comfortable leaving me to whatever fate dished up. He didn’t get much of a chance to love his daughter but he loved her enough to get her away so that she could offer up a challenge in the future. You see, everything for my father was about the Valisar name and duty. He was a good man, there’s no denying it, but in truth he was more ruthless than even Loethar.”

  “Whatever makes you say that?” Greven asked, astonished.

  “Because if my father had been in Loethar’s shoes, he would not have hesitated to have killed me. He would not have taken a chance on letting any child associated with the throne live, whether it were an invalid or adopted or both. Loethar showed mercy—and now he will pay the price for his tenderness.”

  “Tenderness? You are jesting, aren’t you? The man has killed more Denovians than I care to think about.”

  “He killed his enemies, Greven; that’s very normal for a conquering ruler. But if you scrutinize what he did, he didn’t kill randomly. He killed opposing soldiers, and his only real targets were the royal families. He wanted no challengers. If people submitted, he did not punish or humiliate them. He didn’t even segregate them . . . unless they were Vested. If anything, Loethar has been a pioneer. He has not only unified the realms and their people into one cohesive empire but he has unified two diverse cultures and succeeded rather well at it. He’s actually far more impressive than my father.”

  “You shock me.”

  “Good. I’d hate to be predictable. Come on, I’m famished. I’m hoping there’s a village ahead because I’ve tired mightily of your stale bread and dry fruit.”

  Greven paid no attention to his complaints. His mind had already begun to race as to how he could find and get a message to the Valisar girl.

  A cold air bit at Evie’s cheeks. She heard birdsong, the rustle of leaves and the sounds of what was probably a stream, she realized. And then she heard Reg’s voice. “Take it slowly. Here, drink this,” he urged gently.

  Evie struggled to sit up, squinting open her eyes. “Reg?”

  “Hush, just drink.”

  “Is this more of your spiked—”

  “No. It is the cleanest, most beautiful water you’ve ever tasted. Trust me.”

  She gave him a mirthless smile. “I’ve fallen for your trust me line before.” She sipped and did indeed taste the sweetest of waters, chilled enough to make her gasp. “Are we alive?”

  “Very much so.”

  She coughed once, blinked hard and forced herself to open her eyes fully. “And this isn’t a dream?”

  He shook his head. “How do you feel?”

  “Confused. Bruised.”

  “I wasn’t trying to kill you.”

  “That’s not how it appeared.”

  Reg sighed. Evie looked up to buy herself some time to think clearly. “What is this tree?”

  He sighed again. “If you knew your trees,” he said, with a tiny hint of admonishment in his tone, “you would probably know this as a wych elder. Here, they are known as wychwoods.”

  “Here?” she said, looking around, noticing the stream she’d heard not very far away and mountains in the distance behind. “Where exactly is here, Reg?”

  He sat down opposite her and she was surprised to note that the haunted expression her friend had always possessed—the one which seemed to speak so loudly to others that he should be left alone—was gone. In fact, Reg looked almost relaxed for the first time since she’d met him.

  “Here, Evie, is a place that was once known as the Denova Set. I have no idea if it still possesses that title. But if I’m not mistaken, I think this particular spot where we sit is at the base of a place called Lo’s Teeth, which is east of Gormond, west of Droste, south of Cremond, north of Dregon.” His smile widened mischievously. “Does that help?”

  She shook her head. “You’re making fun of me. Have you any idea how it feels to be me right now, wondering what the hell has just happened?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I haven’t lied to you. The place I have described is where I believe we are. This is woodland known as Whirlow and that stream, which has a name that I can’t remember right now, runs into Lake Aran, to the south.”

  Evie was astonished to see moisture gather in his eyes. “Reg, are those tears?” she asked. “I’ve never even seen you get misty.”

  He wiped his cheeks. “It is good to be home, Evie. Are you hurt?”

  “I don’t believe so. But I don’t understand why not. Mind you, that query pales by comparison to my lack of understanding as to how we’re both not splattered across the pavement outside a city hospital right now. We leaped from a dozen stories high!”

  He allowed her anger to pass, looking down, saying nothing.

  Evie gave a sound like a growl. “I need an explanation, Reg, or I am going to explode or kill you . . . make a choice.”

  He didn’t smile. “Will you stay still and silent while I tell you everything that I can?”

  “Why does that sound as though I should leap up now and run screaming from you?”

  He nodded. “You’re right—what I have to tell you is frightening. But you need to hear it and you need to hear it all, or nothing will make sense to you. I need your promise that you will listen until I’ve told you the whole story.”

  Evie licked her lips. “You’d better start at page one!”

  “Indeed. I suppose the beginning is my name, which is not Reg. My name is Corbel.”

  “Corbel?” she repeated, feeling anger starting to suffuse her confusion. “Not at all Reg-like!”

  “My father was Regor de Vis. I borrowed from his name.”

  “How conv
enient for—”

  “Be quiet. My father probably didn’t survive the rage of a man called Loethar, who hailed himself the king of the barbarian horde. He came from the east.” Evie saw the pain on his face as he pointed. “The barbarians were from the plains, an area known as the Likurian Steppes. Loethar was a tyrant who murdered all in his wake. From what I could gather before I left, he was killing all the royals of the Set—that was a group of independent realms with common interests—and I suspect he left my king to the last. My father was the king’s right-hand man.”

  “What does that make you?” she said, working hard to keep all sarcasm from her tone, knowing she needed to humor her friend. She could tell that, delusion or not, this story was incredibly hard for him to speak of.

  “It makes me the son of a high ranking noble and the twin brother of Gavriel de Vis.”

  “Twin?”

  He nodded. “I was forced to leave my family.”

  “By whom?”

  “The king.”

  Definitely delusional, Evie thought. Yet in her heart she couldn’t really believe it. She had never known a more sane person than Reg. Should she humor him now, call him Corbel? “King?”

  “King Brennus, eighth of the Valisars. We are from Penraven, which is southwest of here.”

  It was all getting too much to keep clear in her mind. “Reg . . . er, Corbel, if you prefer—”

  “I do.”

  She took a steadying breath. “Corbel, why are you telling me this? What does King Bran or whatever his name is—”

  Now his gaze flashed angrily at her. “His name is Brennus and I served him faithfully.”

  She was stung by the force in his voice. He had never taken such a tone with her before. “All right,” she began again, calmly. “I want to know why I am here. What does all of what you’ve begun to tell me, including King Brennus, have to do with me?”

  “Plenty,” he said flatly, eyeing her with a hard gaze. “This is the land where you were born. Your real name is Genevieve. You are a Valisar. And King Brennus is your father.”

  She rocked back against the tree, stunned. Then in the silence that followed, which Reg clearly wasn’t going to fill, she hauled herself upright. She felt momentarily dizzy but the drug was wearing off and the water had helped. “Reg, this is not going any further. In fact—”