King’s Wrath

by Fiona McIntosh

  “Really?” she said, a hand moving to her hip. “And for a soldier meant to defend a Valisar you have a strange way of showing your loyalty.”

  Barro’s face creased in yet another wave of confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Evie,” Corbel said softly. “Please.”

  Barro looked between them. “What do you mean?” he repeated, angry now, urgent even. “The Valisars are dead and gone. I would give my life for any one of them.”

  “You almost did,” Evie snapped.

  “What?” Barro looked frantically at Corbel. “What is she talking about?”

  “Nothing. She’s raving. Come on, Evie, let’s go.”

  Evie addressed Barro with thin lips despite her suddenly overly polite air. “You might feel a bit shaky for a few hours so don’t do anything too strenuous. Drink fluid. Your companion will sleep for a while. When he wakes I suspect he will remember little of what occurred.”

  Corbel frowned at her. She shrugged. “It’s a trick I used to use to help patients forget the horror of an accident or the pain of an injury. I thought it was just a mind game I played with them but I realize now it’s something real I can do. I used it on the old man because I suspect his lips are looser than Clem’s.”

  Barro put a hand up. “Please,” he said, his voice pleading. “Help me make sense of what’s just happened. Are you really Corbel de Vis?”

  A fresh silence lengthened as Corbel took Barro’s measure. His skills definitely singled him out as an army man. And he was proud, eloquent. Perhaps he was loyal. Perhaps he did deserve better. “I am.”

  Barro did a sort of skip. He began to laugh and then he clapped his hands. “How have you escaped his notice?”

  Corbel didn’t need it clarified who “he” referred to. “It’s a very long story.”

  “I would hear it if you’ll share it.” But before Corbel could respond, Barro bowed deeply and unexpectedly before him. “De Vis, I pledge my life, my service, to you.”

  Corbel was speechless for a few moments. “You owe me no fealty.”

  “I owed your father. And I lost my way, as I’ve explained. You have not, it seems. Let me walk with you, de Vis, let me serve whomever you serve. Here.” He crossed his arms across his breast in the Penraven way. “You have my loyalty. Until my blood is spilled and I am dead . . . again, I am your servant. It’s time to regain my sense of worth.”

  Watching the man sign, as he had watched so many sign before his father, Corbel was touched . . . far more deeply than he was ready for. He suddenly felt choked by strong emotion.

  “Accept me, de Vis,” Barro urged. “I will help protect you and your wife.”

  Corbel hesitated. An extra pair of eyes, an extra sword. They needed all the help they could win. And it did seem that Barro was in earnest. Amazing what death could bring on, he thought cheerlessly.

  “She is not my wife but she does need protection.”

  He noticed relief flare in Evie’s eyes and Barro, who seemed to have been holding his breath, let it out with a sigh. “Thank you.”

  “I will kill you sooner than wait for explanations should I ever believe that you are insincere.”

  “And you have my permission to kill me . . . again . . . should I prove myself below my word.” Barro held out a hand, and Corbel took it.

  “Will you tell me your story?” Barro asked, intensifying his grip. “I have to understand everything, especially you,” he said, glancing at Evie.

  Corbel nodded. “I hope I can trust you with it. Walk with us. We are going to the convent.”

  “What about your friends over here?” Evie asked.

  “The old man is nothing to me. You have made him safe and he is whole. Presumably he will wake and remember nothing. And the boy was a halfwit. He had no family, no friends, no way of caring for himself. He’s better off where he is.”

  “That’s harsh,” Evie protested.

  Barro shrugged. “That’s his lot.”

  Corbel felt a pang of sympathy for her. She had not been raised in this way of life; she had little concept about how cheap life could be.

  “If the old man finds the body and remembers,” Barro continued, “he’ll just be glad to have got away with his own life. I imagine he’ll wake up and walk away. He’s a drifter, an opportunist. He’ll fall in with the next halfwit he can persuade into some scam alongside him.”

  Evie gently touched Corbel’s arm. “Let me heal those injuries.”

  He shook his head. “I can stitch myself once I reach the convent.”

  Her eyes narrowed in fresh irritation. “How do you think you will look when you present yourself to the nuns bleeding from these wounds?”

  Corbel hadn’t considered this. Her logic was correct. He nodded unhappily and tried not to react to her touch when she guided him to sit against a big boulder so she could concentrate. He noted Barro watching in awed fascination and chose instead to close his eyes, lean his head back as he felt his beloved’s hands placed against his chest. She was leaning near enough that he could feel her breath against his face; close enough to kiss. He ground his jaw, turned his head away and hoped she wouldn’t sense his despair but it seemed Evie was too entranced by her ministrations to notice his discomfort and he was glad of the distraction of the strange ice-like sensation that spread through him as though moving within his veins, the magic swimming with his blood to all parts of his body and healing as it went.

  Finally her hands lifted and he felt their removal as a private grief. He missed them already but wasn’t prepared to feel them touch his face. He flinched.

  “Sorry,” she said gently. “How do you feel?”

  “Grateful,” he replied. “Thank you.”

  Evie sighed and he couldn’t bear her looking so deeply into his eyes. “I hope it didn’t hurt.”

  “Worrying about you hurts more,” he said, trying to be flippant, but his voice caught.

  She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, slow and deliberate. “No more fighting. I should be honored, I suppose, that you’d risk your life, but don’t do that again for me. I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

  Corbel swallowed. If only she knew how unbearable this closeness was for him. He nodded perfunctorily. “Help me up, Barro. We need to get going. But Evie’s right, we should wear our jackets to hide the bloodstains.”

  The big man offered a hand and heaved him up easily. They turned away from the bodies and continued toward the convent.

  “So, my lady,” Barro began. “You have my name. May I know yours?”

  “I am called Evie.” She looked to Corbel and Corbel haltingly began to tell their tale.

  The small opening revealed a pair of rheumy eyes. “Yes?”

  “Visitors to speak with the Mother, please,” Corbel began.

  “She is not seeing anyone today. Make an appointment for next moon.”

  “Er, please, sister. We are so weary. We have come from a long way. Please tell her that a man by the name of . . .” He hesitated. “Please say that an old friend called Regor awaits her patiently. It is important, sister. I am a former noble. That alone should open the door.”

  “Pushy . . . and arrogant!” she remarked as though tasting something sour.

  The opening closed abruptly and he flinched.

  “That went well,” Evie commented.

  He bit his lip. “I have this immense charm with women, as you can tell.”

  She burst into laughter. It was the first reason she’d had to smile in what felt an age.

  Barro had been silent for a long time. She noticed he’d begun regarding her with awe, stealing furtive looks as though he had to keep mentally pinching himself that she was real. So she was surprised when he spoke up. “It’s nice to hear you laugh, your majesty.”

  “It certainly feels good,” she admitted. “Barro, Corbel has asked you to stop addressing me in that way.”

  He adopted a contrite expression. “I promise it will not happen again, although you under
stand, my lady, that I am still in a state of utter disbelief.”

  “I do understand but according to Corbel your disbelief—if you don’t rein it in—could get us killed.” He nodded somberly, no doubt more aware than she could ever be how true her statement was. “Now how exactly should I behave here if I’m supposed to be royal?”

  “Humble,” Corbel replied. “Only Sergius knows of your existence and he won’t know you have returned. I don’t even know if he is alive, although it was his magic that brought us back.”

  Evie blew out her cheeks. All the anger she’d previously felt had diffused. She wanted to speak with Corbel in quiet. He had said so little to her directly in the last few hours. She knew he would have been hurt by her earlier attitude toward him, but how was she supposed to react to witnessing such savagery and death? She still saw the young man’s face, slack and lifeless, in her mind’s eye. He hadn’t had to die. “I am so confused.”

  “You are?” Barro queried with an edge of sharp sarcasm.

  They had waited several long minutes, talking quietly. But at last the door was unbolted, interrupting their conversation. It swung open with a loud sigh, as though unused to the movement. Before them stood a woman of senior anni and behind her, scowling at the gate was another, a bit younger, and likely the sour-sounding sister who had tried to turn them away.

  The elder smiled.

  “Are you the Abbess?” Corbel asked.

  “I am. Call me Mother. It wasn’t so long ago that I welcomed another Regor.”

  Corbel hesitated, surprised.

  She noticed his reaction. “A relative, perhaps? Though you’d have to be close to share the same birthname.”

  “It . . . it’s a family name. I don’t use it often.”

  “Just to open doors?” Her eyes twinkled in amusement. “Regor?” She tasted the name on her lips. “Such a steadfast, proud name of the former Denova.”

  Former Denova. If they had shocked Barro with their story, he’d certainly surprised Corbel with a few of his own. Corbel felt he was now as well informed as he could be about the new empire and its politics. But he was on such unsafe ground now not really knowing who might be a potential ally . . . or enemy.

  “Are we allowed to say that now?” he said with a wink.

  The wrinkles around her eyes creased as her smile deepened. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it. We’re all accustomed to saying empire now. Come in, my dear,” she said to Evie, eyes sparkling. “And welcome,” she said to Barro. “Follow me; you all look starved.”

  They glanced at each other and fell in behind her. “Thank you,” Corbel said.

  “We’ll talk in a moment,” she said over her shoulder. “Go in there. Be comfortable. I am going to send for some food for you. I hope a plate of soup will suffice?”

  “Soup, porridge, anything, Mother. We are grateful,” Evie said carefully. Corbel gave a smile of gratitude her way.

  The woman rang a bell and as they settled themselves into a room, sparsely furnished but brightened with fresh flowers and pretty tapestries. They heard her giving a request for food to a young nun, who quickly hurried away. The Mother returned to the room beaming. “There, now we can fatten you all up a bit. Where are you headed?”

  Corbel had already decided he would need to be honest with her, sensing that she would see through any guile with those bright eyes of hers. “We are going higher into the mountains.”

  “Good gracious, without transport or supplies? Why? It might be early summertide but it’s still dangerously cold up there. Most people visit us on their way out, when they are grateful to see civilization again. In fact, the other man called Regor was here just a few weeks back, in exactly that situation. He came down from the mountains with a Davarigon.”

  “And?” Corbel asked, hoping he sounded offhand and casually interested.

  She frowned. “I didn’t discover much more. He was traveling with a woman I like—I know her family and I trust her. They were good friends and I had no reason to fear him. He seemed rather confused about his past.”

  “In what way confused?”

  “He had lost his memory. Elka believed that bringing him to meet the Qirin might help.”

  “Did it?”

  She nodded, but smiled sadly. “I think Elka loved the man she brought here.”

  “I don’t understand,” Corbel said, frowning.

  Evie nodded. “The man who left here was different. Is that what you mean, Mother?”

  “Female instincts,” the Abbess acknowledged with a smile at Evie. “You see, Evie understands. Yes, the man who left here was changed. They both knew it might happen and they took the risk.”

  “Did he love her before?” Evie asked.

  The Abbess’s expression clouded. “I cannot say. They were close friends. Had been companions for a long time from what I gather and he had been living in the mountains with her people for anni. What he discovered I suspected changed his outlook sufficiently that it meant his whole way of life might change.” She turned to Corbel. “Does this sound like someone you might know from your own family?” He hesitated. “Surely you know if you have family in these parts?” Both women watched the color drain from Corbel’s face.

  “My friend has been away a long time, Mother,” Barro said, rescuing him, his eyes urging Corbel to take up the thread.

  “Yes,” Corbel admitted. “I’ve been traveling to different lands,” he said carefully.

  “Did you get as far east as Percheron? Now there’s a place I’d love to see, especially as our own queen came from that region.”

  “To be accurate, she came from Galinsea,” Corbel corrected.

  “That’s right, she did,” the Abbess acknowledged. “She was so beautiful. I saw her only once. Did you ever see the royal family? So handsome. I know we’re not supposed to talk about them here but it’s history now.”

  Corbel cleared his throat, threw a glance Evie’s way.

  “What is it?” the Abbess asked, and Corbel realized she missed little.

  He searched for a way of covering their self-consciousness. “Evie here has some Galinsean blood running in her veins,” he said.

  He wished he hadn’t. It only led to more tension. “Really? I thought all Galinseans were golden-haired.”

  Evie looked up and calmly spoke. “I take my coloring from my father,” she said, startling Corbel. “I never knew him. He was a great traveler though, I’m told, and must have visited Galinsea and met my mother.”

  “What did this Regor look like?” Corbel asked, desperate to steer the conversation elsewhere.

  “Well, he had your build but the similarities end there . . . although to be honest it’s hard to tell,” she said with a smile.

  Corbel scratched at his unruly beard. “I know. I hope you’ll indulge me with a bath, Mother. We will gladly pay,” he said, thinking of the money given to him by the King that he had buried in a park near the hospital for all those anni and had to dig up just before they left. “I hope you take the same coin,” he commented absently.

  The Abbess frowned. “What do you mean?”

  He felt color at his cheeks. That had been a mistake. His hesitation was about to undo him, he was sure, when Barro suddenly joined the conversation.

  “Oh, my cousin has been away many anni. Wait until my mother catches up with you, Regor! I suppose you’ve been dealing with different coin in strange parts. Let me guess: you only have money from the days of Brennus.”

  Corbel swallowed. “Er, yes. Ridiculous, isn’t it?”

  The Abbess blinked. “You have been away a long time. We haven’t used that currency for six anni. Nevertheless, it is still accepted, particularly here in the north.”

  Barro warmed to his theme. “And you can always exchange the coin at Woodingdene at the imperial mint.”

  “But for now,” the Abbess smiled, its warmth touching her eyes and making Corbel feel safe, “you have nothing to worry about. Our food and our water are free.”

  Co
rbel’s relief was huge when they heard a knock at the door.

  “Refreshment,” she said happily. She looked at the door. “Come.”

  A woman entered carrying a tray. The hood of her habit was up so they could not see her face. She set the food down between them. The tasty aroma of a steaming, meaty soup made Corbel’s belly softly grind. Warm buns and oil to dip them in was provided, along with a soft herb paste he hadn’t tasted in a decade.

  “I hope you like beef and colac?” the Abbess inquired.

  Evie glanced at Corbel. “Er, yes, delicious, thank you.”

  “Help yourself to the sherret. I wasn’t sure if you preferred it with or without,” she added, smiling at Evie.

  “Without would be an insult to the fine soup of the region,” Barro said, waving a hand widely and smiling somewhat wolfishly at the Abbess. Corbel inwardly smiled at Barro’s passing a disguised message to Evie.

  “May I?” murmured the newcomer. Corbel watched the nun dollop a small scoop of the dark green paste into the stew and give the gravy a stir. Then she stepped back, gesturing for them to taste. Corbel’s first mouthful transported him back many anni. The nutty taste of the sherret paste mingled perfectly with the beefy richness of the meat stew, the slightly bitter crunch of the colac and the bright tang of citrus from a squeeze of lemon.

  “Delicious!” he said, meaning it.

  “This is so good that if we were in an inn I would feel obliged to leap up and give you a kiss, Mother.”

  Corbel looked over at Barro quizzically and yet unable to hide the amusement that creased across his face as the Abbess gave Barro a searching glance.

  “I suppose I should feel deeply complimented,” she finally said.

  “Indeed you should, for I reserve my kisses for only the most beautiful women.”

  The Abbess shook a finger at him but she was smiling. “Lo knows just how to deal with helpless flirts, young man. And you are a guest in his house.”

  Barro held up his hands in mock defense.

  “Mmm, this is good,” Evie added, giving a grateful look toward the Mother and a grin to Corbel. “Thank you,” she said, turning toward the woman who served them.