King’s Wrath

by Fiona McIntosh

  “And him?”

  “As I explained, he is an aegis. He can singlehandedly fight his way through your army if he so wishes and he won’t so much as break a sweat. And, I might add, will not sustain even a scratch. And because I have trammeled him I am invincible as well. You cannot touch me.”

  “What do you want?”

  “To rule. I’m vastly better equipped than you. And with Greven, I am now stronger than your brother and his entire army.”

  “Then why haven’t you killed me?” Stracker demanded.

  “Because, although I don’t think you’re capable of ruling with any effect, I do like your anger. And if it’s channeled properly, you are useful.”

  Stracker broke the first hint of a smile. “It’s my brother you’re after,” he stated, feeling smug.

  Piven tutted. “He hates being called your brother. Your half-brother is definitely one of three people I intend dealing with and you seem rather pleased about that.”

  “I am.”

  “Then you shall have the pleasure of killing him.” Stracker grinned. “But only if you are prepared to take instructions from me and follow them without question,” he added. “Think about it.”

  “No need.” He shrugged. “When Loethar is dead I will return to the Steppes with those among our kind who also wish to go back to their home. You can have all this,” he said, waving an arm through mid-air. “But I will want terms.”

  “Terms,” Piven repeated, as though testing the word. “Are you in a position to demand them, I wonder.” They had entered the palace and Stracker noticed Piven looking around, his expression distracted as though remembering earlier days here. Suddenly he swallowed and turned back to Stracker.

  “Tell me your terms, general.”

  “Free trade.”

  “Granted.”

  “My people have rights into and out of the empire but are not ruled by you.”

  “Granted, but they abide by the rules of my empire when they enter it.”

  “Agreed,” Stracker replied. “One tenth of all yearly palace income is to be paid to the Steppes people annually.”

  Piven smiled. “Audacious, but I’ll grant it.”

  “And you will marry a daughter of the Steppes.”

  “Marriage?” After a moment’s thought, Piven waved a hand. “Fine,” he said, sounding disinterested. “She must be at most my own age, not older. She will not bear the tatua. And, general, she must be dark and pretty, like Mrs. Felt, with small breasts and clear skin—as opposed to someone who could be a daughter of yours . . . if you understand me right. Take heed or I will send her straight back in pieces!”

  Stracker actually laughed. Then he nodded. “As you wish, highness.”

  “You see, Stracker, so much can be solved without having to resort to bloodshed. Who knows what simple promise you could have made and then kept Kirin Felt as one of your own, working for you. So much more powerful to have a fox in dog’s clothing, don’t you think?”

  “How old are you?” Stracker demanded.

  Piven laughed. “Use your fingers and toes, general, and I’m sure you can work out how many anni I am.”

  Stracker shook his head. “I like you and I’ll be your general. Just give me my . . .” He thought about his next words. “My half-brother to kill.”

  “There you go, general. You got it right at last. Well, I’ll make you this promise. Loethar is all yours, but my full brother, Leo, is all mine . . . as is my sister.”

  Later, bathed and in fresh clothes, all her tears for Kirin done, with no more strength to weep and her sorrows firmly and determinedly buried for now, Lily presented herself before Piven. He was such a surprise—seemingly a man trapped in a youth’s body, and yet while he spoke in such a mature way, some of his mannerisms were still juvenile. She noticed he fidgeted like a typical youth; she remembered how he’d spun around with pleasure at her using his title, his clapping, the childish joy in his eyes to best Stracker. And unlike any man she had known, he appeared entirely unaffected by the earlier bloodshed.

  “Your hair is still damp,” he noted, gesturing toward a seat.

  Lily touched her hair self-consciously. “Thank you, your highness. I feel much better for the bath.” Kirin had warned her about Piven and his suppositions, which had seemed so wild, had been borne out. He was all Valisar—but he was also clearly in league with Stracker now, which told her plenty about where Piven’s loyalties lay. No doubt a deal had been struck.

  She wished Piven weren’t so attentive. It was hard enough trying to keep the shock and confusion of losing Kirin under control. Her final words to him spoke of love; he had died believing that she loved him as much as he had loved her. And she had to admit Kirin had got under her skin with his vulnerability and courage, his constant sacrifice for her and his obvious love. She had felt love in that moment of unashamed terror. Later, sitting in the tub of warm water, alone and watching specks of his blood float off her skin, she realized that Kilt would have heard their exchange. Was it possible to love two men with the same intensity and yet very differently and for different reasons?

  Lily realized she’d not been paying attention, had been staring absently out of the windows of the beautiful room.

  “I’m sorry, I know we’re all being rather hard-hearted about the fact that you’ve lost a husband, Mrs. Felt,” Piven said, “but I cannot return him to you. I can only offer to do my utmost to make this difficult time as easy as I can. What can I do for you?”

  “Do?” she repeated. Lily frowned. “Why, nothing. I want nothing from you. You did not kill my husband, your highness, and you saved my life. I owe you a debt of thanks.”

  He regarded her soberly. “Do you like this room?”

  She blinked, unsure of the sudden change in topic. “Yes . . . yes, I do. It is very beautiful. It makes me feel . . .” She didn’t finish but shrugged instead.

  “Go on, please. How does it make you feel?”

  Lily frowned as she thought. “Well, highness, I was going to say that it makes me feel as though this room belongs to a woman. But I do not wish to insult you.”

  Piven smiled. “This room is—was—my mother’s suite. I spent a lot of time in this room with her. The witch Valya took it over for a while but I’ll soon have all remnants of her gone.” He closed his eyes and inhaled. “I can almost still smell my mother’s perfume.”

  Lily wasn’t sure what to say. If Kirin was right, this boy standing before her, looking forlorn and wistful, was the enemy. She fell back onto her manners. “I’m sorry for you.”

  “Don’t be,” he said matter of factly. “Are your parents alive?”

  She sighed. “My mother died when I was newborn. My father?” Lily looked down. “I’m sorry to say that I don’t know how he is or even where he is. We have lost contact. But he and I were very close.”

  “How did you lose contact?”

  Before Lily could contrive a lie the door that led into one of the sundry rooms opened and to her disbelief her father walked in. Seeing Lily, he nearly dropped the tray of food he was carrying.

  “Ah, Greven,” Piven welcomed. “Thank you. Just put it there, I’m ravenous.”

  Lily’s shock numbed her so rapidly even her lips wouldn’t work. She stared at her father, who stared back, looking terrified. He regained his wits first and shook his head at her once. She knew that look and obeyed it even though it took all her will to close her mouth and bite back the torrent that was desperate to explode.

  “Greven, this is Mrs. Felt. We saved her life. I don’t think you saw her properly when we arrived.” He looked at Lily. “Whatever is wrong, Mrs. Felt?”

  Lily gulped. Her treacherous eyes were watering. “Er, forgive me. I know this sounds far-fetched, your highness, but your servant, Greven, just fleetingly reminded me of my father. Perhaps it’s because we were talking about him.”

  “Really? Greven here is my adopted father, actually, not my servant.”

  “I am your servant,” Greven
said pointedly, scowling. “Let’s not pretend otherwise.”

  Piven gave Lily a look of soft exasperation. “Greven raised me.” He smiled. “He has been a father to me and I love him but Greven struggles with the new me—the one that talks and thinks intelligently, the one that turned into a real Valisar.”

  She stole a glance at her father. He wore a grimace but again in his eyes was only warning. Though his leprosy was gone the decade seemed to have turned him haggard and he was shockingly missing a hand. She realized she was holding her breath, feeling herself on shakiest of grounds.

  “My father was a bit younger, now that I look at you, sir, and he was . . .” She hesitated.

  “Whole?” Greven asked.

  Piven tutted. “Let’s not go into that now, Greven, shall we?”

  “Why not? Are you concerned by what people might think?”

  “You know I’m not, old man!” Piven snapped, then took a breath and composed himself. “Forgive us, Mrs. Felt. I’m sure you didn’t fail to notice the carnage in the square.”

  It wasn’t a question but she shook her head silently anyway, trying not to look at her father.

  Piven continued. “It’s a long story that I won’t bore you with but it is connected with the Valisar legacy of aegis magic. Greven is an aegis and he is bonded to me.”

  Lily swallowed. “Through magic?”

  Piven nodded. “Indeed. A very powerful one. And Greven doesn’t care for these new circumstances. But he will get used to them over time. We are going to be together for a long time.”

  “That means you are Vested, sir?” she asked Greven.

  She watched her father’s face soften. “Yes,” he admitted. “But I hid it well.”

  She nodded and quickly wiped away the tears that she couldn’t keep from falling. “Forgive me, highness. Now I feel sad for Greven, sad for myself, sad for my husband. I’m quite a mess really. I will take my leave with your kind permission.” She stood.

  Piven did also. “Are you sure I can’t offer you anything—refreshment, accommodation, money . . . a position?” He shrugged, and Lily realized Piven seemed desperate for friendship. Why in Lo’s name had he chosen her?

  She gave a humorless smile. “No, highness, but thank you. I wish to return to the north, if I may. I have good friends there and they will help me to start again.”

  “Then travel safely, Mrs. Felt.” He cocked his head to one side. “May I know your first name? You seem far too young to be a widow and I do hope our paths cross again. I will look you up when I’m in the north.”

  Lily panicked but hoped it didn’t show on her expression. “Of course,” she replied. “I am Maera.” She squirmed inwardly. Why the name of Kilt’s favorite whore from the Velvet Curtain in Francham would spring to mind at this juncture was anyone’s guess. Of all the names she could have chosen!

  “Maera.” Piven gave her a curious look.

  “Is something wrong, highness?”

  “Not at all. I . . . I’m not sure that name suits your beauty.”

  She blushed. Surely this youth was not flirting with her? “I promise when I meet my father again I’ll ask him about it. Thank you, your highness. You’ve been very generous to me.” She hoped he couldn’t sense her urgency to be gone from here.

  “Do you know your way out of the palace?” He took her hand and kissed it lightly, courteously.

  “I’ll find my way easily enough, I’m sure.”

  “Greven, please escort Mrs. Felt to the stable and ensure that she is given one of the palace horses. Maera, I only ask that you tell people I am the new ruler of the Set as you head north.” He sighed. “We might as well spread the word.”

  “Good luck then, your majesty,” Lily replied.

  Piven’s face lit with amusement. “You are the first to use that title.”

  “This way, Mrs. Felt,” Greven muttered, pushing past them.

  Piven gave her a final look, begging tolerance. “Please excuse Greven. His way is very gruff. I can only control him to a point,” he said.

  She waved the apology away, desperate to be gone, thrilled and yet daunted by the opportunity to speak with her father alone.

  “Don’t be too long, Greven. You know I don’t like you to be far. Just go to the stables, no further.”

  “You forget, your majesty,” Greven replied acidly, “the magic does not permit me separation from you for very long.”

  Piven ignored him, already turning his charm to Lily. “Farewell, Mrs. Felt,” Piven said and Lily took her leave, hurrying away, trying not to make it obvious.

  Once out of sight, Greven dragged Lily into a small vacant chamber. They hugged and Lily wept silently.

  “Your hand?” she said, after they’d finally let go of each other. She was exhausted from tears.

  “It’s called trammeling. That how he has bonded me. He ate part of me.” Even as he said it, Greven’s face convulsed and he appeared to gag.

  Lily felt momentarily dizzied from shock. “Ate you?” she murmured, wondering if she’d heard right.

  He nodded, stifled a sob. “I am his to command, Lily. He must never know who you are, or he will use you against me. Forgive me.”

  “So you’re Vested,” she repeated, resigned.

  “And so much more, I’m afraid. I knew it; I just never acknowledged it to you, or your mother. I thought if I could just keep myself to myself, live a simple life, stay well away from the palace and never cross the path of a Valisar I could live our lives in peace.”

  “And then Leo came along,” she said.

  He nodded. “That was hard for me.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, frowning.

  “My magic responds to the Valisars. Fortunately Leo has no power at all, not a skerrick of magic in him other than the dormant Valisar Legacy. That was lucky. I realized immediately that he wasn’t sensing me but I was very glad that he spent the night in the crawlspace.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she groaned, twisting around and holding her head. “We could have—”

  “Done nothing,” he interrupted. “We had to help those boys. I hated being an aegis but I was a loyalist.”

  “What happened to you? You know I tried to reach you time and again.”

  He nodded sadly. “I knew you would. But I held to the notion that you were safe with those outlaws. I never wanted such a solitary life for you. I wanted you to find a good man, enjoy family life.” He looked down.

  “So you left our hut?”

  “Yes.” He tried to cover his emotion with a soft cough. “I walked for days and days, feeling drawn toward Brighthelm even though all my life I had avoided it. And then I came to the edge of the woodland that surrounds the palace and I saw him.”

  “The prince.”

  He nodded, tears welling again. “He was pitiful, Lily. Abandoned, dirty, hungry, his face filled with joy, his tiny hand in mine. He was drawn toward me too. Even though he couldn’t speak, he filled my heart with pleasure. I knew I had to look after him, get him away from that terrible place.”

  “But didn’t his magic—”

  “Not initially. He was an invalid. The shortcomings that kept him safe also kept his magic masked. My magic didn’t react to him in the dramatic way it should have. Instead it happened gradually, over the years.” He shook his head. “I think without really being aware of it I was throwing up stronger and stronger shields as he emerged gradually out of the prison of his illness. I suppose I taught myself how to be around him. But tell me about you. You found your way to Kilt Faris, obviously?”

  Lily quickly told him a drastically shortened version of her life over the last decade, ending with her convenient marriage to Kirin Felt.

  “What an amazing tale. And there’s me claiming what a royalist I am when you’ve spent these past ten anni plotting against the empire,” he said, envy in his voice. Then he actually smiled. “I wish we could have more time for me to tell you how beautiful you’ve become but, Lily, you must leave no
w. Flee. You’ve escaped him once. Get as far away from Piven as you can.”

  “But you—”

  “There is nothing you can do for me. It’s magical, Lily. I belong to him now.”

  “Dad—”

  “No, listen to me. I have to finish this. I’m no longer frightened. Seeing you has stiffened my resolve to find a solution to Piven. I . . .” He shook his head. “I feel responsible. But you now have an important role.”

  “Me?”

  He nodded. “Pay attention, Lily. This all rests on you now. You have to find his sister.” He held up a hand. “Come, I’ll explain as we walk. No, my dearest one,” he said, kissing her head. “No more tears. We leave now. You must get away and you must listen to what I have to tell you.”

  Piven was listening to Stracker. Though the big man was doing his best to rein in his anger and appear reasonable, it was clearly a struggle. The conversation had become tedious long ago and Piven’s mind had strayed quickly. He couldn’t place why but he felt vaguely preoccupied with the woman, Maera. She was lovely and far too old for him but it wasn’t her beauty that was gnawing at him. It was something else; he had been teasing at it for most of Stracker’s discussion but it was not yielding to him.

  He sighed. “All right, general, then why don’t you go out and slaughter the same number of Denovians to match the loss of Greens?”

  Stracker looked back at him, dumbfounded. “Do you jest?”

  “Do I look like I’m amusing myself?” Piven asked.

  Stracker shook his head. “How do I choose who dies?”

  “I don’t know, general, and frankly I don’t care. This is your burning need. Go out, kill and make merry. I have other pressing things on my mind.”

  “But if we kill without reason the people won’t trust us, won’t recognize us as the authority.”

  Piven smiled at him. “Ah, that is a dilemma for you, Stracker. Suddenly you’re racked with a sense of rightness. Loethar would be proud of you. I’m surprised. I had you down as someone without conscience.” He laughed at the general. “You don’t have to kill anyone, of course. But I’m giving you permission to do so—so that you’ll stop your irritating bleat.”