King’s Wrath

by Fiona McIntosh

“Pathetic options and you know it.”

  Jewd ignored him but Kilt noticed the flicker of triumph in his eyes. “Or,” he said, sticking up a second finger, “we can try and learn some more about your situation. We’ve said for a long time that we should take a break and journey to the convent in the foothills of Lo’s Teeth.”

  “Well,” Kilt began, exasperated. “I’m really glad you’re in the mood for visiting our old friends the nuns. That’s definitely my favorite heroic alternative, really action-packed.”

  Jewd stood and flicked Kilt’s ear in the way they’d admonished each other since childhood.

  “Ow! You sod!” Kilt said, rubbing at the side of his head.

  “Now you’re just being thick,” Jewd said contemptuously. “And you keep telling me how smart you are. We go to the convent and pay the Qirin a visit.”

  “I’ve told you before—”

  “Yes you have. But now that won’t wash. We need information, Kilt. We need to know what we’re up against here and whether she has some insight into how we can protect you.”

  Kilt scowled. “For protection I’ve got big-fisted you, haven’t I?”

  “Me and my fists aren’t enough when we’re up against magic. There are Valisars out there who are hunting you down while we sit here. They want to eat you, Kilt! We can be very sure that Leo will not sit back and lick his wounds now that you got away. And Loethar has nothing to lose by coming after you. We need magical advice on how to outwit those who want your magic.”

  Kilt nodded, realizing that Jewd was thinking very clearly. “All right. In the absence of a better idea, let’s go visit the Mother and her girls.”

  Jewd’s relief was written all over his face. “Good. I’ve already organized horses. We can leave immediately.”

  “I hate it when you assume you know how I’m going to react.”

  “Kilt, we’re like an old married couple. We’ve been together for far too long to pretend that we don’t know what the other is thinking.”

  “For appearances you could just pretend.”

  “Well, now you’re just acting pouty. Do you need me to find you a skirt?” Kilt glared at him in reply. “Come on. We can ride hard and be across Gormand through the night. If we change horses and keep going we can be in the foothills by tomorrow evening.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Elka couldn’t help the smirk.

  “I suppose it is amusing,” Loethar said dryly.

  Now she laughed as she stirred the contents in the small flat cooking pot. “They are some of the strangest ingredients I’ve ever used in a meal.”

  Ravan twitched his nose. “Makes me glad I don’t feel hunger,” he offered.

  Loethar threw him a look of scorn. “So . . . magic means you don’t consume carrion any longer, digging about in the entrails of some long dead vole?”

  His old friend didn’t react other than to smile softly. “Nothing you say is going to make it easier to eat toenails, fingernails and hair . . . even insulting me.”

  They glanced over at Roddy, who sat far enough away from Loethar that both could control their nausea.

  “I’m glad he and Janus are getting on so well,” Elka mentioned.

  Ravan nodded. “I suppose Roddy has found a kindred soul in Janus. The doctor must understand what it is for Roddy to live with his palsy, how he’s tried to hide it, why he’s such a loner.”

  “Did you notice the relish Janus took collecting Roddy’s toenails and throwing them into this brew?” Loethar demanded.

  Both Elka and Ravan laughed aloud now.

  “Luckily you weren’t awake when he was sewing you up and fixing your other injuries,” Elka warned. “He really enjoyed hurting you.”

  “Hmmm,” Loether pondered. “And still I like him.”

  Elka nodded. “He is a good man. Well, I’m sorry to tell you that we’re nearly ready here, Loethar. Are you?”

  He looked into the pot and felt his stomach turn. “You can’t pretend to me that you can cook toenails or hair,” he grumbled. “I’m going to know they’re there.”

  “I’m not trying to pretend anything. I’m simply disguising them in a savory porridge. All you have to do is hold your nose and swallow the brew.”

  “Don’t think, just swallow,” Ravan echoed. “And, Loethar?” Loethar looked up at the man who was once his bird and held his gaze. “Don’t set aside what Roddy is gifting you. To give up one’s freedom willingly is extraordinary. This is the least you can agree to.”

  “I know,” Loethar said, feeling suddenly embarrassed. “He shames me by his courage.”

  “Which is why humbly eating his toenails should be easy for you,” Elka said with a wicked glint in her eyes. “I can’t say I’m not going to enjoy watching this.”

  Loethar grimaced again. “Does anyone know what’s supposed to actually happen when this works?”

  “We don’t even know if it will,” Ravan cautioned. “And Roddy’s the only one among us who seems to instinctively know the process.”

  “Well, we’re ready here,” Elka said, tipping the gruel into the only bowl they had, the same one that Janus used for his work. “Let it cool slightly and then just tip it down your throat as quickly as you can,” she repeated. She set the bowl down in front of him and then, without being able to disguise any of the humor she had clearly hoped she could, she added, “Just don’t chew on anything in there.” She walked away chuckling.

  “When I’m filled with my magic I shall turn you into a donkey and make you carry me up a mountain,” he threatened.

  “So what’s new?” she threw back at him over one shoulder.

  He growled before looking at Ravan, who regarded him with the same blank expression he’d possessed as a bird.

  “She’s good for you, you know.”

  Loethar rocked back on his heels. “Whatever made you say that?”

  Ravan shrugged and it struck Loethar that his old friend had very quickly picked up the habits of men. “Not all that much has changed for you. All the people you despise still despise you. You remain the loneliest man who walks the land. You are still the most feared, the most single-minded, the unhappiest man. You forget I’ve not only known you for most of your life but you have confided in me. You have never loved anyone. But now I watch you with Elka and you are different with her.”

  “In what way?” Loethar asked, stirring the gruel, not wanting to meet Ravan’s searching look.

  “In so many ways. You listen to her, you set store by her remarks and advice, you seem to care about what she thinks and how she reacts, you even banter with her—unheard of in my time with you. I don’t believe any woman has ever even vaguely amused you, or aroused your interest beyond the carnal. I’ve only been in her presence for the briefest of times and yet your gaze follows her helplessly, your whole body responds to her in subtle ways you likely don’t even realize. But I do. I know you, Loethar. And I know this woman,” he said, glancing over at where Elka sat flanking Roddy with Janus, “has a genuine effect on you.” He paused and sighed. “It is a profoundly positive effect too.”

  Loethar’s eyes flashed up. “You approve?”

  Ravan gave a soft laugh for their hearing only. “It is not for me to approve or disapprove. And since when was my opinion that important?”

  “Since you turned into a man! Whose form do you take anyway?”

  “I am told it is of Cormoron, First of the Valisars.”

  “Truly?”

  Ravan nodded. “I have seen my image in a mirror and I can see elements of it strongly reflected back in you. You must not doubt your claim to the throne of Penraven, to the empire you have built.”

  Loethar swallowed. “And that is why your opinion is important. Because you walk in the body of my great-great-great-great-great-great . . .” he looked up to the sky, his eyes squinting as he calculated, “grandfather! And you speak in what is presumably his voice and you’ve most importantly shared my life for years.”

  “In that case
I should tell you I approve of Elka wholeheartedly. Most of the women in your life have been purely for sexual release—even Valya, though she was given the prize of being your wife. And as much as she worshipped you, you reviled her in equal measure. It was sad really.”

  “Sad?”

  “Well, I despised Valya too but there’s no denying her intelligence, cunning, beauty and suitability as a mate for you.”

  “She left me cold.”

  “I know. But around Elka you are full of warmth—a quality I doubt many believe you possess. I’ve known Elka for barely a day and yet she impresses me more than any other woman I’ve observed and probably for all the reasons you cleave to her. So yes, if it’s important to you to know this, then I approve. She’s very tall but perhaps it’s time you looked up to a woman.”

  Loethar chuckled. “I think I love her and that’s such a difficult concept to wrap my mind around. But she belongs to someone else.”

  “And that stops you?”

  “It’s Gavriel de Vis. He and I are not friends but I have come to respect him.”

  Ravan gave him a sympathetic glance. “I see. If not for him Roddy would be bonded to Leo.” He nodded toward the bowl. “It’s cool enough,” he said and grinned.

  Loethar grunted unhappily.

  “If it’s any consolation, Loethar—and I’ve studied people and their habits—I don’t think you have to worry about where Elka’s feelings lie. She might once have believed herself in love with de Vis but all of my instincts tell me her affections are for you. She tries to hide it but she can’t hide it from a practiced observer such as I. Now eat your porridge and good luck.” He stood and went to join Roddy’s group.

  Loethar stared at the bowl, tried not to think about what it contained or whether this was a good idea. He looked at Roddy, so small and puny, the tremor in his hand so noticeable now that the boy no longer tried to hide it.

  How was this child to fight off those who would kill him without thinking?

  With magic, a voice inside encouraged.

  Loethar ground his jaw, angry with himself for the lack of courage. “Ready?”

  “Ready,” they all answered with a collective gleam of humor.

  He picked up the bowl. “Roddy? Are you sure?”

  “Do it, your majesty,” the boy urged. “Be done with this.”

  Loethar took a deep breath, tipped the bowl, closed his eyes and began to swallow. He momentarily felt the need to gag at the thought of toenails and hair but then words began to enter his thoughts. Words he didn’t know he knew, words of binding. He began to say them silently while he swallowed repeatedly until the bowl was empty of the small helping of porridge.

  He threw it aside with a groan of disgust. “It is done.” And as he said the words he heard Roddy cry out as if in agony and then within himself he felt as though an opening was being rent. He didn’t think he made a sound, but his audience reacted anxiously and then a new sensation hit him; that someone else was beside him . . . no, inside him. He could hear nothing of the outside world but in the world of his body he could now hear two heartbeats, could feel them match each other’s rhythm, could feel the rush of blood around two bodies. There was darkness for a few frantic moments of confusion and then he heard Roddy speak to him in his mind.

  “We are one, your majesty. It didn’t hurt so much because I wanted it to happen . . . so I didn’t fight you.” Loethar’s eyes flashed open and he saw the row of faces before him, all fearful except Roddy’s, which wore a smile of pure sunshine. “Your aegis awaits your command.”

  And Loethar didn’t know whether to laugh with glee or weep with disgust.

  Greven stared into the blackness of night to where stars winked and whispered of worlds beyond his own, and he prayed for his daughter. For at least the hundredth time he replayed the events of the day in his mind. After tearfully hugging Lily farewell he had returned to the chamber where Piven and his hateful new partner-in-rule awaited.

  “You’ve been gone a while, Greven,” Piven remarked.

  “You asked me to see Mrs. Felt safely away.”

  “That I did. And she’s on her way?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she say where she was going?”

  His heart skipped a beat but his words did not. “She was headed south as I understand it, back to Medhaven. Not much for her anywhere else now that her husband is dead . . . murdered.” He watched the general’s tatua twitch as his mouth moved into its comfortable snarl. “Her family is the best place for her.”

  Piven grinned malevolently. “Oh I couldn’t agree more,” he said expansively. “Which is why she should be right here with us . . . with you in fact.”

  Greven felt his throat close. “Me?”

  “You are her father after all.” Piven took a step forward. “Well, aren’t you? Dare you deny it? No. I can see the fear on your face. I can feel your loathing, Greven. You almost did it, you know; you almost pulled off a very clever ploy. But I am much smarter than you can imagine. We’ll give Lily some time, shall we? That way her pulse can calm, her breathing become deeper, her sense of security feel real.”

  “I should kill you now,” Stracker hurled.

  Greven gave a low growl of protest, laced with anger. “I’d love you to try, you tattoed lout.”

  Stracker lurched forward.

  “Stracker!” Piven snapped, as though calling back a dog. The general halted. “Clearly this needs to be explained all over again. You cannot hurt Greven. Not because I don’t give my permission—which I don’t—but because you are unable to wield any injury against him. For the last time, Stracker, this is magic you are up against, not flesh and blood. Is that clear?”

  Stracker nodded, silent.

  “Then don’t let’s have these scenes again. Greven is untouchable and it’s because of his magic that I am too. Behind me, following my commands, is where you need to be. Don’t think, general, just do. And as long as you do as I say, you will get everything you want, including Lily Felt’s body to play with if that’s what takes your fancy.”

  Stracker laughed at the look as Greven blanched, unable to hide his fear.

  “She’ll head north, general. It is tempting to imagine she’ll rush to somewhere like Francham, where she could lose herself and where I gather the town would protect her secret, but somehow I suspect she’ll be fleeing to that convent where they take in strays and women in trouble. She wouldn’t think it’s a place we might think of to search but I know how Greven thinks. Do you remember, Greven? You mentioned several times as I grew up that you hoped your daughter had gone to the convent, that it was a place you would encourage her to flee to if trouble found her. Oh dear, I see you’d forgotten that. We’ve shared so much, you and I. Isn’t the convent where that witch Valya is?” he added, turning to the general.

  “Yes,” Stracker nodded.

  “Well, you have my permission to retrieve both women. As long as they are in one piece for presentation to me, with all their faculties intact, what you do with them afterward is your business.”

  A smile stretched across Stracker’s face, the tatua changing shape and mocking Greven.

  He looked away. “One day I will take my revenge upon you,” Greven said, turning to Piven.

  “I know, I know,” Piven said, sounding weary of the repetitious threat.

  * * *

  Lily had wasted no time paying for a ride in a carriage headed east but she had taken the precaution first to visit a place whose services were only used by men.

  Although she didn’t know it, The Honeypot was arguably Penraven’s most famous brothel; it was certainly its wealthiest, catering to a more affluent clientele. She approached it from the rear of the property, where she expected to find and did find women of various ages washing clothes, dusting linen, peeling vegetables and generally going about their daily chores. She smiled tentatively at the striking red-head who approached.

  “What’s the cat dragged in here, then? What’s your name?”<
br />
  “Lily Felt. I was hoping—”

  “Yes, darling, we know what you were hoping but we have more than enough of what you’re offering. Besides, I don’t need your sort of competition.”

  The other women laughed. It was a compliment of sorts but somehow the rejection knocked the wind out of her, and suddenly, with disgust, she realized she was crying.

  “Lo, strike me, look what you’ve done to her now, Julee,” someone said. “She’s just like any of us—you were her once.” A woman pushed past the speechless Julee and put her arm around Lily. “Come on, lovely, let’s get something stiff into you.” She winked at the girls, who laughed at the old joke that they’d probably heard a hundred times. “I mean a drink, darling,” she whispered. “A little tot of green reffer and you’ll be able to face the world a little easier, I promise.”

  Lily allowed herself to be led into the laundry area and to be sat down. “Wait here, love,” her new friend suggested. “Master and Mistress Glendon aren’t generous to strays unless there’s money to be made from them. And somehow I don’t think you came here to offer yourself as a new worker, right?”

  Lily sniffed and shook her head.

  “I’ll be back. I’m Lizbeth . . . Biddy is what I’m called, though.”

  She returned soon enough with a small glass of the green reffer that Lily had never sampled but knew would taste strongly of eucalypt. “Get that down you. No sipping, just knock it back.”

  Lily did as she was told and in a moment the liquid, deliberately kept cool in water, turned into a fiery channel opening up her throat, clearing her nose, blowing out the cobwebs of her mind. She gave a groan.

  “That’s good. You feel alive now, don’t you?” Biddy asked.

  Lily coughed. “Perhaps I don’t want to be.”

  “Oh come on now. Nothing’s that bad. Why did you come here?”

  “I need to change my appearance.”

  “Lo’s balls! That’s the last request I would have expected to hear. Are you sure? I mean looking how you do . . .”

  “Can you help?”

  “How much of a change? Just clothes?”