King’s Wrath

by Fiona McIntosh

  “Thank you, Mother,” Evie said. “I will never again take a bath for granted.”

  This made the older woman laugh. “I’m glad that you will take away a lesson from here, my child.” She looked again at Corbel and again he felt the scrutiny of her gaze.

  He spoke to prevent her from mentioning how he looked; it was obvious she wanted to. “Thank you for your generosity. And my apologies that our companion, Barro, is making so much noise.”

  “We have asked him to calm his volume,” she admitted and smiled kindly. “And you, Regor? Feeling like yourself again?”

  It was a pointed question and even though it was cunningly buried beneath innocence, he could not avoid answering. “Very much so, Mother,” he said and held her gaze firmly.

  The Abbess stared at him a moment longer and then nodded. “I’m pleased to hear it. Perhaps now you’re back in the region, you’ll hunt down all the people you used to know.”

  “I plan to.”

  “Do make sure you have an audience with the emperor. He is very supportive of anyone who wishes to improve services to the needy. Anything to escalate care, education, health, he is a strong advocate for. It is a surprise, I know, given that he was considered a barbarian warlord; I must admit, though, that the emperor is full of surprises, particularly his generosity to his people—all people, not just those from the Steppes.”

  “He wasn’t so magnanimous to the Valisars, Mother.”

  “No,” she admitted. “He was ruthless where they and indeed all the royals of the Set were concerned. But that is past history,” she said, eyeing Corbel hard. “It does no good to dredge up what I’m relieved to know is well behind us.” It was a veiled message.

  “Not everyone can leave the past behind.”

  She nodded. “Those with hatred in their hearts will never go forward. Loethar is a good ruler. It always startles me to hear myself say that but I stand for the truth. He has achieved some amazing advances for the union and people are generally happy with the way of things.”

  He knew he couldn’t win this discussion, certainly not with the way Evie and the young nun were staring at them looking baffled. “I will consider your good advice and no doubt the Qirin will open my eyes too.”

  She inclined her head gently in a bow of acknowledgment. “I hope she answers all of your questions, Regor. And you too, my dear. I feel sure this new land you’ve chosen to leave Galinsea for will be good to you.”

  Evie smiled. “Do we go in alone?” she asked, frowning.

  “One at a time is how the Qirin prefers. Regor, why don’t you go first? Perhaps while you do, Evie could quickly check on Valya?”

  “Er, I’d rather she wait here—”

  “I’ll be glad to,” Evie said before he could finish. “Regor, I’m in a convent,” she reminded. “Nothing will happen to me.”

  “You are not to fret, Regor,” the Mother assured. “Your beautiful young physic is very safe with us.”

  He hesitated but felt trapped by the Mother’s ever so slightly condescending tone. Plus he was outnumbered; three pairs of female eyes regarded him with a definite “hurry along” expression.

  “See you soon, then,” he said and knocked at the door.

  “Just go in, my son,” the Abbess said. “She will already know it’s you.”

  He nodded and opened the door. The darkness inside was complete and swallowed him up.

  Evie smiled expectantly at the Abbess, not really sure of the protocol now that her guide was gone.

  “Amely, will you take Evie to see Valya, please. Not too long, mind. I don’t want to keep the Qirin waiting as she tires easily during tellings.”

  “Of course,” Amely replied and nodded her head. “Come with me, Evie. It’s not far away.”

  They passed the ablutions block before approaching a series of small, joined, hut-like buildings. “These are some of the elders’ accommodations,” Amely explained. “Valya lives here. Can you just wait a few moments? I’ll just check she’s ready to see you.”

  “Happy to,” Evie said, inhaling the sweet smell of the nearby climbing jasmine. At least she recognized this plant and its perfume. The jasmine’s familiarity was comforting especially as she remembered the day Reg had given her a small pot of the climbing plant. “It will remind you of me,” he had tried to pass off casually but his grave face defied the intended quip. Reg . . . no, Corbel! was such an enigma. The unruly beard, the shapeless clothes, that shambling walk, even the stoop—it had all been an act. How had he maintained it for all that time? He was still quiet but now he walked tall and strong with confident strides. She thought about the curious conversation between the Abbess and Corbel, deciding that the old girl had not been fooled. If he looked as much like his father as Barro seemed to think, it might have been better if he’d remained hidden beneath his beard.

  Evie had always wondered what he might look like beneath his trademark scruffy appearance but she hadn’t expected him to look nearly as young or handsome. He wasn’t twenty-eight for sure, which was the age he claimed he should be, but he didn’t look as though he was closing on fifty as she’d originally aged him. He could easily pass now for a youthful, good-looking man in his late thirties. And he was tall and so broad. He’d managed to hide his body convincingly for all of those years that they’d been friends—she realized she had never once seen him without his greatcoat, even in the heat of the summer.

  The violence that had found him, and the relish with which he had faced it, frightened her. And while she was making a concerted effort to leave that episode behind, she remained unnerved by his vigorous new way of giving orders and expecting to be obeyed. A sort of arrogance had closed itself around him.

  Another thought struck her. If she was to go along with this bizarre new life—not that she had much choice just now—then Corbel believed he’d been away for a decade of his land’s time he had aged two decades. She caught her breath. That meant anyone in this world would, if they didn’t believe her dead, expect her to be ten going on eleven, not nearly twenty-one. She sighed with the confusion of it all and pinched herself to just be sure she was here. Yes, she could feel that, and it all felt horribly real.

  She frowned and turned. Amely was taking much longer than she had expected. She wondered if something was wrong. Just as she took a step forward and was reaching for the handle of the door, it opened.

  “Oh!” she said. “I wasn’t sure if something had happened.”

  Amely regarded her with a curious look but then smiled kindly. “I’m sorry we kept you.” She hesitated. “Valya was changing,” she said, unconvincingly.

  “Shall I come in?” Evie asked.

  “Please do. She’s waiting for you.”

  Evie allowed herself to be ushered in. Valya was standing to greet her in the middle of the austere room.

  “How are you feeling?” Evie immediately asked.

  “Fine. There was no need for anyone to worry. Dozens of women all over the land must give birth each day. I shouldn’t be considered different.”

  “No, of course,” Evie soothed. “But some women birth with ease and others have varying degrees of complications. Yours . . . well your experience, aside from the physical toll, is emotionally very complex. To lose a child is—”

  “You sound very knowledgeable,” Valya commented.

  Evie was startled by the woman’s hard attitude but then again she had learned that people cope with their grief in myriad ways. Some found it easier to simply pretend it hadn’t happened, to distance themselves from their loss.

  “I’m not a midwife,” she admitted. “But I have enough knowledge to be helpful on the subject. Would you like me to examine you? It’s important we make sure that your—”

  “Not just yet.”

  Evie was astonished this time at the way the woman coldly cut her off. She took a silent deep breath.

  “May I ask you something?” Valya said.

  “Of course,” Evie replied. She glanced behind and
noticed that Amely was near the door. She frowned. Something was not right.

  “Thank you,” Valya replied. “Oh, how ungracious of me. I should have offered. Can we get you anything?”

  Evie shook her head. “Forgive me, Valya, but I promised the Mother I wouldn’t be long. This is not a social call.” She bit the inside of her lip. That sounded officious and typical of the way doctors were encouraged to speak in order to distance themselves from emotional involvement with patients. Softening her tone, she explained, “Sorry, what I mean is, the Qirin is waiting. My companion has gone in to speak with her first and I was asked to be quick. I can come back later if you wish?”

  “No, that won’t be necessary. I imagine you have much to talk with the Qirin about.”

  Evie shrugged. She really didn’t know what the Qirin was supposed to achieve. “I’m not sure, to be honest,” she said.

  “And I imagine your friend has plenty to ask her about.”

  Evie started to feel a whisper of uncertainty. “I honestly wouldn’t know.”

  “Really? I would have thought his first question might be where his twin brother Gavriel de Vis might be found?”

  Evie felt herself blanch and then her face grew warm with embarrassment. “I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh come, come. Evie or whatever your name is, or whoever you are, you are under the spell of Corbel de Vis, who has miraculously returned from his long-believed death.”

  “I think it’s time I left,” Evie said. But Amely was on her in a flash and had pushed her to the ground.

  “Wait! What are you—?”

  “Quick!” Valya urged. “Make her drink it.”

  Evie was so shocked she could barely struggle. Before she knew it a vile dark liquid was being forced through a tube down her throat by the no longer soft and smiling Amely.

  “Henbane, mulberry, hemlock, mandragora, ivy and poppy,” Valya recited. “All in?”

  Amely nodded.

  “Excellent. Just enough time to tell her.”

  Evie was coughing, desperately trying to vomit, but it was too late; she’d swallowed plenty in her struggles. She knew the drug was already moving grimly into her system, recognized enough of the herbs to know that together they would knock her out.

  “Why?” she spluttered angrily.

  “I have no certain idea of who you are but if what Amely tells me is true then,” Valya laughed with wonder, “incredibly you are the Valisar daughter who supposedly died and was cremated, her ashes blown to the winds from the top of Brighthelm.”

  Evie began to feel light-headed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t if you were secreted away at birth. Could he have done that?” She gurgled with delighted laughter. “Brennus, you old fox, you might just have pulled off the second greatest ruse in the history of the cunning Valisars.”

  “Please,” Evie began.

  “No! Don’t beg me, Valisar slut! No one listened to me when I begged. I am the empress! I was meant to be a queen of Penraven but your father fell for that Galinsean whore and I was cast aside. So I have double the reason to hate any Valisar but especially anyone who wants to lay a claim to my rightful throne. Stay awake and listen, you wretch! You are my bargaining stick, Evie. Is that even your real name? Not likely. Not Valisar enough,” she spat. “You’re coming with me. I can’t imagine what he’ll offer when I tell him of the prize I have for him.”

  “Who?” Evie whispered groggily.

  “Emperor Loethar. My husband is going to crawl back and beg to be in my favor. And isn’t he going to relish knowing that Corbel de Vis has re-emerged as well. He will finally see the importance of me as his wife . . . by his side.”

  “You’re mad,” Evie croaked. Her head was spinning now. She could see Valya spitting saliva as she spoke but it sounded like a senseless babble now, and unless she was dreaming it, she thought she could hear a baby crying. Colicky cry, she thought to herself as the drug claimed her. “Stew some feremore,” she mumbled as she lost consciousness.

  Chapter Twenty

  Barro had finished bathing and, after witnessing de Vis’s transformation, had decided he too must make today the first day of a new life. That began with a trim to his beard and mustache that had long ago stopped being lustrous and had simply become unruly.

  He realized now, staring into the looking glass, that his fall from grace had been virtually complete. His terrible choice of loutish companions aside, he really had looked a state. But now after a long soak, with clean hair neatly tied back and his beard trimmed, he felt like a new man. He went to put his old clothes back on with a trace of sadness but smiled when he noticed that the nuns had delivered a fresh shirt for him to use. It was well worn, darned many times by the looks of it but it was soft on his skin because of its age and if there was one thing Barro of Vorgaven couldn’t bear, it was an itchy shirt. He preened, admiring his fresh image in the looking glass.

  “Not bad at all,” he muttered to himself and would have lingered longer if his attention hadn’t been caught by the sight of Genevieve, the Valisar princess, walking alongside one of the nuns. He could see her reflected in the looking glass, talking amiably with the young woman. Barro swung around and paused. The princess was meant to be with Corbel, surely? He watched them disappear from sight through the window and looked down to his old scuffed and terribly worn boots as he considered the somber words of Corbel de Vis.

  At no time—no time, Corbel had impressed—is she to be unescorted by one of us. Evie is arguably the single most important person in the entire empire right now. She can bring down the barbarian horde single-handedly. Barro remembered how he had scoffed at the last sentence and how his amusement had died as he was regarded by the somber face of de Vis.

  You have no idea of her power; none of us do. But I am telling you that she has the potential to wield a magic like this world has never seen.

  They were chilling words and there was no doubting that Corbel de Vis deeply believed in what he was saying. There was also no reason to doubt him, especially as Barro had been on the receiving end of some of that power. He fully believed the woman he was traveling with possessed magic; she had brought him back from the dead, after all. And for that reason alone he believed and he trusted . . . and he obeyed. If this girl was Valisar, then he owed her his fealty as well.

  He blinked. She hadn’t looked uncomfortable or scared. De Vis had gone to meet her so presumably he had sanctioned their splitting up. Barro bit his lip as he wavered. Finally the soldier in him won through. Orders were orders. Whatever she was up to with the pretty nun, he was obliged to follow, even if he remained hidden.

  His sword had been removed and handed over at the gate. The Abbess would not brook any weapons walking beyond the entry compound and de Vis had nodded that this was agreeable. He had duly given over his weapon but the nuns were perhaps a little naïve and hadn’t insisted on a thorough search. No soldier worth his salt didn’t conceal a weapon and Barro checked his dagger now, glad that he had always kept the blade keen.

  He slipped out of the ablutions block and followed the women, careful to remain hidden. The nun knocked on the end door of what appeared to be a compact row of accommodations but he was surprised when she left Evie alone while she went inside. He frowned as he waited and watched, torn as to what to do. Just when he felt he should make himself seen and have a word with the princess, the door opened again and the pretty nun appeared, smiling broadly and clearly apologizing for keeping her waiting.

  It all looked innocent enough. So why did he feel something was wrong? Regor de Vis had always impressed upon his men to trust their instincts first before their eyes. And now his gut was giving him an entirely different message to what he was seeing.

  Barro tiptoed up to the door and listened. He could hear two women talking but he couldn’t hear what they were saying. The window was not open so he couldn’t eavesdrop. He crawled beneath it, hoping that no one
spotted him creeping around a nun’s room—how bad would that look, he groaned inwardly—and silently crept around to the rear of the building. As he’d anticipated, this end chamber had a back door. He was surprised to find an old nag tethered to a cart waiting patiently just outside. Carefully and out of sight of the women inside, Barro prised open the back window.

  What he heard made his belly do a flip. He no longer cared if he was seen as he leaped up to look squarely through the window. The young nun was on the ground, shoving something into the princess’s mouth while the bitch-empress stood above and hissed threats.

  Without a further thought, Barro heaved his shoulder against the door and arrived theatrically into the chamber with a thunderous crash as the door not only gave way but flew off its hinges. Barro had hit the ground rolling but was back on his feet in a blink, dagger in his hand. Two women were screaming at him and above was a high keening sound that he fought the temptation to turn toward.

  In a blink his training allowed him to rapidly assess that the young nun, who looked terrified, was no threat. The bitch-empress was already in a high dudgeon and his arrival had fueled her mad state.

  Everything then happened so quickly he reacted purely on instinct. The front door of the accommodations opened and what looked to be a herd of nuns rushed in. At the same time Valya ran at him, screaming obscenities. He had just a heartbeat to see her bared teeth, hands turned to clawlike weapons. He didn’t move; he didn’t have to. Valya flung herself blindly toward him, not noticing the blade in his fist.

  She gasped at its impact. Barro looked down at the same time as she, and almost comically they both looked back up at each other, as though surprised to find themselves separated by the hilt of a dagger. He caught her as she fell and although he knew he shouldn’t remove the blade, he did. Nothing in his life had given him greater satisfaction than to stab the highborn woman who had betrayed the Set and revelled in the downfall of his beloved Penraven. It flashed through his mind as women clustered around him, shrieking, one battering at his shoulders, that the princess could likely save Valya if she laid her hands on the empress. He would not give the princess that opportunity.