King’s Wrath

by Fiona McIntosh

  With a heavy heart she packed up her few belongings, knowing it was time to move on. But she hadn’t foreseen or counted on just how quickly the apprentice would act. Soldiers were at the doors of the distillery within hours and before she could even find tears, she was in a cart alongside men wearing tatua, being borne away from the place she had called home. She would never forget the herbalist’s distress and how he’d raged at the soldiers who took her away.

  Perhaps there was some affection after all; she’d often wondered about it. They could have been happy together with their strange relationship of respect and fondness, without the need to be intimate. And from the moment she’d waved her last goodbye, she realized she had loved him in her own curious way, never quite sure if it was for the father she’d never known or the potential husband she’d never thought to want.

  Since then she’d kept her head down and lived an even quieter life, hardly communicating with anyone other than the woman called Reuth, who had been brought to the encampment only a couple of years ago with her children. Though she had hardly recognized the older woman, Reuth had recognized her immediately; after much prodding and prompting they had put together that they had been initially incarcerated together at Brighthelm. If not for the man called Freath and the help of Father Briar, they would likely not be alive today.

  Freath had given her four years of freedom and a happy life and she had often wondered what became of him, living his dangerous double life. She couldn’t imagine he had survived but the empire had flourished and life for most people—unless you were Vested—was unchanged if not much better for the arrival of the man who had once been hailed a tyrant.

  It was Reuth who interrupted her quiet musings now.

  “Are you there?”

  “Out here,” she called and as she stood to wipe her hands on her apron, a hint of a sensation she had only felt once before passed through her like a ghost. She trembled.

  “Hello!” Reuth said, breezing down the garden. “How are the runner beans getting along?”

  “Oh, it will be the usual fine crop,” she stammered.

  “What’s wrong? You look unwell.”

  “It’s nothing. Just a slight dizzy spell. I think I stood up too fast,” she said and indeed the sensation passed so quickly, she could believe she had imagined it.

  “At my age that’s the norm even just getting up from my chair,” her visitor said brightly.

  “Children working?”

  “Yes.”

  “Has it got worse for Ory?”

  Reuth nodded, her chin trembling slightly. “Oh, look at me getting upset. I shouldn’t be surprised with both Clovis and I being Vested.”

  She nodded. “But Lars has shown no sign.”

  “Not yet,” Reuth said. “Won’t you—”

  “No, Reuth, I’ve told you before. What will be, will be. If you can’t see it with your skills then my runes will tell us little.”

  “I’m sure you play down your skills, my girl.”

  “Think what you will. I grow better runner beans than I tell people’s future, believe me.”

  Reuth admired the trellis and the plants growing strongly up them. “Well, you do have the best in the whole region,” she admitted.

  “Time for dinch?”

  “Always.” She followed her friend back into the hut. “I’ve got some new gossip too.”

  “Oh, good.”

  “A new and very eligible Vested bachelor has arrived,” Reuth said triumphantly. Perl gave her a pained look and Reuth sighed. “Oh, come on, Perl.”

  “Reuth, stop. I’ve told you how I feel.”

  “No, you’ve fobbed me off with excuses.” Reuth began to mimic her. “I don’t like anyone here, there’s too few men my own age, I still have feelings for my herbalist, I don’t like being touched.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Fair enough, but that shouldn’t stop you enjoying marriage and children . . . and—”

  “Both of those things involve touching.”

  Reuth grinned sadly. “Yes, they do. But you don’t mind when I hug you.”

  “That’s different.”

  “Oh,” Reuth groaned. “He’s very handsome and right about your age, I’d say.”

  “And what’s more,” Perl said, as though Reuth hadn’t spoken, “look at me. Which husband wants his wife to wear a scarf permanently? Men like women’s hair, Reuth.”

  Reuth sighed audibly.

  Perl sighed privately. Her baldness alone would be hard enough for any man to look past but the strange birthmark was something else entirely. Her herbalist had tried several remedies to ease its intensity, with no results. If he had been shocked when she finally and very reluctantly permitted him to see her complaint, then he didn’t show it. And she had loved him for that.

  “I am not lonely, Reuth, and I don’t live here wistfully hoping for my prince to come along,” she said. “Life is just fine—well, I could make it better leaving here—but it’s hardly unbearable. I have you, and Ory and Lars . . . you are my family.”

  “That’s sweet,” Reuth said and squeezed her hand. “Anyway, can you believe he just arrived moments ago, brazenly walking in and presenting himself to the gate?”

  “He came willingly?”

  Reuth nodded. “Handsome but stupid, obviously. What possessed him?”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Cadryn, I think. They’ve taken him to the newcomers’ section.”

  “And his meeting with Vulpan, Lo rot his soul!”

  “Vulpan’s not here, so he’ll have to wait.”

  “Do you know everything that goes on here, Reuth?”

  “I do my best. You never know when we can take advantage of information.”

  Perl poured the dinch, throwing a dry glance Reuth’s way. “You continue to hope you can bring the empire down, don’t you?”

  Reuth sighed. “I’ve never given up hope. I’d love to hound every last one of the barbarians out of the Set.”

  Perl smiled indulgently. “I wish I had your vigor, sometimes.” Reuth looked at her, perplexed. “You know, your energy and your anger is like sustenance to you. I’m sure it’s what wakes you up each day and keeps you going.”

  Reuth nodded. “I have to look at life that way, Perl. Very soon now my beautiful child is going to have a tatua marked permanently on her forehead to brand her Vested. I live with the dream that one day we can return our land to a free one, a democratic one where everyone has the right to speak for themselves, lead their lives as they choose, use their magic if they possess it.” She shrugged. “Surely you can’t want anything different.”

  “I don’t. I just don’t have your strength or belief.”

  “That’s because you allow yourself to be a victim. Sometimes you have to stand up to the bullies. I will keep searching for a weakness and I will exploit it fully. Anything that keeps the tatua from Ory’s forehead is worth fighting for.”

  “How long do you think you have?” She pushed the mug forward to her friend.

  Reuth blew on the hot dinch and sipped, the steam making her blink. “If she gets through this anni without being marked, I’ll consider us lucky. They want to re-test her in the Freeze. I will keep hoping.”

  “I envy you your resolve and your optimism.”

  “Good, then you’ll agree to meeting the newcomer, perhaps invite him over for some dinch,” Reuth laughed.

  Perl laughed too, but the nausea she had felt earlier nagged at her mind. The last time that had happened, she had been in the process of being escorted into the once proud Valisar stronghold of Brighthelm. And anything connected with the Valisars frightened her.

  The Abbess sat and stared at both of them, dumbfounded.

  “This is the truth, Mother,” Corbel assured.

  “But even she doesn’t believe you,” the older woman said, noting Evie’s skeptical look.

  “She’s struggling to, that’s true, but so far everything that has happened should be telling
her that I am not lying. Her magic alone should inform her.”

  “This magic troubles me.”

  “Because of your faith. And that’s understandable but, Mother, you have seen Valya returned to full health. You have to trust Evie’s magic is real.”

  She nodded.

  “That I can’t dispute,” Evie admitted. “Valya was seconds from taking her final breath.”

  “You cannot tell anyone about us,” Corbel pressed.

  The Abbess pondered. “Understand my position here, the . . . Oh what now? Yes, Marybel?”

  “Visitors, Mother.”

  “More? What’s got into everyone? It’s like a continuous stream of callers. Does it need me? Can’t you just give them alms?”

  “Charity is not their reason for calling, Mother. And they’ve specifically asked for you.”

  “Oh very well, then, who are they?” She gave Corbel and Evie a look of apology.

  “Two men, Mother. One very big.”

  She smiled. “Ah, I think I know who this is. It’s been a long time.” She turned back to her guests. “If you’d both wait I’d be grateful.” She gave them a kind look and said gently, “It would be in your interest not to steal away.”

  “We understand,” Corbel said, his hopes dashed.

  “Come, Marybel, if I’m not mistaken these are good friends of ours.”

  Jewd grinned when the gate of the convent swung back to reveal the Mother.

  “Ah, Heremon and Beven, I knew it would be you! Welcome, welcome. It’s been too long.”

  “We’re sorry about that, Mother,” Kilt said, giving her a big kiss.

  She giggled like a young girl. Jewd gave her a brief hug.

  “I’d forgotten how tall you are, Beven.”

  “Or are you shrinking, Mother?” he replied and winked.

  “Oh, go on with you. Which wind blows you both our way?”

  “A very blustery one,” Kilt admitted. Suddenly, with a shocked glance toward Jewd, he swayed and then staggered. Jewd caught him just before he fell.

  “Lo, save us, what’s happened, Beven?” the Mother asked. “Quick, Maribel, water please! And you’d better fetch Evie.”

  “I don’t know,” Jewd stammered, frowning. “Heremon!” He shook him. But worry overtook him as Kilt began to spasm in his arms. “Kilt . . . Kilt! Damn you. What’s happening?”

  “V . . . ar?” Kilt mumbled.

  “What? Kilt, say it!” Jewd cried, anguished.

  “Valisar!” Kilt choked out, convulsing. His body seemed to lose all control; he doubled over, retching and gagging.

  Jewd swung around to the shocked and terrified gaze of the Abbess. “Is there a Valisar here?”

  “What?”

  “Valisar . . . one of the royals? A . . . child?”

  “We have a baby here but it’s not Valisar,” she stammered out.

  Jewd’s lips pursed. “Actually, a young girl. Perhaps ten anni?”

  “No, no one at all like that.”

  “Jewd,” Kilt croaked, grappling at his friend’s arm. “It’s Valisar, it’s getting worse.”

  “Jewd, Kilt, what are these names?” the Abbess murmured. “Ah, wait, wait, here comes Evie. She’s . . . well, I’ll let her tend to Heremon. If anyone can help, she can.”

  Kilt began to writhe as the woman called Evie approached. “Jewd!” he all but shrieked.

  Without waiting another moment, confused and frightened for his friend, Jewd once again picked up Kilt, settled him in his arms and prepared to run from the convent.

  “Wait!” the young woman yelled. “Don’t move him, he could be injured.”

  “He’s not injured. He’s, he’s . . .” He looked down. Kilt was slack in his arms. “Kilt!”

  “Please, let me examine him,” the dark-haired beauty asked. “My name is Evie and I’m . . . er . . . well, I’m a physic.”

  A tall man loped up behind her. There was something familiar about him but Jewd couldn’t place it, couldn’t even think. He really didn’t know what to do. He looked back at the woman.

  “Please put him down on the ground. He’s not dead,” she assured. “Look, even you can see his chest moving. But he’s breathing in such a shallow way that it’s not a good sign. Let me see to him,” she urged again and Jewd was at last persuaded to place Kilt back down.

  “Has he eaten anything suspect?”

  Jewd laughed. “That’s an odd question.”

  “Bad food,” she snapped, “toxic in any way?”

  Jewd looked around at his audience. “Who is this?”

  “Just answer!” the man suggested. “Evie, a lot of the food in the inns and . . .” He shrugged.

  “Has he been sick?” she persisted.

  “He was trying to vomit,” the Abbess offered.

  Evie lifted up Kilt’s shirt and placed her hand on his belly. Instantly, she pulled her hand back with a gasp as though she had been burned as Kilt came back to consciousness, screaming so violently that everyone leaped back. Both he and Evie began to heave helplessly.

  In the cacophony of panic and voices calling to the two who were sickening, Jewd made the connection.

  “You!” he said, pointing at Evie.

  The woman looked around, trying to dry her mouth on the back of her sleeve. Her face was suddenly pale and she looked weak. “What’s happening?” she murmured, struggling to get the words out.

  But Jewd had Kilt by his ankle and without any further care began to run, dragging his helpless friend back deeper into the convent and away from the danger.

  In the carriage following in Lily’s wake, Piven gave Greven a look of sympathy. “I know you want to strike back at me but you have to accept it’s not possible.”

  “If I could take my own life I would.”

  “I believe you.”

  “Why is he with us?”

  Piven looked across at Vulpan. “I find his magic incredibly intriguing. What a find by Loethar. And I know he has no problem with switching allegiance, do you, Vulpan?”

  “Not at all, your majesty. I always found Emperor Loethar to be rather . . . um, distant, for want of a better word.”

  “You see, already I am his sovereign in his heart. It’s so much easier, isn’t it, Vulpan, to offer obeisance to a Valisar than a barbarian?”

  “Oh too true, majesty. I was always a loyalist,” the man said, clearly not noticing the wry glance Piven threw at Greven. “But I was found and ordered to perform these services for the empire, like so many others. None of us had a choice but to dig in and get on with living beneath Loethar’s rule.”

  “It doesn’t seem to have done you any harm,” Greven scorned.

  “My skills are useful to the empire. I tell you I had no choice. It was provide them or die.”

  “I would choose death.”

  “Yes, this is now old ground, Greven. Don’t be boring when we’re cooped up in a small space,” Piven admonished. “Let’s talk instead about what we’ll do when we catch up to Lily at the convent.”

  Greven eyed him. “She could be going anywhere.”

  “Yes, she could. But Stracker has already sent horsemen ahead to follow at a much closer distance. We know which carriage she was on, despite her silly wig, and if she alights before its final destination the soldiers will report back.”

  “Where’s your dog?”

  Piven laughed. “That’s a very good description of him. He’s riding with the horsemen tailing Lily. But I keep my dog on a very short leash. Stracker’s not allowed to lay a finger on her. Our sweet and desperate Lily will lead us directly to the heart of the action—where the other Valisars lurk.”

  “Piven, you are delusional and your bedfellow is unhinged. I don’t know how you reckon Lily knows anything about the Valisars. She spent most of her life in the forest.”

  “Well, you are connected to the Valisars, and you’re her father.”

  “She didn’t even know I was Vested! That’s how much she knew.”

  “Ignorant,
living in the forest and still she claims to be married to Kirin Felt within hours it seems of meeting him. It doesn’t add up, Greven. Why would she put herself through all the trauma she did for a relative stranger? I think Lily was a puppet and someone else was pulling her strings. We now know Freath was taken by someone. If that party was cunning enough to whisk him away under the very noses of his own escort, then that same party would have been more than capable of keeping a close eye on Felt, Freath’s partner. When Felt parted company with Freath I suspect whoever was watching them had him followed . . . and who better to follow—and get information from—an unattached man than a very attractive single young woman?”

  “You’re incredible!”

  “I know.”

  “No, I mean, you’re mad!”

  “I was once. But not now, Greven. Now I’m seeing things clearly. Lily was someone’s spy. I don’t fully understand how or why Felt went along with her story but at some point he fell for her. And who could blame him? But my point is that whoever Lily was working for obviously had something to do with why Freath and Felt were in the north in the first place. And I suspect that person was aligned with the Valisars, because I know that’s where Freath’s loyalty lay.”

  “That’s where we found the trail of the infamous outlaw Kilt Faris, your majesty.” Vulpan spoke up. “I tasted blood he left behind during a skirmish in the woodland outside of Francham.”

  Piven turned with a look of intrigue. “The plot thickens, Greven. Perhaps our puppeteer was Kilt Faris.”

  “Why would Faris involve himself with royal squabbles?”

  “I can’t answer that,” Piven admitted. “Not yet, anyway.”

  “Is that why we have the Green army trailing us?”

  Piven shook his head. “That’s all Stracker’s doing. He’s got a hunch that his half-brother is in the north, too, and he wants his Greens nearby so that when Loethar is humbled, they’ll be there to witness his downfall.”

  “I don’t know who I want to fall more, you or Loethar,” Greven grumbled.

  Piven stared out the window at the passing countryside as they began to bear west toward Lo’s Teeth. “I was born near the mountains, you know. Well, the foothills anyway, north of Velis in Gormand. My mother came and got me after leaving me with a wet nurse for nearly a whole anni. I recall feeling confused and frightened to leave that woman but I was locked in my mind then and couldn’t express myself. I have never been back.” He sighed.