“You’re… giving me this?” Josen looked up at Zerill, confused. “Why?”
“I need you alive. If you’re fool enough to run headlong into a Deepling, you should at least have a weapon to defend yourself.”
“Well… thank you,” Josen said. “For trusting me with it.”
“I don’t trust you.” She scowled. “But I know that you know you would die without us. You will not try to escape.”
“Of course not. I’d miss these friendly chats too much.” She was right, though; she didn’t need to trust him. After watching her fight those deeprats, he had no doubt that she could kill him in a second or three if he tried to escape, weapon or no. The sword probably didn’t mean anything.
But then, maybe it did.
After all, she was talking to him, instead of showing the quiet sign again.
Josen couldn’t help but smile.
It’s a start.
25. Unwanted
Rudol
“I don’t know how to do this, Father.”
King Gerod didn’t answer, but Rudol hadn’t expected him to. The king lay unconscious in his bed, ashen and still, his breath rasping from his lungs like a whetstone against a rusted blade. For three turns he’d been the same: standing just outside the gates of the Above, refusing to walk through just yet.
Stubborn as ever. Josen’s voice again—he had so much more to say to Rudol now that he was gone. A family trait. Can’t claim he didn’t pass anything on to us, as much as I’d like to.
Rudol ignored it; he was becoming accustomed to doing so. He knelt beside the bed and took his father’s hand. “You need to wake up. The Peaks need their king. Everything is coming apart. The Convocation claims to have the last Windwalker, and Benedern is all but holding him for ransom. There are rumors that Duke Castar… that I… that Josen was betrayed. Killed because he found the boy first. They… they say that I was part of it, that I want the throne for myself. That I laughed when you fell.” Rudol barely remembered that—everything after wiping his father’s blood from his cheek was hazy, like a fading dream. “I swear by the Above, I’ve never even seen this child, if he exists at all. But the people… they look for fault in me. They always loved Josen best.”
So did he, Josen whispered inside his head. Aren’t you used to that yet, little brother?
“Leave me alone!” Anger flared hot in Rudol’s breast. He’d thought he was past caring what Josen had to say; apparently he’d been wrong.
“I’m… I’m sorry, Your Highness.” Chastor Ren’s voice, soft and timid. “I didn’t mean to disturb.”
Rudol had hardly realized he was speaking aloud, and he certainly hadn’t noticed anyone else was there. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Mulley already retreating, pulling the door closed behind him. He hadn’t heard the little chastor enter.
“Chastor Ren, wait. I wasn’t talking to…” He stopped himself, clenching his fist at his side. I can’t very well admit I was talking to a ghost, can I? Spirit of All, I must be going mad. He didn’t feel mad—he could still tell what was real and what wasn’t, even if he couldn’t always ignore the latter. But the mad probably don’t know that they’re mad, and sane men don’t talk to people who aren’t there. “Are they waiting for me?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Rudol breathed out through his nose. I will try my best to keep the kingdom from falling apart before you wake, Father. He stood and waved Mulley out. “Let’s get this over with.”
His wife and his father’s councillors waited in the receiving chamber. Yance Corvin, Chancellor Polt and Carissa sat in the high-backed chairs around the table in the center of the room; Cer Byron Ephred stood at attention near the fire. Rudol gestured for Mulley to take the fourth chair. He preferred to stand.
He moved to the head of the small table and clasped his arms behind his back. “So. What has gone wrong since yesterday?”
Humbrod Polt cleared his throat. “Your Highness, we must address the issue of Duke Castar. His support is only growing by the day. It is less pronounced here in the Plateaus, but still… we cannot let it get out of hand.”
“He hasn’t yet made any claim to the crown, has he?” Rudol raised an eyebrow.
“No,” the chancellor admitted, “but—”
“The lowborn speak of things they don’t understand,” said Rudol. “I know Duke Castar. He would not betray my family.”
If that is true, little brother, why didn’t he tell you about the boy? Why did he stand with Benedern? Rudol shook his head, but he couldn’t deny that he’d been asking himself the same things. He’d lied for Castar. If it had all been a ploy to steal the crown… No. He is my friend. I trust him. He must have good reasons for what he did. But still, the questions lingered.
Polt gave him a curious look, but carried on. “There is more, Your Highness. It seems the Falloways and the lord general have been… guests at Goldstone for the past turn. We have to entertain the notion that they are forging an alliance.”
Cer Byron stepped forward then, and he said, “With Greenwall on his side, Castar could feed an army, and Gryston would bring the Knights of the Storm with him. Highness, we must begin mustering our forces. The Plateaus has more men of fighting age than any duchy in the Peaks. No one can field a larger army. Let it be known that we are prepared to defend the crown.”
“We may have more men, but Goldstone can afford to pay its soldiers,” said Yance Corvin, wringing his hands and looking down at the table. “Our coffers are filled with loan agreements, not coin, and Castar’s signature is on most of them.”
Cer Byron’s cheeks flushed red. “Would you have us do nothing, then? We risk another rebellion if Castar is left unchecked!”
“We risk rebellion if we enlist men without pay,” said Polt. “Especially since more than half of our army would be untested militiamen with limited training and discipline. Corvin’s concerns are not misplaced. But we can increase taxes on the counts, and the Wolfshead is not without wealth. Lady Carissa, your father—”
“Perhaps money is not the way to solve this,” said Chastor Ren, breaking the silence he’d kept since he’d sat down. “Your Highness, so much of this is because the people believe—wrongly, of course—that your family has strayed from the path of the Word. The high chastor says you have lost your way, and they listen because they do not know better. Perhaps… perhaps you should meet with this Windwalker boy, even if it means making some show of contrition to the Convocation. If he truly speaks for the Lord of Eagles, shouldn’t you hear what he has to say? Would it not restore the people’s faith to know that you are guided by the last Windwalker?”
“Don’t tell me you believe this nonsense, Mulley!” Cer Byron slashed his hand violently through the air. “He isn’t real! The last Windwalker happens to appear right after the heir to the throne dies, and Castar is witness to both? A trick, and an obvious one. This is treason against the rightful king, and nothing more.”
Mulley shrank back under Cer Byron’s fury. “I only thought… we can’t be certain, and if Prince Rudol were to check with his own eyes…”
“Whether the boy is genuine or not, acquiescing to Benedern’s demands sets a dangerous precedent,” said Chancellor Polt. “We cannot let it be known that such coercive tactics are all it takes to win a voice in the king’s council. I think the wisest decision is to try to learn more of what Castar and the high chastor are planning. But of course the decision is Prince Rudol’s.” He looked at Rudol expectantly.
Rudol shook his head. “No. It isn’t. My father is still king—the final decision is his. I mean to hold the Peaks together until he wakes, not to take his place. For now, we give the Convocation no answer.” He was certain that his father would not approve if he woke to find that Rudol had capitulated to the high chastor’s demands. Gerod had been feuding with Benedern for decades. “If the boy is what they say he is, then I am not the one who should speak with him. If he isn’t, I’m not going to walk into that trap.”
“A wise choice, Prince Rudol,” said Polt. “Begging forgiveness before the Convocation would make the crown look weak, and if they have the last Windwalker in their hands, why should they let us use him to our benefit? More likely they mean to have the boy reject you, if not openly name Castar—”
“Enough!” Rudol said, cracking his knuckles behind his back. “I told you, Duke Castar is loyal. I will speak to him personally—that is a meeting I can arrange. He’ll put a stop to this nonsense.”
Polt frowned. “I apologize, Your Highness, but do you think that is wise? I doubt he will deliver himself to us, under the circumstances, and if you go to him, it will elevate him in the eyes of the lowborn. He may not mean to take the throne, but even so, we don’t want them to wish he would. And…” He looked reluctant to go on.
Rudol sighed. He regretted reacting so vehemently before; his father wouldn’t have. I can’t have my advisors afraid to offer advice. “Speak, Polt.”
“Well, there is always the possibility that the Falloways and Lord Gryston are not willing guests. Placing yourself in Castar’s grasp as well could be dangerous. I would suggest you let me select a handful of men and women who… won’t be noticed. It would be a simple thing to put a few in Goldstone, a few in Skysreach, and see what they can find out about this supposed Windwalker boy and whatever Castar and Benedern mean to do with him. We might also send Castar an official summons to the Windsmouth, to see how he responds. If he refuses—and I think he will—then we can send an emissary to speak on your behalf, if you still think it necessary. But to go yourself… it seems too great a risk.”
Rudol’s fists dropped from behind his back, clenched tight; his fingernails dug painfully into his palms. But he kept his voice level this time. He managed that, at least. “You speak as if we already know he is guilty. I intend to consider him innocent until we know the truth.” He wouldn’t betray me. He wouldn’t.
Carissa touched his arm softly. “My love… I know you trust Lenoden, but I could not bear even the thought of losing you. Please, listen to Chancellor Polt. You are too important to the Peaks to put yourself in danger, however small the chance.”
His anger cooled at her touch; the sharp pressure against his palms lessened. “Fine. I… I will do it his way. If it makes you happy. But until we know the truth, there will be no more said about mustering a force against Goldstone.”
“Thank you, dear.” She smiled up at him, and he felt his heart beat just a bit faster.
“That’s decided, then,” said Rudol, ignoring Commander Ephred’s scowl. “Polt, choose your spies, and write up a suitably official summons for Duke Castar. I will send a personal appeal along with it. And put together a list of suitable representatives for me to choose from, if it comes to that. Is there anything else?”
“One last thing.” Polt shifted uncomfortably. “It… may be nothing. Idle gossip. I don’t know—”
Rudol clenched his jaw at Polt’s dithering. Something he thinks I won’t want to hear, no doubt. But what isn’t, lately? “Out with it, Polt.”
“There is… a new rumor spreading. That Prince Josen lives. I have men trying to ascertain its origin, but from what I understand, the story began with some merchant or mercenary coming back from the Swamp, claiming that your brother saved him and sent him home with a message. Now there are dozens who say they’ve seen him.”
“And what message is he supposed to have sent?” Rudol asked. He didn’t believe for a moment that a dozen different men had happened upon Josen in the Swamp, or even that one had, but…
It isn’t impossible, is it, little brother?
“They say that Josen is the one who… that he found the Windwalker boy. That Castar betrayed him, but he survived, and now he is returning to claim his throne.” The chancellor shrank under Rudol’s scowl. “There is no truth to it, obviously, but—”
“But it reminds the lowborn how much they would prefer him to me.” Imagine if they knew that you did leave me down there. Rudol could almost hear the cruel grin in Josen’s voice. Perhaps they will, soon enough.
“Is it… is it possible?” Chastor Ren asked, looking at Rudol with wide, hopeful eyes. “If Castar lied… If Prince Josen discovered the last Windwalker—”
“I saw it all,” Rudol said flatly. The lie came easily to his lips—he was almost starting to believe it. “Josen was a traitor, and he died for it.” It might as well have been the truth. Even if he was alive, Josen didn’t have it in him to fight for the crown. Rudol was sure of that. Any rumor that said otherwise had to be a lie. “How do we control these rumors?”
“Rumors are… difficult to stop,” Polt said, drumming his fingers nervously against his large gut. “Any attempt to quash them tends to make them stronger.”
Carissa touched Rudol’s arm once more. “I think the best way is to ignore it, dear. Show them how little such gossip bothers you.”
“Very astute, Lady Carissa,” said Polt. “We must present a strong front.” He bobbed his head up and down like an idiot in his eagerness to agree with her. Carissa had that effect on people, Rudol was beginning to notice. Particularly men.
But she chose me. He didn’t doubt that anymore, not after that night in the eyrie.
As if she could hear his thoughts, Carissa clasped his hand reassuringly. “I’m sure you all know better than I do, but I have a suggestion.” She looked up at Rudol. “If you don’t mind, dear.”
“Please.” He much preferred the sound of her voice to any of his father’s councillors—they never seemed to bring anything but ill tidings.
“The Tallfields are hosting an affair tonight. We spoke with them about it the night before the… well, I’m sure you remember.”
“Yes. Of course.” He didn’t, actually, but she’d be happier if he pretended.
“I think we should attend. I know you don’t like to leave your father’s side, but it would be good for us to be seen. If the people believe we are hiding in the Keep, they will make up reasons why. Better to do as we would have done before all this. Let the people see that the Aryllian line is strong, that we have nothing to hide.”
“I’m not sure. A social engagement, when Father is…” Rudol glanced toward the king’s bedchamber. “It seems in poor taste. I think my time is better spent elsewhere.” And even if it wasn’t, I’d rather stand the cliff.
He found the counts and countesses of the Plateaus insipid at the best of times—he very much did not want to listen to them gossip about his father all night. What he wanted to do, really, was retreat to the Stormhall’s darkroom, away from all of this, and lose himself in the flow of combat. But kings—or acting regents—had no time for that sort of thing.
“Oh, Count Tallfield assures me that it will be respectful,” said Carissa. “He’s dedicated it in King Gerod’s honor. And it needn’t be wasted time—most of your counts will be there, and once they’ve had something to drink I think you’ll find them very agreeable. Perhaps willing to part with some of the coin Master Corvin says we lack.” She smiled at Corvin, and the man managed an upward quirk of the lip before ducking his head again.
Wind of Grace, let someone else object. Rudol didn’t want to disappoint Carissa; he couldn’t say no without good reason.
“It might be just the thing, Prince Rudol,” said Polt. “We need the support of the counts now more than ever.”
Rudol had never wanted to hit an old man more. “I suppose it can’t hurt,” he said through gritted teeth.
Carissa beamed and squeezed his hand, and for a moment he almost didn’t regret the decision. “We must get ready, then,” she said. “We only have a few hours, and I haven’t even chosen a dress.”
Hours of choosing outfits. Splendid. “Unless there is anything else?” Rudol looked over the council, hoping for some delay, but none was forthcoming. He held back his sigh. “Until tomorrow, then.” And whatever new disaster it brings.
* * *
“I know you don’t want to do this, Rudol, but it is for
the best.” Carissa leaned against him in the cramped seat of the carriage and stroked her fingers along his arm.
“I have a hard time seeing the benefit in watching self-important old men drink too much.” Rudol’s voice vibrated slightly as the carriage rattled over the beaten dirt streets of the People’s Plateau. “It might help me fall asleep, I suppose.” Not entirely a jest—he hadn’t been sleeping much of late, and even when he did, Josen’s voice hounded him in his dreams.
Carissa laughed. “Believe it or not, I feel the same way. I know what people think of me, but I find these things as dull as you do.”
Rudol raised an eyebrow. “You always seem to enjoy yourself.”
“Well, it is easier to charm with a smile than a frown,” Carissa said. “I am only trying to help you, dear. Wind willing, your father will wake soon, but if he does not, you will be king. And you will need the counts behind you.”
“My father is too stubborn to die so easily. He will wake.”
“Then let him see how well you’ve ruled in his name when he does.” Carissa touched his cheek with delicate fingers, tilted his face toward her. “Let me do this for you, Rudol. I know how to speak to these men.”
He always had a hard time finding words when she was so near. “Of… of course. Please.”
She smiled up at him and leaned closer, drawing him to her with the light pull of her hand against his cheek. Her lips parted, just a bit. He slid a hand around her waist, bent down toward her—
The carriage lurched, bouncing them in their seats; Carissa’s forehead struck Rudol’s chin. She let out a surprised squeak.
Rudol grabbed Carissa by the shoulders to steady her, but they weren’t moving anymore; the carriage had stopped. “Are you hurt?”
The Swampling King (The Windwalker Legacy Book 1) Page 41
