The Reluctant King

by Jill Williamson

  Trevn reached into her mind. “No one is forcing you to give him up?”

  “Not at all. I want to help.”

  “Very well,” Trevn said. “I thank you, rosârah. I know what a sacrifice this must be, for both of you. Please have Master Hawley report to my office directly after morning bells tomorrow. And, rosârah, I am deeply sorry for your loss.”

  “My son’s death was a great loss for us all,” Brelenah said.

  A moment of silence stretched out, and Trevn found himself looking at the floor as he fought off yet another surge of sorrow.

  “Where is Rosârah Zeroah?” Mielle asked.

  “In her chambers,” Brelenah said. “She is not feeling well this morning.”

  Mielle turned to Trevn. “I must go to Zeroah.”

  He nodded. “Cadoc, send Nietz and Rzasa with my wife. She is to be protected at all times. Kempe goes with her as well.”

  The arrangements were quickly made. As Mielle and her entourage ascended the stairs, Trevn reminded himself to appoint a separate guard for his wife. Perhaps Captain Veralla would have some ideas.

  “Has Rosârah Zeroah been ill this whole time?” he asked, curious if the woman still suffered effects of the poison that had been inflicted upon her.

  “I think it more grief than illness, sir,” Rosârah Brelenah said. “However, I have not pressured her to join us, as the Duke of Canden is concerned she might be a window through which the enemy could spy, due to her inability to shield her mind. She is the only gifted person we know of who never learned.”

  Trevn met the duke’s gaze. “Is this true?”

  “She has refused to come to a single mind-speak lesson,” Oli said, coming to stand beside Trevn. “Rosâr Wilek felt it imperative that she learn.”

  “I agree she must,” Trevn said. “I will see that she complies as soon as possible, Your Grace. Perhaps Mielle can convince her.”

  “I hope that will help, Your Highness,” Oli said.

  “Are you hungry, sir?” Barek asked Trevn.

  “Not really, but I would like to—”

  “Trevn!” Hinck’s voice burst into Trevn’s mind. “Rogedoth is about to set sail for the mainland on his quest to conquer the father realms.”

  “Sir . . . ?” Barek asked.

  “A moment, Your Grace,” Trevn said. “The Earl of Dacre is voicing me with an urgent message.” Trevn took a seat on a bench on the outer wall and leaned back against the cool stone.

  “When does he leave, Hinck?”

  “He plans to set sail in the morning. I’ve been eavesdropping on Lady Mattenelle, who is in a meeting with his acolytes now. He just announced his plans to ready all nine of his ships to depart tomorrow after breakfast.”

  “He has nine ships?” Trevn asked. “And enough people to fill them?”

  “He has ten ships, actually, but one is beached for repairs and he is leaving it behind. Only two of his ships are even close to the size of the Seffynaw, though. The others are much smaller. His compelled Puru army is over fifteen hundred strong, and he also has three hundred of his own men.”

  “That is still fewer than we have,” Trevn said.

  “And you have some time to prepare,” Hinck said. “He is setting sail for the coast nearest Rurekau. He plans to go there first and work his way toward you.”

  “I will let Ulrik . . .” Trevn sighed, remembering that both his Rurekan nephews were bedridden, having been poisoned. “I will let my mother know at once. You were not summoned to this meeting?”

  “It’s been weeks since I’ve been summoned even to breakfast,” Hinck said.

  “Confirmation that he suspects you still.”

  “Yes, but I’m not the only one. He told Rosârah Laviel she must rule the isle and care for Eudora while he is away. He is leaving some of the Puru behind to defend her, should she need aid. He promised to send for them once he has taken Armanguard. Rosârah Laviel is quite put out at being left behind.”

  Fear for Hinck overwhelmed Trevn. “The mission to destroy Rogedoth’s evenroot—it’s too risky, Hinck. Especially now with Rogedoth leaving.”

  “Too late, Your Indecisiveness. I’ve been at it for the past hour. My arms are cramped, my trousers soaked, but I’ve refilled nearly all his bottles with water.”

  Triumph at Hinck’s cleverness overshadowed his worry for a moment. “How many are left?”

  “Only eleven. I had hoped to be done by now, but there were more bottles than I had expected—thirty-six total.”

  So many. Hinck had just saved all their lives. “Perhaps you should stop now,” Trevn said. “If Rogedoth is leaving, he will likely take his evenroot with him. Are you certain you’re safe?”

  “Fairly,” Hinck said. “He is still in his meeting at the moment.”

  “Fairly does not ensure strong enough odds for me, Hinck. You are the Second Arm of Armania now. I need you alive. In fact, I need you here.”

  “Second Arm, bah. I well remember how you behaved as Second Arm, and it was rarely to obey your father.”

  “Hinck—”

  “Trev, please. Let me finish. Without his evenroot, he is only an old man.”

  A glorious notion. “Only eleven bottles left?”

  “Nine now.”

  Praise Arman, this was magnificent news. “What about dry root? And plants? Does he have any other stores?”

  “There is a large store of evenroot tubers in the village cellar, but it is all the new root from the field he harvested this summer. None of it is magical. He very well might have more powder or liquid kept elsewhere, but I have no idea how to find out. I only learned about these bottles because Nellie saw them on the . . .”

  His friend’s silence concerned him. “Hinck?”

  “Someone’s coming.”

  “Get out of there!”

  “I can’t!”

  Trevn closed his eyes and looked out through Hinck’s. A small, dark room came into focus. Waist-high racks filled with dark bottles lined the walls. Hinck was in the process of carrying a bucket of water behind the door. The dirt floor was soaked, pockmarked in places and filled with puddles of liquid.

  The door swung in, and Hinck barely managed to slip behind it with his bucket. A woman entered, dressed in an elaborate green gown, her straight black hair unmistakable.

  Rosârah Laviel.

  “The meeting must have ended,” Hinck voiced. “I should have waited to tell you about Rogedoth so I could keep a closer watch on Nellie. Laviel will kill me. I know it.”

  “Relax, Hinck. Remain still.” Though Trevn’s own anxiety for his friend was making him tremble.

  Rosârah Laviel glanced at the floor, lifted her skirts off the wetness, then stepped carefully forward. Trevn could feel the fear buoy inside Hinck’s chest as he leaned forward, eager to slip around the opened door and run to safety.

  “Wait,” Trevn voiced. “Not yet.”

  Rosârah Laviel picked up two bottles from the bottom row of one of the racks. Holding one in each hand, down at her side, she turned and jumped, eyes locked on Hinck, who was still holding an open bottle in his hand.

  Rosârah Laviel lifted her chin. “I will not speak of this if you will not.”

  Hinck nodded once and slipped out the door, leaving his bucket behind. He strode down a short hallway and out into the light of day. He fell against the outer wall of the building and released a trembling breath. “Sands! I thought I was dead!”

  “Don’t just stand there,” Trevn said. “She might discover what you’ve done. Get yourself somewhere safe!”

  Hinck ran, and Trevn drew back into his own mind again. He opened his eyes and found Barek Hadar standing over his bench.

  “Is everything all right, Your Highness?” he asked.

  “I hope so,” Trevn said. “Hinck? Will the rosârah question you?”

  “If I had only been there to steal a bottle, perhaps not, but those bottles she took . . . They were filled with water, Trev. What will happen when she drinks some?�
��

  “You’d better not be there to find out,” Trevn said. “I want you off that island. Today.”

  Hinck

  Hinck made it to the reed house he shared with Lady Mattenelle before he realized he was still clutching a bottle of root juice—one he had yet to empty. He’d so tightly fisted the cork in his hand, it had left a red indentation. He pushed the cork back into the bottle and stashed it in the bottom cabinet of his sideboard.

  Then he fell onto his longchair to recover.

  Sheer madness. Out of control, madness.

  But Rogedoth was leaving the island, and Trevn had ordered Hinck back.

  Finally.

  If only Hinck could manage to escape before Rogedoth discovered that someone had tampered with his evenroot. Surely once Laviel found out the root juice was only water, she would tell her father about seeing Hinck in the storeroom. He would have to go back and get rid of the water bucket he left there. Hinck had no idea how he could possibly get away to Armanguard, but the mere thought of going back to his old life filled him with such hope he could barely breathe.

  The door opened and Hinck jumped to his feet, certain it was Laviel and a squadron of guards come to arrest him. When his gaze met that of Lady Mattenelle, he felt foolish. Her shadir, Hwuum, followed her inside.

  “Oh, Lord Dacre,” she said, weepily. “I have ill news.” She ran to him and threw her arms around his neck.

  Hinck instinctively caught hold of her. “What happened?”

  “The king is leaving, after all this time.” She sniffled. “He has ordered servants to pack all his belongings, even his throne. He does not plan to return.”

  Hinck tried to look surprised, as if he hadn’t been eavesdropping on Nellie all morning. “We knew this was coming,” he said, taking note that Hwuum had floated over to the darkest corner of the room. “Why are you sad? This is what we’ve been training for. Besides, I thought you hated the rain.”

  She fingered the laces on his shirt. “I hate the snow just as much, and that is what will be coming to the mainland soon enough. But that’s not why I am sad. The king has ordered me to go along, and you . . . you are to remain behind.”

  “Oh. I see.” Relief coursed through him. As long as Hinck got rid of that water bucket—unless Laviel took from that bottle of root juice today—Rogedoth would likely be at sea when he discovered Hinck’s betrayal.

  He might just live through this nightmare.

  Lady Mattenelle pushed away from him. “I see you are pleased to finally be rid of me.”

  Her injured tone brought him to his senses. “Not you, Nellie. It is distance from Rogedoth that relieves me. Are you certain he will let me live?”

  “Undoubtedly. He is leaving behind a garrison for Rosârah Laviel, and you are to continue training new archers.”

  Hinck poured on his best acting skills, doing his best to look shocked. “He is leaving his daughter behind?”

  “She is to wait until the king marches on Armanguard, then she is to set sail with Eudora so that his queen will be present when the final battle ends.”

  Hinck still couldn’t fathom why. “Rosârah Laviel is so powerful, though. Wouldn’t she be an asset in battle?”

  “Oh, she would, but I’m not certain he plans to fight anytime soon.”

  What? Hinck should have waited to voice Trevn. Clearly he’d missed something important. “I thought he was going to attack?”

  “He is traveling to Rurekau first, but not to fight.”

  “Then why go?”

  “He didn’t say, but my guess is to try to make allies.” She released him and sat down on the bed. “It is strange that he is leaving Laviel behind. I think the king is punishing her for some reason I cannot see.”

  Now, that could be. Laviel and Jemesha had been plotting against Rogedoth for quite some time. If Rogedoth had found out, Hinck was surprised the man was letting her live. Though he likely saw his daughter as his only heir, since Eudora had yet to produce a child.

  “Well?” Nellie said. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

  Hinck opened his mouth and found he didn’t.

  “I’m leaving!” she cried. “Won’t you miss me at all?”

  “Of course I will,” he said automatically, then realized that he meant it. “You are my only friend here. I’m sure I will go quite mad without you.”

  That brought forth a smile that faded as soon as it had appeared. “I am undone! First Oli abandons me. Then the Woes destroy our homes. Then Janek is killed. I am forced to leave Pia. Fonu and Kamran die too. And now I am to be parted from you, who holds my heart. The gods are unnecessarily cruel.” She fell back on the bed, one arm draped over her brow. “Will I never be happy again?”

  Hinck didn’t know what to say. Though Nellie often drove him mad with her incessant drama and manipulation, he would miss her. She had taken care of him when he was injured and sick, stood by him when no one else would, kept secret his being a spy, and on top of that, pampered him as if he were a prince. But he hadn’t time to indulge her hysterics, so he set out to do the one thing he knew she hated. Treat her like the helpless female everyone thought she was.

  “You deserve every happiness, lady, and I shall pray for that very thing.” He sat down beside her and pulled her up, tucking his arm around her. “Promise me you will take care during the battles and stay out of the path of arrows? I do hope the king will assign you a protector.”

  She threw off his arm. “I don’t need a protector when I have Hwuum at my side.”

  Hinck glanced at the shadir, who was pretending to sleep in the corner. Hwuum was merely a slight, but he was clever and somewhat deranged at times. “Yes, but if Hwuum is powering a spell, he might not be able to see every arrow the enemy directs your way.”

  I see everything, fool human, the creature said.

  Nellie’s eyebrows sank and her lips twisted into a pout. “And I can shield myself well enough, lord. Surely you have not forgotten the maelstrom?”

  “Yes, but that was only water. Arrows are another matter entirely. And if the king is going to Rurekau, he might face the Tennish priestess, who is a powerful sorceress. If her army doesn’t harm you, her magic might.”

  He is a fool to doubt your strength, Hwuum said.

  “You are, you know.” She shoved Hinck and stood. “Fetch my trunk from under the bed. I need to pack my things.”

  Hinck got up and pulled out her trunk. He set it in the middle of the room, then made himself useful to Nellie, fetching whatever she indicated and folding it inside. As she prattled on about her former mantic exploits and Hinck packed, he thought over his own plight. He must find a way to Armanguard. Rogedoth was taking all but the beached ship, which would be abandoned with no one capable left behind to finish the work. There were plenty of native canoes with small sails and windward outrigging, but Hinck wasn’t confident enough to manage one for any real distance. He needed an experienced sailor, but all of the natives had been compelled. They would not be able to join him, even if they wanted to.

  The pale captain in the dungeon house came to mind. Nellie had told Hinck about the ship Randmuir Khal had pirated for Rogedoth. The king had tried to get the pale captain to lead them to his island home, but the maelstrom had kept them from it. Rogedoth had finally given up and followed the Armanians until he’d reached these islands off the western coast of what Rosâr Wilek had named Er’Rets.

  Surely a ship captain might know how to fix the beached vessel, and if not, he likely knew how to sail a canoe. Hinck had no doubt the man would want to escape.

  “Is the king taking the prisoners in the dungeon house with him?” Hinck asked as he wrestled a fat red gown into her trunk.

  “I heard him specifically ask Rosârah Laviel to bring them directly to Armanguard,” Nellie said.

  Well now. Could this be Arman’s blessing? Hinck would have to wait until the morning to obey Trevn’s command to leave, but hopefully the pale ship captain would be just the man to help Hinck
get home again.

  The next morning Hinck stood on the shore, watching as Rogedoth boarded his ship. The tiny fleet was still being loaded. Hinck considered waiting until they had set sail—once Rogedoth departed, Hinck would have freedom to explore without consequence. But so eager was he to leave this place, he figured he might as well try to speak to the pale captain now.

  Hinck had no plan, really. He made his way to the dungeon house, a windowless mud structure hidden in the spindly trees some twenty paces from Rogedoth’s reed fortress. It was no bigger than a shed, really, and completely out of place in a village consisting entirely of airy reed dwellings.

  A lone guard stood watch outside a narrow door. Hinck checked the Veil carefully, but saw no shadir at present. Their absence gave him the last boost of confidence he needed.

  “Open this door,” he said, trying to look authoritative.

  Hinck had devised several excuses to give, should the guard question his motive to go inside, but to his delight, the guard obeyed and uttered a fast, “Yes, sir. Right away.”

  Hinck stepped inside and balked at the stench. The guard closed the door behind him, and the sudden darkness sent a jolt of panic through him. At first he thought there was no light at all inside, but after a few terrified heartbeats, he spotted a thin shaft at the top of each of the four walls that let in slivers of pale light. Though not nearly enough.

  He pushed back against the door. “Hold this ajar,” he told the guard. “I cannot see my own nose in here.”

  The guard complied. Hinck took a deep breath, then plunged back in.

  Even with the open door it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. A short corridor ran straight ahead along the outer wall. Three adjacent walls divided the small room into four stall-like cells that each opened to the corridor. They had no doors. The first stall was empty. The second housed an old woman, who lay sleeping on the floor, her legs in irons attached to the wall behind her. The third stall was also empty, and the fourth held a pale man, who looked to be near the age of Hinck’s father. He was sitting against the wall, resting his arms on his knees, and staring at several flies crawling about on the dirt floor between his feet. Irons were clapped around his ankles as well. He glanced at Hinck, then went back to staring at the flies.