“Do you speak Kinsman?” Hinck asked, keeping his voice low so the guard could not overhear.
The man did not move.
“I would like to help you. If you’ll agree to help me.” Hinck took notice of the man’s extremely long fingernails. “There is a beached ship in need of repairs,” he said. “Do you know about repairs?”
A fly took flight and circled the man. It stopped to take a short walk along his arm, then flew on.
“What is your name?” Could the man be deaf? “My name is Hinckdan.”
“Danek’s boy?”
Hinck jumped. That had been the woman’s voice. He walked back to the second cell and found the old crone sitting up now, legs extended straight before her. The tattered dress she wore did little to cover them.
“You know my father?” Hinck asked.
“In a different life.” Her voice was soft and low-pitched for a woman, somewhat nasal.
“Who are you?” Hinck asked.
“A slave who has been locked away for a very long time.”
“How long?” Hinck asked.
The woman did not answer. The stretch of silence gave Hinck time to glance at the door. The guard had left and propped the door open with a rock. Panic gusted over Hinck at the thought of the man going to report him.
Hinck started for the exit, but the woman’s answer stopped him.
“That depends. How old is Laviel Nafni?”
What a strange thing to say. Hinck took his best guess. “She is in her mid-forties, I think.”
“What do you want with the pale man?”
Hinck was not about to let this woman change the subject. “Tell me who you are.”
“You would not believe the slave. No one will.”
Sands alive . . . “Tell me your name, woman!” Hinck snapped.
“Islah,” she said. “The slave was once called Islah Pitney.”
Hinck stared, dumbfounded by a name that had come from before his time. “You are Rogedoth’s wife?”
“Mergest’s first wife, for the slave heard the lord recently married another.”
“But you are dead!”
She chuckled, a bitter and hopeless sound that made Hinck’s skin crawl.
“But why would anyone—?”
“Lord Dacre.”
The voice in his head belonged to Rosârah Laviel. She had never voiced him before, and that she happened to do so while Hinck stood talking with her supposedly dead mother struck him with terror. He’d been caught. He should have waited until Rogedoth had sailed away.
“Yes, lady?” he answered, wincing.
“Come to the throne house immediately.”
Five Woes . . . Just when he was about to finally escape . . . “Yes, lady.”
The connection vanished. Hinck blinked and refocused on the dungeon, his mind flashing memories of the horrors Laviel had inflicted upon himself and others.
“You have a shadir with you?” Islah was staring at him with narrowed eyes.
“No.” But the fact that she had asked such a question made him wonder if she was a mantic like her husband. “Rosârah Laviel, your daughter, has summoned me. I must go, madam.”
She rose onto her knees. “It’s because he is a ship captain, isn’t it? That’s why you want to speak with Bahlay. If you’re planning an escape, the slave wants to go with you.”
Bahlay? “You know the pale’s name?”
“If you want him to talk, you will need the slave’s help,” the woman said.
Hinck sighed, conflicted. “I will think about it,” he said, walking toward the opened door. No matter what, he could not keep Rosârah Laviel waiting.
Hinck entered the throne house with much trepidation. Ever since he’d watched Rosârah Laviel kill Sir Jayron and survived her ripping at his own face, he found it difficult to stand confident in her presence. He imagined the worst possible scenario for her summons: She’d caught him in Rogedoth’s storeroom. She must have seen the bucket before he’d managed to clean it up or discovered the two bottles she’d taken were filled with water. Or perhaps she knew he’d been in the dungeon house, talking to her not-at-all-dead mother. Whichever it was, surely she would kill him this time.
He approached the throne and bowed low, giving her all the deference he could muster.
“How do you fare this day, lord?” she asked.
The friendly greeting lessened his fears, but only a bit. He rose and noticed there was only one shadir in the room. Iamos, who had taken the form of an elderly healing woman.
“I am well, my queen,” Hinck said.
“You must be heartbroken over the impending departure of your beloved lady,” Laviel said.
Oh, she meant Nellie. “I am trying not to think about it at the moment,” he said, feigning the look of a tragically wounded man. “I am confident our king will find swift victory. Then we shall all travel to Armanguard, and Nellie and I will be reunited.”
Laviel raised one of her thin eyebrows. “Is that what you think is going to happen?”
Woes! These people drove him mad with their subterfuge. “Is it not?”
“I applaud your loyalty to my father, Lord Dacre, but I must be bluntly honest. He still does not trust you.”
“But I nearly died for him.”
“Do not take offense. He does not trust me either, which is why he is leaving me behind.” She smiled, but there was no joy in the expression. “I was impressed by how far you were willing to go to prove yourself faithful. Drinking that entire bottle of root juice . . . it was obedient, brave, and utterly beautiful. I was wrong to suspect you—to accuse you. And since that moment I have ever been looking for a way to make up for the part I played in the situation.”
This felt wrong—all of it. Rosârah Laviel had never apologized to anyone, had she? “That is not necessary, Your Highness,” Hinck said. “We survived a harrowing ordeal in our exodus across the sea. It is understandable that there would be confusion in the wake of such a calamity.”
She smiled again, but this time it looked sincere. “I so admire how you extend grace even to those who have affronted you. I think you would make a fair king, Lord Dacre.”
Hinck’s cheeks tingled, and he scrambled to try to guess what she might be up to.
“My father is a fool,” Laviel went on. “He has wasted my entire life for his ambition—my son died for it! And now he plans to wander over to Rurekau to waste more time building unnecessary alliances. Well, I have had my fill of his method of taking over a nation. And I intend to act. Will you help me?”
Help her do what? “Forgive me, Your Highness. I guess I don’t understand what you want of me.”
“I am rambling a bit, aren’t I? And putting you in a tough spot. I apologize. Let me ask you this: Do you still admire Lady Eudora?”
Hinck tensed even more at that name. “The queen is a remarkable woman.”
“She tells me you loved her once.”
Heat flared up Hinck’s neck, and he tried to guess what the rosârah might be getting at. “I did love the lady when I was younger.”
“Ah, first love.” She sighed and traced her index finger over the arm of her chair. “It never really fades, do you know that?”
Hinck begged to differ. He felt nothing but disgust and shame and sadness when he thought of Eudora Agoros.
“You and Lady Eudora will marry,” Laviel said.
Marry? “But the lady is already married, Your Highness, and polyandry is against the law.”
She waved her hand at Hinck. “Once she is widowed, of course. I have no doubt my father will die. Or perhaps I could find a priest willing to annul their union. She was forced into it, you know.”
Hinck did not know and could not fathom how he had gotten into this position.
“There is time to decide how we will work it all out,” Laviel said. “If my father behaves as I know he will, he won’t attack Armanguard for months yet. He fears failing. I intend to arrive first. If the realm were not so backward,
Eudora might claim the throne as queen on her own, but since women cannot inherit in the father realms, it would be easier if she had a husband who was legally in the line of succession. Like you. The two of you would make a strong blood claim to the throne, and yours would be a welcome face in the wake of Rosâr Trevn’s death.”
Heat flashed over Hinck. “Trevn is dead?”
She shrugged. “Not yet. My father intends to kill him at some point, though if I attack first, I will be forced to do the same. Deposing him is too light an act for one as strong-willed as Trevn Hadar, I’m sure you know.”
“Yes, of course.”
“If we can take Armanguard and set you and Eudora on the throne, we will hold the advantage when my father finally arrives. Then I will kill him and we will all finally be free of his endless manipulations.”
What could he say in reply to such insanity? “I do not think the people of Armanguard would accept me as their king,” Hinck said. “I am a traitor to House Hadar. Dozens of people saw me hold Rosârah Zeroah captive aboard the Seffynaw.”
Laviel waved her hand. “Most of those people were killed in the Battle of Sarikar. It will not be difficult to persuade support, especially when the commoners see how handsome a couple you and Lady Eudora make—much better than that commoner drick Trevn calls a wife. My father spent years compelling loyalty for Rosâr Echad. I and my shadir can do the same for you.”
Hinck could hardly believe the woman was serious. “What does Queen Eudora say? And her parents?”
“Father is leaving us all behind, you know, and in doing so, he has set in motion his own demise. Sârah Jemesha and General Agoros side with me, of course, and have for some time. In the beginning, my father promised them that Lady Eudora would marry Janek and they would rule Armania. Taking Eudora for himself was a grievous insult to the entire Agoros family. Not to mention naming that boy Harton his general when he’d promised General Agoros the position.” She sighed and folded her hands on her lap. “So? What say you, Lord Dacre? Will you join us?”
Hinck held her gaze but desperately wanted to look elsewhere. He had no way of knowing if she were only testing him, nor could he know how she would react to any answer he might give.
She frowned, slowly. “I see I have astonished you. Forgive me, lord. Go and take some time to get used to my plan. And do not alert my father of our conversation, or I will be forced to tell him this was your idea and kill you.”
And there was the ruthless woman Hinck knew. “Thank you for your offer, Your Highness,” he said carefully. “You have given me much to think about.” He bowed low and departed, shields strong around his mind, yet still feeling as though she was inside his head this moment, learning everything he’d been fighting to keep secret for so long.
When he finally passed outside, he relaxed slightly, thankful to be out of her presence. Just when he thought he might finally escape this place. The woman fully intended to kill her own father. She was mad.
Did she know her mother still lived?
Hinck went straight to his house, consoled by the fact that Rogedoth’s ships would soon set sail. Once he was inside with the door secure, he lay down on the bed and voiced the day’s happenings to Trevn. First he told him all about Lady Islah Pitney being alive, then about Laviel’s scheme to put him on the throne of Armania.
“But this is wonderful news,” Trevn said.
“I beg your pardon, Your Psychoticness. How is any of this wonderful?”
“They are divided against each other. If Laviel, Jemesha, and Eudora will not fight alongside Rogedoth, who will? How many mantics does he have?”
Hinck did a quick count. “Yohthehreth, Lau, Zenobia, Nellie, Harton, and himself. Six total. Plus several malleants, Lilou Caridod among them.”
“And what of General Agoros? And you mentioned Mahat Wallington is with Rogedoth’s group as well.”
“Yes, both will remain here, but they are only malleants.”
“We must pray that Rogedoth will deplete his evenroot long before he reaches Armanguard. As for Laviel’s plan, take time before answering, and once you do, stall the wedding as long as possible. Fight against an annulment.”
Hinck pounded his fist against his leg. “You don’t actually mean for me to go along with this? Are you insane?”
“I don’t see any way out of it. Furthermore, I think it would be of great value to our cause.”
“But—”
“This is your plan, Hinck.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s your childhood wish granted at last.”
“That’s not funny, Trevn. That wish died when Eudora used me as a fool, and it died a second death when I began eavesdropping on her mind. She is not a nice person.”
“I’m only teasing,” Trevn said. “Tell Lady Islah you will bring her along when you escape, and she will help you secure the help of Bahlay Nesos in finding some way off the island. I would love to talk with her. Until then, do what you can to stall, but do not forget that Eudora is already married. If they do force you to wed, unless Rogedoth is dead, she would be breaking the law, not you, and I will annul such a union without question.”
That appeased Hinck a little and he rubbed his face, still overwhelmed by the situation. “Laviel plans to kill you, Trev. What if she succeeds? You can’t stand against her magic.”
“Use those superb playacting skills of yours, Hinck. Urge Laviel to use magic as much as possible so that when she reaches Armanguard, she will have little left.”
“So that she discovers her two spare bottles of root juice are nothing but water and decides to take out her wrath on me? That’s not much of a plan.”
“When you speak with Lady Islah, question her about Rogedoth’s intentions. If you can learn something more . . . if she knows what his plans are . . . if she’ll confide in you . . . if she’s against him . . .”
“That’s far more ifs than I like in my strategies, Trev.”
“There is no cause for panic yet. Give me some time to figure out an alternative. I promise I shall try.”
“Try quickly. Laviel could compel me to marry Eudora today!”
“If you get desperate, tell her you discovered Bahlay Nesos in the dungeon and offer to take charge of overseeing repairs on the beached ship. That should keep you too busy to bother with a wedding. And be sure to take a good long time to repair that ship. While all that is going on, talk with Lady Islah and find out what she knows about Rogedoth’s plans. Can you do this, Hinck?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“You always have a choice. Sometimes it’s just a difficult one.”
Hinck sighed, weary. “I will do as you propose.”
“Thank you, Hinck. Oh, and speaking of proposals, enjoy your marriage while it lasts.”
Trevn ended the conversation before Hinck could reply. Hinck growled and threw a pillow across the room, sulking at his circumstances. He found consolation in one thing: It would not be long now. No matter what, he would soon be going home.
Grayson
But why can’t I go too?” Grayson asked Jhorn.
Danno had just left for the practice field, to join the other young men training as soldiers and backmen, but Jhorn had made Grayson stay behind in the chambers the three of them shared in Castle Armanguard.
“The king needs you close,” Jhorn said.
“He can voice me anytime, and I can pop to him in an instant. I want to practice swords.”
“You are not learning to fight, Grayson. Not today, at least.”
“You don’t want me to. Even after the pirates made me practice, you’re still trying to protect me.”
“This is not about you, Grayson. Danno needs a path for his life. It cannot be the same as yours. I must go or I will be late to hear the people’s requests.”
Master of Requests. That was all Jhorn cared about now that the king had given him the position. Grayson wanted to do important things too. “I could come and help.”
“I n
eed no help to listen to people’s woes.” Jhorn picked up his walking sticks and vaulted himself toward the door. “But when I return, I want to talk with you about something important.”
That sounded hopeful, at least. “What am I to do until you get back?”
“Practice making light.”
The request made Grayson squirm. Making light with his hands was part of his magic. Jhorn said it was important that he practice all of his abilities, but Grayson didn’t like the light. Didn’t trust it.
“If you will not, there are plenty of other things you can do,” Jhorn said. “Relax. Sleep. Eat your fill in the great hall. Go outdoors while it is still sunny. These are all glorious blessings. Enjoy them while you can. Trouble will come soon enough.”
“Can I go visit Onika, at least?” Grayson hadn’t seen her since the thieves had rowed him away in the stolen dinghy in Everton Harbor. She wouldn’t recognize him now.
Jhorn grimaced. “That’s part of what I want to discuss with you later. Promise me you’ll wait to visit Onika until after we talk?”
Grayson sighed and nodded. He was nervous about seeing Onika, anyway. So much had changed since he had been separated from her. Like Jhorn, she now had an official position for House Hadar, while everyone was still treating Grayson like a child.
Jhorn left. Grayson did go to the great hall to eat, and after that he popped up to the roof and walked along the parapet edge. There were some shadir there, floating in a group. He ignored them. He soon grew bored and popped down to one of the barges that was bringing across a load of chickens. His sudden arrival spooked the birds and made the bargemen yell. He popped back to his chambers, worried that the bargemen had recognized him and would complain, but it wasn’t long before boredom took him down to the practice field to see what Danno might be doing.
Over the past few months, Grayson had greatly improved his popping skills. He now could pop to people he knew as well as places. The king had been particularly excited about this.
Grayson exited in the Veil, where he would be hidden, and watched from a distance as Danno practiced with the other soldiers—boys, really, aged between ten and fourteen. They were lined up, all moving together, doing the same drill. They each held a wooden sword, which they lifted out in front, held it as the drillmaster counted to three, then moved it above their heads and held it again.
The Reluctant King Page 5
