The Reluctant King

by Jill Williamson

  “You said I was wandering alone.”

  “A half-truth. You know the story of how I hurt my legs in battle. Because my captain cared about my welfare, he had me sent to Raine—to the home of Tace Edekk, Master Fonu’s father. He was a young man then, married with three children. With Raine on the border of Magonia, the king had claimed his home to be used as a wartime hospital. As you know, they took my legs. I wanted to die, but Arman kept me alive. I cursed the God for that, but while I wanted to hate him, I found I could not. And as I was praying one morning, praying out of delirium and pain, confused why the God had let me suffer so, I heard a child’s voice. I opened my eyes and saw you, toddling between the cots in the hospital. You had speckled gray skin and a thick head of black hair. A moment later a frantic nurse ran into the ward, calling the name Merek, and though you looked about two years old when you couldn’t have been more than six months, I knew instantly that you were my son.”

  Grayson wanted to say something, but he was too shocked.

  “I remembered Darlis and Father Rogedoth talking of how fast a root child might grow and knew they must have worked some mantic spell upon you. I asked my nurse a few questions and discovered that Darlis had died giving birth. I knew then that I had to live and to get you away from your grandfather so that he couldn’t use you for his evil plans. It wasn’t easy, but I eventually did just that. I took us to the cabin in Magonia, and we lived there happily for years until Dun got captured at the border and I went to find him.”

  “Raine was very far from Everton,” Grayson said. “Why was I there?”

  “After Darlis died, Rogedoth couldn’t very well claim you, so he sent you to be raised by Tace and Gitla Edekk.”

  Grayson couldn’t believe it. Had Master Fonu known they could have been raised as brothers when he’d been trying to capture Grayson? “I still don’t understand why you didn’t tell me I was your son.”

  “What kind of a father could a legless cripple be? I could barely get around on my own. I’d had to enlist the help of a nurse to get you out of Armania, but I couldn’t force her to stay. I planned to deliver you to Ebro. I had a friend there who had agreed to take you in. It wasn’t the best environment, though, and once I got us to that little cabin in Magonia, time went on, and we did okay, just the two of us. I kept meaning to take you to Ebro but found I couldn’t. And once I’d told neighbors my lie, it stuck.”

  “That I was an orphan.”

  “That you were the child of a friend who’d been killed in the war. That you’d come to live with me. Then Onika came, then Dunmore, and when people started to assume that the crippled veteran took in orphans, I didn’t correct them. I figured you’d be safer lumped in with such a group, and the others needed a place to live.”

  “Didn’t you want to be my father?”

  “I’ve always been your father, Grayson. In every way that matters.”

  Grayson guessed that was true.

  “When we got the message that Dun had been arrested . . . If I had known that was the last time I would see you before the Five Woes began, I would have told you all this then. But when you came for me with Sir Kalenek, I was too afraid word might reach Rogedoth. And if you knew, you might not be able to keep it a secret.”

  Grayson smirked. “I’ve never been good at secrets.”

  “You kept secret your magic until Onika’s prophecy came to life.”

  Mostly he had.

  “I imagine it feels good to finally be yourself,” Jhorn said. “Not to have to bottle up your abilities anymore.”

  “Sometimes. But Danno hasn’t treated me the same ever since. Nobody does, really.”

  “Nor should they. You are special, Grayson.”

  All his life he had wanted to be special, but this was the wrong kind of attention. “I still don’t know how I’m supposed to do half the things Onika said.” Grayson had always thought he would marry Onika when he grew up and that she would help him do all those special things.

  “Prophecies are often vague,” Jhorn said. “There are three I know of, though Onika occasionally spoke of others. I have the three written down if you would like to hear them.”

  Grayson’s heart swelled with hope. “I want to hear them,” he said.

  Jhorn pulled a small scroll from a pocket in his tunic and unrolled it. He cleared his throat and read: “‘Minions of Gâzar, beware the remnant of Arman, led by his Deliverer.’ That’s the first one.”

  Grayson’s cheeks tingled at the word Deliverer. “It’s very short.”

  “Think it through. What does it mean to you?”

  Grayson repeated the words to himself. “The remnant are those of us who survived the journey across the sea, right?”

  “Onika thought so. Think you could lead them?”

  Grayson shook his head.

  Jhorn laughed. “Don’t give up so soon, my boy. Here is the second prophecy: ‘Servants of the Lowerworld, tremble, for Arman will send against you his servants of the light. Led by their Deliverer, they will stand against your evil kings and send you back to Gâzar’s realm.’”

  Again the word Deliverer. “That sounds kind of like the one about shadir ruling kings,” he said. “I remembered that one when I saw the great shadir with King Barthel.”

  “Here is the third,” Jhorn said. “‘With an overwhelming army the Deliverer will come. He will make an end of the enemy; he will pursue his foes into the arms of darkness.’”

  Grayson sighed, thinking over the words. “What do you think they mean?”

  “That you have a rough path ahead.”

  Grayson figured that much, but it was nice to hear Jhorn admit it too. “Do you think I can do it?”

  “I think the prophecy is clear. You won’t fail. Arman will be with you.”

  Grayson was glad of that, but it sure sounded scary.

  “Something is bothering you,” Jhorn said.

  Grayson winced. “They all talked about the Deliverer.”

  “That’s what Onika sometimes called you. Does it bother you?”

  “Not exactly. Isn’t the Deliverer the person the Magonians have been waiting for?”

  “They believe they are awaiting a Deliverer, yes, but their prophecies are incorrect.”

  Grayson squirmed, wishing he could talk about something else for a while, but he should be honest with Jhorn—his father. That made him smile briefly. “When I first met Muna, a Puru clan chief, she called me ‘Massi’ because of my skin. It means gray in her language. She called Danno ‘Komo,’ which means brown.”

  “Simple enough,” Jhorn said.

  “They name their people by how they look or act. They give new names all the time. Not all of the names stick, but . . . well, after I started helping Puru people escape from the Ahj-Yeke mines under Zuzaan, Muna started calling me ‘Masaoo.’”

  “And what does that mean?”

  Grayson finally met Jhorn’s gaze. “Deliverer.”

  Jhorn’s face lit up. “You see? It’s already begun. Not so scary, was it?”

  Grayson shrugged. “I guess not.”

  Jhorn exhaled a deep sigh. “Some things in life are scary, because life is sometimes hard. I’ve one more thing I need to tell you, Grayson, and this is one of those hard things. It also comes with a request from the king.”

  Grayson perked up. He longed to do something to help the king—as long as it wasn’t going to school. “What is it?”

  “It’s about Onika,” Jhorn said. “She needs your help.”

  Qoatch

  Qoatch had been in the kitchen, helping himself to a midday meal, when word of Empress Jazlyn’s return reached him. He gathered a tray of her favorite refreshments, ordered two servants to bring a hot bath, then hurried upstairs. He reached her apartment moments before Jazlyn arrived and handed Jahleeah off to Zinetha, the nurse. The appearance of Jazlyn’s older body still caught him off guard.

  “Draw me a bath at once,” she commanded, her voice crackly. “I fear I brought half the road
home on my gown.” She trudged into her sitting room and lowered herself onto a longchair, leaned back, and sighed. “Those Magosians live like animals, sleeping on the ground—they have no furniture at all. My back is terribly sore. And their clothing . . .” She narrowed her eyes. “What is it? You look like you have something to tell me.”

  Her servants were still hauling her things inside. Good. Qoatch needed an audience if they were to succeed in this subterfuge. He only hoped Jazlyn was not too tired to catch on and play well to these witnesses. “I have dire news, lady. A mysterious illness has left Emperor Ulrik and Prince Ferro bedridden.”

  Jazlyn sat up at once. “What kind of illness?”

  “I know not. The physicians are puzzled.”

  She stood and hobbled toward the door. “I must see my husband at once.”

  “I don’t think that is a good idea, Your Highness,” Qoatch said, stepping in her path. “The physician has ordered their quarantine until the cause of the illness can be discerned.”

  “How dreadful. There must be some way I can communicate with my husband. Might I write him a letter?”

  Qoatch should not have worried. Jazlyn had always been a professional deceiver. “Forgive me, Great Lady, for being unclear. The emperor and prince are not only bedridden, they are unconscious. It is as if they have fallen asleep and will not awake.”

  Jazlyn began to pace. “Could this be the same poison that took the life of the Armanian princeling?”

  What a clever thing to say. “I think not, Great Lady.”

  “It could be poison, though? Someone could be trying to kill my husband?”

  “It is a possibility.”

  “I demand to speak with the physician at once.”

  “Yes, lady, I will summon him.”

  Qoatch started for the door, but it opened before he could reach it. Rosârah Thallah squeezed by one of Jazlyn’s Tennish Protectors and pushed inside. In the corridor behind her, a group of Igote guards pressed against the Protectors, but Jazlyn’s men did not let them pass.

  “You!” the stubby queen yelled. “You are under arrest, Empress.” She bustled toward Jazlyn, shaking her finger. Her behavior was odd enough, but what grabbed Qoatch’s attention was the flickering orange-and-yellow shadir coiled around her neck like a scarf of tiny flames.

  “Great Lady . . .” Qoatch said, shocked to see a shadir after so long without them nearby.

  “Arrested for what?” Jazlyn asked the Armanian queen.

  “Kidnapping the princess and poisoning the emperor and his brother,” Thallah said.

  “As you can see, the princess is in the arms of her nurse.” Jazlyn motioned to Zinetha, who was now standing at the window with the babe. “As to the state of my husband and his brother, how dare you insinuate I had anything to do with it. I only just learned of their illness.”

  “The way of the guilty is devious!” Thallah yelled. “I will not be swayed. You bade your man poison them while you were away.”

  Jazlyn gestured to Qoatch. “Was my eunuch caught in the act?”

  “No.”

  “Was he seen around the emperor or Prince Ferro?”

  “No.”

  “Qoatch, did you feed poison to my husband and his brother?”

  “I did not, Great Lady,” he said, and it wasn’t even a lie. He had poisoned them with incense.

  The shadir around Rosârah Thallah’s neck shifted and turned its eyes onto Qoatch. Had the Armanian queen bonded with this shadir? Or was it merely drawn to her rage and fear?

  “I might not have proof,” Thallah said, “but I know the truth. A false witness will not go unpunished.”

  “You have no grounds to barge into my chambers and accuse me of attempting murder,” Jazlyn said. “You should know how rumors abound in the midst of catastrophes.”

  “Surely you’re not going to accuse me of poisoning my great-nephews?” Thallah asked.

  “I accuse you of nothing, but I did hear some guards at the gatehouse say you orchestrated the death of the Armanian king to put your son on the throne.”

  The chubby queen gasped. “That is ridiculous! My son has never desired to rule.”

  “You see my point about rumors, then,” Jazlyn said.

  Thallah sputtered. “You have been trying to take control of Rurekau since you first boarded the Baretam in Jeruka, so the emperor told me.”

  “More gossip you cannot prove. Why don’t you go back to Armania, now that your son is king?”

  “You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Be gone, woman, and do not come back,” Jazlyn said.

  “I know you did this,” Thallah said. “I know it!”

  “Remove this woman, Qoatch,” Jazlyn said.

  “Yes, Great Lady.” The door was still open. Qoatch walked toward Rosârah Thallah, who allowed herself to be herded into the hallway.

  “Go ahead and hide behind your Protectors, Empress,” the queen spat, “but know that I consider this apartment your prison cell. You will not set foot outside that door without my permission. When you left this place and poisoned your husband and his brother, you put the rule of Rurekau into my hands. Until they recover, I rule this nation, not you.”

  The fiery shadir slipped off her neck and into the room moments before Thallah slammed the door. The creature drifted along the wall, hovering near the floor as if hoping not to be seen.

  “The nerve of that woman!” Jazlyn strode through the sitting room and into her bedchamber. “Qoatch, fetch a pen and parchment,” she said, her voice muffled by the walls between them. “I must write to the Chieftess of Magosia and implore her assistance in this matter. Rosârah Thallah has no right to keep me prisoner— threatening me as if I would harm my husband.”

  She returned to the doorway and met Qoatch’s gaze, expectant, holding the door open. Qoatch quickly grabbed the inkwell and several sheets of parchment off the desk. Once he had passed into the empress’s bedchamber, she slammed the door and came nose to nose with him.

  “Great Lady,” Qoatch began, “Rosârah Thallah brought a—”

  “Why are they still living?” Jazlyn whispered.

  Qoatch’s gaze panned over the walls, searching for any variance in the stone. “I had hoped the dead sleep would appear as an illness and keep away suspicion. That way, should you return without magic, I could administer the antidote and nothing would have changed.”

  “Clearly your plans failed to keep suspicions off me. Do not think of administering an antidote. Instead, I want you to prepare more of the same for Rosârah Thallah.”

  “Forgive me, Great Lady, but I have no more torterus fangs. And I must warn you, the rosârah had a shadir with her just now. She left it behind in the sitting room. I do not see it at the moment, but I am certain it must be here to spy. It is one I’ve never seen before.”

  Jazlyn’s eyes grew round in their deep sockets. “Do you think she has ahvenrood?”

  “I don’t know. I have never seen her with a shadir. It could be operating on its own, or spying for another master. It did not speak.”

  “I must know if she is a mantic. Find out.” Jazlyn pulled open the door. “We will finish the letter later,” she announced for the benefit of Zinetha and the servants hauling in buckets of steaming bathwater. “I cannot concentrate until I learn how Ulrik fares. Have the physician brought to my chambers at once. I want to hear his side of this mysterious illness.”

  “Yes, Great Lady.” Qoatch bowed and left her bedchamber. He quickly glanced around the room but no longer saw the shadir. He exited the apartment and passed by the dozen Tennish Protectors posted outside the door. Igote soldiers were stationed on either end of the corridor. Qoatch turned left, taking the shortest route to the royal wing of the castle. He counted seventeen Igote blocking the left end. No one spoke to him as he passed, but he suspected that if Jazlyn had accompanied him, there would have been a fight.

  Qoatch was not permitted to enter the emperor’s bedchambers and was turned away at Pr
ince Ferro’s room as well. It took a great deal of questioning the right people, but he finally learned the name of the physician—Master Nelkin—and found him in a small chamber near the kitchens, where he had set up a workspace cluttered with mortars and pestles, vials, a variety of dried herbs, mushrooms, insects, and some fresh greens hanging from a line in the corner.

  Master Nelkin was a young man about Qoatch’s age. He had one lazy eye and a bucktoothed, gaping mouth. From Qoatch’s guess, the man had been using this workspace to find a cure for the dead sleep.

  Qoatch would give him no help there.

  “Greetings,” he said. “I am Qoatch, servant of Empress Jazlyn. She has just now returned from a trip to Magosia and heard the news of her husband and his brother. She is understandably distraught and requests your presence in her apartment so that she can make inquiries as to her husband’s welfare.”

  Master Nelkin fixed his good eye on Qoatch. “I’m afraid I cannot do that, Master Qoatch. The council has ordered me not to speak with the empress.”

  Thallah’s doing, likely. “Have you similar orders in regards to me?”

  The man grinned, displaying his buckteeth. “No, actually. How can I be of service to you, sir?”

  “What can you tell me about this illness?”

  “That it is no illness at all. If it were an illness, more people would have been affected. That only the emperor and his brother fell ill at the same time is not only convenient, it is suspicious.”

  “That is sound logic,” Qoatch said. “Will you be able to find a cure?”

  “An antidote, Master Qoatch. A cure is a general term for a remedy for a disease. An antidote refers to an agent that counters the effect of a harmful substance that has been ingested into the body by various means.”