The Reluctant King

by Jill Williamson

  “It is not a garden that grows food,” Trevn said, glancing down the rows of flowers and vines. “Where are your fields?”

  “Don’t have any,” Edekk said. “I buy or trade what I need from other lords.”

  How interesting. “You used to make the most of your wealth through importing and exporting across the border. What are you doing now for income?”

  “Making wine, mostly, which I confess has always been a hobby of mine. I also make and sell furniture to the other lords. I have access to lots of trees, as you can see, and employ several gifted woodsmiths.”

  Furniture would bring in little, as there would be few who could afford it on a regular basis, but wine would be very profitable. “I did not realize grapes grew in Er’Rets.”

  “My wine is not made of grapes, Your Highness, but cranberries. It’s slightly more acidic in flavor but has a delicate sweetness I enjoy. And my wife finds it doesn’t induce headaches like grape wines. Would you like to try some?”

  “I would, yes,” Trevn said, curious if the man was being honest.

  “Natod, bring some wine for the king. And put five crates on a wagon for him to take back to the castle.”

  The serving man who had entered with them departed quickly.

  “My condolences on the death of your son,” Trevn said. He probably should have said it sooner, but Fonu Edekk had been a traitor and was responsible for Wilek’s death. Trevn found it difficult to extend too much respect to the man’s father.

  Lord Edekk’s eye twitched. “Ah, yes. I thank you.” He stroked his jaw. “And you as well, Your Highness.” He motioned to Trevn’s blacks. “Ghastly thing, losing someone like that.”

  “Yes, it is,” Trevn said.

  The duke stepped forward, then rocked back, as if uncertain what he should do with himself. He finally motioned to an array of chairs upholstered in gold silk. “Won’t you sit?”

  Trevn chose the chair that gave him a view of both the windows and the entrance to the room. Cadoc and Hawley stood behind him, while Rzasa and Bonds posted themselves at the door. Trevn wondered how Nietz was faring on his mission to question the barn boys.

  Lord Edekk lowered himself onto a chair on Trevn’s right. He sat on the very edge, as if ready to rise in a flash, if necessary. Though the man’s expression looked calm enough, he exuded anxiety. Trevn liked that he had surprised him and looked forward to the coming interrogation. He said nothing yet, though. Dragging things out would likely increase the duke’s apprehension to the point he might let something slip.

  The wine arrived, and the duke popped to his feet as the same servant, Natod, set a tray on a low table between the circle of chairs. Trevn sat patiently, watching with interest as the duke hovered over his man.

  The next half hour passed in awkward conversation as they sipped from glasses of cranberry wine, which was surprisingly good and like nothing Trevn had ever tasted. Dry, but tart and fruity. Trevn asked questions about the design and construction of Nawhar Manor, enjoying the wine and how his casual visit seemed to increasingly annoy the duke.

  “It’s not every day a man gets a visit from his king, Your Highness,” the duke said. “Dare I hope you are here to offer me a position on the Wisean Council?”

  He had a lot of nerve. “No, Your Grace. That position has been assigned to Lord Idez.”

  “Ah.” The duke’s eye twitched and he finished off his goblet of wine. “Then I cannot guess as to the reason for this unexpected honor.”

  “There have been some complaints,” Trevn said, pausing for effect, “about your methods in recruiting for your personal army.”

  The duke’s brow sank. “How strange. I am not currently recruiting, nor have I since coming to this land.”

  Would he dare lie about such a thing? “That does not match the reports coming from my Master of Requests. He has received several complaints of this very nature. Do you have that number, Master Hawley?” Trevn looked over his shoulder at his onesent.

  “Seventeen, sir,” Hawley said.

  “Seventeen complaints. All the same,” Trevn said to the duke. “Any idea why so many would invent such longtales?”

  “I cannot say, Your Highness. It might help if I could hear the full allegations.”

  “It is being said that you take boys into your army without their parents’ consent,” Trevn said.

  “Ridiculous. I have never taken boys into my army. They are too young to be of use.”

  Truth.

  The word pressed faintly upon Trevn’s mind, and he instantly fortified his shields. “How odd that so many would claim such a thing, then. Any idea why?”

  “None,” the duke said. “Except . . .”

  “Yes?” Trevn prodded.

  “Mett Lycor. He was an old friend of Fonu’s. Since my son was killed, he went rogue—knows he’ll be executed if I get my hands on him. I’ve heard rumors he has gathered a group of men to do mercenary work, though I have conflicting reports that he and his band are nothing more than thieves.”

  Truth.

  Again the word whispered against Trevn’s mind like a nagging memory. He realized with a sudden jolt that he had experienced this before. The day he’d been compelled to ask Mielle to marry him. There was a mantic in Nawhar Manor, and Trevn had no wish to linger.

  He set down his wine glass and stood. “It seems I have an outlaw to apprehend, then. I’ll waste no more of your time.”

  The duke stood and followed Trevn to the door. “You are welcome to stay for dinner, Your Highness. Or if you’d like to go hunting, there are many fine stags in Nawhar Forest.”

  “Thank you, but I must return to Armanguard. I will send word when Master Lycor is apprehended. Thank you for the wine.”

  “It is my honor, Your Highness.”

  Trevn left. Once he and his men were alone on the road out of the forest, he questioned Nietz about what he had learned from the barn boys.

  “None would say a word against the duke,” Nietz said, “and none have seen any new boys in the manor. A few did say that giants come to Nawhar Manor every few weeks.”

  “To attack?”

  “No, sir. To visit with the duke. It seems he has befriended some, though the boys didn’t know which tribe of giants—didn’t even know there were different tribes.”

  Befriended giants. “I felt magic in that sitting room,” Trevn said. “I don’t know whether Lord Edekk, Korvoh, or that servant was the wielder, but someone was trying to compel me to believe the duke’s story, which tells me part of it, at least, was false.”

  “But which part?” Cadoc asked.

  Trevn had no idea. “That is what I intend to find out.”

  Mielle

  Well?” Mielle pranced out from behind her changing screen and struck a pose for Zeroah, who was sitting on the bed. “What do you think?” The flowing blue silk skirt swept around her ankles like water. “It’s so very soft and light.”

  “It’s lovely, especially that rich royal blue against your light brown skin. And the way it . . .” Her voice broke, and she began to cry.

  “Oh, Zeroah!” Mielle rushed to the bed and sat beside her friend, pulling her into an embrace. “What is wrong? Did I say something?”

  “It’s nothing you did. I simply miss Wilek.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Zeroah sighed deeply. “Most days I wake and forget he is gone. I think, ‘What shall I do today? Perhaps Wilek and I will go for a walk in the fields.’ Then I remember.” She dabbed her eyes. “People are always staring at me. I am the most pitiful creature in Armanguard, and there is nowhere to hide.”

  “Let me show you something fun.” Mielle jumped off the bed, took Zeroah by the hand, and pulled her to her feet. She walked to the sideboard and pressed an indentation in the wall just beside it. The hidden door clicked open.

  Zeroah gasped. “A secret door?”

  Mielle nodded, beaming. “Trevn commissioned two secret passageways. They won’t be finished for another few weeks,
but isn’t it fun? This one exits into the king’s office, and there will be a second passage from the council chambers that comes out behind the curtain on the dais platform in the great hall. You are welcome to use them if you wish. It will make life so much easier for all of us. And hopefully those wretched concubines will finally go away.”

  Zeroah wrinkled her nose. “They are still there?”

  “Every day! No matter how many times I’ve banished them, the awful creatures.”

  “That is unfair, Mielle,” Zeroah said. “They are Arman’s beloved too. I wonder if there are men looking for wives. Perhaps if you found the women a match, they would stop coming here.”

  Mielle considered that. “Now, there’s a clever idea. Perhaps the Duke of Canden would take them all off my hands.”

  “I did not mean anyone who lives in the castle,” Zeroah said. “You would be wisest to send them out of your home. You might ask Lady Pia’s advice.”

  Lady Pia, whom Trevn had assigned as Mielle’s shield. The woman followed her everywhere and was at this moment standing guard outside the door. “I feel like a beast in her presence. Even with her scarred face, she is still so lovely.” Mielle walked to the bed and fell backward, sighing dramatically. “Trevn hired me a staff, you know. I now have two guards, a onesent, and an honor maiden. Sometimes all of this is simply too much and I wish myself back in the north, where I could look for the Puru children who were traded to those horrible giants.”

  “It is awful to even think about,” Zeroah said. “I pray Arman’s protection over the poor dears.”

  “Trevn says it’s not our concern, but I cannot fathom how he can justify doing nothing.”

  “He is king now,” Zeroah said, her voice small as she sat on the edge of the bed. “It is a great responsibility, Mielle.”

  Oh tuhsh. “I don’t mean to make light of that . . .” She was tired of so much awkwardness. To this day, neither of them had said a word about their reversed stations. Never in Mielle’s wildest dreams had she imagined such a thing could happen.

  She wished it hadn’t. Zeroah made a much better queen. Ten times so.

  “We have persevered through so many setbacks,” Mielle said. “Will we survive this one too?”

  Zeroah looked down on Mielle. “What do you mean?”

  Mielle pushed herself up until she and Zeroah were sitting face-to-face. “Do not pretend you cannot feel the strain between us. Words fail me continually. Me! The girl who prattles on nonstop. I hear the maids gossiping, saying that you will leave Armanguard and go live with Princess Saria in New Sarikar. Will you, Zeroah? Is that your intent?”

  “I have thought about it, but I do not know Saria well or any of my cousins. I am closer to you and Rosârah Brelenah than anyone in my own realm.”

  Hope kindled in Mielle’s stomach, and she clutched the shell on the soul-binding pendant she wore. “Please say you’ll stay. I don’t think I can do this without you.”

  Zeroah took hold of Mielle’s hand. “Of course you could, but do not worry. I will stay.”

  “Oh, thank you!” Mielle hugged Zeroah, tears misting her eyes. She finally let go and wiped her eyes with her fingers. “I so covet your help, but I worry that every question I ask you is like a knife in your heart.”

  “Do not be silly.”

  “I am not! I was your honor maiden. You confided in me your deepest secrets and fears. You were born to be queen, Zeroah. You trained your whole life for it. That I must take your place grieves me deeply. It is horribly unfair and utterly ridiculous. What do I know of anything? I can’t even remember the name of Trevn’s former nursemaid, let alone all the dukes and earls and their wives and children.”

  “His nurse was named Liso,” Zeroah said.

  “See? You should be queen. You know so much more than I do.”

  “I was queen, and I did the best job I could with the time I had. Now the title has fallen to you, whether or not you wish it. Arman gave us to each other, Mielle, knowing what we would need. I will help you just as you helped me. Trust in that.”

  Mielle sniffled. “Thank you, dearest friend.”

  They hugged again, and when Zeroah finally released her, Mielle broached the topic that was most on her mind.

  “The Duke of Odarka says we must hold court. He believes I might be a help in such a place. What do you think?”

  Zeroah grimaced. “I do detest court, but I agree it would be beneficial to Trevn’s reign. It is common knowledge that he has always disdained the nobility. Holding court would give the nobles a chance to see him behaving like a king and to speak with him.”

  “He refuses to go. He doesn’t want me to go either, unless I take Empress Inolah along. Or you.”

  Zeroah drew in a deep breath. “What about the ball? I thought that would be your first foray into dealing with the peerage.”

  “Yes, well, Trevn said I must wait to plan the ball until he knows what is happening with some threat from Rosârah Laviel.”

  “A threat? Is it dangerous?”

  Mielle sighed. “He would not give details, which is something else I hate about being queen. Trevn used to tell me everything—now he has so many secrets.”

  “Much of what he deals with every day is trivial. He likely doesn’t want to bore you. Where would he hold court? The castle keep is too small. It does not even have a worthy throne room.”

  “I suppose we could use the great hall, though that seems rather dull. Outside, perhaps? In the bailey?”

  Zeroah shook her head. “That won’t do. Nobles do not like to spend time where commoners forge blades and behead chickens. You need a place segregated specifically for this purpose, in the same way Rosârah Brelenah once held court in the garden colonnade.”

  “What about the roof?” Mielle suggested. “That would be similar to how Rosâr Echad held court on the stern deck of the Seffynaw.”

  “It’s not a bad idea, though some will complain of having to climb so many stairs.” Zeroah pursed her lips until her brows suddenly rose. “What about one of the barges? I believe there are four, though two are rarely used. You might commission one to be outfitted for parties. You could tent it to provide shade. Bring out blankets and chairs, a throne for yourself and the empress, should she join you. You would need a secondary plan, though, since it’s been getting colder. Winter will be here soon enough. Until then it might work nicely. What do you think?”

  “I think you are brilliant! I never would have thought of such a thing. Oh, Zeroah, you are so good at this. I’m to be a laughingstock, aren’t I?”

  “Not with an empress and two former queens as your advisors. We three shall not forsake you. I only hope you will not become too busy for my friendship.”

  “How could I ever?”

  “When the Rafayah was lost, everyone worried over Rosâr Trevn, myself included, but you cannot imagine my sorrow at losing you. Arman gave me Wilek, and though things were awkward at first, we grew very close. And now that Arman has taken Wilek away, he mercifully returned you to me. Is not he a thoughtful provider? After Wilek died, had I not had the hope from Trevn of your return, I might not have survived.”

  “Zeroah! You mustn’t say such things.”

  “Just as I once insisted from you, Mielle, I will always speak the truth. You can count on me for that. Now, let us go to the school, for I know you are eager to see your orphans again.”

  Lady Pia and Bero, Mielle’s second guard, escorted Mielle and Zeroah to the great hall so she could observe the school. A quick count totaled only thirteen children present today, orphans and nobles combined. Zeroah said that nobles learning alongside orphans was normally unheard of, and there were some nobility who refused to allow their children to be taught here. Mielle thought it was grand, though she couldn’t help notice the highborn children sat together in the front tables, while the orphans sat in the rear.

  “Were the children assigned places to sit?” she asked.

  “No,” Zeroah said. “When the school first
met here, the children were scattered through the great hall. The noble children were sitting at their family tables, the orphans were in the back, and the princesses sat in the front row at the same table.” She smiled. “The Duke of Canden forced them all into the front six tables, but they still clustered into groups.”

  It made sense, Mielle supposed. The children would want to sit near friends and, like it or not, their friends tended to be in the same social class.

  Empress Inolah stood at the front of the left-side row of tables, where all the girls had been seated. There were far fewer boys today; the Duke of Canden was absent as well.

  “Where are all the boys, I wonder?” Mielle asked.

  “On the roof for swordplay lessons,” Zeroah said. “The boys adore the Duke of Canden. It is good of him to take the time to teach them so many things, don’t you think? They will be vastly ahead when they are old enough to train with the soldiers.”

  The front row was filled with little boys, and one older boy sat in the back, alone. He was dressed shabbily and must be one of the orphans. “Why does that boy remain here?”

  “That is Porvil. I don’t know why he did not go along. He always has before.”

  “Let’s ask him,” Mielle said, eager to speak with one of the orphans. “You two may wait here,” she added to her guards.

  Mielle and Zeroah walked to where the boy sat staring at his tablet and not writing.

  “Hello,” Mielle said. “What are you working on?”

  He looked her up and down, then glanced at Zeroah. His eyes widened and he stood up and bowed, remaining bent like the bracket of a table.

  “Please stand,” Mielle said. “I want to speak with you.”

  The boy straightened, but his gaze remained prominently on Zeroah. He was nearly as tall as Mielle and had a round face and sullen eyes.

  “Master Porvil, this is Rosârah Mielle,” Zeroah said, “Rosâr Trevn’s wife.”

  Porvil grew a bit pale. “Two queens?”