King

by R. J. Larson

  Kien shot him a mock-threatening look. “I am your servant, sir.”

  A headstrong and unexpected servant, Akabe agreed silently. But most welcome.

  Faine coughed, gaining Akabe’s attention. “Are we agreed on our plan, sirs?”

  Trillcliff and Piton nodded. Kien asked, “When?”

  Relieved to have the decision made, Akabe said, “Day after tomorrow. Weapons, silver, plain clothes, and not much gear. We want to remain inconspicuous and travel swiftly. Is everything arranged for the decoy royal household?”

  Piton twitched as if overcome by nerves. “It is, sir. We’ll set out before dawn and see you safely away. And to verify . . .” A shamed expression crossed Piton’s lined face. “Aythan Garric?”

  Father. Just hearing his name reopened a gash in Akabe’s soul. Was he ready to face this? Was Caitria? What if his plan failed? Would she die? Would the temple be lost to Siphra?

  Infinite . . . be with us, please. Bless us with Your presence. Be with my friends. He nodded at Faine, Trillcliff, and Piton. “Yes. Aythan Garric. Only you three know where to locate me. Guard yourselves!”

  If he died, no doubt his advisors would soon follow him in death.

  Faine shifted from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable. “Our goal, sir, is to ensure that you survive and your enemies are captured. During the previous reign, fear made cowards of too many of the Infinite’s faithful. We will not allow ourselves to be overcome by terrors now.”

  A little boy’s happy shout made Akabe turn. Barth ran past, calling again, “Prophet!” Apparently released from his afternoon lessons, he seemed oblivious to his duties, favoring his pretty prophet-teacher more than his king. The boy probably wanted to show her his new teeth.

  As the little page hugged Ela, kissed her bejeweled hand, and chattered like a well-trained bird, Kien pretended offense. Particularly when Ela laughed and knelt, hugging and kissing the boy in return. “He’s trying to steal my wife! Excuse me, sirs.”

  “Aeyrievale!” Akabe lifted a hand. “Bring Barth to me, please. I need him to fetch Lord Ruestock.” Unless Siphra’s lady-prophet had frightened the irksome nobleman beyond use.

  What better use of a meddling Atean lord than to send him throughout the court hooked with bait? To snag the assassins who longed to spill Akabe and Caitria’s blood and halt work on the temple.

  Would Ruestock carry a casual comment to Akabe’s enemies to assist Atean plots?

  If so, then Ruestock would be brought to justice. However . . . what if Caitria’s brothers or her father were involved? Or worse, Caitria herself?

  No. Akabe gritted his teeth, rejecting the possibility of losing Caitria. Or of sending more Thaenfalls to their deaths.

  His plan must not fail.

  Bringing his thoughts to the present, Akabe smiled at his counselors, and at Barth’s father, who approached, polished and so perfectly clothed that Akabe felt like an interloper. Siymont bowed. “Majesty, I—”

  Siymont’s greeting was drowned by a chorus of shrieks and laughter from the queen and her ladies, and howls from young Barth—to the courtly lord’s obvious, grimacing dismay.

  “Kien!” Ela gasped, then laughed as her husband kissed her, snagged Barth, turned him upside down and—bellowing pretend threats—carried the screeching boy across the garden to Akabe and his lords.

  “Hmph!” Lady Trillcliff sniffed. “What an uproar. Lord Aeyrievale’s certainly returned to court.” She smiled at Ela, but sent her an admonishing look. Was this a silent command for dignity? An unspoken request for Ela to control her husband? As if she could!

  A cautioning mental nudge from her Creator made Ela smile. She linked arms with the startled noblewoman, guiding her away from the others. “Lady, perhaps one day you’ll succeed in taming the Aeyrievales. Now, tell me—and I say this with complete respect—do you remember being eighteen?”

  “I do, I assure you.” She lifted her chin, decidedly a lady who remembered everything.

  “Good! Tell me, Lady Trillcliff, do you recall your thoughts when elderly acquaintances or relatives did nothing but scold and lecture you continually, without befriending you?”

  The elegant woman opened her mouth as if to vow she’d never needed scolding or lecturing as a young lady. But an uneasy look flicked over her proud face. “You’re referring to someone in our company? Perhaps to the . . . ?” She tilted her head slightly toward the queen.

  “You know I am.” The branch shimmered in Ela’s hand as she voiced a gentle warning. “Only the Infinite is her true judge. Meanwhile, endless unpleasant lectures will make her Atean background more appealing than becoming one of the Infinite’s seemingly ever-sour faithful. Shouldn’t we share His joy and His undeserved love for us with others, in addition to His wisdom for our lives?”

  Lady Trillcliff’s expression puckered in dismay. “We have been suspicious and untrusting.”

  “Caution is good, my lady. But kindness is better. Will you warn the other ladies?”

  “I will.” She looked down at Ela now, thoughtful. “How can you be just nineteen?”

  “The truth is, I usually feel much younger. About toddler-tantrum age. However, the Infinite offers the wisdom and maturity I lack.” She smiled, compelling her elder to reciprocate. “Lady, do you suppose we could persuade the queen to walk with us on the beach?” Before the lady could protest, Ela approached the queen and offered obeisance, begging, “Majesty, may we have your permission to leave our sandals here and walk down to the water?”

  As Caitria hesitated, Ela persisted, “We could! The king and our lords are all busy. But if they care—well, they’ll simply have to chase after us.”

  A lovely smile crossed the young queen’s face. “You may. But only if I’m first.” She rested one jewel-sandaled foot against the balustrade and untied it. Her ladies stared, then followed her lead with rusty, unsure movements. Ela swiftly copied the queen, then they all descended the stairs, barefooted, to the beach below.

  Just as Ela was digging her toes into the sun-warmed sand, the men spied them from the terrace above and shouted, clearly indignant at not being informed of their wives’ plans.

  Even Lady Trillcliff laughed, and Lady Faine smirked at Lord Faine’s gawping expression. “Now he pays attention! Ha! Just once, he can forget his politics!”

  Ignoring them all, Queen Caitria swept up her fluttering robes and ran toward the sparkling waves with Issa frolicking and barking at her heels.

  Ela followed her, laughing at Kien’s indignant yells. Let him chase her.

  Caitria halted in the sand, drawing in deep breaths of the damp, salty air. If only she could cross this ocean and escape! A royal runaway. Perhaps stealing Akabe for company. They’d be nobodies, no longer fearing assassins, or—in her case—enduring snippy little lectures from prim-mouthed etiquette fiends. Not to mention mind-reading prophets who scared her to bits. Caitria slid a glance at Lady Aeyrievale, so delicate and pretty and harmless-looking as she splashed at waves.

  Who had Akabe inflicted upon her now? Was he this frustrated that she wouldn’t discuss her beliefs with him? In silent protest, she kicked a frothy wave.

  I love you, but leave me out of your religion!

  In the predawn dimness of his lamp-lit bedchamber, Akabe coaxed his wife from bed and handed her leggings and a full tunic. Dressing sluggishly, she asked, “Where are we going?”

  “We’re running away.” To save their marriage. To save her. And, he prayed, Siphra’s temple. Dropping a thick gray cloak over Caitria’s head, Akabe taunted softly, “Don’t tell me you don’t want to escape! Not after seeing you run to the beach yesterday and the day before. Lovely sight, that.”

  Instantly, Caitria stood and yanked the cloak around her shoulders. “Where are my boots?”

  19

  In the secluded royal courtyard, beneath the starry remains of the night sky, Akabe spied a shadowed form that could only be Lord Faine. Beyond Faine six horses waited, loaded with supplies, attended by three
silent cloaked figures. Immediately, Akabe identified Ela’s delicate hood-draped form and the branch in her grasp. Kien loomed beside her, one hand unmistakably readied to draw his sword, while his shifting stance betrayed eagerness to leave. Just behind them, Akabe’s military surgeon, Riddig Tyne, glanced about, tense and equally ready to use his sword or bow and arrows against any threat.

  Caitria lagged now, obviously unnerved by the presence of others. But if Akabe had warned her that they’d be accompanied on their journey, would she have followed him without resistance? Despite visiting with Ela again at the beach yesterday, Caitria still didn’t trust the prophet. Akabe hadn’t missed his wife’s suspicious glances and the usual stubborn silences. She clasped his hand and whispered, “My lord, what about Naynee and Issa?”

  Akabe kissed his wife’s fingers and covered her hair with her cloak’s hood. “Naynee and Issa will be cared for while we’re gone. I’ve commanded Faine to take charge of their well-being. Don’t be afraid. You’ll see them soon.” If his plan succeeded.

  Faine bowed. “All’s ready, my lord. We’ll see you away. Surely within three days we ought to have some resolution with the Ateans after baiting Ruestock and the one other lord.”

  His council had withheld information? Akabe scowled. “Another lord? Who?”

  “Forgive me, sir, but for your sake I’ll tell you only if our suspicions are confirmed—you’ll receive our message within a week, I’m sure. We must set off before sunrise. I’ll await you with the others in the main courtyard.”

  Akabe suppressed his frustration. “Thank you, my lord. Above all, be certain the temple is manned by additional guards—protect the workers and priests!”

  “Indeed, sir!”

  As Faine hurried off, Akabe assisted Caitria onto her horse, then nodded to Riddig. The burly man answered with a wordless salute, then rode ahead, alert and mistrustful enough to please even Fightmaster Lorteus.

  Glancing over his shoulder, Akabe watched Caitria draw her horse just behind his as they rode through the gate to the main courtyard. Kien and Ela followed her on their own designated horses, both watchful. Akabe almost smiled at their cloaked forms. Ela had slipped the branch within their gear, mostly concealing it. Was any king so unconventionally guarded?

  No one spoke as Akabe and his party joined the courtiers and servants, who were arranged in a decoy royal procession of covered chariots and armed horsemen. They left through the palace’s stone-arched woven metal gates. In perfect silence, the procession threaded through Munra’s broad pale streets. Only the muffled thuds of horses’ hooves, the creaks of leather tack, and occasional metallic clinks of weapons and gear disturbed the predawn calm.

  The few citizens to be seen hastily stepped toward the buildings and watched the shadowed royal procession pass. Munra’s night guards eyed them from their posts near the city’s outer limits. Normally, Akabe would have greeted them. Now, however, he lowered his head, shielding his face beneath his cloak’s hood.

  At last, as the first rays of dawn fell over a crossroad in open countryside, Akabe leaned over and snatched the lead reins on Caitria’s horse. Her eyes widened with alarm and indignation. But she allowed him to proceed in silence.

  Good. Akabe nodded farewell to his courtiers, then led Caitria off to the south with the Aeyrievales, Riddig, several packhorses, and twenty plain-clothed guards. Despite his concerns, Akabe’s spirit lifted as their horses trotted along the muddied road. He’d not experienced such freedom since becoming king. Grinning, he offered Caitria her horse’s reins. “Forgive me, lady. I didn’t want to lose you.”

  She answered with an anxious smile. “Sir, where are we going?”

  “A distant hiding place. Regrettably, we’ll be uncomfortable because we’re traveling disguised and avoiding towns. I apologize in advance.”

  Caitria shrugged, focusing on her horse’s dark mane. But a rueful grimace worked at her lovely mouth. Was she regretting coming with him? Perhaps upset by his lack of trust? Or wishing she’d found some way to warn her family? So be it.

  Surely during their time away, he and Caitria could settle into their marriage. Indeed, they must. Caitria offered his only hope for a true family, if they learned to trust each other.

  Contemplating trust, Akabe scowled. Evidently Faine and the royal council had hidden certain matters from him. Had another lord been pinpointed and baited as an Atean? Akabe considered several, disliking the potential of each man’s betrayal. Ruestock certainly—

  An approaching rumble from the nearby eastern woods, a quivering of the road, and his horse’s sudden agitation caught Akabe’s attention.

  His guards closed in protectively. Riddig Tyne half-drew his sword and turned, his bristly white hair showing beneath the edge of his dark hood. “Sir!”

  Akabe heard Caitria gasp, and he turned just as her nervous mare shied, skittering to the right. But Caitria held her seat. To Caitria’s left, Ela crooned and soothed both their horses.

  Kien, however, began to yell.

  “Scythe!” Kien bellowed, infuriated, recognizing his destroyer’s ground-shaking pace emanating from the woods to the east. “Walk! Do you hear me? Walk!”

  Sure enough, the tremors jarring the road eased. Scythe walked from among the trees to the east, huffing, tossing his gleaming dark head. How had the beast escaped his handlers and the stone and iron-barred stable area? Kien ground his teeth together, aggravated. So much for incognito. He hoped Scythe’s handlers were still alive.

  As the horses settled, Ela called to Kien, her expression a pretty mix of frustration and wry humor. “We forgot to command Pet to ‘stay.’”

  Evidently. And Scythe’s unbridled path-carving through the Siphran countryside had likely diminished the king’s chances of hiding himself and the queen until their potential assassins were snared. By his grim expression, Akabe feared the same. How could they remedy the situation?

  His huffing intensifying, Scythe thudded toward Ela and Kien, adding a resentful you-forgot-me glare that blamed them both. The smaller horses sidestepped, ears flattening. Kien snapped a look at his destroyer. “Stop!”

  The monster horse grumbled, but halted at the edge of the muddied road. As if disdainful of his smaller equine companions, he curled his lips back from his huge teeth.

  Akabe exhaled. “I suppose something had to go wrong. Well-enough. Scythe might be useful.”

  Relieved and mortified—an experience he didn’t appreciate—Kien dismounted from his small, trembling horse. “Majesty, forgive me. I thought he was secured. We cannot cover his tracks to this point, but what about from here to our destination?”

  “Good question.” The king surveyed the surrounding land. “Beyond those trees at the next turn is the Inaren River.” He turned and frowned at Scythe. “Is that beast afraid of water?”

  Obviously irked by the king’s doubtful tone, Scythe snorted and stomped one mighty hoof. The lesser horses went skittish. Kien lunged for his smaller beast’s reins. “Halt!” To the king, he said, “No, sir, he’s not afraid of water.”

  “Perfect. You can cover his tracks somewhat by walking him in the river awhile. And . . .” Akabe mused, “we should shelter early and travel by dark, beginning tonight. There’s simply no hiding that beast.”

  Scythe grumbled once more, but Akabe laughed. “Destroyer! Calm yourself. We’re friends, remember? I’ve fed you before. You know I’m right!”

  Kien offered Ela his smaller horse’s reins. She responded with a tender look, as if she wanted to kiss him. If only she could. Kien sighed. “I’ll trade places with Riddig and ride ahead to calm the others.” He approached the gleaming, barebacked destroyer. “No war collar? Fine. Kneel so I can climb you!” Kien mustered a cold-eyed stare. “And try to be less conspicuous!”

  As they approached the river, unease slid over Ela, warning her with a chill. On the broad road ahead, four bronzed horsemen were riding past Kien toward her. All four horsemen were muddied and travel-worn, but acutely attentive to the
destroyer. And to her. Recognizing the fourth man, Ela muted a gasp. The soldier who’d spied on her the morning of her wedding!

  She couldn’t suppress this dread. Not with each of those men staring her in the eyes as if they found it difficult to ride past her without saying a word. When the horsemen had passed her, Ela prayed, summoning courage. Infinite? Have all four of those men seen me before?

  Yes.

  Memories broke apart in Ela’s thoughts, reassembling themselves like a puzzle shifted to reveal a fresh and horrifying viewpoint. Parne, seen by Bel-Tygeon, king of Belaal, and his defeated army. . . . Months ago, she’d stood on Parne’s now-broken walls, seen by these same soldiers while warning them of their impending defeat.

  Infinite? Do they seek revenge?

  Yes.

  What must I do?

  Silence answered. Why? Perhaps she didn’t want to know. And she didn’t want to face those men. Good thing that she and the others would soon be hidden in the forest. Gathering her wits, Ela drew a calming breath and looked around.

  The queen rode beside her now, which was odd, considering her mistrust of Ela. Yet, for all her caution, Caitria watched Ela as if concerned. “Lady, are you ill?”

  “No.” Fearing the queen’s worry might halt their progress, Ela straightened and smiled. “But thank you, lady. We’ll be camping early, so even if I’m ill, it wouldn’t matter.”

  After a wary glance at her husband, Caitria leaned toward Ela and whispered, “Prophet, do you know where we’re going?”

  Not exactly. “South, lady. I know we’re riding south. Beyond that, we ought to pester the king for details.”

  Her majesty appeared miffed. “Some prophet you are!”

  Sheltered amid ferns and trees beside a rocky, rushing stream south of the Inaren River, Kien swiped his destroyer’s glossy coat with a rag. “If I’d had the proper tools, this would have been easier. If you’d stayed clean instead of carving canyons through Siphra, this would have been easier. Above all, if you’d stayed in Munra, this would have been easier. But you didn’t—did you?”