“Master De Vis,” she began, her tone wintry, “I was expressly sent by the queen to find his majesty and I—”
“And he is found.” Leo cut across her words with a sardonic smile. “Thank you.”
It was a dismissal and she had no option but to curtsey and move on, but not without throwing a glare at Gavriel.
Gavriel sighed. “Now she’ll never let me feel her pert—”
“Ah, the kitchens have sent up some berry liquor,” the prince said, ignoring his friend’s moans as they entered his suite. “Want some?”
“No, majesty, but you go ahead.”
Leo gave him a look of disdain. “Gav, it sounds to me like we’re going to be together for a while.”
“I should be honest and tell you that I’ve been instructed by your father and my father not to leave your side. We’re as good as glued together from hereon.”
That caught the prince’s attention. He gawped at Gavriel. “You jest.”
Gavriel shook his head. “New rules. You now have a full-time champion.”
“What about Piven?”
“He has his nurserymaids. You need a man!” Gavriel said the last with a flourish, flexing the muscles in his upper arm in a light attempt at humor he didn’t feel.
The boy gave a low whistle. “In that case can we drop the majesty title? It makes me feel awkward. You and Corb never used to call me that. Your doing it now makes me feel like my father.” He tipped water into the small measure of dark syrup he had poured into a goblet.
“In front of others I must show respect, you know that.”
Leo drank the contents of the goblet, giving a sound of pleasure as he swallowed the last mouthful. “Fine, but when we’re alone I want to be just Leo or dunderhead to you as I’ve always been.” He pushed back the fringe of his sandy-colored hair. “So is that all you know about the Valisar magic?”
Gavriel thought he’d got away too easily on the previous conversation. “I know that it’s whispered about as the Valisar Enchantment. Your father told me only today in fact that it’s the magic that kills the females of his line. Whether they die in the womb, at birth or beyond it, none has survived more than an hour or so.”
“Why? The magic is too powerful for them?”
“Seems so.”
“Or perhaps it chooses only the boys to live.”
“Yes, more likely.”
“My poor sister,” Leo mused. “I’d like to have taught her how to shoot a catapult. Piven just can’t get it.”
“Even if she had survived, Leo, I wonder whether your father could have risked her being found by Loethar.”
The boy looked up, surprised. “You mean he’s pleased she’s dead?”
“No,” Gavriel hurried to say. “But I think I sensed that he felt relief that she could not be hurt by the barbarian.”
“But why couldn’t my father have protected us all if she’d lived?”
Gavriel shrugged. He too wasn’t sure about this. “I imagine because a baby is dangerous. It can give you away with a whimper if you’re hiding; it needs its mother and the kind of care that if we were on the run we couldn’t give. I think your sister’s death released your father from having to make that decision,” he said, hating the lie as it treacherously left his lips. “I’m calling Morkom for your bath.”
“But how is my father going to protect my little brother?”
“I’m not sure. I’m not privy to that,” Gavriel replied, utterly sure now that Piven would be ignored and left to Loethar’s discretion. No one wanted another child’s blood on his hands by killing Piven to save him from the barbarian.
“I shall speak to him about Piven. Where is the king, do you know?”
“I imagine he’s at the barracks. Our army is going to be facing the marauders soon. He’s probably doing his best to ensure their spirits are high, and their courage.”
“What about ours?”
“We’ll have to help each other.” The words sounded prophetic as he said them. “And I think we have to get used to it.”
Loethar licked the blade, enjoying the sensation of the metallic tanginess in his mouth. Blue blood. Regal blood. He could get drunk on it. He looked at Stracker. “Impale him and all the family in the central square. That should reinforce who now controls Barronel and loosen a few tongues as to where any of the Vested may be.”
“I presume you want a spectacle made of the rest of the family?”
“Cross them. That always humbles an audience. And don’t hasten their deaths. No mercy.”
Stracker nodded, glancing at the enormous raven sitting on the back of Loethar’s chair.
“I want sorcerers, witches, wizards—call them whatever you will, they’re all the same to me,” Loethar continued. “But I want to know who the Vested are and where we can find them. Offer rewards, spread fear, use whatever tools necessary but I hunger for my knowledge. I must be fed.” He grinned and the malevolence behind his words was heightened by the sight of his bloodstained teeth. He wiped his tongue along them, licking his lips at the residue of taste.
“I shall see to it,” Stracker said.
“I plan to be alone tonight,” Loethar added, then changed his mind. “Actually, send me up that cowering little princess. And have a barrel of wine brought up with her. Maybe it will help dull the sound of her shrieks.”
Both men laughed. Once his Right had departed, the contrived smile froze on Loethar’s face. He was close now. Very close. He hoped the Penravians were suffering in their dreams with images of the havoc he was going to loose upon them. He hoped they had heard the stories of what he had unleashed upon the rest of the Set, the terror he had achieved and the torturous pain he had heaped on each realm. Word ran ahead of him, he knew, and he hoped the people of Penraven were listening carefully, for he wanted their king…but most of all he wanted what the Valisar royals possessed. He stroked the raven’s head and it blinked its pale eyes.
“Almost there now, Vyk,” he cooed.
A knock dragged him from his thoughts. “Who is it?” he yelled, convinced it could not yet be his entertainment for the evening.
“It’s Valya,” came the reply.
“Come!”
Vyk swooped down to stand by the corpse as the door pushed open and a woman stepped through. “Am I interrupting, Loethar? Ah, I see it’s all over.”
“Would it matter if you were?”
She smiled, slow and familiar, as she crossed the room, not at all fazed by the large bird or its warning caw at her approach. “I thought this too important to wait on. Being this close to Penraven, news travels fast.”
“And?”
“One of my spies in the city tells me that a death knell has been sounding for hours. Double shock for the people—you on one side of the walls and a royal death on the other.” She laughed.
Loethar’s eyes narrowed. “Who? Surely not Brennus.”
“No one’s ever said the man’s a coward. I doubt he’d kill himself to prevent your having the pleasure.” She looked down at the dead king at her lover’s feet but her expression remained unchanged, unmoved by the sight of the decapitated royal. “But I have to wonder yet again why he didn’t try to dissuade you from your path.”
“Because he’s been too comfortable wearing that all-powerful Valisar crown for too long. He believes in its invincibility. Only now might he be realizing that I plan to teach him that even the Valisars can be toppled.”
She gave him a wry glance. “You know the Penravians will flee by ship.”
“Yes, I do, because you’ve already told me that much. It’s not the people I care about, Valya. It’s the Valisars.”
“So all this death and destruction has been about Brennus,” she said, baldly.
“It always has been. Him and his offspring and those who support them.”
None of the wryness had left her expression. “Just leave Cremond alone.”
“I did. I don’t break promises. Do we know who’s dead in Penraven?” he as
ked again.
She shook her head. “It could be any of them, but my guess is it’s the queen.” She turned and spat onto the corpse, surprising Loethar. He wasn’t sure whether she was disgusted by the Queen of Penraven or by the King of Barronel, or whether she’d actually intended to hit Vyk. Whichever it was, it was a gesture of genuine viciousness.
“Why would it be the queen? Too frightened of what I might do to her?” he asked.
She ignored his query. “If they’ve got any sense they’ve already gone on one of their sumptuous royal schooners.”
“He’s too proud to flee,” Loethar replied.
“I agree. The Valisars are stoic—even those who marry into the family. She would not lose face by taking her life. Don’t you see?” She gave a rueful shrug. “I suspect the Valisar courage in the face of certain destruction will inspire their people.”
“We’ll see how long that inspiration lasts when I have what I seek in my possession. Tell me why you think the queen is dead.”
“Childbirth takes many victims,” she said, her tone casual, disinterested.
“Childbir—?” he repeated, interrupting himself as the realization dawned. “Why didn’t you tell me?” His tone was threatening.
“Sorry, did I fail to mention that the Penraven whore was spawning another brat? She is mother to the heir and also stepmother to a halfwit orphan she took pity upon. Now there is another who probably hasn’t survived birth. For you there’s only the eldest to worry about. I probably didn’t consider it important.”
“You surprise me, Valya. I allow you to be my eyes and ears because you’re good at it but I expect you to tell me everything you learn. If you don’t, your skills are of no use to me, no matter how cunning your mind. I really should punish you,” Loethar said, his mind already racing.
“It doesn’t change anything,” she countered, still sounding confident.
“The news has ramifications.”
“Not really. You plan to kill them all anyway, I assume.”
“I don’t have any plan at this point,” he reprimanded, “other than to watch Penraven’s famous walls be breached. Beyond that I shall wait and see.”
“So, is this our new home?” she asked, trailing her hand across a highly polished marble surface, the top to an elegant piece of furniture that had probably served as the king’s private dining table. “I rather like this—what an amazing color it is.”
He forced his anger to cool. This was not the moment to lose his temper. “The famed Barronel marble from the deep earth quarries in its Vagero Hills.”
“Stunning,” she said absently, already moving to study the books in the small library the king had kept on hand in his suite. Vyk followed, hopping behind her.
“Yes, Barronel will be our base for the time being. Make yourself at home, Valya, but not in here,” he cautioned.
“Why?” she asked, stopping her slow movement around the bookshelves.
“You are not a king.”
“Neither are you,” she said lazily, but added, before he could reply, “you are an emperor in the making. You’d better get used to such surrounds and lay your own mark against it. No more caves and tents for you, Loethar.”
“And although you are used to the finer things in life, may I suggest that you discover them in another quarter of the palace.”
“Where will you be? Perhaps I could—”
He cut her off. “I don’t know where I’ll be. I may travel to Penraven to get my first glimpse of the Valisar stronghold.”
A knock at the door interrupted them. “Come,” he said, tiredly, and a burly warrior, his face scarified and colored with inks, entered, dragging a terrified child behind him. The girl was barely more than twelve summertides and was dressed in royal finery but Loethar noticed that her gown was torn, her face stained with tears.
“Stracker said you asked for her, my lord,” the man said gruffly in the language of the steppes.
“I have changed my mind. Give her back to the mother.”
“Already dead.”
Loethar sighed, irritated. “Then send the girl to her god as well. Do it immediately, no pain, make it swift.”
“In here?” the man asked, surprised.
The girl began to wail, having caught sight of the headless body that remained of her father.
“No, not here,” Loethar said slowly through gritted teeth. “Take her away and arrange for him to be removed as well.” The man nodded. “And Vash, speak only in the language of the region now.”
“Very good, my lord,” he answered in perfect Set, exiting the room, dragging the screaming girl behind.
Valya wore a look of disgust. “Oh, Loethar, were you really planning to amuse yourself with a child? Have you no conscience?”
“About as much as you have,” he replied.
She laughed and he heard the false tone she tried to hide. “None, then.”
“Precisely. What I actually do and what I want my men to think I do is something entirely different.”
“Because if what you’re looking for is some companionship of the skin,” she began flirtatiously.
He blinked with irritation. “I’m looking to sleep,” he said, cutting her off again. “Close the door behind you. Tell no one to disturb me unless it’s about who has died among the Valisar royalty. Otherwise I don’t anticipate hearing from anyone, including you, for the next six hours.”
Loethar didn’t wait for her response, but turned and strode away into the former king’s bedroom, Vyk swooping behind him.
Three
Corbel rode hard. He knew not just his survival but the survival of many depended on his making his destination. He was riding to a place he had never seen, following directions his father had made him repeat several times over until the legate was sure his son could reach the meeting point.
“Ride for your life, boy,” his father had said, his voice gruff from the emotion he was controlling. Corbel had never seen his father cry and it seemed Regor De Vis had had no intention of allowing him to glimpse the depth of his sorrow at farewelling his child. Both knew they would never see each other again. “This will save Gavriel’s life as much as your own,” De Vis had added. In his father’s eyes Corbel had seen the glitter of hope and for that alone he would ride to the curious coastal location and find the man they called Sergius.
“But how will I know him?” he had questioned.
“He will know you,” the king had replied.
“And we trust him?”
His father had nodded. “Implicitly.”
He had waited. Neither had added anything.
“You know this is madness, don’t you?” Corbel had replied, keeping his voice steady. He was not prone to outbursts. He had wished Gavriel had been present to do the ranting.
“And now you must trust us,” his father had added, so reasonably that whatever objection Corbel had wanted to make had remained trapped in his throat.
“Magic?”
Brennus had looked at him sadly. “I envy you, Corbel.”
“Really.” In his fury—fury that no one but Gavriel might have noted—Corbel had wanted to demand of Brennus whether the king truly envied him the memory of killing a newborn child but his father must have guessed his son’s thoughts and had glared at him. “Why don’t you use it to escape, your highness?” Corbel had said instead.
The king had sighed. “What a surprise for the bastard warlord that would be. Go, Corbel. Nothing matters more than your safety now. Lo’s speed.”
“Father—”
“Go, son. We are as clueless to your future as you. But we trust that you will be safe and remember your task. It is something worth committing your life for. One day it might restore Penraven.”
Corbel had begun to speak but his father held up his hand. “Not another word, Corb. I have always been proud of you and Gavriel. Make me proud now. Do as your king and your father ask.”
Forbidden further protest, Corbel De Vis had bowed. And then
Brennus and Regor De Vis had embraced him.
Now Corbel’s mind felt liquid, spreading in all directions with nothing to hold it together but his aching skull and the determination to fulfil what had been asked of him, the burden heavy in his heart, its reality terrifying him.
He sped northwest, changing horses at Tomlyn, where a stablemaster was waiting for him, giving Corbel a small sack of food that Corbel ate in snatches without stopping. Once again he changed mounts, this time at Fairley, as instructed, in an identical experience.
Leaving Fairley village behind, Corbel swiftly began to follow the coastline. He rode hard, knowing only that a stone marker would tell him he had arrived. His eyes searched the side of the track, constantly roving ahead for the clue. Daylight was fast dwindling. He wondered if he’d make it in time. Minutes later, in the distance he saw a man. Slowing the horse, he finally drew alongside the figure.
“Welcome, Corbel. I am told you are burdened with a heavy responsibility.”
Breathing hard, Corbel nodded, said nothing.
“Ah, my eyesight is so poor that I see little but I see enough. Come, help me down the track.”
“Track?” Corbel repeated.
The man chuckled. “You’ll see it when you dismount. It leads to my humble dwelling. It’s treacherous only for me; I imagine you’ll find the descent relatively easy on your strong, young limbs.”
Corbel swung off the horse and saw steps cunningly cut into the cliff face. He could see the hut and hoped they could get there before the wind became any more fierce. The sun was setting in a fierce blaze of pink on the horizon but it was not going to be a still night.
As though he heard his thoughts, Sergius yelled above the roar of the wind, “Storm tonight. Bodes well for what we have to do. I think we’ll have some awakening.”
Royal Exile Page 5
