Royal Exile

by Fiona McIntosh

  “They were closer than brothers.”

  “He had family, did you know?”

  “Yes. A wife, dead, and two sons from that union.”

  “Where are they?”

  “We don’t know. It’s important that we find them.”

  “Are they a problem?”

  “I suspect at seventeen summertides they will be. I was.”

  She smiled at his quip. “I can’t imagine your mother ever felt out of her depth with you.”

  “No, but then she wasn’t a mother in the way you might anticipate mothers should be. We’ve never really talked at length about your family, Valya, have we?”

  It was obvious he didn’t want to discuss his own folk. “Other than hating them, you mean?” she said, sweetly. “I’m sure I’ve told you enough.”

  He looked amused. “Well, you had good reason. It was not your fault they had no sons.”

  Valya sighed. “I guess not, although my parents certainly made me regret I was not born a boy every day of my pathetic existence.”

  He held her gaze and she was sure—just for a moment—that he shared her pain. She didn’t fully understand his state of mind with all these new changes but she also didn’t want this new tenderness to be spoiled, so she kept her bitterness at bay, fighting down the anger that seemed to accompany any mention of her family.

  “I don’t understand why the engagement to Brennus didn’t make you rise in their estimation.”

  “Oh, it did, but not in the way I’d have hoped. All father could see was a great strategic alliance. All mother could see was wealth.”

  “And you?”

  “Escape, Loethar. You know that’s what I’ve always wanted.”

  “Not power, then?”

  She laughed. “I didn’t say that. I won’t lie—you know me too well—of course I want power. But perhaps not for the reasons you think.”

  “For what reasons, then?”

  She frowned at him, confused. “What is this all about?”

  He shrugged, looking injured. “Haven’t you always complained that I never linger long enough to talk with you? Aren’t you enjoying our ‘conversation’—over a goblet of wine, no less, and without interruption?”

  “Yes, but I’m baffled by the topic. I’ve told you much of this before.”

  “Perhaps I want to hear it again. Perhaps I want to be sure about you, Valya.”

  Her frown deepened. She wanted to ask why but again she censured herself. It would be better, in this moment, to simply enjoy the attention she had craved for so long. “All right. I like the idea of power for the freedom it would give me. The escape from the claustrophic sense that with every breath I take I let my parents down. Especially since the breakdown of the troth.”

  “Did they blame you for that?”

  “Of course. I think I still hear my father’s disdain each day I wake. He said: ‘See, even foreigners are preferable to you.’”

  He nodded. “She was from Galinsea, as I understand it.”

  “A Romean princess, no less.”

  “How did they meet?”

  She shrugged. “From what I could glean, old King Darros of Penraven took Prince Brennus to pay respects at the funeral of the Emperor Luc. Galinsea and Percheron were such powerful trading regions that the Set couldn’t ignore the important event and Darros represented all of the Set rulers.” She sighed. “The short of it is that Brennus met the young Iselda, one of the daughters of the Romean prince and…” She looked up, smiling bitterly. “My betrothal was forgotten.”

  “She is very beautiful,” he said.

  “Beautiful? Not any more,” Valya replied, her tone more savage than she had meant it. “But, Loethar, did you not recognize a kindred spirit between you and Brennus?”

  She saw him blanch.

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  Valya gave a small shrug. “Brennus was as ruthless as you are! Never think for a moment that the love he was purported to show for his family ever threatened his decision-making regarding the realm of Penraven.” She saw Loethar’s eyes narrow and enjoyed the knowledge that she was telling him things he hadn’t previously known. Well, he had only ever had to ask. She was not so enamoured by their relationship to fail to realize it was a convenient one for him. Her knowledge of the Set, and the customs of this region this far west, not to mention her own lineage, were critical factors in his tolerance of her. “The man was a tyrant in his own way.” She turned to gaze out one of the windows. “I have no doubt he loved Iselda but he also claimed to love me. He made plight troth to my parents. Droste would have been a very handy alliance for the Set, but not nearly so sparkling as the alliance forged with Galinsea and ultimately Percheron through his marriage to Iselda. Even though she was a lesser princess, a mere second or third cousin to Emperor Luc—whereas I was first born, the direct heir to our throne!”

  “Would your father have permitted you to rule?”

  Valya shrugged. “I sometimes think he’d rather have poisoned me than permit me the throne. Even now, I am sure he’s working to see his nephew take the crown.”

  “Not while I live, Valya,” Loethar promised. His words sent a thrill through her. “But how was Iselda more appropriate for Brennus?”

  “Iselda came directly from King Falza’s line. She was of his blood, and that carried tremendous status. The Set trades through Percheron—I’m sure you know that?” He nodded. “Well, that match allowed Brennus to forge those vital links to the east. And the beauty you speak of was simply the diamond dust on the top of an already sparkling betrothal.” She balled her fists. “How could Droste compete with that?” she spat.

  He didn’t reply immediately and Valya held her tongue. Her bitterness had ruined the pleasant atmosphere, she was sure. She heard him pour more wine but only turned when he surprised her with a light touch on her arm. She hadn’t even realized he had moved silently next to her.

  Loethar handed her her goblet, its contents refreshed. “Here, it’s had a chance to breathe now. It tastes even better.” She took the cup. “You know, Valya,” he continued, drawing closer still until their shoulders touched. “Everything about life is perception.” She looked at him quizzically but he was staring out to the sea, not looking at her. “What one man casts aside as unnecessary could be the very thing that another man has been searching for.”

  She frowned. “I understand the sentiment, but what are you saying?”

  “Yes, let’s not speak in couched terms. Let me be plain. Droste may not have been such a gain for Brennus if at the time he felt secure with all the realms of the Set working in such alignment. But I would like to see Droste as part of the Set—a new member. It is more strategic than Brennus gave it credit for. Droste is the source of the great river that feeds this region; its mountains are very important to us as much of Lo’s Teeth is unexplored—we have no idea what riches are to be found in the foothills alone. Droste has music and art and though Cremond is the seat of learning for the Set, perhaps Droste can become its cultural center point?” Valya’s eyes had widened. She could barely believe what she was hearing; was more than a year of maneuvering and cunning finally going to pay off?

  Slowly letting her breath out, she repeated carefully, “What are you saying?” She put her goblet down on a small weaven table nearby. Her fingers were suddenly trembling.

  He smiled almost self-consciously and cleared his throat. “I’m saying that I consider Droste to be far more valuable than Brennus did. I think we should make the union of Droste and the Set official.”

  She stared at him, and knew she was blinking with nervousness as well as excitement. “Marriage?”

  He looked down momentarily, then fixed her with his dark gaze. “Yes. Marry me, Valya.”

  It took her a moment to make sure she had heard him absolutely clearly. Then she squealed and threw her arms around his neck. It was girlish, perhaps even childish, and everything she knew he would detest but she was beside herself with happiness
. “Loethar! Yes! Of course!”

  He held her away from him. “Good. Thank you.”

  But she wanted to feel his arms around her again. “Oh, please hold me close. Mean it, Loethar. Tell me you love me.”

  He encircled her with his arms obligingly. “I think this will be good for both of us.”

  She pulled her face from where she’d buried it in his neck and stared into his face, suddenly unreadable again. “It doesn’t matter whether you can express your feelings. I can and I need to tell you that I love you.”

  “I know you do.” He looked embarrassed.

  “You frighten me sometimes.”

  “Do I?”

  She nodded.

  “There is no reason for you to fear me, Valya. But don’t try and understand me. I need you to just accept me.”

  “I will,” she said, knowing in her heart she was lying to both of them.

  “And be loyal. Continue to be my eyes and ears.”

  “My loyalty to you will never be in question. But I beg you not to shut me out. To be of real use to you, I need to know what you are thinking.”

  “I shall try.”

  “Does your mother know that you were planning to propose?”

  “No. We shall tell her of our engagement together.”

  “She won’t be pleased.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Dara Negev hates me, as I suspect she would hate any woman who won your affections.”

  “You have her wrong, Valya. My mother hates anyone who might sway me from my cause.”

  “If that were the case she should welcome me with open arms.”

  “She is a tough woman to please, I’ll grant you. But you’ll win her over.”

  “Protect me, Loethar. Let her know that you hold me in high regard. I need your support.”

  “You are to be my wife. You will be empress, Valya. I should imagine that is enough support for you to wield against both your mother and mine.”

  She felt a surge of fierce delight at the very notion of seeing both her parents at the wedding. “Kiss me,” she urged.

  He leaned toward her and she parted her lips to welcome him, to bind this moment in the tender and loving intimacy of a deep kiss, but he did not dwell. If anything the caress of his lips felt cursory, dry, and she felt her joy dented still further to see him wipe his mouth surreptitiously as he turned away.

  “I will set arrangements in motion,” he said. “Thank you, Valya. I will contact your parents to ensure they are aware of this development. They must at least be curious as to your whereabouts?”

  She diverted her pain into her scornful tone. “The king and Queen of Droste have probably not given my disappearance much mourning. They would have had a sense of good riddance, if anything. It solves the problem of who takes the crown.”

  “Well, not any more. Now you bring the empire to their doorstep. If they really are how you describe them, the royal couple will fall over themselves to be dutiful parents to you and allies with me.”

  She nodded. “That’s exactly what will happen, Loethar. You don’t even know them and still you have their measure.”

  “I don’t need to know them. I have observed enough of people’s nature to understand those like your family.”

  “And what about your own family?”

  He turned back to face her. “I didn’t choose them,” he said evasively.

  “No, but you do control them.”

  “To a point.”

  “Loethar,” she began, her voice now streaked with disdain, “do you honestly believe Stracker wouldn’t still be arm wrestling in tents and helping mares give birth if not for you?”

  He remained irritatingly calm. “Stracker would be the first to admit that I am the son born with the brains, he with the brawn. He likes it that way.”

  She shook her head. “No one would even pick you for brothers. How could you two sons come from the same man’s seed?”

  “Who said we did?”

  Valya froze. She’d said it as a meaningless insult, nothing more. In a rare awkward moment, she found herself open-mouthed and staring. Then, embarrassed, she began to stammer. “I…I really didn’t mean. What I mean is I…well, I’m—”

  “It’s all right, Valya. I’m baiting you.”

  She wasn’t sure he had been. “Warn me the next time you plan to make a jest, my beloved, for I can never be sure with that serious countenance of yours.”

  He nodded. “I must practice a happy face, you think?”

  She smiled now and placed her hand on his chest, glad for the excuse to touch him. “Well, now that you’re emperor you must certainly make yourself accessible to your new people. A smile, especially one as charming as yours, can only help your cause.”

  “I will remember that. I’ll have to try not to smile when I impale their young king in Penraven’s grand city square.”

  Valya shuddered inwardly. For all his tenderness of just moments earlier, he was still a conqueror before all else. She had taught herself—Lo knew she’d had enough practice—how to behave in the ruthless manner that would impress him. But he frightened her all the same. He was uncannily able to keep everyone off balance; his mind seemed to work at a different speed and with a strange and sinister grace that allowed him to see things quickly, differently. He was always one step ahead of most others.

  “And I always think Stracker’s the bloodthirsty brother. He has nothing on his elder,” she said, affectionately in a contrived light jest.

  “I am not the elder brother,” he said calmly, ignoring Valya’s obvious shock.

  “I…I don’t understand.”

  “Stracker is older than me.”

  “But—”

  “This is how our father wished it,” he added, his tone final.

  She nodded, unsure of what to say, finally murmuring, “I’m glad.” Deftly switching topics, she asked, “No news then on Leonel?”

  “No.” His expression turned sour. “It galls me to think the boy was in the palace when we took it. He had to have had help escaping.”

  “What sort of help?”

  He shook his head, irritated. “Freath mentioned something about seeing him with one of the De Vis sons just prior to our taking the castle and…” He stopped, shrugging.

  “What is it?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “Tell me,” she said, placing her hand on his muscled arm, relishing the chance to touch him again.

  He gave an expression of reluctant acquiescence. “I had given strict instructions that the palace and all exits be guarded…every possible entry or departure point was manned. We stormed the castle in a concerted effort that would have left no one any time to make an escape. I know not one of those royals ever really believed they were under threat of death; parley was at the top of their list, not escape. And we know the prince was here when we took Brighthelm—Freath saw him. He had nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide! Every last crevice has been searched. I don’t know how he has escaped our clutches.”

  “You said he was with one of the De Vis sons. What does he look like?”

  Loethar shook his head. “Freath says he is tall and strong-looking. A man, albeit young.”

  She nodded. “So there’s only two of them?”

  “Just two, both young. They should have been easy to entrap.” He walked away, stretching, obviously finished with the conversation.

  “Loethar,” she whispered, staring at his back as he stretched, his spine giving a satisfying crack. She felt the blood drain from her face.

  “What is it?” he said, turning. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

  She shook her head, thinking it through, running the scene back in her mind. How long had it been? Nearly two hours perhaps. She snapped her attention back to Loethar’s face, now so close she could kiss him again, could see the soft shadow of where his beard had hung from for so long.

  “Talk to me!” he demanded.

  “I’m sorry. Forgive me. It’s just tha
t…I think we just saw them,” she said, her voice tiny, frightened.

  Loethar gripped her shoulders and she watched his face change from quizzical, slightly baffled, to controlled rage. It happened in the blink of an eye and once again Valya was reminded that this was no ordinary man she was attaching herself to. His hands dug into her upper arms and her fingertips went numb in the space of moments. “What did you say?” he whispered.

  He had heard, she knew it, but he just couldn’t believe it. Still she went through the motions and explained. “I was out riding,” she began, nodding, making sure he was hearing her.

  Exasperation flickered in his stare. “I do recall. I sent a runner to fetch you.”

  “Loethar, you’re hurting me,” she murmured.

  He let her go. “And?”

  Valya rubbed one arm and then the other as she continued. “I had one of your men with me as escort, as you’ve insisted. A Green. Another rode up, a Blue, and said you wanted to see me. We were riding back, were almost into the bailey when I happened to look around and I saw your horrible raven leaving the palace. It must have been from this room,” she said, looking around.

  “It was. Go on,” he said, his stare impaling her, voice hard.

  “Well, I followed Vyk’s flight and as he flew into the forest line I thought I saw two figures.” She watched his jaw grind as his lips thinned. “I was too far away to see clearly but they were running. One was taller than the other. I guessed both to be youngish men.”

  “And you—”

  “I did! I argued with the escort warrior. I insisted we do something about it. I described the pair. I said they looked furtive; I said they were running.” She huffed. “The Green treated me with disdain, I have to tell you. He talked to me as though I were a pig farmer’s whore and did nothing, didn’t even look in the direction I was pointing. He even threatened me; he told me the men only tolerate me because of you.” Her gaze flicked away from his unnerving stare. “I kept telling him it was worth looking into and all he said was that his duty was to bring me to you because I’d been summoned. I demanded that you be alerted. He all but said he’d drag me before you if I didn’t comply and follow him.”