Royal Exile

by Fiona McIntosh

  Gavriel looked lost for words. Finally he offered sarcastically, “How generous.”

  The outlaw’s gaze crossed to Leo. “And I know you are the crown prince, yet to be crowned King of Penraven, your majesty, because of this.” He dropped a necklace with a locket attached onto the stump.

  Leo looked stunned. “That belonged to my mother. She lost it. How did…? Did you steal this?”

  Faris shook his head. “I stole nothing but tax money from your father. King Brennus gave me this necklace.”

  “Why?” Leo remembered how much his mother had grieved over the necklace’s loss.

  “You do recall what it contains?” Faris tossed it across the stump and Lily picked it up.

  “Shall I open it?” she asked Leo tentatively.

  “You can,” he said, “but I know what’s in it. It’s a miniature painting of me.”

  “That’s right,” Faris acknowledged. “Created by the great Claudeo himself, if I’m not mistaken. Although how he got a small child to sit still for long enough is beyond me.”

  “Bribery,” Leo said. “So my father allowed my mother to believe she’d lost her precious locket but instead stole it from her grooming table to give it to you. Why?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Faris asked. “He wanted to make sure that I had a likeness of his precious Leonel, for when the boy came looking for me.”

  That comment provoked a fresh taut silence as the three newcomers digested the import of that information.

  “He knew I’d come?” Leo finally said, his words clipped, his tone a mixture of anger and astonishment.

  Faris nodded. “Though only if it became too dangerous at the palace, he told me.”

  Leo turned to Gavriel. It seemed unthinkable that his father had been second-guessing them long before their trauma had even begun. Four moons, Faris had said. How could the former king have possibly known what would happen or how they’d react?

  “I can imagine what you’re thinking,” Faris said. “If it’s any consolation your father said he could only hope you’d think it through and choose to flee here. He was never sure that you would.”

  “So Faeroe was the exchange?” Leo asked, feeling distraught. He didn’t know whether to be angry with his father or grateful. “He gave you my sword in return for your help?”

  “No.” Faris unbuckled the belt and lifted the heavy weapon, placing it before Leo. “He gave this to me for safekeeping, and to give to you when and if you came. He believed you would need it.”

  Leo felt his world begin to spin. He stared blankly at Faris.

  Faris continued. “Your father was a cunning man. He liked to win, was prepared to take risks, but at the same time he also took the time—the careful, planning and thinking time—to outplot his enemies. Leo—may I call you that?” When the young king did not answer he pressed on. “Your father believed that the rumors of an army amassing on the plains was just that. And when that army’s tribal warlord marched them into the Set, he firmly believed that the strength of the realms would hold strong. When the first of the realms fell, he decided not to send any more reinforcements but to wager everything he had on Penraven prevailing—and prevailing peaceably. He miscalculated, Leo, and badly. The tribal warlord was never interested in a simple victory. Something very dark motivates him, Leo, something beyond dreams of empire. But your father had considered all eventualities, and took the precaution of setting up a ‘pathway,’ shall we call it?…just for your purpose. His single desire was to preserve his heir, to ensure the Valisar line lived on no matter what occurred. He counted on your seeking me out if he failed, had primed you, in fact, by ensuring you’d heard plenty about the rebel in the north who was enjoying making the crown look like a buffoon.” Faris lifted an eyebrow. “No doubt he planted the seed in your mind that I would be happier being an outlaw against the devil I knew than the one I didn’t?”

  “Who else knew about the meeting?” Leo asked, refusing to meet Faris’s eyes, his gaze instead fixed determindedly on the serpent hilt.

  “No one. He came in secret. Sent De Vis on some seemingly vital errand and then came here, disguised, with these two items that I am now glad to return to their rightful owner.”

  Leo shook his head with bafflement. “What did he ask of you?”

  “To be a caretaker of these objects. But also that I offer you the protection of anonymity until you are of an age to make a decision regarding your realm, regarding the Set. He told me that if you came to me the invaders would have taken the Set. My job, he said, was to hide you.”

  “And what do you get out of this, Faris?” Lily asked, clearly unable to stay silent any longer. There was an accusatory edge to her tone.

  “I received ongoing amnesty,” Faris replied evenly. “Brennus promised he would never punish me. Your father impressed me, Leo. He was courageous coming here, rather daring even making contact with me. I was curious. I couldn’t imagine what the King of Penraven could possibly want with the likes of me. And when I learned I tried to convince myself I believed his tale even less. At that time there were only rumblings from the east, rumors that the barbarians were marching toward the Set. Nobody believed that Loethar had either the capacity or fighting knowhow to take one of the realms, let alone all. And Penraven? It was unthinkable. I remember laughing at the king, suggesting that I thought the bargain rather one-sided. Your father didn’t care. He said I could keep the sword and sell the necklace should you not turn up within three moons of Brighthelm’s fall…if it fell. And yet here you are, not so much different from the artist’s miniature, just days after the barbarian claimed conquest. You followed the plan much faster than even the king anticipated.”

  “I’m still surprised he consorted with the enemy,” Leo said. From the corner of his eye he saw a youngish man arrive breathlessly, whispering to Jewd. Jewd remained expressionless but listened carefully.

  “Not really enemies, majesty,” Faris continued without shifting his gaze, although Leo could tell that he too was aware of the runner’s arrival. “I was simply someone who didn’t follow the law. I have never killed when thieving, I always picked my targets very carefully and if you knew me better you would know that I hardly live the life of a wealthy man.”

  “Are you saying we should have respect for your deeds, Faris?” Lily said, incredulous.

  “Not respect, no. Perhaps understanding,” he said softly. “The king certainly could appreciate the benefits of treating me as an ally rather than a foe. I am no enemy to this realm.”

  Gavriel had clearly tired of the semantics. “So what else did he plan? Is there anything we should know?”

  Faris shook his head. “It never stretched beyond the idea that we were to offer sanctuary. Oh, actually there is one more thing,” he said, returning his gaze to Leo. “He did specify that I was to take you to Lackmarin. It is not too far from here. He wished you to make your oath, as all Valisar kings must, at the Stone of Truth.”

  “How long will it take to get there?” Leo asked.

  “Two, possibly three days’ walk. It depends how fast you’re prepared to journey.”

  Leo nodded. “Good. Let’s go.”

  “Now?” Faris asked. For a second time Leo saw the man caught off guard.

  “I’d rather stay on the move. The barbarians are tracking us.”

  “Have no fear, they’ll never find you here. We track better than anyone. Jewd, do you have news for us?”

  Jewd nodded. “None of it good. The barbarian is not content to simply hunt the king. He’s hoping to flush him out with tricks.” Faris frowned, and Leo felt a splinter of ice move through his gut. “He’s sent out an edict that every boy over the age of eleven summertides and under thirteen is to be beheaded.”

  “He’s mad!” Lily gasped.

  “We’ve known that since the beginning,” Gavriel said, rising to his feet and pacing. “So he’s doing this so that the people will have no inducement to hide Leo—are compelled, in fact, to give him up.”
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  “That’s about the size of it,” Faris agreed. “He’s clever, turning the people against their king. It matters not that this is a barbarian order; the people will, without really meaning to, blame the crown.”

  “They’ll think I’m a coward if I don’t give myself up,” Leo said.

  “And he’ll kill you the second he lays sight on you if you do,” Gavriel warned. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “Surely this is an empty threat?” Lily asked hopefully.

  Jewd shook his head. “Our messenger has just come from down in the valleys. The killing’s apparently begun; seventeen lads already slaughtered. They’re on their way toward Berch.”

  “I can’t let this happen!” Leo said, standing, looking around wildly.

  “You can’t stop it, majesty,” Faris said, irritatingly calm.

  “But he could kill hundreds.”

  “He already has. This is really no different from what he’s been wreaking across the entire Set these past moons.”

  “We’re talking about boys! How can you sit there and be so rational?” Lily accused.

  “Because someone has to be rational. Someone has to stop our young king making the emotional and ridiculous mistake of believing that giving himself up will appease the barbarian. Loethar will not kill every boy across the Set who fits his age group. Trust me. Something will stop him—but it will not be you,” he said to Leo. “You have another path to follow. If you diverge from it, you mock everything your father risked to put it in place.” He shrugged. “I watched you struggle to control your emotions when you spoke of how your father died; how that barbarian roasted him and feasted on him in front of your mother.”

  “Shut up, Faris!” Lily yelled.

  “I watched you fight those tears again when you told me how your mother was thrown from her window by her treacherous aide. And how Loethar humiliates your family, parading your simple orphan brother on a leash. Feel the anger, majesty, let it fester. This is the time to feel rage. To walk down and meekly present yourself to Loethar now would be a grave error. Live to fight another day, and to meet Loethar as a man…that was your father’s plan.”

  Leo felt the words melt into his mind. Live to fight another day, as a man. Faris was right. He nodded, unclenched his fists. “I’m all right, Lily. Come on, Gav, we’re going to Lackmarin.”

  He reached for Faeroe and strapped it on, not bothered that it felt too large for his slim hips and still shortish stature. It made him feel like the king he had become. And when he looked up from buckling on the sword he saw everyone gathered—Gavriel, Lily, Faris and the rest of the outlaws—bowing low.

  “Valisar!” they said as they straightened, fists over their hearts.

  Gavriel read his thoughts. “It’s a start, King Leonel,” he murmured grimly.

  Twenty-Three

  Kirin stabled his horse and half-walked, half-ran toward the Dole cottage. All the way to Berch he had tried to imagine how he might start the conversation that would end in the parents handing over their son to have his head chopped off. Every time he tried to make plans he abandoned them with a mixture of fear and nausea. And still he had pressed on to Berch, knowing that however much he despised what had been asked of him, it was still the only way they might attempt to halt the slaughter of hundreds more.

  It seemed news of the terror had arrived before him. The town felt jittery and the streets seemed too quiet. He imagined how many mothers must be trying to pack up families to flee, or were packing food and sending their boys off to try their luck in the forest.

  He passed through the town and took the lonely small road that led up toward the forest. It was a bright late summertide’s day and he could hear the hum of bees near a hive not far away, and birds chittering happily in the lower woodland. Butterflies flitted among the wildflowers that grew along the road and it felt impossible that all this beauty was about to be shattered. A cottage sat alone on the fringe of the woods, as Freath had predicted, and a woman was standing outside, seemingly waiting for him.

  “I know what you’re here for,” she snarled. “You won’t find him.”

  “Mistress Dole, I’m not who you think I am. But you are right about what I’m here to discuss.”

  “I don’t care who you are. My boy is gone. So hunt him down yourself but you’re wasting your time.”

  Kirin felt as though he carried the weight of the entire Set’s despair about his shoulders. As he stood there looking at the defiant expression on the Dole woman’s face, he thought of Clovis and his daughter. He knew Clovis would never be free of the horror of that loss. If he could view Leonel in the same context then yes, any pain was worth saving the life of one child. And that was the only way he could view this now because if he thought about Tomas and the lives that still must be lost to save Leonel, he might as well lie down by the side of the road and will himself to death. Freath was right; someone had to fight for Leonel. That boy represented all the innocents of the realm and freedom from Loethar’s oppression. Tomas was their chance to staunch the bloodshed, minimize the death count.

  He rallied, pulling out the small sack of coins. Freath had been generous—perhaps used all his own resources, although Kirin privately hoped he’d stolen the money from the crown’s coffers. A family like this wouldn’t see even a quarter of the amount in the sack if they toiled all their lives. And as sick as this whole bargain was making him feel, he prayed that Lo would put the right words into his mouth to allow this mother to see that her doomed son’s death could count for something.

  He threw the sack and it landed with a heavy chink at her feet. “I have to discuss something very important with you, Mistress Dole. May I come in?”

  It was early evening but it was still light and warm. Loethar found her where she said she’d be. He’d taken the precaution of letting men know where he’d be. He looked at the seated woman and the set of her mouth told him droves. “Come on, Piven, let’s take our medicine.”

  The boy’s permanent smile did not falter. He hopped alongside him, no doubt, Loethar thought, not understanding the words, just following movement.

  “Mother,” he began. “I didn’t know you were one for appreciating a garden.”

  “I’m not and you know that, Loethar. I am a woman born and bred of the plains. Look at this, will you! What is all this for?”

  He knew her remark was rhetorical but he chose to answer it as though taking her comment seriously. Anything to hold off the inevitable confrontation. “Well, I think if you just consider its sheer beauty and the peace it can bring, you’ll understand why the people of the west cultivate them. I—”

  “Oh, stop, Loethar. I’m not here to pass the time of day with you in empty banter.”

  “Then why did you summon me, mother?”

  “I’m surprised you came, to tell the truth. Does that ridiculous child-pet have to come with you everywhere?”

  He tousled Piven’s dark hair, surprising himself with the show of affection. Giving the boy a small push, he undid the leash. Piven seemed to grasp he had some freedom and Loethar watched him wander as far as the herbs. The boy sat down, chewing some fragrant leaves, quietly humming random notes. Loethar sighed, glad that the boy was using his voice, even so tunelessly. He finally turned away from Piven and sat down to face his mother. “I’m here. What is it you wish to speak with me about?”

  “You’ve offered Valya marriage.”

  “I have.”

  “Is that wise?”

  “Strategically, yes.”

  “I don’t believe you need to do this even for strategic reasons. If you threaten her parents they’ll bend over like the plains grasses in the wind.”

  “They gave us access into the Set.”

  “Bah! What does that tell you about them?” she said, rising imperiously. “They could hardly deny you. They are weak and cowardly. At least I can respect Barronel, Dregon—they all fought with valor. You don’t have to marry their daughter to have Droste compliant.”
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br />   “I don’t want Droste compliant. I want to make it part of the Set and I gave my word it could be achieved without bloodshed.”

  She turned away, seemingly disgusted.

  “Why are you using a stick?” he asked, noticing only now the gnarled and yet beautifully fashioned walking aide she used.

  “My hips ache, if you must know,” she said turning. “I found this in the palace.” She understood his silence, adding, “We all get old sometime.”

  “You’ve always seemed rather invincible to me, mother.”

  “That Genrie woman found this for me when she noticed me limping.”

  “I recognize that timber. It’s very beautiful.”

  “I’ve never seen it before. I remarked on it. She called it weaven.”

  He nodded. “There’s not much in the palace but I have some in my chamber. That was quite thoughtful of her.”

  “Genrie? I suppose. There’s a defiance in that girl but she’s efficient.”

  “You like her?”

  “I don’t care one way or the other for her. Or any other Penravian, for that matter.”

  “Freath says I should use her as a taster. He trusts her.”

  “To do what, though?” The way she loaded her comment with derision made him smile.

  “Yes, she could poison me, but I don’t think so. The palace staff is too scared of Stracker and the tribes. They know that I am all that stands between order and a lot more heartache for the Set. In this I am their ally. Ironic, don’t you think?”

  “I still don’t think you should trust a westerner. Which is why Valya troubles me.”

  “Listen, mother, Valya needs me a lot more than I need her.”

  “Precisely! She’s like dead wood around your neck. Marry a woman from the Greens.”

  He looked at her, exasperated. “We’ve been down this road before.”

  “Marrying into the tribes only makes our hold over the Set stronger.”

  “No, it weakens it. I know you can’t see this yet, but I need to produce heirs that look western, are raised in the western way.”