King's Folly

by Jill Williamson

  “I always believe her,” the old man said.

  “Wymer,” Onika said, “this is Kalenek Veroth and his backman, Novan Heln.”

  “How do, Misters? Fancy a float across the Upper Sister, do ya? Bring your beasts back.”

  Kal and Novan led the camels after Wymer to the dock. Gulls soared overhead. The wind was cool and fresh. Kal glanced over the edge of the dock to where the reddish water rushed up the sandy bank, spread thin, and sizzled as the foam sank into the sand. The grasses around the lake were yellow and shriveled. Kal didn’t relish the idea of riding over poisoned waves.

  The barge was twenty paces long with rails along both sides. It had a small wooden barn in the center and rows of wooden crates on either end. Kal was glad to see water and other provisions already stocked. They loaded both camels into the barn, Kal’s beast groaning and straining the entire time while Novan’s pranced on as though he rode a barge every day. Both were shackled to keep them still while on the water.

  “We ready to go?” Kal asked once the job was finished.

  “Soon as my watermen show,” Wymer said. “Takes four to push this load.”

  Kal left Novan and Grayson in the barn and found Onika sitting with her dune cat on a wooden crate at the bow of the barge. Kal sat down away from her, in the far left corner, pondering her prophecy and trying not to think about her strange beauty.

  A few minutes later, four men boarded. They wore long-sleeved tunics and gloves to protect themselves from any splash from the poison water. Wymer came out of the barn and greeted them. The men picked up longpoles from the floor along the rails, and Wymer untied the barge from the dock. At the captain’s word, the men pushed off. Once they were floating lazily away from the dock, two of the men went around to the other side. All four spaced themselves out like wheels on a cart, put their longpoles over the rail, and began pushing.

  “Is it this shallow all across?” Kal asked as Wymer joined him at the front.

  “Nope. They’ll switch to sweeps when it gets deep.”

  They slowly picked up speed, and the city of Lifton came into view around the jetty wall. Hundreds of piers and docks branched out over the surface of the lake. Boats, barges, and reamskiffs sat tied to them, waiting for someone to take them on a voyage. Most of the boats were wood—Magonia had several huge forests in the south, which provided a sizable logging industry. But this close to Rurekau and Tenma, many of the boats were poured stone, which came from a special white sand only found around volcanoes. It produced a substance much lighter than concrete or bricks and was used for wagons, boats, and Rurekau’s famous stoneclad warships.

  Kal was thankful they had bypassed Lifton. It was a better city than Hebron, but trouble dwelled in cities. Kal was glad to have avoided it.

  Novan exited the barn and joined Kal, leaning on the side rail and gazing out at the water. “I can’t get over how big it is,” he said. “It’s like the Eversea without the waves.”

  “It has some.” Kal looked over the side at the waves that curled and broke against the side of the barge. “They’re just not as big.”

  “It smells like rain instead of salt water.”

  “I do like the smell,” Kal said. “Pity we can’t swim in it.”

  The farther they drifted, the smaller Lifton became. By sunset there was nothing to see but water and sky in every direction.

  That night, the watermen took shifts to sleep so that two could continue rowing. Novan volunteered to take a shift.

  “Many thanks, Master Heln,” Wymer said, “but my passengers should rest and enjoy the journey.”

  Kal liked Novan, but sometimes the boy was a little too good. Novan left Wymer and approached where Onika sat, her dune cat curled in a ball at her feet.

  “So, what’s the cat’s name?” Novan asked.

  She jumped a little, glassy eyes staring into nothing. “Rustian.”

  “How did you train a dune cat?”

  She lifted her chin and turned her face in Novan’s general direction. “I didn’t. He’s always been with me.”

  “Someone must have trained him,” Novan said. “Sand cats are wild. I had a friend who got attacked by one once. Stepped on a den of kits.”

  “Any mother would attack someone who stepped on her babies.”

  “I suppose. Does it bother you to speak Kinsman?”

  “It is Jhorn’s language and therefore my first choice. We rarely speak Tennish.”

  “Oh.” A pause. “Can I pet him?”

  “You’ll have to ask him. I’m not his master.”

  Novan squatted at Onika’s feet and reached out. “Mind if I pet you, Rustian?”

  He must have succeeded, because Kal could hear the great cat purring all the way across the bow. Onika and Novan laughed, and the scene looked to Kal like the makings of a happily forever. Jealousy twisted his stomach into a stone, which only made him angry. He was a fool to waste soft thoughts on the prophet woman. He rolled over and desperately sought sleep.

  Kal woke with a jolt, still smelling the reek of blood from battle, dagger in hand, uncertain where he was. The rhythmic glub of sweeps in water brought him back. The barge. He was in Magonia. At least he hadn’t screamed when he woke.

  “Is your sleep troubled often?”

  At Onika’s voice, Kal started and sat up, which made his head spin. It was pitch black. He sheathed his dagger. “How do the watermen know where they’re going?”

  “The Kaptar watchtower is lit,” she said. “They simply follow the light.”

  Kal scanned the darkness until he saw what she meant. A small yellow flame burned in the distance, no bigger than a spark from where they sailed. “How did you know it was there?”

  “Grayson told me.”

  Silence stretched between them, and Kal had the sudden urge to please this woman, to earn her favor. “Miss Onika, I’m sorry I grabbed you earlier.”

  “You’re a broken man, Kalenek Veroth. Until you heal you’ll continue to risk hurting others. Arman warns you by weakening the source of your violence, but you press on to do the will of hatred. You must submit to him in order to be free.”

  Kal had no response to that.

  “You should speak with Jhorn about the war,” Onika said. “Many soldiers survived with physical wounds that healed, but they never knew to heal the wounds inside. Jhorn learned to do both.”

  Kal’s heart pinched. Any other time he would have ended this conversation, but the darkness hid his fear of the subject. “How can anyone heal a wound inside?”

  “I know not. You’ll have to ask Jhorn.”

  “And will I learn?” He felt bad the moment he put her to the test, as if she were a possession to perform on demand.

  “Someday. But not for a very long time.”

  Kal squeezed his right hand into a fist, testing the feeling there. “We’ll see.”

  Inolah

  Empress Inolah stood with the maidservant in the dark passage. The only light came from the woman’s candle and a thin slot on the wall to her left.

  “See the latch, Empress?” the maidservant asked, resting her fingers on a wooden knob that protruded from the skeleton of the wall. “Pull down to open the door. Pull up to close it again.” Her fingers moved to the slot. “Always look before entering.”

  Inolah peered through the slot. The room was vast and bright. A dark shape jerked across the windows. Up, down, up, down.

  Ferro, jumping on the bed.

  Inolah’s heart leapt. “I see Ferro.” She placed her hand on her pregnant belly, remembering when she had carried her second son. Eight years had gone too quickly. She hoped that this next child would always know freedom.

  The maidservant pulled down on the latch. Something in the wall clicked, and a door popped open. “You must hurry.”

  “I shall.” Inolah slipped into the room. “Ferro.”

  “Mama!” Ferro leapt off the bed and ran to her. She swept him up and sat on the edge of the bed, nuzzling her cheek against his. He
was a sturdy boy with big brown eyes and a shaved head. A new henna tracing—a crown of interlocking squares—had smeared just above his left ear. She smiled and kissed the smear.

  “Mother.”

  Her eyes lifted at the sound of Ulrik’s voice. Her eldest son stood beside a large desk, one hand gripping the back of the chair. Ulrik was sixteen. He had a new tracing as well. A cheyvah tail circled his shaved head and ended with the thick black spike tip ringing one eye. Her breath caught to see it. Every day he looked more like his father, the emperor.

  “It’s not safe,” Ulrik said. “If Father finds you here . . .”

  “I don’t want to sleep in this room,” Ferro whined. “I want my old room.”

  “I know, dearest.” Inolah wanted to promise that he could go back soon, but her husband, the emperor of Rurekau itself, had grown far too unpredictable. She had no idea what he might do if he found out she had defied him in speaking to her boys.

  She set Ferro down beside her. “Go back to jumping, Ferro. Mama needs to talk to Ulrik.”

  Ferro leapt to the bed without need for convincing.

  Inolah hurried to Ulrik’s side. “There is little time,” she said softly so that Ferro wouldn’t hear.

  “He will find us, Mother,” Ulrik said. “And kill us.”

  “It is your constitutional right to leave. He has broken too many laws.”

  Ulrik sank onto the chair, his expression troubled. “He would never forgive me. I would lose my place as his heir.”

  “If you remain here, you will die. Ferro and Vallah too.” Or the boys might become just like him, and Vallah nothing but a pawn in his quest to dominate the Five Realms.

  Ulrik nodded. “When will we leave?”

  “Tonight. I will come just after night bells.”

  “Dinner with Father. That’s the last time we’ll see him?” Ulrik asked.

  “I’m afraid so,” Inolah said. “Do not tell Ferro. He won’t be able to keep a secret.”

  That made Ulrik smile. “You can count on me, Mother. I shall take care of things.”

  “I love you, Ulrik. Until tonight.” She kissed him on the cheek, caught Ferro for one more squeeze and kiss, then slipped back into the passage.

  Inolah laid Vallah’s folded dresses on top of the packed food to hide the provisions. That was the last of it. Two hours more until night bells rang. She wished she and her children were already in Jeruka, boarding the ship to Everton.

  The door to her room burst open. Her husband, Emperor Nazer, stormed inside. He was bare chested as always, his muscles covered in henna tracings and gold chains. The tracing on his head dripped down over both eyes, making them dark and daunting.

  Inolah stood and curtsied deeply. “Your Eminence.”

  He slapped her so hard she stumbled, just managing to catch herself on the bed. He grabbed her braids in his fist and tugged. “You saw the boys? How?”

  Had the maidservant told? “You have no right to keep them from me.”

  “I have every right. You have poisoned them against me for the last time. Bring her.”

  A guard entered the room, holding Vallah in his arms.

  “Mama!” The six-year-old reached for Inolah, arms outstretched.

  Inolah stood, heart heaving in her chest. “Nazer, she’s your child.”

  “A female. Good only for a marriage trade. And I’ve made one. She leaves in the morning. Blame yourself.”

  The shock produced instant tears. “You wouldn’t. She is too young.”

  “Ferro said he saw you today. Tell me how you did this and I will reconsider the trade.”

  And just like that, he won. “There is a passageway in the walls. I entered through Mikreh’s shrine.” She kept secret the doorways into her room and the library. Perhaps they could still escape.

  “Find the door in Prince Ulrik’s room and seal it,” Nazer commanded the guards. “Move him and Prince Ferro to my chambers for the time being. Two guards remain in this room at all times—with eyes on the empress. She will remain here. Receive no visitors. No messages.” He lowered his voice and glared down on Inolah. “Try to see my sons again without permission and your nurse dies.”

  “You go too far,” Inolah rasped. “Against the Rurekan constitution, against the treaties with Armania and the mother realms.”

  “I no longer need treaties.” He drew his fingers hard down her cheek and gripped her throat. “Why must you continually defy me?” He squeezed. “Don’t think I won’t kill you . . . once you deliver my son.” He palmed her belly with his other hand.

  Inolah struggled to breathe. “My father would wage war against you.”

  “The fool would never know.”

  “Mother would miss my letters.” Nazer squeezed harder. Dizziness wrapped Inolah in a flash of darkness.

  “Letters can be forged. No one will miss you.” Nazer shoved her to the floor and stepped over her as he left the room, taking Vallah with him.

  Inolah curled into a ball on the scratchy rug and listened to Vallah’s screams fade away. She remained until she had cried out all her tears. The emptiness left only anger and determination in its place. Arman would not look lightly on such evil. Inolah must find a way to escape with her children before Nazer ruined them all.

  Trevn

  Trevn was late. He ran through the castle with Cadoc and Hinck close behind. Mielle had requested he meet her in the market square before their visit to Cape Waldemar. Apparently she had errands. He continually forgot she was employed.

  Trevn darted around the corner to the grand staircase and collided with a woman. Knocked her to the floor. Something small skidded past his foot and clacked against the wall. “Sorry!” he yelled, scrambling to his knees. Hinck descended on the victim, so Trevn found the object she had dropped and picked it up. A stone, etched with runes. His heart panged. The same runes the Honored Lady Lebetta had drawn before dying.

  “Let go of me, you oaf!” a woman yelled. Eudora. One of Trevn’s first cousins.

  “Forgive me, lady.” Hinck stepped back but kept his lovesick gaze on Eudora. The weak-kneed feather heart, anyway.

  Eudora smoothed her skirt and curtsied shortly to Trevn, all the while scowling. “You really should slow down, Your Highness.”

  “Apologies, cousin.” Trevn held up the stone. “I believe this is yours. What is it?”

  She snatched it back. “Just a luck charm to ward off evil. Please excuse me.” She curtsied again and stalked away.

  A luck charm? Trevn supposed that Lady Lebetta might have drawn such a mark as she lay dying. Halfway down the hall, Eudora looked back and then increased her speed. He heard his mother in his head: “The guilty man runs.”

  “She’s hiding something,” Trevn said. “Follow her, Hinck. See where she goes.”

  Trevn and Mielle left Cadoc at the carriage with the driver and walked to the edge of Cape Street, which was now on a bluff overlooking the Eversea. They stood side by side and studied the damage. On their left, the remnants of a stone foundation stuck out of the ground. On the right, the circular imprint of what had once been a basement cistern. Below, nothing but waves crashing against rocky cliffs. No sign of any rubble.

  “It’s really gone,” Mielle said. “It’s strange to think of my old house at the bottom of the sea.” She took hold of Trevn’s hand, making his whole arm tingle. “Perhaps the fish are enjoying my old bedroom.”

  “What might they see inside?”

  “A mural of the First Story covered the wall opposite the bed. I used to lie under the covers and imagine I was there when Arman became Nesher and created the land. There was an image of Nesher perched on Tenma’s arm. She was gazing at the sunbird with an intense expression. I always wondered if she was sad that her husband was going away. The next pane showed the sunbird flying above the sea. In another he’d spread his wings and was gliding over the water. Then one where he’d landed. Cactus and flowers were sprouting from his wings. The whole story was there. How Rurek and Sarik grew fr
om the land. The people tree. It was beautiful.” She tugged his hand. “Let’s go down there.”

  “We can’t. A boat that close to the cliffs would be dashed against the rocks.”

  “Not exactly there. Down to the beach. Where my rope is.”

  Trevn agreed, happy for any excuse to spend more time with Mielle.

  They were headed back to the carriage, arm in arm, when a woman screamed. “My boy! Someone help me, please! He took my boy!”

  Trevn scanned the area until he caught sight of the woman, standing on the edge of the street beside a wool merchant, pointing up the coast. In the distance a man dodged through the crowd, a small child thrown over one shoulder.

  “Ask the driver to call the watch,” Trevn told Mielle. “Cadoc, with me!” He sprinted after the man. Passed by shops, taverns, and into the bedlam of noise and people that was the market, then out into a dank alley where all was dim. The tall buildings with their overhanging roofs blocked out the light of day and enhanced the senses. Trevn’s boots slapped over muddy ground and rotten food. Where the market had smelled pleasant, the alley stank like a pig’s trough. He had entered the seedy underbelly of Everton’s Sink. Hives of criminals hiding from the arm of the king. His father would send all these people to Barthos without a second thought.

  Trevn rounded a sharp corner and slipped in a puddle of mud, going down hard. Five Woes, how disgusting.

  He pushed himself up and looked after his quarry. The alleyway ended in nothing but blue sky. He approached the end and stopped at a cliff overlooking the Echo Crack. Trevn peered over the ledge and caught sight of the kidnapper. He was walking a narrow path that led to a river hole in the cliff wall.

  “Your Highness, wait.” Cadoc stopped beside him, looked over the edge himself. “He could have a band of outlaws in there.”

  True.

  “There is another way,” Mielle said.

  Trevn spun around, livid that she had followed. “You were meant to remain with the carriage.” He winced inwardly at the authoritative sound of his own voice.

  Mielle raised her eyebrows. “Was I? I grew up here, don’t forget. I know this place better than you both put together.”