King Viktor II Relindos, Defender of the People, Protector of the Realm, stubbed his toe on a chair and cursed.
He’d woken bleary-eyed, his bladder taut, and stumbled out of bed toward the privy. But apparently he’d left a chair in the middle of the floor—he did not remember doing this—and so crashed into it in the predawn gloom.
The queen rolled over in bed and murmured something in her sleep. She always slept long. Viktor woke early no matter what he did. Staying up late drinking invariably left him with headaches, but he wasn’t about to put drink aside. And on the night of the summer ball, well, a king was the greatest of men, wasn’t he? He should have a thirst to match. And he had. And now his head felt like an overripe melon.
Pissing in the privy gave him such base pleasure that it almost made the early waking worthwhile. He stumbled back to bed, lay down, and could not sleep.
When the first spots of sunlight hit the wall, he rose again and put on his dressing robe and slippers. His chief secretary had left a scrap of paper listing the day’s schedule. The Greater Council would meet, and he had a visit to the docks. The docks? He hated going to the docks, bumping the entire length of the city in a damned coach, his bones rattling the whole way. Why was he going to the docks? Oh, the Parilian ambassador was leaving. Or a new one was arriving? He couldn’t remember. He didn’t care.
Ah, but he also had a meeting with the Army Council! He’d get to see his troops in formation, drilled within an inch of their lives. He missed the martial life. Ruling was altogether too full of finance and politics. If only he could find some way to spend more time managing his army. Maybe he should attack Vasland, and lead the army himself.
None of these thoughts were new; they were his daily catechism. He quietly opened the bedroom door and went out, leaving his wife snoring happily. She had no problems sleeping, the witch.
Two guards stood in the dressing chamber, and four more, he knew, in the antechamber beyond. He was in no mood for greetings, but his tea was waiting as always, the mug perfectly warmed and wrapped in a towel. Not enough honey. He added a little more from the jar and drank, beginning to feel human again.
The morning was a parade of ritual. Washing, dressing, meeting with his secretary, breakfast with his wife and children—Edon was absent, of course; the boy was so unreliable—meeting with the castellan, meeting with the undercaptain of guards, as Captain Portio was away on some errand. Writs to sign, decisions to make, messages to consider. Lord Gessim showed up at some point and murmured reports from his spies. The man had taken well to the job of spymaster. He had eyes and ears everywhere, and his information was already more thorough and timely than Keller’s had been.
He stopped by the palace library to check in on Luka. The boy spent a few minutes regaling his father with stories of ancient battles and kings long dead. Viktor listened patiently, then patted him on the head and said he’d see him at supper.
The Army Council met in a brightly lit chamber just above the practice yard. The three knights-general in charge of the royal army stood stiffly in their formal plate and cloaks, their adjutants lurking behind them, all awaiting the king’s pleasure as he strode in. “Gentlemen, good morning,” he said, feeling cheerful for the first time that day.
“Majesty,” they said in unison. Two of them had served in the Vaslander war. The third, Sir Edvan, was younger, but a veteran of the Braenar Crags. The Black Mountains devolved into confusing, frosty hills in the east, and Vaslander raiding parties were a continuous nuisance in the Crags. Sir Edvan had distinguished himself in rooting out and hanging several Vaslander chiefs who had been making trouble.
Sir Pennian and Sir Laurence waited until Viktor settled into one of the comfortable velvet chairs before they sat. Edvan, as the most junior, both in age and experience, sat last. “Feeling well, sire?”
“Better now that I’m here,” Viktor said. “Give me the report.”
Sir Pennian coughed once, and his adjutant handed a long sheet of parchment down to him. Pennian had started to grow fat; Viktor noticed the pouchiness developing along his jaw. He spends too long at the ledgers, and not time enough in the yard. “As your majesty instructed, our garrisons in the counties of Riftwall, Warhorn, Black Dells, Cold Hills, and Braenar have sent men out on maneuvers. The garrisons in Haven, Iceford, Witchdale, Tyndam, Vannar, and Elsingham have doubled their readiness, and the fortresses in all three passes through the Black Mountains are on their highest alert.”
“While I agree with our need for readiness, sire,” Sir Laurence put in, “I must remind you of the extra cost this heightened state of activity entails. Duke Faroa of Blackwall and Duke Eltasi of Seawatch have so far borne the cost themselves, but I fear they will apply for reimbursement from the crown before long.”
“Let them,” Viktor said, flicking his hand.
Edvan scowled. “Duke Faroa cornered me the day before yesterday, sire. He made known his displeasure at being forced to bear this cost. He said that as Blackwall is a shield to the kingdom, so should the kingdom contribute toward Blackwall’s efforts.”
“I suppose he said this all somewhat more subtly,” Viktor grinned. Edvan was a trustworthy and honest young man. If Prince Edon had had wits and even a touch of his mother’s goodness, he’d have been like Edvan.
Sir Edvan nodded. “I think he hoped to sway my opinion so that I might pass his thoughts on to you, as if they were my own.” He snorted. “The man is obvious.”
“And tedious. What of Westrift and Thorncross?”
“No complaints I’ve heard, sire,” Sir Laurence said. “Duke Loram supports your majesty’s position. Duke Maximillian of Westrift has not been in Callaston for months, and has not sent any word on this matter. Few of his garrisons are affected, though, so perhaps he chose to keep quiet.”
“A wise man,” Viktor said. “I could do with more quiet dukes. Now, what of the Wardens?”
Pennian shifted uneasily. “Well… it seems Warden-Commander Ebersbach rejected eight of the last ten candidates we sent him. He seems to be growing pickier of late.”
Sir Laurence drummed his fingers on the table. “We have too many knights in this army and nowhere to put them. If Ebersbach keeps turning his nose up at our men, we will have to turn some of them out, unless more funds can be appropriated.”
Viktor sighed. “I shall speak with Ebersbach, then, and make him see reason. Although perhaps you should stop minting so many knights.”
“Yes, sire,” Pennian said, frowning. “But with the current promotion schedules, you see, and with the number of men we have, and the rate at which men leave service—”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something.” Viktor clapped his hands. “Let’s inspect the men.”
The balcony outside looked down onto the practice yard. An entire battalion of foot stood at the ready in perfect lines, helms and pikes gleaming in the sun. Their captain stood at the fore, his sergeant at his side. When Viktor appeared above, the sergeant shouted a command, and every man in the battalion snapped his pike up in unison, then spun it around to the other arm. As one, they stamped a boot when the action was completed.
Viktor applauded. “Bravo! Well trained.” The captain down below saluted sharply, and spun on his heel. The sergeant continued shouting, and after several more maneuvers, the individual lines turned and began to march from the practice yard.
“You’ve kept the men well-disciplined,” Viktor said to Sir Pennian.
“Begging your pardon, sire, but it’s Sir Edvan who’s got them all in lockstep,” Pennian said. “The men follow him. He’s a natural leader.”
This, Viktor could believe. Inspiring men was not Pennian’s strong suit, but he excelled at organization and planning. He was worth his weight in gold for insulating Viktor from the grinding tedium of ledgers and numbers.
Sir Laurence kept a weather eye on how the dukes of the realm made use of the garrisons and the soldiers stationed within. Keeping a standing army had been a genius innovation of one of Viktor’s ances
tors, a hundred years ago or more. Before that, kings of Garova had oft suffered insurrections from dukes and counts fielding their own armies. With a permanent force that owed its allegiance directly to the king, Viktor could much more easily control his dukes, who were mostly relegated to overseeing economic matters in their domains. As they should be. Dukes became dukes because their fathers were dukes. Knights became knights because they earned it. And Wardens… Viktor had never understood their particular zealotry, their desire to fuse service to the Caretaker with martial aims, subject to the army and yet separate from them. But they obeyed, and that was enough for him.
As the last soldiers departed the practice yard, Viktor’s stomach rumbled and he thought about luncheon. He came back inside to see a palace guard conferring with one of the adjutants. Then the adjutant went whispering to Sir Pennian, who blinked at him in alarm. Viktor walked over to them. “What is it?”
“Sire, uh… it seems there’s been an incident. With… Prince Edon.”
Viktor’s heart sank. Not again. “What happened?”
“It seems…” Pennian gulped, clearly not wanting to bear bad news to his liege. “He’s been attacked, sire.”
“What? Where is he? Take me to him at once!” Viktor’s voice, at least, remained undiminished by time. Men leapt to obey upon hearing it. They always had.
“He’s in his chambers, sire,” the palace guard said nervously. “I’ll take you there.”
Sir Mirlind, Viktor’s chief bodyguard, stepped out of the shadows. “His majesty knows where his son’s chambers are, idiot,” he said. He had a drooping gray moustache and chubby cheeks that made him look like a friendly uncle, but Viktor had never known a man quicker to anger.
So Edon was still in the palace. They wouldn’t have to go find him out in the woods somewhere. The boy had no fixed schedule. Some days he left at dawn to ride and hunt in the royal preserve; other days he stayed in his chambers until nightfall. Still others he spent in brothels in Callaston. He gave Viktor fits. How would the boy ever rule, when he had no discipline?
And now this. Why did Viktor always have to assume that when trouble found Edon, it was Edon’s fault? Not for the first time, he regretted the custom that the king and crown prince had no valai. Some said it was to make them self-reliant, rather than having a personal servant at hand. But a valo might have been able to keep Edon out of some trouble. Sir Thoriss was a brilliant warrior, but he could not even begin to protect Edon from himself.
Sir Mirlind led the way as they left Pennian, Laurence, and Edvan behind. Edon’s chambers were halfway around the palace. Viktor found himself huffing by the time they arrived. I’m growing as soft as Pennian. Coaches everywhere, plush carpets, servants handling your every whim. Even without a valo, he was coddled. In the field twenty years ago, his whole entourage had been two men who helped him into his armor, fetched him food, and guarded him with their lives.
His son’s chambers came into sight. Several guards milled around outside, some with swords drawn, but they hastily sheathed them when they saw who approached. One even went to his knee. Viktor was heartened when the man’s comrade slapped him over the head and told him to get up. Nobles wasted their time kneeling to kings. Servants and guards had jobs to do and no time for such nonsense.
Captain Portio, head of the palace guard, stood by the door. “His highness is inside,” he said, and pulled open the door for the king. He caught Viktor’s eye for a moment, and the king saw apprehension.
Within the antechamber, Edon sat in a plush chair, toying with a dagger. He had a huge white bandage covering his left cheek. The palace surgeon, Lord Ulin, stood next to him, tapping his fingers together nervously. He was a little man, hunched and bald, with a face like a rat. He was cordial enough, but Viktor had always thought him craven. There was one who would never face battle like a man.
The king and his son gazed at one another. “What happened?” Viktor asked after a moment.
Edon glanced up at Lord Ulin. “That is all,” he said calmly. Lord Ulin made haste to leave. “All of you, wait outside,” Edon said, eyeing the various guards.
Viktor waited as they all left. Edon looked down after a moment, and realized he was sitting while the king stood. He got up, leaving the dagger on a side table. “Father, I’m afraid I made a mistake. I brought a girl here. She went mad and attacked me.”
The king was not even remotely surprised, only dismayed by the predictability of it. Edon’s bedroom exploits were a constant source of gossip. Viktor had no problem with a young man sowing his wild oats, but with Edon it had gotten out of hand too many times. It was becoming an embarrassment, and Edon had better learn—
“She killed Sir Thoriss.”
Viktor’s eyes bulged. “Is that a joke?”
Edon shook his head. “I don’t know how, but she burned my face with a candle, and when I recovered enough to look, Thoriss was dead on the floor.” He glanced over his shoulder. “He’s still there, in fact. Ulin wanted to remove him but I thought you should see.”
Viktor frankly didn’t believe his son, so he went into Edon’s study and looked. There, face-down on the floor in a pool of blood, lay Sir Gaelan Thoriss. Blood had leaked from his ears. His sword lay on the floor next to him, clean.
Viktor was stunned. How could something like this happen? Some girl managed to kill one of the greatest knights in the land? And how? The blood from his ears spoke of a blunt strike to the head, but any such blow would have caved in his skull, or broken the skin at least. Viktor had seen enough heads crushed by maces to know that.
Edon came up behind him. “She must have surprised him when he came in.”
The king pushed past him back into the anteroom. He’d known Thoriss for decades. They’d fought together against Vasland, and old Gerhard. Thoriss had taught Viktor how to use a shield properly, as a lad. It was inconceivable that he’d died this way. Old age, perhaps. An assassin’s knife, even, or better yet defending his prince from such. But a girl, just a girl…
“You are to never bring women into the palace again,” Viktor bit out. “If you want to go whoring in the city, fine, as long as you stay quiet about it. You wouldn’t obey me on that count even if I did command you not to. But if you so much as look at a woman on the palace grounds, I will have Lord Ulin make you a eunuch, and your brother Luka will be the next king.” His rage was cold inside, and he kept it tamped down. It had served him well in battle in the past, turning him into an unstoppable whirlwind of steel and death, but now all it could do was fester.
He turned and barked at the door. “Captain Portio!”
The guard captain poked his head in. “Sire?”
“You sent your men to find this woman?”
Edon interrupted. “I took care of it, father! They will find her. You needn’t be involved.”
“If you were capable at all, I wouldn’t even have known about this,” Viktor spat coldly, and turned back to the guard captain. “Well?”
Portio nodded. “I gave them her description and told them to scour the palace, sire.”
The king sighed. There was no keeping this quiet now. Guards would gossip even if you threatened to cut off their thumbs. “You saw her yourself?”
“Ah… yes, sire. I, uh… I brought her here at his highness’s command. And her vala, and the other lord and his valo, too.” He grimaced, his eyes flickering nervously between king and prince.
Red began to creep into the edges of Viktor’s vision. A lady. He brought a noble lady here. He turned to face his son. “You sit down in that chair, and if you have moved so much as a muscle when I return, I will kill you myself.” The rage made his voice waver, made his body tremble, but he had to stay in control. He turned and stalked out the door, resolutely placing one foot before the other.
In the hall, he took Portio some distance away from the other guards. “You had better start at the beginning. To leave out any detail would be an act of surpassing foolishness.”
Portio gulped and lic
ked his lips. He glanced at the prince’s chambers and began to tell the story. The prince had commanded him to retrieve this Lady Amira and Lord Dardan. He took guards to their adjacent manses and retrieved them. He brought them to the prince’s chambers, leaving them in Sir Thoriss’s care, and later, at Thoriss’s instruction, escorted Lord Dardan and the two valai to the coachyard, where he saw them off again. Portio said that afterward he’d returned to the guard office, only to be informed that the prince had been attacked and that Sir Thoriss was dead.
“His highness commanded me to send my men out searching for the lady. Terrible, that burn on his face was. I found Lord Ulin and sent him up, and he cleaned it and bandaged it well. The prince will be scarred, though.”
The shock had worn off and Viktor found himself grimly accepting the details. His son was disfigured. Well, worse had happened to better men and they’d thrived despite it. No noble maiden would turn down a marriage into the royal house, not if she had any sense, not even if the prince were a deformed dwarf with mismatched eyes. Still, he knew it would always pain him to see the scar on his son’s face, and recall this debacle.
But what seared it into his memory was that his son had clearly tried to rape a noble lady. He vaguely remembered this Lady Amira; she’d been with Count Tarian’s son in the receiving line the night before. He only remembered because after she’d knelt, she’d stared up at them for what seemed like forever before her escort pulled her away. At the time he had assumed she’d just been stunned by all the pomp and ceremony, but why would Edon have her in particular brought to the palace the next day?
The name Estaile sounded familiar. Yes, that was it. Valmir Estaile, that clever merchant he’d granted peerage to last year. The man had done a fine job in Vasland, orchestrating some ruse to disrupt their lumber trade. It had been one of Keller Skarline’s schemes, he thought.
His late spymaster weighed on his mind. They still had no idea who’d murdered the man. Captain Portio had claimed that Skarline had ordered him to keep his men off the east ramparts that day, claiming he had no idea what Skarline was up to. Viktor had had Portio arrest a few suspects, making a show of it. They might never solve it, but they couldn’t look like they hadn’t the first clue who was responsible.
Viktor sighed. He’d missed the last several things Portio had said, and asked the man to repeat himself. He thought he detected annoyance in Portio’s eyes, but the man wouldn’t dare criticize him for it. Wouldn’t that be a nice change, if someone for once had the guts to tell me to go fuck myself? Portio finished by apologizing profusely for having been involved in this, but of course, he said, he couldn’t have disobeyed the prince.
“You didn’t think to dispatch a man to bring me this news? You know my son is impulsive and reckless. Anything he does out of the ordinary, I must know of at once. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, your majesty,” Portio said, inclining his head deeply.
“And call off your men from searching. The lady has likely fled the castle already, and may have returned home.”
“Should I return to fetch her again, sire?” Portio asked.
The king glared at him. “The last time she was fetched to the palace, she was nearly raped. I will decide what to do about her later.”
Viktor spun on his heel and strode back into Edon’s chambers, closing the door himself. Neither of them was going to enjoy this.
For once obeying his father’s command, Edon hadn’t moved from his chair. He stared sullenly at the floor. Viktor came to a halt before him. “Get up, boy.”
Edon looked up, anger and fear in his pale blue eyes. After a moment, he slowly stood, coming eye to eye with his father.
Viktor stared at his son for a moment, then slapped him so hard that he fell to the floor. “You are the greatest fool I have ever had the misfortune to meet. More’s the pity that you’re my son and I can’t have your head for this, or I would.” Fury boiled in his veins. Imprison the boy, he felt like calling out. Off with his head. He is no good son of mine. Edon glared up at him.
“Be glad I didn’t hit you on the burned cheek,” Viktor went on. “Maybe then you’d remember this and become a man worthy of a kingdom.” This was no time to go easy on him. “You will leave for our estate at Gravensford this very day, or mark me, you will live to regret it. You will stay there until I send for you, and you will not leave the grounds. There will be no ranging out to find women to fuck, and Sir Mirlind will be going along to ensure that you do not have them brought in, either. Perhaps some time to yourself will teach you the humility and discipline you so desperately need.”
He turned and left the room without hesitation, without another word. Sir Mirlind stood just outside, bouncing from foot to foot. He had no doubt heard Viktor shouting and seemed relieved to see his king unharmed. “Sire?”
“My son will be travelling to Gravensford today, at my command. You are to go with him and ensure that he gets into no trouble, especially of the female kind. Keep him penitent, but keep him safe. Sir Ilvin can take your place while you are gone.” He glanced one last time at the door, then put it behind him and went off. Sir Mirlind and several other guards followed him. “By the Caretaker, I hope this makes him more the man he needs to be. Kings cannot be coddled.”
“Indeed, sire. I will see to the arrangements. If you will excuse me.” Mirlind bowed and turned back toward Edon’s chambers.
Viktor addressed Captain Portio. “See to Sir Thoriss, and alert the Citadel that I expect a full martial funeral for him.” The Parilian nodded and turned back as well.
Viktor’s foul mood persisted all the way back to his study. When he got there his luncheon of ham and potatoes was cold, his wine warm. He could have ordered replacements, but he ate and drank anyway, wringing whatever little pleasure he could out of the meal. And he thought.
Lady Amira. Something would have to be done, but what? Summoning her back to the castle—to apologize on his son’s behalf, to warn her to remain silent about this incident—was out of the question. Viktor still wasn’t sure whether the woman had actually killed Sir Thoriss, or if Edon had lied about that as well. If she didn’t kill Thoriss, who did? Edon? Why on earth would he do that? The only thing he knew for certain was that the poor girl was probably terrified, wherever she was. Perhaps he should have Lord Gessim send someone to quietly look into it. Or perhaps he should go himself to apologize. No, he could not debase himself so, not for an unlanded lady raised barely a year since, not even if she had almost been violated. For a countess or a duchess, perhaps he might…
Ah! The queen. He could send his wife. She hardly stopped gossiping long enough to draw breath, but when the need arose she could listen well, those big brown eyes so open and comforting. She could listen to Amira’s story and apologize on her son’s behalf, and most importantly convey that this was a story that needed very badly to stay quiet. Threatening Lady Amira would not do, but perhaps Alise could play up the importance of protecting the royal family’s reputation, and by extension the royal family’s ability to rule, and the stability of the kingdom…
CHAPTER 9
KATIN
The Queen of Mages Page 11
