King (36 page)

Kien opened his eyes, blinked hard, and saw Ela enter the now-clean chamber, carrying a tray set with a bowl, a towel, and a spoon. Definitely not a dream, though she was more than beautiful enough to be a dream. Infinite, thank You!

He smiled, loving the curve of her mouth, the line of her cheek, and the way she raised those dark eyebrows at him, looking—Kien was sure—for any sign that he required some vile herbal remedy. Ugh! Inspiration for a swift recovery.

Caitria followed Ela, bearing a pitcher and clearly continuing a conversation, which sounded more like a debate. “ . . . then, just like that—upon an instant—the Infinite would forgive the worst reprobate? Or a Siymont-sort who has hated Him for a lifetime?”

“Or an Ela, a Kien, or an Akabe,” Ela agreed, placing her tray
beside Kien's pallet. “Not to mention a Caitria. We're all guilty. But He loves us as the best of fathers and seeks a way to bring us home. Think of it as a spiritual adoption.”

A spiritual adoption. Kien almost grinned at the comparison, then paused. Adoption?

While Ela and Caitria talked, Kien turned over the idea in his thoughts, picking at it. Trying to find any flaw while viewing adoption according to the Tracelands' legal codes. And . . .

Infinite? Of course! You're brilliant!

At last Caitria departed, and Ela fussed over Kien and coerced him to eat. Finished with his meal but too tired to ask for parchment and ink, Kien closed his eyes and mentally composed his letter.
Dear Father and Mother, I pray this letter finds you well. I am recovering from a skirmish. . . .
No. Don't mention the skirmish or the wounds. Not until he'd healed.

Kien frowned, feeling exhaustion take hold, blanketing his thoughts in a haze. Sleep threatened. Best to keep the letter short.
Dear parents, if you love me still, and if you persist in the notion of permanently and irrevocably restoring my legal status as your son, then adopt me!

Softly, Ela kissed him awake. “You cannot sleep yet, sir. I must tell you our news.”

For her sake, Kien opened his eyes and tried to look interested. “More good news, I hope.” There'd been too much evil news lately.

“Yes, we pray you think so.”

“We?”

Grateful for the promise of a solid night's sleep, Akabe donned a comparatively fresh robe, then ran a hand over his now-shaven jaw. Being clean for the first time in weeks eased his gloom. As did the beguiling sight of his wife, who sat on her pallet, combing her hair to gleaming smoothness. She smiled up at him. “You look much better, sir.”

He returned her smile. “But you need no improvement, lady.
Indeed, you look remarkably well for everything you've been through.”

She shrugged, seeming rueful. “I'd have been far better off if I'd listened to Ela. She was right about everything!” Caitria shivered visibly. “The way Bel-Tygeon's temple disintegrated around us . . . and what happened afterward . . .”

Suspecting she was close to tears again, Akabe sat beside Caitria and pulled her into his arms. “You didn't know Bel-Tygeon would order that girl's death.”

“Yet she'd still be alive if I'd listened to Ela—to the Infinite.” Caitria sniffled moistly and leaned against Akabe's shoulder. “I'll never forgive myself, nor will I forget Mari.”

Rocking her slightly, he murmured, “Believe me, I understand.”

Caitria straightened. Not looking at him, she said, “I still say you should set me aside.”

Her words jabbed him like verbal darts. After everything they'd been through,
why
was she bringing up this matter again? Frustrated, he held her shoulders. “Cait, look at me.” She looked him steadily in the eyes, but he felt her tremble. “As you live, tell me the truth. Do you want to be rid of me?”

“No.” Her words firm and controlled, she continued. “I love you. But setting me aside might be best for you, and for Siphra. I'm too—”

“You're my wife! Our marriage was blessed by the Infinite, and I won't release you from our vows. I refuse!” Her eyes brimmed in the lamplight, and her composed expression crumpled. Sensing victory, Akabe swept her into his embrace, kissing her. “Never bring up this notion again—I don't want to hear it. Ever. If it's the Infinite's will, when Siphra's temple is dedicated, I want you there standing beside me. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly!” She returned his kiss fervently and snuggled against him.

Akabe glimpsed a flash of gold on her slender ankle. “Where did you acquire that? I'm certain I would have remembered it.” Though he admired her feet more than the ornament.

She grimaced. “It's from the Women's Palace in Sulaanc. Ela and I were forced to wear these. All of Bel-Tygeon's women wear these anklets.”

“What!”

By the time Caitria finished answering all his questions and showing him her gold anklet—which he intended to break at once—Akabe's heart was thudding as if prepared for battle. Though he'd seen enough death for a lifetime, he wanted to kill a certain god-king.

In the kitchen's morning light, Akabe faced Siphra's most fearsome prophet as she lifted a flat round of bread from a griddle. “What of the temple? Is it against the Infinite's will for Siphra to rebuild?”

Ela slid the hot, brown-flecked round onto a dish. “I've been praying, asking that very question.” She paused and looked up at him. “No house built by mortals can contain the Infinite. Yet He will bless Siphra's work.” Tears filled her eyes, though she smiled. “Parne's sacred Books of the Infinite will be sheltered there.”

Akabe listened, her words rending his spirit, even as they offered joy. “What your Creator truly requires of you, Majesty, is that those sacred verses be found engraved in your heart and soul, as you ever seek Him in love. As you restore peace to Siphra.”

Incapable of speech, his soul crying praises to his Creator, he nodded agreement.

Forgiven.

Determined to set his Royal Council aright, Akabe flung the document onto the Munra palace's meeting table. “What do you mean you've confiscated Siymont's properties?”

“Sir,” Faine began soothingly, “Siymont was the ringleader. Barth was his informant.”

“He is six years old!
Six!
” Akabe stood, glaring at each of his lords. “I thank you for everything you've done, my lords, and I'll reward you for your loyalty, but this is wrong! Evil may walk this world, sirs, through the actions and inspirations of mortals, but I'll never follow it or commit it willingly. Instead . . .” He caught his breath, remembering his parents, his brothers, and Deeaynna's innocent little face. “I prefer to forgive and show grace, as our Creator wishes.”

Certain they were all listening, Akabe said, “I command that document destroyed and Barth's inheritance restored. When you've done so, then order Master Croleut to bring the boy to court again—I want to speak with Barth. Find Thaenfall as well, and Ruestock. I intend to settle matters now, so we can rebuild our temple in peace.”

Trillcliff, Piton, and the others shifted. Faine coughed. “Yes, Majesty.”

 36 

T
hough all his stitches burned and pulled enough to make him grit his teeth, Kien managed to keep his seat on Scythe while he rode into Aeyrievale with Ela and their guards. It helped that the black monster-horse moved cautiously, as if realizing Kien might truly unravel.

Riding before them in the cushioned chariot Kien had just abandoned, Ela called over her shoulder, “Will riding beneath the gates be too much for you?”

“No.” Kien hoped it was the truth. It wouldn't do to enter his fief yelling in pain. Controlling himself, he looked around. Aeyrievale in summer's glory proved a good distraction. As did the celebratory greetings from his tenants. Doubtless they were grateful he'd lived—the mining operations would continue uninterrupted, providing sapphires to adorn the Infinite's temple. The realization made Kien grin.

Waving at Naor, who bellowed a pledge to visit, Kien turned Scythe onto the broad stone track cut into the gray cliff. Inwardly, he cringed each time he ducked to allow Scythe through this series of gated arches. By the time they reached the manor that crowned the cliff above, he was sweating. Inside the main courtyard, Kien ordered Scythe to kneel, then edged gingerly off his back. “Home!”

Kien exhaled his relief. Until he saw the welcoming committee.

Bryce and Prill rushed toward Ela and Kien, exultant. Followed by Lorteus, the royal fightmaster. An unpleasant grin widened in Lorteus' battered face, and his voice grated harsh in Kien's ears. “Welcome, sir! I've been sent ahead by order of our king to direct your recovery—seeing's how you nearly died by failing to heed my lessons. Good of his majesty, isn't it?”

Oh yes. Killing good. Kien rested a hand on the Azurnite sword—just in case—and he managed to look stern. “Fine. But not now, Lorteus!”

“Of course not, sir,” Lorteus agreed flatly. “Tonight, I clean the weapons. At dawn, I'll fetch you for work—to overcome your failure. Be ready.”

As Ela linked her arm in his, Kien hissed, “He's going to kill me!”

“Hmm.” Ela smiled and hugged him while they crossed the courtyard. “
We
think he's already done some good, sir. You're walking faster now.”

Kien bit down a smile—which Ela undoubtedly saw—and he grumbled, “It's a sad thing when my own family sides with my tormentor!” Before he'd limped into the manor's doorway, Kien had fully composed a letter of protest to Akabe, with mock-promises of revenge.

“Majesty.” Master Croleut's mannerly tone permeated Akabe's private study. “Lord Siymont has arrived, with his mother.”

Akabe nodded at the portly tutor. “Thank you, Master Croleut. Show them in.” Akabe exhaled quietly, covered his ink jar and returned his pen to its gilded tray. His formal complaint to Bel-Tygeon could wait. Akabe turned his chair but remained seated, determined not to intimidate Siphra's youngest lord, or his mother.

Barth sidled into the study, neatly clothed and combed, but sadly downcast as if he'd been asked to carry the entire world on his small shoulders. A sensation Akabe remembered all too
well after his family's deaths. A dark-clad noblewoman followed Barth, her face haggard with obvious melancholy and muted resentment. Had Lady Siymont known of her husband's plans? No proof had been found, yet Akabe wouldn't be surprised. He cleared his throat. “Sir. Come here.”

After a wary glance at his mother, Barth crossed the study slowly, staring at Akabe as if doubting what he saw. A few paces off from Akabe, the boy halted and bowed. His tone fearful, he whispered, “Majesty.” He straightened and swallowed hard.

Akabe held out a hand. “I've been worried about you, Barth—I'm glad to see you.”

“Sir.” Barth accepted the handshake. “I'm glad to see you too.” As if hesitant to mention the subject, the boy looked down at the tiled floor. “I was afraid you were dead.”

“I'm not.”

“They said my lord-father tried to kill you, but he died instead.”

Akabe could just imagine who
they
were. Wretched gossiping courtiers! “And how did you feel about that, sir?”

The boy's face puckered. He looked down again, shaking his head. And he sniffled.

Beyond enduring, that sniffle. Akabe looped an arm around the little lord's shoulders in a fierce hug, but the consolation failed. Barth sobbed into Akabe's shoulder. Loudly—all his heartbreak mingled with those sobs. Near the door, his mother stared, then burst into tears. Akabe mourned with them. If nothing else, he prayed for Barth to regain his spirit and, hopefully, learn to trust the Infinite.

At last, Akabe shook the boy kindly. “Barth, whatever anyone's said, you're not to be blamed—believe me! And if you ever wish to speak of your lord-father, I'll listen. As long as you don't neglect your lessons with Master Croleut.”

“But they said I couldn't stay here.”

“I say you can. And whenever
they
say something that concerns you, my lord, you come talk to me—I command it.”

Barth sniffled again and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Yes, sir.”

Later, Akabe resolved, they'd discuss wiping noses on sleeves while ladies were present.

To Lady Siymont, Akabe said, “The Infinite requires that I forgive you as He forgives—completely and with perfect mercy. For your son's sake and for Siphra's, lady, I request peace.”

Lady Siymont straightened, wiping her tears. “It may not be a perfect peace, Majesty. Yet we'll attempt it.”

“Thank you.” Akabe mussed Barth's hair, provoking a gap-toothed smile from the little boy. Reassuring.

And Lady Siymont's hostility had faded somewhat. Perhaps work on the Infinite's Holy House could proceed undisturbed.

Infinite, I beg You, let it be so!

Wearing crimson robes and a gem-studded tiara—and protected by her guards—Caitria eyed Ruestock as he entered the reception room. The elegant lord approached, clad in rich green robes and gold rings, his dark hair sleeked back beneath a gold circlet, his arrogant face showing a mocking half-smile. Obviously the meddlesome nobleman was gloating at the sight of her as queen and congratulating himself on the success of his own schemes.

Caitria winced inwardly, wishing for the thousandth time that he couldn't claim kinship with her.

Ruestock bowed, his glance caressing and admiring her inappropriately, even now. “Majesty, you surpass every ideal as our queen.”

Remembering Akabe's counsel following his visit with Lady Siymont and Barth, Caitria forced herself to remain pleasant. “Lord Ruestock, if you seek a place in my husband's court, we must be honest. I loathe flattery, so please restrain yourself.”

He smiled. “I will try, Majesty. But it is no flattery to tell you how delighted I was to receive your summons. In whatever you command, I am your most humble servant.”

Oh, no doubt—until she interfered with his ambition. To honor the Infinite and her husband, Caitria bit down her sarcastic impulses. “Thank you. My request is simple. We know you have ties to the Ateans. Persuade them, for the sake of Siphra and for the many lives already lost, that we must have peace.”

His smile vanished. Eyes cooling, he asked, “Do you expect me to neutralize their presence entirely?”

“We don't believe that all will be persuaded, no. But isn't the Atean leadership now greatly diminished and in turmoil?”

A bit of admiration crept into his face and tone. “Majesty, you surprise me. Queen for only a few months and you have recruited spies.”

“Yes.” Through Barth and Lady Siymont, whom she intended to protect. “Which is how I also know you didn't take part in the plot against my lord-husband.” Curious, she asked, “Why didn't you? I thought you loathed the king.”

She saw the conflict play out over his face. Wariness, discomfort, even a trace of amusement. Now, as serious as she'd ever seen him, Ruestock said, “Let us say that I have had dealings with the Infinite, and given the prophet's warning, I've no wish to provoke Him. It seems He protects the king and I bow to His Divine might, though I prefer to continue our family's traditional worship without . . .” Ruestock chose his next words carefully, “ . . . priestly restrictions.”

Our family's traditional worship? Ha. He'd experienced the Infinite's might firsthand and still wished to flirt with the mortal-created Atea? “That choice is yours. He waits for you, sir, if you ever change your mind, and He is concerned for you. I speak from my own experience.”

“Yes, well . . . Suffice it to say, Majesty, if it pleases you to do so, then who am I to argue?” He bowed again, then threw her a smirk. “Above all, consider me your servant. I will speak to those you have mentioned and sway them to the best of my meager powers.”

For some reward to be collected at a later date? Caitria sighed
and dismissed him. “Thank you, my lord. I'll trouble you no further.”

Ruestock departed, and Caitria's father sent in word that he'd arrived. Heart pounding, unable to believe they'd found him alive, she nodded to the servant, who immediately escorted Cyan Thaenfall inside.

Caitria lifted her chin, trying to remain calm. Her father paused, looked her up and down, eyed the guards, then approached, his gold-edged green robes lifting with his swift pace. Did she imagine these past few months had aged him? He looked thinner, with more silver hair at his temples. Yet nothing could touch his ever-present Thaenfall arrogance and that chilly composure. An arm's length away, he halted, hesitated, then bowed with fluid elegance.

For an instant, she considered removing her tiara, then squelched the notion. “Sir.”

“Majesty.” And he smiled, with pride, not warmth. “You look a proper queen.”

“I'm glad you're pleased, sir. And I'm glad you're safe.” Her throat dried. She swallowed and forced herself to continue. “You have no clue what your ambition has done.”

Father's eyes narrowed. “Is he setting you aside?”

“No, sir. We love each other.”

“Then why have you summoned me—guarded as if I'm some felon?”