King Callie: Callie's Saga, Book One (10 page)

“I watched her – yesterday, at a distance. She had left Porthan with me while she went to talk to Garet, the fabric merchant… And I wouldn’t have, but she was acting so strange.” Ibhaen looked up, into his eyes, with puzzlement. “She always brings me with her, and lets me haggle. Instead, she sent me to fetch meat from the butcher.”

“Surely you’ve done that before,” Kells said, “That doesn’t seem strange.”

“She wanted to be rid of me,” Ibhaen said, insistent. “I could tell. She didn’t have a good explanation. And she was worried when I told her I wouldn’t. So I gave the silver to Porthan, and sent him to the butcher… and I followed them back to his house.”

Displeasure crossed Kells’ face; he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what came next. “Ibhaen,” he said, stern, “What did you hope to gain by spying on your mother?”

“She doesn’t love you,” Ibhaen blurted out, defiant. “It’s true.”

Kells immediately felt ill at ease –
the first roar in a bear’s cave
, his father used to say at times like that. He didn’t want to believe her. But something deep inside him wanted to be sure. “Why would you think that?” he asked.

“Because I saw her with Garet,” Ibhaen said. “And they talk, and they whisper to each other. And then she laughs, and she leans into him. And when I saw them, they were holding each other like you do, and-”

Kells clenched his jaw, and prayed she wasn’t about to say what he expected. Ibhaen saw it. “You don’t believe me,” she protested. “Why should I tell you?”

“Tell me what you saw,” he said, as his temper grew. “If you left your brother behind, you’d better have a damn good reason.”

“She kissed him!” Ibhaen said, angry; her eyes all but welling up with tears. “I saw it, through the windows. He had his hand under her dress, and they were kissing, and – and I ran away, and I left Porthan, and I’m sorry! I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment.”

Kells was speechless; he’d known it. Deep inside, he’d even expected it. That was the worst part – seeing her as often as he did, trying to build a family with her, and thinking that someday, she’d realize he couldn’t be what she wanted. She was still young – she was sixteen when Ibhaen was born, eleven years before, and eighteen when Porthan came – and part of him worried, silly as it was, that being six years her senior was six years too many.

“No,” Kells said, as he brought his daughter close, for a hug. “You could never disappoint me.” He knew the truth of it: Ostre hadn’t disappointed him. She’d met his deepest expectations.

He was the one who’d disappointed her.

CHAPTER
SIXTEEN

Something about Kells’ words had raised Marrol’s suspicions; he couldn’t explain why, but as he walked along the eastern parapet on that windy day, his feet tracing a well-worn path, he knew it in his bones. Kells was lying about the Prince’s death… and he was protecting something, or someone.
I shouldn’t have trusted him to interrogate Royth
, Marrol thought.
They may be thick as thieves.
But Marrol had gone through the list of men who went to the Freelands with Valric and Kells, and found all of them loyal, and silent. All, except one; the only one he had not asked yet.

Marrol found him lingering on the battlements, and blankly staring out at the vast forest to the east of Castle Claine. Only Yom knew what was on the man’s mind, but the blank stare was disconcerting. “Callder,” Marrol said, firmly, his voice snapping in the air; the man jumped up, shocked. The fright animated his tall frame, and in an instant, he stood at his full height, ready for inspection. A scarecrow in armor.

“Minister Marrol,” the guard said, nervous. “I didn’t know you were, um, makin’ rounds.”

“At ease,” Marrol replied, already dissatisfied.
A man like this is defending the castle?
He wondered.
Yom preserve us.
“You were with Kells and Prince Valric several days ago, were you not?” Marrol said, leaning towards Callder, his voice lower. There was another guard, farther down the battlements, and Marrol wanted to be certain that man heard nothing.

Callder nodded. “Aye,” he said. “I was there. Valric was a brave man, he was. Giving his life to keep us safe and all.” Marrol frowned, and moved a hand to his belt - allowing it to upon his purse.

“But that’s not the truth, is it?” Marrol said, staring Callder down. The man looked more nervous, and Marrol knew, that at last, he had his man.

“It is,” Callder replied, his voice jittery and inconsistent. “Valric saved us. Swear on my life.” Marrol drew a small number of coins from his purse - three months’ salary for a guard - and held them out.

“Tell me what really happened,” Marrol replied. “Because we both knew what the Prince was like.” Callder’s wide, wary eyes darted down to the glimmering silver, and back up to Marrol’s.

“I will,” Callder said, with great hesitation, “But… it’s worth more than that.” Marrol grimaced, and dug another handful out. He held out a discreet hand, which had gold among the silver; the total was half a year’s salary. A pittance for the Minister of War; a bargain for the truth. Callder’s eyes lit up, and he reached for the coins.

Marrol pulled them back, and balled his hand into a fist. “First, the truth,” Marrol replied; Callder nodded.

“There was a child pickin’ the flowers that Valric was after,” Callder said, “He drew steel on ‘im, and cut the boy’s throat. The Erimeni would’ve killed us to the last, but Kells talked them into a… a… called it a ‘blood duel’, I think. Him and Valric.” Callder glanced around.

That raised Marrol’s eyebrows.
So they dueled, and Kells won
, he thought. “Go on,” Marrol said.

“Valric had ‘im, but Kells… he’s not bad for an old devil. Better hand with their curved swords, too. He killed the Prince, and we went free.”

Marrol’s eyebrows dipped. “If they dueled, why didn’t he let the Prince win?” Marrol asked. “It was his job to protect Valric.”
Even if the little bastard tried to kill a child for a useless flower, it was Kells’ job to lay down his life.

“Said he killed him because he drew steel on children - almost started war with th’ Erimeni.” Callder replied, holding out his hand. “Swore us to secrecy, an’ made us say Valric died a hero, because Kells didn’t want the King thinkin’ his boy died for nothin’.”

“Thank you for your honesty,” Marrol said, as he dropped the coins into the guard’s hands.
Money well spent
, he thought, as he walked away from the conversation, the wind whipping through his hair.
The only question is how, and when, to use this.

CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN

Kells was afraid to mention it, in the morning; while they lay together, in the same bed, covered by a blue canopy, light beginning to filter through it. He barely knew how to broach it with her. He knew there were better ways, more delicate ways. Fenwyn, if he’d asked, would know; men like him always did. Some of them, it was as if they were born with a woman’s soul. Ibhaen would’ve been furious that her mother hadn’t been confronted, but the truth was fragile. Kells had to deal with it accordingly.

“Wildflower,” he said, using her pet name with great concern, “You need to stop doing this.”

“What?” she asked, innocently.

“Garet,” he said. “Ibhaen saw you together. You asked me to find out why she’s mad… and if it was the first time you’d done this, I think I’d be more surprised.”

She backed up, and snatched the covers away in a single motion, covering herself. Her face was blushing red, and her eyes were wide with horror. “Yom almighty,” she muttered, before she began to plead with him. “It was just a kiss. I swear. There was nothing else. Kells, please, believe me.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Kells replied. “I know I’m a difficult man to love, but –” But he knew her wandering eye. He knew her manner. And he wasn’t able to be the kind of man that kept her entranced.

“You’re a great man to love,” Ostre said, desperate, “You’re loyal, and kind, and it was just once. I meant nothing by it. I flirted with him to get him to lower the price, and he kissed me, and -”

“You have children,” he said, pleading to her morality. “For them, please, contain your behavior –“

“Just because I’ve had children doesn’t mean I cease to be a woman with desires, with wants, with lust in her heart!” she said, louder. “And you – all you do is contain. Everything about you, you close off…Have you ever tried to love a locked door, Kells? I have.” She paused, and turned to face him, with tears in her eyes. “Eleven years, I’ve given you my love… and I know I won’t always see it returned, but I don’t wither for lack of trying.”

“I built those walls and locked those doors to keep you safe,” Kells said, plainly. “I thought if I had this house… this family… this life,” he said, “That I would grow to love it. And that it would be easier to keep that part of me separate. But part of me… part of me wants to leave this behind. To take our children, and… just leave our life.”

“Why?” Ostre asked, puzzled. “That doesn’t make sense. Ever since I met you, you’ve wanted this.”

“I wanted this because I thought I wanted it,” Kells said. “My father wanted it for me, and my mother wanted me to have roots somewhere… and in the end, I’m just like him.”

“A nomad?” Ostre asked. “No, you’re not one of them. You’re the captain of the castle guard.”

“My children need a father,” he said. “What can I give them? I try to be a good, steady man, but in the end… we’re the same, I think. We’re trying to be who we aren’t. If our children knew what we’d done, could we still be the kind of parents they deserve?”

She was silent, for a time. “We should try,” she said. “We have to. We owe it to them.”

Kells shook his head. “Promise you won’t see him again,” Kells said. “I’ll… I’ll try to be…”

“Don’t,” she said, finally. “You can’t be that, any more than I could. Please don’t ask me to do the same.”

He didn’t know why the words spilled from his mouth, then. “The Prince didn’t die… as we told them,” he said. “I lied to the King, to the family... he tried to kill children for a flower that he thought would cure the king, and the Erimeni almost took our lives for it.”

“Yom’s teeth,” Ostre muttered. “But… you’re alive… and” She looked at him, and Kells knew, from the way she saw the guilt on his face, that the truth was evident. Her jaw dropped. “No,” she said, shocked. “
No
.”

Kells nodded. “We dueled, and I bested him.” he said, as Ostre cupped hands over her mouth, in horror. “There was no other way. Five men walked out of that camp, alive, because of me.”

“Kells, you can’t ever tell them,” she said. “You’ll be hung before the day’s out.”

“I had no choice,” Kells said. “Either he died, or we all died. But I’ll take that secret to my grave.”

Kells sighed, and rolled himself to the edge of the bed. He stepped onto the carpet, and walked to the dresser, where he kept his shirts, his pants; his armor was set on a stand, in the corner of the room, beneath his mother’s family crest – the one adopted by his father, as they tried to settle down. To make a life in Barra. His fingers absent-mindedly trailed over his chest-plate, tracing dents from long-forgotten battles; in the silence, he found a simple white shirt, and pulled on his pants. Ostre, still clutching the blankets, said nothing.

“We could get a divorce,” Ostre said, at last; her words had the weight of a cannonball. “You’re the Captain of the Guard. The King favors you, and he’s not dead yet.”

It was a time before Kells could respond. He’d thought of it, but dismissed it; the possibility was remote. But the words had laid him out, and sucked the air from his lungs like a blow just below the ribs.
Divorce?

“He’s not long for the world,” Kells replied, when he recovered. “The next King could just undo it. In either case, the Arch-Priest has to approve it, and he won’t.” Divorce was only allowed, as he recalled, in situations where abuse could be proven. Simply being unfaithful, or a poor match, wasn’t enough; the celibate priests of Yom believed any such marriage could be saved, with enough faith. Kells bitterly prayed that Yom would let all the priests get married one day, and see how long that tenet lasted.

“What do we do, then?” Ostre asked.

“We do what we can,” Kells said, as he lifted his armor up, over his head – pulling it down, onto his body. “We do what we must, for those we love.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Marrol found the King still in his bed, a servant nearby, his head tilted slightly towards the window. The bed had been moved with great effort to give him a greater view of the world outside. He had heard Marrol enter, but was slow to respond. The Minister took this to mean he was deep in thought; the Peacebringer axe, once held easily in Rionn’s hands, leaned against the wall near the head of his bed, unused. Once, it gave him pride to serve a man who carried it; now, it unnerved him. It wasn’t an obstacle then.

“It’s a strange feeling, to have to bury one’s own child, and yet be so close to death,” the King said, turning his head to face Marrol. “Knowing I will see him soon does nothing to relieve the agony.”

“I do not envy you,” Marrol said, sadly. “He was a good man.” It was a blatant, bald-faced lie, but Marrol would not be caught speaking ill of the dead.