Secrets of the Night Special Edition (52 page)

"I've already given those orders, major."

"Very good, madam."

Roric thought quickly, resolved to deal with other concerns, and he chose his words with care. "I must tell you that no matter what happens, I remain loyal to the kingdom and to you."

"'No matter what happens'? What, exactly, do you mean by that?"

"Madam, I will do everything in my power to protect the king, to keep him on the throne. But should something befall him--"

"No!"

"--should something happen, I will do what I think is best for Avador . . . and for you. If I should take part in Balor's government--"

"You wouldn't!" She sat back, her mouth wide open in shock.

He nodded. "I would, if I consider it best for the kingdom, because--"

"You would conspire with that fiend?" Her chest rose and fell, her face flushed with anger.

"Not conspire, madam, but work with him for the good of the country.
“And for you, dear lady. I want to see you take your place as queen.

""For the good of the country'! How can you say such a thing? How can you even think of working with him? He's evil, that one. Stay away from him!"

"Madam, you must trust me. I intend to follow my conscience."

"You have no conscience!"

"Princess, I believe I can do more good by pretending to participate in Balor's government, if it should come to that. Far better for the country for me to work within the government, possibly protect Avador from any of Balor's excesses. I have some influence with him, you know."

"And be tainted by his evil!"

"Never!" He paused, struggling for calm. "Madam, let us hope and pray King Tencien remains on the throne. No matter what, I shall always remain loyal to you and the king."

"Not if you serve Balor. If my father . . . if something happens to my father and Balor becomes king, I'll consider any man who serves him a traitor."

"If that's what you think, I'm afraid there's no more to say. With your permission . . ." Standing, he bowed and left the room, sorry they'd parted with such bitter words but convinced he was right.

* * *

Persuading the king to walk with her on the palace grounds the following morning, Keriam led him to a bench beside the lake where they could talk in private. She would try one more time to convince him of the dangers that faced him. If he disregarded her advice, she would follow Roric's suggestion: she'd drug her father's cider the morning of the festival. The Goddess knew she'd tried everything else.

While the king spoke of inconsequential things, Keriam's mind swung back to Roric. If Balor were successful in his assassination attempt--
and please, Talmora, don't let that happen
--would Roric actually serve under that monster? She swallowed hard. His betrayal hurt more than anything. If he served under Balor, she never wanted to see him again, never wanted to have anything to do with him. Did she really mean that? She looked down at her fingers, afraid to admit how much it would hurt to never see him again, to never hear his voice or see his smile. How long had she felt this way about him? How long had she yearned to be held in his arms, feel his lips on hers? Even now, after their recent disagreement, she ached for him, and in the most secret part of her body, she throbbed with a need near impossible to deny.

Aware she dwelt on impossible dreams, she snatched her mind back to the present. A warm breeze carried the sweet scent of narcissus and phlox, the garden a medley of colors and fragrances. Thankful they faced away from the bright sunlight, she sank down gingerly onto the hot stone bench, her father following.

"Father, about the Lug Festival--"

"I've discussed this matter with Major Gamal. He'll order extra guards posted and--"

"But, Father--"

"Don't interrupt, Kerry. I intend to speak to my people at that time. Nothing and no one will stop me, and extra guards should prevent any harm. It's not advisable for me to stay secluded at the palace, where the people can't see or hear me. For political reasons, I must see and be seen." He slanted a look her way, his eyes filled with love. "Nor would I want any harm to come to you. But my dear daughter, something I must say. I want you to hear me out. If anything should happen--"

"Please, Father--"

"--if anything should happen to me, you inherit the throne. You take charge of the kingdom. There are no other heirs, only my sister, who will marry the king of Elegia. I have already put this in writing, so there will be no doubt. I've had good advisors all these years. They will serve you as they have served me."

Tears flowed down her cheeks. "Nothing will happen to you, Father. I'll see to that."

* * *

Accompanied by five of his most trusted officers, Midac Balor rode northeastward to Komartis, the southernmost city of
Elegia
, where that country had a small military outpost. Through the Bearn Gap in the
Orn
Mountains
, the entourage trekked over steep, thickly-wooded hills, and descended into deep valleys. The men remained ever on the alert for danger, especially from
torathors
--those fur-covered, horned creatures who might lurk among the trees. The horses plodded up a winding, rocky road that led through the hills, the trees changing as they rode northward, from oaks, ashes, and rowans to hemlocks, beeches, and birches.

The dense forest provided shade, a welcome protection from the brilliant sunlight that occasionally lit a patch of open ground. Venomous, furry snakes slithered along the ground and draped from trees, ready to strike with their sharp, deadly fangs should they be disturbed. Caracabs with their long, spreading wings, screeched and dived from overhead, pouncing on unsuspecting prey in the trees or along the forest floor.

Balor drew a linen handkerchief from his waist pouch and wiped it across his sweaty forehead and down his face. Perspiration plastered his uniform to his body. His gaze focused on every tree and bush, his hand resting on the ivory hilt of his broadsword. Sapphires and rubies on the hilt glinted in the bright sunlight that now and then penetrated the thick tree cover. He smacked at a cuileg on his cheek and brushed at another of the biting insects on his forehead.

Shading his eyes, he looked toward the eastern sun, gauging the hours until nightfall. He smiled, recalling the palace ceremony at Moytura, in which the king had bidden him goodbye and wished him success for his mission. The king was in for a surprise, because he had no intention of completing his journey.

On open ground now, he eased on the reins and stopped his stallion, his officers gathering around him. From this spot on a tree-studded hill, he gazed back fondly over Avador, its hills and valleys, its acres of rich farmland abundant with crops ready for harvest. The towering spires of Moytura gleamed in the distance, the Nantosuelta winding and doubling back over itself.

Soon all this would be his, yes, all this and more. Ah, he had such plans for the country--and himself. He would restore Avador to its former greatness, conquer Elegia and Galdina, then Fomoria and Partholonia. Only look at all the benefits of Avadoran civilization, its medicine and learning, its libraries and monuments. The people of the other countries were barbarians! Yes, he would extend Avadoran civilization to the entire continent and unite them all into one vast empire. Never again would Avador depend on another country to export or import goods. Of course, they had the recently-signed treaty with Elegia, but that treaty was void until the marriage took place between Tencien's sister and Elegia's king.

Balor addressed his officers. "Soon, we will connect with the road that leads to Elegia. Within a couple ninedays, we should reach Komartis. We'll rest there for a day and learn as much as possible about the Elegian army--its numbers and state of readiness. Then we will return to Moytura in time for the Lug Festival." He smiled at his men. "You wouldn't want to miss the festival, would you, gentlemen? After we've eliminated Tencien, we'll take control of the government, as we planned." A stern look captured his face. "All my soldiers know better than to disobey me. By now, they should understand the consequences of betrayal."

Lieutenant Halloren frowned. "Just the same, general, I've been thinking, and--"

"Thinking can be a dangerous occupation," Balor said, his hand on his sword hilt. "Leave the planning to me."

The lieutenant licked his bottom lip. "Yes, sir, but this seems a chancy business, killing the king. What if the people rise up--"

Balor whipped the sword from its scabbard and with one sharp slash, cut the man's head off. The head rolled several feet, finally stopping when it bumped against a tree. The headless body toppled from the horse and fell to the ground.

Resting his hands on the pommel, Balor look at the other men, his gaze covering each. "Does anyone else have any objections?"

None did.

"Very well, gentlemen. We shall proceed."

* * *

Many days later, Aradia perched high in an oak tree about fifteen-hundred feet from the city square, awaiting the king's appearance the morning of the Lug Festival. Warded by the statue of Talmora and surrounding rose bushes, the spot provided ample safeguard against detection. Darkness still covered the city, but soon the crowds would gather to hear Tencien address his people. She looked toward the western horizon, where a pinkish glow lit the sky. Not long now. Dressed in green, her face and hands painted brown, she remained concealed from prying eyes. Soon there would be guards posted at every street corner--or so she'd heard--but who would think to look this high up in a tree and at such a great distance from the dais, where the king would speak?

Midac will be very proud of me, Aradia thought, beaming with satisfaction.

After the palace horses had recovered--Radegunda's doing, no doubt--the palace carriage had taken her to Mag Bregha. In the middle of the night, she'd ridden a friend's horse back to Midac's mansion and kept the horse stabled there, with the princess no wiser. She'd stayed secluded in a small apartment adjoining the larger house, seeing Midac only at night. She'd sworn Midac's servants to secrecy. Nor would they betray her, upon pain of death.

If that wasn't clever enough, surely her trip from the general's mansion to the city last night gave ample proof of her ingenuity. After donning a dress and applying face paint, she’d tied her quiver and bows to her back, then she'd shifted to her jackal body and raced through the night, along the lone dusty road that led to Moytura. No one had seen her then; no one would see her now this far up in the tree, hidden by its many branches and leaves.

Bathed in sweat, she lifted the hem of her dress and dabbed it across her face, careful not to remove the paint. She changed her position, aiming for a more comfortable perch, and looked below at the clusters of people already gathering to hear the king. The sky turned golden, bringing the city's streets and buildings into sharp focus: the flag hanging limply from an iron pole on the dais, the chairs for the king's ministers. Brightly-colored banners festooned the many storefronts, the streets sparkling clean in preparation for the festival. Oh, these gullible fools were in for a surprise.

Time passed, and soon crowds packed the city's streets and alleys. Talk and laughter filled the air, men, women, and children joining in the celebration. Fools! They wouldn't be laughing when the king lay dead, an arrow through his heart.

Aradia's gaze settled on the dais, her every sense, every nerve, wondrously alive. She had one chance only to succeed in her mission. She would not fail.

Aradia grinned. Not long now.

Chapter Thirteen

The morning of the Lug Festival dawned bright and clear. With purposeful steps, Keriam descended the stairs to the main hall, mindful that this day was the culmination of all her thoughts and plans since she'd overheard the plotters moonphases ago. In the hall, servants hustled about, eager to complete their duties before joining in the festivities later. On hands and knees, young girls and women scrubbed the flagstone floor, while other women polished the many tables scattered along the hall length. Children placed wooden bowls throughout the main hall and filled them with an incense of gardenia, mugwort, and frankincense, creating pleasant scents.

Last night, while she slept, Keriam dreamed the Goddess had come to her room and stood by her bed. When she awoke, she wondered if it had been a dream.

Greeting the dwarves, Keriam made her way toward the dining room that led off from the hall. There, she found her father's seat empty. Where was he? Keriam wondered with a twinge of alarm. An early riser, the king usually ate his morning meal soon after daybreak, when she always joined him. Keriam stood beside her oaken chair, her fingers tightening on the back. Perhaps she should go see--

Her father entered the room, his steps slow and halting, a troubled expression on his face. "Sorry I'm late, Kerry. Had a bad night." His fingers brushed his forehead. "Headache again."

She eased into her chair and placed the linen napkin in her lap, carefully choosing her words. "I can give the speech in your stead." Fingering her moist goblet of cider, she ignored his surprised look. "A new experience for me." She aimed for levity, afraid to express the same fears she'd apprized her father of time and again.