She stepped away and put her hands behind her back as Carlich gave Barilan a final bounce. The baby squealed in pleasure. Carlich turned back toward Maryn. “No, I can’t see anything odd. Voerell should be fooled without any problem.”
Maryn hurried across the tent, speaking rapidly the first words that came into her head to keep Carlich’s attention away from the bowl. “Are you sure Frilan has to be there when you confront Princess Voerell?” She reached to take the baby back, and wrapped her arms around him. “What if she resists, and there’s a battle? I’m so afraid he’s going to get hurt. Couldn’t you leave us behind in the camp where it’s safe?”
To Maryn’s surprise, Carlich tilted his head to one side and narrowed his eyes as if he was actually considering her proposal. She scrambled to think of more arguments. If she could persuade him, surely she could find an opportunity to slip away with Barilan while he and all his men were engaged in the conflict. “I don’t see what good it will do you to have him there. It will just give the princess a chance to figure out what we’ve done.”
Carlich’s expression hardened. “No. She’ll insist on seeing him. She’ll never believe I haven’t harmed him, otherwise. And they must see for themselves that he does not hold the Kingship.”
“Couldn’t you—I don’t know, make an illusion, or something? Make it look like we’re there, when we’re not? You’re a great sorcerer, I’m sure it would be easy for you.” Maryn hoped she wasn’t overdoing the flattery.
Carlich snorted. “I can only dream of such skill. I’ve never heard of sorcery strong enough to create such an illusion out of nothing. It would have to be real both to sight and touch, and last for hours, moving and speaking. Utterly impossible.” His eyes went unfocused. “Now, if I started with some other woman and child, so that I only had to alter their appearance…That would be fairly simple. Maybe that would have been a better plan from the beginning…” He shook his head. “It’s too late to consider anything like that now. You and Frilan will be safe, I promise. If it comes to a fight, I’ll make sure you’re protected.”
Oh, well. She hadn’t really expected it to work. The distraction had accomplished its main purpose; Carlich hadn’t even glanced at the bowl of porridge. “If that’s what you think best, your Highness. Thank you.” She wasn’t sure if she should continue, but she had to know for sure what he intended. “And…after it’s all over, when you’re king and Princess Voerell is no longer a danger to you, you’ll let Frilan and me go? I swear, I’ll never breathe a word of anything I saw. I know you only did what you had to, just as I did. You’ll always have my full support, even long after your spell wears off. It’s not necessary anymore. Not since you gave Frilan back to me.”
As soon as she started speaking Carlich opened his mouth, his expression falsely bright. But as her words poured out he shut it again and listened, his brows drawing together. When she fell silent, he gave her a long, searching look. “You really mean that, don’t you? Tell me the truth. The spell’s still strong enough you have to obey me. Have you truly given me your loyalty? Do you want me to become king?”
Maryn forced herself to meet Carlich’s eyes, her expression as open and guileless as she could make it. “I do, your Highness.” She ignored the twist in her gut the lie provoked and tried to make herself believe the words as she spoke them, so Carlich would read sincerity in her face and voice. “I’ve seen enough to know you’re far stronger than Voerell. Milecha will be safe in your hands.”
Carlich rubbed his chin, staring at her. Maryn returned his gaze for as long as she could bear, but when his silence stretched long she dropped her eyes to Barilan and fussed with untangling his fingers from the tie of her shift.
Abruptly Carlich stepped toward her and gripped her upper arms. She smelled the metal and leather of his mail mingled with his masculine scent. “I’m going to be honest with you, Maryn. Vinhor wants me to get rid of you and Frilan after we don’t need you anymore. He’s sure you’d go to my enemies and they’d use you against me.”
Maryn trembled, fighting the urge to wrench herself from his grasp. “I wouldn’t. I swear.”
“I believe you. I don’t care what Vinhor says; I’ll protect you and your son. I’ll see you settled safe somewhere far away, with new identities and enough money you’ll never want. All I ask is that you stand beside me and support me in my bid for the Kingship.”
“Of course I will, your Highness.” Maryn’s voice was so ragged she was sure Carlich would perceive her deception, but his gaze never wavered. “I’ll do whatever you ask. But I don’t see how anything I can do will make a difference.”
“There’s one thing.” Carlich released her arms and stepped back. Maryn felt limp with relief, and her breath came more easily. “When the time comes for me to claim the Kingship, I’ll need the whole crowd shouting that they want me as their king. Vinhor says the magic will be most potent if the cry arises spontaneously from the common people, rather than me asking for it. I was going to have Tennelan or one of his soldiers get it started, but I think it will work even better coming from you. Everyone will see that your motives are pure. Why else would Barilan’s nurse acclaim me as King, except that you believe I’m the best ruler for Milecha?”
Maryn swallowed, her mind racing. There was no reason she shouldn’t shout for Carlich to become King. As long as Barilan safely held the Kingship, it wouldn’t accomplish anything. And her cooperation would prove to Carlich that he could trust her. If he managed to win after all, he’d remember. She was almost certain he was sincere in his promise to spare her. Maybe she really could save herself and Barilan.
She inclined her head. “I would be honored, your Highness.”
“Good.” Carlich grinned. “When I give you the signal, shout as loud as you can, ‘King Carlich!’”
“King Carlich!” Maryn echoed, putting all the enthusiasm she could muster into her voice. Fed by her new hope, the cry rang out clear and strong.
Carlich nodded approval. For a moment his eyes were far away, and his hands sketched a few motions in the air. Maryn thought he must be listening to the crowd’s acclaim in his imagination and practicing the gestures that would bring him his greatest desire.
Would he be willing to forgo the compulsion spell if she asked? It was possible, but she didn’t want to risk him changing his mind later. If he was going to cut her, she had to make sure he did it before he tasted her milk. If the magic worked as she hoped, he wouldn’t be able to afterward. She still wanted that protection. There was always the chance Carlich’s new resolve would falter under Vinhor’s persuasion.
She gave a little cough to draw his attention back to the present. Shifting Barilan to one arm, she thrust the other toward Carlich. “I’m ready, your Highness.” The spell would last half a day. Carlich planned to meet Voerell outside the city gates at midmorning. Before the time came to renew the magic, it would all be over, one way or another.
Carlich drew his knife and took her wrist in his hand. He paused, the tip of the knife poised over her flesh. “I’m sorry. I still must do this. Vinhor would never let me hear the end of it if I didn’t.”
“I understand, your Highness.” Maryn kept her voice level. “It’s not so bad, not when I want to obey anyway. Only—if I might be allowed to think for myself…”
“I can do that.” Carlich moved with his usual surety to open a neat slice in her skin and wave his hands through the familiar motions of the spell. “There. Do what I tell you as usual, but you may think whatever you wish, and speak freely to me when no one else can hear.”
Even under the effects of Siwell’s spell Maryn could feel the difference. The effort of fighting his magic for control of her mind vanished. She felt more clear;-;headed than she had since Carlich first cast his spell. She didn’t have to fake the relief in her voice. “Thank you, your Highness.”
Carlich regarded her with a little half;-;smile. “Go on now. Get Frilan—I mean Barilan, of course—ready to show Voerell. We ride in an hour.”
“Yes, your Highness. I’ll be ready to act at your command. And I’ll pray to the Holy One for your success.” Maryn curtseyed deeply and turned to go. Carlich strode back to the mirror and scowled into it.
Maryn hesitated. She hated to leave without knowing whether Carlich would ever eat the porridge. From what he’d said, he probably wouldn’t. Since he’d given her permission to speak, maybe she could risk giving him a nudge in that direction without rousing his suspicion. “Aren’t you going to eat your breakfast now, your Highness? As your servant said, you need all your strength today.” She picked up the bowl and carried it to him. “Nothing must interfere with your ability to stand against Princess Voerell and work the magic you plan.”
He grimaced. “I never have any appetite before a battle.” But he accepted the bowl, though he only poked at the porridge with the spoon.
Maryn gave her voice the warmly affectionate scolding tone her mother had always used on her. “Do you think you can breathe in sustenance with the air? The Holy One has given us the great blessing of his bounty; we shouldn’t let it go to waste. Eat!”
Carlich grinned crookedly at her. “You remind me of my nurse.” He scooped up a small blob, stuck it in his mouth, and made an exaggerated swallowing motion. “There. Happy now?”
Maryn wanted to break into a broad grin, but she contented herself with a little severe smile. “Very good, your Highness. Now take another bite.”
Carlich waved the spoon at her. “Stop it. You sound exactly like Kegill.” He shot her a teasing smirk. “Do all wet nurses receive the same training in bullying their charges?” He scooped one more spoonful into his mouth before setting the bowl down on a nearby chair. “Go on, go on. I promise I’ll be a good boy.” He shooed her away, chuckling, until Maryn couldn’t help but grin in return.
As soon as the tent flap closed behind her, the smile fell from Maryn’s face, and she gave her head a hard shake. Sometimes Carlich acted so charming she doubted herself. It was easy to see why people liked and trusted him, and why so many were willing to answer when he called.
Could she be wrong? Maybe Carlich really would rule Milecha better than Voerell. Kings had to be ruthless, didn’t they? They couldn’t always abide by the rules that governed ordinary folk, not when the fate of their kingdom was at stake.
Maybe she could go along with his plan. If she demonstrated her loyalty in a convincing enough fashion, Carlich would defy Vinhor and keep his promise to protect her. She and Barilan would be safe. She tightened her arms around the baby. She’d never have to give him back to his mother. She’d never again risk being dismissed from her position as his nurse. Barilan would be hers for good. Maybe he’d be happier growing up as her son, never knowing who he really was, far away from the dangers and burdens of the Kingship. Why not let Carlich take those on himself if he wanted them so much?
The waiting guard escorted Maryn back to her tent. Everywhere she looked she saw soldiers strapping on armor, stringing bows, and sharpening blades. Carlich’s army blanketed the fields all the way to the horizon.
Maryn set about changing Barilan into his most ornate gown. She considered her options. When Carlich signaled her, she could do as he’d asked and raise the shout of acclaim. It wouldn’t bring him the Kingship, but with the people’s support he might very well defeat Voerell by force of arms anyway. Perhaps she could risk working another illusion spell and make the crown appear over Carlich’s head, so he wouldn’t discover her deception. Carlich would believe her loyal to him and provide for her as he’d promised.
Or, when the time came, she could instead denounce Carlich as loudly and forcefully as she could. Maybe enough people would hear and believe her to make a difference, before Carlich silenced her. If her ploy was successful, King Froethych’s spell would protect her from him. Maybe it would buy her a few more minutes to declare the truth. Maybe she could sway the balance and Voerell could triumph.
But if Voerell failed, and Carlich won the day despite Maryn’s best efforts, he would know she’d betrayed him. Then nothing could save her and Barilan from his fury. It would be easy enough for Vinhor or someone else to kill them, even if Carlich couldn’t give the order.
Was she willing to risk herself and Barilan for such a small chance of saving Milecha from Carlich? Or would she take the safer route and sacrifice her homeland?
Maryn gathered Barilan in her arms and pressed her face into the top of his head. Would it really be that bad if Carlich became king? Could she honestly condemn his actions, or would she have done much the same in his place? Maryn, too, had been tempted to kill. She knew what it felt like to want something so badly all other considerations faded away. She’d surrendered to that temptation, at least a little, at least enough to weaken her resolve to fight the compulsion spell. Maybe everyone could be bought, if the price was high enough. Maybe Carlich was no worse than anyone else.
No. Somewhere Carlich had crossed a line most people didn’t. Maryn thought of him crouched over his brother as Marolan choked out his life. She remembered the rage in his eyes as he’d threatened her and the speed of his hand striking toward Barilan. She recalled the eagerness in his voice as he’d offered her Frilan’s soul in exchange for Barilan’s.
How could she support that, even if she was just as guilty? How could she help him take power, even if she could buy her own safety and Barilan’s by doing so?
She couldn’t. She would have to take the riskier path and pray that Voerell was strong enough to defeat her brother.
Maryn was only a servant, only a woman, weak and insignificant. It was ridiculous presumption for her to think anything she could do would hinder a powerful man like Carlich. The chances were vanishingly small that her attempt would work.
But her resolve was clear. If she could stop him, she would.
Twenty
M
aryn caught sight of a cloud of dust on the road ahead. She straightened in her saddle, watching. As the cloud drew closer, she made out a cantering horse with a fluttering white banner streaming over its back.