Blackveil (57 page)
“What I understand is that you are a full-blooded man with needs. I thought perhaps such a diversion would help you forget—”
“Karigan?” He paused in front of a desk to study the document atop it. “We have discussed your concerns and I’m well aware of my duty to the realm. But to suggest that a courtesan would help me forget? All the courtesans in the world and their wiles could not alter what is in my heart, and partaking of their offerings would only dishonor my regard for her. For Karigan.”
“I’m sorry,” Laren replied. “I do not think I’ve underestimated your feelings, but you still have needs.”
“Everyone has needs, Laren, even you. Do you have a list of courtesans for yourself? Or, should I procure one for you? I understand there are some acceptable practitioners of the male gender.”
“What?”
“Exactly.” He flashed her a smile of triumph. “I do appreciate your concern for my well-being in the matter, and I think your suggestion of a diversion is a good one, just not the type you proposed.” He moved rapidly across the chamber, documents fluttering off desks in his wake. He flung open the door and called, “Cummings! Cancel the rest of my appointments this afternoon.”
It was only a couple hours later that Laren, on her way to Rider stables, observed Zachary riding out on a large, dappled stallion, one of his favorites. The horse was heavily muscled and a handful, but Zachary rode effortlessly, a born horse-man. She was pleased to see Lady Estora riding beside him on a fine-limbed bay hunter, and there was Lord-Governor Coutre, as well, and a few other courtiers. Weapons followed on their sleek black horses, along with members of the guard, the royal falconers, and servants. A king rarely ventured anywhere without a crowd, but she imagined that once they reached open ground out in the countryside, he would put that stallion through its paces and he would be free in his own thoughts, free to think of whom and what he wanted without interruption or any expectations placed upon him.
“Captain?”
Laren turned to discover Ben Simeon approaching. He had changed out of his mender’s smock into his Rider garb.
“Hello, Ben, do you have a riding lesson this afternoon?” Not that he ever managed to actually get on a horse. Horsemaster Riggs was mystified as to how to overcome his fear.
“Yes,” he said glumly. He looked tired, a little pallid in the cheeks.
Guessing the cause, she asked, “How is the castellan?”
Ben brightened. “Resting comfortably. I believe I knitted the entire break back together. The rest of the healing is up to him, but he now has the hip of a twenty year old.”
“Good heavens!” Of any Rider ability, Laren thought as they walked together toward Rider stables, the most miraculous was that of true healing. Ben had been trained as a mender before hearing the Rider call, and she could only believe that his prior training aided his magical ability, just as his magical ability enhanced his prior training.
Naturally Ben was in great demand in the mending wing and Master Destarion was no doubt pleased Ben hadn’t taken to horses. Laren feared Ben was allowing himself to be overworked. Using one’s ability had its costs—she felt those costs in her joints every day. With Ben she thought it could be even more devastating. From his haggard appearance, she deduced he was giving too much of himself, of his essence, to heal others. She’d have to make a point of speaking with Destarion later, and in the meantime wish that another true healer could be found among the ranks of her new Riders.
W
hen Galen Miller chewed the herbalist’s weed, its juices stung the sores that had erupted in his mouth. He needed more and more to subdue his shakes, but it often sent him into feverish sweats and blurred his perceptions of reality.
hen Galen Miller chewed the herbalist’s weed, its juices stung the sores that had erupted in his mouth. He needed more and more to subdue his shakes, but it often sent him into feverish sweats and blurred his perceptions of reality.
Some mornings he awoke to visions of the king standing over him dressed all in black, just like the wax figure of him at the Sacor City War Museum. He’d studied the figure so he’d know the real king when he saw him.
In his vision, however, the king towered over him and a noose hung still and solid beside him, its looped shadow stark against the far wall.
Raised you a traitor, eh?
came the crass words that issued from the king’s mouth, but didn’t seem to belong to him.
came the crass words that issued from the king’s mouth, but didn’t seem to belong to him.
“N-no,” Galen would sputter. “A good lad. Clay was a good lad.”
The king would float there, Galen writhing in terror on his pallet until sense came back to him. He needed to cut back on the weed, use just enough to keep his hand steady.
From the notches he made on a rafter of his attic room, he figured out it was the equinox. He was beginning to wonder if all his plans were for naught, that his boy would never be avenged. Even with the extra coins the stranger had given him all those weeks ago, he was not sure he’d have enough currency to keep his room at the inn until the king deigned to leave his castle.
Galen reached for his tankard with a trembling hand and slurped down the stale water, oblivious to the runnels dribbling down his chest. When he finished, he set the tankard beside his precious sheaf of the herb and a small vial he’d also obtained from the herbalist for a handsome sum. It contained the closure to all his waiting.
Two days ago, on inspiration, he’d spared a little of the precious fluid for the barbed heads of the two arrows he kept at the ready by the window. One tiny drop each. The herbalist claimed the poison would remain efficacious for weeks. He did not want any question of his quarry’s survival. It would take only one arrow, the second was just in case. Yes, his boy would be avenged.
He rose from his pallet and crossed over to the window, sitting on the ledge and leaning against the casement. He gazed out into the street, continuing the vigil he’d carried on for so many weeks.
He awoke from a doze when he heard the hooves of several horses clopping down the street. When the riders came into view, Galen’s pulse quickened.
His wait was over.
EQUINOX
Z
achary was not, in Estora’s opinion, an impulsive man. If he was, he wouldn’t have lasted long as a king. His brother, Amilton, had been the complete opposite, giving in to his every urge. It cost him the throne. King Amigast had passed over him in favor of Zachary. Amilton’s impulses then led him to plot against his brother, which resulted in his being exiled and, ultimately, killed.
achary was not, in Estora’s opinion, an impulsive man. If he was, he wouldn’t have lasted long as a king. His brother, Amilton, had been the complete opposite, giving in to his every urge. It cost him the throne. King Amigast had passed over him in favor of Zachary. Amilton’s impulses then led him to plot against his brother, which resulted in his being exiled and, ultimately, killed.
Estora appreciated Zachary’s thoughtful demeanor, though he was, perhaps, a little too driven to work, so she was surprised and delighted when he canceled all his afternoon appointments and invited her for an outing. Of course, it wasn’t just her, but several courtiers, her father, and Richmont. And then of course, there were the Weapons, the falconers, and several servants. Guards cleared the street before them. Estora waved to the people who watched and cheered as the king and his companions rode by.
Estora did not know what inspired Zachary’s sudden desire to leave work behind for an afternoon of recreation for he rarely spoke intimately to her about his feelings, an inclination she hoped would change once they married. For the time being she was content to ride beside him and assume it was just the promise of spring calling him from his dark, stone walls. She’d certainly had enough of winter’s cold austerity herself.
She gave her future husband a sidelong glance as he sat astride his stallion. Presently he was far off in his own thoughts and where they might lead she could not guess. The wind rippled through his hair and there was the hint of a smile all too quickly gone.
He must have sensed her gaze for he turned to look at her. “What is it, my lady?”
“I was wondering where your thoughts were traveling.”
“Far beyond the horizon,” he said. “Too many places to recount.” He fell silent again, back to brooding.
They entered a poorer section of the lower city. Wellwishers still stopped along the street to wave, but they were fewer, shabbier. Others skulked in doorways or shadowed closes glowering at the king’s party as it passed. The Weapons were always alert, but Estora sensed just the slightest change in their posture.
“Hey, where’s
my
falcon, King?” some man in stained clothes called out. Zachary shook his head when the guards started to move toward the man. Another king would have had him jailed and beaten for insolence. An old woman spat in the path of the king’s party. She was merely escorted out of the street by the guards.
my
falcon, King?” some man in stained clothes called out. Zachary shook his head when the guards started to move toward the man. Another king would have had him jailed and beaten for insolence. An old woman spat in the path of the king’s party. She was merely escorted out of the street by the guards.
“The lower city should be swept clean of this filth,” Richmont muttered.
“What would you have done with them?” Zachary asked. His tone was deceptively mild.
“Force them out of the city. Force them to work.”
“Most of them did not ask for poverty,” Zachary said, as though to himself. Estora, who rode right next to him heard, but she did not think anyone else had, certainly not Richmont who was muttering and complaining to her father. Richmont, whom she’d never been fond of, had gotten only more boorish since the betrothal. He had already declared his intent to stay in her service after the wedding. She would have to talk to her father about finding him something else to do.
The Winding Way curved past an inn with a disreputable air about it. The stench of old ale flowed to her all the way out into the street. Her father was pushing his horse up next to hers and appeared intent to speak to her, but something whined through the air and cut him off, and suddenly he was not there. His horse was, but he was not.
“Father?”
Cries shattered the air and everyone around her whirled into motion.
“Father?”
she cried, turning in her saddle, but she could not see him. The Weapons were reigning their mounts around to surround her and Zachary.
she cried, turning in her saddle, but she could not see him. The Weapons were reigning their mounts around to surround her and Zachary.
Zachary slammed his horse into hers and the force almost knocked her from the saddle.
“What is—”
Even as the Weapons surged toward Zachary, he stood in his stirrups, blocking her. She couldn’t see what was happening. But she heard that whine again, and this time, the thud of impact.
G
alen’s body shuddered when he loosed the first arrow, and he swore when it flew off course into some old courtier who had the bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He had only moments before the Weapons threw themselves in front of his intended target, but as if he were still the great archer in his prime under the pressure of battle, he’d already nocked the second arrow. He must hold steady this time. He must not miss.
alen’s body shuddered when he loosed the first arrow, and he swore when it flew off course into some old courtier who had the bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He had only moments before the Weapons threw themselves in front of his intended target, but as if he were still the great archer in his prime under the pressure of battle, he’d already nocked the second arrow. He must hold steady this time. He must not miss.
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