King (8 page)

Infinite? Guard my heart, I beg You!

Caitria slid another glance toward her husband as he led her out into the echoing corridor to face her first day as his queen. Was he always so . . . protective? Truly, she'd experienced more tenderness and consideration from this “despicable fool,” as her lord-father called him, in one day than from her entire family for ages.

Oh, it would be so easy to love this man if he weren't such a danger to her family. To her! Though she was descended from Siphra's most ancient noble lines, her family might be destroyed if she breathed a word of her fears and suspicions to Akabe—to the king.

She must guard her every word. Did he suspect—?

A bark startled Caitria from her thoughts. She turned and laughed, seeing her beloved nursemaid and her capering hound, both delighted to see her. “Issa! Naynee! You've stayed?”

She wasn't completely abandoned in this cold palace—such a relief!

Naynee beamed, her dear ruddy face alight with joy. “Your lord-father guessed he'd no reason to feed your dog or your servant any longer, lady. He left us here, if you'll have us.”

“Oh, you know I will!” Unless the king refused. Caitria cast a fearful look at Akabe, silently imploring his agreement. He had absolute control over every aspect of her life now.

The king remained silent, studying Naynee as if trying to judge the influence she might wield. If only he knew how loving Naynee was! How disinterested in political maneuverings! Please . . .

Just as she was about to kneel before him and
beg,
despite the gathering courtiers, Akabe nodded. “I agree. Naynee and Issa will be the first official members of your household.”

“Thank you, sir!” She stifled an undignified whoop.

The king seized her hand—a subtle smile lurking about his handsome mouth. “Now,” he murmured, “one favor for another. . . . Come with me today, lady.
Majesty
. Not to the council meetings—I won't bore us both with those—but come visit the property we've granted Siphra. Nothing formal or announced. A surprise inspection.”

The property they'd granted Siphra? That wretched temple land! She was grateful for his indulgence, but he could leave her out of his religion! Didn't he understand how vengeful the Ateans would be if she gave the slightest appearance of following the Infinite?

And yet, what else could she do? Would the Ateans understand the extent of her isolation? Her virtual imprisonment here—abandoned by her family and surrounded by hostile courtiers?

Forcing herself to think of less frightful things, Caitria nodded. “Of course, sir. I've never been. Can you imagine? My life's controlled by land I've never seen.”

“You haven't traveled?”

“Not since Mother died ten years past. I've been isolated on our estates. My lord-father . . . has been busy.” Too busy to do more than snap at her or lash out when she offended him. If only Mother had lived! Safer to not remember Mother now—risking a display of weakness before all these haughty courtiers.

As they walked along the huge marble-columned corridor, Caitria shivered despite the stunning surroundings. The palace was too opulent for her tastes. She loved coziness. Here highly wrought carvings of birds, flowers, and trees fretted the white marble columns, arcades, and walls like stonework embroidery—all coldly forbidding her to touch them. Semiprecious gems and gilding sparkled overhead on the soaring ceilings in massive sunbursts of gold and crimson that dazzled her and made her feel like an intruder.

But the king's chambers were worse. She couldn't move in those dim rooms without fear of breaking something priceless and irreplaceable.

Didn't he possess a refuge in the palace? A sunlit chamber where one could flop onto a couch or into a cushioned window seat with a favorite collection of stories, then read until a nap took hold? Did kings and queens even indulge in naps?

This whole situation promised a dismal life.

Silent, she accompanied her new husband as he ordered his servants and guards to prepare for the impromptu temple inspection. It seemed almost natural to ride beside him in a plain open chariot through Munra's streets. And, despite her predetermined loathing, the vast temple site amazed her with its white steps and immense smooth-slabbed paving stones, not to mention the multitudes of workmen.

Yet the king scanned the site, visibly tensing. Speaking so softly that Caitria almost didn't hear, he said, “Those men don't belong here. Too well-dressed to be workers. Not reverent enough to be worshipers . . .”

Caitria followed the king's gaze, eyeing the suspected
noblemen—for noblemen they were. They swaggered about, armed with swords and daggers, and . . . oh . . . was she imagining she'd seen them before?

While she sifted through her memories, trying to recall faces and names, Akabe signaled to four of his guards. “Sirs, follow me.”

Tucking her mantle close, Caitria started after her husband. But a guard stepped in front of her. “Majesty, please wait.”

“Very well.” Curious, she leaned around her concerned guard and watched as the king hurried toward one particular supervisor, who'd been beckoned by the noblemen.

Busy overseeing his workers, the supervisor shook his head, refusing to leave his task, which irritated the aristocrats. Caitria frowned.
Where
had she seen these men?

Akabe called out, “Good sirs, allow him to do his job!”

The troublemakers turned and gawked, obviously recognizing their king. One recovered and lunged for Akabe, dagger drawn.

Assassins!

Caitria struggled as the guards pulled her away.

 8 

A
kabe drew his dagger but had no chance to defend himself. Two royal guards tackled his foolhardy assailant, while the remainder chased down the man's cohorts.

Dan Roeh, who'd resisted speaking to these men and thereby escaped their trap, abandoned his work now and hurried toward the scuffle. “Majesty!”

Akabe halted Dan, noting smears of blood on the ground from the skirmish. Had the attacker suffered a wound? It seemed so. Infinite, let there be no more bloodshed! He snapped a look at Dan. “Is the prophet here today?”

“No, sir. Lessons are tomorrow. She's with her mother this morning.”

“Good.” Akabe sighed his relief, refusing to think of Ela beyond her importance to this temple. “We'll hire guards to protect you and your men. Until then, wear weapons as you work. That blood could very well have been yours, Roeh—bless the Infinite for His protection!”

“Bless Him, indeed,” Dan mumbled, staring as the guards lifted their bleeding prisoner. “I'll tell my men about the weapons.”

“Thank you.” Akabe turned, glimpsing Caitria's approach.

She faltered, paling at the blood and the now-unconscious prisoner. “Majesty . . . sir . . .”

Aware of Dan Roeh's watchful gaze, Akabe gripped Caitria's hand. Was she turning faint? “It's not safe for you here, lady. Another time, perhaps. Where are your guards?”

“I—I ran from them, sir.”

Akabe looped an arm around his wife and swung her away. “We're leaving. For now.”

“Sir,” Faine mourned amid the hastily assembled royal council, “bad news. It seems the Thaenfall family was involved. They
are
Atean. They worship the goddess and wear her coils.”

“Not the entire family,” Akabe argued. “My wife hasn't mentioned the goddess Atea to me. And she has no marks of Atean worship.” Only bruises from her lord-father.

“Nevertheless . . .” Faine reddened, betraying his annoyance. “Forgive me, Majesty, but we
cannot
trust the queen.” Faine removed a money pouch from his belt and overturned it on the council table, deliberate and dramatic. Two rings spilled out amid the jangling of silver coins. “Majesty, these are signets taken from the suicides this morning.”

Akabe winced inwardly. Of three attackers, only one escaped. The other two knifed themselves. “Who were they?”

Faine offered the larger signet to Akabe. “This was worn by Ison of Deerfeld. A Thaenfall cousin. His comrade was one Ezry Morside, a landholder of Deerfeld's properties. Both have remained away from court as our opponents.”

Chilled, Akabe accepted the signet. How could Caitria not recognize her own cousin?

Before he could respond, Lord Faine warned, “As Ison's death reveals, the Thaenfalls are known for their loyalty to the goddess Atea. It may be that they're incapable of honoring you as their king. Remember, sir, the Sacred Books note, ‘Those who hate the Infinite are corrupt. Their actions are evil and they know no good.' Be sure of those you trust, sir.”

“I loathe living my life suspicious of everyone!”

“Majesty,” Trillcliff argued quietly, “certain people must be suspected. Your wife might be blameless. But if she ever plots against your life—if you live—you will be unable to save her.”

Akabe clenched the traitor's signet in his fist. Might his wife become part of a Thaenfall conspiracy? He must talk to Caitria.

Firelight glimmered off the traitor's signet in Akabe's palm.

Sitting in the chair beside him in his silent bedchamber, Caitria shook her head. “No, thank you, sir. I've no need to inspect the ring. I've seen that seal in family records—though I didn't recognize my cousin.”

Was that the truth? Akabe studied his wife. “How could you not recognize your own cousin?”

“As I told you this morning, my lord-father kept me mostly secluded from my family after my mother died. And I'm the youngest in my family. With the exception of Cyril, I hardly know my own siblings, much less some second cousin. Ison wasn't one of my father's hunting comrades.” She eyed the signet in Akabe's hand again. “He tried to kill you.”

“Yes.” Akabe hesitated, hating his next question. “Also, I must ask . . . do you and your family worship Atea?”

Caitria's expression tightened. “The Thaenfalls have followed her for generations. Some more, some less.”

“And you?”

She shrugged, but Akabe saw her defiance. “I suppose. Yes. Though I never attended the rites. As I've said, I was isolated.”

“What if you were asked to cease worshiping her?”

She stared into the fire, her now-distant gaze reflecting flames. “I've not considered it. Nor will I discuss this further. It's part of my heritage.”

“Heritage need not dictate your future.”

She remained silent. Stubborn. Akabe leaned forward in his chair. “Lady, if there's the least chance we might make ours a true marriage, you must talk to me.”

Something flickered across her face. Akabe couldn't quite name the expression. Hurt? Regret? Caitria stared at him. “I doubt we can ever have a true marriage.”

He straightened. “Why?”

Caitria stared into the fire, shaking her head. “Because! I warned you not to marry—”

“You need not repeat yourself.” Was she his enemy, then? Well enough. He'd suffered his fill of attacks plotted by Atean queens. Queen Raenna, Caitria's predecessor, had sent soldiers after him often enough. He would not endure verbal cuts from her successor. Akabe stood and crossed the room to his chest of hunting gear. He flung on his heaviest cloak, then grabbed a sleeping roll and slammed the chest shut.

Caitria startled within her chair and turned, her profile a graceful silhouette against the firelight. Akabe resisted the impulse to lash out against her and forced his voice to remain calm. “I wish you a blessed night, lady. Sleep well.”

He strode to an elaborate wall panel and slid a carved, golden-winged, sharp-taloned aeryon to the left. A door shifted open, swift and soundless as a blink. Akabe stepped into the hidden stairwell and closed the panel. In absolute darkness, he climbed the familiar spiraling stone steps and let himself onto the wall-enclosed rooftop. His private fighting arena, crowned by a clear, star-jeweled night sky. No rain.

Infinite, thank You.

Akabe unfurled the sleeping roll and settled himself upon it to stare up at the stars. To consider his Creator. And his marriage. Infinite? Had he been too hasty in his desire to regain the temple's land?

How could he remedy this disaster?

He woke later to the sound of the door opening. To gentle footsteps. Caitria. She covered him with a quilt, then scooted beneath it to lie beside him. He felt her shivering. She nudged herself beneath his arm and sighed shakily. Had she been crying?

Not the behavior of a woman who hated her husband.

Confusing . . . but welcome. Akabe curved his arm around her slender body, drawing her closer, his thoughts speeding ahead. Here was the truth: Unless Caitria abandoned and betrayed him, he could not abandon her. He would learn beyond question if she truly followed Atean ways and if she was plotting against him with her family. If so, then he must fight to save them both.

We are caught within a battle, he told his wife in silence. If we are to survive, if we are to forge a true marriage from this debacle, we need a plan.

He stared up at the stars, no longer seeing them as he contemplated a defense.

His travel cloak flowing about him, and accompanied by his mournful family, Kien crossed the Lantecs' main hall, ready to leave. Mother clutched his right arm and his sister, Beka, hugged his left as Father and Jon followed. Mother was crying, of course. Her pale gray eyes red and swollen, she pleaded, “Write! Tell us everything you're doing. Don't leave us to wonder. And don't forget us!”

“Do you think I could?” He kissed her wet face. “Mother, please, you'll dissolve me with those tears. Listen, we will restore my citizenship somehow, by the Infinite's grace. You'll see.” He prayed his forced optimism might become reality. Until then, he must live within the present. For all legal purposes, whether they knew it or not, his parents had no son. He'd written as much to Ela, but couldn't bear to tell his parents.

As Mother dabbed at her tears, Beka picked at Kien's choice of travel clothes. “Why are you still wearing black?” Sounding resentful, Beka added, “You're out of the military, and you've no reason to honor
them
!”

Kien worked up a grin and gave his sister a hug. Her irritation was easier to cope with than Mother's tears. “I like black. It matches my mood right now.”

Beka skewed her mouth in an aggrieved twist. “Well, I suppose
it would. But we'll fight this decision, Kien! I'm circulating copies of your parting speech among my friends, and—”

“What parting speech?”

“You know . . .” Beka swiped the air with an impatient gesture. “The last segment of your trial. It's a perfect summary of your case. Jon brought me a copy of the transcript, and I cried when I read it. Kien, we must communicate your side of the trial and clear your name! And we will, even if I must haunt the Grand Assembly every day!”