Legacy of Kings (30 page)

He stopped. Just stopped. Opened his mouth and then shut it again, wordlessly; no sound would come.

“Salvator?”

His thoughts hung in midair, suspended. He could not get hold of them.

“What’s wrong?”

He knew
, Salvator realized. A strange mix of emotions came over him, half anger and half awe. Ramirus couldn’t possibly have understood what the
lyr
truly were, back when he had arranged Danton’s marriage—no one knew, back then—but he had known that Gwynofar’s bloodline had some special magical heritage, and he must have known the history of the Aurelius line as well. Maybe there was some secret bit of history in the Aurelius line that Danton himself had not been aware of, which Ramirus had thought might cause the
lyr
gift to manifest more powerfully if the two families were joined.

That is why he arranged Danton’s marriage,
he thought, stunned.
It was a breeding experiment.

He sat down heavily on one of the stone benches that faced the spire. His hands were shaking.

“Salvator.” Gwynofar sat down beside him and put a hand on his arm, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

He looked at his mother and blinked. He did not know what to say. Should he tell her that she had been crossbred like some prize mare, in hopes that new and interesting traits might surface in her colts? And that even while Ramirus had been watching over the Aurelius children, guiding them through the trials and tribulations of royal childhood, he had been putting them through tests of his own devising? This was what her marriage to Danton had really been about, he realized. Seeing what happened when the two bloodlines merged. That was why Salvator and his siblings had been created.

Experiments. They were all nothing more than a Magister’s experiments.

“I was worried,” he managed. Forcing meaningless words out, because he had to say something. The storm of indignation inside his head was deafening.

“About what?”

He shut his eyes, trying to restore his focus. What had they been talking about before this? “Apparently I have the ability to face down a Souleater as if it were nothing more than a simple beast. Possibly I am the only man alive who has that capacity. Which means . . . what? Do I strap on a sword now and go gallivanting about the kingdom, searching for monsters to kill?”

“Is it what you want to do?” she asked quietly.

“It would make it damn hard to run the kingdom.”

“Then forget about looking for Souleaters. That’s the Guardians’ job.”

“And after they find them? What then? Do I leave them to battle the creatures alone, without my gift, or abandon my throne to help them?” He reached up a hand to rub his forehead, where a sharp pain was slowly taking root. “If only I could have had a few years to consolidate my rule, before all this began! My reign is too fresh and untested for this, the High Kingdom too unsettled. I can’t simply walk away and expect things to be the same when I come back.”

“Why not?”

He exhaled noisily. “Because there are enemies at our borders. Restless nobles within it. Judgments that need to be made, territories negotiated, disputes resolved. An empire this vast can’t run itself.”

“But none of those things require
you
, my son. At least not in the short term. I can handle some of them. I did that for Danton when he went off to war. And you have officers who can handle the rest. If you need more than that . . . then call in Valemar. Have him take charge when you’re absent. He can do that well enough if you instruct him properly.”

“And what if my brother decides that he likes the feel of a crown upon his head? And doesn’t want to give it up when I come home? What then?”

“Salvator.” She reached up and put her hands on the sides of his face. “You came home because I asked you to take the throne, not because you wanted it. How many times have you told me that? The crown sits uncomfortably on your head, you said, and you wish your duty did not require you to wear it. So if Valemar took the crown from you—if he proved he had the strength and the savvy to unseat you, which would be a sure sign of his political capacity—would that be such a terrible thing?”

The suggestion made him angry, but he didn’t know why. Every word she was saying was true. How many nights had he lain awake, wishing that God would remove this burden from his life? And yet . . . it was
his
burden. No man should be taking it from him.

And Valemar was not a Penitent. If he took over, the power of the High Kingdom would no longer be in the hands of the true faith. An idolater would control it. That mattered far more than his personal fate.

She chuckled as her hands fell to her sides once more. “I see Danton’s pride in your eyes.”

He smiled faintly. “I am my father’s son.”

“And what would he have done, in your shoes?”

He did not hesitate. “Taken his place at the head of an elite group of Guardians. Bathed in the blood of Souleaters and exulted in their destruction, until the last of the creatures were gone from the earth forever. And so fierce would his reputation be that no man would have the courage to touch anything that had his name on it, while he was gone. The throne would still be empty and waiting for him when he returned.”

“You have that same spark in you,” she said. “I’ve seen it. You channel it into faith instead of warfare, but it is no less a driving passion.”

“I do not have his reputation.”

“Perhaps not. But war gives man a chance to establish a reputation of his own. Unless you shy away from that kind of bloodshed.”

“Penitents are not pacifists, Mother. Even the monks train at arms, as an exercise in self-discipline. And many were the times in the past when persecutions required us to use such skills. Our God is both Creator and Destroyer, remember that.”

“And now the Destroyer has come to your doorstep.”

“To the world’s doorstep, I think.”

“The High Kingdom
is
the world.” A faint smile flickered across her face. “Or so your father always told me.”

He sighed and shook his head. “I can’t tell you what I would not give to have his counsel now.”

“I think . . . .” She hesitated. “I think he would not comprehend your misgivings. He was a simple man, in many ways. If he believed that someone had to die, then he killed him, without hesitation or remorse. Now there are Souleaters who need to die, so he would tell you to do whatever was necessary to see that they met their Creator.” A faint smile flickered across her face. “Or their Destroyer, if you prefer.”

And you, Mother? If I asked you to share the burden of war with me, would you be so quick to celebrate this conflict?

“Valemar may have the same gift that I do,” he said. “My sisters as well. Though they are hardly well suited to a monster-killing expedition.”

“Valemar is not a warrior.” she said bluntly. “I love him dearly, but he is not made of the same stuff that you are. And your sisters are content with women’s lives and have no place on the battlefield.”

She ran a featherlight finger down his cheek, tracing one of the crimson gashes. Because Salvator’s witches had closed the wound properly, there was no pain, but the touch felt odd, as if the scarred cheek were not truly his own. “Besides, their gods are concerned with things like crops and rainfall and human fecundity. Not with saving the world. Your faith is your armor, my son.”

For a moment he was taken aback. Was she praising his religion? If so, this was new ground; he did not know how to negotiate it. “And you, Mother? Do you fear bloodshed?”

Her hand fell away from his cheek; her expression grew somber. “I do believe I’ve already answered that question. The dead Souleater queen, remember?”

He shook his head. “It’s one thing to defend your home territory from a threat. To know that your family may die if you do not act. It’s another thing to spill blood in a foreign land, where the people are not your own, and where you cannot count on any support save that which you bring with you.”

She gazed into his eyes for a long moment. “What are you asking me, Salvator?”

He drew in a deep breath. All the words he had prepared for this moment fled from his mind. Who knew if they had even been the right words to begin with? “I believe . . . you have a special power, Mother. I believe that the gift that was granted you on the Throne of Tears, your ability to connect the
lyr
to one another, and to awaken the ancient power in their blood . . . has not left you.”

“What do you mean?”

“This immunity I seem to have . . . it appears to be stronger when you are nearby. I think that was part of the reason I was unaffected by the queen’s power. What if you have the same effect on all the
lyr,
Mother? Most of the Guardians have some tie to the
lyr
, if only a distant one. What if you are a catalyst for
all
of them?”

She stared at him. Just that, for a small eternity. Unnamed emotions flickered in the depths of her eyes.

“The prophecy that led us to the Throne,” she said at last, “had a passage at the end of it that Favias thought might refer to me. I was not so sure. But if what you say is true . . . .” Her voice trailed off into silence.

“What did it say?”

She shut her eyes, concentrating, and recited:

The mother of men will raise up her sword against the mother of madness

The queen who sits upon the throne of tears will bring demons to weep

The masters of the earth will sip from her blood, to bolster their courage,

As they gird themselves for battle with the glory of her faith

“There was more,” she said, opening her eyes. “But Kierdwyn’s Archivist thought the rest referred to events that had already come to pass, so those verses were no longer meaningful. Of course, it’s all quite cryptic.” She smiled faintly. “I do think that is required in writing prophecies.”

“Why did you not share this with me before?”

“Because of the reference to my faith. If this passage does in fact refer to me . . . and if you are among those it calls
the masters of the earth
 . . . then the last line suggests you will fight in the name of my gods.”

He drew in a sharp breath. “Not likely.”

“Thus the reason we have not had this conversation before, my son. But if what you are saying now is true, then another meaning is possible. If the
blood of the lyr
refers to our inheritance—”

“—Then the ‘glory of your faith’ might refer to that heritage. To our immunity.”

“Perhaps. Of course,” she shrugged, “it is possible the passage doesn’t even refer to me at all. Siderea Aminestas satisfies the same description, at least in a metaphorical sense. While the reference to drinking blood might well turn out to be literal. Though whether that would signify a magical act, or some sort of ritual, one can only speculate. We simply don’t know enough to interpret the passage with any certainty.” She smiled dryly. “Yet another reason I didn’t bother you with it.”

“You need to be at the front lines with me,” he said.

The smile fled. A shadow passed over her eyes.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I understand that now.”

“I will call Valemar to court. We can find some excuse for it that sounds reasonable. No one must know the truth. The less warning our enemies have that I may be absent from my throne, the less quickly they will be able to take advantage of that absence.” He looked sharply at her. “You think Valemar can handle all this?”

“If he fails, he will have his mother to answer to.”

Despite himself, Salvator smiled. “Do you know what my father once said about you, Mother?
More fierce in spirit than all the armies of Anshasa, and more stubborn than the gods themselves.
I thought he was exaggerating at the time.”

A corner of her mouth twitched. “And now?”

“As you said. A Souleater queen is dead. I would not like to get between you and the next one.”

“It is a mother’s destiny to protect her children.” Again the half-smile. “And their world.”

Her words stirred new thoughts. Disturbing thoughts. “Siderea Aminestas did not have any children,” he recalled.

She raised an eyebrow. “And this is significant . . . why?”

“What was the first line of that prophecy?
The mother of men will raise up her sword against the mother of madness.
So the first reference cannot possibly be to her.”

“Which means that the second might be?”

“You are the one who puts stock in such things. But she were to go insane . . . then, as I understand things, her Souleater would go mad as well.” He was remembering the wild Witch-Queen of his dreams, with her faceted eyes and erratic demeanor. So close to madness even then. He had sensed it in her. Now, if what Colivar had suggested was true, one of the world’s most fearsome creatures might be wedded to that madness. And along with it Siderea’s intelligence, her political acumen, and her seductive gifts. What an adversary that joint creature might become!

This is what the Creator has been preparing me for all my life. This is why the Penitents exist.

Never mind that the very gift that enabled him to stand up to the ikati was the result of a Magister’s political machinations. He himself was untouched by sorcery, and that was what mattered.

There were no Magisters among the
lyr
, he remembered suddenly. Did that mean that the Creator was protecting those bloodlines? Or was there some more mundane explanation? Some reason that
lyr
blood was incompatible with sorcery?

Too many mysteries, he thought. At the heart of each one was a weapon they needed, if they were to keep the Second Age of Kings from ending in tragedy like the First. But such secrets had to be ferreted out and identified before they could be put to use. So what was at the heart of this one?