The King's Sons (The Herezoth Trilogy) (17 page)

For
Kora to return to Herezoth was unavoidable, inescapable, but that did nothing
to convince her she was strong enough to take up that chain and its unique,
stalking magic again, no matter what she’d told her husband. To infiltrate the
sanctity of someone’s mind, even someone like Evant Linstrom, was unnatural.
That was always the word to come to mind when she considered the chain:
unnatural. The very nature of its magic sickened her with guilt, and then, of
course, there was the matter of the thoughts themselves: the ruminations,
observations, and plans the chain revealed to her.

Kora
had known Linstrom’s father. Petroc had been as close to mad as a man could
come and still function with others. His son was just as disturbed, if she
could trust Vane’s description. Kora had no desire to know what was in his
head, which twisted scenarios related to his plot gave him greatest pleasure.

Worse
than any fears concerning the chain was to know her sons in danger. Pondering
that, Kora decided to join the king’s magicked forces. She would do more than
sit in a room in Oakdowns and gather intelligence. Her brother, her husband,
her sons: they mustn’t know her determination, not right away and perhaps not
ever, but she would fight when the time came. No way were Walt and Wil standing
up to Linstrom’s army without what help she could give. She’d sworn to Parker
to protect her boys, and whether or not he realized what she meant by those
words, she would fight, if not directly with her sons, then to draw foes away
by throwing her magic behind a different royal regiment.

That
brought Kora’s mind to Rexson Phinnean and a painful tingle to her fingers. He
had always cursed himself for the pain her banishment brought her, overlooking
how he’d saved her life by ordering her from his realm. If the queen were truly
responsible for the Linstrom fiasco, as Vane claimed, then the king’s marriage
was in no good place. The last thing he needed was an old love reappearing in
his life. That would do him as much good as that blasted chain would help
Kora’s peace of mind.

We’ll both soldier
through. There’s no other way, no other option.

They
had been through worse: fought off an army of trolls at Vane’s aunt’s inn, planned
an assault on the Crystal Palace they were sure would kill them both. In that
last attack with the Crimson League, Kora had hoped for nothing more than to
die first, away from Rexson, so he would be spared the sight and she at least
could perish with an irrational hope that the royal might change the tide of
battle. Both Rexson and Kora had evaded death that day; Rexson, in particular,
had found the strength to exile her, and she to overcome her shame and
heartache. She could only pray they both might, again, find themselves equal to
the challenges before them.

Rexson
would struggle seeing Kora again. For one dreadful, pain-filled moment, she
even wondered what effect his presence might have on her. Then she remembered
Parker, and that strange tingle vanished from her hand. Rexson, she concluded,
would pose her little danger.

At
least, she hoped he would.

CHAPTER
SEVEN

The King Gains a Spy

Kansten
passed the morning with August and Thad in the parlor at Oakdowns. Each hour
seemed three times that, until she learned to appreciate Thad’s sense of humor
and stopped worrying he judged her to have all the sophistication and subtlety
of cattle. When time came to lunch, August went to gather her children while
Kansten sent a servant for food for herself and the nobleman. August remained
as gracious as ever in her role of hostess, but her manner grew strained the
more time wore on; the duchess needed a meal with her children, just her
children, so Kansten deemed breaking her promise to Vane to be in Vane’s wife’s
interest.

She
and Thad discussed their parents when they found themselves alone; Thad was as
curious about the infamous Kora Porteg as Kansten found herself about the Duke
of Podrar.

“I’ve
known Vane for years,” said Thad, as a servant delivered vast portions of a
hearty, meaty stew to him and Kansten. “For most of that time, I’ve known his
connection with your family had deep roots. I’ve never felt it wise to ask
questions, though. You’ll be relieved when I tell you he respects Kora’s
privacy.”

“She’s
not that private a person,” Kansten argued.

“Perhaps
not. But Vane is.”

“Well,
that’s true. He always has been.” Kansten glanced up at the portrait of the
former duke and duchess. “He looks very like his father. I never realized
that.”

Thad’s
eyes lit up. A mischievous grin crossed his face, and Kansten figured her last
comment was lost upon him. “I forget you’ve known Vane much longer than I have.
You knew him before court. What was he like as a teenager?”

Kansten
smiled. “Rather moody, but you didn’t get that from me, all right? And quiet.
He did a lot of thinking.”

Thad
noted, “Still does, though he’s far from quiet now. He’s learned he can’t afford
to be.”

They
continued the conversation as they ate, and then after, while they stacked their
bowls and tray on the mantel, beneath the portrait. Kansten felt strange,
almost surreal, to consider how the woman with the long, raven hair and ice
blue eyes was the original Laskenay, the first bearer of her sister’s name.

“Did
you know Vane’s mother?” Kansten asked.

“I
was only a tot when Zalski took over the kingdom and she fled from him. Fled to
hide Vane away. My parents, though, have always praised her and her husband.
They….”

“Uncle
Zac!” Kansten cried, jumping to her feet. The dark-haired, bearded Zacry Porteg
had materialized in the middle of the room, holding hands with: “Walten?
Wilhem? What are you doing here?” Then Kansten noticed the robed figure with
thinning blond hair on Wilhem’s right. “Your Majesty!”

Zacry
muttered “
Contenay Ruid
,” and the
walls glowed yellow. No one would overhear their conversation. Kansten’s uncle
must have spent some time here in Thad’s company, because he said, “This is the
Duke of Podrar’s son. He’s always supported Vane. He’s to be trusted.”

A
feminine voice then whispered, “
Desfazair,
”
and a bandana-wearing, resolved-looking woman with chestnut curls materialized
beside Walten.

“
MOM!?
”

Kora
winced at Kansten’s outburst. “I know we’re safe from prying ears, but in the
Giver’s name!”

“Mom,
you can’t be in Herezoth!”

Kora’s
voice held a note of warning. “That’s enough. I’m here to help Vane.”

Rexson
said, “All greetings aside for the moment, your daughter’s right. You really
should go home.”

Kora
replied, “I’m going nowhere. You need me here,
Your Majesty
.”
 
Kansten’s
eyes widened at her mother’s tone, which was anything but respectful of
Rexson’s title. “I can forge a connection to Linstrom with Petroc’s chain. You
should have sent Vane straight to me, at the start. You could have spared him
the danger…. How could you send him to Partsvale like that?”

The
king’s voice grew curt. “He sent himself. And I’ve hardly spared a thought for
that chain in some twenty-five years.”

“Lucky
you,” the sorceress muttered.

“It
might not even work now,” Rexson noted. “I’ve always suspected the enchantment
would fail once you triumphed over Zalski. It was meant to aid you in that
struggle.”

Kora’s
voice grew weak. She admitted, “I’ve wondered myself if his death would break….
Well, we don’t know for sure what being the Marked One means. I still have the
ruby, don’t I? The Giver gave it to me, and it’s never come off. I’d assume the
chain still works.”

Rexson
insisted, “We know Zalski meddled with that necklace. He tried to alter its
enchantment for his use. Tried to spy on you the same way you stalked him. He
failed, or we’d never have killed him, but he might have succeeded in ruining
the chain’s magic.”

Kora
spoke with greater confidence now. “I’ll have to test it to find out. You do
have the necklace? Zacry mentioned it when he fetched you?”

The
king removed a glittering chain, red gold, from around his neck. He had worn it
beneath his robes and now held it out to Kora, who took it with unsteady
fingers. She nearly dropped the unfashionable, bulky necklace once, then again
as she noticed the portrait above the mantel. She gathered herself, held the
chain out, and mumbled to the painted duchess, “You’d better realize how much I
love your son. See what this is?”

Confused,
her head beginning to ache, Kansten whirled back to her brothers.

“What
do you two think you’re doing?
Herezoth
?”

Walten
retorted, “Why are you talking weird?”

Kansten
crossed her arms. “Vane cast a spell. Gave me a Podrar accent, as I’ve a reason
to be here. You?”

Wilhem
said, “We’ve come to fight. With Uncle Zac and Vane.”

That
couldn’t be. It simply could not be. A swarm of emotions descended upon
Kansten: a renewal of the protective instinct she had felt toward her brothers
when they were young; envy of their obvious ability to be useful; shame that
she could serve no purpose, not in the crisis at hand; anger and humiliation to
think they would know Herezoth just as well as, if not better than she.
Herezoth.... She had urged them, for years, to come to Herezoth, knowing they
would always refuse. She’d lived secure in the knowledge that the more she
pleaded, the more superior she could feel when they resisted.

They
had come after all, to fight. To be heroic. They would get themselves killed;
Kansten would lose her brothers, and they would be martyrs for the land that
should have been hers alone. Martyrs!

In
the battle for control of Kansten’s heart among her warring instincts, the
older sister in her dominated. The guardian. “Have you two lost your minds?
You’ll be dead. Stone dead. Uncle Zac can’t fix dead. Get your bottoms back
home!”

Wilhem
said, “Our side needs sorcerers, Kans. Listen, we’ll be fine. We’ll make a
difference, being here. If you want to be useful….”

Kansten
grabbed Wilhem by the tunic. “Tell me to help Grams watch the girls, and I will
bash your face in.”

“KANSTEN!”
Kora stepped between them, ripped Wilhem’s clothing out of his sister’s grasp.
Thad had yet to speak a word, and stood gawking. Walten helped straighten his
brother’s garments. The king, who had stepped aside at Kansten’s rush, was
smiling.

“You
named your daughter aptly,” he told Kora.

“Much
too aptly,” she replied. “Kansten, calm yourself. No one’s sending you back to
Traigland.”

Kansten
moaned, “What are you three doing here?”

Kora
said, “Walt’s going to join Vane and your uncle, when action’s taken. I’m going
to stay at Oakdowns. Through this necklace, I can spy on Linstrom. I’ll know
exactly what he’s up to, even what he’s thinking. It’s…. It’s darker magic than
I’d choose, but it must be done, and only I can do it. As for Wilhem….”

Wilhem
couldn’t grow a beard. He was practically a baby, as far as Kansten was
concerned. He said, “I’m to be a messenger between Mom and the Palace. Mom and
the king. Since she can’t be seen, she’ll need me to transport for her, to
bring updates.”

Inside
Kansten, the balance of power between her dueling emotions shifted. Pride took
control: a determination to get involved in any way she could, since her bloody
brothers had decided to interfere. Her mother would never agree to what she
thought to propose, so she addressed the king instead.

“Let
me be the messenger,” she pleaded. “I’ve a fantastic sense of direction. I
remember the route to the Palace from yesterday, and I ride a horse well. I
know Wilhem would be faster, but he’s a sorcerer, and Vane will need him more
than you do, Sir. No one wants to say it, seeing Wilhem’s just sixteen. I don’t
want to say it either. The boy’s my brother, and the last thing I want is to
see him harmed, but he’s chosen to come here. If he won’t go back home, which
is what he should do, Vane will need him.” Kansten demanded of her mother, “Am
I a decent equestrienne?”

Kora
had to admit, “One of the best I’ve seen.”

“Uncle
Zac, hasn’t Wilhem studied hard with you? Does he know enough magic to protect
himself?”

Zacry
said, “I would never have brought him here otherwise. You know that, Kansten.
He’s capable of defending Partsvale.”

“Well,
there you go.” Kansten looked the king in the eye. “Your Majesty, I would be
honored to carry messages between Oakdowns and the Palace, if you’d allow me.
Wilhem should spend his time honing spells, not playing courier.”

The
king looked to Kansten’s mother, and Kora nodded, her lips pursed. A helpless
expression was on her face. Rexson consented, “Very well,” and Kansten could
barely prevent her mouth from falling open. Had a royal just sought her
mother’s permission? Her
mother
? Did
the man respect Kora that much?

Kora
put a hand on Kansten’s shoulder, the hand that did not grasp the chain Rexson
had returned to her. “Don’t you ever think you’re of no use,” she said. “And
take me to your room. I’ll be working from there.”

Thad
told the king and the sorcerers, “I’ll notify August you’re here,” and with the
women, once Kora had cast an invisibility spell, left the room.

* * *

Vane’s mother lived
here. This was Laskenay’s home.

Kora
glanced every which way as Kansten led her through Oakdowns’s corridors. Ten
years before, when the Duke of Yangerton had stabbed Vane, Kora’s brother had
brought her here, but only to the master suite where Vane had lain unconscious.
Kora had never walked these halls, never gazed past those open doors into
lavishly furnished offices and guestrooms. In some respects, Oakdowns struck
her as even more comfortable than the Palace. It was smaller, and thus felt
cozier. The walls of polished wood, instead of stone, contributed to its homey
atmosphere. The passages were wider, their rugs just as luxurious.

Laskenay’s
life as a duchess, her life before the Crimson League and fighting to depose
her brother, had always remained a mystery to Kora. The renegade sorceress Kora
had known had left that existence too far behind her. The woman’s elegance had
remained, and the ease with which she directed operations and gave
orders—a turn of phrase, here or there, spoke to her noble past—but
to see that portrait of Laskenay with her husband…. She had looked exactly as
Kora remembered her, and yet, utterly distinct. Kora had never seen her in a
gown like that, appropriate for a royal gala. The artist had captured a
complacency and a confidence in her ice blue eyes that Kora had never seen
there. How long after that portrait had Laskenay lost her husband, her life of
comfort, and left her son with an innkeeper? A year or two? The woman would be
so proud of the man Vane had become….

Kansten’s
room was enormous, twice as large as the one Kora shared with her husband.
Three people could have slept on the bed—three children for
sure—and there were two cushioned chairs, with a third that rocked; an
ornately carved desk; three shelves with as many pots of flowers as books; a
large, round table…. This was a guestroom? Kora’s awe must have shown on her
face as she cast a sound barrier and made herself visible to her daughter,
because Kansten said, “It’s something, huh? And Vane said he put me in one of
the smaller rooms. Knew I’d be more at home that way.”

Kora’s
voice came almost in a whisper. “I’m glad Vane has this. All this beauty, this
comfort. God knows his life outside this place would be my worst nightmare.”

“I
never knew what his life was,” Kansten admitted. “I saw nothing beyond how he
and August, they’re perfect together. Vane’s blessed in many ways, and he’d be
the first to say so, but the other things….”

The
prejudice. The fears sorcery caused. Working yourself ragged for the sake of a
kingdom of malcontents who had no concept of what you suffered on their behalf,
who would turn on you given the slightest opportunity…. No, Kansten would not
have been able to fathom that. Kora could. She had lived it herself in the
Crimson League, for almost a year. Vane had borne it ten times that long.