The King's Sons (The Herezoth Trilogy) (44 page)

 
“Of course you didn’t doom your first love.
You were born to be the Marked One, and you succeeded. I’m honored to think I
taught you as little as I did. I’d never claim a part in the struggles and the
triumphs that were yours, wholly yours, but….”

“Laskenay,
there’s a reason I felt so indebted to you. Why I still do. I’ll owe you even
more if you could tell Rexson….”

“I
shouldn’t bring messages back. No more than you should. I can tell you, though,
that no one you lost blames you. Especially not Sedder.”

“Not
even Rexson’s brother? Not for pushing him away from the League after I
eavesdropped on the two of you?”

“I’ve
told you, death broadens one’s vision. Rexson’s brother needed a broader vision
as much as anyone I knew in life. Rest assured, we’ve all found peace.”

Kora
nodded, and Laskenay said, “I must go now. May that same peace be yours.”

She
clasped Kora’s hand, and then, as though she transported without an
incantation, she vanished. Kora’s strength left her when she found herself
alone again, so she kept to her seat on the stairs. The motion of pulling off
her bandana was more mechanical than not. She raised a hand to her forehead,
and the gem—the stone that had stuck to her skin for a quarter
century—fell off at her touch. It landed in her lap. Astonished, Kora
laid it across her palm.

Then
she woke in her bed at Oakdowns. That shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did.
Had she been dreaming? That could
not
have been a dream….

Kora’s
right hand lay on her pillow, next to her face. It was clenched in a fist.
Though the room was dark, she unfurled her fingers and felt something small and
hard there. Something round.

She
grazed her forehead with her other hand, and gasped. Her skin was smooth,
perfectly smooth. Her ruby was gone.

Kora
took Laskenay’s warnings about revealing their talk to heart. She had kept few
things from Parker throughout the years, but her mentor’s explanations would be
her secret. She explained events as best she could to her husband.

“I’m
finished with the Marked One, and all that business. Whatever I was supposed to
do, I must have done it. The ruby came off. That has to mean Herezoth’s safe.”

Parker
looked her in the eye. “Not completely,” he said. “You just told me Rexson
Phinnean was killed by a bunch of magicked maniacs. No matter what his son
does, there’ll be repercussions from that. Kora, I think it’s about time you
sent Zacry to Podrar with your book.”

Kora
rubbed her hands together. “My book?”

“Yeah,
your book. The one about magic’s history and the reason things went to hell the
way they did. The one you spent a decade researching.”

“I
know what book you mean. Parker….”

“I
reckon it’s time,” he repeated. “How often did you tell me you wrote it to help
people understand magic? If they understood the past, then the present could
make sense and maybe they’d be rational about sorcery. That’s what you claimed,
but you wrote your book and you’ve done nothing with it for years. Waiting for
the right moment, you said. You’d have Zac do something with it later.”

“I
know I said….”

“Can
you think of a situation where Herezoth might need that book more than now?
With your name on it, there won’t be a person back home who can read that won’t
find a way to glimpse some pages.”

“Parker,
I know how people talk about me. It’s not fun to think about, and I really…. I
don’t want to set them talking even more. Kansten’s there. You know she’d
hear….”

Parker
smiled. “I wouldn’t want to be the man to insult you in front of your daughter.
A rabid dog would be calmer than that girl.”

That
made Kora grin, though she tried not to. She was proud of her Kancat, as proud
as she was of her sons. No need to mention Hune; Kansten would never forgive
her for that. Kora would wait, and when Kansten came to her for advice, or in
tears, she’d tell Parker about the prince.

Kora
gave her husband an affectionate squeeze and said, “The only time I’ve ever
been a coward is in regard to that book. Well, I can’t be anymore. After what
happened to the king….”

“So
you’ll send it with Zac?”

Kora
kissed him, and replaced her bandana. She grimaced as she spoke, but she
agreed, “I’ll send it with Zac.”

* * *

The
queen had passed the first night of her journey to Partsvale in a pavilion her
guard erected out of view of Herezoth’s major trade road. That road ran north
from Podrar all the way to Fontferry and the base of the Pearl Mountains.
There, they would cross the Podra River by a bridge and continue westward.
Provisions were few, for the queen’s main concern had been leaving as soon as
possible, before Rexson or one of her sons discovered her intentions. Gracia’s
route passed many a pulp mill and many villages in which to find supplies, and
if the queen’s dinner of dried fruit, salted pork, and hard bread from the
kitchens had been far from what she had grown accustomed to in her comfortable
life, well, the sacrifice seemed just as well. Her pilgrimage was one of
penitence.

Unsurprisingly,
she felt unrested by the time the sun rose. She’d spent the dark hours
reflecting on a note she had found in her antechamber her last evening at the
Palace. Rexson had written her some hours after their argument, and had rushed
himself to do so. A part of her felt insulted, though a larger part recognized
how touched she should be that he had made time to write her at all:

I wished to speak with
you again, but have found myself occupied all day. If you could have assisted
me, I’d have called you. We’re uncovering more and more about Linstrom’s plot,
and I believe we can stop him.

I’ve no doubt you’ve
passed your day seeing to Valkin, and I’m grateful. I have always been grateful
for the support and example you furnish him. You’ve been as selfless where the
children are concerned as I strive to be.

I shan’t see you
tonight—there’s urgent strategy to develop—but when I can, you’ve
my word I’ll find you to apologize for that vase.

Gracia
had the short note memorized before she left Podrar, but still she’d carried it
near her chest. Even though it rubbed her skin raw as she rode, she had not
removed it once since tucking it away.

When
dawn broke, Gracia’s escort roused themselves. After a rushed breakfast no
different from the previous night’s meal, she and her men broke camp and
continued northward, with only two soldiers riding before the queen. She had
pressed them to travel as far as possible the day before, for fear Rexson had
sent men to overtake her. Though no one had come upon them in the night, the
queen continued a pace so rapid as to nearly be reckless. After an hour,
perhaps, of riding, two small, unmounted figures appeared before her on the
road. Gracia and her protectors slowed their horses to a trot, and soon saw the
pair to be a man and woman. Gracia recognized breeches as well as a billowing
dress.

Drawing
near, the queen’s heart dropped. She knew that couple well: Vane and August, in
dark clothes. Her husband had sent the duke to bring her home. Well—pride
straightened her spine, though she was aware how ragged and windblown she must
look—she was the queen. Vane wouldn’t dare transport her back against her
will.

Gracia’s
vanguard knew Ingleton, and neither threatened him nor prevented the queen
riding off the road for a private word. August joined the pair, and as soon as
Gracia dismounted, her riding gear dirt-stained from the morning journey, Vane
began to speak.

The
edge of a pine forest stood to their left, blocking the sight and sound of the
Podra as it ran toward the capital. To the right, wheat fields marked the
presence of a village not far up the road and, indeed, just visible to the
north. For high summer the day was cool, almost comfortably so, but Gracia
sweated at Vane’s tidings while August held her in a one-armed embrace:
Linstrom had attacked Oakdowns, though he and his men had all been killed. They
had murdered the king.

August,
tears in her eyes, pulled Gracia closer to show her support. Her filial
devotion. Sweet August: sweet, innocent girl, who’d protected Gracia’s
kidnapped sons far better than Gracia had her kingdom. The thought brought the
queen close to fainting. Her vision blurred, and she heard Vane’s voice as
though he spoke from a greater distance than that which stood between them.

 
“I know what your intentions were, traveling
to Partsvale, and I can’t fault you for them. But right now your children need
you.”

Gracia
held a hand to her chest, pressed Rexson’s note against her heart as Vane went
on.

“Melinda
tore out the room when her brothers told her about their father. She locked
herself in her chambers and wouldn’t let a soul in but her nurse. Neslan’s in
shock. The enormity of what’s happened hasn’t hit him in full force yet, but it
will. Hune’s despondent, and Valkin…. Valkin’s overwhelmed at the thought not
only of losing Rexson but having to succeed him. He needs your counsel. I
promise, none of them blames you, and neither would your husband. You didn’t
sanction the attack that took his life.”

“No,”
the queen agreed. “No, I was only its motivation.”

“Gracia,
Linstrom was a monster. Suppose Rexson had seen his application. Interview or
no, there’s no way your husband would have seated that man on the Magic
Council. The scoundrel would have felt the same sense of insult that led him to
plot against the crown. He was that mad.”

The
duchess said, “Your children need you. They need the sense of continuity your
presence would provide. They need your help with preparations to move forward.”

“Starting
with breaking the news to the court,” said Vane. “Neslan and Hune are sending
notice of Rexson’s death to all the nobility in the kingdom. It’s your duty, in
Podrar, to make an announcement before the local nobles and city leadership. At
City Hall. Valkin’s called a meeting for tonight.”

“Vane,
I can’t face my children.”

“I’m
telling you, Melinda needs her mother. Valkin needs you just as much, though
for different reasons.”

Gracia
nodded, feeling sick. Rexson’s sons, his young daughter: they needed her?
Needed to spit in her face, that was what they needed. The queen’s stomach
churned with violence, and she stepped aside to vomit on the grass. The duke
and his wife had the grace to pretend they noticed nothing as she wiped her
mouth with a handkerchief. Then Vane informed Gracia’s guard he would take her
to the Palace, while August warned her transporting was hard on the lungs and
stomach.

Gracia
had never transported with a sorcerer in her life. To postpone the act, she
asked, “You two, what will you do now? What’s the state of your manor?”

August
squeezed Gracia’s shoulder, a mark of thanks for the queen’s concern, but she
didn’t smile as she then took Vane’s hand. “My husband and I discussed that
this morning. Repairs will take time, but with Rexson gone, we’ll have to
restore Oakdowns and return there. We have to appear unbreakable, untouchable,
if Val’s to be the king’s adviser. Everything we do now reflects on the crown,
so….”

August’s
voice broke there. Vane assured the queen, “We’ll be fine at Oakdowns. We’ll
live there with our heads high.”

The
duchess said, “I never realized how hard it must have been for Rexson, living
in the Palace. How did he do it?”

“The
same way we will,” Vane told his wife. “We’ll remember the blessings we’ve
known at Oakdowns and think as little as possible about this week. About last
night.”

August
agreed, though her tone lacked confidence, “We’ll do what we have to. We’ve
always done what we have to.” She embraced Vane. “When I think what I could
have lost yesterday, I know I could live anywhere, as long as you’re with me.”

“I’ll
be with you,” he said. She hugged him tighter. To watch wrenched Gracia’s
heart, for she had never known that closeness with Rexson. When they separated
she said, “Bless you both. I’m so sorry that madman tainted…. I suppose we
should go to the Palace now.”

“I
suppose we should,” said Vane, and offered Gracia a hand.

August
was right about transporting. Gracia felt short of breath and sicker than ever
when she, Vane, his wife, and Gracia’s horse materialized outside the Palace
stables. Vane handled provisions for the animal, and August walked with Gracia
across the grounds all the way to Melinda’s chambers. The queen was glad for
her silent company up to that point, but that was where it ended. August said,
“I’ll see Melinda after you do.”

Gracia’s
waves of guilt reached a new height as she imagined her daughter’s grief.
Eleven years old, was Melinda.

The
princess was alone, but she opened her locked door for the queen. Her green
eyes were swollen from weeping, and she hadn’t brushed her long, blonde hair.
She looked so much like Rexson’s family…. Hune alone of Gracia’s children
resembled their mother, and the Giver be praised, the similarities ended with
looks. Hune would never have burned those council applications, and though he
wouldn’t spurn Gracia, would never forgive her doing so.