The King's Sons (The Herezoth Trilogy) (45 page)

Listening
to Melinda go on and on about her loss, her pain, her fears, eased the queen’s
conscience. The experience was so miserable for Gracia that she could only
consider it some kind of expiation, and when she finally left her daughter to
August’s company, she found herself steeled to come face to face with Valkin.

Gracia’s
son was in Rexson’s office, with Mason Greller. Both wore black; Gracia had not
yet changed from her riding clothes. Mason greeted her solemnly, Valkin with a
strong embrace that reminded the queen of him at age two or three. He drew
strength from her; Gracia had no doubt he welcomed her presence, and she
welcomed the distraction from her own tortured thoughts as she settled down to
discuss her role in that evening’s event at City Hall.

Rexson
would want her to devote herself to their children. To ease Valkin’s transition
into the kingship with her experience of some thirty years as queen. Though a
part of her felt she did not deserve to live, that conviction made living for
her sons, for her daughter, all the more vital. That was what Rexson would ask
of her, what she owed to him, and by the Giver, she would not disappoint. She
had failed in her duty to her husband. She would not leave her firstborn to
flounder.

* * *

Three
days into Valkin’s reign, Vane brought Kansten to lodge at the Palace while
Oakdowns was under repair. Trite came with her, and her first act, after
handing off her bags to servants, was to scoop the puppy in her arms and carry
him to Hune’s quarters.

The
prince was in his antechamber. He wore black the same as Kansten and most of
the city, and smiled wider than she could ever remember when he saw what she
held. Pulling her inside, he took the dog from her. Somehow, it knew how good a
friend Hune would prove. It felt Hune’s joy at its arrival, or perhaps,
Kansten’s care had made it less wary of people in general; whatever the cause,
it licked the prince’s face in greeting. One of its floppy ears slapped Hune
across the cheek.

“Kansten,
he…. He’s wonderful.” Hune put the pup on the ground, and knelt to pat its
head. It rolled over in a state of bliss as Hune scratched its chin. “Is he for
me?”

“He
needed a home. You needed a dog. I know he can’t take the place of Adage, and
he’s not a trained hound, but….”

“A
dog similar to Adage would only make me miss him more. How can I ever thank
you?”

“You
can keep the name I gave him.”

Hune
glanced up, first startled, then wary. “You gave him a name?”

“And
I’d like you to keep it.”

“You
do know how important a dog’s name is? As important as a person’s, in all
seriousness.”

“I
know, Hune.”

“What
have you called him, then?”

“Trite,”
said Kansten, and Hune’s grin returned.

“Like
Sir Adage’s horse. It’s perfect.”

While
Trite ran around, pulling a knotted rope toy that had belonged to Adage, Hune
stood to kiss her, but Kansten held him at bay with a laugh. “You’re covered in
slobber. And what happened to slowing things down?”

“So
sorry,” he said. Kansten could only laugh harder, though good-naturedly, as he
flushed. “I just…. I’m so grateful. I love the dog already.”

“That’s
good, seeing he’s wasted no time making himself at home.”

“He
hasn’t, has he?” Hune tugged against Trite’s resistance on the rope. Trite
growled happily, and then let go as he toppled to his side. Hune rubbed his
stomach. “Adage wasn’t fond of that game. A bit beneath the dignity of a
hunter. Trite, on the other hand, takes to it quite well. He’s wonderful,” said
Hune again. That seemed the only assessment he could make of the animal.

The
prince and his guest moved to a settee. Hune wiped his face of drool with a
handkerchief, and Kansten asked, “How’s His Majesty?”

“Valkin
is… Valkin. He’s fulfilling his duties, with Mother and Mason Greller guiding
him. Vane makes sure he looks after himself. The king spends half an hour each
evening with Neslan and me, during which we don’t allow him to speak a word
about ruling. And he’s had Father’s records moved from that office, so he can
avoid it. He uses a different meeting table, a square one, and a desk of a more
recent style. I think he felt sad, being in that room with so many memories of
Father. Sad and overwhelmed. The Giver knows we’ve rooms enough here for Valkin
to take his pick of them.”

“It
makes sense he’d choose a different office,” Kansten said. “And you?”

“The
changes become more routine, more familiar each day. I’m so glad you brought
Trite. The silence in here was driving me stark mad.”

“He’s
a sweet dog,” said Kansten.

“I’ll
take good care of him.”

“I
know you will, but don’t keep him to yourself. I think Valkin could benefit
from some time with him as well, and Neslan. During that half hour when
politics are off-limits.”

“And
Melly. Oh, Melly would adore him. Put the two alone and she’d pour all her
little secrets in his ear.”

“I
wish I’d had a dog like Trite at her age.”

“We’ll
be all right,” Hune said. “All of us. For the first time since Father died,
watching Trite run himself dizzy” —the puppy was chasing its tail— “I
know we really will keep moving forward. It’s for the dog to run in dazed
circles, not those ruling a kingdom.”

Kansten
put a hand on his. “You’ll keep moving forward,” she agreed. “We all will. Your
personal efforts, your brothers’ toil, Herezoth will be better for that, and
your father, he’d be prouder than ever of his children.”

EPILOGUE

One Year
Later

Vane
transported Hune to Traigland on a steamy summer day. As the prince headed up
the walk to a brick-fronted cottage he had visited once before, at age eight,
he calmed his nerves by thinking of his current trip’s first stop.

Hune
had paid a call to Francie Rafe. He could only hope this second stop would
exceed his expectations as much as the first, for he’d found Francie in a much
better situation than he’d dared to imagine a mere twelve months after her
abduction. Physically, she looked wonderful. Zacry binding her powers had
vastly improved her attitude and her quality of life. As for Terrance’s
attacks, not a visible trace remained of all she’d suffered beyond a
three-month-old daughter she smothered with kisses, a daughter who looked
incredibly like Francie.

 
“I never thought I’d keep her,” Francie
admitted. “I had every intent of giving her to Vane, and from time to time I
still wonder if I should have, but when she was born, and I held her in my
arms…. She was so beautiful. Twelve weeks later I still don’t understand how
something so perfect, so innocent, could have come from something so
unspeakably awful. She doesn’t look a thing like him. I couldn’t have borne the
sight of her if she had, but she’s my reason to live now, the main one. I’ve
found so many.”

Francie
worked from home copying manuscripts for Triflag’s small library, and she had
married three weeks before.

“He’s
a boatman, on the river that runs from Traigland City. I rented a room to start
out in the house next door to him, so that’s how we met. He checked on me each
and every day, brought me souvenirs from each trip he made to the capital. I
wish you could meet Rall. He treats Mayvie like his own…. I don’t wonder too
much how all this happened, Hune. I just try to accept how blessed I am that my
daughter will know a father like him, because Rall’s her father, he is, bless
the man. He’s already agreed to let Zacry teach her magic.”

Hune
smiled, remembering Francie as he knocked on a sturdy wooden door. He’d brought
her Valkin’s offer of a diplomatic post in Traigland City, and she’d jumped at
the opportunity. She would have to relocate, but Rall had been wanting for
years to move there, and with Herezoth providing lodging for them—the
king housed all his ambassadors at his cost—they could save Rall’s
earnings for their children. The only thing she demanded to know was whether
this was a pity offer. The prince responded, “You’re perfect for the job. Your
skills, your experience…. You know we replaced you with three people on the
Magic Council, and together they can’t accomplish as much?”

Now
a familiar face, though with the unfamiliar beginnings of a beard, peered at
Hune around the thick, green curtains of a window. As soon as it disappeared,
the prince found himself staring at Wilhem Cason around the edge of the cottage
door.

“Your
Highness? There’s not a problem in…?”

“Everything’s
fine in Herezoth. You could call this a personal visit. Are your parents in?”

Wilhem
frowned, but led Hune to the kitchen. Kansten’s father, a broad-shouldered,
ruddy man with a thick but cropped beard, was slicing a melon while his wife
searched the cupboards for a bowl to hold the pieces. Both stopped short at the
sight of a stranger in the house. Then Kora remarked, “I know you. Aren’t you…?

Wilhem
said, “This is Hune Phinnean.”

While
Kora Porteg shut the door to her cupboard, looking resigned, her husband,
Parker, laid down his knife and crossed his arms. “Hune Phinnean the prince?
Come from Herezoth?”

A
Yangerton accent. Hune gave a small but deferential bow.

“Mr.
Cason, Mrs. Cason, I’ve come to ask the honor of your daughter’s hand in
marriage: on the assumption, of course, that she’d accept mine.”

Kora
let out a little gasp, though she’d suspected why he’d come. Her Kansten, her
Kancat…. Rexson had warned her about Hune before his death. Kora, deciding to
let the situation work itself out, had never heard a word from her daughter
about the prince and had barely spoken with him during her trip to Oakdowns.
She grabbed her husband’s arm and ordered a gaping Wilhem from the kitchen.

Hune
looked Parker in the eye as he said, “I love Kansten, and swear I’d defend her
as far as my death, though I’ve no reason to suppose she’d be threatened, not
as my wife. No one would dare. I’ve the full support of my brother the king,
with all that entails. In addition, Vane’s behind us, and after he and the army
cut down Linstrom’s forces last year the way they did, no one would oppose him
over something as trivial as the marriage of a royal with no marked ambitions. I’ll
make it plain to all that if they oppose Kansten, or me, they oppose not only
the king but also the Duke of Ingleton.”

Parker
asked, “Where do you propose to live with my daughter as your wife?”

“In
the Palace, sir. The security of the Palace. She would want for nothing,
neither safety nor affection.”

Kora
eased her grip on Parker’s arm as her nails dug into him. She held onto him,
though. She needed to, for support. Her head was spinning. Hune continued, “I
understand the thought of this is foreign to you, and unexpected, but Kansten’s
spent much time at the Palace this past year. She’s learned much from August
Heathdon, who as a commoner marrying Vane accomplished something not unlike the
transition that awaits Kansten as my spouse. Your daughter knows what
challenges lurk should she make a home with me. I believe if I asked her to
marry me, she’d accept, and I pledge I would make her comfort my first
priority. I’d never ask her to forsake her architecture. For one, I don’t
believe she would, even if I begged her. Mr. Cason, you and your wife raised a
marvel of a daughter.”

Kora’s
heart was pounding. Her husband turned his attention to her, and she said,
“I’ve no doubt Kansten loves him. Parker, Hune saved Walt’s life at Oakdowns.
Wilhem’s too. If Kansten wishes this, if Vane and the king hold no objections….
Vane would have come to us, if he feared for our daughter.”

Hune
said, “My brother’s made it clear he’s no patience for hate crimes. And there
were some, after Linstrom’s assault. Lynchings of those with magic. I promise,
public hangings of those responsible put out any fires my father’s death
stoked. Kansten will face murmurs—lots of them—but I anticipate
nothing worse. And she’ll have guards, of course.”

Parker
studied Hune, studied him carefully, and at his first question, relief flooded
Kora. “There’s fishing on the Podra by the capital, I believe?”

“Good
fishing, Mr. Cason.”

“Kansten’s
always loved fishing. I can’t bear the thought of her living without it. The
biggest trout I ever saw, she caught. I have your word fishing’s not beneath
her new station? You’ll take her, and often?”

Hune
smiled. “As often as she’d like, sir.”

“Then
you have my blessing to ask her hand.”

“Thank
you. Thank you, sir. I’ll try to be worthy of her.”

Parker
shook the prince’s hand, with his other around his wife. “Seems to me you are
already are. Why hasn’t my daughter mentioned you?”

“She
didn’t want to alarm you, either of you. And to be honest, I think a piece of
her has always expected something would separate us.”

Kora
hugged Rexson’s son, feeling a bit light-headed. Tears stung her eyes, the most
beautiful pain she had ever known. Walten was marrying that Rexy: a Magic
Councilor, she was, and a dear, if a little forward at times. He already was
living in Herezoth, and now Kansten and the prince. Her daughter, and a royal.

Kora
didn’t want to let go of Hune. She whispered in his ear, “You take care of my
Kancat.” Only when the prince swore he would did Kora release him. Parker told
her:

“I
had my doubts, but we did right by the kids after all. You can’t argue with
results. For the king’s councilor and his brother to judge them worthy
companions….”

Kora
nodded, and asked Hune to stay for supper. He said he was glad to, and began a
conversation with Kansten’s blacksmith father about swords.

* * *

That
evening, Kansten paid Hune a visit in his antechamber. The prince had trained
Trite well for the occasion, but he still worried the dog would mess things up.
As they sat on his settee and Kansten talked about a new theater her master
architect was designing, he listened with honest interest. Then he stretched an
arm out; that was Trite’s signal.

The
dog leapt on Hune’s desk and knocked over a basket of blotting paper. Hune
feigned annoyance. “He’s only just started doing that,” he said, and asked
Kansten to help him straighten up. Behind her back, the prince scratched
Trite’s ears and mouthed, “Good boy.”

Hune
was lackadaisical in cleaning the dog’s mess. He needed Kansten to do the bulk
of the work; she tossed paper back in the basket as she continued their
conversation, watching Hune instead of her hands.

“The
columns outside, they’ll be magnificent. I convinced Dagner to angle the
theater’s façade, so each row will have one fewer column than the next one
over. I couldn’t believe he took my suggestion, I….”

Kansten
fell quiet. She opened her hand, looked at her palm, and then gasped. She had
scooped up a diamond ring with one of the sheets of paper.

“Kansten,”
Hune asked, “will you marry me?”

Her
lip trembled. Her complexion paled, which made her freckles more pronounced.
Hune adored her freckles….

“Yes,”
she told him. “Yes, again and again.”

The
paper she held fell to the floor, and he took the ring from her, to slip it on
her finger. He kissed her and said, “I’ve spoken with your parents. We’ve their
blessing, so we’ll have to plan two weddings, the first for Traigland. The real
one, as far as we’re concerned. You can’t get married without your mother
there.”

Kansten
threw her arms around him, held him close. He led her back to the settee, and
she rested her head on his shoulder as they sat. He continued, “We’ll need
another wedding here, of course. And it can’t be small. Valkin can’t risk
offending nobles by neglecting to invite them.”

“It’s
fine,” she assured him. “Please don’t worry. One day of hoopla; we’ll get
through it.”

Hune
kissed her again, and then rose to open the door to his bedroom, where his
family waited. Valkin was occupied, but Gracia, Neslan, Melinda, Vane, they all
spilled out, the princess first, while Kansten shrank back in her seat,
surprised. Melinda tugged on Hune’s arm. “Well?”

“She
said yes.”

While
Melinda let out a decidedly unregal squeal, Vane walked up to Kansten. He
helped her to her feet and gave her a brotherly bear hug. She mouthed her thanks
when he offered his congratulations. Neslan shook her hand and said, “Hune
could have chosen someone less controversial, but I can imagine no one better
for him, and could wish him with no one else. I’ll be honored to call you my
sister.”

Melinda
squealed again. “A sister!” She gave Kansten’s hand a squeeze. “I’ve always
wished I had a sister. Every girl should have one. Kansten, you’ll be mine?”

Finding
her voice, Kansten told the girl, “With great pleasure,” and bent to hug her.
Hune’s fiancée straightened when the queen placed a hand on her shoulder.

If
Hune’s mother was happy—and he liked to think she was happy for her son,
if nothing else—she kept her joy subdued. She said, “You realize, dear,
what this means not only for you, but for Herezoth? For the king’s brother to
wed the daughter of a sorceress?”

Kansten’s
expression grew more serious. “I do, Your Highness.”

“You
must make a good impression. You must allow me to teach you certain things, as
I did August: how to stand; how to sit; what to say, and when, and to whom
before others. Various points of etiquette. My husband would have been
overjoyed to welcome you as a daughter, and in his name, dear, I ask you to
accept my guidance on such matters.”

“Your
Highness, I’d be honored to learn from you, more than I can say.” Kansten
curtsied, a curtsy far superior to her first few a year ago.

The
queen kissed Kansten’s cheek. “Call me Gracia.”

Such
gentleness on his mother’s part was a pleasant surprise for Hune. Though Gracia
had chosen to support her son and had spoken no word against Kansten, not ever,
each time Hune brought up Kora Porteg’s daughter he got the impression his
mother would much have preferred he give his heart to a count’s daughter or
earl’s sister. The queen, it seemed, had kept her reservations to herself in
favor of adopting the stance her late husband would have wished of her.

Before
too long, Vane herded Hune’s family away to give the prince and Kansten some
time alone. Trite had grown exhausted running around in the midst of so many
people; the dog was resting on his blanket in the corner, and Hune sat to pet
him while the bride-to-be—
his
bride-to-be—studied
the diamond ring on her shaking hand.