The King's Sons (The Herezoth Trilogy) (8 page)

Terrance
nodded in approbation of Vane’s hatred, while Linstrom adjusted his tunic and
pushed Vane against the door, an arm to his throat. “No one touches me, is that
clear? I will bleed you dry if you lay a hand on me again.”

Vane forced
out some phrase that signaled he understood, and Linstrom released his
chokehold. Terrance asked, unmoved, “Got a name beyond Howar’s cousin?”

“That
depends,” said Vane. “You got a job for me?”

Linstrom
cast a quizzical eye over the newcomer. Vane stared right back, and Linstrom’s
lips stretched in a smirk. Good: the man’s last doubts were settled. He repeated,
“Do I have a job for you? Of a sort, Howar’s cousin. Of a sort. I can’t promise
payment in coin, but you’ll have your pick of the spoils.”

“What
spoils?”

“From this
area. Shops, homes: any place but the Temple. The Temple’s forbidden. I won’t
condone sacrilege.”

Vane crossed
his arms and leaned back, letting out a slow, deliberate breath. “You planning
to attack Partsvale?”

Linstrom
confided, “You don’t like the king’s choice of pets, it seems. I don’t like the
king. The man’s an utter fraud. Claims to champion the magicked, to strive for
their good, their integration into government….”

“So he
does,” said Vane. “He has his Magic Council. Got to concede him that.”

“I concede
him nothing! I applied to that council, when Rexson Phinnean announced it. Was
flatly ignored, despite my sorcery, despite recommendations from Partsvale’s
mayor and a keen self-education in all things related to magic: history,
politics, even legend and myth. I may be a cobbler, but I can read, and I’ve
read a damn good number of books. Good enough for that two-faced tyrant, at
least.”

Linstrom had
applied for the council? Had been overlooked? That made no sense. Vane had
witnessed the council interviews, and the king had given everyone interested
the chance to plead his case for appointment.

“The king
ignored you?” pressed Vane.

“I got no
recognition whatsoever. No token gratitude for my interest, no interview…. I
was livid at being snubbed. Through the years I wondered, and doubted, what
about my application made me undeserving of even a wave of dismissal. I began
to suspect that what had worked against me could very well have been the word
sorcerer
attached to my name. The
council’s make-up, after all, was public knowledge. No sorcerers beyond the
king’s dog, as you so aptly describe him, and Zacry Porteg. The academic whose
essays inspired the king’s notion for the council to begin with.”

Linstrom
paused a moment, and then went on. “I wondered, to the point of obsession. I
crafted a spell to bring me into contact with other sorcerers who had applied
for the Magic Council. Took me years to track them all: here, the capital, Yangerton,
the fishing villages. Even one who had moved to the mining towns. Guess how
many sorcerers had expressed interest?”

A score, if
Vane had to pick a number. The score of sorcerers in Linstrom’s band. He could
not admit to knowing that, of course. He swallowed, praying not to vomit his
breakfast all over Linstrom’s shoes.

“I’ve no
idea how many wanted a seat. I didn’t involve myself in that. Was never political,
until that piece of horseshit killed my father.”

“Twenty,”
Linstrom raged. “A full twenty, each and every one given the same treatment I
received. We’ve joined forces to expose the crown for the sham it is. To cause
Rexson Phinnean all the headache and unrest we can, beginning in Partsvale, because
Partsvale, my friend, will be only the start. I’ve done research into my
ancestry, and it so happens I’m descended from Hansrelto. Interesting, no? His
revolt in ancient times, I’ll exceed it.”

Vane knew
Hansrelto’s story: an ancient sorcerer, he had tried to overthrow one of
Rexson’s forebears and written the darkest book of magic anyone in the present
day could name. His military movement had entrenched the stigma against magic
that still existed.

Linstrom
moved back from Hansrelto to Rexson Phinnean. “If the king wants to persecute
sorcerers, tread upon us, fine, but he’ll do it openly. We’ll expose his snub
in newspapers throughout Herezoth the week before our first attack. Then people
won’t be sure whether we’re the culprits, or a group acting on our behalf
enraged by the exposé. One thing’s for sure, though: they’ll hold the king
responsible.

“We’ll vary
our numbers and tactics, to keep people guessing whether our assaults are
related. We’ll keep the king’s men busy rebuilding towns and calming hysteria,
so they won’t have time to hunt us. I swear,
His Majesty
won’t receive accolades as the magicked’s champion when
he’ll have nothing to do with sorcerers, not the slightest damned….”

“I see,”
said Vane. Miraculously, he kept his voice from shaking. “I see, and I’m in.
Maybe once we get started he’ll send Ingleton to stop us. Maybe I’ll kill the
scoundrel same as he killed my father. Forget the king, it’s Ingleton I want.
The man’s to be mine. That’s my only condition.”

Linstrom
smiled. “It’s met.” He shook Vane’s hand. “Your name?”

“Rickard
Holler,” Vane announced.

The bearded
man offered his hand as well. “Terrance Vole. You’re most welcome here. We can
always use more sorcerers, and if you’re Ingleton’s enemy, you’ll be tickled by
tonight’s surprise.”

Vane raised
an eyebrow. “Tonight?”

Terrance
said, “Meet us at the Dancing Drake after dark. We’ll transport from there to
the meeting.”

Next to
Vane, Linstrom huffed in impatience. “For the last time, Terrance, you will
tell me what this is about.”

“I’ll do no
such thing. It’s nothing to jeopardize our plans. You can wait like all the
rest.”

Vane
shot at Terrance, “You one of those twenty?”

Terrance
lowered the neck of his tunic. On the upper right quadrant of his chest was a
triangular-shaped birthmark, colored coffee brown. The sorcerer’s mark. Vane’s
own was behind his shoulder.

CHAPTER
FOUR

Valkin’s
New Duties

Wonderful. Just
wonderful. I won’t be talking to Father anytime soon about myself, not when
he’s this mess to mop up.

Valkin
sat in the Palace library once more, with his brothers and his parents. The
king had just explained Gratton’s visit from Partsvale, the urgency of its
nature. Not one of the princes had any misconception about what was at stake in
Vane’s mission. Neslan ran a hand down his face, and Valkin could almost see
his mind working, laying out the worst-case scenario for the young man to
consider. More bookish than his siblings and fond of history, Neslan
knew—more precisely than Valkin, the crown prince would
bet—Herezoth’s tumultuous past and the legacy of conflict between the
magicked and the rest of society. He looked dumbstruck. Hune, on the other
hand, couldn’t stop asking questions. He was thinking aloud.

“So
Vane’s in Partsvale as we speak, risking his life? You sent him to do that?”

Rexson
said, “Vane volunteered. If you’ve another option, or suggestions for when he
returns tonight, I’ll listen. I no more want him endangering himself than you
do.”

“How
will the army get there in time? Can it? Troops from Podrar? Is there some way
they could transport? Two weeks…. They wouldn’t make it to Partsvale on foot,
even on horse.”

“We
could call upon Zacry and Vane to transport men. Jane Trand and the elder of
her students.” Trand was the sorcery instructor at the Magic Council’s school
in Carphead, one of the major fishing villages off the coast southeast of the
capital.

“Have
you spoken with Gerr Bruan?” The king’s general. “Mason Greller?” The Duke of
Podrar and Rexson’s Chief Adviser.

“Hune,
we three were up all night. Well, the general and I were. Greller for half.”

That
was a substantial sacrifice on Greller’s part. The man had to be past seventy.
The king himself was not young, Valkin thought. Nearing fifty. The previous
night, in fact, looked to have aged him at least five years; his eyes looked
sunken, his complexion pasty.

As
much as Valkin loved the king and cared for Vane—as much as the thought
of something happening to Vane froze his insides with a jolt—Valkin could
not help but, once again, consider himself while staring at his father.

My eyes will look like
that in thirty years. Good Giver, what if Father weren’t here? If I had to
handle this? I wouldn’t have the slightest concept how to respond, I….

Neslan
must have guessed where Valkin’s thoughts were running, because he put a
steadying hand on Valkin’s shoulder. Though Hune and Gracia both studied the
king with worried expressions, it was Gracia who told him, “You should rest,
dear. Vane, Gratton, the general: they’re all seeing that what needs to be done
is done, and they would agree with me. You need to rest. At present, we can
only wait for Vane. You’ll have another long night once he returns with his
report, and he
will
return. Sleep
while you can.”

The
king’s response was to ask his eldest son to accompany him to his office, which
was on a separate floor and in a different wing. Valkin walked behind his
father because the Palace halls were narrow, and his face flushed with
uncomfortable anticipation. What did the king want with him? To ask his
counsel? That seemed unlikely, but it was possible. To discuss Valkin’s future?
Even if Neslan had spoken with the king since last night, this hardly seemed an
occasion to broach the topic of Valkin and the crown. Not with Vane possibly
finding himself murd—

Valkin
refused to finish the thought, to consider Vane might be dead. Not when
Herezoth needed the man like it did, when Valkin would need him so desperately
during his reign.

Most
likely, the king was planning to use this crisis to train Valkin in some way,
to give him greater responsibilities. Valkin was past twenty, after all.
Twenty-one. He had no legitimate protest should the king suggest he take over
some of his duties, though entwining himself ever more, even inextricably, into
the fabric of the government was the last thing the crown prince desired.

The
king’s office door swung open at Rexson’s touch well before Valkin felt
prepared to enter the room. He hated that room; he always had, though he
readily admitted it was spacious, lushly carpeted, and well ventilated.
Rexson’s office was where Valkin always held unwanted conversations with his
father. The cedar table where the king hosted meetings with his nobles was too
large for Valkin’s taste, and the suit of armor on the wall, behind the desk
with its organized clutter of papers, seemed to judge the prince somehow. Every
time he looked at it, it judged him. That bloody visored helmet….

Rexson
led Valkin to the table, where they pulled out adjacent chairs. Once seated,
Rexson said, “This business in Partsvale will demand my full attention. And
Mason Greller’s, along with your mother’s. There’s nothing else to be said.
These maniacs could provoke a civil war.”

“I
realize that.”

“I
need you to see to my other obligations, until the crisis passes. The hearing
tomorrow evening between the brewers’ guild and those disgruntled alehouse
owners, you’ll adjudicate. You must host that state dinner tonight with the
Traiglanders. Later in the week, Lorence Vierno’s requesting funds from the
treasury for Carphead. He’s demanding a larger percentage of the surplus,
citing the growth Vane’s school has brought his region. I was going to give him
two percent more. He’s to be grateful for half a percent or take nothing. The
Giver only knows what we’ll be spending on war costs.”

Valkin
nodded. He couldn’t foresee any way to avoid arms, if only for one battle.

“Tanya
Greller, she’s called a meeting with me to discuss redistricting Yangerton. It
needs to be done, but not at present. We’ve pressing matters at present, so
placate her as best you can…. You can handle all that?”

“Yes,
Father.”

“You’re
more than prepared for this. You have been for some time. I should have liked
to give you greater warning before thrusting this upon you, but….”

“Don’t
worry, not about the day to day business. You’ve my word, I’ll see it done.”

The
king displayed his support, and his gratitude, with a squeeze of his son’s
hand. “No word must escape as to the reason you’re taking my place at court.
We’ll name it part of your training, for it will function as such. Stress its
temporary nature.”

Temporary,
yes. For the moment, it was temporary.

“Valkin,
about the Traiglanders: you’ll need to discuss that new tariff program with
them in the morning.”

“I
know. I was with you and Greller when you met with the Foreign Affairs and
Finance Councils day before yesterday. I know what you need Traigland to agree
to. And I know you’re willing to lower tariff rates on imported furniture, if
it’ll have the Traiglanders importing more of our wool at a lower tax. You can
trust me to represent you, Father. Don’t spare a thought over this.”

“I’m
well aware I can trust you. I could trust you with greater things than these,
should the necessity arise.”

Valkin
forced himself to smile. “I’m glad you feel that way.”

“You
won’t be able to speak with Vane tonight. You’ll be at that dinner…. I’ll ask
Neslan to attend as well, shall I? Hune can update you both afterward. I’m
curious, son: at what point in this fiasco would you involve other sorcerers?
Zacry Porteg? The Trand woman Vane hired at his school?”

Valkin’s
heart rate nearly doubled.

“You
ask my opinion as to…?”

“Vane’s
too close to Zacry to make a proper decision concerning him. And Vane knows
Jane Trand. He’s worked extensively with her. He would let his attachments
interfere if I discussed this with him, so I’ll avoid that. I’ve spoken with
Gratton, though. I’ve also asked the general. Now I question you: when would
you have me send Vane for Zacry?”

The
prince couldn’t say he knew Zacry well, but the man had rescued him after
abduction ten years before, then taken him into his home. He now served on the
Magic Council, and Valkin shrank from involving him at all. Wanted to leave him
his peace. Zacry Porteg had earned his peace, and he had young children,
children as young as Vane’s.

“Valkin,
Linstrom has twenty sorcerers at his disposal. As of the moment, we’ve Vane
Unsten. He can’t do this alone. It’s not easy to go to others, I understand
that. It wasn’t easy to summon Zacry when you and your brothers disappeared,
but I did so. It wasn’t easy to let Vane take part in the raid that saved you.
You know how lucky you are I made that choice. So I’m asking, at what point
would you involve our allies?”

Valkin’s
words tasted bitter. Like some kind of noxious poison. Weren’t they venom,
after all? Couldn’t they signal Zacry’s death, or that of an innocent woman, a
schoolteacher? Valkin knew nothing of her. She could be as young as the prince,
or slightly older, with babies.

“When
we’re ready to formulate a plan to bring down Linstrom. That’s the moment: when
we understand our options as to a preemptive strike, because we must strike
preemptively, no?”

Rexson
creased his brow in thought. Holy Giver, he looked exhausted…. Not weak,
though. Never weak. Valkin knew he needn’t worry until the king lost marked
strength. His eyes might be sunken, but their gaze was strong as he nodded in
approbation.

“Good,
son. I believe we’re of one mind.” The king clapped Valkin on the back. “It
would take you ages to move my papers elsewhere. You can commandeer the office.
I’ll be occupied, but if you need me….”

“I’ve
got this under control, Father.”

“I’ll
send Neslan straight to you.”

With that,
Rexson left his eldest son alone to ponder his new schedule, and Valkin let his
mind wander.

The crown
prince had realized ten years ago, after he and his brothers were kidnapped,
that he would rather not be royal. No one would have threatened him, were he
not royal; his family’s telekinesis would not be such a guarded secret, such a
danger to them, were his father a blacksmith or a tailor, a lawyer or a
teacher. Valkin’s resentment had only strengthened with time. He wanted nothing
more than to live in an old, drafty cottage, a cottage he could leave whenever
he wished to take a walk or bring a bow to the archery range. And though he
knew those images were absurd, just to have them in his head was a comfort. He
never would abdicate, but to think that he could, to pretend that he might,
gave him solace. That very solace would be a casualty of the days ahead.

Neslan
came in half an hour. Valkin had moved to the desk by then, and was staring at
his father’s stacks of parchment, which all blurred together. He had made no
progress in any task thanks to an aching head.

Neither
brother mentioned Neslan’s accusations of the night before. There was no time
to reference anything other than the upcoming sessions with those diplomats.

“The
Traiglanders,” said Valkin. Thank the Giver, his voice didn’t crack. “Neslan,
about the Traiglanders….”

Neslan
nodded, a proud smile on his face, and pulled up a chair. He found the stack of
papers relating to the tariff debates, and assured Valkin, “You’re doing the
right thing, stepping in for Father.”

“Well
intentioned or not, I’ll make a mess of it all if we don’t get straight to
work. The Traiglanders….”

* * *

On
her first afternoon in Herezoth, Kansten visited the Crystal Palace for the
second time in as many days. She couldn’t define how she felt about that as she
climbed down from August’s carriage at the guest stables where Vane had
transported her the night before, but she did know, if nothing else, that she
had to be there.

She
had come with August, because Vane had woken her that morning after all. In the
dark, with a candle. He made her promise she wouldn’t leave August alone, and
she gave him her word. August had then mentioned over breakfast she must visit
some friends at the Palace, so Kansten insisted on tagging along.

“It’s
a Thursday,” August had explained. Her powder blue gown and the ribbons braided
in her hair made Kansten feel horribly out of place in her cotton housedress.
“I’m at the Palace every Thursday. Val told me not to alter my routine, to act
as though nothing’s happened. He’s just working with the king for a while, you
understand? The children, they’re to remain at Oakdowns like normal.”

So
the women had gone to the Palace. They entered through the servants’ door
again, which Kansten deemed odd, until she remembered that August had worked as
the princess’s nanny for a time. The friends Vane’s wife went to see were
servants of the royal family: a stout chambermaid and two sisters who were
kitchen hands. When they mentioned the queen had returned from her trip away,
August dismissed herself to find Gracia and took Kansten with her, to the
girl’s chagrin.

Well,
Kansten had already met the king and three princes. What was a queen as well?