King's Blood Page 10

  “She is an unusually beautiful woman,” Wilek said, staring at the Book of Arman as if deep in thought. “My father thinks I should marry her.” He glanced at Kal and saw the man’s jaw clench. Oh yes. His shield admired more than Miss Onika’s prophetic ability. “Have you any objections to such an idea?”

  Kal would not meet Wilek’s eyes. “It would be cruel to reject Lady Zeroah after all this time.”

  “True.” Wilek paused as if carefully weighing Kal’s comment. “But why couldn’t I marry both?”

  Kal looked away, his face wrenched in agony, brow pinched, eyes fierce.

  Perhaps Wilek had taken his game too far. “Kal,” he said, voice low. “You know me better than this. I have never wanted more than one wife. Besides, Arman’s book forbids it.”

  Kal fixed hopeful eyes on Wilek. “It does?”

  “Yes. I was only teasing you. I know you dote on Miss Onika.”

  Kal stepped back as if he’d been struck. “Why would you say that?”

  How could a High Shield be so naïve? “Because I have eyes. Whenever she is in the room, you are watching her. One might think you are her shield rather than mine.”

  Kal shook his head. “Jhorn asked me to keep an eye on her.”

  “One eye, Kal, not both.”

  Kal squirmed then, like a boy tired of sitting still for his portrait to be painted. Wilek couldn’t help it, and he laughed out loud.

  Kal started for the door.

  “You are leaving me now?” Wilek asked. “Who will protect me?”

  “Ask Arman, if he is truly so powerful.” Kal opened the door, but before he could leave, Harton ran inside. He set both hands down on the glossy wood surface of Wilek’s desk. “Land.” He drew in a deep breath. “Land has been sighted!”

  Wilek stood on the quarterdeck with Kal, Harton, and Dendrick in the crisp morning air, watching through his grow lens as the scouting party set up camp in grass that reached well past the waist. He’d never seen so much green. The island was covered in spindly trees swathed in thick green leaves and more grass than Rurekau had once had sand. But no cliffs or high elevation. Did that mean no reamways of freshwater? He’d hoped this place would have land and water enough to support them all.

  Rayim Veralla approached, dressed in his Queen’s Guard captain’s uniform. “Are they there yet?”

  “Yes,” Wilek said. “They’re just now setting up the tents.”

  Captain Livina had anchored the Seffynaw well out from the reefs. Even then, the first dinghy launched had run up against one and sprung a leak. The oarsmen had rowed her back for repairs and launched a second boat, that time making their way more carefully.

  “What do you think?” Rayim whispered. “Is there room enough?”

  “I don’t yet know.” Wilek peered through his grow lens again. “I have asked the signalmen to send messages to the Rurekan and Sarikarian flagships. I’ve called a meeting of the Wisean Council tomorrow midday and hope their ambassadors will join us. I know it will take many more days to fully explore, but by tomorrow our men should have a grasp of this island’s size and whether or not it is habitable. Together we must determine if this land can support us all.”

  “I’m not sure it can.” Trevn’s voice. He’d appeared at the rail. “From the masthead I could see no elevation. No cliffs or cracks or river holes. Might not be any freshwater.”

  Wilek examined his brother, who wore a sailor’s outfit right down to his bare feet. “Do you mean to tell me you climbed the rigging? And where are your boots?”

  Trevn grinned. “Sailors don’t wear boots.”

  “You are not a sailor.”

  Trevn folded his arms. “The only way to learn everything is to start at the bottom.”

  Wilek studied his brother. He supposed it might be better to let him spend his time climbing the rigging and swabbing the decks than dallying away every free moment in Miss Mielle’s company. “Is that a bruise on your face?”

  Trevn rubbed his palm over it. “Dirt, more like.”

  “Father will foam at the mouth. And your mother . . .” Wilek stopped himself, recalling that Trevn’s mother was confined to her cabin until her trial. He should really get that taken care of. Tomorrow, perhaps. “Where is Sir Cadoc?”

  “Wil, please,” Trevn whispered. “Trust me?”

  Wilek looked deep into his brother’s eyes and saw a combination of determination and desperation there. He knew enough of Trevn to doubt that any command could stop such a grand experiment. He’d likely grow bored and move on to something else soon enough. “Just don’t let Father see you like this. Ever. Now clean yourself up and come ashore. I plan to question your mother while we are here, though that likely won’t happen until tomorrow.”

  “I’ll come tomorrow, then,” Trevn said reluctantly. “And you’ll have to clear my leave with the second mate. I don’t want to be accused of abandoning my watch. We’re assigned to cargo and are expecting a lot of work.”

  “What cargo?” Wilek asked.

  “We helped load all those tents this morning. Any moment now we expect the order to haul up the empty barrels and load them so the shore crew can refill them with water and send them back.”

  “There is no need to move water barrels until we get word that this island has freshwater,” Wilek said. “Besides, we might remain on this island for good.”

  Trevn looked away, lips pursed. Was he unwilling to publicly contradict the Heir a second time? Despair nagged at Wilek’s mind that Trevn’s concerns about the lack of freshwater had mirrored his own. By Captain Livina’s initial assertion, this island should be near the size of Odarka, and while small compared to the former vastness of the Five Realms, such a place could support two hundred thousand people, at least for a time.

  If there was freshwater, some sort of food source, and land to cultivate.

  Wilek pushed doubt aside. He would go ashore and let his trained team of explorers make a full assessment. Then they’d all know for certain.

  “Dendrick.” Wilek waved his onesent over. “Inform the second mate that Sâr Trevn has been summoned by the Heir to attend the Wisean Council meeting on shore tomorrow. Make it clear that this is my command. He is not in any way abandoning his watch. The very moment the council excuses him, he will return to the ship. That could be tomorrow evening. It could be in three days. It is my decision and not his, is that understood?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” Dendrick strode away.

  “Thank you, Wil! It about killed me when Master Bussie said I couldn’t go right over to explore.” And with that he sprinted away.

  Wilek fought to contain his exasperation. “Was I this trying in my youth, Rayim?”

  “Not at all,” Rayim said. “You were born with a maturity that many men never reach.”

  It was kind of Rayim to say so, but Wilek knew better. It was not maturity that had kept him above reproach but fear that any misstep might be reason to be sacrificed to Barthos.

  As that depressing memory filled his chest with regret, it heartened Wilek to know that Trevn had lived his life free from that kind of terror.

  “Harton, ready the boat fall for my retinue. We shall leave for shore within the hour.”

  The rest of the day erupted into chaos.

  Before Wilek even had the chance to reach the island, the beach was stormed by a fleet of dinghies and cutters from other ships. Rayim’s men sent everyone back until the island could be evaluated, but many made landfall on a different beach. These desperate people were going to overtake this haven before Wilek could make certain it was safe.

  When he finally waded through the foamy surf on the long, sandy beach, it was after lunchtime. He pushed aside thoughts of his growling stomach, eager to find a member of his scouting party, hear their report, and perhaps explore a little himself.

  This island was unlike anything he’d ever seen. So much greenery and flowers. Not even Sarikar had been so lush. The air was warm now and smelled of salt, kelp, and somethi
ng sweet. The air buzzed with gnats, and in the distance, some type of bird trilled its call.

  He waded through grass that reached his waist as he approached the growing settlement of tents. His scouting party had only gotten a two-hour start on the rest of the fleet, so they didn’t know all that much. They had discovered one freshwater creek—above ground—which instantly set Wilek’s mind at ease. There were also fat ground-dwelling birds with gray-and-white feathers, and a type of furry pig. Some of each had been killed and butchered for Hara to see what she could make of them.

  By the time Wilek entered his tent, he felt confident. The sand in his boots and the gusts of salty wind that tangled his short hair filled him with nostalgia. He dared hope. Could they be home?

  For the next few hours Wilek entertained meeting after meeting with advisors, officers, council members, and staff, all the while wondering what his explorers would say.

  Dendrick brought the answer well into late midday in the form of a disheveled young man named Lanton Jahday, who bowed when the onesent introduced him. He looked to be about Wilek’s age. He had a flat face, golden eyes, and wore his hair in finger-sized braids that reached his shoulders. Water dripped off the ends of his braids, and his clothing—wet and covered in soil and bits of broken grass—clung to his skin.

  Wilek noted how the man’s hands trembled. He caught Wilek’s gaze and moved his hands behind his back. “Forgive me for making a mess in your tent, Your Highness.”

  Wilek wasn’t concerned. “I was told Master Keppel is head of the exploration.”

  “He is, ah . . . He sent me.”

  Wilek cared more for the news than which person delivered it. “Your report, then, Master Jahday? You have good news, I hope.”

  “I’m afraid not, sir, uh, Your Highness.”

  At those words several emotions came upon Wilek at once. His blood ran cold, his skin flashed with heat, panic flared in his chest, and his mind screamed a hundred fears.

  He fought to show none of this on his face, however. “Explain.”

  “The island is habitable,” the man said. “We found the creek not far from here and followed it inland. It led to a freshwater spring about three leagues away.”

  Excellent news. “Then what is the problem?”

  “The size of the island, sir. It appears much larger than it really is. We traveled no more than ten leagues before reaching the other side, where we could easily see the illusion. The island is surrounded by a reef barrier, though it’s unlike any we have ever seen.”

  “How so?”

  “It has sand. And trees and plants that are growing somehow, on coral. I suspect that with the closeness to the island, seeds have carried on the wind, by birds, or even the currents.”

  “You suspect.”

  “There is nothing like this in the Five Realms, sir. We had coral reefs, to be sure, but not like this. We suspect that the island is, perhaps, the remains of an extinct volcano, and that it is surrounded by a lagoon and reef. And while it will take weeks to explore every bit of the habitable land and months to determine whether we could plow, plant, and grow food in this soil, quick math gives us a sound estimation that this island could support no more than fifteen thousand people in the long term, maybe twice that if the settlement focused less on agriculture and more on fishing.”

  Jahday stopped then, seemingly at the end of his report. The silence ran deeper with each breath. Wilek should say something. Be a leader, despite his shock and disappointment.

  “Thank you, Master Jahday,” he managed, and those four words gave him courage to say more. “Tell Master Keppel to continue his exploration. The Wisean Council will convene tomorrow at midday with the ambassadors from Sarikar, Rurekau, and Tenma. Find out as much as you can by then about the habitable size of the island, whether or not fields could be planted here, and if our livestock might graze.” There certainly appeared to be plenty of grass for sheep and goats.

  Jahday nodded. “We will have a report ready, Your Highness.”

  “Dismissed.”

  Lanton Jahday all but ran from Wilek’s tent. When the door flap fell closed behind him, Wilek looked to Dendrick and the two shared looks of condolences.

  “What can I do, Your Highness?” Dendrick asked.

  “Give that report to my father for me.”

  Dendrick’s eyes widened. “Of course, Your Highness.”

  Wilek laughed. “I’m only jesting, Dendrick. I will go to Father and see what he says. But first, could you bring Miss Onika here? I would like to speak with her before I talk with the king.”

  Dendrick bowed. “Right away, Your Highness.”

  “If I do not return from my father’s tent by sunset, send Rayim to check on me. After delivering such news, Janek could yet become Heir of Armania.”

  Wilek left Kal and Harton outside his father’s tent and found the king inside, dressed for dinner and sitting in his rollchair. One of his attendants rubbed oil over his bald head.

  “My Heir, what news? How do you find the landscape? Can we build right away?”

  “I’m afraid the initial report is that the island is too small to accommodate the entire fleet.”

  The man’s sunken eyes glared at Wilek. “I don’t care about the entire fleet. I care about Armania. This is our land. Livina found the place months ago. The other realms can shove off and find their own island.”

  “I fear it is even too small for Armania, Father. Initial estimates state that the island might be able to support between fifteen to thirty thousand people.”

  The attendant set the wig on Father’s head, but the king pushed it off and shooed the man away. “Later!” Then to Wilek, “So which is it? Fifteen thousand or thirty?”

  And so the discussion went on, Wilek having very little information to appease his father, who seemed convinced that he could bully the facts to his liking. Wilek finally decided that only Miss Onika’s word might sway things.

  “We could leave enough people here to set up a colony. Perhaps King Jorger or Emperor Ulrik might like to do the same. But as the island is too small to support even the people of Armania, we must look for a larger landmass. Miss Onika believes we are to sail northwest and—”

  “Onika, Onika. That woman unnerves me! She speaks and everyone jumps to obey. Why should she rule us? I see no royal heritage in her blood. I see no proof, even, that she prophesies truth.”

  “Surely you must have felt the warmth burn within your chest when she prophesies.”

  “Mantics.” Father massaged the flab of skin at his neck. “She tricks us with her powers.”

  This again. The man’s memory was slipping. “We have investigated this already, Father. You asked me to assign her two honor maidens, so she is never alone. I have questioned them and her personal maid. She does not take evenroot.”

  “She does, I tell you! She takes it in plain sight, then magics us all to forget.”

  Nonsense. “And here I thought you wanted me to marry her.” His father had said Wilek shouldn’t pass up an opportunity to sire an heir on a prophetess and get some of her magic in the Hadar bloodline.

  “Not I! You know what I always say about women, my son. The darker the skin, the richer the soil. Your Lady Zeroah is the perfect bride. But the prophetess? Whoever saw a woman with skin like a hairless cat? It’s not natural. It’s not.”

  So said the sickly bald man. “Father, I—”

  “Never you mind, son. I will catch her in the act, then you will see. Now, if you aren’t here to tell me you’ve arrested Miss Onika, what do you want? You never come to my royal apartment without reason.”

  Wilek left the king and walked with Kal and Harton toward the meeting tent. There dinner would be served in fashion to whichever royals or nobles had chosen to come ashore tonight. Along the way they met a squadron of Igote guards from Rurekau. Had his nephew the emperor accepted his invitation? Wilek searched the bald heads for a circlet of gold. Seeing none, he wondered if Ulrik had instead sent an ambassador.


  “Kal!” A woman dressed in green peeled away from the Igote and traipsed through the tall grass, headed toward Wilek.

  Recognition set in and a smile claimed his face. “Nolah!” Wilek yelled. It was his sister, Emperor Ulrik’s mother. The thought crossed his mind that she had grown very fat, until he remembered Kal telling him she was expecting a child.

  She averted her gaze from Kal to Wilek. “Wil?” She grabbed up her skirts and ran to him, throwing herself into his arms. The hardness of her belly surprised him. He would have imagined a child’s first home to be a soft place like the bodies of the women who carried them.

  “Brother of mine, I didn’t recognize you with short hair!” She squeezed him tightly. “I so wanted to come to you at Odarka, but Ulrik would not part with me. Though now I am all but banished.”

  Concern filled Wilek. “Whatever for?”

  She released him. “I will tell all later. You have my Vallah?”

  “She is aboard the Seffynaw with our mother. I will have her brought ashore tomorrow morning.”

  “Praise Arman. She is well?”

  “Very, and enjoying young Rashah’s company. Let us not stand out here where the gnats swarm. Come to dinner where we can eat and catch up.”

  Kal led them, along with Inolah’s guards and maids, to the meeting tent, where a herald announced both Wilek and Inolah to the small crowd already seated.

  “His Royal Highness, Wilek-Sâr Hadar, the First Arm, the Dutiful, the Godslayer, Heir to Armania. And Her Eminence, Empress Inolah Orsona-Hadar, the Determined, Mother of the Emperor of Rurekau.”

  The people stood and genuflected as Wilek and Inolah made their way to the head table.

  “The Godslayer?” Inolah asked. “How did that become part of your title?”

  “A long story,” Wilek said.

  Soon they were seated at the high table, where servants brought out platters of meat. Inolah’s maids sat with Harton at a table on the floor. Kal and Inolah’s shield stood behind their seats.