The Reluctant King Read online

  “Accept her decision, of course,” Amala whispered back, drawing him into a hug. “For now.”

  Of all the insolent . . . Sir Kalenek had been right. Shanek would never give up this girl. Charlon would have to get rid of her. Before her influence over Shanek superseded her own.

  It might have done that already.

  Amala kissed Shanek’s cheek and, thankfully, left. Though the boy stood stupidly staring after her.

  “Let us begin,” Charlon said. “Turn one of the gowzals into a mask of Miss Amala.” He should like that well enough.

  The lesson moved swiftly. Shanek easily performed every task Charlon set forth. He needed no gowzal to aid him. Somehow he could do the magic on his own. The gowzals obeyed him without question. His mask of Amala was perfect. Charlon bid him make an illusion as well. He made six. All with brown eyes and Amala’s voice.

  Charlon hated the incompetence she felt each time Shanek bested her skill. He seemed ignorant of his superiority. Once he fully understood what was happening, he would grow arrogant. Possibly uncontrollable. She dreaded what would happen then.

  Charlon ended the lesson. Sir Kalenek took away the boy and the basket of hidden ahvenrood. Charlon must distract Rurek. Keep him from following them. From knowing where she was hiding her supply.

  “What do you think of Shanek?” she asked the great.

  His powers continue to surprise me.

  “They resemble the new magic. Perhaps there is some connection. If so, would that mean I might someday do all he does?”

  An intriguing idea, Rurek said. I will think on it.

  Masi, a shadir that served as one of Rurek’s commanders, appeared before Charlon’s throne. A common has arrived from Rurekau and wishes to speak with the Chieftess, master, Masi said. She is called Yobatha.

  “The goddess of pleasure?” Charlon asked.

  It could be a trick, Rurek said. Let me disguise myself and speak with her first.

  “No,” Charlon said. “I fear no common with you at my side. Bring Yobatha here, Masi.”

  Rurek scowled but nodded to Masi, who vanished. It is against my better judgment to allow this, Chieftess, he said, transforming into the vaporous form of the slight he called Chelo.

  It increasingly annoyed Charlon how Rurek contradicted her. “Your concern is noted.”

  Rurek drifted beneath Charlon’s ironthorn throne. Why did he insist on hiding his existence? Could he be less powerful than he claimed? Had he not bonded with Charlon in secret, would Magon have been able to defeat him?

  Masi returned then with a shapely female who walked like a human. Hips swayed with each step. Gauzy robes of purple and red wrapped her body tightly. Her eyes were bright mossy green. She brought with her the smell of spices and incense. She had bronzed skin, amber eyes, and caramel hair so thick and luxurious Charlon yearned to touch it.

  Goddess of pleasure, indeed.

  Charlon did her best to look unaffected. “What do you want?”

  My master King Barthel is visiting the nation of Rurekau and requests your presence.

  “If he wants to speak with me, he knows where I live, apparently. He is welcome to pay me a visit.”

  Forgive me, powerful Chieftess of Magosia, Yobatha said, but my king and the empress of Rurekau are currently strategizing together. They would like to include you, as they value your wisdom and skill, but by the time they are ready to travel again, their plans will be finalized.

  “So I must drop everything and travel to Rurekau, or I am left out of this alliance? I am not accustomed to being treated so rudely.”

  I am only a messenger, honorable Chieftess, Yobatha said. My master arrived in New Rurekau today, and Empress Jazlyn told him that he would be wise to consider you a friend.

  “That much is true,” Charlon said, appeased by Jazlyn’s praise. “How long do I have to decide?”

  My king would like you to come within the week.

  “Impossible,” Charlon said. “I have duties here. They require my full attention. I might be able to come next week.”

  My king would be honored to meet you whenever you are able, Chieftess.

  “But he might be finished planning if I don’t come soon?”

  Yobatha bowed her head. That is correct.

  “I must consider this carefully,” Charlon said. “I will send a shadir with my answer. Dismissed.”

  Yobatha bowed again, then walked out of the tent.

  Her sensuality annoyed Charlon. “Why does she bother to walk about? She could simply appear wherever she likes.”

  It is part of her mystique, Masi said. The goddess of pleasure must move slowly so that she can be watched.

  Charlon was not impressed. “What say you, Rurek? Shall I go?”

  I must caution you, Chieftess. The shadir who has bonded with King Barthel is a great.

  “Like you?”

  Yes. And while we both wield large armies, Dendron still possesses a vast amount of ahvenrood and mantics loyal to his cause who have each bonded with commons. There are many shadir of mighty name in his swarm, with mantics who have been loyal for years. As we are, we could not stand against them.

  “You think they wish to subdue us?”

  I think they want an alliance against Armania. King Barthel is blood-related to Shanek, so I am certain he will want to meet him. And when he sees what the boy can do . . .

  “Yobatha did not mention Shanek,” Charlon said, suddenly suspicious.

  I only seek to caution you, Chieftess. I do not trust Barthel Rogedoth or his great. And it would be best if he didn’t know that you have bonded with a great yourself.

  “Wouldn’t that be a warning to him? That I too am strong?”

  Dendron would see it first as a mystery to be solved—which great serves you? We shadir have ancient history, you see. If he discovers my name, he will know me. And then he will see me as a challenge to be won into submission or destroyed.

  “Just knowing you exist would cause a war? Is that what you are saying?”

  It is a concern, yes.

  “Can you disguise yourself?”

  I can try, but shadir can sense strength in each other. It would be difficult to hide my power.

  This was easily enough solved. “You must remain here, then.”

  I will not let you go to them alone.

  “I will not be alone. I am not a fool, Rurek.”

  Nor am I, which is why I will go with you.

  “Will you never do as I tell you?”

  He began to grow. Swelled in height until his head touched the ceiling of the tent. Shook it. You do realize I don’t need your permission.

  She was not intimidated by his theatrics. “You would disobey me?” Charlon asked.

  Rurek smile wickedly. Perhaps you forgot how Magon left Mreegan to bond with you. Shadir choose whom to bond with, human. We have the power you seek. Without us, you are nothing.

  Devious creatures, all of them. How had Charlon ever thought them divine? She doubted her slights would ever leave her. But she had no trust for Rurek. And she did not want him bonding with another. “What do you recommend I do?”

  Take Masi as your shadir. He is a common and quite powerful. I will go within a gowzal. The act of Dominion will dampen my splendor.

  “Fine,” Charlon said. “I must not be left out of whatever King Barthel is plotting with the empress. Shanek is meant to be king of Armania—no one else. I must do what I can. To see that he fulfills his destiny.”

  That evening, Charlon made plans for her trip. As she instructed Astaa in what clothing she wanted packed, Sir Kalenek entered the red tent.

  “You’re taking Amala to New Rurekau?” he asked. “Why?”

  Charlon looked up from where she sat on her ironthorn throne. “I need a fifth maiden.”

  “I know what you’re doing.” He came to stand before the throne, arms crossed. “Keeping them apart will not change the way they feel about each other. You risk losing him. Manipulation is not love.” />
  Always Sir Kalenek could see through her. “I carry the burden of ruling Magosia and training Shanek for his destiny.”

  “Then you should teach him to stand on his own two feet. You and I will not always be here to hold his hand. Life is hard, and he must learn to live it on his own.”

  “Miss Amala is your ward, Sir Kalenek. If you forbid it, I will revoke my offer.”

  His lips curved, but it was not so much a smile as a rebuke. “I learned the hard way with Amala that I cannot control her. She will do what she will do. I must love her no matter what.”

  “All that I do is out of my love for Shanek.”

  “No, you fear losing control. And you will drive him away if you keep this up.”

  Miss Amala arrived then, and Kalenek dismissed himself. Charlon pushed aside his lectures. What did he know of ruling a realm? Charlon must do whatever necessary. To separate this young woman from her son.

  “King Barthel has asked me to visit him in New Rurekau, and I have decided to go,” Charlon told Miss Amala. “You will accompany me.”

  The young woman nodded. “I would be honored, Chieftess.”

  “There is one more thing,” she said. “I do not trust Barthel Rogedoth or Empress Jazlyn. I need you to be my ears as well as my eyes. In order to see into the Veil, you must take a spoonful of ahvenrood each day. I will administer the root myself. You will purge to Nwari. He is an orange slight that looks like a wisp of smoke. He will be waiting for you.”

  Miss Amala’s eyes became like two round stones. “I am honored to serve you, Chieftess.”

  “Barthel Rogedoth has titled himself king. Set his sights on the throne of Armania. But that is Shanek’s birthright. So we must be on our guard. He will seek to learn about Shanek’s special gifts. And we will reveal nothing. Do you understand? Shanek’s future depends upon our discretion.”

  “I would never do anything that might hurt Prince Shanek.”

  “I know you would not. It is why I chose you.”

  “I will not fail you,” Amala said.

  “Dismissed,” Charlon said.

  The girl curtsied deeply, then scurried away, no doubt to tell Shanek all that had taken place.

  Charlon was uncertain she had done right. Asking Miss Amala to take ahvenrood. To come on the trip. But of her options, the girl was—at present anyway—the best choice to act as a second set of eyes. Charlon did not trust Roya or Astaa. Which was why she was taking them along. To watch them closely. Surely this many safeguards would protect her realm. From those seeking to take it.

  Trevn

  Trevn sat dutifully in his chair before a tall mirrorglass so that Ottee could tend to his hair while he listened to Master Jhorn’s report. Hawley sat at a desk in the corner, taking notes.

  “I have finally gotten word from Lord Blackpool’s steward,” Master Jhorn said.

  “He has returned, has he?” Trevn had tried to pay the earl a visit to investigate the people’s claims that he was not giving them their share of the harvests, but the earl had been on an extended hunting trip. “And what does he say?”

  “He claims innocence, of course,” Master Jhorn said, “and demands to know which commoners have accused him.”

  “I did not get their names,” Trevn said.

  “I’m sure they would not want their names reported for fear he might abuse them further,” Jhorn said.

  “You think he is maltreating his workers?”

  “I do,” Master Jhorn said. “I’ve received several more documented reports of the same nature. I was thinking you might send me there when the next harvest comes in.”

  “That would only raise his ire at House Hadar,” Hawley said.

  Trevn sighed. He wanted to punish those who deserved it, but it was not easy. “For now, any people who come to you hungry are to be given a week’s provisions and the opportunity to work elsewhere, so long as you can find them a position.”

  “I will do my best, sir,” Jhorn said.

  “And we must continue to monitor both Lord Edekk and Lord Blackpool in hopes of catching them in the act of subversion. Now, is that all?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “Continue with the excellent work, Master Jhorn. You are dismissed.”

  Jhorn left, and while Ottee finished off Trevn’s hair, Trevn studied his reflection in the mirrorglass. He brushed his palms over his cheeks, annoyed that the scruff had remained just that. Why wouldn’t it grow faster? A beard would go a long way in making him look older, which might ease the doubts the nobles harbored toward him.

  The royal rebel, or firebrand of Castle Everton, had never let such vanity bother him before. His old nicknames had been badges of honor: proof that his Renegade ways had been noticed. He must not allow the nobles to bother him so.

  Ottee stepped away from Trevn. “Do you approve, sir?”

  “Thank you, Ottee.” He looked well enough, though he grew tired of this mourning ensemble. “Would you see to it that my other black tunic is mended?”

  “The tailor is working on it,” Ottee said. “He should be done today.”

  “Perfect.” Trevn stood, but before he managed one step, his mother began voicing him.

  “Trevn? This is your mother. King Barthel Rogedoth has come to Rurekau. Answer me at once.”

  While Trevn had no desire to speak with his mother, any information on Rogedoth far outweighed the grudge he held against her.

  “My mother is voicing me,” he said to Hawley. “Ottee, go tell the Duke of Odarka I will be late for our meeting.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” The boy scurried out of the room.

  Trevn sat back in his chair and answered his mother. “Has Rogedoth attacked?”

  “Trevn! Thank the gods. You cannot know how much your silence tries me.”

  “Mother, has Rogedoth invaded Rurekau?”

  “Not at all. He came seeking an alliance and offered assistance during a giant raid. Now he and the empress are becoming fast friends. Ulrik is still unconscious, but Ferro has recovered, so the—”

  “Ferro is awake? Have you told Inolah?”

  “No. You were the first person I wanted to speak with. Empress Jazlyn and I have been at odds as to who should rule as regent. She thinks she should rule, but I don’t trust her. She is taking evenroot again, and I just know she had her eunuch poison my great-nephews. If I could prove it, I could arrest her, but—”

  “Rogedoth, Mother. Has he made threats? Have the Rurekans promised him anything?”

  “He is too powerful to ignore, so I have simply tried to keep the peace. The empress, however . . . She and King Barthel have started talking with the giants.”

  “Which giants? The ones who attacked you?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Trevn had not forgotten his time in the Ahj-Yeke mines. “It matters a great deal.”

  “Well, they all look alike to me,” Mother said.

  A raid sounded like the behavior of the Ahj-Yeke giants, but New Rurekau was closest to the Uul-Yeke, who Ulagan claimed were peaceful. “Could Rogedoth have sent the giants to attack so he could pretend to offer aid to Rurekau?”

  “What a thing to suggest! Why would he do that?”

  “Perpetrating an attack would help him win an alliance, which he now has. Besides—”

  “King Barthel and the empress have invited Chieftess Charlon to visit. What can I do?”

  Trevn sighed as he struggled to keep up with his mother’s changing subjects. “Stay out of their way, but continue to tell me everything. Has Rogedoth shared his plans?”

  “He wants rule of Armania and Sarikar.”

  “I know that. What is he talking to the giants about? I must know . . . and also to which group he speaks.”

  “You are right to fear him. He is powerful.”

  “I don’t fear him, Mother. I will find a way to stop him, but I would appreciate your help in discovering—”

  “Oh, Trevn! How you try my patience. I should come to Armangua
rd where I can have some influence over you.”

  “If you think I will endure more of your nagging criticisms when you are under my roof, you are mistaken. Inform me the moment you learn anything more of Rogedoth’s plans. Good morning, Mother.”

  Trevn withdrew from the conversation and raised his shields. His mother raged against them, but he’d become quite adept at tuning out her voice completely. He opened his eyes and found Hawley and Ottee watching him warily.

  “Bad news, Your Highness?” Hawley asked.

  “That remains to be seen. Hawley, it is time I assembled a war council. Will you help me make a list of names to invite?”

  “Certainly, Your Highness.” Hawley fetched his tablet from the sideboard. “Should I reschedule the Duke of Canden? He is waiting to speak with you about Rosârah Zeroah’s mind-speak education.”

  “No, send him in.”

  As Hawley exited the apartment to fetch the duke, Trevn thought over the situation in New Rurekau. He felt sick just thinking about his mother licking Rogedoth’s boots, calling him king. Trevn would never bow to that traitor. Ever. And he would do everything he could to keep Armania safe from Barthel Rogedoth’s ambition.

  Two hours later, Trevn sat in his office reading Wilek’s journal and the entries written just prior to his leaving for the Battle of Sarikar.

  Hawley entered the room. “Your war council is assembled,” he said.

  Trevn released the scroll, letting it roll up. “Did Captain Veralla and Novan Heln come?” he asked.

  “Yes, Your Highness. Everyone you invited is waiting in the council chambers.”

  “Excellent.” Trevn had met individually with Captain Veralla and Novan Heln after his return. He had offered to appoint Captain Veralla as general over the army and named Novan Heln as one of his shields. The men had been grateful to receive a pardon and to get out of the dungeon, but both were reluctant to continue on in any kind of position of authority. They considered themselves failures, unworthy of further service to the crown. This annoyed Trevn, who was determined to have his way.

  Trevn exited his office and stopped at the small crowd that had gathered outside his door. There were nowhere near as many people as before, now that Hawley had forbidden any commoners above the first floor, but the few nobles and servants that lingered were enough to block the way.