King's Blood Read online

  He pulled his gaze from Inolah and regarded Onika, standing at the table and holding on to Oli Agoros’s good arm. The song had ended and a new one begun.

  “Here is your chair, Miss Onika,” Oli said, helping her sit.

  Kal should have done that.

  “Thank you, Your Grace. I greatly enjoyed the dance.”

  “You are most welcome, lady.” The duke bowed, then paused awkwardly, as if he suddenly realized she could not see him, even after their spin around the stern deck.

  Onika looked toward Kal, though not directly at him. She was facing where she had last heard his voice. “Have you no answer, Sir Kalenek?”

  “I would gladly choose healing, Miss Onika, though I’m afraid there is no bandage large enough for the wound that ails me.”

  “Arman can heal all wounds,” Onika said, “as I’ve been telling you since we met. The darkness is no place for you. Step out and find freedom.”

  “I want nothing to do with the darkness, Miss Onika,” Kal said. “Nor am I willing to stand in the light, for I am unworthy of it and all would see that plainly. There is no place for men like me but the shadows, where we can keep safely out of everyone’s way.”

  “I too am a man like you, Sir Kalenek,” Oli said, holding up his wooden arm.

  “And I,” said young Hinckdan. “We have all done things for which we are not proud. Some were our choices, and some were forced upon us. But they were our own actions, and the consequences often keep us apart from good company.”

  “What a mournful trio you three make,” Inolah said. “I thought all men were meant to be brave and unselfish, yet you admit to intentionally cowering away.”

  “Only when life is quiet, Empress,” Oli said. “When the battle comes our way or we see a need, we will pick up our swords and fight beside the bravest of men, even knowing we may fall. But once all is well again . . . that’s when the darkness comes. Then we sit in the silence and struggle to grasp our peace as best we can.”

  The trueness of Oli’s words surprised Kal.

  “Yet Sir Kalenek has no peace,” Onika said.

  “My seclusion is my peace,” Kal answered.

  “Penance, you mean,” Inolah said, “though none of you deserve it in the least!”

  “I deserve death,” Oli said.

  “As do I,” Kal echoed.

  “Not me,” Hinckdan countered. “I’ve acted the fool and have shamed myself, have killed to protect myself and my sâr, but I’ve done nothing quite so horrible as to qualify me for premature death.”

  “Now that is the first reasonable statement I’ve heard from a man today,” Inolah said. “To reward you, Lord Dacre, I shall insist upon a dance.” She lifted her hand toward him and waited for his response.

  Hinckdan glanced at Janek’s table, of all places, then took her hand and helped her stand. “I would be honored, Empress.” They made an odd pair. The Earl of Dacre was not an overly tall man, and Inolah’s great belly and lined forehead made her seem as if she must be carrying three children instead of one. As Hinckdan led the tottering empress away, a young King’s Guard approached the table. “My pardon, Sir Kalenek, but the rosâr is asking to see you, sir.”

  The rosâr? This did not bode well. In the past few weeks, the king had summoned Kal several times. Delusional, and thinking Kal was still a royal assassin, he had ordered several kills of people long since dead.

  “I will come at once.” Distracted, Kal bowed to Onika before remembering she could not see, just as Oli had. “Miss Onika, I have been called away. I will return soon if I am able.”

  “You will be missed, Sir Kalenek,” she said.

  Kal wanted to believe it, but Miss Onika could find joy in most anyone’s company. Proving his point, she went right back to speaking with Oli with so much ease that Kal was certain her words had been polite manners, nothing more.

  “Keep a close eye on her,” Kal told some guardsmen, “and Miss Amala too, if you can.” His youngest ward was now dancing with Master Gelsly, the young backman who served Princess Hrettah. Kal glowered as he followed the King’s Guard away.

  They reached the king’s cabin. Kal was ushered in and quickly found himself standing alone before Rosâr Echad, who demanded complete privacy. As Schwyl, the guards, and the king’s attendants left, Kal studied the man. He looked worse than ever. Surely this would be more of his madness. When he spoke, Kal had to lean forward and strain to hear.

  “Her name is Shemme,” the king said. “The woman is spreading lies. Says she carries Janek’s issue and that the child is a black spirit Janek made from dark magic. We are too small a kingdom upon this boat for such nonsense. End her life and throw her body overboard, where no one will find it.”

  Kal could not carry out the command. Despite the risk of death should the king find out, he went to Wilek for help.

  “Your Highness, I cannot do so horrible a thing. There is no Justness in it.”

  The Heir, his friend, did not seem surprised by the king’s order. “I should have known news of the child would spread. You did right in coming to me.”

  “There must be another way to please the rosâr.”

  “No. The rosâr must believe you have obeyed his command.” Wilek frowned and paced to the window and back. “If Inolah is willing, I will have her take Miss Shemme to the Rafayah right away.”

  Kal released a pent-up breath. “A wise idea, Your Highness.” Doing so might solve the whole thing, for several years, at least. Mothers such as Shemme always came back, demanding aid in raising their stray children.

  “Inolah and Miss Shemme could have their babies aboard the Rafayah, perhaps in some sort of isolation,” Wilek said. “When each has delivered, Inolah can send word back here that she has birthed twins. That would explain away the second infant and give me a reason to keep the child close without drawing suspicion.”

  Take Shemme’s child from her? Why? And how could such a plan be possible? “Inolah’s child is expected any day,” Kal said. “Won’t the births be too far apart?”

  “Miss Shemme’s child is special, Kal,” Wilek said. “It could come at any time.”

  Wilek’s answer made no sense whatsoever. “But how can—?”

  A knock on the door preceded Dendrick. “Forgive the interruption, Your Highness, but the empress, your sister, has gone into labor. She has been taken to her cabin, and the midwives are with her now.”

  Wilek growled out his frustration. “Thank you, Dendrick,” he said. “Keep me informed.” The man nodded and departed. Once the door closed, Wilek said, “What do I do now?”

  “I can move Miss Shemme to the Rafayah,” Kal said, “and take Mielle along to serve as her companion until you find a trustworthy replacement. I’ll bring two of my guards.”

  “No guards from the Seffynaw,” Wilek said. “Hire them from the Rafayah, and make sure they never learn Miss Shemme’s true identity.”

  Was it so horrible that Kal rather enjoyed the thrill this small adventure promised? “I live to serve, Your Highness. I will do so immediately.”

  “Wait just a moment, Kal,” Wilek said, waving him to sit. “First I must tell you what is so special about Miss Shemme’s child.”

  Kal rushed from Wilek’s quarters, found Mielle, and set her packing, though the girl protested the entire time.

  “I don’t want to go to another ship,” she said.

  “You will do as you’re told.”

  “But I must not abandon Sârah Zeroah. She has been feeling ill lately, and I worry it might be the fever. Also, Darlow is still so very sick.”

  “We are only going until a replacement can be found,” Kal said. “A day. Two at most. This is the only way to keep Miss Shemme safe.”

  Mielle huffed and grabbed her cape. “If it is just a few days, I’ll only need this.”

  “Put it on, then. Once we go above deck, we do not wish for anyone to know our identity as we are leaving.”

  “You are frightening me, Kal,” she said.

>   There was every reason to be frightened. Kal held open the cabin door, and Mielle exited. They started down the corridor together.

  “I must bid farewell to Sâr Trevn,” Mielle said. “He is on watch.”

  “There isn’t time,” Kal said.

  “Kal!” She stomped her foot. “I won’t just abandon him! It isn’t proper.”

  “Will you tell that to Miss Shemme as she lies dying or shall I?”

  She wilted. “Surely you are overreacting.”

  “I have my orders, Mielle. I must obey them with haste.” He drove Mielle up to Rosârah Brelenah’s cabin and asked to see Amala. His younger ward came to the door wearing a slip, her face covered in a creamy white paste.

  “Just look at me!” She ran her fingers along her cheek. “I have a terrible rash.”

  “It’s from too much bathing in salt water,” Kal said.

  “It’s tragic, is what it is. I am either filthy or covered in salt and a rash. I cannot stand this boat any longer.”

  “She can take my place,” Mielle said.

  “No,” Kal said. “I want you with me.” Then to Amala, “Mielle and I are going away for a day or two. Tell Sâr Trevn so that he won’t worry.”

  Amala raised her eyebrows at Mielle. “He doesn’t know you’re going?”

  “There isn’t time to find him,” Kal said. “We will be back soon enough. Behave yourself while we are gone. I have asked Sâr Wilek to keep a close eye on you.”

  “I don’t need the sâr or anyone to act as my guardian.” Amala flashed Kal a fake smile and closed the door in his face.

  He stifled a groan and set off down the crossway. “That girl will be the death of me.”

  Hooded and cloaked, Kal and Mielle walked to the boat fall on the foredeck. There they found Miss Shemme, also wearing a hooded cape, standing with Captain Veralla. Kal helped Mielle and Miss Shemme inside the dinghy while the captain sent word to the helmsman to heave to so the dinghy could be lowered. As Kal and the girls sat waiting for the boat to drop, he tried not to notice Miss Shemme’s sniffling.

  “What is wrong, Miss Shemme?” Mielle asked, setting her hand upon the girl’s knee.

  “My mother. I daresay she will be the only one to miss me.”

  “I’m sure there are others,” Mielle said. “What about the baby’s father?”

  Kal kicked himself for not warning Mielle away from such topics in advance.

  “He doesn’t care,” Shemme said. “People say a girl cannot resist him, but I could have. Sâr Janek has never been an impressive man in my eyes.”

  “Sâr Janek!” Mielle cried.

  “Keep your voices down,” Kal warned as the sailors began to lower the dinghy.

  “I miss Kell,” Shemme whispered. “Why did he have to die?” She shook from the tears that overcame her.

  Mielle put her arm around the girl and held her close. Kal was glad of it. He certainly didn’t know how to offer sympathy to a woman in such a state.

  Once the dinghy reached the surging waves, Kal rowed them toward the Rafayah and explained the situation in a way both would understand. The goal was to keep Miss Shemme and her baby alive but to let everyone else believe them dead. From this moment forward she must choose a false name and never be Shemme again. He did not tell either of them that Miss Shemme would likely die birthing the child. He saw no need to do so.

  “I will be called Kellah, after my Kell,” Shemme said.

  “That will do fine,” Kal said.

  At the Rafayah they were hoisted aloft and welcomed aboard by the first mate. Kal demanded a private cabin and two guardsmen assigned to him.

  “I can get you the men, sir,” the first mate said, “but there are no private cabins available.”

  “Find one,” Kal said. “It need not be spacious or grand. This order comes from the sâr-regent.”

  The man bowed and set off. An hour later Kal stood in the doorway of a tiny cabin on the lower foredeck, watching Mielle get Miss Shemme situated.

  “No one enters this cabin but me or these two women,” Kal told his two new guardsmen.

  The men nodded and took their place outside the door.

  “Sh—Kellah will need a midwife,” Mielle said.

  “Not today, she won’t.”

  Mielle collapsed beside Miss Shemme on the bed. “Are we to simply sit here like prisoners?”

  Kal claimed the only chair in the room and settled down. “As we wait for our replacement, yes. Sâr Wilek promised to send someone who could stay permanently with . . . Miss Kellah.”

  But things did not progress as smoothly as Kal had hoped.

  The first day passed, and as the second came to a close and no replacement had come, Kal began to worry. If by morning they were not relieved, he would give Mielle and Miss Kellah over to the care of the guards and take a dinghy back to the Seffynaw to see what had held up Wilek.

  Charlon

  After weeks of silence Magon returned, true to her word. Charlon had been in the birthing tent mixing a tonic for a woman with intense morning sickness when the goddess spoke to her. She could not see Magon, but the goddess’s voice rang clearly in Chalon’s head.

  Do you still serve me loyally, Charlon?

  Charlon threw herself to the deck. “Yes, goddess. My allegiance is yours. I have done as you asked. I have served as a midwife. Will you take me back to the Vespara?”

  Soon. But first I have two tasks for you.

  “Anything, goddess.”

  The first is simple. I have learned that Sâr Trevn Hadar will soon be on his way to this ship. When he arrives, call on me. We must do whatever it takes to keep him preoccupied aboard the Rafayah.

  Charlon bowed low. “It will be as you say, Great Goddess. And the second task?”

  The woman Mielle Allard is on this ship. Have you seen her?

  Charlon stiffened. “Yes.” She had come with Prince Wilek’s guardsman. The scarred one. Thankfully neither of them had ever seen Charlon’s real face. “She does not know who I am.”

  She has a friend who is pregnant.

  “Her name is Kellah. She will give birth any day now.”

  You must be there when the child is born. That child is the Deliverer.

  The words stabbed deeply. “What?” Charlon couldn’t believe it. Felt like she was falling. Hope destroyed. “I am not the Mother after all?”

  Fear not. You will be Mother once you claim the child as your own.

  “But I thought . . . You told me I would carry the child myself.”

  You failed, Charlon, but I have rewarded your faithfulness. You will soon see that as the Mother of the Deliverer, you will be blessed more than the child’s birth mother.

  Charlon did not understand. But she would not question. Not today. “Whatever you ask, Great Goddess, I will do.”

  Once the Deliverer is in your arms, use your magic to set sail for the Vespara, which will be nearby. Take the child before Mreegan, claim it as your own flesh, and stand before all of Magonia as Mother.

  Hinck

  When next Hinck’s brand burned to signal a meeting of the Lahavôtesh, his heart leapt with hope. Sâr Wilek had been anxious for news of the rebels. As Hinck made his way down into the hold of the Seffynaw, he hoped whatever was said today would be enough for Wilek to finally arrest everyone. When he reached the compartment, the guard there sent him back up to the Honored Lady Zenobia’s cabin. When Hinck asked why, the man would only say, “Ask the mistress.”

  So Hinck climbed back up the four flights of stairs and made his way to the cabin of the king’s oldest concubine, a room that turned out to be smaller than the compartment in the hold. Inside, he found everyone sitting along the walls or on the bed. All the usual faces were present except for Kamran and Janek.

  Hinck took a seat beside his uncle Canbek. “Why are we meeting here?” he whispered.

  “Because the mistress commanded it,” Canbek said without looking Hinck’s way. His uncle was wearing one of his old cat pelts, but
it no longer gave him a rich and lustrous air. The fur had become as grimy as Canbek’s hair, which had been slicked back over his scalp. Fashion and style, it seemed, had died with the Five Realms.

  “Now that we are all present,” Zenobia said, “I have—”

  “No Kamran?” Lady Mattenelle asked.

  “Not today,” Zenobia said. “We have yet to make any progress on sinking the ship, but a new development has arisen. Madame Hara, the cook, came to me with an offer. She has a bottle of evenroot juice and wants me to use it to kill the rosâr, who she believes had her daughter murdered.”

  Excited chatter broke out among the group.

  Shemme was dead? Hinck had heard about the girl’s pregnancy and that she’d named Janek as the father, but that she’d been killed for it . . . He felt sick.

  “With root you can kill the Heir too,” Fonu said. “Then Moon Fang can take the ship as his own, and we won’t have to sink it.”

  “Sâr Wilek is looking for this root,” Zenobia said. “The cook told him she had used it all. Their search turned up nothing. In truth, she had it hidden well.”

  “When do we get it?” Fonu asked.

  “I overstepped in my eagerness and mentioned killing Sâr Wilek,” Zenobia said. “This angered the cook. She insists Sâr Wilek not be harmed.”

  “So let her think you won’t harm him, then kill her too,” Fonu said. “So long as you get the root.”

  Zenobia sighed heavily. “Do stop interrupting me, Fonu.”

  He sat back on the bed and set one foot over his other knee. “Go on.”

  “I have consulted with Moon Fang,” Zenobia said. “I will promise the cook that I will kill only the king. In the turmoil of his death, I will use the evenroot to take control of the Seffynaw and kill the sârs. Then Moon Fang will send a shadir to lead our ship to his.”

  “Kill all the sârs?” Fonu asked. “Janek too?”

  “Janek is not to be touched,” Zenobia said.

  “Why not search the kitchen, take the root ourselves?” Canbek asked.

  “Or have your shadir follow her and tell you where it is,” Lady Mattenelle said.