Angelaeon Circle 2 - Eye of the Sword (5 page)

“Father?” said Melaia.

Without opening his eyes King Laetham extended his right hand, ruby ring gleaming. Melaia kissed his hand.

The king opened his eyes and looked at Trevin, who bowed. “I did summon each of you, didn’t I? I didn’t expect both of you at once.”

“Shall I wait outside, sire?” asked Trevin.

“That won’t be necessary. As comain, you may be privy to the news.”

“What news?” asked Melaia.

King Laetham frowned at Trevin. “You’ve been in a fight?”

“I encountered ruffians.”

“I trust you prevailed.”

Trevin nodded, considering. He was alive and had full, if not comfortable, use of all his limbs. “I prevailed, sire,” he said. He just wished he had blackened Varic’s eye as well as Hesel’s.

Melaia put her hands on her hips. “What’s the news?”

King Laetham motioned Trevin to a padded bench by the far wall. “Pull over a seat.”

Trevin strode to the bench as Nash slipped the royal sandals off the royal feet.

“Ah!” The king smiled and eased back in his chair.

“Is it news about the peace treaty?” asked Melaia.

“Your music sounded divine tonight, my dear,” said the king. “Whenever I see you play your harp, it takes my mind back to your mother. She had such talent.”

“Gifting,” said Melaia.

The king chuckled. “Call it what you will; you didn’t inherit it from me.”

“What’s the news?” asked Melaia.

Trevin tugged the bench across the room. Nash trotted over and lifted the other end.

“Prince Varic remarked on your beauty, you know,” said the king.

Trevin wanted to slam the bench to the floor. Instead, he clenched it so hard his fingernails dug into the wood. He and Nash gently set the bench in front of the king.

Melaia sat on it and motioned for Trevin to take the place beside her. “I think, Father, that Prince Varic is inclined to remark on the beauty of every woman he sees.”

“He wouldn’t be wrong, eh, Trevin?” The king winked.

“No, sire.” It galled Trevin to agree with Varic, but he would not disagree with the king.

“What’s the news?” Melaia asked again.

The king nodded at Trevin. “Tell me about the landgash you discovered.”

Melaia leaned forward, gripping the edge of the bench.

Trevin ached for her, but being king, her father could ignore her as long as he wished, which was obviously his point. Although Trevin felt for Melaia, he admired the stately calm and unruffled manner of the stubborn king.

“Dwin found two rifts of landgash at Drywell,” said Trevin. “I’ve seen them myself. One has contaminated the well. The other is near the east edge of the clearing.”

The king rubbed his forehead. “Lord Beker has seen similar rifts in his travels. He says they produce a foul odor.”

“Like eggs gone to rot,” said Trevin.

“Beker tells me the Dregmoors are full of these dreadful rifts spewing hot mud,” said the king. “They make the soil barren and worthless—but I don’t suppose you’ve been to the Dregmoors.”

“No, sire, but I know they turn gash into a drink.”

“The stuff that’s touted to restore youth. If that’s true, a well full of it might be to our gain.”

“I wouldn’t want anyone to drink gash,” said Melaia. “I once saw a man addicted to it. His skin was as smooth as a baby’s, but he was in a stupor, dying from the inside out.”

Trevin nodded. He and Melaia had once camped near a gash-drunk and his family. The memory was warm, and Trevin found himself wishing Melaia was still that naive priestess.

The king tapped the arms of his chair. “When Beker returns, I’ll look to his counsel on the matter. We’ve problems enough without the earth turning against us, but I suspect we can do nothing to fight this sort of invasion.”

Nash set a basin of water on the floor in front of King Laetham. The king sank further into his chair as Nash eased the royal feet into the water. “Now for more pleasant thoughts. My news.” He smiled at Melaia. “Prince Varic has proposed a marriage.”

Trevin tensed.

Melaia’s hand drifted to the gold medallion at her throat. “To whom?”

The king laughed. “You, my dear.”

Melaia squeezed her eyes shut. “Surely you’re not considering his proposal.”

“Of course I am. It’s part of his peace offer.”

Melaia’s voice trembled. “You would sell your daughter to a Dregmoorian brute?”

“A Dregmoorian prince.” King Laetham’s voice rose. “May I remind you, Daughter, he will one day be king of the Dregmoors?”

Trevin cleared his throat. “He will one day be king of Camrithia if he marries Melaia.”

The king glowered at him. Nash massaged the king’s left foot.

Trevin looked from Melaia to the king, both faces set in stubborn willfulness. “I beg your pardon, sire,” he said. “If Varic marries Melaia, Camrithia may gain peace, but the Dregmoorians will gain Camrithia.”

“Melaia gets Camrithia.” The king eased his left foot back into the water and held his right toward Nash. “And not until I die.”

Melaia’s face turned ash white. “Prince Varic’s grandfather tried to murder you and take the throne. How do you know Lord Rejius isn’t now trying to gain control through his grandson?”

“Lord Rejius was defeated,” said the king. “He seeks an alliance of peace.”

“And the price is your kingdom?” asked Melaia.

The question hung in the air like mist before a downpour.

The king’s fist thundered down on the arm of his chair. “Curses!” he bellowed. “Daily I’m besieged by landowners, town councilmen, merchants, farmers—all wailing about raiders from the Dregmoors who sweep in and steal their goods, their crops, their cattle. Even children. Children, Melaia! ‘Stop the raids!’ my people demand. But how? Tell me that. My comains abandoned their posts and disappeared. Their men-at-arms returned home to protect their families but still demand that I stop the raids! I can no more stop raids than I can stop the sun rising in the morning. Unless …”

The king leaned forward, his gaze boring into Melaia. “Unless I can establish an alliance with the Dregmoors. Then the raids will stop, and we’ll have some hope of making our enemies our allies. You, Melaia, will be an envoy of peace between our kingdoms.”

Melaia met the king’s glare with her own. Her words marched out. “I have vowed to marry no one but Trevin.”

The king jerked back as if she had slapped him.

Trevin gaped at her. Marry? His mind buzzed. When had she made that vow? How had she come to have such strong feelings? Had she hinted? Had he been too dull minded to understand? He wanted to take her in his arms and let her breathe out the news gasp by gasp. He felt as strong as a mountain stag leaping from ridge to ridge, as brilliant as thunderlight jagging from cloud to cloud, as reckless as a shooting star hurtling across the boundless heavens. He could hardly stay seated.

And he didn’t. The king rose, grabbed the neck of Trevin’s tunic, and wrenched him to his feet. “I thought you had changed, thief.”

“I have,” Trevin garbled.

“You think you can steal my daughter?”

“Father!” Melaia tugged at the king’s arm. “I said
I
vowed. Trevin didn’t know.”

“Swear it.” The king’s breath fumed hot in Trevin’s face. “Swear by the crown that you didn’t know.”

“I swear,” choked Trevin. “I swear by the crown. By the throne. By the scepter—”

The king shoved him onto the bench and glared at him. “You don’t have to invoke the whole palace.”

Trevin rubbed his throat.

The king stomped through spilled water to his chair and turned his glare to Melaia. “I’m not so daft that I don’t have a healthy suspicion of Prince Varic, but I also have a healthy suspicion of my new comain. I even have a healthy suspicion of my own daughter.” He squinted at Melaia as Nash toweled the floor. “It was your vow and yours alone?”

She set her jaw and nodded.

“Then you will unvow it. Trevin has no rank.”

“After tomorrow he’ll be a comain,” said Melaia.

“A comain is the king’s rider, not a prince, not a future king. It’s in Camrithia’s best interest to become an ally of the Dregmoors. This is about stopping the raids.”

Trevin’s hopes died like a doused campfire. He bit his lip to stay out of the argument.

Melaia knelt, nudged Nash aside, and dried the king’s feet. “Father, all I ask
is a little time. You’re suspicious of Prince Varic. Give us time to test his sincerity. Tell him to stop the raids while we consider his proposal. Meanwhile, let me find the two other harps. If I can unite all three, I can restore the stairway and—”

“That priestess who raised you stuffed your head full of nonsense, girl,” said the king. “I cannot allow you to leave Redcliff. For your own good.”

“In that case send Trevin on my behalf.”

“He’ll be occupied.”

“But—”

“I’m sorry, Melaia.” The king stroked her hair, and his face softened. “I know this is hard for you to understand, but you are our hope.”

“I can’t—”

The king raised his hand. “Hear me out, both of you. Lord Beker will soon return to his post as my advisor, which he can do only because you, Trevin, will take over the task of finding my missing comains. I sent Beker south. He found no comains, but he did fully man Fort Tigerre at the mouth of the Davernon. However, I can spare him no longer. I’ve recalled him, and I’m sending you on the search north. I want you to consult the Oracle.”

Trevin glanced at Melaia. She looked as surprised as he felt.

“I know,” said the king. “I’ve never placed faith in anything beyond the natural. But I’m at my wit’s end. It can’t hurt to consult the Oracle, ask for a prophecy or sign. If along the way you discover the whereabouts of these harps Melaia wants, by all means send them to her.”

An energy stirred in Trevin, not like the jolt moments earlier, but like the muscles of a horse beneath him, measured and steady. With this challenge he could prove himself worthy, both to the king and to Melaia.

“No marriage to Prince Varic,” said Melaia.

“I promise you nothing.” King Laetham rubbed his furrowed brow. “You ask for time. I grant you one season. I dare not delay the prince longer than that. Trevin must return with my comains, or news of them, by harvest moon. That will give us time to settle this issue before we move to the winter castle at Qanreef.” Nash wriggled slippers onto the king’s feet.

Melaia rose, her fists clenched.

Trevin stood as well. “You can depend on me, sire,” he said. “I’ll ride north as soon as I can.”

“While you’re there,” said the king, “you might as well inform King
Kedemeth of the Dregmoorian threat. The Eldarrans have been allies in the past, and it cannot hurt to renew the goodwill between our kingdoms. If the Dregmoorians grow impatient, we may need our neighbor’s aid. Now, a good night to both of you.”

Trevin and Melaia rose from the bench, and Nash opened the door for them. Prince Varic stood in the hallway, a flask in one hand, awaiting his turn with the king.

Varic shot a look of disdain at Trevin, who met it with a smug smile as he brushed past. The prince slipped in front of Melaia. Trevin turned to see him adjust her necklace, allowing his fingers to run across her throat.

“My gold looks striking on you,” said the prince.

“Withdraw, Varic,” Trevin muttered through his teeth.

Melaia gently pushed aside the prince’s hand. “What’s in the flask?” she asked.

“Dregmoorian beer,” said Varic. “I thought your father might like a taste.” He leaned toward her, his voice soft but clear enough that Trevin knew he was meant to hear. “A friendly warning, my lady. In our country losing a finger is the penalty for thievery. A man missing a finger is in no way trustworthy.”

Trevin clenched his fists but stood steady.

Melaia shouldered past Varic. “Main Trevin, escort me to my chamber.”

“Gladly, lady.” Trevin hurried after her, followed by Dano, who had returned from escorting Serai, and Khareet.

They didn’t speak until they reached the bottom of the stairwell and turned down an adjoining corridor toward Melaia’s quarters in the northeast tower. A cool breeze drifted through unshuttered windows.

Trevin huffed. It would take more than a breeze to cool his steaming anger. “Dregmoorian beer. Would Varic try to poison your father? Tonight?”

Melaia stormed ahead. “He wouldn’t dare. Besides, Nash will taste the beer first.”

“What is the prince doing with your father at this time of the evening, anyway? Haven’t they both drunk enough?”

“Perhaps my father summoned the prince, hoping he would arrive when I did,” Melaia fumed. “My father has become quite the matchmaker.”

Trevin glanced out a window as they passed. The moon had gone behind clouds, leaving the aerie tower blood dark.

Melaia’s steps slowed. “Trevin, I can’t marry Lord Rejius’s grandson. I have to admit he’s handsome, but he’s—”

“Handsome? Like a venom-spitting puff adder.”

The corners of Melaia’s mouth twitched toward a smile. “At least he doesn’t look like a warty bullfrog.”

“He will when he grows old,” said Trevin. “He’ll be bulbous and jowly.”

Melaia raised one eyebrow. “You can tell that? What about me?”

“Elegant and kind.”

“And you?”

He smiled. “Dashing and assured, of course. Like your father but more—”

“More balanced.” Melaia sighed. “I don’t know if I truly love my father or if I just feel sorry for him. When he’s hopeful, he’s delightful company. When he’s in despair, his presence is as heavy as a millstone.”

“You care,” said Trevin.

“I do care,” said Melaia. “I guess that’s love. I admire my father’s desire for peace, and I love the concern he carries for his people.”

“No one can fault him for that,” said Trevin. “But he should be more concerned about your well-being.”

“He tries. But he’s losing hope. He falls into melancholy more often these days. I hope I didn’t send him into the depths tonight.”

“Why would he despair? He has the upper hand.”

“I don’t know how far to push him. If one of us doesn’t bend, one of us will break.”

A gust of wind fluttered the torch flames, making shadows dance in the stairwell to Melaia’s rooms.