Dark Lady's Chosen (27 page)

Tris frowned as he took the pouch. “Did Crevan say anything when he gave you this?”

“No, Your Majesty.”

“How long ago did you leave from Shekerishet?”

“Four days, Your Majesty. M’lord Crevan told me to ride hard, and I rode my horse as long as I dared.”

Tris’s sense of foreboding grew deeper. “That will be all,” he said, waiting until Coalan and the messenger had left them to break the seal. He was aware that his heartbeat had quickened, and he feared that Kiara or the baby had come to harm. Inside the pouch was a single sealed letter, and Tris’s fear and disappointment grew when he realized that the handwriting did not belong to Kiara.

“Is Kiara all right?” Soterius asked. “Do you want me to leave?”

Tris shook his head. “Stay, please.” He moved to where the light was better and unfolded the letter.

Your Majesty.

It is with great trepidation that I write this, having postponed it as long as I dare, hoping that
circumstances would right themselves and the matter would no longer merit your regard.

Unfortunately, that is not the case.

There is no delicate way for me to break this most unpleasant news, and I apologize deeply
in advance for the necessity of it. Rumors are thick at court that Master Bard Carroway and
the Queen have engaged in an unseemly relationship. At first, I dismissed it as nattering.

But over the last few days, it has become so widely spoken of as to attract even the
attention of the Council of Nobles. I myself have witnessed nothing, but there have been
those among the servants who have claimed to witness Carroway departing from the
Queen’s chambers at unusual hours, always alone and often looking as if he wished not to
be seen. Since Carroway’s reputation with the ladies is quite well known, such things have
led to a level of discussion that has led the Council to meet today. I am not privy to their
conversation, but word reached me that they are gravely worried about damage to the
honor of the Queen, and by extension, to the Crown.

Your Majesty, it pains me greatly to write of these things and I wish it were not necessary to
be the bearer of such dark news. To protect the honor of the Queen, I am taking the
extraordinary measure to banish Bard Carroway from the palace until your return.

Moreover, he is not, on pain of death, to be in the presence of the Queen.

I know that the temper of the Lady governs how quickly your battle concludes, but I pray
you, please do not delay your return longer than is necessary. While there can be no doubt
as to the father of the child the Queen carries, much has been said about the Queen’s
allegiance, and I do not know if we have already passed the point at which it may be
repaired.

Ever your faithful servant, Crevan

Tris re-read the letter, feeling his heart pound. He crumpled it in his fist, trying to breathe.

Beyral warned me that I would be betrayed again, by someone very close to me. Sweet
Lady! This can’t possibly be true.

“Tris?” It was Soterius’s voice, and from his tone, it was clear that he had called for Tris before without answer. “Are Kiara and the baby all right?”

Not trusting himself to speak, Tris thrust the crumpled paper at Soterius and turned away, struggling for composure. He heard Soterius’s sharp intake of breath a moment later as he read the damning letter.

“Crevan’s mistaken. You know that, right? This whole thing is a lie.”

Tris shrugged, struggling with the anger and pain that welled up inside him with an intensity he did not expect. “I don’t know what to believe.”

Soterius took a step toward him. “It’s got to be Lady Nadine and her friends again. They never forgave Bricen for banishing her. What a way to take revenge!”

“Kiara hasn’t written to me once since I left for the war,” Tris said in a voice just above a whisper. “Not once.”

“Maybe she hasn’t been well. You said her mother had a difficult time of it when she was pregnant.”

Another shrug. “Crevan’s said nothing about that in any of his letters. The packets come weekly. Surely there was one week when Kiara felt well enough to send a note.” Tris knew that Soterius could hear the hurt in his voice. Leaving a new bride behind and going to war was a miserable proposition. But to hear nothing in almost three full months…

“There has to be a reason,” Soterius persisted. “Kiara and Carroway both nearly died to help you win back the throne. You told me that when you fought the Obsidian King you shared your life force with Kiara. You made a ritual wedding. Surely with your power you could see into her soul.”

I thought I had.
“I’m new at this—remember?”

“Kiara risked everything for you. And Carroway has been your best friend since we were kids.”

“You know the old tales as well as I do. These things happen.” Tris knew Margolan’s legends far too well to dismiss such a possibility. Too many of the downfalls of the kings of old came because of the treachery of a friend and the unfaithfulness of a queen.

“You can’t be serious.”

Tris turned around to face him, and he knew Soterius could see the pain in his face. “I really don’t know what to believe, Ban,” he said raggedly. “I’ve sent letters to her with every messenger. I’ve begged her for word like a schoolboy. No reply. What should I make of that?”

Soterius’s glance fell to the drawing Tris had scratched in the ashes. “What’s that?”

Tris gave a sharp, hard laugh. “That’s what I see in my dreams. That’s why I don’t sleep.

For the last two nights, I’ve seen that knife. I don’t know who’s holding it, but every night, I see someone attacking Kiara with that knife and driving it into her belly.” He closed his eyes and let out a breath. “I just sent a letter with yesterday’s messenger, warning Crevan to increase security. As if there isn’t enough to worry about with this war and the plague, I’ve been worried sick about Kiara.” He ran a hand back through his hair, beginning to pace.

“And now? I don’t know what to think.”

“Tris, it’s Carroway we’re talking about. After what happened with Lady Nadine, you know he didn’t even touch another woman for two years. And after that ended badly, he went off by himself again—until he brought Macaria to court.” Soterius shook his head. “Goddess!

He watched her like a smitten puppy and never laid a hand on her, because didn’t want to do to her what Nadine did to him. How many ballads did he write for her at Staden’s palace? Did you ever once see a spark of anything but friendship between him and Kiara?

Once?”

Tris sighed and shook his head. “No. I didn’t. But if everything’s all right, why hasn’t Kiara written?”

“I don’t know. But whoever’s spreading these rumors could do as much damage as anything Curane does. If Donelan gets wind of it, he’d be within his rights to avenge Kiara’s honor.

And when you get back—”

“I know.” When he returned, the rumors assured that the joyous reunion he’d sustained himself by envisioning since he left for war would not occur. At best, he’d become the arbiter, trying to salvage the reputation of his foreign queen. At worst, he would have to stand in

judgment, condemning his best friend to death or banishment. And he’d be forced to confront Kiara. Tris had the power as a spirit mage to read her soul and know the truth of it.

He did not know if he dared. Even if the rumors were true, there was no way for him to set aside his marriage to Kiara without declaring war on Isencroft. Neither kingdom would survive such a conflict. And in his heart, Tris doubted that he could ever set her aside. He was well aware that for him as a Summoner, “soul bonded” was exactly that.

“Can you summon the ghosts from the palace? Surely they’d know what was going on.”

Tris shook his head. “Even I can’t compel them from so far away. Like most ghosts, they’re bound to the place they haunt. I tried.” He did not need to add that with the Flow’s volatile swings, such magic was even less likely to work now than before.

Soterius swore and handed the parchment back to Tris. Tris tossed it into the brazier, wordlessly watching it burn. “Isn’t there anything your magic could do to help?”

Tris closed his eyes and shook his head, looking up to keep from shedding the tears that welled up. “Not that I know of. You heard Beyral cast the runes. She warned me that I’d be betrayed again, by someone very close to me.”

“Not to be morbid, but there are several thousand men who are ‘very close to you’ if you want to take what she said literally,” Soterius argued. “And I’d be more willing to bet on one of them as the likely culprit than either Kiara or Carroway.”

“I hope you’re right.” Tris drew a deep breath. “And we’ve still got a battle to plan.”

Soterius nodded. “Senne and Rallan are still trying to get more of those flaming arrow launcher contraptions up and running. And while I’ve been doing my best to follow your orders and take it easy, I’ve made the rounds of the camp. Esme has a count on the number down with the pox or plague or whatever we’re calling it. We’re down more than a third of our men between the sickness and battle dead. That should still give us more soldiers than Curane has left on their feet, but we haven’t breached the walls yet, and if his mages are as desperate as they probably are, we may be in for some nasty surprises.”

“Agreed. When does Senne think we’ll be ready to strike again?”

“He told me that he doesn’t want to wait any longer than tomorrow evening. He’s afraid to give Curane any more time to regroup, but, by the Whore! We couldn’t move before then, even if our lives depended on it, not at full strength anyhow. We took a pounding the last time out.” He paused and looked meaningfully at Tris. “So did you.”

“I’m back on my feet.”

Soterius was skeptical. “So am I. But hardly mended. And I know you don’t heal any faster than I do, magic or not.”

That much was true. Tris still felt the effects of the last battle despite Esme’s healing. “I don’t think either side has enough left for more than one battle. This next fight is going to finish it—one way or the other.”

“Shall I call the generals together?”

Tris nodded. “Fallon and the mages, too. And Trefor for the
vayash moru
. If this is our last stand, we need to make sure we’ve covered everything. There won’t be another chance.”

As morning became afternoon and then early evening, Tris threw himself into the battle planning, grateful for the distraction it provided. Focusing on the preparations for war kept him from dwelling on Crevan’s letter, and the analysis of battle plans let him slip into cold logic. By the time the supper fires were lit, the plans were in place.

“It’s as good a strategy as we’ll get, Your Majesty,” Senne said as he moved for the tent flap. Tris clapped him on the shoulder with a heartiness he did not feel.

“It’s sound, and bold enough to force Curane’s hand. And when he strikes, Fallon and I will be ready for him.”

“I have no doubt, Your Majesty.”

As the last of his guests left, Tris could hear Coalan bustling behind him, clearing the maps from the work table and taking away the empty goblets. Without a word, Coalan appeared at his side, and pressed a glass of brandy into his hand.

Tris glanced up, and Coalan met his eyes. “Thought you might want a nip. It’s cold outside.”

From the look in Coalan’s eyes, Tris was quite sure Coalan had overheard enough of his conversation with Soterius to know what was going on, and he was grateful for the young man’s gesture. “Thank you,” he said, accepting the glass.

“The cook’s shorthanded tonight—two of his helpers took sick. With your permission, I thought I might lend a hand—get us all fed faster that way,” Coalan said with a twinkle in his eye.

“I’m cold enough that even stew would taste good tonight,” Tris replied.

Coalan made a rude noise. “Stew’s all we’ve had since we camped, isn’t it? Probably best, as the meat doesn’t bear looking at closely. Still, it’s better than cold rations and I’m hungry.”

Despite his mood, Tris chuckled. “You’re always hungry.”

“Then consider me your court taster,” Coalan teased. “After all, if cook’s stew doesn’t poison me, little else will!” Coalan slipped from the tent, leaving Tris alone.

Tris swirled the brandy in his glass and pulled his chair closer to the brazier, hungry for its heat. Without the distraction of conversation, his mind replayed Crevan’s letter word for word. He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut against the pain that welled up inside him.

As second-in-line to the throne, jealousy was new to him. Before Bricen’s death, had Tris wanted to pursue the young women at court, his title and status guaranteed that he would have triumphed over other suitors. The few brief romances he had before the coup ended badly, but he had not lost out to a rival. Rather, it had become glaringly apparent that the girls he favored cared only about becoming a princess and were indifferent regarding which prince made them so.

Nobody knew that better than Carroway. Before the coup, Soterius had reveled in being one of the court’s most eligible bachelors. But there had been many evenings when Tris and Carroway had escaped from the constant swirl of court parties, Tris with his books and Carroway with his music. It was always clear that Carroway favored women who loved music as much as he did. And Tris had doubted he would ever find someone who spoke to his heart—until he met Kiara. Now he wondered if his real rival was not a man, but a kingdom, and duty.

I was sure when our souls bonded that she loved me. But she will always love Isencroft first.

Was it love, or just affection that I sensed? Although I released her from the old covenant,
Isencroft’s situation left her no real alternative. And if she wed me for duty’s sake, then I still
don’t hold her heart, even if her body remains faithful.

“I thought I’d find you brooding in here.” Tris glanced up as Soterius entered, holding two trenchers of stew. “Coalan’s busy helping the cook, so I figured I’d best bring this myself if we wanted to eat before daybreak.” Soterius glanced at the half-empty glass of brandy.