King (13 page)

Clad in armor, Akabe guided his warhorse along Munra's main thoroughfare as heralds rode ahead, trump-calls blaring around them. His guards bellowed, “All citizens to the safety of your homes! By official orders, clear the streets!”

As Akabe had commanded, archers now manned the rooftops of the main thoroughfare's public buildings, while soldiers from the royal garrison waited at each street corner. Silent and grim, the men's crimson military cloaks, polished plate armor, and gleaming weapons warned enemies that Siphra's Holy House would be protected.

Infinite, I beg you, let this be enough. Protect us this morning. . . .

They rode toward the temple, horses huffing, armor and swords clattering. Kien led the way on his giant black monster-horse, which was haphazardly buckled into a cobbling of chain mail created for smaller horses. Akabe grinned at the sight. If nothing else inspired his people to hide from the coming fray, the destroyer's resonant huffs and his giant hooves thundering against the pavings convinced them. All along the main street,
doors and shutters were slamming shut, muffling panicked shrieks within the buildings.

“Now,” Akabe called to his men as they crested the final approach to the temple, “with our people hidden—we smash this siege before it takes hold! Look around!”

Even as he spoke, something slashed past Akabe's cheek, embedding itself in a nearby wall. An iron bolt, undoubtedly barbed and meant for him. Kien's giant destroyer, Scythe, rumbled a low, merciless threat and turned, breaking file to charge a slender tower to Akabe's right—one of several overlooking the future temple. Obviously attuned to his monster-steed, Kien raised his shield to cover himself. Akabe bellowed, “Shields!”

Akabe lifted his gaze to the tower's crest. There, a graceful white cupola sheltered a bolt-thrower and three archers, all taking aim at Akabe and his men. “Break ranks—
move
!”

He turned his horse aside, and his men scattered just as arrows and another bolt flew past, gouging the paving stones. “Take that tower!”

Scythe reared and slammed his hooves against the tower's stone walls, then against the iron-bound door, which broke from its hinges. Akabe froze. Was Kien planning to invade that tower alone? “Aeyrievale—no! Check the other towers!” To his foot-soldiers, Akabe called, “Surround and capture everyone inside! Let no one escape!”

Distant screams from workmen now arose from the temple site and smoke billowed into the morning air, signaling an attack on the foundations. Followed by his guards and Fightmaster Lorteus, Akabe urged his warhorse toward the screams. As they crossed the paved open court, an onslaught of flaming arrows sliced downward from another tower to his left, igniting oiled tarps and supplies—undoubtedly terrorizing the workmen trapped within the foundations below. Had some of the men been killed?

Akabe's own archers were now answering their enemies, and Akabe glimpsed an arrow-pierced body slumping onto an
embrasure in the nearest tower. He called to Lorteus. “Secure that tower! Take some men with you!”

Akabe waved half his guard to follow Lorteus. The fightmaster departed, roaring his eagerness to raid the tower. “You firebrands are coming
down
after those arrows!”

Shielded by Lorteus's attack and his archers' reprisals upon the towers, Akabe motioned for his remaining guards to follow him. His pulse quickening with their pace, he urged his horse around the burning cedar logs, using the flames and waves of heat as his screen to approach the temple's foundations. Infinite, let the workmen be alive!

There, sheltered in the shadows of the sacred ancient stonework, Dan Roeh waited with his men, safe. All praying aloud as they watched for their enemies. Relieved, Akabe withdrew, circled the burning mounds of supplies, and rode to help Kien and Lorteus secure the towers.

Within the confines of Akabe's antechamber, Faine mourned, “Majesty,
why
must these Ateans kill themselves whenever they fail? Without the chance to interrogate them, we have no way to counteract their plots. Moreover, their deaths only feed their comrades' fury.”

“Provoking them to conspire anew,” Akabe agreed. The deaths made him look like a bloodthirsty tyrant—the same as his predecessors. Was he? He couldn't help but question his actions as he recalled seeing those Ateans' bodies after they'd been removed from the tower. How might he neutralize their future schemes and prevent more deaths? “Faine, order
all
the workmen and the priests removed to protected residences.”

“All? And . . . the priests, Majesty?”

“Yes. They'll be targeted, as in the previous regime. Best to protect them now.”

Akabe's bedchamber door opened and a whispering of trailing fabrics alerted him to turn. Elegant and pale in gold-embroidered
red, Caitria hesitated, clearly wary of Faine. Undoubtedly sensing and reciprocating his queen's mistrust, Faine bowed. “Majesty, as soon as you've rested, we will attend you in the council chamber.”

The instant he departed, Caitria approached, studying Akabe as if perplexed. “Forgive me, sir, but you left with no explanation.” Her frown deepened as she stared. “How did you receive that grazing on your cheek?”

Grazing? Akabe touched his face. A sting reminded him. “Oh. A bolt flew too close.”

“A bolt?” Confusion played over Caitria's fine features.

Had she led such a sheltered life that she'd never seen a bolt? To explain, he removed a dagger from his belt. “A bolt, lady. An iron projectile about as large as this blade, flung by an apparatus manned by my enemies. It missed.”

“Almost
not
, by the mark on your face.” She dropped into a gilded chair, pressing her hands to her own face. “You were in a battle this morning?”

“A skirmish. Some . . . rebels . . . attacked the temple site and threatened the workers. We defeated them and all's well—the Infinite protected us.”

“No, all's not well!” Caitria shook her head. “Is this temple worth dying for—losing your kingdom for? Why should your Infinite demand such sacrifices? Such risk? I don't see that He's done much for either of us, sir, except to cause misery!”

Akabe controlled his tone, deliberately gentle. Calming, he hoped. “I'm alive, lady. My kingdom stands, and my people are safe.”

“But you're not safe!”

“I am this instant.” Unless his angry wife decided to attack. “And, by the way, yes. Some things are worth dying for, lady, because we love them. I love my Creator
and
His temple!” Though He seemed to not notice Akabe of Siphra now.

As Akabe processed the pain of that thought, Caitria stood,
inclined her head, then swept from the antechamber in a flaring tempest of crimson and gold.

He didn't follow. An armed skirmish seemed safer.

Inside her husband's bedchamber, Caitria sagged against the wall, trembling, trying to recover enough strength to return to her apartments. The dim chamber seemed even darker now, and she'd turned giddy. Stars and sunsets, was she about to faint?

She sat heavily beside the door, dazed, holding her head. Akabe had faced another attack. Likely from more Ateans. Would the next attack succeed? Had her family been involved? Now, for the first time in ages, she appealed to the goddess in silent prayer.

Atea . . . save me . . . save us!

But since when had the goddess considered her worth anything—least of all worth loving? Akabe's voice rang again in her thoughts, impassioned, his face alight with fervor.

Some things are worth dying for, lady, because we love them. I love my Creator,
and
His temple!

He hadn't mentioned his wife.

Couldn't he care for her despite their differences?

For a long time, she sat huddled against the door, shivering. Trying not to weep.

Nudged toward the stone-framed gate by the fretful Scythe, Kien nodded to the guards, crossed a fine stonework courtyard, and rapped on the Roehs' door. Ela answered instantly, studying his face. No doubt checking for wounds. Evidently satisfied, she flung her arms around him. “I prayed for you—for everyone! Is my father safe? And the king?”

“The Infinite honored your prayers, dear prophet. Not counting a few bruises, scrapes and sprains, plus a mark on the king's face from a passing bolt, everyone's well. And I spoke to your
father.” Kien nodded to Kalme Roeh, who approached, listening. “He's safe.”

Kalme sighed, tension fading from her lovely face. “Thank you!”

“You're welcome.” Kien kissed Ela's forehead, then stared into her big, dark, beautiful eyes. “Now, prophet of Parne, what are you not telling me?”

Sucking in a pained breath as if the vision still lingered, she whispered, “The Infinite's enemies want Him to fail! After our wedding . . . others will be waiting, conspiring to kill the king . . . and us.”

Kien tightened his arms around her slender, shivering shoulders, praying even as he whispered, “Whatever happens, we know the Infinite will never fail!”

Infinite? Spare Ela, I beg You! Even if I must die, save her. . . .

 13 

E
la kissed her baby brother until he laughed and grabbed small fistfuls of her hair. “Don't you grow up too much while I'm gone. Oh, Jess,” she crooned, “I'll miss you!”

From behind her, Kalme Roeh said, “Perhaps by this time next year, you'll have a baby of your own.”

A baby. Ela's breath seemed to halt in her lungs. Kien's baby . . . Despite her longing, she argued, “Mother, how could I endure having a baby, knowing I might not live to—”

“Stop,” Kalme ordered. “You're tormenting yourself, and it's useless.” She gave Ela a stern nudge. “Rejoice in the blessings the Infinite gives you!”

“Mother, you should have been the prophet.”

“I'm telling you what I've learned since
you
became His prophet.” Kalme lifted Jess from Ela's arms, pausing just long enough to unwind Ela's curls from the baby's pudgy hand. “When you first left Parne, I nearly killed myself with worry. But, being pregnant with Jess, I had to stop fretting over things I couldn't control. Instead, I treasure my current circumstances.”

“Well, at least one of us is learning something.”

Laughter and a clatter at the door announced visitors. Tamri Het and Matron Prill let themselves in. Seeing Ela, Tamri scolded, “Prophet-girl, why are you not dressed? Your husband and guests will arrive soon!”

Determined to torment her dear chaperones to the end, Ela affected a mock frown. “He's not my husband yet.”

Prill brushed past them both, murmuring to Tamri, “I'll set out her clothes. We'd best drag her inside to prepare. Kalme Roeh, how did you—the sweetest of souls—end up with such a dissident daughter?”

“It's Dan's fault.” Mother shifted Jess in her arms, then pointed Ela toward her room. “Follow Prill.”

Hiding a smile, Ela marched after the matron. Hmm. Prill's tunic was obviously new—a festive violet-red, embroidered with tiny flowers. Her boots, however, clunked against the Roehs' tiled floor. Heavy boots. As if Prill expected to hike or ride. “Matron, do you think I'll have you digging trenches or fleeing for your life on my wedding day?”

“I've found it's best to be prepared for anything if I'm around you.” Prill stepped aside to let Ela into her room. “But, no, I don't expect to dig trenches. Bryce has enlisted me to help you in Aeyrievale.”

“You're remaining with me? Wonderful! But . . .” Ela hesitated.
Bryce
had invited Prill? She turned and frowned at the matron. “You're calling Kien's steward by his first name? When did you two become friends?”

Prill met her gaze, seeming perfectly serene. “Over the past month. He's consulted me often while making arrangements for your wedding. He noticed us at the temple site, then remembered me from Parne as your chaperone, and didn't want to disturb you or your mother.”

“Oh?” Ela donned a pretend look of disapproval. “Sounds more like a flirtation to me.”

Prill blushed. Prettily. Bright as the embroidered flowers on her gown. Bryce and Prill? Oh my. Kien would love this. Ela dropped all pretenses as Tamri and Mother entered her room. “You just wait! When I'm married, I'm chaperoning
you
!”

“Really, Ela—”

“What's happened?” Tamri asked, chaperone-stern, alert as always to mischief.

“Nothing!” Prill snapped. She hurriedly dug into Ela's clothing chest, then coerced Ela into the delicate gold-embroidered layered white tunic. Proper and bossy as ever, the matron grabbed several tiny pearl-edged combs and nodded toward Ela's only chair. “Sit.”

They'd just finished combing out Ela's hair when a musical, feminine voice called from the front door, “Ela dear?”

“Kien's mother!” Ela started from her seat.

Prill pushed Ela down again, and Tamri leaned out of the room, clearly delighted. “Ara! She's in here. We're trying to keep her settled long enough to hand her off to your son.”

“Oh, well let me help you!” Ara swept into the room, so ladylike and flawless in a silvery tunic and gauzy shawls that Ela felt like a frump. The instant she saw Ela, Ara's bright gray eyes lit with joy. “Darling, you're not even put together yet and you look charming! And what perfect timing—Beka insisted I bring this to you.” She opened a wooden box and offered Ela an elaborate, fragile half-circlet of silver and gold leaves, centered with a dangling dark blue gem. “Do you like it? Will you wear it?”

Speechless, Ela nodded at the dazzling headpiece. Mother snatched the pearl combs from Prill and said, “Yes, it's wonderful!”

“Oh, good,” Ara sighed. “We must humor Beka during her last few months of waiting. Darling, she's a delightful tyrant, isn't she? Anyway, I wore this tiara on my wedding day, and Beka wore it when she married Jon, and
oh
is she furious because she can't travel!” Chattering, Ara extricated the comb from Prill's hand and began to arrange Ela's hair. “The gemstone centers over your forehead, with your hair half-up, half-down—Ela, I'm so glad you have such lovely curls! Where are those pearl combs? And pins! Heaps of pins!”

From that point on, Ara did all the talking and no one minded, Ela was sure. She could listen to Kien's mother all day. Ara described her enchanting visit with Kien, the king, and the queen—who was so shy she said not five words, poor dear—and her own exciting journey with General Rol and his sweet daughter, Nia.
Not to mention Rol's destroyer, who was in the same interesting condition as Beka, but even more irritable.

At last Ara sighed and shook her head. “Are you certain you'll be able to handle that destroyer when Rol returns her to you, Ela-dear? She's a true monster, make no mistake!”

“What?” Flame? Scythe's beloved? Ela turned her head, causing Ara to lift her hands. “General Rol is returning Flame to me? But he can't!”

“Darling, he must. He's leaving the military and offering himself for service in the Grand Assembly. He's sure to be elected,
if
he gets rid of that destroyer. Beka's at home arranging his campaign as we speak. I'm sorry . . .” Ara busied herself, pinning Ela's hair again. “You didn't know, did you?”

“No. The Tracelands has lost its finest general. And Flame is pregnant!” Appalling! What would she and Kien do with three destroyers? Dear though the monsters were, they'd overrun Aeyrievale!

Stunned, Ela sat mute until the ladies sent for Father.

Dan Roeh loomed in the doorway, looking prosperous and handsome in dark green robes. He held a hand out to Ela, but his smile weakened and he turned misty-eyed. “You don't look like my little girl.”

“Well, I am.” She snatched up the branch and rushed to hug him. “Father, stop! You're making me cry!” Not good.

Dan exhaled. “Let's brace ourselves. Everyone's waiting.”

They wiped their eyes, then paraded outside to the courtyard, which was filled with celebrants and all the trimmings for a wedding feast. Yells, cheers, and whistles from their friends greeted Ela's appearance. Ela also recognized several noblemen from the royal court. And—She gasped inwardly, almost stopping.

A face from her vision.

Brawny and cold-eyed, the man ought to be clad in soldier's gear. But he wasn't. Instead, he wore a nondescript brown tunic, mantle, and boots. Clearly, this apparition come-to-life stood among the crowd not as a celebrant but as a spy, fixated on
her
.

His dark, calculating gaze lifted chills of fear along Ela's bare arms. “Infinite?”

Father guided Ela through the crowd. She followed his lead, grasping at composure. Why
was
that foreign soldier standing amid her family and friends on her wedding day? Surely it wasn't yet time for . . . Infinite, please!

She looked again, trembling. The soldier hurried away through the courtyard gate, walking quickly as if to put distance between them. Would he not stalk her again for a few months? Or was this the last time she would see her family and friends?

Before she'd gathered her fragmented thoughts, Father kissed Ela's forehead in farewell and placed her hand in Kien's. His gray eyes wide and serious, Kien bent toward Ela, whispering, “What's wrong?”

He mustn't know. Not yet, at least. She hugged her soon-to-be husband and murmured, “I love you!”

Immediately, his concern vanished, replaced by an appreciative grin. “Not as much as I love you! Ela . . .” He breathed her name as if overcome. “You are amazing! Beautiful!”

She willed herself to smile. And to admire his magnificent gold-edged blue garments and his dazzling smile. “So are you. I mean—” Oh, she could stare at him forever.

Parne's chief priest, Ishvah Nesac, stepped forward, splendid in his blue-and-white priestly attire. “Now, you two, save your compliments for when you truly need them—after you're married!”

Everyone laughed, and Ela calmed herself as Nesac prayed, asked the Infinite's blessing, then witnessed their marriage vows. Kien slid a lavish gold armband up Ela's left arm and fastened it over the thin scar on her bicep. The instant the priest pronounced them married, Kien swept Ela into a hug and kissed her, his lips so warm and lingering that she gasped for breath when he finally released her. Around them, their guests cheered, ready to celebrate and feast.

Ela glanced around. No sign of the soldier-spy. A reprieve? Infinite, please, let it be so! Guests clustered about her and Kien,
offering hugs, kisses, and blessings. Father. Mother. Ara Lantec and the tearfully happy Nia Rol. Prill. Tamri. Survivors from Parne . . .

At last, General Rol, resplendent in red-and-blue robes, greeted Kien with a hearty slap on the shoulder. But he kissed Ela, almost as teary-eyed as Father. “Ela, dear girl, you look beautiful. Have you heard my news? I'm retiring in favor of the Grand Assembly. I need you to take ownership of Flame.”

Ela sighed. “Sir, is this truly what you wish? Flame will be heartbroken.”

The general cleared his throat. “She and her foal will be too much for my few fields, and I doubt it's good for her to be separated from Scythe. Come along.” He offered Ela a supportive arm, gallant as ever. Masking his sadness, Ela realized. She walked with him and Kien to the gate.

Flame waited outside, huge, shimmering-dark, and moodily chewing through a pile of hay. Rol beckoned her fondly, smoothing her glossy neck. “You've been a joy, you beautiful monster, but it's time you settled with a family. Look at Ela. Remember Ela?” Rol cleared his throat and commanded the destroyer sternly. “Obey her. Do you hear? Obey Ela.”

The impressive monster-warhorse grumbled, an aggrieved noise that echoed through the entire wedding party, temporarily halting all conversation. When Rol tried to pat Flame again, she swung her big head away and moped, as if deeply betrayed. Ela smoothed the destroyer's gleaming coat. “I'm sorry. I know you've loved the general. But you'll see him again!”

Flame huffed. Ela sighed. “All right. Pout. I understand—he's a good master, so you're right to grieve. But wait here. Stay!”

As gloomy as the destroyer, Rol sighed. “Ah, well. Let's return to the feast, shall we? Ela, Kien, introduce me to all your friends.”

While they returned to the celebration, Ela cast another look around for the spy. Still nowhere to be seen. Thank You! She merged with the crowd, determined to visit.

If this was the last time she would see her family and friends, she must hug
everyone.