King (2 page)

Scaln! Ela shuddered and banished her memories of the venom-drooling, viciously clawed red beasts.

Goaded by Barth's exuberance, other students waved their work. Before they could accidently hit each other with their tablets, Ela said, “Very good, everyone! Let's recite our verse, shall we?”

Joining the children, Ela recited from the Book of Beginnings, “‘Then the Infinite said, “Let Us form mortals in Our image that they may rule over the creatures in the ocean and the birds in the sky, over livestock and all the animals that move along the land. . . .”'”

Even—ugh!—the stinking scalns.

She worked with the giggling children until a distant horn from the work site signaled the noon meal. A feast—the first meal to be shared on the temple's groundbreaking day. Ela smiled,
as excited as the children. Bless Akabe of Siphra for deciding to rebuild this place and to shelter Parne's sacred books! After Parne's temple fell, she'd lost hope of ever seeing another Holy House. But now she might live long enough to realize that dream. Infinite, thank You!

Ela clapped her hands. “Class is finished! Wait with me until your parents arrive to take you to the celebration.”

As the last few children departed with their parents, Barth tugged at Ela's sleeve. “My lord-father is too busy and couldn't come to the feast. May I eat with you?”

“Of course.” Ela took his hand. On either side of them, armed with scarves, mats, and baskets, Ela's chaperones, Matron Prill and Tamri Het, feigned suspicion. The thin, imposing Prill made pretend sour faces at Barth—though her joy in today's celebration peeked through.

And Tamri, an eightyish great-grandmother, flicked her festive crimson scarf at Barth while scolding Ela. “Celebration or not, I expect you to behave, prophet-girl!”

Ela pretended meekness. “I will.”

Hand-in-hand with Barth and followed by her chaperones, Ela crossed the vast, stone-paved site to its eastern edge. There, massive platters of food waited—a hastily planned feast, honoring the king's unexpected proclamation of his intention to rebuild Siphra's Holy House. Roasts, steaming spiced grains, marinated vegetables, nuts, and fruits filled the air with their savory-sweet aromas. Nearby, hired men cheerfully bellowed at each other while they chipped at huge blocks of ice, spilling frozen slivers into metal and clay pitchers of juice.

Watching them and listening to their joyful banter, Ela's unease returned. Why?

As they settled down on their mats to eat, Prill arranged her food and then nodded at Ela and Tamri. “There! Now I'll fetch a pitcher of juice.”

Before she could stand, a man called, “Prophet! Captivated as you are by your new student, you cannot keep him.”

Ela turned, startled. The king approached and nudged Barth with a gold-embellished royal boot. “Move, young sir. I'll sit with you for an instant. Have you anything to drink? No?”

Though his courtiers hovered behind him, Akabe sent a servant for goblets and a pitcher of juice. While they waited, he addressed Ela. “Prophet, I spoke with your father. He's pleased by the progress his men have made thus far, and so am I.”

“Thank you, Majesty. He's honored to serve the Infinite's House.” As of this week, following Akabe's signing of the land contract, Father was in charge of the team refurbishing the temple's foundations and rebuilding the walls. And grateful for the work, Ela knew.

“Likewise,” Akabe said, “I'm pleased you're teaching from the Sacred Books.”

“It's my duty, sir.” Ela adjusted a cloth she'd placed over Barth's obviously new crimson tunic to avoid food spots. “Most of Siphra's copies of the Books of the Infinite were destroyed during the previous reign. Sharing knowledge of the Infinite may prevent future losses.”

A servant brought cups, then filled them with juice from a metal pitcher beaded with moisture. They all waited until the king lifted his cup. Following his lead, they drank.

Ela couldn't help draining her juice, despite its tartness. Let Tamri and Prill frown at her appalling manners—she was thirsty. Finished, she looked for the servant, but he'd vanished.

Beside her, Barth grumbled, “Mine tastes sour.”

Akabe grimaced at the pitcher left in their midst. “True. The aftertaste is bitter.”

Aware of an unpleasant icy burning around her lips and down her throat, Ela flung aside her cup. “Majesty!”

She wrenched Barth's half-empty cup from his small hands. He already looked sick.

Matron Prill threw down her own cup and said the word Ela feared to voice.

“Poison!”

 2 

P
oison? Yes, it must be. Blisters bubbled in Ela's mouth. Searing pain scorched its way down her throat. Frantic courtiers and guards closed about them now, some calling for physicians, others kneeling beside the king, whose usually healthy complexion had turned waxen. Barth cried out and writhed against her. Prill and Tamri supported each other, gasping as if burning alive, and no wonder. Her own stomach seemed on fire.

Ela snatched the branch from the mat, pleading, “Infinite, what must we do?”

An image flashed within her thoughts, sped by a ferocious mental nudge from her Creator.
Hurry!

Battling faintness, Ela grabbed a round of flatbread from Tamri's dish. The instant she lifted the bread, Ela saw the branch flare, its blue-white fire spreading through her and into the loaf. Frantic, Ela tore the still-glowing bread in two and thrust one half at Akabe. “Eat! Quickly!”

The king obeyed.

Ela dropped the branch and ripped off pieces of bread for Barth, Tamri, Prill, and herself.

In obvious pain, her chaperones snatched the bits of bread and crammed them into their mouths.

While Ela lifted Barth, she swallowed her own bite of bread. It went down her raw throat, quenching the poison's fire. Ela shoved
a piece of bread into Barth's mouth. He squirmed and fought. “Chew!” Ela ordered. “Barth, swallow the bread—please!”

The little boy wailed. Ela covered his mouth to prevent the bread from falling out. Holding him, she begged, “Barth! Swallow the bread, and the Infinite will save you!”

She felt his jaw clench. The little boy gulped audibly, opened his eyes, and chirped, “I feel better!”

As the onlooking courtiers exclaimed their relief and praised the Infinite for His miracle, Ela hugged Barth and kissed his soft cheek. “Infinite, thank You!” But she trembled inwardly. Someone had tried to kill the king. With four of his subjects—one a child.

Infinite? Who would do such a thing?

No answer.

Ela turned to the king. Blessedly, Akabe's complexion was no longer ghastly. He shook off his fussing attendants. “I'm well. I give you my word. Step back, all of you.” To Ela he said, “Prophet, thank you.”

She rocked Barth. “Thanks to the Infinite, sir, for providing the bread that saved us. I'm grateful you're alive—that we all survived.”

Barth snuggled into Ela's arms, seeming content. Soon the king commanded him, “On your feet, young sir. We must return to the palace. Your lord-father ought to see you're well before rumors reach him that you were . . . ill.”

“He won't mind,” Barth argued, but he stood. A grim-faced official in sweeping crimson robes nudged the child toward the steps, toward the royal cavalcade of horses in the street below. Akabe departed as well, surrounded by his anxious men.

As the crowd around them thinned, Ela grabbed Tamri's and Prill's hands. “You're not too shaken?”

“Oh no.” Prill's mouth pursed testily. “Just another day tending our little prophet!”

“Sorry,” Ela muttered.

Tamri's grandmotherly face crinkled as she smiled. “Well, we're alive for now, my girl. Do you suppose it's safe to finish our food?”

“Yes. I'm certain only that single pitcher was poisoned.”

“The king's men took it with them,” Prill observed. “No doubt they mean to test it.”

“Yes, no doubt.” Ela reached for her dish. Someone had kicked it, spilling half her food on the mat. She picked up scattered bits of bread and vegetables until a gruff voice stopped her.

“Prophet?”

Ela looked up. Two badged officials stared down at her, their expressions unmoving as masks. The gruff-voiced one said, “Will you answer a few questions?”

She nodded and set down her dish. So much for eating.

“Huh.” Akabe studied the dead flies floating in the gold bowl on his council table. “It's the most effective fly poison
I've
ever seen.”

Unamused, his counselors stared at him, then at the bowl again. Lord Faine tapped his blunt fingers on the table. “Majesty, how did your enemies know so quickly that you'd visit the site today?”

“How indeed?” Akabe sat back in his chair. The celebration and his appearance were planned only this week, after he'd signed the land contract. “Is there a spy in my household?”

Faine sighed. “We must redouble our surveillance and your guards. Majesty . . . this was the second attempt on your life within the past seven months.”

“I'm well aware of that fact, my lord. My knife wound from last year
and
this morning's blisters have made the dangers of kingship abundantly clear. What are you failing to say?”

Faine hesitated. “You need an heir. We've agreed you must marry.”

“But have I agreed?” Akabe studied his council members' faces. To a man, they nodded, deathly serious.

“Yes, sir, you must.” Faine harrumphed, adding with an awkward cough, “Duty.”

“Ah.” Duty. Perfect reason to marry. Nothing could be less inspiring to a prospective wife, Akabe was sure. “Do you believe there's a young lady somewhere in Siphra who is brave enough to live in this marble inconvenience of a palace—with a man who is clearly marked for assassination?” While they blinked at his acidity, Akabe continued. “Should we also warn her that she'd be sentenced to a life of cold food, perpetual gossip, and endless ceremonies? Surrounded—forgive me, my lords—by packs of staring royal courtiers who'd follow her to the privy to discuss business?”

His council members shifted guilty glances here and there. Faine attempted a joke. “Majesty, you make life in the royal court sound so
uncomfortable
.”

“It is.”

Lord Trillcliff broke their awkward silence. Stout and earnest, his eyebrows lifted in thick silver fringes over his ocher eyes. “Being the king, Majesty, you will have no lack of young ladies willing to share your . . . interesting circumstances.”

Squelching further complaints, Akabe sat back in his gilded chair and stared at the dead flies. Poor creatures. A pity they'd suffered what he'd escaped. With as much grace as he could muster, Akabe conceded defeat. “As you say, then. Have you a list of courageous candidates, my lords?”

Faine sighed as if relieved. “Not yet, sir.”

Akabe straightened. “Am I permitted to suggest a possibility?”

Clearly encouraged, Trillcliff gabbled brightly, “Any young lady of some social standing and impeccable reputation may be considered. However, sir, a foreign princess might bring—”

Princess? Akabe stopped Trillcliff with an upraised hand. Here, he must declare his personal battle lines. “No foreign princesses. And no Siphran ones either—if any exist.”

His tone approving, Faine agreed, “Indeed, sir. Foreign brides bring foreign gods, and we've enough to deal with, trying to protect ourselves from the Atea lovers. One of those goddess-smitten fools is likely your failed poisoner from this morning.”

Diverted by Faine's mention of the fertility goddess Atea—and her violently devout followers—Akabe asked, “Has the man who served us the poison been found?”

Faine snapped a look at Lord Piton, the youngest council member with the fewest silver hairs. Caught off guard, Piton stammered, “Er . . . um, n-not yet, sir. Your men are questioning everyone at the temple site, including the priests and the prophet.”

“They're questioning Ela?” Akabe kept his outrage in check. “Do they suspect her?”

Piton moistened his lips. “Um, no, sir. But perhaps she saw details about the intended assassin that others have missed. And she could petition the Infinite for the man's identity.”

Ela. He must speak of her before the opportunity was lost. Akabe pressed his fingertips together. “What I am about to say will not leave this room—does everyone understand?”

“Of course, sir.” Faine and the others nodded agreement. “We hope you trust us.”

Watching their faces carefully, Akabe said, “Ela Roeh is now Siphran. She's highly regarded by our people and is used to dealing with extraordinary circumstances. Not least, she's more dedicated to the Infinite than any person I've ever met. I'd prefer to marry her.”

His council showed surprise, but no opposition. Trillcliff, ever aware of rank, lifted his silver-spiked brows. “The prophet's place is unique in Siphra. Difficult to dispute, should anyone mention her status. Though she's not highborn, she's quite presentable.”

“And,” Piton quipped, “considering her swift actions this morning, sir, no doubt you'd be marrying your antidote to future poisonings.”

Even Faine laughed. But as Akabe enjoyed the joke, it upset him. Ela deserved better than to be considered a living antidote to future poisonings. Would she agree to wed a king?

Tomorrow he would seek information from someone well-acquainted with Ela.

Then he would visit with his favorite prophet and persuade her to marry him.

Faine harrumphed for Akabe's attention, his waxed beard twitching. “Now, to an equally important matter.” He lifted a sealed leather pouch. “Thaenfall, Lord of the Plidian Estates, and previous holder of the temple land, has returned the signed formal agreement, giving Siphra full rights to the holy site.” Pleased, he nodded to Akabe. “Majesty, you have signed, as has Thaenfall. Now, we—your council members—will add our seals to yours.”

Opening the pouch, he withdrew folds of parchment . . . spilling ashes on the polished council table. His mouth sagging open, Faine displayed the agreement's charred remains with its singed gilded royal crest.

Akabe stood. “Thaenfall burned the agreement? Why? Does he want more money?”

“Majesty . . .” Faine rummaged through the ashes and scraps, smudging his fingers. “There's no explanation. But what can you expect? The man is Atean, and
they
would like nothing better than to see you fail, humiliated—with the Infinite's temple remaining as ruins.”

By withholding
the
consecrated land, sacred to the Infinite from Siphra's beginning.

Seeing his dream of Siphra's restored temple dissolve amid the ashes, Akabe snapped, “Summon Thaenfall to Munra! We'll renegotiate in person. We
must
legally acquire that land—it's sacred—the only place we can build the temple!”

Trillcliff muttered, “No doubt Thaenfall is counting a fortune on the fact!”

“No doubt.” Obviously, their celebration today had been premature. Fuming, Akabe departed the council chamber—and nearly stumbled over Barth. The boy was heedlessly sprawled on his belly at the base of a marble pillar, his small booted feet waving to and fro, his chin resting on his hands while he hummed.

Ha.
Someone
was happy. Pretending to scold, Akabe swooped
down, grabbed the back of Barth's tunic, and lifted him in the air like a sack of wool. “Idling on the job, are you?”

He shook Barth and swung him back and forth while the boy laughed himself breathless.