King (6 page)

Tears slid down his face now and dripped onto the table. Oh, perfect. Fine. He wouldn't wipe them away. He turned to the magistrate and stood at attention. “Sir, I am finished.”

The man rubbed his face and coughed. Finally, he said, “Kien Lantec. For your guilt in the question of loyalty, you are stripped of all rights and status as a Tracelander. You will resign all offices and leave our country within five days. Dismissed.” He hammered the sound box one last time, then stood and departed from the circular chamber.

Our country. Kien pondered the words from an emotional distance. Our country, no longer Kien Lantec's country. Numbed, he looked around. Father was slouched deep in his chair, hands over his face, his shoulders shaking. As everyone watched, Kien crossed the marble floor, climbed the steps, and leaned down, hugging Rade tight. Knowing that hope was probably wasted, he said, “We'll find some way to overcome this sentence!”

Rade gripped Kien, trembling. After gasping for air, he choked out, “Yes! Cherne will have a fight such as he's never seen!”

“Choose your battles carefully,” Kien warned. “You must restore our good names first.”
That
battle would take years. Beginning now.

Determined to fulfill his sentence publicly, Kien released Father and went to stand in front of General Rol. The general stood slowly, his thin face working in a clear battle against his emotions. “My boy . . .” he began.

“Sir,” Kien interrupted quietly, “forgive me.” He unbuckled
his sword-belt, lifted the military baldric from his shoulder, then folded the black leather against his cherished, nearly invulnerable Azurnite sword—the hilt gleaming in its scabbard, the glistening blue blade hidden like a treasured gem.

He'd loved carrying this sword. Best to never think of it again.

At attention now, he held the sword across both palms and offered it to General Rol. And waited. Rol finally accepted the sword, moisture edging his eyelids. After giving his military mentor an encouraging nod, Kien removed his own mantle with its Tracelandic military insignias and folded it with all the ceremony he could muster. Finished, he placed the gold-embellished fabric over the sword in Rol's hands, then stepped back.

As he suspected, everyone in the marble chamber was watching, their expressions and postures frozen in something resembling shock. Even Cherne looked startled, as if he hadn't reckoned on the sentence becoming an immediate reality he'd have to witness.

In the style of a nobleman, Kien bowed to them all and stalked from the Tracelands' Grand Assembly.

A Siphran.

A night of prayer and a morning of meetings hadn't settled Akabe's thoughts concerning the marriage. Now he walked through the sunlit palace garden with his chief advisor, Faine, who sighed before confessing, “Majesty, last night we sent Thaenfall another offer—to add half again as much gold if he will release you from the marriage but sell Siphra the temple property.”

Relieved, Akabe halted, his riding boots grinding on the paving stones as he turned to his advisor. “And?”

Faine tugged a parchment from his money purse. No, not a parchment, but scraps. “Thaenfall tore it up. Have our prophets imparted any wisdom?”

“No.” And the Infinite remained silent. “It seems I'm to decide this for myself.”

“Majesty,” Faine murmured, sounding almost desperate, “do
not marry this girl—this Atean! This whole marriage scheme must be a conspiracy, and not the Infinite's will for you! Surely we can find another way to reclaim those lands!”

“Rest your fears, my lord. I have considered the risks. Even now, I am considering them. Legally, we've no other choice. The lawyers have . . .” A flash of movement crossed the tree-edged path ahead, drawing Akabe's gaze. A slender, elegant gray dog with a silver collar frisked toward a distant stone balustrade fronting the ocean beyond. A young noblewoman with long light brown hair trailed after the dog, seeming absentminded, hugging a dark mantle about herself as she moved. Her halfhearted responses to the lively dog suggested melancholy, prompting Akabe's curiosity, even as her flowing walk drew his admiration.

Beside him, Faine sniffed. “There's the lady—Caitria Thaenfall.”

Admiration vanished, doused by the Thaenfall name. Yet his curiosity lingered. Akabe made up his mind. “I'll speak with her.”

“Sir!”

Akabe waved off Faine's protest and marched through the garden in pursuit of Thaenfall's daughter.

 6 

A
s Akabe deduced, the insistent hiss and rush of the ocean's waves covered his approach to the ornate balustrade. Caitria Thaenfall didn't notice him until he stepped up beside her at the railing. She jumped, and her brown eyes widened with alarm, but she didn't shriek or run. Praiseworthy composure. Extraordinary eyes. Tall for a woman and gracefully beautiful, she'd clearly dressed for a brisk walk in plain robes and short, scuffed boots. Yet her elegant face conveyed refinement—truly a highborn young lady.

Trying to not frighten her further, Akabe smiled. “Forgive me, lady, but I wished to introduce myself as the cause of your current misery. I am Akabe Garric.”

She blinked, then offered a polished obeisance. Her voice light and pleasing, she said, “Majesty. I . . . am sorry. I'll leave.”

“You haven't interrupted me, if that's your fear. Rather, I've interrupted you.”

“Not at all, sir.” She nodded toward the dog that sniffed about. “Issa needed a walk, and Naynee is napping.”

“Naynee?”

“My attendant. She's recovering from our journey.”

“Kind of you to allow her a nap.” The compliment escaped him, but he didn't regret it. Some of the young woman's melancholy faded, and she shrugged. If she weren't an Atean,
and if their circumstances weren't so awkward, he'd find her very attractive. Ha. Enough self-deception; he found her appealing despite their circumstances. Not good for clear-eyed bargaining. Best to keep their conversation short. “Tell me, lady, what's your opinion of this agreement your lord-father has . . . offered?”

Caitria seemed surprised he would ask her opinion. Evidently taking courage, she looked around and then said, “You should not marry me.”

Gently, Akabe asked, “Do I have a choice?” As she stared, Akabe explained, “My council has recommended that I marry for the sake of Siphra. Furthermore, rebuilding the Infinite's Holy House for Siphra is one of my primary goals as king, but legally, your lord-father holds the temple's sacred land. Our marriage would resolve both matters—yet I need to weigh the risks. I hoped you could help me to decide.”

“I've given you my opinion, sir. Trust me. My . . . family . . . is wrong. They're overestimating their power and not seeing the situation clearly. This plan would bring disaster upon us all.
Please
, build on other land!”

“There is no other land for the Infinite's temple. The property was consecrated at Siphra's beginning.” The fact that she'd asked him to build on other land proved beyond doubt that she didn't comprehend the Infinite's faithful ones in the least. Yet was she Atean? She seemed so vulnerable, wary as startled prey. “Perhaps, as you say, your family is wrong. But my true question ought to be, are you the wrong lady?”

“I am. Wrong for you . . . and Siphra, I mean.” But she blushed, and the effect was so entrancing that Akabe caught his breath. “Sir,” she persisted, “believe me! You mustn't—”

A young man's sharp voice called out, “Caitria!”

She turned, the glorious color fading from her cheeks. “Cyril?”

Tall and slim, with the same brown hair and eyes as Caitria, Cyril stalked toward them. Unmistakably one of her older brothers. But without her fascination.

Caitria stepped away from Akabe. “Cyril, you needn't worry. I—”

He cut off her explanation with a chopping wave of his hand. “Need I not?” The young man scoffed. His brown eyes cold, he grabbed his sister's arm and yanked her to his side. Caitria glared as if she'd like to stomp her brother's toes. But she remained quiet. He spoke to Akabe. “By your leave, sir, she went missing from her chamber without permission. My lord-father is worried.”

Caitria's eyebrows lifted as if surprised. Then she puckered her lips in the most mesmerizing grimace Akabe had ever seen. “I couldn't allow Issa to wet the floor, now, could I?”

Cyril made a rude noise. “You should have shaken Naynee awake and sent her! Now,
move
. You've been away too long.”

Keeping his voice low to soothe the young man, Akabe said, “My fault entirely. I greeted your sister and delayed her.” He inclined his head to Cyril in farewell. “Sir.”

“Sir.” The young man insolently copied Akabe's formal nod, then all but dragged his sister away through the garden, with the elegant dog, Issa, following quietly. Cyril Thaenfall's sharp voice echoed back to Akabe in harsh, chopped syllables—obviously rebuking his sister.

Listening, Akabe tensed, reining in his defensive instincts. The young woman was clearly as trapped by this situation as he was. Yet she'd revealed spirit.

He could see her as a queen. But his queen?

How could he trust an Atean?
Was
she Atean?

Faine approached, seeming irked. “Shall I offer double the gold to halt the marriage?”

“Do we have double the gold to spare?”

“Not without Siphra taking on a sizable debt, sir.”

“I doubt Thaenfall would accept it anyway.” What was the man's motive? Power? Regardless, Akabe must outwit Thaenfall on his own battlefield. “My lord, I'm forced to accept this contract as is. Siphra
must
have that land.”

Faine looked as if Akabe had punched him in the stomach. Recovering, he gasped, “Majesty, you
cannot
marry a Thaenfall—they're Ateans!”

“Then suggest another option for acquiring that land. Anything, my lord, and I'll consider it!”

Faine hesitated, silent.

“That's what I thought.” Akabe exhaled. Wasn't this somehow the Infinite's will? It must be so—otherwise another option would surely present itself. Anyway, by all that was holy and dedicated to the Infinite, it was a disgrace that Ateans controlled what belonged to the Infinite. The situation must be settled.

By Siphra's king.

Caitria stumbled and winced as Cyril wrenched her toward the marble steps. “Tria, what did you say to him?”

“The truth—that I don't want this marriage.” Her brother's fingers dug hard into her arm, making her gasp. “Cyril, let go! You're hurting me!”

“
You
are hurting us! Furies burn your tongue! What were you thinking? You know what this agreement means to our lord-father—to our entire family!”

Family! Caitria stifled her disgust. What family? When, since Mother's death, had they ever concerned themselves with her? Naynee was now her parent, playmate, nurse, and friend. Of all her relatives, Cyril was one of the few who ever spoke to her. Cyril and her horrible “cousin,” Lord Ruestock. Ugh! “The agreement was finished and
perfect
until dear Ruestock came creeping in, suggesting new terms to our lord-father!”

“You need to appreciate those terms—they've supplied you with a dowry and a future!”

“Oh!” She twisted her arm from Cyril's grasp as they entered the marble corridor leading from the garden. Behind her, Issa's toenails clicked and scrambled over the slick floor in skittish confusion as Caitria halted and glared at her brother. “Let's
discuss how much I appreciate being ignored and sold to rebuild that temple despite my fears for the Thaenfalls, and for me! Let's discuss
everything
that could go wrong for us all!”

“There's nothing to discuss!” Cyril snagged her arm and rushed her through the corridor, muttering, “Lower your voice. In fact, just keep your mouth shut!”

She wanted to kick him and throw rocks at him—in her thoughts at least. Couldn't he ever speak to her nicely? She was his sister, not a mere interference to his drinking and gambling and rioting about Siphra.

Truly, the king had spoken to her with more kindness in a few sentences than had her whole family for years. The king . . . !

Oh, but why did that big, attractive man with those lovely warm eyes and perfect dimples have to be the
king
? Why couldn't he be some highborn nobleman whom her lord-father praised instead of cursed? If so, she would have approached this marriage joyously.

Instead, she'd become a pawn in some secretive power-game connived by that wretched Ruestock and her lord-father, who . . . who was waiting at the very entry of her chamber.

Seeing her father's jaw tense and his fingers curl into fists, Caitria faltered and reached blindly for Issa, who nudged at her, signaling fear. The poor darling's instincts were undoubtedly correct. They'd earned thrashings for their little jaunt this morning.

But it might be worth some pain if the king heeded her plea. In silence, she begged Akabe of Siphra,
Please
, build on other land! Don't drag me into your schemes—your religion!

Don't bring this disaster upon us! Please . . .

Caitria gasped as her lord-father shoved her inside the chamber and then swore softly and dug his fingers hard into the back of her neck. “Wretched, rebellious creature! If you have ruined my plans, I
will
throttle you!”

Pain-dazed, unable to speak, Caitria stared up at her father, her senses fading beneath his agonizing grip.