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Authors: David B. Coe

Rules of Ascension: Book One of Winds of the Forelands (70 page)

BOOK: Rules of Ascension: Book One of Winds of the Forelands

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But it was not the boy himself that caught her eye as he approached. It was the looks of loathing from Kearney’s men, which followed him like the shadows cast by the two moons. Earlier in the day, she had heard whispered conversations between Kentigern’s men and the soldiers of Glyndwr. Word of Tavis’s alleged crime had spread swiftly through Kearney’s army. The minister had even heard some of Glyndwr’s men questioning the duke’s decision to grant the boy asylum. For now, Tavis had only to cope with glares and whispers, but it wouldn’t take much for this to become something far more serious.

“Given the opportunity,” Grinsa said quietly, “I think they’d kill him right now.”

Keziah turned to look at him, but her brother was speaking to Kearney.

“I gave the boy asylum, and my soldiers know that I’d view the merest threat on his life as an act of treason.”

“That may be true, my lord,” Gershon said. “But we can’t afford to weaken ourselves in any way, particularly now.”

“I understand what you’re saying, Gershon. I’ve thought of this myself.”

The swordmaster nodded. “Very well, my lord.”

Tavis stepped into the circle of firelight, and the three of them fell silent.

“I’m sorry,” the boy said, his face reddening. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t, Lord Tavis,” Kearney said. He gestured for the boy to sit. “Please join us. We have matters to discuss.”

Tavis lowered himself to the ground, eyeing the duke and appearing unsure of himself.

“Your father did a very brave and honorable thing tonight. There aren’t many men in all the Forelands who would have made the same choice.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“When I granted you asylum, I did so as duke of Glyndwr, and though my ascension to the throne in no way abrogates my pledge of protection, it does change our arrangement in certain ways.”

“My lord?”

“I can still offer you the refuge of my house, but I can’t see to your protection personally. I’ll be in the City of Kings, and I don’t think it would be appropriate for you to be living in Audun’s Castle.”

The ghost of a smile touched the boy’s lips and was gone. “Of course, my lord. I understand.”

Kearney smiled as well, looking relieved. “I’m glad to hear that. Gershon will be leading a group of my men back to the highlands in the next day or two so that he can escort my wife and children to the City of Kings. You can ride with him if you like.”

“Actually, my lord, I have something else in mind.”

Kearney blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I’m grateful for your offer of protection, and I know that I would be very comfortable in Glyndwr Castle. But my life has been taken from me, my lord, much as Brienne’s was taken from her. Yes, I’m still alive, but I’ve lost my title, my claim to the Curgh dukedom, and even my right to live with my family and friends. I want to find the man who did this to me, who did this to us. I want to find Brienne’s killer. That’s the only way I can prove my innocence, not just to you and Aindreas, but to all the people of Eibithar.”

“We’ve talked about this, Tavis,” Grinsa said.

“Not to my satisfaction, we haven’t. You’ve told me that our lives are linked in some way, you said that you’ve seen this. But that doesn’t make you my master.”

“I never—”

“I have to do this, gleaner. With all respect to the duke, there’s no life for me in Glyndwr. I’ll be alone and miserable.”

“I can’t protect you beyond the walls of my city,” Kearney told him.

The boy smiled, though there was a brittleness to it, as if he could start to cry at any moment. “I’ve seen the way your men look at me, my lord. I’m not convinced that you can keep me safe within your walls.”

The duke stared at him, but said nothing. Perhaps he was starting to question this as well.

Tavis turned to Grinsa again. “I’ll do this alone if I have to, but
I’d be grateful for your company. If the conspiracy you fear is real, finding the assassin might help you learn more about the people who lead it.”

“Have you spoken to your father of this?” Kearney asked, his voice low.

“Not yet, my lord. I’m no longer my father’s charge. I thought I should speak to you and Grinsa first.”

Kearney nodded, saying nothing for a moment. Then he faced Grinsa. “I have no power to stop Tavis from doing this. He’s under my protection, but he’s not my ward. Nor do I have any sway with you, gleaner. But I think we both know that he’ll be safer if you’re with him. You asked me to take the throne, now I’m asking you to take care of him.”

Keziah could see her brother waver. He was struggling with something, though she could only guess at what it might be.

“This all began with the boy’s gleaning,” he finally said. “I knew then that it wouldn’t be over for some time.” He turned to Tavis and even managed a smile. “Yes, I’ll go with you. The conspiracy of which I’ve spoken is real, and I don’t think anyone in the Forelands has more cause than you to want to see it defeated.”

Again the boy smiled, and this time it appeared genuine. “Thank you.” He glanced at Kearney. “And thank you as well, my lord. I hope you don’t think me ungrateful.”

“Not at all, Lord Tavis. In truth, I didn’t envy you the life that awaited you in Glyndwr. You’re taking a great risk, but it’s one I would take if I walked your path.”

Tavis nodded and took a breath. “It’s been a long day,” he said. “I think I should get some sleep.” He glanced at Keziah and Gershon before nodding once more to the duke and Grinsa. Then he walked off to find his sleeping roll.

Kearney and Gershon exchanged a look.

“I’ll make sure he’s all right,” the swordmaster said, standing and starting in the same direction. “I could use the rest, too.”

Grinsa rose a moment later, his gaze falling on Keziah. There were so many things she wanted to ask him, so much she still didn’t understand. But with Kearney right there, and Glyndwr’s men all around them, she knew she would have to wait a while longer.

“Will you and Tavis be leaving right away?” she asked, dreading his answer.

“With the duke’s permission, I’d like to accompany you to the
City of Kings. I want to see this through to Lord Glyndwr’s investiture, and I’d like to give Tavis a bit more time with his mother and father.”

“You’re welcome to remain with us through the ceremony,” the duke said. “Beyond that, I don’t think it would be wise. I don’t want to begin my reign by driving a wedge between Aindreas and the throne.”

“Of course, my lord,” her brother said, bowing. “Thank you.” Grinsa turned to Keziah once more. “It seems you’ll have to put up with me a while longer.” He bowed to her also, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

She smiled. As children, they had bowed to each other whenever they said goodbye, mocking the somber formality of the court in which their father served. Kearney couldn’t have known this, of course. He would have thought it perfectly natural for a Revel gleaner to bow to the first minister of a major house.

“I’ve put up with you for many years,” she said. “Another turn or two shouldn’t be too difficult. Good night, Grinsa.”

Smiling broadly and bowing once more to the duke, he left them. For the first time in days, Keziah found herself alone with Kearney.

“You’re angry with me,” he said, his eyes searching hers.

“What right do I have to be angry? You’re saving the kingdom.”

“But I didn’t ask for your advice on the matter. I didn’t even discuss it with you.”

She shrugged, looking away. “You know what counsel I would have given.”

“Yes, I do.”

For some time neither of them spoke. She could hear men laughing in the distance; some were even singing. Keziah had to remind herself that they had won a war this day. She stole a look at the duke. He was gazing into the flames, his eyes wide, as if he could see within the fire all that he had taken on by agreeing to be king, the burdens and the power.

“I have to bring her here,” he said abruptly. “You understand that.”

The minister felt her throat constrict. “Of course. She’s to be your queen.”

“It’s more than that, Kez. I’m to be king, a living emblem of the
land and its laws. To defy those laws—even for you, even for us—would be to weaken all of Eibithar.”

She would have liked to tell him that a king deserved to be happy, that he deserved to love. She wanted to ask if he really believed other kings in the Forelands gave up their mistresses when they took the throne. But Kearney wasn’t like other men. She, who loved him more than she had ever dreamed possible, knew that better than anyone.

After some time he looked up, his eyes meeting hers. “Will you stay on as my archminister?”

“You’ll have your choice of any Qirsi in the kingdom, my lord, including many of those who have served Aylyn. You shouldn’t offer to make me archminister until you’ve spoken to others.”

“Who else would I want, Kez?”

She wanted to look away again, but his eyes held her. “I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispered. “How can I continue to serve you if I can’t love you?”

“I don’t know. But I need you, Kez. No one understands me better than you do, and there’s no one I trust as much.” He paused, a pained look in his eyes. “Will you at least think about it?”

She nodded. “All right.” After another brief silence she rose, forcing a smile. “It’s late, my lord. We can speak of this more in the morning.”

Kearney stood quickly. “Kez, wait.” He hesitated, suddenly looking like a shy boy, despite his silver hair and the cuts and bruises on his face. “I was hoping you might stay with me tonight. This isn’t a night for either of us to be alone.”

The minister gazed at him, her heart hammering so hard within her chest that she thought she could hear it. Her throat was dry, and there were tears on her face. More than anything, she wanted to take his hand and lead him back to his tent. But after all that had been said this night, how could she?

“I can’t lie with you, my lord,” she told him, her voice barely carrying over the sounds of the camp. “If I’m to spend the rest of my life thinking of you as my liege rather than as my love, I have to begin now, tonight.”

“But, Kez—”

She shook her head, tears flying off her face. “Please,” she said, turning away from him. “Don’t say anything.”

The minister started to walk away, though she didn’t know where to go. Kearney was everywhere—his soldiers, his tent, his banners. There was no escaping him here.

She almost wished that he would call to her, knowing that she couldn’t refuse him a second time. But the duke let her leave, and Keziah wondered how she would ever find the strength to stop loving him.

Chapter Thirty-three

Mertesse, Aneira

Y
aella rode back to the castle with Rouel’s body, which they carried on one of the carts that had borne wood for siege engines. She never strayed from the wagon, even when the mud of the Tarbin sucked at its wheels and her mount grew restive in the swirling waters. But neither did she look upon the duke. She had seen enough blood and death during the previous three days; she couldn’t bear to look upon more.

Instead, she tried to choose what words she would use to tell the duchess that her husband had been killed. She could still hear faint cries coming from behind her, and she shuddered, wondering if she had been wrong to leave Wyn and the other soldiers behind. The master armsman had encouraged her to go. Indeed, he had made it sound like an order, though she was the duke’s highest-ranking advisor. The oath she had taken to serve Rouel and the House of Mertesse demanded that she stay. But her allegiance to the Weaver said otherwise, and so she fled, though it was a decision she would regret for the rest of her life.

The minister, and the soldiers who accompanied her, reached the walls of Mertesse City shortly before nightfall. Word of their approach had spread through the city and castle, drawing people from their homes. Many of them cried out at the sight of their duke, and before the cart came to the castle gates, bells were ringing in guard towers along the city walls and in the spire of the Sanctuary of Elined.

The procession moved slowly, as if Rouel’s funeral had already
begun. The streets grew more crowded, and the people more subdued, until it seemed that Yaella and the duke’s corpse were passing through the sanctuary itself. They entered the castle through the city gate, crossed the north ward, and came at last to the duke’s ward, where the duchess awaited them. She was sobbing already, and when she saw the duke, the killing bolt still embedded in his skull, she let out a wail that reverberated off the walls of the keep, mingling with the sound of the bells.

Her son was beside her, and she buried her face against his chest, her body convulsing with the power of her grief.

Rowan, the boy—the new duke—held his mother in his arms, staring down at his father, dry-eyed and impassive. His hair was red, like his mother’s, but in every other way he was his father’s son. He was only two years past his Fating, but already he was nearly as broad in the chest and shoulders as Rouel. He had the duke’s broad mouth and prominent brow, as well as his icy blue eyes.

“Where’s Wyn?” he asked, his eyes flicking to Yaella before returning to his father’s shattered face.

“We left him in Kentigern, my lord. He and a large number of soldiers were still fighting Eibitharians.” She swallowed. “He told me to bring the duke home and he sent some of the men to guard us.”

“The siege was going that well?”

“No, my lord. It was going that poorly.”

He looked up at her again. “How is that possible?”

“Lord Kentigern returned, my lord, with his army. And the armies of Curgh and Glyndwr marched with him. We had taken much of the castle by then, but we couldn’t hold it against so great a force.”

“So Wyn is lost as well.”

“I fear he is, my lord.”

“And how many men?”

“We haven’t made a count yet. I returned with well over a hundred men, maybe as many as two hundred, and Kentigern may spare the foot soldiers who survive the last of the fighting. I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”

He nodded. “Yes, do that. I’ll want to speak with you further about this.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Rowan started to lead his mother away, his eyes lingering a moment more on his father. “See to it that the body is handled properly,
First Minister,” he said. “We’ll discuss plans for my father’s funeral later.”

She just stared after him, not knowing what to say. A first minister didn’t do such things; at least, she never had. But she couldn’t bring herself to say this, and by the time she managed to mutter, “Yes, my lord,” he was too far away to hear her.

The soldiers who had led the cart back to Mertesse were watching her, as if awaiting instructions.

“Take the duke to his chambers,” she said, still refusing to look at Rouel’s corpse. “And summon his surgeons. They’ll know what to do.”

“Yes, First Minister.”

She dismounted, tossing the reins to another soldier, and made her way back to her chambers. More than anything, she wanted to strip off the oppressive mail coat and her filthy riding clothes, and bathe herself with a fresh bowl of steaming water. The stench of blood, smoke, and horse sweat clung to her like sodden cloth. But all she could bring herself to do was roll onto her bed and close her eyes. Every muscle ached and her head spun for want of sleep.

Just as the minister felt herself drifting toward slumber, however, she heard a knock at her door. She lay still, hoping whoever it was would go away, but when the knock came again, she opened her eyes.

“Demons and fire!” she spat under her breath. “What is it?”

“There’s a man at the outer gate, Minister.” A man’s voice, one of the guards, no doubt. “He’s asking for you.”

She swung herself off the bed and stepped to the door, pausing with her fingers on the door handle until her sight cleared and the dizzying motion of the chamber stopped. Then she pulled the door open.

“What man?” she asked the soldier who stood before her.

“I don’t know his name. He’s Qirsi, and he claims to be the first minister of Kentigern.”

She was past him almost before he finished.

“He is Kentigern’s first minister,” she said over her shoulder. “Or at least he used to be. You haven’t harmed him, have you?”

“No, First Minister. We’re holding him at the gate, and we took his sword, but we’ve done nothing more.”

“Good.”

She hadn’t expected Shurik so soon. Tomorrow perhaps, or the
day after. But not this night. His arrival here probably meant that the battle had already ended. She was fortunate to have left when she did.

He was grinning when Yaella found him, though she could see the strain of the last few days in his pale eyes. He was surrounded by Rouel’s guards, and he looked like a child beside them.

“It’s all right,” Yaella told the soldiers, dismissing them with a wave of her hand. “Return his sword to him, see that his horse is taken to the stables, and leave us.”

The men did as they were told and in a moment the two Qirsi were alone.

“It’s over?” Yaella asked, as they walked back toward the inner ward.

“Your master armsman had just surrendered when I left.”

“So Wyn was still alive.”

“For the time being, yes. But Aindreas had him taken to his dungeon. My duke is intent on learning how his precious gates were defeated so quickly.”

“Is that why you left?”

Shurik shrugged, the familiar ironic smile springing to his lips. But Yaella could see that he was troubled. “I left because I sensed that one of the Qirsi riding with Kearney of Glyndwr knew what I had done.”

“But that’s impossible.”

He glanced at her. “Not entirely.”

It took her a moment. “You think he’s a Weaver?” she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“I think it’s possible. I’m just not certain if he’s our Weaver or not.”

“Why would our Weaver be helping Glyndwr? Why would he scare you into fleeing?”

“Why does he do any of this? I believe this Weaver helped the Curgh boy escape Aindreas’s prison, which carried us one step closer to a war between Kentigern and Curgh. Yet then he brought the houses of Eibithar together and ended Mertesse’s siege.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. Which seems more likely to you: that there are two Weavers walking the Forelands, or that our Weaver is influencing both sides of this conflict?”

Yaella weighed this for some time. Neither choice made much
sense to her, but both seemed at least vaguely possible. “So what can we do?”

“I can’t answer that, either. I wouldn’t want to risk asking the Weaver about any of this, but if there is another of his kind, he should know about it.”

“Well, I’ll leave that to you,” she said.

He grinned again. “Coward.”

They passed through the inner gate and followed a narrow path toward the tower nearest her quarters. Usually she would have taken Shurik to the duke immediately. The minister was here seeking refuge in the House of Mertesse, and though Rouel had already agreed to grant him asylum, there were formalities to be observed. With Rouel dead, however, and Rowan grieving and so new to his power, she thought it best to wait.

She explained this to Shurik as they entered the torchlit corridors and made their way to the nearest stairway, their footsteps echoing loudly off the stone ceiling.

“But where am I to sleep?” he asked.

“You’re welcome in my chambers.” Seeing his grin, she shook her head. “Sleep, Shurik. That’s all.” Then she smiled as well. “For tonight at least.”

The following morning she took Shurik to the duke’s chambers, only to be turned away by guards who told her that Rowan was still attending to his mother, and wouldn’t be ready to speak with her until later that day. These soldiers also informed her that just over two hundred men had returned from Kentigern late the previous night, all of them unarmed and most of them uninjured. All told, the army of Mertesse had lost more than seven hundred soldiers, far more than half the number of men who had marched on Kentigern a few days before. Such news wasn’t going to make her conversation with the new duke any easier.

Yaella spent much of the day overseeing arrangements for Rouel’s funeral. Without being able to speak with Rowan or the duchess, she was forced to make a number of decisions on her own, but in the end she realized that neither of them was likely to find fault with much of what she did. The duke would be honored in a manner befitting his life and his station. What more could they ask?

She had dreaded this task when Rowan gave it to her, but she found that it made the day pass quickly and, oddly, it took her mind
off the grief she still felt for Rouel. Shurik remained with her for much of the day, although he returned to her chambers just after the ringing of the prior’s bells. She met him there a short while later and escorted him once more to the chambers of the duke. This time the guards let them pass.

Rowan was standing at his father’s writing table, reading by candlelight. All the windows in the castle had been shuttered, and would remain so for a full turn. Yaella cringed at the thought of it. The chamber felt small and there was already a staleness to the air. She wasn’t certain she could live this way for a turn.

“Who is this?” Rowan asked, eyeing Shurik with unconcealed distaste.

Yaella cleared her throat. “This is Shurik jal Marcine, my lord. Until yesterday the first minister of Kentigern. First Minister, I present Rowan, duke of Mertesse.”

Shurik bowed. “An honor, my Lord Duke. I’m deeply sorry for the loss of your father. He was a wise and courageous man.”

Rowan stared at the minister for a moment, saying nothing. Then he swung his gaze back to Yaella. “Why have you brought him here? I have no wish to speak to this man today.”

“Shurik helped your father plan the siege of Kentigern, my lord. And in return, your father promised him asylum.”

“My father employed a Qirsi traitor?” the duke asked, narrowing his eyes.

A look of purest hatred twisted across Shurik’s features and was gone, appearing and vanishing in the time it might take an arrow to fly from a soldier’s bow to his enemy’s heart. Rowan gave no sign that he noticed.

“Your father understood that his assault on Kentigern stood little chance of succeeding without my aid,” the minister said, somehow managing a thin smile. “Even your fine army could not defeat the castle’s gates without my magic.”

“Yet even with your magic, the siege has failed and my father is dead.” The duke cast a dark frown at Yaella. “I’m told that we lost more than half the men my father took across the river. Is that true?”

What sense was there in denying it? “It is, my lord. I believe the number is near seven hundred men.”

Rowan shook his head, looking so much like Rouel that he could have been one of Bian’s wraiths rather than a fatherless boy. “It seems, sir, that your magic did my father and his men little good.”

“With all respect, my lord, my magic nearly allowed them to take the castle. Your father’s siege only failed because Lord Kentigern returned too soon and brought with him the armies of Curgh and Glyndwr. This was regrettable, to be certain, but it was beyond my control.”

The young duke looked down at his table, his mouth twitching. “I take it you’ve already been paid handsomely.”

“I have, my lord.”

“And though I still know little of such things, I would also guess that you’re still owed more gold.”

BOOK: Rules of Ascension: Book One of Winds of the Forelands

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