The King's Blood (11 page)

“We’re keeping money for the branch,” Cithrin said.

“Pyk’s not going to thank us for that.”

“We wouldn’t be doing it for her.”

“Ah,” Marcus said. “So it doesn’t help with the real problem.”

“Not directly. But if the branch does better because of what we do, it may be of use later. When Pyk’s moved on.”

“And when are you expecting that to be?”

Annoyance knotted itself between her shoulder blades and she crossed her arms. A seagull swooped past, its shadow darkening her face and then vanishing again.

“I have to do
something
,” she said. “I can’t just sit here and watch her play the game so safely that we lose it.”

“Agreed. And I’m in favor of anything that gets my men paid, not to mention myself. Going behind Pyk’s back only makes it sweeter. But if it works, the branch does better, and she’s more likely to stay.”

“But if we cut down the bank in order to get rid of her, then we’ve cut down the bank.”

Cithrin put her palms to her temples. She and Pyk had the same problem at heart.

“If we could just trade roles,” she said. “I don’t care if I go to banquets and feasts. I just want control of the books.”

“Don’t think she’s likely to agree to that.”

“We could kill her,” Cithrin joked.

“I’m not sure that would win the trust and approbation of the holding company,” Marcus said. “But we’re going to have to do something.”

Cithrin shook her head. His words were like swallowing pebbles, a weight growing in her belly. She thought of the taproom, but pushed the thought aside. Ale wasn’t going to help. It wasn’t even really going to make her feel better. But it might help her sleep.

“They’re never going to trust me, are they?” she said. “Komme Medean. The holding company.”

“They might trust you once they know you better.”

“Well, maybe I’ll write them some pretty letters,” she said sourly.

“Can’t hurt,” Marcus said. “Meantime, though, let’s see if we can’t find your pirates.”

Geder

A

ster was smaller than Geder by half a head, and Geder wasn’t the tallest of men. The boy’s reach was less than Geder’s, and they were about equally strong. The advantage the prince had was this: he was fast.

The sword hissed through the air as Geder tried to get his own to block it. The blades chimed against each other, the shock of their meeting stinging Geder’s fingers. Aster spun, the blade pulled close to his body, and then reached out. Geder understood the attack too late. Aster’s stroke caught his shoulder, skidded off the dueling leathers, and ended on his ear. The pain was sharp and disorienting. Sword forgotten, he clapped his palm over his ear, staggered back, and fell on his ass. There was blood on his fingers. He heard Aster’s blade clatter to the ground and looked up. The prince’s eyes were round with alarm.

Geder laughed and held up his bloodied hand.

“Look!” he said. “It’s my first dueling scar. Thank God there’s not an edge on the blade, or you’d have had my earlobe off.”

“I’m sorry,” Aster said. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“Oh, stop,” Geder said. “I know you didn’t. I’m fine.”

He rolled to his feet. The dueling grounds of his mansion were in the back gardens, away from the streets. Old ash trees lined the packed clay, their roots lifting and cracking the ancient stone wall. White roses were richly leaved, but not yet so much as budding. When they bloomed, the yard would be drowned in white petals. Geder got to his feet. His ear still stung, but not badly. Aster smiled uncertainly, and Geder grinned.

“You are a warrior and a man of infinite virtue, my prince,” Geder said, making a florid bow. “I yield to you on this field of honor.”

Aster laughed and made a formal bow.

“We should have someone put honey on that ear,” the prince said.

“Back to the house, then,” Geder said.

“I’ll race you.”

“What? You’d run against a poor wounded—” Geder began, and then broke off sprinting for the main house. Behind him, he heard Aster’s protesting yelp and then the pounding of his footsteps.

Geder’s boyhood had been, for the most part, in Rivenhalm. As the son of the viscount, he’d had the privileges of nobility, but very little to do with them. There had been servants and serfs enough, but the gap between the highest-born peasant and the heir to the holding was too great to bridge. His father had no love of court, and so Geder hadn’t had the chance to know other boys of his class. He read books from the library and built elaborate structures from twigs and string. In the winters, he walked along the frozen river dressed in black furs. In the springs, he carried books to his mother’s grave and sat beside her stone reading until the shadows of evening pulled through the valley.

He hadn’t thought of himself as lonesome. He had nothing to compare his life with, and so everything about it seemed perfectly normal. As it had always been. As it would always be.

When he’d come of age and entered the world of the court, it had been overwhelming, exciting, and humiliating. Everyone knew better than he did. He’d felt sometimes that there was a secret language everyone besides himself had been schooled in. Another man might say something that seemed perfectly innocuous to Geder—an observation on the length of a coat sleeve, a simple rhyme, a reference to the dragon’s roads that passed by Rivenhalm but never through it—and his friends would chuckle. Geder didn’t know what they were laughing at, and so he assumed they were mocking him. Before long they were, whether they’d begun that way or not. It was only after Vanai that he’d gained the respect of the court. And by respect, they meant fear. He liked being feared, because it meant no one laughed at him.

Aster, on the other hand, was a real friend. Yes, the prince was nearly a decade younger than Geder, and had been sur rounded all his life by friends and playmates. Yes, he knew the court better now than Geder ever would. But he was a boy, and Geder’s ward, and they were safe for each other. Geder could climb trees with him, practice dueling, race and laugh and swim at midnight in the fountains. With a man his own age, Geder would have been too wary of seeming foolish or having the desperation of his friendship mistaken for romantic love. With a woman, he probably wouldn’t have had the assurance to speak in sentences. But with the prince, Geder could play and laugh and joke and all anyone would see was a man being kind to a child.

The cut on his ear was small but bloody. One of the servants, a lithe Dartinae man with one blind, unglowing eye, dabbed at it with a salve of honey and nettle, then put a bandage over it. Aster’s tutor—a severe man in the employ of King Simeon—found them and led Aster off with an air of proprietary dismay that had Geder and the prince both giggling, the one setting off the other. When he was alone, Geder lay back on a divan and let his eyes close. His ear hurt more than he had let on in front of Aster, but the salve was helping. He was halfway to dozing when a soft sound came from the doorway. He opened an eye. His house master stood just inside the room.

“Mmm?” Geder asked.

“A visitor, my lord.”

“Oh,” Geder said. And then recalling the last time, “Who exactly?”

“Sir Jorey Kalliam, my lord. I’ve taken him to—”

“North drawing room,” Geder said. “That’s fine. I’ll see myself there.”

The house master bowed at the neck and retreated as Geder stretched, tugged his shirt back down over his belly, and rose.

If Geder had a friend of his own age, it was Jorey Kalliam. They had served together under Sir Alan Klin when they took Vanai and during the long weeks when Klin had been the city’s protector. Jorey had been with Geder when Vanai burned, and they had broken the mercenary coup that Maas, Klin, and Issandrian had engineered. Jorey’s father had been the one to celebrate Geder when he’d returned to Camnipol expecting censure or worse. Without Jorey and his family, Geder would still be just the son of a small viscount and known for nothing more interesting than a fondness for speculative essays. Geder would have called Dawson Kalliam his patron except that he now outranked him.

The winter had been kind to Jorey. His face was calmer than Geder had seen it in living memory, as if he had stepped out of a long shadow. There was color in his cheeks and his smile seemed effortless.

“Geder,” he said, rising. “Thank you for seeing me unexpected. I’m afraid I’ve been a little scattered. I hope I haven’t interrupted you.”

“Nothing to interrupt,” Geder said, taking him by the hand. “Now that I’m a baron, I’m living a life of dissipation and sloth. You should try it.”

“I have two brothers I’d have to bury before I was baron of anything,” Jorey said.

“Well, yes. Don’t do that if you can help it.”

Jorey rubbed his palm against his sleeve uncomfortably. His smile went a degree less certain.

“I’ve—” he began, then stopped and shook his head as if in disbelief. “I’ve come to ask you a favor.”

“Of course,” Geder said. “What can I do?”

“I’m getting married.”

“You’re joking,” Geder said, and then he saw Jorey’s eyes. “You have to be joking. We’re the same age. You can’t be… To who?”

“Sabiha Skestinin,” Jorey said. “That’s part of why I want you to be part of the ceremony. Your star is on the rise, and having the darlings of the court involved would go a long way to pull the sting.”

“The sting?” Geder asked, sitting on the divan where Sanna Daskellin had been. For a moment, he thought he could smell her perfume again. He liked this divan. Good memories were associated with it.

Jorey lowered himself to the seat opposite, his hands clasped before him.

“Well, you know about her trouble.”

“No,” Geder said.

“Oh,” Jorey said. “It was a few years ago. There was a scandal. People still talk about it, usually behind her back. I want to wash that away for her. I want her to see that she isn’t the girl the gossips tell stories about.”

“All right,” Geder said. “You’ll have to tell me where to go and what to say, though. I don’t think I’ve ever been part of a wedding before. Oh! The priest. We could have Basrahip be the priest!”

“I… I suppose we could.”

“I’ll talk with him about it. He isn’t traditional, though. Maybe you could have two priests.”

“I think just one is more the custom,” Jorey said. “But let me find out. But you don’t mind? Being part of this, I mean.”

“Of course not,” Geder said. “Why would I?”

Jorey shook his head and leaned back. He looked bemused and a bit uncertain, as if Geder were a puzzle he’d only half solved.

“You can be a very generous man,” Jorey said.

“Not so much, I hope,” Geder said. “I mean, it’s just being part of a ritual. It’s not as if I have to do anything particular apart from being there, do I?”

“All the same, thank you. This carries weight with me. I owe you for it.”

“No you don’t,” Geder said. “But since you’re here, I did have something I wanted to ask about. You remember that ambassador from Asterilhold that your father had me meet with?”

“Lord Ashford. Yes.”

“Did anything come of that? Because I spoke with the king, but as far as I can tell, he’s never given the man an audience. I was afraid that I’d maybe said something wrong?”

Y

ou must be ready,” King Simeon said.

“No, Your Majesty,” Geder said. “I’m sure this is only a passing thing. You’ll be healthy and whole again before the summer’s out. There are years still before anything like… anything like… And Aster will… would never…”

Geder’s words slowed to a stop. His mind reached, out straining for the next phrase, but nothing was there. He heard himself moan low and breathy, and a light-headedness washed over him. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to his knees.

I must not vomit
, he thought.
Whatever happens, I must not vomit.

The summons had come with the falling day. The spring sun burned low, stretching out the shadows, drowning the streets and alleys in the rising darkness. Night-blooming ivies were opening petals of blue and white as Geder left his mansion, and subdued lights glowed in the windows of Cur tin Issandrian. A year before, it might well have been Issandrian who received the courier bearing the royal seal. Or Maas. Or the hated Alan Klin. When he’d reached the Kingspire, the top of the great tower was still bright with the sun when all around it had fallen into twilight. The wind was coming down from the north, cold but not bitter, and setting the trees to nodding. The man who met him was neither servant nor slave, but a kingsman of noble blood come to lead Geder to Simeon’s private chamber.

Even now, with his head low and the world spinning, Geder could remember feeling pleased with himself. Baron of Ebbingbaugh and Protector of the Prince answering the urgent call of the Severed Throne. Put that way, it had seemed like a thing of high romance and dignity, a station above anything but idle daydreams. And then this.

Regent.
The word was written in airlessness and printed on vertigo.

“Help him,” Simeon said. His voice was a damp growl. Gentle hands took his shoulders and lifted him up. The king’s cunning man was a Firstblood with swirling tattoos across his body like a Haaverkin. He murmured softly, fingertips pressing at Geder’s throat and the inside of his elbow. A warmth flowed into him, and his breath came more easily.

“Is he all right?” the king asked.

The cunning man closed his eyes and placed a palm on Geder’s forehead. Geder heard something like distant bells that no one else acknowledged.

“Only the shock, Your Majesty,” the cunning man said. “His health is sound.”

“I can’t believe this,” Geder said. His voice was trembling. “I didn’t think when I took Aster. I mean, you looked so healthy. I never imagined… Oh, Your Majesty, I am so, so sorry. I am so sorry.”

“Listen to me,” Simeon said. “I have more energy at sunset, but the confusion comes on. We don’t have long to speak. You must take the audience with Lord Ashford. Do you understand? When the time comes, it will be yours. Protect Aster. Make peace with Asterilhold.”