“Penraven remains one,” Negev contradicted.

He ignored her vindictiveness. “Not for long. The killing has begun. We shall have our Leonel very soon.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Utterly,” he said, standing. “The boy is on foot with no food, no money, no weapons from what Valya could see—if indeed she saw him and I have to assume she did. That means he’s still in Penraven and although I’m happily threatening all the sons of the Set, I believe he’s still very close. And 342

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soon no one will want to help him. If he wants his crown, he’s going to have to come and get it. Until I’m satisfi ed—until his head is dropped at my feet—I shall keep killing the boys of his age. Each year I’ll kill more either side of his age.

Trust me, the people will not stand for it. He will be given up by his own.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I am.”

“When is the wedding ceremony?”

Loethar immediately felt disgruntled. “Valya is organizing it now. Soon. Perhaps you should help her. Try and be friendly. It’s in your best interest, mother dear, if you want to see your son and your son’s sons rule.” Negev opened her mouth but was interrupted by the young Red, Barc, who, breathing heavily, arrived in the gardens.

“My lord,” he said, bowing.

“What is it?”

“We have news, my lord, from a town called Berch. The messenger refuses to give it to anyone but you. He carries it from General Stracker.”

“Excuse me, mother. This is important.”

“Go . . . go,” she urged. “Perhaps your Valisar runt is already found.”

He left running with the young Red trotting behind and the old woman limping in their wake.

No one remembered Piven.

“You’d better be sure about this, Freath!”

“General Stracker,” the aide said, careful now to always give the man his title, “I think I know the Valisar heir when I see him. It’s only been a matter of days since I was last waiting on him.”

The head of Tomas Dole had been put into a separate sack in the cart, which would carry all the heads of the twenty-nine boys slaughtered in Stracker’s killing spree. Upon arriving in the town of Berch, Freath had known the ruse was on Roya l Ex i l e

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when Kirin gave a grave, surreptitious nod the moment Freath had alighted from his horse on arrival. He had immediately gone to Stracker, explaining that his plan to use magic ahead of the soldiers had worked and that he believed his Vested had hunted down a potential impostor.

He had outlined to Stracker that the boy had tried to blend in with the Dole family. They’d taken him in, not knowing he was anything but a stray child who had wandered into their lives only the previous day from the forest. It had helped im-measurably that a quivering Mistress Dole had hesitantly explained this just minutes earlier, through sobs to both Freath and Stracker.

Stracker had mercifully not been interested in her or the rest of her family and she’d been pushed aside as he had stomped toward the boy in question. Fair haired, grimy-looking and scrawny, the child had been glassy-eyed.

“What’s wrong with him?” Stracker had demanded.

Freath had shrugged. “I have no idea. He’s terrifi ed, I should imagine. Think about what he’s been through since you took rule. Both his parents are dead and he’s been living in the forest with no food.”

“What about De Vis?”

Again Freath had shrugged. It was right now that the whole ruse could come crashing down around them. If he couldn’t convince Stracker, there was a good chance he wouldn’t even leave this town alive, let alone bring the ploy to Loethar.

“That is Leonel,” he had pressed.

“Why doesn’t he recognize you?”

“I don’t think the child can recognize anyone. Look at him. He’s lost his wits.”

Stracker had given orders to send a message to the palace.

“I think you should behead him now,” Freath had urged.

He certainly hadn’t wanted Tomas Dole being taken back to the palace whole.

Stracker frowned. “Loethar should know we may have found him.”

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“May have?” Freath queried, aghast. “If you don’t mind my saying so, I think you should beat the messengers back to Brighthelm in order to present that boy’s head to your brother. You have succeeded far more quickly than he could have imagined. I anticipate much celebration on his part.” Stracker had advanced on him. “Why are you so eager for more blood? You’re a coward most of the time, lurking behind closed doors.”

Freath had forced himself to hold his nerve. “I never claimed to have the constitution of one of your warriors, general. I admit, apart from that moment of blood rage against the queen, I am weak of belly for this sort of thing. I am not so much eager for more blood as for the ending of it.

We can return to Penraven triumphant. Your efforts mean your brother can sit his emperor’s throne without any further threat from the Valisar line, which ends with this child.” He had watched Stracker think this through. He had carefully chosen his words in order to preen Stracker’s feathers more than his brother’s. Pressing, he added, “How soon before the messenger reaches the palace?”

“We use the chain,” Stracker had said cryptically.

“I don’t understand.”

Stracker had sneered. “Do you remember my leaving my men along the way at strategic points?”

“Yes. I thought they were simply on guard.” The huge warrior had laughed, his tatua twisting on his face. “For what?”

“I have no idea. I don’t understand soldiering. I am a palace aide.”

“We leave these men so that messages can be delivered down the chain far more quickly than if one rider was sent to cover the entire distance. This way men are always fresh, horses never tired. Loethar will know about this before dusk if the riders go hard.”

“Then let the next message say that you are bringing the head of Leonel Valisar home.”

Freath had desperately needed Tomas killed fi rst before Roya l Ex i l e

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any of the townsfolk heard of it and could claim he was anything but a Valisar. Fortunately, fear of the barbarians had worked to his advantage. The streets had been deserted when Stracker’s party had thundered into town, on Freath’s advice riding straight up to the cottage.

“Maybe I don’t want to stop, Freath,” Stracker had said, a sinister note in his tone.

“That’s up to you, general,” Freath had replied nonchalantly, despite the fl are of anxiety that had shot through him.

“I was sent along to ensure that the right boys were selected according to the census. When this boy has been dealt with, my job will be done and I will return to the palace and let my superior know everything that I do.”

“I hope you’re not threatening me, Freath?” Freath pasted an expression of dismay on his face. “I wouldn’t dare. Your brother gave me orders to return once this job was done. As far as I’m concerned, it’s done. I’m frightened of both of you. I don’t plan to let either of you down. Shall we get this done before the women start their inevitable wailing?”

“I rather like it when they carry on. This town’s a bit quiet for me.”

“These people knew we were coming. I think they’re in shock. Also, she’s got her own brood to think of.” He had made a great show of consulting his paperwork. “Nine, all younger than this one,” he lied.

Stracker had become tired of the talk. “Get the boy,” he had said to one of his leering men.

Freath had spoken too soon. A loud keening had issued from the cottage and he had felt his very soul darken at its sound.

Valya had stepped back with surprise as the door she had knocked at had suddenly been fl ung wide. “Sorry to disappoint you,” she said, frowning. “Who did you think I was?”

Loethar paced. “I shouldn’t have imagined it was my 346

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brother. He couldn’t have got back already and he doesn’t know how to knock on a door anyway,” he said, tightly.

“Why do you await Stracker so anxiously?” she asked, moving into the salon.

“Because, Valya, he has hunted down my prey.” She had been moving toward the tapestry cord to ring for a servant but turned rapidly. “Truly?”

“That’s not something I would jest about,” he replied.

“That was fast.”

“Yes, much quicker than I’d anticipated. Clearly Penraven has no stomach for fighting or bloodshed. They train and parade armies with such pomp and yet cower into submis-sion when real threat comes along.” Valya privately thought that the Set armies had actually put up a good fight. It was just that they were simply no match for the bloodlust of the barbarians, who were bred tough on the Likurian Steppes. She knew the only reason she’d survived as long as she had was because of Loethar’s indulgence and the allowances he made for her. Which was probably another reason Negev hated her so much, come to think of it.

“Well, you’ve destroyed their armies and their leaders as well as their weapons. They have no means to fight, no line of command to lead.”

“No barbarian warrior horde would let that stop them.” Valya abruptly changed the subject. “Anyway, you’ve had word from Stracker.”

“I gather one of the Vested was put to good use in teasing out a liar in a nearby town. Once his magic had isolated them, Freath apparently noted a discrepancy in the number of children attached to one partic ular family and once he saw them he found it very easy to pick out Valisar.”

“But so soon?”

“He couldn’t have gone very far without supplies, without help, without a horse.”

“Where was he found?”

“A town called Berch. He’d probably flanked the main vil-Roya l Ex i l e

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lages and then found this place to come out of hiding—no doubt for food. He wouldn’t know how to hunt or trap his own,” he said with a sneer.

“And they’re sure this boy is the Valisar?”

“I have to assume so, Valya. Do you really think Stracker would get my hopes up if he weren’t certain?”

“No, but—”

“Freath recognized the boy instantly.”

“And they’ve already killed him?”

“Ah, that I can’t say. Stracker may decide to bring him back so I can gut him myself, but he may have been beheaded when Freath recognized him.”

“You’re placing a lot of faith in the Valisar aide,” Valya said, brushing aside her golden hair.

“Not really.”

She held her tongue. She didn’t want to anger Loethar by being deliberately contrary but she didn’t trust Freath an inch.

In fairness, she couldn’t imagine what he had to gain from killing the queen, for instance—and so callously. “I’ve noticed Freath and that maid are quite thick with each other.”

“Is that important?”

“They’re both servants of the Valisars.”

“Former servants,” he corrected. “Both were happy to swap loyalties.”

“You said that the woman openly defi ed you.”

“She did, but she also wants to live. Especially since Freath told me who her family is. She has been told that if she gives us any trouble, they will die. She has given me no cause for concern. Has she done anything that worries you?”

“No, but—”

“Fret not, Valya. I am suspicious enough for both of us.

The servant woman is running this palace almost single-handedly and doing a good job. We need her in place until others arrive. Now what is it you wanted to see me about?” She had been naïve to believe Loethar would suddenly lose his brusque manner with her simply because she had agreed to be his wife. “Well, I thought you might like me to 348

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share your bed to night, my love. Also I’d hoped you might have told your mother about our betrothal.”

“I have told her. She is going to offer her assistance, I’m sure. As to my bed, by all means. I aim to be celebrating the end of the Valisar line to night.”

Why did it always sound as though he was granting her a favor? Smiling graciously, she hid her anger. “I shall look forward to it, my love.”

“Leave me now, Valya. I need time to myself to think.”

“This must be the first time in a long time you’ll be alone,” she said tartly as she moved toward the door.

“Vyk will be back. He’s simply getting used to his surrounds. He finds the forest irresistible.”

“I wasn’t referring to that bird of yours. I meant the luna-tic child you’re so close to.”

Valya couldn’t imagine what she’d said that so dismayed Loethar but suddenly he pushed past her out of the chamber and, face pinched, actually ran away from her down the corridor.

Piven had been attracted by a familiar sound. He had been chewing the sweet scented leaves of kellet. The fragrance had penetrated through to his strange world, reminding him of the woman who had lavished him with attention. She had chewed kellet and so now he copied her. It made him smile.

Where were the others? They had talked, then left. He didn’t care. It was warm here. He might lie down among the kellet and its companions for a while.

But a sound had nagged at him. It was the one sound he could concentrate on. Most other sounds were simply noises but this one had resonance, this one seemed to make sense in the chaos of his mind, instantly calming him. And now the sound was calling to him.

He couldn’t see the voice. Standing, he instinctively moved toward the sound. Soon enough he arrived at the forest edge.

Piven was pleased by the soft sun rays leaking through the Roya l Ex i l e

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leaves of the trees. The big black bird was perched on the low branch of the beech tree beneath which Piven stood. He smiled at the bird. The raven stopped its curious chuckling and flew down to settle on the shoulder of the man who also waited.

“And you must be Piven,” the stranger said.

Piven liked the gentle voice and, more importantly, trusted the bird.

“Come, Piven. You no longer need that collar,” the man said, undoing the buckle of the collar that the little boy had been wearing since Loethar had put it on him.

Piven scratched absently at the red mark that the collar had left.

“And we must find you a fresh shirt,” he said, pointing to the bloodstains on the little boy’s chest. The man opened his palm, offering it to Piven before taking his hand. Piven liked the way his own fitted into that huge, strange hand. Its grip around him felt warm and dry and safe. The sensation prompted another distant memory of another man. A man he had spent much time with, who seemed to love the woman who chewed kellet. That man had hugged him almost as much as she did. He couldn’t even remember the man’s face but he recalled it was bearded and kind. And he could hear the man’s voice in his mind—gruff with most but tender with him. Where was that man now? Where was the woman?

There was another one he liked a great deal but that memory was gone, the hole filled by the numbers and patterns and the pictures he saw in his mind. Everything was a distinct shape.

He could remember shapes. And here was a new shape that he walked next to. He liked the rough feel of the man’s robe now against his cheek and at Vyk’s encouraging caw he skipped off beside the man, beneath the canopy of the beech trees, the sunlight warm and inviting, creating a halo of light guiding them toward the darkening depths of the forest.

Piven did not see the bird pick up the collar in his beak and fly in the opposite direction.

Twenty- Four

——————————————

Dusk had given way to twilight by the time Stracker’s men thundered beneath the gates of Brighthelm but Loethar was standing on the palace steps grimly awaiting them.

“Do you need me?” Kirin asked.

Freath shook his head. “If you see Genrie or Father Briar, let them know. But be very sure not to be seen talking to them. A simple nod will do. They know what we’ve been doing.”

“Why do I have the feeling the worst is yet to come?”

“Because it is. Stracker is not stupid but he’s single-minded, driven by more visceral needs. His half- brother’s mind is far more fluid. It flows into the crevices that Stracker’s never could. Be careful, Kirin.”

“You too,” the Vested said, drifting away from the main group.

Freath waited, deliberately making himself inconspicuous in the chaos of all the horses and men dismounting. Stracker finally found him. Catching his eye, the barbarian called,

“Come on! He’s like a cat with its tail on fi re.” Somehow Freath was sure Stracker knew what a cat with its tail on fire looked like. He followed the huge man.

“Is it true?” Loethar said, meeting them at the bottom of the steps. He looked directly at Freath.

Freath forbade himself to swallow the lump of fear that threatened in his throat. “Yes, my lord,” he said somberly, Roya l Ex i l e

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but not without satisfaction. “We have brought you back the head of Leonel of Penraven.”

“How many did it take?” Loethar demanded of his half-brother.

“I wasn’t counting,” Stracker admitted.

“Er, twenty-nine, my lord,” Freath answered. “I have the record if you—”

“No, that’s fine. Twenty-nine. Not many.” Stracker shrugged. “It wouldn’t have bothered me if it was twenty- nine hundred.”

Loethar gave a tight, mirthless smile. “Bring them all,” he answered.

“All, sire?” Freath repeated, hardly able to breathe.

“All,” Loethar confirmed. “But, Freath, you carry Valisar.

And follow me directly.” He turned and marched away.

Stracker smiled at Freath. “He’s not in a very good mood.” Freath said nothing but moved toward the cart to pick out the single bloodied sack that carried the head of Tomas Dole.

Freath found himself gathered with all of his enemies in the king’s salon. He imagined, with a sour tang forming in his mouth, that Loethar was going to make something of a show of his proud achievement. He stared at the two sacks on the floor, one—the heaviest—still wet with oozing blood. It had taken two men to carry that one in. The other, which Freath had placed on the flagstones, had only a large stain of dried blood on its exterior to show for Tomas’s cruel end.

He stood quietly in the shadows as Dara Negev, Princess Valya and General Stracker arrived. Finally Masters Kirin and Clovis were ushered in. He had hoped they would be spared this grisly scene but he now had to trust them to be of stout heart. He ignored their downcast looks of anxiety.

The emperor, Freath noted, was twitchy. He was defi nitely angry about something. Surely their ruse had not been discovered?

Loethar offered him a goblet of wine.

“No, but thank you, my lord. It’s been a day that has set 352

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my belly on edge, to tell the truth. I could not eat or drink a thing.”

“Not up to the life of a barbarian warrior, eh, Freath?” Valya said, arriving by the side of her husband- to- be.

“No, Princess Valya. I’m afraid I never aspired to either barbarian or warrior. I am a dreadful coward and hideously squeamish.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Stracker joined in. “You’ve killed a queen and you seemed to cope rather well during the death of her son at Berch.”

“Ah, well, the first was driven by years of rage and I was happy to get my hands dirty. And the second—well, that was one death I did want to witness,” Freath said, grinning falsely.

“When the Valisar head rolled, I admit I felt only elation.”

“We’ll make a barbarian of you yet, then, Freath,” Loethar quipped. “So why don’t you show me young Leonel.”

“Of course, my lord,” Freath said, approaching the sack once again. He hoped this was the last time he would have to look upon the sad face of Tomas Dole, who mercifully had gone quietly. The drug had worked well, keeping him vacant and oblivious. It wasn’t hard to paste a look of disgust on his face as he reached into the sack and lifted out the head of the child. Surprised by its weight, he held it up by the hair for Loethar to admire.

“So this is him. My nemesis.”

“This is Leonel, the former heir to the Crown of Penraven, yes, my lord,” Freath said, appropriately grave though with a hint of triumph.

“Of course none of us would know if this were not the boy,” Loethar said, looking at the others.

“I can assure you, my lord,” Freath replied as evenly as he could as a cold trickle of fear ran down his back, “this is Leonel.”

“We are to take your word alone, Freath?” Valya said.

“I’ve looked right around the palace. There is no painting of the child or likeness of any sort other than this,” Dara Roya l Ex i l e

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Negev added, reaching behind a chair to pick up Iselda’s cushion, which she threw down at Freath’s feet.

Loethar cocked his head and in a careful show went through the theatrics of studying the embroidery, then regarding the head that suddenly felt twice as heavy in Freath’s hand. Finally Loethar looked around at everyone with a softly quizzical expression, although Freath believed it to be feigned. “Well, it does resemble him, I suppose.”

“But that’s about all we could say,” Valya countered.

“There is a vague likeness. We have only this former Valisar aide to confirm the match.”

Dara Negev looked around in a slightly exaggerated fashion. “Surely there are other servants who can confi rm who the head belongs to.”

“Good idea, mother,” Loethar said. “Of course, the two Vested belong to Master Freath and neither of you would know Leonel of Valisar, would you?” Kirin and Cloris both looked dismayed to be addressed.

They shook their heads as one, but then Kirin spoke up. “I was able to help only in locating what I thought was a lie, my lord. And even that almost eluded me. I’m afraid my powers are weak,” he said, much to Freath’s relief.

“I have never seen any of the royals,” Clovis admitted, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.

“Why don’t you both stand over there?” Loethar said, pointing to the end of the room.

They both obliged. Freath felt a fresh thrill of fear. Loethar was up to something.

“Good. Stracker, why don’t you pick out, oh, let’s say three other heads that resemble Valisar.” Freath watched, numb with escalating fear, as the half-brother grinned and went about his grisly business.

“Shall I take that head for you?” Loethar offered and Freath gladly relinquished it. “And perhaps you’ll want that wine now, Master Freath?”

“Perhaps I will, my lord,” Freath acknowledged, realizing 354

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he had been dismissed. “Do you wish me to stay in the room?”

“Of course,” Loethar replied. “In fact, I insist. I’ve asked your Vested to be here because one of them was helpful in hunting down Valisar. The other is here mainly to keep your trio complete.”

Reading between the lines, Freath realized having Kirin and Clovis present was more like keeping them all together as prisoners than granting them the privilege of attending.

Freath moved back to one of the windows. The eve ning air was a welcome blessing for suddenly the room felt unnaturally warm, his hands horribly clammy. Loethar’s test would soon prove him to be the liar he was and he began to imagine what his blood would look like spilling onto the fl agstones onto which his king’s blood had spilled just days ago. If he looked hard enough he could still make out where the stain of it had not been fully scrubbed clean.

“Right, let’s line them up, shall we?” Loethar said, the same flash of brightness to his voice that made Freath hate him all the more. He sent a wish to Lo that wherever Leonel was, Lo grant him the years to evade this barbarian and then one day kill him.

“I think we’re ready,” Loethar said to those assembled.

“What is this charade, son?” his mother queried.

So, Freath thought, he has told no one of his plans. Loethar was certainly an island of a man.

“Wait, mother, you’ll see.” He walked to the door and spoke to someone who was obviously waiting behind it. “Just a moment or two,” he said to everyone. “Ah, here we are.” Genrie was led into the room by one of the warriors of the Greens. To her credit she did not search out Freath, though she looked frightened. “Yes, my lord?”

“Genrie, we meet again. You won’t be so defiant this time, perhaps?”

“No, my lord.” Her gaze kept flicking to the heads lined up.

Unable to hold her nausea any longer, she began to dry retch.

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“Calm now, Genrie. I need you to do something for me,” Loethar soothed.

Freath knew they were lost. Poor Genrie. He could see on her face that she too knew their ruse was up.

Breaking the spell of the moment was a flap of wings as Vyk returned to his perch.

“At last!” Loethar admonished his pet. “There, you see, I said he’d return,” he said to the group, as though everyone had been fretting over the raven’s disappearance. “Now, Genrie, can you hold down your bile just a moment for us?” She nodded, fearful. Freath noted that Valya’s gaze was hard and glittering, clearly lapping up the opportunity to watch the young woman suffer and not at all perturbed by the sagging faces of the decapitated heads. A very hard and cruel heart must beat beneath that

golden-haired,

pale-

skinned beauty, Freath thought. Turning from her, he felt his own heart go out to Genrie as she nodded in answer to Loethar’s question.

“Good. It’s very simple, Genrie. I want you to point out to me—touch it, in fact, so none of us are left uncertain—which is the head of Leonel, son of Brennus. They all look very similar so to avoid confusion, we’re asking you to identify him. Very few people are left in the palace who know him.

Master Freath has already kindly and very firmly made it clear which is the head of Leonel so if you’d oblige, it will end all doubt.” He gave her a soft push. “Go ahead.” Freath felt only admiration that Genrie did not search out his face for a sign. Instead she lifted her chin, gathered her composure bravely and stepped forward. He could see her swallowing her disgust. Glancing over at Kirin and Clovis, he noted that Clovis was haggard with despair, no doubt recalling his own child’s decapitation. Kirin simply looked glazed.

Freath understood, looking away, down to the ground. He could no longer watch this.

“Must I touch it, my lord?” Genrie asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She seemed to be swaying slightly, as if 356

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dizzy. Freath couldn’t blame her. He couldn’t help her, either.

He returned his gaze to the ground.

“Make it quick, Genrie, then it’s over for you,” Loethar said tightly and Freath heard only the true threat behind those words. Both their lives were forfeit, he realized.

He sensed rather than watched her move closer to the grisly lineup and held his breath, at the last moment deciding he owed it to Genrie to be fully with her in this terrible trial. Raising his chin, he gritted his teeth and clenched his fists to steady himself. He watched Genrie move before the heads, could see her body trembling as she raised a shaking arm. It was moving toward the second from the left. The wrong one. Of course it was wrong. They were all wrong.

He felt a pit in his stomach open up as her forefi nger pointed to the boy. He couldn’t remember his name. Didn’t want to.

Genrie staggered and shook her head. When she steadied herself, she seemed to change her mind. “This one,” she said, pointing at the fourth head.

Freath was sure his heart stopped. She’d picked Tomas Dole.

“You’re sure, now?” Loethar urged.

Genrie nodded. “I’m sorry, my lord, I couldn’t concentrate at first. The heads . . . they—”

“We understand,” Loethar said, although it was obvious no one from his party was in any way moved by the pathetic sight of the remains of the boys. “You may go.” She curtsied and fled from the room without looking at Freath.

“Well, Freath,” Loethar said, “it seems you have indeed found whom we seek.”

It took every ounce of Freath’s willpower to keep his voice steady, his expression calm. “I never doubted it, my lord. I have known the child since he was born.”

“Could he have told her somehow, Loethar?” Valya challenged quietly, cunning in her voice.

“I didn’t permit him to speak or see anyone. He came here with me from the bailey.”

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Valya shrugged.

“Be sure, my son,” Dara Negev spoke up.

Loethar nodded. “Just one more confirmation, Freath, if you don’t mind.” The barbarian’s words were like a smothering blanket on the flames of Freath’s elation. “We need to be absolutely certain, you understand?”

“Of course,” Freath acknowledged graciously, as if Loethar should call for a dozen affirmations if that is what would put his mind at rest. He retreated another step, his heart pounding.

“Call in Father Briar—but first, change the order of the heads.”

It was done and then a visibly shaking Father Briar was brought in. He spun away the moment he caught sight of the ghoulish parade. “Lo forgive me, I cannot. Why am I here?” he beseeched.

“This is hard for you, I understand, Father Briar, but you are one of only a few in the palace who knew the Valisar heir. We need to identify him.”

Briar hadn’t turned around. Freath suspected that if the warrior who’d brought him in had not been holding him upright, the man of Lo would be on his knees, sobbing. His cheeks were wet with tears. “These are children. Surely, my lord?”

Loethar looked at him in silent enquiry.

“We are conquered. Right across the Set our armies are broken. Those of us who still live must accept your rule, my lord . . . and do. The spirit of the people is shattered. It’s time for peace to ease the collective heart of the Set. That is what I will preach when once again I have a congregation, my lord; I will tell them to embrace your sovereignty, to forge a new empire under your leadership.”

“That gladdens my heart, Father Briar,” Loethar said.

Freath knew the priest was too far gone in his fear, and desire to make some impact on the barbarian, to hear the irony in Loethar’s tone. “But right now I need your assistance. I want you to face the four heads behind you and I 358

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need you to pick out for me the one that belongs to Leonel of Valisar.”

Father Briar began to shake even more. “Please do not ask this of me, my lord. I cannot.”

“You must, Father Briar. I insist, or the killing can’t stop.

If you do not identify Leonel, I will kill every eleven-, twelve-and thirteen-year-old across the Set and I will lay their heads at your feet. You alone have the power to prevent this additional slaughter. Now Freath here has told me that I have the head of Leonel. I want you to affirm it by showing me which one you recognize. I know you knew the boy well.” The tension in the room had risen dramatically. Even the cool eve ning breeze could not temper the oppressive warmth around them all. Freath could see the old woman and Valya entranced by this theater, whereas Stracker looked ready to draw a sword and hack the babbling priest to bits.

Mercifully Father Briar did gather himself together, fi nding the courage to turn. He allowed a soft sob to escape when he finally laid eyes on the sad sight before him, and as if on cue, one of the propped heads toppled to the side. Father Briar flinched, a low shriek escaping him.

“We’ll just right this one for you,” Loethar said matter-of-factly, grabbing the hair and pulling the head straight to lean up against the sideboard on which they’d been placed.

The room went silent.

Father Briar took a shallow breath. “I feel sick, dizzy . . .

I’m sorry, I—”

“Quickly, Father Briar. The sooner you do this for us, the sooner we can work out what happens next,” Loethar said briskly.

Again, Freath heard the undertow of threat in the barbarian’s words. His own breathing had become ragged. He wondered if his own tired heart was giving up. It felt set to burst from his chest, it was pounding so hard. Though he wanted to look away, he forced himself to fi x his eyes on the priest, who had one hand on his chest and was raising the other in a Roya l Ex i l e

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shaking arc. His finger pointed but from Freath’s vantage he couldn’t tell which head had been chosen.

“Touch the head, Father. We must be sure,” Loethar urged.

“You are too far away. Hurry up; I tire of your squeamishness.”

Father Briar staggered three steps and placed a hand, as though giving a blessing, on the third head—the head of Tomas Dole. “This is Leonel,” he said, turning abruptly to vomit into the corner.

“Well done, Father. Let us all retire to another chamber,” Loethar said. “Freath, perhaps you could have this one cleaned. Father Briar, you’re free to go once you have gathered your wits. As are you, as well,” he added, sweeping his gaze across the Vested. “Freath, please come and see me afterward. Thank you for your work today. I’m impressed.” Freath nodded graciously. “I’m glad to have proven myself worthy to you, my lord,” he replied, resisting a desire to draw his own shaking hand across his brow.

The barbarians left hurriedly. How Freath kept his own composure he didn’t know but he managed to put one step in front of the other, guiding everyone out of the stinking salon. Closing the door on their backs, he allowed himself a moment of impossible triumph combined with startling disbelief. Father Briar was trying to say prayers for the children, his words at war with his grief. Freath began to move toward the priest in an effort of consolation.

“Freath!” Clovis called, soft but urgent.

Freath turned to see Kirin collapsed on the fl oor.

Twenty-Five

——————————————

The six of them had been walking for hours in silence. The path they’d been following was narrow, well disguised and certainly not conducive to conversation. Everyone seemed lost in thought, but no one was fatigued. Gavriel realized that he was suddenly invigorated, likely due to the fresh sense of purpose.

The tunnel-like animal track they’d been following opened up and although the single lamp that lit their way meant that they still had to walk carefully, they now had more space to spread out.

This prompted Leo to talk. “Tell me more about the meeting with my father,” he said to Faris.

“What’s to tell? It was a shock. But I knew he was no impostor, having seen your father many times without him realizing he was sometimes close enough to touch his most gifted thief.” Faris laughed. “He was as good as his word and had come alone. We’d followed him for many miles, seen his arrival—just as we’d seen yours—for a long distance.”

“How did he know where to fi nd you?” Faris shrugged. “Followed his nose in much the same way as Lily did hers. I know the rumor-mongering says my gang is in the north but it’s a huge area. No one really knows where we are. The truth is, we found him, in the same manner that we found you.”

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“And he just pronounced that he had a bargain to make with you?”

“That’s about right. He wasn’t scared of me. But then I was hardly scared of him either, considering he had so many arrows trained on his chest. He was extremely confident. I genuinely thought he’d come to work out a deal whereby I stopped stealing taxes and he might turn a blind eye to the odd wealthy merchant being robbed on the highway. I must admit, his lack of interest regarding his own money was refreshing and his real reason for coming intriguing.”

“It’s incredible that he was planning for this eventuality so far ahead,” Gavriel said. “Even more surprising that he kept my father at arm’s length on it.”

“Gavriel is now legate, by the way,” Leo said. “Some day he will command the Penraven army.”

“Right now, my king, there is no army to speak of. I have seen what the barbarians have done. All the Set armies are decimated; bodies still scatter your realm and the blood is yet to dry across the fields and the villages. People are still to bury stranger and foe alike before they can even mourn their own lost. The whole region is in turmoil—on its knees to Loethar, you could say. I imagine it will be years before a generation of boys grows up without memories of this bloodshed.” He glanced at Gavriel. “I hate to pour water on your fi re.”

“Don’t dash their hopes, Kilt Faris.” Lily spoke up. “These two young men are our future. We have a king. Your men are the army that will rise from the ashes of the barbarian destruction.”

Faris stopped. “Er, let me stop you there. I have nothing to do with uprising, rebellion or thoughts of re-creating the splendor of the Valisar dynasty.” He took them all into his gaze and Gavriel could see he wanted none of them to get any mistaken impressions of his motivations.

“This is about money, is it?” Gavriel said.

“I am not Brennus. He had reason to preserve his line. My reasons are quite different but no more selfish than his. Let 362

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me say this. King Brennus visited me purely out of self-interest. This was not about you personally, Leo, though I hate to say it. No matter how much your father loved you, this was as much about greed for him too.”

“Now wait a—”

“No, let him finish, Gav,” Leo said, holding up a hand.

“It’s best we all understand one another.”

“Thank you, majesty,” Faris said. “This seems as good a place as any to rest momentarily. Jewd, check that all is safe, would you? Tern, follow suit.” As the men loped off, Faris returned his attention to Leo, Gavriel and Lily. “We’ve made very good time. You certainly seem very committed and determined. I think it’s wise we have this conversation now.”

“Go ahead,” Leo said. Gavriel realized that the youngster he had become nursemaid to just days previous had already aged years. And it will need to continue if we’re going to survive, he thought grimly. Most importantly, Leo seemed ready to hear the truth . . . the secret that had been entrusted to Gavriel by Brennus. He would tell him as soon as they were alone.

“Your father had the preparedness to look into the future,” Faris was saying. “He took note of the angry wind blowing from the east, and he moved to protect his most valuable possession. It was not his realm’s gold, it was not his city, it was not his people, it wasn’t even you, Leo . . . or your family.” Gavriel watched the young king’s lips thin at this. “It was something far less tangible than any of those possessions.

The single most important aspect of Penraven life to your father was the name Valisar, and the fact that a Valisar had sat the throne, and was figurehead for the whole Set, for so many centuries. He was determined the dynasty would not end with him. And so, for very selfish reasons that had nothing to do with self-preservation, he came to see me. He did love you—of this there is no doubt—but he loved his heritage, his history, his whole reason for being and his sense of duty much, much more, Leo. And because he had produced an heir he was not going to relinquish the right to put the 9th Roya l Ex i l e

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king of Valisar on the throne. Brennus aimed to pass crown, sword and throne—everything that was won by Cormoron all those centuries ago—to you, Leo. You see, he was equally as selfish as you accuse me of being.” Leo regarded Faris gravely. “You want to see my father’s approach as purely one of self-interest. I prefer to think of it as his desire for the realm—for the good of the people.” Faris didn’t bat an eyelid at the youngster’s admonishment.

“Life is very much from the perspective from where you view it. However, Brennus knew the might of the barbarian’s driving need to conquer, and he decided he needed time.

Time for his next child to be born, time for a bargain to be struck to preserve the life of his heir, time to organize a plan. The blood of the other realms bought him that time.” Leo stood, disgusted. “This is rubbish, Faris. I won’t hear another word spoken against my father like this.”

“Why would I lie?” Faris replied. “Brennus admitted that the Set could not win the war unless everyone banded together. He said—and this is no lie, I give you my oath—that he had to make an ugly choice between saving the Valisar crown and saving the Set, reasoning that the chances of Leonel’s survival—with the right help—were better than the Set’s chances against the marauders.”

“Do you honestly believe, Faris, that the king would not have aired this plan—this ‘ugly decision,’ as you call it—to his closest friend, companion, adviser and commander of his army?”

“I’m telling you that’s exactly what he did.” Gavriel glared at him as Faris continued. “I’m sorry if I’m hurting anyone’s feelings here but I speak only truth. The king came here in disguise, having deliberately slipped away not only from Brighthelm but from his legate. He meant to keep his decision secret. I was the only person he shared it with.”

“You know how ridiculous that sounds, don’t you?” Gavriel replied, getting up and readying himself to leave. He’d had enough of this conversation and hated to think of what it might be doing to Leo’s fragile state of mind. “Why would 364

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the king tell a renowned

thief—an outlaw—his darkest

secret?”

“Because it was safe with me. Because it meant nothing to me and he needed an ally. Don’t you see? I had no reason to use it against him. Affairs of the realm are of no interest to my sort. What’s more, he believed that if his plan needed to be activated it would mean that everyone who mattered, including himself, was already dead. And as you say, I’m the last person anyone would think of as an accomplice to the king.” He turned around, spoke directly to Leo. “Your majesty?”

“Call me Leo,” the king said.

“Do you still believe I’m making this all up?”

“I know you’re not,” Leo replied, surprising Gavriel. “This sounds exactly how my father’s mind works. He would not have given you Faeroe, I’m sure, without reaching an agreement with you.”

“Thank you,” Faris said, eyeing Gavriel. “Shall we go?” At his soft whistle, his men melted out of the darkened woodland. They nodded to him. Jewd nodded to Faris, who pronounced, “All’s quiet and safe. We can proceed.”

“I hope that’s the last of your surprises,” Lily muttered as she pushed past Faris.

“Who said he told me only one secret?” Faris quipped but no one appreciated his jest and his lightheartedness was stolidly ignored.

Freath composed himself. He stood outside the oak door of one of the small halls of Brighthelm, where Genrie, on his orders and with the help of some of the barbarians, had organized a hasty fire. In late summertide, although the eve nings were still mild, some of the unused chambers were cold and stale smelling.

Though his mind was ragged, he took a deep breath and knocked before entering.

“My lord,” he said, bowing politely. “I’m sorry if this Roya l Ex i l e

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chamber is not ideal. I know it hasn’t been aired in a long time.”

“It’s fine, Freath. Genrie threw some herbs on the fl ames and stuck a few acorns in the kindling. No one is complain-ing.”

Freath smiled politely, tightly. “Is there anything else I can do for you, my lord?” he offered, making a point of looking around the room at the women who had made themselves comfortable in the large chairs around the fire. Stracker was nowhere to be seen . . . probably happier in the barracks with his men. “Genrie will organize some food, which I presume you would like served in this chamber?”

“You both need some help around here, don’t you?” Loethar drew Freath away from the women in a casual move that the aide nonetheless noticed.

“Brighthelm ran on a fairly modest team of thirty staff in the royal rooms, including the kitchens and infi rmary. We had in addition gardeners and all manner of outdoor work-ers, which would have swelled that base to perhaps twice as many. I presume you plan to make Penraven your imperial seat, my lord. And if Brighthelm is to be the main palace for you and the new empress,” he said, nodding politely toward Valya, “then I think adding some manpower would allow us to serve you properly and in the custom an emperor should be. After all, Brighthelm will be the standard by which all will judge you, my lord.” He dropped his voice. “I mean absolutely no disrespect when I say that I presume you will want to blend into the Set quickly.”

“What makes you say that?”

Freath had judged the man based on his new appearance, but he quickly came up with a more diplomatic response. “It will be easier to rule and win the Set’s complicity—if not its complete trust—by changing as little as possible in the early days. I suspect, my lord, you want to be done with war and disruption now, to get on quickly with settling all the realms into a new way of life. It will be easiest to do this under an 366

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emperor who is not so very far from their previous way of life. You will give people fewer reasons to rebel.”

“There will always be pockets of rebellion, Freath.”

“I agree. But now that your only real threat has been dealt with, my lord, if life can quickly get back to normal—if you can establish some measure of understanding between yourself and the noble families in the other realms, for example—

they will lead by example and you will find it much easier to convince the people of your intentions. War is barbaric, no matter by whom or how it is perpetrated. I’m sure King Cormoron would frighten the living daylights out of most people today. They say he smeared the blood of every person he killed, over himself.”

Loethar actually laughed out loud, taking Freath by surprise. “I’m impressed with you, Freath.” Freath kept his expression unchanged. “I am here to serve, my lord. I promised you that from the outset.”

“I haven’t trusted you but I think to night you’ve earned my favor.”

A spark of triumph flared in Freath’s gut but he was careful not to reflect it in his stony expression. “I’m glad, my lord.”

“I want your ideas on how we must approach this blending you speak of. I do not wish the people of the Set to wrongly presume that the people of the Likurian Steppes are somehow inferior because of their more simple way of living. And although it is important, strategically, for me to make the transition for the Set as easy as possible, it is equally important that the Steppes’ culture be appreciated.”

“I couldn’t agree more, my lord. But my counsel would be to let this happen gradually. As they say, water dripping on stone is just as powerful as a hammer . . . but it’s a smoother path.”

Again Loethar grinned. “Wise counsel. I will discuss this with you further, Freath. We shall arrange a meeting of all the noble families in Penraven, perhaps organize some festivals to lighten the tensions. In the meantime, I give you Roya l Ex i l e

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authority to re- staff the palace to the degree you consider appropriate.”

“Very good, my lord.”

“I would consider it appropriate to have some Steppes people employed too, Freath. Stracker is organizing for some of the men’s women and families to enter Penraven. Perhaps you could talk about this with him. The women will want to work.”

“Will they feel comfortable taking instructions from a Penravian?”

“Their empress is a westerner. They’ll have to get used to it,” Loethar replied, although Freath guessed he had other, more shaded reasons for infi ltrating the staff of Brighthelm with barbarian women.

“Then it will be done, my lord. I shall have Genrie serve your food now, if you’ll excuse me?” Loethar nodded. “You’ve earned some rest, Freath. I won’t be needing you any more to night.”

Freath bowed. “Your salon has been cleaned and refreshed, my lord. I trusted it was all right to leave your raven alone on the perch, er, which reminds me, I haven’t seen Piven around this eve ning. Is he—” Loethar’s brow furrowed. “Yes. I haven’t had a chance to talk to you about him this eve ning.” Freath noticed that the emperor looked suddenly thoughtful and worry clenched in his gut. “I do hope he hasn’t upset anyone, my lord? Piven has no ability to judge anyone’s feelings. We aren’t even sure he experiences many of them himself. He is a gentle soul who means no one any harm and gives great affection to all.”

“You seem awfully concerned for this Valisar child, Freath.”

“I was fond of Piven simply because he, a commoner and one so disabled, managed to infiltrate the royals, win their hearts. But he is as happy in the company of Kings as he is with your raven, my lord. He is not discerning at all and I rather liked that,” Freath lied, wondering whether his weak 368

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explanation was having any effect, for Loethar’s expression remained unimpressed.

“A bit like a kindred spirit, do you mean?”

“Not exactly, although the fact that he was an orphan made him a favorite with the staff. I found it easier to like Piven simply because he was not Valisar.”

“Should I let him join his brother in death?” Freath shrugged, forcing down the re-emerging knot of fear. “I would not hesitate if you asked it of me, my lord,” he said, answering Loethar’s question, hoping it sounded convincing, praying it would never come to it.

Loethar made a gesture of indifference. “An empty question, Freath. The fact is, I have lost Piven.” Freath managed with great effort to stop his repeating Loethar’s words with awed horror. So this is what had made the barbarian so angry to night. “Er, I see. Is that a problem for you?” he asked, deliberately adopting a callous tone, as his mind scrambled for answers as to where Piven might have gone.

“Are you suggesting I should just let him go?”

“I’m trying to gauge how much he means to you, my lord, that’s all.”

He was surprised to see Loethar falter.

“I, I’m not sure. My raven hates people. I think he only tolerates me because I raised him from a chick. However, he has developed some affinity with Piven. I don’t understand it. I don’t really understand either of them but somehow I find both of them comforting . . . for their silent companion-ship, if nothing else.”

“Then we must find him for you. Where did you last see him?” he said, holding his breath.

“I took him out with me to the herb gardens, where the sun dial is.” Loethar explained.

Freath nodded. “He would have recognized it to some extent. His mother took him there often.”

“I was speaking with Dara Negev and let Piven off his leash. Minutes later we received the urgent message from Roya l Ex i l e

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Stracker and I hurried to take it directly from the messenger.

My mother followed and we both forgot about the boy. Predictably he wandered off.”

As Loethar explained, Freath tried to look sympathetic, when all he could really think about was the wolves and wild creatures that roamed the forest.

“He won’t last long even in the nearby woodland, my lord.

Piven has no ability to support himself.”

“I understand. Can you organize a search party?”

“At once, my lord. Let me do that now.”

“What are you both whispering about over there?” Dara Negev demanded. It was obvious the women had exhausted what little polite conversation they had.

“Nothing, mother. Do it, Freath. Keep me informed.” Freath fled. Kirin would have to wait a bit longer. Piven had to be found!

The search party, including Freath, Father Briar and an as-sortment of others, set out with torches. Freath organized for them to radiate from the herb garden in various directions toward the low woodland.

It wasn’t long before Loethar joined the search but the barbarian’s presence made little difference. After three long hours, by which they were into the dead of night, even he decided that the little boy was gone.

Freath finally said what he knew to be true. “He wouldn’t necessarily answer our calls anyway. He may know his name,” he said, shrugging. He knew Piven did at times recognize the sound of his name but he was contrary. “But he’s less obedient than a dog to tell the truth.”

“I should never have taken him off the leash!” Loethar berated himself.

“It’s likely he’s curled up sleeping somewhere,” Father Briar offered.

“We shall have to try again as soon as dawn breaks,” Freath said. Then, hoping to rub salt in the barbarian’s open wound, he added, “He’ll be cold, hungry, probably—” 370

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A shout went up and Loethar spun around. A Blue warrior pounded up, holding out something in his hand.

“The collar,” Loethar said, disgusted. “Where did you fi nd it?”

The Blue pointed. “About ninety steps into the wood from where that huge forked tree is, my lord,” he said.

“Is Piven capable of taking this off himself?” Loethar asked Freath. “The buckle is not easy to manipulate, especially when you can’t see it.”

Freath was baffled. “And especially when his small fi ngers don’t even understand what they’re supposed to do.” He frowned. “I wouldn’t have thought so, no.” He instantly wished he hadn’t aired that notion because Loethar leapt upon it.

“So someone’s helped him!”

“I doubt—” Freath began, but was cut off by Loethar.

“Where is Stracker?”

A Red stepped forward. “I can fetch him. He was at the barracks, I think.”

“Get him,” Loethar growled. He turned back to Freath.

“It’s one thing to parade the disabled child of the Valisars on a leash. It’s another to have him running free. People may get ideas.”

“But, my lord, he is not even Valisar. I don’t think you have to worry—”

“He is a symbol, Freath. And sometimes people will cling to the thinnest strands of hope. Anyone hatching plans of a fightback might clutch at the idea of Piven, now that Leonel is dead. As far as the people go he has the Valisar glow about him.”

“No, my lord,” Freath replied, fighting to keep his voice calm, his tone as indifferent as possible. “I don’t think you should waste your time on Piven. Let him go. He’ll die out in the woods sooner than you can possibly imagine—if he’s not attacked by a wild animal, he’ll perish from thirst or starvation. He has no defenses, no idea how to even sustain himself.

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swamped by refugees from the other realms. Everyone has lost loved ones, people are barely functioning, the whole

realm is in disarray. That’s where your attention should be focused. Piven is seven, disabled to the point of not even functioning at the level of a trained dog, and he is not blood. People were fond of him, yes. But would they rally behind an orphan halfwit? No, my lord, I can assure you they would not.”

His words seemed to calm Loethar. “You are probably right,” the barbarian agreed. He dismissed the men.

Relief slowed Freath’s hammering heart as he watched the warriors disperse, leaving him alone with Loethar, who was twirling Piven’s collar loosely in his hand. “Let him die, my lord,” he pressed. “It’s the best solution. He will be one less concern for you.”

Loethar nodded. “The saddest thing of all, Freath, is that I rather liked Piven. Unlike everyone else around me, he had no opinion, no hidden schemes. He was a void, yes, but one that was filled with warmth and affection . . . all of his attention directed toward me rather than taking from me or using me. That’s something I’ve lacked all my life,” he muttered softly, turning on his heel and striding away.

Twenty- Six

——————————————

Freath found his Vested in their shared chamber, Clovis crouched over Kirin, wiping his blank face with a damp fl annel.

“Whatever that was about I don’t ever want to do it again,” Clovis said, not even turning.

“I know it was hard for you but we saved lives this evening.”

“I saw four sacrifi cial heads and they were probably only a smattering of the number really killed.”

“Twenty-nine died to save hundreds more,” Freath answered, suddenly tired of being blamed for all the ills surrounding the very people he was working so hard to protect.

“I have to speak with Kirin.”

“You can try,” Clovis said, disdain coloring his voice. “He hasn’t said a word to anyone.”

“Is he conscious?” Freath asked, approaching. The man of magic looked dead.

“Yes, he’s conscious, but closed, if that makes any sense. I meant what I said, Master Freath. I will not do anything like that again.”

“We’re all having to do things we’d rather not. You must fi nd courage.”

“I will have no part in the murder of children.” Freath considered this. He knew Clovis was predisposed to be deeply upset over any child’s suffering and he couldn’t Roya l Ex i l e

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blame him. Perhaps his fear could be put to use. “Then help me save a child, Clovis.”

The diviner turned, looked at Freath with puzzlement.

“What do you mean?”

Freath sat down on the small stool next to the bed, Kirin momentarily forgotten. He hated not being able to really think this through but time was of the essence and he had none to play with. “Do you recall Piven?”

“The imbecile?”

“The adopted simpleton son of the Valisars, yes,” Freath said, wearily.

Clovis shrugged. “I’ve heard about him—as I suppose most have—but I’ve only glimpsed him a few times, running around the corridors on a leash with the barbarian.”

“Well, he’s slipped that leash. Piven went missing at around dusk this eve ning. He is nowhere to be found on the palace grounds and his collar was found on the edge of the woods.” Clovis gave a low whistle. “The last of the Valisars, eh?”

“He is not Valisar. But in terms of perception you are probably right. Losing him would be the final tragedy. I want you to fi nd him.”

“What?” Clovis said, rearing back.

“Listen to me. You have no stomach for the palace politics or Loethar’s penchant for slaughter. And a child’s life is in the balance.”

Clovis’s brow furrowed. “What do you want me to do?”

“I need you to leave tonight. He must be discovered before anyone else fi nds him.”

“To night? You want me to go into the woods alone?” Clovis just stopped short of adding, “Are you mad?” But Freath heard it beneath the awkward silence. The aide bristled. “He is alone in the dark to night . . . in the woods.” Clovis had the grace to look admonished.

“Listen to me, he’s seven. He has none of his faculties.

He’s just a small, confused, invalid boy. And if the wild creatures don’t have a go at him, then starvation and perhaps the cold will kill him. We’re fortunate the night is relatively 374

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mild but it’s still cool enough. Leaf-fall is beckoning and Piven has little flesh on him as it is. He will not survive a couple of days out there alone.”

“But he could be anywhere,” Clovis replied, standing up and pacing.

“Yes, he could, if he were more able. He’s likely still very close. I managed to stop the all-out hunt for him by the barbarians. Although it’s terrifying to have Piven loose and en-dangered, it could play into our hands well—but only if you can find him quickly.”

“And what in Lo’s name am I supposed to do with him if I do fi nd him?”

Freath shook his head. “I don’t know, Clovis,” he said, feeling beaten. “I’m making this up as I go along. Just get him away from here. Take him as far as you can from Loethar and this hotbed of warriors.”

“What do you plan to tell our emperor?” the Vested asked, sarcasm dripping from the fi nal word.

At this Freath’s lips thinned. “I shall have to tell him you went missing. That you were deeply upset by the charade with the boys’ heads and that it must have resonated too strongly with your own loss.” He shrugged. “That you disappeared.”

“And then he’ll put a price on my head and send his warriors to hunt me down.”

“I doubt it. As far as Loethar’s concerned you and Kirin were deliberately presented to me because of your distinct lack of talent. He feels no threat from you. Only I know what you’re capable of. Get away from here, Clovis. Put your talents to use. Go find Reuth. I know you were fond of her and if you can find Piven you can keep him safe together.” He knew introducing Reuth into the conversation would likely tip the scales in his favor. Even by lamplight he had seen Clovis’s flare of interest at the very mention of her name. “Perhaps Father Briar knows where she was heading.

You must leave now. Wear your armband and you will not be questioned. In fact, go out with Father Briar’s next cartload and once you’re out of the immediate palace vicinity Roya l Ex i l e

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cut back toward the southern part of the woods. Draw an eyeline from the herb gardens. That’s where Piven was last seen. He won’t answer a call, but if he sees you, he will run to you.”

“And what if I don’t fi nd him?”

Freath couldn’t hide his despair. “Just do your best. I don’t know what else to suggest.”

“What if I get caught?”

“Tell whomever it is that you’re acting on orders from me.

I will claim that I sent you out to search because I knew that Emperor Loethar was concerned.”

“But what if you’ve already told them I disappeared?”

“Then improvise, Clovis! Life is not neat. Take a cue from me and make something up. We are all fighting for our lives.

I’ll give you the whole of tomorrow until nightfall. Only then will I tell Loethar of your disappearance. I promise you, you are not important enough to him to chase. And if you haven’t found Piven in that time-frame, then fl ee south or wherever you want to. I absolve you of all other responsibility to me, to the royals, to anyone but yourself.”

“What about Kirin?”

“Kirin stays. I’ll take care of him.”

“What do you think happened to him?” Freath sighed, and pushed his weary body up to stand. “I think Master Kirin is hiding a lot more than he’s claiming.” In the forest smaller birds had begun heralding the dawning of a new day; the air was filled with their joyous song.

“I’d forgotten how loud the woods can be during the dawn chorus,” Leo commented to Lily, whom he was walking alongside.

Kilt Faris overheard, answering, “And those of us who live within them take it for granted. We’re all guilty of the same neglect of mother nature’s brilliance.”

“Well, I rise at the first bird’s sound each morning, so I’m always listening for her,” Lily admitted.

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marvel at it, when we should be grateful another day has dawned and we are alive to welcome it.”

“That sounds awfully philosophical for an outlaw,” Gavriel said.

Jewd, who had been mostly silent for the entire journey, looked sideways at Gavriel. “Do you think that because we live on the edge of the law that we are unable to appreciate Lo’s beauty?”

“I didn’t say that,” Gavriel replied. “I suppose I’m wondering whether philosophy has any place in your world, that’s all.”

“As much as in yours, De Vis,” Faris said gently. “We steal other people’s money. That’s all. We don’t kill. And I’m patriotic to a point. Right now I’m helping my king stay alive. I think I’ve earned the right to philosophize along with the best of them.”

Lily glared at Gavriel and he fell silent.

“How far are we from the stone?” Leo asked, breaking into the suddenly awkward quiet.

“Just a mile ahead now. I’m impressed you’ve all walked through the night. We will be able to rest shortly. Jewd will go ahead and kill us a few rabbits for a meal—and not raw either. We can build a fi re.”

In spite of his bad mood Gavriel’s spirits lifted at the thought of freshly cooked meat. He began to imagine the smell of the meat roasting over the embers and he was unnerved to find that in the few moments he’d been daydreaming about the taste of cooked rabbit, he’d not only dawdled behind the pack but that Faris had fallen back as well, and now walked at his side.

The outlaw moved closer still. Speaking quietly, he warned,

“Whatever your problem is with me, De Vis, I think we should try and be civil to one another. It does not help the young king’s state of mind to have his closest friend and his new conspirator at loggerheads.”

Gavriel took a leaf from Corbel’s book and remained silent.

It was as though Faris could hear his thoughts. “Where is Roya l Ex i l e

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your brother, by the way? I thought you twins were very close.”

“Who told you that?”

“Brennus. He said that he was placing all his faith in the two loyal and reliable De Vis boys.”

“He said that?”

Faris nodded. “And that he knew in the future he was going to ask a great deal of you both. I didn’t understand precisely what and he didn’t enlighten me but I presume that by your presence he entrusted the safety of his heir to you.”

“That’s right, he did. He personally asked me to give my life to Leo, to be his protector.”

“You’re awfully young for that responsibility.” As Gavriel bristled, Faris raised a hand. “Forgive me, that came out wrong. What I wanted to say is that it is very impressive that he chose someone so young. From what I could tell Brennus was a very sage, very cunning man. I don’t for a moment imagine he made that decision lightly. If he didn’t trust you and your skills implicitly he would never have handed Leo over to you. You must be good.”

“In what regard?”

“Weapons, I imagine, but also in strength of mind. Anyone can fight, De Vis. There are plenty of incredibly skilled swordsmen and archers but for most that’s where their minds stop working. The real champion is someone whose brain matches his speed and skill with weapons.” He paused, looked wryly at Gavriel. “That was a compliment. You can smile.” Gavriel regarded Faris, searching for the outlaw’s intentions. Was his praise genuine or just more of his sardonic baiting? The man’s grin looked open, however, and his warm brown eyes held a hint of mischief.

“You don’t need to stroke my feathers,” Gavriel said, using an old saying of his father’s.

“I wasn’t. Nor would I,” Faris answered with equal direct-ness. “How old are you, De Vis? Sixteen, seventeen summertides?”

“Seventeen.”

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“Seventeen. Ho, Jewd, what were you doing at seventeen?” The huge man scratched his beard. “Wishing I could control my huge—”

“No, Jewd,” Faris cut in. “Apart from women, what were you thinking about? What were you doing?”

“I worked with my father. We helped to build ships over at Merivale; I was the lackey. I was thinking a lot about ale and women—not much else.”

“So you were doing as your father told you?”

“I did what everyone told me. I was the lowest in the peck-ing order.”

“Lily, what were you doing at seventeen? How old are you, anyway?”

“None of your business, Kilt Faris,” she admonished. “But when I was seventeen my life was not much different to how my new friends found me. I was living in the forest with my father, drying herbs, making healing salves, living quietly.” Faris nodded. “Me, I was at Cremond in the Academy,” he said.

“You?”

“Ah, De Vis, judgments made too soon are often wrong.

Yes, the despised outlaw you see before you was once a bud-ding scholar.”

“In what?” Gavriel asked, unable to hide his disdain.

“Thaumaturgy.”

“You’re not empowered, surely?” Leo said, turning, obviously surprised.

“Not a skerrick of magic in my bones. But I was always fascinated by the notion of the Vested. Anyway, that was a long time ago. I attended the Academy under a false name—

my parents never knew.”

“Why?” Leo asked, before Gavriel could.

Faris shrugged. “I don’t think I ever really wanted to be a full- time scholar. I did enjoy study but I couldn’t maintain the concentration needed. The false name gave me the opportunity to get out whenever I wanted. I never quite got used Roya l Ex i l e

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to the rules and eventually I wanted freedom. But at seventeen I had no responsibilities and was knee deep in study.”

“What’s your point?” Gavriel asked.

“My point, De Vis, is that you are doing an extraordinary thing at seventeen. Leo has to be brave; he’s king. You don’t.

But here you are, rushing into danger, not giving so much as a mote’s concern for your own safety or future. Dare I say you’re stirring rebellion against the marauding army that has destroyed the entire Set. I admire you.” Gavriel was lost for words. Praise was the last thing he had expected from Faris. Leo grinned and Lily gave him a shy, brief glance before turning away and pushing forward.

“And now I’ve embarrassed you, have I?” Faris continued.

“My apology, I simply wanted you to understand that we are on the same side right now.” He lowered his voice so only Gavriel could hear him now. “We have no argument, you and I. So don’t pick one. Here, keep these on you,” he said, handing Gavriel what looked like small shiny nuts.

“What are these?”

Faris grinned. “Real magic. Suck one if you’re ever under genuine threat. I know better than most how diffi cult hiding one’s identity is.”

Gavriel looked at them quizzically.

The outlaw looked amused. “It’s just a safeguard for you and Leo. Each one lasts a day. Don’t be reckless with them—

they’re all I have.”

He moved ahead briskly to join the others, souring Gavriel again by walking next to Lily. “Just past this next senti-nel of trees and we’re there,” he said to everyone.

They finally arrived into a clearing surrounded by a thick overwhelming presence of oaks. The air was warmer here, and denser, since they’d been walking downhill for some time. The trees created a natural amphitheater and sitting in the middle of the “stage” was the sacred stone Gavriel had heard so much about. He found himself holding his breath as he watched Leo walk reverently toward it.

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“It’s not very spectacular, is it?” Lily whispered alongside him.

Gavriel shook his head to be polite but the truth was he was mesmerized by it. Its simplicity alone took his breath away. He too had anticipated a grand throne on which the Valisar Kings would seat themselves in accepting the Crown of Penraven. He had certainly not expected a hewn slab of silver branstone, resting in very uncomplicated fashion on top of two other slabs. As the sun’s rays hit the branstone, its silver fl ecks sparkled.

He watched Leo glide his hand over the smooth, sparkling surface and he was sure they shared the same thought about how each of the great Valisar Kings had knelt at this place and sworn their lives, their duty, their blood to Penraven.

Leo looked up, his eyes immediately searching out Faris.

“What should I do?”

“Nothing, yet. As I understand it from my readings at the Academy, all the Kings have taken their oaths at eve ning twilight—you know that twilight is considered the most magical time of the day.”

“Why is that?” Lily asked, walking up to the stone.

Gavriel could see that Faris was in his element. “Because, Lily, it is considered a time that is neither day or night. It is not fully light, but neither is it fully dark. It is a sort of nether light, if you will—a nether world, even.” He smiled and began to walk toward her, each word bringing him another step closer. “They say this is the time when spirits can enter our land, when magic is at its most potent, when worlds kiss.” As he said the final word he leaned far too close to her for Gavriel’s liking.

He slipped the seeds into his shirt pocket. “And so Leo must make his oath at this evening’s twilight?” he asked, breaking whatever spell Faris was weaving over Lily. The girl, he noticed, was smiling softly and flirtatiously at the outlaw.

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“Yes,” Faris replied, turning to encompass everyone in the conversation. “But he must make it alone and we must respect that. There can be no witnesses.”

“Why alone?” Leo had not stopped stroking the glittering stone.

Faris shrugged. “It is a private commitment you’re making, a private communion with your god. And, my young king, most importantly, there may well be a private parley with Cyrena the infamous serpent.” He smiled at Leo. “You must wait until the moon is fully risen, though. If Cyrena will show herself it will be during the darkness of night, lit only by her lamp in the sky. And only if you are entirely alone.”

Gavriel felt exasperated. How was this man so annoyingly knowledgeable as well as infuriatingly self- possssed? And yet even though he wanted to he couldn’t take offense. If anything, Faris was being helpful. But this seemed to irritate him all the more.

“Does she appear to all the Kings?” Leo asked, his eyes shining with wonder.

“I honestly don’t know the answer to that. But your father confided that he didn’t meet Cyrena and he wasn’t sure your grandfather did either.”

“Brennus confided so much in you,” Gavriel remarked, working hard to keep the sarcasm he felt out of his voice.

“He and I made the same journey that we just have. He wanted to reiterate his oath to Penraven. There was plenty of time for talking,” Faris said, carefully.

“Cyrena is likely just legend,” Leo said to Faris.

The outlaw nodded noncommittally. “True, but we should observe tradition, do this properly. No one should ever be able to accuse you of not taking the spiritual side of your regal oath as seriously as the physical or emotional side.

And I do believe in magic and if there’s even a chance of Cyrena showing herself, I respect that. I will not eavesdrop, I will not guard you. No one will. We must ensure you do 382

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this in the correct manner. This is usually the last stage of the ritual of kingship.”

“I know what you’re going to say,” Leo cut in.

“Do you?”

“I think so. I believe you were going to say that Cormoron, the first of the Valisars, took his oath before the Stone of Truth first, before any physical celebrations or crowning.”

Faris smiled. “I was going to say just that. So in truth you are following tradition far more closely than your more recent ancestors did. And should Cyrena pay a visit, it might be because of that very observance of old ritual.” This he said more facetiously, winning a grin from Leo.

Gavriel scowled inwardly. Though both Leo and Lily had been seduced by the outlaw, he wanted to reserve judgment.

“So we can rest, perhaps?” Lily offered into the sudden silence.

“Indeed. Now is a good time. Gavriel, I shall leave you in charge. There is no threat here; Jewd and Tern have already scouted from the trees and no one approaches. The nearest people are a trio of tribal men using a horse track that runs through this region but we’re high enough not to be seen, so you are safe for me to leave. Just stay together please and take the time to rest. Jewd, myself and Tern will hunt. Here,” he said, giving Gavriel a whittled whistle. “To the untrained ear this makes the sound of a bird.” He grinned, annoyingly neat white teeth fl ashing briefly at Gavriel. “Our trained ears, however, will recognize it as your signal. Call us if you’re frightened by anything.”

Gavriel wondered if Faris had chosen his words to be deliberately inciting. “I don’t think we’re frightened by much after all we’ve been through.”

Lily took the whistle instead. “Thanks. I’ll gladly blow it if anything unnerves me.” She gave Gavriel another of her stares; he scowled back.

“Right, good. Sleep, all of you. Don’t leave the clearing.

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You are safe here,” Faris assured. He melted into the shadows beneath the oaks and was gone.

“Can you please stop,” Lily demanded, rounding on Gavriel.

“What?”

“Can’t you see that he’s on our side?”

“Are you sure of that?”

She stared at him, her expression exasperated. “What happened to the affable, easy-going, courageous Gavriel De Vis I met just a couple of days ago?”

“Perhaps he got tired of watching you flirt with the outlaw.”

She moved fast, her hand coming up to slap his face. But his reactions were honed to perfection. He was the best in the cohort; no one had more lightning reflexes than Gavriel. Instinctively, he caught her wrist before it connected.

“Let me go,” she yelled at him.

Something snapped inside. Gavriel’s voice was deeper, with a hollow chill through it, when he spoke again. “Don’t you ever raise your hand to me again.” He nodded toward the trees. “I’m no outlaw who’s up for some rough fun with you, who will cast you aside as quickly as you might him.

Remember who you talk to. De Vis is a proud name. We walk with kings.” Though he could tell he’d frightened her initially his final jab sounded pompous even to him. As soon as it was out of his mouth he wished he’d never uttered the fi nal sentence.

“You forget, so do I,” she sneered. “Grow up, Gavriel.

You’re pathetic.”

Her last few words stung more than the intended slap ever could have. He let her wrist go and stepped back. Glancing at Leo, Gavriel saw bitter disappointment in the king’s stare.

Gavriel turned on his heel and walked away.

“Gavriel!” Leo called. “We’re meant to stay together.” He said nothing in reply, stomped further before the steep incline made him take up a slow trot. He didn’t mean to go 384

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far but he needed to put some temporary distance between him and Leo’s regret and Lily’s disdain. His cheeks burned with embarrassment. He’d made a fool of himself with Faris and now he’d let himself down in front of the woman he wanted to impress. And that was the heart of it, wasn’t it? He was jealous. Jealous of Faris’s easy manner. He ran still further, anger fueling his legs. He’d stop in a moment and cool off before he returned. He wasn’t so far away yet.

Faris was a competitor, not just for . . . Lily, but more unnervingly for Leo. He had watched Leo being seduced by the outlaw’s knowledge, his devil-may-care attitude, and especially by his curious closeness to Brennus. Who could blame Leo? Faris came in precisely the right shape, size, age, looks, attitude—everything, damn him—to impress the young king. Even worse, Brennus had approved of him.

Slowing down at last, Gavriel finally drew to a stop. The more dense air here helped him think clearly about the complete idiot he had been. What had he been thinking? Why had he allowed himself to become such a victim of his own insecurities? If Corb were here he’d give him one of those looks of his. Grow up, indeed. Lily was right. He owed them all apologies, especially Lily. And he needed to get back to Leo. Hopefully they’d both fallen asleep. He’d only been gone a short while.

He took stock of his surrounds. The trees had certainly thinned out and if he wasn’t mistaken he could see right ahead the horse track that Faris had spoken of. He felt suddenly vulnerable. Turning, he took the first couple of steps back toward his friends.

It was then he heard voices and horse hooves. But there was nowhere to hide without being noticed. He froze, realizing he had no choice but to remain as still as a mouse, hoping against hope the

riders—three of them, he now

counted—would pass by without even glimpsing him standing in the open beneath the hawthorns. His only stroke of fortune was that he was upwind of the horses and still on the incline—if his luck held, they might pass by without even Roya l Ex i l e

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looking up, engrossed in their low conversation. He held his breath, closed his eyes and began to count. He reckoned within a count of twenty he would be behind them.

At the count of fourteen a voice yelled: “Oi, you there!” Gavriel De Vis began running.

Twenty- Seven

——————————————

Kirin stirred. His eyelids slit open and closed immediately.

He groaned. He must have sensed someone nearby, for he moaned, “Clovis?” His voice cracked from a parched throat.

“It’s Freath. Here, drink something.” Kirin tried but couldn’t get the cup to his mouth. When Freath pushed the cup to his lips he could barely open his mouth and what little liquid passed his lips he couldn’t swallow; his throat refused to obey him. After a struggle he’d managed a few drops of water only.

“How are you feeling?” Freath asked.

“I’m dizzy.”

“Are you in pain?”

“Some.”

“Where?”

“My head.”

“Take this.”

Kirin tried to look at the mug Freath held out, daring to open his eyes to slits again. “What is it?”

“Crushed peonies—a helpful painkiller. If that doesn’t ease it, we’ll try comfrey.”

“No henbane?”

“Kirin, it seems to me that these—well, shall we call them dizzy spells of yours?—are going to happen more frequently. Perhaps we need to keep an arsenal of painkillers on hand for you. If that’s going to be the case, I’d like to try Roya l Ex i l e

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to begin with the least potent so that you don’t build an im-munity.”

Kirin sneered. “Are you adding physic to your list of talents . . . right after executioner?” Freath bit his lip to prevent his retaliating. He had expected this attack from Clovis but had been hoping Kirin would understand. He sighed, disappointed. “Try the peony.

See if it helps.”

Kirin didn’t move.

“Please, Kirin. You need help.”

With obvious reluctance and a hefty dose of discomfort the man of magic raised himself onto his elbow and sipped the warm peony tea. “Tastes surprisingly good,” he remarked, his voice bitter.

“I added some honey,” Freath said. “Keep drinking. The more you get down the better, although I’ve made it quite strong.”

Kirin sat up properly and groaned again, holding his head.

“I think I’m going to hurl.”

“I came prepared for that,” Freath comforted, reaching for a pail. “Here, drink plenty, no matter what comes back up.” He stood and moved over to the window to give Kirin a measure of privacy.

“Where’s Clovis?”

“I’ve sent him away.”

“What? Why?”

Freath explained quickly, finally adding, “He is my only hope but he has no stomach for what’s happening here. He is better away from the palace and its brutality.”

“What makes you think I will fare better here?” Kirin snarled.

“Because you do. Because you also believe in what we’re reaching after. Clovis doesn’t, or at least he is still so mired in the past and his sorrows that he cannot imagine a future.

Not yet. But you can, Kirin. Or let me put it this way: You are angered enough by the present to want to change the future. And, unlike Clovis, you would not rather die than 388

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face the present hardship. Clovis’s survival so far has been largely due to your encouragement and presence. But I’m afraid last night set him back; he’d become a liability—for all of us.”

“Where will he go?”

“I suggested he find Reuth. I have since discovered that Father Briar got all the Vested safely away. Where they’ve scattered to I don’t know but we did send them each with a homing pigeon. I am hoping they will use the birds to tell us where they end up.”

Kirin seemed to approve. He nodded. “How will you know if he has found the child?”

“I’m not sure I will. I simply pray that he is successful. I can do no more for Piven from here without drawing suspicions.”

“Are you secretly relieved, though, that Piven is no longer your responsibility?”

Why this perfectly reasonable and honest question seemed to incense Freath where far more offensive accusations had not, he did not know. But he spun angrily on Kirin, only just managing to rein in his wrath. “I’m going to forgive you for that. But I think it best I remove myself for a while. Rest. We need to talk but later.”

He didn’t give Kirin the chance to respond or apologize, but left the room immediately, only just managing to shut the door without banging it. As he did so he happened to catch a look of genuine surprise on the man of magic’s face. Outside he forced himself to take several deep, calming breaths. This would not do. He prided himself on keeping his temper at all times. Iselda had once joked in his presence to King Brennus that she would give the scullery maid her magnifi cent pearl earrings if Brennus could get Freath to lose his composure just once in the ensuing hour.

Freath remembered how Brennus had smiled at his wife and said: “Iselda, my dear, I may be a gambler in some things but I’m not so naive as to take up any challenge where our Roya l Ex i l e

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Freath is concerned. I have never seen his expression slip once in all the years he’s been with our family and I can only imagine the price you’ll demand when you win.” She had smiled lovingly at her husband and then given Freath a sympathetic glance. “Sorry, Freath. The new uniforms for the kitchen staff may have to wait a bit longer.

Although I could always sell my pearl earrings, I suppose.” Freath now smiled sadly to himself at the memory. New uniforms had been measured and made the following moon for the entire kitchen staff through to the youngest scullery maid. Iselda had always known how to play Brennus.

He looked up to see Genrie approaching. “Master Freath,” she said, curtseying, always a stickler for propriety.

“Genrie, are you all right?”

She looked at him with a cool, direct gaze. “Of course.

I’ve just got a headache. I’m sorry about this eve ning.” Freath had not had a chance to discuss what had just occurred with Genrie; all he had been able to do was enquire politely how she was feeling. Genrie, in her usual no non-sense way, had muttered that she was recovered and said no more, barely giving him eye contact. And still the sight of her fired hope in him. He had loved serving Iselda. Any other woman would have suffered for his dedication to the queen and so he had never taken a wife, not even pursued a life partner. But Genrie had surprised him. Her delicious auburn waves, pale complexion and intensely green eyes aside, he adored her defiance and especially her courage. She had carried herself with dignity throughout this whole invasion, and unlike him, had convinced the barbarian that she was trustworthy without once publicly relinquishing her sympathies to the Valisars. His heart melted just a fraction more for her bravery. “You have nothing to apologize for, Genrie.

You were incredibly courageous. If anyone should be sorry, it’s me, for allowing you to be put through it.” She shook her head. “Neither of us have any say. I wish I could have been stronger.”

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He risked taking her hand, looking around furtively before pressing his lips to it. “He did not suffer, I promise you.

I made sure of it.” He didn’t bother to mention the purse of money, for he knew no family could be compensated for the loss of a child.

She looked up at him, baffled, her eyes misty. “I don’t understand what happened. I thought we were all destined for the same fate as those boys. I still can’t believe—”

“I know. Coincidence, perfectly timed,” he soothed, reaching now to tuck back a soft wisp of hair that had escaped her careful pinning.

“But Father Briar—was that coincidence, too?”

“Blind luck, I think. I agree, I thought we were done for.” She stared at him, confounded by his explanation. “You’d better go see Father Briar. He has a nasty headache too,” she said, her eyes narrowing as she regarded him.

He cleared his throat under the scrutiny. He wasn’t quite ready to admit what he believed, even if Genrie’s thoughts seemed to be keeping pace with his own suspicions. “I’ll do that,” he said, unable to think of anything else with which to fend her off.

“And I must warn you that the Droste woman is on our path.”

“What do you mean?”

“She watches me constantly. Questions me incessantly.

Wants to know if I’m in liaison with you.”

“Liaison? What on earth does she mean by that?” Freath felt his gut twist with horror. “Collusion?” he added.

Genrie gave him a fresh look, one that suggested he could be awfully vague for a normally sharp man. “She means a romantic liaison.”

“Pardon?” He didn’t like the way his voice squeaked slightly on the word.

Genrie explained wearily, “She doesn’t know anything.

She’s simply sending out feelers in all directions.”

“She’s looking to make trouble, that woman,” Freath said, Roya l Ex i l e

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checking again that no one was watching them. “I so want to kiss you again but I daren’t, not here.” She nodded, smiled sadly and dropped her hand. “It’s more sinister than simple trouble, Freath. She’s on the trail of what she believes is conspiracy. We must be very careful.”

“Indeed.” He already missed her touch. “I’ve been granted permission to personally re- staff the palace.” This caught her attention. “By whom?”

“The man himself. He is very cunning, very smart to do this. He wants to quickly return Brighthelm’s life to as normal as possible.”

“He’ll never wash the bloodstains from it,” she said, her voice bitter.

“Never let your anger show like that, Genrie, promise me.

They must believe that you now work for them with diligence, if grudgingly. They must think they have cowed you through the threat to the family we’ve pretended you have. Each day you must show yourself to be more indispensable, more accepting of their presence, more reasonable about their needs and culture. Fake it, Genrie. If not for yourself, then for me. I could not bear to lose you.” And then he bent, kissed her so fleetingly he could almost convince himself later it hadn’t happened, and then he was gone, striding away, not looking back.

Neither of them saw Valya watching.

He’d run blindly, crashing through the now thinning forest’s undergrowth, his only thought that he must lead them away from the Stone of Truth at Lackmarin and where King Leo hid. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He had run right into the warriors Faris had mentioned; he knew this by their horses—the stockier, more muscular breed with long manes and tails.

Though Gavriel desperately wanted to head up the incline, slowing down the animals, he knew that would lead them closer to Leo and Lily.

The warriors came after him, seemingly uncaring whether their horses could handle the uneven ground. But still Gavriel 392

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ran, his arms cartwheeling to give him balance, aid his speed.

His breathing was erratic, his thoughts had scattered in a dozen directions and his fear was overwhelming.

They hit him hard, his head snapping back as they leaned down from their saddles and walloped his legs out from under him; his chin hit something, he didn’t know what, nor did he care. The darkness welcomed him and he moved into it willingly. His final thought was of how much he missed his brother.

Kilt Faris squinted from his perch high in one of the tall trees. He felt his gut twist at the sight of the barbarians bringing the young man down. Thank Lo he had decided to do another check on the tribal men. At least De Vis had had the presence of mind to run away from Lackmarin rather than toward it. Cursing, he called down to Jewd, “Are you going to break my fall or drop me this time?”

“Drop you,” came the answer.

Faris scaled halfway down the tree and then leapt. Jewd broke his drop, cushioned the landing.

“They’ve got him,” Faris said to his companion, scowling.

“Did you think they wouldn’t?”

Faris shook his head with frustration. “To his credit he did everything right. He remained utterly still, tried his best to blend back into the forest, remained upwind of the beasts and then mercifully ran away from us.”

“Not bad for a city boy.”

The head of the outlaw gang regarded his giant friend ruefully. “They’ll kill him, Jewd.”

The big man shrugged. “He’s an idiot. Idiots don’t deserve to live.”

Faris walked on. “I could reel off a dozen or more idiotic events from our own early years that I’m sure you don’t wish to be reminded of.”

“Yes, but we survived them.”

“My point entirely. We,” Faris emphasized. “De Vis has no one to look out for him. He has done a mighty job in keeping Roya l Ex i l e

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the young king safe thus far. He got him all the way here on his own, with nothing more than a sword at his hip and a bow around his chest. Come on, Jewd. De Vis is impressive and King Brennus was right to entrust the heir to him.”

“I didn’t say he wasn’t impressive. I said he’s an idiot.”

“We all were at his age,” Faris persisted, giving his friend a glance of admonishment. “He’s just seventeen. His king is twelve. Lo’s wrath, what a pair. Imagine them in another ten!”

“The new legate won’t make it to that age, methinks.” Faris halted, turning on his huge partner. “He won’t, unless we help him.”

Jewd sighed. “Why did I know you were going to say that?”

“Because you know the promise I gave King Brennus.”

“That was about the heir, not De Vis.”

“When you say the name De Vis you might as well say Valisar. Brennus would expect us to include either of the twins in our ring of protection.”

“Why did I know you were going to say that as well?” Jewd grumbled loudly.

“Because you know me.”

“More like because I know you want to impress the woman and she’ll likely kill you if you don’t agree to go after him.”

“Ah, you saw through my thinly veiled plot, then?”

“Rescue the boy, bed the girl, it’s rather obvious, don’t you think, Kilt . . . even for your simple mind to hatch?” Faris grinned, even though he was feeling a genuine clench of fear for Gavriel. The bravado helped him remain optimistic for the youngster. “When I get him back, I’m going to kill him myself, I think.”

“I’ll leave you to explain that to her, then.” Faris sighed. He knew he could count on Jewd—the big man had been there for him practically since they started walking, large and strong, ever prepared to follow him right into the dangers he had always managed to find. “Right. Get 394

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Tern to track the barbarians. You go back as far as you need to. Use arrows as soon as you can to signal the men—we’ll need eight of our boys, I reckon.”

“Any more people and you might as well bring instru-ments and play a rousing tune to herald your way in,” Jewd said dryly.

Though Faris normally relished Jewd’s humor, he was too annoyed about the unnecessary rescue mission to laugh. “I’ll meet you back here. I’ve got to get the king to swear his oath this eve ning, no matter what’s going on with De Vis.” Jewd nodded. “I’m on my way. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“I hope we’ll be in time.”

“Kilt, you know they’ll hurt him.”

Faris’s brow furrowed deeper. He nodded. “I just have to hope he can hold on. Go, Jewd. Hurry.” The huge man loped off, running higher into the forest, heading west. Faris turned back toward Lackmarin and the unpleasant task of telling Leo and Lily what had occurred.

He found them pacing restlessly. As soon as he emerged from the surrounding oaks, they ran up to him both telling him what he already knew: that Gavriel had disappeared.

“I know,” he replied when they’d finally stopped talking at him.

“Where is he?” Leo asked, sounding relieved, scanning the trees behind Faris.

Lily quietly watched him and he could see in her eyes that she knew he brought only bad news. She said nothing, waiting for him to work out how best to deliver it.

To try and dilute the danger Gavriel was in would be to underestimate the young king—and insult him, considering the traumas he had already witnessed, survived, and buried somewhere. “He stumbled into the path of three of Loethar’s warriors. He did his best to hide, and almost got away with it, but they saw him, ran him down.” Leo’s mouth dropped open, while Lily’s face drained of color. Faris turned to Tern.

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camp, come back and let me know. I’ll be staying here for now. Jewd’s gone back.” The man nodded and melted away as though he had never been among them.

Lily looked at Faris, astonished. “And you’re staying here?

What does that mean?”

“Someone has to watch over you two,” Faris replied, sensing accusation in the words she wasn’t saying.

“Was he hurt?” Leo asked.

“I can’t tell. He fell heavily. He was motionless when they picked him up. They put him over a horse.” He watched Leo take a slow breath, admired the youngster all the more for his stillness. “Is he dead?”

“I doubt it. They wouldn’t bother with a corpse.”

“What if they know who he is? They may want to take his body back to Penraven.”

“They may but again I don’t think so. They stumbled upon him. They were not looking for him. These were barbarian posts, that’s all. We’ve been aware of them for some time.

They had been left there to keep guard of the low-lying areas of the forest, where it turns to the woodland that fringes the towns and villages. They’re looking for people trying to move into the forest, not those running out of it. And Gavriel was certainly headed out of it.”

“He’s such an idiot!” Lily exclaimed.

“My thoughts exactly,” Faris said, watching her carefully.

Leo rushed to his friend’s defense. “He was upset. You forget Gavriel had to watch his father brutally killed. And his twin brother has disappeared without a trace. Those two were inseparable but I’ve never heard Gav complain. In fact all he’s done is look after me. He’s not an idiot, he’s just . . .” Leo didn’t know what to say, it seemed.

“Impulsive,” Faris suggested. “The point is he’s put himself into tremendous peril.” He scratched his head beneath his longish dark hair.

“You are going to help him, aren’t you, Kilt?” Lily said.

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nice. “Tern is tracking them. Jewd has already gone back to alert the men. He—”

“Back?” she quizzed, alarmed. “That will take too long.”

“Not necessarily. Jewd has his ways.” And as she opened her mouth to protest again, he raised a hand. “Trust me.” He looked up at Leo. “Your majesty, I’m here to keep my promise to your father, to ensure that you take your oath at the stone as all your predeces sors have.” Leo looked surprised. “I’d rather go after Gavriel,” he said, looking between Lily and Faris. “My oath can wait.”

“No, it cannot, highness,” Faris assured. “I know you’d rather find your friend but we’re already following him and my men will get word to me as soon as he’s found. Right now he’s unconscious and on horse back. These men are truly dangerous—I’m sure you know that?” Leo nodded. “It would be unwise for us to underestimate their fi ghting capability.

For now Gavriel is a stranger to them, a lone man travelling on foot. They have no idea that we are watching them, nor will they until I make a move. And I will not run in blindly without a plan.”

“So you are going after him?” Lily persisted.

“I don’t intend to leave him to the barbarians, no,” Faris replied. As both of them looked relieved, he added, “As for food, it’s more of the same, I’m afraid. De Vis made sure there was no rabbit hunting achieved this morning.”

“We’ll live,” Lily said, giving him a shy smile and thrilling him by laying a hand against his chest. “Thank you for helping him,” she added.

Faris wanted to say something facetious but his throat was too dry. Jewd was right. He did want Lily. She intrigued him.

He also realized that Lily intrigued De Vis and if his senses were serving him right, the young Valisar appeared smitten by her too. He sighed. Was pursuing her really worth the inevitable problems? He dwelled for a second longer than he meant to on her dark blue eyes before realizing he was staring. Clearing his throat, he looked away, glancing over at the Roya l Ex i l e

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king to cover his embarrassment. But Leo had not missed the lingering gaze and turned away, seemingly angry.

“I’m going to gather up some cloudberries,” the king said but Faris knew he was covering his unhappiness.

“Don’t go far,” he replied, just as Lily said, “Stay nearby,” but Leo ignored them both, stomping into the woods.

Twenty- Eight

——————————————

Sergius had listened carefully to everything the bird had told him. He had remained silent, hunched over his scrubbed table through the recounting of what had been happening at Brighthelm. When Ravan finished the man sat back and took a long breath. And they found the collar, they’ve fallen for your trap?

Yes. But we must not underestimate Loethar.

Sergius nodded. That would be a grave error, he replied.

He gave a short mirthless grin. Loethar is clearly a man of strong emotions.

He doesn’t show them, Ravan reminded.

No, but he feels them and his decision to conquer the Set, humiliate Penraven, has been relentless and brutal.

The raven stretched his wings, shuddered slightly. I will be missed.

You’re going?

You know I must.

What a strange and lonely life I lead, the man remarked, sighing, stretching like his friend.

How old are you, Sergius?

Too old. I’ve lost count of the years.

No, you haven’t. I deserve to know. I do your bidding—I’ve never questioned it—and yet I hardly know anything about you.

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known me since you were a hatchling. I became your mother, father, your friend.

Only in my mind and only long enough to give me to Loethar, the bird admonished. Anyway, friends tell each other about themselves. The raven sounded wounded.

My age, all right. Let me see. I must be more than five thousand moons.

Ravan hopped, turned his head to stare at his friend.

That’s old.

Indeed. I knew the first Valisar King, Cormoron, was present when he took his oath at the Stone of Truth, although no one witnessed it.

Ravan considered this startling news. Sergius, would you agree that our task is the most important you’ve ever faced?

Certainly. It is the only time I have been required.

Then we are living in a unique time, facing a unique situation.

We are, Sergius confi rmed.

Then before I go I want to know everything.

I’m not sure I understand.

I believe you do. I believe you know much more than you have shared. And I think it’s right that as your eyes and ears—as you describe me—I am privy to what our role is and why we must perform it. I have done precisely what you’ve asked of me since you abandoned me in the plains three decades previous. And that’s another puzzle. My kind do not live this long. My kind don’t talk to your kind. Who am I?

All these questions! Sergius said, disgusted, waving a hand at the raven.

They need to be answered. I want to know who we are and why we are on this path. Only then I will continue to do your bidding.

Sergius looked up, surprised. Only then? What will you do if I refuse? His voice was devoid of threat or challenge.

Ravan answered in the same tone. I shall fly away and not return.

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Then I shall wear you down with constant chatter inside your head.

As you wish, old man. I shall ignore you.

I gave you life, Ravan! Sergius said, exasperated.

And I give you my life. But I must understand why and for what.

All right, all right. I shall explain. Go fly, stretch your wings, wretched bird. I must make some nettle tea before I begin.

Ravan obliged, returning not long after but by which time the old man had his steaming mug of tea on the table. He gave a soft sound of exasperation as the black bird shook its feathers and settled itself once again before him, letting Ravan know that he considered this an imposition.

Get on with it, Ravan urged with equal disdain. Time is short.

Sergius began, speaking aloud, knowing the bird could follow the words just as easily as if he were speaking directly into his mind. He so rarely heard his own voice these days that it felt good to stretch the long unused muscles of his throat.

“I’m not sure anyone alive today knows that Cormoron, the first of the great Valisar Kings, was a mighty sorceror—as talented with his Vested powers as he was with the sword.” Ravan hunched down.

“When he first took power the Set was divided among many different family warlords, although there were only about four of them that mattered. Cormoron did not belong to this region. He came from among the great southern land mass—a region known as Lindaran. He sailed an extraordinary voyage into unchartered waters, during which he lost only a few of his men to seasicknesses, and landed fi rst on Medhaven. On that island he met no re sistance from the goats and sheep, and the odd scattered hut with few people.

He moved on to Vorgaven, where he again found little re sistance for his tough fighting men, and he soon found himself on the fertile land of the vast mass that makes up the largest Roya l Ex i l e

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part of the ‘hand’ of today’s Set. He liked what he saw. He settled. To cut this long preamble short, he made peace with the fractured

family-

style populations spread across the continent of the Hand. His leadership abilities were already well honed and he was a charismatic man—irresistible, really, to most. He was imposing too—as tall as he was broad with a booming voice and flowing locks of dark hair. Everything about him was strong, decisive, compelling.

“Cormoron was intelligent enough to not make war with the warlords; instead, he sat down around the parley table with them and worked out ways in which they could all live alongside one another. And in so doing he formed the Set: seven realms in the Hand, which included Medhaven. Droste was the only realm hostile to Cormoron’s plan but it did not have the force necessary to attack him and, as he refused to wage any further war, he accepted Droste as a separate entity. The plains to the east—unfertile land of endless fl at grasses—were seemingly uninhabited all those centuries ago.”

So he became ruler of this land he called Penraven, Ravan said, pushing the old man ahead.

“Indeed,” Sergius agreed, untroubled by being hurried along. “He took his oath at Lackmarin before the Stone of Truth. Now, I told you that Cormoron was a sorceror of great power. Though we know that, little is known of his abilities.

He kept his powers hidden, never discussed them: indeed, rarely used them, to my knowledge.” And? Ravan pushed again.

“Well, at the time of his oath, which he saw as a momentous occasion for the region, he called down a great and ancient power from his native Lindaran. She is known as Cyrena.”

The serpent, Ravan said.

“That’s right.”

I know this bit. She drank his blood and—

“You make it sound tedious, Ravan. There was nothing ordinary about Cyrena,” Sergius admonished. “She is the 402

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most beautiful of all the ancient creatures; and furthermore, she might be the most important. She is the goddess of conscience.”

Forgive me, the bird said humbly.

Sergius continued as though uninterrupted. “Cyrena made Cormoron promise that if she blessed his new realm and agreed to his supreme power over it—including ultimately the

Set—he must agree never to use his magical powers against his own.

“She could not control his power but she appointed me to watch for any abuse of Valisar power—not just magical, I might add. I was once a simple healer and man of faith whom Cormoron took on his journey north. But how could I refuse her? She insisted I walk the Valisar journey from thereon. I still do not know everything there is to know and I control very little. But Cyrena did grant me certain powers too.” He sighed, gave Ravan a long and meaningful stare. “She gave me you.”

The raven hopped around the table, obviously fascinated by this admission. “I belong to Cyrena?”

“You are her creation, as am I,” Sergius admitted, shrugging his thin shoulders.

I’ve lived for three decades, and known you for that time.

But what did you do for all of those decades before?

“Nothing remarkable. I lived. Quietly. I have seen many Valisars come and go. I was not needed then.” But now you are needed? Ravan queried, his intrigue obvious in his tone.

Sergius gave a soft sigh and stood. “Yes, my friend, now I am needed. Pity I’m such an old fellow.” Ravan flapped his wings with obvious exasperation. I don’t understand. King Brennus is dead. The heir, Leonel, is still a boy. He has no power to abuse; he is on the run. If he can survive it will be years before he can offer any threat to Loethar.

“I am not talking about Leonel.”

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right. Sergius had already begun shaking his head. Ravan hunched down, confused. I’m baffled.

“Think hard. You have the intelligence to work it out,” Sergius said, and smiled.

Freath had insisted Kirin take some air. They’d both had time for their tempers to cool.

“Does this help?” Freath asked.

“The fresh air is soothing. My head hurts to the point that I think I’ve lost some vision. Now and then the distance looks blurred around the edges of my eyesight.”

“We must have a physic take a proper look at you. It’s probably something transient, the result of the pain in your head.”

“I think we both know that is a kind lie. I know what this is. I think the damage is permanent.” Freath didn’t respond immediately, instead walking ahead, pointing to the herb garden. “Piven was lost here, apparently.” He bent to pluck some leaves, which he crushed, inhaling their aroma. “This was Iselda’s garden. She planted it as much for its scent as for its practicality. She loved to chew kellet; I recall its soft spicy fragrance on her breath.”

“I did it, Freath. It was me,” Kirin blurted as they circled the herb beds.

Freath paused before he sighed, not looking at the Vested.

“I know. I worked it out.” Silence stretched between them.

“Did you keep that a secret from me for any reason?” he fi -

nally continued.

“I didn’t know I could do that,” Kirin replied, his voice laden with irritation. “I don’t know what even possessed me to try—desperation, no doubt. The alternative was to watch either, or both, you and Genrie be murdered before our eyes.” Freath nodded. “Both, I would imagine. The Droste woman is highly suspicious of Genrie and Loethar has yet to fully trust me. That’s why he tested me. I don’t know what to say to you. Words don’t seem enough. Frankly, I’m still lost in my own astonishment.”

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Kirin looked at him sideways. “It was my choice to attempt it.”

“Did you know what you were trying?” Freath asked, allowing his awe to creep through.

“I can’t remember. I think I decided in that moment in which I realized how badly wrong this was all going for you.

I thought if I could just get into Genrie’s mind, maybe I could force the right answer by letting her see the right boy’s head in my mind. To be honest, when she chose the right one I assumed it was luck, a pure coincidence.”

“So did I.”

“When Loethar called in Father Briar I wasn’t going to try again. I was already dizzy with nausea and I didn’t want to fall over, draw attention to myself. But then I saw your face. I saw how frightened Father Briar looked and I understood how much was riding on this . . . how many lives stood in the balance. So I tried again, with no idea if what I was doing was right. I was losing consciousness before I could see which head the priest chose. Luckily Clovis caught me, kept me upright long enough for the hysteria to pass and Loethar to leave.”

“Can you remember how you did what you did?”

“Not really. I don’t think I ever want to try that again, though.”

“Kirin, you must realize you are not only looking into people’s minds but are influencing them. That is an incredibly powerful magic.”

“That’s prying. Now that I’ve had some time to consider it, I believe they both knew I was there in their minds. I suspect they’re confused now but eventually they’ll realize that something unusual has occurred.”

“Genrie already suspects. She’s waiting for my explanation, I think. They were both left dizzied, disoriented by the experience. She can put two and two together.”

“What will you tell her?”

“Nothing! No one but us will ever know this. Did Clovis say anything?”

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“If he did I didn’t hear it.”

“Well, then that’s possibly three of us. Two too many! The secret remains between us.”

Kirin nodded bleakly.

“I’m sorry about your eyesight, Kirin. I don’t know what to—”

“It cannot be helped. I think perhaps this is what the seer on Medhaven was trying to tell me about my talent. She was right to frighten me.”

“If you use this magic, it harms you—is that what you mean?”

Kirin looked away toward the forest. “I suspect that’s the truth of it.”

“I’m sorry.”

The man of magic shook his head. “If not for you, Freath, I would be dead already. Many of us would be dead already.

You have no blame in this.”

“There are moments where I feel as though I am to blame for all the despair.”

“I agreed to fi ght back. I made Clovis bury his sorrows as best he could and fight back. We have to, whatever the cost.”

“Brave words,” Freath murmured softly.

“They’re all I have,” Kirin said, equally quietly. “What now?”

“We must be very watchful. Will you be another set of eyes and ears for me?” At Kirin’s nod, Freath continued. “We’ve managed to get this far relatively unscathed but I have no idea what lurks in Loethar’s mind. He is a hard man to read and he is far, far more incisive than many may believe.” Kirin nodded. “Are we over the worst of it?”

“For now. He believes all the Valisars have now been dealt with and, apart from his genuine regret over Piven, he will be feeling relatively secure. I imagine he will turn his attention to his nuptials and to settling down the various realms. He is charismatic enough to win the nobles’ support. They have seen enough bloodshed, suffered enough destruction and despair. Everyone will want peace and an end to the brutality.

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If that means living under barbarian rule, they will. He understands this.”

“His metamorphosis from barbarian warlord to western emperor is astonishing,” Kirin commented.

“That’s all part of it. He knows what he’s doing. Given time I believe he will even behave fully as a Set king. He was born to lead—of that there is no doubt. It’s a pity he was born into the family on the Likurian Steppes.” Kirin looked at Freath, surprised. “You can’t mean that?”

“Why not?” Freath shrugged. “He isn’t like Stracker. He isn’t even like the mother. Stripped of the barbarian adornments and dressed in De Vis’s wardrobe, he doesn’t look like a man of the Steppes.”

“I don’t share your admiration. He’s a butcher!”

“So was Cormoron all those centuries ago. We regard him as a hero in Penraven because he fought on our behalf, built this land, formed the Set. The Steppes people obviously worship Loethar with a similar loyalty.”

“What about Stracker?”

“Stracker is a different person altogether. I’ve never seen anyone with such bloodlust. The man simply likes killing.” Kirin nodded knowingly. “All right. I’ll watch and listen.

I hope Clovis found Piven, and found some peace as well.”

“Poor Piven. Who knows what will become of him. Clovis is our only hope; my hands are tied.”

“Is it worth it?” Kirin stepped back at Feath’s wounded expression. “I mean, he’s so lost, really, isn’t he . . . is he worth risking a life for?”

Freath’s expression became even more haggard. “I gave my word to my lady queen that I would let nothing happen to her sons. I have lost both of them in a matter of days. I can offer neither of them help. I can offer neither protection.

Why would she have put her faith in me?” he asked, shaking his head, turning away.

“Because she trusted you. And if you hadn’t had the fore-sight to make it look as though you’d turned traitor, her sons wouldn’t even be alive. At least King Leonel has a chance.” Roya l Ex i l e

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“That’s true. And perhaps Piven, too. Thank you. I have to think that way or my grief will stop me in my tracks. Come, let’s get you to a physic.”

“There is no point, Freath.”

“Why?”

Kirin stared at him coolly. “Because I know you plan to ask more of the same from me.”

Within the palace that eve ning all was quiet. Loethar was somber. Although his lovemaking had been more gentle than usual, in that slower, more peaceful manner Valya sensed his distance. He was more untouchable than ever this eve ning and it was strange that he had taken to his bed so early.

Though she didn’t mind so long as she was beside him.

It was wonderful to relax in a huge, soft bed again, beneath a lush canopy and enclosed by velvet drapes. True privacy, as well as luxuriating between silk, her head cradled by pillows of down, were treats she had certainly forgotten. She had been lying in a sleepy warmth of sated lust but now she turned beneath the sheets and regarded Loethar’s solemn face.

“I enjoyed that, my love. Thank you,” she cooed, her voice languorous. He said nothing. She risked stroking his chest, devoid of hair, unmarked unlike his brother. “How is it that you have no tatua and yet you are the ruler of the Likurian people?” She’d never dared ask before.

He shifted his head on the pillow slightly away from her and she thought he would ignore her question but he answered, “The first tatua are made when you have marked one hundred and twenty moons against your life. It is a special time for fathers to formally welcome their sons into the tribe as warriors.”

“So why not you?”

“I did not have a father to do those honors. And my mother chose not to mark me.”

“That was brave.”

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couldn’t read. “What an extraordinary comment,” he said, his dark eyes glittering from the lamplight overhead. “Why do you say that?”

She shrugged, her breasts quivering, though he didn’t glance away from her face. “I imagine she would have been eager to mark you as soon as possible to herald your position.” At his nod, she continued. “Instead she chose not to. I can only assume this was to set you apart somehow. I suspect it would have created much discussion, possibly anger, from the elders of your people.”

“It did.”

“Then it took courage to stand her ground.”

“Indeed. That’s very insightful of you, Valya. I’m impressed. It really was an incredibly brave decision on my mother’s part.”

“I don’t only bring you beauty and a realm, Loethar,” Valya said playfully, but he was having none of her coquettish behavior. He rested himself on an elbow, facing her fully, and she watched the muscles ripple on his lean frame.

“What else do you sense?”

She shook her head girlishly.

“No, I mean it. Don’t play coy. There is nothing shy or reserved about you, Valya. One of the reasons we’re together is because you are always so direct, so obvious in what you want and how you get it. I respect that. Tell me what else you have noticed in the short time you’ve lived among us.” She gave a soft sigh. “Well, you’ve all always kept me at arm’s length so I’m not sure I can make the sort of observation you want. But I have to wonder why you are ruler when you’re not the eldest male in your family. Why does Stracker allow it?”

Loethar nodded approval of her question. “Because I’m stronger.”

She snorted, surprised.

“Not here,” he said, pointing to his tensed arm. “Here,” he said, moving his finger to his temple.

“So in your culture an heir can be overlooked?” Roya l Ex i l e

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She saw momentary amusement in his eyes. “In our culture, Valya, there is no such thing as an heir. We fight for our right to rule.”

This took her by surprise. “What? I, I thought you were royal?”

“I am.”

“No, of royal blood, lineage,” she explained, frowning.

“I am,” he repeated.

“But you’re saying that anyone could have been king.”

“Yes. I fought many warriors for my right to be king.”

“Wait a minute. You fought Stracker?” she asked, disbelief engulfi ng her.

He nodded.

“You beat all the other eligible warriors?”

“You should not be so surprised,” he admonished gently.

“Every male is eligible. If our king had died when I was only eleven, I could have fought then for the right to rule. I simply had to be prepared to lose my life—that’s all it takes.”

“I had no idea,” she said. “How many did you fi ght?”

“Twenty- nine.”

“How many died?”

“Twenty- eight.”

She understood in a blink. “You spared Stracker?” He nodded.

“I see. You spared him because he’s your half- brother?” He didn’t say anything, simply stared at her, waiting for her to work it out.

“No, that didn’t matter a whit to you, did it? You spared him because he was your mother’s son.”

“It would have been awkward,” he said, smiling briefl y as he said the fi nal word.

“And that’s why Stracker is so beholden to you. You spared his life and now he owes you.”

“I’m not sure either of us see it that way but possibly my mother does. Certainly the various families do. Stracker knows his life was forfeit.”

“And you trust him?” she asked.

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“I didn’t say that.”

She nodded. “Good. But that doesn’t answer my original question. Stracker has the tatua and he was seemingly equally capable of being king. Why were you spared the inks?”

“You’ll have to ask my mother that,” Loethar said, leaning back on his pillow again.

Valya knew she was highly unlikely to broach such a subject with Dara Negev. “Does no one from the tribes mind?” she pressed.

“No one minds,” he echoed. “I won my title, my right through blood. That is how it is done. If I choose not to mark myself as the warrior I am, it is my loss. That’s how they would see it.”

“So you could still take the tatua?”

“Yes.”

“But you won’t.”

“Not now. Not as Emperor of the Set and the Steppes.”

“I don’t think you would have regardless of that,” she said, staring at him.

“Probably not.”

“Why not?” she asked.

He didn’t answer. “Changing the subject,” she said, “I’m glad the Valisar boy is dead.”

“You mean Leonel?”

“Of course.”

“I couldn’t be sure to which you referred. You never showed any warmth toward Piven.”

She gave him a look of surprise. “Do you blame me?”

“I suppose not.”

“Well, I suppose I’m sorry about him.”

“Are you?”

She squirmed beneath his penetrating question. “I know you liked him, even though you might as well be speaking to a wall or a piece of furniture,” she said, touching the smooth dark wood of the four-poster bed.

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could ridicule him as. I wasn’t prepared to be fond of him but I was, in the end.”

“You don’t miss him, surely?”

“No, but I regret that he will die hungry, lost.”

“That’s rather sentimental of you. If it eases your mind, I doubt he’ll register even that much, my love.” She smiled.

“How curious that you can kill people with such ruthlessness and then mourn the loss of a single halfwit child.”

“I see something of myself in Piven,” he admitted softly.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Valya scoffed. Then, changing the subject again, she asked, “Do you feel you can relax now that Leonel is dead?”

“I can focus on what I came here to do, which is to rule.

Our wedding will herald the beginning of festivities that will bring the Set together again, start blending our peoples. I am sending for the warriors’ women and I’ve also told Freath to hire staff for the palace—you may want to supervise that alongside him?”

“Most certainly I will,” she said, making a mental note to speak with Freath the following morning.

“Bring the wedding forward. I think we should marry in leaf- fall.”

This was wonderful news but it also made her nervous.

“But, my love, that’s just a moon away.”

“Then you have plenty to do, Valya,” he replied, turning his back on her.

He was asleep within minutes and Valya had never felt more lonely. It was still early enough to see through the windows. She was vaguely hungry, not tired and suddenly disgruntled. She had rung for Genrie but the girl had taken an age to arrive, then looked sullen at the request. She’d said it may take a short while because she was the only person on the staff and Dara Negev had ordered hot water be brought up. Valya had ignored what she considered whining.

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“and you’d do well to get your priorities in the right order,” before she then slammed the door in the girl’s face.

Overly restless, she decided not to ring for Genrie but to go down to the kitchens herself. Maybe she could fi nd a beaker of milk, perhaps something to eat. She pulled around her shoulders a silk robe that she’d taken from Iselda’s rooms, its quality attesting to the unmistakeably heavy, exquisitely embroidered fabric from Percheron. She’d found matching slippers too and those she put on as she tiptoed from the bed.

She turned to look at Loethar, who in a rare occasion was sleeping deeply. His mouth was slightly parted and she could see a neat row of teeth beneath the expressive lips that had been so well hidden once below the scraggly beard. He really was an intensely attractive man. She couldn’t see his eyes but she knew that arresting dark gaze lurked beneath those closed lids and long dark lashes. Sometimes those eyes excited her. Mostly they frightened her. She wished she knew what thoughts roamed behind them, but he kept that part of him remote from everyone.

Loethar stirred, obviously aware of her scrutiny and more alert than she had given him credit for.

“What are you doing?” he murmured.

“Your piece of theater quite put me off my food this evening, my love. Now I feel hungry and can’t sleep.”

“Wake the girl. Genrie can fetch you something.”

“No. It’s too early for me to sleep, anyway. I think I’ll go fetch myself a cup of warmed milk.” He murmured something.

“Pardon, my love?”

“I said, throw some liquor into it.” She smiled, hoping he was concerned for her restlessness but suspecting he simply wanted her to stop disturbing him.

Still, she touched him on the shoulder gently. “Sleep well, beloved,” she said softly, dropping a soft kiss to his hair.

He turned over in the bed, the sheet falling away, and she saw once again the silvery lines of long- healed wounds on Roya l Ex i l e

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his body. She could only imagine the number of blades that had attempted to take his life when he fought for the title of ruler of the Likurian Steppes. Well, now he was Emperor of the Denova Set and the entire region. She must remind him to rename the whole area in order to fully stamp his mark onto his new empire. And she would be his empress.

She smiled. She couldn’t wait to see her parents’ faces when they learned the truth of whose arms she’d run to a year ago and to whom they must now pay fealty.

As Valya closed the door silently, her mind filled with no-tions of bitter triumph, she just caught sight of someone scurrying down the main flight of stairs. It was Genrie. Presumably it was early enough for the servant to still be going about her business, but Valya sensed something curious in Genrie’s urgency. The servant looked behind her carefully, as if mindful of being trailed or watched. Valya had kept the deliciously clandestine nugget of information of the secret relationship between the dour Freath and the defi ant Genrie to herself for now. She needed to think about how it could be used to her advantage. But perhaps the girl had more secrets Valya could explore. From the shadows high above, she decided to follow the servant.

Twenty- Nine

——————————————

He felt himself reaching consciousness but had the presence of mind to remain still, keep his eyes shut while he took stock of the situation as best he could. He felt confused, disoriented.

His head was on fire with pain, as was the rest of his body. It even hurt to breathe; some of his ribs must be cracked.

As he came fully to consciousness, he realized that not an inch of him didn’t flare with agony. His arms were tied behind his back, his ankles tied together. He was lying on the ground. He smelled the forest but couldn’t hear any birdsong, just the low voices of men and the occasional snort from a horse. His memory gave him nothing. He had no idea what he was doing here or why.

He opened his eyes, just to slits—it was all he could do, anyway—to see if he could get some bearing on his surrounds. And he realized then that his face was puffy, mis-shapen. His lips were not sitting right at his mouth, and, once he realized that, he noticed that his mouth was dry. No, not dry, parched. He would kill for a sip of water.

He tried to concentrate on what he could see. Right enough he was in woodland . . . but why? He turned his head but very slowly in order not to attract attention, and to protect against the pain. Three men sat around a small fi re, talking in low voices. Who were they? What did they want with him? It was early eve ning, he knew that much. Had it Roya l Ex i l e

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rained recently? Possibly. The ground felt damp and smelled freshly earthy. In addition to the earth, he could smell the firs and smoke from the fire. The one man’s face that he could see in the dimness had designs on it, some sort of dark ink. How strange. Who were these people? Why was he with them? Why was he their prisoner? Why was he hurting so much?

Time to fi nd out.

“Hey!” He had meant to yell it in a friendly manner but it came out a low groan.

The three bulky figures moved as one, approaching him silently. They were obviously adept at stealth. The one on the far right seemed to be the leader; the other two appeared to defer to him.

“Thirsty,” he explained.

The leader pulled down his trousers and unleashed hot acrid liquid all over his face. “Better?” Coughing and spluttering, fear began edging around the horror of the man deliberately aiming for his mouth. He must know Gavriel couldn’t move his head too far or too fast. He began to vomit—not from the piss but from the overwhelming nausea that engulfed as pain fully claimed him. His vision blurred as he retched and he knew his head must be injured because that’s where the worst of his agony was emanating from. It was clear these men had already punished his body. But he couldn’t remember it. Had they beaten him while he was unconscious?

“Why?” he managed to say.

“Because we can,” another man answered. “Penraven scum.

Think you can run from us, eh? Well, you won’t be running any more. We’ve hobbled you. Perhaps you know what that means in relation to a horse?”

He did his best to nod, to be cooperative.

“Except on the plains we use ropes,” the man said.

“But we’re not on the plains now,” the third added.

“And you’re no horse,” the presumed leader continued.

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“So we’ve had to use a slightly more radical method of keeping you from moving too far.”

“We broke your feet,” the second one said. The three of them seemed to find this highly amusing.

Broke my feet? he repeated in his mind. Instinctively he twisted his ankles. Immediately he felt shards of white hot pain, like lightning, bolt through him until he saw stars behind his tightly shut eyelids. He began to breathe shallowly just to help him focus on the pain, riding it, hoping the concentration would make it easier to handle and then hopefully dull. Someone told him that once. He couldn’t remember who.

In the shadows a figure watched, had been observing this odd quartet for a number of hours now. It was reaching twilight. Soon the wood owls would begin their mournful calls and the animals that forage in darkness would begin snuf-fling around the undergrowth. There were wolves in this forest. The stranger had heard them, even seen a couple, and didn’t want to meet the pack that roamed this area. The eavesdropping figure did not belong here, and had not anticipated company—or such a dilemma. Good sense demanded that the quartet be left. Their prisoner had been beaten so badly that the sound of his breaking bones could be heard from this relatively distant spot. And the men had gone about their grisly task while he was out cold. How strange. Whatever their argument with the prisoner was their business, the stranger knew. But no man deserved the hiding the boy had endured and for what? The thugs were bored. Anyone could see that. And this fellow who had stupidly stumbled into their path had offered entertainment of a most base kind.

The observer looked down. A decision needed to be made.

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decided to finish it; they seemed to be tired of it. The call to sleep had become stronger than the call for more blood. Perhaps they’d been drinking. He was too far gone to tell. He watched them slump back down around their fire, and within minutes he heard snoring from two. The other dozed or perhaps slept silently.

He closed his eyes, hoped he might die peacefully during the night.

The arrow whizzed out from the darkness of the woodland and hit the warrior’s throat so hard he didn’t register his own death; his body jerked in one angry subconscious recogni-tion of the fatal injury and then lay still. Though the other two were on their feet in a blink, the second man hardly had time to look around before another arrow came humming out of the trees, sinking into his heart. As he fell like a stone, the third man looked around wildly. An enormous stranger emerged from the trees, dressed in a simple dun garb of animal skin.

The warrior appealed to the stranger, opening his palms, the look of plea a universal expression. Dragging a huge, mean-looking blade from his scabbard, the warrior waved it, offering a far fairer way to settle whatever it was between him and the intruder.

The stranger did not hesitate, though. The bow that was trained on the barbarian tightened and then a fi nal arrow was loosed at close range, passing through the warrior’s chest and out through the other side with the greatest of ease, burying its shaft almost to the fletchings. With a groan of surprise, the leader fell to his knees, hurling some sort of insult at the stranger before crumpling to his side.

Gavriel watched this all unfold, hardly daring to believe what he was witnessing. And then he felt a fresh spike of fear as the newcomer turned and strode toward him. Was it his turn now? An arrow to the throat, perhaps? At least that would be swift.

The figure bent over him, withdrew a blade and cut his 418

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wrists and ankles free of their bindings, then lifted his broken, pathetic frame. He moaned. He had no strength to do much else as his body gave him fresh explosions of suffering.

“Bear up,” she said as he slipped back into unconsciousness.

Thirty

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Tern had returned to brief Faris on what was occurring.

“He’s unconscious?”

“You’re sure?”

The man nodded. “I left them as soon as they’d fi nished pissing on him. They got bored, turned in for the night.” Faris looked up. “A bit early to be sleeping,” he remarked.

“They’d been drinking the kern, too.” Faris nodded. Kern was a local and notorious liquor of Penraven’s north. The warriors might be big and hardy but they would be no match for kern’s powerful intoxication. He himself had drunk it only twice in his life, and on both occasions he had awakened the next day feeling as though he’d been kicked by a mule several times. Since then he had refused to take the fi ery red liquid, distilled from the noxious aspenber-ries that grew with abandon on low bushes that fringed the forest.

“So he’s safe for now?”

“If you can call what they’ve done to him keeping him safe. He’s half dead, Kilt. I don’t think we should leave it too long.”

“We have to wait for Jewd and the others. I don’t think we should go in alone.”

“You and I can easily take the three of them.”

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eve ning all the more important. Twilight will not hold for us. And they’re probably asleep already.”

“So we wait until tomorrow?”

“As soon as Jewd arrives, we go in.”

“Let’s hope he lives long enough. What do you want me to do in the meantime?”

“Fetch some food for the king and Lily. Then go back, keep watch on De Vis until morning.”

Tern left to organize the food and Faris went over to where Lily looked to be deep in thought.

“One minute we seemed to be so in control and now everything feels dangerously out of kilter,” she commented as he sat down beside her.

“All will be well. Right now we must get Leo to take his oath.”

“Why is that so important?” she snapped.

“I thought I’d explained. This is what Brennus asked of me. It was part of our bargain and I intend to keep it.”

“Well, you’ll have to make sure of that yourself. He’s not paying any attention to me.”

“That’s because he’s smitten with you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not. Nor am I so old that I can’t remember what it was like to be his age, and with a terrible crush on a much older woman.” He grinned but she didn’t take the bait.

“I’m worried about Gavriel.”

“I understand. But I will not risk my life for him. For the king, yes, not for De Vis.”

“How callous.”

“Not at all. If he’d followed my instructions he would be safe among us. I can’t be responsible for every petulant decision your travelling companions make while they come to terms with the fact that you find me far more engaging than either of them.” Once again he’d hoped to lighten the leaden mood around her with gentle mocking but his sardonic approach did not work; in fact, it did the opposite.

Lily stood. It seemed her tinder was always dry, Faris Roya l Ex i l e

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thought, always ready to ignite at the tiniest spark. He sighed privately, waited for the onslaught.

“How dare you, Faris! How dare you make presumptions that—”

His shrug stopped her tirade. “Sorry. I thought the hand on the chest thing was rather intimate considering you barely know me.”

She slapped him. He didn’t see it coming, though he realized he should have. It stung but he didn’t touch his cheek.

Just stared at her.

“If Gavriel dies, I’ll never forgive you,” she hurled at him.

He straightened his shirt. “If De Vis dies, it’s your fault for not being more honest with him and your fault for leading him here into danger. I offered protection, and he fl outed that protection because of a young man’s perceived jealousy, even after I tried to make peace with him. You were the one who argued with him. But that’s not my concern, Lily, nor is it my problem. I gave a blood promise to King Brennus and I intend to keep faith with it.” He shrugged. “What you do and what De Vis does is your business.” She stared at him, her eyes glittering with fury. He felt his gut twist at the loathing in her face but he did not show his discomfort.

“Where is Tern?”

“Setting up some food, I believe, before he returns to observe De Vis.”

“I’ll go with him.”

“Fine. It will be at your own peril, of course. Those men are dangerous.”

She gave him a backward sneer, and said nothing.

Faris sighed, looked out from the highpoint of the clearing. Twilight was giving way to night. It had to happen now.

He went in search of the king, and found him sitting quietly, arms around his knees not far from where he’d argued with Lily.

“I suppose you heard that?”

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suddenly become defensive. He hated that a boy who couldn’t even think about growing facial hair yet managed to make him feel guilty . . . over nothing! “Why is everyone blaming me?”

“I’m not sure everyone is,” Leo answered calmly.

“Lily is.”

“Lily is angry over your comment. She’s not blaming you for Gavriel’s loss. She simply said she won’t forgive you if he dies.”

“That’s just a different way of saying she blames me!” Faris answered, exasperated.

“Not from where I sit. Is it time?”

“Yes.”

“What should I do?”

“The oath is carved into the stone. Simply read it aloud and mean it. What happens after that is left to the gods.” Leo nodded. “Will you be close by?”

“I am bound to leave you alone with Faeroe, upon whom you must swear as well.”

“Thanks. Make peace with Lily . . . for me. It’s bad enough losing Gavriel. I have so few people to rely on—

please, Kilt.”

Faris nodded. “I will at the first opportunity but I can’t move from this spot here until you return. If you get into any bother, yell. Good luck.”

Leo approached the Stone of Truth with trepidation. He had no idea what to expect. This was not something his father had schooled him in. The summertide moon looked huge, golden and so close he felt he could reach out and touch it. There was a thrum in the atmosphere this evening that he couldn’t quite decipher, as though Faris’s warnings of the potential for magic might be true.

He carefully laid Faeroe on the uneven but sparkling surface of the stone. Twilight seemed to heighten its shimmering effect and, as though they were picking up the moon’s luminosity, the branstone’s silver threads glittered in mes-Roya l Ex i l e

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merizing fashion. Leo found himself suddenly kneeling before the Stone of Truth. It felt right to pay it this homage.

Once again he ran his fingers across the glimmering stone, over the words he must now recite.

Placing his hands on Faeroe, with great reverence he began to speak the ancient, sacred oath that the eight Valisar Kings before him had spoken.

He had no idea how far they had travelled. The swaying motion of the woman’s gait as she ran, surprisingly lightly, through the forest was strangely comforting despite the pain.

He was riding her back, his arms around her neck, her arms supporting his broken feet. He was sure he had blacked out several times from the waves of agony washing over him even though she was doing her best to minimize the jarring effect of their motion. The fact was, he told himself in more lucid moments, feeling that pain meant that he was alive, for which he had this curious person to thank.

Finally, she paused.

“Where are we?” he groaned.

“Far enough from where we were,” she answered, cryptically, the only indication of her exertion the long, deep breaths she was taking.

“Do you know this place?”

“No. But I sense no danger. There’s an old hollow up there, I think.” She pointed with her chin. He could see where she meant clearly in the moonlight. “That’s where we will rest this night.”

He must have fainted again because when he came to she was laying him down in the cool hollow. “You’re a mess,” she said.

“Who are you?”

“Elka. And you?”

He frowned. “I don’t know.”

She regarded him with a look of skepticism.

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was doing there with those men. Or even what I was doing in the forest.”

“You’ve forgotten?”

He shrugged, wincing. “I don’t know. My head hurts, that’s probably got something to do with it.” He grimaced.

“How much pain are you in?”

“Just a smidgeon,” he said sarcastically through another wince. Up close he could see that she was not just some sort of monstrosity with a woman’s voice. When she smiled she was rather handsome.

“I will need to look at those ankles,” she said and they both understood what that meant.

“What do you carry in that sack? Henbane, by any chance?”

She shook her head. “No, but I will make up something for you to take before we tackle it. What about the rest of you?”

It was his turn to grin mirthlessly. “What bit isn’t bruised or broken?”

“I watched them beat you.”

“Did you have to wait so long to protest?” Elka smiled, embarrassed. “I couldn’t make a decision about you. I know this much: you are not one of them.” She nodded as he opened his mouth, and stopped his words by continuing: “I know that’s obvious because you don’t look or dress as they did, but I watched them bring you into that place on the back of a horse. You were unconscious so presumably they had captured you somewhere.”

“But why?”

She shrugged. “I can’t tell you. They said something about teaching you a lesson about running away from them.”

“Where do you think I could be running from?”

“Or to?”

“Where are you from?”

“I’m of the Davarigons.”

He blinked. “Should Davarigon mean something to me?” Roya l Ex i l e

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She looked amused. “You know Lo’s Teeth, the mountains that outline Droste and act as a barrier to the Great Plains?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know what or where Droste is, or what the Great Plains are.”

She frowned. “Well, you certainly are confused, aren’t you? But you remembered henbane?”

He gave an expression to imply he was as baffled as she looked. “I don’t understand, either.”

“Our people have lived among those mountains for centuries.”

“Are they all as . . . as . . .”

“What? Beautiful as I am?”

He grinned, amazed that he still could, his battered mouth punishing him immediately for the gesture.

“I am big in comparison to the people of these realms, that is true,” she said, almost shyly.

“And strong,” he added. “Elka, you picked me up like a sack of potatoes.”

“Strength is in our blood, as is height.” She carefully inspected his ankles, “Our people are reclusive. We have lived quietly in the mountains and our lives have not crossed those of either the Steppes or the Set. We are peaceful.”

“Yes, I took note of that when you killed three men without blinking.”

She laughed softly, her face brightening magnifi cently, crinkling her eyes. “I’m very accurate with a bow but we kill reluctantly. That’s why I took so long to make my decision.”

“Why did you?” he asked seriously.

She sighed. “You’re young. What they did was cowardly.

And wrong. If you’ve done something criminal, you should face your elders or whoever is in authority. It looked to me like those three were making their own judgment. There was no talk of wrongdoing, other than your running from them—as anyone might. So I decided to save your pathetic carcass.”

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“I’m sure if I’d done something bad, I’d feel it.” She shook her head. “I think we’d all like to think that way.” He sighed. “I owe you my life. Somehow I will repay you.”

“You speak elegantly. I suspect you’re from the city, perhaps even noble.”

“What city?”

“Brighthelm, the palace of the Penraven Kings. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

He shook his head bleakly.

Elka let out her breath loudly. “Well, I can see I have a lot to teach you. You have a great deal to re-learn while we wait for your memory to return.”

“Do you think it will?”

“You’ve got a huge gash on the side of your head and—” she reached behind him and he yelped—“and the most enormous lump. I imagine that is the cause of your memory loss.” He lay back, closing his eyes. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Stay still, stay calm. I need to fetch a few things and we’ll see if we can’t deaden that pain for you before we set those ankles.”

“You make it sound so gentle and easy.”

“You’ll hate me by the end of it.”

“Thank you, Elka,” he said, reaching for her large hand.

“You’re welcome . . . What shall I call you?” He shrugged. “How about Regor? I think I’ve always liked the sound of it.”

“Regor it is. Good strong name. Tomorrow we’ll head further toward the Dragonsback Mountains, which separate Penraven from Barronel. I’ll feel more comfortable once we’re in that terrain. And you’ll have time and safety to get well, await your memory’s return. But for now, be still.” Elka loped off and Gavriel De Vis lay back, fi nally allowing himself a few tears of self-pity. Somewhere deep in the recesses of his now clouded mind were fl ashes of

thought—something about a snake and fear . . . but not for himself. He had been afraid for someone important. But Roya l Ex i l e

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when he reached for more clues, the dizziness only intensified, and he gave up. Elka was right; he needed to give it time . . . if only he didn’t have the feeling that time had been his enemy in the fi rst place.

Valya carefully followed Genrie all the way to the chapel, which surprised her. She began to believe that this was a pointless exercise, that the servant was going for a blessing from Lo or to offer up prayers. But then Genrie moved beyond the obvious door, carrying on further toward the chapel’s walled garden.

She stepped back quickly as Genrie cast a worried glance around. Then Valya heard a man’s voice. Recognizing it with a thrill of shock, she immediately chastised herself.

She shouldn’t be surprised by this. Hardly daring to breathe, she strained to hear the conversation.

“Have you got it?” Genrie said.

“Here,” he replied. Valya peeped around, unable to believe what she witnessed. “Two only,” he continued. “Any more and it will be recognized. It won’t take any more, trust me. Are you sure?”

“This was your idea,” Genrie accused. Then she shrugged.

“It’s too good an opportunity to miss.”

“If you injure him I will declare you. I am loyal to him.

Stracker will lay this realm to waste. But you need Loethar.” Valya felt a thrill of fear. Without waiting to hear the rest of the conversation, she took her chance to run away silently.

When she reached Loethar’s chamber he was still gently snoring in the same position she’d left him in. In contrast her heart was hammering, her breathing ragged. Even though it frightened her somewhat to do it, she woke her emperor, ignoring his angry growls, calming him so she could explain.

Freath knocked on the door of Loethar’s suite. He had no idea why he’d been summoned at this hour. He shifted his shirtfront, embarrassed by how dishevelled he knew he must look, although he knew that Loethar wouldn’t care.

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“Come,” came the voice of the barbarian. It sounded ominous.

Freath took a steadying breath and walked in. Not in his darkest thoughts could he have guessed that inside the room would he find the five people he did. His gaze was helplessly drawn to Genrie, who stood, eyes downcast, fi ngers opening and shutting nervously into fists at her side. Beside her stood a member of the Greens, Belush, Freath thought his name might be, and, of course, Stracker.

“My lord?” he asked, his breath shortening behind the words that flowed by instinct; those same instincts were telling him now that something exquisitely dangerous was afoot once again. His heartbeat quickened. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes, Freath, something is very wrong. I thought it appropriate that you be here for this.”

Freath felt the short breath now catch in his throat. In the fleeting moment of time between Loethar’s reply and his response of a short bow he was able to get a better look at Genrie: the waves of hair, presumably unpinned for the night and curling recklessly at her shoulders; the full, well-rounded breasts that sat high and proud beneath her uniform, which was unbuttoned at the throat. Just above the buttons he could see her pulse, strong and too fast, and a tiny apricot colored birthmark just at the point where her neck reached her shoulders . . . the clavicle, that’s the name, he thought ridiculously, besieged now with fear. Genrie was the first woman he’d loved in . . . so long he didn’t want to think about how long it had been. But now she refused to look at him.

“What seems to be the problem, my lord?” he forced out, clearing his throat.

“It seems your servant woman, Genrie, is plotting an assassination of sorts.”

Freath’s head rocked back. “What? No, my lord. I don’t believe so.” He felt confident saying this for Genrie would never try and kill Loethar, not alone and not without consulting Freath.

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“I couldn’t believe it either, Freath, but Princess Valya insists that Genrie is plotting death.”

“My lord, I have known Genrie for some years now. She has been a hardworking servant of the royals but her real loyalties, like mine, are to her own. She has family, as you know.” He shrugged. “Genrie would do nothing to injure you, my lord. In fact—”

“Not me, Freath,” Loethar cut in. “Valya believes that Genrie was plotting her death.”

“To kill the princess?” Freath repeated dumbly.

Loethar nodded, yawning. That casual carelessness chilled Freath all the more. The emperor would order Genrie’s slaying as easily as he would swat at a fly. And now Freath could see that the ruler was tired. He’d obviously been roused from sleep and wanted to return to his bed. “So, let’s just settle this once and for all, shall we?”

The pit of Freath’s stomach opened up. That sort of introduction could only mean bloodshed.

“Er, my lord. May I take care of this for you?”

“Do you consider this such a petty matter that the emperor need not be involved?” Valya demanded, like a snake striking from hidden bushes. “I can’t imagine you would, considering you were kissing this woman oh so tenderly not so long ago.”

Freath just stopped himself from taking a step back, noticing the rueful grin on Loethar’s face. No one cared. Not one of them. They were seeing this farce through to appease Valya. Stracker looked bored. The other Green seemed entirely unconcerned—and what was he doing here, anyway?

“Let’s get this done with, Loethar,” Stracker grumbled.

Loethar nodded. “Freath, I think we can handle this in a fairly straightforward fashion. Genrie, you’ve been appointed my taster by Master Freath. His romantic inclinations aside, he obviously has strong belief in you, which seems rather ironic considering what you’re being accused of. So do show Princess Valya up to be the false accuser here and bear out 430

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Freath’s great faith. Drink down the milk, there’s a good girl.”

And now Genrie did look up. She ignored Loethar and the sneering Valya. The two Greens she seemed hardly aware of anyway. She focused all her attention on Freath.

“I tricked you, Freath, you pathetic, grasping old man.

You thought you could trust me? I’m not prepared to climb into bed with these pigs, let alone you! At least this is less messy than the blade.” She reached for the milk, swallowing it in four gulps. As she let the mug fall to the ground, she turned briefly to Loethar. “Never say I didn’t try to help you.

Kill her yourself, my lord, before she destroys you,” she sneered.

Freath felt his heart lurch in his chest. It was true! His beautiful girl had attempted to poison the witch of Droste but Valya had prevailed. And now, in the face of death, another brave woman, just like the queen, was protecting his cover. He felt his heart breaking apart, shattering into dozens of pieces, as he watched Genrie begin to gasp.

She was brave to the end, refusing to show panic at her body’s desperate attempts to grapple for air as it betrayed her. Freath watched numbly as the woman he loved, in heroic fashion, her body shaking from the effort of concealing her obvious suffering, lowered herself awkwardly to the floor. She lay her head back against the fireplace, the effects of the poison foaming out of her mouth, her lips already blackening, eyes glassing over.

He knew she’d held her tongue to her death and now he had to make sure that death wasn’t in vain. “My lord, I have absolutely no idea what this is about,” he said truthfully, unable to hide the shock in his voice.

“I know you don’t, Freath, because Belush here has explained everything, particularly that it was his idea and that he was in league with the servant woman to kill the princess.”

“Why?” Freath asked. Why would they be so naïve to try Roya l Ex i l e

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such a thing? He had no delusions as to why they might want to.

Loethar waved his hand, distracted. “I can’t be bothered with more of this. Stracker, you know what to do?” His half- brother nodded, glancing angrily toward the warrior at his side, who still looked unimpressed by what was unfold-ing. “Belush, you’re an idiot. Lose your life for her?” Loethar pointed at Genrie’s now frightfully swollen face.

“No, Lord Loethar. I am losing it for her,” the Green spat savagely at Valya. Freath seemed to be the only one taken aback by the outburst. “This saran,” Belush continued, load-ing the word with scorn, “treats your people with loathing.

Forgive me, my lord, but I fear the woman who has drunk the poison is more loyal to you than the one you seek to make princess. Heed the servant’s warning. I go to my death holding my head high as a Drevin. No Green bows to a Droste slut.” He spat again and a gob of saliva landed on the rug glistening before them all.

Loethar nodded at Stracker but said nothing and the warrior was led away, presumably to die in some ritual or tribal manner. As far as Freath was concerned, there would now be one less barbarian to chase from Set soil.

Valya had an expression of disgust on her face. She turned to say something to Loethar but the look he gave her silenced her instantly. “I suggest you think on what has happened this night, Valya,” Loethar said coldly. “For I cannot protect you for the rest of your days. Now leave.” She had the sense to turn on her heel and depart without another word, though it must have cost her to remain quiet, Freath thought. With Genrie’s distorted face staring at him, he could not enjoy even a moment of cheer that Valya, who clearly saw herself as the victim in all this, had come out of it badly.

The door closed on the two men and the corpse they shared the room with.

“I think you were fond of this woman, Freath,” Loethar remarked.

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Freath cleared his throat, forced his gaze upon the man who had ordered Genrie to kill herself. He nodded. “She was brave,” was all he could say.

“I noted. The poison she used is called strenic. It is distilled from an herb that grows wild on the Steppes. It’s harmless to horses, but deadly to us.” When Freath said nothing, Loethar continued. “It causes an incredibly painful death. I admired her stoicism at the end. It seems she despised Valya more than she loved her life.”

It took all of Freath’s courage to say what he did. “Well, my lord, at risk of sounding hilariously ironic, can I fetch you a warm drink to help return you to your slumber? I can assure you, you will find no poison in it.” He tried for levity but to his ears it sounded leaden.

Loethar gave him a slow smile. “Now that I’ve lost my royal taster I suppose I shall have to trust you, Freath. Perhaps you could move the corpse as well?” Freath nodded. “You go back to your chamber, my lord.

I’ll see to this.”

It was only much later, after recruiting help to have the body carried down to the chapel, after Father Briar had recited prayers blessing Genrie’s spirit, after he had fi nally been left alone with her, that Freath broke down and wept.

Feeling old, very alone and broken, he cried for Genrie and his loss. But his tears were also for all the courageous souls who had given their lives for Valisar.

Thirty- One

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King Leonel felt elemental power swirling around him, the way it feels just before a lightning storm begins to split across the sky. He felt the hair on his head begin to lift, the hair on his arms stand up and his skin begin to itch as though the very air was beginning to thicken and crackle. The forest had become utterly silent. All the noises of the birds settling down to their roosts and insects calling out to each other faded to nothing. The trees, the grass, the night . . . all blurred into a dim void.

The only thing he could see clearly, he realized, was the Stone of Truth. He could swear it was pulsing in a rhythm of its own, as though listening, responding even, to the words he recited.

He continued to speak the oath as loudly as he dared, to mean every word of what he was saying, to throw behind it all the emotion of the past few days. He wanted the very souls of his mother, father, Darros, perhaps even Cormoron to hear him make his promise as the new King of Penraven, 9th of the Valisars. He needed someone to tell him that Gavriel was going to be all right, that Corbel was safe, that he was pursuing the right path and that one day he might challenge Loethar for the crown that was rightfully his.

“Is anyone listening?” he yelled into the air that seemed to be splintering about him. Suddenly a dull rumble sounded, escalating in volume to an ear-splitting roar. He couldn’t 434

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hear his own voice above the clamor and was glad his oath was spoken. “This is King Leonel of Penraven,” he cried at the moon. No longer golden, it was now a glimmering silver orb that filled the space it lit with sparkles and fl ecks of flashing light. “I am King Leonel, the 9th,” he tried again, to affirm the title to himself as much as to whomever might be listening.

And someone was listening.

Holding his breath now, Leo watched as a fi ssure appeared to open in the air that was rippling before him. It was as though he was straddling two worlds and into this world, where he knelt, was emerging a fi gure.

The Stone of Truth was blazing with blinding silver explosions of light. Though Leo had to blink and squint against it, unable to look directly at it, he could see a sinuous form stretching, unfurling from the Stone itself. He shrank back as the shape began to take a more solid form. The explosions began to recede until the figure was bathed in a constantly moving, shimmering glow.

“Do not be afraid,” she said, as she finally coalesced into a curious half-woman, half- serpent beast.

“Cyrena?”

Her pale, achingly beautiful face broke into a gentle smile and all the noise quietened. “Welcome, Leonel, to the Stone of Truth,” she said, reaching out to him.

“You are magnifi cent,” he breathed, stunned by her glory.

Her upper half had the proportions of the most perfectly shaped woman, with long silky hair that curled and fl icked down to her elbows, but from her waist down her body became a dazzling, glittering mass of coils. Her arms were long and sinuous, shifting with the grace of a dancer.

Moving purely on instinct, Leo reached for one of those elegant hands and kissed it gently, reverently. She placed her other hand upon his head.

“Rise,” she commanded.

He watched, tongue-tied, as Faeroe lifted from the stone, eased itself from its scabbard and landed effortlessly in Roya l Ex i l e

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Cyrena’s waiting hand, where it blazed with silver power.

She turned the blade toward Leo and touched it to his head.

“King Leonel, I accept your oath and proclaim you ruler of Penraven, 9th of the Valisars, keeper of the Denova Set.” She handed him the sword and he took it, re- sheathing it.

“Wear it with pride,” she urged, and nodded, encouraging him to strap it around him, which he did. “You don’t look like a Valisar but you now look like a king.” Her words sounded harsh but they were said gently. “I speak the truth and answer only what you ask. Your mother was a most beautiful woman and you resemble her closely.” He nodded. “Everyone else in our family has dark hair,” he admitted. Cyrena said nothing but she shimmered, the action causing her naked breasts to quiver.

“I am sorry about your parents. I imagine you come here burning with a vow to avenge them?”

“I do, Cyrena. I make that vow before you.”

“Be very sure about it,” she said, cryptically. “There is an old saying from the ancients—don’t kill the snake and miss the scorpion.” Her laugh sounded like glass chimes. “I do not refer to myself, of course.”

Leo was mesmerized by her. Though he didn’t understand her advice he knew he would ponder it later.

“My only intention is to bring peace back to our land and win back the crown,” he emphasized, trying to make himself clear.

“I know you speak true. And the crown is rightfully yours, though the claim is a complex one.”

“I don’t see why. The barbarian marauder has unleashed a river of blood and despair to steal my father’s throne; it cannot be rightfully his.”

“Loethar seeks the magic that he believes he can attain.”

“My father had no magic. I have no magic.” She shimmered silently in response.

“He ate my father to achieve something the king could never give him.”

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“Loethar is on a mission that burns so deeply, so angrily, that he will not sway from his path.”

“Then he will meet me when I am a man and I will cut him down on that path which is mine,” Leo vowed, his fury igniting.

She shimmered again at the passion in his voice. “The Valisars have never lacked courage.” He hung his head. “I must summon courage on behalf of all the Valisars who have died for Loethar’s cause. I am the only one left.”

“Are you sure?”

He stared blankly at the silver serpent woman. “My newborn sister died and—”

“Your sister did not die,” she replied over his words, her form unfurling several coils so she loomed large.

Leo opened his arms in confusion, his mouth following suit. He was lost momentarily, both for words and understanding. Something in his chest tightened. “She died soon after birth. I saw her body. My mother held her dead body.

She was cremated, her ashes thrown from Brighthelm’s rooftops on Loethar’s orders.”

“You certainly saw a dead girl. Your mother certainly held a baby’s corpse in her arms and a newborn was no doubt cremated, its ashes scattered as you say. But, Leo, that was not your sister.”

“My mother—”

“She never knew, child. She went to her death believing her husband and daughter dead and you lost to her.”

“Who knew?” he demanded, his voice breaking, remembering how his mother’s heart had broken to hold the little girl she had tried so hard to win.

“Brennus.”

“My father knew?”

“Your father contrived the deception.” Leo was stunned. “What did he do?”

“He made a difficult decision. He had a baby murdered to Roya l Ex i l e

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take the place of his daughter, while your sister was sent away to grow in safety.”

“She’s alive?” he asked breathlessly, his mind spinning.

Cyrena nodded. “And she must return to Penraven when she is of an age.”

“Where is she?”

“A place you do not know.”

“Why not?” He didn’t mean to sound rude; fortunately, she didn’t take offense.

“It is reachable only through magic,” was all she would say.

“I must find her!” Leo said.

“You must. She is important. Ah, the clouds arrive. Our time is drawing to an end.”

He could sense her withdrawing. “How do I fi nd her?”

“Corbel De Vis has the knowledge. That is all I can tell you.”

“Why are there so many secrets?”

“There are always with the Valisars. Gavriel de Vis holds another.” The clouds darkened over the moon. “My time here ends. The fissure closes. I must return to the world of the gods, Leonel. Be brave, be safe. Most of all, beware.

Nothing is ever what it fully seems—sometimes friends are enemies and enemies are friends.” She gave him a soft sad smile and the coils of her serpent form began to loop around one another, her body melting back into the stone as she began to fade.

“Cyrena, wait! Please, I have so many questions.” But she was gone. The light that had bathed him in such brilliance snapped to black. The moon was returned to its original, slightly golden orb. The birds were silent but insects sang and leaves rustled overhead.

Leo, bent over the Stone of Truth, let out a roar of despair.

From the shadows Kilt Faris emerged.

“What occurred? I have barely sat down to wait.” The king raised his head. “The serpent came.” He saw Faris’s eyes light with interest.

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“And?”

“She shared a secret.”

Faris nodded. “Why is that no surprise?” He held up a hand as Leo opened his mouth. “No, my king. She shared that with you. It is not for me to hear.” Leo didn’t care. He was sick of his father’s secrets. “No, you need to hear this, in case anything happens to me. My sister is not dust on the winds. Her death was a ruse, orchestrated by my father much as he orchestrated my escape. He left only his adopted, disabled son to face Loethar—I see now that he gambled correctly that Piven would not be considered a threat.” As Leo spoke, everything fell into place in his mind. “He planned for everything. And he has left a separate secret with each of the De Vis twins but I have no idea where Corbel is and neither does Gav. We have to fi nd both of them.”

“At the risk of sounding heartless, do you really believe your newborn sister is that important right now?”

“Faris, the Valisar line has never produced a female who has survived beyond birth. My sister’s arrival must have terrified my father. I thought he was just frightened to have another child to protect. How naïve of me.” He shook his head, lost in thought.

“What are you saying?” Faris prompted.

Leo looked up, his eyes slightly glassy with awe. “No female of the line has survived,” he repeated. “It is said that a Valisar woman of the royal line will carry the legacy if she survives.”

“Legacy?”

“The Valisar Enchantment.” Leo put his hands to his head, then dropped them, shaking his head in wonder. “My tutors were obliged to teach this but my history guide never believed the tale of enchantment. He said the female strain was simply not strong enough in our line. But my father told me once that to bring forth a princess would be the greatest achievement for any Valisar king. He said the reason they were so few was that the enchantment they carried was so Roya l Ex i l e

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powerful it traditionally killed them before the babies had a chance to grow strong enough to bear it.” Faris looked stunned. “What is this enchantment?”

“The ability to coerce,” Leo answered. “If she is alive, as the serpent attests, then my sister may well have the ability to force people to do things.”

“She can make people obey her will, you mean?” Faris asked, astonished.

Leo nodded. “That is the magic Loethar is chasing, why he ate my father and would probably do the same to me. He doesn’t know, he obviously doesn’t realize that the power to coerce is carried only through females.”

“Ssh!” Faris cautioned. “Keep this between us for now. It needs thinking upon.”

Before any more could be said, both Tern and Lily arrived, breathless and looking anxious.

“What’s happened?” Faris asked as they blundered into the clearing.

“It’s De Vis,” Tern said. “The three warriors who captured him are dead, arrows right through them.”

“What?” Faris demanded.

Lily answered, her voice icy with repressed fury. “And Gavriel’s gone.”

The outlaw’s gaze narrowed. “Who did this?” Tern shrugged. “We saw nothing. It happened in the brief period of time I spoke to you and returned—barely minutes.

I can’t see any tracks. It was very deliberate. There was nothing accidental about the accuracy of those arrows.”

“I hate you, Faris. I told you I wouldn’t forgive you.” Lily walked away, obviously distraught.

“That you did,” he replied, frowning. “Don’t go too far.” She stomped away and Faris nodded at Tern to follow. The man disappeared after Lily.

Leo’s mind felt as though it were working in a blur. Too much was happening, too fast. But there was one thing he was now sure about. “Kilt. We have to rescue Gavriel.” Faris hesitated, but Leo was not to be persuaded otherwise.

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“Now! He holds the key to help unlock the secret my father shared.”

“Why didn’t De Vis say something to you earlier?”

“I don’t know but I’ll never find out if we don’t go after Gavriel. Whoever took him, took him for a reason. We have to find him. He is my only link to my sister.” Lily returned reluctantly with Tern. “Call your man off!” she scowled.

Faris nodded. “Tern, wait for Jewd. Tell him what has happened but keep it between him and yourself. The fewer who know about this, the better. Lily, you’re staying with Tern.”

“You have no right to tell me what—”

“Lily.” Leo spoke up, his voice stern, suddenly command-ing. “Do as he says.”

Faris nodded at the king. “I have no idea what we’re running toward, but I’m willing to run. Let’s go, your majesty.”

Epilogue

——————————————

Sergius held his raven, always marvelling at its fragile network of bones and lightweight body, despite its size. He bent and kissed its head.

I will miss you.

And I you, Ravan replied.

Thank you for the news of Cyrena’s appearance. Continue to see for me, look for me, hear for me.

Always.

Be safe, Ravan. We must be very careful. The Valisar Legacy is a dangerous force.

It’s no longer in this world. Do not fret.

It will return. When it’s ready, it will be drawn like iron to a magnet. In the wrong hands it can destroy the land.

Then we must not let it fall into the wrong hands, Sergius.

You will know when it comes, will you not?

The man nodded. I will feel it even though I cannot see it or hear it.

Then we will be well warned. Farewell, the bird spoke into the man’s mind and lifted from his arms effortlessly as Sergius flung him into the air.

Warned against what, though? Sergius wondered, frowning as he watched his raven beating its wings and gathering speed as his fear coalesced into something hard and dark in his gut.

Glossary

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CHARACTERS

THE VALISAR REALM

Royalty

King Cormoron: The first Valisar king.

King Brennus the 8th: 8th king of the Valisars.

King Darros the 7th: 7th Valisar king. Father of Brennus.

Queen Iselda: Wife of Brennus. She is the daughter of a Romean prince from Romea in Galinsea. Comes from the line of King Falza.

Prince Leonel (Leo): First-born son of Brennus and Iselda.

Prince Piven: Adopted son of Brennus and Iselda.

The De Vis Family

Legate Regor De Vis: Right-hand of the king. Father to Gavriel and Corbel.

Eril De Vis: Deceased wife of Legate De Vis.

Gavriel (Gav) De Vis: First-born twin brother of Corbel. He is the champion of the Cohort.

Corbel (Corb) De Vis: Twin brother of Gavriel.

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Glossary

Other

Cook Faisal: Male cook of the castle.

Father Briar: The priest of Brighthelm.

Freath: Queen Iselda’s aide and right-hand man.

Genrie: House hold servant.

Greven: Lily’s father. Is a leper.

Hana: Queen Iselda’s maid.

Jynes: The castle librarian (steward).

Lilyan (Lily): Daughter of Greven.

Morkom: Prince Leo’s manservant.

Physic Maser: The queen’s physic.

Sarah Flarty: A girlfriend of Gavriel.

Sesaro: Famous sculptor in Penraven.

Tashi: Sesaro’s daughter.

Tatie: Kitchen hand.

Tilly: Palace servant.

The Penraven Army

Brek: A soldier.

Commander Jobe: Penraven’s army commander.

Captain Drate: Penraven’s army captain.

Del Faren: An archer and traitor.

From outside Penraven, but still in the Set

Alys Kenric: A resident of Vorgaven.

Claudeo: A famous Set painter.

Corin: Daughter of Clovis.

Danre: Second son of the Vorgaven Royals.

Delly Bartel: Resident of Vorgaven.

Elka: From Davarigon—a giantess.

Jed Roxburgh: Wealthy land own er of Vorgaven.

Leah: Wife of Clovis.

Princess Arrania: A Dregon princess.

Tomas Dole: A boy from Berch.

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The Vested

Clovis: A master diviner from Vorgaven.

Eyla: A female Healer.

Hedray: Talks to animals.

Jervyn of Medhaven: Vested.

Kes: A contortionist.

Kirin Felt: Can pry.

Perl: Reads the Runes.

Reuth Maegren: Has visions.

Tolt: Dreams future events.

Torren: Makes things grow.

The Supernatural

Algin: Giant of Set myth.

Cyrena: Goddess. The serpent denoted on the Penraven family crest.

Sergius: A minion of Cyrena.

The Highwaymen

Jewd: Friend to Kilt Faris.

Kilt Faris: Highwayman, renegade.

Tern: One of Kilt’s men.

Outside the Sets

Emperor Luc: Emperor of Galinsea.

King Falza: Past king of Galinsea.

Zar Azal: Ruler of Percheron.

Loethar and his followers

Barc: A young soldier.

Belush: A Drevin soldier.

Dara Negev: Loethar’s mother.

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Glossary

Farn: A Mear soldier.

Loethar: Tribal warlord.

(Lady) Valya of Droste: Loethar’s lover.

Steppes (Plains) People: From the Likurian Steppes. Known as Barbarians.

Stracker: Loethar’s right-hand man and half brother.

Vash: A soldier.

Vyk: Loethar’s raven.

MAGIC

Aegis: Possesses the ability to champion with magic. Is bound to a person by the power of trammelling.

Binder or Binding: The person who binds himself to an Aegis.

Blood Diviner: A reader of blood.

Diviner: Gives impressions and foretells the future.

Dribbling: A small push of prying magic.

Prying: Entering another’s mind.

Reading the Runes: Ability to foretell the future using stones.

The Valisar Enchantment: Powerful magic of coercion peculiar to the Valisar line.

Trammelling: Awakening an Aegis’ power.

Trickling: Low level magic.

HEALING PRODUCTS

Willow sap, Comfrey balm (for pain) Clirren leaves (powerful infection fi ghter) Crushed peonies (for pain)

Henbane (for pain)

White lichen (used for dressing wounds) Dock leaves (soothes itching skin)

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THE DENOVA SET

The seven realms are sovereign states, self-governed with a king as head.

Barronel

Cremond

Dregon

Gormand

Medhaven

Penraven

Vorgaven

The Hand: The continent that the Denova Set sits on.

Cities/towns within the Set

Berch: close to Brighthelm. Home of the Dole family.

Brighthelm: The city stronghold (castle) and capital of Penraven.

Buckden Abbey: Religious place South of Brighthelm.

Deloran Forest: The Great Forest.

Dragonsback Mountains: They separate Penraven from Barronel.

Droste: A realm not part of the Set.

Lo’s Teeth: Mountain range in Droste.

Garun Cliffs: Where chalk is mined.

Merrivale: Where shipbuilding is renowned.

Rhum Caves: Caves found in the hills outside of Brighthelm.

Skardlag: Where the famous Weaven timber comes from.

Vegero Hills: In the realm of Barronel. Famed for the marble quarried in its hills.

Places outside the Set

Galinsea: A neighboring country.

Lindaran: The great southern land mass.

Likurian Steppes (or Steppes): Treeless plains. Home to Loethar and his tribes.

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Glossary

Romea: Capital of Galinsea.

Percheron: A faraway country.

MONEY

Throughout the Sets: Trents

MEA SURE MENTS

Span: 1,000 strides or 2,000 double steps.

Half- span: 500 strides or 1,000 double steps.

WORD GLOSSARY

Academy of Learning: At Cremond. It is the seat of learning for all of the Denova Set.

Anni: A year.

Aspenberry: Used to distil Kern liquor.

Asprey reeds: Used for support inside leather bladder balls.

Blossom: Late spring.

Blow: Winter.

Branstone: A very special silver colored stone with sparkling silver fl ecks.

Chest: Coffi n.

Cloudberries: Forest berries.

Cohort: A group of youngsters trained to be elite sword fi ghters.

Crabnuts: Grow wild in the forests. They are a sweet nut, purplish in color.

Dara: Word for “king’s mother” in Steppe language.

Darrasha Bushes: Planted around the castle of Brighthelm.

Faeroe: A handcrafted sword that belonged to King Cormoron.

Fan-tailed farla hen: A bright colored bird with a fan- tail.

Freeze: Late winter.

Harvest: Late autumn.

Ingress: Secret passages within the Brighthelm castle.

Kellet: A spicy fragrant herb that can be chewed.

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Kern: The local and notorious fiery liquor of Penraven’s North.

Lackmarin: Place where the Stone of truth lies.

Leaf- fall: Early autumn.

Leaf of the Cherrel: Chewed as a breath freshener.

Lo: Set god.

Oil of Miramel: Exotic essence.

Roeberries: Wild berries growing in forests. They are blood red.

Shaman: Spiritual healer.

Sheeca Shell: Found on the local beaches.

Shubo: In Steppes language it means second.

Stone of Truth: This truth stone is at Lackmarin. All Valisar Kings must take the oath at this stone.

Strenic: A poisonous herb growing wild on the Steppes.

Summertide: Summer.

Tatua: Tattoos on the face, shoulders and arms.

Thaw: Spring.

The Masked: Magic users of the barbarian horde.

The Vested: Magics users of the Set.

Thaumaturges: Miracle weavers.

Thaumaturgy: The study of the craft of miracle weaving.

Weaven Timber: From Skardlag. It is scarce.

Wych Elder Tree: Used for woodworking.

Ac know ledg ments

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So, where did this idea come from? The seed of story came from The Quickening; King Cailech’s threatened cannibal-ism of his foe was chilling but also precisely the sort of activity I imagine a barbarian ruler might indulge in to ensure his enemies feared him. The notion never left me, quietly festering for years before it bubbled to the surface of my thoughts at the oddest time. I was in Tasmania for Christmas in 2006, busily working on the final volume of Percheron and this odd, very small scene kept nagging at me of a man smirking at a woman as he eats someone she loves. I couldn’t get it out of my head and so rather than fight it, I went with it and from this one tiny vignette that took all of five seconds to glimpse in my internal film theater, grew the tale that is sprawling behind this page. With all my stories I have little to go on and no idea where they are headed, but I really enjoyed writing this story, particularly as it does return me to some familiar scenery and an atmosphere reminiscent of The Quickening. My sincere thanks to all of my regular readers and the new ones I’ve gathered up along the way of this last year, or who may discover me through this story. Thank you for reading Royal Exile and I do hope you enjoy this opening volume of Valisar.

There are always people to thank because books don’t just write themselves and the author usually has a cheering squad, ready to read and offer support whenever required.

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Ac know ledg ments

I’d like to thank Ian McIntosh, first reader and ruthless critic, alongside Pip Klimentou, Sonya Caddy and Judy Downs in Australia, as well as Phil Reed and Steve Hubbard in the US

for their time and suggestions.

Special and enormous thanks to Sonya Caddy who encouraged me to work with a glossary for the fi rst time (this was Robin Hobb’s idea—thanks RH!) and then set to and designed a working model that I soon found invaluable.

She has also designed an abridged version for readers. If you see anything in the story that you think needs inclusion in the glossary, email me via my website and we’ll fix. And I must acknowledge the lovely work of Matt Whitney with regard to the map of the Set that he has created from the very strange markings I scribbled over a coffee one day.

Thank you, Matty. Trent Hayes continues to maintain a bril-liant and active website—congratulations, Trent, and my best wishes to all the members at the bulletin board who chat to me daily. My thanks to those who offer ongoing support in my work—especially Bryce Courtenay, Monica McInerney, Lynne Schinella, Jenny Newman, Samela Harris, Gary Havelberg, Sue Hill, Mandy Macky, Margie Ar-nold and Linda Eldredge. There are many more family and friends, of course, but you know who you are and understand how much I appreciate your support.

This would be incomplete without mentioning my trio of editors around the world from HarperCollins. Thank you Stephanie Smith in Sydney, Kate Nintzel in New York and Emma Coode in London. Most of all, my thanks to the book-sellers in these markets who are so enthusiastic about selling fantasy to an increasingly eager audience.

Endless love and thanks to Ian . . . and also to Will and Jack, toiling through their all important Year 12 during the crafting of this novel. Every success, boys . . . xx

About the Author

FIONA MCINTOSH was raised in the UK, but left London to explore the world and found herself in Australia where she fell in love with the country and one person in particular. She has since roamed the planet for her work in the travel industry but has settled down to full-time writing. McIntosh lives with her husband and teenage sons, splitting her time between city life in South Australia and the wilderness of Tasmania. She admits to a helpless obsession for chocolate and runs an elite competition, over which she alone presides, for the supreme chocolate products around the world . . . from best hot chocolate to best gelati . . . and everything chocolaty in between. According to Fiona, Paris presently leads the charge, and she is still recovering from the chocolate macaroon experience.

You can find out more information about Fiona, e-mail her, or chat with her on her bulletin board via her website, www.fionamcintosh.com.

Visit www.AuthorTracker.co m for exclusive inform ation on your favorite H arperC ollins author.

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Fiona McIntosh

“A bold new voice in high fantasy.” Lynn Flewelling, author of The Hidden Warrior

“If you are tired of plodding trilogies in which little seems to happen, [her] books are definitely for you.” Robin Hobb

“Fiona McIntosh is a street-smart enchantress . . .

[who] knows who her readers are and what they want: thrilling, fast-paced reads.” Sydney Sun Herald (Australia)

“First rate.”

Publishers Weekly

“Nothing short of astonishing.”

Bookreporter.com

“A good choice.”

Library Journal

“Fiona McIntosh keeps getting better and better.” The Advertiser (Australia)

“Fiona McIntosh is a seductress.”

Sydney Morning Herald (Australia)

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By Fiona McIntosh

The Valisar Trilogy

Royal Exile

The Percheron Saga

Odalisque

Emissary

Goddess

The Quickening

Myrren’s Gift

Blood and Memory

Bridge of Souls

Credits

Map by Matt Whitney

Copyright

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ROYAL EXILE. Copyright © 2008 by Fiona McIntosh. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Adobe Acrobat eBook Reader November 2008

ISBN 978-0-06-172813-6

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

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