EQUINOX
Laren struggled to keep up with Zachary, as did his
secretary, Cummings, and his other aides. He stormed from one
meeting to the next. During the meetings themselves he was curt,
decisive, and restless, cutting them short when he’d had enough.
Then they were off again, leaving behind flabbergasted officials,
ambassadors, and courtiers.
Laren found the
truncated sessions refreshing, but she wasn’t sure it was doing
much for diplomacy.
As Zachary swept
down corridors on his way to his next appointment, Laren
practically had to run to keep up with his long strides. Even Colin
was looking a little pink in the cheeks and his expression was one
of consternation at his liege’s mood. Sperren would not have had a
chance. The old man was in the mending wing with a broken hip,
having fallen upon rising from bed this morning. Ben, she knew, was
tending the elderly castellan with his special ability. In the
meantime, Colin had taken on Sperren’s duties.
“Don’t you think you
should talk to him?” Colin asked, striding beside her. “Do you
suppose he’s upset about Sperren?”
“I expect it’s more
than that,” Laren replied. In fact, she had a good idea of what had
gotten into him. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Colin looked
relieved.
Laren worked her way
forward through the various aides and courtiers hastening after
Zachary to reach his side. She touched his sleeve and said, “Can I
have a word with you?”
He came to such an
abrupt halt that all who followed had to skid to a stop. Laren
found herself several paces beyond him.
His expression was
set, dangerous, ready for anger. “Well?”
“Privately, Your
Highness,” she said.
“Very well.” He
flung open the nearest door, much to the shock of the copyists at
work within, and he ordered them out. They scrambled to obey him.
Laren followed him into the chamber and he closed the door with a
not-so-subtle slam. The chamber was thick with the scent of paper,
ink still wet on the unfinished documents the copyists abandoned on
their desks.
“Well?” he
demanded.
Laren crossed her
arms and directed a level gaze at him, which was not easy since he
was tall and maintained a regal bearing. She saw very little of the
young boy she had once known in him. The physical weight of the
silver fillet he wore on his brow wasn’t heavy, but the
responsibility it represented was great. It was borne by a man of
strength. The power of his body was a given—she’d seen him at work
with Arms Master Drent, she’d watched him subdue the most unruly of
stallions. One just had to watch him moving down a corridor to know
his strength.
The power of his
intellect, coupled with his compassion, was what made him a good
king. He wasn’t just a warrior king ready to ride into battle, he
was a thoughtful king who put his people first.
It was this last
that etched the lines into his forehead. She’d seen it with Queen
Isen, how all the cares and responsibility of leading the realm
wore on one.
“I know what day it
is,” Laren said.
“And?”
“If you wish to talk
about it, I am here. Otherwise, if you’ll forgive my being so
blunt, your behavior is running your aides ragged and making
everyone wonder what is causing their king’s unpredictable mood. It
is worrisome to them that there might be something happening
they’re unaware of.”
“Are you saying that
I’m behaving erratically?”
“That would describe
it, yes.” She smiled to take the sting out of her words. She would
never have been able to speak so plainly to any other king, but
their close relationship allowed it.
He did not explode,
but rather relaxed. “I am not sure there is anything more to be
said that has not been spoken of before. Today is the equinox, the
day our people are to venture into Blackveil by my
command.”
“The day
Karigan is to enter Blackveil,” Laren
said.
“Yes.” His gaze grew
distant. “If I’d had the chance, if my position permitted, I would
have pleaded with her not to accept the mission because of the
danger, and because I couldn’t bear the thought of . .
.”
“Of losing
her?”
He
nodded.
“I believe Karigan
will come out of Blackveil just fine. I think it’s the forest
itself that may not survive the encounter.”
Zachary actually
smiled. “Yes, I doubt the forest will be the same after her visit.”
Behind the smile, however, were the lines of worry she’d grown all
too familiar with. “So you’d like me to gentle my pace, eh? Behave
less ... erratically?”
“It would be helpful
all around.”
“I’m sorry, Laren,
but I have this burning need to move, to keep busy.”
“Then perhaps you
should consider a diversion.”
“A diversion,” he
murmured. “What did you have in mind? I do not wish to pull Drent
from his teaching schedule.”
“I, uh, have
something else in mind.” She took a deep breath, summoning the
courage to make her suggestion. The idea had seemed to make sense
when she first thought of it, but now she wasn’t so sure. Zachary
was not frivolous in his affections, but it was not as if he hadn’t
engaged in casual liaisons before.
“Well?” Zachary
asked.
She cleared her
throat. “It would be a way to engage your mind and body.” She
hesitated. Wouldn’t Colin be the better one to address this?
Another man? But she had started, and Zachary expected her to
finish. There was no escape. She took a deep breath and the rest
rushed out. “I’ve managed to procure a list of acceptable
courtesans who—”
“Courtesans?” The storm once again clouded his
features, and then evaporated. “Oh, Laren, I thought you
understood.”
“What I understand
is that you are a full-blooded man with needs. I thought perhaps
such a diversion would help you forget—”
“Karigan?” He paused
in front of a desk to study the document atop it. “We have
discussed your concerns and I’m well aware of my duty to the realm.
But to suggest that a courtesan would help me forget? All the
courtesans in the world and their wiles could not alter what is in
my heart, and partaking of their offerings would only dishonor my
regard for her. For Karigan.”
“I’m sorry,” Laren
replied. “I do not think I’ve underestimated your feelings, but you
still have needs.”
“Everyone has needs,
Laren, even you. Do you have a list of courtesans for yourself? Or,
should I procure one for you? I understand there are some
acceptable practitioners of the male gender.”
“What?”
“Exactly.” He
flashed her a smile of triumph. “I do appreciate your concern for
my well-being in the matter, and I think your suggestion of a
diversion is a good one, just not the type you proposed.” He moved
rapidly across the chamber, documents fluttering off desks in his
wake. He flung open the door and called, “Cummings! Cancel the rest
of my appointments this afternoon.”
It was only a couple
hours later that Laren, on her way to Rider stables, observed
Zachary riding out on a large, dappled stallion, one of his
favorites. The horse was heavily muscled and a handful, but Zachary
rode effortlessly, a born horse-man. She was pleased to see Lady
Estora riding beside him on a fine-limbed bay hunter, and there was
Lord-Governor Coutre, as well, and a few other courtiers. Weapons
followed on their sleek black horses, along with members of the
guard, the royal falconers, and servants. A king rarely ventured
anywhere without a crowd, but she imagined that once they reached
open ground out in the countryside, he would put that stallion
through its paces and he would be free in his own thoughts, free to
think of whom and what he wanted without interruption or any
expectations placed upon him.
“Captain?”
Laren turned to
discover Ben Simeon approaching. He had changed out of his mender’s
smock into his Rider garb.
“Hello, Ben, do you
have a riding lesson this afternoon?” Not that he ever managed to
actually get on a horse. Horsemaster Riggs was mystified as to how
to overcome his fear.
“Yes,” he said
glumly. He looked tired, a little pallid in the
cheeks.
Guessing the cause,
she asked, “How is the castellan?”
Ben brightened.
“Resting comfortably. I believe I knitted the entire break back
together. The rest of the healing is up to him, but he now has the
hip of a twenty year old.”
“Good heavens!” Of
any Rider ability, Laren thought as they walked together toward
Rider stables, the most miraculous was that of true healing. Ben
had been trained as a mender before hearing the Rider call, and she
could only believe that his prior training aided his magical
ability, just as his magical ability enhanced his prior
training.
Naturally Ben was in
great demand in the mending wing and Master Destarion was no doubt
pleased Ben hadn’t taken to horses. Laren feared Ben was allowing
himself to be overworked. Using one’s ability had its costs—she
felt those costs in her joints every day. With Ben she thought it
could be even more devastating. From his haggard appearance, she
deduced he was giving too much of himself, of his essence, to heal
others. She’d have to make a point of speaking with Destarion
later, and in the meantime wish that another true healer could be
found among the ranks of her new Riders.
When Galen Miller chewed the herbalist’s weed, its
juices stung the sores that had erupted in his mouth. He needed
more and more to subdue his shakes, but it often sent him into
feverish sweats and blurred his perceptions of
reality.
Some mornings he
awoke to visions of the king standing over him dressed all in
black, just like the wax figure of him at the Sacor City War
Museum. He’d studied the figure so he’d know the real king when he
saw him.
In his vision,
however, the king towered over him and a noose hung still and solid
beside him, its looped shadow stark against the far
wall.
Raised you a traitor, eh? came the crass words that
issued from the king’s mouth, but didn’t seem to belong to
him.
“N-no,” Galen would
sputter. “A good lad. Clay was a good lad.”
The king would float
there, Galen writhing in terror on his pallet until sense came back
to him. He needed to cut back on the weed, use just enough to keep
his hand steady.
From the notches he
made on a rafter of his attic room, he figured out it was the
equinox. He was beginning to wonder if all his plans were for
naught, that his boy would never be avenged. Even with the extra
coins the stranger had given him all those weeks ago, he was not
sure he’d have enough currency to keep his room at the inn until
the king deigned to leave his castle.
Galen reached for
his tankard with a trembling hand and slurped down the stale water,
oblivious to the runnels dribbling down his chest. When he
finished, he set the tankard beside his precious sheaf of the herb
and a small vial he’d also obtained from the herbalist for a
handsome sum. It contained the closure to all his
waiting.
Two days ago, on
inspiration, he’d spared a little of the precious fluid for the
barbed heads of the two arrows he kept at the ready by the window.
One tiny drop each. The herbalist claimed the poison would remain
efficacious for weeks. He did not want any question of his quarry’s
survival. It would take only one arrow, the second was just in
case. Yes, his boy would be avenged.
He rose from his
pallet and crossed over to the window, sitting on the ledge and
leaning against the casement. He gazed out into the street,
continuing the vigil he’d carried on for so many
weeks.
He awoke from a doze
when he heard the hooves of several horses clopping down the
street. When the riders came into view, Galen’s pulse
quickened.
His wait was
over.