Son of Avonar

CHAPTER 17

Year 4 in the reign of King Evard

Evard’s war was going badly. Only a month into the fourth year of his reign, his armies had been repulsed at the very gates of Kallamat and driven into the mountains. Even the weather seemed to side with the pious Keroteans, for a ferocious winter storm had assaulted the already decimated Leiran troops. Five thousand soldiers died of starvation when supply wagons foundered in chest-high snow. Five thousand more froze to death, the injured men abandoned by their comrades in fear of the bloodthirsty pursuit. The remnants of the Leiran army straggled into Montevial on the heels of winter, Evard and his household among them.

Baron Hesperid, a young noble who had lost his right arm in the spring campaign, publicly accused Evard of mishandling the war, of proceeding too fast and too far. He hinted that the king had promised his friends new leaseholds of Kerotean lands before taxes were due in the spring. Only intervention by the Council of Lords prevented Hesperid’s execution for treason. Instead, Evard stripped him of his lands and title and banished him from Leire for thirty years.

“Lucky, I think,” Martin said. “Luckier than the rest of us who were less pointed in our criticism of this course of stupidity. I wouldn’t want to be in the way when Evard decides who’ll be the scapegoat for this mess.” But, of course, he was. We all were…

“Of course, it’s the cursed sorcerers. Kerotea is ruled by barbarian priests. They claim to speak for this vile horse god or frog god, or whatever it is… Come, Seri, you’d know. Your husband studies these barbarian things.”

“Ilehu is half-man, half-wolf.” Stupid, ignorant woman. I restrained my hand from knocking away the wineglass the countess was waving in my face.

“Just so,” she said to the three other women who stood gawking at her idiocies. “The savages claim this Ilehu commands them to destroy any of their children born defective or weak. I’ve heard they eat the hearts of the dead babes, just as sorcerers do! It’s a mercy King Evard survived their magics.”

Yes, Karon had taught me about the Keroteans. They believed that their terrible custom was a mercy for those who had to survive in their harsh mountain kingdom. But Leirans had never understood such ways, and so every unusual behavior was wrapped in the mantle of the evil they’d been taught to abhor above all others—sorcery.

“I’ve heard—” The sparrow-like young baroness on my left was twitching, her thin fingers flitting over her mouth and chin. The black dots of her eyes darted about the crowded drawing room, and then she leaned forward, drawing the other women close. “I’ve heard they walk among us again,” she whispered. “Sorcerers—”

“Excuse me,” I said. “I think my husband is ready to leave. A lovely evening, Countess. Karon is thrilled with the addition of your artifacts to the antiquities collection.”

“Well, I don’t see how such a gentleman as your Karon can enjoy mucking about with such refuse, but I told Fenys that I wouldn’t have them here any longer. What if there were spells on them? My dogs have been acting most strangely of late…”

Within hours of Hesperid’s banishment, rumors had begun flying that the Keroteans had orchestrated their victory by means of sorcery. In a matter of days one could not walk down a street without hearing some demagogue ranting that the Kerotean priests were devilish wizards. Survivors of the campaign swore that snow monsters had appeared in the Kerotean mountains to steal their supplies and mesmerize their comrades. Frost wraiths had lured Leirans into blind-ended valleys, and spells of paralysis had overwhelmed the soldiers to make them lie down in the snow until they died. Every misfortune of that winter battle was attributed to diabolical influence.

I was maddened with it… and with Karon, who kept trying to ease my worry. “Come now, I look less like a Kerotean than does Evard himself, and, besides, I hate winter travel.” I didn’t laugh.

“Come here”—he gathered me into his arms—“I will take care. I promise.”

On one such occasion, as he tried to placate me with more empty assurances, I told him at last of killing the man at Threadinghall. “I would do it again to protect you,” I said. “But now I can’t see who’s creeping up on you, and I’m going to go mad with it. How can you live this way? You need to take responsibility for yourself.”

He was not angry at what I had done. Not revolted, as I’d feared for all these weeks. Shocked, yes; he had not seen the man fall. Grieved, yes, that I had done so ponderous a deed and felt I could not tell him, bearing the weight of it alone. But my accusation of irresponsibility cut deep. He stood beside the garden door, its panes garlanded with snow, his face as pale as the flakes still falling so softly. “I can’t tell you how to live, Seri,” he said after a long pause. “You are who you are, and I would not change you. Your love, your goodness, and your courage are the joy of my life, and this act tells me nothing about you that I have not known and treasured all these years. But you cannot ask me to make the same choices. My calling, my power, demand different things of me. Stars of night, do you think this is easy?”

I listened only to my own fear, not his. “Sometimes it’s easier not to fight. To follow the rules, to let your ancestors make your decisions, to let terrible things happen and claim it is for the greater good.”

“Sometimes fighting destroys the thing you’re fighting for.”

I hated this discussion. “Then either way I’ll lose you, and I can’t bear the thought of it.” And then I was in his arms, and he was stroking my hair and promising again to take care. But nothing had changed.

Whether responding to my prompting or his own caution, Karon stayed close to home as the days grew shorter, venturing only to the antiquities workrooms. We no longer practiced mind-speaking. He said such things were better left for easier times.

After several Valloreans were arrested and executed for spying for the Kerotean sorcerers, Karon said he would neither work any sorcery nor speak of it again, not even to me. “Habits,” he said, as he knelt by the hearth and burned his translation of the Writer’s journal, along with my transcription and all our notes. “They’re the key to safety. If your mouth is trained to say nothing of sorcery, then words cannot betray you. If your mind is trained to forget all you know of it, then you cannot inadvertently slip a reference into a discussion.” He traced a smile on my face with his finger. “I’ve become too comfortable, relaxed my vigilance, but I can build the wall again. I just need to work at it, and so will you. No one need find out.” When the hunger to use his power came on him, he walked and rode and exhausted himself with work, staying out of my way until he could suppress it.

I wanted to refuse any invitation into society, but Karon reminded me of what I already knew. Such blatant change in one’s habits would draw unwanted attention. We had no reason to think any suspicion should be directed Karon’s way. But he would never have burned the work on the journal if he were not concerned. I wondered if perhaps we should consider leaving Montevial. Going away… somewhere.

Midwinter brought the usual round of Seille entertainments. In lengthy and elaborate temple services held to appease and flatter holy Jerrat, whose storms had so tested our troops, priests had reminded us of the first Long Night, when Arot lay sorely wounded. The gifts of music and food and human companionship had raised the god from his winter of despair and prepared him to resume his battle with the beasts of chaos at the coming of the new year. Thus, Evard commanded his courtiers to celebrate lavishly, reassuring the common folk that the Leiran spirit was not darkened by the unnatural deviltry of our enemies. And so, at night after night of entertainments, noblewomen dressed in elaborate finery and laughed in shrill gaiety at jokes devoid of humor. Men played the buffoon, drank too much, and spoke too loudly of the glories of war.

A fortnight before Long Night, Karon and I were invited to a musical entertainment at the home of Sir Geoffrey Larreo, the administrator who had engaged Karon to develop the antiquities collection. I saw no way to avoid the occasion. Evard was to make an appearance as a favor to Sir Geoffrey—or rather as flattery to Sir Geoffrey’s relatives—and anyone with a court posting would be expected to attend.

Sir Geoffrey was a distant cousin of the late King Gevron, but had no landed titles of his own. He was a kind man, a bachelor much given to birdwatching and other gentle pursuits. Evard ridiculed him publicly and would have ignored him altogether if Sir Geoffrey were not regarded so fondly by Gevron’s family.

“Would I had given Sir Geoffrey our regrets,” said Karon as he waited for me at the bottom of the stairs that night.

I’d had a new gown made for the season, not to follow the frivolous fashion of society, but to accommodate my changing shape—not too noticeable as yet except to me. The gown was dark green silk cut low at the neck, falling loosely to the floor from a high waist. The narrow wedge of underskirt in front showed a darker green brocade. My hair was caught in a loose braid that fell halfway down my back, and my only other adornment was the gold locket engraved with a rose.

“Am I too awkward to be seen in public already? You’ll want to avert your eyes in a few weeks more!”

He took my hand as I descended the last steps. “On the contrary. I’m only reluctant to share such loveliness with the rest of society.”

“I wonder if you’ll still say such charming things when we pass two years married this month, or will flattery run its course as quickly as the time has done?”

“There is only truth between us.” That, at least, was one good thing that had come from our argument. The killing at Threadinghall had burdened me more than I had been willing to admit.

“Not only truth,” I said, wrapping my arms about him. “Young Connor Martin Gervaise is rapidly taking up a most prominent position between us.”

Karon threw back his head and laughed. “I shall begrudge him every moment!”

“You know, my love, you look quite fine yourself,” I said, as Joubert announced the hired carriage, and Karon helped me with my cloak. He was dressed simply in a loose white shirt of the finest cambric, full-sleeved and buttoned high at the neck in the Vallorean fashion. No puffed satin breeches, fluted neck ruffs, or slashed brocade sleeves, as Evard’s courtiers wore, but simple, well-fitted black breeches and black velvet doublet, embroidered in silver. His dark hair was pulled back from his face, setting off his deep-set eyes and high cheekbones. I loved it that he remained adamantly clean-shaven, defying Evard’s fashion of close-trimmed beards and narrow mustaches.

Joubert opened the door, and Karon threw on his own cloak that buttoned high on one shoulder. “I care for nothing but that it please you, my lady.” After a gallant, sweeping bow, he kissed my hand and led me into the winter darkness.

Sir Geoffrey often had musical evenings at his town-house, inviting small groups of selected acquaintances to hear a singer, instrumentalist, or ensemble. He had a good ear, and it was a considerable benefit to an artist’s reputation to be invited to play for him. Music and theatrical performances were a new fashion in Leire—Martin joked that it was all his doing—and few people knew quite how to judge talent for themselves. On that night carriage after carriage emptied its elegant occupants at Sir Geoffrey’s front door.

“He must have invited half the court,” I said, dreading the heat and the crowd.

“Everyone’s heard the king is to be here.”

“I wonder if he’s come to make sure we’re all celebrating joyfully as he’s commanded.”

When Karon and I were announced and directed into the music room, we found over two hundred guests already seated on red velvet and gold-leaf chairs. Intermingled with the scent of expensive perfumes were traces of the pine, laurel, and balsam boughs that were stuffed into great jars and vases and set in every corner, crack, and crevice. The house blazed with candlelight. While gold-liveried servants scurried about with wine and extra chairs, the ladies’ diamonds and the gentlemen’s swords scattered glittering reflections.

More guests streamed through the side doors. A young woman in a white gown took her place in an island of red carpet at one end of the music room, twisting her fingers and glancing anxiously toward the opposite end of the room where the wide main doors remained closed. As we were seated, she was joined by a hollow-eyed young man with a harp and an enormously large man with a flute, who settled his bulk on a precariously fragile chair. The ensemble did not look promising.

The entertainment could not proceed until the king arrived. Sir Geoffrey circulated among the guests, joking about the wait. “Worth it, as you’ll hear,” he said. “I picked up this one in Valleor. Such a find! She was the favorite of a Vallorean merchant until his palace fell in on him in the earthquake last summer.”

Karon shifted in his chair, peering between the heads in front of us. I felt his arm stiffen, but before I could question him, the double doors were thrown open and a royal herald stepped into the room. Everyone rose.

“His Most Gracious Majesty Evard, King of Leire and Valleor, and Protector of Kerotea.”

Evard strode into the room. An ermine-lined red velvet short cloak was removed by one of his attendants to reveal a tight, gold-encrusted doublet, its exaggerated point dipping all the way to his groin over puffed breeches of gold brocade. A shirt of red and gold patterned silk poked out at his wrists and at his neck in great ruffles, above a wide, flat collar studded with sapphires and rubies. As did the rest of the ladies, I dipped my head and curtsied as he passed. Karon and the other gentlemen bowed. Evard’s fair hair drooped rakishly across his brow as always, but the hard gray eyes underneath peered about uneasily, as a fluttering Sir Geoffrey guided him to a seat on the front row.

The queen did not accompany him. Tomas and Darzid followed just behind him, however, as did at least twenty aides and serving gentlemen.

I had not seen Tomas since Evard’s wedding, though I’d heard the news of his marriage to the seventeen-year-old daughter of Evard’s chancellor. Though as stiff and wary as his royal master, he looked well, apparently none the worse for the Kerotean disaster.

Darzid alone seemed relaxed. He strolled through the aisles greeting every high-ranking noble as if he were himself a duke, whispering in ladies’ ears, sharing a laugh or a word with the gentlemen. His behavior brought to mind a recent comment of Martin’s. “It seems as if, nowadays, when you turn over any slime-covered stone in Leiran society, Darzid slithers away. And I don’t believe it’s your brother that sets him to it.” I wished we had not come.

The performance began, and, for a while, royalty, politics, Darzid, and the unnerving reference to the Vallorean earthquake were easily forgotten. The music was glorious. A find, indeed. The girl’s fidgeting evaporated with the first silvery note of the flute, and when she answered the ringing note with her own clear tone, I thought it might be difficult to tell which was which. But as she began to weave her voice about the music, it became clear that the instrument could not rival the purity of her voice. She wrapped this loveliness about a song of love undying, a song not out of the ordinary way, but when she was done, few eyes in the room were dry. For the next hour the anxieties of the past weeks were forgotten, as if the noble assembly had heaved a great sigh. As Karon’s mentor had taught him, nature bestowed many gifts that magic could not surpass.

Karon was entranced, his rapt expression telling me that he was storing up the beauty against the day when he could use his power again. But when the music ended, and the guests rose and began to crowd their way toward the supper rooms, he whispered in my ear. “The girl will know me.”

Dread wrapped cold arms about my heart. “Then we must go,” I said.

Karon nodded. His face was calm, but his grip on my arm was tight as he guided me against the flow of the crowd toward the outer doors. Acquaintances attempted to turn our course, but I pleaded an unsettled stomach as the reason for an early departure. A quarter of an hour and we were almost clear, but just as we reached the doors that led to the foyer, Sir Geoffrey waved his hand above the crowd and called after us with a hearty voice. “Karon, my lad, where are you going? His Majesty has asked for you.” The old gentleman forged through his milling guests and clamped his hand on Karon’s shoulder. “I inquired how he liked the Dorian monolith standing at the entrance to the Crown Vault, and he asked was it the new commissioner’s choice? I said it was either his or his lady’s, and he said he would like an opportunity to express his appreciation.”

“I was just going to take Seri home,” said Karon. “She feels a bit ill tonight.”

“But of course you can’t refuse His Majesty’s summons. Perhaps your lady would like to lie down in a guest chamber. Or I could supply an escort to take her home.”

Karon looked at me, questioning.

Only one answer was possible. “I’ll wait with Karon, Sir Geoffrey. Perhaps it will shorten the formalities. The evening has been exceptional.”

“It has, has it not? Misara will be the most brilliant star of our musical firmament for a generation.” He laid one arm across Karon’s shoulders and crooked his other arm for my hand. “Now come. This could be excellent for our plans. I’ve been worried that the discouraging military news might preclude our proceeding with the expansion, but if His Majesty himself is taking an interest…”

Evard was holding court in the drawing room beside a pink marble mantelpiece carved with dolphins. Above the mantel was a gigantic mural of a naked Jerrat holding a lightning bolt, surrounded by crashing waves, sea monsters, and storm-wracked vessels. As Sir Geoffrey forged our way through the glittering company like one of the brave ships in the painting, Karon gave me his most reassuring smile. All will be well, it told me.

I didn’t believe it.

The king was tapping one foot, looking anywhere but at his companion, a beribboned matron pontificating on the virtues of her gangly son, who looked, conveniently, just old enough to be knighted. Evard himself appeared older than the last time I had been near him, his gray eyes harder, his face more angular, even his blond beard more wiry and pointed. Perhaps life was not going as he had planned.

My brother stood next to Evard and took no notice of me. One would think he was seven years old again, trying to show his displeasure at some slight. He, too, looked older than when I’d seen him last. Regret at our estrangement still bubbled its way to the surface of my heart. Karon stood close and squeezed my hand.

Sir Geoffrey quickly swept the fond mother and her goggle-eyed progeny to the side. “Your Majesty, may I present the Royal Commissioner of Antiquities—”

“I’m sure your lady has told you of our long and… intimate… acquaintance.” Evard scarcely glanced at Karon and did not acknowledge Sir Geoffrey’s presence at all. The full weight of his attention fell on me.

“An honor, Your Majesty”—Evard twitched a finger and Karon rose from his genuflection—“and my wife has indeed told me of her privilege to be a friend of your youth.” Despite my apprehension, I had to smile. Was this meeting just curiosity or did Evard hope to plant some seed of discord by his implications?

“You’ve likely not been introduced to her brother, the Duke of Comigor. Tomas, have you met your sister’s chosen lord and master?”

“No, sire.” Tomas raked Karon with a glance. His lip curled slightly. Karon bowed, but the courtesy was not returned. Tomas jerked his head at his lieutenant. “My aide, Captain Darzid.”

“A delight, of course.” Darzid smiled cheerfully as he bowed to me, and, in a surprisingly intimate gesture, offered Karon his hand. Karon did not rebuff him, of course, and as they touched, Darzid stared with unabashed curiosity. When he finally released Karon’s hand, Darzid grinned at me in his most charming and mischievous manner. “Sorry I can’t stay,” he said. “My lord’s business calls.”

He genuflected gracefully to Evard, bowed to Tomas, and leaned toward me with a not-at-all-private whisper. “I wish we had found time to talk about my dreams, my lady. Too late now, I’m afraid.” He bowed to me and left the group.

Sir Geoffrey, courteously ignoring the awkward greetings, reminded Evard of the matter which had drawn his interest.

“Ah, yes. The monolith. An interesting choice to guard the Crown Vault.” His lack of interest in artifacts was quite apparent.

“Such was its function in the Dorian Empire, Majesty,” said Karon. “It seemed proper.”

“It serves.” Evard drew two fingers along my jaw. “You look exceptionally well, my lady. Town living must suit you. At some time during this cheerful season, we must dine.” I curtsied, which put my face nicely out of his reach. “Thank you, Your Majesty. My husband and I would consider it a privilege to dine with you. We wish you and your queen a fair Seille.” That for you, you sly devil. Two can play these games.

I had begun to think that all might actually be well, for Darzid was gone, Tomas distracted, and Evard already engaged by a giggling young woman who looked as if she would be thrilled to have the king’s fingers trace her jaw. But before we could withdraw, Sir Geoffrey bustled toward us again, towing someone in his wake. “Karon, Lady Seriana, don’t leave yet. Your Majesty, may I present the belle of the evening, Misara, the Lark of Valleor?”

Karon quickly slipped behind me, as if to make room for the singer.

The girl made full obeisance in the Vallorean way, which was the way of penitents in Leire, kneeling, arms spread wide with the forehead touching the floor. Evard frowned and gestured to one of his attendants to pull her up. “No penance is necessary for such a performance as we’ve heard this night,” he said. “Now you must excuse us. We have other business.”

The guests bowed or curtsied as Evard moved toward the supper room. We were almost free. But as we rose from our genuflections, the singer came face to face with Karon. “Mi Dispore!” she cried. Dropping to her knees, she grasped Karon’s hand and kissed it.

At the young woman’s exclamation, Evard glanced back and saw what she did. “What’s this?” he said, scowling over his shoulder.

Misara, tears streaming down her face, said in broken Leiran, “It is the Dispore, Majesty, the saving hand. After the earthshaking, my family were dead, their house fallen. But this one digs… so careful… all night. Pulls the stones away, crawls in the tiny passage, earth still shaking, again and again, and we thought he was to be dead, too. Such a long time. But then each one he brings out: my father, my mother, Leno, Jasra, Tegro, Niste. All living. Five days were they under the stones, Majesty.”

Sir Geoffrey leaned toward Evard. “Karon was in Xerema to examine an ancient tomb site and was himself injured in the terrible earthquake.”

“I am in your forever debt, mi Dispore . Command me,” said the singer.

Karon spoke softly, looking only at the girl. “Everyone who could so much as stand or lift a stone did the same.”

Now quiet your tongue, foolish girl , I thought.

But she would not stop. “Not like you, sir. You were everywhere bringing hope. I sought for you to save my family because I heard of you. Everyone knew. It was a miracle… the Dispore.”

Evard cut her off. He flicked his hand in dismissal, spun on his heel, and murmured to Tomas, loud enough that we could hear. “Might have expected Seri to dredge up a paragon.”

My hand was already on Karon’s arm, my feet moving toward the doors. “Dear boy, one more thing.” When Sir Geoffrey accosted Karon yet again, I wanted to scream. “I do wish you would view this manuscript given me earlier today by Jahn Gronne who is just back from Iskeran. I must value it and return it to Gronne by morning, so if you could spare one more moment before escorting your lovely wife home…”

Karon pressed my hand and smiled at me with encouragement. “Only a moment.” Then he followed Sir Geoffrey to his library.

I remained by the hearth, not at all cold, but most definitely shivering. What if the girl had seen Karon work his magic or mentioned the rumors of the supernatural that had floated about Xerema?

Karon was back in a quarter of an hour. “Good night, Sir Geoffrey. A marvelous evening.”

“I hope you will soon feel yourself again, my lady,” said the old knight.

I curtsied. “I’m sure I will. Thank you, Sir Geoffrey.” Once more Karon and I moved determinedly toward the exit doors. I breathed easier when we walked into the cooler air of the spacious, lamplit foyer. But no sooner had the porter summoned a footman to fetch our cloaks than two men appeared between us and the outer doors. One of them was Darzid. The other was the fish-eyed sheriff I had last seen in the innyard at Threadinghall.

No time to think. Frontal assault was always the surest tactic. “Captain Darzid,” I said. “I was beginning to wonder if you were a separate being from my brother, and now I see you are attached to someone else. It’s refreshing to know you’ve not taken root upon my family tree. Introduce me to your friend.”

Darzid glanced at his companion. “I believe you have already met Maceron.”

“Oh, yes,” said the sheriff. “No doubt of that.”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “I never forget an acquaintance.” I approached my brother’s lieutenant, all the while screaming in my mind for Karon to run. But instead, I felt him stroll up behind me. His hands would be clasped behind his back as always, as if waiting patiently for the cloaks and his foolish wife. “So what mischief are you about, Darzid?” I asked, fighting to make sure the man could not read my terror.

The sheriff was not to be fooled. “I’m sure of them both. The woman is the whore from the inn, and the man”—his thin lips parted in a smile of purest hatred—“the man is the sorcerer.”

The devastating accusation hung in the air like a hawk poised on the wind, ready to dive for his prey. Karon put his arms around me from behind, bent forward, and softly kissed my hair.

A moment later, green-clad guards ripped him away, and I whirled about to see such love and regret in his blue eyes that I thought my heart might crack. Maceron shoved me aside, and while two guards pinned Karon’s arms cruelly behind him, the sheriff smashed a brutal fist into Karon’s face. I cried out, “Stop!” and reached for Maceron’s arm. But Darzid grabbed me and held me fast. A second blow left Karon dazed and with a bloody gash above one eye.

“There’s an easy way to confirm our contention,” said the sheriff. “If we’re right, he’ll be wearing his perfidy, not on his sleeve, but inside it.”

Karon shook his head groggily. “Wait—”

The fish-eyed man struck Karon again, this time across the mouth, and then pointed one thick finger at me. “The next blow will fall on the woman.”

I wrenched my arms from Darzid’s grip and found my voice, shaking though it was. “What is the meaning of this, Captain Darzid? How dare you lay hands on a daughter of the house of Comigor or an official of the king’s household? Where is Sir Geoffrey? Where are the guards? My brother—”

“Ah, no.” Darzid raised a finger in warning. Never had I seen such cold darkness as his gaze. “I learned years ago not to underestimate you, my Lady Seriana, so you needn’t fear I’ve left anything to chance. Your brother has been properly notified of my suspicions, as has His Majesty. They are awaiting my report. If I’m wrong, then the mistake was an honest one… but I’m not wrong, am I?” He knew. Blessed Annadis be merciful, he stripped the truth from me even as I stood there. A wintry smile brushed his narrow face.

Darzid pushed me into the hands of one of the guards. Drawing his knife, he slit Karon’s left sleeve from shoulder to wrist, exposing the scars for the crowd that had begun to gather by the music room doors. No assault could have been more devastating. Karon, blinking and trying to shake off the blows to his head, struggled to pull his arm close in to his body, but he could not move.

“Take them to the king,” said the sheriff, motioning to the heavily armed soldiers who had appeared behind him. “Have a care with the man. He is dangerous beyond your imaginings. Bind his eyes. Keep four spare guards ready at all times.”

Darzid took my arm again. “If he utters a sound, I’ll kill the woman.”

We passed a blur of wide-eyed onlookers, including a bewildered Sir Geoffrey, as Darzid propelled me down a softly lit, wood-paneled passageway and into a comfortable sitting room. Evard slouched on a brown velvet couch, and Tomas stood stiffly behind him.

“Your Majesty,” said Darzid, with a deep bow. “The information provided by Sheriff Maceron has proven correct. It is no paragon of virtue to whom the Lady Seriana has gotten herself wed, but to a sorcerer—if such a sublime state as matrimony can be said to apply to a fiend.” Underneath his display of shock, I felt him laughing.

Four soldiers shoved Karon into the room. A scarf of incongruously bright green was tied about his eyes. Blood soaked one side of it.

“Your Majesty, I beg you right this injustice,” I said. “Is this the way your servants treat members of noble families or men who hold positions in your household?”

Evard looked past me to Darzid. “He is incapacitated?”

Darzid nodded. “He’ll not be dangerous as long as we control him, prevent him from speaking, and keep his eyes covered. And as long as we have the woman.” He was as cool and matter-of-fact as if he were discussing the finer points of a new horse.

Nodding, Evard rose from the couch, walked over to Karon, and stared at his arm. “Oh, Seri, my dear girl, what have you done? You could have been queen of the Four Realms. Instead you’ve chosen to consort with a demon.” He bent over to examine Karon’s scars more closely. I wanted to scream.

“He’s bewitched her,” burst out Tomas. “This is all Gault’s doing.”

“Gault will be dealt with.”

“Is that what this idiocy is all about?” I said, desperate to gain some foothold. “Martin has long relinquished all claim to the throne. You’ve no need to manufacture some fantastic plot to discredit him. Tomas, can you believe I would marry a sorcerer? I had the same tutors as you.”

But no one was listening to me.

“And so, Sheriff,” said the king, straightening up again. “What is it that such creatures as this do?”

“These scars indicate that this one claims to be a healer,” said Maceron, moving to Evard’s side. “In fact, sorcerers of his kind can indeed pull a passing spirit from the brink of death. What could be a more disgusting distortion of nature than depriving a soul that is done with life of its proper end? The sorcerer does it, not out of generosity, of course, but to create a spirit slave who has no choice but to do his foul bidding.”

“And it causes this?” Evard curled his lip as he touched Karon’s arm. Karon jerked away and the guards twisted his arms tighter.

“In all its perversity, it’s quite an impressive show. Would you like a demonstration, your Majesty? There would be no danger in it as long as Captain Darzid and I control him. He can do only one working at a time. And it would be inarguable evidence at his trial.”

I looked from one to the other, trying to understand what they were saying.

“I don’t see how you could make him do it.” Evard flopped onto the couch again, looking skeptical.

“I know a very good way,” said Darzid. He whipped off Karon’s blindfold and nodded.

Karon blinked, and his gaze flicked to something behind me. For the first time since I’d known him, I saw fear in his eyes.

“Karon, what is—?” Fire exploded in my back, and roaring erupted in my ears. Karon yelling… Tomas, somewhere far away, cursing. My head spun. I couldn’t get a breath, and my knees turned to water. Only as I felt warm wetness spreading across my back did I begin to comprehend. “No… don’t…” I tried to warn Karon, but my tongue refused to obey me. There would be no going back if he did it. They had no proof unless he gave it to them.

My knees gave way. Someone caught me. “Damn you. Damn all of you. Get a surgeon in here.”

I floated in and out of awareness, the words and shouts drifting through my spinning head.

“… a knife, clean and sharp.”

No, Karon, no. They’ll not let me die . My tongue wouldn’t work.

“… grace your son…”

“Damnation, what is it he does?”

“… fill my soul with light…”

Fire ripped my arm. No, Karon …

“… death to touch either one of them while he…”

“J’den encour , my dearest love…”

I had been so cold sleeping, but now all was warm again. I lay on my back. A smile crossed my face. Connor Martin Gervaise was getting big enough that sleeping on my back was becoming uncomfortable. And the bed was so hard. I tried to roll over, but couldn’t. Karon was there. I felt him breathing. Tassaye, tassaye, he whispered. Softly. Softly. He was holding my arm so tight. I couldn’t move it, and my eyes fluttered open to see him leaning over me. What had happened to his face? Was it from the earthquake? Such terrible bruises… and blood all over… one eye swollen shut, and he was so pale… almost transparent like the day at Windham…

It all came flooding back to me. “No,” I said weakly.

His eyes flicked open… such love in them. When he smiled, I felt the warmth of his life flowing in my veins. “Cut it now,” he said to someone over his shoulder. And to me, “It is a wonder. All of it.”

My arm was released, but before I could reach out for him, they dragged him away, and there on Sir Geoffrey’s fine carpet, they beat him until he was insensible. Fear lent weight to their fists.

I sat unmoving on the floor where they’d left me, and stared at the door through which they had at last taken him away. Someone came up behind me, and I flinched, but the hands that lifted me up and led me to the empty brown velvet couch were not rough hands. Tomas sat me down and knelt in front of me. No one else was in the room. “By Annadis’s holy sword, Seri, what is he?”

I fingered the place on my arm where Karon had made the incision. There was no remnant of it but the fire in my memory. It would have been too difficult to hold me around the back where the knife had gone in. Better to make a new place to mingle the blood… the blood of life.

Tomas spoke as if I were a child. “Has he bewitched you? Silenced you with some ensorcelment? Is that what happened three years ago? Did he control you even then?”

I stared at my brother, trying to comprehend what he was saying. My mind was in chaos, horror and wonder entwined in a mortal embrace.

“Seri, tell me you’re all right.” Fumbling, he examined my back. My gown felt damp and scratchy—stiffening as the blood dried where Maceron’s blade had gone in. “Holy gods, it’s impossible.”

Finally I gathered words. “Tomas, you must help him.”

Awkwardly he put his arm around my shoulders. “I’ll take care of you, Seri. We’ll find out what must be done… the priests… to purify you. Are you free of him now he’s away from you?”

“No. You don’t understand…” I tried to tell him about sorcery and the J’Ettanne. But the longer I spoke, the farther he withdrew from me, and by the time I noticed, it was too late. I had told him about our child.

Tomas spoke in muted horror. “You let him do that to you? Plant you with his venomous seed? How could you live? Was there no knife, no sword to put an end to your debasement?”

“Tomas, you’ve heard nothing I’ve said.”

“I’ve heard enough. This is an entirely new situation. Evard must be told that taking care of the sorcerer is insufficient.”

“Tomas!”

“You’ll not burn. You’ll not die. You’re still of the house of Comigor, and Evard has sworn to me. But you’ve consented to evil beyond my imagining, and it will be undone.” He stormed out of the room, leaving me alone in the library.

Sometime in the night I was taken to the palace and locked in a bare, cold room, such as scullery maids might live in. My locket and my wedding ring were taken from me, and my bloodstained green silk was replaced by a muslin shift and a plain black dress. I would not weep. I would not.