Wilek
Wilek stopped on the threshold of the great hall, Kal beside him.
“Why not skip dinner tonight?” Kal asked.
“Because Lady Zeroah asked to meet me. It’s rude to desert her twice in one day. I must keep her happy if I am to put my best foot forward for Heir.” He made eye contact with the herald at the door. “Announce me.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” The herald picked up his trumpet and blew Wilek’s call, then announced, “His Royal Highness, Wilek-Sâr Hadar, the First Arm, the Dutiful.”
Every person but the king went to their feet—even Janek—and bowed as he walked past. Lady Zeroah stood beside his mother at his table, watching him—actually looking at him. How odd. Lebetta’s usual seat at the royal concubine table was unsurprisingly empty.
Wilek stopped before the king’s table and bowed deeply to his father, who waved him on with barely a glance as he sucked on a leg of lamb.
Wilek jogged up the steps. Kal took his place on the wall. A servant pulled out Wilek’s chair, which had a sleeping dog on it. Mother scooped the creature into her arms, and Wilek sat between Mother and Lady Zeroah.
The women, and everyone else in the great hall, reclaimed their seats.
Mother snuggled the puppy to her cheek. “Where have you been, my son?”
“Forgive my lateness,” Wilek said. “I was detained.”
“Young people are too busy these days,” Gran said.
“Is anything wrong?” Lady Zeroah asked, looking directly into his eyes.
Her golden stare raised goose bumps on his arms and made him smile. “Nothing at all.”
She glanced away, took a shaky breath, then looked back. Smiled again.
Curious.
“The lamb is dry tonight,” Gran said. “Take it with gravy.”
Wilek filled his trencher. One of the dogs on the table sniffed and licked his food. He pushed it away. He hadn’t come here to eat. He must talk with his betrothed so his father would see he was the best choice for Heir. “How was your first sleep, Lady Zeroah?”
She glanced at Mielle. “It was good.”
Good. “And you, Miss Mielle? Did you enjoy your first sleep?”
“I didn’t sleep, Your Highness. I was far too upset.”
“I hope it was nothing too dire,” he said.
“You must not,” Zeroah whispered to Miss Mielle, then added something Wilek couldn’t hear.
Mielle met his gaze, then looked down. “Nothing important, Your Highness.”
Something was going on between these two, but Wilek was too tired of female drama to try to puzzle it out. He searched for something else to say, but the remainder of his day had held nothing that would interest a lady. “Is the wine good?”
“Very.”
Gods, he needed to do better than this. “Did you enjoy your time at the Sink?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Three words must be Lady Zeroah’s limit for dinner conversation. He sat back in his chair, bored already. Lady Zeroah and Miss Mielle whispered again. On his left his mother and grandmother were whispering too. He was surrounded by women with secrets.
“Too much food,” Gran yelled suddenly, making him jump. She pushed her trencher toward the dogs on the table.
“I am full as well,” Mother said on a sigh. “Let us retire, Avenelle.” She elbowed Wilek and murmured, “Enjoy your conversation. I insist.”
Gran leaned around his mother. “Yes, boy. Do the job right.”
Wilek stifled a groan. One secret revealed, at least. “Good evening, Gran, Mother.”
Mother gathered up two of her dogs. “Lady Zeroah, Miss Mielle, thank you for the lovely company. I hope to soon see you at the court of the queen.”
“I hope so as well, Your Highness,” Lady Zeroah said. “Good evening. To you as well, Your Highness,” she added to Gran.
How was this fair? Nine words to his mother, six for Gran. Each received at least double his three. Wilek watched the two queens depart the great hall, arm in arm, heads bowed in conversation, leading, between the two of them, a dozen honor maidens and five dogs.
Whispered words pulled Wilek’s gaze to the girls. They really were girls, giggling and telling secrets. But maybe all women were, regardless of age.
Lady Zeroah smiled at him, then took a sip of wine.
Why so much smiling today? Had the girl taken too much wine?
“Sâr Wilek,” she said, “there are so many poor in Armania,”—she paused, her voice unsteady—“in Everton, especially. My heart breaks for the men who want to support their families but cannot. Is there no way to provide more jobs for your people?”
It was the longest sentence he had ever heard from her lips. A sentence with some substance too. “There are plenty of jobs in Everton for a man willing to work.”
Her eyes lit with something like anger. “You believe your people lazy?”
What? Her tone was almost defiant. Miss Mielle glared at him over Lady Zeroah’s shoulder. “I didn’t say that, but many a man has turned down a good job in hopes of something less taxing. I have seen it happen.”
Lady Zeroah looked down her nose at her trencher. “It is easy for you and me to judge a man for wanting a less taxing job when neither of us has ever done hard labor in our lives.”
Oh ho! “Lady Zeroah, are you picking a fight with me?”
She met his gaze and held it, a tremor of pulse at her throat. “I, um, only seek to understand your coldness, Your Highness.”
He grinned at her naiveté. “Not cold, lady, merely cynical. Years of listening to men make pleas to my father have hardened me. It would be much simpler if no one ever lied. But men lie. And cheat. And are lazy.”
“Miss Mielle knows many men who are eager for jobs, is that not so?” Lady Zeroah asked her honor maiden.
“Indeed,” Miss Mielle said. “Women too, and orphaned children.”
“Are you so hardened that you cannot tell good people from the bad?” Lady Zeroah asked.
This conversation had the makings of an ambush. Wilek had a feeling Miss Mielle was behind much of it. “There are plenty of good people in our realm, but we were talking of those seeking jobs. With all due respect, lady, there are jobs enough for everyone in Everton if they are willing to seek one out and do the work. Just today I assigned work to four men who came looking.”
“Oh,” Lady Zeroah said softly. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I am but a child speaking on matters I know little about.”
Did she even realize how true a statement that was? “Don’t apologize. Your compassion and your willingness to speak frankly . . . Both are qualities I greatly admire.”
Lady Zeroah beamed then, a smile almost as wide as one produced by his brother’s backman Hinckdan. It remained only briefly, before she wrestled it away, but for a moment she had been radiant. Miss Mielle nudged her, and she turned her golden eyes his way once more. “Thank you, Your Highness. You are very kind.”
“You are most welcome, lady,” Wilek said. They talked all through dinner, and Wilek rather enjoyed the attention. Miss Mielle nudged Lady Zeroah a few more times and whispered here and there, but Lady Zeroah seemed truly interested in how he spent his days, which was something Lebetta had never cared about. From now on he would put more effort into getting to know Zeroah. After all, she would be his wife—possibly his queen—and the mother of his children. It would be best if they could get along. Nor would it hurt for Father to see them together often, to remind him that Wilek would soon marry—while Janek had long ago ruined his own betrothal.
So when Lady Zeroah stood to depart, Wilek asked her to attend a private dinner the following night. She accepted and made her exit from the great hall with Miss Mielle.
Now he simply needed a chaperone to keep Miss Mielle from interfering.
He also must keep Lebetta from finding out.
By the time Wilek left the great hall and started back to his chambers, the sky was black and thick with stars. Weeks had passed since the offering at The Gray, and the moon was now a mere sliver. Knowing that the next sacrifice was far off gave him a measure of peace.
He and Kal entered his chambers. They appeared empty.
Kal walked into Wilek’s closet, then checked the privy. “All is well,” he said. “I’ll be outside until the night bells. Harton will relieve me.”
“Send for Lady Lebetta,” Wilek said. She must still be angry with him to not be waiting here.
Kal bowed his head. “Yes, Your Highness. And a boy to tend the fire?”
“No, it’s fine. Thank you, Kal.”
Kal left, and Wilek sat on the longchair before his cast-iron fireplace. He stared through the damper door at the red-hot coals smoldering in the firebox. That was his heart at present. Likely Lebetta’s as well. His marriage to Lady Zeroah would change everything. But what could he do? His father and Janek would have him order Lebetta not to speak on the subject of his marriage again at the threat of being banished and replaced.
The problem was, Wilek had never treated Lebetta like a concubine. She was so much more than that. She was his best friend, his confidante. He loved her.
A knock on the door and Kal entered with a boy. Both looked somewhat anxious.
“Give your message,” Kal told the boy.
“Lady Lebetta is not in her chambers, Your Highness,” the boy said. “Her maid said she’d gone out.”
“Out? Where?”
“Maid didn’t know. But Master Beal saw her with Sâr Janek.”
Cold rage slid down Wilek’s spine. “The Honored Lady Lebetta with Janek? Where did Master Beal see them?”
“He said he . . .” The boy took a short breath. “He saw ’em enter Sâr Janek’s chambers.”
But Wilek had seen Janek at dinner. How long had he remained? “Thank you. You may go.”
The boy turned away.
“Wait. Find Dendrick and tell him the Honored Lady is to be brought to me as soon as possible.”
“Yessir.”
Wilek trailed the boy to the door and slammed it behind him. “First my horse, now my concubine. I am sick of his games!”
“He’s always enjoyed needling you,” Kal said. “I’m sure Lady Lebetta wouldn’t . . . She’s been loyal to you all these years.”
“There is no such thing as loyalty. Everyone wants something from me. A favor. An audience with the king. And Janek is the worst. He seeks to goad me into a duel. If I am dead, there is no one to compete for Heir.”
“Now you’re being paranoid,” Kal said. “Janek is not your equal with a sword. You must trust people.”
“I trust you, Kal. And Dendrick. That is all I can afford.” He paced to the fireplace and back to his bed. “This cannot go unpunished. What shall I do, Kal? Advise me.”
“I could drug him while he sleeps, make him a eunuch.”
Wilek’s lips parted. “You would do that?”
“If you wished it.”
Years prior to becoming Wilek’s shield, Kal had been training to be an assassin. Wilek sometimes forgot just how dark the man’s past had been. Before he did something he might forever regret, Wilek forced himself to say, “What else do you advise?”
“Appeal to your father. Ask him to invoke justness.”
“I don’t want one of Janek’s concubines. Father will think me petty to complain of this. Perhaps I am.”
“No,” Kal said. “If you allow this, Janek will only take more. You’ll soon be married. You cannot risk Lady Zeroah to his scheming, or any of her maidens.”
Wilek looked at Kal then. “This was why you hesitated to place Miss Mielle with Lady Zeroah. Fear of Janek.”
“Not only Janek. You must know how quickly the young honor maidens at court are deflowered,” Kal said, “whether it be by a courtier, Prince Janek, or the rosâr himself. Lady Zeroah and Mielle are safe enough for now, but . . .” The scars pinching Kal’s face made his expression even more dire.
Wilek had been a fool. He paid little attention to the liaisons at court. Perhaps that should change. While Wilek did all the work of Heir, Janek had been manipulating the people who whispered to the king. Wilek was suddenly unsure any of the Wisean Council supported his claim as Heir. “Whom do we have at court?”
“I cannot say for certain. Kamran DanSâr attends. He supports you over Janek.”
“Father cares little for the opinion of one of his strays. We need someone of importance there, to be my eyes. I will set Dendrick upon it.” Wilek walked out onto his balcony and gripped the railing.
Kal followed him. “What are you going to do about Lady Lebetta?”
“That depends on what she has done. Will you stay?”
“If that’s your preference.”
“Lebetta is prone to moments of hysterics. Your presence might help keep her temper in check.”
“I shall do my best to look foreboding.”
With his scars, it required no effort. One glimpse at Kal and children ran the other way.
They came inside and sat by the fire. Time writhed along. The longer Lebetta took, the colder Wilek’s rage became. How dare she enter his brother’s chambers? She belonged to him.
The familiar knock, knock-knock made Wilek stand. The door opened, and Lebetta slipped inside, Dendrick behind her, looking cautious.
Lebetta offered Wilek a sheepish smile, which faded when she caught sight of Kal. “I wasn’t feeling well, so I went to the healer. Must have lost track of the hour. Found Dendrick waiting outside my chambers. Did you need something?”
She dared lie? “When did Sâr Janek take up the healing arts?”
Her eyelashes fluttered. She opened her mouth, but no words came forth.
“You were seen with my brother, entering his chambers.”
She snapped out of her daze and shrugged off his question as insignificant. “You were angry. I thought you’d like some distance.”
Wilek flinched as if she had struck him. “At this point, it matters not whether you shared his bed. But I would still like to know.”
Her eyes widened with remorse and fear. “Lek, please. It meant nothing. I am yours.”
Wilek gritted his teeth, stunned by her audacity. His arm flew out to the side, pointing in the direction of Janek’s chambers. “Until you were also his!”
“It wasn’t like that. You have to believe me.”
Wilek replied with a rude snort. “I have to? My reports say you walked into his chambers voluntarily.”
“Yes, but there are things you don’t know, things I can’t explain.”
“Try.”
A tear ran down her cheek. “It’s for your safety. To protect you.” She knelt at his feet. “Please, Lek. All I have done is because I love you.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“No.”
“Me? He threatened me?”
She shook her head.
“Then explain yourself!”
Wilek stepped back from her, pulling free from her touch. “Why, Etta? I demand you tell me what . . .” His voice broke. She would not meet his eyes. She would tell him nothing. He drew a calming breath, but it didn’t ease the anger, the hurt. “You go too far in so many ways. I’ve overlooked much that my father would have punished.”
“Lek, please.”
“You are dismissed forever from my service.” He exhaled a shaky breath. “I banish you from Castle Everton and the city. You’ll be compensated so you may start a life elsewhere. Be gone by tomorrow evening.”
He expected her to throw herself at his feet again, beg forgiveness, confess all that had really happened, all she was hiding. Instead her expression hardened. Her eyes glittered.
“You can’t banish me.”
Wilek fought against the anger choking him and kept his voice steady. “Kal, escort Lady Lebetta to her chambers. Inform the guards she is to remain there until transport can be made to her new home.”
“You can’t do this!” She scrambled to her feet and tried to slap him, but he caught hold of her wrist, then caught the other when she raised it against him as well. Kal pushed between them and grabbed her waist.
“No!” She thrashed against Kal, but he easily dragged her toward the door. Dendrick opened it, and two guards in the hall ran toward them. “He’ll kill you! Janek will be Heir. Is that what you want?”
“What do you mean?” Wilek asked. “Who will kill me? Janek?”
“Let me stay! Please, don’t cast me out.”
“Explain yourself and I will consider it.”
“I can’t!”
“You leave me no choice.” Wilek waved at Kal to continue. The guards stepped forward and assisted the shield in removing Lebetta from the room.
“I hate you!” she screamed as the three men hauled her away. “You’re weak! Gullible! If you ever rule this realm, you’ll be killed the moment that crown touches your brow.”
Her words stabbed, and he turned away, unable to look upon her. The door shut, silencing most of the struggle. Weary, Wilek sank onto the edge of his bed, breath clogged in his chest. She had always been able to wound him with words.
“Do you wish to be alone, Your Highness?” Dendrick asked. Wilek’s onesent stood just inside the door.
“Was I wrong, Dendrick?” He had been. He knew it.
“Your father would have her executed.”
“No.” Wilek’s heart seized at the very idea. “I don’t wish that.” He would let her fret for a few days, then call her back.
“I only meant that you have gone easier on her than he would have,” Dendrick said.
“But why would she . . . ?” He understood none of this. “What did she mean? Could there be a plot against me?”
“There is always a plot, Your Highness. I’ll investigate at once. It might be nothing. She loves you, I am certain,” Dendrick said, “but loving a concubine is like holding a lit candle without a holder. At some point you will get burned.”
“My father will demand I replace her.” Father had never understood why Wilek had only one concubine. To have none at all . . .
“Was your decision final, Your Highness?” Dendrick asked.
“I know not.” No. It felt like his chest had caved in.
Why had this happened?
“Why not wait a few days?” Dendrick said. “Tell no one about the banishment. I could chase down the guards, keep Lady Lebetta confined to her chambers. That way, if you change your mind, no one will know it ever happened.”
“You’re wise, Dendrick,” Wilek said. “I will heed your advice.”
“You honor me, Your Highness.”
“No, Dendrick, you honor me.”
Wilek barely slept that night. Early the next morning, he set off for Janek’s chambers, Kal and Harton chasing after him.
“What are you going to do?” Harton asked.
“Get some answers.”
Sir Jayron, Janek’s Rurekan shield, was standing outside the door to Janek’s chambers. Despite his shaved, henna-covered chin and head that lacked even one warrior’s tail, he wore a King’s Guard uniform. As Janek’s shield, his tabard bore Janek’s insignia of a black great ship. He bowed his head ever so slightly. “Sâr Wilek.”
“I must speak with my brother,” Wilek said.
“He’s not up yet,” Sir Jayron said.
Sir Jayron scowled at Wilek. “If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll tell him you’re here.” He slipped into the room.
Wilek counted to ten, then went inside. Kal and Harton followed.
Sir Jayron was standing beside the bed, shaking Janek’s shoulder. “Your Highness?”
Janek wasn’t alone. Wilek’s heart flipped, thinking Lebetta might have come here. But no. There were two women. Janek’s concubines.
Janek groaned and pushed onto one elbow. “What time is it?”
“Time to get up and answer for your crimes,” Wilek said.
Sir Jayron strode toward Wilek. “I told you to wait in the hall.”
“You didn’t actually,” Wilek said.
Kal lunged past Wilek to meet Sir Jayron, toe-to-toe. Wilek slipped around them. Sir Jayron made a grab for Wilek’s arm, but Kal pushed him back. He fell onto Janek’s bed. One of the women screamed.
“Enough!” Janek yelled, eyes red with sleep. “Guards, outside.”
“But, Your Highness,” Sir Jayron said, “I cannot protect you if I’m not here.”
“My brother is no threat to me.”
“Don’t be so certain,” Wilek said.
Janek climbed out of bed and pulled on a robe. “Wait in the hall, all of you.”
Wilek nodded to Kal and Harton. The two shields, Harton, and both concubines left.
“Is this about your horse?” Janek asked once they were alone.
“This is about Lebetta.”
“Who?”
“My concubine.”
“Oh, is that her name?”
“Don’t. I want to know what you did.”
Janek grinned. “In detail?”
Wilek punched him. His brother flew back against the wall, knocking into the tapestry that covered the window. He grabbed it to keep from falling, but it ripped and he slammed to the floor, the tapestry heaped in his lap.
Janek flexed his jaw and rubbed it with his palm. “What was that for?”
“Because of you I had to . . .” He caught himself. “I threatened to banish her.”
Janek’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t banish Lady Lebetta. She’s been here forever.”
“You threatened her somehow. Threatened me.”
“Is that what she said?”
“Tell me what’s going on.”
Janek reached for Wilek. “Help me up.”
Wilek paced to the other side of the bed and folded his arms.
Janek pushed to his feet and straightened his robe. “I was only trying to help. Face it, brother. She has too much power over you. I mean, look at you! A lowly concubine has brought you to my chambers, throwing punches. Are you going to arrest me? What would our father say to that, I wonder?”
“Let’s ask him.”
“You cannot take your brother’s concubine, Janek,” their father said.
“Or my horse,” Wilek added, feeling childish the moment he had said it.
They had been unable to see the king so early, so they returned to the Throne Room a half hour before the Rosâr’s Bench to make their case. Father had dismissed all his bootlickers to see his sons, who now stood side by side before the throne.
“Wilek, your devotion to that woman is unnatural,” Father said. “Stop being content with so little. Build a harem, spread your attentions to many. Choose five women by the end of the week. I want a list of their names.”
Wilek didn’t want a harem. “But, Father. I’m to marry in a few months. Can this wait until after the wedding?”
“Absolutely not. Better to have your harem in place before your wife makes her home here. And, Janek, as a sâr of Armania, you can take most anything you want, but you cannot take from me or your brothers without permission. If you do so again, you will face the pole. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Father.” Janek bowed deeply to Wilek. “My most humble apologies if I offended you, brother.”
Wilek said nothing.
The muted sound of the trumpet announced the hour of the Rosâr’s Bench.
“My cue to leave,” Janek said, prancing toward the back door. “Enjoy your time with the people, brother.”
Wilek glared after him.
Father raised one kohl eyebrow at Wilek. “Choose new women, my son, and be happy.” Then, to the herald. “Let them in.”
The doors were opened, and the council filed in. Then the guards let in the patrons, who lined up along the wall to wait their turn to petition the king.
Wilek half listened to each request, his thoughts still on Lebetta. Should he forgive her right away? No. She had betrayed him. He must not forgive so easily. To appease his father, he would choose a harem. Such an act would frighten Lebetta. Perhaps enough to tell him the truth.