Wilek
I am honored, Your Highness.” Novan bowed and departed the tent.
Wilek took a deep breath. He could scarcely believe all that had happened since coming to the island. Losing Kal that morning had been a terrible blow, but it had all gone much smoother than he would have thought possible. Harton had eagerly accepted the promotion to High Shield, and Novan Heln seemed just as enthusiastic about serving as Wilek’s backman. Wilek was glad of it, but still sore over the situation. Why would Arman let this happen? Why not heal Kal? The man deserved healing ten times over, in Wilek’s opinion.
Dendrick poked his head into the doorway of Wilek’s tent. “The empress is still waiting, Your Highness,” he said.
Sands alive, he’d forgotten he’d summoned Inolah. There were simply too many issues demanding his attention. “Send her in.” Once he dealt with this final thread, the entire ordeal involving Kal’s resignation would be patched up.
A moment later Inolah arrived, looking completely exhausted. Her pregnant belly seemed bigger than ever, and Wilek wondered if he might be assuming too much in asking her here now.
“Are you certain you have time to see me?” she asked.
Her teasing tone brought a smile to Wilek’s face. “Forgive me, sister. Just when I start to think I am clearing away parts of the workload, a host of new problems falls into their place.”
Inolah eased herself onto the chair across from his. “If you are so busy, I can’t imagine why you would waste time talking with me.”
“It is purely selfish. I have news and a proposition.”
“For me?”
“Yes, but first the news. In order to make it clear to everyone how much I regard and trust the prophetess Onika, I have given her my High Shield. Sir Kalenek Veroth will serve her now and take charge of her personal guard.”
“You feel she needs such protection?”
“I do. There has been grumbling about her already. If we do not find land soon after we depart, I will trust her word above any other. Many will think that foolish and will panic. I fear she might become a target for those wishing to send me a message.”
“But why Kal? There are dozens of other decorated soldiers you could have chosen.”
“Well, now. This next part stays between us.” And he told her about Kal’s malady and how this “promotion” and change of duties was Wilek’s way of keeping him close. “He is too wise to force into retirement, and I cannot do without his friendship and counsel.”
“Poor Kal,” Inolah said. “I knew that he had suffered losses from the war and that he’d been hurt, but I had no idea it ran so deep.”
“He cannot abide our sympathy, Nolah, as I’m sure you can imagine. Now, whether that fool son of yours knows it or not, you also are far too valuable an asset to ignore. I would like you to be Miss Onika’s companion.”
“That’s all? Seems little for so valuable an asset.”
“It’s very important. She is the True Prophet who has been foretold for centuries. She is young and beautiful and very outspoken, and I must protect her in every way I can.”
“How can I refuse? With a new baby coming, I will likely be too busy for anything more taxing.”
He hoped he wasn’t taking advantage of her. The pool of people he could trust was small, indeed. “I have one more request, though I don’t think it will tax you.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What else could there be?”
“Our young cousin, the Duke of Canden, Oli Agoros. He may not look it, but I suspect he is suffering greatly.” Wilek told her about the night their father had sacrificed them to Barthos, who had turned out to be a cheyvah beast. “Oli lost an arm in the fray, yet I am unscathed. He is aimless and morose. He has no purpose, even though I put him on the Wisean Council. His family turned traitor to the crown, he has abandoned his friends—claiming to despise them—and he thinks shadir are haunting him with the intention of feasting on his soul.”
“Shadir?”
“He was part of the mantic cult I told you about. This was another reason he sought to end his life by volunteering as a sacrifice to Barthos. But, Inolah, he is a clever man, funny. I really like him. He could be an asset to the realm if we can pull him back from the abyss, so to speak.”
“So you want me to fix him.”
“His mother has abandoned him. Your son has cast you aside. I thought . . .” He shrugged.
“Oh, I see,” Inolah said. “You thought we might fix each other. Well, for you, brother, I shall try. But in my experience, young men don’t much appreciate strange old women butting into their business, even if they are distant relations.”
“Which is why I intend to place him under Kal on Miss Onika’s staff. Kal will find some official use for him. You make sure he shows up each day.”
“Between Kal and me, the young man doesn’t stand a chance,” Inolah said.
Another problem potentially solved. “Thank you, Inolah.”
“I do not look forward to more sailing.”
“It is a great disappointment,” Wilek confessed.
“How long will we remain on the island?”
“Another night, at least, though likely two. I must wait for your son’s answer before determining which Armanian people will remain here. For now, we are refilling all the freshwater casks and gathering as much fruit and game as this island has to offer. Some of the commoners have requested grass for weaving baskets and mats, so I’ve let groups come ashore to cut it.”
“I hesitate to add more to your list,” Inolah said, “but I feel you should be aware of the growing problems between Rurekau and Tenma. It is rather juvenile, I’m afraid, but will explain why Ulrik refuses to leave his ship.”
“Do not apologize. Understanding his position would help me a great deal.”
“It began innocently enough,” Inolah said. “A couple of Rurekan sailors requested that, Tennish or Rurekan, the young boys help out around the ship to keep them busy and out of mischief. Ulrik found this a reasonable request and commanded that it happen. High Queen Jazlyn heard about it and reversed his order for her people—though there were only three Tennish boys involved. She claimed that her people were passengers, invited by the emperor, and need not work.”
“Ulrik was angry, but admirably let the matter go. This left the three Tennish boys bored with nothing to do, so they began helping around the ship anyway, in spite of the High Queen’s command. It seemed for a while as if the priestess would let this pass. Then Tennish women began seducing Rurekan sailors. Before anyone realized what was going on, nearly half the members of the crew had been tattooed as slavs under the control of the High Queen.”
Wilek shivered and massaged the back of his neck, where he still bore the tattoo of a Magonian slav. “How awful.”
“This left Ulrik’s crew divided against itself—half loyal to their emperor, the other half at the mercy of the Tennish queen. Ulrik did nothing for over a week. When Tenma’s founders’ day came along, he hosted a banquet in the High Queen’s honor. While he entertained her and her people and lavished them with praise, he had also ordered a search of the ship. His men seized every bit of evenroot they could find in the High Queen’s cabin and added it to his own stash of powder, tubers, and plants he has hidden in a secret place.”
The hairs on Wilek’s arms stood on end. “Grounds for war, from a Tennish perspective, especially considering how rare evenroot is now.” The hallucinogen had been valuable to mantics before, but now that they were at sea and could grow no more, it was priceless.
“The High Queen declared war on Rurekau, only now she claims she does not have enough evenroot to do any serious magic. Ulrik is too paranoid to leave his ship for fear she will find the evenroot in his absence, nor will he permit her to come ashore.”
“Wouldn’t he be better off with her gone?”
“I think so, but he is smitten with her. She claims that Rurekau is abusing her people and threatening their way of life, but she cannot be trusted. Her shadir is a great. The power it can wield . . .” Inolah shook her head. “Together they caused Mount Lâhat’s eruption. They killed Nazer. They destroyed Lâhaten and all who could not flee fast enough. She and her creature are ruthless. I am not sorry that Ulrik has taken her evenroot. I wish he would destroy it all.”
“The High Queen will find no sympathy from me,” Wilek said. “A mantic abducted me and kept me prisoner—”
A commotion outside his tent brought him to his feet just as Harton ducked inside.
“You must come right away, Your Highness,” he said. “Randmuir Khal of the Omatta is here asking to see you.”
A chill settled over Wilek. He had known he would have to face Rand someday. The man would not have taken Teaka’s death easily. “Send him in.”
“I think it’s better if you come out, Your Highness,” Harton said. “He brought an army, and our men are holding them back.”
Wilek wove his way behind Harton through several dozen onlookers and three layers of guardsmen, finally stepping onto the packed sand of the beach where two half circles had formed: one of Armanian guards wearing blue and brown, one of Omatta nomads clad in shades of black and gray. A middle-aged man with twisted locks of brown hair and a wispy beard and mustache stood at the center of the visitors. Randmuir Khal. His son, Meelo, stood beside him, lips still melted away by the spell Charlon had cast.
“Rand,” Wilek said, nodding politely. “It’s good to see you.”
But Rand’s eyes were on Inolah. “Expecting a child, I see? Congratulations.”
“This is my sister Inolah, Empress of Rurekau,” Wilek said.
Rand snorted. “Well, don’t you all give yourselves a lot of fancy titles? Claimed this island for Armania, have you?”
“All of the Five Realms will share this land,” Wilek said, “but there is not enough room for everyone in the fleet. We are setting up a colony of twenty thousand people. The rest of us will sail on in search of more land.”
“Any reason the Omatta can’t come ashore?” Rand asked. “We’re most of us Armanian.”
Wilek was more concerned about them being mercenaries and outlaws than he was by their mixed nationalities. “That depends on what you want,” he said. “You and your armed men don’t look very friendly.”
“Came to talk to you. Where is my mother, Wil?”
Every face in the crowd turned toward Wilek. “I sent a message by bird that—”
“I got your message,” Rand snapped. “What did you do with her body?”
“To leave her on board was impossible,” Wilek said, feeling terrible. “I had no way of knowing whether you had received my message, if you had even joined the fleet.”
Meelo growled and Rand put his arm around the man. “Just tell us what was done.”
“We had a last rites ceremony for her on the Seffynaw,” Wilek said. “We wrapped her body for shipping and set her out in a death boat.”
“My mother in a death boat?” Rand yelled. “I thought royal spawn were educated about the world. Magonians must be burned on an altar to their goddess, Wil. You have doomed my mother to the Lowerworld.”
A hundred accusing stares locked onto Wilek. “Forgive me, Rand. You are Armanian. I assumed your mother was as well.”
“I carried your pathetic soul-bound body out of captivity, and this is how you repay me? Tell me you found her killer, at least.”
“It was a mantic,” Wilek said. “But we have not yet apprehended the culprit.”
“And all these people are following your ship? Letting you lead them? You who can’t even find one woman’s killer?”
Such taunting made Wilek remember how helpless he had felt when he had been seeking out Lebetta’s killer. He whispered to Rayim, “Maybe we should bring him inside my tent.”
Rayim shook his head. “I’ll not let him anywhere near you, not in his state. Perhaps a change of subject will help.” He raised his voice. “Tell me, old friend. You wouldn’t know anything about pirates harassing this fleet, would you?”
“It’s not us, if that’s what you think,” Rand said. “Not yet, anyway.”
“And if I think it’s your daughter?” Rayim asked. “What did you tell me Zahara’s ship was called again? Taradok, right?”
A grin. “I never told you what her ship was called, and for good reason. You want to know her business, you’ll have to ask her.” Rand pushed through his men, walking back toward the sea. “Come on, men. It’s clear we’re not welcome here.”
“I am sorry about your mother,” Wilek called after him. “She was a hero to us all.”
Rand turned back, his eyes a narrow glare. He pointed at Wilek. “Don’t. You used her like you royals use everyone else.”
“To do what was necessary to save the realm,” Wilek said.
“Maybe. Or maybe it was only to save yourself.”
A noise woke Wilek. Panic seized him that Rand had returned to take revenge for the death of his mother, until a bird squawked and lighted on the roof of his tent, shaking the canvas. Wilek watched the bird’s shadow for several deep breaths, then sat up and faced the darkness of night, frustration flooding him. Ever since Charlon had abducted him, he slept far too lightly. Now he would be wide awake for hours. Perhaps he should ring for a sleeping drought.
“Your Highness,” a woman said in a low voice.
Wilek jumped, reached under his pillow for the dagger he had kept there since the abduction. It was missing. He glanced at the bell hanging above his bed. Should he reach for it? Or yell for the guards?
“Don’t call the guards. I am not here to harm you.” The black silhouette of a woman stepped into the orange glow from his fire pit, holding up his dagger. She laid it gently on the foot of his bed. “It is Lady Pia, answering your summons.”
Oh. Janek’s concubine, dressed all in black. Relief engulfed him. Two nights ago he had sent the woman a message with Gran’s password. How had she gotten past the guards? “Shall I light a candle?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “It is imperative that no one ever see us together. I will never stay long. First, you should know that I have, for four years now, served your father as a Knife. The king has not made use of me in almost a year, but should he call upon me, I will come to you for direction.”
Wilek stared at the slight woman, shocked. She was a royal assassin?
“Second, Sâr Janek still wants to be Heir of Armania and someday rule, but he is not currently working directly against you. He seeks evenroot more than anything and has found Teaka’s newt Errp. He plans to use it to search the ship for Teaka’s supply of evenroot, hoping, in the process, to catch Teaka’s killer and impress you and your father.”
Janek actually wanted to do something useful? “How did he get the newt?”
“That matters not. The rosâr will likely grant him permission to search, and when you learn of it, I urge you to let him take this path. It will keep him occupied from more destructive mischief. I shall keep you informed of everything he finds.”
“Thank you,” Wilek said, awed by Gran’s gift.
“I have one more item,” Lady Pia said. “It is grave.”
“Continue.”
“There is a rumor spreading that Lady Zeroah visited Sâr Janek’s tent late last night. Alone.”
Heat filled Wilek. “What!” He threw off his blanket and jumped out of bed.
Lady Pia backed up a step. “Please keep your voice down, Your Highness. And remember, this is only a rumor.”
Wilek stopped, put his hands on his hips, and tried to calm himself. “What are the details of this rumor?”
“It is most strange. No one seems to have any memory of seeing her, but I did overhear Sâr Janek tell Sir Jayron that Lady Zeroah had come to him and that they had been intimate.”
Betrayed again? Why? “Did Janek say he summoned her?”
“Not that he told Sir Jayron. He seemed surprised by her visit, yet boastful, as always.”
Wilek stood in place, keenly aware of his bare feet, cool against the woven mats on the floor. His trousers had twisted slightly at the waist and around his knees. On his finger, his signet ring felt heavy. Here he stood in the dark of night and heard in his mind a herald blow his tune on the trumpet and call out his name: Wilek-Sâr Hadar, the First Arm, the Dutiful, the Godslayer, Heir to Armania.
In the face of such blatant rejection, nothing mattered. Not his rank, not his hard work this past month, nor his fighting against traitors to save his realm. The lady simply wanted Janek instead of him. He wasn’t enough for her. He had never been enough for anyone.
Lady Pia merely watched him. He could see her now, a dark shadow with two pinpricks of reflected light from the dying fire to mark her eyes. “I will try to learn more,” she said, “and come to you at once should I hear further rumors or see her anywhere near him.”
What would he do? he suddenly wondered. Would he expose her to all? Could he marry her, knowing of this? He didn’t think he could. But if it offered stability to the realm, he might have to.
Or perhaps nothing had happened and it was only a rumor Janek had started for fun.
“Do you have any tasks for me?” Lady Pia asked.
Wilek’s mind was completely distracted. “I don’t know at the moment. I shall have to think on it. How will I summon you?”
“Place a rug in front of your door, whether you sleep in a tent, ship’s cabin, or a bedchamber. I will be watching, always, and will come to you at night.”
“That will do,” Wilek said, not knowing how to end the conversation.
Lady Pia nodded and walked away, not toward the door, but to the back of the tent. Somewhere in the darkness, she vanished. Wilek walked the way she’d gone but could see no sign of her. She must have slipped under the tent’s edge, but not one ripple marred the canvas wall.
He went back to bed but could not sleep. He relived Pia’s visit over and over, repeating her words in his memory.
“A rumor . . . Lady Zeroah visited Sâr Janek’s tent late last night. . . . I did overhear Sâr Janek tell Sir Jayron that Lady Zeroah had come to him . . . they had been intimate.”
First Lebetta had betrayed him. Now Lady Zeroah. Wilek was far from perfect. He had been too busy to court the girl properly. Had put her off too long. But a delayed marriage was no excuse for such treachery. If she had done this, it could not be undone.
What had come over her? The loss of her mother and now her grandfather must have ruined her mind. Regardless, it was unacceptable.
All of it.