Rogedoth had demanded Hinck, Lady Lilou, and several others serve as malleants while the mantics wielded magic to survive the storm. Hinck had tried to fake a drink from the evenroot bottle that Timmons had forced on him, but a tiny swallow had seeped in and made him sick enough to fall into a delusion. When he’d finally awakened, he found himself in bed in his cabin. He’d refused the shadir that came to him, which had made Lady Mattenelle so nervous she’d cast a spell to heal him herself.
“You must be more careful,” she’d said. “If the king finds out you refuse the milk of Gâzar and the healing of shadir, he will be very upset.”
Hinck had seen what Rosârah Laviel did when she was angry. He had no desire to find out what her father might do.
The Amarnath had continued on for three more weeks in search of an island chain that Rogedoth’s shadir was supposedly leading them to. But when they finally reached land one rainy morning, it turned out to be no more than three islands.
The Amarnath dropped anchor, as did the twenty-some other ships Rogedoth had pirated in the past few months. An army of dinghies carrying Rogedoth and his mantics stormed the beach. Despite the pouring rain they attacked a village of pales, subdued the leaders, and enslaved them all. By the time Hinck came to shore with Lady Eudora and her retinue of maidens, the worst of the evils had ended.
The island was covered in woodlands, though barren trees and bushes and yellow grass spoke of a winter season. The place reminded Hinck of the forest east of Faynor back in Sarikar, where the trees met the fog of The Gray. Though it had stopped raining by the time Hinck stepped ashore, the air itself seemed heavy with cool moisture. On the horizon forested hills rolled into the distance. The village itself consisted of several dozen stilted, reed-walled houses with steep, thickly pitched grass roofs. Mosquitoes were everywhere, and their bites itched madly.
In all there were eight mantics: Lady Zenobia, Zithel Lau, Filkin Yohthehreth, Sârah Jemesha, Rosârah Laviel, Rogedoth himself, Harton Sonber, and Lady Mattenelle, who, at her request, Hinck now called Nellie. Each mantic commandeered a stilted house. Hinck was to live in Nellie’s, Eudora told him as they made their way from the beach to the largest house in the village—the one Rogedoth had claimed for himself.
“Nellie gets a house but I don’t?” Hinck asked. “How does a concubine rank higher than an earl?”
“Your status in this kingdom has nothing to do with your birth or rank,” Eudora said. “It’s about loyalty. Lady Mattenelle is to keep an eye on you, because your loyalty remains in question to the king.”
Wonderful. “How can I prove my loyalty?” he asked.
“Stay out of the way for now. And if you are called upon, obey and be polite.”
Hinck was always polite. “So I’m to be a slave like the pales?”
“We all must obey our king,” she said, sneering.
But Rogedoth was not Hinck’s king. He met Eudora’s dark eyes, wondering how he would ever find his way back to the Armanians.
They reached the biggest house and climbed a short ladder to enter. The place seemed to be built of sticks, though inside, the floor was sturdy. Thin rods lashed together created walls that let the moist, cool air flow through the room. The inside was one large, rectangular space with several glassless windows on every wall. Grass mats covered the floor and some of the windows. Ladders on each end of the room led up to separate lofts.
Already Rogedoth had set up the thrones. He and his daughter were seated. Eudora left Hinck at the door and claimed her spot beside the king.
“I sense a new magic here, my queen,” Rogedoth said. “I first believed it to be an enhancement of our mantic abilities, but now I think it is something different.”
“What kind of magic?” Eudora asked.
“A form of mind-speak,” he said. “I am able to do it, as are Sârah Jemesha and Rosârah Laviel. But none of the others. I think it shall prove most useful to my plans.”
“It sounds awful,” Eudora said.
Rogedoth frowned at his bride, then looked away, his shrewd gaze scanning the room. He spotted Hinck and seemed to snarl like a fang cat about to pounce. “I see you brought Lord Dacre.”
“As you commanded,” Eudora said.
“Come forward, Lord Dacre,” Rogedoth said.
Hinck made his way to the front of the room. He glanced from Eudora to Rogedoth to Rosârah Laviel. He was still looking at Sâr Janek’s mother when he heard Rogedoth’s voice in his head.
“Do you hear me, Lord Dacre? I think you a traitor.”
Panic seized Hinck’s nerves. He kept his gaze steady, his thoughts blank, then slowly looked to Rogedoth, determined not to let the man know he could hear this new magic.
“I would have you swear fealty to me, Lord Dacre, and serve House Rogedoth as I see fit,” he said, then added silently, “Or you can die.”
Hinck bowed his head, trying to look honored and not completely terrified, though his hands were trembling. The words of such a vow meant nothing to Hinck, but to swear fealty meant that he would be Rogedoth’s man. He would have to take evenroot and worship the King of Magic and obey whatever insane command the man gave him.
Or die, apparently.
“I . . . am honored to swear loyalty to my king, Your Highness,” he said, thinking of Rosâr Echad and Sâr Wilek as he dropped to his knees.
Hinck had gone from being a pawn of princes to being the slave of a tyrant who wanted to kill him.
“Very good,” Rogedoth said, though Hinck could hear the mistrust in the man’s voice. “You, Lord Dacre, will join me as we begin our preparations. Already evenroot is being sowed in the ground, and soon we will have power enough to claim all the kingdoms as our own. Sarikar will fall. Armania will fall. And we shall rule.”
Hinck forced himself to keep from trembling, from picturing the terrible future the man claimed. He knew only two things: First, he would do all he could to stop Rogedoth’s plans.
Second, freedom was a long way off.