What the natives called the Shelosh Islands, King Barthel had renamed Islah after his first wife. It had been a beautiful jungle when the Amarnath and its pirated fleet had landed several months ago. It now resembled a military training camp. Hinck stood at the back of the practice field, watching his archers miss their targets. Adjacent to him Harton Sonber was running native slavs through a sword-training exercise.
Rogedoth was building an army.
He had originally planned to take New Sarikar from his nephew with mantics alone, but once he learned that the evenroot grown here produced no magic, he sought a secondary plan. Despite the vast stores of the magical substance he had brought across the Northsea, it would not last forever, and he was unwilling to waste it all defeating New Sarikar, then have nothing left for Armania.
But building an army was not without problems. He had no soldiers besides a handful of personal guards. His lone military asset, Harton Sonber, Rosâr Wilek’s ex-shield, had been made general. While Harton had no combat experience beyond small skirmishes to protect his charge, his training in Armanian camps made up for his lack of experience. He knew everything there was to know about Armanian military practices—in theory. But theory was enough to set Rogedoth’s plan in motion. At Harton’s urging he built an infantry of enslaved natives, compelling all to obey. This infantry would be used to weaken the armies of New Sarikar and Armania so that Rogedoth would not have to exhaust his evenroot stores once he joined the battle.
Harton also convinced Rogedoth to abandon plans to mine for metal to forge swords and instead produce enormous quantities of bows and arrows. Harton believed that focusing on ranged weapons was the only way to pit such weak and untrained infantry against seasoned soldiers.
Hinck, who had never been good with a bow, had, insanely, been put in charge of training the native slavs to shoot. As he had been known as one of the worst archers to grace the Five Realms in the past decade, his charges were not exactly advancing in skill at the rate Rogedoth demanded—not that he was trying very hard. Poor archers would only help Armania’s chances, but the dismal results often left Hinck feeling the false king’s wrath. So when the summons from Rogedoth boomed in Hinck’s head—“Come to the throne house”—he was unsurprised, expecting yet another lecture.
Hinck’s fear over Rogedoth learning he had the ability to use the mind-speak magic had subsided when Rogedoth discovered that a gifted man could speak to the non-gifted. He now ordered everyone around without audibly speaking a word, so Hinck conveniently managed to start hearing the man along with everyone else.
He had also been able to eavesdrop, for a little while anyway, which had been terribly convenient. Eventually, Rogedoth discovered the concept of shielding, which Hinck believed he’d learned from Sir Kamran DanSâr, though he had no proof. Interestingly enough, Rogedoth kept this new skill to himself, which amused Hinck. So both Rogedoth and Hinck had the ability to listen in on the minds of those around them. Better yet, Rogedoth wasn’t very proficient at shielding, especially when he was speaking to another, and Hinck was often able to pick up entire conversations to pass along to Wilek and Trevn.
Curious if Rogedoth meant to lecture him for his incompetent archers again, Hinck concentrated on the man’s thoughts and found his shields down.
“Mattenelle is too much a fool to betray me. Zenobia might, if she wished to make her son Kamran king. It wouldn’t be Laviel or Jemesha. Eudora’s compulsion wouldn’t allow it. Then who?”
Hinck leaned against the bow rack, set his feet well, and risked a quick glimpse through Rogedoth’s eyes—another trick Trevn had taught him.
The self-made king was pacing between his throne and his mantics, who were lined up before him. Rogedoth suspected one of his most trusted adherents of treason? The options were plentiful. The man could have a mutiny on his hands any day, yet Hinck’s stomach clenched at the idea that he might be the one to be found out.
He left the practice field and walked through the camp to Rogedoth’s fortress of reeds, dwelling on his most recent list of transgressions. Trevn had asked for information on Fonu and his army of giants, so Hinck had been eavesdropping on everyone—he was a spy, after all. Likely the best spy in the history of mankind. What spy had ever been able to gather so much intelligence without even leaving his bed? Hinck could flit from Rogedoth’s thoughts to Rosârah Laviel to Eudora to the servant who came in each morning to tend his fire. Anyone. It was an incredible magic, though he found it could be just as tedious. He quickly became sickened by the lewd things that occupied the minds of certain individuals and wearied by the tedium of minds that were nearly empty of thought altogether or that flitted from one idea to another like a bee in a garden of flowers.
Lady Eudora, for example, whose every movement and word had once captivated Hinck. Beyond the horror of her compulsion to obey Rogedoth, all she thought about was herself. Her own beauty. What she would wear. She must always be the most beautiful person present, hated any woman who drew attention away from her, and actively sought reasons to malign such competition with real or invented gossip or simply send them elsewhere.
One constant victim of Eudora’s libel was Lady Mattenelle, who had become Hinck’s only real friend in this place. Hinck had been shocked to find the mind of this gorgeous creature nearly vacant. He had lost count of how many times he’d listened in on Nellie’s thoughts to find her thinking nonsense words. Sometimes humming a tune. Beauty distracted her, be it nature, gowns or jewels, architecture, an impressive horse, a man she found attractive, or a hot meal when she was hungry. When her eyes locked on such things, they ensnared her thoughts, rendering her quite useless.
The practice of eavesdropping had not been an entire waste of time, however. He had once caught Rogedoth voicing with Fonu about his compulsion on giants. Rogedoth wanted Fonu to encourage the giants to raid the smaller settlements on the outskirts of New Sarikar, and Trevn verified that very thing had been taking place for months.
Hinck had also discovered that Rosârah Laviel and Princess Jemesha were plotting against Rogedoth. Hinck hadn’t believed it at first. Why would the man’s own daughter work against him? But Rogedoth had made a mistake in handling Janek’s situation. Rosârah Laviel had been pleading with the man ever since they’d left Everton to bring her son aboard the Amarnath. He had not prioritized this, and deep down she blamed him, both for Janek’s death and for not destroying Armania the moment they’d learned her son had been killed.
Princess Jemesha and her husband, Zeteo, had always wanted their daughter to marry Janek, and when Rogedoth had claimed Eudora as his own bride, Jemesha had been horrified. She had kept all this inside, of course, until Laviel confessed her lack of confidence in the man. After that the two women had started stealing away evenroot for their eventual escape or attack—they still hadn’t decided which they would choose.
Then there were the shadir. While Hinck couldn’t listen to their thoughts, because of Oli’s spell he could still see and hear them when they were nearby. This had taught Hinck much about the nature of these creatures. They did not like humans. They used them—fed off them in many ways.
Being able to see shadir when they thought no one was looking . . . it gave Hinck a chance to study them, and doing so stripped away all their mystery. They were demons, nothing more.
Hinck reached the throne house. He had barely stepped foot inside when Rogedoth was in his head.
“Come and join the ranks, Lord Dacre.”
The line of mantics and malleants arced out from each side of the throne like a claw about to draw Hinck into its grasp. His gaze locked with Nellie’s, and her bloodshot eyes about made his knees buckle.
Looked like trouble.
Somehow Hinck managed to cross the room and take position at the end of the row beside Lilou Caridod.
“Someone is betraying me,” Rogedoth said. “Confess now, and I will let you live.”
No one answered. Hinck adopted the posture of Harton, staring straight ahead like a soldier. He sensed a presence in his head and checked the shields around his mind. They were solid, as always.
“If you know anything,” Rogedoth said, “tell me and you will be rewarded.”
Hinck knew plenty, but he wasn’t about to say anything. He was tempted to listen in on Laviel or Jemesha’s minds to see if they were worried they’d been caught, but it seemed too risky at present.
“Lord Dacre sees the shadir yet takes no evenroot,” Rosârah Laviel said.
Hinck jerked his head toward the former queen.
“He somehow blocks off his thoughts as well,” she added. “He is the only person on the island I cannot listen in on, and I also heard him ask Lady Mattenelle about Master Fonu and the giants.”
She would betray him? Hinck couldn’t let her get away with that.
“Rosârah Laviel steals your evenroot,” he said.
She gasped. “Liar!”
Hinck looked to Rogedoth, expecting an expression of shock and betrayal. Instead, he found only sternness in the man, directed toward himself.
“We will deal with Laviel’s accusation first, Lord Dacre,” Rogedoth said. “I too have noticed the fortress of your mind. Step forward and defend yourself.”
Alarmed, Hinck walked to the center of the half circle and faced Rogedoth. “I don’t know why you cannot hear my thoughts, Your Highness. I take evenroot when it is asked of me, but I am no mantic and hate to waste such a precious resource for the rush it gives.”
“A reasonable answer,” Rogedoth said. “Some of you are gluttons with my root.”
“But, Father, no one has seen the young lord take root except Lady Mattenelle,” Laviel said, “and concubines always lie for the man who tumbles them.”
Her words made Hinck’s cheeks hot. “I have not seen any of your mantics take evenroot except for Lady Mattenelle, Your Highness,” Hinck said. “I am not in the habit of watching others eat or drink.”
“I might accept that response if not for the reports from my shadir,” Rogedoth said. “They’ve been watching you for months, Lord Dacre. Not one of them has bonded with you for healing after I have used you as a malleant. So if you are taking root, who is healing you?”
“Hwuum,” Hinck said, using the name of Nellie’s blue-and-yellow shadir that looked like wisps of curly hair. Though he didn’t see it in the room. Oddly enough, he didn’t see any shadir in the room.
“Hwuum swears he has never once healed you,” Rogedoth said. “All of Dendron’s shadir say the same.”
Nellie sniffed and wiped tears from her cheek. Hinck knew then that he had walked into an ambush. This was the trial before his execution, yet it seemed he’d already been found guilty. His mind spun for any logical answer. “That’s strange, for I thought he had.” What else could he say? “I admit, it is difficult to remember what happens when I’m in a haze. If not Hwuum, it must have been Noadab.” Hinck purposely used the name of Oli’s shadir, hoping the creature had not returned to Rogedoth’s service once Oli had run out of evenroot.
Rogedoth narrowed his eyes. “When did Noadab come to you?”
“When you fought in the eye of the storm,” Hinck said.
“More lies, Your Highness,” Lady Zenobia said. “Noadab had bonded with Oli Agoros when he fought against us in our final attempt to take the Seffynaw.”
“What does that matter?” Hinck asked. “Shadir are fickle creatures, as are we malleants when the poison begins to take our breath. We will beg mercy from whichever shadir is closest, whether they be the shadir of our enemy or Dendron the Great.” Hinck kept his expression fierce, hoping—begging and pleading, really—that the gods would have mercy on his traitorous, lying soul a wee bit longer.
Rogedoth sighed and turned to Timmons, who stood behind him to the left of the throne. “A simple test will prove all.” He reached out his hand, and Timmons handed his king a dark bottle.
Oh, gods.
Rogedoth pulled the cork and walked slowly toward Hinck, passed him on the right, circled behind. Hinck felt the weight of everyone’s stares upon him. This faithful remnant of the Lahavôtesh believed him a traitor, and they were right. Now they sought to prove it.
Oh, gods, why?
Rogedoth finished his loop and stopped before Hinck, then held out the bottle. “Drink.”
Hinck did not hesitate—any hesitation would look like fear, and he must not appear afraid to do something that a loyal adherent would be eager to do. The moist condensation on the outside of the bottle surprised him. He took a small sip of the icy drink, knowing he had twice survived that much evenroot. He would likely be able to again.
Rogedoth’s smile widened until it bared his unnaturally white teeth. “Drink it all. The whole bottle.”
Hinck balked. The silence in the room made everything worse, until Nellie choked back a sob. Sands, could she be any more obvious?
“I’ve never taken so much at once,” Hinck said.
“You have been accused of treason,” Rogedoth said. “Of stealing from me, lying to me, and sharing my secrets with the enemy. This is your chance to prove yourself. Or die.”
Nellie fainted. Harton just managed to catch her as she went down, then held her as she came to, panicked.
“Must I compel you to drink, Lord Dacre?” Rogedoth asked.
The brief thought to run flitted through his mind, but any attempt to leave would prompt one of these mantics—Rosârah Laviel, likely—to attack. Hinck recalled how Sir Jayron had died and made his decision.
“If you insist, Your Highness.” And Hinck drank.
Dismay churned inside him as he chugged the icy juice. This would surely kill him. Painfully. Yet he had no choice but to obey.
The sweet, gritty liquid coated his mouth and throat in frost. He could feel it slowly making its way through his veins, down his arms, past his stomach and into his legs. Everything burned and throbbed with the cold, as if the substance were eating his flesh from the inside out.
He heard himself gasp and began to lose the feeling in his limbs. He dropped to his knees and found them numb, fell forward and caught himself on deadened hands. His teeth chattered as shivers combed his body. Nellie screamed his name over and over, but she did not come to him. He collapsed on the polished wood floor and fought to bring in one small breath at a time.
Still no shadir filled the Veil.
Rogedoth must have told them to stay away, no matter the pull of the evenroot available for purging. No matter that Hinck might give in and trade his soul to extend his life.
Rogedoth wanted him dead.
Hinck’s only defense was to tell Trevn what had happened. “Trevn, I am dying. Rogedoth made me drink a whole bottle of evenroot and ordered the shadir to stay away. He knows I am against him.”
Trevn’s compassion blasted Hinck with such force he felt warm for a moment. “What can I do?”
“There’s nothing to do. Tell Sâr Wilek—I mean, the king. Tell him I’m sorry. Tell my parents—”
“I’ll voice for help.” And Trevn severed their connection.
Typical. Even when he was dying Hinck couldn’t hold Trevn’s attention for more than a few breaths.
A woman called out to him. Nellie, probably. Or perhaps it was Iamos, goddess of healing, standing at the Lowerworld gates. She would receive his dead body and rejuvenate it for eternity. Then he would stand before Athos’s Bench to be judged.
“Answer me,” the woman said.
“Iamos,” Hinck said. “I hear you.”
“This is not Iamos. I am Onika, prophetess of Arman. And you must call on him if you wish to live without giving in to your enemy.”
Hinck’s thoughts knotted. “Miss Onika?”
“If you pledge your life to Arman, he will bring you into his presence. He will vouch for your life on earth. He might even heal you.”
It could help to have a god vouch for him as he stood before Athos’s Bench. Hinck had not always made the best choices.
“Call on Arman, Hinckdan,” Miss Onika said. “Only he can save you.”
Arman.
Hinck’s throat had swelled so much that he could barely pull in a hitch of air. He could see his body twitching, though it was too numb with cold to feel the movement. A sudden panic shot through him. He didn’t want to die. Not without seeing his parents and apologizing for leaving them. Not without trying to help Sarikar and Armania stand against Rogedoth. Not without seeing Lady Pia again.
Arman? Hinck tried. Miss Onika says you can help me. Would you? He sucked in a desperate breath. Please? he added as an afterthought.
“I AM HE, AND THERE IS NO GOD BESIDE ME. I GIVE AND TAKE LIFE. I WOUND AND HEAL. THERE IS NO OTHER WHO CAN DELIVER YOU FROM MY HAND.”
At the sound of that voice, heat pulsed through Hinck as if someone had opened a door to the deserts of Dacre. Hinck knew then, without a doubt, that Miss Onika had been right. This was the God.
Have mercy on me, Arman! he cried out. I have wasted my life on empty pleasures. My bloodguilt is so deep I am drowning. Forgive my feebleness. I am nothing. You are everything. I will praise you with my last breath.
“BECAUSE YOU HAVE HUMBLED YOURSELF AND ASKED IN FAITH, I WILL RESTORE HEALTH TO YOU AND HEAL YOUR WOUNDS. I AM ARMAN.”
Hinck reveled in the warmth and love of that supernatural voice. As it faded, he heard himself moan. His throat cleared and the chill left his body. He made a fist and wiggled his toes.
His body had been healed.
He opened his eyes and rolled onto his back, breathing easily now. Rogedoth stood over him, face slack, ridged brow pinched.
“Have I appeased my accusers, Your Highness?” Hinck rasped.
Rogedoth walked back to his throne. “You have appeased me, Hinckdan Faluk, and that is all that matters. Now all of you, get out. We march on Sarikar on my command.”
Hinck sat up. The adherents rushed to the door, averting their gazes as they passed. All but Nellie, who fell to her knees beside him, sobbing, and grabbed him in a suffocating embrace.
“Help me stand,” Hinck said, wanting to leave the throne house and never come back.
Nellie obeyed and the two left together, Hinck’s legs still shaky.
“How did you do it?” she asked when they were outside.
“I didn’t,” Hinck said, awed by the sight of the wide blue sky overhead, thankful to be alive. “Arman did.”
Now he needed to warn Wilek and King Loran that Rogedoth was coming soon.