King, Page 2

  Ela couldn’t help draining her juice, despite its tartness. Let Tamri and Prill frown at her appalling manners—she was thirsty. Finished, she looked for the servant, but he’d vanished.

  Beside her, Barth grumbled, “Mine tastes sour.”

  Akabe grimaced at the pitcher left in their midst. “True. The aftertaste is bitter.”

  Aware of an unpleasant icy burning around her lips and down her throat, Ela flung aside her cup. “Majesty!”

  She wrenched Barth’s half-empty cup from his small hands. He already looked sick.

  Matron Prill threw down her own cup and said the word Ela feared to voice.

  “Poison!”

  2

  Poison? Yes, it must be. Blisters bubbled in Ela’s mouth. Searing pain scorched its way down her throat. Frantic courtiers and guards closed about them now, some calling for physicians, others kneeling beside the king, whose usually healthy complexion had turned waxen. Barth cried out and writhed against her. Prill and Tamri supported each other, gasping as if burning alive, and no wonder. Her own stomach seemed on fire.

  Ela snatched the branch from the mat, pleading, “Infinite, what must we do?”

  An image flashed within her thoughts, sped by a ferocious mental nudge from her Creator. Hurry!

  Battling faintness, Ela grabbed a round of flatbread from Tamri’s dish. The instant she lifted the bread, Ela saw the branch flare, its blue-white fire spreading through her and into the loaf. Frantic, Ela tore the still-glowing bread in two and thrust one half at Akabe. “Eat! Quickly!”

  The king obeyed.

  Ela dropped the branch and ripped off pieces of bread for Barth, Tamri, Prill, and herself.

  In obvious pain, her chaperones snatched the bits of bread and crammed them into their mouths.

  While Ela lifted Barth, she swallowed her own bite of bread. It went down her raw throat, quenching the poison’s fire. Ela shoved a piece of bread into Barth’s mouth. He squirmed and fought. “Chew!” Ela ordered. “Barth, swallow the bread—please!”

  The little boy wailed. Ela covered his mouth to prevent the bread from falling out. Holding him, she begged, “Barth! Swallow the bread, and the Infinite will save you!”

  She felt his jaw clench. The little boy gulped audibly, opened his eyes, and chirped, “I feel better!”

  As the onlooking courtiers exclaimed their relief and praised the Infinite for His miracle, Ela hugged Barth and kissed his soft cheek. “Infinite, thank You!” But she trembled inwardly. Someone had tried to kill the king. With four of his subjects—one a child.

  Infinite? Who would do such a thing?

  No answer.

  Ela turned to the king. Blessedly, Akabe’s complexion was no longer ghastly. He shook off his fussing attendants. “I’m well. I give you my word. Step back, all of you.” To Ela he said, “Prophet, thank you.”

  She rocked Barth. “Thanks to the Infinite, sir, for providing the bread that saved us. I’m grateful you’re alive—that we all survived.”

  Barth snuggled into Ela’s arms, seeming content. Soon the king commanded him, “On your feet, young sir. We must return to the palace. Your lord-father ought to see you’re well before rumors reach him that you were . . . ill.”

  “He won’t mind,” Barth argued, but he stood. A grim-faced official in sweeping crimson robes nudged the child toward the steps, toward the royal cavalcade of horses in the street below. Akabe departed as well, surrounded by his anxious men.

  As the crowd around them thinned, Ela grabbed Tamri’s and Prill’s hands. “You’re not too shaken?”

  “Oh no.” Prill’s mouth pursed testily. “Just another day tending our little prophet!”

  “Sorry,” Ela muttered.

  Tamri’s grandmotherly face crinkled as she smiled. “Well, we’re alive for now, my girl. Do you suppose it’s safe to finish our food?”

  “Yes. I’m certain only that single pitcher was poisoned.”

  “The king’s men took it with them,” Prill observed. “No doubt they mean to test it.”

  “Yes, no doubt.” Ela reached for her dish. Someone had kicked it, spilling half her food on the mat. She picked up scattered bits of bread and vegetables until a gruff voice stopped her.

  “Prophet?”

  Ela looked up. Two badged officials stared down at her, their expressions unmoving as masks. The gruff-voiced one said, “Will you answer a few questions?”

  She nodded and set down her dish. So much for eating.

  “Huh.” Akabe studied the dead flies floating in the gold bowl on his council table. “It’s the most effective fly poison I’ve ever seen.”

  Unamused, his counselors stared at him, then at the bowl again. Lord Faine tapped his blunt fingers on the table. “Majesty, how did your enemies know so quickly that you’d visit the site today?”

  “How indeed?” Akabe sat back in his chair. The celebration and his appearance were planned only this week, after he’d signed the land contract. “Is there a spy in my household?”

  Faine sighed. “We must redouble our surveillance and your guards. Majesty . . . this was the second attempt on your life within the past seven months.”

  “I’m well aware of that fact, my lord. My knife wound from last year and this morning’s blisters have made the dangers of kingship abundantly clear. What are you failing to say?”

  Faine hesitated. “You need an heir. We’ve agreed you must marry.”

  “But have I agreed?” Akabe studied his council members’ faces. To a man, they nodded, deathly serious.

  “Yes, sir, you must.” Faine harrumphed, adding with an awkward cough, “Duty.”

  “Ah.” Duty. Perfect reason to marry. Nothing could be less inspiring to a prospective wife, Akabe was sure. “Do you believe there’s a young lady somewhere in Siphra who is brave enough to live in this marble inconvenience of a palace—with a man who is clearly marked for assassination?” While they blinked at his acidity, Akabe continued. “Should we also warn her that she’d be sentenced to a life of cold food, perpetual gossip, and endless ceremonies? Surrounded—forgive me, my lords—by packs of staring royal courtiers who’d follow her to the privy to discuss business?”

  His council members shifted guilty glances here and there. Faine attempted a joke. “Majesty, you make life in the royal court sound so uncomfortable.”

  “It is.”

  Lord Trillcliff broke their awkward silence. Stout and earnest, his eyebrows lifted in thick silver fringes over his ocher eyes. “Being the king, Majesty, you will have no lack of young ladies willing to share your . . . interesting circumstances.”

  Squelching further complaints, Akabe sat back in his gilded chair and stared at the dead flies. Poor creatures. A pity they’d suffered what he’d escaped. With as much grace as he could muster, Akabe conceded defeat. “As you say, then. Have you a list of courageous candidates, my lords?”

  Faine sighed as if relieved. “Not yet, sir.”

  Akabe straightened. “Am I permitted to suggest a possibility?”

  Clearly encouraged, Trillcliff gabbled brightly, “Any young lady of some social standing and impeccable reputation may be considered. However, sir, a foreign princess might bring—”

  Princess? Akabe stopped Trillcliff with an upraised hand. Here, he must declare his personal battle lines. “No foreign princesses. And no Siphran ones either—if any exist.”

  His tone approving, Faine agreed, “Indeed, sir. Foreign brides bring foreign gods, and we’ve enough to deal with, trying to protect ourselves from the Atea lovers. One of those goddess-smitten fools is likely your failed poisoner from this morning.”

  Diverted by Faine’s mention of the fertility goddess Atea—and her violently devout followers—Akabe asked, “Has the man who served us the poison been found?”

  Faine snapped a look at Lord Piton, the youngest council member with the fewest silver hairs. Caught off guard, Piton stammered, “Er . . . um, n-not yet, sir. Your men are questioning everyone at the temple s
ite, including the priests and the prophet.”

  “They’re questioning Ela?” Akabe kept his outrage in check. “Do they suspect her?”

  Piton moistened his lips. “Um, no, sir. But perhaps she saw details about the intended assassin that others have missed. And she could petition the Infinite for the man’s identity.”

  Ela. He must speak of her before the opportunity was lost. Akabe pressed his fingertips together. “What I am about to say will not leave this room—does everyone understand?”

  “Of course, sir.” Faine and the others nodded agreement. “We hope you trust us.”

  Watching their faces carefully, Akabe said, “Ela Roeh is now Siphran. She’s highly regarded by our people and is used to dealing with extraordinary circumstances. Not least, she’s more dedicated to the Infinite than any person I’ve ever met. I’d prefer to marry her.”

  His council showed surprise, but no opposition. Trillcliff, ever aware of rank, lifted his silver-spiked brows. “The prophet’s place is unique in Siphra. Difficult to dispute, should anyone mention her status. Though she’s not highborn, she’s quite presentable.”

  “And,” Piton quipped, “considering her swift actions this morning, sir, no doubt you’d be marrying your antidote to future poisonings.”

  Even Faine laughed. But as Akabe enjoyed the joke, it upset him. Ela deserved better than to be considered a living antidote to future poisonings. Would she agree to wed a king?

  Tomorrow he would seek information from someone well-acquainted with Ela.

  Then he would visit with his favorite prophet and persuade her to marry him.

  Faine harrumphed for Akabe’s attention, his waxed beard twitching. “Now, to an equally important matter.” He lifted a sealed leather pouch. “Thaenfall, Lord of the Plidian Estates, and previous holder of the temple land, has returned the signed formal agreement, giving Siphra full rights to the holy site.” Pleased, he nodded to Akabe. “Majesty, you have signed, as has Thaenfall. Now, we—your council members—will add our seals to yours.”

  Opening the pouch, he withdrew folds of parchment . . . spilling ashes on the polished council table. His mouth sagging open, Faine displayed the agreement’s charred remains with its singed gilded royal crest.

  Akabe stood. “Thaenfall burned the agreement? Why? Does he want more money?”

  “Majesty . . .” Faine rummaged through the ashes and scraps, smudging his fingers. “There’s no explanation. But what can you expect? The man is Atean, and they would like nothing better than to see you fail, humiliated—with the Infinite’s temple remaining as ruins.”

  By withholding the consecrated land, sacred to the Infinite from Siphra’s beginning.

  Seeing his dream of Siphra’s restored temple dissolve amid the ashes, Akabe snapped, “Summon Thaenfall to Munra! We’ll renegotiate in person. We must legally acquire that land—it’s sacred—the only place we can build the temple!”

  Trillcliff muttered, “No doubt Thaenfall is counting a fortune on the fact!”

  “No doubt.” Obviously, their celebration today had been premature. Fuming, Akabe departed the council chamber—and nearly stumbled over Barth. The boy was heedlessly sprawled on his belly at the base of a marble pillar, his small booted feet waving to and fro, his chin resting on his hands while he hummed.

  Ha. Someone was happy. Pretending to scold, Akabe swooped down, grabbed the back of Barth’s tunic, and lifted him in the air like a sack of wool. “Idling on the job, are you?”

  He shook Barth and swung him back and forth while the boy laughed himself breathless.

  Cheered, Akabe grinned. It would be good to have a son to play with.

  Yes, he would definitely speak to Ela of marriage.

  Ela wished Father would finish his conversation with that very talkative young man who’d stopped him as he was preparing to leave the temple site. She and Tamri and Prill were all but dozing off after this tiresome day. Pitying her chaperones, Ela said, “Father’s right there. Why don’t you two leave ahead of me? Stay home and rest tomorrow.”

  “Are you certain?” Tamri asked as Prill retrieved their baskets. “You won’t need us?”

  “No. I promised to help Mother tomorrow.” And she intended to play with her baby brother, Jess. “It’ll be wonderful to have a quiet day.” Ela hugged her chaperones, praying blessings for them. “Thank you. I’m sorry you suffered the poison with me.”

  Prill sniffed, not too convincingly. “You’d best be sorry! Though I suppose it was an honor to survive with you and the king.”

  Tamri linked arms with the matron. “That’s how we’ll look at it, Prill, my girl! Not ‘almost died,’ but survived. Mercy, what will the child drag us into next? I need to retire.”

  “I didn’t drag anyone into this,” Ela argued.

  “Bah!” Prill said. “You attract every sort of commotion, Ela—admit it. Our lives will be so much easier when you marry. Come, Tam. While we’re both young enough to walk.”

  Pretending offense, Tamri scolded, “Hush, Prill, you are almost a child yourself. You may be chaperoning Ela, but I’m chaperoning you both!”

  They walked away, arguing about who was chaperoning whom.

  When you marry. Ela smiled and shook her head. She’d never marry.

  Father finished his conversation and Ela picked up her basket and the branch. He scowled, however, as he watched the young man stalk off in the ruddy evening light. Curious, Ela asked, “Who was that?”

  “One of the foremen. Asking for a responsibility I doubt he can manage.” Dan Roeh glanced at Ela’s basket and the branch, then sighed. “It’s been a long day. We didn’t need the king’s men here questioning us half the afternoon—they set us behind schedule. But at least you didn’t cause another revolution.”

  “I didn’t cause Siphra’s revolution!” Well, not entirely. She gave Father a fierce look.

  He grinned. “If you say so, Prophet.” As they descended the steps, Dan asked, “Have you reconsidered? About marriage?”

  “No.” Marriage. Again! Ela kept her tone mild, despite her growing frustration. “Father, why does everyone insist I must marry? It would be disastrous!”

  “I’m not convinced it would be disastrous,” Dan countered. “But your husband needs enough strength and status of his own to endure everything you’ll bring to the marriage.”

  Ela’s stomach clenched. “You talk as if you’re considering marrying me off! Father . . . !”

  “I could,” Dan said, unnervingly quiet. “And I believe I should. You’re nineteen and—”

  “Please don’t!” Ela begged. She halted at the top of the broad steps and clasped her father’s arm, babbling in rising panic. “You know what Parne’s elders always said. I’m a prophet. I’m supposed to die young. ‘A silver-haired prophet has failed!’ I can’t marry. It wouldn’t be fair to my husband. As for children, I don’t know how I’d endure leaving them!”

  Father patted her hand. “Ela. Calm yourself. Thus far, none of the men who have offered themselves could survive marrying you.”

  What? Ela blinked. “What do you mean, ‘none of the men’?”

  “Why do you think I was delayed tonight?”

  “That man was asking you for me?”

  “Yes, and do not yell,” Dan warned. “It’s unbecoming to a prophet. Unless the Infinite commands you to yell, of course.”

  “Sorry.” Ela sucked in a calming breath. “Father, promise me you won’t marry me off.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be sure it’s the Infinite’s will for you.”

  Infinite? What if he . . . Ela shut away the thought, sickened. No. She refused to think of it. Father wouldn’t act hastily. He cared for her feelings. And if he was determined to marry her off, then only one man could be her husband. Though she hadn’t heard from him in weeks.

  Kien. Why hadn’t he written to her? What was wrong?

  Inhaling the cool night air, Kien Lantec, Judge-Advocate for General Rol, leaned against the open window o
f his tower room in the Tracelands. Was this his last week of freedom? Soon he would endure the first day of his open trial before the Tracelands’ Grand Assembly.

  After four months of legal delays—at Father’s insistence—Kien would confront his fate.

  Freedom, he must admit, was not likely if he should be condemned and censured as he feared. Then he’d suffer fines and be cast out of the military and into prison. But for how long? Months? Years? All because he’d obeyed the Infinite.

  And because he’d been richly and irrevocably rewarded for protecting his friend Akabe of Siphra from an assassin’s blade. Yet not even Akabe’s written plea, signed and sealed here on Kien’s desk, would pacify Kien’s most outspoken accusers.

  Tracelanders, himself included, did not bow to kings.

  Kien dared not use Akabe’s plea. Yet he couldn’t ignore it either. Siphra would be insulted if the Tracelands scorned their king’s appeal, while the Tracelands would be equally offended if Kien offered the plea in his defense, causing a quarrel between the two countries.

  Kien grimaced. He’d welcome wise counsel now. If only Ela were here.

  Dear prophet! Kien returned to his desk and snatched a fresh piece of parchment. When had he last written to Ela? He couldn’t remember. He’d been too busy. Too tired.

  Perhaps she would come visit him in prison.

  “Infinite,” Kien murmured as he opened the ink, “please be with me, Your servant.”

  3

  Akabe stood as Ishvah Nesac, Parne’s former chief priest, entered the royal study. “Nesac! Welcome!”

  His thin arms laden with the scrolls and boxes needed for their weekly lesson, the young priest grinned and bowed. “Good morning, Majesty. It’s a joy to see you’re well.”

  “It’s a joy to be well, thanks to the Infinite and our favorite prophet.” Akabe motioned to a pair of chairs set before his massive, ornately carved worktable. “Sit, please. No ceremony.” His own mention of ceremony caused Akabe to look at the study’s entrance. Sure enough, two guards and a handful of courtiers lingered there, watching and listening. Akabe smiled at them. “Close the door as you depart!”