Blackveil (59 page)
Laren could not see all that Ben did, with Donal assisting him, but one moment the arrow was there, then it was out, tossed into the bed of the wagon and Ben had his hands around the wound as blood bubbled up around his fingers. He closed his eyes and a bluish glow spread out from his hands. It was peaceful, like a clear summer sky and Laren felt herself calm a notch. The bleeding slowly ebbed, but Laren saw no change in Zachary.
The blue glow sputtered out and Ben gazed at his bloody hands, blinking stupidly.
“Ben!” Laren cried. “Ben!”
He slumped and was caught by Donal who shook and tried to revive him to no avail.
Damnation.
Ben must have expended too much of his energies healing Sperren, giving an old, old man the hip of a twenty year old.
Ben must have expended too much of his energies healing Sperren, giving an old, old man the hip of a twenty year old.
Oh, Ben,
she thought. How could they have known this would happen to the king? Had he been able to heal Zachary before passing out, or was their king already gone from them?
she thought. How could they have known this would happen to the king? Had he been able to heal Zachary before passing out, or was their king already gone from them?
The ride back to the castle grounds was a nightmare. Donal made no indication whether or not Zachary lived, and Ben did not regain consciousness. All she could do was consider the next step for the realm and her Green Riders if Zachary was dead. If he’d named an heir to the throne, such a document would be locked away in a box of secrets guarded by the Weapons, and called the Royal Trust. If Zachary had a child, the heir would be obvious, but he hadn’t even gotten as far as marrying Estora.
Even if an heir was named within the Trust, they’d have to wait until there was an assembly of all the lord-governors to open the box and reveal the name. As soon as word got out about Zachary, the lord-governors would be upon them like vultures, for they were princes of the realm, next in line for the throne if there was no direct descendent. Even if one of them was legitimately named, the others would contest it, fight over it. She prayed it would not come to civil war. They could not afford it with Second Empire building up its forces and the D’Yer Wall breached.
She could well imagine the enemy taking advantage of Sacoridia in its sudden weakness and turmoil. It wasn’t as if they could keep Zachary’s wounding a secret, for the Winding Way was the busiest street in all of Sacoridia, and the story of great harm befalling the king would travel the length and breadth of the lands in no time at all.
Who had loosed those arrows in the first place? How had this assassination attempt proved so successful?
Laren pushed back the rising tide of tears. All the dire consequences for the realm she could think of did not diminish the loss of one who was so dear to her.
SCHEMES
T
hey were met by a phalanx of Weapons that roiled down the street in a wrathful tide of black, carrying along Master Destarion and an assistant with them. When Destarion reached the wagon, he ordered Donal out so he and his assistant could have room to work. Ben still lay unconscious in the bed of the wagon and Destarion shook his head.
hey were met by a phalanx of Weapons that roiled down the street in a wrathful tide of black, carrying along Master Destarion and an assistant with them. When Destarion reached the wagon, he ordered Donal out so he and his assistant could have room to work. Ben still lay unconscious in the bed of the wagon and Destarion shook his head.
He put his ear to Zachary’s chest and peeled back his eyelids. He barked orders at his assistant who tore into his kit.
“Move!” he bellowed at Fastion, and they were off again.
A little hope surged in Laren. If Destarion was so urgent, could it mean there was still some life left in Zachary?
By the time they reached the castle, Robin was exhausted, but Laren’s Riders were there to take him from her and care for him.
“The king?” Connly asked.
“I don’t know.”
Menders bearing stretchers rushed out of the castle. Zachary was carried away, and then Ben. A blanket was laid over Lord Coutre in the wagon. Lady Coutre and Estora’s sisters ran out the castle door wailing. Laren paused on the top landing, gazing back toward the gates of the castle wall. The rest of the king’s party should be coming up behind them—she hadn’t even given a thought to their safety. Was Lady Estora all right?
She would know in time, but for now her thoughts centered on Zachary.
He was taken to his apartments and she and several others waited in the main parlor as menders traveled back and forth to his bedchamber. Colin and General Harborough stood off by themselves, heads bowed in intense discussion. Weapons turned the walls black with their presence.
While they waited, word arrived that Lady Estora and the rest of the party had returned unharmed. That was some good news, at least. Soon other reports came in that it had been a single assassin, apparently with his own warped agenda, who, after loosing his arrows into Zachary and Lord Coutre, took his own life with a draught of poison.
“Coward,” General Harborough said when he heard. “Coward of the worst sort.” The parlor had become crowded with persons who thought themselves important enough to hear the verdict on Zachary firsthand. Weapons kept them away from the private sections of the apartments. Aides came and went.
Connly reported to her that Ben was still unconscious and ensconced in the mending wing.
“It is the opinion of the other menders he’d spent too much of himself fixing Sperren’s hip,” Connly said. “Trying to mend the king put him over the edge.”
Laren nodded. “Just what I thought.”
“They will keep watch on him,” he assured her.
Speculation and rumor about an heir drifted through the crowd, the repercussions of the king dying, all the things Laren had thought but could not voice herself. It hurt to hear them speak of Zachary as if he were already gone, a piece of history discarded. Perhaps he was, and she feared they would never have so fine a king again.
The hours passed and servants brought wine and food to those who had congregated. A death watch it was, though some conversed and laughed in the corners as though attending a party. Others, like Laren, paced with worry clenching their guts.
The door to Zachary’s private quarters cracked open. One of Destarion’s assistants poked his head out and spoke to Fastion. Fastion nodded curtly, then made his way through the crowd to where Laren stood.
“Captain, would you come with me?”
Laren trembled. Were they taking her to see Zachary? Would it be as witness to his life, or his death? Colin was pulled in as well and they were led down a long corridor to Zachary’s dressing room. Destarion emerged from the bedchamber and closed the door quietly behind him, his expression grim and exhausted.
“I have ordered the death surgeons to ready the preparation room,” Colin said. “Have you a verdict for us?”
“A verdict, no,” Destarion said. “The next couple of days will be critical. He’s held on this long because of his own strength and Ben Simeon’s application of his true healing ability. It’s a messy wound—the arrowhead was barbed. It did damage internally, but Ben’s work repaired a pierced lung and began healing the tissue around it.”
“Then there’s a chance he’ll make it?” Laren asked, hope surging.
Destarion remained grave. “The wound is still very serious. It appears the arrowhead was tainted with poison, no doubt the same the assassin used to kill himself. Whether or not my menders can fashion an antidote remains to be seen.”
“I’ve sent some Weapons to question the herbalist who sold it,” Colin said. “If there is an antidote, it will be found.”
“I have concocted a draught that may help counteract the poison,” Destarion said, “but it’s already in his blood. It’s up to him to fight it.”
Exhausted by it all, Laren sagged into the nearest chair. He still lived, he still had a chance, and that was something.
“What of Ben Simeon?” Colin asked. “Can he do no more to help?”
“It depends on when he recovers,” Destarion replied. “My menders tell me the lad poured a great deal of himself into Sperren’s healing this morning, and now the king. More than we’ve seen him do before. Even when he wakes up, it may take yet more time for his ability to recover.”
Colin turned his gaze on Laren. “Do you have any idea of how long?”
Laren shook her head. “We haven’t had a true healer in my lifetime until Ben, and I’ve no documentation on this sort of thing. Any records have not survived the years.”
She hadn’t meant to sound so bitter, but it was because the realm was phobic of magic that its existence had to remain hidden, the history of the Riders had been suppressed, and now that loss of knowledge endangered the king’s chances for survival.
“May I ... may I see Zachary?” Laren asked.
Destarion nodded. “Be brief. He is not awake, but I often think the presence and words of friends can sometimes reach the unconscious mind and be of great comfort.”
He led Laren and Colin through the door and into Zachary’s chamber. She was struck by the light. She’d expected darkness, a somber aspect to the room, but Destarion had left the heavy drapes open to the balcony outside, and afternoon sunlight fell softly into the room and across the still figure lying on the bed.
Laren strode to the bedside and sank into the chair there vacated by one of Destarion’s menders. Colin remained at the foot of the bed with Destarion. There was another Weapon on guard in a dim corner.
Blankets were drawn up to Zachary’s chest where bandages bulged. The freshness of herbs in the poultice over the wound, and others steeping in a bowl of water on the bedside table, spread aromatically through the room.
Zachary’s expression was placid and unfettered by the concerns of his life and his kingdom, and she saw the young boy she remembered. A young boy at play with his dogs, or chasing around with other castle children. She saw the studious young man who spent hours in the library poring over books. The strength was in his face, too, of the man, the warrior king. As Destarion said, he would need all that strength to survive the damage done by the arrow, and perhaps more.
She took his limp hand in her own and it was warm. Too warm? “I am here, Moonling,” she said, calling on the nickname she used for him when he was little and tagging after her around castle grounds. “I’m here, and so is Colin. We’ll take care of everything.”
She rambled on in a similar vein, trying to keep her voice calm and light, reassuring. She half heard Destarion and Colin whispering together, but she did not let it distract her, not even when the two stepped out.
“You’ve got to hold on,” Laren said more firmly.
The king’s eyes fluttered open and she gasped.
“Laren.” Her name barely made it past his lips, as though he hadn’t the breath left in his body.
“Yes, I’m here,” she replied, leaning closer.
He swallowed and rested so he could summon the energy to speak. “I did not . . . I did not want her to go.”
“I know.” Laren did not need to ask who.
“Tell her ...” He drifted off leaving the rest unsaid and his eyes closed. He exhaled a long rattling breath as he settled back into unconsciousness.
Laren squeezed his hand knowing how he’d finish the sentence. “I’ll tell her.” If he lived, she would tell Karigan nothing. If he died, she wouldn’t hesitate to tell Karigan everything, because then those feelings would do no harm to the realm. This wasn’t even taking into account whether or not Karigan survived Blackveil.
Laren sighed. Too much death on her mind.
The door opened and Lady Estora appeared still wearing her riding habit, but with a black shawl drawn over her shoulders as a sign of mourning for her father. There was a querulous voice in the anteroom and Estora quickly shut the door to mute it. Laren stood and strode over to her, observing that Estora looked numb, not yet overcome by grief. None of it had sunk in for her yet.
“My father’s body is but cooled and my cousin wants me married now,” Lady Estora said, “while my intended still has a breath in him and is king.”
Of course Spane would. Laren ground her teeth, but instead of speaking her opinion, she took the woman’s hands into her own.
“My lady, I am so very sorry. What a terrible day you have had.”
“It was quite wonderful until . . . until . . .”
Laren thought Estora might crumble then, but the young woman stiffened, maintaining her composure.
“I have come to see Zachary.”
“Of course.” Laren led Estora to his side and helped her settle into the chair. “He awoke briefly and spoke.” She tried to sound hopeful.
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