The King of Forever (Scarlet and the White Wolf, #4) (20 page)

Scarlet recalled the vision he had in the deadfall, when he was sure he was in the Overworld. “What is it, exactly? What do they do there?”

Liall pointed to the furnace in the corner, dark and cold because Scarlet preferred the scent of wood fires. It was black and round with bright metal chasing and clawed iron feet, and a round pipe funneling into the wall for fumes.

“That,”
he said. “I don’t mean they weld furnaces. They produce the fuel to burn in them. It’s a very old art. The Ancients built the Blackmoat, but not on their own. They followed a king named Ramung.”

Scarlet covered his shock with a grunt and poured more che. “I thought he was called the Red King?”

Liall looked at him sharply. “So he was. Jochi is a good teacher.”

Scarlet bit back the comment:
Probably shouldn’t have sacked him, then.
“Well, what happened to this King Ramung?”

“No one knows. He vanished in a blizzard years later, after a great disgrace that left many dead. There are shrines to him on the Temple Road. Without him, we might have all perished long ago, buried under ice in a land of ghosts.”

“Was he a true king?”

“He was a Camira.” Liall drained his che cup and stood. “But they also say the Camira could fly.”

Scarlet snorted. He reclined in his chair as Liall summoned Dvi for his cloak. His mind churned with questions. The Blackmoat? Why did he hear of that place so much of late? Why was Liall so surprised that he knew about the Red King, and why was he dreaming of him?

If it was a dream. Was Scaja real? I thought so at the time.

“Is suspicion alone enough reason to go to war?” he asked.

“It’s not the only reason,” Liall assured him. “I’ll tell you more about it on the road. I promise.”

Scarlet blinked. “You’re letting me come with you?”

Liall wagged a finger. “You were about to insist on coming. Don’t deny it.”

“I wasn’t going to. One less argument sounds good to me.”

Chos brought the cloak in Dvi’s place. Liall sighed and took the cloak from Chos’s hands when the servant tried to drape it on his shoulders. He fastened his brooch and fixed Scarlet with a measuring look. “Don’t you want to know what dangers you face beforehand?”

Scarlet shrugged. He took a roll from the plate. “You’ve already said. They sound like Bledlanders to me, and I understand
them
well enough, all right.”

“They’re much worse than Bledlanders.”

“If that’s so, why haven’t you wiped them out by now?”

Liall’s brows went up. “Is that your counsel: kill them all?”

Scarlet bit into the roll, enjoying the rich flavor and soft texture that were nothing like the rough bread of Lysia. Only in a noble house in Byzantur would he have found such. A baker needs fine flour for good bread, and there had been none of that in his village, thanks to raiders like the Bled.

“Never had much pity for outlaws,” he said, chewing. “Since my parents were murdered, even that is gone. As Scaja used to say: Pity one rat in winter, you’ll have a litter by spring.”

Liall made a humming sound. “I agree with your father’s pragmatism, but these vermin are particularly difficult to exterminate. If you think the land is harsh and unforgiving here, you have not seen the glaciers of the north. A man can die in minutes if he loses his way, and there are predators up there that make snow bears seem like puppies. We never killed all the Ava Thule because we couldn’t
find
them all. If pursued, they flee beyond even the borders of their own lands, beyond the Greatrift and into Whitehell, where no sane man or beast would follow. In the war, Jarek turned us back at the Greatrift. She didn’t want to, but the Ancients asked her to show mercy. If she had not, it’s likely that most of us would have died, too.”

“The Ava Thule survived,” Scarlet pointed out. “Some of them, at least.”

“Yes, or a pack of them may have fled south, where we passed them by unknowingly. Just
how
they did it is not terribly important.”

Scarlet rummaged in a painted bowl for an apple. Privately, he disagreed. If the Ava Thule survived one army, they could certainly survive another. “In Ankar, they tell tales of how men once lived in caves, without the knowledge of iron or fire.”

Liall seemed interested. “What’s your point?”

“All life just wants to
be,
Liall. Even when it shouldn’t be able to, even when a thousand things are trying to kill it. Look at rabbits. There isn’t a single animal in the wilds here that doesn’t hunt them for food, and yet they thrive. If it’s true for rabbits, how much more true is it for men?”

Liall’s gaze was steady. “Maybe I should give you a seat on my council.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Liall smiled grimly and glanced at the door.

Scarlet touched Liall’s hand. “Stay a moment? I need to ask you something.” He looked at Chos. Poor lad, he spent more time being dismissed than working. Chos bowed and left.

Liall brushed his fingers over Scarlet’s cheek. “Ask away.”

Scarlet bit his lower lip. “Can’t you give Jochi back his post? He truly wasn’t to blame for the hunt.”

Liall sighed. “I admit, I was wrong to be so angry. He’s not a soldier. I had unrealistic expectations of him. The man I put in his place will not have such difficulty.”

And what man will that be?
“Are you sacking him proper, then?”

“Am I what?”

“Making him leave the court?”

“Oh... no. He’s asked to return to the Blackmoat and I’ve agreed. Now, eat well and look for me in the Leaf Court when you’re finished. I want to ride out and see my lands before we leave tomorrow.”

As soon as that?
Scarlet fought down a feeling of unease. “How will we travel?”

“At first by sleigh, then horseback. Sul isn’t terribly far, alas, so the comfort will be short-lived.”

“I remember,” Scarlet said. He had a sudden memory of the first night they had arrived at the Nauhinir; stepping out of the sleigh before the glittering nobles in the courtyard, how the diamonds in the queen’s crown had blazed, how Shikhoza’s eyes had been like chips of ice. There had been so much guarded violence in their faces, so much dislike and distrust. Things had changed in the Nauhinir since then. He felt welcomed here, even liked. He doubted matters would be the same on the road.

That misgiving must have shown on his face. Liall bent and kissed his forehead. “They may stare and talk, my beautiful t’aishka, but
all
of my people will come to love you one day. It’s impossible not to.”

“Pretty words.” Scarlet smiled. “What should I expect in Sul?”

“You should expect to be treated like what you are. You’re part of my family, part of
me.
In Rshan, being acknowledged as t’aishka is like being born to my name. You’re a Camira-Druz now. Do you understand? Don’t fret.”

Scarlet remembered the vicious actions of the rough mariners on the
Ostre Sul,
and the Nauhinir was full of nobles and courtiers and those trained to behave better than their common brethren. He suspected that being in Sul openly as the king’s t’aishka would be a great deal different than a day in the palace.

Whatever he felt, he wasn’t about to let Liall see him hesitate to go journeying. He was a pedlar after all.
Besides, Liall’s guards will be with us, and Deva knows how many thousands of soldiers. What could happen?

He summoned a firm smile. “I’m not fretting, you want-wit. Off with you so I can stuff myself with more of Dvi’s bread. There’s precious few master bakers in your army, I’ll wager.”

***

“W
hat are you doing?”

The voice was harsh, the tone unfamiliar. Scarlet jumped and turned, feeling guilty without knowing why. He had sought out Cestimir’s rooms on instinct, not knowing if Liall had given them to someone else yet, some noble or Setna.

He’d found the wing empty, the door closed but not bolted. When he entered, the room was as fresh as if it had been cleaned yesterday.

A stern man stood in the doorway that led back into the hall. He was gray-eyed and had a strange streak of dark silver hair against the white at his temples.

“I’m—” Scarlet licked his lips. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was looking for. I just wanted to come here before... before.” He wished to see Cestimir’s room one last time before they left the Nauhinir, but he didn’t want to say that.

The man stepped into the room with him, peering left and right. “You should not wander so deep into the palace alone, ser.”

“And who are you?”

“Margun.” He closed the door.

Scarlet studied him. The words were cultured, but Margun was no courtier. His dress was too severe: a black virca with no ornament, riding boots that had seen heavy use, and worn leather breeches. His features were sharp, severe as a blade, and his face was scarred.

Not the kind of man to fool about with,
Scaja would have said. Scarlet had no sense of danger, but Margun had a manner that reminded him slightly of Cadan. Or at least, Cadan as the man Scarlet had initially believed him to be, before the mask was torn away. A soldier?

He decided he didn’t like the man. “Margun,” he echoed. “Are you the master of my coming and goings, then?”

The gruff, commanding air vanished from Margun. He bowed his head. “No, ser. Not at all. If it please you, the king will be looking for you in the Leaf Court.”

Scarlet frowned. “You seem to know my business rather well, and I haven’t even heard your name before.”

“Nor would you, my lord. I’ve only recently arrived at the palace.”

I’m not a lord,
rose to his lips. But Liall had given him the hunting lands, and presented him with some fancy paper that made him Lord Wild.
Like putting a hat on a mule,
he thought.
I’m no more a lord than this Margun is a cherry tree.

“Why are you following me, Margun?”

“I am in the king’s employ, ser. I saw you unattended, and this wing is unused since the prince’s death. I thought perhaps I could help you.”

The words were courteous and Margun kept his distance. Scarlet relaxed. “Oh,” he said. He glanced around the room. It had a narrow bed and a reading table. The walls were gray stone with touches of blue. Plain wool curtains. Iron shields on the walls. It was a somber and depressing room for a boy as young as Cestimir. The only colors were the spines of books in a tall iron case.

Scarlet ran a finger over the brilliant leather covers. “Did you know Cestimir?”

“I did not, ser. He was quite young and I haven’t visited the Nauhinir in... some time.”

Scarlet smiled bitterly as he pulled a book with a crimson spine from the case. Was that what Liall meant when he spoke about tact? More to the point, about how Hilurin didn’t have any. “He was three summers younger than me. What you meant was he wasn’t even born the last time you were here. You’re Liall’s age, I suppose.”

“I’m much older than the king, I believe.”

He sighed. Margun looked to be in his prime, no more than forty years, as the Aralyrin counted them. Certainly younger than Scaja. “Of course you are. Your lot live forever.”

Margun smiled. It didn’t suit his face. “I wish that were true, ser.”

Scarlet opened the book and tried to read the first page. The only words he could recognize were
mountain
and
forever
. And one other: a rune distinctly out of place among the elegant Sinha script, scrawled large over an entire corner of the page. He turned the page quickly to cover his shock. “So, how old are you, then?”

Margun tilted his head. A scrawl of hair the color of lead slipped over his shoulder. “Are you always so impolite?”

Scarlet raised his eyebrows. “That’s plain speech, right enough. Now I really believe you’re new to the palace.” He flipped the pages. “And no, I’m not. Or, well... I try not to be. It’s hard to know what offends one of you giants.”

“I see,” Margun answered coldly.  

“For Deva’s sake, what did I say now?”

“Other than refer to me as a creature instead of a man, not a thing.”

Scarlet sighed and snapped the book shut, knowing he was in the wrong and nettled by it. “I apologize. Now will you please go and let me say goodbye to Cestimir in peace?”

Margun swept his hand at the empty apartments. “Ser, the prince rests at the Kingsdal. Do you think he can hear you from here?”

Scarlet tucked the book under his arm. “Yes. I do.” He folded his hands and waited.

After a long moment, Margun bowed and opened the door. “I will be within hearing, ser. At least until you rejoin the king.”

With Margun gone, Scarlet walked slowly through the still and empty rooms, his heels echoing on the floors with a lonely sound. He went deeper into the center of the wing, where there were no candles lit and no windows, only darkness all around. To his eyes, every edge in the room was silver, the contours of the walls and the shapes of objects illuminated in relief, as if splashed by stark moonlight.

Cestimir had few personal effects in sight: a stuffed white bear tucked in a glass case, a little flute made of bone, and—above the cold fireplace—a tall painting of a woman with a strawberry shine to her pale gold hair.

Scarlet looked up at her. Ressilka’s mouth was curved in a beguiling smile, her large eyes lined with blue paint, and her arms full of roses. Dew sparkled on the rose petals and dampened the breast of her pink gown, and her amber neck was clasped by a necklace like a spider web dripping with precious blue sapphires.

He recognized it. He should, since it belonged to him now. The necklace was an heirloom of Queen Nadiushka’s family. It was supposed to be Shikhoza’s bride gift, but her wedding day never came and the queen gave it to Scarlet before she died.

How Ressilka came to be wearing it for the portrait, he didn’t know. He found he didn’t care to know, either.

“You can’t have him,” he whispered to her image. He turned away from her to address the room. “I’m sorry, Cestimir,” he said, watching a little spider spin a silver thread from the mantel to the floor. “So sorry I don’t even have the words, but not sorry enough to stop loving Liall, or to step aside and let her take him from me. I know you loved her. I’ll look after her for you. I promise.”