David Coe - Bonds of Vengeance

There were tears on her mother’s face to match her own. For a long time they stood staring at each other, holding themselves perfectly still.

Then her mother whispered Kalyi’s name and took a faltering step toward her, her arms outstretched. But Kalyi ran from the room, choking back a sob.

She nearly collided with Nurse, who called her name as well, but Kalyi didn’t stop for her. Instead she darted to the nearest of the towers, and made her way up to the ramparts at the very top. To her relief, there were no soldiers atop this tower, and she sat on the stone, her back against the wall, and cried until her chest hurt and her eyes burned.

That’s the kind of man your father was . . There had been no love in her mother’s tone, no sense of loss, no indication of any kind that she missed Kalyi’s father even a bit. Kalyi had asked Chofya if she loved the king, and she had believed when she did that she wanted a truthful answer. But she had expected reassurance from her mother that, yes, of course she had loved him. Certainly she hadn’t expected this.

He was proud, and vengeful . .

“No,” Kalyi whispered, the word lost amidst the wind and snapping of the banners flying above her.

He couldn’t have been those things. He was Carden of Solkara, son of Tomaz the Ninth, heir to the Solkaran Supremacy. He was king. He was her father.

Your father had him garroted . .

That was how Solkarans dealt with their enemies. Garroting. Her tutors had never taught her that. Perhaps they were forbidden to tell her. But she had heard talk of it in the castle, mostly among the older children, the boys who found the idea of it exciting. Even hearing such talk, however, she had never given it much thought before now. Her house, the royal house of Aneira, had its own special way of killing. Was it that common, then? Did Eandi nobles kill with such frequency that each house had its own favorite method? How many times had her father ordered his men to murder? Had he ever pulled the killing wire taut himself? He had sent men into battle, to kill and be killed. She knew that, just as she knew that Ean’s doctrines said all killing was sinful in the eyes of the God. In which case, all kings violated Ean’s teachings. Someday, when she was queen, she might have to as well.

Surely her mother knew all this. Yet she condemned her father for it, using it to prove that he was a bad man. Kalyi shook her head. It made no sense. Could her mother have hated him that much? The very idea of it brought fresh tears to her eyes.

She didn’t know how long she cried, or when sleep overcame her, but the next thing she knew someone was touching her shoulder gently, and speaking her name.

Kalyi opened her eyes to a darkened sky and the torch-lit face of Nurse. Her brow was furrowed with concern, her pale eyes intent on Kalyi’s face. There were two soldiers standing just behind her.

“What happened?” Kalyi asked.

Nurse smiled, her relief palpable. “You fell asleep, Your Highness.”

“What’s the time?”

“Just past twilight bells. You gave us all quite a fright. Particularly your mother.”

It all came back in a rush.

“It’s Mother’s fault that I’m up here.”

“Your mother feels terrible, Your Highness. She didn’t mean to make you cry, and she certainly didn’t want you running from her.”

“Then she shouldn’t have said what she did.” She felt her cheeks suddenly burning. “She didn’t tell you, did she?”

“She told me nothing, Your Highness. Only that you were dismayed when you left her, and that much I could tell for myself when I saw you in the corridor. When I told her that none of us had seen you since, she became frightened.” Nurse held out a hand. “Let me take you to her.”

“No,” Kalyi said quickly.

“But, Your Highness, the air grows cold, and it’s been hours since you last ate.”

Kalyi realized she was shivering, and at the mention of food, her stomach growled loudly. “I’ll go with you,” she said, climbing to her feet. “But I don’t want to see Mother.”

“But, Your Highness-”

“I don’t wish to discuss it, Nurse. I’ll take my meal in my bedchamber. If Mother asks, tell her I’m too tired to eat in the hall.”

Nurse frowned, brushing a wisp of silver hair off her face. “Very well.” She gestured toward the tower stairs. “After you, Your Highness.”

Kalyi started down the steps, pleased with how forceful she had sounded, but also frightened of what her mother might do. She had never defied her in this way before. She wondered if her mother might turn to Numar to make Kalyi speak with her. At the thought she nearly changed her mind. But then she decided that if it came to that, she would defy Numar was well. She was queen, and if she wished to eat by herself, it was her right to do so.

This, at least, was what she told herself as she descended the stairs, readying herself for the fight with her mother she knew was coming.

But even after Nurse left her in her chamber and went to fetch the meal, Kalyi’s mother didn’t come. In fact, Kalyi did not see Chofya for several days following their conversation. For a time, she sought to avoid her mother, but soon it became clear to Kalyi that her mother was avoiding her as well. Maybe this should have surprised her, or saddened her, but it did neither. The pain caused by her mother’s words had begun to recede, and just as a waning tide leaves shells and driftwood on the shore, so their conversation left its mark on Kalyi’s mind. Her father, she now realized, might have been flawed as both man and king. No doubt that was the lesson her mother hoped to teach her, that even Carden was not without his fears and foibles. By the same token, her mother had her own faults. She could be frightened and cross, even when she did not wish to be. Just as she had been that day. That was why she avoided Kalyi now. Not because she didn’t love her but rather because she felt ashamed of what she had said and how she had said it.

Kalyi had resolved to go to her mother this day, as soon as she completed her lessons. Or rather, as soon as she completed the small task that would follow her lesson. For though she had been sobered by their conversation, she had not been discouraged from pursuing her inquiry. Already she had gone to speak with the new surgeon, who, as her mother predicted, could tell her nothing about her father’s condition. She had also spoken with several of the servants, including the poor boy who found her father’s body. He was but a few years older than she, and had been so unnerved by her questions that he actually cried as he answered them, as if fearing that she would have him hanged for what he told her.

She learned little from him, though she did have a slightly better sense of just how ghastly her father’s death had been.

“Took four of us nearly the whole day to wipe up all the blood, and even then, they had to get a new table for the hall. The wood just soaked it up like a cloth.”

Much to her disappointment, though, she was no closer to understanding why her father killed himself than she had been before she began. Which was why she had decided on this day to speak with the prelate of Castle Solkara’s cloister. She wasn’t certain that the prelate would be able to tell her anything about what her father was thinking the day he died-even she had noticed that her father had little patience for the litanies of the cloister. But he could at least explain why a man-any man-would defy the God in this way. And perhaps he could also tell her that Bian would not judge her father by this act alone, that there could be a place of honor in the Deceiver’s realm even for a man who had died by his own hand.

Her tutor dismissed her early once more, seeming more annoyed than usual by her lack of attention.