The White Mists of Power (29 page)

A woman screamed and then another, and soon the entire hall was filled with shouts and cries.

The king fell onto the dance floor. He clutched at the knife in his breast. Alma gripped her own dagger tightly and waited. The lords toward the back had encircled someone. The bard dropped his lute and hurried toward the king. Alma waited another minute, then crouched beside the king.

His eyes were open and empty. His hands, which had been moving a moment before, had fallen to his sides. The bard touched the king’s face, his fingers shaking. The bard felt for breath and then closed the king’s eyes.

Alma took the king’s hand and clutched it against her breast. His skin was still warm. She shouldn’t have been holding him. The Lady Constance should have been beside him in his final moments; his final thoughts should have been of her.

“Calm down!” Lord Kensington’s voice rose above the din. “Calm down! We must remain calm! Someone, close the doors!”

The doors slammed as the guards obeyed. The screaming had died down, and everyone turned toward Lord Kensington. Guards dragged the assassin to him. A chill ran down Alma’s back. She had spoken to the assassin earlier. The man Corvo who had refused to answer her questions. The scar running along the side of his face was livid.

Lord Kensington ignored the assassin. “How is he?” he asked Alma.

“He’s dead,” she said. The words didn’t seem real. He had promised her a world she wanted. He had danced with her only a moment before. Her mother had died slowly–and her father had killed himself with drink for years. Death happened slowly, not in the space of a heartbeat.

Kensington nodded. He bowed his head for a moment, and everyone else in the room did as well. Alma glanced through her eyelashes at the bard. He had stood up. Kensington sighed. “As the king’s closest relative, I will have to take his duties. Unless there is any objection, I will act as king until the council officially approves my claim.”

The bard snapped his fingers. His young companions, Colin and Afeno, flanked him. Seymour hurried forward from the other side of the room. “There is an objection,” the bard said.

“By right of birth.” The bard pulled open his silk shirt. He had a red tattoo carved over his left nipple. “Send a guard for the Enos.”

Alma frowned. The bard’s claim could be true. It would explain his secretiveness, his unwillingness to discuss himself, and his bitterness when he had learned that she was going to be the king’s next consort. Still gripping her dagger, she stepped between Kensington and the bard.

“He has the right of law, Lord Kensington,” she said. “Only an Enos can verify a tattoo claim.”

Kensington’s eyes narrowed. “Send for the Enos,” he said. Two guards left the room. The boys kept out their swords. Alma clutched her dagger. The bard did not move as they all waited.

Alma glanced at the king. He looked silly on the floor, as if he had fallen asleep and no one had bothered to move him. She had grown fond of him. Then she glanced at the bard. If his claims were true, he would need help running the kingdom. And he was young and attractive, and she was already unable to keep herself from touching him.

The main doors opened, and the crowd parted to let an Enos pass. She was small and hidden in her robes. She looked like a young child coming down to say good night to her parents. When she reached the center of the room, she knelt before the king and touched the dagger in his breast.

“The blood,” she whispered. And then she turned to Kensington. “You allowed blood.”

He was pale. “This man has made a claim to the throne.”

The Enos stood and faced the bard. She touched her temples. The bard reached out and grabbed Seymour’s shoulder. The bard’s knuckles turned white, and sweat trickled down his face. The Enos put her hands down, and the bard took a step backward and would have fallen if Seymour hadn’t caught his arm.

“State your name,” the Enos said. Her voice rasped. Alma had to concentrate to understand her.

“Abington Byron Adric of Kilot,” the bard said.

Alma studied him, looking for traces of the king in his face. Young Adric had died of some disease when she was a very small girl.

The Enos took the bard’s hand and faced the crowd. “The tattoo is of the king’s house. It has the proper strokes and aging marks. His claim is valid. Kneel before your next king.”

Alma glanced around the room. Lord Dakin had gone pale. Lady Kerry slapped her fan against her leg. Lord Boton didn’t move, but Lord Ewehl took tiny steps backward, as if he were trying to leave the room.

“This man is no heir to the throne!” Kensington said. He turned to the crowd. “You would take the word of a simple Enos? The bard probably set this up!”

“The small scar on his temple is my gift,” said the bard. “It happened months after I ‘died.’ Shall I tell them of the incident, milord? How you discovered that I lived and tried to kill me again? If it weren’t for Lord Demythos, you would have.”

Ewehl turned and tried to run through the crowd. The guards caught him and brought him forward. His entire body shook. Lord Ewehl’s reaction, more than the Enos’s verification, made Alma believe the bard’s claim.

“What would you have me do?” Ewehl asked.

“Tell them what happened.”

Lord Kensington crossed his arms before his chest. His expression had changed from one of anger to disbelief. Ewehl bowed his head. “The young prince disappeared on a trip to Anda and we waited–”

“He wanted to see Anda. We thought, since the lady Constance was again pregnant, that he would simply disappear in town. We thought that he wouldn’t survive. We waited weeks before announcing his death. But several months later, I was walking in the palace when I saw him on the staircase, heading toward the king’s chambers. I tried to stop him, when I was attacked by another boy. In self-defense I–”

“Who lies now?” the bard asked. “You tried to kill me and Milo protected me.”

“–I stabbed the other and ran for the guards. By the time I returned, the boys were gone. A trail of blood led to one of the closets and there we found the body of the friend, but the prince had again vanished. We searched for him, found nothing, and assumed he was dead.”

“Lord Demythos took me in, hid me, and cared for me,” the bard said. “He made sure that no one would hurt me.”

“And then someone assassinated Lord Demythos,” said Alma. “My mother spoke of it. She was afraid that someone was after all the gentry.”

“You have admitted to treason, Ewehl,” Lord Boton said.

Ewehl glanced at Lord Boton, and for a moment neither of them moved. Then Lord Boton stepped forward and examined the bard as if he were a serf on auction. “You look nothing like the king or the Lady Constance. And Adric was a fat, lazy lad. I don’t discount the Enos’s testimony, but I won’t accept you as my liege until you answer a few questions.”

“Ask them, milord.” The bard stood, hands clasped behind his back.

“You have been here for months. Why didn’t you tell the king who you were?”

“Lord Ewehl just admitted that he and his friend tried twice to murder me. I decided that this time I would not return to the palace before I could defend myself–and I decided that before I identified myself, I would gain the king’s trust. As you learned earlier, I had. I was going to speak with him this week, but he put off the appointment.”

So that was what he had meant by petition, not for his lands but for his title. Alma glanced at him. If he had spoken to the king before the festival, the celebration would not have been held and she would not have become consort. She would have lost the kingdom before she had a chance to save herself.

“Why didn’t you confide in any of the gentry?” Lord Boton asked.

“I did,” the bard said. His voice was bitter. “Lord Demythos protected me for years. I was with him on that hunt. His death was no accident.”

“The questions are not necessary,” said the Enos. “This man’s claim is valid. The Old Ones have studied his movements. He wears the white mists and he bears the tattoo. When he drops his shields, his mind carries the memories of a prince’s life. I challenge any magician to tap and then dispute my words.”

“I did not murder Diana or the king, milady,” the bard said. He raised his voice. “Think once, all of you! It would be easier for me to have the king’s acceptance and approval than it would to take over after his death. Now my rule will be questioned every step. If my father had lived, I would have had his blessing. No. It suited a handful of others to do away with the king before he sired another child.”

He surveyed the hall. “Will the council members, the gentry, and my cousin Kensington accept me? Or will I have to fight for my rightful claim?”

“Then leave, milord,” the bard said. “But let me give you a piece of advice. If you want to assassinate me, do it yourself. Don’t hire an assassin to throw your daggers for you.”

Kensington reached for the bard, but Afeno grabbed his hand. The boy threw the lord back against one of the guards.

“As for the rest of you,” the bard said, still looking at Kensington, “those who agree with Lord Kensington may leave with him. But should there be a battle and should I win, I will remember every one of you.”

The Enos huddled on the floor, her arms wrapped around her head. Alma reached down to touch her, to see if she were all right, but the Enos shook off Alma’s hands.

“We’re not through yet, bard,” Kensington said.

“I realize that, cousin.”

Kensington turned and pushed his way through the crowd. Lord Dakin, Lady Kerry, Lord Lafa, and a few gentry that Alma didn’t recognize followed. The others glanced at the door, then glanced at the bard.

“If you choose to remain,” the bard said, “I want you to swear your obedience to me as your liege lord. I need public evidence of your trust.”

The door’s slam echoed in the large room. No one moved. Alma took a deep breath. She had no liking for Kensington and he had none for her. The bard was her best choice. She knelt in front of him.

“On the word of the Enos,” she said, “I accept you as my liege lord.”

The bard offered her his hand and she stood up. He smiled slightly, and then she stepped aside. One by one, the remaining gentry came forward and knelt before the bard. Alma watched for a moment, then crouched beside the Enos. The old woman seemed to have withdrawn into herself. The Enos was whispering and it took a moment before Alma understood what the woman was saying.

“The blood,” the Enos was saying. “I am so sorry, Old Ones, to have started the blood.”

PART FOUR

Chapter 23

The dressing room was small and smelled of Diana’s perfume. Kensington removed his cape. It was getting stuffy, and his back was crammed against the dressing table. He wondered what was keeping Diana. She should have returned by now.

He shifted his weight on the small stool and peered through the slit the Lady Kerry had carved in all the dressing-room doors. Diana’s room was small, two windows on either side, the curtains blowing in with the night breezes. A lamp guttered on the wall above his door. Papers rustled on her bedside table and a book fluttered open. Her bed was high and ruffled, the quilt handmade. A dressing gown hung on a peg and shoes were scattered on the floor. Hardly the meeting place for a woman and her lover.