Tyrant’s Blood Read online

  Fiona McIntosh

  Tyrant’s Blood

  Book Two of the Valisar Trilogy

  For Fiona Christie Hubbard

  Contents

  Map

  Prologue

  “Hello, Reg,” she said as she approached. What an old-fashioned…

  One

  The man had been staring out of the window, watching…

  Two

  Two men were breaking their fast at an inn in…

  Three

  On the other side of the realm, in a sparsely…

  Four

  Oblivious to Piven’s pain, Greven strode into Minton Woodlet, a…

  Five

  Piven waited for Greven. He had filled the small sack…

  Six

  Freath slowed the horse to a gentle walk. It had…

  Seven

  Greven dug his staff into the ground and hauled himself…

  Eight

  Freath looked expectantly at Kirin. “Well?”

  Nine

  Kirin had fallen into conversation with a woman traveling with…

  Ten

  It was nearing morning and they’d begun traveling after midnight.

  Eleven

  They’d arrived at a town called Woodingdene. It was a…

  Twelve

  By mid-morning Piven had made it back to the sheltered…

  Thirteen

  Kirin woke in a strange room. He opened his eyes…

  Fourteen

  Greven stared dully at the bloodied stump that his arm…

  Fifteen

  Faris hadn’t spoken to him for hours. He didn’t need…

  Sixteen

  Loethar undid his shirt, a sheen of sweat glistening on…

  Seventeen

  Hurtle was a flourishing village, just on the very tip…

  Eighteen

  Loethar had banished everyone from the chapel, including Father Briar,…

  Nineteen

  Kirin stole a glance at Lily, glad that he could,…

  Twenty

  In broad daylight Sergius could make out the terrain, could…

  Twenty-One

  The two figures approached the convent on foot, leading their…

  Twenty-Two

  Kilt Faris was rounding the same bend in the road…

  Twenty-Three

  Empress Valya had organized for Dara Negev to be brought…

  Twenty-Four

  Kirin and Lily had traveled all day, pausing only to…

  Twenty-Five

  Greven and Piven were approaching Berch. They’d walked solidly most…

  Twenty-Six

  Loethar had watched his mother’s body burn. It had taken…

  Twenty-Seven

  Gavriel sat beside the stream and stared at the silent…

  Twenty-Eight

  Greven could taste the salt on his lips. The coast…

  Twenty-Nine

  Leo and Jewd were on opposite sides of the road.

  Thirty

  Loethar galloped up and leaped off his horse as soon…

  Thirty-One

  Arriving at the entry to Francham, Loethar allowed Vulpan’s horse…

  Thirty-Two

  “…and that’s all I know,” Sergius concluded. “I have no…

  Thirty-Three

  Once they’d retrieved their belongings they abandoned the horses; they…

  Thirty-Four

  They were moving slowly, tracking northwesterly, climbing all the time.

  Thirty-Five

  Kirin was subdued and Lily felt incredibly awkward. Long before…

  Thirty-Six

  Roddy could hear the gulls again. The pressure of the…

  Thirty-Seven

  They made far better time than they’d hoped. The sun…

  Thirty-Eight

  Gavriel sat with his back to Loethar, his emotions torn…

  Thirty-Nine

  Leo and Jewd squatted by Kilt as he retched into…

  Forty

  Ravan finally stretched. “It is time,” he said.

  Epilogue

  Corbel had been feeling uneasy all day. In the moments…

  Glossary

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Praise

  Other Books by Fiona McIntosh

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Map

  Prologue

  “Hello, Reg,” she said as she approached. What an old-fashioned name Reginald was for someone his age; it didn’t suit him at all.

  “I thought you’d come,” he said, not looking up.

  She loved his voice and his economy with words. Reg had always been able to comfort her even when he was silent, which was most of the time. “Can I sit with you?”

  She knew he smiled but he wouldn’t face her. Her question did not require an answer, nor would he waste the breath to give her one. “How are you?” she said, sighing as she lowered herself next to him.

  “Same as yesterday.”

  “Grouchy, then.”

  “Not for you.”

  “I’ll take you in any mood, Reg, you know that.”

  He looked around at her and after the unhappy morning she’d just had, which included watching a patient die, she felt instantly comforted and secure to see his sad, gentle face, buried beneath his straggly beard and the grime of his working day. She had long suspected that Reg liked to hide behind his longish, nutbrown hair, his hat, even that wretched beard, but try as he might, he could never hide his eyes. Intelligence—far more than he let on—lurked within those gray-green eyes that noticed everything and yet invited few people into his life, for he kept them mostly lowered when others were around. Now they looked at her; vaguely amused but above all knowledgeable. He had secrets, but then he was a secretive sort—everything about Reg was a mystery. The nurses cringed whenever she mentioned him, variously describing him as rude, deranged or creepy. He was none of those things. Not to her, anyway.

  “A death?” he asked as she was staring at him.

  How could he know her that well? It was infuriating sometimes. The tide of emotion she’d kept at bay rose but she wouldn’t cry. Couldn’t cry. If her training had taught her anything it had taught her to hold part of herself back from patients, or risk being swallowed by misery. But there was more to not showing her sorrow. In her quietest of moments she worried that she was a cold person; someone who let few past her guard. The truth was, she didn’t particularly want to share her life with anyone. Reg didn’t count, of course. He was a stranger she’d befriended so many years ago she couldn’t remember her time in the hospital when he was not roaming the botanical gardens, ever near, always available to give her a few minutes, always able to say the right things…even when he wasn’t actually speaking. Something was missing in her for sure—the lonely gene, perhaps…the one that triggered normal people to go in search of others and make friends. She obviously didn’t possess that gene. It was as if she were a misfit, walking around a world of people she didn’t feel she was a part of. She looked like everyone, talked like everyone, even to some degree acted like them. But there was a hole somewhere—a divide she couldn’t bridge between herself and everyone else. Reg was her curious lifeline, for he too was a misfit and seemed to understand even though they never discussed such intimacies.

  And so she went through the motions of life—always had…even with her parents. For many years she’d thought this was simply because she was adopted. It bothered her to the point where she’d even taken some therapy for it but she knew in her heart that this was not a learned response—something she had reacted to on discovering her adoption. No, this was deep. It was in the bluepri
nt that had made her who she was. And its particular presence in her DNA or what ever it was, meant she didn’t feel fully connected to anyone except Reg, the hospital groundsman.

  “Yes,” she answered, finally able to accept that Jim Watkins was no longer of this life.

  He said nothing.

  “Mmm,” she confirmed but it came out as a soft groan, hugging herself as another pang of guilt reached through her body and twisted in her gut. She was answering a question he hadn’t asked and yet they both knew the question existed, hanging between them.

  She began to explain, even though he hadn’t requested any further information. “I try not to choose, Reg. I have to be careful.”

  “Save all.”

  “I can’t. I’m different enough already; can you imagine what the media would do if it cottoned on to this?”

  He shrugged.

  She gave a mocking half-smile. “Proper journalists are just the tip of the iceberg. The gutter press and popular magazines, the hacks and mischief makers and those awful revelation shows that masquerade as current affairs,” she said, mugging at him, “they would just slurp this up.”

  He shook his head now, slightly amused, mostly baffled.

  “They’d never leave me alone, Reg.”

  “You’re looking thin.”

  “That’s a joke coming from you.”

  “I could eat a horse and it wouldn’t show.”

  “You’re lying. I know you so much better than you think. We’re thin, Reg, because we’re both hollow. Neither of us are filled with anything except a strange misery. I recognized it in you the moment I met you—the moment you walked into my life and tripped me.”

  “I didn’t trip you,” he growled gently.

  “How else would you describe it?”

  “I tripped, and stumbled into you.”

  “And stopped me from going to see the clairvoyant at the Otherworlds festival.”

  “Rubbish. We were strangers. How could I have any hold over you?”

  “We weren’t strangers. Even if we’d never met I’ve always had the curious feeling that we’ve known each other all my life.”

  He made a scoffing sound, offered her half of the orange he’d laboriously peeled while they’d been talking. She took it, inhaling the fresh scent of citrus surrounding them.

  “How old are you, Reg?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  She laughed.

  He looked at the segment of orange in his hand. “It’s true. I’ve lived too long,” he said, looking down. “So I’ve never really known.”

  “Well, beneath all this fuzz,” she said, tugging at his beard, “you look about mid thirties.”

  “And you’re just twenty and considered a genius, so you already know what it is to have that kind of attention levelled at you,” he replied, returning to their previous topic.

  “Exactly!” she snapped. “They didn’t leave me alone for almost a year when they discovered I’d qualified for Medicine so young. It’s all quietened down again. Now I’m just another intern at another big city hospital.”

  “And uncannily, often inexplicably, saving lives.”

  “Listen, I want everyone to just accept that I have talent and I developed really early. I can’t help that. The fact that I have a sixth sense for patients can’t be helped either but I don’t want to turn it into a sideshow and that’s what it would become if we continue down the pathway you suggest. The hospital will become suspicious, the community will start to request only me for all procedures and the media will start to hail me as some sort of messiah.”

  “Perhaps you are.”

  “Stop it!” she said, flicking him with the back of her hand.

  She ate the orange, enjoying the tart explosion in her mouth and they sat in an easy silence for a few minutes and watched the world of the gardens go by—mothers pushing prams, dogs walking their owners, couples canoodling in the early autumn warmth.

  “But how come we’re so comfortable together, Reg? Do you think it’s because we’re both orphans?”

  “Because we’re friends.”

  “Name another friend that you have.”

  “I don’t have any and don’t say you don’t either, because I’ve seen you with them.”

  “Spying on me, eh?”

  He gave her a disdainful sideways glance.

  She tossed some pith of the orange she’d peeled off into the nook of the tree where they sat side by side. “You’ve seen me with colleagues and acquaintances. You’ve not seen me with a friend. The only friend I have is you. Being with you is when I’m honest with myself and can be truly myself.”

  “Then I’m privileged.”

  “So explain why that is.”

  “Because I’m such excellent company.”

  She gasped. “You’re no company at all. You don’t speak unless spoken to. You hold long, difficult silences,” she nodded when he was about to say something, “not with me, I’ll grant you, but even during the most normal small talk you manage to make whoever is with you feel incredibly awkward. I’ve watched you. No eye contact, no smiles, mainly shrugs and grunts. You terrify women.”

  He shrugged as if to prove her point. “It’s my special skill.”

  “I wish I understood you.”

  He risked placing a hand on hers, then took it away quickly, as if burned. “You do. And in doing so, you understand yourself.” Reg stood, helped her up. “We’re birds of a feather, us two. Just accept that we’re the loners of the world and we’re lucky to have each other.”

  She nodded. Gave him a brief hug; knew it made him self-conscious but lingered anyway. “Thanks, Reg.”

  “People will talk,” he said, pulling away.

  “Let them. I already feel like I’m being watched.”

  Reg frowned; in his expression was a question.

  “Can’t explain it,” she sighed. “But I have this frequent feeling that someone is watching me—you know—hiding and eavesdropping.”

  He gave her a soft smile. “He’s probably in love with you but you’re so unapproachable he doesn’t know how to talk to you.”

  “Oh really? And you’d know how that feels, would you?”

  Reg grinned sadly and shook his head. “Tomorrow? I’ll bring more than an orange.”

  “It’s a date. Bring chocolate,” she said over her shoulder.

  “Bye,” he replied softly and Corbel de Vis of Penraven lifted his hand in farewell to the gifted young intern who had no idea that she was royalty—a princess in exile—or that her healing skills were based on magic she brought with her from another plane, certainly another age…or perhaps most importantly of all, that she was the woman he loved.

  One

  The man had been staring out of the window, watching the trees for movement but he turned at the knock. “Come,” he called and waited while his private aide entered, balancing a tray. He frowned. “You didn’t have to—”

  “I know, my lord,” the aide replied. “But have a cup anyway.”

  He sighed. “There’s still no sign of my raven,” he added in a grumpy tone.

  “He’ll return,” the aide replied evenly. “He always does.” He set the tray down. “He’s obviously very familiar with the region now, and feels comfortable to be away that long. It’s blossomtide, emperor. I imagine all birds are busy at their business.”

  Loethar nodded gloomily. “How is it down there, Freath?”

  “Exactly as you’d imagine. Very lively—the leading families do enjoy this get-together and try hard to balance its political agenda with the equally important social binding. Even though this is the empire’s third ‘Gathering’ there’s still that lingering tension. The Droste family is being snubbed as usual, but they’re only marginally less happy than Cremond.”

  Loethar lifted a brow in a wry expression. “Well, at least they’re all equal now. There are no royals, other than myself. Ah, there’s that smile, Freath. What does it mean today?”

  Freath bowed h
is head once in acknowledgment. “Apologies, my lord. But nothing has truly changed for the Denovian people. There may be no royal lines acknowledged as such but the new compasses, as you’ve denoted them, are still paying homage to Penraven.”

  Loethar nodded. “They’ve forgiven me, don’t you think, Freath?”

  “No, Emperor Loethar, I don’t,” Freath said gently. “Not even a decade can fully heal their perceptions of the wrongs. But I hasten to assure that you’ve certainly gone a long way toward leaving only scars, not open, festering wounds. You’ve been a generous benefactor to all the leading families, who still enjoy plenty of privilege and status—they can hardly complain.”

  “Indeed. I’ve not interfered too much either in the running of their compasses.”

  “And that’s another reason why they appear so tolerant and will increasingly trust you, my lord. A new dynasty is about to begin and enough of them dread a second war so much that they will support your child with loyalty.”

  Loethar smiled grimly. “I can’t wait for my son to be born.” Then he sighed. “And how is the empress?”

  “Grumbly, sir, for want of a better word.”

  “Gown not right, hair not right, belly too big, drinks too sour, food too bitter?”

  “Husband too distant,” Freath added.

  Loethar’s eyes flashed up to regard his aide’s. It even baffled him at times how he permitted this dour man such familiarity. Even now he didn’t fully trust the former aide to the previous royal family, but he believed Freath was the most intelligent of all the people that lurked around him on a daily basis. He appreciated the man’s insight, dry wit, directness and agile mind. When he compared that to his brute of a half-brother, who was his Second, there was little wonder—for him anyway—as to why he not only permitted but quietly protected Freath’s position. “Should I be worried?” he asked, glibly, yet privately eager to hear the man’s opinion.

  “No, my lord. But if you want your house hold life to be less volatile it might pay to give the empress more attention. She is, after all, with child and feeling vulnerable.”

  “How do you know, Freath?” Loethar sighed and took the goblet that his aide offered him.