The King's Marked Read online

  “A friendly chat, my Lord,” Merick said.

  I backed away from his chair.

  “Return to your duties,” Cerac snapped at me. I dipped my eyes and headed across the room but found the courage to glance at him before I exited. His glare was for the fighter who’d detained me.

  I blinked the brightness away and headed for the kitchen, meeting Sophren halfway.

  “Oh, good.” She smiled at me. “Could you take in these as well? Helna wants me to get some more sorrel from the stores.” She handed her dishes to me, then turned on her heels and hurried back the way she’d come.

  I spun back toward the dining hall but found Cerac striding out. He wore the same cloak from yesterday, but his tailored pants and jacket were a deep green today. Anger rippled behind his expression and in the way he walked.

  “Where are you going?” He glanced at the full dishes in my hand.

  “I must deliver these to the dining hall.” Which was stupid of me to say. Where else would I be going with plates of food?

  He looked indecisive as to what to say. In the end, he stepped aside and allowed me to pass. Once I was alongside him, he said, “What did he say to you? Was he being disrespectful?”

  “I told him he needed proper treatment for the wound.”

  Again his brow creased. He huffed in surprise. “I saw what happened from the passage.”

  “A man forcing a woman to stay against her will is being disrespectful. If you saw, I’m surprised you had to ask.”

  He dipped his head as a small smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “You’re right. Do you want me to say sorry to you once again?”

  “It makes no difference to me.”

  “He will be reprimanded.”

  “You must make him accept treatment. The skin is reddening around his wound. I’m not sure he will be so lucky this time if it is not tended to.”

  “And that matters to you?”

  “If I can preserve a life, I will.”

  Cerac folded his arms. “Merick refused help from our healer. He did the best he could himself and that was all.”

  “Then he’s a fool. What good is a dead hero when the wound inflicted was from a game in an arena and not from fighting for what he believes in?”

  “The warriors wear their wounds with pride. To them, this is not a game in an arena. This is their life. And many are willing to die proving themselves worthy.”

  “Then they are all fools.”

  He huffed a short laugh. “I will speak with Helna, see if she can talk some sense into him.”

  “I would like to help her. I would like to learn what knowledge she has that I don’t.”

  “If that is your wish?” His smile reached his eyes, warming his handsome face.

  And I’d been staring at him too long. “I must deliver these.”

  I breathed out a big breath once I left him and headed into the dining hall. I was not a girl to flush, but Cerac’s kindness confused me and stirred an emotion I did not want to accept. I did not want to like the king’s son.

  11

  With all the food from the kitchen taken to the dining hall, the tension in the kitchen ebbed. Helna continued to bark orders, but smiled whenever someone said something amusing. Once the warriors had eaten, we’d returned to clear the dishes, creating a mound on the floor by the trough. Two girls cleaned those while the rest of us tidied the kitchen. When all was done, I was rewarded with bread and cheese as I’d not had time to eat when I first woke, but was grateful Helna had allowed me that small sleep-in on my first day.

  I sat at the end of the table and watched Helna throw more food out onto the wooden table and start dicing and mixing all over again.

  “You did all right for your first day,” she said as she mixed chunks of butter into flour.

  I swallowed the piece of bread and cheese I was eating. “There was a warrior with a reddened wound. Cerac said he would speak to you about healing him. I asked if I could help.”

  “Did he now?” She rubbed the butter into the flour with vigor. “And when did you speak to the master?”

  “He came into the dining hall while I was delivering the bread.”

  “You spoke to him there?”

  I slowed with my answer. I knew the reason for her probing. “I asked him in the courtyard.”

  Without looking my way or slowing her mixing, she said, “Friendly advice, my girl, stay away from the master.”

  I was trying to. “We ran into each other by accident.”

  “This is your first day and you saw fit to talk to him like a friend? No good comes from servants mixing with royalty. He is above your station. Don’t ever think that’s where you belong, or you will have a hard road down.”

  Despite her harsh tone and the severity in her stare, I appreciated her scolding. She was right. The strange relationship Cerac had developed with me was not equal. It never would be. The rich could do what they wanted and royalty was worse. And I was already disadvantaged by being his servant. Whatever bizarre reason Cerac found me interesting, it could just as easily diminish tomorrow, turning him cruel and unjust like his father.

  Helna wiped a hand on her apron, then pulled a small tub from the front pocket. “This is for you. It may not be what you’re used to, but it should keep your wound from causing you trouble.”

  I took the salve, having forgotten she’d offered to make me a new tub. “Thank you.”

  “You can go with Sophren next time I send her to market for my supplies. That girl has no patience to learn my secrets.”

  “Thank you. I would like that.”

  “That way you can see what else is on sale. Perhaps there will be new herbs you haven’t heard of.”

  I pocketed the salve as Sophren returned from completing some errands. Her expression, as she approached, reminded me of Larissa whenever she was about to prod a secret out of me.

  “I was just given some very interesting information,” she said before Helna could reply to my question. “It seems Rya is to serve in the box today.”

  Helna snorted a hard sound. “Without preparation?”

  “The king requested it be so.”

  Helna’s eyes widened. “Gracious child, what have you been up to already?”

  I probably looked as shocked as she. Was this Cerac’s doing? The idea quickened my pulse. I wanted no favoritism from the king nor his son.

  “According to Fednick, who overheard a conversation with Pralovic and a guard, the king is interested in meeting the servant who did not cower in front of a ragool.”

  Helna’s mouth gaped open. “You saw a ragool? In the wilderness?”

  “Yes, but the captain is turning it into more than it was.”

  “You survived,” was all Sophren said.

  “Only because the captain was a marked. He defeated them.”

  “Them,” they said in union. “There were more?”

  “Yes. About five or six.”

  “Mercy be,” Helna said. “Ragool this far out from Hallow’s Eve and so far from the dead forest.”

  “That’s what the captain said.”

  “It is unheard of,” Sophren said.

  “The captain said they were attracted to the fire.”

  “It is said that any fire but a sage fire makes them stronger, gives them extraordinary abilities,” Sophren said.

  “I’ve heard no legends speak of this,” I said.

  “It’s local lore,” Helna said.

  “How many marked does the king have in his service?”

  “No one knows,” Sophren said. “He keeps it a secret. The marked fort is on the other side of the city, separate from regular soldiers. No one sees them together. No one sees them train. We have little idea of what they are truly capable of, only the displays in the arena.” Sophren’s eyes widened, her expression breaking into excitement. “There are rumors spreading from the villages in the east. They say the creatures in the dead forest are restless. All sorts of fearsome noises can be hear
d echoing through the dead trees. They fear a war is looming. Many believe the wraiths wish to break free from their cage. If and when that happens, we will need all the marked we can find.”

  “Back home, the marked were burned.”

  Neither could hide their horror. “There are many here who fear the marked and the power they wield. They say the rumors of war with the wraiths are put about by the king as an excuse to build his army of marked, rather than protecting the innocent from these very people,” Sophren said.

  “And he flaunts his marked son around by granting him the title of master of the arena,” I said.

  “He did not grant that title to the master. He earned it.” A small, mousy-looking girl came across to join our conversation.

  “The master of the arena is a title bestowed upon an undefeated warrior. One of the men you served today has won three fights already. The betting master has complained to the king that he will lose all his money if the warrior is allowed to win another round. That is when the king declares he must fight the master of the arena. If the master loses, then the new warrior will be granted his title,” Sophren said

  “But that is unfair. They send a man to fight a marked.”

  “Marked enter the arena as well. Sometimes the king feels he wants to liven things up. That’s when the fight really goes wild. As much as the people hate the marked, they want to see them fight. The king wants the people to see it too. It reminds them of his power.”

  “He uses his son as cruel entertainment,” I said.

  “He’s the king. That’s what they do,” Helna said without looking up from her pastry.

  “Both his sons are marked.” As soon as she’d said it, the mousy girl dipped her head.

  “Both?” Marked children were rare and yet the king had managed to have two.

  “Does his other son fight in the arena?”

  “Rarely. As marked they may be equal, but the master is a better fighter. The prince knows it. He will not risk the humiliation,” Sophren said.

  “And why does the king not use his marked army to keep the city safe on Hallow’s Eve?”

  “He wants the people scared. He wants them to know how close they live to such a horrible fate and that he holds their salvation, but only if he chooses to use it. He does this because there are powerful people who oppose him. They gather their followers in hope one day they will find a way to overthrow him. They want to foster hatred toward the marked and ignorance toward the wraiths’ pets,” Sophren said.

  “How could the people not know with the ragool roaming the land?” I said.

  “They rarely bother most, since they are usually restricted to the lands close to the dead forest and rarely seen outside of Hallow’s Eve. Attacks are usually restricted to the eastern villages, and those who have seen a ragool do not live to spread the rumor,” Helna said.

  “Many in the city do not believe they exist. Those powerful people we were telling you about spread rumors that it is the king’s marked murdering the people to spread fear about an imaginary creature. It is so easy to spread lies to the ignorant. But now we have someone in our kitchen who has seen a ragool and survived to spread the word,” Sophren said.

  “It is not something I wish to remember.” I shut out the vision of the black beast jumping over the captain to get to the fire. But worse by far was the memory of Ryhan’s brother, who lost his head for being bitten. I wasn’t going to ask the three women about what the captain said regarding Ryhan’s brother turning into a servant of the wraiths. We’d talked enough on that topic. I wanted to let it rest.

  “I’ve heard the king will send in more gatherers soon,” the mousy girl said in a quiet voice.

  Helna returned her attention to her pastry, her lips pressed tightly.

  “Gatherers?”

  “Male prisoners are forced to cross into the dead forest to gather the petals of a special plant that is said to hold a potent toxin, which increases the strength of the marked,” Sophren said.

  “But that is unjust.” I’d never heard such a rumor. “Surely none survive.” Would the king’s cruelty toward his people ever cease?

  “Few do. But what does the king care? They are prisoners after all. And it is said the smallest drop of the fluid made from the flower is enough to strengthen a marked for moons. Even if only one returns, he would bring enough. And if none survive, the king keeps sending in more until one comes out.”

  My chest tightened as a lump rose up my throat. “How often does he send prisoners to the dead forest?”

  “Well before his stores of the toxin run out.”

  Helna straightened and clapped her hands. “Enough of this dark talk. Time to get to work. Rya is to serve in the king’s box. Sophren, you must prepare her.”

  “For what?” I said.

  The mousy girl jumped and headed back to what she had been doing.

  “You cannot spill the king’s drink, young lady. Nor would I have a servant from my kitchen drop food in the consort’s lap.”

  “Who is the consort?” I said.

  “The king’s latest whore, Shellery. He picked her from the gutter and once he’s had enough with her back she’ll go,” Sophren said.

  “And the princes’ mother died?” I said.

  “Prince, you mean. There is only one,” Sophren said.

  “But…” I said, unable to fathom what she meant.

  “Lord Cerac is a bastard. The king has accepted him as his son but is unwilling to grant him a royal title. There are some in the court who question if he is indeed of the king’s blood. They believe the king accepted the woman’s claim because Cerac is marked. The king can’t keep it in his breeches. There’s no telling how many children he’s fathered, so the claim could well be true. And Cerac looks enough like his brother, Hunrus, to satisfy the court.”

  “What happened to Cerac’s mother?”

  “She died, I suspect. She was never seen again after she handed her son over,” Sophren said.

  “What about Prince Hunrus’s mother?”

  “She died in childbirth, soon after he was born. It’s the way most of them have gone. Either that or he poisons them all.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Hunrus is his only legitimate son. All the rest bore girls, if they bore at all. And all he wanted was a stable of boys. He has three daughters each to different mothers. They’re spoilt but neglected. Their only use is marriage. You rarely see them out. He keeps them locked tight within the palace. The eldest has already been married to some old king of a distant impoverished kingdom. Don’t know why the king willingly accepted the alliance for it’s not like he benefited from the union. She was an evil bitch so maybe the old king was the only man willing to take her. The other two are waiting to be matched. The king will wait until he can find suitable partners with favorable alliances for the kingdom. As for Cerac, many say the king readily accepted Cerac as his son because he wanted a spare. Once you’ve been here long enough that’s the word you’ll hear used when describing his second son.”

  “But not in front of him, surely?” That would be a horrible way to grow up.

  Sophren shrugged. “I do not spend time with the master, so I could not say what he has heard.”

  “All right, that’s enough. You need to learn a thing or two about how to serve the king so you don’t embarrass us all,” Helna snapped.

  She nodded to Sophren, then returned her attention to her food preparation.

  Sophren spent the next few hours running over every situation she could think I would find myself in while in the presence of the king. Apparently all I had to do was stand to the back of the box and wait until the king or any of his entourage signaled me forward. It was expected I would pour their wine and offer them the nibble food Helna was preparing, which sounded easy enough to do, but Sophren persisted in making me practice the right technique. I was not to speak unless spoken to and advised to keep my answers to a minimum because the king was not really interested in anythi
ng I would have to say.

  Sophren finally released me when we heard the trumpets herald the arrival of the king and his party to the arena, but not before she’d brushed my hair and tied it up into coils on top of my head, much like her own, and made me scrub my hands and nails until they were pink and tingling from the rough scourer. After all was complete, she stood back and assessed her work. Pronouncing me fit to leave, she stuck her head out the door from her room, a much brighter and drier room close to the kitchen, and hollered for Fednick.

  Fednick was a young lad, perhaps not much older than Nellene. His crop of messy curls hung low over his eyes and he never bothered to brush them aside. On the occasion when I caught sight of his eyes, I was dazzled by the deepest blue I’d ever seen that was not up in the sky.

  He led me through passages I’d yet to go down, some dark and dank, others bathed in the light from outside and smelling like warm, sunny days.

  “How long have you been a servant to the arena?”

  He shrugged, keeping his eyes ahead to where we were going.

  “That long.” If he couldn’t remember, maybe he’d been here since he was a small child. “That must make you an expert on the tasks we are required to complete as servants. I hope you don’t mind if I call on you whenever I need help.”

  That earned me a quick sidelong glance and a small smile. I would make a point of asking Helna Fednick’s history.

  At some point, we passed into the arena, perhaps when we moved through one of those dark, dank passages. We wound up another spiral staircase much like the one Cerac had led me up the day before. As we rose, the noise of the crowd became clearer. Never had I heard so much chatter at one time. There had to be most of the city out there.

  We came out at the back of the king’s box. In front were thick, long curtains, concealing the king’s entourage behind. Two guards stood sentinel with swords strapped in holsters on their hips, barring entrance.

  “Go around there.” Fednick pointed to a narrow gap between two pillars at the left-hand side. “Only the king’s selected and the king himself pass through the curtains.”

  This was the most Fednick had said to me since we met, despite having plenty of time to do so.