Now, watching her comfort the young Errigal as the others began unloading the barge, Mars was unable to look away from her: the compassion on her face before it disappeared because she curled over Rory, the warm brown line of her arched neck. He wanted to put his lips there, or at least his hand, to show her he would support her, or nothing more if she wished.
Though it was terrible that the Earl Errigal was dead, it was good Mars had come. He’d sent Ban the Fox to Innis Lear to promote discord, and Mars knew his spy’s methods too well not to recognize the spiral of them. Errigal and his heir had been removed, putting Ban in the perfect position to take it all if he could convince someone to name him legitimate. How well the Fox did his work.
Mars clenched his jaw. Thinking of Ban turned his careful, meticulous thoughts to fire. Never before had he been betrayed like this, dismissed with so little explanation. I will not be returning to Aremoria.
It might as well have read, I will not be returning to you.
Mars had trusted that bastard. Given him every opportunity to achieve greatness. No one had expected so much of Ban as Mars had, and he’d been so very sure the Fox would rise to meet that expectation.
The king of Aremoria did not like this feeling.
He’d lost them both: Ban and Elia.
She did not even glance his way again.
Mars had thrown all aside to come here, just himself and twelve of his best men, men who’d served in the army beside him before his father died, when he was only Captain Mars, a soldier like them, fighting and aching to win and live and prove himself worthy. His mother had vehemently protested this scheme, but Ianta took his side, reluctantly, convincing Queen Calepia that Mars could not rule if he doubted himself. And he knew abandoning Elia Lear now would carve a doubt in his heart to last all his life. His sister did not know, still, of his relationship with Ban the Fox, and how tangled Mars’s feelings were for the two islanders. Doubt, yes, and desire, and a stubborn determination to be selfish for once.
The king knew it was the core of his coming here: pure, selfish need. He wanted Elia, and he wanted Ban—differently, maybe—and if Mars must set down the Blood and the Sea to get them—or one of them—or settle his tumultuous yearning—so be it.
Elia Lear had come home to reign, and Mars had followed her to see if he could shed his crown for even a little while.
“You need a drink,” the girl Aefa said suddenly to Rory Errigal, but she looked around to the folk still gathered, meaning them all.
Rory nodded against Elia—Mars unworthily wished to be the one pressed against her—and the princess helped him stand. She glanced to Eriamos Alsax and his sister Dessa. “We do have lunch at the inn. Come.” Her impossibly black eyes darted to Mars, including him, and she led Errigal down the dock.
Aefa pursed her lips at Mars, unaffected by who she knew he was. “Come you, sirs.” She flounced away, and Mars looked at Novanos, whom he knew to admire the perky, inappropriate young woman.
“Finish unloading,” Mars quietly ordered his men. “Help the Alsax and act your parts. “
Then he and Novanos followed in the wake of Elia Lear. Novanos said, “It will be easy enough for them, for they play what they are: soldiers.”
Port Comlack was as busy as it had always been, except for the frantic sense in the air, as if at any moment lightning might form out of the harsh, clear sky, and tear through town on this scalding wind. The inn where they were led was two stories wrapped around an inner court, but Elia went straight through the common room to a large table with benches on three sides. Sunlight and three great hearths lit the low-ceilinged room, heating it and casting out the briny smell of the sea. Six retainers stood along the rear wall, and a handful of regular folk chatted at a tall table, some eating hurriedly on stools by one flickering fire. Wind gusted against the shutters, riffling through the thatched roof overhead.
Elia sat Rory down and summoned immediate drink. She put her arm around his shoulder as though they were old friends—and they were, Mars knew, stamping down jealousy. He deserved her reprobation. Though he’d like to ask after Ban, to know if they’d spoken, or if she knew what had caused his Fox to turn away from Aremoria. From him. Had it been her doing? Would that make it easier to bear? What was the state of politics on Innis Lear? Where did Elia stand, and would she allow him to stand beside her? How did the wind scour the island like this, but bring with it no rain or storm?
“Rory, there is more,” Elia said, raising her voice. “My father, too, is dead.”
Shock clenched Mars’s stomach. She said it so coolly, as if unaffected, except there was a slight tremble in her hand as she reached for a pitcher of wine and poured it into cups. Pressing one into Rory’s hand, the princess put her back to Mars.
Aefa appeared before Mars and Novanos. “Well, sit down, sirs, don’t hover. Or else go stand with the retainers, since that’s your costume.”
The girl was correct: Mars stood out like this. He nodded at Novanos, who nodded more gently at Aefa. They began to step away, but Mars said, “Aefa, I would speak with your lady alone, when it pleases her.”
“It won’t please her,” Aefa said, ushering them to a different table.
Gritting his teeth for a moment, Mars put on a more concerned tone to ask, “What happened to Lear?”
“He was old,” she said, as if the answer were obvious.
The king
