He could speak for himself, Laren thought, but the phantom wind had ceased and the scaffolding was already settling.
Master Goodgrave scratched his head. “Well, the scream was new. The spirits have been quiet of late, so I certainly was not expecting such an outburst.” His complexion was decidedly pasty, and beads of sweat dribbled down his cheek.
“Felt like it came across all the layers of the world.” Laren shuddered as her ability whispered a faint, True, and her brooch punctuated it with a twinge. She did not particularly like it when her ability cast random judgments. She also did not like the implication of its confirming that the voice had come through the layers of the world.
“Voice sounded familiar.” Zachary spoke so faintly, Laren was not sure she actually heard him. He looked thoughtful as he gazed off into space.
She would question him, but later. The sway of the scaffolding had made her more than a little queasy, and she wanted off as soon as possible. “I think it time we climbed down. Your Majesty?” She valiantly gestured at the ladder indicating Zachary should descend first.
“After you, Captain. I insist.”
He did not have to insist, or even ask twice. She got the feeling he regarded the whole climbing of the scaffolding as a great game, like when he’d climbed trees as a boy. He appeared unfazed by the ghostly display and shifting scaffolding. As she made her way down, she overheard him instructing Master Goodgrave to inspect the structure to ensure its safety before it was used again.
When they were both on ground level, with the solid stone floor beneath their feet, Laren and the king headed for the door. Zachary glanced back over his shoulder, and she followed his gaze to see Master Goodgrave’s assistants already scrambling to check the stability of the scaffolding. The dome still shone with brilliant light down into the room.
“Do not tell my wife the queen about this,” he said. “She worries about me enough as it is.”
“She isn’t the only one,” Laren muttered.
He heard her and scowled, slowing his stride as they made their way down the corridor. An almost healed scar cut down from the edge of his scalp through his eyebrow. He’d received the wound in a skirmish with Second Empire on the northern border.
“You think a king should not rally his troops in battle?” he demanded. “Why should I send them into a battle I’m not willing to fight myself?”
“There is a difference between rallying the troops and almost getting oneself killed on the front line.”
“I tried leading from behind. I did not like it.”
She halted.
“Captain?” He paused, and behind them Travis took up a watchful posture at a respectful distance.
She had been through this with him on more than one occasion, as had his other advisors. He knew that he put others at risk when he rode to the front line, and was a distraction to those who must not only fight, but protect him. He’d heard and understood that if they lost him, so much else would be lost. He countered, however, that so much was gained by his being present for the troops, lifting their spirits, leading by example, just as had the kings of old.
While this was all true, Laren knew there was more to it. She knew he was testing himself, proving he was whole and not afraid to face death after the assassin’s arrow had almost taken his life. He needed to prove he commanded his own destiny, that no one else held that power over him.
Compelling as that was, Laren knew it was not the only reason. When it had become clear that Karigan was not returning from Blackveil, he’d decided to travel to the north to observe the troops, only to get himself caught up in the fighting. She’d heard the reports of his courage and fighting skill, and of how resounding a victory it had been.
Despite their defeat, Second Empire had to be salivating for another opportunity to face Sacoridia’s king on the battlefield, to take him down. All arrows would be aimed at him. All swords would be harrowing the field of battle to reach him.
“Laren,” he said, “you have that look.”
“Look? What look?”
“That pensive look you get when you have something unpleasant to tell me. You might as well get on with it.”
If this had not been so serious a subject, she might have been amused. “All right,” she said. “Karigan and the others did not go into Blackveil just so you could get your head lopped off in a minor skirmish.”
He did not reply, but his eyes blazed.
“Furthermore, she would not have wanted you in harm’s way.” Laren could’ve heard a feather alight on the floor, the corridor had grown so silent. “Zachary, she is gone, but she’d want you to live on. She loved Sacoridia, and she loved you, and not just as her king.”
He looked away from her then. She could not imagine the intolerable weight of the crown he wore, all that it represented.
“I do not . . .” he began then shook his head. “She is resilient. I cannot accept she is gone.”
“Then,” Laren said, “why try to get yourself killed off before she comes back?” Because, she told herself, as much as he could not accept that Karigan was gone, he knew deep inside that she was.
He’d rallied after the visit of Somial, the Eletian, but nothing had come of the messages she’d entrusted to Agemon in the tombs, and she didn’t think anything ever would.
She sighed, watching Zachary stride down the corridor, Travis trailing after him. The only thing that would keep her king safely behind the line of skirmish was winter’s onset. It would soon be upon them, and she hoped that by spring he would come to his senses.