Free The Blood King by Gail Z. Martin

away. “Anyway, it’s not mine to decide.
    The working can only be done at midnight on the Hawthorn Moon. The spells won’t break before then. It’s been tried.”

    Arontala didn’t flinch as Jared hurled a metal pitcher past his head. It clanged against the wall. “Then try it again. The Hawthorn Moon is months away. I can’t wait forever.”
    “You can’t wait at all, that’s the problem,” Arontala observed. “Your army is deserting because they’re sick of burning down their own villages. Your nobles are close to revolt. I handed you the throne of Margolan on a platter and you’ve destroyed it before you’ve worn the crown a year.”
    “My only mistake was trusting you.”
    In the blink of an eye, Arontala was across the room, and the display of power only served to darken Jared’s mood further. “A little late for second thoughts, my king,” the vayasb moru said in a voice as smooth as brandy. “Our fates are joined until we’ve seen this through.” Jared repressed a shiver, unwilling to let Arontala see how much the undead mage unset-tled him. He was glad that he had reinforced his amulet’s power with other null charms hidden around the room. Arontala never spoke of them, and if he noticed an effect on his magic, he did not seem to care.
    “Once the snows are gone,” Jared said, “and the roads are firm enough to ride, I want to strike against Staden so that the Winter Kingdoms know that I am the true king of Margolan.”
    Even the firelight could not add color to Arontala’s features. “I advise against that.”
    “Of course you advise against it!” Jared raged, dashing a platter to the floor. “You care nothing about my throne. The only thing you care about is that damned orb and your pitiful spirit king.”
    “Your troops are needed here, to keep your loyal subjects from slitting your royal throat,” Arontala continued as if he had not heard. “And as for the ‘pitiful spirit king,’” Arontala added with a trace of irony, “he can assure you the kind of power you crave to hold Margolan and the Winter Kingdoms for as long as you live. Perhaps longer.” He tasted his sharp eye teeth with his tongue.
    “What is that supposed to mean?” Jared felt a tingle of fear as his anger waned.
    “You could reign as an immortal, with the great-est wizard the kingdoms have ever feared at your side, reborn to an immortal’s body,” Arontala said, his eyes alight.
    Jared hand went to the amulet at his throat. “I want no part of your perversion.”
    A mirthless smile touched Arontala’s lips. “No? You’ve already learned that it is the blood, and not the act, that satisfies.” He glanced pointedly toward the garderobe.
    “We have spies among the Sisterhood, within the families of vayash moru, and soon in Staden’s court,” Arontala said smoothly. “A little patience, my king, and you’ll have what you desire.”
    Whatever Jared might have said was silenced by the rapping at the door.
    “What now?” Jared shouted.

    The door edged open to reveal a pale guardsman. “Sire, the Nargi emissaries have arrived.”
    Jared cursed. “Seat them in the audience hall. I’ll attend when I’m free.” He turned to Arontala. “If I can’t have results from you, I’ll find an ally who can honor a promise.” He rinsed the last traces of blood from his hands in the basin near the bed and pulled his stained tunic over his head, shouting for a valet to assist him. Arontala said nothing during the process, standing in the shadows near the doorway. When Jared had inspected his image in the looking glass and called for his circlet crown, he met the vayash moru’s eyes for a moment, then cursed and turned toward the door, giving tacit permission for the wizard to follow. Four Nargi priests wait-ed in the audience hall, watching impassively while Jared ascended the throne.
    “You may address the throne,” he said with a trace of ennui.
    “Why have you called us?” The speaker was the