So, the emperor of Balaria was a few steps ahead of Ashlyn. That was unfortunate.
“You’d ignore a writ of slaying?” Yonmar asked, still struggling to grasp the notion that he hadn’t gotten exactly what he wanted. “That’s … that’s simply not done.”
Garwin pushed the writ of slaying back across the desk, but he kept Yonmar’s document of safe passage. Then he spoke in a flat voice, eyes fixed on Bershad’s face.
“In accordance with the laws of Terra, you, Rowan, and your donkey are free to execute this writ of slaying in the eastern province of Cornish. I have no authority to tell you otherwise, and wish you the best of luck on your quest. Anyone else I see traveling with you will be arrested and executed for illegal entrance to Ghalamar. And rest assured, my eyes see a great deal.” He glanced at Yonmar. “I suggest you get rid of this idiot, take one last pass at that widow, and then send her back to Papyria or Almira or wherever the fuck she came from.”
11
ASHLYN
Almira, Floodhaven
Ashlyn stood over her desk, frowning down at the ledger of numbers while she performed a few more calculations in her head. The ledger contained the latest head counts of wardens sworn to each lord in Almira. It was strange to reduce so many men to simple slashes of ink, but it gave Ashlyn comfort. She knew practically nothing of battle tactics. Would have no idea how to lead men into war. But numbers made sense to her. They could be organized and ordered. Shifted to suit her needs.
Ashlyn had been sending dozens of pigeons every day, asking every lord on the Atlas Coast with whom she had regular contact to provide their latest numbers of available wardens. She trusted them to be accurate. The lords of the Gorgon Valley were a different story—most of them hadn’t responded to her inquiries at all, and the ones who did had given vague answers of dubious veracity. Ashlyn had been forced to estimate. She’d given some of the smaller western lords no more than a dozen slashes in their columns. But for Cedar Wallace, she’d assigned eight thousand, which was disturbingly close to the ten thousand wardens Ashlyn had sitting in her own column.
And Ashlyn had a feeling Cedar’s number was soft.
Her coronation wouldn’t be held for almost two months—the lords of Almira needed time to travel to the capital. But Ashlyn couldn’t wait that long to begin raising an army. She had sent word to Elden Grealor telling him about her father’s death and urging him to raise as large a host of Deepdale wardens as possible—ideally ten thousand—and return to Floodhaven as soon as possible. She’d also called an emergency meeting of the high lords. They were waiting for her now.
“My queen,” Hayden said, stepping into the dressing chamber. “The High Council is waiting in the garden room, as you requested.”
Ashlyn had been the power behind the bureaucracy of Almira for almost five years. She wrote decrees and land deeds. Settled property disputes and tax complaints. Set salt and wheat prices. But she had never called a High Council meeting before. Never ordered them to do something for her. It felt like the difference between studying a pile of old dragon bones in the safety of her observatory and chasing a fully grown Needle-Throated Verdun that could turn around at any time and eat her.
Ashlyn knew the high lords would be against her—they resented being ruled by a woman, and her Papyrian blood only made things worse. Given the situation in Mudwall, calling the high lords to Floodhaven was particularly risky. Wallace was already on the cusp of rebellion, and he could unite the others against her if they saw her as weak. But if she established her authority now and made them believe she would be sympathetic to their personal interests, Ashlyn was confident the odds of the lords mounting a rebellion, at least in the short term, would be relatively low.
“I’m ready.”
Ashlyn came down from the Queen’s Tower and crossed an open bridge that was connected to the upper levels of the King’s Tower. She looked to the west while she walked—where the forests of Almira stretched out in all directions—and noticed a Ghost Moth dragon winging a graceful path through the clear blue sky. It was close enough for Ashlyn to make out the twin, almost leaflike tendrils that hung down from either side of its snout and looked similar to a moth’s antennae. The tendrils were as long as a grown man’s arm and covered in snow-white powder. Ashlyn had a theory that Ghost Moths used their tendrils to track foxes and badgers and other den creatures, but she hadn’t been able to prove it yet.
She stopped walking. If her father was still alive, she would have told him to start the High Council meeting without her so she could spend more time watching the Ghost Moth. That wasn’t possible anymore. Most likely, it never would be again.
“My queen?” Hayden asked from behind her. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” Ashlyn took one last look at the dragon. “Let’s go.”
Besides the observatory, the garden room was Ashlyn’s favorite place in the castle. The floors of three rooms had been gutted so the peach and orange trees could grow freely in the sunlight that poured in from all sides through large rectangular windows. The stone floor of the room was covered with thick loamy soil and planted with grasses and flowers.
The four lords of the High Council were chatting around a large table: Cedar Wallace, Yulnar Brock, Doro Korbon, and Linkon Pommol. They went quiet when she entered.
Cedar Wallace sat upright and alert. Hero of the Balarian Invasion, and bitter rival of the Malgraves ever since. He had a large mole on one cheek, and while age had turned his black hair into a snow-white field, he had maintained the strength of a warrior, unlike the other members of the council. He was also the only member who was armed—a broadsword with an emerald in the pommel was slung over his chair. It wasn’t unusual—Cedar and Elden had both brought their weapons to the High Council meetings when her father was alive, too. Ashlyn knew it would make her look weak if she prohibited the blade now that she was in charge.
She wasn’t worried. Hayden was armed, too.
Yulnar Brock was next to him. He’d fought bravely in the Balarian Invasion, but in the last thirty years he’d rarely gone more than an hour or two without a meal that could feed a family of peasants for a day, making him grotesquely fat.
Doro Korbon had never been a warrior. He solved his conflicts with taxes, bribes, and well-paid wardens. Ashlyn thought he had an unfortunate number of physical similarities to a beaver.
Linkon was the only high lord who hadn’t fought in the Balarian Invasion. He was half the age of every other man in the room, and possessed less than half the money and power. His father, Ronuld, had died two years ago after falling off his horse while drunk. Before getting himself killed, Linkon’s father had gambled away the vast majority of his Gorgon Valley lands. Linkon had inherited his father’s seat on the High Council, but the debts had come along, too. He had very little actual influence over Almira’s fate. There were only two thousand slashes in Linkon’s column.
“My queen,” Linkon said, rising from his chair and bowing at the hip. “May I offer my deepest and most heartfelt condolences for the loss of your father.”
The others grumbled even more hollow platitudes.
“Thank you, high lords. Sit.”
They reshuffled themselves and looked at her. Waiting.
“I have called this council meeting because Almira faces difficult times ahead. My father has died. My sister has been kidnapped.”
“I hear Mudwall’s quite the mess as well,” Cedar Wallace said. He thumbed the large mole on his cheek with a dirty, cracked fingernail, and added, “My queen.”
“That’s true, Lord Wallace,” Ashlyn said. “I’m glad you bring that up. It is my understanding that Lord Hrilian, your vassal, is the main instigator of that particular conflict.”
“He has a good claim to Mudwall. His great-grandfather ruled it for almost forty years.”
“Good claim or bad claim, he is not pursuing it legally. Skirmishing lords are part of life in Almira, but lynching peasants in front of the city walls is unacceptabl
e. If those reports have any truth to them, your vassal has a pair of blue bars in his very near future.”
Cedar Wallace cocked his head, but said nothing.
“I want the fighting in the west stopped. I will choose who inherits the incomes of Mudwall.”
“Then choose, my queen,” Cedar Wallace said.
Ashlyn had been considering that for days. There were no good options. Going back on her father’s agreement with Elden Grealor would jeopardize their relationship—and she needed his wardens now more than ever. But publicly choosing him would turn the other high lords against her during the infancy of her reign. Better to lure them into her favor with possibility.
“I will choose the next lord of Mudwall after my coronation,” Ashlyn said. “However, there is an army of Malgrave wardens riding to Mudwall as we speak. If they arrive and see crimes being committed, they will bring justice to those who are responsible.”
“Is that a threat, my queen?” Cedar asked.
“A promise.”
Cedar Wallace stared at her. Ran his tongue over his teeth.
“I’ll send a rider, my queen.”
“Send a fast one. Next issue, my sister,” Ashlyn said before Cedar Wallace could speak again.
Doro Korbon straightened in his chair. “My queen, it was my understanding that Lord Arnish had already been dispatched to bring her back.”
Korbon was part of an ancient family that had lorded over a large portion of western Almira for three hundred years. He wasn’t as powerful or as aggressive as Cedar Wallace, but the Korbons and Wallaces had been tight-knit allies for generations.
“You understand correctly, Lord Korbon,” Ashlyn said. “But Lord Arnish has made no progress in his efforts to retrieve my sister. Diplomacy is not working. And I will not let Balaria’s aggression go unchecked. I will have my sister back in Floodhaven before midsummer, even if I have to invade Balaria to do it.”
“Invade?” Cedar Wallace asked. “With what army?”
“My army,” Ashlyn said. “Every small lord in Almira is coming to Floodhaven for my coronation next month. They have already been instructed to hire as many local wardens as possible and bring them here. In addition, each of you will call half of your forces to the capital.”
Originally, Ashlyn had planned to order all their wardens into the city, but then realized that was far too risky. By only summoning half of their armies, Ashlyn’s most loyal allies—the Atlas Coast wardens and Grealor’s men—would outnumber the Gorgon lords.
“That would be … nearly twenty thousand wardens,” Doro Korbon said.
“Closer to thirty.” Ashlyn had counted the ledger columns very carefully. It wasn’t enough soldiers to conquer Balaria, but certainly enough to distract Emperor Mercer until the dragon migration was over. Once it ended, Ashlyn would call the army home. It was a messy solution, but she didn’t see any other option if Bershad failed.
“Raising so many of our wardens so quickly will be difficult,” said Yulnar Brock. “And expensive.”
“I will, of course, show my gratitude for your service,” Ashlyn said. “Once your wardens are inside Floodhaven, I will decrease the Crown’s taxes and levies on your lands and holdings by ten percent. For five years.”
Yulnar Brock licked his lips. “Would a ten-year decrease be possible?” he asked.
“No,” Ashlyn said. “But if all of your wardens arrive early, seven years is something I will consider.”
“A very generous offer,” Brock said. “Very generous indeed. I can live with those terms, my queen.”
“As can I!” Doro Korbon piped.
Linkon bowed his head, a smile on his lips.
The lords could choose to spread this extra wealth back into their lands—provide more food, lower taxes, or build better roads for their people. Ashlyn knew they would most likely use it to fill their own private treasuries instead, but the greed of the high lords was a problem for a different day.
Cedar Wallace scoffed. “I don’t need your petty tax break, Queen.” He leaned forward. “Last I checked, I already won a war with Balaria for the Malgraves. Why should I ship my wardens across Terra just because you can’t keep your sister in her bedroom?”
Ashlyn had expected this from him.
“If a more agreeable tax rate does not move you, Lord Wallace, perhaps the spoils of war will. Should you distinguish yourself as you did during the Balarian Invasion, you could wind up controlling a large portion of Balaria in addition to the western reaches of Almira.”
Ashlyn would never actually allow that to happen, but she could see the possibility of it snatch Wallace’s interest. He kept his dark eyes fixed on her for a few long, tense moments. Ashlyn could feel Hayden shift behind her.
Linkon cleared his throat. “Raising an army is one thing,” he said in a soft voice. “But soldiers cannot walk on water. We don’t have nearly enough ships to transport that many wardens across Terra.”
“True,” Ashlyn said. “But Papyria does. I have already called their fleet of warships down from Half-Moon Bay.”
“The empress agreed to send her fleet?” Linkon asked, surprised. “I’d thought the Papyrian alliance chilled to the point of breaking.”
“You thought wrong. Seventy-five Papyrian warships will depart for Almira within the next moon’s turn.”
Ashlyn let that sink in. She could tell that an invasion of Balaria was the last thing the high lords expected her to do as a newly made queen in the dawn of her reign.
“War, then,” Linkon Pommol said, shrugging and reaching across the table toward a bowl of fruit. “Something to look forward to, at least. These council meetings were getting dull.”
“Oh, are you planning to get up on a horse and do some actual fighting?” Cedar Wallace asked, crossing his arms. “Not like you have many wardens to hide behind.”
“What my wardens lack in numbers, they make up for in constitution,” Linkon said.
“Constitution for sucking cock, maybe.” Cedar Wallace cracked a grim smile.
“You make jokes,” Ashlyn said. “But Linkon has pledged his soldiers to the war effort. You hesitate and make up excuses. To me, he’s the braver man in this room.”
It was a cheap shot—and not a long-term strategy for controlling Wallace—but Ashlyn needed to solve her problems one moment at a time. If tax breaks and war spoils didn’t move Wallace, pride might.
Cedar Wallace tightened his jaw and glanced between Ashlyn and Linkon a few times. Eventually, he nodded.
“I was just having some fun. Don’t worry, Queen, I’ll help raise your little army.”
“Good,” Ashlyn said. She rose from her chair. “I suggest that all of you begin sending messages back home. My coronation is not far away.”
* * *
Linkon Pommol was waiting in the hallway when Ashlyn left the garden. He held his arm out to escort her. Hayden trailed them—five steps behind, as always.
“You’ve started your reign quite aggressively, my queen,” Linkon said in his light voice.
“You disagree with my orders?” Ashlyn asked.
“I wouldn’t dare. But for me, calling such a large portion of my wardens to Floodhaven is no small task. As you know, I can only afford to keep two thousand wardens under my employ at any given time.”
“I do know that.”
“So my little sliver of the Gorgon Valley will be left quite vulnerable.”
“Perhaps you should have tried to curb your father’s gambling habits,” Ashlyn said.
“Perhaps,” Linkon said. “Anyway, as a method of control, forcing every member of the High Council to divide their army in half is brilliant. Wallace and Korbon can’t cause nearly as much trouble this way.”
That was only true if Ashlyn was able to fill Floodhaven with enough loyal wardens from the Atlas Coast before the Gorgon wardens arrived, of course. Otherwise, Ashlyn could wind up creating a rebellion within her own city. She had to take that risk. And geography was on her side, at least—he
r most loyal wardens were far closer to the capital than Wallace’s men.
“And rescuing Kira from the clutches of Balaria must obviously be a priority,” Linkon continued. “Lest it be known across the realm of Terra that Ashlyn Malgrave can’t protect her own kin.”
They walked a few dozen paces in silence.
“Do you have business with me of which I’m unaware, Linkon?” Ashlyn asked when the young lord made no move to alter his course away from her offices. “I have work to do.”
“I was hoping we might discuss a certain opportunity in private. Your observatory, perhaps? It’s such a unique room, I’d love to see it again.”
“Very well,” Ashlyn said. They passed the long walk through chambers and up winding stairwells in awkward silence. Servants had cleaned the observatory while she was away—stacking everything in neat piles and throwing a sheet over her alchemy station in the corner. Her dragon sketches, however, remained pinned on the wall.
“What do you want, Linkon?” Ashlyn said, sitting back into her familiar chair and motioning for Linkon to sit as well.
Linkon studied the drawings that were tacked to the eastern wall. “These are quite beautiful, my queen. I’ve never seen their equal.”
Ashlyn winced. She’d have to ask her servants to get rid of those. The queen of Almira couldn’t flaunt dragon illustrations in front of visitors.
“These are interesting as well,” Linkon said, pointing to three smaller maps of Almira. There were pins scattered across the geography, each marking the current location of a pigeon. Some were in cities, others in remote villages or isolated mills. Colored strings connected them all back to Floodhaven. “What are these used for?”
“Those are my pigeon routes,” Ashlyn said, eager to move the conversation away from her dragon sketches. “So I can tell which lines of communication are currently open.”
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