by Sharon Shinn
“I need water,” she said as steadily as she could. I need disinfectanct. I need Callie! I need a true doctor! “And the cleanest cloth anyone can find, to serve as a bandage.”
Water and cloth miraculously appeared. She suspected one of the Welchin guards had run to the nearest home or shop and stormed in, conscripting supplies on behalf of the crown. And surely another one had been sent off to the nearest medical facility, and true help was even now on its way. Rafe was not the only one injured, although he was the only one she could think of at the moment. Surely there would be a whole convoy of transport elaymotives arriving very shortly to take all of the injured to an infirmary.
She cleaned the wound as gently and thoroughly as she could, directing Steff to hold Rafe down when he flinched away from her touch. He groaned, which she took as a good sign, but he didn’t open his eyes. Which she took as a bad one.
Once she had bound his shoulder, she began investigating his other wounds. A long cut on his left arm, both legs badly scratched through the thin silk of his trousers. But none of those other injuries seemed severe. There was a streak of blood on his cheek, and when she wiped it away, she found a long, shallow slice that ran from his cheekbone and down his neck. Someone had been aiming to cut his throat, she thought, but Rafe had managed to turn away.
She dampened the cloth again and cleaned the rest of the dirt and blood from his face. His long hair had spilled behind him on the ground, making the bones of his face more prominent, exposing his right ear with its distinctive serrations.
You were almost killed because someone recognized this pattern, she thought, finding a clean patch of the cloth and catching a drop of blood that was trickling toward the thin gold hoops. How can we ever keep you safe?
Behind her, she heard someone step off the paved roadway and break through the bushes while soft voices spoke imploring words in a language Josetta didn’t understand. When she reluctantly looked away from Rafe’s face, she wasn’t surprised to find Filomara closing in on her, clearly as unwilling as Josetta to sit tamely in the temple until reinforcements arrived. Steff scrambled to his feet in a gesture of deference, but Josetta remained kneeling at Rafe’s side.
“Attacks on the street in broad daylight in public venues!” the empress spat out in Coziquela. “Good thing I did have my own soldiers with me, because we all would have been dead if we’d had only your men to protect us.”
Josetta felt her own spurt of anger in response, but she kept her voice cool. “Indeed, I was grateful to know your men were protecting you, but Welchin soldiers fought valiantly.”
“And died bravely,” said Foley’s voice from behind them. Josetta thought he might have seen Filomara bearing down on her and hurried over to offer his protection from a very different kind of foe. “Five of our men are dead, and two of the Malinquese soldiers.”
“I’m astonished you have any soldiers left at all if such attacks are everyday occurrences,” said the empress. “I will not feel safe the rest of the time I’m in your wretched city.”
This time Josetta’s tone was sharp. “Such things hardly ever happen. I have lived in Chialto my whole life and never been assaulted.” She gestured back toward the roadway, where even now bodies were being lined up for inspection. “Has anyone identified the attackers yet? I am guessing we will find clues that they’re from Berringey.”
“Berringey!” the empress exclaimed. “So, Ghyaneth opens up war on Welce, after all, though he is still talking alliances.”
It was extremely undiplomatic, but Josetta couldn’t contain her hot reply. “Or he has merely opened his war on you. Perhaps you were the target of this display.”
The empress’s eyes narrowed as she stared down at Josetta. “Perhaps, but they largely left me alone, and I was visible enough,” she replied slowly. With one booted foot, she pointed at Rafe’s hip. “He’s the one they seemed most interested in. Why? Merely because a crown princess fancies herself in love with him?”
“I hardly know,” Josetta began, but something in that still body had caught the empress’s attention. Filomara dropped to a squat and stared intently at Rafe’s face.
“I kept thinking he looked—in a certain light he looked—and lying this way, with his face just so—but it can’t be,” the empress muttered.
Alarm sparked through Josetta, and she looked around for allies. But no one here knew everything she knew. Not even Steff, who had drawn closer as if to overhear Filomara’s thoughts. He was watching the empress as closely as she was watching Rafe.
“Tell me his name again,” the empress demanded.
“Rafe Adova.”
She shook her head. “That’s not right. He’s—”
Then her voice stopped. Perched on the balls of her feet, she swayed forward, had to put a hand to the churned ground to catch her balance. Josetta knew without trying to follow her gaze what the empress had seen.
“Lerafi Filoman Kolavar,” the empress whispered. “My grandson.”
TWENTY-SIX
Once the doctor convinced Josetta that Rafe would be fine—sore, maybe feverish, and damned uncomfortable, but out of danger—she was able to enjoy the fight between Darien and the empress of Malinqua.
First, of course, it was always a pleasure to see Darien’s carefully orchestrated plans upended. Whatever he had decided about when to inform Filomara of Rafe’s parentage, he certainly hadn’t envisioned such a dramatic denouement.
Second, Filomara was every bit Darien’s equal in terms of fierceness, intransigence, and cunning. Darien could wear down most other people or he could outmaneuver them or he could convince them he had only their best interests at heart. But Filomara he could not exhaust, outwit, or charm.
“He’s met his match,” Josetta whispered to Zoe as they paused outside the room that used to be King Vernon’s study, listening to the rise and fall of voices through the door. It was close to dinnertime, and the two had been arguing for at least an hour. Ever since the battered cavalcade of bloody soldiers and shaken royals had arrived at the palace courtyard with their recital of calamitous news.
“Good,” Zoe said.
Josetta searched her sister’s face in the soft gaslight of the hallway. “You don’t seem worried or nervous about what’s going to happen next.”
Zoe shrugged. “I think it’s out of my hands. Out of Darien’s and Filomara’s, too. The only person whose opinion is going to matter is Rafe’s.”
“I don’t know—I’m not sure—he was shocked enough to discover his connection to Ghyaneth. Now to find that he’s the heir to two kingdoms—well, I don’t know how clearly he’ll be able to think it through. Especially because people are trying to kill him all the time!”
“And maybe that’s a consideration that will weigh with him heavily,” Zoe said. “Where will he be safest? In Welce, flying Kayle’s aeromotives? Or in Malinqua, sitting on the throne?”
Josetta caught her breath because she hadn’t considered that aspect of it. “In Malinqua, of course,” she whispered. She felt a hand squeeze hard on her protesting heart. While I am imprisoned inside the palace in Welce . . .
“Maybe,” Zoe said. “But maybe Rafe doesn’t care about his safety.”
“Maybe other people have to care for him, then,” Josetta said dully.
Zoe smiled. “Now, that’s something I learned a long time ago,” she said. “Despite what Darien thinks, you can’t always get people to do what you tell them. Even when it’s indisputably the best thing for them. The most solid, the most dependable, the most hunti man has a little coru in his veins. And no matter how wayward a course of action might be, in the end, he’ll do what he wants.”
From behind the study door came the sounds of glass breaking and Filomara’s angry voice rising. Zoe’s smile grew even wider. “I don’t think they’re going to be done any time soon,” she said cheerfully. “I’m going to check on the baby.”
She patted Josetta on the arm. “You go find Rafe.”
• • •
Rafe was right where she’d left him, in his room in the men’s wing of the palace. He was awake, sitting up in bed, and being tended to by Steff and Corene. Although Josetta thought Steff and Corene were arguing with each other more than they were seeing to Rafe’s comfort.
At any rate, he looked vastly relieved to see her. “Finally, someone with a little sense,” he said. “Tell me what’s going on here. These two are telling the wildest stories.”
“They’re not stories,” Corene said. “They’re true.”
“You weren’t even there this afternoon!” Steff responded. “You don’t know anything!”
“I know a lot more about palace intrigue in Welce than you do!”
Josetta ignored them and perched on the edge of the bed to put her hand on Rafe’s forehead. “How do you feel? No fever yet. That’s good.”
“I. Feel. Horrible,” he said. “Like I’ve been stabbed and trampled and burned, and then drowned for good measure.” He closed his eyes briefly to wait out a clutch of pain, and then opened them again to gaze at Josetta. “Why is it that every time you see me, I’ve been beaten up or knocked senseless?”
“You’re always senseless,” Corene contributed from the foot of the bed. “I don’t know about the beaten up part.”
Josetta leaned forward to give him a brief kiss. “You’re not always battered and broken,” she said. “And maybe this will be the last time.”
“I hope so.”
“But what happened?” Steff demanded. “Were those men really trying to kill Rafe? And what did the empress mean when she said—when she said—”
Josetta spent another moment with her hand on Rafe’s cheek, her eyes on his face, convincing herself that he was going to survive this latest misadventure. Then she nodded and moved to a chair. Corene and Steff pulled their own chairs closer to listen. Josetta had tried so hard to keep this story from Steff; now he had to learn Rafe’s complex heritage along with his own.
“As best I understand it, Filomara’s daughter Subriella was married off to one of the princes of Berringey about thirty years ago,” she began.
“Wait,” said Steff. “Subriella. Our mother? She was the empress’s daughter?”
“Yes.”
Steff stared at his brother accusingly. “And you knew this? And you didn’t tell me? We’re—we’ve got royal blood? Both of us?”
Rafe was grinning. “Yeah,” he said, “but I’m even more royal than you are. Let her tell the story.”
Josetta resumed. “It’s not clear how much Subriella or her mother knew about the customs that govern Berringey’s royal house, but it turns out that after they’ve identified one clear heir to the throne, most of the other ones are killed off. Once Rafe was born—excuse me, once Lerafi was born—someone at the palace had his ear marked with the royal pattern. A couple of years later, Rafe’s cousin Ghyaneth came along and was named the crown prince. That’s when Subriella realized that Rafe didn’t have long to live. She somehow escaped with her baby and made her way to Welce. Filomara was told that both of them were dead.”
“And you knew this? All this time?” Steff demanded. “She told you about it when you were growing up?”
Rafe shook his head. “I just found out about the Berringey connection a couple of ninedays ago. I just found out about Malinqua—yesterday.”
“You should have told me.”
“I found out because someone from Berringey spotted me on the streets and tried to kill me,” Rafe said soberly. “Darien Serlast decided that the fewer people who knew the truth, the safer I’d be. But that’s why he’s had me followed by guards all this time.”
Josetta nodded. “Darien thinks mercenaries recognized Rafe because of the markings on his ear. When they weren’t able to kill him, they did the next best thing—they told Ghyaneth he was still alive. He’s been hunting Rafe ever since.”
“It looks like he’s going to continue to hunt me,” Rafe said.
Josetta kept her voice even. “Maybe. But Filomara came to Welce because she’s focused on the succession in Malinqua. She was hoping to find a royal bride to take back to one of her nephews, since all of her direct descendants are dead. Or so she thought. Now that she knows you’re alive—she’s going to want to take you back instead.”
“I’m not going to Malinqua,” Rafe said instantly.
“Why not?” Corene asked. “Maybe you’d like it.”
“Because I don’t know anything about Malinqua! Because the people are strange to me and the customs are strange to me and everyone would be watching me, wondering if I was really who I pretended to be—”
“There’s your ear,” Corene pointed out.
“Sure. I bet I could cut your ear to look just this way.”
“I do wonder if Filomara will think you’re an imposter,” Josetta agreed. “But if she accepts you as her grandson, she might be able to do something we haven’t managed here in Welce. She might be able to keep you safe from Ghyaneth’s revenge.”
Rafe narrowed his gaze and watched her a moment. “Not enough of an inducement,” he said at last. “I don’t want to leave Welce.”
“You mean you don’t want to leave Josetta,” Corene said, as always speaking straight out loud the things other people could hardly admit to thinking. “But that’s stupid. Once you’re king, you’ll find all sorts of women you can marry, and I’m sure you’ll like them just as much as you like Josetta.”
“As you can see, my sister has a romantic heart,” Josetta said.
Steff spoke up. “Why not take Josetta with you? If the empress is looking for an alliance with Welce, you can marry her, and then everybody’s happy.”
Because Darien thinks I’m destined to be the next queen of Welce, Josetta thought. Instead of saying that, she turned her gaze on Corene. “Because there’s another princess who’s already volunteered to go to Malinqua.”
Corene looked defensive, stubborn, and anxious, all at once. “Well, I don’t see why I shouldn’t,” she said. “I think it would be exciting. I’m tired of boring old Welce.”
Josetta didn’t have Corene’s ability to speak a devastating truth with ease. So she kept her voice gentle. “You think there isn’t a place for you in Chialto because your mother is having another child,” she said. “But there are so many people here who wouldn’t want you to go. Darien. Zoe. Me.”
Corene hunched her shoulders. “Everybody was perfectly fine with the idea of me going to Soeche-Tas five years ago, and Malinqua sounds like a much better place.”
“Everyone was not fine with that idea!” Josetta exclaimed. “In fact, I think Zoe reacted pretty drastically to the announcement.”
Corene produced a faint grin. “So maybe she’ll flood the city again if I say I’m leaving with Filomara.”
Steff spoke up in a reasonable voice. “Well, if Corene wants to go and Rafe ought to go and the empress is looking for a bride for her heir, wouldn’t the solution be for Corene to marry Rafe?”
“No!” everyone else in the room answered at once. They all looked at each other and laughed.
Then Rafe spoke up more forcefully. “No. I’m not going to Malinqua. I’ve finally found the life here that I want to live, and I’m not giving it up.”
“I’d go,” Steff said enviously. “I’ve always wanted to see the rest of the world. After all those years on my father’s farm—” His words trailed off as they stared at him. “What?”
“You can go, of course, don’t you realize that?” Josetta said. “You’re Filomara’s grandson, too. You’re her other direct heir.”
• • •
Naturally, Darien had not forgotten for a second that Steff was related to the empress of Malinqua; he must have realized it the moment he met the boy. Josetta wondered just how he had slipped that
information into his grand quarrel with Filomara and what her reaction had been. But it was clear that she had somehow learned of the connection, because before dinner had been announced, she sent a note to Rafe’s room, asking him and Steff to meet her within the hour.
Since Rafe’s injuries would make it difficult for him to navigate the long corridors of the palace, Filomara had received Darien’s permission to use his study in the men’s wing. Steff and Josetta practically carried Rafe there, ignoring his muttered curses and grunts of pain. They had just enough time to situate him in a comfortable chair before Filomara strode in.
She was dressed in her usual drab colors, but her stern face held a look of unwonted excitement. She came halfway into the room and then stood stock-still, her gaze flicking between the two brothers. Josetta saw her hands tighten as if to curb traitorous yearning; she didn’t offer either one an embrace.
“In many ways, Malinqua is much more advanced than Welce,” were her opening words. “We have techniques to test a man’s blood and determine if he is, in fact, who he claims to be. So if you are not my daughter’s sons, you will be found out quickly enough. I advise you to stop pretending now.”
Steff looked indignant, but Rafe nodded. “My mother’s name was Subriella, though my stepfather always called her Subi,” he said. “I know she was Steff’s mother because I was there when he was born, and I truly believe I am her son as well. Was she your daughter? I don’t know. It seems to be true, though the story is almost too fantastical to credit.”
Filomara seemed to relax at this calm rejoinder. “Then you are willing to come to Malinqua to be tested?” she said gruffly.
“I am,” Steff replied.
“I would happily submit to testing,” Rafe said, “but I am not interested in leaving Welce.”
She gave him a sharp look, then cut her eyes toward Josetta, who had prudently taken a poorly lit seat in the back of the room. She had offered to leave, but Rafe had begged her to stay and, well, she was dying of curiosity to see how this interview would go.
