Raffar pulled my hand into his lap. I squeezed his fingers.
A shout echoed ahead of us, and the carriage skidded to a stop. Before we could open the door to find out what was wrong, Matid rode up to Raffar’s window. “Urgent message from Baaldarstad.”
Greggr and I followed Raffar out of the carriage. We stretched our legs as a guard I didn’t recognize dismounted from his elephant bird. But no—those stripes on the neck seemed familiar—that was Fleetfoot, Raffar’s mount.
Raffar greeted the guard as the bird rubbed its head on Raffar’s shoulder. His hand absently stroked the bird’s neck. His voice low, since not all of the guards knew the details, he asked, “Is Aldar in prison?”
“Your Majesty, we didn’t find him at his home or in the woods. Beng either. I’m sorry. We were too late. But we have soldiers posted near the monolith and at his home and office. If he comes back, we’ll get him.”
Raffar frowned, and I could tell he was thinking that Aldar was too smart for that. He’d outwitted us countless other times.
The guard continued, “But that’s not the reason we rode for you. A message was received last night.” He handed a sheet of parchment to Raffar.
As Raffar’s eyes flew over the document, the color drained from his face. Then he looked up at me, and the fear in his eyes turned my blood to ice.
“It’s from Stärkland. They have declared war.”
Chapter 30
Raffar read the short message to me. For a moment, we stood there in silence, and my stomach twisted to think of my people in danger. The soldiers, young and old, who had trained with me on the field, who’d played Capture the Queen. The guards who had accompanied me everywhere since I’d left Glizerra. But not just them. What we’d expected to happen between Azzaria and Loftaria had not come to pass. Instead, now that we were in an alliance, Azzaria would be pulled into defending Farnskag against Stärkland. And not even by the traitors Jonas had mentioned from south Stärkland. The declaration of war had come from the queen of Stärkland herself.
“The Grand Council wasn’t sure how long it would take to reach you, so Geord dispatched troops to the Stundvar River at the border this morning,” said the guard. “And I traveled this way to inform you.”
Raffar nodded. “Good. That is as Geord and I had discussed should anything ever happen while I was away. And you brought Fleetfoot. I’ll need weapons and four guards to accompany me to our army. If we leave now, we’ll arrive at the border by early morning.”
Leave? No! As my heart crumpled, Freyad strode forward. “I volunteer.”
Raffar stopped her with a shake of his head. “You remain with Jiara.”
“But—”
He didn’t even look up. “That is an order. I need to know she’s safe.” Then he pointed to Matid and three other guards to join him. “Weapons?” he asked of them. One of them handed him a staff, a knife, and a club, and he strapped them onto his back and legs.
He strode to me and took hold of my shoulders. He opened his mouth, and nothing came out, but I knew what he meant. This was war. Finding Aldar, finding Scilla’s killer, would have to wait. Regardless of the consequences.
“I understand,” I said. My eyes burned like fire, but my duty was to my country now. “I’ll send a message to my mother. She’ll organize troops. You can be certain. Tell the Stärklandish monarch Azzaria will back us if you get the chance to negotiate.”
He swallowed. “Of course.”
His eyes drank me in like they’d never get the chance again, but I refused to believe it would be the last time. My heart felt like someone was wrenching it in two, and I threw myself into his arms. “Be careful.”
He nuzzled the top of my head. “I will. I’m just . . . I should have been faster with the Stärklandish prisoner, shouldn’t have been so blind to Aldar’s deceit. Maybe it would never have come to violence.”
“You can’t know that. And Aldar had all of us fooled.”
He sighed, and I whispered, “I love you.”
“Mmm.” He squeezed me so tight, I couldn’t breathe. “I love you, too, Jiara. Be safe.”
Then he broke free of me and swung up onto Fleetfoot. He signaled for the guards. His head high and his back straight, he didn’t turn around once as they galloped off, leaving a cloud of dust in the woodsy air.
Nothing moved. It seemed like every person, every elephant bird was quiet and frozen, the only sounds the insects buzzing in the forest. But I couldn’t be frozen. I had work to do.
“Freyad,” I said. “We need to get to Baaldarstad immediately so I can send a request to Azzaria.”
Freyad’s lips were pinched together, and her eyes strayed down the road after Raffar and Matid. “Of course, Queen Jiara.”
I climbed into my carriage, and Greggr followed me. Freyad and the remaining guards surrounded us on the way to town, and our driver set a brutal pace.
__________
I couldn’t find the official seal of Farnskag. I rummaged through the entire manor, whipping servants into a frenzy to check every nook and cranny. I found nothing. But there had to be one. To request assistance in a war, Mother would have to know the message not only came from me but was truly desired by the reigning family.
Finally, Greggr suggested I check if the registrar had an extra. We flew down the nearly empty street. Apparently, almost everyone remotely capable of fighting had left for the border. Out of breath, I yanked on the bell rope five times in quick succession. Before the door opened, Geord rushed up behind us.
“What do you need?” he asked.
The door opened, and the registrar peeked out. “Queen—”
“Do you have the seal of Farnskag?” I demanded, holding up a hand to keep Geord quiet until I’d finished with the registrar.
He blinked. “Your Farnskag is so . . . good—”
Geord’s jaw dropped, then he coughed, and I would have smiled were I not in such a hurry. “Listen to me. Do you have the seal of Farnskag?” I asked again.
“Yes, of course.” When he backed up, Freyad, Greggr, and I stormed into the room. The registrar raced down the hall to get the seal.
I turned my gaze to Geord. Raffar trusted him. But he’d also conducted secret talks with Aldar. By now, he realized I knew everything.
He cleared his throat. “It is not unusual for the council to meet in small groups to work on their arguments for the king.”
I raised an eyebrow at him.
His back was straight, and his eyes met mine unflinchingly. “I didn’t know about Aldar or Beng. I want the best for Farnskag. I won’t apologize for having a different opinion than Raffar. Just because he’s the king doesn’t mean he’s always right. I will continue to give him my opinion and continue to try to convince him to make the best decisions for our country.”
What Raffar had meant, why he continued to trust the man despite their arguments, was clear now. It was just like Raffar had showed me that day. Geord’s heart came through his words.
I nodded and paced the room. “I’m sending Azzaria a request for military support.” Or I would if the registrar ever returned.
Geord nodded. “Thank you, Queen Jiara.”
I met his gaze as I continued my pacing. “Of course.”
I leaned against the wall and let my impatient foot tap, willing the registrar to hurry back. Something on the wall tickled the back of my hand. I turned; it was a bit of loose paper, a piece of a giant, detailed map of Farnskag that covered almost one entire wall. It had surely been here the last time I’d come, but I hadn’t spared it a glance.
Something tucked away in my mind jumped up and waved its arms at me. Something I was supposed to remember for later.
Embracing land.
A map.
The kahngaad. My eyes flew over the map. What had Jonas written in his statement? That Scilla had suggested the division of two pieces of property between Farnskag and Stärkland. Three islands in a lake, in the northwest—they were easy to find on the drawing. And
the second piece was a southern corner with iron ore. My eyes swept downward. As I studied the map, I realized that not only place names were listed, but people’s names too.
Why would people’s names be there? “Are these the names of the families who own the land?” I asked.
“More like control the land, traditionally,” Freyad answered. She pointed to Baaldarstad. “See Baaldarstad and the surrounding province? It says Raffar.”
I turned my attention back to the southern corner. The letters jiggled, but I finally made out Anzgar. I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again. Then I stabbed the swaying letters with my finger. “This is Aldar’s father, right?”
Freyad nodded.
Scilla had planned to trade away a lucrative portion of land owned by Aldar’s family. All his anger—it wasn’t just from fearing he might lose the throne someday. It was because he’d lose his family’s land. Either the money or the fact that it was an heirloom.
Had Scilla known? Had Jonas?
Jonas.
A representative of the Stärklandish government was incarcerated in our prison right now. He had spoken to me before. He had wanted peace. If he still did, maybe he could help.
But first, the message to my mother. Should I ask her to send troops right away? Or merely request diplomatic assistance? I didn’t want Farnskagers to die, and the same was true for Azzarians. I leaned against the registrar’s high table and rubbed my forehead.
Geord sidled up next to me. His dark eyes were concerned, the skin around them etched with worry.
“Geord, you’re one of the most experienced on the Grand Council.”
He straightened, and his eyes widened.
“Raffar has a high opinion of you,” I explained.
“Thank you, Queen Jiara.”
“I can request that the Azzarian queen places political pressure on Stärkland, or I can ask her to send troops immediately.”
Geord’s stubble made scratching noises as he rubbed his jaw. When he stopped, he chewed on his lower lip. “Troops may mean a battle would be over more quickly. But it could potentially also result in a larger loss of life in the chaos, especially without prior coordination and the ability to communicate with one another. Raffar has always striven for peace. Surely he will try negotiations first.”
My heart pounded in my throat. Geord’s answer was so careful—he wasn’t certain either.
The registrar bustled back into the room with wax and the royal seal.
“I will ask her to ready the troops, but to threaten Stärkland first,” I said firmly.
My stomach roiled as I demanded parchment and a pen and inkwell. I took several deep breaths, but the letters kept flipping in my mind. Needing so much effort to write was madness. We didn’t have that kind of time.
But . . . it didn’t have to be that way. I was the queen, and I had people at my disposal.
“Greggr, I’ll dictate, and you’ll write.”
He accepted the writing utensil and said, “Of course, Your Majesty.”
Speaking slowly, I informed Mother of the threat of war. I told her we were attempting to negotiate, but asked her to send an urgent message to Stärkland, saying that she would back Farnskag if it came to an attack. Hopefully, the additional might on our side of the border would scare off the Stärklandish queen from her plans.
Once the ink was dry, the registrar melted wax for me, and I pressed the seal of Farnskag into it. I was about to hand the letter to Freyad when I remembered something. “Azzaria is not Farnskag’s only friend. Loftaria is also our ally,” I said, although it felt almost like treason to me after a lifetime of deadly border skirmishes. I motioned for another sheet of parchment, and the registrar handed one over.
“Do any of you speak Loftarian?” I asked the room.
Everyone shook their heads, murmuring their dissent.
“No matter.” I asked Greggr to write a similar message to Loftaria, but in Farnskag. They would have their own translators. I told him to add the line that if Farnskag fell to Stärkland, Loftaria should expect Stärklandish invaders too. Loftaria would be a simple conquest compared to Farnskag. There was no certainty that the Stärklandish army had any such plans, but inducing fear couldn’t hurt.
Once the second message was also emblazoned with the royal seal, I asked Freyad, “Can you arrange for guarded messengers to travel to the Loftarian capital and to my mother?”
She snatched the letters from my hand. “Of course. I’ll send the fastest teams I can find. And I’ll pick you up again here in thirty minutes.”
I nodded, and, along with Geord, she left the building.
I leaned against the table, and my eye fell on the map again. Jonas. There was plenty of time to check on him before Freyad returned for me. I told the registrar where I was going so my guard could find me. Then I headed for the foreign prisoner.
Chapter 31
The prison office was empty.
The hair on my neck stood up. Most of the guards would be on their way to the Stärklandish border. But they couldn’t leave the prison completely unattended.
“Jonas of Stärkland!” I called in Azzarian from the top of the stairs.
Faint voices rose from the underground cells. “Hello! Help!” in Farnskag. “Queen Jiara!” in Azzarian.
How long had they been unguarded down there? I snatched a staff from a cabinet on the wall. The weapon under my arm, I grabbed a torch and lit it with firestone. Carefully, I eased down the stairs, and my heart stopped when I almost stepped on a figure sprawled across the last several steps. A guard, not moving. I gritted my teeth together and held my fingers in front of his mouth and nose. Nothing, but his skin was warm.
I ran back upstairs, my staff in front of me, my eyes darting everywhere at once. No one was there, so I listened intently. Was whoever had done this still around?
“Queen Jiara!” Jonas repeated. “Where guards go? Something wrong here!”
“Is anyone else down there? Other than the prisoners?” I called, ready to run in case someone came up the stairs.
“I see no one.”
Jonas didn’t see anyone, but it was dark down there. Still, wouldn’t he have heard it if someone was walking around? Crunching on the dirt floor? I wrung my hands for a moment. It was urgent I speak with Jonas, and Freyad should be here soon anyway, so I finally sneaked back down with my torch and peeked around the corner. The cell doors were all still locked. No one stood in the hallway. I held the torch out farther into the room so that the flames illuminated the hall. There was no one.
My skin crawling in fear of whoever had killed the guard, I strode to the empty corridor in front of the cells. “How long has it been since someone was down here?” I asked in Farnskag.
Three different voices answered me, ranging from two weeks to a couple of hours. They could all still talk, so they apparently weren’t dying of thirst.
“What happen to the guard? Was anyone else down here?”
A muddle of responses that all amounted to not knowing what I was talking about emanated from the cells. I stepped closer to the Stärklandish prisoner. He huddled on the dirt floor in a corner, one hand shielding his eyes against my torch’s flame.
“Have you heard?” I asked. “Stärkland has declared war.”
Jonas’s jaw dropped, and he scrambled into a standing position. “No. No. This is not supposed to happen. We had a plan—”
“Scilla’s plan? The one you mentioned in your statement?”
He nodded, then suddenly looked uncertain. “Wait. What you mean the one you mentioned? It was never discussed? I wrote it for the king.”
I shook my head. “I only found the parchment a few days ago. I showed it to him, but we were out of town. The king had no chance to contact anyone in Stärkland. Before we returned, the war declaration came.”
Moving stiffly, Jonas paced back and forth, rubbing his hands. “My party and I, we’re missing for months. Stärkland queen must have sent requests to find out if we had a
rrived.” He stopped and dropped to a crouch, leaning against the bars, his hands on either side of his head as it shook. “They must think King Raffar had us all killed.”
“I—”
Jonas shot to his feet. “Behind you!” he yelled.
Shock stole my grip on the torch, and it plunked to the ground. I whirled around as the flame flickered in the dirt. In the now dim light, Aldar strode around a corner I hadn’t noticed, tilting a staff back and forth in front of him, and my heart jumped into my throat.
He was back.
The movement of his weapon reminded me I also had one. If only I had trained with it more often, but with its length, it would be more effective than the knife strapped to my calf. I held the staff diagonally in front of me like during the practice sessions. I wasn’t a skilled fighter, but I could at least use it to block his blows until Freyad came for me.
“Requests from Stärkland?” Aldar shifted to the left. “There were four of them. I managed to intercept all but the first. But that couldn’t go on forever, so I finally answered the last one. I told them Raffar had all of you executed.”
Aldar’s eyes gleamed with pride, like he’d thought of everything. And his awful words hit me so hard I almost dropped my weapon. “But why?”
He squinted at me as if he couldn’t believe I had to ask. “If Raffar is seen as incompetent, he’ll be deposed. It’s nothing less than he deserves . . . and it would solve all my problems.”
“All your problems . . . losing the crown, losing your land.”
Aldar’s sudden glare could have sliced right through an ironfern tree trunk. “The land wasn’t the problem. We would have been reimbursed—even for the loss of iron. Raffar is fair that way. But there are precious stones no one knows about. We can’t be reimbursed for something that doesn’t officially exist. I’ve been trading with some southern Stärklandish—”
A Dragonbird in the Fern Page 26
