“So soon?”
“I fear it won’t be soon enough. This will be a long war, Lord Jofran, and any delays on this end could tip the scales against us. The Truthbringers’ teachings are deeply entrenched in Baylore now, and it seems the High King is intent on destroying all Makhori. If—when—the full might of the Whitish army strikes against us, I can see no hope of victory.”
“But you will try nonetheless?” Lord Jofran asked. “Why not consider surrendering, if the odds are so badly stacked against us?”
“You have seen what the Whitish bring to our shores. Hatred. Fear. Intolerance. I cannot stand the thought of Itrea falling under their grasp. If you won’t help me, I will find another way. I owe it to my people.”
“Indeed,” my father said. “She has the right of it, Lord Jofran. It is the monarch’s duty to act forever in the best interests of her citizens, regardless of the consequences.”
Lord Jofran did not respond.
Alone that afternoon, I paced silently to the servants’ entrance at the rear of the manor and opened the door to the garden just a crack. I wished more than anything to go for a walk and clear my thoughts, but instead I was trapped within the stuffy, windowless confines of the staff quarters.
Until that conversation, I had not confronted the reality of what loomed before us. I had known what this would come to, but the truth was daunting. We faced not only a fight for the governor’s estate but a war for Itrea itself, the first conflict of its like we had seen in many centuries. Seeing the Whitish soldiers in Larkhaven confirmed what I had long feared—the Truthbringers were only the start of a much graver threat. If we did see our way through this war, it would be messy. Our country would emerge crippled and bloodstained—if it emerged at all.
With a sigh, I closed the door to the garden. I would have to content myself with seeking solitude in my cramped room.
* * *
“I’m so worried about Mellicante,” Baridya confessed one day as we stood rolling out dough at the kitchen table. Magreeda had gone to the garden to collect herbs for dinner, so we were alone. “If something happened to her and I didn’t have a chance to apologize, it would kill me.”
“Why did you get so upset when she told us about Viko?” I asked tentatively.
Baridya flushed. “It just—startled me, I suppose. I didn’t mean to react so badly. But on my parents’ ship, tasting the demon’s draught just once was enough to get you kicked off the crew. It was the ultimate sin—worse than anything else you could imagine. And my parents allowed all sorts of other debauchery among their crew. Knowing that Mellicante had tried it, that she had led an innocent man into such a wretched life…” She shuddered. “I know it wasn’t her fault, and that she was young, but I felt such an overwhelming disgust. It frightened me.”
I did understand, yet Mellicante had not deserved such a cold reaction from someone she had trusted. “I suppose it’s similar to how people react when they learn about my forbidden blood,” I said.
Baridya’s eyes widened.
“Perhaps they like me as a person, but when they discover the truth, they feel such a visceral disgust they can’t stand to be around me.”
“No!” Baridya said. “It’s nothing like that. You didn’t choose your blood. It was an accident of fate, and no one would ever blame you for it.”
“Yet they do.”
“Are you angry at me?”
I shook my head. “Of course not. But I know exactly how Mellicante feels. She risked everything telling you something she was ashamed of, and you reacted just as she had feared. She needed you to prove that the truth didn’t change anything, but you let her down. It might take a long time for her to trust you again.”
Baridya dropped her gaze to the dough she was rolling, yet I could see her eyes glistening with tears. “She’d better return safely. I need to make this right.”
* * *
Two days later, Mellicante reappeared. She sneaked through the garden door at night while the moon was hidden behind clouds, Dellik and five others trailing behind her.
She found us in the kitchen, sharing a jug of cider with Magreeda and Rona. Baridya gave a small shriek when she saw her and flung her arms around Mellicante’s neck; I grinned as well, relief weakening me.
Caught up in the excitement, it took a minute for me to notice the familiar face amidst the newcomers—Viko. His face was ashen, his fine albeit stained shirt from the tavern replaced by rough homespun. His eyes flickered to mine for a moment before he looked hastily away.
Mellicante turned to me, stepping away from Baridya. “Well. This is the army we managed to rustle up.” Her voice was thick with sarcasm.
I swallowed. “Is no one else going to come?”
“One of my contacts promised he would join us, but he had vanished from his home when we came to collect him,” Dellik said. “He’s a bloody coward. I suspect he fled as soon as he realized what I was asking him to do.”
“What now?” Baridya asked. “Do we wait and see if we can find anyone else to help, or try to take the manor back now?”
“No one else is coming,” Mellicante said. “We spoke to everyone we trust. It’s too much of a risk to ask strangers for help, especially now.”
“But we can’t fight those Whitish guards alone,” Rona said nervously. “There aren’t enough of us. They’ll slaughter us.”
“Maybe,” Mellicante said. “But if we poison them first, that should cull their numbers enough that we stand a chance.”
“Mellicante!” Baridya squeaked.
“What?”
“The way you said that—”
“Sorry. You do realize we’re planning to kill those men either way, don’t you? It won’t be pretty, no matter how I phrase it.”
An uneasy silence fell over the kitchen.
“When will it happen?” Magreeda asked at last, her voice hushed.
“Do you have the poison?” I asked Mellicante.
She nodded.
“Soon, then. I need to speak to Lord Jofran first. I don’t want to make any plans without his approval.”
Magreeda gave a satisfied nod. She seemed almost to worship Lord Jofran, or perhaps she was in love with him. Either way, he could not have asked for more devotion from his chef.
“What about this lot?” Dellik asked, gesturing at the young men and women behind her. “They’re my crew—well, mostly—so I don’t want them getting hurt if we can avoid it. Do you have somewhere safe for them to sleep in the meantime?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Magreeda said. “We’ll have them taken care of as long as necessary. I can’t thank you enough. You’ve risked so much to come to the governor’s aid, and we thought we’d be trapped here until death found us.”
I did not point out that these people had come to aid my campaign against the Whitish, not to rescue Lord Jofran. It amounted to the same thing regardless.
“Come along, I’ll help get you settled in now.”
I would have to wait until the next day to pass the news along to Lord Jofran and my father, but for now, Baridya and I followed Mellicante to her room to learn about what had transpired in Larkhaven.
“Was that truly all the support you could find?” Baridya asked, settling onto the end of Mellicante’s narrow bed.
“Yes. And not for lack of trying. Dellik would usually be sailing to Chelt at this time of year, but with all the uncertainty, she’s postponed her next voyage indefinitely. We couldn’t track down half of her crew—most of them likely had to look elsewhere for employment. Of the ones we did find, most were unwilling to fight.”
“I don’t blame them,” I said softly. “And Viko?”
Mellicante’s mouth twisted. “Dellik was not impressed when I showed up on her doorstep dragging him along behind me. He nearly turned tail and ran—I had spent half the day convincing him to join us, and he kept refusing because he didn’t want to face Dellik.”
“How did you persuade him in the end?” Baridya asked.
<
br /> “I didn’t. I gave the tavern a bag of coins to pay his debts and dragged him out of there by the arm. He wasn’t strong enough to resist, not in the state he was in, anyway.”
“Poor thing. I hope he doesn’t resent you for it.”
“I’m sure he’s glad to be free of the place, though he’ll never admit it.”
“Hmm.”
“What did you do next?” I asked.
“I watched over Viko while Dellik made the rounds trying to find support. He went through withdrawals, which was ugly to see. Even now, he’s still recovering.”
That would explain his ashen face. “And there was no way whatsoever to find support elsewhere?”
Mellicante shook her head. “It would have been far too dangerous. If word got out that someone was trying to mount a resistance against the Whitish, or worse, that we were using the governor’s estate for our base, all of this would be over. We would lose our only chance to raise enough support to make a difference. Dellik and Viko agreed, and they’ve been here to see everything change.”
“I know,” I said glumly. “I do. I was just hoping for more. Now it seems as though all I can base this war on is luck and desperation.”
“That was always the case,” Mellicante said. “You have a way of inspiring people with your passion, but that only goes so far. In the end, war comes down to how many bodies each side can throw at the conflict. And in that, Whitland will win every time.”
I sloped off to my bedchamber soon after. Our plans had rested on the support Mellicante could gather, and that had all come to nothing. We needed to free the governor’s house soon if we hoped to gather support and expel the Whitish from Larkhaven before summer was up, but with our meager army, that would lead to nothing but death.
I sank onto my bed and slumped against the wall, pulling off the mop cap that had trapped my hair. Why was I even fighting? My discussion with Lord Jofran and my father had reminded me exactly how bleak our situation was. And today was further proof. Gathering support would not be easy, no matter how we approached it.
Every life here—the young women the governor had saved from poverty, Dellik and her crew, my dear friends, and Viko—rested on the decision I made next. I did not want that burden. I would leave it in Lord Jofran’s hands.
I slept restlessly that night, and in the morning my eyes were red when I went in search of Lord Jofran. I had spent too much time around people lately. The excess energy was setting me on edge, especially with nowhere to relieve the pressure.
The governor was alone in his study when I entered, and he smiled grimly at me as I closed the door.
“I hear your friend returned last night.”
“How did you know?”
“She came and spoke to me late in the night. I was still awake, and the house was dark—she saw light coming from under the study door.”
“Oh.” I wondered what Mellicante had sought the governor out for; I would question Mellicante herself on that. “So you know about the force they brought back?”
“A handful of ship’s crew? Yes.” Lord Jofran sighed. “Your friend intimated I was a coward for allowing myself to get trapped here. Perhaps I have grown too comfortable, but I do wish what is best for the people of Larkhaven. No matter the cost.”
I sank into the chair opposite Lord Jofran. “That was what I wanted to ask you. Our chances of winning against the Whitish are very slim, but our chances of gathering more support—or even keeping so many people hidden here for long without them noticing—are slimmer still. Is it worth the risk to attack now, or should we wait and hope for some miracle?”
“What miracle would save us now?” Lord Jofran shook his head. “This is your fight, Your Majesty. You should decide.”
“Mellicante intends to poison the Whitish soldiers,” I said softly. “I doubt all would die, but it would even the fight somewhat.”
“Do what you must. I will support you.”
I leaned forward, elbows resting on my knees. I was not some wartime general, able to toss lives about with ease. My eyes itched from tiredness. The decision dragged at me; no matter which path I chose, I would blame myself for choosing wrong. But was it not better to take action than to wallow in false hope?
At last I clambered to my feet. “Tomorrow, then. We will win your home back tomorrow.”
11
The Silent Attack
A s soon as I passed the word to Mellicante, she and Magreeda leapt into preparations. They would poison the vat of thick, rich hot chocolate the men always drank with breakfast, trusting the strength of the drink to disguise the sweet taste of nightshade. Meanwhile, we would station ourselves around the manor to pick off as many soldiers as we could before it came to a fight.
Lord Jofran had dug up a pair of ceremonial swords that badly needed polish, and Magreeda had sharpened them for Quendon and Mellicante. Dellik’s crew were armed with swords of their own, but the rest of us would have to make do with an assortment of daggers and kitchen knives.
I could not sleep at all that night. Before, I had taken risks that had put myself alone in danger. Now I had twenty other lives resting on the outcome of this fight.
When the faint tinkling of a bell announced the approaching dawn—the time when Tessie went to work in the kitchen, starting the fire and baking the morning’s bread—I rose and dressed. Quendon had returned my dagger, so I strapped it about my wrist beneath the loose sleeves of the staff uniform. I padded down the hall to the kitchen, where Tessie prodded at the dying embers of last night’s fire.
I cleared my throat, not wanting to startle her, and she whirled.
“Oh! Your Majesty. Mistress Rona told us what’s happening.” She fumbled with the poker and brushed soot from her hands onto her skirts.
“Pretend I’m not here. I don’t mean to get in your way. Is there anything I can help with?”
“Um…I don’t know. I suppose you can shell that basket of walnuts?”
I set to the task gladly, relieved to have some way of occupying myself. The walnuts were more stale than not—shelling them was likely a neglected chore that had never fit within Magreeda’s busy schedule—but I did not care.
The chef was next to arrive, tying her apron about her waist and nodding at me as she entered the kitchen. Magreeda said nothing, but I could sense her fear in her tense posture, the way she kept fumbling with the potatoes she chopped.
We were joined next by Jannie, a girl with curly orange hair, who dragged a bucket of soapy water into the rear of the kitchen. She grinned when she saw me and gave me a curtsey before dropping to her knees to scrub the flagstones.
“Don’t act like that,” Magreeda snapped. “You don’t know who might be watching.”
“Sorry.” Jannie’s grin widened, but she turned her attention to her work.
From nearby, I heard a door slam. It seemed the rest of the household was rousing.
“Is there anything else I can help with?” I asked Magreeda. “If someone comes in, I don’t want to look like I’m not meant to be here.”
“Finish these potatoes, if you would. I’ve got a special batch of hot cocoa to oversee.”
I hurried to the mountain of potatoes, glad to be doing something useful. More doors were banging open around the servants’ quarters, and footsteps clopped along the hallways. My pulse quickened as my anticipation mounted. According to Magreeda, the Whitish soldiers always fetched their own breakfast from the kitchen, and they would arrive any moment now.
When the door opened again, I flinched. My knife slipped, and I nicked a corner of one finger.
Wiping the spot of blood on my skirt, I chanced a look over my shoulder to see who had arrived. It was not the Whitish soldiers—it was merely Mellicante and Dellik, accompanied by Viko and the rest of Dellik’s crew.
“What are you doing here?” I hissed. “You’re supposed to be stationed around the house by now!”
“We nearly ran into a soldier in the main hall,” Mellicante said. “Where e
lse can this lot hide?”
“I don’t know,” I snapped, forcing down rising panic. “Broom cupboards? Empty rooms? Anywhere you can go without being seen. But do it quick, before they come to fetch their breakfast. If they see you all here—”
Mellicante and Dellik shepherded the crew away from the kitchen, while Magreeda lifted her pot of hot chocolate from the fire.
“It’s ready,” she said grimly.
Not a minute later, a Whitish soldier sloped into the kitchen. “Breakfast ready?” he asked sleepily.
“Give me another moment,” Magreeda said.
The soldier ladled out a mug of hot cocoa and took a seat on the bench, yawning. I shared a panicked look with Magreeda. If he died before he could bring the poisoned drink to the rest of the soldiers, how would we get rid of them?
He took a sip, both hands wrapped around his mug. Edging my way along the counter with a potato still in hand, I approached Tessie; she was now rolling a mountain of dough into perfectly round balls.
When I stepped on her foot, she jumped but thankfully made no sound.
“Can you raise an alarm if anyone comes?” I breathed, not looking at her.
She gave a minute nod.
Once the girl had slipped from the kitchen, I left the potatoes on the bench and crossed to the fireplace, where Jannie was scooping millet porridge into a tureen. Putting a finger to my lips, I took the bowl from her and carried it to the Whitish guard.
“Here, that’s the first part of breakfast for your men, m’lord.” I set the bowl down before him.
The guard blinked up at me, his pupils oddly dilated. “Thanks.” He took another deep draught of the hot chocolate and stood, but he seemed unsteady on his feet. He had nearly finished off the mug.
It seemed the poison was already taking effect—we could not have him walking out from the kitchen like this. Plagues.
“Why don’t you sit down another moment?” I said sweetly. “You’re obviously tired.”
“Yes. Of course.” He sat clumsily back on the bench, draining the rest of his mug.
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