Locking the chest, she reset the trap and then used a hand bell to summon her servants. Two handmaidens, one fair and the other dark, scurried into the room, dropping into deep curtseys.
“Tara, prepare my bath. A mixture of honeysuckle and sandalwood for tonight, sweetness leavened with the mystery of dark allure.”
The golden-haired servant leaped to obey while Lydia helped the Priestess back into her robes, a swirl of crimson silk wrapped in artful folds.
“Have Hugo guard the rosewood chest. Let no one touch it on pain of death.”
“Yes, mistress.”
She found Otham waiting in her solar, her loyal steward bound by duty as well as passion. He gave her a half-bow. “All is as you ordered, mistress.”
“The mistletoe?”
“Delivered on a silken pillow to the prince’s palace.”
“And the bribe?”
“Will see to it that your gift is delivered to the prince himself.”
“And the boy, the snake charmer?”
“Bought for a handful of silvers. The guards will have him clean and ready for your pleasure.”
She made her voice a purr. “You’ve done well…as always.” Her fingertips played across his chest in a thoughtful tease. He was an accomplished lover…and her need was great.
Still as a statue, he gave her a smoldering stare, a cobra entranced by a flute.
Hunger reared within her, a fierce desire to take a lover, to drink his passion and renew her power. She bit her lip and forced it back…a tigress locked in too small a cage. “You may undress me.”
His breath caught. He knelt and kissed her hand, a hunger of lips across her palm, a flick of tongue caressing her skin.
“Undress only.”
His kisses stopped, his voice turning petulant, “Yes, mistress,” but his hands continued their temptation, slowly drawing the silk away from her body. He made it a slow dance, lingering on each layer, till she stepped naked from a puddle of crimson silk. He stared, begging for more, his body betraying his need.
Taking pleasure from the tease, she let her hand brush against his straining manhood. “That will be all.”
His jaw tightened. “Yes, mistress.” Bowing, he took his leave, his face hungry with wanting.
She laughed, a throaty sound, and followed the scents of honeysuckle and sandalwood to the inner room. Easing into the steaming bath, she relaxed as her handmaidens rubbed oils into her skin, deft fingers running through her long raven hair. Desire pulsed through her, honed by Otham’s tease, but the hunger would make her allure all the more potent, her victory all the sweeter. She looked forward to her night with the prince, to changing the destiny of a kingdom, to winning the Dark Lord’s favor…forever more.
4
Liandra
So many ambitious men, her kingdom ran amok with them. The execution of the traitorous Red Horns had created vacancies in the Rose court, vacancies as high as the queen’s council. From all across Lanverness, her ‘loyal’ lords had flocked to the palace, vying for her favor. She’d sifted through them, prizing intelligence and loyalty above all else…but all too often she compromised on both. Queen Liandra studied her counselors, the rich and the powerful, the grasping and the greedy. Like rutting stags, they competed for her attention, their voices clashing like antlers.
“Gentlemen, this argument does us no good.” Her glare circled the council table, displeasure writ large across her face. “War is thrust upon us, an enemy army poised on our northern border. We need answers not arguments.”
“But surely your majesty can see the wisdom of negotiations?” Lord Lenox was new to her council. A pinched-faced man with steel-gray hair, he replaced Lord Wesley as the new treasurer. “A delegation should be sent to Coronth to try and broker peace with the Pontifax.”
The queen shot a subtle glance at Master Raddock, ensuring the silence of her deputy shadowmaster.
“Peace!” Prince Stewart made the word a curse. “Have you heard nothing? An army marches toward Lanverness! Without any declaration of war, without any provocation, yet they dare invade and you would have us sue for peace!” The prince glared daggers at the newly appointed treasurer.
Lord Lenox withstood the challenge with surprising poise. “Peace is always preferable to war.”
“Platitudes against swords!” The prince shook his head, disgust ripe on his face. “Have you learned nothing from the refugees? Torture and atrocities are a way of life under the Pontifax.” The prince clenched his jaw, making the freshly earned scar pulse along his face. “Steel is the only answer. We meet swords with swords…and heaven help us if we’re not victorious.”
Lord Lenox parried the argument with a flick of his quill. “Swords should be a last resort. Prepare the army but try negotiations first.”
Major Ranoth, a craggy-faced veteran assigned as a military aid to the council, leaned across the table. “Me thinks the lord seeks to protect his holdings in the north.”
The queen silently agreed, yet she let the interchange play out.
Lord Lenox sputtered with indignation. “How dare you! Everyone loses in a war.” He appealed to the queen, his voice laden with reason. “Surely your majesty will agree to a delegation? After all, it is the civilized solution.”
Twelve counselors turned their her way.
“Civilized, yes, and therein lies the problem.” The queen fingered the strand of rubies at her throat, lessons from the Red Horns sharp in her mind. “Tell us, how does one fight a ‘civilized’ war? When barbarians storm the gates, do the defenders hurl words instead of rocks?” Her treasurer dared not meet her gaze. “War is not like chess. There are no rules.” She nodded to her royal son, his handsome face marred by a saber stroke. “When it comes to war, perhaps being ‘civilized’ is a fatal flaw. Perhaps it will be our undoing?” Her gaze circled the table like a knight eager for the joust, but none had the wit or the courage to tilt with her. The silence lengthened, vexing her patience. She missed the Master Archivist. “It was not a rhetorical question.”
Murmurs rippled around the table, but before her counselors could muster a reply, she turned her gaze on her new treasurer, deciding to skewer him on his own argument. “Lord Lenox,” the sharp-faced lord sat straighter in his chair, “since you so vehemently sue for negotiations, we assume you will lead this delegation of peace?”
“Me?” The lord blustered like a ruffled rooster. “I’m no diplomat.” His gaze raced around the chamber, seeking support. “Surely the Lord Treasurer is needed in the capital city?”
The queen answered with a dose of irony. “Surely.”
Prince Stewart leaned forward, eager for the kill, but the queen stilled him with a glance. She surveyed her counselors, putting steel in her voice. “Make no mistake, gentlemen, war marches toward us. To deny the inevitable is nothing short of folly.” She took note of the three lords who would not meet her gaze and wondered if she brewed another batch of traitors. “This council is summoned to answer a single question. How can an army of ten thousand defeat an army of forty thousand?”
“Forty thousand?” The threat echoed through the chamber.
The queen nodded, confirming the grim truth. “The latest estimate smuggled out of Coronth.”
“Perhaps the estimate is wrong?” Lord Lenox was nothing if not persistent.
“Never underestimate the enemy.” Her stare cut like a knife. “We trust you to count coins better than you do swords.”
The treasurer blanched and looked away, chagrin on his face.
“What about mercenaries?” The question came from the far end of the table, from Lord Saddler, a goldsmith newly raised to the master of coin. The stout little man rarely spoke yet his sparse comments brought a breath of realism to the council chambers.
The queen favored him with a smile. “A good question. The Master Archivist is in Radagar as we speak; seeking to purchase the full might of the mercenary kingdom. Ten thousand bought swords will help…but it will not be enough.” Her g
aze settled on her royal son. “Strategy must triumph over numbers.”
The prince nodded, his face grave. “The queen tasked me with this very same question. Since then, I have sought the advice of our generals, our veterans, and even our sergeants. The answers are as varied as the men. Some advocate making a stand at the border, hoping for a single decisive battle. Others argue that we should retreat to our strongest fortresses, letting stone walls compensate for numbers, daring the enemy to a lengthy siege.”
Liandra kept her face impassive but she listened with pride. Her son had grown into the role of general, the battle scar adding gravity to his face. “And what does the crown prince recommend?”
“Neither. Given the numbers against us, a single battle is doomed to fail. And retreating behind fortress walls yields too much advantage to the enemy. So instead we shall wage a war of harassment, biting at the enemy’s flanks, attacking his supply lines, fighting a series of ambushes at locations that best serve our smaller numbers. We’ll seek a war of skirmishes, always retreating from a major battle.”
“And the cost?” She’d discussed this with her son ahead of time, but the council needed to hear it.
He took a deep breath, as if plunging into the ocean. “This type of battle plan requires patience…and a lot of map.”
Too many of her councilors looked confused. She prompted him for more. “Meaning?”
“The Rose army must constantly retreat, taking advantage of every hillock and valley, always nibbling at the enemy’s flanks. Given the size of the enemy army, it will take many bites and many more leagues before the enemy is nibbled down to size.” The prince twirled the gold signet ring on his right hand and then raised his stare to the queen. “With such a strategy, the war may come to the very gates of Pellanor.”
“No!” Lord Lenox bellowed in outrage. “The capital must be protected at all costs!”
The prince bludgeoned the lord with cold hard facts. “Pellanor cannot be defended.” Shocked silence met his words. “The city sprawls beyond its walls. Shops and houses crowd close to the battlements, negating their value. Castle Tandroth has become a luxury palace instead of a military fortress.” His voice turned hard. “The city cannot be defended.”
A grim hush settled over the council chamber.
The queen took a deep breath, chilled by the obvious truth. “Betrayed by our own prosperity.” She shook her head. “Peace has civilized us beyond the memory of war.”
Prince Stewart nodded. “Just so.”
“But there must be something we can do?” It was Master Saddler, ever the practical one. “We can’t just wait for war to come to Pellanor?”
The prince offered an answer. “I suggest the queen and her councilors move the capital to Kardiff, our strongest fortress. Set high on a hill, the walls of Kardiff Castle are built strong, a challenge for any army.”
“No.” Liandra stood at the head of the table, a shimmer of rubies and red velvet. “We are a symbol to our people. We will not retreat in the face of danger.”
“But…”
She stilled her son with a single glance. “Courage must overcome the deficit of swords. The people will keep their courage if they see their queen standing firm.” She made her voice a command. “The Rose Court will remain in Pellanor.”
Storms raged across her councilors’ faces…but they knew better than to argue.
The queen resumed her throne, smoothing the folds of her gown, her voice business-like once more. “We approve this strategy of skirmishes. But we must do more. We ask this council for suggestions.”
Most of her lords stared at her, a mixture of shock and anger written large across their faces, while others murmured quietly among themselves. The truth had unsettled her loyal men, driving their wits from the chamber. Liandra missed the Master Archivist…in more ways than one.
Impatient, she tapped her ringed fingers on the tabletop. When no suggestions were forthcoming, she answered her own question. “An army must eat. We shall deny our enemy a full belly. Perhaps hunger will turn the soldiers of the Flame back to Coronth.”
“How?” It was the Lord Sheriff this time, the leader of the constable force.
The queen replied. “The harvest was good this year, but instead of leaving it stored in barns and granaries dotted across the countryside, it must be collected and brought to Kardiff, Graymaris, Lingard, and Pellanor, to any castle or walled city that can protect the harvest and keep it beyond our enemy’s reach.”
Master Saddler shook his head. “Farmers will not easily give up their harvest. It’s their livelihood and their winter stores.”
“Yet they must give it up for the sake of the kingdom.”
Lord Lenox blustered, “This is outrageous! A royal robbery! Surely the noble estates will be exempt from this thievery. Collect the harvest from the rabble farmers if you must but you dare not touch the estates of nobles, else you destroy the very fabric of the kingdom.”
She gave the lord a withering stare. “Do you suppose the enemy will bypass your holdings, leaving your vineyards and orchards intact?”
“One can hope.”
The man was deluded by greed. She regretted appointing him to her council. “There will be no exceptions.”
Lord Lenox lowered his voice. “Careful madam, or your policies will breed enemies.”
Gasps echoed through the chamber.
The Lord Lenox grew bold in his greed. She gave him a stinging stare, her voice cracking like a lash. “Enemies of the crown do not live long. Or have you forgotten the fate of the Red Horns?” She locked stares with her treasurer, like a pair of crossed swords…but it was the lord who flinched first, suddenly staring at the tabletop. “Pray that we win, Lord Lenox, else you may find yourself a landless commoner forced to take the test of faith.”
A chill settled over the council chambers.
The queen studied her lords, staring at each in turn. Her policies would surely create enemies but first she needed to save the kingdom. Taking a deep breath, she smoothed the folds of her gown and returned to the business at hand. “The Rose army will be given a royal writ to collect the harvest. Farmers will be fairly compensated with one quarter of the market value in coin and the remainder in the form of a chit exchangeable for silver or food.”
The lord sheriff replied. “And if they protest?”
“Then they break the queen’s peace.” Liandra made her voice hard. “We cannot feed the invaders.” She nodded to the prince. “Start in the north and work your way south. Every sow, milk cow, and bag of grain must be removed from the enemy’s path.”
“My men will be stretched thin.”
“We will all be stretched thin before this war is done. But we will place the constable force under your command, swelling the ranks of the army.”
The prince nodded but the lord sheriff stiffened with displeasure.
“What about the villages? Why leave anything to succor the enemy?” The query came from Lord Mills, another recent appointment to her council. Wealthy and well connected, the dapper lordling had a smug smile on his handsome face. He could afford to be smug, seeing as most of his holdings were safe in the south.
“You offer a suggestion, Lord Mills?”
Dark eyes gleamed in a handsome face. “Poison the wells and burn the villages as the Rose army retreats south. Leave nothing for the enemy.”
The queen suppressed a shudder. “We seek to save Lanverness not destroy it.”
Lord Mills parried her glare with a sarcastic smile. “Perhaps the queen is too civilized for war?”
His words hit like a slap. “We will not become our enemy.”
“What does a woman know of war?”
A gasp rippled through the chamber. Prince Stewart reached for his sword but the queen stilled him with a glance. Cold anger seeped through her. “Our sex has never diminished our achievements. Under our reign, Lanverness prospers beyond all memory.” Steel laced her voice. “We rule with the body of a queen and the heart and
stomach of a king. We warn you not to test our resolve.”
“But you’ve only ruled in times of peace. Perhaps a king is needed in times of war, an iron hand to hold the sword.”
“If we made a eunuch of you, Lord Mills, would your worth as a councilor be diminished or enhanced?”
Shock echoed from the faces of her lords.
“We dare wager your intellect would be enhanced.”
Lord Mills flushed crimson. “Now the royal claws come out.” The dark-haired lord gave her a twisted smile. “You’re utterly ruthless with those who rebel, even with your own royal son.” His voice held a nasty edge. “Why not turn that ruthless nature against the enemy?”
The barb made no sense, for she’d given no orders regarding Danly. The queen floundered for an answer.
Prince Stewart intervened, his eyes flashing with anger. “In Lanverness, even royal traitors get their just reward.”
So the lordling’s barb made sense to her son…yet Danly remained locked in prison, awaiting her decision. Understanding struck like a sword to her breast. Somehow Danly had faced justice…despite her indecision…and everyone in the council knew it. Everyone save the queen. Liandra reeled from the knowledge, forcing her face to remain impassive while her blood ran cold with fury. Someone dared usurp her power, issuing orders behind her back. Someone she trusted. Her mind ran wild with speculation…but she dared show no weakness before her loyal lords. Hiding her unease behind a cloak of royal anger, she confronted Lord Mills. “If you have any suggestions, we will hear them. But be advised, we shall use all of our power to preserve the land, the people…and our crown.”
S&SS [04] The Poison Priestess Page 5
