by Jenna Glass
“I’m listening,” Ellin said reluctantly. “But there are limits to what I can and cannot agree to without consulting my royal council.”
“Of course,” Waldmir said with a regal inclination of his head. “But I can assure you that your royal council will have no issue with my offer.” He flashed her a wolflike smile. “Though perhaps the same cannot be said of my nephew.”
Which was why he’d insisted Zarsha not be included in the conversation, obviously. A page knocked on the office door, and when Ellin beckoned him to enter, informed her that Zarsha was on his way.
“Tell him it turns out I don’t need him right now after all,” she ordered.
The page bowed and retreated, and Ellin turned back to Waldmir. “Satisfied?”
“Indeed.”
“Then what is it, exactly, you propose?”
“I will give Zarsha my permission to marry, and I will agree to renew all of our trade agreements on the existing terms for the duration of your marriage. I am prepared to commit to these agreements in writing. Today.”
Ellin was painfully aware of how closely he was studying her face, and she hoped she gave away nothing of what she was thinking. She could almost feel him measuring her, assessing her, deciding just how far and how hard he could afford to push. And how badly she wanted this agreement.
She smiled her most disingenuous smile as she tried to anticipate just where Waldmir was going with this. She wouldn’t have believed the deal to be a simple one even if she didn’t see the predatory gleam in his eyes—or if he hadn’t tipped his hand by barring Zarsha from the discussion.
“I can see no fault whatsoever in such a generous offer,” she said. “I look forward to the continued warmth and friendship between Rhozinolm and Nandel and will have my council begin the wedding preparations immediately.”
Waldmir’s smile showed too many teeth, as if she’d managed to reveal too much despite her obviously falsely optimistic response. “You will agree that this marriage would not be…traditional in nature.”
Ellin couldn’t stop the small frown his words caused as she once again tried to anticipate his intentions. With no luck. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she said, choosing honesty as the most expedient course.
“You are the Queen Regnant of Rhozinolm, and you propose to make my nephew your consort. Your subordinate.”
Ellin wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, but she could have sworn she saw a slight hint of a sneer on Waldmir’s lips before he smoothed it away. She regarded him coolly. “I suppose in that way our marriage may be unconventional,” she agreed cautiously. “However, I’m sure that you understand that no foreigner can be crowned king, and that therefore this is our only option.”
Waldmir’s smile hardened. “I have no objection to Zarsha being your bride, Your Majesty. It’s a role to which he is well suited.” There was no missing the sneer this time. “But if he is to serve the role of a bride, then I will treat him as I would treat any bride of Nandel.”
“And just what does that entail?” Ellin asked, although she knew it was nothing good. Women in Nandel were considered possessions of the men in their lives, with no freedom or autonomy save what their husbands and fathers granted.
“A bride of Nandel brings no wealth or property to her husband,” Waldmir explained. “It is traditional for her husband’s family to provide her father with a brideprice, rather than for her father to provide a dowry. We recognize that this is not the custom elsewhere and are, of course, flexible with our traditions when the bride marries outside of Nandel.”
Ellin snorted ever so softly. No man outside of Nandel would pay his bride’s family for the privilege of marrying her.
“Have no fear, Your Majesty,” Waldmir said. “I will demand no brideprice from you. But if Zarsha is to be your bride, then he will provide his own brideprice by forfeiting his goods and property to the Crown of Nandel.”
A cold pit formed in Ellin’s stomach.
“His manor house will become mine, as will any servants and retainers he has on staff. I may keep some of them on if I have good use for them, but for the most part they will be dismissed.”
Ellin could not force herself to smile or look at ease. Waldmir’s expression was too knowing. She had never asked Zarsha whether his uncle knew about her affair with Graesan, who was now one of his retainers living in Nandel. She could not tell from the way Waldmir was looking at her whether he knew or not, whether any part of his malice was aimed at her, or if it was all for Zarsha.
She shook her head. “You cannot expect me to agree to this arrangement without consulting Zarsha.”
“As a bride, Zarsha has no say in his marriage negotiations,” Waldmir said. “He will marry whom I tell him to marry, or he will be declared a traitor to the Crown.”
The pit in her stomach grew bigger and colder. Waldmir was making no attempt to hide his enmity toward Zarsha, and he was still studying her face with more attention than she liked. As if perhaps he suspected Zarsha had told her his secrets.
“Why would you do this?” she asked, hoping she sounded appropriately mystified. “This marriage is to our mutual benefit, so why can we not engage in traditional, reasonable negotiations?”
“Are you sure you don’t know, Your Majesty?” he asked with quiet intensity.
“Quite sure,” she affirmed. She did not consider herself a naturally good liar, but skillful lying was regrettably a requirement of her position, and she had learned her lessons well. She schooled both her face and her voice to innocence, and she looked Waldmir straight in the eye.
He frowned and shrugged. “Well, even if you don’t, be assured that my nephew does. You—and your kingdom—will be getting everything you want out of this arrangement. More, I’ll wager, than you believed possible. What does it matter to you if Zarsha should lose some lands and belongings?”
He had a point, but Ellin was distinctly aware there was more happening here than she understood. Zarsha would live in far greater wealth and comfort here in Rhozinolm than he ever would have in Nandel, so the loss of his property would do him no great harm. And he was far less susceptible to insults to his masculinity than the average Nandelite. And yet Waldmir obviously expected this forfeiture to wound his nephew. What was she missing?
“I’m afraid I cannot agree without consulting Zarsha,” she said, for surely Waldmir did not expect her to meekly accept his first offer. Especially when she was certain she didn’t fully understand it.
“Then I am afraid there will be no marriage and no renewal of the agreements. You will send my nephew home to Nandel immediately.”
Surely he didn’t mean that! It had to be merely a negotiating tactic, one that he expected to frighten her into submission. She sat up straighter in her chair and glared at him.
“Prince Waldmir,” she said, “I would advise you to remember I am not a woman of Nandel. I was raised to have a mind of my own, and I would not now be sitting on the throne of Rhozinolm if I were in the habit of cowering in the face of threats.”
He spread his hands in a gesture of innocence. “It is not a threat. I’m simply laying out my terms in more plainspoken language than a diplomat would use. I have no intention of granting my nephew a choice in this matter.” He reached for something out of her line of sight, then held it before the talker so that she could see a sheet of creamy linen paper covered in neat, precise writing. At the bottom was an angular signature, followed by a wax seal with the Nandel coat of arms.
“I have drawn up the marriage contract with the terms I have laid out,” Waldmir said. “As you can see, the document is signed.” With his other hand, he picked up a flier, rolling up the paper and settling it in the flier’s grip. “I can send it on its way to you right now. Or I can burn it. The choice is yours. But the one thing I will not do is amend it in any way. Will you allow my nephew’s potential hurt feelings t
o stop you from doing what you know is best for your kingdom?”
Ellin sat back in her chair, unable to maintain her polite court mask. She loathed the feeling of being bullied, and yet everything within her cried out that this was not a bluff. She was negotiating as the Queen of Rhozinolm, not as a woman looking out for the best interests of the man she wished to marry. When she and her council had first begun discussing the marriage arrangement, they had all expected that the trade agreements would be renewed on terms that were at least somewhat less favorable than the ones they currently enjoyed. It was a rare negotiation that left one party without any need to compromise.
Could she really risk losing this almost too-good-to-be-true agreement to protect Zarsha from his uncle’s malice? Especially when Zarsha had earned that malice? He was no innocent victim and had never claimed to be.
“You wish to sour my marriage before it even occurs,” Ellin said, though she instantly regretted it.
Waldmir’s smile looked convincingly sad. “One thing I have learned time and time again since I ascended my own throne: the world cares not for the happiness of kings.”
Ellin flinched inside, although she hoped she kept her expression impassive. Much though she wanted to deny it, Waldmir was right about that. It was her duty to rule in the best interests of her kingdom, regardless of what she—or anyone she cared about—wanted.
Instinct told her that Waldmir meant exactly what he said. If she refused the offer, he would cut off relations—no matter how badly he might want the respectability that came with a marriage between the royal house of Nandel and the royal house of Rhozinolm. He would consider it a matter of pride, both for himself and for his principality. There was nowhere in Seven Wells where masculine pride was of more importance than in Nandel.
“Shall I send the contract?” Waldmir pressed. “Or shall I burn it?”
Just because he sends it doesn’t mean I have to sign it, Ellin reassured herself. He was asking her to make a verbal commitment right this moment, and even a verbal commitment would be hard to work her way out of if she changed her mind. But at least she would ask Zarsha if he was okay with the deal before signing the paper and sealing his fate.
“One word of warning,” Waldmir said, for apparently he read her thoughts as if she had spoken them aloud. “If I send this contract and you choose not to sign it, I will know that it is my nephew who persuaded you against it. Tell him that treason charges will follow, and ask him if he still wants you not to sign.”
Ellin wanted to scream in frustration. Perhaps Waldmir was merely testing her, hoping to see some hint as to whether she knew the reasons he was unlikely to follow through on that particular threat. But whether he would level a treason charge against Zarsha or not, she realized her decision now would be irreversible. Once she made a verbal commitment, she would make it impossible for Waldmir to grant further concessions without damage to his pride. And it was clear that was something he would never countenance.
Hoping Zarsha would not end up hating her for it, Ellin nodded. “Send it.”
* * *
—
Delnamal had started out pacing the length of his office in angry, frustrated strides. But after a few times back and forth, he’d quickly found himself sweating and short of breath. He cursed his ever-expanding girth and wished he could find the self-control to stop overindulging at mealtimes. Pouring himself a generous helping of fortified wine—something he had no interest in doing without, for a day without the soothing blur of alcohol would be intolerable—he dropped ungracefully into his chair.
Discouraging Prince Waldmir’s hopes of a marriage between their children had been a calculated risk, and he was hardly surprised to hear that Waldmir had promptly finalized the marriage arrangement between his nephew and the Queen of Rhozinolm. Delnamal had felt sure that disastrous alliance—and all it implied for the future of Aaltah’s own trade agreements with Nandel—would finally spur his council into action. They would see that the marriage would put Aaltah in an untenable situation, and they would then—however reluctantly—agree that the only course of action was to take a risk and allow the former Abbess of Khalpar to attempt her spell. After all, if the Curse was reversed, Queen Ellinsoltah could no longer hold her council and her people hostage to her willingness to provide an heir. She could either be replaced by her uncle, or she could be safely married to some nobleman of Rhozinolm, who would then take over the throne as was proper.
When women once again knew their place, when men took over all the important decision making once more and the world was restored to its natural order, Aaltah would no longer be under threat of the unholy women’s alliance. And King Delnamal would be hailed by leaders the world over for having had the balls to do what no one else would try.
But even in the face of the new alliance between Nandel and Rhozinolm, the council had been too goddamn cowardly to let the abbess near Aaltah’s Well. Delnamal had once again been forced to withdraw his proposal in certain knowledge that it would be voted down. If he wanted to set the world back to rights, he would have to do it without the council’s approval. Which meant doing it in secret.
There was a soft knock on the door.
“Finally,” Delnamal muttered under his breath, for it felt as if it had been an hour since he had sent for Melcor. “Come in,” he said out loud, and his secretary entered the room, bowing and apologizing for his late arrival.
“Close the door,” Delnamal interrupted, in no mood for excuses.
Melcor did as told and turned to his king with a politely inquiring expression on his face.
“Can I trust you to handle something for me with the utmost discretion?” Delnamal asked, embarrassed to hear a slight slur in his words. He gave his cup of wine a chiding look, then sighed and took another sip. If he was going to be drunk, he might as well be properly drunk.
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Melcor said.
The question was a formality after all Melcor had already done for him. Unlike the cowards of the royal council, Melcor was a man of decisive action. Like his king. He understood without needing an explanation that the council had left Delnamal no other choice.
“The witch believes that the spell to undo the Curse will require a willing human sacrifice,” Delnamal told his secretary. “A woman. I want you to find one for me. Without letting anyone know what you’re about.”
“A woman who is willing to die to undo the Curse?” For the first time, Delnamal detected a hint of doubt in Melcor’s voice.
“She doesn’t have to be eager,” Delnamal assured him. “And I’m not asking you to find someone with actual power. From what I gather, even a Rho-blind woman is capable of producing women’s Kai. I’m sure with your contacts in the Harbor District, you can find some old crone—or some impoverished young mother—who would be willing to die so that her heirs might live in a manner well above their station. You may offer whatever inducement you think is necessary. But find someone, and bring her—along with the witch—to the palace. In secret, of course.”
“Of course,” Melcor said, his voice thin and his eyes a little too wide.
Delnamal glared at the man, daring him to voice an objection. He was counting on Melcor to help him with this most vital of all missions. He hadn’t the faintest idea where he would turn if Melcor proved to be as weak and cowardly as the men of the royal council.
To Delnamal’s relief, Melcor made no offers of unwanted advice or useless warnings, despite the concern in his eyes.
“Disguise the witch when you bring her,” Delnamal said, for it had caused enough rumors and speculation the last time she’d been brought to the palace. A red-robed abigail in the palace made people wonder if Oona was expecting again so soon, and he did not want to face those questions. “And we should do it at night, so there are fewer people around who might see or interfere.”
Melcor swallowed hard, but n
odded. “As you wish. It might take me a few days to find that volunteer, if I’m to be subtle about it.”
But Delnamal was through with waiting and being patient. It was time to end this charade, while he still had a kingdom to rule. “You have until midnight tomorrow night. I will meet you at the Well, and I will dismiss the guards so that we might have the utmost privacy.”
“I’m not sure—” Melcor started to say, but Delnamal cut him off.
“I’ve made my decision, and if you want to keep your position, you’ll do as you’re told.”
Melcor jerked back as if Delnamal had struck him. Delnamal closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself. Melcor was the only person in the world who was completely loyal to him, the only person who never judged him, never disrespected him, never made him feel like an idiot.
“Forgive me, my friend,” Delnamal said, opening his eyes and giving his secretary a beseeching look. A part of him was aware that the overabundance of alcohol in his veins was making him maudlin, but he didn’t care. “It is my council I’m angry with, not you. But if we are to undo the Curse, it must be soon, before that gathering of weak-willed old women destroys us all.”
Melcor bowed. “I understand, Your Majesty.” He shifted as if to take his leave, then hesitated. “I know it isn’t my place to say, but I do believe you’re doing the right thing. Almost any risk is worth taking if it will free us from the Curse.”
Delnamal smiled and gulped down the last of his wine, realizing that whatever Melcor’s misgivings might be, he would do as he’d been told. “Who knows?” Delnamal said as he put down the empty cup and told himself to wait a little while before refilling it. “Perhaps when we undo the Curse, the effects of the women’s Kai spells will die with it.”
The flare of hope in Melcor’s eyes told Delnamal he’d been right to put his faith in his secretary. Though they had never spoken about it, Delnamal was well aware that the flier those cursed women in Women’s Well had sent to Melcor had made him permanently impotent. It was no surprise he was willing to risk the council’s wrath to help Delnamal do whatever it took to reverse the Curse.
