“Prince Gethin?” Berry repeated in astonishment.
“Any idea why he came along?” Jonmarc asked.
Jencin shook his head. He seemed more nervous than usual. “No. No. The king didn’t include me in his negotiations with Eastmark. He said he still had some details to work out. The Eastmark delegation has been very polite, but they’ve made it clear their business is with the queen.”
Berry and Jonmarc looked at each other. “Well,” Jonmarc said, “let’s see what brought them all this way.”
Berry composed her face and drew herself up to her full height. Jonmarc saw her expression take on a blankness that made it difficult to guess what she was thinking. Something else he imagined that royals practiced, a necessary survival skill.
“All rise to greet Queen Berwyn of Principality.”
Jencin announced their entrance as he swung open the doors to the great room. Nearly twenty Eastmark visitors rose as the queen entered. Their dark skin made them stand out, even in Principality, which had more than its share of mercs and merchants from throughout the Winter Kingdoms. Eastmark was a proud kingdom, and under the previous king, King Radomar, it had maintained an aloofness from the other kingdoms.
Jonmarc noticed a dignified older man and a sullen but handsome young man at the forefront of the group. Behind them, two Eastmark Hojuns wore the elaborate robes that marked them as shaman-priests. The Hojuns ’ heads were shaved bald, and intricate runes covered their scalps, designs that had been cut into the flesh and left to scar. Complex patterns of tattoos wound down their arms onto their hands. The Hojuns wore carved amulets and bracelets of wood, bone, and gemstones, and disks of copper around the hems of their robes made bell-like sounds as they moved. The rest of the group looked to be functionaries and bureaucrats. Whatever servants or valets the group brought were likely to already be housed with the rest of the palace staff.
The older gentleman, a poised man with close-cut, white hair, stepped forward first. He gave a polite bow that stopped short of real deference. “Your Majesty. We offer condolences on the untimely death of King Staden and our sincere best wishes for a long and prosperous reign, even in these difficult times.”
Berry gave a polite half smile that did not reach her eyes. “Thank you.”
“I am Avencen, and I have been sent by King Kalcen as ambassador to Principality.” He smiled, and it made his finely featured face more open, although his black eyes did not soften. “It’s been long overdue. Before we departed, I welcomed my counterpart to Eastmark. You may rest assured that he is comfortable.”
“Again, our thanks.”
Avencen paused, and Jonmarc thought he looked nervous. “King Staden’s sudden death left important negotiations with Eastmark unfinished. Those negotiations must now be between you and King Kalcen.” He seemed to steel himself and took a deep breath. “It leaves us in an awkward situation.”
Berry frowned. “How so?”
Avencen stepped to the side. “May I present Prince Gethin, son of King Kalcen, third in line for the throne of Eastmark.” Gethin stepped forward and made a stiff bow. To Jonmarc’s eye, he looked to be about nineteen years old. Jonmarc saw Berry’s attention move to the prince. Gethin was a good-looking young man, and Jonmarc guessed that that was not lost on the new queen.
Gethin stood a bit taller than Jonmarc, with a trim, lithe build. His coal-black hair was shoulder length, and straight. Ebony skin indicated that he was from the highest ranks of Eastmark society, and his eyes glinted like obsidian. A medallion in the shape of a silver stawar joined the symbol of the Lady on a leather strap at his throat. A complicated tattoo on the left side of his face curled from brow to chin, and Jonmarc knew it indicated his rank in the succession. He had seen such a mark before when he had served as a soldier in Eastmark, at Chauvrenne.
Gethin was dressed in traveling leathers that were only slightly lighter than his skin. Where Avencen and the others favored the bright orange and yellow colors popular in Eastmark and loose, flowing pants and billow-sleeved shirts, Gethin’s close-fitting leather outfit seemed stark, almost military. Jonmarc noticed that he wore a scabbard and a baldric, though both were empty. From Gethin’s stance and manner, Jonmarc guessed the young man was an accomplished fighter.
Avencen cleared his throat. “King Staden and King Kalcen had agreed to all but one provision of the accord. Staden insisted that Prince Gethin travel here so that he could meet the prince and take the measure of his character.”
The same possibility seemed to dawn on both Jonmarc and Berry simultaneously, as they exchanged wary glances. Berry drew a short breath. “For what purpose?”
“To seal the alliance, King Kalcen has offered something unprecedented: the hand of his son in marriage.” Avencen swallowed. “As Your Majesty surely knows from Eastmark’s history, when the king’s sister, Princess Viata, eloped with Prince Donelan of Isencroft, the Winter Kingdoms nearly came to war. Such an alliance was forbidden until King Kalcen changed the law in his sister’s memory.”
“Yeah, and the betrothal contract that Bricen of Margolan brokered between Donelan’s daughter and his own firstborn son to stop that war almost caused another,” Jonmarc replied. That contract, which bound Kiara of Isencroft to Bricen’s eldest son, Jared, created scandal and complications as Tris Drayke fought to take the throne from his hated half-brother and found himself in love with Kiara.
Avencen shifted uncomfortably. “I believe that history was not lost on King Staden. He had no desire to see his daughter paired to a… to someone like Jared the Usurper. That’s why he insisted that the prince visit. King Kalcen had already had the good fortune of meeting Princess… Queen… Berwyn at Martris Drayke’s wedding. All that was left was winning Staden’s approval to the match.”
Gethin’s face was impassive, but his eyes flashed fire. He doesn’t really want to be here, Jonmarc thought.
“Your deal just became more complicated,” Berry said tersely. “No one asked me what I thought of an arranged marriage.” She looked Gethin over and met his eyes defiantly. “I don’t think anyone asked your prince, either. While I appreciate this historic first and am honored by the gift you offer, I’m queen now, not a princess to be bargained off. You began your negotiations with my father. Now, you’re dealing with me.” Her expression suddenly softened, just enough to give Avencen hope, and Jonmarc knew Berry was using all of her acting skills to navigate the situation.
“On the other hand, it would be unwise to reject such a historic offer out of hand. No doubt Father and King Kalcen had the best interests of both kingdoms at heart and, I would hope, the best interests of their children as well.” She paused. “Your delegation and the prince are welcome to stay at the palace while I give this matter further consideration.
“There is another complication,” Berry continued. “Our intelligence sources lead us to believe that war is imminent between the Winter Kingdoms and an invader from across the Northern Sea. Once war breaks out, you’ll be unable to return to Eastmark for the duration.”
Avencen and Gethin exchanged a glance. “We knew when we left Eastmark about the danger from the north,” Avencen said. “The kings of all the lands have been communicating with each other for some time now about the threat. King Kalcen has already committed our army to the coast.” Avencen paused. “Even knowing the danger, we came. The alliance between our kingdoms is that important.”
Berry looked to Gethin. “Does he always do your talking?”
Gethin glowered at her. “No. While I agree with what he has said, I can speak for myself.” He looked from Avencen to Berry. “The alliance between our kingdoms makes sense. It would protect both our peoples. We’re also the best available marriage partners for each other. Neither of us would consider an agreement with Nargi or Trevath, even if they had partners of suitable age. Isencroft and Margolan have only one heir, an infant. There is honor in this pairing. I am not opposed.”
But you’re not exactly jumping for joy, either, Jonmarc th
ought.
Berry nodded. “Your reasoning’s sound. The burden of the crown often removes choices others take for granted. On the other hand,” she said, her eyes narrowing, “I would rather rule as a spinster queen than be tied forever to a man I loathe. An unhappy consort has opened many a kingdom to disaster.”
“You dare to impugn the prince’s honor?” Avencen’s eyes widened and his cheeks darkened.
“I believe the queen has merely stated the case for getting to know one another before rushing into things, given the danger of our times,” Jencin said in a placating tone.
Berry inclined her head slightly to indicate agreement. “The coming war must take precedence over everything else, for now,” Berry said, and Jonmarc saw a glint in her eyes that told him Berry was certain that she had won this round. “You’ll be our guests indefinitely. Let’s use that time to get to know each other without the pressure of a deadline. Surely by the time the war is over, we’ll both have made up our minds.”
“That sounds fair,” Gethin said before Avencen could speak. “And it permits both sides to save face, should the alliance not go as our fathers planned.” He gave an unexpected bow, and in one graceful movement, he took Berry’s hand and kissed it. “It means I’ll have to court you and win your favor.” He flashed a rebellious grin. “I prefer to stand or fall on my own merits.”
The corners of Berry’s lips twitched as she concealed a smile. “So do I.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
For the second time in his brief reign, King Martris Drayke led his army to war.
Tris muffled a sigh as he reined in his restless horse. Moving an army was a monumental task, as was keeping it provisioned in the field. And while the Margolan coast was only a week’s ride north, the fact that food would be scarce again this year would make a difficult task that much harder.
“Final count is five thousand two hundred and forty-six,” Soterius said as he rode up beside Tris.
Tris nodded. “I’m afraid to ask, but how did we manage that? We barely pulled together four thousand men to fight Curane last year without leaving the palace undefended.”
Soterius shrugged. “Rumor has it that the plague hasn’t taken hold as much near the coast. I think some people signed up to outrun the fever. Most of the vayash moru and vyrkin refugees at Huntwood and Glynnmoor and Lady Eadoin’s manor also signed on. Trefor earned a field promotion; he’ll be leading them. As for the others, frankly, we weren’t as choosy on age if the recruits would swear they were between fourteen and fifty.” He grimaced. “And if they lied convincingly, we took them anyhow.”
Soterius paused, looking out over the group. “We’ve also taken more women as soldiers this time. Maybe it’s the queen’s influence, or maybe it’s the lack of better options that made so many come forward, but if they could wield a sword and provision themselves with equipment, we took them.”
“Do you think they realize what a fight this might be?”
“On one level or another, yeah, I think they do. Curane was a family feud, an internal problem. It’s a whole different game when there’s an invader headed for your coastline. That hasn’t been something Margolan’s worried about in a long time.”
Tris scanned the ranks. Most of the soldiers were on foot. Those with a horse were promoted into cavalry. Wivvers, their genius inventor, had brought along several of his killing machines, covered with tarpaulins and hauled by oxen. Wivvers’s machines had helped to turn the tide in the war against Curane at Lochlanimar, and Tris was glad to have him with them against a new enemy.
“The good news is that we’ve recruited more mages than before. Fallon’s been busy. We’re taking them all, from hedge witches to healers,” Soterius said. “Maybe it’s not surprising, but most of them already know that there’s dark magic afoot. They can feel it, even if they don’t know where it’s coming from.”
“We lost two generals last time out,” Tris said, watching the organized chaos of an army on the move. Supply wagons followed the infantry and mounted soldiers, and the wagons held everything from extra weapons to tents and bedding and food. Four blacksmiths’ wagons trudged along with them, as well as armorers and farriers. To move an army of soldiers, it took an army of civilians who would work behind the lines but often in no less danger to keep the army fed, sheltered, armed, and repaired. Tris glanced to one side and spotted the mages and healers. Most of them had horses, but they also took turns driving a wagon with their own supplies, both magical and medical. Even all of this, Tris knew, might not be enough to keep the army in true fighting shape, especially if the war dragged on.
“You’ve got Senne, Rallan, and me for starters. Trefor’s a colonel now. We were going to need to include him in our planning sessions; it’s good for him to have the rank to back it up. Senne and I put our heads together to promote talent within the ranks. We promoted Kiril and Taras to general based on how bravely they performed at Lochlanimar.” His eyes took on a haunted look. “Kiril assumed command when Palinn was killed. His men were the first through the wall, and they took heavy casualties, but they cleared the path. Taras handled the mop-up of sifting through the wreckage after the fighting stopped and he took charge of getting the army home. They’re both good men, and loyal.” Soterius paused. “We needed more generals. We don’t want you exposed the way you were the last time, against Curane.”
Tris grimaced. “That’s going to be hard to manage. If we really are coming up against a dark summoner, I can’t hide behind the ranks. I need to see what I’m fighting.”
Soterius gave him a sideways glance. “You’re still the king. Keeping you alive and as far out of harm’s way as we can is still our top priority.”
Against his will, Tris’s thoughts strayed back to Shekerishet, and to Kiara. Soterius picked up on the shift. “You’re not completely with us, Tris. Tell me what’s got you worried, and if I can fix it, that’s one thing off your mind.”
Tris gave a bitter chuckle. “I’m afraid it’s nothing you can fix. Kiara’s pregnant again. She was only a few days along when the army left; it’s only by magic that we knew so soon.” He let his voice trail off, not putting his real worry into words.
Soterius finished the thought for him. “And you’re worried, because Cwynn’s birth was so hard on her.”
Tris nodded. “That, and we don’t know what’s going to happen with Isencroft. She’s still heir to the throne there, and although the Divisionists are angry about our marriage, many Crofters see her as a hero.”
“You’re afraid something is going to happen that forces her to go back there, aren’t you?”
Tris gave him a grim smile. “Am I that easy to read?”
“Only for someone who’s been doing it since we were twelve years old.”
“Yes, I’m worried. I’m worried about Cwynn, worried about Kiara with the new pregnancy and me gone, worried about the Isencroft problem. Fallon tells me it’s the king’s business to worry. But she says that doesn’t mean I have to be better at it than anyone else,” he added with a self-deprecating chuckle.
“Your Majesty!” Tris and Soterius turned to see Coalan riding toward them. The young man stood half a head taller than he had been just the year before, when he had accompanied Tris on campaign as his valet and squire. “General Senne sent me to tell you that he plans to camp for the night in another candlemark, with your approval.”
Tris nodded. “Tell him that’s fine with me. We’re nearly at the meeting point we arranged with the Sworn. Jair will have scouts watching for us.”
Coalan grinned. “Thank the Lady that we’re calling it a night. I’m about to die from hunger.” Coalan was Soterius’s nephew, and attaching his duties to the king had kept the young man out of the direct line of fire. But even behind the line, his loyalty had been valuable. At Lochlanimar, Coalan’s bravery and quick thinking had foiled an assassination attempt, and in this battle, he was officially one of the king’s personal bodyguards.
“Tell the truth; you were star
ving before we even broke camp this morning,” Soterius grumbled good-naturedly.
Coalan’s grin widened. “An army moves on its stomach. Don’t you know that?” He patted his belly. “I’ve got to keep my strength up to take care of our king.”
Soterius eyed the new baldric and sword that Coalan wore, as well as his cuirass. “You’re rather well armed for a squire, aren’t you?”
Coalan’s grin slipped, and Tris jumped into the conversation. “Those are my gifts,” Tris said, hurrying to avert a disagreement between Soterius and Coalan. “Just because he’s behind the lines doesn’t mean he’s safe. If he hadn’t known how to use a sword at Lochlanimar, I’d be dead now.”
The tight-lipped expression on Soterius’s face told Tris that his friend couldn’t argue with the logic, although Tris knew that Soterius desperately wanted to keep Coalan safe. “For defense of the king only, you hear me? I don’t want to have to explain to your father that you’ve gotten yourself cut up or worse, no matter how much of a hero it makes you.” Soterius gave Coalan a stern look.
Coalan barely contained his glee at winning this round of the argument. “Absolutely, Uncle Ban.” He grinned again. “If you’d like, you can put me in charge of guarding the cook wagon whenever Tris is in the field.”
Soterius rolled his eyes. “Like having the fox guard the hen house, isn’t it?”
Tris listened to them banter and he smiled with the first genuine glimmer of happiness he’d felt since leaving Shekerishet. Ban Soterius and Coalan were among a precious handful of old friends who had been close to him before Jared’s coup, before the fight for the throne, before the burdens of the crown. For just a moment, Tris remembered what it had felt like, only a little over two years ago, before his world had upended and everything he knew had been plunged into chaos. Such glimpses were fleeting, and increasingly rare, and Tris treasured them for every second that they lasted, knowing that they came too seldom.
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