Fall of Thrones and Thorns

by Jennifer Ellision

  Vengeance drives me. Drives many of us.

  And Makers help Jospuhr if he chooses to stand against us.

  Eighteen

  Caden

  We stand before the road that will lead us to Jospuhr’s holdings, and I weigh my options. From here, we can see that the vegetation is overgrown. The landscape, uncared for. I don’t know if it’s an ill omen or a blessing. It could mean the Jospuhr has been tending to other matters. Or it could mean Father viewed his meeting with me as a betrayal and had everyone in his holdings slaughtered.

  After all, none of us are likely to forget the tragedy that befell Lilia’s family. Father had decimated their estate with Ruin’s Reaping, killing Lilia’s sisters, her brother, her father, and his wife, to say nothing of the household staff and innocents in the neighboring village. That’s what he does when defied. He leaves no stalk upright, no ground left unrazed.

  The fact that the plants here are still vibrantly green, if dense, may mean Jospuhr still stands with him.

  But, by the same token, Jospuhr had made it a point to tell me he viewed this war as a spectator sport. That he enjoyed watching my father and I attempt to lap each other, as though in a race.

  I remember our conversation well. I may never forget it.

  And no matter what Lilia’s opinion on the matter may be, I remain unconvinced that Jospuhr intentionally sent my father’s soldiers after us in pursuit. Do I believe that he said something? Most assuredly. It would convince Father that Jospuhr remains loyal. However, it would be just like Jospuhr to play my father and I against each other in such a way. He likely thinks of it as gambling, placing a bet. It all simply makes the game more exciting for him.

  Jospuhr couldn’t have known we would survive our brush with Ruin’s Reaping. But he couldn’t have said for certain that we wouldn’t either. And now that we have, that may make us a much more enticing prospect. An increasingly attractive bet. A contender.

  We will contend with my father, or we will all die trying.

  I slide a glance to Bree at my side, then to Aleta at my other. Both have made such strides in their control of their elements, but I wonder. Bree's strength seems to come with the idea that she learned to control her emotions before they grab hold of her. By the same token, Aleta is the opposite. She is growing by leaps and bounds emotionally with Tregle. Before she’d been locked down so tightly she was like an automaton.

  But now… Aleta’s control has slipped just a fraction. And Bree struggles with hers. It presents in similar ways for the both of them. Their powers betray their emotions. Aleta’s hands jerk away from the reins before she sets them alight with the fire that flickers over her fingers. And Bree’s skin is tinged a distinct shade of blue. Her hands, fisted, reflect the light of day like a mirror, glaring. A sheen of ice frosts her fingers and melts, dripping onto the ground.

  She looks away from the estate and follows my eyes to her hands. Grimacing, she straightens and gestures, twirling her fingers until her element evaporates and dissipates into the atmosphere around us.

  “Ready?” she asks quietly.

  “Ready,” I affirm. “Aleta?”

  “As I will ever be.” She extinguishes her fire with a thought and grabs hold of her steed’s reins once more. “Ride on, Caden.”

  Meddie straddles a horse behind Liam. The city girl is unused to riding, and it had seemed more expedient for her to ride with one of us. Liam had quickly volunteered. They ride off to make certain that Liam’s men are in formation and do not break rank, regardless of circumstance. Lilia and Elena see to our troops and Elena’s allies, as well.

  Bree half-turns, her horse clipping around restlessly. “I should see to the Nereids…”

  I grab her elbow. “I’m certain Izador and your commanders have that well in hand. Please. I need you up here with me.”

  “As do I,” Aleta puts in softly. Tregle looks very much like he would prefer to be riding in the style of Liam and Meddie right now, or at the very least, as though he would like to lay his hand on her shoulder. But the space between them stays empty, and Aleta’s shoulders square as she draws herself in, channels the person she used to be. Aloof, intimidating. Cold.

  Thank the Makers we all know better.

  Bree nods, expression softening as Aleta’s ice spreads and Bree’s evaporates. “Then here is where I’ll be,” Bree says, nodding.

  ~~~

  If Jospuhr experienced any surprise with our sudden appearance, we were not privileged enough to witness it. Perhaps it occurs when one of his lookouts informs him of our arrival. Perhaps he’s shocked to learn that we’ve survived the twin blazes of the Reaping and the destruction in Clavins.

  Or, perhaps, Macon Jospuhr has seen it all. Had a hand in it all.

  And maybe nothing surprises him anymore.

  Jospuhr’s expression is bland as we stride in, guards at his back, a small contingency of our soldiers at ours. He clasps his hands behind his back, perfectly still. He moves not an inch as he waits for us to reach him. His guards behind him are likewise immobile.

  I swallow as I stand in his entrance hall once again. The same dingy tapestries hang from banisters. Now that I know he and Liam are descended from the same ancestors, I can spot the similarities their crests bear. I’m nervous. Wary. Just as I’d been the last time I’d visited his estate.

  But this time, I am not alone.

  Jospuhr raises a single eyebrow as I step forward with Bree and Aleta. “Your Highness. It is wonderful to see you looking well,” he says to Aleta, executing a curt bow.

  “Likewise,” Aleta murmurs. Her tone gives the impression that she couldn’t possibly have been bothered caring one way or the other. She gazes beyond him, looking bored. I have to give her the credit she’s due: it’s a convincing portrayal of the princess she’d once been.

  He turns next to Bree. The muscles in my stomach clench as he lifts her hand to his lips. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure, Lady…?”

  “Bree,” she says, lip curled in an expression of open dislike. “Maybe you’ve heard of me.”

  He laughs audaciously, dropping her hand. “And so I have. Your talents and infamy has spread quickly, Lady Bree. I must express my regrets over the death of your father. I’d always liked Duke Ardin.”

  Bree’s shoulder blades tighten, her back straightening with the unexpected mention of her father. I dart a glance down to her hands, not surprised to see that her nails appear to be lengthening before my eyes—an illusion as ice stretch from her fingertips.

  Jospuhr follows my gaze and a smirk graces his features. “I find that I like his daughter as well. And her fire.” His voice drops. “Although, perhaps it would be more accurate if I were to say that I like your water.”

  Enough.

  Foreboding in my eyes, I intend to put a stop to the way he’s looking at her. Not that Bree isn’t a beautiful woman, but Jospuhr is more cunning than that. He looks to her as a prize. But I’m uncertain if that’s because of her abilities or because of rumors reaching his ears—rumors of Bree’s true identity.

  He’d wanted Aleta for her crown once, after all.

  But Bree doesn’t need me to intervene. She never has.

  “It may indeed be more accurate to say that, Lord Jospuhr.” She doesn’t waste time with dismissing what he knows of her abilities, especially not after he’d witnessed it with his very eyes. Her tone is sweet, but her expression suggests she’s bitten into something sour. “But it doesn’t have quite the same ring to it, does it?”

  Makers, has she been taking lessons from Aleta? I have to fight the urge to bark out a clap of laughter with the airy tone and the way she wallops the unsuspecting Jospuhr with it.

  “So it doesn’t.” His face lands unassumingly neutral, turning back to me and Aleta. “I took you at your word that you came under the banner of peace. To that end, I instructed my men that you were neither to be harmed, nor relieved of your weapons. But I do hope, Your Highnesses, that you have good reason for bri
nging an army to my doorstep.”

  “We think so,” Aleta says stiffly. “And if you disagree, more’s the pity. I never took you for a fool, Lord Jospuhr.”

  “You do me a credit with your words.” His eyes wander past us to the crowd of people behind us. “And who are your compatriots?”

  We make our introductions. The house of Masonstone is well-known, and Lilia receives a nod of acknowledgement, along with murmurs of his condolences. The news of her family’s death has spread among the noble houses, it would appear.

  Jospuhr’s eyebrows go up when Liam’s title is given. “Cousin,” he greets. Liam shuffles his feet as he returns the greeting with a stiff bow

  At the sight of Liam’s discomfort, Meddie scowls, stepping around Master Izador, Elena, and Tregle, whom I’d intended to introduce next. Ignoring every aspect of social decorum—or, perhaps more accurately—not caring about such rules, Meddie thrusts out a hand for Jospuhr to shake. “Meddie,” she says shortly.

  A small grin playing about his mouth, Jospuhr accepts her extended hand. His smile disappears instantly. He jerks back, uttering a soft swear as a bead of blood blooms on his palm.

  Meddie neatly tucks a knife back up into her sleeve, batting her eyes innocently. “Oops,” she says. “Sorry. It slipped.”

  I bite back a smile. Certainly, in a less rational creature than Jospuhr, Meddie may have jeopardized our claim to peace, but Jospuhr isn’t likely to hedge his bets because of a pinprick.

  Besides, I couldn’t deny that I’d indulged in the slightest bit of pleasure at his expense.

  We round off the rest of the introductions—Jospuhr’s brows raising higher and higher as we make our way through the remainder of the group. They twitch at the sight of Katerine’s twin. By the time we establish that our party is comprised of errant knights, Truant Adepts, and Nereids in service of their queen, they’re buried in his hairline.

  Jospuhr gives our people leave to roam about the lands while discussions commence. I’m certain that they’ll wait for our return without bothering to set up a camp. We have only a tentative foothold and don’t want to get comfortable on the off-chance that we need to pick up and move quickly.

  Meanwhile, the leaders of our groups crowd into a chamber, gathering around a table to engage in conversations—or I suppose that I could more appropriately term them negotiations. This time, there is no pretext between us of sharing a meal together.

  Jospuhr twines his fingers and nestles his head atop them, head tilted in a query. “How may I serve Your Highnesses?” he asks me and Aleta. Bree swallows hard, and he nods to her and the others. “I meant no offense by my lack of acknowledgement. Ladies. Gentlemen. I simply know your lieges best.”

  My heart thumps as Bree relaxes fractionally, relieved that he took her reaction to be one of offense. The secret of her lineage is still safe. For now.

  I pay no undue attention to the moment, skipped passed as it already is. The last thing we need is his scrutiny, wondering if there is a mystery still to be uncovered.

  “Have you had recent contact with my father?” I ask, praying that the answer is no. That it’s an honest no. That I haven’t lead us all to ruin with a foolish decision, meandering our way straight into the clutches of an enemy.

  I’d be a good deal more grateful for the Makers’ hands on me if I knew that it offered some guarantee of an outcome that will benefit my people. But I have no way of scrying the future. No input from the all-fired, all-powerful creators, but for warnings moments before something happens and a warm token in my hand that lets me know when I should be paying closer attention to a moment. I slide a nonchalant hand into my pocket, toying with their coin.

  The token is unheated right now, allowing me to hope that this conversation is precisely as it appears to be on the surface.

  Jospuhr considers the question, leaning back in his seat. A thoughtful finger goes to his lips. “Contact? Direct communication, no. There haven’t been letters. No visits, nothing of that sort. We haven’t exchanged words in some time. But I have heard…whispers, you might say. Something is afoot. Something new.”

  Whispers, he says. I mimic Jospuhr, settling back in my chair and mulling over his words. He’s had spies on my father, then. That’s promising. It means he possesses valuable information, but he’s not in Father’s inner circle. That Father doesn’t take him into his confidences. This…“something new” he refers to may even be the Shaker in Abeline. Perhaps he already knows of him. There’s but one way to find out.

  “We may know of the same problem that’s taken…root in the north,” Aleta says with great delicacy, beating me to the punch.

  Jospuhr’s eyes, canny and understanding, snap to her.

  “It’s something that could do with a bit of pruning,” I say, not one to be outdone.

  And Jospuhr’s eyes are, at once, back on me. “I see.” His gaze drifts behind me, to Liam. “Cousin, are we not related to some talented gardeners that you could contact?” he asks with a raised brow.

  Bree mutters under her breath. “If I’d known that a diplomatic meeting required this many puns, I’d have stayed with the soldiers.”

  From the corner of my eye, I see Aleta give her knee a fierce pinch beneath the table, and Bree rubs at the spot, giving Aleta a black look for her trouble.

  Liam crosses his arms and scowls over Jospuhr’s question, his eyebrows slamming together. “I think you’d know that Shakers were weeded out of my line long ago, cousin,” he returns. "If memory serves, it was your ancestor who saw to that, systematically decimating anyone who showed a glimmer of ability, so that your house may lay a greater claim to it.”

  I blink in surprise, my gaze darting to Liam. That explained his great reluctance to utilize his family connection to Jospuhr. Bad blood between divided houses. Somehow, that story had never made it to the capital. Doubtless, Father would have approved of the merciless tactics in ensuring the strength of one’s house.

  “So she did,” Jospuhr says softly, eyes steady on Liam in something that may have been approval, but could just have easily been indifference. “Good on you for refusing to play this paltry game of words and doublespeak that the rest of us play at, young cousin.”

  Meddie’s hand slaps down onto the table as she joins Liam in a scowl. Her sharp little chin stabs toward Jospuhr. “No one here needs your praise.”

  “But we do need your help,” Bree, new to peace-making, lunges over me to grab Meddie’s hand and forcibly drag it back across the table. She scrambles to clarify the muddy situation, to smooth over any damage Meddie may have done with her barbed words, hastily tacking on an honorific as she returns to her seat and clears her throat. “Lord Jospuhr. If you and your men may be willing to assist us.”

  Jospuhr’s eyes glimmer, the match point of our conversation near at hand. “I do enjoy a good game,” he nearly purrs. “But competition for competition’s sake, while quite sporting, never got anyone very far. What prize may the players win?”

  Now, Bree scowls as well. “You need a prize? How about this: we’ll all live to see another day. We won’t be beholden to a madman any longer.”

  “For now,” Jospuhr says, calm in the face of her ire. “But who knows what the future holds. Blood runs deep and true, after all.” His eyes drift to me.

  Lilia’s chair clatters to the ground as she leaps from her seat. Her blonde hair trembles in a storm cloud of fury around her head. “You dare insinuate that Prince Caden is anything like his fath—”

  “Sit. Down, Lady Lilia,” I say, without looking at her. I keep my eyes on Jospuhr as she obeys, still grumbling and make small sounds of indignation. She shrugs off Elena’s calming hand, and Elena stares at her worriedly as she continues to vibrate with a furious energy. I wait until she can keep her silence before moving on.

  “A prize for the winners, you say. Perhaps it will be enough to know that I believe that the monarch’s power in Egria has gone unrestrained for far too long. I intend to put power checks in pla
ce so that, no matter how mad any descendant of mine may be, the government may be able to stop him. Replace him, if need be.”

  But it’s not enough. Jospuhr looks unimpressed, those expressive eyebrows of his tellingly low. He needs something guaranteed to him, personally. I had prepared for this. Had quarreled with Lilia, Aleta, Bree, and Liam when I’d proposed it, but ultimately they’d agreed, a disgruntled agreement though it had been.

  “If you choose to lend arms to our efforts, your house will be assured a seat on such a council. You’ll also be granted the reward of an additional estate. Once we unseat Father, I will strip his loyalists of their lands, their titles, their funds. And you may have your choice of one estate’s holdings.”

  Jospuhr’s lips curve, and I know I have him.

  “Long live King Caden,” he says softly.

  Concurrent

  Underground

  The door latches shut, the lock turning between big fingers with an audible click.

  Clift leans back against the wood that cuts him off the rest of the street. He’d had to replace the door after two different raids, right in the middle of prime drinking hours. The king’s men had bashed it in twice, and after the second time, it had swung loose from its hinges.

  Smirking, he allows himself a moment of self-congratulation. Two raids and that bastard Langdon still hasn’t managed to lay a finger on the Underground’s stash of Reaping. Clearly someone has flapped loose lips if they know Clift is one to watch, but after Rick—Caden. Clift shakes his head. Makers’ breath, he still hasn’t come ‘round to the idea that his source in the palace had been the thrice-damned prince, but all the better for the people to have a figure to rally around. After Caden had taken his leave of the capital and The Soused Turkey, Clift had had the foresight to relocate most of the Reaping—to carefully scatter the majority of barrels among Underground homes.

  The idiots Langdon had sent hadn’t noticed anything amiss. Not even when they’d finished their search and one had lifted a bottle of its diluted form to his mouth and smiled wretchedly at Clift from over the bottle’s lip.