“Some of the mercenaries want to go home,” Caen noted. “Others want to find local women and put down roots.”
“It will be a while before they can go home,” Reginald said. The weather would make the crossing suicidal until March, at least. “They may as well make themselves useful.”
He shook his head. He’d watched his father administrate his kingdom, but he’d never really appreciated just how much work it actually was until he’d started to administer a kingdom of his own. The Summer Isle had never had much of a bureaucracy, nothing to enforce the king’s will and help bind the different counties into one. It would take time to put one together, let alone start building the road networks he’d need to unite the island. He’d have plenty of work to do until a whole corps of administrators was trained and ready to take the reins.
And then there’ll be problems with my new servants, Reginald thought, wryly. And even some of the newcomers will have their doubts.
“I’m sure they will, Your Highness,” Caen said. “I’ll be happy to take more of them up north, if you wish.”
“If they’ll go,” Reginald said. There had been alarmingly few volunteers to go north, even though the roads were supposed to be clear now. “Offer them extra money, if they’ll go.”
Caen smiled. “They’ll want to be paid, sooner or later.”
“I know,” Reginald said. There just wasn’t much money in the Summer Isle. Not immediately, at least. Given a few years, he was sure he could make the Summer Isle very wealthy indeed. “Good luck.”
He dismissed his friend, then turned to peer out the window. Allenstown was starting to come alive, now the war was over. It would be a long time before the invaders and the locals became more than uneasy allies, but Lord Havant’s defeat – and his crimes – had turned the population against him. His friends within the city had been driven out or killed as soon as the truth leaked out. It wouldn’t last, Reginald was sure, but it was a start. Allenstown stood to gain a great deal from the invasion, if it played its cards right. He’d make sure of it.
And we have no idea what’s happening on the far side of the channel, he thought, grimly. It was hard to believe that anything could have happened to his father’s kingdom, but he was starting to feel isolated. The chill in the air was a grim reminder of things to come. It wouldn’t be long before the winter storms started, freezing the entire island. Who knows what we’ll find when we go back home.
He shook his head, irritated. The Red Monks might be gone, but his intelligence officers were still hearing reports of strange creatures in isolated places. Whatever had changed, whatever had been unleashed, hadn’t gone home after Havant’s defeat. He couldn’t escape the sense that the world had changed, that the rules were slowly being rewritten, that ... he sighed. He knew what he wanted to do, what he needed to do. He was putting it off.
Turning, he checked his sword and strode through the door. His guards fell in beside him, one of them turning his head from side to side to make sure there was nothing approaching from the other world. The others all carried iron swords; a couple even wore iron bands around their wrists or necks, trying to minimise the influence from the entities. Not gods, he told himself firmly. They were powerful, but they were not gods. And yet ...
He stopped outside Isabella’s door and knocked, once. She’d been setting up her own intelligence network, talking to girls and young women who fancied an adventure outside the big city. Reginald wasn’t sure what he made of that, but between Isabella and Emetine it was clear that women were more than just mothers, daughters and wives. Come to think of it, he reminded himself as the door opened, no one had found any trace of Roxanne Goldenrod. Havant’s wife might still be a player in the game ...
Isabella was sitting at a table, reading a report from one of her agents. She looked up at him and smiled, motioning to the chair on the other side. Reginald closed the door, leaving the guards on the far side. Isabella was more capable of protecting him than any of them. It was an odd thought, but it was one he’d come to realise over the last few weeks. And besides, he had his iron sword. He could deal with a handful of creatures.
“Kingsley found a recipe for a healing salve,” Isabella said, as Reginald sat down. “The woman who taught him said it had been passed down from mothers to daughters for centuries.”
Reginald nodded. “And does it work?”
“Apparently so,” Isabella said. Her lips twitched, humourlessly. “But it shouldn’t work.”
“Maybe you need a leap of faith,” Reginald said.
“Maybe,” Isabella said.
She rubbed the nasty-looking bruise on her cheek. “What can I do for you?”
Reginald found himself speechless. He knew how to talk to courtly women – and he knew how to deal with commoners – but Isabella was something different. His mouth was suddenly dry. He knew what he wanted to say, but how could he say it? The slightest mistake could ruin everything? And yet ...
“Marry me,” he managed.
Isabella’s blue eyes widened. “Marry me? Why me?”
Reginald took a long moment to gather his thoughts. Any courtly woman would accept at once, without thinking; her family wouldn’t even think of challenging her decision. They’d be too busy considering the advantages of having their daughter married to the Crown Prince. But Isabella was an orphan, as far as he knew, and she was a sorceress. She might have different ideas about the world ...
“You’re clever,” he said, finally. He hadn’t been so tongue-tied since he’d had to explain a particularly stupid mistake on the training field to his father. “You’re strong in magic. And I like you.”
Isabella cocked her head. “And you’re not obliged to marry to support the dynasty?”
“I have to choose well,” Reginald said. “As a sorceress, you rank as a high noblewoman, so no one could challenge you on those grounds. And while you don’t have ties to other kingdoms, that’s as much an advantage as a disadvantage. If I married the princess of Azeri, I might find my kingdom dragged into its border dispute with Wadena. Or ...”
He met her eyes. “I need to marry well,” he said. “And I like you.”
***
Isabella had known, when she was a child, that her marriage would be dictated by her parents. Not her lovers, thankfully, but her marital partner ... the man who’d father her children. She’d known she might hate him, although she’d hoped they’d find an accommodation if they really couldn’t get along. Their marriage was more than just a union between two people. It would bind two entire families together. It had been a relief, in so many ways, to realise that she would no longer have to enter an arranged marriage when she’d been disowned. And Reginald was offering her ...
She felt conflicted. She did like him, although she wasn’t sure if she could grow to love him. Every single one of her former lovers had started to grate on her, eventually. It would be harder to leave Reginald if he was father to her children, let alone king of an entire kingdom. He was practically king of the Summer Isle already. It certainly wasn’t as if his vassals could complain to his father.
An affair would have been fun, particularly if she could leave at any moment. But a marriage ...
It would be a family of your own, her thoughts told her. Reginald isn’t going to turn the children into bargaining pieces.
But that wasn’t true, was it? Reginald was the Crown Prince! He could no more give up the crown than she could give up sorcery. And he’d have to treat his children with an eye to the kingdom’s future, rather than their happiness. Isabella had seen hundreds of girls – and boys – married off to satisfy their families, rather than themselves. Some of the marriages had ended well, she supposed. Others had failed and failed badly.
“I’ll think about it,” she promised, carefully. What would Alden say if his baby sister became a queen? “It isn’t something I can just ... just leap into.”
A flicker of something – disappointment, perhaps – flashed across Reginald’s face. Had he
hoped she’d say yes at once? Perhaps he’d expected it ... the gods knew that most girls would have leapt at the chance to win a prince. Their lives would be perfect ... assuming, of course, they bore heirs. Isabella had no reason to think she couldn’t have children, but it would put a strain on their marriage if it proved impossible. Reginald would be expected to give her up if she failed to give him a heir.
“I understand,” Reginald said. He rose. “But ... I can’t wait forever.”
“I know,” Isabella said. Men could marry later than women, if they wished, but Reginald needed a male heir. A bastard son wouldn’t satisfy everyone. Did he even have any natural-born sons? She didn’t know. “And I do understand.”
She stood, feeling a flicker of sympathy. Reginald had taken a terrible risk by asking her to marry him, even though no one had overheard. He’d put his heart on his sleeve for her. No one would know, save for Reginald and Isabella herself. But it would overshadow their relationship for the rest of their lives.
Reginald started to walk towards the door. Isabella hesitated, then took his arm, pulled him to face her and kissed him as hard as she could. He tensed in surprise, just for a second, then kissed her back. She smiled, inwardly, as the kiss grew more passionate. Reginald probably wasn’t used to the woman taking the lead.
And we’ll see what he makes of it, she thought, wryly. Wife or mistress or whatever, I will never belong to him.
She smiled and reached up for another kiss.
***
Later that evening, she walked along the battlements and watched the sun slowly dropping behind the horizon. Reginald had asked her to keep an eye on the streets and watch for strange threats, even though she’d made sure there was plenty of ointment around for everyone. The Red Monks seemed to have vanished completely, although she knew that meant nothing. They could just have walked into the other world and come out somewhere deep in a northern forest.
Or travelled all the way to Andalusia, she told herself. Reginald hadn’t said anything to her, but she’d picked up on his concern. Who knew what was happening on the mainland? We really need to find out as soon as possible.
Isabella stopped as she saw a young girl sitting on the battlements, swinging her bare legs over the walkway. She looked to be on the verge of bursting into womanhood, wearing a long white dress that shone in the half-light. And yet, there was something ancient and knowing about her smile as she turned to look at Isabella. None of the guards below seemed to have noticed her ... Isabella didn’t think they could notice her. She was invisible to them.
“Well met,” the girl said. Her voice was soft and warm. “You’re quite an interesting person.”
Isabella felt her eyes narrow. “What are you?”
The girl stood. “We’ve met,” she said. “Don’t you know me?”
“Mother Lembu,” Isabella said, slowly.
“Maiden Lembu,” the girl said. “Although it is really just one of my aspects.”
Her lips twisted into a wry smile. “You really don’t want to meet the other one of me,” she added. “Once you see her, sanity becomes a more challenging proposition.”
“Oh,” Isabella said. “You and she are the same person?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Maiden Lembu said. She climbed onto the battlements and stood, glowing pearly white against the darkening sky. “But that wasn’t what I came to ask you.”
Isabella studied her for a long moment. “What did you come to ask me?”
“A simple question,” Maiden Lembu said. “Are you ready for your lessons to begin?”
Epilogue I
She was going to be married.
Princess Sofia of Andalusia stared down at the pool of water, unable to hide the bleak despondency that threatened to overcome her. She’d banished her ladies from her presence at once, then walked down to the tiny garden that was hers and hers alone. Once, she’d seen a god amidst the trees and flowers; now, the garden was deprived of all human and divine contact. She was alone.
The missive from her father was scrunched in her hand, but she didn’t need to smooth it out to recall what it said. The Crown Prince had not returned from the Summer Isle. All contact with the Summer Isle had been lost, save for a single handwritten letter her father had refused to show her. Women were not supposed to take part in ruling, he’d said, and dismissed her without further ado. A day later, he’d told her that she was going to be married.
She shuddered at the thought. The man her father had chosen might have many good qualities, but – as far as she could tell – they were very well hidden. He was strong enough to rule the kingdom, yet too weak to be a challenger to the throne in his own right. Sofia understood her father’s logic – if Reginald returned, his brother-in-law would be no threat – but she hated it. Her prospective husband was easily old enough to be her father. Surely, a match between herself and his son would be a far better offer.
But the son has nothing while the father is alive, she thought, numbly. He’d be an even worse match for me.
She watched the waters for a long moment, feeling cold. Her fiancée was a renowned soldier, a great leader of men ... not a patch on her father or brother, she told herself loyally, but nothing to sneer at either. And yet, he’d expect her to stay in her chambers and do needlework – and bear his squalling brats – while he ruled her kingdom. He’d probably make sure that his clients got all the best postings and landed heiresses, just to solidify his power base. Reginald might be in some trouble if he returned home too late ...
... And there was nothing she could do.
She’d prayed extensively for succour, but the gods had chosen not to respond. And yet, what else could she do? She didn’t know how to survive outside the castle. Running away wasn’t an option when her father’s men would track her down and bring her home immediately ... besides, where did one get food, outside the castle? Sofia certainly didn’t know. No, she was to be married to a man she barely knew ...
The waters moved. She peered down into the murky depths, distracted from her bitter contemplation. The pool was barely deep enough for fish or she would have considered throwing herself into the waters to drown. But really, it would have got her nothing more than a ruined gown and a sharp lecture on ladylike behaviour. Her father wouldn’t want her to do something – anything – that would dissuade the bastard from marrying her.
I could have a humped back and a scarred face and he’d still want to marry me, she thought, as she studied the dark waters. Something was moving down there, something impossibly deep. I’d bring him a kingdom as my dowry ...
She saw, just for a second, something deep below, then the waters burst up and around her. Sofia stumbled back, feeling her head start to spin. A young woman, a few years older than Sofia herself, was standing in the muddy remains of the pond. She was naked, naked enough to make Sofia flush with embarrassment, yet there was nothing vulnerable about her. She was somehow more real than the world around her.
“Greetings,” the woman said.
“Uh ... greetings,” Sofia said. She wasn’t sure what to make of it. Strange women normally didn’t come out of ponds, not in her experience. “Who are you?”
The woman smiled. It was the sort of smile that promised the world.
“My name is Emetine,” she said. “And I think we’re going to be the very best of friends.”
Epilogue II
The Golden City was a wasteland.
No, Alden Majuro told himself, it wasn’t a wasteland. But it was a backwater when – only five short years ago – it had ruled the world. Any of the local kings, princes or warlords could have claimed it for their own, if they’d been inclined to bother. But they’d seen the Golden City as the past and their own cities as the future. It wouldn’t be long before the uniformity enforced by the Peerless School vanished like a snowflake in the seventh hell.
He paced his office, troubled beyond words by Isabella’s letter. Even getting it had been sheer luck. The courier had collected the le
tter from a crew who’d barely survived the crossing, then carried it through three disputed zones and an outright war zone. There wasn’t enough money in the world to pay the man for what he’d done, although Alden had tried hard. He could no longer push couriers – and lesser family – around.
And yet, part of him wished he hadn’t read the letter. Gods and witches, entities and ... and things? Magic useless? Cold iron the only thing that worked? He wanted to believe that Isabella was playing a particularly stupid joke, even though he knew better. Isabella had been a bratty little sister who’d grown up into a bratty trainee who’d finally got herself kicked out of the city, but she was no liar. She certainly wouldn’t have lied about gods. Even a half-trained magician knew the dangers of crying wolf.
He glanced down at the last paragraph and sighed in frustration. Isabella had urged him to check the Black Vault, but that presented a problem. The Black Vault had been sealed, along with most of the Great Library, when the Last Empress had left the city. And while he had checked the family archives, all he’d found had been a collection of blackmail information that was no longer even remotely useful. The people his father had planned to blackmail were all dead.
No, he told himself. I’ll have to seek my answers elsewhere.
It wasn’t a pleasant thought. His father had taught him to take control of the family, but the old man had been careful not to share any power as long as he’d been alive. Alden knew, without false modesty, that he lacked the fire of his youngest sister, let alone the sheer drive to dominate that had led their father to the very highest levels of society. Alden was an éminence grise, not a man of action. If things had been normal – if the Golden City hadn’t been so badly damaged and so many magicians hadn’t been killed – he knew that he would have been displaced by one of his more ambitious siblings in short order. The hell of it was that it wouldn’t really have bothered him.
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