The Defiant Heir

by Melissa Caruso

  A knock sounded on the door to my rooms, far more diffident than Kathe’s had been. “Lady Amalia,” a servant called. “I’m here to help you prepare for the ball.”

  I turned and called to the door, “One moment.”

  When I swiveled back to Kathe, some word forming on my lips, he was gone. A breeze swept across the balcony railing, brushing away any invisible trace of him. He might have been nothing but a vision of madness.

  Balls in Durantain were more ceremonial affairs than in Raverra. A herald announced arriving guests in order of rank, from lowest to highest, and everyone needed an escort. While the heralds worked their way through the lesser nobility, the royal family and honored guests gathered in a private antechamber with comfortable seats, a platter of fruit, and chilled beer (again, much to my dismay), attempting to work out who was escorting whom at the last minute.

  “I’m with Terika,” Zaira announced, wrapping an arm around Terika’s waist. “The rest of you lot can draw straws for all I care.”

  Marcello was with Istrella, awaiting introduction in another antechamber, somewhere after the lesser gentry. Zaira’s presence had occasioned endless argument among the court heralds over what her effective rank should be, since she technically had no title but clearly merited some special attention as the sole fire warlock in Eruvia and a person well capable of burning Durantain to the ground if offended. They’d finally decided that her close connection to a member of the royal family and her status as an honored guest from the Serene Empire meant she could be introduced just before the royalty without offending any but the stuffiest aristocrats.

  “I’m stuck with him,” Bree complained, elbowing Roland. “I wanted to bring a lad I met in a tavern last week, but Grandmother said no.”

  I eyed my grandmother, uncertain.

  “I always enter alone,” she said. “In your grandfather’s honor.” She frowned. “We need to find someone for you, Amalia.”

  I hadn’t even thought of arranging an escort; I’d been too distracted worrying about the inevitable speech I’d have to give. I waved my hands. “I can come in by myself, too. It’s all right.”

  “It’s a custom,” my grandmother said, with severe gravity. “It would show disrespect to my guest and my granddaughter to let you enter alone.”

  “Really, I don’t mind.”

  The queen tapped her lips. “Perhaps one of the march lords, or a general. Anyone would be honored. I’m sure we can find someone.”

  “No need!”

  We all turned toward the new voice.

  It was Kathe. Of course it was Kathe, brushing off a flustered guard as he strode into the room, feathered cloak swirling, eyes dancing. “The Lady Amalia and I are courting, after all. There could be no more appropriate escort.”

  Bree and Roland gaped. Zaira appraised Kathe openly; Terika and she exchanged an appreciative look, and heat crept up my neck. Grace of Mercy, don’t say anything, Zaira. Please.

  My grandmother’s stony gaze didn’t waver. “The Crow Lord of Let. I was unaware we would have the honor of your presence at this occasion.”

  He bowed, forcing the queen to return a deep, respectful nod. It would take an expert at protocol to figure out which of them outranked the other.

  “I’m gratified to hear it, Your Majesty. I do try to avoid being predictable.”

  “Announcing the Lady Amalia Lochaver Cornaro, Princess of Callamorne, heir to the Council of Nine; and her escort, the Crow Lord, Witch Lord of Let.”

  The herald’s artifice-amplified voice almost cracked, and his eyes bulged as if he couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. Every face in the room turned to stare at us as we stood framed in the curtained entryway to the cavernous great hall, the sea of courtiers hushed to stunned silence.

  I was used to having eyes on me, as La Contessa’s eligible daughter, but a room of a few hundred people openly staring at me was a new experience. At once, I became paralyzingly aware of every part of my body.

  Kathe’s arm shook in mine from repressed laughter. “Look at their faces. This was a bit out of my way, but oh, it was worth it.”

  Most of the nobility and dignitaries in the crowd wore the more sober fashions and muted colors of Callamorne: deep plum and navy, forest green and chocolate brown and charcoal gray, all in fine wool or velvet with only modest touches of lace. Some, especially the younger set, sported the more flamboyant embroidered silks and brocades of Raverran fashion, in brighter colors, with a sprinkling of jewel tones like bright flowers poking up through a winter garden. But all of them wore the same expressions of open surprise and shock.

  No one had warned them a Witch Lord would be attending the reception. I could sympathize.

  I tried to school my expression into something calm, regal, and reassuring, as if of course I knew exactly what I was doing and was in complete control of the situation. It was my mission to give these people confidence that the Empire had their backs, and by all the Graces, I wasn’t going to let Kathe’s mischief undermine that.

  I held up my skirts as we paced our stately way down the steps to the great hall floor. Just before we descended to the level of the crowd, I spotted Marcello and Istrella; the latter waved enthusiastically, grinning. Marcello tried on a wan smile, but it sat poorly on his strained face.

  Good Graces. I hadn’t meant to flaunt Kathe in front of him without warning.

  Then the swirl of people pressed around us. The guests nearest us recovered admirably from their surprise and offered me words of welcome, not without alarmed glances at my escort, before opening a certain space around us. The heralds proceeded to announce Bree and Roland, providing enough of a distraction that I could move away from the densest part of the crowd, Kathe still chuckling at my side.

  “This isn’t funny,” I murmured. “I’m here to help them not be afraid.”

  “That’s perfect. You can help them not be afraid of me. It’ll be like practice for more dangerous Witch Lords.”

  I couldn’t tell if he was serious.

  All around us, ball guests gathered and hesitated, like bees dancing around something they weren’t yet sure was a flower. I was the guest of honor, so everyone wanted to talk to me, but with Kathe at my side, even the bold people of Callamorne had to gather up their courage before approaching us. Kathe’s yellow-ringed stare and sharp grin didn’t help put anyone at ease.

  It was up to me. I tried on a gracious smile and extended my hand to the first noble I recognized. “Lady Maroc! So pleased to see you again!”

  She broke into a tentative smile, and the atmosphere around us relaxed a little. Courtiers took turns stepping up to exchange a few pleasantries; Kathe nodded at them but said little. I did my best to project reassuring confidence, to offset his unsettling presence, approaching people with a warm smile if they hesitated to step up themselves.

  My inner fuming at Kathe’s interference was only stronger for the knowledge that without the need to counteract the nervous fear his presence fostered, I’d never have worked the room this actively or come across so confident. I wondered if he was doing it on purpose.

  Finally, between greetings, Kathe let out a sigh. “This is dreadfully boring. How do you stand it?”

  “It’s my job. Do you not have a royal court in Let?” I asked, curious.

  “Not like this. I have my Heartguard, who are advisers, guards, and companions; and I have my Seconds, who manage various aspects of my domain for me. But they don’t hang about the castle going to parties and gossiping. We’re very informal.” He lifted his eyes to the banner-hung ceiling far above us. “I think my entire castle could almost fit in this room. Not quite, but nearly.”

  “That sounds …” I searched for the right word.

  “Provincial?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “Relaxing,” I said.

  Kathe laughed. “Oh, we find ways to keep busy. My Seconds tell me I need to stop trying to solve every problem in the domain with my own two hands.”

  An
other guest angled his way through the crowd, approaching us; I turned to offer a courteous greeting and found myself face-to-face with Marcello.

  Determination set his jaw in rigid lines as he stood before Kathe at last. Hells, I wasn’t ready for this.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Marcello looked from me to Kathe and back again, and he bowed. “Lady Amalia. Lord Kathe.”

  “Ah,” I said, my voice high and strained. “Kathe, allow me to introduce my good friend, Captain Marcello Verdi.”

  Marcello nodded, meeting Kathe’s eyes unflinchingly. “I wanted to meet the man who’s courting my friend.”

  “I see.” Kathe’s grin broadened. “I suppose you’re wondering what my intentions are toward the Lady Amalia?”

  “Perhaps,” Marcello said. But his eyes flicked to mine, not Kathe’s, a question in them.

  Kathe put a dramatic hand to his chest. “Are you concerned for the lady’s honor? Worried I might take advantage of her?”

  I gouged his ribs with my elbow. He might be a Witch Lord, but there were limits.

  But Marcello only laughed. “Not in the slightest. The Lady Amalia can guard her own honor, and I doubt very much anyone in Vaskandar has the necessary skills to take advantage of a Cornaro.”

  Kathe tipped a respectful nod in my direction. “At least, no more than she takes advantage of me.”

  I wished I shared Marcello’s confidence in my political prowess. But his questioning gaze reassured me that he had no intention of starting a fight; he was checking to make sure I needed no rescue. I gave him a small nod and a flicker of a smile.

  “When two parties take mutual advantage of each other, I believe it’s called an alliance,” I said.

  “Then you see this as a political maneuver, Lord Kathe? It’s only a game?” Marcello’s spine relaxed a little as he asked it, as if this were a relief.

  Kathe shrugged. “If a thing has rules, and players, and is entertaining, that makes it a game. But I might take exception at your use of the word only. Games are often deadly serious.”

  “Suffice to say,” I said firmly, “that Kathe and I both understood the rules when we sat down to the table.” I caught Marcello’s eyes and tried to convey a message: I’m fine. I can handle this.

  Never mind that in truth I wasn’t at all certain I could handle Kathe. But here, in Callamorne, where he was out of place and I was surrounded by allies, I’d manage.

  “And you, Captain?” Kathe turned glittering eyes on Marcello. “Do you consider yourself a player, or a pawn?”

  Marcello snorted. “Lord Kathe, I’m a soldier. I signed up to be a pawn a long time ago. So long as I trust the one making the moves, I’m content.”

  “And do you?”

  Marcello met my eyes. “Absolutely.”

  His faith in me pierced my heart with sweet pain.

  I expected Kathe to respond with some quip, but to my surprise, his face fell into serious lines. “You are fortunate indeed, Lady Amalia, to be gifted with such loyalty.”

  “I know,” I said, wishing I could tell Marcello with a glance how much I meant it.

  Kathe lifted his head, suddenly, like a hound hearing barking in the distance.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked.

  A slight frown creased the space between his brows. “Such a subjective word, wrong. Most people use it to mean something they don’t like.”

  “Well, then, is something wrong by that definition?”

  His gaze met mine, and sharpened, returning abruptly from a distance. He showed his teeth in a grin. “Oh, yes. Most certainly.” He released my arm. “My apologies, but I should look into this. I’ll return soon.”

  Marcello and I stared after his feather-cloaked back as he bowed and departed.

  “I wonder what that was about,” he murmured.

  “I’m not certain whether I’m more concerned that we won’t find out, or that we will.”

  That earned me a wry smile, and it struck me at once that we were alone together. If one could call it alone when we stood among a sea of Callamornish nobles, some of whom had already begun to look hopefully in my direction now that Kathe was gone.

  Marcello noticed them, too; he grimaced. “Is there anywhere more private we can talk for a moment?”

  I needed to talk to those people. But, I realized with a pang, I’d also put off talking to Marcello far too long. I cast around the crowded hall. “Short of hiding behind a banner, I think the best we can do is find a relatively empty corner. We can’t exactly sneak off at a reception in my honor.”

  He sighed. “All right, let’s see what we can find.”

  As we maneuvered through the crowd, nodding and smiling, I asked him, “Where’s Istrella?”

  “With Lienne,” he said, waving toward a bank of narrow windows looking out over the gardens. “She felt the castle wards were below her standards and is designing improvements even now.”

  Lienne. I’d never mentioned to Marcello my suspicions that she might be the traitor; I had no evidence, beyond her dispatching the assassin, which she’d done on his orders. But she and Istrella stood in full view of the hall, Lienne nodding as Istrella gestured and pointed. She seemed safe enough. And I couldn’t run away from this conversation any longer.

  When we reached a corner shielded by a couple of empty tables from the worst of the crowds, Marcello stopped. He regarded my face for a long time, as if committing it to memory, and let out a long sigh.

  “What?” I asked, fighting embarrassment.

  “Your Crow Lord isn’t like Prince Ruven.” Relief colored his voice.

  “I should hope not! I wouldn’t court a murderous lunatic.”

  “I understand that you need to do this.” He ruffled a hand through his hair, as if he could scrub away his own discomfort. “It’s part of your duty, and it’s your choice. I wanted you to know that I respect that, and I’ll wait.”

  A pang struck deep in my chest. I’d almost hoped he would argue with me; that would have been easier. “I don’t know how long this will go on. Or if there’ll be another political courtship after. Some suitors might not mind if I had another lover, but I can’t make that assumption and close off a potential alliance.”

  He nodded. “I’ll wait,” he said again, grimly. “Months or years. You’re worth waiting for, Amalia. But …” His throat jumped in a swallow. “Can you promise me something?” he whispered.

  A knot tangled in my stomach. “There are very few promises I can make in this life, Marcello.”

  He stepped closer, his green eyes catching gleams from the luminary on the wall beside us. “Take however long you need, to do what you must to protect the Serene Empire. But when it’s over—when you’ve danced all your dances and the music is done—promise me we can be together. Promise me there’s a future for us, and I’ll wait for that future, even if it doesn’t come until I’m an old man.”

  For a moment, bittersweet joy flashed in my heart, brief and bright as lightning. I hadn’t lost him by agreeing to court Kathe. He would wait.

  It would be so easy to promise. It was what I wanted: to escape this political courtship and any that followed it unscathed by serious commitment, and finally hold Marcello in my arms without worrying about the political ramifications. To let myself simply love him, rather than carefully picking out any affection that seemed too romantic while trying to keep the warmth of friendship. To kiss him again, without the desperation that came with the approach of death; to confess my worries to him, and to hear his, and to protect each other from the cruel turning of the world.

  But making that promise would be a lie.

  “I can’t,” I breathed.

  He winced, as if I’d struck him.

  “I want to, but I can’t.” I closed my hands into fists, so I wouldn’t reach for him. “My plan is to use courtship as a tool and a weapon while I can—while I must—and then to follow my heart once I can lay that weapon down. But I don’t know what the future holds, Marcello.” I shook
my head. “What if I need to make a political marriage? To annex one of the island kingdoms, perhaps, or to secure the support to make my Falcon reform act into law and save thousands of future children from conscription? Would you really tell me to put what I want ahead of those children’s freedom?”

  “No. Of course not. But …” He took a moment and rubbed his forehead, eyes averted. When he turned his face to me again, shadows seemed to cling to the hollows of it. “Where does that leave me, Amalia? I don’t know what to feel. If you tell me to give up hope, I will. If you tell me to just be your friend, I will, gladly. But this—not knowing whether to hope or not—I don’t know what to do.”

  It struck me like a punch to the gut that I could lose him. He said he would wait, and I had no doubt that he would; but nothing waited forever. The tide changed, the sun set, and love faded. A man could only hold his breath so long before he had to let it go.

  Or even if he waited for years and years, what then? An image came to mind of the Temple of Love in Raverra, all decked out in flowers for a royal wedding, and me standing crowned in roses at the altar. And Marcello, staring from the shadows at the back of the temple with broken green eyes for a moment before he turned his back and walked out the temple doors, throwing his long shadow behind him.

  If I refused to make a choice, if I drew this out for year after year, it could destroy us.

  “You’re right,” I said softly. “I have to decide.” Either I was willing to sacrifice my chance of happiness with Marcello for the Serene Empire, or I wasn’t.

  “Not now,” he said hastily, lifting his hands. “I don’t need an answer right now.”

  “I understand.” I gathered my velvet jacket more tightly around me, feeling the chill of autumn in the drafty stone hall. “I need time, Marcello. But one way or another, I …” I forced the words out, knowing full well what they could mean. “I won’t make you wait forever for an answer.”

  He smiled, relief breaking over his face like a sunrise. As if I hadn’t just uttered a terrible thing, a dream-breaking thing, opening the door to an ending for all that lay between us.