The Defiant Heir

by Melissa Caruso

  “For most potions, only a day or two,” I assured her. “You’ll be fine.”

  Marcello knelt down beside Istrella’s chair and hugged her, his eyes squeezed shut. “I’m so sorry, Istrella. I should have figured out something was wrong.”

  “Nothing’s wrong.” Istrella’s voice was muffled by his shoulder. “But yes, you should have. I could never get your attention.”

  “Since this promotion, I’ve been so busy, and I’ve had so much on my mind …” He held Istrella’s shoulders at arm’s length then, and met her eyes. “But I should never have let that distract me from being a good brother for you. I wish Colonel Vasante had never made me a captain.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Istrella frowned at him. “I can’t count the number of times I’ve gotten involved in a project and forgotten all about you for weeks. That doesn’t make me a bad sister. Does it?”

  Marcello hesitated. “Ah … no.”

  Istrella nodded decisively. “See? Don’t feel bad about being a captain.”

  “Thank you, ’Strella.” He managed a smile for her. I wished I could hug them both and tell them it was all right.

  “Feel bad about being so obtuse.” She poked him in the forehead. “If you were better at picking up on my hints, I’d never have managed to get Amalia paralyzed.”

  “Paralyzed?” Marcello swiveled to look at me, wide-eyed.

  Istrella brightened. “Yes! I’m really proud of the device I made, actually. Do you mind if I show you?”

  Marcello put his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with what I hoped was laughter.

  We saw Istrella settled in the improvised workshop in her room. Marcello lingered in the doorway as I said good night.

  “I’ll have to keep a watch on her,” he said, his voice low and worried. “At least until the potion wears off.”

  “You were wonderful, standing up for her like that,” I said warmly. “She’s lucky to have you for a brother.”

  “Even though I missed all the clues she was trying to give me?” He grimaced. “Looking back, she’s been acting oddly for a while, but …”

  “Istrella always acts oddly, so it’s hard to tell,” I said, finishing for him. “I feel foolish for not having seen it, myself. Especially after the flare locket she made for Zaira malfunctioned and knocked out Bree’s entire escort of soldiers. I’ll bet that was a trap to try to take out Zaira, if she used it the next time an assassin attacked.” I frowned. “I should get on the courier lamps to Durantain and the fortress where she worked on the defenses the other day, to have them check for sabotage. Though hopefully Istrella will be able to tell us herself about anything else she did soon enough.”

  “If you could, that would be wonderful. I shouldn’t leave Istrella alone. And not just because she’s under Ruven’s control.” Marcello ruffled a hand through his hair, as if he could push the worry out of his head.

  “Agreed.” Choosing my words carefully, I added, “I wouldn’t want Lord Caulin to come try to arrest her again.”

  “Thank you for backing me up against him. I know I can always count on you.” He caught my eyes, then, and his were a deep and impossible green I could fall into for days and never hit bottom. “No matter what happens.”

  My breath came up short. We were standing too close. I hadn’t noticed, with all my worries about Istrella; we’d fallen back into old habits from our days in Ardence. But now it was too much, and I took a step back, flushing, my fingers rising up unbidden to fidget with a lock of my hair.

  “Of course,” I said. “No matter what happens, I’ll always be your friend.”

  But I knew, with unbearable certainty, that nothing could be quite the same between us. Not while I courted Kathe, or any other political prospect, and certainly not if I married him. In every interaction with Marcello, we would always be handling this invisible, heavy thing between us, all full of broken edges with which we could unwittingly cut each other.

  “Marcello,” I said. “I need to tell you something important.”

  His throat jumped. But he nodded, slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.

  “Don’t wait for me,” I said.

  His face crumpled in pain as if I’d punched him. He looked away.

  Hells, this was terrible. I’d rather he stabbed me. I’d nearly rather stab him. My eyes burned, but I blinked back the tears; I couldn’t cry, not now, or he wouldn’t believe me.

  “So … Does this mean you’re choosing the Crow Lord?” he asked, his voice harsh.

  I swallowed. “I’m choosing duty.” I tucked my hands into my sleeves to keep from reaching out to him. “I’m becoming who I need to be.”

  He turned back to me, then, and his eyes shone wetly. “But I love who you are.”

  I closed my eyes. “For Graces’ sake, Marcello.”

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  His hand touched my hair, light as the brush of a butterfly’s wing. I almost thought I imagined it.

  And then he closed Istrella’s door between us.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Lady Amalia.”

  There hadn’t been the slightest whisper of sound behind me as I stood on the windswept battlements the next day, brooding over Marcello. But the voice was so familiar, with its tone of respectful confidence smooth as silk and strong as steel, I didn’t jump or startle. I turned to face her, apprehension tightening my gut as to what her mission might be.

  “Hello, Ciardha. What brings you to Callamorne?”

  She stood elegant and ready as always, a vision of grace and lethal poise. She dipped me a bow. “La Contessa originally sent me to ensure that you returned safely from Vaskandar, among other things. She was somewhat nonplussed at your impulsive action in crossing the border.”

  I winced. I’d had that conversation over the courier lamps. “So she’s informed me.”

  “But it would seem you need no assistance in such matters, which leaves the rest of my mission.”

  “The rest of it?”

  “La Contessa sent me updated orders. I am here to help you prepare for the Conclave, Lady.” She produced a terribly official-looking document on thick vellum, scribed with the ornate writing reserved for important writs and bearing a prominent imperial seal. “The Council of Nine and the doge himself have granted you the authority of a Serene Imperial Envoy, to negotiate with the Witch Lords on behalf of the Empire.”

  I stared at the document in disbelief. The words were a jumble of fancy letters to my stunned eyes, but the seal was unmistakable: the rearing winged horse of Raverra, surrounded by nine stars, pressed firmly into a circle of blue wax. “The doge and the Council trust me with this?”

  Ciardha’s mouth quirked. “As to that, with all deference, you are the only Raverran noble attending the Conclave whom they have available to trust. But they are most impressed that you secured an invitation.” She rolled up the writ. “I suggest you gather those whose advice you value, Lady. We have much to discuss.”

  “So. We need to stop Ruven from triggering the volcano, free the captured Falcons, and influence the Conclave against war.”

  I scanned the faces gathered around the table in the briefing room we’d taken over: Ciardha, Marcello, Bree, Zaira, and Istrella, who had fully shaken off the effects of the potion. As soon as she could speak freely, she’d given us the full details of everything she’d done while controlled, quivering with righteous anger at Ruven for using her against her friends. (“Though it’s just as well he made me sabotage those wards in Durantain,” she’d added. “If I hadn’t examined them for flaws, something worse would have gotten in eventually.”)

  This was real. My hands trembled in my lap. The doge and the Council had entrusted me with the future of the Serene Empire. I was going to the Conclave, to face the Witch Lords and help determine the course of history. And all these competent, brilliant people looked to me to lead them.

  I’d been less scared staring down the assassin’s pistol. If my plan wasn’t good enough,
Mount Whitecrown could cover half the Empire in ash, killing thousands and spreading Ruven’s influence like a sickness. If Zaira and I failed to convince enough Witch Lords not to join in the war, the Serene Empire could face an invasion brutal enough to shatter it to pieces. I had my hand on the quill of fate as it wrote the next chapter of Eruvia’s history, and it was up to me not to spill red ink all over the pages.

  I cleared my throat. “The circles we need to disable completely surround Mount Whitecrown,” I said. “The Lady of Eagles is taking care of the ones in Atruin. I estimate there may be two or three at most on our side of the border, where the southernmost skirts of the mountain cross into the Empire, and the rest will be in Kazerath.”

  Marcello frowned over the map and diagram I’d sketched. I couldn’t tell if he was avoiding meeting my eyes, but he looked tired and worn, and my throat ached at the sight of him. “Getting into and out of Kazerath will be dangerous,” he said, all business. “There are a lot of troops in that area.”

  “I don’t think you need to get every single one,” Istrella said thoughtfully. “So long as you modify more than half the circles to slowly release the pressure rather than building it up, it’ll drop below the danger point over time. Of course, if anyone triggered an eruption before the pressure decreased enough, then boom!” She made exploding noises and hand gestures, with great enthusiasm.

  “I can take a group to handle the circles on the west side,” Marcello offered. It did not escape my notice that this would put him as close as possible to Ruven’s castle, where Zaira and I would be attending the Conclave. “We’ll just need someone reliable to handle the east.”

  “Did I hear someone say ‘reliable’?” my cousin Roland asked, striding in the door.

  “Roland!” Bree leaped to her feet, wincing at the sudden weight on her ankle. She had access to the best alchemical bone-mending potions in Eruvia, but healing still took time. “What are you doing here?”

  “I took some sage advice and asked the queen for permission to come here, to see if you needed any help.” He settled down at the table, giving me a warm, grateful glance. I returned an encouraging smile.

  “And she said yes?” Bree’s tone conveyed disbelief.

  Roland folded his hands and rubbed his thumbs together. “Well, she didn’t say no. Though I’m strictly forbidden to take one step closer to the Kazerath or Sevaeth borders. But I do want to help.” Frustration tightened his voice. “I couldn’t stand it if someday, when my grandchildren ask me what I did in the war, I have to tell them I stayed home safe and sound in Durantain while everyone else fought to save their country.”

  “You can take an artificer to disable the circles on the east side of Mount Whitecrown, then, along the Atruin border,” I said. “That shouldn’t put you in any more danger than riding here from Durantain.”

  “Excellent.” Roland’s eyes lit with excitement. “I’ll be glad to finally be doing something.”

  “Looks like I’m the one stuck at home this time,” Bree grumbled. “Grandmother’s ordered me back to Durantain, so I don’t get tempted to try to fight on this ankle before the bone finishes mending.”

  “It’s almost as if she knows you,” Roland said dryly.

  Marcello turned to me, meeting my eyes at last, his demeanor stiffly courteous. “Will you need guards to protect you at the Conclave, as well?”

  I hesitated. “I don’t think I can bring anyone besides Zaira.”

  Marcello made a strangled noise. So much for his professional face.

  “I know, I know.” I spread my hands. “But I’m going there as the Crow Lord’s guest, under his protection. And if anything attacks us there that Zaira and Kathe can’t deal with, a few guards or a hundred won’t make any difference.”

  “They’d only hold me back.” Zaira tipped her chair, hands behind her head. “I’m much more effective if I’m not surrounded by people I’d rather not set on fire.”

  “La Contessa has spoken to Colonel Vasante on the matter,” Ciardha said smoothly. “The colonel is sending Jerith Antelles and his Falconer to stand by at Highpass in case you face any difficulties in getting out of Vaskandar.”

  A strange mix of relief and dread settled over me. “So she deems this a two-warlock situation.” There were only a scant handful among all the Falcons.

  “La Contessa has complete faith that you will handle the situation diplomatically, Lady, and that no such fail-safe will prove necessary,” Ciardha said. “But La Contessa also believes in preparing for contingencies.”

  Istrella brightened. “I can make you some artifice devices, as well, to defend yourself in case of an emergency.” She rubbed her hands. “If I had more time, I could arm you like a small battalion, but I’m sure I can come up with something fun in the time we have.”

  I attempted not to show my alarm at the notion of carrying something Istrella considered “fun” into a delicate diplomatic situation in enemy territory. “Ah, well …”

  “It’s the least I can do, after I tried to poison you.” Istrella strained at the edge of her chair. “Please, let me make it up to you. I insist!”

  “All right, then,” I agreed weakly.

  “What about Terika and the other Falcons?” Marcello leaned his elbows on the table, concern coloring his voice.

  “We’ll get them out,” Zaira said firmly. “We’ll be right there in the castle for the Conclave.”

  “Exactly. You’ll be at the Conclave.” Marcello made a face, as if the words tasted bitter in his mouth, but he knew better than to argue. “You won’t be able to run off in the middle of it. Who will get all those Falcons safely back to the Empire? They’re artificers and alchemists, without any devices or potions. They’ll have no way to defend themselves.”

  Bree jabbed a finger at the map. “You can meet them halfway. Take a small but well-armed force across the border on that smuggler’s footpath Zaira found near the castle. Amalia and Zaira can sneak them out to meet you and hand them off. You’d just need a way to signal each other when the time was right.”

  “I can make something like that!” Istrella offered. “I make courier lamps all the time. It’d be a fun challenge.”

  “Taking even a small, stealthy force across the border would be incredibly dangerous,” I said dubiously.

  “The Witch Lords will be busy with the Conclave,” Roland said. “It’s certainly risky, but at least there’ll be a distraction.”

  Ciardha lifted a hand to silence us, listening. I didn’t hear anything, but a moment later, a knock came at the door. She glanced to me for confirmation, then answered it.

  It was Lord Caulin.

  He gave Ciardha a wary nod, bowed to my cousins and me, and ignored the Falcons altogether, earning him a scowl from Zaira. “So sorry to interrupt, Your Highnesses, Lady Amalia.”

  I forced a smile, which was better than Marcello managed. “What is it, Lord Caulin?”

  “Only that I must return to Raverra and would like a quick word with you before I depart, my lady.”

  “Of course.” I sighed. “Everyone, please excuse me. Lord Caulin, shall we go for a walk?”

  Lord Caulin and I strolled through the fortress corridor as if we were old friends, but tension pulled my spine straight and stiff. Whatever he had to say to me, I was certain I wouldn’t like it.

  “Lady Amalia,” he began after a while, his voice soft and courteous, “the arrest of the Falconer was only my secondary business here.”

  That was an ominous start. “I am most curious as to your primary business, then, Lord Caulin.”

  “The doge asked me to speak to you regarding the most unfortunate matter of the captured Falcons.”

  A series of narrow windows looking into the courtyard plunged his face into shadow, then light, then shadow again as we walked.

  “We’re making plans to rescue them,” I said.

  “Good, good. And if you need any assistance at all, don’t hesitate to request it. The doge considers their retrieval of th
e highest priority; the Falcons are the pillar of the Serene Empire’s power.” He paused, licking his lips. “Of course, just as crucial is the widespread understanding that Falcons belong to the Empire alone.”

  Here it comes. “I’m glad His Serenity takes the matter seriously,” I said.

  “Very seriously.” The corridor ended in a stairwell; Lord Caulin stopped and regarded me closely, his dark eyes assessing. “Do you think you could bring someone to the Conclave with you? As a servant, perhaps?”

  “No,” I said firmly. “That would jeopardize my chances of negotiating alliances at the Conclave, if they let me in at all. It’s a rare honor that they’ve invited me; I’m not going to flout their rules in their faces.”

  “No, no, of course not.” Lord Caulin stroked his chin. “It will have to be you, then.”

  “What will have to be me?”

  He dropped his voice so low I could barely hear him. “Lady Amalia, we all devoutly hope and pray to the Graces that you’ll be able to bring those Falcons back to the Empire. But if you can’t, His Serenity wishes to grant them at least the mercy of death.”

  I stared at him. “You want me to kill them.”

  “Only if your attempts to bring them home fail. We would far rather have them safe and sound back at the Mews, of course.”

  Anger churned in my stomach, growing like a foaming wave rushing in to shore. “What if they would rather be captives than dead?”

  “We may not have another chance to retrieve them. It’s so difficult to get people into Vaskandar, and it’s even harder with war in the offing.” He smoothed the lace at his cuffs. “We can’t let them languish there, giving the whole world the impression that anyone can steal a Falcon and get away with it. And they’re being compelled to create devastating weapons against the Serene Empire. This must be resolved quickly, for the safety of the Falcons and the Empire alike. You are the only one who will have a chance to do so. One way or another.”