The Defiant Heir

by Melissa Caruso

  “Now,” I said, settling into a chair and attempting to gather the attention of the assembled Falcons, “we want to rescue all of you. But before we go any further, I have some questions.”

  “We don’t need rescuing,” Namira said with a weary shrug.

  “Yes, we’re so very happy here,” the young man sighed.

  “I know. But first tell me, out of curiosity, is there anyone to whom you might feel obliged to report this conversation, under any circumstances?”

  Namira shook her head. The young man said dryly, “Well, if you suggest treason against the Serene Empire, I might feel obliged to report it to Colonel Vasante.”

  “Well said, ah …”

  “Lamonte Clare. I’m an artificer.”

  The older woman with a white braid coiled on her head offered me a nod. “And I’m Parona da Valisia. An alchemist, as you’ve seen.”

  “And I think you know me,” Namira said. Then her voice took on extra intensity. “I would absolutely love to talk to you about a project we’ve been working on lately, if I ever get the chance.”

  “Is it a project of, ah, explosive proportions?” I asked.

  “Why, yes.” She sat back, satisfied. “So it is.”

  “I would love to speak about that, as well. And it’s my hope that soon, we may be able to.” I worried at a loose thread on my jacket sleeve, thinking. “Do you have any orders to eat or drink specific things, or at specific times?”

  Parona straightened, eyes shining. “No. Only that we must eat and drink, and not starve ourselves.”

  “Perfect. Then if you don’t mind, Zaira and I will bring you food and water, which we hope you’ll take advantage of over the next few days.”

  “That sounds lovely,” Parona said eagerly. “Not that Lord Ruven isn’t an excellent host, of course. But I could use a change of fare.”

  “Then hopefully we can talk more freely in a couple of days, when the potion has worn off.”

  “What potion?” Namira said, her voice flat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Right. That potion.” I glanced at Zaira; she and Terika were blowing sneaky kisses at each other over the heads of the Falcons separating them. I suppressed a smile. “We’re here for the Conclave, and we’ll be looking for an opportune moment when everyone is distracted to sneak you out. In the unlikely event anyone changes their mind and decides they’d like to leave after all, of course.”

  Lamonte chuckled weakly. “I’m sure no one will take you up on that, but I suppose it’s good to know one has options.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell us now?” I asked.

  The Falcons exchanged glances. “Do you know how we came to be here?” Namira asked.

  “More or less. Ruven’s people faked your deaths, mostly.” An unpleasant thought occurred to me. “Ah, do you all know what happened to your Falconers?”

  Terika’s face sobered, as she no doubt recalled Lienne. Parona said grimly, “I think we can guess.”

  “I didn’t have one,” said the youngest of them, the boy of about twelve who had run to grab the pillow, ducking his head shyly.

  “Oh?” I looked into his eyes; they bore an indigo mage mark, hard to make out in the dim light. “Are you not from the Serene Empire, then?”

  He glanced nervously at Namira, but she put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You can tell her, Selas.”

  “I’m from Ardence,” the boy admitted. “My sister and I were in a small orphanage there. The old man who ran it couldn’t see colors, so he didn’t know I was mage-marked. But then a few years ago a man showed up and claimed to have an indenture contract for me, and took me away to here.”

  Zaira stiffened and swiveled to face him. “An indenture contract! Was his name Orthys, by any chance?”

  Selas hesitated, then nodded. “I think so.”

  “That stingroach,” Zaira growled. “I almost wish he were alive just so I could kill him again.”

  “So Orthys sold you to Ruven?” I prompted.

  Selas nodded. “Lord Ruven said I could have anything I wanted and be treated like a prince, so long as I did artifice for him. But I didn’t have any training, so I couldn’t do much.” He winced and made a shrugging motion with one shoulder. I glimpsed the mark of finger-shaped burns through the neck of his shirt and felt a slow rage welling up in my chest. “Then I tried to run away, to get back to my sister, and he kept me locked up after that. Until about two months ago, when he started giving me the …” the boy stopped.

  “Yes?” I prompted.

  He glanced at Terika, and his face lit up in a smile. “He gave me the lotion.” He mimed drinking. “So now I love it here. I don’t want to leave. I don’t miss my sister at all.” He grimaced and shook his head.

  Orthys had a history of selling mages to Vaskandar. There weren’t nearly enough people here to account for all of them, though I didn’t think he’d gotten many who were actually mage-marked. I frowned. “Were there any others like you? Mages who Orthys brought here?”

  Selas hesitated. “Well, there’s a boy who was here before me, but he really does like it here. Ruven spoils him, like he used to do me before I tried to run away. He’s the one who makes the … the lotion.”

  I frowned. “So he works for Ruven willingly?”

  “We all do,” Namira said, with a forced smile. “But this boy especially. If you see him around the castle, don’t trust him, despite his years. He’s the reason we’re all here.”

  “There were a few others, too,” Selas said, his voice going so quiet I could hardly hear him. His shoulders hunched up around his ears. “He didn’t have the lotion recipe back then, so they didn’t have to …” His words hitched, and he tried another tack. “They all eventually displeased him. I … I made sure not to displease him, so I’m still here.”

  “Grace of Mercy,” I breathed. “I’m sorry. We’ll get you out of here as soon as we can.”

  Namira gave the boy a quick, fierce hug. “None of us are going anywhere, of course, because we want to stay with Lord Ruven,” she murmured. “But thank you. We appreciate the sentiment greatly nonetheless.”

  Zaira flexed her fingers. “I keep thinking I couldn’t possibly want to punch him with a fistful of balefire more than I already do. But he keeps proving me wrong.”

  “I’m not in the habit of letting anger dictate my actions,” I said. “But nonetheless, I pray the Graces give you the chance.”

  There was no dancing at the Arrival reception. There were drinks, thank the Graces, and a rather paltry selection of things to nibble. Witch Lords and their guests prowled the throne room, coming together for brief conversations before moving on, restless predators circling one another. Human servants moved through the hall, refreshing drinks and carrying messages, but no chimeras slinked around the edges. I hadn’t seen any since we’d arrived. It occurred to me that Zaira might have killed most of the chimeras in Kazerath when she unleashed her balefire on the Wolf Lord.

  I’d decided that if someone had a gown of actual spiders, one could wear whatever one pleased to the Conclave. Thus, I’d settled on a richly embroidered coat and breeches in sapphire velvet over a silver brocade bodice, with modest but beautifully crafted lace at my throat and wrists. It was one of three potential outfits I’d packed for formal occasions at the Conclave, and the most comfortable—and also the most Raverran, with winged horses worked into the coat collar as well as plenty of Raverran blue on display. If my presence could remind some of the Witch Lords that there was another major power in Eruvia besides Vaskandar, so much the better.

  I was used to Zaira dropping me like a soiled handkerchief the moment we entered a party; usually she made herself the center of attention at once, laughing and flirting. But this time it was Kathe who circulated among the gathered Witch Lords and their guests, a sharp-edged smile on his face, while Zaira hovered by my side. She looked bold as ever in a gown layered with all the shades of fire, from red to gold, but I knew her wel
l enough to spot the extra stiffness in her back and wariness in her eyes.

  She handed me a glass of wine a servant had passed her. “Check this, will you?”

  My ring stayed cool and dark. I passed it back. “No alchemy. It could still be poisoned, but honestly, Ruven has a great deal at stake here, hosting a Conclave as a brand-new Witch Lord. I doubt he’d risk disaster by murdering a protected guest.”

  Zaira raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t stop him from ordering Terika after me.”

  “That’s different. We can’t admit he did that, because it would reveal we were snooping around and tip our hand that we’re in contact with the captured Falcons. And he could blame it on Terika if we did. It was a clever trap.”

  Zaira glared across the room at where Ruven chatted with the Lady of Laurels, gesturing with long, elegant fingers. “I don’t like this. I hate being in a place I’m not confident I could burn my way out of.”

  I slipped my hand into my pocket and held Marcello’s button for reassurance. “Well, we can’t just stand here. We have to go talk to them. We need a sense of who’s backing the war, who’s against it, and who hasn’t picked a side.”

  At that moment, Kathe sauntered up to us, arms linked with the redheaded Witch Lord. The latter fixed eyes the color of sunlight through leaves on us, ringed by a jet-black mage mark; I had the unsettling sense he was assessing me on levels I couldn’t perceive, seeing things no human could. His close-fitting sleeveless coat was cut like a country woodsman’s but consisted of hundreds of delicate and beautiful shapes of beasts and birds, all crafted from different shades of leather and stitched carefully together. I could have stared at it for hours if that wouldn’t have been painfully awkward. I had to force my eyes back up to his, and found him smirking at me.

  “Lady Amalia, Lady Zaira,” Kathe greeted us cheerfully. “May I introduce my friend, the Fox Lord of Kar.”

  We exchanged bows and curtsies all around. I reviewed the map in my head; Kar lay to the north of the Lady of Bears’ domain. If she was bent on invasion, as seemed likely given her involvement in the Three Years’ War, an alliance with Kar would be useful indeed.

  “I’m delighted to meet any friend of Kathe’s,” I told the Fox Lord. “How long have you known him?”

  The Fox Lord laughed. “My lady, nobody knows Kathe. When he was born, his own mother asked, ‘Who are you?’”

  Zaira flicked a glance to me. “See, I say if you don’t know someone, you can’t trust them.”

  Kathe cocked his head. “You don’t strike me as a woman who trusts anyone, Lady Zaira. Which is wise; trust is for fools.”

  The Fox Lord slung an arm over Kathe’s shoulder, showing pointed teeth. “Precisely. Trust your enemies, if you have enough of a hold over them. But never trust your friends.” He smoothly snatched a beer glass from a passing servant and clinked it off Zaira’s, then took a long swallow.

  “And who are your enemies, then?” I asked, smiling in what I hoped was a charming fashion. “Not the Serene Empire, I hope?”

  “Why make an enemy of the moon, or the sea?” The Fox Lord shrugged. “My domain shares no borders with the Empire. I have little opinion on it. It’s the bear at my door that concerns me.”

  “Do you fear its appetite?” I asked.

  “I don’t fear anything human. And while we may not seem like it, most of us do still qualify.” He winked. “But it’s no secret where the bear will turn next if she can’t bite off a piece of your Empire. So forgive me if I hope for her to succeed. A hungry bear on one’s doorstep is unsettling to anyone.”

  “Ah, but what if you had a friend to help protect you from the bear?” I suggested.

  “We’ve already established that you can’t trust friends.” The Fox Lord’s eyes gleamed. “People who distract bears so their friends can get away usually wind up mauled, I believe.”

  A man in a shining robe of many iridescent colors turned from another conversation to approach us. His slicked-back hair fell in a long braid nearly to the floor, lending further harshness to a face of jutting angles and pale gray eyes. A black snake circled his collarbones like a living torque, its tongue flickering inquisitively toward me. Even though I didn’t mind snakes, I had to suppress a shiver; something about the man set me instinctively on edge.

  “Crow Lord, I need you to settle a bet,” he said to Kathe, in a voice both soft and penetrating.

  Kathe spread his hands. “I am the most neutral of arbiters.”

  The newcomer’s lips thinned in amusement. “Perhaps not in this case. The bet is about you.”

  “Oh?” Kathe’s brows lifted. “I fear I can’t tell you my secrets just to settle your bet, though I admit I’m curious what aspect of my life the Serpent Lord might find worthy of a wager.”

  “No secrets, I should think.” The Serpent Lord’s pale eyes flicked between Kathe and me. “The Lady of Thorns claims you’re not truly courting this Raverran. She says it’s a stunt to insult her.”

  Kathe shook his head. “I’m wounded that she would think me so petty.”

  “And I am offended that anyone could believe I would stoop to be used in such a ploy,” I said.

  The Serpent Lord turned his flat gaze to me. “So you are truly courting the Crow Lord?”

  I knew of this one. He was one of the Witch Lords who had invaded Loreice during the Three Years’ War. This was no matter of idle curiosity; he was testing the strength of the Empire’s connection with Let, to see whether he and his allies truly needed to worry about a threat at their backs if they went to war.

  I stepped closer to Kathe, taking his hand. “Of course!”

  “I believe my good neighbor in Sevaeth is merely jealous,” Kathe said. “After all, everyone knows her own courtship of the Lady Amalia’s grandfather failed.”

  That was news to me. I’d realized they were allies but hadn’t known the Lady of Thorns had wanted more from the relationship. That must have given extra sting to the reversal when my grandfather had abandoned their alliance to marry the queen of Callamorne.

  “That only lends credence to the idea that your courtship is a mere show,” the Serpent Lord pointed out. “Why would the Lady Amalia Lochaver Cornaro, of three royal bloodlines, court you when her arguably less auspicious ancestor rebuffed a Witch Lord of greater power?”

  “I can think of several reasons,” Zaira said, looking Kathe up and down appraisingly.

  Kathe clicked his tongue. “If the Lady of Thorns cannot see what I have to offer, I suggest she give it deeper thought.”

  There was another layer to his words, slow and carefully chosen. Damn him, how many games was he playing?

  The Serpent Lord shook his head. “How am I to know this is a true alliance you parade before us, and not some shallow scheme? You don’t act like you’re courting.”

  Kathe caught my eyes; his vibrant yellow mage mark encircled bright gleams of mischief. He angled toward me, lifting a questioning brow. “Well, my lady? How seriously are we courting?”

  Hells. My pulse quickened with a mix of nerves and anticipation. I had to remove any doubts the Serpent Lord might possess. If he thought this was some whimsical gesture on Kathe’s part, without any substance to it, all his allies against the Empire might ignore Let at their backs and bring their full force to bear on the border after all. Thousands of lives might depend on what I did now.

  I’d been wondering what it might be like to kiss him. It seemed I was about to find out.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  I gripped Kathe’s arm as if to keep him from escaping; lightning coursed under my fingers. My heart buzzing like a hummingbird’s wings, I leaned in and brushed his lips with mine.

  His mouth responded, nimble and pliant, with startling expertise. The energy that I always felt in him seemed to jolt through me, down from my lips all through my body. I redoubled my own efforts, with sudden urgency; for a flickering instant, I tasted his tongue.

  He ended the kiss before I did, his lips curving against
mine in a smile.

  I realized I’d closed my eyes.

  I pulled back slowly, to give my head time to stop swimming, and gave the Serpent Lord a challenging stare. I didn’t dare look at Zaira; I’d blush from head to toe if I did.

  “Well?” I demanded. “Is that proof enough for you?”

  The Serpent Lord gave us a curt bow. “My apologies. I will let the Lady of Thorns know she has lost her bet.”

  He withdrew. I could feel a flush creeping inexorably up my neck. My lips still tingled.

  The Fox Lord put his hands behind his head, grinning. “Well! I see Raverra is willing to commit to its alliances after all, Lady Amalia. Good to know.”

  “We take care of our friends,” I said, striving to recover my dignity.

  “Extravagant care.” Zaira gave him a saucy wink. “Exquisite care. Like you’ve never been cared for before.”

  My face burned. “Zaira, please.”

  But the Fox Lord only grinned wider. “And here I thought Raverrans had no sense of humor. I like you, warlock.” He tapped his chin, adopting a musing expression. “I was skeptical about your offers of friendship. But perhaps I might consider a different relationship with the Empire.”

  “Then you’re in luck,” Zaira said. “The Empire is a right strumpet and will court anyone.”

  The Grace of Mercy wasn’t hearing prayers that day, because no crack opened in the ground beneath my feet to swallow me up.

  The Fox Lord laughed. “Perhaps if you can convince me Raverra won’t toy with me and discard me like a duchess’s sixth husband, I might find a way to embrace the idea of some form of cooperation.”