by Hannah West
When I approached him, I gathered his hands in mine. “I don’t need a physician, but I will be needing a midwife.”
“A midwife?” he repeated, joy and confusion at war on his face.
“I didn’t think I was with child, but now I know I am.” The smile I gave him would put the stars to shame, but faking it withered something wholesome inside of me. I mourned it for only an instant.
Myron laughed and swept me up in a kiss. “But shouldn’t we be even more concerned, then, about your condition?”
“This is my condition.”
“But…the black…” He gestured at his own clean collar, grimacing.
“Oh, that,” I said, and laughed it off. “I snuck down to the kitchen before dinner and ate black truffles. A woman with child has strange appetites, they say. While my mother carried Perennia, she desperately craved brined red onions. It’s what brought me to realize.”
The furrows of disbelief and concern lifted away from Myron’s face, leaving a joy so pure that the withered bud inside of me shuddered. He kissed me again, and I forced an enthusiastic response.
Go on, Nexantius said, his seductive growl of a voice licking at my nape. He’s resting in your palm.
“Come,” I said, and interlaced my fingers with Myron’s. I led him to my mirror and positioned him beside me. “Won’t we make a lovely family?” I asked, stroking his arm as I rested my head on his shoulder. “When your new son or daughter looks at you, they will see a man who leads his country with strength and mercy.”
He shook his head in disbelief and turned to me. “I’m to be a father again. And again and again, I hope.”
“I hope so too.” I crinkled my nose in a show of bashfulness. “Please apologize to Father Peramati for me. I can’t bear to face him myself.”
“He will understand.” Myron cupped my chin. “And he will rejoice with us.”
My gaze dropped to the floor. “No, Myron. He will think our child is an abomination. I’m sure of it.”
“Of course he won’t.”
“Why do you let him undermine you?”
“He tells me the truth as he sees it. He’s one of the only people who does.”
“As he sees it?” I echoed. “Why should what he sees matter? You are the king.”
“And good kings do not rule alone, my beauty,” he said, stroking my hair. “Wise men seek the wisdom of others.”
“But is his the wisdom you require?”
Gently, Nexantius coached.
“The faith and the crown are two branches of the same tree,” Myron answered, “reaching for the heavens while bearing nourishing fruit for our people.”
“But your people are disillusioned with the faith,” I reminded him. “Even you are. You perform the motions for Navara’s sake, and the poor girl only cares because she misses her mother. You’ve helped usher in an age of intellectualism and acceptance. Father Peramati is rigidly traditional. You can’t forfeit progress because of dusty old laws and a dusty old man.”
Myron’s brows knit together. “It’s true that the edifices are empty except on holidays. It’s why Father Peramati has invented so many more in recent years. Nevertheless, it would be inappropriate for me to diminish the power of the faith in any way.”
“The queen of Calgoran may be the most powerful elicromancer this world has ever seen. She could conquer beyond Nissera.” The words tasted worse than vomit, all the more vile for their truthfulness. But I held the delicious secret inside me: Valory’s reign would be temporary. Nexantius had a plan, which he would share with me as soon as Myron and Father Peramati were no longer a threat. “We must employ delicate diplomacy with the Realm Alliance to maintain our standing, and that can’t happen while anti-elicromancer Agrimas zealots hold power here.”
I took his hand and pressed it to my belly. “You are a forward-thinking king. Wise, fair, and moderate. You are humbler than most men would be in your position.”
The reluctance in his eyes melted. I hadn’t known how badly he desired a child, how easily this would work.
We will show him what he wants to see.
I turned my husband toward the mirror again, shifting one step behind him. My elicrin stone remained unlit and lifeless against my skin, but I felt the power of the Fallen moving in and around me.
Myron’s reflection changed ever so subtly, the progression as natural as blood rushing to the cheeks in a moment of pleasure.
It showed a man who stood a thumb’s width taller and broader. His mildly thinning black hair thickened, the gray hairs darkening to charcoal. His skin looked young and ruddy, his face more solemn and handsome. I squeezed his upper arms as I peered around him, noting that the mirror made them look firmer and mightier than they felt.
“If your forebears had the power to write these laws,” I whispered. “You have the power to overwrite them.”
I stoked the charred logs of a steady fire and saw the inevitable sparks. Within the king’s eyes, a new hunger and pride glistered bright, the color of steel.
Soon it would consume him.
FOURTEEN
KADRI
HALITHENICA, PERISPOS
WITH every bump in the road, I felt less like a person and more like a sack of potatoes.
Though I preferred jostling on land to swaying at sea, the musty enclosed wagon was hardly a material improvement over the dank ship cabin I’d left behind.
But only a few wooden boards separated me from freedom, rather than an entire sea.
And the ropes binding my hands. And the caravan of mercenaries with curved swords and poisoned knuckle spikes. And Falima.
I’d not seen much of her until we reached land, when my kidnappers had told her to ride in the wagon and keep an eye on me. My anger was nested so deep that I had said nothing when she climbed in with me. I’d only spat in her face.
From what I’d seen, our escorts handled her like a second sack of potatoes. Neither of us had been given a change of clothes. I still wore the emerald skirt and bodice I’d donned for the Realm Alliance meeting, now grimy and stained with rings of sweat, and Falima wore the same dark mustard dress. From the looks of her, I doubted her bathing ritual aboard the ship could have been much more sophisticated than mine, which involved a bucket of seawater and a grimy bar of soap. The chafing rope around my wrists seemed to be the only difference in our treatment.
The wheels hit a rut, and the bruised back of my head bumped the board behind me again.
“I’m sorry things had to happen this way,” Falima said quietly from her seat across the wagon.
I bit down on my chapped lower lip. My outrage had not cooled over the days it took to reach land, but I’d learned to make room for it. There had to be a reason I was alive and mostly unharmed. King Agmur and the Jav Darhu wanted me that way. As long as that remained true, I knew I could escape somehow from whatever they had planned for me. I would fight to see Rynna again, assuming—and I did assume—that she had survived.
But Falima’s hollow half apology stoked that smoldering outrage to a crackling flame.
“You’re sorry?” I demanded. “I don’t think you are. But you will be.”
“I had no choice but to obey my king.”
“No choice,” I repeated. “The defense of a coward.”
I used arajir, one of the most humiliating insults in the Erdemese language. It implied both cowardice and the act of disgracing oneself with shameful deeds.
Falima didn’t take it well. Though she’d never been an emotive person, she did locate the nerve to lean forward and dole out a halfhearted slap that stung a little.
“You can’t hurt me,” I said. “You’ve done your worst already.”
Without replying, she fell back against her seat.
“How long have you been King Agmur’s informant? How long have you known about my elicrin stone?”
“A few months.”
“What does King Agmur want? I refused his invitation, so he decided to drag me to Erdem by force? Wa
rs are started over less.”
“He didn’t intend for us to be treated so badly.”
“You don’t know what he wants, do you?”
She averted her eyes. “At first, he only wanted information from me, anything damaging or compromising I could provide.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “But when he found out Valory Braiosa had given you an elicrin stone, he wanted you in Erdem immediately. He tried asking first, in the letter.”
“Does he not fear the retaliation of elicromancers?”
“Maybe he thinks he can convince you to stay. You know Fabian would let you leave without trouble, if that’s what you wanted.”
I didn’t like that—the way she talked about my marriage like we were still companions. But she was right.
I sighed and peered out the open slat at the undulating hills of Perispos, the fields of sunflowers that taunted me with their cheerful, sun-drenched faces. Halithenica was famous for its rolling landscape and mild weather. I always admired the towering cypress trees, olive groves, and fertile vineyards. I could see the splotch of green that marked the Borivali Forest about five leagues south of the capital. Even the Jav Darhu might have trouble finding me if I could somehow escape into its shadows.
A corner of my heart fantasized about crossing the border into Erdem at the end of this horrible journey, smelling the aromatic spices at the market in Doghan, clapping along to the plucky tunes that, back in Nissera, barely received more appreciation than a copper thesar given out of pity. And I’d be happy to see my brother again. I could have used Valory’s portal to visit him at any time, but I couldn’t bring myself to return to my first home. Perhaps I had always feared that I would want to stay, or that my heart would break leaving again.
More powerful than my sudden homesickness was my need to be home in Nissera, to reclaim the hours of Rynna’s company I had lost.
If she survived, that cruel voice of reason reminded me.
The road took a rising turn. My tiny window peeked out at a hilltop estate nestled near a vast vineyard, striped by orderly rows of grapevines. The wagon slowed to enter the winding drive, guarded by men armed with daggers, who swung open an iron gate to admit us.
Falima looked around, baffled, while a fearful hope fluttered through my belly. A change of surroundings might mean more possibilities of escape. Mercer said Glisette had come to Halithenica to visit Ambrosine. The longer we stayed, the better chance I had of reuniting with her.
“Why are we stopping?” Falima wondered aloud, as though we were friendly strangers sharing a coach by happenstance. “We’re barely outside Halithenica. It will be days before we reach the border of Erdem.” She licked her lips, nervous. “Maybe we’re just resting here for the night.”
That seemed unlikely. Plenty of daylight remained for us to cover more ground, and a curious exchange at the docks earlier had already led me to wonder whether previous arrangements had changed. While Captain Nasso’s crew had transferred me from ship to wagon under cover of predawn darkness, a pair of unarmed men approached the captain and offered him a rolled missive. The desperate bud of hope that the letter might somehow grant me salvation disappeared when Captain Nasso burned the missive in a vagrant’s cooking fire.
Now, as we rolled up the smooth drive, I thought I recognized the two mysterious men amid a cavalcade of servants in rust-colored garb emerging from the estate house, shielding their eyes from the sun. The wagon jerked to a stop, and my heart jolted along with my bruised body; this might be my only chance to flee.
The metal latch scraped, and the wagon door squealed open. I winced against the sunlight. One of the mercenaries yanked me out by my elbow and forced me to stagger along the pebbled drive.
I mentally rehearsed my escape, but my undernourished body protested, the fatigue from sedentary days and nights on a stinking cot. These people were trained killers, and I knew nothing about the company they kept here in Perispos.
Unless I regained my strength soon, I would not escape using speed or force.
I would need wit and caution.
Or powerful friends.
How I would love to see Glisette or Valory annihilate Captain Nasso and leave nothing but scorched earth. Even the Jav Darhu had to know they didn’t stand a chance against experienced elicromancers.
My friends would find me. Maybe Mercer would have a vision, or maybe they could locate me by other means. I’d once heard Glisette describe how to make a magical tracking map with supplies I’d never even heard of. It sounded like a tedious, fickle endeavor that could take weeks due to the necessity of a full moon’s light. But surely they had already started and would be on their way to recover me soon.
Until then, wit and caution it is.
The people awaiting us wore fine clothing and jewelry, even those who appeared to be household staff. Gold and copper embroidery adorned the necks and hems of their uniform tunics and dresses. At the apex of their casual formation stood a broadly built Perispi man with golden olive skin, dark waves, and a coarse, graying beard.
“Where are we?” Falima asked, her sandals scuffing as she hurried to catch up.
“We received a higher bid for the delivery of Kadri Lillis,” the man who handled me replied to her.
My heart sank like an anchor. At least King Agmur had wanted me alive and well. What did this man want?
“A higher bid?” Falima repeated, alarmed. “You mean she’s not going to the king anymore?”
“No,” the man said simply, and that one word on the back of my neck sent shivers down my spine.
“You were supposed to take me to Erdem with you,” Falima said, brown eyes wide with panic as she drew even with us. “I don’t have coin. I don’t have anywhere to go!”
Captain Nasso stalked around the front of the wagon and spoke to her in a menacing, low voice. “You’re making a scene in front of our hosts. We will take you to Erdem as promised, but we will go when our business is finished here. If you don’t like that, you are free to leave.”
The captain smiled as he turned to shake the broad man’s hand.
“The rumors about you are true, then,” the stranger said in non-native Erdemese, a Perispi accent noticeable. He wore a wide grin. “The Red Fangs always deliver…unless one client poaches another’s prey!” He busted into a hearty laugh.
Nasso smirked. “We never claimed to be men of honor.”
“No, you did not,” the master of the estate agreed, still chuckling. His brown eyes found me, looked me up and down. “She’s rather worse for wear. I heard King Agmur asked you to treat her according to her status.”
“Her status is a hostage,” Captain Nasso replied. “She is alive and unharmed.”
The man frowned at this, but his face lightened as he gave me another quick study and decided that my wretchedness was either immaterial or easily curable. He called over his shoulder, “Lucrez! Why don’t you take our guest to bathe and make her presentable for the meal?”
The request rubbed me the wrong way, like an unwanted touch. His use of the word “guest” was cold comfort. If I couldn’t leave freely and flee home to Rynna, my standing had not changed.
In response to his call, a curvaceous woman emerged from the shade of a nearby pergola, carrying a tabby cat and looking bored, as if we were statues in a garden she’d toured a thousand times. The persimmon gown that bared her brown midriff reminded me of home in a way even my custom-made garments in Yorth had not; I could tell she was my compatriot before she responded to the lord’s summons spoken in Erdemese. I wondered if I could make an ally of her.
“Cut the queen’s ropes, please,” the master of the estate said to my escort.
The mercenary who restrained me hesitated.
“By all means!” Captain Nasso said with a dismissive gesture. “Our work is done. Lord Orturio can treat her as he pleases.”
My teeth locked together in anger, but I didn’t want to sacrifice the freedom I’d just been gran
ted.
The man cut the ropes. I resisted the urge to rub the raw skin.
“Speaking of comfort,” Nasso said to Lord Orturio, “they say you are generous with your finest vintages.”
Lord Orturio laughed again. “Follow me and I’ll prove them right.”
As the men turned to enter the estate, Lucrez dropped the cat and motioned me through another entry. The cat flicked its tail and moseyed away.
Wondering what awaited me on the other side of the studded pine doors, I reluctantly followed.
The interior was rustic but elegant, with wood-beam ceilings, religious tapestries, and iron chandeliers. The jovial voice of our host echoed through the halls—I heard something about a wheel of cheese, and my stomach grumbled—but we journeyed away from the noise to a second-floor bedchamber with a stunning vineyard view.
“You will sleep here,” Lucrez said, though for how long she did not specify.
A maid with fair skin, ruddy cheeks, and short red curls curtsied to me before pouring bathwater into a marble tub.
“Why am I here?” I asked Lucrez.
“You’ll have to ask Rasmus,” she replied.
“Who?”
“Rasmus Orturio. The master of the house.”
“Is he your husband?”
“No.”
“He doesn’t fear the king of Erdem’s wrath?”
She gave a harsh laugh. “Rasmus is the richest winemaker in Perispos. He doesn’t fear other rich and powerful men.”
“So am I to be his wife?” I asked, sweeping my gaze over the iron four-poster bed with flowy curtains and a luxurious pile of pillows. “His mistress? A stolen trophy to anger his rivals?”
“As I said, you will have to ask him. Bathe while I fetch my cosmetics.”
Lucrez sashayed out and closed the door behind her. I hurried to peel off my filthy clothes and tried to bathe quickly, though the maid had other ideas in mind, scrubbing me with the cloth so patiently I could have slapped her out of blinding, ravenous hunger. But the warm water soothed me, and by the time she rubbed balm on my tender, broken skin, I pondered delaying any attempt of escape until their hospitality helped me recover my strength. As long as the hospitality remained this benevolent.
