by Trudie Skies
“Talin seems awfully keen on the idea.”
“What father wouldn’t give their daughter the world? You can’t blame him for trying. But you need to put your foot down, girl, and make it clear what the world means to you.”
Tira nodded.
Mina held her mother’s stare. “What do you think my mother would say, if she were here?”
Iman rubbed her chin. “To take your own path. It’s what she wanted for you. She wouldn’t care if you chose to find a suitable husband, so long as that husband was worthy of you. Nor would she be disappointed if you didn’t follow in her footsteps. There are expectations of noble girls, but she always wanted you to choose your own path, whatever that may be.”
Tira smiled and nodded.
“Though,” Iman continued, “I doubt she’d find a Solaran prince to her tastes.”
At that, Tira grinned.
“I could help the Fire Walkers,” Mina said.
“We’ll find ways to help them. If you want to marry a man, find one who is worthy of you.”
“A prince isn’t worthy enough?”
“Only you can answer that.”
“And what about you? Are there no men worthy of you?”
Iman took a sip from her cup. “There’s no man in the whole of Sandair worthy of me, girl.”
“Isn’t that convenient.”
Iman barked a laugh and returned to her scroll.
Mina hated the implication that marriage was the only way she could be useful. Malik certainly wouldn’t be forced into marriage just to gain power. She rested her head against a cushion and stared at her mother, always present in the flames. Watching the lantern oil fade to darkness had become her bedtime routine, both here and inside the Temple of Rahn. If Iman found her habit odd or childish, she hadn’t mentioned it. It comforted her to know her mother watched over her, that she was close by and willing to listen to whatever fears Mina whispered.
Tira pulled a silly face. Mina stuck out her tongue, and Tira laughed in soundless joy.
The next few days passed quietly. Talin remained by the King’s side and locked in Council meetings. The Fire Walkers remained locked inside their temple as Salasar rampaged across Solus and rounded up the stragglers. The declaration rang loud—any who refused to return to the temple would be in defiance of the King’s law. Most willingly entered, though some were ousted by family members or neighbors. Some put up a fight, but none were killed. All submitted once the Sword of Solus turned up and flashed his sword. Mina had accompanied him on a few of these excursions to ensure no blood would be spilled. Salasar could bark loud, but she knew he didn’t truly mean harm to the Fire Walkers.
The Fire Walkers weren’t happy, and each one forced to pass the temple threshold weighed on her heart.
She didn’t want to marry Prince Rais.
Gods, she couldn’t stomach the thought of being his sorran, let alone his wife and queen.
But if marrying him gave her a seat on the Council and the power to influence the law and create a future where Fire Walkers weren’t blamed for every injustice, wasn’t it worth the sacrifice? Wasn’t this what it meant to be a Houseman? She’d willingly risked everything to stop Prince Ravel gaining the throne, and that was arguably more personal than marriage.
But if she’d lost her House, been stripped of her sword, and been condemned to the Temple of Rahn for the rest of her days, she’d still be Mina.
Who would she be as queen? As someone’s wife?
She distracted herself from such thoughts the only way she knew how—sword training. Raj had returned to the Temple of Gai to help with the influx of wounded from the riots, leaving Alistar. He often managed to slip away from his House and was in need of distraction as much as she was. It felt wrong—improper, even—that the two of them were forced to sneak into the Keep’s gardens and find a quiet clearing just to train together. Neither of them mentioned Princess Aniya or Prince Rais.
Hiding in the gardens served another purpose. She had no intention of speaking with Prince Rais yet, though she knew he stalked the Keep, perhaps in search of her. He’d come awfully close to finding her training spot once. Alistar had said nothing when she’d shushed him into silence, like a master ordering her sorran. If he knew what she was doing, then he played along for similar reasons. Though she wondered if he felt as awkward as she did—sneaking around like young lovers cheating on their betrothed.
She couldn’t avoid Prince Rais forever.
The Keep carried on as normal, as though the riots, the dead Hartnord king, and the Fire Walkers were passing gossip. More Housemen filled the dining hall than normal, however, as their lords remained in the Keep for the Council meetings. Most nights, it made it easier for her to sneak in and out of the hall without the notice of the crown prince or his family. But on this night, the only spare seats were near the front, close to the dais where the Bright Solara sat.
Raj had saved seats for her and Alistar, and waved them over with an apologetic shrug. “It was the only table left,” he said, as she sat awkwardly.
She was readying an excuse to leave when an amber eye caught her gaze. Prince Rais was staring right at her, chewing his lower lip. To his left, Prince Ravel leaned in close, whispering dark portents into his younger brother’s ear. He too stared at her, a sardonic smile stretching across his face. They were talking about her.
She stood. “I have to find my aunt. She needed my help with something.”
Alistar said nothing and returned to his wine. Both her friends looked glum, for their own reasons, no doubt—the stress of the riots likely played on Raj’s mind, whereas Alistar had the same marital woes as she.
Mina made her way to the edge of the dining hall. She’d almost reached the exit when a voice called after.
“Lady Arlbond, a moment.”
She considered running ahead, but that would only offend Prince Rais further, and then she’d have to admit she was avoiding him. She turned around into a bow. “My Prince.”
Prince Rais seemed to have grown a few inches since she last saw him up close. His long hair was tied back, the same fashion as Prince Ravel, and his facial hair had developed into a small, cropped beard, though not long enough to braid or adorn. He wore fine red silks with silver embroidery in the shapes of Lune and her stars—a subtle nod to her. The silks hugged the muscles across his chest and upper arms, and the crimson sahn across his shoulder was pulled taut. A sword hung at his hip and his hand displayed the bloodstone ring of his bloodline.
Her stomach fluttered at his smile. Gods. Solaran boys grew into men quick.
“I was hoping to catch you after my helbond ceremony. It’s unfortunate that events transpired as they did.”
She linked her hands behind her back. “Most unfortunate, my Prince. You look well.”
“Will you walk with me a moment?” He held out his hand.
She hesitated but took it. It was warm and soft. Only Prince Wulfhart had dared act so forward with her, and she didn’t know what to do with her other hand.
Prince Rais guided her to a private alcove overlooking the gardens. Thick red curtains hid them from most of the dining hall, though she could still see the royals. Prince Ravel leaned on a fist, his amber eyes watching her.
She turned her back and admired the garden in the golden Rahnlight.
“You haven’t returned to the palace,” Prince Rais said, his hand still clasped around hers. “There are rooms available.”
“My aunt needs my company. It wouldn’t be fair to leave her alone, my Prince.”
“She could join you. I’m sure we can find her a room.”
“That—that would be most generous, my Prince.” Something tugged through the blood bond and she spared a glance to the dais. Talin sat speaking with the King and Queen, and Prince Ravel was fingering his bloodstone ring, lost in thought. An oddly human gesture coming from him, but nothing concerning. What was her blood reacting to?
Prince Rais squeezed her hand. “Your dress was beautiful.”
“My dress?”
“At my ceremony. Why don’t you wear it again? My sister says girls can’t be seen wearing the same thing twice, which is nonsense. Men always wear the same old leather.” His Solander cheeks reddened and he bloomed with a shy smile reminiscent of Raj. “But my sister knows more about these things than I do. I could introduce you, if you’d like.”
“I’d like that, my Prince.” A subtle lie—she had no intention of cozying up and playing princess. Prince Rais was making his move, so she needed to make her own. “Dresses don’t always match with swords.”
“Well, you don’t need your sword. The palace is safe.”
“I need it to train.”
“What are you training for?”
“It’s good exercise, my Prince.”
“There are safer ways to exercise. The gardens are ample for walks, and the palace has a cistern large enough to swim. I could take you.”
“I prefer my sword.”
“Do you train with your sorran?”
His single amber eye turned hard. She couldn’t lie—she’d lied enough and he’d catch it. “He’s my sorran, my Prince. We train together.”
His grip tightened around her hand. “Privately?”
“Yes, my—”
“What does your training entail?”
“The same as when we were back in the Academy, my Prince.”
“You’re no longer in the Academy. The Code of Honor doesn’t allow women to have sorrans.”
She’d read the Code of Honor, all one thousand and one pages of it. It said nothing about women’s rights where sorrans were concerned. Well, it didn’t mention women at all, which she understood to mean there were no rules. “That’s not true, my Prince—”
“Are you close to your sorran? You must be. That’s how the bond works. Even grown men have been known to bed their sorran. Your father beds his.”
She yanked her hand from his grip. “Who told you that? Your brother? Ali is my friend.”
“Why are your friends men? The Neu Bosan and the Gaislander.”
She sucked in a breath. How had this conversation burned to nothing so quickly? “You’re welcome to train and eat with us if you can climb down from your throne, my Prince.”
Prince Rais gawked. Now she’d gone and offended another potential king, but she couldn’t let that insult to her character or her father stand. Who was he to control her life when she hadn’t even agreed to become his wife?
He paced to the window, drawing a deep breath of air. He glanced over his shoulder; his sullen expression sagged into embarrassment. “Forgive me. You wound my feelings, Lady Arlbond, when you hide from me. Is it my face? Are you afraid of a man that looks like… like this?” He stroked a trembling hand under his scarred cheek.
Oh gods. Prince Rais thought she’d been avoiding him because of his scars? She took his hand and placed her own over his cheek. “No, my Prince, I’d never think that.”
“Then why? I thought, perhaps, you preferred your sorran, given the bond—”
“The bond doesn’t work, my Prince.”
“Doesn’t work?”
“For a Neu Bosan.”
He took her hand and lowered it. “You lied?”
Her cheeks flushed. She didn’t want to admit the lie laid with Alistar. “To protect myself from your brother, my Prince.”
“You don’t have to lie anymore, Tamina.” He pulled an item from his sahn. His fist uncurled to reveal a large unblemished ruby the size of his palm and attached to a golden chain. Its shimmering surface reflected his amber eye. “I want you to have this.”
Was this… a proposal? “My Prince, it’s beautiful, but I couldn’t—”
“It will show the people you have my support.”
She forced a smile as he placed the ruby around her neck, but words wouldn’t come. She kept her tongue leashed, lest she say, I don’t want to marry you. I don’t want to be your queen. I’d sooner set myself on fire.
Since when did wearing dresses allow delicate princes to be so forward with her? She was a warrior, not someone’s wife. Gods forbid. She’d find a way to help the Fire Walkers without throwing away anyone’s freedom, hers or theirs. But first, she needed to find the right words to escape Prince Rais without insulting his honor or wounding his ego.
Delicate princes indeed. Let some other fool marry into the Bright Solara.
Concern nudged through the House bond, but it wasn’t about her—Talin was worried about something, and his anxiety rippled through her gut.
Prince Rais rubbed his stomach and grimaced. “Mother?”
Mina shoved the ruby necklace down her shirt and pushed past the Prince into the main dining hall. Mutters and stares were all aimed at the front. The Queen squirmed in her seat, her trembling hand clutched tightly around the King’s arm as sweat ran down her brow. Talin kneeled beside them, his expression neutral, as though engaging in some pleasant conversation. But the whining screech through the bond said otherwise.
“Could it be her baby?” Prince Rais said with awe. “I felt something stir in the bond. Father warned I might experience her labor.”
No. Something was wrong.
Gareth snatched the Queen’s discarded wine glass. He sniffed its contents and his eyes snapped to the Queen.
A cry escaped her lips. She rocked back and forth, clutching her stomach.
“Send for a Green Hand, now!” Talin yelled.
The dining hall erupted into a flurry of activity. Housemen and their families stood as guards shuffled between them, pushing them away from the Bright Solara. Raj fought through them as the nearest Green Hand in the hall. Mina ran after him, accompanied by Prince Rais. Salasar was there, barking orders and clearing space for the Green Hands. Thank the gods for the brute—he had the dining hall emptied in a heartbeat.
The Queen shrieked.
Green Hands surrounded the Queen and attempted to carry her from the hall. Darkness seeped through her dress and ran down her legs, staining the floor red. She sagged in their arms, her skin as pale as the Hartnord who stood beside her. The Queen’s goblet shook in Gareth’s grip.
Prince Ravel sniffed his own cup and tossed it. Alistar took the Princess’s arm and led her away from the commotion.
The King shoved Raj aside. “She’s bleeding too much. She’s losing blood.”
Talin wrestled the King back. “Let them work, my King—”
“She needs blood, Rahn curse you!”
The Queen didn’t stir. Her limbs slackened.
Prince Rais leaned into Mina’s side and whimpered. “Mama? She’s… Gods, it’s gone. I can’t feel her essence. I can’t feel it! It’s gone!”
The lit braziers of the hall flickered out, as though the heat and light of Bloodstone Keep had been stolen.
Fire erupted from the King’s chest, knocking back Talin.
The roar of the King’s flames was not enough to silence his howl of grief. A sharp pain seared behind Mina’s left breast. The King’s flames suddenly disappeared in a whoof of hot air, and his body fell limp to the ground.
12
POISON
Mina ran for her father. Talin kneeled on the ground, hand clutching his chest. He still lived, thank the gods.
“The King—he needs a Green Hand,” Talin croaked. Whatever pain the King felt, his sorrans suffered in equal measure. And if a sorran’s master died…
Salasar shouted for the Green Hands, who quickly but gently lowered the Queen to the ground—there was nothing they could do for her now—and ran to their king.
“I warned you!” Prince Ravel yelled. “I warned you this would happen!”
Salasar stomped to Talin’s side. “Gods, is he—”
“Still breathing,” Talin gasped. His face had turned ashen, and pain still burned in Mina’s chest—an echo from what Talin felt as the King’s sorran.
“No! Talin!” Mina reached out for her father.
He shook his head and a little color returned to his cheeks. “Go.”
“I’ll watch over him,” said a gruff voice. The King’s other sorran, Gareth. His face showed no pain, and no fear either—only the same calm, cold expression as always. She’d often wondered if the King’s attempt to make a sorran out of a Hartnord had been as ineffective as her own attempt with a Neu Bosan, but she’d never dared ask. Watching him now, it was clear Gareth didn’t feel the same ripples of pain, the tightening in his chest, and the breathlessness that Talin did.
And he wouldn’t die if the King didn’t recover.
Iman dragged Mina away from the dining hall, through the Keep, and back to their shared room. Mina sank onto the lounger as Iman poured wine. She sniffed the cup and sighed, placing it back on the dresser.
Mina wiped tears from her eyes. She could lose Talin. She could lose another father, and she’d had barely any chance to spend time with him. “Iman?”
Iman sat and put her arm around Mina, pulling her tight. “I’ve got you, girl. I’ve got you.”
“What do we do?”
“We wait. It’s all we can do.”
The Queen had been poisoned, but why? Revenge? And by whom? By the Fire Walkers for their return to imprisonment or by the Hartnords for the assassination of their own king? Whatever peace they’d tried to build was gone now, burned to ash. They’d march to war—there was no stopping it now. But against whom? Their pale-skinned neighbors to the far-off north or their own brethren right here in Solus?
And who would lead the march?
If the King didn’t recover, neither Prince Ravel nor Prince Rais were ready to take his place. Prince Rais was too green—untested and unknown. Prince Ravel had allies in the Council, but the people of Sandair hated him for his crimes.
