Seasons of Sorcery

by Jeffe Kennedy

  “Don’t you dare try to turn this back on me,” she warned, quiet fury in her tone, her fingers sliding down to curl around the hilt of her sword. She stood just outside my reach, were I to draw my own broadsword on her—a distance she knew precisely from all the times we’d sparred.

  “Will you draw on me?” I asked softly. I didn’t think she would. We’d come a long way with each other, and she’d promised never pull a weapon on me again. Not a physical one, anyway, or rather, not with lethal intent. But my Essla was a woman of strong passions and not always predictable. I could best her with my strength where she outmatched me in speed.

  I, however, could never harm her. Not physically. In her righteous anger, she might have no such scruples with me.

  “I’m tempted,” she replied.

  “Then do it,” I dared her. Better to fight it out and get it done.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Then she sagged, releasing her blade and lifting her hands to her face. “It would be easier. I’m aware that’s one of the ways you manage me.”

  Reflexively, I stepped toward her, to comfort her, to—

  “Don’t.” Her hard voice cut me short. She dropped her hands and gazed at me. “To answer your question, two reasons why today. The first…” Her voice shook as it never did, and she firmed her jaw. “I think I couldn’t stand it anymore. I promised you a long time ago that I wouldn’t walk away again without letting you explain, but I waited every day for you to tell me about this—even pieces of it—and day after day you pretended it wasn’t there, carving a hole between us. Yes, it would be easier to call you out, to match blades and see who takes first blood, but that would be redundant. First blood is yours. This cut me, Harlan. Cut me to the quick and I’m still bleeding.”

  “Essla, I’m sorry,” I said, fully realizing the weakness of those words, how ineffective to express anything at all.

  “I’m sure you are.” She smiled slightly, but it didn’t touch the sorrow in her eyes. “And I wish that could be enough for me. Maybe it’s a flaw in my character, but it isn’t enough. There aren’t that many people in my life I can believe will always tell me the truth—now more than ever. You were one of those people.”

  The past tense hit me like a knife to the kidneys, and I groped for breath to reply.

  “You have a choice, I think,” she continued. “The second reason is that starting two weeks ago I received a series of messages from Dasnaria, relaying information supposedly leaked from the Imperial Palace.”

  I grappled with that equally astonishing news—as well as the fact that she’d kept it from me. “How do you know that’s where it’s from?” I asked.

  “I don’t have a way of verifying, do I?” She snapped. “The information is coded to make me think it comes from someone in your family. ‘From inside the fist,’ it said.”

  The stunning blows kept coming. That would indeed imply from a Konyngrr—the silver fist being our family emblem—as Ursula knew, but few others would.

  “If it’s legitimate, I think the messages come from one or both of your sisters.”

  “My sisters?” I echoed, pondering the absolute implausibility of that.

  “Aspects of the messages are decidedly feminine. What are the odds it’s them—or perhaps another female associate of yours?” she pressed. “What can you tell me without violating your vows?”

  “I…” I didn’t know what to say. Mostly I wanted to fight back, to growl at her not to interrogate me like one of her subjects—especially that jab about some unknown female associate—even as I knew I deserved every bit of it. “It’s not easy to untangle those threads, what I can and can’t reveal. That’s why I never mentioned any of my sisters, because it was easier to put everything about them behind the same door.”

  She nodded slightly, unsurprised. “I think you have to consider that your loyalties are divided. We face a war with your family and—”

  “There is no question that my loyalty lies with you,” I interrupted her furiously.

  She held up a hand, icily calm. Quite the reversal for us. “I’ve given this a lot of thought,” she reminded me. “You need to do the same. You’ve withheld information from me that’s arguably critical to this impending war. I know you want to believe that the Elskastholrr you swore to me makes everything clear cut, but you have other vows, too, ones you made before that to keep your sisters secret. Which vows take precedence, Harlan?”

  Flummoxed, I had no reply. I didn’t need one, evidently, because she nodded again, smiling sadly. “There is no easy way out of this,” she repeated. “If you have to leave in order to reconcile your conflicting interests, I’ll understand.”

  Leave? The thought of leaving her shredded my heart. “How can you even think I would?” I asked, my voice coming out ragged. “Or could?”

  “We always knew our love affair might be short-lived,” she replied, softly, with deep sorrow. “That our differences might end at exactly this sort of conflict. I told you from the beginning that I belonged to the High Throne first, and because of that I’m a warrior for my kingdom, and only incidentally a woman.”

  “And I told you that’s only because you don’t put the woman first,” I said with more bitterness than I’d intended.

  “You’re absolutely right.” She inclined her chin, acknowledging the problem, but not apologizing. “I don’t put the woman first. I can’t, and I never will. I don’t want you to leave. You’ll tear my heart out and take it with you if you go. But I belonged to the High Throne from the day of my birth, and I can’t let you stay if you’re a threat to it.”

  Chapter Four

  Shattered, I watched her stride away. The guards came to attention, saluting as she passed, the warm breeze catching the long coattail skirts of the black velvet gown, making them snap like the tower pennants, the silver of the leggings flashing in the cuts, black boots making crisp sounds now that she wasn’t being stealthy. She looked long, lean, and as dangerous as her sword.

  How cleanly she’d cut out my heart, taking it with her and leaving me hollow.

  Every muscle and nerve in my body urged me to run after her. To say what, though? In her usual fashion, Ursula had sliced to the bones of the problem. I’d never thought of my loyalties as divided, but they were. With another woman, that wouldn’t matter. The way we felt about each other would outweigh everything else. Another woman wouldn’t allow a matter of principle to override her heart.

  But then, I hadn’t fallen in love with another woman.

  It had only ever been Ursula for me, and always would be—despite those past vows.

  Pledging the Elskastholrr to her had been an easy decision. I’d been a simpler person then. A mercenary captain, disinherited from my past. The secrets I’d carried hadn’t been so heavy, and it had been easy—that word again—to let them lie buried. Easy at that time to forget I’d ever been anyone else.

  In its purest form, the Elskastholrr exists only in the heart and mind of the one who vows it. Ursula, heir to the throne of a tyrant, beloved of her people and obvious choice as their savior, had been a fine recipient for my vow. After witnessing the abuse of power in far too many forms and places, I had no desire to be king, but I would happily serve as kingmaker. In that crystal moment of decision, I saw a scenario where I’d serve out my vows and Ursula would never know about the Elskastholrr.

  Deceptively simple.

  I had told her, eventually, because she’d asked—and because I’d been unable to resist the temptation to have her. Nothing had remained simple for me after that. And, now, like the undead creatures animated by Deyrr’s cursed magic, the events of the past trudged relentlessly forward to convene with the present.

  There is no easy way out of this. Ursula had the right of it. Even if I could mark the boundaries of the vows in my mind, tell her everything but the essentials I’d sworn in blood and flesh never to reveal, the secrets I kept would still lie festering between us.

  When I pledged the Elskastholrr t
o Ursula, I hadn’t given those other, older vows I’d taken to protect Jenna a second thought. I’d had no expectation that Ursula would become my lover, that she’d return my love. A mercenary in love with a princess—nothing should have come of it.

  Kral had himself a good laugh about it when he found out. Though with his practical, ambitious nature, he’d always thought the Elskastholrr a hopelessly romantic and self-destructive tradition anyway. He’d never see his way to being so selfless that he’d pledge himself to a woman for the rest of his life, whether she returned his regard or not. Though Jepp may have changed that. She wouldn’t want eternal devotion so much, but she would demand commitment—at knife point, if necessary.

  Being honest with myself, I’d have to admit that I’d embraced the hopeless, even punitive aspects of pledging myself to an impossible love. Though I’d pursued Ursula, I hadn’t hoped for more than a night or two in her bed to sustain me. We always knew our love affair might be short-lived. I huffed out a laugh, a despairing edge to it that made a nearby guard look at me sharply.

  I hadn’t known that she hadn’t had any real lovers before—or that in enticing her to unfurl her tightly closed heart, I’d become the sole caretaker of her intimate self.

  Ursula would say this is why I shouldn’t have vowed myself to her without even having a conversation first. She’d have a fair point, too, except that I suspected we could’ve conversed for years and I wouldn’t have learned what I needed to know.

  I knew I could spend the rest of my life with her and not be able to predict where her canny mind would go next.

  Knowing her as I did now, however, how things had fallen out between us was all too predictable. I’d breached her walls and found my way to the heart of her as no one else had. Ursula didn’t trust or love easily, but when she did, she committed herself entirely, with unflagging loyalty and determination.

  Her own version of the Elskastholrr, in a way.

  I had no doubt that if I did leave, she’d never give her heart again. She might eventually agree to a marriage, perhaps even take another man to her bed to produce an heir of her own body for the High Throne and the realm she loved above all else. But she was the kind to give her heart only once. Another way that she and I were the same.

  From the beginning I’d been cognizant that if we succeeded in putting her on the High Throne, she’d one day make a marriage of state and not to me, a foreign mercenary. I would handle that eventuality when it happened—though the thought of another man making love to my Essla filled me with protective fury.

  How could another man understand her particular fragility? Especially since she hid it so well under that tough skin and slicing wit. She’d be so easy to injure. If she succeeded in sending me away, and she married another, I wouldn’t even be there to help her through that painful transition.

  No matter what, I needed to make sure I stayed. I’d have to do what I could to bridge this chasm I’d created.

  The great irony was that the vows I’d taken no longer served any real purpose. I couldn’t reveal where Jenna had gone, because I didn’t know. I’d once had guesses. We’d planned to flee together to Halabahna, to see the elephants, but I’d looked for her there and never found a trace of her.

  Elephants. Had Jenna ever found them? For a long time I’d thought if I looked where elephants are, I’d eventually find her, but no.

  I had to face that she’d probably died long ago. Or been captured, enslaved. An extraordinarily beautiful young woman with no ability to defend herself… It was a mark of my foolish idealism that I could even entertain anything but the worst fears for her fate. I’d likely never know what happened to her—and that I’d kept these heavy, destructive secrets all this time for no reason at all.

  An alarmed shout went up from the lookout.

  I spun, drawing my broadsword as I did, gratified that my sweeping glance verified all the guards in sight did likewise, brandishing whatever weapons they used best. The shout came from the highest tower, from a young woman I knew to be one of Jepp’s protégées, a scout for the Hawks. She waved a flag in a complicated series of dips and twirls—one of their cryptic codes I had yet to learn—and I scanned for the nearest Hawk commander. Brant. With a gesture I summoned him and he came at a run.

  “Report,” I ordered.

  He turned to watch the flag. “Unidentified movement. Request to be alert. Shadows in motion.”

  Shadows in motion. “Nothing more?”

  Brant shook his head, eyes still on the lookout. “Message is repeating. I’ll go see if I can find out more from Dary.”

  I grunted acknowledgement, scanning the shadows in question. The bright summer morning left few enough of them, but corners of the courtyard remained filled with deep shade cast by the high walls. I saw nothing unusual—certainly nothing to swing my sword at—but Ursula’s Hawks weren’t given to flights of fancy or false alarms.

  With the enemy we faced, formless and born of darkest magics, anything odd could be an attack. Far better to err on the side of caution. Ursula was right that Annfwn was the apparent focus of Deyrr’s enmity, but Ordnung remained the capital of the Thirteen Kingdoms. Deyrr wanted the heart of magic, but Emperor Hestar would want the High Throne. Because the two had joined forces, anything could happen.

  Still, I felt more and more like a fool, seeing nothing strange or alarming, pointing my sword at shadows. We all did, bristling with weapons and anxiety, while the merry sounds of trade and a fine summer morning rang out from the road and township.

  A metaphor for my current situation if ever there was one.

  “Captain.” Brant returned from conferring with Dary. “Recommend we stand down from high alert but increase eyes on the situation. Dary saw something she can’t explain—like smoke or fog in the shadows—but it hasn’t recurred. She asked me to relay her apologies for a false alarm, which I will, though I don’t think they’re necessary. She’s as sharp-eyed as they come and solid with it.”

  “No,” I replied, sheathing my broadsword and rubbing a hand over the back of my neck where the hair prickled with chill foreboding, even as the sun made my skin slick with sweat. “No apologies for a report made in earnest. Call on whoever you need to help watch. Dogs, too.”

  “Dary suggested some of the hunting falcons, as they’re good with picking out small movements in bright daylight.”

  “Do it.” He saluted and I returned it, then went to report the incident to the woman currently considering kicking me out of her bed—and her life.

  When I reached the throne room, Ursula had already convened court and sat on the High Throne. The setup had changed since the early days when I first arrived with my Vervaldr, hired by Ursula’s father to shore up what I quickly understood to be his mad and crumbling grip on power. In those days he’d sat on an iron throne flanked by four others, all empty.

  One had been vacant for twelve years, once belonging to Salena, the dead sorceress queen, and the other three to her daughters, all away from Ordnung for various reasons. I’d thought I’d grown open-minded since leaving Dasnaria, but I’d been astonished to learn Uorsin’s heir was his eldest daughter, an unmarried woman.

  When she returned home, striding down the center aisle of court, covered in road dust, eyes steely with resolve, and proceeded to engage in a battle of wits with her father… well, I’d understood. And fallen hard.

  Unlike Ursula that day, I didn’t approach the High Throne down the center aisle, but took the long way around the assembled courtiers, keeping to the shadows in my own way, I supposed. It bothered Ursula far more than it did me that I had no official place in her court. As the youngest of seven legitimate sons born to my father, I’d been a prince in the Imperial Palace, sure, but one largely ignored in favor of those with a far greater chance of becoming emperor. When I’d been a boy that had rankled.

  Discovering the kind of lives my sisters led had given me sorely needed perspective on just how fortunate I’d been.

  When I reach
ed my usual post at the side and foot of Ursula’s throne, she gave me a narrow glance from the side of her flinty eyes. “I didn’t expect you here,” she murmured.

  “It’s where I belong,” I replied simply, repeating a truth I’d had to drum into her thick skull. Folding my arms, I settled into the relaxed stance I could maintain for hours—and often did when court dragged on for a ridiculously long time. So determined not to repeat her father’s mistakes, Ursula rarely cut off the petitions when any rational person would. Another consequence of her being away from Ordnung for so long—the business of the kingdoms, major and ridiculously minor, had piled up. The King of Carienne, Groningen, had handled a great deal of it as regent in her absence, but many people held onto their petitions, awaiting the return of the High Queen, certain they merited her personal attention.

  In my opinion, very few of their urgent requests truly rose to that level. But that was another difference between my homeland and this realm. In Dasnaria, His Imperial Majesty the Emperor would never trouble himself with such trivia. He relied on his nobility to govern, which inevitably led to corruption and abuse of power.

  Surely there had to be a middle ground between the two extremes.

  Ursula delivered her decision on the current question. While Shua—the cleric who’d taken on Dafne’s role—shuffled documents and prepared to call the next petitioner, Ursula flicked another glance at me. “What’s wrong?” she wanted to know.

  When I gave her a placid, questioning look, she made an impatient sound and gestured me to approach. “I know the difference between you being pissed at me and there being something of concern. Tell me what happened.”

  Chapter Five

  Thus officially summoned, I stepped up the dais to her throne. When she’d removed the vacant thrones, she’d replaced the imposing and unyielding one of her father’s with a wooden one that gave a nod to the other half of her heritage. A gift from the Tala, it had been created from wood and magic. Not carved, but grown into its shape, the mahogany hardwood flowed without seam or nail, a bloodred nearly black, into the form of spread hawk’s wings. The arms and feet of the great chair echoed talons and the winged back provided a striking frame for the High Queen’s imposing presence.