by Morgan Rice
Sebastian wandered the halls of the palace, because even just walking was better than standing there being fussed over. He went down to the galleries that showed the kings and queens of the past, seeking out the family portraits, the pictures of strong-looking men standing beside beautiful women, trying to imagine himself and Angelica standing like that while someone painted them. Perhaps Laurette van Klet would agree to it.
“Prince Sebastian,” a servant called. Sebastian turned, seeing a young man hurrying toward him. “Prince Sebastian, I’ve been sent to find you.”
“Let me guess,” Sebastian said, “I’m supposed to come back so that they can make the perfect wedding mask for me, or make sure that my outfit has no wrinkles?” On another day, he might have complained about the sheer performance of it all. Today was Angelica’s day, though, and he wasn’t going to ruin that for her. He was going to be the best husband he could be. “I’ll be along right away.”
“It’s not the wedding,” the young man said. “There… there’s a bird for you.”
“A bird for me?” Sebastian said. That was a rarity. Messages came and went, of course, because a palace like this one was automatically a hub for communications of all kinds. There were messengers carrying sealed packets and those who had simply memorized what had to be said. There were letters sent with anyone going in the right direction. There were even bird messages for the palace, or for his mother. A bird meant specifically for Sebastian was a rarity, though.
“It had your name marked on the message, sealed against tampering,” the servant said. “The bird was sent from Ishjemme.”
“Ishjemme?” Sebastian asked. He couldn’t believe it. That was where the ship carrying Sophia had been heading before… before she died. Just the thought of that made his throat catch. “You’re sure?”
“I know it sounds strange,” the young man said. “But I checked in the ledger we keep of birds so that we don’t send them to the wrong places. This one was definitely from Ishjemme.”
Sebastian didn’t know what it might be, whether it would be Kate writing to berate him or threaten him for what she saw as his role in her sister’s death, or the captain of the ship writing to tell him what had become of Sophia. Maybe Kate had even found herself needing to use his name if she’d found herself in trouble there. At a minimum, Sebastian owed it to her to help if he could.
“Show me this message,” he said.
The servant nodded, and then set off through the palace. Sebastian hurried after him, hoping he wouldn’t be seen as he did it. Even though there was nothing wrong in anything he was doing, he suspected that Angelica or his mother wouldn’t be happy to hear about it. Even Rupert would find a way to make trouble if he learned about Sebastian receiving secret messages.
Sebastian made his way through the palace to the high atrium that housed the aviary. There were birds from around the world there, ready to fly at a moment’s notice, even if it was more reliable to put a message into someone’s hands. There were brightly colored birds from the Near Colonies, along with doves and crows, ravens and more. A cage housing a single dove sat on a rough wooden table, a message set out before it while its occupant rested.
“Is that the one?” Sebastian asked, and when the servant nodded, he snatched up the message, breaking the seal in a rush. When he read what was written there, he all but staggered back from the table.
Sebastian, I love you. I am alive, and in Ishjemme. I am carrying our child. Please, if you love me at all, come to me. Sophia.
There were so few words there, yet they felt as though they broke something open inside of Sebastian. For several seconds, he could only stand there, staring down at the message, unable to comprehend it.
“Your highness, are you all right?” the servant asked.
Sebastian didn’t answer, just hurried from the room, seeking a way out of there and into safety. He all but ran past servants who called to him, wanting to know if they could help. He ignored them, making his way up onto the palace’s roof, leaning against the balustrade at its edge and trying to remember how to breathe properly.
“She’s alive,” Sebastian said, because maybe hearing it would make it more real. “Sophia is alive!”
He heard the last word turn into a sob and felt the hot sting of tears as they fell. Right then, he couldn’t tell if they were tears of happiness or guilt or sadness or relief. Sebastian could feel his emotions tangled up in a knot inside him, the threads twisting and turning so that they made no sense.
Sophia was alive, which meant that he’d abandoned her without checking thoroughly enough, and that he’d wasted his best chance to be with her. Sophia was alive, which meant that all the grief that had threatened to consume him was for nothing.
More than that, Sophia was pregnant.
The first part of it had been so huge that it had all but obscured the second. Now, though, the thought of it filled Sebastian. Sophia was pregnant, with his child. She was alive in a foreign land, and was about to become a mother. The joy of it tangled with fear for her and how things might go for her traveling alone there, even with her sister to protect her. Sebastian wanted to run to her in that moment, to be with her. He wanted to wrap his arms around her as he should have a long time ago and promise never to let her go.
“Your highness?” Moore the valet was up there on the roof now, his expression featuring the harassed look of a man who had been looking everywhere without success. “The servants said that I would find you up here. It’s more commonly the bride who gets wedding jitters.”
Sebastian wanted to tell the other man to leave him alone. He wanted to shout the truth about Sophia to the heavens, yet he didn’t, because the awful reality of it hit him then. Sophia was alive, and at the same time, he was promised to another. He’d pledged himself to Angelica, and in just a little while…
“I’m sorry, your highness,” Moore said, “but you really do need to come back inside. From the look of your outfit, you’ll have to change, and there isn’t much time before the procession around the city. It’s almost time for the wedding.”
Almost time for the wedding. To Sebastian, it sounded like a death sentence.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Prince Rupert looked around the small meeting room in the Assembly of Nobles, trying not to show any of the contempt he felt at having to persuade people rather than simply order them, maintaining the smiles and the joviality that seemed to convince so many people to do the things he wanted.
He’d learned that lesson long ago—that people were stupid, and didn’t look beyond the surface of things. That if you looked good, and you smiled, and you pretended to some interest in their pitiful lives, then they would not just obey, but hurry to do it as if they were doing you some great service.
“Are we all assembled?” he asked, checking who was there and who was not. Lord Birly, Sir Quentin Mires, and Earl Stutely were all there, along with a collection of lesser men. Sir Henry Carramire was absent, Rupert noted, in spite of his invitation.
The man would have to die for that, of course. There was no question about that. It wasn’t just to ensure that no one talked about what he was proposing. There was also the matter of ensuring that there would be no chance of men disobeying him again. Rupert would teach the world its place, even if it seemed to have done its best to forget it.
“Your highness,” Admiral Meers said. “What is this about?”
He sounded almost impatient. Not the tone to take with his prince. Then again, Rupert had heard that the man had lost almost half his ships to the enemy by now. Perhaps he had good reasons to feel a little out of sorts.
“It is about the war, Admiral,” Rupert said. “What else would it be about?”
Rupert had instructed a servant to bring a map of the island and spread it out for them. He gestured the way he imagined a commander might. Usually, he left that side of things to others.
“You have all heard the reports. The New Army is continuing its advance, filling our southea
stern peninsula and taking the towns there. The cowards are surrendering to them now, rather than risk fighting them.”
“Because those who fight are slaughtered,” General Sir Launceston Graves said.
“At least they die without giving in to our enemies,” Rupert said, banging his fist down on the table. “They reduce the numbers of our foes, rather than going over to their side. They fight for their rulers, as subjects should!”
His tutors had made him read the histories and the plays of the past. Rupert had found most of it boring, but he had liked the moments when great men had given speeches. He had liked the idea that, with nothing more than a few words, someone of the right blood could manipulate others into fighting and dying for him.
“The situation is grave indeed,” Lord Birly said. “Yet what can we do? The army’s plans have been set. We are to wait in Ashton, building defenses, drawing the enemy to us.”
“A different brand of cowardice,” Rupert said. “And one I’m sure you brave men have no wish to engage in.”
He looked around them one by one. Any man who argued now would be branding himself a coward in the eyes of those around him. Rupert was quite proud of that, and he left it another few seconds just to sink in properly. He understood how to get obedience.
“What if I told you that I had a better plan?” Rupert said. “What if I told you that with enough boldness, we could stop this invasion, destroy our foes, and secure the glory of victory?”
“I’m sure that we would be eager to hear such a plan, your highness,” Earl Stutely said, in the kind of diplomatic tone that made Rupert want to do something drastic just to see if anything would make him be impolitic. Perhaps he could seduce the man’s wife, or find a reason to seize one of his estates.
Rupert looked around at them. Now was the moment; the kind of moment that great men seized and lesser men allowed to slip by. Rupert had always been good at seizing moments, whether it was with women, or on the hunt, or in killing those who opposed him. He had the kind of decisiveness that other men lacked, the ruthlessness to do what was needed in the moment that it was needed.
“Earlier,” he said, “instructions were sent from the palace to the commanders of the Free Companies employed in the war. They have been moved forward, away from Ashton, and to points forming a cordon around the peninsula. On the morrow, they will receive orders sending them forward.”
He left that a moment for the shock to set in. He even enjoyed that moment. There was nothing quite like the look on someone’s face when they realized that they’d underestimated what he was willing to do.
He wasn’t done though.
“Your troops, gentlemen, will replace them. You will form a ring of steel around the peninsula, and you will make it into a ring of fire. While the paid men move in like a sword thrust, you will be the crushing vise and burning brand, moving in behind them and leaving nothing in your wake.”
“Nothing, your highness?” Lord Birly asked. Rupert had long wondered about the squeamishness of others. They balked at doing things that seemed so obvious to him, so natural.
“You will burn crops, fields, and villages,” he said. “You will leave nothing for the enemy to make use of. You will set fires whenever the wind will drive them deeper into the peninsula, cleansing it the way a surgeon might cauterize a wound. You will kill anyone who is not carrying our fighting colors.”
“Anyone, your highness?” Admiral Meers said. “The common folk—”
“The common folk will have either been killed already or have betrayed us by surrendering,” Rupert said. “If we kill those who try to run, it will persuade the others to rise up and fight for their homes, as they should have done in the first place!”
He waited to see if anyone would argue with that. They didn’t, because Rupert had chosen the men at this meeting carefully. He’d picked men from the factions who saw themselves as natural superiors to the common folk, and who wanted to preserve things the way they’d always been. Such men might manage a kind of paternal benevolence toward the poor, but when it came to it, they recognized that there would always been more peasants.
“What about the Free Companies?” Admiral Meers insisted.
“They will be moving forward to engage the enemy. If you meet them, urge them forward. If they refuse, or you catch them running, they are to be treated as deserters.”
It was a move that would both push them into a desperate assault and ensure that the power of the Free Companies was reduced afterward. A clever man could make use of what was left of them, absorbing them into the royal army, building it up.
Rupert could see the men around the room looking at one another, hear the whispers as they started to consider it. Sometimes all it took was for men to see the possibilities in an idea.
“It could work,” Admiral Meers said.
“It’s a bold stroke,” Earl Stutely said.
Rupert could see them coming around to it, as the weak always did in the face of the strong. They were weak, in spite of their elevated ranks. They saw themselves as grand men, but they were as foothills before a mountain. They would do this. Still, he had to anticipate objections. He had anticipated them, his answers already tucked away like knives sharpened for use.
Lord Birly asked the first question. “What will the Assembly of Nobles say to this?”
“I think they will say thank you,” Rupert replied. “I think they will realize that they were about to have an army descend on these meeting chambers, and that they have been saved from it. I think that, by the time they hear about this, it will already be in motion.”
“And they will not object to that?” Sir Quentin Mires asked. He’d been quiet until now, but his brother was a member of the Assembly. “They will not feel that the crown has overstepped the bounds of the settlement with it?”
Rupert longed for the days of the distant past, when a ruler could simply ignore such objections. When a man who spoke against its decisions was a traitor or a seditionist, fit only for the gallows. Now a man, even one in line for the throne, could do nothing without the support of the nobles.
“The Assembly has voted to give the crown its support in the war,” Rupert said. “It cannot hope to oversee every detail of its execution, or our enemies will be on us before the first meeting is concluded. I’m sure that you see that, Sir Quentin.”
He saw the nobleman nod.
“All of that is true, your highness. Even so…”
Rupert forced a smile. “I’m trusting you and your brother to help us deal with the ‘even so’s,’” he said. “Or has your faction in the Assembly come to doubt me?”
“Certainly not, your highness,” Sir Quentin said. “We are loyal servants of the crown, even if others forget their role.”
He undoubtedly meant it. He and his kind had a kind of loyalty bred into them, the way hunting hounds might have. It wasn’t something Rupert had ever felt, but he could understand it well enough to make use of it.
“Speaking of the crown,” Earl Stutely said. “What will your mother say to this, your highness? I was under the impression that she favored the more… defensive approach your brother advocated.”
Rupert could have struck him for that, but he didn’t. He knew enough not to strike a man when there was a chance of it harming his own efforts.
“There are those,” Sir Quentin agreed, “who might see this whole meeting as suspicious. Powerful men meeting behind closed doors, to subvert the stated will of the Dowager? We all have enemies who would be happy to see us disgraced for this, even beheaded.”
Rupert smiled, because he’d been expecting that worry as well.
“I’m perfectly aware of the potential consequences,” he said, “but I will deal with any problems. I can handle my brother, and my mother.”
“How, exactly?” Earl Stutely asked.
Rupert shook his head. “Just leave it to me,” he insisted. “I am your queen’s eldest son. I am the man who has a way to deal with this war. I am the one you
should be listening to. If we do this, we will be the men who saved this country. We will be the men who defeated the New Army. But I’m told that a prince cannot simply give orders. This is a place of votes, so we’ll have a show of hands. Who is with me?”
Rupert looked around, watching them raise their hands one by one. He wanted to see if there was anyone else who had to die. He wanted to see who was loyal. Under the weight of his gaze, they all lifted their hands, all declared their part in it.
“Very well,” he said. “It’s decided.”
And now that it was decided, everything else could start to fall into place.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
When she saw the first of the stone circles, Cora knew that they were getting closer to Stonehome. She could feel her excitement building at the prospect, and she could only guess at how happy Emeline must feel in that moment.
“We’re almost there,” Emeline said. “Stonehome can’t be far now.”
The stones stuck up to about the height of her waist, worn almost to nothing by the wind and the rain. Even so, Cora found herself wondering who might have done a thing like that, and why. Beyond them, a moor spread out in a wash of brown and green, peat and moss that stretched most of the way to the horizon. More stone circles stood here and there, along with outcrops of rock that seemed almost like islands sticking up from it.
There was a town closer to them, butting up against the edge of the moor the way a port have with the sea. Cora guessed that it was Strand. She couldn’t see the one thing she wanted to.
“Shouldn’t we be able to see Stonehome?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Emeline admitted. She looked worried. “I’d hoped that we would just know or something, once we got here. Hold on.”
Her face creased in concentration for a moment, and Cora guessed that she was using her gift. Since there was no one there to talk to, Cora suspected that Emeline was doing the mental equivalent of shouting “hello” at the top of her voice.
