Ferdinand had heard his mother’s speculations more than once—but … “But if Taillefer lives—and gains the crown by forcing Amarande into marriage as Renard tried to—Domingu has no claim over Pyrenee, married to Inés or not.”
“Domingu will find another way—by blood or conquest. And once he claims Pyrenee, Ardenia will be next.” Geneva’s eyes flashed to Ferdinand. “Our first priority is keeping you safe. General Koldo did not agree to draw in our troops from the borders, but there’s no time to waste. We must recall them.”
It was a clear order from the Queen Mother, bypassing the king himself. Satordi did not question it, only clarified. “I agree with the Queen Mother. The moment Inés and Domingu marry, it means the end of the balance of the Sand and Sky as we know it. It is the Torrent all over again. We must prepare.”
“It is likely best to draw from the border of Myrcell,” Joseba added. “We should leave men at the borders of immediate concern—Basilica and Pyrenee.”
“Fine. Yes. War is no longer a question. Primary or secondary target, it matters not—we are a target.” At Geneva’s words, Ferdinand’s objections shriveled in his throat—his mother’s voice was as firm as it had been in their previous life, when she ruled with an iron fist forged in fear and flame. “Fortify the the castle with a mile’s worth of men and do it quickly.”
With that, the other councilors turned for the door. As Geneva made to leave as well, Ferdinand caught her arm.
“Mother, wait.” He gazed down into her fierce blue eyes and saw the woman who, night after night, presided over the blaze of the fire pit, never once showing mercy to those who were marched to the ashes as kindling. He would not question her order for soldiers, though he sided with Koldo’s reasoning on leaving them at the border, but he could not leave his sister unaddressed. “What about Amarande? If we leave her out there, she is a pawn.”
“She was always a pawn, a shield, a threat—depending on whose side you were on. I cannot change what Amarande is. And now it does not matter.”
“It matters to me. I want her here. Safe. She is none of those things to me, she’s my sister.”
The fierceness in Geneva’s eyes did not wane, though her expression softened in a way she only seemed to show him. She reached up and smoothed a lock of hair off his forehead and behind his ear. It wouldn’t stay and she knew that—it never stayed. Yet she’d been sweeping it away since he was a boy anyway.
“What she is to those outside this room is not your decision to make, Ferdi—it is hers, as it was mine long ago.” She pressed a finger to his lips. “I was all of those things once—pawn, shield, threat—and I survived it, barely older than Amarande is now. The stars shall tell if she will, too.”
Twenty Years Prior to Present Day
ON the first day of spring the year she turned fourteen, Geneva was summoned to her grandfather’s private wing within the onyx stronghold he called the Aragonesti. In a family that sprawled like the roots of the largest banyan tree, putting out shoots as far as the eye could see, a summons from King Domingu was a very special honor indeed.
And Geneva intended to make an impression.
For the occasion, Geneva had gone to great lengths to pick out just the right gown. After careful consideration, she approached the king’s chambers in a rich chocolate satin adorned with accents of gold—showcasing the colors of Basilica. Brown did not flatter everyone, but Geneva knew it complemented her coveted Basilican coloring—lustrous dark hair contrasted with sky-blue eyes.
At the appointed time, she arrived at the king’s private chambers, which were marked by a set of doors carved with a massive depiction of a roaring bear’s head and encrusted with an entire mine’s worth of jewels—diamonds, sapphires, garnets, emeralds, pearls.
The castle guards stationed outside allowed her to enter without so much as a question—another thrill. They knew who she was. Why she was here.
Geneva couldn’t help it—a smile of satisfaction slid across her practiced, polished exterior.
Beyond the door was a voluminous sitting room and study—all glittering oynx stone with Basilican steel accents. Everything about it sharp and deadly and perfectly Domingu.
“My king?” she called, as that was the title he preferred, even from relatives.
“Out here, Geneva, my girl,” Domingu answered from the wide balcony adjoining the study.
My girl.
Geneva beamed, chin held high as she stepped into the sunlight. She blinked, the white brilliance of noon devouring her senses as she pointed herself toward his form—seated in the shade of a canopy.
Shoulders back and chin high, Geneva rushed earnestly forward … only to realize that her grandfather was not alone.
A girl about her age, one with golden braids the color of butter, dressed in the palest shade of lavender, regarded her with eyes of searing, icy blue. She stood demurely in front of the king, hands clasped politely. Geneva had never seen her before.
“Inés, darling, this is Geneva.” As he smiled, deep wrinkles fanned across the king’s bronze face. He was near sixty, yet still handsome—his eyes twinkled in a way only certain power could convey, his features as regal and dashing as any storybook hero’s. “You two are cousins of a distant sort. Two strands on either end of the web, as they say.”
Geneva curtseyed, and Inés nodded, politely. The king gestured Geneva forward to stand next to this girl, Inés. Geneva reluctantly approached, not wanting to share the spotlight she so coveted with this girl, but also having no choice.
When she was settled, their grandfather smiled and clasped his hands together—always ready to get down to business.
“I’ve called you here because I have a very important assignment for both of you.” Domingu leveled his penetrating blue gaze on the girls—the confidence in it could make an entire army snap to attention and Geneva tipped her chin higher, attempting to mirror it.
“It will take time as well as certain training, planning, and luck, but—if this should go correctly, when your assignments are completed, you and two other very loyal, very clever girls will each have castles of your own, run by you for me.” The king paused, reading their faces. And, apparently liking what he saw, he continued. “You will never want for anything, and your sacrifices will be a boon to the kingdoms of the Sand and Sky. One continent under one house—Basilica as the sun, the rest as orbiting stars.”
Geneva’s blood sparked with opportunity—she would be the most loyal, clever, successful. The brightest of the stars.
“And then we will rule, my king?” this cousin asked, bright eyed and hopeful.
Was she even listening? A question like that might easily lead to a fall from favor. Still, their grandfather demonstrated the benevolence he reserved for family—the girl was fortunate for that.
“In a sense, yes, but at the king’s direction.” He smiled in a way that was a closed door, not an open one. “This is a patriarchy, my girls. And though I am the most powerful man in the world, I cannot change that.”
If Domingu couldn’t change it, who could? And why not? Geneva didn’t dare ask—questions like these would not be loyal or clever.
“But what I can do is make you the most powerful women in the world. All you have to do is what I say.” His eyes glittered as he looked between them. “Now, shall we begin?”
CHAPTER 23
THE bodies remained imprinted on the backs of Amarande’s eyelids as she and Taillefer left the horror of the Cardenas Scar behind and pointed themselves toward the Warlord’s Inn. Hours later, they were nearly within sight of it—its rambling silhouette should appear at the horizon in the shimmering heat of the day any minute.
And Taillefer was back to asking questions.
“Why were those people left to rot as an example? Just bad luck? Or were they an actual target? Roasting them nightly has been the play to deter dissenters for seventeen years—why do this? And why now?”
Taillefer was right to veer toward the guess that the Warlor
d was likely motivated by some new circumstance, but Amarande was not about to share anything with him. It would expose Luca and the resistance. The less Taillefer knew about literally everything, the better.
“Stop talking. We only have so much water left and you’re wasting your saliva. Of course, you are welcome to turn for the glistening mountain waterfalls of Pyrenee, but I have to get to Luca. That is the plan.”
Amarande was being as vague as possible on purpose about her intentions. And Taillefer was clever enough to know it. Of course. “No, that is the goal, Princess. The plan is how we’re getting there. The goal and plan cannot be one and the same.”
This was something her father would’ve said. The words didn’t sound right in Taillefer’s mocking inflection. “Fine. The plan is to find anyone who might know Luca’s whereabouts.”
“And someone at this inn—named for the Warlord—would know? I realize neither of us has slept, but even I see the holes in that. Do you expect Luca to be there? It seems rather stupid of him to go for the only lodging place marked on a map. Isn’t there somewhere less well-known?”
Amarande let out an exasperated sigh. “It is the only one allowed by the Warlord; that is why it is on the map. I doubt he’s there, though.”
“Then why are we going?”
“For information.”
Taillefer raised a brow at yet another vague reply. “And someone there will know where to find Luca?”
She had no answer. But given what she knew of the pirates’ previous foray into the Torrent with Luca in tow, it was the logical place to start without much more to go on.
If they failed here, she would set out for the Hand. Like the Cardenas Scar and the Warlord’s Inn, it was a likely place to gain information via query, theft, or threat. Or payment—her mangled necklace or his pouch of gold should do the trick.
They rode in blessed silence for another half hour before Taillefer tested her resolve yet again. “Remind me how is it that you two got separated in the first place? Surely Luca wouldn’t know you were locked up and not rescue you, would he?”
She said nothing. Which, of course, meant Taillefer couldn’t let it sit, sarcasm dripping in his raised voice as they raced west and north. “And how were you planning on getting to him from that cell without me rescuing you?”
He was trying to force a reaction—ignoring her assertion that she’d saved herself with him as the catalyst. He continued to needle her. “You are not answering my questions, Princess.”
Amarande let the rushing wind and hoofbeats on cinnamon sand be her response.
She stared ahead at the Warlord’s Inn, visible on the horizon at last. To the goal. To Luca, always to Luca. Nothing else mattered—not her crown, not her duties, and not the newfound family members who had appeared to sweep them both out from under her. The time to deal with them would come, yes, but not until Luca was safe.
“Princess, I grow weary of your silence and vague bon mots.” Taillefer lunged for her reins. Grabbing them out of her hand, he brought both their horses to a halt, the earth belching dust around them as the twin geldings slid in the dry footing. “Answer me.”
“Do not attempt to control me,” Amarande growled as she dove for her reins.
Taillefer was stronger and had more leverage. Rather than plant her boot on his horse’s shoulder to push off—the animal didn’t deserve such a bruise—Amarande divested him of his own dagger, snatching it from the sheath at his belt. One slice and she cleaved the reins straight out of his grip.
Losing his leverage and his balance, too, Taillefer fell away, nearly sliding straight off the other side of his saddle. Bringing her horse back up to a gallop, she spit over her shoulder, “As much as I wanted to, I did not kill your brother with a blade I stole from him, but that doesn’t mean I will be as kind to you.”
Taillefer hauled himself into a more stable riding position. “‘Kind’ is not a word I would use to describe you in regard to my brother.”
“You say that as if you are innocent.”
“According to my mother I am not, though I did not pull the blade. That was all on you, Princess. And though you did not murder him with his own weapon, as you’ve so cleverly pointed out, his death will forever be part of your soul.”
“Do you think I am not aware?! I cannot shut my eyes without seeing Renard’s dying face. His death will mark me as long as I live.” Her voice was high and taut as a string stretched thin. “And it is your fault.”
Taillefer appeared completely unperturbed. “I am not evil. I am ambitious. There is a difference.”
“You are evil!” Amarande stowed his dagger, mostly so she wouldn’t stab out his eye right then and there. “There is no other name for what you did to Luca. I won’t put anything past you. And let’s be honest, you are only helping me because you had nowhere else to go.”
Astonishingly, Taillefer said nothing.
Amarande continued, fury building, as she laid out everything she’d kept inside since Taillefer had appeared in her cell. “You are using me now just as you used me to kill your brother! I must live with that and Luca must live with what you did to him to garner action from me. We are the ones who live with the pain. You simply live with the satisfaction of pulling the strings. I have yet to see a single grain of remorse from you for anything you’ve done.”
At this, Taillefer did not argue. He did not glance away. He simply accepted the fury in her face.
Which made her blood boil over.
“You have years to go and many lives to save before I would ever think of forgiving you for what you’ve done to my love! Trust and forgiveness are not the same and you won’t earn either easily from me, no matter how long you cling to my side.” Spit crowded the corners of her lips, precious hydration lost on him. “If you stay with me, stay out of my way. I will abandon you or kill you. Either way, you will be dead. Do not try me.”
CHAPTER 24
AMARANDE kneed Bastian into a faster gallop, angling for the Warlord’s Inn upon the horizon. Taillefer would follow or he wouldn’t. She did not care either way.
A few moments later, Amarande heard hoofbeats behind her, accompanied by his voice screaming something into the wind. She rode onward—the second son of Pyrenee would never learn to shut up. He pulled up beside her. “I know who he is!”
Her heart stuttered.
“Luca! I know what the ink means!”
Her heart nearly stopped altogether.
Stars, save me. Fear welled within the princess, cold and fast-moving, up her spine, her gut, past her flailing heart. Was it all so transparent? Had Luca always been the ultimate target of the kidnapping ruse? Her mother knew. The man they killed in camp at the Hand knew. Now Taillefer knew. Who else?
This time, it was Amarande who snatched Taillefer’s reins and yanked. Both horses again came to a skidding halt, engulfed in a massive cloud of ochre dust. Coughing as the dirt fell away, Taillefer plowed forward. “I know what the ink means. I know why we’re here, in the Torrent. I know you told me not to play stupid—I was attempting to tease out what you knew.”
Amarande sucked in as deep a breath as the settling dust allowed. “Why didn’t you simply ask me?”
Taillefer’s cough melted into a laugh. “Ask you if you know the boy you fought so hard for is the son of a dead king? Heir to a fallen throne? Don’t you think that would’ve sounded highly suspect coming from me if you didn’t actually know that information already?”
He had a point. Frustration warmed her cheeks—a much more comfortable emotion for Amarande than fear. “What else are you still playing stupid at? The poison?”
Taillefer did not hesitate to answer. “I assume the bodies at the watering hole were the Warlord’s reaction to getting information on Luca. He is a tyrant, but he can’t be an idiot—he has to know there’s always been a current against him. And now that resistance has their champion. He’s panicking and trying to exert control to avoid a rebellion that has been a long time coming.”
>
The frustration within the princess cooled to deep, icy panic.
Taillefer knew so much more than he had let on. About Luca. The resistance. The machinations at play within the Torrent.
Amarande’s pulse pounded in her ears, so loud she thought he could hear it.
Now she had no choice—she had to do everything she could to keep Taillefer with her, considering all he knew.
All he could do.
And so the princess very carefully, very purposefully did exactly what she knew would work—she stated her purpose and then gave him the option he would expect and decline.
“Taillefer, we have to reach Luca before the Warlord finds him.” She nodded toward the lumbering structure in the distance. “This is where we start. Again, you—”
“Can leave. I know. You’ve said it so many times, I daresay you would prefer it.” Squinting at the building, Taillefer sighed. “I suppose we shall get this over with.”
* * *
ONE at a time and your life on the line.
Taillefer peered at the rhyming proclamation scrawled in blood across the sign that announced their arrival to the Warlord’s Inn in all its rambling, wooden glory.
“Do you think this is the best course of action?” he asked, gaping wearily at the hulking compound that stretched before them. “I knew this would be suspect if the Warlord allowed it but that looks like certain death.”
Indeed, the Warlord’s Inn was a dangerous aberration—its mere existence went against every understood rule about the Torrent.
In a place where cities were burned and people were kept on the move to avoid resistance born in static congregation, this was a sprawling, stalwart, stationary thing. Large main building, massive fence flowing off it like a ship’s wake, full of Warlord-sanctioned campsites—covered and away from the elements—to be purchased for the right price.
The Queen Will Betray You Page 15