Mother of All

by Jenna Glass

  Draios nodded, letting out a slow and steady breath. “My father was a good man,” he said, “but he was set in his ways. He could not see the truth when it stood right before his face.” He raised his chin. “The Curse must be undone, and the Creator has sent you to do the job. It is the duty of all of us here in Seven Wells to make sure you succeed. I will send a message to King Parlommir at once and request that he return to the capital immediately to assume his duties. And in the meantime, I will fill in for him as necessary.”

  Delnamal rubbed his face to hide his smile. He could only imagine the missive Draios would send his brother. Unless Delnamal was very much mistaken, Parlommir and whatever ships were involved in his naval exercise would not return to Khalwell at all, leaving Draios free to occupy the throne.

  And if Parlommir was stupid enough to come back? Well, Delnamal had already shown himself more than capable of getting around troublesome kings.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Leethan had never known cold like this before. She’d thought that spending most of her adult life living in Nandel had prepared her for the hardships of this long and arduous journey, but she’d been gravely mistaken.

  The sky had been ominously dark all morning, and Leethan groaned softly under her breath when the first few flakes of snow drifted down. Up until now, they’d been lucky with the weather, for though they’d seen precious little sunshine, the snow had held off. But these were the mountains of Nandel on the cusp of winter.

  Leethan looked over her shoulder to see how the rest of their tiny caravan was reacting to the prospect of snow. She was leading the way, the pack pony in tow. Behind her, Laurel led the second pony, with little Elwynne huddled on its back. The child was almost invisible beneath her cloak and hood, her chin down and her hands tucked under, keeping herself as warm as possible. Laurel’s face was grim with effort, and Leethan could only imagine how exhausted the old woman must be. They’d been traveling as hard and relentlessly as they could, pushing themselves to the brink.

  The three of them had briefly debated just where their destination should be, but it had been hard to argue that they should go anywhere but to Rhozinolm. Elwynne had relatives on her mother’s side somewhere in Grunir and maybe elsewhere, but neither Leethan nor Elwynne nor Laurel knew how to locate them or even what their names might be. The only person Leethan could imagine wanting to help the child was Elwynne’s cousin, Prince Zarsha, who was said to be fond of her—and who might even be her father, if some of the whispers in the Abbey had been true, after all.

  They had decided to take the short and brutal mountain route directly to Rhozinolm, theorizing that their pursuers would expect them to take the longer, easier route that would bring them to the Midlands first. Laurel continued to plod along stoically without a hint of complaint, but Leethan worried about her.

  Jaizal took up the rear. Being younger than both Laurel and Leethan, she was less likely to fall behind or suffer some silent, unnoticed collapse. The conditions were highly unpleasant at the moment, but not yet brutal. When the snow started to pile up, the danger of succumbing to the cold would be much higher—and the visibility much lower. Leethan vowed to herself that she would look over her shoulder frequently to make sure the others were still with her.

  As Leethan had known it would, the storm came on fast and hard. Within only a few minutes of the first flakes falling, there was already a substantial carpet of snow forming beneath their feet, making the footing treacherous. The path was narrow, and a fall could be deadly. Leethan had never been especially afraid of heights, but she found that she could not look over the edge without imagining what it would feel like to fall into the mists below. She hugged the side of the mountain as closely as she could.

  Mountain storms being what they were, there were shelters carved into the rock at regular intervals on all the most frequently traveled trade routes. Unfortunately, the need for secrecy meant that Leethan had decided against using a trade route. The path they followed instead was too narrow for wagons or carriages, and it was generally presumed that no sensible person traveling by foot or horse would be out in dangerous weather. There were occasional shelters, but only when the path meandered by the mouth of a cave or other naturally occurring alcove. As the snow continued to fall, piling up thickly and making every step more laborious, Leethan prayed to the Mother of All that they would soon happen upon one of those shelters.

  The Mother of All, apparently, wasn’t listening. The snow piled up thickly around their feet as they trudged along the exposed path. Gusts of wind made the footing even more precarious than it had been, and with the heavy veil of falling and accumulating snow, it was sometimes hard to see where the path ended and the sheer cliff at its edge began.

  Looking over her shoulder, Leethan could barely see the shadowed figures behind her, and anxiety gnawed at her nerves. She had not yet lived the vision the Mother of All had shown her, and logic told her that she and Elwynne and Jaizal were destined to survive the storm. But Laurel was another story.

  “Are you all right, Laurel?” Leethan called over her shoulder.

  The wind tried to snatch the words away, but Laurel heard her. The old woman had wrapped a shawl around her head and face beneath her hood, so all Leethan could see was her narrowed eyes, barely visible in the storm-driven darkness.

  “I’ll manage,” Laurel shouted back bravely, but her voice sounded alarmingly weak to Leethan’s ears.

  “And you, Princess?” Leethan called to Elwynne.

  The child’s chin was tucked to her chest, her hood pulled all the way down so that she looked like she might be halfway smothering in it. She raised her head ever so slightly. “Cold,” she said, but it was more of a statement of fact than an actual complaint. She was a stoic little creature for one so young. She was also distressingly smart, and the fiction that they were embarking on an exciting adventure hadn’t lasted long. Laurel explained that they were running from some bad men who wanted to hurt her, and though the news had frightened Elwynne, it hadn’t terrified her. The child was not lacking in courage, that was for sure.

  “I’m sure we’ll find shelter soon,” Leethan responded, wishing she actually were sure. The best she could manage was mildly hopeful.

  Elwynne tucked her chin back down again.

  They soldiered on.

  * * *

  —

  Ellin shared a nervous look with Zarsha as Lord Khelved was shown into her office. She had come up with what she believed was the best possible inducement to convince Lord Khelved that it was time to retire as lord commander, but she had distressingly little confidence that the ploy would work. Zarsha gave her a faint nod of encouragement, and she searched deep inside herself to find a semblance of optimism to show her visitor.

  Lord Khelved had once been a handsome man—or so Ellin had heard—but the years had not been kind to him. His skin bore the signs of a man who’d spent much of his life in the military, drilling in the hot sun, and his love of drink was advertised by his deeply ruddy complexion and bulbous nose. He had never committed the insult of arriving at a council meeting drunk, but Ellin had often surmised some of his more acid comments came when he was feeling the aftereffects of overindulgence.

  Khelved performed the requisite bow, but his narrowed eyes and pinched lips said he was expecting unpleasantness.

  “Please have a seat, Lord Khelved,” Ellin invited, still smiling despite her pessimism.

  The lord commander darted a quick, calculating look at Zarsha, who had pulled up a chair next to Ellin behind her desk. Khelved made no comment about the prince consort’s…unusual presence for this private audience, although she was sure he was already making assumptions. She had dismissed her honor guardsmen for this interview, fearing their presence would be counterproductive, but having almost been killed by one of her previous royal council members, she’d found herself unwilling to meet Lord Khelved en
tirely on her own. Especially if she should find herself in the unfortunate position of having to blackmail him into resigning.

  “What’s this about, then?” he inquired brusquely as he took his seat. He crossed his arms belligerently over his chest, scowling at her. He was never exactly a pleasant character, but this was unusually rude even for him. She wondered what he expected her to say, for she was certain his guess was nowhere close to the reality.

  Ellin swallowed her instinctive desire to remind him of his place, but Zarsha was not quite so circumspect.

  “Have a care how you speak to your queen, Lord Khelved,” he warned in a conversational tone that belied the spark in his blue eyes.

  “What’s this about, then, Your Majesty?” Khelved shot back, and Ellin sighed. Such sniping hardly boded well for her hopes of a civil and satisfactory conversation.

  She put her hand lightly on Zarsha’s arm to discourage him from needling the man further, but kept her eyes on Lord Khelved. Her intention had been to try to ease into the subject, but she decided on the spur of the moment to take the direct approach instead. After all, Khelved was no fool: he would know a bribe attempt when it was presented, and she would only make herself look foolish by trying to pretend.

  “As I’m sure you know,” she said, “my father’s dukedom reverted to the Crown when he died with no heir.” Her throat tightened for just a moment as she remembered the terrible night when she had lost her grandfather, her uncle, and both her parents all at once. “For all your valiant years of service to the Crown of Rhozinolm, I would like to bestow that dukedom upon you.”

  She hoped her words had come out smoothly, though she spoke them with an effort. When the dukedom had first reverted, she had thought to reclaim it for herself—after all, if she was legally allowed to inherit the throne, then it stood to reason she could legally inherit the dukedom, as well. But her reign had been so tense and fraught that she had not bothered to expend the energy to lay claim to lands and a title she no longer needed. In truth she had felt very little emotional connection to the lands that had been her father’s duchy, for she had visited their country estate only rarely, having spent most of her life in Zinolm Well. Even so, the thought of passing her father’s legacy on to a man she disliked as roundly as she disliked Lord Khelved was not in any way pleasant.

  “You don’t have to be so nice and honorable about this,” Zarsha had said to her when she’d presented her solution to the problem of Lord Khelved. “We can skip directly to the threat that we may need to use anyway.”

  But however much she disliked Lord Khelved, he had served honorably on her grandfather’s royal council for decades. His “financial indiscretions,” as Zarsha called them, were not grave enough in her opinion to excuse the practice of blackmail—unless there was no other way.

  Lord Khelved sat still in his chair, blinking at her in confusion as if he wasn’t quite sure he’d heard her right. He was already a wealthy and influential man, but adding a dukedom to his holdings would elevate him to an elite level that would otherwise have been beyond his reach—and would leave an enduring legacy for his son and his descendants.

  Khelved thought about it for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “You mean to make me a royal duke?” he said incredulously.

  “Not a royal duke,” she clarified, a smile twitching the corner of her mouth. “I would have to adopt you into the royal family for that, and I think you’re a little old to call me ‘Mama.’ You will not be in the line of succession, but you will still have all the lands and monies that come with the dukedom.”

  His eyes narrowed even farther. “How exceedingly gracious of Your Majesty to offer such a lofty title to one such as I! And with no strings attached!”

  She lifted her shoulders in a hint of a shrug. “Well, yes, of course there are strings. Well, one string: the estate has fallen into some disrepair since it has become the property of the Crown, and it is hardly functioning at maximum efficiency. Restoring it to its former glory and making the most of its profits will require a great deal of work and commitment. I’m afraid it is more than you will have time for while you serve as lord commander.”

  His already florid face flushed a deeper, angrier shade of red as he grasped her meaning.

  “Think about it before you answer,” Zarsha said, interrupting what she suspected would have been a heated response before Khelved did more than open his mouth. “Your position on the council grants you a certain level of influence, but that influence is yours alone, and it dies—or retires—when you do. The dukedom is something you can pass on to your son, so that he might have influence as well, whereas I believe it’s safe to say that he is not someone our queen would be inclined to select to a position on the council.”

  Ellin couldn’t help wrinkling her nose at the prospect, for Lord Khelved’s son was cut from much the same cloth as his father. She would not even give passing consideration to having him become one of her closest advisers.

  Judging by the harsh lines of his jaw, Khelved was grinding his teeth, staring at Zarsha with a fulminating rage that seemed to Ellin too intense for the situation. She looked at Zarsha sidelong, but he maintained an expression of complete innocence, as if there were nothing hidden behind his words.

  Ellin’s heart gave an especially violent thump as she wondered if while Zarsha hadn’t lied to her about anything, he had nonetheless concealed one salient detail: Lord Khelved was aware—or at least suspected—that Zarsha knew his secrets. If that was the case, then Zarsha was in a roundabout way reminding Khelved that his son would suffer social and financial consequences should Khelved be brought to trial.

  “When you look at it in that context,” Zarsha continued, “surely you can see that it is best for everyone involved if you accept this great honor that Her Majesty wishes to bestow on you.”

  Khelved closed his eyes as if in pain—or as if to hide his rage—and Ellin took that opportunity to give Zarsha a furious look of her own. She had meant to present her proposal without any hint of blackmail, and Zarsha had understood that intent. If she’d known Khelved suspected he was vulnerable, she wouldn’t have agreed to have Zarsha present for the conversation.

  Eventually—and grudgingly—Lord Khelved accepted the gift of a dukedom in return for his retirement, but the moment he left the office, she turned on Zarsha, too angry to form words.

  He held up his hands in a gesture of innocence. “I know what you think just happened,” he said, “but I can assure you I didn’t mean what I said as a threat.”

  Ellin gripped the arms of her chair as she stared at him. “So you had no idea he knew you knew about his crimes?”

  He met her eyes squarely. “No idea?” He shrugged and looked away. “I don’t suppose I can claim I had no idea, but I honestly didn’t think he knew. But his guilty conscience and his concern about what I might know clearly made him see a threat where none was intended.”

  “You should have mentioned that there was a chance,” she snapped, not sure if she entirely believed him.

  Zarsha bowed his head. “You’re right. I should have.” When he looked at her again, it was with an expression of chagrin. “You know I have been long in the habit of keeping secrets. I did not intend to in this instance, but I did not think it through.”

  Ellin took in a shaky breath as she realized this was the peril of marrying a spy. It was hard to see how he manipulated and deceived others without worrying that he might do the same to her. She believed he was sincere, but the doubt would be hard to shake entirely.

  “I will do better,” Zarsha promised. “I have a lifetime’s habits and instincts to overcome, and it might take some time.” He reached out and stroked one finger down her cheek. “You are the first person I’ve ever fully, wholeheartedly trusted,” he said softly. “I’m finding that trust takes some practice—for both of us. But I love you, and I hope you love me, and we will get there. T
ogether.”

  She shook her head even as she mustered a smile. “If you’re fishing for reassurance that I love you, well…” The smile widened, almost against her will. “Yes, of course I love you. Idiot. But next time—if there is a next time—try for full disclosure, will you?”

  Zarsha put a hand to his heart and bowed his head. “You have my word.”

  * * *

  —

  Lord Lyslee, Marshal of Aaltah and one of Tynthanal’s most steadfast supporters on the royal council, looked uncommonly grim as he handed Tynthanal a small sheet of parchment, torn and stained by rain and muck. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Tynthanal accepted the paper. He winced when he saw the unflattering image drawn upon it—that of a savage-looking man with fangs and claws, wearing a caricature of Tynthanal’s own face.

  “The night guardsmen interrupted the man who was putting these broadsheets up,” Lord Lyslee said, “but he managed to outrun them. They took down all they could find, but…”

  Tynthanal nodded as he read the broadsheet’s painful message. “But he’s sure to find other ways to distribute them.”

  According to the broadsheet, Aaltah’s faltering Well and its plummeting birthrate were a punishment to its people for allowing the son of the witch who cursed the Wellspring to serve as regent. It stopped just short of openly claiming that only his death would heal the Well, but its implications were nonetheless clear.

  Tynthanal set the broadsheet down and pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d known since he’d accepted the regency that there was a risk of becoming the scapegoat if he failed to heal the Well, but he’d thought he would have a little more time. Of course, when he’d accepted the regency, he hadn’t known about the low birthrate, which was clearly becoming common knowledge despite all efforts to keep it quiet.