Mother of All

by Jenna Glass

  “One of my men got a good look at him,” Lord Lyslee said. “I will make it a priority to hunt him down.”

  Tynthanal sighed and took his seat. “Maybe you can catch him, and maybe you can’t,” he said. “But either way, he’s unlikely to be the last to entertain such thoughts.”

  Lyslee conceded the point with a shrug. “Perhaps not. However, most people do understand that the problem began before you were named regent. They will place the blame squarely where it belongs: on Delnamal.”

  Tynthanal made a noncommittal sound. He could see from Lyslee’s face that the man was not wholly convinced by his own argument.

  “You might want your men to take a careful look at anyone who is closely associated with our esteemed lord chamberlain,” Tynthanal suggested, remembering the relish with which that dignitary had presented exactly the same rumor that appeared in the broadsheet. “Discreetly, of course. I would never suggest that he had anything to do with it.”

  Lyslee grimaced. “Already taken care of. I explained it was merely because Lord Zauthan had caught wind of the rumor previously.”

  Tynthanal nodded, glad to have a man of good sense and sound judgment serving as marshal. He more than anyone else on the council would have a good feel for the mood of the people.

  “How well will this message be received, do you think?” Tynthanal asked, lifting the broadsheet. “Is the idea likely to catch fire immediately?”

  The marshal’s brow furrowed in thought, and he shook his head, almost reluctantly. “Not immediately, I shouldn’t think. People are worried, but not quite panicked yet.”

  “Yet being the operative word,” Tynthanal grumbled.

  Lord Lyslee sighed. “I wish I could argue, but…”

  Tynthanal stifled a yawn as he contemplated yet another night studying magic with Lord Draimel, trying desperately to find a cure for the Well’s ailment. He did not believe the answer lay in his studies there—he’d much rather have spent more time directly in the Well chamber—but Draimel insisted that poring through the archives and learning the skills of a master spell crafter were necessary to have any chance of repairing the Well. Much as he might want to do so, Tynthanal knew it would be a strategic mistake to argue. As grand magus, Draimel was the foremost expert in magic and spell crafting in all of Aaltah—in theory, at least—and if Tynthanal refused to accept the man’s instruction, it wasn’t just Draimel who’d be angered by it. Those who secretly—or, as in the case of Lord Zauthan, not-so-secretly—wanted him to fail would see it as a sign that he wasn’t even trying.

  Lyslee leaned over the desk and picked up the broadsheet. “For the time being, at least,” he said, moving over to the fireplace, “I think it best we not discuss this unfortunate incident with the rest of the council. It will only…distract from our most important duties. Do you agree?”

  Tynthanal shifted in his seat with no small amount of discomfort. He did not like the idea of keeping secrets from his royal council. There was a whiff of desperation—even cowardice—to the idea that sat poorly with him.

  But Lyslee was right in that such an issue would perforce waste some of the council’s time. With so many trade agreements faltering—and with the Crown beginning to default on several loans that would only make their situation more dire—the last thing they needed was to spend an hour arguing over what to do about a single man distributing broadsheets.

  Tynthanal nodded. “For now, I think you have the right of it.”

  Lord Lyslee dropped the broadsheet into the fire, where the flames made quick work of it.

  * * *

  —

  Leethan had hoped that when the road sloped downward and took them into a narrow valley, they might find the snow less heavy and the cold less fierce. But the storm they’d been struggling through for hours had no intention of letting them off that easy. The snow was knee high, and Leethan’s legs trembled with fatigue—and quite possibly, frostbite.

  It was dawn when they made their descent, and Leethan worried that they might be spotted by someone in the cluster of houses in the valley—barely enough to be called a village—that would be waking with the new day. The men’s clothes that she and Jaizal wore would fool anyone seeing them from a distance, but if someone in the village got too close…

  Leethan glanced behind her and winced to see how heavily Laurel leaned on the pony for support. The old woman desperately needed to rest in front of a hot fire. And the services of a healer might come in handy, as well.

  The only good news was that once they reached the valley floor, they finally came upon a small shelter carved into the mountain wall. She nearly wept with relief, although she did not like the idea of camping so close to the village. She didn’t know what they’d do if someone approached them. There was no telling how far behind the pursuit was. It depended on how long it had taken for word of their escape to reach The Keep, and on how desperate Waldmir was to recapture them. If he sent men on chevals after them…

  But Leethan very much doubted that he would have. Chevals could travel faster and more easily on these mountain roads, but they were considered unmanly. Waldmir’s soldiers would balk at riding them, and Waldmir would be too uncomfortable with the idea himself to force them to.

  Leethan prayed to the Mother of All that she was making the right decision when she led the way into the shelter. There was barely enough room inside to fit all of them, and the ponies’ hind ends stuck out. Luckily, their thick winter coats had already fully come in, so they would be fine.

  Even if they’d had wood to light a fire, they were too close to the village to do so. Instead, they all huddled together for warmth and comfort, covering themselves with the rolled blankets the pack pony carried.

  Their food stores and their water were all frozen, so they refreshed themselves with snow and put the food under the blankets with them in hope their body heat would eventually thaw it enough to eat.

  Within minutes of lying down halfway across Laurel’s lap, Elwynne was fast asleep. Leethan envied the child the ability to sleep in such discomfort. Exhausted as she herself was, she didn’t see how she could fall asleep. Even with the blankets, she shivered with cold, and her whole body ached with fatigue.

  Jaizal had no such trouble, her eyes fluttering shut only a few minutes after Elwynne’s, but like Leethan, Laurel remained wide awake. The old woman was almost as pale as the snow, and her lips had a blue tinge that Leethan didn’t like at all.

  “I can’t make it,” Laurel said softly.

  Leethan cursed herself for letting the governess come along. She’d known full well Laurel wasn’t up to this long and arduous journey, and yet she’d allowed herself to be persuaded.

  “To be honest,” Laurel continued, “I never thought I could.”

  “What?” Leethan exclaimed.

  Elwynne made a sleepy sound and snuggled closer to Laurel. Laurel smiled down at the child and rested a hand softly on the side of her head.

  “The journey is too long, and the conditions too harsh. I can’t feel my toes or the tips of my fingers, and the numbness is spreading.” She shook her head. “No, your vision was right when it showed only you and Jaizal and Elwynne. I am not destined to make it all the way to Rhozinolm.”

  “Visions don’t show destinies!” Leethan protested. “What I saw is not the inevitable future. The whole point of visions is to show me what lies ahead so that I may change it.” Panic began to flutter in her breast as she remembered how badly she’d failed at changing things in the past. Perhaps she was destined to fail again. Perhaps by bringing Laurel along, she had ruined everything!

  “Even so, you have to see the truth of my words,” Laurel said, her voice calm and even. “Keeping me with you any longer will only slow you down, and that’s something you cannot afford.”

  Leethan squirmed, wanting very badly to deny it. However, Laurel had fallen behind
on multiple occasions today, and logic said even sleep and food were unlikely to be enough to fuel her through the rest of the journey.

  “If Jaizal and I carry some of the supplies,” Leethan said, “you can ride the second pony.”

  But Laurel shook her head. “It’s hard enough just to walk in this snow. You can’t also carry a heavy pack. Besides, riding on a pony won’t make me any warmer.” She looked down at the sleeping child on her lap and smiled fondly. “Getting Elwynne to safety is the most important thing. My life is almost over anyway, and hers has just begun.”

  Again, Leethan wanted to protest, but she couldn’t.

  “There’s nothing you can do for me now,” Laurel said. “But there is still something I can do for you.”

  Gently, she shifted Elwynne off her lap, her touch so soft the child didn’t even stir.

  “At the far side of this valley, the road diverges,” she said. “Either route leads to Rhozinolm.”

  Of course, Leethan knew that from studying the maps. The two routes were almost identical in difficulty, the biggest difference between them being which town in Rhozinolm they came closest to. She had decided on the more northerly route because it would pass near fewer of these small mountain settlements.

  “I will rest a little while,” Laurel said. “Then, when I feel I am able, I will take the westerly route. I’ll take some of Elwynne’s things and make sure to ‘drop’ a couple of them along the way. If anyone catches up with me, the evidence will make them think we went west instead of north. I’ll go as far as I can, give you as much time as I can.”

  “That is not an option,” Leethan said firmly. “We will figure something out, and you will come with us.”

  “No, I will not,” Laurel said just as firmly. “You’ll either let me go on my own terms, or you’ll have to tie me to the pony and haul me like cargo. This was my plan all along, even if it wasn’t yours. I came to make sure Elwynne cooperated. And I tucked away an old cloak that was torn beyond mending simply so that I could tear it more and drop swatches along the way when I left you.”

  Leethan’s eyes burned with tears, and when she tried to speak, the lump in her throat refused to let sound escape.

  “When she wakes, tell Elwynne that I was too tired to continue and went into the village to find another pony to take me back home. I don’t want her worrying about me.”

  “You would leave her without a goodbye?” Leethan asked through tears that would doubtless freeze on her cheeks if she didn’t wipe them away.

  Now it was Laurel’s eyes that shone with tears. “I have no choice. She mustn’t see that I’m continuing on instead of going to the village.”

  Leethan’s heart hurt, and she dreaded facing Elwynne’s distress when she woke to find her governess gone. Leethan hoped she could deliver a convincing lie. It would be harder now that Elwynne had already caught her out in one lie, but that meant she would have to be all the more convincing. “Will she want us to turn back, too?”

  Laurel shrugged. “Maybe. But although she doesn’t understand exactly what’s going on, she does understand that she’s in danger. If she gets too upset, tell her that you are taking her back to The Keep on a different, quicker route. I think she trusts you enough now to believe it.”

  Leethan’s conscience writhed in discomfort. Not only was she thinking of abandoning an old woman to the elements, she was planning to lie to a child.

  “You could go to the village,” she suggested. “Seek shelter there.”

  Laurel’s answer was a reproving glance, for of course she could do no such thing. Being captured after absconding with the sovereign prince’s daughter was the absolute worst thing that could happen to any of them.

  “It will be best for everyone this way,” Laurel said gently. “If we continue on together, then either we will eventually be caught, or I’ll eventually succumb to the elements. Or both. I have to leave.”

  If Leethan could have thought of another argument, she would happily have employed it. Heart aching, throat too tight for words, she nodded.

  * * *

  —

  Alys’s hands gripped the arms of her chair with such ferocity she wouldn’t have been surprised if the wood had splintered. She would very much have liked to hide her emotions, but even the mention of Delnamal’s name was enough to drive away her self-control.

  The image of Ellinsoltah that the talker projected into the air before her shimmered, and for a moment Alys was afraid she might faint. She put her hand to her stomach, to the stays that constricted her ribs and made it hard to draw a full breath.

  “You’re sure?” she choked out.

  Of course she’d already suspected Delnamal had survived the disaster at the Well, but she’d naïvely assumed he would spend the rest of his life cowering in obscurity until she finally had the means to hunt him down and bring him to justice.

  “I’m sure,” Ellin said grimly. “My sources tell me that Crown Prince Parlommir has set sail for the Midlands and that Prince Draios has taken the throne for himself.”

  Alys shook her head in denial. “But it’s not possible,” she said. According to Ellin’s source, Delnamal had used magic to kill the king and some palace guards. “Delnamal never had any special aptitude for magic, and I’ve never heard of a spell that does what you describe. Surely your sources were mistaken.” Up until now, the spell Alys herself had invented—which caused undigested seeds in its victim’s stomach to sprout and grow at enormous speed—was the most lethal and terrifying non-Kai-fueled spell she’d ever heard of.

  Ellin sighed and gave her a look that was almost maternal, although she was easily young enough to be Alys’s daughter. “I would never have brought you this information without thoroughly investigating it first. Draios has taken the throne, and Delnamal helped him do it with some kind of magic that I would think was a Kai spell if I didn’t know he’d cast it more than once.”

  “And that he’s still alive,” Alys continued faintly.

  “Exactly. And we both know that if he has secured the support of Khalpar, he will have that of Par, as well. We must assume that he will want to take back the throne of Aaltah.”

  Alys groaned. Not so long ago, she’d lamented the fact that Delnamal had died without any help from her. But better she miss out on her revenge than to have him raise an army.

  “He’ll be coming for Tynthanal and me and Corlin,” she said.

  “That is my conclusion, as well,” Ellin agreed. “I assume his first priority will be to take back Aaltah, but once he does that…”

  “We can’t let him take Aaltah,” Alys said.

  “Rhozinolm will do what it can to help. I have already spoken with Tynthanal and offered our support. Delnamal didn’t make many friends during his brief reign, and I don’t think I’ll have any trouble convincing my royal council that he must be stopped.”

  Alys smiled faintly. Ellin’s royal council had once been unwilling to agree that the sky was blue, but Delnamal’s mismanagement of their trade agreements—and his utter lack of diplomacy—was coming back to bite him. And the retirement of Ellinsoltah’s former lord commander—whose loyalty had been questionable, at best—had clearly improved her position.

  The smile was short lived. Aaltah’s military had been depleted when Tynthanal’s company had defected to Women’s Well, and had been reduced even further in Delnamal’s ill-fated attempt to destroy Women’s Well. And with the difficulties they were experiencing with the Well, their treasury was similarly depleted. They were vulnerable in ways they had never been before.

  “Yes, he must be stopped,” Alys said. “Thank you for sharing your intelligence. You have an impressive spy network.”

  Ellin nodded her acknowledgment. “A fact for which we should both be grateful. We will need all the intelligence we can gather in the days to come. I will endeavor to have someone meet with Pri
nce Parlommir—or I suppose I should call him King Parlommir—as soon as he arrives in the Midlands. He should have ample motivation to see his throne restored, and thus might eschew his kingdom’s prickly relationship with female sovereigns. I’m sure we can obtain even better intelligence from him.”

  The fact that Parlommir had fled to the Midlands rather than confront the man who’d usurped his throne gave Alys pause. How could Khalvin’s youngest son—a young man only seventeen years old and in training to be a priest—have gained enough power to cause the rightful king to flee? Delnamal seemed the most obvious answer to the riddle, and yet she could hardly credit it.

  Delnamal was a weak man, so ruled by his emotions and his petty jealousies that he was incapable of being effective at anything. He was an indifferent swordsman, a mediocre spell crafter, and a dismal negotiator. How had he become close to Prince Draios? And how could he possibly have the kind of magic that Ellin had described?

  A sick sense of dread descended on Alys’s shoulders. When Delnamal had “died” in the accident at the Well and Tynthanal had accepted the title of prince regent of Aaltah, it had seemed as if the war she had long feared had been averted. She had finally allowed herself…not to relax, exactly, but to anticipate the future with something approaching a sense of hope. Her own life might be in shambles—her daughter dead, her son estranged, her heart locked inside an impenetrable fortress—but at least she’d secured the safety of her burgeoning principality.

  Now even that comfort was snatched from her, and Alys knew that if she was not very, very careful, she could all too easily lose herself in a tide of despair.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “I want to talk to you about something,” Tynthanal said one night when he returned to the royal apartments to find Kailee, as always, waiting up for him. He looked exhausted, with bags darkening under his eyes, and she wished he had the luxury to sleep late into the mornings as she did. She’d tried gently suggesting that he cut his days a little shorter so that he needn’t attack all the kingdom’s ills while battling chronic fatigue, but she hadn’t been the least surprised when he’d demurred.