Mother of All

by Jenna Glass

  “We don’t,” Tynthanal confirmed. He unfurled the letter and held it close to the talker so that Alys could see the precise and elegant signature at its close.

  “Xanvin!” she gasped, half exclamation and half question.

  Lowering the letter, Tynthanal nodded grimly. “Indeed. As we assumed, she and Delnamal took refuge in Khalpar and had, until recently, been living in quiet obscurity in the countryside.”

  “Is she…is she all right?” Alys asked hesitantly. Her relationship with her stepmother had never been close, having started during her childhood with active hostility and then softened over time to grudging acceptance and respect. Alys found the woman’s blind devotion to Delnamal—and her ardent religious fervor, which she felt compelled to try to impose on everyone around her—annoying to say the least, but she would not want any harm to come to her.

  “She is,” Tynthanal assured her. “Delnamal left her in the countryside when he and Draios went to court, and she is well enough.”

  “And how does she feel about Delnamal murdering her brother?” Alys asked. The fact that Xanvin had written to Tynthanal at all suggested that finally—finally—Delnamal had committed an atrocity even a mother’s devotion could not allow her to ignore.

  Tynthanal looked down at the letter in his hand and shook his head. “She apparently began this letter before she learned of Khalvin’s death, but the assassination is what finally caused her to send it.” His face lost a little of its color as his eyes scanned the text. Text Alys suspected he had already memorized. “What she has to say…” He sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Well, it sounds pretty crazy.”

  “Even after what we’ve heard about the circumstances of King Khalvin’s death?” Ellin inquired, and Tynthanal conceded the point.

  What followed, however, was more frightening than anything Alys could have anticipated, and she listened in rapt horror as Tynthanal read sections of Xanvin’s letter describing the change that had come over Delnamal since the accident at the Well.

  If Alys had not already heard the story of Khalvin’s death, she would have dismissed out of hand Xanvin’s description of how Delnamal had killed first a bird, then a hapless servant by removing what she called the “Rhokai” mote that lay at the center of every living being. But worse even than the terrifying and impossible power that Delnamal now possessed was the story he had woven around that power and somehow convinced the zealous Prince Draios to accept.

  “ ‘My son claims that he has been chosen by the Creator to set the world back to rights after the casting of the Curse,’ ” Tynthanal read from Xanvin’s letter. “ ‘He and Prince Draios intend to embark on what they are terming a holy war, and there is no question in my mind that they intend to reconquer Aaltah and attempt some form of magic against its Well.

  “ ‘I know you and my son have never been friends, but I hope you will acknowledge that the Delnamal you grew up with did in fact care about the well-being of Aaltah and took his responsibility as crown prince with great seriousness.’ ” Tynthanal’s lip curled in distaste as he read this part, and he looked up from the letter to meet Alys’s eyes.

  “The Delnamal I grew up with whined incessantly about how burdensome his duties were and how terrible it was to always have to live up to so many expectations.” He sighed. “But I suppose he wouldn’t have found the duties and expectations so onerous if he didn’t take them seriously, and he was certainly never anything close to a religious fanatic. He tolerated Xanvin’s attempt to teach us all piety with the same mostly polite disinterest that you and I did.”

  Alys shrugged. “So what is Xanvin’s point?”

  Tynthanal scanned down the letter a little farther, then began to read again. “ ‘I know your lack of faith will cause you to regard my own claims with as much skepticism as you regard Delnamal’s, but I believe he could not have the power he has demonstrated if he were not being guided by a divine hand. However, I do not for a moment believe that the hand guiding him is that of the Creator.

  “ ‘The Delnamal I raised, the son I loved and cherished, is gone. In his place is a hollow husk that has been filled with darkness. I do not understand how or why it has happened, but I believe my son’s body is now inhabited by the spirit of the Destroyer. And that spirit will not stop at the conquest of Aaltah, nor even Women’s Well. All of Seven Wells is in danger, and the Destroyer must be stopped.’ ”

  Tynthanal shook his head and lowered the letter, looking back and forth between Alys and Ellin. A long, uncomfortable silence descended, and Alys had no idea what to do with it. A part of her wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all, for in her heart of hearts, she had to admit to deep doubts as to the very existence of either the Creator or the Destroyer.

  Eventually, Ellin broke the silence. “Unfortunately, some of the disturbing—and not yet fully verified—rumors I’ve heard lend some credence to Queen Xanvin’s letter, although I am loath to ascribe any of what I’ve heard to the will of the gods.”

  “What have you heard?” Tynthanal asked, and Ellin told him of a rumor her spies had encountered, which claimed that Delnamal was somehow “feeding” himself—with Draios’s cooperation—on unfortunate prisoners awaiting execution.

  “As hard as it all is to believe,” Ellin concluded, “I think we must act on the assumption that he does indeed have the powers Queen Xanvin claims. And if he and Prince Draios can truly convince the people of Khalpar that theirs is some kind of holy mission…” She shook her head, looking haunted. “I have heard that Khalpar is mustering troops, and it appears Par is doing so, as well. Perhaps a little more reluctantly—I’m told they are more inclined to ask questions about the circumstances of Khalvin’s death and Parlommir’s hasty departure—but they are in no position to make an enemy of Draios and Khalpar.”

  Alys groaned quietly, for the small island of Par had always marched in lockstep with its larger and far more powerful neighbor. When Delnamal had “died” and Tynthanal had become the Prince Regent of Aaltah, she’d allowed herself to hope that war no longer loomed on the horizon. Now, it seemed war was inevitable.

  “Is there any chance we can reach a diplomatic arrangement with Prince Draios?” Alys asked, although if Delnamal had truly convinced the young prince that he was obeying the will of the Creator, it seemed unlikely.

  Tynthanal shook his head. “I sent him formal condolences on behalf of Aaltah on the death of his father. He sent the flier back in pieces.”

  Alys winced, for Draios’s father had responded in a similar manner when Alys had tried to contact him on behalf of Women’s Well last year.

  “There is to be no pretense of alliance or even tolerance anymore, it seems,” Tynthanal finished. He scowled. “Certain members of the royal council have, of course, suggested that Draios’s quarrel is with me rather than with Aaltah, and that if I’d just step down and let someone else be prince regent…” He sighed and shook his head. “You have no idea how tempting that might be.”

  Ellin snorted as she made eye contact with Alys. “You think not?”

  Alys smiled briefly. How many times had she herself yearned for the halcyon days when she’d been an ordinary wife and mother, with no greater responsibilities than raising her children and managing her household?

  But it was no laughing matter. The council had chosen to appoint Tynthanal to the position because he was the infant king’s closest living male relative, and because they had believed Tynthanal, with his magical talents and his close ties to Women’s Well, would find a way to repair the Well. If they began to see him as the reason for Khalpar’s aggression, however…Thanks to the spell their mother had cast and the upheavals it had created, it would be frighteningly easy for him to transform in their eyes from a savior to a scapegoat.

  “Perhaps you should offer to step down,” she suggested. “Before things get any uglier than they already are.” />
  But Tynthanal shook his head. “You know as well as I do that Delnamal would still want to wage war on Aaltah. He will want his throne and his power back, and he won’t care if he has to raze Aalwell to the ground to get it.”

  Alys gave him a reproving look. “You know perfectly well that wasn’t why I suggested you step down.” Certainly she didn’t need him to tell her about the mingled rage and entitlement that brewed in their half-brother’s breast. He had been a terrible king, and she doubted even the power he had wielded had given him much in the way of joy or pleasure. But it belonged to him, and he was not one to give up his belongings without a fight.

  “I’m not unaware of the danger,” Tynthanal assured her. “Since I’ve shown no demonstrable progress in fixing the Well, I’m certain I would already have been ousted if my detractors could choose a single candidate to rally around.” He laughed darkly. “In some ways, the threat from Khalpar and Delnamal may actually strengthen my position, redirecting the anger to where it belongs.”

  Alys shook her head, wishing she felt as certain as he seemed to. But she knew her brother well, and he was not the kind of man who would abandon Aaltah for his own safety. “You aren’t the only one who could be in danger,” she reminded him, though she was sure he was already aware of that.

  Tynthanal nodded and turned to Ellin. “Might you be willing to host Prince Corlin for an extended visit should the atmosphere here in Aaltah prove inhospitable?”

  Alys experienced a flood of relief at the suggestion, even as she regarded Ellin curiously. As often as they had spoken, and as warm as their relationship might be, Alys had not confided in her about Corlin’s exile. She had, in fact, kept the situation as quiet as possible while still assuring Smithson and his parents that Corlin was being appropriately punished for almost killing his fellow cadet in a fit of rage.

  Ellinsoltah showed no sign of surprise or puzzlement about why Tynthanal wouldn’t merely send his nephew home if the environment in Aaltah soured. Rhozinolm was Women’s Well’s closest ally, but that didn’t mean its spy network wasn’t keeping tabs.

  “We would be happy to have him. It is never too early to begin getting to know the young man who will one day be Sovereign Prince of Women’s Well.” She smiled, and though the expression was slightly practiced—a court smile, rather than a heartfelt one—Alys detected a hint of warmth in it.

  “Let us hope it will never be necessary and that he may one day visit simply for the pleasure of making your acquaintance,” Tynthanal said.

  But Alys didn’t think any of the three of them was in a particularly hopeful or optimistic state of mind.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Leethan stared anxiously out the window as the cheval-drawn carriage clattered through the sleepy streets of Zinolm Well. Elwynne lay on the seat across from her, wrapped in her fur cloak and sleeping the sound sleep of the exhausted.

  The full moon shone bright and clear in the cloudless sky, its light strong enough to cast shadows. Leethan did not know exactly how late it was, but she was sure it was easily late enough to proclaim it early morning. She, too, should be sleeping—her body certainly kept sending her signals that she was in dire need of rest—but anxiety would not allow her to shut her eyes.

  After all the time and effort she and Jaizal had put into concocting a cover story to explain their presence in Rhozinolm, it turned out they needn’t have bothered. Rhozinolm’s spies had already known they were coming, and there had been men in Falcon’s Ridge waiting for them. Briefly, she’d feared they would be immediately sent back to Nandel, but it quickly became clear that wasn’t the case. They were whisked into what appeared to be a private home and found that there was a healer waiting to see them, as well.

  Leethan was thankful for Queen Ellinsoltah’s care, for though Princess Elwynne suffered from nothing worse than dehydration and bone-deep exhaustion, both Leethan and Jaizal had sustained some frostbite. Without the immediate treatment, Leethan might well have lost a couple of toes, and Jaizal was in considerably worse condition despite her lack of complaints. So much so that their escorts had insisted Jaizal remain behind under the healer’s care for a few days while Leethan and Elwynne continued on to Zinolm Well.

  Leethan would have demurred and stayed with her stricken friend, but though the men sent to escort them were dressed in civilian clothes and phrased their demands as “recommendations,” she was well aware that they were soldiers following orders. If they said she must continue on immediately to Zinolm Well, then she would be continuing on whether she wanted to or not.

  The distance between Falcon’s Ridge and Zinolm Well was far greater than the distance between Falcon’s Ridge and The Keep, and yet with the aid of the cheval-drawn carriage and well-kept direct roads, they crossed through the walls of Zinolm Well the day after they’d first set foot in Rhozinolm.

  Well, Leethan mentally corrected, it was technically two days later considering the hour, but it felt like an unbearably swift journey after the brutal labor of crossing the mountains on foot.

  Her escorts had been painstakingly polite, yet frustratingly uninformative. She did not know exactly where she was being taken, or what her reception would be when she arrived. Obviously, if Queen Ellinsoltah had known to expect her, Prince Waldmir had guessed she would head for Rhozinolm as well, and there was not a doubt in Leethan’s mind that he had forcefully demanded she and Elwynne be returned to Nandel immediately. She took hope from the fact that they had been summoned to Zinolm Well, but still she feared this great kingdom might feel too dependent on the iron and gems from Nandel to defy Prince Waldmir—even if Zarsha did his best to help them.

  The carriage arrived at its destination, which appeared to be yet another private home—one that just like the home in Falcon’s Ridge she assumed was property of the Crown. But when Leethan made to step out of the carriage, the soldier who’d opened the door put out a hand to stop her.

  “We will put Princess Elwynne to bed here,” he said at a whisper, though truth be told the child would probably sleep through a full-throated shout in her condition. “You will have to wait a little longer to take your rest, I’m afraid.”

  Leethan swayed from a combination of exhaustion and alarm. “I am serving as the princess’s guardian,” she protested. “I can’t just leave her.”

  The soldier made a soothing, patting motion with his hand—one which failed to soothe her in the least. “She is safe here. Queen Ellinsoltah has guaranteed both her safety and yours. You need not fear.”

  “I think that’s for me to decide, not you,” she said, too tired and anxious to bother being diplomatic.

  To the soldier’s credit, he took her quip in stride. “We can bring her with us if that would put your mind at ease. But she will be more comfortable in a bed, and she is clearly badly in need of sleep.”

  Behind the soldier, a sturdy, cheerful-looking woman emerged from the house. In the bright light of the moon, Leethan could clearly see from the pallor of the woman’s skin and the wisps of blond hair that peeked through her headdress that the woman was of Nandelite ancestry. A fact that was confirmed when the woman smiled at her and spoke to her in fluent Mountain Tongue.

  “You must be Lady Leethan,” she said. “My name is Jewel, and I have been hired to look after Princess Elwynne, as we understand her governess did not arrive with her.”

  Leethan’s eyes suddenly stung with tears. Tears she might easily have fought off if not for the exhaustion and the anxiety. At some point, Elwynne was going to learn the truth about what really happened to her governess, and she was going to hate both Leethan and Jaizal for the deception.

  Embarrassed at her show of frailty, Leethan dabbed at the corners of her eyes and took a steadying breath. The circumstances of her life had not inclined her to trust easily, but they had taught her the importance of accepting reality. If Ellinsoltah’s soldiers meant to rip Princess Elwyn
ne from her and send the poor child back to Nandel, there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop them.

  Leethan nodded at Jewel, her throat too tight to manage a polite greeting, and returned to her seat.

  “Poor lamb,” Jewel said softly as she climbed into the carriage, glancing at Leethan in a way that suggested she was not merely speaking of Elwynne.

  Jewel slipped her arms under Elwynne and easily picked the girl up, her touch so gentle Elwynne barely stirred. Leethan envied the younger woman her strength, for she herself felt so weak she wasn’t sure she could have lifted the fur cloak, much less the child.

  “I will take good care of her until you return,” Jewel promised.

  “She is not good with strangers,” Leethan fretted, hating the thought of Elwynne waking up in a strange room with no one familiar nearby to reassure her.

  Jewel smiled down at Elwynne’s face. “I suspect she will sleep for some hours still now that she is warm and comfortable. You will likely be back before she wakes, and if not…” She shrugged, as much as such a thing was possible with a sleeping child in her arms. “I’ve experience with shy children and will do my best to ease her fears.”

  Leethan nodded—she had already accepted the necessity of the separation, however much she disliked it. “Thank you.”

  With another friendly smile, Jewel let the soldier help her down from the carriage and carried the still soundly sleeping Elwynne into the house.

  “Only a little bit longer before you, too, can get some rest,” the soldier assured her.

  Leethan tried to take comfort from the fact that both Jewel and the soldier acted as though her return to this house was a foregone conclusion, but it was achingly hard to let go of her fears. She had no doubt that Prince Waldmir had loved her deeply throughout their marriage, and even their divorce. But she was under no illusion that that love would save her if Rhozinolm sent her back to Nandel as a traitor. It might grant her the mercy of a quick death, but then again, it might not. Waldmir’s heart had grown harder and harder with the passing of each year, and his treatment of Elwynne suggested the revelation that he would not have a son had embittered him even more.