Mother of All

by Jenna Glass

  “Have a seat,” the lord commander said, still not raising his eyes from the paper.

  Corlin let out a silent sigh of relief. If he were in some kind of trouble, he would never have been invited to sit.

  Lord Aldnor nodded briskly and set the paper aside, folding his hands on the desk and fixing Corlin with his familiar steely gaze. “I’ll get straight to the point. Your uncle has…” He paused, frowning. “Well, he hasn’t exactly ordered me, but his polite request has some teeth behind it. We’ll say he has asked me to release you from the Citadel and send you to Rhozinolm.”

  “What?” Corlin cried in outrage, forgetting himself and leaping to his feet.

  “Sit down!” Lord Aldnor snapped, and Corlin immediately obeyed despite the pounding of his pulse.

  “Forgive me, sir,” he grated from between his clenched teeth as he wrestled with the temper he had been arrogant enough to think he’d mastered. “I did not mean to speak out of turn.”

  Lord Aldnor scowled at him, but issued no further reprimand. “No one needs to tell you that war is coming.”

  That was obvious to anyone with a functioning brain. The entire second-year curriculum had been overturned, lessons in history and tactics and strategy giving way to relentless sparring drills and stints helping to build and enhance the fortifications around the city’s walls. The physical labor was exhausting, but Corlin was very aware of how his chest and shoulders were filling out, and his swordsmanship had improved to the point that he could hold his own—and sometimes even win—against third- and fourth-years. Even Justal was becoming wary of entering the sparring ring against him.

  “No, sir,” Corlin responded. “And that is why I find the idea of leaving the Citadel so…distressing.”

  Lord Aldnor nodded, and Corlin thought he caught a brief expression of sympathy in the older man’s eyes. “I understand. But though we always try to protect our cadets, and we send them into battle only as a last resort, there is no question of holding them back during an outright war.”

  Corlin nodded. “Of course not. We will need every warm body. We all understand that we will be going into battle, sir. Just as we all understand that at least some of us are unlikely to come back.” The thought of battle made Corlin’s stomach knot, although he knew some of the other cadets—idiots all, in his opinion—actually looked forward to it. Corlin had never participated in a battle himself, but he had witnessed the terrible aftermath when Delnamal had sent a small band of soldiers to attack Women’s Well. He’d seen the death and the injuries and the suffering, and there was no question in his mind that battle was worthy of dread, not excitement. But that did not mean he would shy away from it.

  “I became a soldier the moment I joined the Citadel,” Corlin continued. “A soldier’s duty is to fight.”

  “But you are not just any cadet; you are the Crown Prince of Women’s Well.”

  Corlin shrugged. “In the Citadel, we are all equal. Isn’t that what we get taught day after day?”

  Lord Aldnor sighed. “That is a lovely fantasy, which we do our best to make a reality. However, in the case of a crown prince—especially one who has no younger brothers who might step up and take his place—there are other considerations.”

  Corlin gave that argument only a moment’s thought before rejecting it. “Women’s Well will find an heir, if it’s necessary. I do have a baby cousin there, and it’s not like my mother will be fighting and at risk of dying. If Aaltah falls, then the question of who might occupy the throne of Women’s Well becomes irrelevant.”

  Lord Aldnor gave him a crooked smile. “And you will make the difference between victory and defeat?” he asked. “You have a high opinion of yourself.”

  Corlin’s temper tried to stir again, but he hushed it easily, for of course Lord Aldnor had a point. Corlin was just one man, and his presence or absence would hardly sway the course of the battle. He did not want to fight, did not want to experience firsthand the horrors of battle. And yet the thought of fleeing to relative safety in Rhozinolm was…abhorrent.

  “I didn’t mean it that way, sir,” he said, as he envisioned his fellow cadets fighting and dying on the battlefield. Rafetyn was still his only actual friend, but there were several others he at least didn’t dislike. And even those he despised, he still felt some loyalty to. His heart stuttered at the thought of Rafetyn forced onto the battlefield. He would look like a child fighting among grown men, and though Corlin was sure most if not all of his fellow cadets felt a similar grudging loyalty and would look out for Rafetyn despite their scorn for him, none would defend him as Corlin would, if he had a chance.

  “All I mean is that the succession is not of immediate concern,” Corlin said. “Not immediate enough to warrant abandoning my duties as a cadet and a soldier.”

  “I feel certain your mother would disagree.”

  Remorse stirred in Corlin’s gut. He could well imagine what his mother was feeling right now, the dread that was likely keeping her up at night. He wouldn’t be surprised if she was the reason Tynthanal had approached Lord Aldnor in the first place.

  “As would the mother of every cadet in the Citadel,” he responded. “As would the wives and mothers and children of every soldier. I am not better or more important than any of the other cadets who will fight. If I didn’t intend to fight when necessary, I would not have joined the Citadel in the first place. I knew from the beginning that war was likely.”

  Lord Aldnor leaned back in his chair, and Corlin could see that the lord commander was thinking furiously, even if he couldn’t guess what the man was thinking. Corlin sat up straight and proud, hoping that Aldnor would not see the faintest whisper of the fear and dread that plagued him. He was terrified of going into battle, and yet the thought of running away was even worse. His sister had died because he had run away from danger, and although logically he knew it had not been his fault, it would forever feel like his fault.

  Finally, Lord Aldnor came to a decision and sat up straight once more.

  “As I mentioned, Prince Tynthanal has not gone so far as to order me to send you away.” He smiled ever so slightly, though the expression was so brief Corlin might have missed it if he’d blinked. “He is a soldier at heart himself, and I know it is eating at him that he must fight this war from the sidelines. He will understand how you feel. If you are certain this is what you want, then I will present your argument to him, and we can hope he will not elevate the request to an order.”

  Corlin’s first response was that he himself should present the argument, but then he realized how much more dispassionately and convincingly Lord Aldnor could present it. Surely Tynthanal was more likely to listen to his calm and collected lord commander than to his frantic fifteen-year-old nephew.

  “Thank you, sir,” he said, praying that he was right and Tynthanal would let him stay despite his mother’s pleas to the contrary.

  * * *

  —

  The members of Ellin’s royal council filed out of the room one by one, heading to the formal luncheon that was scheduled to break up the day whenever an especially long session was anticipated. These days, every session was long and grueling as they prepared for the war even the most optimistic of them knew was coming. Oh, there were a couple who grumbled about the danger and expense of a war and who would likely have preferred to let Aaltah fight on its own, but every story about Delnamal and Draios that trickled in made the necessity of defeating them more and more obvious.

  Ellin was dismayed—if not entirely surprised—when instead of following the others to the banquet hall, Lord Semsulin remained behind.

  “If I might have a word in private, Your Majesty?” he asked.

  She sighed, for it wasn’t hard to guess what he wanted to talk about. “Of course,” she agreed, nodding to the honor guardsmen who’d been waiting to escort her to lunch.

  The guardsmen both
bowed and stepped out of the room, allowing Semsulin to close the door behind them. Ellin did not feel like sitting—she’d been sitting in her chair all morning and would likely do so for much of the rest of the afternoon, so she remained on her feet, trying to stretch surreptitiously as Semsulin approached. He regarded her with that too-knowing gaze, and it was all she could do not to look away in shame.

  “I think it’s time you tell the full truth,” he said. “I can see Sovereign Prince Waldmir using the accusation that we have illegally detained his daughter to work some advantage for Nandel, but I don’t see how ‘accidentally’ losing a caravan of iron and gems is in any way to Nandel’s advantage.”

  Ellin pinched the bridge of her nose as a headache tried to form there. She and Zarsha were both reasonably certain that they had successfully kept the secret of Elwynne’s presence in Zinolm Well. If Waldmir had discovered the truth beyond doubt, he would have presented his evidence when he demanded Elwynne’s and Leethan’s return. But it was also clear that lack of evidence was not going to prevent him from holding Rhozinolm responsible for their disappearance. He claimed—through his ambassador—that the caravan had been lost to a brutal mountain storm, and the story was very plausible. It was a rare caravan that traveled through Nandel at this time of year, and Rhozinolm had paid a hefty premium for the swift delivery. But the loss was too convenient to be believed under the circumstances.

  “We need him to ‘recover’ that shipment as soon as possible,” Semsulin continued when Ellin didn’t say anything. “The last thing we need is a shortage of iron and gems when we’re on the brink of war.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, for of course she knew that. And he knew she knew that.

  She would have loved nothing better than to keep disavowing any knowledge as to Princess Elwynne’s whereabouts, just as she continued to do with Waldmir. But as Zarsha had pointed out, there was only so long she could keep the secret from her council. If Semsulin had already decided she was lying about it, it seemed likely others would soon follow suit.

  “I cannot send her back to him,” she said. “I will not.” Semsulin opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off with a sharp hand gesture. “It’s not open to negotiation. I am through capitulating to Waldmir’s demands.”

  Semsulin was well aware of the concessions she’d made to secure Zarsha’s hand in marriage—and the vital trade agreements that came with it—although he was unlikely to agree that protecting her husband from yet another heartbreak was worth the risk of antagonizing Waldmir at a time like this.

  Semsulin’s lips pinched together tightly, and she imagined he was suppressing his first, natural response to her obstinacy. He was capable of an impressively chilling glare, but Ellin had no intention of allowing herself to be intimidated.

  “I didn’t tell you about it because I knew you and I would not agree about what needed to be done.”

  He nodded, still glaring at her. “And because you thought it would be best if the members of your senior council believed they were telling the truth when they assured the Nandel ambassador that the princess is not in our custody.”

  She shrugged. “Yes, that, too.”

  Realizing that by keeping Elwynne she had already passed the point of no return as far as her relationship with Waldmir went, she finally told Semsulin the great secret she and Zarsha had been keeping about Elwynne’s parentage. He listened in impassive silence. Semsulin was a master of self-control and could mask his thoughts better than anyone Ellin had ever met.

  When she was finished, he thought it all over some more, his face still revealing nothing. Ellin held her tongue and waited.

  “So,” he finally mused, his eyes distant with thought, “you are reluctant to send Princess Elwynne back to her father because Zarsha is attached to her?”

  Ellin could detect no particular emotion or opinion in the lord chancellor’s tone, but she bristled anyway as she prepared herself for a fight. She didn’t expect Semsulin to agree with her decision to keep Elwynne hidden, but he was certain to take it better than the rest of her councilors. In the earliest days of her reign, Semsulin had occasionally treated her like a flighty young girl with no training for her position, but he had quickly learned to respect her. He was the only member of her council who she was sure would never refer to her as “just” a woman. If she could not persuade him to support her, she might eventually find herself forced to send Elwynne back to Waldmir, for though the authority of a sovereign was considerable, it was not absolute.

  “Waldmir has been using that poor child as a hostage since she was born,” Ellin said stiffly. “Just because we now know she is not Zarsha’s daughter doesn’t mean he will suddenly stop caring about her—or that Waldmir will stop using her to hurt him. And through him, me. It is not as strategically advantageous as you might think to deliver her back into that man’s hands.”

  Her argument was weak, and she knew it. Zarsha was her husband and the Prince Consort of Rhozinolm, and he had proven more than once that his first loyalty was to her. He was not of a disposition—or in a position—to damage the interests of Rhozinolm because of any threats Waldmir might make toward Elwynne if she returned to Nandel. Her desire not to send Elwynne back had nothing to do with the strategic interests of Rhozinolm, and Semsulin knew it.

  The lord chancellor gave her a stern, almost paternal glare. “Please, Your Majesty. Don’t insult me. It’s bad enough that you’ve lied to me for as long as you have.”

  She stiffened even more. “I am your sovereign queen,” she snapped, mustering a glare of her own. “I don’t appreciate being scolded like a misbehaving child.”

  Semsulin shrugged. “Well, I don’t appreciate being treated like a potential enemy instead of as a trusted adviser. Have I given you any reason to believe I might betray your trust or your confidence if you confided in me?”

  It took some effort for Ellin not to look guiltily away. It was true that Semsulin had steadfastly stood by her, even when she’d made decisions with which he did not agree.

  Semsulin must have seen the guilt on her face despite her effort to hide it. He gave her a half-smile that held a hint of sadness. “I am on your side. I am always on your side.”

  She shook her head. “Not on this,” she said. “You’re on Rhozinolm’s side—as well you should be—and I admit I am aware that keeping Princess Elwynne from her father is not in Rhozinolm’s best interests.”

  The expression in Semsulin’s eyes sharpened. “Refusing to return Prince Waldmir’s rightful daughter to her home when we have no legitimate cause to hold her here is definitely not in Rhozinolm’s best interests. However, if Princess Elwynne is in fact Zarsha’s daughter, then he can assert his paternal rights and you would have just cause not to comply with Waldmir’s demands.”

  Ellin frowned at him. “But we’ve confirmed she isn’t Zarsha’s daughter.”

  He nodded. “But I will presume you did so anonymously, in such a way as to hide for whom the paternity test was being performed?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Then no one knows you have performed the test. You have already established a friendly relationship with Mother Zarend. Don’t you think it might be possible to persuade her it would be best if a test of Zarsha’s paternity came up positive?”

  Ellin gasped softly. For all that she considered herself to be a skilled courtier, for some reason it had never occurred to her to lie outright about the results of the test. “But Waldmir has already had the test performed on his behalf,” she protested.

  “Do you suppose he has made that test public knowledge? He availed himself of women’s magic! And in doing so, he made it clear that he himself questioned the girl’s parentage. If we were to publicly declare that Elwynne has been tested and confirmed as Zarsha’s daughter, what do you suppose Waldmir could do about it? Especially when one takes into account that he doesn’t truly want h
er?”

  She gaped at her lord chancellor, hardly believing what she was hearing. “You would support this tactic? You believe it would be in the best interests of Rhozinolm?”

  He scoffed. “No, it’s clearly not. The kingdom would be best served if you were to send Elwynne back. There is no question of that. But I can clearly see that isn’t happening, so I must consider how best to keep her here without destroying our alliance with Nandel. If Zarsha claims paternity—and we create the ‘proof’—then, while Waldmir might be personally furious at being outmaneuvered, he would have no legal grounds for demanding Elwynne’s return. Even the Sovereign Prince of Nandel needs the cooperation of his royal council to take action, and he will not have their cooperation if the child is not his.”

  Ellin slowly lowered herself into her chair, her knees feeling suddenly weak. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Why hadn’t Zarsha?

  Semsulin offered her a surprisingly sympathetic smile for someone with so dour a nature. “This is why sometimes you need to seek advice, even when you fear you will not like it,” he chided gently. “Both you and Zarsha are too close to the issue, too emotionally invested in its outcome, to think straight.” He smiled that little half-smile of his again. “Which is why you need someone cold and unfeeling like me to help you through it.”

  She let out a heavy sigh that turned into a hint of a laugh. “Thank you.”

  Semsulin’s reputation throughout the court was indeed of being cold and unfeeling, which was why he was roundly disliked despite the high respect in which nearly everyone held him. But underneath the steely exterior, Ellin was beginning to think he had a much softer and more sentimental side than anyone had guessed.

  Not that she would ever insult him by saying such a thing out loud.

  There was no question that his suggestion was dangerous. She could only imagine Waldmir’s fury, not just at the lie, but at the very public accusation that he’d been cuckolded by Zarsha. His fear of that revelation was the reason that Waldmir had not used Brontyn’s infidelity to level a treason charge against her and Zarsha both. It was possible that the news might be shocking enough to cause one of Waldmir’s nephews to attempt to take the throne.