Mother of All

by Jenna Glass

  “While I have a suspicion alcohol might make this conversation easier to bear,” Chanlix said, “I have the distinct feeling I may need my wits about me.”

  Alys laughed nervously. “Come now. There’s no reason to be dramatic about this.”

  Chanlix snorted. “Of course there is! You are never secretive, so when you summon me to your apartments to talk while refusing to tell me what about, I know damn well it’s not going to be a pleasant conversation.”

  Alys pinched the bridge of her nose, as if that would somehow erase the stress that had pulled her brows together. Her pulse was already racing, and her palms were sweating. But as much as she dreaded the conversation—nay, argument—they were about to have, she did not dare put it off any longer.

  The talker on the coffee table chirped, saving Alys from having to respond.

  “Please have a seat,” she invited with a wave of her hand toward the sofa as she opened her Mindseye and plucked some Rho to complete the talker’s connection. Even with her Mindseye open and her back turned, she swore she felt Chanlix’s scowl on the back of her neck.

  When she closed her Mindseye and took in the image of Tynthanal that now hovered over the table, it was all she could do not to flinch, for the way he was looking at her made it clear he had reached a conclusion similar to Chanlix’s.

  Tynthanal nodded briefly at Chanlix, then fixed his attention on Alys with a chilling stare while foregoing any traditional, polite greeting.

  “If the purpose of this meeting is to tell us that you’ve now decided your purgative must be cast with sacrificial Kai that only you can produce,” he said with icy precision, “then we might as well end it now.”

  Belatedly, Alys realized that he and Chanlix had already spoken to each other to prepare for this meeting. She knew each of them had already harbored some suspicion that Alys was contemplating such a thing, so it was only natural that they conclude that was the reason behind her request.

  Alys forced a bright smile that she knew neither of them would believe. “Well, you’ll be happy to know that isn’t what I wanted to talk to you both about.”

  Tynthanal looked almost comically surprised, and Chanlix looked downright suspicious.

  “Oh?” Chanlix said with a tilt of her head and a narrowing of her eyes. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear that, although I don’t know why else you would be so evasive about this meeting.”

  Alys was too agitated to sit down, but she was not helping her cause by standing there hovering, so she forced herself to take a seat on the other end of the sofa and fold her hands in her lap. There would be no easing into this conversation, and both Chanlix and Tynthanal were more than ready to jump down her throat. She might as well just lay the truth out on the table.

  “I still believe that my purgative can be cast with ordinary Kai,” she assured them. “That is why I am sending four of our new female cadets from the Citadel along with our men to help defend Aaltah.” While Women’s Well had by far the smallest military force in all of Seven Wells, she had had no trouble convincing her royal council that they must send every man they could spare to Aaltah, for if Draios and Delnamal got a foothold there, then Women’s Well could never stand against them. “Each of them is in possession of a mote of women’s Kai, and if they can get close enough to Delnamal, they will use that Kai to cast the purgative spell.”

  “Much appreciated,” Tynthanal said, but his body language said he was still braced for a fight. “We have recruited a couple of women from the Abbey here for the same purpose, but the more motes of Kai we have available, the greater our chances of success.”

  Alys nodded. “Yes, of course. Just as I am sure you will equip your most powerful men with the spell in case they should have the misfortune to have Kai available to them during the battle.” She fought against an almost irresistible urge to leap to her feet and pace, but she knew she would be much better off projecting an aura of composure and resolve. “My concern is: what if I’m wrong?”

  “Alys…” Tynthanal said warningly.

  She held up her hands. “It’s a legitimate question, and one that deserves attention however much we might not like it.”

  “Don’t go there!” Tynthanal snapped, glaring at her.

  “I have to,” she said simply. “You have to.”

  “There’s no reason to think—” Chanlix started, leaning forward in her earnestness, but Alys cut her off.

  “Not talking about it doesn’t make the possibility go away. If there is any chance that Leethan’s vision is genuinely prophetic—”

  Tynthanal growled impatiently. “It’s not. At least not literally. You said so yourself!”

  “Probably not,” she responded. “But I don’t think it’s too far-fetched to think it’s possible that I am the only one who can stop Delnamal. And if I am to stop him, I must do it in Aaltah, which means I cannot sit safely here in Women’s Well when the Khalpari invasion begins.”

  “No,” Tynthanal said with stubborn finality. “You are a sovereign princess, and you belong in your own principality.”

  “Exactly!” Chanlix agreed, her eyes flashing.

  Although their reactions were exactly what she’d been expecting, Alys wished it could be otherwise. “My duty is to protect Women’s Well,” she said. “If Aaltah falls, then my being here will be of absolutely no use to my people. The only way to protect Women’s Well is to make sure Aaltah holds off the invaders. It would be irresponsible of me not to prepare for any eventuality—including the possibility that my purgative spell will not work unless used with sacrificial Kai.”

  Tynthanal scoffed. “Even if that’s the case, there’s no reason it must be yours. We can find—”

  “Someone less important than me to sacrifice her life?” Alys asked, letting an edge enter her voice.

  “You are a sovereign!” Tynthanal snapped back. “I am a career soldier who was once the Lieutenant Commander of the Citadel of Aaltah, but although my heart cries out for me to fight alongside my men on the battlefield, I understand that my duty as the prince regent is not to fight but to lead.”

  “There is too much at stake to leave anything to chance or to leave any possibility not accounted for,” Alys argued. “I know you two are worried I have some kind of death wish, but that is not what this is about, I promise you.”

  Chanlix and Tynthanal shared a look, and Alys could see quite clearly that that was indeed what they both feared. And she couldn’t blame them. She could admit to herself that the sacrifice held a certain appeal, that the thought of shrugging off all her burdens and all her grief was not as unattractive as it should have been. But even so, she had searched her soul to make sure she was not striving toward that selfish escape, and she was convinced that her motivations were sane and rational.

  “My argument is simply that if there is any chance that Leethan’s dream means I am the only person who can defeat Delnamal, then I must be in Aaltah to meet him. We can all hope and assume that such is not necessary, but to ignore the possibility…” She shook her head firmly. “No. That would be irresponsible, and that is a sin of which I cannot be accused.”

  Chanlix and Tynthanal shared yet another look, and Alys guessed each was hoping the other would come up with an effective counterargument.

  “I know neither of you likes this idea,” Alys said. “I know that when I bring it before the royal council, there will be those who insist my place is here and will not listen to my reasoning.” She turned to Chanlix. “I am very much hoping you will not be among them. I will need an ally, who can speak for me as a council member, rather than as a concerned friend.” Hence, the reason she had decided to brace the two people whom she feared would object the most strenuously in advance and in private.

  “Even if you can persuade your council to agree with you,” Tynthanal grated, “you are a foreign sovereign, and therefore n
ot free to enter Aaltah without the express permission of myself and my royal council.”

  “A fact of which I am well aware,” she said, then smiled thinly. “Just as I am aware that your council will perhaps not feel terribly welcoming toward me.”

  He snorted. “That’s putting it mildly.”

  “And yet, given the circumstances, I’m certain you can persuade them to allow me entrance.”

  Yes, she was sure he could persuade them; it was just a question of whether he would.

  Alys turned her attention to Chanlix, and her heart gave an unpleasant squeeze when she saw the tears standing in her friend’s eyes.

  “I know you are frightened,” she said, “and I know you want me to be safe. But we will none of us be safe unless Draios and Delnamal are defeated. I hope you understand that I must do all I can to make that come about.” Her own throat tightened, and she sternly commanded herself to stay strong and resolute.

  She looked at Tynthanal once more. “I know this is hard on you,” she said, her voice turning raspy. “I know full well what it’s like to have someone you love throw themselves into danger. If I am forced to accept my only remaining child marching into battle, then you must accept having me come to Aaltah in case I am needed.” She gave Chanlix a look that she hoped conveyed both apology and authority. “And you must accept letting me go. I trust I can count on you to serve as my regent until I get back?”

  Chanlix sniffled and blinked, and though it was clear she very much wished to remonstrate some more, she managed a jerky nod.

  Tynthanal’s eyes were darkly shadowed, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “I will talk to the council,” he said, not meeting her eyes. Then without another word or glance, he cut the connection.

  * * *

  —

  Draios dismissed the page with a peremptory wave, not thinking until the door had closed behind the boy that he should have at least uttered a thank-you before doing so. But he’d been too impatient when he’d seen the iron-gray flier that the page had been carrying, knowing the fate of the war he was about to wage might well lie in the message the flier carried.

  For half a heartbeat, Draios found himself thinking it a shame that he did not have access to the amazing talking fliers that were produced in the heretical principality of Women’s Well, for his negotiations with Sovereign Prince Waldmir could have been completed in a single day if such a convenience had been available. The moment the thought flickered to life, Draios dismissed it with a grunt of disgust and vowed penance in the form of a fast and a sleepless night spent in prayer. The magic of Women’s Well was a blasphemy, an insult against the Creator, and no man of faith should entertain even a moment’s longing for its use!

  Hand trembling ever so slightly in anticipation, Draios coaxed the rolled paper out of the flier’s clawed feet, then broke the wax seal. He smiled with both relief and excitement when he read the short letter from Waldmir that accompanied a longer, signed agreement.

  Between them, Par and Khalpar had by far the largest navy anywhere in Seven Wells, but the sovereign princes of both Grunir and the Midlands had already stated their intentions to help defend Aaltah against any attack. Powerful as Par and Khalpar were together, they would have been massively outmanned if they’d had to face the full combined forces of two kingdoms and two principalities when they made landfall.

  Draios saw the hand of the Creator at work in the peculiar set of circumstances that had allowed him to court an ally who historically refused to lend significant military support to foreign powers. If Waldmir’s child had not been kidnapped and taken to Rhozinolm—or if Rhozinolm had at least had the good sense to send the brat back instead of claiming Prince Zarsha was her true father—the Sovereign Prince of Nandel would likely have sat back quietly and observed as his larger neighbors went to war. Moreover, he would have continued supplying Rhozinolm with all the iron and gems they needed to prepare for war.

  Draios rolled up the scrolled papers with a nod of satisfaction. Waldmir had not only agreed to hold up any future shipments to Rhozinolm, but had also agreed to lead his own army into battle against Rhozinolm, his supposed ally. The massing of his troops would send a clear signal to that kingdom’s weak and illegitimate sovereign that she could not afford to send any but a token force to help defend Aaltah, effectively clipping her wings and keeping her out of the fight until such time as Draios could afford to deal with her.

  Agreeing to take Waldmir’s brat off his hands with a generous brideprice to be paid when she reached her majority and was ripe for marriage was a small price to pay for the glorious victory that would be Draios’s once Aaltah fell and the Curse was eliminated. Draios could only assume that Waldmir was telling the truth about the child’s parentage—surely he would not be so determined to retrieve her if she truly were the child of the Prince Consort of Rhozinolm. If it should turn out the child truly was Zarsha’s, then the agreement would be null and void, and Draios had won Waldmir’s aid at no cost to himself. And if she was Waldmir’s daughter and Draios later decided he did not wish to marry her…

  Well, once Aaltah had fallen to his forces and he had put a king of his own choosing on its throne, one who would be forever beholden to him…

  Draios smiled. He would marry whomever he wanted, and Waldmir would have no way to enforce a contract that in reality could not be legally binding until the child was of age anyway.

  Yes, this was a clear sign of the Creator’s continued approval of Draios’s choices. He could hardly wait until the weather cleared enough for the fleet to launch. He almost wished his father were still alive, for it would have been sweet to rub the old man’s face in the glory that could have been his. He hoped that Parlommir could be captured alive, for he would certainly be fighting on the side of the heretics. Even knowing full well that it was impious of him, Draios very much looked forward to seeing his superior and sanctimonious brother quivering in pathetic terror as the heretic’s pyre was prepared for him. It would be a fitting end to the era of the Curse, and it would herald the dawn of a golden age of piety into which Draios would lead not just his own kingdom, but all of Seven Wells.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Delnamal awakened with a jerk, a choked scream rising from his throat. His breath seized in his lungs, not allowing the sound to escape as the nightmare sank its claws deep into his soul. His cheeks and his pillow were wet with tears, and he frantically tried to throw himself out of the bed, his legs tangling in the covers.

  There was no time!

  He finally tumbled to the floor, his knee making solid contact with the frame of the bed on his way down, sending a sharp crack of pain through his leg. He tried to rise, but his knee objected and sent him to the floor once more.

  Already, he could feel the emotion ebbing.

  “No,” he moaned, looking all around, searching for something, anything that would allow him to stop this.

  There was no weapon nearby, but if he could somehow make it to the window across the room…It would be a very long way down to the flagstones below.

  Gritting his teeth against the pain, he began to crawl, though he feared he was too late.

  You owe Aaltah nothing, an insidious voice whispered in his mind, a voice that sounded so much like his but that wasn’t, couldn’t be. He loved his kingdom, would never want any harm to befall it. And that was true whether he sat on its throne or not. He had made many a regrettable decision, but he was not a monster.

  But then, was it really so terrible to be a monster?

  He paused mid-crawl as the thought struck him. Greed and selfishness were seen as sins in polite society, and the Devotional taught that taking care of others was the height of virtue.

  Well, Delnamal had tried that. He’d sacrificed his wants and needs time and time again for the good of his kingdom. And what had it gotten him?

  Nothing.

  No love. No re
spect. No loyalty.

  Trying to take care of others was a certain path to disappointment and despair. Far easier to take care of himself. He did not have to take guesses as to what he wanted, did not have to face shame and calumny when he guessed wrong or when his wishes conflicted with those of others.

  Taking a deep breath, he sat back on his heels halfway between the bed and the window he’d been planning to toss himself out of.

  From now on, he would have to take special care every night when he went to bed to make sure there was no weapon within easy reach. And he would have to seal the window. Even without the tumble from the bed, he did not think he could have crossed the distance and made it out the window before sanity returned, but there was no reason to take chances.

  Someday, he would find a way to rid himself of the last vestiges of his earlier self. It was decidedly inconvenient to wake up in this kind of panic every day and to be forced to take measures to protect himself from a hysterical suicide attempt. But he was secure in the knowledge that he could weather the storm for as long as need be.

  Delnamal waited until his pulse had calmed and the sweat had dried on his brow before rising to his feet.

  * * *

  —

  Alys was going to miss the glorious desert sunsets, she decided, as she inelegantly hiked up her skirts and dipped her bare feet into the very edges of the spring that surrounded the Well. The sky was painted with reds and yellows and oranges, with occasional wisps of clouds streaking through the colors like the broad strokes of an artist’s brush.

  When she had first ventured out to the Well on this, her final evening in the home she had created for herself, her mood had been melancholy almost to the point of being maudlin. It was her own decision to leave Women’s Well and travel to Aaltah, and she knew it was the right decision. But it was hard, too. Especially when in her heart of hearts, she did not believe she would ever be coming back—no matter how many times she’d reassured Chanlix and Tynthanal and her royal council.