Mother of All

by Jenna Glass

  Something deep inside him relaxed as he realized he would not have to argue his case to his weeping mother. He was confident his need to fight with his comrades was strong enough that he could have held firm, but the burden of guilt that already sat heavily on his shoulders would have become ever so much heavier.

  “Thank you, Mama,” he said. “That…means a lot to me. And now I must ask: why are you here? I’ve asked Uncle Tynthanal, but his answers have not been very satisfying.”

  It made no sense for the sovereign princess of another principality to place herself on the front lines of a war, even if the fate of her principality was heavily dependent on the outcome of that war. “You wanted me to go to Rhozinolm and sit the war out because I am the crown prince,” he continued, “and yet here you are arriving in Aaltah when we all know the attack is imminent. I don’t understand.”

  His mother would not meet his eyes as she asked, “What has your uncle told you?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why? So that you can coordinate your lies with his?” He asked the question without the heat or venom that once would have colored his tone, but his mother flinched anyway. That flinch told him his guess was correct and there was more to her visit than Tynthanal had admitted.

  “Please, Mama,” he said, as gently as he knew how. “I’m not angry. I just want to know what’s going on.”

  She reached up and cupped his cheek in her hand in a way that he ordinarily would have objected to. “I understand. And I know that my coming here is irregular.” She let her hand drop and shook her head. “But the two people I love most in the world are here, and if Aaltah falls…” Her shoulders hunched and her breath caught. “If Aaltah falls, I cannot bear to go on. So I will be here with my son and my brother, and I will lend whatever magical support I can.”

  There was some truth in her answer, Corlin knew. Just as he knew it wasn’t the whole truth. “Don’t you think that as the Crown Prince of Women’s Well, I have a right to know?”

  His mother sighed and gave up the pretense. “You know all of the truth I’m willing to share,” she said. “For the time being, you have declared yourself a soldier of Aaltah first and Crown Prince of Women’s Well second. Therefore, you will be privy to what a soldier should know, rather than what a crown prince should know. When the dust settles, and if we both survive, then you may ask me again for the full truth and I will give it to you.”

  He burned to ask more questions, for her very unwillingness to talk told him the answers were important. But he knew that implacable look in her eyes, knew he had no chance of changing her mind.

  Only when his visit was over and he was traveling down the cliffs on the risers did it occur to him to wonder what his mother had meant by “if we both survive.” Maybe he was overthinking it, but in retrospect it seemed to suggest some possibility that he might survive and she might not. He tried to convince himself that she had merely shied away from saying “if you survive.” But his efforts were unsuccessful, and he feared her presence in Aaltah had a much grimmer and more dangerous purpose than she’d let on.

  * * *

  —

  From the moment Tynthanal laid eyes on Parlommir, the man had put his teeth on edge, and though Tynthanal knew his reaction had nothing to do with Parlommir himself, it was embarrassingly hard to set it aside. It was just that Parlommir looked so much like Delnamal! They had the same round face, the same short stature, and very similar nasal voices, although Parlommir was far thinner than Delnamal. Tynthanal made the mistake of commenting on the resemblance, and it was immediately clear that he’d delivered an insult when none was meant.

  “Forgive me,” Tynthanal said, reminding himself that Parlommir would hopefully be back on the throne of Khalpar where he belonged when this war was over and that it was never too soon to start building a stronger alliance. “I have heard that Delnamal now looks nothing like he did when I last saw him.”

  Parlommir’s lip curled in distaste. “He is a wasted corpse of a man who has no business walking this earth. I saw him when he first arrived in Khalpar, and it was all I could do not to order a funeral pyre built on the spot.” He shook his head. “I do not claim him as family, and I shudder to think that my aunt gave birth to that abomination.”

  Tynthanal decided that he was better off not trying to explain away the comparison any more than he had, and reminded himself to choose his words like a politician. Parlommir had come to Aalwell with his men to help defend Aaltah not because he cared intrinsically about Aaltah’s fate, but because he knew his chances of regaining his throne if Draios conquered Aaltah were near nonexistent. It was Tynthanal’s job to try to forge an alliance that would survive beyond the moment.

  “Xanvin did her best with him,” he said, for he knew it was true. “She is a good woman and is in no way to blame for what Delnamal became. I know she tried her hardest to shape him into a good king, but it was not meant to be.”

  Parlommir huffed and took a seat before the unlit fireplace without awaiting an invitation. The two of them had had their formal introductions earlier, during a public audience, but Tynthanal had thought it best they meet privately as well, so he had invited Parlommir to join him in the Rose Room in the residential section of the palace for an after-dinner drink. Based on the tension he felt in the room so far, he wondered if he had made a tactical error.

  “It sounds as if you are fond of my aunt Xanvin,” Parlommir said, giving him a challenging stare.

  Tynthanal poured them each a brandy, then took a seat across from Parlommir before answering. “I was only six years old when my father married her. She was more of a mother to me than my own mother ever was. So yes, I am fond of her.”

  “But not of Delnamal?” There was a spark of challenge in Parlommir’s eyes, as if he were somehow certain that Tynthanal and his half-brother were close despite all the obvious evidence to the contrary.

  “No!” Tynthanal said emphatically. “Never him. And what of Draios? Were you two close before he murdered your father?”

  The spark in Parlommir’s eyes was brighter this time. “It was Delnamal who murdered my father!”

  “And Draios who stood by and watched and then helped himself to the throne afterward. Shall we stipulate that neither of our brothers is a good man and leave it at that?”

  The edge in his voice was sharp enough to slice through steel, but to his surprise, Parlommir sighed and relaxed back into his chair, staring into his brandy as he swirled it around without drinking. He was quiet for a long moment, and Tynthanal chose not to break the silence.

  “There was always something not quite right about him,” Parlommir said eventually. He held up his glass, and then took a sip. “I have a long habit of checking for poison before I take a drink, and even though Draios is now across the sea from me, I’m finding it hard to shake.”

  Tynthanal’s eyebrows rose, for somehow he hadn’t imagined it was that bad. “But he was supposedly in training to be a priest!” he protested. “Surely…”

  Parlommir waved that off. “His ‘faith’ isn’t even skin deep. He’s always hoped his priestly ambitions would help hide his true nature. Father held out some hope that faith would eventually mold him into a decent man, but I never did.” Some of the color drained from his face, his eyes growing haunted. “I should have tried harder to make Father see what Draios really was, but I thought as long as I took precautions to protect myself, all would be well. It never occurred to me that he might…”

  Grief sat heavily on Parlommir’s shoulders, and though Tynthanal could hardly say he had warmed to the man, he did feel a great deal of sympathy.

  “Just as I never would have guessed Delnamal would execute our niece,” Tynthanal said, feeling a fresh stab of grief of his own over poor Jinnell’s death. There was some doubt now—planted in Alys’s head by Waldmir—that Delnamal had truly killed Jinnell, but he was responsible for
her death whether he’d ordered it or not.

  For a while, the two of them sat in silence, each privately dealing with his own grief and the guilt that accompanied it.

  “They must be stopped,” Parlommir finally said. “Both of them.”

  Tynthanal raised his glass. “On that, we can agree.”

  Parlommir nodded, and they both drank.

  Thinking the ice between them had thawed as much as it was likely to, Tynthanal decided to prod just a little. “And after we have defeated our brothers and you are back on the throne of Khalpar? Will you decide that my sister and I are tainted by our mother’s actions—as your father did—and refuse to establish diplomatic relations with us? Or with Queen Ellinsoltah, for that matter? I know you don’t believe that a woman has any right to be a sovereign.”

  Parlommir licked his lips. “I will not insult you by pretending I am comfortable with the idea.” He sat up straighter in his chair, as if preparing himself for a fight. “I am in full agreement with my father that the world was better off before the Curse was cast, and if I should find it in my power to reverse it, I would do so without hesitation.”

  Tynthanal shook his head. “There, I cannot agree. There’s a reason much of the world now calls it the Blessing.”

  “Women call it that!”

  Tynthanal scoffed. “Can you blame them? But they are far from the only ones. I have a wife and I have an infant daughter, and I am thrilled that they will have choices in life that their predecessors never did. I call it the Blessing, and I truly mean it.”

  Parlommir heaved a sigh. “Then I suppose we will have to agree to disagree. I am not as religious as my father was—or as my brother pretends to be—but I believe in the teachings of the Devotional. Women are meant to submit to men, and the Curse has subverted the true natural order.”

  Tynthanal felt the angry flush heating his face and neck and could do nothing to suppress it. He leaned forward and opened his mouth for a sharp response, but Parlommir cut him off before he could speak.

  “However,” Parlommir said, “unlike them, I believe it’s necessary to live in the world that is, rather than in the world as I should like it to be. Your sister is the sovereign princess of a powerful principality, and Ellinsoltah is queen of one of the three great kingdoms. I cannot guarantee we will be allies in the aftermath, for I cannot see the future. But I will treat with them—or not—based on what is best for my kingdom rather than on my own personal preferences. Will that satisfy your concerns?”

  In all honesty, it didn’t really matter whether Tynthanal was satisfied or not. He was hardly going to refuse the help that Parlommir and his men could offer, for Aaltah’s forces would be spread thin enough already. A fact of which Parlommir was certainly aware.

  “Fair enough,” he said with a nod. “I look forward to a renewed and mutually beneficial relationship between our two kingdoms when the war is won.”

  “That, I will drink to,” Parlommir responded, raising his glass. But both Tynthanal’s assertion and Parlommir’s response revealed far more uncertainty and anxiety than either would be comfortable voicing out loud.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Only a few scant hours ago, the city of Tidewater had been overrun with soldiers waiting their turn to board their transport ships. Draios, Delnamal, and the small force of elite warriors who were assigned to protect them during the battles to come had waited until the streets had emptied before leaving the comfort of the inn Draios had commandeered for their use. Although the worst of the winter weather had cleared, the day before had been dreary and rainy, leaving the streets awash with mud and standing water. The passing of so many men, wagons, siege engines, chevals, and horses had only worsened the conditions of the roads, and Draios chided himself for not thoroughly thinking through his decision to board their party last. The throngs would have cleared effortlessly for him if he’d chosen to board first, and he’d not have arrived at the docks splattered with stinking mud.

  He took a moment to admire the view from the dock before climbing aboard the boat that would take him to his ship. To his knowledge, this was the largest fleet ever assembled in the history of Seven Wells, and it was glorious. He had ordered every seaworthy vessel in all of Khalpar to join the invasion, and so there were cargo ships and fishing boats and any number of smaller craft interspersed with the massive warships. All of Aaltah would quail like frightened children when they saw the forces that were arrayed against them.

  Draios chose to see it as an auspicious portent that the rain and gloom of the day before had parted, and the sun was shining brightly on this long-awaited day of the fleet’s departure.

  “The Creator is smiling on us,” Delnamal commented with a satisfied nod.

  “So He is,” Draios agreed as he shook off a sailor who tried to help him into the boat. He glared at the man, who ducked his head but remained hovering close at hand. The boat rocked ferociously when Draios first set foot in it, and he feared for a moment he might need that helping hand after all, but he caught his balance before such was necessary.

  He had to suck in his cheeks to stop himself from smiling when he saw that Delnamal was clearly waiting for a similar offer of aid from the sailor—and not getting it. It was possible the man had taken Draios’s refusal to encompass his whole party, but more likely that he was reluctant to touch the walking cadaver that hid behind the robes and hood. The fact that even his own men drew back when Delnamal walked in their midst suggested that he would easily scythe through a battlefield.

  Realizing no help was forthcoming—and perhaps too vain to stoop to asking for it—Delnamal climbed in. Luckily for all aboard—especially Draios, who had not yet taken his seat—Delnamal was so emaciated that his unbalanced weight caused only a mild rocking motion.

  Draios sat at the bow, breathing in the fresh, salty sea air as his men took up their oars and rowed toward the flagship. He would have cut a more impressive figure standing, but thanks to his decision at an early age to enter the priesthood, he had little experience riding around in boats and had nothing resembling sea-legs. He had made sure his rooms on the flagship were fully stocked with potions against seasickness.

  Men cheered from the decks of their ships as Draios’s boat passed, and he waved graciously as he soaked up their enthusiasm. To think that his father had been loath to launch his kingdom into war! These men—from career soldiers to recent conscripts—were alight with martial spirit and excitement, fueled by the sure and certain knowledge that they were doing the Creator’s bidding. There had been rumblings of doubt when Draios had first taken the throne, but between his swift and unequivocal punishment of those who fomented it and the sermons and teachings of the priesthood, the kingdom was now firmly behind him. He wished that Parlommir could see him now. The last he’d heard, his big brother and his band of traitors had gone with the forces from the Midlands to help in the defense of Aaltah. Draios had commanded his men to take their would-be king alive if at all possible, but one way or another, he was destined to die soon.

  Once he had boarded the flagship, Draios took a moment to lead the men in prayer, calling on the Creator to bless their journey, and remind all involved that those who were lost in the battles to come would be amply rewarded in the afterlife.

  Then, he gave the order, and the fleet set sail.

  * * *

  —

  Ellin held herself together through sheer force of will until the moment Star reluctantly left the dressing room after preparing her for bed. Her maid had only once asked her what was the matter, but it was not through lack of concern. Star had noticed her disquiet immediately, and Ellin had feared her maid’s kindness and consideration would shatter her. She’d put Star off with the warning that what was troubling her was an affair of state that she could not talk about, and though it was clear that Star wanted to ask questions—or at least find some way to make her feel better—she
had respected Ellin’s wishes and kept those questions to herself.

  But when the dressing room door shut behind her, Ellin’s shoulders drooped, her eyes stung, and the tears finally burst free.

  That was how Zarsha found her moments later—having been alerted by Star about her fragile state of mind. Instead of immediately deluging her with questions, Zarsha took her into his arms and held her while she let loose the control that had been holding her together since the morning’s council meeting.

  Zarsha scooped her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom, laying her down in the shadowed privacy of the curtained bed and climbing in after her, never once losing contact. She snuggled against him, burying her head in his shoulder and feeling his chin rubbing against the top of her head. And still he did not demand she explain her tears. She sniffled and wondered if that was because he had learned when she needed silent support, or because he already knew what had caused the outburst. Perhaps a combination of the two.

  Eventually, the tears began to subside, leaving her head and chest aching and her body weak. She took a deep, shuddering breath and reveled in the luxury of loving her husband and being loved by him in return. She couldn’t imagine having to face the hardships she’d already survived—and the horrors that were on their way—without him by her side. And to think that she’d tried for so long and so hard to avoid marrying him!

  “You already know why I’m crying, don’t you?” she asked in a hoarse whisper. The fact that Zarsha had no official place in the government of Rhozinolm never seemed to keep him in the dark for long. Most people outside of Nandel held Nandelites in contempt, thinking of them as little more than uncouth barbarians. But Zarsha had spent most of his life away from his homeland, and fit in with polite society far better than any other Nandelite she’d ever met. And he was such an inveterate charmer that he had won over the court of Rhozinolm in ways she never would have guessed possible when he’d first visited.