The Fiery Crown

by Jeffe Kennedy

  “I told you that I’d protect you, that my people would help protect Calanthe, so why in great green Ejarat didn’t you tell me a messenger from Anure had arrived?” He finished on a near roar.

  I opened my mouth, but he plowed on, face taut. “For that matter, why the hell did your people let a boat through? We discussed this, that no new boats would be allowed into the harbor.”

  “Oh, we did not ‘discuss,’” I hissed. “You issued an order. I modified it, since this is My kingdom.”

  “Then you put your kingdom in jeopardy, out of a foolish need to spite me.”

  “Don’t pretend that you actually care about Calanthe,” I fired back. “And I’m not stupid. I’ve been queen of Calanthe for years and kept Her safe long before you arrived to throw orders around as if you’re My keeper.”

  He loomed over me. “You need a keeper, Lia,” he snarled, emotion making his voice even rougher. “What if that had been an attack? No, you just welcome Anure’s man with open arms.”

  “I. Know. The. Difference.” I spaced out my words so they’d penetrate his thick skull. “Do you think I’m so oblivious that I can’t tell a sloop from a battleship? That I can’t discern a single, letter-carrying messenger from an attacking army? Because I assure you, I can. I captured you, after all.”

  “Through enchantment and trickery,” he snarled through clenched teeth, clearly still sore about that one.

  “Exactly,” I replied, allowing myself a smile of triumph.

  He glared back, white makeup smudges on his dark shirt from holding me. Which had been kind of him, and unexpectedly compassionate. And somehow we’d gone from that to battling each other once again. I took a moment to gather my composure. “Why are we fighting with each other?”

  He raked a hand through his hair, looking past me with a grim expression. “I suppose because we can’t yet kill the guy that deserves it.”

  “And never can.”

  “I will. Mark my words.”

  “You can issue arrogant proclamations all you like, but words are easy. Killing Anure is impossible.”

  He glared at me, incredulous. “If you believe that, then what are we even doing?”

  “I ask Myself that hourly.”

  Setting his teeth, he spoke through them. “Why did you agree to marry me and work as a team to defeat Anure if you never believed we could win?”

  “I had no choice, did I?” I bit out in the same tone. “Marrying you was the only viable option amid far worse choices.”

  “But you did make that choice,” he pointed out grimly. “So why not work with me on this?”

  “Because you’re hotheaded and reckless,” I spat.

  “That may be true, but it’s worked for me so far, sweetheart.”

  Our glares meshed, simmering between us. For a moment I thought he might kiss me after all. Then, when he didn’t, I kicked myself for feeling disappointed.

  Instead, he took a step back, hooking his thumbs in his thick belt and drumming his fingers. “I interrupted you before,” he said in a neutral tone, as if the argument hadn’t occurred. “Why did you read Anure’s missive in court when you usually read the letters alone?”

  I stuck with the most innocuous truth. “The messenger said that it contained news about Tertulyn.”

  Con frowned, and I took it for confusion. “My oldest friend,” I clarified. “My first lady-in-waiting, who has been missing these last days.”

  “I remember who she is. What I don’t understand is why a ruler as savvy as you are hasn’t figured out that Tertulyn was a spy who fled to Anure.”

  I laughed. An absurd suggestion. Or was it? “That is the last thing she’d do.”

  “The two of them clearly have been playing you.”

  “You’re wrong. Tertulyn would never betray Me. She’s My friend.”

  “Or she was Anure’s spy, planted to keep you on his hook all this time.”

  “How was she recruited then?” I countered. “Tertulyn never even met the emperor.” Though she had frequented the Night Court without me, so she would’ve have had opportunity to meet with other spies. Except that didn’t bear considering because Tertulyn simply wouldn’t betray me. Would she?

  “I don’t know,” Con answered in a neutral tone. “I don’t need to know those details. They’re irrelevant.”

  “The details are not irrelevant, because those are the pieces you’re missing,” I insisted. I would not let him plant his doubts in my heart. “You’re new to Calanthe, and you don’t understand. Tertulyn and I were children together. Until recently, never a day passed that I didn’t see her on waking, that I didn’t retire to her good nights.” And sometimes retire with her, as Tertulyn had always been solicitous of me, and generous in giving me pleasure or comfort as I needed. I wouldn’t tell Con that. It was private and he didn’t need to know that Tertulyn was the one person in the world I’d called friend, who’d loved me for the person I was, not the crown I wore. No, she couldn’t have been a spy. I would have known. Surely I couldn’t have been blind to something like that.

  Con studied me as I spoke, discerning what I hadn’t said. “Anure visited Calanthe.”

  “Only once. My father took care of that.”

  “Once is enough,” Con pointed out with relentless logic, “if you need proof that they could’ve met.”

  “So your theory is that he somehow managed to get Tertulyn alone and subverted My dearest friend into only pretending to love Me, so she could one day disappear. Not much of a long game.”

  “Anure left Calanthe engaged to you, yes?”

  “Betrothed. I was only twelve, Con. Far too young to be formally engaged.”

  “You’re mincing words.”

  “No, it’s a vital difference. Betrothal is a promise of engagement. I was never Anure’s fiancée, no matter what you or he may believe.”

  “It’s not an important difference for this conversation. Anure left your island believing he’d eventually make you his empress. Why wouldn’t he leave a spy behind to ensure that everything happened according to his plan?”

  “Of course he has spies. I just know Tertulyn wasn’t one.” I lifted my chin, aware of my eroding position as Con gave me an exasperated look.

  “Lia, I know you don’t trust me, so—”

  “Just like you don’t trust Me.”

  He didn’t acknowledge that and forged on. “—so you don’t want to tell me much about your magic. But you admitted before that you are connected to Calanthe, that you sense the birds and fishes.”

  “True,” I replied. No sense denying that, but I wouldn’t elaborate if I could help it. My father had always been so adamant that I shouldn’t talk about my nature and abilities. If people guess, from the old stories, so be it. But we don’t need to hand them power over you and Calanthe.

  “Can you sense the people on Calanthe, too?” he asked, watching my expression with keen attention. I suspected very few people could get away with lying to him. I probably could—I have a deft hand at it—but I decided not to.

  “Yes.” No need to admit to the rather glaring exceptions to that ability.

  “Then is Tertulyn on Calanthe?” he persisted with relentless logic. “You should know.”

  I hesitated—and visibly so, curse it—because he immediately spotted it, gaze sharpening like a wolf on the scent. Bright Ejarat, I should’ve been able to spin a lie without thinking. This being vulnerable to someone confused me on many levels. Con had neatly trapped me in this, too. I’d have to admit to this blind spot in my abilities, something I’d really hoped to keep from him a bit longer.

  “How about we agree to something?” Con said, gently enough that his voice lost its rough edge, and I could hear how it might have been before the toxic fumes in the mines robbed him. “Instead of lying to me, just say you’re not going to answer. That way I’m only fighting my own ignorance, not deliberate misdirection.”

  I firmed my lips over several replies. He waited me out, a mocking glint in
his eyes challenging me to deny it. “Agreed.” I really hated that he was right. I’d asked him to use his brutality and ruthlessness to help me save Calanthe. I had to trust him far enough to do that. But not so far that I didn’t keep a close eye on his plans—nor would I relinquish my power to him. “I’ll answer, but you must promise to keep this a secret.”

  I’d have liked to ask him not to use the knowledge against me, but ha to that.

  To my surprise, he went down on one knee, lifted the black netting at my hem, and kissed it. He looked up at me, the golden flecks in his eyes catching the light like the sun glinting on the sea. “Euthalia, my queen and lady wife, I swear to keep your secrets as my own.” His hand slipped under my skirt to caress the spot high on the back of my thigh where he knew a pattern of golden bark and spring leaves twined over my skin. He’d traced it with his tongue the night before, a sensation my body remembered distractingly well. “I promised this already,” he continued, pointedly stroking the marks that revealed my nature, “since your secrets protect you. But I ask you to think about this: What about Tertulyn, who knows so much about you?”

  Somehow that hadn’t occurred to me. My ladies all knew something of what I hid beneath the heavy makeup and elaborate clothing. But Tertulyn knew the most of anyone. Here I’d been so worried about what Con might do with my secrets when I might already be doomed. All because of a woman I’d thought was my friend.

  3

  Lia’s crystal-clear gaze rested on me, in astonishment at my vow and gesture—good for me, that I surprised her—and in dawning horror as she followed my meaning. She sagged a little, and I firmed my grip on her leg, in case she fainted.

  But my Lia wasn’t the fainting type. Still, she glanced at the bench with longing. “Why don’t you sit?” I stood and took her hand to guide her to it.

  She resisted. “I can’t sit.” She sounded annoyed about it, too, and gestured at her elaborate gown. “I’m dressed for court,” she added, as if that explained anything.

  “You sit on your throne,” I said, not understanding at all, and she threw me a look I figured meant she pitied how dense I could be. Fortunately, as much as my idiocy about everything to do with the formal customs of Calanthe irritated me, I had no illusions about my failings that way. “You’re going to have to explain things to me, Lia. I think I’ve proved myself an eager student of your other lessons,” I added, reminding her of how much she’d already taught me in bed—and how much we both enjoyed it.

  It was the right thing to say—despite Ambrose’s wry insults, I was getting better at finding honeyed words for courting—and for the first time that day, Lia smiled at me with some of the genuine warmth of the woman inside the queen. “My ladies help Me sit,” she answered on a sigh.

  I moved behind her. “All right, what do I do?”

  She glanced up, over her shoulder at me, clearly astonished. “You don’t mind?”

  “Why would I?”

  “I know that you … think the Calanthean styles are frivolous.”

  Ah. They were, compared with what I’d known. I didn’t want her to think she couldn’t ask me for help, though. Whatever I could do to get her to stop seeing me as the enemy. “So, I pull this fluffy bit to the side?”

  She muffled a laugh. “Yes, and then sweep that section smooth, and hold this part out.”

  I did, and she sat with a tiny but grateful moan. “These shoes are not meant for standing in for very long.” She toed off the offending slippers. With their pointed ends and jeweled heels that looked more like rapier tips than anything meant to support body weight, I wasn’t surprised.

  I sat beside her. Then on impulse picked up her silk-stocking-clad feet, propped them on my knee, and started massaging them. The memory flooded back of my father doing this for my mother during family time after balls and receptions. She’d sat with her feet on his lap and he’d rubbed them as they dissected how the event had gone.

  It was the right thing to do—I was on a roll—because Lia groaned. She sounded like she did during sex, which had the same arousing effect on me, and she closed her eyes. She had feet as lovely as the rest of her, soft and well tended, her unadorned toenails gleaming through the sheer material, looking like petals from those roses, in all shades from white to bloodred.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, a note of surprise in it. Then she narrowed her eyes, the elaborate fake lashes nearly screening their glint. “Why are you being nice to Me?”

  “I’m your husband. We’re supposed to be good to each other.” I didn’t tell her about my father, but I liked remembering that my parents had loved each other. Not that I deluded myself about my own marriage. Still, there was a lot of ground between a loving marriage and wanting to kill each other—surely we could find something in the middle. “And you’ve had a rough morning,” I said instead. “As to your clothes … Yeah, it’s true I like you better naked, but I get it. I have my armor, you have yours.”

  Her eyes opened wider as she considered me. “That’s exactly how I think of it.” She seemed surprised that I understood. “All right,” she said, seeming to come to a decision. “The reason I don’t know whether Tertulyn is on Calanthe or not is because she isn’t from here. She’s from Keiost.” Lia arched one elegant black brow, the diamond at the point winking as it lifted, and she paused to add significance to the information.

  Aha. I took a moment to think through the ramifications. “You only sense people born on Calanthe?”

  “Not just people—any living creature—and not just on the island, but for some distance around Her. And I know what you’re thinking: You are correct that I’m not able to feel where you and your people are.” She dipped her chin, acknowledging that she’d handed me a potential weapon. One I might’ve used against her when I arrived on Calanthe bent on conquest, had I known. Then she smiled, both sweet and lethal. “Though I am able to discern a great deal through other sources.”

  “You’re a scary lady,” I commented, leaving it at that. “But you didn’t ‘discern’ where Tertulyn went—through these ‘other sources’?”

  “I was otherwise occupied at the time,” she replied in the driest of voices, reminding me of the chaos of that afternoon that resulted in our wedding, and the frenzy to plan a party to cover the truth. How we’d spent that night. “And I didn’t suspect anything. It never occurred to Me that she might disappear so completely. I only thought she couldn’t bear to see Me married and apparently celebrating it.”

  Lia let out a small sigh of regret, the sound the barest hint of the heartbreak that might go deeper than I’d suspected, a crack in that carefully maintained armor. Lia had held Tertulyn in great affection—and Tertulyn had clearly exploited that blind spot, using and abusing Lia’s trust. At least Lia was finally willing to discuss Tertulyn’s disappearance. It seemed so obvious to me that Tertulyn had been in a position to know everything about Lia and report on it, and also to subtly influence how Lia viewed Anure. If I pushed on this, though, I risked alienating Lia, again. Better to storm this particular fortress from a different direction.

  “Tell me more about how being ‘otherwise occupied’ affects you,” I suggested. Her expression shuttered in that forbidding way I’d come to recognize. “Your ability to sense what happens on Calanthe could be critical in the days ahead,” I explained. “I need to know your limitations. If you have any.”

  She didn’t smile at that, instead sighing and tilting her head subtly one way, then the other. Releasing tension from her neck without disturbing the wig and crown, I realized. “I have to be able to concentrate,” she said in a quiet voice. She really hated admitting to any weakness, I could tell, and could sympathize with. “The farther something is from My physical location, the more focus I need. It’s best when I’m all alone, in the quiet. Ideally, I need to be awake but not thinking.”

  I frowned, confused. “How does that work?”

  “I call it the dreamthink.” She hesitated again, this time as if she expected me to laugh o
r scoff. When I only listened, she continued. “It’s easiest when I first wake up—I can kind of drift? And then the sights and sounds of Calanthe come to Me vividly, like taking an inventory of My body.”

  “Hmm.” I considered that. Not that I knew anything about magic. “Did your father teach you to do that?”

  She shook her head. “No. He could access Calanthe, I think through the orchid ring, but in a different way than I can.” She studied the blossom on her finger. “I’m having to learn on My own.”

  “Sounds difficult.”

  Her crystal eyes rose to mine, wary and uncertain. “Yes? And no. I think … I think the orchid is trying to help Me learn.” Another sigh. “For a really long time, I tried not to listen to it. When it transferred to Me, my father had just died. I was only sixteen, betrothed to a monster, swamped with grief, and … I felt so very alone.”

  I held her feet in a reassuring grasp. She’d never opened up to me like this before. I nearly said I thought we could grow to love each other, as my parents had, but it seemed unlikely that we’d have the time—and an impetuous declaration like that might just put her walls up again. “You’re not alone anymore, Lia. We’re bound to each other, forever.” I braced for a cutting reply, but she gazed back at me with eyes full of doubt.

  “We don’t work well together,” she finally said.

  “‘Two bulls in a small pen,’” I replied, quoting Brenda with a grimace.

  To my surprise, Lia laughed, a musical sound, like well-tuned chimes. “I didn’t think you’d heard that particular quip.”

  “More than once. And there’s truth in it. We both like to be the one giving the orders.”

  “In My case, it’s more than liking it—I have a responsibility to put Calanthe first.”

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make decisions in harmony.”

  “It does mean that if what you want goes against Calanthe’s best interests.”

  True. I didn’t get her single-minded devotion to a piece of land, but I respected it. “We can balance our decisions—take both sides into account.”