“What news?” Sondra asked, the burning in her a bright and needy thing. “Do we have movement?”
I nodded, watching Ambrose, his knowing expression saying everything. The sun hit the faceted emerald on his staff, scattering shards of light against Merle’s underbelly, giving him an eerie cast. The prophecy’s words echoed in my head, as if by speaking them aloud to Lia, I’d given them even greater power.
Take the Tower of the Sun,
Claim the hand that wears the Abiding Ring,
And the empire falls.
That hand now rested on my arm, with the orchid ring flamboyantly fluttering in an unfelt breeze. The true chill of the prophecy struck a dark foreboding in me, and I finally understood the true import of knowing the extent of Anure’s obsession, and why I’d needed Lia. By claiming her hand in marriage, I possessed what Anure would jeopardize his empire to seize.
I’d searched for it all this time, a way to draw Anure out of his fortress, an opening to destroy him and his empire. The price had been irrelevant. I’d long since stopped caring about what happened to me. I’d always been resigned to the truth that, in the end, I’d happily destroy myself in order to take Anure with me.
Now I knew I’d have to risk destroying Lia, too. All my promises to protect her were as empty as my blackened soul. She’d called me a caged wolf, and she was more right than she knew. A trapped animal can never be trusted.
4
Con’s people formed a circle around him, listening intently as he related the essence of the vile missive from Anure. I marked the way he neatly summarized our extended conversation—probably the longest one we’d ever had—what he included, what he omitted. Staying silent allowed me to play observer, to note the emotional undercurrents among Con, Lady Sondra and General Kara. Calanthe had received refugees from all over the forgotten empires, and I’d made a study of people from many cultures, but these three posed new riddles.
Focusing on them kept me from dwelling on the jagged emotions that sliced at me from the inside out. And accommodating his request to speak with his commanders first both built goodwill between us and gave me a moment to get myself under control.
Shoving down the tumult of unexpected feelings with ruthless determination, I poured ice over the fear, anger, the gnawing pain of Tertulyn’s possible betrayal and my role in the prophecy. Ridiculous to feel stung over that. I’d always known Con only cared about revenge and that marrying me had been another rung on that ladder.
Emotion would get me nowhere. I found myself shamed that Con had seen it necessary to remind me of that. I needed to focus on being rational, analytical. Dispassionate. Now more than ever.
So, we both liked the sex. A perk. And yes, Con’s point that we could be good to each other instead of tearing at each other was only practical. I’d be a fool to think the passion and occasional understanding we shared meant anything more than that. I hadn’t gone into this wanting more than that.
Con had completed his summary, Kara and Sondra firing questions at him. Ambrose had tipped back his head to watch some lilac songbirds fly over. He remained a cipher to me, in keeping with a wizard’s nature. His playful attitude was as much a part of his disguise as the sunny curls, canny green eyes, and youthful face. None of that fooled me, as the glow of his power couldn’t be easily hidden from my sight. Even if the orchid ring didn’t react to his presence with the floral equivalent of girlish giggles and flirtation, I’d have sensed the ancient being disguised by the wizard’s boyish mask. I hadn’t encountered anyone with his level of power before. Studying him—and the orchid ring’s reactions to him—had given me new insights into magic in general, and my own nature. I wanted to ask the wizard questions, but hesitated to reveal the exact boundaries of what I did and didn’t know. Ambrose and I treated each other as allies, but—just as with Con—I reserved suspicion in case things proved otherwise. After all, the wizard had made no secret of his own fascination with the orchid ring, and he owed his loyalty to Con. He might be my court wizard in name, but he belonged to Con. Also, from what Con had revealed about the prophecy, I now knew Ambrose had manipulated me for his own ends. I’d do well to remember that.
Thus far Ambrose and I had executed a careful dance around each other. I felt sure he could see more of my own true nature than the non-magical could, but perhaps not the full extent of it. Likewise, he had to know I saw beyond who he pretended to be, but even I wasn’t sure what to make of what my senses told me.
All I had to go on was my father’s advice on the subject. Treat a wizard like a fish with a scorpion’s tail and with a jewel in its mouth. Grasp the fish too tightly and it might drop the jewel to be lost forever. Too loosely and the fish escapes your hold. Annoy it, and face the sting. That was all I knew. How I wished I had someone to give me advice.
Or someone to talk to that I could trust to be on my side. Con wanted me to confide my secrets and inner thoughts, but …
I didn’t know. I enjoyed his attempts at kindness, rubbing my aching feet—who’d have guessed the rough man had such an intuitive touch?—comforting me in my unreasonable fears. I also found myself wanting to open to that, like Ejarat turning her face to Sawehl’s sun, Her soil thawing under His nourishing rays.
But kindness could be a lie. I’d grown up around countless courtiers who employed apparent kindness as a tool in their social arsenal. When I was a girl, I’d been fooled a time or two, and discovered the manipulation too late. My father had simply pointed out the lesson and suggested I learn what he called the Rule of Suspicion. Be suspicious first, but especially of kindness. People rarely offer anything without wanting something in return, he’d say. The trick is learning what they want, then deciding if the trade is worth it.
I’d discovered that very rarely was I willing to give what they wanted, especially in exchange for a temporary and shallow kindness.
In all truth, I preferred prickly animosity like Lady Sondra’s. She and I had de-escalated from outright hostility, but not much beyond. Still, she was honest and I didn’t have to spend effort sorting beneath the surface for her true motivations. I didn’t begrudge Lady Sondra her resentment—she thought I didn’t have Con’s best interests at heart and she’d be correct. I couldn’t put my husband before Calanthe.
I thought I’d learned my lesson, learned the Rule of Suspicion well. Except for Tertulyn. I’d accepted her kindness to me at face value. Our friendship had been a clean well I drank from, because I thought she’d never wanted anything more than the affection we’d shared.
Con’s insistence that Tertulyn had simply manipulated me as everyone else attempted to do … Well, I prided myself on facing truth with unflinching and open eyes. I did not allow myself delusions. I couldn’t afford to.
I had to face the possibility that Tertulyn had never been my friend, not if she worked for Anure. All those occasions she’d encouraged me to laugh at the emperor’s horrible letters, to rest easy that he’d never make good on his threats to retrieve me—had that all been to lull me into complacency? Her kindness and caring, the small gestures of affection that had meant so much, all could’ve been designed to manage me, to discover more about my nature. How carefully she’d marked the changes in my body as I matured, the evidence of my elemental nature shifting and evolving. How interested she’d been—in me, and in the orchid ring.
For all my icy cynicism, I hadn’t seen it.
I suddenly felt as old as the creature that looked out of Ambrose’s eyes, and terribly alone. The temporary relief from Con rubbing my feet had faded almost as soon as I donned those shoes again, as fleeting as those few moments in the folly when I’d felt connected to him. The kindness he’d shown had served his purpose. When would I ever learn?
Con remained in intense conversation with his commanders, arguing about boats and soldiers in a shorthand developed over years of having such conversations. I could have stood there with them, listened in and offered my opinion, but that would have affected only the surface current
s. This group of three swam through deep waters together. When Con had tried to explain why he called himself empty inside, he’d looked to these others who’d journeyed with him.
They would always have a stronger bond with him than I ever could. That was only to be expected. It shouldn’t make me feel more alone than I had before they arrived uninvited on my island.
Weary of it all—my feet aching fiercely—I left them to thrash out their details. I slipped my arm from Con’s and made my way to the bench in the shade. This one had been designed to accommodate my gowns, so I could seat myself unaided. Ridiculous, really, that I was the queen of all I surveyed, with the power to command everyone—with the salient exception of my husband—but I couldn’t simply sit down without help whenever I liked.
Ambrose ambled over after a moment, which came as no surprise since Merle hadn’t taken his keen eyes off me, indicating I had the wizard’s attention even though he seemed engrossed in the conversation. Since I could see through the eyes of the birds of Calanthe, I had no doubt Ambrose could do the same with his familiar. Only he didn’t seem to need meditative quiet to do it. The wizard even seemed to be able to carry on a conversation at the same time. An enviable skill I’d love to learn, if I could find a way to ask without revealing my comparative weakness in the art.
The wizard gracefully sank to the ground, then sprawled out on the bit of lawn to lean on one elbow. He laid the staff nearby, Merle hopping off to stalk about in the grass, cocking his head to eye what might lie hidden there. Ambrose’s robe—a very expensive one not meant for being rubbed on the ground—hiked up, revealing his bare feet and hairy, somewhat scrawny legs.
“Warriors,” he commented cheerfully. “They never tire of talking war.”
“Their nature, I suppose.”
“True. Whereas our nature leads us to discuss other things.”
I raised a brow. “And what shall we discuss until they do tire of it and deliver their conclusions?”
“I’m glad you asked. How about the stricture against blood spilled in violence on Calanthe’s soil and water?”
I controlled my shock, giving him a bland look as chastisement for attempting to startle an indiscreet remark from me. “Excuse Me?” I replied, letting my arch tone reflect my disapproval of his tactics.
Ambrose grinned, plucked a blade of grass and pointed it at me. “Come now, Your Highness. We’re allies now. Isn’t this something your court wizard should know?”
I declined to comment on his casual assumption of our supposed allied status. We shared a common enemy, but that didn’t necessarily make us friends. “It seems to Me that magic is more your arena than Mine. How could I possibly explain the arcane to an accomplished wizard? I’m no magic wielder.” I enjoyed pretending total ignorance, as he knew it was a lie, and it kept him in the dark about just how much I did know.
“No, because you are magic, aren’t you? Those who are magic seldom wield it, at least not in the same way, for example, that a wizard might.” He was clearly enjoying the game, also.
“I don’t know that much about wizards.”
“Then we are well matched, as I don’t know much about nature magic.”
I raised a brow. “Nor do I.”
He made a scoffing sound. “Calanthe’s magic is yours. Or yours is Calanthe’s.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Same and same, anyway.”
“Calanthe is but an island and I am only a woman,” I countered.
He fell onto his back, laughing heartily, bare feet kicking. Con glanced over, giving me a questioning look, and I waved him off. “Stop that,” I hissed at Ambrose.
Rolling onto his elbow to face me, he abruptly sobered. “I will if you will. This is a critical question, Your Highness. From what I gather the dread trio is planning, we’ll be looking at plenty of violence to come. Plenty of blood to be spilled and islands to be … enraged? Will Calanthe lift her spine from the water, perhaps, to rampage through the world like the giant monsters of old?”
I controlled my reaction to that far-too-prescient remark. So far as I knew, that ancient knowledge had never been written down, the stories told only in secret, in the sacred privacy of the temples on Calanthe, as all the other temples to the old gods had been destroyed when Anure shattered the kingdoms. I laughed, a silvery titter worthy of the silliest courtier. “What a story! Where did you hear such a fanciful tale?”
He regarded me very seriously, the deep forest looking out of his eyes. “Rumors. Fragments of ancient tales told by peat fires. Whispers in the dark.”
“Such a wild imagination you have. The stricture is key to life on Calanthe only because that’s how we preserve our paradise. We are a peaceful people. Violence is strongly discouraged.”
Ambrose shook the blade of grass at me. “‘Forces beyond your imagining,’ you said of it. I recall quite clearly. And just now you referred to it as arcane knowledge. The injunction goes far beyond custom, Your Highness. What happens when Calanthe becomes aware of blood shed in violence?”
I clearly wasn’t in the correct state of mind for verbal fencing, particularly not with this wizard who had his scorpion stinger poised. Needing the infusion of energy, I sat back on my perch just enough to touch my back against the tree, inhaling as if enjoying the serene garden. Calanthe’s nurturing essence flowed into me, a sweet relief. I’d once explained to Con that orchids can’t live on their own, taking their nourishment from the trees, the rain, the very air.
Of course he hadn’t understood that I was much the same. I don’t know why I’d even hinted at it.
Ambrose narrowed his eyes, his keen gaze looking through me—or at whatever he saw when he looked at me—and an uncanny prickle of foreign magic wafted over me. Straightening, I broke the connection and subtly deflected the wizard’s magic into a nearby bush.
Ambrose gave me a knowing smile. “I could test the theory,” he said.
With an effort, I sharpened my thinking. We were having at least two conversations—duels, truly—one verbal, one magical. I wasn’t winning either one. The wizard had chosen his moment to ambush me very well.
“You could,” I agreed, “though if there is a price to pay—from either Calanthe or Her denizens—then you would be the one to pay it. I’ve heard said that the cost extracted from an offender of the laws of magic is proportionate to the amount of magical power they possess.”
Ambrose looked positively delighted. “Have you heard that? How fascinating.” His magic returned, a softer touch, almost delicate, like birdsong heard from far away.
My turn to narrow my gaze. “You purport to have immense ability, Syr Wizard. Have a care, as a price of that size might well send you back to where you came from.”
He sat up, crossed his legs and propped his elbows on his knees, fingers folded to a point over his closed-lipped smile. His green eyes sparkled with humor. His magic sharpened into a needle, pricking me. “And where do you imagine I came from, Your Most Perceptive Highness?”
“Oriel,” I tossed out, allowing myself a slight smile at his hoot of laughter. I broke the needle, letting it shiver onto the stones beneath my seat.
“A clever deflection, but not enough to divert me.” He pressed his fingers to his lips, a calculating glint in his eyes. “Where I come from, we don’t have your kind,” he finally confided.
“Queens?” I asked in wide-eyed surprise. “Or women?”
“Elementals.” He shot the word at me, and in the same moment, a sensation like hot water brushed my skin. “I think you are a woman and an island.”
I pretended not to notice his magic this time, curious to see what he’d do with it. “The philosophers say that no man is an island,” I countered, as if we only exchanged witty repartee. He strengthened the wave of magic, and I drained it down through my feet, letting Calanthe have it. She murmured in her sleep, tasting the odd flavor, then subsiding again.
Ambrose frowned absently as he looked inward; then his brightly curious gaze flicked back to my face. “Ah, but w
e’re speaking of a woman, not a man. What do the philosophers say then?”
“They don’t,” Con inserted, striding over to us, Lady Sondra and General Kara following like the faithful troops they were. “Because women’s minds are unknowable.” He gave me a wry look, and I rolled my eyes, making sure he saw my disdain. Quite frankly, I was relieved that he’d broken the unsettling duel between Ambrose and me.
“You say that as if there aren’t women philosophers.”
Con opened his mouth. Firmly shut it again.
“He used to know better, Your Highness,” Lady Sondra explained with a disgusted look at Con, unexpectedly in harmony with me for a moment. “Our Conrí has been too long among men.”
“You’re not a man,” Con growled at her.
Lady Sondra batted her pale lashes, swaying and mincing with a refined grace worthy of any court lady—an odd sight with her sword at her side, and in her black-and-gold fighting gear, even the glamorous set she wore for court. She fluttered her fingers at Con. “Thank you for noticing.” She pitched her voice too high, so the coo came out rough, and Sondra dropped all playfulness as if it had burned her. The look she then flashed at me held only bitter malice, the temporary harmony gone as if it had never been. “Much good may it do me.”
“We have the beginnings of a plan,” Con said, watching me closely, “to run past you for approval.”
Kara’s face shifted subtly, and Sondra gave Con such an incredulous look that I knew this had been a surprise.
“All right.” I gestured at the grass around me. “Care to sit?”
“I prefer to stand,” Sondra replied, her gaze flicking to the grass at my feet with scorn. Kara said nothing, but remained standing also, with military rigidity.
“Excellent. Then you can ask the gate guard to admit My advisers.” I smiled serenely at her rebellious frown. She had no good reason to refuse to do my bidding, however, so she stalked away to the gate, stiff-legged, all hint of grace banished.
The Fiery Crown Page 6