“Where are the other sovereigns?” Jax asked in a hush to Ziri.
The woman did not turn around to respond. “Duke Cetachi felt it best that everyone be given their personal space outside of the formal sessions. Given this once served as an outpost for rebel forces during the wars that led to the Rebirth, there are plenty of rooms to occupy, so everyone is quite spread out across the first-floor wings.”
Jax’s gaze roamed the myriad of passageways sprouting off along the main domed corridor. It would be easy to get lost in this fortress, despite only being confined to the first floor. “Where are your chambers, Ziri? Where are the Knights of Grace staying?”
“Those of us assigned as escorts have rooms on the first floor of the fortress. The rest of the Knights are assigned to the outer buildings stationed around the estate’s courtyard.”
Jax pictured the domed tower she’d seen rising from the center of the moonstone tower. “Is anyone stationed on the upper floors?” She remembered counting five stories as they approached the main building.
With a glance over her shoulder, a smile curled on Ziri’s lips. “So inquisitive, Duquessa.”
Jax scowled at the warrior’s reprimand but let the matter drop. She didn’t know as much about the fort’s layout as she would have liked, and it put her on edge to be so unaware of her surroundings.
Perry’s hand found the small of her back, his palm sending a flood of warmth and clarity through her. Ziri had inadvertently made a good point. Jax needed to keep a clear and calm mind for what was about to unfold. Filling her brain with the minute details of the estate would distract her focus.
The passageway abruptly ended as they turned a corner, finding themselves face-to-face with the towering bronze doors of the grand hall. Jax’s gaze drifted upward. The doorway had to be almost as massive as the fort’s entry gate. Yet, the moonstone walls climbed higher and higher past the door, disappearing into inky blackness overhead.
Ziri splayed her palm on the ribbed bronze molding and pushed. Despite its bulk, the door swung outward in an effortless sweep, revealing a large, circular chamber inside. The room had to be several stories tall, and although it was less than half the size of Jax’s Saphirian banquet hall, its stark emptiness made it appear much more vast. Save for twelve padded chairs facing each other in a circle, there was absolutely no furniture within the immense room.
“Welcome to the War Council,” Ziri purred.
Jax inched forward, surveying the chamber, illuminated by flaming torches at intervals along the walls. The moonstone within was apparently not touched by the sun during the daytime, indicating they were in the heart of Fort Vyndheim’s defenses, hidden away from the rest of the world.
“This is your domain, Duchess Xavier,” came Ziri’s lyrical voice in her ear, “for we cannot enter with you. Once you pass over the threshold, you will face trouble alone until we are reunited.”
A grave warning laced Ziri’s words. Even their hired escorts could offer her no protection once she stepped into the grand hall, for the War Council dictated the sovereigns face each other alone. Well, Jax thought with a glance at her husband’s profile, his gaze resolute, despite a sheen of apprehension, not entirely alone. To Ziri, Jax dipped her chin in acknowledgement. “Thank you. I shall manage from here.”
With her head held high, Jax glided into the grand hall, her focus dancing around the circle of chairs. She did not need to be told which was hers. A gold, high-backed chair covered in violet cushions with embroidered irises called to her. A tribute to Saphire. As she strolled to her seat, Jax took in the other simple thrones stationed around the room. A chair of silver and green sat directly across the circle from her; Perry’s post for the duration of the War Council. Jax smiled at the placement. It would serve them both well to be able to seek each other’s gaze for reassurance. Another small courtesy afforded by Darian, she guessed.
Jax examined the thrones, starting with the one to her immediate right. Lysandeir, Zaltor, Kwatalar, Beautraud, Hestes, Pettraud, Crepsta, Savant, Mensina, Tandora, and Cetachi. Never in her lifetime had there been such a gathering. Of course, over the years, the ducal leaders had been invited to numerous events across the realm: Jax’s coronation, Mensina’s Feast of Champions, the Cetachi dukedom summit, her wedding. Yet, even for those momentous events, most had only sent delegates to represent their respective courts. Jax wasn’t even certain her father had engaged with all the realm’s sovereigns at once while he was Duke. What would he say if he were alive now?
Hands clasped behind his back, Perry ambled noiselessly into the cavernous room, coming to rest behind the makeshift Pettraud throne. “Virtues guide us.” His whispered prayer washed over Jax.
She covertly stared at him, trying to quell her own concerns about her husband’s readiness for what they were about to face. She’d spent her whole life preparing for the vicious political arena; Perry had had less than five months under his belt. He hadn’t been groomed for years—decades, even—by tutors and courtiers for this world. Despite being intelligent, Perry didn’t have the intrinsic understanding of how these games of power worked. He wore his emotions so clearly on his sleeve. She didn’t have to be married to him to know how nervous and frightened he was about what was to come. Jax didn’t blame him for such feelings, as she struggled with them herself, yet she’d been trained to compartmentalize her emotions and keep a stoic mask firmly in place. If only her husband had the foresight to do the same.
She sighed at her callous assessment of Perry’s strength. He was his own man, capable of much greatness. She shouldn’t spend their final moments before the raging political storm belittling his ability to mask his emotions. George’s words suddenly echoed in her head. Not everyone can lock their feelings behind impenetrable hearts like you can, Jax. She shrugged the memory away, remembering George’s pity that she did not allow herself to feel so deeply. Little did he know how much she kept barricaded behind the stone walls of her heart.
“My darling, you know how much I love you, right?”
Her sudden declaration had Perry cocking his head. “Of course, Jax.”
She smiled and crossed the room to reach for his hands. “While you and I are forever bound by love, I’m afraid we must put Jax and Perry aside for now. In this room, you are the Duke of Pettraud. I am the Duchess of Saphire and the Isla DeLacqua isles. I can defend myself in this arena.” She pressed her palm affectionately against his cheek. “I do not need you to fight my battles for me.” She hoped her husband understood that she didn’t need or want him rushing unnecessarily to her defense. It would make her seem weak in the eyes of the other rulers, a woman needing her husband to defend her honor.
Perry’s expression became pinched, as if he were struggling to let go of his primal urges to protect her. “All I ask is that you afford me the same.”
She bowed her head in solemn promise. Despite his inexperience, she had to trust that Perry could navigate these devious waters by himself.
She broke away from her husband and let her gaze trail around the ominous room, catching glimpses of war-torn banners hanging from the walls. How she wished to find George’s chocolate gaze staring back at her. Throughout all his years of service to her family, she hadn’t realized how much she’d come to rely on his quiet, reassuring presence during moments of unease until now. Every major decision she had made for Saphire, as Crown Princess and as Duchess, had been done with him in the shadows, watching over her. Her own fears suddenly doubled. How was she supposed to face this council without him to support her?
“I should have known you’d already be here,” came a gravelly voice from the entryway.
Jax’s roiling nerves subsided as she spotted the imposing figure of her grandfather, a shadow in the immense threshold. Her heart glowed at the sight, and she reminded herself once again that she was not alone in the fight ahead. “And I should have guessed you’d be the first to follow.” She dashed across the grand hall, arms outstretched. “Grand-Père, it has been
too long.”
The Duke of Mensina held her tightly in his burly arms. “I am sorry I’ve had to stay away, my child.” His steely, dark violet eyes were tinged with sadness. “I wish I could have been there for you.”
“Nonsense.” Jax waved away his guilt. “You did what was best for Mensina and for the realm.” After all the attempts made on her own life, Duke Mensina had spent the last few months hidden away from enemies and allies alike, to ensure he’d be alive and well to support his granddaughter during the War Council. His warm complexion and muscular build proved he was indeed in good health for a man his age. “When did you arrive here at Fort Vyndheim?”
“This morning,” Duke Mensina answered before reaching for Perry’s extended hand and giving it a hearty shake. “Captain Roche wanted enough time to canvas the fortress and ensure proper security measures were taken.” The Duke frowned. “Except upon our arrival, Darian lectured us on ancient rules, Roche was whisked away to parts unknown, and I was assigned a ghost.”
“Ghost?” Jax raised an eyebrow.
“I’d bet my duchy the man is half phantom.” Her grandfather growled, tossing a furtive glance over his shoulder toward the doorway. “Acolyte Ezekiel melts into the shadows like no one I’ve ever seen.” He shook his head. “No wonder the Knights of Grace have remained shrouded in mystery and myth for so long.”
Jax chuckled. “I take it you were just as surprised as we were to learn of their existence.”
The Duke snorted. “And none too happy about it. I trust Darian believes he is doing what is best for us all, but I’d rather have no guards than judgmental mercenaries protecting us.”
Perry grinned. “You make a good point, sir. Since we had to leave our swords in our chambers, what harm can we really do to one another?”
“Just because I’m not young and spry like you and Jacqueline, little Pettraud, doesn’t mean I don’t pack a nasty punch.” The Duke’s fists balled at his sides. “If it came to blows, I’m certain I could knock the air out of Savant’s lungs without him laying a single finger on me.”
“Better you than me, Horatio.”
Startled by the paper-thin voice, Jax’s attention flew to the grand hall entryway. Hunched in a shuffling stoop, leaning heavily on a polished cane, Henrik Crepsta wandered into the room. Having last seen the man at her springtime wedding, Jax was horrified by how unkind the months had been to the once strapping Duke. With the recent death of his beloved wife, it appeared time had stripped away at Henrik’s strength and vigor, leaving behind a frail shell of a man. Studying his labored movements, it astounded her he’d been able to make the journey north.
“Dear Henrik.” Jax rushed to his side, her hand cupping his elbow for support. “I’m told you only just arrived. Why not rest before we commence for the evening?”
Henrik swatted away the idea, a sly grin curling on his chapped lips. “Please, Jacqueline. I’m at the age where if I close my eyes, I might not wake up. I’d rather get this show on the road.”
Jax managed a light giggle at the man’s teasing joke, but couldn’t help but compare the difference between Duke Crepsta and her grandfather, who were separated in age by only a handful of years. She worried old age wasn’t the only culprit regarding Henrik’s failing health. “That makes two of us.”
Duke Crepsta’s regal gaze met hers. “It’s tiring trying to stay alive, isn’t it?”
Jax puzzled over the Duke’s cryptic phrasing. Besides Darian, Perry, and her grandfather, Jax had not shared the failed attempts Tandora, Savant, and Beautraud had made on her life, for fear of drawing more moths to the flame. Had Henrik’s spies informed him of such matters, or was he simply making another joke about the risks that came with being sovereign?
Henrik shuffled to the chair bearing Crepsta’s colors and sank into the thick cushions with only a nod of greeting to Duke Mensina and Perry. As his eyes closed and his body relaxed, Jax sensed the elderly man needed to regain his strength and left him to his thoughts.
She glided back over to her grandfather’s side, noticing how he eyed Henrik warily.
“He looks as if the Virtues might claim him any moment.” Duke Mensina’s frown deepened.
Jax matched her grandfather’s hushed tone. “Any news as to whom he has selected for an heir?” Duke Crepsta no longer had any living children, meaning the man would be forced to invoke the Code of Succession and handpick his successor, or risk the duchy falling into chaos upon his death.
Her grandfather’s head shook in the slightest. “There were whispers, of course, that a selection had been made, but nothing my spies have been able to verify.”
Jax pursed her lips. “My courtiers believe it may be one of his sister’s children.”
“Any of them fit to wear the crown?” Duke Mensina’s eyebrow inched upward.
Jax kept silent, very much aware of Perry standing beside her. She did not want to risk offending her husband by telling her grandfather that none of Crepsta’s nephews or nieces had any formal upbringing in royal court. By all accounts, Perry had not been groomed to be Duke of Pettraud, yet here he stood now. “Time will tell,” she finally said in answer.
Footsteps echoed in the outer hall, signaling a new arrival. Given that most of her close allies were already in the chamber, Jax sent a silent prayer to the Virtues to help her face the enemies to come.
Duchess Katalina Zaltor emerged from the shadows, her fiery orange skirts sweeping over the bronze threshold into the grand council chamber. Her smooth ebony skin shimmered in the torchlight, and her piercing orchid gaze narrowed in on Jax as she floated into the room. “My, my, it has been too long.” Her silky voice radiated refined power.
Jax bowed her head in greeting as she stepped forward. “Not since I attended your coronation, I believe.” When Jax had been a fresh graduate of the Academy, she had traveled the realm as her father’s ambassador and had attended Duchess Zaltor’s coronation in his stead. While nearly eight years had passed since that event, Katalina appeared to have hardly aged a day, despite having to now be in her late thirties.
Katalina tilted her head, her long neck covered in vibrant orange jewels. “I apologize I could not return the courtesy and attend your own coronation.”
Jax forced a tight smile across her lips. While Katalina had not made a formal declaration of her support for Savant’s alliance, Jax knew the Duchess did not favor her ideals. Jax learned this from a High Priestess of the Ancient Faith she had befriended in her travels over the summer. The Ancient Faith, once a symbol of corruption and oppression in the realm, using silent gods to mandate subservience, now was a peaceful religion, helmed by strong women who believed in living a good and just life. Having grown up as a Child of the Virtues, Jax had always viewed the Ancient Faith in a negative light, but after overcoming her prejudice and learning about their faith’s goals, she had found more allies in her quest for a realm of equality. Many practitioners of the Ancient Faith lived within the borders of Zaltor, and in recent months, upon learning their Duchess supported the continuation of oppressing the common-born, had decided to abandon the duchy and seek asylum elsewhere.
Katalina’s gaze drifted to Perry. “It seems there have been many coronations I have missed of late.”
Perry’s cheeks colored. The circumstances surrounding his father’s abdication of the throne remained a mystery to those outside the Pettraud family’s confidence. “It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Duchess Zaltor.” He bowed his head in formal greeting, his mop of curls cascading forward and hiding his unease.
Katalina waved a hand. “Come now, there is no need for titles. We are all equals here.” She raised a coy eyebrow. “Isn’t equality what you’re after, Jacqueline?”
Jax curled her lips, burying the confusion that stemmed from Katalina’s enigmatic delivery. Perhaps Zaltor’s opinion was still capable of being swayed. “How was your journey, Katalina? I imagine leaving the warm sands of Zaltor for the winters of the north must have been hard.”
The elegant woman sniffed. “I don’t know how you all survive these changing seasons.” She glanced around the sparsely adorned room. “Between the weather and being forced to tend to my own needs, this gathering cannot conclude soon enough.”
Before Jax could inquire further, two figures appeared in the doorway. The telltale red hair and wiry build revealed the arrival of the youthful Duke Landon Lysandeir. Clutching his arm like it was her only lifeline was Amyra, Duchess of Kwatalar. Few lines graced the middle-aged woman’s olive skin, although her raven hair was streaked with silver. She seemed hesitant to enter the chamber, her grip seeming to tighten on Landon’s forearm.
“We would have arrived sooner, but it seems our escorts got a bit lost,” Landon explained in sheepish greeting.
At his side, Amyra scoffed. “Gives one great confidence in their ability to defend a fortress they cannot even navigate.”
Her obvious sarcasm broke the tension in the room, light chuckles echoing into the recesses of the grand hall’s domed ceiling.
“One might think we were having a party,” a cool voice sneered from behind the new arrivals.
Jax’s gaze flashed to the wild-haired man. In all the years she’d known him, Duke Waylon Beautraud had never desired to tame his long, auburn mane, enhancing his predatory appearance. As he stalked into the room, his footsteps thudded like an avalanche of rocks while his stormy gaze swept across the scene. His regal eyes were the color of dried heather, no longer bright and friendly, as they had once been when she was a young girl. His broad frame stopped behind the throne bearing Beautraud black and gold accents. “I’m not sure this is what yer father had in mind when he said he wanted to bring the realm together, Jacqueline.”
She struggled to maintain a stoic, unfazed expression. Her Duchess of Saphire mask came dangerously close to cracking under the man’s harsh glare and the mention of her father. “He no longer decides Saphire’s fate, dear Waylon. I do.” Jax held her chin out, willing her lips not to quiver at the thought that her beloved late father might disapprove of her intentions.
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