The Orchid Throne

by Jeffe Kennedy

  “Does it matter who he is?” Brenda asked, absently, mulling the question. A poet of rare gifts, she’d also been a military strategist at some point in her life before arriving on my island. I’d recruited her for both reasons. One never knew what resources would be useful.

  “Of course it matters,” Percy replied, not at all flip. “Knowing where he’s from would tell us how he thinks. What he plans.”

  “I can fill in some of what our honored emissary, Leuthar, omitted, whether deliberately or out of ignorance,” Castor said, massaging one hand with the other. Though the evening remained warm, his joints must have been aching. I glanced at Tertulyn, and she gave him a quilted satin lap robe. He smiled sweetly at her. “Thank you, dear. I did a bit of research, Your Highness, and determined that the ‘mines to the north’ referred to must be on the volcanic peninsula of Vurgmun.”

  I frowned and he waved a hand at me. “It would not have been in Your studies. I had to dig out, shall we say, a recently acquired text to determine this much.”

  Brenda coughed quietly into her fist. As she’d been nodding along with Castor’s words, I gathered she’d been the source of the text. The other advantage of inviting smart and artistic people to come live in your palace—they brought interesting things with them.

  “For many decades, or longer,” Castor continued, “the volcanic activity made the island of Vurgmun uninhabitable. As it cooled, explorers from several remote northern kingdoms discovered that rocks from this place, known as vurgsten, possessed interesting properties.”

  “I know something about it,” Brenda inserted, leaning her forearms on her knees and clasping her hands. She had a habit of looking me directly in the eye, unusual for the people who normally surrounded me, but I didn’t mind it. “The stuff can be used to start fires, extend burning. Get enough of it and the correct triggers, it can be applied with explosive force. This should sound familiar.”

  Anure’s secret weapon. “Why isn’t this commonly known?” I asked.

  “Not that much of it to be found.” She shrugged that off, an irritated twitch. “Or wasn’t. Before. Mostly seen as a carnival trick; street wizards used it for the pop and sparkle.”

  “But if mines were discovered that supplied sufficient quantities,” I filled in, “the emperor would’ve used such a weapon—and would’ve kept it secret, so only he could take advantage of it.”

  “Using prisoners is excellent for secrecy,” Percy put in.

  “That, and vurgsten is nasty stuff,” Brenda said. “Willing miners would be scarce.”

  Castor nodded. “It’s logical to assume this Slave King escaped from these mines with a good supply of vurgsten and the knowledge of how to use it. If he’s clever, which he must be to have made it this far, he’s maintained a supply chain that excludes the emperor—and he’s using it to good effect in his campaign.”

  “Plus he’s not dead,” Brenda noted. “Tough guy. Definitely not stupid.”

  “And what do you suppose his ultimate purpose will be?” I posed the question yet again, hoping for a far better one from these minds than the one Leuthar had given me.

  Percy gave up his indolent pose, looking excited. “That piece is supremely obvious.”

  “Enlighten Me.” I said it drily. I had my guesses, but I wanted theirs. These people had been out in the world and I hadn’t. Likely I never would leave Calanthe. If the day came that I did … well, it would mean terrible things, and not just for me.

  “If he was a slave,” Agatha said, her face shadowed with some memory, “then he can have only one true desire. That’s what Percy means.” Brenda, head bent over her hands, nodded, not looking up.

  The air in the closed garden had noticeably thickened. “And that is?”

  “Revenge.” Percy flipped a careless shoulder, but his gaze burned dark. “That’s why the emperor is afraid. This Slave King is coming after him. Judging from what we’ve heard so far, he just might be able to take the fucker out finally.”

  Brenda lifted her head to level a glare at Percy, and he threw up his hands. “Oh, let’s not pretend we don’t all agree in this circle. We’ve vowed not to spill what’s discussed. Her Highness is very careful in Her dance, but we all know why we’re truly here.”

  “And why is that?” I asked, forestalling Tertulyn’s move toward Percy with a minute shake of my head.

  Percy gave me a thin smile, the ghost of his usual insouciance. “We’re Your secret weapons. Your living treasure, carefully hoarded until the day we might be useful to destroy Anure.”

  Everyone shifted under the weight of the stupefied silence. Superstitious, perhaps, to fear speaking treachery aloud, even in relative security. And yet I knew of no traitors who’d been roasted on Anure’s spit because they’d been too careful.

  “Apologies, Your Highness”—Percy sounded bitter—“if I spoke aloud what we know to be true.”

  “You’re forgiven, as the fault must be Mine in creating this false apprehension,” I said, in my steadiest voice. No room for doubt here. Yes, I had deliberately collected these people, and trusted their motivations to a certain extent, but I could allow only so much. Any of them could be Anure’s spy, an edged blade that could turn in my hand. “Let me be very clear that you are incorrect. I have one responsibility, one desire, and one agenda: to protect Calanthe.”

  I let that sit, with no further explanation. The prospect of vurgsten, this stone-rending weapon, being used on Calanthe and what it would do to Her … it made me ill to contemplate. The wolf, breaking its chains and the cliffs shredding themselves into the sea. That man, holding out his hand—I dispelled the visions with a shake of my head so sharp I nearly toppled the wig and crown, something I hadn’t done in years. Forgetting myself.

  “Let us return to the charge I give you all. How do I keep this Slave King away from Calanthe?”

  “Then You won’t aid him in his revenge?” Percy asked softly, something of the iron character that had enabled him to survive showing in his handsome face. “It would be Your vengeance, too. And mine.”

  “And mine,” Agatha agreed. More echoes of agreement, even from others who’d stayed silent thus far.

  “Not mine.” I snapped that out crisply, certain and sure. “The self-styled Slave King is less than nothing to Me. Given the freedom, I would have ignored his presence in the world.” The man, tangled hair coiling in the wind, holding out his hand. The nonsense stuff of nightmares. What I wouldn’t give to remain untouched by his taint.

  I took a breath, then accepted the mild wine Tertulyn handed me, steadying myself.

  “I do not have the freedom to do anything but what I’m doing,” I said more smoothly, my poise back in place. “No doubt you all have heard of the emperor’s charge to Me. Should the Slave King come this way, I must not let him pass. I must act to stop him or suffer the emperor’s punishment.”

  “Seems to me Calanthe is in peril either way, Your Highness,” Brenda said, staring me down. “Seems the noble choice would be to throw in with the Slave King.”

  “To what end?” I countered with infinite patience. High ideals were fine for philosophical discussions, but rarely applied to the real, extraordinarily cruel world. “Easy for you—for all of you—to contemplate sacrificing that which is not yours, that which might be precious to you only for certain reasons, your safe harbor in the storm. What if this Slave King is simply another Anure, possibly even worse?”

  “He can’t be worse,” Agatha muttered with uncharacteristic ferocity.

  “Oh, but he can,” I assured her. Funny that I could be more cynical than they, but I had studied the ways of brutes and tyrants. “Anure is predictable within his framework. We are only guessing at the motivations of this unknown rebel, one who employs a weapon so destructive it topples city walls and the imperial forces fold before it.”

  “Better the devil we know than the devil we don’t?” Brenda mused, not really asking.

  “Better no devils on Calanthe at all,” I retorte
d.

  “How can You not want the emperor gone?” Percy demanded. “Even You—”

  Brenda hushed him, but I answered. “Whether I want him gone or not is immaterial. It is simply not relevant. Look around this garden. How many of you come from kingdoms that no longer exist? Whose people are crushed, enslaved, forgotten, and dead. Your monuments have sunk into the sea, your libraries are burnt, your accomplishments dust. I want many things I cannot have, but I at least have the wisdom to recognize that. To fight the emperor is to be annihilated. We’ve all witnessed that truth repeatedly.” I stared them down, sorry to upset them, but gratified to see my point making its way home. “My father taught Me that long ago. To fight Anure is to be crushed. We cannot win against him.”

  “You call it wisdom, what others call cowardice,” Percy shouted at me.

  Brenda and Agatha shushed him, casting me leery glances. I wouldn’t punish him for the outburst. I’d heard all those accusations before—and far worse. However, I didn’t have to accept the blame he wanted to cast on me. “I will not take Calanthe down that path while the orchid ring resides on My finger. Any of you who wish to call Me coward for that, I won’t argue. But I will ask you to depart from the realm that succors you.”

  I let that promise hang in the air while it thickened enough to make them shift in their seats. I didn’t much care to use that against them, but Calanthe mattered more to me than they did. A monarch must always keep her priorities straight. “I might point out,” I said with considerable ice in my tone, “that if Calanthe had not survived, you, my dear Lord Percy, would have no refuge.”

  “No, Your Highness,” he replied with some shame. “I wouldn’t and I’m grateful.”

  “I don’t want your gratitude. I want your cleverness. Solve My riddle.”

  Tertulyn regarded me with a calm face but widened eyes. Not like me, to voice such a direct threat. Those cursed dreams. My fingers ached with the physical memory of breaking themselves on the wolf’s chains, and I curled them into my palms, even though I knew they were perfectly fine. The orchid ring fluttered, as if in a warm breeze.

  The group was quiet in a significant way, Agatha drawing a shawl around her shoulders, though if anything the night was warmer, still and humid. The gesture again evoked that man with his leather cape and tangled mane, holding out a hand. Haunting me. I couldn’t avoid the clear import of the dreams, that the wolf, the man, and the rebel they called the King of Slaves were all one and the same.

  But I would not break my fingers on his chains. I would not jeopardize Calanthe for his cause.

  I. Would. Not.

  The circle of people sat quietly, as if expecting me to say something more.

  “If it comes to battle, I will do the emperor’s bidding and fight this Slave King. That is not up for negotiation or discussion, as I have no choice in the matter. The question is: How do I prevail without violence, no blood shed—theirs or ours—on the soil of Calanthe? If none of you can answer it, then we may all go and engage in more productive activities.” My voice came out weary. “How many times must I ask this question?”

  “Can we ask,” Brenda offered, quite tentative for her, which made me think I’d come across harsher than I’d intended, “why no violence? I ask,” she hastily added, “because You have the home ground, and defending with decisive force is the most direct solution.”

  “You can ask, but I cannot answer.” Not even for this would I divulge Calanthe’s secrets.

  “How about defining our terms then.” Agatha had a thoughtful look, at work on the puzzle at last. “Your Highness, You’ve said both ‘no violence’ and ‘no blood shed.’ Is one factor more important than the other?”

  They watched me with keen attention. “An excellent question,” I replied with some relief that I could specify. “Blood shed accidentally, ritually, or with compassion—including to feed others—is allowed. Blood shed in violence is not.”

  “Interesting.” Percy had recovered his former insouciant poise. “Then the other piece, ‘on the soil of Calanthe’—is that literally only dirt or would, say, the palace floors still count?”

  Brenda nodded her approval, eyes on me.

  “The territory of Calanthe,” I answered, feeling better all the time that I could explain this much of the restrictions. “So the entire island, the actual soil, and the nearby waters, within a certain perimeter.”

  “I’m guessing this perimeter isn’t obvious, as no one has made note of it.” Brenda made it a statement, raising her brows slightly in case I’d need to correct her, but I didn’t. “So we have a choice of shedding blood outside the perimeter…”

  “Or cutting off the head without shedding blood,” Percy finished.

  Brenda and Percy exchanged a long look. An unlikely friendship there, but one like mine with Tertulyn, full of unspoken understanding.

  “I think we might have a solution, Your Highness.”

  I might’ve sagged in relief, if not for the rigidity of my corset. “Tell me.”

  12

  “We have messages from the scout ships, Conr“í.” General Kara strode into Salvio’s meeting room, Sondra hard on his heels, her face set, mouth flat.

  I wouldn’t be in Keiost long enough to stop thinking of them as Salvio’s rooms and start thinking of them as mine. A good thing, too. I didn’t much care to give the appearance of taking the place of the late, unlamented imperial governor, particularly by literally sitting in his chair. When I fought my way free of the mines and led my people into the battle to simply reclaim our lives, I hadn’t realized that the bloodlust of conquest leads to desks covered with paperwork.

  Many a would-be conqueror might be dissuaded if only they knew.

  Still, the wages that war delivers are dull ones. By taking Keiost, I’d become ruler of it. Despite Sondra’s determined efforts to discover any surviving members of the former ruling family, she’d turned up no one. While we kicked our heels, waiting to make the next move, my conscience—and my father’s voice, which might be the same thing—spurred me to do what I could to set Keiost on a better track to protecting and feeding its people.

  And though it made my skin crawl to sit where the slug had planted his fat butt, Salvio’s library and meeting rooms at least contained all the relevant documents for running the city and surrounds. I’d also found his correspondence with Anure. Helpful, though I loathed touching what they had, as if some disease of the soul might leach off and make me the same as them.

  Even without that, poring over the things made my head ache. My lessons had been violently halted not long after my tenth birthday—and I began an education of a different sort, in the mines of Vurgmun—and I’d never been a diligent reader before that, which made reading an exercise in frustration. Especially as I couldn’t quite swallow my pride to ask for help. As always, I kept my rock hammer and bagiroca nearby, and more than once I’d been tempted to grab either or both and bludgeon the wooden desk—and all the documents along with it—into splinters.

  Witness my great restraint that I hadn’t.

  So Kara and Sondra’s abrupt entry came as a relief, despite their tense expressions. I lifted my head from the tally sheet I’d been studying. Numbers I could understand. Though no amount of adding and subtracting would change our fleet of fishing vessels and pleasure boats into a navy able to carry an army of fifty thousand to attack and subdue Calanthe.

  Ambrose could prattle on about how I’d be seducing the flower queen and fulfilling magical prophecies, but we had to get past her defenses first. On several levels, I thought humorlessly to myself. Still, the first would be the physical defenses of the island. I sincerely doubted I could just sail into Euthalia’s harbor and say, Hello, forget your imperial fiancé and marry me, a dog of an escaped prisoner instead.

  I doubted any of this absurd plan would work, regardless, but I knew my primary job and capabilities: get us into the harbor with all important limbs and organs attached. Before that, getting us out of Keiost with sam
e.

  Kara’s and Sondra’s faces spoke of bad news, but not the unexpected kind—and of the variety that made him worry and her gloat. I might not be able to read fancy legal language, but I could read people.

  “What do our scouts say—that Anure is sending ships to retake Keiost?” I guessed.

  Sondra nodded, eyes steely with anticipation, and Kara handed me the scrap of paper he carried. “Word just came via messenger bird from the deep-sea fishing boats we sent out.”

  I liked notes from scouts sent via birds—short words, to the point, and no embellishments. “Two warships, three days out,” I read. Then grunted and tossed it in the fire. Though summer in Keiost was hardly chilly, my blood had boiled thin in volcanic heat of Vurgmun. Having a fire nearby to keep the aches out of my bones was a temporary luxury, but one I savored as fair compensation for playing governor instead of doing what I did best. Now the time had come to vacate this oversoft seat.

  I grinned, slow and satisfied. This was the best news we’d gotten in a while. “So kind of Anure send me ships.”

  Sondra cracked a thin smile. “And here I was starting to get bored.”

  Kara looked between us. “Have either of you ever seen even one of Anure’s warships? They can carry nearly a thousand soldiers and come equipped with siege engines that can sink a ship and level the walls of Keiost. Two of them is no laughing matter. And that’s if he didn’t equip them with vurgsten, which he will have done.”

  I tapped my tally sheet. “I have fifty thousand soldiers and a fleet of one hundred and thirty-three boats.”

  Kara’s eyelids nearly peeled back in his attempt to restrain his incredulity. “Conrí,” he said through his teeth, attempting to sound deferential when I knew he truly wanted to set me back on my heels. A good two decades older than I, Kara had been the most senior of us to survive the mines. Sondra liked to joke that he did it by turning himself into rawhide and that he wasn’t a flesh-and-blood man anymore. Never in his hearing, though. She respected him too much. And despite her thorny ways—and vicious glee in killing those who deserved it—Sondra still had a kind heart beneath it all. Kara cleared his throat. “Conrí. You have fifty thousand people answering to you, yes, but they include priests and clerics, mothers of small children and scholars. Easily ten thousand are children—”