A stream burbled its way through the palace from a lagoon on one side to a pond on the other, meandering through in a trough cut into the marble floors and inlaid with little tiles in all shades of blue and green. Arching bridges crossed it in places, more for show than anything because all but the most mincing courtier could easily leap across the narrow channel. I might not have much in the way of fine manners, but even I knew it would be rude to actually jump over the thing, however, and I didn’t much feel like changing my path to cross over the nearest dainty bridge. So, I turned and followed the stream outside.
Ambrose, of course, tagged along as if we were out for a companionable stroll.
“What do you want, Ambrose?” I finally asked, capitulating to the inevitable.
“Me? Oh, what a question.” He let his staff thunk on the path of crushed stone, leaning on it as we walked, Merle rising and falling with the movement, like the carved masthead of a ship on stormy seas. “I want different things now than when I was an apprentice wizard,” he continued conversationally. “Those ideas change over time, have you noticed? The expectations of idealistic ignorance give way to more mature dreams and goals. Not in a bad way. It’s just that what we thought we wanted came from not really knowing what we could have. Once I learned more about what the world offered me, I discovered I wanted entirely different things. And you?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Or how I’d gone from leading armies, gaining momentum on my vengeance with each conquest, to strolling through a garden, having a conversation like the pretty lads and ladies we passed. Most of the courtiers were in court, naturally, kissing Lia’s gorgeously garbed ass and passing their fancily folded notes, but the other denizens of the palace seemed to spend most of their time looking decorative in the gardens. In my black garb—granted, finer than what I’d arrived on Calanthe wearing—and carrying my weapons, I felt like a scarred monster by comparison. Given the askance looks the courtiers gave me before they deflected into other directions, they thought so, too.
“I’m talking about changing expectations,” Ambrose replied, lifting his face to the sun and smiling like that one painting of a saint back in the gallery. “You, for example, can expect very different things from your life now that you’re King of Calanthe and no longer the Slave King.”
“The consort of the Queen of Calanthe,” I corrected, hating the testy edge to my voice, already so rough compared to the wizard’s fluid tones. “Not the same thing. I’m not king of anything, never have been.”
Ambrose waved that off as irrelevant. “My point is, it’s time for you to stop moping about in the shadows. Time to take action, my boy!”
I stopped next to a tiered fountain of roses, glaring at it while I mastered the urge to throttle the wizard. The roses at the top were bright white, then they got pinker lower down. The blooms progressed through all shades of pink and red, until the bottom ones, which were as dark as the blood that pours out when you strike a man in the liver.
Tiny purple bees buzzed around them, making a hypnotic sound that somehow seemed part of the heavily sweet scent of the blossoms. I kept an eye on the bees to make sure they planned to stay occupied with the flowers rather than attacking us. “What action do you want me to take?” I asked, sounding more or less calm. “Lia refuses to convene her defense council and you agreed, saying we should wait to see how Anure responded when he received news of the wedding.”
Ambrose sighed heavily, then settled himself on a stone bench that circled the flower fountain, heedless of the bees that investigated the garland in his hair, though Merle snapped at one curiously. “That’s what I’m telling you, Conrí,” the wizard said with exaggerated patience. “We did have to wait. Now we don’t. Must I forever explain these things?”
I wrapped my fingers into my palms, making them into fists so I’d be less likely to forget that I needed Ambrose and accidentally strangle him. Also, he was Lia’s court wizard now, and she’d be put out with me if I killed him.
Ours wasn’t a marriage of affection. Exactly the opposite, in fact, as we’d started out trying to kill each other before we even met face to face. But the ritual had been done properly, tying us together for the rest of our lives, like it or not. Aside from the sexual consummation, where we seemed to get along just fine, we mostly seemed to piss each other off. Like two bulls in a small pen, one of Lia’s pet scholars, Brenda, had called us. Not a bad comparison, if unflattering. I wouldn’t mind having horns to wave at Ambrose in menace.
“What changed?” I asked. My voice growled with frustration when the wizard got that sly look of his and raised a chastising finger as he opened his mouth. “And don’t say everything changes all the time.”
Ambrose closed his mouth again and raised his brows. “Well, everything does change. Change is the one dependable element of the world,” he pointed out, almost primly, then hastily added as he spied the look on my face, “but I’ll address the question I believe you meant to ask, which is why is now the time and not yesterday, or even earlier today? That’s a complicated answer, because there are many factors you won’t understand, even if I had time to explain them all.”
“Ambrose.”
“Patience, Conrí, what I’m saying is that Queen Euthalia has received a message from Anure.”
“It took you this long to tell me that?” I snapped, incredulous. My blood surged hot, but not with anger and frustration like usual. Excitement and bold purpose filled me. Enough of delays and arguing in circles. Finally I could embark on the final phase of my mission to destroy Anure, everything he’d built, and everything he cared about. If the Imperial Toad was capable of caring about anything at all.
And the empire falls.
“What did the message say?”
“Oh, I don’t know exactly. But the currents of possibility and probability have shifted. It’s fascinating to see.”
I bit back my impatience. “How have they shifted—have you seen how we can counter Anure’s certain attack?”
A chorus of music blasted from the direction of the palace proper, along with cheers and shouts. I knew that fanfare well enough, as it always heralded the approach of the queen. Her people behaved as if her every appearance was a cause for joyous celebration. Ambrose stood, using the staff to pull himself up, a delighted smile on his face. “Aha! Here comes Queen Euthalia. She’ll be able to tell you what the message says. Then you’ll see.”
“Something you could have told me long since.”
“If you’d bothered to attend court, you’d have known already,” he shot back, dropping all hint of playfulness, his words short and full of disapproval.
I didn’t reply, setting my teeth together with a satisfying bite instead. Lia’s court drove me out of my mind with their fancy dress and pretty posturing. I’d gone to court with Lia that first day, thinking that we’d get actual work done. We did have a war to plan, right? But no—she’d expected me to dress up and then sit there while fancily dressed idiots simpered and offered fake compliments, begging for favors in the guise of offering congratulations on our marriage.
When I lost all patience and suggested—politely, I thought—that we call the defense council into session, all hell had broken loose. How was I supposed to know Lia’s Sawehl-cursed defense council was a secret? With everyone in an uproar, Lia had adjourned court and accused me of sabotaging her authority and precipitating panic. I’d had to point out that the threat of incipient attack by an overwhelming force should upset people. The argument went downhill from there.
We’d more or less gotten back on friendly, if formal, terms since. But I also hadn’t gone back to court. And she still hadn’t convened the defense council.
The music and cheering grew closer, so I stayed where I was. No doubt the purple bees had told Lia where to find me—or however her elemental magic worked. All I knew about her for sure was that Lia was as much flower as flesh. She kept her head shaved because if she didn’t, her hair grew out like vines. So sh
e told me—I hadn’t seen that part, though I’d seen the plant-like patterns on her skin, surprisingly erotic.
There was magic there, too, but I didn’t know how much. Lia had a lifelong habit of concealing her nature, so she didn’t discuss the specifics easily, certainly not in public. And when we were alone … well, we didn’t talk much.
She came around the bend of the garden path, preceded by two spritely children tossing flower petals in the air to flutter down and decorate the rocks before her. The gravel already had colorful, smooth stones interspersed throughout the rougher white ones, so the petals seemed especially redundant. But the Calantheans never saw anything they didn’t try to make even prettier.
Lia led a phalanx of attendants, five ladies in waiting instead of her former six—she also refused to discuss replacing Tertulyn, who’d disappeared on our wedding day and had yet to be found—along with Lord Dearsley, and a few others of her various advisers. Two of my own people, Sondra and Kara, accompanied the entourage, gazes alert for trouble. They were dressed for court, too, though more severely than the extravagant Calanthe styles so they also stood out as invaders amongst the blossoms.
I hadn’t seen Lia since I’d vacated the bed we shared before she’d dressed for the day. A weird Calanthean ritual dictated that the “Morning Glory,” a young virgin, should assist the queen from her bed. Apparently Lia’s father, old King Gul, had divested the glories of their innocence. When Lia had arched a brow and asked if I’d like to take up that tradition, my answer had been an easy and immediate no. I had zero interest in that tradition.
So, since our marriage, Lia had changed the years-old routine by having Lady Ibolya assist in getting me gone before Lady Calla brought the glory in and pretended to wake the queen all over again.
After that, the glory helped Lia’s ladies complete the elaborate ritual of dressing her for the day, something I was fine with escaping. I preferred my wife—uncanny still to even think those words—without the adornments of her rank. I knew most noble ladies used their clothing and makeup as a kind of armor in their battles with the world, but Lia elevated dressing to a full scale war. A lot of the costume and makeup served to disguise her nature. She had to shave her head, so she wore elaborate wigs to hide that fact. The elaborate gowns and thick paste covered everything else.
Still, her choice of dress absolutely announced her mood. Today she was lethal.
She wore a stiff-boned corset, which pushed up her breasts to distracting levels, and narrowed her waist to a wisp I could span with my hands. The under part of the gown exactly matched her skin tone, with an overlay of sheer material with angular black lines of gleaming black beads in spiky patterns. The skirt flowed long and full over her hips and trailed behind her with a ruff of black at the bottom that scattered the petals as she walked. Even though there was a lot of it, the gown overall gave the impression that she was mostly naked, wearing only thin black lines of tiny beads. In fact, the more I squinted at it, the better I could see that some of the skirt was sheer, giving glimpses of her long, slim legs, made even longer-looking by the sparkling high heels on her feet.
She’d foregone her usual high collar, leaving her shoulders bare, the covering of her breasts more thickly beaded than the rest, with another ruff of lace coyly feathered over her cleavage. Even though I knew she’d have her exposed skin covered with thick makeup, the sight of her exquisite bosom tantalized me with memories of how she tasted. Long black gloves covered her arms from wrists to shoulders, her fingers tipped with sharp-looking nails, white with gleaming black at the ends, as if she’d dipped them in ink.
On her left hand, the orchid ring—the Abiding Ring I’d supposedly claimed along with her hand in marriage, for all the good it did me—bloomed in splendor, ruffled petals somehow sexual and magical.
The wig she’d donned to match the outfit was also ebony black—possibly the same one she’d worn for our wedding ball—but elaborately styled so that a long curl draped over one shoulder, the rest forming a coiling nest for the glittering crown of Calanthe. With Lia’s makeup all in stark black and white also—even her lips were painted glossy black, diamonds glittering at the corners of her mouth, the two top points, and a larger one centered in the full lower lip—the crown of jewels in the blues and greens of Calanthe’s gentle seas was the only point of color, besides the orchid on her hand.
Well, and the blue-gray of her eyes, a color that should have been misty, but came across as crystal shard-sharp as the beads on her gown as she assessed me from beneath diamond-tipped black lashes. Lia moved with swaying grace toward me, apparently unhurried, expression as coolly composed as always. But I didn’t miss the tension simmering in her.
She paused a decorous distance before me, and I restrained the urge to bow. Yet another reason I’d hated court—or being with her in formal settings—was that I didn’t know the rules for how to behave. When it was just us, man and woman, me and Lia, preferably naked, I knew how to handle her. With Her Highness Queen Euthalia …
“Good morning, Conrí,” she said, her smoothly cultured voice sweet as flowers. “I trust you’re enjoying My gardens? It’s a lovely day for it.”
I barely managed not to wince, or apologize—especially not for refusing to waste time kicking my heels in court. Instead I gave in to the urge to acknowledge her beauty by taking her hand, the one without the orchid ring, bending over it, and pressing a kiss to her fingers. As always, she smelled of flowers or the inside of a leaf, as if her petal-soft skin emanated the scent naturally. She curled those nails, sharp as thorns, against my palm. I straightened, and gave her a long, cautious look.
“Good morning, wife,” I replied, not above needling her in return. Her eyes narrowed in smoky warning. “I understand there’s news from our illustrious imperial overlord?”
That narrow gaze flicked to Ambrose and back to me. “Indeed, Conrí,” she replied with decorous boredom. “His Imperial Majesty Emperor Anure has sent me a letter.” She lifted her free hand, flicking the black-tipped nails with languid demand, the orchid ring’s petals billowing with the movement, and her lady Ibolya set an envelope in the cage of them. The light-gray paper had been folded in intricate lines, then embossed in darker gray with an image of Anure’s citadel at Yekpehr, the rocks jagged and menacing.
She spun the envelope to extend it to me, as Sondra might flick one of her blades. Lia’s expression remained opaque, eyes guileless. “While I hate to interrupt your idyll in the garden, perhaps I could trouble you with your attention to this.”
Oh yeah, Lia was pissed as hell. I could only hope it wasn’t all aimed at me.
About the Author
Jeffe Kennedy is an award-winning, bestselling author who writes fantasy with romantic elements and contemporary romance. She serves on the Board of Directors for SFWA as a Director at Large.
Her most recent works include the high fantasy trilogy from Rebel Base books, The Chronicles of Dasnaria, in the same world as her award-winning fantasy series The Twelve Kingdoms and The Uncharted Realms. She is a hybrid author, and also self-publishes a romantic fantasy series, Sorcerous Moons. Her books have won the RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Fantasy Romance of 2015, been named Best Book of June 2014, and won RWA’s prestigious RITA® Award in 2017. The newest novella in The Uncharted Realms, The Dragons of Summer, is also a RITA finalist in 2019.
She lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico, with two Maine coon cats, plentiful free-range lizards, and a very handsome Doctor of Oriental Medicine.
Jeffe can be found online at her website: JeffeKennedy.com, every Sunday at the SFF Seven blog, on Facebook, on Goodreads and on Twitter @jeffekennedy. She is represented by Sarah Younger of Nancy Yost Literary Agency. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Excerpt: The Fiery Crown
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
First published in the United States by St. Martin’s Paperbacks, an imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.
THE ORCHID THRONE
Copyright © 2019 by Jeffe Kennedy.
Excerpt from The Fiery Crown copyright © 2019 by Jeffe Kennedy.
All rights reserved.
For information address St. Martin’s Publishing Group, 120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271.
The Orchid Throne Page 33