by Vela Roth
The royal mage turned on the Dexion. “No invitation was issued to Cordian mages.”
“Indeed. I shall have to aspire to appear more Tenebran, shan’t I.”
A chill went down Cassia’s spine. Did the Hesperines know they had just invited their worst enemy into their Sanctuary behind the Queens’ ward? They surely understood the implications. Cassia could only believe the immortal sovereigns who had reigned Orthros with love for sixteen hundred years knew precisely what they were doing.
Cassia also knew all the reasons why Lucis and Chrysanthos, for their own purposes, would accept the Queens’ invitation, and a dozen more why the Hesperines would be able to use this entire event to their ultimate advantage.
She knew the Tenebran embassy would go to Orthros and meet with the Hesperines’ ambassadors. With Lio.
And she would not be there.
How could such a miracle as a human delegation to the Hesperines’ homeland be such a cruel twist for her?
“Basileus, if you intend to accept the invitation,” Tychon broke in, “there is one term the Hesperines insist you must meet. They were quite adamant on this point. If you fail to comply, they will revoke their offer.”
“What is this demand the monsters think they can make of me?”
“They insist the Oath must be sworn with a member of your own blood, as Tenebran tradition dictates.”
The geomagus sputtered, “That’s preposterous. Basileus cannot risk himself or Prince Caelum on such a perilous undertaking. We cannot allow any member of the royal family to come under the Hesperines’ power.”
“Not a member of the royal family,” Tychon clarified. “The Hesperines require that Lady Cassia be your representative, Basileus.”
The room erupted in cries of inappropriate, bastard, expendable, weaker sex. Cassia didn’t care. She barely heard.
She had not felt such jubilation in her heart since she had been with Lio. Her plans lifted from her shoulders. All the work she had still to do in Tenebra faded into the back of her mind. For a precious instant, only one plan, one thought mattered.
She was going to Orthros.
Unless the king refused to send her. Her joy halted in her chest, and helpless anger returned. She turned a gaze upon the king and wished he could see and feel the spite in her eyes.
It would never be that easy. He would not send her.
“The Aithourian Circle’s first infiltration of Orthros depends on a woman?” one of the Cordians scoffed.
“This expedition is no place for a female,” another Aithourian insisted. “The Dexion cannot be expected to coddle her all the way to Orthros.”
Chrysanthos waved a dismissive hand. “The Hesperines want to swear the Oath with the king’s blood. They know Lady Cassia is the only option who is irrelevant enough to the kingdom for Basileus to risk her. It seems she is the cost of passage into Orthros. A small price to pay.”
“Basileus, she isn’t a screamer, is she?” Tychon asked. “We cannot have her flying into fits of hysterics at the sight of Hesperines and interfering with our plans.”
The king lifted a hand, and one of the guards came to his side on cue. “Dispatch a messenger to my daughter’s rooms. She will attend me immediately.”
It was not the first time Cassia and Knight had made the mad dash from the solar to her rooms in time to answer a summons she already knew was coming. But she had never done it so fast.
By the time she heard the messenger hammer on the next door over, Cassia was in her bed in her own tunica, and Knight was asleep on her feet.
Callen’s curses would be colorful at the interruption. She did not envy the messenger who disturbed her bodyguard at this hour of the night and required his wife to leave their bed to wake the lady.
A little while later, Perita arrived at Cassia’s bedside, flushed and pouting in the light of the candle she carried. “Messenger, m’lady. Majesty wants to see you.”
Cassia got to her feet again, grimacing in sympathy. “Go back to bed, Perita. I can dress myself.”
“Certainly not, m’lady.”
Perita set to work on Cassia in the dressing room, and Knight supervised the ritual from the doorway.
“This is the third time,” Perita muttered as she finished lacing Cassia’s gown.
“Fourth,” Cassia amended.
Perita gave Cassia a worried look, but they left the rest unsaid. The king’s bastard had always been at his beck and call, but it had not been until recently that he had taken to summoning Cassia at all hours of the night. As if to ensure she was in her proper place at all times—or catch her if she wasn’t.
A new thought occurred to Cassia. She should have seen it sooner.
Would he see a journey to Orthros as an expedient means of ridding himself of her at last?
Perhaps this was to be the blow heralded by the spies who watched her and the gown that meant death. An illness on the road. A fall from a cliff. Murder by Hesperine.
Cassia could have laughed. All she had to do was survive long enough to get to Orthros.
Once she was there, the king had no hope of touching her.
If he intended to send her in the first place. He would most likely keep her here to tether Flavian. Which meant she would have to take matters into her own hands yet again and somehow secure a place for herself in that embassy.
She strode through the front door of the solar into the scene she had just observed from the fireplace. She gave the king his courtesy and the mages her blankest expression so it would not seem as if she recognized any of them. Lady Cassia had not yet been introduced to the Dexion who had destroyed her shrine and sought to execute her for heresy.
The king gestured at Cassia. “Here is the girl, Dexion.”
Chrysanthos gave Cassia an artful bow. Tension stiffened the courtesy she gave him in return. Would he feel the memory of Lio in her aura? Or had it been too long since she had touched her Hesperine lover for even an Aithourian to sense the evidence?
The mage’s smile was surely one he gave to Cordian princesses when he sought to slay them with his charms. “Lady Kyria, how nice to meet you in person.”
“I was indeed the lady who had the honor of dancing the goddess’s steps upon this year’s Equinox.” Cassia fawned, “I need not beg an introduction to you, Dexion, for your reputation already precedes you all over Solorum. You are the hand of Corona, whom Anthros himself has sent to light our festival bonfire and our path in this hour of trouble.” Should she bat her eyelashes for good measure?
“This hour calls you to a grave task, but do not be alarmed, for I shall be at your side every step of the way. I am loath to ask this of a woman, but your kingdom needs you.” He proceeded to relate the night’s developments like a scary bedtime story. “Your father is prepared to extend you the honor of accompanying me on his official business. If I promise you can rely on me to protect you, will you come with me into fear itself?”
“She will be ready for your departure a fortnight hence,” the king replied.
Cassia could scarcely believe it. After she had scraped together all her plans with her own two hands, suddenly the perfect plan was handed to her. The almighty Order of Anthros and the king himself were ready to serve it up to her. She could not have asked for anything so perfect, for she would never have dreamed it possible.
She could not begin in that moment to predict the complete consequences to her last resort. Until she knew what the Hesperines intended, she could not adjust her plan accordingly. But she knew one thing with certainty.
She was going to Orthros. Whatever the situation, surely that meant there was a chance she would see Lio again. She was good at making the most of chances, however slim.
If they could only be together again, they might once more take on the impossible. And win.
Dare she hope the last resort might not be necessary? Could she and Lio use the Solstice Summit to find a different solution?
She must not get ahead of herself and run headlong
into foolish hope. But for the first time in months, the despair that had been so close at her heels was falling behind.
She would not let the king have the last word. “I am not afraid, Dexion. I will do what my people need of me. It will be my honor to go to Orthros.”
93
Nights Until
WINTER SOLSTICE
A lady always keeps ivy.
—Solia’s instructions to Cassia
Farewells
“I’m sorry, Your Ladyship. My lord is indisposed.”
Cassia cocked her head at Sir Benedict. “You need not address me so. Lady Cassia is more than enough.”
Sir Benedict didn’t budge from where he stood in front of Flavian’s door. “You’re to be the Lady of Free Segetia. We haven’t had a ladyship in a very long time.”
“If I am to be a ladyship, I’d best become acquainted with the future lordship’s vices sooner rather than later, don’t you think?”
“I’d hoped to beat a few out of him before the happy event, Your Ladyship.”
“Benedict.” Cassia smiled. “There are things I must do here, things I have to say. So many preparations in case… You understand.”
Benedict looked away. “Aye. Too well.” With a sigh, he opened the door and escorted her into Flavian’s chambers.
As much time as she and Flavian had spent together over the last six months, she had never set foot in this room, which served as his solar and the center of his domain whenever he was at Solorum. A large window looked out over the kennels and stables, and Cassia imagined it always smelled good in here, like dogs and horses.
Except on occasions such as today, when the room smelled of the debauched figure at the desk. Flavian sat hunched over a stack of letters. There was a quill in his hand and an as-yet empty sick bucket at his feet. He didn’t look up from what he was writing, only shoved his goblet in Benedict’s direction with his free hand. “There’s something wrong with this cup.”
“Yes,” said Cassia. “The number of cups that preceded it.”
Flavian started in his chair, then straightened and reached for his shirt laces. How quaint that he felt the need to cover his chest hair and his amulet of the Brotherhood of Hedon from Cassia’s sight.
He got slowly to his feet. “Forgive my state of dress, my lady.”
“It is forgiven, and so is the wine, if you will allow Benedict to leave that goblet empty.”
“Ben, I think a flagon of cold water is in order.”
“Indeed, my lord.” Benedict excused himself, his expression promising he would dump it on Flavian’s head.
Cassia eyed the empty decanters that lined a cabinet behind Flavian. “I take it the one who has laid waste to your forces has a name, and it is Sabina.”
He leaned with both hands on his desk. “She left court.”
“Are you going after her?”
“She has gone home to Hadria. The one place I cannot follow.”
“Is it?”
“It doesn’t matter. She declined what I proposed. It seems Hadria has more honor than Segetia after all. She said she could not reconcile her conscience to the arrangement.”
“Perhaps if you were the one who had thought of it, she would have felt more inspired to accept.”
He saluted Cassia with his empty goblet.
“Did you first win her to you with one conversation?” asked Cassia. “It will take more effort than this, Flavian.”
“As you so eloquently reminded me, I did not win her. She won me. But although you explained how you knew all of that, there is one thing you did not make clear to me. Why are you so concerned about Sabina and me?”
“That is not the question you should be asking right now. You need to sober up and saddle your horse. This is an opportunity you will never have again—I will be out of the way. Out of the country, in fact.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’m going to Orthros.”
His goblet hit the desk with a thud. “What is the king thinking?”
“Now you are asking the right questions.”
Flavian skirted the desk. “How can he do this to you?”
“Thank you for worrying about me. But I will be fine.” Oh, so fine.
“The so-called embassy is a suicide mission! I will not stand by while my future wife is sent to her death.”
“What question did you ask a moment ago?”
He looked confused, shook his head. But he answered, “What is the king thinking?”
Cassia nodded. “You know the answer. Your time in his service has taught it to you, as has my life as his daughter.”
Flavian came to Cassia, reaching out to her. He hesitated only a moment before resting his hands on her arms. “Whatever we do or do not make of our union, Cassia, I care about your safety. I care about you. I would not call myself a man if I let you be taken into danger.”
“My safety is not what must occupy you. What did your time in Misellum teach you?”
He took a step back. “You know about that, as well?”
“Yes, I know that when the king instructs you to take care of his thieving problem, you do so by putting bread on starving people’s tables instead of taking off their hands. You are a man who can walk into a potential bloodbath and turn it into a thriving trade town. But what about the criminals in your vassals’ own barracks? What did Verruc’s crimes teach you?”
This time, Flavian did not kiss her hand and tell her to think only of dancing. He said nothing.
“Would you entrust the safety of your dependents to Lord Tyran’s guards?” Cassia demanded. “Would you trust his men with a Segetian dairy maid?”
Flavian grimaced.
“Many such problems will demand your intervention, and you must make a commitment now to doing what you know is right, even if it is not what others wish of you.”
Flavian sat down on the edge of his desk. “You are in no way the woman I so foolishly assumed you to be.”
“Now you are reaching the right conclusions.” She took Flavian’s hands in both of hers and looked into his eyes. “Are you the man you assume yourself to be? Tenebra needs you to know the answer. Tenebra needs you.”
The consternation was still there in his gaze, but thoughtfulness too. He had listened to her.
She let him go. She had done all she could at this late hour. Would it be enough?
She could only hope this conversation would cause him to think back on all their previous ones, when she had been, unbeknown to him, instructing him. She had thought she would have more time to prepare Flavian for the role he would have to fill. She had believed she would be here to do what he did not find himself capable of.
The ivy pendant weighed on her chest. No plan for victory was effective unless it accounted for the possibility of defeat. Cassia must lay a foundation for that eventuality, and she had only a fortnight in which to do it.
Her cause must not die with her, if the king used a supposedly suicidal journey to commit murder.
When Benedict returned with the flagon, Flavian turned away from Cassia and poured himself some water.
He drained his cup before speaking again. “Cassia is going to Orthros.”
“I know,” said Benedict. “I am going with her.”
Flavian rounded on him, and Cassia thought he might be about to hurl his fist, but no. He put a hand on Benedict’s shoulder. “Gods. Not you too.”
“Your father approached me about it this morning, when I was on my way to volunteer. I am clearly the one you should send to represent Segetia in the Tenebran embassy and personally ensure Her Ladyship’s safety.”
Flavian let out a bitter, disbelieving huff of a laugh. “Father didn’t even ask me.”
“I’d have said the same thing if he had, my lord.”
“You are not expendable, Ben.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
Flavian looked from one of them to the other. “I, Lord Flavian of Free Segetia, am to sit on my velvet-covered ass and m
ind the king while my dearest friend and future wife ride into the clutches of the Hesperines.”
And while Sabina rode home to Hadria. He did not say it, but Cassia knew she and Benedict were thinking it for him.
“Gods,” Flavian said again. “I don’t know if I’ll ever see any of you again.”
“I will be disappointed in you if you spend my time in Orthros sitting on your ass,” Cassia informed him. “You have questions to ask, conclusions to draw, and a great deal of work to do. You are a clever man. It should not be necessary for me to itemize it for you.”
Flavian reached into his collar. Cassia heard a snap, and he yanked out his amulet of the Brotherhood. She caught a glimpse of the phallic glyph of Hedon before Flavian hurled the charm with unerring aim into his sick bucket.
“I will do what I can, my lady.”
She gave him the best words she had to offer him, the most powerful influence, which she had saved for this, their last moment before her departure. “I have confidence in you.”
85
Nights Until
WINTER SOLSTICE
A lady always tries to understand what’s going on.
—Solia’s instructions to Cassia
Hypnos's Bastard
The necromancers smelled like funerary incense. Cassia had not seen a mage of Hypnos since the one who had come to clean up what was left of Dalos after his duel with the Hesperines.
Although the six necromancers who now presented themselves in the solar were Cordian, she would have been hard-pressed to tell them apart from their Tenebran colleague. Their black hoods and robes shrouded them from head to toe, and long beards obscured half their faces.
The leader of their hex was set apart only by the silvery, metal glyph of Hypnos that adorned his hood. The death god’s symbol, an eternally closed eye, sat right upon the master’s forehead. Cassia had heard a hexmaster’s brooch was always wrought of deadly liquid quicksilver, caught in a spell.
With his hands hidden in his sleeves, the hexmaster bowed to Chrysanthos. “We are ready to assist you, our brother mage, as Hypnos assists his brother Anthros. We will represent our Order in the embassy to Orthros.”