The Heir and the Spare

by Kate Stradling

  “It won’t be a problem,” Jaoven replied, but the clenching fists at his side told another story.

  Iona swallowed against a lump in her throat, her mind racing for any exit strategy she could formulate. To Neven she whispered, “You have to let me go.” As art students, they had shared many of the same woes four years ago. Surely he of all this group might sympathize with her.

  Instead he dashed her fledgling hopes. “I can’t.” His attention flitted to the delegates and servants around them. “If your family abandoned Capria in its time of need, you have to face your punishment.”

  With increasing dread, Iona buttoned her lips and marched. Strictly speaking, her family had abandoned the embattled noblemen of that land. What punishment it merited, though, was up for debate.

  Neven’s hold upon her arm remained loose, but if she tried to break away, the others would dog-pile her. If he would only move to the edge of the group!

  Ahead, Elouan and Jaoven continued their consultation. “Do you remember everyone’s name?” Elouan asked.

  Jaoven snorted. “Please. I’ve recited them a hundred times since we got on the boat.”

  “Say them again. If your mind goes blank at the wrong moment—”

  “King Gawen, Queen Marget, Crown Princess Lisenn, Princess Iona. Happy?”

  “I will be once this blasted meeting is over.”

  “Because you’re looking forward to the days of negotiations yet to come?”

  “Your father gave us very strict instructions.”

  “Enough, Elou. I have too much on my mind already.” He cast a scowl over his shoulder, briefly meeting Iona’s gaze before resuming his purposeful stride.

  Morbidly she wondered how his posture would change in the moments shortly before them. It was almost worth provoking Lisenn’s wrath.

  Almost.

  They crossed the main courtyard and arrived at the entrance to the great hall. The Wessettan royal guards in their signature red cloaks lined the way. If any of them recognized Iona’s presence in the foreign delegation, they only raised their brows and shifted their attention elsewhere. No one meddled much with her doings, and because Kester led the group, her inclusion in it could invite no comments.

  The steward paused on the threshold, turning back as though to speak. When his gaze met Iona’s her scowl prompted him to look elsewhere. “If you will wait here but a moment,” he said delicately to Prince Jaoven. Then, after a slight bow, he proceeded into the vast and airy room without them.

  A crowd of Wessettan nobles lined the walls leading up to the central dais, where four thrones awaited the delegation.

  “One of the princesses is missing,” said Elouan with a frown.

  “Which one?” Jaoven asked, peering from the raven-haired young woman at the king’s right hand, then over to the empty chair at the queen’s left.

  “The younger. That’s Lisenn next to her father.”

  “Perhaps the other one’s absence explains the delay. They certainly left us waiting long enough.”

  “Perhaps. Or she might not be in town. Our informants said they’ve housed their daughters in different areas of the country before, as a safeguard against any attacks upon the crown.”

  Jaoven grunted. “Would that our people had been as wise.”

  Iona bit her lips to contain a bitter laugh. She glued her eyes to Kester as he lightly hopped up the stairs to her father’s side and whispered in his ear. Lisenn’s pretty face contorted, proof that she overheard the hushed confidence, but she schooled her ire away again as her father responded.

  Kester returned. He gestured inward with a grand, sweeping arm. In a voice that echoed from the vaulted stone ceiling, a crier announced, “The crown of Wessett welcomes emissaries of Capria into its hallowed halls: Crown Prince Jaoven; Elouan, Duke of Dumene; Lady Denoela of Rosemarch…”

  True to Iona’s expectations, the servants and untitled diplomats peeled away, leaving her and Neven near the back of the group, with only one man behind them. The list of names and titles continued as the official delegation processed across the checkerboard marble floor toward the waiting monarch. A murmur arose among the Wessettan nobles who noticed Iona in the foreign ranks. She resisted the urge to shrink out of sight, but it didn’t fully leave until she met Aedan’s gaze near the front of the room. He had every right to attend an assembly such as this, of course, but he must have bolted straight here the instant Kester followed her.

  Which meant he either figured she’d get caught or else was curious about the Caprians himself.

  When they locked gazes, he tipped his head, his brows cinched as though to ask if she had gone completely mad. She squared her shoulders and glowered at him.

  The crier finished his list of names and the delegation stopped ten feet in front of the dais. Prince Jaoven bowed and then straightened, waiting for his host to speak.

  King Gawen, one hand tracing patterns on the arm of his throne, looked past the newly crowned royal to lock gazes with his own daughter.

  “Iona, what are you doing?”

  A stricken hush fell across the hall. The Caprian delegates exchanged confused glances, and Jaoven actually turned as though to discern where the king’s attention lay.

  Iona, resigned to her fate, calmly extracted herself from Neven’s lax grip and skirted by the rest of the delegation. She spared Jaoven only a grim, sidelong glance as she passed, then she mounted the three dais steps and swept into the empty chair at her mother’s side. The fair-haired queen favored her with a smile.

  Straight-backed and stoic, the second princess of Wessett met the horrified stares of her former classmates.

  And she might have relished this wordless comeuppance had Lisenn’s glare not been drilling into the side of her head.

  Chapter 2

  Silence governed the great hall until the king himself broke it with a single, probing word. “Iona?”

  She shifted her focus to him, meeting his gaze with her court persona firmly fixed. When she spoke, she projected her voice to reach the furthest corners of the room, as befitted a royal daughter paying her respects. “Forgive my tardiness, Father. I ran into the delegation on my way here. I apologize for failing to arrive before them.”

  Inwardly she writhed. He could leave it at this simple explanation, could let the past remain where it belonged and shift to present matters instead.

  But he didn’t. Rather, he twisted in his chair, the better to regard her as he spoke in a conversational tone. “I suppose no one can blame your interest in our guests. Have you any friends among them?”

  Her heart spasmed. “No, sire.” She flitted a glance at the Caprians, at the increasing fear that possessed them whole, and added, “Such is not my honor.”

  His eyelids fluttered. Beyond him, Lisenn asked, “Why would Iona—?” Her voice caught in her throat before the question could fully emerge. The expression that followed might have turned her younger sister’s insides to water under other circumstances, but Iona had suffered too many shocks today already.

  “So you were in Capria,” Lisenn said, the words uttered low.

  Her father turned and patted his elder daughter’s hand. “You remember,” he said jovially. “She was there at school, back before their unfortunate civil war.”

  Lisenn’s face brightened, her court façade resuming full force. “Of course. How silly of me. But it was so long ago that I’d nearly forgotten.”

  She had never known in the first place. Iona’s parents had sent their younger child away specifically to separate her from their elder one. Hence the pseudonym, the stealthy travel under cover of night, the quiet, shabby dorm room in the elite college of a foreign power.

  And hence Iona’s best excuse never to speak of that time. Even after her return her whereabouts remained a mystery the elder princess could not solve. Now, years of secrecy unraveled in an instant.

  Her father redirected the conversation to their clustered visitors. “Yes, it was long ago, and much has happened in t
he interim. We welcome you to our court, Prince of Capria, and hope you will find friends here even if such has not yet been your fortune.” He tipped a wry smile toward his younger daughter, the first clue she had that her blunt rejection of the delegation could be conceived as a diplomatic insult.

  They had come to treat. She had denied them kinship.

  She would do it again, if pressed. Her lips flattened to a thin line and she shifted her attention to the wall.

  The meeting continued according to its original course, with no need for her to interact. Jaoven brought greetings from his father, the newly ascended King Armel. If his voice wavered as he recited the flowery speech, the Wessettan nobles could attribute it to his nerves rather than any burgeoning dismay over the identity of their unremarkable second princess.

  For her part, Iona enjoyed every small warble. How well did he remember her? Did he recall specifics, or only a general sense of his former conduct? Either one should damn a soul with a shred of conscience.

  Not that Jaoven of Deraval had such a commodity. More than likely he feared her destroying this treaty—this proposed marriage alliance—with her older sister.

  She fought the urge to laugh outright. The two monsters could have each other, with her blessing. And if their marriage carried Lisenn to Capria for the next several years, all the better. Absently she rubbed her left wrist, a habit she’d picked up ages ago.

  “Iona, are you all right?” Her father’s question punctured her trail of thoughts. She started and looked to him in confusion. His glance flicked downward, to her nervous tell.

  She carefully settled her hands in her lap. The whole room had gone still again. “I’m fine.”

  “Is it bothering you, your old break?”

  Her brain stuttered, but she shook her head. “No, sire.” He nodded and returned his attention to the Caprian delegates.

  Did he know why his daughter had returned from foreign shores with her arm in a splint? She had given a clumsy excuse at the time, something about tripping on her way up a spiral staircase. Had he known all along that was a lie?

  Jaoven of Capria knew, and his face was quite whey-colored because of it.

  The meeting ended shortly thereafter, with Kester charged to escort the delegates to their diplomatic quarters. The nobles of Wessett ushered out behind them. Princess Lisenn exited the side door, her customary poise belying the storm that no doubt brewed within her. Iona counted to ten, wary of following her into the close, dark passageway.

  “Your sister doesn’t like to be caught unaware,” King Gawen said, still seated on his throne.

  Iona glanced first to her mother, who maintained a neutral expression. “I did not intend—”

  He cut her off. “It doesn’t matter what you intended. For you to arrive in this court with a delegation that includes her proposed future husband, and for her to suddenly realize that you have more knowledge of that man and that country than she does, presents a remarkable lapse in judgement on your part. She knows now where you spent at least some of your time away from her. See that you give her no further reason to resent you for it.”

  The injustice of this declaration burned bright within her chest. Her parents might have informed Lisenn any time in the past four years of where they had hidden her younger sister. They might have informed her within the last month, if treaty proposals had truly been happening for that long. Perhaps they might even have exercised some parental control over their elder daughter, so that hiding the younger away in odd corners of the world wasn’t necessary in the first place.

  But speaking any of those words aloud would land her in more trouble than she already had. So instead she quietly said, “Yes, sire.”

  He rose to depart his throne. Her mother cupped one thin-fingered hand over Iona’s and squeezed, sympathy in her eyes though it never crossed her lips. Then she wordlessly joined her husband, her arm on his as they left the great hall.

  Reluctantly Iona stood. Aedan had hung back from the rest of the dissipating crowd. As soon as the king and queen disappeared through the side door, he broke away and jogged back across the wide marble floor.

  “What happened?” he asked as Iona descended from the dais.

  She made a disgusted noise. “I ran into them outside the stables. Who expected them to loiter there?”

  “You ran for a horse? Why didn’t you just take off through the gardens? Kester’s not exactly in peak physical shape.”

  She jabbed a finger in his ribs. With a yelp he danced out of place.

  “Why didn’t you tell me sooner the Caprians were coming?” she hissed. “You stewed on it for half an hour! I could have been long gone by then.”

  Aedan only shook his head. “You’re the one who’s so particular about the light you want me posing in. And if you’d take even a particle of interest in what happens at court, you’d already have known for yourself. I wasn’t sure, since your hair was done so nice—”

  “That was Bina’s doing.”

  “Which goes to show that your lady’s maid knows more about this country than you do. Io, when it comes right down to it, you have only yourself to blame.”

  This declaration, both correct and unjust, earned him a narrow glare. Iona trekked to the side door, with Aedan close beside her.

  “So what now?” he asked. “Do we go back to painting?”

  She kept her attention ahead, scanning the passageway for any sign of danger as she walked. “It’s too late. The light will have shifted for the day.”

  “Then what are you going to do? Move on to your music practice, like you normally would?”

  “I’m going to get a horse and ride for the hills.”

  “Be serious.”

  She paused to pin him with a stare. “I am serious. Do you think your mother would put me up for a week? Or should I join a pack of traveling minstrels?”

  “I don’t think you’re strong enough to carry a clavichord on your back,” Aedan said dubiously, “and they probably don’t need another lutist.” She shoved his chest, and he suppressed a laugh. “Cheer up. Did you get a look of that Prince Jaoven when you took your throne? He didn’t know who you really were until that very moment, I’d wager.”

  “No, he assumed I was a Caprian deserter and was going to rain judgement on my head.”

  Her cousin goggled. She resumed her forward motion, checking every branching hall and doorway they approached for evidence of her sister.

  Aedan danced at her heels. “I want to hear the whole story. So he recognized you as Yanna of—” His voice cut off in a yelp as she pinched his arm.

  “Do not use that name. I might need it again someday.”

  “All right, all right.” Hands aloft, he backed away.

  Iona tempered her voice. “Are you going to help me escape, or not?” The half-regretful glance he cast over his shoulder provided answer enough. She heaved a sigh. “Fine. Get out of here. Besseta’s waiting, I’m sure.”

  “She’s not—” He clipped the protest short. Sheepishly he said, “I’m not supposed to see her until tonight. But if I’m halfway across the kingdom with you, I can’t exactly keep that meeting, can I.”

  Her problems were of her own making. She didn’t need to pull her cousin from his budding love life. He had trouble enough, the only son of a duke falling for a tradesman’s daughter. His parents hadn’t forbidden the courtship, but they weren’t encouraging it either.

  Of course, it helped that the tradesman in question was disgustingly rich. Besseta Quayle had the education and wardrobe of any noble peer, and beauty and wit enough to rival them all. By miracles alone Aedan had not proposed the first time he met her.

  “You can keep your meeting,” Iona said, grudgingly. “Only, if you find my body strung from the highest tower, burn a candle for my memory, would you?” He grimaced, squeamishly, and she swatted at him. “I’m kidding. She’s never actually tried to kill me.”

  True enough though that was, her heart yet fluttered against her ribs.


  “I’ll see you to your studio, at least,” Aedan said. He looped a protective arm around her and guided her further down the hall.

  The gesture reminded her how small she was. Her shoulder fit neatly against the pit of his arm.

  Why couldn’t she have an older brother like this, instead of the demon sister she had? She wouldn’t mind losing her place in the succession if her aunt and uncle petitioned to take her in.

  Her parents would never allow it, though. Queen Marget had no cause to relinquish her second child to her brother’s care, and King Gawen liked the peace of mind that second child’s existence brought.

  An heir and a spare. His bloodline was secure.

  And if the treaty with Capria truly promised to combine the two kingdoms in Lisenn’s firstborn, King Gawen had all the more reason to rejoice. They had been a single nation once but broke apart a few centuries back, when the crown split between two bickering claimants. Capria had been the stronger kingdom then. Wessett was the stronger kingdom now. Her family’s reach would extend onto the mainland, and Lisenn was the perfect emissary for that to occur.

  Conquering always required ruthlessness.

  The door to her studio stood wide open, as she had left it. She exchanged a nervous glance with Aedan. Perhaps she should have retreated to her bedroom instead of somewhere so obvious as this.

  She needn’t have worried about her sister laying a trap, however. Lisenn stood blatantly in the center of the room, arms folded, her indigo eyes a frigid contrast to the soft pink of her gown and the peonies in her raven hair. Had she possessed any personality but her own, Iona would have been fascinated with painting her, sketching her, studying how to capture her likeness in every medium available.

  The last artist to attempt a portrait had lost an eye when Lisenn disapproved of the result. Their father compensated him handsomely and hushed the incident from leaving the castle as anything more than an unfortunate accident.

  “Aedan, out,” the crown princess said to the pair frozen on the threshold.