Neven finished his song and returned. The players stood, all of them shuffling to their new positions for the next round. Iona, crossing around the table, said to her older sister, “You should take my place.”
Clervie opened her mouth to protest, but Jaoven jostled her.
Starting in third place suited the crown princess more than starting at the bottom, especially if she could eject her sister from the game. She graciously took the proffered chair, and Iona wandered across the room as the next round commenced.
Lisenn, true to her nature, played with ruthless efficiency veiled behind an engaging laugh, but she would have won regardless. The Caprians had better luck with throwing the game in her favor, so that she occupied the top position at the end of the round. Neven remained at the bottom of the pack.
“I don’t know what penalty to call,” Lisenn said, fluttering demure eyelashes to Jaoven beside her.
The prince smiled. “He’s an excellent musician, Your Highness.”
“If I want music, I have Iona to command.” She cast a sweet smile across the room, and the purity of that expression made the younger sister’s skin crawl.
“Perhaps a feat of strength,” said Elouan, oblivious to this exchange.
“Or you can send him to fetch refreshments,” said Denoela.
Lisenn perked. “An excellent idea. Neven, would you be so kind as to step out into the hall and request us some food and drink?”
“So polite, Your Highness,” Clervie said. “You can just order him around.”
Across the room, Iona stiffened. The callous remark proved that nothing had changed among the Caprians, those of lower rank still treated as inconsequential by their betters.
Lisenn tittered. “Oh, dear. I could never!”
“Don’t try to corrupt the innocent, Clervie,” Elouan said, shaking his head.
At that point, Iona had to turn away, the whole display disgusting to her. The banter continued behind her back. Neven, blushing to the tips of his ears, passed her on his way to the door, where he briefly stepped outside. On his way back, his eyes met hers.
He stopped short. “It’s not—” he began, but the rest of his words stuck in his throat.
Did he mean to defend them? Her disappointment magnified all the more. “I see everyone is exactly the same as they ever were,” she said, and she abandoned him to examine the inventory of a small bookshelf.
The conversation at the table briefly stilled upon his return. The company should have rearranged around the Dullard, their designated dealer, but everyone rearranged around Lisenn instead.
Toward the end of the next round, the refreshments arrived: hot drinks, biscuits, and cakes. As the servants arranged the spread, the card game disbanded. Iona, pretending to read in a chair by the bookshelf, observed their interactions. They jostled and joked with one another, a casual camaraderie among them, with deference to Lisenn in everything.
The crown princess settled on a couch with the first cup of tea, and the Caprians sat around her like acolytes paying homage to their icon. Did that degree of toad-eating gnaw at their insides? The longer Iona watched, the more certain she was that she could never trust a single one of them.
A servant brought a cup of tea to her. She murmured her thanks upon receiving it, but set the drink aside. The Caprians frequently glanced her direction, but Lisenn commanded most of their attention, the conversation ranging through a number of shallow topics that allowed her to shine.
When the clock struck five, it signaled the end of their gathering. Iona, eager to escape, set aside her unread book and left ahead of everyone else. They followed close behind, however. The diplomatic quarters lay in the same direction as her own room. Jaoven hung back with Lisenn where the crown princess’s path diverged, the suaveness of his baritone voice carrying, if his actual words of farewell did not. Iona peeled off at a separate hallway, grateful at last to put the whole encounter behind her.
As she approached her bedroom, footsteps drummed along the corridor. She turned, confused, only to find Jaoven barreling down upon her. When she quickened her pace, he swung around in front of her and slammed an arm in her path, his palm planted against the wall.
Her heartbeat galloped, every instinct within her screaming for her to run. The expression he wore, the hardness of it, struck a chord of memory, of rebukes and humiliation. For an instant she was in the halls of Capria’s Royal College again, accosted on her way to a lesson because she had failed to pay proper deference to the highest ranked student at the school.
Then her focus shifted back. This was Wessett, and she wasn’t a provincial nobody here.
Jaoven breathed deep as though gathering his courage with his thoughts. His scowl bored into her. “Don’t assume you know everything just because of how it appears on the surface.”
Iona arched an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”
“Neven is a valued member of our party. Had the roles been reversed, he would have ordered Clervie around just as easily. If you’re taking offense on his behalf, you’re wasting your energy. He’s earned his place among us.”
Her voice pitched light and bland. “How lovely, earning a place. I’m sure he’s very lucky to have gained your good favor.”
“Don’t—!” He bucked his head. “Don’t twist my words! He is our friend. We value him beyond what you can understand. You weren’t in Capria these last four years, so you have no idea how much everything has changed.”
She blinked, languidly. “Are you finished?” And to drive home her meaning, she shifted her attention to the arm yet blocking her path.
“No, I am not,” Jaoven said through gritted teeth. “Only this morning you said you have nothing to do with diplomacy, and yet here you are interfering.”
“Interfering? My father commanded me to attend these afternoon gatherings.”
“Doubtless so you can report our faults and failings to him.”
A muscle clenched along her jaw. “If I wanted to do that, I’d’ve given him an earful already.” The expression that chased across his face revealed his concerns. She huffed, exasperated. “I’ve already told you I have no incentive to interfere. If you continue to harass me, though, that might change.”
It was a bluff. She’d never speak against his treaty while it promised to take away Lisenn, but Jaoven instantly retracted his arm. Satisfied, Iona slipped past him.
“Will you be at dinner tonight?” he called to her retreating back.
“Not if the choice is mine,” she said, without even bothering to turn. His stare followed her until she crossed the threshold into her bedroom and shut the door, at which point she leaned against it and breathed a deep sigh of relief.
Chapter 8
“That woman is going to be the death of me,” Jaoven announced as he crossed into the diplomatic quarters. Only two of his advisors were in the common area, the others presumably dressing for dinner.
“Which one?” Clervie asked. “The shallow older sister, or the subversive younger one?”
He fixed a hard stare upon her, but when she neither flinched nor apologized, he shifted his attention to Neven instead. “Did it bother you, being ordered around this afternoon?”
The Viscount of Combran, seated upon one of the long ivory couches, arched his brows.
“Did it bother you?” Jaoven asked again.
“I lost both of those rounds fair and square,” Neven said.
“Which can’t be said of Yanna on any of the rounds she lost,” said Clervie, plopping down beside him.
The prince shook his head. “Don’t call her that. Yanna of Ghemp doesn’t exist. We’re dealing with Iona of Wessett, who is far more dangerous because she’s far more powerful.”
“Is she, though?” Denoela emerged from her private room, in the middle of letting down her brown hair from its knot of braids. “If she’s attending these gatherings solely because her father instructed her to, does she have any power at all?”
“Her power lies in subversion.”
Clervie wrapped herself around Neven’s right arm and snuggled close to him. He looked inquisitively down at her, at the blatant show of affection. She met his gaze, unrepentant. “If she planted any thoughts of unrest in you, I’m going to root them right out again.”
He extracted his arm, but only to drape it around her shoulders, pulling her closer. She almost purred in delight as she settled against him.
Jaoven, well aware of how things lay between that pair, shifted his attention to Denoela. “Iona might turn on us at any moment. We have to be on our best behavior where she’s concerned.”
She combed her fingers through her loosed, wavy hair. “Were you on yours at that little confrontation you just had?”
“No.” The curt answer conveyed more than enough information.
“Methinks the older sister’s favor will be much easier to garner,” said Denoela, pacing back into her room.
“Lisenn is easy to please. She wants to like us.”
“She wants to like you,” said Clervie from the couch, “and if you always let her win at chess, why shouldn’t she?”
He turned, hands on his hips and an aloof expression on his face. “She is an excellent chess player.”
“But you still threw the game in her favor. Don’t deny it.”
“I may have made a foolish blunder or two, but she could have won regardless.”
Clervie grunted. Jaoven, stiff-backed, ignored the glint of mocking in her eyes. Too much of his willpower had gone into not playing his opponent to the fullest. True, it had been more important to win the crown princess’s good humor, but he despised such spineless victories. The verbal spar with her younger sister had proved a much more interesting challenge, his defeat at her hands notwithstanding.
“Iona predicted it,” Neven said, jarring him from this introspection by naming the very subject around which it revolved, “just like she predicted that we’d all try to let her win at cards.”
“The problem is that she can read us all like open books, but she’s as transparent as a block of wood,” Clervie added. “We had too little information about her when we came because we assumed we wouldn’t need it, and what we remember of Yanna of Ghemp won’t suffice.”
The prince shook his head and paced away from her. They had communicated with Wessett for weeks before sailing across the channel. This visit was supposed to cement the treaty agreement, not introduce a whole new set of obstacles. And although Iona claimed she had no intention of interfering, he couldn’t trust her to keep such a promise.
Her very presence among them presented a threat.
The door from the hall opened, and Riok slipped through, a pensive expression on his face. Rather than accompany the younger crowd, he had spent his afternoon with Wessettans of comparable rank, including the king’s own steward, Kester.
“What’s wrong?” he asked upon noticing his pacing prince.
“Princess troubles,” said Clervie, still curled against Neven on the couch.
The diplomat’s brows arched. “Did you offend Lisenn?”
Again Clervie answered before Jaoven could get a word in edgewise. “Iona was there, and she can see through all of our false façades.”
“They’re not false,” Jaoven snapped. “Just because we’re on our best behavior doesn’t mean it’s fake.” Eager to dismiss the subject, he asked Riok, “How was your afternoon? Did you learn anything of import?”
“The castle dignitaries are in favor of this treaty, to a man.” Riok crossed to the couch opposite of where Clervie and Neven sat. “They’re hedging on certain details—what to call the kingdom when it merges, for example—but they have such a conciliatory manner, as though they’ll agree to whatever we ask with only a little persuasion.”
The prince’s expression went blank. “We’ll call the joint kingdom Capria. It was Capria before Wessett’s secession, and Capria will account for the majority of land and people when we merge.”
“Land, yes. People, maybe. But asking an entire kingdom to abandon its national identity because of a historical precedent when we have come to them for stability is, perhaps, not the wisest course of action.”
“They want us to change our name to Wessett?” Jaoven asked.
“There was some discussion of calling the new kingdom ‘Capria and Wessett’ or of choosing a new name altogether.”
“Perhaps we should have treated with Tuzhan or Uthala instead,” Clervie quipped.
“Bite your tongue,” said the prince.
She grunted a laugh and shifted her attention to their senior diplomat. “You said they all approve of the treaty? No subtle glances or signs of double-crossing?”
A corner of his mouth pulled to one side. “Their interest in a treaty with Capria seems sincere, but I do get the sense they’re holding something back. Of course I can’t ask about that outright. The crown favors a treaty, so all who serve under it must favor one as well.”
“The longer we’re here, the worse I feel about this,” Jaoven muttered, and he resumed pacing.
“I think that’s Iona’s influence on you more than anything else,” said Clervie.
Riok regarded the prince with a calm eye. “If you’re worried about the lack of dissent, it might be worthwhile to negotiate ourselves into the countryside.”
“What? Why?”
The diplomat spread wide his hands, palms aloft. “Suppose there is a movement coaching everyone in the castle to support our cause. It can’t extend to the entire kingdom. If you want a taste of Wessettan opposition, we’ll find it out there. The farmers and yeomen have a longstanding enmity with Capria. Should our worst fears come to light and Tuzhan or Uthala overrun our borders, they’re the souls that King Gawen will order to our aid, to protect his future legacy. If you want your true patterns”—here he tipped his head to Clervie—“you have to go to the source.”
“Would travels like that put us at any undue risk?” Jaoven asked.
“Nothing worse than you’ve faced before. I highly doubt the hills of Wessett are crawling with Tuzhani mercenaries. The bigger challenge might be getting King Gawen’s approval. For all its assets, Wessett is far smaller than Capria, and a tour of the island will only confirm that fact. He’ll see it as us asserting the need for greater concessions on his part.”
“So how do we get him to agree?”
A predatory grin leapt to the diplomat’s face. “Talk about a dozen other topics first, and then blindside him with a request for a land survey. We’ve brought our own, fresh off the presses. It was your father’s first decree, to determine what properties belonged to which titles, and what we could realistically claim as our provinces and borders. It’s really only fair that Wessett provide the same information.”
“What if they have it ready?” the prince asked.
From the other couch, Clervie chuckled. “Their titles are old, Jove, and their borders are the sea. Wessett hasn’t performed a formal land survey in over a century, and the delay such an endeavor would cause should make our proposal of touring the countryside instead an appealing alternative.”
“It might give you some respite from Iona, too,” said Neven.
Clervie chuckled again. “Does he want that? Even as the mere son of a duke Jove loved a good challenge.”
The comment earned her a dour stare from her crown prince, but she only grinned all the more.
On the opposite couch, Riok leaned forward, perching his elbows on his knees. “Speaking of challenges, Clervie, your mother did request me not to allow any unnecessary contact between you and your young viscount.”
Neven, coloring to his ears, started to shift, but Clervie only wrapped an arm around his torso and snuggled all the closer. “I assure you this is extremely necessary,” she said.
Riok smothered a laugh and pushed up from the couch. “Fine, but please don’t give me a reason to regret my leniency.”
Chapter 9
Afternoon quickly became the bane of Iona’s existence. She duly reported to the mandate
d gatherings with the Caprians and did her best to avoid participation. The card games were easy to evade, but when their parties moved outdoors to the gardens, she inevitably found herself in company of either Clervie or Denoela.
They picnicked by the lake and rode horses and strode among the roses heavy with their first blooms of the season. Jaoven and Lisenn flirted the whole time, each wearing their friendliest of faces, and Iona, who had seen both at their most vicious, could only imagine the rude awakening that awaited each of them. If she could have witnessed that moment instead of all these sickening interchanges, she might have been satisfied.
She’d never see them turn on each other, however. The future of Jaoven’s kingdom depended on him maintaining his pleasant façade, and Lisenn would keep her feigned innocence until after the wedding, if not longer.
Iona’s evenings were at least her own. The Caprians usually dined in their own quarters while Jaoven joined Lisenn and her parents in a more intimate setting. The younger princess would have made an odd number to that party, though, so instead she holed up in her studio, reclaiming her lost afternoon hours with sketching and music practice.
When, a week after their coming, Iona arrived in the garden to a crew of servants setting up straw targets, her heart flip-flopped. A collection of bows occupied a blanket laid out on the grass, alongside a bucket of arrows fletched with a rainbow of unnatural colors.
She almost turned on her heels and marched back into the castle, her father’s commands notwithstanding, but Denoela sidled up next to her and linked arms.
Iona, by now accustomed to the familiarity that the Caprian ladies imposed on her, only glanced at the light grip and said nothing.
“Do you shoot?” Denoela asked.
“No.”
“But you must have done it at school.”
The Heir and the Spare Page 8