The Heir and the Spare

by Kate Stradling

  “I don’t care what your title is. If you so much as touched her, I’ll cut off both of your hands and you can return to the mainland with stumps instead.”

  She angled her head. In her periphery, through the front door, her cousin had his fists buried in Jaoven’s wrinkled coat.

  “I pulled her from a river,” the scornful prince replied. “Of course I had to touch her.”

  “You know what I mean.” Aedan shoved him away and stalked toward the house.

  Emell, meanwhile, had wrapped her bread in a handkerchief, which she presented to Iona.

  “You knew who I was from the beginning?” the princess asked.

  The woman dipped in a small, reverent curtsey. “It was my honor to have you in my home.”

  “But how did you know me?”

  A canny glint shone in the eyes that rose to meet her own. “How could I not recognize our bird with a broken wing?”

  The epithet, spoken with such endearment, invoked the words of the folksong from earlier. Iona, struck with confusion, opened her mouth to ask what it meant, but Aedan’s voice rang out.

  “Io, we need to go.”

  She glanced to him in the doorway, and then back to Emell. “Thank you,” she said, bowing.

  The woman’s self-restraint broke. She wrapped Iona in a hug and whispered in her ear, “Stay safe.” Then she stepped back, cheeks burning red at her breach of conduct toward a member of the royal family of Wessett.

  Before Iona could recover her wits, Aedan clapped a hand of camaraderie on Emell’s shoulder. “Keep an eye on that idiot out there until his people arrive. We need him back in the capital unharmed.”

  Emell nodded her understanding, and Aedan ushered his cousin out the door.

  They passed Jaoven, who stood with his arms crossed and a deep furrow between his brows. Iona chanced a long look at him, hoping to convey the gratitude she couldn’t pause to speak aloud. Aedan was being unreasonable, true, but if the Caprians were on their way, her father may have sent emissaries with them or to spy on them. She needed to be far away from the prince when they found him.

  Her cousin handed her up into a carriage seat where a warm, fur-lined coverlet awaited. He tucked the blanket around her and sank onto the opposite bench. The coach turned. Iona had one last glimpse of Jaoven out the window, and then the horses broke into a run.

  In resignation, she shifted her attention back to Aedan, who leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he pinned her with a somber gaze.

  “It was Lisenn, wasn’t it,” he said. “She’s the reason you ended up in the river.”

  A knot tightened in her throat. Vaguely she nodded. “I threw my sketchbook in to keep her from seeing it, and she pushed me as revenge.”

  He swore and sat back, crossing his arms as he looked out at the passing fields. “Does the prince of Capria know?”

  “No. He only saw me hit the water.”

  “And you didn’t tell him afterward?”

  She swallowed. “Should I have? I didn’t think he’d believe me.”

  “No. It’s better that he’s ignorant. We need him to marry Lisenn.”

  His conclusion matched her own, and yet guilt and anxiety writhed within her. She pushed the treacherous feelings away. “I was thinking: what if I stay out in the countryside, missing, until after the wedding?”

  Aedan slid her a sidelong glance but only shook his head. “It won’t work. The kingdom is already mourning the news of your disappearance. Your father can’t marry off one daughter within six months of the other’s supposed death, and you can’t stay hidden that long.”

  “We could pretend I’d lost my memory—” she started.

  “You don’t get it, Io.” He leaned forward again, closing his hands around her clasped ones and staring straight into her soul. “The people of Wessett cannot have you hidden away for so long. They don’t deserve to carry that grief.”

  A faint, disbelieving huff escaped her. “What grief would they carry for a second-born?”

  “Did it ever occur to you,” he said, irritated, “that your people might not want Lisenn on the throne? Do you think there are no rumors of how ruthless she is? Do you know how many servants she’s gone through in the last twenty years, and what tales they can tell behind closed doors? She’s been a terror since she was a child, but no one can speak openly against the heir to the throne without fear of retribution—even you. She tried to kill you, and you want to play dead until she’s crossed the channel into Capria!”

  She tensed. “You want me to accuse her?”

  “No! I want you to stay alive in full view where your people can see you and hope! These Caprians are offering what we ourselves could not accomplish without an outright rebellion: a means of banishing your sister from our shores.”

  Her skin crawled, that insurrection could bubble so close to the surface in Wessett and she had somehow never known. “But she’ll return to ascend the throne when my father dies.”

  “And there’s no reason we have to let her off the ship when she arrives. Our forefathers won their independence from Capria once. We can do it again.”

  She shook her head, the enormity of what he asked pressing hard upon her. “If Lisenn hears even a whisper of this plot, she’ll kill me.”

  “She already tried,” Aedan said. “Do you think you’re safe because you happened to survive?”

  The bald truth stuck like a knife in her gut. Her panic escalated. “I can’t become queen. I know nothing about it.”

  “You have a keen mind. You’ll pick it up quickly between now and when the time arrives.”

  “But my father—!”

  “—never has to know a thing. He has an heir to his throne. That’s all that matters to him.”

  She buried her head in her hands. “This is treason, Aedan. It’s a capital offense.”

  “I know. That’s why I’ve kept you out of it before now. But when we’re so close to our goal, Io—! The marriage could happen within the week, and then we’ll be rid of a lifetime’s pestilence!”

  The hope this prospect brought immediately soured within her. “At Capria’s expense.” Her cousin didn’t respond. She locked gazes with him, recognized the determination that held him stiff in his resolve, and battled a wave of guilt anew. “They don’t deserve it, Aedan. He doesn’t deserve it.”

  A muscle clenched along his jaw. “Bina told me everything.”

  She leaned close, catching his hand, forcing him to look at her. “Bina doesn’t know everything. The Caprian war started exactly the way you’re describing, a second-in-line conspiring against the heir. Jaoven spent four years repenting for the callousness of his youth. He’s not the same now as he was then.”

  He studied her, as though he could read her innermost thoughts if he looked deep enough. “Are you in love with him?”

  Iona bucked, her spine hitting the padded seat as an odd something twisted up through her. “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Is it ridiculous?”

  She refused to entertain him with even a glance. “Of course it is.”

  “He did save your life and escorted you to safety. No one would blame you if he rose in your affection.”

  “Aedan,” she snapped, a warning for him to drop the accusation.

  He lifted his hands, signaling defeat. “All right. Then if you’re not in love, let him fight his own battles. Capria came to Wessett for this alliance, not the other way around. If they can’t figure out why everyone here is so eager to be rid of her, that’s not our fault. And I’m sure if she acts out of line in their court, they’ll have a much easier time dealing with her.”

  As true as this probably was, it failed to resolve Iona’s misgivings.

  Chapter 16

  Jaoven reluctantly accepted Emell’s invitation to remain at her house until his countrymen arrived. As they shared a meal at a table that suddenly seemed too large and empty, he studied her.

  He swallowed a bite of stew-dipped bread and asked, �
��You knew who Iona was?”

  The woman smiled. “She has traveled through most of Wessett. Never here to Straithmill, but she was in Aikwood last year for much of the summer, and we caught regular glimpses of her there whenever we made the trip to town.”

  “And do you know who I am?”

  A wan smile touched her lips, but she did not answer.

  Irritated, he switched tactics. “Why did you let us keep up our pretense, then?”

  She reached across the table and patted his hand, a gesture that reminded him so strongly of his mother that a lump stuck in his throat. “You meant it for the safety of her reputation, and it put you both at ease. You don’t have to worry. We know not to spread rumors here.”

  The reassurance only spiked his curiosity. What other rumors did they keep close?

  “Has word of an alliance with Capria reached this part of the kingdom?”

  Her faint smile returned. “Yes.”

  “And do you support it?”

  The smile turned into a chuckle. “Oh, yes.”

  “Why? And why is it so funny?”

  “Would you expect me to answer otherwise? Even if I hadn’t surmised you to be a party to that alliance, the young marquess revealed as much when he arrived. I would never speak ill of Capria to a Caprian’s face.”

  Disgruntled, he slouched into his chair. “But behind my back it might be otherwise.”

  Emell clucked. “You did our princess a great service, protecting her when no one else could. Whether you hail from Capria or Wessett, you are welcome here in Straithmill.”

  His sojourn there, as it turned out, did not last much longer. Near dark, a cry went up in the street, and his ears registered the approach of horses. He caught up his coat and descended to the yard.

  Elouan and Neven reined in, with Denoela and Clervie close behind. Further up the road, four Wessettan royal guards in their red cloaks rode along with a riderless horse for Jaoven’s use in their return trip.

  Boots hit the dirt, and four bodies crowded him. Elouan, with a cry of triumph, clapped his arms around him, nearly lifting him from the ground. A flurry of back-slapping and pushing followed, chastisement mingled with gratitude that he was still alive.

  “Riok stayed in the capital in case the treaty negotiations resume,” Denoela said when the reunion hit a minor lull. Her expression became tentative. “Did Yanna…?”

  The unfinished question effectively killed their high spirits, four faces growing suddenly tense.

  “She’s fine,” Jaoven said, his voice clipped. They peered past him toward Emell’s house, as though expecting the missing princess to emerge. He twisted, following their gazes. “Oh, no, she’s not here. We got separated. But she’s definitely alive.”

  Clervie regarded him with narrowed eyes. When his attention shifted past her to the Wessettan guards, now within hearing range, she said only, “That’s good news.”

  “What were you thinking, jumping into a river like that?” Elouan asked. “It was heroic, certainly, but you might have died.”

  “I didn’t think. There wasn’t time. What happened after I went under?”

  “Lisenn screamed loud enough to pierce an eardrum. Neven and I spent two hours tromping downriver to look for you while the girls tried to console her. Is it true that Yanna jumped?”

  The question caught Jaoven unaware. He eyed his entourage, unsure how to respond.

  Denoela glanced toward the listening guards and then lowered her voice almost to a whisper. “Did Yanna say something different?”

  “She didn’t say what happened, only that it wasn’t on purpose.”

  “She must’ve slipped then,” Clervie said, “and Lisenn assumed the worst. How did you get separated?”

  The proximity of the guards made him leery of talking too much. “Where are we headed from here? Do we ride all night, or…?”

  Neven cast a hand back the way they had come. “There’s a town on the other side of that foothill, Aikwood. If you’re well enough to ride, we’ll go as far as there, and then head back in the morning.”

  “I’m well enough,” Jaoven said grimly. He shrugged into his coat, but before he started across the road to where the royal guards waited, he cast a wistful glance back toward the house. Emell, in the doorway, waved a quiet hand in farewell.

  Leaving like this didn’t sit right. “Does anyone have any money?” he asked his friends.

  Elouan produced a handful of coins. The prince grabbed them all and trotted back to the woman.

  She saw him coming, saw his intent, and raised her hands with a backward step. “I cannot receive anything from you.”

  He caught her wrist and pressed the money to her palm. “Please,” he said, the request low and fervent, “and share it with the others who helped you care for us. We would be dead if not for you.”

  A conflicted expression crossed her face but she did not fight against him further. He pondered that look as he strode back to his entourage. What made her so squeamish? What code of honor demanded she refuse payment for service given?

  Something was missing, some piece of a larger puzzle he had not yet discerned. And until he was safe behind closed doors with the people he trusted most in the world, he would not be able to suss it out.

  They rode into the falling night, a cold wind at their backs as they crossed from meadowland to forest. The road pitched upward, with shadows thick around them. After nearly an hour, light shone through the trees, and the town of Aikwood became visible.

  Had Iona stopped here as well, or had her cousin pushed them to a further destination? In the darkness, with no one’s scrutiny upon him, he allowed himself a dangerous thought: he shouldn’t have let her leave.

  He should have insisted they stay together, and let the rumors follow as they may. And he might have, too, but for that moment with her on the porch steps.

  “No one wants that.” She had said it with such conviction, her profile to him, swathed in the same cold, untouchable air she’d always worn. Deep down, he’d wanted her to contradict him, to tell him that, should fate tie them together, it might not be such a bad thing.

  He’d been deluding himself, that if he could only attain forgiveness it might blossom into friendship, or even into something more. He was nothing but a source of bad memories to her.

  And yet, when she had left on her cousin’s arm, she had favored him with the most expressive glance, so expressive that he had almost snatched her back into his keeping.

  In the dark, cold night, he could admit as much. But he could also box away that burning impulse and the feelings attached to it.

  They rented rooms from an inn at the center of town, with the men in one and the women in another, and their contingent of royal guards in a third with a schedule for trading hall duty through the night. No sooner had the door shut behind Jaoven than a tap on the window sounded. They opened the shutters to Clervie, who swung over the sill and landed catlike in the room.

  “Denoela’s keeping the guards distracted,” she said without preamble. “What really happened?”

  Jaoven surveyed his audience, people he had fought alongside, whom he trusted implicitly. “We were together until this afternoon. Her cousin came ahead of you and took her away.”

  “The marquess?” She tapped her lower lip. “That explains why he vanished so early this morning. But how did he know where to find you?”

  “Because the messenger I sent you took word to him first. The note you received was written in his hand, not mine.”

  Curious, she pulled a letter from her sleeve and unfolded it. “We knew it wasn’t yours. We thought it came from one of the villagers where you were.”

  Jaoven snatched the page from her, perusing its contents. The message was roughly the same minus any mention of Iona, but it had been reworded as though written by a third party, as though Jaoven himself had been too incapacitated to write.

  “Clever.” He crumpled the paper and cast it aside. “So I take it the marquess evaded th
e men you set to follow him?”

  She nodded. “But I think he knew all along he was being watched. He spent most of his time in the merchant district, chattering a lot and buying nothing. After we returned without you, he paid a long visit to the castle and then holed up in his family’s townhome, where no one saw him come or go again. We only learned of his disappearance this morning because one of his servants let slip that the young master had flown the coup.”

  Nausea pulsed in Jaoven’s stomach, that he had unwittingly consigned Iona into the hands of a nefarious conspirator. “Will she be safe with him?”

  Clervie’s brows arched. “You think he’s plotting against her rather than alongside her?”

  “I don’t know. Those villagers knew to go to him when their princess turned up among them—not to her father or the nearest royal garrison, but to a young marquess.” He paused, her question belatedly registering. “Wait. You think he is plotting?”

  “Almost certainly.”

  “Against the crown?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know the nature of the plot, but he’s too alert of his surroundings for an innocent man. He’s heir to a duchy here, so our treaty won’t affect his rank much, if at all, but that doesn’t mean he supports it. Or maybe he opposes a woman on the throne. He might have half a dozen motives.”

  Jaoven combed one hand through his hair and paced away from them. Almost he spoke his fears aloud, that he had placed Iona in harm’s way after rescuing her, but he recalled himself before the words could leave his tongue.

  His concern was supposed to lie with the beautiful Lisenn, not with her captivating sister.

  And, ultimately, Iona had a strong instinct to survive. He could only trust that instinct to support her well where he could not.

  Iona and Aedan spent the night at a guesthouse along the southern highway, in a suite with a pair of rooms and an adjoining parlor that overlooked the road.

  Besseta’s father owned the place and had recommended it as a good stopping point for a pair of young nobles who didn’t want to be seen. While it was private and well-kept, it catered to the merchant class, beneath the touch of titled patrons. They arrived late at night, with the suite already reserved by Aedan on his way out of the capital.