by Katy Haye
It might be a way to differentiate us as candidates, but I wasn’t sure it was terribly helpful in assisting the prince to his decision. What did he really need in his queen? Would he want her to be able to discuss politics with him – or to be a sanctuary where such things didn’t exist? I thought back to our meeting, and to what Mathu had said alongside my own impressions. The prince valued competence, but he’d seemed also to value intelligence. He wanted a partner who could converse sensibly, not just a pretty face – or perhaps I just hoped that was what he wanted because that matched my offering more closely.
I sighed. This was like walking on quicksand. I feared certainty could only be gained by using the potion – but I needed an opportunity and the prince might be too cautious ever to offer that.
I stood and began to practise again. Glynneth brought youth, Jesca a bullying kind of cunning, Claresse sly beauty, and Rannyl diplomacy. I was nothing special, but I would still do all I could to capture the prince. When it came to my dance, I would offer him something unexpected and hope it would please him.
13 – A Partiality
Glynneth stepped into dinner that day glowing with pleasure after her afternoon spent with the object of all our attention.
“Perhaps the prince likes children,” Jesca muttered, loud enough for all the candidates to hear.
“I’m sure her innocence would make a refreshing change to your sour tongue,” Rannyl said. Jesca turned to glare, her fingers tightening to fists on the tablecloth. Rannyl gave a tiny shrug. “I’m just saying – you’ll attract him more with honey than vinegar.”
If I’d said that, I was sure Jesca would have launched herself at my face, nails first. Since it was Rannyl, her jaw simply tightened and she looked away. By the time Glynneth reached us, she was all smiles once more, tugging on her friend’s arm. “You must tell me everything,” she demanded.
I looked away, her hypocrisy no more to my taste than her unkindness.
I tried to ignore Jesca’s ruffled feathers and Glynneth’s obvious delight, watching the prince as he strode into the room. I could detect no change. Had he fallen in love with Glynneth in the space of an afternoon?
I told myself not to be absurd. I was growing jealous about a man I barely even knew. I kept my attention on him as we took our seats. He looked as serenely content with life as he had always shown so far. If he had gained a partiality to Glynneth based on an hour’s conversation, then he hid it well.
I told myself if he had done so he was a fool, but that was just bitter grapes. I had to win, whether I wanted to or not. And with that thought uppermost in my mind I couldn’t decide whether I did want to win his heart.
The meal was served and I chatted with Rannyl as I ate, Claresse on my other side offering only monosyllabic answers to my polite enquiries. I half-wished it were my turn to entertain the court tonight. That would get it over with, at least. Instead it was Jesca’s chance to impress. I wondered if she were the singer or flute player I’d listened to earlier.
I discovered Jesca’s talents soon enough.
After the meal, a group of musicians assembled on one side of the hall. A sly smile played around Jesca’s lips and she smoothed her skirts repeatedly as she waited for the last of the dishes to be removed. Now that she was about to receive all the attention of the company she was happiness itself.
“Lady Jesca will perform a traditional dance from the coastal region of Muirland,” the herald called.
The prince clapped lazily and applause broke out. I cursed under my breath. I also planned to dance. With Jesca going first, I hoped it wouldn’t look as though I were copying. I guessed that would depend on how different the dances were.
Jesca made her way to the cleared centre of the hall, each step carefully placed, taking her time, head lifted with pride as though she were already a queen, accepting the tributes of her people.
She dropped into a curtsy before the prince, dipping her head.
“Begin when you are ready, Lady Jesca,” the prince told her. She nodded her head once more and rose. Slowly, she lifted her arms until her hands were poised forming elegant shapes over her head. She kept eye contact with the prince until the last moment when she looked across at the musicians and nodded for them to start.
Music began, strings playing a mournful tune as Jesca turned her body and swept one hand slowly down her body while the other was held high. As her hips swayed, her roving hand drew attention to her body. It was impossible not to note the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips as her fingers grazed her gown while she moved, the music a constant accompaniment.
I swallowed. The dances along the coast were clearly very different from those we danced on the islands. I cast a nervous glance at my father. He would skin me alive if I made a show of myself in such a way.
But he was watching the performer as avidly as the rest of the men.
Beside me, Rannyl sighed. I shot a glance her way. “A little obvious, don’t you think?” she murmured.
Jesca was playing on her bodily charms to impress the company – and the prince. It might be obvious, but more important was whether it would work.
The prince watched her, but I didn’t detect a gleam of lust in his eyes. Perhaps he was simply too well-mannered for that. I didn’t see disapproval, either. Jesca’s movements grew bigger and she danced in a circle describing the middle of the hall. The queen leaned towards her son and I saw Jaran’s attention move from his guest to his mother. Not captivated, then. My shoulders relaxed a notch.
A movement at the table on my left attracted my attention. The polite smile I kept on my face whenever I was in public fell as I let my focus sharpen. Father and Mage Redmor were sitting next to each other, heads bent in conversation. A shiver ran down my back. They were both members of the king’s council. Probably, they were just discussing some tedious piece of council business. But I couldn’t shake my concern that my father was such a close companion to the mage. I didn’t trust the man, and I guessed I didn’t trust my father overmuch, either. Both men would put themselves first, if circumstances required. I felt as though I were a grain of wheat between two quern stones, at risk of being crushed between the two of them.
Abruptly, both turned at the same moment to look at me. Father’s gaze was considering, the Mage’s calculating. I went cold while my mouth dried. They were discussing me.
I looked away, focusing once more on Jesca’s seductive movements. My heart thundered against my ribs. I could evade their attention no more than the grain could evade the mill. Their gazes felt hot on my skin even though I forced myself to keep my eyes elsewhere. Both expected me to use the potion, to make the prince fall helplessly in love with me by magical means.
My gaze shifted to the young man lounging in his seat while he watched Jesca dance, his fingers absently tapping the beat of the music. He looked as though he hadn’t a care in the world, as though the idea that he might be under threat in his own palace was impossible even to consider.
Under the table, my fists clenched. He deserved better. Muirland deserved better. The grain longed to rise up and crack the quern stone, for all that such a thing could never happen. There had to be a way out of the situation, although I couldn’t see a solution yet.
Jesca spun in the middle of the room, her flying hair attracting my attention. A radiant smile split her face as she moved to the music, the prince’s eyes steady on her. She might be sour and sarcastic, but she was pretty when she tried to be, and now it seemed she was talented with grace and musicality, too. I kept my smile on my face with a deliberate effort. I might not want to enchant the prince to win, but I didn’t want any of the other candidates to get their claws into him, either.
I lifted my cup to my lips as I continued to examine Jesca for weaknesses. The dance wasn’t all chest and hips. Jesca was light on her feet and elegant in her movements, and yet, the prince was looking half the time at her and half at his mother while he conversed with her. I swallowed. Perhaps the prince di
sliked dancing. But it was too late for me to change my talent. I would simply have to captivate him in a way Jesca had failed to do.
My gaze darted to my father, once more in close conversation with Mage Redmor. The courage to risk his disapproval rose in me like a physical thing. I would dance the dance I chose and captivate the prince using my skills, not magic – and I would leave my competition wondering what had happened.
Prince Jaran
“He has had no visitors?”
He was surprised when both healer and guard gave a confirmation to his query. He had expected Redmor to flout the rules. He ought to be pleased that wasn’t the case. Instead, he was simply unsettled, waiting for a hidden opponent to strike.
It was a relief to find his father asleep when he entered the sick room, although the dull sensation in his heart told him a king asleep in the middle of the morning was not a king on the road to recovery.
He chided himself. He was Muirland’s ruler now, and rulers did not rule on hope. His father’s illness could only have one ending.
There was no need to stay, but he sank onto the seat by the bed, grateful for the opportunity to think in peace.
As his father’s laboured breaths filled the otherwise silent room, Jaran let his thoughts flow. In addition to the council business he was growing accustomed to, matters were overlaid by the presence of the candidates.
The girls were one thing; their families another. He’d thought it a game of nine dragons gold, but it was more like trying to play five games simultaneously.
It had only been a couple of days, but he was already starting to form his opinions. Glynneth was young, but he could wait if she were the winner. A jolt of sensation in his chest argued that her youth was an advantage: a couple of years of delay would give him more time to decide how to approach his marriage.
He pushed away that tempting thought. Reality must be faced, and shortly. He needed the right bride for so many reasons – but ensuring the council didn’t turn on him was not the least of them. Jesca had a sharp tongue he had no desire to listen to for the next fifty years, Claresse was ... smooth, like her brother. He needed a wife he could trust, as he suspected Claresse’s loyalty would belong to her family, even after marriage. Hanna was a quiet mouse, but he suspected depth to her. Rannyl was ... ideal. She would probably be the safest choice. He ought to want safety, but something inside him rebelled at so dull a reasoning.
A sound at the door jerked him from his thoughts. He turned to see Mage Redmor stride inside, red robe flowing around him while an insincere smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Your highness, I apologise for disturbing you, but might I have a few moments of your time?” He looked pointedly at the sleeping figure on the bed. “I have something to share with you which would benefit from privacy.”
Jaran gestured a welcome he didn’t feel. “Your counsel is always welcome.”
The mage fetched another chair from the wall and set it at an angle beside the prince. “I know the healers aren’t optimistic,” Mage Redmor said.
“I ask them to be honest, not hopeful,” Jaran bit out. He wished Redmor would get to the point of whatever scheme he was now pushing.
The mage inclined his head. “Just so, your highness. But there might be an alternative. Dragons are magical creatures. As magic has injured him, so magic may effect a cure.”
Jaran kept his face steady, hiding the dislike coursing through him. May, Might. The mage was slippery as an eel, trading on hope to his own advantage without offering any solid promises.
“I spoke to the queen about the matter, and she has urged me to bring it to your attention.”
Which meant he would now have his mother battering his ear with vague possibilities. “Go on,” he told the chief mage.
“The blood of the dragon that harmed him could be used to cure him. There is a spell—”
“Impossible.” Jaran cut him off with a gesture. “The dragon that harmed him was a dragon shifter, and she is already dead.” His council knew that fact. Which meant the mage had some alternative which Jaran was sure he would like even less than the idea of tracking down a fae and bringing back her head in revenge for his father’s injuries.
“That is a shame.”
But not news. Jaran waited.
“There is another possibility. It is a slim chance, but I’m sure you agree all chances should be grasped when it comes to the ruler of the most powerful kingdom in the firethorn kingdoms.”
Jaran made a noise to signal he should continue.
“We could try the process with another dragon. A relation of the traitor would be best, but any might effect a cure.”
“That is impossible. You know the terms of our treaty with the fae. To send hunters after dragons into the mountains would be considered an act of war.” His jaw tightened. The mage didn’t have a new scheme, just the old one that he wouldn’t let die.
Mage Redmor’s smile widened. It wasn’t a reassuring gesture. “You made the right decision at the time, your highness, but Surran is now our ally. We do not need to step carefully around the fae as though we fear them. We are mightier by far.”
Jaran looked steadily at the older man. He had expected cunning, but this was a blunt weapon, a request to reopen old wounds. The mage must be desperate. “I gave my word when I signed the treaty. If I cannot be trusted to keep that word, then I have undermined my own rule.”
Mage Redmor lifted his shoulders in a gesture that was just short of insolence. “You were young and inexperienced. The king did not agree to the treaty.”
His tone hardened. “The king was in no state to do so. I was, and remain, his regent. There is no difference between my word and his. I will not tear up a treaty with our neighbours simply to acquire a dragon to enable your spells. You must find another source of magic.”
The mage’s face went blank, but his anger showed in the tightening of his lips. “I do not ask for myself, for the mages. I ask because a violent affront to the king must be paid for.”
“It was paid for,” Jaran reminded the chief mage. “In firestone which enabled us to defeat King Zalar’s attempts to encroach on Muirland soil, and bring peace between Surran and Muirland. No further payment can be demanded now, so long after the act.” Mage Redmor sighed. Jaran pushed down his anger at such blatant insolence. “We debated the matter in council, and council will abide by that decision.”
A decision that had gone against Mage Redmor. The mage forced a smile and rose with a bow. “Of course. It was just an idea, your highness.”
Jaran watched him steadily. Was it his imagination, or did the mage emphasise his title, as though pointing out that he wasn’t yet crowned ruler and lacked the authority of his father? As though he needed to be reminded of that! “And I thank you,” he said smoothly. “I am always grateful for your counsel.” He gave a small smile. “We cannot send hunters after a dragon, but we made no promises if a creature should touch down in city square. Perhaps you should work a spell that would make such a thing happen.”
Mage Redmor’s lips tightened further. “Indeed, your highness.”
He stalked from the room. Jaran watched him go, wishing he could remove the man from his council. Mage Redmor couldn’t be trusted – but nor could he be dismissed without proof of wrong-doing. Jaran was forced to keep the man close for fear of what he might uncover if given a little distance. Magic was, after all, the man’s speciality.
And keeping secrets was Jaran’s. One master met another and Jaran must ensure he kept the upper hand. His lips twisted. Make that six games of nine dragons gold simultaneously.
14 – Scruples
The following day I had nothing in particular on my timetable. Jesca was due to meet the prince in the afternoon, while Glynneth was scheduled to perform for the court after dinner. I didn’t want sit around waiting for my father or Martyn to offer instructions as to how I could snare the prince, but nor was I eager to spend time with the other candidates for fear they would shatter my nerves entir
ely.
A walk in the palace gardens did nothing to soothe me: they reminded me of mama, who was happiest with flowers around her, which in turn reminded me that her life was in danger if I failed to secure the hand of the prince. I hurried to the mews, since Glide would settle my nerves far better than either human company or solitude might.
She was hooded, sitting patiently on her perch when I entered the dim building. I spoke her name and talked softly to her as I drew closer. Her head tipped to one side as though she were listening. I stroked her mottled breast, running a finger firmly against her feathers. She crooned and I smiled. The important thing with trained birds was to build a relationship, so she would trust me. Most of the rest was just managing her instincts. All raptors wanted to hunt, the only difference was to ensure she brought her catch back to me instead of consuming it herself.
“Welcome, Lady Hanna.”
I turned to find Mathu standing at my shoulder.
“I’d like to continue her training,” I told him.
He inclined his head. “As you wish. Shall we take her out?”
I swallowed down my surprise at the offer; the immediate compliance to what I wished. The deference with which I was treated took some getting used to after the equality of the house of compassion. My thoughts spun at the idea that if I become Jaran’s princess, deference would be commonplace. “Thank you. I would like that.”
Mathu fetched my gloves and Glide’s jesses, attaching the cords to the rings around her legs. I pulled on the thick leather gauntlet and coaxed her onto my wrist, holding the jesses firmly. Birds often balked and flapped at that moment, but she barely stirred.
“She is beautifully trained,” I told the falconer.
The older man smiled. “She is an apt pupil. I am pleased she has an equally competent master.”
My face heated at the praise and I kept my face turned towards Glide, stroking her breast with my gloved finger. “I hope I will do her justice,” I murmured.