Warlords, Witches and Wolves: A Fantasy Realms Anthology

by Michelle Diener

  Goddess. She'd laid hands on the empress. She was ruined. But she had gone this far. She had to see it through. Salt ash stung her throat and filled her nose and she fought the urge to call Ikarus, to get him to take the teapot away. "Don't touch that."

  "Why not?" Liane’s gaze was sharp.

  "You might think I'm crazy," Imogene said. "I may well be crazy. But it smells like Andalyssian magic to me. There's something wrong with it."

  "My food is tested," Liane said, in a tone that was too calm. She sat farther back in her chair, moving cautiously as though afraid the teapot might explode.

  "Their magic is strange. It’s hard to notice for an Illvyan. It can blur things. It's..." She struggled to find the words. "Imagine air and earth magic mixed somehow. It always felt odd to me."

  Liane sat back in her chair, looking pale. Then she turned and said to the servant, "Fetch me my husband, Major Perrine, and Healer Terrisse." She paused a moment. "Send someone to find Major du Laq, too. And tell the guard to keep the Andalyssians in their quarters for now. They are not to leave the palace." She smiled at Imogene, the expression sharp and fierce, though she was still pale. "Let us get to the bottom of this once and for all."

  It probably took no more than ten minutes before Aristides, the healer, and the major arrived. But it felt like an eternity as Imogen sat and stared at the teapot, wondering if it was about to ruin her entire career. But the healer held a hand over the pot, and her polite interest turned to alarm. "Poison," she said. "An especially deadly one. Brewed from an herb that only grows in cold countries, Your Imperial Highness." She leaned over Liane, studying the empress’s face. "You didn't touch the pot, did you?"

  Liane had pushed her chair farther away from the table at the word “poison.” She was nearly as white as the cloth covering the table. "No, Lieutenant Carvelle stopped me. She saved me."

  Aristides reached for his wife's hand, held it tight, both of them staring at Imogene.

  "Did you touch it?" The healer's worried brown eyes fastened on Imogene, too. "Let me see your hand."

  Imogene's mouth dried as she realized why the healer was concerned. "I only brushed it for a moment." But she held out her hand obediently. It shook slightly. "It feels fine." Would she feel it, though?

  "It would. The poison doesn't burn. It’s dangerous because it does little until it enters your blood stream. Then you die quickly." The healer bent closer and peered at Imogene's hand. She cocked her head. "How long has it been?"

  "Ten minutes, maybe?" Imogene said, heart thumping. Was that too soon to know?

  "You're still alive. I think you are in no danger. It acts faster than that on the skin." Terrisse swung back to the emperor and Major Perrine, who both looked grim. "I suggest you send for a Truth Seeker. Start with the servants, though I doubt this is a poison anyone would find easy to obtain in Illvya. So I'd be speaking to the Andalyssians. The lieutenant here just saved the empress's life. And your son's."

  Chapter 26

  "I suppose you will want to marry the girl after all now," Andre du Laq said to Jean-Paul the next morning as a servant poured coffee into their cups. The invitation he’d received from his father asking him to join his parents for breakfast had been written more as a command. Jean-Paul, who'd been caught up in the interrogations all night and had been planning on sleeping for an hour and then bathing and going in search of Imogene, had instead presented himself at the duq's townhouse.

  The breakfast, he knew, would be excellent. Normally, it wouldn't have been enough to convince him to appear. But learning what his father's current stance on Imogene might be was necessary if he was to go to Imogene and convince her to give him another chance.

  He hadn't gotten near her yesterday. A servant had found him at the barracks and brought him to the emperor's audience room, where a young blond Truth Seeker Jean-Paul hadn't recognized had already been asking questions of the Andalyssians.

  Imogene had been standing with the empress, who looked pale and furious, and she had barely spared him a glance before focusing back on the Truth Seeker.

  Who was very good at his job and had soon made it clear that the Ashmeiser was in the plot up to his neck despite the Andalyssians' strident protests to the contrary.

  At that revelation, the empress had stepped forward and said, "I've heard enough. I believe you all owe Lieutenant Carvelle an apology. But that can come in due course. You can all clean up this mess." She'd waved a dismissive hand at the Andalyssians. "The lieutenant can come with me. We never did get tea." She paused, one hand on her belly. "I will deal with her colonel."

  Then she'd looped her arm through Imogene's and left.

  Jean-Paul had had the mad urge to run after them before Aristides had said, "She will wait. This will not." Which was true but truth had not made it easier to force his mind to duty rather than Imogene.

  But sitting with his father and mother both smiling at him, he wasn't at all certain that Aristides had been right. Or that Imogene would forgive him. He gazed down at his coffee, unable to summon any appetite though he knew he needed food to make up for his lack of sleep.

  "Well, Jean-Paul," his mother asked, "am I to have a daughter-in-law at last?"

  He grimaced. "I think, Mother, that that is yet to be determined." He swigged coffee.

  "She had the right stuff, that one," his father said with a sly smile.

  Jean-Paul paused mid sip. "That's not what you said after the ball."

  "I've changed my mind. Your mother always tells me the ability to change one's mind is a sign of wisdom. She is loyal to the crown. And brave enough to speak up, even though if she'd been wrong, she would have ruined her career, most likely."

  More likely his father's ability to adjust his opinion with a smile and act as though he'd never felt any differently came from years of diplomacy and politics. Would he end up like that, too? He'd prefer the wisdom-based kind of decision-making himself. But he was, at least, not wise enough to try to dissuade his father from his newly found approval of Imogene. He merely rolled his eyes at his father.

  "Poison. Cowardly, if you ask me," Andre continued. "If you want to kill a man, shoot him or stab him or something. More cowardly still to go after a pregnant woman." His expression twisted in disgust. "We should set half their damned country on fire."

  Andre was clearly fully informed about everything that had happened at the palace. As he usually was. Luckily, Jean-Paul didn't think Aristides would choose violence as revenge. More likely, he'd just make the Andalyssians pay through the nose while he rooted out the heart of the discontent in their country via more subtle means. Diplomacy wasn't always gentler than war.

  "But back to your lieutenant," his father continued. "Loyalty, bravery and magic. That's a start. You say she has a brain. We can teach her the rest. And the court will become used to the sanctii, I guess. She's not the only water-mage about." Andre sat back, looking satisfied. Then he smirked at Jean-Paul. "So all you have to do is get her to say yes."

  Chapter 27

  Imogene was half asleep when the empress's carriage drew to a halt outside the barracks. Liane had insisted on calling a carriage to deliver Imogen back to quarters—which was ridiculous when it took as long to drive through the winding palace roads to get from the palace to the administrative buildings as it did to walk through the grounds. But Liane, Imogene was learning, didn't take no for an answer often. Perhaps that came with being an empress. She'd insisted Imogene spend the night at the palace. Not that a luxurious bed in a palace guest suite had made it any easier to sleep. Imogene had been too overwhelmed by everything that had happened to rest.

  Ikarus appeared at one point to sit with her, as though keeping watch. He'd gone again when she'd climbed into the high bed an hour or so before dawn. But she hadn't slept long. Which was why she was yawning now. Colonel Ferritine has asked her to come see him at eleven after Liane had finished telling him that Imogene's punishments were to be over and done with immediately, and she was to be given all d
ue consideration for her next assignment, and the empress would be writing a commendation for her bravery.

  It was nearly quarter to eleven now.

  But as she stepped out of the carriage, she spotted Jean-Paul looming on the steps once more, looking like a storm cloud in his uniform.

  Her heart lurched, and had it not been for the firm grip of the driver who had insisted on offering her a hand to help her down, she may have stumbled at the sight of him.

  She stood for a moment, gathering her wits. Not fast enough, because it gave him time to walk to her.

  "Lieutenant, good morning," he said. He looked almost as rumpled as she felt. He hadn't shaved, and his uniform was wrinkled. Hers was pressed and clean via the magic of palace servants who had managed the feat in the few hours she had slept, but she still felt disheveled and unsettled.

  "Good morning." The response was automatic. As was the smile that followed it. She had missed him. She’d wanted to talk to him last night but hadn't been able to figure out how short of sending Ikarus to find him. That might have been pushing her newly reinstated favor a little too far.

  "I know you said to stay away, but I wanted to make sure you—" He broke off, as though he was uncertain what to say, eyes searching her face.

  "That I what, Major?" she said gently.

  "That you knew that I know I behaved like an idiot at the ball. I was angry, but not at you. I shouldn't have spoken to you that way. I apologize. I wanted to give you the space you asked for. And I will leave again and give you that space if it's still what you want, but Liane said yesterday that we all owed you an apology, and that is true. And I wanted mine to be the first. I didn't trust you as I should have. I told you I would protect you, and I didn't. There's no excuse. But I am sorry. And it won't happen again. I miss you. But I will go, if you still need time." He moved to step backward.

  Her hand shot out and grabbed his arm, fingers curling into the wool of his uniform jacket. "Don't."

  He looked down at her hand, hope breaking over his face. "Does this mean I'm forgiven?"

  She wasn't sure about that. But she was sure she didn't want him to go. "I'm thinking about it," she said, smiling.

  He smiled back, hope silvering his gray eyes. "What can I do to make you think faster?"

  "Not much. I have to be in the colonel's office in about five minutes."

  "I already spoke to the colonel. He said to tell you that he had something come up. He'll see you this afternoon."

  "That was very confident of you," she said, lifting a brow at him.

  He shrugged unapologetically. "I prefer hopeful. But even if you sent me away, I figured you might be as short on sleep as I am."

  "Do you need a nap, Major?" she asked.

  "Is that an invitation?" His voice did that low and rumbling thing that made her want to kiss him.

  "I haven't said I've forgiven you yet."

  "I could convince you if we took a nap." He wriggled his dark brows at her.

  A sound came from the driver that she thought might be a stifled laugh. A reminder they were having this conversation in broad daylight. While standing outside the place where she still would be working after today, Jean-Paul or not.

  She stepped back from him. "Perhaps we can compromise with a carriage drive? Find somewhere to talk."

  "Excellent plan," Jean Paul said. He reached past her and opened the carriage door again. "The empress won't mind if we take her carriage for a spin. She has several of them. And I would like to talk to you. About whatever you'd like to talk about." He held out a hand so she could step back into the carriage. "My father thinks I should definitely marry you," he said just as she put a foot on the step.

  She almost banged her head on the top of the door as she jerked in surprise but managed to recover and climb inside. Jean-Paul followed. Really, the man was far too nimble for his size. He was annoyingly good at too many things. The thought made her annoyingly happy.

  "I thought we were going to take our time about this?"

  "We may be," Jean-Paul said. "But I warn you, my father is impatient. And very good at getting his own way."

  "Like father, like son, it seems," she said.

  Life as a du Laq, she was beginning to think, would definitely never be dull. She might fit right in, in fact. She rather liked the thought of learning how to be very good at getting her own way when she needed to. Perhaps she should start practicing. Because she knew what she wanted. And that was the man sitting opposite her, grinning like temptation and trying to be on his best behavior. Every overly large, overly confident, aristo, brilliant, handsome inch of him.

  "You never actually asked me the question," she pointed out.

  "I was giving you time and space," he said. "Do you still need them?"

  "A little," she said. "I quite like this apologizing part. I may need a little more."

  "I can do that," he agreed cheerfully. "As often as you need me to. And then?"

  She smiled, charmed by him all over again. And hopelessly in love. "And then, if you ask very nicely, I think it likely I will say yes."

  Epilogue

  He had asked very nicely, Imogene reminded herself as she surveyed yet another ballroom two months later. And she had said yes. She didn't regret it, not for a second, but, as she was learning, it took hard work to become the kind of duquesse-in-waiting she wanted to be. She had a lot to learn. Luckily, Jean-Paul's parents were determined to help her. As was the man himself. Who was the reason she was standing here, sipping water rather than campenois because she had been given strict instruction from both her mama and the duquesse that it would be unsuitable to become tipsy at one's own betrothal ball.

  The du Laqs had spared no expense. As many members of the court as could be squeezed into their ballroom were here. The house at Sanct de Sangre, their country estate, was large, but it wasn't as large as the palace. The emperor and empress were not here, but only because Liane had given birth two days earlier to a healthy baby boy. Liane had sent the extravagant sapphire earrings Imogene wore as an apology for not being able to attend. And the necklace that matched them as a betrothal gift. Imogene suspected the jewels were worth more than her parents’ house. They were extraordinarily beautiful, but she wasn't yet easy with wearing half a fortune around her throat.

  "Can you believe this is finally happening?" Chloe said, standing beside her. She sipped campenois happily, her brown eyes sparkling as brightly as Imogene's necklace.

  "What do you mean, finally? It's only been two months." Time had whirled by far too quickly for her. She'd barely had time to catch her breath, caught up in Jean-Paul and Ikarus and the changes in her life. "Little more than three since I met the man."

  "True," Chloe said. "But you've been doing duquesse school for weeks. Between that and wedding planning and the army, I’ll be glad when tonight is over and you have some time back."

  Imogene didn't have the heart to tell Chloe she wasn't entirely sure that was going to happen. Yes, they agreed to no wedding for a year. But duquesse school showed no signs of letting up. And she wanted to go on at least one more mission before the wedding. Somewhere warm this time.

  "I'll be glad when we get through the formal part and I can have some of that campenois you're downing."

  Chloe smirked and lifted her glass again. "Rank comes with responsibilities." She scanned the crowd, waving her glass at the assembled masses. "There's certainly a lot of them, aren't there?"

  "Indeed," Imogene agreed. Chloe had gone above and beyond to join Imogene at many of the parties and balls and gatherings Imogene was attending as part of her introduction to the court, but she still had her own responsibilities and couldn't be out every night. "I'm not yet convinced they don't multiply overnight." An effect only amplified by the Sanct de Sangre ballroom, which was walled in mirrors, making the crowd appear infinite. The effect made her vaguely queasy. It was hard enough to keep them straight without having to sort reflections from reality.

  She was starting to fin
d friends amongst the court and to make sense of the information about its members being crammed into her head. But none of them would replace Chloe. So the court was just going to have to get used to Imogene's choice of best friend.

  "Do you know who that is?" Chloe asked, tilting her fan discreetly to her right.

  Imogene followed the direction of the fan and Chloe's gaze. The young man standing at the foot of the staircase, wearing a coat in a blazing shade of blue, was handsome in a way that bordered on pretty in its perfection. His dark hair was artfully arranged, and his blue eyes flashed as boldly as his jacket. She was sure she had met him during one of the relentless series of dinners and parties she had been attending in Jean-Paul's company, part of the du Laq "bring Imogene up to speed" campaign. She searched through the list of names she'd been committing to memory, seeking to match it with his face. It came to her soon enough.

  "That's Charl de Montesse. He is nephew to the...Marq of Verneile, I believe." And good friends with the intense blond Truth Seeker who had questioned the Andalyssians. He, Imogene had been surprised to learn, was the heir to the Marq of Castaigne. And one of the many aristos Imogene had met in the last two months since she had saved the empress. Chloe wouldn't be particularly interested in who Charl was, but Imogene begun to grow used to thinking about where people slotted into the court. "Would you like me to introduce you?"

  Chloe grinned at her, head only turning briefly to meet Imogene's gaze before turning back to watch Charl. "He's pretty. Yes, please."

  "Very well." Imogene led Chloe across the room, performed the introduction, made polite small talk with Charl and Chloe until she was sure Chloe could handle the rest on her own, and then went in search of Jean-Paul. The formal part of the evening would commence shortly, and she wanted a moment to stand with him and remind herself why she was making this choice all over again.