by Frank Morin
Shona said, “Obrion is facing an unstable political situation in the short term. We don’t yet know what we’ll be called upon to do once the dust settles. Will we invade Granadure again, or will the peace treaty hold while we deal with internal matters?”
“You’re worried if your father falls to Dreokt that one of his rivals might attack?” Rory asked, sounding surprised.
“My father appears to have secured a solid position serving the queen.” Despite the lack of specifics, her father sounded optimistic. No doubt he saw opportunity to not only renew the war effort but also expand his own influence.
Lord Nevan said, “Open fighting between high families is rare, but not unheard of.”
“So we might face attack?”
“Or see an opportunity to assist a struggling neighbor,” Shona added, putting a more positive spin on the possibility of conquering neighboring realms. Rory would need that kind of justification to support any such plan. He didn’t see other Obrioners as enemies and would be reluctant to lead his troops in such an attack.
The possibility existed, though. Others were already seeing it. A few of her father’s more vocal opponents, including the annoying Lord Flichity, were already preparing to leave for their home realms with at least some of their troops.
It was a delicate situation, compounded by the uncertainty in Donleavy. Leaving the bulk of their forces in Merkland under Rory’s command might weaken them in a critical moment. But they could not withdraw all of their troops either. That might suggest to the queen that they no longer supported a war agenda, which she might wish to pursue.
Shona continued. “Given the situation, we cannot spread our own troops out to neighboring townships with so many troops from other realms wintering in Merkland.”
“And we can’t send the others to the townships for fear they may seize unguarded territory,” Rory finished for her. “Very well, but that means Merkland will face the brunt of the expense for wintering them.”
“For now, you have my full support to do whatever we must to keep our entire army safe, secure, and ready for battle,” Shona said.
Lord Nevan smiled. “And of course we’ve already sent letters to the lords of every other realm, requisitioning more supplies and funds to help defray the cost.”
Rory grunted again and allowed the hint of a smile. “I should have known.”
Shona led the way back to her carriage, satisfied with the trip. “Everything appears to be in order here.”
“The troops appreciate your attention and the fact that you care so much for their comfort,” Rory said.
“Of course I care. These are my troops. A good leader never squanders valuable assets.”
As they carriage headed for the north side of the township and the bridge spanning the Macantact to return to the city, Shona sat back in her plush, cushioned seat. “You’ve both done excellent work. Keep everything running smoothly until I return.”
“Return?” Rory asked.
“I’ve been summoned to Donleavy.”
Rory grimaced. Nevan already knew, but the news still worried him. “Donleavy is not a place I would recommend you visit now,” Rory said.
“Nonsense. It’s the perfect time to visit.”
Rory looked at her like she’d cracked. “You clearly are not worried about surviving your interview with the queen, but it’s a dangerous time. People act in unexpected ways when they face danger.”
“It’s a time of opportunity,” Shona assured him. “My father appears to be well positioned. He can bring me up to date on the situation, and together we can ensure that our realm remains strong through Queen Dreokt’s return.”
She sorely wished her father had sent more details, but the lack of specifics meant he expected his communication might be read by unfriendly eyes. That was not uncommon, but at the moment the question was whose eyes? Someone loyal to the new queen, to King Turriff, or someone else?
Shona thought back to the discussion during the peace treaty signing. “That Kilian knew about the queen. Do you trust what he said?”
Rory rubbed his chin. “Kilian is a legend on the battlefield, but I never took him for a liar. I believe he was speaking in earnest. He seemed genuinely concerned about what she would do. I wish I had gotten a chance to speak with Connor. He might have been able to tell us more.”
“I had hoped to do the same,” she admitted with a frown.
Getting a quiet moment alone with Connor had been one of Shona’s primary objectives during the peace accord meeting. It frustrated her that she had failed. Connor had been so distant, it was obviously the wrong moment to approach him again.
She blamed that vixen wench Builder.
As always, thinking of Verena set Shona’s blood boiling. The vile Grandurian had somehow wormed her way into Connor’s heart right under Shona’s nose. Shona berated herself again for having bungled her time with Connor so badly.
She had been so focused on planning their rise to power and how much good they would accomplish together, she had not given the present the attention it deserved. She should have enjoyed the quiet moments they had together and built their relationship more carefully. Instead of trying to force his support, she should have ensured that his needs were met.
Knowing that he was so close across the border was like a constant thorn in her side. She felt a powerful urge to march into Granadure and demand to speak with him before leaving for Donleavy. Unfortunately, that would only drive him away. Connor needed careful enticing and constant encouragement.
Exactly what the rest of the nation needed.
If only she had Connor by her side, she would travel to the capital with even more confidence. Her plans were in disarray, but the unsettled political field would surely offer new opportunities.
The queen was an unknown, but Shona felt confident in quickly discovering the queen’s strengths and weaknesses. The only person she knew who might be as good at judging people and sensing how to position themselves to best advantage was Ivor. Somehow he had been captured in the fighting at Altkalen and she was not sure of his current fate.
No doubt her father had already discovered the loyalties and secrets of most of the major players at court. His brilliant mind, enhanced by obsidian, worked at an unmatched level. She could draw much information from him, but wondered if his agenda of conquest might be clouding his vision.
Where her father seemed intent on using a hammer to shatter opposition, Shona preferred to use a gentle caress. Once she understood how to deal with the queen, she could figure out a plan with her father. Let him lead the conquering army into Granadure and finally subdue them. Let him spend the rest of his life bringing the rest of the continent to heel.
Shona wanted to help make Obrion mighty again. She yearned for the day when the entire continent could be united again under one ruler. The expense for building armies and monitoring nervous neighbors was staggering. Serving a central ruler would remove all that. Only then could the continent again rival the greatness that it enjoyed before the Tallan wars.
Queen Dreokt had done it once. Hopefully she could do it again, with Shona and her father assisting, and rising to greatness at her side. All Shona needed to do was survive the near-term turbulence.
And win Connor back.
Nevan spoke, pulling her back to the present. “We will keep you posted on the situation here. I received word that Lord Torcall is en route from Curadh. He will no doubt feel slighted that my return blocked his ascension to the post of interim administrator.”
Lord Torcall was one of the most powerful local lords serving Dougal. The Curadh quarry produced excellent quartzite, making the city second only to Merkland in size and wealth in all of Dougal’s realm. If Nevan hadn’t returned from the nearly-empty Carraig during winter repairs, Torcall would have been the likely choice for administrator.
Rory grunted. “Torcall is too proud by half.”
“But useful all the same,” Shona said.
“If he’s co
ming, that means Logan will rush in on his heels too.”
Lord Nevan said, “Indeed. Lord Logan hates the thought of missing anything. He’ll support my appointment since it diminishes any new power to Torcall.”
The political maneuvering of the lesser lords of her realm usually interested Shona, but at the moment she found herself growing impatient with them. Lord Logan lacked any Petralist power, but he ruled the wealthy town of Inverurie, along with the vast wealth its gold mine produced. The long-standing rivalry between Torcall and Logan was a source of much of the intrigue at Dougal’s court.
She said, “Keep them in line, Nevan. This isn’t the time for any escalation of their squabbles.”
“I’d love an excuse to clap them both in irons in a cold cell for a few days,” Rory said with a grim smile. “Nothing like a little forced humility to help reset priorities.”
Nevan gave him an appreciative smile. “As much as I too would enjoy such a sight, I believe I can keep them in check. Their presence here will likely draw many of the lesser lords and ladies from their towns. The political games will help the dreary winter days pass more easily.”
“Send me updates directly. My father will be busy securing our position at court. I don’t want him distracted. Is there anything else of note I should know about before I leave?”
Rory said, “One of my spies in the Grandurian camp reported the Builder Verena was seriously injured in Alasdair. She has not yet recovered, and there’s a good chance she’ll never awaken again.”
He kept his voice carefully neutral. Shona knew all too well his conflicted loyalties regarding Connor, Verena, and especially Anika. She appreciated that he stayed true to the course and fulfilled his duties with exactness, as always, but he would need to resolve that conflict soon. A commander could not afford distractions, and he was now playing far too critical a role to hesitate.
She snapped, “And every day she lingers is one more day before Connor’s mind can start clearing.”
Lord Nevan said, “Connor seemed to possess exceptional cleverness. I’m sure he’ll make the right choice eventually.”
That vile Builder had lacked the good grace to die in Altkalen like she was supposed to. Now she had the audacity to linger in a coma, distracting Connor and preventing him from moving forward with his life.
“Keep me posted on any developments in her case. Craigroy suggested there was another resource who might be able to help us bring closure there. Once you receive word, I’ll be able to implement plans to help Connor come back around to our side.”
Like her father always said, people’s emotions ran deep around important moments like birth, marriage, and death. Those were times of transition, and Shona planned to guide Connor to a more intelligent course as soon as Verena died.
As the carriage clattered across the long bridge arcing over the river, Shona looked out over the dark blue expanse, feeling better. “If you need anything else from me, Craigroy will be overseeing all correspondence.”
“When does the speedcaravan leave?”
“It’s waiting for me now. I expect to embark within the hour.”
It would take her to Donleavy where she would craft a new plan for her future. And Connor’s.
10
When Smiling Is Harder than Punching
As Connor fell toward the courtyard where Nicklaus was just touching down, he tapped soapstone and formed the piles of snow into a tall, spiraling, grooved ramp. He landed on the top and whooshed down into the slide. He laughed as he gained speed, twisting around and around as he slid to the ground and shot out the bottom, skidded across the icy pavement, and plowed to a stop in a thick drift of snow.
Connor shook all the snow off with a thought as he stood and extended his arms for applause.
Nicklaus eagerly obliged and said something in Grandurian. When Connor frowned, not understanding, the boy smoothly switched to Obrioner. “Can I try?”
“Sure.”
Nicklaus had grown a lot in the months since Connor had last seen him. He was probably already seven. His blond hair was long, hanging past his ears, and his blue eyes sparkled with glee as Connor lifted him into the air using a slender arm of snow.
When Connor deposited him in the top of the slide, Nicklaus whooped. A second later, air erupted behind him as he activated a piece of quartzite and accelerated rapidly.
Nicklaus made four turns before bursting over the edge of the slide and shooting across the courtyard. He shuttered the blasting quartzite, and Connor piled snow in front of him with a tug of thought. The cushioning snow caught him just before he crashed into the stone wall of the outer edge of the court.
Nicklaus bounded out of the snow laughing and shouted, “Again!”
“Not like that,” Connor laughed.
Nicklaus’s lips were chattering from cold, but he didn’t seem to care. Connor brushed away the snow and tapped a bit of marble to warm himself. Then he gripped Nicklaus’s hands and poured warmth into him too.
The boy grimaced. “Mom won’t let me play with marble yet.”
That sounded like a very smart decision.
Connor pointed at the slide and tapped soapstone again. In seconds he converted the curving ramp into a tube.
Nicklaus grabbed his hand and exclaimed with childish enthusiasm, “You come too! I’ll race you.”
Racing down one tube would be interesting. “Okay. But first, did I see you using quartzite like a Builder, but also running like a Strider?”
Nicklaus placed his hands on his hips and gave Connor a disgusted look. “We’re in Granadure. We call basalt Petralists Wingrunners. Didn’t you know that?”
“Sorry. I meant Wingrunner.”
“Then yes. I love running fast, don’t you?”
“It’s one of my favorite things in the world.”
Tomas and Cameron would give Connor a legendary beating for admitting that, even though he loved granite too.
The newly reconfigured slide worked perfectly, although Connor could not keep up with the quartzite-speeding Nicklaus. So he tapped quartzite and tried to draw the air down to help him out.
The resulting mini tornado of snow and wind scoured the tiny garden courtyard clear of snow before Connor could get the wind to cut it out. He swore he could hear a mischievous chuckle on the wind.
Nicklaus laughed hysterically. “Longseer. Too much air inside the head gets in the way trying to use it outside! Gotta be a Builder like me!”
“I’m better at it than most,” Connor insisted.
That only made Nicklaus laugh again. “I’m glad I didn’t make affinity with quartzite. I had to test first with marble like Uncle Kilian. I’m Dawnus, just like him.”
Connor gaped. Only the most powerful Petralists discovered their powers as children, and even then it was rare to establish a tertiary affinity, let alone a Dawnus gift before their teen-age years. Nicklaus might grow to rival Kilian for raw power.
“When I was at the Carraig, I got to be an undercover general,” Connor told Nicklaus, who looked dutifully impressed. “I was pretending to be Dawnus, and I used marble and soapstone. I even told them my name was Kilian.”
“That was a great choice. Uncle Kilian is the best.”
“When did you discover you also have Builder powers?”
“Just a little bit before I was kidnapped that time. Mother kept me in the palace for months after that.” He scowled at that memory. “Now I finally get a chance to come to Altkalen and Verena won’t wake up.”
Connor’s smile faded and Nicklaus added, “Don’t worry. Mattias says she’ll wake up soon.”
“I’m sure of it.” He appreciated the boy’s confidence, but since when did Mattias spend time with Nicklaus? And how often did they discuss Verena?
A thick wooden door led back inside, but it was locked. They had to pound on it for a minute before Nicklaus’s nanny finally arrived. She had sought a less dangerous route down to the courtyard from Verena’s room. She chided Nicklaus for running aw
ay, but he only winked at Connor. No doubt it was going to be a busy afternoon for that woman.
Connor considered Nicklaus’s special gift as he headed back up into Saskia’s tower. He wanted to ask her what she knew about it. The possibility of Petralists also being Builders had never dawned on him, and the ramifications were incredible. If Dougal had managed to keep Nicklaus, what might he have accomplished through the little boy?
It was a terrifying thought.
The tower was larger than it appeared from the outside, with wide, curving hallways of paneled wood and enormous tapestries. Connor hoped to find Saskia again, but as he exited a long, stone stair on the fourth floor, he ran into Mattias. He was dressed in a well-tailored suit, one of his swords swinging at his hip.
That hallway was much finer, with a smooth, black-tiled floor and stone walls hung with gilt-framed paintings of landscapes and portraits of important people Connor didn’t know. The gently arced ceiling was tiled in an intricate mosaic depicting the entire continent.
Mattias smiled when he saw Connor, but unfortunately did not set his teeth glowing. Connor was eager for that moment so he could do it too. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Mattias’s face. And if that didn’t impress Mattias enough, Connor would be happy to demonstrate what a mirage could do.
He needed to test if Longseers could pierce mirage with their enhanced vision. Mattias was very skilled, but wasn’t ascended, so maybe it would still work on him.
“I heard you arrived in town today,” Mattias said, extending his hand.
Connor took it, wishing he had taken the time to purge basalt and absorb granite. One of his favorite dreams was still the moment when he’d get to throw Mattias out a window.
“I ran up from the border today. The army should be here in a day or two.”
“I also heard you attended the signing of the peace accord. I wish I had been there.”