by Cait Spivey
Guerline inhaled sharply. This was significant news, made all the more significant by the fact that she had heard nothing about it. Giarda could go to war with Arido over this if they chose, and much of her own country would be on their side. Very few people outside the East had any love for the Thiymen dragons. Her mind raced for something to say. She lifted her chin and stared down her nose at Brynn.
“Your masters might have sent word sooner. We could have discussed it with the Heart of Thiymen, and stopped it before any blood was shed.”
“Fiona? Fiona wouldn’t have stopped them!” Pearce shouted, rising from his seat. His eyes were frenzied. “I’ll wager she sent them!”
“Don’t be so moronic, Lord Iszolda!” Theodor said. “Fiona’s no fool. She wouldn’t start a war just so the dragons could have more mates—”
“What if that’s exactly what she wants?” Lanyic cried. “A war! She’s trying to start a war!”
“She’s doing nothing of the sort!” Shon bellowed. “My lady Fiona is above such political nonsense!”
“Enough!” Guerline shouted again. She strode down into the center of the floor and turned to face her council. Her hands shook. Whether with fear or anger, she wasn’t sure. She balled them into fists.
“That’s enough, all of you! We will not have our throne room devolve into a common brawling tavern! If you cannot behave with honor and decorum, we shall have you all removed and replaced!”
The promise was clear in her eyes. All of her current councilors, save Eva, had served under her parents, but they’d been of absolutely no use to her so far. The most they’d done was argue about high-stress topics with no apparent interest in deciding on productive solutions, and they found ways to ignore the ones she suggested. Perhaps she was only nineteen, but she was not a child, and whether they liked it or not, she was the empress.
“Get out of here, now. All of you,” Guerline said. She pointed at Kieran Brynn. “You will be lodged in the Dragon Wing. We will discuss your problem tomorrow after we have had a chance to broach the subject with Lady Fiona. Escort him, and post a guard at his door.”
Two guards from the wall came to flank Brynn, who was looking at Guerline with barely concealed incredulity. The guards reached for his arms, but he twisted away to avoid their touch and marched out. She strode back to the throne. Evadine stood next to it, staying where she was rather than heeding Guerline’s order. When Guerline ordered people to leave, Evadine was not usually included in “people.” Guerline felt like screaming at Evadine to leave too, but she restrained herself. Her lover seemed less inclined than Guerline to trust the Giardan courtier, and that appealed to the overwhelming desire to slander someone which Guerline was currently experiencing.
Something about Brynn made her inexplicably anxious. When he’d first walked in, she’d thought the flutter in her chest was because he was a handsome man. After his brief address, she felt differently, but couldn’t place the strangeness of her reaction to him. By the look on Evadine’s face, she was experiencing something similar, and with any luck, they could figure it out together. It would be nice to be in agreement about something again, too, even if that something was a man who made them uncomfortable.
“I don’t trust him, Lina,” Evadine said quietly as Guerline neared her.
“Nor do I, though I have nothing but my gut reaction as evidence against him,” the empress responded. “I just wonder that the Giardan royal family didn’t communicate this to us sooner.”
“Especially if it’s been going on for three months,” Eva sneered. “I understand it’s a long journey on horseback or ship from Giarda, but there are faster means of communication. The Giardans have magic-workers, and Thiymen has worked with them before.”
“Yes . . . about that, Eva. Thank you.”
“For what?”
Guerline smiled. “For supporting Thiymen, defending the dragons, not claiming that Fiona’s starting a war.”
She’d been grateful that Eva hadn’t jumped up with the others; that’s what she’d been expecting. It had been very satisfying to see Evadine maintain her composure. So it was surprising now to see Eva’s face change into a dark scowl, so twisted it was almost unrecognizable.
“In no way do I support Thiymen clan. I believe the East poses the greatest threat to us, and I mean to see it dealt with,” Eva snapped.
Guerline was stunned silent. Eva held her gaze with a wild brightness in her grey eyes, and the anxiety brought on by Brynn’s presence doubled.
Eva’s voice had almost sounded like Alcander’s.
She turned from Evadine and sat down upon her throne, her posture rigid and her chin high. Eva came around and knelt in front of her, putting her hands on Guerline’s knees, a slight touch that seemed to sap Guerline of all strength. Guerline took them and held them tightly as she slid off her throne and joined Eva on the ground. She searched Eva’s face, but she saw no hint of the mania that had been there a moment ago.
“Lina, I’m so sorry, I don’t know—I didn’t mean it. Lina, please,” Eva said.
“What did you mean, Eva?” Guerline whispered.
Silence for a moment, then: “I don’t trust the witches. They frighten me. But you were right in the council yesterday. We cannot truly address the problems with magic unless we speak to them. And . . . you said we will make this right, no matter what that means in the end.”
Eva lifted her eyes to Guerline’s. “I trust you more than anyone or anything else right now. I trust you more than I trust myself.”
She looked tired, so much more tired than she had a moment ago. Guerline hooked a hand behind Eva’s head and pulled her forward, kissing her gently on the mouth. Eva’s lips were cold, and Guerline felt a pang in her heart, like sharp fingernails digging in. She remembered Eva’s panic last night when she spoke of seeing Alcander in her dreams. Somehow, Guerline’s brother never made it to the underworld, and he was haunting both of them. She was sure of it.
As Guerline kissed Eva, she vowed silently that she would rid them both of his memory, if it was the last thing she did. And if it’s not just his memory, what then? If his soul remains on this plane to torment you, and her . . . ? The voice didn’t sound quite like her own, but the questions were ones Guerline asked herself over and over. She shut her eyes, envisioned the softly smiling Heart of Thiymen. If Fiona is my enemy, I’ll believe this is a true haunting and her doing. But if she is my loyal subject, she will be able to protect us from Alcander’s ghost.
She pulled back and smiled at Eva. “Send a message to Thiymen clan and inform Fiona-lami that I request an audience with her, either here at the palace or through magical communication. Make sure to state that it is a matter of utmost importance.” She kissed Eva again. “And then get some rest, please.”
They rose as one; then Eva wrapped her arms around Guerline’s waist and buried her face in Guerline’s neck, stooping from her greater height. Guerline held her tightly for a moment, and then they parted. Eva stepped down from the dais, still holding Guerline’s hand, and smiled up at her.
“I don’t know how I could have ever doubted you,” she said.
Before Guerline could ask what she meant, Eva curtsied and left the room.
Guerline slumped down in her throne and put her head in her hands. This was only . . . the fourth day of her official reign? All she wanted to do was ride far, far away; maybe go hide in Lisyne’s Range far in the north, maybe go jump off the Hurdle, hole up in the Wastes. But she couldn’t, because she had responsibilities to the empire, and she felt the weight of them already threatening to crush her.
A hand rested on her shoulder and she knew it was her mother’s. She could smell the perfume Maribel wore. Strange that her parents came to her more often now they were dead than when they were alive.
She heard the doors open again and leapt from the throne, ready to behead both the intruder and whoever had admitted them. Luckily for all involved, she saw who it was before she spoke. It was a single person, un
believably tall with a great wide chest. His blonde hair was bound in a messy braid that trailed below his hips, and his arms were open to her.
“Desmond! Oh thank the gods, Desmond!” Guerline cried.
She ran down from the dais and into his embrace. He lifted her in his thick, strong arms and spun her around. When he came to a stop, he went to put her down again, but Guerline had clamped her arms around his neck and was sobbing violently into his shoulder. Desmond cradled her hips to support her weight and rubbed her back with his free hand.
“What’s this now, what’s this?” he asked. He carried her over to the edge of the dais and sat down, positioning her across his broad lap. “What’s the matter, little queen?”
“Stop it! I can’t have you condescending to me too!” Guerline snapped.
Desmond laughed. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry. I apologize, Your Majesty. You’re right. May I call you Lina? Then we can just talk as friends.”
Guerline nodded, her sobs calming. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment at her outburst—the sobbing, the yelling at Desmond. She was just so tired, and her nerves were frayed. She’d meant to show everyone that she was a strong empress, that she was not to be trifled with; sometimes she felt like she was doing that, as she had in the throne room with Brynn and the rest of her council. But then someone like Desmond came along and comforted her like she was a child, called her pet names like “little queen,” and it all came undone.
“There now.” He smiled down at her with his bright, warm grin. Guerline smiled back and rested her head on his chest.
“Forgive me, Desmond. I didn’t intend to jump on you and then yell at you,” she said. “I’ve just had . . . an incredibly stressful time of late.”
“I can only imagine. Of course I forgive you, Lina. Will you tell me all about it?”
“Yes. But not now. I’ve just gotten it all out of my system, and I don’t want to start thinking of it again,” she said. “I’m so happy you’ve come to see me, Desmond. No one warned me that when I became empress, I wouldn’t be allowed to have friends anymore.”
“There are a lot of things no one tells up-and-coming monarchs, I’m sure.”
She smiled again and lifted herself out of his lap. This was reminiscent of all the times she and Desmond had just sat and talked whenever he came to visit. There was no expectation that Guerline would rule then, because Alcander was very much alive and willing. Whenever Desmond had finished his business with her parents and brother, he’d come and just spend his free time with her and Eva. She taught him to dance, to make paper flowers, to play one or two tunes on the harp; he taught her about magic and sword-fighting, and about the country, and what to pack when you’re on the run.
He cupped her cheek in his large, rough hand. His thumb moved back and forth softly over her skin. Guerline leaned into the contact. She stared at his face, took in all his features: the warm golden skin, the dark blonde hair, the slanted blue eyes. His mother’s shade, his father’s shape, he’d said once, but to Guerline, those eyes were all his. They were full of his smile, the smile he gave her now. But behind his expression, she could see that something was weighing on him. She sighed. This is growing up. Nothing stays simple.
“I’m very happy to see you, Guerline,” Desmond said.
“But you have bad news for me,” she said.
“Aye, I have bad news for you. I was supposed to be on my way to see my aunt Morgana, but I was very obviously diverted. My mother visited me last night in Olsrec and bade me come to you.”
His hand fell into his lap. Her cheek felt cold.
“She’s told me that creatures from the world under the mountain are somehow breaking through the curtain between life and death,” Desmond said.
Guerline’s hand flew to her mouth even as her spirit sank. She really did need to speak to Fiona, at the very least to find out what the witch knew about all the accusations being levied against her. This forced a much more damning light on everything that had been raised already. The Sitosen witches had sent only news of an attack, not one by creatures of black magic. If her councilors found out, she doubted that anything she could say would persuade them to keep silent—they would take their panic to the streets of Del and ruin any hope of peace.
But what if they were right? Her parents dead of a flesh-eating curse. Her brother’s murdered soul gone uncollected, tormenting Eva. A blight in the empire’s most fertile soil, dragons attacking the nearest kingdom, an old evil wind decimating the forges where Arido’s weapons were made. Something was clearly working to cripple Arido and leave it vulnerable . . . and all signs pointed to Thiymen clan.
Her horror must have shown on her face. Desmond reached up and gripped her hand tightly, pulling it back down.
“Listen, Lina. Mother spoke with the Hand of Thiymen. There are two rogue witches from outside Thiymen clan who are responsible for this. They’re making tears and not closing them or warding them properly. This is not Thiymen’s fault.”
Rogue witches? Guerline had never heard of such a thing, though she knew that meant nothing. She had never seen a witch who wasn’t from Thiymen, though she knew the other clans had visited the palace a handful of times. She had been kept apart from them; apart from anything, she reflected ruefully, that might have proved useful to her now. She met Desmond’s eyes and felt keenly that what she knew of Arido was limited to history texts and whatever Desmond had told her over the years. If he said Thiymen was not at fault . . . she would trust him. Better that, than the possibility that the darkest and most powerful witch in Arido really was trying to usurp her.
“I believe you,” Guerline said. “But my council won’t. They already think Fiona’s trying to start a war because her dragons wish to propagate.”
“What?” Desmond asked.
“I had a man from the Giardan court come to me today. He said that the dragons have been raiding and attacking on the far side of the Zaide Mountains.”
Desmond frowned. “That’s not like them at all. Silas doesn’t stand for that sort of thing. Did he say when this started?
“Three months ago,” she said.
“I was at Thiymen three months ago; I barely saw a dragon at all, let alone flying to Giarda,” he muttered. “Something else is going on.”
“I’ve sent word to Fiona that we need to talk,” Guerline said. “I want to hear what she has to say.”
“That’s good. With any luck, we’ll be able to resolve this quickly and easily,” Desmond replied. “From the sound of it, you need a new council.”
His light tone and half-smile showed that he was joking, but Guerline gave him a stony look. “I believe I do. You don’t know the half of it. Those who support me are trying to parent me, and those who are at odds with me just ignore me. With perhaps one or two exceptions, I fear that they must all be replaced.”
Desmond nodded, his face thoughtful. “That would not be an improper course of action, Guerline. You are the ruler of the empire, and they must obey and respect you. If they don’t, then they’re not worthy to serve you so closely.”
“My parents appointed all of them.”
“You are not your parents. I believe that your rule will be quite different, and because of that, you will need a different set of advisers. Besides, politicians really ought to be changed frequently,” he said, laughing.
He stopped when he noticed the stricken look on Guerline’s face.
“I don’t mean emperors and empresses, obviously. As empress, you are above the pettiness of court. That’s why you are the arbiter over all of us. But smaller-minded people get attached to titles once they’ve got them. You’ve been a royal all your life, and so there’s no need to worry about it going to your head. It’s already there, so it won’t change you.”
“Is that meant to encourage me?” Guerline asked.
“Well . . . yes, it is,” Desmond said.
Guerline thought a moment, then smiled. She leaned over and wrapped her arms around him again, and was gratefu
l to feel his arms encircle her.
“I am glad you’re here,” she said.
Chapter Fifteen
Desmond followed Guerline out of the throne room and into a library parlor. The massive fireplace across from the door was empty and gleaming as though it had never seen a flame. It was flanked by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. In the center of the room was a half-circle sofa covered in plush cushions. Guerline went and sat down in the center of the curve, kicking off her slippers and resting her feet on one of the available ottomans. He settled next to her, positioning himself so that the light from the one window, high above them on a side wall, shone down on her.
Her red-gold hair caught the sunlight perfectly. It had been the first thing he noticed about her, nine years ago when he first came to Del. She was only ten years old then, and he a lad of sixteen, and no one had even bothered to introduce them. Desmond met the emperor, empress, and Prince Alcander in a private audience at which Guerline had not been present. He’d spotted her on his way out. She had been hiding behind one of the columns in the spacious entryway, apparently waiting to see whoever was visiting her parents.
She’d run away when he approached her. “Stop, little redhead!” he’d cried after her, and stop she had.
“What’s your name?” he asked. She told him, and then curtsied and scurried away. Desmond turned around to see her brother Alcander standing there watching. Alcander had the same reddish gold hair, but there was no sweetness in his temper.
“My sister,” he said, gesturing after Guerline. “She’ll never amount to much. She’ll probably be shipped overseas or over the mountains when she’s married.”
After that, Desmond made it a point to seek Guerline out whenever he was in the capital. She was a bright girl, but her parents kept her very isolated. Her only friend, other than Desmond, was a merchant’s daughter named Evadine Malise—the new Chief Adviser, as Desmond heard it.