The Edge of the Blade

by Jeffe Kennedy

  “By leaving?”

  Inga looked surprised. “No, by undergoing the skablykrr. I suppose he wouldn’t have spoken of that if he kept the Elskastholrr secret, too. It’s a . . . hmm.”

  I nearly taunted her about keeping secrets, but she’d knit her brows, perhaps uncertain how to explain.

  “Part philosophical training, part martial system,” Helva put in. “Anyone who completes it has demonstrated they can make and keep a vow so that it will never be broken. Harlan completed the training in secret and vowed never to tell anyone anything more about Jenna than that he’d given her the best chance he could to be free.”

  “I thought when he left that he’d go to her, though. Take her with him on those travels of his,” Inga retorted.

  “Not if he doesn’t know where to find her either,” Helva pointed out. “All he did was see her free. Not safe. Not cared for.”

  “But that would be unconscionable! How could she live without care and protection? He wouldn’t have done that to her. He might as well have put his own sword to her throat and left her corpse by the side of the road.”

  I cleared my throat. “Can I clear up a misconception here?”

  “You do know where Jenna is!” Helva brightened. “Oh, thank Sól.”

  “No, not that. I think Harlan kept his word on that. He never spoke of her, or any sisters at all. I, ah, heard he had brothers before Kr—His Imperial Highness arrived.” Of course, the females of my acquaintance had been primarily interested in Harlan’s brothers and if any were available. A hotly debated campfire topic, in fact. Sisters hadn’t been a topic of conversation. Not something I thought politic to mention to Helva and Inga, however.

  “I know Harlan would have sent you to us for a reason, though,” Inga obstinately maintained. “He knew how much we’d worry, about both of them.”

  The reason slowly dawned. Maybe not so much what I could tell them—or Dafne or Zynda could have, for that matter—but what we could show them.

  “Maybe,” I said slowly, feeling my way through, “Harlan wanted you to know that in the world outside Dasnaria, women live well without care and protection. They have their own incomes, decide their own marriages. I’ve never had a man to take care of me. My mother died when I was young. I lived on my own, earned my own way. Jenna, wherever she is, could be doing the same.”

  And I’d suggested that very thing for Karyn. Why hadn’t Kral said anything about his missing sister then? The Imperial Princesses pondered my words, uncertain, puzzled even, but with the expressions of someone tasting a new food that they found quite palatable.

  “So, how does His Imperial Highness Prince Kral play into this?” I asked. “You said at the beginning that his thirst for power played into the story, and his making amends.”

  Inga lifted a shoulder, let it fall, and took up her mjed. “Our father and his mother made Kral’s life miserable in the aftermath of Jenna’s departure. He went after them both, dragged Harlan back, and did everything possible to get her location out of him. Our father promised Kral would be his heir if he could restore Jenna to her husband.”

  “Husband—they had already married?”

  “Oh, yes—and thoroughly consummated,” Inga said.

  “He was cruel to her,” Helva whispered. “She came back to us weeping and we could do nothing but clean her up and send her back for more.”

  It made me sick. I would embrace magic if it would be a kind that would let me go back in time and help Jenna escape, too. For a secret like that, even I could learn to keep my mouth shut. “And Kral would have forced her back to that.”

  “He didn’t have a choice. His mother and her family . . . Well, he had the promise of infinite power on one hand and, on the other, the half existence he now lives, with the Emperor’s boot heel on his neck and his mother’s family refusing to help, out of their anger.” Inga pushed back her hair without disturbing her jeweled headdress, stretching her neck. “They failed in the bid for the throne, and the Emperor has never forgotten it. He’s done everything possible to crush Kral’s fighting spirit, so that he cannot pose a threat. Thus he became general of Dasnaria’s armies—a figurehead position that mocks his powerlessness because he can only relay Hestar’s orders—and ruler of nothing.”

  “You know he already has a wife, and he’s only allowed one,” Helva said, not a question. “He is not allowed to have heirs. I don’t know what promises he might have made to you, but . . .”

  “No promises.” I might have said it too hastily, because they both sported dubious expressions. “Beyond the ones to aid me here in the Dasnarian court.”

  The sisters exchanged a long look; then Inga turned back to me, all business. “Jepp. I like you. I will consider your thought, that Harlan predicted I would, that Helva would, too. But in bringing you to court today, Kral showed . . . unusual behavior. You say he signed a treaty in Hestar’s name, which you must understand, knowing this story, the Emperor will view as seditious. A challenge to the throne. He could be using you as a distraction, bait to keep Hestar from killing him outright.”

  “We thought perhaps he promised you a place in his household,” Helva added. “As second wife, concubine, or rekjabrel.”

  “Why else allow him to use you so?” Inga asked, studying me. “Unless it furthers your true purpose here.”

  Did it? My head swam, overloaded with intrigue. Any knife fight, even an assassination, was more straightforward than this. I wasn’t at all sure what Kral believed my goals to be, or his plans for me beyond vigorous, casual fucking. Keep in mind that I can’t help you in there.

  Danu—he’d meant that in all seriousness. I’d believed him but hadn’t quite gotten that he not only couldn’t; he wouldn’t—be-cause he’d be watching out for his own neck. He’d known he’d be in grave trouble for signing that treaty with Ursula. I wasn’t an ambassador; I was one of his byndes, easily sacrificed to gain ground for pieces with more power. And I’d played right into it.

  Well, I had used him, too, in all fairness. And I still held my trump card for forcing his honor, if Karyn complied. Maybe I could rally Inga and Helva to help there, too? Though it would require their believing that Karyn would be all right on her own in the world.

  But how much to confide to these women of my mission? I wasn’t devious enough for this. I had to toss these lionesses some meat. They both watched me, blond manes gleaming gold in the firelight, gazes keen with hunger for information. Their one commodity, I understood: the network of female communication.

  “Let me tell you about the treaty and why Kral signed it. I don’t know how much of this he’ll confide to His Imperial Majesty, but as far as my High Queen is concerned, this is a matter of public record.” I had a copy in the documents Dafne had brought along, believing it to be perfectly legal. Or rather, I hoped I did. Would Kral be devious enough to have searched for and removed it? Possibly. I hadn’t hidden it, which now seemed to be a glaring oversight. Kral had played a deep game with all of us. Maybe I’d kill him and save Hestar the trouble. Only, thrice-curse it, I’d promised not to.

  “Excellent.” Inga beamed at me as if at a favored student. At her nod, Helva, who’d taken possession of the carafe, poured more mjed. “That will do nicely for an initial exchange of information.”

  “There is a barrier surrounding the Thirteen Kingdoms, a magical curtain that prevents anyone from passing through it. His Imperial Highness, along with everyone aboard the Hákyrling, found themselves trapped inside the barrier and unable to return to Dasnaria. They appealed to the High Queen for assistance. She agreed, in exchange for an agreement of peace between our realms.” There. Nice and succinct.

  “What are the details of this treaty?”

  I should have read the cursed thing. “They’re all written down.”

  “Hmm.” Inga tapped her nails on the chair arm, her many rings and bracelets flashing. “How did the Hákyrling get inside this barrier in the first place if none can cross it? How did Harlan and the Verval
dr do so, for that matter?”

  Not unlike dueling with someone with a much bigger sword. I needed to be quick on my feet. “The barrier, ah, moved recently. It used to cover a much smaller territory.”

  “Moved?” Helva asked, loading the one word with deep doubt.

  “It’s a magic thing. It . . . extended to a new perimeter, and everyone inside that perimeter when it happened got stuck inside. Most everyone was fine with that.” Except for Nani and her people. And others we didn’t yet know about. “Except for the crew of the Hákyrling.”

  “And our brother was sailing through the Nahanaun archipelago when this occurred?”

  “That’s what he’s said.”

  “Did he fail to find the gyll or simply claim he didn’t?”

  “I don’t believe he did.”

  “And yet he returned home, at great cost, signing an illegal treaty that could mean his death or disinheritance, banishment, as happened to Harlan, without what Hestar sent him to get. He could have remained in the islands and continued to search.” Inga pointed all of this out with calm logic, finding every flaw.

  “There were complications,” I explained. Weak. She had me on the run, backing up on uncertain footing. She knew it, too, so pretty with her jewels, white skin, and golden hair. So lethal.

  “Such as?”

  Danu take it. I couldn’t change reality, only deal with it. Did Ursula ever feel this way? Probably. Another reason not to want a crown. “The barrier goes through the archipelago now, which means the islands belong to the Thirteen Kingdoms by default. At least, all the ones on that side of the barrier. High Queen Ursula plans to negotiate with King Nakoa KauPo to explain all of this. I think that’s in the treaty, too.”

  Helva sat back in her chair and rubbed her forehead. Inga closed her eyes briefly, as if in prayer. May her goddesses help her more than Danu had me.

  “Perhaps Kral did find the treasure but gave it to your High Queen in return for passage home.” She fixed me with that gimlet stare again.

  “I doubt that. Like I said, I think he didn’t find it. I don’t even know what it was.”

  “What do you think it is?”

  “I’m not privy to His Imperial Highness’s thoughts,” I snapped. “He didn’t say, so I don’t know.”

  “And you don’t know the details of the treaty. You’re an extraordinarily strange choice for an ambassador, Jepp.”

  Didn’t I know it.

  “But you are an excellent choice for an assassin. Or a spy. Which is it? Both perhaps?”

  A triple hit. She might as well have planted three daggers in my breast, purring as my lifeblood spilled over the floor.

  You are, and always have been, my best scout.

  When pinned by the enemy, nothing to do but bluff your way through and hope to survive. “I’m a scout,” I told her, meeting her gaze as a duelist, letting her know I had killed before and would again. “I’m good at surviving. Her Majesty sent me to find out what I could about our new allies. If you turn out to be enemies, I’ll give her that information instead. You, both of you, Imperial Highnesses, have to appreciate the value of information.”

  Inga blinked long and slow, the lioness lazing in the sun, heating to move, hot and quick to take down her prey. “A spy, then. And a reasonably clever one. If you decide to trust in us, I might be able to assist you in acquiring the ‘information’ you seek, so long as it doesn’t undermine anyone I care about. As a gesture of good faith, I’m going to help you with the part of your role that you, so far, have not been good at.”

  I didn’t even want to know.

  18

  So it came to pass that I found myself dressed in the most exotic approximation of my normal clothing no one from home could have dreamed up.

  Calling in a virtual army of rekjabrel, the Imperial Princesses had examined my usual fighting leathers, along with the ruined bits of my best ones, then culled through a virtual mountain of silks, velvets, satins, and even dyed leather. Telling the story of the fish-bird attacks that caused the ruination of my best leathers at least kept them entertained—and allowed me to speak freely. The story also helped to accomplish two more things I hadn’t managed thus far: convincing them of both my fighting skills and the existence of magic.

  All because the rents in my formerly best leathers could not be mistaken for anything but something resulting in wounds, so saturated with my blood and so neatly shredded. The women held the leathers against me for comparison, smoothing soft fingertips over my skin beneath, noting no matching scars. I caught Inga watching me consideringly after that, perhaps with a revised opinion of my relative foolishness. Little did she know.

  It took hours, but the ladies worked wonders, creating a formfitting version of standard fighting leathers—but made in crimson leather, scarlet silk, and satin decorated with bloodred daggers. Several of the rekjabrel, including Sunniva, embroidered the fabric, examining my smaller knives and replicating their delicate, lethal curves with great artistry. Helva thought they should be in silver thread, but Inga insisted on subtlety. In my opinion, they’d left subtlety behind several hours before when they settled on shades of red for me. I’d liked the forest greens—far better camouflage—but the Imperial Princesses overrode me with breezy ease, Inga finally pointing out that it was far too late for me to expect to hide from notice.

  Bryn never look back. But I regretted some of my past choices. Not that regret did me a thriced bit of good at that point.

  They sent for food, and we ate, drank, and exchanged stories, while the rekjabrel sewed, trying pieces out on me and whisking them away again to tailor the outfit even more perfectly. By the end of the evening—well past midnight—they’d performed a miracle, even transforming my boots to fit their vision. The soft leather and embroidered satin pants fitted me like a second skin. A crimson silk shirt with flowing split sleeves mimicked the drape of the women’s klút but gave glimpses of my arm and wrist sheaths, also recreated in embossed crimson leather. An embroidered satin vest hugged my waist and ribs, lifting and emphasizing my breasts. My boots had been decorated and bejeweled much like the Imperial Princesses’ bare feet, an echo of their artful designs.

  The various sheaths dripped silken scarves and ribbons, ones I meticulously adjusted to keep my draws clean and unfettered, the roomful of women watching in glowing-eyed fascination as I checked each one. My mother’s jeweled belt would have matched perfectly, a thought I put aside with equal precision.

  “Good,” Inga finally pronounced, exchanging a satisfied nod with Helva. “You are dressed as a man, and yet completely feminine. No one can mistake that you are, indeed, a woman, but with the personage of a man.”

  I cast a rueful eye at my cleavage—much more of it than I’d ever thought to have—and had to agree. “But . . . aren’t these awfully close to Kr—His Imperial Highness’s personal colors? I don’t want to seem too closely aligned with him.”

  “Jepp . . .” Inga hesitated, choosing her words, but Helva stepped in with an impatient shake of her head.

  “You may not wish to admit to the nature of your relationship with our brother.” She held up a painted and bejeweled hand to stop me from saying anything. “That’s your prerogative. However, it’s obvious to anyone with wit that there is a relationship, and, besides, you walked into His Imperial Majesty’s court on his arm. He may not have officially declared you to be under his protection, but he did enough to give everyone pause. I don’t know what game he’s playing, and I think you don’t either. Suffice to say that—”

  “That you’re already aligned with him in the minds of everyone here, including his, is my guess, and you might as well use it to good effect,” Inga finished. “Now we’ll let you rest and we shall see what the morning brings. Send Runa to me should you need anything, not Baerr Lars, understand?” She waited for us both to acknowledge, then bade us to rest well and be ready for whatever was to come.

  They determined I should attend breakfast—a formal meal in the Imp
erial Palace, apparently—as only family would be present, and not the Emperor, so it wouldn’t violate his edict that I stay out of his sight. And so, barely hours after I’d finally been released to sleep, Sunniva and Runa awakened me to bathe yet again and dress, yet again.

  Seriously, the campaign trail made for an easier life than this silken world of women.

  Kral had not visited—though how could he with my rooms packed with people?—nor had he sent any message. I assumed if Hestar had executed him, the network of gossip that had me in its bosom would know all about it. Inga and Helva, who appeared at my door with bright smiles and wearing colorful klúts, brought no news to that effect.

  We three walked together, the Imperial Princesses bracketing me as they chatted about absolutely nothing at all, retracing our way through the series of locked doors. It would make me crazy to live behind so many walls, so thoroughly contained. Maybe it made them crazy, too.

  The Dasnarians might all be a bit mad. It would explain a great deal.

  Speaking of madness, some surged through me as we entered the large dining hall. Glazed but uncovered windows looked out over the lake in three directions, with glimpses of the road. Mountain peaks rose in the far distance, ones that had been screened from view when I’d traveled under the canopy of the evergreen forest but now clearly visible from this particular vantage. The sight of them gave me a pang of homesickness and made me want to smash the glass, leap from the window, swim for shore, and run for the dense woods as fast as my fancified boots could take me. Insane thoughts, indeed, that tempted me to disregard all the obstacles that made the fantasy impossible.

  “Good morning, Ambassador,” a rough-warm voice breathed over the nape of my neck, raising the short hairs and tightening my nipples. Speaking of fantasies.

  I turned, putting my back to the window ledge and the far-too-tempting view, to take in the sight of Kral, alive, well, and more handsome than I cared to admit. Someone had shaved him and trimmed his hair. Probably some of his rekjabrel. An irritating thought. He looked good, though, wearing the deep blue of the highest-ranked nobles, glittering with silver stitching and icy blue jewels that matched his hard eyes—just as the dark uniform echoed the shadows under them.