Onyx & Ivory

by Mindee Arnett

  Corwin shifted in his seat, remembering all too clearly the ash and blood stains atop the Asterion. It was a cold, frightening way to die.

  “You act as if it is an easy thing for someone to volunteer for death, Minister Porter,” Corwin said, unable to stop himself. “Peasant or no, these people love and value their family members as much as the gentry do theirs.”

  Porter snorted through his broad, flat nose. “Not to offend, your highness, but such a sentimental attitude has no place at this table. We must make decisions based on reason and facts, not feelings.”

  Corwin leaned forward, wanting to pummel the man. I will show him a world governed by feelings. . . .

  But as always, Edwin was there, ready to step in and smooth things over. “My lords, this is a much simpler issue than you would have us make it. Either we find a way to stop the peasants from having so many children or we build more homes.” Edwin motioned to Nell, the master builder, who was seated directly across from him. “What do you say, Minister Nell—which would impact the royal coffers more favorably, moonbelts or new buildings?”

  Nell hid a laugh behind a cough. “The moonbelts, your highness. No question. Short of moving the walls of Norgard, there will be no more houses built in this city. The buildings in the poorer districts are already as tall as possible. Any higher and they will start to topple.”

  “And there you have it,” Edwin said.

  Why not build a new city? Corwin thought. But as always the same old problem to this solution reared its head—the matter of who would pay for it. No one wanted to. At least, none of those who actually could.

  “But Prince Edwin, how will we afford such an expense?” Porter said, wringing his hands. “We simply cannot raise taxes. Not if you hope to avoid the starving-children scenario Minister Fletcher so eloquently warned us about. Not to mention the increasing cost of these damnable Rising attacks.”

  Edwin turned to Grand Master Storr. “Do you have a solution to offer, Master Storr? Is there a way for the crown to purchase these moonbelts at a reduced cost?”

  Storr ran a hand over his short, perfectly trimmed beard, as if considering the question carefully. “I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement, your highness. The League is always open to trade, of course, and we ask for so little in return.”

  The hells you do, Corwin thought. That was one of the lessons he’d learned these last few weeks—the impartial, noninterfering League he’d been brought up to believe in was a myth. In every high council meeting Corwin had attended, Grand Master Storr exerted the League’s power whenever the opportunity presented itself. And to Corwin’s disgruntlement, those opportunities were on the rise as more and more reports of daydrake attacks came in. Despite Master Raith’s speculation that the Rising might not be involved, given the absence of the sun lion, the people were blaming wilders just the same. Their demand for more golds to seek them out must be filling the League’s coffers, while the cities were feeling the strain all across Rime. The cost of grain and coal had nearly doubled as the shipments were either slowed or didn’t arrive at all.

  “This trade you speak of,” said Minister Rendborne, his golden, eagle eyes fixed on the grand master. “Do you mean your proposal that the high king require all the governing bodies in Rime to include a master magist as part of their ruling councils in exchange for a reduced price on wardstones and other defensive magics?”

  Storr inclined his head. “The very same, although the high council must choose which is more important, a reduced cost in moonbelts or a reduced rate in defensive services. The League will accept either, but we cannot afford both.”

  Of course not. Corwin folded his hands in his lap, fingers clenched. Gods forbid the League, already wealthy beyond measure, cut into its profit for the good of Rime. Next the League will offer the crown a loan to pay for their very same services. It was ludicrous, incestuous. The wheel spinning on indeed.

  “It seems to me that both might come at a higher price than the kingdom ought to pay,” Rendborne replied, and Corwin felt his affection for the master of trade increase tenfold. Not only had he tried to help Corwin with the gift of his grandfather’s journal, but now Corwin saw him as a possible ally, a reasonable voice in a chorus of madness. Nothing could be worse, in Corwin’s mind, than giving the League more power than it already held.

  “Regardless, there is no question which is more important,” Minister Porter said, ignoring Rendborne’s comment completely. “We need to protect the caravans from the drakes.”

  “Yes, I would agree,” Master Storr said. “Defense is more critical than ever before. But if I recall, the high council decided that the revolvers were to be the solution to the drake problem—and not more magic.” Storr turned an innocuous gaze on Corwin. “Is that not still the case, your highness? Has Master Bonner finally succeeded in his task?”

  Corwin didn’t miss the slight in Storr’s words, and for at least the hundredth time that day, he wished he’d skipped this stupid meeting. He had no answer to give. Despite the time Bonner had been here, overseeing the blacksmiths day in and day out, they’d produced a meager handful of revolvers so far, most of them plagued with problems like misfiring or jamming. The only ones that did work were the ones Bonner assembled personally. Corwin couldn’t understand it, but he knew it was time to start pressing for an answer. No matter how much he liked Bonner, the man had to hold up his end of the bargain.

  Edwin cleared his throat, somehow commanding the floor with the simple sound. “The discussion of the revolvers and the ineptitude of my brother’s gunsmith is beyond the scope of this meeting. The council will take the League’s offer into consideration before deciding which trade is in our best interest.”

  And just like that the argument was over. Corwin caught himself glaring at Edwin from across the table. My brother’s gunsmith. The words dug at Corwin. Edwin’s slights were so common these days, he should be used to them by now. At every turn Edwin took the opportunity to point out how much more fit he was to rule. Corwin didn’t know why it bothered him. He agreed—Edwin was the better choice. Corwin was too rash, too easily led by emotions rather than reason and too likely to misjudge the wicked, giving people more credit than they deserved. And as much as Corwin questioned some of the decisions Edwin made, at least his brother had been here to make the decisions. Unlike him, the Errant Prince.

  If he’d been with Mother that day, she might still be alive.

  Pushing these troubling thoughts to the back of his mind, Corwin forced his attention to the meeting once more. The subject of moonbelts and overpopulation had given way to marriage alliances— Sweet goddess smite me now and end my misery.

  “Lord Jedrek of Kilbarrow,” Minister Rendborne was saying, “has requested the marriage contract between his daughter, Princess Sabine Esborne, and High Prince Edwin be modified. It seems that with the arrival of the uror, he wants the agreement of marriage to be between his daughter and whichever prince is chosen as the heir.”

  Corwin’s stomach tied itself into a knot at this news. A marriage contract. Between the princess and whichever brother won. Edwin or me. At once images of Kate from that night flooded Corwin’s mind, and it was all he could do to stay still in his seat. Your wife, she had said, objecting to the idea of sharing Corwin with some stranger. She was right to object. He didn’t like it any more than she did.

  “Jedrek’s request is not surprising,” Edwin said, making a note on the parchment in front of him. His knuckles shone white around the pen, the only sign of his annoyance with the subject. “Proceed with modifying the contract. The Esbornes will not be satisfied until they have a daughter as high queen, and their bloodline as part of—”

  The door to the council chamber burst open and a man stumbled in with two royal guards half carrying him.

  “Pardon the interruption, my lords,” one of the guards said, “but this man insisted on seeing you.”

  Corwin got to his feet along with the rest of the council. Murmurs of
alarm echoed around the room. The stranger’s face and arms were bleeding, his tunic dyed crimson in patches. He looked dazed and feverish, barely able to hold his head up. Corwin didn’t recognize the man, and he wore no insignia, although the expensive cut of his clothes marked him a highborn.

  “You’re addressing the high princes of Rime, sir. Speak your piece,” the guard said, giving the man a shake.

  “Stop that,” Corwin said, stepping forward. “Can’t you see he’s half dead?” Corwin glared at the guard a moment, then turned to the injured stranger. “What happened?” A foul, familiar stench was coming off him. “Were you attacked by daydrakes?”

  The man nodded, and he sagged against the arms holding him up. “Our freeholding. It’s surrounded by them. We haven’t been able to go in or out for days. I only just made it through.”

  “Where?” Corwin said. “Which freeholding?”

  But the man sank to his knees in a faint.

  “Get the healers,” Edwin shouted, and one of the guards hurried out the door.

  “Did he say where he came from?” Corwin asked the remaining guard, but the man shook his head.

  “He might’ve told when he first got here,” the guard replied. “I’ll go check. The magist who rode with him is dead, but someone must know.”

  “I know,” a new voice said from the doorway.

  Corwin glanced up to see a freshly washed and dressed Dal standing there, a bewildered look on his face. “You do? Where? Who is he?”

  “Thornewall Castle,” Dal replied, sounding strangely far-off. “I saw him through my window. Couldn’t quite believe it.”

  “Dal,” Corwin said, his alarm building by the second, “who is this man?”

  Dal looked up, his eyes not quite focusing. “He’s my brother.”

  24

  Corwin

  CORWIN HAD NEVER SEEN DAL in such a state. His sarcastic, carefree friend had been quiet for nearly an hour now, not uttering so much as a word while they waited outside the door where the healers were seeing to his brother. Lir perched on Dal’s arm, and he ran a hand down the falcon’s back over and over again. Dal cared for the bird like nothing else. Except maybe his brother.

  There’d been no updates in the hour since the man arrived. Corwin hoped that was a good thing. If the green robes were still working their healing magic, then there was a life still to be saved.

  After a while, Corwin couldn’t bear the tension any longer. “Is there anything I can do, Dal? Anything you need?”

  Dal’s hand stilled on the falcon, and he looked up at Corwin. “My family. You heard what my brother said. We have to help them.”

  Corwin squeezed his shoulder. “Help is coming. The high council is arguing it now—how many men we’ll send, how quickly we can respond.”

  Dal grimaced. “They’re taking an awful long time of it. I wish you’d stayed in the meeting, Corwin. I don’t think . . .” He hesitated, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip. “We both know that Thornewall doesn’t matter enough for them to hurry. It offers no significant trade. The only things anyone even knows about us are the scandals my parents so happily provide.”

  “That’s not—”

  “It is.” Dal raised a hand, cutting him off. “But I care about my brothers. They’re good people, worth saving.”

  No mention of your mother and father, though, Corwin thought, guessing the rumors were indeed true, that Dal was the son of someone other than Baron Thorne. “I know you care about them. Of course you do. And we will mount a force to purge the daydrakes. There is no other option.”

  Dal looked doubtful still, and he resumed stroking the falcon.

  “You’ve got a point, though,” Corwin said. “They are being slow about it. I’ll find out what’s going on.”

  With a promise to return with news, Corwin headed back to the council chamber. When he reached the hallway, he saw that the guards normally stationed at the door when a meeting was in session were nowhere in sight. Annoyed that no one had bothered to tell him the outcome, Corwin was about to march off in search of his brother when he heard voices coming from within the room.

  He approached the door. His brother’s voice was raised in anger. “You’re pushing it too far. It’s too bold.”

  Corwin listened for the response but could hear nothing.

  Then his brother said, “Yes, I want it, but I have to weigh the risk against—”

  The sound of footsteps approaching made Corwin jump guiltily. He shouldn’t eavesdrop, no matter the circumstance. And I’ve more pressing matters at hand, he thought, and pushed open the door.

  Edward’s outraged glare greeted him. “Corwin, when will you ever learn to stop barging in like a child?”

  “I thought the meeting was over,” Corwin said, his brother’s insult sliding off him for once. He glanced around the room, mildly surprised to see Storr was here as well. It seemed that more often of late, Corwin found his brother sharing some confidence with the grand master.

  As always Storr looked perfectly at ease, as if he hadn’t just been holding one half of an argument. He offered Corwin a polite smile.

  Corwin ignored it and glanced back at Edwin. “And it seems that it is over. What has the council decided about Thornewall?”

  Edwin turned his attention to the table and started collecting his papers. “We will send out a small scouting party tomorrow morning.”

  “A small scouting party?” Corwin gaped, incredulous. “That’s all?”

  Edwin looked up, his gaze sharp. “Yes, that’s all. Baron Thorne and his freeholding is the least of Norgard’s concerns. We have no idea how many drakes there are or how dire the situation truly is. Hence, a scouting party.”

  “Oh, it’s dire,” Corwin said. “You saw Dal’s brother. You heard him.”

  “What I heard is that they’ve been trapped. That’s very little to go on. A scouting party will be able to survey how many of the beasts there are, where they are, and what threat they pose beyond this small freeholding.” Edwin paused to give a dramatic sigh. “I realize that your primary tactic is to rush into battle and ask tactical questions later, but the stakes with this new threat are too great, brother. We have to be smarter here.”

  Heat surged into Corwin’s face, some of it shame but more of it anger this time. He never should’ve told Edwin what had happened in Endra with that Sevan soldier boy. Through gritted teeth, he said, “It’s a three-day ride to Thornewall from here. Three days back. That’s nearly a week that Dal’s family will have to endure.”

  “It will take longer than that, I’m afraid,” Master Storr said, helpful as always. “With the threat of daydrakes certain, the entire scouting party must be warded for the journey. That will take all the wardstones we can spare right now, and your brother has rightly concluded the crown simply can’t afford the cost required to create the additional stones at speed.”

  Corwin closed his eyes and counted to ten, trying to talk himself out of an explosion and into seeing things Edwin’s way—erring on the side of caution, practicality.

  Practicality be damned. Edwin hadn’t witnessed Dal’s suffering. These men on the high council never considered the human cost in the games of politics and finances they played. Once before Corwin had sat back and ignored the hurt and desperation of someone he cared about; he’d listened when they said Hale Brighton couldn’t be given the mercy of exile, that letting a traitor live would only weaken the high king’s authority. He’d stood by and done nothing.

  Not this time.

  Lowering his hands to his sides, Corwin said, “We will not send just a scouting party, but also food and supplies. If the magists can keep the scouts safe, they can do the same for a caravan. We will absorb the cost this time. We can afford it, if we choose. And in this case there is no other choice.”

  “Absolutely not, Corwin. The high council has already determined—”

  “The last I checked, the high council does not rule Norgard or Rime. Their purpose is to advise the king
, not make the decisions for him.”

  “Yes, but you are not the king,” Edwin said.

  “Neither are you, brother.” Corwin held up his right hand, palm out so that his uror mark was clearly visible. “But this says I might be, one day. And that is all the authority I need.”

  With that, Corwin turned on his heel and strode from the meeting room, not giving either man the chance to argue.

  Once Corwin had made up his mind to act, the decision as to what to do next came surprisingly easily. He went to Minister Fletcher first and ordered two supply wagons be prepared. Then he went to Minister Knox to start selecting his most capable soldiers for the mission. Finally, he sought out Bonner. He needed to know just how many revolvers were fieldworthy before he talked to the blue robes about providing defensive magic.

  Corwin headed to the forge and found several blacksmiths still hard at work, their faces red and their tunics sweat soaked, and Bonner not among them. Feeling his irritation growing, he crossed the forge toward Bonner’s private workroom in the back. The door was closed, but he heard voices inside.

  Corwin resisted the urge to barge in and knocked on the door instead. “Bonner, it’s Corwin. I need to speak with you.”

  The door opened a few seconds later, Bonner’s face peering out at him with a look of sheepish surprise. “Come in, your highness. Had no idea you’d be coming by today.”

  “Neither did—” The words died on Corwin’s lips as his eyes fell on Kate. She was in the far corner of the room, her arms folded tightly around her waist. She met his gaze for a second, then looked away, a hint of red in her cheeks.

  She wasn’t Bonner’s only visitor. Signe was there, and so was Master Raith. You again, Corwin thought, remembering how the magist had come to Kate’s aid the night she’d visited the brothel. That made twice now he’d found the magist in close proximity to Kate when all reason said he shouldn’t be.