by Jenna Glass
The talker continued to chirp patiently as she swiped at her cheeks and dabbed at her nose. She grabbed a heavy black shawl to drape over her nightdress, though with her hair uncovered and braided anyone could tell she’d been ready for bed. Digging deep inside herself for a semblance of calm, she opened her Mindseye and plucked a mote of Rho from the air to activate the talker and complete its spell. When she closed her Mindseye once more, a faint image of Ellinsoltah hovered in the air before her.
Ellinsoltah was a lovely woman whose wisdom and demeanor belied her young age. She’d spent most of her life expecting to be nothing more than a nobleman’s wife, and to have no graver responsibilities than running her husband’s household, and yet she had handled her unexpected ascension to the throne with uncommon grace and poise, despite difficult circumstances.
There was no question she knew she had caught Alys at an inopportune time, but Alys was thankful the younger woman let her keep her dignity and did not openly remark on her appearance.
“Good evening, Your Royal Highness,” Ellinsoltah said, the gentleness in her voice the only sign that she had noticed Alys’s state of distress. “Forgive me for contacting you without warning, but I was hoping you and I could have a conversation in a more unofficial manner. It is nothing urgent, however, so if you’d prefer to talk at some other time…”
Alys would not risk offending Rhozinolm by putting Ellinsoltah off—even if she weren’t immediately and thoroughly curious. She patted at her hair, thinking how few people had ever seen her with her hair uncovered—a thought that she quickly shoved aside, for of course one of those few people was Jinnell, and she did not need her mind to go down that path again.
“I am more than happy to talk, Your Majesty, if my appearance does not offend.”
Ellinsoltah grinned, reaching up to touch the pearl-studded headdress resting on her tightly coiled hair. “It only makes me jealous that I am still pinned and coiffed myself. And please, call me Ellin. Let’s keep this as informal as possible.”
A conversation between two monarchs could only be so informal, but Alys owed her life—and the lives of just about everyone in Women’s Well—to Ellinsoltah’s decision to recognize and support her, so their relationship was already somewhat extraordinary.
“I will call you Ellin if you will call me Alys.”
Ellin smiled and inclined her head. “Here we’ve negotiated a deal, just the two of us, without a council of advisers to complicate things.”
Although Ellin clearly meant the words as something of a joke, Alys didn’t think the quip was born entirely of humor. Then again, considering the struggles Ellin had had with her royal council, it wasn’t entirely surprising that she’d make a joke at their expense.
“I’m sure our advisers mean well,” Alys said, “but they can be tedious on occasion, I must admit.”
Ellin started to say something, then seemed to change her mind, frowning. Then she shook her head and smiled ruefully. “We’ve had frank discussions in the past. Would you mind if I’m less than diplomatic for a moment?”
Alys raised her eyebrows. It seemed this conversation was going to be even more informal than she’d expected. She wondered if this approach was a sign of Ellin’s youth and inexperience, or if it was all calculated to disarm. No doubt it would be wise to treat any contact with a foreign sovereign with some caution, but Alys wasn’t sure she had the energy for such caution after her crying jag.
Ellin took her lack of answer for assent.
“My lord chancellor would probably expire in horror to hear me say this to someone other than himself, but while my royal council is no longer on the verge of open rebellion, I still don’t have the level of support I would like.”
Alys forced her weary mind to focus a little more closely, for she imagined there were few lord chancellors who would not object to their sovereign admitting such turmoil to a foreigner. Then again, Ellin was fully aware of the power she had over Women’s Well, of how badly Alys needed her support. There was likely no one else in the world more apt to keep such knowledge to herself than Alys, and Ellin knew it.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Alys said, and it was true. She imagined Ellin’s council—entirely made up of older men, almost all of whom had been appointed to their positions by her late grandfather—had a great deal of trouble adjusting to having a woman on the throne, and Ellin’s tender age would only exacerbate the situation. “But I must profess to some puzzlement as to why you might share that with me.”
No doubt it was because Ellin had some notion that Alys could do something to help, but Alys was at a loss to figure out how.
“You know that my uncle Kailindar is now my lord chamberlain.”
“And that some would argue he has a stronger claim to the throne than you do,” Alys said, nodding. The slight tightening at the corners of Ellin’s eyes suggested that claim to the throne made her uncomfortable—as well it should. Tradition would highly favor the late king’s bastard son taking the throne over his legitimate granddaughter, and there was little doubt in anyone’s mind that Kailindar would have ascended the throne if not for his conflict with Tamzin. Now that impediment was gone, and it seemed likely much of Ellin’s council regretted having approved her claim.
Other than that faint hint of discomfort, Ellin did not respond to Alys’s comment. “I need his support,” she said bluntly. “And so do you, if we are to maintain our alliance and keep King Delnamal from marching on Women’s Well again.”
This time, it was Alys whose eyes tightened, though she tried to keep her expression as neutral as possible. “And you fear you do not have it.”
Ellin shook her head. “Let’s just say I have reason to doubt the depth of his loyalty under the present circumstances. There was an attempt on my life.”
Alys gasped. It was likely every other sovereign in Seven Wells would find out about the attempt through their spy networks, but she doubted she would have heard about it until much later. While Tynthanal did still have some friends in Aaltah, the man who had once fed him the most information had been captured and suffered a traitor’s death, leaving Women’s Well uncomfortably close to blind.
“Obviously, the attempt failed,” Ellin said with a little smile that was supposed to look rueful, although the smile took too much effort to be convincing. “I have no reason to believe that Lord Kailindar was involved, but even if he wasn’t, the attempt may inspire others to contemplate the possibility that they might prefer his rule to mine. And my decision to ally with you is not exactly popular.”
Alys suppressed a shiver of dread. If she lost the alliance with Rhozinolm, then Women’s Well would quickly fall to Delnamal’s army.
“There are those who have suggested to me that I can best protect my throne by eliminating Kailindar,” Ellin said bluntly.
Alys winced, for though it was far from unusual for sovereigns to treat potential rival claimants to the throne harshly, it was not a topic that was habitually discussed so openly.
“I’m certain my crown would be safer if the malcontents did not have so easy a standard to rally around,” Ellin continued, “and to be honest, no one would be surprised if I were to accuse him of treason, whether he’s guilty or not. However, I believe I may have a more…creative—and humane—way to secure his cooperation.”
Alys was nothing if not intrigued. “Oh?”
“He has an unmarried daughter who has just turned twenty.”
Alys knew at once where this conversation was leading. Girls traditionally went on the marriage market when they turned eighteen—though they were sometimes unofficially betrothed long before that. A girl from a royal family might be expected to marry later than an ordinary noblewoman, simply because of the diplomatic implications of her marriage, but with Lord Kailindar being a bastard, his daughter’s marriage would not have such dynastic import. If she was still unmarried—and even un
betrothed—at twenty, that likely meant she was in danger of spinsterhood. And Ellinsoltah would not be mentioning her if the girl were already betrothed.
“She is a little old for Corlin,” Alys said, although she felt certain it was not Corlin Ellin had in mind for her cousin. It wasn’t completely unheard of for parents to begin discussing marriage prospects for a boy of fourteen, but it would be unusual for him to marry until he was at least in his twenties.
“But you have an unmarried brother, do you not?”
“I’m…not sure I can help you in that way,” Alys said, trying not to squirm. Tynthanal would not be happy with her if she shared the truth about his inability with a virtual stranger, and yet she wasn’t sure how else to explain her reluctance.
Ellin raised her eyebrows in polite inquiry. “Is there a betrothal already of which I am not aware?”
“No, but…”
“But you worry that Kailindar’s daughter is not worthy of him if she has not yet been betrothed at the advanced age of twenty.” There was an edge in Ellin’s voice now, a slight hardening in her expression.
“It’s not that,” Alys hastened to say, though in truth she couldn’t help wondering what was wrong with Kailindar’s daughter. There had to be something, for though her father was a bastard, he was a rich bastard, and her dowry should have been tempting. “It’s just that my brother has a…strong attachment, and he would object to the prospect of marrying another.”
“Even if that marriage might make it possible to protect all of Women’s Well?” Ellin asked. “Kailindar dotes on his daughter, and if she were living as your brother’s wife, he would do everything in his power to see that our alliance is maintained to keep her safe. It would go a long way toward securing my throne—and your principality—if the malcontents among my people don’t see eliminating me as a way of eliminating our relationship with Women’s Well.”
It was a fair argument—and one Alys would definitely have to have with Tynthanal if she succeeded in creating a fertility potion for him. Having no reasonable counter, she decided to try deflecting instead.
“If Kailindar dotes on his daughter so much, why would he risk sending her to our embattled principality in the first place? Surely he has more enticing marriage prospects for her in the safety and security of Rhozinolm.”
“But of course you’ve guessed that if that were the case, she’d be betrothed by now.”
“So why isn’t she?”
It was Ellin’s turn to look uncomfortable, though her voice was as firm and certain as always. “Kailee is a lovely girl, kind and soft-spoken, and quite beautiful.”
“But…”
Ellin raised her shoulders in a small shrug. “But she has been blind since birth, and no healer’s spell or abigail’s potion has been able to reverse the condition. People say she should have been consigned to the Abbey as soon as her blindness was discovered.”
Alys winced in sympathy for the poor girl—and was thankful her father had not conformed to that expectation.
“She can come to Women’s Well with a substantial dowry in addition to cementing the relationship between our two lands,” Ellin continued. “I will freely admit her blindness is an impediment, but she would make your brother a good wife nonetheless. And who knows? Maybe your Academy will be able to help her in ways that our Academy and our Abbey could not.”
“Let me think about it,” Alys said. Ellin’s eyes narrowed, but Alys continued before she could remonstrate. “There are potential problems with this arrangement that I am not at liberty to share. Surely it’s not something that must be decided right this moment.”
“No,” Ellin conceded. “But the longer we wait, the greater the risk becomes. If we could perhaps arrange for them to meet? Even knowing there is a potential match could go a long way toward gaining Kailindar’s staunch support—and making him a less attractive alternative to myself.”
Alys chewed her lip, realizing she was in no position to refuse. Women’s Well was too dependent on Rhozinolm’s support, more like a vassal than a true ally. And Ellinsoltah’s grip on her own throne was alarmingly weak. A marriage alliance with the man who was the greatest threat to Ellin’s throne was the surest way to keep the people of Women’s Well safe.
All she had to do to make that happen was create an effective fertility potion for Tynthanal, then convince him that he could not marry the woman he loved and must instead marry a blind girl.
“I will do what I can to remove the…impediments,” Alys said. “I feel it would be unwise to arrange a meeting until I have succeeded, but rest assured I will work as quickly as possible.”
Ellin looked grim. “One way or another, an impediment must be removed—and the sooner the better. I would far prefer to do it by marriage than death. There has been far too much death in my family recently.”
Alys closed her eyes and sighed. She did not want to put Ellin in the position of having to kill her uncle—and likely ruin his entire family in the process—to protect their alliance. But even the most desperate father would be unlikely to marry his beloved daughter to a man who could not give her children, especially in a principality that teetered on the brink of war.
“I will do my best,” Alys swore, imagining she would spend many sleepless nights at the Academy in the near future. And dreading the conversation she would have to have with Tynthanal.
* * *
—
Norah was shaking and weak—the result of yet another forced fast—as she made her way up the stairs to the abbess’s suite of rooms. She was well aware that she would have more than an empty belly to complain about should Mairahsol discover her, but she couldn’t ask any of her sisters to take risks she was not willing to take herself, and just being in possession of the little pot of ointment she carried was against not only the rules of the Abbey, but the laws of Khalpar itself. When she’d found the paper with the formula for the Keyhole ointment tucked in Mairahsol’s office on one of the many occasions she’d been ordered to clean it, her first thought had been that she now had the power to ruin the false abbess. Just being in possession of the formula was a crime, after all. But she quickly realized the abbess could merely claim she had confiscated the paper from someone else, and so Norah had decided to make an entirely different use of her discovery. She’d memorized the ingredients so that now she could make the ointment herself.
The lord high priest’s visits to the Abbey rarely lasted less than an hour, and Mairahsol rarely emerged from her rooms once he had arrived, so in all likelihood, Norah would not be caught. But that did not make the prospect of discovery any less frightening, and Norah’s heart pattered nervously in her chest as she tiptoed across the landing to the closed door of the abbess’s chambers. The door was solid enough—and tightly enough fit—that while Norah could sometimes hear voices from behind it, she could not understand what anyone was saying, even with her ear pressed against it. Hence, the need for the Keyhole ointment.
Standing in front of the door, Norah grimaced when she heard the echoes of a faint, rhythmic knocking sound—all too familiar within the walls of this abbey. Norah had thought that perhaps Mairahsol would stop entertaining the one and only client who had ever shown any interest in her now that she had gotten what she wanted out of him. But then again, a woman as repulsive as she in both face and personality was no doubt overjoyed at the attentions of a powerful and not-unattractive man such as the lord high priest.
Leaning against the doorjamb, Norah waited for the banging sounds to stop, having no desire to look in on the festivities. After decades in this abbey, Norah understood men in a way she never would have had she remained free. The lord high priest obviously took some perverse pleasure in lying with the pox-faced bitch, but that was not the primary purpose behind his visits to the Abbey. Of that, Norah was certain. And if she could learn what additional services the lord high priest received from Mairahsol, s
he might find the key to removing the scheming pretender from her undeserved position.
When the sounds of sex were replaced by the soft, nearly imperceptible murmur of voices, Norah opened her little jar of ointment, dipping her pinky into it and rubbing a tiny circle on the door. She opened her Mindseye and activated the Keyhole spell with three motes of Rho. The voices from within became clear, though she still had to strain to hear them. She closed her Mindseye and saw that the circle of ointment had made a small transparent spot on the door, as if a piece of glass had been inserted, allowing her to see inside the room—as if peeking through a keyhole.
Mairahsol and the lord high priest were seated on the sofa in front of the fire. She was reclining with her back propped against the sofa’s arm, her bare feet resting in his lap. Her dead-straight black hair was loose and disheveled around her shoulders, her wimple nowhere to be seen. The lord high priest was still panting contentedly, one hand resting on her ankles while the other idly stroked the tops of her feet, the picture of intimacy.
They engaged in a few minutes of revolting pillow talk, then the annoyingly short-lived Keyhole spell wore off. Norah repeated the process of smearing on the ointment and activating the spell, and her view became clear once more.
She had to renew the spell three more times before Mairahsol and the lord high priest finally started talking about more interesting subjects.
“Have I now greeted you thoroughly enough to be permitted to ask you about your progress in reversing the Curse?” the lord high priest asked.
Mairahsol sighed with great satisfaction, simpering as if she still thought herself a desirable young debutante with a great future ahead of her. How the lord high priest could stomach the woman was beyond Norah’s imagination.
“I believe you have earned that privilege, my lord,” she said, and she had the audacity to flutter her eyelashes. Norah wished the Keyhole spell carried sound only, so that she would not feel obligated to watch as well as listen.