The Winter Duke

by Claire Eliza Bartlett

  I lifted my chin. I didn’t need to look at anyone else. I didn’t need anyone else’s approval. Nevertheless, my traitor eyes moved to Sigis. He looked thoughtful. He looked… pleased?

  I wasn’t so sure I was doing the right thing.

  Viljo led five guards out. As the ministers shuffled, Eirhan spoke up again. “I move to have Her Grace declared provisional grand duke.” His retinue of allies mustered a hearty enough cheer for me.

  Sigis clapped but said nothing. I recognized his calculating look, and I did not like it.

  “And what does ‘provisional’ mean?” Reko sneered. “Will she take provisional coronation trials? Make provisional decisions?”

  “There will be no coronation trials. Decisions will be made as they always have. There’s no need to catastrophize, Reko,” Eirhan said.

  Reko’s eyes seemed to cut me. “And who’s to say she’ll consider it provisional?”

  “You will,” I said. “I’m sure Father will be grateful to any loyal ministers who ensure his line is safe while he is… resting. And to those who help him once he has fully recovered.”

  The mutters that circulated the hall seemed more approving than disapproving. Sigis’s mouth twitched.

  Eirhan snatched the rest of the coronation regalia from Minister Bailli, leaving him to bluster at his empty hands. Eirhan shoved the ducal ring on my finger and dropped the orb in my lap. With a little more precision, he placed the crown, a thin diadem of electrum dotted with pale blue pearls, upon my head. It had last been fitted for Father and balanced precariously. “I declare you—provisionally—the Grand Duke of Kylma Above.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  All was silent for a moment. Three or four people clapped, a lonely sound in the Great Hall, and the noise died out quickly. I cleared my throat. “Thank you.”

  Eirhan turned to the people below the dais. “Please return to your rooms. Anyone who wishes an audience with Her Grace may leave their name with the captain of the guard and will be summoned if their audience is granted. In the meantime, you will be afforded every comfort.”

  Reko started forward with a face full of murder. The guards closed ranks in front of me and began to herd everyone toward the door. Someone shouted. Voices bounced off the walls, magnifying the sound. Heightening the closed-in, claustrophobic feeling.

  Crack. Crack. The ends of the halberds came down on the floor as clear as bells. I jumped. The crown slipped down over one ear. Crack. Guards moved forward, pushing the crowd toward the back wall. Crack.

  It was leave or get crushed. Ministers began to slip out through the open doors, and though we got plenty of angry looks, no one tried to break through the line. Eirhan’s commands were working.

  Because Eirhan commands the guards. A chill rooted in my spine, and my fingers tightened around my iron scepter. Eirhan commanded the guards, not me. I was protected only as long as he desired it.

  I tried to wipe my face clean of expression, the way I’d seen so many officials do, and straightened the crown on my head. As Eirhan and his guards finished clearing the room, I took stock of who was left. Farhod and Aino had stuck with Eirhan during the guards’ sweep and had avoided eviction. Now Farhod conferred with Eirhan.

  Sigis was still here, too—the guards couldn’t push around a king the same way they could push around the rest of my court. “Well, well, little Ekata. Don’t you look… queenly.” He slid onto the glass throne reserved for my mother and folded his arms behind his head. Rings gleamed on every finger in red and gold and blue.

  I tried not to wrinkle my nose. When Sigis lived with us, I did my best to ensure he couldn’t remember my name. My sudden increase in power might protect me from his casual cruelties, but as I’d grown, so had he. Instead of arranging “accidents” or telling tales that would increase Father’s ire, he could renege on agreements or incite other delegates to hostility.

  “What will you do with all the foreign delegates? Around half have yet to arrive, if I count correctly,” he said.

  Why do you care? I opened my mouth to say something clever. “You’re sitting in my mother’s chair.” Great job, Ekata.

  “Your mother’s chair, or the grand consort’s chair?” He winked at me as he got up. Then he bowed, eyeing the scepter and the orb still clutched in my hands. “If there’s one thing the Avenko family has always been able to provide, it is an entertaining evening. Thank you for this one. Do feel free to call on me. I might be able to impart some wisdom for your unexpected ascension, Your Grace.”

  Spending time with my foster brother was the last thing that appealed to me. And why did he say Your Grace so silkily, as though he were trying to kiss the words? “Eirhan will arrange it.” Note: Tell Eirhan to avoid arranging anything with Sigis. At all costs.

  Sigis winked again, then turned and strode through the doors of the Great Hall as if he owned them. I tried to rub the crawling feeling off the back of my neck.

  Farhod bowed as Eirhan dismissed him, then came up to the dais. Aino joined us and put a hand on my shoulder. “What will you do?” she asked.

  About what? The foreign delegates? Sigis? Being grand duke or potentially losing my entire, terrible family? “I don’t know.”

  Aino smiled a tired, sad smile. “You can’t say that anymore, my dear. You’re in charge now.”

  I squeezed the scepter until I could feel a pulse in my fingertips. I took a deep breath, then another, envisioning the slow inflation of my lungs, recalling the spongy press of tissue under a scalpel. I felt my panic recede. Maybe I didn’t want to be in charge, but I could be. I focused on Aino’s question. “We close off the palace and monitor for any cases of plague outside the walls. Delegates can’t be exposed.” Any more than they already were, anyway. “And we keep the brideshow guarded at all times. If everything goes wrong, the delegates must get their candidates back safely.”

  “The confinement of the brideshow representatives could be seen as an abduction,” Farhod warned me.

  “What do you suggest I do?” I snapped. Farhod was more of a chemist than a politician. Of course, a few hours ago, I would have said the same of myself.

  His mouth quirked up. “Choose one and send the rest home?”

  “Don’t you have work to do?”

  His smile grew. “Would Her Grace like to excuse me or accompany me?”

  I slid off the throne, catching the crown before it could fall off. “When did you become so political?”

  “My lady,” he said, slipping back to my old title, “I have served kings, lords, dukes, and every manner of rich man. I would be a fool, indeed, if I didn’t learn something from them all.”

  At least he was on my side. “Maybe if we can find the cure by lunch, we won’t have any diplomatic incidents.”

  We did not find the cure by lunch.

  Eirhan settled me in the duke’s chamber to the side of the Great Hall. As the sun edged over the eastern horizon, Aino poison-tested cup after cup of strong coffee, and Eirhan tried to wrap my head around my new situation.

  “The most important thing for you to do as grand duke right now is to convince our visitors that Kylma Above is under control. We have everything we need—and everything they need, too.”

  He handed me a single sheet. I unfolded it. And unfolded it. And unfolded it once more. My eyes crossed at the list of names and titles. “I’m supposed to memorize all these?”

  Eirhan coughed behind his closed fist. “You’re supposed to recognize the delegates as you see them.”

  “How? I’ve never seen these people before.”

  “You have, Your Grace.” Eirhan turned his gaze to the ceiling, as if asking the goddess Sjiotha for strength.

  I glared at the page. The words swam before me, and I picked a name at random. “When did I last see Bardur Erlyfsson?” From his name, I’d guess he was one of the jarls of the knotty, rain-soaked islands to the southwest. Father had given money and goods to fund wars with them over sea passages that were vital to trade.

&n
bsp; “When he came for the peace talks two years ago,” Eirhan replied. “I would advise you to watch Erlyfsson carefully, Your Grace. Your father fought him, embargoed him, and opposed him for five years, and neither left the last peace talks with a satisfied heart. Erlyfsson’s daughter is part of the brideshow, and his army has been camped along the Kurus border all summer. He could use the brideshow as an excuse to break the peace.”

  “All right, how about Friedrich von Ilmsbad?”

  “Married your cousin.”

  “Which one?” In my defense, cousins weren’t exactly a rare currency.

  Eirhan rolled his eyes. I really did have to make that illegal. “Marya, your father’s niece. His outrageous bride price sponsored repairs to the outer wall around Kylma Above.”

  “All right. I get the point. I’ll start learning the names.”

  Eirhan and Aino shared a look I didn’t care for. “Learning the names won’t be sufficient,” Eirhan said. “You have to learn the people. You must know who has brought his mistress and who requires an altar in his room. Everyone will look to forward their influence with Kylma. Be prepared to talk of treaties. Be prepared to talk of your family. Be prepared to talk of yourself. And be prepared for every delegate to use the information against you.”

  “So… how do I talk to them without giving them ammunition?” This wasn’t possible. Even my father couldn’t know everyone in the world.

  “We will be here for you,” Eirhan said. “All you have to do is think before you speak.”

  I had no doubt that things would be much worse than that. I resisted the urge to toss the paper into the fire. “Shouldn’t I be learning about our current treaties, trade deals, that sort of thing?”

  Eirhan had a peculiar expression, as though something I’d said had given him indigestion. “Your Grace would be far wiser to start with the simple things.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Just because I was never interested doesn’t mean I’m a fool.”

  “Of course not, Your Grace.” Eirhan’s carefully bland expression didn’t reassure me.

  The door opened. “Minister Farhod wishes an audience,” the guard said.

  “It’s not a good time—” Eirhan said.

  I spoke over him. “Of course.” My heart did a little flip. Had we fixed things already? Was my father going to walk in here to see me playing grand duke?

  Farhod entered alone. He already had the classic look of a long day in the laboratory—sweaty, in a loosened cravat and rolled-up sleeves. “I know you’re busy, but I need to show you something.”

  I set my list to the side with a groan of relief. “What is it?”

  Farhod’s hand went to his wrist, before he remembered his sleeves weren’t there. “I don’t… entirely know.”

  I looked at Eirhan, who frowned but said, “Go if you wish.”

  Aino and I followed Farhod toward the laboratory, and Viljo fell into place behind us. “Has the doctor been working with you?” I asked Farhod.

  “I’m afraid so,” Farhod grumbled. He’d butted heads with my father’s doctor, Munna, on more than one occasion. I’d never been able to stand the doctor, either, so I’d trained under Farhod and hoped that I could make up any gaps in my knowledge later.

  Farhod’s laboratory was a tower room built as an annex to the palace so that if it blew up, nothing else would go down with it. I’d trod the path so many times I could take it in my sleep. For a moment, I almost tricked myself into believing we were back in the routine of the curious lady and the besieged tutor. “I was thinking,” I said, trotting a little to keep up with his long stride. “Maybe I can work with you more on this.”

  “You have a lot of duties. I don’t wish to add to them,” Farhod said, fishing for his key as we approached the laboratory door.

  “But if I can help you with the cure, I can include it in my university portfolio,” I said. “They’d have to accept me with an accomplishment like that.”

  I waited for the smile that Farhod always gave me when I thought of something clever. Or the tilting of his head from side to side as he considered. But Farhod hesitated over his keys. A tiny crease appeared between his eyebrows. Finally, he said, “Is that really what Your Grace is taking away from all this?”

  “Why not?” I asked, but he’d already pushed open the door to the laboratory. I followed him in.

  The laboratory was a small, clean space with a worktable and a few stools. The walls were lined with shelves that held ingredients and experiments, neatly labeled and kept in glass jars. The worktable held vials, one for each member of my family. Farhod uncorked the one marked Lyosha and held it out to me. I sniffed at the contents. They smelled… sweet? Clean? “Sweat?”

  “It came off the body like sweat, but it tastes more like water.”

  I knew that a good scientist and doctor wouldn’t shy away from bodily fluids, but the thought of tasting something excreted from Lyosha made my stomach twist. “Something interfered with his systems?”

  “And look at this.” Farhod went over to a shelf and pulled out a glass jar. Within it sat a white powder—pulverized winter roses. He took a long-handled wooden spoon and dipped it in. “Do you remember what winter roses do?” He dropped the spoonful of powder into the vial. The fluid began to change color. Farhod swirled it around, and the color deepened, becoming the clear blue of water beneath ice.

  “They react with magic,” I said.

  My family hadn’t fallen ill. They’d been cursed.

  And I’d been spared.

  My mind spun. Magic was a highly regulated resource, which meant no dose left the royal treasury undocumented. So if I tracked down the magic, perhaps I could find the culprit. And if I asked the wrong people, or made the investigation too public, or told someone who couldn’t keep their mouth shut…

  “Okay.” I tried to push the foggy web of court politics out of my mind. “What do we know? It’s magical. Which means it’s probably deliberate. Could it still be contagious?”

  Farhod shrugged. “Magic is too unstable to predict an outcome. It could be that whatever happened to your family wasn’t the original intent at all.”

  “But there was some kind of tampering,” I said.

  “I’m not sure how else they could have fallen ill. They must have touched or consumed it.” Maybe Lyosha had done it. Maybe he’d intended to poison everyone, but somehow things had gotten mixed up and I’d ended up without the curse.

  “But we can treat this like poison, can’t we?”

  Farhod shook his head. “There are still too many things we don’t understand. We don’t know it isn’t contagious. We don’t know if our patients will live long enough to facilitate thorough experimentation.”

  Something icy gripped my stomach. “What do you mean?”

  Farhod hesitated. “I don’t know whether the goal was to put them in their current state or something worse.” He spoke carefully, neutrally. Almost matter-of-fact.

  A chill skittered over my skin that had nothing to do with the laboratory’s ice walls and low-burning fire. Farhod was only stating facts, and I knew that. All the same, it almost felt as though he didn’t care. You don’t care about them, either, whispered a nasty voice in the back of my mind. You only started caring when it interfered with your plans to leave. “And you’re sure it was no accident.”

  “I don’t understand how it could be,” Farhod replied. “I’ve been working my way through panaceas, but the best way to find answers would be to find the culprit.”

  Which meant politics. I wrinkled my nose.

  I put on my gloves, and we got to work. Ground-up bear bladder, bezoar, mercury—nothing seemed to react. How would I find a cure for a magical ailment?

  And if only the grand duke controlled magic, did that mean I had access now that I was the duke? Could I possibly use it on the illness itself?

  But when I brought it up, Farhod said, “You know better than to bring unknown elements into the search for a cure.” He was busy with a little
pot over a burner. A sharp, sweet smell, like apple blossoms, emanated from it.

  I didn’t like not knowing things. My exhausted mind drifted down, down to the hole in the ice, to where fishmen waited Below. They knew about magic. Maybe they’d help.

  A knock sounded at the door, and the physician looked in. Munna had always jealously guarded my father’s health, and they seemed to take it as a personal affront that he’d fallen ill. They also took that affront out on me. Their eyes were red-rimmed, their sallow face drawn, and while they’d taken the time to put on a fresh coat, they didn’t bother to hide their contempt as they bowed. “Your Grace,” they said, and the words dripped like poison. No doubt they were part of the faction that thought I’d planned this myself.

  “What is it?” I said, too tired to keep my own tone civil. If Munna wanted to hate me, let them hate me. Their loyalty to my father would never make me fully trust them.

  “I’m here to confer with the minister. Though I have been… instructed to inform Your Grace that Prime Minister Eirhan has requested your presence in the duke’s chamber.”

  My vision swam. A faint ringing had persisted in my ears for the last ten minutes, and my legs ached as if I’d been up in the mountains scavenging for winter herbs. I pushed myself to my feet. “Did he say what he wanted?”

  “I didn’t ask,” Munna replied.

  “Take off your apron,” Farhod reminded me as I started for the door.

  I unknotted the string with fumbling fingers. “Send a message immediately if you find anything. I don’t care what you interrupt.”

  As I approached the duke’s chamber, I spotted Yannush and Urso exiting. They bowed to me but hurried away before I could ask what they’d been doing. “What—” I said as I went in.

  Eirhan had already started talking. “—sent a letter. She’ll be arriving by the end of the day, so we’ll have to have your quarantine plan in place by then. What did Farhod want?”

  Don’t tell him. Mistrust prickled my skin. I didn’t owe him answers; he owed them to me. “What did Yannush and Urso want?” I countered.