“Minister,” I said, and she bowed.
Eirhan coughed. I shrugged at him before remembering that grand dukes didn’t do that. Eirhan jerked his chin in clear irritation. “Minister, may I present, on behalf of Her Grace, Her Grace the Grand Consort of Kylma Above, Inkar Bardursdatre.”
I blushed. I should have known to introduce her.
“My felicitations, Your Graces,” Itilya said, “and my highest hopes for the success of the coronation trials.” She didn’t sound as though she meant it. Then again, she was often calm to the point of being inscrutable.
“What lives up here in the North that you can hunt?” Inkar asked.
Itilya leaned forward a little. Was it a trick of the light or was she actually twice the size of Inkar? “Many things. I am a vital part of providing sustenance to the city. Does hunting interest you?”
Inkar’s hand went to the axes at her belt. “More men than anything. But I would be intrigued to see how you do it.”
“I would be honored to show Your Grace the kennels,” Itilya said. At a nod from Eirhan, she bowed again and excused herself.
Inkar frowned. “Kennels? Does she mean stables?”
“No, kennels. For dogs,” I explained.
The frown deepened. “I did not express an interest in dogs.”
“Did you think we hunt from horseback? Horses can’t survive this place.” I pointed to the ice walls, the arching ice ceiling carved in deep relief, and tried not to laugh at the look of panic that cracked Inkar’s confident mask.
“No horses?” she said in a voice that bordered on outrage.
“I’m afraid not.” Let’s see how the girl with the army on horseback likes this.
Eirhan introduced Althari, Prince of Palaskia, next. She wore blue and orange and so much fur that she resembled a rabbit. Was she a second or third prince? Trying to remember felt like grabbing for snow as it fell.
“It was a true shock to hear about your father,” she said.
“For you and me both,” I replied, and she gave a short bow.
I was supposed to say something. Something clever? Eirhan would be furious if I tried to be clever. Grand dukes were imposing and correct. But all I could think of was the blue and orange of her suit, like polar poppies that stuck stubbornly out of the snow, like the orange of the seathorn berries that we turned into jam and ate on seaweed bread to combat scurvy.
“Are you all right, Your Grace?” Althari asked.
“I’m thinking about scurvy,” I said.
Eirhan sighed, no doubt resisting the urge to drop his head in his hands. Inkar cocked her head. Althari looked between us, nonplussed.
They’d call me the mad duke if I kept doing things like that. Worse, they’d let Sigis win the coronation trials. But Inkar came to my rescue. “I believe we have met once before. You were a guest of my father’s many years ago.”
“Yes.” Althari’s smile took on the special warmth of memory. “Your father sets such a spectacular table, I almost forgot I was a hostage.”
“My father is a gracious host,” Inkar said. “I hope to have learned that lesson from him.”
“Then you will be a formidable consort indeed,” Althari said. “You have my sincerest wishes for the success of the trials.” Her eyes narrowed as she glanced at Sigis. Then she took her leave.
I leaned toward Inkar. “How long ago did you two meet?”
Inkar considered. “Eight years? Nine?”
“And you remember her?”
“It was my duty to remember faces,” Inkar said. “And remembering faces served me well in the Emerald Order.”
“Oh.” Even the wife I’d picked on a whim could do my job better than I could.
The Baron of Luciato was introduced next, and his name flashed through my mind like one of the silver fish Below. He wore purple and black and had the tanned-leather look that came from years of campaigns. Inkar greeted him with surprising familiarity. “Every horse in the Emerald Order is a Lucian horse,” she said. “I would never consider any other.”
The baron’s smile lit like a candle. “And your father is famous among our traders.”
“Their intelligence is incredible. And they are the most loyal creatures I have ever met. Please tell me you have come to teach the people of Kylma how to ride.”
“You must admit, the environment is… not suited for them,” Luciato said, eyeing me conspiratorially.
Inkar laughed. “This environment is suited to no one.”
“That’s not true,” I said.
Luciato sputtered. “We—we didn’t mean, ah—”
“We have reindeer, bears, wolves, snow hares, and polar foxes, and two distinct types of ground birds in addition to flying fauna. And that doesn’t take into account any of the flora—” I stopped myself. This wasn’t the way a grand duke controlled the conversation.
Inkar hastened to fill the silence. “My wife enjoys biology.”
Luciato jumped on the subject. “Perhaps you’d like a specimen to study, then. An arrangement could be made for a pair of Lucian foals for you.”
“I thought you said they’d be miserable here,” I pointed out.
Luciato’s mouth worked. Inkar laughed at me. “He did not say miserable.” She put a hand on the baron’s shoulder. “Tomorrow, you and I shall visit the stable… the kennel master, and we shall discuss this most generous gift.”
The baron bowed to us both, though his bow to Inkar was deeper and more graceful. Then he wished us luck with the trials and retreated into the crowd.
Eirhan glared at me. I didn’t have to look at him to know it. I tried to fight my own irritation—irritation for Luciato, for Inkar, for Althari, for everyone who could play this game of politics with ease.
Inkar, for her part, glowed. “Two Lucian horses is a generous gift. I could teach you to ride.”
“What makes you think I want to learn?” I said sourly.
She laughed. “Do not fear. It is terrifying at first, but I will help you. And you will find it less and less terrifying, until, suddenly, it is the best thing in your life.”
“I doubt that,” I said flatly, and a shuttered look came over her, the sort of look I recognized with a pang. Apparently, I had learned one conversational skill from my father: the ability to alienate my wife.
No weakness. No fear. I was supposed to make Inkar regret our marriage. As the next delegate came up, I straightened my shoulders and greeted him as though I hadn’t said anything to Inkar at all. Inkar followed suit and had him smiling in ten seconds.
“Your Grace.” Eirhan took me by the shoulder and steered me a short distance away from Inkar. “You have to keep her from doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Charming delegates. That’s your job, not hers. They’re already inclined to like you more than Sigis, since no one actually wants to see him win the trials. You need to seize that. You’ll still need their support when you get rid of her.”
He made it sound simple. But as I turned back to her, I was reminded only of how much I didn’t know. I was so unsuited for this. Nausea began to form a hard ball in my stomach.
Inkar greeted everyone with a smile and could say something about each of them—even the cousins of Kylma Above. Worse, she seemed so genuine. Father had been smooth; Mother, regal. Lyosha had been brash and posturing. My siblings had ranged between cold and clipped to overly saccharine. But Inkar looked like she was happy to be there. Happy to be with me. The fixed, polite smiles of everyone who greeted us became expressions—of interest, of amusement, of something real. Even the other brideshow candidates seemed happy for Inkar, despite their dislike of me, and they wished us luck with sincerity. Only Sigis didn’t approach; he prowled the edges of the room, sparing us a few angry glowers whenever he could. He didn’t give delegates more than an acknowledgment, and he spoke to many ministers at length. I’d have to discuss that with Eirhan later. For now, dinner awaited.
We entered the banquet hall together. Inka
r’s eyes wandered up the walls to the vaulted ceiling, carved with my family motifs. “Everything,” she said in a soft voice. “Everything is ice.”
“I’d have thought you’d be used to that by now,” I said. Inkar shook her head wordlessly. “Well, the food’s not ice. Not yet, anyway.”
I was seated in the grandest chair, my father’s chair. I felt small and strange slipping into it. If Father saw me in his chair… the first time he’d caught my oldest sister, Eshra, playing on it, he’d struck her with a birch rod hard enough to break skin. She’d carried the scar on her cheek proudly, right up to the day Lyosha had pushed her into the moat and held her down with a weighted fishing net.
I’m grand duke, I thought. The chair was my right and responsibility, if only until we found the cure.
Inkar took the place next to me normally reserved for Mother. Eirhan sat on my other side. And next to Inkar, Sigis sat with a poisonous smile. “Sorry to surprise you with the trials, dear Ekata,” he said, looking past Inkar as though she weren’t even there. He spoke in Kylmian, and Inkar’s puzzled frown confirmed that she didn’t understand. It didn’t surprise me; Kylma was the smallest sovereign nation I knew of, and no one else had reason to speak our tongue. Drysian was the court language; Kylmian was the language we spoke behind closed doors.
I wondered how much of a diplomatic incident would be caused if I told him to take a long dip in a tanner’s vat. Instead, I forced myself to say in Drysian, “You didn’t surprise me at all.” Thanks to Eirhan. “I hope you enjoy your meal.”
“I look forward to it greatly. The culinary exploits here have always been… unique.” Sigis eyed Inkar as though she were a rotten smell under his nose. “Have you ever had fish?”
Her tone was politely incredulous. “I come from an island,” she said.
He laughed. It was a she’s endearingly stupid laugh, and by the look of things, Inkar recognized it, too. “I meant fish from Kylma. The fermented shark paste is my favorite.”
“Is he joking?” Inkar whispered to me.
“I’m afraid not.” I’d always been amused by visitors trying our delicacies for the first time. Part of me looked forward to Inkar’s reaction. Part of me hoped she’d enjoy every bite and wipe Sigis’s smug look off his face.
“You’ll hate it,” Sigis said with relish. “The jarls have such dull palates.”
Inkar straightened. I gestured for Aino. Maybe wine would keep Sigis occupied. As a servant filled Sigis’s and Inkar’s cups with bright, golden wine, Aino brought me cloudflower juice and a warning look. I’d be useless enough sober.
“Shall we toast your father, Ekata?” Sigis said. “The great man he was and the legacy he left?”
“He’s not dead,” I said. What would Sigis do if Father woke up in the middle of the coronation trials? What would I do? How would Father deal with the ministers who’d crowned me, with Aino who’d stolen Mother’s jewelry, with Inkar, the daughter of a former enemy?
Sigis looked at me as though I’d said something absurd.
Inkar investigated her cup. “From what do you make this wine? And why a wooden wine cup? Are you too poor to pay for silver?”
“We’d all love for you to freeze your lips off on a silver glass,” Sigis said before I could answer. “As for the wine, it’s made of apples. A special kind, all white. Do you remember playing in the orchards at the foot of the mountains, Ekata? We went not long after I first joined you.”
I remembered. I remembered Sigis throwing an unripe apple so hard at my brother Kevro’s head that he’d been concussed. An accident, Sigis claimed.
Inkar turned to him. “In my country, when I ask a question of one person, I do not expect it to be answered by another.”
Sigis smirked. “There’s so much more to the world than your little country, my dear.”
More servants began to bear down on us with plates. “Dinner,” I said without trying to mask my relief.
Dinner was served in the twelve longest courses of my life. We began with a broth of fish, which Inkar said tasted of the bottom of the sea. Sigis, on the other hand, stopped one of the servants and insisted she pay his compliments to the chef for remembering how well Sigis had loved it. From there we moved on to the dreaded shark paste, served on flat seaweed bread. Inkar prodded at the wobbling mass. “This is… celebratory food?”
I couldn’t tell whether she doubted the celebratory or the food aspect more. I opened my mouth to tell her that our full marriage feast would be finer, but then I remembered we weren’t supposed to have a full marriage feast. “It’s a famous delicacy.”
“Then you eat it, my wife.” She slid her plate toward me and reached for my cup. I was halfway through her bread before I noticed Eirhan glaring at me again. Father and Mother would never have shared the contents of their plates. I probably should have insisted she eat it. Instead, I focused on my food so I wouldn’t have to look at Eirhan’s face anymore.
After oyster and smoked-fish courses, we moved to the meat: fresh, raw caribou; roasted hare; deer with apple jelly; aspic; and goat sausage cured with spices from the South. Inkar enjoyed most of it, though she made a strange face at the aspic and pushed most of it around on her plate.
As we ate, Eirhan tried his best to engage Sigis. “Her Grace and I very much hope you will enjoy the evening of festivities.”
“I don’t doubt I will,” said Sigis in a voice that indicated the exact opposite. “Though I do hope she’s made some plans for my men. They get so restless when they’ve been on campaign. They have only one thing on their minds, and it’s nearly impossible to keep them under control.”
He’s only baiting me. Sigis wouldn’t dare have his men attack the city. I smiled and kept my mouth shut.
Inkar, though, hadn’t been told to court Sigis. “Are your men so undisciplined? My father would never let me lead the Emerald Order if he thought I could not control them.”
“Drysian soldiers are not your average men. They live for the fight and the spoils. They are like ravenous wolves.” He nodded at me. “Her Grace knows a thing or two about wolves.”
“Mostly how to keep them away from me,” I said without thinking. Sigis’s mouth curled in contempt.
Remember Eirhan’s advice. I smiled again.
Sigis switched tactics. “I’m sure everyone’s dying to know—do you intend to honor the Avythera agreement?”
The what? The glint in his eyes told me that he knew I didn’t know. As I fumbled for an answer, Eirhan stepped in. “Her Grace intends to study it in greater depth before officially moving forward. Her father spent years on the agreement, and I’m sure we all agree it would be unwise to push the matter so immediately.”
“And I know you’re concerned that your father might awaken,” Sigis added.
Eirhan, Sigis, and Inkar looked at me. I forced my smile wider.
“It is, of course, our dearest wish,” Eirhan said. “Regrettably, one requirement of being a grand duke or a prime minister is a certain attention to practicality.”
“Not to mention ambition.” Sigis shot a look around the table. “One that I feel many of your ministers lack.”
That had to be a threat. But whom was he talking about specifically? I leaned forward to scrutinize the ministers who were listening from up and down the table. Who had a red face? Who wouldn’t look up from their plate?
“Your Grace is leaning into her aspic,” Eirhan observed.
As I dabbed at my chest with a napkin and a servant removed the offending plate, Sigis said, “Amending the Avythera agreement would allow you to rebuild the eastern guard towers.”
“Rebuild? Why would we need to rebuild? Is there imminent threat of war?” Inkar asked. I did not miss her use of we.
“I sincerely hope not,” Sigis replied. His gaze met hers. Her smile dropped a fraction and became more like a sneer.
“Her Grace is overwhelmed with duties,” Eirhan cut in. “She hasn’t had time to look over her father’s unfinished business, much
less agreements that have been all but cemented.”
“Yet she managed to get married… for now.” Sigis pitched his voice low enough that the other ministers, straining to make polite conversation through our awkward haze, couldn’t hear him. But he wanted me to hear. I was certain of that.
Eirhan, to his credit, changed the subject: gossip on the war between Khourzad and Alhatia, an analysis of the continental crop yield for the season and what that meant for trade, Sigis’s winter plans. Sigis’s poor temper oozed through every reply. He cut his meat with forceful movements that grated on the porcelain plates. He set his cup down so hard it cracked. His laughs were dark and angry, his orders unforgiving.
And Eirhan wanted me to pretend I was considering this man.
The banquet was followed by a reception, during which it seemed I had to dance with or greet every single person in the room. I found myself dancing with Sigis twice, though dancing was hardly the right way to describe it. Mostly he pushed me from place to place, occasionally lifting me to twirl me around. He spoke loud and long of his fondness for Kylma, of the ways he would modernize it, of the great trading benefits that the Avythera agreement would bring us—especially if we changed the agreement entirely to suit him. When he finally let me go, it was to face a sea of delegates that I couldn’t remember anymore. Fatigue threatened to drag me under, and no amount of cloudflower juice could keep me awake.
At long last, Aino rescued me. “Coffee?” I mumbled hopefully.
“Bed,” Aino said firmly. Eirhan opened his mouth to object, but she held up a hand. “Her Grace had an early morning and has a trial to win tomorrow.”
“You’re my favorite.” I sighed as she hustled me out of the reception hall.
“Don’t say that quite yet. You haven’t heard what’s in store for you tomorrow.” Aino let me lean on her as I limped up the ice stairs toward the royal wing, followed by Viljo and the other guard.
The Winter Duke Page 10