“That’s it?” It seemed ridiculous. I thought I’d have to commune with the gods, not bribe them.
“She may push for more. She’s a clever woman and has maintained power despite your father’s dislike of her. I am not allowed to accompany you to the trial, but I urge you to do what you can to secure her support. Without her, you won’t be grand duke for long.”
“She can’t back Sigis over me.” Sigis was a foreigner.
“You need to treat Sigis as a serious competitor until he’s disqualified,” Eirhan warned.
My bride poked her head out of my room. “Is that breakfast?” She wore Aino’s quilt wrapped around her shoulders. She looked rumpled and sleepy and like she ought to be bundled back to bed. My heartbeat stuttered. My wife could be charming without even brushing her hair.
The air turned stiff. Inkar didn’t seem to notice. She trotted forward on her toes, hissing as her feet made contact with the ice floor. She came right up to the rug under my desk and leaned over me to survey the remains of my breakfast. “Have you an egg?” she asked hopefully.
“Fish eggs?” I offered. Her face fell. Horses and food. Two ways to annoy Inkar, at least.
Aino hurried me into a serviceable black dress with one of Mother’s circlets hooked into my hair. Then Eirhan escorted me to the council chamber, where a fire burned high in the grate.
“Have a seat, Your Grace. In the duke’s chair,” he specified as I tried to take the chair nearest the door. I moved, feeling my cheeks flush.
I’d never been in the council chamber. The table, carved from dark wood, was smaller than I’d expected. The legs held the faces of strange grotesques, amalgams of animals I’d only ever seen in monographs. Eirhan lit the little candle beneath the inkwell in front of me as my council began to arrive.
The council consisted of top ministers only, whose decisions were integral to running the country. Father had carefully stacked the ministry so that they would all be busy arguing with one another, and have little inclination to unite against him. While the current makeup of the council was to Father’s advantage, I had no delusions about what they thought of me. I might unite them through sheer hatred of my incompetency.
The first person to open the door was Reko. Soon after him came Annika, minister of agriculture; then Bailli, minister of the treasury; then Itilya, minister of the hunt; then Rafyet, the grizzled minister of fishing; and Yannush, foreign minister. The last to enter was Urso, minister of trade, who paused at the door to murmur something to his secretary. She nodded and slipped out.
I stopped myself from glancing at Eirhan. A grand duke was in control. A grand duke didn’t look to others for approval. I swallowed. “Okay.” Eight faces turned toward me. “We’re not expecting anyone else, are we?”
Reko’s sneer became more pronounced.
“No, Your Grace,” Eirhan said.
“Right.” How should I salvage this situation? I’d never been in a council meeting before. I didn’t know which ministers attended them. “I suppose we should talk about my family.”
I’d meant to brief them on Farhod’s progress. But Reko, who’d obviously been looking forward to this, jumped in. “I agree. It’s past time to talk about the Avenko line.”
Bailli groaned, rubbing his bald head. “Not this again.” He looked as exhausted as I felt.
“This again.” Reko put his hands flat on the table. “It’s obvious that we’re one bad heir away from ruination.” His eyes locked on me, and I straightened my spine in response to his hateful glare. What have I ever done to you? “We need a system to provide a fail-safe. We need a steady government that won’t fall apart when our grand duke and his son both fall… ill.” His lip curled. “We need to establish a parliament.”
“Enough with parliament, Reko,” Annika said. “Kylma Above has one ruler, not many. Both Kamen and Lyosha felt that way.”
“Our country is too small to be ruled by common government,” Bailli added. “Other countries have a surplus of politicians and more needs to be met. For us, parliament isn’t as logical.”
“It is true that we have had an unusual succession,” Eirhan said. “But an Avenko holds the bond between Above and Below. An Avenko must remain in power.”
“This is more proof than ever that we need protective measures,” Reko argued. “Ekatarina’s accession has left us with just one Avenko. What happens if she’s murdered? What happens if Sigis wins the trials? Establishing a parliament would reduce royal power and decrease their runaway ambition.”
“I’m not trying to take over the country,” I said.
Reko’s laugh was like a fox barking. “Are you saying you initiated the coronation trials by accident?”
Grand dukes didn’t do things accidentally. “I made the best decision I could at the time.”
Reko raised his hands, looking smug, as though I’d proved his point. “We can have a sixteen-year-old doing her best, or we can have an entire parliament of grown people doing their best. Which would be better for the country?”
“Please, some civility,” Urso pleaded.
Itilya tapped her long fingers on the table and tilted her head to give Reko a warning look. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. Deep circles rimmed Reko’s eyes, and his beard needed combing. None of us was getting enough rest. “Representative rule would give us a government the people want,” Itilya said.
“And what will happen to my family?” I asked. “The throne is our right.” Our curse. “We maintain the link between Above and Below. We have to be here.”
“That does not mean you need to maintain a strong political position, Your Grace,” Itilya said.
So she thought I should stand by and let someone else decide how my life—my country—would be run? “We were born for it. We’ve been trained for it. Would you support an unschooled farmer who wanted to be minister of agriculture?”
Itilya’s face registered no change, but her fingers curled into loose fists. “Not all of us were raised with wealthy tutors and political intentions, yet we manage.”
Itilya had been promoted from a hunting position to Lyosha’s bodyguard, then to minister of the hunt. She had been a commoner once. “It’s one thing for a person to be rewarded for acts of service. It’s different to open up the ministry to everyone Above,” I said.
“I agree with Her Grace,” Annika said. Their blue eyes darted nervously to me. “A parliament will only slow everything down. We can’t wait weeks to get treaties ratified, emergencies declared—what will we do if someone marches to war against us? Wait for parliament to construct a war council?” They folded their hands. “Our grand dukes may sometimes act in error, but they act.”
Bailli nodded. “Look at Khourzad. Their parliament has been in a state of flux for eighteen months. When Alhatia attacked, they couldn’t decide whether to counterattack, beg for aid, or surrender. Kamen never would have allowed even the discussion of a parliament in this room.”
“And it would be an insult to open a parliament behind his back. When he wakes up, he’ll expect things to be the way he left them,” I said.
“And what if that’s not possible, Your Grace?” Yannush leaned forward, fixing his bulging eyes on me. “If Sigis cannot win the coronation trials, he may resort to using his army. How will you maintain power?”
“Her Grace won’t be ratifying a parliament at this time. It’s not a matter for discussion, it’s a matter of fact.” Eirhan shuffled his papers. “I suggest we move on.”
We bickered about the coronation trials for the rest of the meeting. Reko was silent, watching me, and even when I met his gaze, he didn’t look away. Hatred shone from him. I’d never spoken to Reko before my coronation; did he truly loathe me just because I’d refused him a parliament?
I waited until the cabinet meeting was over to ask Eirhan about the parliament debate. “It’s a complicated subject, Your Grace,” he said.
“I once performed eye surgery on a dog. I think I can grasp it.” His eyebr
ows rose at my tone, but I didn’t apologize. Everyone seemed to think me a special kind of stupid.
“When your father was younger, he supported the concept of a parliament, but over time he’s become… less enthused. A parliament could reduce the collective knowledge of the ministry, and it will certainly reduce the power. Kylma has no university of its own, so politicians would either be ignorant or influenced by foreign thinking—and your father distrusts much foreign thinking.”
“And Reko… wants more of that?”
“Reko wants the influence of the people. He was a commoner, you know,” Eirhan replied. “He did your father a service, and another, and another, and Kamen thought it was only appropriate that a man of the people should be minister of the people. Your father valued his bluntness, but they agreed on almost nothing.”
“But Reko’s not the only one who wants a parliament,” I said.
“He’s the one who wants it most. Itilya and Rafyet are commoners, too. Itilya saved Lyosha’s life and was promoted in response. She is entirely Lyosha’s servant, so her interest in a parliament will surface to the extent that Lyosha supports it. Rafyet is a good fisherman and a valuable member of government, but he doesn’t have much influence. Your father put him on the council mostly as a measure of support. Yannush once believed in the autocracy, but he’s begun to waver since your father’s foreign opinions became more hostile.”
Eirhan took a breath. For a moment, I thought he’d continue, but he took a sip of coffee, made a face at the cup, and put it back down.
“Why are they so concerned with parliamentary representation?” I said. “Is there unrest? Are the people planning a revolt?”
“Not at this time,” Eirhan said, and I heard what he didn’t say. “Your father’s been trying to solidify trade agreements in a way that supports our traders, which has resulted in a reduced exchange of goods. Some feel that his increased focus on independent subsistence leaves us vulnerable in the event of a disaster. Others think the world will buy magic from us no matter what.” He grimaced. “And that Below will soon relent to the new terms.”
I fought the urge to rub my temples. I understood maybe half of what he said, which was his intention, no doubt. “So if we don’t trade with anyone, who buys our magic?”
“I never said we don’t trade with anyone,” Eirhan said, and a trace of irritation bled through. “We simply trade less. Magic is worth more. The stores in our treasury have created a useful buffer. But the buffer will quickly run out if you can’t replace the magic as it is sold, and some feel that even grand dukes can make mistakes—mistakes that a parliament can counteract.”
I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. I was questioned enough as grand duke. If we did have a parliament, it would ignore me and do whatever it wanted. Like marry me off to Sigis.
“An alternative government is hardly what your father wanted,” Eirhan said. “And if you think he’ll awaken, the worst thing you can do is push to reduce his power. You’ve already put us in enough of a state with the coronation trials.” How quickly he forgot who’d suggested them in the first place. But he ignored my pointed scowl. “You’re scheduled to meet with Annika first. Their lands abroad provide most of our agricultural imports. Lean on that in talks with them.”
Annika was responsible for the rye flour we used for our fine loaves; the oats we turned into porridge; the tough, dark cabbage we stewed; and the vegetables that arrived pickled in vinegar. We foraged some things from the mountains, had our own apple orchard, and used the bounties of the lake—but Annika had holdings and land agreements in Drysiak and Rabar, so they could manage to feed a city. I didn’t know what to trade them for support, either. Some of what I thought must have shown on my face, for Eirhan said, “I will be here, Your Grace, and I’ll assist you on talking points.”
“More coffee first,” I said, and Aino went to the door to speak to a servant. “Eirhan?”
“Your Grace?”
“What do you think? About a parliament?”
He thought for a moment. Then his lips pulled back into a bland smile, and he said, “I am dedicated to the duke Above, whatever your decisions may be.”
At that, he swept to the door and let Annika in.
The meetings were a whirlwind of terms and facts that I couldn’t keep track of. Eirhan did most of my talking for me. I bit back resentment, focusing on what he said and the way he said it. I needed him now—but only for now.
Annika was excessively polite but wouldn’t meet my eyes. Itilya was unreadable and asked after Lyosha. She was better than Reko, who hadn’t asked to meet at all and was probably simultaneously plotting my murder and the establishment of a parliament. Urso wouldn’t stop patting my shoulder, and Yannush was all business, speaking more to Eirhan than to me and referencing conversations I’d never been privy to. No one else demanded a parliament outright, which I took as an encouraging start. But by the time Eirhan declared lunch, my brain hurt in a way it had never hurt after a day’s work in the laboratory.
As Yannush left, a servant slipped in and handed Eirhan a note. He scanned it, then huffed. “We’re lifting the quarantine.”
“Excuse me?”
“Doctor Munna no longer believes there’s any danger of contagion. Opening the gates now will minimize bad feeling among the delegates.”
“Isn’t this a decision for the grand duke to make?” I said.
Eirhan’s nostrils flared. “Do you wish to make a different decision? To make them scramble for accommodations in the city or beg for hospitality from Sigis’s army?”
He was right, and we both knew it. “Of course not. Lift the quarantine,” I said.
“Thank you, Your Grace.” He took my arm. “I’ll attend to that while you lunch with Sigis.”
I set my feet so firmly in the ice that the iron grips on my shoes chipped the surface. Eirhan rubbed at his temple, then checked the hallway outside for eavesdroppers. “I know Your Grace wishes to be anywhere else,” he muttered. “But Sigis is your biggest threat, and only you can change that.”
“He’d backtrack if I worked with Farhod and cured this… problem,” I replied.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You haven’t the time. Remember, Sigis is only a man. There are things he wants, and all you have to do is make him think he’ll get them.”
“All I have to do,” I repeated under my breath. But I allowed Eirhan to lead me out.
Sigis stood in the Rose Room in a resplendent black cloak. He’d trimmed his beard and put sapphires in his ears. The gems had been a gift from Father when Sigis left our court, and Sigis had no doubt chosen them with care for this occasion. “Hello, Ekata,” he said.
I hesitated. “Hello, brother,” I finally said. Maybe that would deter him from trying to marry me.
“Have a cup of wine with me.” His voice was all silk and softness. “To commemorate your father, the idol of rulership.”
“I…” Don’t know how to respond to that. I’d never seen Father as an idol, but what would he have done? Grand dukes showed no hesitation. “He’s not dead yet.”
“I’ve been led to believe it’s only a matter of time.” He hardly sounded distraught at the news. Poorly concealed glee might have been more accurate.
“Our physician and our minister of alchemy think there’s hope for recovery.”
“Then I hope, as well.” Sigis sat and lifted his cup. We drank.
Something glinted in his hand, shifting colors in the firelight. He rolled it between his fingers, and I realized what it was—a single pearl of magic. Where’d he gotten that? “Strange, isn’t it?” He held it up to the light. “Without this, you’d have nothing. You’d be nothing.”
“We’ll never be nothing.” That was what Sigis didn’t understand. It was why he didn’t deserve to be grand duke.
“Did your father teach you the secret of making it obey him?” Sigis looked at the pearl of magic as though he wanted to kiss it. Maybe he could marry the magic and leave me alone. Then he sh
ot me a derisive glance, judging and dismissing me in the same moment. I shivered, resisting the urge to scrub his lingering look off the front of my chest. By the time I regained my composure, Sigis wore a cocky smile.
“No. You took from the treasury for that display last night, didn’t you?” He chuckled, holding the pearl up. “And here I thought I had something to worry about.”
I spoke before I thought better of it. “Being grand duke is about more than making pretty demonstrations.”
Sigis burst out laughing. “Pretty demonstrations? You think your father’s laughable displays are all we get from magic?” He held the pearl an inch from my nose, and his voice turned soft again. But this time, it wasn’t the softness of a man trying to woo me. It was a softness concealing a world of ugly threats. “Do you know what I could do with this? I could make an army of men with unbreakable armor and blades that froze the skin wherever they struck. I could raise walls around any city until it surrendered. I could make you a ring with a diamond the same color as your eyes.”
“Gray?” Did he really think that was romantic?
“Your father had petty rules about magic—how much he sold, how we could use it. He could have ruled the world if he’d wanted to.”
I wondered if Sigis knew that magic had a temporary life span. I wondered if he realized not everyone wanted the things he did. “Magic belongs to the real Avenko line,” I said.
Something dark flashed over his face—rage that I’d contradicted him. That I’d told him, for the second time, that he couldn’t have something he wanted. He caught my wrist and squeezed until my bones ground together. I clenched my teeth. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing me whimper. “Prove it,” he murmured, dropping the unrefined pearl in my palm.
It couldn’t be that simple. The power wasn’t conferred upon me just because I was grand duke. Logic said so.
But magic was not logical.
I clenched my fist. Light burst from between my fingers as the pearl popped and the fire died. A glimmering fish leaped over our arms. Pain seared me where Sigis’s fingers held tight to my wrist. He yelped, and we flew apart with such force that I slammed into the back of my chair. It tipped dangerously. Sigis’s knees rammed the edge of the table, sending our wineglasses toppling.
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