The Winter Duke

by Claire Eliza Bartlett

  She sighed. “He’s your grandfather’s nephew, and he’s representing Bruxon.”

  “Is it really my fault for not remembering my dozens of family members?” I said. “They’re all the same. They come from all the neighboring kingdoms, they all disapprove of me, and they’re all old. Why are they all old?”

  “Because all the young ones came to be brideshow candidates,” she replied. “Do try to think of something nice to say to each of them.” She sounded as though it were a prayer more than a directive.

  “Can I tell them how distinguished they look?” I asked.

  “None of them will take that as a compliment. Don’t.” She slid the last pin into my hair and pointed me toward the mirror.

  I looked grand and cold and regal. My gray eyes lacked color, and white powder had been swept over my cheeks to erase what little pink I had in them. I adjusted the diamond tiara that sat on my blonde hair. More diamonds spread across my chest like a constellation of stars, held in place by a web of thin gold. I drew myself up tall, and something of the movement reminded me of my mother. I forced myself straighter. It would be better for people to see her, not me.

  Aino’s smile seemed bittersweet. “You look beautiful,” she said, and I wondered if she was reminded of Mother, too.

  I squeezed her hand and led the way to the antechamber. Inkar stood by the fire, admiring the winter roses. She shook her head and adjusted her sapphire ring. “They are still amazing, even though I cannot touch them,” she said. She wore a sumptuous green-and-silver overcoat that someone had found to make her vest and trousers a little more celebratory. Her hair had been pinned up as well. The small ruby studs in her ears made her brown eyes richer—or perhaps that was the reflection of the fire. I could smell the sharp tang of sweat on her, and it wasn’t the worst thing I’d smelled today.

  “I hope Your Grace has had a pleasant afternoon?” Eirhan said to her.

  “You do not know what I was doing?” Inkar asked him. “I thought the servants following me were yours.”

  Eirhan coughed. Was that a hint of a blush I saw on his cheeks? “They were there for your protection and comfort, not to satisfy my own curiosity.”

  “I did have a pleasant afternoon,” Inkar said. “You have a dedicated and enthusiastic guard. I also spoke to your minister of fishing. He does not believe he has anything less disgusting to serve us for dinner.”

  “Your Grace will simply have something to look forward to for the next fifty years,” Eirhan suggested.

  The reception before dinner was worse than the first. As we approached the hall, we could hear the murmur of voices, a torrent that dropped to nothing the moment the doors were opened. From Reko’s expression, I knew what they’d been talking about.

  The people knelt. None of them would look at me. I tightened my grip on Inkar’s arm and bid them rise, and the second night’s festivities began.

  Delegates swirled around me like a current. I spent most of my time trying to remember Eirhan’s list of don’ts and despairing at my inability to keep Inkar in check.

  She seemed to have a magical touch. She told the Prince of Genobia that his national dish was the worst thing she’d ever tasted, and she made him laugh. She mocked the horsemanship of the Natterdales to Arlendt’s face, and in return she got a compliment. She challenged another delegate to a shooting contest—a rematch, by the sound of things—and scheduled it for the morning. Inkar shone.

  Resentment warred admiration within me. Half of me wanted to take notes and beg her to teach me later. The other half simmered with bitterness—at her effortlessness, at my hopelessness. My father had never let anyone outshine him. And if Inkar brought all the charm to our union, what would happen when she broke off the marriage? There would be just one more aspect of ruling I couldn’t handle.

  As a determined-looking Rafyet approached, I detached myself from Inkar, who was too busy arguing the merits of Stenobian steel with a count to even register my departure. Remembering Eirhan’s warning to avoid Rafyet, I gestured to Viljo, who stomped over with his usual tactlessness. “I need you to pretend to be telling me something important.”

  “What? I mean, I beg Your Grace’s pardon?”

  “Minister, will you give us a moment?” I said, and Rafyet bowed and fell back. I strode across the floor with Viljo trailing behind. The ruse worked: People cleared my path, bowing as I passed. Maybe this was how my father had managed to look so polished all the time. Even though I wasn’t sure where I was going or what I’d do when I got there, striding with purpose fooled everyone.

  I went up an ice staircase at the end of the audience hall that led to a mezzanine, dark and quiet. I pushed through a pair of doors onto an empty balcony. Snow had drifted up against the side of the palace, and I kicked through soft powder as I approached the balcony’s edge.

  I wanted to hit something, perhaps myself. I would be more useful doing anything than struggling to keep up with gossip on policy I didn’t understand. Maybe that was why Eirhan had insisted I attend. So he could show everyone how terrible I was.

  I fought to calm myself. Nasal, premaxilla, maxilla. Reciting the bones was a familiar rhythm—I was clever, I was an Avenko, I could do this. Checking that Viljo still stood by the balcony door, I put my hands inside my sleeves and leaned out over the edge. Cold stung the tip of my nose and the tops of my cheeks. Beneath me, snow flurried in the halo of light surrounding the lamps that dotted the palace wall. The noises of the city were muffled. I felt so gloriously alone.

  Being alone had always been best. Alone meant I didn’t have to contend with any siblings for the approval of my parents. It meant no Velosha to slit open the seam of my coat and let the cold air in, no laughing Svaro to command the dogs to kill me. No Lyosha to hiss all the ways he would make it look like an accident. No Aaronika to drop foxglove into my coffee. No Fenedyo to lock me out in the middle of the night and force me to sleep in the kennels. And no oppressive presence of Father or Mother, presenting me with a bitter future.

  I huffed a cloud into the cold air. I’d spent the last three years planning my escape from this place, from my brothers and sisters and the people who’d spawned them. But now, if I wanted to escape Father, I’d have to save him. And to save him, I’d have to become him. Become someone too fearsome for ministers to cross.

  “Your Grace?” Viljo shivered. “The dinner won’t start without you.”

  “We can go back. But slowly.” I still needed to think all this through. Needed to understand the role I was supposed to play in this grand puppet show, needed to see who else was trying to pull the strings. But I couldn’t unravel the solution by thinking logically. These weren’t the kinds of puzzles I liked.

  I went back through the balcony door but paused inside the mezzanine. A servants’ door was to my left, carved seamlessly into the ice. I used to slip through those doors when I wanted to escape the attentions of my family. I would pretend that I’d found another world in the servants’ corridors, one where no one existed but me, where I could run through parallel halls and be the master of my own empty kingdom. Then I’d grown too old, and Aino taught me that I couldn’t act like a servant anymore. That’s when I’d begun hiding with Farhod instead.

  “Your Grace?” Viljo said tentatively.

  “Yes. A minute.” I moved toward the door. Aino and Eirhan would tell me off if they found me sneaking around, shirking my duties and leaving Inkar to wreak charming havoc in my absence.

  Of course, that was the allure of it.

  “Stay here,” I ordered Viljo, and without waiting to see if he objected, I went in and shut the door behind me.

  The corridor was cooler than the mezzanine. Only every other sconce had been lit, and there were no tapestries to keep in the heat. This was not a space for comfort. It was a plain, unadorned hallway, without even winter roses to grace it.

  The silence of it was almost perfect. I heard the echo, far off, of servants hurrying up and down the stairs, from the kitchens to the
banquet hall, but here there was no one. I needed only a few moments. Then I could go back and fail at being grand duke. I walked, letting my hand trail along the smooth ice wall.

  A rumble of voices made me pause. No one was supposed to be on this level—not to mention that it was impossible to reach these rooms through the mezzanine. Unless they’d used the servants’ entrance, as I had.

  Reko. I lightened my steps. He would know to slip through the servants’ corridors if he wanted a clandestine meeting. He would have access to the law library, which was through a door right ahead. But as I crept toward the door, the voices resolved, and it was not Reko I heard.

  It was Sigis.

  “Wait? Waiting has led me nowhere. I waited for the curse to take, then while I was waiting for Her Grace to give me the time of day, she married someone else.”

  “I had no idea that was going to happen.” The second voice was high, breathy, panicked. “Who marries a marauding pony-rider? She’s out of her mind.”

  “She’s too much trouble,” Sigis said. “Put her under and wake up a different one.”

  “We can’t do that. We have to move delicately.” The second voice dropped, and for a few moments, I heard the soft hiss of someone whispering. Before I had time to think better of it, I slipped out of my shoes and crept forward on my wool socks. The servants’ door to the library was cracked, and I could see a thin slice of bookcase beyond. “You can still win the coronation trials. But we can’t be too bold too early, or we’ll all lose our heads.” The unknown voice paused, then said, “And you’ll lose your chance,” with what sounded like an attempt at rallied courage.

  “Kings are made of chances, my dear,” Sigis’s voice turned soft, and I couldn’t help wincing in sympathy with my traitor. “Remember, you came to me. With one word, I’ll have you hanging from a cage outside the palace wall, and I won’t lose a single trade agreement.”

  The air around me was as thick as lake water. My throat closed up.

  “Your Grace?”

  I gasped, and the sound was as loud as thunder to me. I clapped a hand over my mouth. “What was that?” Sigis snapped. My heart pulsed so loudly I could hear it. Footsteps clicked on the floor. I hefted my skirt off the floor and slid backward, grabbing my shoes on the way.

  “Your Grace—” Viljo said again.

  “Shh.” I shoved him until we both stumbled back into the mezzanine. One of the iron teeth snapped off my shoe. I felt a surge of anger. I was grand duke. I didn’t run from things. Sigis didn’t get to have more power than me in my own realm. I could have confronted him. I could have caught his coconspirator.

  “Is everything…?” Viljo trailed off.

  “It’s fine.” I shoved my shoes back on with trembling hands and let Viljo escort me downstairs.

  It wasn’t fine. My most powerful enemy had conspired to curse my family. And I wasn’t nearly as safe as I’d assumed.

  The moment I stepped off the stairs and back into the hall, figures crowded me. Delegates wanted to wish me good nuptials, to inquire as to my health, to proffer meaningless condolences about my father. They reminded me of a flock of wolfrooks waiting for me to die so they could feed on my corpse.

  As I struggled forward, nodding and thanking and pretending I knew whoever was speaking to me, I caught Eirhan’s eye. Only the steely glint of it in his otherwise composed face told me how angry he was. He looked as though he wanted to say something cutting. The heat of his glare made my back prickle. I gritted my teeth and focused on finding Inkar.

  It wasn’t hard. She seemed to be the only person enjoying herself—she and whomever she was talking to. But she broke off her conversation with Osethi as soon as she saw me, and her mocking smile was almost secretive, as if we shared a joke. I felt my blush coming and pressed my thumb into a diamond-studded ring to distract myself.

  “Is everything well?” Inkar slid her arm through mine as though it had always belonged there.

  Not remotely. “Fine.”

  We went in to dinner and sat for our first course. Before I could explain to a dubious Inkar what was in it, Sigis stood up. “I’d like to say a few words,” he said, and the noise of the hall subsided. His deep voice rumbled, clear and confident. He sounded exactly the way a grand duke should sound, exactly the way I didn’t sound. He caught my eye and winked.

  Don’t throw up.

  “I’d like to congratulate my dear foster sister and her wife,” he said. “The first twenty-four hours of a marriage are always the most tumultuous, so I’ve heard.”

  Laughter rippled through the room. When Sigis made a joke, people laughed, no matter how uninspiring the humor.

  I didn’t realize my hand was shaking until Inkar found it and squeezed. I squeezed back. Eirhan might want me to get rid of her, but having her next to me right now was infinitely preferable to facing Sigis alone.

  “I first came to Kylma five years ago. If any of you had told me I’d be competing for that chair…” He shook his head. “And with my cleverest foster sister, too.” He raised a glass in my direction.

  Don’t throw up.

  “As shocking as it was to hear about Kamen Avenko, it is in times of tragedy, I believe, that we discover who we really are. Ekata, I look forward to discovering who you really are over the course of the coronation trials.”

  The archimandrite stood as though she’d practiced this moment with him. She probably had. “The gods have made their will known. The God Below has acknowledged King Sigis as a member of the royal line, and the Goddess Above accepts the submission and faithful declaration of His Majesty, King Sigis Casimaj of Drysiak.”

  Odious owl pellet, I thought furiously at her.

  Applause and unease sounded in equal measure. Sigis and I were tied at one trial each.

  “Two trials remain,” the archimandrite called over the noise, and the hush spread accordingly. “The trial Below will take place in four days. The final trial, to determine the will of the people, will occur the day after. Prepare your strength and cunning.”

  She sat. Sigis lifted his glass to me. “To the trials,” he said. The entire hall drank.

  Eirhan’s spoon hit the back of my hand. “Your turn,” he muttered.

  “To do what?” I whispered.

  “Say something. Remind them who has the better claim.”

  Couldn’t he have warned me, or given me more magic, or something? I pushed back my father’s chair, and the scrape of oak on ice made the delegates turn their eyes toward me. I still held Inkar’s hand, but I shook too much to risk letting it go. I pressed my thighs into the table to steady myself.

  “Thank you for coming,” I said. The words came out slow and raspy. “I… hope more than anything that the true winner of the coronation trials will be my father. He valued each and every one of you.” Everyone knew that for a big fat lie, but no one shouted their disagreement. “I hope he’ll be well soon. And in any case…” I lifted my own glass. “To new beginnings.”

  I sat down before I realized I’d forgotten to drink. As the rest of the hall set their glasses down and the first course came, Sigis leaned over. “You’ve always had a gift for words,” he said in Kylmian. “When I lived here, you used to have entire lists devoted to insults and responses to insults.” He laughed into his wine cup. “Do you still have it?”

  What do you think, you walking refuse bucket? “I make other lists these days,” I said in Drysian.

  Inkar looked between us. “What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing.” Sigis smiled tightly at her.

  “Old lives,” I said. Old wounds. New problems. “Sigis was my foster brother for some time.”

  “A hostage exchange.” Inkar nodded. “I, too, was invaluable enough to serve as a hostage.”

  “Value is measured by our actions,” Sigis replied. “That’s why I’m king of the largest country in the North, and you are…” He frowned thoughtfully. “What is it you are, again?”

  Inkar’s smile was bright anger, steel
and snow. “I am the Grand Consort of Kylma Above.”

  “For now,” Sigis replied, unperturbed.

  Inkar chose to ignore Sigis. She took a cautious sip of her soup, and her eyes widened. “I like it.”

  It was warm and creamy, dotted with chunks of salmon and onions. “It is the finest food we have to offer.”

  “I thought I have been getting your finest since I came here,” Inkar said. “No matter. I will enjoy what I can.”

  “It is hard to enjoy the comforts of civilization when you are not used to them.” Sigis took a sip of wine, eyeing Inkar over the top of his cup.

  “It is equally hard to find civilization in the North,” Inkar replied.

  Eirhan cut in. “Your Highness, we’ve heard interesting reports from Solarkyet. Has their border caused you any trouble?”

  “Hardly.” Sigis rolled his eyes as he put his cup down. “The Ennthu region has declared itself independent again. The satrap has been hanged, and they’ve tried a campaign along the border. But they’re undisciplined and ignorant in the ways of war.” His eyes flicked to Inkar again. “When people begin to rely too much on horses, it becomes easy for them to forget the benefits of alternative strategies. They have no concept of how to besiege a fortress. They don’t know how to sit still.” His eyes found me next. “I find it to be true in all aspects of their lives, in fact.”

  “Ridiculous,” Inkar said serenely. Her knuckles had whitened around her spoon. “Those who live by the horse are not devoid of education. My father has successfully besieged dozens of cities.”

  “I do seem to recall a little story about the monastery at Thrios,” Sigis replied. “How many months did you sit outside while the monks drank their wine and played with their relics? Six, wasn’t it?”

  The look Inkar gave him was, for once, devoid of even the pretense of humor. “Five.”

  “And then, of course, you ran home to Papa, and he slaughtered every monk in that monastery for you.”

  “That is untrue. Most of the monks became hostages.”