The Winter Duke

by Claire Eliza Bartlett

  “I need to figure out how this illness works,” I said. “Do you want my family to die?”

  Eirhan drew back in astonishment. “What a thing to say, Your Grace. But I wonder at the idea that you, and you alone, can save them. Minister Farhod needs to find out how the illness works. Your time is better spent elsewhere.”

  “I suppose Farhod could save them, too,” I muttered, blushing.

  “Your Grace’s loyalty to your family is admirable,” Eirhan said. “But I have called for every doctor in Kylma Above to attend at the royal palace, and they have been trained and educated in ways you have not. They can see to your family while you prepare for the possibility that you will be on the throne for the rest of your life. If your family never wakes, what then? How will you ensure that the city Above remains safe? When will you start taking this seriously?”

  I did take this seriously. Seriously enough to dive into the work of finding a cure myself. I was taking this seriously enough not to trust Eirhan. But he had a point. I needed to act like a duke. I had to be ready to seize power.

  Inkar and the baron shot three rounds in all. She won two; he won one. “Have you thought about how you’ll get her to renege after the trial period?” Eirhan said.

  “Maybe I could… talk to her.” I decided not to tell him that she’d already worked out my awkward position. Inkar laughed at something the baron said, and they shook hands again in mock-solemnity before making their way slowly toward us.

  Eirhan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please do not tell her you want to break the marriage,” he said, as though he were explaining politics to a child. “The more leverage she has, the more damage she can do. She could demand that you give her treaties, or land, or any number of things to get you to call off the marriage.”

  If she had such leverage, why hadn’t she used it yet? “Well, she seems to be settling in.”

  “That is precisely what you were supposed to keep her from doing,” Eirhan said. “Make her feel unwelcome. So unwelcome that the position of grand consort isn’t enough to tempt her to stay.”

  “How?”

  Eirhan glared at me in exasperation. “You’re your father’s daughter; act like it.”

  Why do you wish to imitate him? Inkar’s question resonated in my mind, and I couldn’t justify an answer. Especially when it came to how my parents treated each other. I didn’t know how they’d ended up in their poisonous marriage, but it felt wrong to crack open their relationship and use it to hurt other people. Surely I could get Inkar to break the agreement some other way.

  Sigis strode up as Inkar and the baron did, cloak flapping at his ankles. “Your Grace. And… Your Grace.” He smiled coldly at Inkar, who returned the favor. Sigis nodded to the baron. “I trust you’re upholding the Rabari traditions of good shooting.”

  “I’m afraid my paltry skills are no match for Her Grace’s,” the baron replied. Why couldn’t I be more like him in politics—smooth and suave and in control?

  “I don’t believe it. You weren’t going easy on her, were you?”

  Inkar’s eyes flashed. “Would you?” Her bow came up a fraction.

  Sigis beckoned the weapons master. “Of course not. But I’m a man well aware of my faults. I’m not one to put courtesy above competition.”

  I choked back a snort at that.

  Inkar went to the target. Sigis tested a bow, shook his head, but took up a place beside her.

  “If they attempt to kill each other in earnest, you will be held responsible,” Eirhan muttered out of the side of his mouth.

  “Understood. Viljo?” I said. “Keep Her Grace and King Sigis from murdering each other.”

  “I’m serious,” Eirhan said as the shooting began again. “Sigis should never have won the will of the archimandrite. If you don’t want him to win the trial Below, you’ll need to give Below a reason to support you instead.”

  “The duke Below begged me to start the coronation trials.”

  “If I may give Your Grace some political advice: Never assume that your allies will have to take your side. They might have options that you never considered. And even if the trial Below is an easy victory, the trial for the people may not be. Every time Sigis speaks to one of your ministers, he threatens you.” Eirhan rubbed his face. “Marrying him might be more than the convenient solution. If he defeats you in all the trials, it might be the only way to preserve your life.”

  I wondered if his insistence that I marry Sigis was about more than preserving my life. What sort of deals had they made with each other? Eirhan couldn’t have been the voice I’d heard in the law library. But he could have manipulated the person I’d heard.

  Sigis and Inkar shot. Sigis’s aim was dead in the center of the target; Inkar’s was off by a hair. Sigis all but strutted to examine his arrow.

  “I’m going Below today,” I decided.

  Eirhan coughed. “Your Grace, that’s simply impossible. Arrangements must be made—”

  “I thought it was your role to advise.” I didn’t look at him, but I could feel the anger radiating from Eirhan like heat.

  “His Grace the Duke of Kylma Below invited you once. That doesn’t make Below an extension of your land, which you may visit whenever you like. The duke Below must be aware and willing to receive you.”

  “It’s important.”

  “Why?” he demanded. He sounded angry, but when I didn’t answer, the air between us became thicker, prickling not with anger but with unease. “Your Grace, what’s so important about going Below now?”

  At the end of the yard, Inkar held herself stiffly as she shook Sigis’s hand. I watched Sigis and Inkar troop back and draw again.

  “Does it have something to do with the illness?”

  “Never mind,” I said, and squared my shoulders.

  Inkar lost the second round, and the third. Her smile became more and more brittle, threatening to snap every time Sigis said something like, “Well, I do have experience with war,” or, “I learned that trick at the battle of Bledna.”

  She didn’t throw her bow to the ground, though it looked as though she wanted to. Her gloved hand clenched around it, and instead, she strode over to me. She took my hand carefully, gently, and pressed her lips to it. “Is our guest not accomplished?” Her merry tone was strained.

  “I used to watch him shoot all the time,” I said, attempting to shrug it off.

  Sigis raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you paid me so much mind back then, Your Grace.”

  Ew. Disgusting. Don’t throw up. “Weapons practice was mandatory, and you were always best at it.”

  “I came here to shoot against the baron,” Inkar said. Her low voice was soft, on the verge of threatening. “I came here to use my axes on you.”

  “If you’re looking for another lesson, I’m happy to oblige.” Sigis drew his sword and moved away from her, swinging it in a figure eight pattern.

  Inkar drew her axes, laughing as Viljo stepped smartly between her and me.

  “Viljo, you may stand down,” I said.

  “No, Your Grace.”

  Eirhan nodded in approval. “Don’t even try, Your Grace. I told Viljo that protecting you sometimes included ignoring you.”

  I glared at Eirhan and settled back on the bench. The golden detail on Inkar’s axes caught the light. She lunged forward, hooking one ax over Sigis’s sword and pulling it down as she swung the other. He danced back, pulling his sword free and counterattacking in a smooth, strong movement that made Inkar duck and slide backward.

  She parried his next attack, deflecting the blade, and jabbed at him. He sidestepped, and her ax chipped into the ice. Sigis swung down, hard. Inkar rolled to the side, and his sword bounced off her handle. She lunged to her feet, slipping on the snow, one ax down. She breathed hard, shifting her grip.

  My heart pulsed hard enough to make my deep fur collar vibrate. I sucked in a freezing breath. Sigis couldn’t kill her. He wouldn’t be so stupid.

  The savage trium
ph in his eyes did not comfort me.

  “Need a break?” Sigis asked.

  “Of course not,” she puffed. “Why would I make it easier for you?”

  She attacked again, ducked a counterattack, and ripped her ax out of the ice. Her body rippled like silk, fluid and graceful and breathtaking. I’d never have stood a chance against her. But I could see that Sigis was even better.

  Sigis parried easily, sliding his blade under her arm to rip her vest. He bared his teeth. His face lit with joy. His blade flashed in the sunlight, too fast to follow. It would be so easy to manufacture an accident. Suddenly, I remembered the time he shot Velosha in the shoulder. It had been impossible for her to prove that Sigis was the culprit, but I’d seen him pull the bowstring.

  Sigis laughed and spun away as Inkar lunged, slamming the flat of his sword against her ribs. Inkar gasped and fell to her knees.

  I launched to my feet. “Viljo!”

  The dutiful Viljo trooped between Sigis and Inkar. Sigis backed off, still laughing. “You can’t let me win so easily, Your Grace.”

  I extended my hand to Inkar, but she got to her feet on her own. Her eyes burned. “I am not finished.”

  “We’re all finished,” I said in my best Mother voice. Maybe the tone would mask the fear. Inkar might act invincible, but she had ten pints of blood, just like everyone else. And I wouldn’t let Sigis spill even one drop. “I have meetings, and I don’t give you permission to murder each other while I’m gone.”

  Sigis’s bloodlust smile turned on me. “I take offense at that. I had no intention of causing her lady harm.” I was sure he’d forgotten to call Inkar consort on purpose. He sheathed his sword and let his lip curl contemptuously. “I thought she’d be a more formidable opponent.”

  I offered Inkar my arm. Her fingers tightened around my wrist as we began to walk. I shook with fury, and so did she, but we steadied each other. Neither of us could laugh him off, but neither of us would bow to him.

  “I’ll see Your Grace at lunch,” Sigis called after me.

  “I think,” Inkar said softly, in a voice full of pain. “I think I quite despise him.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Back in my rooms, Inkar sat by the fire, and I picked up a bowl of porridge that had gone cold. Farhod had left a note on the curse’s progress—neither better nor worse. My family had been moved into my father’s suite, which was the only place they would all fit, and arguing doctors crowded around them, draining their lungs and trying cures for pneumonia.

  We weren’t getting anywhere with solutions Above. I hesitated over a note, but when Eirhan poked his head in to summon me to my council meeting, I dropped a hasty and probably impolite request into the messenger bowl in the family library. Then I spooned up the last of my porridge, took a cup of coffee from Aino, and followed Eirhan to the council chamber.

  I didn’t realize the depth of trouble I was in until we entered. Reko’s eyes glittered with malice as they followed me from the door to my seat at the head of the table. Urso sweated next to him, and Yannush kept his bulging eyes on the table. Annika sat in whispered conference with Itilya. Only Rafyet presented a friendly face. One of you, I thought. One of them had to be the whispered voice in the law library.

  We discussed minor issues between delegates for a drowsy, wasted half hour. Then we moved on to Farhod’s report. “No change,” Eirhan said. “Their illness seems to be stable. And no new reports of infection.” I wondered, not for the first time, if he knew it wasn’t an illness at all.

  “Because it’s fake.” Reko waved a hand. “Whatever poison you’ve used, we’ll find it.”

  “Watch your tongue,” Eirhan warned him.

  “Why? Will Her Grace, the provisional grand duke, have me poisoned, too? Or will she merely ransack my offices for no reason?”

  I hardened my voice. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t.”

  “I’m not surprised. We’ve all seen how far you’ll go to get your way—”

  “Enough,” Eirhan said. I pushed down my anger. I should be the one to bring Reko to heel. “One way or another, Ekaterina is grand duke. Unless Sigis wins the trials.”

  Bailli waved a hand. “Surely he can be persuaded to forfeit. What does he want?”

  “Besides winning? He wants to marry Ekaterina,” Eirhan said.

  There was a short, ugly silence. “How do you know this?” Itilya asked.

  “It is the way he can best legitimize himself. The citizens of Kylma Above may be grumbling, but they’re not in open revolt yet. People will adjust to him better if he marries into the family.”

  “And the trial marriage?” Annika said.

  “We all know the girl can’t be grand consort.” Eirhan didn’t even say Inkar’s name, and I flashed hot with anger.

  “We can pick a different brideshow delegate. There are many other young ladies to choose from if Her Grace is not partial to anyone else,” Rafyet suggested.

  “Why not make Sigis consort instead?” Bailli said. “Remove him from the trials, place Ekata in the lead, retain the line. When her family is revived, we don’t have to bother with the question of succession. She can go to Drysiak; things resume as normal.”

  I opened my mouth to tell him he could marry Sigis and move to Drysiak if he loved the idea so much. But my ministers, only newly reminded of my existence, had no trouble talking over me.

  “Impossible,” Itilya said. Her clear blue eyes and raised chin didn’t look to me as if she’d be caught sniveling under Sigis in the library.

  Yannush’s eyes darted around the table, like an eel sizing up the smallest, weakest fish. “Not to mention, what happens if her family is not revived?”

  Reko nodded and crossed his arms. “I agree. That plan could backfire and leave Sigis in charge of the duchy. Though, of course, if Ekata were removed immediately—”

  “And allow Sigis to win the coronation trials by forfeiture?” Eirhan said.

  Reko’s smile was sharklike. “Parliament.”

  Annika tugged at the collar of their coat, eyeing me from beneath their lashes. “A parliament would keep things stable.”

  “It would allow for an equal discussion,” Yannush said.

  “It would put less pressure on Your Grace,” Urso said to me.

  “It’s not up for debate.” My voice echoed loud and harsh in the room. “You’re my advisory council. You advise me. You don’t decide whether we get a parliament or whom I marry.”

  Reko looked as though he very much wanted to disagree. But Eirhan shuffled his papers, and we moved on to the Avythera problem. Avythera had put us under embargo, which was starting to affect our charcoal and firewood stores. The kingdom of Rabar had provided us with some aid, but unless we found another source of trade—or cracked their negotiations—we’d be up against a wall.

  Arguments flurried around me like snow, and names I couldn’t keep track of flew back and forth across the table. Reko sneered, while Annika seemed to lose their train of thought whenever they caught me watching them. Yannush swung his head back and forth until he made me dizzy. They could all be betraying me in a thousand different ways. I tried to ground myself in logic. What did they want? What could be their motives? But the reality was, I knew my ministers as well as I knew the guests in my palace: not at all.

  The conversation changed faster than I could open my mouth. Ministers weaved old debates into new ones, referencing problems and people they’d been discussing long before I became grand duke.

  I focused on my coffee, on the table—oak, sturdy, used in shipbuilding and storage and to make half-timber walls for some of the houses in the city. From there I went to the tapestries. Bears, wolves, marmots, snow hares, pastoral scenes from the mountains surrounding the duchy Above. The corners were embroidered with plants that thrived in the cold and had various medicinal properties. Before I knew it, Eirhan was calling the meeting to a close, and I’d missed more than half. If I’d hoped to win anyone to my side during the cabinet meeting, I was a di
smal failure.

  I left the room first so that Eirhan couldn’t block my exit and make me feel useless, or come up with more ways for me to flirt with Sigis. I was tempted to give Reko the parliament he wanted so I’d never have to sit through a meeting like that again.

  As I entered the royal wing, Viljo trotted up. “Your Grace, I have been given the preliminary results of the audit. Everything seems to be in order. Bailli is… scrupulous with his funds and how he tracks them.”

  I bit my lip instead of letting Viljo bear the brunt of my frustration. I didn’t have time to chase after the wrong culprits. “Maybe he has a second set of books.”

  “It’s possible, Your Grace.” Viljo sounded as though he believed the exact opposite.

  “Do you have a list of transactions involving magic?” I asked.

  “Yes. The last person to requisition magic from the treasury was Minister Farhod, four weeks ago, and that was an order of raw magic.”

  Out of the question. It wasn’t Farhod. “Who else?”

  “Your Grace, may I say something?” Viljo asked.

  You just did. “Go ahead.”

  “Minister Olloi reported broken locks on the gate to Below. Two, maybe three, weeks back. He said nothing had been vandalized or stolen, but…”

  But no one would break into the entrance to Below for reasons of theft. They’d break the gate to go… Below. “I presume the guard told someone.”

  “An official report was made, which went to the captain, Your Grace. He would have told Prime Minister Eirhan if he felt the crime constituted a threat.”

  So. Not only did I need to ask Below for help breaking the curse, but I needed to accuse them of hosting visitors behind my back. Wonderful.

  Aino waited in my rooms, fixing one of my shoes so that the iron spike on the side was firmly attached again. “Farhod came by,” she said.

  “What did he say?”

  “He didn’t look happy. Said something about a fluid increase in the lungs. Certainly nothing about your family getting better.”