“I’ve spent my whole life preparing to be king, but I stand before you now, humbly, to ask for your support. I will not bully my way onto the throne. I will not take this power without your consent.” I cleared my throat. “So, with all that in mind, I ask for a vote. All those in favor of my ascension, please mark your agreement with a ‘yea’ vote now.”
The room was silent for a moment, but for the fire crackling in the hearth. Dame Turshaw sniffed and shot Patrise an evil look. Rylain’s jaw was clenched tight enough to crack her teeth.
To my great surprise, it was Zurienne who broke the silence.
“Yea.”
Patrise and Lisette quickly followed suit. Dame Turshaw gave her curt “yea” a moment later. I looked at Olivar, a distant cousin I barely knew. He was in his forties, with the dark hair, olive skin and piercing eyes that marked the members of the Trousillion line. I met his gaze, forcing down the anxiety and fear that ate at me. I focused on the weight of the crown, my crown, on my brow. On the promises I’d made to Runa and Vi and Swinton. I’d be sure to keep those promises. Even if Olivar said no, I would find another way to help my people. I wouldn’t let Rylain stay on the throne, but I wouldn’t take it for myself, either.
The hairs on my arm stood in the electrified silence as we all waited for his answer. Finally, with a great, heaving sigh, Olivar dropped his eyes to the table and said, “Yea.”
“The yeas have it. Ambrose Oswin Trousillion Gyllen will take the throne. I move that the coronation take place immediately, to discourage further questions,” Patrise said, suddenly paying all serious attention to the rules of decorum. “May I have a second?”
“I second the motion,” Lisette called.
“A third,” Zurienne finished. “The motion carries.”
Rylain threw her hands in the air and popped to her feet. “Nay. I vote nay. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
“I’m afraid not, dearie,” Dame Turshaw said. “You’re not actually on the council anymore. Do try to remember that you gave up your seat. You may go now. Thank you for your service as regent.”
Patrise went to the door and opened it with a flourish.
“Guards, would you please take Rylain to her rooms and stand guard?” he called. “I believe there may be some charges brought against her in the near future.”
The guards outside the room looked at each other, befuddled, but before they could move, the members of the Vigilant I’d brought with me stepped forward and took Rylain gently by her arms, escorting her out of the room.
“This will not stand,” she cried. “You’ll be punished for your insolence.”
Before Patrise could close the doors behind her, Swinton stepped forward, his face clouded with worry.
“Bo,” he said in a low tone, “there are hundreds, if not a thousand or more people, gathering in the square outside the castle. They’re calling for you. Vi is with them.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “She’s safe?”
“From what we’ve heard, she’s battered, but safe. They’ve rallied around her, around you. They’re calling you the Twin King.”
I grinned. “I’ll go out to them as soon as our business concludes in here. Thank you, love.” I squeezed his hand and kissed him on the cheek, but he still wore a troubled expression.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” I asked.
“We’ve also just gotten word that a Denorian ship has entered the harbor. It’s flying royal colors and the flag of the queen.”
I blinked at him, stunned. “What does that mean?”
“Noriava’s here. She’s come to collect on your debt. Your engagement.”
All of the blood drained from my face. My mind went spinning off in a thousand directions at once.
“I’ll have to tell the council. Will you wait here? Please?”
Swinton nodded and, in a sudden burst, wrapped me in a fierce embrace. “I’m that proud of you. You’ll be a king to mark the ages.”
I pulled him closer and buried my face in his neck. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
My arms still tight around his warm, muscular body, I raised my head and kissed him full on the mouth. The guards, the High Council watching through the door, even the whistling members of the Vigilant, could drag themselves to deepest hell for all I cared. Swinton was hesitant for a moment, his whole body tensed, but then he relaxed. Everything fell away except the two of us, and there was nothing in the world except my arms around him and our lips pressed together.
I drank in that kiss like the first taste of cool, clear water after an endless race through the desert. I let everything go except his lips against mine, his hand on my neck and mine on the tight ropes of muscle running up his back. It felt like it’d been lifetimes since we shared a kiss like this, a kiss that consumed and burned and quenched something inside me I didn’t know had been parched. When we finally broke apart, I pressed my forehead to his and looked deep into his eyes.
“I missed you, my love.”
“And I you, bully.”
* * *
I went back into the council chamber, blushing at Patrise’s leering grin and slow clap. Lisette’s small, vicious smile was nothing compared to the eyes of the rest of the council boring into my skull as I crossed the room and resumed my seat at the head of the table.
“Not, of course, to be indelicate, but this—” Olivar cleared his throat “—revelation does raise some questions as to the line of succession.”
I forced back a smile and raised one eyebrow, thrilled that for once I’d found my way to a solution before the question had even been asked. The joy I felt was something more than that, though. It was a pure, humming rush of victorious glee coming from something outside of my control, outside of me. And with a pang, I realized that what I felt was Vi’s exhilaration as the crowd gathered in the square, calling for me. Calling for me to take the throne. But before I could go out there, before I could reassure them, I had to deal with the problems in this room.
“I have a plan for the succession,” I said. “One that’s been taking shape for a long time. And while I may very well have children of my own—frankly, it isn’t something Swinton and I have yet discussed—I believe there is a better way for Alskad to choose its next ruler. Runa was deliberate in her choice of an heir, and I would like to honor that legacy, but take it a step further. I’ve talked it through with Gerlene, and there’s nothing in the laws that would stop a change like the one I propose.”
“And,” Lisette purred, “what is it that you propose, exactly?”
“I firmly believe that the qualities of a ruler are learned, not inherited,” I said. “So from this point forward, the crown will no longer remain solely in the hands of the Trousillion line. I propose that once every ten years, each Alskad principality be asked to send three young people between the ages of ten and twenty to Penby for an education. This education will be a privilege earned based on public service, school performance and the inclinations of the children themselves as determined by an interview with the entirety of the High Council. It is from this pool that the next generation of leaders—and the next ruler—will be chosen.”
“And just like that, you’ll throw away tradition that’s been handed down since the cataclysm?” Dame Turshaw sputtered. “What of the faith? What of the temple? Have you no fear of angering the gods and goddesses? It’s their law that dictates the singleborn must be the ones to lead the people.”
“Has it ever occurred to you that it might just be a fluke?” I asked. “What if there’s simply something in our family that doesn’t always allow us to produce twins? What if the singleborn aren’t so special after all?”
Jaws dropped all around the council table, and even Patrise and Lisette looked stunned.
“Honestly, though, the question of the succession can be debated endlessly for the foreseeable future. We hav
e another problem that needs to be addressed right now.”
“And what, exactly, could possibly be more pressing than establishing a clear line of succession, so that what’s happened here these last few months never happens again?” Zurienne asked, her expression sour.
“Two problems, actually, at that,” I said, my brain scrambling to corral all of the moving parts. “First, I’ve just learned that a ship bearing the royal flag of Denor and the colors of Queen Noriava has arrived in our harbor. I suspect that the queen herself will be making her way to the palace at any minute.”
Patrise’s eyebrows sailed up his forehead. “And why, exactly, do you hold that suspicion?”
I grimaced. “I may or may not have promised to marry her and then ran away with half of her army.”
Lisette clapped her hands giddily, and the rest of the members of the council turned their glares away from me and onto her.
“What?” she asked. “It’s just too delicious for words.”
“Do you intend to honor your agreement?” Dame Turshaw asked. “Or will you start your reign with broken promises and shattered alliances?”
I swallowed the sour fury that coated my tongue and took a deep, calming breath. “As Queen Noriava forced me into the engagement using blackmail and a number of other nefarious tactics almost too unbelievable to mention, I don’t feel that my honor particularly compels me to stand by the agreement I made. Technically, I was a prisoner at the time. That said, I do think the alliance with Denor is of exceeding importance, especially given the scientific advances I saw during my time there and the rational way their society is structured. We need, more than anything, more rationality in every aspect of the way this country is run.”
“What, then, do you propose?” Patrise asked, then smiled. “No pun intended, of course.”
Every member of the council simultaneously gave him a withering look.
“Funny you should ask.” I beamed. “I was thinking you ought to marry her.”
Patrise’s smile vanished. “Me? Marry her? Why, in Teuber’s name, would your squirrelly little brain go there?”
I rolled my eyes. “Patrise, perhaps refrain from using the term ‘squirrelly’ to describe your king?”
“Apologies,” he croaked. “But the question remains. Why me?”
Zurienne, calculatingly, answered for me. “You’re of age, you’re single and it’s well-known that you and Noriava have behaved indiscreetly when in one another’s company for years at this point. The only reason Runa never forced the match is because she didn’t want the two of you conniving behind her back.” She glanced pointedly at me. “Which, if I may say so, Your Majesty, is a fairly good reason to oppose the pairing.”
“True enough,” Dame Turshaw said. “But Runa simply wanted to avoid any confusion with the line of succession. With King Ambrose’s new succession plan in place, that really ought not be an issue.”
It took every ounce of will in my body to keep my jaw from dropping straight to the ground. Never, not once, had I expected Dame Turshaw to agree with me. About anything.
“Do you love the woman, Patrise?” Olivar asked.
Patrise looked to Lisette, who had her chin cupped in her hands, elbows on the table, grinning like a house cat who’d finally caught her mouse.
“That’s a fair question,” I said. “If you’re truly opposed to the idea of becoming the king of Denor, Patrise, please just say the word, and we’ll find another way. But if you can find it in your heart to do this service to your country, I would be eternally grateful. We will, of course, have to negotiate a mutually beneficial trade agreement and exchange of technologies, but I think that if I can give Noriava a singleborn Alskader, and one she likes as much as she likes you, we’ll be well on our way to a resolution.”
Just then, there was a knock on the chamber door. I nodded to Zurienne, who crossed the room and opened the door to reveal the chamberlain.
“Yes?” I asked.
“Apologies, Your Majesty, but there’s a woman here who claims she’s the queen of Denor. Would you like me to send her away?”
I looked at Patrise. Everyone in the room turned their focus to his face as he considered. Finally, he pushed his chair back from the table and stood.
“Bring her in,” he said, all the humor and calculation swept from his voice, and in its place a firm sense of determination.
I stood as well, and a moment later, Noriava swept into the room, looking every bit as radiant as ever.
“Before you say anything, Bo, darling,” Noriava began, her voice smooth as Samirian silk. “I know that my methods leading up to our engagement were a bit, shall we say, underhanded. However, I never in my life thought that my very own fiancé would rather jump off a cliff than marry me.” She pouted. “You can’t imagine the stories flying around Salemouth. A thing like that—well, it’s rather a blow to a woman’s confidence.”
Olivar’s mustache twitched, and he settled back in his chair, eyes flicking from Noriava to me and back again. Lisette did nothing to hide her delighted grin. I met Dame Turshaw’s disapproving glare with as much calm as I could muster, and Zurienne chose a new chair next to me at the head of the table, where she had the best view of the rest of the room. Through the thick lead glass windows, I saw snow drift from the sky like powdered sugar dusting a cake. This late in the spring, it was likely to be the last snowfall of the season. The first of my reign as king. We all waited, listening to the fire crackling in the hearth, our eyes on Patrise.
“Well?” Noriava exclaimed. “Haven’t you anything to say, Ambrose?”
Patrise went to her and took her hands in his. “Nori, my dear.” Noriava looked surprised, though not displeased, at his touch. “I wondered...if you might consider taking me. Instead of Bo.”
A mask came down over Noriava’s face, and she narrowed her eyes at me. “Don’t think you’re going to get out of our arrangement so easily, Ambrose Gyllen. You agreed to a marriage, to an alliance, and to the fact that our progeny would sit on the thrones of both Alskad and Denor.”
“I did think of that,” I said. “If you agree to regular inspections of your labs to assure me that you’ve ceased trying to replicate the temple’s poison, and you agree to sell whatever medicines and cures your scientists are able to produce to the people of Alskad, I will allow any children that come from a union between you and Patrise to be considered for the school from which the next ruler of Alskad will be chosen. That is, of course, if they meet the minimum requirements.” I met her gaze squarely. “It’s the best I can offer. A hat in the ring, and a marriage that’s based not on lies, but on a real connection. Is there really a choice?”
“We could declare war,” Noriava spit.
“Do you really want to come into my council chamber and make those kinds of threats?” I asked her. “Just because you didn’t win? Aren’t you the person who told me I should put the good of my people and their needs before everything else?”
Patrise put a hand on Noriava’s arm, and there was a light in his eyes I’d not seen there before. “It’s the right choice, Nori. Please say yes.”
Noriava looked around the room, her green eyes not settling on any one person for more than a moment. Finally, after a long while, she nodded.
“Fine. But we will need to settle the question of your impertinent theft of my army.”
I grinned. “Fair enough. You can have them all back—all the ones who’ll go back to you willingly, anyway—just as soon as we take care of the one last thing standing between me and a peaceful empire.”
“And what is that?” she asked.
“The temple.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Vi
Though a light snow had begun falling in slow drifts, the crowd surged and pulled around me. Their energy buzzed like a hive of bees, but stronger than that, stronger than anything, was Bo, t
hrumming in the back of my mind. I knew without hearing for myself that he’d done it. Somehow, he’d managed to get Rylain off the throne and the temple’s flunkies out of the council chamber, and the confident force of his focus poured through our bond. It was the strongest I’d ever felt his emotions, and his feelings threatened to overwhelm the tingle of wary fear that curdled through my veins as I watched more and more people pour into the square.
I needed that fear. I needed it to keep me safe, to keep me watchful, because right at that moment, I was trapped.
Quill stood beside me in the wagon bed, and I leaned into him, just a bit. Whatever had broken between us now felt healed, and his sturdy presence bolstered me, the warmth of his body keeping the chill of the snow at bay. There’d been warm, fur-lined jackets and boots waiting in the wagon for Curlin and me, but the cold ate into my bones nevertheless. Quill kept one hand settled gently on my waist, its weight a subtle reassurance.
Curlin perched on the wagon seat in front of us, every muscle in her body tensed. Despite her injuries, or perhaps because of them, she was ready for a fight. She’d even bullied one of the former Shriven who’d positioned themselves around our wagon to give her their staff. She held the weapon—as thick as my wrist, metal-tipped on both ends, and as long as I was tall—across her lap as she scanned the crowd. Beside her, General Okara leaned back against the wagon’s armrest, appearing more relaxed than a soldier staring down at a square packed with people on the verge of a riot had any right to be.
Clearly, the plan had worked, and word had spread throughout the city. Everyone in the square was calling for Bo.
Quill pointed to the palace. There, in the center of the second floor, members of our guard—Denorians, Ilorians and the former Shriven—took up positions on a wide balcony. It was just high enough for whoever stood there to be visible to the entire square, but not so high that a crowd might feel as though their ruler were looking down on them. I craned my neck for a closer look, but the balcony was too deep for me to see who stood in the open doorway.
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