Dardan lifted his head off the table when he heard noise outside. He’d fallen asleep in the kitchen, waiting for Amira to come home. It had gotten late. Well, not that late; late if you counted by the number of drinks he’d had at the malthouse. Leary’s, the place was called. Somehow he’d gotten home, gotten through the front door. He could see the door of the cottage from here, or something blurry that looked like a door.
Footsteps shuffled in the dirt outside. A laugh. The door creaked open and Amira came half inside, then stopped to look back and say something to someone—to Garen, obviously. Who else would it be?
Dardan wished she was speaking to him instead. Her smile brightened every room and warmed Dardan’s heart. Usually. Right now he did not feel warmed.
When she closed the door and turned around, she jerked to a halt and gasped, because Dardan stood right there. He blinked and started back a little. When had he gotten up? Well, he was here now. “W’that Garen?” he slurred.
Of course it was. “Of course it was,” she said, her facing closing up a little. Her nose wrinkled. Did he smell? His breath probably did. “We were practicing out in the field. We discovered something interesting about our power. The—”
“I wouldn’ understan’,” he said. “Might s’well be talkin’ about smithin’, for all I can…” He trailed off as he listed against the doorframe. Why was he so drunk? He’d been drunk before, plenty of times. It was always easier. Liam. That’s why. He’d always had Liam to look after him. Now he had no one. Just himself.
“You should lie down,” Amira said. “You need rest.”
“I don’t wan’ rest!” he shouted. “I been restin’ for weeks. I wan’ somethin’ t’do. Got nothin’ t’do in this—hic—speck ’f a town.” It felt good to let his anger free. He could do his duty, if he had any. He couldn’t do that, but he could do this. Wasn’t it his right?
Amira’s warming smile had vanished. “You’re drunk. Come, lie down.” She took his hand but he yanked it away. She wasn’t going to control him, not again. She always had a plan, didn’t she?
“Y’didn’ keep yer promise,” he said, jabbing a finger at her. At one of her. Why were there two? Wasn’t one of her hard enough to deal with?
“The townsfolk have all been good to us,” she said. “You know that.”
“To th’ black spirits w’them. None o’ them can stop the prince… the Edon… king. King Edon. Not even him, th’ boy.” He glared at the door.
“Dardan, dear, please, come to bed,” Amira said, reaching for his hand again.
Dardan shouted “No!” and shoved her away. She stumbled back, fetching up against the settee, and a look of horror and revulsion came across her face. But she said nothing. Dardan turned away, went back to the kitchen, and put his head down again. He was vaguely aware of footsteps, something moving, something nearby, then far. A door closing. And then blackness.
———
At some point he must have gotten up and stumbled to the bedroom, because he awoke there, half-dressed. Amira still slept, pointedly not cuddled up against his side.
Sometimes, when he got very drunk, he forgot some of what he’d done the night before. But not last night. Every moment of it came drifting back, along with a pounding headache, and he learned that grief and hangovers complemented one another in a fitting duet. He slipped quietly out of bed and went to get water, which helped a little. Now what?
He knew what. When Amira rose, Dardan had already packed a small leather case with some travelling essentials and stood by the front door. She stared at him from across the sitting room. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to Seawatch. You clearly don’t need me here. Perhaps House Eltasi will help us where House Arkhail could not. I will return with an answer.” He opened the door and walked outside.
He expected Amira to say something, some parting shot. “Be careful” was all he heard, and when he looked back, the door of the cottage had closed.
———
Dardan stopped a few times to let his horse rest, and once for luncheon at a roadside inn on his way to the city. He was having doubts about this; what kind of trouble would Amira get up to while he was gone? But he wasn’t about to go rushing back to her. He had to do this. It wasn’t as if his presence had ever instilled caution in her before. She could hardly be worse while he was gone. Dardan only realized how angry he was when his horse tried to buck him off after he’d thwacked the beast’s hide with the reins one too many times.
The sun was about to set when he reached the gates of Seawatch; he was one of the last travellers through before the gates were closed for the night. The city sat on a bluff high above a rocky beach. Its wall ran from cliff to cliff, with one gate planted right in the middle. The cliffs to either side were too sheer and too high to be assaulted. Huge wooden cranes stood at the edges of the bluff, used for raising and lowering cargo to the seaside docks below. Narrow wooden staircases cleaved to the bluffs, allowing men to climb up from the docks, but the stairs could be easily destroyed from above to prevent raiders or soldiers from accessing the city that way.
The city had inns aplenty, and after a few inquiries Dardan settled on the Vigilant Mariner, which was not fancy, but neither was it a back-alley fleatrap: small and cheap and tidy, and right on the main road.
Dardan was exhausted from the ride, and even though there was a malthouse literally a stone’s throw away, he immediately put it out of his mind. You’ve had enough of that. He planned to call on the duke in the morning, at his castle on the tip of the bluff; the last thing he needed was to show up nursing a hangover.
But getting in to see the duke proved enough of a headache on its own, and in the end he did not quite manage it. He came to the gate, wearing innocuous garb that might befit a merchant’s clerk, prepared with the same ruse he’d used at Thorncross—claiming to be a messenger from Duke Surroi, in the south, with a private message for Duke Eltasi. But this time he was not greeted by the duke himself, or even his seneschal; instead, he was taken to a small chamber just inside the castle’s gate, where he was told to wait. After near an hour he began to wonder if he’d been forgotten, but then the door opened and a man came in whom he recognized at once.
“Dardan Tarian?” the man said, jerking to a halt. Lord Gennevan Helgar was Duke Eltasi’s grandson, the son of his eldest daughter. She’d married one of the younger brothers of the previous Count Helgar of Elsingham, the very county that Stony Vale was in. This made Gennevan a lord in title only, with nothing to rule over, though a barony might awarded at some point, if the stars aligned just so. All this Dardan knew offhand, for Gennevan had once stayed at Tinehall on his way to Callaston. They’d met a few other times as well, at this dinner or that masque. There had also been one particular incident in the capital, a year or more ago… Dardan wouldn’t call the man a close friend, but they’d gotten on reasonably well the few times they’d met. Gennevan had the squat broadness common to Eltasi men, a pug nose, and wide blue eyes. Some said that House Eltasi had ruled Seawatch so long because they had sea eyes.
Dardan stood up and shook Gennevan’s hand. “I wasn’t expecting to see you. Actually, I’m here to see your grandfather. Or try to.”
“No doubt, but the duke’s always very busy. And he’s old enough now that he’s decided he can be picky about how he spends his time. I get the honor of dealing with unexpected visitors.” His valo had come in behind him and stood by the wall, watching the nobles with bored indifference.
Dardan knew it would be impolite to ask, but he needed this to stay private. “I hate to ask this, Gennevan, but the matter I have to discuss is quite delicate. Could you…?”
Gennevan blinked and glanced back at his valo. “What could possibly be so—” Gennevan huffed, then paused. “I see your valo isn’t here either. Very well. Davis, wait outside.” The valo bowed and withdrew. Gennevan sighed and sat down opposite Dardan. “Your presence here is already quite odd. We’ve heard that there was some trouble with the king, but reli
able reports have been hard to come by.” He shook his head. “Your father… I’m terribly sorry, Dardan. He was a good man.”
Dardan froze. He’d heard rumors on the road. Had he known it in his heart, and denied it? But this was no time for weeping. He nodded slowly. It would not do to let Gennevan know that this information had been a surprise. “Yes. Thank you.”
“I’m curious to learn what happened there, if you would,” Gennevan said.
“I can provide quite a reliable report of what went on, which is in fact why I’m here.” Dardan took a breath and glanced away for a moment. He then gave a quick outline of Edon’s kidnapping the day after the summer ball, the retreat to Hedenham, the attack at Foxhill Keep, and his and Amira’s travels since. He did not mention Stony Vale in particular, saying only that Amira was waiting somewhere outside the city. He also omitted Amira’s power; that was a card he would need to play at the right time. “So you can see why we seek the duke’s assistance.”
“I don’t know what he could reasonably do for you,” Gennevan said. He’d interrupted Dardan’s story to have his valo send a footman for some refreshment, which now arrived: hot tea, and wine, and lemon cakes. The nobles remained silent until the footman and valo were both gone. “Raising arms against the king, or anything of that sort, is of course out of the question.”
Dardan waited, but Gennevan said no more. “What? Just like that, we’re finished? Surely House Eltasi is willing to make more of a stand than that. I know you and Relindos have rarely been on the same side of anything. How many times since the war has Eltasi asked for more funds for ships to protect against pirates, and been rebuffed?”
Gennevan snorted. “That’s all part of the game, Dardan. We ask for too much so that we might be granted what we actually need.”
“Then consider that you might get nothing at all, if Edon has his way. He’s obsessed with Vasland, and wants to invade it wholesale. And not by sea, mind you. Do you think Eltasi or Seawatch would benefit much from that?”
The other lord hesitated. “We might benefit from more men for the Crags,” Gennevan said, tapping his fingers on his winecup. But then he rapped it down onto the table. “But that’s all concerns for my grandfather. I still don’t see why we ought to take sides against the king in whatever this little tempest of yours is about.”
“At least you could get me in to speak with the duke. You owe me that much.”
“Owe you?” Now Gennevan looked irritated. Did he even remember? Dardan’s stomach had knotted up; he hadn’t even wanted to bring up the… particular incident. It seemed crude. But it was also the only leverage he had at the moment.
“Yes, owe me. I think you’ll recall a year or so past when you and I happened to be in the capital at the same time. Countess Rambul had thrown a masque, do you remember? And you requested my assistance in… cornering a particular young woman out in the gardens. Lady Sira Rambul, the count’s daughter?”
Gennevan had looked perplexed at first, then suddenly went white. “What… That was just a bit of fun.”
“Yes, I’m sure she thought so as well, until she turned up pregnant a few months later. You weren’t in the city then, but I was. She called at our manse and spoke with me, saying her mother had found out and was demanding to know who the father was. She didn’t know what to do. It would have been the right thing to convince her to name you, but I took pity on you, fool that you were, and said she should stay silent. Better to ruin one reputation than two, yes? Her mother took her to the countryside to sequester her until the baby came, which would have happened by midsummer, though I haven’t heard any news of it yet.”
Gennevan was staring down at his hands. Dardan looked there and saw matching marriage rings, diamonds on gold. “You wouldn’t…”
“By the Caretaker, what do you take me for?” Dardan said. “I’m no blackmailer. I tell you this because I did you a favor—two favors, really. I prevail upon your good nature to return me a favor in kind.” Dardan trod on thin ice here and knew it; it would profit him nothing to reveal Gennevan’s misdeeds, and men had been known to kill to protect lesser secrets than this.
After a long minute, the other lord raised his eyes and nodded. “You are right, of course. I will speak with my mother and see what I can do.”
“I’m sure your mother is a remarkable woman, but it is the duke to whom I need to speak.”
Gennevan shook his head. “My mother controls much of the duke’s calendar. If you would speak to him, you must convince her. I will go to her today—at once—and convince her of your import.” Dardan stood when Gennevan did. The other man did not offer his hand this time, and instead bowed slightly. “Let my man know where you are staying and I will bring you news when I have it.”
———
It was only a first step, Dardan knew, but he had weathered it. He returned to the Vigilant Mariner, ate luncheon in the common room, and then waited, watching craftsmen and milkmaids and sailors and constables flowing up and down the street. It was not until the sun had just slipped below the tops of the buildings across the way that he spied something of a procession coming down the road toward him, parting the crowd as they went. He recognized Gennevan Helgar in the lead, mounted on a white steed and accompanied by several other men who all looked to be either nobles or valai. A few Eltasi house guards trailed discreetly along behind the group.
Dardan had been sitting on a weathered wooden chair on the inn’s tiny porch. He stood now and leaned on the porch rail as Gennevan and the others pulled up before the inn. “Count Tarian,” he said, with a grin on his face. “Allow me to introduce you to my brother, Jeovan.” He indicated the man beside him, a younger, slightly slimmer version of himself, who had the same lopsided grin. Jeovan gave a slight bow. “And this is Lord Mikan Mihel, son of Count Mihel of Vannar.” The other man was older, probably thirty, and had a look like he was sucking on a bitter lemon. He bowed as well, but seemed to be more interested in looking around at the street traffic. Particularly women, Dardan noted. Gennevan did not introduce their valai. “We’re off to the malthouse, if you’d join us.”
Dardan had no particular desire to while away an evening with Gennevan, but to turn down the offer might hurt his chances of seeing the duke. And unless Gennevan or his companions proved to be utterly intolerable company, it would beat spending the evening alone in the inn. “I’d be delighted,” he said. He had no fancier clothes with him than what he wore, so he fetched his horse from the inn’s stable and they set off.
The malthouse was named Rapheson’s, and like most, it allowed men only. Gennevan said almost as soon as they were seated that they’d be seeking feminine diversions later in the evening. Dardan smiled tightly at this, and said nothing about it. For a while the four lords and three valai chatted about nothing in particular. Gennevan must have instructed his brother and Lord Mikan not to bother Dardan about his doings; instead they mostly spoke about other lords and barons who resided in or near the city. Dardan, not being particularly familiar with any of them, mostly listened, but Gennevan made an effort to include him in the conversation.
After a few cups of ale, Gennevan cleared his throat and nudged Dardan, then led him away from their own table over to an empty one by the window. “Mother has agreed to see you,” he said. “Tomorrow, join us for luncheon at our house here in the city.”
“Not at the castle?”
“Patience, Dardan. It took a great deal of convincing on my part to pull this off. Bide your time.” He threw back the rest of his ale. “And as for me, I intend to bide my time in the company of women as beautiful as the city has to offer.” He stood and waved over at his brother, who saw the signal and collected the other men. “You’ll join us, of course?”
“To go to a brothel?” Dardan said. He held up his marriage rings. “Gennevan, I’m married now.”
“Look at that dull thing,” Gennevan said, grabbing Dardan’s right hand and inspecting the plain gold band. “I’m married too, you dolt. These aren�
��t noble daughters.”
Dardan let himself be dragged along. He could not just abandon the party; it might sour Gennevan against him. Stewing silently, he followed along as they went a few streets over, and left their horses in the stable of Madam Pearl’s. The foyer smelled of cloying perfume. Dardan immediately recalled the time when Liam had brought him into a similar place in Hedenham, and the memory did not particularly please him. But there was more at stake here than his own valo’s amusement.
The brothel seemed to have two salons, one for nobles and one for commoners. After some confusion regarding Dardan’s common clothes and lack of a valo, he was allowed to join Gennevan and the others, while the three valai were shuffled off by a dowdy matron. In mere moments, Dardan, Mikan Mihel, and the Helgars were surrounded by a number of girls already in various states of undress. Gennevan and Jeovan swung their matching leers every which way, while Mikan seemed to cast a thorough, appraising eye over each girl before passing on to the next one.
Dardan had been sweating even out in the cold at the prospect of coming in here, and his mood did not improve now that he was in the thick of it. Gennevan nudged him. “Take advantage of my hospitality, lad,” he said. “Tonight’s on me.”
Dardan gave as wicked a grin as he was able, which was not much. He pretended to assess the various girls, and then picked a short, olive-skinned brunette who looked absolutely nothing like Amira. His wife would probably faint dead in shock if he knew he’d been in here; as headstrong and impulsive as she was, he couldn’t even conceive that she’d ever approve of such a thing.
The brunette led him down a corridor with walls padded in velvet and lurid red lanterns hung from the ceiling, to a bedchamber more gaudily appointed than any he’d ever seen. “Would m’lord care for some wine?” she purred.
Dardan was distinctly aware of the dichotomy between what his upper and lower halves wanted to do. After a short struggle, his mind won out and he pushed her away gently. “I’m only here to please my friend,” he said. “It would probably be best if we simply waited it out.” He went over to a plush chair and sank into it, crossing his legs and looking out the window.
The girl frowned at him oddly, then excused herself. Dardan thought he was out of the woods, but in a moment she returned with another girl in tow. This one looked too much like Amira, being lighter of skin and hair. They both came over to Dardan and tried to drape themselves over him, purring sweet nothings in his ears.
Alarmed, Dardan leapt out of the chair and backed away from the girls. “Really, please, I must insist, I am fine!” They seemed to think he was merely playing a game, however, and ended up chasing him around the room for several moments before he finally darted through a narrow door and locked himself in the privy.
They seemed to take the hint at this—he wondered if they thought he was a boy-lover—and left him alone. After what must have been the better part of an hour, he unlatched the door and peeked outside. The dark-skinned girl lay on the bed, looking bored and doing something with her toenails.
Dardan cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he stuttered, left a few pieces of silver on the table, and bolted for the hallway.
He waited out in the lobby for only a few minutes before Jeovan Helgar emerged, followed shortly by his brother and then Lord Mikan. Dardan did his best to look relaxed, but he was as tense as he’d ever been. Gennevan either didn’t notice or didn’t care; he clapped Dardan on the shoulder and made lewd comments about the various women they’d just engaged. Dardan worked very hard to hide his revulsion for the man as they stepped out into the chill night air.
———
He had just enough time in the morning to find a tailor who could provide him with clothes more suited to calling on a duke’s daughter. There was no time for alterations, but the tailor was able to rent him a vest and jacket and trousers in matching greens that fit well enough. Dardan arrived at the Helgar manse at the stroke of noon and was conducted at once to the sitting room to meet Lady Nyera Helgar, Gennevan’s mother.
To Dardan, she seemed a cruel parody of his own mother: fat instead of plump, eyes beady instead of wide, in the sea blue of Eltasi blood. And where Besiana was playful, Nyera seemed dour and grumpy. Dardan bowed deeply and waited until she asked him to sit. The calculus of who deserved more respect was not obvious by any means. Dardan was, by rights, a count in full; Nyera was merely a lady, but the daughter of a duke, and much older.
“My son informed me of your… request,” she said, pausing for what Dardan assumed was deliberate effect, since she narrowed her eyes upon that last word. “I cannot fathom how in the world you ever thought we might be amenable to such nonsense.”
Dardan made to speak, then stopped himself. There is no one to rescue me. He remembered a time when he would have thought Lady Nyera’s words to be an outright rejection. Asmus had taught him that even the fiercest refusal could mask a willingness to negotiate. She hasn’t thrown you out, son. And look how she waits expectantly for your reaction. He cleared his throat. “Excuse me. I was informed that you would at least hear me out.” He turned his gaze upon Gennevan, who shrugged a little and looked to his mother. “Otherwise it would seem I came all this way for naught but what I’m sure will be an excellent luncheon.” He made no move to rise.
Lady Nyera sighed. “I suppose it would be rude to turn you out so soon. Please, do try to convince me.” Her tone betrayed just how unlikely she thought he was to succeed.
“In the first, my lady, I would simply appeal to your compassion. Leaving aside whether King Edon had any lawful right to do what he did, he certainly lacked moral standing. I would not like to think that such a distinguished lady as yourself would approve of his majesty’s behavior.”
“I do not think his majesty, or anyone in a position to influence his majesty, cares whether I approve.”
“I would be hard-pressed to disagree. Yet what we feel in our hearts does not yield to practicality. I would not dream of trying to tell you what you should feel, but I would be astonished to find any sort of love in your heart for Edon or his recent actions.”
Nyera pursed her lips and glanced at Gennevan in a way that made her son throw his hands up as if to deflect something. “Is that the sum total of your argument, Lord Tarian?”
“Not the least part, my lady. In the second I would simply call upon your obligation to help your lessers. Of course Duke Eltasi is not my liege lord, but just as the Caretaker does not so finely discriminate among those of his flock, so neither should we. My father has always—had always been willing to assist those who came seeking his aid, no matter their station, or which dukedom or county they came from.”
“So you do consider yourself our lesser,” Nyera said, with the first smile Dardan had seen from her. “With all your claims, I thought you might consider yourself equal to the king.”
“I consider myself his superior in moral matters, I am proud to say. Shall I go on?”
“I do not think I could stop you.”
Dardan cleared his throat and took a sip of water. There was wine as well, but he was not about to begin dulling his wits, not yet. “In the third—” And here, Dardan knew he was making a gamble. He had not really discussed this topic with Amira, though he’d overheard many of her conversations with Garen. “How many Eltasi are there around the age of eighteen?”
Nyera drew back, as if startled. “What an odd question.”
“Indeed, I did not think I would witness such precise interrogations,” Gennevan said in a warning tone.
“It’s not as if such things are secret,” Nyera said, “but it is a very odd question.”
“The precise number is not what concerns me, though I would suspect with as many children as his grace had, and how many children you and your siblings have had, there would be quite a number. Not to mention other branches of Eltasi, his grace’s siblings and cousins and such. The reason I ask is because of the nature of this power that Edon wields.”
“What do you know of
it?” Lady Nyera’s voice had sharpened all of a sudden, and she leaned forward a little. Just then the house major came in to announce that luncheon was ready, but Nyera waved him off. “We heard no more than rumors, but my son told me that you witnessed it.”
“Indeed, and more like it. King Edon has acquired this power, and he is not the only one. I personally know of at least three others. Two men and a woman.”
“You said nothing of this to me,” Gennevan griped.
Dardan held his left hand out, fingers together, palm down. It was a rare sign, and he wondered if Gennevan or his mother knew what it meant. Hand-language had never been more than a fad among the nobility, but Besiana had taught him a few signs. This gesture meant I have secrets.
Gennevan frowned, confused, but Nyera raised her eyebrows and then laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. “Ah, the little count thinks to reveal his cards at just the right moment.”
“I doubt any man would choose to reveal them at what he thought was the wrong moment. You see, I spoke of a woman who shares Edon’s power. That woman is my wife.”
Both Helgars stared, perplexed. Even their valai who, like all good valai, had been listening intently, dropped their jaws. Dardan had resigned himself to the fact that everything he said here would soon reach ears he’d rather it didn’t. There was nothing he could do but continue on. “Ever since the summer ball, Edon has been in pursuit of Amira. His sojourn at Gravensford set the stage for his coup. She shares his power, and he will not rest until she is his.
“Amira, and Edon, and the other two we know of who share this power—all of them are between eighteen and twenty years of age.” He hadn’t thought to inquire after Dexter Carmichael in Tyndam Town, but the lad had looked of an age with Amira. “Now. How many Eltasi did you say there are who are in that age range? What do you suppose Edon would do if he found out that one of your nephews or nieces had developed this strange new power as well?”
Dardan leaned back into his chair and waited. Everyone else was silent so long that he began to worry. Gennevan looked at him with mingled horror, anger, and fascination. Finally Lady Nyera spoke. “What is it you are proposing? And be reminded that I have as yet promised nothing.”
“I want Eltasi’s assistance. The exact form that takes is entirely up for discussion. Deposing a mad king might lead to a succession struggle, or a civil war—I would not claim that that would be a better outcome than simply dealing with his reign. But Edon has evinced a particular hostility toward my family, and I will not simply roll over for him. Eltasi must decide whether it is in its interest to sit idly by while Edon commits outrage after outrage.”
Nyera shook her head slowly, but it didn’t seem like a rejection. Before she could speak again, Gennevan interjected. “Mother, I know it sounds insane, but… one must consider that the Tarians are not known for spouting nonsense. Unless Dardan has gone stark raving mad—and you must admit that he comports himself quite well for a lunatic—he speaks what he believes to be the truth. I do not think he deceives us in this. There were those rumors we heard…”
She narrowed her eyes at her son. “I do believe you were the one who called those rumors ‘preposterous nonsense.’ And now you would turn over the castle treasury to him?”
“Mother, please. Other methods might do to help convince,” Gennevan said, turning to Dardan. “Perhaps… Could your wife demonstrate this power of hers? Although if she shares Edon’s power, and he used it to destroy a castle…”
“Amira’s power takes a somewhat different form. It can be demonstrated harmlessly.” Dardan stared at Nyera until she met his eyes. “Would that be a sufficient condition? If I brought Amira here to demonstrate her power, would I have your assurance that Eltasi will assist us in some substantial way?”
“You have quite a lot of nerve, claiming your wife has magic powers, and demanding that we assist you,” Nyera harrumphed. She glanced at Gennevan, who gazed at her pleadingly. “Very well. I cannot speak for my father, but I can likely arrange for you to see him. If your claims are true,” she added, clearly skeptical. “I will send you an answer to your proposal on the morrow.”
Dardan clenched his jaw shut. The rest was a formality; he knew he’d won, and had to work hard, very hard, to keep a mighty grin from spreading across his face.
Nyera went on. “For now, I believe the house staff may burst if we do not consume the luncheon they’ve prepared. Shall we repair to the dining room?”
———
Dardan rode out of Seawatch the following afternoon. Gennevan had met him at the inn to confirm that Duke Eltasi would indeed see him and Amira, if she were brought to the city. He was cagey about how Eltasi’s assistance might ultimately manifest, but Dardan expected no less. Amira was a powerful lever; they could extract something from the Eltasi for their troubles, that was certain.
He was halfway back to Stony Vale, bedding down at the same inn he’d stopped at before, when it occurred to him to wonder whether Amira would appreciate being used as a bargaining chip.
CHAPTER 28
AMIRA
The Queen of Mages Page 32