Deathcaster

by Cinda Williams Chima

  Not everyone was happy. Hal cut free the Church of Malthus from involvement in the government, and ruthlessly stamped out any tendrils that slithered back in. He made it plain to the principia and everyone else that people in Arden were free to worship as they pleased, or not to worship at all. Mandatory tithing was done away with. Discrimination against the gifted was forbidden.

  Hal knew he couldn’t change attitudes overnight, but he was not going to put the force of government behind any one church. The great saint would have to earn the hearts of his adherents like anyone else. Most people stayed with the church they’d grown up in, but a few other faiths emerged from underground.

  Any kind of change creates winners and losers, and Hal was under no illusions that his royal honeymoon would last forever. Some predicted trouble when he gave more autonomy to the downrealms. He knew that might happen, but he hoped a looser kind of confederation would work.

  He missed Queen Marina and Princess Madeleine. They’d moved back to Tamron, where Marina established a small court of her own. It became a popular stopping-off point for travelers between Arden and the Fells.

  Hal encouraged Destin Karn to stay on as spymaster. He agreed to do so in the short run—on the condition that Hal accept Harper’s petition to join the intelligence service. Hal had been putting that decision off for months. He knew she was well suited for that work—maybe too well suited.

  “Didn’t you tell me that you believe in promoting talent?” Destin said. So Hal reluctantly agreed.

  At least she got the job she wanted.

  Destin and Evan were disposing of the Chambord estate in Tamron. They planned to return to Carthis and settle in Tarvos once that was done. Hal hoped the Stormcaster and spymaster wouldn’t choose to target Ardenine shipping. One of them was bad enough—the two of them together would be unstoppable.

  Hal had never wanted to be king, and he didn’t enjoy it now, especially knowing that this was probably the best it would ever be. But Hal was a Matelon, and so he did what needed to be done. Though he missed the camaraderie of army life, he would not be the sort of ruler who left the work of governing to others while he rode after the hounds or played at war or squandered his legacy at the gaming tables and clicket-houses. He would not start a war simply because it was something he was good at.

  Robert said it was no wonder Hal didn’t enjoy being king—he’d sworn off all the pleasures of the office.

  Truth be told, Hal had unfinished business in the north. He’d been working on a plan for some months now. But he was finding it easier to plan than to execute.

  Lyss had been frantically busy putting her queendom in order and sieving out the traitors at the Gray Wolf court. The queendom had been at war for decades, too, with fewer resources to draw upon than the empire. That’s the hidden cost of war, she’d told him once. The young people who don’t grow up and create the future. The schools and libraries that don’t get funded, the roads and bridges that never get built. It would take a long time for them to catch up.

  Hal grew more and more restless as another winter solstice celebration approached. It marked the end of an eventful year and, to his mind, the beginning of many years of unrelenting drudgery. During his time as an army officer, he’d always celebrated Solstice at court with his family, making awkward conversation at parties, trying to remember the names from the year before, and making up for nine months of privation by eating and drinking too much. As the eldest son of a thane, and a well-respected military officer, he’d attracted attention in the marital market in a third-tier kind of way. He didn’t look forward to being the main course at a feast of ambition.

  What he really wanted was to celebrate quietly with his family at White Oaks. But his family insisted on celebrating at court.

  Then Queen Marina invited him to a Solstice celebration at a summer cottage at Swansea.

  “I’m planning a very small gathering,” she wrote. “I promise that there will be people you know, people that you want to see.”

  The smaller the gathering, the better, Hal thought. On impulse, he decided to go.

  His mother and father were savagely disappointed, this being their first chance to show off their son the king.

  “But we’re hosting three parties, and we’re invited to six more,” Lady Matelon said.

  “Good,” Hal said, folding clothes and stuffing them into his bags. “You’ll have something to do.”

  “Everyone’s looking forward to seeing you, son,” his father said.

  “I’m here all the time these days,” Hal said. “Why doesn’t anyone throw a party in February?”

  “Swansea is so far away. Couldn’t Marina have her party at Tamron Court?” Lady Matelon said. “Who has a winter solstice party at a summer cottage?”

  Hal said nothing but continued packing.

  “You have to stay, Halston,” Lady Matelon said, in a last, desperate plea. “Your dance card is already full.”

  “Give Robert my dance card,” Hal said. “He’s the better dancer, anyway.” He kissed her. “Happy Solstice, Mother. Let’s each celebrate in our own way.”

  So it was that Hal found himself riding hard from Ardenscourt to Tamron Court to Swansea on Solstice Eve. You’re nineteen years old, and you’re running away from home, he thought.

  Swansea had long been a resort town for the Tamron nobility. Most of the homes there were “cottages” with broad front porches, quaint names like Gull’s Rest, and “only” fifteen to twenty rooms. His destination had a typical name—Snug Harbor.

  He asked directions in the village and rode south along the coast road, battling sheets of cold sleet coming in off the ocean.

  Who has a Solstice party at a summer cottage?

  He turned off at a tumbledown stone gate with a rusting sign—Snug Harbor.

  The cottage was on a bluff overlooking Leewater. It was more modest than he’d expected—built of stone, with a tile roof, a small barn, and a path down to the water. Smoke rose from the chimney, but no servants rushed out to greet him. He checked his invitation again. Yes, this had to be the right place. Was he early? Was he late? Was he the butt of some kind of joke? Or, worse, the target of a coup? Here he was, the king of the realm, riding alone to a deserted spot in the borderlands. His hand found the hilt of his sword.

  He dismounted in front of the barn and led Bosley inside. There were six stalls, but only one was occupied—by a mountain pony.

  A small gathering, indeed, Hal thought. He rubbed down the stallion, put him into a stall, and forked hay into the bin. Then, shouldering his bags, he walked around to the front porch.

  Swags of greens and berries were pinned up around the door. He tried it, and it was unlocked.

  A pair of clan-made boots sat in a puddle of water just inside. A fire burned on the hearth in the front parlor, releasing the aroma of cinnamon and spiceberry. In front of it, there were a settee and a table set with two glasses and a jug of wine. All around the room, maps of the Realms were pinned to the walls.

  Setting down his bags, Hal removed his boots and hung his coat on a hook by the door. Then walked around the room, studying the maps. Some were very old, dating from before the Breaking, when the Realms were all one queendom. The others were more recent, with varying borders, depending on the outcomes of an endless string of wars with the north and with the downrealms.

  “Hello, flatlander.”

  Hal spun around.

  It was Queen Alyssa. She wore close-fitting leggings over her muscular legs, and a thick wool sweater. She was barefoot, and her cheeks were pinked up from the cold. For once, her hair wasn’t braided. It was pulled back from her face into a kind of knot, but then flowed freely down her back.

  “Happy Solstice,” she said. “We’re having a very small party tonight.”

  “Oh!” Hal said. He looked at the table in front of the fire, then back at her. Hope rose in him like a spring tide. “It’s just us?”

  “The others are set to arrive tomorrow. Sasha, Breon,
Destin, Evan, Hadley, Shadow, and Lila are riding in. Ash, Jenna, Cas, Splash, and Goat are flying in from the northern Heartfangs.” She paused. “Maybe you’ve heard—they’ve established a dragon homeland there.”

  “I have heard that,” Hal said. “How has that gone over with the residents in the area?” He recalled the reaction of Ardenine citizens to the mere rumor of a dragon.

  “Nobody lives in the highest peaks year round,” Lyss said, “but the clans do hunt the slopes in summer. We’ve worked out an agreement with the dragons regarding who and what they can hunt. And they’re close enough to the sea to go fishing.”

  With so many dragons coming, Hal could understand why this meet-up was happening on a coast that was mostly empty of people in the winter.

  “What about Queen Marina?”

  “Marina’s at home, at Tamron Seat,” Lyss said. “This is actually my party. It may be the last time we can all be together, for a while, anyway.”

  She padded over to the table, yanked the cork with her teeth, and poured two glasses full. He loved the way she moved, like a restless predator. “Here,” she said, gesturing toward the settee. “Sit.”

  Hal sat, pressing his suddenly sweaty palms against his thighs.

  Alyssa sat beside him, only inches between them—a distance that thrummed with tension.

  To ease his nerves, Hal continued spitting out questions. “How is Cas doing?”

  Lyss rocked her hand. “Ash is still treating him, but it looks like his vision is never going to be what it was. Meanwhile, he and Jenna fly together every day, always working on how to use his other senses to compensate. More dragons are moving to the homeland, and Jenna and Ash have recruited some of them for an air corps and courier service. She’s been training war orphans to partner with them.”

  “It sounds like they’re busy,” Hal said, realizing that he was jealous.

  Lyss nodded. “It’s a good kind of busy, though. Breon is working with Speaker Jemson and Raisa Cennestre in the Briar Rose Ministry and the temple schools. As the army shrinks, veterans need new ways to make a living.”

  We’re facing the same issue, Hal thought—what to do when we’re not making war.

  “Does Breon plan to stay in the Fells?” he asked.

  “I think so,” Lyss said. “He and Sasha are walking out.”

  Walking out. The northern term for a serious relationship. That was a matchup he’d never have predicted.

  Maybe there was hope for the one he had in mind.

  “Your mother is well?”

  “She is,” Lyss said. “I can’t tell you what it’s meant to me to have the counsel of my parents, especially since my experience is in fighting, not governing. It’s the way it should be, and yet—”

  “Hang on,” Hal said. “The counsel of your parents?”

  Lyssa laughed. “It’s a northern thing. We’re not very good at respecting boundaries of any kind.”

  Clearly, she wasn’t going to say any more about that, so he lobbed the first shot over the wall.

  “So,” Hal said, “why are we here?”

  She gestured at the maps on the wall. “Speaking of boundaries,” she said, “I’m hoping that we can make some changes.”

  “Yes,” he said solemnly, his eyes fixed on her lips. “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

  The Gray Wolf queen looked a little flustered. “And . . . uh . . . so, I thought it was best if we did that before the others arrive.”

  She set down her wine, stood, and crossed to one of the maps. “These were our borders at the time of the founding of the New Line of queens,” she said.

  Hal stood, walked over, and studied it. “Mmm-hmm,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back.

  “And here . . .” She walked over to another map. “This is the border that you’re defending now, after years of encroachment, including the seizing of the port of Spiritgate.”

  “Hmm,” he said.

  “So this . . .” She traced an area along the border with her fingers. “This is disputed territory.”

  “I wouldn’t call it disputed,” Hal said. “I mean, it’s belonged to Arden for my lifetime. Actually, for more than two hundred years.”

  Alyssa waved a hand, dismissing the two hundred years. “That’s a blink of the eye in the history of the Realms,” she said. “We want—we need—the copper mines back”—she pointed—“and our port. But we’re willing to negotiate timber rights for the area north of Fetters Ford, and give you access to the harbor. The thing is, we want to protect the watershed for the—”

  “Why would I give you your port back?” Hal said, digging in. “Let alone the mines. We won them fairly. I’m not asking for Delphi back, and we controlled it for years.” It was odd to find himself in the position of defending the actions of previous kings of Arden, when he was the usurper who’d pushed the Montaignes off the throne.

  “Delphi isn’t mine to give,” Lyss said. “It’s a free city. Aren’t you the one that offered them autonomy in exchange for their help against the empress?”

  “My point is, you cannot turn back the clock and stop at a point that’s advantageous to you.”

  Lyss’s chin came up, and she fisted her hands at her sides. “Really, Matelon? Do you think I’m being greedy?”

  “Look, you bring me here, ply me with wine, and then demand a one-sided giveaway of assets that we spilled blood over.”

  “Fine!” she said, in a tone that meant that it was not fine at all. She began pacing back and forth, talking with her hands. “Just forget it, Matelon. I merely assumed that, as a friendly neighbor to the south, you might be open to negotiation.”

  “That’s what I’m doing,” Hal said. “Negotiating.”

  “You call that negotiation? Claiming I’m greedy? In fact, I’m being highly restrained. The Gray Wolf line once ruled all of the Seven Realms. If I were greedy, I’d demand that we go back to that.”

  “I never said you were greedy,” Hal said. “I’m saying that borders would be less important if there were closer ties between us.”

  “If you want closer ties, this is not the way to—”

  “I have two proposals.” Hal walked back to the map on the wall—the current map—hoping she couldn’t tell that his heart was flopping around like a fish.

  “First off,” he said, “I’d be willing to establish your southern border here, under certain conditions.” He traced a line from Southgate to Watergate—the southern border of Arden.

  She stared at the map, then frowned at him. “I don’t get it,” she said.

  “When King Gerard of Arden proposed to your mother, Queen Raisa, he suggested they ‘marry their kingdoms together,’ with him in charge, and succession through their sons.” Hal knew he was taking a chance bringing that up, but he had a point to make.

  “I think it was more than a suggestion,” Lyss said.

  “Nonetheless, she refused.”

  “Smart,” Lyss said, folding her arms, tapping her foot.

  “Very smart,” Hal said. “I propose that we marry our realms together, with you in charge, and succession through our daughters.”

  “Our . . . daughters.” Lyss rubbed her forehead. “I think I missed a step somewhere.”

  “To put it a different way, Alyssa ana’Raisa, queen of the Fells, will you marry me?” Hal said. “As my dowry, I offer Spiritgate and the copper mines.”

  Lyss gaped at him for a long moment, then exploded. “What is it with you southern kings? Why are you so hell-bent on marrying us? Do you think we’re trophies to hang on the wall? A notch in your swiving sword belts? The ticket to bragging rights in the—?”

  “No, Your Majesty,” Hal said. “Mind, I’m speaking only for myself. I want to marry you because you’re the most remarkable woman I’ve ever met. I learn something new every day we spend together. I think we can go through the rest of our lives and never run out of things to say. Plus you’ve kicked my ass on the battlefield three different times, and I like to have ta
lent on my side.”

  “Well,” Lyss conceded, “I don’t know if that third time really—”

  “If it helps, think of it as fighting alongside an ally who will always have your back. I’m in love with you, and I want to marry you. I’m under considerable pressure to get married, and I don’t want to marry anyone else.”

  “This sounds like a—a—”

  “I realize that a good negotiator would never display his hand so plainly,” Hal said. “A good negotiator would tell you that there’s a faction that wants to marry me off to Princess Madeleine, King Gerard’s ten-year-old daughter, because that would give me a stronger claim to the throne.” That was, in fact, true. “As you can see, I am a miserable negotiator. But I have other redeeming qualities.” He looked into her eyes, very directly.

  Color stained her cheeks. “Oh, you do, do you?”

  “Aye,” he said.

  Alyssa crossed to the hearth, poked at the fire. It sent up sparks, burnishing her skin to gold. “How do you think your thanes would respond to living under a queendom?” Alyssa said.

  “It might take them some time to get used to it,” he said. “Hopefully, they’ll have time before our daughters come of age. I think it will help if we raise our princesses to wield a sword, to lead an army, and to form alliances with dragons.”

  “Huh,” she said. Dropping the poker, she swung back around, studying him, chewing her lower lip. “You’ve come a long way, Matelon.”

  He nodded, acknowledging the compliment. “In the interest of full disclosure, I should tell you that I’ve been negotiating a looser confederation with the downrealms. So if you had dreams of becoming queen or empress of all Seven Realms, that’s not part of the bargain. I offer my heart, my kingdom, my sword, and, of course—most importantly—the port and the copper mines.”

  “I see,” Alyssa said. Her lips twitched, and Hal knew he was gaining ground. “You—ah—said you had two proposals?”

  “I do,” Hal said. “I knew that it was a possibility that you would decline proposal one. For one thing, it would plunge the two of us into some messy politics at the outset of our marriage, when we have enough to contend with in our home realms. So my second proposal is that we marry, thereby strengthening the bonds between our realms, but maintain our own territories intact. We could split our time between Ardenscourt and Fellsmarch. Or we could build a new palace in the borderlands.” Or find a cave in the mountains.