by Jenna Glass
Her lids felt heavy, and she panted as if she’d been running for miles with her stays laced too tight. Graesan smiled down at her, his expression filled with an intriguing mixture of tenderness and lust. She reached up and touched his cheek.
“You have every reason to be pleased with yourself,” she told him, “but don’t imagine you are finished yet.”
Desire shone unabated in his eyes, but his brows pulled together in a small frown. “Are you sure? There are other ways—”
“I’m sure,” she interrupted. Her hand slid down his back, slipping under the hem of his shirt until she found bare skin.
For one long, agonizing moment, he held still, staring into her eyes, his expression filled with doubt even as his body quivered with eagerness. She didn’t know how she could bear it if he lost his nerve now. She reached up to cup his face in her hands, willing him to see her conviction.
“I’m sure,” she said again, letting that certainty shine in her eyes. And finally, finally, he believed her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Alys was working on the always tedious task of balancing the household books when Falcor knocked softly on the open door of her study. She had the various balance sheets spread out all over her desk and had been so absorbed in her work that she hadn’t heard him approach. She didn’t quite jump, but she must have shown some sign of being surprised.
“Forgive me, Lady Alysoon,” he said. “I did not mean to startle you.”
She waved off the apology, though her stomach muscles tensed in anticipation of bad news. Falcor rarely entered the house, taking pains to be as unobtrusive as possible. Sometimes, she felt guilty for keeping him and his men at such a distance, making it so clear to them that she would decline their protection if only her father would allow it—but not guilty enough to embrace their presence.
“You didn’t startle me,” she said. “Please come in.” She hoped he didn’t hear the reluctance in her voice. It showed something of her state of mind that she would have preferred balancing the books.
Falcor entered, and for the first time she saw that he held a familiar black-and-gold-painted flier in his hand. Even in her trepidation, a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, for she would recognize one of Tynthanal’s fliers anywhere. He had promised to write as soon as he could, once he reached the new location for the Abbey, and she’d been starting to worry as weeks passed with no word.
“This arrived in the message box this morning,” Falcor said, laying the flier—still holding its scrolled parchment—on her desk.
“Thank you, Falcor,” she said, though she knew he was here for some reason other than to deliver the flier. It was ordinarily her steward’s job to check the message box.
She touched the flier, and it released the scrolled message from its metal talons—which meant it contained a privacy spell cued to her. With an ordinary flier, anyone could theoretically tug the message free and read it, if they didn’t mind breaking the wax seal and revealing their intrusion.
“I gather there’s something else?” she prompted, setting the message aside to open and read when she was alone. Those with suspicious minds—like Delnamal—might take the passing of privacy-locked messages between Alys and her brother as evidence that they were up to something treacherous, but she could not fault him for his caution. She would not put it past Delnamal to have a spy watching her house and trying to read any messages she received.
“I’m afraid so,” Falcor said with a grimace. “I was hoping not to have to trouble you with this, but…” He trailed off and shook his head.
Alys sighed. “Go ahead and trouble me. What is it?”
“Someone has been leaving things other than fliers in the message box.”
She frowned. “What sort of ‘things’ are we talking about?”
“Let’s just call them messages of questionable origin.”
“Let’s not! Tell me what’s been in the message box.” Her hands had clenched into fists without her noticing, and she forced them to relax. It was already clear that Falcor was not speaking of a single occurrence—and it was also clear why it was he who had found Tynthanal’s flier, when checking the box was ordinarily her steward’s job. Clearly Mica had found something untoward in that box—and then reported the finding to Falcor instead of to her, at which point Falcor had taken over checking it.
Falcor shifted uncomfortably. “It started out with, er, excrement. Then there was a dead bird. And today there was a doll with its throat cut.”
Alys ground her teeth, not sure if this news made her more angry or alarmed. She was not entirely surprised at how differently she and her children were viewed by their friends and neighbors since her mother’s spell, but the censure had generally been of the subtle variety. Invitations that were turned down when they had once been eagerly accepted, friends who suddenly didn’t have time to talk, smiles that had once been free and easy now tense and forced. But nothing in the behavior of those she knew had led her to expect threats to appear in her message box.
“I set one of my men to watch the box, of course,” Falcor said, “but there appear to be at least two people behind it. One led my man on a fruitless chase, and the other placed the doll in the box while he was in pursuit.”
“And he didn’t catch either of them.”
“No,” Falcor said, bowing his head. “I must apologize for that failure, and if you would prefer to request a new crew—”
“Don’t be absurd,” she interrupted. “It’s not your fault they were more organized than you expected.”
“Thank you, my lady,” he said with some relief. “I would like to bring on additional men, however. It is possible, maybe even likely, that this is all some juvenile prank, but just in case it represents a true threat…”
Alys shook her head. She already felt halfway smothered by her honor guard. The thought of having more of them around was far from appealing. “Let’s not escalate just yet. I don’t want to scare the children.”
There was no doubt in her mind that Falcor saw straight through her and knew the children had nothing to do with her resistance. Just as she had no doubt he had seen her refusal coming before he’d even entered the room.
“I would strongly recommend you reconsider,” he said, but he didn’t sound like he expected his recommendation to sway her.
“I trust you can post more of your men to watch the box in the future—and that a decoy won’t work on them a second time. If whoever it is keeps getting around you, or if the threats escalate in any way, then I’ll reconsider.”
Falcor was not happy with her answer, and she suspected he could find support for his own position if he were to take his concerns to the lord commander. But—for now, at least—he was willing to accede to her wishes.
* * *
—
Alys was glad she’d decided to wait until she was alone to read Tynthanal’s letter. She didn’t like to imagine what expressions her face must have worn when she read it the first time—or what others would have made of her reactions.
Alys rolled the letter up into a tight tube after she finished reading it for the third time, struggling to come to terms with the news of the new Well Tynthanal and the abigails had discovered in what was supposed to be the Wasteland. On the one hand, she was glad to know that the new Abbey would not be the miserable, barren encampment all of them had expected. Tynthanal seemed to think the women in his care would thrive in the presence of the impossible Well, and that the Abbey itself would prosper thanks to the wealth of feminine elements—some rare, and some that none of the abigails even recognized—available. But it was also abundantly clear that her brother was embarking on a dangerous game.
I have no choice but to report to my commander of the Well’s existence, his letter had said.
However, I have done my best to downplay its significance. I do not want Delnamal t
o decide we are not suffering as he would wish us to and begin agitating for us to be moved elsewhere. We have already violated our exact mandate by setting up our camp at somewhat of a remove from our planned location, but I have made the case that it is to the Crown’s advantage to allow the abigails unfettered access to elements that will help them produce enough potions to be self-sufficient.
Alys had no doubt that Delnamal would try to label Tynthanal’s decision as an act of treason. She was still furious with the king for his cruelty in razing the Abbey and for his heartless decision to send Tynthanal into what amounted to exile, but surely he would not blame his eldest son for a decision that was clearly of benefit to the Crown’s coffers.
Alys just wished Tynthanal had asked the king’s permission before taking that dangerous step. She wished he had not given Delnamal more fuel to sow discord and attempt to poison their father’s mind.
Alys threw Tynthanal’s letter into the fire. While there was nothing overtly damning in it, the tone was somewhat less than respectful of the king and of Delnamal, and the open admission of his attempts at manipulation was best kept between the two of them.
Sighing, she watched the parchment curl and blacken as she told herself she absolutely did not envy her brother. He was in virtual exile, camping out in the open desert until he and his men could erect a ramshackle settlement. Even with the bounty of the Well, the conditions would be difficult for someone who’d lived all his life in the comfort of Aalwell. But in her heart of hearts, Alys had to admit she would love a chance to see that new Well with her own eyes. How much richer and more successful would her magic practice be if she had such a bounty of rare feminine elements at her fingertips?
But that was mere fantasy, she scolded herself. She still had so very much to learn here in Aalwell as she explored the secrets of her mother’s book. It was foolish of her to dream of flying when she had not yet learned to walk.
* * *
—
The council meeting had begun on a contentious note, and it seemed to be continuing on that way no matter what subject came up for consideration. For all that Ellin felt she had served as a more-than-competent queen since she’d taken the throne, Lord Tamzin’s opposition to her seemed to be growing daily, although his methods of expressing that opposition were increasingly subtle and understated. Rarely did he come out with an open challenge, instead letting his disagreement be known by facial expression and body language. And it was clear to anyone with eyes that both the lord high treasurer and the lord commander were actively taking their cues from him.
“If Sovereign Prince Waldmir has appointed Zarsha as his special envoy,” Tamzin said, making no effort to hide his disdain for the newly minted position, “then it should be his obligation to fund the man’s visit.”
It was all Ellin could do to hold on to her patience. She always expected a certain amount of friction in the daily council meeting, but not over something so trivial as Zarsha of Nandel’s continued status as a guest of the palace. While it was technically true that Zarsha was now in Rhozinolm as an official representative of the Principality of Nandel, it seemed petty to begrudge him the guest suite he had occupied in the royal palace since the day he had first arrived. He was, after all, still a member of the royal family of Nandel.
“Room and board for a Nandelite is hardly an extravagant expense,” Semsulin pointed out. “The money saved by evicting him would hardly be worth the insult Prince Waldmir would take.”
“The man doesn’t belong in the palace,” Tamzin persisted. “By all rights, he should have returned home after the king’s funeral. Am I the only one who finds it odd that he is still here?”
“One does wonder what the purpose of this extended visit might be,” the lord high treasurer agreed. “Nandel already has an envoy in Zinolm Well, so what exactly is Zarsha here to do?”
“I’m sure you haven’t forgotten the trade agreements that are set to expire soon,” Ellin said. She had taken Semsulin’s advice to heart, and whenever possible, allowed him to be the voice of dissent against Tamzin’s most outrageous provocations. However, she could not be an effective ruler while staying entirely silent, and the current discussion was patently ridiculous. “We can no longer secure those agreements through a marriage contract, but there is a great deal of negotiation to come, and I guarantee you those negotiations will be more effectively made through Prince Waldmir’s nephew than through the regular envoy.”
“If you ask me,” Tamzin said, “we have already spent far too much time wringing our hands over the trade agreements with Nandel.”
No one asked you, Ellin thought, then had to bite her tongue to keep the words from escaping her mouth.
“Waldmir thinks he can insist on better terms because he already has a profitable partner in Aaltah,” Tamzin continued. “Let’s see how profitable that arrangement becomes if we deny him access to our trade routes.”
Ellin could clearly see from the startled faces around the table that she wasn’t the only person surprised by Tamzin’s proposal. It was true that by far the fastest routes between Nandel and Aaltah led straight through the heart of Rhozinolm. If Rhozinolm closed those routes, traders from Nandel would have to travel through the mountains all the way to the border of the Midlands before they would get to flat land and easy travel.
“You can’t be serious,” Ellin said, ignoring the look Semsulin shot her way. The look that urged her to be quiet and let him do the talking. “How do you imagine the Midlands and Aaltah would respond if we cut off their access to Nandel?”
“We wouldn’t be cutting it off,” Tamzin explained with exaggerated care. “We’d merely be delaying it a bit. Besides, Nandel would never allow it to come to that.”
Semsulin spoke hurriedly. “I think, Lord Tamzin, that you misunderstand the nature of our agreements with Nandel.”
Tamzin fixed him with a steely stare. “My estate is a good deal closer to the Nandel border than yours. I understand Nandel just fine.”
“If that were true, you’d know that we need them far more than they need us,” Semsulin countered with some heat. “You have never felt the effects of an iron embargo before, but I can tell you, it was devastating. You have no idea how much iron a kingdom uses until you have no supply.”
Instead of watching Tamzin and Semsulin as they continued to bicker, Ellin looked back and forth between the other council members. She didn’t like what she saw, didn’t like the speculation on the faces of the lord high treasurer and the lord commander. Both were old enough to have felt the effects of the long-ago iron embargo, and yet they seemed admiring of Tamzin’s militant stance.
“Perhaps we should table this discussion for a later date,” she interrupted. “There seems to be little point in arguing over the trade agreements when we haven’t even begun negotiations yet. I will allow Zarsha to remain in the palace as my personal guest so that he need not be a burden on the treasury.” She gave the lord high treasurer a pointed look, and despite his obvious affinity for Tamzin, he did not argue.
To her relief, Tamzin allowed himself to be diverted. However, she had no doubt that if she didn’t find a way to divert him more permanently, he would continue to agitate for Rhozinolm to take a hard line over the trade agreements. She wasn’t sure if it was merely out of male ego and one-upmanship, or if he was actively trying to sabotage her reign, but either way, it was imperative that she find a way to stop him.
* * *
—
After the unexpectedly contentious council meeting, Ellin needed a little time to herself to regroup. She retired to her private study with a plate of fruit and cheese that would substitute for a luncheon, intending to catch up on some personal correspondence she’d been neglecting. She had no idea how King Linolm had had enough time in his day to fulfill his obligations without entirely neglecting his family, and though he’d always seemed busy, he rarely seemed as harried as sh
e felt now.
On the top of her pile of correspondence was a letter from Alysoon Rai-Brynna, the illegitimate daughter of the King of Aaltah. Having assumed the letter was merely delayed condolences or an introduction, Ellin had put it aside when she’d received it more than a week ago, but now she finally broke the seal and read the contents.
While there was a brief introduction and greeting, the letter turned out not to be strictly personal, after all. Lady Alysoon was in search of a husband for her eighteen-year-old daughter, Jinnell. Although the girl was not in the line of succession, she had a substantial dowry that would make her hand more than appealing to many a man. Lady Alysoon was making an inquiry into the possibility of a match between her daughter and Lord Tamzin.
Ellin’s first reaction was a deeply personal one. As much as most of the ladies of her court seemed enamored with her cousin, she would never recommend him as a husband for anyone she cared about. The past two months of seeing him every day in council meetings had strengthened her conviction that he was anything but a hero, no matter how shamelessly he played up that reputation. She might never know for sure what had happened when he and his men wiped out that enclave of bandits, but there was no doubt in her mind that he had at the very least embellished the story, if not out-and-out lied.
Ellin pulled back on the reins of her temper and tried not to let her dislike of Tamzin color her judgment. She had never met Lady Alysoon or her daughter, and it was her duty to think of the marriage in terms of its political impact. Tamzin was of an age to seek a wife, and a marriage between him and the King of Aaltah’s granddaughter might be politically advantageous. Rhozinolm and Aaltah had spent much of their history at war with one another—mostly fighting over control of the Midlands and its Well. The Midlands was currently an independent principality per the agreement struck at the finish of the last war, but given some of Tamzin’s more outrageous suggestions at today’s council meeting, she wouldn’t be entirely surprised if he might one day cast a greedy eye on that Well. Perhaps if he were aligned with the royal family of Aaltah, his greed might be tamed.