The Women's War

by Jenna Glass

  “The flier I sent you is linked to one of mine,” Alysoon explained. “Anytime you wish to speak with me, you have only to give the flier some Rho. Mine will chirp, and when I complete the spell with more Rho, we will have a connection as we do now. Naturally, the spell works both ways.”

  Ellin shook her head with amazement. “I’ve…never heard of such a thing. Never heard anyone imagine such a thing. How…?”

  “I’m not sure how far word has spread, but a new Well opened up in Aaltah when the earth shook six months ago.”

  Ellin nodded. “I’d heard tell of a new Well. One that produces primarily feminine elements, I’ve been told.” Actually, what she’d been told was that the Well was all but worthless, useful only for producing frivolous potions and other minor magics, but it seemed hardly politic to say so. “I’ve also heard that you have been visiting that Well for the last months.”

  Alysoon raised an eyebrow. “It seems you are well informed indeed if you keep track of the current whereabouts of a foreign king’s supposedly illegitimate children.”

  Ellin allowed herself a small smile. “It behooves a queen to keep track of all the most influential figures in foreign courts. Especially when such figures might decide to declare themselves legitimate.”

  Alysoon’s eyes crinkled, forming a network of laugh lines that softened the angles of her face. They didn’t make her look beautiful, but they did make her look more approachable—even as Ellin fully absorbed all the implications of the older woman declaring herself legitimate.

  “Tell me,” Ellin said slowly. “Has your brother Tynthanal decided to adopt a new name, as well?”

  If Tynthanal was King Aaltyn’s legitimate son, then he was the heir to the throne. Which was obviously problematic for the man who was even now coming to be known as King Delnamal. This unsolicited gift from Lady Alysoon had layers of meaning attached.

  Alysoon looked down at something, then quickly looked up again to meet Ellin’s eyes. “We don’t know each other well enough for this, so forgive me if I’m being overly familiar, but would you mind terribly if we speak frankly?”

  Ellin laughed. “I am not a diplomat, Lady Alysoon. When I want to exchange cryptic messages with layers of meaning that must be carefully deciphered after the fact, I send a courtier.” She could almost feel Semsulin’s disapproving frown, though she refrained from glancing at him.

  Alysoon nodded in approval. “Very well then. I will give you the undiplomatic version of my message. My brother and I were both conceived and born within the bounds of marriage. By ordinary law, the crown should pass to the king’s eldest son. But times have changed, and your succession may help set a new precedent. I am my father’s eldest child, and Tynthanal would rather support my claim to the throne than make a claim of his own.”

  Ellin shook her head. “You cannot believe that either one of you has a legitimate chance to take the throne. If we’re being blunt, we must admit that you would need a great deal of support to overthrow the reigning king. Thanks to your mother, neither one of you is likely to gain a great deal of support, even if you do convince people you are legitimate.”

  “You asked earlier about the flier, and I started to explain. Let me finish. This new Well we have found—you’ve probably heard that because it provides mostly feminine elements, it’s mostly worthless. But that is very far from the truth. The town of Women’s Well is peopled largely by the former abigails of Aaltah and a company of my brother’s men. With the bounty of the Well and with the cooperation between the men and women of this town, we are producing new spells every day. Spells that combine masculine and feminine elements, and which require elements that are exceedingly rare in other places. Nowhere but in Women’s Well is there enough Zal to produce the spell in the flier I sent you. Feel free to ask the women of your Abbey how hard it is to find Zal if you doubt my word.”

  “I don’t doubt your word,” Ellin said slowly, “but…”

  “We’ve barely begun to scratch the surface of what we can do here. Imagine what someone who chose to support us could do with an exclusive supply of these fliers. And first access to any other spells we might invent.”

  Ellin couldn’t deny the usefulness of the spell Alysoon was demonstrating. She could hardly begin to imagine the uses such a spell could be put to. However, as valuable a commodity as it might be, it was not worth fighting someone else’s war for.

  “It’s a tempting offer,” she said, though she wasn’t truly tempted, “but there’s no question that my council would reject it out of hand.” Not only would they reject it, but Tamzin would eviscerate her for even suggesting it. Her hold on her own throne was tenuous enough as it was. “Unless you can find enough support within your own kingdom to make an attempt on the throne viable, I can’t see how it’s in the best interests of Rhozinolm to recognize your claim. I’m sorry.”

  “I would urge you not to make so hasty a decision,” Alysoon said. “Our kingdoms have a long and troubled history of war, and if my half-brother gets control of Women’s Well and all its resources, it might tilt the balance of power in his favor.”

  “As it would do for you, if you took the throne,” Ellin pointed out, though Alysoon’s words inspired a prickle of worry. Rhozinolm’s ability to withstand an attack from a foreign power was already at risk, thanks to the difficulties surrounding their trade agreements with Nandel. If Delnamal should prove to be a warlike and greedy king, then allowing a second Well to fall into his hands could spell doom.

  “But I will not be able to take the throne without your support,” Alysoon countered. “We can come to an arrangement, you and I, that will ensure the safety and security of both our kingdoms.” She flashed a small smile. “You would come into an alliance with me with a strong upper hand, for I need you and am motivated to be generous with my terms.”

  “I will think about it,” Ellin promised. “And I will talk to my most trusted advisers before making a final decision.”

  “That’s all I could ask.”

  Ellin removed the mote of Rho from the flier, deactivating the spell and looking across the desk to meet Semsulin’s eyes. He didn’t even wait for her to ask what he thought.

  “The council would never agree,” he said. “No matter how tempting the terms.”

  Unfortunately, Ellin knew he was right. She would have liked to have brought the proposal to the council for an extended rational discussion of the risks and benefits of supporting Alysoon’s claim, but there was no point.

  She nodded her agreement. “Certainly not with Tamzin as lord chamberlain, and probably not even without. There is no point in even mentioning that the offer was made.”

  Yet the glimpse of the future Lady Alysoon had offered was going to keep Ellin awake at night. If she could not find a way to secure the trade agreements with Nandel, arms production in Rhozinolm would be crippled, leaving them temptingly vulnerable to King Delnamal even without the addition of whatever mysterious spells could be produced in Women’s Well.

  History had been kind to Queen Shazinzal, had praised her brief reign and labeled her as an extraordinary woman who’d met the challenges of the throne with wisdom and courage and strength. If Ellin lost the trade agreements with Nandel and proved unable to protect her kingdom against Aaltah, history would paint her in a very different light.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Shelvon found Jinnell curled up in a window seat in the parlor, reading a book. Between the strict protocols of mourning and the draconian restrictions Delnamal had put on her movements, the poor child had to be bored out of her wits. At least her brother had his studies to keep him occupied, but removed from the responsibilities of running a household, and with her social life almost nonexistent since her grandmother’s Curse, Jinnell had nothing.

  Jinnell looked up when Shelvon entered the room. She hastily dropped her book, struggling out of the seat to drop a deep curts
y.

  “Your Majesty,” she said, blushing and flustered.

  Shelvon almost smiled, wondering what shocking subject matter she would find if she were to pick up the book Jinnell had dropped, but her purpose in seeking out her niece was too grim to allow for smiles.

  “Forgive me for interrupting your reading,” Shelvon said as Jinnell rose from her curtsy. The blush added some healthy color to her face while the black mourning dress attempted to leach it away. The girl was far prettier than her mother and managed to look fetching despite all that dull black. For a woman, beauty could be either a blessing or a curse. Jinnell would have been much better off were she ugly.

  “Please sit down,” Shelvon said, gesturing Jinnell into a chair. She tried to keep her voice neutral, but she could see at once that she had failed. Jinnell’s blush faded, and there was a wary look in her eyes as she sat on the very edge of the indicated chair.

  “Has something happened to my mother or Uncle Tynthanal?” Jinnell asked as she clenched her hands in her lap.

  Shelvon wished she were possessed of more tact and sensitivity. The girl was rightfully fearful of what the new king might do to her mother and her other uncle, so it was only logical that she would leap to the worst possible conclusion on seeing Shelvon’s distress.

  “No, no, dear,” Shelvon hastened to reassure her. “It’s nothing like that.”

  “But there is something wrong.” Jinnell held her head high as a mask of neutrality settled over her face.

  Shelvon’s own anger flared, and she hated her husband more than words could describe for making her be the bearer of bad tidings. He was the girl’s blood kin, and he was the king. By all rights, he was the one who should be having this conversation. But the bastard was too cowardly to face his niece and acknowledge the suffering he was about to impart upon an innocent.

  Shelvon knew of no gentle way to deliver the news, so she settled for blurting it out. “The king has decided to send you to Nandel to meet my father.”

  Jinnell blanched, but the expression on her face did not change. “Surely he knows I will not show to my best advantage while in mourning.” Her voice was cold and leaden, but a spark of heat lit her eyes. She was by all accounts a very proper young woman, but that look in her eyes told Shelvon she was far from meek.

  Shelvon’s heart ached in sympathy. If Delnamal had had the courage to deliver his orders in person, he no doubt would have explained all the logical reasons why it was to Aaltah’s advantage to explore the possibility of another alliance by marriage. If he chose to explain anything at all, that is. He knew perfectly well that he was being cruel to a child who was in his care, and he could be counted on to lash out when he knew he was in the wrong. Perhaps he would merely have delivered a kingly order, then strode out of the room as fast as possible to avoid being faced with the distress his cruelty caused.

  But he had sent Shelvon to deliver this message, and she would deliver it in her own way. “You do not have to show to your best advantage to interest Prince Waldmir. One look at your pretty face will win him over. I’m supposed to tell you that this is just a brief visit to explore possibilities and that no firm plans have been made.”

  The coldness in Jinnell’s eyes was enough to make Shelvon shiver. “But we both know that if your father wants me, he will have me. Delnamal hates my mother too much to resist the lure of hurting her through me.”

  Shelvon leaned back into her chair as the energy drained from her body. She was the Queen of Aaltah, and yet she felt as powerless now as she had as a child growing up in Nandel. Delnamal could barely stand the sight of her, and he certainly had no interest in listening to anything she had to say. After their fight over the fertility potions, his visits to her bed had become more and more infrequent. They had stopped entirely after his father had died.

  He was no longer making even a token effort to produce an heir, and that meant he had already decided to divorce her as soon as he could secure Aaltah’s trade agreements with Nandel.

  “I wish I could tell you otherwise,” Shelvon said. She’d thought it was Jinnell who’d be in tears when this conversation was over, but it was she herself whose eyes burned and stung, whose chest ached. “But I can’t give the king the heir he needs, and that is all the excuse he needs to divorce me.”

  “And I am the bribe to persuade your father not to be offended,” Jinnell said bitterly.

  “I’m so sorry, Jinnell. I’ve tried everything to give him an heir. When he first commanded me to speak with you, I lied to him and told him I was with child just to try to delay him. I don’t think he believed me, but even if he did…”

  Jinnell nodded. “Even if he did, what matters to him more than anything is hurting my mother by selling me to Nandel.” Her jaw jutted out with stubborn resolve. “But the king underestimates how disagreeable I can make myself. Will your father still want me if I refuse to give him an heir?”

  “I’m not even sure he believes in the power of your grandmother’s spell. I’ve had no contact with him since my marriage, but I know how he thinks. It will take more than a few miscarriages and childless couples to convince him that women could possibly have had the power and intelligence to cast such a momentous spell.”

  Jinnell laughed, but it was a harsh, angry sound without any trace of genuine humor. “He need only open his Mindseye to see proof of my grandmother’s power.”

  Shelvon wrinkled her nose. She had heard about the change in the magical element Rho, but she had never seen it herself. Even in the privacy of her own room, she couldn’t convince herself it was acceptable to open her Mindseye. The horror of seeing her twelve-year-old half-sister beaten nearly to death because she’d been caught with her Mindseye open had left a scar on her soul that would never heal. Here in Aaltah, she was fairly sure every woman she met opened her Mindseye at least on occasion, but her own Nandel sensibilities did not allow her the same freedom.

  “Maybe that’s true. But Delnamal believed he could bully and berate me into carrying a child whether I wished to or no, and my father has fewer scruples. You can tell him you refuse to give him an heir, and he will be convinced he can bend you to his will.”

  Jinnell’s face lost a little of the angry color it had gained. Perhaps it was cruel of Shelvon not to give the girl soothing lies, not to tell her everything was going to be all right. What purpose did telling her the truth serve, save to frighten her more? But despite her own logic, Shelvon couldn’t bring herself to tell the pretty lies.

  “Am I correct in believing you have no love for your father?” Jinnell asked.

  Shelvon bit back the customary denial. No one who’d ever seen her interact with her father could believe she loved the man, and yet to have admitted her feelings would have been to condemn herself to the Abbey as a disrespectful daughter. “You are correct.”

  “And that you would like to save me from this marriage if you could?”

  Shelvon became more wary. She did not want to see any woman, much less this girl who was at least nominally under her care, forcibly married to her father. But she was hardly in a position to “save” anyone—not even herself. She did not answer the question, but it seemed that Jinnell read some form of agreement from her facial expression.

  “If I ask you an uncomfortable question,” Jinnell said carefully, “would you promise me to answer truthfully—and to not tell anyone I asked it?”

  Shelvon stared at the girl, trying to imagine what question she might be contemplating. “It’s hard to make a promise when I don’t know the question.”

  “I can’t ask the question unless I’m certain you won’t repeat it—or any conclusions you draw from my asking it.”

  If nothing else, Shelvon had to admit she was curious. Until Jinnell had been brought to live in the palace, Shelvon would have said the girl was a pretty—if flighty—teenager with little depth to her. A typical girl of the cou
rt, who giggled with her friends and considered choosing which gown to wear for dinner a challenging and desperately important puzzle. It hadn’t taken long to see through that surface impression, though until now Shelvon had not seen the cunning intelligence that shone in Jinnell’s eyes.

  Shelvon had only to think of how her father would treat an intelligent wife to know that she would do what she could to help Jinnell—even if all she could do was listen and sympathize.

  “All right. I promise.”

  Jinnell licked her lips. “Would your father still want to wed me if I were not chaste?”

  Shelvon reared back in shock. In Nandel, a girl who was unchaste would be severely beaten by her family before her broken and bloody body was shipped off to the Abbey for the amusement of those men who could afford the indulgence—and did not mind the damaged husk that was left.

  She took in a shaky breath and put her hand to her chest, where her heart was thudding painfully. She was not in Nandel. Delnamal would not break Jinnell’s body as a man of Nandel would. But he would most definitely send her to the Abbey in disgrace, where she would spend the rest of her life as a whore and a virtual prisoner.

  “I’m not afraid of the Abbey here in Aaltah,” Jinnell said. “If I were sent there, I’d be with my mother and my uncle, and I know they would not allow any harm to come to me. But if the king marries me off to Prince Waldmir, then I will eventually end up in the Abbey in Nandel like his other wives—the ones he didn’t kill, at least—and from all accounts, that is something very much to fear.”

  Shelvon crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself. She of course had no personal experience with the Abbey—no respectable lady would ever cross its threshold or speak to an abigail—but she’d heard enough stories to know being incarcerated there was a fate worse than death. In many ways, Shelvon’s mother was lucky she’d been put to death instead of divorced. Even in Nandel, most men would at least have some hesitation before divorcing their wives and condemning them to that hell, but Shelvon’s father had shown no such scruples. If he married Jinnell, and the girl failed to give him an heir, then she would be sent to the Abbey as soon as he grew bored with her in his bed.