The Women's War

by Jenna Glass

  “Would he wed me if I were no longer a virgin?”

  Shelvon’s stomach gave a sick lurch. It went against everything she’d been taught as a woman of Nandel to in any way condone what Jinnell was suggesting, much less encourage it. A woman’s virginity was her most prized possession, to be bestowed upon her husband on the first night of their marriage. Giving it away to some other man was a crime against the Crown and even against the Creator.

  If Shelvon were a halfway proper woman, she would have Jinnell locked in her room for the duration of her time in the palace, and then send her to Nandel with guards specifically instructed to ensure her chastity.

  Not that long ago, Shelvon might have done the proper thing. But something had changed in her on the night she’d first poured out a fertility potion her husband had bade her to drink, and there was no going back. Perhaps Delnamal had tasked her with giving Jinnell this news out of cowardice, but he had unknowingly given his wife a small chance to strike back at all the men who had made her life miserable.

  “No, he would not.”

  * * *

  —

  “Corlin, please!” Jinnell said, grabbing her little brother’s shoulder and trying to pull him away.

  The boy twisted out of his sister’s grip and continued to glare up at Delnamal with fury and defiance that sat oddly on the face of the usually cheerful thirteen-year-old. Clearly the boy had not been disciplined properly even while his father was alive, or he would not have had such cheek with any adult, much less the king.

  “You can’t do this!” Corlin growled, trying to sound fierce.

  Delnamal sneered. “I’m the king, and the head of this family. So yes, I can.”

  “It’s all right, Corlin,” his sister tried, sounding desperate. “Nothing’s been decided yet. I’m only going to meet him.” She flicked a worried look at Delnamal, and he saw that despite her soothing words, she was fully aware what her journey to Nandel signified. He’d been half-expecting to meet with hysterics from her, and he’d been dreading it so much that not only had he had Shelvon deliver the news, but he’d tried his best to avoid seeing her despite her residence in the palace. What he had not expected was for her little brother to think himself man enough to defy the king.

  Corlin’s chin jutted out stubbornly, and his eyes flashed. The boy was small for his age and slight, but the ferocity of his stance hinted at the man he would become. Someday, he would be a man to be reckoned with. But not now.

  “Your mother has obviously allowed you to run wild,” Delnamal snapped. “Let me assure you I will not do the same. You will speak to me with the proper respect, or you will face the appropriate discipline.”

  Delnamal had interviewed the boy’s regular tutor when he’d taken over the children’s care and decided to discharge the man when he expressed reluctance to deliver beatings except in the most dire circumstances. A thirteen-year-old boy, who was naturally just starting to test out his manhood, needed a firm hand, and Delnamal had hired a new tutor who was less squeamish. Up until now, Corlin had been relatively well behaved, and his tutor reported having no cause to do more than rap his knuckles on occasion.

  “I’m speaking to you with all the respect you deserve!” the boy spat. “You’re not our father! We shouldn’t even be here.”

  Jinnell gasped and covered her mouth with her hand, suitably appalled at her brother’s gall. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she gave Delnamal a pleading look that made something squirm deep in his chest.

  “Please, Uncle,” she begged. “He didn’t mean it. He’s just upset.”

  This time when she grabbed her brother, she did so with more force. She was a slender young woman, but her protective instincts made her strong and she took him by surprise, pulling him backward, then giving him a shove toward the doorway. “Go to your room!” she ordered him. “Don’t make this worse for me than it already is.”

  The squirming inside intensified, and Delnamal almost backed down. Jinnell was a surprisingly sweet girl considering her lineage, and she did not deserve the fate she faced in Nandel. Prince Waldmir would break her, and Delnamal would have to live with that knowledge on his conscience. In some ways, it was quite noble—if foolish—of her brother to attempt to defend her like this. Noble acts were often punished, but perhaps he should make allowances just this once…

  “I did mean it!” Corlin spat. “And I’m not scared of you!”

  Jinnell groaned, and though a part of him still regretted the necessity, Delnamal knew that he could not now back down. One way or another, Delnamal was going to destroy Alysoon and Tynthanal, and if the boy lacked the necessary respect for his authority, he could grow into a threat. A good beating now might make the boy think twice about future defiance. It might even prevent him from later involving himself with any treasonous activities that might lead to his unfortunate execution. So really it was for his own good.

  “You should be,” Delnamal growled at his nephew. “I will send your tutor to teach you just how scared you should be.” Jinnell opened her mouth, no doubt to plead once again for mercy, but he’d had enough. “One more word from you, and you’ll have a thrashing, as well. If you’re going to act like a child, I will treat you like one.”

  She gaped at him, and he hoped she wouldn’t test him. Having a thirteen-year-old boy thrashed was one thing, but he could hardly allow Corlin’s tutor to see Jinnell’s bare bottom, and he had no governess on staff who could take care of such duties.

  The girl’s eyes shimmered with tears, and her lower lip quivered as she put her arms around her still-defiant brother. Delnamal let out a silent sigh of relief, and it wasn’t just because he didn’t have to face the inconvenience of finding someone to thrash her.

  It was a hard thing he was doing, sending her to Prince Waldmir. As much as he despised her mother, she was his niece, and she was an innocent. If only her thrice-damned grandmother hadn’t cast that spell…

  He would even now have an heir, with a likelihood of more on the way. His union with Shelvon would never have been a happy one, but it could at least have been fruitful. He wouldn’t have to scramble to strengthen his ties with Nandel so he could have the divorce he needed without causing a diplomatic disaster. And Jinnell could have married whichever respectable young man of Aaltah would have made the best husband.

  He was genuinely sorry for the pain he was causing Jinnell. He was even sorry that Corlin was so distressed about his sister’s fate. But his decision to send her to Nandel had nothing to do with striking out at her mother and everything to do with political necessity. He could feel remorse for what he was being forced to do, but in the end, he had to remember that it was not his fault. The only person who should legitimately feel guilty over the girl’s fate was her grandmother.

  Too bad the bitch was dead.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  If Delnamal had not insisted on moving Jinnell and Corlin into the palace, where they were both always under someone’s watchful eye, Jinnell had no doubt she could have easily rid herself of her virginity by now. She always displayed the proper maidenly modesty in front of others, but she was well aware that she was pretty. Everyone told her so, and she could not miss the occasional admiring glance from the men who crossed her path. But whereas at home, she was well versed in the art of escaping scrutiny, such was not the case in the palace, where she couldn’t take a step without encountering a guard, a servant, or both.

  Over the course of the past week, she had been carefully reviewing her options, and taking a close look at those men with whom she had the most regular contact. While she was not looking for a genuine romantic tryst, she did hope to find someone whose touch she would not find repellent, so she quickly dismissed many of the older men from consideration. Of those who were not old enough to be her father, she felt Corlin’s hateful tutor was the most interested, but she would no more let that creature touch her than she
would jump off the cliffs.

  She had finally settled on Salnor, one of the most junior members of the palace guard. He had not developed the iron stoicism of his elders, and was far more apt to make eye contact when she spoke to him. He also had a free and easy smile that she could not deny she found appealing. She was careful to speak to all the palace guards from time to time so that no one would think she was paying undue attention to Salnor, but she was more generous with her own smiles when he was around, and she noticed how the color rose in his cheeks when she met his eyes. She had little doubt he was interested, but she was not sure how to go about her own deflowering.

  She decided to start by stumbling and “turning her ankle” as she passed him in the hall on her way back to her rooms after a walk in the gardens. Since she was within the residential wing of the palace, she did not have her honor guards trailing around behind her every moment, which gave her at least a semblance of privacy.

  She flashed Salnor a smile as she walked past him, then pretended to trip. She let herself fall to the carpet with a cry of pain that was clearly convincing, for Salnor leapt from his post and hurriedly squatted before her.

  “Are you hurt, Miss Jinnell?” he asked, his eyes wide with alarm.

  Jinnell reached for her ankle, “inadvertently” pushing her skirt up and giving him a teasing glimpse of leg. She moaned as she squeezed the ankle, and though she could not quite manage to make herself cry on demand, she blinked rapidly as if on the verge of tears. “I really twisted it,” she said with a wince.

  Salnor reached out as if to test the ankle himself, then jerked his hand back as he thought better of it. It was all Jinnell could do not to smile when she saw that telltale flush of pink in his cheeks.

  “Can you stand?” he asked, offering her a hand.

  Jinnell took his hand and had to stifle a grimace of distaste at the rough, calloused feel of his skin. As a junior guardsman, he still spent a great deal of his time on drills and exercise, and his hands were much the worse for it. She did not imagine they would feel terribly pleasant against more sensitive skin—but surely they would feel more pleasant than Prince Waldmir’s hands.

  Leaning on the guardsman heavily, she climbed laboriously to her feet and tried to take a step, then clutched more tightly to Salnor’s hand as she winced. “I don’t think I can walk,” she said.

  The flush in Salnor’s cheeks deepened, and he glanced up and down the hallway. For once, there was no one else in sight. Jinnell had chosen her ambush site wisely.

  “I suppose I should carry you,” he said doubtfully.

  “I would be ever so grateful. If you can take me back to my rooms, I’m sure the ladies will know what to do with this dratted ankle. I broke it once when I was a little girl, and it’s never been quite right since.” That was at least half the truth, for though she had indeed once broken her ankle, a healer had been called for and it had been whole and healthy within a few hours.

  Salnor swallowed hard as she slid her arm around his neck to make it easier for him to pick her up. He swept her off her feet with no difficulty—all that training had made him strong as an ox—and she settled comfortably against him as they began the long trek back to her rooms. She could feel the rapid patter of his pulse, and knew it had nothing to do with exertion. She wriggled a little, letting her breast rub against his chest. He swallowed again, proving he was fully aware of the contact despite the barrier of his mail. She smiled up at him brightly.

  “I’m very sorry to have put you out like this,” she said. “You won’t get in trouble for leaving your station, will you?”

  “Not under the circumstances,” he assured her. “It’s no trouble at all, miss.”

  She batted her eyelashes at him, though she failed to grasp why doing so was supposed to be a flirtatious gesture. “You needn’t be so formal when I’m cradled in your arms.”

  His flush deepened, and he cleared his throat. “I would never treat you with anything less than the utmost respect, Miss Jinnell.”

  “You wouldn’t?” she asked, widening her eyes in false innocence. “Why, I’m beginning to think that’s a mighty shame.”

  His gaze darted all around, as if he were searching for rescue, and Jinnell feared she was moving far too fast for him. She knew how to flirt with an awkward young nobleman at a ball, but that was a very different skill than trying to seduce said awkward young nobleman into her bed. While he was on duty in her uncle’s palace, no less. If he were to be suspected of inappropriate behavior with the king’s niece, he would be subjected to a severe flogging at the very least. More likely, his punishment would be considerably more dire, and that possibility would be running rampant through his mind right now. It would behoove her to move as slowly as she dared, though she feared every day that passed led her closer and closer to an engagement that would spell the end of her life.

  “I was just teasing,” she said with a breathy little laugh. “That was terribly rude of me. I’m sorry.”

  “No apologies necessary,” he said, but she was still very much aware of his stiffness and discomfort.

  As she was trying to think of something else to say to both stimulate his interest and calm his discomfort, he turned a corner, and suddenly it seemed like every human being in the palace caught sight of them at once. They were immediately swarmed with servants and guardsmen alike, all asking after Jinnell’s well-being. Despite her protests, one of the older guardsmen took her from Salnor’s arms and insisted on summoning a healer right there and then. Salnor darted back toward his post with every evidence of being relieved, and Jinnell was left trying to assure everyone that her ankle was much better now and she could walk on her own.

  As seductions went, clearly her first attempt had been a dismal failure, and though she had no doubt Salnor was interested, it would obviously take a concerted effort to overcome his sense of propriety. But she did not have the time to be slow and gentle in her pursuit, and that meant that however distasteful it might be, she needed to set her sights on someone less innocent and thoughtful. Someone who would be so eager to take what she was offering that neither his conscience nor his common sense would interfere with his desires.

  Reminding herself that no alternative could be worse than a marriage to Prince Waldmir, she decided that she could stomach Corlin’s tutor for long enough to do what needed to be done. And when her lack of chastity was discovered, she would happily confess the identity of her secret lover without any feelings of guilt whatsoever.

  When next she had a moment alone with Master Wilbaad, she would bait the trap. Even if the very thought of letting that man touch her made her stomach turn.

  * * *

  —

  There were very few things Ellin wanted to do less than have a private audience with Lord Tamzin. Bad enough that she had to sit in endless council meetings with him every day. Since he’d goaded Graesan into the ill-fated assassination attempt on Zarsha, the very sight of him made something clench in her belly, and it was all she could do to manage anything resembling civil discourse. However, the rumor that she and Semsulin had started so long ago, the one that was meant to plant hope in Tamzin’s mind and tame his attempts to undermine her rule, was clearly no longer having the desired effect. Worse, it seemed to be spreading and gaining strength—no doubt thanks to Tamzin and his supporters.

  When Tamzin had requested the audience, her first inclination had been to refuse. Indeed, everything in her had begged her to refuse. There could be no pleasant reason he wished to speak with her in private, and the temptation to hide from whatever trouble he was planning to cause now had been nearly overpowering. However, he was her lord chamberlain, and refusing to see him would be not only childish but irresponsible.

  She did not immediately look up from the paper she was reading when Tamzin was shown into her private study. Not that she was actually reading the paper, mind you. It was nothing but a
prop, meant to show Tamzin that she wasn’t especially concerned about his request for an audience. It also gave her an extra few heartbeats to adjust to the tension his very presence caused—and to put the reins on her temper when she knew that, if not for him, Graesan would still be coming to her bed at night, warming her with his body and his love.

  A few heartbeats was all she had, for instead of standing respectfully awaiting her attention, Tamzin dropped into one of the chairs before her desk without invitation. It was an unthinkable breach of etiquette even for a close family member, much less a member of her royal council. She put down her paper and glared at him, but there was no point in rebuking his behavior. His message of disrespect was best left unacknowledged.

  “Lord Tamzin,” she said in a flat voice that she hoped hid most of what she was feeling. “I only have a few minutes, so please be brief.”

  Tamzin grinned at her. “Yes, your new secretary informed me of your tight schedule. Whatever happened to the last one? I rather liked him, but I haven’t seen him around in ages.”

  Ellin’s heart leapt into her throat, and she felt as if she were choking on it. There was no question Tamzin knew why she had a new secretary, though she doubted he knew exactly what had happened to Graesan. It would not occur to someone like Tamzin that Zarsha was a decent enough man to allow his would-be assassin to live, much less give the man a home and a job. No, Tamzin thought he was poking at the open wound that was Graesan’s death at Zarsha’s hands, and he was enjoying himself.

  “I sincerely doubt you asked for an audience to discuss the disposition of my staff,” she gritted out. Try as she might, she could not hide her anger and her pain. She hated giving Tamzin even that much satisfaction.