by Jenna Glass
Tamzin smiled. Somehow, when others saw that smile, they were charmed, but Ellin couldn’t understand how so many missed the malice that she saw so clearly in his eyes. “No, I merely sought to satisfy my idle curiosity.” His nostrils flared briefly, as if he could scent the pain he was causing. “What I truly wanted to discuss with you is a delicate matter, which is why I requested a private audience rather than bringing it up during a council meeting.”
There was that flash of malice again, the flash that told her whatever “delicate matter” he wanted to discuss was something designed to hurt her in one way or another. She steeled herself, searching for a well of calm to mask her true feelings. “Well, what is it?” she asked, and was pleased that her tone betrayed nothing but impatience.
“There are some at this court who believe you have formed an…unhealthy attachment to Zarsha of Nandel. It is understandable, certainly, for a young woman to form an attachment to the man she is going to marry, but once that engagement is over…” He shrugged and made a regretful face. “Well, it’s best for all that both parties move on.”
Ellin was confident that the only member of her court who was concerned about this “unhealthy attachment” was sitting on the other side of her desk. If rumors had sprung up about any possible impropriety in her relationship with Zarsha, Semsulin would have heard of them and brought them to her attention. She was certain that neither she nor Zarsha had given the court any cause to suspect them of a romantic entanglement, and not even Semsulin knew that Zarsha was still pursuing a possible engagement.
“I won’t even dignify that nonsense with a response,” she said.
“But you should, Your Majesty. I’m sure you know rumors and rumblings don’t have to be true to cause a great deal of trouble and inconvenience. It would be best for you—and for our kingdom—if you were to put those rumors to rest before they grow out of control.”
“Is that why you tried to have Zarsha assassinated?” she blurted. Later, she might regret putting the accusation into words, but it was too late to swallow them now.
Tamzin widened his eyes in feigned shock. “I can’t imagine what you’re talking about, Your Majesty. Who would dare make such a baseless accusation?”
“If you had as much concern for the good of the kingdom as you claim, you would never have risked having the nephew of Sovereign Prince Waldmir murdered while he was a guest of the Crown.”
“I must insist you present the evidence upon which you have leveled this outrageous charge!” The look in his eyes said he was far more amused—and entertained—by her accusation than worried by it.
Realizing she was only fueling Tamzin’s hunger, Ellin forced herself to return to the subject at hand. “I will take your warning under advisement,” she said coldly and with no sincerity. “And I would ask you to put the needs of the Kingdom of Rhozinolm above your own personal ambitions.”
“And I would ask the same of you,” he retorted. “If you wish to quell the unpleasant rumors before they take root, then send Zarsha of Nandel home so that we can all rest assured that he is not trying to woo his way onto the throne. And let us—discreetly, of course—make it known that you and I will marry when your mourning is over. Rhozinolm needs a king, and we both know I am the most suited for the position.”
I would sooner take a poisonous snake to my bed than you, she thought, but thankfully she refrained from saying it. “As I have made abundantly clear, I have no intention of discussing my marriage arrangement until after my mourning is over.”
Tamzin removed the mask of courtesy he’d hidden behind and fixed her with a look that chilled her to the marrow. “You may refrain from publicly discussing the arrangement until after your mourning has ended, but it is past time you let it be known to the members of your royal council. I’m sure you know they will happily support me, and I sincerely doubt you can find another candidate of whom you can say the same.”
“I will take your warning under advisement,” she said again, and with as little intention of doing so.
“You do that. But don’t think about it too long, Your Majesty. I fear for the security of your throne if you don’t act to quell the rumors about your relationship with Zarsha of Nandel. You cannot even begin to imagine the visceral outrage the thought of a Nandelite sitting on the throne of Rhozinolm would create in your people.”
Ellin clenched her teeth to keep from voicing any of her thoughts. He hadn’t quite gone so far as to openly threaten her, hadn’t said enough to warrant a treason charge—even if she’d had a witness—but there was no question of his intent.
If she didn’t send Zarsha home and agree to marry Tamzin, then he was going to start spreading whispers about her and Zarsha. He would rile up those who already opposed her and frighten those who were currently neutral. The rumor might even be ugly enough to turn some of her own supporters against her.
Once he’d sufficiently stirred the pot, Tamzin would take up arms against her. And as long as he had the support of the lord commander and the lord high treasurer, she would be helpless to stop him.
* * *
—
As a general rule, Delnamal seemed to take great pains to avoid seeing or speaking to Jinnell and Corlin, difficult as that was when they were all living in the same wing of the palace. Jinnell was perfectly satisfied with that arrangement, and would have been happier still if she never saw her uncle at all. It certainly would be safer for Corlin, who, far from being cowed by the vicious beating Delnamal had ordered, had discovered a taste for rebellion and a remarkable talent for getting under the skin of his elders. So she was far from pleased when Delnamal stepped into the sitting room where she was reading and instead of immediately finding an excuse to leave, strode toward her.
Reluctantly, Jinnell put the book down and stood so she could give him the curtsy protocol required. She bowed her head demurely and murmured a respectful greeting, which he failed to return. He picked up the book she’d been reading, and beneath her lowered lashes, she saw the look of surprise on his face.
“A Devotional?” he said in some astonishment. “I did not think you a pious sort.”
“The dowager gave it to me and urged me to read it,” she said, remembering the painful awkwardness of the moment. Jinnell had studied the Devotional growing up, as any well-brought-up lady should, but she could not say its teachings called to her. However, the dowager seemed to find great peace and serenity from reading it, and Jinnell had a desperate need for peace and serenity. Her safety depended on her ability to seduce Master Wilbaad, and yet she could not see him without thinking about his brutal treatment of her little brother.
“Your obedience is admirable,” Delnamal said, and there was an unmistakable edge in his voice that made her pulse speed. He had no reason to be angry with her—unless he blamed her for not controlling her little brother’s bad behavior—but she had little doubt that he was.
“Have I displeased you, Your Majesty?” she asked in a tremulous voice, racking her brain for something she might have done or said to draw his ire. Corlin might claim not to be afraid of their uncle, but Jinnell felt no shame in admitting that she was. There was so much anger in his heart, and he hardly seemed to see her and Corlin as people, much less as family. In his eyes, they were only their mother’s children, and as such were weapons to be used to wound her.
Delnamal raised his eyebrows in feigned surprise. “Have you done something with which I should be displeased?” he asked.
Her eyebrows drew together in a frown of puzzlement, and she shook her head. “No, Your Majesty.”
“So you have behaved with perfect propriety and decorum at all times since last we spoke.” His narrowed eyes and growling tone made her long to take a step backward.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said. She had certainly intended impropriety when she had “tripped” in the hallway, but since her intentions had not come to frui
tion…
“The captain of the palace guard reported to me that he was forced to reassign one of his men because you made improper advances.”
Jinnell gasped in mingled fear and outrage. She had done nothing that might be considered improper!
Well, she had made an unwisely flirtatious comment to Salnor, but no one could know what she’d said. Unless Salnor himself had reported it to his superiors. She had known she’d made him uncomfortable, but she’d had no idea he was that much of a prig!
“I did no such thing!” she said indignantly, though she feared she sounded more frightened than angry.
“So the guardsman lied?” Delnamal sneered. “You did not suggest that he deviate from the proper, respectful behavior of a guardsman? Very well. I shall have him flogged. An offense of this magnitude requires a stern punishment. Perhaps fifty lashes.”
The blood drained from Jinnell’s face. Salnor had betrayed her, but that was hardly a crime worthy of fifty lashes. The pain would be immense, and he would bear the scars for the rest of his life. She could not allow that.
“I didn’t say he lied,” she murmured. “I said I did not make improper advances. I’ll allow as how he might have misinterpreted my words, but I was merely teasing him to make him blush. I meant no offense.”
“Hmm,” Delnamal said, looking at her with glittering eyes. “It is a dangerous game for a pretty girl to ‘tease’ a young man like that. It is hardly surprising that he might have misinterpreted your intent, for that is often the way of young men. You are fortunate that he requested reassignment rather than acting upon what he saw as an invitation. Once a man hears such an invitation—whether it was intended as one or not—he often has a great deal of trouble discerning when that invitation has been revoked.”
“I will be more circumspect in the future,” she promised.
“See that you are. Your kingdom needs you fresh and unspoiled when you are presented to Sovereign Prince Waldmir, for those trade agreements are of vital importance. If through some naïve, childish error on your part, you were to find yourself unfit to be his bride, I might be forced to regard your behavior as something akin to treason, for it would not be only your own good name you dishonored—it would be Aaltah’s.”
Jinnell quailed, for she could see in Delnamal’s eyes that he was deadly serious. Being branded unchaste would land her in the Abbey; being branded a traitor would land her at the block. Tears filmed her eyes, and her lower lip trembled.
“I have done nothing wrong, Uncle,” she said, then cursed herself for the familiar form of address.
Delnamal’s eyes continued to bore into her. “See that it stays that way. Do we understand each other?”
Jinnell bowed her head and closed her eyes, for she did indeed understand. Losing her virginity to avoid a marriage with Prince Waldmir was no longer among her options.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
“This is madness,” Alys said, rising from her chair and stepping away from the table, unable to sit still. She was painfully aware of six pairs of eyes boring into her back as she crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the far wall to avoid all those expectant gazes.
“It’s not madness,” Tynthanal said, “it’s necessity.”
She shook her head, unwilling to answer in words. This had been a deliberate ambush. Every evening, there was a meeting in the east wing of the town hall during which the unofficial leaders of Women’s Well would discuss the day’s issues and successes. It had started out being just her, Tynthanal, and Chanlix, but then Tynthanal had included Jailom, his second-in-command, and Chanlix had begun bringing Maidel, a young abigail she’d taken under her wing, and then the chair of the building committee had invited himself and one of the merchants who’d taken up residence in Women’s Well. Little by little, Tynthanal—who had at one time been the highest-ranking person in Women’s Well and therefore considered by everyone as its leader—had started deferring to her, looking at her before taking a stand on any issue. She should have seen what he was doing, but perhaps she’d been willfully blind. Having not received any promises of aid from Queen Ellinsoltah, she had all but banished the thought of contesting Delnamal’s claim to the throne, but now Tynthanal was angling toward a different goal.
“We are citizens of Aaltah,” she said between gritted teeth. “We cannot—”
“Most of us are to all intents and purposes exiled,” Tynthanal argued. “And technically, our town is located in the Wasteland, past Aaltah’s border.”
She whirled and glared at him. Neither she, nor her brother, nor Chanlix had mentioned to anyone that she might contest Delnamal’s claim to the throne of Aaltah, and it was evident that Queen Ellinsoltah had not shared their conversation. Tynthanal had agreed that without the support of another kingdom, she didn’t dare challenge Delnamal. And now here he was suggesting that Women’s Well was not, in fact, a town within the Kingdom of Aaltah but was instead an independent principality. Worse, he was doing it not in private, but in front of all the most influential people of Women’s Well, planting the idea in their minds because he knew full well it would take root.
“We both know that the king will not see it that way.”
“Beg your pardon, Your Highness,” Jailom said pointedly, “but every day we are here we break new laws. Even before you arrived, we were already flirting with charges of desertion and treason. We did not settle exactly where we were ordered to settle, we have not set up a functioning Abbey, the women no longer wear the robes or work the pavilion, and we have knowingly concealed a great deal of information.”
Alys let out a grunt of frustration. She should immediately reprimand Jailom for calling her Your Highness, but she had so many other objections that seemed more pressing.
“If you think declaring our independence is going to improve our situation, you are as mad as my brother. As both my brothers.”
Jailom leaned forward with his elbows on the table, radiating intensity. “How long do you think we have before he finds out how much we’ve already defied him?”
Chanlix took up the argument. “Word is spreading, and we are less isolated now than we were even a month ago. We have to plan for the moment when the king realizes he cannot simply forget about us just because we’re so far away.”
“We were always on borrowed time,” Tynthanal continued, “but we had reason to hope Father would forgive our sins when we presented him with such useful magic. You and I both know that will not be the case with Delnamal.”
Alys dropped into her chair, wishing she could just go back to her spell crafting. With her Mindseye open and the air alive with colorful motes, the world felt full of hope and possibility, and her mind tumbled over itself with new combinations she wanted to try. Even knowing that spell crafting was an inherently dangerous endeavor—especially when she was not possessed of years of training—she felt safe and in control when she was doing it.
The population of Women’s Well was growing at an almost alarming pace. The people of the poor and struggling towns that edged up against the Wasteland were flocking to the bounty the new Well had produced, and the soldiers and abigails who had originally settled the place were now outnumbered. Tynthanal and his men had taken it upon themselves to uphold the law and keep the peace, but he had no official mandate that allowed him to discipline anyone but his own soldiers. Which didn’t stop him from doing so.
In effect, they were already functioning as an independent principality, basing their laws and customs on those of Aaltah, but altering them to fit their own needs. And it was true that Delnamal was bound to find out sooner, rather than later.
She gave Tynthanal a pleading look. “He has my children. We don’t dare provoke him.”
“We provoke him merely by existing,” he said gently.
“I won’t do it,” she said more firmly. “If you’d l
ike to proclaim yourself the Prince of Women’s Well, then go right ahead, but I will not support you while my children are in Delnamal’s custody.”
“That is not the plan.”
While Alys and Chanlix knew the true reason that Tynthanal had no desire to make a try for the crown, he had told the rest of this little would-be royal council a different story: that it only made sense for the sovereign of Women’s Well to be a woman. And somehow, because of the uniquely integrated society they seemed to be forming, he’d convinced the others to agree. They did not want Prince Tynthanal—they wanted Princess Alysoon.
“Then there is no plan,” she said. “I will say this one more time: I refuse to provoke the king unless and until my children are safe.” Or until I have no other choice. The anxiety that thought provoked was almost too great to bear, for she could not deny that some sort of conflict with Delnamal was inevitable.
There was some grumbling around the table, but Jailom cut it off. “Then we must simply find a way to make the children safe.”
He said it as if it were a simple task, but of course it was impossible. The children would be well guarded in the palace, so there was little likelihood of spiriting them away to safety—even if safety could be found.
“When you have a way to ensure the children’s safety,” she said, addressing her statement to both Jailom in particular and the “council” in general, “then I will reconsider. But until such time, we are not discussing this any further.”
“Then perhaps we should discuss how best to prepare for an attack,” Tynthanal suggested grimly. “Because whether we declare independence or not, one is coming. I don’t like our chances of surviving with potentially the entire army of Aaltah fighting to destroy us, but we can at least give them something to remember us by. And be prepared to evacuate as many civilians as possible before it comes.”
* * *
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