by Jenna Glass
Shelvon sat by Corlin’s bedside and hummed tunelessly, stroking his sweat-dampened hair as exhaustion slowly overcame pain and his eyes became heavy. Her voice was unlovely to her own ears, but the boy seemed to find it soothing. Shelvon would never have a child of her own—and if she were being perfectly honest, she would admit she’d never felt any pressing drive to have one, save the drive that was imposed on her by custom—but her need to protect Alys’s son made her whole body vibrate with helpless rage.
Far from being chastened by the first thrashing Delnamal had ordered, Corlin had taken it upon himself to rebel at every turn. Shelvon and Jinnell had both pleaded with him to be more circumspect, if not to protect himself, then to save them from the torture of seeing him suffer. For two whole days after the last beating, he’d been on his best behavior, but with Jinnell scheduled to leave for Nandel at first light tomorrow, today he’d been unable to contain his anger.
He had paid for it dearly. He’d been too modest to allow Shelvon to see the damage, but the spots of blood all up and down the back of his breeches had spoken volumes. Even in Nandel, a beating that left a child bloodied was considered excessive, but Shelvon was certain Delnamal would not balk at the brutality of the tutor he had hired for what seemed to be the express purpose of savaging his sister’s son.
Corlin groaned softly and tried to find a more comfortable position in his bed. Shelvon winced in sympathy and wished she had a sleeping draught to give him. But even if sleeping draughts and healing potions had been readily available, she would not have been permitted to ease or shorten his pain.
There was a whisper-soft knock on the door, and then it opened and Jinnell slipped into the room. She had changed into a nightdress and dressing gown, her long braid coiled under a simple white cap. Shelvon doubted the poor girl would get much sleep tonight, and she cursed her husband and his damned tutor for making her last night at home more painful than it had to be. Jinnell’s eyes were rimmed with red, though she held herself with admirable dignity as she approached her brother’s bedside.
Corlin turned his head and looked at her, his eyes squinched in pain. “I’m sorry, Jinnell,” he said softly, his voice revealing a depth of guilt that made Shelvon want to gather them both into a hug. “I shouldn’t have…I shouldn’t have…”
“Hush, little man,” she said with a tender smile. “I wish I had half your courage and fight.”
Shelvon moved to the side, ceding her place to Jinnell, who gave her a grateful smile.
Even in his pain, Corlin blushed at his sister’s praise. “ ‘Courage’ is not the word Master Wilbaad uses.”
“As if a grown man who beats children has any concept of courage!” Jinnell said with an unladylike snort.
Corlin stuck out his lower lip. “I’m not a child!” he said with all the dignity he could manage while lying on his stomach and making that pouty face.
Jinnell smiled indulgently. “No, of course not.”
Shelvon thought to leave them in privacy, but as she was about to rise, she noticed for the first time that Jinnell held something clutched in her left hand, keeping whatever it was shielded by her body so that neither Shelvon nor Corlin could see it. Curious despite herself, Shelvon stayed where she was.
“Try to get some sleep,” Jinnell said. A strange, sad expression passed over her face. “And I know we’ve fought a lot, but I hope you know I love you.”
Corlin made a disgusted face. “Ewww. Can we save the mushy stuff for morning?”
Jinnell gave a shaky laugh. “Sure. We’ll say the mushy stuff in the morning.” She reached out to stroke the back of her brother’s head, and Shelvon noticed that although she was dressed for bed and otherwise devoid of jewelry, there was a ring on her index finger—a stunning ruby cabochon, surrounded by diamonds that caught the light and flashed with fire.
The moment Jinnell’s hand touched Corlin’s head, the boy’s eyes slid shut and his breathing evened out in sleep. Shelvon could do nothing but gape stupidly as Jinnell tucked whatever she was holding in her left hand under her arm and calmly opened her Mindseye. She plucked something—doubtless a mote of Rho—out of the ring, then closed her Mindseye and fixed Shelvon with a defiant look.
“It was a gift from our mother,” Jinnell said, untucking a set of stays from beneath her arm and laying them on the bed between them. “As long as you’re in contact with the stays, the ring’s spell won’t affect you. But as you can see, the ring induces immediate sleep when it’s active.” She stroked her brother’s hair fondly.
Perhaps Shelvon should have been shocked at the impropriety of what Jinnell had just shown her, but the girl’s grave expression told her there was more to come.
“Why are you telling me this?” Shelvon asked.
Jinnell took off the ring and laid it on top of the stays. “Because I want you to have these.”
“What?” Shelvon frowned fiercely, her heart beating erratically with some premonition of danger.
“Corlin is too fearless,” Jinnell said, “and Uncle Delnamal is too fearful.” She stroked her brother’s hair once more. “My mother gave me the ring and stays to protect myself, but Corlin is in far worse danger than I am. He is not willing to control his temper, and you and I both know that Delnamal will eventually realize the beatings aren’t producing the results he would like. How much more brutal do you suppose he will be if Corlin keeps defying him?” Her eyes glittered with tears. “Eventually, he’s going to start labeling it treason, and you know where that’s going to end.”
Shelvon jerked backward, shaking her head. “But he’s just a child,” she protested.
Jinnell snarled and pulled down the covers, revealing Corlin’s bloodstained breeches. “He was happy enough to do this to a child! And this is before my mother and Uncle Tynthanal have heard that he’s sending me away.” She pulled the covers back over her brother, her eyes pleading with Shelvon to understand. “How do you suppose they’ll react when they find out I’ve been sent to Nandel while they’ve been effectively exiled? That in all likelihood, they will never see me again? My mother may not be able to do much to challenge Delnamal’s reign, but Uncle Tynthanal has a squadron of loyal men with him. What will Delnamal do with Corlin to keep Tynthanal under control? He’s already threatened me with a treason charge, as you know.”
Shelvon bit her lip in anxiety. Jinnell had told her about Delnamal’s threat, and Shelvon had no reason not to believe he’d meant every word. He had brought the children to live in the palace so he could have total control over their lives—and threaten them at will. And there was a reason he’d endeavored to see so little of them once they were here. It was so much easier to hurt people—especially innocents—when you didn’t have to face the results of your actions, when you didn’t have to see the pain and absorb the guilt.
Jinnell rose and went to the door. Shelvon wondered where she was going—but she wasn’t going anywhere.
Falcor, her mother’s master of the guard, stepped into the room. He would not be traveling with her to Nandel—Delnamal had assigned her an entirely new set of guards for the journey and would likely dismiss Falcor entirely once she was gone. The man was too loyal to Alysoon and the children for Delnamal’s taste. Shelvon should be scandalized that he was in the room when Jinnell was in dishabille, but there were far too many other dangerous undertones for the impropriety to matter.
Falcor bowed to her. “Your Majesty.”
Jinnell licked her lips. “I’ve asked Falcor to take you and Corlin to Women’s Well. The king will be occupied escorting me to the border all of tomorrow. If you leave as soon as we are gone, you will have at least a day’s head start before he realizes you are gone. Maybe even more, considering how reluctant he is to risk running into Corlin and having to face his own brutality.” She gestured toward the stays and the ring. “You can use them to help make sure you aren’t seen. I know you don’t
want to use magic, but I hope you care enough about Corlin to make that sacrifice.”
It was as if Shelvon had stepped into a waking dream. She looked between the sleeping boy, the earnest girl, and the grim-faced guard, and wondered how it was possible she found herself in this ridiculous position.
She was the Queen of Aaltah. She’d been raised since childhood to serve and obey the men in her life without question. Even with the more relaxed laws of Aaltah, her husband all but owned her, and would even if he weren’t the king. And yet here was this teenage girl asking her to kidnap the king’s nephew.
“You’re asking me to commit an act of treason,” she said in a small voice she barely recognized as her own.
There was no question as to what her duty was. Not only could she not do as Jinnell asked, she must also report the attempted treason to Delnamal. Because he needed her as his bargaining chip with Nandel, he was unlikely to execute Jinnell no matter how furious her plan made him, but Falcor was sure to die horribly. Shelvon had no particular attachment to the man—she barely knew him—but the thought of how the king would make him suffer before he died formed a knot of terror and revulsion in the pit of her stomach. He watched her with a calm and stoic resolve, but she could see from the look in his eyes that he knew exactly what he was risking.
Shelvon swallowed hard. Jinnell and Falcor might be suggesting treason, but it was only because they cared about Corlin so deeply. In her heart, Shelvon knew that Jinnell was right, that Corlin was in mortal danger. Delnamal would not tolerate the boy’s defiance, and the older Corlin became, the more brutal the punishments would be. What even a man as cruel as Delnamal might hesitate to do to a thirteen-year-old, he would no doubt happily do in another couple of years.
“I’m asking you to save my little brother,” Jinnell said. “You care about him, I can tell. And you see the danger. He can’t stay here.”
“You could have sent him with your man,” Shelvon said, gesturing at the still-silent guard. “You didn’t have to involve me.”
“But the king will blame you if Corlin disappears while under your care. Now that he’s given up hope that you’ll give him an heir and has me to soothe your father’s ruffled feathers, how do you suppose he’ll react if he thinks you allowed Corlin to run away?”
The look on Jinnell’s face was open and guileless, but if there was one thing Shelvon had learned from close association, it was that Jinnell was not half so guileless as she seemed.
Was she truly suggesting Shelvon flee Aalwell for her own good? Or was she trying to eliminate a potential witness?
Shelvon sighed softly. Jinnell’s true motives didn’t matter. What mattered was that by asking her to flee with Corlin, Jinnell had put her in an impossible situation.
Jinnell sat on the bed beside her. “I need your help, Aunt Shelvon. I need to get Corlin away from the king, and this is the only way I can think to do it. I’ll soon be out of the king’s reach, but you won’t if you stay here. I know that you’re a good, kind person, and I trust that you won’t turn us all in. If you’d truly prefer to stay here and face the king’s wrath, then so be it.” She glanced over at Falcor. “My ring will look rather silly on him, and let’s not even talk about the stays, but he cares enough about Corlin to risk his dignity as well as his life. We can do it without you, as long as you stay silent. But in my heart, I believe you will be safer if you go with them.”
Shelvon chewed her lip as she thought. For all that her duty was to immediately report this talk of treason to the king, she knew that was the one thing she wouldn’t do. That left her with the stark choice of fleeing with them or staying behind.
“When the king finds Corlin is missing, Women’s Well will be the first place he thinks to look,” she said.
Falcor nodded. “In all likelihood, we will have to leave as soon as we arrive. Once we reunite Corlin with Lady Alysoon, we should immediately head to Grunir. From there, we can book passage to anywhere in the world, and the king will have trouble tracking our movements.”
“Unless the Sovereign Prince of Grunir hands you over.” Grunir was an independent principality, but it was hardly in a position to defy the King of Aaltah.
“That’s why speed is of the essence. I have secured chevals for all of us, and if we ride hard, we can reach Women’s Well in a little more than two days’ time. The pursuit will lag well behind, and by the time they reach Women’s Well, we can be long gone and on a ship to Khalpar.”
“The dowager queen is from Khalpar,” she reminded him, as if there were any chance he’d forgotten. The marriage between the late King Aaltyn and Queen Xanvin had cemented an alliance with Khalpar for generations to come.
Falcor shrugged. “There will be risk wherever we go, and our lives will no doubt depend on hiding our identities. But our first priority is removing the boy from the king’s reach.”
While Falcor was talking, Jinnell had picked up the ring and the stays again, laying both in her lap. Shelvon glanced over at the girl and was faced with a suddenly neutral expression. She looked back at Falcor and noted that he was armed, as befitted an honor guardsman.
Her pulse picked up speed, and she wondered if Jinnell had activated the spell in that ring while she wasn’t looking. If she refused to flee with Corlin and Falcor, would she soon find herself helplessly asleep under the ring’s spell? And might Falcor be determined enough to take Corlin to his mother that he would prevent her from ever waking up?
Shelvon mentally rolled her eyes at herself. She was being ridiculous. Their flight to Women’s Well would be over before it began if she were murdered in the night.
“If we left now,” she found herself saying to Jinnell, “you could come, too.”
But Jinnell shook her head sadly. “You will need every hour of distraction I can provide. I will slow down tomorrow’s procession as much as humanly possible. Depending on how indulgent the king is feeling, I might even be able to delay us enough to force him to spend the night away from the palace. If we all left now, he would know we were missing by morning and probably have us back in custody by afternoon.”
Shelvon could hardly believe she was considering doing this. Committing open treason. Defying the husband and king she had sworn to obey. If she did this and they were caught, beheading would be the least unpleasant of her likely fates.
But she was not willing to turn anyone in, and if she remained behind…
Her husband had never liked her, but ever since the night he’d struck her and she’d mocked him for it, she was fairly certain his dislike had edged over toward hatred. He would be all too glad to blame her for Corlin’s escape, and she wouldn’t be entirely surprised if that blame became an excuse to level a treason charge.
If she was going to face a possible arrest for treason no matter what she did, then she’d rather risk it in the name of saving a child’s life.
“All right. I’ll go.”
Jinnell’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Thank you.” Her eyes went white, and she plucked at the ring she held in the palm of her hand.
The blood left Shelvon’s face as she realized she hadn’t been ridiculous, after all. Jinnell had truly been prepared to use that sleep spell against her.
“If it had been necessary,” Jinnell said as her eyes cleared, “we would have kept you asleep until morning, then left you bound and gagged where you would not be found until long after we’d left. It would have made it easier to convince the king you did not willingly allow Corlin to be taken.”
Shelvon shivered and said nothing. If that were all they’d planned, they would have told her from the start. After all, the stated reason why she should go with them was because the king would blame her, and they’d had a plan to divert that blame.
For a long moment, she battled a desire to press the issue, to try to force Jinnell to confess what she and Falcor had actually planned to do if Shelvon did n
ot agree to go with Corlin. In the end, she decided she didn’t truly want to know. The truth of the matter was that Jinnell was giving up her own chance at safety in order to save her brother’s life. That she’d invited Shelvon to join in the attempt, that she’d given her an option other than being left alone to face Delnamal’s wrath, was a luxury she had no right to expect.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Ellin grunted in exasperation when she heard the quiet knock coming from behind the tapestry. She was sitting at her dressing table, still fully clothed, while Star painstakingly removed the pins from the intricate headdress she’d worn for the evening’s formal dinner.
Ellin met her maid’s eyes in the glass. Star was fully aware of the disastrous end to Ellin’s affair with Graesan, just as she was aware that there was only one person in the palace who would have the gall to come knocking on that secret door.
“Shall I let him in?” Star asked as she carefully lifted off the headdress and laid it on the table. Ellin’s hair looked frightful in the aftermath.
Ellin wanted to say no. It was not only supremely impertinent for Zarsha to take such a liberty, but it was also dangerous. What if someone other than Star had been in the room with her?
And when is anyone but Star in the bedroom with me at night? she asked herself with a little stab of self-pity. She had received a brief letter from Graesan when he’d arrived in Nandel to let her know he was all right, but since then she had heard nothing. Zarsha insisted it was for the best that she cut her ties with her former lover entirely, but sometimes when she was alone at night in her bed, she battled tears of longing and loneliness.
“I suppose you had better,” Ellin said, trying vainly to smooth down the tangled mess the headdress had made of her hair. “I’m sure he wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”
Twice before, he’d shown up at her bedroom door for the kind of private audience she could not grant him during the day without having to explain herself. The royal council—especially Semsulin—was extremely jealous of her time, and many of them were getting impatient with Zarsha’s extended visit. Ellin had no doubt Tamzin was behind that growing impatience.