by Jenna Glass
“They’re coming here,” she said, because there was nowhere else she could imagine them fleeing to.
“Almost certainly,” Tynthanal agreed. “If I were orchestrating an escape from Aalwell, I would travel on cheval to put as much distance between myself and pursuit as possible as fast as possible. If they are on chevals and left Aalwell the moment the king’s procession departed, they should be nearly here by now.”
Alys nodded absently. The flier—which traveled faster than a cheval, had no need for rest, and could travel in a straight line—could cross the distance between Aalwell and Women’s Well in about one day’s time, and this flier had been sent after Corlin and Shelvon had been discovered missing.
And now Alys fully understood why Tynthanal had chosen to break this news to her in front of all these other people, rather than in private.
“The moment they arrive in Women’s Well,” Tynthanal continued, “we cease to be beneath the king’s notice, and no matter what we do, a treason charge will follow swift on their heels.” His eyes bored into her, and she had no trouble reading the message he was trying to convey: she was out of time.
“Even if we handed your son and the queen over to the king’s forces—which of course we won’t,” Chanlix said gently, “we will have drawn his attention, and he will crush us.”
Alys shook her head. It was too soon! “Your men are good, but the king can send ten times as many against us if he wishes.” And though she had designed a number of spells specifically meant to tempt Queen Ellinsoltah into an alliance, reaching out to Rhozinolm while Delnamal’s forces were marching on Women’s Well reeked of desperation. How could she expect Ellinsoltah to take her seriously under those circumstances?
“We can make it difficult for them,” Jailom said. “He will not immediately send an army. Why should he think he’d need to? We have magic he has never seen before and that his commanders will have no defenses against.”
Alys frowned at him. “Very little of our magic has the power to scare anyone.” With the exception of one of the spells that had finally succeeded today, the magic of Women’s Well was best suited for health and growth and defense.
“But we do have Kai,” Chanlix said with a gleam in her eyes.
“Lower your voice!” Alys snapped, glaring at the former abbess. Everyone in the room knew about the women’s Kai, but it was—as far as Alys knew—still Women’s Well’s best-kept secret.
Chanlix lowered her voice as asked, but did not subside. “It cannot stay secret forever. And perhaps it should not. The only reason we sent that first flier to Melcor was because we still hoped Delnamal would father an heir. That is no longer a possibility, and it’s past time he paid the price for what he did.”
Alys started to object, but Chanlix kept talking.
“If it becomes known that we have this power, that we have harnessed it in such a way that we can strike with it from a distance, it would be a powerful deterrent against any who wish to attack us.”
“It won’t deter Delnamal if he’s already been struck,” she retorted. “I can’t argue that he doesn’t deserve it, but I can’t see how it would further our cause to so enrage him.”
“He’s enraged anyway,” Tynthanal said. “If we were to make him incapable of fathering an heir, then perhaps we could persuade his royal council he is no longer fit to be king.” He leaned forward, as eager to strike as Chanlix. “And if the council doesn’t see it that way, perhaps we can remind certain key members that we have more Kai available, as well as having the only known method of delivering it over a distance. We are not as defenseless as you seem to think.”
Alys stared at this new, bloodthirsty version of her brother, and wondered whether he was thinking more about the well-being of Women’s Well or getting revenge for the attack on the woman who now shared his bed. “You would do that to the lord commander?” she asked, for Tynthanal had always seemed to respect his commander and had more than once called him a good man. And there was no way they could turn the royal council without the lord commander’s support.
“I will do whatever it takes to protect the lives of the people of this principality.”
“We are not a principality!” she objected. “Not yet, at least.”
“You are the only one who has so far failed to acknowledge that you are our sovereign princess,” Jailom said. “Tynthanal is your lord chancellor; I am your lord commander; Chanlix is your grand magus.” He looked at the other three members of the would-be royal council. “Trade minister,” he said, pointing at the merchant, before frowning at the last two members. “I’m not sure who is the lord chamberlain, the marshal, and the lord high treasurer, but we can work that out.”
Alys fought the panic that was building in her chest. When she’d contacted Queen Ellinsoltah and declared herself the rightful Queen of Aaltah, it had felt…unreal. So ridiculous and unlikely to work that her nerves had barely troubled her. But with Delnamal already provoked and with Shelvon and Corlin coming their way, it all felt very, very real.
There was a reason she’d been trying so desperately to buy time, and it wasn’t entirely because of fear or indecision. The defenses Tynthanal had laid out were only temporary measures.
“Even if we choose not to unleash the Kai spell, we can withstand the initial attack,” Tynthanal insisted. “I know the lord commander, and he trained me well. He will send what he thinks is an overwhelming force, but they will be completely unprepared for the magic of Women’s Well. His overwhelming force will not be enough.”
“These will be men you trained with and fought with since you first entered the Citadel,” she reminded him. “Are you really so eager to kill them?”
He and Jailom shared a look. “We are not eager,” Tynthanal said, “but we won’t have a choice.” He glanced at Chanlix. “How many Trapper spells do you suppose we can produce in the time it takes the king to muster the forces to attack us?”
By the time Chanlix and Alys had finished modifying the Trapper spell, it was capable of creating an illusion large enough to hide an entire house from view.
Chanlix smiled. “Quite a few, now that we know how to do it. We have plenty of Zal. And since the spell can be contained in stone, we have plenty of available spell vessels.”
Tynthanal nodded in satisfaction, his eyes gleaming with excitement once more. As if he was actually looking forward to the battle, though Alys supposed that was not particularly unusual for a lifelong soldier. “We can create an ambush the likes of which the world has never seen. And by the time Delnamal regroups and sends a force large enough to overwhelm us, we may well have developed new and unexpected spells. And found new allies.”
That was the key, Alys knew. Tynthanal was probably right. Women’s Well could likely withstand the first wave Delnamal sent against them simply because he would not know what he was up against. And once they survived that first wave and had demonstrated the usefulness of the unique magic they produced, Queen Ellinsoltah would be less likely to see an overture as an act of desperation.
“We will lose a lot of good men,” she said. “Even a victory against that first attack will be costly.”
“Not as costly as doing nothing,” Tynthanal countered.
Everything within her recoiled at the thought of staging such an open rebellion with no allies to support them. But no matter how she looked at it, Tynthanal was right. If they did nothing, then Women’s Well was doomed, and many of its inhabitants would be put to death, including herself and her brother—and very likely Shelvon and Corlin, when they arrived. She could not let that happen!
There was a long silence as everyone at the table stared at her with hopeful eyes. They were all frightened—even those who hid their fear most successfully—but there was not a person at the table who didn’t wish for her to take this fateful step.
“Very well,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t
shake. “I will be the Sovereign Princess of Women’s Well.” She turned to Chanlix. “And we will punish Delnamal for the atrocity that was committed on his orders. Let’s send him a gift he will not forget.”
If Delnamal lost his ability to sire an heir and also suffered a humiliating defeat at the hands of their fledgling principality, then it was possible that not only would Women’s Well win its independence, but that his royal council might decide he wasn’t the rightful King of Aaltah, after all.
CHAPTER FORTY
Shelvon had never ached so terribly in her entire life, nor had she ever been half so exhausted. She hadn’t admitted it to anyone, but she’d never ridden a cheval before, and so was completely unprepared for how physically demanding it could be. Especially when Falcor set so punishing a pace in hopes of outrunning any possible pursuit. He pushed the chevals to their top speed and kept them there, galloping headlong down the road at a pace that made staying seated a life-or-death proposition, with few stops for rest.
People noticed them when they tore through towns along the way, but they were through all the major ones by the time fliers started arriving and demanding their arrest, and the smallest towns did not have militias capable of stopping them. And still Falcor pressed, urging them to greater speed despite the toll it was taking on them.
For all her pain and misery, Shelvon did not complain, for poor Corlin’s ride was pure agony, and the pain potions Falcor gave him barely took the edge off. The bruises deepened, and the welts opened up, leaving his breeches stained and stuck to his legs and backside. By the second day, he was weak and woozy enough that Falcor insisted on strapping him to the saddle lest he lose consciousness and fall off.
“He needs a healer,” Shelvon had insisted tearfully as she watched the boy slump in the saddle while Falcor strapped him in with belts and ropes.
“If we stop for a healer,” Falcor insisted, “we will be caught.” He patted Corlin’s thigh. “I’m sorry, Master Corlin, but we need you to hold on just a little longer.”
Corlin nodded, his eyes dull and glazed with pain. “I know,” he rasped, then tried to put on a brave face as he looked at Shelvon. “I’ll be all right, Aunt Shelvon,” he assured her, but it was hard to believe him when he looked so haggard.
And yet, they had no choice but to keep riding, as fast as the chevals could go and as long as they could endure.
By the time they reached Women’s Well, their pace had slowed considerably, as Corlin could no longer keep himself in the saddle and had to ride double with Falcor, his head lolling as the guardsman guided the cheval with one hand and held him about the waist with the other. Shelvon herself could barely stay upright, and when Falcor brought the chevals to a stop and the townspeople came flooding toward them, she felt herself tipping sideways. She made a weak grab for the saddle, but her movements were too sluggish. She saw ground coming up to meet her.
* * *
—
Corlin would be mortally embarrassed to know his mother was there when Chanlix cut away his bloodstained breeches and revealed the ravages of a beating no child should ever have been forced to endure. Alys had been so filled with helpless rage that she’d screamed and almost punched the wall, as she’d seen a couple of boneheaded men do over the course of her lifetime. She held back before she needed a healer herself, but she was shaking with the need to strike back at whoever had done that to her son.
Chanlix assessed the damage with a degree of detachment that both angered and impressed Alys, touching the ugliest of the open wounds and nodding. She met Alys’s eyes and nodded again.
“He’s going to be fine,” she said, and there was no hint of doubt in her voice. “There is some infection setting in, but our potions can fix that.”
“And are they strong enough to close those gashes?” Alys asked anxiously. They looked long enough and bloody enough to require battlefield healing spells, which were in scant supply in Women’s Well. Alys wished she’d put more time into experimenting with ways to augment women’s healing magic. She had a feeling they were going to need it.
Chanlix nodded. “They are not deep, even if they are ugly. Go and talk to your master of the guard. By the time you return, I’ll have him cleaned up and well on the way to mending.”
Alys hesitated, reluctant to let her son out of her sight. But she had ordered Falcor to wait for her downstairs when Corlin and Shelvon had been carried into the house of healing, and though he appeared to be whole and healthy, he certainly needed rest.
Sighing, she glanced around the partition to the neighboring bed, where Shelvon lay deeply asleep, aided by a potion that had been pressed on her when she was barely conscious. Her body had been pushed beyond endurance, and though Alys would have liked to talk to her, she understood that rest had to come first.
Emotions heaving and lurching within her, Alys descended the stairs to the first floor of the house of healing, where Falcor stood waiting, practically swaying on his feet in weariness. She didn’t know whether she wanted to hug him for bringing Corlin to her or scratch his eyes out for not bringing Jinnell.
“Tell me everything,” she demanded, and he obeyed.
Rarely did Alys allow herself to cry in public, but she could not hold back the tears when she heard of Delnamal’s brutality toward Corlin, and she moaned in agony when he told her how Jinnell had given up her magic items to aid their escape. Her little girl was on her way to meet Waldmir with no way to protect herself, and there was nothing Alys could do for her.
“Miss Jinnell is an extraordinary young woman, with an extraordinary mind,” Falcor told her. “By the time she came to me with her proposal, she had worked out every detail.”
Alys’s throat tightened. “And you believe she was right, and you could not have brought her with you.”
Falcor bowed his head. “If she had come with us—or if she hadn’t delayed the procession so that we had such a significant head start—we would all be in a dungeon right now. Even Corlin, for it is clear that the king has no familial loyalty even to the children.”
Alys shuddered and hugged herself, proud of her daughter and terrified for her.
“I would have given my life if that could have gotten her to safety,” Falcor said softly. “I hope you know that.”
Alys blinked and looked at the man before her, the man who’d been protecting her and her family ever since Sylnin’s death—and whom she’d resented and treated unfairly for a good deal of that time. He had shown his loyalty when he’d helped her with her early magical experiments, but never would she have expected his loyalty to stretch this far. He had committed treason for her, and because of him her son was now safe. Or at least as safe as anyone in Women’s Well could be.
“I don’t know how to thank you for all that you have done,” she said, shaking her head. “Thank you for bringing Corlin to me.”
He bowed. “There is no need for thanks, Your Highness,” he said. “King Delnamal would savage a child in service to his own anger. You would ride into danger to save people you don’t even know from the ravages of a flood. I would rather pledge my service to you a thousand times, no matter what the danger, than carry out his bidding in safety and comfort.”
There were no doubt those who would consider the gesture inappropriate, but Alys reached out and squeezed his shoulder in thanks. “You are a good man. One of the best I know. I don’t have much to offer just yet, but rest assured your service will be rewarded.”
“Reward is even less necessary than thanks.”
She was too emotionally exhausted to manage more than a small smile. “It is necessary to me.” And she still had seats to fill on her royal council. She would talk it over with them before making an autocratic decision, but she had a feeling she had just found her lord chamberlain.
* * *
—
Nandel was like no place Jinnell had ever imagined, much less
seen. She’d heard stories about the mountainous principality, about its soaring peaks and its bleak, inhospitable land, but nothing could have prepared her for its raw and savage beauty. Snowcapped mountains disappeared into lowering gray skies, and valleys filled with thick fog that made it feel as if the procession was traveling through a dreamscape. Jinnell was assured that the rough road upon which her carriage bounced and jolted was not the only one in all of Nandel, but it certainly felt that way. The settlements they passed through were small and sparse, and unlike her royal escort in Aaltah, the delegation of Nandelites who had taken over escort duty saw no cause to stop and rest when Jinnell was ill.
Jinnell found she had even less privacy when she and her chaperone and her honor guard were handed over to the Nandel delegation, who had brought a chaperone of their own to instruct her on the ways of Nandel. Most of the “instruction” came down to two simple rules: be quiet and do as you’re told.
Practically the only time she wasn’t under someone’s watchful eyes was when she was in the privy, but she reasoned that someone might become suspicious if she became ill every time she visited the privy, so she took care to dose herself with her special healing poison whenever she had the slightest window of opportunity. She learned to conceal the vial in the palm of her hand, and had once brazenly poured it into a cup of wine during dinner in front of everyone, with none the wiser. No one had any cause to guess her bouts of violent nausea were of her own doing.
Although the delegation refused to stop for her illness, she was certain she slowed the procession down. The men of Nandel did not have the same discomfort as those of Aaltah about riding chevals, for the culture of Nandel valued practicality above all else, and even with the rough roads and the difficulties caused by harsh weather, the journey through the mountains should have lasted only a few days, but it was almost a week before they finally arrived in The Keep, Nandel’s imposing capital city. By then, Jinnell had lost enough weight that her clothes hung on her awkwardly, and there were deep, blue-black hollows beneath her eyes. And yet still she dosed herself whenever she had a chance—and whenever she could bear it.