by Jenna Glass
Jinnell remembered well the anger and dislike Shelvon had expressed toward her father, and she suspected Shelvon would indeed have argued. Though perhaps her argument would be that Waldmir never should have married a woman who didn’t want him, rather than that he should not execute one who tried to kill him.
“And your most recent?” she inquired with a raised brow. “I presume she was also found lacking in some significant way?”
Waldmir glowered at her. “While I hope I can make a case that I am not the ogre you’ve been led to expect, I cannot pretend to endless patience. When you are my wife, I will expect you to hold that pretty tongue of yours, and if you do not, you will pay a price.”
Jinnell jerked back, unaccountably surprised by this sudden change in his demeanor. He had been surprisingly personable so far, and she had let her guard down.
He sighed and shook his head. “Forgive my harsh words. I did tell you we are more plainly spoken here than you are accustomed to, but there are limits. I will not pretend that marriage to me would be easy on a girl used to the ways of Aaltah.”
She swallowed hard, fighting a surge of fear. “What you mean is that men may speak more plainly here, but that the same is not true for women.”
“Something like that,” he agreed. “But to answer your question, my last wife was lacking in one very significant way.” His cold eyes glinted with anger, and it was all Jinnell could do not to back away from him. He was not as openly unpleasant as Delnamal, but the look in those eyes told her he was just as dangerous.
“She was a whore,” Waldmir said. “She bore me yet another daughter, and perhaps if given time she would have borne the son I need. But I could never have been certain any future children were mine.”
How stupid would a woman have to be to cheat on Prince Waldmir after he’d just had his previous wife beheaded? Jinnell wondered if Waldmir had simply tired of her and chosen to interpret her behavior with other men as a sign of infidelity when she was in fact innocent.
Apparently, he read her doubt on her face. “I found her with her lover when she thought I was away. She gave me just cause to execute her for treason, but I chose to divorce her instead. No matter what people think, I am not a monster.”
How many monsters know they are monsters? Jinnell wondered. She was tempted to ask what had happened to his wife’s lover, but decided she didn’t want to know.
“You don’t think it’s monstrous to marry a woman against her will?” she asked, allowing a slight quaver to enter her voice in hopes of deflecting any anger the accusation might cause.
He looked at her askance. “Even in Aaltah, it is a girl’s family who arranges her marriage, not the girl herself.”
“Yes, but if her family is good and kind, it takes her will into account.”
“And if her family is royal, her will is of no consequence at all.”
“And that seems fair and right to you?”
He shrugged. “I am a sovereign prince. Do you really think my will is of any more consequence than yours? My will was to grow old with my first wife by my side, even if I dared not lie with her again until such time as she could no longer quicken. But my duty is to provide an heir to the throne, and I chose my duty over my desires.”
“But you chose.”
He leaned on the battlements once more, looking over the city with thoughtful eyes. “And what would you choose, Jinnell Rah-Sylnin? Would you choose to return to Aaltah having been rejected by a sovereign prince, for that is how anyone would interpret the lack of an engagement. Do you imagine your uncle would find you a husband who would please you? You are the granddaughter of the most reviled woman in the history of Seven Wells. Do you imagine suitors would flock to your door?”
Jinnell ducked her head to hide the color that rose to her cheeks. Suddenly, she was glad for the dry air and cold wind, for it sucked the moisture from her eyes before tears could form. She had never put any thought into what would happen if Prince Waldmir decided he didn’t want her. Even if her chastity was not the issue, Delnamal might blame her for the failure. As cruel as he was, she doubted he would charge her with treason for having been sick—as long as he didn’t know she’d done it to herself—but he would certainly not be inclined to generosity. Part of the appeal of sending her to Nandel had been the pain it would cause her mother, and he would no doubt look for another husband who would be just as repellent, if one could be found.
“I don’t mean to be cruel,” Prince Waldmir said. “I only mean to point out that marriage to me is perhaps not the worst possible outcome for you, no matter my faults. We can approach it as a business arrangement, if you’d like. I meant what I said: I have no need for a ‘good’ wife. All I would ask is that you not whore yourself out to others and that you give me a son.” He stood up straight once more and looked into her eyes. “Once my heir is born, you need never again come to my bed nor spend any more time in my company than required for ceremony.”
Jinnell opened and closed her mouth a few times, searching for words, but they proved elusive. There was so much truth to what he said, so many other unpleasant possibilities for the course of her life. Prince Waldmir was not an especially nice man, but he was far less inclined to cruelty than Shelvon’s descriptions had led her to believe. Perhaps she had not taken into account how Shelvon’s opinion of her father was skewed by what happened to her mother.
“What will happen to me if I say no to you?” she asked. “Will you marry me anyway?”
He shook his head. “It is hard for me to credit that your grandmother’s Curse could so profoundly change the laws of nature, but I’ve seen enough evidence to suggest it is so. If you do not wish to bear me a son, then you will not do so, and therefore it is not to my advantage to marry you. I am too old to waste time with another fruitless marriage, and the older I get, the more ambitiously my nephews eye the throne. One way or another, I must find a wife who will bear me a son, the sooner the better. So no, I will not offer for you if you do not wish it.”
Those words should have made her sag with relief, but they instead caused a flutter of panic in her breast. Waldmir had painted an all-too-realistic picture of what her future held if she returned home to Aaltah ostensibly rejected. It was a sign of how terribly her life had changed that marriage to Prince Waldmir might actually be the lesser of any number of evils.
“You don’t have to decide now,” Waldmir said. “We will have many more occasions to talk over the course of your visit, and I will show you more of the great beauties of Nandel when you are fully well again. Perhaps I can persuade you that marriage to me would not be quite so dire a fate as you might have feared.”
He managed a self-deprecating smile that Jinnell might almost have found charming, were she not so chilled by today’s realizations. Perhaps marriage with him might not be as horrible as Shelvon had led her to believe, but it would hardly be pleasing. There was a hardness about him, a coldness that made him dangerous—she’d already seen a flash of his temper, and was sure it would be more in evidence over longer acquaintance. And though she might come to think of him as a lesser evil, she had no way of knowing if she’d be able to bear him any children at all, much less a son. She had only to look at Shelvon to know that one could not will oneself to want something, and it was hard to imagine herself wanting to bear this man’s children.
“I will endeavor to keep an open mind,” she said, for that was the best she could promise him.
“That is all I would ask.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Ellin remembered fondly the days when a full night’s sleep had been a regular feature of her everyday life. Even when she’d first become queen and her days had been scheduled and choreographed down to the minute, she’d had sufficient time in her night to eke out a satisfying sleep.
Those days were now long past as her reign stretched into its eighth month and her year of mourning
marched inevitably toward its conclusion. It seemed as if every day, the council grew more and more enamored of Tamzin, more and more entrenched in the idea that she would marry him and make him their king in a few months’ time. Tamzin himself was so secure in his position that he no longer bothered to make threats, leaning back comfortably in his chair and smirking when she reminded the council for the thousandth time that she had not made any decision about her marriage yet. And while he occasionally made snide comments about Zarsha’s continued presence in Rhozinolm, he had not followed through on his veiled threat to start spreading unsavory rumors. A fact she was sure would change if Tamzin stopped feeling that he had the upper hand.
“You’ve but to say the word,” Zarsha told her as the two of them sat alone together in her bedroom sipping tea when she should by all rights have been fast asleep. With tensions rising, she found Zarsha knocking on her secret door at night more and more frequently. He was not an uncomplicated friend, but he was a true one. His mind was at least as sharp and subtle as Semsulin’s, and yet he was possessed of a level of kindness Semsulin could never match, and he seemed to genuinely care about her as a person as well as a queen. Time spent in his presence was a balm against all the scheming and plotting—even when he held a pivotal role in much of that scheming and plotting.
She shook her head and sipped her tea. Her body ached with fatigue, but even if she’d been comfortably in bed instead of entertaining a forbidden visitor, she doubted she’d be asleep right now. The harder she tried to extract herself from the trap Tamzin had built, the tighter the jaws clamped down on her. And yet still she hesitated to murder a man in cold blood.
Zarsha grunted in exasperation. “I respect your sense of honor. I really do. But you are beginning to lose even Semsulin.”
“I said no!” she snapped, angry because he was right. Not that he should know of Semsulin’s new inclination to support a marriage to Tamzin. Her conversations with her chancellor were private—at least the open and honest ones were—and that was the only time he expressed any weakening of his opposition to Tamzin, which he insisted was based on necessity rather than inclination. “And I’ll thank you to stop acting so much like a spy.”
Zarsha laughed and settled into his chair more comfortably. “I cannot be other than I am, Your Majesty.”
She blinked in surprise. “You’re actually admitting it?” The closest he’d come to admitting he was a spy was not denying it.
“I’m admitting that I have what might be considered an unhealthy interest in others’ business. And a singular skill at learning secrets. There’s more than one reason a man with my skills and inclinations might spend the majority of his adult life away from his home and the court to which he is beholden.”
She looked at him with new eyes, casting aside Graesan’s accusations, which she realized had colored her judgment even when she’d denied believing them. Prince Waldmir was Zarsha’s uncle, but she’d never seen any sign that Zarsha had any great affection or respect for his uncle. And a man who would so callously marry and then discard respectable young women without regard to the offense to their families was doubtlessly engaged in all sorts of unappealing behavior that he preferred to keep private. Such a man would not want to have an overly curious nephew living if not within the royal palace, then within The Keep.
She was still sorting through her thoughts and feelings when she heard soft chirping coming from a drawer in her bedside table. Zarsha heard it, too, his head swiveling toward the window, which was the only logical source for the sound. When the chirp sounded again, obviously inside the room and not from the window, he frowned in puzzlement. Ellin was pleased that for all his skill at digging up secrets, this one had apparently escaped him. She was less pleased that she would now have to admit she’d been keeping one from him.
She rose from her chair, heading toward the table. She had stored the flier from Lady Alysoon there because it was about as secret a hiding place as she had available. The last thing she wanted was to carry the little bird around on her person and have it start chirping at an inopportune moment.
“What is that?” Zarsha asked, his face alight with curiosity.
“I’ll explain later,” she said as she unlocked the drawer and pulled out the chirping flier. “Please stay where you are and don’t make a sound.”
She resumed her seat, holding the flier in her cupped hand with its head facing toward her. Wondering if Zarsha would be scandalized, she opened her Mindseye so she could feed some Rho into the flier and activate its communication spell. When her vision cleared, she could see him gaping at her, but the image that shimmered into being in front of her soon distracted all his attention.
Lady Alysoon was seated in a fire-lit room in a high-backed chair ornamented with intricately carved flowers and vines painted in gold. She was still dressed all in black as befitted her mourning, but unlike the last time the two had spoken, she wore no headdress but a delicate gold circlet studded with diamonds.
Ellin was aware of the revolt Lady Alysoon had instigated in Aaltah, just as she was aware that King Delnamal had sent his forces to crush it. She had, in fact, expected to receive a desperate plea for help much sooner than this. Based on the information her spies had gathered, King Delnamal’s forces had to be on Alysoon’s doorstep by now, which meant no aid Ellin could send would reach her in time.
Not that Ellin could have helped the woman even with a more timely appeal. She was in no better position to offer alliance now than she had been the last time the two had talked, though she would dearly love access to the talking flier spell.
Ellin nodded her head in greeting, taking in the crown Alysoon wore and the throne on which she sat. If nothing else, she was making a good show at being a true sovereign princess.
“It is a pleasure to hear from you again,” Ellin lied. She was not looking forward to dashing the other woman’s last hope, but she had no intention of dragging things out any longer than absolutely necessary. “I regret to inform you that nothing has changed since the last time we spoke.”
To her surprise, Alysoon smiled. “Perhaps not in Rhozinolm. The same cannot be said of Women’s Well.”
“So I have heard,” Ellin said. “You have declared your independence from Aaltah, is that right?”
Alysoon inclined her head. “Yes. I am now the Sovereign Princess of Women’s Well and stand in direct conflict with my half-brother.”
Ellin winced. With the exception of Nandel, which had a distinct advantage because of its mountainous terrain and nearly limitless supply of metal and gems, none of the independent principalities could long withstand an attack from one of the three kingdoms. And Women’s Well, in its infancy, was far smaller than any of the established principalities.
“I am familiar with your situation,” Ellin said, “and it seems clear your wisest option would be flight. If you can get to Rhozinolm, I might be able to grant you shelter. That is something I can probably arrange without the approval of my council, though I would of course be acting as a private citizen and not as queen.”
Through Alysoon’s translucent image, she could see Zarsha making frantic slashing gestures, warning her off that particular course. He was probably right—offering shelter to Alysoon was of no possible benefit to Ellin or to Rhozinolm and carried tremendous risks. If King Delnamal found out about it, she would be forced to either hand Alysoon over or face a war.
Logic told her the offer was unwise at best, actively stupid at worst. The only reasonable thing to do was rescind it immediately, but that turned out not to be necessary.
“I thank you for the generous offer,” Alysoon said, “but we will not flee. We have made a great deal of progress with our magical development here.”
“I’m sure your magic is impressive,” Ellin said, realizing as the words left her mouth how condescending she sounded, “but even the best, most innovative magic will not stop an a
rmy.”
Alysoon’s smile broadened. “Not an army, I’ll grant you. But come tomorrow when the news reaches him, Delnamal will find he needs more than a single company of soldiers to defeat us.”
Ellin gaped in surprise. Apparently, her initial assumption that Alysoon was contacting her with a desperate plea for help as the soldiers bore down on her was incorrect. She supposed it was possible that Alysoon was attempting to deceive her, but there seemed little point to such a deception.
“Unless my information is mistaken,” Ellin said, “you have fewer than a hundred men in Women’s Well.”
Alysoon nodded. “We do. And most of those are not trained soldiers. But I am not exaggerating the unprecedented nature of the magic we are producing here. It was enough to allow us to withstand my half-brother’s first assault, though he is sure to send more men against us the next time. We were outnumbered three to one, and yet we didn’t just defeat Delnamal’s men, we routed them. If Delnamal takes Women’s Well, he will have access to that magic, and you can be certain he will not share it with Rhozinolm—or any other kingdom.
“I understand that your council may be reluctant to support my claim, but perhaps in light of recent events you may want to reconsider your decision. Our continued existence should be convincing evidence that you would prefer to work in cooperation with us rather than face a historically hostile kingdom that has acquired our magic. But in case that isn’t convincing enough, I have sent you a selection of some of our most innovative new spells. The fliers should arrive with them sometime tomorrow. Contact me when you’ve had a chance to look them over. And think about whether you want Aaltah to have exclusive access to that magic—and whether you might rather secure that exclusive access for Rhozinolm.”