by Jenna Glass
“I don’t—”
“Rhozinolm and Aaltah have been at peace for all of your lifetime and most of mine, but I’m sure you know our history. If Delnamal gets his hands on the magic of Women’s Well, I guarantee he will see an opportunity to expand his power and that he will use it. Ask your council whether they’re willing to let him have it.”
It sounded like a giant bluff to Ellin, but she had to admit she was intrigued. The magic of the communicating flier was so great that it was hard to remain completely skeptical of Alysoon’s claims.
“I must warn you that under current conditions, I might have trouble convincing my council to approve a declaration that the sky is blue,” Ellin said, and she thought Zarsha might reach through the ghostly image and strangle her. She had to fight off a smile at his predictable reaction to her honesty. “But I am curious to see these spells of yours and will reserve judgment until I do.”
“That is all I ask,” Alysoon responded. “I look forward to speaking with you again.”
Ellin removed the mote of Rho from the flier and took a moment to enjoy Zarsha’s outrage as he glared at her. “Before you berate me for being too open and honest,” she said, “consider that for all the time we’ve spent together recently, you did not know about this flier or about my previous conversation with Alysoon.”
Now he looked almost comically annoyed, though he had no counter. He showed her far more respect than most men of her acquaintance, and he had never once hinted that he thought her unsuited for the throne. But just like Semsulin, he seemed to think he had some right to be consulted before she made any decisions, as if she could not act without the male stamp of approval.
“I hope you’re not thinking that I will be some kind of figurehead for your rule if we marry,” she said. “Because that is not at all how I see our relationship going forward.”
She thought he might be offended, but he smiled and held up his hands. “I am very clear as to what our roles will be. You are the queen, and I will never be anything more than an adviser.” For the briefest moment, something very like longing flashed in his eyes.
Ellin dropped her gaze and squirmed, telling herself she’d imagined it. Or if she hadn’t imagined it, that he’d let her see it on purpose in an attempt to take advantage of her soft heart. It was vain and ridiculous to think he actually wanted her as a woman. He had offered to turn a blind eye to her lover! Not something she could imagine a man in love doing.
“I’m glad we’re in agreement,” she said.
“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. You seem proud of yourself for keeping vital information from me, but I can hardly be expected to give the best advice if I am kept in the dark.”
“You are not yet my husband. And until you are, you remain a man of Nandel with no sworn allegiance to me. I share far more with you than I have any right to do, but you cannot expect me to share everything.” She gave him a wry smile to take some of the sting out of her words. “Just as I cannot expect you to share everything with me.”
He nodded his agreement, though his facial expression remained sour. “Unless you’re willing to take action against Tamzin, I don’t see how I can ever become your husband. He will never be persuaded to allow a marriage to anyone but himself. And he will not support another woman’s claim to a new throne in Women’s Well, no matter how impressive her magic might be.”
“Maybe not. In which case we’re going to have to work to turn the other council members against him.”
It seemed like a nearly impossible task. But something was going to have to change and soon, or Tamzin would rip the throne out from under her either by marriage or by force. She could not allow that to happen, and she was not willing to resort to assassination.
She would have to hope one of the spells Alysoon had sent her would be the key to winning over her royal council, even against Tamzin’s resistance.
Unfortunately, she could not imagine a spell that could have such an effect.
* * *
—
Delnamal was standing at the window, sipping from a goblet of wine and staring out at the distant harbor when he heard the sound of footsteps in the hall outside his private study. He entertained a brief, pleasant fantasy that they would pass right by and leave him in peace. His temper had been eating away at his self-control ever since he’d learned of Alysoon and Tynthanal’s pathetic attempt at rebellion, and it was easier for all involved if he interacted with others as little as possible.
He glared down at his wine when he heard the inevitable knock on his door. The stuff might as well have been water for all the soothing effect it had on his frayed nerves. Nevertheless, he gulped down the last swallows before inviting his unwelcome visitor to enter.
Melcor looked the same as always, impeccably dressed and groomed and with a back so straight Delnamal often wondered if his secretary wore stays beneath his doublet. And yet Delnamal had trouble holding the man’s gaze for more than a few seconds at a time these days, his whole body tensing as he tried not to let what he knew show on his face.
Of course Melcor had never mentioned to Delnamal that he had suffered what appeared to be permanent ill effects from the strange flier’s mysterious attack. He sometimes stroked the scar on his hand as if it were a badge of honor earned on the battlefield, and he was as pompous as always. But Delnamal had heard enough rumors to be convinced that Melcor had been unable to perform ever since the attack. Which meant that the flier had somehow delivered a heretofore unknown spell. Thanks to the grand magus’s disturbing discoveries about women’s Kai, Delnamal had an uncomfortable suspicion he knew how the spell had been achieved. He’d taken to wearing an enormous belt buckle that contained a Kai shield spell, keeping it activated at all times except when he was asleep. He’d also ordered all windows to be kept firmly shut and refused to receive fliers from anyone except his most trusted friends and advisers.
“Are the traitors in custody?” he asked Melcor, for his men should have reached Women’s Well the day before, and he expected a flier announcing their victory to arrive sometime today. He planned a simple beheading for Shelvon and young Corlin—though the council might wish to defer the punishment until the boy reached maturity—but for Alysoon and Tynthanal, he had other plans. They would die just as surely, but a great deal more slowly.
“No, Your Majesty,” Melcor said, and for the first time Delnamal noticed how pale the man was. Beads of sweat stood out on his brow, and there was downright fear in his eyes. He was definitely not a man who had come to report a victory to his king.
“Why not?” Delnamal asked. He thought he’d kept his voice calm, but Melcor looked even more alarmed. Delnamal was aware his temper had been easy to rouse lately, that the irritant that was Women’s Well had caused him to act with unaccustomed harshness. His own mother was barely speaking to him, and though Lady Oona had come to his bed within a week of her husband’s funeral, she was not the free and easy companion she’d been in their youth, always looking at him with a hint of what might be distrust. As if she had some inkling that her husband’s death might be attributable to something other than a random act of violence.
“The company was defeated, Your Majesty,” Melcor said. “The witches of Women’s Well have apparently developed a more robust version of the Trapper spell. The captain reports that nearly the entire town was hidden behind the spell, and when his men marched in to take the small collection of buildings they could see, they were ambushed and never had a chance.”
Delnamal clenched his fists, barely able to contain the fury that flooded his veins. Women’s Well was barely a town, much less a principality. It was inconceivable that the place could still be standing!
“Send a summons to the lord commander at once!” he shouted. “I will have that captain flogged and demoted for gross incompetence.”
Melcor cringed. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
Delnamal
closed his eyes and tried to regain control of himself. This was a setback—and an embarrassing one at that—but in the grand scheme of things, it was only a temporary inconvenience. The next time the army marched on Women’s Well, it would not be a single company, and Delnamal would be at its head to make sure there were no more blunders.
When he opened his eyes again, he wasn’t exactly calm, but he was no longer in a blinding rage, either. His reign was getting off to a shaky start, but once Alysoon and Tynthanal were no more, everything would return to normal. He would order his men to take the leaders alive so that their disgrace could be made public, but all other inhabitants of Women’s Well would be slaughtered. Knowledge of their insidious Kai spell would be destroyed with them, and Delnamal would guard that Well so closely that the spell would never be reproduced.
A loud crash—the sound of shattering glass—caused both Delnamal and Melcor to start. They whirled toward the sound, which had come from one of the closed windows, to see something small and fast winging its way across the room. Heading straight for Delnamal.
Delnamal held his arms out in front of himself as if to ward off the flier, though he knew the gesture was useless. In battle, a Kai shield would defend against any spell fueled by Kai, but he could not be entirely certain it would work against women’s Kai. He backpedaled frantically, not wanting to test the shield.
Melcor stepped between him and the flier, shoving his king to the floor and blocking the attack with his own body. The flier tried to duck around him, but Melcor had surprisingly quick reflexes and blocked it once more, grabbing for it with both hands. It took three tries, but he eventually managed to trap the flier, which struggled in his grip. Pinning the wings with one hand, he opened his Mindseye and reached out to pluck a couple of elements out of the flier until it went still.
Breathing hard, feeling sick to his stomach, Delnamal lay on the floor and looked up at his secretary. The man had saved him from a fate worse than death—for there was no question in his mind that the flier held a Kai spell, and there was no guarantee the shield would have stopped it. Sweat drenched his body, and in the aftermath of that fear and dread came a wave of fury greater than any he had ever felt before.
Delnamal pushed himself into a sitting position. Melcor kept a firm hold on the inert flier with one hand and held out his other hand to help Delnamal up. Delnamal wasn’t ready to stand yet—and though he was loath to admit it, he feared that his continually increasing bulk was more likely to pull Melcor down on top of him than to help him to his feet—so he waved it off.
The cursed flier had been a “gift” from Alysoon, a way to kick him when he was already down, to humiliate him on a personal level on top of the public humiliation of his troops’ defeat. Well two could play at that game. And no matter what delusions of grandeur the bitch operated under, he had the upper hand. He was going to win this game, and she was going to regret having dared to challenge him.
“I want you to send word to Miss Jinnell’s entourage that they are to return with her to Aalwell at once,” he ordered Melcor. Word had reached him of Jinnell’s inelegant meeting with Prince Waldmir, and though the prince claimed to still be interested, Delnamal couldn’t help suspecting his enthusiasm had dimmed. He had been promised a beautiful and tempting young woman—ripe and fertile soil in which to plant seeds for a son. Instead, he’d received a sickly, sallow shell who could not keep a meal in her stomach even when she wasn’t with child. Delnamal had been tempted to recall her to Aalwell the moment he’d returned to find Shelvon and Corlin missing, but he’d refrained. Having no choice but to condemn Prince Waldmir’s daughter as a traitor, he couldn’t very well have justified also depriving the man the consolation of a marriage to the King of Aaltah’s niece.
“What shall we tell Prince Waldmir?” Melcor asked, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.
“Tell him that we are recalling her for the sake of her health and will send her once again when she is well. Once she is formally arrested and charged with treason, he will thank us for not saddling him with a woman who is not worthy of him.”
Melcor looked doubtful, and not without reason. “But what will we—”
Delnamal made a slashing gesture. “Bring her back. Immediately, and in chains. Prince Waldmir will not want her once he realizes what a blight her whole family is on the world.” And really Delnamal’s marital and diplomatic difficulties were not the secretary’s concern.
Not long ago, Delnamal had harbored at least a trace of familial loyalty toward the girl, whom he’d allowed himself to think of as sweet and innocent. But there was no innocence to be found anywhere in the issue of Brynna Rah-Malrye, and it was best for all concerned if her line was wiped out entirely. He should have condemned them all the moment King Aaltyn died. Now he would rectify that error and drive a dagger into Alysoon’s heart. One that would cause her so much pain she would come to beg for the death he had no intention of granting her until she had fully atoned for her crimes.
* * *
—
“See that we are not disturbed,” Ellin told her guard as he opened the door to her private study and allowed Semsulin and Zarsha to enter.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said.
Eying her curiously, her lord chancellor and Nandel’s “special envoy” each took a seat before her desk. She had insisted on privacy when opening the bundle of magic items sent to her by Princess Alysoon earlier this afternoon, and she was certain both men were highly curious what she had found in that bundle.
It was clear from the wonders of the talking flier—and from the ability of Women’s Well to fight off an attacking force three times its size—that the magic of the new Well was deeper and more significant than anyone had guessed, and yet Ellin still hadn’t been prepared for what Alysoon’s gift contained. To think that those powerful, unheard-of spells had been developed in the scant months that Women’s Well had existed was…unsettling. And the thought of what they might be able to develop with years of study and experimentation was downright terrifying.
The door to her study closed with a comfortingly firm thunk, and she laid out three of the four magic items she had received on the desk for Semsulin and Zarsha’s inspection. A bronze coin; a smooth, rounded pebble; and an unlovely metal hairpin clearly meant for utilitarian rather than decorative purposes. The bundle had contained yet another magic item, but Alysoon’s letter had suggested Ellin might wish to keep that item’s existence to herself. When Ellin read what the thin gold ring could do, she had shuddered and agreed.
“I gather from the look on your face that you have found Princess Alysoon’s gift to be of great interest,” Zarsha said, provoking a disapproving scowl from Semsulin for his insolence in speaking first.
“Indeed,” she said, taking a deep breath to quell the sense of unease in her chest. “And they have shown me once and for all that it is not in our best interests to allow King Delnamal to have access to the magic of Women’s Well.”
Opening her Mindseye, she added the necessary mote of Rho to activate the spell in the hairpin, then stuck it haphazardly into her hair. Then she activated the spell in the pebble and heard both Semsulin and Zarsha gasp, their chairs scraping back. She closed her Mindseye and smiled as she watched both men scan the room with rather frantic gazes.
“I’m still here,” she said before either man could panic, and once again she had the satisfaction of seeing them startle. “The hairpin makes me immune to magic, so I cannot see the effect of the pebble’s spell, but I gather from your reactions that it is functional.”
Zarsha was staring in her direction, but his eyes did not lock on her. Semsulin was blinking rapidly, as if unable to believe what his eyes were telling him—which was that Ellin and her desk had vanished from sight.
“Alysoon tells me it is a modified version of a spell used by trappers to hide their snares,” she explained. “It is powerful enough that w
ith larger spell vessels, it can be used to hide entire buildings. That is how Women’s Well defeated King Delnamal’s soldiers.”
Zarsha nodded his understanding. “One cannot fight what one cannot see.”
“Exactly.” Once more, she opened her Mindseye, plucking the mote of Rho out of the Trapper spell and making herself visible once more. Bending close so she could see through the haze of elements, she picked up the bronze coin and activated both the spells it contained. She had tested both the immunity and the Trapper spells already in the privacy of her study, but the coin’s spells required test subjects.
“Semsulin Rah-Lomlys,” she said, then reached out her hand and closed her Mindseye once more. “Zarsha, I would like you to touch this coin.”
She almost laughed at the wary look in his eyes as he reached out and touched the tip of his finger to the coin that lay in her palm, then frowned.
“Has something happened that I can’t see?” he asked.
“No,” she replied, then held out her hand to Semsulin. “Your turn.”
Semsulin’s expression was rarely pleasant, but at that moment, his scowl was as deep as she’d ever seen it. “I’ve never heard of magic of this sort, but you did not just say my full name for no reason. Whatever the spell in that coin is, it will affect only me, correct?”
“Yes.”
He ground his teeth and stared at her, no doubt willing her to tell him what the spell would do to him. It was perhaps cruel of her not to volunteer the information, and if he asked, she would answer. But Semsulin was not a man apt to trust, and she wanted to know how much he trusted her.
Enough to trigger the spell without knowing what it would do, she soon learned when he touched the coin with the tip of his finger, wincing in anticipation.
The moment he made contact, Semsulin’s knees gave way, his eyes sliding closed. He would have collapsed to the floor, except Zarsha reached for him and held him up, guiding him into the chair he had vacated. Semsulin’s head bowed to his chest, his limbs flopping bonelessly so that Zarsha had to work to keep him supported by the chair.