The Women's War

by Jenna Glass

  “He has requested a parley,” Alys admitted, though the thought of coming face-to-face with her half-brother after everything he had done made her want to hit something. Best she go to the parley unarmed, or else she might be tempted to murder him before a word left his hateful mouth.

  Ellin smiled in satisfaction. “If he intended to press an attack, then he would have no need for a parley. He hopes you will see his army and despair.”

  In that, he had succeeded, although Alys was doing everything in her power to avoid succumbing to that despair. “You are probably right.” She smiled wanly. “But just in case you aren’t, I want to thank you for supporting me. I know that can’t have been an easy decision.”

  For just a moment, Ellin’s eyes revealed a flash of something frightened and vulnerable, a glimpse of the twenty-one-year-old young woman who hid behind the trappings of a queen. Queen Ellinsoltah had demonstrated remarkable calm and maturity for one so young—and one not raised in the expectation of power—but just like Alys, she was still feeling her way along.

  “I do hope that someday we can meet in person,” Alys said.

  Ellin smiled. “And without the fear of imminent disaster hovering over our heads.”

  “Yes. That, too.”

  “When do you parley?”

  Alys glanced again out the window at the army, trying not to imagine what it would feel like to ride out into the open desert to meet them with only a small honor guard at her side. “In a few hours. By the time the sun sets this evening, it will all be over, one way or another.”

  “Stay strong,” Ellin urged. “And know that in victory or in defeat, I am with you.”

  Alys nodded. “Thank you. I hope I will talk to you again soon.”

  “I hope that, too.”

  Alys plucked the mote of Rho out of the talker and took one last long look out the window. Then she left the room to begin preparing for the parley.

  * * *

  —

  Alys stood in front of the full-length mirror and contemplated the impression she would make when she rode out to the would-be battlefield under a flag of truce. Her dress was wildly improper, and would have been considered so even if she weren’t still in mourning. Respectable women did not wear red except as the occasional small accent. Red was the color of whores, was the color of the women of the Abbey. Honor had clucked disapprovingly as she’d helped lace Alys into the red gown, and the seamstress who had designed and sewn it for her had been both nervous and excited.

  The bodice was of a deep red velvet, with a boned black stomacher as the only nod to her continued mourning. The skirts and sleeves were of a brighter, more arresting red. A panel of gold lace studded with pearls adorned the front of the skirt, and that same pearl-dotted lace frothed from the bottom of the fitted sleeves. Her hair was gathered into a gold snood at the base of her neck, and the top of her head was uncovered save for the hammered gold crown adorned with rubies she’d had pried from the small supply of jewels she’d thought to bring with her months ago when she’d come to Women’s Well, never having dreamed she would never return to her home.

  “You look more like a queen than I ever did,” Shelvon said, and Alys turned to give the girl a smile. She couldn’t imagine what a woman raised in the strict and austere land of Nandel must really think of the outrageous ensemble.

  “You sell yourself short,” she scolded. She owed Shelvon so much for having spirited Corlin away from Delnamal’s grasp, and she was bound and determined that eventually the girl would recognize her own worth. “Eventually” being the key word, for it was unquestionably a long-term project.

  Shelvon shrugged and blushed. “You are in equal parts stunning and shocking. I almost wish I could see Delnamal’s face when he first catches sight of you.”

  “Hmm,” Alys said noncommittally as she brushed at the skirts to smooth them, though they didn’t need it

  Tynthanal knocked and then entered the room, bowing to her. It would take a while before she felt fully comfortable having her own brother bow to her, but if she was the Sovereign Princess of Women’s Well, then it was only appropriate.

  “The delegation is ready for you, Your Royal Highness,” he said.

  She was about to make a quip about his formality—even if it was appropriate—but he dispensed with it before she had a chance.

  “Are you certain you want to do this?” he asked. There was no missing the anxiety in his eyes. “I do not trust Delnamal to honor the flag of truce.”

  She held up her hands, displaying the rings she wore on all of her fingers, each one imbued with a spell. “I don’t, either,” she said.

  Tynthanal’s frown deepened. “It is unwise to go into battle trusting in spells to protect you. There are too many counterspells out there…”

  Alys knew that well enough. The vast majority of the spells that had been developed so far in Women’s Well had limited military applications. While those that did—like the Trapper spell—would be mostly unfamiliar to the army, Women’s Well would be facing skilled magic users whose primary purpose would be to undo their magic.

  “I’m not going into battle,” she said. “I’m merely going to talk.”

  “If he has not retreated after receiving a warning from Rhozinolm, then I don’t know what there is to talk about.”

  “I expect he hopes to bluster and intimidate me into surrendering,” she said. Thankfully, with Corlin here at Women’s Well and Jinnell now in Nandel, he did not have the leverage necessary to accomplish such a thing. The thought of Jinnell in Nandel still made Alys sick to her stomach, but she could only hope that Chanlix’s generous gift would protect her daughter. Chanlix had donated her Kai to send a flier to Prince Waldmir. Having no informants currently in Nandel, she didn’t know whether the flier had successfully completed its mission, but if it had, then Waldmir’s interest in a pretty young girl to warm his bed should wane.

  “Besides,” she finished, nudging at her crown to make sure it was securely seated, “he gains nothing by killing me. I have an heir, and a trusted adviser who can act as regent if something happens to me.” She gave Tynthanal a meaningful look, and though she could see his jaw working as he ground his teeth, he kept any further objections to himself.

  * * *

  —

  Alysoon rode a horse to the parley, rather than a ladylike cheval. Falcor and the soldiers-turned-honor-guardsmen who rode with her kept casting nervous glances in her direction as if afraid she’d fall off. She had very little experience riding on the back of a real horse, so she had to admit to being slightly worried herself, but the horse chosen for her was a docile white mare that seemed disinclined to buck her off.

  Behind her, she heard the white banner of truce and the red banner that held the newly designed emblem of Women’s Well—a stylized woman’s hand cupped under an array of motes—flapping crisply in the wind. Armor and weapons jangled, and the horses’ hooves thumped against the hard-packed road. No one spoke as their party approached the midpoint between Delnamal’s encampment and the invisible border of Women’s Well. Delnamal already stood waiting for her, flanked by a dozen men on horseback and two more on foot. Alys’s entourage was half the size, but then if this came down to a fight, the size of her entourage was the least of her problems.

  Alys kept her eyes on her half-brother as she approached, telling herself not to see—and be intimidated by—the huge encampment that was clearly visible in the distance behind him. The clusters of tents and pavilions covered more ground than the entire town of Women’s Well. And yet if Delnamal had wanted to—had thought he needed to—he could have mustered twice again as many men. He could kill every man, woman, and child in Women’s Well, but not without suffering a great number of losses himself. Losses he could not afford with Rhozinolm’s forces massing against him. Alys tried to calm herself with that knowledge as she and her entourage came to a
stop. Falcor and two of his men dismounted, one holding her horse’s bridle while Falcor offered her a hand.

  Slipping off the sidesaddle was easy, but she appreciated the offered hand anyway. For all the comforting words she had offered Tynthanal, she could not deny that her palms were sweating and her pulse racing.

  At first, Alys thought Delnamal had lost a little weight since she’d last seen him. The mail coat he wore—as if he were personally riding into battle—hung comfortably on his stout frame with no sign of straining. His cheeks, however, were as puffy as ever, and his second chin even more pronounced. When she realized he was standing unnaturally straight, she surmised that he was wearing stays under his mail, and it was all she could do not to laugh.

  Based on the disdainful way he looked her up and down, he was similarly unimpressed with her own clothing choices.

  “How appropriate that you dress like a whore,” he sneered. “Like mother, like daughter.”

  She did not need to glance at the men behind her to know they were glaring daggers at Delnamal, outraged on her behalf. Several of Delnamal’s men subtly moved their hands closer to weapons, and there was undisguised battle lust in their eyes.

  “I’m not the one wearing women’s stays under a chain-mail coat,” she shot back, then cursed herself for the incendiary remark as his men began to mutter.

  Delnamal held up his hand to silence them, though the color that rose up his thick neck told her her shot had hit home. “I brought you here to discuss the terms of your surrender.”

  “Then I might as well return to Women’s Well, for we have no intention of surrendering. Need I remind you that Queen Ellinsoltah has pledged her full support for Women’s Well? Our father married your mother specifically to end the last war between Aaltah and Rhozinolm. Would you really insult his memory so soon after his death by starting a new one?”

  “You put too much faith in such an alliance. I see no army from Rhozinolm standing behind you on the field, and once you are defeated, the queen will no doubt see the advantage of reaching an accord.”

  Alys snorted. “Which shows just how little you understand about women in general and Queen Ellinsoltah in particular. If you insist on trying to take Women’s Well, how many men do you suppose you will lose? And how fast do you think your army could make it back to Aalwell? I’d say Ellinsoltah’s ships can make it there a great deal faster, and with so many of your men here at your back, Aalwell can’t put up much of a fight. It’s hard to win a war when your capital city falls to the first strike.”

  “What happens to Aaltah is not your concern,” Delnamal said. “You and every traitor who stands with you will be dead. Unless you agree to surrender. If you, your brother, and my wife will surrender and face justice, then I will allow the townsfolk to live. Jinnell and Corlin and the officers who have led this rebellion against the Crown will of course be attainted and exiled, but they will not be executed. It’s a far more generous offer than I have any need to make.”

  It was also an offer she had no reason to trust, even if she were willing to sacrifice her own life as well as Tynthanal’s and Shelvon’s. Her stomach fluttered nervously, and she wondered if she was being overconfident in assuming her half-brother’s love for his kingdom was greater than his hatred for her and Tynthanal. For all the confidence she had in Ellinsoltah’s commitment and willingness to provide military support, it would all be for nothing if Delnamal ordered his army forward anyway.

  “I tell you again that I have no intention of surrendering.”

  “Will it change your mind if I inform you that I had Jinnell recalled from Nandel several weeks ago? She is currently in my dungeon awaiting trial for her treason charge after having confessed to aiding in the flight of my wife and Corlin.”

  It was all Alys could do to stay upright, and as much as she wished to put on a brave face and hide the accuracy of Delnamal’s strike, she couldn’t do it. She heard the scuff of Falcor’s boot against the ground as he stepped closer to her, perhaps poised to catch her if she collapsed.

  “You’re bluffing,” she choked out. “If you had recalled her, I would have heard.”

  Delnamal smiled cruelly. “Only if my men hadn’t ferreted out your brother’s informant in the palace. Do you wonder why you never heard a report about the precious little flier you sent me?”

  Alys swallowed hard. She had not been overly surprised not to hear anything about the Kai flier’s attack on Delnamal. It was always possible it had happened when he was alone, and he would not be eager to share the news once he realized what the spell had done to him. But the ominous silence of Tynthanal’s informant had indeed struck fear into both their hearts.

  “Your flier was destroyed before it had a chance to strike me. And Jinnell’s recall and imprisonment have been carried out quietly so as to cause the least embarrassment to all involved. If you surrender, you can take her place in the dungeon. If you do not, she will be tried, and convicted, and executed for treason.”

  Alys shook her head, her heart pounding as her stomach turned. She had told herself that Jinnell was safe, that she was out of Aaltah and that the Kai-spelled flier would debilitate her would-be bridegroom. Surely Delnamal was lying about having her in his dungeon, just as he was lying when he promised to let the people of Women’s Well live if she surrendered.

  “She’s your niece,” she said, unable to stop herself from giving Delnamal a pleading look. “She’s an innocent.”

  Delnamal snarled. “She conspired against me with my wife. I, who am not only her uncle but her king. She is no innocent. Now choose! Whose life will you save? Hers? Or your own?”

  Alys’s eyes filled with tears, and there was nothing she could do to hold them back. It was a mother’s sacred duty to protect her children, and everything she had done in the months since that earthquake had been to keep Jinnell safe. Even coming to Women’s Well had been motivated by the hope that the magic here could keep her daughter out of Waldmir’s clutches.

  And now, if Delnamal was to be believed, her daughter was locked in a dungeon awaiting a trial that could have only one outcome.

  He had to be lying. Had to be preying on her motherly instincts, counting on her to be unwilling to risk her daughter’s life no matter how sure she was that it was a lie. He was staring at her with a predatory eagerness, drinking in the pain and distress he was causing, loving that he had this power over her.

  But what if he wasn’t lying? How could she ever live with herself if she called Delnamal’s bluff only to have her daughter face the headman’s ax?

  “Decide!” Delnamal snarled. “Will you surrender or won’t you?”

  Alys sucked in one shaky breath and then another. Delnamal was lying—if not about having Jinnell, then certainly when he promised to spare so many lives. If she surrendered, he might let some of the townsfolk of Women’s Well live, but there was no question in her mind that her children would not be so lucky.

  Memories came to her unbidden of all the times her father had tried to explain why he’d had to divorce her mother, why he’d had to deny his first children his name and their lawful titles. You cannot be a good king while putting the needs of those you love over the needs of your kingdom, he’d said. She’d never forgiven him, never seen his explanation as anything but a pitiful attempt to justify himself.

  She swallowed the hard lump that had formed in her throat. There was a kind of poetic justice in her being forced to face this very same kind of decision. Perhaps it was her punishment for having let her father go to his deathbed without ever receiving her forgiveness.

  Delnamal was probably lying about having Jinnell in his dungeon.

  Even if she was in his dungeon, the trial and execution would take time. Time in which Alys, with the help of Tynthanal and perhaps even Ellinsoltah, could find some way to save her.

  And even if none of that was true, Delnamal was certainly lyi
ng when he promised mercy.

  There was no other choice she could make.

  Her fists clenched at her sides, her vision still blurred with the tears she could not stop, she stood as straight and tall as she could and met Delnamal’s gaze with all the defiance she could muster. “We will not surrender.” Forgive me, daughter.

  She felt as if her body might shatter into a million shards at the smallest touch. And that she might prefer that shattering to having to live with the decision she’d just made. He’s lying, he’s lying, he’s lying, a voice in her head kept repeating, as if thinking it enough times, thinking it hard enough, might make it true.

  The fury that lit Delnamal’s eyes was so fierce Alys almost backed away from it, even as a part of her rejoiced. If he’d been telling the truth, he’d have no reason to be so angry! The tears quit building in her eyes, fierce hope now burning in her chest.

  Delnamal’s face and neck were red with his rage, his hands nearly shaking with it. He turned and snarled something over his shoulder at one of his men. The man hurried to one of the riderless horses, detaching a heavy burlap sack from the saddle and handing it to Delnamal. Delnamal ripped viciously at the ties that held the sack closed.

  Alys tasted bile in the back of her throat, and her breath froze in her lungs.

  Delnamal bared his teeth at her. “Be proud of yourself, you whoring bitch,” he snarled. “You’ve won the day. Congratulations. Here’s your prize.”

  He pulled something from the sack and dropped it to the ground at her feet. Her thinking mind couldn’t quite make sense of what she was seeing, but a scream of agony rose from her throat anyway. She threw herself at Delnamal, fingers clawing the air as she went for his eyes, screaming and shrieking.