A tight-lipped smile crossed Eryx’s lips. There was something almost unnatural about his features. They were too perfect, his skin so fair it was almost translucent. Or maybe it was just how closely he resembled his sister. He had the same brown hair that fell to his shoulders. “Apparently, yes. Our spies in Norgard witnessed King Orwin’s funeral pyre. They say it was a grand affair with the coronation taking place right after, a feast that lasted four days.”
A tremble slid through Corwin. His father was dead. Edwin had been named king. He felt the brand on his palm, pressed against the dagger’s handle. The uror mark. Once it had been a thing of magic, a sigil so powerful it had repelled the Nameless One, a man far more a god than King Magnar could ever hope to be. But that had been a long time ago. He hadn’t felt that magic in the mark since his feet first touched ground on this barren, miserable land. Perhaps the magic had never been real at all, but a trick conjured by the priestess who had placed it on his skin.
Corwin shook his head, forcing the questions to the back of his mind. He had to focus on escaping. With Eravis Fane as his captive, he just might stand a chance. The Godking had many sons, but only the one daughter. No one would risk harming her.
Belatedly, Corwin realized Eryx had stepped closer to him, taking advantage of his distraction in the news about his father.
“Don’t come any closer,” Corwin said, a warning in his voice. Adjusting his grip on the dagger, he edged his way toward the door, keeping Eravis in front of him as a shield. She went along meekly, her arms loose at her sides, the only tension in her neck and shoulders as she fought to keep a distance between her skin and the blade’s sharp edge.
Once past the threshold into the other room, Corwin angled her to the side, meaning to shut the door and bar it. For half a second, he eased the dagger away, not wanting to harm her as he reached for the handle. Quick as a startled cat, she grabbed his hand holding the blade and pushed it away from her. At the same time, she stepped down hard on his bare foot.
With a yelp of pain, he let go of her hair to grip the dagger with his other hand, wresting it away from her easily. She was tall but slender, arms like willowy branches. Her brother came charging through the doorway, head down like a battering ram. Corwin tried to sidestep but failed to get entirely out of the way, and the two of them careened to the ground. The dagger popped out of Corwin’s hand and skidded across the floor, where it disappeared beneath a heavy wooden chest. Corwin thrashed, trying to free himself from Eryx’s weight, his tired, abused body screaming in protest. Ignoring it, he made a fist and landed a punch to Eryx’s temple. Stunned, the man rolled to the side, the shift in weight just enough for Corwin to slip free.
He scrambled to his feet, then kicked Eryx in the side. Without shoes on, Corwin was hurt nearly as bad as the Sevan prince, but nevertheless he kicked again, desperate to keep the man down long enough to retrieve the dagger.
“Stop it!” Eravis screamed from behind him. He turned in time to see her rushing at him as her brother had done, outrage on her face. He raised his hands to defend himself. She wouldn’t catch him off guard again, although he was glad she chose to attack rather than run for help. As she reached him, Corwin spun to the side, snaking out an arm to grab her by the waist. She stumbled sideways, nearly falling, but Corwin hauled her upright. Pulling her against his chest, he slid his arm around her neck and squeezed.
“Stay down or I’ll break her neck,” Corwin said, his eyes fixed on Eryx, who had pulled himself up to his knees. The prince went still, but in the next moment, the door to the chamber opened and several guards rushed in, drawn by the noise at last.
“Stop or I’ll kill her!” Corwin shouted, and the guards halted. All but one—except this man wasn’t a guard, Corwin saw, but a nobleman, richly dressed in a maroon waistcoat trimmed in white silk. He was of average height, average build, his most striking feature his strangely elegant hands, which he held folded in front of him. Something about his face was familiar, but it took Corwin a moment to place it.
This was the man who’d discovered him in the prison.
“I said stop.” Corwin tightened his grip on Eravis’s throat, squeezing her hard enough that she began to wheeze.
“I believe that’s enough of that,” the man said. Although he spoke in Sevan, his accent was Rimish. “Let her go.”
The words were like a clanging gong inside Corwin’s mind, and a shudder passed through his body as he realized what that feeling meant. This man, whoever he was, was a wilder, one born with the gift of sway. Same as Kate. Corwin shuddered again at the thought. He trusted Kate like no other, but sway was a dangerous power, utterly devastating in the wrong hands.
And this man was wrong. Corwin felt it in every fiber of his being.
Let her go, the voice said again inside his mind, only this time Corwin felt the force in it, the deliberate pressure on his will. As in the prison, he was powerless to resist. His arm slid from Eravis’s neck. The moment she was free, she spun away from him, rushing over to her brother, one arm thrown about his waist to help him up.
“Keep him away from me, Lord Gavril,” Eravis said, glaring at the wilder. “Or I will kill him no matter what you or my father says.”
Lord Gavril smiled at the princess, his voice and expression soothing. “Now, now, my dear Eravis. Is that any way to talk about your betrothed?”
“My betrothed just tried to kill me. How else should I talk about him? He’s a madman, wild and dangerous and unfit to marry anyone.”
Lord Gavril shook his head, still smiling.
Corwin stared between them both, not understanding. He couldn’t understand, the words making no sense in his mind. Betrothed? Married? Him . . . and this woman?
No, not any woman. But the princess of Seva.
Realization struck him with the force of an earthquake, his legs threatening to buckle beneath him. A marriage union between Rime and Seva. Edwin might have been named high king, but it didn’t matter, not once word spread that Corwin was still alive. He glanced at the uror mark on his palm, sensing that there was still magic in there, despite how it felt. He was Corwin Tormane, high prince of Rime, and until the uror trial came to an end, he had a claim to the throne. The gods willed uror. No decrees of men could stop it.
But before he could return to Norgard to complete the uror challenge, he would have a wife forced upon him, daughter of the Godking, a man who for the last fifty years had been doing whatever he could to claim Rime for himself. A man who had a wilder gifted with sway in his employ.
And if Corwin did indeed win, it seemed Magnar would finally have found a way to make it so.
5
Kate
ALTHOUGH SHE WAS A MEMBER of the wilder council, Kate felt like a child as she stood before them now. Perhaps Raith was right, and she should’ve been attending the meetings all along. Maybe then she would’ve felt more like an equal and less like an interloper.
Then again, she doubted she would ever feel a part of this group. They were seven in all, counting herself and Raith, and the others were far older than she. For the most part, they’d been elected because of their wisdom and experience. Like Talleen, an aerist from Eetmark who had single-handedly orchestraed the escape of twelve wilder orphans to Farhold, whom she’d kept hidden after their parents had been executed by the Mage League. Or like Jiro, a pyrist who’d had the foresight to guess that the loyalist forces in Farhold would attempt to destroy the food stores once the city had fallen, and had been there to stop the fires they’d set. The only nonmagical person among them was Deacon Lewis, former Relay foreman of Farhold. During the fighting, he’d overseen the care of the wounded, even taking on the difficult task of triage, determining which lives could be saved and which could not.
Kate had been elected simply because everyone knew her name and what she could do with her magic. They’d heard of her victories in battle during the Wilder War, the way she used her sway to turn the tides again and again. But the wilder council was not about w
inning in battle, but about ruling in peace. She had no business being here.
She felt it keenly now as she awaited their response. She’d just finished telling them about the doll bearing Dal’s image and her and Signe’s certainty of what it meant.
Francis was the first to speak, as usual. He was the only member of the council whose judgment Kate sometimes doubted, due in no small part to how strained their relationship had become in the aftermath of their journey to Seva, but he’d been a leader among the Rising nearly as long as Raith. Clearing his throat, Francis leaned forward in his chair and draped his heavy arms on the table. “Did anyone else see this doll before it erupted in flames?”
Kate’s toes curled inside her boots at the sound of his skepticism. Not that she expected anything else from him. He’d never cared for her much, but since their return from Seva, he’d come to despise her. Kate hadn’t known about Francis’s love for Anise when they’d gone into the Mistfold to rescue her and the other wilders, but she’d learned of it since. Although they’d freed Anise, she remained a prisoner still, trapped inside her own madness by whatever had been done to her in there—the same affliction that had driven Vianne to throw herself over the edge of the pit to her death. Francis blamed Kate for failing to cure Anise with the strength of her sway. But she couldn’t even understand what was wrong, let alone how to make it right. As it was, they were fortunate the wilders they’d freed from that first building had eventually recovered from their lethargy.
With an effort, she forced herself to remain civil. “Are you suggesting that Signe and I are lying?”
Francis drummed thick fingers against the table. “It’s no secret that Signe isn’t happy with her circumstances here, and if rumors are true, neither are you. A threat to Ambassador Thorne could be an excuse to change her situation, and I wouldn’t put it past either of you to invent one.”
With her temper sparking, Kate opened her mouth to respond, but fortunately Councilor Genet saved her from saying anything regrettable.
“Come now, Francis. Don’t be absurd.” Genet pinned him with a shriveling look. “Kate would never deceive the council, by magic or otherwise.”
Kate gave the woman an appreciative glance, which Genet acknowledged with a slight nod. Of all the councilors, Kate liked her second best, after Deacon, who had been her ally long before she joined the Rising. Genet was a hydrist, with a personality to match, her attitude perpetually calm and steady like a smoothly flowing river, never ruled by her emotions like Francis.
“Genet is quite right,” Raith said, speaking for the first time since the meeting began. He sat with his hands tented in front of him, worry creasing his brow. He’d come into the meeting wearing the expression, and Kate couldn’t help but wonder what was troubling him. She hadn’t had a chance to discuss her concerns about Master Janus with him. Raith lowered his hands. “So let’s not waste time debating whether or not the threat is real. We will accept Kate’s assessment of it as truth. The only question now is what exactly has happened to Dal, and what to do about it.”
Kate inhaled her relief, grateful that Raith believed her without question. Even more, he would understand better than anyone what a threat to Dal would mean to her and Signe. Turning her gaze on the other councilors, she said, “We must send someone to Norgard to find Dal.”
“I do hope you don’t mean sending someone in as a spy,” replied Jiro. Although he was a pyrist, he didn’t have a temper to match. Never blustery nor easily angered, he was a man of caution and reserve. He was so thin that it seemed a strong breeze might scatter his bones like leaves.
“Not with any sort of clandestine mission,” Kate said quickly. “Only to ensure Dal is safe. Sending someone we trust is the only way to be sure.”
“Our treaty with Norgard is quite clear,” Jiro said. “We are permitted the two ambassadors and nothing more. If we’re discovered sending in anyone else without permission, the war will resume. I am as fond of Lord Dallin as you, but we can’t risk that even for his life.”
“I’m afraid I must agree with Councilor Jiro,” Deacon said, casting Kate a regretful look. “We owe it to our citizens to keep them safe, and that means abiding by the terms of the cease-fire.”
A knot formed in Kate’s stomach as she saw Talleen’s nod of approval, one quickly taken up by the others.
“I agree as well,” Raith said with his own nod. “The armistice must be preserved at all cost. Nothing is more important than peace at present.”
Through gritted teeth, Kate said, “But if Dal is being threatened, so then is the very peace we all wish to preserve.”
Raith shifted his weight in his seat. “That very well may be true. Which is why we will address our concerns openly. I will send a letter to King Edwin about the doll and request that we be allowed to send another ambassador to ascertain the situation and ensure Lord Dallin is safe. It seems to me more likely the threat to Dal is of a personal nature. That would explain the doll’s likeness and the fact that it was sent directly to Signe.”
Kate shook her head. “We can’t wait that long. It will take a week or more just to get the message to Norgard, and who knows how many weeks after that to get approval for the exchange.” It had taken nearly six weeks for Edwin to agree for Dal and Laurent, the other ambassador, to come into Norgard. Not that the wilder council had been any quicker to accept Norgard’s ambassadors in return. “If he even agrees at all,” Kate added. “He hasn’t been very cooperative so far.” Dal’s reports made that clear. Several times Dal had tried to get Edwin to discuss the situation of the wilders still imprisoned in Seva—a situation the Rising was in no position to affect right now without help—but Edwin refused to listen; he considered Seva no immediate threat to Rime.
“I’m sorry, Kate,” Raith said, offering her a sad smile. “But the delay can’t be helped.”
“Yes, it can. If we send someone in secret. Right now.”
“And who would we send that we could be certain wouldn’t be caught?” said Raith. “Dal is living at court. If we’re being realistic, it would take a spy weeks just to gain access. We can’t send someone claiming to be a noble—they are all known at Norgard. The person would have to go in as a servant, but those positions are being carefully vetted. Again, it would take weeks. No, the best option is to request the exchange.”
“And are we to just hope that nothing bad happens to Dal in the meantime?” Kate folded her arms in front of her, fingers clenched around her biceps.
“Kate could do it,” Genet said, speaking before Raith could reply. “With her sway, Kate could convince anyone to let her in anywhere.”
Kate hid her relief behind a frown, glad someone else had made the suggestion. That was her hope from the beginning—that she be sent to investigate it. No one else could do it better.
Francis barked a laugh. “Ah, to be sure. And I suppose no one would recognize Saint Kate, the Wilder Queen, sneaking around the court of Norgard.”
Kate flushed, embarrassed by the title and surprised it had spread far enough to reach Francis’s ears.
Again, Genet came to her rescue. “She would wear one of Harue’s disguises, of course. They are nearly undetectable.”
“No,” Raith said, his voice as hard as a mallet striking steel. “It is out of the question. Kate is needed here. I will dispatch a rider to Norgard with a letter to King Edwin immediately. In the meantime, we need to consider who we will send as Dal’s replacement. I will expect your nominations by morning.”
And, just like that, the debate was over. With nothing further to discuss, the councilors quickly departed.
Kate waited until everyone had gone before leaving herself. She didn’t want any of the other councilors to witness the fury bubbling up inside her. Once again, she felt like a child, told to be quiet while the adults made the decisions. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand their concerns, just that their plan would solve nothing in the end. Not if whoever meant Dal harm got to him before they could.
If there was one thing she missed about the war, it was the expediency of it. Decisions were made quickly and actions followed at once. The bureaucracy she found herself surrounded by now was just the opposite. Every decision was questioned and requeried, modified, changed again, and then finally, if they were very, very lucky, something would actually happen. She didn’t have the stomach for it anymore. Not with Dal the one dangling over the fire. She couldn’t get the vision of that flaming doll out of her mind.
“I take it things didn’t go well,” a voice said as she stepped out into the corridor.
Kate turned a glare on Tira. “Getting the council to do what needs to be done in situations like this is like trying to shepherd cats.”
Tira, who was particularly fond of cats, grinned at the analogy. “At least you didn’t get scratched.” She eyed Kate up and down as if to be sure. Kate rolled her eyes and started walking toward the exit, Tira falling into step beside her. “So what did they decide?”
“To call him home and send another ambassador in his place.” Kate didn’t have to explain all the problems with that plan to Tira. In her service to the Shieldcrows, the mercenary had experienced her share of politics and all the time-wasting involved. She claimed it was one of the reasons she’d left the company to join the Rising.
“Yes, and what have you decided?” asked Tira.
Kate cast her a sidelong glance. “What do you mean? The council has chosen that course of action, and I’m oath-bound to honor it.”
“Are you?” Tira arched an eyebrow.
“What do you—” Kate broke off, aware of listening ears in the vicinity.
“Fancy a stop in the gardens?” Tira said, head cocked to an exaggerated angle.
Silently, the two women made their way to the walled garden that abutted the backside of the governor’s mansion. This time of day, Kate hoped it would be mostly deserted. Besides, she never passed on an excuse to visit the garden. There was no other place in Farhold quite as beautiful. Several earthist gardeners kept all the trees and flowers in the height of summer bloom year-round. It reminded Kate of the gardens in Norgard where she’d grown up. Hours she’d spent with Corwin wandering through rosebushes and beneath clematis-lined trellises. Aside from the stables, it had been their most frequent rendezvous.
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