His head was pounding like someone had used it as a target in sword practice as he stared at Sophie. And the sanctii standing next to her. Who looked remarkably like the one who’d been at the ball.
Who also, presumably, had something to do with the shrieking jolt of power and pain that had blasted down the bond, sending him bolting upright in the healer’s room with only one thought top of mind—to get to Sophie.
The creature, looking at him through those black, depthless eyes, seemed unconcerned by his sudden appearance. Sophie, on the other hand, looked astonished. Astonished and . . . guilty.
“Yes, Lady Scardale, I would very much like the answer to that question as well.” Maistre Matin shouldered his way past Cameron into the room and Cameron became aware that the Academe was rousing to life behind him, doors slamming and footsteps hurrying toward them.
Sophie’s chin lifted. “Elarus offered to teach me water magic.”
“Sweet suffering—” Henri broke off the words. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? No. Of course you don’t. Anglions!” He threw up his hands.
“What did you do?” Cameron repeated, stalking over to Sophie. She looked . . . well, a lot like he felt. Pale and blotchy. Her brown eyes squinting slightly as though the light hurt them. If she had half the headache he did, they probably did.
“I accepted her offer,” Sophie said.
“Is that what I felt?” Cameron demanded at the same time Henri said, “You did what?”
“She taught me water magic,” Sophie said, glancing up to the sanctii. “I think.”
Henri started swearing in a low tone. The words weren’t Illvyan or Anglion but they were clearly profanities. “You think!” he managed after a minute or two. “That could have killed you. Did you not stop to think that if this were a safe way to learn magic that we would not have to bother with this entire institution?” He waved his arms wildly as though lost for words.
“I thought there may be a risk,” Sophie admitted.
“Why in the name of the goddess would you do such a thing?” Cameron asked. There was a padded chair to his left and he gripped its back, not entirely sure his legs would keep him upright. Could have killed her? He could have lost her? Forever? His head throbbed again and he pushed two fingers into the middle of his forehead where the pain was the worst. It did nothing to ease the sensation.
Why would Sophie risk her life? Let alone decide to learn water magic . . . which would mean that she couldn’t return to Anglion.
The memories of the night suddenly crashed over him. The palace. Dinner. Sophie’s declaration. Him yelling at her. A carriage ride, a flash of light, and then . . . nothing. Nothing until he’d woken up to the sensation that someone had just shoved a red-hot poker into his brain. In the healer’s room. What had happened?
“I did what I needed to do to keep us safe,” Sophie said. She was shaking slightly and he moved without thinking, gathering her into his arms and pulling her down on his lap into another chair. She smelled of the oils she liked to use in her bath, and sweat, and Sophie.
He could have lost her. His arms tightened involuntarily.
“Tell me,” he said softly.
She shifted on his lap to look down at him. “What do you remember of tonight?”
“I remember dinner. And . . . after dinner.” He reddened at the memory of their fight. “Then the carriage. Then . . . nothing.” He frowned, shaking his head softly as though he could dislodge the memories and bring them forth, but his mind stayed stubbornly blank.
“Someone tried to blow up our carriage,” she said. “They tried to take me.”
She was trembling, he realized, and he pulled her closer, wanting to ease the fear in her voice.
“They spoke Anglish, Cameron. Anglish. They wanted to take me. Force me back, I think. I can’t go back there. I don’t think I’d live very long if I did.”
Rage burned through him so white-hot for a moment it chased away any other sensation. Someone had tried to take her? To kidnap her? To drag her back to face some false charge? “I’ll kill them,” he muttered.
Sophie actually smiled at that.
He tried to let go of the anger. To tamp it down so he could think. Anger could wait. There would be time to use it. But not until he had the whole story of what had happened. And of what, exactly, Sophie had done. “Go on.”
“Elarus helped me,” she said. “Like she did you in the ballroom. They would have taken me if she hadn’t come. They may well have killed you and Henri. You were both unconscious.”
“So you let her teach you water magic to say thank you?” He still didn’t understand.
“No, I did it because, as far as I can tell, having a sanctii is as near a guarantee of safety that we might be able to come by. Now that she’s taught me, once I know what I’m doing, I can bond her and we’ll be safe.” She stared down at him. “I’m sorry, I know this means I can’t go back. I’ll understand if you want to.”
“You think I’d go back there without you? Did that sanctii addle your brains?” He pulled her down and kissed her. “Body and blood, goddess damn it, Sophie. Body and blood. You’re mine and I am yours. So I guess I’ll get used to a sanctii if that’s what you want. If you bond with her.”
“If you bond her?” Madame Simsa said from the doorway. “What do you mean ‘if’? Do none of you have eyes in your head? She and the sanctii are already bonded. What do you think made so much noise and woke half the Academe?”
Sophie twisted, mouth falling open. He was fairly sure his own expression mirrored hers. Madame Simsa was making her slow way across the room, her monkey at her heels.
“What do you mean?” Sophie said.
“I mean that creature bonded you somehow.” Madame Simsa pointed to the space between Sophie and the sanctii—Elarus, was that what Sophie had called her? “Can’t you see the link?”
What was she talking about? Link? He remembered then what Sophie had taught him. About seeing the ley line connections. The thought of using any form of magic made his head throb, but he made an effort. Sure enough, glimmering faintly like a row of stars hanging in midair, there was a line of power running from Sophie to Elarus.
“That’s a bond?” He had no idea what he was looking at. He hadn’t been able to see the bond between Sophie and himself when she’d taught him any more than she had.
“Yes,” Madame Simsa said shortly. “Admittedly, it’s a little different from the usual sanctii bond. I imagine that’s because it wasn’t Sophie controlling the magic when it was formed.” Her gaze snapped to Sophie. “I should have thought that one accidental bond would be enough for anybody, child. What were you thinking?”
“Not accident,” Elarus said abruptly.
Madame Simsa’s focus moved upward to the sanctii’s face, her expression cool. “Maybe not on your part. I won’t ask you what you were thinking because I’m sure you won’t tell me. Sophie, did you know what she intended?”
“I agreed that we would bond, once I knew the magic,” Sophie said slowly.
“Never bargain with a sanctii,” Henri said. “They are cunning.” He snapped his fingers and Martius appeared. “Martius, can you tell me if there’s anything untoward in the link Elarus here has formed with Lady Scardale, please?”
Martius looked at Elarus. If Cameron wasn’t mistaken, the male sanctii’s expression was distinctly unimpressed. But he said nothing, just kept staring, then turned back to Henri. “No. For female, no.”
What the hell did that mean?
“Very well,” Henri said. “That is one problem solved.” He scowled at Sophie. “Lady Scardale, you will refrain from attempting anything even vaguely resembling water magic. Elarus may have given you the knowledge, but that doesn’t mean you understand it well enough to use it with any degree of safety. You can commence your studies tomorrow. For now, I suggest we all try to get a few hours’ sleep. Tomorrow is likely to be a long day if it starts with a visit to the palace.”
The palace? Why—he understood suddenly. Aristides would want to know what had happened in the attack on the carriage. Kings, in his experience, didn’t react well when people declared to be under their protection were attacked. He doubted emperors were any different. What was more surprising was that they weren’t at the palace already. He didn’t know how Henri had managed to delay, but Cameron was grateful that he had.
“Excellent idea, Maistre,” he said, shifting his grip around Sophie so he could stand with her in his arms. He wasn’t entirely certain that he could carry her all the way to their chambers but he was damned sure that he wasn’t letting go of her any time soon.
Cameron put her down just inside their chambers before he closed the door, triggered the wards, and stood with his back pressed to the wood, breathing loudly in and out, eyes closed.
“Are you feeling unwell?” she asked. She doubted he should be up and out of bed. He probably shouldn’t even yet be conscious. That was her doing. As were the chills running over her skin. Though maybe she could lay the blame for those at Elarus’ feet. But she was going to have to get used to that, wasn’t she? Maybe with the bond, she would build a tolerance to the sanctii’s’ lack of warmth.
“Give me a moment,” Cameron said.
“If you are unwell, I should call for Rachelle,” Sophie said. There was more color in his face than there had been in the healer’s rooms, but there were also shadows under his eyes and a bruise darkening the right side of his chin.
Cameron didn’t open his eyes. “I am as well as a man can be when he has just been informed that his wife was almost kidnapped and then chose to ally herself with a . . . a sanctii.”
“Are you going to yell at me again?” she asked. She probably deserved that much. And, quite frankly, she didn’t think she had anything left in her right now for an argument with Cameron to upset her. “It’s all right if you want to.”
Cameron pressed fingers to the bridge of his nose. “I am currently trying to dissuade myself from either kissing you or throttling you,” he gritted out. “So, a moment.”
Heat flooded through her at his words. “I’m not sure I should give you a moment,” she said. “After all, I have a right to be angry with you, too. You almost got yourself killed. For the second time.”
His eyes opened. “Neither time was voluntary.”
“My bonding with Elarus wasn’t entirely voluntary either,” she said.
“That is not necessarily a point in your favor. In fact, it is exactly that lack of good sense I am contemplating.”
“I did what I needed to do,” she said. “For us.” She moved closer so there was only a foot or so between them, staring up into angry blue eyes. “Body and blood, remember? You can protect me. But I’ll protect you, too. I don’t care if that makes you angry.”
His gaze darkened, his pupils flaring. “Oh, don’t you?”
“No. Not if you’re safe.” Safe. Alive. Hers. She needed to prove to herself that was all still true. She stepped closer to him, put her hands on the buttons of his shirt, and yanked. Buttons scattered wildly and the material tore.
His arms closed around her, scooping her up as he moved across the room. She landed on the bed and he began shoving up her skirts, fumbling at his trousers as he did so.
“We haven’t finished the discussion about your new . . . friend,” he said as she spread her legs, suddenly desperate for him.
“I’m sure we haven’t,” she said as he moved over her.
He paused, one hand on the buttons at the neck of her dress. “She’s not here now, is she?”
She hadn’t considered that. She couldn’t feel the sanctii anywhere. No chill cooled her skin. Quite the opposite. The lust boiling through her had her sweating. “Not as far as I know.” She reached down and put her hand around his cock. “Do you care?”
“Not in the least,” he growled, then took her mouth with his. She let go of him and he pushed into her with one sure thrust that pinned her back against the mattress.
It was almost too much, him so hard against her. It was perfect. She pulled her mouth free as she clamped her legs around his hips. “One more thing you should know, husband,” she said, her voice as rough as his. “That part where I said I would let you go? I lied. You’re mine.” She sank her teeth into his shoulder. “Mine.”
“I know,” he said. “Just as you are mine.” And then he began to drive into her, sending all thought of speech, all capability of coherent thought, out of her head. There was only the touch and feel and taste of him, until she was spasming around him, the rush of pleasure so fierce it almost consumed her as she cried out.
Some time later, Cameron rolled off her and reached for the quilt to pull over them. Neither of them made any effort to move farther up the bed. She wasn’t sure she could move other than to turn and curl back around him.
“Cold, love?” he asked, sounding half-asleep.
“No. Not with you here.” She giggled suddenly.
“What?”
“I think we found the cure for sanctii chill,” she said. “Which may be fortunate.”
“Oh, so my marital duties will include being your human bed warmer now?” he said, sounding amused.
“Didn’t they already?” she said, laughing for real now. She may have done something stupid by bonding herself with Elarus, but with Cameron on her side, she was certain they could work it all out. Body and blood. The thought made her ache for him all over again. She rolled on top of him, raising first a surprised “oof” then, lower, a more approving reaction. She wriggled against him just as the door chimes began to sound.
Cameron groaned. “How much would you like to wager that Aristides has decided he isn’t willing to wait until morning and wants to see us now?”
Sophie shook her head. “I try not to make losing bets.”
“How much do you want to wager that I’d be perfectly happy to tell him to fuck off right now?” Cameron said, one large hand descending on her ass to hold her in place when she started to roll off him.
“As our aim right now is to remain out of prison and out of the emperor’s bad graces, I think I’ll decline that bet as well,” she said. She pressed a quick kiss to his mouth, then scrambled free. “You can warm my bed later. I promise I’m not going anywhere.”
She hoped to the goddess, thinking of the possible ways that an audience with Aristides could play out, that that were true.
She’d insisted on being able to bathe and change again before they answered Aristides’ summons. She didn’t have another of Helene’s dresses to wear and she wasn’t about to attempt to dress herself in the red satin so she took one of her simple day dresses to the bathing chamber.
When she emerged, Madame Simsa was standing in the corridor, a bundle of black cloth in her arms.
She thrust it at Sophie. “Yours.”
Sophie shook out the bundle. A set of Academe robes.
“Put them on,” Madame Simsa said.
“I’m going to the palace.”
“Yes. So you may as well let them know what you are. If you wanted a sanctii for protection, no point hiding the fact that you have water magic. Or will have,” Madame Simsa said. “Henri wasn’t joking when he told you not to use it yet. You could hurt yourself. And others.”
“I won’t,” Sophie said. She hoped she’d have no reason to try.
“Good. Then I’ll see you when you return from the palace. Henri will no doubt want you to study with Venable Pellesier, but you’ll work with me as well. That old goat doesn’t know anything about being female and a water mage. The fact that your sanctii is female will probably give him conniptions.”
“Does it make a difference?”
Madame Simsa snorted. “The answer to that question will take more time than I suspect you have this morning. Go.” She gave Sophie a little shove toward the bathing chamber. “Put them on. And don’t forget who you are.”
Sophie obeyed, retreating inside to don the robes and settle them into place.
The robe was an odd weight on her shoulders. The fabric was light, made of fine wool in deference to the cooling season, but the folds and gathers and length of it meant that there was plenty of material to add to the weight. At least that’s what she assumed was making it feel so cumbersome even though it was a finer material than her previous robe had been. That or the fact that, seeing the colors at her collar in the mirror, no longer solely brown for earth but blue as well, there was no escaping the fact that by accepting Elarus she had changed her life irrevocably. A royal witch who practiced the fourth art would never be welcome in Anglion, bound or unbound. Some, no doubt, would say it made her a traitor.
Well, so be it.
She scowled at the Sophie in the glass. “I choose myself,” she said firmly, then grasped the robe and her skirts as she turned to leave.
“Lord and Lady Scardale,” Aristides said gravely. “First let me offer you an apology for what has occurred in my city. Trust me, we are taking measures to exact retribution on your behalf.”
“Thank you, Your Imperial Majesty,” Cameron said, bowing slightly. “We are grateful for your concern.”
Sophie kept her eyes on the emperor as she curtsied beside Cameron. His voice had been cold, holding the same thread of chained anger that it had after the attack in the ballroom. She found herself devoutly thankful that she was not one of the people facing his wrath.
The room they were in was unfamiliar but clearly Aristides’ throne room. Large, immaculately decorated, and designed to focus all attention on the large golden chair the emperor currently occupied.
Its back formed the flares of a sunburst, spiking out around the emperor’s head, framing his dark hair in gold that glittered in the light of the candles and lamps. The first signs of dawn had been lightening the sky when their carriage had passed through the palace gates, but the sky that showed through the windows set high in the walls was still mostly dark.
They weren’t alone with the emperor. Not even close to it. Imogene, Colonel Perrine, and a number of other black-clad guards and imperial mages were arrayed to the left of the room—even Imogene was dressed in sober black, the close-fitting jacket and long skirt echoing the lines of the guards’ uniforms. She wore black leather gloves, not a single ring or jewel in sight. Crown Prince Alain was also present, standing closest to the emperor himself, gazing back out at the room, his expression stony. Next to the guards stood a group of grim-faced older men and one woman who Sophie assumed were the emperor’s counselors or whatever they called them in Illvya. Or representatives of the parliament, maybe.
Sophie and Cameron and Henri themselves had been told to stand directly in front of Aristides. To his left, looking none too happy, stood the Anglion delegation. James Listfold had tilted his head enquiringly at Cameron when they’d passed him, but the other three had barely glanced in their direction.
Barron Deepholt had both hands clasped over his cane, his knuckles pale where they clenched the wood, as he stood watching the emperor. Beside him, Sir Harold stood at sharply set attention that would have pleased the most exacting military inspector. James was also focused on the emperor, his posture that of a well-trained courtier showing respect to authority. Next to him, Sevan Allowood looked tired but somehow resolute, his jaw set. He was sweating lightly but Sophie couldn’t fault him for that. The throne room was, like most of the palace, overheated for her taste.
After her initial glance at them, she made herself ignore the Anglions as they were ignoring her. She was glad of the robes and the enveloping folds that allowed her to grip the sides to hide the slight tremor in her hands. She could hide those but she couldn’t quell the sick feeling in her stomach. No matter what happened here this morning, part of it was bound to be unpleasant.
Aristides lifted his gaze from the three of them and glanced around the room. “It is early,” he said. “And I know some of you have been roused from your beds. But the matter brought before me was too urgent to wait.”
Sophie’s grip on the fine wool tightened. She could almost hear the words of her old deportment instructor telling her that ‘ladies keep their hands clasped in front of them, Sophia, not scrunched in their skirts like a naughty child.’ Right now, the rules of deportment could go to damnation.
“Last night,” the emperor continued, “after departing the palace, it seems Lord and Lady Scardale and the Maistre of our Academe were attacked in their carriage as they traveled the streets of our city. An attempt was made to kidnap Lady Scardale.”
She thought she heard a grunt of surprise from the barron, but it was quickly stifled.
Aristides was looking at her. “Lady Scardale, is this correct?”
“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty, it is. There was an explosion and our carriage was overturned. There were at least two men and a driver who tried to take me from the carriage while my husband and the maistre were incapacitated.”
“And did these men say anything in particular?”
“Only that they wanted me.” She wasn’t about to repeat exactly what had been said. There was no need. She turned slightly, looking Barron Deepholt in the face. “They spoke Anglish, Your Imperial Majesty.”
“You lie!” the barron exploded.
Aristides gestured sharply and the barron snapped his mouth closed with visible effort.
“Native speakers, Lady Scardale?”
“To my ear, yes, Your Imperial Majesty. They had no Illvyan accent that I could detect.”
“And did you recognize any of their voices?”
“No. One of them spoke very low. They were trying to conceal their identities. They wore masks. And the one who seemed to be in charge had a hooded cloak. I didn’t see their faces.”
“I see. Was there anything you noticed that may identify them?”
“A gun fired into the cobbles, Your Imperial Majesty. A chunk hit my arm.” She pushed her sleeve back to reveal the wound. Rachelle had cleaned it and covered it with some sort of clear paste that had set hard, but left it otherwise untended. At Henri’s instructions, she’d told Sophie when she’d asked. Now she understood why. “I believe the man with the gun was similarly wounded. In the leg. His right thigh, if I remember rightly.”
“Your Imperial Majesty, I must protest,” Barron Deepholt stepped forward, the movement jerky. “These accusations are unfounded. Lady Scardale is trying to poison you against us.”
“Oh? To what end, my lord barron?”
“So she does not have to return to Anglion, clearly.” The barron thumped his cane against the marble floor. “Look at her, standing there in those robes. Flaunting her defiance of our temple.”
“My lord,” Aristides said quietly. “If Lady Scardale wishes to stay in Illvya, she knows very well that she has only to ask. There is no need for her to make up stories. I would not allow her to be removed from my realm against her will. I have offered her my protection. Which has been violated.” The emphasis on the last word cracked through the room.
The barron swallowed. “Still, Your Imperial Majesty. Perhaps she has other outcomes she wishes to achieve.”
“Such as? You have continually assured her of her safety in Anglion. What plot do you believe she has formed in the few weeks she has been my guest?”
“I—”
“As for her claims being unfounded, they are not. The scene of the crime was investigated by my own guard and several of my imperial mages. There is evidence of a magical detonation and, indeed, a bullet found in the street and, as I understand, damage to the street that a bullet being fire into the cobbles could cause. True, Lord Scardale and the maistre were unconscious for some of the attack, but they also remember the explosion.”
“She’s a traitor who wishes to take the throne,” Sevan Allowood said suddenly. He stepped forward, shaking James off when the older man tried to haul him back.
“Indeed, Mestier Allowood? How curious. It seems an odd tactic to flee the country one is supposedly trying to conquer,” Aristides said. “But perhaps you know something I do not?”
Sevan glared at Sophie but didn’t say anything.
“Your Imperial Majesty, you must forgive my secretary. He is overcome,” the barron said, sounding outright worried.
“But what could concern him? Did your ship bring bad news from home, my lord barron?”
What was going on? Aristides clearly was working his way around to a point. She just had no idea what it might be.
The barron shook his head, subsiding.
“As it happens, your secretary is of interest to this discussion. As is the rest of your party.”
“Your Imperial Majesty?” Sevan wasn’t the only one looking sweaty now. A bead of moisture was rolling slowly down the barron’s forehead.
“Once my guard brought word from Lady Scardale that her attackers had spoken Anglish, you will agree that it is natural that my attention was drawn to the Anglions already within my palace. After you were summoned here this morning, my mages conducted a search of each of your rooms.”
“Your Imperial Majesty! The rules of diplomacy state that—”
“The rules of diplomacy, my lord, are precisely what I wish them to be. In this case, I choose not to let them be a shield for a criminal to hide behind. If indeed a criminal is to be found amongst your party.” Aristides beckoned to Imogene. “Major du Laq, did your mages find anything of interest?”
Imogene came forward. “Yes, Eleivé, we did.” She unfastened a leather pouch hanging from the belt of her jacket and withdrew a handful of round white objects. Each one was marked with a black symbol that Sophie shouldn’t have recognized—she had never seen such marks before—but part of her mind whispered “scriptii.” The knowledge Elarus had imparted was there after all, even if she couldn’t use any of it yet. “These were found in Sevan Allowood’s room. Well-hidden.”
“Liar!” Sevan shrieked. “Witch liar. You and your demon-loving kind are the only ones who could produce such things.”
Sophie felt the chill rising off the scriptii. Much like the chill she had felt every time she had been near Sevan, she realized suddenly. She had thought it the effect of the obvious dislike he held for her. The fact that he might have a scriptii had never entered her head. “Your Imperial Majesty,” she said. “I have seen a scriptii, or the remnants of one, in Anglion.”
Aristides arched an eyebrow, as though inquiring what this had to do with Sevan.
Sophie plunged on. “I can feel them. Scriptii. Water magic, I guess. They feel cold to me. Sanctii, too. Those are worse, of course. At the ball, I felt cold near Sevan. I didn’t think anything of it then. I wasn’t looking for scriptii. Not on an Anglion. But it could have been. It felt like one.”
“Is this possible, Maistre?” Aristides asked.
Henri, who had been staring at Sophie as she spoke, turned back to the emperor. He nodded. “Mages can have different sensitivities to the different arts, Your Imperial Majesty. I was unaware of Lady Scardale’s, but there is no reason to doubt what she says.”
Imogene nodded agreement.
“I have seen my wife do this, Your Imperial Majesty,” Cameron said. “In the palace at Kingswell. The mages there said the same thing about what she was feeling.”
“Leaving aside the matter of why a scriptii might be in your queen’s palace, which we will return to, Lord Scardale, I am satisfied that your wife is telling the truth. Imogene, a scriptii could have summoned the sanctii in the ballroom?”
Imogene nodded. “Yes, Eleivé. And if it was on the Anglion, then we would not have been looking for it.”
Sevan lunged forward suddenly, face twisted. He didn’t make it very far before Ikarus appeared and tackled him to the ground. Sevan writhed and screamed, the sweat on his face pronounced.
“He looks sick,” Sophie said to Imogene. “He’s sweating. Could he have taken something? Poison? If he thought he might be found out?”
Imogene looked at her sharply, then turned back toward the guards. “Fetch a healer. Quickly.” She ran across to where Ikarus held Sevan, muttered a string of low words, and placed a hand on Sevan’s head. He stopped struggling and went still.
“Major?” Aristides said, staring at Sevan with distaste.
“Poison, Eleivé. I believe I have stayed its course.”
Aristides gaze sharpened. “Good. Do not let him die, Imogene.”
“No, Eleivé,” she muttered, looking exasperated.
“And while you’re there, perhaps you would be so good as to examine his thigh. The right one, was it, Lady Scardale?”
“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty.”
Imogene produced a small knife and neatly slit Sevan’s trousers open. There was a gash on his upper thigh that looked fresh to Sophie’s eyes.
“So,” Aristides said. “It seems we have found at least one of the conspirators.”
“Your Imperial Majesty, I swear I knew nothing of this. After all, I was the one attacked at the ballroom,” Barron Deepholt said, his face ashen. Beside him, James was staring at Sevan with something akin to disgust. Sir Harold merely looked ill.
The barron had a point, of course. He had been attacked. Though, if Sevan had been behind the attack in the ballroom, it seemed likely it had been designed to cast suspicion on her, she realized. Give the Illvyans a reason to send her home, perhaps? The barron could have been part of such a ploy.
“As to that, my mages will determine the truth. You will be questioned. You have my word that you will not be harmed if you are innocent, and that you will be returned to your ship and free to leave. If you are not, then you will be subject to the laws of this land. As will your secretary and the others on your ships.”
The barron bowed acceptance. Sophie couldn’t see that he had any other choice.
“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty. I do not understand why Sevan would—” He broke off. Whether because he didn’t know what more to say or whether he thought it would be pointless to offer any defense of Sevan’s actions, Sophie couldn’t have said.
“Ah.” Aristides expression eased a little. “Louis?”
The major domo approached, bearing a letter. “Eleivé.” He deposited the letter in the emperor’s outstretched hands.
“Perhaps I can shed some light. The document I hold is one of the messages that arrived on your second ship. It has taken me some time to confirm its contents, but it was addressed to your secretary. I will assume he did not share its contents with you, my lord. A pity. It seems not all has been peaceful in Anglion during your time here. There has been a breakout of some illness in the district of your Barron Nester. Quite virulent. It seems the barron and his younger brother sadly did not survive it. Nor did most of their household. Your secretary was kin to the barron, I believe?”
Barron Deepholt nodded slowly.
Sophie stood frozen. Kiaran Allowood dead? And his brother? But that meant that she . . . . She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to maintain some calm. Cameron had stiffened beside her when Aristides had made his announcement.
Something was very wrong in Anglion. Though her more immediate concern was when Aristides had obtained the letter. How long was the “some time” it had taken him to confirm the news?
“Perhaps he was afflicted by his grief,” Barron Deepholt ventured. “Not in his right mind.”
“Perhaps,” Aristides said judiciously. “That remains to be seen. But I believe you will accompany Colonel Perrine now and submit to our questions. If you satisfy him, then you will be returned to your ship. You will return to Anglion. You will take my condolences to Queen Eloisa on the loss of two of her heirs. And convey Lady Scardale’s regrets that she will not be returning to Anglion. Another blow, I’m sure. And Barron Deepholt?”
“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty?” The barron seemed to have shrunk half a foot.
“You will also reiterate to Her Majesty that the Scardales stand under my protection. And that I take that very seriously. Perhaps you will be able to use your experience to convince her of that.”
The barron bowed so deeply that he risked knocking his head on the floor. “Indeed, Your Imperial Majesty.”
Sophie had to grant him some points for maintaining a semblance of grace under pressure. She wasn’t sure she would be able to remain calm if she was about to be dragged off to be interrogated by the Imperial Guard. She devoutly wished she never had cause to find out.
The room seemed very quiet as the Anglions were escorted out, only the sound of booted heels on marble breaking the silence.
When they were out of earshot, all attention turned back to the emperor.
Aristides shifted on his throne. “So, Lady Scardale, let me be the first to offer my felicitations.”
“Felicitations, Your Imperial Majesty?”
“Barron Nester was above you in the line of succession, was he not? He and his brother. You have moved up in the world.”
Sophie gestured at her robes. “That hardly seems relevant anymore, Your Imperial Majesty. The Anglions are not going to accept an Illvyan-trained mage as their queen even if something should happen to Queen Eloisa. Besides, there are others still above me.”
“Your crown princess? Who has shown no power and no ability to bear heirs? Or the cousin? What is her name?”
“Penelope Fairley, Your Imperial Majesty,” Cameron supplied in a voice that sounded half-strangled. Was he only just now starting to do the math in his head?
“Yes. Her. Past childbearing, as I understand it. Also with little power. And though I understand that by some reckonings your crown princess’ husband could inherit, I do not think that is a move the Anglion court would accept if others of the royal line live. No, Lady Scardale, I believe that, until your queen remarries and has children, you are the next most likely candidate to hold the throne of Anglion should it stand vacant.”
“Then I wish that the goddess may grant Her Majesty the gift of children,” Sophie blurted. As soon as possible, she refrained from adding.
“It may not be that simple,” Aristides said, and Sophie’s blood chilled.
“Your Imperial Majesty?”
“Someone is playing dangerous games in Anglion, Lady Scardale. They tried to kill you. They seem to have succeeded in killing Barron Nester. Not to mention eliminating King Stefan and half your nobility in the attack on the palace at Kingswell.”
Aristides, it seemed, was far better informed about Anglion than she had thought. It was a realization that was not comforting. Though she should not forget that one of the prime candidates for pulling the strings and sowing discord in Anglion was Aristides himself.
“Someone is manipulating your succession. Your very throne, perhaps. And that is a situation I find displeasing. Your country and mine have ignored each other fairly well for some time now. Anglion is of little strategic significance to us, after all. Though, granted, it is a country rich in resources. But whoever is behind these goings-on seems to have access to a water mage. And an Anglion with its own water mages may be a different proposition for the empire. It would not do for someone with such power to have the mind to start a rebellion against me. Or to try and claim territories on the mainland.”
“I doubt such a thing has crossed Queen Eloisa’s mind,” Sophie said truthfully, grateful that she managed to speak without her voice trembling. Eloisa had never spoken of conquest. It was a rumble that had moved through the court a time or two under King Stefan, but anyone with half a brain dismissed such a scheme as absurd. Anglion was safest in isolation. The empire would respond to any encroachment with force Anglion couldn’t hope to match. Nothing good could come of that confrontation.
“Your queen seems to be failing to protect her subjects,” Aristides said. “Whether through a lack of ability or whether she is being manipulated, that fact seems unarguable. If she cannot keep her own heirs alive, then her reign is doomed.”
“She is new to the throne, Your Imperial Majesty. And come to power in difficult times,” Sophie said.
“Still, she should be able to prevent assassins making their way onto her diplomatic parties. Either she is being manipulated or her own attempts to play politics with her delegation fell short.”
“I’m not sure I understand, Your Imperial Majesty.”
“I believe Sevan Allowood was sent as a fallback, Lady Scardale. To kill you, if you could not be persuaded to return. Perhaps he will reveal the reason why when he is interrogated or perhaps he will not. But the fact remains that someone in Anglion seems to want you dead and your country unstable. I find myself in disagreement with both those choices. Your country needs a strong queen, Lady Scardale. One who can settle these matters. One who can perhaps bring a final peace between our countries and undo some of the less desirable aspects that have developed in yours.”
Her mouth had turned dry as dust. Surely he didn’t mean . . . . “You cannot be serious.”
“I rarely joke, Lady Scardale.”
She was going to faint. She was sure of it. She definitely couldn’t speak.
“I will make myself plain. Lady Scardale. It seems that Anglion may be in need of a new queen. I am of a mind to give her one should the situation continue to deteriorate. Which leaves you with one question to answer, my lady. Will you take the crown if I offer it?”
She tried to form the words “absolutely not” but the muscles of her throat were locked with shock and the denial would not come. All she could do was stand there, frozen, beside Cameron, eyes locked with Aristides’. And, as the uproar the emperor’s invitation caused faded to mere background, she knew only that, once again, her world had shifted beneath her, sending her tumbling once more into chaos. And that she had no idea whatsoever what to do next.