39: HANDED THE CROWN
Jorat Dominion, Quuros Empire. Three days since Tyentso wasn’t even a little bit ready for this
Ninavis picked up a dishrag and threw it at Qown.
“I’m sorry!” he said, throwing up his hands. “I was gaeshed!”
“Yeah, yeah,” she groused. “That’s what they all say.”
Janel laughed and launched into her turn.
Janel’s Turn. The Ice Demesne, Yor, Quur.
Bikeinoh found me a dress and ushered me from the women’s quarters. The entire way, I felt the wives’ angry stares, who seemed to think me a threat—siphoning the attention that should have been theirs.
I wanted to laugh, call them fools, and mock the very idea. But I didn’t know Duke Kaen. Maybe, despite Relos Var’s opinion, Kaen wouldn’t respect the “territory” of our sham marriage. Maybe he’d want what he couldn’t have.
Maybe they had a point.
I didn’t feel reassured when Bikeinoh brought me to the duke’s private parlor. Like the wives’ quarters, this room faced an outside wall, giving one a mind-numbing view of mountain vistas. As soon as she left, another door opened, and Wyrga stepped through. The hunched old woman carried an armful of clothing, including the red dress I’d been given to wear and Relos Var’s jewelry. Which also made me uneasy. As she’d pointed out to Senera, Wyrga wasn’t a maid.
“Ah, it’s the little whore,” Wyrga said, chuckling.
“Tell me, do you spend time gossiping with demons? Because you have a similar originality to your insults. I don’t think you’re trying hard enough to hurt my feelings. Come now. Do better.”
She laughed in delight as she dumped all the clothing in a chair. “I knew your mother, you know.”
“You’ve mentioned. And what, by chance, was my mother’s name?”
“Irisia, although people don’t call her that now. They all came back, after Vol Karoth had finished with them, to find the world had given them new names to replace their old ones.” The old woman walked up to me, and leaned close, sniffing me. “I knew your mother, watched the Veils flash. You’re just like her. But don’t let them turn you into a cute little pet. Irisia made that mistake. Lions should never love their cages.”
I paused. “Is that so?”
“You think I can’t recognize my own kind? We’re both wild monsters, you and I.” She grinned again. “So Rev’arric thinks he can tame you. Foolish man. My husband thought he’d tamed me too, but I never learned to love my leash. Oh, I made him pay. Isn’t it the prerogative of all unjustly imprisoned, to revenge themselves on their jailers?”
I found myself becoming intrigued, against my better judgment. “Who’s Rev’arric?”
“Did I say Rev’arric? I meant Relos Var.” Her breath smelled like raw meat.
“Who … who are you? Who are you really?”
She leaned back, looking as scandalized as if I’d just asked her to play bed sports. “I can’t tell you that.” She started cackling again. “But I know why you’re here. I know all about you, little lioness.”
I ignored how uncomfortable the entire conversation made me. She seemed quite insane, but that didn’t mean she was lying. Quite the opposite.
“And what do you know?”
“In the stone city of three roads, the lion cub singed with great catastrophe, as the terrible march of death takes the land of plenty. The cub alone lives, cursed with great strength, to be raised by horses.” She backed up and pointed at me. “That’s you, darling.” Wyrga whispered, almost an exhale. “Hellwarrior.”
Before I could respond, the door opened, and Duke Kaen appeared. “Wyrga, what are you doing here? Go back to your animals.”
“Yes, yes, Your Grace,” She gave the man a bow that seemed no more sincere than a hyena’s grin and shuffled out of the room.
“Count Tolamer,” the duke said. “Please, join me. We have much to discuss.”
“Who is that woman? She can’t be—” And then my mouth dropped open as I saw his parlor.
A large bookcase covered the wall I’d entered through, but that hadn’t drawn my attention. No. The Joratese tournament regalia covering the opposite wall had that pleasure. Flags and banners enough to please half a fairground’s worth of screaming, riotous fans.
He hadn’t restricted himself to one team either, although he liked Ferra’s knights, underdogs in so many tournaments. A map of eastern Quur covered the opposite wall. I noticed a pin stuck into Jorat at Barsine Banner’s capital, Mereina. Another at Tiga Pass.
I looked away.
A burning fireplace and comfortable chairs made the room cozy and warm. The black stone walls had been hidden under hardwoods, so this room looked personal and inviting.
“You’re a fan?” I couldn’t keep the disbelief from my voice. “You watch the tournaments?”
He chuckled as he sat down next to the fireplace. On the table before him sat a large tray of meats and stews, including a fried roll I hoped contained vegetables. I also saw a silver carafe, wafting steam. Next to the tray someone had placed a Zaibur board without pieces.
“Oh yes,” he said. “I’m a huge fan. Not just of the contests themselves. It’s the basic premise of the tournaments. The greatest question rulers have asked themselves for centuries has been: What does one do with a standing army? Kandor solved the issue by always searching for the next war to fight, but what happens when you run out of lands to conquer?” He waved a hand. “Khorvesh has to contend with the Blight, and I suppose the Manol, but Jorat? Jorat is sandwiched between three other Quuros dominions, with no outside borders save a coastline so storm-ridden no navy would dare attack it. What is Jorat to do with all those raised to believe the flower of adult measure is found on the field of battle?”
Of course, I’d grown up knowing the answer to that question. “We turned it into a sport.”
“You turned it into a sport,” he agreed. “An important sport, an economically vital endeavor, one with which your population is deeply involved. All the heroic valor of the battlefield, but far fewer casualties. Genius.” The duke paused. “At least, until a real threat shows up again. Perhaps not so genius now, when your ‘knights’ don’t know how to cope with a real emergency.”
“Yes, who would have predicted you’d set upon them with sorcerers, demons, and a dragon.” I didn’t bother to hide my scorn.
“Who indeed?” He grinned. “Have you had a chance to eat?” He gestured toward the food. “I’d be honored if you’d share a meal with me.”
“Thank you. I’m famished.”
I sat down and began helping myself to food. He seemed surprised. I realized either he was supposed to eat first as duke or eat first as male. Whatever the rule, he didn’t think I qualified. If I’d known, I’d have insisted on being the first to reach for a plate.
I split the roll with my knife and saw a gelatinous white substance inside. “What is this?” I asked.
“Whale fat,” he answered. “You should try it. It’s delicious.”
I looked down at the tray. “Is there anything here besides meat?”
“The tea doesn’t have meat in it,” he answered. “I’m sorry. No one told me you didn’t eat meat.”
“I do eat meat,” I answered. “Most Joratese do. But it’s not something we eat every day. This would make me sick to my stomach.” I reached for the tea, since at least that was safe.
It wasn’t. A thick head of butter floated on the actual liquid. I didn’t have any moral qualms about drinking it, but I almost gagged at the unexpected taste.
He watched me with pursed lips. “It’s very cold here in Yor,” he explained. “So we eat meat and fat. We used to eat more plants, before the Quuros invaded and destroyed the Spring Caves.”
“You could import vegetables,” I pointed out.
“Yes,” he agreed. “We could.”
“If you refuse to work with the Royal Houses, why did you have so many eating in your great hall yesterday?”
“You didn’t see House D’Aramarin there yesterday, did you? Not a hint of green to be found anywhere. Nor House D’Knofra or D’Kard, House D’Erinwa? They’re quite content with the status quo. But the other houses? They’re more open to change.”
“You’re not concerned they’ll betray you?”
“I know they’ll betray me—if they think I’m going to fail.”
I set down the tea. “Your Grace, why am I still alive?”
He laughed and leaned back in his chair. “You don’t pull punches, do you?”
“I appreciate being alive, but I’d feel better if I understood the motives involved. And I don’t.” I folded my fingers in my lap. “You have been attacking villages and towns across Jorat. Attacking them in a way Duke Xun is ill-equipped to recognize, let alone counter. And what is going to happen in Jorat, when the people realize their duke can’t protect them from a threat recent enough to still give children nightmares? Another Hellmarch. What happens when you come along and do what our duke cannot—save them from this crisis?” I shrugged. “You’re going to have access to all the good farmland you want. It might even be considered a bloodless takeover—if one didn’t know you organized the original attacks. You won’t have to conquer Jorat. We’ll hand you the crown and demand the Quuros High Council put you in charge.”
Kaen looked delighted. “You are a joy, aren’t you?”
I rolled my eyes. “The fact I can see your strategy just makes it all the more perplexing to me why you brought me here. Why not let Relos Var kill me?” I stopped. “Or was keeping me alive all his idea?”
“A little of both. Can you guess why?”
I scowled. “I wouldn’t have asked if I—” I hesitated. “Something to do with my parents. My real parents.”
Thaena had said so, hadn’t she? Relos Var liked striking out at his enemies through their families. For that reason, Relos Var would find me irresistible.
But in theory, I had no living family. At least, I’d thought so before Darzin D’Mon read my grandfather’s letter. Now I faced the possibility that I not only had living parents but Relos Var considered them enemies.
If Thaena was right, then I was bait being used against someone else.
“Yes,” Kaen said. “Not your mother. I’m sure she was a delightful woman. A dancing girl, I think Var said? Something like that. But your father…” He smiled. “A Khorveshan soldier, indeed. But higher ranked than a mere officer. High General Qoran Milligreest, the High Council’s leader, most powerful man in the empire.”
“The emperor—”
“—is a puppet who won a magical free-for-all and takes his orders from the council, which your father commands.”
I didn’t respond. I think I was still in shock. The high general?
“I see the look on your face. Qoran is a fine man. I’ve met him on several occasions. Sadly, he can’t keep his trousers buttoned. His wife deserves so much better.”
“Says the man with several dozen wives.”
“That’s politics,” he responded. “I would be faithful in his position. Of course, we’re graced by your presence due to his lack of self-control, so it’s just as well. His missteps are to our benefit.”
I found myself glad I was already sitting, because I felt faint. “I’ve met him.”
“After Lonezh, I imagine.”
“I thought—” I reached for the tea and drank it, not tasting the butter this time.
“You thought the high general paid attention to you because he wanted to know why Xaltorath picked you as his host, why Xaltorath wouldn’t leave. But no. High General Milligreest picked you out earlier, before the Hellmarch finished. Someone—probably Emperor Sandus—looked at your aura and recognized who you are: a Milligreest. A Khorveshan. And Milligreest never admitted the truth. He left you with the Vishai and returned home, after pretending you were no relation at all. It almost worked.”
“And from this, you assume he’ll care what happens to me?” I said.
“Oh, I don’t have to assume, because he should have unleashed the Quuros army’s full magical might on that Hellmarch, if he didn’t give a damn what happened to the eight-year-old girl guiding it. Yet he didn’t. There’s no good excuse for your survival. When the time comes for him to consider unleashing those forces once more, I want him to hesitate like that again. And he will, because he cares.”
Words cannot describe how numb I felt. This was so much worse than I had thought. Even worse than the sham of being labeled Danorak and hailed a great hero.
I’d lived because some father I’d never met had placed more importance on my survival than the dominion’s. Why? Because I was born of his seed, presumably in bed play that meant very little to him at the time. Jorat could go to Hell as long as his spawn survived.
The arrogance burned in my throat.
They will try to break you, Khored had said. No, wait. That was wrong. That hadn’t been Khored, had it?
Relos Var will try to break you, Xaltorath had said. You must let him succeed.
Why, Xaltorath? Why did you single me out? What did you hope to accomplish? I saw the wheels turning inside wheels, but devoid of context, ignorant of motives, the movements made no sense. I saw the game, but I had no idea what forces shaped the rules.
But in that moment, I knew a great many forces were playing this game, and they all intended to claim me as their piece.
While I sat there and stared out at nothing, Duke Kaen stood up, picked up the tray, and carried it over to a different table. He went to the door and I heard him speaking low words to someone outside.
I turned around and studied the map.
When he returned, I faced him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve upset you.”
“Nothing you say can upset me,” I whispered, although even a five-year-old wouldn’t have been fooled by so feeble a lie.
“It’s not all a threat I’ve invented, I should add. There are dangers to Jorat your people don’t even know about, dangers that would destroy your people if they’re not combated.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, and I suppose you’re the only one who can save us? That sounds very convenient for you.”
“Oh, if only. Aeyan’arric—that’s the ice dragon you encountered—is well-behaved and mostly in possession of her faculties. Relos Var gives her tasks, and she carries them out. The other dragons, though.” He shook his head. “Dragons are insane. They aren’t controllable. They aren’t tamable. Relos Var can make Aeyan’arric behave, but I’ll never trust her. And the largest and the most dangerous—Morios—sleeps under Lake Jorat. When he wakes—and it will be when, not if—he’ll destroy half the dominion before he’s subdued. There’s even a prophecy about him. Would you like to hear it?”
“A prophecy.” I stared at him. “I don’t like prophecies.”
“They can be useful.” He pulled a book from his shelves and opened it to a bookmarked page. “Especially this one. In the twentieth year of the hawk and the lion, beneath the silver sword, the sleeping beast’s chains shatter. The dragon of swords devours demon falls as night takes the land.” Kaen offered me the book. “A Devoran quatrain.”
The leather-bound book in question seemed old. Looking at it, I realized half the bookcase held its twins. “How many…” I glanced back at him. “How many Devoran prophecies are there?”
“Many more than this. But I’m an enthusiastic reader.”
“The twentieth year of the hawk and the lion. By what calendar?”
“If Relos Var is right—” Azhen Kaen reached out and flicked a finger off the tip of my nose before I could dodge away. “You are the lion. Which means we only have a few more years to go before Morios wakes. We’re running out of time. And I for one don’t intend to let Morios—the dragon of swords—destroy Atrine before I can conquer it. Atrine, you realize, means—”
“The Silver Blade.” I leaned back in case he felt like any more nose-touching. “I know. Every Joratese child knows what Atrin Kandor’s name means. And so, what are you going to do about it?”
“Not a thing.”
I waited for the further explanation, but none presented itself. “What?”
“I’m not going to do a thing,” Kaen said, “because Var doesn’t think I’m ready. And since he doesn’t think I’m ready, he’s under no obligation to open a gate to a location I don’t know. Despite its name, ‘Lake’ Jorat is an inland sea. Even for a dragon as monstrous as Morios, finding him on my own would be impossible. Never mind how Duke Xun would misinterpret my search as something more sinister. Say, an invasion.”
“Relos Var’s your…” I flailed. “He works for you, doesn’t he?”
“He supports me. I can’t force his apprentice, Senera, to tell me where to find Morios. Relos Var has so far refused to help too; the time isn’t right, whatever that means.” He saluted me with his tea. “I’m starting to think the real problem is that I’d assumed I would be the one to slay a dragon, and Relos Var has someone else in mind.” He gave me a pointed look. “It doesn’t have to be me, after all.”
I felt a weight settle down through my core. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t have to march in and save Jorat. The High Council won’t lightly hand over one dominion’s governing to another dominion’s ruler. They want to keep the dominions separated. Never mind the Joratese distrust of Yor. But if a Joratese saved the day and slew Morios, if—for example—the famous hero Janel Danorak did it … I have a funny feeling the high general wouldn’t contest your claim.”
I cast about for excuses. “But apparently I’m not Joratese.”
He dismissed the excuse. “The Joratese think you’re one of them. You’ll be hailed as a hero.”
“And all I’d have to do is betray my people.” I knew I’d been stripped of my title, likely branded a witch. If I came back and defeated a dragon as dangerous as Duke Kaen said? I was as good as staking my claim to replace Duke Xun.
What you protect is what you rule.
I was tempted. After all, with my expertise and experience, how difficult would it be to arrange for a much less violent revolution in Jorat? Duke Kaen didn’t understand the Joratese the way I did. He didn’t understand how to sway their loyalty. I did—without dragons, without demons.
All those deaths would stop if I agreed to his plan. And not after I’d found a spear and killed a dragon. Not after I’d figured out how to defeat Relos Var. Immediately.
How many lives would I save if I pledged my loyalty to Duke Kaen? I could gain everything I desired. Kaen would have no reason to send Aeyan’arric after Joratese villages.1 If Kaen’s story about Morios proved true, I’d help save hundreds of thousands of lives by defeating him.
All I had to do was say yes.
Kaen said, “Would it be a betrayal, though? Is it not justice, when they wronged you first? Relos Var told me about your situation. Your Markreev didn’t protect you when he should have. He exploited his power over you to force you into an unworthy match. Your grandfather betrayed you by assuming you would submit to another man’s rule and by allowing his lamentably racist leanings to overcome his sense of your true value.”
“Yet those people didn’t frame me for witchcraft, kill me in a duel, kidnap me, and hold me against my will in another country.”
“If your enthusiasm to rescue someone who has done you wrong is proportional to the crime, we’ve made a fine start at convincing you Yor is worth saving.” He smiled, no doubt thinking himself hilarious.
“Oh?” I laughed, because I found it just the opposite. “And why does Yor need saving?”
“Because our land is dying,” Azhen Kaen said, all humor vanishing. “Quur has murdered it.”
The young wife who’d questioned me when I first arrived, Veixizhau, was waiting for me when I returned to the wives’ quarters. I couldn’t tell if she’d decided to impress or one-up me, but she wore a samite gown and a blinding diamond necklace.
I was distracted, thinking of honor and whether I placed more importance on my pride than my people. Wasn’t the whole reason I’d come here to gain Relos Var’s and Duke Kaen’s trust by whatever means necessary? So why did I balk at Kaen’s deal? I didn’t have to keep my promise to them, after all.
But I wanted to.
Oh, that was an ugly realization. I wanted someone better than Duke Xun to rule Jorat. I wanted the Markreev of Stavira to acknowledge my idorrá. I wanted—
“That took a long time,” Veixizhau said, interrupting my thoughts. If she intended to sound nice, she didn’t try hard.
“Did it? I lost track. Where is the kitchen? I’m starving.”
“Segra, go fetch our guest something from the kitchen, would you?”
“Yes, thank you,” I said. “No meat, please. I’ll take bread. Porridge if you have any.”
Segra, a young woman with large violet eyes, gave me an awkward, nervous smile before leaving.
Veixizhau offered me a chair. “Please, sit. Tell me all about your conversation. I so seldom have a chance to hear about what’s going on outside our halls.”
Her sweet tone made me pause. “The duke—sorry, the Hon—doesn’t give you any access to outside information?”
“Books. Old books. It’s nothing current.”
That drew another wife’s attention. “I rather like the books, mind you, but it’s not the same as fresh news.”
“Where’s Bikeinoh?” I looked around, but I didn’t see the Hon’s oldest wife.
“Gone off on some chore, I suppose. I don’t keep track. What did the Hon say?” Veixizhau leaned forward.
I realized she didn’t think we’d talked. She hoped to catch me out by forcing me to fabricate a conversation.
“He wants my help conquering Jorat,” I told her.
She blinked, surprised. “What?”
I sighed. I wasn’t in the mood. My temper had soured from talking to the duke, and given the way my lower back was aching, I was about to start my flow. I had no patience for a jealous wife who thought I’d made a play for her husband.
“Your husband wants me to help him conquer Jorat. We spoke about it at length.” I pulled out a different chair from the one Veixizhau offered and flopped into it. “Something about killing a dragon, which strikes me as a task a smart ruler would delegate to someone else. Oh, and he wants to use me to pressure my father into leaving Yor alone. Also lovely.”
I’d closed my eyes so I couldn’t see her expression, but she made a surprised sound. “Oh, my poor girl. I’m so sorry! Believe me, I know what it’s like to be taken from your family against your will.”
I raised my head, opened my eyes, and looked up at her. “Nothing about what you said sounds the least bit sincere. Except the part about being taken from your family.”
“You’ve misjudged me.” Her expression was innocence personified.
“I doubt that. I’m going to spell this out: I have no interest in your husband. I have no ambitions toward being the Hon’s seventy-third or however many wives he has plus one. If he forces himself on me, I will kill him or die trying.”
“You’re that dedicated to this wizard Relos Var? You must love him a great deal.”
I scoffed under my breath. “Hardly.”
She gave me an inscrutable look just as Segra returned with bland porridge, handing the bowl to Veixizhau. My heart sank as I smelled the stuff. Not porridge. Gruel. Gruel made from meat stock.
Veixizhau set the bowl on the table. I stared at the mess for a moment before I proceeded to eat it, anyway. It tasted weird, and I wondered what meat they’d used. Probably nothing I’d recognize. Or would want to.
I looked up at Veixizhau. “Well? Have I reassured you?”
She raised an eyebrow at me and smirked. “Yes, you have. Honestly, you’ve never even been with a man, have you?”
I paused. In Jorat, we placed no particular virtue on the idea of being “untouched,” but I knew that it wasn’t like that everywhere in the empire. I certainly didn’t like the glee in her eye. “I’m married.”
“Are you really, though? I don’t think that’s true.” She laughed. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell. Honestly, I’m delighted.”
I felt uneasy. “Why?”
“Unmarried women have a very … special … place among our people. You’re so rare and so valuable. And an unmarried woman who’s as gullible as you is like a shiny diamond.”
“What?” I looked down at the gruel. It didn’t seem sinister, but then the first wave of dizziness hit.
She was still smiling at me as I slid to the ground.