King Delnamal of Aaltah scowled over the report he had requested from his lord commander. The damn thing told him what he’d known all along: Aaltah was not prepared for sustained military action. The late King Aaltyn had slowly let the ranks of his military forces, both on land and at sea, shrink over the years since Aaltah had last been at war, and the defection of an entire company of soldiers under Tynthanal’s command had only made the situation worse.
“This is outrageous,” Delnamal said with a shake of his head.
Lord Aldnor stood before Delnamal’s desk at stiff military attention, but seemed to stiffen even more at Delnamal’s harsh tone. Delnamal reminded himself that it was not the lord commander’s fault the late king had allowed their military to dwindle to such a degree—although some of the blame for the defection of Tynthanal’s men lay on Lord Aldnor’s shoulders. Surely it was the lord commander’s duty to ensure that his men were more loyal to the Crown than they were to any commanding officer!
“We are near the limit of what the budget will allow, Your Majesty,” the lord commander said. “I can afford to recruit perhaps fifty more men to replace those we’ve lost, but after that we will be at capacity. Unless our budget were to be increased, of course.”
Delnamal shoved the report aside irritably. There were few prospects less appealing than trying to pry more money out of his royal council. Already the lord high treasurer was grumbling about the loss of revenue the royal coffers had suffered when Delnamal had ordered the old Abbey razed and sent all the abigails away. He realized now—way too late, of course—that the Abbey had been one of the Crown’s most profitable ventures, operating on a very low budget and with impressive revenue. He had instituted a new abbey—the men of Aaltah needed somewhere to send their unwanted women—but without the guidance of more senior abigails, their ability to produce the most powerful potions and spells was limited. And because the Curse had made it inadvisable to take a woman who was not willing, the Abbey’s most profitable commodity had all but dried up.
“Well, we need more men if we are to subdue the rebels my cursed half-sister leads,” he said, fists clenching at the idea that the woman dared to style herself a sovereign princess. He refused to call that pathetic encampment in the Wasteland a principality, just as he’d refused to call it by the name others insisted on using. It was a gathering of outlaws and traitors, not the fucking Principality of Women’s Well! There were only seven Wells in the land of Seven Wells, and the abomination that had sprung up the previous year was merely a pimple on the earth’s surface.
“I’m not certain that’s the case,” Lord Aldnor said.
Delnamal gave his lord commander the kind of glare that would send most men scurrying for cover, but Lord Aldnor was not so easily quelled.
“We might have prevailed when we marched on Women’s Well the first time,” Lord Aldnor continued, showing no sign of having noticed his king’s disapproval, “had we left a sufficient garrison behind to discourage Rhozinolm from attacking.”
Delnamal clenched his fists, blood pounding in his temples. The lord commander had advised him not to march on Women’s Well with such outrageous numbers, but Delnamal had brushed off the man’s concerns in favor of the grand show of force. There was nothing in Lord Aldnor’s voice or expression that could be read as I told you so, but Delnamal was sure that sentiment existed behind the coolly professional façade. Not that Delnamal had any intention of ceding the point.
“We might have prevailed, you say,” Delnamal snarled. “ ‘Might’ isn’t good enough. We need enough men to be certain to prevail.”
Lord Aldnor nodded. “Understood. But those men would need to be armed and trained and housed and fed. The council may be persuaded to increase the Citadel’s budget, but you don’t need me to tell you how strained our treasury already is.”
“No, I don’t!” Delnamal snapped, for of course the lord high treasurer complained ceaselessly during council meetings. The effort to rebuild after last year’s devastating earthquake and flood had drained the treasury, and it would be years—if not decades—before Aaltah’s wealth was restored. “And unless you can provide some helpful recommendations, I suggest you take your cloud of doom and leave.”
Lord Aldnor took Delnamal’s cutting words in stride, his face showing no sign of anger or even annoyance. Delnamal wished he himself could learn to keep his feelings so deeply buried that others couldn’t see them, but it was a skill he’d never acquired.
“I would recommend that we look to our allies to provide naval support, should it be needed,” Lord Aldnor said. “Khalpar’s navy is more than a match for Rhozinolm’s. A few of their warships added to our fleet should be enough to discourage Queen Ellinsoltah from attacking while our troops are on the march.”
Delnamal grunted a noncommittal answer. By all rights, he ought to be able to count on support from Khalpar. He was King Khalvin’s nephew, after all, and the very reason Delnamal’s father had married his mother was to forge an alliance between their two kingdoms to save Aaltah when they were losing a war to Rhozinolm. But Delnamal could not bring himself to trust Khalvin the way his father had.
“So what happens when the traitors are defeated?” Delnamal asked. “Are we to host Khalpar’s navy indefinitely? We would still need more men to withstand an attack from Rhozinolm.”
“It’s far from certain that Queen Ellinsoltah would follow through on her threats as long as Aaltah is not an easy target. Especially when she cannot get at us by land without invading the Midlands.”
“As if either of our kingdoms has ever let the Midlands serve as an impediment to our wars,” Delnamal scoffed.
The lord commander acknowledged the point with a shrug. There had been countless wars between Rhozinolm and Aaltah over the centuries. The Midlands was an independent principality just now, but it had been annexed by its neighboring kingdoms so many times that even its sovereign prince must consider the condition temporary.
“There’s also Nandel to think about,” Lord Aldnor added. “Rhozinolm’s trade agreements with Nandel will expire before our own, and if they are unable to reach a new agreement…”
Then they would be so badly hamstrung they could not possibly go to war. If Shelvon of Nandel had only given Delnamal the heir he was due, he could have counted on Nandel’s continuing strong support—so much so that he might have convinced Prince Waldmir not to renew his agreements with Rhozinolm at all. But now that Delnamal had divorced Shelvon and married another—and that it seemed possible Waldmir’s nephew would become the Prince Consort of Rhozinolm—it was his own trade agreements that were most vulnerable.
“You’ve given me much to think about, Lord Aldnor,” Delnamal said. “I still feel it necessary to build our military, but I will consider all the options.”
Lord Aldnor looked relieved, and Delnamal was glad to have finally silenced him. However, the lord commander was much mistaken if he thought he had accomplished some kind of victory over his king. Lord Aldnor’s suggestion involved relying on another power to protect and supplement Aaltah’s military. If Aaltah was to stand strong in the face of all potential adversaries, it must do so on the basis of its own strength.
The Citadel’s ranks would swell, one way or another. And if the lord high treasurer—or any other member of the royal council—objected, there were other, more loyal men who would be overjoyed to accept the office.
Star had just taken Ellin’s hair down and was about to begin the nightly ritual of brushing the kinks out of the long tresses when there came a knock from behind the tapestry against one wall. Star gave a huff of exasperation and picked up the brush.
“Don’t let him in,” the maid advised. “That man needs to learn that you are not at his beck and call.”
Ellin laughed. “You are in danger of becoming prim, dear one.”
Star sniffed. “I am not prim. I just feel he should treat you with the respect you deserve and not come knocking on your door at all hours of the night.”
Ellin opened her mouth to argue, then shut it again. Zarsha had shown himself more than trustworthy, and though it was perhaps true that he took advantage of the intimacy of shared secrets, she had no desire to turn him away. All of which Star already knew. She was merely being protective, as was her wont.
The knock sounded again, polite and patient. Not demanding entrance so much as requesting it.
“Let him in, please,” Ellin said.
Muttering softly to herself, Star lifted the edge of the tapestry to reveal the door hidden beneath. She slid back the bolts, expressing her continued disapproval by not then opening the door. Zarsha hesitated a beat, then pulled open the door himself. His eyes twinkled with good humor as he flashed his most charming smile.
“Good evening, Star,” he said with a bow of his head that might be taken as either respectful or mocking.
“You have to stop doing this,” she said boldly. It was entirely improper for a servant to speak that way to any nobleman, much less a member of the royal family of Nandel.
“Star!” Ellin scolded, taken aback by her maid’s behavior. Star had always seemed to like Zarsha—even in the days when Ellin herself had despised him—so this sudden enmity was shocking.
Star was unrepentant. “You have no parents to look after your best interests, so I will have to do it myself,” she said to Ellin, then gave Zarsha a narrow-eyed glare. “And if you want what’s best for our Ellinsoltah, you won’t object to those who love her trying to protect her.”
Zarsha dispensed with his usual easygoing smile. There was no hint of annoyance or anger in his expression, which instead looked grave and uncommonly serious—at least for him. “I don’t object. She is lucky to have you. But there are many things she and I cannot speak about in public, and it would arouse far too many uncomfortable murmurs if she were seen to grant me too much official access during the day. I am not popping in for the pleasure of your lady’s company.” The mischievous grin returned, his foreign blue eyes—which Ellin had once thought disturbingly cold—dancing. “Well, not just for the pleasure of her company, at least.”
Ellin doubted Star was completely mollified, but she subsided with a soft grumble. “You will let me know when you are ready to continue preparing for bed?” Star said, half question, half order.
“Of course,” Ellin confirmed, then fell silent as Star slipped out of the room.
“She used to like me,” Zarsha said when the door had closed behind her.
“She still does. She just thinks you’re being overly familiar. Which you are.”
He smirked. “I’ve always been overly familiar. It’s part of my charm.”
Ellin smiled despite herself. “But you really shouldn’t come to my room unexpectedly so often. She was fine with it when we knew you were coming, but…”
“If you didn’t expect me to make an appearance on the evening of your first day out of mourning, then that is evidence of a certain lack of foresight on your part,” he said dryly. He gestured toward the chairs by the fireplace. “May I sit?”
It was a peace offering of sorts, for he rarely observed the formalities when they were alone in her room at night. “Yes, let’s sit,” she agreed, realizing he was right. She should have expected him. She had wanted a little time to think and process the discussion of her royal council before speaking to Zarsha, but of course he had known the topic of their marriage would be broached today and was eager to learn how it had gone.
They each took a seat before the warm glow of the fire, and Ellin regarded her would-be bridegroom with assessing eyes. He had never suggested Waldmir might find it offensive for his nephew to take the title of prince consort to a sovereign queen, and Ellin couldn’t help wondering why that was so. Did he simply not think it was a problem, or had it been a willful omission in an attempt to present marriage as a reasonable and trouble-free solution to the problem of the trade agreements?
She was firmly convinced that Zarsha was a good man, and he had made an outrageous number of accommodations for her over the course of their on-again, off-again courtship. And yet she was always painfully aware of his hidden layers, of his not-always-clear motivations. He did such a good job of presenting himself as open and honest that she sometimes almost forgot he had a spy’s skill for subterfuge.
She could approach her questions subtly and diplomatically, but so far she had found that with Zarsha, the best strategy was usually directness, lest he manage to steer the conversation in the direction he desired.
“My trade minister brought up a potential obstacle to a marriage agreement that I had not previously considered,” she said.
Zarsha raised his eyebrows and looked genuinely interested, no hint of shifty-eyed guilt on his face. Not that she would expect him to give anything away so easily.
“What might that be?” he inquired, and she told him.
To her astonishment, Zarsha laughed.
“Why is that amusing?”
He shook his head. “Because it involves some misapprehension of a close, personal bond between myself and my uncle that would cause him to be insulted on my behalf.”
“You have made it quite clear you and your uncle are not overly fond of each other,” she pointed out.
“That is, perhaps, understating the situation. I believe it would actually give him a great deal of pleasure to think of me as some kind of kept man, groveling at the feet of my wife.”
“Why?” she asked, not for the first time. She had received from him only vague and unsatisfactory responses, but now that the possibility of marriage seemed more immediate, it behooved her to press. She would marry Zarsha for the good of her kingdom, but if she was going to allow this man into her bed—and maybe even into her heart, though she wasn’t sure if she could ever lower her guard enough to allow such a thing again—she needed to know more about him than he had so far been willing to reveal.
“I’ve told you why.”
“You’ve told me he doesn’t like you because you’re nosy. That is hardly a detailed explanation, nor does it explain the level of enmity you’re describing now. What is there between you?”
Zarsha was rarely one to squirm, but he did so now, averting his gaze. “I know things about him that he would rather I did not. Things that he fears I might one day use against him.”
“Blackmail, you mean?”
He nodded. “He is a cruel and ruthless man, my uncle. If I had not…taken measures to protect myself, I would have found myself in a secret grave by now. He hates me for what I know, for the fact that it gives me a certain level of power over him. However, I am still his nephew, still a representative of the royal family of Nandel. He can hate me all he wants, but he cannot disown me. He might see my marriage to a woman who outranks me as some kind of insult to my manhood, but he could easily separate the insult to me from any insult to Nandel. I can guarantee that he won’t make an agreement easy, but any pretense he makes at feeling insulted is just that: a pretense.”
Ellin was struck by the suspicion that there was something Zarsha was leaving out of the explanation. Something other than the very obviously omitted details. She couldn’t put a finger on what made her feel that way, for his demeanor seemed unremarkable, despite a degree of visible discomfort.
“What is it you know about Prince Waldmir that he is so anxious to keep hidden?” she asked, though surely if he had intended to tell her he would have done so already.
She was not surprised to see Zarsha’s shields go up, his expression becoming guarded.
“It is not a secret I am free to share. I am not loyal to my uncle personally, but I am loyal to the office of the sovereign prince, if that makes any sense.”
“What good is blackmail material if you aren’t willing to share it?” she pressed.
“I said Waldmir fears I might use the information against him, not that I would. He is not a man inclined to trust anyone, not even family.” He frowned. “Maybe even especially family.”
She shook her head and leaned back in her chair, still convinced she was being lied to. Or at least being provided an incomplete accounting of the situation. “Are you saying that giving this information to me would be giving me something I could use against your uncle?”
He groaned and squirmed a bit in his chair. “The subject is ridiculously difficult to talk about without specifics, yet I cannot give you those specifics. I understand why you want them, and I understand it is not for idle curiosity, but my life—and the lives of other people I care about—depends on my continued silence.”
Ellin chewed her lip as she digested the cryptic response. For all the conversations she’d had with Zarsha, she couldn’t remember him ever before making reference to caring about anyone in Nandel. She hadn’t realized how odd that was until this moment. Just how many secrets was he hiding, anyway?
“Who are these people you care about who might be endangered if you break faith?”
Zarsha rubbed his eyes—an unusually vulnerable gesture for a man who so prided himself on his self-possession. “Let it go, Ellin. Maybe when we are bound by the vows of marriage, I will feel free to tell you more, but I can’t even guarantee that.”
“But—”
“I know many uncomfortable secrets about many people. Yourself, for example.”
Ellin flinched at the unwelcome reminder. It was possible that with Tamzin dead, a revelation of her lack of chastity might do little material damage to her reign, but it would certainly undermine her moral authority.
Zarsha leaned forward and put his hand over hers, but she pulled away from the intimate gesture.
“You can trust me with your secret,” he said earnestly. “Just as my uncle can trust me, whether he is willing to do so or not. I know my silence has made you doubt me, but it is the very reason why you should not.”
She met his gaze, trying for all she was worth to see behind his façade. “There is more to this story than you are telling me,” she accused. “It is not just a case of omitted details.”
“Be that as it may, I have said all I am willing to on the matter. When I am your husband, my first loyalty will be only to you, and that may free me to tell you more. But for now I am naught but a representative of a foreign court, not bound to you by anything save what I hope is mutual affection.”
Ellin had no choice but to accept his refusal, though she had to admit it stung in a way that might not be strictly logical. His friendship had meant so much to her over the difficult last year that she had perhaps presumed a level of intimacy that did not exist. It was an important reminder of why he had always been a most complicated friend.