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Lost in her thoughts, Elwyn sank lower in the bath as Phoebe bustled about in the next room, laying out the party clothes. Rohesia couldn’t go to Lady Muriel’s state dinner, and wouldn’t have wanted to go, even if she could have. But she had told Elwyn it was “very important” to put on as big a show as possible. So she had loaned Elwyn some of her best diamonds and a little tiara with emeralds. But Elwyn wasn’t thinking about that.
Nor was she thinking about how she would probably spend the entire party on the arm of Broderick the Younger, being forced to talk to him and his parents when she would have loved to push them all down a well.
Instead, she was yet again thinking about Lily. Elwyn and her family were in terrible danger, but all she could think about was the beautiful Immani woman. She was even having dreams about her now—frantic and confusing dreams that left her covered in sweat and uncomfortably wet in other ways, too.
When she was awake, she would think back on that moment in the lake, right before Karlina Selberssen had called out for them, when she had started reaching for Lily’s face. To do what, exactly? She had no idea what she had been about to do, but she had this nagging sense that something wonderful had nearly happened.
In the week since, all she had wanted to do was go out riding again with Lily, or at least talk to her privately. But she’d never had the chance. Every time Lily stopped by, it was raining, and Elwyn had been entertaining other guests—people who couldn’t seem to understand how badly their hostess wanted them gone. And they were always important guests, like Muriel or Duke Lukas’s wife, whom she couldn’t simply order out of her room so she and Lily could be alone again.
All that frustration seemed to make her dreams more fevered, and sometimes now when she was in her bath, like today, she would close her eyes and run a hand over her face, and down over her chest, and try to imagine Lily was touching her that way. Sometimes her hand went a bit lower, too, though she would feel guilty and quickly stop herself.
All her fantasies had always been about boys, so she couldn’t imagine what had gotten into her. Except...well, that wasn’t quite true. The most recent subject of her private daydreams, prior to Lily, had been that glimpse she’d had of Pedr Byrne doing that...thing...to Muriel Gramiren. Now that she thought of it, the focus of her attention on those occasions hadn’t entirely been on Pedr. And thinking back to her schooldays at Atherton, there had been times when she had spent a little longer watching the other girls in the baths than she really should have. But that didn’t mean anything, did it?
Phoebe called from the other room, “My lady, did you want your robe? It’s getting late.”
With a sudden jolt that sent water splashing over the side of the tub, Elwyn pulled her hand away from where it had somehow, entirely unconsciously, started to slide, and called back, “Yes, please. Sorry, I lost track of the time.”
After she dressed and went down to the Palm Court, the very first thing Elwyn did was to scan the crowd for Lily. She saw her over by one of the waterfalls, and her heart raced, but then Muriel took her by the arm and led her around the party, introducing her to all sorts of people who were apparently friends of the Gramirens.
“I’ll be having a little party to celebrate the betrothal of my son to this lovely young lady,” she told one woman.
Elwyn, who hadn’t heard anything about this engagement party until that very moment, was taken completely aback, and could only stand there, grinning and nodding.
For a few minutes, Elwyn managed to detach herself from Muriel, but before she could get over to see Lily, she was stopped by Duchess Flora, who asked after Elwyn’s family. Elwyn gave her the news, finishing by saying, “My brother, the king, is getting impatient for his coronation.”
It was a kind of challenge, and Elwyn was a bit disturbed that Flora didn’t immediately express her outrage and indignation over the current state of affairs. All she said was, “Young men are so impatient sometimes, aren’t they?” And then she excused herself to go speak to the Countess of Kelwinn.
“Oh, bugger it all,” thought Elwyn. “We’re not going to have many friends left, at this rate.” Except Lily, of course.
At supper, Lily and her senator friend were at a different table. Elwyn was forced to make conversation with Muriel, the Duchess of Haydonshire, and Young Broderick. He said very little and ate very little, either, which annoyed Elwyn. If she was going to have to make an effort, then so was he.
After the meal, the party moved to the garden, where tables of drinks had been set out under paper lanterns. Elwyn saw Lily and even managed to say “hello” to her, but the stupid Duchesses of Haydonshire and Severn wouldn’t leave her alone, and then Lily had been forced to leave to stop Senator Pellus from having an argument with someone.
“Oh, I think you and Young Broderick look so perfect together,” said Duchess Petronel of Haydonshire. “You’ll have to let us see the dress before you get married. It’ll set the fashion for the whole year. Can you give us some hints about the colors?”
“I...I haven’t really given it much thought,” said Elwyn, her eyes on Lily, talking sternly to Pellus in the distance.
“What about the music?” asked Duchess Carrine of Severn. “Something a bit Annenstruker, perhaps?”
They both went on in that vein for some time, and after a few minutes Anne Meriwether came over to join them. It took all of Elwyn’s patience—never in very large supply—to stop from screaming at them to shut up and let her go talk to the one person at the party she actually wanted to see.
Then someone did come to rescue her, but not the person she wanted. Young Broderick walked over, wished the ladies a pleasant evening, and took Elwyn by the arm. She might have been grateful to him, except that as they headed off into the lamp-lit garden, she could hear the ladies giggling and talking about “kisses under the stars.”
“Blast it all,” she said, once they were out of earshot. “Why did you have to go and do that?”
He looked genuinely hurt. “I...I’m sorry. I could tell they were bothering you, and I thought I could help.”
“Great, except that now they think we’re going off to make out together.” She dropped his arm. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t yell at you.” He couldn’t help it that his parents were monsters. And it wasn’t his fault that he wasn’t Lily.
“Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” he said, venturing a tiny smile.
“Well, could you help me find Miss Serrana? You know, the Immani woman? I was hoping to talk to her tonight.”
“I think I heard her say she was leaving,” said Broderick. “That senator friend of hers was about to fight a duel with Sir William Aitken. I don’t even know why—I think maybe the senator was drunk. So she needed to get him back to their inn.”
Elwyn sighed. “Then can you take me back to my rooms? I really don’t want to be here anymore.”
He held out his arm. “Let’s go tell my mother you’re feeling ‘indisposed,’ shall we?”
***
THE PARTY WAS STILL going on in the Palm Court, and presumably out in the garden, too. But that was Muriel’s affair, and she was much better at that sort of thing than he was. Broderick could hear the music and laughter from his dark corner of the library, but he was much too interested in his reading to care about it.
He had been through four books of ancient physic while he waited, and he’d found several possibilities. Two came from common flowers and were easy enough to obtain. The best one came from the fangs of a desert viper, though, so that was probably off the table. And this was merely a precaution, after all. In case things didn’t turn out as expected.
At last he heard the sound he had been waiting for—quiet little footsteps, the opening of a book, the clink of glass, and then a light, feminine sigh as someone settled into a chair in the next room. He reshelved his books and poked his head around the corner.
“Why, Lady Jorunn! What a surprise. I thought you would be at the party. But like me, you seem to prefer the company of a good book.”
She set down the volume she was reading and her glass of wine, smiling at him. “Oh, I always come up here at this time. I’m surprised we’ve never run into each other before.”
“Yes, it’s curious, isn’t it?” He smiled back and took a chair next to her. The thought passed briefly through his mind that he could probably get her to give him some of the potions he’d been learning about. But that would look too suspicious if he had to make use of them. And he had more important questions for her. “Listen, I hope you don’t mind if I take a few minutes of your time.”
“Not at all,” she said. “I’m doing a little reading before bed. Nothing I can’t do later. Is something troubling you?”
“Yes. Now, I hesitate to mention it at all. It’s a bit embarrassing, really. But I think we have to accept that there’s a real chance I might become king.”
“Yes, it certainly looks that way.”
“Not that I want the crown, of course. I’d refuse it if I could. But supposing I can’t get out of it, I was wondering if the Freagast of Diernemynster would support me.”
Diernemynster was the mountain retreat for hillichmagnars, located in the northern part of Newshire. The leader there, called the Freagast, was the titular head of all the sorcerers in the Trahernian kingdoms, which made him, in a sense, the boss of Jorunn and Caedmon Aldred. With the Freagast’s support, it wouldn’t matter that Caedmon hated Broderick. Caedmon would have to do what he was told, and if he didn’t, he would be replaced by a different sorcerer who would.
“That is an interesting question,” said Jorunn. She picked up her wineglass again and took a sip. “I think the Freagast would support anyone who met certain conditions.”
“And what would these conditions be?” He had a feeling he knew what some of them were, but he wanted to be sure.
“Well, first of all, any candidate would have to be from the bloodline of Earnwald, the first King of Leornian, who was chosen by Finster.” She smiled. “You meet that requirement, and assuming the Bishop of Leornian legitimizes you, I can’t see how anyone would object on that score. Second, there’d be the issue of fitness to rule. Can you do the job, in other words, and are you the sort of man, morally speaking, who can be trusted to guide the kingdom rightly?”
“I hope I meet that requirement as well, though modesty forbids me from saying more.”
Jorunn laughed. “Yes, you meet it, of course. At least in my estimation. The third condition would be the support of the nobles.”
“A vote by the Gemot, in other words.”
“Yes, that would be the clearest expression of the nobles’ support I can think of.”
“What about the support of foreign rulers? King Galt of Annenstruk, for example.”
“That would mean a great deal to those of us who admire Annenstruk, like me,” said Jorunn. “And the Freagast is always eager to promote close relations between the Trahernian lands. But that wouldn’t matter nearly as much as having the support of the Gemot. And the real trouble, my dear baron, is the fourth and last requirement—the ability to use Finster’s Book.”
Broderick sat back, nodding. “Ah, I see.”
“Right now, only Rohesia and young Edwin know the spell, and unless you can convince them to teach it to you, there’s no way you can open or move the book.” She gave him a regretful smile.
“So I’d have to know the magysk words? That would be the determining factor, you think?”
“There’s really no way around it, I’m afraid. Unless you can use the book, the Freagast will never see you as a completely legitimate king.”
She looked as if she might say more on the subject, but a burst of girlish laughter came ringing up the stairs, followed quickly by Anne, Pedr Byrne, and a half-dozen other young courtiers, all very drunk.
“Oh, my lady! Broderick, dear!” said Anne, coming over with a bottle of wine under her arm. “I didn’t realize you were up here! Would you like to join us? Pedr is going to teach us a drinking game involving a cup and a sixpence. It sounds marvelous.”
“Thank you, but I was heading back to the Magnarhus,” said Jorunn, rising and threading her way through the drunken revelers.
“And I really should go back to the party,” said Broderick. “No doubt Muriel will be looking for me.” He gave Anne a kiss and then went downstairs into the main floor of the library.
He waited for a minute, until he was sure Jorunn was gone, and he was positive no one else was going to wander in from the Palm Court, and then he crept to the far end of the chamber, where he slipped through the embroidered curtain into the dark little sanctuary where Finster’s Book was kept.
Long, slim windows cast slivers of moonlight over the worn leather cover. Broderick ran a hand across it, noting all the little scratches and scuffs, some of which might have been a thousand years old or more. Every single king of Leornian and Myrcia had put his hand on that cover, had said the magysk words, and had looked inside to seek guidance.
Broderick leaned close and whispered the spell his stepmother, Queen Merewyn, had told him in her madness when she had mistaken him for the son she had murdered. Then he pulled open the cover and flipped to the first page.
The message was still there, as it had been for the past year: “As the land falls into shadow, the Black Eagle Rises.”