Jinnell smoothed her skirts nervously as the carriage slipped past the last few buildings of Aalwell proper. She had hoped to be alone in the carriage for the duration of the journey, but of course the king was too careful of her virtue to grant her such privacy, and she shared the carriage with a hawk-faced matron of the court who showed no interest in making conversation. Outside the carriage, the king and his honor guard rode their horses, thankfully slowing the pace of their procession, for the journey would have been over far too quickly if they’d all moved at the speed of chevals.
Jinnell’s plan to further slow their progress required some degree of privacy—if the king should ever guess what she was doing, he would…Well, she didn’t know just what he would do, but it was certain to be something dreadful. She wished her chaperone would fall asleep, but although the harridan never spoke except to scold, she remained ever vigilant, as if fearing Jinnell would debase herself with the nearest male if given the slightest opportunity. Jinnell momentarily wished she’d kept the ring her mother had given her, but she shook off that selfish thought. Corlin was in greater danger than she and would need it more. She hoped he and Shelvon and Falcor were already a long way from the palace, moving at a far greater pace than Jinnell’s procession.
It wasn’t until noon, when the procession stopped for a brief luncheon, that Jinnell finally had a chance to implement the plan she had devised in the early morning hours of her long and sleepless night. The royal party all but took over a small inn—which, based on the amount of food that was prepared, had been expecting them. Nerves stole Jinnell’s appetite, but she forced herself to eat anyway.
It was a grim and quiet luncheon, and Jinnell experienced some small hint of satisfaction to see that while her uncle indulged his love of food and drank more than was strictly wise, he was in a surly and far from talkative mood. And he could barely stand to look at her, his eyes sliding quickly away from hers whenever their gazes accidentally met. He was well aware of the cruel fate to which he planned to subject her, and though he showed no signs of ceding to the dictates of his conscience, at least she had evidence that it troubled him.
When the uncomfortable meal was finished, Jinnell was allowed a visit to the privy, where she could for the first time all morning escape watchful eyes. With shaking hands, she lifted her skirts and removed a small pin she had concealed in one of the layers of underskirts. She slashed the pin over the skin of her calf, where no one could see the mark that was left. She reattached the pin to her skirts, just in case she might need it again, then removed the small vial of potion she had tucked into her pocket.
Never could she have guessed when she made her first attempt to replicate a healing potion that she would ever choose to make another just like it. With a grimace, she remembered the long night of misery that had followed the use of her Leel-free potion, but though she didn’t look forward to repeating the experience, she was determined to do what she could to aid her brother’s escape from Delnamal’s clutches.
Steeling herself as best she could, Jinnell activated the potion and downed it, then tucked the empty vial back into her pocket. Lifting her skirts once more, she watched anxiously for the little scratch to heal. She suspected it was not strictly necessary for her to wound herself before taking the potion, but she wanted to replicate the previous circumstances as closely as possible to make certain her plan worked. The scratch sealed itself up nicely.
Delnamal was seething with impatience by the time she emerged from the privy, the procession all mounted and ready to go. She was fully prepared to embarrass him with a description of women’s troubles if he dared to question what had taken so long, but he merely snapped at her to make haste. She climbed into the carriage as the first lick of nausea roiled her stomach.
They had barely made it past the outskirts of the small town when Jinnell shouted for the driver to stop the carriage. Her chaperone squawked at her manners, and the driver showed no inclination to follow her orders. The best Jinnell could manage was to stick her head out the carriage window and vomit out her lunch onto the road while Delnamal and his men watched in horror and revulsion.
At first, Delnamal insisted the procession carry on, dismissing Jinnell’s sickness as a sign of girlish nerves. The next hour was one of the most miserable in Jinnell’s memory. Someone brought her a slop pot so she didn’t have to stick her head out the window, but the stink that soon filled the carriage did not improve her nausea. Her traveling companion was beginning to look fairly green herself and was pressing her body against the far side of the carriage when Delnamal finally conceded that it was best they come to a halt.
Once again, their party found an inn to take over, although this one was not expecting them and was likely put out by their invasion. Delnamal muttered darkly over the inn where they’d eaten lunch, and Jinnell hoped he would not take out his wrath on that innkeeper.
“No one else seems to have taken ill,” she pointed out to him. “Perhaps you are right, and this is a result of nerves.” She moaned softly and closed her eyes as her stomach made an unbecoming burbling sound. “I’m sure I’ll be better in a few hours. Or by tomorrow morning at the latest.”
He still grumbled about it, but as far as she could tell he didn’t order the innkeeper’s arrest. “We will continue on our journey tomorrow morning, whether you feel up to it or not,” he told her.
Jinnell’s knees were too shaky to manage a curtsy, but she lowered her head demurely. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
Her stomach had long ago expelled all its contents, but that did not keep it from heaving regularly for the next several hours as she lay miserably on the bed in the inn. But because of her illness, her chaperone occasionally left her alone. In one of those brief windows of opportunity, Jinnell refilled her potion vial from the dregs of a goblet of wine and added the necessary elements to create another dose.
Her attempt to make herself unappealing to Prince Waldmir by losing her virginity had been foiled, but the disgusted and horrified way Delnamal and his men had regarded her while she was green with nausea had sparked a new idea. One that would be even more unpleasant to carry out. However, she could tolerate a couple of weeks of sickness if it would save her from a lifetime of marriage to a monster.
No one called the private meeting room at the town hall a “council chamber” in Alys’s hearing, but she had the distinct impression the term was being used behind her back. Just as she suspected that the people with whom she met every day were being called her “royal council.” It was Tynthanal’s doing, no doubt, as he continued to lay the groundwork for Women’s Well to declare its independence from Aaltah despite her insistence that she wasn’t yet ready.
She’d had an exciting—if disturbing—day at the Women’s Well Academy, where the former abigails worked side by side with her and several of Tynthanal’s most skilled magic practitioners developing new spells that could be produced nowhere but in this one strange border town that had once been a wasteland. Two spells that had previously failed in testing had finally been perfected, and she was glowing with the satisfaction of success when she entered the meeting room to find the people who were not her royal council waiting for her.
Alys noticed the somber mood of the room the moment she entered. Everyone rose—a habit she had finally given up grumbling about—but no one made eye contact, and there were no smiles of greeting. Standing directly to the right of her usual seat was Tynthanal, and she saw a parchment scroll clutched in his hand. His jaw was clenched, his eyes full of worry, and foreboding chased the last hints of triumph from her mind.
Alys made her way around the table toward her seat, not sure if she’d rather hurry to reach her destination and end the suspense or run from the room and remain in blissful ignorance. She was not, after all, a sovereign of any kind—no matter if she was treated like one—and there was no requirement that she face bad news immediately.
The room was eerily silent, and Alys tried to prepare herself for the worst as she took her seat, thereby giving everyone else silent permission to sit. Holding herself stiffly upright, she turned to Tynthanal and braced herself.
“What is it?”
“The king has sent Jinnell to Nandel.”
Alys’s lungs seized, and for a long moment it seemed as if even her heart had ceased to beat. She had, of course, been fully aware that this was what Delnamal was planning, but she’d been sure she had plenty of time to figure out how to…Well, she didn’t really know what exactly she’d been planning, except that it was to get both her children away from Delnamal.
“She’s only eighteen,” she said weakly when she could find her voice. “And she’s still in mourning for her grandfather.”
“She is apparently being sent merely to meet Prince Waldmir. There are no plans for a wedding as of yet, and that’s how the king has justified sending her while she’s still in mourning.”
It was a cold comfort at best, and with a shiver she realized that Tynthanal had not relaxed after delivering the news. “There’s more, isn’t there?”
He nodded, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he glanced down at the parchment, which was tightly scrolled, as if it had been delivered by flier. “My informant in the palace tells me Corlin and Queen Shelvon have gone missing.”
A tiny sound of distress escaped Alys’s throat, and she clamped her hand over her mouth.
“It doesn’t seem they’ve been hurt,” Tynthanal hurried to assure her. “The king and his entourage escorted Jinnell to the Midlands border to formally place her in the care of a delegation from Nandel. There were some delays, and he was away from the palace for a day and a half. He returned to find Corlin and Shelvon hadn’t been seen since the morning he and Jinnell left, and one of Jinnell’s honor guardsmen is also missing. There was no sign of foul play.”
Alys let out a shaky breath and pulled together the shreds of her composure as her mind began processing what Tynthanal had just told her—and what it meant that he had told her in front of these leaders of Women’s Well whom she refused to call her council. “You think they’ve fled Aalwell together.”
Tynthanal nodded. “It’s what the king thinks, too. According to my source”—he raised the scroll—“treason charges are even now being leveled against all three of them, and he sees no reason to believe the council will not ratify those charges.”
That Delnamal would charge his wife and thirteen-year-old nephew with capital crimes was unsurprising. He had never made any pretense of caring for Shelvon, and he hated both Jinnell and Corlin simply because they were Alys’s children. Why should she hope he would show any family loyalty to them?
“They’re coming here,” she said, because there was nowhere else she could imagine them fleeing to.
“Almost certainly,” Tynthanal agreed. “If I were orchestrating an escape from Aalwell, I would travel on cheval to put as much distance between myself and pursuit as possible as fast as possible. If they are on chevals and left Aalwell the moment the king’s procession departed, they should be nearly here by now.”
Alys nodded absently. The flier—which traveled faster than a cheval, had no need for rest, and could travel in a straight line—could cross the distance between Aalwell and Women’s Well in about one day’s time, and this flier had been sent after Corlin and Shelvon had been discovered missing.
And now Alys fully understood why Tynthanal had chosen to break this news to her in front of all these other people, rather than in private.
“The moment they arrive in Women’s Well,” Tynthanal continued, “we cease to be beneath the king’s notice, and no matter what we do, a treason charge will follow swift on their heels.” His eyes bored into her, and she had no trouble reading the message he was trying to convey: she was out of time.
“Even if we handed your son and the queen over to the king’s forces—which of course we won’t,” Chanlix said gently, “we will have drawn his attention, and he will crush us.”
Alys shook her head. It was too soon! “Your men are good, but the king can send ten times as many against us if he wishes.” And though she had designed a number of spells specifically meant to tempt Queen Ellinsoltah into an alliance, reaching out to Rhozinolm while Delnamal’s forces were marching on Women’s Well reeked of desperation. How could she expect Ellinsoltah to take her seriously under those circumstances?
“We can make it difficult for them,” Jailom said. “He will not immediately send an army. Why should he think he’d need to? We have magic he has never seen before and that his commanders will have no defenses against.”
Alys frowned at him. “Very little of our magic has the power to scare anyone.” With the exception of one of the spells that had finally succeeded today, the magic of Women’s Well was best suited for health and growth and defense.
“But we do have Kai,” Chanlix said with a gleam in her eyes.
“Lower your voice!” Alys snapped, glaring at the former abbess. Everyone in the room knew about the women’s Kai, but it was—as far as Alys knew—still Women’s Well’s best-kept secret.
Chanlix lowered her voice as asked, but did not subside. “It cannot stay secret forever. And perhaps it should not. The only reason we sent that first flier to Melcor was because we still hoped Delnamal would father an heir. That is no longer a possibility, and it’s past time he paid the price for what he did.”
Alys started to object, but Chanlix kept talking.
“If it becomes known that we have this power, that we have harnessed it in such a way that we can strike with it from a distance, it would be a powerful deterrent against any who wish to attack us.”
“It won’t deter Delnamal if he’s already been struck,” she retorted. “I can’t argue that he doesn’t deserve it, but I can’t see how it would further our cause to so enrage him.”
“He’s enraged anyway,” Tynthanal said. “If we were to make him incapable of fathering an heir, then perhaps we could persuade his royal council he is no longer fit to be king.” He leaned forward, as eager to strike as Chanlix. “And if the council doesn’t see it that way, perhaps we can remind certain key members that we have more Kai available, as well as having the only known method of delivering it over a distance. We are not as defenseless as you seem to think.”
Alys stared at this new, bloodthirsty version of her brother, and wondered whether he was thinking more about the well-being of Women’s Well or getting revenge for the attack on the woman who now shared his bed. “You would do that to the lord commander?” she asked, for Tynthanal had always seemed to respect his commander and had more than once called him a good man. And there was no way they could turn the royal council without the lord commander’s support.
“I will do whatever it takes to protect the lives of the people of this principality.”
“We are not a principality!” she objected. “Not yet, at least.”
“You are the only one who has so far failed to acknowledge that you are our sovereign princess,” Jailom said. “Tynthanal is your lord chancellor; I am your lord commander; Chanlix is your grand magus.” He looked at the other three members of the would-be royal council. “Trade minister,” he said, pointing at the merchant, before frowning at the last two members. “I’m not sure who is the lord chamberlain, the marshal, and the lord high treasurer, but we can work that out.”
Alys fought the panic that was building in her chest. When she’d contacted Queen Ellinsoltah and declared herself the rightful Queen of Aaltah, it had felt…unreal. So ridiculous and unlikely to work that her nerves had barely troubled her. But with Delnamal already provoked and with Shelvon and Corlin coming their way, it all felt very, very real.
There was a reason she’d been trying so desperately to buy time, and it wasn’t entirely because of fear or indecision. The defenses Tynthanal had laid out were only temporary measures.
“Even if we choose not to unleash the Kai spell, we can withstand the initial attack,” Tynthanal insisted. “I know the lord commander, and he trained me well. He will send what he thinks is an overwhelming force, but they will be completely unprepared for the magic of Women’s Well. His overwhelming force will not be enough.”
“These will be men you trained with and fought with since you first entered the Citadel,” she reminded him. “Are you really so eager to kill them?”
He and Jailom shared a look. “We are not eager,” Tynthanal said, “but we won’t have a choice.” He glanced at Chanlix. “How many Trapper spells do you suppose we can produce in the time it takes the king to muster the forces to attack us?”
By the time Chanlix and Alys had finished modifying the Trapper spell, it was capable of creating an illusion large enough to hide an entire house from view.
Chanlix smiled. “Quite a few, now that we know how to do it. We have plenty of Zal. And since the spell can be contained in stone, we have plenty of available spell vessels.”
Tynthanal nodded in satisfaction, his eyes gleaming with excitement once more. As if he was actually looking forward to the battle, though Alys supposed that was not particularly unusual for a lifelong soldier. “We can create an ambush the likes of which the world has never seen. And by the time Delnamal regroups and sends a force large enough to overwhelm us, we may well have developed new and unexpected spells. And found new allies.”
That was the key, Alys knew. Tynthanal was probably right. Women’s Well could likely withstand the first wave Delnamal sent against them simply because he would not know what he was up against. And once they survived that first wave and had demonstrated the usefulness of the unique magic they produced, Queen Ellinsoltah would be less likely to see an overture as an act of desperation.
“We will lose a lot of good men,” she said. “Even a victory against that first attack will be costly.”
“Not as costly as doing nothing,” Tynthanal countered.
Everything within her recoiled at the thought of staging such an open rebellion with no allies to support them. But no matter how she looked at it, Tynthanal was right. If they did nothing, then Women’s Well was doomed, and many of its inhabitants would be put to death, including herself and her brother—and very likely Shelvon and Corlin, when they arrived. She could not let that happen!
There was a long silence as everyone at the table stared at her with hopeful eyes. They were all frightened—even those who hid their fear most successfully—but there was not a person at the table who didn’t wish for her to take this fateful step.
“Very well,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t shake. “I will be the Sovereign Princess of Women’s Well.” She turned to Chanlix. “And we will punish Delnamal for the atrocity that was committed on his orders. Let’s send him a gift he will not forget.”
If Delnamal lost his ability to sire an heir and also suffered a humiliating defeat at the hands of their fledgling principality, then it was possible that not only would Women’s Well win its independence, but that his royal council might decide he wasn’t the rightful King of Aaltah, after all.