Ellin remembered fondly the days when a full night’s sleep had been a regular feature of her everyday life. Even when she’d first become queen and her days had been scheduled and choreographed down to the minute, she’d had sufficient time in her night to eke out a satisfying sleep.
Those days were now long past as her reign stretched into its eighth month and her year of mourning marched inevitably toward its conclusion. It seemed as if every day, the council grew more and more enamored of Tamzin, more and more entrenched in the idea that she would marry him and make him their king in a few months’ time. Tamzin himself was so secure in his position that he no longer bothered to make threats, leaning back comfortably in his chair and smirking when she reminded the council for the thousandth time that she had not made any decision about her marriage yet. And while he occasionally made snide comments about Zarsha’s continued presence in Rhozinolm, he had not followed through on his veiled threat to start spreading unsavory rumors. A fact she was sure would change if Tamzin stopped feeling that he had the upper hand.
“You’ve but to say the word,” Zarsha told her as the two of them sat alone together in her bedroom sipping tea when she should by all rights have been fast asleep. With tensions rising, she found Zarsha knocking on her secret door at night more and more frequently. He was not an uncomplicated friend, but he was a true one. His mind was at least as sharp and subtle as Semsulin’s, and yet he was possessed of a level of kindness Semsulin could never match, and he seemed to genuinely care about her as a person as well as a queen. Time spent in his presence was a balm against all the scheming and plotting—even when he held a pivotal role in much of that scheming and plotting.
She shook her head and sipped her tea. Her body ached with fatigue, but even if she’d been comfortably in bed instead of entertaining a forbidden visitor, she doubted she’d be asleep right now. The harder she tried to extract herself from the trap Tamzin had built, the tighter the jaws clamped down on her. And yet still she hesitated to murder a man in cold blood.
Zarsha grunted in exasperation. “I respect your sense of honor. I really do. But you are beginning to lose even Semsulin.”
“I said no!” she snapped, angry because he was right. Not that he should know of Semsulin’s new inclination to support a marriage to Tamzin. Her conversations with her chancellor were private—at least the open and honest ones were—and that was the only time he expressed any weakening of his opposition to Tamzin, which he insisted was based on necessity rather than inclination. “And I’ll thank you to stop acting so much like a spy.”
Zarsha laughed and settled into his chair more comfortably. “I cannot be other than I am, Your Majesty.”
She blinked in surprise. “You’re actually admitting it?” The closest he’d come to admitting he was a spy was not denying it.
“I’m admitting that I have what might be considered an unhealthy interest in others’ business. And a singular skill at learning secrets. There’s more than one reason a man with my skills and inclinations might spend the majority of his adult life away from his home and the court to which he is beholden.”
She looked at him with new eyes, casting aside Graesan’s accusations, which she realized had colored her judgment even when she’d denied believing them. Prince Waldmir was Zarsha’s uncle, but she’d never seen any sign that Zarsha had any great affection or respect for his uncle. And a man who would so callously marry and then discard respectable young women without regard to the offense to their families was doubtlessly engaged in all sorts of unappealing behavior that he preferred to keep private. Such a man would not want to have an overly curious nephew living if not within the royal palace, then within The Keep.
She was still sorting through her thoughts and feelings when she heard soft chirping coming from a drawer in her bedside table. Zarsha heard it, too, his head swiveling toward the window, which was the only logical source for the sound. When the chirp sounded again, obviously inside the room and not from the window, he frowned in puzzlement. Ellin was pleased that for all his skill at digging up secrets, this one had apparently escaped him. She was less pleased that she would now have to admit she’d been keeping one from him.
She rose from her chair, heading toward the table. She had stored the flier from Lady Alysoon there because it was about as secret a hiding place as she had available. The last thing she wanted was to carry the little bird around on her person and have it start chirping at an inopportune moment.
“What is that?” Zarsha asked, his face alight with curiosity.
“I’ll explain later,” she said as she unlocked the drawer and pulled out the chirping flier. “Please stay where you are and don’t make a sound.”
She resumed her seat, holding the flier in her cupped hand with its head facing toward her. Wondering if Zarsha would be scandalized, she opened her Mindseye so she could feed some Rho into the flier and activate its communication spell. When her vision cleared, she could see him gaping at her, but the image that shimmered into being in front of her soon distracted all his attention.
Lady Alysoon was seated in a fire-lit room in a high-backed chair ornamented with intricately carved flowers and vines painted in gold. She was still dressed all in black as befitted her mourning, but unlike the last time the two had spoken, she wore no headdress but a delicate gold circlet studded with diamonds.
Ellin was aware of the revolt Lady Alysoon had instigated in Aaltah, just as she was aware that King Delnamal had sent his forces to crush it. She had, in fact, expected to receive a desperate plea for help much sooner than this. Based on the information her spies had gathered, King Delnamal’s forces had to be on Alysoon’s doorstep by now, which meant no aid Ellin could send would reach her in time.
Not that Ellin could have helped the woman even with a more timely appeal. She was in no better position to offer alliance now than she had been the last time the two had talked, though she would dearly love access to the talking flier spell.
Ellin nodded her head in greeting, taking in the crown Alysoon wore and the throne on which she sat. If nothing else, she was making a good show at being a true sovereign princess.
“It is a pleasure to hear from you again,” Ellin lied. She was not looking forward to dashing the other woman’s last hope, but she had no intention of dragging things out any longer than absolutely necessary. “I regret to inform you that nothing has changed since the last time we spoke.”
To her surprise, Alysoon smiled. “Perhaps not in Rhozinolm. The same cannot be said of Women’s Well.”
“So I have heard,” Ellin said. “You have declared your independence from Aaltah, is that right?”
Alysoon inclined her head. “Yes. I am now the Sovereign Princess of Women’s Well and stand in direct conflict with my half-brother.”
Ellin winced. With the exception of Nandel, which had a distinct advantage because of its mountainous terrain and nearly limitless supply of metal and gems, none of the independent principalities could long withstand an attack from one of the three kingdoms. And Women’s Well, in its infancy, was far smaller than any of the established principalities.
“I am familiar with your situation,” Ellin said, “and it seems clear your wisest option would be flight. If you can get to Rhozinolm, I might be able to grant you shelter. That is something I can probably arrange without the approval of my council, though I would of course be acting as a private citizen and not as queen.”
Through Alysoon’s translucent image, she could see Zarsha making frantic slashing gestures, warning her off that particular course. He was probably right—offering shelter to Alysoon was of no possible benefit to Ellin or to Rhozinolm and carried tremendous risks. If King Delnamal found out about it, she would be forced to either hand Alysoon over or face a war.
Logic told her the offer was unwise at best, actively stupid at worst. The only reasonable thing to do was rescind it immediately, but that turned out not to be necessary.
“I thank you for the generous offer,” Alysoon said, “but we will not flee. We have made a great deal of progress with our magical development here.”
“I’m sure your magic is impressive,” Ellin said, realizing as the words left her mouth how condescending she sounded, “but even the best, most innovative magic will not stop an army.”
Alysoon’s smile broadened. “Not an army, I’ll grant you. But come tomorrow when the news reaches him, Delnamal will find he needs more than a single company of soldiers to defeat us.”
Ellin gaped in surprise. Apparently, her initial assumption that Alysoon was contacting her with a desperate plea for help as the soldiers bore down on her was incorrect. She supposed it was possible that Alysoon was attempting to deceive her, but there seemed little point to such a deception.
“Unless my information is mistaken,” Ellin said, “you have fewer than a hundred men in Women’s Well.”
Alysoon nodded. “We do. And most of those are not trained soldiers. But I am not exaggerating the unprecedented nature of the magic we are producing here. It was enough to allow us to withstand my half-brother’s first assault, though he is sure to send more men against us the next time. We were outnumbered three to one, and yet we didn’t just defeat Delnamal’s men, we routed them. If Delnamal takes Women’s Well, he will have access to that magic, and you can be certain he will not share it with Rhozinolm—or any other kingdom.
“I understand that your council may be reluctant to support my claim, but perhaps in light of recent events you may want to reconsider your decision. Our continued existence should be convincing evidence that you would prefer to work in cooperation with us rather than face a historically hostile kingdom that has acquired our magic. But in case that isn’t convincing enough, I have sent you a selection of some of our most innovative new spells. The fliers should arrive with them sometime tomorrow. Contact me when you’ve had a chance to look them over. And think about whether you want Aaltah to have exclusive access to that magic—and whether you might rather secure that exclusive access for Rhozinolm.”
“I don’t—”
“Rhozinolm and Aaltah have been at peace for all of your lifetime and most of mine, but I’m sure you know our history. If Delnamal gets his hands on the magic of Women’s Well, I guarantee he will see an opportunity to expand his power and that he will use it. Ask your council whether they’re willing to let him have it.”
It sounded like a giant bluff to Ellin, but she had to admit she was intrigued. The magic of the communicating flier was so great that it was hard to remain completely skeptical of Alysoon’s claims.
“I must warn you that under current conditions, I might have trouble convincing my council to approve a declaration that the sky is blue,” Ellin said, and she thought Zarsha might reach through the ghostly image and strangle her. She had to fight off a smile at his predictable reaction to her honesty. “But I am curious to see these spells of yours and will reserve judgment until I do.”
“That is all I ask,” Alysoon responded. “I look forward to speaking with you again.”
Ellin removed the mote of Rho from the flier and took a moment to enjoy Zarsha’s outrage as he glared at her. “Before you berate me for being too open and honest,” she said, “consider that for all the time we’ve spent together recently, you did not know about this flier or about my previous conversation with Alysoon.”
Now he looked almost comically annoyed, though he had no counter. He showed her far more respect than most men of her acquaintance, and he had never once hinted that he thought her unsuited for the throne. But just like Semsulin, he seemed to think he had some right to be consulted before she made any decisions, as if she could not act without the male stamp of approval.
“I hope you’re not thinking that I will be some kind of figurehead for your rule if we marry,” she said. “Because that is not at all how I see our relationship going forward.”
She thought he might be offended, but he smiled and held up his hands. “I am very clear as to what our roles will be. You are the queen, and I will never be anything more than an adviser.” For the briefest moment, something very like longing flashed in his eyes.
Ellin dropped her gaze and squirmed, telling herself she’d imagined it. Or if she hadn’t imagined it, that he’d let her see it on purpose in an attempt to take advantage of her soft heart. It was vain and ridiculous to think he actually wanted her as a woman. He had offered to turn a blind eye to her lover! Not something she could imagine a man in love doing.
“I’m glad we’re in agreement,” she said.
“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. You seem proud of yourself for keeping vital information from me, but I can hardly be expected to give the best advice if I am kept in the dark.”
“You are not yet my husband. And until you are, you remain a man of Nandel with no sworn allegiance to me. I share far more with you than I have any right to do, but you cannot expect me to share everything.” She gave him a wry smile to take some of the sting out of her words. “Just as I cannot expect you to share everything with me.”
He nodded his agreement, though his facial expression remained sour. “Unless you’re willing to take action against Tamzin, I don’t see how I can ever become your husband. He will never be persuaded to allow a marriage to anyone but himself. And he will not support another woman’s claim to a new throne in Women’s Well, no matter how impressive her magic might be.”
“Maybe not. In which case we’re going to have to work to turn the other council members against him.”
It seemed like a nearly impossible task. But something was going to have to change and soon, or Tamzin would rip the throne out from under her either by marriage or by force. She could not allow that to happen, and she was not willing to resort to assassination.
She would have to hope one of the spells Alysoon had sent her would be the key to winning over her royal council, even against Tamzin’s resistance.
Unfortunately, she could not imagine a spell that could have such an effect.
Delnamal was standing at the window, sipping from a goblet of wine and staring out at the distant harbor when he heard the sound of footsteps in the hall outside his private study. He entertained a brief, pleasant fantasy that they would pass right by and leave him in peace. His temper had been eating away at his self-control ever since he’d learned of Alysoon and Tynthanal’s pathetic attempt at rebellion, and it was easier for all involved if he interacted with others as little as possible.
He glared down at his wine when he heard the inevitable knock on his door. The stuff might as well have been water for all the soothing effect it had on his frayed nerves. Nevertheless, he gulped down the last swallows before inviting his unwelcome visitor to enter.
Melcor looked the same as always, impeccably dressed and groomed and with a back so straight Delnamal often wondered if his secretary wore stays beneath his doublet. And yet Delnamal had trouble holding the man’s gaze for more than a few seconds at a time these days, his whole body tensing as he tried not to let what he knew show on his face.
Of course Melcor had never mentioned to Delnamal that he had suffered what appeared to be permanent ill effects from the strange flier’s mysterious attack. He sometimes stroked the scar on his hand as if it were a badge of honor earned on the battlefield, and he was as pompous as always. But Delnamal had heard enough rumors to be convinced that Melcor had been unable to perform ever since the attack. Which meant that the flier had somehow delivered a heretofore unknown spell. Thanks to the grand magus’s disturbing discoveries about women’s Kai, Delnamal had an uncomfortable suspicion he knew how the spell had been achieved. He’d taken to wearing an enormous belt buckle that contained a Kai shield spell, keeping it activated at all times except when he was asleep. He’d also ordered all windows to be kept firmly shut and refused to receive fliers from anyone except his most trusted friends and advisers.
“Are the traitors in custody?” he asked Melcor, for his men should have reached Women’s Well the day before, and he expected a flier announcing their victory to arrive sometime today. He planned a simple beheading for Shelvon and young Corlin—though the council might wish to defer the punishment until the boy reached maturity—but for Alysoon and Tynthanal, he had other plans. They would die just as surely, but a great deal more slowly.
“No, Your Majesty,” Melcor said, and for the first time Delnamal noticed how pale the man was. Beads of sweat stood out on his brow, and there was downright fear in his eyes. He was definitely not a man who had come to report a victory to his king.
“Why not?” Delnamal asked. He thought he’d kept his voice calm, but Melcor looked even more alarmed. Delnamal was aware his temper had been easy to rouse lately, that the irritant that was Women’s Well had caused him to act with unaccustomed harshness. His own mother was barely speaking to him, and though Lady Oona had come to his bed within a week of her husband’s funeral, she was not the free and easy companion she’d been in their youth, always looking at him with a hint of what might be distrust. As if she had some inkling that her husband’s death might be attributable to something other than a random act of violence.
“The company was defeated, Your Majesty,” Melcor said. “The witches of Women’s Well have apparently developed a more robust version of the Trapper spell. The captain reports that nearly the entire town was hidden behind the spell, and when his men marched in to take the small collection of buildings they could see, they were ambushed and never had a chance.”
Delnamal clenched his fists, barely able to contain the fury that flooded his veins. Women’s Well was barely a town, much less a principality. It was inconceivable that the place could still be standing!
“Send a summons to the lord commander at once!” he shouted. “I will have that captain flogged and demoted for gross incompetence.”
Melcor cringed. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
Delnamal closed his eyes and tried to regain control of himself. This was a setback—and an embarrassing one at that—but in the grand scheme of things, it was only a temporary inconvenience. The next time the army marched on Women’s Well, it would not be a single company, and Delnamal would be at its head to make sure there were no more blunders.
When he opened his eyes again, he wasn’t exactly calm, but he was no longer in a blinding rage, either. His reign was getting off to a shaky start, but once Alysoon and Tynthanal were no more, everything would return to normal. He would order his men to take the leaders alive so that their disgrace could be made public, but all other inhabitants of Women’s Well would be slaughtered. Knowledge of their insidious Kai spell would be destroyed with them, and Delnamal would guard that Well so closely that the spell would never be reproduced.
A loud crash—the sound of shattering glass—caused both Delnamal and Melcor to start. They whirled toward the sound, which had come from one of the closed windows, to see something small and fast winging its way across the room. Heading straight for Delnamal.
Delnamal held his arms out in front of himself as if to ward off the flier, though he knew the gesture was useless. In battle, a Kai shield would defend against any spell fueled by Kai, but he could not be entirely certain it would work against women’s Kai. He backpedaled frantically, not wanting to test the shield.
Melcor stepped between him and the flier, shoving his king to the floor and blocking the attack with his own body. The flier tried to duck around him, but Melcor had surprisingly quick reflexes and blocked it once more, grabbing for it with both hands. It took three tries, but he eventually managed to trap the flier, which struggled in his grip. Pinning the wings with one hand, he opened his Mindseye and reached out to pluck a couple of elements out of the flier until it went still.
Breathing hard, feeling sick to his stomach, Delnamal lay on the floor and looked up at his secretary. The man had saved him from a fate worse than death—for there was no question in his mind that the flier held a Kai spell, and there was no guarantee the shield would have stopped it. Sweat drenched his body, and in the aftermath of that fear and dread came a wave of fury greater than any he had ever felt before.
Delnamal pushed himself into a sitting position. Melcor kept a firm hold on the inert flier with one hand and held out his other hand to help Delnamal up. Delnamal wasn’t ready to stand yet—and though he was loath to admit it, he feared that his continually increasing bulk was more likely to pull Melcor down on top of him than to help him to his feet—so he waved it off.
The cursed flier had been a “gift” from Alysoon, a way to kick him when he was already down, to humiliate him on a personal level on top of the public humiliation of his troops’ defeat. Well two could play at that game. And no matter what delusions of grandeur the bitch operated under, he had the upper hand. He was going to win this game, and she was going to regret having dared to challenge him.
“I want you to send word to Miss Jinnell’s entourage that they are to return with her to Aalwell at once,” he ordered Melcor. Word had reached him of Jinnell’s inelegant meeting with Prince Waldmir, and though the prince claimed to still be interested, Delnamal couldn’t help suspecting his enthusiasm had dimmed. He had been promised a beautiful and tempting young woman—ripe and fertile soil in which to plant seeds for a son. Instead, he’d received a sickly, sallow shell who could not keep a meal in her stomach even when she wasn’t with child. Delnamal had been tempted to recall her to Aalwell the moment he’d returned to find Shelvon and Corlin missing, but he’d refrained. Having no choice but to condemn Prince Waldmir’s daughter as a traitor, he couldn’t very well have justified also depriving the man the consolation of a marriage to the King of Aaltah’s niece.
“What shall we tell Prince Waldmir?” Melcor asked, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.
“Tell him that we are recalling her for the sake of her health and will send her once again when she is well. Once she is formally arrested and charged with treason, he will thank us for not saddling him with a woman who is not worthy of him.”
Melcor looked doubtful, and not without reason. “But what will we—”
Delnamal made a slashing gesture. “Bring her back. Immediately, and in chains. Prince Waldmir will not want her once he realizes what a blight her whole family is on the world.” And really Delnamal’s marital and diplomatic difficulties were not the secretary’s concern.
Not long ago, Delnamal had harbored at least a trace of familial loyalty toward the girl, whom he’d allowed himself to think of as sweet and innocent. But there was no innocence to be found anywhere in the issue of Brynna Rah-Malrye, and it was best for all concerned if her line was wiped out entirely. He should have condemned them all the moment King Aaltyn died. Now he would rectify that error and drive a dagger into Alysoon’s heart. One that would cause her so much pain she would come to beg for the death he had no intention of granting her until she had fully atoned for her crimes.
“See that we are not disturbed,” Ellin told her guard as he opened the door to her private study and allowed Semsulin and Zarsha to enter.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said.
Eying her curiously, her lord chancellor and Nandel’s “special envoy” each took a seat before her desk. She had insisted on privacy when opening the bundle of magic items sent to her by Princess Alysoon earlier this afternoon, and she was certain both men were highly curious what she had found in that bundle.
It was clear from the wonders of the talking flier—and from the ability of Women’s Well to fight off an attacking force three times its size—that the magic of the new Well was deeper and more significant than anyone had guessed, and yet Ellin still hadn’t been prepared for what Alysoon’s gift contained. To think that those powerful, unheard-of spells had been developed in the scant months that Women’s Well had existed was…unsettling. And the thought of what they might be able to develop with years of study and experimentation was downright terrifying.
The door to her study closed with a comfortingly firm thunk, and she laid out three of the four magic items she had received on the desk for Semsulin and Zarsha’s inspection. A bronze coin; a smooth, rounded pebble; and an unlovely metal hairpin clearly meant for utilitarian rather than decorative purposes. The bundle had contained yet another magic item, but Alysoon’s letter had suggested Ellin might wish to keep that item’s existence to herself. When Ellin read what the thin gold ring could do, she had shuddered and agreed.
“I gather from the look on your face that you have found Princess Alysoon’s gift to be of great interest,” Zarsha said, provoking a disapproving scowl from Semsulin for his insolence in speaking first.
“Indeed,” she said, taking a deep breath to quell the sense of unease in her chest. “And they have shown me once and for all that it is not in our best interests to allow King Delnamal to have access to the magic of Women’s Well.”
Opening her Mindseye, she added the necessary mote of Rho to activate the spell in the hairpin, then stuck it haphazardly into her hair. Then she activated the spell in the pebble and heard both Semsulin and Zarsha gasp, their chairs scraping back. She closed her Mindseye and smiled as she watched both men scan the room with rather frantic gazes.
“I’m still here,” she said before either man could panic, and once again she had the satisfaction of seeing them startle. “The hairpin makes me immune to magic, so I cannot see the effect of the pebble’s spell, but I gather from your reactions that it is functional.”
Zarsha was staring in her direction, but his eyes did not lock on her. Semsulin was blinking rapidly, as if unable to believe what his eyes were telling him—which was that Ellin and her desk had vanished from sight.
“Alysoon tells me it is a modified version of a spell used by trappers to hide their snares,” she explained. “It is powerful enough that with larger spell vessels, it can be used to hide entire buildings. That is how Women’s Well defeated King Delnamal’s soldiers.”
Zarsha nodded his understanding. “One cannot fight what one cannot see.”
“Exactly.” Once more, she opened her Mindseye, plucking the mote of Rho out of the Trapper spell and making herself visible once more. Bending close so she could see through the haze of elements, she picked up the bronze coin and activated both the spells it contained. She had tested both the immunity and the Trapper spells already in the privacy of her study, but the coin’s spells required test subjects.
“Semsulin Rah-Lomlys,” she said, then reached out her hand and closed her Mindseye once more. “Zarsha, I would like you to touch this coin.”
She almost laughed at the wary look in his eyes as he reached out and touched the tip of his finger to the coin that lay in her palm, then frowned.
“Has something happened that I can’t see?” he asked.
“No,” she replied, then held out her hand to Semsulin. “Your turn.”
Semsulin’s expression was rarely pleasant, but at that moment, his scowl was as deep as she’d ever seen it. “I’ve never heard of magic of this sort, but you did not just say my full name for no reason. Whatever the spell in that coin is, it will affect only me, correct?”
“Yes.”
He ground his teeth and stared at her, no doubt willing her to tell him what the spell would do to him. It was perhaps cruel of her not to volunteer the information, and if he asked, she would answer. But Semsulin was not a man apt to trust, and she wanted to know how much he trusted her.
Enough to trigger the spell without knowing what it would do, she soon learned when he touched the coin with the tip of his finger, wincing in anticipation.
The moment he made contact, Semsulin’s knees gave way, his eyes sliding closed. He would have collapsed to the floor, except Zarsha reached for him and held him up, guiding him into the chair he had vacated. Semsulin’s head bowed to his chest, his limbs flopping bonelessly so that Zarsha had to work to keep him supported by the chair.
“Alysoon’s letter says he will only sleep for a minute or two,” she said as the old man began to snore. “She says she has more robust versions that require gemstones to hold all the necessary elements.”
Zarsha shook his head in wonder. “How is this possible?” he asked, but not as if he expected an answer. “I’m not a skilled practitioner myself, but I’ve studied magic, and I’ve never heard tell of anything even remotely like these spells.”
“You’ve studied men’s magic. There is no official study of women’s magic, nor has there ever before been a concerted effort to combine the two.” Which seemed to Ellin like a foolish oversight, fueled by prejudices that made little sense. “There are also elements at Women’s Well that have never been seen before. Dismissing its importance because it doesn’t produce a great number of masculine or neuter elements is clearly a mistake.”
Semsulin came instantly, fully awake when the spell wore off. He bristled with offended dignity when Zarsha and Ellin explained what had happened, but she could see he was suitably impressed—if somewhat disturbed—by the demonstration.
“Do you now both agree that it would be dangerous to allow Aaltah to control this Well?”
Zarsha and Semsulin shared a look with many hidden meanings.
“The council will argue that we are not at war with Aaltah, and that we therefore need not treat them as an enemy,” Semsulin said.
She huffed in frustration, for she was sure that was indeed what Tamzin would argue—and his cronies would immediately fall into step with him. “And I would argue that throughout history, a kingdom has never held control of two Wells without becoming a danger to the rest of the world. Can we really expect that Aaltah will gain control of Women’s Well and not decide it is time to ‘take back’ the Midlands?”
“I said the council will make that argument, not that I would,” Semsulin reminded her.
“What you really mean is that Tamzin will make the argument, and the council will be inclined to side with him over me.”
“It amounts to the same thing.”
Ellin took a deep breath and let it out slowly, for she had, of course, come to the same conclusion. No matter what was best for the kingdom, Tamzin would always look out for what he perceived to be his own interests first. Right now, his interest was in securing the throne, which he could best do by continuing to weaken her authority and bend the council to his own will.
“That is why we must remove him from the council once and for all,” she said. “And I believe I have a plan to bring about that removal.”