The Women's War Page 11

  “If there were any justice in this world, that man would be in a dungeon right now!” Delnamal snapped.

  She arched one eyebrow. “Whatever for? I know you suspect Alysoon of collusion, but surely not Tynthanal.”

  “Why not?” he demanded. “He’s as much the witch’s child as Alysoon is.”

  “And yet he calls me Mother. I’ve known him for a very long time, my son, and he has never shown any sign of attachment to the woman who bore him.”

  “That doesn’t mean there wasn’t any attachment. And even if there wasn’t, his blood is tainted. That woman was an abomination, and the world would be a better and safer place if her get were all destroyed.”

  Queen Xanvin shook her head and gave him a reproachful look. “You are too full of anger to see what is right before your eyes. Neither Alysoon nor Tynthanal should be of any concern to you. It is you who will inherit the throne—unless you work long and hard at sabotaging yourself. Say, for example, by insulting the Sovereign Prince of Nandel by divorcing his daughter and plunging the kingdom into an economic crisis.”

  “I will describe to her exactly what it will be like to work the pavilion at the Abbey,” he said with a snarl. “I will describe the perversions she will be forced to endure day after day, night after night, year after year. Perhaps that will motivate her to do her fucking duty.”

  His mother flinched at his language, but he was too angry to take it back.

  “Perhaps you should read the abbess’s message again,” the queen said. “I don’t think any form of coercion will obtain the results you desire.”

  “I remember what it said! And if you think I’m going to take the witch’s word for it, you’re a fool.”

  “Delnamal—”

  “Enough!” he shouted, once again causing his mother to flinch. She was not deserving of his rage, and he knew that she meant well. That didn’t mean he had to listen to her. “Shelvon is my wife, and I will treat her as I see fit. She will bear me the heir I am owed, or she will rue the day she was born.”

  His mother rose to her feet and held her chin high, glaring at him with maternal fire in her eyes. “If you want an heir—and an end to the whispers that we both know will spring up—you will treat that woman with the care and respect a wife deserves. That may not be enough when you harbor such hatred in your heart, but it is much more likely to work than heaping even more abuse on her.”

  She held up her hand to halt the tirade he prepared to release. “I’ve said all I mean to say on the subject. For now.”

  Delnamal watched through narrowed eyes as she made her stately, dignified exit. Just before she stepped out the door, he grabbed hold of her arm and jerked her toward him, causing her to gasp in surprise. Her eyes widened as he glared at her.

  “Don’t ever forget, Mother,” he growled, giving her a light shake. “Someday, I will be king, and you will be naught but a dowager. If you wish to continue living like a queen till the end of your days, you had best learn to keep your opinions to yourself. If I ever wish to hear your advice, I will let you know.”

  He wasn’t sure whether he was satisfied or appalled to see the flash of fear in his mother’s eyes.

  * * *

  —

  “So, what is it you want to talk about, Mama?” Jinnell asked as she spread her skirts and took a seat on the settee by the fire.

  Alys double-checked to make certain she’d locked the sitting room door. Her heartbeat felt strangely erratic, her stays too tight. Every protective instinct in her body cringed at the thought of having this conversation with her daughter. She’d already put it off for two days as she and her children returned to the manor and tried to restore a semblance of a normal life, but Delnamal’s threat continued to echo in Alys’s head, and she had no doubt that he’d been entirely serious. It was vital that she find a husband for Jinnell as soon as possible, and she had never subscribed to the notion that girls should be kept in blissful ignorance. She had long ago educated her daughter about both the joys and the burdens of womanhood, and it was now time to explain the dangers.

  Alys took her own seat by the fire and wrapped her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. Jinnell’s worried eyes said she’d already seen her mother’s unease. She folded her hands in her lap, but the fingers kept moving restlessly and she bit her lip.

  “What is it, Mama? What’s wrong?”

  “You know that your uncle Delnamal has never been overly fond of our family,” Alys began.

  Jinnell snorted. “That he hates us, you mean. Yes, I am aware.”

  Of course she was. Delnamal was hardly subtle about it. Jinnell was in many ways a typical—if spoiled—teenage girl, and she was very mindful of what others thought of her. Not that her uncle’s dislike had ever seemed to trouble her, but she could not be oblivious to it.

  Alys tried to think of a delicate way to explain the situation without alarming her daughter any more than necessary, but Jinnell was perhaps a little more perceptive than she’d realized.

  “He blames us for Grandmother’s spell, doesn’t he?” she asked.

  Alys grimaced. “I ran into him at the palace, and he was…very put out.” If she were being as honest as she should, she would tell Jinnell about Delnamal’s attempt to have them all thrown in the dungeon. But she hoped she could be forgiven for keeping the worst of it to herself, for though she believed Jinnell had a right—and maybe even a need—to know the danger, she could not bring herself to terrify the girl. At least not any more than was absolutely necessary.

  “I have never known him not to be put out,” Jinnell countered.

  “This was different.” Alys suppressed a shiver as she remembered the hatred that had shone in her half-brother’s eyes. She disliked him intensely, and had, ever since he was old enough to have a recognizable personality, but she’d never hated him the way he hated her and her brother. “He was…beside himself.”

  “Grandfather would never let him do anything to us,” Jinnell said, but there was a faint quaver in her voice that said she was not fully convinced.

  “You are the granddaughter of a king and of marriageable age. You may not be of his legitimate family, but your marriage can still be used for political gain. If Shelvon fails to produce an heir, then there may be a need to strengthen the ties between Aaltah and Nandel.”

  The color leached out of Jinnell’s face. Alys had thought she’d have to explain the situation in great detail before her daughter would see the threat—Jinnell was hardly what she thought of as a strategic thinker—but it seemed she’d underestimated her.

  “Grandfather would not sell me to Nandel,” Jinnell said with no conviction whatsoever. Her eyes glistened with tears, though she blinked rapidly to hold them at bay.

  “There’s no telling what he would do if he felt desperate enough.” Alys reached out to touch her daughter’s arm. “But he’s nothing like desperate right now. There’s a chance there was nothing magical about Shelvon’s miscarriage. Perhaps we’ll soon have happy news once more.” Not that Alys truly believed what she was saying. She did not have to have a close personal relationship with her sister-in-law to know that the woman was miserable. If the abbess’s spell really worked as she’d explained, then it seemed highly unlikely Shelvon would produce an heir anytime soon, if at all.

  “You don’t believe that.” Jinnell dabbed delicately at the corners of her eyes, but aside from her pallor and the shimmer of tears, she was taking the news remarkably well.

  Alys shrugged one shoulder. “Whether I believe it or not, it is still possible. And as long as the marriage might still produce an heir, there’s no need to marry you to someone in Nandel.”

  Jinnell’s eyes locked with hers. “You mean Prince Waldmir, don’t you? Not just someone in Nandel.”

  Alys blinked. Once more, her daughter’s perspicacity surprised her. Because her mother was consider
ed illegitimate and her father was only a baron with moderate holdings, Jinnell had never had to face the prospect of a marriage of state. She had trusted her parents to find her a husband who would make her happy, unlike many girls her age who looked upon their future marriage arrangements with a combination of excitement and dread. “It doesn’t matter. The point is we must find you a husband sooner rather than later. If you are married, then you won’t have to worry.”

  Jinnell shifted on the settee, staring at the fire as her brows drew together in thought. Alys had expected a torrent of tears at best, blind panic at worst. Her daughter had always had a flair for the dramatic, and this quiet, thoughtful acceptance was unlike her.

  “If Delnamal is already whispering in the king’s ear,” Jinnell mused, her eyes still distant, “then he may be reluctant to approve my marriage if he believes he could one day have need of me.”

  “One benefit of my illegitimacy is that you do not need the king’s approval to marry,” Alys reminded her.

  Jinnell turned back to face her. All traces of tears were gone, and there was nothing but calm calculation in her eyes. “I may not legally require it,” she said, “but we both know what is expected.”

  Alys was temporarily at a loss for words. Where was the carefree little girl she’d raised? The naïve child who would be devastated at this threat to the storybook life she’d had every right to expect? Alys wondered if recent events had had a profound effect on Jinnell’s psyche or if perhaps she herself had been willfully blind. Her little girl was not a child anymore.

  “I can’t marry without the king’s permission,” Jinnell said firmly. “No man would risk taking me under those circumstances, and even if we could find one who would, it would leave you and Corlin in an impossible situation.”

  A small, aching lump formed in Alys’s throat, and she feared it might be she who would break down and cry. “I will find a way to protect you,” she promised her daughter. “I will find a husband your grandfather will accept, and I will do it before he’s willing to entertain the possibility of Nandel. I promise.”

  But Jinnell shook her head. “You can’t promise that, Mama.” She rose from the settee and came to kneel at her mother’s feet, taking her hand in a comforting grip. “I know you will try, but it is the king who will make the final decision, and you cannot speak for him.”

  Alys squeezed her daughter’s hands, looking down into that calm face and barely recognizing her. This was the same girl who just a few days ago had whined when Alys had declined to take her shopping. “I will find a way,” she promised once more, willing Jinnell to believe her. And wishing she didn’t share Jinnell’s doubts.

  Jinnell sighed. “I am neither as frivolous nor as fragile as you think me, Mama. If Delnamal convinces the king to consider wedding me to Prince Waldmir, I will find a way to change his mind. And if I can’t get Grandfather to change his mind, I’ll convince the prince he doesn’t want me.”

  Once again, Alys was rendered speechless. She remembered having made similar promises to herself when it was time for her own marriage to be arranged and she’d been terrified of whom her father would choose for her. Her mind had been full of plans for how to avoid a terrible marriage—to the point that she’d even researched poisons—but it turned out she had needed none of them. She had fallen for Sylnin the moment she’d met him, and had had the rarest of opportunities to marry for love. How could she not want the same kind of marriage for her own daughter?

  Alys looked down at her daughter in amazement as she realized what Jinnell’s calm acceptance signified. “Nothing I’ve told you has come as a surprise, has it?”

  Jinnell smiled faintly and shook her head. “What exactly do you think my friends and I talk about when we’re together?”

  “Gowns and gossip,” Alys replied quickly, because it seemed anytime she caught a snippet of conversation those were the topics at hand.

  Jinnell giggled, sounding more like herself for a moment. “Well, that too, of course. But we’ve been talking about our marriage prospects for years now. And we’ve each plotted out how we would escape from the worst possibilities. Prince Waldmir being the worst of the worst.”

  “But you had no reason to believe I would marry you off to someone you didn’t care for!”

  Jinnell gave her a knowing look. “You’re the only one in this family who did not see this coming. Not Prince Waldmir, but a diplomatic arrangement. Papa warned me long ago that he might not be allowed to choose my husband if there were still alliances that needed to be made.”

  Alys closed her eyes. One shock after another. Sylnin had never once mentioned to her the possibility that the choice might not be in their hands. And yet he had discussed it with Jinnell. If he weren’t already dead, Alys might have been tempted to kill him.

  Her heart squeezed tight in her chest, and grief shot through her in a startling bolt. It was more than a year since he’d died, and grief was no longer her constant companion, but it tended to sneak up on her at inopportune moments. She couldn’t afford it now, when she had to be strong for Jinnell.

  She opened her eyes, and love for the daughter who knelt before her swept the grief to the side. It was her duty as a mother—and it was her duty to her husband’s memory—to keep their daughter safe. Delnamal would do his best to make her fail, and all she could do was arm Jinnell to the best of her ability.

  “My mother left me a book,” she said, pulling the little red book of magic lessons from her reticule.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Delnamal’s horse tossed its head so hard he almost lost his grip on the reins. “Damnable beast,” he growled under his breath as the impossible animal skittered sideways to avoid the Creator only knew what invisible obstacle lay in its path. Bad enough that he had to endure the revolting stench of the Harbor District, but the muddy, debris-strewn streets were impassable by carriage so he’d had no choice but to carry out his inspection tour on horseback. How he wished it were socially acceptable for a man to ride a placid and predictable cheval instead. But only women, children, and old men could ride a cheval without being ridiculed.

  He flicked a glance sideways, making sure his honor guardsmen weren’t laughing at his poor horsemanship. The way they all studiously avoided meeting his gaze suggested that while they hadn’t the temerity to laugh out loud, there would be snickering jests in the barracks tonight.

  He had put off his inspection tour for as long as the king would allow, hoping that at least the risers would be repaired by the time he had to make his way down the cliffs. But it seemed the risers would take up to a week to be declared safe for human use once more, and eventually he’d had no choice but to face the excruciating journey.

  The damage was worse than he could possibly have imagined. Whole blocks of buildings had been completely destroyed and swept out to sea, and most of the buildings still standing would have to come down and be rebuilt. A few thoroughfares had been cleared so that workers could traverse the district on foot or horseback, but debris still clogged all but the largest streets. There were countless bodies trapped in the rubble, and everything was waterlogged, breeding mold and mildew that had already become a public health hazard.

  And the stench! Delnamal had thought the Harbor District revolting before the flood, but it was now intolerable. He felt ridiculous riding around with a kerchief over the lower half of his face like some storybook masked bandit, but the grand magus had insisted it was a necessary precaution. The Academy had no spells to treat disease—such things were ordinarily in the realm of women’s magic, though women’s potions and spells did not prevent disease and merely eased symptoms—but there was a modified version of a shield spell that seemed to provide at least some protection. The Academy was putting out spelled kerchiefs as fast as it could, hoping to stave off an epidemic, but Delnamal noted as he toured what streets he could that the vast majority of the workers still combing through
the rubble had no such protection. The kerchiefs were not inexpensive, for to hold all the elements necessary for the spells, they had to include metallic threads. He looked over his shoulder at Melcor, his secretary, who rode at a discreet distance behind him.

  “We must encourage the Academy to produce kerchiefs faster.”

  His secretary rarely expressed any of his own opinions—presuming he had them—but when the man did not hurry to jot down a note, Delnamal knew an inconvenient opinion was on its way.

  “They are working day and night, Your Highness. They cannot—”

  “I’ve seen perhaps twenty people wearing kerchiefs so far today,” Delnamal interrupted. “They must work harder.”

  “Most of the kerchiefs have been purchased by residents of the Terrace District.”

  Of course they had. Those nobles who did not have other homes above the cliffs—or friends above the cliffs who would give them shelter until the worst of the cleanup was completed—naturally wanted protection from the ill winds that might blow in from the Harbor District. He could hardly blame them—he wasn’t about to give up his own kerchief, after all—but it was deplorably selfish not to protect those who were in the greatest danger.

  “We must pay a visit to the Academy first thing tomorrow morning,” he said. “I will put an end to the sale of kerchiefs and demand they be given to the workers.”

  He didn’t have to see his secretary’s face to imagine the expression. The grand magus and his stable of crafters would not appreciate being ordered to work for free, and Delnamal didn’t have the authority to force them. He hoped a sense of civic duty and basic humanity might persuade the grand magus to see things his way, but if not, he might find himself forced to purchase the kerchiefs himself if he wished to protect the workers.