“Or they’ll kill each other, those elder sisters, and Elia will hand the island over to you. There are several ways this can go.”
Mars drank his wine, brooding into the cup. Word had come from Ban the Fox, sealed on the wing of a raven, that his mission proceeded slowly but surely. Rory Errigal was unseated, and Ban positioned like creeping poison near his father’s heart. Near enough to cause whatever ailments he wished, to stir trouble ahead and sow discontent further. That seemed more like fast work than a slow infiltration to Mars, but given the resentment that always lived in Ban, perhaps disrupting the earldom was a thing he was only glad to have reason to do, and so had already known exactly which thread to pull. And if it went faster, then the king’s spy could return home sooner.
He missed Ban, the quiet surety of his dark presence, like a shadow always reminding Mars to be the sun. They had not been friends, exactly, but as close to it as a king and a bastard wizard could be.
I keep my promises, his Fox had written to Elia Lear.
Mars rejected jealousy, for not knowing which of them he was more jealous of.
He said instead, “Those sisters will not like it, if she marries me.”
“But they wouldn’t attack Aremoria for it. They can’t. And in the end they can only make conquering their island very difficult. Sue for peace at great expense to themselves, and they are inexperienced queens, taking over a very weakened kingdom, if even half of what you’ve said is true.”
“It would be good for Innis Lear to be part of Aremoria. Our strengths would balance. I wish I could convince Elia of that, too.”
“I like her, Mars. I like her very much. And I’m sure she likes you. She’s hurt and looking for a path to choose. We could convince her to choose you, to choose Aremoria. She needs someone to trust, Mars. To love, and to be loved as you could love her.”
Mars put down the empty wine cup and for a moment watched the wind tease the corners of saddle blankets and the thick manes of the horses down the slope from him. Soldiers ranged in pairs, some eating as they walked, others alert for orders. But all seemed to appreciate the afternoon break. It was perfect here: warm, gilded, all the bold colors of Aremore. “You think I should use her hurt, her losses, to my advantage.”
“It’s just a tool, like everything is, your method to get what you want. And in the long run, it would be to Elia’s advantage, too. You’re a good man; you will be good for her.”
“You’re biased,” Mars said with a wry smile.
“Yes. But also right, in this case.”
“She wants to save her island, Ianta. To win her, I might have to prove my willingness toward alliance over assimilation. Toward supporting her without the ties of marriage, until her sisters have ascended, or until Innis Lear is strong again. That is what she wants most from me: an opportunity to see her island secure.”
“Which is directly opposed to what you, you-as-king, you—Aremoria—want. Because it will make you truly the greatest ruler in a thousand years? Strengthen the lore of our dynasty?”
Mars sighed, knowing exactly what his father would say to this equivocating.
His sister leaned back onto her elbows. Her voluptuous curls tumbled around her shoulders. “That makes me want to throw this wine in your face. You don’t believe in destiny.”
“It isn’t that—it isn’t magic, or myth.” Mars touched the grass beside the blanket, stroking it; the blades had been warmed by the sun. “It is completing what Aramos began. Taking all the stolen parts of Aremoria back. Making Aremoria whole. A single banner. Ours. Mine.”
“Innis Lear was lost to us nearly a thousand years ago. It might just belong to itself by now.”
“If I don’t at least try, what have I accomplished with my reign?”
“Mars!” She leaned over to smack his arm, but winced as her fingers snapped against his chain mail.
It had been a ridiculous thing to say: he’d completed the defeat of Diota after his father’s death, and put Burgun back in its place. He’d restructured the system of loans and guild marks in Lionis. He’d begun to build a new port for trading ships in their south city Haven Point. He still didn’t have a permanent ambassador from the Third Kingdom, however, nor a queen to bear his heirs. And at least three barons along the Vitili border kidnapped Aremore folk regularly, and Mars’s representatives could find no proof the nobles were involved. There were always problems with the stray cats. The roads in the north were appalling. He was a terrible falconer. Oh, and that draft in the queen’s solar. There was plenty left to achieve.
“Have you thought you might accomplish peace?” Ianta asked gently.
The king startled.
“If Aremoria is not at war, you can invite your naturalists to Lionis, as many as you like, a menagerie of them. Bring that one you mentioned to Isa, to cut up all the stone beetles in the world. You can teach Isa yourself, or make Royal Libraries in every city like you wanted as a boy. You can go kill those border barons with your own hands.”
“I should do all those things and take Innis Lear.”
“If you make peace, you can take your time with Elia Lear. And her island.”
He frowned. He should tell his sister about Ban. That Aremore had already dealt the first hand against Innis Lear. Against Elia.
“You have to be happy, Mars. If you let yourself be unhappy, it will spill out into your choices,” Ianta said.
“Are you happy?” Mars looked hard at his sister, locking their eyes together.
“When I can
