age,” Robert adds more softly. “Seolfor would have had to have come north to court Sandalia. He was in the mountains by then, already waiting.”
“What better time to do it than when she stood to wed the Gallic king? He'd failed with Rodrigo already. Perhaps the secrecy was to protect himself if he failed again.”
“Rodrigo.” Robert's lip curls. “Half a decade and more wasted trying to get that man to marry anyone, to bed anyone, so a child might be gotten, and he waits the better part of a half-century and weds himself an army without warning. I would give my teeth to know what finally persuaded him.”
“He's been cautious since childhood. Since before we came here; since the days when we only watched and learned. He fought two wars before he took his crown, and a third not long after. He's dedicated himself to a lifetime of peace since then, a lifetime of building treaties rather than one of conquering.” There's something unusual in Dmitri's voice; it takes Robert a moment to place it as respect. “I think, given his choice, he might have selected an heir, another man of wisdom and careful consideration, rather than trust his sister's son to wear the crown thoughtfully. I think Rodrigo de Costa would have chosen never to go to war again, if the world had let him alone.”
“If we had let him alone,” Robert says almost mildly. This is a side of Dmitri he never dreamt existed, a creature of quiet regret for what's been made of a mortal man.
Dmitri shrugs. “If we'd let him alone, yes. But Sandalia is dead, and not even Rodrigo could allow that to go unanswered. And if there was to be war, for the first time since he was a youth, he needed a wife, a possible heir, someone whose claim might go un-contested while he risked neck and blood on a vengeance he couldn't afford to deny.”
“You admire him.” Robert truly is surprised; he'd thought Dmitri admired no one but himself and his own cleverness.
“He's tried a path of rationality and reason against all odds, against every history his people know. I think he has daring, and I think he has vision.” Dmitri quirks an eyebrow, suddenly himself again, and adds, “I think he'll die for it, but yes, I admire him.”
Robert, despite himself, grins. “Shave that hideous beard, Dmitri. Give us your own sharp face back. Lorraine won't see you again, and Sandalia's dead. There's no chance of discovery.”
“When we put in. I'd as soon not risk my throat to a razor and an unexpected wave.” Dmitri turns his attention toward the distant Gallic shore, where a battle rages out of sight. “It's not just Javier's power at work out there, Robert.” It's nearly a test, an almost-question investigating whether Robert is still too blind to his daughter's talent.
“No, it's Belinda, too, and with more finesse in her wielding than she had a few months ago. How much did you teach her?”
“Less than I would have liked,” Dmitri says with unusual forth-rightness. “More than I might have thought. She has no grasp of science. There's no rhyme or reason, in her mind, to what she can do. Trying to teach her to heal…” He snorts and waves a dismissive hand. “She can do it, brutishly but there's no understanding of how the body works, how to create unity in what's damaged. She's better with emotion and weather. I think she imagines the clouds and wind to be human, somehow, and can shift them accordingly. But if she's precocious I'm as glad Ivanova isn't, because Belinda's a queen in her own right, make no mistake.” He goes silent a few moments, then glances at Robert. “What did you tell her of our purpose here?”
Robert breathes laughter. “Tell her? Nothing. She stole a little, more than she could understand. Not enough to worry about, because it's beyond her. It's beyond all of them.”
“Stole it.” Now Dmitri's surprised, and Robert curses the impulse that led him to telling the truth. The other man's surprise fades, though, fades into a warning, which is unlike him: “Watch yourself, Robert. She'll usurp your power.”
Two answers come to mind: one is that for Belinda to do such a thing is both unthinkable and natural, with the latter carrying more weight as he considers it. Unthinkable only because she's been shaped for loyalty; natural because she's female, and has that touch of his queen in her, enough, perhaps, to whisper to her that she has what these humans would call a divine right to be worshipped. Robert keeps that thought to himself, because the other is the more interesting. His voice is dry and curious as he asks, “And would you know, Dmitri?”
“Better than I should.” Dmitri clips his answer short enough that Robert hides a grin: he's meant to take the bait, and he will, out of interest in the game, if nothing else.
But he's probably not intended to take it by saying, drolly “You slept with her, then.”
Dmitri shoots him a startled look that turns into thinned lips. “She equates sex with power.”
“With good reason. But you, with your so-wise ways, don't, and so when she slipped under your guard and put a noose on your witchpower, it came as a shock, didn't it?” Robert sees angry agreement in Dmitri's eyes, and shakes his head. “You should know better than to play with that kind of fire. What the females see as power is power. All the cleverness in the world won't undo that. What did she take of you?”
“Pleasure,” Dmitri says, sourly enough that Robert coughs on a laugh. Seawater sprays up from below and gives him an excuse to wipe a hand over his face and do away with his amusement.
“Most men wouldn't look so grim, Dmitri. My primrose is pretty enough, and well-trained in bed. What else?”
“She can command my skills as though they were her own, Robert. Snatch memory from me if she wants it, and now it seems she's done the same to you. I know you've intended her to take the throne, but is she under as much control as you believe?”
“Is she not?” Robert's interested in the answer, suddenly focused on his second. “Have you stolen thoughts from her in turn, hints that she's set herself on a new path?”
Dmitri's “No” seems to come reluctantly, though he repeats it with more certainty. “No, but her grasp of the situation-that we serve a ‘foreign queen’-has made her uncertain of her own place, and she resents that you haven't trusted her with the truth and the details.”
“Rightfully, you think.”
Dmitri spreads fingertips against the ship's rail, a shrug of sorts. “I'm inclined to believe the burden of knowledge is more compelling than the weight of ignorance. I'd have begun her training earlier, and offered more secrets.”
“As you will with Ivanova?” Robert's careful with the question; Khazar and its ruling family are Dmitri's to deal with, but Robert will face the consequences of Dmitri's choices.
And the look Dmitri gives him says the other man knows it. “In a few more years, by your leave. She comes into her place in the imperatrix's court this autumn, with her fifteenth birthday, too young yet to grasp the subtleties of what we do here. But Belinda's twenty-three, a woman fully grown, and I think your control over her would be all the greater if these past five years she'd been a student of our plans.”
“These past five years and more she's been an assassin and a seductress,” Robert points out. “I've needed her where she was. Ivanova is different, not a secret. Still, I'll watch for any resentment, any seeming change of her heart.” Sharpness takes his breath as a woman's face comes to his mind's eye: Ana di Meo, dark-haired, olive-skinned, with lively eyes and a bent for wearing outrageous colours that few could carry off. She was set on Belinda to watch for those very things not quite a year ago, and she has been dead these last six months, dead at Robert's hand, for the troubles that came to her in the watching. He's good at putting the past away, but Ana has the capability to haunt him, and will, he thinks, for the rest of his days. “Thank you,” he adds more roughly, and hopes the unusual gratitude will end the conversation.
It does: Dmitri nods, and both men fall silent, leaving Robert's thoughts room to run ahead of him, rife with speculation. Dmitri will not have shared this out of concern, but rather to sow dissent: his witchlord brother is ambitious, as, Robert supposes, are they all, those who have come to this world to change it. But Dmitri's looked for years to see signs of Robert's weakness, and sees them clearly enough in how he's handled Belinda. Sees them in Javier's existence, still a thorn in Robert's side. The easiest thing to do would be to kill the boy, but that's foolishness and injured pride speaking: simply because he's unexpected and unknown doesn't mean he's useless or dangerous. Indeed, Javier is witchborn, as these people would call it, and Robert can no more seriously contemplate murdering him than he might consider committing suicide. There'll be a use for Javier yet-that's a wager Robert would make.
That use might be in controlling Belinda. Ana said the girl was lonely, and had watched love grow up between prince and secret princess. With Sandalia's death, Robert doubts Javier still has such tender feelings toward
