“Over a fleet. It seems the imperatrix hungers for economic expansion, if not new lands.”
“Khazar’s five times the size of Echon as a whole. Irina doesn’t need any more land. What will she give in return, Rodrigo? The thing you need most-”
“It is not a marriage proposal,” Rodrigo says firmly. “She offers troops, not an heir.”
“Troops. For the war you don’t want to fight?”
“It’s not always necessary to meet battle on the fields, Dalia. They can be fought in mind and heart and on paper, and if I have Khazar’s military to call on, the Red Bitch can’t possibly hope to rally an army of equal size. All the better if she can be pressured into capitulating without a drop of blood spilt. Aulun will come back to Cordula.” Rodrigo’s voice deepens, a passion for his religion dominating all else. “We lost too many faithful in the aftermath of the Heretical Trials, and Aulun’s rebellion only sparks more radical thought against the Church. Aulun must be brought to heel within our lifetimes, or Cordula seems weak. I will not have the world worshipping a false god, Sandalia. I will not have it.”
“And so you’ll threaten and bluster with Irina’s army and hope for Lorraine’s acquiesence?”
Rodrigo focuses on her again, putting God away for the world he must live in. His expression goes dry, and drier still are his words. “God save Echon from women who rule. The kaiser and the caesar in Parna must shudder every time they think of their neighbors.”
“But not the Essandian prince?” Sandalia arches her eyebrows, teasing, and is rewarded with Rodrigo’s grin.
“The Essandian prince believes God’s divine touch graces us with the leaders we deserve, my sister. We’ve known a stretch of peace through these years. Perhaps God feels we’ve needed the gentle touch of female regents to guide us through it.”
“Or perhaps we have peace because women don’t look to war first.” Ambition rides Sandalia’s words, and she repeats, “Not first,” beneath her breath. “But no true leader shirks from it when it’s necessary. Lorraine’s too old to pitch a battle herself. She won’t see me coming, and if Irina is offering you troops-”
“She offers me troops, Dalia, not Gallin.”
“Gallin and Essandia are allies, my lord.”
“You would have me take Khazarian troops to conquer Aulun in your name?” Danger warns in the edges of Rodrigo’s question. Sandalia ducks her head, making herself petite and pretty and harmless, then looks up again with a flirt of eyelashes.
“In Cordula’s name, brother. In Cordula’s name.”
ROBERT, LORD DRAKE
27 June 1587 Alunaer, capital of Aulun “We are unobserved?” The question is a matter of ritual, thirty years’ habit forcing it to Robert’s lips even when he knows as well as his queen that their meeting room is cloistered against all listeners. Knows better than she, indeed, though he can never confess to the unearthly skill that allows him to be absolutely certain of their privacy.
“Have done, Robert,” Lorraine says with ill-concealed impatience. “We have yet to hear whispers of anything discussed in this room hissing around the court. We are unobserved, and the lusty pair playing at our voices in the bedchamber will be obliged to violate our virgin reputation if we do not hurry. What have you for me?”
A smile shifts the shape of Robert’s beard, prickling his skin. Lorraine’s shields are unbreachable, her restraint and control beyond any he’s ever met, but she can let her guard slip in words. When she does so with him, allowing herself the familiar me or I, it means more to him than the tasting of her thoughts ever might. “Gregori is dead. Irina is free from his pursuit and is indebted to us. Our negotiations may proceed.”
“The Khazarian army,” Lorraine breathes. “Think of it, Robert. Aulun’s fleet and the masses of men who can be called to arms under Irina’s banner. We might hold all of Echon in the palm of our hand, a summer hence.”
“We might.” Temperance fills Robert’s voice. “But Essandia and Gallin will rise under Cordula’s call, and Reussland will not take easily to Khazar rolling over it. We must maintain caution, Your Majesty.”
“Caution!” Lorraine spits the word, coming to her feet in a rustle of heavy skirts. No longer the Titian Bitch in truth, her hair flames false red above a white-painted face that makes mockery of the striking youth she once was. “We have been cautious our entire life, Robert. We tire of caution. We would have confidence in our legacy, the measure given a man, not the weak-legged tripping steps of a woman.”
“You have consolidated and held power for a lifetime, Lorraine.” Robert softens his voice, daring the use of the queen’s name. “You have played men against one another and kept yourself free, a regent in your own right when too many thought the throne ought not be yours. You have made yourself an icon whose name will never be forgotten. Kings would weep for lesser legacies.”
“And Sandalia de Philip de Costa has done the same in the name of two thrones, and stands on my northern border, mocking me and waiting for me to fall. She has years, Robert.” Bitterness taints the admission. “She is fifteen years the younger. I must command at least a fraction of Irina’s army to hold my own country should my health fail. We have waited long enough.” Her shoulders draw back, wattle tightening with the resolve that the formal we announces. “We will ally ourselves with our sister queen on the Khazarian throne. We will offer Aulunian ships and privateers to run their ice-blocked harbors and coasts so they might more easily enjoy the trade treaties we have built. In exchange we will accept some small part of her army under our command, so that we might all understand our delicate relationship to one another, and we will not threaten her throne in any way, for we understand what it is to be a woman alone at the head of a country.” Lorraine takes a breath, satisfaction glinting in her grey eyes. “And in time we will enjoy discussions of where our alliance might further bring us, and what it might mean to the Ecumenic Church and Cordula.”
BELINDA PRIMROSE
17 July 1587 Aria Magli, Parna It was Aria Magli; it was always Aria Magli. The city’s peculiar streets, littered with gondolas and filled with vice, were the one place Belinda thought of with anticipation. She sat in a gondola now, leaning forward from under its canopy, allowing herself an unfeigned, unrestrained smile as the boy at the back of the boat poled it along the busy canals.
Rich and poor brushed elbows here; it was thus in any large city, but the possibility of a wealthy lady being dunked in the canal made watching the passersby much more entertaining than in the streets of Alunaer. A man with a rooster balanced on his head leaned out over the canal, one hand firmly wrapped around a water-way pole. Around his feet were caged birds, squawking with indignation. His voice rose over the din, over the sound of water lapping and the voices that bounced back and forth between the canal-separated buildings. The Parnan language rang liquidly in Belinda’s ears, every word a promise, even if the speaker was only hawking chickens. He waved as he caught Belinda’s smile, and she lifted a hand, snapping her fingers to gain the gondola boy’s attention.
“This one will rob you blind, madam,” the boy warned. “I know a better man, much better, and handsome, too. Almost as handsome as me.”
“But are his chickens as healthy?” Belinda asked with a laugh. “I’m not buying a man, I’m buying dinner.”
He clucked as sorrowfully as the chickens did and pushed the gondola toward the lichen-covered canal wall. “What kind of a woman doesn’t want a handsome man to sell her things?” he asked mournfully.
“The kind who wants a handsome man to buy her things,” Belinda suggested.
“If I buy you a chicken, you will see my man!” the boy enthused, and leapt forward to snatch up one of the cages from the hawker’s feet. They fell to bargaining, speaking too low and too quickly for Belinda to catch the words. She settled back beneath her canopy again, entirely certain that the price of the chicken would be added to the fare for her afternoon ride. Another gondola slid by, an expensively dressed woman reading from a book of poetry to a man who doted on her. Belinda watched them go until the curve of the canal took them from her sight, then smiled and searched for another such pair.
Courtesans. Their days of great power in the Maglian courts were over, brought low by the plague and the
