The Broken Realm Page 8

  Yseult raised a hand, this time to silence her son. “I have no disdain for the feminine strength. But do not compare yourself to me and mine. We are dissimilar in more ways than are immediately obvious to someone with your limitations.”

  Lisbet bowed her head. “My apologies. That was not my intent.”

  “Your intent remains unclear to me.”

  “We are not your enemy. We would very much like to be your friend.”

  “We require no friendship from men. It brings us nothing beyond strife.”

  “Your offer. Friendship,” Kael said. Unlike his mother, he did not bother adjusting to the cadence of men for Lisbet’s sake. “Bonds you offer. Not freedom.”

  “It is true, I am your prisoner, and I understand why you would not trust any offer made under such conditions,” Lisbet said carefully. “But with all your magic, can none of you see into our hearts, to our intent? Can you not see that we came, as I’ve said, foolishly, but with an idealistic belief that we, too, could live in peace?”

  “Our peace is not your peace,” Yseult replied. “The men of this kingdom are fallible and unwise, but most possess the prudence to stay far from our forests. I cannot say the same for you.”

  “The folly of youth,” Lisbet said with a nervous smile. “We are all, all of us, children.”

  “All except the one with the eyes of ash and many names.”

  “He saved our lives,” Lisbet said. “But he is not one of us. We do not claim him.”

  “You should. It is for him that I spared your lives.”

  Lisbet swallowed the hard lump in her throat. “Of course. And we thank you.”

  “I require not your gratitude, only your truth.” Yseult waved her hands. “We are done.”

  * * *

  Kian told his brother he would escort Lisbet back on his own. Kael was dubious of this offer, but Kian’s objection was about Yseult, and the need for someone to escort her to her home. She was frail that morning, when just the day before, she’d been full of life. Lisbet didn’t understand the sudden shift. She was afraid to ask.

  When they were free of the small gathering room, aimed again toward the forest, Kian said, “It is unwise to provoke my mother. She has no trust for the world of men.”

  “She once welcomed them into her lands.”

  “A mistake she has come to deeply regret.”

  Lisbet was surprised to hear him speak in the parlance more familiar to her, as his mother did. He did so rarely. Kael never had. “I wasn’t trying to provoke her. I don’t know the words she wants from me.”

  “Only those she has asked for.”

  “But they do not seem to be enough. She asks them, daily, and clearly isn’t satisfied with my answers.”

  Kian navigated her away from tripping over a tangle of brush. “Your answers have changed.”

  “Only because I feared she did not find them satisfying!”

  “Then you choose your words according to what you believe she wishes to hear.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Lisbet said. “My words are true. I haven’t lied to her. But still she does not believe me.”

  “You think she does not believe you?”

  “If she believed me, she wouldn’t ask me the same questions every day!”

  Kian smiled to himself. “You have much to learn.”

  “Of course I do. I’m only fourteen. I have no guile or malice in my heart. Only love.”

  “No one has only love in their hearts, Lisbet,” Kian replied. “Not even a child fresh to the world.”

  Lisbet continued on in silence. The Medvedev had not been unkind, but nor had they let them go. They’d given them a bigger prison, one she might have enjoyed without the invisible boundaries reminding them of their limitations. But that was not freedom.

  She didn’t know why she had been chosen by Yseult to speak on behalf of them all. And was she not as shocked as the Medvedev must have been to see Gabrianna Blackwood and her friend Meadow show up as well? She couldn’t speak for them. She could hardly speak for herself.

  But the Medvedev had not been surprised. Gabrianna had told her about the strange encounter with Kael in the cave. The lost days following.

  “The boy. Brook. He is not dead. Not by our hands.”

  Lisbet almost tripped at the sudden resumption in conversation. “What?”

  “The kin of Meadow. He escaped and ran off. Joined other men, and from there, we know nothing of him. You may tell her.”

  “What men? Do you know who he went with?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you won’t tell me?”

  “No.”

  “Is there any other news you can share? Of the kingdom?”

  “The news of the kingdom is of no matter to us.”

  “Kian,” Lisbet said. “When I asked if you had the magic to look into our hearts. None of you answered.”

  “Our magic is our concern, not yours.”

  “But you must possess it. How else would Kael have known Gabi was coming to the Hinterlands? To you?”

  Kian said nothing. They were drawing close to the magic barrier, though she could not see it with her own eyes.

  Lisbet ceased walking. “Look into mine.”

  Kian stopped, several paces ahead. “I will not.”

  “But that means you can. You did not say, ‘I cannot,’ only ‘I will not.’”

  “Only men seek to interpret words in such a way.”

  Lisbet laughed. “Your mother asks the same four questions of me daily, is that not what she is doing? Interpreting my words?”

  Kian grabbed her roughly by the arm and dragged her forward. “Heed my advice on my mother or abandon it at your peril.” He pushed her through the barrier.

  Lisbet pressed her hands to the invisible wall. “I thank you for concerning yourself with my peril, Kian of the Drumain.”

  Kian huffed and turned away.

  5

  The Counsel of Oldwin

  Eoghan Rhiagain slumped in his chair. His ass hung in precarious balance at the edge of the velvet, legs spread so wide his feet no longer had respectable purchase on the floor. His arms he let dangle at his sides. They were utterly useless anyway. Everything in Duncarrow was. Everyone.

  Once an hour, upon the hour, Correen appeared at his chamber door, requesting audience. He had none to give her. He may have needed her once, but it was Assyria he’d wished would guide him, as she had lovingly taught Darrick. And now Assyria had revealed herself as a traitorous bitch, which made him desire Correen’s presence less, not more. In the absence of a more competent mentor, Correen’s failures burned especially bright.

  She liked to slip her outrageous opinions in when he was otherwise indisposed so he’d be less able to argue. Over breakfast, as his mouth was stuffed with pastry. During his bath, where there were ears not suited for such conversation. She was most passionate, for some reason, about him establishing a true court, with counselors and merriment. None of the men had ever suggested such things. But he had no men he trusted.

  The sun crested low upon the horizon. When he’d first sunk into the chair, he’d watched a fresh light illuminate the world. He’d been there that long. He could stay longer. He frequently did.

  No wisdom afforded him had prepared him for how little joy he’d take from running the kingdom after seizing power from his brother.

  Eoghan had considered this over the intervening five years since he’d had Darrick thrown to his death. About why he’d done it. Everything their father had put in place would be undone under the reign of Darrick. It was reason enough, even without the fear that Darrick might dissolve the entire monarchy once it was within his right to do so. And it was true also that he loathed his twin brother. Darrick was the embodiment of goodness, of strength and aptitude, and there was nothing, no one, in all the kingdom who reminded Eoghan he possessed none of these things as Darrick did.

  But Eoghan hadn’t wanted the kingdom. He’d wanted his brother dead, and the two, un
fortunately, could not happen in exclusivity. Assyria and Correen were not fit to rule. There was no one else.

  He’d hoped for another ten years with his aging father, and, instead, Khain died so soon after Darrick that Eoghan had no time to proffer more than minimal counsel.

  Word had reached him of his beloved Hollyn’s death. With it, rumor that the disease that had taken her life had been given to her by a Rhiagain.

  His only accomplishment as king had been to craft an event meant to gift him four wives in order for him to have the one he most wanted, and instead, he’d lost the only one he wanted, and been left with the daughter of the man who would style himself ally, but was truly a traitor.

  It was almost amusing. The only lord of the kingdom who had never shown meaningful fealty was also his enemy.

  Oh, how Lord Quinlanden had argued that point! Pandering, begging, and all the while, that look in his eyes. One Eoghan recognized all too well. He thinks I’m a fool. He thinks he can control me, as all the others have. That I have no sense or cunning of my own. That I possess none of what made Darrick so great.

  And, like all the others before him, he will find himself wrong.

  * * *

  It had been in the throne room—a room Eoghan had used less than five times in his reign—that Aiden had laid the head of Byrne Warwick at Eoghan’s feet and declared the Westerlands property of the crown.

  “All the kingdom is property of the crown, Lord Quinlanden,” Eoghan answered. Correen tried to whisper something in his hear, but he swatted her away.

  “Yes, Your Grace, but as we are all too aware—”

  “You will refrain from referencing you and me as one, regardless of topic.”

  Aiden’s face changed; perhaps he was seeing the first sign that all was not as he’d expected to find it when sailing to Duncarrow. “Yes, sir. As I am aware, the crown has ultimate authority for all the kingdom, but the riches of each Reach are preserved within.”

  “As is the burden of maintaining said riches, and the population. A burden the crown does not want. Hence why we follow the King’s Decree, which gives the Reaches their freedoms at the expense of a fair tax.”

  “Of course, sir. What I offer you is the whole of the Westerland wealth, without that burden.”

  Eoghan’s nose twitched at the foul stench of Warwick’s rotting head. What he wouldn’t give to see the Blackwood bitch witness the fruits of her own treachery. But he would deal with her later.

  Assana was as still as steel at his side.

  “And how, Lord Aiden, do you propose that to be possible?”

  Aiden’s grin was foul. “Why, with you as king, anything is possible. You can demand what is yours and leave the problem of maintaining to your subjects, who have little choice in the matter.”

  “You believe this is how I should run my kingdom.”

  “Sir.”

  “And so by that reasoning, I should take, too, the Easterlands. Demand her resources, give nothing in return.”

  “Sir, as your ally—”

  Eoghan turned to Assana. “Wife, I would ask your opinion on a matter. Do you have opinions?”

  Assana bowed her head. Her hands gripped the oak of the chair. “I am possessed of some, Your Grace.”

  “What do you make of your father’s decision to deliver to me something I did not ask for, and then to tell me how I should make use of this gift?”

  “Your Grace, if I may—” Aiden raised a hand.

  “You may not,” Eoghan replied, still looking at his wife. “I am asking my wife.”

  Assana’s voice shook. “I cannot pretend to understand the business of men, husband.”

  “Pretend. That is what I am asking you to do.”

  Aiden laughed nervously. “Your Grace, as the queen has said—”

  Eoghan spun his head toward the Lord of the Easterlands. “Your daughter is not a queen. She is no more than a lady of the realm, ranking even lower than my sisters, one of which is a barren block of ice, the other a bold traitor. Only a Rhiagain can be a queen.” He returned his focus to Assana. “Go on.”

  “I...” Assana stumbled for words. Eoghan wanted to slap the words from her mouth but instead feigned an encouraging smile or they’d be there all day. “I would be most worried, Your Grace, about the war that may follow such a gift.”

  “The innocence of a child!” Aiden called out. “With respect, Your Grace, Assana will bear you children, not great wisdom.”

  “As it happens, Assana and I are united in this wisdom,” Eoghan answered. “You say you took the Westerlands for me. But you did not ask me if I wanted the Westerlands. You did not ask me if the death of Lord Warwick was something I desired, or part of my own greater vision in leading this realm. His family already loathes us. Did I ask for war? I did not, and yet, by your actions in the Westerlands, and the loss you have wrought upon the Southerlands with Warwick blood spilt, you have invited this very thing.”

  Aiden’s resolve began to crack. It was a beautiful thing to witness. First, the fading light in his eyes, then, the shaking of hands that had never seen a day’s labor. Eoghan relished in this. So few had the opportunity to witness Eoghan in a brilliance he occasionally possessed and even more rarely had occasion to employ.

  “For you, sir.”

  “For yourself,” Eoghan corrected. “For a future where you see a Quinlanden, and not a Rhiagain, sitting upon this seat. A future that will never come to pass.”

  “No! Never! That has never been my aim, sir. I look only to bring honor to your house.”

  “Then where is the ship?”

  “Sir?”

  “The ship, Quinlanden, bearing the traitors of this realm.”

  “I know not—”

  “While you were occupied serving your own needs, Princess Assyria and Lady Blackwood commandeered a vessel they used to bear themselves, and both the Dereham and Warwick boys, away. I want to know what your men have done to find it. Was it not these men you swore to me when you laid Rowanwen at my feet?”

  Aiden’s shock was a solace. “I know nothing of this, sir. I had hoped to lay Lord Warwick’s head at his wife’s feet.”

  “I thought you knew all, Lord Quinlanden. Is that not what you said to me, when you beseeched me before the Right of Choosing to inform me that the other lords of the realm were preparing for treason?”

  “I cannot know all. But I have always, and will always, share with Your Grace what I do know, and act in accordance with what is best for Him and this realm.”

  “You believe me a fool, and have acted in accordance with that.”

  Aiden prostrated himself lower, looking squarely at the floor. “I know you are the most glorious king the realm has ever seen, sir. I would aid you in that glory.”

  “Even I know there’s little truth in that. Get up.”

  Aiden scrambled back to his knees.

  “Lord Chancellor.” Eoghan grimaced. “You reach too far. You have overplayed yourself, Lord Quinlanden, and as my father always said, you must cut away the rot before it can spread, or it will overcome you.” He nodded at the guards, who leaned in and seized Aiden’s arms.

  Aiden whipped his neck back and forth in horror. Eoghan wanted to smile at this, because he so enjoyed besting the man who thought his wisdom superior to all, but the fall of Aiden Quinlanden was instead another reminder of how alone Eoghan was. The most powerful man in the kingdom, with no one he could trust.

  Eoghan rose. He turned to Assana, who stood with him. “I could send his head to your mother. Would she like that?”

  “Assana!” Aiden cried, thrashing with futility. “I am your father!”

  “She very much would,” Assana replied, calm.

  “And you? Would you like this?”

  Assana turned her eyes down, thinking. With a light sigh, she said, “Yes, though I think that may be too light a punishment for his crimes against you.”

  Aiden howled in anger.

  Eoghan nodded. “I am listening.”
>
  “To sever a head is to deliver a moment of pain. To leave someone toiling, head intact, for the rest of their days in a cell is to deliver a lifetime of agony.”

  At this, Eoghan did smile. He’d not married the woman of his heart, but, perhaps, he’d wed one of like mind. “The wife of the king has announced her sentence, and the king is in accord.”

  * * *

  Eoghan’s scant memories of Oldwin painted the enigmatic sorcerer a whisper in the shadows. Always there, rarely seen in full view. He’d been the only man King Khain trusted implicitly, and the court rumor was that this trust was founded in a love beyond what men were permitted to have between one another.

  Eoghan himself had never seen anything to give legs to such a slight against his father, but it was also said that Khain’s love for Oldwin was what prevented him from executing him when the time came to exact his punishment.

  But this was where Eoghan and his father were different. Khain had banished the man for speaking his truth and failing to see others. Eoghan understood that magic was capricious, and that to punish one for what they did not see was to cut oneself off from what they could. Assyria used to say, don’t sever your toes because they are ugly, for there are other beauties one can possess but only one way to balance.

  The guards pushed Oldwin through the double doors of Eoghan’s chamber. He heard him coming, the loud echoes of chains dragging the floors.

  “Unlock his chains,” Eoghan commanded.

  “Your Grace?” one of the guards asked, voice quaking. The fear of this court, this kingdom, sustained him. Protected him. But it came at a cost. Not one here would ever speak plainly, for fear of being thrown into the White Sea.

  To be fair, there was precedent for this.

  “If I was not certain, I would not have said it,” Eoghan replied.

  “But, sir, the sorcerer—”

  “Possesses magic? Yes, as sorcerers do. No great secret there. Had he the power to break from the sky dungeon, he would have. He is not that kind of sorcerer.” Eoghan chided himself for wasting so many words on a guard, but he was not only saying them for the faceless man asking him petulant questions.