Zarryiostrom Chapter Thirteen

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Powerborn Dust Jacket

Chapter Thirteen

“Uninvited”

         Princess Lyrahe Illvanna picked at her breakfast in a halfhearted fashion, but found that she didn’t have an appetite. The food itself was perfectly prepared and presented, but she was far too miserable to appreciate the effort the cooks and servants had put into it. The reason for her depression was apparent every time she saw her father’s face; for he was the happiest she had seen him in over a year. He cheerfully joked with the members of his family, and he had even asked—not commanded—his children to attend breakfast with him. And to everyone’s surprise that invitation had included Tais.

          That was the biggest change, Lyrahe noted, for it seemed that her father had completely forgiven his oldest daughter for her crimes, and he genuinely seemed to want to make a fresh start of things with her. It wouldn’t work, she knew, for she knew her siblings very well. In fact, Lyrahe had always been the best at reading her family’s faces, and though she tried to hide it, Lyrahe could tell that Tais was merely going through the motions with their father. King Orem seemed oblivious, but Tais kept a carefully guarded expression on her face that Lyrahe could see right through, and because of this she knew something her father didn’t know: Tais had no intention of ever letting down her guard with him again.

         That was beside the point however, and Lyrahe allowed herself to remember the previous evening’s events . . . as well as the aftermath. For hours, she had danced with the man of her dreams, and time had seemed to fly for them. Eventually however, the hour became too late for dancing, and they had reluctantly stopped. At a signal from his father, Valeriad had told her that his family was retiring for the evening, and that he hoped to dance with her again at the ball following the second day of the Convocation. She had fallen all over herself agreeing to see him again, and she was the happiest she could ever remember being . . . until she had seen her father.

          King Orem hadn’t been looking at her at all; he’d been speaking with Emperor Xan and his son Lain, and seeing the two of them together brought Ethan’s words back to her like a death sentence, Now that Tais has shown her true nature like the slattern she is, you sister dear, have to take her place. Father and mother are going to try and make you marry Prince Lain, in order to buy us an ally against Dakkadia . . . assuming he’ll even have you.

She had been too caught up enjoying herself with Prince Valeriad to notice what was happening around her, and she cursed herself for her stupidity. The look on her father’s face had told her instantly that the discussion was going very well, but it was the look on Tais’s face that had made her blood turn cold. Tais had looked up, and when she caught her eye, the one overriding emotion Lyrahe could see on her sister’s face was pity.

Her father had looked up then, and he too caught Lyrahe’s eyes. When he was sure that he had her attention, he smiled broadly and gestured to her to join the informal group and Lyrahe had instantly obeyed, her face automatically smoothing itself into a pleasant mask. She walked as gracefully as she could, all the while feeling as if she were a condemned woman walking to a gallows, and when she had joined the group her traitor knees had nearly buckled during her formal curtsey. Thankfully, they hadn’t noticed, or if they had they were polite enough not to mention it to her. The conversation had been brief, but it was clear from the questions that Emperor Xan was trying to make an impression of her.

Again, Ethan’s words came back to haunt her, “Every time they look at you they are going to be wondering if you are anything at all like Tais and whether you are worthy of one day being an Empress.”

Lyrahe couldn’t remember any part of the conversation, but she remembered quite clearly her introduction to Crown Prince Lain. He had been perfectly polite, and quite charming she supposed, but almost unconsciously she began making mental comparisons between Prince Lain and Prince Valeriad, and compared to the gallant Prince of Dakkadia, the Prince of Ferralin could never measure up.

The two groups had remained together for a little longer, with Emperor Xan and King Orem parting on friendly terms and the two monarchs agreeing to begin formal talks in the near future, but Lyrahe wasn’t listening. She turned back to look at where the Dakkadian entourage had assembled, and saw her Prince smile at her and give her a friendly wave. She wanted to give him her best smile and return his wave, but standing next to both her father and the man she would most likely marry, she knew that she couldn’t. So she merely inclined her head slightly in polite acknowledgment, and returned her attention to her father . . . and turned her back on Prince Valeriad.

When the party ended, and the groups had returned to their own villas, a stern-faced King Orem had taken her aside and spoken to her.

“Emperor Xan is amenable to a marriage between you and his son Lain, a marriage this kingdom needs very badly indeed. I allowed you to dance with Prince Valeriad to send a message to Xan, but now that formal negotiations are beginning, it is a message that is no longer needed or wanted. Therefore, I am forbidding you to socialize with Prince Valeriad or to even speak with him again without a chaperone present. Disobey me, and you will find that the prison cell that held your sister will hold you just as easily.”

The threat of imprisonment was likely a hollow one, for her father had already admitted to her that the kingdom needed the marriage very badly, but again, Ethan’s words returned to her with perfect clarity, “If they decide you are like Tais, you’ll be lucky if they let you become a concubine.”

She knew that the next few days were critical. Every aspect of her character was to be scrutinized by Emperor Xan. If she came up short in any respect whatsoever the marriage would not take place, and the threat her father had made to her would most assuredly become all too real. Lyrahe knew that she had no choice but to obey her father absolutely, and she would; simple as that. But even with the decision made, she found herself once again thinking about her perfect evening with Prince Valeriad, and hoping against hope that somehow they could be together.

***

Chesare watched Lyrahe pick at her food and tried hard to think of something that would raise her spirits. She didn’t know exactly what was bothering her sister, but whatever it was Chesare knew that it was bad. It was strange, for Lyrahe had been on top of the world the night before, but all morning she had been acting as if she hadn’t just met the man of her dreams. In fact, she was acting as if the world had ended. As Lyrahe moved her food around some more, Chesare decided to try and find something to lighten the mood.

“I think last night’s ball was a tremendous success. It looked to me like everyone was enjoying themselves immensely.” She gave Lyrahe a sideways look hoping for a response, and then pressed on. “Lyrahe, you and Prince Valeriad were simply splendid on the dance floor. You moved so well together! And sharing every dance like that. You were the talk of the ball!”

She turned her head to look at Lyrahe but to her immense surprise Lyrahe didn’t brighten up at the mention of Prince Valeriad. Quite the opposite actually, for Lyrahe’s mood seemed to darken even further. Confused, she glanced around the table at her family to see what she had said wrong. Her first clue that she had made things worse was the look on Ethan’s face. He was giving Lyrahe a smug smile completely at odds with what Chesare had said. She glanced at Tais, and Tais shot her a quelling look.

What is going on?

As if reading her mind, her father spoke, “There will be no more talk of Prince Valeriad or last evening, Chesare. I have begun formal talks with Emperor Xan to arrange a marriage between Lyrahe and Lain, and as such I have forbidden Lyrahe from seeing or speaking with Prince Valeriad again.”

Chesare gasped in surprise and turned to look at Lyrahe, who seemed ready to wilt in misery. That explained everything, from the pleased look on their parents’ faces, to the triumph on Ethan’s face . . . and most especially the misery on Lyrahe’s. Chesare returned her attention to her own plate desperately searching for something that would undo the damage she had just done, when a thought came to her. Suppressing a smile, she looked back up at Lyrahe.

“I’m so sorry to hear that, Lyrahe. I’m sure Prince Lain will make a fine husband, once you get to know him. But I’m also sure you are not ready to hear that just yet, so I have an idea. Next week I will be returning to the Mage Citadel to resume my training. Why don’t you come and visit me there? I’d love to give you a tour, and to let you meet my friends.”

Lyrahe looked up from her plate and gave her a disinterested look.

“That sounds nice.”

Lyrahe certainly can be dense sometimes! Chesare thought.

“Good then!” She said aloud. “I’ll arrange everything. I can’t wait until you meet Halo—that’s Asiria, our librarian—and all of the other students.” She caught Lyrahe’s eye and winked. “It’s such an exciting place! Why, you never know who’s going to show up there.”

Lyrahe gave her a confused look at the non sequitur, and all at once her expression brightened as she obviously remembered what Valeriad had said the previous evening. “Next week, my half-brother Phaedron and I will be going to the Citadel for testing.”

“Tonight you will be introduced to Prince Lain,” Orem said to Lyrahe, “so you are to look your best. Both the dinner and the gathering that follows it will be informal, but you will treat it as it is: a matter of State.”

Lyrahe’s smile wilted, but she inclined her head slightly in acquiescence, and returned her attention to her breakfast. The dour expression remained on her face for only a few moments however, as she began thinking about her upcoming visit to the Mage Citadel . . . and a possible clandestine meeting with a certain young Prince. Chesare smiled at Lyrahe one more time, and returned her attention to her own breakfast.

***

Madari had just finished applying lather to his face when a single knock at his door caught his attention. He picked up his razor and barked “Enter!” before he began carefully scraping away the morning’s stubble. He didn’t even glance at the door to see who his visitor was, for only one person knocked on his door that way: Morvandis. Madari had been expecting him, for he knew Morvandis would come bearing the morning report.

“What have you found out?”

Morvandis’s reflection stepped into the mirror where Madari could see him and bowed slightly. Before speaking however, Morvandis’s eyes turned a glowing white, and suddenly the water in the basin before Madari began to steam. Madari chuckled.

“It seems the Princess Tais has had a very interesting year,” Morvandis said. “We knew some of what happened when the negotiations ended between Ferraline and Illymar, but my spies have filled in the gaps to the story quite thoroughly. About a year-and-a-half ago, Tais and her family attended a tournament that Prince Ethan had entered, where apparently she met and fell in love with a young Earl named Markus Danshire; a noble of very modest means but great skill with a sword. The Earl won the tournament, and spent the weeks following it wooing the Princess, who had already been betrothed to the Prince of Ferraline. Eventually, the two ran away together, and her father sent Prince Ethan to retrieve her. This he did, and in the doing had Danshire killed, but not before the two were wed, and Tais apparently conceived a child.”

At that Madari whirled in surprise to look at Morvandis, but Morvandis met his gaze levelly.

“You’re not serious?!”

Morvandis smiled very slightly, which for anyone else would have been the equivalent of peals of laughter.

“Of course, Your Majesty. The reports are quite clear. It would appear that the child did not survive, but I am seeking confirmation of this fact through my sources. The physician who treated the Princess during her pregnancy has disappeared, which indicates to me that her family had him eliminated to cover up the potential scandal. Upon her return to Illymaine, Tais was imprisoned in one of the towers and kept in isolation for a year. She was released only a month ago, and not by King Orem’s order. My spies are unclear about this, but it would seem that Queen Althea is the one responsible for her release.”

“You emphasized her title when you began the report. Was there a reason for this?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. While King Orem had Earl Danshire killed and his daughter returned to the capital to be punished, it is very clear that the two were married legally, under the auspices of a Prior of the Zarryiostrom. As such, from the moment she took her marital vows she would have ceased being Princess Tais and instead become Countess Danshire.”

Madari frowned at that and after a moment’s reflection he shook his head in disagreement.

“The first thing King Orem would have done upon her return would have been to disavow the marriage. Danshire’s execution as a traitor and the disbursement of his title to another would have ended her claim to the title of Countess. But that doesn’t matter because as far as the monarchy is concerned, the marriage never happened.”

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but I must disagree. The Zarryiostrom does not recognize the power of a sitting monarch to end a marriage. That power belongs solely to the members of the Church, and to date they have not been consulted on Princess Tais’s current status.”

Madari didn’t respond, but he considered the implications of Tais’s rank carefully. He knew Morvandis believed that he could use this issue to cause tension between Illymar and the Zarryiostrom, but Madari didn’t necessarily agree, for the Zarryiostrom had never attempted to force an issue with a sitting ruler. The priesthood always took the long view, and whenever possible they much preferred to acquiesce to preserve peace, hoping that the ruler—or his successor—would eventually come to see things from their perspective. Still, the idea did have some potential merit, for Madari knew that a successful invasion of Illymar would require not only the defeat of the army and the navy of Illymar, it would require that the Mage Citadel and the Zarryiostrom be kept out of the conflict . . . not an easy task considering their mutual defense treaties.

But that was for another day, for what truly interested Madari about Tais’s nebulous status was much more personal. Following the party, the Dakkadian contingent had returned to their villa, and despite Aveliad’s dire predictions of that morning, Madari had gone straight to his chambers without inviting his wife to join him. He knew that she had expected him to “force himself upon her,” but he had been far too preoccupied with thoughts of the golden-haired Princess to care what Aveliad believed. Aveliad had made her position very clear; one more night with her didn’t appeal to him in the slightest. Once he had returned to his room, he had thought about Tais for a long time, but by the time he had gone to sleep he had concluded that there was no way he could pursue her without causing a diplomatic incident, so despite his growing infatuation he had resolved to keep his eyes—and hands—off of her. After all, one simply did not do such things with a royal Princess.

Morvandis’s report changed that, however. True, attempting to bed Tais, the royal Princess was reprehensible, but having an affair with Lady Tais, the widow of Earl Danshire, was perfectly acceptable . . . so long as any affair between them remained discreet. Madari didn’t care what his wife would think, but a potential scandal would be detrimental to the goals he hoped to achieve at the Convocation. Still, the more that he thought about it, the more he came to believe that she would actually welcome his attentions. Oh, he had no doubt that she would be a difficult conquest, but she was not only a widow, she had been imprisoned for a year besides. And even better, up until her actions to unite the Ferraline and Illymari contingents the night before, she had been a social pariah; someone too tainted to even speak to, let alone be associated with. He smiled to himself. Yes, she would probably welcome the company. And if pleasant company should lead to more, well he would just have to see. He finished shaving and washed the remaining lather from his face.

“That is certainly interesting news, Morvandis, and I compliment you and your network for assembling such a complete report in only one night. Now, is there anything else I should know about?”

As he spoke he reached for a tray containing the light breakfast he preferred, and he picked up a mug of strong black tea. As he took a sip from the mug he glanced up at Morvandis and saw something he wasn’t accustomed to seeing on Morvandis’s face: uncertainty. Madari took a second sip from his mug to allow Morvandis time to collect his thoughts.

“Last night I made a discovery that may allow us access to Illymar through the Teeth of Amhar.”

The sound of the mug shattering on the marble floor was deafening.

***

As King Orem took his seat in the Cathedral he glanced over at Emperor Xan and nodded a friendly greeting, which the aged Emperor acknowledged with his own polite nod. Orem had made incredible headway with the Ferraline delegation during the previous evening, and he couldn’t wait for the second round of talks to begin. He turned his attention to the Dakkadian assemblage and regarded King Madari as well. Seeing him brought a self-satisfied smile to his face. Orem had yet to speak with Madari in anything other than polite formality, and if he could help it that would be the way it would remain.

As he stared at the barbarian masquerading as a King he wondered what the man was thinking, for he had seemed distracted all morning.

Probably wondering how he can sabotage the talks, the warmonger. Well, it won’t matter what he’s thinking soon enough.

Orem hadn’t mentioned his plans to anyone else, even Althea, but he intended to offer Lyrahe’s hand to Lain the second the negotiations concluded, and he would push to have the wedding ceremony before the end of the Convocation. That wouldn’t allow much time for planning, but that was a problem for other people to worry over. Xan may protest, but even he would have to agree that having the ceremony in front of the assembled royalty of three countries would be an auspicious beginning for the union. His eyes hardened as he considered the Dakkadian King.

Once we’ve set a date for the wedding, I’ll write the invitation to Madari myself, may he choke on it.

So caught up was he in pleasant daydreams of his daughter’s impending nuptials, that he didn’t notice when someone took the seat to his immediate left. He was still daydreaming when he heard a voice that shattered his reverie into oblivion.

“He looks more dangerous in person, doesn’t he? No matter how well-tailored his clothing may be he can’t disguise his true nature . . . or his ambition. Can he brother?”

Orem’s face turned purple in rage when he recognized his brother Ascham’s voice, and he whipped around in anger to face him. It took all of his self-control to keep from screaming at Ascham, but a quick look around him told him that this was neither the time nor the place to cause a scene; a fact that Orem knew Ascham was counting on when he decided to show up in the first place.

“You would know all about that, wouldn’t you ‘brother’, for you and he have much in common,” Orem said, his anger naked before Ascham. “Ambition is your defining trait.”

Ascham returned his brother’s heated glare with one of supreme indifference.

“Please. Do not lump me in with that barbarian. I am ambitious I admit, but I have never been a threat to you, and I am most certainly not a threat to our neighbors.”

Orem grunted at that and turned his attention to the dais, where Patriarch Varic had yet to appear.

“Not a threat to me or my kingdom are you?” Orem said, never moving his eyes from the dais. “My informants tell a different story. You have quite an army ready to follow you should you so much as crook your finger. What enemy do you propose to unleash your horde upon I wonder? I see no enemy around us.” He involuntarily glanced at Madari’s profile and amended himself. “Or rather, I see no enemy around us that requires a land-based army to fight.”

Ascham’s look of indifference didn’t alter in the slightest at the revelation that Orem knew about his supporters and his military buildup.

“I am merely preparing for the inevitable war with Dakkadia,” Ascham said. “Something you yourself should have been doing for years. Now that your negotiations with Ferraline have fallen through, we are vulnerable. One of us has to take steps to defend Illymar, and since you refuse to do it, the duty falls to me.”

Ascham expected Orem to explode at that, but to his surprise, the self-satisfied smile on Orem’s face that had been there as Ascham had sat down returned.

“Oh that’s right!” Orem said, clearly mocking Ascham. “You did not attend the dinner last night . . . or the party afterwards, so you wouldn’t know.”

His voice trailed off suggestively, and Ascham felt a sense of foreboding coming over him.

“Know what exactly?” he asked.

“Know that last night, Emperor Xan and I were able to come to a preliminary agreement concerning a marriage between Crown Prince Lain and my daughter Lyrahe.”

Ascham’s eyes opened wide and his eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline at that, and Orem took great glee in the knowledge that that one bit of information had just set his brother—and his ambitions—on their ears. Orem pressed his advantage.

“Xan understands that Dakkadia poses a threat to both of our countries, and only by standing together do we hope to keep Dakkadia at bay. Therefore, Xan has agreed in theory to allow his son to wed Lyrahe under the same terms that we had arranged for Tais. So you see, your self-imposed duty is neither needed nor wanted, and it makes me happier than you could possibly know that you decided to attend the Convocation uninvited so I can tell you that in person.”

Ascham didn’t speak for several moments, obviously struggling to come to grips with these unexpected revelations.

“When will the wedding take place?”

“That has yet to be determined. I’m confident that the two of us will set a date for the ceremony within a few days’ time. You will of course be invited. And I believe that a suitable wedding gift from you would be the complete disbanding of your army. I think we can both agree that its existence would no longer be necessary.”

Ascham snorted and crossed his arms over his chest before turning his own gaze toward the dais. The first of the Archidraconi had begun filing onto the dais to begin the services.

“That remains to be seen, Orem. I will withhold judgment until they are safely married. After all, I would hate for another mishap to occur like that unfortunate business between Tais and Markus Danshire. I sincerely doubt Xan would be so forgiving a second time.”

“Don’t be so sure, Ascham. Chesare is a Powerborne after all, and as such she is worth more than both Tais and Lyrahe together. If it comes to it, I would give up even as precious an advantage as my Powerborne daughter to secure this alliance.” He dropped his arms to his sides and his voice filled with conviction. “It doesn’t matter. This marriage will happen, as will the alliance.” He glanced one final time at Madari and said quietly, “This is too important to Illymar for me to fail.”

***

These Illymari do enjoy dining, thought the Corsair, no wonder their ships are so easy to capture . . . they are probably too busy planning their next meal to put up a proper defense.

The thought brought a smile to her face, and she glanced at Phaedron and caught his eye. When she was sure that she had his attention she rolled her eyes in an elaborate display of disgust directed at her host, and his eyes flashed a matching look, before they each returned their attention to the serious business of eating lunch.

It wasn’t the food that they found amusing, for as with any meal in Illymar it was perfectly prepared and presented. No, her disgust was centered firmly on their host, who had been adamant that any business that they had to discuss with each other would have to wait until after they had dined. That had sounded fine to Prudence, until she had realized that lunch to the Admiral had meant a full-blown seven-course event. By the third setting, both she and Phaedron had begun politely declining any further servings . . . which hadn’t bothered Admiral Savonne—or his appetite—in the slightest. As serving after serving disappeared from his plate, Prudence had begun wondering where in the world the food was disappearing too, for the Admiral wasn’t fat.

Well, he isn’t fat yet, but then he is very young for his rank. I have no doubt whatsoever that if he continues to eat the way he is now, he will eventually become as large as a frigate.

As the minutes rolled by, the only sound in the room was the occasional crunch of some delicacy or another being consumed by the Admiral. Prudence’s patience began to wear thin, and to combat her boredom she took the opportunity Savonne’s feasting presented her to surreptitiously study her surroundings.

The building that housed the Admiralty was a beautiful structure, with several defensive structures surrounding it to provide it with some measure of protection. She hadn’t seen much of the interior, but what she had seen had been quite beautiful, with tasteful displays and decorations placed everywhere . . . all meant to impress guests with the importance of the people the building housed. Even the dining room in which they were sitting was filled with elaborate displays, including several oil paintings celebrating different victories won throughout the illustrious career of the Illymari navy. She took a sip of water to hide another smile as she thought about the unending series of drubbings she herself had handed to the Kingdom of Illymar, and wondered if there would be any paintings of her on the walls one day.

Probably not, she thought. They would have to defeat me first.

Eventually the meal came to an end, and the Admiral waited for the dishes to be cleared before dismissing his stewards. When the room was empty save the Admiral, his adjutant, Phaedron and herself, Admiral Savonne finally broke the silence.

“I suppose you are wondering why I asked you here today, Lady Prudence.” The words were a statement, but he looked at her as if expecting an answer, so she obliged him.

“I will gladly admit to my curiosity, Admiral. We both know that lowly privateers such as I am are rarely invited to dine with the Commander of an entire navy.”

“Quite so, though your modesty does do you credit,” Savonne said. “We are both well aware that you are more than just a ‘lowly privateer’. Your successes against the Illymari navy have made you quite the heroine to the masses. Bards sing your praises everywhere they go, playing up your heroics as great victories . . . no matter how much less heroic the truth may actually be, or how exaggerated the tales may have grown in the telling.”

Phaedron frowned at the veiled insult but didn’t speak, despite an obvious desire to defend her reputation from the assault.

“I have no control over the tales of bards, here or anywhere else,” Prudence replied. “As you well know I spend almost all of my time at sea capturing prizes. But then, while there may be some exaggeration in those tales, no one doubts my skill as a sailor . . . or a soldier.”

The riposte hit home with a vengeance, for the untried Admiral had received his commission for his relation to the Queen, and not for any skill he possessed as either a sailor or a soldier. In fact, as far as Prudence had been able to learn, Savonne had never practiced actual command of a ship at sea, let alone a flotilla or armada. Her sailors had learned much at the taverns around Illymar, and many of them had brought back stories of the “Bathtub Admiral;” a nickname Lucas Savonne had earned because supposedly the only ships he had ever commanded were the toys that floated in his bathtub. She rather doubted that was the case, but then, his inexperience was as obvious to her as her competence was to him.

“I do not believe you asked me here to trade barbs, Admiral. So what exactly can I do for you?”

“I asked you here to persuade you to cease your blatantly illegal attacks upon our shipping.” He held up his hand in a placating manner before she could speak and said, “I am well aware you hold a Letter of Marque that gives you the shred of legitimacy under which you operate, but believe me when I say that that piece of paper is all that protects you from a hangman’s noose. The Illymari navy, and his Majesty the King, take a dim view on piracy . . . even piracy that shelters behind specious legalisms.”

“I find it very amusing that the Illymari navy and his Majesty the King would suddenly take such a dim view on privateering,” Prudence said, “especially since it is a practice the Illymari navy invented over four centuries ago, and continued to practice until only three years ago when I personally hunted down and sank the last privateer that dared to fly Illymari colors.”

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her fingers over her stomach in a very satisfied gesture.

“I remember that fight very well indeed. I was quite disappointed that the Sea Lion didn’t put up more of a fight before I sent her to the bottom.”

The Admiral’s eyes flashed in anger at her words, but the anger in the Corsair’s own green eyes easily matched his in intensity.

“The actions of the previous Admiralty have no bearing on the navy under my own command,” Savonne said. “I have already recommended to His Majesty that we no longer recognize Letters of Marque as a legitimate tactic, and that we recognize privateers for what they are: bloody-handed pirates. When he agrees with my proposal—as I am certain he will—the Age of the Privateer will be thrown into the dustbin of history as the unneeded relic it is.”

Prudence laughed sharply at that and the anger in her eyes instantly transformed into amusement.

“I wish both you and your King luck in that endeavor, Admiral, for I can guarantee that no other country will follow suit. You see, too many countries have had problems with privateers in the past—especially privateers flying your colors and bearing your Letters of Marque—for anyone else to care what you or your King decide is legal or illegal. In fact, even if the Illymari navy unilaterally decides that privateers are illegal, Letters of Marque are filed with the Zarryiostrom as a neutral party, and they—not you—decide the status of a privateer. No, Admiral, you can’t just take your toys home with you when you start to lose a game. That would be unsporting.”

The not-so-veiled reference to his nickname turned his face bright red with anger, and he slammed both of his hands down on the table in fury.

“You think this is a game?” Savonne said, shouting. “This is not a joking matter, Lady Prudence! Your harassment of our shipping will stop one way or another! How your career—and your life—ends is up to you.”

After his outburst his anger visibly lowered, and he settled back in his chair. His voice became silky smooth, and a speculative look appeared on his face, which raised the hackles on the back of Prudence’s neck.

“I apologize for that unseemly outburst, Lady Prudence. I have something of a reputation for hotheadedness, as you can see. But we seem to have strayed from the subject at hand. The reason I asked you to meet with me is to convey an offer . . . one I would highly recommend that you accept. His majesty recognizes that you, Lady Prudence, are the single biggest threat our navy currently faces and is prepared to be very generous to you should you agree to turn your sights on other prey. Very generous indeed.”

The Admiral’s sudden change of tactics surprised her, but then knowing the Admiral’s background as a merchant, she had come to the meeting expecting a bribe attempt. Prudence assumed a look of avarice and leaned forward in her chair, placing her elbows on the table with her fingers entwined.

“Just how generous are we talking, Lord High Admiral? As you can no doubt tell, I have very expensive tastes.”

Next to her she could almost hear Phaedron blink, but she didn’t let any of her amusement show on her deadly serious expression. Admiral Savonne hesitated, obviously sensing a trap, but his eyes were involuntarily drawn to her elaborately tailored and embroidered clothing whose expensive cut was readily apparent to his merchant’s eye, as well as to the delicate lace falling from her neck and wrists. She could tell that he was trying to convince himself of her sincerity and of her expensive tastes, and it didn’t take him long to come to the conclusion that she had wanted him to believe when she had selected her apparel with malice from the piles of clothes her brother had given her.

“I see that you do, Lady Prudence.” He glanced at his adjutant before continuing. “You are no doubt aware that the Kingdom has a ready source of income from which we bring in regular shipments of precious metals and gems. I know you are aware of this because you have succeeded in capturing two of these shipments: one aboard the Kingsland, and the other aboard the Seraph. Your capture of these ships was very . . . annoying to the Kingdom, but believe me when I say that there is plenty more where they came from. Should you agree to seek your prey in different waters, we are prepared to offer you one out of every twenty of these shipments, to be delivered to the port of your choice. We would simply transship the cargo to you, with no risk to either you or your crew at all. All you would have to do is collect your prize with our thanks . . . as well as the thanks of the Kingdom of Illymar.”

Prudence steepled her fingers in front of her and considered the offer Savonne had just made to her. The prizes aboard both the Seraph and the Kingsland had been beyond reason, and her cut of the prize money had been more than enough to allow her to live out the rest of her days in luxury . . . had that indeed been her goal. She had always wondered about the source of that wealth, for the ships had sailed from the open seas, far beyond the normal boundaries that ships kept to. As far as Prudence knew, nothing existed in that direction except an endless, unbroken expanse of ocean.

The Captains of both ships had died in the fighting, and none of the surviving crewmembers would tell her where the gold had come from. But from the absolute certainty in his voice, his estimation of the amount of wealth available in this secret location wasn’t mere exaggeration. But then if it wasn’t, losing the occasional shipment shouldn’t matter at all to them. As he himself had said, it was simply an annoyance. So why buy her off? Suddenly, one detail of the deal he had proposed came back to her. He had specifically mentioned that they would give her one out of every twenty shipments. He had made no mention whatsoever about the ships themselves.

“When these shipments arrive at the port of my choice, I assume that I would keep the ships as well as the shipments? It may look suspicious otherwise.”

Savonne’s aide stiffened at that, which told her exactly what she needed to know, but she didn’t allow any trace of triumph to show on her face or in her body language. She kept her attention firmly on Savonne and awaited the answer she knew he would give. He didn’t disappoint her.

“Of course not, Lady Prudence. The Royal Navy needs every ship it has, as well as every ship it can build. We are willing to sacrifice shipments to mitigate the damage you are doing to our fleet, but the ships themselves are out of the question.”

Prudence smiled at that, for Lucas had just told her everything she needed to know. It wasn’t the money they were afraid to lose: it was the hulls. Savonne hadn’t been bluffing about the ease of which the money could be obtained or replaced, but the loss of a ship would be felt keenly, for Illymar had only a limited number of trained shipwrights and building slips. It didn’t matter how much money one had if they could only build a handful of ships at a time. And perhaps even worse for Illymar, the capture of a hull actively strengthened the one threat that Illymar faced, for Dakkadia routinely bought every hull she captured no matter how damaged and refitted every single ship with modern weapons before putting them into service against their former kingdom.

No wonder they are willing to bid so heavily for my complicity: they still don’t have a counter to our new weapons, and they are hemorrhaging ships. So long as we continue to capture ships faster than they can replace them, we make the threat of a Dakkadian invasion that much more of a reality.

She pushed her seat back and stood up abruptly, and though she had surprised them, all three men rushed to stand with her.

“I think I have heard enough. If you would be so kind as to provide an escort, we will be departing immediately.”

Savonne blinked in surprise at her words, completely at a loss to understand her intent. He didn’t respond instantly, trying to buy himself time to think.

“Ah, of course, Lady Prudence,” he said. “Ah, do we have an accord?”

“We do not have an accord, sir,” Prudence said in an icy tone, “and the only thing keeping me from challenging you to a duel over your slight to my honor right here and now is the Peace of Zarryiosiad that both of our kingdoms agreed to before we arrived for the Convocation. But nothing in that agreement entitles you to impugn my honor with threats or clumsy bribe attempts, nor does it require that I sit here and listen to them for one instant longer.

“You have made your position on privateers quite clear to me, Admiral, as well as how low you are willing to stoop to make us disappear. If you truly want to stop privateering as you say you do, the means are simple: put down your fork, pick up your cutlass, and come after me yourself. You claim that I am hiding behind ‘specious legalisms’, but you are the one that seeks to end the practice of privateering with the pen and not the sword. I promise you this: the only way you will ever stop me will be to defeat me, and to do that you will have to leave the safety of this compound and put yourself in harm’s way.”

She turned her back on the Admiral began walking to the door, but before reaching for the latch she turned her head look at him over her shoulder.

“I look forward to the day that I can face you over a broadside, Lord High Admiral Savonne. Though somehow I don’t believe that day will ever come. Good day.”

With that, she pulled open the door and walked out of the dining room with Phaedron close behind, leaving both Illymari sailors standing dumbfounded in her wake.

***

As Phaedron and Prudence left the grounds of the Admiralty, Phaedron half expected the Lord High Admiral to come running out of his office screaming for the guards to seize them or some such, but Prudence seemed to be completely at ease walking amongst the enemy’s soldiers. Despite her unconcerned attitude, Phaedron kept looking around them for awaiting soldiers or assassins, though none ever materialized. It wasn’t long before the couple had reached the busy street and the relative safety of the crowd, and only after he was sure that they were safe did he speak.

“That was informative. I’m not sure he realized just how much he gave away at the last. I half expected to be arrested or killed before we could leave the grounds.”

“That was never a possibility. The Peace of Zarryiosiad is very specific about what will happen should a guest of the Zarryiostrom be murdered or retained by the Illymari Crown before the end of the Convocation. Savonne’s life would be forfeit, and both the Church and the Mage Citadel would withdraw their support of Illymar for a great many years . . . more than long enough for King Madari to exact a suitable revenge.”

“I don’t know about you, but knowing that I would eventually be avenged would be a small comfort against the chill of the grave.”

“Oh, I agree completely. But the point is Savonne will never willingly risk his own neck by seeking our deaths. That would require far too much imagination.”

“Tell me, what was your opinion of the good Admiral?” Prudence asked as they walked down the cobblestone streets. “And what did you think his reasons were for attempting to bribe me?”

“As to the Admiral, he’s nothing; an empty uniform at best. If he is an example of the quality of soldier Illymar routinely employs, it is a given that Illymar will become a vassal state of Dakkadia within a few years. What really interested me was how much information he gave away. Tell me about the Kingsland and the Seraph.”

“Both of those ships were treasure galleons that were heavily laden with an extremely pure shipment of gold, and dozens of casks filled with absolutely flawless gems, any of which would be worth a King’s ransom,” she said. “I found the ships purely by luck: the Water Mages assigned to both of the ships knew their business.

“They were running silently, with the Mages working to keep the ripples from spreading more than a few inches from the ship’s wake. You are a Water Mage so you know how difficult that is; mainly because the Mage would be unable to rest, but if it is done right the ship becomes effectively invisible to any other Water Mage. Unfortunately for them however, Cahrick quite literally caught their Mage napping and was able to track them. Once we ran them down, the end was a foregone conclusion.”

Prudence was quiet for a moment.

“I say that now, but that wasn’t true. The crews of both of those ships fought hard. By the time the smoke cleared, the Captains of both ships and all of their officers were dead, as were a majority of their crews. Normally, a Captain that knows his ship is going to be captured will strike his colors and lay down his arms in order to save the lives of his crew. Neither one of the Captains of these ships did that: they fought to the bitter end, and it cost them dearly.”

“It sounds as if they chose fanatics to crew these ships,” Phaedron said. “Either that, or they found a powerful motivation for them to complete their assignments.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Prudence said, intrigued by the idea. “Illymar does not breed or utilize fanatics for the most part, so that leaves motivation. Do you have any ideas?”

“I can think of one,” he said. “If I wanted to ensure that ship’s Captain would not succumb to the temptation that that much wealth would undoubtedly bring, and I wanted him to do whatever it took to complete his given assignment, I would hold his family hostage as surety. In fact, to prevent the possibility of the Captain losing his ship through mutiny, I would hold the entire crew’s family hostage.”

Prudence stopped dead in her tracks at that, and Phaedron noticed that her fists were clenched in fury.

“That makes sense” she growled, “damn their black souls to hell. None of the sailors we captured would speak a word about the origin of the shipments, and they destroyed the charts before we could seize them.”

She whirled around to face in the direction of the Admiralty compound and took a single step towards it as if she were planning to return. Phaedron caught her arm.

“That won’t help, Prudence. You have your duty and they have theirs. Fortune is fickle, and is unmoved by either righteousness or desperation. The Captains of the Kingsland and the Seraph rolled the dice and lost, as simple as that. That isn’t your fault; you simply did your duty better than they did theirs. That’s all.”

Prudence looked up at the man she was falling for and saw nothing but compassion and understanding in his eyes. Somehow that made it better. She glanced one more time in the direction of the Admiralty and swore a silent oath to the Bathtub Admiral.

I will break you for this, Admiral Savonne. I swear it.

With that, she allowed Phaedron to turn her away from her enemy, and once again they resumed their walk. For a time they walked in silence, until suddenly, on impulse Prudence slid her hand into his. As their fingers intertwined, she squeezed once to thank him for his support and understanding, and he returned the squeeze, a radiant smile on his face.

END OF PREVIEW