“Disturbing news indeed,” the rasping voice said. A plume of breath vented from the hood, the only evidence of the face obscured in its depths.
“Don’t give me that,” Alix said. “You already knew this, or you aren’t worth nearly what I pay you.”
She sensed the smile within the hood. “Then why bother to tell me?”
“In case there were any missing pieces in the account you received.” She glanced at him. “From someone whose identity you will give me one day.”
A dense cloud accompanied the laughter. “I doubt that, Lady Black.”
Alix didn’t bother to correct him. For some reason, it amused the spy to refer to her as Lady Black, as though it were she, and not her brother, who held the banner. It seemed to be a sign of respect, albeit of a mocking sort. “We’ll leave as soon as possible,” she said. Huddling deeper into her cloak, she added, “Hopefully it will warm up soon.”
“Don’t be too eager to greet the warm weather. With spring comes war.”
“I know.” Rig had ridden out that morning. It was never easy, but this time had been especially difficult. Alix had barely been able to keep her tears in check when he’d planted a rough kiss on her forehead. Be good, Allie, he’d told her, just as he’d done when she was a child. Let Eldora be your sign, she’d replied. And he’d said what he always did: She doesn’t fancy me. So Alix had called on Olan instead—as though her brother had ever lacked for courage.
“As difficult as you will find the mountains,” Saxon said, “Prince Liam may have the more challenging task before him.”
“How do you figure that?”
“The politics of the Republicana are . . . complex. Even seasoned diplomats find themselves lost in the maze.”
“How complicated can it be? Court is court, surely, whatever you call it. If anything, things should be simpler there. The speakers have only five years to build alliances and make enemies, and then their terms in office are done. Here, the same families have been plotting and scheming for centuries.”
“As they have in Onnan. Do not be fooled by lofty talk of democracy, Lady Black. The Onnani have their dynasties, whatever their pretensions to the contrary. The same handful of families has been churning out speakers for generations. Nor is family the only claim upon their loyalties.”
“The leagues.”
The hood rippled in assent. “That is another, though by no means the most influential. True power lies with the secret societies, and those cut across league lines. A speaker who represents the Worker’s Alliance might be a Son of the Revolution, while another Alliance member is a Shield. If forced to choose, they will side with their society brothers rather than their league members.”
“Seems simple enough. All you have to do is find out what a secret society’s agenda is, and you know where its members stand.”
The grating laughter sounded again. “Discovering a secret society’s agenda is a quest akin to finding the Lost Kingdom. They are called secret for a reason, my lady. Even their membership is kept in the strictest confidence. Those in my trade do a brisk business in Onnan, as you can imagine. And then there is the religious angle. Most high-ranking members of the Republicana are also priests.”
Alix swore under her breath. Liam had enough trouble fitting in at his own brother’s court. How in Eldora’s name was he ever going to navigate his way through that?
“I could accompany His Highness,” Saxon said, as though reading her thoughts. “I have a strong network in Onnan City, even stronger than in the Trionate. I could be of tremendous value to him.”
“I have no doubt, but unfortunately, I need you here.”
Saxon gave a thoughtful grunt. “You fear instability in His Majesty’s absence.”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“Things are not as uncertain as they once were. War has a way of bringing a nation together.”
“The king’s position may be more stable than it was, but that isn’t saying a whole lot. He nearly lost his crown. However much the war may have glossed over the cracks, they’re still there.”
“Indeed.”
“I need you to keep an eye on Highmount and the council.” She paused, threw him an arch look. “Good thing you have your tick to help you.”
“My tick may change his mind about feeding me information once he realises how much power he holds under the new dispensation. His ambition is what allowed me to recruit him in the first place. It could turn him from an asset to a liability very quickly.”
“In which case, you’ll know what to do.”
The hood twisted to face her. Dark eyes stared out from the shadows, glinting like moonlight on coal. “Be careful, Lady Black. Some stains never wash away. Some paths, once set upon, cannot be turned from.”
“You’re giving me advice now?”
“I’ve been giving you advice from the beginning, and you would do well to heed it.” He turned, vanishing within the hood once again. “I will do whatever you ask of me. It is the privilege for which you pay. But consider carefully before you choose the way of blood, because it only ends in one thing.”
“And what’s that?”
“Blood.”
Alix looked away. Her gaze wandered over the glittering burlap that lined the rosebushes to fall upon the fractured glass surface of the frozen duck pond. She flexed her shoulders, as though banishing a chill. “It’s tempting, though, isn’t it, to think that all our troubles could be ended at a stroke, if the right person were to die? Sadik, for instance, or Varad.”
“Killing the Priest did not prove so very decisive. Why should it be any different with the Warlord or the King? Wars are rarely ended by assassination.”
“Too bad.” There was a stretch of silence. Alix shivered again. “Speaking of the Trionate, what news from your contacts there?”
A shrug. “Little of consequence. The squabbling among the priests for the right to succeed Madan continues. Meanwhile, the people mourn their Trion. They grow weary of war.”
Highmount had mentioned that too. Erik had thought it useful information, but Alix wasn’t so sure. “Not much to go on,” she said. “Maybe your network isn’t as strong as you think.”
“Does that mean you no longer wish to hear from them?” The rasping voice was heavy with sarcasm.
“I wish to hear from you, and as often as possible. You can reach me through any of the post stations along the western highway, all the way to Blackhold. After that, we’ll be out of touch until we reach Ost. I’ll see to it that you have access to the royal pigeons. You can write to me care of the palace in Ost, if you need to.”
“A sensible measure, one that works both ways. If you require anything of me, do not hesitate to send word.”
“In the meantime, what do you know of Harrami politics?”
“Less than you, I imagine. The Harrami hold themselves aloof of Gedonan affairs, which means they are rarely a worthwhile subject of research for those in my trade. You would do better to ask a scholar.”
“Maybe I will.”
“In that case,” Saxon said, rising, “I wish you good day, Lady Black. We both have research to do. You on Harram, and me on my tick.”
“You haven’t researched him already?”
“Of course. But something tells me I will need more on him in the days to come.” He smiled. “Or her.”
Alix squinted up at him against the glare of a winter sky. “Tell me something, Saxon. Are politics any less cutthroat in peacetime?”
The spy expelled a puff of vapour, something between a laugh and a snort. “Good gods, no, my lady. They are much, much worse.”
* * *
“Notes,” Liam said, eyeing the scroll doubtfully. “From your spy.”
“Think of it as a sort of encyclopaedia of Onnani politics. It’ll be helpful, I promise.”
He unfurled it and scanned the page, brow creasing as he read. “Holy Hew, Allie, this is a mess!” He groaned and sat back heavily in his chair. “I can’t do this.”
“Yes,” Alix said firmly, “you can. Look, it’s not that complicated.” A bald-faced lie, based on what Saxon had told her, but one Liam needed to hear. “The Onnani elect their leaders every five years, right?”
“Right,” Liam said sullenly.
“There are three main leagues that vie for power.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “The Worker’s Alliance, the Union for the Republic, and the People’s Congress. The Worker’s Alliance has been in power for two consecutive terms, under First Speaker Kar.”
“Who’s a priest.”
Alix heard the anxiety in his voice, and she couldn’t blame him. The idea of priests meddling in politics had never sat well with Aldenians, and their experience with the Priest of Oridia had only cemented that distrust. “Erik says you could never be elected in Onnan without being a member of the clergy. All the major players are ordained.”
“But it says here they’re also members of secret societies.” Liam shook his head as he read. “The Sons of the Revolution. The Shield. Gods, I thought the Trionate was complicated!”
Alix had never considered the Trionate’s politics especially complex, but then, she’d had a proper education. Liam had been tutored, but only in the basics; foreign political systems were utterly beyond his ken. “Our system is simpler than most, that’s all,” she said.
“Our system makes sense.” He held up a finger. “One king. One decider. He consults, sure, but at the end of the day, the decisions are his. Having three leaders is a recipe for disaster. What happens when the Trions disagree? And then there’s these Onnani blokes!” He rapped the scroll with the back of his hand. “Dozens of them, Allie. How do they decide anything?”
“Well, they vote.”
He went on as though he hadn’t heard. “And this business about secret societies—what does that even mean?”
“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I guess what’s important is that you can’t assume you know where an Onnani politician stands just because of his league affiliation.”
“Then how am I supposed to know? How am I supposed to figure out any of this?” The helplessness in his grey eyes pierced Alix’s heart.
She took his hand, gave it a reassuring squeeze. “You will, love. I know you will.”
“That makes one of us.”
Alix dropped into his lap and curled her arms around his neck. “You really have to stop talking like that. You’re wilier than you give yourself credit for.” She nuzzled his shoulder. “You don’t really think I’d have married a fool, do you?”
It was her secret weapon. Liam simply couldn’t resist. The playfulness returned to his eyes, and he gave her an arch look. “You might have, if you wanted him to be a slave to your will.”
She laughed. “Now why would I want that?”
“I can think of several reasons.”
“Hmm.” She gazed at him teasingly, brushing her thumb along his lip. “I’m starting to think of a few myself.”
He needed no further encouragement, reaching up and twining his fingers in her hair. He sighed as his lips met hers, and she felt his shoulders relax. He kissed her slowly, lingeringly, letting the tension drain from his body, and soon he was lowering her back against the cushions, thoughts of Onnani politics long forgotten. Alix let herself sink into the moment, wrapping her limbs around him, wishing she need never let go. But even as her body awoke to his, something else was settling inside her, grey and quietly mournful, like a thin blanket of ash. Tonight would be their last together. After that . . .
After that, there was no telling.
* * *
Alix tightened the cinch on her saddle, yanking the leather with more force than was strictly necessary. The gelding grunted and shifted a little in protest. She slipped the strap end through the buckle and patted his neck in apology. Not his fault you’re in a mood, said a voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like Gwylim’s.
Gwylim. How she wished he were here now. Aside from the fact that they could have used his scouting skills—not to mention his healing skills, or the myriad of other useful tricks he knew—Alix had always found his presence comforting. Gwylim never let himself get rattled by anything. He’d seemed to absorb the emotions of those around him the way a cloth mops up a spill. He was the man everyone went to for advice, all of it delivered with kindness and empathy. The world lost something special when it lost Gwylim. Something that could not be replaced.
Certainly not by Kerta Middlemarch.
“Oh, Alix, this must be so awful for you,” Kerta said, fussing with her own horse. “Taking the king into danger. Being separated from Liam.” She shook her pretty blond head mournfully.
“Yes, it is,” Alix said, doing her best not to growl. Kerta was a friend, and she meant well, but at times like these, Alix resented her syrupy brand of sympathy. It was hard enough dealing with this situation without someone narrating her misery.
Kerta reached over and gripped her arm. “We’ll protect him, Alix. And Liam will be fine. You’ll see.”
Alix let out a long breath. Nodded. Taking the horse’s bridle, she led him away from the scouts and across the yard to the main doors, where she handed him off to Godwin. She mounted the steps the way a condemned man climbs the stairs to the gallows. Inside, Liam and Erik awaited her. When she gave the word, they would leave. They would ride out together as far as the south gate. And then they would part, for the gods only knew how long. Liam would head east, Alix and Erik west. Not for the first time, Alix’s heart and her duty would tear her in two.
She hesitated outside the door to the study, but there was no point in putting it off further. Nodding to the royal guardsman on the door, she stepped through.
“It’s time, Your Majesty.”
Erik looked splendid in his armour and white leather, the garnet-studded pommel of his bloodblade jutting out from his hip, and Alix realised how long it had been since she’d seen him dressed for battle. The sight was at once inspiring and disconcerting.
“Don’t look so downcast, Alix,” he said. “You’re going home.”
She managed a smile. “I do look forward to seeing Blackhold again. Though . . .” The smile faded. “I wonder what I will find.”
Liam looked away, his mouth pressed into a thin line. She could guess his thoughts. He wanted to be there for her when she stepped through the doors of her childhood home. A place she hadn’t seen for nearly two years, that had fallen to the enemy, with gods knew what consequences for those beloved halls.
I wonder if I will even recognise it.
She pushed the thought away. “After you, Your Majesty.”
It was chaos in the courtyard. Grooms and squires bustled between horses stamping and snorting with impatience. The White Wolves gathered near the armoury, the scouts near the cistern. The supply wagons were islands of stillness in a sea of moving horseflesh. Near the gate, the honour guard was already mounted up, the White banner dangling from gilded spears propped in their saddles.
The king’s arrival brought a hush over it all. Heads turned. Some faces were apprehensive, others merely expectant. If Erik noticed, he gave no sign; he mounted up as if they were merely heading out for a leisurely hunt.
The Street of Stars had been cleared for the procession, but the common folk were permitted to gather along the fringes. And gather they did, in gutters and side streets, on rooftops and balconies. It seemed to Alix that every man, woman, and child in Erroman lined the route, watching in an eerie near-silence as the king and his retinue rode past. She was reminded forcibly of last summer, when Erik and the banner lords had returned from the front. The streets had been quiet then too, the people unsure how to react to the unexpected sight of their king, a man whose crown had nearly been wrested from him by his own brother. That ride had ended in triumph, with joyful crowds all but carrying them to the palace gate.
Alix felt as though she were reliving that day in reverse.
The crowds bore sombre witness all the way through the south gate and onto the old temple road. Alix hadn’t been this way since that day, and she couldn’t suppress a shudder. The gate had been repaired, the bodies long since buried, but it seemed to Alix that an aura of death remained, like a foul odour that never quite goes away.
The others felt it too, she could tell. Erik’s gaze roamed over the ruins, grim and thoughtful. Liam, meanwhile, wouldn’t even look at the pile of rubble that had once been the Elders’ Gate. He stared straight ahead, unblinking, as though he could pass the place where Arran Green had died without it tugging relentlessly at him, like a fishhook catching at the weeds.
The column drew to a halt at the crossroads. Erik, Liam, and Alix dismounted.
“I guess this is it,” Liam said.
“Guess so.” Alix longed to bury herself in his arms, but felt as if every pair of eyes in the procession were trained on them.
Including Erik’s. Looking from Alix to Liam and back, he sighed. “I’m sorry for this. I wish there were another way.”
Alix nodded. They’d had this conversation too many times to count. There was no point in having it again now, in front of White Wolves and royal guardsmen and half a hundred others.
She tried for a smile. “At least you’ll have Rudi,” she said as the wolfhound trotted over.
“Yeah, great.” Liam gave his dog a wary look. “If you get word I’ve been killed, you’ll know what happened.”
“Death jokes. Perfect.” She had half a mind to slap him; lucky for him there were all those pairs of eyes.
“You are an ass, brother,” Erik said with a rueful smile, clasping Liam’s arm.
He grinned. “It’s a gift.”
“Just promise me you won’t bestow it upon the Onnani.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Erik’s smile faded. “I’m counting on you, Liam. We all are.” He slung himself back in the saddle. “Let Eldora be your sign,” he said before guiding his horse away.
Liam looked at his boots. He shoved a hand through his unruly dark hair. He had nothing to say.
“Good luck.” It was the best Alix could manage.
“Take care of him, Allie. And . . . take care of yourself.” He looked up, the beginnings of a smile hitching one side of his mouth. “I don’t want to hear about frostbite on your toes or panthers in your bedroll.”
“Panthers. In my bedroll.”
“Cats love to snuggle up with warm things.”
“I’ll try to remember that.”
“Speaking of warm things . . .” He reached into a saddlebag and drew out a scroll. “Here. Don’t open it now. Save it for a really cold night.”
She ran a thumb over the wax seal, marked with the royal sunburst. “What is it?”
“It’s a letter, you dunce.”
“I can see that, but—”
“A really cold night, Allie. When you need to warm up.”
She shook her head, baffled.
“Gods, woman, you have no imagination at all.” Gathering her into his arms, he whispered something in her ear.
Alix felt her skin warm. “Oh.”
His laugh against her ear made her want to cry. The gods only knew when she would hear it again. If she would hear it again.
He pulled back and took her chin in his hand. “No, no. Don’t do that. If you cry, you might take me with you, and then how will I ever command this fine pack of manly men?”
She laughed. “And women?”
“The women are especially manly.”
“Don’t let Rona Brown hear you say that.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “We’d better get on. We’re holding up the war.” He planted a soft, chaste kiss on her mouth.
Alix brought a hand to his cheek. Drew in a deep draught of his scent, as though she could bottle it, keep it with her. She was about to pull away when she felt his tongue slip into her mouth. She broke off a moment later, gaze skipping over the assembled crowd. She could feel the fierce blush colouring her cheeks.
“They’ll get over it,” Liam said. He swept onto his horse with a grace belying the weight of his armour, then reached down to offer Alix a hand onto her own horse.
“What, in front of all these manly men?” She mounted up on her own.
“All right, Wolves,” Liam called. “We’re for the Imperial Road.”
Ide said something Alix couldn’t hear, and the Pack turned as one, pointing their mounts south. They’d follow the Imperial Road as far as the river, then swing east onto the Onnani Highway.
“I think I’d rather face a horde of thralls,” Liam said in parting.
“There’s no such thing as thralls anymore,” Alix said. But I’ll be facing the next best thing in the mountain tribes. If she’d been Liam, she would have made a joke of it. But Alix didn’t feel like joking. She was leaving behind the man she loved, and all that lay ahead of her was bitter winds and bitter memories.
And the deadly mountain tribes of Harram.