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And what might Larongar have done in a few short weeks, when the marriage took place? The entire troll army would have been at his disposal, according to the terms of that contract. Now . . .

He frowns, his gaze turning back to the document before him. The spellwork simmers against his fingertips but shows no sign of decay. Strange. Ilsevel’s death should have been enough to bring this alliance to an abrupt end. There must be something else, something Larongar doesn’t yet see. An angle to be exploited.

“Your Majesty.” Artoris’s voice trembles slightly. Larongar growls, irritated, and flashes a one-eyed glare at the bearded little bastard. “With the talisman fallen into Ruvaen’s hands, it’s only a matter of time before the fae break through theobscurisand attack Evisar Citadel. All Morthiel’s work—everything youand he have labored to accomplish over so many years—will be lost.”

“You have defenses of your own at Evisar,” Larongar says, drumming his fingers on the desk.

The mage’s face is pale in the candlelight. “Much of Morthiel’s magic is channeled into the Rift. There’s little enough remaining for defensive spells.”

“What about those undead ghouls of yours? Surely you’ve built up enough stock to hold out for a season or two.”

“Not enough to defend against both Noxaur and the Licornyn King.”

“The Licornyn?” Larongar snorts. “There’s not enough of those damnable half-breeds left to cause more than a mild irritation.”

Artoris’s jaw hardens. “We must have reinforcements, Your Majesty. If you believe in Morthiel’s work, you must find a way to salvage the alliance with the Shadow King.” He leans over the desk then, planting his palms. “You have other daughters.”

Larongar looks at the mage’s hands pointedly. Artoris removes them, folds his arms into the sleeves of his robe, and steps back. With a sigh, Larongar shakes his head. “The contract specifically namesIlsevel. I cannot simply substitute one daughter for another.”

Artoris hesitates. Then, dropping his voice to a low murmur, as though afraid of being overheard. “There might be a way.”

“Is that so?” Larongar rests an elbow on the arm of his chair and tilts his head with mild interest. “I’m listening.”

TO BE CONTINUED