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The Elder pursed his lips and looked back at the iron bars. His brow furrowed deeply, his body unmoving.

“What, afraid of a few bruises?” Sorasa prodded.

He made a noise low in his throat, somewhere between a growl and a huff.

There were a few bruises.

12

THE LAST CARD PLAYED

Erida

The Queen knew why her future husband demanded roses for the morning. Scarlet, crimson, ruby, red as the sun at the first light of dawn. Red was the color of the old empire, and roses bloomed in its shadow, red ghosts to remember ruins gone. They grew all over Ascal, especially in the gardens of the New Palace. They did the same in Lecorra, the once capital, and in the old cities of the provinces from Kasa to the Gates of Trec, where Corblood once ruled. Erida had to admit, she craved roses too, and she thought of ways to wear them in her hair for the ceremony.Bound with silver, braided, pinned. Woven into a crown, perhaps.

Her maids busied themselves in her apartments, laying out gowns for the morning in the grand solar. They would be working well into the night, inspecting every square inch of silk and brocade for flaw while the seamstresses looked on, worrying their hands. Every other servant who could be spared from the preparations or the feast hunted roses. She watched them through the windows, picking through the gardens by torchlight, shears in hand.

Erida’s gown for the ceremony would be cloth of gold trimmed in green, with a cream veil over her crown, as was Gallish tradition. But tonight she favored crimson, to please her future consort. The color felt odd, but not unwelcome. Erida looked down as she walked, her skirts flowing, the silk reflecting the lights of the long hall. Her fingers twitched, winking with the emerald ring of state. It was not a long walk from the residence to the great hall. She could do it in her sleep, every turn and stair etched in her memory.

Tonight it felt both endless and far too short.

My ladies are nervous,she knew. They trailed at a distance, letting Erida walk alone. Like all but the Crown Council, they did not know who she had chosen to wed, or why. Erida counted no confidantes among their number. It was too dangerous to share secrets with her ladies-in-waiting, let alone befriend any one of them. Three were daughters of Gallish nobles, and the other two came from the courts of Larsia and Sardos. Their allegiances were elsewhere, to ambitious fathers or distant kings.

Not to me. There are no companions for ruling queens. The weight on my shoulders is far different, and far more. My mind is my own and no one else’s.

She folded her hands together, falling into her well-practiced air of calm, though she was anything but. Her pulse quickened with fear and anticipation. She would present her consort tonight and marry him in the morning. It had been announced only a few days ago, and the court had not ceased its buzzing ever since. Only the council knew her choice, and they were sworn to secrecy. To her surprise, they seemed to have kept their oath, even Konegin.

For that, at least, Erida could be thankful.

Yet her heart pounded.He is the best choice, the only choice. And he could still be my ruin, a jailor with a rogue smile, a king in all but name, holding my jeweled leash.It was a risk she had to take.

Lord Konegin aimed to catch her by surprise, but Erida expected him to find her before her entrance. She was not disappointed.

“My lord,” she said as he approached, moving to cut off her train of ladies and guards.

He was nearly alone, accompanied only by a pair of knights sworn to his service. Where her own wore green with gold, his two armored men wore tunics of gold with green, the lion roaring and reversed. Konegin himself favored emerald from the rich leather of his boots to his brocade mantle fastened with a jeweled pin beneath his throat.

His bow was pitiful, barely a jerk of his golden head. “Your Majesty,” he said. His chain of office winked at his neck. “I’m glad to have found you before all this begins.”

As if you were not crouched around the corner like a hound waiting for scraps,Erida thought, forcing her smile.

“Indeed, it has already begun if my seneschal is true,” she replied, waving a hand to the stout little man who oversaw the palace and its doings. He cowered behind her ladies. Very few members of the royal court cared to step between the Queen and her cousin, for no amount of gold nor glory. “The barrels are flowing free, and I believe the wine is being passed by now. From Siscaria tonight, isn’t it, Cuthberg? Now that the Madrentines are bothering us at the border again.”

“Y-yes, Your Majesty. Siscarian red and a Nironese vintage from Sapphire Bay for your table,” the seneschal answered in a halting voice, though the Queen had little true interest.

She held her cousin’s piercing gaze as she held her smile. Forcefully, with all her focus.

“I must confess, I wish I saw more of your betrothed,” he said, fishing poorly. “I’ve barely been able to speak to him.”

Erida waved a hand, dismissive. “He spends most of his time in the archives, both in the New Palace and in the Konrada vaults.” It was the truth, easy to tell.

Konegin quirked a blond eyebrow. “A student of history?”

“After a fashion. He wants to know all he can of Galland before he joins me on her throne.”

The lord curled his lip with distaste.

“Cousin, I understand your misgivings.” She spoke as kindly she could. Konegin was a scale to balance. He needed to know her worth, her power as queen, but not feel threatened by it, lest he be spurred to action. “Please know I hold your counsel in the highest regard.”