Chapter Two
ADALE
Despite the rapid downturn that her future appeared to be taking, Crown Princess Adale was anticipating a very good day. She and her waiting ladies, Lethea and Daphene, awoke early that morning, dressed quickly, and headed for the kennels in preparation for the day’s hunt.
Unfortunately, their journey was intercepted by two of Adale’s father’s guards, who informed her that she had a meeting with His Majesty. Over the eighteen years of her life, Adale had bribed countless squires, serving maids, and manservants to claim that they had been unable to find her when her parents summoned. But the guards, soldiers from the temple of Reygmadra, were not so affable. Adale was forced to promise Lethea and Daphene that she would catch up to them later.
Her parents’ rooms were behind a massive set of heavy doors carved with symbols of Iolar and gilded in gold. As the guards pulled the doors open for her, Adale was struck by the usual wave of noise. The parlor was filled with various members of the nobility and their servants, all waiting for her parents to emerge from their rooms so the day could officially begin.
Adale missed the days when the nobles were a rainbow of colors, each trying to outshine one another with their attire. But for the past three months, they had only dressed in shades of silver, and the only gemstones worn were pearls or jet.
Adale slipped past them without making eye contact, for she knew a conversation with any senior member of her parents’ court would only end in someone trying to make her feel guilty about her assorted failings. She went into her parents’ private rooms and shut the doors behind herself to seal off the noise.
Her mother and father were waiting for her, sitting side by side at a table with a stack of papers between them. She stood frozen in the doorway, a little unnerved, and tried to brace herself for whatever lecture was in store.
“Adalheidis,” said her father. He was the only one who called her by her birth name. “Come, sit. We need to discuss your future.”
Adale went over to the table and sat in the lone remaining chair, moving slowly in an admittedly pathetic attempt to delay the conversation.
“Princess Esofi has agreed to marry you, even after your behavior yesterday,” said Saski. “But there is much you must learn if you are to be the queen of Ieflaria. There is so much lost time that we must make up for.”
Adale knew what her mother meant. As a child, she had driven her tutors to despair even as Albion excelled at every task they set before him. The young princess’s focus was poor, her self-control nonexistent, her energy boundless. Even when she tried to behave more like Albion for her parents’ sake, it was always a miserable and short-lived enterprise. By the time she came of age, it seemed her parents had given up on her entirely. All their attention was on Albion, their heir and their hope.
“I can’t do it,” said Adale.
“It is not a question of whether you can or cannot,” said Dietrich. “You must. You are the heir to the throne now. Tens of thousands of lives will be on your shoulders. Every single person within our borders will look to you to keep them safe from dragons, pirates, and the Xytan legion.”
“Very well, you’ve convinced me,” said Adale, hysterical laughter covering her terror. “I have always wanted to move to Ko’li, and now I finally have a reason! I will pack my things tonight.”
“Adale, this is serious!” cried Saski. “You are not so old that you cannot learn to rule, and your father and I do not intend to retire for many years yet. We would not have made you our heir if we believed you were incapable of rising to your station.”
“You’re wrong!” Adale pleaded. “Pick someone else. Pick anyone else. The twins—”
“Adale, this is how wars start!” shouted Dietrich, rising to his feet so quickly that his chair fell back against the floor. “We have a contract with Rhodia! It is your responsibility to honor it in your brother’s place!”
“The twins can honor it!” Adale implored. “They are of the Verheicht family as much as I am. And they can behave—”
“Adale, you are a woman of eighteen, not a child who has yet to master self-control,” said Saski, lowering her voice as though she sought to compensate for Dietrich’s yelling. “There is nothing Brandt and Svana can do that you are not equally capable of.”
That was not even close to the truth, but Adale knew that arguing would only prompt more shouting. Dietrich righted his chair and spoke again.
“You have lived in this castle your entire life,” said Dietrich. “You have never been hungry. You have never been cold. When you were ill, healers were sent directly to your bedside. You have never lifted a smith’s hammer, never milked a goat, never tilled a field. You have never labored until your hands bled. You have never known the fear that your home might be nothing but cinders in a week’s time. It has been pleasant, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, but…” began Adale.
“Did you think you owed Ieflaria nothing in return for your idyllic, prolonged childhood?”
“That’s not fair,” protested Adale. “I never asked for it. I never asked for any of it!”
“The girl who scrubs your floors did not ask for her life, either,” said Dietrich.
“The girl who scrubs my floors cannot be forced to marry a stranger!”
“And that is my point entirely,” said Dietrich. “The lives of our ordinary citizens are not nearly as comfortable as ours. But in return, their responsibilities are not so heavy. Small mistakes are easily forgiven. Even large mistakes seldom result in the deaths of thousands. And when they return to their homes after a day’s work, they are freed from their responsibilities until the sun rises once more. I am the king of Ieflaria every moment of my life, waking and sleeping. No decision that I make is insignificant. The smallest lapse in judgment could cause untold damage to our nation, and even to our continent. Our people understand this, and that is why they allow us to live as we do. It is not entitlement, Adale. It is an exchange. You have enjoyed all the benefits of our station and none of the burdens. You are correct when you say it is unfair, but you fail to realize that it has been unfair entirely in your favor.”
Saski pushed the papers aside and looked at her daughter. “Our subjects trust us, Adale. We are able to live like this because they believe we will sacrifice anything for their well-being, even our own freedom. And they trust us to treat them fairly, as equals. Your cousins may know how to appear honorable to their fellow nobles, but you know they have nothing but contempt for the common citizens of Ieflaria. Do you think they could rule with compassion?”
Adale could not hide her shock. She had never heard anyone speak of her cousins in such a way. She had never heard anyone imply they were imperfect.
“You did not think we had noticed?” asked Saski, accurately interpreting the expression on Adale’s face. “The twins are not as sly as they believe themselves to be. Know this: your cousins will only be permitted to marry Princess Esofi as a last resort. We have spent decades cultivating the goodwill of our people. We are reluctant to allow those two to throw it away.”
Adale could hardly speak. She felt as though she had just been run over by a carriage. There was a very good chance she would be sick if she did not escape the room immediately. She turned her thoughts to the poor maid who would be assigned to clean it up in order to keep her stomach under control. “I-I need to think. I didn’t know. I…I need to think.”
“I think that would be wise,” agreed her mother.
Adale fled.
ADALE’S HORSE WAS a tall, dark bay stallion named Warcry. He was a stubborn creature, but he loved the hunts as much as his rider. By the time she arrived at the stables, he was already saddled and ready to go.
Daphene and Lethea spent the entire ride to the royal hunting grounds trying to wheedle a few words from her, asking her what her parents wanted and what the status of her engagement was. But Adale merely pressed her lips together and refused to look any of them in the face until they grew bored and gave up.
The party met at the usual place just within the borders of the hunting grounds. The royal huntsman and his dogs were waiting to direct the nobles to their quarry, a stag that he had been tracking for the past few days. But Adale found that she could not focus on his words today. All that her parents had said to her was running through her mind.
The Ieflarian nobility was relatively new, for Ieflaria had been a territory of the Xytan Empire until a mere three hundred years ago, when the empire’s power had waned enough for its outermost territories to declare their independence. Adale’s ancestors had been the first regents of Ieflaria, and had sworn they would rule very differently from the Xytan emperors.
The result was the very philosophy that her parents had shared with her that morning. Adale had heard endless variations on it throughout her childhood, but it had always seemed so abstract, until today.
Theodoar seemed to notice her distraction and pulled his horse up alongside her to prod her boot with his own, which of course began a subtle kicking fight, but Adale was smiling by the end of it.
The hunt began, and for a while, all was leisurely and pleasant. Theodoar rode by her side, speaking of all the things Adale needed to hear—namely, everything that wasn’t a wedding or a princess.
But soon enough, the forest warmed under the slowly rising sun and the gossip began in earnest.
“Crown Princess!” sang out Lady Brigit, and Adale flinched at the sound of her new title. “Is it true that your fiancée gave ten thousand gold pieces to the temple yesterday?”
“I’ve no fiancée yet,” retorted Adale. Her chest suddenly felt odd, constricted. She was having difficulty breathing. “And what she does with her money is her own concern.”
“It was not ten thousand when you told it this morning, Brigit,” called Lord Baldric from somewhere in the rear.
“I forgot!” huffed Lady Brigit. “That’s why I was asking!”
“I’ve only spoken to her once,” said Adale, keeping her gaze locked upon the forest path ahead. Her breath was short and shallow, her palms drenching the leather reins in sweat. “She told me nothing of her plans to pay tribute.”
“Then what did you speak of?” Brigit called, prompting much laughter from the party. “Come, Adale, you have told us nothing! Do you wish us to go mad from wondering?”
Up until that moment, Adale had always enjoyed the openness and informality of the nobles she’d chosen to associate herself with, and the fact that such behavior would scandalize her parents had only been part of the appeal. Her social group was made up almost entirely of second-, third-, or even fourth-born children of the Ieflarian nobility. With no titles to inherit unless four or five people died in rapid succession and no significant obligations upon any given day of the year, they spent their time roaming from city to city, enjoying their parents’ wealth and accomplishing nothing of note. It was a life Adale had always loved, and the fact that she commanded little respect had never bothered her until this moment.
“I say nothing because there is nothing to say,” said Adale at last. “She is still a stranger to me.” Perhaps she always would be. Perhaps it would be easier that way.
“Did you not invite her today?” asked Gauslen. Gauslen was a neutroi and used the title “Noble” rather than Lord or Lady.
“I did,” said Adale. “But she has only just arrived, and declined the invitation.”
“That’s a pity,” sighed Brigit from somewhere nearby. “I think her figure would benefit from a day upon horseback.”
It was a relief to finally have something to yell about.
“Brigit!” snapped Adale. “I’ll tolerate your stupid questions because I know you lack the wit to keep them to yourself, but you have no right to insult Esofi! She has done more for the benefit of Ieflaria in these past three days than you have in your entire life!”
“I am only speaking the truth!” retorted Brigit. “Does she not remind you of a tiered cake?” There was some tittering from the back at these words. “Besides, even if she was Dayluue given mortal form, her temperament is not at all suited for yours. She will drive you mad! Perhaps you ought to leave her to one of your cousins.”
“And then abdicate entirely and live out my life with you ruffians?” asked Adale darkly. She had occasionally joked darkly about the possibility, before she had known her parents had objections to her cousins. Now it seemed she was even more trapped than ever before.
“Only if my princess wished it,” Brigit said with a dramatic toss of her braids. “And you do wish it, do you not?”
Adale looked at Theodoar for help. Besides Albion, there was no one who had ever known her mind as well as him. But he only shrugged.
“It would certainly be more satisfying than ruling Ieflaria,” he said. But before Adale could respond, the horns sounded and the chase began. In that moment, Adale forgot everything, save for the thrill of the gallop and the crying of the hounds.
Soon enough, the hunters had the stag at bay. The hounds were restrained to keep them from stealing the day’s kill, and Adale dismounted and drew her sword. As the highest-ranking member of the party, it was her right to make the kill or grant it to another. Today, there was nobody in the party that she didn’t feel like kicking in the head, and so she chose to keep it for herself.
Once the stag was dead, the huntsman came forward to help her finish cutting the carcass into pieces. The meat would be delivered to the kitchens, and the rest would be made into trophies. Adale fed a few small pieces of meat to the dogs as a reward for their help.
Adale remounted and let her thoughts wander as the others gossiped and shouted to one another. She wasn’t looking forward to returning home tonight and wished that she could make a rapid excursion to the countryside without her parents ordering her home to court Esofi properly.
It wasn’t that Adale disliked Esofi; she didn’t know her well enough for that. From the little she had seen, Esofi struck her as very formal but also very gentle. Yes, she was not as thin or as tall as the average Ieflarian, but Adale did not think that was a bad thing. She looked warm, Adale decided, for lack of a better descriptor. Warm and soft.
But Esofi seemed to represent everything Adale had never wanted. Her only consolation was that Esofi probably didn’t want her, either.
Maybe the princess could be convinced to marry one of her cousins. Her parents wouldn’t like it, but they just weren’t being reasonable. Yes, the twins could not be accused of being kind, but surely that was secondary to competence? Her parents claimed Adale was capable of rising to her station, but parents always overestimated the qualities of their children, didn’t they? Adale felt a twinge of confidence return. She knew herself better than anyone else. She knew her cousins would be better regents, if only by default.
Adale rode slowly on the way back to the castle, with only Theodoar beside her. At some point, someone broke out the flasks, but Adale found that she wasn’t inclined to drink that night. Her friends went on ahead, laughing and screeching into the dusk.
“What do you think?” asked Adale quietly.
“I think you’re already miserable,” said Theodoar. “Imagine how much worse it will be once you are married.”
“That is not helpful, Theodoar!” Adale snapped.
“It is the truth,” said Theodoar. “I see your unhappiness. Everyone does. But you don’t have to marry her. Your parents wouldn’t be pleased, but they would not disown you. Let her have one of your cousins, and live your life the way you have always meant to.”
“Perhaps,” said Adale. But something still seemed to be holding her back. Was it her parents’ words or her memory of Albion? She had no idea how her brother had managed to live his life in the way he had, a perfect balance between obligation and revelry, never too rigid or too irresponsible. And he’d always been able to speak with their parents openly without angering them, an art Adale had never mastered.
He would have been…he would have been a good husband for Esofi, a good king for Ieflaria.
“You are still uncertain,” said Theodoar. “Why? What is there to debate?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Adale. “I can’t explain it. And becoming queen is only half of the problem. I’d have to marry a foreigner I barely know. And I know it’s foolish and selfish for a princess to expect she’ll be allowed to marry whoever she likes, but my parents always promised they’d let me pick for myself because—”
Because Albion was there to be the responsible one.
And now he was gone.
“At least speak to her,” Theodoar urged. “See if she would be open to breaking off the betrothal in favor of one of your cousins. And then we can leave for my parents’ estate before Their Majesties find out. We can hide out in the lodge if they send guards. And by the time we return, they’ll have forgotten their anger, and things will go back to the way they ought to be.”
“Perhaps,” said Adale, guilt filling her heart as she thought of her parents’ true opinion of the twins. Still, Theodoar sounded completely certain, and it was difficult not to smile when he seemed so optimistic. “I suppose it’s just…she seems so delicate. I do not wish to hurt her.”
“It’s not personal, Adale. It’s politics,” Theodoar reminded her.
“And if she refuses?” questioned Adale. “Do we just run anyway and hope for the best?”
“Perhaps,” said Theodoar, but now his eyes were distant with thought.
They rode back to the stables in silence. When they arrived, the young nobles were already making plans to go into the city and patronize a string of taverns. It was nothing too unusual, especially after a day like the one they’d had. But Adale found herself wanting nothing more than to fall into bed and forget the world for a few hours, and so she bid them all good night and began the journey back to her rooms.
As Adale dragged her feet across the carpets, she heard a burst of conversation in a language she didn’t understand, followed by some sweet, gentle laughter. She looked up and saw Esofi and all three of her waiting ladies walking toward her, moving slowly in their heavy Rhodian dresses. Esofi was dressed in a pale-blue gown with lacy white ruffles and white silk flowers sewn onto every available surface. There was even a tiny matching bonnet perched on the top of her curls.
Adale had never had a care for her appearance in her life, but now she felt oddly self-conscious in her riding clothes. She had no mirror, but she could only imagine how she must look to the ladies of Rhodia. Adale risked a glance down at herself, and saw with great relief that there did not appear to be any bloodstains on her coat or trousers.
“My lady!” Esofi had noticed her at last. “Have you just returned from your hunt?”
“I… Yes, Princess,” said Adale. Esofi came to a halt, leaving a few prudent steps between them. Esofi’s ladies were whispering to each other behind their fans, but the princess did not seem to notice. The smile on her round, earnest face seemed genuine, though Adale knew that it wasn’t a guarantee of anything.
“I hope nobody was injured?” pressed Esofi.
Adale shook her head. “No, everything was as planned.” She paused awkwardly, unsure of how to continue. Surely Esofi did not want to hear the details of how she’d killed the stag.
“I’ve been trying to learn the layout of the castle,” explained Esofi. “I do hate to trouble the servants for directions when they’re so busy. But I shall have it soon enough, I think.”
“Oh,” said Adale. “Well, uh…”
“I also met with Their Majesties today,” continued Esofi. “I’ve reviewed the marriage contract and found it to my liking. I suppose I will see you tomorrow, then?”
“Tomorrow?” repeated Adale, wondering if she was being dismissed.
“At the ceremonial signing,” prompted Esofi. When Adale said nothing, Esofi added, “Of the marriage contract.”
“Tomorrow?” Adale just barely kept a shriek out of her voice. “It’s so soon?”
“Surely my lady was informed,” said Esofi, worry entering her soft brown eyes for a moment. And now that she mentioned it, Adale did seem to recall her father’s squire, Ilbert, telling her something about something happening on some date, and her presence would be required, but…
“Oh.” Adale’s voice sounded as though she’d just been punched in the gut. “Naturally.”
Esofi did not look to be particularly reassured, and Adale supposed she could not blame her.
“I have also added some conditions of my own to the contract,” explained Esofi. Adale froze as her mind was flooded with one horrible scenario after the other. Had the princess added a personal code of conduct for Adale? A ban on drinking? Or hunting? Or riding? Or anything that wasn’t sitting quietly in prayer? “Their Majesties were quite happy with the additions.”
That cemented it for Adale. It was a ban on drinking!
“Oh.” Adale tried to remember if she had enough linens in her bedchamber to construct a rope long enough to climb out the window and flee Ieflaria forever. “Well, I…I should want to review that, then, I suppose…”
“I would like it if you did.” Esofi’s eyes were warm again. “We’ve had none of your input so far. I feel as though I’m marrying your parents, not you.”
Now was the time to mention her cousins, Adale realized with a small sinking feeling in her heart. She hadn’t wanted it to be like this, an abrupt declaration in a hallway, but things were moving so quickly. It might even be the only chance she ever got. If only there were more time!
How to phrase it, though? Adale was so clumsy with words. Surely, she’d find the worst possible way to convey the sentiment. And then Esofi would be so disappointed and hurt, and she might even cry, and then Esofi’s smallest lady, the one who looked like a snake transfigured into a girl, would step forward with venom spitting from her teeth and—
“Well,” said Esofi brightly. “We mustn’t be late for the sundown service. Good night to you, Crown Princess Adale.”
“I…but…yes.” Coward! Adale cursed herself. You worthless, worthless coward. “Good night, Princess Esofi.”
The ladies departed, leaving Adale standing there alone but for her racing heart.
Adale all but ran back to her rooms, hands trembling. It took a moment to open her door because the key kept missing the lock. Once inside, she hurried to her writing desk, which was seldom used, and searched the drawer for ink and paper. She took a few long breaths to settle herself and then composed a quick note.
Theodoar—
I have failed utterly. The signing of the marriage contract is to be tomorrow. I will not have enough time to propose our solution to the princess. Shall we go tonight? Respond quickly.
A
Adale folded and sealed the note with wax, blowing impatiently on it to make it cool faster. Once it was dry, or dry enough, Adale went out into the hallway and grabbed a passing page boy by the shoulder.
“Deliver this to Lord Theodoar immediately,” she ordered, shoving the note into his hand. “Return with a response tonight and there will be three gold coins in it for you.”
The page, who had probably been headed to the nightly service at the orders of whomever was in charge of him, brightened up and bolted off like a rabbit. Adale felt confident that even if Theodoar was not inclined to reply out of disgust for her failure, the page would badger him until he’d sent something in response.
Adale changed into her nightclothes simply to pass the time and paced around her quarters, occasionally stopping to rearrange some trophies. For some reason, her breathing was only coming in sharp, shallow bursts and her hands would not stop shaking. She was going to start kicking furniture over if she did not have a response soon.
The ringing of the bells signaled the start of the sundown service, but Adale ignored them. She’d always thought of the evening services as an even greater waste of time than the morning ones.
Since Albion’s death, Adale had barely set foot in the castle chapel or any of the great temples in Birsgen, except on certain holy days where the fight with her mother was more trouble than simply attending. She did not care. Everyone knew that the temples were corrupt, collecting mountains of tribute and speaking their own words in the place of long-absent gods.
At long, long last, the page boy returned. Adale gave him five coins instead of the promised three and tore the note open.
Adale
Fear not, I have a plan to buy us more time. Tomorrow, act as usual and speak as usual. I will take care of the rest. Trust me.
Theodoar
Adale read the note over a few times in shock. Theodoar did not wish to leave immediately? He had a plan? The idea of Theodoar with a plan left her feeling uneasy, and she hoped Esofi was not in any danger.
Adale turned the note over, scrawled the words What are you going to do? on the back, and gave it to the page boy. And though she waited all through the night, waking at every hour with her heart threatening to dance out of her chest, a reply never came.
AT THE RINGING of the morning bell, Adale tumbled out of bed and hit the floor with a soft thump. She stayed there for a moment, contemplating the possibility of throwing herself from the window and putting her suffering to an end. Fortunately, or unfortunately, Lady Lethea was somehow alert enough after last night’s revelries to hear that her lady was awake and stumbled in to help her.
Adale usually disdained having help when she was dressing, but that day, she was glad for the extra set of hands.
“You are not well at all,” observed Lady Lethea. “Is it the princess?”
“What else?” asked Adale. “And…I believe Theodoar may be planning something foolish.”
“That’s unusual only in that you have not been included in the preparations,” pointed out Lady Lethea.
“Perhaps,” said Adale. “But…I am worried. Though I suppose he would never harm someone.”
“Harm someone?” Lethea met Adale’s eyes. “How do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Adale.
“You truly aren’t well,” repeated Lethea, pressing her hand to Adale’s forehead. “All this worrying! Don’t you dare turn into your mother.”
That, at least, made Adale laugh. “Very well, you’ve persuaded me. Let’s go to breakfast. They will all be shocked to see us awake at this hour.”
So, leaving Daphene to sleep off her headache, they went down to the banquet hall where all meals were served. Adale had a feeling that Esofi would be there and was looking forward to a reassurance that the princess was unharmed and, hopefully, still oblivious to Theodoar’s plans.
Adale had never been early for breakfast before, let alone on time, so it was a bit of a novelty that the servants were setting everything out in preparation. Beside her, Lethea yawned.
“Why have I agreed to come here?” she murmured. A servant drew the heavy drapes open with a great flourish, flooding the room with morning light, and Lethea flinched as though he’d brandished a sword at her.
“Over here,” said Adale, heading for a seat that would give her a full view of the doors so that she might see Esofi the moment that she entered. Unfortunately, the meal would not begin until the arrival of Adale’s parents, and so there was no food to keep her occupied in the meantime.
As the minutes passed, Adale began to worry that Esofi had decided to take breakfast in her own rooms or that something had befallen her. But surely if something had happened to the princess, the servants would be talking about it?
Soon enough, Esofi and her ladies entered. As foreigners, they were the only ones not required to dress in the mourning colors, and their bright dresses stood out against the servants and nobles in their dull shades of black and gray and occasional purples. Adale was glad that the mourning period would soon be over. She felt that she shouldn’t have to be reminded of her brother’s death every time she looked at someone.
Esofi must have sensed Adale’s attention upon her and met her gaze with a bright smile. Her gown that day was a pleasant shade of palest pink with puffed sleeves that ended just below the shoulder to accommodate long gloves made of lace. The fabric of her skirt had been pulled up and twisted into bows around the knee, revealing a second layer of ivory skirts beneath, embroidered and trimmed with pearls. Esofi somehow managed to take her seat without ruining any of it.
But before Adale could speak to her, the doors opened again and Their Majesties entered. Adale reflected that she seldom actually saw her parents unless they needed to shout at her personally rather than via a squire or servant.
“Adale!” said Queen Saski, not bothering to hide the shock in her tone as she spotted her daughter at the table. Immediately, all eyes were upon her. Adale tried not to glower. “You’ve come to a meal! Or perhaps I have been poisoned and am in the throes of hallucination.”
“I’ve come for the meal, not for you,” retorted Adale, but her words were lost in the shuffle of places as everyone in the room moved so that Adale could sit by her parents. Adale protested every step of the way, but it was no use and eventually she found herself in the chair beside her mother.
At least she was a bit nearer to Esofi, not that she could say anything important to her with her parents so close.
Esofi seemed to be eating surprisingly little, and was more concerned with answering her mother’s questions than anything else. Adale forced herself to pay attention, but they didn’t actually seem to be discussing anything important, merely a tour of the city that Esofi hoped to take soon.
Adale realized that her attention had drifted back to Esofi’s face again. There was such a warmth and softness about her that Adale found herself feeling relieved that she hadn’t mentioned her cousins last night.
In fact, for some reason, she found that the idea didn’t seem quite as satisfying as it had the day before. Adale’s parents’ assessment of her cousins the previous morning had been frighteningly accurate. If one of the twins was allowed to sit on the throne, the entire castle staff might give notice. And what about Esofi?
Adale glanced over at the princess. It would be like a rabbit marrying a wolf. The palace staff might be able to hold their own for a while and always had the option of leaving to find better employment, but Esofi would be trapped forever. Could Adale really leave someone, even a stranger, to such a fate?
Perhaps…perhaps if Adale did marry Esofi, it wouldn’t be as bad as she was anticipating.
Adale gave her head a shake. Was she going mad? Even if Esofi made a pleasant bride, there was no way Adale would be anything other than the most shameful queen in Ieflarian history. She forced herself to remember the threats her father had listed: dragons, pirates, the Xytan legion. Adale did not have the fortitude to contend with such issues.
Breakfast came to an end with the departure of the king and queen, who first made Adale swear that she would be at the signing of the contract in front of all the important members of the court that afternoon. When they were finally gone, Adale and Esofi seemed to come to an unspoken agreement and walked from the hall together, their ladies trailing behind.
“Have you plans for the day until the signing?” asked Adale. Perhaps if she stayed by Esofi’s side until then, she could make sure Theodoar’s plan did not cause the princess any harm.
“Certainly nothing that cannot be postponed,” said Esofi, looking up at Adale with hope in her eyes. “Now that we’ve settled the issue of stationing the battlemages, I’ve found myself with far fewer worries.”
“The battlemages?” repeated Adale. She vaguely remembered hearing something about that.
“To defend against the dragons,” said Esofi. “Your country has withstood them admirably, but it’s really wiser to engage them with Talcia’s magic. There will be far fewer casualties. When I first arrived, many were hoping a battlemage could be assigned to each particular location. Yesterday, I had to convince the Temple of Reygmadra that most battlemages are not powerful enough to defeat a dragon alone. The archpriestess was not pleased, but everyone agreed that we must take time to determine where the mages are needed most.”
“Oh,” said Adale. The Temple of Reygmadra, Goddess of Warfare and Eighth of the Ten, commanded Ieflaria’s military. They were the largest of the Eleven temples in Ieflaria, and second only to the Temple of Iolar in influence. Adale could not help but be impressed by Esofi standing up to the archpriestess. “The dragons have troubled us for as long as anyone can remember, but in recent years, it’s become…excessive. Nobody seems to know why.”
“Dragons can smell the presence of wealth,” Esofi explained. “Precious metals and jewels have a scent to them, like meat or bread. Legends say they were once wise and reasonable creatures and even had the ability to speak. But as mankind grew civilized under Iolar’s guidance, we began to draw more wealth from the earth and the temptation became too great to resist any longer. When Talcia realized what they had become, she took their wisdom away and they became like animals. I suspect your nation is only suffering from these attacks because their population has grown too large for their islands. If we can cull their numbers, the worst of the attacks should cease.”
Adale realized that Esofi seemed to be walking in the direction of the castle’s chapel, but she wasn’t sure if this was intentional or not.
“How do you intend to do that?” asked Adale. “You wouldn’t send soldiers to the Silver Isles, would you?”
“Oh goodness, no!” said Esofi. “That would be a death sentence. There must be hundreds, perhaps thousands of dragons on those islands. Nobody can fight that many all at once.”
“You seem to be quite certain of things,” said Adale. She wondered if she would be equally confident if she hadn’t been such a terrible student.
“Not all things,” replied Esofi. “Only the few which I have been educated for. But few kingdoms can say they boast a mastery of magic in the way Rhodia does, and so I suppose that makes me valuable.”
Esofi paused as they reached the doors of the Chapel of the Ten. They were painted with a scene of Iolar and Talcia standing before the sun and the moon, respectively. The two reached for one another, their fingertips meeting briefly where the two doors fit together.
“Did you wish to go in?” asked Adale.
“No, I think not,” Esofi mused. “I do love this design, though. I see so little of Talcia in your country. She must be feeling neglected, I think.”
“Oh.” If there was anything Adale thought of less often than the worship of the gods, she could not recall it.
“Do you know how many babies are born in Ieflaria with Talcia’s magic?” asked Esofi. “I asked Archmage Eads yesterday. One in ten thousand.”
“That’s bad?” guessed Adale.
“I’ve never heard of worse.” Esofi shook her head, setting her curls bouncing. “But this must be why. Once we restore her worship, she will look upon Ieflaria more kindly. I only wonder how she managed to fall out of favor to begin with.”
Adale said nothing. She had always been of the opinion that if the gods truly did exist, they cared little for Inthya below. But Esofi spoke of them as though she knew them personally.
“I’ve been told that your parents will take petitions today,” said Esofi. “I would like very much to observe them.”
“Oh,” said Adale in surprise. “If you’d like.” Once every month, her parents would open the castle gates and grant audiences with common Ieflarians. It usually ended in sending out more supplies and soldiers to small settlements that she had never heard of. Adale had not been to one since Albion’s death, for he was no longer there to urge her into attendance.
“My parents only opened their throne room once every six months,” said Esofi. “I suppose since Rhodia’s population is so much lower than Ieflaria’s, there was less of a need. I am eager to see what issues your citizens find most pressing.”
“It will be nothing but requests for aid against the dragons,” predicted Adale. “They’re striking all across the country. It’s strange—they’ll cross our borders and fly peacefully for days, unless intercepted. Then suddenly they’ll decide they’ve had enough of a certain town. You’d expect they’d simply attack the first settlement they come upon.”
“Yes, I had heard,” Esofi murmured.
“Well, let’s hope they don’t ruin too much of our harvest this year,” said Adale. “I don’t know how much we have left in the storehouses.”
“You don’t?” Esofi gave her that wide-eyed look of surprise that Adale was rapidly growing accustomed to.
“Here, the throne room is this way,” said Adale quickly. “If we don’t hurry, we’ll have to stand in the back.”
In fact, they still had about half an hour before the audiences began, but something about the line of conversation was making Adale feel terribly inadequate.
Albion would have known, an ugly voice inside of her chastised. Albion could have told her exactly how many grains of wheat are left in the storehouses.
They reached the throne room as it was beginning to fill, and Adale took a spot near to her parents’ thrones, determined to show that she could be a responsible heir if she chose to be. Knight Commander Glaed was already there in his usual place, with Sir Livius just behind him. Both wore chain mail beneath dazzlingly white tabards, marked on the chest with an image of the sun.
Adale supposed they’d been there for an hour, probably discussing the evils of sleeping in late and eating cake. She could not understand why a person might be compelled to join the Order of the Sun.
“Crown Princess,” the Knight Commander said, not completely managing to keep a note of surprise from his voice.
“Don’t start with me, Glaed,” said Adale darkly. On top of swearing off drinking, gambling, and having any sort of fun at all, Paladins of the Sun were also forbidden to tell even the smallest of lies. Because of that, Glaed had never disguised his disapproval of her. But it seemed Glaed wasn’t in the mood to criticize her today, and instead, he turned his gaze to Esofi.
“It is an honor, Princess,” he said, bowing deeply. “I am Glaed of Armoth, Knight Commander of the Order of the Sun in Ieflaria. My companion is Sir Livius, formerly Knight Commander of the Order of the Sun in Xytae. We are both at your service.”
“Thank you, Knight Commander,” said Esofi. “I am told your paladins have been instrumental in protecting Ieflaria’s people. It is fortunate that you are so numerous here—I don’t think I’ve gone more than a day without seeing a paladin somewhere since I stepped off the ship.”
“The Order of the Sun has withdrawn their support from the Xytan Empire,” said Sir Livius. He was a Xytan native, tall and olive-skinned with silver streaking his dark hair. “For many years, Emperor Ionnes overstepped himself and paid tribute to Reygmadra above Iolar. Still, for the sake of defending the people of Xytae, we intended to remain loyal. But last autumn, the emperor announced that we would join his soldiers in Masim.”
Adale remembered the outrage that had followed the announcement. The Order of the Sun did not wage wars of conquest, and she couldn’t imagine what Emperor Ionnes must have been thinking to even attempt to order such a thing. The Paladins of the Sun stationed in his empire might have been his citizens, but everyone knew they were more akin to priests than soldiers.
“I sent a courier to the Justices,” continued Sir Livius, naming the highest tier of the Order of the Sun. “They ordered all those who were stationed within Xytae’s borders to find more worthy posts. Some went to Masim to aid the Masimi in defending their homeland from Xytae. But most of us could not bear the thought of fighting our own countrymen and came to Ieflaria instead.”
“It is fortunate that you did not have to go so far from your home,” said Esofi. “I hope that someday Emperor Ionnes will be penitent and allow you to return.”
Not too soon, though, thought Adale. We need their protection far more than Xytae does.
“I do as well,” Sir Livius said, inclining his head. “Every sunrise, I pray that he comes to see reason. But I fear I will not see my homeland again until the day he joins Asterium.”
Adale was surprised at the admission, since she had never heard any of the paladins speak of longing for anything. But Esofi only nodded in silent understanding.
“Oh look,” said Adale as a familiar yellow-clad figure entered the room. “Knight Commander, it’s your dearest companion.”
It was very amusing to see Glaed’s jaw clench at the sight of the archpriest. One might be inclined to believe the two would find common ground in their shared devotion to Iolar, but this was not the case. It seemed that the only thing the two agreed upon was their mutual disdain.
“Pompous, prideful, corrupt old man,” Glaed muttered. “What does he believe he can do for the petitioners? Squeeze a few more coins from them?”
“Watch this, I’m going to see if I can get them to fight,” Adale told Esofi.
“Adale!” scolded Esofi.
But any minor scandal that Adale might have orchestrated was averted by the arrival of King Dietrich and Queen Saski. The co-regents took their seats, and the first petitioner of the day was shown in.
As Adale had predicted, it was a man from a northern town, asking for more guards and more supplies. He was a woodsman by trade and expressed fear that the dragons would burn down the forests if there weren’t more soldiers stationed in the north.
“Archpriestess Gerta has repeatedly stated that there are no more soldiers in the Ieflarian army left to send without removing protection from another settlement,” King Dietrich said. He looked to Knight Commander Glaed. “Can any paladins be reassigned?”
“Our priority is the farmlands in the south,” said Glaed. “If the dragons burn our fields before the harvest, it will not matter how many soldiers are stationed at our borders.”
“But the dragons are attacking from the north!” cried the woodsman. “Our lands are nearest to the Silver Isles. We are in far greater danger! We are citizens of Ieflaria as much as any farmer. Are we not entitled to the same protections?”
Now Adale remembered why she never attended these audiences. They made her want to crawl into her bed and never return to the awful outside world.
“Woodsman,” said King Dietrich, “I would grant you your request if I had even a single soldier to spare. But I do not. Nor does the Order of the Sun. I will grant you all the supplies your people need, but—”
“What about her?” demanded the man, turning to point directly at Esofi, drawing shocked gasps and murmurs from the crowd. “The entire country saw her arrive with her army! Or are they meant to huddle around the castle and protect the royalty alone?”
“Woodsman,” repeated King Dietrich in a far less gracious tone than the one he’d been using a moment before. “You forget yourself.”
“Am I wrong to expect protection from my future queen?” Desperation, it seemed, had overcome the man’s common sense. “Why is she here, if not to save us from the dragons?”
The guards were already coming forward, and Adale felt pity for the man. But Esofi raised her hand, and they paused.
“May I speak?” she asked.
There was no movement in the throne room for a long moment. After sharing a glance with Queen Saski, King Dietrich nodded.
Adale could see the tremble of Esofi’s jaw, but when she spoke, her voice betrayed no anxiety.
“Woodsman,” Esofi said. “I understand your fear and your frustration. There is no rapid solution, which is difficult to hear in such desperate times. Yes, I brought battlemages to Ieflaria with me. But my mages are few in number, and we must assign them judiciously, or else their journey will have been for naught. We have not yet decided where they will be assigned, but I swear to you that I will remember your words when it comes time to send them to their posts. Can you accept this?”
Adale was surprised to notice that Esofi’s entire body was now tensed, as though she was expecting the man to leap forward and strike her. But the man seemed to relax. He lowered his head and nodded.
“I think this petition is complete,” said King Dietrich. “You may report to the storehouses for aid. One of the clerks will assist you. Who is next?”
Adale turned to Esofi, who was still staring at the space where the woodsman had stood.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“The princess needs air,” said the tallest of Esofi’s ladies, gripping Esofi by the arm. Lexandrie? Was that her name? “Come, this room is far too crowded anyway.”
Lexandrie steered Esofi from the room, with the other two hurrying after. Meanwhile, the second group of petitioners had come in and were beginning to complain to the king and queen that the priestesses of Dayluue had put that statue out again.
Adale looked at Lethea. “Come on, we have to go after them.”
“Do we?” asked Lethea. “I want to hear this.”
Adale grabbed her friend and dragged her after the Ieflarians. They passed more petitioners waiting outside but did not stop until they’d reached a quieter area of the palace. Adale was able to direct them to a sitting room, which fortunately was not in use when they arrived. Esofi sank down onto one of the sofas, while the youngest waiting lady fanned her with a handkerchief.
“The nerve of him!” seethed the girl. “Does nobody in this country have any manners?”
“Why did you bother to respond to him?” demanded Lexandrie, as if she thought she were Esofi’s mother. “He didn’t deserve your words.”
“He was frightened,” Esofi protested. “And the guards were going to throw him out.”
“They should have!”
“For not wanting to be eaten by a dragon? Is that a crime?”
Esofi and Lexandrie glared at each other for a long moment.
“Don’t fight,” said the youngest waiting lady. “It turned out all right, didn’t it? He got an answer and he left.”
“He was not entitled to any answers, Mireille!” Lexandrie snapped.
Adale suddenly felt an appreciation for her own waiting ladies, whom she had been allowed to select for herself. She couldn’t imagine having to endure being assigned whomever her mother picked.
“Enough,” said Esofi. “Both of you, please.”
In the ensuing silence, Adale slid into the space beside Esofi. “Are you well?”
Esofi gave a brittle laugh. “Oh, of course I am. I was just a little startled. I’ve never been spoken to in such a way by a commoner. My guard was down. Do you think I responded well?” She looked into Adale’s eyes earnestly, and Adale felt her face begin to grow uncomfortably warm.
“I do,” said Adale.
Esofi nodded to herself. “At home, I was always comfortable around the lower classes because I knew they would never second-guess me,” she said in a low voice. “Even if I said something very silly. But everything is so different here. I feel as though I am off-balance.”
“That was unusual, even for our outspoken people,” Adale reassured her. “Our citizens might not be so formal as Rhodia’s, but they are respectful. I believe he only singled you out because he was desperate.”
“You are probably right,” Esofi agreed. “Do you truly believe I responded well? Perhaps I should have done a better job of explaining—”
“Now you’re being silly!” cried Adale. For a moment, Esofi stared at her with an expression of pure shock, but then she saw the smile on Adale’s face and began to smile as well.
“Pardon me, Your Highnesses,” said a new voice. Adale looked around to see a servant standing just outside the doorway. He had a sealed letter clutched in one hand. “I’ve a message for Princess Esofi from Lord Theodoar of Leikr.”
Adale’s heart sank. She’d almost forgotten about this part.
Esofi looked surprised but accepted the envelope. “Lord Theodoar. He’s one of your entourage, isn’t he?”
“I…” Adale looked at the note helplessly, wondering if there was any way she could snatch it away without looking like she had been struck mad. Esofi was already breaking the seal and unfolding it.
“How very odd,” said Esofi after a long pause. “He says that there is a matter of great importance he wishes to discuss with me.” Esofi looked up at Adale. “Do you have any idea what this might be about?”
Adale felt that this was a very unfair question.
“He asks me to meet with him in the east courtyard.” Esofi frowned, her white face powder leaving a crease behind in her forehead.
“Allow me to accompany you, then,” said Adale. “Theodoar is my trusted friend, and I do not believe he would mean you harm, but I’m afraid he might be about to do something foolish.”
Esofi looked up at Adale again, a flicker of suspicion in her face. “Very well. If you will show me the way? I fear I have forgotten.”
“Of course,” said Adale. But then Esofi got to her feet and strode from the room, hands clutching so tightly at her parasol that Adale thought she might splinter the wooden handle. Adale made the mistake of glancing back at Esofi’s ladies. None of them were smiling. The littlest one looked Adale directly in the eyes, her face as cold as marble. Then, very slowly, she raised one finger up to her own pale neck and drew a line across it.
“This is not my fault,” Adale muttered through gritted teeth. “This is everyone’s fault except mine!”
But it seemed that Esofi had not required directions at all and successfully led them to the courtyard without a word. Theodoar’s familiar silhouette was waiting on the green, and he was not alone. His own servants were there, along with some of the nobles who had been on the hunt yesterday.
Esofi did not falter in her step, though the waiting lady who had just threatened to murder Adale pushed ahead so that she and the princess were shoulder to shoulder.
“Princess Esofi of Rhodia,” said Theodoar as she approached. “And…Adale?”
“Lord Theodoar,” Esofi replied. “I received your message. Is all well?”
Theodoar pulled himself into a very formal pose. “Unfortunately, it is not,” he announced in a voice that carried across the courtyard. “I cannot allow you to be engaged to Crown Princess Adale without first challenging you to single combat for the right.”
“What?” cried Adale. At the same moment, the little waiting lady made a sudden move, as though she meant to lunge at Theodoar and tear his throat out. But Esofi’s parasol shot out and caught her across the chest before she could take even a step.
“Single combat?” repeated Esofi. She gave a small laugh. “Do you think I am some silly courtesan who has come to your country on a whim? My parents signed my marriage contract when I was three years old. Do you think Their Majesties will care what the result of your game is?”
“I have made my challenge,” said Theodoar. “You may choose your weapon, or your champion.”
“This is not happening,” insisted Adale. “Theodoar! What are you thinking?”
“I’m doing this for you, Adale.” He looked at her in surprise. “I thought that this was what you wanted.”
“I don’t know what I want!” cried Adale.
“What is he talking about?” asked Esofi, finally acknowledging her.
“I…” Adale found that she didn’t know how to begin explaining. “It’s…it is complicated. But never mind that now. I will fight for you.”
“You certainly will not!” snarled the littlest waiting lady, shoving herself forward so that she and Adale were practically chest to chest, or perhaps chest to stomach. “Princess, I will fight for you, and I will kill this insolent toad where he stands.”
“It is not meant to be a fight to the death!” cried Adale.
“Enough,” said Esofi, and even though she did not raise her voice, something in her tone compelled them all to silence. “Lord Theodoar, tell me the laws of single combat in your country.”
Theodoar nodded, though one eye was locked on Esofi’s murderous waiting lady. “It is a straightforward affair, and, as the crown princess said, only until the drawing of first blood, or until someone surrenders. You may fight using a weapon of your choosing. If you win, you may sign the marriage contract with the crown princess uncontested. If you do not, you will pursue her hand no longer.”
Adale knew that not even Theodoar believed that last part, but at least now she understood his plan. Winning the duel would delay the marriage proceedings long enough for them to escape the castle, assuming he was able to defeat whomever Esofi selected. Though Theodoar was unquestionably gifted with a sword, Adale had no doubt that the waiting lady was more than capable of murdering him, and might even be proud to be arrested for it.
“Very well,” said Esofi, and handed her parasol to Adale.
“What are you doing?” Adale sputtered.
“I am accepting this challenge,” said Esofi, as though it was obvious or even logical.
“Yourself?” For the first time, Theodoar looked uncertain. “Surely you wish to select a champion. Or…at least…a different dress.”
“Nonsense,” said Esofi. “Best to get this over and done with now. Are there any other rules I ought to know about?”
Theodoar seemed uncomfortable, and Adale wondered if his common sense had finally caught up with him. “Only to fight with honor, Princess.”
“Then I am ready,” said Esofi.
“You must have a weapon,” Theodoar began, but before he had even finished the sentence, there was a flash like lightning and a cloud of sparkling rose-pink mist crackled to life around Esofi’s hands.
Cries of shock and amazement echoed around the lawn, but Esofi seemed not to hear them. She was already striding forward to meet Theodoar at the middle of the lawn, the pink light trailing up her arms.
Theodoar edged back as if rethinking his challenge, but his friends called out encouragements. Whether this was because they honestly believed he had a chance or simply because they wanted to see a good fight was unclear to Adale.
Theodoar seemed to be cheered by the support, though. He unsheathed his blade and took his position.
“Is this allowed?” murmured Lethea in Adale’s ear.
“I didn’t know she had magic,” Adale whispered back. She realized that she was still clutching at the parasol Esofi had handed her. “Did you know she had magic?”
“I don’t know anything,” said Lethea with refreshing honesty. “I just turn up for meals.”
“Of course she has magic, you fools,” hissed Lexandrie. “Did you truly believe she was just a fat little rosebud?”
“Maybe,” said Adale. Lexandrie made a noise of disgust and gave her a withering glare.
Movement caught Adale’s eye, and she realized that the light in Esofi’s right hand was shaping itself into a sword, glittering and translucent. Theodoar looked relieved at the sight; it was clear he believed that Esofi would engage him normally—or, at least, as normally as one could with a sword made of what seemed to be pure magic.
The match began. Theodoar moved in to strike, but Esofi brought her blade up to meet his, parrying the blow. Adale could not see her footwork through her long, elaborate skirts, but she suspected from her stance alone that Esofi had never actually been trained with a sword.
But perhaps she didn’t need to be.
Theodoar pulled his sword arm in and stepped back, only to move in again with a complicated three-step attack that Adale had seen him use to best many opponents in the past. Esofi looked surprised, and for a moment, Adale believed the match would be over before it began.
And that was when Esofi swung with her left hand, sending a wave of sparkling light directly at Theodoar. It caught him in the chest and sent him staggering backward. The spectators behind him scattered, but Theodoar regained his footing and moved into a defensive position.
“That’s not f—” Theodoar managed to say before another blast of magic hit him. This time, he was not so lucky. The magic knocked him flat on his back.
“Not fair!?”
Adale had no idea that the princess could shout like that. It was so at odds with her soft appearance. Esofi stormed toward him, translucent sword still glimmering in her hand, beads of sweat falling from her forehead and distorting her makeup. “You spoiled, selfish, pathetic child! You neglect your lands and your people in order to drink away your inheritance and believe you have the right to face me in combat? I slew three dragons by my own hand during the journey to Birsgen, and I would have killed more if they hadn’t learned to fear my scent!”
Another man might have surrendered there, but Theodoar was nothing if not stubborn. In a single lightning-quick movement, he managed to leap back to his feet, sword still in hand. Adale was relieved to see that the magic did not seem to have burned his skin in any way, and Theodoar merely looked as though he had faced an inordinately strong wind.
Theodoar’s feet moved automatically into a defensive stance, leaving Adale to wonder how he intended to protect against another wall of pure force. He seemed to reach the same conclusion, though, and stepped forward again to strike.
This time, Esofi brought both hands up in front of herself, palms flat. Before the blade could touch her, a wall of pink light sprang up in front of it. There was a sound like metal striking glass, but Theodoar did not step back the way Adale had been anticipating. Instead he tried the move again, striking at the barrier in the exact same way as though he hoped to shatter it. There was no result.
Not to be dissuaded just yet, Theodoar went to strike a third time. Esofi’s hands shifted again, and now Adale could see that there did seem to be a sort of technique to her movements, though it was nothing like the light, rapid art of swordplay. Esofi moved as she breathed, with slow and deliberate gestures that seemed to come from deep within her chest.
As Theodoar’s blade came down, the barrier vanished as though it had never been. But before the blade could pierce her, Esofi brought one leg back so that she was almost-kneeling on the grass. At the same time, she drew her right hand upward. Her magical blade intercepted Theodoar’s metal one, and there was a sound like a pair of shears cutting through empty air. As one, the spectators gasped.
Half of Theodoar’s blade now lay on the fresh morning grass. The other half was still clutched in his hand.
“Do you yield?” asked Esofi.
It seemed a foregone conclusion, but to Adale’s great surprise, Theodoar said nothing. Adale wondered if he truly meant to continue the challenge with half a blade. Esofi seemed to have come to the same realization and, before Theodoar could strike again, hit him in the face with another wave of force.
Theodoar hit the grass again on his back, and the broken hilt fell from his hand. He reached for it, but this time, Esofi followed him. Esofi gave a strong kick, and her long skirts prevented Adale from seeing precisely what happened, but Theodoar gave a yelp of pain in response. A moment later, Adale saw him draw his hand close to the safety of his body.
“I didn’t mean—” began Theodoar, trying to prop himself up on his elbows. Esofi whipped her arm around, and he found himself staring down at the end of her magical blade.
“I did not order you to speak!” she declared in a voice that reminded Adale of her own parents. She lifted her head to glare at the crowd that had gathered to watch. “There! Has this waste of my time satisfied you? Am I worthy to be your queen and save your country yet, or is there another silly test I must first pass? Tell me quickly!”
Nobody spoke, though a few of the young nobles who had been fortunate enough to get positions near the back of the crowd took the opportunity to sneak away.
“No,” said Theodoar at long last. “There is…there is nothing else.”
Adale decided to try to reason with Esofi, for Theodoar’s sake. After waiting a moment to make sure Esofi wasn’t going to start swinging again, Adale moved forward.
“Eso—Princess, I swear, I didn’t mean for this to—” Adale began.
“And you!” Esofi looked Adale in the face for the first time, and it was only then that Adale realized that there were tears brimming in her eyes.
“Esofi—”
“No,” said Esofi, shaking her head. “I believed…but you must think me quite foolish.”
“That’s not true!” Adale protested vehemently. “I swear by the deity of your choosing that I knew nothing of this!”
“Do not do me the dishonor of lying to me.” Esofi’s voice was suddenly very soft. Her ladies gathered around her like a living shield, and the magic vanished from her hands, leaving behind no trace that it had ever been there. “Your mastery of deceit is so poor. How silly of me to be blind to it until now.”
“Esofi, I…” There was so, so much that Adale wished to say, but she barely knew how to begin. “I did not want this.”
“There seem to be many things you do not want, Crown Princess,” retorted Esofi bitterly. “Unfortunately, they have been granted to you regardless.”
“Do not say that,” pleaded Adale. “Please—walk with me and I will explain. I only need time to find the words—”
Esofi shook her head. “No. No more words. I understand more than you could ever explain.”
“Are you all quite finished?” demanded a harsh voice. Adale spun around to discover her own mother standing there, attended by her own ladies and a selection of the castle guards. Her face was flushed scarlet and her braid was half-unpinned. It looked as though she’d run directly from the throne room to the lawn, except that was impossible because Queen Saski did not run.
“Theodoar of Leikr,” said Queen Saski, looking more displeased than Adale had seen her in living memory. “On your feet.”
Theodoar scrambled upward, and a few of his braver friends stepped forward to help him. When he was properly upright, Queen Saski spoke again.
“I am struggling to think of a reason why I should not have you imprisoned for the rest of your life. Certainly no one would miss you.”
“Your Majesty—” he began.
“But then, perhaps that would be too lenient,” Queen Saski continued as though he had not spoken. “After all, you are so fond of idleness. I do not think the dungeons would be too dissimilar from the life to which you are accustomed. Perhaps instead I will send you to join the defense of the north, so your existence might benefit someone, even if it is only a hungry dragon.”
Theodoar seemed to realize there was nothing he could possibly say to quell her rage.
“I have tolerated you and your shameful, idle peers in my castle in the hopes that your parents might be able to better tend to their lands without you getting underfoot, but now I see that I have merely been rewarding them for their reprehensible parenting,” continued Queen Saski. “You will go to your rooms immediately and begin your preparations for the journey home. A carriage will be readied for you by tonight. If I see your face again before my dying day, I will have you thrown into the dungeons for treason. Am I understood?”
Theodoar bowed his head. “Yes, Your Majesty.” He cast one last sorrowful look at Adale and then began the walk back to the castle.
“Good.” Saski turned her attention to Esofi. “Princess.”
“My sincerest apologies, Your Majesty,” said Esofi, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief embroidered in roses. “If you will grant me but a moment to compose myself.” One of her ladies began pulling brushes and face powder from her satchel and set to work repairing Esofi’s makeup.
“The rest of you, find your entertainment elsewhere!” ordered Queen Saski, waving a dismissive arm at the spectators that remained. “Or I will send you home to your parents as well!”
The crowd dispersed in record time, leaving only Adale, Lethea, Esofi, and her ladies standing on the grass.
“Now then,” said Queen Saski. “I should like to understand precisely what happened here, if you do not mind.”
“I mean no disrespect, but there is little to explain, Your Majesty,” said Esofi, who looked considerably better than she had a moment ago, though not nearly as picturesque as she’d been when Adale had first encountered her at breakfast. “It was a foolish endeavor, and of no consequence.”
Queen Saski seemed to hesitate. “Of no consequence?” Was that hope in her voice? Adale was not entirely certain.
“Of course,” said Esofi. “I allowed myself to be drawn into a childish argument, nothing more. I hope you can forgive my misconduct and for drawing you away from your petitioners.”
“Of course.” Queen Saski spoke very slowly. Adale marveled that her mother appeared to have lost her footing, metaphorically speaking. If only Adale had paid more attention to her tutors as they’d explained the political situation between Ieflaria and Rhodia. Maybe then she’d have some idea of what was going on.
Esofi nodded in satisfaction. “Good. Then let us put the incident out of our minds. There is still so much to accomplish, after all. But I fear I am no longer presentable.” Esofi patted her ruined curls. “If you will excuse me? I should not like to appear at my own betrothal looking as I do.”
Queen Saski granted her a nod, and Esofi immediately departed, leaving Adale there alone with only Lethea for protection. Once the princess was gone, the last thin traces of pleasantness vanished from Queen Saski’s face.
“Are you simple?” her mother hissed at her. “What were you thinking? I should cast you out with Theodoar! You could have destroyed the marriage negotiations! I realize you care nothing for that, but I’d think the lives of your friends would at least hold some value to you!”
“I had no idea that this was Theodoar’s plan!” Adale protested weakly. “And nobody knew that the princess had magic!”
Queen Saski pressed a hand to her forehead and spoke in a tone of disbelief. “You didn’t know she had—? Why do you think she is here, you fool?”
“To marry someone!” cried Adale. She realized she was still clutching Esofi’s parasol, the soft lace pressing patterns into her palms. “To marry me!”
“Have you retained a single word your tutors have said to you?” demanded Queen Saski, continuing as though Adale had not spoken. “The royal family of Rhodia boasts the most gifted mages on the continent of Thiyra! You are lucky she has far greater self-restraint than you do or Theodoar might be dead! Our country will be utterly consumed without her aid, and you have insulted her so gravely that I would not half blame her for returning home immediately! What do you have to say for yourself, Adale?”
Adale looked away from her mother and managed to catch one last glimpse of Esofi’s retreating back before she vanished inside the castle walls.
“I’m sorry,” she said.