“I hope you don’t think me too forward but… might I be right in thinking…” Isold glanced down significantly at Savine’s stomach.
“I am.” There was simply no hiding it any more, and Savine was rather enjoying letting it show. She had expected to be thoroughly annoyed, watching her body stolen more each day by a selfish little parasite. But there was something oddly comforting about her bulging belly. She was even finding herself singing to it, from time to time. The other day, she had felt it move. Savine raised her brows as she gently stroked it. “Who knew the key to happiness was looser clothes? How are things in Midderland?” she asked, trying not to sound eager. “Sometimes I feel as if I am stranded on the island of Shabulyan! I understand Wetterlant’s hanging was a fiasco.”
“A disaster.” Isold leaned across to give a shrill whisper. “Queen Terez was pelted with rubbish. Breakers in the crowd, is the rumour.”
“Are they sure it wasn’t members of the Open Council?”
Isold gave a guilty titter. “Arch Lector Glokta—that is, your father—has been granted more powers, and the King’s Own have been split up and sent into Keln, and Valbeck, and out on the streets of Adua. There are curfews and searches and roundings-up. It’s, well… it’s a nervous atmosphere. I’m trying to persuade Fedor to spend more time at our estates in the country, but he insists on doing everything he can to help.”
To help himself, no doubt. “Your husband is a true patriot.”
“As is yours, of course. I should retire.”
“Really?” Isold was tepid but Savine had hoped to pick up some more gossip. She had relished the challenge of taking charge in Ostenhorm, but now she was undisputed mistress here she was teetering on the edge of boredom. She missed being at the heart of things. She missed the rush of the gamble and the thrill of the win. She missed her friends, her acquaintances, even her enemies. Her enemies most of all, perhaps. “It’s barely even dusk.”
“I know, but I hope that I might be in… a delicate condition myself.” Isold was turning pink at the thought, poor thing. “My husband wants me to have plenty of rest.”
“Of course.” Though no one had ever fallen pregnant as a result of rest, as far as Savine was aware.
“Perhaps we might celebrate the births of our first children together, as well as our marriage?”
“We can hope.” Though since Savine had been with child several months before her wedding it did not seem terribly likely. She kept the smile clamped to her face until Isold was gone, then she stood, pushed the heels of her hands into her aching back, and went straight to the connecting door. She had planned to sweep through and take her share of the conversation by force, but there was something secretive to Leo and Isher’s hushed tones that made her hold back. She ever so gently eased the door open a crack instead.
“… The Dogman’s gone back to the mud.” Leo spoke in an urgent murmur. “His daughter Rikke’s in charge in Uffrith.”
“Could you get her support?” asked Isher.
Savine frowned. Was Leo planning some move against the Northmen? As he was always saying, he was the worst man in the world at doing nothing.
“I think so. We were close once.”
“And Uffrith still needs your protection. What about Stour?”
“He owes me his life. And he’s a man who loves war.”
“We need him, Leo. Find a way to bring him onto our side. Whatever it costs.”
Savine’s eyes widened. They were building an alliance, but with the Northmen.
“What about the Open Council?” asked Leo.
“Fifteen of us committed now,” came Isher’s voice, “but we must move with the utmost care. There are laws restricting the raising of private armies, and we cannot risk making Old Sticks suspicious.”
Savine felt the hairs prickling on the back of her neck.
She had known ever since Wetterlant’s trial that Isher was planning something. She had thought it strange Leo was so reluctant to disband Angland’s regiments. She had guessed they were about some secret business. But she had never dreamed it might be something so audacious. So enormous. So incredibly dangerous. This was not a splash of politics, it was a great wave that might sweep everything away!
“We need to move now,” growled Leo. “Every day we could be discovered.”
“Patience, my friend. Your enthusiasm is infectious, but we must not be rash. We have to gather every possible ally, wait for the clearest summer weather, then move on Adua without a backward glance.”
Savine’s eyes widened. By the Fates, they were talking of revolt. Open rebellion against the Crown. Leo would be turning on Orso. He would be turning on her father. He would be gambling everything on one mad throw of the dice. Did he have any idea what he was contemplating? It was nothing less than treason!
An investor must know an opportunity when she sees it, must judge the risks and rewards in an instant. Fast now, with her breath coming sharp in her tight throat, the choices flashed through Savine’s mind.
Do nothing? Retire to bed like Isold and pretend she never heard? Sit back like the good wife and let Leo manage their affairs?
No.
Reason with him, then? Enlist Lady Finree’s help and persuade him to abandon this madness? Even if she succeeded, he would resent her. And she would have no control over his embittered accomplices. Their plot might still be dragged into the light. Why, Lady Brock, did you not inform the authorities of a conspiracy against the Crown?
No.
Betray her husband, then? Tell her father everything? Throw Isher and his cronies to the dogs and herself on the king’s mercy? At best, her reputation would be in tatters, her title stripped away. At worst? Widowed. Banished. Ruined. Savine set her jaw.
No.
Because of her parents’ folly, she had lost Orso. She had lost the crown. Now she had clawed out a new place. Dragged herself back to the top. Because of her husband’s folly, was she to lose that, too?
No.
Which left one choice only.
She slipped the box from her sleeve with trembling fingers, dug out a huge pinch of pearl dust and turned from the door to snort it up. An investor must know an opportunity when she sees it, must judge the risks and rewards in an instant, and if one outweighs the other pounce upon it, commit without delay, without regret, without sentiment.
Revolt. Her mouth was dry. Rebellion. Her pulse thudded in her skull. Treason. She winced as her baby shifted. Could she really do this? Could she afford not to? Was it terrible fear she felt? Or was it an almost unbearable thrill?
“Calm,” she whispered. “Calm, calm, calm.”
It was a risk. An awful risk. Yet she could not help but think of all there might be to gain. No less than everything, if she played her hand well… The Closed Council had made many enemies, within the Union’s borders and without. Had her father not often listed them, discussed with her their fears and desires, their strengths and weaknesses? If they all could be brought together, pushed in the same direction at the same moment… It would take a delicate touch. Something Leo by no means had.
But that was why he had her.
She set her shoulders, swung the door wide and stepped through.
Savine had not changed this room. Probably no one had changed it in two centuries. Some dark oils of dead Lord Governors, some gruesome-looking Northern swords and shields looted from some old battlefield, some inexpertly stuffed hunting trophies, peering disapprovingly down with their bland glass eyes. An upset deer, an astonished stag, a baffled bear, a leering wolf. Leo had told her it was the way his father had liked it, and so it was the way he liked it, and she respected his decision. Or at least pretended to.