I frowned and he waved a hand at me. “It would not have been in Your studies. I had to dig out, shall we say, a recently acquired text to determine this much.”
Brenda coughed quietly into her fist. As she’d been nodding along with Castor’s words, I gathered she’d been the source of the text. The other advantage of inviting smart and artistic people to come live in your palace—they brought interesting things with them.
“For many decades, or longer,” Castor continued, “the volcanic activity made the island of Vurgmun uninhabitable. As it cooled, explorers from several remote northern kingdoms discovered that rocks from this place, known as vurgsten, possessed interesting properties.”
“I know something about it,” Brenda inserted, leaning her forearms on her knees and clasping her hands. She had a habit of looking me directly in the eye, unusual for the people who normally surrounded me, but I didn’t mind it. “The stuff can be used to start fires, extend burning. Get enough of it and the correct triggers, it can be applied with explosive force. This should sound familiar.”
Anure’s secret weapon. “Why isn’t this commonly known?” I asked.
“Not that much of it to be found.” She shrugged that off, an irritated twitch. “Or wasn’t. Before. Mostly seen as a carnival trick; street wizards used it for the pop and sparkle.”
“But if mines were discovered that supplied sufficient quantities,” I filled in, “the emperor would’ve used such a weapon—and would’ve kept it secret, so only he could take advantage of it.”
“Using prisoners is excellent for secrecy,” Percy put in.
“That, and vurgsten is nasty stuff,” Brenda said. “Willing miners would be scarce.”
Castor nodded. “It’s logical to assume this Slave King escaped from these mines with a good supply of vurgsten and the knowledge of how to use it. If he’s clever, which he must be to have made it this far, he’s maintained a supply chain that excludes the emperor—and he’s using it to good effect in his campaign.”
“Plus he’s not dead,” Brenda noted. “Tough guy. Definitely not stupid.”
“And what do you suppose his ultimate purpose will be?” I posed the question yet again, hoping for a far better one from these minds than the one Leuthar had given me.
Percy gave up his indolent pose, looking excited. “That piece is supremely obvious.”
“Enlighten Me.” I said it drily. I had my guesses, but I wanted theirs. These people had been out in the world and I hadn’t. Likely I never would leave Calanthe. If the day came that I did … well, it would mean terrible things, and not just for me.
“If he was a slave,” Agatha said, her face shadowed with some memory, “then he can have only one true desire. That’s what Percy means.” Brenda, head bent over her hands, nodded, not looking up.
The air in the closed garden had noticeably thickened. “And that is?”
“Revenge.” Percy flipped a careless shoulder, but his gaze burned dark. “That’s why the emperor is afraid. This Slave King is coming after him. Judging from what we’ve heard so far, he just might be able to take the fucker out finally.”
Brenda lifted her head to level a glare at Percy, and he threw up his hands. “Oh, let’s not pretend we don’t all agree in this circle. We’ve vowed not to spill what’s discussed. Her Highness is very careful in Her dance, but we all know why we’re truly here.”
“And why is that?” I asked, forestalling Tertulyn’s move toward Percy with a minute shake of my head.
Percy gave me a thin smile, the ghost of his usual insouciance. “We’re Your secret weapons. Your living treasure, carefully hoarded until the day we might be useful to destroy Anure.”
Everyone shifted under the weight of the stupefied silence. Superstitious, perhaps, to fear speaking treachery aloud, even in relative security. And yet I knew of no traitors who’d been roasted on Anure’s spit because they’d been too careful.
“Apologies, Your Highness”—Percy sounded bitter—“if I spoke aloud what we know to be true.”
“You’re forgiven, as the fault must be Mine in creating this false apprehension,” I said, in my steadiest voice. No room for doubt here. Yes, I had deliberately collected these people, and trusted their motivations to a certain extent, but I could allow only so much. Any of them could be Anure’s spy, an edged blade that could turn in my hand. “Let me be very clear that you are incorrect. I have one responsibility, one desire, and one agenda: to protect Calanthe.”
I let that sit, with no further explanation. The prospect of vurgsten, this stone-rending weapon, being used on Calanthe and what it would do to Her … it made me ill to contemplate. The wolf, breaking its chains and the cliffs shredding themselves into the sea. That man, holding out his hand—I dispelled the visions with a shake of my head so sharp I nearly toppled the wig and crown, something I hadn’t done in years. Forgetting myself.
“Let us return to the charge I give you all. How do I keep this Slave King away from Calanthe?”
“Then You won’t aid him in his revenge?” Percy asked softly, something of the iron character that had enabled him to survive showing in his handsome face. “It would be Your vengeance, too. And mine.”
“And mine,” Agatha agreed. More echoes of agreement, even from others who’d stayed silent thus far.
“Not mine.” I snapped that out crisply, certain and sure. “The self-styled Slave King is less than nothing to Me. Given the freedom, I would have ignored his presence in the world.” The man, tangled hair coiling in the wind, holding out his hand. The nonsense stuff of nightmares. What I wouldn’t give to remain untouched by his taint.
I took a breath, then accepted the mild wine Tertulyn handed me, steadying myself.
“I do not have the freedom to do anything but what I’m doing,” I said more smoothly, my poise back in place. “No doubt you all have heard of the emperor’s charge to Me. Should the Slave King come this way, I must not let him pass. I must act to stop him or suffer the emperor’s punishment.”
“Seems to me Calanthe is in peril either way, Your Highness,” Brenda said, staring me down. “Seems the noble choice would be to throw in with the Slave King.”
“To what end?” I countered with infinite patience. High ideals were fine for philosophical discussions, but rarely applied to the real, extraordinarily cruel world. “Easy for you—for all of you—to contemplate sacrificing that which is not yours, that which might be precious to you only for certain reasons, your safe harbor in the storm. What if this Slave King is simply another Anure, possibly even worse?”
“He can’t be worse,” Agatha muttered with uncharacteristic ferocity.
“Oh, but he can,” I assured her. Funny that I could be more cynical than they, but I had studied the ways of brutes and tyrants. “Anure is predictable within his framework. We are only guessing at the motivations of this unknown rebel, one who employs a weapon so destructive it topples city walls and the imperial forces fold before it.”
“Better the devil we know than the devil we don’t?” Brenda mused, not really asking.