“Better no devils on Calanthe at all,” I retorted.
“How can You not want the emperor gone?” Percy demanded. “Even You—”
Brenda hushed him, but I answered. “Whether I want him gone or not is immaterial. It is simply not relevant. Look around this garden. How many of you come from kingdoms that no longer exist? Whose people are crushed, enslaved, forgotten, and dead. Your monuments have sunk into the sea, your libraries are burnt, your accomplishments dust. I want many things I cannot have, but I at least have the wisdom to recognize that. To fight the emperor is to be annihilated. We’ve all witnessed that truth repeatedly.” I stared them down, sorry to upset them, but gratified to see my point making its way home. “My father taught Me that long ago. To fight Anure is to be crushed. We cannot win against him.”
“You call it wisdom, what others call cowardice,” Percy shouted at me.
Brenda and Agatha shushed him, casting me leery glances. I wouldn’t punish him for the outburst. I’d heard all those accusations before—and far worse. However, I didn’t have to accept the blame he wanted to cast on me. “I will not take Calanthe down that path while the orchid ring resides on My finger. Any of you who wish to call Me coward for that, I won’t argue. But I will ask you to depart from the realm that succors you.”
I let that promise hang in the air while it thickened enough to make them shift in their seats. I didn’t much care to use that against them, but Calanthe mattered more to me than they did. A monarch must always keep her priorities straight. “I might point out,” I said with considerable ice in my tone, “that if Calanthe had not survived, you, my dear Lord Percy, would have no refuge.”
“No, Your Highness,” he replied with some shame. “I wouldn’t and I’m grateful.”
“I don’t want your gratitude. I want your cleverness. Solve My riddle.”
Tertulyn regarded me with a calm face but widened eyes. Not like me, to voice such a direct threat. Those cursed dreams. My fingers ached with the physical memory of breaking themselves on the wolf’s chains, and I curled them into my palms, even though I knew they were perfectly fine. The orchid ring fluttered, as if in a warm breeze.
The group was quiet in a significant way, Agatha drawing a shawl around her shoulders, though if anything the night was warmer, still and humid. The gesture again evoked that man with his leather cape and tangled mane, holding out a hand. Haunting me. I couldn’t avoid the clear import of the dreams, that the wolf, the man, and the rebel they called the King of Slaves were all one and the same.
But I would not break my fingers on his chains. I would not jeopardize Calanthe for his cause.
I. Would. Not.
The circle of people sat quietly, as if expecting me to say something more.
“If it comes to battle, I will do the emperor’s bidding and fight this Slave King. That is not up for negotiation or discussion, as I have no choice in the matter. The question is: How do I prevail without violence, no blood shed—theirs or ours—on the soil of Calanthe? If none of you can answer it, then we may all go and engage in more productive activities.” My voice came out weary. “How many times must I ask this question?”
“Can we ask,” Brenda offered, quite tentative for her, which made me think I’d come across harsher than I’d intended, “why no violence? I ask,” she hastily added, “because You have the home ground, and defending with decisive force is the most direct solution.”
“You can ask, but I cannot answer.” Not even for this would I divulge Calanthe’s secrets.
“How about defining our terms then.” Agatha had a thoughtful look, at work on the puzzle at last. “Your Highness, You’ve said both ‘no violence’ and ‘no blood shed.’ Is one factor more important than the other?”
They watched me with keen attention. “An excellent question,” I replied with some relief that I could specify. “Blood shed accidentally, ritually, or with compassion—including to feed others—is allowed. Blood shed in violence is not.”
“Interesting.” Percy had recovered his former insouciant poise. “Then the other piece, ‘on the soil of Calanthe’—is that literally only dirt or would, say, the palace floors still count?”
Brenda nodded her approval, eyes on me.
“The territory of Calanthe,” I answered, feeling better all the time that I could explain this much of the restrictions. “So the entire island, the actual soil, and the nearby waters, within a certain perimeter.”
“I’m guessing this perimeter isn’t obvious, as no one has made note of it.” Brenda made it a statement, raising her brows slightly in case I’d need to correct her, but I didn’t. “So we have a choice of shedding blood outside the perimeter…”
“Or cutting off the head without shedding blood,” Percy finished.
Brenda and Percy exchanged a long look. An unlikely friendship there, but one like mine with Tertulyn, full of unspoken understanding.
“I think we might have a solution, Your Highness.”
I might’ve sagged in relief, if not for the rigidity of my corset. “Tell me.”
12
“We have messages from the scout ships, Conr“í.” General Kara strode into Salvio’s meeting room, Sondra hard on his heels, her face set, mouth flat.
I wouldn’t be in Keiost long enough to stop thinking of them as Salvio’s rooms and start thinking of them as mine. A good thing, too. I didn’t much care to give the appearance of taking the place of the late, unlamented imperial governor, particularly by literally sitting in his chair. When I fought my way free of the mines and led my people into the battle to simply reclaim our lives, I hadn’t realized that the bloodlust of conquest leads to desks covered with paperwork.
Many a would-be conqueror might be dissuaded if only they knew.
Still, the wages that war delivers are dull ones. By taking Keiost, I’d become ruler of it. Despite Sondra’s determined efforts to discover any surviving members of the former ruling family, she’d turned up no one. While we kicked our heels, waiting to make the next move, my conscience—and my father’s voice, which might be the same thing—spurred me to do what I could to set Keiost on a better track to protecting and feeding its people.
And though it made my skin crawl to sit where the slug had planted his fat butt, Salvio’s library and meeting rooms at least contained all the relevant documents for running the city and surrounds. I’d also found his correspondence with Anure. Helpful, though I loathed touching what they had, as if some disease of the soul might leach off and make me the same as them.
Even without that, poring over the things made my head ache. My lessons had been violently halted not long after my tenth birthday—and I began an education of a different sort, in the mines of Vurgmun—and I’d never been a diligent reader before that, which made reading an exercise in frustration. Especially as I couldn’t quite swallow my pride to ask for help. As always, I kept my rock hammer and bagiroca nearby, and more than once I’d been tempted to grab either or both and bludgeon the wooden desk—and all the documents along with it—into splinters.