Jared held his nerve.
“I hope you can see that Archenfield is being ruled in a new way now,” he said, talking quickly. “Can you not find it in your heart to forgive our past crimes? Can you not find it in yourselves to trust that I will never disrespect you, your family or your nation again?”
“There is goodness in you, Prince Jared, I see this.” Francesca stood up, slowly. “But it is not enough to make amends for all that has come before. And, lest you forget, you were complicit in that terrible lie. It happened while you were Prince. Though you may regret that, still you must take responsibility for it.”
There was finality in Queen Francesca’s words. Princess Ines stood up, shoulder to shoulder with her mother. She too seemed to sense that this meeting had come to an end. But now Francesca lifted her hand. Turning her olive eyes to Jared, she spoke again.
“We have his name now,” the Queen said. “We know that our daughter was murdered by a man called Logan Wilde.” Her eyes met Jared’s. “I would agree to a new alliance with you on one condition—that you bring Wilde here to the court of Woodlark—” She broke off. When she resumed, her voice was low and raw. “I will tear him limb from limb with my own hands.”
Jared was careful to make sure that his voice betrayed no emotion. “Forgive me, but you read the ultimatum,” he said. “If we deliver Logan Wilde to you, all kinds of hell will rain down upon Archenfield. That is explicit in the Paddenburg Ultimatum.”
Queen Francesca nodded. “The Princes of Paddenburg sound impressive, don’t they? But, in uniting our two armies, that’s a risk I’d be prepared to take. The more pressing question is—are you?”
Jared’s heart was racing again. Of course, Prince Henning and Prince Ven would do anything to protect Logan Wilde, but against the combined armies of Archenfield and Woodlark? Even “anything” might be defeated.
It was worth a risk, wasn’t it?
Jared extended his trembling hand to Francesca. “On behalf of my family and my Princedom, I extend my thanks and delight at a new alliance between our two lands.”
Queen Francesca gripped his hand firmly. “We shall have the decree drawn up at once. I am sure you will be anxious to return to Archenfield with the good news.”
Jared retrieved the parchment from the table. It was strange, he thought, how the Paddenburg Ultimatum felt less powerful now. Merely a scrap of paper. “Thank you,” he said. “You will not regret this.”
Francesca nodded regally, then drew down her veil again. She folded her hands across her lap. Their interview was at an end.
As he turned to follow Ines, Hal moved out of the shadows to his side. His mouth was set in a thin line.
Francesca called after them. “Just bring me Logan Wilde. That’s all I ask.”
The Island of the Dead was as beautiful and tragic a sight as Jared had anticipated. It lay beyond a calm stretch of water, clouds breaking over its hilltops. Beneath those, Jared could just make out pillows of color—the red banks of roses and drifts of snow-white lilies. Even now, a rowing boat made its way over to the island; a young woman sat in the back, flowers clutched to her chest, ready to pay homage to Silva.
Hal wandered over to join him. “May I talk with you, Prince Jared?” he asked.
“Yes, of course,” Jared said, grateful for his company.
“Is it really your intention that we return to Archenfield today?” Hal inquired.
Jared nodded. “Just as soon as Princess Ines delivers the decree.” He smiled. “You have to admit, Hal, this alliance is a real coup—and with so many days in hand!”
“What if we don’t have this alliance?” Hal asked.
Jared’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Are you sure that we can hand over Logan Wilde to Francesca and her court?”
Jared frowned. “I am Prince of All Archenfield, Hal. If I decide that we hand him over, then we hand him over.”
Hal’s brow furrowed. “I don’t mean to overstep my boundaries, but have you fully thought this through? How would the people of Archenfield react if they found out what Wilde had done and then saw that you’d failed to claim the Blood Price yourself from the assassin of their Prince?” Hal paused. “Right now, the good people of our Princedom mistakenly believe that your brother was killed by Michael Reeves and that Silva took her own life. If you deliver Logan Wilde to Woodlark, the first risk is that you inflame the enemy. But, just as important, the common people would soon know that Prince Anders was not murdered by a renegade steward but by his closest advisor on the Twelve.”
“They need never find out,” Jared rasped.
Hal shook his head. “I’m sorry to say this but that’s a naïve thought. You can’t expect to extradite a member of the Twelve without questions being asked.”
Jared felt a spiral of panic coiling through him. He knew there was truth in Hal’s words. And how could he even know he would be in a position to hand over Wilde? Paddenburg had already successfully infiltrated the court of Archenfield—was it far-fetched to believe that they could spring Logan Wilde at any moment? How many other spies might they already have within the palace walls?
Jared turned to face Hal. “I feel like you have a suggestion for me,” he said.
Hal nodded. “Under the terms of the Paddenburg Ultimatum, we still have five days in hand. I suggest we ride on and explore the possibilities of further alliances with Rednow, Baltiska and Larsson.” His voice was steady, his eyes open and clear. “That was always the plan, wasn’t it—an alliance of the five river territories?”
“Yes,” Jared confirmed, feeling steadied by Hal’s words. “That was the plan.”
“If Princess Ines allows us to ride through her lands, we can reach the border with Rednow as early as tomorrow morning,” Hal told him. “From there, it’s a fair ride to Prince Rohan’s palace, but if we push the horses hard, we could get there by the end of the day.”
Jared nodded. “You’re right. We have our plan. I’ll go now and inform Princess Ines that I intend to develop further strategic alliances, which will benefit Woodlark as well as Archenfield. There’s no harm in her knowing the level of my ambition.”
“No harm indeed, Your Majesty.” Hal’s eyes gleamed brightly at his master.
FOUR DAYS UNTIL INVASION…
FIFTEEN
The Fjord, Archenfield
ASTA STOOD ALONE AT THE EDGE OF THE FJORD, listening to the distant chimes of the Woodsman’s Bell and, closer, the gentle lapping of the water. She had not slept well—thoughts of what she had overheard the day before and anticipation of her imminent meeting with Lady Koel turning over and over in her head. This time, she might really have gotten herself into deep water. What if Lady Koel was not coming to meet her at all, but had dispatched members of Axel’s guard to “deal” with Asta? She hadn’t had any previous interactions with Lady Koel to know whether she could trust her or not. Of course, she had wanted to ask Uncle Elias for his thoughts and share with him the horror of what Axel Blaxland was planning, but that was the very worst of it—Elias seemed barely able to remain in the same room with her at the moment, let alone engage in such a necessarily difficult and loaded conversation. Asta fingered the small, sharpened kitchen knife she had stowed in her pocket—just in case—hoping with every fiber of her body she would not be called upon to use it.
“Good morning!”
Carefully letting go of the knife, Asta turned to find Lady Koel walking toward her. She was wearing elegant riding boots, silver-colored jodhpurs and a matching silver cape, which billowed around her as she made her way over the stone-strewn path. So she had come, just as she had promised, and it appeared she was unaccompanied by guards or, indeed, any living creature besides her elegant gray horse, which she had tethered at the edge of the forest.
Lady Koel smiled at Asta as she drew closer.
Her companion, who, Asta reminded herself, was only a year older than herself, looked effortlessly beautiful. Another lady of court might have ta
med her hair with hundreds of pins for the morning ride but, for the most part, Koel allowed her gorgeous chestnut locks to hang free, with just two simple plaits circling around the top of her head, like a pretty crown. And, as her long hair danced with the cool breeze of the fjord, Asta found herself envying Lady Koel’s natural grace and luxuriant dark locks.
“There’s no more picturesque place to watch the coming of the new morning to Archenfield,” Lady Koel said, joining Asta at the edge of the fjord and settling her hands on her slender hips. “The patterns of light on the water’s surface are never the same from one moment to the next.” She turned confidingly to Asta. “I’ve tried to paint it several times but I never do it justice.” A shrug. “Perhaps I should just accept that, unlike my aunt, I have no talent for art.”
“It is a very special place.” Asta sighed. She remembered the time, not long ago, that she had met Prince Jared here. “We need to talk,” she said. “About what happened yesterday.”
Lady Koel nodded, her face composed. “Yes,” she agreed. “We do.” She turned her gaze upon Asta and reached out, squeezing Asta’s hand. “But before we go any further, I need to remind you what I told you yesterday.” Her dark eyes were wide. “I am your friend, Asta. We are on the same side. Axel Blaxland may be my brother but Jared Wynyard is my Prince.” She sighed. “I wish there was more I could say to make you believe me.”
Asta shook her head. “I do believe you,” she said. “Frankly, it is far easier to imagine that you would be appalled by your brother’s ambitions than driven to support him by means of the loyalty instilled by your blood.”
Lady Koel nodded again, gently releasing Asta’s hand. “That’s eloquently put, Asta,” she said. “I see my dear cousin’s good judgment in making you his Poet.”
“Thank you,” Asta said, wanting to move off that subject quickly. “So, Axel is preparing to launch a vote of no confidence in Prince Jared. What I am still not clear on is what that would mean in practice.”
Her companion grimaced. “If my brother is successful, then Jared will be deposed as Prince and Axel—as Edling and therefore next in line—will claim the throne.”
“But isn’t this treason on Axel’s part?”
Lady Koel shook her head. “I’m afraid there is precedent for this in the Book of Law. This kind of vote has not been held for centuries, but it remains perfectly legitimate. It’s one of those articles of law that was put in place to protect Archenfield from dictatorial, incompetent or otherwise unfit rulers. It was designed to give the Council of Twelve genuine power to curb the whims of a tyrannous royal family.”
“But Prince Jared is neither dictatorial nor incompetent,” Asta protested. “And the Wynyards are not tyrannous, are they?”
“Of course not,” Koel agreed. “And this isn’t a case of the Twelve applying a useful restraint to the royals. On the contrary, this is ruthless opportunism. My brother—and, in point of fact, my father too—views the current political crisis as a convenient opening to challenge Prince Jared and transfer power from the Wynyard line to the Blaxlands.”
“Your line,” Asta heard herself say. Immediately, she regretted it.
Lady Koel held up her hands. “I cannot deny that I am a Blaxland. Though at times such as this, I would gladly erase myself from the family tree. What my brother and father are embarking upon here utterly appalls me, Asta.”
Asta saw the pain in Lady Koel’s eyes. “We feel exactly the same,” she assured her companion. “We could discuss his treachery all day and night. Let’s focus on the tangibles. How soon do you think he will launch this vote?”
Lady Koel folded her arms. “I cannot be sure when my brother will pounce but, rest assured, he’ll do it as soon as he feels certain of achieving the majority vote.” She shivered. “He needs time to work on the members of the Twelve. Though Prince Jared seems to have angered certain of your colleagues by crossing the borders to embark on this quest for allies, others remain steadfastly loyal to him.” She smiled. “You, for instance. I’m fairly sure you would not cast a vote against Prince Jared, whether Axel called the vote today, or in a year’s time.”
“I certainly would not,” Asta agreed. “You’re right. Jared, Prince Jared, has plenty of support in the Twelve.”
“I think you are right, Asta. I hope you are right. But we cannot take anything for granted. Those who do not willingly come over to Axel’s side may be persuaded to do so.”
“Persuaded?”
“My brother does not play by the rules. He has positioned his spies throughout the court. He knows things about all the key players—things that they would not wish widely known. He has been storing away such information for the right moment.” She removed a stray strand of hair from her eyes. “Information is power, Asta. It gives Axel a very dangerous and powerful currency to deploy.” She shook her head. “I feel bad you’ve been placed in this position. You have enough to concern yourself with, adjusting to the responsibilities of your new role, without having to deal with my brother and his brazen ambition.”
Asta shook her head. “I got myself into this. I was eavesdropping.” She smiled. “Just like you.”
Lady Koel acknowledged her smile. “As a matter of interest, how did you happen to be there?”
Asta shrugged. “It was quite by chance. I’m not well versed in navigating the palace corridors, and I was lost. I saw Jonas Drummond striding along the corridor and something compelled me to follow him.”
“It was fate, then,” Lady Koel decided. “Fate and your good instincts.”
Asta couldn’t help but smile. “How about you? What brought you there?”
“Oh, I’ve pretty much made a career of spying on my brother,” Lady Koel said. “I like to keep tabs on his schemes and secrets, though I have never discovered anything quite so incendiary before.”
Asta looked at her. “You know, your brother is not the only one in court with powers of persuasion.”
“What on earth are you thinking?” Lady Koel asked.
“You and I are not the kind of people to sit back and let events buffet us this way and that, like driftwood.” Asta saw the faint stirrings of a smile on Lady Koel’s lips. “Well, we’re not, are we?”
“No,” Lady Koel agreed. “We are not those kinds of people.”
“If your brother is going to attempt to influence the members of the Twelve, then what is stopping us from doing exactly the same? We can fight Prince Jared’s corner for him until he returns and is able to defend himself.”
Koel’s dark brown eyes widened. “Asta, I applaud your spirit!” But then her face fell. “I want to help—I do—but I have to be supremely careful. I told you before that my brother and father have embarked on this campaign together, but even my mother is complicit. Nor am I entirely sure about Grandmother Klara—my father and Queen Elin’s mother. Each one sees the advantage of removing Prince Jared from the picture. If my family knew what I had already told you—if they had the merest idea that I was contemplating working against them… well, you cannot imagine their fury.”
Asta nodded. She understood the difficult position Lady Koel found herself in.
“I envy you, you know.”
They were the very last words she had expected to hear slip from Lady Koel’s noble lips.
“You envy me? How is that even possible?”
Lady Koel’s face was somber. “Because you have everything I don’t—a legitimate position on the Twelve, freedom to take action. You have power, Asta. I’ve been thinking a lot of late about what it means to have power; what it means to earn it and have it and not abuse it. Take Cousin Jared, for instance. He made no secret of the fact that he never wanted this level of power and responsibility, that it was thrust upon him by the most dire turn of events. But he has risen to his new role, just as you are now doing to yours. Yet here am I, with no power to wield—confined to the shadows and the galleries, pathetically spying upon my brother.”
“No,” Asta said, this time extendi
ng her own hand to take Lady Koel’s. “There is nothing pathetic about you. Even if your family position prevents you from taking further action, you have already taken an important stand. I have my own friends on the Twelve. I can counter your brother’s campaign myself, even if you must by necessity drop back into the shadows.”
Lady Koel took a moment to weigh Asta’s words, then shook her head decisively. “You know,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. “I am tired of spending my life in the shadows. Let’s take up Prince Jared’s cause. Let’s give my back-stabbing brother exactly what’s coming to him.” She grasped Asta’s hand. “Let’s do this. Together!”
SIXTEEN
The Falconer’s Mews, the Village of the Twelve, Archenfield
“A VOTE OF NO CONFIDENCE,” NOVA SAID, STROKING the head of one of her beloved falcons ruminatively.
Asta stood beside the Falconer at the perch, which was home to her six remaining falcons—the seventh, her dearest bird, Mistral, having been ravaged by the eagle courier from Paddenburg.
“At least we know what plan he is hatching,” Asta said. “And we know early, so we can devise a countercampaign.”
Nova frowned. “Asta, this is a noble thought. But you have been a member of the Twelve for only a matter of days, and you’re already talking about taking on the Captain of the Guard.” She shuddered. “It’s no secret I have little fondness for Axel Blaxland but we should stop and think for a moment before we rush into a countercampaign, as you call it. He has a ruthless ambition and he’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants. Be in no doubt—he’s a very dangerous man.”
Asta met Nova’s eyes, her own blazing with determination. “Yes,” she agreed. “He is highly dangerous. And, evidently, only becoming more so. But we don’t have a choice. We have to do what we can to protect Prince Jared from this conspiracy. We must be brave, Nova—and we are not alone in this. We already have another comrade.”