He shoved the pain down and chained it with cords of adamantine steel. Loss hurt, but as the commander of Calberna’s First Fleet, his task now was not to mourn, but to prevent further losses.
“Sir.” Dilys turned to the admiral of the Calbernan Navy. “Until we bring these murderous krillos to justice, I suggest we reroute all nonessential Denbe Ocean trade around Cape Stag or through the Straits of Kardouhm.” That would cost Calberna a pretty penny. Circling around the Ardullan continent by way of Cape Stag would add weeks or even months to most voyages, and while the Straits of Kardouhm provided a shorter route from Calberna to the Denbe Ocean and all the rich markets of the east, the Omar of Kardouhm charged a high tax on every vessel sailing through his waters.
The admiral nodded. “The Council approved that measure not ten minutes ago, Commander. I’ve also sent word that every merchant ship sailing within a hundred miles of the Olemas Ocean should have a military escort. Two battle galleys to every merchant. Half a dozen to guard every convoy.”
“I will, of course, cancel the upcoming voyage to Wintercraig,” Dilys said.
“Ono.” No. The sharp denial came from Calberna’s queen. “You will do no such thing.”
“Alys . . .” Calivan’s use of his sister’s pet name told Dilys that this was an argument they’d been having for a while. He never called the Myerial “Alys” in front of members of the court unless she was out-stubborning him.
“Ono, Calivan. And I mean it. There are more than enough young men in our navy to deal with these pirates. Dilys and every Calbernan who has earned the right to seek a wife from among the women of the Æsir Isles will sail to Wintercraig next week, as planned.”
“He should at least know he has the opportunity to wed an imlani and keep the bloodline pure.” This came from Dessandra Merimynos, distant cousin of the late queen and current Matriarch of House Merimynos.
Alysaldria pressed her lips tight, and her golden eyes flashed with irritation.
Dilys glanced around at the high-ranking officials assembled in the room and realized that the pirate attack and Fyerin’s death weren’t the real reason he’d been summoned here. “What imlani? What are you talking about?”
Calberna’s acting Minister of Internal Affairs stepped forward. “Loto Sami was aboard the Spindrift. As you may know, he was betrothed to Nyree Calagi’s daughter, Coralee.”
“They want you to marry Coralee Calagi,” Alysaldria interjected.
“It’s in the best interest of Calberna to keep the royal bloodline pure,” the minister said.
“It’s not in my son’s best interest,” she snapped. “It’s not in House Merimydion’s best interest. Coralee is fifteen years old! Even if the betrothal contract could be dissolved, my son would have to wait at least another five years to wed her—who knows how long it would be before she could bear a child—let alone a daughter—if her grief for Loto makes her unable to claim her mate as she should?”
“Alys . . .” Calivan murmured.
She glared at him, her great golden eyes flashing with irritation. “Don’t take their side, Cal. You know my feelings on this matter. Dilys has waited long enough—at your insistence, no less! And theirs!” She jabbed an accusatory finger in the direction of the other matriarchs.
“I don’t understand,” Dilys interjected, hoping to calm his mother’s temper. “The betrothal contract between House Sami and House Calagi was signed in blood and salt. It is inviolable. I couldn’t marry Coralee even if I wanted to.”
The Slaughter had robbed Calberna of the magic of the Sirens, a loss that had not only weakened Calberna’s might but also resulted in a dangerous drop in birthrate of imlani females, especially truly gifted ones. That was the reason families like House Merimydion and all the other royal Houses had standing betrothal contracts negotiated decades, even centuries, before the birth of a pureblood imlani daughter. The had been meticulously cultivating the royal bloodlines to pool the greatest magics of Calberna into their female offspring in an attempt to bring back the long-lost power of the Sirens.
“So we have all believed,” the minister replied. “But the high priest has been researching the subject for months.” The minister gestured to the High Priest of Numahao, standing beside him. “It was, in fact, your justification for breaking the contract with the Summer King last winter that gave him the idea.”
The high priest nodded. “When you broke the contract with the Summer King to save Calberna and Mystral from the threat of the Ice King,” the priest said, “that got me wondering if a betrothal contract had ever been dissolved for similar reasons. I had to go back nearly to the time of the Slaughter, but there is precedence for dissolving a betrothal contract if, by doing so, such a dissolution will prevent harm to the line of Myerials. House Sami has already agreed to step aside in the best interests of Calberna.” He bowed in the direction of the Matriarch of House Sami.
Alysaldria gripped the arms of her throne and said, “I will confer with my son and the Lord Chancellor in private.”
The assembled personages bowed and exited the throne room.
“You know this is a good offer, Alys,” Calivan said when the doors closed behind them. “An imlani bride from a royal bloodline? It’s the finest marriage Dilys could hope for.”
“It would have been, had the betrothal taken place while Dilys and Coralee were still children. They would have had time to form the emotional ties necessary for a proper claiming. But Coralee has had fifteen years to bond to Loto. You saw them together, same as I did. Their ties were strong and deep. Her grief will be, too.”
“And we will all be here to help her overcome that grief. You sell Dilys short, Alys. If he stays here in Calberna for the next five years, and spends that time with Coralee, I have no doubt he can win her heart as fully and completely as Loto Sami ever did. He is your son, after all. His gifts are many and great.”
“Dilys could charm gold from a dragon. That’s beside the point.”
“No, that is the point. If anyone can heal Coralee’s heart and form a bond with her strong enough to sire the daughters we all need, it’s Dilys. And do not forget, Coralee will be Donima of House Calagi one day. Even if she bears only sons, they will be sons of a pure and powerful royal bloodline, guaranteed imlani brides of their own.”
“And what is House Sami getting in return?” Her eyes narrowed. “My uncle Aleki’s daughter Aleakali Maru will be the next Myerial if Dilys has no daughter while I live. I have heard rumors that Aleakali is expecting a daughter. I’ll wager House Sami has surrendered the contract for Coralee in exchange for a betrothal contract to Aleakali’s daughter. Why wed a son of House Sami to a Calagi when that son could wed a future Myerial instead?”
“If that’s true, then why do we not approach Aleakali ourselves and propose that Dilys should wed her daughter?”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Alysaldria snapped. “Dilys earned his ulumi-lia four long years ago. I don’t want him waiting five more years for a wife, and you suggest making him wait another twenty?”
“Perhaps you should ask Dilys what he wants. Perhaps he would not mind waiting a few more years for an imlani bride? Perhaps he would even prefer to betroth himself to a future Myerial of Calberna.”
“And perhaps pigs will grow gills and swim with the kracken.”
Under any other circumstances, Dilys would have been fighting to smother a laugh at that sharp-tongued remark. As large and loving as his mother’s heart might be, she also possessed a ferocious temper, an iron will, and a wit that had fangs and battle claws of its own.
“Betrothing Dilys to an infant not yet born is out of the question,” his mother continued, “but as for the Calagi girl, never let it be said I made this decision without considering my son’s wishes.” Alysaldria turned to Dilys. “Moa elua, my son, you have a chance to wed an imlani bride from a fine, strong House. And though I am impatient to see your future settled, five years is not twenty. Coralee Calagi is a beautiful girl, with many gifts. She wi
ll become Matriarch of House Calagi when her mother is gone. You and your children will want for nothing, and your blood—our blood—will make House Calagi even stronger than it is today. It is, as Calivan has pointed out, a fine and advantageous match, better than I could have hoped for after the death of our dear Nyamialine. If you want her, say the word.”
“Well,” he replied guardedly, “if I waited and wed an imlani, that would eliminate the friction between you and the other Donimari, who fear a half-blood inheriting the Sea Throne.”
“I don’t care about that.” His mother waved impatiently. “The ones objecting the loudest have a vested interest in seeing the Sea Throne go to my cousin Aleakali. They’ve seized upon Loto Sami’s untimely death as an excuse to grab the power they crave. Where were these concerned citizens when Nyamialine died? Did any one of them offer to surrender their own House’s betrothal contracts to the son of the new Myerial? Ono, they did not. So, I’m not asking what they want, I’m asking what you want.”
Dilys hesitated. It wasn’t the delay that gave him pause. He’d already waited four years after all. Five more years wouldn’t be such a long time. But he had loved Nyamialine, his childhood betrothed. Even though they’d only been children together, her death had stolen the joy from his heart for years. He knew that Coralee, who had spent her whole lifetime loving and being loved by Loto Sami, would not mend the wound of that loss in five short years. Not even if Dilys gave up the sea and spent every moment by her side. Perhaps it was wrong and selfish of him, but he wanted a wife capable of loving him, not mourning the betrothed she’d loved and lost.
“Nima,” he finally said, “I will do whatever you feel is best for Calberna and House Merimydion. If you wish me to wed Coralee Calagi, then I will do so with proper joy in my heart.”
“But?” his mother prompted.
“But if the choice is mine, then I would sail for Konumarr tomorrow, as planned.”
Alysaldria sat back and smiled. “Your desire is mine as well. It is decided, then.”
“Alys—” Calivan started to object, until his twin’s commanding gaze silenced him.
“Lord Chancellor,” the Myerial said formally, “please recall the others so that I may give them my decision.”
The queen had spoken. Clearly realizing further protest was futile, Calivan bowed stiffly and gave the guards at the door the order to open the throne-room door. He and Dilys both stood beside the throne, presenting a united front as the others entered. To Calivan’s credit, no matter what his personal opinions on a matter might be, once the queen decided a course of action, not by word or deed did he ever make his objections known to another.
“Sealords, Donimari,” Alysaldria nodded to officials and the matriarchs. “The decision has been made. The prince and his men sail tomorrow for the winter lands to court the wives they have earned the right to seek.”
“Moa Myerial!” the Minister of Internal Affairs protested.
She held up a hand to silence him. To the matriarchs, she said, “My son is twenty-nine. He earned his ulumi-lia four years ago, yet still he is unwed. At your behest.” Alysaldria turned to regard her Minister of Internal Affairs sternly. “Five—almost six—years ago, you and Calivan convinced me and my Council that Dilys should wait to choose his liana so that we could investigate all potential brides and select a union that would best serve Calberna and House Merimydion. Four years ago, Calivan assured me that a Season of Summerlea was that best union. Now, you come to me saying a Season of Summerlea will not suit and that we must rob House Sami of their long-awaited joy and force my son to wait five more years until Nyree Calagi’s daughter is of age to marry?”
The high priest spread his hands. “Moa Myerial, please . . .”
Alysaldria’s golden eyes flashed with temper. “Are you so afraid that this Season will bear a daughter for House Merimydion? Or is it that you think me incapable of ensuring that a daughter of House Merimydion will be born a true imlani capable of ruling from the Sea Throne? You suggest I am too weak to make it so?”
The minister and the high priest both flinched.
“We have heard enough.” The Myerial stood before her throne, her eyes glowing like golden suns. She didn’t often speak from the Sea Throne, using the royal “We,” but when she did, it meant she was speaking as the Power of Calberna and that her decision was irrevocable. Recognizing the command for what it was, Calivan, Dilys, the Donimari, and the others all dropped to one knee and bowed their heads in submission, keeping their gazes fixed on the floor.
“Ministers, Donimari, We thank you for your concerns and your efforts to do what you believe to be in the best interests of Calberna. But We will not ask House Sami or House Calagi to break a contract signed in blood and salt. Nor will We deprive Our son, the Myerielua, his right to seek without further delay the happiness and peace he so richly deserves. And should Numahao grace his union with an imlani daughter for House Merimydion, she will be born with gifts great enough to honor the Sea Throne upon which she will sit, even if We must give Our own life to make it so. So We have spoken. So shall Our will be done.”
The gathered courtiers murmured in unison, “So You have spoken. So shall Your will be done.”
“You are dismissed.”
The group rose and backed out of the room, bowing as they went.
When they were gone, and the throne-room doors closed behind them, Calivan turned to his sister. “Alys, what have you done?”
She rubbed her temples wearily. “I did what had to be done. I cut the legs out from under the Pureblood Alliance and ensured that my son can leave war behind him and finally claim the peace he has earned many times over.”
“But to vow the sacrifice of your own life—from the Sea Throne, you swore it.” Calivan’s horror was clear. Every imlani child—especially every daughter—was born with seagifts because both the Donima of their House and their closest female imlani relatives passed on a measure of their own gifts before that child was born. But the great power stored in Calberna’s native-born women was not limitless. An imlani female could drain herself unto death, just as the Myerials did on their deathbeds as they passed their power on to their successors. And Alysaldria had just sworn an unbreakable vow to do just that, if she could not gift Dilys’s half-blood daughter with sufficient power any other way.
“Nima . . .” Dilys was as horrified as his uncle. “Nima, you cannot do this. I won’t allow it. I will accept the betrothal to Coralee Calagi. I will wait ten years or twenty if I must.”
“It is too late for that, moa elua. I have Spoken.”
“Then I will not wed. I will live as Calivan does, bound to you and no other.”
Her head jerked up. Blazing eyes met and held his. “You will do no such thing. I will see you wed and settled before this year is out. I will see my son—my only child—made happy.”
“How can I ever be happy to wed an oulani if the price for that choice is your death?”
She made a sound of disgust and flung herself to her feet. “How? The same way I have found happiness without your father. Because you must. Because duty to House Merimydion and to Calberna means that you and I both must always find a way to be strong for others, even when we cannot be strong for ourselves.” Then her expression softened. “Dilys, moa elua, tomorrow you will sail to the Æsir Isles, and you will bring home a daughter for House Merimydion, a daughter to fill my soul with joy and gladness, a liana you will love with your whole heart. And she will bear sons and, Numahao willing, a daughter for our House and for Calberna. And your children will be fine, gifted Calbernans who will bring honor to our House, and our country, and our people. So I have Spoken. So shall my will be done.”
Tears filled his eyes. He blinked them back with effort. His voice was choked as he bowed his head in submission and said, “Tey, moa Myerial.”
“Good. Then come here and kneel before me, my son. I will give you my blessing now, rather than tomorrow.”
He ascended the coral steps and
knelt before Calberna’s pearl-encrusted throne. His mother leaned forward to cup his face with both hands. “My strong, brave, beautiful son,” she said. There was a tremor in her hands that made him frown, but before he could remark on it, her large, heavily golden eyes flashed sun bright.
His body jerked. Power raged through him like a hurricane. The golden trident birthmark on the inside of his left wrist burned and throbbed, glowing the same yellow gold now blazing from his mother’s eyes.
“Let my love bring you strength that you may conquer whatever challenges come your way,” she whispered, and then she placed a kiss on his ulumi-lia, the iridescent blue tattoo that curled from the corner of his right eye across the ridge of his cheekbone.
His eyes rolled back. His muscles locked, else the energy that shuddered mercilessly through his body would have felled him. When she released him, he collapsed before her in dazed breathlessness. His lungs heaved and his racing heart stuttered in his chest.
She guided his head to her lap with one hand, and he laid his head upon her knees in a gesture of love and devoted submission, an acknowledgment that for all his dominance on the seas, his victorious ferocity in battle, and his intimidating height and build, he derived his true strength and greatest magic from this small, slender woman who had borne him. She loved and ruled him as ferociously as she loved and ruled her nation. And like every devoted son of Calberna, he just as ferociously loved, served, and defended her.
Dilys closed his eyes as his mother gently stroked the soft, obsidian ropes of his hair. The power she’d poured into him raged like a tempest inside him, filling his body so completely, his skin felt stretched and on fire. He fought to assimilate that power, to contain it and store it in his cells, to be called upon in future.