The Bloodforged (4 page)

Or they will ally against you.
Alix didn't bother to say it aloud. Erik knew the risks better than anyone. But here again, he had no choice.

“Let me come with you,” Liam said. “The Pack can protect you.”

Erik shook his head. “We've discussed this. I need you in Onnan. That fleet is everything. You must find out what the delay is.”

“How am I supposed to do that? ‘Hey, look, chaps—I see
your problem.'” Liam pointed at an imaginary spot in the air. “‘The thing hanging from the other thing is loose, see? There you go—problem solved.'”

“I haven't told you everything,” Erik said. “There are certain details I did not wish to make public before the council.” He threw a look at Alix.

“Ambassador Corse wasn't telling us the truth,” she said, keeping her voice low. They were alone, supposedly, but one could never be too careful. The ears at court were notoriously keen. “Not all of it, anyway. His whole manner was off. Whatever's holding up the fleet, it's not a technical problem. I'd bet my eyeteeth on it.”

“It's almost certainly a political issue of some kind,” Erik said.

Liam scowled. “Well, that's a relief. Here I thought I was being sent to fumble my way through something I know
nothing
about.”

“You are a prince, Liam. Politics is in your blood. You'll have to get used to it.”

The anger drained from Liam's eyes, replaced by a resigned look. “I know. I just wish it didn't have to be today.”

Erik flashed an anaemic smile. “We all wish a lot of things, brother. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have a letter to write to His High Lordship King Omaïd.” Alix started to follow, but Erik waved her off. “You can join me in my study later. The two of you should take some time together.”

There will be little enough to come.
The words hung, unspoken, in the air.

Rig swore quietly. “That's it, then. My king off to try to sneak through enemy territory, my prince exiled to a political viper's nest, and Albern sodding Highmount left in charge. Did I miss anything?”

“Just those thirty thousand enemy soldiers at our doorstep,” Liam said.

“Blessed Farika.” Rig headed for the door, shaking his head. “We'll be lucky to last a month.”

*   *   *

“It isn't right,
Allie,” Liam murmured, touching his forehead to hers. His hands went to her waist, drawing her in until they
tangled together. “If I can't go with you and Erik, then I should at least be at the front. I'm a soldier. I'm not—”

“Yes, you are. And you'll be fine.” She spoke the words with such conviction that she almost believed them. Almost.

It should be me.

The rebellious thought raced through her mind for only a moment before she wrestled it down.
Your duties lie elsewhere
, she told herself firmly.
You are the king's bodyguard. Whatever else you might have been, those doors are closed now.
The choice had been made. It was as unchangeable as Erik's decision to go to Harram, as Liam's adoption of the White name. They had all made their choices, and this was where it had led them.

“You have to believe in yourself,” she said. “If you don't, they'll see it, and they'll take advantage of it. Just remember, you're a White.”

“Half.”

“It doesn't matter,” Alix said, struggling to keep the exasperation from her voice. “If anything, they'll like you better for being a bastard. If there's one thing the Onnani hate, it's a haughty Aldenian. Their pride is still recovering from the time they spent as slaves, no matter that it was centuries ago. Your humility will go over well with them. You'll see.” She smiled. “So long as you don't call them
fishmen
.”

Liam groaned softly. “I wish you could come with me. You're so much better at these things than I am.”

Alix knew she should argue, but she couldn't.

His lips dropped to her ear. “I don't know how I'll even sleep without you.” She felt a gentle tug at her side as Liam pulled at the laces of her undershirt.

“Now?”

“Now. Later. As often as we can. Who knows how long it'll be until we . . .” The tugging stopped. He stood motionless, his breath uneven in her ears. Alix swallowed against a growing ache in her throat.

“We'll be fine,” she whispered. A promise or a prayer? If only she knew.

A warm hand slid into the gap in her shirt, along her skin, fingers trailing up the back of her rib cage. His thumb moved over the swell of her breast and found its mark. Alix sucked in a breath.

“Swear you'll come back to me, Allie.” His fingertips brushed the scar on her back, the one left by the assassin's dagger. When he spoke again, his voice was ragged. “Swear.”

“I promise.” His thumb moved, and she gasped again. “I
swear
.”

He let out a long, resigned breath. Then he reached down and swept her legs out from under her, cradling her as easily as if she were a child. “Right, that's your part done.” He started toward the bed.

She gazed up at him. Mischief pooled in the slate grey of his eyes, a flammable substance about to take light. She shivered with anticipation. “What's your part?”

“Incentive.”

“D
isturbing news indeed,” the rasping voice said. A plume of breath vented from the hood, the only evidence of the face obscured in its depths.

“Don't give me that,” Alix said. “You already knew this, or you aren't worth nearly what I pay you.”

She sensed the smile within the hood. “Then why bother to tell me?”

“In case there were any missing pieces in the account you received.” She glanced at him. “From someone whose identity you will give me one day.”

A dense cloud accompanied the laughter. “I doubt that, Lady Black.”

Alix didn't bother to correct him. For some reason, it amused the spy to refer to her as
Lady Black
, as though it were she, and not her brother, who held the banner. It seemed to be a sign of respect, albeit of a mocking sort. “We'll leave as soon
as possible,” she said. Huddling deeper into her cloak, she added, “Hopefully it will warm up soon.”

“Don't be too eager to greet the warm weather. With spring comes war.”

“I know.” Rig had ridden out that morning. It was never easy, but this time had been especially difficult. Alix had barely been able to keep her tears in check when he'd planted a rough kiss on her forehead.
Be good, Allie
, he'd told her, just as he'd done when she was a child.
Let Eldora be your sign
, she'd replied. And he'd said what he always did:
She doesn't fancy me.
So Alix had called on Olan instead—as though her brother had ever lacked for courage.

“As difficult as you will find the mountains,” Saxon said, “Prince Liam may have the more challenging task before him.”

“How do you figure that?”

“The politics of the Republicana are . . . complex. Even seasoned diplomats find themselves lost in the maze.”

“How complicated can it be? Court is court, surely, whatever you call it. If anything, things should be simpler there. The speakers have only five years to build alliances and make enemies, and then their terms in office are done. Here, the same families have been plotting and scheming for centuries.”

“As they have in Onnan. Do not be fooled by lofty talk of democracy, Lady Black. The Onnani have their dynasties, whatever their pretensions to the contrary. The same handful of families has been churning out speakers for generations. Nor is family the only claim upon their loyalties.”

“The leagues.”

The hood rippled in assent. “That is another, though by no means the most influential. True power lies with the secret societies, and those cut across league lines. A speaker who represents the Worker's Alliance might be a Son of the Revolution, while another Alliance member is a Shield. If forced to choose, they will side with their society brothers rather than their league members.”

“Seems simple enough. All you have to do is find out what a secret society's agenda is, and you know where its members stand.”

The grating laughter sounded again. “Discovering a secret
society's agenda is a quest akin to finding the Lost Kingdom. They are called
secret
for a reason, my lady. Even their membership is kept in the strictest confidence. Those in my trade do a brisk business in Onnan, as you can imagine. And then there is the religious angle. Most high-ranking members of the Republicana are also priests.”

Alix swore under her breath. Liam had enough trouble fitting in at his own brother's court. How in Eldora's name was he ever going to navigate his way through
that
?

“I could accompany His Highness,” Saxon said, as though reading her thoughts. “I have a strong network in Onnan City, even stronger than in the Trionate. I could be of tremendous value to him.”

“I have no doubt, but unfortunately, I need you here.”

Saxon gave a thoughtful grunt. “You fear instability in His Majesty's absence.”

“Wouldn't you?”

“Things are not as uncertain as they once were. War has a way of bringing a nation together.”

“The king's position may be more stable than it was, but that isn't saying a whole lot. He nearly lost his crown. However much the war may have glossed over the cracks, they're still there.”

“Indeed.”

“I need you to keep an eye on Highmount and the council.” She paused, threw him an arch look. “Good thing you have your tick to help you.”

“My tick may change his mind about feeding me information once he realises how much power he holds under the new dispensation. His ambition is what allowed me to recruit him in the first place. It could turn him from an asset to a liability very quickly.”

“In which case, you'll know what to do.”

The hood twisted to face her. Dark eyes stared out from the shadows, glinting like moonlight on coal. “Be careful, Lady Black. Some stains never wash away. Some paths, once set upon, cannot be turned from.”

“You're giving me advice now?”

“I've been giving you advice from the beginning, and you would do well to heed it.” He turned, vanishing within the
hood once again. “I will do whatever you ask of me. It is the privilege for which you pay. But consider carefully before you choose the way of blood, because it only ends in one thing.”

“And what's that?”

“Blood.”

Alix looked away. Her gaze wandered over the glittering burlap that lined the rosebushes to fall upon the fractured glass surface of the frozen duck pond. She flexed her shoulders, as though banishing a chill. “It's tempting, though, isn't it, to think that all our troubles could be ended at a stroke, if the right person were to die? Sadik, for instance, or Varad.”

“Killing the Priest did not prove so very decisive. Why should it be any different with the Warlord or the King? Wars are rarely ended by assassination.”

“Too bad.” There was a stretch of silence. Alix shivered again. “Speaking of the Trionate, what news from your contacts there?”

A shrug. “Little of consequence. The squabbling among the priests for the right to succeed Madan continues. Meanwhile, the people mourn their Trion. They grow weary of war.”

Highmount had mentioned that too. Erik had thought it useful information, but Alix wasn't so sure. “Not much to go on,” she said. “Maybe your network isn't as strong as you think.”

“Does that mean you no longer wish to hear from them?” The rasping voice was heavy with sarcasm.

“I wish to hear from
you
, and as often as possible. You can reach me through any of the post stations along the western highway, all the way to Blackhold. After that, we'll be out of touch until we reach Ost. I'll see to it that you have access to the royal pigeons. You can write to me care of the palace in Ost, if you need to.”

“A sensible measure, one that works both ways. If you require anything of me, do not hesitate to send word.”

“In the meantime, what do you know of Harrami politics?”

“Less than you, I imagine. The Harrami hold themselves aloof of Gedonan affairs, which means they are rarely a worthwhile subject of research for those in my trade. You would do better to ask a scholar.”

“Maybe I will.”

“In that case,” Saxon said, rising, “I wish you good day,
Lady Black. We both have research to do. You on Harram, and me on my tick.”

“You haven't researched him already?”

“Of course. But something tells me I will need more on him in the days to come.” He smiled. “Or her.”

Alix squinted up at him against the glare of a winter sky. “Tell me something, Saxon. Are politics any less cutthroat in peacetime?”

The spy expelled a puff of vapour, something between a laugh and a snort. “Good gods, no, my lady. They are much, much worse.”

*   *   *

“Notes,” Liam said,
eyeing the scroll doubtfully. “From your spy.”

“Think of it as a sort of encyclopaedia of Onnani politics. It'll be helpful, I promise.”

He unfurled it and scanned the page, brow creasing as he read. “Holy Hew, Allie, this is a mess!” He groaned and sat back heavily in his chair. “I can't do this.”

“Yes,” Alix said firmly, “you can. Look, it's not that complicated.” A bald-faced lie, based on what Saxon had told her, but one Liam needed to hear. “The Onnani elect their leaders every five years, right?”

“Right,” Liam said sullenly.

“There are three main leagues that vie for power.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “The Worker's Alliance, the Union for the Republic, and the People's Congress. The Worker's Alliance has been in power for two consecutive terms, under First Speaker Kar.”

“Who's a priest.”

Alix heard the anxiety in his voice, and she couldn't blame him. The idea of priests meddling in politics had never sat well with Aldenians, and their experience with the Priest of Oridia had only cemented that distrust. “Erik says you could never be elected in Onnan without being a member of the clergy. All the major players are ordained.”

“But it says here they're also members of secret societies.” Liam shook his head as he read. “
The Sons of the Revolution. The Shield.
Gods, I thought the Trionate was complicated!”

Alix had never considered the Trionate's politics especially complex, but then, she'd had a proper education. Liam had been tutored, but only in the basics; foreign political systems were utterly beyond his ken. “Our system is simpler than most, that's all,” she said.

“Our system makes sense.” He held up a finger. “One king. One decider. He consults, sure, but at the end of the day, the decisions are his. Having three leaders is a recipe for disaster. What happens when the Trions disagree? And then there's these Onnani blokes!” He rapped the scroll with the back of his hand. “
Dozens
of them, Allie. How do they decide anything?”

“Well, they vote.”

He went on as though he hadn't heard. “And this business about secret societies—what does that even mean?”

“I'm not sure,” she admitted. “I guess what's important is that you can't assume you know where an Onnani politician stands just because of his league affiliation.”

“Then how am I supposed to know? How am I supposed to figure out
any
of this?” The helplessness in his grey eyes pierced Alix's heart.

She took his hand, gave it a reassuring squeeze. “You will, love. I know you will.”

“That makes one of us.”

Alix dropped into his lap and curled her arms around his neck. “You really have to stop talking like that. You're wilier than you give yourself credit for.” She nuzzled his shoulder. “You don't really think I'd have married a fool, do you?”

It was her secret weapon. Liam simply couldn't resist. The playfulness returned to his eyes, and he gave her an arch look. “You might have, if you wanted him to be a slave to your will.”

She laughed. “Now why would I want that?”

“I can think of several reasons.”

“Hmm.” She gazed at him teasingly, brushing her thumb along his lip. “I'm starting to think of a few myself.”

He needed no further encouragement, reaching up and twining his fingers in her hair. He sighed as his lips met hers, and she felt his shoulders relax. He kissed her slowly, lingeringly, letting the tension drain from his body, and soon he was lowering her back against the cushions, thoughts of Onnani
politics long forgotten. Alix let herself sink into the moment, wrapping her limbs around him, wishing she need never let go. But even as her body awoke to his, something else was settling inside her, grey and quietly mournful, like a thin blanket of ash. Tonight would be their last together. After that . . .

After that, there was no telling.

*   *   *

Alix tightened the
cinch on her saddle, yanking the leather with more force than was strictly necessary. The gelding grunted and shifted a little in protest. She slipped the strap end through the buckle and patted his neck in apology.
Not his fault you're in a mood
, said a voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like Gwylim's.

Gwylim.
How she wished he were here now. Aside from the fact that they could have used his scouting skills—not to mention his healing skills, or the myriad of other useful tricks he knew—Alix had always found his presence comforting. Gwylim never let himself get rattled by anything. He'd seemed to absorb the emotions of those around him the way a cloth mops up a spill. He was the man everyone went to for advice, all of it delivered with kindness and empathy.
The world lost something special when it lost Gwylim.
Something that could not be replaced.

Certainly not by Kerta Middlemarch.

“Oh, Alix, this must be so awful for you,” Kerta said, fussing with her own horse. “Taking the king into danger. Being separated from Liam.” She shook her pretty blond head mournfully.

“Yes, it is,” Alix said, doing her best not to growl. Kerta was a friend, and she meant well, but at times like these, Alix resented her syrupy brand of sympathy. It was hard enough dealing with this situation without someone narrating her misery.

Kerta reached over and gripped her arm. “We'll protect him, Alix. And Liam will be fine. You'll see.”

Alix let out a long breath. Nodded. Taking the horse's bridle, she led him away from the scouts and across the yard to the main doors, where she handed him off to Godwin. She mounted the steps the way a condemned man climbs the stairs to the gallows. Inside, Liam and Erik awaited her. When she gave the word,
they would leave. They would ride out together as far as the south gate. And then they would part, for the gods only knew how long. Liam would head east, Alix and Erik west. Not for the first time, Alix's heart and her duty would tear her in two.

She hesitated outside the door to the study, but there was no point in putting it off further. Nodding to the royal guardsman on the door, she stepped through.