Chapter Twenty-One #3
Doran’s eyes narrowed to steely slashes, but he was quick to hide them with a nod in the queen’s direction, head bowed low enough to lay it on the table.
“I, of course, hold Wielding in the greatest esteem. I only thought to propose a strategy less reliant on our queen’s time and energy. I meant no disrespect, Your Majesty.”
“You never do,” Avette said, still bored and lofty.
But her pendant pulsed excitedly as she turned her head toward Imogen.
“It would be time-consuming, I’ll admit, to broaden my Frost on such a scale.
Bodies of water, in particular, are difficult to bind to the Winds, and I have learned my lesson in that regard.
If this is to be done, it must be done carefully. You have a solution, I assume?”
“Yes,” said Imogen at once, “we will enlist the help of the Palace Wielders, and the Laune merchants who have recently suspended their operations.”
Been forced to close their stalls due to the treacherous ice-winds and complete lack of business, Ger translated in his head.
“We’ll split the load among dozens of Wielders. The last thing anyone would want is for you to overextend yourself, Your Majesty, after all you have done for us.”
Daughters. Ger had as much of a sweet tooth as the next person, but that sugary tone was beginning to roil his stomach.
The queen plainly did not feel the same.
She leaned in, propping her pointed chin on one pale hand and regarding Imogen with keen interest. In profile, Ger could see the dark makeup smeared artfully down her cheek in the shape of glittering black tears, just as it had been at her first public address.
A reminder that she was their Sorceress and Saviour and had suffered so very long, for the good of all Eisalaan.
“And these merchants,” Avette waved her hand vaguely, the word wrinkling her nose like a bad smell. “You believe they will help our cause?”
Imogen dipped her head. “I believe they will be overjoyed at the opportunity to serve you, Your Majesty.”
Desperate for an opportunity to feed their families, Ger translated again. Funny. For all that he’d struggled to understand everything Imogen said and did over these last few weeks, he understood all that she didn’t say perfectly well.
Avette sat back again, delicate shoulders drawing straight.
“Leveraging the gift of our Silver Kingdom against our enemies,” she said thoughtfully. “A cold reception for a cold king. You are quite the strategist, Lady Snow.”
Imogen gave a soft laugh of delight at the nickname, and a flicker of blue light bounced merrily off the frosted walls.
Ger had to hand it to her; she knew how to speak to Avette, how to please and appease her.
As off-putting as it was to see a former friend bowing and scraping like that, he could admit that it was a thousand times more terrifying to be stuck in a room with their queen without Imogen to steer her temper.
Even now, the chill in the air had eased enough that he could feel his toes within the cold cage of his armour.
“You flatter me, Your Majesty,” Imogen said brightly.
With the queen’s head turned, Doran gave a petulant roll of his eyes, but Imogen caught the gesture and a sharp smile sliced across her face.
“Do you know,” she said, slow and sweet as a thick pour of honey, “our own Captain Doran made his name on the battlefield against Caldbon. He rose, alongside our dear Queen Selma, in the greatest esteem following their victory. If I may be so bold, perhaps you and I will make a similar pair one day.”
Imogen tilted her head dreamily, curls bouncing against one lace-trimmed shoulder.
“Perhaps we will,” said Avette. “You would make a fine General, Lady Snow.”
Doran’s thin lips parted around a mute objection.
“But all in due time,” the queen sighed. “For now, we must simply hold Caldbon off until the wedding.”
Doran’s eyes squeezed shut, then immediately flew open, jaw working decisively.
“Your Majesty, the wedding, I really must—”
“Dear Captain,” Avette crooned. “You really must not. You have made your stance on my marriage quite clear.”
She stood, her skirts whispering like the ghostly hush of the Winds as she leaned in and braced her hands flat on the table.
Frost spiralled out from beneath her fingertips, long spears of it darting down the table so fast that Norris squeaked, Mareda stiffened, and even Imogen was quick to snatch her hands back from the surface.
“But I have an ignorant enemy contesting my claim, all the while making noise about two bastard born heirs. So yes, bloodlines, marriage; these are worthwhile concerns. I will marry, whether you believe it necessary or not.”
Doran shut his mouth and stared down at the table; he was seething so hard, Ger almost imagined the frozen air around him beginning to steam. But then Avette reached out those long, cold fingers and tilted his gaze up to meet her own.
“Oh, don’t pout. We will not have long to wait.”
She dropped her grasp on the Captain’s face and turned to the table at large, blue light pooling outward as though she simply could not contain it, the entire room glowing with her excitement. Ger could hear the smile in her voice when she spoke, as cool and melodic as ever.
“Our Eisalaan Gard has travelled a great distance to make business with a seafaring friend.” She paused, another blinding pulse the only clue to her sheer delight. “And I daresay they will return with the finest catch.”