Chapter 55
Isca
In Anwen’s rooms, the breezy scent of wildflowers mingled with the salty sea.
It was grander than the place I’d been held before, but no warmer.
Heavy blue tapestries weighed down the walls, muffling sound but not the tension keeping my body rigid.
A fire crackled in the hearth, burning low but steady, just like the woman who shooed the guards away as she entered.
She wore the same gown I’d seen her in earlier, with the same sword slung low on her hips. The only thing that had changed about her was the permanent scowl that had settled on her face.
Must’ve been a tense dinner. I could only imagine the political pressure she was under after taking her cousin’s prisoner and hiding her in the capital.
I sat in one of the dining chairs near the hearth, bundled under a fur I’d stolen from her bed, hair still wet from the bath.
It was far too cold in Gelida, and my body still ached from the last traces of the druid’s spell.
It was growing late, and even though I’d slept for an entire day already, I was exhausted.
“Thank you for the meal and drink,” I said, swirling the chill liquid in my goblet. “I’ve never had a wine as sweet as mead.”
Anwen trudged over on weary feet and poured herself a goblet full, fingers strangling the stem. “It’s made from ice grapes. Thought it might be a fitting gesture for our visiting diplomat.”
“Is that how you’re selling me downstairs?”
Her smile had teeth. “Yes.” She moved with deliberate precision even in the comfort of her own room. Her every gesture carried the capacity for a strike or a calculated withdrawal.
“Clever,” I replied with my own smirk. “Your mental walls are good, but I don’t need my magic to know that things did not go exactly as planned.”
“I smiled at ten lords who’d have me burned alive if they knew the truth,” Anwen muttered. “So yes. A delight. They went so far as to suggest that I marry my own cousin.”
I couldn’t smile at that. “I don’t see you cleaning your sword, so it sounds to me like you did a fine job of handling them.”
“They keep asking who I’ll marry. Like it’s a given I’ll give them a name before my father dies. Just to box me in.” She sat across from me with a thud of exhaustion she didn’t bother to hide.
I shrugged. “They want you shackled before they can’t tell you ‘no’ easily.”
Anwen’s gaze met mine over the rim of her goblet.“They want to shackle me by any means possible.”
My voice dropped as I leaned in close. “Then don’t give them what they want. Give them what they’ll accept.”
“And what’s that?” Anwen snapped. She caught herself, closing her eyes for a long moment, breathing out through her teeth, but didn’t apologize. Instead, she waved a hand. “These rooms were warded centuries ago. The magic is still intact. We can speak freely.”
I set my goblet down, thinking furiously.
The Assembly was involved because they wanted mages back in power, just like in the days of Avanfell’s empire.
Except that was likely only their first goal.
If mages led every kingdom again, they could justify placing themselves above the kings as the supreme arbiters of magic.
Anwen was probably a powerful mage, given how easily she seemed to maintain her shield against my magic’s intrusion. But she was still a woman in a conservative, warrior-centric society that trusted steel over magic.
“And you have to marry…” I thought aloud as I forced myself to relax. I didn’t want to antagonize her with something I expected she hated about her privileged life, but I needed to know.
“Obviously,” she mumbled, quickly finishing her wine, as if time was running out for that freedom too. “A foregone conclusion since my birth.”
The freedom not to be bound to a man if I didn’t want it was the one good thing about living in poverty back in Caervorn. If I could support myself, nothing would force me to get married.
“Would your court accept a mage beside you on the throne?” I asked.
Anwen’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Not really. But they’d tolerate one…if he brought enough coin and treaties with him.”
I leaned forward slightly again. “Would you consider a mage?”
“I will consider anything to avoid the necessity of fucking my disgusting cousin. Whatever it takes to stop them from taking what is mine. Anything to stop them from burning every gifted child in the street.”
The sound of my fingernails tapping echoed across the table’s heavy wood. Damn. I was beginning to like her too.
Anwen narrowed her eyes at me. “You’re working toward something. Just say it.”
“I know someone,” I said. “Someone diplomatic. Respected. Well-loved and of the correct rank.”
Her expression didn’t change, but her posture shifted—like a fox lifting its nose to catch a scent. “One of my supporters already recommended we try to arrange a divorce for Larethia’s king since he wants one already. Do you speak of him?”
“No,” I said quickly. “There would be too much political upheaval if you married King Berian. One of you would be expected to give up their throne.”
The look she set on me was as frigid as the words that came out of her mouth. “And you think I’d give up mine?”
“No,” I said with too much force. “You’re already hiding enough, Anwen. You need someone who knows what it means to hide while in the spotlight. And someone who will be your biggest supporter.”
She stilled like she was waiting for me to spring the trap.
“Berian’s younger brother, Owain,” I said, holding her gaze. “Or Prince Nisien, Darreth’s co-ruler and Emrys’s twin. A marriage alliance with either kingdom would create peace across Avanfell since they’re already allied.”
Anwen laughed, the sound a brittle whisper of disbelief. “The shadow prince or the golden one? Imagine us… So different.”
“If it means ending the war and lifting the tariffs from Larethia or Darreth’s trade routes, your court might accept it.
If it means new silver and grain pouring into the northern reaches where crops are scarce, I can’t see them saying no.
Owain is as charming as he is kind. And Nisien is gentle and measured. ”
“But they’re both mages.”
She’s so used to pretending, she’s doing it even now. “And so are you.”
Her eyes flashed. But she didn’t deny it.
I took another sip of my wine. “Owain is the head of Larethia’s military. Your court would absolutely accept him, given enough time. And his magic is so unique. But he’s also hiding something…” I shuddered involuntarily at the memory of his eyes going black as night. “Though I don’t know what.”
Anwen huffed in surprise. “He’s not completely human, lady mage.”
I knew it.
“Does that bother you?” I asked. “Whatever he is.”
She shrugged. “I’ve met him a few times before, and my court knows of his ancestry. My people have a less brutal history with Larethia than Darreth, so that does speak in Owain’s favor—even if he is part Fae. But you also mentioned Nisien. Do go on…”
Fae. Gods above and below.
I cleared my throat. “Nisien doesn’t flaunt his strength. He’s as good a fighter as Emrys, but only his inner circle knows that. His magic is strong. I’ve seen it myself. He just knows how to hide it. Exactly like you.”
Anwen turned the wineglass in her hand, eyes pinned to the flicker of firelight along its rim. “You think he’d agree?”
“You’re not even going to ask what kind of man he is?”
Anwen scoffed. “Does it matter?”
“Yes,” I said with more than enough vehemence for our intimate conversation. “He’s the best sort of man, Princess. I would trust him with my life. Emrys trusts him. And I think if you can convince him Gelida is worth saving—and worth sharing—he’d work to support you.”
She looked at me then, gaze sharp as a drawn blade. “And what do you want out of this, Isca?”
“To stop a war. To stop the Assembly from taking over multiple kingdoms in the chaos—which seems to be their intent.”
“The Assembly sent you to Darreth, and yet you are so quick to stab them in the back?” Anwen asked, a hint of suspicion in her eyes.
“With a sword to my throat.” I answered truthfully.
“I figured as much.” Anwen exhaled slowly through her nose. “Well, if either prince agrees to speak with me, I’ll hear them out.”
“I have to convince Emrys not to kill you first.” I lifted my goblet in a mock toast. “To outmaneuvering the Assembly.”
Her wine was gone, but Anwen still raised her goblet. She rose then, as if the conversation had ended. I wanted to speak more, but I took the gift of her cordial exchange for what it was.
As she crossed to the door that led from her room, I said softly, “Anwen.”
She paused, hand on the frame.
“You don’t have to keep hiding forever.”
She didn’t look back. “Don’t tell me what I have to do, Caervorn girl. I’m sleeping in my late mother’s chambers tonight. I’ll wake you when your prince arrives.”
Then she vanished into the darkness beyond, and the fire snapped in the quiet, as if it, too, had been holding its breath.