Chapter 10 #2
“No, but I think Agrevlari spoke to Ozlemar and that he and Jhiton are heading to the meeting of the tribes. If I show up and want to challenge Chieftess Shi for leadership and deliver your message, I’ll first have to face Jhiton—and explain to everyone my actions in the mine.
Lesva has already told people what happened, and Jhiton will back up her account. He knows exactly what I did.”
“What you did was save Tibby’s life. And probably mine too. Lesva wouldn’t have stopped trying to kill me.”
“My people won’t appreciate those choices.” Vorik shook his head bleakly.
“Maybe I should send Agrevlari with a letter to your leaders, saying I’m open to negotiations, and you should stay here.”
“A letter wouldn’t do anything to sway the vote among the stormer chiefs and bring this war to an end.”
“What would? It doesn’t sound like your people will listen to you even if you’re allowed to challenge your chief to a duel and win.”
“I know, but… I have to try, don’t I?” Vorik rubbed his head, not looking that certain. “I would rather stay with you and help you take back your throne, but then what? If there’s not a resolution between our peoples…”
“We can figure that out later. Maybe if I give you political asylum here and later send you as an official envoy with diplomatic immunity, you could walk into your camp and not be immediately slain. There is a precedent for that. Your people and mine have recognized diplomatic immunity in the past.”
“Yes, I’m aware, but exiled stormers were never the ones who received that immunity. They were Kingdom diplomats that your people sent to negotiate with mine.”
“Well, this would be a first, then. Would you like me to have a special robe made for you? Our diplomats usually wear blue with silver-fur trim with the Garden Kingdom emblem on the chest.”
“That’s two crossed scythes, isn’t it? And a wheat stalk? Wearing grain on my chest would surely impress Jhiton and keep him from running me through.”
“I could send tarts along for you to give people too.”
“That might sway some of the chiefs, but Jhiton would skewer a tart with his sword.”
“He really is an animal, isn’t he?” Syla almost told herself not to speak ill of the dead, but he wasn’t dead, she reminded herself. Throwing insults at a living enemy seemed permissible.
“A ruthless predator.”
Syla remembered the cold eyes of the man who had, without any hint of sympathy, ordered that drug injected into her vein and questioned her. Even worse than that, he’d been the one to lead the initial invasion of the Kingdom, to order the royal family be slain.
“Stay here, Vorik,” Syla whispered. “I’m afraid that even if you show up with my emblem and my tarts, the stormers will kill you instead of listening to you or giving you a chance to challenge your chief.”
“I think if I show up with your emblem, they’ll especially kill me,” he said dryly.
How could he sound even slightly amused by the prospect?
Syla gripped his arm, afraid he would go even if it was unwise. No, even if it was suicidal.
“Don’t go.” She gazed into his eyes, almost tempted to draw upon her magic, to try to make him obey the order.
But she’d tried to use her power on him before, and it hadn’t worked.
For good or ill, he had power of his own, and he couldn’t be manipulated.
Not by magic. “I’ll make you ten tarts,” she tried instead. “And a cobbler. Five cobblers.”
“That sounds magnificent.” Vorik smiled sadly and touched her jaw.
“But you’re not going to stay.”
He patted her hand, letting his rest on hers, though he was poised to step back and out of her grip.
“Not if there’s a chance that, by going, I can help our people find a peaceful way forward.
And maybe if I can convince the stormers to want to vie for peace and make it clear we’ll only negotiate with you, that might also help you in your quest for your throne. ”
Syla wanted to try again to change his mind, to tell him that having him fighting at her side would be the best way to ensure she could retake the throne, but she recognized that she wouldn’t sway him.
Maybe, after the choices he’d made in the mine, he had believed he would walk away from his people, but things had changed.
With her throat tight with emotion, Syla said, “Then I’ll request that you be careful and not do anything foolish. Have a plan before walking in. I’ll agree to whatever within reason you offer your people to entice them to negotiate with mine. As long as they let you live.”
Vorik didn’t point out that she wasn’t yet in a position to offer him or his people anything on behalf of the Kingdom.
“I’ll keep your wise counsel in mind.” He kissed her, then slipped out of her grip and turned.
“Wait,” Syla blurted, tears threatening to creep into her eyes.
Vorik turned back, his eyebrows rising.
Syla wanted to make one more attempt to sway him. Images came to mind of Jhiton leaping out of the shadows and slitting his throat as soon as Vorik walked into their camp. But his jaw was set with determination. He didn’t need her breaking down and weeping to make things harder.
“You can’t go without any food,” she said, then held up a finger and jogged into the house.
Teyla and Vonla had already gathered jars, jerky, and bags of dried fruit and vegetables from the pantry.
Syla grabbed a large bag to pack for Vorik.
Realizing he would have to walk and then swim before reaching his dragon, she didn’t select as many items as she might have otherwise, but she picked a number of tasty foods, including persimmons, a rarer fruit grown on the farm that he might not have had before.
She also selected a few jars of jams, trusting he and his people might find them novel and flavorful, and a loaf of bread, a brick of cheese, and a few bags of dried fruit.
When she spotted sugar-sprinkled, dragon-scale cookies, she almost filled a sack with them.
If he got tired of carrying so much food… well, he could snack along the way.
“Do you need help with anything, Your Majesty?” Celena asked from the doorway as Vonla and Teyla walked out with their own provisions.
“Just selecting foods suitable to buy the love of stormers.”
Celena looked toward Vorik, who waited by the carriage.
“Not that one,” Syla said, “though he’ll definitely eat some of this.”
“I actually brought a few sweets along if you want to send them. I wasn’t sure how long I’d be away from home but didn’t have much time to pack so grabbed what I was working on in the kitchen.”
“If you have anything particularly delicious, I’ll send it.”
“All of my food is delicious, Your Majesty.”
Syla recalled that Celena had dreams of starting a bakery. “Of course. I remember the cookies.”
“I have some of those and some chocolates and also chocolate nut butters. Those don’t take any baking, and my kids love them. Adults do too.”
“I have no doubt.”
Celena hurried to the carriage, then returned with tins of cookies and jars of the nut butters. Vorik gripped his chin and watched in bemusement as she and Syla maneuvered everything into one bag, then brought it to him. His nose twitched a few times as he peered in.
“The dragon-scale cookies and persimmons are for you,” Syla said.
“And maybe the bread since that doesn’t stay fresh for long.
I wrapped it in oilskin so that it’ll stay dry if you have to swim.
The rest of the stuff you can share with your people.
Maybe that’ll entice them and make them want to explore my proposal. ”
“I would think so.” Vorik accepted the bag with a bow.
“I also tucked in one of my new salves. I’ve been using my power to imbue healing formulations with magical power.”
“Excellent. I may need such a salve.”
“Everyone needs such a salve. Oh, but I forbid you from giving anything to your brother.”
“Nothing at all? Not even a cookie? How will we sway him to our side?”
“Is that likely to happen?”
“Probably not. And I doubt he’s going to be in the mood to accept anything from me.” Vorik grimaced.
Syla wished she hadn’t brought Jhiton up. She didn’t want Vorik to leave feeling grim.
“You can give him a cookie if you think it will help.” She gripped his shoulders and kissed him.
“That’s in case…” In case he didn’t survive this and she never saw him again.
But she didn’t want to say that. That was even grimmer than the reminder that his possibly vengeful brother would be waiting for him. “Just in case,” she said.
“Yes.” His return kiss promised he understood the unspoken as well as the spoken.
It was tender and sweet rather than raw and passionate, and tears threatened Syla’s eyes again. She was the one to withdraw and whisper, “Goodbye and good luck, Vorik.”
“I’ll bid you the same luck. No, better luck.”
“Thank you.”
He bowed again to her, arranged the sack over his shoulder, and walked off into the night.
“Where’s he going?” Teyla asked, walking past with water jugs in her arms.
Syla barely resisted the urge to blurt the words, To get himself killed.
She hoped that wasn’t the case. Even if it was, she wanted to be supportive.
“Back to his people,” was what she said, “to challenge his chieftess for control of his tribe.”
“Huh.” Teyla, who didn’t yet know what had happened in the salt mine, didn’t know what an impossible task that would be. “Do we want that?”
“I think, for the future of the Kingdom and the stormers, we should, yes.”
“Huh,” Teyla repeated.