Chapter 43
Anya Delemond
The gate glowed a soft green, then clinked and groaned as it slid into the slits in the outer wall.
A gargantuan, flowering Yew tree shadowed the manicured path to the inner portcullis, which lifted to reveal sharp points at the bottom of each bar as they passed beneath it.
Beyond it lay a training ground, judging by the wooden dummies and stands overflowing with dull swords.
Weres and Elves sparred with each other, exchanging spirited parries and jabs that slowed to a halt as the knights strode past with Roderick and Anya in tow.
Every eye bore into them with an unsettling mix of fear and hate.
As the sunlight changed to the shadowed glow of mage lights inside, Anya looked at Roderick, who gave her a worried look.
She didn’t adore this plan either, but what other choice did they have?
Turning back would spit in the face of the Prince’s hospitality, leaving them with only less-than-legal options to garner the mana stones they needed—and she refused to turn the Lupus Star crew into an unwitting band of pirates.
Their path intersected with an Elven maid, who nearly dropped the towels in her arms with a gasp. She darted back into the hall and hid behind a burly Were footman. The footman looked confused until she whispered in his ear and his eyes grew wide.
Corridor after corridor the fear-filled ritual repeated, until they reached elegantly scrolled double doors.
Shimmering opulence assaulted Anya’s every sense as they passed the threshold arm in arm.
The temperate spring air vanished behind them, replaced by a wintry chill.
Delicate clinking drew Anya’s eye to the ceiling, where ice chandeliers hung from slate stone vaults.
They approached a long, glossy table spread with a glacier-blue runner. Beyond it, upon the dais, sat the Winter Prince, a silver crown of sapphires on his head reflecting the shining ice sculptures around him.
Anya slipped her arm from Roderick’s and curtsied, tipping her head down. He followed suit and bowed low.
“Rise,” the Prince said calmly. His husky voice resonated through the icy hall.
They straightened in tandem, and Anya finally looked upon her diplomatic foe for the ages.
A hulking, sharp-beaked bird sat on a gilded perch beside the throne, watching them with unsettling intensity.
There was something familiar about it, but she couldn't quite place it amid the mounting pressure of the conversation ahead.
The Prince rose from his silver-gilded throne and approached. Without a word to Roderick, he leveled his blue gaze at Anya. “Allow me to show you to your seat.” He offered his arm. She cast a glance back at Roderick. The tension in his shoulders betrayed his composure, but he nodded subtly.
She reluctantly accepted and they sat, with her and Roderick on opposite sides of the table and the Prince at the head between them.
It was only a few feet, but it felt much further in such an unfamiliar environment.
Per etiquette, it also meant she couldn’t converse with Roderick.
Not that there was much to say just between the two of them with the Prince present.
Roderick’s eyes darted from the knights posted in the arcade, to the Prince, with a flicker of concern every time his gaze landed back on her. She couldn’t see it, but she could hear the gentle pop of his knuckles muffled under the table.
Nervous servants brought out steaming trays of cod, mutton, fragrant herbed barley, potatoes and carrots. Serving a polite amount of each item onto her plate, Anya reached for the carving knife for the mutton.
“Allow me,” the Prince said. With a flick of his wrist, white magic illuminated the hilt of the knife. It sawed gently back and forth, then with his other hand, he directed a perfect slice of mutton onto Anya’s plate. He repeated the gesture with a bottle of wine.
“Thank you, Your Highness.”
The Prince having such abilities should have been expected.
He was the guardian of the southern border after all, and the amount of mana necessary to keep up the wards around the glacial wall must be extraordinary, unless it was some innate, ancient spell tied to the land itself.
Still, seeing a Were perform such powerful magical ministrations stoked her curiosity.
Weres with mana affinity were incredibly rare in Valeria.
Was it more common at one time? Was it something her people lost? Or was the Prince an exception?
A smile quirked the Prince’s lips. “You are curious about my magic.”
“Perhaps a bit,” Anya admitted, analyzing the piece of parsnip speared on her fork. “Such abilities are not common among Lycanians in the south.”
“Hm. It is a pity your kind are deprived of its wonders. Magic among Weres is rare here, but still present. But alas, human blood and magic do not—and should not—mix.”
Roderick’s jaw ticked. She gave him a subtle, pleading look, trying to convey let me handle this as nicely as possible. This was her battleground.
“Lycanians,” she repeated pointedly, “may not have magic, but that does not mean our lives are not full and happy.”
“You may think that—”
“I know that.”
She sipped her wine in stately victory, eyes not leaving the Prince as she did so. The Prince’s gaze fell on the gold band on her wrist.
“In any case, I am pleased to see you are able to connect with your ancestors. Mother Moon must favor you indeed.”
“It is luck, not favor.”
“Then you are quite the four-leaf clover, Princess Anya. I must laud you on your journey. The tenacity that brought you here is most admirable.”
“No ship is sailed alone. My Co-Commander and I must credit our fair-handed crew,” she said, gesturing to Roderick. He smiled but refrained from showing any teeth. “Although your compliment does beg a question, Your Highness.”
One of two queries that scared her the most.
“Do go on.” The Prince took a sip of wine.
The formal exchange was already exhausting Anya.
It was astounding how a mere month aboard the Lupus Star had sickened her to high society.
How pointless it all was. No one saying quite what they mean, sharpening their sentences between sips of splendorous drinks, bows and curtsies and hierarchies unspoken, but a lethal faux pas to overstep.
The thought of returning to that world on Eteross made her want to heave, but leaving Cyrus to rule was still not an option.
Before anxiety could get a toehold, she glanced at Roderick. His lips quirked up in a lopsided smile, bearing a hint of fangs.
At least she knew who would hold her at the end of those bone-weary days.
She took a deep, steadying breath. “We would like to be reunited with our ship and crew, the Lupus Star. She’s a three-masted schooner with a claw mark flag.
Respectfully, I am confident that if a foreign ship such as her was found off the coast of your lands, you would be the first to know about it. ”
The Prince calmly impaled a piece of mutton, examining it on his fork before answering. “Your assessment is correct, Princess. The watchman on the western wall noticed your ship in distress and had it towed in.”
Relief rushed through her. The goblet nearly slipped from her fingers as the tension in her limbs eased.
“I trust the crew is unharmed?”
With a nod, the Prince said, “Yes. They were brought to the port of Fellenick’s Fjord, a little ways from here. They were put into a mana-induced slumber, of course.”
The table jostled as Roderick shot up. “You did WHAT?” His fangs were visible now, fully unearthed by his rage.
“A simple sleeping spell,” the Prince said, waving him off. He paid no mind to Roderick’s fanged display.
Anya sent a pleading look at Roderick. She was just as worried, but outbursts now wouldn’t do them any good. After a moment, he slowly sat, but the tension in his shoulders and worried brow remained.
“Your Highness,” Roderick choked out through gritted teeth, “there were children aboard. Surely they cannot go without food and water for that long.”
Laughing, the Prince held up his wine glass. “I wouldn’t expect one of your kind to know much about magic. The Vampires had the weakest mana affinity of all. So I can only assume it is nonexistent in their half-breed children as well.”
“We’re called Centarians,” Roderick bit out, tapping his goblet down with so much force the dishware clattered.
“Ah, yes. Noted. Allow me to explain then. The spell has life-sustaining properties. They will be in the same condition as you left them.”
“That is a relief, Your Highness,” Anya said.
It wasn’t, but this was all part of the game.
“We appreciate your hospitality despite our unexpected visit. I understand our appearance is most unorthodox. But I assure you, we would not be here if the situation were not dire. There are dozens of sick children, and nothing is working to cure them. Our healing mages are confident that they could heal them, but as the magic of Elf-descended Elvani is quite limited, they rely heavily on mana stones to supplement their abilities. I believe the people of Valeria could be most advantageous allies and trade partners to Aquillas, if only we could establish trade between our kingdoms. We have brought the finest Valeria has to offer on the Lupus Star.”
“Which is?”
His query boosted her confidence. She canted her head, picturing the inventory in the hull. “Three chests of gold, one of precious gems, six barrels of aged mead, ten sets of Kobold-forged armor, and a hundred yards of purple silk cloth.”
“I have no use for such things,” he said plainly.
“Perhaps your people do, if we could be permitted to trade with them directly.”
Raising a hand for silence, the Prince said, “Let us continue our meal. I will think about what I require.”
Anya took a deep breath. The question was out in the open now. The Prince seemed hesitant, but it wasn’t an outright no. And until she heard that, she would keep up all the auspices of a proper diplomat.
They continued eating with only the clink and scrape of forks and knives to break up the silence.
Every swallow felt thick and forced under the Prince’s unsettling gaze.
In this form, he looked every bit a human but still watched her with the viperous gaze of a hungry animal.
She was so focused on avoiding his eye, she hadn’t even noticed the servants flitting about to clear the table.
The Prince stood. Anya and Roderick mirrored him.
“I believe our negotiations may be more productive in my study, Princess,” he said.
He stepped to her and offered his arm again.
Anya hesitated, looking back at Roderick.
His hands were clenched tight, but his eyes were rife with worry.
He would be a nervous wreck, but it had to be done.
If a few minutes ruler to ruler was what it would take to convince the Prince to trade, it would be worth it.
She accepted his arm. “Yes, I suppose. But what of my consort?” The impersonal term left a foul taste on her tongue, but formalities were formalities. Roderick started popping his knuckles again.
“He can wait in the courtyard. This won’t take long.”