13. Thirteen
thirteen
"Princess!"
Neira paused, drawing in a deep, calming breath. Tired of confining herself to her rooms – and too easily found there – she had spent the late morning in the library, writing letters. To Huldra, first and foremost, to inquire about her brother's whereabouts and well-being, but also to Hertha, the other elven kingdom, as well as the merchant council of Green Harbour. Pleas for help, which had quickly been balled up and tossed into the lake from the window; because what, exactly, did she need help with? And who would respond? She was one woman in a realm far across the sea from them, and they'd be stupid to send their armies against a threat that didn't concern them. Erqis' goal was Malvea, not the torn elven realms an ocean away. And did she really want to put her fate into elven hands? The Glacier Throne of Huldra was her father's ally, and that was as far as her experience with them went. The Heather Throne of Hertha, constantly at war with Huldra over some perceived slight centuries past, she had no connections to entirely.
No, Neira was on her own.
In a lucky twist of fate, she had amused the conqueror enough that he had sided with her against the men who had betrayed her. He had not hurt her, or jailed her, or made violent threats. He had taken liberties with her the day prior, but he had also allowed her to take her revenge, and hadn't that made the simmering anger burning in her belly die down?
Making nice with Erqis, at least for now, was her best chance through this until a path forward presented itself.
She schooled her features into careful disinterest and turned, watching the invading king stride down the corridor towards her. Erqis looked well-rested, that laid-back smile begging to be slapped off his stupid face, his brass curls in disarray like they hadn't seen a comb in days. He was dressed in much the same type of clothing as the day before, narrow brown trousers tucked into soft leather boots, the collar of his shirt parted too wide.
One, single word, and already she wanted to strangle him. "Your Majesty."
"Such formality." His smile widened, and Neira’s annoyance with it.
He was standing too close for comfort, but Neira refused to take a step back. Make nice, she could – subdue her pride though for his comfort? Never.
"Will you bow to me, too?" He asked.
"Do you expect me to?"
Erqis laughed. He caught her hand and lifted it, then bent gallantly at the waist to kiss her knuckles. Another day of growth made his beard softer than the stubble before, and the rasp of it sent heat pooling in her core. "Never, Highness. A woman like you bows to no one."
Oh, he was up to something. Neira's eyes narrowed. "Indeed. Were you looking for me?"
"I was." Keeping hold of her hand, Erqis went as far as to lace their fingers and, after a glance look up and down the very empty corridor, pulled her back into the library.
Panic rose in a flash and then settled just as fast – she had hidden the letter to Huldra. With no means of sending it out, at least not without anyone noticing, she had stashed it between two random books on one of the massive bookcases.
Now that she thought about it… she had never sent a letter anywhere. Neira was well-educated in the matter of correspondence, of course, her father had seen to that, but she had never learned how correspondence was actually sent.
The thought was uncomfortable, a vile squirming in the back of her mind.
"You had a pleasant morning, I trust?" Erqis all but fell into one of the cushioned loveseats without letting go of her hand, so Neira was dragged down beside him.
She forced a small smile. "Your Majesty, I am your host – I'm supposed to ask you that."
He stared at her with the same narrowed look of suspicion Neira had levelled on him a moment ago. "I don't love this," Erqis declared, gesturing at her. "This… fake pleasantness. Did I do something to displease you?"
"Your entire existence displeases me."
"Well, obviously, but aside from that." He sat up straighter, slid his free hand along the curved back of the lounge until he had caged her between his body and the raised cushion. "Did our tryst yesterday offend you into submission, Neira? I sure hope not."
"That wasn't a tryst ." Heat crawled up her neck, as much from his proximity as from the memory. Erqis' expression had turned soft, a little predatory, warm . Like it had the day before, when he had licked her taste off of his fingers.
"What was it then?"
Even when he leaned in and ran the tip of his nose along her neck, she kept sitting stiffly. "A mistake, since you clearly believe I have any interest in repeating it."
"Oh, you wound me, Princess." His chuckle was low, dark, much too close to her ear.
She pressed a hand against his chest to push him away, her fingertips sliding against warm skin and coarse hair. "Please. What did you seek me out for?"
Erqis sighed, but he sat back. He swept his gaze through the large room in a way that seemed disinterested, almost dismissive, of the armchairs dotted throughout, the bookcases lining every wall that didn't have a window or a door, packed from end to end with countless tomes.
"Do you know why I'm here?"
"I had assumed you wanted to add Brightmere to your collection of conquered lands."
"Well, yes. Eventually, my collection will include all of Malvea." Erqis shrugged. "But I am here not only to conquer, but to make connections, too." He stroked his thumb over the back of her hand, which he had still not relinquished. "I don't intend to stay here – but I will need someone to hold the realm for me when I leave. The queens of Helorn and Sersina sit their southern thrones and oversee the well-being of their realms and their people."
This, he had told her before. Had he given the southern queens an earth-shattering peak as well? Perhaps that was his prized method – endear himself to a powerful woman by playing her body like a fine musical instrument and leave her in his thrall.
It should have made Neira angry that she had fallen for it, but when she tried to name the emotion that rose in her at his implication – no, that wasn't anger.
That was jealousy, bitter and furious, clawing at her.
"How much of a queen are they, if they have to answer to you?" It came out more vitriolic than she had intended, but Erqis barely seemed to notice.
"Aside from the taxes, quite honestly, I don't meddle in their affairs. Trade treaties were drawn and have been upheld so far. Should they need my help, they shall have it. And I'm free to conquer, knowing Sersina’s farms feed my armies and my people, and fabrics from Helorn clothe them."
"And what would you have of Brightmere?" Neira jerked her chin towards the closest window. The thin, milky light of day trickled through the fogged pane. The land yielded no grain, no produce. In all her years of listening in on her father, the regiars, not once had she heard talk of harvests or trade. That uncomfortable, and increasingly familiar sensation twisted in the pit of her stomach, at the back of her mind. How did they keep their people alive? Ever since Erqis had arrived, unsettling questions had begun rising in her mind, things she had never once thought of before.
So much didn't make sense.
Had it always not made any sense? Why hadn't she noticed until now?
Her father had taken care of everything, Neira reminded herself. That was probably why she had never truly thought about it. She'd never had to. Her education had been theoretical, even more so after Ramin had been born. She'd lived an indolent life so far, she realised, and reality was proving rather harsh.
"I didn't take Brightmere for any trade…" Erqis halted, something passing behind his eyes. Something he was trying to hide. "But, listen, you and I together? We could do some good for the realm. Starting with safe, whole roads through Brightmere."
"Roads."
"Yes. I don't know how far you have travelled, but your infrastructure is crumbling. There wasn’t a single road that wasn’t decaying, sinking into the moors, if there was even a road at all. The only way to get to Woodhaven at present is along the Coastway, which leads you along the entirety of Malvea's coast – either through Sersina and Helorn, crossing foothills rife with raiders, or all the way north through Norpav's deep forests. With roads broad enough for travel through Brightmere, at the heart of Malvea, the time it takes to reach the other side of the continent would be cut in half, from any starting point."
"And you don't think my father would have allied with you if you had approached him with this offer?"
"No. He wouldn't have recognised me as king."
Neira was inclined to agree. Her father wouldn't have bowed to a young upstart for little more than the mere promise of help should they need any – Brightmere had always been self-sufficient.
"But, speaking of the man... do you have any thoughts on where his private study could be? I have torn this place apart these past few days and found nothing."
Neira felt cold. "Why is it so important?"
He shrugged, glancing at a distant shelf. "Aside from his more magical experiments? Possible treaties, documents, alliances… anything I would need to know. And you, since I do intend you to be Brightmere's queen."
You will be queen . The mirror had been right. A giddy little bubble swelled in her chest. Once she was queen, once Erqis was gone… she could bring Safir and Ramin home. She could anoint loyal regiars for her rule.
She could undo his plans, brick by brick, if she wanted.
"You said his magic was… unnatural."
"Yes. I thought it might be alchemic."
The bubble burst. "You think my father was an alchemist? "
"He might have been. I've never seen magic being used the way he used it. We need to make sure it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands. We can't have another sect cropping up on the continent – I’m sure you agree."
Her head swam. The implications – if Erqis believed her father to have gone down that forbidden path… There hadn't been many books on the subject, not even in her father's extensive library, but she had read them all. Long ago, longer than living memory, far longer even than their most ancient tales and legends, ruthless men had envied the Farn their innate abilities to harness the magic of nature and had tried to recreate it, developing alchemic runes and recipes that would lead to the downfall of countless realms and bloodlines. The Farn had almost been wiped out several times as they fought back against this affront to the natural order, long before they had closed the borders of their deep forests and mythical lakes teeming with spirits, long before they had become a rarity in the world of man.
Neira shook her head, almost violently. "No. You’re mistaken. He wouldn't have, I'm certain. I would have known ."
And yet… the spells he had created for her had all been runic. Little scraps of paper that burned up on use, symbols etched into stone, plucked from fire… castle gates that were keyed to blood.
Her stomach turned. She made herself meet Erqis’ eyes, his attention sharp on her. "Sometimes he would be gone for days, but the regiars would still speak and act as if he was in the castle, like he was still giving them orders from… somewhere. He'd reappear just as suddenly, as if he never truly left at all."
Neira cleared her throat and adopted as bland a look as she could muster, as if this was all a terrible chore for her – to quell the panic that rose again. She had to deter Erqis from believing that she was an alchemist, too, lest she was to join the regiars in the dungeons.
"I never saw where he went, or where he came from. My father has private rooms within the royal wing, but there is not a study among them as far as I know. He has to – had to – complete his work somewhere else."
Perhaps he had a hidden doorway in his bedroom, too. Neira held on to that secret for now.
When Erqis stayed quiet, Neira lifted a shoulder in a mild shrug. "I know nothing else. Truly. But you have free reign of the castle and its grounds. Just…" She could stomach paying this man taxes, she thought, if he didn't stay here – if she got to be queen. Taxes were a small price to pay for a throne. Neira squeezed his hand. "Don't go near the lake."
Erqis laughed. "What is in there, anyway? I saw something moving."
"You don't want to know."