The Shadow Princess, page 17
“Where’s Kieran?” I ask Bastien as we start up the dais steps.
“I sent him to all the royal houses to let them know what happened and that we’re going to need to march on Kestevayne sooner rather than later.”
That surprises me. “But we’re not ready.”
“We’re going to have to be,” he says as he heads to his end of the table.
Laina Mercea calls the meeting to order, and while most of the Conclave has already heard the story of what happened, Bastien repeats it in detail, leaving out any parts that might embarrass me.
In return, Laina reports that the protection cloak around Clairmont has been resealed and more wards will be added every day.
“And do we know how Ferelith’s men breached our cloak in the first place?” I ask, although I already know the answer.
“We don’t,” Laina admits grimly. “Other than the power she’s harnessing with blood sacrifices seems to grant her limitless ability to defeat our magics.”
As I thought, reaffirming the hopelessness everyone is feeling. But I don’t have a good grasp on blood magic, only that it makes Ferelith incredibly powerful. “I’ve been wondering about these blood oaths she requires. I understand that’s how people swear allegiance to her. Do we know what happens if someone breaks that allegiance?”
Laina responds. “We’ve had some firsthand accounts from witnesses, but it seems when a blood oath is broken, the one breaking the allegiance dies.”
“That sounds too simple,” I muse.
“It is too simple,” Laina agrees. “Our hypothesis is that when the person dies, she absorbs their magic and their energy.”
“So Ferelith wins either way. She has a loyal subject willing to do her bidding, or she becomes stronger at their death.”
“Imagine the power she’s accumulated by the deaths of all her soldiers out there in the thick of battle,” Bastien adds. “Time is of the essence for us to make our move.”
I know there will be plenty of debate on the issue, but I still have questions about blood magic. “Why does she need my blood in particular? One of her soldiers told me she needed me alive and with most of my blood.”
Bastien growls at the other end of the table. It’s the first he’s heard that bit of news.
Everyone is silent as they absorb this thought, and apparently, no one has an answer.
“Laina,” I say, drawing her attention, “in your opinion, have we exhausted all research in our texts and tomes on how to stop her?”
She nods. “I’m sorry, Thalia. We’ve been trying for seven years to figure out how to defeat her magic. We’ve made little headway.”
“Then we must go to someone who has knowledge of blood magic.”
“Absolutely not,” Bastien barks, slamming a fist onto the table and causing almost every person except me to jump. I knew this would set him off. “I know who you’re talking about, and there is no way in hell you’re going to see him.”
Some of the Conclave members regard each other with confusion, but I dismiss it, more concerned with nipping Bastien’s domineering ways. “Let me remind you, Commandant Dunne, that you don’t own or control me. I can do what I want. I believe our best option is to go see my uncle, and that is what I intend to do. You are welcome to come,” I say as an afterthought.
“I don’t understand,” one of the newer Conclave members asks, a woman about my age named Nastia. “Who is this uncle?”
“Hephastus. He lives a hermit life in the valley of the Rosethorn Mountains. He was banished for using blood magic going on twenty years ago.”
Laina exchanges an uncomfortable look with a few of the older Conclave members, and I can tell that they’ve considered Hephastus in the past but rejected it.
“He’s not just a hermit,” Bastien interjects. “He’s not right in the head. And he doesn’t just know about blood magic—he practiced it himself, doing prohibited things that led him to be permanently banished from Kestevayne.”
“But if he has knowledge that could help us defeat Ferelith, we must try.” This comes from another Conclave member, a young man by the name of Constantine who is also a recent addition. Apparently the younger members are more progressive in their thinking.
“Then you go see him,” Bastien snarls at the man. “He’ll probably cut out your liver for a sacrifice, but we can’t risk Thalia’s life or safety.”
Constantine pales at the thought.
“I agree,” Laina adds. “This is too dangerous to risk Thalia over. I think she should steer clear of her uncle. I’ll go in her stead.”
I sigh. “He won’t see anyone but me. I understand everyone’s concern, but I am going. We’re out of options.”
Bastien tries a softer approach. “Thalia, please don’t do this. We can’t have suffered all these years waiting for you to come back only to have you offed by a crazy uncle. For all we know, he’s in league with Ferelith.”
I was barely seven when Hephastus was banished, but I remember nothing but good things about him. He’s my mother’s brother and was always kind to me. I know it broke my parents’ hearts to cut him out of our lives, and I suppose he might be bitter about it, but I have to believe he won’t harm me.
“I’m sorry. My mind is made up. I’ll leave tomorrow.” I look at Bastien directly. “Since you seem to have appointed yourself my overprotective guard dog, I assume you’ll come with me?”
He grits his teeth, but nods. “Of course, I will come with you. But traveling is going to be a problem.”
I frown. “Why is that?”
“The Rosethorn Valley is Ferelith’s territory. She has shields up that prevent bending distance to any point inside and then northward to Kestevayne.”
“So we’ll bend distance to the top of the mountains and travel by horse from there,” I say.
“It’s Ferelith’s territory,” Bastien reiterates, something I didn’t need to be told twice—I get it’s dangerous. “If we bend distance, we can’t take troops with us for protection. And we can’t afford the time to travel by horse all the way there. It will take almost a week for a ground march.”
Bending distance has its advantages, but it also has severe limitations. Those without strong magic cannot do it on their own, and those who can do it cannot transport large groups. Bastien and I would do fine with our horses, but more than that isn’t an option.
“We’re just going to have to be careful.” My tone is unconcerned, and I know that probably irritates Bastien, but I can’t afford to let fears hold us back. Hephastus is our last chance to figure out a way to defeat Ferelith’s blood magic.
The hall doors open with a loud groan, and our heads turn to see Kieran striding down the aisle. As he trots up the dais, Laina asks, “You have news from the other royals?”
He nods and stands at the end of the table beside Bastien’s chair. “All family representatives will arrive tomorrow to discuss plans.”
“Anyone balk?” I ask. I want to see how loyal these people are.
“Baynor Sorin,” Kieran replies with a smirk. “He reiterated his hesitancy in leaving his people and demanded that you should go see him.”
“And what did you say to that?” I ask curiously.
“I told the prince he was either with us or against us, but if he was against us, we’d withdraw our supportive troops. He changed his tune, and he’ll be here on the morrow as well.”
“Well done,” I commend, standing from my chair. “I’ll meet with the royals and then after, I’m leaving for the Rosethorn Valley.”
The Conclave members stand, a sign of respect and acknowledgment that I’m done with this meeting.
I glance at Bastien. “I’m going to see Archer.”
I don’t wait around for him to nod his agreement. He said I’m not to leave his sight, which is fine, but I’ll do what I want.
And right now, I want to visit my cousin.
Bastien marches at my side out of the hall, and after we exit, he stops me with a hand on my arm. “Do not tell Archer your plans to see Hephastus or about the royals coming.”
I pull my arm away, glaring. “Of course I wouldn’t tell him.”
He’s my cousin and I love and care for him but matters of strategy stay within the Conclave and my top-tier advisors. I trust my cousin with my life, but it doesn’t mean he can’t be compromised.
Bastien nods curtly and then sweeps his hand for me to precede him. He follows close behind, followed by the contingent of twenty soldiers who will be my shadows while here in Clairmont.
CHAPTER 19
Thalia
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter with annoyance as I smooth my skirt.
“It’s expected,” Bastien says, his voice carrying through to the bedroom as he waits for me in the living area.
It seems that with all the royals coming to visit, wherein I will ask them to pledge immediate military support, it’s not acceptable for me to wear jeans or even one of the casual dresses I’ve purchased since returning.
Rather, I am expected to dress formally, and that means a gown in the Vyronasian style. One was delivered yesterday afternoon, along with a note from Laina Mercea requesting I wear it and with apologies that there were no royal jewels to accompany. I rolled my eyes at that because I’m sure absolutely no one traveling from the royal houses will expect jewels or even a formal gown.
Still, I will wear the damn dress because it was requested of me. There is something to be said for looking the part of not only heir to the Kestevayne throne but of the one who will lead the attack against Ferelith. They want me to look like the true adult I’ve become in the past seven years, and this dress leaves no doubt I’m a woman.
A full-length cream sheath of a material akin to silk, the gown gathers at the waist and drops to the floor in soft, fluid folds. Wide and plunging deeply, the neckline ends at the center of my chest, exposing the soft inner curves of my breasts. The skirt has a long slit straight up the front to mid-thigh, which exposes my legs as I walk or even upon a ruffle of a breeze. I used a healing potion to erase the discoloration from Snyder’s bruising, and thankfully, it also erased most of the soreness.
I was given a pair of crystal-studded heels to wear, and I feel like I’m going to topple over at any moment. Seven years of cowboy boots and tennis shoes have weakened my abilities to be comfortable in formal wear.
I step out of the bedroom and take in Bastien, leaning a hip against the kitchen counter. He’s dressed in battle gear rather than formal military attire. He’s done so to make a point to everyone.
This is not about ceremony, but war.
Bastien’s battle gear consists of black pants made of a stiff, denim-like material. Over that, leather guards are strapped to the thighs, knees, and shins. His top is a simple black tunic tucked into his pants, but with crisscrossing leather straps in the front that hold a metal breastplate to his sternum. The shirt is sleeveless, a nod to the warm weather, but his upper and lower arms bear metal plates to shield from sword blows. Steel-reinforced black leather boots make him battle ready and imposing as hell, given his brawn and height.
“Looks like you’re ready for a fight,” I muse with an approving smile.
He does not return it but instead grits out, “You’re not wearing that. Go change.”
Confused, I glance down at the dress Laina picked out. Fashion norms didn’t change while I was gone. This is completely what would be expected of a royal.
I glower at him. “And just exactly what do you think I should wear?”
“Those jeans and one of your flannel shirts,” he replies without batting an eye.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“You just said it was ridiculous to wear that dress while you were in the bedroom not even a minute ago.”
I scoff, moving toward the door. “Don’t be an ass, Bastien. I’m not changing.”
He moves fast as lightning, wrapping his hand around my upper arm. “That dress is too revealing. Do you want Sorin ogling you?”
“If it gets us his help, I’ll gladly sacrifice myself for a little ogling.” I smile sweetly to emphasize my point.
“I’m sure he wants to do more than ogle,” Bastien retorts.
“At least someone wants to,” I mutter and I hate that it sounds a little petulant. “I’m not changing my mind, so we might as well go.”
Bastien releases my arm and doesn’t say another word as we move to the door. “We should bend distance to Conclave Hall,” he suggests, and I know he’s only doing that to keep people from looking at me.
“I’d rather enjoy the walk,” I reply, moving onto the porch. I don’t miss the guards there waiting for us, eyeballs about to pop out of their heads as they take me in.
“What are you looking at?” Bastien barks, and they all move to attention, heads turned away. He trots down the steps, inspecting the lines, and I have to bite my tongue not to laugh over what I’m convinced is a fabulous display of jealousy.
I’m not surprised he’s in a foul mood this morning. He wasn’t happy I spent so long with Archer, and he was terse during dinner last night in the cottage. Bastien’s still mad about me going to see Hephastus, but he’s also resigned. He didn’t try to talk me out of it, other than to ask once again to let someone else go.
“That would be a waste of time,” I told him. “I’m the best chance of getting the info we want.”
“There’s a good chance you could die,” he pointed out.
“Good chance you could die, too, since you’ll be there with me,” I tossed back.
Bastien glared at me. “I’m not afraid to die for you, Thalia. Or this cause.”
“I know,” I said, gentling my voice so he understood I was being genuine and not baiting him. “I appreciate your concerns, really, and I’d let someone else go if I thought it would be fruitful. It won’t be that bad. It’s probably not more than a day’s ride once we bend distance to the edge of the valley.”
“More like a day and a half,” Bastien said, and we got down to the business of where we’d travel, avoiding large towns, if possible, and staying off busy roads. The Rosethorn Valley is huge and not overly populated, but it’s a region claimed by Ferelith since it sits right on the southern border of Kestevayne.
We’re a spectacle as we walk through town to Conclave Hall. More people have turned out on the streets to wave, because royal visitors are never kept secret for long.
As we approach the hall, I see a variety of soldiers and guards all decked out in the colors and crests of each family. Joining us, in addition to Baynor Sorin, will be representatives from the D’Amuris, the Groucutt, the Baudin, and the Foss.
But Baynor Sorin is the most important as he controls the largest army, next to ours.
He will be my focus.
We enter the hall, and I’m momentarily speechless. The Conclave has put to use their magics to decorate with floating lights and flowers and buffet tables of food everywhere. On the dais beyond our meeting table, a huge ice sculpture of a raven is magically kept frozen. Waiters circulate offering wines and other liquors. While we’re here to discuss business, the royals expect this sort of welcome, so I can’t begrudge it.
I move through the room, Bastien close behind at all times. He relented to leave the guards outside when I told him it was preposterous to think I’d be attacked while in the hall and that I am more than confident he can protect me.
“Princess Thalia,” a man’s voice booms, and I turn to see Renard Foss striding toward me followed by his daughter Annika and stepson Mason.
“It’s good to see you, Prince Renard.” My tone is cordial and diplomatic, and I accept his air kiss to each cheek.
All royal titles are simply either prince or princess, depending on who rules. Only those who sit on the throne at Kestevayne earn the title of king or queen, and I have not yet earned that. I suppose technically I am considered queen now that my parents are dead, but I’ll never accept that position until I win back my city.
Turning to Annika, I rest my hands on her shoulders and take her in. “You’ve grown into a lovely woman. You are well?”
If I remember correctly, Annika Foss was only about sixteen at the time I was sent to the First Dimension. She’d be around twenty-three now and she’s a tremendous beauty with golden-blond hair and honey-gold eyes.
“I am well,” she replies, but in such a way that I actually don’t believe it. Her gaze drops from mine, and I cut a glance to her father who seems oblivious. I turn to Mason, who’s watching Annika guardedly.
I nod to him. “Mason.”
He utters a short bow. “Your Highness.”
I’ve never liked Mason. He’s a few years older than Annika and was always a hellion during visits. But Renard treats him like he’s his own blood, and I won’t be surprised if he names him heir over Annika, purely because he’s a man. Renard Foss is a misogynist, and I’m sure he has raised Mason to be the same.
Someone touches my elbow, and I turn to see Laina. “Thalia… Prince Baynor is on the dais and would like a word before we commence.”
“Of course.” I smile and nod that way. “Please let him know I’ll be there in a minute.”
I excuse myself from the Foss family, making a mental note for later to pull Annika aside and ask her again if she’s okay. Just a gut feeling. She might not tell me anything, as we don’t know each other well, but as a woman who cares about other women, I need to try.
Looking up at Bastien, I say, “I’d like you with me when I talk to Baynor, but I need you to tone down your antagonism.”
“What antagonism?” he asks, but he knows damn well what I’m talking about.
“You never liked him, and you’ve always made that clear. But we need his troops, so I need you to play nice.”
“Noted,” he mutters with a curt nod.
“Then let’s go.”
We make it no more than a few feet up the aisle before Kieran steps in our path, but his focus is solely on me. “You must tell me who that ravishing creature is you were talking to.”
