Page 57 of Never the Roses

“Khanpasha,” Stearanos answered wearily, “you are well aware that sorcerers at our level don’t socialize. Even should we wish to, it’s inadvisable.”

The general, experienced and savvy, returned his gaze steadily. “I wouldn’t ask this under any other circumstances.”

Stearanos weighed how to answer this. General Khanpasha’s idea was an excellent solution. With Oneira in place, this war would evaporate and they could go back to their homes and the business of living rather than generating more death and destruction. Up until a few weeks before, he could have honestly answered that even if he could and did find her, he had no way to convince her of anything.

Now he wondered. Did he have any influence with her? Their relationship, if you could call it that, felt so new and tenuous that he was wary of putting it to the test.

Oneira would refuse to participate in anything that brought death, that was certain, but what if he could promise her itwouldn’t come to that? That all she need do was return to the queen’s court for a little while, to act as a deterrent, and then the war would go away. She would want to save the people from what promised to be a horrifically destructive war. General Khanpasha wasn’t wrong about the aftermath. Both kingdoms would face endless attacks in the coming years if they went ahead with this war, and Mirza wouldn’t be able to defend the Southern Lands. The destruction and violence wouldn’t end with this conquest, but would grind on—likely reaching even her isolated corner of the realm.

She could be convinced, possibly. But would she forgive him for asking? She’d have to reenter a world she hated, one she’d won free of at great cost. Oneira had found peace in her white walls, with her gardens and her animals—a peace he envied—and his asking this of her would shatter what she’d built for herself.

Either way, if she refused or if she agreed, he’d lose whatever fragile trust he’d gained with her. And they would perforce be enemies again, and therefore unable to become friends, or more. Even though she’d held back so far, she’d been thinking about his offer, he knew. Asking her to do this would put paid to that forever.

But wouldn’t it be worth it, to save all those lives? It would be utterly selfish of him to prioritize his own happiness, theoretical happiness at that, over hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions of lives. Then again, how could he possibly ask this of her, the one thing he knew she’d resolved never again to do?

“Your Eminence?” General Khanpasha prodded again. “Could you find her?”

“She doesn’t want to be found,” Stearanos hedged, not a lie, but skirting the truth uncomfortably. “It’s nearly impossible to find a sorcerer who doesn’t want to be found.”

“Nearly, but not entirely?” Admiral Bartolomej pounced on the sliver of opportunity. “Can you make the attempt?”

“As soon as possible,” General Khanpasha put in. “All that we ask is that you try, Stearanos. And you know we wouldn’t ask if the situation were any less dire. If His Majesty didn’t hold me in debt, I’d refuse to participate.”

“As would I,” Bartolomej agreed on a sigh. “But none of us are free to act.”

“Only Sorceress Oneira is,” Khanpasha mused. “Our longtime enemy is now our only potential savior. An irony I’m sure she would savor. You could put it to her that way, Stearanos. We only ask that you try.”

Blowing out a long breath and kissing his chance for happiness goodbye, Stearanos nodded his assent, unable to make himself speak the words. At least he’d never really counted on being happy anyway.

29

“Can’t you tell meanythingat all? Not even a teensy tidbit?” Tristan wheedled, at his most charming and with a winning smile. They were sharing tea in the garden, enjoying the late afternoon light and her most recent attempt at baking cookies. Tristan had pronounced them edible, but would be improved if she used sugar instead of honey. She liked them fine, especially dipped in the herbal tea concoction she’d assembled to complement the anise and rosemary flavor of the cookies. “Lovely Lira,” he continued in a lyrical tone, “just a whiff of what the queen said would be more excitement than I’ve had in my entire life.”

“It’s really nothing exciting,” Oneira told him, yet again.

“Then you can divulge the not exciting,” he replied with a laugh. “Oh, please, please. I’ve never known anyone important enough to receive a message from Her Majesty. I need to know, for my poems, how a queen speaks to a reclusive noble. You must be so valuable to the queen to receive a royal messenger, one who awaits your reply. He’s still waiting, isn’t he?”

“Of course,” she answered absently, still pondering the most polite way to tell the queen no without getting herself into trouble. She shouldn’t have to be on the horns of this particular dilemma. Curse Stearanos and his clever war.

“Poor fellow,” Tristan murmured sympathetically, then flushed when Oneira raised a brow. “I have reason to know how inhospitable that stretch of road is.”

“It’s not storming. I sent him food and drink. Royal messengers are accustomed to the travails of the road. He’s fine.”

“He’s aroyalmessenger, not a traveling tinker,” Tristan argued, then held up a hand at her sharp look. “All right, all right, spare me your glowers, beautiful lady. I didn’t mean to displease you. If you won’t tell me what the queen’s letter says, will you at least tell me what your reply shall be?”

“Wouldn’t my reply reveal the content of Her Majesty’s missive?” Oneira asked, laughing at his persistence.

“Not if you’re cagey about it,” he replied, wagging a finger at her. “Though you have perceived my strategy, clever lady. I hoped to sneak around your obdurate silence.” He sighed dramatically. “I shall have to go to my grave never knowing.”

Oneira shook her head, his antics helping to lighten her mood. Now that they’d taken sex off the table, and the poet had entirely—well, mostly—stopped trying to seduce her, she enjoyed his company far more. He was entertaining and merry, knowing thousands of tales and songs, always good for a jest.

“All right, fine,” she said, deciding it couldn’t hurt to divulge the thrust of the missive without giving any context. “She invited me to attend her at court at the citadel and—”

Tristan’s gasp interrupted her, every line of him alive with excited delight. “You’re going tocourt, at thecitadel, to attend thequeen? Oh, Lady Lira, please say I can go with you. I’ll be your faithful servant in every way, just please take me with you.” He’d fallen to his knees, lifting the hem of her gown and kissing it fervently. “I knew there was a reason that storm dropped me on your doorstep,” he continued reverently. “All I’ve wanted all this time is an opportunity to return to Her Majesty’s court. Please say yes.”

He was so artlessly enthusiastic, so truly sweet that Oneiraalmost felt bad to be the one to dash his hopes. “Tristan,” she said gently, laying a hand on his soft hair, much as she would with Bunny or Moriah, “I’m refusing the summons.”

Tristan lifted his pale-skinned face to gape at her, a portrait of horrified disbelief. “But… But youcan’trefuse the queen,” he stammered. “She’s… thequeen,” he said, emphasizing the word as if Oneira had somehow failed to understand. “Her Majesty must be obeyed, in every way,” he added in a slightly odd tone that caught Oneira’s attention. Tristan’s gaze had unfocused and he shivered visibly, his attention seeming far away. She quickly assessed him for magic, but found nothing more than she ever had. He was thoroughly mundane.

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