Page 76 of Among the Burning Flowers
Marosa did not weep. Instead, her body turned numb by increments. It was its only means of self-defence.
‘I see,’ she said. ‘How does your father know?’
‘We still have intelligencers in other countries. Now a post road is open, some of them sent word.’ Priessa lowered her gaze. ‘It also seems the High Prince intends to marry Queen Sabran.’
‘High Prince?’
‘Leovart died.’
Aubrecht was not just a crown prince now, but the ruler of the Free State of Mentendon, as he should have been for years.He could not maintain a betrothal with someone whose kingdom was pledged to the Nameless One. Neither could she blame him for seeking a second betrothal. Mentendon still needed a strong alliance with another country in Virtudom.
But the thought of their future in Mentendon – their life, their children, the world they would build – had been her last thin shred of hope. She had clung to the memories of their courtship.
Now her only future was the inside of the iron helm.
She could take her own life to deprive Fýredel of a puppet. In the dark hours after Fynch died, she had considered it. But the wyrm might burn Cárscaro in retribution for her defiance, and she would not condemn her people to that fate. Her folly had already killed her friends.
If her soul was the price for Yscalin to be safe, she would pay it.
The box remained hidden under her bed. Another source of hope, perhaps, if Jondu had been right.
She could not stop seeing the mountains beyond Cárscaro. She saw them in her dreams, in her nightmares, even when she was awake. For a few heartbeats, she had been on the verge of freedom. She had seen the sky of her childhood, blue and wide, without the constant haze of the Tundana. It had been the sweetest sight in the world, and a poison to her soul.
Priessa sat opposite her. She studied Marosa, reading her thoughts.
‘I know we have discussed this,’ she said, ‘but I could still go to the Ersyr. You know I would not fail you.’
‘No.’ Marosa continued to look out of the window. ‘You are all I have left, Priessa. You are my sanity.’
‘There may be another way.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Not long after the post road opened, a letter arrived at the Customs House of Perunta, addressed to His Majesty. It was from Lord Seyton Combe, the Principal Secretary of Inys. This letter was apparently courteous, seeking to restore diplomatic ties with Yscalin. He offered to send two ambassadors. Their names are Lord Arteloth Beck and Lord Kitston Glade.’
‘What of other countries?’ Marosa asked her. ‘Will they send anyone?’
‘No word yet from the South. I imagine they are debating what to do,’ Priessa said. ‘Mentendon and Hróth have demanded that their existing ambassadors are sent back to them safely before they will treat with us.’ Marosa clenched her jaw. ‘Fýredel has sanctioned the Inysh embassy.’
‘Inys is the last country I would have expected to send one, and not just on religious grounds. After her father vanished here, why would Queen Sabran want to risk any more of her courtiers?’
‘To see inside Cárscaro. To find him,’ Priessa said. ‘Lord Wilstan would not do what was needful, but Her Majesty must have faith that these ambassadors will be strong and shrewd enough to learn the truth and escape Yscalin. Perhaps they can be persuaded to make the journey in our stead.’
‘And if they break our trust, like Fynch?’ Marosa asked her. ‘If the box is lost for good this time?’
‘They must have great courage, to enter a Draconic land by choice.’
Marosa finished her drink, rolling the perry around her mouth.
‘Lord Arteloth is a close friend of Queen Sabran,’ she murmured. ‘Perhaps you are right.’ She put the cup down. ‘The box may be empty, or filled only with dust. All of this could be false hope.’
‘That is better than none.’ Priessa took her by the hands and sought her gaze. ‘Let us say that we succeed in convincing these men to go. While they make their way to Ambassador uq-Ispad, you must appease the cultists by emphasising your descent from Oderica the Smith.’
‘Why?’
‘They venerate her as an early oracle and worshipper of Fýredel.’
‘I will never be one of them.’
