She’d laid it on a little too thick—Urduja shot her a glare of deepest suspicion. Talasyn blinked with as much innocence as she could manage. Overall, though, her demeanor toward the older woman was softened by no small measure of surprise. This was the first instance of Urduja mentioning her own mortality in her granddaughter’s presence and, while four months was scarcely enough time to establish any sort of familial love on Talasyn’s end, her stomach still flipped uneasily at the thought of this powerful, seemingly unassailable woman dying.
“Already my courtiers scramble to sink their claws into you,” Urduja warned. “You must become adept at discerning who is trustworthy and who is not. Most of them fall into the latter category, but play your cards right and none will dare question your reign. The Zahiya-lachis is She Who Hung the Earth Upon the Waters, as good as a goddess.”
From there the audience proceeded in a brisk, purposeful manner, with Urduja lecturing Talasyn on various topics pertaining to the Dominion as they nibbled on pastries and sipped tea. Every once in a while, Urduja would ask a question and Talasyn would answer as best as she could, building on previous lessons and her own personal observations. It was all routine, and yet these discussions had become more and more technical in nature as the months passed, and it was all in a language that she had begun learning only recently. By the time a servant entered the room to announce the arrival of Prince Elagbi, Talasyn was mentally exhausted and grateful for the reprieve.
She stood up to greet her father. She didn’t have to—officially, she outranked him—but he was the closest thing to a true ally that she had at court. Aside from Jie and the Lachis-dalo, who shadowed her every step, Elagbi was the one she spent the most time with, day in, day out, except for when his duties took him away from the capital. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling when he kissed her cheek: exactly the sort of thing she used to imagine her parents doing every morning or as they bade her goodnight.
“Had I known that you were joining us, I would have had the servants prepare the orange loose-leaf instead of the Etlingera green,” Urduja chided her son once he and Talasyn were seated.
“Orange loose-leaf was the only tea that I didn’t passionately abhor as a child,” Elagbi explained to Talasyn. “I never cared for the beverage in general.”
“The two of you have that in common,” Urduja remarked.
Damn, Talasyn swore to herself. She thought that she’d mastered the art of looking neutral while choking down what was essentially bitter leaf water, but she needed more practice, apparently.
Elagbi turned to address Urduja. “I apologize for dropping in like this, Harlikaan, but I have urgent news.” He paused, glancing hesitantly at Talasyn. The Zahiya-lachis gestured for him to continue, making good on her resolve that it was time for the Dominion’s heir to learn more about ruling and, consequently, to have access to the kind of confidential information that came along with it. “One of our fishing boats on the far edge of its northern route sent an aetherwave transmission to Port Samout a few hours ago. They’ve spotted a flotilla of at least thirty Kesathese warships heading our way, with a stormship bringing up the rear. The Grand Magindam is worried that an offensive might be imminent. Nenavar is the only realm in this direction for thousands of miles.”
“Ridiculous.” Talasyn set her teacup down with a clatter. “Not even that wretched boil on the World-Father’s behind is stupid enough to think that he can attack the Dominion with so small a force.”
The two other people in the salon blinked at her.
“That wretched boil on the World-Father’s behind?” Urduja queried in a witheringly dry tone.
Elagbi cleared his throat. “I believe that the Lachis’ka is referring to the new Night Emperor, Harlikaan.”
“I am.” Talasyn glowered. The Dominion had an extensive spy network that kept tabs on the affairs of other realms and, a few sennights after Talasyn had settled in Nenavar, she’d been informed that Alaric Ossinast had ascended to the throne of Kesath. She had no idea if that meant that he was in charge of all the decisions now—especially since his father was reportedly still alive—but surely he wouldn’t attack an entire archipelago with only thirty warships and one stormship.
“Alaric was captured on the Belian range with me,” Talasyn continued. “He knows what the Dominion is capable of. He’s been on the receiving end of void magic and he’s flown a moth coracle. He could also have seen a dragon while he was here but, even if he didn’t, that’s not the sort of thing that any commander in their right mind would leave to chance.”
“Indeed,” said Urduja. “Recklessness isn’t a quality that one might expect to find in a person who would infiltrate a foreign land hostile to outsiders with not a single reinforcement in sight.”
Talasyn flushed. It seemed that her grandmother wasn’t in any hurry to let her or Alaric live that down.
“Well, I, for one, am very happy that you infiltrated us, my dear.” Elagbi reached out to pat Talasyn’s hand. “Her Starlit Majesty is very happy, too, even if she doesn’t deign to show it.”
“Sentimentality will get us nowhere at the moment,” Urduja huffed. “Returning to the situation: whatever this may be, it doesn’t feel like an invasion attempt. Not yet, at least.”
“Could Kesath have learned the whereabouts of the Sardovians?” Elagbi asked, his brow furrowed, and Talasyn went cold. “Perhaps they seek to intimidate us into surrendering our refugees.”
If there was one thing that Talasyn had figured out about the reigning monarch of the Nenavar Dominion, it was that she always kept her cards close to her chest, never letting on what was truly on her mind. This time was no different; Urduja rose to her feet, an abrupt dismissal. “I shall speak with the Grand Magindam to determine the best way to handle this development. In the meantime, I expect utmost discretion from the two of you regarding this matter.”
Elagbi led Talasyn to another wing of the palace. “Your grandmother is rattled,” he told her as they walked.
“I find that difficult to believe, to be honest,” Talasyn remarked.
“You learn how to tell after a while.” Although the hallway was deserted save for the Lachis-dalo trailing the two royals at a courteous distance, Elagbi lowered his voice. “This could easily turn into a crisis. If the Night Empire manages to enter Dominion territory and catch wind of a Sardovian presence, their wrath will know no bounds. You have not revealed the bargain to anyone else at court, have you?”
Talasyn shook her head. Since there had been too many witnesses on the Belian range, Urduja had had to disclose to the other nobles that Talasyn had grown up on the Northwest Continent and that she was a Lightweaver. However, no one knew that she hadn’t returned to claim her title of her own free will—no one except for House Silim’s closest allies and the Lachis-dalo who had been present at the W’taida meeting, who were bound by sacred oaths to keep the secrets of the royal family.
“I suppose that there is no use worrying about it until Alaric Ossinast makes his intentions clear,” said Elagbi. “For now, let us speak of happier things.”