“I wanted to apologize.” There were bags under her father’s eyes. “I know that you are resentful because I didn’t speak up as emphatically as I should have.”
“The Dragon Queen’s word is law,” Talasyn muttered. “No one in the Dominion defies her.”
“That’s no excuse. You are my daughter and I should have fought for you, right then and there,” Elagbi said gravely. “I have since attempted to sway her from this course. Her mind is set, but I was able to persuade her to let you attend the marriage negotiations.”
Talasyn cocked her head. “How did you manage that?”
Elagbi flashed her a tired, solemn smile. “A great deal of appealing to Her Starlit Majesty’s compassionate nature . . .” At this, Talasyn snorted. “。 . . as well as reminding her that the Night Empire needs to be made aware that the Lachis’ka has power of her own. And, also, by promising her that I’ll stop you from punching Ossinast the moment you see him. I’m not as young as I once was, though, so I might move a touch too slowly.”
The corner of Talasyn’s lips twitched in a reluctant smirk. She was far from mollified, but at least her anger had been redirected to those more deserving. The negotiations were supposed to be conducted between the two heads of state and their trusted advisers. This concession that Elagbi had managed to wrangle had been hard-won.
“One more thing,” said the Dominion prince. “The mood at court is currently divided. There are those who see this union as a lucrative deal, and there are those who see it as a betrayal of everything that the Dominion stands for. Kai Gitab, the Rajan of Katau, belongs firmly in the latter group, but your grandmother has assigned him to the negotiation panel.”
Talasyn blinked. “Why?”
“To mollify the opposition. Queen Urduja felt that it would be wise to ensure that all interests are represented, especially since she has assigned Lueve Rasmey of Cenderwas the role of chief negotiator. Daya Rasmey is one of Urduja’s closest allies, so the addition of Gitab balances things out. He has earned a name for himself as incorruptible and devoted to his ideals. With him on the panel, no one can accuse the Zahiya-lachis of selling out Nenavar. And with you reining in your distaste for the situation, more of the court will follow your lead.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Talasyn muttered. “They’ve known me only a few months.”
“That is immaterial,” said Elagbi. “You are She Who Will Come After. There is no shortage of nobles striving to prove themselves indispensable to your future reign. However, since Gitab is on the negotiation panel, I advise you to tread with care.” He sighed. “At least Surakwel is off gallivanting elsewhere, or we’d have an even bigger problem on our hands.”
“Who’s Surakwel?” Talasyn asked.
“A damnable headache,” Elagbi replied with a trace of humor. “His young lordship Surakwel Mantes is Daya Rasmey’s nephew. He is one of the main critics of Nenavarene isolationism, believing that the way forward is for us to integrate with the rest of Lir. Around three years ago, he and a few other nobles began lobbying the Dominion to join forces with Sardovia against the Night Empire. If anyone is going to be vigorous in their objection to this betrothal, more so than Gitab, it’s Surakwel.”
“I like him already,” Talasyn said. “What did you mean by off gallivanting? Where is he?”
“No one knows. Bit of a wanderer, that boy. He spends most of his time away from Nenavar, getting all sorts of foolish outsider notions into his head.”
“You were a wanderer in your younger years, too, Amya,” Talasyn chided. “And you married an outsider.”
Her father flushed with pleasure as he always did when she called him the Nenavarene word for father. It was the joy of lost time found again. “That I was, and that I did.”
Elagbi left when Jie arrived, gingerly carrying the Lachis’ka’s crown perched atop its velvet cushion. Talasyn stared at the object as she felt Jie’s apprehensive gaze dart over her form. She’d never made an effort to conceal how much she hated being prissied up, and it always took a lot of gentle cajoling to get her to cooperate. Today, however, was a different story.
An intimidated opponent is much easier to negotiate with, Vela had said four months ago on Queen Urduja’s flagship. While Alaric was in possession of superior ordnance, it was Talasyn who had the element of surprise on her side. He didn’t know that she was Alunsina Ivralis. And Elagbi was right—the Lachis’ka did have power of her own, and she could submit to this farce of a marriage on her terms.
But she needed to look the part.
Taking a deep breath, Talasyn undid the frayed band that was holding her hair in the simple braid that she preferred, letting the whole chestnut-colored mess tumble down her shoulders. “All right,” she said to Jie, “do your worst.”
A congregation of Dominion nobles received Alaric at the front steps of the Roof of Heaven. They were led by a tall copper-skinned man who regarded him with stern jet-black eyes.
“Emperor Alaric.”
This appeared to be the signal for the other nobles to sink, as one, into the briefest and most perfunctory of curtsies and stiff bows.
Alaric nodded, surmising the man’s identity from his dragon-shaped circlet. “Prince Elagbi. Well met.”
“It is good of you to think so,” Elagbi replied with dripping sarcasm, and Alaric bit his tongue to avoid snapping, I don’t want to marry your daughter, either. Fine diplomacy it would be if he and the Dominion prince came to blows.
As Elagbi led the way, his guards immediately closed in, covering all avenues of escape with martial precision—all women, whose imposing frames and alarmingly heavy-looking armor made Alaric wish that he’d brought more soldiers of his own. He had his legionnaire Sevraim and the shallop’s crew for protection, and the latter group wouldn’t even be accompanying him inside. Kesathese High Command had clamored for a display of strength, but Alaric had pointed out that an overabundance of warriors at what was ostensibly a peacemaking overture would have made the other side more defensive than they already were. Besides, Nenavar was well aware that the wolf at the door had fangs—or dragonslaying magic, to be more accurate.
Alaric had brought Mathire with him, too. She wasn’t the most politically adept of his officers, but he’d banked on a woman in a position of authority making the matriarchal Dominion more well disposed toward them. Of course, that was before Mathire had given the order for her ship to fire on the dragon. Gods, he hoped the thing wasn’t dead.
Nevertheless, the small retinue was a show of good faith, as was Alaric’s agreeing to the negotiations being held on Nenavarene soil and the lack of the mask that he normally donned in situations wherein there was a high chance of a battle breaking out before he’d even stepped foot in the palace.
And it was a magnificent palace. Of that, there could be no doubt. Shining in the morning light, its facade of pristine white marble gave the illusion that the limestone cliffs on which it rested were laden with fresh snow in the heart of a verdant rainforest. It possessed an array of stained-glass windows, slender towers, and golden domes. The ornate arch over the main entrance was gold as well, and as they passed beneath it, Alaric heard Sevraim curse under his breath, a sound that was in sync with the disquieting sensation of the Shadowgate being cut off. The cages that Alaric now knew contained living creatures within were hung up along the hallway at regular intervals, the bulky, opaque cylinders incongruous with the paintings, carvings, and tapestries that adorned the shimmering white walls.