“Be quiet, Sevraim,” Alaric grunted, aware they had an audience. In a low tone, he proceeded to explain the situation to his flabbergasted companions while the gathering of Dominion nobles looked on with varying degrees of amusement and ire.
“I for one don’t believe that Vela doesn’t have anything to do with this,” Mathire hissed when he was finished. “It’s too much of a coincidence. They can’t possibly think that we’ll go along with it.”
“We can either storm out of here and brace ourselves for another war—or we can play their game for now,” said Alaric. “I will need you to be at your best during the discussion of terms, Commodore. They’ve already managed to blindside us with this reveal. See that it does not happen again.”
The proceedings were moved to the council room adjacent to the throne hall. Studying Talasyn as she sat across from him at the mahogany table, Alaric had a hard time reconciling this vision clad in the blue and gold of Nenavar with the ragged soldier he’d come to know. In fact, despite the barbs traded a few minutes ago, he could almost believe that there had been some mistake, that she was a different person entirely. But she was currently staring at him as though he was a particularly stubborn speck of dirt on her shoe, and that was a very Talasyn look. One that Alaric had no problem raising an eyebrow at, which clearly served to incense her further.
If he was being truthful with himself, he’d felt relief at seeing her, once the initial shock wore off—relief to know that she was alive, after all—but this was the kind of weakness that needed to be examined in private. Right now, he would do well to govern his emotions by clinging to the more familiar territory of their mutual dislike for each other.
She was sitting between Prince Elagbi and a middle-aged brunette clad in opals and sunset-hued, loom-woven fabric, who’d introduced herself as Lueve Rasmey, Urduja’s right hand and the daya whose family controlled the Cenderwas Veins, where all manner of gems and precious metals were mined. To Elagbi’s left was Niamha Langsoune, who flashed Alaric a pretty little smile that he didn’t trust at all, and further down the table was a thin, scholarly-looking sort of fellow named Kai Gitab, the Rajan of Katau.
In lieu of aristocracy, Alaric had Commodore Mathire beside him while Sevraim guarded his back, positioned between him and the wide windows that occupied the entire length of one wall to expose the sweeping vista of rainforest. Queen Urduja was similarly protected by her royal guard as she presided at the head of the table, her icy crown glittering in the light of day.
“Before anything else, let us dispose of the elephant in the room,” said Urduja. “Nineteen years ago, Nenavarene warships sailed to the Northwest Continent unprovoked, with the intention of providing reinforcements to the Lightweavers of Sunstead in their war with the Shadowforged. This flotilla left Dominion shores without my knowledge or my consent. I was vehemently against interfering in the affairs of outsiders when such was proposed to me. The people responsible—the ones who went behind my back after I expressly forbade sending aid to Sunstead—were rogue elements of my court, who, I assure His Majesty, are no longer a factor.”
Alaric’s eyes shifted again to Talasyn, who had gone pale, biting her lip as she looked toward Elagbi. The prince had suddenly found the surface of the table to be of great interest.
“The present-day Dominion,” Urduja concluded, “will approach these talks with the best of intentions and we will keep our end of whatever bargains are made.”
Alaric was surprised by the Zahiya-lachis’s bluntness, but he inclined his head graciously. She could just be covering her tracks but, in the grand scheme of things, her speech was harmless enough to let slide for now. This marriage alliance made it all too clear that Nenavar had already learned its lesson when the first stormship destroyed its flotilla in one fell swoop.
“We shall treat it as ancient history, Queen Urduja,” said Alaric. “There can be no moving forward while the past hangs over our heads.”
Despite his words, he glanced over at Talasyn and Elagbi again, puzzled by their strange reactions to Urduja’s mention of rogue elements. There was something curious there.
Urduja nodded at Lueve Rasmey, who spoke up in pleasant tones that were at odds with the atmosphere of the room. “As chief negotiator for the Nenavar Dominion and on behalf of Her Starlit Majesty Urduja Silim, She Who Hung the Earth Upon the Waters, allow me to formally call this meeting to order. I have been instructed to proceed as if these were traditional marriage negotiations—”
“With all due respect, they are not,” said Mathire. “This is a political union between two governments, with entire armies and economies at stake. It would be a disservice to both sides—and certainly the cause of many misunderstandings—if we were to treat this as an ordinary marriage.”
“The esteemed commodore can surely be forgiven,” said Lueve without missing a beat, chipper smile intact, “for her ignorance of Nenavarene customs. Among the upper echelons of our society, marriage is a political union. With it we form alliances, broker peace between rival houses, and seal trade partnerships. This is the mindset with which we are approaching these nuptials.”
The direction that the conversation had taken drove home one very important point that Alaric had somewhat been refusing to process, but was now finally starting to sink in.
Talasyn.
His would-be bride was Talasyn.
He was going to marry Talasyn.
It was surreal and it was ridiculous. Across from him, the girl in question was beginning to look alarmed, as though it was also dawning on her that it was their shared future being discussed in this room.
Alaric was suddenly gripped by the chill certainty that if Talasyn started outright panicking, he would, too. Seizing an opportunity to get this over with as soon as possible and focus on practical matters rather than his impending breakdown, he addressed Daya Rasmey. “Kesath looks forward to all the diplomatic and trade benefits that will spring forth from this union. In return, there is much that we can offer the Lachis’ka.”
“Aside from the continued safety and survival of her people, of course,” Mathire supplied.
“I did not realize that we were here to exchange threats,” said Niamha. “Nor did I think that anyone would issue threats this deep inside territory not their own.”
Alaric resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose to ward off an oncoming headache. “The Lachis’ka will gain the title of Night Empress, and all the power and prestige that comes with it. Naturally, we will expect Nenavar’s full cooperation as we endeavor to maintain prosperity and stability in this corner of the Eversea.”
“Cooperation that we will be only too glad to provide,” said Prince Elagbi, “as long as it does not infringe on our sovereignty. That is one of our two non-negotiables—that Dominion law prevails in Dominion space.”
Alaric nodded. “And what is the other non-negotiable?”
“That my daughter be treated with the utmost kindness and respect.” Elagbi’s dark eyes were as hard as flint as he met Alaric’s gaze. “That never will a hand be raised to her in anger, that never will she be made to feel any less than who she is.”