The Queen of Lies (6 page)

Maddox paused uncomfortably, unsure if that was an invitation or just some random thing that popped into Riley’s drug-addled brain. “I don’t need to see your bedroom, Riley.”

Riley stood and brushed his wrinkled jacket. “Well. Gotta be going. I’ve a bit of business to attend to.”

Maddox raised his eyebrow. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah.” He smiled at Cassie and slapped five ducats on the table. “Me boy here—drinks, whatever he wants…on us.” He raised his arms triumphantly and bounded out the front onto the boardwalk outside.

“I’ve never seen that boy put his own money on my counter.” Cassie walked over to collect the ducats. “You want some of the good shit or the cheap shit so you can pass out on my floor?”

Maddox pondered the question for a second. “Cheap shit.”

Cassie thunked a bottle in front of him. “Saves me a trip.”

T
HRYCEA IS A
nation of slaves, yet the Stormlords are masters of deception, and the shackles are subtle. It is true that no one goes hungry in Thrycea; salt-rations are in every public forum open for the taking. Indigence is illegal; one sees many slaves on the streets of Thelassus, but there are no beggars. Those too sick to work are made whole by the ministrations of the Blood Priests and sent back to work.

Certainly corruption and abuse are rampant (as they are here and elsewhere), but the Stormlords have a dictum, “Might makes right.” If a lord fails to keep his thralls complacent and obedient, he is perceived as weak and replaced by a rival. Only the strongest and smartest survive long enough to hold their positions.

Barring the miraculous ascension of a compassionate Stormlord to the Coral Throne, it is difficult to see such a system ever changing. Not so for our experiment in democracy. With each generation the will of the Assembly drifts further from the will of the people and the lofty ideals of freedom and welfare for its constituents. I see how readily people are willing to trade their independence for personal security, as if freedom were merely one means to an end.

It is not with admiration that I describe the workings of our enemy, but resignation and disappointment. It is my hope that democracy will reign eternal, but if we are to see our nations suborned once again to the interests of powerful men, we could do worse than follow our enemy’s example.

—A TREATISE ON COMPARATIVE POLITICS,
BY DORIAN BRAND
,
WRITTEN IN THE HUNDREDTH YEAR OF THE PROTECTORATE’S FOUNDING BUT STILL WIDELY READ

J
ESSA AND
S
ATRYN
walked down the circular wooden staircase to the marble foyer of Silverbrook Manor. The curving banister was a single piece of Maenmarth timber polished to a glassy finish.

Bronze automatons, like men in polished armor, moved about the foyer, tirelessly cleaning the floors and dusting the furniture. Jessa couldn’t begin to hazard how much each of those must have cost as she made her way to the sitting room through the foyer’s eastern set of double doors. The doors parted automatically, triggered by a pressure plate.

Countess Muriel was an aficionado of clocks. Different mechanical timepieces, in various states of working order, sat in alcoves and adorned the walls. Jessa read that the old nobility of Rivern displayed wealth by craftsmanship and quality rather than art and precious substances.

Countess Muriel Silverbrook was an elderly but sprightly woman in her seventies. She wore a bold green dress with a hard leather corset like one might wear on a hunt. One hand rested on the armrest of her chair, absently fingering what looked to be a large air-compression crossbow that leaned against it.

Behind her, two men in black cloaks floated by the wall of books. Invocari. Jessa could see only their pale hands, folded in front of them. They appeared every bit as menacing as people said. The shadowy enforcers were a feature of Rivern that visitors tended to like the least. Mother had dismissed them entirely, which only made Jessa more uneasy.

“Your Majesty,” Muriel said with a hint of sarcasm. She did not rise.

“Muriel,” Satryn cooed as she took a seat on a plush couch opposite the countess. “You’re looking well.”

Muriel made a dismissive wave. “Try not to sound so disappointed.”

Satryn laughed. “I’m learning that the stories of your wit weren’t an exaggeration.”

“And you, Satryn, are…much as I imagined.” The countess moved her gaze from Satryn to Jessa. “Please dear, have a seat. You’re making the Invocari twitchy. And your lip appears to be bleeding. Let me call for the healer.” She reached for a tiny bell on the side table.

“Please don’t waste the Light on my expense. I bit too hard trying to loosen the clasp of a necklace.” Jessa chose a chair off to the side and sat primly, her hands folded.

“Before we begin,” Muriel said, “can I offer you any refreshment? A Lowland clover tea perhaps?”

“Do you have anything stronger?” Satryn leaned back, crossing her leg and luxuriously draping her arm over the back of the couch. Jessa half expected her to prop her boots on the mahogany table, but thankfully she abstained.

“I suppose it’s late enough in the morning.” Muriel nodded knowingly and produced a flask from a concealed pouch in her dress. She poured a generous two fingers of brown liquid into her own glass before passing it to Satryn.

Jessa watched for Muriel’s reaction when Satryn drank directly from the flask. Long ago the Stormlords had been corsairs, and when they had taken rulership of Thelassus, they imposed many of their uncouth behaviors as etiquette for the ruling class. The older woman gave no indication that she was fazed by it.

“Now that we’ve survived the pleasantries,” Muriel declared, “I was hoping we might discuss the occasion for this royal visit to my humble estate.”

“Indeed.” Satryn looked around the library and turned over one of the pillows next to her before addressing Muriel. “So where is he hiding?”

Muriel smiled. “Torin is at the Lyceum on some important business. Apparently another student is attempting something very dangerous or some such and his attendance is mandatory.”

“Another student?” Satryn mused archly. Jessa could tell by her mother’s tone that she was less than pleased.

Muriel said, “My grandnephew is a student of glyphology in his third year. He’s of good pedigree, close enough to Jessa in age, and amenable to the possibility of the arrangement. You see, his parents squandered their fortune in a series of poorly timed business endeavors. They need the prestige as much as they need the money.”

“Which other prospects have you considered? Perhaps there’s a highborn bastard working in your stables who would be able to attend this meeting on short notice,” Satryn scoffed. “I come on behalf of the empress to negotiate a peace between the Protectorate of the Free Cities and the Thrycean Dominance, and you offer me…a student with a poor family?”

“Really?” Muriel sipped her drink. “Many in the Assembly are of the impression that you’re here because you were deposed. It wouldn’t be the first time Amhaven has driven out the Dominance.”

“A momentary inconvenience,” Satryn explained. “Jessa’s claim is rightful. Out of respect for our sovereignty, I’ve asked my mother to abstain from intervention, something Rothburn’s supporters in the Assembly haven’t done. Amhaven needs a king who can shut down this nonsense. I doubt a student of glyphology possesses the necessary political capital to secure a bloodless succession.”

Muriel let out a loud uncomfortable sigh then gently began. “Satryn, dear, there’s no delicate way to put this, so I’ll simply say it. There are no other prospects. Of the eligible gentry, few would have an interest in giving up a life in Rivern for the…rustic simplicity of Amhaven. Then there’s the unfortunate history of nobles who have married into the imperial family and met untimely ends. People still talk about Renax.”

“With the signature of this peace treaty, Amhaven will be a new center of trade. Thrycean trade guilds will flood the rivers with goods from the Mazatar and the Gold Coast, not to mention timber from Maenmarth,” Satryn declared. “Surely someone more pragmatic must realize the benefit to this arrangement. Lord Hale, for instance, has experience in the lumber trade. Have you considered him?”

“Hale is confirmed bachelor.” Muriel waved her hand limply to dispel the idea from the air. “And while I’m impressed by your due diligence, I’ll assure you that I’ve researched this exhaustively. Those who would seek the prestige of Jessa’s title are too lowborn. Those who would profit by it are too prudent. But I’m sure we can round up some greedy merchants from the Assembly or bastard stableboys, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

“There’s no harm in meeting him,” Jessa blurted. “This marriage is about more than wealth and title. It’s about bringing peace between two empires and settling our disputes at home in Amhaven.”

Satryn shot Jessa a withering look that seemed to say,
I hope he’s fucking hideous
. She turned to Countess Muriel. “The empress empowered me to broker this marriage on her behalf. An impoverished student from a fallen house is an insult to the Dominance. You simply must find another candidate.”

“It was worth a try.” Muriel shrugged and rose from her chair. “But if Jessa is too good for Torin, there’s little I can do. The ongoing war is unfortunate, but the Assembly feels confident that the Dominance has once again overreached itself and is willing to let this conflict play itself out. I won’t keep you any longer. I’m certain you’ll want to get back to Weatherly and deal with your situation with Duke Rothburn. Give him my regards.”

“No!” Jessa stood abruptly.

The Invocari at the back of the library raised their hands with palms outstretched. Satryn flinched and readied her own hands in response, pointing to each of them. Muriel’s eyes widened like pale green saucers, but the old woman remained outwardly calm.

Jessa smiled. “My mother speaks for the empress, but I speak for the people of Amhaven. Our nation has suffered from generations of exploitation by the Dominance and neglect from the Protectorate. Only when a Stormlord is poised to take the crown does the Assembly bother to funnel money, and they do so to start an insurgency. I can’t let these talks fail.”

“Entertaining this proposal is a humiliation, Jessa.” Satryn rested her hands on her lap. “The countess only presses us because she thinks she can. Let this war rage and see how the Assembly feels when Thrycea commits the full fury of the Red Army to its bordering nation.”

“You forget that my blood is Silverbrook as well as Stormlord,” Jessa said. “These people are my father’s kin, and it is you who offers insult.”

Satryn threw her hands in the air and swallowed her words. “ My daughter didn’t inherit the fiery temperament of a Stormlord, which in this situation may prove beneficial. If this Torin is of noble birth, I’m sure the empress can be swayed to offer her blessing. Provided of course that there are reasonable concessions.”

Muriel returned her gaze with flinty eyes. “The offer is marriage and consideration of a treaty. I hardly think you’re in a position to ask for more.”

Satryn smiled. “Perhaps Rivern and the Protectorate are well funded enough to afford the services of the Patreans. But the mercenaries, supplies, and warmaster aren’t a trivial expense for any nation. If some of that coin went to reestablishing Torin’s
rightful
position, which was lost through no fault of his own, then he’d be the equal of any of the other suitable prospects, would he not?”

Muriel sat back down. “A dowry…for a
husband
? That’s highly unusual.”

“An investment.”

“I’ll need to discuss it with the usury board.” Muriel said. “They might be convinced, if the numbers align.”

“Jessa’s happiness and security are my only concerns. For her sake I’ll work with you on this.”

Muriel sighed. “Then we’re in agreement. Tomorrow I’ll arrange a formal introduction between Torin and Jessa. If he finds her as agreeable as I do, we should be on our way to forging a new alliance.”

“Have we not already agreed to the match?” Jessa asked plaintively.

“Arranged marriages may be the rule of law in the border nations, but we haven’t officially had one for centuries,” Muriel explained. “I’ve done my best to persuade Torin, but there’s nothing to be done if he doesn’t agree to it. He’s
ambivalent
about the prospect, but…in fairness, the portrait you sent does not do you justice, cousin.”

“Mother painted it,” Jessa stated.

“I’m sure Jessa will do everything in her power to bring him around,” Satryn said. Her ruby necklace was pulsing hot from the electricity on her skin.

“Let’s hope so,” Muriel agreed. “A lot rides on the potential affections of our young lovers to be.”

T
HE
H
IGH
W
IZARDS
can lift a whole city into the air to protest an ancient import tax; you’d think they could come up with a better way to transport ingots than having a bunch of guys load them into retrofitted flying sailboats. But that’s Archean efficiency for you: “We could do everything with magic if we wanted to, but then we’d be depriving people of their livelihoods…and just feeding everybody is beneath us.”