Lord Northangel waved his hand. “It’s a necessary cost of learning what it is capable of. Once the elves realized they could sell it to anyone, the distribution grew out of control. But a strong army...”
Aristea’s heart was hammering in her chest. Her head swam with the information relayed. Then it was as she’d suspected; they were building an army. And if she didn’t play her cards right, then they’d use that army against her.
“Then I’m glad to have you on my side, Duke Krantz,” Aristea said, trying to keep her tone light.
Jonathan, seated across from her, gave her an encouraging smile.
“All of us here wish to see the empire thrive. There is one concern, however. The continuation of the royal line,” Duke Krantz said and glanced over at Jonathan.
Aristea looked between the two of them. They couldn’t be implying…
“Meaning my heir?” Aristea prompted.
“Yes, and while we admire your dedication to your deceased husband, time isn’t on our side,” Duke Krantz continued.
She was used to these sorts of criticisms, but having Jonathan there, seemingly part of a discussion about her womb behind her back, stung. She’d thought he was different, but maybe all men were the same.
“We would not want you beholden to another man or kingdom. Heinrich was a tyrant, all of us knew it. But with the right consort, we could create a new era with you as an empress.”
Her mouth had gone dry, and she could not properly form a sentence.
“I take it you have someone in mind?” She looked around the room at the drunk, lecherous old men around her. Half were married or widowed. None would be her choice of a partner. But she’d known this sort of negotiation would be expected of her. And she might pretend to consider their offer, at least until she could secure their loyalty some other way.
“I do. The father of my grandchild, in fact. Lord Sommerfeld.”
Jonathan smiled at her from across the table, but Aristea felt as if the world had stopped.
When she didn’t return his smile, his slowly faded while Duke Krantz continued on, “And should your union not bear fruit, you could name my granddaughter, Elisa, heir to the throne. I think it is a rather tidy solution to our problem.”
Aristea’s ears were ringing, and she felt as if her stomach might heave up her dinner. She’d thought Jonathan had come to her out of true affection for her. That he’d desired to rekindle the sparks of a love that’d never borne fruit. But this entire time, he’d been plotting with Duke Krantz to position himself as her consort. To give Duke Krantz access to the throne.
She stood up, and as she did, half a dozen chairs scraped to follow her. “You’ve given me much to consider. But the hour is late, and I should go.”
Aristea turned and stormed out of the room. She was halfway to the foyer when she heard Jonathan call out to her.
“Aristea, wait!”
She wanted to ignore him, but she seemed to be tethered to him by invisible strings. She turned to face him. “Did you know what they were planning?”
He twisted his cane in his hand, avoiding her gaze. “Yes. But I’m not like Heinrich. I did it for you…”
She shook her head. “You tricked me and used my feelings against me. Was Elisa part of your scheme as well? Show your precious daughter to a barren widow to convince her to make the girl her heir.”
Tears pricked the back of her eyes, but she dared not let them fall.
“Would you be happier marrying a man your mother chooses again? To rule as a puppet in a man’s shadow?”
“Better him than a liar. At least I know what I’m getting into with him.”
Aristea swallowed down the bitterness in her throat and turned to walk out. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but she feared all her plans were in ruins.
24
As her confinement stretched onward, Liane found no greater clarity, peace, or acceptance of Cyra’s divine plan. In fact, the more time she spent alone, the angrier she became. Her rage felt like a slow-building fire, and each passing day was another twig fed into it, slowly smoldering, waiting for fuel to ignite. All told, she spent nearly a week in isolation, turning over the things the raven had said to her like a stone in a river until she’d worn it smooth. She laid out everything that had happened since she’d arrived in Basilia like marble pieces on a chessboard. The attack on the dock, performing for the masses, dancing to the entertainment of the rich and powerful, Sylvie’s death. Every step maneuvering her to bend to the Avatheos’ will.
She understood why her mother had hidden the truth, because to reveal it meant getting caught in his greedy grasp for power. Liane had known and hadn’t heeded her mother’s warnings. Now that she was in his trap, how did she break free? The first step was getting out of the tower. She had to convince the Avatheos that he’d broken her spirit and she was his to mold.
She wore her veil constantly, and whenever the caretakers were near, she pretended to pray. And when the Avatheos came to visit, she was meek and obedient, on her knees, begging for his guidance and blessing. She quoted the holy text and played her role as a dutiful and compliant avatar.
