Spring regarded them both with disgust. “Talk about pearls being cast before swine. I’m telling you in all seriousness that I’ve been looking at this from every possible angle and something about this situation just doesn’t add up. The Calbernan made not one but two contracts, risking thousands of his men in war, specifically to claim—or have a chance to claim—a Season for a wife. Why not some other, less costly bride? There are other princesses out there—even some with magic that’s at least on par with ours. Why us?”
“The Maak of Verma and Cho just offered the largest bride price in history to claim Autumn,” Summer pointed out. “Maybe Sealord Merimydion wants the same thing.”
“Perhaps, but if that was the case, don’t you think Khamsin would have told us Autumn was the one he wanted? He’s interested in our weathergifts—Kham said he admitted that—but he didn’t care that they wouldn’t be passed on to our children.” The divine gifts bestowed upon Summerlea’s royal family by the Sun God, Helos, never passed out of the immediate royal family. Though Spring, Summer, and Autumn all inherited their gifts from their father, only Khamsin, now the ruling Queen of Summerlea and Wintercraig, would pass on those gifts to her children.
“I think you’re seeing suspicious motives when none exist,” Autumn said. “Calbernansdorule the sea, after all. I assume they want to rule the weather as well for a while. What sailor wouldn’t? Guaranteed clear skies and fair winds? Maybe stir up a few storms to belabor the competition. Even a single generation of that would give them a considerable advantage.”
Summer reached for a perfectly iced tea cake topped with a sparkling sugar snowflake and took a delicate nibble. The tangy sweetness of the redberry jam filling, sweet almond icing, and delicate lemon cloud cake filled her mouth with delight. “Oh, sweet Halla, that’s good.” She pushed the plate towards Spring. “You really should try one of these tea cakes, Vivi. They’re delicious.”
“Seriously?” Spring regarded her two sisters in disgust. “Aren’t either of you the least bit interested in getting to the real truth about our future bridegroom? I can’t believe you’re both being so cavalier.”
“Not cavalier, Vivi. We’re being sensible,” Autumn replied seriously. “First of all, Sealord Calbernan will be the future bridegroom of only one of us. And second, Storm made it clear that the choice to marry him or not would lie with us—not him. So, he won’t be bridegroom to any of us if we don’t wish it.”
“And third,” Summer added, “it’s a beautiful day in this beautiful city. And for the first time since we got here, we have the whole afternoon to ourselves, without a single Verminous Vermese or Perturbingly Perfect Pirate”—she sent a grin Autumn’s way—“in sight, which means, after I finish tea, I’m going to walk along the banks of the fjord past all those gorgeous waterfalls and just enjoy the day. You should both come with me.”
“Ooh, that sounds delightful,” Autumn said. “Count me in.” They exchanged a smile.
“You two go on without me,” Spring said. “You both might think I’m being ridiculous, but I know there’s more to this than meets the eye and I’m determined to find out what it is. The folk here in Konumarr have traded with the Calbernans for centuries. Maybe there’s someone here who can help shed some light on their motivations.”
“Vivi, you’re starting to obsess,” Gabriella warned. Spring didn’t often get riled up about anything, but when she did, she was like a dog with a bone. She wouldn’t let it go. Dilys Merimydion’s reasons for wanting a Season for a wife had clearly become one of these things. Gabriella wanted to be sure Spring’s worry didn’t progress beyond a healthy concern. Because Summer wasn’t the only one who’d inherited one of their father’s more dangerous traits.
Spring opened her mouth to object, then snapped it closed. After a silent, scowling moment, she plucked two iced tea cakes from Autumn’s plate, popped them into her mouth one after another, then drank down the rest of her mint-infused honeyrose tea.
“You’re right,” she said, setting her empty tea glass on the table, “the cakes are divine, and the mint makes the tea very soothing. I think I’ll join you two for a walk after all.”
The three sisters smiled at each other with shared love and understanding. Daughters of a mad king they might be, but they had vowed they would always help each other, as they’d not been able to help their father or their brother, Falcon.
Chapter 3
With the sea breeze ruffling his hair, and his ship rocking rhythmically in the warm tropical waters of the Varyan Ocean, Mur Balat, Mystral’s most infamous, feared, and obscenely wealthy slaver, regarded his guest over a steaming cup of star blossom tea.
The tea was steeped from petals and stamen of flowers that bloomed only once every ten years and only in the highest reaches of the Chitzkali Mountains, in the heart of cannibalistic despot Gulah Zin’s territory. Prized for both the rarity and difficulty of acquisition of its main component as well as its fabled healing properties, star blossom tea was Mystral’s rarest and most expensive beverage, an indulgence that cost a staggering two hundred goldencoronasper half ounce. But Mur Balat was a man wealthy enough and connected enough to feed such indulgences.
He liked the taste and effects of the tea well enough. But he liked more the message it sent to those with whom he shared it.
Here is a man who can obtain whatever your heart desires,that cup of pricey, pale nectar declared.No matter how rare, no matter how priceless, no matter how difficult to acquire.
Provided, of course, that you could pay his fee.
“Sugar?” he asked politely. Born the bastard son of a Balalatika enchantress and a royal prince of a kingdom that had long since fallen into ruin, Mur Balat prided himself on his good manners. Bastard, thief, slaver, and whoremonger, he might be, but his mother had seen to it that he’d been raised, clothed, and educated as well if not better than his father’s legitimate sons. At his father, the prince’s expense, of course.
In the years since his mother’s death, Balat had come to the conclusion that she truly had loved her handsome, devoted royal prince. If she hadn’t, she would never have bothered to murder the prince’s wife. And then, she wouldn’t have laid such a devastating curse upon her lover and his father’s kingdom as she stood on the pyre to be burned for her deed.
Balat’s parents were gone. The once thriving kingdom that had been his childhood home was a shattered ruin of its former self, having been torn apart by war and conquest, its indigenous people murdered or enslaved. His mother’s brilliant mind and most of her life’s work had been destroyed by the king’s men when they came for her. Not the most important treasures of the Balalatika bloodline, thank Halla, but her personal spell book, the one she had begun for herself as a young girl. And for what? Love?
Love makes you weak. And foolish. That was the lesson he learned from his mother’s death. It was a lesson his current guest had, to Balat’s continued enrichment, never learned.
Irritation flashed in Balat’s guest’s eyes, but was quickly smothered. He leaned forward to pluck two shell-shaped lumps of sugar from the bowl and drop them into his cup, then sat back to stir the tea with a tiny golden spoon. After taking a sip, he said brusquely, “Delicious, as always.”
Balat smiled and leaned back in his chair, unoffended by his friend’s curt demeanor. Theirs had been a strained friendship for quite a number of years. “It is my pleasure to indulge you, my friend.” He made a point of sending his friend a small box of star blossom tea every year. As much a reminder of their past as a reminder of the power Balat held over him.
They’d first met years ago when they’d both traveled Mystral in search of the world’s magical secrets. After the fourth time their paths crossed, Balat made a point of befriending his fellow magical scholar. But although he and his friend had kept in contact over the years—Balat never lost touch with a useful acquaintance—it had been several years since they’d last met face-to-face. His friend found it difficult to leave home for any length of time.
That was part of the reason Balat had agreed to meet him here, at sea, rather than at Balat’s primary home—a mighty fortress built on the cliffs overlooking Trinipor, the bustling slave capital of Mystral. Leaving home for the time necessary to travel to and from Trinipor would have roused too much suspicion for his friend, and given how close Balat was to finally unlocking the greatest magical power in the history of Mystral, this was not the time to invite unnecessary scrutiny.
“So,” Balat prompted, “I take it you have reconsidered my offer?”
“I have. And you’ve brought what we agreed upon?”
