Eimarille could have the rest of the continent so long as Joelle retained Solaria.
“I have called a Conclave of Houses, as we agreed.”
“Daijal will not interfere in whatever games your Houses play. I gave you my word on that.”
“Yes, but Houses are not what I worry about. It is the wardens.”
The sigh on the other end of the line made Joelle want to gnash her teeth. “The wardens will not be a problem for either of our countries. They’ll be too busy dealing with revenants to worry about borders or see the threat aimed at the Celestine Lake.”
“During his parents’ funeral, Vanya took a warden into the crypt beneath the Imperial palace. If we are to use what is there, it must remain intact. I have heard of no sanctions levied against my country since then, but that is not to say they aren’t coming. I will not have us pay it, and I would prefer such a threat be dealt with while the Conclave happens.”
“Your situation is not a problem for Daijal.”
“Isn’t it?” Joelle asked sharply. “Your country borders mine.”
“And you’ve lost a death-defying machine as well as needed revenants.” A hint of annoyance slipped into the other woman’s voice, icy in a way few people ever were with Joelle. “The wardens will be dealt with, as we discussed, but I will not move up my timeline to satisfy your mistakes. Handle your Conclave, but do so knowing you owe me a debt, and your House will still owe it long after you are ash.”
The tone of a dead line echoed loudly in Joelle’s ear. She swore quietly before dropping the receiver on the cradle, knuckles throbbing from how tightly she’d gripped it. She chafed her hands together, scowling at nothing. “Pieces ever in motion.”
The wardens as a whole would be handled—eventually. She’d have liked it to be now as opposed to whatever timetable Eimarille had drawn up. It had been a risk to call and give her demands, but she refused to be seen as subservient to someone who was not Solarian. Eimarille could not have crossed Daijal’s eastern borders without the revenants created in Solaria. She could talk about debts Joelle owed all she liked, but Eimarille owed them as well.
She needed to see to one particular warden if he ever showed up during the Conclave. Considering the task Vanya had assigned him, Joelle had no doubt the warden would arrive at some point. The last she’d heard from therionetkasin her control was that they’d located the warden and Raiah on a train. But that had been days ago, and the poison fields were no place for a child.
Of all the wardens, Joelle wanted the location of the one Vanya had given his daughter to, not only because she wanted Raiah back, but she wanted to see if Soren was indeed someone who could cast starfire. The quarry was ruined, but there was no alchemy or bombs involved with its destruction. The only thing to ever scorch the earth likethatwas starfire. Joelle should know, as she could cast it herself.
Eimarille did not know about the possibility of another living Rourke. Joelle wasn’t sure if Vanya even knew what secrets Soren might be keeping, but whatever they were, she intended to pry them out of the warden however possible.
Sighing, Joelle reached to press the button on the machine that would summon one of her handmaidens. When the knock came on her office door, she bade them enter. The younger woman bowed deeply.
“Send for Artyom and bring a tea service,” Joelle ordered.
They had much to discuss, after all.
Ten
CARIS
“The Daijal army has occupied Haighmoor.”
Captain Hyacinth Votil tossed the morning broadsheet down on the table in the library the Clockwork Brigade was working out of in the Auclair estate. Caris reached for the broadsheet and slid it closer to herself.
The captain had been sent as a liaison for the Ashion army and was both a magician and a cog, currently bivouacked in the estate since her arrival the day before. If Caris listened hard enough, she could hear the faint hum of the magician’s clarion crystal–tipped wand, a well-cut piece. Right now, over the clink of teacups touching plates, the rustle of paper, and the murmur of voices, the hum was impossible to hear.
Hyacinth was a woman ten years older than Caris, whose father was a general in the Ashion army. Hyacinth had followed in his footsteps by becoming not just an officer but a cog as well. Whether out of necessity or choice, her road had found its way to Ashion’s old spymaster. It was easier, after all, for a lower-ranked officer to slip away when necessary, while a general found it almost impossible to leave their duty behind without their absence being noted.
That’s where Hyacinth came in, a woman who was as dedicated to eradicating debt bondage as she was to pushing back against Daijal influence. Her family’s name was written down in the genealogies kept by the Star Order, going back generations.
Their loyalty wasn’t in question, though Caris still didn’t care for the reverence Hyacinth had greeted her with yesterday upon their introduction. The uncomfortableness of being known for something she’d kept secret for so long left her feeling too seen. That hint of near-instantaneous loyalty had made Caris flee to the garage turned laboratory that had become her sanctuary since their arrival in Veran.
She didn’t want to be what everyone hoped she was.
“The bulk of the army is not in Haighmoor,” Meleri reminded everyone in the room. “Neither are the supplies.”
Hyacinth glared down at the headline typed across the morning edition broadsheet, jaw twitching. Her brown hair was cropped short to her skull, and she carried calluses on her right hand from years of wielding a pistol. “Once the Daijal army realizes that, it’ll only encourage them to make a deeper foray into Ashion.”
“What was their reasoning behind the occupation?” Caris said.
Lore tipped a teaspoon of sugar into her tea and swirled it around deftly enough that the spoon never clinked against the sides of the cup. “Apparently, the wardens weren’t enough to handle a revenant incursion, and the mayor claims he received no aid from Amari.”
