“You agreed to turn your back on your country for a chance at the Imperial throne. I agreed to aid you in that endeavor, but it is not my fault you’ve yet to ascend it. You’ve sacrificed a granddaughter and a son in your desperate ploy to take back something your House hasn’t held in centuries. What makes you think it was ever going to be easy? What makes you think the Houses you hope to rule will ever believe you are innocent of all that has occurred? They all sided with Vanya during the Conclave over you.”
Eimarille’s words made Joelle flinch, glad the other woman couldn’t see her reaction. If the Conclave had turned in her favor, if she’d managed to get Raiah into her arms—if, if,if. So much of what she’d fought and schemed for had crumbled around her, the situation made worse by Eimarille’s orders and not hers. First, the Warden’s Island, and now the attacks in Solaria and E’ridia, all of which could be traced back to Joelle in some way, she was certain.
She’d treated this alliance as if it were one with a House, something Joelle could control, when in reality, it wasn’t anything but a trap. Eimarille had plans, and they did not include a Solaria ruled by the House of Kimathi, Joelle realized with a dawning sense of shame she would never admit to anyone.
She wondered if the Twilight Star would hear her prayers and would answer them. Considering he’d given his blessing to Eimarille and promised to guide her road, Joelle doubted any of her own would be listened to.
Perhaps she should never have forsaken the Dawn Star after all.
“You think once you kill Caris Rourke, you’ll be in the clear,” Joelle said slowly as she unclenched her hands, knuckles throbbing. “But your attacks on other countries, while damaging, have done the opposite of what you hoped for. You wanted to isolate Ashion. Instead, you’ve ensured the countries with the most formidable land army and air force will face you on the battlefield.”
“Daijal is prepared to win.”
“Killing your sister won’t give you the crown nor the right to the starfire throne. Not with your brother still alive.”
Joelle knew of the North Star’s decree. For all that Innes had shown favor to Eimarille, Aaralyn had given it to no one. It could be inferred that Eimarille would not have it, so long as others of the Rourke bloodline lived. Holding the prince would be leverage against Eimarille in the future, leverage Joelle could use to keep hervasilyetand Solaria free.
“News out of Calhames states he is still missing. Caris has no heir.”
“Of course,” Joelle demurred. “But you can’t win so long as one of them still lives.”
“And what have you done that makes you so certain I won’t win?”
“Ensured someone will always be a challenge to your right to the starfire throne if you are ever able to claim it.”
The silence that settled over the call was charged, and when Eimarille finally spoke, her tone was glacial. “You have Alasandair.”
“I have a threat to your rule if you seek to ruin Solaria any more than you already have. If you don’t wish that to happen, then you will leave me the Imperial throne.”
Another fraught silence settled between them. Eventually, Eimarille said, “You will regret defying me.”
“I doubt that.”
Joelle set the receiver on the cradle, ending the call. She closed her eyes and pressed her fingers over them, wishing she could wipe away some of the decisions she had made in her youth, knowing she could do nothing now but own them. This was her road to walk, and she’d been the one to build it.
Joelle reached for her cane, using it and the desk to lever herself up. She’d taken the call in private, her handmaidens waiting out in the antechamber. The trio on duty stood at her entrance and bowed to her.
“Let’s see to our guests, shall we?” Joelle said.
Eimarille could think she had the upper hand, but Joelle wasvezirof the House of Kimathi. She knew the games the Houses played in her bones. She had spent her entire life owning debts, claiming loyalty, and gaining blackmail material.
None was as important as the prince she’d stolen.
Seven
SOREN
Being a prisoner of war was not a title Soren had ever wanted, much like he’d never wanted to be a prince.
Vesper had left Calhames with them weeks ago, Soren bound by Lore’s life to not retaliate as they were herded onto an airship that had flown them northwest. They’d been separated on that flight, both of them drugged, though it hadn’t quite stuck for Soren. The alchemy that had turned him into a warden made him immune to many toxins and poisons and some sedatives as well. But waking up early didn’t mean anything if Lore wasn’t with him.
They’d remained separated during landing and their transportation through Bellingham, driving through streets Soren only vaguely recalled from the time he’d brought Vanya back seemingly from the dead after the train wreck. He wasn’t taken to the Imperial estate but to the grand one that had been home to the House of Kimathi for Ages. The basement room he’d been deposited in was windowless, the floor black marble streaked with gold, a circle inlaid with opal carved with precision into the marble so that it touched each wall. A narrow cot, rudimentary toilet, and shallow sink were all the furnishings allowed.
Soren had felt the magic in that cell the moment he’d stepped foot in it, like a heaviness that weighed down the very air. If he’d been a magician, he rather thought it would be impossible to reach the aether for any spells, but he’d been able to summon a curl of starfire that first day, what little good it did him. Lore had not been placed with him, and he didn’t know where she was or how she was doing. Breaking out would put her life in jeopardy, and he couldn’t risk that.
So Soren stayed in that small, cool cell, given meals twice a day that were never laced with drugs and water that was. He drank it anyway, knowing he needed to keep up his strength, able to shake off its effects quicker than someone who wasn’t a warden, even without his field kit.
On the third day, the door had opened, thoughvezirJoelle, of the House of Kimathi, had never stepped foot inside his cell. She’d been flanked by guards and the same magician who had transported them out of Calhames to Bellingham. Soren had stared at her for a moment before getting to his feet, calculating the odds of escape before deciding against it.
