“The news from my sisters is not good,” she said, setting down a thin layer of unleavened bread she’d spread with apricot preserves.
He frowned, his glance flickering west, toward her island.
“My father has not changed his mind, or given any sign he means to. I fear—I fear my exile is not temporary.”
“From where does his madness spring, do you know?”
Elia took a small, hasty sip of wine. She set it down and folded both hands around the stem. “You have heard the story of my mother’s death?”
“That it was predicted by the stars.”
“That day, after she died, I have never felt such inconsolable despair, and I was so young. It was all my father, his feelings, and then my sisters both, spilling out onto me, all around me. My father gave what he could to me, and the island, but mostly to me.”
Morimaros took a breath, as if to speak, but remained silent.
“I was all he had, and the stars took so much from him. My mother, his brothers to make him king, his vocation. Can you imagine what that leaves a man, who then must try to be the king he is destined to be? The stars have been his only, only constant. Of course he can’t unlock himself from their prophecies, for fear of losing everything again.”
“Still,” the king said darkly, “he chose them over you, and set his kingdom on a path toward upset.”
“Better to push me away than have me torn from him because he does not do as the stars decree.” Elia forced her eyes up from the goblet. “Do you intend to invade Innis Lear?”
“If I must.”
The answer hardened her heart, squeezing out the prick of disappointment she felt, too. “What would make you think you must?”
His mouth pulled down. “Do you know what I saw, those waiting days in your father’s court?”
She met his eyes, nodding permission for him to continue, though she did not think she wanted to hear.
“A thin, rigid power, cracking in all the wrong places. Your father is a terrible king.”
Elia gasped in shock. “You know so much better?” she said angrily.
“I had a better example. My father was a good king. Perhaps your father was once, but no longer.”
She gripped her own arms. He spoke so matter-of-factly! Loyalty and love warred inside her against the need to understand, the need for change. She said, “My sisters are strong.”
“Dual queens will not hold, not when they do not act in complete accord.”
“They will, on the matter of keeping Innis Lear independent from you.”
Morimaros shook his head. “I had letters today, too. From Gaela and her husband Astore, as well as Connley. None of them agreed on their approach to me or even what they want from Aremoria.”
“What did they say?” she asked, too tentatively.
“Gaela warned me to keep my distance, saying that any action from me, including marrying you, would be seen as hostile. Astore asked me to back them against Connley, and offered me assurances of alliance if I do, when Astore is king. He suggested we might work this out as men, which I took to mean he does not trust his own wife, though perhaps I misread it. And Connley declared that he holds the loyalty of the Errigal earldom, and if I want iron from them, I must backhim.As his wife does, though her sister might protest. This period before Midwinter is already hanging over disaster.”
Elia shook her head, disbelieving. “And so you must invade? TosaveInnis Lear?”
“Innis Lear once was part of Aremoria.”
“Eight hundred years ago!”
“I would see our lands reunited.”
“Innis Lear will not choose you if you invade. Not the people, and not the roots. Not even if you think you’re saving us.”
“Aremoria needs the minerals buried in your mountains, needs the trade advantages. Aremoria needs her western flank secure, and Innis Lear is a volatile neighbor. But”—Morimaros inclined his head nearer hers—“noneof that makes my words any less true. Innis Lear will destroy itself if left on this path. A ruler must recognize this and make a choice, where land cannot choose or act.”
