Satordi’s brows arched to the remains of his hair. “Would you care to elaborate?”
“He is—was—the protector of the Sand and Sky. Every king on this continent owes his neck and crown to Sendoa—”
“That should prevent—”
“I was not finished, Councilor.” Koldo stared daggers at Satordi. When his thin lips snapped shut, she continued. “After years of thisprotection, it is likely that some may have believed he could steal their crowns as easily as he could save them.”
Garbine was aghast. “Our king never seriously looked at seizing the whole continent. There are some who might angle for that”—some,meaning Domingu—“but Sendoa would have never, and unless you have knowledge otherwise, General, I take that as an offense to my king, whose body is not yet cold.”
Koldo held up a hand, glove shedding fine windblown mountain grit. “King Sendoa would not have done such a thing and I was not suggesting he would. I was suggesting others thought hewouldbecause hecould.His reputation itself was a constant, pressing threat to his very life.”
Silence fell over the room.
In answer, Satordi gestured to the youngest councilor. “Joseba, read the will.”
Doing as he was tasked, the young councilor took a letter opener to the seal, the king’s garnet wax—tiger’s head inlay, naturally—flaking to the table. Joseba unfurled the parchment, short as it was, and read the entirety of the page aloud, in a clear, crisp voice.
“I, Sendoa, Warrior King of the Sovereign Kingdom of Ardenia, claim the following to be my last will and testament. I decree that, upon my untimely death, my daughter, Princess Amarande of the Sovereign Kingdom of Ardenia, is until her marriage named regent of the kingdom in my stead.
“If Princess Amarande should be incapacitated, pass to the stars along with me or before her marriage and the end of regency, I decree that my right hand, General Koldo, should be named regent and protector of the Sovereign Kingdom of Ardenia.
“These wishes are unusual, of that I am aware, though I make them of sound mind and body and with the best interests of Ardenia at heart. I believe any other route would result in the end of our beloved kingdom. If the climate on the continent were something other than its current state, I would wish that my daughter rule without marriage as a prerequisite. I have long thought to garner support to change this unfortunate law, but believe perhaps even making such a simple request of the current ruling body would leave me ripe for assassination.”
Joseba paused for a moment and then said, in a much more timid tone, “That is it. Simply a signature and a date—summer, nine years ago.”
The young councilor flipped the page around as if to prove it—and Koldo’s attention settled on the king’s signature and the numbers comprising the date.
Almost exactly a week after Sendoa’s meeting with the Warlord.
The king had asked Koldo to marry him yet again that week. And, still raw from seeing her son in the flesh, and in the Warlord’s possession, she’d said no. Again. As always.
“Let me see that!” Satordi spit. He plucked it from Joseba’s hands. The lead councilor devoured the page for a long moment as he reread every word more than once, eyes combing the knife-slash script.
Satordi dropped the parchment as if it were hot—and Garbine slid it her way with a gloved hand as the lead councilor sputtered. “Sendoa may have aimed to prevent war with this declaration, but it will start one. No one will allow it. No one.”
Koldo leaned forward, that anger within her rising again. “Whymustwe let them allow it? It was his wish and it contradicts no Sand and Sky legislation, or decree. He meant to go around the bureaucracy and he did.”
Satordi shook his head. “Regency by definition is not permanent.”
“It is permanent if we state it is permanent.” Koldo stood and snatched the paper from Garbine’s hands, dangling in front of the council. “Sendoa declared it is permanent and so it is permanent. Do you dare defy our king?”
Satordi flung a frustrated gesture in Koldo’s direction. “I will defy him if it meanswar.Something you should care very much about, General. Do you have the soldiers to protect our borders in a long, protracted attack from three sides, the Torrent—because someone will use it—and the sea?”
“No.”
“That is what I thought.” Satordi took back the paper. “Our king meant well, but the best thing we can do is to do as is customary. Marry off our princess so that she may access her power and hope for the best.”
“There is nothingcustomaryabout a kingdom with a sole femaleheir.” Koldo flung a hand right back at the man. “There has not been a situation like this in a thousand years. You are putting our princess to the gallows. War may begin simply with her choice.”
Satordi was unmoved.
“We will make the choice for her. Weigh the options. Do what is best for the kingdom. Stave off war.”
Koldo shook her head. “And what if one of our union kingdoms murdered our king to set this into motion? What then? Sendoa claimed it in his own words—he believed it to be a very good possibility or he would have asked for a change in law. He knew his situation could mean his death. Just as I suspected.”
“You are right, General Koldo. But it cannot be undone. All we can do is mitigate it.” Now Satordi made eye contact. “And you must prepare in case we don’t. Conscription at a faster rate. Promotions. Reinforcements.”
After a long pause, Koldo nodded. As much as she did not like any of this, he was right.
