But that was not all that must be mitigated. “And what do we do until she’s wed? She will not accept any of this. She will want an investigation. To challenge the law. She will challenge any regent you choose—”
“Would she challenge you?” Garbine asked. Koldo’s attention snapped to the old woman, completely taken off guard by her question. The councilor continued. “If we made you regent, until she’s married, would she object, General?”
“Over any of you? No. But how would that be better? How would that protect Ardenia from what our king feared? Or the princess?”
“It wouldn’t,” Joseba answered. “But given the circumstances, you must concur this is our best hope.”
Koldo laid eyes on the young councilor, not much older than the princess in question. He could barely look her in the eye in return. “Hope is not a plan.”
“General, I agree,” Satordi said, smoothing Sendoa’s last will and testament against the heavy polished wood of the table, “but in this case, hope may be all we’ve got.”
Sendoa had a plan.
He always had a plan.
And though General Koldo hated to go against his wishes with every fiber of her being, she knew deep down they were right.
The status quo, no matter how unusual it was on their end, would be the best scenario to avoid the end of Ardenia.
But the general knew how to make a plan, too.
CHAPTER53
AMARANDEsat with her father’s last will and testament in her shaking fingers for several minutes. Koldo did not prod. Instead, she kept her attention on their surroundings, tracking movement. Looking for trouble. All the things she was trained to do.
After a long moment, Amarande finally spoke. “Father wanted me to be queen, but knew it could not happen peacefully.”
Koldo shook her head. “Not with the makeup of the continent, no.”
“And so he made me regent of my own kingdom? But the council did not believe that wise?” Of course they wouldn’t—this was the most easy-to-understand piece of it all. Satordi should rot. “And you agreed?”
The general shifted, setting her own back against the wheel of the cart. Ula had not yet returned, nor had Luca, and though the night had become much quieter, Koldo’s eyes roved the darkness once more before she leaned in, voice low.
“I agreed because I knew bucking the laws as written would mean war. What I didn’t know was that it would happen anyway. Like this—three kings dead, two queens standing. And make no mistake, Geneva considers herself queen. She is Queen Mother only in name. She defies Ferdinand’s suggestions at every turn.”
“You did not account for that.”
“No.”
It was equally likely that much of Geneva’s confidence came from the power she had tangentially in the Torrent. She would have reacted poorly to her puppet announcing her intentions for power so publicly at the door of what Geneva was attempting to make a legitimate seat of power.
Amarande did not agree with the council on many things, but she did wonder perhaps if knowing what Geneva had been up to all these years would have an effect on the amount of contact they gave her with their new king.
“No,” Koldo repeated. “I did not account for that or for other surprises that came later. I did not account for the kidnapping of Luca to sway your hand. I did not account for your disappearance. I did not account for Geneva’s announcement that she was bringing Ferdinand home. I did not account for the council actually moving forward with her plan.” The general drew in a shaky breath. “I spent my life winning battles on my brawn, and avoiding them altogether as much as possible with my brain, and I’m afraid I have let you down. I have let my son down. And I have let Sendoa down.”
Amarande’s head spun with the facets here—all the sides of the diamond, just as her father had explained with so much relish. Every side reflected something new—a new motivation, point of view, decision, lie, truth.
“You did not answer my questions earlier,” Amarande said, finally, quietly. “Did Father know about Ferdinand?” She gestured to her father’s map. “Even though he knew Geneva was Warlord and planned to overtake her? With Luca. Yes? Why?”
Koldo smiled sadly. “Your father did not know about Ferdinand. If he knew I was pregnant, he never let on. When it became something I could no longer disguise, I feigned injury during the Divide Conflict, and returned to the Itspi to hide.”
“Why didn’t you tell him? Then? Or after? He loved you. He could not help without knowing.”
“I was too afraid of what would happen. To Sendoa. To you. And so I never said anything. Not when my son was stolen away the night your mother disappeared. Not when the first letter from her arrived.” Letters, of course. Blackmail. “I was in such disbelief that he was still alive, it felt like a reward for my silence. If I spoke it into the air, it felt as if he’d be taken from me again. I couldn’t let that happen.”
“When did you find out she was here? If you knew she’d become the Warlord, couldn’t you have rescued him as you rescued me?”
“I didn’t know where she’d gone, not until we visited the Warlord’s camp.” She nodded at the will. “The week that will was written, I was with your father when he met with the Warlord. As I waited for him, I saw a boy who had to be my son running the grounds and trying to push into the Warlord’s tent. It was obvious that she was hiding in the caravan. And when Sendoa left his meeting with slashes across his cheeks and news that we would no longer pursue relations withthe Torrent, I knew she was not simply the Warlord’s guest; she was the Warlord herself. The title had passed.”
