“Now!”
Dozens of Pyrenee soldiers spilled onto the mezzanine and poured down the stairs. Swords and daggers drawn, they descended like a storm upon the tables where Domingu’s family awaited their fate—their wine, of course, not poisoned. Their blades made swift work of Domingu’s direct descendants—men first, then women who tried to fight.
As blood sprayed in great arcs, the queen did not look away. This was necessary, but that did not mean she enjoyed such violence.
Inés clapped her hands together and shouted over the chaos.
“Remaining guests, you have two choices. Bend the knee to me and you shall live; otherwise, you will die.” She gestured to hersoldiers, whose blades now threatened all those who were still standing. “Domingu expected to rule all of the Sand and Sky before his dying breath, and yet he failed. Test me and you will join him in death.”
No one moved.
“Know this: I did not poison the wine. Domingu did.” The truth settled over the remaining crowd, and she nodded.Yes, yes, he did that. With Taillefer’s help.“It is only with me that you get the chance to live.”
The great dining hall of the Aragonesti went still, death or capitulation taking each soul, one by one. Those who chose death drank the poison or succumbed to their wounds, helped along by the queen’s soldiers. Those who bent the knee awaited orders.
When all was silent, Queen Inés surveyed the room. A third of the guests lost to the wine, and a third to the sword. About what she’d expected. A few members of her own party had succumbed to the wine, but what was lost would be worth it for all she’d gained.
Pyrenee was hers. Basilica was hers. And, with a few strokes of ink, the remaining party of Myrcell would hand her that salty strip of southern land—and the pearl trade and the army that went with it.
For a thousand years on this continent, kingdoms had been gained through blood or conquest. Yet with cleverness of mind and steely consciousness, she would now rule three-fifths of the Sand and Sky, because she had conquest in her blood.
But it was not enough.
Three-fifths of the continent would not do, just as it would not have done for Domingu—had he succeeded in his scheme.
She wanted all of it. And she would have it. No matter Geneva’s plans for Ardenia, formerly ruled by the Warrior King. No matter the Warlord’s control of the pitiful patch of sand called the Torrent. No matter the unresolved matter of her son Taillefer and Princess Amarande.
In the last two minutes she had bent the entire patriarchal history of the Sand and Sky to her will, using nothing but the framework that had kept her caged for so long.
But no more.
“Those of you who have bent the knee, congratulations—ariseand join the future of your continent.” It was theatrical, yes, but necessary—this was a dramatic moment, indeed. And so, Inés tipped her chin and met the weary, tentative survivors with her most benevolent grin. “Yes, stand with me. Stand! Stand with me for the new Sand and Sky. A place where the old kings are dead, and a single queen shall reign.”
CHAPTER27
OSANAhalted at the cut of a switchback, staring through the cleaved meeting of two mountains, at the Itspi below, a garnet gem bathed in sunset orange. The castle wall encircled the grounds like a ruby-crusted belt, pulled tight around heavily graded summer-dry grasses shaded by stands of fragrant juniper trees.
“Stars, it looks just like that ball gown of hers,” Osana said, not glancing over at Urtzi, who sat cramming strips of dried meat into his mouth. The big Myrcellian had seized every pause in their journey as an automatic opportunity to eat—so often, in fact, that she could barely believe he had anything edible remaining in his saddlebag, yet more food materialized each and every time he reached within.
“It looks like a castle.” He shrugged and swallowed.
“Abeautifulcastle. The Bellringe was grand and imposing but a little frigid. This one—it sparkles like a gem yet still looks like ahome. I envy Amarande and Luca for having grown up here.”
“We are not here to ogle the castle. Get in; get the princess; get out. You can admire the architecture on your next visit.”
“Fine. So, I suppose we go and… knock on the gate like we’re calling for cake and coffee? I flash my sword and we ask for the princess…”
“No, we go through the… wait. It’s closed?”
“The gate appears to be closed, yes. And manned with soldiers.”
Urtzi froze, staring down at the Itspi, cataloging each section of it. As his mind overlaid the current view with the castle he had visited not even a week before, Osana plucked the last strip of dried meat from his fist and shoved it in her mouth.
When he didn’t admonish her, Osana knew something was wrong.
“What?” she asked, still chewing.
Urtzi’s black eyebrows threaded together. “When we arrived, the gates were open. Perhaps for the funeral, but when we took the assignment we were told it would not be difficult to gain entry. We had a story at the ready in case we needed to talk our way in, but we didn’t even need it.” He dipped his chin to the scene below. “The gate was wide open. And though Ardenia is famed for its soldiers, guards did not crawl the grounds like so many ants.”
