Ferdinand knew that life. He did not want it back.
If only Koldo were here. She would know what to do. For twenty years, she had been at Sendoa’s side as they built one of the most dominant military forces ever raised on the continent of Sand andSky. He was a fifteen-year-old boy pushing figurines about a map in the chambers of the father he never knew between sparring sessions with a mother who’d spent the majority of his life ruling through fear and intimidation—even though she called it love.
Ferdinand shot to his feet. Leaving the maps and strategies and unanswered questions in his sitting room, he struck out for his balcony. The sun had nearly set over the mountains, bathing their peaks in a rich, honeyed afterglow.
It would’ve been beautiful if it didn’t feel like the cusp of the world’s end.
Only days ago, Ferdinand had believed all these new, uncovered truths about his parentage would help bring safety and stability to this dazzling place. But that scenario had bobbled and crashed the moment Amarande returned and the lies began.
A king in name but nothing else. A figurehead whose only role was to legitimize orders filtered through Geneva’s ambitions and his council’s goals.
He literally didn’t have the keys to his own kingdom.
And for that Osana suffered—he’d already tried more than once to order her release, but Geneva blocked his every attempt. The Queen Mother clearly suspected that the relationship they’d forged in the caravan was more than just friendship. The woman knew everything—it was easy to assume she knew that, too. The assignment of Osana to watcher and spy—posing as a hostage—had occurred only a week after Ferdinand worked up the courage to hold her hand one night after supper.
Ferdinand leaned heavily on the parapet of his balcony, willing a savior to come. Koldo, with her measured confidence and experience. Or perhaps the ghost of King Sendoa—the great Warrior King, eager to defend his people, castle, and legacy from even the star-bound afterlife. Or Amarande—she’d gleaned wisdom from both of them and she loved Ardenia more than anyone he knew. If only—
A sound came from his chambers beyond, wrenching him from spiraling thoughts.
“Ferdi!” Geneva called, the massive doors to his quarters crashing closed. She was the only one who would enter the king’s quarters in that way or call him that. “Are you outside? Come in here!”
And her tone was absolutelyjoyous.That did not bode well in his experience.
Ferdinand reluctantly reentered the sitting room to find the Queen Mother sprawled on the divan, awaiting him as if she were the host and he the visitor. For once, she did not complain about King Sendoa’s vintage furnishings. She was too busy positively grinning.
The Queen Mother held out a slip of parchment, as if it were the most delicious morsel. “My love! Such good news.”
She’d always been this way with political snippets sent from watchers in various kingdoms. A spectator as if in sport, devouring each morsel of information from them all—Ardenia, Basilica, Pyrenee, and Myrcell.
Marriages. Deaths. Raids. Failed crops. Pirates. New trade routes.
She savored all these tidbits with equal epicurean delight.
When word had come of Amarande stealing Renard’s own sword from his scabbard and threatening him with it while giving an impassioned speech about marriage and consent in front of the open casket of King Sendoa? Geneva had literally pantomimed the whole thing for anyone who visited the Warlord’s tent over the next several hours.
Then word came of Amarande’s disappearance, and suddenly he wasn’t just privy to Geneva’s political conjecture, he was a key player. With whispers only afforded in the Warlord’s tent, she shared in exquisite detail the marrow-shaking truth of his father’s name, her past life, and the unique position they could achieve through the right alliance with the woman who bore him.
Now she jiggled this fresh morsel of news in his direction, as if he wasn’t accepting it fast enough. “Read it, come now, don’t make me wait any longer.”
“News from the caravan?” The absence of the councilors made it a decent guess.
He plucked it from her fingers, but before he even had a chance to unfold the message she was already divulging its contents.
“Celia is headed here. With Amarande.”
Ferdinand’s heart skid to a stop. He’d wanted a savior to arrive, and instead an added disaster was rumbling toward the castle. “What?”
“She captured both Amarande and Taillefer at the Hand. You’ll see she is demanding I cede permanent power in exchange for your sister.”
Ferdinand blinked at Geneva, trying to read into her thoughts and how she might respond. Though he knew her better than anyone else in the world, he was completely uncertain as to her next course of action. “What will you do?”
She examined her nails and sighed as if she hadn’t already made up her mind. “If I don’t, I’m sure she’ll march down to the port to greet Inés with yet another weapon to add to her arsenal. And Inés will take it.”
Ferdinand did not blink. His mother would not cede power. Ever.
Since the first whispers of Amarande’s disappearance, Geneva’s plan had remained the same: Stabilize and gain full control of Ardenia, then properly, publicly, claim the Torrent.
A wise set of ideas until Amarande arrived and the Otsakumea was confirmed to not only exist but also be activating his base.
