“And what must we do to make this happen?”
Geneva smiled something bloody. “We must capture Torrence where it ended and the Torrent began.”
CHAPTER 12
THEghost of King Sendoa appeared in the margins of a massive, leather-bound examination on continental history. Amarande had been skimming the page, bent low over a table in the library with Luca, books and scrolls and tomes of every thickness spread between them in the filtered light of the windows above.
The knife-slash ink was short and incomplete, a note to himself on a page that, upon inspection, featured a dog-ear along the bottom. Amarande prodded a finger along the words, adorned with a vertical line down the side of a particular passage, highlighted.
Amarande soundlessly stared at the words. They’d been crammed into that sliver of open parchment, words stacked on top of each other like layers in a cake. There was no other notation save for the line bracketing the paragraph of text.
She and Luca had been trying to deduce the minimum number of roles Luca would need to set in his new government, and how best to do so without so much as a formal government building. This was not something necessary for the conclave, but important in addressing the Torrentian people about the next steps in the resurrection of the kingdom state. The last thing either of them wanted was for Luca to be unprepared when making a first impression upon his constituency.
There was no telling how old the notation was, and the book’s location did not give away a hint. It’d been shelved properly, not out on a table or otherwise singled out. Amarande skipped to the paragraph beside the words, hoping perhaps the subject would provide a clue.
But this paragraph wasn’t about regency, nor the people, nor monarchy of any sort—patriarchy or matriarchy or anything else. It simply was a report on some sort of conscription system in a land well past Indu—Helena—where each year one hundred citizens were chosen by lottery to advise upon the nation’s laws.
Did this have anything to do with her father’s plans for Torrence after the attack he was orchestrating at the time of his death? Or was this a note for Ardenia? Not that the kingdom needed any more laws than what the Sand and Sky already doled out. Or perhaps it alluded to something else altogether.
Was it possible for the people to rule via regency? Amarande had told the crowd at her coronation that she served them—purposefully promising to rule with their lives in mind. Could that line of thinking be found here? A ruler as regent for the masses, not atop them? This was what the Warlord—her mother and the others—claimed to evoke: a way to rule without kneeling. What if that premise was carved in love, trust, and transparency rather than fear, fire, and fury?
Oh, Father, what did you mean?
No nearby pages were marked with dog-ears or ink, nor were there any loose scraps of parchment with Sendoa’s distinctive handwriting wedged between the pages.
It was a trail gone cold on a journey she hadn’t expected.
“Ama, your face looks like you’ve swallowed a lemon, rind and all. Must be an especially good passage on sovereign ruling theory.”
The queen blinked. Luca was grinning at her over the top of a mound of books Councilor Joseba had just delivered from the Royal Council’s private collection. Amarande swallowed, tilted the book his way, and tapped the margin. “I—”
The great wooden doors of the library opened, General Koldo framed by a receding view of the hallway, still in riding clothes shedding mountain grit onto the thick rugs with her purposeful walk.
“Your Highnesses, may I interrupt?”
The formality in the general’s tone stole Amarande’s next thought as well as her breath. Whenever Koldo retreated into her most formalbehavior without a secondary audience, Amarande’s muscles tensed for a hit. Next to her, Luca went rigid, too.
“Sit, General, please,” he urged, pulling out the chair beside him and removing the teetering stack of council books from the spot at the table.
Koldo accepted his invitation—a surprise, as Amarande had expected her to stand in formal address—and sank stiffly to the seat. “All regiments have returned from the borders, and the news is not ideal.” The queen’s stomach knotted. “Unfortunately, we suffered great losses on the Basilican front—our men and women faced down a surprise attack from a double regiment of Inés’s men after Geneva recalled the regiment stationed at Myrcell to protect the Itspi. The soldiers stationed at the crossroads of Basilica and Myrcell banded together upon orders from Inés. Though our remaining regiment was able to successfully block entry to Ardenia, only half of the soldiers made it home.”
And there it was.
A fresh wound of disappointment cleaved Amarande’s heart. She’d hoped that Taillefer’s removal of Inés would save all Ardenian lives left in jeopardy by Inés’s power. She knew that likely would not be the case—every military campaign meant death, whether upon the battlefield or simply from illness, exhaustion, accident, or some other circumstance. Almost no regiment came back fully whole each and every time it left the castle. But she hadn’t expected outright slaughter.
“We shall honor the fallen in the entry hall.” Amarande shuddered to think how many more would have died if the regiment had been unable to hold the border. Innocents—farmers, ranchers, miners—they all would have been fair game for those soldiers the moment they stepped into Ardenia in Inés’s name.
“That is most kind, Your Highness.” Koldo nodded, solemn. “Additionally, I must inform you that none of the regiments reported any sightings of Geneva or obvious Warlord operatives.”
Luca sighed, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. “That’s disappointing. The watcher network in Torrence hasn’t ferreted out any credible leads either. The closest was a group congregating in one of the tunnel networks but it turned out to be a cadre of Myrcellian soldiers who’d gone rogue upon the announcement of Inés as queen. The watchers informed them of Inés’s demise and the return of their king’s family to the throne, and they simply left without an altercation.”
The general scowled into the middle distance, and her sun-dry skin creased as she gathered something worrisome upon her tongue.
“Koldo, what is it?” Amarande asked, bracing herself for something new amiss.
After a long moment, the general’s face smoothed out, blank, stoic, and impersonal. Ready to go about her official duty, she raised her dark eyes, and caught them both with her solid countenance. “Your Highnesses, as we also do not yet have word from Ferdinand on his search, that leaves us blind despite three reliable avenues of information. Without eyes on Geneva and considering mygravereservations about Tala and his internal motivations, I am extremely hesitant about your journey ahead of the conclave.”
Luca’s lips parted but Amarande leaned over the table to place a quick hand upon his wrist. “Koldo, while I understand your hesitation, the simple truth of it is that we must go early. Luca promised his people and you know as well as we do that promises, especially early in a relationship, are crucial to keep. He cannot start his reign by appearing unreliable.”
