There were chairs carved with the thick tracing of a tiger’s head—Ardenia’s sigil—meant for guests, but they were apart from the table, not pulled up as for equals to the council. Amarande’s stomach dropped at the implications. Still, she didn’t make a statement by pulling a chair close to the table, nor did she stride over to the chair reserved for her father, on the north curve of the oval.
In her estimation, no man would ever be worthy of sitting there.
Though deprived of sleep and sustenance, Amarande willed herself to stand before them, rather than sit apart as a guest. Koldo stayed pin straight by her side but slightly behind, much like she did when accompanying Sendoa into any lion’s den.
When Satordi realized they weren’t going to sit, he folded his fingers and continued. “We have much to discuss.”
Yes, they did.
First and foremost: succession.
The laws had it that in the Kingdom of Ardenia, succession fell along the male line, but that possibility had ended with her father. There was no male heir of which to speak—no uncles, cousins, nephews. Only the sixteen-year-old girl King Sendoa had raised in his image in the years since Amarande’s mother gained the nickname the Runaway Queen.
Because of it, with Sendoa’s last breath, Amarande had not only lost her father; she’d also lost her independence.
The laws were clear: To rule, she must be wed.
Meaning her title and Ardenia itself were now items to be bought, bartered, stolen.
For the good of her people.
For the gain of valuable pastures and stunning mountains, for diamonds mined for trade and gold pieces, for armored men and women whose only peer was death itself.
And no king in the Sand and Sky could let such a prize go to another.
On the great table that sat between the council and its princess lay a scroll, its wax seal crumbling, freshly opened but as recognizable as it was predictable. A marriage contract, likely from their closest neighbor, Pyrenee.
Soon there would be three, the other kingdoms of the union—Basilica and Myrcell—sending riders ahead of their royal funeral processions, jockeying to gain the council’s attention.Stars,she nearly expected a contract from the mysterious Warlord who ran the Torrent, because the windfall was too delicious—no kingdom on the continent of the Sand and Sky had left a sole female heir in a thousand years.
The king had not invited her to the council room for much of her childhood, but he’d made it a point to bring her along in the past year, extending her leadership training beyond the sparring arena and weapons armory and into the political landscape. Therefore, the council knew her better now than ever, and she them. Still, Satordi’s demeanor, though respectful, had the quality of a mentor who wished for his student to listen, not participate. That, combined with the certitude that the council had purposefully not stood or placed a chair at the table for her, set a particular tone.
And so, despite her exhaustion, Princess Amarande decided to set her own.
The princess’s eyes swept from the marriage contract to Satordi’s face. “Before we discuss matters of succession, I believe we first must address the formation of an investigation into King Sendoa’s murder.”
The shoulders under each of the councilors’ robes stiffened. As usual, Satordi spoke for the group. In Amarande’s time in this room with her father, it had become clear to her that proximity to power had made this man believe he had more of it than he truly did.
“Princess Amarande,” Satordi began, that tone of his sharpening. “You are well aware that the exalted Medikua Aritza has examined the king’s body and has found no evidence of foul play, as seconded by General Koldo, who was by his side the entire day and did not witness anything untoward.”
Amarande didn’t bother to spare a glance toward the general. Yes, she knew that a natural death was Koldo’s official estimation, and that she had been the one who watched the king’s life leave him in real time. The councilor was using Koldo here, dangling their love for each other in front of the princess and hoping she’d bite.
He should’ve known better.
“Medikua Aritza is a gifted healer and indeed exalted, but she is not aware of all the possible methods of attack.” This was true—the highest medicine woman in the land made it a point not to know about political intrigue purely for the sake of wanting to be completely unbiased when someone threw gold pieces at her for a potion. “General Koldo is a gifted warrior, but that doesn’t mean she’s always correct. Even to her experienced eye, the stoppage of a heart from poison would appear the same as the stoppage of a heart from natural causes.”
Koldo nodded, her long brunette braid slithering across her garnet cloak broach. “Council, that is an accurate assessment. I have never witnessed a man die from natural causes. I agree with the princess on this matter.”
The general took a slight step forward so that she and the princess stood precisely shoulder to shoulder before the table, a front.
“I realize that both of you were closer to the king than I.” Councilor Garbine stood, the fire within her a low, ever-present boil. “And therefore I realize it may be as difficult as his death itself to admit to yourselves that sometimes devastating moments happen in unspectacular ways.”
Amarande and Koldo said nothing.
The gray-haired woman smiled at the princess, all the heat in her eyes, her hands brought in front almost as if in prayer to the stars. “Your Highness, did you want your father to come home with a sword run through his back? Relieved of his head? Or not at all, turned to ashes in a Torrent fire pit?”
Amarande swallowed. “No, but I find any of those scenarios easier to believe than that the strongest man in the Sand and Sky keeled over in his saddle from nothing at all.”
Garbine’s lips parted in reply, but Satordi held out a hand to stop her, standing himself with an impatient sigh. “We cannot afford to upset every kingdom on the continent chasing down something we cannot prove. It will disturb our allies.”
