Page 46 of Crown of the Dunes

That’s what the woman inside me wanted.

A scuffling and angry whispering in the hallway saved me from my contemplation.

Slowly, I edged toward the door, straining to hear. My brow furrowed in concentration as rough voices filtered into the quiet of my room.

“—been ignored for three days.”

“They’ve been at war. I assume you’re familiar with the concept, General?”

“If they’re not careful, I suspect they’ll have more war soon enough.”

I recognized the rough growl of General Warrick’s voice, and my hackles rose at the implication of his words, spoken so casually, as if whoever he was speaking to wouldn’t be surprised that he was threatening war on those he was sent to negotiate with.

I slammed my bedroom door open with my shoulder, ready to pin General Warrick against the wall and remind him that the last army that threatened Kelvadan had surrendered to me. Instead, I pulled up short as I came face to face with Prince Calix.

“Oh…” I looked back and forth between the two ambassadors. General Warrick had his beefy arms folded across his chest and his square jaw set. Calix stood between him and my door.

I sighed inwardly, realizing that this was another political dance to navigate. I almost missed the day before, when swinging my saber had been the solution.

“Did you have something to say?” I asked, folding my own arms over my chest and mirroring General Warrick’s posture.

“I’ve been sent to negotiate a potential alliance with the Queen of Kelvadan. That’s rather difficult if I never get to see the queen,” Warrick grumbled.

“Well, you have my attention now.” I raised a brow.

“So, it is as I had heard. Interesting practice of handing leadership to your warriors.” He appraised me, the scar over one side of his face puckering with the movement.

“I would have thought you’d approve, considering Doran sent a notorious warmonger to negotiate peace,” Calix said, his almost teasing tone undercutting the harsh accusation of his words.

“You have to be capable of violence to make an offer of peace hold any meaning.” General Warrick’s gaze was cold as it cut back and forth between me and Calix. “But I do have to ask why I am now expected to negotiate with you. Didn’t the queen have a son who would succeed her?”

“The people of the Ballan Desert respect power. Given that he was the one who surrendered to me during yesterday’s battle, I think I’m the one who holds that power,” I defended. My mind darted to the tether in my belly, which was quiet, although it had twisted uneasily all night.

“So, the one who led the clans against the city was this Viper?” Calix asked. “What has become of him?”

“He’s being held,” I admitted, avoiding the urge to shift my weight.

“Sounds like it would be wiser to dispose of him,” Warrick scoffed. “I watched his surrender in the courtyard from the window, and it didn’t seem that his forces were ready to cease their fight. Leaving their leader alive is an invitation for them to regroup and attack. It doesn’t seem like that’s something you can afford right now.”

My lip curled back, and my patience for a diplomatic way out of this conversation wore dangerously thin.

Before I could speak, Calix chimed in. “Not all of us are butchers, General. Some of us prefer tact.”

“That’s one way to say you default to underhanded deals and manipulations,” Warrick sneered.

“A political prisoner can be useful.” Calix shrugged, seemingly uninjured by the barb.

I tried to pick apart the unspoken undercurrent of tension in the insults between them but instead found myself stuck on a particular phrase. “Political prisoner?”

“I suppose the more correct term in Viltov would be ‘honored guest’, but my father often lets leaders of those he has defeated stay at the palace. As both a show of good faith and a way to ensure good behavior among the conquered,” Calix explained.

A grunt from Warrick signaled his disapproval, and I grimaced.

“I’m not sure the clans would understand or respect the idea of an ‘honored guest,’ nor would they stay an attack to spare one who surrendered,” I mused.

“The clans seem like wise people,” Warrick grumbled.

“But,” I continued sharply, “Kelvadan does not follow the ways of the clans. Any who call the Ballan Desert home are welcome here.”