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My first response when I heard of it? “Kind of pathetic our monarch needs to have women paraded in front of him like they’re outfits that can be bought and tailored to suit his needs.”
“And how else would he find a wife?” Qynn asked. I’d visited her to bounce ideas. She was currently modifying a garment. The tailors never knew of the extra pockets we added for potions and weapons. One of my seemingly shapeless gowns actually had thin metal plates on the inside over the chest and back. Not that I knew what I’d use it for. Qynn gave it to me the same day Palla got new custom armor from Kya.
“A king meets people all the time,” I countered.
“A brief moment here. A glance there. He is kept insulated quite a bit for his own safety.”
Knowing of Qynn and Kya, I felt safe saying, “He’s probably involved with one of his guards.”
“He could be. But even if he were, he would still be looking for a wife. You have to remember that a ruler isn’t like other people. He can’t just fall in love with the butcher’s daughter down the street or the woman who serves him wine at dinner. For him a marriage must be an alliance that strengthens our country.”
“Against who?” I had to ask. Two generations ago, all the warring tribes finally decided to stop killing each other and joined under one kingship, one banner.
“Complacency can be deadly. A country should never loosen its guard.”
“I agree there, but how is marrying someone within Ulkruuba strengthening? Wouldn’t an outside alliance be stronger?”
“Bring in a foreigner?” Qynn snorted. “Now you’re being foolish.”
True. My people would never accept as queen someone not born in the desert.
“Why do we care anyhow who the King marries? It’s not like it’s going to be one of us.” Tizanas, no matter how ardent their clients, rarely married. Society might accept what we did, but they didn’t like it touching their lives outside the gradeenas.
“Ultimately, it doesn’t matter who he marries, but there will be money to be made until he does decide. Favors owed if a balance can be tilted in a certain direction.”
“You act as if we could influence him, and yet our chances of getting close enough to whisper in his ear are…” I looked to Palla.
“The odds are actually good,” my friend offered with a shrug.
Her reply surprised. “You were supposed to laugh and tell me the horrible odds.”
“A week ago, yes, but it’s been announced that the palace is looking for entertainment, and who better than the city’s most gifted dancer?”
That led to me making a very unsexy snort. “Doesn’t matter if I’m the best. The King isn’t inviting a tizana to his celebration.”
“You’re right. He isn’t.” Qynn agreed with me. “He has, however, agreed to allow the emissary from Weztroga to have his niece Sharia join them at the castle.”
“Does this Sharia work for us?” was my question.
“Not yet, but she will.”
I offered Qynn a sharp glance. “You think we have time to turn the emissary’s niece?”
“More than enough time. All we have to do is dye your hair.”
My brain quickly grasped part of the plot. Qynn had gotten me the most perfect invite. I arched a brow. “Why didn’t you tell me when I arrived you already had a plan?”
“Because I wanted you to whine about how impossible it was before I saved you.”
I offered a rude gesture, and Qynn smiled. “If you’re ready to listen…”
“I’m ready,” I grumbled. “So who did you plant as the Weztrogian emissary?” I could think of few people that could pass Southerner.
“Uncle of course.”
“Jrijori?” I shook my head. “You are senile. You can’t send an assassin to our king.”
“One, he’s already staying at the castle, and two, keep in mind Jrijori wants information, not blood. You should be thanking him for getting you an invitation to go inside.”
