Chapter 29

Corec gave the knights time to collect their dead while Conley and the other priests healed the worst of the injured. Forty-seven knights—half of them from the siege crews—had been killed during the fighting, the largest loss the Order had faced since the North Border War. Many didn’t realize until after their surrender that they’d been spared the worst of it.

No one had counted the mercenaries yet, but by Corec’s estimate, over seven hundred had died, with the remainder fleeing. As far as Leena could tell, they were still going, splintering into smaller groups and heading in different directions. If any were to remain in the free lands, they might become a problem, but that would be a worry for another day.

On Corec’s side, the stone walls and Ellerie’s arrow shield had served their purpose, and they’d lost only two men. One of the horn signalers had died to a crossbow bolt—the lookout platform was above Ellerie’s arrow shield spell, and the silversteel tower shields they’d propped around it hadn’t provided sufficient protection. Another man had died when a boulder from a catapult had taken out a support beam on one of the ballista platforms, causing the whole structure to collapse. The second crew member on the platform had been injured in the fall, but Bobo thought he would remain stable until Treya or Conley recovered enough to look at him.

With the bulk of the knights’ forces dispatched to start breaking down their camp, Corec gathered the senior members of the Order in the meeting chamber, adding Cason and Osbert for good measure. Barat was locked away in Corec’s office. The plain wooden door wouldn’t stop an elder witch, but it was more for his own protection than anything. He’d given his word that he wouldn’t try to escape.

At Corec’s end of the table, he’d brought only Kevik, Trentin, Georg, and Conley. The rest of his friends were either recuperating or watching the enemy camp for trouble.

“Let’s be clear,” Corec said to the knights. “You left your own borders to start a war with no evidence presented of any crime. Why was that? Were you so eager to burn mages at the stake? That’s a crime even in Larso these days. You were misled, but that doesn’t mean you’re without fault.”

“We couldn’t disobey our orders,” Sir Loris said. With the fortress commander having remained at Hightower, he was the highest-ranking of the assembled knights.

“Perhaps not at the start, but what about now? Rusol is a mage and a false king, and he tried to use you to cover up his secrets. You have testimony of that from your own people. I suggest reconsidering your loyalties, and I charge you to inform the rest of the Order about his crimes. As I recall from our lessons at Hightower, the king serves at the behest of the Church. I’m sure the Larse family has some cousins who aren’t mages.”

That suggestion didn’t generate much surprise. Likely the knights had been considering it already.

“Is that the only term you require of us?” Loris said.

Many of the details of the surrender were inherent in its nature, but not everything, and Corec hadn’t been sure of what he was going to say until he started talking. The knights—and by extension, the Church—offered the best opportunity to end the war, and he would have to walk a fine line between treating them as defeated enemies or honored allies. Most of his anger fell on Rusol, but at some point, the Order would have to learn to take responsibility for their own actions.

“Yes, provided you don’t overstep your bounds,” he said. “The Knights of Pallisur are permitted in these lands as long as they obey our laws. Not the Church’s; not Larso’s. You won’t patrol here the way you do in the hills or the free lands unless it’s at my request. If you want to visit, you’ll be welcome, but if you come to make war, you’ll suffer the same fate as the mercenaries. I protected you this time. Next time I won’t.”

“And Sir Barat?” Loris asked. “He’ll have to answer for his crimes.”

“Barat will answer to me,” Corec said. “He was under a compulsion spell, the same as the others from Fort Northtower. He had no choice in what he did.”

“He’s a mage!” a priest said. Corec didn’t remember the man’s name, but he was one of Tibon’s toadies, and had sat on Corec’s tribunal when he’d been expelled from the Order. Tibon himself hadn’t made the journey. “I saw it with my own eyes!”

Priest Calwell started to nod in agreement, then met Corec’s gaze and looked away, flustered.

“We already know what the tribunal will say about that,” Corec replied. “I’ve heard it myself, so I’ll make the ruling for you. Barat is no longer a Knight of Pallisur. He’s no longer welcome in Hightower or any of the Order’s strongholds. As for any other punishment, that’s between him and me.”

Sir Loris nodded. “We agree to your terms.”

“Loris, Barat’s—” started Sir Levit.

“I said we agree!” Loris snapped.

Levit looked to the priests for support, but no one seemed interested in prolonging the debate.

“Then you’re free to go,” Corec said. “Let’s hope the next time we meet, it’s under more pleasant circumstances.”

The knights filed out of the room quietly, defeated but knowing the battle had gone much better for them than it could have.

Cason grasped Corec’s forearm on the way out. He’d offered to make sure Sir Jesson was freed from Fort Hightower.

Osbert was the last of the knights to leave, and Priest Conley went with him. The two men weren’t headed to Hightower—they’d volunteered for a different task. Corec wasn’t sure whether they could succeed or not, but he wouldn’t stand in their way.

In Sanvar, the end of the wet season and the beginning of the dry marked a time of change, a time when ancestral Zidari camps would migrate to new locations, and when farmers would harvest their summer crops and clear their fields to make room for winter planting. Some parts of the empire would dry up over the coming months, grazing would become difficult, but there would be less disease and fewer pests, and fishing vessels could venture out safely into open waters.

For the residents of Sanvara City, the most immediate and obvious impact of the change was the weeklong festival of Lowturning.

Which, for Yassi, meant a week of awkward social events with people she barely knew, where she had to appear to support her husband while continuing her lie about why she’d traveled so far away from him. All of which was made more uncomfortable by having to waddle around with a rapidly growing baby pressing against her bladder and spine.

If she was going to make a public life for herself in Sanvar, it had to be done, but she’d managed to excuse herself from most of the events to which she’d been invited. For this final night of Lowturning, however, the gala was being held at the Sun and Sea—the imperial palace itself—and hosted by Empress Shereen.

Yassi and Merice arrived an hour after the party started, accompanied by Lucanus. Narini was perhaps more capable in her own way, but Lucanus had been with them almost since the beginning. It had taken him a few days to get over his anger at Yassi’s deception, but he’d finally decided to stay on, upgrading his wardrobe to something befitting a royal bodyguard.

The main body of the gala was being held in a large outdoor garden crowded with guests. Minstrels, silk-dancers, and fire-breathers strolled the pathways plying their trade, and a bard stood in front of a fountain at the far end of the garden, telling a sad story about star-crossed lovers. Servants wandered through the crowd offering pastries and small skewers of meat and vegetables. Yassi avoided the meat. Her temporary aversion to certain foods had faded earlier in her pregnancy, but anything spicy would keep the baby awake and kicking longer than usual.

The festivities extended indoors, into a broad, glass-lined atrium facing the garden. There, Yassi had to stop and take a break from walking. She and Merice found two empty chairs at the edge of the room.

“Do you see my parents anywhere?” Yassi asked Lucanus.

He peered out over the crowd. “No, not in here.”

“I’m sure they’ll show up soon, dear,” Merice added. “Samuel would never miss something like this. Do you remember that time he ... oh, no, I suppose that was before you were born.”

“Your Majesty?” A thin man with a short, pointed beard stood before them.

Lucanus stepped forward, blocking his way. “What do you want?” he said.

The visitor tilted his head to the side so he could see around the bodyguard. “Pardon me, but I was told you are Queen Yassi of Larso?”

Yassi had to tap her foot against Lucanus’s leg to remind him they were here to mingle. He grunted and moved to the side.

“I am,” Yassi said to the stranger.

He weaved his fingers together and gave a short bow. “My name is Haneef Ussan. I represent a consortium that trades cotton to the north, and I’m hoping to discuss an agreement that would be acceptable to your husband the king.”

“I can arrange an introduction with Ambassador Luthe,” Yassi offered. “He might even be here tonight.”

“Ahh, well, I’ve spoken with the ambassador,” Haneef said. “He seems reluctant to disturb your wool markets, but cotton is already making inroads in the north. It’s the way of the future, and we wouldn’t want Larso to be left behind. I promise you, the venture will be profitable for all involved.”

Yassi didn’t like the man’s unctuous tone. He was Sanvari but didn’t seem to belong to any clan, though she couldn’t claim to be an expert after spending most of her life in Larso.

“Haneef,” a new voice said. “Go ply your trade elsewhere. Tonight is for celebration.” Shereen and her retinue had come to a stop behind the trader. The elderly empress spoke with disdain rather than the reserved, diplomatic tone she normally used. Shereen’s granddaughter and heir, Nasrin, gave Yassi a quick grin.

“Your Majesty,” Haneef said with a deep bow. “As always, I will accede to your wishes.”

He sauntered away, Shereen shaking her head as she watched him go.

Turning back to Yassi and Merice, she said, “Careful with that one, Your Majesties. Welcome back to the Sun and Sea. I hope you’re enjoying Lowturning.”

Merice rose to greet her. “It’s been quite overwhelming, Your Majesty,” she said. “It’s so much busier than Year’s End or Springtide back home.”

Yassi tried to stand too, reaching for Lucanus’s hand for help, but Shereen waved her back down. “No, no, stay seated,” she said. “I just came to ask if Merice would like to see the Vestathi glassware collection I was telling her about the last time you were here.” She gestured to Nasrin. “And then the younger generation can get up to whatever mischief they like to cause when their elders aren’t around.”

Nasrin laughed. She was much closer to Merice’s age than Yassi’s. “We’ll keep ourselves occupied, grandmother.”

The larger group wandered off, leaving just the princess and her guards. The two men eyed Lucanus suspiciously.

Nasrin settled into Merice’s chair. “I was starting to think you’d changed your mind about coming.”

“Father told me to never be the first to arrive at a Sanvari party,” Yassi said. “But he’s late even by his standards.”

“Oh, I think your parents are around here somewhere,” Nasrin said, gesturing vaguely. “We’ll find them later. But first, how’s the pain?”