coiled tight as a chokesnake. Bayard bulled ahead without a breath. “You will not have to kneel. You will have autonomy in your own land until the day of your death, and I will recognize you publicly as my sovereign equal in Evanore. Together, we can prevail. Together…” Bayard’s speech trailed away in the face of his brother’s frigid stillness.
“What does she want?” said Osriel, quiet and harsh.
Bayard’s beard quivered with pent rage. “It doesn’t matter what she wants. She’s a madwoman. We yield on these demands and she’ll come back for more. I see that now.”
Osriel leaned forward slightly, and I knew Bayard felt the pressure of his brother’s will as I had earlier. “Tell me what she asked for.”
Heaving a sigh of suffering patience, Bayard whipped his hand toward Max. “Tell him.”
My brother stepped forward and bowed slightly to his master. “First, she demands the province of Evanore, whole and entire. Second, she desires that one of my lord’s brothers, either one, be turned over to her as mortal forfeit for the offenses the line of Caedmon has wrought against the Gehoum.” My brother cataloged the unthinkable as if the items sat on a shelf like tin pots.
Osriel tented his pale hands, his fingertips just touching his chin. He did not speak.
Max bowed again and flicked a glance at me. “Third, she desires a piece of information—the location of a secret library that she claims is anathema to the Gehoum. It does not appear to exist where she was told. And lastly, she wishes to own the contract of a particular pureblood sorcerer.”
“A pureblood?” Prince Osriel dropped his hands abruptly into his lap. “Who? For what reason?”
The public half of Max’s face remained perfectly neutral as his position required. But an eye accustomed to looking past a pureblood’s mask could not miss the wicked humor behind the sheath of dull blue silk. “She insists on controlling one Magnus Valentia de Cartamandua-Celestine, lately returned to the discipline of the Pureblood Registry. She did not explain why.”
Magrog’s teeth! My suddenly sweating hands came near slipping out of each other behind my back.
Bayard shoved his chair away so viciously it tipped over and clattered to the floor. “The cheek!” he fumed, striding to the windowed wall only to reverse course and return to kick the toppled chair. “As if I would go scrambling about the city like her pet hound, hunting libraries and purebloods. My own sorcerer’s brother, as if that would make her my equal.” He paused and glared at me as if Sila Diaglou stood behind me with her hand on my shoulder. “What does she want with you, pureblood, eh? I hear you are a renegade, a liar, and a thief.”
Mind reeling, I pinned my gaze on Osriel’s hands. They were still, so I kept silent and asked myself the same question. Why would the Harrower priestess want me? Not merely for the Cartamandua blood. Max…Phoebia…my father had no contract, for the gods’ sake. They all displayed the bent of my grandfather’s line. Unlike me, they were trained and skilled and intelligent enough to read books and make sense of the world.
“You’d best keep an eye on him, little brother,” said Bayard with a sneer. “By the Mother’s tits, I’d give her Perryn and offer to gut him myself, save for the damnable impertinence of her insisting on a kill of my own blood. But Evanore…”
Perryn had crept to the foot of Osriel’s chair and hunched there in a shriveled knot. “You wouldn’t let him give me over, brother,” he said. “I was ever kind to you. It was Bayard played the bully. He swears he’ll do this bargain, and throw you in as well if he can persuade the witch to forgo Evanore’s gold.”
“Does anyone outside this room know that you two have come to me?” Osriel spoke over Perryn’s head as if the fair prince were some whining hound.
Bayard spluttered. “My aides know, of course. My field commanders. I’m not a
“What does she want?” said Osriel, quiet and harsh.
Bayard’s beard quivered with pent rage. “It doesn’t matter what she wants. She’s a madwoman. We yield on these demands and she’ll come back for more. I see that now.”
Osriel leaned forward slightly, and I knew Bayard felt the pressure of his brother’s will as I had earlier. “Tell me what she asked for.”
Heaving a sigh of suffering patience, Bayard whipped his hand toward Max. “Tell him.”
My brother stepped forward and bowed slightly to his master. “First, she demands the province of Evanore, whole and entire. Second, she desires that one of my lord’s brothers, either one, be turned over to her as mortal forfeit for the offenses the line of Caedmon has wrought against the Gehoum.” My brother cataloged the unthinkable as if the items sat on a shelf like tin pots.
Osriel tented his pale hands, his fingertips just touching his chin. He did not speak.
Max bowed again and flicked a glance at me. “Third, she desires a piece of information—the location of a secret library that she claims is anathema to the Gehoum. It does not appear to exist where she was told. And lastly, she wishes to own the contract of a particular pureblood sorcerer.”
“A pureblood?” Prince Osriel dropped his hands abruptly into his lap. “Who? For what reason?”
The public half of Max’s face remained perfectly neutral as his position required. But an eye accustomed to looking past a pureblood’s mask could not miss the wicked humor behind the sheath of dull blue silk. “She insists on controlling one Magnus Valentia de Cartamandua-Celestine, lately returned to the discipline of the Pureblood Registry. She did not explain why.”
Magrog’s teeth! My suddenly sweating hands came near slipping out of each other behind my back.
Bayard shoved his chair away so viciously it tipped over and clattered to the floor. “The cheek!” he fumed, striding to the windowed wall only to reverse course and return to kick the toppled chair. “As if I would go scrambling about the city like her pet hound, hunting libraries and purebloods. My own sorcerer’s brother, as if that would make her my equal.” He paused and glared at me as if Sila Diaglou stood behind me with her hand on my shoulder. “What does she want with you, pureblood, eh? I hear you are a renegade, a liar, and a thief.”
Mind reeling, I pinned my gaze on Osriel’s hands. They were still, so I kept silent and asked myself the same question. Why would the Harrower priestess want me? Not merely for the Cartamandua blood. Max…Phoebia…my father had no contract, for the gods’ sake. They all displayed the bent of my grandfather’s line. Unlike me, they were trained and skilled and intelligent enough to read books and make sense of the world.
“You’d best keep an eye on him, little brother,” said Bayard with a sneer. “By the Mother’s tits, I’d give her Perryn and offer to gut him myself, save for the damnable impertinence of her insisting on a kill of my own blood. But Evanore…”
Perryn had crept to the foot of Osriel’s chair and hunched there in a shriveled knot. “You wouldn’t let him give me over, brother,” he said. “I was ever kind to you. It was Bayard played the bully. He swears he’ll do this bargain, and throw you in as well if he can persuade the witch to forgo Evanore’s gold.”
“Does anyone outside this room know that you two have come to me?” Osriel spoke over Perryn’s head as if the fair prince were some whining hound.
Bayard spluttered. “My aides know, of course. My field commanders. I’m not a
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