match as well. Whether the bride and groom had discovered their affection before or after the vows, Connor did not know, but there was a warmth between them even in their public appearances that he did not believe was mere pretense.
“With Tarrant’s help, can we push back both Meroven and Vellanaj?” Garnoc leaned forward, catching Merrill’s eye with a question Connor was sure his master had timed to help the king out of an embarrassing thread of conversation. A flicker of gratitude flashed in Merrill’s eyes as he nodded.
“I believe so. Vellanaj is not a particularly strong ally, though its navy is sizable. Already, there are reports that they have moved to blockade us.”
“And the Cross-Sea powers? Will they take sides in this?” Corrender’s gaze fell to the map of the world powers that stretched across the table. The Sarnian Ocean stretched a vast distance between the Continent and the Peninsula, its nearest neighbor. “Nearest” was a relative term, Connor knew, since the sea voyage took several months, even with good weather.
Merrill shook his head. “No, thank the gods. They have officially declared their neutrality. This is not their fight, and they want nothing of it.” A weary, cynical smile touched the king’s lips. “Or rather, they desire to trade with both sides, and to have no hard feelings with whoever is proven to be the winner.”
Tiredly, Merrill stood. “Gentlemen. I will take tonight’s comments under consideration. When I receive messengers from the front, we will reconvene. Until then, we are adjourned.”
The others remained seated until the king left the chamber.
“Mark my words, this war will not come to a good end,” Radenou muttered as he pushed back his chair.
Corrender rounded on him. “Is that your prediction—or your hope?”
Radenou shrugged. “Merely my observation. It cannot be good for business or personal accounts when the four major powers on the Continent align against one another. The minor powers will scurry like rats dodging among the horses’ hooves, playing both sides for fools. And when we have all beggared ourselves for want of a few acres of ground, we may find the world more changed than we would like.”
“Much as it pains me to agree with Radenou, I think in this case, he may be right.” They turned to look at Lord Onseler, who had remained silent throughout most of the night’s discussion. Onseler was one of the Council’s younger members, though he was well into his fifth decade. Like the others, he had served his time in battle for King Merrill or the king’sfather. Now the vast connections of his shipping business made him the perfect spymaster for the king. Lord Onseler had never lost the bearing of a career military officer, and his eyes were cold and cunning.
Well aware that everyone’s eyes were on him, Onseler took his time rising from his chair. “I do not like the omens I see. Always before, when the four powers have clashed, it has been over token issues: a strip of long-contested and otherwise useless land, a trade concession, or an imagined diplomatic affront.” Onseler shook his head. “Edgar of Meroven is a very different king from his father—and from King Merrill. Edgar is headstrong and vain, and by all accounts, he’s surrounded himself with ambitious men. Vellanaj’s king is weak and easily led. No doubt he basks in Edgar’s supposed glory,” he said with disdain. “I don’t think this war will be as easily ended as the last skirmishes. I fear this war will redraw the map of the Continent—and we may not like the results.”
Lord Garnoc said nothing until he and Connor were within their private rooms. It was so apparent that he was bursting to speak that Connor barely suppressed a smile, though the subject was no laughing matter.
“By Torven’s horns!” Garnoc swore, and went on to curse in increasingly creative ways until Connor had poured him a liberal shot of brandy. “Radenou makes me wish I
“With Tarrant’s help, can we push back both Meroven and Vellanaj?” Garnoc leaned forward, catching Merrill’s eye with a question Connor was sure his master had timed to help the king out of an embarrassing thread of conversation. A flicker of gratitude flashed in Merrill’s eyes as he nodded.
“I believe so. Vellanaj is not a particularly strong ally, though its navy is sizable. Already, there are reports that they have moved to blockade us.”
“And the Cross-Sea powers? Will they take sides in this?” Corrender’s gaze fell to the map of the world powers that stretched across the table. The Sarnian Ocean stretched a vast distance between the Continent and the Peninsula, its nearest neighbor. “Nearest” was a relative term, Connor knew, since the sea voyage took several months, even with good weather.
Merrill shook his head. “No, thank the gods. They have officially declared their neutrality. This is not their fight, and they want nothing of it.” A weary, cynical smile touched the king’s lips. “Or rather, they desire to trade with both sides, and to have no hard feelings with whoever is proven to be the winner.”
Tiredly, Merrill stood. “Gentlemen. I will take tonight’s comments under consideration. When I receive messengers from the front, we will reconvene. Until then, we are adjourned.”
The others remained seated until the king left the chamber.
“Mark my words, this war will not come to a good end,” Radenou muttered as he pushed back his chair.
Corrender rounded on him. “Is that your prediction—or your hope?”
Radenou shrugged. “Merely my observation. It cannot be good for business or personal accounts when the four major powers on the Continent align against one another. The minor powers will scurry like rats dodging among the horses’ hooves, playing both sides for fools. And when we have all beggared ourselves for want of a few acres of ground, we may find the world more changed than we would like.”
“Much as it pains me to agree with Radenou, I think in this case, he may be right.” They turned to look at Lord Onseler, who had remained silent throughout most of the night’s discussion. Onseler was one of the Council’s younger members, though he was well into his fifth decade. Like the others, he had served his time in battle for King Merrill or the king’sfather. Now the vast connections of his shipping business made him the perfect spymaster for the king. Lord Onseler had never lost the bearing of a career military officer, and his eyes were cold and cunning.
Well aware that everyone’s eyes were on him, Onseler took his time rising from his chair. “I do not like the omens I see. Always before, when the four powers have clashed, it has been over token issues: a strip of long-contested and otherwise useless land, a trade concession, or an imagined diplomatic affront.” Onseler shook his head. “Edgar of Meroven is a very different king from his father—and from King Merrill. Edgar is headstrong and vain, and by all accounts, he’s surrounded himself with ambitious men. Vellanaj’s king is weak and easily led. No doubt he basks in Edgar’s supposed glory,” he said with disdain. “I don’t think this war will be as easily ended as the last skirmishes. I fear this war will redraw the map of the Continent—and we may not like the results.”
Lord Garnoc said nothing until he and Connor were within their private rooms. It was so apparent that he was bursting to speak that Connor barely suppressed a smile, though the subject was no laughing matter.
“By Torven’s horns!” Garnoc swore, and went on to curse in increasingly creative ways until Connor had poured him a liberal shot of brandy. “Radenou makes me wish I
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