“I told you that I’d protect you, that my people would help protect Calanthe, so why in great green Ejarat didn’t you tell me a messenger from Anure had arrived?” He finished on a near roar.
I opened my mouth, but he plowed on, face taut. “For that matter, why the hell did your people let a boat through? We discussed this, that no new boats would be allowed into the harbor.”
“Oh, we did not ‘discuss,’” I hissed. “You issued an order. I modified it, since this is My kingdom.”
“Then you put your kingdom in jeopardy, out of a foolish need to spite me.”
“Don’t pretend that you actually care about Calanthe,” I fired back. “And I’m not stupid. I’ve been queen of Calanthe for years and kept Her safe long before you arrived to throw orders around as if you’re My keeper.”
He loomed over me. “You need a keeper, Lia,” he snarled, emotion making his voice even rougher. “What if that had been an attack? No, you just welcome Anure’s man with open arms.”
“I. Know. The. Difference.” I spaced out my words so they’d penetrate his thick skull. “Do you think I’m so oblivious that I can’t tell a sloop from a battleship? That I can’t discern a single, letter-carrying messenger from an attacking army? Because I assure you, I can. I captured you, after all.”
“Through enchantment and trickery,” he snarled through clenched teeth, clearly still sore about that one.
“Exactly,” I replied, allowing myself a smile of triumph.
He glared back, white makeup smudges on his dark shirt from holding me. Which had been kind of him, and unexpectedly compassionate. And somehow we’d gone from that to battling each other once again. I took a moment to gather my composure. “Why are we fighting with each other?”
He raked a hand through his hair, looking past me with a grim expression. “I suppose because we can’t yet kill the guy that deserves it.”
“And never can.”
“I will. Mark my words.”
“You can issue arrogant proclamations all you like, but words are easy. Killing Anure is impossible.”
He glared at me, incredulous. “If you believe that, then what are we even doing?”
“I ask Myself that hourly.”
Setting his teeth, he spoke through them. “Why did you agree to marry me and work as a team to defeat Anure if you never believed we could win?”
“I had no choice, did I?” I bit out in the same tone. “Marrying you was the only viable option amid far worse choices.”
“But you did make that choice,” he pointed out grimly. “So why not work with me on this?”
“Because you’re hotheaded and reckless,” I spat.
“That may be true, but it’s worked for me so far, sweetheart.”
Our glares meshed, simmering between us. For a moment I thought he might kiss me after all. Then, when he didn’t, I kicked myself for feeling disappointed.
Instead, he took a step back, hooking his thumbs in his thick belt and drumming his fingers. “I interrupted you before,” he said in a neutral tone, as if the argument hadn’t occurred. “Why did you read Anure’s missive in court when you usually read the letters alone?”
I stuck with the most innocuous truth. “The messenger said that it contained news about Tertulyn.”
Con frowned, and I took it for confusion. “My oldest friend,” I clarified. “My first lady-in-waiting, who has been missing these last days.”
“I remember who she is. What I don’t understand is why a ruler as savvy as you are hasn’t figured out that Tertulyn was a spy who fled to Anure.”
I laughed. An absurd suggestion. Or was it? “That is the last thing she’d do.”
“The two of them clearly have been playing you.”
“You’re wrong. Tertulyn would never betray Me. She’s My friend.”
“Or she was Anure’s spy, planted to keep you on his hook all this time.”
“How was she recruited then?” I countered. “Tertulyn never even met the emperor.” Though she had frequented the Night Court without me, so she would’ve have had opportunity to meet with other spies. Except that didn’t bear considering because Tertulyn simply wouldn’t betray me. Would she?
“I don’t know,” Con answered in a neutral tone. “I don’t need to know those details. They’re irrelevant.”
“The details are not irrelevant, because those are the pieces you’re missing,” I insisted. I would not let him plant his doubts in my heart. “You’re new to Calanthe, and you don’t understand. Tertulyn and I were children together. Until recently, never a day passed that I didn’t see her on waking, that I didn’t retire to her good nights.” And sometimes retire with her, as Tertulyn had always been solicitous of me, and generous in giving me pleasure or comfort as I needed. I wouldn’t tell Con that. It was private and he didn’t need to know that Tertulyn was the one person in the world I’d called friend, who’d loved me for the person I was, not the crown I wore. No, she couldn’t have been a spy. I would have known. Surely I couldn’t have been blind to something like that.
Con studied me as I spoke, discerning what I hadn’t said. “Anure visited Calanthe.”
“Only once. My father took care of that.”
“Once is enough,” Con pointed out with relentless logic, “if you need proof that they could’ve met.”
“So your theory is that he somehow managed to get Tertulyn alone and subverted My dearest friend into only pretending to love Me, so she could one day disappear. Not much of a long game.”
“Anure left Calanthe engaged to you, yes?”
“Betrothed. I was only twelve, Con. Far too young to be formally engaged.”
“You’re mincing words.”
“No, it’s a vital difference. Betrothal is a promise of engagement. I was never Anure’s fiancée, no matter what you or he may believe.”
“It’s not an important difference for this conversation. Anure left your island believing he’d eventually make you his empress. Why wouldn’t he leave a spy behind to ensure that everything happened according to his plan?”
“Of course he has spies. I just know Tertulyn wasn’t one.” I lifted my chin, aware of my eroding position as Con gave me an exasperated look.
“Lia, I know you don’t trust me, so—”
“Just like you don’t trust Me.”
He didn’t acknowledge that and forged on. “—so you don’t want to tell me much about your magic. But you admitted before that you are connected to Calanthe, that you sense the birds and fishes.”
“True,” I replied. No sense denying that, but I wouldn’t elaborate if I could help it. My father had always been so adamant that I shouldn’t talk about my nature and abilities. If people guess, from the old stories, so be it. But we don’t need to hand them power over you and Calanthe.
“Can you sense the people on Calanthe, too?” he asked, watching my expression with keen attention. I suspected very few people could get away with lying to him. I probably could—I have a deft hand at it—but I decided not to.