None of the kingdoms—none of them—had broken the Winterfast Accords in thousands of years. It was the sole agreement between them. Using malice—dark magic from beyond the Malstop—in the war…It was unthinkable. Reckless. Evil. It was the only thing the kingdoms were not willing to do to one another—or to themselves, because the end result would be mutually assured destruction.
Unfortunately, the details were unclear: the old man’s confession had been smeared and ripped by the time it reached the Embrian spymistress, and the dove carrying it had died right there on the windowsill. The turncoat quickly disappeared, of course, and whatever information he’d possessed had died with him. So the exact nature of Ivasland’s plan to harness malice was unknown—but a threat to the Winterfast Accords left two options.
The first was sanctions. Tariffs. Every penalty the Winterfast Accords suggested. Ivasland’s economy wouldn’t recover for a hundred years or more.
But such action would be enough to trigger another round of outright warfare, so a second option had to be considered—something less formal but more profound.
After days of prayer and conversation with Tuluna—Tuluna the Tenacious, Hanne’s patron Numen—it was Hanne who’d proposed the, ah, proposal to Rune, and the king and queen of Embria (Hanne’s parents) had promptly taken over everything, as they always did.
Of course, the upcoming nuptials made Ivasland even more nervous about its richer and more powerful enemies, and they were likely scrambling to find a way to stop the wedding….
Hanne wasn’t worried. Tuluna had chosen her to win this war.
“It’s your turn.” Nadine motioned to the marble board between them, which held a stack of facedown cards and two stone figures. The rose quartz was carved into the shape of a galloping horse (Nadine’s) while the onyx was a prowling cat (Hanne’s), and they were neck and neck to the finish line. Nadine might be the nicest human to ever grace the planet, but she was a mean competitor when it came to Mora’s Gambit. She never let anyone win, not even her future monarch.
Hanne drew a card. Queen. With a smile, she moved her figure along the board.
Just as she was about to claim the space before the finish line, the carriage hit a bump and the onyx cat went flying toward the glass window.
The cat stayed pressed against the vertical pane, blithely ignoring the law of gravity. Unease stirred in Hanne’s chest, but she forced it down and reached for the figure. Strange things happened sometimes. That was all.
But as Hanne’s fingertips grazed the figurine, the cat swiped at her with little onyx claws.
Hanne jerked back. The carriage jumped again. The cat figure fell to the floor.
Nadine’s voice was tremulous. “Did it just…”
“No.” Hanne inspected her fingers. There was a small cut, but it had probably come from one of the playing cards, or perhaps from the note she’d written this morning, reminding Devon Bearhaste of his deadline. “We’re just anxious for the wedding. We imagined it.”
Nadine looked as though she wanted to argue that two people did not typically imagine the same thing, but she kept her mouth shut while Hanne retrieved the onyx cat.
Cautiously, Hanne touched the cat to the glass again, to see if it would hold, but it dropped back into her palm.
Yes, it had been her imagination. Nadine’s, too.
Hanne returned the figure to the board, then rested her fingers against the obsidian pendant at her throat. Nadine mirrored her movement, perhaps unconsciously, because her gaze was fixed on the window glass, and Hanne imagined she could see a prayer flying from Nadine’s heart straight to the Bright Land where the Numina resided. Obsidian and unanswered prayers: that was all most people had in these bleak times.
Hanne was not most people. But she kept Tuluna to herself.
“I am glad that we are so well armored.” Nadine’s fingers grazed the black stones of her rings and bracelets, which shone darkly against her fair skin and emerald-green traveling dress. Like everyone in Embria—everyone who mattered, anyway—Hanne and Nadine wore vivid colors to allow the wealth of their obsidian to stand out. That was one of the things that made Caberwilline fashion so bizarre. Why hide obsidian with all those dark colors?
Obsidian was the most valuable resource in all three kingdoms, as it was said to repel the rancor. Not that anyone had seen such creatures in four hundred years, but malsites still existed and there were always rumors. People believed in rancor, even if they weren’t under constant threat. No matter how poor a family, they’d spend their last pennies buying pouches of crushed obsidian to divide among the children, although most of it was likely regular glass dyed black. If there was any true obsidian in there, it wouldn’t be enough to repel even the weakest of rancor.
“Nothing can hurt us.” Hanne touched the carrying case at her side, her family’s dearest heirloom within.
It was a crown of solid obsidian. Heavy. Black. Beautiful. This ancient piece had been passed down through Hanne’s family since they’d come to power four hundred years ago. (It had belonged to the previous royal family before then—the Aska family—but none of the Fortuins ever thought of them anymore.) Though invaluable, it was far from fashionable; the crown bore a series of jagged spikes, not graceful points, and the band had little padding to ease the weight.
Normally, Hanne wore a softer, gentler (though still studded with obsidian) crown when she traveled or conducted state business, but this was a unique circumstance. She’d worn the obsidian crown almost every day since the Caberwilline delegation arrived, as a show of her power and wealth.
She cleared her throat and returned her attention to the game. “It’s your turn.”
“I was going to call your bluff.” Nadine’s eyes dropped to the stack of cards. “But I’m not sure I want to play anymore.”
“Nadine, please.” (Nadine had gently suggested that Hanne start saying please more, and Hanne was making her best effort.) “If you quit now, I’ll think it’s because I’m winning.”
“You’re barely winning.”
“I’ll win on this next round.”
“Only if you draw a one.” Her tone was uncharacteristically tart.
Hanne gave her a pointed look. “Are you still worried about the engagement?”
“What if he isn’t kind to you? What if he parades mistresses around court just to weaken your position?” Nadine bit her lip. “What if he hurts you somehow?”
“Weren’t you defending his honor not five minutes ago?”
“Only his name. And his looks. But those aren’t him.”
Hanne shook her head. “I’ve told you a thousand times: I know what kind of man Rune is. Our spies have been reporting his movements for years—doubly so since he became the heir. He was under observation every second in Solcast. Caberwillines are not complicated creatures. Our new allies have very little capacity for deception.”