The pirates at the door roared with laughter. Niclays winced. Sea-moon—the Seiikinese term for a quarl. A spineless jelly in the clutches of the current.
“You say you are an anatomist,” the interpreter said to Niclays, pausing every few moments to listen to the captain. “It so happens that I need a surgeon on this ship. My last one thought herself a cunning poisoner. She wanted vengeance for the ruin of her shit-heap of a village, so she dropped the gold silkworm into my wine.” The Golden Empress sipped from the pipe again, then breathed out a curl of smoke. “She learned that salt water is just as deadly.”
Niclays swallowed.
“I do not like to waste what I can use. Prove your skill,” the Golden Empress told him, “and we may talk again.”
“Thank you.” His voice split. “Thank you, all-honored captain. For your mercy.”
“This is not mercy, Sea-Moon. This is business.” She reclined in her seat and spoke again. “Be sure to be loyal to me,” the interpreter continued. “There are no second chances in the Fleet of the Tiger Eye.”
“I understand.” Niclays mustered his courage. “All-honored Golden Empress, I have one more question to ask, if I may.” She glanced at him. “Where is the dragon you took from the beach?”
“Below decks,” came the translation. “Drunk on firecloud. But not for long.” She raked her gaze over him. “We will speak again soon, Sea-Moon. For now, you have your first surgery to perform.”
34
West
When it was formally proclaimed that Queen Sabran was with child, the people of Inys ceased their mourning and celebrated in the streets. Prince Aubrecht was dead, but by gifting them the next ruler of Virtudom, he had bought them another generation of safety from the Nameless One.
Though she would traditionally stay in Briar House for half the year, no one grumbled when Sabran decreed that the court would return to Ascalon Palace for the remainder of her pregnancy. Every corridor in the winter residence was choked with memories of the prince consort, and it was commonly agreed that it was best for Queen Sabran to have a fresh outlook.
New gowns were made to accommodate her condition. The lying-in chamber was aired for the first time in decades. The palace was a butterfly house of chatter, and with every meal, courtiers raised their cups to the queen. Laughter rang bright and loud as a bell.
They did not see what the Ladies of the Bedchamber saw. The sickness that racked her at all hours. The relentless exhaustion. The way she lay awake at night, ill at ease with the change in her body.
Now, Roslain had told the ladies-in-waiting in private, was the most dangerous time in the pregnancy. Sabran was not to exert herself. She was not to hunt, or to go on vigorous walks, or to harbor unhappy thoughts. They would all have to work together to keep her calm and in good spirits.
The life of the child took precedence over that of the mother, since there was no evidence that the women of the House of Berethnet could conceive more than once. Little wonder Sabran had been withdrawn of late. The childbed was the one place where her divine authority would not protect her, and every day now brought her closer to it.
If she needed further confirmation of the dangers that surrounded her, the Dukes Spiritual saw fit to remind her daily.
“It is vital that we decide on our course. Yscalin could mount an invasion any day now,” Igrain Crest said to her one morning. “Our coastal defenses have been strengthened since Fyredel came, in accordance with your orders, but more is necessary. We have received word that the Flesh King has been constructing a new fleet in Quarl Bay. Some fifty ships are already built.”
It was a moment before Sabran spoke. “An invasion fleet.”
There were horseshoes of shadow under her eyes.
“I fear so, Majesty,” Crest said, gentler. “As does your cousin, the Lord Admiral.”
The Duchess of Justice had arrived while Sabran was breaking her fast. She stood in a bar of sunlight, which glinted off her patron brooch.
“We will open negotiations with Hróth immediately,” she said. “The wolfcoats will strike fear into Sigoso. To strengthen the chances of aid, we will, of course, take word that Your Majesty has at last accepted the long-standing offer from the Chieftain of Askrdal. Once King Raunus hears—”
“There will be no acceptance of Askrdal,” Sabran cut in. “King Raunus is a sovereign of Virtudom, and my distant relative. Let us see how many troops he offers us before we make any offers to him.”
Katryen pulled in a slow breath. It was unlike Sabran to interrupt Crest.
Crest, too, looked as if she had been caught off-guard. Nonetheless, she smiled.
“Majesty,” she said, “I do understand that this must be difficult, given the recent death of Prince Aubrecht. But I trust you will remember what I told you the day before your coronation. As a sword must be oiled, so a fellowship must be renewed. Best that you are not a distant relative to Raunus, but a near and dear one. You must wed again.”
Sabran gazed at the window. “I do not see the need for it now.”
Crest let her smile fall this time. Her attention darted first to Katryen, then to Ead.
“Majesty,” she said, in a reasonable tone, “perhaps we could continue this conversation in private.”
“Why, Igrain?” Sabran asked evenly.
“Because this is a sensitive diplomatic issue.” After a delicate pause, she said, “If you will forgive us, Lady Katryen, Mistress Duryan. I would like to speak to Queen Sabran alone.”
Ead curtsied and made to leave, as did Katryen, but Sabran said, “No. Ead, Kate, stay where you are.”
After a moment, they both stepped back into place. Sabran drew herself up in her chair and laid her hands on its arms.
“Your Grace,” she said to Crest, “whatever you wish to say of this matter, you may say in front of my ladies. They would not be standing in this chamber if I did not trust them absolutely.”
Ead exchanged a glance with Katryen.
Crest forced another smile. “Regarding King Raunus,” she continued, “we must have confirmation that His Majesty will commit to the defense of Inys. I will send Ambassador Sterbein to Elding at once, but it would strengthen his hand if he carried an acceptance of this suit.”
At this, Sabran laid a hand on her belly.
“Igrain,” she said, her voice quiet, “you have long stressed to me the need for an heir. My bounden duty. To honor that, I will not take another companion, or even consider it, while I am still with child, lest the strain of the matter harm my daughter.” Her gaze was piercing. “Offer Raunus anything else. And we will see what he offers us in return.”
The evasion was clever. Crest could not dispute it without appearing to dismiss the well-being of the heir.
“Majesty,” she said, disappointment etched on her face, “I can only advise. The choice, and its consequences, are yours.”
She curtsied and left the Privy Chamber. Sabran looked after her, expressionless.
“She pushes too hard,” she said softly, once the doors were shut. “I never saw, when I was younger. I revered her too much to see how much she hates to be denied.”
“It is only that Her Grace believes she knows best,” Katryen said. “And she has a will to rival yours.”
“My will was not always what it is now. Once I was as molten glass, yet to be spun into shape. I sense I have taken a shape she mislikes.”
“Don’t be silly.” Katryen sat on the arm of her throne. “Let Her Grace drink her sour wine for a few days. She will come around, just as she did after you chose Prince Aubrecht.” She gave Sabran the gentlest pat on the belly. “You must think only of this now.”
Two days later, a signal beacon was fired in Perchling, warning of danger to the coast. Sabran received Lord Lemand Fynch, her cousin, while she was still in her bedgown.
“Majesty, I regret to inform you that the Anbaura was sighted in the Swan Strait this morning,” he said. “Though it did not attack, the House of Vetalda is clearly taking the measure of our coastal defenses. As Lord Admiral, I have commanded your navy to keep any further scouts at bay—but I beg you, coz, to ask King Raunus for support. His ships would be of great use in guarding our eastern coast.”
“Ambassador Sterbein is already on his way to Elding. I have also requested hellburners from High Princess Ermuna in exchange for Inysh support on her border with Yscalin,” Sabran said. “Should the Flesh King flick his tongue at our coast again, I bid you remind him why the Inysh navy is known as the greatest in the world.”
“Yes, Majesty.”
“You will also send mercenaries to Quarl Bay. I expect them to be hand-chosen by you, and indisputably loyal to Inys.” Her eyes were hard as emeralds. “I want his fleet torched.”
Her cousin considered this. “A foray into Draconic territory could incite an armed response.”
“The Knight of Courage bids us go forth into even the greatest danger in the interest of defending Virtudom, Your Grace. I see no reason why I should wait for bloodshed before I defend this isle,” Sabran said. “Send Sigoso a message. If he wants to dance with fire, it is he who will burn.”