“It was,” Alaric tersely insisted. He would never reveal to Gaheris the words that left his lips as he faced Talasyn beneath Lasthaven’s shattered skies. You could come with me. We can study it. Together. That had been nothing short of treason. “But are you truly not curious, Lord Regent? It’s a new thing, this merging of magic. There could be other useful applications.”
As far as attempts to distract his father from his shortcomings went, this proved to be a success. A familiar old revulsion twisted Gaheris’s skeletal features. “I will not allow the Lightweave to taint the Shadowgate any more than is necessary,” he spat. “Create the barriers with her until the Voidfell is driven back, but, afterwards, I expect you to lay this part of the alliance to rest. The Lightweave is a plague on the world. On our family. Kesath does not need it to thrive. Is that clear?”
Alaric nodded.
“For your insolence and your abysmal handling of this situation, you will be punished upon your return to Kesath,” Gaheris decreed. “For now, we must discuss what is to be done about the Nenavar Dominion and the Sardovians.”
“The Sardovians?”
Gaheris lost his temper then, slamming a withered fist on the throne’s armrest so suddenly and viciously that it took all of Alaric’s control not to flinch. “You imbecile!” In contrast to its previous mildness, his father’s voice now roared like thunder, filling the In-Between. “Had you been thinking with your brain, you might have seen what was in front of your very eyes! If the Lightweaver truly doesn’t know where the Sardovian fleet is hiding, what’s left of them will certainly attempt to find her one of these days. They might even be successful. You will have to be ever vigilant. Perhaps even try to extract their location from her if she does know it—after the wedding, once she has let her guard down a little.”
Alaric frowned. “You mean for me to go through with this?”
“Regardless of the Lachis’ka’s identity, the advantages of marrying her still stand,” said Gaheris. “Here is how you must deal with the Nenavarene from now on . . .”
The negotiations wrapped up in the early afternoon of the following day. The Kesathese delegation was firm and brusque, the Dominion uncharacteristically acquiescent. It seemed to Talasyn that they had lost more ground on this last day than they’d gained over the past sennight, but Queen Urduja obviously wanted to avoid adding fuel to Alaric’s ire. He was in the blackest mood that Talasyn had ever seen, forfeiting all trace of politeness in favor of a sullen menace which made it clear that it would take only one more misstep on the Nenavarene’s part for him to rain down the wrath of his lurking fleet on their heads.
Negotiators from both sides took turns signing the contract, the scene acquiring a ceremonial quality as scrawled names blossomed in ink at each stroke of the stylus. Alaric was the second to last to affix his signature, his penmanship an elegant cursive that was a surprise coming from the gauntleted hand that had killed so many and caused so much destruction. He then held the stylus out to Talasyn and she stepped forward on pitifully shaky legs. In line with her newfound resolve to stop acting like a petulant martyr, she offered him a courteous nod. One that he did not return, his expression stony.
Talasyn willed herself to not be mortified, hastily reaching for the stylus. As she did so, her bare fingers brushed against the leather of Alaric’s gauntlet and he recoiled, jerking his hand back as if he’d accidentally touched something disgusting.
She seethed, her pride taking another hit. Last night he’d called her beautiful and now he was acting as though her mere presence was a personal affront.
She tried to keep a steady hand as she signed the contract. Everyone in the room was watching her, their gazes inscrutable—not even Elagbi would show any emotion at a politically charged moment such as this.
Talasyn set the stylus down on the table. And, just like that, it was over.
Just like that, she was engaged.
“The wedding will be held a sennight after the eclipse,” said Urduja. “There will be more meetings over the next few days to discuss the specifics of the ceremony, but for now I think that we can safely say that this one is at an end. I will formally announce the betrothal to the public this afternoon.” She turned to Alaric and, with admirable fortitude, politely inquired, “And when does His Majesty plan to take Her Grace to the Light Sever?”
“In four days, Harlikaan,” said Alaric. “The sweep should be done by then.”
Talasyn fell into a perplexed silence, as did everyone else on the Nenavarene panel. Urduja was quick to recover, though, cocking her head. “The sweep?”
“Yes,” said Alaric. “It’s one last matter to take care of, so that we may remove all doubts about the legitimacy of this alliance.”
Urduja raised an eyebrow. “What doubts could you possibly still harbor, Your Majesty?”
“Doubts about my would-be bride’s other alliances,” was Alaric’s terse reply. “With the Zahiya-lachis’s permission, Kesath will conduct a sweep of Dominion territory. To make sure that Ideth Vela’s forces aren’t hiding anywhere.”
As the blood froze in Talasyn’s veins, the usually taciturn Kai Gitab spoke up. “Does the Night Empire mean to go around barging into houses and ransacking cellars and peeking under beds all throughout the islands?” The rajan’s tone was mild yet admonishing, righteous ire flashing in the brown eyes behind his spectacles.
He doesn’t know, Talasyn remembered in a panic. Because he was considered one of the opposition, Gitab numbered among the nobles kept in the dark about the deal between Urduja and Vela.
“Not only is that a gross breach of the contract,” he continued, “but it is also an insult to the Dragon Queen—”
“The Dragon Queen can speak freely about insults when she turns back the clock and stops one of her subjects from challenging me to a duel during a banquet,” Alaric interjected. “At that same banquet, Surakwel Mantes stated in no uncertain terms that he is sympathetic to the Sardovian Allfold. There is no telling how many others think like him in the Dominion court. The Lachis’ka, in particular, is a former Sardovian soldier. I would be remiss in my duty if I were to ignore all of this.”
Urduja nodded, her mouth set in a tight line. “Of course. It is vital that you confirm for yourself that Nenavar is not treating with you under false pretenses.” The Zahiya-lachis appeared to say this more for Talasyn’s benefit, as though she sensed mutiny in the way that her granddaughter was currently glowering. “How exactly do you plan to conduct your search?”