“We have already discovered spies amongst our armies,” Drystan said grimly. “It is possible there are some in the castle as well. We will do our best to ferret them out, but we cannot take any chances. Until the babe is born, you must not leave the Keep, and you must be accompanied by at least two of your ladies at all times.”
Dareena scowled. “At all times?” she protested. “Drystan, I can hardly stand to be around them for more than a few hours! And really, they can hardly protect me anyway. I do have some magic now—I am perfectly capable of protecting myself. The only one stronger than me is Lyria, who wouldn’t lift a finger if someone came to slit my throat. She hates me that much.”
“You’re right,” Drystan said. “Of course your ladies are not sufficient protection. We’ll also assign two guards to trail you indoors at all times.”
Dareena bit her lip. “I understand the need to keep me indoors, even if I don’t like it. But there are already guards everywhere, Drystan. I don’t need four people trailing my every move.”
“Please,” Alistair said, turning Dareena in his lap so she faced him. His face was the picture of concern—he was the right person to soothe Dareena, Drystan thought. He himself was brimming with frustration at her lackadaisical attitude. “I know that you are not a child to be coddled, but you are carrying our child, and the future of our race, as well. This is only a temporary measure to ensure both of your safety. Once we’ve won this war, things will go back to normal.”
“And when will that be?” Dareena asked, meeting the eyes of everyone in the room. “It seems that with every day that passes, Shadowhaven’s grip on us tightens further. Soon, they will suffocate us. What can we do to beat them back? They’ve kidnapped Basilla—can we kidnap their prince? Would that force King Wulorian to parlay with us?”
“It is not as easy as that,” Shadley said wearily. “Prince Mordan is a nasty piece of work, but he is not stupid, and is fairly powerful for a warlock. It would cost many lives to take him, and we may not be able to hold him.”
Dareena sighed, sinking back into Alistair’s embrace. “What do we know about Shadowhaven’s royal family? Is there anything else we can use against them?”
“The current warlock king obtained his crown under suspicious circumstances,” Tariana explained. “The previous king, Wulorian’s uncle, and his cousin, the heir, both died in quick succession, supposedly of heart failure. Given Wulorian’s record since, it is more likely that he murdered them. He and his wife have no love lost between them—they only had the one son, and she was soon exiled to a remote castle in the mountains. I believe she far prefers it there.” Tariana shook her head in sympathy. “I probably would too, if I were forced to marry such filth.”
“And now Basilla may be forced to follow in the queen’s footsteps,” Dareena said. She pressed her lips together, frustration carving lines into her beautiful face. “If Mordan is truly as awful as the rumors say, can’t we fan discontent among the people, like they have been doing to us? Surely we can create enough internal problems to distract the warlocks.”
“That is a good idea,” Shadley said, “but unfortunately, the warlocks admire power and cunning far more than goodness or virtue. There are those who have personally run afoul of the royal family’s vices who hate them, but by and large the citizens of Shadowhaven have flexible morals and no particular objection to their king’s murderous policies. Besides, the war between Elvenhame and Dragonfell has been very good for the warlock economy—all the programs the government has put in place to develop new weapons and devices have created jobs for many people.”
“Surely not all citizens are so heartless?” Dareena protested. “The people may be ruled by an evil king, but that does not mean they are evil themselves.”
“I didn’t mean to imply that,” Shadley said hastily. “You are right, of course. Not all warlock citizens are stone-hearted. But under the current regime, the more virtuous ones are forced to keep their heads down.”
“What of Rumas, the warlock god?” Alistair asked, a thoughtful look on his face. “I didn’t think of this before, but surely he is not happy with Wulorian for killing off the previous king. Unless Shadowhaven’s patron deity is just as unscrupulous as his people?”
“That is an interesting question,” Shadley said. “As I understand it, the warlock god is not as fervently worshipped as he once was. Perhaps his power and influence over them has waned. As I understand it, the previous king was favored by Rumas, so it is possible that after he was killed, the god turned his back on his people. This may be a good thing, as it means Shadowhaven will have been weakened in some way. We may find that we do not meet as much resistance as anticipated when we attack them, if their god is no longer protecting them.”
“That is a big if,” Tariana pointed out. “And not one that I can bet my men against.”
“Perhaps we can ask the dragon god,” Alistair suggested. “He would know better than anyone else.”
Drystan nodded. “I may make the trip, time permitting,” he said. “In the meantime, we will have to wait for Lucyan’s results and suggestions before moving ahead.” He sent a silent prayer to the dragon god to look after his middle brother. He knew Lucyan would be careful, but then again, it was impossible to be too careful in the heart of enemy territory. He hoped his brother did not linger too long, or embroil himself in some scheme that could jeopardize his cover.
At least if he does get into trouble, it won’t be on account of a woman, Drystan said to himself as he looked across the table at Dareena. Once upon a time, that would have been a real worry for Drystan, but not anymore. No matter what temptations Lucyan would face, he would be eager to return home to their mate.
7
After making it safely across the border of Shadowhaven, Lucyan and Ryolas hiked to the nearest town to secure transportation to the capital. In Elvenhame or Dragonfell, they might have had to hire horses, but Shadowhaven had an excellent transport system—they went to a ticket office and paid for two seats on an omnibus, which, according to the salesman, would get them to Inkwall in a mere three hours.
“These paved roads are amazing,” Ryolas said as they sped toward Inkwall.
They sat on the upper level of the omnibus, which, unlike the lower, was fully open to the elements. Each level only seated six, so Lucyan had elected to sit upstairs—if he had to be squished elbow to elbow between the elf and some strange human, he at least wanted to have fresh air.