Green Wild (Thrones of the Firstborn Book 2) Read online

  Acid in his voice, Fai spat, “Shut up, you bastard. I ought to shoot you now, while you’re away from your men.” Tiana could just make out the shadow of a bow in the darkness of the leaves.

  Jozua’s voice lost its lazy drawl. “A bright young man would be proud to have his sister be the mother to Dukes. Even Atalya knows maidens don’t stay maidens forever.”

  In response, there was a muttered curse and the creak of a bow.

  A lighter voice said, “Fai, no!” even as the bowstring sang. There was the snap of breaking wood.

  Jozua stood with his head tilted to one side. His gloved fist was near his chest, and he held a broken arrow. “Got that out of your system? Tell you what, Cinai. You come with me and I’ll let your brother go without the lesson he deserves. Don’t you want your family to matter again?”

  Tiana stared in shock, until Jinriki said, **Bows aren’t meant to be shot from trees. The arrow probably wouldn’t even have penetrated his armor. Good show of nerve, though. Excellent reflexes.**

  On the other side of the clearing, Lisette said, “Tiana... why is there fighting?” She sounded small and frightened and overwhelmed, and Tiana’s shock was swept away on a tide of rage.

  “A hunter? You’re hunting a girl? Here? And I thought we didn’t belong! Get out of here and leave them alone.”

  Jozua turned to her, opening his fist to let the shards of the arrow fall. “A royal command, Your Highness?”

  Tiana hesitated. She could send him away and if such a man bothered to obey, the crimson light would slip through her fingers. “Just... go back to your own camp for now and stay there.”

  “Happily,” he said, and strode beyond the trees without a final bow.

  Tiana looked up into the swaying branches. They were already empty. “Fai?” she called anyhow. “Cinai? If you stay here I can protect you from him.”

  After waiting a moment for a response, she sighed and went to reassure Lisette.

  Chapter 19

  Toy Soldiers

  THE SCOUTS REPORTED to Jerya early in the morning, as she drank her coffee and picked at her rolls at the table. Iriss sat beside her, but Seandri was off having breakfast with Vassay, and Gisen was still asleep. Jerya was about to take advantage of the private moment to tell Iriss about her encounter with Thorn when the scouts arrived.

  They filed into the room, scouts from multiple different detachments, all coming at once. They liked to present themselves as a group, so all the bad news might be delivered at once: exactly the sort of thing Regency scouts considered a kindness.

  “Go ahead with your report, please,” Jerya said, after a quick glance at Iriss. Her Regent was smiling gently in the general direction of the scouts, while folding her napkin into strange shapes.

  One of the scouts unrolled a map onto the table, nestling it between the jam pot and the coffee flask. Silently, he put down some metal weights. After weighing the corners, he put a black weight on the location of the Blight, where the village of Tranning used to be, along with a dozen other hamlets. Jerya didn’t need the weight to remember; she’d thought about it often enough. It was a scant two days away, on the road that led directly there. The bulk of the Royal Guard, including everybody not previously in active service, was arrayed between Lor Seleni and the Blight.

  Then the scout put down another black weight, to the east of both Tranning and Lor Seleni, halfway to the great lake known as Morning, where the servants of the summer goddess Keldera served.

  “Another Blight?” Jerya felt cold.

  “An army of the Blighter, rather,” said the scout. He was a short, slim man, with reddish hair and a freshly shaven face.

  “How?” demanded Jerya. “How did it get over there?” The scouts were supposed to be watching the borders of the Blight; they were supposed to tell her if anything significant emerged.

  Without answering, the scout put down yet another black weight. This one was to the west of Lor Seleni, most of the way to the Counties.

  “Another army,” Jerya said flatly. Alanah hurried in, escorted by the Guard sent to retrieve her. Jerya acknowledged her with a glance and returned her attention to the scout.

  “Another army,” he said. “But this one...” he fished out yet another weight from his pocket and set it down slowly. This one was black, but molded into the shape of a soldier. “This one has men as well as monsters.”

  Jerya stared at it, then reached out to touch the figure with one finger. “And where are the armies of the duchies? We called them. Where are they?”

  The scout pulled out another set of soldier figures, these painted in the colors of each duchy and some of the marches and counties and started placing them on the map. “Not all our information is up to date, but these are our best guesses.”

  It was not good news. Stormwatch and the Shell Coast both had troops on the move; neither of them had the resources of any of the duchies. Tannis, far to the northwest, wasn’t even a County technically, but it had a figure marching south.

  “The Great Duchies have called their troops,” said the scout. “But only Dalein is in any position to help with the Blight itself. Everybody else is holding steady at their own borders. In the case of Ardoza—” the scout tapped the lake Morning, “—that’s sensible. As for everybody else... They’re cowards.”

  “Inappropriate, Sergeant.,” said Alanah mildly.

  The scout shrugged, his eyes on Jerya.

  “Why are there men with the western Blighter forces?” Jerya asked. “Who are they?”

  “That’s not clear, Your Highness. Rumor says—” he hesitated. “Rumor says it’s Benjen and his men, back from the dead.”

  Jerya put her face in her hands for a moment. When she lifted it, she said, “Still? Still they tell that story? Why is Benjen so immortal?”

  “Couldn’t say, ma’am.”

  “Of course you can’t. Instead, tell me how it is there are two armies?” She wanted to scream just asking the question, but she kept her voice as calm as a summer day. “I thought you were watching the borders.”

  The two scouts behind the spokesman swayed back, as if she had screamed, but the redheaded scout remained stone-faced. He clasped his hands behind his back. “Best guess is they’ve been slipping out at night in small groups, ma’am. The two armies both prefer to travel at night, and they move faster when it’s overcast.”

  “Shouldn’t you have noticed some of these groups? One or two? And investigated?”

  The scout didn’t flinch. “Yes, ma’am. We’ve got no other explanation though, ma’am.”

  Jerya took a deep breath. “Very well. Find out who these men are that aid the enemies of Ceria. Find the hole in your surveillance and patch it. I will have further instructions later.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He bowed deeply, and all three scouts evaporated.

  Silence fell. Jerya wrapped her hands around her coffee, staring into the black abyss. After a moment, Iriss, sitting at the other end of the table, said, “Sit down, Alanah. Have some breakfast. How is the baby?”

  “Colic,” said Alanah glumly. “Are you feeling better, my lady?”

  “I’m much better, thank you,” said Iriss gaily. Her eyes still glowed with the phantasmagory light and she couldn’t see. She was still cold all the time. But she considered herself well. Jerya tried to believe her.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Alanah said politely, then turned her attention to Jerya. “Your Highness, you were surprised by the status of the duchies? Yithiere’s been keeping secrets again?”

  “When doesn’t he?” Jerya sighed.

  “Ah, well, I suppose he thought there isn’t much to be done about it from here. Strongly worded letters can only go so far.”

  Jerya looked at her for a long moment, letting the information settle into place as a new piece of a vast tapestry. “And the only army ready to fight is the one from the Duchy whose Council representative hates us the most. Yithiere wouldn’t have trusted that at all. Alanah, do you know why the D
uchies are so willing to let Lor Seleni burn?”

  “Ask your uncle,” said Alanah gruffly, spreading jam on a roll.

  “If only I could,” Jerya said bitterly. “Alas, the phantasmagory is gone. And he probably wouldn’t—”

  “You’ve got two uncles left, girl,” said Alanah sharply. “Ask the one who’s been around longer.”

  Jerya stared at Alanah, then stood abruptly. She pulled an eidolon from her chest and placed the small bird on the back of her chair. “Watch Iriss,” she told it. “I’ll be back.”

  She went to the other side of the inn and knocked on the door of Jant’s chamber. Cutlery clinked on the other side and Jant called, “Yes, enter, why can’t I train these—ah, good morning, Jerya.”

  Jant and Julina sat together at a table just large enough for the two of them, eating breakfast together. Jant gave her a little smile, while Julina regarded her apprehensively.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you suggested and it’s foolish. But it’s the kind of foolish that should be explored. I—” Jant began, then paused when Julina put her hand on his.

  “You’re troubled, dear,” said Julina. “What’s the matter? Come, have a seat and drink some coffee.”

  Jerya perched on the edge of an armchair in the corner. “I’m glad you have ideas, Uncle. We may need them soon. The war—the armies—” She stopped, and organized her thoughts. “I always thought my father stayed out of politics because... because that was who he was. He let Tomas handle the Council and they let the Council make all the decisions because.... Because my father wasn’t... strong. I always thought that even if our responsibility was defending Ceria, that could be approached in so many ways. I thought we didn’t need to stay in the background during peacetime, pursuing nothing more than our own pleasures. But the Justiciar’s Council has been so aggressive, and now the Duchies are being... hesitant in moving their armies. I think they want us gone and I don’t know why. I begin to think it’s more than ambition. You said something once: that it was better to sleep than be awake.”

  Jant’s face slowly fell during Jerya’s explanation. “Ah.” He turned his face toward the wall, his eyes going far away.

  Jerya waited patiently for him to bring his thoughts together enough to answer her, but it was Julina who spoke first. “You know the history of the Regency, my dear? Why it was founded?”

  “I know that my family line is unstable, yes,” said Jerya, holding herself still. Tiana always wiggled, but Jerya could be very still. “There are despicable acts in our past, and poor choices in who we married. The Regency was a good solution. But we do have the Regency now. We’ve had the Regency for hundreds of years, and the Duchies have risen for every major Blight in all that time.”

  “Our last major Blight was Benjen,” said Jant, distantly.

  Jerya’s hand twitched. “Why does it always come back to Benjen?”

  Her uncle turned to look at her. “Ask instead, ‘Why Benjen?’ He had armies, Jerya. He was more than a bastard with a grudge. Have you ever asked where they came from?”

  The back of her neck prickled. “The same place the armies of other Blighters come from. Mercenaries. Foreign governments who want the Citadel, or Ceria’s land.”

  Jant sighed. “We should have educated you better. But my nephews wanted to protect you and then everything started falling apart... Some of them were mercenaries, yes. Mercenaries want paying, but Benjen didn’t have the backing of one of the southern sea powers or the northern states. He got his money, and even some of his men, from within Ceria. He convinced many he’d be a better King than those currently holding the throne.”

  “Benjen?” Jerya asked incredulously. “Benjen? Who murdered infants and burned the orchards of Dalein?”

  Jant pursed his lips and Julina said, “A more... just King, then. More inclined to providing the justice they wanted.”

  “Justice for what?” Jerya said and, despite her self-control, she knew she was wailing.

  Jant sighed. “My mother.”

  Slowly Jerya’s fists unclenched as she thought back over the family tree. Jant never talked about his mother, and she didn’t figure into very many Palace history books. Jerya had, when she’d bothered to think about it, assumed she’d been much like Jerya’s own father, who was in turn much like her grandfather Anther had been. Well-behaved members of the Blood were boring to write about. It seemed like they’d had generations upon generations of indolent, well-behaved Kings and Queens who did nothing more than entertain themselves between calls to war.

  “Queen Shiani?” she asked hesitantly. “What did she do?”

  “She was... politically active,” he said, studying the tabletop. “The last of a series of active monarchs.” He stopped talking, then started again, this time more conversationally. “Her uncle was a frightening old fellow. I know you’ve heard of him, because Tiana kept talking about that play somebody wrote about his death and his children’s deaths.”

  Jerya knew instantly what he was talking about. “The Tragedy of Tyanth and Liana?” Tiana had talked about it for days after watching and reading it when she was thirteen. It was annoying at the time, but suddenly Jerya ached to hear Tiana babbling about nonsense again.

  “That’s the one. It took liberties, of course—Reandri wasn’t a complete monster. Did many fine things for the country. But he had some... unsavory habits and of course, he and his children did kill each other. My great-uncle.”

  “And your mother inherited?” Jerya summoned up her memory of the family tree. Despite her uncle’s comment about her education, she’d spent plenty of time in the library with her tutor. It was just the political history of the past century hadn’t been recorded very well. She wondered now if that was on purpose, if even her own family conspired to keep the Blood out of the way.

  “Eventually. Her aunt came first, and her father. My great-aunt Jesandri, the people liked her and the nobles respected her. She never physically touched anybody, which put some people off. But she was fair and rational. She brought back the village schoolteachers. Controversial at the time, but it hasn’t led to the collapse of the country yet.” He shook his head. “You remind me of the stories of her. I never knew her myself. I wasn’t born until after my mother came to power.” He sighed again, and his wife squeezed his hand.

  “What was she like?” Jerya asked.

  His face changed and his voice dropped to a low, angry tone. “She was the complete monster. She terrorized Anther and me, and she wasn’t any better to Ceria. Most powerful magic in two centuries, and she delighted in it. Though that wasn’t where she was the worst. Nearly bankrupted the country, punished anybody who criticized her, wiped out the Auvaine, shattered Biaxin into the Counties. There was a serious Logos-Blight and when she took the Blighter prisoner... she kept him chained. As a threat, you see. So everybody would properly appreciate what she did for the country. She was never satisfied, no matter what anybody did. Nobody was allowed to be happy around her. She claimed my sister Viani’s doll when Viani was two, because the toy made Viani laugh.”

  Jerya clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “Where was her Regent? Didn’t she have a Regent to restrain her?”

  “Regents are people, Jerya,” said Lady Julina softly. “Brought up to love and serve their royal companion. Sometimes it takes... time for them to realize their true duty.”

  Jerya blinked at her, confused. Jant said, “I remember Mother and Callie fighting. Callie tried to check her. She spent years trying to mitigate and hide and obscure and fix what Mother did, with us and with the country. She worked far harder at it than our father did. Mother played him like an instrument, and when he finally rebelled, he died. I don’t even know who Viani’s father was. Nobody dared ask. By the end, the country was a bleeding wreck.”

  “The end? What happened to her?”

  Her great-uncle took a deep breath and when he spoke again his voice was flat, all his anger regulated away. “When Anther was eighteen, Callie killed Mother
and herself. The final duty of a Regent, Jerya. The Chancellor then was young, appointed after Mother removed the previous one. He covered it up; it frightened him. Mother had an accident, according to the history books.” The old man laughed, a creaky laugh full of dried blood and desiccated rage.

  Jerya blinked, then did some arithmetic. It was easier than dwelling on the pain in her great-uncle’s voice. “You said those who supported Benjen wanted justice for your mother, but Benjen’s Blight didn’t start until Math’s reign. That was over twenty years after Shiani died.”

  “Oh yes. A lifetime when you’re an ambitious twenty year old girl,” said Jant sarcastically. “And a long time to wait for anybody else, waiting on Anther’s vague promises of reparations and distracted dreams of consensus. Math was ambitious, too.”

  “Wanting to be more than a weapon isn’t wrong, Uncle,” Jerya said firmly. “You said everybody respected your great-aunt, the one who started up the schools again.”

  “My mother ruined all that,” Jant muttered.

  “No.” Jerya stood. “I’m not going to let the legacy of a woman who died fifty years ago destroy Ceria. And I’m not going to let nightmares in the dark prevent the armies we need from moving.”

  “Hah,” Jant said to himself, then said, “You do what you have to, girl. Try not to die, though. I’ve seen enough of my kin die.”

  “Jerya?” said Iriss, peeking through the ajar door. “Can I come in?”

  “I’m just leaving, Iriss.”

  “Oh.” Iriss pushed the door open and curtsied to Jant. “Good morning, Your Highness, my Lady. Jerya, I was thinking about that scout’s report. About the armies?” She paused, as if it might be a struggle for Jerya to remember the two armies marching on the eastern and western half of the kingdom.

  Jerya glanced at Jant, but he made a point of ignoring her. “Let’s go talk about it at the table,” she told Iriss, and led the way there.