Queenmaker 26-27

Chapter Twenty-Six

“It’s a delaying tactic,” I said, an hour later. The war council had met in a townhouse that had once belonged to a wealthy merchant, then hastily converted into a district HQ. “They’re stalling for time.”

Helen stared at her hands. “What are they offering?”

“We don’t know,” Lord Harris said. “They want to parley. It could be nothing more than a demand for our immediate surrender.”

“They’d send that with their guns,” I pointed out. “They’re stalling.”

“They may want to offer their submission, on terms,” Lord Jacob offered. “They may think they’ve lost the war, and want a way out that doesn’t involve losing everything.”

I glowered. “And you think we can just end the war, just like that, and leave them to rebuild and try again?”

Lord Jacob started to speak, but Helen spoke over him. “What do you mean?”

“A long time ago, there was a warlord who invaded his neighbour and had to be driven out by an alliance of his other neighbours,” I said. “That warlord remained in power, and remained a threat, and had to be dealt with later, under far less favourable conditions.”

I took a breath. “If you leave them in power, they’ll rebuild and challenge you again.”

“That may be true,” Sir Horace said. The Lord Mayor of Roxanna looked worried. “But we cannot afford to fight the war indefinitely.”

Helen’s face was impassive as the debate raged on. It wasn’t easy to tell what she was thinking. On one hand, the war really was expensive and the siege had already inflicted serious damage; on the other, leaving the warlords in power was asking for trouble. If Bush had removed Saddam in 1991, with most of the world on his side, it would have been far easier to rebuild Iraq and fewer rogue states would have challenged us openly, secure in the belief we didn’t have the political will to give them a thrashing. And the Iraqis wouldn’t have been so sceptical of us when we finally did invade …

And if we had plunged into Germany in 1919, we might have convinced the Germans they really had been beaten on the battlefield, rather than letting them think their troops had been stabbed in the back, I reflected. Hitler wouldn’t have climbed to power so easily if it had been apparent Germany had genuinely lost the war.

Helen tapped the table. “Lord Elliot, if we continue the war, can we win?”

I took a breath. I had always held that part of the reason George Bush and Tony Blair – particularly Blair – had invaded Iraq so enthusiastically was that they’d gotten bad advice from their senior military officers. High-ranking officers in the Pentagon and the Ministry of Defence had to be politicians as well as soldiers, and often tended to put politics and personal advancement ahead of military considerations. I could understand their point – no politician wanted to be told his dreams of an easy victory were about to turn into a nightmare, unless they took expensive steps that would blow a hole in the budget – but they had a moral responsibility to the troops in the field. I thought the system would work a lot better if the senior officers still led troops into battle. It was astonishing how the prospect of being killed focused the mind on what was really important.

My lips twisted. The worst thing that could happen to an officer back home who made the mistake of telling his superiors the unvarnished truth was a dishonourable discharge. Here … telling the truth could be fatal. Worse, perhaps … Helen was smart enough to listen to the truth in private, but telling her the truth in front of the entire council would put her in a very nasty place indeed. If they thought her refusal to behead me for telling her something she didn’t want to hear was a sign of weakness …

And you called the officers moral cowards, my thoughts mocked. Time to put your money where your mouth is.

“Right now, they have the numbers but we have the better army,” I said. It was true. “They have the disadvantage of not trusting each other completely, not without reason, but we also have the problem of being tired and worn. My men marched north and then south again, winning a major battle, without much of a break. I’m pulling reinforcements from the city’s defenders to fill the holes in my line, but frankly the men need some rest and relaxation before they collapse.”

I leaned forward. “It isn’t clear how many reinforcements they can call upon. I suspect they brought as many men as they could north, if only to try to intimidate you into surrendering without a fight. The news of their defeats, up here, will certainly dissuade their vassals and serfs from joining their armies or continuing the fight. However, they know it too. Their only real choice is to stake everything on a final battle, or accept – at best – permanent subordination.”

Helen looked as if she’d bitten into something sour. “They’ll attack us?”

“Probably,” I said. It was what I would do, if I were in their shoes. The warlords might beg for mercy, and Helen might let them keep some of their titles, but she was smart enough to make damn sure they never regained the military might to challenge her. “They wouldn’t trust you to accept their surrender, then leave them alone.”

“They could also go on chevauchee and devastate the countryside,” Lord Harris pointed out, grimly. “If they wiped out every farm and new-build industrial town, they could starve us to death – or force us into submission – without ever fighting a real battle.”

He had a point, I supposed. It was harder than most people thought to devastate a farm permanently, but easy enough to slaughter the farmers, steal what they could from the fields and burn the rest. I’d stockpiled supplies within the walls, just in case, yet … feeding an entire city was an utter nightmare. If people weren’t already on the brink of starvation, I’d eat my hat. And if women and children started dying, their menfolk would rise up and demand peace at any price.

The debate raged around the table. I sat back and watched, trying to gauge opinions. Some wanted to continue the war, to the point of immediately attacking the enemy armies; some wanted a truce – a period of cheating between periods of fighting – and others wanted to see what the warlords were prepared to offer, on the grounds we had no obligations to accept an insulting or unsuitable offer. I suspected they were wrong about the latter. If it got out that we were considering peace, it would be harder to convince the men to fight.

“We’ll see what they have to offer,” Helen said, finally. “A truce will give the men time to rest, if nothing else.”

I felt a twinge of pride. Most aristos wouldn’t give a damn the men needed to rest.  But …

“It could also be a trap,” I pointed out. In theory, during a parley, everyone involved had a guarantee of safe conduct, up to and including armed escorts back to their lines if the shit hit the fan. In practice … would the warlords honour their words? “We have to be careful.”

“There are procedures to ensure the safety of everyone involved,” Lord Jacob said. His condescending tone grated on me. “They won’t risk being seen as oathbreakers. No one would ever trust them again.”

“Hah,” I muttered.

“Lord Elliot, you will lead the delegation,” Helen said. A rustle ran around the table. I couldn’t tell if they’d wanted to lead it themselves, or if they thought I wouldn’t be inclined to listen to anything the warlords said. “Lady Fallon and Lord Jacob will accompany you.”

I opened my mouth to object, then closed it again. They weren’t bad choices. Fallon was a merchant’s daughter, used to dealing with people who couldn’t be trusted, and Lord Jacob was well aware the aristocracy never lived up to their reputations. And we could be relied upon not to try to make a private deal for ourselves, or to go beyond the scope of our instructions. And yet …

There are people at this table who just want the war over and done with, I thought. And others who’ll think that crushing the warlords once and for all will set a deadly precedent.

Helen and I spoke quickly and privately as the messengers galloped back and forth. She hadn’t just chosen me because I was reliable, I realised wryly; she’d chosen me because it would be easy to disown me, if the peace talks proved unpopular or went spectacularly wrong. God alone knew how the commoners would react, if they knew their queen and her council was opening talks with the warlords. I wished Violet had attended the council. She’d always been much better at following public opinion than me.

And the thought of a street rat sitting at the table would give half the councillors heart attacks, I thought darkly. Some of the more conservative members objected to the merchants … but at least the merchants were wealthy. It would be a great improvement.

My mood didn’t lighten as the final agreements were made – talks about talks, I reflected sourly – and we headed to the parley site. The warlords had been suspiciously reasonable. They’d pulled back their troops, far enough that any attack would be obvious well before it became dangerous, and agreed I could bring twenty mounted infantrymen as bodyguards. The only downside was that the warlords would not be attending in person, something that bothered me even though I knew it was perfectly reasonable. Helen wouldn’t be attending either.

And if all three of the bastards were in the same room, I could draw my pistol and shoot them before anyone could react, I thought. It would set a dreadful precedent, and the aristos would be outraged, but the enemy armies would collapse without their leaders. I guess they don’t trust us that much.

“They’re taking this seriously,” Lord Jacob noted, as we neared the camp. “Interesting.”

I eyed him thoughtfully – I supposed it was a good sign he’d accepted the assignment without demur – then turned my attention to the camp. It looked surprisingly bland; a table positioned out in the open, three chairs on either side, and two tents … one intended for us. The lack of open luxury surprised me, although I could hardly disapprove. It was hard to tell if it was a sign they really were taking the parley seriously, as Lord Jacob suggested, or it was a subtle insult to all three of us. A mercenary, a bastard and a merchant’s daughter? It was quite possible the warlords thought we weren’t taking the matter seriously.

The tent opened as we dismounted, revealing a woman in her thirties. I blinked in surprise. The warlords were as misogynistic as the rest of the aristos, rarely – if ever – trusting women with real power and responsibility. Women, as far as they were concerned, were only good for being married off to cement alliances and having children. And yet there was a woman in front of me …?

“Greetings,” she said. “I am Lady Faire, Daughter of Eldred.”

She bobbed a curtsey. My mind raced as I bowed in return. Perhaps it made a certain kind of sense – Faire could be disowned as easily as us, if her father disapproved of her work, and she was certainly no rival who might have her own agenda – but it bothered me. It was rare for misogynists to change their stripes, no matter how logical it was to do so. My lips twisted in dark humour. Islamic State had had a doctor who wanted to use medical science to unleash a plague in Baghdad, but the doctor had been a woman and they’d dismissed everything she’d said …

“I speak on behalf of the alliance,” she continued. She indicated the table. “We have much to discuss.”

Lord Jacob cleared his throat. “Indeed we do, My Lady,” he said. I wondered if he was thrown by facing a female negotiator. It was quite possible, even though he served under a female monarch. “It is a honour to treat with you.”

I directed the infantrymen to search the tents – and Fallon to carry out a more subtle check for magic – before sitting at the table. Lord Jacob and Faire were exchanging polite compliments and meaningless chatter, something that would waste time at best and build a lopsided relationship at worst. It was quite possible the warlords hoped to subvert Jacob, perhaps even offer him the crown and a marriage alliance. My paranoia deepened. Was that why they’d sent Faire? She was sweet and charming and, unless I missed my guess, a lot smarter than she acted. Fallon was bristling slightly, beside me. I didn’t need to exchange words to know she’d distrusted Faire on sight.

“This chatter is all very interesting,” I interrupted, “but we do have a deadline. I assume your father, and his allies, have a proposal they want you to put to us?”

Lord Jacob reddened. Faire took my rudeness – and by aristo standards I’d been incredibly rude – in her stride. I guessed that was another reason she’d been selected. Half the male aristos I’d met would be trying to challenge me for that and the other half would storm off and launch an attack the moment the truce expired. But then, she’d probably been forced to put up with rudeness that made my Drill Instructors look like indulgent parents.

“We will withdraw from the war and pledge our loyalty once again, offering homage to Her Majesty,” Faire said. “In return, we want our rights and ancient privileges, granted to us by His Majesty King James II, to be recognised and respected.”

“Out of the question,” I said, flatly. Local history was a confused mess – history wasn’t anything resembling a science, not yet – but King James had laid the groundwork for his grandson’s troubles by giving the warlords a free hand in their territories, allowing them to build the powerbase they’d turned against the throne. “That won’t be peace. It will be an armistice for twenty years.”

As Foch said, my thoughts added. And he was pretty much right.

“Her Majesty will not accept such an offer,” Lord Jacob agreed. Clearly, he hadn’t been as wowed by Faire as I’d feared. “There are no guarantees you could offer that would migrate the risk.”

Faire smiled, sweetly. “We are prepared to discuss marriage alliances,” she said, calmly. “I myself would be married to you; my cousin would treat for the hand of the queen herself …”

“Also out of the question,” I said. I couldn’t imagine a local man accepting the role of Royal Consort. Being a powerless king would make him a laughing stock. It wasn’t fair – queens throughout history had often been legally powerless – but the local culture cared nothing for the double standard. “Her Majesty would not accept such an offer.”

I went on before Lord Jacob could let himself be tempted. He would be … nearly everyone in his shoes would be very tempted, even if common sense insisted the offer might well be a sham. A good – brilliant – match would make up for his unfortunate birth. And he’d resent it if Helen said no.

“We have a counteroffer,” I told her. “You father and his allies disband their armies and release their vassals, surrendering all their lands and territories save for their core estates. They are to abolish all forms of feudal service, including serfdom, and refrain from raising more than a handful of household guards. In exchange, Her Majesty will guarantee your lives and core estates, as long as you behave yourselves.”

Her face barely flickered. If I hadn’t been watching carefully, I wouldn’t have missed the brief flicker of … something. I doubted her father would be happy, if she took the offer to him, but … would he force himself to accept? It would mean giving up much of his power, and leaving his family at Helen’s mercy, yet … at least he would be left with something. I wondered if he’d notice the sting in the tail, the minor detail that would complete our victory and make any sort of recovery impossible. If all feudal service was abolished, his serfs would have to be treated well … or they’d simply pack up and leave. He’d no longer have the legal right or naked force to keep them tied to the land.

I wondered, grimly, how the situation looked to them. They had a brief, a very brief, window of opportunity to take the city or devastate the countryside.  But the balance of power was already shifting against them. If I had six months – less, perhaps – I’d gather the forces to crush them utterly, to tear their lands apart and impose my own order … Helen’s order. They had to know it, too. My estates alone would provide more volunteers, all willing to fight, than their territories could provide unwilling conscripts. And the fact they didn’t trust each other would make it easy to prise them apart.

Faire gave me a long look. “Does Her Majesty really expect us to abide by such insulting terms?”

I stared back at her. “Your father and his allies started a war and lost,” I told her, bluntly. It wasn’t quite true, and no doubt it would be debated heavily in my planned war college, but it was true enough. “Be grateful Her Majesty is willing to leave you with something. If it was up to me, you would be sent into exile.”

“And if it was up to your serfs,” Fallon added, “you’d be torn limb from limb.”

“I will have to discuss this with my father,” Faire said, stiffly. “If you’ll excuse me …”

And then all hell broke loose.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Faire opened her mouth and screamed.

I barely heard her.  I’d spotted a faint shimmer in the air, behind her, but I hadn’t had a second to react before the first grenade was thrown. The enemy attack force seemed to come out of nowhere … invisibility spells? Obscurification charms? I didn’t know and I didn’t care – I grabbed Fallon, knocking her to the ground as the first grenades started to explode, and shoved Lord Jacob down too. Faire was still screaming, her eyes going wide with shock as a bullet cracked past her head. She was lucky she hadn’t been hit. A trained sniper with a modern weapon could take out the terrorist hiding behind a human shield with ease, but I wouldn’t have risked anything of the sort here. The shooter could have killed his master’s daughter as easily as one of us.

“Get down, you stupid bitch,” I yelled at her. It wasn’t polite, but what choice did I have? “Get down!”

She ducked under the table as I picked up the nearest chair and threw it at the attackers, then stuck my hands under the table and heaved it after the chair. It felt surprisingly light – someone must have put a lightening charm on it – but knocked over a handful of men before they could react. Two more came at me, swords glinting with unholy light. I grabbed Fallon’s hand and shouted for her to use her magic, but she was in shock. I kicked myself for agreeing to take a pregnant women into a dangerous situation … no one would have said a word if I’d said no, not when she was my wife-to-be and mother of my future child. Even Helen couldn’t have overridden my command …

My men deployed, firing back as the enemy troopers darted forward. They wore heavy leather uniforms that looked like something out of a steampunk movie, complete with belts loaded with grenades, firearms and devices I didn’t recognise. They didn’t seem to wear any livery, but they had to be serving the warlords. Renweard, perhaps. He was a hot-head and the most inclined to risk everything on one throw of the die. I cursed under my breath as the enemy crashed into my troops, their faces fanatical and yet oddly slack … they were hopped up on something, I realised dully. I’d seen drugged-up insurgents in Iraq and they’d kept trying to fight, even when badly wounded, until it caught up with them. The poor bastards had overdosed so badly they’d been dead men walking even before we shot them.

A man landed in front of me and aimed a dagger at my heart. I stepped to one side – the first rule of knife-fighting is don’t, unless you really know what you’re doing – and kicked him in the crotch hard enough to ram his testicles into his stomach. He barely even flinched at a blow that would have put me down for the count. I gritted my teeth as he swung at me again – thankfully, his coordination wasn’t great – and kicked his knee with all the force I could muster. It snapped, sending him sprawling to the ground. I dodged around him, trying not to look at his face. It looked as if he was incredibly angry and feverish and ecstatic …

Faire was lying on the ground, shaking. I grabbed her roughly, yanked her to her feet and pushed her north. She seemed to be going into shock. I guessed her father hadn’t told her of the ambush plan, if he’d even known it was going to happen. Renweard might be gambling his ally wouldn’t really care about his daughter’s fate – she was only a girl – if his daring stroke brought them victory. I hoped he was wrong about that, but right now it didn’t matter. We had to get out of the trap before the jaws snapped closed.

Lord Jacob joined me, holding a flintlock in one hand and his sword in the other. “Are they mad?”

“Later,” I snapped. Lord Jacob was holding up better than the other two, but still … “Cover me!”

I helped Fallon to her feet and half-carried her away from the devastated parley site. My men outnumbered the enemy, but they were losing … the enemy had closed too rapidly for the infantrymen to shoot them or simply remount their horses and outrun them. The second set of grenades had been thrown at the horses, leaving them injured or galloping away in fright …I sniffed something unpleasant in the air and realised the grenades hadn’t just been explosive. They’d used a chemical compound to make the beasts take flight … I cursed under my breath as I recalled the map. The enemy infantry might have trouble reaching the scene in time to catch us, but their cavalry would be halfway here by now. The irony mocked me. I’d spent months rolling my eyes at their pretensions, and their conviction they still ruled the battlefield, but now …

A man roared behind me. I turned and raised my sword, just in time for him to impale himself on my blade. It should have been a killing blow – it went right through his heart – but he held on and started pulling himself towards me, inch by inch. A flicker of pure horror ran through me. What was he? A zombie? I’d heard stories of the undead rising in search of brains – as well as dragons and other fantastical creatures – but they were all so distant from Johor that it wasn’t clear if anyone took them seriously. I gritted my teeth and twisted the blade, spilling his guts onto the ground. He staggered, stumbled towards me as I tugged the blade out of his body, and collapsed. For a moment, I was sure he was going to keep coming after me.

“We have to run,” I snapped. We were too far from the city and the rest of the army … I kicked myself, mentally, for not insisting the parley talks be held in the city. I’d had my reasons, but none of them were worth the carnage behind me. “Their troops won’t be far behind.”

Lord Jacob nodded, his face pale. “They can’t take us alive.”

I nodded, curtly, as he helped Faire to run. The warlords – or one of them – had gambled everything on killing me. I’d wondered why they’d raised no objections to our delegation … clearly, they’d intended to kill me on the assumption my army would fall to pieces without its leader. It made a certain kind of sense, from their point of view. If their armies lost their leaders, there would be a power struggle at best and – at worst – the conscripts would desert and their vassals would go home. But my army was different. There was a clear chain of command … I didn’t like the idea of planning for my own death, but it was one of my duties.

And they think Helen can’t command her troops, I thought. Idiots.

We hurried across the devastated landscape, ruined by fighting and enemy occupation. I tried to calculate just how long we had before the enemy cavalry came into view, then gave it up as too depressing. Renweard’s camp wasn’t that far away, and he’d probably had his horsemen on alert … they could be nearing our position now. There was little room to conceal ourselves, either. I’d accepted the parley ground because we could see in all directions and spot an assault – or so I’d thought – before it could arrive. In hindsight, I’d fucked up.

Get Fallon and the others back to the city, and quickly, I told myself. I didn’t know if all the warlords had plotted the ambush, or just one of the bastards, but it didn’t matter any longer. They were all implicated. Any hope of being treated as honourable men had vanished the moment they’d tried to kill us. They’ll be mounting an attack as soon as possible, trying to destroy us before we can build up and do the same to them.

“My father wouldn’t …” Faire was mumbling to herself. “My father wouldn’t …”

“Be quiet,” I snapped. We were still too exposed for my peace of mind. I felt like a British Tommy climbing out of the trenches and making his way towards the enemy lines. The air was eerily silent. I couldn’t hear birds or small rodents or anything. “Your father just tried to have us killed.”

Faire looked as if she wanted to faint. I was tempted to let her, to leave her behind … the temptation lingered far too long, before I put it firmly out of my mind. The girl had been a dupe. She didn’t deserve to die because her father or one of his allies was a colossal asshole. And besides, if I left her on the field, who knew what’d happen to her? It was quite possible someone who wanted a warlord for a father-in-law would kidnap her, rape her, and force her father to acknowledge him as her husband … Cuthbert, damn the man, had tried to do it to Helen. If someone was willing to do that to the de facto heir to the throne, there was no reason why they wouldn’t do it to Faire.

And we could interrogate her, I thought. Women were neither seen nor heard, as far as the aristos were concerned. I’d bet good money Faire had learnt a great deal by just standing there, looking pretty, and keeping her mouth shut. God knew, the aristos rarely paid any attention to the servants, even in their most private moments. They were just part of the furniture. No wonder they made the most effective spies. She might be quite happy to tell us everything she knows …

Fallon pointed upwards. “Shit.”

I followed her gaze. Two birds hung in the sky, practically hovering over us … I shivered as I realised how unnatural they were, even though I couldn’t put my finger on it. I reached for my flintlock and took aim, but missed … the birds didn’t scatter at the sound, further proof they were unnatural. Fallon gritted her teeth, then muttered a single spell. One bird fell out of the sky. The other turned and flew away.

“They know we’re here,” I said. We’d been lucky we’d spotted the birds. Hawks had very sharp eyes. They could have remained so high we’d never spot them, all the while leading the enemy to us. They hadn’t known Fallon was a magician. If they had, they would probably have kept their distance. They’d certainly assumed I wouldn’t be able to shoot the birds out of the sky. “We need to move faster.”

“They won’t try to take us alive,” Lord Jacob agreed.

I nodded, trying to think. The quickest route back to the army was a straight line … but they’d have no trouble following us. They could bring dogs with them, if they had time, and track us by scent. Or their bird could fly higher, then come after us. But if we headed east instead … we’d get to the river. We couldn’t swim against the flow, certainly not for long, but we might be able to flag down a timberclad. Or …

A bugle call echoed behind us. I grimaced. “Hurry.”

My lips twitched as we tried to pick up speed. The enemy was ripping off The Most Dangerous Game … I supposed it made sense. They did hunt criminals for sport, as well as wild animals, although they were rarely as sporting as the insane hunter from the original book. It was an exercise in sadism, not anything remotely understandable. If they wanted plaudits for bravery, they could go after a wild boar. Those beasts were incredibly dangerous and even experienced hunters were careful, when they went after them. Helen had once told me she’d come very close to being gored by a boar, when she’d been younger. I was surprised her father had allowed her anywhere near the hunting grounds.

“I can hit them with a fireball,” Fallon offered. “Or try to turn them into frogs …”

“If you can,” I said. We were lucky the really powerful magicians didn’t live anywhere nearby, although … it was hard to tell how many stories were true, or had at least some truth buried under the nonsense, and how many were nothing more than bullshit. “But let them get a little closer first.”

I tried, desperately, to think of a plan. I’d had a picket watching the scene from a safe distance, just in case, and if he’d done his job he should be back at the city by now, organising a flying column to rescue us. Or … my blood ran cold. The parley had clearly been planned as a decapitation strike, and they were never carried out in isolation. There was a very real possibility the city was already under attack, that no one could come to our aid because they were fighting desperately to hold the walls …

Fuck. My eyes flickered from side to side. There was nothing we could use for cover, nothing we could use to set an ambush … we had two swords, a little magic, and little else. Perhaps we oculd get to the river, grab a log as a floating aid, and let it carry us miles to the south. It would isolate us completely, but we’d have a chance to break contact, gather ourselves, and return to the city. It might just work.

The bugle blew again, nearer this time. The cavalry were coming into view, decked in livery so bright and glaring you’d think they were on parade. There were ten of them, too many for Jacob and I to kill on our own. A handful of plans ran through my mind, ruses that wouldn’t work on anyone who had the slightest idea of what they were doing, only to be dismissed a moment later. We had a flat choice between surrender and certain death and … no, surrender wasn’t an option. They wanted me dead. I didn’t think they’d show any mercy to Fallon either.

A morbid thought washed through my mind. Perhaps I should kill her to spare her an agonising death …

My heart clenched. She was my lover and she was carrying my child and … I couldn’t kill her and yet I knew what would happen to her, if she was taken alive. Jacob might be spared – and Faire would be kept alive, if not safe – but Fallon was a merchant’s daughter with magic, everything the warlords hated in a single package. Her death would be long and lingering and …

I looked at Fallon. “I’m sorry I got you into this …”

She gave me a grim smile, then looked past me and raised her arm. The air shimmered – a wave of heat brushed against my skin, as if I was standing too close to a furnace – and the cavalrymen caught fire, men and beasts alike screaming in pain as they burnt to death. The stench was overwhelming; I choked and gagged, stumbling away and covering my nose in a desperate attempt to block it out. Fallon’s eyes were glowing as her magic blazed on, her hair whipping around her as if she were standing in the heart of a storm …

I felt a rush of pure arousal. And terror.

Jacob fell backwards, landing on the ground in a manner that would be comical if it wasn’t deadly serious. I saw Faire clutch at her sleeve, her eyes fixed on Fallon’s glowing form. I wondered what she was thinking, if she wished she had magic herself or if she was too terrified to want anything of the sort. Perhaps both … who knew? Fallon staggered, the glow fading as she caught herself. I had a nasty feeling she’d lost control of the spell. Her targets had died the moment their bodies ignited, but she’d gone on and on, burning them so completely their bodies were now nothing more than oily ash.

Faire moved quickly, too quickly. I saw a glint of metal and realised, too late, that she’d had a knife in her sleeve, that she’d stabbed Fallon in the back. For a moment, I froze in utter disbelief. Fallon coughed and fell forward, blood trailing from the wound as Faire pulled out the knife. If she’d left it in the wound, Fallon might have survived …

I hit her as hard as I could, too late. Much too late. Fallon hit the ground, letting out a grunt of pain … I pressed my hands against the wound, all too aware it was pointless. A powerful magician might have been able to save her, but anyone else … it was impossible. Even a modern hospital, with doctors who knew what they were doing, wouldn’t be able to save her life. It had been too late the moment Faire withdrew the blade …

“I …” Fallon was trying to speak, but she could barely form words.  “I …”

She convulsed once, then died. I held her tightly, feeling numb. My lover was dead. My unborn child was dead … I was barely aware of Lord Jacob watching me warily, his eyes darting between me and Faire’s body. Anger boiled through me as I realised what I’d lost, in the space of a few seconds. Fallon was – had been – my lover. No, she’d been my advisor and my assistant and the mother of my child … all gone. I’d lost my first wife and children through cruel fate, but this … if I’d said no, when Fallon had been assigned to the parley team, she might have survived. If … guilt numbed me. If …

I forced myself to stand and check Faire’s body, just to make sure she was dead, then picked up Fallon and swung her corpse over my shoulder. I’d make sure she got a proper burial …

… And then I would make the warlords pay.