"I'd been looking forward to tonight," Kiara said, holding the warm cup close to smell the fragrant herbs. "I expect everything to be different once I go to Margolan. I didn't realize that now, Isencroft is different, too."

Cerise sat on the side of her bed. "Times change. Nothing stays the same."

"I never expected my wedding to create problems like this. It's hardly new—I've been betrothed to the heir to Margolan's throne since I was born."

"But when the pact was made, we didn't know you'd be the only heir to Isencroft's throne. Originally, the marriage didn't create a joint kingdom. Years of drought and poor harvests did that. Isencroft's a proud country. We've fought Margolan in the past to remain independent. Some people see the marriage as handing over what many soldiers died to protect."

Kiara sipped at the tea. "Can't they see how bad things have gotten? We can't go on like this."

"People see what they want to see," Donelan said from the doorway. "Personally, I'm glad to see you worrying about policy. That means you're feeling better."

Kiara held out a hand. Donelan leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Have they learned anything from the attacker?" Kiara asked.

"Not as much as they hoped. Looks like he acted on his own—although he's hardly the only one to hold those ideas."

"I should have reacted faster. I should have blocked him."

"Even the guards didn't see it coming. Don't blame yourself. You're a fine fighter, Kiara. But you're not going to be able to rely on your skill alone. Once you and Tris are married, there'll be more than the usual pressure for an heir—especially if Tris plans to fight the rebel lord in the Southern plains. If there's truth to the rumors that Jared sired a bastard, the need for a legitimate heir will be even stronger. Excellent fighter though you are, my dear, you cannot—dare not—engage in single combat when you bear the child of the king." Donelan looked away. "Tris will be more vulnerable until the child is born. Some people would profit if he were to die in battle without an heir, or without an heir of legal age. In Margolan, you won't be able to rule from behind the throne as you did in Isencroft."

Kiara felt her stomach twist into a knot. We may have been safer in hiding among the vayash moru than we'll be in the open inside Shekerishet!

"What of Trevath and Nargi?"

"Both lands have challenged Margolan's borders. Both have formidable armies. Curane's holdings are near the Trevath border. While I doubt Trevath will be so bold as to send troops to his aid, it'll be near enough that Trevath can see the strength of Margolan's troops and decide whether the time is right to strike. I doubt Tris could be victorious in a full war with Trevath just now."

"And Nargi?"

"Nargi and Trevath agree only on their hatred of Margolan. If Trevath decides that Margolan's army is weak, an alliance between Nargi and Trevath to strike and divide the spoils would almost certainly be successful."

"And if Margolan fell? What of Isencroft?"

Donelan gave a short, bitter laugh. "Isen-croft's fate is now tied to Margolan. Our allies are on the far side of Margolan. If Margolan falls to Nargi and Trevath, Principality, East-mark, and Dhasson would have their own share of problems. They won't rescue us. The raiders from the West or from across the Northern Sea would almost certainly return within a season."

"So all our fates may turn on a single decision," Kiara said.

Donelan met her eyes. "Or a single arrow."

CHAPTER TEN

"ARE WE ready?" Lord Curane looked up at the small group that surrounded his table.

In the center of the table was a large map showing the manor house of Lochlanimar and the southern plains of Margolan. Wooden markers stood where the Margolan army would soon camp. The five men looked at each other and then back and him and nodded.

"As ready as we'll ever be." Cathal, Lord Curane's seneschal, answered him.

"Except?"

"Sieges are unpredictable things, m'lord. Many things can go wrong."

"That's what we have the mages for."

Cathal pursed his lips, carefully considering his words. "True enough. But it's easier to be the siege-bringer than the besieged. Once an army is encamped, our options will be limited."

Curane's voice made his annoyance clear. "We have provisions enough for months. The springs beneath the manor give us ample fresh water. The issue isn't our readiness—it's theirs. An army's vulnerable while it sets up camp. We can strike early and take them off.guard. The Margolan army is in tatters; its king is barely more than a boy. "

"He's a Summoner." General Drostan's gravelly voice commanded attention. "Martris Drayke did, after all, defeat King Jared's armies and Foor Arontala. He overcame the Obsidian King and laid the spirits of the Ruune Videya forest to rest. It would be dangerous to underestimate him."

Curane frowned. "Mage or not, he can die. All the better if he falls before his own army, so that they can see his defeat. Once Margolan's here, we can chip away at them at our leisure."

"This is business, gentlemen. Defeat the boy-king of Margolan, and Jared's son takes the throne. While he's a child, Margolan will need regents. We'll rule Margolan until he comes to the throne—and afterward, through a puppet of our own making."

Drostan leaned back. "Your man in Margolan failed."

Curane dismissed the comment. "We've shown Drayke's vulnerability. And we've neatly planted the seed that Trevath may be behind the attempt. So we may yet nudge our reluctant King Nikolaj into action."

Drostan frowned. "Play the Trevath card with care, Curane. King Nikolaj and Lord Monteith might strike a side bargain that you don't like."

"Let me worry about Lord Monteith."

"Neither Isencroft nor Dhasson would allow Trevath to take Margolan unchallenged—for reasons of trade and alliance as well as blood ties. Principality is likely to enter any war on the side of Margolan, and the king of Eastmark is kin to King Martris's betrothed. A full war beggars us all and invites attack from the Southlands or the Western raiders."

"Not everyone considers blood ties as lightly as you do." Cadoc's voice made the others turn. The air mage was dressed in gray robes the color of dark fog. His dark red hair looked like a bloody skullcap, giving his skin less color than a fresh corpse.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Curane snapped.

"You had no second thoughts about providing your granddaughter for Jared Drayke's pleasure when she was barely of marriageable age."

"I secured a dynasty."

Cadoc raised one eyebrow. "In the farmlands, men can be stoned for such arrangements. Kings and armies are not so bloodless as you suppose. Isencroft and Dhas-son may choose war over gold for those blood ties you find so useless. Gold won't buy everyone."

"It bought your service, didn't it?" Curane growled. "And you shed plenty of blood serving Jared Drayke. We'll see how much blood ties count. Martris Drayke can't possibly hold out against our mages."

"What of the Margolan wedding?" Drostan asked.

"I've got a man in position at Shekerishet. Not only will there be no heir in Margolan, but more than a few of the king's guests will go home in pieces. We'll see how much love the other kingdoms have for Drayke then."