Lonen's Reign Page 8

“I acknowledge I had a good idea of which words to use,” she replied with a feline smile. “Now: imagine what a clever person with a good idea of which words to use, and powerful magic at their command, could do to a man’s thoughts.”

  Understanding dawned, clearing his muddy head. “So, every time Nolan thought about sex…” He trailed off, the enormity of that hitting him.

  “Not even thought about it,” Oria replied in all seriousness. “Just felt the urge. How many times a day do you feel a sexual urge, even if you don’t give it much thought?”

  Every fucking minute of every day, with Oria near. “Arill save us,” he whispered.

  “I realized this in part because of something Natly said, that Nolan used to be a vigorous and enthusiastic lover, but after he returned, she said it was like that aspect of him had died. It occurred to me that maybe it wasn’t dead and instead pointed in a different direction.”

  “So when he felt any urge, his mind went to, what, betraying the Destrye?”

  She shrugged a little. “Of that I can’t be too sure. The spell is complex and finely wrought, like a spiderweb of metal wrapped around his sexual being. Probably the suggestions are simple and easily followed. Like commands you’d give Buttercup, so as not to confuse him.”

  “Don’t be insulting my warhorse,” Lonen shot back, not angrily, but relieved that he could make a joke during this horrible conversation.

  Oria smiled back, looking relieved by his levity, too. “No insult to Buttercup intended. I just mean that if you could give Buttercup instructions to go off and accomplish some task by himself, wouldn’t you want those directives to be pretty straightforward? Clear tasks, that could be adapted to circumstances, but nothing so complex that the plan would fall apart if some component changed.”

  An idea of that formed in his head. “So nothing so vague as ‘destroy the Destrye,’ but maybe ‘become king.’”

  She nodded. “At any cost. And there seems to be a kind of intensification built into the spell, so that if he doesn’t succeed, it drives him to try harder.”

  “The more he’s thwarted, the harder he tries.”

  “Exactly.” She looked grim as he felt now.

  “But, if he can’t try, if he’s prevented, wouldn’t that—” He cut himself off, unwilling to say the words.

  “Drive a man mad,” Oria said softly. “That’s what I’m guessing is happening to him.”

  Horrifying to imagine. He stared at Oria. Surely she couldn’t be so cruel as to want that for Nolan. Even his own craving for revenge, his certainty that Nolan deserved death for his treachery, had evaporated with these revelations. “How can you suggest leaving him that way?” he got out. “Would you leave him to go so mad that he can never be healed?”

  “Oh!” Oria’s eyes rounded in shock—and a reassuring tinge of horror at the picture he painted. “No, that’s not what I meant at all. You think I would want that for your brother?”

  “Then what?” he ground out. “Just tell me.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I—”

  “There’s your one for the day,” he said, reaching across the table to take her hand in an apology of his own.

  She returned the smile, acknowledging the days when they’d each apologized to the other so much that they’d set a rule to limit it to one apology for each per day. They’d moved past that at some point in the last weeks, finally easy enough with each other that they weren’t forever worrying about their own failings. Perhaps that indicated they’d become more confident in themselves, too. Certainly Oria seemed to have done. She spoke about her abilities as a sorceress in a way she hadn’t before.

  And Lonen himself had grown, no longer secretly believing himself a fraud and imposter on the throne. He’d claimed the throne through his own abilities and determination, as well as the vagaries of fate. He’d be the best ruler for the Destrye that he could be.

  “I think we should let Nolan believe he’s succeeding in his goals,” Oria said, as if that made perfect sense. When he frowned at her, trying to follow why she’d suggest something so outrageous, she continued. “If he believes he’s following directives, the loop of magic driving him should ease off. With every goal accomplished, he should return to a more sane state of mind.”

  “Are you saying we should… make him king?”

  Oria shook her head, then nodded. “I think we should let him believe he’s king. You have a palace full of subjects utterly loyal to you. If we tell everyone to play along, we can all pretend he’s won, that he’s actually king—and then we can observe what else he does, and thus learn what the Bárans have planned.”

  A sneaky plan—perhaps an exceedingly clever one—but fraught with possibilities for failure. “But if he’s also relaying information back to Bára…” He said as he thought it through.

  “Then we can feed him, and thus them, the information we want them to have.”

  “If they already know I won the challenge, that I’m king and you’re officially my queen, and that Nolan has been imprisoned, won’t they be suspicious if that suddenly changes?”

  She held up a slender finger, eyes glowing with excitement. “Aha! But does Nolan know that? Think back. He knows he gravely wounded you in the duel, and that you both fell. Your iron axe disrupted some of the magical connection, plus you knocked him unconscious, so they can’t know what happened after that except that he woke up healed and imprisoned in the dungeons.”

  “He saw me come find you there, though.”

  “Yes, but he was ranting, not listening. I’m not convinced he noticed you at all. Even if he did, you weren’t wearing the crown or carrying your father’s sword.”

  “He will have noticed you, however. You’ve been with him a great deal.”

  “Yes, but what will Yar and his cronies make of that? They won’t believe I have magic capable of cracking theirs.”

  “You defeated Yar in that contest of your magics.”

  “Yes, but Yar thinks I cheated and that Gallia failed him. She should’ve been the perfectly harmonious match for his magic—and she was powerful, in her home of Lousá—but Báran sgath was unfamiliar to her. You’ve met Yar. Which is more likely—that he’ll honestly see that his magic is no match for his sister who failed to master even basic hwil, much less magics he could do by fifteen, or that he’ll decide to blame everyone but himself?”

  She had a point there. Her brother had all the brash hubris of youth. Even with maturity, Yar might not gain the strength of character to examine his own weaknesses—and to recognize others possessed abilities he lacked.

  “All right,” he said slowly. “Let’s say we release Nolan from his cell. Why would he suddenly go from being a prisoner to the throne?”

  Oria leaned in, expression full of wicked delight. “We won’t release him. His loyal co-conspirator Natly will free him.”

  “And I’ll be in the dungeon cell in his place?” Lonen folded his arms, trying to look forbidding. In truth, he could see where she was going with this. The plan had possibilities.

  “No dungeon cell for you, my king,” she replied with a twinkle of amusement.

  “Won’t Nolan notice if I’m wandering around, not defeated?”

  “He might, if you were in Dru.”

  “I won’t be in Dru?”

  She shook her head from side to side, terribly pleased with herself. “Neither of us will be. Because while Yar and the rest of the Báran sorcerers are preoccupied with Nolan finally being on the throne of Dru uncontested, executing whatever their next instruction is, we will be leading the army to attack Bára.”

  He sat back in his chair, the possibilities opening up, laying themselves out neatly. “We muster the warriors and begin shifting the troops to just beyond Bára. Once we’re clear of Arill City, Natly frees Nolan in a brave coup. A skeleton staff of warriors puts up a token fight, then declares loyalty.”

  “Exactly. We wouldn’t need a lot of people to make it convincing—just enough to create verisimilitu
de where Nolan can observe. We leave trusted friends to observe him and notify us of his initiatives. Meanwhile, Yar and his cronies are lulled into complacency, thinking all is handled here until they can complete their conquest at leisure.”

  “The farther away we are, the longer it will take for anyone staying behind to notify us of Nolan’s actions if he does something truly detrimental to Dru,” he pointed out, not really arguing but mentally covering the logistics. “And taking an army on campaign in winter is difficult.”

  “I don’t know much about that,” she conceded, “but I have three thoughts. One is that pulling all of the warriors out of Arill City would relieve the housing and food problems, making it more likely the rest of the population can make it to spring.”

  “Not if we provision the army with the remaining food supplies.”

  “If we enlist your mother in this plan, we could ask for some of their supplies to provision the army. That was my second thought.”

  She had a cannier brain for this kind of planning than he’d have predicted. “And the third?”

  “We travel through the tunnels.”

  ~ 8 ~

  Oria rather savored Lonen’s astonishment at that suggestion—though the surprise quickly cleared from his face, replaced by shrewd analysis as he worked out the logistics with all the experience of his warrior’s mind.

  “The tunnels, huh?”

  “Yes. Nolan said he and his men traveled from under Bára to the edge of the forests of Dru before emerging to travel the rest of the way overland.”

  Lonen stroked his chin, considering. “It could work. We know the tunnels are big enough to accommodate a warrior on horseback, though a large company will have to be strung out for leagues.”

  “Send warriors in small groups, one after the other.”

  He grunted at that thought. “We could do that, start sending the battalions most ready to leave as soon as possible to secure the entrance to the tunnels and begin sending warriors through. Nolan might not be willing to tell us where that was, however.”

  “Two things.” Oria held up two fingers in demonstration. She’d had time to work on the details of her plan while she waited for Lonen to get free of business and join her for lunch. “The warriors who traveled with him will know, and if that becomes a problem, then I can look in Nolan’s mind.”

  “I can see a problem right now,” Lonen said with a frown, tapping his knuckles on the table. “What if those men have the same magical corruption? If they’re spies also, then—No?”

  He broke off as she shook her head. “I’ve checked all the ones in custody. None of them have any taint of Báran magic.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Oria restrained a sarcastic reply. “Yes, I’m sure. Once I found the magic binding Nolan, I checked those of his men in custody—falsely imprisoned, in light of this information, I might point out—and they don’t have it. I wondered why I couldn’t find anything different about them, but that’s the answer. Only Nolan was tampered with.”

  “That doesn’t mean that’s true for those men we haven’t located for you to examine,” he countered. “Perhaps they’re evading capture because they have been tampered with and want to be free to spy and conduct their sabotage efforts.”

  “Or,” she returned, “maybe they’re evading capture because, oh, I don’t know, maybe they don’t want to be imprisoned in the dungeons.”

  Lonen narrowed his eyes in a granite glare. “Destrye warriors are accustomed to hardships of all kinds—and to obeying their king.”

  Oria gave him a look of disbelief. Why was he being so obstinate? “Oh, you mean like you did? When Nolan wore the crown and ordered you imprisoned by the palace guard, did you meekly obey?”

  “Of course not!” he snapped. “That was entirely different.”

  “Different why?” she asked sweetly, letting his anger wash over her, sampling it.

  Emotions, it turned out, were another form of intangible energy. People sensed other people’s emotions through physical cues—facial expressions and body movements, the sound of the voice, perhaps even a scent, like wolves smelling fear. Oria had always known that other people’s emotions affected her—the stronger the emotion, the greater the effect. But she’d always been sadly at the mercy of them, which was why she’d lived alone atop her tower in Bára, to spare her the draining miasma of the people living in the city.

  Now, with her growing mastery of magic, being able to perceive the flows of energy in all its various forms, she’d discovered that emotions were a form of magical energy—a kind that every person seemed able to manifest, whether they harnessed that to conscious purpose or not.

  “It is different, Oria,” Lonen answered her needling through gritted teeth.

  “Why are you so angry?” She followed the emotions to the thoughts behind them, sifting for the source. “No one expects you to be perfect, Lonen. It’s all right to make mistakes. You imprisoned those men for just cause. Now we know there isn’t one. Don’t cling to the decision just because you don’t want to admit an error.”

  “Reading my thoughts?” he asked, palms flat on the table.

  “Yes,” she replied candidly. “You’ve known from the beginning that I can. Even when I had little control of my magic, your thoughts and feelings have loomed large in mine. If you don’t want me to, I can make an effort to close off those channels. All you have to do is say so.”

  His set expression softened, and he scrubbed his hands over his face, then through his hair, seeming surprised when his fingers snagged on the crown. Pulling it off, he set it beside him on the table. He gave her a wry smile. “It’s a bit unsettling, how precise you’ve gotten at it.”

  “Part of mastering my magic overall,” she agreed. “I’m getting more precise at all of those skills.” When he didn’t immediately reply, her stomach dropped. Stricken with fear that she’d misstepped, that she’d abused his trust, she asked. “Did I do wrong?”

  “No.” He looked up from the crown he’d been contemplating as if it held answers, took in her expression, then scooted back his chair. “Come here, love.”

  Gladly, needing the reassurance, Oria came around the table to settle on his lap, inside the circle of the arms he held open for her. He held her there a moment, then tipped up her chin and kissed her, long and sweet and loving. Heat billowed between them and she melted into it, relaxing against him. A knock on the door had him breaking off the kiss with a sound of regret.

  “Your Highness,” Alby discreetly called through the door. “I’m to remind you of the time.”

  “In a moment,” he called back, and urged Oria to sit up straight on his knee again, then adjusting the fit of his crotch yet again, and with a rueful smile. “Arnon is waiting for me,” he explained. “Unfortunately.”

  “There’s tonight,” she offered, hopefully.

  “Always.” He kissed her forehead. “And no, you didn’t do wrong. It’s good for me to have a sorceress wife who can glance into my mind and call me on my horseshit. But I want you to examine all of Nolan’s men. If we can round them up.”

  “Release the ones in custody,” she suggested, “and tell them to carry a message, along with a public proclamation, that these have been examined and absolved of any guilt, and the others can present themselves to be absolved also.”

  “Clever,” he agreed, tugging on a lock of her hair. “If excessively civilized.”

  “Well, you could go around and bash everyone’s heads in with your axe, if you’d prefer.”

  “I would certainly enjoy that more.”

  “Poor thwarted barbarian,” she cooed.

  He pinched her bottom, making her squeal. “I’ll just have to take out my barbarous urges on my tame witch tonight.”

  “Oh, will you?” She tried to look menacing, but the immediate arousal at his words—and the fantasy he painted in his mind—had her breathy and aroused instead.

  “Yes, but not now.” He stood, easily bringing her with him with h
is casual strength, and set her on her feet. “It’s a good plan, Oria. Let’s set it in motion. Come with me to meet Arnon. We can tell him about it and maybe he’ll have a solution to speeding up communication between us and those watching Nolan. I don’t know how we’re going to recruit Natly to the cause. Regardless, we can pick apart the details. Arnon is exceptional at finding flaws.”

  The face Lonen made as he said that had her laughing. She patted his cheek—gasping when he captured her hand and pressed a hot kiss to her palm, his eyes silvery as he watched her over their joined hands.

  “You can thrash out the plan and I’ll meet you later,” she said, tugging her hand away and folding his kiss into her palm. “But I’ll handle Natly.”

  “Oh you will, will you?” He raised his brows.

  “Yes,” she replied, with more confidence than she felt, but she suspected she knew exactly how to entice the Destrye woman to cooperate. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

  “Are you going somewhere?”

  “Indeed. I also have a solution to the communication problem.”

  “And that is?”

  “I need to make sure I can pull it off. I’ll tell you either way tonight. Will you trust me until then?”

  He bent over and kissed her, a gentle brush of lips that held a world of longing. “Until the end of time, my love.”

  “Or at least until dinner,” she quipped with a smile, and handed him his crown. “Don’t forget this.”

  “As if I could,” he replied in a dry tone, settling it on his head again.

  “This is fun!” Chuffta said, as she emerged onto the rooftop platform. Gone were the wedding decorations, muscians, and beautifully dressed guests. Instead the area swarmed with Destrye working with a great clamor of tools. Some dismantling a section here, others building there. Every one paused to bow deeply as she passed, then immediately resumed work.

  Lonen had said that Arnon had taken on the project of building onto the palace with great enthusiasm and determination, but the progress startled her. Chuffta waited on the specially reinforced section where he’d perched for the wedding ceremony—and the Destrye all seemed to be keeping half an eye on him—talons digging into the wood, looking as pleased as he sounded.