Page 21 of Shadows and Roses

"Why now? What’s changed?" Anais asked.

Laureline shrugged. "Our network is weakest in the southern nation. It could be a change in their leadership and little to do with us." The duchess waved her omnipresent cup of tea. Spymaster and hat connoisseur, the lady was rarely seen without both a tea cup in hand and a feathered disaster atop her head. How she managed to spy on anything was a daily marvel.

"We can’t make that assumption," said General Trishve. "Though I agree it’s strange. From the last report, their military is the same—undisciplined, poorly trained, and disorganized. More like local militia than an army." Her armor clanked as her hand cut the air dismissively.

Vern spun the tip of a dagger on the table. "My people could help, if you like?" he asked Laureline. An older man with hair just beginning to gray, he’d turned down a retirement in a safe, distant, comfortable villa. It was for the best; his wisdom was a vital part of her rule. During her latest offer a year ago, she had also threatened him with the position of steward if he continued to stay, and had carried through with that threat. Vern had played the game longer than she; the nobles readily accepted him.

Laureline tilted her head. "One or two, if you can spare them. For information only, please."

Vern nodded.

Anais slipped into her chair, her claws tapping the wood restlessly. "Filter the news to the nobles. Skirmish, victory, the usual nonsense. General, authorize additional raids and send one of the loudest idiots to lead them."

Then she focused on the quiet man to her right. Jerome had been her mother’s captain of the guard. He was on his way to earning his retirement as well, but she doubted he would accept any easier than Vern.

"Captain. What have you learned from the rebel?" she asked.

Last night, a young man had been caught climbing over the palace walls. Luckily for him, he’d chosen a well-guarded wall in the courtyard of the Queen's Wing. Had a noble snatched the boy from the air, he would have been introduced to some rather painful games. Instead, he was simply constrained to a small storage room.

"He’s here to spy, find out anything he can—guard schedules, food deliveries, your routine," Jerome began. The captain had been the one to capture the rebel. It had apparently been effortless—the boy had tumbled over the wall and practically fallen intothe captain’s arms. "The boy’s name is Harlen, thirteen years old, a thief before he joined the rebels. And a thief still, but he volunteered for an excuse to see the palace."

"You didn’t hurt the boy too much, I hope?" she asked mildly.

Jerome never responded to her humor. While he’d strike down any threat without hesitation, he’d never hurt a harmless child. Attempts to prod him with jests were simply ignored or occasionally elicited faint disapproval. He’d been no different with her mother, but Jana had made little effort at humor most days. Perhaps he found humor offensive amongst the nobles’ games.

"The boy is unharmed, my Queen," he responded in his normal serious tone. "He spoke openly to Meriana when she brought him food and cleaned his scrapes from the fall, even offered to help her escape."

Ah, Meriana. Gentle and sweet, the girl probably said little while the boy tried to impress her.

Anais nodded. "Send him back with a message. We want to talk."

"Finally," breathed Laureline, feathers dancing as she sat back.

Jerome bowed and left the room. Anais turned her head. "Yes, Duchess. Due to Nadraken’s recent escalation, I agree we should move ahead with the rebels. I hope you’re right, and the commoners are ready to respond."

"That pot just needs stirring, my dear. I’m very sure." She sipped her tea. Laureline had worked with Jana for years on a plan to gain the support of the people.Against the sea, a little pond is nothing—her mother’s hopeful words. Anais was still unconvinced that they could raise this sea, and all their efforts would end in meaningless splashes of their own blood if theycouldn’t. But they would need every droplet they could gain before the other nations grew too aggressive.

Vern interjected, "Duchess Satryani is taking the opportunity to rouse her circle, calling for war."

"She can turn a chipped claw into an excuse for war," Laureline scoffed.

"Yes, it doesn't take much to rile the nobles," Vern agreed.

Damn that bitch.Border skirmishes were common enough and the occasional noble sent to lead a raid helped contain their bloodthirst, but not her dear Great-Aunt Satryani. She, and plenty of others like her, wanted to stain the streets red. It was unfortunate that Nadraken was doing the prodding—most nobles were even more eager to retake the land that was supposedly once part of Drantar.

"The usual cries for reunification?" Anais grimaced.

Vern nodded. "What else? Restore the glory of Drantar. One nation, one world."

Centuries ago, their two nations had been one, unified beneath a single Queen. The largest nation in the known world, the other countries had nearly capitulated to its superior strength until a tragedy killed the Queen and split the land apart.

Or so the glorified histories told. Little evidence of it remained today, but facts never stopped the nobles.

Anais snarled. "I'm tempted to take that woman's claws."

"If only we could outcast every snake," Vern agreed. "The Gamuths never miss an opportunity to complain, to remind anyone who’ll listen how harsh and unfair you are."

"Did you tell them I was considering stripping their entire family of their land and titles?"

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