Page 6 of Conspirators' Kingdom

Upon learning of her husband’s demise, Magistra Oxsana had salvaged as many family records, artefacts and wealth as she could before the imperial army had come to pillage it all. Even now, it lay hidden in secret caches, ready and waiting to see the light of day.

When the magistra had told the invading soldiers that the servants had made off with much in the night, they hadn’t bothered to think that it might have been on her orders. Oxsana had held her head high until they’d been settled elsewhere, but as the months dragged on, she’d become a recluse, with nothing to sustain her but grief. She’d all but haunted the second floor of their cottage, either refusing to leave her bedroom or spending her days running her fingers over the few meagre belongings packed away in the storage rooms above.

As she approached their little table, her amber eyes sparked with light and cunning for the first time since Taisiya had woken screaming from the return of her soul and her magical gift. Not a hair on her mama’s greying blonde head was out of place, her posture perfect from a lifetime of practice. A small part of Taisiya’s tattered heart was mended by the sight. Though she’d stepped into the role with grim determination, Taisiya hadn’t felt ready to lead their family so soon after her father’s death. Now she wouldn’t have to do it alone.

“Mama,” Taisiya breathed.

Oxsana grinned in her ruthless way and poured herself a small cup of tea before she sat down and raised her cup.

“To the Dragonsblood line,” she proclaimed.

Their grandfather’s name. The name of every king and queen of their former homeland, stretching back into the days of myth and legend. A homeland Taisiya and her sisters would one day reclaim from the empire, transforming it from a lowly province back into a kingdom once more, just as their father had spent his life trying to do. The same as any properly-raised Dragonsblood would.

After all, they were born to rule.

“To the Dragonsblood line,” Taisiya replied, grinning with her little act of sedition.

Chapter 4

Ifhisordershadn’tmade the king’s intent clear, Mereruka’s quarters on the ship certainly did. Trapped in a cramped, dim, iron-barred brig, he was sandwiched between crates and jugs of supplies, his legs bent as he sat crouched, unable to properly stand. Had the bars been crafted from any other material, he’d have made short work of his prison and the people sent to keep him there. As it was, even the nearness of the poisonous metal weakened him. Imported from abroad, such cages were reserved for the worst of fae criminals in Maat—the only time the use of the cursed metal didn’t warrant an immediate death sentence. It was a pity he had so few allies on board. For this insult alone, he could have had the heads of every fae on the ship presented to him on a platter.

Certain that his jailors planned to throw him overboard a few days into the journey, it was to his surprise that his execution had not been forthcoming. Though Mereruka lived, a week of shitting and pissing in a pot his jailors refused to empty and no access to a bath had him longing for the ocean depths and freedom from his own skin.

Bas had climbed aboard in the form of a much-welcomed cat, remaining thus to elude suspicion. Keeping the noblemen company as they discussed Mereruka’s fate, he reported back regularly. Bas slipped into the hold, fitting through the bars of Mereruka’s prison with enviable ease. Mereruka’s pointed ears twitched as he strained to listen to the sounds of any crew who might be nearby, but only he and Bas were in this gods-forsaken section of the ship.

“It doesn’t look good,”Bas said as he twined himself between Mereruka’s legs.

“I’m not surprised. Any chance you can unlock the cell?”

“No. It’s witch magic, and the trade minister is hiding the key in a pocket realm.”

Mereruka cursed. Witch and fae magic didn’t play well together, and neither did their races. In person, they could feel the grating, incompatible wrongness of each other’s magic like an irritant against their very skin.

Unfortunately, only a witch or an object of their making would be able to undo the spells that locked the cell. Few fae could ever stand to study witch magic, and fewer still understood it well enough to counter their magic entirely. Where fae magic flowed like a living river or tangled like the roots of a tree, witch magic was bound, corralled and contorted into shapes and patterns that made no bloody sense to him. That the trade minister kept the key hidden in a realm of his own making could be a good sign—he must suspect someone aboard might sympathise with Mereruka’s plight.

“And what of my doomed bachelorhood?”

It wasn’t as though he wished to remain unmarried forever. He simply wished to marry a woman who would make a good partner for his schemes, and whose standing in Maat would benefit him. If she liked the idea of his brother’s head on a pike, that would be an added bonus. He was unlikely to find a woman with any of those traits on the Cursed Continent.

“Do you want the good or bad news?”

“Both.”

“They won’t let you leave the ship until you swear an oath to take a bride from the Cursed Continent before the return trip. If you fail to wed before they set sail, they’re to strand you there.”

So Khety meant to completely erase his influence, if not through his marriage to a complete outsider, then through his banishment. He supposed he could refuse to leave the ship entirely—a revolting prospect given his current conditions—but they might very well decide to starve him into compliance.

“Go on.”

“They intend to demand the hand of a princess.”

“Are there any such women in that place?” He had a hard time imagining any sort of governmental structure on the Cursed Continent, despite the reports Bas had made that an emperor and empress reigned there. A vaguely amusing notion, to be sure. An empire of what—mud, sticks and misery?

“There are not.”

Gods below, it wasn’t a diplomatic mission so much as an attempt to inspire armed conflict with him as the cause. Insulting one’s barbarous hosts was unlikely to go well, especially if rumours of magic not working within the bounds of the continent proved true.

“Do we have any allies on board?”

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