was bored and wanted to flex his muscles, and the stars and the wind required that I join him.”
“Oh, wormshit, Rowan.”
He said nothing in response, but regarded her steadily. The candle flame caught at the gold in his eyes and turned it to matching fire. Mora remembered Glennadoer had said, My son obscured them from your scouts.
She glanced down. There was magic on Innis Lear. She knew it, remembered it, remembered her young brother who had gossiped with butterflies and trees even when he’d been barely old enough to walk. “You won’t be able to keep the March,” Mora said to the rippling surface of the watered wine.
“I don’t need to keep it.” I have you, his tone added.
Pressing her mouth shut, Mora refused to snap back what a waste of blood this had been if he’d only attacked for some prophecy. Except—he’d been the one to cast the prophecy for Celedrix, the one announced at the tourney. Had he known Mora was considered part of it? What game did Rowan Lear play?
“I want you to go home with me,” he said.
“You have me under your power, no matter what you say about equal titles.”
“No.” He touched her chin, tipping her head up. “Mora, if you will not go with me of your own accord, I’ll leave you here in this tent, with six of your soldiers we’ve captured. Once we’ve gone, you can return to your queen and live whatever life she allows you, whatever life you’ve had since Rovassos died.”
Mora forced her breath shallow again, and slow, and forced herself, too, not to tug her chin free of his touch. Her body tightened into aches as she sat so still. The bed below her tilted and turned as if she were drunk. Her skull throbbed; her left side was near numb with pain. But she would not shift for comfort. “Why would I go with you, only to be subject to the same denigration I face here in Aremoria?”
“Innis Lear would love you, and welcome your presence. Does Aremoria offer the same?”
“Of course,” Mora lied.
Rowan released her, his hand falling to his knee. “You belong on Innis Lear, if for nothing else than to hear the wind again, to drink the rootwater. To visit your brother and great-grandmother before she dies. To meet your cousins again, none of whom have seen you since you were a child. Your blood is in our island.”
“My blood is in my veins, and I feel its heat whatever land I walk,” she replied viciously.
That brought a smile again to Rowan’s mouth. “We leave shortly. If you will go with me, you need to choose in the next few moments. I’ll go, and send in a retainer to hear your answer. I hope you pull on boots and come. I promise to show you everything Innis Lear holds, of strength and passion and magic.”
With that, Rowan Lear stood. His hair brushed his tunic with a whisper, and he was gone.
Grimacing at the pain, Mora fell back, giving in to a moment of abject suffering. Tears leaked from her eyes and she moaned softly.
It twisted her heart to think of leaving Aremoria: it was hers. Her country, her destiny, hers. Or it had been. She slapped her hand against her breast; the lump of leather hiding the Blood and the Sea filled her palm.
Would Celeda even ransom her if Mora were taken hostage by Glennadoer and his royal son? Or just leave Mora to languish on Innis Lear, pretending the loss was a tragedy but eager for the excuse to be rid of a troublesome potential challenger to the throne?
She knew the answer.
Anger, hurt, and an old yearning she could barely name choked Banna Mora; when the retainer ducked inside for her intentions, the lady of the March demanded her boots and the return of her armor. She would not set foot on Innis Lear a half-dressed invalid.
No—only as a lost heir coming home.
PRINCE HAL
Lionis, spring
HAL BURST INTO her mother’s study. It was a long mirrored room with white and deep gray molding, the narrow vaulted ceiling painted with a tangle of grapevines as if the room were an arboretum. Two tall cages guarded the door, each with seven finches hopping, chirping, fluttering their wings. At the far end, Celeda’s desk sat between unlit braziers and was surrounded by a cluster of men. The queen watched Hal, quill paused in hand, face blank.
Walking the length of the room was a quick ordeal under the