“...but I cannot marry you.”

Mydea took a moment to drink from her cup, before setting it down on the table between them. They had become acquainted whilst he masqueraded as his retainer, but they could barely be called friends and were far from allies. They owed each other nothing.

Yet, that thought proved a poor balm. “That is a shame,” Mydea said, mustering a smile.

Jaeson eyed her with evident surprise. “You are taking this remarkably well. Would you think less of me if I confess some disappointment?”

“I am the esteemed daughter of House Kolchis. That you cannot marry me ought to disappoint you.” Cannot, not will not.

Jaeson’s “choice” of a wife would be one who would weaken his position in the succession wars to come, for why else would the hidden strength of her house be an obstacle to their match?

She had long suspected that who Prince Jaeson would eventually wed was not entirely up to him. Why had only a token number of esteemed houses been invited to send their daughters otherwise, when so many of the lower nobility were present? And among those who’d be considered a suitable match for a member of the House Imperial, many had already been dismissed from court. Most famously Miryam Bludbolt, the favored candidate from His Excellency’s eminent region, who had lost her wager with Vivyan Black after the latter triumphed over Prince Jaeson in a game of Eminent Domain.

One could not be sure of much in Aelisium, but Mydea was certain Vivyan was not Prince Jaeson’s equal at the game. She had been allowed to win, or perhaps it was fairer to say Miryam had been destined to lose.

Marriage could be a source of strength, establishing ties not easily sundered. If you could not trust your own kin, who could you trust? Therein lay the problem for Jaeson the Syngian. The House Imperial was rife with kinstrife, and it seemed his kin were intent on turning his marriage into a hobbling blow. Whichever one of his cousins was orchestrating this sham was working to isolate him from his natural allies in the Primemarch, and cleverly borrowing Jaeson’s own hand to plunge that knife called mistrust.

Mydea studied Jaeson’s handsome visage once more and idly wondered just what threat, what black secret could move a prince to injure himself so.

Or perhaps an enthrallment? Those esoteric arts that made the mind a vane for another’s words were long forbidden, but would divine edicts hold when the prize was the Empire?

Mydea put on a bitter smile. “I don’t suppose you’d be so kind as to tell me which of your esteemed kin holds your leash even at this late hour?”

“I have made an oath,” Jaeson answered, shaking his head.

That made things easier in some ways. He was sworn before the gods to wed, only it was not him Mydea would have to convince, but one of his kin. Were he not stripped of the choice, there was every chance she might have failed to sway him—say if Jaeson had a mistress he cared not to scorn, hidden away. With Jaeson’s kin, it would be about political interests first and foremost.

Assuming she could discover to whom he’d sworn his oath, that is.

“Your thoughts are plain for anyone to see, Mydea,” Jaeson said. “I tell you, it would be folly for you to marry me. The consequences—”

“The consequences?” Mydea scoffed. “What of the consequences to my kin if I do not act? I cannot not sit here idly while my family’s keep is put to siege!”

“As your friend, if you still consider me that, I can only counsel you. Not everything need be settled through a contest of arms.”

“You counsel for peace?”

Jaeson leaned forward in his seat. “One should never be so quick to resort to war. There is wisdom in knowing when peace is preferable; in knowing when a war cannot be won.”

“War only needs one side to insist on it.” Could Pleonexia ever rest easy, knowing what Father was working on? Were she to offer renewed oaths of fealty and friendship and leal service, would the Lord Eminent of the Deeplands consider them an act of good faith, or just a ploy to buy time? Long had the courts of Aigis and Pleopolis engaged in a contest of wills, and now each had driven the other to the precipice.

To turn back from it now would require hostages, her father chief among them as the aspiring spellmaker of flight unaided. Mydea had no doubt that once he entered the Pleonexus, she would never see him again.

Her fists clenched. She had already lost her mother, and now her brother’s life was in question. Would she really be asked for her father too?

“It is the nature of diplomacy that no one ever leaves with everything they want,” Jaeson pointed out.

“You ask me to entertain a negotiated surrender, but I wonder if my Lord Pleonexia will not treat it as capitulation.” Her liege had already attempted murder, albeit with a borrowed knife, against his own sworn vassal. What chance would Father have once sent to the seat of House Pleonexia’s power, with not even an oath of vassalage to defend his self? No, to hand Father over would kill him as surely as swinging the sword herself, though the stoneborn of the Deeplands might not scorn her for it…

The act was unthinkable; the choice impossible.

Jaeson sighed, shoulders slumping in a way that did not befit a man of his youth. “I see I cannot sway you, even to spare you the heartache. Still, I will not stand in your path, although I cannot walk it with you.” He glanced at the darkness outside through a translucent window. Mydea could sense the faint shape of sorcery at work there—a charm to beguile the sight of anyone looking into the prince’s abode. “It is dark out, and there are ever many watchful eyes upon this place.”

“This is Aelisium after all,” Mydea said. Such a thing was to be expected whenever the House Imperial was involved. “I shall take every care as I depart.” It had been a great risk to both their reputations coming here in the manner she had, at the hour she had. Doubly so considering Jaeson’s match would be announced any day now.

She would not gamble if she did not have to, but the need of Kolchis was dire.

As Mydea turned to leave, Jaeson gripped her wrist. “Your care may not suffice.”

That elicited a raised brow from her. “Are you asking me to stay the night?”

“I have no ill intentions towards you, Mydea,” Jaeson hurriedly reassured. “You might already have been seen in the coming. You will certainly be seen leaving, and be followed back to the Seraglio. Your identity will be impossible to conceal then. If you stay, that much might still be kept secret.”

“Others will talk about a woman staying the night.”

“Others will talk about a woman coming in the night,” Jaeson retorted. “I hardly think your staying will make the rumors any worse for myself after I’ve already invited you in.”

A hint of something pulled at her heart, knowing he still cared in his own way. “That seems to me but pushing the problem for a later time. Come the morning, not even my maid Troia’s efforts could keep my disappearance hidden for long.” The task, admittedly, was made easier now that Troia alone served her. Replacements for her bribed maidservants had yet to be arranged, nor were they in a fit state to continue serving after their punishment.

“Do you trust her?”

“With my life,” Mydea answered without hesitation. “Troia has been like kin to me since my days in the Thalassian Athenaeum, and she pledged herself to my household right after our trials.”

Jaeson nodded. “If she can ward off suspicion for the night, I can have you returned to your room in the morning. Many servants come and go in a prince’s household, and procuring a disguise would be simple. You could hide in plain sight.”

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“You speak with a confidence born from experience,” Mydea said pointedly.

To her amusement, Jaeson’s face reddened. “I’ll see to your room.”

It was her turn to grab his hand. “Wait. If I’m staying the night, might you have a mirror I could borrow?”

At some hidden signal, his valet Tomas approached them. “Have a room prepared,” Jaeson instructed. Then turning to Mydea, he said, “This way.”

The corridor Jaeson led her through was as richly decorated as any she’d ever seen, filled with great spellwoven tapestries, artifacts of yore, and vivid paintings depicting the Primemarch Campaign of the prince’s namesake, Jaeson the Conqueror. The history of the Syngian Empire since its inception hung upon the walls, and only the enchantments multiplying the very space they occupied ensured all of it would fit.

What would happen, Mydea wondered, if the magic were to fail all of a sudden? Would they be reduced to a bloody pulp as the natural laws of the world reasserted themselves, or merely thrown out of the house like a maiden scorned?

Unlike her own room in the Seraglio, Jaeson’s access to the mirrorplane resided in its own windowless room with a few candles as its only source of light. It looked more like a prison than a prince’s room, but it ensured that no one watching within the mirrorverse could discover anything useful about him.

“Nothing spoken of within these walls can be discerned from the outside,” Jaeson informed her. “You may speak your mind here.”

Mydea gave the room another look. “This is perhaps the rarest luxury you possess.”

A hint of a smile graced his face before he vacated, shutting the door behind him.

Mydea sighed into the empty silence. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry for what I’m about to do. That it had to come to this.” The House of Kolchis had endured through the soot of Old Ilyos, the snow of the Deeplands, and the shadows of the mythuselah. Their noble lineage couldn’t end here, not like this.

She would not allow it.

From the moment Mydea had set foot in the Imperial City, she had been subject to many a scheme. Lord Pleonexia had bribed a maid assigned to her, even as they spoke of truce. Princess Mirah had arranged to entangle her with the Marcherkin. Princess Lille had bribed her other maid, and hampered her attempts to return home…

With an exertion of her will, she rapped her knuckles on a glass surface that was not within reach, on a mirror far away.

Then, a visage appeared before Mydea, draped in layers of emerald satin like a flower budding. Princess Lille carried herself with an Empress’ dignity, as if she had always known she was meant to rule.

“You are not quite who I expected, Mydea of Kolchis.”

“Were you expecting Jaeson?” she began with a simple prod. What she was about to do, she did for the love she held for her father, for the promises she’d shared with Aspyr, for her hopes for Chalsi.

“It is my cousin’s mirror, is it not?” Lille flashed a dazzling smile. “Are congratulations in order? I daresay this is the first I’ve heard of him succumbing to a lady’s charms.”

Mydea doubted that. “He is the perfect gentleman.”

“I do wonder what is so urgent that you felt the need to wake me.” Had this not been Jaeson’s mirror, Princess Lille might have been content to ignore it.

“If I disturbed your rest, Your Excellency, I can only apologize and say you wake most gracefully.” There was hardly a hint of sleep in her sharp eyes. “I wish to wed your cousin.”

Lille tilted her head to the side. “Many do, Lady Mydea, and while I appreciate that you think so highly of me, your efforts would be better spent working on him at an hour like this.”

“We both know,” Mydea said, “that that choice is not his own.”

Lille let out a bemused laugh. “We all serve at Her Highness’ pleasure. I fail to see why you would suspect me of all people.”

“Because you kept me here,” Mydea said, her eyes narrowed into slits as the princess kept up the facade. “A sennight prior when I asked the Empress for Her leave, you and you alone exhorted otherwise.” Ostensibly, she had done it for the sake of her cousin Jaeson’s marriage, and mayhaps there was truth in that after all? Had the Imperial City made Mydea so wary a creature that when someone spoke of their intentions out loud, she refused to believe it?

It had been the greatest trick of all: to hide in plain sight.

“I did what any good cousin ought to do. Given where you find yourself now, I daresay you should be thanking me for the assistance.” Lille said. There was not a hint of regret in her. Whether Mydea’s family lived or died, the princess didn’t care.

“I do not think anyone would call being a prisoner assistance,” Mydea retorted sharply. “A gilded cage remains a cage, no matter how lovely.” She was without backing powerful enough to overturn Her Highness’ edict now that her house was at odds with her liege’s. As things stood, Prince-Consort Pythos could keep her trapped here for however long his ill-meaning brother wished.

“You must have known by then of my family’s current crisis,” Mydea continued, “and you are wise enough to know Kolchis would not be of no benefit to Prince Jaeson’s position.” Not unless Princess Lille knew of the signature spell her father was crafting, and Mydea had taken every precaution to guard that knowledge.

“We speak of marriage, my dear. What does benefit matter?”

“We speak of marriage, Your Excellency. What else but benefits matter?”

Many of the skyborn would benefit from strangling Jaeson’s bid to the Starlight Crown, but none stood to gain more than Princess Lille. The Everbloom—the fief of Princess Lille’s paternal line—was as mighty as the holdings of any two Lords Eminent. Only caution and careful balancing by its neighbors kept the Everbloom from dominating the Syngian Empire, and long had that plentiful land held the ire of unlikely alliances. She stood to gain the most from keeping the Primemarch uninvolved, as it secured the Everbloom’s southwestern frontier.

Could Mydea be certain of this guess? Not completely. She did not gamble if she did not have to, but the need of her family was dire.

Lille did not answer immediately, taking a careful moment to study Mydea. “If word of this conversation were ever to reach Her Highness, you would appear most ungrateful to Her benevolent intent.”

“I balance upon the precipice, Your Excellency,” Mydea said, exerting every effort to keep her own voice steady. “I leave here tonight either the victor or the vanquished. Yet, I cannot help but think it would be a most grievous waste if you were to stand back and let my family wither on the vine.”

“Oh?” Lille’s brow rose. “What could, by your own admission, a family in crisis, offer me and mine? Please, enlighten me.”

“The Deeplands lacks an imperial claimant to back, and so they will not meddle in the succession if other problems were to arise. Kolchis already is that problem, and reconciliation grows more impossible by the hour. Keep my family alive, and Lord Pleonexia will not feel safe acting against you when the time comes. As cheap a price as any to secure the Everbloom’s northeastern border, wouldn’t you say?”

Lille snorted. “Such pretty words to hide an ugly request. You would have me fight your war, spend the blood of my kin to safeguard your own home? I will do without, I think.”

“A war would not be necessary,” Mydea said. “The threat of one would suffice, and it need not come from you. If I were to become kin to the Empress through marriage…”

Lille’s eyes brightened as she grasped her plan. “If.”

“If you helped me, your own plans would remain intact too. Just as Pleonexia could not act because of Kolchis, Kolchis could not act on Prince Jaeson’s behalf because of Pleonexia. We would be at an impasse.”

“And suppose I had hopes to turn your liege to my side?”

Mydea suppressed a scoff. “Among the eminent regions, the Deeplands is the richest and the Everbloom the largest. Had your two houses ever united in the past, the rest of the Syngian Empire might have bowed. Now though? The grudges your lines bear for one another run too deep.”

“I must admit your offer is intriguing, Lady Mydea. I shall have to think about it.”

“This offer will not last forever, Princess,” Mydea warned as she kept a growing panic from reaching her voice. “We do not have the luxury of time.”

“You do not,” Lille countered. “I am content to wait.”

“Jaeson has few choices left! Even fewer that would match his imperial status.” She could not fail here. She would not! There was too much at stake. “As a lady of a house external, I remain a suitable candidate. If he is wed to one beneath his status, like many of those that remain, suspicion would be aroused. Many would think of you as the hand behind it, whether you are truly guilty or not.” Quite a number of the ladies remaining were from the Everbloom after all, and all of them from minor houses of little renown.

A thought struck Mydea. “Those women might be loyal to you, but it would show your hand. It would put the other skyborn on guard against yourself, and hasn’t that ever been the downfall of the Everbloom?” The Time of Fracturing was testament that no one kingdom, no matter how mighty, could hope to overcome all the others. “Wed Jaeson to me, and it would obscure your arrangements.”

Lille kept silent, as if prompting her for more.

Something tugged at Mydea’s heart, a discomfort she could not quash even as she spoke the words. What she did was necessity, not malice! “Wed Jaeson to me, and I will be your eyes and ears on his person. Who would ever suspect a daughter of the Deeplands of collaborating with you?”

At long last, the princess smiled. “I believe we have an accord.”

Mydea let out a breath she had not known she’d been holding. Only when the fear and anxiety had subsided could she put a name to her feelings. “Thank you, Your Excellency.”

“Oh, and Lady Mydea?”

“Yes, Your Excellency?” She felt guilt. Jaeson was—had been—a friend. Beneath the games they’d played, behind the deceptions … she couldn’t deny that he had cared for her in his own way. And she’d repaid that trust with treachery, regardless of the reasons.

Yet, how could the weight of her feelings compare to duty? To kin and kith? She was born into this world as a daughter of House Kolchis.

Lille smiled at her, as if a vindication of her decision. “You play our games well.”