The Turncoat Prince

Prologue

At the moon before Midsummer, dignitaries and princes of the provinces set out on the road to Anamat. The princes rode in, all but the prince of Tiadun, whose body had gone down to the dragons’ realm in spring. His brother, murderer, and presumptive heir led his caravan across the mountains, while Gallia, his bereaved mistress, fled across the hills and sailed to Anamat with traders from a neighboring province. As soon as she reached the city, she presented herself at the governor’s palace.

The governor of Anamat and his mistress, Tiagasa, reclined on their couches, a table of delicate sweetmeats spread before them. They were young and giddy with power. Gallia remembered that feeling. She would be drab before them even if she hadn’t just stepped off a tilting ship.

“Our Lady of Tiadun,” the governor’s mistress greeted her, lifting her head ever so slightly. “You come to us at last.” Her manner was cool. She must have heard that the prince was dead, or perhaps she was only displeased that Gallia had not come to pay tribute to her before.

The governor cut in before Gallia had a chance to explain why she had stayed away since the old governor’s death.

“Please, do sit.” He indicated the padded stool opposite his couch and snapped his fingers for wine. A glass was set before her in an instant. “I trust your journey was pleasant.” He smiled, but he must have known that she hadn’t come to Anamat simply for the markets and festivities.

“The sail from Getedun was swift, at least,” Gallia said, sitting up as straight as she could on the proffered stool, which set her a full head below the governor. He had done this deliberately, to remind her that his power extended beyond the reach of the princes and their kin…not that she was one of them anymore.

“I heard that you arrived by ship,” Tiagasa said. Her voice dripped like honey, clouded, sticky. “How curious that you did not travel with your caravan, with your servants. You precede your prince?” She spoke as if she resented the loan of a maidservant in this season, when half the peasantry in the valley was pressed into service at her palace to provide for the noble visitors, important visitors. Perhaps she was not one anymore. She’d hoped that she would still be honored for her former position.

“My prince is dead, blessed one,” Gallia began. She was taken aback by the sudden snarl of Tiagasa’s lips, but she pressed on. “Yes, you and I have both been priestesses. I came alone because I feared for my life.”

The governor snorted at that. “Your life can be in no such danger unless you take up hunting.”

“I see that the news of Terenet’s death has reached you. This hunting accident was all too convenient for Calar, and although I do not hunt, there are other kinds of accidents which can be arranged as easily.”

The governor made a shooing motion. “Even if there’s something to your allegations, why would he trouble with you? You aren’t bearing an heir at your advanced age, or are you?”

Gallia shook her head.

“I doubt that Calar had any hand in his brother’s death, but even if he did, your departed lover was barren and had no heirs. Calar’s sons would be next in line to the throne, if for any reason Calar himself is unsuitable. The succession is clear, and Calar is—” He hesitated, pursing his lips. “Calar is well-known to his fellow princes.” He didn’t say “unlike you,” but those unspoken words hung heavy in the air.

Tiagasa laid a hand on the governor’s arm to stop him from speaking further.

“I would think that you would hesitate to condone a murderer’s rule,” Gallia said, rising from her stool.

“Nothing can be proven against him. We have our intelligences. Without an heir, you have no claim.”

“It’s true that I have no heir, but I have other news of a child of his,” Gallia said. “Everyone believed that Terenet was barren, myself included. He never told me. Some twelve years ago, he learned that he had sired a child. It was only I who was barren from so many years of drinking the priestesses’ tea.”

Tiagasa drew her breath in sharply but said nothing. She’d left the temple almost eight years before but had yet to bear the governor an heir. She knew what it was like. She should have been sympathetic, but she was not a compassionate woman at the best of times. She would not want to appear weak before her husband. Gallia backtracked.

“It does not affect all women so. Unbeknownst to me, Terenet had gone to the rite with a priestess in one of the village temples, who then bore a child. The girl looked like him, the same red hair, the same scowl. I am told that she fled to Anamat and became a priestess here, at Ara’s Landing.” She turned to Tiagasa. “She would be about your age, perhaps a little younger. You might know of her.”

“I don’t know. I might. Red hair, you say?” Tiagasa had gone very still, her eyes narrowed. She knew something of this girl.

“Is this so?” the governor asked. “Why have I heard nothing of this? Why is this daughter of his not in Tiadun?”

“She wished to leave, and he did not stop her. Even then, Calar was scheming. Perhaps Terenet feared for his daughter’s safety. She had been raised among peasants, then with the priestesses.”

Tiagasa’s eyes were narrowing. She knew this girl; Gallia was sure of it.

“If you will help me find her, she and I would challenge Calar’s right to inherit his brother’s throne. He is a murderer.”

The governor stood. “I have no reason to doubt Calar’s honesty and I intended to seat him as prince at our councils this year, but if you can present this girl, then of course we must have a trial for the succession.”

“You will help me find her, then?”

Tiagasa shook her head and the governor followed her lead.

“I have pressing business to attend to with some of our foreign traders,” the governor said, looking uneasily toward the door behind him. “If you do not trouble me with this further, we may delay confirming Calar’s inheritance until next Midsummer, saying that it is a period of mourning. If you can present this daughter of Terenet’s, we will hear your case in the council next year.”

Gallia took a deep breath. She had just over a year to seek this child of her lover, this young woman. She had hoped for more help, and less power to Calar in the meantime, but this would have to be enough. She could still see him telling his guards to let her die in the mountains. “If Calar is regent, you should appoint one of your people to oversee him, to ensure that he does not overstep his rights.”

“Consider it done,” Tiagasa said. The governor startled and frowned at his mistress for a moment, then turned his bland, still-youthful smile back to Gallia. “Do not think that I know of this young woman,” Tiagasa continued. “You may not find her. I am quite certain that she left the temple some time ago.”

Tiagasa did know her, then, but had not considered her useful and wasn’t sure that she would be useful now.

“I thank you for your consideration,” Gallia said. “I will depart to the temple in the morning.”

“As you wish,” Tiagasa said, “but as I said, you will not find her there.”

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