Eris leaned toward the window, pulling back the curtain to get her first look at Ostovan in years. The last time she’d come to the city, she’d been a child. Janos had been making the rounds with their parents, introducing himself to all the nobles as a future king. She’d been seven or eight with no concept of how to behave like a proper princess. The only thing she remembered about Ostovan was the smell, and it was still the same. Even from outside the city, she could make out the smell of horse dung and mud.
“Mother’s mercy,” Niall complained and shook out a handkerchief to cover his nose. “What is that awful smell?”
“Ostovan’s primary exports are bricks and horses,” Eris said.
“All human settlements smell the same to me,” Kat offered absently.
He’d been moody the entire trip since he’d been stuck in the carriage guarding Eris rather than at Isaac’s side in the lead. Still, Eris felt better having someone right there, and it meant she didn’t have to deal with Niall and all his complaining on her own.
Niall made a face behind his handkerchief. “There is no comparison between Brucia and Ostovan. Brucia is a proud city with a rich history and—”
“And it smells of horses and sewage,” Kat cut in, irritated.
Eris put a hand on his shoulder, and he turned away. “Both cities have their merits. King Zigfryd has graciously offered to host these talks. Lord Niall, you’ll be careful not to insult our hosts.”
Niall lowered the handkerchief. “Of course not. But the sooner we can get this nasty business behind us, the better.”
The carriage jerked forward, rolling over uneven ground as they passed into the city. Eris’s first glimpse of Ostovan was of grimy-faced children in tattered clothes, straining to catch a peek at the queen’s procession. Some of them broke away from the crowd and ran alongside the carriage, smiling and waving. The houses they passed were squat and made of bright red brick, growing larger the further into the city they went. Old women looked up from sweeping their porches. Men leading horses and ponies, or with cartloads of bricks, stood to the side of the road, watching them pass with wary glares.
Soon, the carts and horses gave way to men and women in more colorful clothes. They rode past a priest in his white robes, shouting about the wrath of the gods.
When at last the carriage came to a stop, it was in front of a large squat castle made of brick. Pennants bearing Ostovan’s crest—a blue horse on a yellow background—waved proudly in the air.
The carriage door opened, and Isaac stood on the other side. He locked eyes briefly with Kat, but they said nothing to each other as Katyr climbed out of the carriage first, taking his place by the door as her guard. Lord Niall went next, wincing as he stood to crack his back.
Isaac and Katyr both offered their queen a hand, helping her out of the carriage. She squinted into the low light of evening, eying Ostovan’s castle, before her eyes fell on the greeting party.
King Zigfryd was a heavyset man with a jovial face. A birth defect had left his body malformed and his legs useless, so he sat in a chair with wheels, his wife and son beside him. A thick beard covered the lower half of his face, going halfway down his chest. The king had one brown eye, and one blue eye, the blue eye being much larger than the brown. His brow protruded, but only on one side. On the other, his face seemed to sag. On his back was a great round hump that made his right arm draw up and appear small and thinner than the other.
The servant brought the king’s chair forward. “Welcome, Your Grace, to my city!” Zigfryd lifted her fingers with his good hand and kissed her knuckles. “It is such an honor to finally meet you.”
Eris’s response was a tight smile. She hadn’t forgotten that she’d written to Ostovan for help. Though Ostovan had no army to speak of, they had able-bodied men who might’ve helped her city. Yet Zigfryd had never even bothered to answer her letters. Ostovan had a long history of snubbing Brucia, both with diplomacy and trade. Of course, they had a similar history with Trinta, which was the only reason Eris had agreed that they should hold the talks there. Neither party would get preferential treatment in Ostovan.
“Come, come. Let me introduce you to my family!” The king gestured to his very pregnant queen. “That’s my wife and queen, Olga. And this… Come introduce yourself, boy!”
The prince stepped forward. He was close to Eris’s age, and not unattractive with his sharp eyes and dark hair, but a deep shadow hung over him. Eris had never met Ostovan’s bastard prince, but everyone knew of him. He was the king’s only heir, even if illegitimate. He was the son of the king and a Savarran Contessa who died in childbirth. His conception almost led to a war, would have if the Contessa had been only slightly higher in the royal line of succession.
The prince bowed his head slightly. “Prince Zigfryd Michal Illiyiv III at your service, Your Grace.”
The king patted his son on the back. “But you can just call him Michal. Everyone does. Or the bastard prince.” He roared with laughter as if it were the funniest thing he’d ever said.
Michal shifted, jaw twitching at the unfortunate nickname.
Eris smiled politely. “Has Her Royal Majesty Haarima-jaan arrived?”
“Eager to get started, are we?” The king made a gesture, and the servant turned the chair. They started back for the palace with Eris hurrying to keep up. “She and her Thousand Cuts arrived this morning. We expected you some time ago.”
“Apologies for our lateness, Your Majesty,” Niall said.
“Pregnant as you are, Queen Eris, I’m quite surprised you came at all. My wife’s only a little further on than you, and look at her. So fat, she can barely waddle about. Can’t imagine a long carriage ride would be comfortable.” The king twisted in his chair to look at them as they continued over the drawbridge.
Eris gave a tight smile. “My comfort is secondary to the needs of my people. I came to avert a war.”
“When will the negotiations begin?” Isaac asked.
“Tomorrow,” Michal offered, folding his hands behind his back. “I will be overseeing in my father’s stead.”
Zigfryd snorted loudly. “Have to find some use for you, don’t I, bastard?”