The Soul of Power

by Callie Bates

  Yet I will never give it up.

  Rhia seems to see some of this pass over my face, because she says, “That’s what I thought.”

  I sigh. “I miss Elanna.”

  “Me, too.” She laughs. “Though I never thought I’d admit it!”

  “She does make things easier; everyone’s scared of her power.”

  “The terrifying Caveadear.”

  I return Rhia’s smile, but inside I’m fighting with my own unease. For months, I’ve struggled with gaining the same instant respect El commands, and now I’m beginning to wonder if half that respect came from the simple fear that she’d bury someone in the earth if they annoyed her. Of course, she’s just and merciful and compassionate as well. But being terrifying helps, too.

  Rhia yawns.

  I rise. “I’ll let you get some rest.”

  But though I go to bed myself, I lie awake for a long time, staring up into the dark canopy of Philippe’s mother’s bed. Seeing the face of the murdered sorcerer, and El being swept away across the water. Wondering whom I can trust.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Philippe is subdued in the carriage the next morning—clearly preoccupied, as when I ask him a question, it takes several long moments to receive an answer. Rhia has fallen asleep, her head pillowed against the window. She must have taken more laudanum; I don’t know how else she’d sleep with the carriage chattering over potholes. Beyond her, the blue imprint of low hills rises up on the horizon, above the farmland. We’re approaching the river Sasralie, which flows through Laon.

  I look at Philippe. His chin is at his fist—but Rhia is asleep, and I sense an opportunity before we arrive in Laon and I’m overwhelmed with the telling of El’s capture.

  “What’s on your mind?” I ask.

  He blinks. Then he sits up straight, shaking out his shoulders. “I apologize. I’ve been lost in thought about…about that refugee.”

  He’s obviously lying, but I decide to nod and take it at face value. “I’ve heard complaints about letting the sorcerers into Eren, but never thought anyone would stoop as low as murder.” I pause. Innocently, I say, “But I wanted to ask after your mother. I don’t think I’ve met her.”

  “You wouldn’t have.” His eyes narrow a bit, but he says, “She followed Loyce Eyrlai to Tinan.”

  I do my best to look shocked. Maybe I am, a little; I didn’t think he’d come right out and say it. “She left you behind?”

  “I didn’t exactly volunteer to follow her into self-imposed exile,” he says sharply. “If she wants to live out her life at Alfred’s court, so be it.”

  “And you haven’t seen her since,” I muse.

  “No.” He looks at me. “We disagreed on the matter of her departure.”

  “I suppose she wanted you to go with her.”

  He drums his fingers on his knee. “In fact, no. We both agreed it would be better if I remained here.” Drily, he says, “It’s one of the few things we did agree on.”

  I study him, wondering how much they disagreed on our new regime. “What did you do during the rebellion?”

  This time, he looks away. “The old king had sent me out to Denare to quell dissent. It was where your friend the Count of Ganz kept one of his secret printing presses. I…My job was to burn it.”

  “And you did?”

  His silence is answer enough.

  I stare down at my hands, twisted together in my lap. In my mind’s eye, I can’t help seeing that printing press going up in flames. Such a petty gesture. I can’t imagine ever ordering such a thing.

  Yet if there were dissidents in the kingdom fighting against me, endangering my people…what would I not do?

  At last, he clears his throat. “I suppose it’s trite, but we’ve all done things we’re ashamed of, have we not? My mother raised me to believe I must obey a royal command, or I would be a traitor and treated as such. But I believed your rebels might win, and I’m glad that you did.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  He laughs hollowly. “For what?”

  “You told me the truth. It’s not an easy thing to do.”

  His eyebrows lift, and he changes the subject. “To be even more honest, my lady, we may never be able to charge anyone with the murder of that refugee. But I promise I will help you get to the bottom of why it was done, and try to prevent it from happening again.”

  “Well,” I say, “I suppose that’s as much as anyone can ask for.”

  An awkward silence falls between us. The carriage has turned onto the royal road going west. I glance out at the hills we’re passing on the left, and the river Sasralie gleaming to the right. Ahead, one hill rises higher than the rest, its hardscrabble rock dominating a shallow valley. A town perches on top of the hill, its walls and roofs winking in the sunlight.

  Philippe cranes his neck around, following my gaze. “That’s Montclair.”

  “Whose land is this?” I ask.

  “It’s the people’s own.” When I look at him questioningly, he explains, “It used to belong to a noble family, but they fell from power under Antoine Eyrlai’s father, and the town council sued for independent governance. They won.”

  I look up at the high walls. “So they didn’t need Caeris to liberate them.”

  “They didn’t think so.” He pauses. “The mayor is great friends with Aristide Rambaud. The town’s always enjoyed Rambaud protection. Until, well, recently.”

  “I see.” And I do, for this feels like a warning. I remind myself that the Duke of Essez is safely ensconced in Tinan with Philippe’s mother, tormenting King Alfred. But all the same, as the carriage rolls past the high hill town, I shiver.

  * * *

  —

  LAON ARRIVES TOO soon on the horizon. I shrink a little as we pass through the high, pale-gray gates, shadowed under the late-afternoon sun. I’ve never been entirely comfortable in this city, and now I’m trying to resign myself to the fact that I won’t be able to make a public announcement until tomorrow morning. It means waiting to meet with the ministers, as well.

  I suppose this is as good a test of Philippe’s trustworthiness as any. If word of El’s capture gets out ahead of tomorrow morning, I’ll know who did it. Although Philippe Manceau doesn’t exactly strike me as that much of a fool.

  We rattle through the streets, our coach and retinue largely ignored by the people going about their day. I look out at women carrying baskets filled with flowers over their arms, and men in simple coats and thick hats, two young fellows carrying a ladder and laughing. Bitterness worms into the back of my mouth. If only I could be one of them again, on the streets where I used to belong, a woman of the people as my mother raised me to be, not the king’s daughter and backup heir Ruadan molded me into. If only I could run.

  If only my father had come here when Finn died, the way he was supposed to. Then I wouldn’t have to manage this fractious kingdom on my own.

  The fine glass windowpane separates me from the common run of the world, the same way it has for the last thirteen years. And guilt swamps me. My mother and Ruadan and Finn are all dead. Wanting to run feels like failing them.

  Philippe’s watching me. I pretend not to see him, yet I can’t forget his presence. I find myself talking to Ruadan in my mind, the way I have ever since he died. Should I trust him?

  But of course, no answer comes.

  “You’ll summon the ministers to council, yes?” I say to Philippe. “First thing in the morning?”

  He frowns a little and begins to speak, then seems to think better of it. “You’re wise. It’s a large secret to keep overnight.”

  I nod. “We don’t want to force them to remain silent.”

  The coach tramples through the streets to the palace, situated on a low rise with a view over rooftops to the river, and to the Hill of the Imperishable to the southwest. We
pass through the wrought-iron gates tipped with gilt, into the wide cream-colored arms of the palace. I disembark and head for the sweeping stairs, acutely conscious of my dirty hair and the mud still crusted onto my coat. I am not the sort of queen this place was built for. Some days, I still can’t believe Elanna grew up here. It’s such a cold place, despite the bright painted ceilings. Chill always seems to leach off the walls.

  Charlot Bain, the steward who appointed himself the head of my household in Laon with such little fuss that I couldn’t object, is waiting in the colonnade at the top of the steps. He’s an impossibly tidy man invariably attired in a fawn-colored coat and trousers, so perfectly groomed that I always find myself searching him for a stray unshaven whisker, or a crease in his impeccable neckcloth. As usual, there’s nothing. He’s serene, unflappable: the model factotum. “Your Majesty! We didn’t expect you for some time.”

  I give him a brittle smile. “If I announce my return, it’s harder to tell if my ministers have been behaving themselves.”

  “You’ll be so pleased to know Lady Teofila arrived this morning. She’s in the music room.”

  A hand seems to grip my throat. “Teofila’s arrived?”

  “Yes, my lady, ready to translate for the refugees.”

  I knew Teofila was bound for Laon, and Elanna’s capture is one secret I can’t keep till morning. Truthfully, in some ways, it would have been easier to tell the ministers we lost her first.

  “Thank you,” I manage. With a start, I remember the others. Rhia’s looking wan as she climbs from the coach. I begin, “Do you—”

  “No.” She waves me ahead. “Go tell her.”

  The cowardly part of me would gladly help Rhia up to her chambers, and spend perhaps an hour fussing over her. But Teofila has been like a mother to me—more a mother, for more years, than my own ever was. I need to tell her what happened, even if it breaks her heart.

  I tug my waistcoat habitually down, and freeze. Teofila is like a mother to me, indeed—and if anyone recognizes my condition, it is bound to be her. She’ll probably take one look at me and…

  It’s a horrible thought, but at least this news about Elanna may distract her until I can think what to tell her, how to present it. I’ll have to do a good job of acquitting myself. I can already see how she’ll look at me.

  I remember to nod to Philippe.

  “Tomorrow, my lady,” he says, and bows before departing across the courtyard to his townhouse.

  On shaky legs, I walk into the palace. No one knew I was coming, so there isn’t anyone waiting to greet me. That’s a relief, at least. The foyer, as always, seems to swallow me up: a vast white room with a soaring ceiling and an enormous inlaid clock whose hands make precise, vaguely disapproving ticks. I climb stiffly up the carpeted stairs. Charlot told me Teofila was in the music room, but I’d have known it anyway because notes from a clavichord dance through the walls and down the steps.

  There’s a faint, disorienting flutter in my stomach. The child, again, or my own nerves. Perhaps the baby likes the sound. At least one of us is looking forward to this.

  As I draw closer, I find the door of the salon open. Teofila sits at the clavichord, tinkering with some high notes, her dark silvered hair tumbling over the back of a pale-blue gown. Hugh stands at her side, a self-possessed figure in Caerisian tweed, thumbing through a musical score. The sight strikes me in the chest, and I have to stop there in the doorway. It takes me back to childhood, to the instinctive comfort I found in the warmth of Teofila’s presence and the bright effusiveness of her music.

  Hugh was always there, too. But he was Ruadan’s friend, and while he and Teofila were always cordial, they never seemed particularly close. Now they are near each other, murmuring over the music, and Ruadan is gone, and my chest has turned soft and hollow. Ruadan in so many ways made us what we are—he made it seem possible to launch a rebellion to depose a king and to bring back the old magic. Sometimes I wonder if Elanna’s sorcery returning after all this time sprang not from the whim of the gods, but from the force of Ruadan’s belief. He was determined that his daughter would be a Caveadear like the ones of old, like Wildegarde herself, and so she was.

  And now they’re both gone.

  A small choked noise escapes my throat, and both Hugh and Teofila turn. He smiles. She jumps up from the clavichord and throws open her arms. “Sophy!”

  Tears pulse behind my eyes, but I choke them back as ruthlessly as I can. This isn’t about me. I won’t have Teofila comfort me like a child.

  “What is it?” She’s come to me, hugging me close—too close. I pull back, afraid she’s already sensed the roundness of my belly even through layers of wool and skirts. But she doesn’t fully let me go. Her arms are warm and she smells of roses and spice. Her chin is delicate—just like Elanna’s. “What’s wrong?”

  But despite my effort of control, I find I still can’t speak. I shouldn’t even be holding Teofila like this, as if I have a daughter’s right to her love. Because I lost Elanna, her real daughter. How can I tell Teofila that El has been taken from her, again?

  “Sophy, come sit here.” She guides me over to a settee. I scrub a hand over my cheeks. They’re dry, thank the gods.

  Behind us, Hugh closes the door, but he doesn’t leave. He comes over to a nearby chair and sits, his hands clasped between his knees, his level brown eyes feathered with new lines. This is the man who taught me the history of Eren and Caeris, the stories of the great kings and queens, the rhetoric of Paladisan orators; who filled my ears with philosophy and poetry. Ruadan might have taught me about governance, but Hugh gave me a queen’s education.

  And Teofila gave me music. When I was thirteen or so, I used to get terribly nervous performing in front of guests. She always told me the same thing. Chin up, shoulders back. Tell the nerves to respectfully leave you be. Remember this isn’t about you. It’s about the music.

  But this isn’t about me—it’s about Elanna, and Teofila, and the future of our kingdom.

  So I raise my chin and pull my shoulders back and draw in a breath. “I have terrible news to share with you both. I am so sorry.” And I tell them. As I talk, Teofila’s hands close over mine, gripping harder and harder, and when I finish she’s still holding me, but there’s an emptiness in her eyes.

  Hugh clears his throat. He looks as stricken as she does. “They’ll have taken her to Paladis, then. To the emperor.”

  I nod. “To the Ochuroma.”

  Teofila slowly balls her hands into fists and presses them against her forehead. She breathes through clenched teeth. “So who are we sending to get her back? I’m not going to sit here and—and pray again!”

  Hugh looks at me over the top of Teofila’s head. He doesn’t say anything; he doesn’t need to. We both know that sending someone to rescue Elanna from the Ochuroma prison would be a suicide mission.

  Teofila knows it, too. She brings her fists to her mouth and silently screams into them.

  “Jahan’s there,” I say. “He went back.”

  Teofila’s head snaps up. They both stare at me, and so I explain where Jahan has gone, and why. “Alistar has gone into Tinan as well,” I add, “on the chance they aren’t taking her to Paladis. He and his Hounds will find out all they can.”

  If the Tinani don’t capture them, too. I swallow hard.

  “All right.” Teofila’s still got her fists locked at her mouth. “Maybe it will be all right.”

  But frantic energy still hums off her, a high pulsing note that seems to hit between my eyebrows. I rub at the spot. I want to touch Teofila but don’t quite dare.

  Hugh sinks lower in his chair. “You plan to tell the people, I assume?”

  “Yes, though the Butcher counseled me not.”

  Hugh snorts but manages to withhold his opinion on Lord Gilbert.

  “I’ll tell the ministers first thing in
the morning.” I am suddenly weary down to the depths of my stomach. I want to go up to my rooms, take a bath, dismiss my maids, and finally let myself cry alone, in peace. “Then I’ll make a statement to the people.”

  Teofila says suddenly, “If she’s going to die, I just want to see her one last time. That’s all. Why isn’t there anything I can do but pray? I believe in the gods, but sometimes belief isn’t enough.”

  Hugh and I exchange a glance. I place my hand tentatively on Teofila’s shoulder. I don’t know what to say. Teofila has already lost her husband—though we all feel the ache, and sometimes I wonder if I miss him more than she does. But to lose both him and El…it will be impossible to bear.

  Yet Teofila is the strongest woman I know. If anyone can endure it, it’s her.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

  She looks at me now. Touches my cheek. “Oh, Sophy. You look done in. Why don’t you go rest before supper? You’ve had a long journey here.”

  “But you—”

  “I’ll be all right. I have Hugh here with me. And I…” She shakes her head. “Go, sweet girl. It’s all right.”

  It’s hard not to feel I’ve been dismissed like a child while the adults talk. I kiss her cheek and rise all the same. Give Hugh a brief embrace. He kisses the top of my head, a fatherly gesture. Ruadan never did anything like that. Ruadan was all fire and ideas and plans and doing. It—among other things—drove Teofila mad.

  Now it’s a struggle not to feel that she’s pushing me away, the way she pushed Ruadan away after Elanna was captured.

  I make my way to the door. Turn the knob. Glance back over my shoulder. Hugh’s taken my place on the settee, grasping Teofila’s hand. Their heads are close together.

  I go out before my heart can crack further.

  * * *

  —

  I WALK BLINDLY through the palace, entirely missing the entrance to my own apartments. My feet take me down a set of stairs and down a long corridor to a set of glass doors, their panes gently fogged with warmth. I step inside. The greenhouse is warm and humid. Trees, shrubs, flowers seem to proliferate from every surface, a sweet-smelling greenery.