by Callie Bates
“You’re turning Ereni,” she says all of a sudden. “You understand their games, and their manners.”
I open my eyes. Her chin’s up, and her eyes are dangerous. It’s hard to tell sometimes if Rhia is goading me for the sake of it, or venting a real grievance. This time it seems real enough.
“There’s no other reason why you’d agree to Devalle’s plan,” she goes on. “Why try to placate him? You’re the queen! Tell him to take his ‘Nehish-trained’ guards and stick them up his—”
“Rhia.”
She glares. “It’s not as if he’s genuinely concerned for your safety!”
“He wants to do me a favor,” I say, “so I’ll owe him. I could say no, but I’m curious as to what he wants. There’s also the fact that El’s been captured and we obviously have spies reporting to Tinan, if not Paladis and Baedon, too—”
“Probably among those insufferable guards!”
“I doubt Lord Devalle is that much of a fool.” If the guards are spying and reporting to anyone, it’ll be him. I refrain from pointing this out. “I could use the extra protection, truthfully. Maybe it will even lead to some cooperation between Caerisians and Ereni.”
“You heard what that Grenou called me. The Caerisian. He probably calls you the same.”
“Well, he would at least be accurate.” I sigh. “Rhia, I’m the queen of Eren and Caeris. It’s one country—”
“And it feels like it, as long as you stay out of this damned court!”
“Then maybe you should stay out of it!” I shout back.
She stares at me.
I’m breathing hard. I don’t think I’ve ever shouted at Rhia Knoll before; I’d have thought it was suicide. Right now, I find I don’t care. “I brought you back here with me because I want your help. I need your help. You’re more than the captain of my guard, you’re my friend, and I trust you. I need you. But all you want to do is pick fights and criticize me and the people here, and tell me what a disappointment I am. Well, I’m sorry I’m not Elanna, I’m sorry I don’t have the power of the land, I’m sorry I don’t unite the two cursed countries within my person, but I’m doing my best and I wish you would respect it!”
I stop, panting. My head throbs in time with my pulse, a high, bright, raging chord.
“No one wants you to be Elanna, Sophy,” Rhia says quietly.
I look at her. She’s sober—not angry, as I half expected her to be. The fight seems to have gone out of her. “No?” I say. “Because it seems like this kingdom would be a lot better off if I were the one who got captured, and she were here in my place.”
Tears burn beneath my eyelids. Rhia’s face slides in and out of focus. I’m trying so hard not to cry, but a single furious tear slips out anyway.
“That’s not true,” she says.
I’m shaking my head. “Please go. I need to be alone.”
She hesitates, but I say, “Go. Please.” And she goes.
I let myself cry for exactly ten minutes, because I don’t have any more time to spare. I might have told Rhia how I feel, but it doesn’t make things any better. Instead I merely feel hollow and foolish. I shouldn’t have entrusted my fears to Rhia Knoll; I shouldn’t entrust them to anyone. A queen, Ruadan once said, should be both more and less human than any of her subjects, a figurehead upon which the people can rest their fears.
Yet who am I supposed to turn to, when fear is eating me?
I am more alone than I have ever been in my life. Alistar is in Tinan, and Teofila has hardly left her rooms since the news of El’s capture. I miss Ruadan like a hole in my chest. Usually the memory of his voice, his insights, comforts me. But right now I can’t even remember what he sounded like.
I pull myself together and wipe my eyes. The last thing I need is the servants whispering about the queen’s indulgence in excess emotion; my detractors would have far too much fun with that one.
Fiona taps on the door. “Lady Sophy? Charlot is here. You asked him for a tour of the east wing?”
“Thank you,” I manage. I gather myself. If I feel this lonely, at least I can help someone else.
CHAPTER TEN
“And here is the bathing chamber,” Demetra says. She nods back toward the other refugees, whose voices hum from the great hall. “Marcos mended the pipes, so the hypocaust is working again now. Some of the others have been scrubbing the tiles. They’re rather beautiful—look.”
I smile, leaning down to study the tiles. When Charlot brought me here a few days ago, the bathing house was grimed and dusty, like the rest of the east wing, and the tiles looked brown and ill. Now their original paintings stand out: white backgrounds with elaborate blue-and-yellow flowers.
“It’s lovely,” I say. “I’m glad you’re making yourselves at home here.”
“The children adore it. They say they always wanted to live in a palace.”
“So did I,” I say, surprised to think of it. Though now that I do live in a palace, it’s not exactly the stuff of my girlish dreams. For one thing, I never imagined having to deal with a hundred people all wanting a hundred different things from me, and all in varying states of dissatisfaction.
We climb the stairs back up to the main floor, where the newly cleaned great hall sits full of light. Gone are the piles of furniture and the stink of mouse nests; the refugees have transformed the space, which the Eyrlais mostly used for storage, into one both comfortable and bright. The east wing is the original palace, from before the Paladisan invasion, but Paladisan culture and style obviously took root here long before: Fluted columns adorn the arched windows, and the fireplace is carved with ornate leaf-work. It’s entirely different from the style of Barrody Castle—another reminder of how different Eren and Caeris became over the centuries, even if our people were once one, a thousand years ago.
Children scamper past us, shrieking with laughter as they play a game of catch-me. I sigh. “It feels like home.”
Demetra’s lips tighten, and I realize I’ve said the wrong thing, even if I meant it well. The refugees are far from their true homes; it’s unlikely they’ll ever see them again.
“Though I suppose this is not nearly as pleasant as Ida,” I add hastily, then wince at my own tactlessness. “That’s where you’re from, isn’t it? I’m sorry to remind you of what you’ve lost. It’s thoughtless of me.”
She winces but says, “Truthfully, I long to talk of it. I miss it—” She makes a fist and presses it to the hollow between her stomach and breasts. “—right here. Not the city itself, but my friends. My family.”
“Family?” I glance at her.
“I miss my husband.” She swallows. “And my friend Tullea. She’s the one who smuggled us—and so many others—out of Ida. I hear from her by a system of notes we’ve devised, but not often.”
“A note system?” I ask, curious. “How does it work?”
“We transfer scraps of paper across great distance, with the power of our minds. Tullea invented it. It takes great effort and precision, so we are sparing in our communiqués. But we still write, when we can.” She holds out a tiny piece of paper, hardly large enough to write on. “You see? I just received one before you arrived. I haven’t even had the chance to read it yet.”
“I wish there were an easier way,” I begin. “Not only to communicate, but to—”
A noise interrupts me. It’s a soft grunt—my name, spoken by someone. I turn. Rhia has come into the great hall. She’s pale. There’s something raw and trembling about her, and my heart lurches. All the gods, what now?
“Soph,” she says.
She sticks out her hand. She’s gripping a note between her thumb and forefinger.
“Oh,” Demetra whispers. She’s staring down at the contents of her own note, the one she received from Tullea.
I take the note from Rhia. It’s creased, soft, as if from being
in someone’s coat. I turn it over. Crumbs fall off the red wax seal.
“You opened this,” I say, but my voice comes out flat, not teasing as I meant to.
Rhia hardly blinks. “The messenger had already done it.” She clears her throat. “It’s from the Butcher.”
A wash of cold sweeps up my arms. I think of Alistar, deep in Tinani territory. Of the king of Tinan’s troops. Though I wrote King Alfred a letter, along with the ones I sent to the queen of Baedon and the emperor of Paladis, I haven’t yet received a reply.
Perhaps he deemed one unnecessary.
I break open the letter just as Demetra looks up from her note, her fingers at her lips. “Your Majesty—”
But I already know.
Word from Ida. Elanna dead. Executed by emperor. Tinani troops on the move. Emperor to dispatch black ships. Will return to Laon tomorrow so we can plan.—G.M.
I’m flushing hot and cold, and my heart is pounding so rapidly I think I might faint. El dead? It can’t truly have happened. Not El, with her curling hair and her courage and her stubbornness. Not the Caveadear, whose power is immense enough to move mountains.
Or at least, it was.
“No,” I hear myself saying. “Jahan’s there. Jahan wouldn’t let this happen.”
Demetra is shaking her note. “Tullea says they believe it’s true. She says Jahan has joined the underground, fighting in Elanna’s name. He escaped arrest.” She looks at us. “They’re planning to destroy the fleet that’s meant to sail to Eren, but Tullea doesn’t know if they truly have the power.”
It’s too much. I can’t comprehend it all. “Jahan wouldn’t escape without Elanna. He wouldn’t leave her to die.” I stare at Rhia, willing her to agree with me.
But she doesn’t. She just closes her eyes.
“Teofila,” I whisper, with a gasp. “All the gods, Teofila.”
I have to tell her, but how on earth can I give her this news? How can I tell her that her daughter, her true daughter, is not only captive but dead? How can I break her heart that completely?
It has to come from me, though. Not anyone else.
Numbly, I begin to walk. Rhia trails me, a silent shadow. Back into the main palace; up the stairs. There’s movement in the door of my chambers. Fiona comes out. She’s clutching her apron in both hands. Her face is white.
She already knows.
“Is it true, Sophy?” she demands. “Is the Caveadear dead?”
The footmen in the hall go very still. The mountain women on duty both slowly straighten. All their eyes fall on me. Suddenly, I can’t breathe. I can’t be the one who bears this terrible news, the one who has failed not only Elanna herself, not only Teofila, but the entire kingdom. My heart is ricocheting wildly. I think if I try to speak, I’ll scream.
Yet I have to. It has to be me. They deserve to hear this from my lips.
“We—” My voice breaks; I try again, wetting my lips. They are all watching, not only those in the immediate vicinity but those down the hall. The very rooms seem to be listening. I gather myself, though I want to shrink into nothing. To disappear. “We have only just received a preliminary report.”
Fiona looks at me. She waits. They are all waiting.
“It appears,” I choke out, “that the Caveadear has been executed as a witch by the emperor of Paladis.”
Into the absolute silence, sound rushes in. Whispers rush from room to room; down the hall; from the mountain women to the footmen to the city. An overwhelming cacophony of sound. The hallway blurs. I sway. Rhia seizes my arm; Fiona, the other.
“Sophy,” Rhia barks, “are you all right?”
In my womb, the baby gives a sudden, single kick. This isn’t about me, I remind myself, though my head is still swimming. I can’t collapse; I can’t make a scene. This is about El. It’s about the very kingdom.
And Teofila.
I turn to go to her rooms and stop. Everything falls to white.
Because she’s there in the doorway, staring at me. Clutching the frame with whitened fingers. Her lips move, but no sound emerges.
She heard me. She heard me tell Fiona, the palace, the world, before I told her.
I stumble forward, but she’s already pushing herself back from the doorway. Back into her chamber, her eyes hollow and wild. The door slams.
Footsteps rush up behind me. Hugh. He scarcely spares me a glance. “I’ll see to her.” Then he pushes past me, rapping his knuckles softly on Teofila’s door. He lets himself in.
I stand there, numb. Everything is swimming again, going white and flashing back to color. Teofila doesn’t want comfort from me. She’ll accept it from Hugh, but not me. I can’t comfort the woman who has been a mother to me, now that she lost her true daughter.
I don’t think I can bear this.
Before I can crumple, there are voices behind me.
“Is this true?” a woman demands. I turn slowly. Juleane Brazeur is leading a delegation of ministers—Devalle, Philippe, High Priest Granpier, and more, along with Victoire Madoc. All the gods, I think, not the ministers as well. Juleane is saying, “Has the Caveadear been executed like a common criminal?”
I’ve never seen her so angry. Ordinarily Juleane Brazeur is solid, practically phlegmatic. I glance at Rhia. “How do they know so quickly?” I whisper. I want to say I meant to tell them later, but the truth is I hadn’t even thought of them yet at all.
Rhia looks even more shaken, if possible. “The messenger—I sent him down to the kitchens. He must have told every…” She stops mid-word, her lips open. Staring at me in horror.
Everyone. Everyone in the palace—including the ministers’ various informants—and soon everyone in the city. All of Laon will know Elanna is dead, if they don’t already.
I draw in a trembling breath. If I didn’t feel I’d failed all of Eren and Caeris before, I feel it now, keen and bitter. The Caveadear was captured on my watch, and not one of the useless measures I’ve employed was enough to save her. I couldn’t even manage to contact Jahan.
But in Rhia’s gaze is a question—a truth—even more frightening. If Elanna is dead, what becomes of us?
We have no time to discuss anything further. The ministers have surrounded us. Even Philippe looks angry.
“You should have summoned a council meeting,” Juleane Brazeur says with quiet, furious reproach. “Instead we all heard the truth by gossip.”
“I am told a fleet is due to set sail as well,” Lord Devalle says. “Is this true, Queen Sophy?”
I press my hands to my cheeks. I can’t even think straight, and suddenly, I feel all those years of Ruadan’s training click in. I straighten. To Brazeur, I say, “There was no offense intended. I only just received the news myself. Apparently Jahan is planning an attack on the fleet—”
“Jahan Korakides? The crown prince of Paladis’s best friend?” Devalle lifts a single, skeptical eyebrow.
I can actually feel the blood pulsing in my ears. “Jahan is a friend to Eren and Caeris. He helped defeat the Eyrlais. He—”
“You named him ambassador, did you not?” Devalle says sweetly.
Heat burns into my face. Even now, he’s searching out ways to discredit me—using, most mortifyingly, the truth.
“I heard Jahan Korakides is a sorcerer,” Philippe says unexpectedly. “I heard he’d been arrested along with Lady Elanna.”
Devalle’s mouth thins. He turns his head and looks at Philippe—a long, challenging stare. Philippe’s jaw ticks, but he looks away.
“Foul rumor,” Devalle begins.
“Actually, it’s true,” I say. “Jahan is a sorcerer. And he—”
Juleane Brazeur interrupts. “I am not interested in Jahan Korakides’s identity or whereabouts.” Her voice lashes at me, and I shrink backward instinctively. “What concerns me is the incompetence of this
regime. First the Caveadear is captured—and now she is executed. The Tinani retreat—and now they advance. The emperor of Paladis appears to hesitate—and now he sends a fleet. Our nation is in danger and our ministry has failed to take action to save the situation.”
I want to disappear, but I force myself to face her. “Even if Elanna were here, we would still be at war. You are all part of this cabinet.” I struggle to stay reasonable. “We have known for months it’s only a matter of time before the emperor sent a fleet.”
“If Elanna were here, we would stand a chance of defeating them,” she says coldly. She folds her arms, glancing at High Priest Granpier, who simply shakes his head. To me, she says, “I have supported this regime from the beginning. I stood by your side when you proposed a government that did not equally represent Ereni with Caerisians, because I believed in time we would develop new laws that would allow everyone to be treated fairly. I have advocated for sorcery to be accepted and used. But time and again, this regime has stumbled. And now it appears it is sinking.”
“We can still fight, Mistress Brazeur,” I say, ignoring the stinging in my eyes. “We can fight more fiercely than the Paladisans, Tinani, and Baedoni combined, for we have the most to lose.”
Her gaze tells me I am very young, and terribly foolish. “There will be riots in the streets when this news gets out. The price of grain is already rising without the Caveadear to make wheat miraculously sprout from the earth. Soon people will not be able to afford to buy food. They will starve. They are already afraid, hard as we try to bolster their spirits.” Finally, as if she’s afraid I might not understand, she says, “We risk losing everything we fought to gain.”
I refuse to look away from her, even though tears are filling my eyes, even though I’m sick with shame. “I will not let that happen. I fought for the betterment of this country, and for those who gave their lives to make it so, and I will again.” I swallow hard. “I always will.”