The Soul of Power

by Callie Bates

  “And is he?” Juleane wonders.

  The bespectacled woman shrugs. “So they say. He’s expected to announce it.”

  I say nothing. Clearly the people of Laon do not yet know my father.

  The walk up to Royal Square doesn’t seem as long as it did last night, but my heart has begun to pound and my palms to sweat. Perhaps I shouldn’t have come. Every shout is making me jump.

  Victoire takes my arm. “I told that woman you’re new, fresh from the country,” she whispers. “Don’t worry—no one will recognize you. You look like a damned milkmaid.”

  I force a smile, but I no longer share her confidence, and after last night our brisk pace is stealing my breath far more than it should. I find myself hugging Victoire’s arm tightly as we enter Royal Square, its spacious cobblestones packed with people chanting “Euan!” and “The true king!” and “Bread and coin!” Someone is singing, and someone else is shouldering through the crowd trying to sell suspicious-looking skewers of meat. My stomach rebels at the sight.

  I force myself to ignore my discomfort. Over the hats and heads, I can just make out the palace gates standing open, and the plumed helmets of the guards within. I hope Alain and Sebastien survived their deceit last night; at least I don’t see their bodies hanging from gibbets. As I watch, the guards shift ponderously forward and a gold carriage moves slowly into the opening. Victoire, who’s several inches shorter than I, tugs at my arm. “Who’s there?”

  “My—Euan, I think,” I say, squinting. One man must be wearing a gold diadem; the sunlight glints off it. “And Rambaud, from the looks of it.”

  Around us, the crowd is going mad, jostling forward, shouting about bread and trade and jobs—all the things that I, apparently, failed to give them. And they think my reprobate father is going to do a better job? Anger floods hot into my head. How dare Euan Dromahair take advantage of the Ereni people like this?

  A trumpet blasts, and the crowd settles somewhat. Everyone’s leaning forward, even me, to hear what Euan Dromahair is going to say.

  But when he speaks, his voice is low. Even from here it sounds bored, though I can’t pick out the words, only the tone of them.

  “What?” people are demanding. “What did he say?”

  “Something about the army?”

  “The army? But we want trade! The war is over!”

  Cold runs down my back. Victoire is gripping my elbow. My father is talking again.

  Someone shouts, “No!” over the crowd.

  “What did he say?” Juleane demands of the people in front of us.

  “He said—”

  Deeper into the square, more voices take up a new shout. “Bread and coin! No war!”

  War?

  The man ahead of us looks over his shoulder, his face pale. “He says we’re to sign up. All able-bodied men under thirty are to join the army. We’re to retake Paladis.”

  Just like Euan said they would. I feel my lips twist. He certainly hasn’t wasted any time.

  “But Leontius Saranon is emperor of Paladis now,” Juleane says. “Euan will never defeat him!”

  Shouts are rocking through the square—a dozen voices, a hundred, more.

  “No more war! No more war! Bread and coin!”

  “Euan Dromahair is willing to execute his own daughter,” Victoire says abruptly to those around us. “Is there any limit to what else he might do?”

  The man stares. “You mean Queen Sophy?” He has to shout to be heard.

  The bespectacled woman is nodding. “He had that Caerisian bodyguard flogged here in the square.”

  The crowd is roaring, a living thing, and I am suddenly glad not to be in that carriage between the gates. “We welcomed you!” someone is bellowing at Euan. “And this is how you repay us?”

  “Bread and coin! No more war!”

  The gilded carriage retreats through the gates, and the crowd surges forward, following it. Sudden knowing pricks me. I grab Victoire’s arm. “I have a—”

  The first shot bursts out, interrupting me. Then another. And another. People are screaming, running. The sporadic shots turn into a volley. People are stampeding now—a wave of humanity bursting toward us.

  “Run!” I shout, and then I’m sprinting back down the street as hapless as any fish caught in the current. Aches course up my legs, and cramps are knitting my back, but I push onward. Behind us, the shooting stops and resumes again, an incessant volley. Tears mingle with sweat on my cheeks. People are screaming names, mothers crying out—to no answer. Doors and windows are flung open, people leaning out to demand what’s going on. None of us respond.

  Then we’re at Juleane’s house, bursting to the door. Teofila answers. “Were those shots—?”

  “Where’s Alistar?” I demand.

  She points, and I whirl to see him sprinting into the courtyard. He pushes me into the house, and we all collapse in Juleane’s foyer, panting hard. I cup my hands over my stomach, wincing as my body protests its rough treatment. Demetra isn’t going to be happy with me—nor is my baby. Outside, in the distance, another volley of gunfire ricochets through the air.

  “What happened?” Teofila is asking. Rhia’s emerged from the bedroom, ghostly and pale in a dressing robe.

  “Euan announced that he’s going to conscript people into the army,” Juleane says, still gasping for breath. “People started protesting—and then—then—”

  “He ordered the guards to shoot on the crowd,” I say flatly. I’m numb with horror and yet, somehow, terribly unsurprised.

  Alistar’s nodding. “I got close to the gates. I saw what happened—”

  “You did? You’re lucky you didn’t get shot!” I exclaim.

  He gives me a fierce grin. “I was never in their line of sight. I saw Euan give the order. The guards hesitated. They’re Ereni, most of them, with a Paladisan commander. Euan had to order them three times, and then he threatened to shoot them. The Paladisan captain fired first.”

  “I suppose that bastard Grenou did, too,” I say darkly.

  “I don’t know, but I—”

  A loud pounding on the door interrupts him. We all go very still. Without a word, Alistar and I flatten ourselves against the wall, and Rhia and Teofila shrink back into a doorway. Demetra, who’s emerged to see what’s the matter, halts just out of sight. The pounding comes again. Juleane wipes her mouth with the back of one hand, then steps forward to answer. Victoire widens her stance in the short hallway and picks up a heavy candelabra.

  Juleane opens the door a crack. “Yes?”

  “You need to get out of the city.” It’s a man’s urgent voice, robbed of its usual poise. “They’re at the temple arresting High Priest Granpier. They’ll be here in a matter of an hour. Do you have her?”

  “Granpier?” I say with growing horror. I move forward, gently nudging Juleane out of the way. “I’m here, Philippe. Though you shouldn’t be—it’s too dangerous. Come in.”

  He does. “Thank all the gods.” His eyes are enormous, almost black with fear. “I had to take the risk, and damn Rambaud and my mother if I get caught. There are at least fifty people dead in Royal Square. Perhaps more. Euan’s ordered men to simply be rounded up off the street for this damned army of his—”

  “I suppose Rambaud’s supporters are safe from that, at least,” I say bitterly.

  Philippe’s gaze hardens. “No. Even those of us who have paid him lip service have lost everything. I will be marching on Ida along with the sons of every noble and commoner in Eren and Caeris.”

  “What?” I gasp.

  “We’re nothing but clay to him. Bodies he can use. Euan Dromahair doesn’t give a damn about this country,” Philippe spits, “or the people who handed it over to him, or those who celebrated his return because cursed Ruadan Valtai told them he was the savior of this kingdom for twenty years. We�
�re beneath him, Sophy—all of us. We’re muscle, and he’s going to strip us to reclaim Ida and Paladis.”

  “But the Paladisan army is far superior to any force we have,” Juleane objects. “Not to mention the people of Paladis threw their support behind Leontius.”

  “I know.” Philippe digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Those abominable Saranons—Augustus and Phaedra—insist they have people loyal to them still within the empire, and that if they can raise an army here, their friends will help them overthrow their brother. In the meantime, they’ve sent for some even closer friends to join them here in Eren.” His mouth curves bitterly. “They’ll be rewarding them with houses and land. Guess who they’ll take those from?”

  Slowly, I say, “Did Rambaud know this?”

  “Believe me, Lord Aristide is as surprised as the rest of us. And possibly more devastated than anyone,” Philippe says sardonically. “As is my dear mother. It seems their plans haven’t quite worked out the way they intended.”

  Juleane folds her arms. “Yet it’s the common people who suffer the most for it, as always.”

  Philippe’s chin tilts in acknowledgment. “We all stand to lose everything we gained, not only the Caerisians”—his gaze cuts to me—“but even what we had under the Eyrlais. We’ll have even less than we did under King Antoine.”

  “In the meantime,” I say, “people are dying in the city streets. If they resist, I assume they’ll be shot.”

  He doesn’t need to answer.

  My fingers curl into fists. My father is going to pay for this. I’m not going to let my people suffer, even if I can no longer truly call them my people. Even if I never again sit on the throne.

  But—I glance at the others standing uncertainly behind us—right now the people who matter most to me are in danger. We don’t have a plan, and we don’t have support. If we don’t take care of ourselves, we’ll be in no position to help anyone else. I turn to the others. “Is there somewhere we can go? Somewhere to gather people, outside the city, to start fighting?”

  Teofila and Juleane exchange a look. “It’s not practical,” Juleane begins, “not to house so many…”

  “People survived in the caves when Paladis invaded,” Teofila says. “Some of our people are already there.”

  “You mean the Spring Caves,” I say in sudden comprehension. “But…” People fled there, of course, and have continued to do so in the centuries since. Yet I also suspect that many of them died there.

  Victoire is nodding. “When the Paladisans invaded, the Ereni hid in those caves and attacked them by night.”

  “How will we survive there?” I ask. “Without food, supplies—”

  “The caves are supplied,” Juleane says, with another look at Teofila. “We stockpiled them.”

  I stare between the two of them. Slowly, I say, “You mentioned this when Rambaud staged his coup. When did you do it?”

  “The day you and the Butcher went to Montclair,” Teofila admits. “We didn’t want to frighten you by suggesting we might need an escape from the city. So Juleane and I arranged it ourselves. Word is already out—some people have taken shelter there already. You know Annis, the maid from Barrody who was meant to accompany me to Baedon? She’s overseeing the site.”

  “Is it wise to leave the city?” Alistar asks. “Doesn’t that mean we’re ceding the ground to Euan and Rambaud?”

  “It’s barely beyond the walls,” Teofila says. “It’s the perfect place to gather people from Laon and the country as well.”

  Philippe is nodding. “You should go. Euan doesn’t know the caves exist, and he’s arresting everyone associated with Sophy in the city, hoping he’ll find her.”

  “A reasonable theory,” Juleane says drily.

  Philippe backs toward the door. “I should go.”

  “You could come with us,” I tell him.

  He shakes his head. “I want to help the people here and in the palace, if I can. And I’m more use to you if I can smuggle information out. In the chaos, I doubt I’ve been tracked.”

  I look at him and sigh. No doubt his mother has reclaimed control of the spies who were once hers—or if she hasn’t, she will. And my father is not gentle. Philippe is playing a dangerous game, and he knows it. “Be careful.”

  He touches his fingertips to his heart, and then he’s gone.

  We move quickly. Juleane throws her most important possessions into a small trunk, and Demetra makes me sit for a few minutes with my feet up, drinking a fresh decoction of herbs, while she helps Rhia get dressed. There’s little else to gather. As we go out, Juleane gives the house a final, swift look, like a goodbye. I touch her shoulder; the note pulsing from her is lower and deeper than I have ever heard it. She gives me a tiny nod, though her lips are tight.

  The streets have quieted, though some small groups, like us, are on the move. The houses sit eerily silent, and I feel eyes on us from the windows as we pass. In the distance, a trumpet blares. We break up into groups of two and three, to attract less attention. At least we’re moving more slowly, and Demetra’s new decoction is dulling most of my lingering aches. Somehow I end up walking beside Victoire along the riverfront, in the wide lane behind the warehouses.

  “We’ll send out the news,” she says quietly. “Tell people where we’re hiding. Rally them to us.”

  We walk up a low incline, and I glimpse the open sky at the edge of the city buildings. It’s quiet here; hard to believe that behind us in Laon fifty or more lie dead on the cobblestones before the royal palace. Shop fronts stand quiet as we pass. I stare at them, my mind and heart worn. Numb. “Why would they rally to us, Victoire? We failed them the first time.”

  “We were at war with the whole world, practically,” she points out. “Now we have Emperor Leontius’s help. Elanna and Jahan are coming home.”

  “El’s land magic can’t do everything. Rambaud would still have worked against us, even if she had been there.” I pause. This is hard to admit. “In some ways, he’s right, you know. We claimed equal representation but really we gave the most power to Caeris and Caerisians. Two parliaments would have divided the country further. We might have made things better, but not better enough.”

  Victoire glances at me. “I’ve never heard you talk like that.”

  My eyes smart. “Well, I’m learning. I don’t know why the people of Eren and Caeris would want me on the throne again. I’m not sure I would want me.”

  “You wouldn’t gun people down in the street,” she points out.

  “Faint praise.”

  “And you wouldn’t send them off to a war they have little chance of surviving.”

  “No…”

  She sighs. “The gods know you’re not perfect, Sophy Dunbarron. But none of us are. You at least are willing to see how you could do better, and that’s a damned sight more than most. The people didn’t cast you off the throne, Rambaud did. I think if you talked to people—if you told them what you told me—they’d be willing to give you a second chance. Or at least consider it.”

  “I don’t have an army, at least not here in Eren,” I object, ignoring the warmth that’s spread through me. Victoire Madoc is giving me her support? “Rambaud’s claimed it. I don’t even have any assurances…”

  “The people are enough of an army,” Victoire says. “You can fight without firing a single weapon, if you’re brave enough.” She glances at me. “Oh. You’ve thought of something, haven’t you?”

  “I’ve no idea if it will work.” My thoughts are racing ahead; I grip my hands together, as if they can anchor me in the here and now. It’s not a move I would ordinarily make without the support of the people. But if I do it to win the people—to save our kingdom…

  Quietly, I say, “But I think we can try.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The Spring Caves lie as silent as I remember
, the low dark openings on the ridge facing the city eerie and slumberous. Teofila leads the way into the cave entrance, while Demetra helps Rhia take a seat on a nearby boulder. I breathe in the cool, dark, watery scent—and then my nose catches something else. The thread of smoke.

  Light flickers on the cave roof beyond the springs. A tight humming silence rings through the cave, as if the people in the stone chambers beyond have abruptly stopped speaking.

  Juleane gives a low hoot like an owl.

  A moment later, a woman emerges from behind the statue of the goddess, bearing a raised lantern. She’s an Ereni countrywoman, judging by her black bell-sleeved dress and simple red-and-white apron. When she sees us, she brightens. “They’re here!” she calls over her shoulder.

  A familiar rosy-cheeked girl comes out behind her. “Annis!” I exclaim.

  She rushes over and throws her arms around me. “Oh, Queen Sophy! I knew they would get you out.”

  “Well, we know the truth about my father now,” I say grimly. I look at the Ereni woman. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Sophy Dunbarron.”

  “I’m Brigitte Paquet,” she says, “Your Majesty.”

  “Just Sophy,” I say firmly. “I no longer have a crown, and even if I did, I prefer to be the first among equals, not Your Majesty.”

  Her eyes have widened, and so have Annis’s. But then she starts to smile. “Yes, Your M—Sophy.”

  There’s another movement in the cave. “Sophy!”

  I almost scream. “Fiona! Isley—Moyra—Kenna—” For it’s my maid and all of my former guards, rushing out from the cave tunnel, sweeping me into enthusiastic hugs. They look a bit gaunt, perhaps, but otherwise unharmed.

  “What are you doing here?” I demand. “Did Teofila—”

  “She told us of this place,” Fiona says, nodding. “When Rambaud’s people claimed the palace, Isley found me. We sneaked out, along with all the other Caerisian staff we could find.”

  “We acted quickly enough,” Isley says. “They weren’t looking for us yet—they thought we were too ill to know what had happened.”