The Chalice and the Crown

by Kassandra Flamouri

  “It’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?” I ask Luca. “Breaking with Bard and the Bird’s Path?”

  “If you think so, I trust you,” Luca says, but his reassuring smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s your decision.”

  I purse my lips, irritation and disappointment pinching my belly. That night, the night of terrible truths, Luca and I came so close to speaking our own truths, things that must remain unspoken for both our sakes. Though the words remained unsaid, we crossed a line, and somehow we haven’t been able to find our way back. We tiptoe around each other as though what lies between us is a bomb that might explode if one of us gets too close. It was easier before, when we could pretend we were nothing more than friends…and I miss him, because now we’re not even that.

  “It isn’t just my decision,” I argue, ignoring the silent alarm bells that ring in my chest. “It affects you—it affects everyone—if we bring this to your brother.”

  “You needn’t worry on my account,” Luca says, his voice flat. “You know I hate lying to him. Keeping it a secret…it’s treason.”

  “But do you think—”

  “Curse it,” Luca mutters, and nods toward the Temple gates. “Speak of rain, and the clouds roll in.”

  Bard marches through the courtyard, his dark expression and aura of contained ferocity parting the crowd before him like the Red Sea. My stomach drops. Bard is the very last person I want to see right now—or ever, if I could have my way about it. I pull Kirit more securely into my arms and hide my face in his fur.

  “Sasha,” Bard says, planting himself right in front of me, “I must speak with you.”

  I can’t think of anything to say that’s both reasonable and honest, so I settle for honest, my voice muffled by Kirit’s fur. “I don’t want to.”

  “You are acting like a child,” Bard says, his eyes narrowing. “I gave you what you asked for, and you don’t like it. But it’s time to set aside your anger.”

  Shame floods my body and spills over into a deep blush. He’s not wrong, but his self-righteous patronizing sets my teeth on edge.

  “I have good reason to be angry. How long would you have kept your secrets if I hadn’t forced your hand?” I snap, looking up. “Would you have told me at all?”

  Bard looks at me steadily for a moment, then says, “I don’t know. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was protecting you.”

  “Well, it wasn’t, and you weren’t.”

  “Evidently.” Bard spreads his hands. “I was wrong, and I must beg your pardon. You can trust me, Sasha. I swear it on Nadia’s grave. There are no more secrets for me to keep.”

  I glare at him with baleful eyes. Despite everything, I do believe him. But the weight of his lies—and his truths—drag on me, cut me, and bruise me like shackles. I’ll forgive him, or at least work with him. But first I want to hurt him, make him carry the weight with me. It’s childish, even cruel, a desire born of fear and frustration and my own pain. Baba Nadia would be ashamed of me, I know, but the words burst out of me before I can rein them in.

  “You told me my grandmother would never break her vows to you, but has it occurred to you that she must have married immediately after your death—and that the baby was born six months later? But then, I suppose you’d have no way of knowing. You never knew your daughter’s birth date. You never knew her.”

  Bard stares at me expressionlessly, his face and body utterly still. Kirit whines and presses his nose into the hollow of my throat, as if to stem the flow of words. Luca stares at the ground. Perhaps he can’t bear to look at me. I wouldn’t, in his place. But I press on ruthlessly, unable to contain the fear and spite burning like acid on my tongue.

  “Why would Robert Chantry marry a pregnant woman he had known for only a few months—unless he had reason to believe the child was his?”

  “Perhaps he was simply a decent man,” Bard says softly. “Or perhaps he loved her.”

  I snort derisively. “I envy your faith.”

  “You should share my faith,” Bard says, his jaw tightening. “But instead you insult my wife, your own blood, for no reason but that you’re angry and frightened. You must be stronger than that, Sasha, if you are to survive this. And you must listen to me.”

  I can feel the weight of his gaze as he turns his eyes pointedly to the moonstone resting just under the hollow of my throat, right in the center of my Mark. Guilt wars with anger at his accusations, both spoken and unspoken. The righteous edge to my anger fades, leaving me feeling small and silly and stupid. Because he’s right—I know Baba Nadia loved him. Hadn’t I said as much the night he confessed? I didn’t mean what I said. I just wanted to hurt him, and now I’m angry at both of us and ashamed of myself to boot.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say, my voice harsh. “My survival isn’t your problem. Not anymore.”

  Bard gives me a sharp look. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I don’t want or need anything from you. You lied to me, jerked me around like a puppet on a string. You’re not the only one who can help me.”

  “You’re going to the king.” Bard pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Sasha, please, don’t do anything rash. I know how hard it is to wait, but you won’t have to wait much longer. I swear it.”

  “How can you expect me to trust you?” I cry. “You—”

  “Protected and sheltered you to the best of my ability,” Bard snaps. “And you are alive today because of it. Wait just a few hours longer. That’s all I ask. If you still want to petition the king after you’ve heard what I have to say, I won’t try to stop you.”

  I waver, curiosity and doubt warring with mistrust. Finally, I nod.

  Bard’s face softens. “Thank you. I will call on you at the sound of the first bell. Be ready.” He turns on his heel and stalks away.

  Luca and I stand for a moment in silence. He opens his mouth, then shuts it again and shakes his head.

  “What?” I ask, my eyes narrowing.

  Luca’s face closes like a shuttered window. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You think I—”

  “I think I’d better go,” he says quietly. “Costi is expecting me.”

  His kiss on my cheek is light and dry. At the very moment his lips leave my skin, he leaves me in just the same way: quickly and without a backward glance.

  Kirit whines, his little head twitching back and forth as he looks from me to Luca’s retreating form and back again. I cuddle him closer and take a breath to calm myself; stopping tears before they rise is second nature to me now.

  The sunny spring day seems suddenly colder and dimmer. Still holding onto Kirit both for warmth and comfort, I travel the now-familiar route back to Luca’s house. For a while, I thought that I might eventually come to think of the place as something like a home, but that hope evaporated weeks ago.

  I never did tell Luca exactly what Bard said about my chances of returning to my own world, and he never asked. Maybe he was trying to be considerate, or supportive. Our…association, or whatever it is we have, has grown so fragile and brittle that he probably feels he doesn’t have the right to pry. If so, he’d have a point.

  But I hate it, and I’m beginning to suspect he hates me. I wish I could tell him I never wanted this—the silence, the distance. I wish I could tell him what I do want. But what I want is exactly what I can’t have. I’m leaving, one way or another. When the Pall is lifted, I’ll either be a world away or dead. What kind of monster would I be if I asked for his love or offered him mine, knowing that it can’t last?

  The house seems cold and empty when I reach it, and even a roaring fire in the hearth can’t dissipate the chill. I sit at the kitchen table and fiddle with potions and poisons, but my heart isn’t in it. I give up after an hour and take myself to bed, where my heavy heart drags me into a fitful sleep.

  When I wake, I find Luca waiting in the kitchen, mending what looks like a leather harness of some kind. When I sit, he slides a bowl
of fruit and nuts in my direction without looking at me.

  I ignore the fruit. Food is the last thing I want right now. My stomach is roiling, and my lungs feel as though they’re tied in a knot. The knot tightens as the minutes tick past in uncomfortable silence. I stare at my hands, my knees, the flickering fire—anywhere but at him. I open my mouth several times to say something —anything—but the words stick in my throat. Finally, Luca speaks.

  “The eastern passes will be open in a matter of weeks,” he says, his voice bland. “I suppose Bard wants to take you to the Apostate as planned.”

  “Probably.” I keep my voice light despite the tightness in my throat. “What will you—”

  I cut myself off, and he doesn’t press. It’s none of my business what he does after I’m gone—or if I’m gone. If he still wants to take his information to the king, he can. I believe Mother Wenla would support him. She doesn’t seem the type to be content with operating in the shadows, treating the symptoms instead of the disease, not if there’s a choice about it. A thrill of fear lances through my bones at the thought of Luca fighting openly against the House of Light and Shadow. But the reaction, though visceral and immediate, is hastily suppressed. It’s not my place to worry for him.

  It’s almost a relief when Bard arrives, grim-faced and determined. He shoves right by Luca and into the study where he gave us our “lesson” so many months ago. It seems like an age has gone by since he showed us the gruesome images of child sacrifice, but I can remember every detail with painful clarity.

  Luca and I follow and take our seats. I cross my arms to suppress a shiver.

  “So. What do you want?”

  “What I’ve always wanted, Sasha,” Bard says. “I want to see you safe and freed from the Pall.”

  “By taking me to the Apostate.” I swallow, suddenly overcome by a rush of sorrow. “Yes, we guessed as much.”

  “Actually, no.”

  Luca and I exchange a glance and then stare at Bard.

  “No?” Luca leans forward, his hands clasped loosely between his knees. “Is there an alternative you haven’t shared with us? I was under the impression that the Apostate is the only one with the both the ability and inclination to safely remove the Pall.”

  “He is,” Bard says. “But the Apostate is coming here.”

  My eyes widen. “Why?”

  “For you,” Bard says simply. “And for the kingdom. I sent word months ago informing him of Lucoran’s offer of aid, and my departure from our established procedures. He is most eager to meet with both of you.”

  “Why are you telling us now?” Luca asks, eyes narrowing.

  “Mother Wenla has received word from the Terrace that Councilman Orean has been arrested for treason,” Bard says. “The announcement will be made in three days. Orean was the driving force behind the House’s influence on the Council. Without him, their position will be greatly weakened. I believe this may be the opportunity we’ve been waiting for. With the House’s primary line of influence severed, and with the king’s own brother willing to speak for our cause—”

  “We bring our case to the king and his council. I tell my brother I’ve been lying to him for months and then ask him to upend life as we know it…well, good. I’m tired of keeping secrets.” Luca’s eyes flicker to mine, then return to Bard. “What of Sasha?”

  “I have arranged to meet the Apostate in a village some distance from the City,” Bard says, looking at me. “From there we can find a safe place, away from prying eyes. He will lift the Pall from you, Sasha. You will be free.”

  Fear freezes my throat. Yes, I’ll be free. But free to rebuild my life in the world of my birth, free to build a new life in this world…or free to give myself over to death? I shiver as I realize the option that should scare me the most has a certain appeal in its simplicity.

  “Will you come?” Bard presses, his eyes boring into mine.

  I look at Luca for help, but he only shrugs. Here is an option that gives us both what we want. I can think of no reason to reject Bard’s offer other than fear and stupid, pigheaded stubbornness. So I don’t.

  The study feels suddenly empty and yet much too crowded after Bard leaves. I turn to Luca and find I can’t meet his eyes.

  “I…I need to see Sadra.” My voice comes out hollow and faint. “I need to say goodbye. Can you help me?”

  “Yes,” he says, brushing his thumb across my cheek. “I’ll help you.”

  * * *

  It takes Luca two days to arrange, but he does succeed in getting a message to Sadra. The evening of the third day sees us descending into the tunnels for the first time since my escape. I hesitate at the dark hole in Luca’s courtyard, remembering the last time I entered these tunnels. My breath catches in my throat as a surge of remembered pain bursts in my ribs and head. I shudder and shift my shoulders to shake off the memory. Kirit crouches under a nearby bush, sulking at being ordered to stay.

  Luca calls to me gruffly, his voice echoing through the inky blot of the tunnel’s entrance. “Come on, then. Do you want to see Sadra or not?”

  “Of course I do,” I reply, and let him help me as I lower myself into the ground.

  “This way.”

  He keeps hold of my hand as he leads me forward, guided by the flickering light of a torch.

  “Be careful,” he says when I trip. “If you break your leg, I might not be able to get you out.”

  I can’t think of anything to say to that. In silence, we pass through tunnels and caverns filled with stalactites and stalagmites until we come to a passage that’s hardly more than a crack in the rock. At Luca’s direction, I climb in. I fit, but only barely. I look back at Luca with raised eyebrows.

  “You’ll never make it,” I say flatly. “There’s no way.”

  “Hah,” he says, a glimmer of humor entering his voice as he passes me the torch. “Watch me.”

  Luca carefully inserts himself into the crack and, with some acrobatic wiggling from him and a lot of tugging from me, manages to squeeze through.

  “I was a lot smaller the last time I came through here,” he puffs, laughing a little at his torn and grimy clothing.

  He takes the torch back and sets off. I follow happily enough. I’m just relieved that he seems to want to talk to me again. We’ve barely spoken since Bard’s visit.

  “How long has it been?” I ask.

  “Ten years,” Luca says, his voice strained. “I was eleven. The king—the old king, that is, my father—was dying. I was so sure that if only the Healers’ Gifts were stronger, they’d be able to save him. I had this mad idea that the King’s Chalice was hidden in the tunnels somewhere.”

  He climbs down a small ledge and lifts me down after him. “Costi came looking for me. He was the only one who had a hope of finding me in here back then. Ari—our sister—she probably could, now, but she was only a little girl at the time. Costi was mad as a boar with a bee-sting when I slipped through that crack. He couldn’t fit, and I wasn’t coming out for anything. They could probably hear him shouting at me all the way back at the palace with the way everything echoed.

  “I searched for the Chalice for hours. I didn’t find it, of course. But I did find my way to the cloister’s wine cellars.” He laughs again. “I scared two drunk initiates out of their skins. I wouldn’t tell them how I got there—and Costi didn’t, either. I suppose he wanted to keep the secret of the tunnels in the family. They were happy enough to keep our secret if we kept theirs.”

  “Will your brother be angry that I know about the tunnels?”

  Luca snorts. “He’ll have a lot more than that to be angry about by the time we’re through with him.”

  “I suppose he will,” I murmur.

  We continue on in silence broken only by my panting as the climb grows steeper. Not for the first time, I curse the Pall. Even with Mother Wenla’s weekly “boosts,” I tire much more quickly than I should. I’ve had to work twice as hard for half the results in my workouts with Luca, and I’m st
ill nowhere near my former level of conditioning. My weakness is an inescapable reminder of the Pall, the House, and the fate that might still be waiting for me.

  Two years, Sadra told me. Maybe less. But months have passed since that conversation. Who knows how long I really have, now? I shiver and keep walking.

  By the time we reach the cloister cellars, I’m gasping. My legs are shaking so hard that Luca has to pull me bodily out of the tunnel. I sprawl on the floor, my back propped against the wall.

  “Here.” Luca tucks a flask into my hand. “Drink.”

  I sip from the flask, careful not to drink too much or too quickly. My hand jerks as the door creaks open—but it’s only Sadra. Joy and relief give me the strength to push myself off the wall and stagger forward. I fall into her arms with a cry, my face buried in her neck.

  “Bozhe, I missed you,” I sigh.

  She gives me a squeeze in response and steps back, still gripping my shoulders.

  “You have no notion how glad I am to see you,” Sadra says, looking me over. “Are you alright? I hated myself for leaving you after Cimari hurt you like that, but I had to. You understand, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do,” I assure her. “Bard told me what you did. It was brilliant. But what about you? Is it really terrible here?”

  “Not terrible, exactly,” Sadra says. “Just painfully, numbingly boring. We’re here to contemplate the abstract and intangible: We study movement, but we don’t dance. We study the theory of sound, but never sing. We—never mind. I take it back. Yes, it is terrible. Stars, I can’t stand it!” She laughs. “But enough of that. Tell me everything!”

  We settle ourselves among the crates and potato sacks, getting as comfortable as we can. Luca and I tell her everything we can think of, from Bard’s slip with Luca to the confrontation in the tavern to Bard’s shocking proposal. Sadra listens intently. I can see emotions flickering across her face, but she doesn’t interrupt. When we finish, she sits back, shaking her head dazedly.