The Empire of Dreams

by Rae Carson

  There is nothing I can say in response to this, so I bow my head. “Your Highness.”

  He taps his finger on the desk and stares at me thoughtfully. “Elisa will return in a month or so. I expect she’ll offer you a boon. I wanted to give you time to consider. Think about what you’ll ask of her.”

  I inhale sharply through my nose.

  “Red?”

  I hate asking for anything, but . . . “I already know.”

  “Really? I mean, tell me. What do you want?”

  I grin, my heart swelling with hope. “Everything. Rosario. I want everything.”

  He raises a questioning eyebrow, and I tell him my plan.

  We return to training. Master Santiago meets us in the sand one morning, and his face is dejected, his eyes clouded.

  “I must explain a thing to you,” he says, pacing along our staggered line. “Sergeant DeLuca hired me to advance your training. He told me to make you strong, but also to withhold knowledge of true swordsmanship. He said there was a spy among the first-year recruits, and he didn’t want to enhance the skills of an enemy until we could suss him out.”

  He whips his sword around, making it sing through the air. “Ah, but he lied. He was the real traitor, or rather, the real traitor’s fool. I guess that makes me the fool’s fool. But had I known . . . I never would have . . . I am dreadful with words; truly, my words are a foul cacophony of noise, unfit for decent ears, and anyway, who wants to learn the three basic stances from which to launch an attack?”

  “Hear! Hear!” says Pedrón, raising a wooden sword in his left hand.

  “Hear! Hear!” we echo.

  And with that, our official sword training finally begins.

  Two months later, Empress Elisa returns. We know it because the monastery bells sing a welcoming hymn, and we are relieved of training for an entire afternoon in celebration.

  I’m desperate to see everyone—Elisa, Hector, Mena, Mara, the new baby—but no one sends for me or comes to see me. Maybe they don’t want to. Iván believes they must stay away to avoid the appearance of bias or favoritism while they sort out everything that happened. I hope he’s right.

  Lord-Commander Dante returns, though, and he thanks us for our service, informs us that investigations are under way so that he and Elisa can come to a full understanding of what transpired and why.

  We break into cheers when he promotes Guardsman Bruno to the rank of sergeant. And we break into even louder cheers when he announces that we have proven ourselves, and no more cuts will be forthcoming.

  I look around at my fellow recruits, my heart full. Iván, Pedrón, the Arturos . . . I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to any of them. And now we’ll all be together for our second year.

  The desert blooms with spring, scenting the air with creosote and lavender, sending orange bougainvillea and purple wisteria creeping up the castle walls.

  A month after the empress’s return, we are ordered to report the following morning to the audience hall. All of us are named in the summons: me and the other first years, Tanix and the second years who helped us, Sergeant Bruno, Itzal and the stewards, stable hands, cooks and blacksmiths, Carilla, Valentino.

  Bruno gives us extra time that evening to launder our clothes, telling us we must look our very best.

  I finally dye the white streak in my hair, using dye that Rosario himself ordered specially for me. Iván helps, scrubbing it into my hair while I hold my head over the drain in the laundry room.

  “It’s taking really well,” he assures me, which I appreciate, because I haven’t seen a mirror in months.

  I don’t sleep a wink that night. Strangely, I miss Aldo. I miss whispering with him at night, even the way his occasional turning caused the bunk to creak, reminding me he was there. I miss seeing his face looking down at me in the morning.

  Being a Royal Guard is dangerous work. I knew when I took to the sand that if I made it through recruitment, I would eventually lose friends to death. I didn’t anticipate that I’d lose one to betrayal, or that the loss would ache just as fiercely.

  He’s not who I thought he was, I remind myself. He was never a true friend.

  But even if I make peace with Aldo’s loss, I know it won’t help me sleep. Nothing will help me sleep. The soldier sickness will be with me always, no matter how much time passes, no matter how many victories are won.

  So I make my bed on the floor and nest myself into the corner. I clutch my Godstone to my chest and make the choice to be at peace with myself.

  The next morning we march, bathed and laundered and looking our very best, straight from the barracks and into the audience hall. My heart races, and my throat feels tight.

  We are met at the door by Carilla and Valentino. Conde Valentino, I remind myself, for he has taken over rulership of Ciénega del Sur. His father still rots in the prison tower, awaiting his execution.

  The double doors swing open, and we gasp. The entire court is in attendance.

  Silence greets us as we enter and begin our walk down the aisle toward the throne and dais. Then the muttering starts.

  They’re staring at my hair, at my dyed white streak, which is no longer white but rather bright, bright red like a ruby. For no matter what happens today, I am Red. Red Sparkle Stone, citizen of Joya d’Arena and descendant of Invierne, by birth and by choice, and my name is beautiful and perfect, as it has always been.

  Elisa sits on the throne, wearing her crown of shattered Godstones, and how she manages to look as regal as ever while holding a swaddled baby is a wonder. Hector stands at her right shoulder, and when he notes my red streak, a hint of a smile quirks his lips. Rosario stands at the empress’s left shoulder, holding tight to Ximena’s hand. The little princess grins, showing off a huge gap in her teeth.

  Mara and the Quorum of Five stand behind them, looking on like indulgent parents.

  I yearn to run to them all, but I don’t dare. I’m just a Guard recruit.

  We reach the end of our march. The audience hall rests in silence.

  The empress stands. It’s like a thunderclap when, as one, every single recruit, noble, and servant drops to their knees.

  Elisa hands the baby to her husband.

  “Rise, Royal Guard, recruits, stewards, courtiers, and staff,” she says.

  We obey.

  “Traitors rose among your ranks. They threatened this empire. Took Joyan lives to further their own selfish causes. Yet you stayed true. More than that, you dedicated yourselves to exposing these traitors. You prepared yourselves beyond the scope of your expectations and training. And when my heir and our empire were at their most vulnerable, you risked life and limb to save us all. Therefore, it is my great pleasure to bestow upon each and every one of you the imperial medal of honor for acts of extreme loyalty.”

  The audience cheers.

  I feel a little dizzy. All my friends are being honored. All of them.

  When the cheers die down, Elisa continues. “You must forgive me, for this is the largest conferring of the medal of honor in the history of Joya d’Arena. Such a pinning ceremony would last until the night. Lord-Commander Dante will dispense medals at a later time. But, for now . . .”

  She pauses. Looks at me. Smiles a smile that makes my heart ache.

  “Recruit Red, Recruit Iván, please step forward.”

  We do. My legs are shaking. My fingers are numb. I’m not sure why. I know what I want. It shouldn’t be so terrifying to ask for it.

  “We conducted a thorough investigation of events. It became clear that the two of you displayed incredible leadership, uniting recruits, pursuing inquiries about a potential traitor, ensuring that Prince Rosario had a protective fighting force with which to defend this empire. Therefore, it pleases me to bestow upon you both the very highest honor in the empire, the Queen’s Star for acts of honor and bravery in circumstances of extreme danger.”

  Once again the audience erupts into cheers, and no one cheers louder than the Royal Guard at our backs.
<
br />   Lord-Commander Dante hands Elisa the medals. She steps forward to pin them herself, first to the collar of Iván’s shirt, and then to mine. The empress and I are face-to-face when she whispers, “I like your hair.”

  She returns to the throne and sits. “Now, Recruit Iván, ask a boon, and if it is both reasonable and within my power, I shall grant it.”

  Iván bows. “I wish no boon save this,” he says. “Simply a declaration, signed by Your Majesty’s own hand, that all past sins perpetrated by any previous rulers of the countship of the Eastern Reaches have been redeemed through blood and sacrifice, and that it shall forever remain a beloved and loyal vassal of this empire.”

  Elisa inclines her head. “It shall be done. And you, Recruit Red? What boon will you ask? If it is both reasonable and within my power, I shall grant it.”

  This is what I’ve been waiting for.

  I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Rosario catches my eye, gives me a slight nod.

  I try again. “If it please Your Majesty,” I begin, my voice reed-thin. “I ask that you reconsider the adoption petition we put forth together in this very throne room almost a year ago.”

  The audience murmurs. Elisa frowns. “The chamber already voted. What has been done by the chamber cannot be undone by me.”

  “The chamber voted to deny adoption with inheritance,” I clarify. “As delineated in article fifty-seven, section eight, of the Articles of the Empire. However, the Articles do not address adoption without inheritance.”

  My heart is racing now. It feels as though all the air has been sucked out of the audience hall.

  Elisa nods, considering. She says, “And of course, all powers not specifically delineated by the Articles remain with the crown.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” I squeak out.

  “So you’re saying . . .” Do I imagine that her voice wavers a little? Beside her, Hector, Rosario, and Mara . . . they’re all still as statues, barely breathing, waiting to hear what comes next.

  The empress’s thoughtful gaze deepens. Adopting me without making me an heir confers little political advantage. She will do it only if she wants me. Just me.

  Hector reaches down for his wife’s shoulder, squeezes.

  Elisa says, “You’re saying you would like to become our daughter, even if it means relinquishing all claim to the rights and powers of the throne. Even if it means you will be struck from the line of succession, your title of princess an honorific only?”

  I can hardly get the words out. “Yes, Your Majesty. More than anything.”

  The audience murmurs again, but this time there is a more favorable tone to it. Murmurs definitely have tones. Or do I imagine the sense of approval emanating at my back?

  In a stronger voice, I add, “And truth be told, being an inheriting princess wouldn’t work for me. You see, I want to remain in your Guard.”

  Elisa launches to her feet. Her chin quivers. She gestures for Hector, Rosario, and Ximena to accompany her, and together they rush down the steps.

  “My Red,” she says, opening her arms wide, and I go to her like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

  Her arms wrap me tight. Then Hector’s and Rosario’s. Tinier arms clutch my waist.

  “My sky,” Hector says. “I’m so proud of you.”

  “Welcome to the family, little sister,” says Rosario.

  “I knew you would be my sistew,” says Mena. “I knew it!”

  “Look,” Elisa says, brushing aside the swaddling from the sleeping face of the infant in Hector’s arms. “It’s time to meet your baby brother.”

  I sit on the arena wall, my legs dangling over the side. Iván sits beside me. Pedrón is a few paces away, collecting bets from the Arturos. Tall Arturo is our squad leader now. Iván and I split most of the vote, allowing Arturo to overtake us both. Which is perfectly fine with all of us; he’ll be a great leader.

  Below us is an assembly of children, ranging from ages twelve to eighteen. This year, there are nearly forty, in various styles and quality of dress. They’ve taken to the sand in hopes of making it through recruitment training and becoming Royal Guards.

  Two of them are girls.

  I’m unsurprised when Prince Hector strides toward us; he often attends recruitment day. Everyone begins snapping to attention, accosting him with a chorus of “Good morning, Your Highness,” but he waves us at ease. “Placing bets, I take it?” he says to me.

  “We would never,” I say, even though I’m the worst liar who ever lived.

  He grins. Then he leans down and kisses the top of my head.

  “Papá!” I whisper in protest. “Not in front of everyone.”

  “They’re used to it,” he says. “You’ve already been my girl for eight years.” To everyone else he says, “Enjoy the show,” and he strides away to join another group of onlookers.

  “That tall fellow looks promising,” Iván says, pointing to a boy whose incredible height makes him a head taller than the next tallest recruit. “Who’d you bet on?”

  “Her.” I point. “Carilla. She’s going to surprise everyone.”

  He snorts. “She’s already a favorite. Everyone knows she’s Rosario’s guardian.”

  “But now that the secret is out, she might as well train publicly.”

  “Actually, I bet on her too.”

  I smile up at him, marveling that I ever thought him horrible.

  “We’ve come a long way,” he says, as if discerning my thoughts.

  “Even made some friends.”

  “Not us, though.”

  “Of course not. We’ll never be friends.”

  He fails to hide his smile, looking down at the recruits in the sand as they’re paired off for sparring. The morning sun peeks through the palace towers, bathing the stone walls in light and heat. “Well, Princess,” he says. “How does it feel to be the first girl to survive a year of recruit training?”

  “Not as good as it’s going to feel to become the first lady-commander.”

  His lips twitch. “You’ll have a good shot at it, your mother being the empress, your father being a former lord-commander.”

  I raise an eyebrow at him. “My parents will be harder on me than anyone. That’s how they are.”

  Iván’s gaze moves toward my father, who is chatting easily with a group of nobles who’ve come to watch the spectacle. “He’s the kind of father who’ll always show up, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you don’t hate it.”

  “No.”

  He bumps my shoulder with his own. “Just the same, I might give you some competition for that commander position.”

  “Good! Though, before we think about that too much . . .”

  “We have to survive year two.”

  “We will,” I tell him with conviction. “All of us, together.”

  Author’s Note

  POST-traumatic stress disorder affects approximately 3.5 percent of adults in the United States in any given year. Like all mental illnesses, it rarely affects two people in the exact same way. I wrote Red’s experience with PTSD to reflect my own: her sleeping challenges, a socially embarrassing startle reflex, the inability to perceive love from others (even when it’s obvious to everyone else), haunting but imperfect memories of traumatic events.

  I’m only an authority on my own experience. So, if you suspect that you or someone you love suffers from PTSD, I strongly recommend talking to a mental health professional. Treatment for PTSD has come a long way, and great help exists. I’m rooting for you.

  In writing Red’s story, I’m indebted to the following saintly humans:

  My husband, C.C. Finlay, who read multiple drafts and understood when I had to occasionally step away and hide in a cool, dark, safe place.

  My whole team at Greenwillow and HarperCollins, but especially my editor, Martha Mihalick, and my publisher, Virginia Duncan, for saying yes to this book so quickly and without hesitation, and then waiting patiently while I took my da
mn time.

  Dr. Erin Murrah-Mandril, assistant professor of English and core faculty member for the Center for Mexican American Studies at the University of Texas at Arlington, who applied her vast knowledge and reading experience to the text.

  Shenira Becker, PsyD, who read with an eye toward the experience of trauma and its aftermath.

  Early readers Melanie Castillo, Kristine Piedad, and Greg van Eekhout, who all gave editorial feedback based on their own knowledge and perspectives.

  And last but never least, all my incredible readers who contacted me over the years to demand Red’s story. This one is for you.

  About the Author

  RAE CARSON is the author of two bestselling and award-winning trilogies. Her debut, The Girl of Fire and Thorns, was named a William C. Morris Award finalist and an Andre Norton Award finalist. Walk on Earth a Stranger was longlisted for the 2015 National Book Award and won the Western Writers of America Spur Award. Her books tend to contain adventure, magic, and smart girls who make (mostly) smart choices. Rae Carson lives in Arizona with her husband.

  www.raecarson.com

  Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.

  Books by Rae Carson

  The Girl of Fire and Thorns

  The Crown of Embers

  The Bitter Kingdom

  The Shadow Cats

  The Shattered Mountain

  The King’s Guard

  The Girl of Fire and Thorns Complete Collection

  The Empire of Dreams

  Walk on Earth a Stranger

  Like a River Glorious

  Into the Bright Unknown

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