The Alcazar

by Amy Ewing

  The dwelling that sat at the crest of the hill was a blue as brilliant as Sera’s hair, and she liked it immediately. A low stone wall surrounded the neatly kept yard and the door was painted a welcoming yellow. A thin finger of smoke rose from the chimney and curtains patterned with flowers fluttered in the open windows. From inside, Sera heard the faint sounds of children laughing.

  The man hurried up a walkway lined with forsythia, its sun-colored flowers matching the door. He ushered them inside and called out, “Mistress Phebe, I have brought Mr. Byrne and his company!”

  The room was large and airy, its walls painted white and adorned with shells and flowers. On one side was a long table made of driftwood with two benches and an assortment of candles in its center, all burned down to varying heights. On the other, closest to the door, was a large bay window with a curved couch in front of it, a rocking chair, a small pouf, and a low table covered in books and newspapers. A wooden horse sat in one corner surrounded by other toys—a duck with wheels on a string, a spinning top, a miniature watering can.

  A woman came hurrying into the room. She had brown skin like Agnes, but with black hair that was swept up and pinned with seashells. She wore a simple gown of pink silk, and her face broke into a smile when she saw them.

  “Thank you, Aeden,” she said to the servant. “That will be all for this evening.”

  The man seemed reluctant to leave. “Are you certain, mistress? I could—”

  “That will be all,” the woman said again, a lick of iron in her tone, and the man bowed low and left the dwelling. She took a step toward them, her eyes fixed on Agnes. “So,” she said. “You must be Agnes.”

  “I—I am,” Agnes stammered.

  “I am Phebe Ofairn. My brother has told me so much about you. It is an honor to have you in my home.”

  Agnes shifted, uncomfortable with the praise. “Well, um, thank you for having me. Us. Eneas was always . . .” Her voice trailed off. “Is he all right? Have you had any word from him?”

  Phebe gave her a gentle look. “Don’t fear, child. He is fine. I received a letter from him—he left Old Port not a day after you did to return to Pelago. He felt it altogether too dangerous to stay in the city. Now that he had helped you escape, he could not risk working for your father anymore.”

  Agnes exhaled. “Oh, that’s wonderful news.”

  Phebe’s dark eyes turned to Sera. “And you must be Sera. Leo told me all about you.”

  Sera felt the time for hiding her face was over. She carefully lifted off the headdress and Phebe gasped, one hand flying to her chest.

  “In the name of the goddesses,” she murmured. “You do look just like Saifa.”

  “I am no goddess,” Sera said. “I am a Cerulean.”

  Phebe’s eyes grew wide at what must have sounded to her like musical gibberish—that was how Agnes had described Sera’s voice before they blood bonded and were able to understand each other. Leo translated for her now. Sera clenched her teeth in frustration. There had to be a way to communicate without the help of translators or the dangerous intimacy of blood bonding.

  “You said that before, in the market. Cerulean.” She sounded it out as if unsure. “I still don’t know what that means, but you are welcome in my home, Cerulean or Saifa or whoever you may be. Come, you must be starv—”

  But she was cut off by a young boy scampering into the room.

  “Mama, Mama!” he said, tears in his eyes. “Parisa took my—” He stopped and frowned. “Why you speaking Kaolish, Mama?”

  Sera could never tell who was speaking what language since they all sounded the same to her. She thought it very kind of Phebe to speak to Leo and Agnes in their native tongue. But now she realized it was also dangerous—and even more dangerous for this little boy to see a goddess in his house. Quickly she put the headdress back on.

  “Carrick, go back to the kitchen to your father,” Phebe said sharply. “Mama has visitors, I told you that before.”

  A wiry man with pale skin and long hair the color of honey came hurrying in, an infant squealing and stretching in his arms.

  “I’m sorry, love,” he said, taking the boy’s arm. “He got away from me. I’ll—”

  But he stopped short at the sight of Leo and gasped. “He looks exactly like her.”

  “I told you,” Phebe replied.

  “Princess Rahel?” Carrick asked, looking up at Sera. “Mama, you bring princess home?”

  “No, darling, these are Mama’s friends,” Phebe said. “Princesses don’t come to dressmakers’ houses; she came to my shop like I was telling you, remember?”

  Carrick smiled at Sera smugly. “My mama is famous,” he said.

  Phebe shot her husband a pleading look. “Get him to bed, Davin.”

  “Did you see the evening papers?” the man asked.

  She gave him a curt nod that effectively ended the conversation.

  “Come now, Carrick,” Davin said as the baby in his arms let out a wide yawn. He kissed Phebe on the cheek. “Dinner’s all ready. I sent Tabitha away, as you asked.” He glanced at Leo. “I see why now.”

  Once they were gone, Sera removed the headdress again and shook out her bright blue hair.

  “My apologies,” Phebe said. “The children weren’t meant to be up now but, well, with a seven-year-old, a five-year-old, and an infant, Davin and I have very little say over how things go in this house. Though I wish Carrick hadn’t heard me speaking Kaolish.” She sighed and rubbed her forehead.

  “We didn’t mean to put you in any danger,” Agnes said.

  Phebe gave her a weary smile. “You are the closest thing to children Eneas ever had. It’s no trouble, we’ll just have to have a talk with him tomorrow. Please sit,” she said, gesturing to the driftwood table. “I’ll be right back.”

  “I’m so glad Eneas is okay,” Agnes said as they took seats on the benches. “I was worried.”

  “Phebe seemed quite accepting of Sera,” Leo said. “That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”

  “She is one person and was prepared for her,” Vada said. “I do not think we would be getting the same reaction in the market.”

  Sera agreed.

  “What did her husband mean about the newspapers?” Agnes asked. Sera had noticed that too.

  “We should have been buying one when we first arrived,” Vada said. “But with the Misarros and Dorinda and Princess Rahel, I forgot.”

  Sera wanted to know more about this princess they’d seen, but Phebe returned then and a most familiar and delicious scent filled the air.

  “Fried squash blossoms,” she said, placing a platter on the table. “An old Ofairn recipe. And here are some dates dipped in honey and stuffed with blue cheese. We would have made lamb but Leo tells me you are vegetarian. I’ll be right back with the main course.”

  The squash blossoms were not quite the same as the ones she was used to—the flowers were orange, not yellow, and they did not seem as crispy. But hot tears filled Sera’s eyes at the sight of them.

  “Are you all right?” Leo asked.

  “They remind me of the ones my green mother used to make for me,” she said. “They were my favorite.”

  Agnes squeezed her hand under the table.

  “Right,” Phebe said, returning with a large dish of steaming butternut squash, sliced in half with its insides scooped out, filled with farro and onions, feta cheese and dried cherries. It all looked agonizingly good. “Let’s eat, shall we?”

  Sera piled her plate with as much food as it could hold, and for many long minutes there was no sound but chewing and swallowing and the occasional gulp of water. When at last their bellies were full, Phebe pushed her plate back and let out a contented sigh.

  “Well,” she said. “I’m told you are all trying to get to Braxos, but the details were a bit vague back in the market. Not that I blame you. It’s dangerous to speak of such things in public now. Especially with a princess so close by.” She gave Leo a wry look. “Rahel was quite taken with
you.”

  This rankled Sera, though she wasn’t quite sure why, but then Agnes launched into an explanation of everything—how they had found Sera in the plains of Kaolin, how her father had put her into his final play, the escape to the Seaport, and the journey to Pelago. She did not mention the power of Sera’s blood or the tether, only that they believed that the way to return Sera to her home was to get her to the ruins of Braxos.

  “And we need to stop in Ithilia first,” Agnes said breathlessly. “I’ve got an interview at the university. My grandmother is expecting me there.”

  “That will be difficult,” Phebe said. “I’ve heard it’s even worse in Ithilia than it is here—you will be hard-pressed to find docking there. I would be shocked if Ambrosine was in the city, with the way she’s been aggravating the Triumvirate.” She glanced at Leo again. “You’re lucky Rahel was taken with you.”

  “We heard something in the market,” Leo said. “About closed passages?”

  Phebe got up and walked over to the coffee table, returning with a newspaper.

  AMBROSINE BYRNE CLOSES PASSAGES TO LOST ISLANDS, the headline screamed. And beneath it read,

  In violation of Triumvirate orders, the matriarch of the infamous Byrne family has closed the passages around the elusive island of Culinnon, the most direct routes to the Lost Islands. Rumor has it she is pressing her northern allies to do the same. Does this mean Ambrosine Byrne has found Braxos herself? Are the bodies washing up on the shores of Brilsin and Adereen the result of failed attempts to find this mysterious island—or is there a more sinister reason behind these deaths? Could Ambrosine be protecting her newest treasure? This reporter thinks it’s high time the Byrnes were reminded that they do not control the northern islands—that all of Pelago is under the rule of the Triumvirate. Just how the Aerin, the Lekke, and the Renalt decide to deal with this affront to their power remains to be seen, but one thing is certain: The island of Braxos is stretching this country to a breaking point. And the Kaolins flooding our ports are only making matters worse. President Vance of Kaolin has sent a furious letter to the Triumvirate demanding release of all Kaolin prisoners being held in Pelagan jails. It would be impossible to imagine the Triumvirate giving in to these demands, so the question then is—what will Kaolin’s response be? Could this mean war?

  Sera read the last word with a lump in her throat. War.

  “This is bad,” Leo said.

  “It is worse than I was thinking,” Vada agreed.

  “What’s Culinnon?” Agnes asked.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard the name before,” Leo said. “I mean, I get that it’s an island, but what’s so special about it?”

  “When did you hear about it?” Agnes demanded.

  “Back in Old Port, after that dinner with Elizabeth Conway and her friend,” Leo said, rubbing his temple like the memory was fuzzy. “And the woman who changed our money said something about it in the market.”

  Phebe looked from Agnes to Leo as if trying to decide whether the twins were pulling her leg.

  “You . . . neither of you know about Culinnon?” she asked. “He never told you?”

  “Who? Told us what?” Agnes said.

  “I always thought Eneas was exaggerating,” she said, leaning forward to rest her head in her hands. “That complete and utter bastard.” Then she sat up, adjusted a seashell pin in her hair, and said, “Culinnon is an island owned by the Byrne family. It is their home and the seat of their power, the most mysterious island in all of Pelago, at least until Braxos was discovered. Besides the fact that here, people do not own entire islands—not even the Triumvirate families—no one is allowed to set foot on Culinnon without Ambrosine Byrne’s express permission. It is said to contain wealth beyond anything known in this world, and those who are fortunate enough to have walked its shores leave never being able to speak of it again, or reveal what they saw there, beyond a few hazy descriptions. Eneas could never even tell me about its wonders and he lived and worked there from when he was a young boy until the day Alethea moved to Ithilia. It is guarded by Ambrosine’s own personal force of Misarros, but stories say there are other, more powerful methods of protection put in place. Culinnon is a living legend, as ancient and formidable as the goddesses of Talmanism.”

  It all sounded fascinating and frightening at the same time, Sera thought. Then Phebe turned and fixed Agnes with penetrating look.

  “And it will be yours, Agnes,” she said. “By birthright. When Ambrosine Byrne dies, Culinnon will pass to you.”

  5

  Agnes

  AGNES COULD FEEL EVERYONE’S EYES ON HER, FEEL THE blankness on her own face as her heart pounded out a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

  She could acknowledge the words Phebe was saying, but when put together in that order, they made no sense. Inherit an island? And not just any island but a secret, powerful one that she hadn’t even known existed until this very moment?

  All the years she’d yearned for her mother, she’d never considered that Alethea might have left her something. Sera was gazing at her wide-eyed, Leo’s jaw appeared to have become permanently unhinged, and even Vada seemed dumbstruck.

  “I am being furious with myself for not making this connection,” Vada said, shaking her head slowly, as if in a daze. “I thought Culinnon would be going to what’s-his-name, the oldest son . . . Hektor. I am forgetting Alethea left a daughter.”

  “Why . . . me?” Agnes managed to croak out. “My grandmother doesn’t even know me.”

  “In Pelago, names and titles and property pass through the mother,” Phebe explained. “Alethea was Ambrosine’s only daughter, and her eldest child. When Alethea died, Ambrosine was left with sons, two of them.” Phebe grimaced. “Vada is right, Hektor likely assumed that he would be inheriting Culinnon, since Alethea’s heir is half Kaolin and was living in Old Port City. He will not be pleased to hear you are in Pelago.”

  Agnes felt as if a cube of ice had just slipped down her spine. She was still getting accustomed to the idea of an inheritance, and now she had two uncles she’d never known who would be angry at her for it? Agnes had always been aware that she didn’t know very much about her mother’s family, but she was beginning to understand the sheer breadth of information her father had kept from her.

  Leo gripped the table, his knuckles white. “This is . . . wow, Agnes. Do you think Father knows?”

  It was the first time either of them had mentioned their father out loud, and Agnes flinched. But Xavier McLellan was miles away, across the Adronic Ocean—she did not have to live under his roof, or abide by his rules, and Agnes would not let herself be frightened by him anymore. Her mother had left her an island. In Pelago. Suddenly, Agnes’s heart lifted. She would never have to leave this country. She belonged here.

  “Oh, he knows,” Phebe said, and Agnes was surprised to see Vada nodding. “Marriage contracts in Pelago are not taken lightly. I do not know the details of your mother’s, of course, but regardless of her choice of husband, there is no way either she or Ambrosine would allow Culinnon to pass to anyone but Alethea’s firstborn daughter. If it wasn’t made clear enough to Xavier when they married, it certainly would have been once Alethea became pregnant.”

  “This is true,” Vada said. “My mama had no marriage contract, but it is written that I will inherit the Maiden’s Wail upon her death.”

  “There is something else,” Phebe said. “Something you both must see.” She turned to Leo with a faintly pleased expression. “You aren’t quite as arrogant as Eneas used to describe in his letters. He pitied you, pitied the hold your father had over you. But he loved you too. Both of you.” A tear shone in her eye. “He loved you like you were his own.”

  She stood and left the room, leaving the four of them looking at each other, confused.

  Vada let out a low whistle. “Culinnon,” she said.

  “It certainly tops inheriting the brownstone on Creekwater Row,” Leo said. Agnes couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or hiding je
alousy with sarcasm. She hoped it was the former.

  “It doesn’t get us any closer to Braxos,” Agnes said.

  “It might,” Vada said. “The passages are closed, but maybe not for you. Why would Ambrosine Byrne deny her own granddaughter?”

  “Do you think she’s found Braxos already, like the papers say?” Agnes asked.

  “No,” Vada said. “I think if she had found it, the world would be knowing. Whatever is on that island, I do not think any person, Kaolin or Pelagan, would be able to be keeping it secret.”

  Phebe returned clutching a paper yellowed with age. “Here,” she said, handing it to Agnes.

  My darling Phebe,

  By the time you read this, you may have heard the news already. Alethea is dead. I do not know if I will ever be able to return to Pelago. I promised her I would take care of her children, that I would watch over them. A deal was made and a deal was broken and there may be repercussions that I cannot yet fathom. But I fear that’s all I can put into writing. I’m doing everything I can to keep the twins safe, even if it means my home is lost to me. My dearest sister, know that I miss you and you are in my thoughts every day. And please, listen to your little brother this one time and heed my warning—stay away from the Byrne family. I hate to think of what Ambrosine might do to retaliate against me, if she has deduced my role in this. Stay safe, Phebe. May the goddesses go with you.

  Agnes had to read the letter three times before she fully understood it. “A deal?” she said. “What deal?”

  “I don’t know,” Phebe said. “But not a week after I received this letter, I had a visit from a pair of Byrne Misarros. They questioned me about my brother, when the last time I’d seen him was, when I had last heard from him. I lied, of course, about this letter. I told them I had not seen him since Alethea married Xavier and he left to live in Kaolin—that at least was true. I showed them a previous letter, one filled with stories of Alethea’s nervousness at having children, of her excitement, with little bits of news about Old Port City and questions about his home country. A letter that was fully benign. They confiscated it and I have not seen a Byrne or their Misarros in Arbaz since. Not until now.” She glanced at Leo.