“Enough!” I cut her words off with a shout of iron, surprising us both. I looked away from Sondra’s shocked—and knowing—stare. “I made vows. The marriage is real, in every sense. You will respect that.”
“Fine by me.” She shrugged, chirping the words nonchalantly. Then she gave me a hard look. “But when it comes down to it—and we both know it will, Conrí—will you be able to sacrifice her?”
I didn’t reply.
“Because if you’re going to falter on us, if you’re going to put your wife before what we need to do to bring down Anure, now is a really good time to tell me. He’ll expect you to care about her—because he does—and if you actually do, he’ll use that against you. You know it and I know it.”
“If we plan right, it won’t come to that.”
“And if it does? If it does, Conrí, what will you decide?”
The sun had risen high enough to bring color to the water, the surface glassy with the tide so high, the water full and calm between the two spurs of land. I reined up and dismounted, looked for a good place to observe.
“Conrí?” Sondra followed me, voice harsh as Merle’s. “I need an answer from you.”
I looked over at her, hair whipping like a pale banner in the coastal breeze, eyes hard in her lined face. “I never asked you to call me king.” When she opened her mouth to snarl a reply, I held up a hand to stop her. “But you were the first to give me loyalty, and I haven’t forgotten that.” I ask only to hold the torch. “I also haven’t forgotten why we’re here, or what claiming Lia’s hand meant. Still means. Nothing will prevent our vengeance. I won’t fail you, or the cause.”
She pressed her lips together, then nodded. “Thank you.” Turning, she followed the line of my sight, studying the water. “Are you going to tell me what we’re looking for?”
“Watch the water.” I glanced at the sun. “Tide should be at high point now, then will start reversing. It might take a while, but that’s when it will happen. I think when we see it, we’ll know. Unless I’m wrong.”
Making a snorting sound, she shook her head, even offering me a smile. A peace offering, I supposed. “You’re never wrong, Conrí.”
I didn’t know about that. Lia’s words plagued me, rolling in my head. Had I been wrong about my sister? I hunkered down, picking up a rock and weighing it in my hand. Untying the bagiroca from my belt, I added it to the rest. Then I took out one from Vurgmun and set it on Cradysica’s bones. I didn’t have any stones from Oriel, of course. My habit of collecting rocks from every place I visited had begun long after Anure’s guards dragged us away. Weighing the bagiroca in my hand, I thought about what Lia had said about the lands calling for their rulers. If I carried this bagiroca to the citadel at Yekpehr, would the captive royals know the fragments of their own lands?
Strange thoughts. Sondra squatted beside me, studying the water. Still full and calm, deceptively peaceful. The perfect trap.
“Can I ask you something?” I had to cough to clear my throat.
Sondra glanced at me askance. “Since when do you ask permission?”
“It’s about … before Vurgmun.”
Her eyes darkened and she looked away. “Is this punishment for what I said earlier?”
“No. But it is part of what Lia and I were talking about, why I was late.”
When she looked at me again, her gaze held remorse. “Shit. I’m sorry, Conrí. I’m an idiot. No wonder you looked rough, if you were talking about … that.”
“Yeah.” I nodded, and we both fell silent for a bit. None of us asked the others about their time before the mines. It had always been an unspoken agreement, an allowance of privacy for people who’d lost everything in the worst ways. Even my broaching the topic felt like a violation. “Never mind. I—”
“Ask.” Her once pretty profile looked sharp, even haggard against the bluing sky. She turned her head and pierced me with her defiant stare. “Ask.”
If only I knew how. “You were … with Rhéiane, that day.” I said it fast, proud that I’d gotten my sister’s name past the constriction in my chest.
Only the stillness of her face betrayed Sondra’s shock. Slowly, she nodded.
“Did she—” I had to clear my throat yet again. “Did you see—” Sawehl take me, but I’d get through this. “Did you see her body?”
Sondra’s throat worked as she swallowed. “She’s dead, Con,” she replied, soft and grating. “Don’t go there.”
I nodded, but I had to press. “Did you see?”
She sighed and gazed at the water, hands clenched between her knees, fingertips red and knuckles white. “It was bad,” she said finally, still not looking at me. “You know that. The things they—” Pressing her knotted fists against her mouth, she stopped the words. “No one could live through what they did to her. I nearly died. I should have died.”
“Don’t say that.” I put a hand on her shoulder.
Silent tears rolled down her pitted cheeks. It had been a morning for women who rarely shed tears to openly weep. I’d never imagined I’d see Lia cry like that. An omen, maybe. Sondra shook her head, but didn’t shake me off. “They took her away,” she said. “And she looked dead to me.”
“But you don’t know for sure.”
“Until this moment, I’d have sworn to that truth.”
“And now?”
She moved her shoulders restlessly. “I hope she’s dead,” she said flatly. “Because the alternative doesn’t bear contemplating.”
That was the worst part of Lia’s theory. Unbearable to consider.
So I set it aside. Sondra gradually relaxed as I said nothing more. Our silence became almost companionable as we made ourselves comfortable on the rocks, the rising sun warm, flocks of shorebirds in brilliant shades of greens and purples, whistling and calling as they made complex patterns in the sky. The boats in the harbor were safely docked and none came into it, which only confirmed for me that the local fishermen knew of the dangers beneath the lovely waters.
“It’s a pretty place,” Sondra commented.
I grunted. “Everything about Calanthe is pretty.”
“Yeah.” She picked at some mud on her boot. “Doesn’t seem fair, somehow.”
My turn to give her a sidelong look. “You say that—after your lecture on me getting soft?”
She scowled. “I’m just saying I understand the temptation. It would be … nice, you know, if we could have this. If you could adore your beautiful wife and we could live in paradise and, I don’t know, I could find some strapping islander to treat me like a queen. But this isn’t for the likes of us. We lost that chance a long time ago.”
“I know.” And I did. Her reminder had been timely. I’d allowed Lia to believe I’d tell her in time to save at least the people, but I wouldn’t. Nothing could tip Anure off to the trap we’d lay for him. Lia’s chance of making it through this depended on that, too. I’d make the hard decisions for her, and she could hate me afterward. If we both survived. I seriously doubted I would. She could always curse my memory.
We fell back into silence, staring at the water. I don’t know if I saw it before Sondra did or if she simply waited to be sure before she said anything. “Holy fucking Sawehl,” she breathed. “Is that…?”
“A whirlpool,” I confirmed with great satisfaction. The water, no longer calm and peaceful, swirled in a great circle that spanned the reach between the two spurs of land. The currents spun outward, generating considerable surf that roared against the rocks. Anything caught on the outer reaches would be smashed to bits. In the center, a deep hole formed, a darker blue like Lia’s sapphire eye. I almost imagined a monster gazed back from it, perhaps even the baleful stare of Calanthe Herself. Following the whimsy, I saluted Her.
No disrespect intended, Lady Calanthe, but I hope You’re ready to drink the blood of Your enemies, because I fully intend to be feeding them to You soon.
Except for Anure. The eater of realms would be mine to crush, and Sondra’s to burn
.
14
The orchid ring had been tugging at my attention all day. Not in a useful way, but like an insect buzzing at my ear that disappeared when I turned to look for it. I’d spent the morning hearing petitions and accepting tributes, listening to concerns about the rumors that had made it to Cradysica about Con declaring war on the emperor, and the defense we might mount.
I trotted out all sorts of well-crafted platitudes to calm their fears. As the people felt, so did Calanthe, and I didn’t need Her growing more restless than She already was. The orchid ring murmured unhappily, a muted echo of the worry on the faces of the people who came to speak with me. Con was nowhere to be found, of course, as I spoke the lies he’d forced onto me.
“Your Highness.” The head priest of the Temple of Cradysica made my title into a plea. He’d donned a fine robe for the audience, but came before me barefoot in his humility. “Should we perhaps consider evacuating the innocent citizens of Calanthe? If His Imperial Majesty takes offense at the rumors, then—”
“Where would we send our people? Even if we had enough boats to carry them all, where could they go? No. Calanthe is still the safest place in all the empire.” I hoped. Though I firmly believed no other place would be safer.
“Keiost isn’t that far,” the governor of Cradysica put in. “And I understand that it’s being well run and fortified since the Slave King captured—”
“Conrí.” I added a frown to the correction. “The next person to voice that vile epithet rather than My consort’s correct title will risk My displeasure.”
“My apologies, Your Highness.” The governor bowed, and his wife beside him gave him an angry look. Ambrose, standing nearby and keeping me company, seemed uninterested, but Merle bobbed his beak at me in approval.
“If, by some great stretch of the imagination,” I said, managing to sound dismissive of a remote possibility, “His Imperial Majesty should take it into his head to chastise Me for My marriage to Conrí, he would never attack the jewel of his empire. What would that serve him? The emperor cherishes Calanthe.” Cherish. I wished I hadn’t used that word. I’d felt cherished by Con, but the dreams promised he’d destroy me, just as Anure would destroy Calanthe.
“But if he does send his ships, we cannot possibly match his forces,” the governor protested. “What will we do then, Your Highness?”
“In that eventuality, I shall deal with His Imperial Majesty Myself.” I allowed a cool smile to show, hoping it looked as it should. I wore a gown of aqua blues and greens to celebrate Cradysica’s famed harbor, and nail sheaths cleverly wrought in similar shades with gold tracery that created the feel of branching coral reefs. It was a perfectly appropriate gown, but it failed to fit my mood. One of the many reasons not to travel: How could I know days ahead of time what my mood would be when it came to dress?
Although what kind of gown would fit my mood, I didn’t know. Something hanging in ragged folds of ash, rent with blood and fire. I felt all out of sorts, control slipping through my fingers. Trouble, the ring whispered in an irritating buzz. Ambrose and Merle both looked at the ring then, making me wonder if the wizard could sense it, too.
“I am not without My own resources,” I reminded all of them. “I am queen of Calanthe, of the old blood, and I shall do what is necessary to protect My realm.”
At least that worked to quell their anxiety, if not my own. Ambrose went back to smiling vaguely at the assembly. Merle eyed me with speculation, ticking his claws on the faceted emerald topping the wizard’s staff.
“We greatly appreciate Your assurances, Your Highness.” Sawehl’s priest bowed in deep respect. “We are but a provincial people here in Cradysica, unused to royal visits and rumors of war.”
“I understand. I am always happy to reassure My people.” I attempted to look maternally beneficent, but that expression escaped me. What I needed was time in the dreamthink. It wouldn’t be easy to find a place quiet enough, but it couldn’t hurt to make the attempt. My schedule here wasn’t as tightly crowded as at the palace.
“Will You attend the sunset service at the temple, Your Highness?” the priest inquired.
“That is My plan at the moment.” I inclined my head graciously. The gown had been intended for that ceremony, so at least I wouldn’t have to change. And with Con nowhere about, I didn’t have to be concerned about him shredding this one in his lust. I couldn’t decide if I was pleased about that or not. I’d already had him multiple times—when we arrived, when we retired for the night, that meltingly intimate coming together before dawn—and still I craved more.
“We are hoping that Your Highness and Conrí will appear together, to enact the ritual of Blessed Ejarat and Bright Sawehl,” the priest continued smoothly, bringing me back from my carnal fantasies, “to bring the blessings of the god and goddess to Calanthe in these times of uncertainty.”
I managed not to show my consternation at being outfoxed, and by this peacefully beaming priest, no less. With a framing like that, I could hardly refuse. And yet how could I possibly guarantee Con would appear by then, much less that he’d cooperate with the appropriate theater such rituals required? Probably I should not have shared my speculations about his sister with him. I’d known he’d be upset. Now he’d be channeling all that caged-wolf aggression into laying his trap for Anure, with no charm left for playing Sawehl as bridegroom.
And already I’d paused too long.
“We shall be delighted to oblige,” I declared, smiling at the spontaneous applause and delighted cries of pleasure. The people of Cradysica were so much more demonstrative than my own wily courtiers. Calla, seated a step below me, bent to adjust her skirts and caught my eye with a questioning brow where our audience couldn’t see. I gave her a slight nod. Con would have to be found. I glanced, too, at Ambrose, who regarded me with a sharply amused smile. Fine then—he could assist with the corralling and harnessing of our wayward wolf.
“And now I believe I shall take a rest and enjoy the sculpture gardens of My hosts.” I gave the head family a gracious nod, observing how they sent several young servants running ahead of me to be sure all was in order. While some time in dreamthink might not happen, I could at least set some precautions in place. “Ambrose, would you care to accompany Me? You might enjoy seeing this.”
Ambrose smiled with sweet grace, he and Merle bobbing their heads with enthusiasm. I didn’t look beneath his illusory surface, as I had no wish to rattle my composure further, but I sensed his keen interest in the bargain he no doubt anticipated I’d be offering.
With Calla off to locate Con—surely he hadn’t gone far—my other ladies trailed us at a discreet distance. My hosts had indeed cleared the sculpture gardens for us, so we were otherwise alone. Ambrose leaned heavily on his staff, the tip grinding through the crushed shells of the path. The orchid ring fluttered, as if vying for his attention, making my finger tingle, and I scratched at the itching underside with my thumbnail, picking at the spot where the band indelibly clasped my skin.
We paused before a sculpture of a butterfly. Several times life size, it perched on a pedestal, translucent wings shimmering gold and blue. Then the wings flexed, slow as a gentle sigh, the creature’s antennae uncurling to taste the currents of magic wafting off the wizard. With a delighted grin, he extended a finger toward the butterfly—pausing to tsk at Merle, who looked at it a little too hungrily—then giggled when the creature brushed his finger. It changed to a deep ruby red, then burst into a cloud of swirling rose petals. When it re-formed, it had become a blue-and-gold rose, its petals slowing unfurling like butterfly wings.
“What sort of magic is this?” he asked me.
“Don’t you know?” I countered, curious.
He straightened and pursed his lips as if chastising a student. “Now, now, Your Highness. We discussed this. I think you know perfectly well that there’s all sorts of magic in the world, far more than any one wizard could possibly learn, even in a very long lifetime.”
“And
how long has yours been?” I inquired politely. Merle flapped his wings and cawed.
“Besides,” Ambrose said, as if I hadn’t asked. “This is my first visit to Calanthe, which has long been at the heart of the strangest magics of all.”
Not an encouraging answer from the wizard I hoped could perhaps contain the worst disaster, should I fail to.
“Before I answer, let Me show you another,” I said. He followed my lead around a bend, to a square meditation garden with a waist-high wall around it. Shifting sand filled the basin, rolling in regular waves like the tides. Above that, granite boulders floated, bobbing gently with the currents of air.
“Miraculous,” Ambrose breathed in delight. Merle took wing, flying to the nearest and perching on it, then pecking with his beak. “It’s stone,” the wizard announced, astonished. “How amaz—”
He broke off and I winced as the boulders all suddenly fell to the sand with a resounding boom, the resulting waves of sand crashing up in amplified waves. I grimaced ruefully and Merle circled them, cawing his annoyance.
“They don’t all work correctly anymore,” I told him.
“Then Merle didn’t break it?”
“No. See?” I waved a hand to the settling waves of sand, and to the boulders that sat less heavily, a few smaller ones beginning to float again. “When I was a girl, you could run about in the sand and bounce the boulders against one another, even hang on to them and drift.” Tertulyn had been there with me, playing those same games. At least the pain of that particular betrayal had begun to fade into a dull ache, easier to set aside. “Now they come crashing down unexpectedly, so we had to put a wall around it, so no one gets hurt.”
“Fascinating,” Ambrose commented, and I could see he’d dearly love to climb over the wall and inspect it for himself. He eyed the wall, however, and very likely could see that more than its inconvenient height would repel any attempts. “How is a floating boulder like a butterfly?” he asked rhetorically, a thoughtful frown on his boyish face.
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