Creatures of Light, Book 3

by Emily B. Martin

  “It does help, Gemma. I’m glad for that.” The Cypri burned their dead—though my folk had done it out of necessity’s sake, as there had been no facilities for an entombing in our own fashion. Rou squeezed my hand as we rounded the corner of the guest wing. “And if we’re doing the apologizing now, then I have my own to make. I’m sorry about that whole mess in Cyprien.”

  “Abducting me, you mean.”

  “Yes. The Assembly had to act as it saw fit, and I was obligated to carry out their plan, but I don’t pretend it was the best strategy.” We moved closer to one of the guest rooms, where Mona stood outside directing throngs of soldiers and attendants. “So many lives were impacted, in so many ways we didn’t consider or anticipate. Mae was locked up in a ship’s hold for a week. All the folk back home thought they’d lost their queens. You suffered for it. Mona suffered for it. And I’m sorry about that.”

  “At least you and Mona got to meet,” I said.

  “Ehh,” he said, his gaze lingering on her as we drew nearer. “I don’t know that she considers the whole thing worth it. She likes to recount to me the exact monetary value of the ship we sank.”

  I laughed through the tears burning my eyes, but I stifled it quickly, the sound incongruous among the stoic faces. Attendants hurried past us, carrying armfuls of firewood and linen. Soldiers milled about, organizing themselves in stations outside the door and at the ends of the hallways. The red-haired soldier appeared with a healer in tow, her herb case under her arm. Mona glanced at us approaching, her mouth drawn tight in a frown. I drew in a breath and lowered my voice, leaning a little closer to Rou.

  “Don’t make her angry at you just for my sake,” I whispered.

  He squeezed my hand again, smiling. “She’s always angry at me for one thing or another, but normally it’s because I complain about her food.”

  I shook my head. “Rou.”

  “Honestly, have you tasted a freshwater mussel? They’re like shoe leather.”

  I struggled to keep back another laugh as we rounded the door to the guest room, which was fortunate—Celeno had just sat down on the bed and looked up as I stopped in the doorway. I dropped Rou’s arm and tried to wipe away the last traces of my smile. I realized I was still clutching the offending shard of gypsum in my hand, and I hurriedly stuffed it back into my pocket. Celeno’s face twitched, and he cut his gaze away to glare at the bed stand.

  Colm was standing at the hearth, his back to me as he lifted firewood from the maid’s satchel. Ellamae accosted the healer as soon as she entered the room, trying to wrestle the herb case out of her hands. Mona stood at the doorway, viewing the goings-on with displeasure. She shifted her gaze to me as I hovered in the hallway.

  “The room adjoins,” she said, pointing to the door in the wall. “I’ve sent someone to gather fresh clothes for you. Why don’t you wash up a little, and then we’ll all sit down and talk?”

  “Thank you,” I murmured. “Will you come with me? I want to tell you what I know about the events in Cyprien.” It wasn’t the right time to begin that conversation—Rou should be included, at the very least—but I wanted to get her away from the doorway, glaring at Celeno as if he was a cockroach. She gave a small nod, threw one more angry glance over her shoulder, and followed me into the next room over.

  It was hung in shades of blue and white, with pearls glinting in the embroidery and wainscoting. The hearth maid was just finishing coaxing a blaze in a generous granite fireplace, the mantel carved with beavers and branches. With a rattle, the maid picked up her bucket and ducked out of the room, offering a courtesy to Mona as she passed.

  I moved gratefully in front of the fire, sliding my chapped hands out from beneath Colm’s cloak. Mona went to the glassed patio doors and drew back the curtain, revealing the frosty expanse of the lake. She craned her head to look through the window—probably checking to see if her guards were taking up their appropriate positions.

  “So what is the state of Cyprien?” she asked, her face reflected in the glass.

  “My folk have retaken four of the provinces,” I said. “I’m not sure which ones, except Lilou is still being held by the Cypri—at least, it was when I left.”

  “My guess for the other is the Lower Draws,” Mona murmured, referring to the southern stretch of deep, dark bayou we had traveled through just a few weeks ago. “Alcoro will have a hard time claiming that for themselves.”

  “I don’t doubt that,” I said. “But we have to consider the possibility that they will, or that they’ll make the jump to Paroa even without all the provinces under our flag. We need to act as quickly as we can—it could mean the difference between a coastal invasion and an allied truce.”

  She let out a brief sigh, watching a soldier hurry past the window. “Gemma, I regret to inform you that a truce is already in place.”

  “I know that,” I said quickly. “I know about the eastern alliance. I suppose . . . I was assuming . . . we might draft a new one to include Alcoro?”

  My words lost their conviction by the end of the sentence. She was still staring out the window, and I could see the furrowed frown in her reflection. I swallowed.

  “I’m sorry for the nature of our arrival,” I said. “Truly—if I had had a way to get word to you, if I could have managed it sooner . . .”

  She sighed and leaned back from the glass, finally turning to face me. “I apologize, Gemma. I don’t mean to insinuate that I’m not glad you made it safely . . .”

  “But it was entirely unexpected,” I said. “I know. I realize I’m asking a great deal of you, taking us in, upsetting all your plans, disrupting your solstice celebration . . .”

  She waved a hand. “The Beacon lights up every morning, not just the days we gather around it. In a way, it’s fortunate you arrived at that precise moment, or else you’d have been stranded at the base of the falls until someone happened upon you. But, Gemma . . .” Her gaze flicked to the door and back to me. “I admit, while I didn’t expect you to show up at all, I certainly never would have expected you to bring him with you. Not after what he did in Cyprien. You do realize that even if we manage to achieve any kind of truce, he’ll still have to answer to the Assembly of Six?”

  I’d realized it but hadn’t fully thought about it, and my just-warmed hands seemed to go cold again. “What will they rule?”

  “I don’t know, Gemma. Even without factoring all the folk killed or imprisoned in his name, he personally murdered a Cypri citizen. In my country that’s a gallows sentence.”

  Mine, too.

  There was a short knock on the door and a maid poked her head in the room, her arms full of thick winter garments. A second maid stood behind her with a pitcher of steaming water. Mona waved them inside. The first laid out a stack of Lumeni-style clothes—long woolen skirts, buttoned blouses, shifts, and one-piece dresses that laced up the back, most in shades of blue and gray. The second maid filled the washbowl by the changing screen, set out a few pairs of stockings and boots, and together the two curtsied their way out of the room.

  Mona shook out one of the skirts and held it to her own waist to estimate its length. “They’ll have to be hemmed.”

  “It’s fine,” I said, unhooking Colm’s cloak, shivering once I was out of its warmth. “There’s no need.”

  She held it out to me, her gaze passing over my muddy, tattered bolero and trousers. “I find a well-fitting wardrobe does wonders to ease the mind.” Her gaze fell on Colm’s cloak draped over the settee. “Unlike some. I keep telling him that cloak is the wrong cut for him—it makes him look like a market tent.”

  It’s warm, though. I took the skirt, blouse, and shift and proceeded to the changing screen. I stripped off my filthy clothes and sponged off—the water was hot and scented with mint, but it cooled quickly and left me covered with gooseflesh. I fumbled the new clothes with shaking hands—Lumen Lake was cold. Alcoro was no paradise in winter, but the sun shone more often than not, and the canyon floor was always warmer than the r
im. Here, the great body of water seemed to lend everything a persistent dampness, and the sun was hidden by thick, steely clouds. I finished buttoning the blouse with clumsy fingers.

  I was unaccustomed to my skirts cinching me low around my waist—Alcoran dresses were gathered by a wide sash under the bust, but the Lumeni skirt buttoned just above my hips. I wiggled a little, shifting the coarse woolen fabric, trying to get it to lie right. Doing this, I discovered one significant thing about the Lumeni skirt—it had pockets, deep ones. Carefully I gathered the bundle of papers I’d taken from my shirt, many of them damp and creased, and tucked them inside.

  Just as I came around the corner of the screen, the door to my room swung open. In marched Ellamae, her cheeks flushed and her eyebrows knitted together. She stopped in the middle of the room, facing me with her fists on her hips. I fought against the urge to take a step back, away from her obvious anger.

  “Poppy syrup?” she demanded. “Just to sleep?”

  “What?” I asked.

  “We never give poppy as a sleep aid,” she said. “As a sedative, maybe, but only in isolation, because it’s so addictive. And fishpoison? For nerves? You know what my folk use that for? Poisoning fish.” She shook her head. “No wonder he looks like a ghost resurrected, Gemma. He’s having serious withdrawals.”

  Withdrawals.

  From his physician’s tinctures. Of course.

  “I didn’t realize,” I said, not without guilt. “I was so focused on getting through the cave, and he’s often sick when he’s stressed. I just thought . . .”

  “I’m amazed he made it anywhere at all,” Ellamae said. “And it’s no wonder he passed out by the waterfall. When was the last time he ate anything?”

  I wracked my brain. “He ate a little here and there.”

  “But no real meals?”

  “No.”

  “And the shaking?” she asked. “The sweats? Insomnia? What did you think that was?”

  Cyanide poisoning?

  Doubt at every decision I’d made since the Retreat clouded my head—I’d sent my mother back to expose Shaula’s villainous string of murders . . . but had I been wrong? Was I so desperate to bring her down that I saw death in a crate of millipedes? My mother had put herself right back at the mercy of her sister . . . what if it was all for nothing?

  You have always seemed to believe you could shape the world to meet your needs.

  Ellamae was still staring at me, waiting for my mystery diagnosis. I drew in a breath, my flimsy confidence shrinking with every passing moment.

  “I didn’t think,” I said. “I suppose I thought he had a fever, or that the trip was making his usual complaints worse. He’s been ill for years, and I was so set on getting him here, I didn’t think . . .”

  A sick feeling twisted in my stomach, not exactly shame or remorse—merely a sharp bitterness at the mess things had become.

  Ellamae sighed, running her fingers through her dark brown curls. “I sent to the kitchens for broth—hopefully he can keep that down. But he’s a wreck, Gemma. How long has he been taking all that stuff?”

  Forever, was my first thought, but that wasn’t true.

  “Six years,” I said.

  “Since he was crowned?” Mona asked acidly.

  I looked at her, standing with her stiff certainty, and even though I’d sought her out, even though I desperately needed her help, I was suddenly done with her assuming the worst about my husband.

  “Since his mother killed herself to let the reign of the Seventh King begin,” I said evenly. “That was the day before he was crowned.”

  A somewhat awkward pause hung in the room. Mona was too good to break her perfect mask, but I thought I detected her lips tighten slightly. Ellamae heaved another sigh.

  “What’s his reaction to valerian?” she asked.

  “It doesn’t work,” I said, moving past her for the adjoining door. “That’s what he used to take before the poppy, but it stopped being effective.”

  “Wait, Gemma,” Mona said. “We need to talk . . .”

  “We can talk in here!” I said with much more assurance than I felt. Cheeks hot, I passed back into Celeno’s room without turning to see if they’d followed me. My mind raced with a single thought.

  This all could have been a very big mistake.

  Chapter 10

  Celeno looked up as I came in and then immediately looked away, his brow creased. Colm did the same thing, pulling his head out of the wardrobe, meeting my gaze, and then shoving it back in again, arranging a set of spare shirts on hangers.

  “Leave that, Colm,” Mona said, stalking past me for the door to the hall. “Let a servant do it.” Colm continued as if he hadn’t heard her, shaking out the last two shirts and threading them on hangers as she opened the door, unaware. “Rou, Valien—we’ll be meeting in here. Arlen, are the guards all in place?”

  “Yes,” he said, hurrying to follow the others inside. “I’ve put in the order for a detail assignment.”

  “Good.” She closed the door behind her and turned to the rest of us. “Sit,” she said.

  We sat. Rou and Valien took two of the armchairs. Ellamae perched beside them on the bedside table, frowning at the contents of the healer’s bag, which she’d clearly managed to commandeer. Arlen turned the hardback chair from the desk around. Colm took a position farthest away—leaning on the windowsill. I made a hasty decision and took a place at the end of Celeno’s bed, just below his feet. He didn’t give any response at all beyond shifting his gaze from the window to the comforter under his hands.

  Mona didn’t sit. She stood at the fireplace like it was a pulpit. “Well,” she said. “It’s probably unnecessary at this point, but let us make formal introductions. We have in our presence Gemma and Celeno Tezozomoc, queen and king of Alcoro.” She nodded to us. “You’ve both met Ellamae Heartwood, queen of the Silverwood Mountains.”

  She said this stiffly, not addressing the fact that Celeno had known Ellamae longer than I, because she’d been locked and interrogated in the hold of his ship for a week while in Cyprien. Ellamae gave no response beyond crooking one of her thickly fringed boots over her knee, still absorbed with the herbs in the case.

  Mona continued. “And her husband, Valien Heartwood, king of the Silverwood. By happy coincidence, they are here in Lumen Lake to observe the solstice Beacon lighting—though I admit, you will likely have to return again next year to have a more traditional experience.”

  Ellamae snorted, popping the cork off a bottle of herbs and sniffing it. Valien smiled at me, the silver embroidery on his deep green tunic winking in the firelight. “We have our own origin festival in a few weeks’ time,” he said. “If circumstances permit, you are welcome to join us.”

  “Thank you—we will,” I said politely, privately thinking that an infinite number of cataclysmic things could happen within a few weeks’ time.

  Mona frowned, perhaps at Valien’s casual declination to treat Celeno like a prisoner, and then waved a hand toward the other armchair. “You both know Rou, I suppose.”

  “Oh, don’t introduce me like that,” Rou implored.

  “Fine,” she said shortly. “King Celeno, Queen Gemma, I present to you Theophilius Roubideaux, unofficial ambassador to the Assembly of Six, diplomat, messenger, kidnapper, fire spinner, ex-steel worker and mail carrier, currently taking up a bed in my guest wing and generally complaining about anything that causes him the least discomfort.” She lifted her chin. “Did I miss anything?”

  “I can do a damn good headstand, too,” he added.

  Ellamae obliged him by laughing as she measured a pinch of herbs into a strainer. Mona’s cheeks went pink, a reaction I remembered well from the punt in Cyprien as she strove to keep from breaking her mask with a smile. I wished she wouldn’t hide her amusement—but maybe Rou knew how to interpret the look, too, because he warmed slightly as he gazed back.

  “I’ll try to complain less,” he said humbly. “But only about things that can’
t be helped.”

  “The weather?” Mona prompted.

  “I’ll wear a few extra shirts.”

  “And the food?”

  He winced. “Well . . .”

  She closed her eyes briefly. There were a few more chuckles—though Celeno’s frown only deepened. He picked at the embroidery on the hem of the coverlet.

  “Last,” Mona said with the air of someone trying to redirect conversation. “My brothers. Arlen Alastaire, who’s acting liaison between myself and my generals.” Arlen gave a wave that he quickly stifled and turned into a stoic nod—I got the impression he was trying hard to do a good job. I waved back.

  “And Colm,” Mona said. “My middle brother.”

  I waited for something else—a title, a modifier of some kind, but none came. He looked up from his place by the window. Despite his size, his shoulders were bent forward, giving him the impression of looking up at the world rather than down on it, like he’d grown accustomed to making himself go unnoticed. He hesitated a moment, as if weighing the right words.

  “I’m glad for your safe arrival,” he finally said, his words clipped with the same accent as his siblings’.

  “Thank you,” I said, aware of Mona’s stare. “I am, too.”

  “All right,” Mona said with a hint of relief. “Now. Tell us—what’s this about a cave? How did you come to literally break into my country through the back of a waterfall?”

  I took a breath, reached into my pocket, and after some blind fumbling among the sheaf of papers, drew out the map. I didn’t turn to look at Celeno, but I could feel his gaze burning on the parchment.

  “My mother is an entomologist in Alcoro,” I said. “Her studies led her into the mountains, where she found a species of glowworm living in natural caves leading under the Stellarange. She formed a team with geologists, and together they mapped what you see here.” I handed the map to Mona. Ellamae leaned over to look at it, stirring the contents of a mug. “With some time and effort, they form a route between Alcoro and Lumen Lake.”