“Placid as a lake, I understand.” It’s the same list of trite metaphors she’s spouted every time I grow annoyed. “What if I’d rather roar as the rapids? Or—or crash like the waves?” I throw my arms wide so she’ll understand what I mean, and my frustration sends the water sloshing over the fountain’s lip.
The soil drinks in the moisture greedily, and Alys watches in contemplation. Triumph fills me.
“See?” I ask pointedly. “Finally, results.”
“I don’t think that these are the results you seek.”
“Perhaps they should be. It’s the most I’ve accomplished in all three of our lessons.”
“Lady Breena—” Alys stops, shaking her head, and pats the bench beside her.
I sit, feeling impatient. I want to get on with these lessons. I’ve finally managed to make some progress and don’t want to stop now.
“You are rushing things.” Alys’s eyes are sympathetic, but her words are blunt. “It will take time to master these abilities. Years.”
Years? I don’t have years. I have days. I have a deadline that draws closer with every passing breath. I can’t waste time fooling with gentle waterspouts when any semblance of an escape plan depends on me being able to fight my way out.
“Don’t look at me so.” Alys takes my hands in her wrinkled brown ones. “The name you Water Adepts are given—Throwers—is not still. It’s not placid. It is made to remind us all of the force with which water can be wielded. Yet you are regarded as the pacifists of the land to all those outside the royal forces.”
I most decidedly do not feel like a pacifist. I feel like I’d relish the chance to throw a few hits, toss a drink in someone’s face. I miss my firewood axe. At least then I’d felt like I had something to do damage with, something I could really control and rely on.
Alys squeezes my hands, bringing me back to the conversation.
“But I know. I know that, as much as the ground beneath me can keep me calm, the ocean must roar in you. You cannot hope to master it by being just as unwieldy. It is like an untrained marksman loosing an arrow. Without proper direction, there is no telling who he will down.”
Much as I’m reluctant to admit it, she makes sense.
“The king…” Alys hesitates, choosing her words carefully. “He will never think of you as a pacifist. He is mindful of your potential for power. He sees you trained to use you as a weapon. He sees you trained so that he won’t lose a vessel to a tsunami when you grow upset onboard. Untrained or used against him, you are a dangerous liability that he would be…disinclined to put up with.”
There it is. I’m no safer than Da when it comes down to it. The king wants to use me, but not enough that my life won’t be constantly at risk.
And Alys must know of what she speaks. She’s an Elemental, which means she probably served in the king’s army before being selected for palace service. It’s hard to believe that the woman’s gentle hands likely once smashed earth down atop the heads of the king’s enemies.
She lets go of me and stands, smile bright once more. “Let’s begin again. Still as ice. Calm as a brook. Placid as a lake.”
I push myself to my feet, take a deep breath, and try to picture her lake. Still. Quiet, with dark waters. I imagine it in the midst of a shaded glen, where a willow gently strokes its surface in a soft wind. Not a perfect stillness, but the image projects a calm over me that I haven’t felt in days.
“Good,” Alys murmurs. “Now. Lift your arm. Slowly. Think of it as a dance.”
Cool sensation prickles along my spine. I feel a bit heady, like I’m floating. My arm glides out with two fingers extended.
The water weaves its way to me, a python slithering in mid-air. I laugh in disbelief before it reaches me, and it splashes down onto Alys’s robe.
Alys beams with pride. “There, you see?” She thumps me on the back enthusiastically. “Progress. Real progress. The element was yours.”
I smile back but can’t meet Alys’s eyes, knowing that, despite this training, it will matter little in the end.
Because yes, progress is progress. But it’s not enough. One week more and the waves will crash past any who stand in my way.
Whether I can control them or not.
Thirty-Three
Soon, the deadline is under a week. I have four days left.
I haven’t gleaned anything further from Da, haven’t made much more progress in my daily lessons with Alys, and Aleta and I haven’t managed to escape Emis and Gisela for even the space of a quarter hour. I see no hint of Tregle; hear no whispers of Caden beyond wedding chatter; and if the two of them plan some escape from the king’s machinations, I don’t know about it. The prince is even absent from dinner.
Seamstresses join the ladies and guards in our suite every day now to ensure that Aleta’s wedding gown fits her.
Though her fittings are rushed, Aleta is eerily relaxed during all of them. It alarms me to a degree. She doesn’t even bother to verbally skewer the seamstress when she pricks her side with the needle. But I can’t blame her. There’s blood staining the matrimony already. What’s one more drop?
I’ve seen Da every day and have all but given up asking about the king’s treasure or trying to pry more details from him about the night he fled Nereidium. It’s nothing more than a half-hearted effort now, as my mind is more preoccupied considering what might happen when I try to escape. Just after the ceremony, I’ll grab Aleta and run down to the prisons. We’ll get Da out of his cell—somehow—and then—
I can’t see past that. My mind circles itself like a dog chasing its tail.
We’ll get out, I try to assure myself. There are three of us, three different sorts of Elementals. If the king sends a Torcher, I can hopefully do something about it, and it can hardly hurt Aleta. Da’s air can blow away any earth Shaken toward us.
And if he sends another Rider? a small voice inside of me prompts. What if he sends Lady Kat?
The idea dismays me. As many times as I’ve now lived to tell the tale of a confrontation with her, I still go out of my way to avoid the Rider. If the king sends Kat… Well, if he sends Kat…
There are three of us, I tell myself firmly, trying and failing to convince myself it will be enough.
But at dinner the next night, I slip a knife up my sleeve. Just in case.
Before long, it’s two days. And then it’s the night before the Bonding banquet, a formal ball during which Caden and Aleta will be formally presented to each other before their wedding day. As if they weren’t raised within spitting distance of each other.
I can’t sleep. Kicking off my blankets, I pace my tiny room, then transition to the suite. I peer into Aleta’s room, which is dark save for the fire glowing softly in the hearth. The passageway remains safely ensconced behind the wardrobe, and I contemplate it for a moment, wondering. Could we truly manage to pull off an escape that way?
Shaking my head, I back away. It’s not time. I’ve been afraid to even whisper my lopsided plan to anyone. I don’t want to alert someone and ruin everything. Aleta showed me how to open the tunnel. That needs to be enough for now.
Finally, after a few more laps around the sitting room, I tap on the door—still locked from the outside—and ask the guard to escort me to the kitchens for an evening snack. Maybe a full belly will lull me to sleep.
“I’ll send for a servant to fetch some food.” The guard stares stiffly at the wall opposite our rooms. His posture indicates his reluctance to look at me, but his voice isn’t unfeeling. He shifts his weight to his other foot uncomfortably. Mayhap even the king’s guards aren’t entirely on his side.
I press him, sensing that he’s sympathetic. “Just an escort will do. Please? I think the walk would do me some good.”
He gives in, as I thought he would. The man’s armor clanks, echoing through the nearly empty corridors. This is my favorite way to find the palace: quiet and vacant. We walk in silence to the kitchens, where I ask a servant to fetch me some bread to
fill my insistent insides, suddenly ravenous.
The guard waits at the entryway, and I move inside to await my bread.
The sight of Caden, already seated in the dining hall, brings me up short. His hair falls loose over his forehead, and his head is slumped into his hands.
“Isn’t past your bedtime, Highness?” I tease in an attempt at levity.
I falter when he lifts his gaze to mine. Eyes bruised from lack of sleep, the prince looks like he’d barely be able to lift a spoon to his lips, much less twirl about the dance floor with abandon tomorrow night.
“Haven’t you heard?” he cracks, trying—and failing—at a smile. “Heirs in this kingdom haven’t time for sleep. We’re much too busy wavering between familial loyalty and morality.”
I hush him furiously, looking around the dark hall. The wooden tables are empty, shrouded in shadow, but in the castle, I always feel that there are eyes and ears on me that I can’t account for. I indicate the guard watching us with a jerk of my head.
Caden straightens, his gray eyes sharpening on the man’s form. He lifts his voice to carry. “Sir knight.”
The guard stands at attention, feet snapping together. “Your Highness.”
“You may entrust the Lady Breena to my care.”
“I must decline. His Majesty the king commanded that she never go unescorted.”
Caden pulls in a haughty sniff, and I nearly laugh at his pompous attitude. “Are you inferring that my escort is somehow less than adequate, sir knight?”
“No, Your Highness, not at—”
“Then I bid you a good night.”
Unable to argue with that, the guard marches away to return to his post at outside my rooms. Fleetingly, I wonder if he’s realized that Aleta has gone unguarded while he’s been away. I wait until the clinking of his armor no longer reaches my ears before speaking.
“Familial loyalty and morality, is it?” My eyes trace his face. He’s been so closed off in the past weeks, but finally, he looks like the boy who greeted me in the dungeons again. Like a friend.
But those eyes of his still make me think of trouble.
“You should try to sleep,” I tell him, settling on the bench across from him. “You’ve a big couple of days ahead of you starting tomorrow.”
Caden snorts. “Big isn’t the word I’d use, Bree. Monumental. Unthinkable. Either of those would be a little more apt. I’m to become a slave to my father’s will and tie myself to the ice princess.”
“I’ll not hear you speak of Aleta as such,” I warn. “We’ve become close over the past weeks.”
He waves a hand in apology. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I didn’t mean it either. We grew up together and she’s a friend, but I just—marriage.” He rubs at his eyes, and lifts them to mine, a smile flickering at their creases as he steers the conversation in a different direction. “I’m not entirely surprised that the two of you have become friends, you know. You’re more alike than you realize, and you’ve an enemy in common.” His smile drops as he yawns, finishing it in a groan. “Ether and arrows, I’d give my kingdom for some sleep.”
“So take it.”
A shake of his head. “I can’t. There will be time later. After.”
I lean forward eagerly. “So you do have a plan?”
“Bree…” His tone is apologetic, and I slump.
“Pretend I didn’t ask.”
“It’s just—it’s not really safe to talk here. You do know that?”
“I know. I just let myself forget it sometimes.” Is this the last time we’ll be able to speak so informally with each other? Going forward, if my escape goes as planned, I’ll never see him again.
The thought catches and sticks with me. I’ll never see him again. We’ve hardly even had time to get to know each other, but already it’s a wrench to think of the rest of my life without his encouraging presence, his half-smiles and sturdy shoulders that seem like they could help with my burdens.
This is the way it has to be.
“Whatever your plans may be, Caden, I’m sure they’d be better served if you didn’t look as though you’d fall flat on your face mid-sentence.” I give his knee a joking prod with my toe.
“Perhaps you’re right.” He stands, and I follow suit.
We say our goodnights as I choke down the urge to tell him of my plans. I can’t tell Caden. He already struggles enough with his own decisions about the wedding—that’s evident.
“Caden…” His rebellious name swims to my lips. I put my palm to his forearm. “Goodnight.” My hand refuses to move, and any other words refuse to come.
You’re going against good sense here, Mistress Perdit. I’ve toed the line with Caden this long. It would be stupid to step over it now when I’m so near the end of our time together.
Before I can step back, Caden’s arms come up around me and pull me into his chest.
This close, I can hear his heart, pattering against my ear. Its beat echoes my own. It’s quick—a gallop. The tunic he wears is rough and scratches my cheek. His chin pokes into the top of my head. It’s important that I focus on these more uncomfortable details. And not the fact that he’s warm and smells of cedar and apples. Or how his hand smooths down my hair with a light touch, lingering on the nape of my neck.
It would be too easy to let myself soften, to fall into him and forget who I am now and what I have to do. It would be too easy to reach a mirroring hand up to his cheek and let my palm graze the hairs rising there. Too easy to look up into his open, honest face and finally understand precisely what trouble his eyes can bring.
There’s too much at stake to explore here. I stiffen in his arms and give him a gentle push.
He releases me immediately, stepping away and putting some much-needed distance between us.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“For what?” I’ll let us both walk away from this as unscathed as possible. Pretend I haven’t let my thoughts lead me down the trail of what could happen next.
Gratitude shimmers in his eyes. “You’ve been a good friend to me, Bree,” he says. His voice is the whisper of a cloud on the night sky.
I nod, understanding that this may be the closest that we’ll get to a real goodbye.
“I’m to escort you back—”
I cut him off with a nervous chuckle. “Much as I appreciate the offer, my alone time has been scarce lately. If you don’t mind, I’d love to seize the opportunity.”
He nods, accepting that, and walks away.
I watch as the shadows of the hall swallow him up. Someday, Egria will be in much better hands. Understanding hands. But I can’t stay and wait for that day to come. His footsteps fall away, and I stay behind, wishing for a life in which I could follow them.
I make for my rooms soon after, halfheartedly chewing on the warm bread the servant finally appeared with. I may need all of the sustenance I can get in the next few days, but I’m not all that hungry anymore.
Thirty-Four
By the time Aleta and Caden’s Bonding night is upon us, I’m a bit more accustomed to the routine that precedes a formal event. I understand the customs of nobility now. They wear their gowns and jewels as a symbol of their status—like their own personal shields, protection from the swords of others’ words or judgments.
And as Gisela arranges the hem of Aleta’s Bonding gown, the princess might as well be wearing armor; she has the look of one going to war.
A battle is drawing near, though Aleta doesn’t know it. But I do. I know that, by escaping, we’re on our way to true war with the king. I draw a shaky breath from my position behind the group of women who have appeared to dress me and the princess for the evening. Tomorrow is the wedding. This will be my last night in the palace one way or another, I think grimly.
After the wedding ceremony, before the reception and the consummation of the marriage, Aleta and I will make our escape while everyone is occupied waiting for the new bride to appear. I can’t leave my friend to the king’s mercies,
but I’m afraid to voice my plans aloud anywhere in the castle. Makers only know whether they’ll be overheard.
Gisela yanks the princess’s corset tight, and Aleta grimaces. The laces at her back cinch shut, and her shoulder blades nearly meet.
The gown is designed to show off the extravagant fortune at the king’s fingertips, and it serves its purpose well, sewn with silver thread that catches the light as Aleta moves, encrusted with pearls and other sparkling gems that I can’t put a name to. The traditional silver sets off her skin well.
Emis steps forward, armed with a crown of blue flowers. Aleta holds up a hand, halting her progress.
“The azulys make me sneeze,” she says. “Perhaps something in red?”
Emis hesitates, and I’m pulled from my contemplations of escape, growing more attentive to the conversation.
“Red, Your Highness?” Emis asks.
Aleta knows the protocols involved in color selection. She taught them to me the first time we really spoke. As a princess and presumed future queen of Egria, she’s safe in choosing any color, save red. The color of spilt blood.
The color of death.
“But—this blue would look so lovely on Your Highness,” Emis tries. She holds the flowers up entreatingly. “And the king was quite clear—”
“If His Majesty protests, you may tell him that I refused all flowers adamantly. He’s not so unreasonable as to punish you for my misdeeds.”
I hope she’s right. I still smart over their betrayal but have privately conceded that Emis and Gisela had no real choice in the matter. To refuse the king’s wishes is to invite his wrath upon yourself and all you hold dear.
Aleta finger-combs her hair as she examines herself in the mirror, lips pursed. “Besides, it’s high time we threw away outdated customs. If I’m truly to be queen, I intend to push for the legislation.”
Threats of Sky and Sea Page 21