From Under the Mountain

by Cait Spivey

  Eva seemed to sense Guerline’s scrutiny, and smoothed down the silk over her hips. The style of the dress made her appear even thinner and taller than she was, though, in Guerline’s opinion, she hardly needed to employ optical illusions with her clothes. The design was really meant for someone more like Guerline, who was shorter than Eva and much fuller figured.

  But it flattered her friend very well indeed, and as she took it in, Guerline felt heat bloom within her. Her gaze fixed on the open front of the overdress, which exposed the sheer underdress in a line that ran the length of Evadine’s torso.

  Eva laughed softly. “You stare without making a comment. Don’t you like it?”

  “I do!” Guerline said quickly. She stood and laid her hands on Eva’s hips, careful not to touch the metal belt and leave fingerprints on it. Tilting her chin up, she asked, “Whatever is it for?”

  Eva kissed her forehead. “My new station. The dressmakers finished it and a few others today.”

  Guerline nodded and smiled up at her. “It’s perfect. In fact, I think the first task I’ll ask of you, as your empress, will be to provide me with a suitable wardrobe, so I’ll be as lovely as you. You know I’m hopelessly indifferent to such things.”

  Evadine flushed and glanced away. “Lina, you don’t need . . . you’ve always been . . .”

  She looked back up at Guerline, her grey eyes stormy with an expression that sent a bolt of electricity down Guerline’s spine. Breath caught in her throat. Unwilling to wrinkle the fine fabric, she released Eva’s hips and took her hands instead, holding them tightly, burning with an energy she could hardly describe or process. It had only been a few days, and this new dynamic merely tilted the confusion and anxiety surrounding her feelings for Eva, rather than alleviating it. They couldn’t resist each other, now that they had begun. But for her vision of a life together to become reality, so many separate parts had to align.

  Still, it was a joy to even be confused about the real possibility that she could marry Evadine. She’d always thought—they both had always thought—that Eva would be married to Alcander. For years he had pursued her, sent her little notes and arranged apparently spontaneous walks and meetings, and often used Guerline to create these opportunities. She’d never believed her brother to be sincere, especially not after . . . but she’d never been brave enough to voice those concerns with Eva.

  Movement behind Eva caught Guerline’s eye and she glanced past her friend to look at it. It was a sallow-skinned wraith—Alcander. He stared down at her, eyes like flint. Blood dripped from his left shoulder. She bit her lip to keep from screaming. The vision wasn’t real, she knew that; it was only a holdover from the vivid nightmares she’d endured for the past two months. She blinked and he was gone.

  “What is it, Lina?” Eva asked again.

  Guerline looked back at her and gave her a small smile. The rush of heat through her body faded, but she took Eva’s hand in hers and squeezed. The two women sank onto the stone bench as one, fingers twined together and resting against their touching knees.

  “I’ll never get through this without you, Eva,” Guerline said.

  Eva put her other hand on top of their joined ones. “You won’t have to.”

  They sat in silence for a mere minute before they heard a respectful cough. The two women looked up and saw Lord Warren standing there. He’d donned his work belt over his violet-blue tunic, laden down with pouches, drafting tools, and even a roll of paper tucked through it. He wore a magnifying glass on a chain pinned to his tunic; the glass dangled from a hook threaded through the pin.

  “Theodor. What is it? I don’t want to be disturbed right now,” Guerline said.

  “Apologies, Guerline-basi, but I have your letters.”

  Basi. Ruler. She still wasn’t used to the honorific attached to her own name—non-heirs didn’t get one. “And?”

  “And it will take at least an hour to get through them, and you have only two hours before our council meeting.”

  Guerline sighed. He had a point. Today’s was the first council meeting of her reign and she needed to be as prepared as possible; that meant being up-to-date on any correspondence. She turned to Eva with an apologetic grimace.

  “Go on. I’ll meet you in the chambers,” Eva said.

  Guerline squeezed her hand and rose from the bench.

  “All right, Theodor. To the office of letters,” she said.

  He offered her his arm, which she took, and they walked out of the garden. Helping her with the mail was not Lord Warren’s job, far from it. But he was a good, kind man who wanted her to succeed, and so he seemed to have committed himself to helping her in any small way he could. She was grateful, even if her heart stayed behind on that bench.

  Evadine waited until she could no longer hear the click of the empress’s steps or the swish of her dress. She sighed and wiped nascent tears from her eyes, flexing the hand that had held Guerline’s. Her masochism had overdeveloped since their first morning together—the thrill she felt at every touch was inevitably paired with pain from her certainty that it would not last. No love was strong enough to survive what she meant to do, even if it was for the sake of the one she loved. The bittersweetness of sacrifice only twisted her heart further.

  She whirled around and strode from the garden, turning in the opposite direction to the one Guerline had taken. Guerline would be occupied until the council meeting, and Lord Warren would be there with her. He was meddlesome, as most northerners were. They had an insatiable kind of curiosity that led them into everyone else’s business, and Lord Warren had taken a particular interest in Guerline since the rest of the royal family died. Eva could only assume that he was positioning himself as a suitor. It probably would have been a good match, and he probably would have been a serviceable emperor—but Eva did not intend to let things get that far.

  She went down into the lower level of the palace, just below the surface, above the dungeons. This level was used for storage, and between the guards on the main floor and the guards further down, it was left virtually unprotected. It was the perfect place for clandestine meetings, as Alcander had shown Evadine years ago. Anger flared in her chest, hot and painful, but she tamped it down. If she refused to think about him, perhaps he would stop appearing to her.

  She reached a door just slightly ajar and knocked gently in the sequence the conspirators had agreed upon. Then she slipped inside and pulled the door shut behind her.

  “I’m the last?” she asked.

  “Yes, and it’s about time,” said Pearce Iszolda. The Lord Treasurer was an old white man who had lived solely in the palace for years, giving up his own house in the Second Neighborhood. He was of a rather paranoid disposition, which Alcander had derided constantly to Eva in private, though he said it did make Pearce a great ally, since he was absolutely terrified of magic and was happy to inform anyone who would listen of the dangers of witchcraft. While many dismissed him in any but matters financial, even ridiculous statements could sow doubt in a reasonable mind, when exposed to them often enough.

  “Well, I had an excuse to cultivate, didn’t I?” Eva said. Her voice was sharp and her eyes narrowed. “But now we are here, and we must prepare.”

  “What have you in mind, Lady Malise?” asked the other man in the room. Lanyic Eoarn was the Lord Merchant, a tall, brown-skinned western man who was shrewd and suspicious, just like Eva.

  They were Alcander’s men, the bedrock of the anti-magic movement in the capital. At the turn of spring, Alcander had begun dragging Eva to his secret gatherings, where she learned that his intentions were to remove the Kavanagh sisters from their positions as Lords Paramount. It seemed absurd at first—the witches had always guarded Arido’s borders, they ruled as an extension of the crown, they had their hands in virtually every function of the empire.

  But Alcander had silenced her protests with private demonstrations of dangerous pre-made enchantments, like the one with the dagger that never missed its target. The truth wa
s that Alcander hadn’t hated magic; he hated the witches because they could use magic at will, and there was no way for him to defend himself against it. He had been, fundamentally, terrified that a witch would someday kill him.

  Eva had resisted his ravings as much as she could, but in the end, his demonstrations had had their desired effect. If there was anything that scared her more than Alcander had, it was magic, and the ways it could be used against those without it.

  Humans like her, like Guerline, were not safe as long as magic existed in the realm.

  When Alcander died, she began to receive messages from Lanyic, Pearce, and others of the movement; somehow, her always coming and going with Alcander had led them to believe she was his chosen captain. She ignored them at first, but she knew they wouldn’t stop simply because the prince was dead. The problem was that they were all railers and ravers; few enough of them had demonstrated an aptitude for the long strategizing Alcander had envisioned. Only now, it was Guerline who would be undermined by their extremism. They needed sound leadership, someone who would plan for true change and not the kind of reactionary chaos that usually led to a headless monarch and bursting jails. So Eva had reluctantly taken up the mantle of the movement.

  “We have spent a long time talking about the problems with witches in this country. I have been very pleased by what I hear in the central cities. There is ignorance and annoyance among the humans, and they grow wary of magic,” Eva said. “Now that Guerline is crowned, it is time to push for new laws limiting the power of the clans.”

  “But the empress herself still favors the witches, does she not?” Lanyic said.

  Pearce snorted. “Aye, she has eyes on the witch-son.”

  Eva ignored the lurch in her stomach at his words. “Yes, but Guerline is easily led. If we show her how the witches are crossing lines and breaking laws, she will be convinced that harsher measures are required.”

  “But they’re not breaking laws,” Lanyic said.

  Eva smiled. “Not yet. But it makes no matter. We will tell her that they are.”

  “Lie? To Her Majesty?” Pearce asked.

  “You lied to her father, didn’t you?” Eva snapped.

  He shrank back from her and retreated to the corner, pouting, his eyes sullen and averted. Lanyic raised an eyebrow but remained silent. Eva looked from one to the other sternly; then she smiled warmly at them. She reached into her overdress and pulled an envelope out of one of her pockets.

  “This is the first step, my lords. I intercepted it when yesterday’s letters came in. It is from Governor Derouk in Braeden, and it is proof that the witches are beginning to overstep their bounds. Morgana of Adenen has met with foreign wizards and collaborates with them.”

  “What? Let me see it!” Lanyic lunged for it.

  Eva stepped back, holding the letter aloft. “Not yet, Lord Merchant. I will reveal it at today’s council meeting. Save your outrage for the empress.”

  He frowned, but nodded. Blood was already rising in his cheeks, and Eva smiled. He would be very ready for the council meeting. Pearce was staring at the letter, wide-eyed, just as Eva had known he would. Pearce had a special fear of the battle-witch, coming as he did from the soft and spineless South. They were by far the weakest people in Arido, and Eva was very glad, in the end, that she had not been raised among them.

  “Now, the council meeting is not for a few hours yet, so take that time to think of all your grievances with the witches. Do not be seen with each other until it is time to meet, but if you should come across Lord Famm, feel free to engage him. He is the most neutral of the remaining council members. We may yet be able to recruit him,” Eva said.

  “What of Lords Marke and Wellsly?” Lanyic asked.

  Eva laughed. “Never mind them. Marke is too devoted to Black Fiona, and Wellsly would have to consult his books. And we know that Warren is Guerline’s lapdog, but he is also very observant, so be careful around him. If he scents conspiracy, he will tell her.”

  “Would she believe him?” Pearce asked.

  Eva hesitated. “She would not want to, but she is cautious, and would inquire.”

  Though Eva was confident that she could predict Guerline’s actions well, she did not want to overestimate herself. She had seen a change in the way Guerline acted even in the hours since the coronation, and as proud as it made her, it also chilled her to the bone. It was possible that Guerline was taking to the crown better than either she or Eva had anticipated. That was what Eva feared more than the failure of her henchmen or her subtle plots—because Guerline could be very clever when it was called for, and if she decided that she did want to be empress, it would be harder to do what needed to be done.

  “So, be careful,” she said. “Be discreet.”

  She tucked the letter away and went back over to the door.

  “I will leave first. Each of you wait a time before leaving yourselves, and I will see you in the council chambers.”

  With that, she opened the door and slipped out before they could see how her hands shook.

  Theodor handed her a tri-folded piece of soft paper. “Another invitation, Your Majesty. This one from the Count of Ledessa. I know his estate. Very charming.”

  Guerline took it and unfolded it, scanning the elegant writing. “I remember this family. They have a son not much older than me. Arron?”

  “Yes. Last I saw him, I found him quite amiable, if a bit reserved,” Theodor said.

  “I’ve never met him,” Guerline said. She folded the letter again and put it in a pile to her right. “Add his estate to the tour list.”

  Theodor dutifully did so, his quill scratching across the paper in front of him. Guerline looked at him across the desk, and the words that had stuck in the back of her mind for weeks floated forward again. Run away with me. She’d contemplated begging Eva, Theodor, Undine—even Renae, her chambermaid. She imagined asking them, and them agreeing. She’d imagined them saying no, and how she would beg them to at least turn a blind eye so she could escape.

  “I can’t help but notice that many of these invitations come from lords with eligible sons and daughters,” she said instead.

  Theodor sighed and deposited his quill in its stand. “It is a common theme. The expectation is that you will marry soon.”

  She frowned. “Whose expectation?”

  “Well . . . everyone’s. Even among the council,” he said, staring at the table instead of looking up at her.

  Guerline sighed and leaned back in her chair. If she was honest with herself, she wasn’t surprised. It would be a smart move, an easy way to secure support for the bumpy road ahead, whether she married one of her own nobles, or the second child of a foreign monarch. The thought made her laugh aloud. It had once been her fate to be uprooted, sent to a strange country to marry someone she’d never met. Now, she would be the one doing the uprooting. Unless she married Eva, which would undoubtedly insult everyone.

  Theodor blinked at her, his brow furrowed with the unasked question of what made her laugh.

  “And you, Theodor? Would you have me marry immediately?” she asked.

  She knew it was a mistake the moment the words left her mouth. A pink flush filled his pale cheeks.

  “Never mind. I don’t mean to marry with any haste,” she said.

  “If I may ask, why?”

  Guerline stood and paced, trailing her fingers along the cool wall. It maddened her that there were no windows in this room. The palace was so huge there could not possibly be windows in every room, which was a significant flaw in its design as far as Guerline was concerned. Her heart raced and she took deep breaths. Her tongue seemed reluctant to speak, resisting her attempts to open her mouth and form words. But if she could not tell Theodor, her closest friend aside from Eva, and by far the milder of temper, then she would hardly be able to tell anyone else.

  Including Eva—she had not yet voiced this concern even to the woman she loved. Somehow, the fact that she loved Eva so much made it harder to adm
it the way she felt about marriage.

  “I do not want to marry because if I do, I will do what I have always done. I will allow myself to fade into the background. I will hide behind my spouse, just as I’ve hidden behind Eva all these years.”

  She let out a deep breath and watched Theodor’s expression shift from embarrassment to thoughtfulness. It felt good to articulate the feelings she’d been sorting through privately for the past two months, and in earnest over the last few days. Her journals were bursting with many iterations of these thoughts, thoughts she couldn’t share with anyone until this moment. They had not settled, and she could not have revealed such a harsh personal evaluation until she felt sure enough of it herself.

  Sitting down once more, she reached across the letters and took Theodor’s hand. “I’m afraid, Theodor. I don’t like this uncertainty. But this is the first time in my life that I don’t have someone above me, pushing me down. This is my chance to be strong, to direct myself, and I must at least try it on my own.”

  Theodor put his hand over hers and gave her a small smile. “Yes, you must. But Lina, marriage does not mean—”

  “I know, I know that. But I know myself too, and I know that if I marry the kind of ruling partner I would want without establishing myself first, I would find it far too easy to let them lead,” Guerline said.

  He squeezed her hand and let go. “Then I will trust your judgment.”

  Guerline grinned. “Thank you, Theodor, so much. It means a great deal to me.”

  He smiled back. “You will always have my support.”