by Anya Josephs
I won’t have a chance to tell her that—not straightaway—because she isn’t in the room when I return. Just my aunt, sitting on the couch, drinking a cup of tea and watching me.
“Where’s Sisi?”
“With the King, of course. But I’m glad to see you. I hardly do, these days.”
“I’m glad to see you too, Auntie.” It’s true, especially with the rest of the family arriving from home so soon. I dread the moment when I will once again be lost in the crowd, but for now, it’s just us—me and the woman who raised me as much as anyone did.
“Your father is coming tomorrow, you know.”
“And the rest of the family?” I confirm, somewhat nervous. Sisi can hardly marry without her brother there, and I’d hoped to see the rest of them—especially Merri and the baby—too.
“Of course. But before they get here…before they get here, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about. Will you sit with me?”
I do as she asked, my heart fluttering in my chest. For a moment I’m afraid that she somehow knows about my research into the go’im, that she’s going to forbid it—but of course, Aunt Mae, who can’t read much more than I could a few months back, has no way of knowing what I’m doing when I’m in the library for all those hours.
“I’ve wanted a word with you for a while, Jeni, but since I hardly see you these days, and with so much to do, there hasn’t been time.”
I feel briefly guilty at the thought of my aunt waiting around in the hopes of catching me alone. I know what it feels like to be ignored when others are too busy to spend time with you, and it can’t have been pleasant for her, with Sisi always with the King and me buried in my books, even if Aunt Mae has made friends with some of the other ladies in the palace.
“I don’t know how to bring this up, quite, but it’s about… well, it’s about your cousin. And your friendship with her.”
This isn’t the first time I’ve had this conversation with my aunt. When we were younger, people always used to tell Sisi and I that we spent too much time together, that it wasn’t normal or healthy, that we ought to make other friends. Like it made any sense to try to trek into town to play with one of the neighbors’ children, when we had one another so close by. Or like we would have any interest in sharing games with the boy cousins, when we had each other to talk to. “I don’t want any other friends.”
“That’s… that’s not quite what I’m getting at.” Aunt Mae hesitates, and then says quietly, “When I was a girl, I had a dear friend who lived in town. Hana, her name was—more girls used their True Names back then. We were inseparable, just like you and Sisi are. From the time we were old enough to walk and talk, we went everywhere together. Did everything together. It was clear that my brother was going to inherit, that the whole farm would be his one day, and Hana had older brothers herself. We used to talk about running away together, about starting our own little shop in the City. About living together forever.”
I’ve never heard Aunt Mae mention Hana before, and there’s no one by that name in our town. That seems strange, if she was so important to Aunt Mae. I frown, unsure where this story is going.
“She grew up, met her husband, and married. Her farm is about a two days’ ride. I haven’t seen her in… in twenty years, probably. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I shake my head.
“It’s normal for girls to be close. Even for them to fancy themselves… bound together, in some way. As I felt about Hana. As you feel about Sisi. But most girls grow out of that phase. They find themselves interested in men, soon enough, and in marriage and babies and all the things they’re supposed to. Hana did. Sisi has.” She pauses, and takes a long, slow sip of her tea. “I never did.”
I stare straight ahead, unable to meet my aunt’s eyes. It’s something I’ve always known about myself, and never said aloud. I don’t have the words for it.
The reality is, I’ve never thought about a man the way I know Sisi thinks about the King. I’ve never had the kinds of crushes I hear other girls giggling about. When I think about the future, I think about Sisi, not marriage and children.
When I think about beauty, it’s her face I see.
When I imagine being in love, I can only imagine Sisi, or, if I really try, some other woman.
I blurt, “I’ve never been interested in a boy. Not like that.”
“So I feared. I had hopes, at first, when we came here—your reading tutor—”
“I like Jehan. But… I think he has as little interest in women as I do in—”
“I thought as much.” Aunt Mae sets her tea down and gently places one hand on my shoulder. “I hope someday you’ll find someone to make you happy. Whether you grow into yourself and decide you do want marriage, and all of that… or whether you find a true friend of your heart and stay with her all of your days.”
But Sisi is the true friend of my heart. I know as much, even though I cannot say it. “It’s not the same for her as it is for me,” I say dully. “I know that. I’ve always known much more awaited her than the life that she and I shared in our little attic room.”
That doesn’t stop me from wanting it. From admitting now, only to myself, that it’s the only future I’ve ever wanted.
I know in my heart that it’s impossible. I always have, so much so that I haven’t even bothered to admit that it’s what I want. Why would I, when I know I’ll never have it?
“Knowing doesn’t make it any easier,” Aunt Mae says. “But maybe there’s some comfort in hearing that you’re not alone.”
“Is there even a word for… for this feeling?” I ask.
“I heard a story once that it was common among the adirim. They called women like us Gaia’s Wives, and saw us as closer to the Goddess than those who let men into their lives. I think it a pretty idea, even if we can’t call ourselves that openly.”
Gaia’s Wife. I suppose it’s nice to think of being married to the Goddess Herself. Though it only speaks to the fact that I’ll almost certainly never find someone to share my life with here on Earth. I say as much to Aunt Mae.
“I’ve had a good life, in spite of never finding a partner to share it with. Maybe you will too.”
Or maybe I’ll end up bitter and miserable like my father. Or maybe I’ll be found out for the freak that I am and turned out of society. Or maybe Sisi will grow closer and closer to the King, to her husband, and further and further from me, until our old friendship seems like nothing to her, the mere relic of her babyish past, best pushed aside and forgotten because it no longer matters in her new life.
“You need not look so glum, Jeni,” Aunt Mae says. “It’s not a death sentence to be different, you know.”
“It feels like it,” I admit, staring down at the ground. “That Sisi is marrying someone else.”
“I know. How do you think I felt when Hana married?”
It was easier when it was Lord Ricard, I think, though I’m sick with myself for the very idea. At least then Sisi was just trying to save the family’s future and learn about the Kingdom’s secrets. She wasn’t choosing someone else over me. With Balion, she’s genuinely in love, happy with someone the way she never would be with me. She wants to be with him.
There’s nothing I can do about that. I can’t even wish it were different, not with how much I love Sisi, how much it means to me that she has found someone worthy of her, someone who loves her and who can give her a good life.
All my life, I’ve known Sisi would one day leave me behind. I just didn’t know how unbearable it would feel to watch it happen and know I can do nothing to prevent it.
“But you made it through?” I ask, desperate for any reassurance Aunt Mae can provide.
“I made it through. And so will you.”
“Don’t…don’t tell anyone else in the family,” I ask, my voice breaking. I mean Sisi above all, of course, but also my father. “I don’t want them to know.”
“Of course not. It’s between you and me,”
she promises.
“Thank you, Auntie.”
My voice breaks, and Aunt Mae glances sadly at me, almost like she wants to say something more. Yet no words come, and I take my leave.
For once, I am relieved to be alone in my chamber, where I can cry in peace for the love I’ll never be able to speak aloud.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Murder! In my own palace! Murder!”
I jump up from my spot on the couch, waking baby Mali on my lap. She starts to cry, which seems only appropriate, given the circumstances. “Your Majesty, what’s the matter?”
“Where’s your cousin?”
Sisi sticks her head out from her bedroom. “Here, Lio. What are you shouting about at this hour?”
“It’s Garem.”
She enters the room fully, pulling a dressing gown over her shoulders as she does. She leans against the wall near her room, apparently unimpressed with the King’s hysterics. “That old man? What about him?”
“They just found him dead,” Balion says, still pacing back and forth. He looks furious, frighteningly so. He’s such an even-tempered man usually, and I don’t know what to make of this sudden rage.
“He was an old man,” I say, hoping to calm him somewhat. “Sad still, of course, but it must have been his time.”
Balion shakes his head, slowly. “No. No, I’ve been blind for too long. They found him at the foot of the Tower of the Konim, as though he’d fallen. I’m sure it was meant to look like an accident. First, he tells me only he can do your Test. Then, he disappears into his rooms and will see no one, not even me. Now, just before it’s time for the ceremony, he’s dead.”
“You think he was killed,” Sisi confirms, taking a casual seat on the chaise.
“Yes.”
“To prevent me from becoming queen.”
“I fear it.”
Sisi shakes her head. “But surely someone else can perform the ceremony?”
Balion sighs, sitting down heavily on the couch next to her. “There’s no one else. I’ve been so foolish, I—I let my brother convince me. ‘The konim have too much power, they’ve done nothing for the Kingdom but take taxes from our hardworking people,’ that’s what he said. And I believed him. Maybe he was even right. But now there’s nothing I can do. We can’t be married, not without the spells, not without the blessing of Gaia’s konim.”
“What do you mean?”
“Garem was the last fully ordained member of the konim. There’s no one else.”
At first, Sisi doesn’t even seem concerned. Balion is, since he’s faced with the potential of Sisi’s wrath, quite a bit more nervous. I would be too, if I were him. Yet Sisi only shrugs. “There must be a way. People marry without a ceremony every day.”
“Not to the King of All the Earth, they don’t.”
“Come on now. Let’s not just sit here and worry. Let’s focus on the good, first and foremost. We have each other, do we not?”
“Of course we do, Sigranna,” Balion replies, sounding a little shocked. “From today to the end of my days, I am yours.”
She pauses momentarily, blushing, but then returns to the matter at hand. “And we’re hardly helpless. You’re the King! And I am resourceful, in my own way.”
That’s an understatement.
“Yes. Yes, we’ll figure it out.” He stands. “I should go talk to the counsel. See if they can be persuaded to make an exception.”
“That’s a good idea.” Sisi kisses him goodbye. As he’s headed out the door, though, she speaks again. “Lio?”
“Yes, my love?”
“I’m sorry about Garem. He seemed a good man.”
“Yes,” the King says, gratitude and grief shifting across his face at once. “He was.”
Once the King is gone, Sisi turns to me. “Will you help?”
“I’m surprised you bothered to ask.”
“What does that mean?” she demands. I don’t meet her eyes, immediately regretting my sarcastic words. No matter what else there is between us, Sisi is still my dearest friend, and I would never want to hurt her. “Well, come then. We’ve work to do.”
She leads me back down to the library. I start out happy to have her at my side, and to be able to share my newfound expertise with her. That fades quickly enough, as we dive into the actual problem. It becomes apparent that, no matter how skillful our reading or dedicated our attention, we may not be able to fix this.
The rest of our morning is spent digging through the law books of the Kingdom. Again and again, written everywhere she looks, Sisi finds a fact even she cannot argue with—the Queen of the Kingdom, just like the King, has to be bound to the land. The Ceremony requires an enormous expenditure of magic, one that could be fatal to even a practiced witch. Only a highly trained member of the konim or one of the adirim could do it. And there are no priests left. Garem was the last of a long-dwindling group.
I jump out of my seat as Sisi slams The Code of the Nation shut.
“Did you find something?”
She doesn’t respond to my question, just leaps to her feet and walks away. The heavy library door slams shut behind her, leaving me alone to stare at the discarded pile of books. Once I’m sure she’s really gone, I dare to peek at the book she’s abandoned.
Opening to the back index, I find S, for succession, and turn to the appropriate page.
None shalle rule, neither as King nor Queene, neither regnante nor consorte to the regnante, unlesse that they be approved by all three powers: by the power of the Crowne that resteth with the King and his consel, by the power of the Swourd that resteth with the protectors of the Earthe, and by the power of High Magicke that resteth with the greatest people above all, and also with the chosen in the lign directe of the First Queene, and also with the dedicate religious of Gaia.
I suppose that answers that, then.
I put the book down, a little more carefully than Sisi had, but just as resigned. I can’t see any way around what’s written in black and white on that page. I take a split second to relish in the fact that I can now read this archaic text in its fading print and understand every word before I return to the problem at hand.
Sisi was so close to her happiness—about to marry the man she loved, about to have her place in the Kingdom finally settled. And now, all of that has been torn away from her, suddenly, through this violent and tragic act.
It isn’t right. Someone ought to be able to do something. Even the King can’t, seemingly, intervene, he admits, looking ashamed when he rejoins all of us for the midday meal.
“How did you let this happen?” Sisi demands of her fiancé over a very tense luncheon of roast chicken and fresh-baked bread. “Surely you knew that we would need to have a new king or queen sooner or later?”
“I didn’t think. I mean, Ricard was so sure that there was a way around it.”
“Now do you see why I don’t trust him?”
“I’m sure it was a mistake on his part. He would never be involved with something so terrible.”
Sisi stands up at that. “If you want to remain blind, then that’s what you’ll do. I would have thought you cared enough about our future together to finally see what’s right before your eyes.”
She storms out of the room. The King is wise enough, at least, not to try to follow her.
The days that follow are tense. The King and his brother have an argument behind closed doors that ends with Balion’s bodyguard pulling him physically from the room. Sisi won’t see any of us. And I…
I am in the library again.
At first, it’s just to hide from all the conflict. Jorj is in a private drawing room with the King, negotiating how he’ll make reparations to Sisi’s lost virtue if the engagement has to be broken; maids are scrambling to postpone the wedding plans; the stewards are in a panic over what to write to the guests. At first, I just want to stay out of the way.
But as I read through the old books, something occurs to me—or rather, someone. It’s some time b
efore I can begin to put this plan into action, though. I need an occasion where I can speak to Jehan, unnoticed and undisturbed. And that means waiting for a time when we’ll be in the same crowd.
I’m not proud of choosing Garem’s funeral as the venue for this conversation—I know it isn’t exactly respectful of the dead—but I also know that I’m not hurting Garem, and this will give me the cover I need to speak to Jehan unnoticed.
Garem is buried in a state funeral, after the week of private mourning has gone by. We gather in the same grand ballroom where the King and Sisi met, where their wedding was to take place. Now, instead of enchanted snowflakes or flowers, it’s draped with red curtains, red tablecloths, red carpets—everywhere, the color of mourning. Red for the heart’s ache, red for the heart’s blood. Red for death, and the rebirth that may follow it.
After the ceremony, I find Jehan in a corner. He’s dressed all in red, looking sober and devastated.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I say. “You must have been close.” Jehan was one of the three mourners chosen for an honor in the service, and his hand is still bleeding from where it had been pricked to let blood fall into the grave.
“He was my mentor. Like a father to me. I believed I would follow him into the konim, until His Majesty…” But his voice becomes choked with tears, and he says no more.
“I hate to ask you for this now, but perhaps you know what has to be done? For the royal wedding?”
Jehan looks grave and sorrowful. “I’m sorry, Miss Jeni. I simply don’t have the training.”
“But the King—”
“It’s not the wedding we should be worried about. It’s what comes after. With no konim, there’ll be no heir named. When the King is gone…”
“Surely you could learn, though. If you were trained to be one of the konim, you could figure it out. You’re so clever, I always saw that in you. I think you could learn it, if you just tried.” I sound childish and foolish even to my own ears, but someone must be able to do something. I just can’t believe that Sisi’s chance at happiness is gone so quickly. I can’t believe everything is changing, again. That Ricard, however he’s responsible for this—as I know he must be—is somehow winning.