by Anya Josephs
Carefully, I return to the library, my prize in hand, where I read all night and far into the early hours of the morning. I’d thought some of the other volumes were hard to read, but this book must be more ancient than anything else I’ve read. It’s mostly in the Old Tongue, and I have to refer constantly to a dictionary in order to make any sense of it. But after a while, I think I’ve found what I need to know.
Hiding the book under my skirt, I creep out to the garden to watch the sun come up, waiting for the hour when I can find Sisi and the King and tell them what we must do.
I can’t speak at first, so I just show them the book.
“These are the words you need,” I tell them when my voice returns. “I’ll say them, at the coronation, and then the Test should be able to go forward. It doesn’t need to be a priest, just someone who…” I look for the right way to phrase it. “Someone who is willing to make the necessary sacrifice.”
I show them the formula in the book. It’s clear to all three of us that I meet all the requirements to make the sacrifice. As Jehan himself pointed out, I am giving up my dream so that Sisi can become the Queen. In this book, the most ancient and thus perhaps the most true of them all, there is no requirement that the person making the sacrifice be a priest, merely that someone forfeit their heart’s desire in order to receive Gaia’s blessing. She—it says she in the book—then speaks the sacred words of the Old Tongue, as laid out helpfully in the text, and then she is endowed with the power needed to represent Gaia’s choice. Everything else—the konim, the ceremony, the pomp and circumstance—all of that came later. The actual magic is quite simple. It’s just a trade, of one dream for another.
I know I have the power to do this for Sisi. If I can make myself do it.
Sisi stares at me for a moment, her dark eyes filling with tears. Then, silently, she pulls me into a close embrace. “Thank you,” she whispers fiercely, too low for anyone else to hear. I hold her back and smile, ignoring the rising lump of misery in my throat.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I peek over Sisi’s shoulder to get a look at myself. The Jena in the mirror is grim and pallid, visibly miserable even in her lovely light-gold gown. I try to smile and fail. The color doesn’t suit my sallow complexion at all, but apparently we’re supposed to match the color scheme so we can dress up like the decorations to the room. It’s not just the dress that is making me look so unhappy, though.
There’s a question I’ve been aching to ask Sisi for the last lonely months, and now that the moment has come, even though it’s on the tip of my tongue, I just can’t. I bite my lip so I won’t say anything, and focus on actually performing the duties for which I was brought to the Capital in the first place anyway—I am her maiden in waiting, and I have to help make her as lovely as she can possibly be.
Again and again, I’ve rehearsed this conversation in my mind, and now that the moment is here I can’t quite bring myself to speak. It’s not that I’m afraid of the answer. It’s that I can’t think how to even ask without hurting Sisi, and I love her so much that the idea of causing her any pain fills me with a sinking dread, worse even than the misery that’s been building up in my chest for weeks.
For a long time, Sisi and I are silent as I twist her hair into an elegant pouf atop her head.
Yet as distant as we’ve become, whatever is between us, she still knows me well enough to know that all is not right. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing,” I say, focusing back on the work of my hands, trying to blink away the tears in my eyes without her seeing.
She turns around and grabs my hands, making me still then, looking right into my eyes. “Jena. Tell me. I’ve barely seen you for the last few weeks. I don’t know what’s going on with you. Talk to me.”
And now the words fall from my lips like a flood, unhindered by any interference from my brain. “That’s exactly what’s going on. I barely see you. You hardly have time for me even now. Next week, you’ll be the Queen of All the Earth. Do you think you’ll have a lot more free time then?” The bitterness is leaking into my voice now, even as I try desperately to hold it back. I had no intention of letting my secret unhappiness spill out like this, and certainly not on Sisi’s wedding day, on what is supposed to be the happiest day of her life. I chose to find the spell, chose to give it to her. I’ve made that sacrifice, and I ought to live with it.
I watch in the mirror, furious with myself, as her eyes fill with tears. “Jena, I don’t—I just don’t know what to say.”
I wish I’d just kept my mouth shut. This will change nothing, and it doesn’t help me at all to make her sad. It just saddens me as well. Everything that hurts her hurts me too. It always has.
“I don’t know what I can do,” she tries. “I don’t want you to be unhappy, I don’t—”
“I’m sorry. Forget it. I know you’re doing your best. It’s not like you had another choice. You didn’t try to ignore me, you just… you have a lot of responsibilities.”
“I’m growing up,” she says softly, and her voice is sad. “I’m a bride now. About to be a woman grown, in truth as much as in name. And I am in love with a wonderful, kind, gentle man. And I am happy to be sharing the rest of my life with him, truly I am. It’s what I want. What I want more than anything else. But that doesn’t mean that my love for you is gone, cousin. It will always be a part of me, even if we’re not together every moment the way we used to be.”
“But when we’re not that, not ever again, what will we be?” What will I be, without her? It’s the question I’ve been trying hard not to ask myself. It’s the answer I’m afraid of knowing. What are Sisi and I to each other, really? And what are we about to become?
“I don’t know,” she admits, always a hard thing for the prideful Sisi to do. “I’d imagined you’d go home with your father, but now I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Maybe I was wrong, and you should stay here in the palace with me. Balion would find a job for you, if you’d like, or you needn’t work at all. I need ladies-in-waiting. I choose them myself, you could be one. My companion again, but in an official capacity. You could live here in the palace with me and want for nothing, but…”
“But it wouldn’t change the fact that you’d be far away. Your life will never be with me again. Not the way it was. I could stay here, but we can’t go back.”
“No,” she says quietly. “I don’t think we can, Jena.”
“Well,” I reply, not sure what else to do. She turns away from me, toward the mirror again, and I go back to doing her hair. I’m grateful for the fact that I don’t have to say a word for her to know that I’m in desperate need of this distraction. Still, I try to find a jovial tone, one that doesn’t match the deep-seated despair I can barely express even to myself. My voice comes out high-pitched, obviously false even to my own ears. “Well, it is what it is, I suppose. I don’t imagine there’s much of anything either one of us can do about it.”
“That’s the spirit!” she teases, obviously grateful for my change into positivity, however feigned it may be, and—briefly—I laugh.
I take the opening to change the subject, since I don’t want to upset her again. I love her too much to want to see her sad, especially on her wedding day—no matter how I may feel. Instead, I ask, “Are you excited?”
“Yes, I think so. Nervous, too. Of course.”
“For the wedding? The marriage? Being Queen?”
“Oh, you know. Absolutely all of it,” she says, and laughs again, more genuinely this time. Then her voice grows serious. “I think it’ll be all right, though. I’ll have Balion at my side, and that’s what really matters. We love each other, and as long as we’re together, I think we’ll be all right.”
I wonder what it’s like to feel that way about someone. About a man, rather, for it’s how I’ve always felt about Sisi.
“That’s good,” I say weakly.
“Wait. Jena.”
“What?”
“I just wanted to say…”
She takes a deep breath and turns to meet my eyes. “I know it wasn’t easy. The choice you made, the sacrifice. You gave me my happiness, and I know what it must have cost you. What it must have done to you, to know…you and I could have gone home together, if you hadn’t found the secret. We probably would have. So, thank you.”
“What kind of friend would I be,” I ask her, “if I had taken my happiness at the cost of your own?”
“I just hope you’ll find yours one day too. No—I know you will.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I didn’t think I would ever be here. I didn’t think marriage was in my future, or that I would find my place in the Kingdom through love. But here I am. About to be the Queen. And it’s all because of you. If you can make that happiness for me, I know you can find it for yourself.”
I don’t know what to say in response to that, so I just kiss the top of Sisi’s head and return to work on her hair.
Before we have to talk any more, a bevy of maids bursts in to help with everything: to fix Sisi’s hair—apparently I did it wrong, which ought to be no surprise since I seem to do everything wrong; squeeze her corset tight, a task which takes four strong-armed women, two on either side of her to pull at each lace; bind her feet into tiny little shoes; arrange her necklaces in the most suitable fashion; drape her veil prettily over her features; and make sure her dress is arranged so that it won’t stop her from dancing or get dirtied by trailing too much through the halls of the palace.
Of course, she looks stunning when they’ve finished. The gold tone chosen for her dress is much more becoming on her complexion than on my olive-tinged skin, and where my gown is relatively simple in its shape, hers is elaborate, with enormous tufted sleeves, a full skirt, and intricate beading all around the waist in a diamond pattern that emphasizes her voluptuous shape.
She’s always been beautiful. What has really changed is in her smile, in the sparkling of her eyes, in the dimples that appear in her lovely rounded cheeks. She is happy in a way I never saw of her back home. When we arrived here, she was sulky and sullen and angry, angry at everyone, at the many wrongs of a Kingdom she barely understood and held no real hope of ever changing. Now she is smiling and lovely, radiant with joy and calm. Now she is in love. I know that in my heart, know that is the real difference in her, even if I wish it were something else, something there was any hope of changing.
If it were something else, then I could hope for things to go back to the way they were. But, however saddened I am by being left out of her newly transformed life, I cannot wish for her to lose the love that has given her so much pure and genuine joy. I know I’ve made the right choice. As difficult as it was, as much as I fear I may be consumed with regret and resentment as I journey toward home with a father who I don’t understand and a family where I have no real purpose, I know I’ve done what I must.
With that knowledge in my heart, and with a pit of dread in my gut, I take Sisi’s arm. Together, we walk down to the grand ballroom. These are our last moments as girls together, and though we don’t speak of it again, we both know it. She turns and smiles at me just before we enter, and I see it in her eyes, both the truth and, I hope, the future. Sisi will be happy with the King. She’ll have a good life, and that’s all I can really ask for, even if it’s not what I wanted.
To my surprise, the herald leads us not back to the ballroom or some other splendid part of the palace, but down, down, down a set of steep steps hewn from rough stone.
At the base of the long flight of stairs, we are ushered through a doorway so low that even I have to duck my head. On the other side is the chapel.
It smells of earth down here, and mud, and things growing. There is already a crowd seated on low benches, shivering a little in their finery. The silken gowns most of the ladies are wearing for this Midsummer evening are much too thin to protect against the chill of the air underground. Everyone is dressed in light colors and opulent jewels, and quite a few of the ladies are obviously concerned with whether or not the damp floor of the cave might stain their voluminous and likely expensive skirts. The only light comes from a single flickering candle that Jehan holds in his trembling hands. I can’t see much except the shadows that one light casts on the walls.
From within the crowd, the King appears and offers his hands to Sisi. She takes them with a small smile and allows herself to be led up to the front of the room. As I had read in the book, as I have learned that I must, I follow. Sisi and Balion both kneel, facing each other, and I take a moment to gather my courage. To speak in front of all of these people. To let Sisi go. I don’t know exactly what my fears are, but they are writhing within me, blocking my throat so that it’s hard to speak.
And then I suddenly realize, in that long and unbroken quiet, what is making this place so very special. It’s not merely the fact that it is so oddly real, so quiet and still and natural where everything else in the palace is overdone and overdecorated. No, it’s the sound here.
For even in the still and silence, when no one is moving at all, I can hear a long, slow rumble, as of breathing in and out.
I think I can hear Gaia breathing, the earth Herself alive beneath my feet and all around me.
I can feel the spirit I never gave any thought to before this very minute. Now I must believe it. I believe there is something here with us, some essential and unnamable force, a goddess in our Kingdom, of our Earth, beneath and around us.
A sense of peace fills my worried heart, lifts the tension that has been squeezing at me for so long. It doesn’t matter what becomes of me and my small life, of Sisi and our friendship, of anyone in this room. We are only humans, and our lives are small and brief, and our mistakes are vast and weighty. But they will all pass from the Earth, even as we ourselves will, and it will not matter at all because the Earth herself will still be here, breathing and firm, ready to lift up new lives and raise them into the light.
Perhaps this is what magic is: this moment of connection, of certainty, of belief.
Jehan hands me the three-pronged Crown of the First Queen, and I lift it high above my head. Sisi and Balion steal wide-eyed and fearful glances at me. All the other Tests were mere precursors to this moment. I wonder if they’re worried I might not go through with it, that I might somehow tear their happiness away from them when it’s so close.
I could, of course. It wouldn’t work if I couldn’t, if the power weren’t in my hands. Now, for the first time in my life, everyone and everything depends upon me.
I draw in a slow breath, in time with the Earth all around me.
And I begin the words of the ceremony.
The chant is all in the Old Tongue, and I know little of its meaning. I memorized the words by rote, Jehan and Sisi’s brother Jorj taking it in turns to drill me on the lengthy phrases. It seems to have paid off though, as the words flow from my tongue as if drawn out by…
By… something. Thought fails me, replaced by something strange.
It’s like what happened on the night of the Spring Festival, but much, much more so. My entire body feels as though it’s humming, alive with a power I didn’t know I had.
The words, which I’d so carefully memorized over those many nights, fall from my mouth. Each one tingles, and then burns. I hadn’t been prepared for the pain, for the searing heat I feel on my lips and teeth as I quietly chant the words. Yet, as the pain increases, so does my sense of exhilaration, my excitement at what I can feel throbbing through my body. I forget all about why I’m doing this for a moment. It’s all about the words themselves, all about the power.
I’m surprised when the dark cave flashes brilliantly with light for a moment. I’d forgotten that it was dark, forgotten where I was, forgotten everything but the words. Now my attention is drawn back into the space around me. I see Sisi and Balion, kneeling before me, their faces drawn with fear as they wait for the future. I see their expressions change to wonder as they realize the cave is illuminated and the ground is gently trem
bling.
And slowly, slowly, the crown begins to rise from my hands. It glows with light, getting brighter and brighter as it floats free from any touch, free from my grasp. It illuminates Sisi’s wide eyes as it begins to drift forward and then settles, gently, on her head.
Sisi, her whole body shimmering in her golden gown under the magical light, and the bright crown resting in her dark hair, slowly rises and turns to face the crowd, her new people, and there is a long moment of silence as they regard their Queen.
“Gaia volut rein et kol!” I cry, and the whole assembly repeats it. I look out, seeing Elan, my father, my aunts and uncles, even our boy cousins, their faces calm and still. Gaia wills it: Queen of All.
I don’t know who the first to drop to one knee is, but it happens as if it’s a natural movement, a sweeping wave across the crowd. All thought of neatness and propriety, of keeping expensive clothes clean, of maintaining a dignified elegance, is quickly forgotten because it simply feels right to do this, to acknowledge the beauty and dignity of the woman in front of them, the sacredness of this moment that we’re somehow fortunate enough to witness, to be a part of.
Sisi stands there in silence, looking down at us all, and then inclines her own head. The quiet draws on for a long moment, broken by nothing but the heartbeat of the Earth. It’s as though we’re all enchanted—I barely feel the passing of the minutes as we remain there, still and silent, looking at each other.
Slowly, Sisi—Queen Sigranna, Second in the Kingdom—straightens back up, and she and the King make their way across the room crowded with their subjects. We file back out in their wake, stunned and awed at the moment we’ve just witnessed. The gossip of before is gone. There’s no murmur of speech, no sound at all, as we walk up and up the stairs and back into the grand ballroom. But I know that my work is done.