by Natalie Mae
The Mestrah taps his thumb on his glass throne. “Delay their coronation, you mean? A trial period for each?”
Kasta has gone very still. “What do you mean, for each?”
“It would be fairest,” the Speaker says, ignoring Kasta. “And that way both must cooperate, versus making one strive to prove herself while the other feels his place is secure.”
Hope flushes my veins, Kasta’s panicked gaze shifts to his father, and Jet finally gives me the smallest of smiles. If the Mestrah agrees to this, we may not have stopped Kasta outright, but we’ll at least have made something harder on him. And if we’re lucky, he’ll mess up on his own and lose the crown all the same. Which also means I run the same risk, but I’m finding that far less terrifying than going back out there right now and watching a crown drop on Kasta’s head.
Oh gods, please agree to this.
The Mestrah thumbs a diamond in his braided beard, and Kasta slowly shakes his head.
“You can’t really be considering this,” he says, pain shifting through his voice. “Your precious Jet throws out accusations like he didn’t nearly kill me, like Zahru didn’t leave me to the same fate as Sakira! I have walked through fire for this. I’ve had to prove myself a thousand times more than any king—”
The Mestrah nods. “Then it will be easy to do it once more.”
Kasta gapes, and a flash of vengeance pushes through me as he shoves back in his chair.
“I agree, Speaker,” the king continues. “There is no harm in verifying, and we have a little time yet to spare. So it shall be.” He sits forward, even as Kasta looks ready to explode. “Kasta, Zahru, I hereby declare you both dōmmel, with your coronation to take place in a moon’s time. During this I will observe how you work together, and how you address the problems I give you. You will both learn to use your new magic. Zahru, you will begin classes appropriate to your station and ability. And while I realize there is much you two need to work through”—he glances between us, and Kasta relaxes with a bitter laugh—“your focus should be on proving why your partnership is best for Orkena. I’ll take anything less as a sign this is not meant to be. So be warned now that if either of you hinders the other, or proves unwilling to yield for the sake of this country, I will demote that person to advisor on the coronation day.”
Kasta scrubs his hands down his face. “This isn’t happening.”
The Speaker straightens their tunic. “Glad to have been of service, Mestrah. But I wonder if you might give Zahru just a bit more time? A moon isn’t much, considering everything she’ll need to learn.”
The Mestrah sighs. “I cannot delay it longer. The High Priests have foreseen . . .” He stops, and I recognize the wall that builds over his face, given how often I’ve seen Kasta do it. “Change is coming. There must be a new ruler by then.”
The Speaker shrugs, but I smile in appreciation for them trying.
“And with that, we are definitely finished.” The Mestrah pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m tired, my elixir is wearing off, and the entire continent is waiting for my statement. Eris?”
One of the guards enters the room and presses his fingertips to his forehead.
“Summon a scribe and my advisors. Jet, take Zahru and have the servants set up a room for her in the royal wing. Speaker, thank you for your wisdom. And Kasta . . .” The Mestrah considers his eldest son, his mouth thinning. Sakira’s abandonment; Kasta’s silence. I have a feeling Kasta is about to learn exactly how the king feels on both matters. “Wait for me in Sabil’s temple.”
* * *
Jet and I walk side by side in the marbled hall, though our minds are a thousand worlds apart.
The pressure of what he’s lost, of Kasta’s victory, of what this means for me presses around me like deep water. I’m meant to be queen. I’m meant to be Mestrah. Orkena’s problems are now mine—everyone’s problems are now mine—and I won’t be getting my revenge on Kasta, because I will be expected to cooperate, I will be expected to rule, and as much as I want to feel shocked, overwhelmed, humbled that I even get the chance to prove myself worthy of this . . . all I see are two people before the thrones.
Kasta and me.
Together, lifelong rulers of Orkena.
I’ve passed a mosaic of firestone gems and nearly bumped into a protruding torch before I notice Jet is no longer beside me. He’s stopped a few paces back, and a stone turns in my throat as I take him in. The gods’ symbols on his arms have smeared; wrinkles mar his royal tunic. One hand presses against his brow, and I see him again before the Mestrah, saying that nothing he did mattered.
I lean back against the wall. “I’m so sorry.”
He presses quick fingers between his eyes and forces a smile. “You are definitely the last person who needs to apologize. This isn’t your fault. I’m much angrier that my father could even consider Kasta ruling, after what he’s done. And that I—” His jaw works. “It doesn’t matter. The ‘gods’ have gotten their way; far be it from my father to make up his own mind. Are you all right?”
I shake my head. “It does matter. You should be the one with the mark. You’re perfect for this, you deserve to be king . . .” I grit my teeth. “You did everything right. I hope you know that.”
Jet sighs and pushes off the wall. “I just thought I had it figured out, you know? I’d already drafted treaties to strengthen our alliances, put in a proposal for world games to build bonds between our kingdoms . . . I was going to make it a law that the Crossing could never happen again. I went from not having any ideas about how I’d rule to envisioning years of it. And now I’m going to have to watch him do it instead.”
“And me,” I offer unhelpfully, my stomach twisting. “Sorry. I don’t think that makes it better.”
“Like I said, you don’t need to apologize.” But he thinks about that, torchlight glancing off the gold lining his eyes. “Though it does make it a little better, knowing you can veto whatever ruthless plans he has in mind.”
“Oh, trust me. There will be so much vetoing. There will be vetoing of vetoing.”
“I’m fairly certain that would just undo your veto.”
“Then I’ll re-veto. He won’t be getting away with anything.” We round a corner, back into the main foyer where the walls open around us, high and white—and a new worry itches under my skin. “Of course, he can veto my ideas as well. So I probably shouldn’t veto everything. Otherwise it’ll just be a veto spiral and literally nothing will get done.” I freeze. “Which is exactly what he said in there.” I grip Jet’s arm. “Gods, did I just agree with him? Am I going to be agreeing with him on murdering people by the end of the week?”
Jet’s eyes narrow. “Can we circle back to when I asked whether you were all right?”
“What?” I smile, widely. “Why wouldn’t I be? I’m great. Never been better.” I let go of him and smooth his sleeve. “I’m going to live in a palace, and see you every day, and have chocolate for every meal, and maybe never ever leave my room.”
“Ah. That’s a no, then.”
“So maybe I’m a little worried about seeing Kasta all the time. And trying to learn how to use a god’s power, and being responsible for stopping a war—”
“Zahru—”
“And I’ll admit, I’m definitely nervous about memorizing years’ worth of schoolwork on top of all this, which reminds me”—I clap—“I should probably learn how to read! But it’ll be fine, right? I’ve got four entire weeks to master what Kasta’s learned over seventeen years. It’ll be fine. I’m fine. This is fine!”
Jet grabs my hands, which have been wildly gesturing, and presses them together in his.
“Yes,” he says. “You will be fine. Because you do have some time, and you have help. You don’t have to learn everything tomorrow.”
I puff my bangs out of my eyes. “You’re right, I’m overthinking this. Kasta will pro
bably kill me again before that happens.”
“He will not,” Jet snaps, dropping my hands. “First of all, because I will break him in half if he tries, and second, because even his gods’ mark won’t protect him from the charges that result from a royal assassination. He’d be executed. I don’t think that’s a risk even he’s willing to take.”
I let out a shaky breath.
“Truly,” he says. “We’ll get through this. You are one of the most determined, adaptable people I’ve ever met. You’ve been through much more than any one person should. But you stood up to Kasta without hesitation. You accepted this drastic change of plans with an incredible amount of grace.”
My laugh is hysterical.
He shakes his head. “Give yourself more credit. If that had been me—before I met you, anyway—I’d already be at the stables, grabbing that horse I gave you to take me as far away from here as possible.” He sets his hands on my shoulders. “You can do this.”
His fingers are soft, reassuring, and I close my eyes, trying to collect myself. I’m still terrified. There are still a thousand things I need to do in far too little time, but for a moment I let myself sink into the peace I feel just being with Jet, and accept that this is part of my future, too. And I make myself stop focusing on the things I’m afraid of, and remember how I got here in the first place.
I am the girl who made Kasta yield without a sword. I should have died, but I’m still alive. I was born to serve, but now I’ll rule.
I raise each truth around me like armor. As overwhelming as all of this is, if the Speaker says the gods chose me for this, if the Mestrah himself is willing to give me a chance . . . then I must give myself a chance, too. I can still change who triumphs at the end of this story. I can still prove that the sacrifices Jet made, that I made, matter.
I look into Jet’s eyes and nod.
I will prove I’m not a mistake.
* * *
It goes without saying that the first thing I do as dōmmel is ask Jet to be one of my advisors. Which goes about as awkwardly as when he asked, not only because it’s such a strange reversal of our exchange this morning, but also because I try to give him the armband back. At which point I’m gently reminded that his bicep is much bigger than mine, and he’ll need to have another one made. But he says yes, of course, and I feel accomplished that in my first five minutes as crown princess, I’ve managed to do something other than screaming.
Jet excuses himself to find the servants who will prepare my quarters, and I meet my family at the top of the stairs to the royal wing.
Fara, Mora, and Hen are understandably not certain how to greet me, because it’s not every day that your loved-one-turned-human-sacrifice goes on to emerge from someone else’s coronation with a hijacked crown and a seemingly immortal nemesis. Mora is emotional, wiping her eyes and hugging me every few minutes; Hen is ecstatic and already plotting how I might conquer the rest of the world; Fara is much more somber, alternating between worry for the responsibilities I’ll be taking on and who I’ll be ruling with, and outright awe.
“My daughter,” he says, his hands light on my arms. “Mestrah of Orkena.”
Mora sniffles, wiping tears from her cheeks. “This is huge. No one from the working class has even been allowed to marry into the royal family, let alone rule.”
“You are the hope for all of us.” Fara smiles, and though a sliver of nerves runs through me at the weight of that, I straighten. For that’s exactly what I plan to be. I will change things for people like us, who were told that we were born to work, that our worth is based on something out of our control.
I will change the entire system.
“Yes, Fara,” I say.
I ask Hen if she’ll join my advisor team, but while I expect her to cheer at being offered a job where other people’s business is literally a part of her duties, she actually grows very serious. Before snatching my old advisor’s band right out of my hands and saying she’ll find me again after she’s “taken care of a few things.” I take that to mean she’s accepted, and I choose not to ask what she means by the end of that sentence, as I do not want to think about nor be responsible for whatever crimes arise from it.
By the time Jet returns, I’ve cornered a servant and relayed to him my desire for permanent rooms for my family, a job in the royal stables for Fara, a job amongst the palace potionmakers for Mora, and cake for myself. It’s admittedly at this point that I figure out this person is a Gardener and has no ability to make any of this happen, but bless him, he agrees to pass on my message to someone who can.
Jet watches him go, and bows with an arm over his chest to Fara and Mora. “We’re already working on your permanent rooms, actually, which should be ready shortly.” He gestures to the elderly woman next to him. “If you would accompany Ryka in the meantime, she’d be happy to assist you with any matters you may need to take care of in Kystlin.”
My father mimics his pose. “Thank you, aera. We indeed have a few things we’ll need to discuss.” Fara claps a hand on my shoulder and looks between us with a heavy sigh. “I wish you were the brother she was ruling beside.”
Jet flashes a weak smile, and I bid Fara and Mora goodbye with kisses to their cheeks. Mora holds me for double the time, reminding me in a whisper that she has potions that can make certain princes quite miserable if I need them, and then I am alone again with Jet.
Who rubs the back of his neck with a grimace. “Your room is ready, too.”
This is not exactly the most excited way of conveying this, and I have the sudden, irrational fear that maybe I’ve been assigned a broom closet. “Gods, is it that awful?”
Jet chews his cheek. “I’m going to let you decide that.”
VI
BY “let you decide that,” Jet means “Yes, definitely, it’s the worst,” because the next thing out of his mouth is that the Mestrah sent an additional order along after we’d left the war room: that my room should be the one right next to Kasta’s.
I stop before we’ve even moved ten steps.
“No,” I say.
“I know,” Jet says. “I was vocal about it as well. But my father thinks that the more you see each other, the more likely you are to cooperate or some nonsense, and he won’t hear any objections.”
“Can’t I have my room set up in a different wing? Maybe in another city?”
Jet sighs. “I wish. We may be able to change the Mestrah’s mind, in time. But we’ll have to make do for now.”
“This just seems like a terrible idea,” I grumble, starting after him.
“I did ensure you’ll have guards around the clock. And I’ve personally seen to it that there is no access between the rooms. If Kasta wants an audience with you, he’ll have to get permission and come through the main doors like everyone else.”
“You really think he’s going to ask?”
“He’s going to have to, if he wants your cooperation at any point.” Jet nods to the guards outside his own room and gestures to the black, sword-engraved doors. “Here we are.”
I look from him to the doors, certain this is some kind of test. “Jet. This is your room.”
He rubs a faded spell on his forearm. “I’m aware. This is the other reason I was so vocal about the decision.”
I begin forming the start of several sentences, in which I waver between asking if we’ve already been paired in some kind of arranged marriage, or if all advisors live with their Mestrah, which seems odd, and possibly I should have decided on one of those instead of what actually comes out of my mouth. “We’re going to be sleeping together?”
The guards choke back laughs, and Jet considers this with a pained, albeit not entirely opposed, blink of his eyes. “No,” he says, clearly caught off-guard by the turn this has taken. “What I mean is, I don’t live here anymore. You’ve been given my room, since I was informed it no longer makes se
nse for me, as an advisor, to stay in the royal wing.”
I blanch. “Are you kidding? Where are you going to stay?”
“I’ve moved to the officers’ suites near my mother. And before you say anything more, it’s fine, and you don’t need to worry about it.”
“Don’t tell me it’s fine. Nothing about this is fine for you. You just lost the crown, and now you’ve lost your room?”
Jet shifts, tapping the door with nervous fingers. “It’s just walls and furniture. Consider it an unofficial item on your list, and part of my never-ending apology. Maybe we could go in?”
I’m feeling increasingly uneasy about all of this, but of course I nod, and Jet pushes open the doors in relief. My throat clenches as I take in the new decorations. Gone are the sixty weapons along the west wall, replaced by a harp and a circle of thin-legged couches. Gold satin drapes the giant four-poster bed instead of blue, and crystal-topped tables for dining gleam outside on the balcony, where practice swords and reading chairs once sat. Gossamer curtains shimmer like fireflies before the windows, an airy gold instead of silver.
I think of the dusty feed room I grew up in, the cot I slept on last night across from Hen. But it’s a little hard to appreciate that all this finery is mine when it feels like I’ve stolen it.
Jet watches me, the hint of a real smile in his eyes. “Now it’s a proper ballroom.”
I step in farther, past a couch with lion’s paws for feet, running my hand over its polished wooden back. Wishing I knew what to say. Wishing I knew how to fix this for him. I’m just starting to turn when a fuzzy head pops out from around the archway to the pool room, and Jade streaks over in a blur of spots.