by Carson Rae
“Elisa?” Hector’s worried voice.
“Go!” I yell. The weight of rock strains against my barrier. It’s the only thing keeping the tunnel from collapsing around us. “Go, go, go! All of you. That’s a command!”
They rush forward and climb up toward the hole. Red disappears first. Her muffled, high-pitched screams reach us from the other side, and Belén darts forward after her. But then comes her voice: “I made it! I’m outside!” she cries, followed by more whooping and screaming.
The weight of this mountain is going to crush me. My shoulders feel like boulders, and all I want to do is sink, sink, sink into the welcoming earth. “Hurry!” I say through gritted teeth. “Go!”
One by one, Mara pushes all our packs through the hole to Red, then she disappears herself, followed by Belén and Storm. Hector turns to me, “Promise me you’ll be right behind me.”
I nod and wave him on, unable to draw breath to speak.
He scales the rockfall and pushes through the hole, feet first. His shoulders get stuck, and I have a moment of panic, but then he shifts, putting his hands above his head, and is able to squeeze through.
I’m alone, with nothing but a sputtering torch on the ground for company.
My barrier has become so heavy, like a millstone about my neck. Strangling an erupting volcano was easier than this, but there is no living sacrifice to help me now. I push one foot in front of the other; it’s like wading through knee-deep sand.
I begin my climb up the rockfall. The mountain roars. Rocks pound the earth behind me where my barrier and I once stood, but I dare not look behind. I find a handhold and drag myself upward, then another. I’m weakening fast. I whisper, “Just a little farther.”
My hand finds empty air. Then another, stronger hand wraps my wrist and pulls. The rocks scrape tracks in my skin as someone drags me through the hole, but I dare not give it much notice lest I lose control of my barrier.
And then a breeze hits my face, and I tumble out into a nighttime that feels as bright as day.
Hector clasps me to him, but I push him away. “We need to get clear,” I say.
We grab our packs and sprint into the trees, crunching through snow. Behind us, the earth rumbles. We turn around in time to see a cloud of dust puff up into the air. Silence follows, and I’m almost disappointed. The cave-in looks like any other mountain slope.
An owl hoots. Pine boughs rustle in the breeze. Snow blankets the ground, but only up to our ankles. It’s crusted over with ice, so the last snow must have fallen a day or so ago.
Red lets out a whoop of triumph, and all of a sudden we’re hugging and patting one another on the back and laughing. Even Storm allows himself a small smile.
I launch myself into Hector’s arms, and he stumbles backward, laughing. He presses his cheek to the side of my head and strokes my braid. “Waterfall was right,” he says. “This area is far enough north that the blizzard missed it entirely.”
I give him one last squeeze and extricate myself with reluctance. “We’ll set up camp here,” I say to everyone. “No watch tonight. I doubt anyone knows where we are, and I’d rather we all got as much sleep as possible. Tomorrow, we travel hard and fast for Basajuan.”
31
MORNING light reveals a faint trail leading away from the collapsed mine entrance. We follow it until we find a wider track leading north. The sun rises bright and warm, and the snow continues to melt, revealing horseshoe scuffs and piles of old manure along our path. We hope it will eventually lead to the trading road and the northern pass.
The world is so much more beautiful than I remember, full of color and light and sound. We push ourselves hard, jogging when our trail allows, and each night we collapse into our bedrolls exhausted. But never once do I forget to look around and appreciate the magic of being aboveground.
On the third day out of the mines, we encounter a free village—this one populated with more Inviernos than Joyans—and trade some marjoram, fennel, and a few coppers for fresh food and mounts.
I give a worried thought to Horse as I climb into the saddle of my new mare—a dull dun creature who would disappear against a sand dune. I hope Horse is all right. I hope she found her way back to Umbra de Deus and a softhearted person with lots of treats.
The northern pass is icy but clear, and we join a steady stream of traders, trappers, and even a few herders, all desperate to get through before the first big storm hits. The news buzzes all around us—winter came early, and the southern route is already impassable. Not that anyone would want to travel the southern route, they say. For Joya d’Arena is in an uproar. There is a new challenger to the throne, a powerful conde who has declared Queen Elisa a traitor and blasphemer. He has taken over the capital city and prepares to launch a major assault on the northern holdings.
But there is no news of Basajuan, and we are hesitant to inquire too directly lest we draw attention. So we ride as fast as we can, resting only when we must.
The air changes as we cross the divide. One day we are shadowed by clouds and chilled to the bone; the next we greet warm sunshine and snowmelt. Within a day we have descended below the tree line. Another day takes us within view of Queen Cosmé’s capital.
We look down from a high granite cliff over the dry, ridged foothills to the more lush valley beyond. The adobe buildings of Basajuan are barely visible, hazy with sunshine and distance and . . . smoke?
Hector pulls his mount beside mine. “Basajuan burns,” he says.
“We’re still a day’s ride away.” I want to hit something.
He shades his eyes with one hand and says, “It’s just the farmland around the city that burns, not the city itself. Not yet. The Deciregi have no army backing them this time. They will go cautiously. Strategically.”
“And we must go faster.” I kick my mare into a gallop, and the others follow. We pound down the trail, not caring that other travelers dodge out of our way and glare as we pass.
I pray feverishly as we ride. Please, God, protect them all.
The countryside is in chaos. Fields of maize, dry and ready for harvesting, send sooty smoke into the sky. Farmers work hard to quench the fires, tossing buckets of water down lines of workers from creeks and irrigation canals to the base of the flames. We pass the charred remains of a chicken house and a blackened field where a single bleating lamb weaves through small corpses as lumpy and dark as coal.
We face a steady stream of oncoming traffic—hastily packed wagons, mothers carrying infants, and even a few shepherds driving small herds of sheep and goats—all fleeing the coming destruction. The masses of humanity and livestock force us to slow down, and I grit my teeth with frustration.
“Any sign of the Deciregi?” I ask Hector as we maneuver around a cartful of cages containing noisy, panicked chickens.
“Just their handiwork,” Hector says. “My guess is they will do an entire circuit of the city, close enough to cause panic, but far enough away to avoid the city archers.”
Which means they might be on the opposite side of the city by now. This is our chance to get inside unseen. “Basajuan’s wall is not defensively optimal,” I observe. “It’s low, with just a few watchtowers around the outskirts.”
“We should prepare to be stopped and questioned, though,” he says. “Especially with an Invierno traveling with us.”
I glance back at Storm. I grew accustomed to having him travel openly, for he caused little notice in the free villages. But once we crossed the divide, his passing was greeted with suspicious stares. So he flipped up his cowl and now he rides hunched over, trying to look inconspicuous. I’m suddenly grateful for the chill in the air. It gives him an excuse to wear that cloak.
But if we’re stopped at a guard tower, he is sure to be recognized as our ancient enemy.
I call up ahead. “Belén.”
He and Mara ride side by side. At my voice, they rein in their mounts and twist in the saddle.
When I catch up, I ask, “Do you know a way i
nto the city from scouting for Cosmé?”
He grins. “Definitely.”
“Please tell me it doesn’t involve a cave or a sewer,” Mara says.
“No,” he says, and she breathes relief. “If we play it right, we can walk right through the front door of Cosmé’s palace.”
“That would be ideal,” I say.
“Several of your rebel Malficios joined Cosmé’s guard after you left,” Belén says. “I’ll ride ahead—a lone rider can get through this crowd a lot easier than all of us traveling together—and scout the towers, find someone who will recognize you on sight. Then we’ll send for Captain Jacián.”
Jacián! He helped steal me away from King Alejandro, then stayed by my side as I led the rebel Malficio. Another dear friend I have not seen in too long. I almost send up a prayer of gratitude, but I stop myself. The Deciregi are near and likely to sense whenever my Godstone is active.
“Do it,” I say. “And quickly.”
Belén spurs his horse on. We snack on late-harvest apples as we wait for him. Beyond the smoke and charred remains of the countryside, the city of Basajuan is beautiful, with rolling adobe buildings painted in bright pastels. It’s a lot like my home in Brisadulce, but its nestled location in the crook of two meeting mountain ranges makes it a little cooler, a little wetter, and the result is lush and colorful by comparison.
Hector has checked and rechecked his weapons. Now he fiddles with the saddlebag, taking items out, putting them back in again.
“You’re as bad at waiting as I am,” I observe.
He freezes in the midst of inspecting a water skin. “You’re right,” he says. “I’m accomplishing nothing. I don’t know how you manage it, though. Waiting on a horse. Unable to pace and bite your thumbnail.”
I shoot him a mock glare, but he doesn’t notice because his face has turned distant and grave. “This situation has the potential to go very badly.”
“Yes.”
“Not just for us,” he explains. “For the world. The Deciregi could not have known it when they planned their conquest of this city, but you, Crown Princess Alodia, and Queen Cosmé are going to be in the same place at the same time. They could eliminate you all in one stroke.”
I sigh, pulling back on my horse to make way for a woman and three barefoot children who are walking along the side of the road to avoid manure. “When I requested this meeting, it didn’t occur to me that I was creating a dangerous situation.” It was a rushed and painful moment. Franco had stolen Hector away, and I had just learned that Conde Eduardo was engineering a civil war. “But maybe it provides us with an opportunity too.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Maybe your sister ignored your summons,” he says. “Her Highness has a reputation for following no one’s counsel but her own. It might be a good thing if . . .” Something in my face makes him pause. “What is it?”
I open my mouth, close it, not sure what to say. It is the thing I’ve been forcing myself not to think about. It is the fact that I dread seeing Alodia again.
“Elisa?”
“I’m nervous!” I blurt. “I know it’s stupid. The world is burning down around us. I have to defeat the most powerful sorcerers in the world, only to dash back home and stop a civil war. Why do I even care about her? Why is it so important?” I avoid his gaze, embarrassed. “Hector, I’m afraid you’re marrying an idiot.”
He chuckles, and I snap my head up to glare at him, only to find his face full of empathy.
“I’m sure it did not escape your notice while we were aboard Felix’s ship,” he says, “but I admire my older brother greatly.” He leans forward, crossing his arms over the pommel of his horse, and peers at me with a self-deprecating grin. “I followed him around like a puppy until Alejandro brought me into his service. A disapproving word from Felix can still cut me to the quick—but don’t you dare tell him I said so.”
I gaze off toward the city, as the rightness of his words stick in my gut. I do want Alodia’s approval. Hers and Papá’s. And I’m disgusted with myself for wanting it. It still bothers me that they married me to a stranger and shipped me off. That they purposely kept me ignorant of essential knowledge pertaining to my Godstone. And when I finally became a queen in my own right, they didn’t even bother to attend my coronation.
“Alodia always wanted me to be better,” I say softly. “Different. And I spent most of my childhood actively not meeting her expectations.”
“I was there during the marriage negotiations between your father and Alejandro. Trust me, she cares for you very much.”
I’m not sure what to say to that.
“Alodia assured us you were destined for great things,” he adds. “She even quoted the prophecy, ‘And God raised up for himself a champion . . .’ Why are you shaking your head?”
“I don’t think I’ve fulfilled that prophecy. Not yet. Maybe not ever.”
He’s about to say something else, but Belén returns, weaving through traffic toward us. “Jacián himself is at the southeast tower,” he says breathlessly.
“What did they say? Have the animagi started attacking the city yet? Is my sister here?”
Belén is shaking his head. “I’m a traitor here, remember? That’s why Cosmé washed her hands of me and sent me to you. They would kill me on sight. We must take you before them.”
He can’t mask the pain in his voice. How hard must it be for him to return here? To see old friends and family, even an old lover, knowing they despise him for living when he should have died a traitor’s death?
Mara’s face is stony. She sits stiff and tall on her gray gelding, as if prepared for battle. I expect she won’t relax until Belén and Cosmé meet again and she can gauge for herself how things are between them.
“Let’s go.” And we ride forward, faces set with determination, all of us for different reasons.
The guard tower would hardly be called a tower by Brisadulce’s standards. It’s only three floors high, with a small eagle’s nest at its apex, where a crossbowman stands at the ready. We dismount from our horses and hand the reins to Mara. The rest of us stride right through the door and into a busy armory.
More than a dozen soldiers sit sharpening blades, mending tack, polishing armor. They launch to their feet and surround us with swords in the space of a breath.
We put up our weaponless hands to show we mean no harm. “I require audience with Captain Jacián,” I say. “I am Queen Elisa of Joya d’Arena.”
They stare in astonishment, weapons half lowered. A few drop to their knees and bow their heads. But one points to Storm and says, “An Invierno!”
“My royal ambassador,” I say loud and clear. “And under my protection.”
“Is Jacián here?” Belén calls out.
“Fetch the captain,” someone calls out, even as whispers of “traitor” and “spy” echo around us. The weight of daggers in my belt begins to feel conspicuous. How fast could I draw them?
An explosion booms, too close, and all the weapons rattle in their racks. The guards shift uneasily, torn between keeping an eye on us and rushing to their stations.
“Trebuchet,” Hector says. “I recognize the recoil. One of the guard towers nearby took a shot at the Deciregi.”
“They’re closing in,” I say.
The guards part to make way for someone, and suddenly he’s here. Jacián. Sharp featured and dark, with a deep glower that I once found menacing. He elbows his men out of the way and barrels toward me.
“Elisa.” He wraps me in a great hug, then he pushes me back to get a better look. “When word reached me that Eduardo is amassing an army in Brisadulce, I worried he had gotten to you.”
“It’s good to see you, Jacián.”
He steps back, collects himself. His eyes darken when he sees Belén, but he lifts his chin in greeting. My heart hurts for them. They used to be best friends.
He hollers instructions at his men, then gestures u
s forward. “Cosmé is eager to see you.”
Jacián escorts us from the guard tower. We collect our horses and quickly follow him through the crooked streets of Basajuan.
This is the second time I’ve come to this place to stop the Inviernos, and the palace is just as I remember it—small but fine, made of limestone in pastel hues. Tiles trim the windows, painted with the blue four-petaled flower design that gave me the key to unlocking the Godstone’s power the very first time I used it.
As we ride under the portcullis, I crane my neck looking to see which banners fly, hoping—possibly dreading—to see the sunburst crest of my native country. And there it is snapping proudly in the breeze, displayed just a little lower than Cosmé’s recently adopted crest of a hawk in flight.
Jacián takes us through a barracks of tiny rooms all lined up in a row, through the guards’ dining hall, and into the palace. We move fast, almost at a jog, around two corners, up a half flight of stairs.
And suddenly we’re there. The door to the audience hall.
32
THE last time I was here, I was placed under house arrest, and the first boy I ever loved was brutally murdered.
A herald stands at the closed door. He starts to inquire how to announce us, but Jacián pushes past him and flings the doors open himself.
Inside is chaos. Pages sprint in and out of the side entrances, no doubt carrying messages to and from the guard towers. Cosmé’s personal guards line the walls. A large handful of people—soldiers, attendants, a few nobles—argue loudly over a table strewn with parchment.
I sort through the crowd looking for someone I know, my heart pattering with both anticipation and dread. I find Cosmé first, and when our eyes meet, she elbows people out of the way and dashes toward me, her short curls bouncing wildly.
When at arm’s length, she pulls up short. Her mouth works to say something, but nothing comes out. Finally she whispers, “Elisa . . . I’m under attack.”