by Kate Elliott
“You want me to speak to him, when he has no idea what I am, and then pray he doesn’t kill me because he thinks I’m a monster? Do you think it’s been easy, knowing I must hide myself?”
“But I told him about you at the inn.” Yet I’m not sure he was really listening because he could think only about Mother. “I don’t know how long the war council will go on, although obviously Gargaron has already decided the outcome. But I need Father to get this message immediately. What if he can’t come back here tonight?”
“Steward Haredas comes by every evening to check on me.”
“Of course! I’ll write a note in cipher that you can give him. Do you promise you’ll pass on the message? Will you swear on the gods?”
“I swear on the holy names of Seon and Inkos and Hayiyin that I will cooperate with you if you can promise me revenge on Gargaron. And anyway…”
He sighs a baby sigh. His lower lip trembles.
A thread of sympathy vibrates in my heart. “What?”
“I’m afraid to grow up in this body. I have a better chance with Esladas to support me. As he did with you and his other daughters. We all noticed his loyalty, even if most people couldn’t approve of it.”
The words offer an odd sort of comfort.
“All right, then. It must be hard to have to pretend to be something you’re not. Truce?”
He has such a solemn baby face that I want to laugh but manage not to.
“Truce.”
It’s midafternoon by the time I make my way past Scorpion Fountain to Anise’s stable, where I first learned the Fives. I slip inside to find Anise lounging with her household in the shade of a porch, napping in the heat of the day. I stand by the gate until they see me.
Anise strides over. She’s a big woman, but it’s her unsmiling expression that intimidates most as she looms over me. “Jessamy.”
“Honored Lady.”
“Given everything I’ve heard about you recently, I’d say your presence creates an unacceptable risk to my household. Why are you here?”
“General Thynos told me to come to you if I needed assistance.”
“Ah.” She indicates that I may accompany her to the porch. After I have greeted everyone, a child brings me a cup of refreshing sugarcane juice spiced with ginger.
“He said you can get a message to General Inarsis, that you run a network of couriers and messenger pigeons that the rebels have been using for months now. Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“I had no idea!”
Anise does not laugh, but everyone else does, and one whistles the tune to “The General’s Valiant Daughter.”
Anise shushes them and says, “We heard the Efean army has been forced to retreat and that our situation is dire. What information do you have for Inarsis?”
“He needs to be warned that the Royal Army is being sent to pacify the north. I plan to personally deliver a more detailed version of my plan to him but I can’t do that until I’ve spoken to the king. And also… could I please stay here tonight? I have nowhere else to go.”
They leave me sitting alone while they discuss the issue in the Efean manner, letting everyone give an opinion before they come to a conclusion. In the end they let me stay because I’m part of the rebellion, but I can tell they’re skeptical that speaking to the king will solve anything.
That night, after Anise unfolds a cot for me on the porch, I gesture toward the court’s pillars and posts.
“How did the Fives court come to be? Is the game Efean or Saroese?”
“How can we know, who weren’t alive in those days?” Her face gleams in lamplight as she contemplates all we have lost.
“I have seen so many astonishing things in the last few months.” I tell her about the buried complex underneath the tombs in the City of the Dead. I tell her about the ruins in Akheres and the architecture of the Inkos temple in Maldine. I tell her about the island at the heart of Ibua with the Fives symbols carved into the stone of its top platform, and how the victory tower in some villages is actually a well. “I don’t think it belongs to one or the other. What if, after the Saroese conquered Efea, they and their priests buried the Mother of All by turning Her worship into a game? What if we Efeans embraced and influenced the Fives because it is built on Her bones and heart, and it was a way to remember Her?”
“That would make the Fives a little like you, Jessamy. Both your father’s blood and your mother’s five souls have made you what you are.”
The next day I join a stream of adversaries crowding down the stairs to the attiring hall of the City Fives Court. I’m wearing ordinary Fives gear, pretending to be a fledgling. My face is concealed behind a butterfly mask that I decorated myself although Amaya would be appalled at its slapdash design. The bell rings as I’m descending. Above, the doors shut.
I’m so nervous I’m bouncing on my toes. What if he doesn’t come? What if he’s changed? What if he’s already courting brave, beautiful Talon and doesn’t care that I’m here?
“First trial!” cries a ready cage custodian.
That’s when I spot him. He’s wearing Fives gear scuffed at the knees and elbows from steady practice, and an undyed linen mask.
As I approach he turns and sees me. It’s like a bolt goes through him.
He grabs my hand, lifts my palm to his lips, and kisses it, his mouth a fire against my skin. Seen through the holes in the mask, his eyes have a feverish intensity.
“Is it true?” he whispers harshly. “Did my uncle kidnap you?”
“Yes. With the help of Captain Helias.”
“Snake.” His voice is rough. “You shouldn’t have come back.”
“Which trial are you in?”
He glances at his token. “Seventh.”
“I’m third. I’ll wait for you in the retiring room afterward.”
“No.”
“Why did you come here today if you don’t want to hear what I have to say?”
“To tell you to stay away from me. Now, and always.” He lets go of my hand and takes a step back. “The one thing that keeps me going is knowing you’ll survive.”
But I follow him. I take hold of his arm and lean in close. “You have to listen to me. We can carve a new path.”
Again he shakes me off. “You can’t save me, Jes. I’m not the person you want me to be. All my life it’s been so easy not to see what I didn’t want to see. I thought I was fighting for Efea but I’ve just been the puppet my uncle and my grandmother needed to foment their own ambitious plans. I thought I would be so brave, killing Nikonos, but all it means is they have everything they want: the throne, the gold, all of it. And Menoë’s son to replace me, if I cause too much trouble.”
“You’re not a puppet. You’ve taken action. You freed the women from the temple!”
“Yes, aren’t I a hero?” The self-loathing in his voice is so sharp that I flinch. “Don’t condescend to me like they do. You tried to tell me and I ignored you. At least look me in the eye and remind me that I forced my cousin to enter a prison where she knew she would be murdered. Because it was easy for me to tell myself she was lying. It was convenient to throw her in that dark place, and maybe even to hope I would not have to preside over her execution.”
I look him in the eye. “You did do that. And even though I hate her for all the terrible things she did, you were still wrong.”
He whispers. I can barely hear him above the buzz of the crowded hall. “I freed them because it is shameful to continue that horrible custom, but mostly I did it because I couldn’t bear what you would think of me if I didn’t stop it.”
“But you did stop it. And you acted responsibly during the siege. You treated all the citizens of Efea fairly.” When he doesn’t answer or look at me, I go on. “I know my father meant to lead the charge against Nikonos. Why did you go instead of him?”
“Because they couldn’t order me not to.” There’s an edge to his laugh.
“That’s not an answer.”
&
nbsp; Shadows weight his gaze. He looks so weary.
“Maybe because I hoped to die in a blaze of glory. Then I could be the tragic and noble king, cut short too soon. The honored poet Ro-emnu could write a play about me. Wouldn’t that be for the best?”
He pauses, and I want to shake him to tell him it would be the worst thing that had ever happened to me. Instead I wait, sensing he has more to say. That his deepest fears are about to spill out.
“How long until I agree to just one small vile act because I’m afraid they’ll kill me if I don’t go along with them? Before I start repainting things that are wrong and start calling them right because slow rot is how we keep ourselves alive? In the end I will become the monster they want me to be.”
I take his hand in mine and hold on so tight. I have to keep him from sinking until he can climb out of this pit himself.
“Listen to me—”
“Stop it!”
He steps away so precipitously that he bumps hard into another adversary. Jostled, the stranger drops a token marked with the number three.
“Three! Third trial!” cries the ready cage custodian.
I set my foot over the fallen token, then snatch the one Kal is holding and flip it so it lands behind the adversary, who’s scrambling to find the one lost. The moment the competitor’s back is turned I pick up the one on the floor and press it into Kal’s hand.
“Third trial,” I say, and trot over to the ready cage.
He doesn’t hesitate. That’s good.
I’m handed the brown belt for Pillars. Kal gets the red belt for Traps. He’ll start one obstacle away from me. That’s good.
I barely notice the other two adversaries because I can’t take my eyes off the way his hands are clenched, the way his gaze darts to me and away and back again. He bounces on his toes not with excitement but because he’s stretched so taut he’s near to breaking. The friendly, confident, cheerful Kal I knew has vanished into this maelstrom.
The start bell rings. I swarm up the ladder into the maze of Pillars.
It’s hard to concentrate because I keep seeing the way he held his body; I keep hearing the snap in his voice. If you soak a decent person in poison for long enough, will it seep through their skin, rot out their bones, and dissolve their heart until it is nothing but a sac of venom?
A cheer startles me. One of the other adversaries has made a daring move. I must focus. I climb out of Pillars just as I hear the entry bell ring. I’m sure it’s him behind me.
This configuration of Rivers emphasizes balance and it’s not hard for me to get across a series of swinging beams. But when I hit Trees I struggle with the first part of the obstacle: a simple finger climb sets my wrist to throbbing. By the time I reach the resting platform I’m almost crying from the pain. I’ve reinjured it, or maybe it never healed properly. Maybe the wounds we have sustained will never fully heal.
Rubbing my wrist, I glance around to get my bearings. The adversary wearing the blue belt moves effectively through Traps, but I can’t see the green belt. I’m puzzled about where Kal has gotten to when abruptly he swarms up to the platform to loom over me. He’s breathing hard and there’s something almost cruel about the energy of his stance as he stares me down.
“You refuse to understand,” he says curtly. “It was too late the day I was born.”
Leaping across the opposite platform, the green-belted adversary jumps into Rings. Kal pushes past me and descends into this final obstacle as well. They are both already that far ahead of me. I scramble down and run for Traps, but not because I care about winning. I can’t win with this wrist anyway. I have to catch up before he leaves the undercourt.
From the high beam in Traps I watch as the two adversaries spin their way in toward the center. I’ve never seen Kal work Rings like this. Reckless despair propels him through the best trial of his life. He doesn’t care if he hurts himself; he takes chances that are impetuous and bold, and he lands every mark. He’s splendid. The crowd loves him.
I was sure he wouldn’t get this far or that, if he did, he would give up on victory and fake a fall, as I once did. I was sure he wouldn’t unmask for fear of drawing attention to me. Instead he puts on a burst of speed and beats Green Belt to the tower. He scrambles up, grabs the victor’s ribbon, and pulls off his mask. He’s not smiling but he shines, because this trial he has won.
It takes several breaths for people to recognize him. For the ordinary laughter and cheers to turn to shouts of acclaim as the spectators leap to their feet in a rush of emotion. He is the handsome young People’s King, the one who suffered the siege beside them, who ran a Novice trial as if he’s one of them, asking for no special favors. He defeated the enemy in one precipitous stroke.
What if he could fight back against the palace? Defeat all the people who mean to use him? What if he could become the People’s King in truth and usher in a golden age of peace and harmony?
I crush the thought even as it tries to bloom. That is my father’s dream, and it can’t be mine. Even King Kalliarkos with the best will in the world can’t create a Saroese-ruled Efea that truly includes me and mine. He’s right: it was too late the day he was born.
So I will destroy his victory even as I tell myself I’m saving him.
I scramble down from Traps as he descends the tower. I’m so far behind I’m the last one down the ladder into the undercourt. It’s dim in the windowless chamber belowground. Attendants hand out cups and take belts; trainers and stewards collect their adversaries, handing them towels or changes of clothes. For a heart-stabbing interval I think he’s already gone, that he didn’t wait.… Then I notice there’s a ring of attendants and adversaries pretending not to look into the dimmest corner of the retiring court.
Despite his warning he has chosen to wait for me, leaning against a wall as he taps a foot impatiently against the floor. As I walk up he straightens. He pulls me against him, drags off my mask, and kisses me.
This is no soft feather of a kiss. He’s triumphant and angry and desperate. I hold him so tight. It’s not his anger I fear; it’s his despair. All I want is to gift him the courage to believe in himself. To believe there can be a way out for him.
When he shifts his grip on me, sliding a hand from my elbow to my wrist, pain flares and I gasp. At once he breaks off.
“You’re hurt. Of course. That’s the only reason I could have beaten you.” For the first time he sees the scar at my eye. “Good Goat.”
More gently than I expect, given his mood, he brushes the scar at my eye, then probes the wrist. My grimace makes him curse under his breath.
“My uncle did this to you, didn’t he?” His gaze cuts to my heart. “This is why there’s no path for us. I can’t protect you, even if I keep you at my side day and night as I wish I could. There are too many of them and only one of me. And you would hate that life anyway. It’s not the one you’re meant to live. So I will try to be a good king, even if they murder me for it. But you have to leave Saryenia, Jes. You have to leave. And don’t ever come back.”
I tug him to a halt before he can walk away.
“I’m not giving up on you. Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” he says without hesitation.
I take the leap although I don’t know how he will react. It’s a long way to fall.
“The Efean rebellion must win.”
“So there is a rebellion. A real one, not just a loudmouthed poet singing the words he thinks will get a girl’s attention.”
“Ro is the voice. He’s not the heart. The rebellion is real. Efea will rise. She is rising now.”
For a frozen moment I await his reply. I hold my breath. Has his transformation into a monster already begun, or is there still a chance?
“Even if I agree, how can an untrained and disorganized rabble of villagers and craftsmen defeat professional soldiers?”
I press a hand over my mouth to stifle a gasp of relief, collect myself, then reply, “Ally with the Efeans, Kal, and they will protect y
ou.”
“You’re asking me to betray my family. My whole life.”
“No. I’m asking you to fight for Efea. Not for me—I don’t mean it like that. You can’t do it for me. You have to believe it’s the right thing for everyone who lives here.” I press a hand to his chest. His heart pulses beneath my palm. “If the Efeans win, you won’t be king. You’ll be free.”
He rests a hand over mine. “Oh, Jes. I’ll never be free. Not as long as I live.”
He breaks off, gaze flashing past me. With the same decisive speed he used in the trial, he presses me against the wall behind him, making his body into a shield.
But it’s too late. The armed men pushing their way through the adversaries and attendants in the retiring hall have seen us. Lord Gargaron has arrived.
27
Your Gracious Majesty, did you really think I would not have you followed?” says Gargaron. He’s flanked to his left by Captain Helias and to his right by Captain Neartos. “Or that I wouldn’t recognize my most promising adversary on the court, even masked and injured as she is? How did you do it, Jessamy? How did you escape the mines?”
I know better than to say anything that might reveal how much of the north the Efean rebellion now controls, so I flash him the kiss-off sign instead. And I look him right in the eye when I do it.
He flushes, whip twitching in his hand, but Kal is in the way. Captain Helias calls me a very rude epithet although I’m too angry to be shamed by words. Captain Neartos smiles, as if my defiance is what he expected.
Kal commands, “Captain Helias, give me your sword.”
Gargaron sighs as a parent does when a child has pettily disobeyed for the hundredth time. “Kalliarkos, it is time to return to the palace. Surely you have done enough for now.”
“Just what is it you think I have done enough of, Uncle?”
“Why, you have courted the loyalty of lowborn Patrons rather than strengthening the ties that bind Garon Palace to our noble brethren like Helias, whose support we need most. Men like General Esladas and his lowborn firebirds never can see where their best interests lie. Such people will always wallow back into the mud where they feel most comfortable.”