Lady Esma said, “I am sorry—”
But Mercedes was not finished. “Lord Antoni could not have meant for you to hide forever. You tell us this fantastic tale, Lady Esma, and I wonder now how different our lives would have been if you’d come home and spoken the truth. Words matter very much. That is what your little friend said, isn’t it? Well. You ask if I am angry. Perhaps there’s another word for what I feel. A stronger word.”
Behind Lady Esma, at the edge of the forest, figures emerged. Mere pinpricks of light at first, like fireflies, before they grew larger and once again took on the appearance of children. They formed a protective half circle around Lady Esma. The girl in yellow stood just behind Esma, glaring at Mercedes. “Hush!” the girl warned.
All three horses reared back in fright. Mercedes lifted her chin in defiance, and then she turned and raced away.
Elias found Mercedes by the lemon groves. Here, the cicadas sang freely. She sat on the ground, peeling a blade of grass to shreds. Her horse nuzzled her hair, perhaps sensing she needed comfort.
“I wish . . .” Her voice was low and scratchy with unshed tears.
He sat beside her, close enough that his arm touched hers. “I know it.”
“She was my maman’s friend, and an elder.” She flung the grass aside. “I should not have shown her such disrespect.”
“Stop.” Something heavy pressed against his heart. “I hate that you’ve always felt this way. That when you see yourself in a looking glass, you see someone who is . . . not enough. Someone not worthy of calling herself a del Marian.” He pulled her close and rested his chin on her head. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?”
She shook her head and sniffled into his shirt.
“I see Mercedes,” he said quietly. “Not your parents, not your bloodline. I have only ever seen you.” He pulled back slightly, waiting until she lifted her face to his. Eyes like sea glass, bright with tears. “I would cut down every person who’s hurt you if I could. If it would make you feel better.”
Another sniffle, then, “Every person? With your sword?”
The pressure in his chest lightened. Almost, she sounded like her old self. “What else?” he asked.
“You forget to bring your sword half the time.”
He smiled until she said, “Elias, I miss my mother.” This time, when her tears came, she did not try to stop them.
He held tight, overcome by an angry helplessness. She did not notice his sudden start. Over her head, not twenty feet away, he spied soldiers dressed in green and silver. A handful only, surrounding a game table. Elias could see right through them to the lemon groves. Dice tumbled across the table. The soldiers were laughing, though he heard nothing except the cicadas buzzing and the horses shuffling and Mercedes weeping quietly in his arms. One man in particular sent a frisson of recognition up his spine. Head shaved bald, eyes lined in kohl, he bore an uncanny resemblance to Commander Aimon. Elias had forgotten; the commander had also lost a father that day. Too many ghosts. He closed his eyes and pressed his face into Mercedes’s hair, breathing in the warm orange scent. When he opened his eyes, the men were gone.
Mercedes had nearly cried herself out when they heard a horse approaching. Appalled, he thought, Ulises. Elias had left him behind with Lady Esma to chase after Mercedes and had forgotten all about him. Some guard he was. They were both on their feet by the time Ulises dismounted. He said nothing of Mercedes’s tear-stained face, only brushed a hand against her hair and said, “It will be dark soon. We should go.” To Elias, abruptly, “I’ve asked too much of you.”
“You ask more of yourself,” Elias said.
He had seen Ulises the day King Andrés died. His friend had been stoic and kingly until the crowds had gone and there was no one but Elias and Mercedes to witness his grief. Since boyhood, he had seen Ulises pleased, angry, bored, curious, insulted, indifferent—every feeling under the moon and the stars. Elias had never seen him as he was today, could think of no other word to use than staggered.
“I didn’t take it seriously,” Elias admitted. “I thought I would humor you by coming to Javelin. And then we could leave it alone.”
Mercedes dashed more tears away with the back of her hand. “They’re alive, aren’t they? Somewhere. After all this time.”
Ulises spun around and was thoroughly and violently ill. Warblers broke through the tree cover, flying away as the smell of limes and sickness engulfed them.
Twelve
T WAS A grim ride home. By the time they stopped by the river, dusk had settled, and above them the sky was a somber intermingling of orange and gray. Mercedes and Ulises filled their skins by the water, each silent and preoccupied.
Elias skipped stones across the river. His own thoughts kept circling back to the forest. When the sixth stone disappeared beneath the surface, he asked, “Who gained the most?” Then, when his companions turned to him, “If what Lady Esma says is true, and if Mondrago had nothing to do with what happened, we should look at things a different way.” He said to Ulises, “Your brothers. Who would gain from their deaths?”
“Besides me, you mean?” Ulises answered with bleak humor.
“Yes,” Elias said, and then fell silent as he remembered the soldiers in the meadow playing their game of dice.
“What is it?” Mercedes asked.
Another stone skipped. “It’s just . . . twenty dead soldiers,” Elias said. “It would leave a hole in the ranks, wouldn’t it? And with the king’s guard. Men would have to be promoted quickly to replace them.”
Ulises’s expression darkened, but Mercedes looked thoughtful.
“That’s true,” she acknowledged. “But the same could be said for any profession, not just soldiering.”
“What are you thinking?” Ulises asked, low and angry. “That we should suspect every high-ranking soldier in Cortes? Every weapon maker who turned a profit because of Mondrago? What cynics we’ve become.” He tossed his waterskin to the ground and rose, his expression one of weariness and disgust.
As far as Elias could tell, Ulises had thrown up everything he’d eaten today and had refused the supper Mercedes had tried to press upon him. He said, “Ulises.” The king faced him. “Should I stop looking?”
Mercedes made a small sound: dismay, consternation. Elias did not look at her. No secret had been made of his wishes. He had wanted to tear up the maps and forget their existence. But that was before they had met the lady Esma. Now a powerful longing filled him—to follow the bread crumbs hidden in the maps, to discover what had befallen the father who had been taken from him. Despite the danger.
But it was not only about his wishes. Ulises was his friend. And of anyone on del Mar, Ulises stood to lose most of all.
“Would you stop?” Ulises’s expression was impossible to read.
Elias answered quietly. “For you, yes.”
Ulises had been holding his breath; he exhaled in a great sweeping rush. “No,” he said. “I would regret it forever. So would you. We need to find out what happened. . . .” His eyes flickered to Mercedes. “The three of us. And let the stones fall where they may.”
Mercedes went to tuck her waterskin into her saddlebag. She looked over suddenly. “Who was the girl?”
Elias had nearly forgotten about the servant who had ridden off with the men.
“Lady Esma could have been mistaken,” Ulises said. “Or maybe someone couldn’t stomach killing a female. They decided to take her with them instead.”
“They had no trouble killing the other female servants,” Elias pointed out. He said to Mercedes, “You think she was an accomplice.”
“Why not?” Mercedes asked. “It’s what I would do. Have someone at the picnic to make sure everyone had their share of wine and wouldn’t cause trouble.”
Dubious, Ulises said, “It’s a cold woman who would pour out poison to all those people.”
“Women can be as cold as men,” Mercedes insisted. “Colder, even.” She cinched the tie on her s
addlebag, gave her horse a pat. “It would be a matter of wooing the right person on the inside. A servant wouldn’t have much coin. Think of it. A young woman, poor, vulnerable, without family and male protection, perhaps, made to feel loved and important. She would do anything you asked if you made her feel like a queen.”
Elias said, “If she worked inside the castle, why didn’t anyone know she was missing? Every person that day was claimed.”
Mercedes frowned. “That part escapes me.”
The buzzing of the cicadas had grown louder, causing the horses to lift their heads from the water. Elias could only hear them, not see them, but he knew they were gold in color, and with their wings spread, they were often mistaken for butterflies.
Gold cicadas . . . He grabbed his carrier and removed the map.
“What is it?” Mercedes said as he unrolled it onto the grass. All three knelt by the parchment, squinting in the near darkness.
“A tree cricket.” Elias sat back on his heels, marveling. “It’s been bothering me all day. Look here.” Within the inset that showed Cortes, the mapmaker had painted in great miniaturist detail the castle and the narrow lanes that crisscrossed the parishes. He’d also drawn the squares and public gardens. With his finger, Elias followed the familiar street names out loud, naming the guilds associated with each. Butchers, tanners, scriveners, parchment makers, fishmongers. Every street accurately depicted, save one.
The parish of St. Cruz of the Mountain, in the far northern corner of the city, was where many of the soldiers’ families lived, along with the sheriffs, bailiffs, and judges. A small grassy knoll had been painted at the end of one street, along with a giant cicada, the color of the sun, perched at its crest. He had thought it a butterfly, a fine embellishment on a fine map.
Mercedes said, “There is no grassy knoll in the parish of St. Cruz.”
Elias smiled at her. “No.”
“But what is there?” Ulises asked.
Elias thought about this, running through his memory street by street, house by house. The answer came to him, and he said, “It’s Judge Piri’s home.” He looked at his friends. “Why would his house be on this map? And look, he’s here also.” He pointed to the fat figure in red painted outside the maritime courts. He had shown the image to Ulises two days ago.
Ulises was quiet. Mercedes looked as if she’d bitten into something rotten.
“What?” Elias demanded.
“Piri was an officer for the maritime courts back then,” Ulises said. “Not yet a judge. Some of his responsibilities weren’t known to many.” He glanced at his cousin. “You could say he and Mercedes have much in common.”
So Piri had been a spy for the king. Elias said, “Should Mercedes speak with him? It might be simpler.”
“I think not,” Mercedes said.
“They don’t get on,” Ulises explained. “Best to question him yourself.”
Elias was lost. “What would I question him about? How does he fit into any of this?”
“It must have something to do with the prisoner,” Ulises said morosely. “Piri was the man who captured Felip of Mondrago.”
The night deepened as they rode home, a dangerous time to be about. But as they turned off the coastal segment of Marinus Road, they found the highway bathed in torchlight.
Soldiers lined the road on horseback. When the trio was spotted, there was a shout, and one of the soldiers came forward. It was Lazar, Commander Aimon’s second-in-command.
Ulises demanded, “Why are you here, Lazar? All of you? Who is guarding the city?”
“My king,” Lazar responded, “Commander Aimon ordered us to watch the highway for your return. There are men stationed the rest of the way to Cortes. We’re to escort you home.” He lifted his torch higher. Shock and anger registered on his face. “You’re wounded?”
The light had picked up the faint bruise beneath Ulises’s eye. He touched it briefly. “It’s nothing.” He looked down the line of soldiers waiting to accompany them home, seeing what Elias saw. By restricting his men to the main road, Commander Aimon had made sure no one could guess what direction the three returned from. Keeping their secrets even though he must have been furious with them. “Let’s go home.”
Every mile added more soldiers to their retinue. It was the opposite of how they’d left the city at dawn. By the time they entered Cortes and saw Commander Aimon standing upon the walls, waiting for them with his arms crossed, there was an army at their back.
Twenty dead soldiers. It would leave a hole in the ranks, wouldn’t it? And with the king’s guard. Men would have to be promoted quickly to replace them.
Men like Commander Aimon.
It was a dark thought, come out of nowhere.
When Elias returned to the tower, he found the courtyard filled with people. Pilots, astronomers, mapmakers, painters—they had poured out of their chambers to enjoy one another’s company on a warm summer evening and to gaze at the stars that showed like ice fire across the sky. The spiced wine flowed freely. Conversation was amiable. The laughter rang loud.
Beneath their feet, the mosaic compass that filled the courtyard was clearly visible. The artist had crushed the scales of a lightning fish into his tiles as a form of illumination. As a result, the eight-pointed star was outlined in shimmering green and silver. Lord Silva had gathered the children to the compass center. They lay on their backs on the tiles, arms pillowing their heads, as the Royal Navigator pointed out the various constellations. To the west, the first King Ulises on his throne. In the northwest, Saint Marco the Adventurer’s three-masted carrack. To the south, the ancient waterfall of Mira, its cascade of stars disappearing beneath the horizon.
Elias kept to the shadows, watching Lord Silva, imagining Lord Antoni in his place. Where he should have been. A bitter anger swept over him. Lady Esma had painted a terrible, vivid picture. His father bloodied and beaten, thrown onto a horse like a captured animal. Elias would find out who had hurt him. If it took a lifetime, he would find a way to set this right.
Lord Silva sat up then, chuckling, and spotted Elias across the courtyard. The only person standing alone. His smile faded. He called out to Lord Braga, Jaime’s father, who ambled over and gamely took Lord Silva’s place, flopping down between Reyna and Hector and making the children giggle.
Lord Silva came to stand beside Elias in the shadows. He saw the new scratches, the bloodied lip. “You’ve been hurt. Where are the others?”
“They’re here. They’re safe.”
Lord Silva looked as though he braced himself for something terrible. “Elias, what did you see?”
Elias kept his words low and close to Lord Silva’s ear. He told of the spirits and Lady Esma. He spoke of the unknown del Marian attackers. Their callousness, their cruelty. Lord Silva said nothing, only listened. Cries erupted from the children, and Elias looked up in time to see a star shooting across the night sky. A single pearl cutting through a field of diamonds. He watched in wonder, until a strange, rough sound drew him back. To Lord Silva, whose face was lifted to the sky, his skin the color of ash.
He was weeping.
Thirteen
WELVE APOTHECARIES SERVED the city of Cortes. Eight were of the general sort, dispensing everything from incense for lung ailments to fig poultices for rash. But four, including the one Mercedes entered, specialized solely in the needs of women.
The front chamber was typical of most apothecaries: a long mahogany counter with shelves behind. On the shelves were hundreds of glass jars lined up like Commander Aimon’s soldiers. After a brief word with the wide-eyed proprietress, Mercedes was led through the back and up the stairs. Two chambers branched off a corridor that smelled strongly of mint. The proprietress knocked once and opened a door, waving Mercedes inside with a murmured, “Lady.”
Galena was Mistress of the Royal Household. Twice a month, on the first and fifteenth day of the calendar, she visited an apothecary to have her head plucked, raising her hairline to the very top of her h
ead. The practice had gone out of fashion years ago, for which Mercedes was grateful, but many of the older women clung to their rituals. Galena’s habits, at least, made for a predictable routine. Mercedes preferred to speak to the woman privately, away from the castle. And today was the fifteenth day of the calendar.
Galena lay on a narrow bed in the center of a sparsely furnished chamber. Light filtered in from small round windows set high in the wall. A strip of white cloth covered her eyes, and a crisp blanket shielded her robust form from the neck downward. Jorge, her pet monkey, curled up fast asleep by her toes. An attendant stood by her head, pulling hairs one strand at a time with pincers. At Mercedes’s appearance, the girl dropped into a curtsy and offered a whispered, “Lady.”
Galena stirred, mumbling, “What? Who?”
The attendant whisked the cloth from her eyes. Galena blinked at the sudden light before focusing on Mercedes. Abruptly she sat up, the sheet clutched against her. Long gray strands spilled about her shoulders. “Lady Mercedes!”
“Forgive me for spoiling your day of rest, Mistress Galena.” It was difficult not to stare at Galena’s freshly plucked head, though she tried. “This will not take long.” One glance had the proprietress and the attendant hurrying from the chamber. The door shut behind them. Mercedes waited, ear cocked, but heard no retreating footsteps.
Mistress Galena glared at the door. “Be off!” she hollered. At last, the sound of footsteps in retreat.
“Very effective,” Mercedes said, looking about for a place to sit. There was no chair. She settled on the bed by Galena’s feet and lifted the sleeping monkey onto her lap. Today, Jorge wore a blue tunic and a matching hat secured beneath his chin with a strap.
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