Isle of Blood and Stone

by Makiia Lucier

  “You, adventurer who boasts of being

  quick-witted and a good troubadour,

  would you make me a song

  that the eight winds call?”

  Ulises paused, expectant. And everyone joined in:

  “Levante, Scirocco, and Ostro,

  Libeccio, Ponente, and Maestro,

  Tramontana and Greco:

  Here you have the eight winds of the globe.”

  There were cheers. People drank. They pounded on the tables and drank some more. The cats and dogs were in ecstasy, licking up the spillage beneath the tables. And monkeys, Elias amended, when he spotted Jorge under a bench, working his way through half a melon.

  Smiling slightly, Ulises raised a hand. The hall quieted. He said, “Not every man can leave his home. Leave all that is familiar, his family and his friends, the buildings and streets he has learned to navigate by heart, and journey to parts unknown. It takes a man with the soul and spirit of an adventurer. . . .”

  An impressive opening to a speech, one Elias had heard practiced numerous times in the past few days. He had suggested that last part himself. There were more cheers and pounding, and as the glasses and utensils rattled the tabletops, his thoughts wandered.

  To Lord Silva in his secret prison in the north. Elias would not see him again. He had done what he could for his old teacher, and he understood what it had cost Ulises to grant his request. It had humbled him. Never again would he take his king, or their friendship, for granted.

  Ulises had spoken at Lord Silva’s funeral. Paying homage to a man he would sooner have drowned in a river. A necessity, for to proclaim Lord Silva a villain was also to admit that King Andrés, Ulises’s father, had made a grievous error. To cast St. John del Mar in a terrible light in the eyes of its neighbors and the world. It was to turn curious eyes in the direction of Valdemossa and expose truths best left alone. Ulises would do what he could to make things right for Mondrago—that was where Mercedes came in—but not at the expense of his father’s legacy.

  Elias’s leg was healing nicely, leaving only a scar to add to his many others. To his relief, he did not have to explain his absence from Cortes to anyone. Basilio had told anyone who asked that Elias had been sent on a mission on behalf of the king. It was the sort of explanation that discouraged questions. And if, on occasion, he now caught a curious look from Luca, or a quiet, thoughtful frown from Lord Braga, nothing ever came of it.

  Then there was Reyna. Lord Braga had not only taken on the role of Royal Navigator but had welcomed the girl into his home, where she had been nursed back to health by his wife, Lady Braga. Her friend Jaime would not be around. He would sail with Luca. But Jaime had five brothers and sisters, and a loud, loving family was just what Reyna needed to distract herself from her grief. It was the best place for her. Elias told himself this. Over and over, until he nearly believed it.

  He had intended to keep the truth from her, a plan that had crumbled to dust when he’d walked into her chamber and found her at a window seat. No longer bruised, at least not on the outside. Lady Braga had granted them privacy.

  As soon as the door closed, Reyna had said, “I remember where I saw him. The man from the harbor.”

  Elias had come to a halt in the middle of the chamber. Several seconds passed before he could trust his voice. “Reyna . . .”

  Softly, she had said, “Please tell me the truth.”

  No girl of nine should ever look so serious. He had done as she asked. Settled beside her on the window seat and told her everything—about Lord Silva, Madame Vega, the long-ago avalanche that had started it all—and watched a solitary tear make its way down her cheek. She’d said, “You must hate me.”

  “Look at me.” He’d waited until she looked him in the eye. “You are not your grandfather’s keeper. Not your aunt’s. Do you understand? We are responsible for no one’s conduct but our own.”

  Her face had crumpled, and he’d held her in his arms as she wept.

  Ulises was nearing the end of his speech. “We are grateful for your courage and fortitude. We commend you for your service.” He raised a cup high. “For the glory of del Mar, go safely.”

  Elias looked to Mercedes and found her eyes on him already, the hint of a smile about her lips. He raised his cup toward her as Ulises’s words echoed across the chamber. For the glory of del Mar, go safely.

  A new adventure. For both of them.

  Tomorrow, the Amaris would be sailing west past the Strait of Cain.

  Elias would not be sailing on it.

  “Mondrago,” Lord Braga had said, incredulous. “Are you absolutely certain?”

  “It needs to be done.” Elias stood before Lord Braga’s desk in what was once Lord Silva’s work chamber. Already the signs of the former Royal Navigator were disappearing. Lord Silva had kept an orderly space. No one could ever accuse Lord Braga of tidiness. Great teetering stacks of parchment covered the desk. Globes and scrolls crowded the shelves and littered the floor. The most glaring change was the absence of Lord Vittor’s world map, a father’s prized possession. It had been removed from the wall and replaced with a larger, more current version drawn by Braga himself.

  “Yes, yes, it needs to be done,” Lord Braga said from his chair, his scuffed boots propped on the desk. Shoes on the furniture. This was also new. “But by you? I can send—” A sharp hiss followed. He whipped his head around, glared at the boy standing by his side. “Jaime!”

  “Apologies, Papa,” Jaime said, a needle in one hand. They looked at each other in mutual exasperation. “But I’ve asked you twice now not to move.”

  Elias almost smiled. It turned out Lord Braga had always secretly desired wearing an earring, a practice previously frowned upon, and now that he was Royal Navigator, there was no one about to refuse him. Jaime had been enlisted to pierce two holes in his father’s left earlobe.

  Lord Braga harrumphed, though he sat perfectly still as Jaime prepared his second piercing. To Elias, he said, “It’s a good idea, not leaving that island to rot any longer. The king makes a wise decision.”

  “I think so, too.”

  “But Mondrago.” Lord Braga’s mustache was a bushy, splendid thing. It drooped to his chin when he frowned. “There’s no mystery there. It’s been discovered. With this expedition, there is a chance for glory.”

  “I’m not looking for glory.”

  Lord Braga’s eyebrows rose. Even Jaime paused, glanced sidelong across the desk. Both knew his words were a lie.

  “Elias,” Lord Braga chided, his voice soft, “come now. We are all looking for glory.”

  Elias amended, “I’m not looking for it just yet. This is important to me.”

  Lord Braga opened his mouth to respond, flinched. “Boy!”

  “I’m finished!” Jaime jumped out of his father’s reach, both palms raised as though he’d been caught stealing something.

  “Oh.” Lord Braga lifted a hand to touch his ear, then thought better of it. He angled his bald head toward Elias. “How do I look?”

  Elias studied the small gold hoops and thought of a similar one worn by his own father. “It suits you.”

  “Good.” Mollified, Lord Braga swung his boots to the floor. He rummaged around his desk, found some coins beneath a pilot book, and tossed a double-shell Jaime’s way. The boy caught the silver and grinned. “Make sure you’re back in time for supper,” his father ordered, and Jaime was gone.

  Once the door had shut behind his son, Lord Braga turned back to Elias. “Don’t think I don’t see right through you. I know who else will be on Mondrago. You’re not the first person to lose your heart, and your good judgment, because of a girl.”

  This time Elias smiled. “But what a girl.”

  Lord Braga laughed. “Fine. Go. At least if I send you, I know the work will be done well.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “But”—Lord Braga swung his boots back onto the desk—“don’t take too long there. No settling down. No growing fat and c
omfortable in some castle by the sea.”

  “I’m nineteen only. Little chance of that.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. I have plans for you, Elias.”

  Elias felt his curiosity stir. “What plans?”

  “What else?” Lord Braga eyed the chart on the wall. “Look there. It won’t do, not even a little bit. There are too many blank spaces on that map.”

  The festivities had not ended in the great hall but had poured into the courtyard, with its grand sprawling olive tree. There was dancing and music—the castle musicians had taken their place beneath the tree—and tables laden with more food and drink. Lanterns hung from hooks on the walls, so many of them that it appeared almost daylight.

  Elias was too distracted to enjoy any of it. Frowning, he inspected the crowd from the courtyard’s second-floor balcony. “Well, they don’t look too menacing.”

  Beside him, Mercedes smiled. A mass of children gathered directly below. Necks craned in anticipation, the smaller ones clutching their mamans’ hands. Elias’s own mother was there with Jonas and Lea. But many of the faces were unfamiliar, children from outside the castle walls. Their parents. Their grandparents. Who knew what darkness rotted their souls?

  Mercedes said, “You’re worrying too much.”

  “No.”

  She touched his arm lightly. “Why don’t you go find Ulises? Or Lord Isidore? My, look at all that food.”

  His lips twitched at this involuntarily. “Are you trying to be rid of me?”

  “Yes,” she said and laughed. “Stop worrying. There won’t be any trouble tonight.”

  She sounded so sure. And far more enthusiastic than she had on the road to Javelin, when Ulises had first broached the subject. Tossing sweets to children. Bringing back an old tradition. Still. He thought of the old woman who had spat at her. “If there is, I’ll wring their necks.”

  “Whose necks?” his cousin Dita demanded. She looked over the balcony at the children, then back at him, askance. “Have you been drinking?” She didn’t give him a chance to respond. “Elias, what are you still doing up here? You’re in our way.”

  “I’m going.” He knew when he wasn’t wanted. All around him, females gathered armfuls of wrapped sweets from the massive burlap sack he had lugged over from the kitchens. Lady Aimon was here, and Mistress Galena. His sister Nieve and Reyna and even Katalin the tax collector among them. Mercedes had surrounded herself with friends.

  He scooped up a handful of sweets from the sack, ran the back of his hand across Mercedes’s cheek, ruffled Nieve’s hair, and grinned at the outrage that followed. Ulises was at the back of the crowd, talking to Lord Isidore. Nearby, guards scowled at the merrymakers.

  “What are they doing?” Ulises asked, meaning the females on the balcony.

  Elias tossed a sweet at him. Ulises caught it. Puzzled at first, and then not. A startled smile broke across his features.

  “She wanted to surprise you,” Elias said.

  “It nearly killed me to give her the coin for it,” Lord Isidore added. “But she assured me it was for special occasions only, not every Tuesday.”

  Ulises asked, “She went to you for a sack full of sweets? How much could it possibly cost?” As Lord Exchequer, Lord Isidore approved any significant castle expenses.

  Lord Isidore laughed. “My king, she is throwing more than that.” He handed his cup to Elias, said, “I’d better help your mother.” He waded into the fray toward his wife and youngest children.

  Elias shrugged at Ulises’s questioning look. He’d no notion what his stepfather had meant. Just then, Mercedes leaned over the balcony, arms full, and called out a greeting. Were they certain they needed more sweets? Absolutely certain? It looked like they had plenty already. And the children jumped up and down at her teasing and insisted, yes, they needed more. Smiling, Mercedes looked across the courtyard, eyes touching on Elias, who lifted his cup, and then to her cousin, who mouthed the words “Thank you.”

  Mercedes flung her arms wide; her companions did the same, and the sweets came raining down. Predictably, the children erupted in a mass of squeals and grabbing hands. Lord Isidore’s laughter boomed above it all.

  Elias’s cup froze halfway to his lips. Beside him came a shocked inhalation of breath. Ulises asked, “Is that—?”

  Yes, it was. Elias found himself laughing. He had forgotten completely.

  It doesn’t have to be just sweets, does it? Make it so they can’t say no to you. Make it so they have no wish to.

  Bribery? You think I should throw coins along with the sweets?

  I would never turn down silver.

  Mercedes had listened to his counsel and gone one step further. Not just sweets, not just silver, but gold as well. Delicate treats wrapped in paper. Copper sand dollars and silver double-shells. Squid cast from solid gold. All of it, together, falling from the sky like starlight.

  Epilogue

  Father and son stood side by side on the shores of Valdemossa.

  “You should not have come back here, Elias.”

  “My lord father, please. May I speak?”

  Halfway down the beach, Brother Francis and Reyna conversed beside a small boat. Farther out to sea, an even larger boat anchored by the boundary rock.

  “Who is the girl?” Lord Antoni asked.

  “Reyna,” Elias said. “You heard they imprisoned him? Outside Esperanca?”

  “Esperanca?” Lord Antoni repeated, then added hastily, “Yes, Francis told me. What did you come here to say?”

  A thousand things needed to be said between them. Elias would start with this. “The fleet sailed two days ago.”

  A sidelong glance. “And you are not with them.”

  “No. Ulises . . . the king has his heart set on rebuilding Mondrago. He’s gathering stonemasons and artists and . . .”

  “Surveyors,” Lord Antoni finished.

  “Yes.”

  “You were looking forward to this expedition.”

  “There will be others.” True, it had stung to watch the ships sail from the harbor. But it felt right that he should be part of Mondrago’s future. Mercedes was already there. He planned to follow, but there was something he needed to do first. “I hoped to see you settled somewhere before I go. The ship is waiting.”

  “What?” Lord Antoni stared at him, incredulous. “Now?”

  “Why not?” Elias asked. “You don’t belong here. There’s another place for you. A real home with friends, travel, whatever you wish for.” When there was no response, he added, a bit desperately, “I brought gold. It’s still your gold, if you think about it. I don’t see why you should not use it to make a new life for yourself. Anywhere but here.”

  From Lord Antoni, nothing.

  Elias pressed on. “I would like to know you,” he said. “If you won’t go, then I’ll come here. Again and again, I’ll come back. I hope I don’t fall ill. But if I do, please don’t feel that you’re in any way to blame.”

  A sharp laugh. “You’ll have to work on your subtlety. It’s a low thing, threatening one’s parent.”

  “I know it,” Elias admitted. “I don’t have time for subtlety.”

  Lord Antoni looked down the beach. “She’s your apprentice?”

  “No.” Here was where his plans could unravel. “I hope she’ll be yours.”

  Lord Antoni gaped at him. Maybe Elias was asking for too much, all at once. He had to try. “She has no one,” he said. “I’ll gladly take her with me if you say no. But I thought she might be good for you. An apprenticeship—” He shrugged. “It’s only seven years. It’s nothing.” And when that elicited no response, “Think of the good you can do her.”

  At that, Lord Antoni’s eyes narrowed. “You would throw my words back at me?”

  “Yes.” Elias pulled the leather strap over his head. The map carrier was only days old, the leather a rich mahogany, a small A the size of a thumbnail embossed on the side of the cap. He had made it himself. Offering the carrier to his father, he sai
d, “It will be an adventure.”

  Elias waited; the silence went on forever.

  Lord Antoni took the carrier with both hands, holding it as carefully as one would an infant newly born. He brought it close and inhaled the rich leather scent of it. Then, “Reyna, is it?”

  “Yes.”

  “An adventure, you say?”

  Elias smiled. “Yes.”

  Lord Antoni gave a last, considering look down the beach before he slung the leather strap over one shoulder and said, “She is going to need her own carrier.”

  Acknowledgments

  With all my heart, I would like to thank my agent, Suzie Townsend, who keeps me focused on the one thing I can control, which is to try to tell a good story.

  My wonderful editors, Elizabeth Bewley and Nicole Sclama, who love the world of del Mar as much as I do and helped ensure my final draft was a hundred times stronger than my first.

  Danelle Forseth and Erika Baker are the busiest moms I know, but they still found the time to come by the house so that I could practice for book readings, helped brainstorm villain names, and answered strange and random book-related texts at all hours of the day and night.

  Before she moved to Montana, Kelly Murray made sure I saw the sun occasionally, meeting me halfway up the hill for our walks and offering much needed encouragement during early drafts. I am very lucky to have friends such as these.

  Elias’s story takes place on an island, which is no coincidence. I was born on an island, raised on another, and as I look back over this manuscript, I realize how much my childhood has shaped both my setting and my story. The food, the sea, the relatives, even the ghosts in the forest. To everyone back home on Guam who has cheered me on, wished me luck, bought a stack of books to force on family and friends: Si Yu’us Ma’ase. Thank you. The map at the front of this book is for you.

  Speaking of maps, my daughter, Mia Evangeline, sketched the original back in the fifth grade and she didn’t even ask for payment. The finished map you see is the work of the brilliant illustrator Leo Hartas. Many thanks!