“We ought to want the best candidate, which for us means the one most beneficial for Tremontane,” Sebastian said. “But I’m afraid I really don’t care. All those causes seem good mainly for noble Veriboldans.”
“What about giving everyone a weekly holiday? That would help even poor people. Except…Aurkene was right about most people working every day so they can survive. If they have to stop working, they won’t eat.”
“Thus demonstrating, once again, that Veriboldan landholders don’t have any idea what the lives of ordinary people are like.” Sebastian shrugged. “We should be looking at who supports each cause, not whether the cause is a good one. But we don’t know enough about the nobles to appreciate what it means that they support one candidate over the others.”
Fiona was about to say something when she saw Hien approaching them. The priestess moved like a bull who’d just seen a stranger enter his field, implacable and unwavering. The sight drove Fiona’s words out of her head. “Um,” she said. “Sebastian—”
“Prince Sebastian,” Hien said, coming to a stop beside them. “Lady North. You are still here.”
“Should we have left?” Sebastian said, making it sound like a joke.
Hien ignored him. “I would speak with Lady North. Privately.”
Fiona and Sebastian exchanged glances. “I should…speak with the other candidates and their followers,” Sebastian said. His gaze flicked across the room to where Gizane stood, holding forth to a new clot of listeners. Fiona nodded. He bowed to Hien and walked away.
Hien turned and strode off in what to Fiona seemed a random direction. She didn’t tell Fiona to follow, but Fiona didn’t need direction. She followed Hien like a toy on a string, bobbing along after the priestess.
When they were nearly to the wall, and well away from inadvertent or intentional eavesdroppers, Hien turned on Fiona. “Why are you still here?”
Taken aback by the priestess’s abruptness, Fiona stammered, “I—because the Election isn’t over.”
“You are not here for the Election any more than you were here for the festival,” Hien said. “You have another purpose. Why would Tremontane want to destroy Veribold?”
“That’s not true. Tremontane wants—”
Hien cut her off with a gesture and a glare that could melt stone. “You have the Stones,” she said. “Give them back. Now.”
35
“You can’t prove that,” Fiona said. It was the first thing that came to mind, and even as she said it, she knew it was a mistake. Hien’s eyes gleamed, and her lips twisted in a bitter smile.
“I do not need to prove it when we both know the truth,” she said. “Tremontane stole the Stones to weaken Veribold so it can invade.”
“What?” Fiona took a step backward. “That’s not true. Tremontane doesn’t want to invade Veribold.”
“Veribold has everything Tremontane wants. A larger coastline. More mechanics—they do not depend on source the way Tremontanan Devices do. Rich natural resources. What other reason could Tremontane have for interfering with our Election?”
A dozen competing responses welled up inside Fiona. Why couldn’t Hien have had this conversation with Sebastian? He knew the politics, he knew what they could or should say. Fiona could only stumble along and cling to what she knew, which was that admitting to possession of the Jaoine Stones meant death.
“Invasion would throw Tremontane into turmoil, too,” she said. “Queen Genevieve doesn’t want that.”
“Because her reign is insecure? Starting a war would give her power within her government.”
Fiona had no idea whether or not this was true. “I…am not permitted to speak of internal policy matters,” she said. It sounded hopelessly pompous. She hoped it also sounded convincing.
“It is not important. I give you an opportunity to do the right thing. Hand over the Stones, and we will say nothing more.” Hien stood as if she expected Fiona to pull the Stones out of her robe right there.
“I don’t have the Stones,” Fiona said. Only partly a lie, but she didn’t have them on her, after all. “And if I did, my life would be forfeit, wouldn’t it?”
Hien blew out her breath impatiently. “It would be a private matter.”
“But that’s not good enough, is it?” Fiona said. “The death penalty is to…” Everything she knew about the Temple and the Stones, which wasn’t much, came together. “Taking the Stones—whoever stole them is under heaven’s condemnation, right? And anyone not an Irantzen priestess who holds them has to die because otherwise it mocks heaven.”
Hien gave a tiny nod, a decisive gesture, but her eyes were uncertain.
Fiona let out a deep breath. “I have a question,” she said. “A thought experiment. I think you can tell me the answer. Suppose someone steals the Jaoine Stones from the Temple. It doesn’t matter what they want them for.”
“It matters if they wish to start a war.”
“Okay, true. So let’s say the thief wants something else. Maybe she wants the Stones for…for an advantage in whatever the Temple uses the Stones for.” Fiona paused, but Hien didn’t react. “So this person, like I said, steals the Stones. And suppose someone else comes along and takes them from the thief. Maybe the second person doesn’t realize what she took. She doesn’t want the Stones, but she has them. And by your laws, that means she’s the one who would die for possessing them.”
Hien’s face continued expressionless. “So who’s really at fault?” Fiona asked. “The original thief, or the accidental one? Who would heaven want punished?”
Hien continued to look at her, but her expression went calculating, as if she were considering Fiona’s words. “Why would the second person not pass them off to another?”
“Because giving them to someone else just means another innocent person might die.”
Hien went silent. Finally, she said, “What do you think of the candidates?”
The sudden change of subject stunned Fiona into silence. “Um…I don’t know enough to have an opinion.”
“That is a mistake. You are here to judge, Fiona North who was Fiona Cooper.” Hien’s eyebrows went up. “You have formed no opinions at all? Not of, for example, Gizane of the Araton?”
There was a trap in there somewhere. Fiona had no idea what might set it off. She looked at Hien, whose expression seemed to dare her to lie again. “She is a bad choice for Veribold,” she said. “She either doesn’t know the law or doesn’t care about upholding it, and she sees the Election as a game instead of as a…a sacred rite, or whatever you call it. Doesn’t it matter to you that she chose her cause to pander to the Temple?”
A look of disgust crossed Hien’s face and was as swiftly smoothed away. “The Temple is unbiased in the Election. We are observers only. Her choice will do her no good.”
“Are you sure about that? Because she’s not the sort of woman who acts frivolously. I don’t know much about the challenges, but I know she wouldn’t have chosen that cause if she didn’t think it would benefit her.”
Hien’s eyes narrowed. “Do you suggest we are corrupt, Fiona North?”
Oops. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant that Gizane might believe it. I told you, I don’t know enough about how the Election works—what the Temple priestesses do—to judge whether she’s right. I hope she’s wrong.”
“I did not think it mattered to you what the Temple might want.”
It felt like a blow to the stomach, and Fiona wasn’t sure why. “I’m sorry,” she said, not knowing where the apology came from.
“Sorry for what?” Hien asked.
“For not respecting the festival. For not respecting you.” Her need to make things right with this woman filled her, prompting her words.
Hien pursed her lips. “Why did you come to the festival?”
“I…can’t tell you.”
Hien fell silent. The sound of muffled conversations filled the space between them, punctuated by Stannin’s distinctive laugh. Fiona felt she�
�d been judged and found wanting. But telling Hien the truth was the one thing she absolutely could not do. “It wasn’t to steal the Stones,” she blurted out. “I swear that’s the truth. It had nothing to do with the Election.”
“And yet it had something to do with your need,” Hien said. “With your desire for change.”
Fiona remembered her vision, what her parents had said. “I still don’t understand the vision.”
“You will,” Hien said. She turned her head away briefly, scanning the room, then returned to watching Fiona closely. “Gizane walks close to the sun,” she said in a surprisingly placid tone not at all matching her earlier words. “Walks close to the sun, and will be burned.”
“Is that a promise?” Fiona said.
“Say, rather, a glimpse of what may be,” Hien said. “But you asked a hypothetical question. The answer is that the law is clear: anyone holding the Stones who is not an Irantzen priestess must die so ungoverned heaven will not be mocked. But it is also clear that heaven’s blessing touches what it will. If the second person, the one who took the Stones from the thief, has faith in the purity of their intent, heaven will not disregard that.”
“I…don’t understand.”
“It means,” Hien said, fixing her eyes on Fiona, “that you should have faith, Fiona North.” She turned and walked away without another word.
Fiona felt dizzy and wished she dared use the nearby wall to support herself. Faith? In what? If Hien meant have faith that heaven would intervene to protect her, Fiona didn’t think of herself as particularly worthy of that intervention. Maybe that meant she lacked faith, or maybe it just meant she was pragmatic, but in either case, she wasn’t inclined to put herself in jeopardy even for a noble cause like returning the Stones.
She cast her gaze across the room, searching for Sebastian. She didn’t see him or Gizane anywhere. Stannin was still nearby, laughing at something one of the red-robed women was saying, and beyond him, Venelda was engaged in conversation with a tall crane of a man in a gray robe. No one seemed to notice Fiona at all. After the harrowing encounter she’d had with Hien, she was just as happy to go unnoticed.
She made her way around the edges of the room to where a servant stood bearing tiny glasses shaped like half-opened rosebuds and helped herself. Too late, the sharp scent of alcohol came to her nose. She managed to drink no more than half the liquid, which wasn’t anything she recognized, and set the glass back on the tray. She glared at the servant, daring him to make an issue of it, but he paid no more attention to her than any of the servants had.
Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she continued along her path, scanning the crowd for Sebastian. She’d lost track of time, but he would know if they’d given Holt enough freedom to search Gizane’s quarters. The room that had felt so spacious now seemed to close in around her, the voices echoing the way sounds did when she was ill. She didn’t feel sick, just overwhelmed and unsure of herself. Hien had as much as offered to protect her from the Temple if she handed over the Stones, but Fiona wasn’t sure that was an offer she could accept. It might only put Hien in more jeopardy than Fiona.
Finally, she caught sight of a dark blue robe with silver embroidery matching hers. In relief, she pushed politely past other guests to Sebastian’s side, too grateful for his solid familiarity to worry about whether he was still angry. He’d seemed to have gotten over it earlier, but that might only have been politeness in public. It wasn’t until she’d almost reached him that she saw he was talking to Gizane.
Fiona hesitated, uncertain about interrupting their conversation. Her steps slowed, and she considered waiting far enough away that Gizane wouldn’t have to take notice of her. But Gizane looked past Sebastian’s shoulder and saw Fiona. She stopped mid-sentence, her lips curving in an unpleasant smile. Sebastian turned to see what Gizane was looking at. The briefest expression of dismay crossed his features, and then he smiled and extended a hand to Fiona.
“I wondered where you were,” he said. “I hope you’ve been enjoying yourself.”
“Of course,” Fiona managed, taking his arm. “It’s so interesting.”
“Naturally,” Gizane said. Her voice was as lovely as her face, now she wasn’t admitting to failure in front of the law-speakers. Then, she’d sounded like the admission had been dragged out of her, and she’d looked at Fiona like she wanted to see her dead. Now she turned a pleasant smile on Fiona and said, “You are…unexpected.”
Fiona almost apologized for making her look bad before remembering she didn’t care what this woman thought of her. “I certainly didn’t expect to be here.”
“Such knowledge. Perhaps I should be grateful you are not Veriboldan, and a candidate for Election.” Gizane’s smile broadened as if she’d made a joke.
“I’m grateful just to be an observer,” Fiona said. “Ruling a kingdom is beyond me.”
“How fortunate that it will never be an issue for you,” Gizane said, this time flicking a glance at Sebastian. It felt like an insult, though a subtle one, and Sebastian’s arm tightened.
“We none of us know what the future holds, do we?” he said politely. “What do the candidates who don’t win the Election do afterward?”
That was a less subtle insult, though not one Gizane could react to. Her smile disappeared. “They return to their old lives, of course. There is always another Election.”
“So you’d be allowed to be a candidate later?”
Gizane’s eyes hardened. “I do not intend it to be an issue for me.” Unexpectedly, she extended a hand to Sebastian. “I have enjoyed our conversation, your Highness. This is what Tremontanans do to show regard, yes?”
Sebastian took her hand and shook it. “It is. Thank you for your time.”
Gizane held out her hand to Fiona. “And you, Lady North, to show I bear you no ill will.”
Fiona clasped Gizane’s hand and hissed as a sharp pain went through hers. She snatched her hand away and examined it. A thin scratch ran across the outer edge of her pinky, and a tiny bead of blood welled up.
Gizane made a noise of dismay. “I beg your pardon, Lady North. It was my ring. The setting is loose, but I did not think—truly I am sorry to have scratched you.” She twisted a ring on her smallest finger, one bearing an emerald-cut amethyst the size of her thumbnail, and indicated one of the tines of the setting. It did look twisted out of true, not much, but enough to have caught on Fiona’s flesh.
“It’s all right,” Fiona said. She wiped her hand on her sleeve, leaving an almost imperceptible smear. “It was an accident.”
“Of course.” Gizane bowed. “Good evening, Prince Sebastian, Lady North.”
When Gizane had walked away, Sebastian said in a low voice, “She is not a good enemy to have. She’s smart, and I think she’d like to see us dead.”
“I humiliated her in front of her peers. That doesn’t surprise me.”
Sebastian took his watch out from beneath his robe. “I think we’ve given Holt enough time. We can leave, if you like.”
“We won’t seem impolite? I haven’t talked to many people.”
“I have. Enough to have made up my mind. This place is starting to get to me.” He wheeled around and headed for the exit, not quite fast enough to look like they were fleeing. Fiona smiled at the people they passed and hoped no one would stop them.
They waited in the antechamber for their shoes, which they were allowed to don themselves. Fiona fastened her sandals and felt a rush of dizziness as she stood. She’d never been so eager to return to the embassy and her comfortable bed.
She’d hoped the dizziness would fade with the cool night air, but instead it became a feeling of lightheadedness, as if the world swayed past her with every step, every turn of her head. The strange blue lights of the Jaixante had funny halos around them. She leaned back in the palanquin and closed her eyes, and the lightheadedness vanished. She must be more tired than she thought.
The palanquin came to a stop. Fiona sat up and swung her
legs around to stand. Something caught her foot, and she found herself on the ground with no memory of falling. Her wrists hurt where she must have caught herself. She heard Sebastian exclaim, and then his arms were around her, helping her rise. “I feel dizzy,” she said.
“It’s nearly midnight,” Sebastian said, surprising her. She’d thought it was much earlier. “You’re probably tired. I’m glad we left when we did. Can you walk?”
Fiona nodded, and the world spun, twisting her stomach and making her gorge rise. She managed not to throw up by sheer willpower and said, “I think I…might be coming down with something.”
Sebastian’s arms went rigid. Then he bent and picked her up, carrying her to the carriage and settling her inside. “Hurry,” he told the driver. Fiona lay back on the seat and concentrated on not fainting. The movement of the carriage soothed her stomach, but her head ached and a cold sweat had sprung up at her temples and her hairline.
“I just need to lie down,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”
“Of course you will,” Sebastian said. His voice sounded strange, and she opened her eyes to look at him. He was gazing off into the distance, his jaw tight with anger.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Don’t worry about it. You’ll be fine.”
His voice echoed with barely contained fury. “Are you…still mad…at me?” she asked. Tears pricked her eyes. She’d thought they were past the argument of that afternoon.
His head whipped around. “What? Of course not!”
“Then why…”
“Fiona, it’s not you. Don’t worry about it. Just lie still.” He took her hand gently and squeezed it. “You’ll be fine.”
The carriage came to a stop. Fiona’s head ached more than before, and her stomach felt queasy. She didn’t try to stand when the door opened. This was comfortable enough. When Sebastian eased her off the bench, accidentally jogging her head, the queasiness turned into active revolt. She twisted away from him to vomit all over the drive, crouched on hands and knees and convulsing helplessly. When her stomach was empty, she sagged to lie on the ground, not caring that the puddle of vomit was only inches from her nose.
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