by Rae Carson
The Invierno nods. “One of them creates the barrier, allowing the others to attack at will. It also prevents backlash from their own fire, if they’re heading into the wind.”
“Which means Her Majesty’s archers will be completely ineffective.”
“Exactly so.”
Cosmé and Alodia glance at each other in alarm. The advisers start muttering among themselves. I catch the words “trebuchet” and “crossbow”—as if these more powerful weapons stand a chance against magic.
Very loudly, very clearly, I ask Storm, “Could I get through the barrier, do you think?”
He nods. “Undoubtedly.” He looks around, recognizes that we perform for an audience, and says with a dramatic flair, “You are the only person in the world who could.”
I promise myself I’ll thank him later.
“What do you have in mind?” says Alodia. “Do you think you could walk right up and tap them on the shoulder?”
“Something like that.”
Another explosion makes everyone jump. Someone’s knee jerks the table; parchment slides off and scatters all over the floor. In the distance, faintly, comes the sound of screaming.
“That was a trebuchet,” I tell them. “Such a clumsy, inaccurate weapon. The sorcerers are closing in.”
Cosmé rubs at her temples. I hope she’s having doubts about her strategy.
“Elisa, just tell us,” my sister says, and her tone is so exasperated, so familiar, that I almost smile.
“I’m going to go talk to them,” I say. “I’ll convince them to turn around and go home.”
Lord Zito, Alodia’s personal steward, steps toward my voice. A scarf covers his empty eye sockets. “No one has been able to reason with them for generations.”
“I’ll show them that their magic can’t stand against that of my living Godstone. Then I’ll convince them that we are united, that even without magic, their armies are no match for all three of our countries working together. And finally I’ll offer something they want very badly in exchange for peace.”
Cosmé starts to protest, but Alodia says, “Elisa, tell me truly. Have you attained that kind of power? The kind that would frighten an animagus?”
“I have.”
Her eyes widen and her lips part. She says to Storm, “You always speak truly, yes?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“You are also an animagus, are you not?”
“I am.”
“And you believe my sister has the kind of power she claims?”
“No,” he says. “She is being modest.”
Storm is overstating things. Walking up to the Deciregi while under fire could easily get me killed.
But a smile spreads across Alodia’s face.
Storm opens his mouth to say something else, but nothing comes out. He seems caught in the mesmerizing beam of my sister’s smile. I’ve seen it happen a dozen times before. My sister’s beauty is one of the most powerful weapons in her arsenal, and she always uses it to good effect. I’m a bit surprised, though, that Storm is susceptible. For some reason, I thought him above such things.
“Even if we agree that you should risk yourself,” Cosmé says, “which we do not, we would need to give them proof of our unity. There’s no way we could come up with a proper accord so quickly. Maybe an abbreviated agreement, to be filled in later? No more than a page long. We could . . .”
I sigh as she drones on. This is why I called us all together, after all. As we reach a unique crux in history, when three queens regnant rule the larger part of the world, I wanted us to be in accord. I wanted to bring a treaty back to Joya d’Arena to wave around and say, “See? These monarchs have made an agreement with me, your true queen.” Such an accord would make it very difficult for anyone challenging my rule to gain leverage.
But we don’t have time. The ground shakes, and Alodia clutches her steward’s shoulder. A soldier bursts through the door. Breathlessly, he exclaims, “They’re in the city. The castle watch is flinging quarry stone at them, but they keep coming. We have not been able to injure even one. They’re burning people. . . .”
It’s time to make my last play.
“I’ll save this city,” I say. “And I’ll either destroy the Deciregi or send them home.” I let my gaze sweep the room, trying to appear composed and regal. No, imperial. “But I will do it only if Basajuan and Orovalle swear fealty to Joya d’Arena.”
Someone gasps. Cosmé and Alodia gape at me. And suddenly I am facing down a roomful of rage.
One of Cosmé’s guards puts a hand to his scabbard. My companions shift around me so that within the space of a breath, I have Hector and Storm to my left and right, with Mara, Belén, and Red at my back.
“I admit, I never guessed you were so ambitious,” Alodia says. She bites it off like she would an insult, and I am very careful not to wince.
Of course she would misunderstand me. I’ve never had ambition to rule the world. Even now, knowing it’s my best possible course, the title “empress” tastes like dirt in my mouth.
Cosmé says, “You would hold my own country hostage over me?”
I smile sadly at her. “You know me well enough by now, don’t you, Cosmé? You know I would do anything, anything, to save us all?”
Another explosion rocks the castle, even more powerful than before. The windowpanes rattle. “That was not a trebuchet,” Hector says. “That was a Deciregus.”
“So what’s it to be?” I say. “Your archers have failed. Do I go out there with your written oaths in hand? Or do I go home to defend my own kingdom?”
“This is outrageous!” says one of Cosmé’s advisers. “The audacity, the arrogance it must take to—”
Cosmé holds up a hand to silence him. “I want full ruling autonomy,” she says softly.
I’m careful to keep my surge of triumph from showing on my face. “I make no promises. I require total fealty so I can make very fast decisions in the coming months. I can say that I’ll try not to interfere. I’ve no interest in meddling in daily affairs.”
Cosmé plunks into the nearest chair and lets her face fall into her hands. “Everything I’ve fought for. Everything I’ve accomplished. All for nothing.”
“No,” I protest. “Basajuan is still yours. You’ll still be its queen. I swear it.”
Alodia is stiff in the space beside us, her arms crossed. “I assume Joya would require an annual tithe?” she says.
I nod. “In return, I’ll station garrisons along your border at my own expense. I’m willing to reduce the first year’s take to five percent, if paid in sheep’s hides.” There. That ought to mollify the tanners’ guild, which has been suffering the shortage ever since Basajuan seceded.
My sister turns her back to me. Such a familiar gesture. A year or so ago, I would have thought myself the object of her contempt, not worthy to be faced. But I see the truth of it now. She hates looking vulnerable in front of anyone, but especially in front of me.
“They will take Basajuan,” I say softly to her back. “They will do it today. Then they will use Basajuan as a base to launch an army at Orovalle. They’ll come for me last, when they are strong again. I can’t hold off a whole army. I’m only one person, and I can’t defend every approach at once. Swear fealty to me, Alodia. This is my one chance, my only chance, to protect us all at the same time. And Invierne will know forever after that attacking any one of us will result in severe retaliation.”
“I want an addendum,” Cosmé says. “Separate from the document you show the Inviernos, stating that our fealty is contingent upon you being able to keep your word.”
Alodia turns back around. Her face is blanched, her eyes dull with weariness. “Yes,” she says. “An addendum. Elisa, if you can drive the Inviernos away and ensure peace, you can have your empire.”
I almost wilt with relief. I gesture toward the man still feverishly scribbling at the table. “Mr. Secretary,” I say. “Write this down.”
I dictate a short missiv
e, proclaiming myself empress of the Joyan Empire, vowing to serve and protect our treasured kingdoms of Joya d’Arena, Orovalle, and Basajuan. Then Cosmé and Alodia each dictate a paragraph swearing utter fealty. We sign, seal, and stamp it. The secretary hurriedly scribes two copies, and we sign, seal, and stamp those too.
Cosmé dictates the addendum, declaring my proclamation null and void should I fail to rid our three nations of the Invierno threat.
It all happens so fast, without trumpets or fanfare; the only thing that accompanies my rise to the highest possible station in the world is a general deflating of spirits.
The secretary shakes sand from one of the copies and blows on the remaining ink. I snap my fingers at him as the earth quakes again. “No time. Give it to me.”
He does, and I’m careful not to smear it, holding it out from my body. Alodia’s signature catches my eye. She has written “queen” beside her name and stamped the wax not with the seal of the crown princess, but with Papá’s own signet ring. Something unpleasant twists in my chest.
For years now, she has had authority to act in his stead, with all the rights and privileges due a fully empowered monarch. I thought it was because Papá favored her so much. Because she was being groomed to reign.
The parchment in my hand trembles. “Papá . . .” I say. “He’s . . . he’s gone, isn’t he?”
A muscle in her cheek twitches. “Last month,” she says. “I postponed my official coronation to come here.” Her voice is colorless; she might as well be reading a storeroom inventory list.
“He’s been sick a long time, hasn’t he?” It all makes sense now. How thin he became. Alodia’s growing responsibilities. The fact that he declined to attend my coronation.
“He lived longer than we expected.” Finally, there is a softening of her features, as her lips part and she casts her eyes downward. “He worked hard—right up until the point when he could no longer hold a quill in his hand.”
I want to rage at her. I want to throw a colossal fit, kicking and screaming and pummeling her with my fists. Why, why, why did you not tell me, Alodia?
But I already know the answer. They did not tell me anything. They didn’t tell me why they married me off to King Alejandro. Or that my nurse, Ximena, was a specially ordained guardian, trained to fight and kill. They worked especially hard to keep me ignorant of all matters pertaining to the Godstone. I had to figure everything out for myself. And though they’ve excused themselves by citing faith or love or “what’s best for you, Elisa,” I know differently.
They didn’t tell me any of these things because they didn’t think I could handle the truth.
I’d like to rage at Papá too. But I can’t. Now that I know I’ll never see him again, I can acknowledge the hope I’ve harbored, the silly thought that maybe, after defeating the Invierne army and releasing the power of my Godstone, after stopping a civil war and learning to rule in my own right, we’d meet again and he would say, “I’m proud of you, Elisa. Well done.” Then he would hug me and tell everyone, “My daughter Elisa is better than two sons!” And I would know that I was just as dear to him as Alodia.
Such silly hopes. Now, even if I save the world, he’ll never know.
“Elisa?” My sister starts toward me, one hand half raised.
I turn my back on her. “Storm, Hector, with me. And Cosmé—I’ll need you to order the gates opened. The rest of you stay here.” We’re halfway to the door when an unbidden prayer for safety and luck springs to my lips, but I tamp it down. The Deciregi may not know that I’m here yet. It should be an interesting surprise.
When I’m in the doorway, I turn around and say to my roomful of new vassals: “Pray for me.”
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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33
HECTOR knows the palace well, for he held it under martial law for several days while we deposed Cosmé’s father, Conde Treviño. He rushes us through the corridors, never hesitating, and I follow without question.
We burst into sunshine. The courtyard teems with soldiers carrying buckets of water and quivers of arrows to the wall. There’s an order to the chaos, with organized lines and officers stationed at regular intervals barking orders to their men.
The portcullis is lowered, and behind it, the huge wooden double doors are shut and barred. They rattle every few moments with another impact. Smoke curls through the crease.
“Now, Cosmé,” I say.
“Oh, God, Elisa, are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” I’m sure I’m going to try.
She takes a deep breath and yells, “Raise the portcullis and open the gate!”
“Storm, Hector, stay near so I can keep the barrier over us all.” They close in at my shoulders. I plant my feet, reach with my awareness into the depths of the earth.
Hector bends and presses a kiss to my temple. He wastes precious moments holding his lips there, and then says, “For just in case.”
Cosmé repeats her command, because no one can believe she would want to do such a thing, but she does, and they do, and the doors open wide to reveal a smoke-hazed landscape of rubble and charred buildings.
The Deciregi face me, all eight of them in a phalanx formation. I allow myself a small surge of satisfaction at the surprise on their perfect faces. Arrayed behind them are dozens of lesser animagi. All are surrounded by robed, barefooted acolytes. Other acolytes lie crumpled on the ground, wide-eyed but sightless, blood pooling beneath their slit throats. Willing sacrifices.
I draw more of the zafira into me, and it comes eagerly, almost as if I’m near a power source. The lead Deciregus holds up his glowing staff and flings a bolt in my direction. I whip up my barrier to counter, and the bolt shatters against it.
I draw even more power inside me, until my limbs tingle and the power is like a thousand flies buzzing beneath my skin, yearning to burst free.
“Walk forward with me,” I whisper to Storm and Hector. “When I say ‘now,’ we attack hard and fast. Storm, take the man on the right, Hector the left. Try for a killing blow, but don’t linger. Get back into position immediately, and I’ll spring the barrier back up.”
Together, we step outside the gate. The Deciregi level their combined power at us, and bolt after bolt ricochets off my barrier. I feel each blow in my bones, as if I’m parrying with my daggers, but I grit my teeth and push us forward.
The lead Deciregus thrusts his staff to the side and reaches for an acolyte—a young Invierno man no older than me, with knobby feet. The young man kneels, his eyes glazed with either fear or mania, and the Deciregus grabs his hair, yanks his head back, and slashes across his throat with a dagger, and oh, God, it’s such a familiar, awful sight that bile rises in my throat and my barrier wavers.
The young man twitches as blood gushes from the wound. It seeps down his front to the ground where it puddles—and then the earth begins to absorb it.
The power inside me flares, and suddenly I understand. Their blood sacrifices don’t power their Godstones. But somehow they keep the zafira renewed, prevent the animagi from tiring too quickly. This is why they only needed a brief rest after razing the fields, how they were able to pound bolt after bolt against my walls during the Battle of Brisadulce.
I ground myself against whatever comes next. The Deciregus smiles slightly as he retrieves his staff, raises it high. Blue-white fire curls into a ball at the tip; the air around it shimmers. He shouts something, and the ball streaks forward, too quickly to track.
The impact is like a thunderclap. My barrier crackles and sparks, but then the fire dissipates and we are left shaken but standing.
The other Deciregi shift uncomfortably in their formation. “Hold your ground!” their leader yells in the Lengua Classica.
“Keep moving,” I say to Hector and Storm. More bolts smash against my shield, and my head begins to pound, but pain is nothing, their bolts
are nothing. They have no idea what is coming at them. I have bolstered an entire mountain.
I draw my dagger, let the zafira’s strength seep into it. I sense Storm edging back from my burning blade. Almost there. Just a little more power and then . . .
I lower the barrier, sweep my dagger around, and slingshot a bolt so hot it blazes white. Their shield collapses like shards of glass that evaporate into steam just before hitting the ground. The Deciregus behind the leader staggers to her knees.
The rest are stunned. A split second is all I need. “Now!” I yell.
I leap forward, slashing with my blazing dagger, and flay the Deciregus’s throat open. His skin sizzles, and blood pumps out, pours onto the ground. He stares at me, his oily black eyes unreadable, and he tries to speak but can’t.
The earth loves his blood, slurps it up like it’s spring rain in the cracked desert. I reach for the zafira, and it’s as though his blood becomes my blood, and power darts like lightning through my veins.
I take the barest moment to assure myself that Storm and Hector have hit their targets. “Back!” I yell, and I slam the barrier back down as a barrage of firebolts rains down around us.
Two Deciregi are slain, toppled over the bodies of their willing sacrifices. Another bends over, clutching his abdomen, which steams and reeks of liquefied skin.
“I should have hit harder,” Storm says in a disgusted voice. “I didn’t know how much the blood would renew me.”
The remaining Deciregi are backing away. One turns to flee.
“Wait!” I yell, and I thrust out with my barrier and surround them. Instinctively, I draw it tight, tight, tighter, until they are completely frozen. So that’s how they do it. “I would speak with you.”
I give them a moment to fully comprehend their situation before saying, “I will not require your surrender. I intend to let you go. In return, I ask only for a peaceful audience.”
Gradually, ready to snap it back in place at the slightest provocation, I loosen my barrier. They glance around at one another, wide-eyed and breathless.
Finally a woman steps forward. She is the only woman among them, and she looks almost exactly like Hawk, with her kohl-black eyes and shimmering white hair. Unlike Hawk, tiny lines spread from her eyes and the edges of her mouth, and though the rest of her skin is stretched as taught as a girl’s, I have a feeling she’s as old as the stars.