by Rae Carson
He nods. “I’m sure General Luz-Manuel has control of the palace and the city. We’ll have to lay siege to our own home. But we can’t just wade in, flinging magic and swords at everyone. We can’t destroy our own city, murder our own people.” One of the reasons I love Hector so much is that he is never patronizing. “We will have to be fast, efficient, and perfectly timed to pull it off.”
Exactly what I’ve been thinking. Bludgeoning my way back into power at the expense of my people would do irreparable damage. But my signed treaty with Cosmé and Alodia will create sentiment in my favor. If I’m lucky, all I have to do to diffuse the war is remove a few key individuals.
Until recently, I have always chosen precision over power, stealth over frontal assault. It’s a precarious way of doing battle, even though there are times when it’s the only option. But in my own home, surrounded by my own people, it will be more dangerous than ever. “If it doesn’t work,” I say. “If we fail, and we have a chance to get away, would you consider . . . that is, would you be willing to . . . flee? With me?”
He reaches up to tuck my hair behind my ear. “I’m never leaving you again.”
I lean over and kiss him deeply. He pulls me against him and returns my kiss, rougher this time, demanding, and I love it. I will never have enough of him.
Someone pounds on the door.
Hector swears, and I stifle a giggle.
I grab my dressing robe and move to answer the door, but Hector jumps out of bed and intercepts me, grabbing my forearm. “Let me,” he says. He tugs on his pants, pulls my dagger from my pack, and holds it just out of sight as he cracks open the door.
It’s Cosmé’s mayordomo. Hector lowers the knife.
He is young for the position, with a roundness to cheek and chin and a slender frame that promises further growth. But then almost everyone in Cosmé’s court is young. Basajuan lost an entire generation in the last war with Invierne. “Apologies, Your Majesty,” he says. “But the Inviernos are up and awake and making demands, and I have no idea what to do with them. Her Majesty Queen Cosmé said you had claimed responsibility.”
I grimace, knowing our guests are probably being as arrogant and difficult as possible. “I’ll take care of it,” I tell him, and he abases himself with such relieved gratitude that it’s hard not to smile.
After the door closes I grab Hector’s hands. Someday soon—I hope—I will have days and days alone with him. I’ll make it an imperial edict, maybe. Threaten beheading if anyone bothers us.
But not today.
“Let’s get dressed and go put some self-important Deciregi in their places, shall we?”
After I tell the Deciregi to shut up and eat the “inedible pig slop” the palace kitchen so painstakingly prepared, and assure them that no, their bathwater is not poisoned, and yes, it is a regular practice here for servants to enter quarters unasked to get a fire going in the early morning, we all convene in the audience hall to discuss terms. Everyone is there: all my companions, Alodia and her advisers, Cosmé and her council, the two Deciregi.
I reveal that the zafira lies beneath a mountain of rubble. But I confer total mining and exploring rights on Isla Oscura to the nation of Invierne.
The Deciregi fear—and rightly so—that Joya’s citizens will not allow them to travel safely. I promise an edict declaring harsh penalties for any kind of harassment.
I have two stipulations: one, that Invierne must agree to an immediate and total cessation of hostilities. Any hostile act will be met with severe reprisal and the rescinding of all mining rights. And two, that Invierne may never purchase or build its own ships. They must pay Joyan or Orovalleño captains for passage and cargo transport. If there is even a hint that they are building a navy, I will blast their ships out of the water with the fire of my Godstone—and rescind all mining rights.
Cosmé continues to demand reparations, and I don’t blame her. Her territory has always suffered the brunt of our conflict. I try to talk her down from it, but her black eyes flash at me, with a desperate, grief-stricken rage that reminds me how much she has lost. Parents, friends, a dear brother.
After a while, something sly flits across the Invierno woman’s face, and she suddenly capitulates, saying, “We’ll do it. In reparation, we’ll pay the first two years’ tithes to the Joyan Empire on behalf of Basajuan and Orovalle.”
Cosmé gasps. Alodia is too composed to react much, but I know her well enough to recognize the interest sparking in her eyes.
There’s a catch. I know there is. “With what currency will you pay?” I ask.
“Glass,” she says. “We have the finest glassmakers in all the world, and I’d love to introduce your people to it. Also, we had a surplus of maize this harvest. It’s going to rot in the bins when the weather warms, so we might as well send it along. We’ll throw in a few tapestry samples too.”
I can’t help my smile of triumph. I don’t imagine there’s a huge market for glass baubles in my country—at least not until my people have extra coin for luxuries—but if she thinks she’s trapping me into opening a trade opportunity for Invierne, then she truly considers peace as a long-term solution.
One of Alodia’s advisers, a man I recognize as one who rules a remote territory along her border, bends forward and whispers something in her ear. She nods.
“Conde Paxón is good to remind me,” Alodia says to us. She places her elbows on the table and leans forward. “The Inviernos must agree to stop supplying the Perditos with food and weapons. In fact, they must sever the alliance completely.”
Cosmé mutters agreement. The Perditos have been harassing the southern border of Orovalle for years, ever since Joya’s prisons overflowed and their inmates were dumped into the jungle-choked Hinder Mountains between our countries. Once Invierne began supporting them, they banded together and became very powerful, making trade by land nearly impossible.
“Agreed,” the Deciregus says. “They will be as dead to us.”
That’s a more dramatic statement than we required, but our secretary adds it to the formal accord.
“One last thing,” I say. Everyone regards me expectantly as I take a deep breath. This will be the hardest part. It might also be the most important. “The Deciregus of Crooked Sequoia House has agreed to a marriage alliance between a son of his house and a titled person of my choosing, to further cement goodwill between us.”
Cosmé’s face blanches. “Out of the question!” says one of Cosmé’s advisers, a pudgy man with a thick beard that manages to defy the obvious, oily attempt at grooming. “We will not mingle, we will not breed, with those animals.”
“We already have.”
Everyone stares at me.
“Come here, Red,” I say gently, and she pads over, her golden eyes regarding me with perfect trust. I stand and drape an arm down across her slight shoulders. “This is Red Sparkle Stone, my handmaiden. She is diligent and loyal, intelligent and warmhearted.” I look down to find her beaming as bright as the stone she named herself for. She doesn’t realize I’ve just made her a national symbol. Poor child. I’ll have to make it up to her. “Red is one of my most trusted companions. She is also half Invierno.”
“A mule!” says the adviser. “Surely you don’t propose that one of our esteemed titled persons produce a mule. Of all the insulting—”
“You have Invierno blood inside you,” I tell him. “We all do.”
I might as well have told everyone in the room that camels can fly, for the way they gape at me.
“It’s true, isn’t it, Storm?” I say.
“Of course. Your ancestors, the First Families as you call them, used their strange machines to mix some of our blood with yours so that they could survive better on this world. And they mixed some of yours with ours, to limit our power and make us easier to control. We believe they intended for our two races to meld and become one.”
“But something went wrong.”
He nods. “Records in our archive indicate there was
a schism. One of the families disagreed with the others. They sabotaged the machines and fled east with the remaining Inviernos. They taught us the ways of God. They saved us from the others. If your ancestors had completed their work, we would have been able to interbreed easily and produce fertile children. And all Joyans would be like you today—bearing a living Godstone.”
Which means some of us might be a little more Invierno than others. Like me, who can bear a living Godstone. Like Alodia, who—if she were a little taller, a little fairer—could be the sister of this foreign woman we are negotiating with.
This is why God could raise me up as a champion for the Inviernos. Because I am one.
“We have struggled along for millennia,” Storm adds. “Growing weaker and more desperate, because of what your people did to ours.”
“I don’t believe it,” says the adviser.
But Alodia does, and she grasps the extent of my plan before anyone else, because her eyes turn as feral and angry as a cornered cat’s. “Are you the sacrificial offering?” she says to Storm in the most scathing tone possible. “The princeling who must wed the enemy?”
Most people flinch away from my sister’s crushing condescension, but not Storm. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he says calmly. “And a most willing one.”
Cosmé is looking back and forth between them. She bursts out laughing. “You want him to marry Alodia!” she says to me. “She deserves it.” And at Alodia’s withering glare she adds, “Well, you do. You married her off to that spineless imbecile of a king and then didn’t bother aiding her when she had to work around him to save the world.” One of her advisers whispers in her ear, and Cosmé says, “I can say whatever I want about him. He’d dead.”
Alodia has the grace to look ashamed. “Is it true, Elisa? Is this your revenge?”
“No.” Now that I have Hector, I’ll never deny someone I care about the same opportunity at love. “You don’t have to. I won’t make you.”
She doesn’t bother to disguise her puzzlement, and it saddens me that she still doubts me so much, that her default assumption is always that I’m seeking to hurt her—as if we are still children together in the nursery. How long will it take to convince her otherwise? The Inviernos are in a similar position, I suppose. One horrendous act thousands of years ago, and they have assumed ill intent ever since.
Peace is such hard work. Harder than war. It takes way more effort to forgive than to kill.
“It’s an opportunity, Alodia,” I say. “Storm will be a Deciregus someday. The equivalent of a king. Surely you want an alliance with such a man?”
“Impossible!” interjects the Invierno woman, and her oily black eyes shimmer. “He is outcast. Anathema. He—”
“His father reinstated him and consented to this union,” I say. “And Storm has been claimed by the zafira, which means he is probably more powerful than even you.”
Alodia is shaking her head. “How can you ask such a thing of me? It would consign the royal line of Orovalle to extinction.”
Not extinction. Hector’s and my grandchildren would be eligible for her throne. But now might not be the best time to say so. “You could appoint an heir,” I say. “You’d have time to prepare. To groom exactly the right person. I understand how difficult it will be for your people to accept, and no, I won’t require it of you. I ask only that you consider it. Think of it, Alodia. A God-ordained alliance with a prince of Invierne. No one in history has achieved so much.”
She blinks at me. She’s a smart woman. She knows how to make the hard decision.
She straightens, clasping her hands in her lap, and then she says, “In that case, Prince Storm, I invite you to visit my palace in Amalur as soon as it is convenient for you. We should . . . see if we can learn to bear each other’s company.”
“I accept,” he says, with a slight lowering of his head. Just enough deference, I note, to show respect without appearing cowed.
We adjourn for the day, agreeing to hammer out the finer details of our accord tomorrow. Cosmé offers to take the Deciregi on a tour of the palace and its grounds. They decline, because why would they want to do that? Cosmé takes a calming breath and patiently explains that it is a customary honor extended to visiting dignitaries. They look at each other, shrug, and grudgingly agree. I smile after them as they depart, proud of my friend for trying.
I’m heading out the door with my companions when Alodia pulls me aside. “Elisa . . .” she begins, but declarations have never come easily to her, and she stalls.
“I’ve missed you,” I say.
She pulls me into her arms. “My little sister is all grown up,” she says, her voice wavering. “There were times I didn’t think it would happen, but you proved me wrong.”
It’s a barbed compliment at best, but it will do as a start.
“Thank you for coming,” I tell her.
“I’m glad I did.” She releases me and regards me appraisingly. “Even though you stole my country out from under me. You’ve become so powerful. So decisive and conniving, so—”
“So much like you.”
She grins, her rare true grin that always has a little naughtiness in it. “Papá and Zito both always said we were more alike than we wanted to admit.”
“I’ll tell no one if you won’t.”
“Agreed. And Elisa? I’m sorry for not telling you about Papá.”
Her apology bursts something inside me, and tears prick at my eyes. I’ll have to find a place to be alone, and soon. It’s as though Alodia has given me permission to grieve.
“Thank you for saying so,” I manage.
“Forgive me for asking,” she says. “But I must. Is all this a ploy to put one of your heirs on my throne?”
Of course that detail would not escape her. “You are free to appoint one of my heirs as your own—except Rosario. He is for Joya, and that is not negotiable. Your children, if you have them, are free to do the same. But Orovalle belongs to you, Alodia, and it is your choice.”
She regards me thoughtfully, then her gaze shifts to Hector. “Not a horrible choice, maybe,” she says to both of us.
My face flushes a little. All this talk of children and heirs, when Hector and I have yet to discuss it ourselves.
Alodia and I bid each other good day, and we both retire from the audience hall, my sister with her advisers, me with my friends.
Hector walks on my left, Storm on my right, the others behind me. “I hope you’ll give her a chance,” I tell Storm. “I know she’s difficult. But she’s brilliant and honorable and—”
“She’s magnificent,” he says.
I whip my head up to stare at his profile. He wears a loopy smile, as if someone put a little too much duerma leaf in last night’s tea.
Moments later, Hector shuts the door of our suite behind us and turns the full force of his gaze on me. “Everything you did today, everything, has been with the intent of obliging our people and theirs to comingle. To become accustomed to each other.”
I plop onto the bed. “Yes.”
“I admit I had doubts about your decision to allow them access to the zafira. But like you said, it will take time to mine through to it. Generations. And by then . . .”
“By then maybe we’ll have lived side by side for so long that we’ll have forgotten to be enemies.”
“You rose up a champion, just like it says in the scriptures,” he says. “Though not in the way anyone expected. Maybe this was your destiny, your act of service.” His face holds such raw hope, and I’m not sure why it never occurred to me before that the egregious survival rate of God’s chosen bearers must weigh heavily on him.
“Maybe.” But I doubt it. I put my fingertips to my belly, trace the Godstone’s familiar solidity. The few bearers who completed acts of service lost their stones. The stones cracked and died, detached from their bodies, a sign that they were no longer needed. But mine still lives inside me, pulsing with the promise of power.
God is not done with me yet.
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36
THE morning brings a letter sent via pigeon from Captain Lucio, Hector’s second-in-command. Cosmé herself hands it to me with an apologetic shrug, saying it’s been waiting for me for some time. “It’s addressed to ‘Tuciela,’” she says. “It was passed around a lot before one of our former Malficio friends remembered that you used that name as a code.”
I take the missive with trembling fingers. I pop open the canister and unroll the tiny bit of parchment. Hector reads over my shoulder.
Dearest Tuciela,
You will be glad to know the house is locked down safe. Each entrance is heavily watched. The desert rebels you worry about so much are unlikely to break in here. They would have to be very stealthy indeed! The boy and his most precious possessions have been taken away until it is safer. He wallows in self-pity and loneliness at your absence. Please come home soon.
Ever yours,
Lucio
Dread and relief war inside me, turning my stomach to mush. General Luz-Manuel has locked down the palace and barred me from entrance. But my little prince is safe.
Hector tugs the parchment from my hand and rereads while I pace. “Lucio thought to grab Rosario’s signet ring and papers, too,” he says. “Good man. It’s not exactly an unbreakable code, but I appreciate the effort.”
“They’re hiding Rosario in the Wallows. In the secret village.”
Hector forces a smile. “A hideout like that is paradise for a boy his age.”
“Conde Eduardo is probably tearing the city apart looking for him.”
He nods. “Whoever controls the heir controls the throne.”
I crumple the message in my hand. “I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to the boy.”