“What is it?” I ask. The concern inside my heart flutters again, and I’m unsure of whether it’s a concern born more from hope or fear.
“I actually expected you to be singing, if you want to know the truth,” he says. His voice is slightly stilted, and I suddenly wonder if he’s nervous.
But why would he be nervous?
I could ask myself the same question, but I know my answer. Even if I’d hesitated to voice the question, my heart won’t let me hide the answer. My cheeks flush with warmth—not the burn of shame or the puff of pride, but the shyness of secret affection.
I have to remind myself, firmly but gently, that it’s not a secret if its truth is known.
“Singing is not possible on late night adventures such as these. I didn’t want to get caught.”
“That’s true,” Rion ruefully agrees. “You’ve always been smart about things like that.”
“I still managed to get caught from time to time.”
“Some of that was my fault.”
“Well, certainly that’s true.” I giggle nervously, remembering some of our adventures.
“Mother’s always got her spies under her speciavo’s command,” Rion recalls. “And Horatio is happy to serve her, especially if it means making us miserable.”
I nod, thinking of Queen Varyes’ miserly mirror-slave. He’d been a young man when he’d been sentenced to life as a speciavo, and it was unnerving how overly enthusiastic and ambitious he remained after a decade of service to the queen.
“Your father didn’t need magic to catch us,” Rion says.
The reverence in Rion’s voice makes me forget about everything that could possibly stop me from reaching for him.
I take his hand, letting the pinkish brown of my own rough palms curl around his sunburned pallor. Each one of our fingers could have listed a reason for my hesitancy—light skin and dark skin, prince and servant, man and woman—but my hesitation disappears as I pull him in for a hug, offering him solace while I allow myself a moment of wanting and weakness, too.
“I know you loved and respected my father,” I say. “Bringing home news of his death to me was one of the hardest days of your life.”
Rion nods, and, together, we fall into silence. The wind pushes against us again, and Rion pulls me closer to him, and I embrace him in return. It is wonderful to have Rion back, even if it is strange to see him as the man he has become.
My heart feels truly at peace as the dawn brightens, knowing God has given me another light.
*2*
Rion
I ALMOST FEEL BAD FOR staring.
Almost.
I suppose if someone asked me about it, I would say I did. But my response would only be a half-truth.
Staring at Ebony is a joy. Holding onto her, standing beside her, hearing her voice—all of it is a joy, and a unique one in all my life.
So of course I almost feel bad for staring at her. I imagine it’s very much how Caesar felt, the first time Cleopatra came rolling out of the carpet in his Egyptian bedroom; I might have all the riches and power and authority, but everything I have would only be enough to coax her into using me, not loving me.
And I only want her to love me.
After four years away from her, it’s clear that Caryo, my royal advisor in Marula, was correct: the beauty of the Maruli people is in the people themselves, and as its princess and rightful heir, Ebony continues to shine ever more brightly.
Not that I’d had any doubt. I was already smitten with her before I’d left. Even King Maru knew of my affection for his princess and he’d given me his blessing in private just before he passed.
Which really made everything more complicated, given Marula’s current troubles.
For now, I shove that aside and focus on Ebony. I knew coming home and seeing her would be akin to watching the sun rise, after a years-long night of hopping from star to star among her people.
I am just glad that I am able to talk with her properly, and that I haven’t dissolved into a sputtering mess, spouting out the sloppy poetry of haphazard, passionate love. The last thing I want is for Ebony to question my intentions or leadership, let alone my sanity or my taste in humor.
When I’d mentioned that fear, Caryo had laughed at me. I can still see him standing before me, all those weeks ago, dressed in his long councilor’s robes and his favorite decorated sandals as I admitted seeing Ebony again was making me excited as well as anxious.
“You’ll be as refined as ever when you see her, Prince Rion,” Caryo said. His large, muscular belly was still shaking from his earlier laugh. “You’ve always been very proper and capable to the people here in Maruli, and we have come to enjoy you, even if you are a prince of Pommier first. I’ll bet a hundred birreas that you’ll be just fine when you meet with the princess again.”
“But what if I’m not?” I asked. “Conquering a nation is different from securing a heart.”
“It doesn’t have to be one or the other. Your mother married Ebony’s father to secure her hold on our nation,” Caryo said. “When the time comes, if she truly loves you, Ebony will give her heart over to you.”
“Mother loved King Maru. She brought him and Ebony to Pommier with her so they could rule her empire together.” I sighed, recalling the happiness my mother had radiated after the king and Ebony had moved to Pommier. I knew after my father’s death when I was only a baby, she had believed she would never love another man again. Meeting King Maru changed that. “But while he respected her, the king didn’t return my mother’s love.”
Over the years, after realizing this, Mother didn’t want anything to do with him, but she kept him in Pommier. I had a feeling it was her idea of a punishment, and it was worse, because he didn’t want to be separated from Ebony, especially since she was a young girl at the time.
I had to fend off a blush as I thought of how Ebony was now a young woman.
“I see.” Caryo bowed his head. “It is hard to give one’s heart when it’s been lost,” he finally said. “When Queen Ysaya died, she took his heart with her to her grave.”
If Queen Ysaya was anything like Ebony, I could understand that.
Caryo continued. “King Maru spoke well of you, Prince Rion, and you have done everything in recent years to maintain our goodwill and our allegiance. Our hearts are united in Marula’s future.”
“And so they will remain,” I promised.
“Then you should have no reason to worry.” He patted me companionably on the shoulder, and our talk turned to the pressing matters he would oversee while I returned to Pommier.
I knew full well I’d lose the bet when I made it. Losing doesn’t bother me, but I’ll pretend it does. Caryo enjoys it more to see me wrong, and he knows my pride is part of the payment. That was probably why he challenged me in the first place.
And I don’t really mind. Caryo deserves the compensation. As one of King Maru’s trusted councilors, and as a member of Ebony’s family on her mother’s side, he could have been much more reluctant to extend his services. He has saved me many headaches and offered me much grace over the years as I traveled throughout Marula and its neighboring lands. His advice allowed me to properly offer my condolences for King Maru’s death and present myself as a ruler, even if I am only the regent prince.
I didn’t have to read the frequent and various letters Mother sent to me to know she was upset at my decision to go and meet with the tribes of Marula. She told me before I left that a true ruler does not have to establish himself as a ruler, only as a good ruler, and she has been upset with me ever since.
Ebony stirs next to me, and I reluctantly loosen my grip on her.
“I’m glad you’re home,” Ebony says, keeping her face buried in my chest. She is much shorter than I remember her—but then, I am probably taller than she remembers, too.
“Me, too.” I tug playfully on her headscarf, careful not to pull the knot free. I am tempted to touch her hair, having enjoyed seeing the varied, poofy
charms of the Maruli hair. Caryo was quick to assure me that a woman’s hair was her glory. Many Maruli women at least respected the Bible’s teachings for this reason alone, even if they were unwilling to let go of their native shaman beliefs and embrace Christ. Messing up a woman’s hair or her headscarf was only a precursor to pain.
Knowing Pommier’s own fascination with demonic magic, I can understand their position, even if I do not agree. My own mother is still besotted with magic and the dark arts, and she has been zealous to explore Maruli magic, even though the nation outlawed it years before Pommier conquered it.
As awful as it sounds, I am relieved the king is not alive to see her obsession has only grown; he did not like it when he first found out some of the Maruli shamans had made her acquaintance, and he would be outraged to know their influence has only grown.
Ebony shifts away from me again, enough so I can see her full visage, and I am briefly overwhelmed.
“What can you tell me of Marula?” she asks.
I notice Ebony doesn’t say, “the Southern Colonies,” which is how most of the Pommier refers to Marula, and I smile.
Suddenly, I don’t want to share any news with her at all. While there is much good to say about Marula—the tribal communities have mostly accepted me as regent, the harvest seasons had been good and plentiful, and Pommierian medical care has been administered to those in need—there is also more trouble brewing than I’d like to divulge. I had been the one who had to tell her about her father’s death; I hated to think I would have to be the one to tell her about her nation’s decline.
“You don’t want to know about me?” I deflect her concern, pretending to be hurt, and I am pleased when she blushes, even though she steps away from me. For a moment or two longer, I just want to be here, to be in this moment with her.
I knew when I left I should’ve disobeyed Mother and taken Ebony with me. Our ship wasn’t even out of port before I regretted leaving her behind. Ever since then, I’d been working to come back and be with her again.
“I didn’t think you had anything to tell me,” Ebony says. “I’ve heard of your frequent reports to the Queen, but that’s all. You never wrote to me while you were away.”
I fold my hands together. I had actually written several letters to her, but I am ashamed to admit I did not have the courage to send them. King Maru had taught me once to honor myself and others, and only speak the truth. Until I could truly honor Ebony and confess my feelings for her in person, I did not want to risk sending her anything.
“I tried,” I finally say, my voice only skimming the surface of my sadness. “I worried that you wouldn’t read anything I’d send. I know how much you wanted to go.”
I leave off the words, “instead of me,” and, from the way Ebony looks up at me, with her lips tucked into that thoughtful line, I know we are both thinking the same thing.
I scratch my head and duck my gaze, repentant. “There is also just too much about your home that was rightfully overwhelming. I didn’t feel a letter would do it justice.”
Ebony puts her hands on her hips. “Is it better not to attempt justice, even if it’s a failed attempt?”
“You tell me,” I say, grabbing her hand and pressing it to my lips. “Is it better for you to attempt mercy, even if it’s a failed attempt?”
“Forgiveness is easier than justice.” Her voice is strong, but I still hear a small tremble in her words.
“Only if you love the guilty party more than you love yourself.”
She seems startled, and I’m not sure if I should be pushing for her affections so rashly or not. She steps back again, but I don’t drop her hand.
“I don’t remember you being this strange before,” Ebony says a moment later. “I’ll forgive you this time, but I will not forget.”
“Then I will accept your forgiveness, and I will not forget your disappointment, either.” I tug at her hand. “In fact, if you want, I’ll make it up to you now. Come with me.”
“What are you doing?” Ebony’s voice is almost painfully full of fear now. “Where are we going?”
“Well, first we’re going downstairs,” I say. “I’ve been up here for at least a good hour, waiting for you, and after all that time in the Maruli sunshine, I’m ready to burn up the castle’s firewood supply to—what’s wrong?”
Ebony pulls free from me, and for the first time, I notice her clothes. She is dressed like a maid; that isn’t something completely unexpected, since I knew she had to find a way up here, even if she had been forbidden. A maid’s outfit was a nice disguise.
But it is as she turns away from me, ducking her head, that I feel dread stirring inside me.
The spirit in her eyes I’d seen earlier now dims, drowning in sudden sorrow.
“Ebony.”
I don’t have to ask her to know that the rumors I’d heard were more than true. I hadn’t wanted to believe them when I heard them, but there was no denying the truth now.
I shuffle my feet, uncomfortable. “My mother has been a problem for you.”
Perhaps foolishly, I am being too kind. Caryo had told me that, since I’d left, the Maruli people had been facing troubles in Pommier, and that included Ebony, too. In her letters, my mother insisted that she was not responsible for their choice to segregate themselves, and she was only acting in the best manner for the kingdom’s future.
However, Mother never said which kingdom, and while she’d put on a grand show of mourning for King Maru’s death, I knew she felt bitter joy at it.
“It’s not a problem I can’t handle.” Ebony turns back to face me, straightening her skirts and keeping her chin tilted high. There are no traces of tears in her lovely topaz eyes now.
She is a true Maruli, standing tall. She is as fierce as she is delicate; her beauty dances like tree branches in the wind, while her roots go deep and sure into the ground.
But as fierce and lovely and sure as she is, she is in Pommier, and I feel like a gardener who’s plucked her baby roots from her natural world. I watched her grow and even helped her to do so, but I do not know if I will be able to help her thrive here.
“I know you can handle anything,” I tell her.
And that is the truth. After the loss of her father, we both know we can weather anything, since it was the worst thing that could have happened to us—but I also know something Ebony doesn’t.
“This is something we can handle together,” I say. “Let me help you.”
Ebony stiffens. “If that is your wish,” she says, and I want to shake her for her practiced tone.
It irritates me that she doesn’t know how much she means to me, and that she has no idea what I would do for her.
“I heard some people speaking of the treatment of the Maruli here,” I tell her. “When I asked Mother to tell me about it, she said it was just troublemakers giving her grief.”
“Giving her grief?” Ebony’s mouth drops open, clearly frustrated by what I suspect is Mother’s deception. “Is that really what she told you?”
“I know my mother, Ebony. I know she’s less likely the victim than she is the victimizer.”
“You’re right about that,” Ebony scoffs.
Silently, I wait, hoping she will say something else. If I am going to help her, I have to get the full truth of the situation; but I do not want to make her feel ashamed or powerless, and I don’t want her to think I only pity her.
The sun is rising, but there is still a persistent chill in the wind.
I know I should tell her how I feel about her, but I doubt this is the time to do it. There are problems in Marula I need to discuss with Mother and our other ambassadors, and now there was this situation to figure out as well. Confessing my love would seem so blatantly shallow, like my earlier apology for not writing to Ebony while I was away. She has forgiven me for that offense, but it is not enough for me to promise her my love when it is in my power to do so much more than just tell her I love her.
Leave it up to my mother t
o ruin my reunion with Ebony. Not to mention my plans to ask her to marry me.
“I will talk with Mother,” I assure her. “Now that I’m back in Pommier, things will be different.”
They clearly had to be. I can’t imagine what Mother thinks she is doing, and I almost don’t want to know. But I can’t have Ebony like this. She is a creature of light, and she is not meant to bear the darkness of hopelessness.
“I hope you’re right.”
I can tell by her tone Ebony is still sad, and I decide I’ve had enough sadness from her—especially since there would be more after she learns of what is happening with Marula.
I push that aside for now. It is time to remind Ebony what is possible when we are together.
“Come on,” I say, tugging on her hand and pulling her after me. “Things are different from now on, and I’m going to prove it to you.”
Ebony hesitates, and shame slices through my heart.
I wait for her, looking as patient on the outside as I am impatient on the inside. When she finally allows me to take the lead, I silently vow I will do whatever it takes to make her happy again.
*3*
Ebony
DAWN HAS BROKEN AND its light only continues to grow as Rion leads me through the castle. As we walk through the different hallways, jumping over shadows and slipping on the sunlit tiles, I can hear the kitchen servants scuttling toward the kitchens.
I should be following them, not Rion.
But Rion is so gently persistent, it is hard to resist him, and honestly, I don’t want to. There’s a flutter inside of me as I hold his hand and follow after him, knowing there’s likely trouble ahead but also remembering he will protect me.
“Where are we going?” I ask him.
“Where else? Where we’re not supposed to go,” Rion replies. He laughs, but I bite my lip as I realize where we are going.
We are going to the Queen’s garden.
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