There is no way for me to answer that.
I hurry down the wooded path, making my way to the other side of the garden. I know from our other trips here that there is a door that leads to the other side of the keep, and, if I am quick, I will make it before the morning crowds of servants come to work. Just as I am about to disappear out of sight, Rion calls out to me in a hushed voice.
“Ebony.”
I turn around, and just in time. Rion tosses me the red apple he’d picked, and I barely manage to catch it.
“Take it,” Rion insists. “From me, to you.”
If I wasn’t horrified Queen Varyes would catch me and humiliate me, I might have stayed behind—though whether it was because I wanted to know what he felt or if it was because I wanted to confess my own feelings, I cannot say.
Instead, I smile and wave one last time, before I duck through a curtain of vines. As I sneak off to work, resigned to the chores I face ahead of me, I cradle the scarlet apple in my palms and hold it close to my heart.
*4*
Rion
“MOTHER!” I HURRY FORWARD into her path, blocking her from progressing forward. At her feet, I bow deeply, exposing my neck, leaving myself at the mercy of my mother’s sword, should she decide to end my life for my impertinence. “There you are.”
It’s easy for me to risk her wrath, as I already know she would never hurt me. In all the world, I am my mother’s favorite person, even if she likes to berate me more than champion me.
“How wonderful it is to see you once more,” I continue.
“There’s no need to embarrass yourself with flattery,” Mother says, her voice full of sharpness. “You may stand.”
I straighten before her and meet her face-to-face; Mother has always been a tall figure, one of the reasons she is naturally regal. As I look into her eyes—the brightened green having long given way to chiseled emeralds—I see she wants me to stand so I can see for myself the disappointment reflected inside of them.
“I rather thought you would’ve outgrown these antics, Rion.”
She folds her hands before her, and, for a moment, we just look at each other.
Staring at Ebony is a joy, but there is something much more poignant about seeing my mother. She was once the beauty of the known world, with her high, intelligent forehead, her long, blonde hair, and her ivory skin. The tales I’d heard of what my father did to claim her heart range from incredible to unbelievable now, but when I was younger there was no doubt Mother could charm and court the world at her whim.
Since the death of King Maru—and maybe even before that, when she saw he didn’t love her—things have changed, and I know from seeing her and being with Ebony again that the changes are much worse than I originally imagined. Her inner bitterness has started to leak into her outer appearance, just as Ebony’s joy remains evident despite her pain.
“I was expecting you later,” Mother says.
“It is no shock I’ve disappointed you in that as well,” I say, trying to coax a smile out of her with my self-deprecation.
She enjoys it when her victims do her work for her.
I am rewarded with a smirk, not a smile, but I’ll take it; I will need her goodwill later on when I make my request for Ebony’s hand.
“You should know Horatio was the one who told me you were here. You could’ve sent word to me to meet you here.” She frowns, drawing out the wrinkles around her lips and cheeks. “You came here with Ebony, didn’t you?”
“There’s no need to worry about her,” I say, but Mother is quick to cut me off.
“I’ve done nothing but worry for her,” Mother insists. “I’m sure she sees her change in station as punishment of sorts, but she’s done nothing wrong.”
My anger sparks at this, having seen Ebony’s hurt pride. Caryo has taught me well, though, and I say nothing, and let Mother continue. I will wait until she requests my thoughts, because that is how she becomes vulnerable.
“I am the Queen of this nation, and hers as well, whether she likes it or not,” Mother continues, drawing me to her side as she walks. I follow at her silent command, but I also prepare to stop when the time comes.
“The Maruli emigrants and refugees in Pommier are needlessly frustrated at the issue of succession,” Mother says. “Ebony is still a child, and one who has spent more time in Pommier than in her home nation.”
“She’s certainty not a child anymore,” I say, before I hurriedly add, “She’s almost nineteen.”
“Sending her to the Southern Colonies now will be akin to signing her death warrant, assuming your reports are true?”
“They are true, but I doubt she would die. She would be sad, though.”
“She would be lost, you mean,” Mother scoffs.
She has a point. It has been just over a decade since King Maru married my mother and moved to Pommier, joining our kingdoms. His death four years ago was as tragic as it was untimely. Not all of the Pommierians had come to accept him as their ruler.
“The Baobabi and the Mopana are warring again, and their disputes over land have begun spilling over into Marula,” I say, trying not to notice Mother’s tightened frown at my use of Marula’s proper name in reporting to her. “The Mopana are eager to convince the Marula an alliance will solve the trouble.”
King Maru traveled between the two lands every year, returning for several months each year to commemorate the death of Queen Ysaya—although my mother did not seem to know that—and further trade and foster communication between the two lands.
Now that he is gone, I have taken on his duties, having learned by his side for much of his final years.
“It took me a long time to visit all the tribes,” I say. “And different troubles and festivities came up along the way.”
I am reluctant to confess to my mother how dire the situations were; between a tribe that had to deal with several raids on their livestock, several Pommierian citizens and missionaries who were threatened, a new disease that came from rotting soldiers hidden near a spring, and some Maruli sneaking off to help the Mopana warriors, there were many obstacles to delivering the news of King Maru’s death, and even more troubles in working through each problem.
“How did the Colonies’ representatives take the news?” Mother asks.
“They were rightfully sad. My men and I had a lot of feasting and fasting days, depending on the tribe.” I pause before I add, “They buried him beside Queen Ysaya, as he’d requested.”
For a moment, Mother is still, and then she nods in that stilted way she has. “It was one of three requests he made me promise him when we were wed.”
I say nothing; King Maru once told me, at my prodding, his other requests. When he was negotiating the terms of marriage to my mother, he asked she never require he sing for her, and that Ebony be granted status in her home.
At the time, Mother agreed, and kept her word, it appeared, although her interpretation of the terms has changed drastically since the King’s death.
And that is my primary concern now.
I step out in front of Mother, cutting her off from her path. She raises her perfect brow before me, and that is when I notice the rouge on her cheeks. She has been powdered and her eyes are lined with kohl, and despite her youthful appearance, her age, like her bitterness, refuses to hide.
“What is it, Rion, my son?” she asks in that deadly, sweet voice.
If I am going to help Ebony and the Maruli people in Pommier, I will have to be careful about my next words.
“Regarding his other requests, Mother,” I say softly, “I need to ask why Ebony has been demoted to servanthood here in the castle. The Maruli people would not agree with her treatment.”
“They haven’t bothered to defend her honor yet.”
“She shouldn’t be a servant, even if they haven’t objected. You’ve told me about the trouble they cause you but you’ve neglected to tell me you’ve made Ebony into a maid here, and I by law her regent, too.”
“And I am still yours,” Mother snaps. “If you must know, I’ve found that having her as a servant here helps keep the other Maruli in line, but there are other reasons as well.”
Mother’s admission leaves me flabbergasted. I can barely speak, I am so full of rage. “What are they? I can’t imagine she’s volunteering.”
Mother shakes her head and turns away from me. “You should know, of all people, why she is in this position. Her nation is running up our debts—”
“Our trade projections are precarious at the moment, but only because of the trouble with the Baobabi and Mopana—”
“Pommier can’t be expected to pick up the Colonies’ losses.”
“It’s part of our empire, Mother,” I object. “That’s exactly the expectation.”
“What of our men who will fight, the families we endanger in continuing those trade routes?” Mother asks. “Will you send men to fight, as well as open our treasuries to bleed freely?”
“To defend those we’ve promised through trade, treaties, and even marriage to protect?” I hold my hands out to her, palms up, resigned and determined. “If it comes to that, which it might not, then yes.”
Mother cocks an eyebrow at me and says nothing, while I take a step back. She brushes past me, heading for the door leading back into the castle.
I have revealed myself, ready to stand for Ebony’s honor, even if it means sending my people to their deaths on foreign soil. In many ways, I have damned myself before her, and we both know it.
But that does not mean I am wrong—and that does not mean it will happen, either.
“There’s a way I believe we can avoid that fate,” I continue.
“I agree,” Mother says. “We should secure stronger alliances with other nations.”
“What alliances could be forged more strongly than the one we’ve made with Marula?” I clench my fists. It is time I make my request, in the form of a suggestion. “Other nations will not approve of joining with us if we abandon them. If we are going to make a stronger alliance, I should marry Ebony myself.”
“You mean since my marriage to Maru didn’t turn out so well?” Mother lets out an uncharacteristically wicked cackle, and I wince at the sound.
“It’s not that foolish an idea,” I protest. “It would secure both kingdoms’ futures and strengthen our empire. There’s the economic insurance. Our trade is going well with the animals and fruits, and we can increase our weapons and armor sales with the warfront. Exports and imports nearly equal, and we’ll eventually gain the upper hand since Pommier has control of the trade routes.”
My mother is not convinced. “Your concern for Maru’s daughter is amusing, Rion, but you are the one who reported on the warring nations around the Colonies. You know there is trouble, and I am doing what I can to prevent further trouble.”
“By enslaving the girl who you took in as a daughter when you married her father?” My anger is palpable now.
“By using her position as the leader of her people to get them to show some humility,” Mother explains. “When there is a warfront, royals like you and I have two wars to fight—the ones on the battlefront and the homefront.”
“We are not at war with Marula.”
“Because they’ve had the decency to see that we would crush them.” Mother sighs. “Besides, it’s a metaphor, Rion. Surely you remember your education.”
“It’s a poor one, Mother.”
“Even if you don’t think so, it works.”
“I still object. But if we assume your metaphor works in this situation, it would be an easy win on the battlefront,” I say. “Caryo and the other councilors are collecting information as we speak, making sure we know exactly—”
“I’ve read your reports, and I know your education has given you some experience in preparing for the physical concern war demands,” Mother says. “But our homefront is different. You’ve never faced opposition from home before.”
None except from you. I hold back the accusation, knowing it will not get me anywhere.
“Several of the nobles and aristocracy here are tired of the immigrants and refugees,” Mother says. “They are happy to employ them as servants, but the artisans and the merchants here are taking business, and even some prestige, from our people—from our own Pommierians.”
“There’s plenty of work, especially with the trade increases,” I say.
“So far only the indentured servant trade has increased,” she says.
“Because you have let it, no doubt,” I say.
“If it weren’t for the Refugee Return Movement, we would be overrun with the poor and the idle. Such people cause problems, Rion.”
“We will always have the poor with us, but some problems will cause more harm than others.” I shake my head. “How long have you forced Ebony to work for you? Did you even wait until my ship left the port before you demoted her to a scullery maid?”
“I needed her to maintain the peace between our kind and theirs after her father died.” Mother whirls around and glares at me, her own anger clear now. “Someone has to pay for the trouble we face. That is also part of our empire’s rights.”
“That’s not our right, that’s our responsibility,” I argue. “We need to make sure our people are being taken care of. The Maruli are our people, too, and especially Ebony.”
“Yes, and seeing Ebony take up the burden of work here is a marvel for them,” Mother insists. “She has a roof over her head, something to keep her time occupied, and food to eat and clothes to wear. Her obedience has paid off. Her people—even the troublesome ones—will follow.”
“I disagree. Her people will reject you for your treatment of her. Indeed, I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that’s why you’ve had trouble with some of them.”
“Not just some,” Mother says. “The Colonist Equality League is always in the city square, yelling about protests and boycotts.”
“You didn’t tell me about that in your letters.”
I doubt this is actually a source of conflict for her; it was likely more a sore point of irritation, considering protests could be peaceful and boycotts were varied in their successes, given Pommier’s business diversity.
Mother does not seem to hear me. “Once the Maruli colonists learn to accept their role here in the kingdom, things will calm down, and, in that way, we will take care of them. And if they don’t, they will leave.”
“And what do you say their role is?”
“Rion, please. They will be at their best when they do what we tell them to, believe what we think they should believe, and keep to the lines we’ve drawn.” Mother opens the door and walks through, letting the darkness of the castle cloak her. Her expression is ominous now. “There is no risk when they make safe choices.”
“Mother, this is madness,” I say, having nothing else to say. “I know Maru’s death has been hard on you, but Ebony shouldn’t be the one to pay for your pain.”
“And Pommier shouldn’t be the one who pays for the Colonies’ native troubles.” She straightens her skirt, shaking some blades of grass free from their folds. “Until then, they are not our equals in society, and we are better off letting them know it.”
“You’re hurting them.”
“Life is full of pain, Rion.” She turns away from me. “You think marriage to Ebony will help them? How? How does your own personal marital happiness help the Maruli people survive their war or inspire them to greater financial ambitions? How can your union allow for them to earn their keep on the world’s stage?”
“It would give them back the dignity you’ve taken from them, for starters,” I say, but Mother is already listing off the other nations she’s picked for my possible marital alliances.
“... the Princess of Celtia is a known beauty, and there is Espania, who is said to be very obedient. If you want a dark-skinned princess to marry, one of the Sultans’ daughters from the East will be a much better choice for our future. They are rich and capable of avoiding war with the
ir neighbors.”
I barely listen to her as she lists off the princesses from surrounding kingdoms and territories, each reason more horrifying and degrading than the last. As Mother rages on, I realize I have to take action if I am going to truly help Ebony and her people.
No—our people.
“You know, Mother, you’re right about one thing.” She seems shocked that I would agree with her, or maybe her sudden silence is due to the fact I’m able to interrupt her successfully. “I should get married soon. Any marriage would help the Maruli, especially if their neighbors see us come from a position of strength.”
“As much as it pains me to say so, I agree with this,” Mother says. She puts her arms around me. “You are my son, and the person I love most in all the world. And as long as I am the one you love most, I know we will be able to ensure the fate our of kingdom.”
“Of course I love you, Mother.” Guilt pours through me, as I think of how much I love Ebony. My mother was the star of my earthly origin, but my heart has set its sight on a new star, one I must chase after, even if I do not have my mother’s blessing or approval.
“Since I have returned to Pommier, we should begin investing in our future.” I hide my relief as I pull away from her embrace. “And I have a good idea where we can start.”
*5*
Varyes
“A BALL?”
I repeat the words slowly, watching Rion’s handsome face as it lights up with hope, and my skin, so smooth and perfect thanks to my faithful Hortensia and her shaman magic, begins to crawl.
It has been forever since I’ve genuinely felt hope, especially the kind that Rion wears with ease. As he tells me his plan to celebrate his return with a huge celebration at our palace, I can only envy him in his youth.
Hope is for the young, as it is with beauty, and I am already upset that Rion would dare bring Maru’s rat-haired daughter up as a matter of concern.
Horatio’s earlier words come back to haunt me:
“You are no longer the most beloved in your kingdom’s heart, including the heart of your son.”
Northern Lights, Southern Stars Page 4