The Farnskager king still wanted an alliance. And so did Mother.
I took a deep breath and tried to slow my heart. “Do you mean—”
“Now that Scilla is . . .” She didn’t say the word, and I didn’t want to hear it. After swallowing, she continued, “King Raffar has suggested you be his bride.”
A thrill spiraled up through my chest. I beat it down as I half-stumbled from the corner of the desk and paced the length of the room, my fists clenched and my face averted from Mother. My face, which had to be as red as hot coals.
The king belonged to Scilla. It didn’t matter what kind of fantasies I’d had. What girl my age didn’t lie awake at night thinking of what would never be? No. I had not wanted this. I would never dream of taking Scilla’s place. I was not that kind of sister.
And besides that, King Raffar didn’t speak Azzarian—Scilla had told me that. With Loftaria between us, his parents hadn’t seen the sense in finding a teacher for him. Mother, on the other hand, had more foresight, so Scilla had spent years preparing for a potential allyship, studied the language, the customs. She’d met Farnskagers whenever possible, conversed with them, while I had avoided their foreign appearance and the throaty, unintelligible language I’d never be able to understand.
My back to my mother, I pushed a fist into my mouth to avoid a hysterical laugh—I had problems spelling in Azzarian. Even Zito read faster than I did. How could I expect to learn a new language when I hadn’t even mastered my own?
It didn’t matter how intense his eyes were, or how his smile transformed his tattooed face into the exact opposite of scary. We couldn’t marry. How would we talk to each other? Through a translator? What kind of marriage was that? And a queen needed to be able to communicate with her people. How could I survive that far from home?
My eyes sought out the door, and I longed to run from the palace and down the hill to the sea. Or to Pia, to pour out my heart to her. Or maybe to beg her to hide me.
“Jiara.” Mother’s voice was so heavy I turned around. She pushed herself up from her seat and walked slowly to me, like an old farmer woman carrying a basket of sorrows on her back. When she reached me, she smoothed my loose hair over my head. “I will not force you. Not even to save our country, you know that. But if you travel to Farnskag, maybe you’ll be far enough to escape Scilla’s wrath if your father doesn’t find her killer in time. It tears me up inside to think of what she must be going through, but you’re my daughter too. If you go, and if your father can’t help Scilla, I’ll send Zito to you before Scilla gets . . .”
Truly violent. I gulped at the thought of our family so torn apart, and at the scenes my imagination created for those left here in Azzaria.
“At least that way two of us may be safe. And with a marriage that binds Azzaria and Farnskag, so may our country.”
“But how will I—”
“You won’t be alone. Pia will join you.”
As Scilla’s gurdetta, a kind of lady-in-waiting and bodyguard in one, Pia had also learned Farnskag. At least some. I’d always been closer to Pia than my own gurdettas, who complained when I climbed trees, wandered the streets of the city, or dove into the sea. One after the other, they eventually requested another post. My previous gurdetta hadn’t been replaced yet, but the queen’s guard kept extra watch over me. Apparently, Pia would now be assigned to me. For at least two years I’d begged my parents to let her be my gurdetta, but I never wanted it to happen like this.
A knock echoed through the door. Mother’s eyes shot to it. “That’s him.”
“Now?” I cried. They were supposed to be resting! “What about the Time of Tears?”
“I don’t understand either. Such a lack of respect and empathy . . . maybe they don’t understand how important it is for us.” She shook her head. “But this alliance is too crucial for me to turn them away, no matter how much it hurts. Now that he’s here, we have to be strong.”
“But . . .” I needed time to think. And . . . I’d hurried straight from the memorial field. Grass stains marred my bright turquoise zintella dress where I’d knelt next to Scilla’s memorial stone. I brushed my hand against the stains, once, twice, but they remained, as if Scilla were here in this room with me, refusing to leave. As if she’d hear me discuss an engagement with the man she had planned to marry.
“You’re fine, Jiara,” Mother said. “I’m sure the king won’t even notice.”
I shook my head because my throat was completely closed up. It was too soon. Too fast. Mother took a deep breath and indicated with her hand that I should do the same.
Her voice firm, she said, “Come in.”
Chapter 2
The heavy, intricately carved door swung open and two guards marched in. The first was a man, his blue eyes alert, his white face dappled with black tattoos, his bald head gleaming in the sunshine through the window, and his body clad in black leather. The other was a woman, her brown skin also tattooed, with hair so short it reminded me of Zito’s schoolboy cut. Her black uniform was the same as the man’s. Staffs, javelins, and axes made of thick-grained, nearly black wood were affixed to their backs and waists, and knives were strapped to their thighs. I stole a glance at Mother—why had she allowed them to bring weapons into the palace?
The guards’ eyes swept the room, then the man said something in Farnskag. The only word I caught was Raffar.
A breath later, King Raffar stepped across the threshold, his boots thudding on the wooden floor, his light brown head bowed slightly, shaved like all men from Farnskag, and his hands open before him. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it. I forced my fists to remain at my sides and not cover the organ attempting to give me away.
Our translator, a tiny, gray-haired woman named Serenna, hurried in behind him, and a young Farnskager man followed her. Almost simultaneously, the two translators said, “May I present His Majesty King Raffar Perssuun Daggsuun of Farnskag.”
Serenna narrowed her eyes at the young man. He grinned at her, his tattooed cheeks stretching wide, his eyes glittering in amusement. King Raffar watched with a careful expression, and then he laughed, his brown eyes glowing unbelievably young and carefree for someone who had lost his parents at sixteen and was already king.
He shot a flurry of words to his translator, then strode to Mother to address her. Serenna translated: “It is an honor to meet you again, Queen Ginevora.” The king placed his left hand on Mother’s left shoulder, and she did the same to him. Then he leaned forward, his forehead and nose almost touching Mother’s. According to Scilla, the Farnskag greeting was supposed to be an offering of hearts and minds.
Mother stood still, allowing the unusual closeness. After the king leaned back, she said, “It is an honor to receive you here again, King Raffar.”
The male interpreter took over this time, translating Mother’s words into choppy Farnskag.
King Raffar’s eyes slid over the room, over me, then riveted on Mother again while he spoke. When he was done, Serenna said, with a little catch in her voice, “My heart bleeds for your loss and for the rest of your family. I know the heartbreak of losing loved ones. Scilla was an extraordinary woman and would have made an excellent queen of Farnskag.”
I couldn’t help but nod. Scilla had done everything in her power to be exactly what Azzaria needed, and what Farnskag needed. She’d been interested in politics and language and culture. She’d been daring and analytical. And despite the fact that she’d chattered exclusively about other Azzarian men—even Marro—she’d agreed to marry Raffar. For the good of the country.
Mother bowed her head slightly, accepting the condolences, then cleared her throat. “You might remember my youngest daughter, Jiara.”
Raffar turned to me. I’d forgotten the shard of stone through his earlobe, a decoration so unlike Azzarian jewelry, it made me shiver. My pulse beat a little faster as he considered me. Then he stepped close enough to grasp my left shoulder, and I raised my hand to do the same. I bent too qu
ickly, and his forehead touched mine, warm and dry. I jerked back the appropriate distance, but not before the tattooed lines, swirls, and curves burned against my skin. This close, the king smelled like leather and earthy forest. His lips were closer to me than any boy’s ever had been—I didn’t dare move for fear I’d accidentally touch them—and his breath warmed my skin.
The king leaned back again, and his voice was soft as he spoke to me and held my gaze. The throatiness didn’t seem so harsh when his words were quiet, more like a hush than a bark. My eyes remained on him as the interpreter translated his words: “It is an honor to see you again, Princess Jiara. Like I told your mother, I’m sorry about your sister. She was a dear woman.”
I swallowed and nodded, my eyes burning and my throat feeling like it was caught in a vise. She hadn’t just been a dear woman. She’d been the closest person to me in the world. A sister who’d always been there for me—to read to me, to tease me about my eagerness to explore the northern forests and riverlands, to brush the tangles from my hair when Gio’s play had been particularly aggressive.
“Thank you. That’s very kind,” I said, and his translator echoed me.
The king tore his eyes from mine, then moved back to Mother. “About the other matter, my offer stands. Has a decision been made?”
Mother smiled to lessen the blow of our lack of definitive answer. “We will have one by tomorrow. Jiara has only just heard of the proposal now.”
Raffar smiled back, his teeth white against his skin. “Of course . . . of course, you need time. Then we will see you at the banquet tonight?”
Mother agreed, and Raffar turned to leave. Abruptly, he stopped and spun back to me. “I can imagine this is difficult for you. I realize Scilla prepared herself for a life in Farnskag, and you didn’t.”
The king was so close to guessing my thoughts, I could only swallow.
“But it is the best for both of our countries. And I promise you,” he continued, his eyes earnest. “If you agree to this marriage, I know we can make it work.”
__________
The table was draped in emerald-colored silk and set for twenty with heirloom-patterned porcelain. Mother sat at the center, with King Raffar at her right, and then came my chair. Father and the rest of the family faced us from the opposite side of the table.
Mother was giving Raffar and me the opportunity to get to know each other, but what was I to ask a bald, tattooed stranger?
If Pia were here, we could have tested her translation skills. But after Scilla had given her the slip during a routine visit up the coast, and everything had gone so horribly wrong, Pia’d retreated to her family’s home to mourn. Mother had sent for Pia to take over as my gurdetta, but she wouldn’t arrive for several days. Luckily, Serenna and the king’s translator were here.
“Your trip was long, I heard. Was it very uncomfortable?” I finally asked Raffar, and Serenna nodded encouragingly. I smiled briefly at her as the man behind us translated. In the pauses as we waited for the translators, Raffar’s eyes remained on me, making me feel like it was the most intense conversation I’d ever had.
“Not at all. I enjoy traveling, seeing different lands,” he replied. I was glad for the break from Raffar’s intense gaze when he gestured out the window, where the canals of Glizerra reflected the fading light of the crimson sun sinking behind the red tiled roof of a building. “And the boats on the canals here in your capital—they’re quite unique. I’ve never seen a city with so much water. I would like to ride in a boat like that someday.”
My face flushed—at least he shared my interest in water. “I will ask Father to arrange it.”
His eyebrows rose, and the tattooed lines crinkled at the corners of his eyes. He looked out the window again as he waited for the translator. “That would be excellent. Would you join me?”
When his eyes met mine again, I smiled politely. We would be quite the spectacle. Not only a member of the royal family on one of the small pleasure boats, but a foreigner too. Probably more—his guards would surely join us. But I did love outings on the water.
Our superficial, maddeningly public conversation continued. Serenna and the king’s translator hovered behind us throughout the meal. I was never certain whose face to look at—Raffar’s or the translator’s. Every morsel of the discussion took twice as long since every sentence was uttered two times. With each slow relay of information, the vise around my chest constricted a little more.
Despite his rough appearance, Raffar seemed agreeable enough. Just like I remembered from the last time he visited Scilla, there was even something magnetic in his dark eyes. But if I agreed to our marriage, my entire existence would be like this dinner—slow conversations, eternal waits for translators. I’d constantly hope they didn’t have to go to the bathroom or get sick, because then all I’d be able to do was rely on body language, and who knew if that was even the same for Azzaria and Farnskag. I’d be surrounded by tattooed men and women grunting in their throaty language.
I gestured to a plate of one of my favorite dishes with an invitation for the king to try it, and he poked it tentatively with a spoon. Octopus probably didn’t even exist in his country, so far from the sea. How could I live in a country without octopus?
But then another thought wormed its way into my brain. What did they eat? Those huge elephant birds that pulled their carriages? I’d never tasted one. What other animals did they have in Farnskag? Surely, they had chickens and cows. Didn’t they? But so far north . . . mangoes, papayas, citrus fruits could never survive. My stomach clenched. What did they eat? Scilla had never mentioned what they ate!
Raffar bit down on a tentacle of spicy, lemony grilled octopus . . . and grimaced, ever so slightly.
My eyes fled from his face to the window, to the nearly dark city. Nothing would be the same in Farnskag. Nothing would be familiar. I’d make a fool of myself even going to a market, requesting food by pointing like a child. I couldn’t even read a sign warning me of danger. The high ceiling of the dining hall loomed overhead, threatening to drop on me. My lungs screamed for air.
My chair screeched as I shoved it backward, and I cringed. “Please excuse me.”
The tall double doors boomed behind me as I hurried from the dining hall. Down the corridor, I slipped into the dim library. I rushed past the infernal books that were my enemies and eased open the balcony door. Cool evening air filled my lungs, driving away the panic that had caged them before. I crept into the shadow of the blazzini plants, their vines snaking up the trellis, blue star-shaped flowers releasing a light perfume into the night. The moon was a crescent in the sky, sparkling off the bay below. This evening, I wore a normal gown instead of a split skirt, so I hitched up the silky fabric and climbed down the trellis.
Once in the garden, I surrounded myself with the greenery and breathed in the sea-tanged air of home. The palace was too far to hear the waves, but I imagined them lapping at my tense shoulders as I let Azzoro, the ocean god, massage away my worries.
“Princess Jiara!”
I whirled around to see a man in uniform stride past a young mango tree. Commander Torro had worked for Father for as long as I could remember. He stopped short before me and scowled, obliterating my moment of peace.
“I just wanted a short break. It’s . . . strenuous.”
A flicker of understanding softened his face, then his attention darted behind me, and that softness turned stiff and sharp.
“Oh, good, you’ve found her.” Father crunched along the gravel path behind us then crossed his arms with a low huff.
I swallowed down the groan that wanted to rise from my chest. I’d only been gone a couple of minutes. The cage around my lungs tightened again.
The commander nodded. “The princess took a little walk. I was just about to escort her back.”
Father turned to me. “I understand it’s not easy for you, but leaving the banquet is not appropriate, and you know it.” And then to Commander Torro: “As the head of the guard, I
expect you to keep watch over my children, and to inform me before they leave an event like this.”
Commander Torro began, “I’m sure—”
Father muttered a curse he’d normally never say in my presence. “Stop. I don’t want to hear groundless reassurances. It’s been less than a season since Princess Scilla was—”
As he swallowed, I shook my head to make them stop, but the words crept into my thoughts anyway. Found dead. Days from here. Six stab wounds in her back.
Commander Torro flinched.
Father cleared his throat as if he wanted to continue, but he fell silent instead. He was always so strong in front of the servants and the soldiers. But for one second, the horror in his eyes was plain to see, the worry over Scilla’s suffering and for the family’s safety. The fear that her essence was growing so twisted as to hurt her own loved ones.
My hand sneaked into his, and he gave it a squeeze.
The commander didn’t utter a word in response.
He didn’t have to. I’d spied on the guards enough to have pieced together the details. Scilla had been up near the northern border. Based on the size and shape of the wounds, the knife could have originated from anywhere. Her purse containing a large sum of money had lain next to her, so it hadn’t been a thief.
Father raised my hand as if holding up evidence. “My family must be kept safe.” His voice was so sharp it could have sliced through a turtle’s shell. “The assassin is still out there. With the Farnskager delegation here, we’ll need to be even more careful than normal. It’s not just our family now. If anything happens to King Raffar’s people, we’d gain another enemy. The queen wishes to hear answers. Do you have anything new to report?”
Father was worried about an attack on Raffar?
“Two of the agents investigating on-site arrived today. I just came from their debriefing.”
A Dragonbird in the Fern Page 2
