When She Reigns

by Jodi Meadows

  When I looked up, I caught a spectacular view of the late-afternoon city, the buildings lit red with the hot glow from the sun. From this high, people on the streets seemed so small, and the ships in the harbor were toys.

  Guards—five of them—stood watch from the walls. They carried swords and daggers, and their eyes were narrowed as they scanned the garden for trouble. Hoping for trouble, perhaps.

  There was but one exit: the same glass door we’d come through.

  Noorestones. The power of a dozen crystals brushed against my soul, welcoming.

  So far, the only people here looked like Anaheran aristocracy, or upper-class society visiting from other islands. I saw a few familiar people, but no one seemed to recognize me; their eyes slid right across my fully exposed face because, although I was in the right context, they didn’t expect the tattoos and scar and harsh cosmetics.

  If Nine was here, they weren’t obvious about being an imperial spy.

  Aaru’s jaw was tight as he studied the other mourners, and abruptly, I saw what he saw.

  No Idrisi.

  No men (because women never left Idris) in simple, tunic-style clothes that stood out in this display of color and excess. No men lingering off to the side, trying to force space between themselves and the others. No men actually mourning at this memorial.

  This was merely a spectacle of compassion.

  I pushed aside my uncertainties about Aaru’s deal with Altan as I slipped my hand into his, then tapped against his knuckles. ::Are you all right?::

  The tension in his jaw eased, and he brushed his thumb against the inside of my wrist before he replied, ::I will be. Did you see him?::

  At first, I thought he meant Nine (no), or the high magistrate (he wasn’t here yet), or Ilina’s father (still no), but when I followed his gaze westward, toward the cliffs and water, I saw who he meant.

  Idris.

  The god of silence loomed on the far side of the sea, golden sunlight spilling around him like honey. Hunched over in thought, Aaru’s god sat there while his people suffered. While ships like the Chance Encounter searched for survivors. While refugees washed up on foreign shores, isolated and scared.

  I stared at Idris over there, just sitting, and I hated him a little. I hated all of the gods, willing to leave us like this. ::Who do you think is next?:: I asked Aaru, not thinking about how insensitive the question was until it escaped.

  ::Could be anyone. I had never dreamed Idris might be first. Could be—:: Aaru’s head snapped up, and he stared toward the door. ::Mother.::

  His warning almost came too late. A small cry bubbled up inside my chest, but I bit it down as my mother strode through the doorway, surveying the garden as though considering whether she might purchase it.

  She looked good, dressed in a long Daminan gown of clover green that whispered around her ankles. Her hair had been straightened and pinned back, revealing her strong cheekbones. Gold bangles chimed around her wrists, though they might as well have been cuffs. She was in the high magistrate’s custody, after all.

  Mother’s cool gaze lit across the garden, coming toward me.

  Quickly, I turned away and stepped behind one of the slender palms—not to hide, but to obscure myself. ::Warn her,:: I tapped to Aaru, and then slipped toward the edge of the roof like I wanted to look across the city.

  The pressure of Aaru’s presence eased as he walked toward my mother.

  Then her voice carried through the garden. “You’re—”

  Though it must have been painful for him to not only speak aloud but interrupt as well, Aaru did. The drone of conversation eclipsed his voice, but I could feel it deep within my spirit. Like a skipped heartbeat, or shift of the earth, he affected me in unseeable ways.

  Mother’s voice came again, a curl at the end like a question, but the words were lost to distance. Several moments later, Aaru returned to my side, and his finger tapped against the railing, next to mine. ::She will not come to you.::

  “Good.” It hurt, though. I wanted to see her. I wanted to talk with her. But if anyone saw us together, they would know. If anyone even saw us looking at each other, they would know who I was. “Is she all right? Is she safe? Did you tell her we still have Zara?”

  He nodded. ::Yes to all.::

  “Thank you.” I wished I could rest my head against his shoulder, but even if that was who we were—people who casually showed affection—Chenda had warned me against letting anything touch the false tattoos. That probably included Aaru.

  His hand slipped on the railing, toward mine. The quiet code came fast. ::I asked about your father.::

  My breath caught.

  ::I’m sorry.::

  I choked on a sob I wouldn’t release. I’d known, hadn’t I? If Father wasn’t here, then he’d died back there.

  Still, the confirmation burned, and I almost wished Aaru hadn’t said anything, but then I would have spent all night wondering. ::Hristo’s father?:: Because my protector needed answers, too.

  Aaru shook his head. ::Gone.::

  I let out a long breath. One, two, three, four, five: those were the heartbeats it took for me to exhale. Both fathers deserved my grief, but I couldn’t let it show here. Instead, I pushed it aside, smothering those feelings to address later.

  Behind us, the buzz of activity intensified, and we turned to find the Hartan matriarchs arriving in a swirl of soft robes, and then a trio of warriors just behind them. As the island governments spread throughout the crowd, I watched to see if anyone recognized me. But no one spared me a second look, except for Dara Soun of Bopha; when she saw my false tattoos on one cheek, my scar on the other, I could see her making a note to introduce herself later.

  I turned to Aaru. “We’ll have to start talking to people soon. Before anyone who knows me decides to walk over.”

  A pained look crossed his face, but he nodded. This, too, was something we’d discussed: there would be dozens of people here who knew me, and we would need to make it difficult for them to ask personal questions. Besides, we had to find Nine, and there was only one way to do that.

  Soft clinks sounded as someone tapped their glass to gather attention, and then the Fire Ministry emerged onto the roof, High Magistrate Paorah in the lead. The guests quieted as they all turned to look.

  The high magistrate had a softer face than most people expected, with small eyes and a weak jaw, but keen intelligence in his gaze. He always looked as though he was weighing, measuring, calculating the motives of the people around him. He had the kind of stare that prodded people for their weaknesses and waited patiently for the best moment to expose them. As he looked over the crowd of island elite he’d assembled, I forced my expression into anything that the Hopebearer would not wear: haughty, judgmental, expectant. It didn’t matter what he thought of me, as long as he didn’t think I might be Mira Minkoba.

  Aaru’s hand slipped into mine. ::Breathe.::

  I breathed.

  “Thank you for coming.” Paorah looked over the crowd; his voice was deceptively soft, too, yet still commanded people to listen. “While this is an unhappy occasion, I’m pleased to see you all here. This gathering signals our devotion to ensuring the survival of our people. What happened to Idris will not happen on another island.”

  Aaru’s hand tightened around mine, and I let him even though it hurt, because it meant he still needed me.

  The high magistrate glanced westward, where the sun was easing toward Idris. “We’ve lost a proud nation,” he said. “Idris was an island filled with kind, hardworking people. I knew several of the Silent Brothers personally, and I respected them deeply for their fair rule, the warmth they inspired in their people, and the culture of cooperation they fostered. I will miss them, not only as leaders, but as friends, too.”

  Everyone was quiet, just listening to him. He had a compelling way of speaking, almost like a song.

  “This loss affects us all. Friends, islanders, trading partners, allies: they are gone now, and so is the long
history and culture of the Idrisi people. We’re here this evening to mourn their passing, and hope—pray—that the ships we’ve sent out will find survivors. If the Idrisi ways are to live on, it will be through them.”

  All around the quiet garden, people nodded. Some were crying, their tears shimmering in the evening light.

  “In a few minutes, when the sun sets behind Idris, we will observe a moment of silence in honor of our fallen friends. Pray, if you like. Mourn. Then we will go downstairs to celebrate this time together, and tomorrow, all the governments and representatives of the Fallen Isles will get to work. Together, we will ensure the Great Abandonment goes no further. Together, we will ensure the survival of our people.”

  A polite applause followed, and while we waited for the sun to drop, a few ministers took the chance to talk about their memories of Idris and the generous ways they were treated during their visits to the island.

  While they spoke, I scanned the crowd for Mother. She stood surrounded by Hartan matriarchs, her chin lifted and her gaze firmly on the speaker of the moment. If she felt anything about the words they spoke—or the words they did not speak about the Luminary Council—she didn’t show it.

  A man was droning on about the quality of Idrisi cotton, bemoaning the future absence of such fine cloth, when the high magistrate stepped forward. The minister shut his mouth without needing to be told.

  “The sun is behind the god of silence,” said Paorah. “Please remain quiet until it is fully set.”

  An immediate hush wove through the garden, broken only by sniffs and soft coughs as everyone turned to look west. It wasn’t true silence—no one here could give that to the Idrisi people, except for Aaru—but somehow this seemed more potent. This was grief silence. Shock silence. Dozens of people who could never understand Idris’s silence all trying to give him what he valued most. Even the traffic below seemed softer, muted, like a held breath as the god shadow swung over Flamecrest, darkening the city into an early twilight.

  A chill passed through me, and then I looked at Aaru.

  It was good that we were in front of the crowd, because if anyone else had seen the naked longing in his eyes, we’d have been caught. He’d have been identified as Idrisi, and questions would have come from all directions.

  But when I checked around, everyone who might be able to see was staring west, or looking at the nearest flower box.

  The sun was sinking behind Idris, its rays growing longer and warmer. I lifted my hand so my knuckles brushed his, soft little bumps of contact. Take my hand, I wanted to say, but it had to be his decision.

  Then his fingers twitched, stretched out, and threaded with mine.

  ::You are not alone,:: I tapped. ::You are not alone. You are not alone. You are not alone.:: Again and again I told him, until the sun disappeared beneath the horizon, and the city let out its breath. Life rumbled again, and the high magistrate beckoned people toward the ballroom for the rest of the night’s activities.

  All around us, people began to move, but Aaru stayed put, slowly erasing the anguish from his face.

  I hated myself for saying it, but . . . ::We have to go. We need to get lost in the middle of the crowd.::

  Aaru sighed. Nodded. And together, we slipped around the passionflowers and dragon tongues and went back into the Red Hall.

  Now to find Nine.

  THE DRAKONTOS CELESTUS

  THE FIRST DRAGON WAS BORN DURING AN ECLIPSE.

  Two moons passed over the sun, one after the other, and in those moments of held-breath darkness, with dawn hovering on all horizons, the first dragon burst through the crust of the still-molten land. It was a triumphant moment for the Fallen Gods—their first and most favored child—and they painted her with gold and silver stars, a reminder of the sky on the day she came forth.

  One by one, the seven gods blessed her with all their gifts.

  She was fierce and fiery, yet loving and warm. She could fly across the world as a silent shadow, and from her, all other dragons would be born.

  Then, as the gods finished bestowing all their love upon her, the light returned, and the eclipse was over.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE BALLROOM WAS ALL COPPER AND RED, LIKE WALKING into a fire, and far too loud, filled with voices, footfalls, rustling fabric, and music.

  I glanced over just in time to see Aaru’s expression crumple under the onslaught of Too Much. It was subtle—just his eyebrows drawing inward, the corners of his mouth dropping, and a tightening around his jaw—but if I saw it, others would, too.

  There couldn’t have been fewer than two hundred guests inside, far more than had come to the memorial. Several were already dancing to the music of a small orchestra, even more had descended upon the buffet tables, and the rest were prowling the floor like predators looking for prey.

  My hand was already resting on the crook of Aaru’s arm. ::Put on a mask.:: I tapped quickly, hoping no one would notice.

  Immediately, the discomfort flew from his features. I could still feel the tension in his muscles, and see it in the way he walked, but I doubted anyone else could; they didn’t know him well enough.

  I shoved away the nagging feeling that maybe I didn’t know him well enough.

  ::I’m sorry,:: I said, guiding him toward the food, which seemed the safest route for now. ::I wish you could mourn. If you want to leave, you can.:: After all, he’d come for one reason: the memorial. If he needed to go, I could do the rest on my own.

  Besides, I wasn’t completely on my own, was I? Mother was here, and while that fact usually did nothing to comfort me, tonight it helped. For once, I believed she was on my side.

  Aaru shook his head. ::Staying.::

  “Thank you.” I smiled at him. ::We need to talk aloud. They’ll notice if we don’t.::

  “Of course.” His voice was soft and gentle, warming me like a song. ::Who will notice?::

  ::Everyone.::

  His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, but then he smoothed away the alarm and gazed around the room, searching.

  When Zara and I had been young, she’d complained that everyone at school looked at her differently—treated her differently—because she was my sister. She said they were always waiting for her to do something wrong so they could pounce and mock, so every day she went to school terrified to be herself.

  Mother had taken her aside for a short talk, which I’d overheard because I had my ear pressed to the door. Mother had said that at school, all the other students felt just as awkward and out of place as she did. They all had the same sense of being watched and judged, but it was a false feeling born from insecurity. All the other students, she’d said, were too busy worrying about themselves to bother noticing Zara. Mother said she shouldn’t overthink it.

  Even at eleven years old, I had thought Mother was underestimating the other students, but by that time, Zara had already stopped talking to me, so I didn’t offer her my views.

  Later, Mother had come to me and given the complete opposite talk. “They are watching you,” she’d said. “At every party, council meeting, and public appearance, they’re waiting for you to make a mistake. You must never show them the true parts of you—the weakest parts—because they’ll find a way to turn them into a weapon.”

  After that, I’d begun to notice the eyes. They followed me, yes, but they also watched Mother and Father, and everyone else in the world. I couldn’t imagine how anyone had the energy to guard themselves and look for flaws in others, but clearly they felt it was worth their time. The predators existed at every party, council meeting, and public appearance on every island, just as Mother had said.

  They probably existed at Zara’s school, too.

  Aaru and I arrived at the nearest buffet table, and he nudged me to go first—probably part Idrisi sensibilities, but mostly so he could watch to see how I interacted with people. In the Pit, so out of place, I’d imagined myself as a Drakontos mimikus. I’d observed Gerel and learned how to survive by copying her.
Now I saw the mimic dragon in Aaru, too.

  When it was my turn, I pointed to a few items—cuts of spiced cloudfish, honey-glazed pineapple, and chunks of butter-drenched crabmeat on tiny crackers—and then thanked the house servant who filled my plate. Aaru followed my lead exactly, and together we wended our way around the outside of the floor, watching the dancers, until we paused beside a large column.

  Aaru studied the arrangement of his plate with a soft frown. “It’s so pretty.”

  I smiled. “Anaherans consider cooking an art.”

  “But it’s to eat.”

  “Yes. That doesn’t prevent it from being art as well.”

  He touched one of the pineapples with his fork. “The only time I’ve ever worried about how food looks was when checking that it wasn’t spoiled or filled with bugs. I’ve always been too hungry to worry otherwise.”

  And then, in the Pit, it hadn’t mattered if there were a few bugs. “This is a different world for you.”

  “Very.” He gazed around the room, eyes lingering on the brightly dressed dancers, the intricate wall carvings, and the painted ceiling; for him, this world was as strange and unknowable as the bottom of the ocean. “But food. It’s for eating, not for looking.”

  I thought back to what I’d learned during my previous visits. “It fits Anahera’s tenet of benevolent destruction in two ways: the destructive process of cooking can be made into something beautiful. Art. When you eat it, you’re given life. Eat everything you took, though. Destruction without purpose is an affront to Anahera.”

  He gave me a look that said he had never in his life let food go to waste.

  “See the walls?” I nodded across the room, where an immense panel showed a laughing figure dancing through a raging fire. She was beautiful, all long limbs and fluid motion. Panels were mounted all around the ballroom; in one set, she was cutting down trees—and building a house in the next. In another set, she killed a goat, but then offered a meal to children.