by Callie Bates
“Without question, that is important.” Lord Gavin leans forward. “But Queen Sophy should perhaps begin by speaking to the people first. Not everyone may understand why we are thinking in terms of war and enemies. Some people still believe Euan Dromahair is our ally—the true king.” He turns to me. “Arguably it is most important for you to convince them otherwise.”
A chorus of agreement runs around the table, and I nod, pleased Gavin has brought this up. “Please make arrangements for me to address people as soon as possible. Then, once the letter goes out to Alfred, and Teofila departs for Baedon”—my mouth goes dry just saying it—“we must turn immediately to Caeris’s defenses. I want a thorough report on every watchtower on the old border, and an inventory of the food and supplies stockpiled here in Barrody. We may be in for a dry spring.”
“Starve in spring,” Hugh says, the old Caerisian maxim, “feast in fall.”
Ingram Knoll nods. “We tighten our belts now to survive the next weeks. And soon,” he adds, “the Caveadear will be back.”
“That’s another thing that may help us,” Oonagh says. She’s starting to smile. “Not only the Caveadear’s power, but that of other Caerisians. Magic has been awakening in people throughout the land. There have been stories of women who could glimpse the future, and supposedly a man turned himself into a stag up in the mountains.”
“Really?” Rhia says, frowning. She sounds almost envious.
“A similar thing seems to be happening in Eren,” I say, “though of course they’re much less happy about it. The awakening sorcerers are being locked up by their families, or treated as mad.”
“Southerners,” Ingram Knoll says with comprehensive disdain.
“But the Caveadear will have an idea how to help them learn their power,” Oonagh says, “along with the lore the mountain lords keep. Who knows what we might be capable of?”
I feel the bone flute humming in my pocket. Who knows, indeed?
Rhia raises her cup of steaming coffee. “To Elanna.”
We all lift our drinks. “To Elanna!” we chorus.
Ingram Knoll raises his cup and nods to me. “To Sophy!”
They all chorus the words, so deep they resound in the chambers of my heart. “To Sophy!”
* * *
—
I FIND TEOFILA in her chambers some time later. She’s packing two small trunks, with the help of the maid Annis. I thought Teofila might be tense or even tearful, since she won’t be here when Elanna returns, but she seems almost excited. “Oh, good, Sophy, you’re here!” she exclaims. “Annis has volunteered to come with me, as a traveling companion.”
I stare at mild, plump Annis, who seems like the last person in the world to sign up for something so dangerous. “Have you really?”
“I was thinking about what you said earlier, milady,” Annis says, with unexpected confidence. “That my daughter—well”—now she blushes—“that my daughter could become the queen. Not that I’m planning to have a baby now, or anything like that. But…if I do have a child, I want to give her or him all the chances they can possibly have. And that begins with me taking some chances. For myself.”
“Of course,” I say in a strangled tone. I wonder if this is what my mother was like, when she packed her bags for Paladis, brimming with hope, determined to overcome her fear.
“So I’m going with Lady Teofila, to see a bit of the world,” Annis concludes.
Teofila smiles at her. “And I’m so glad you are. I think that’s all my things packed. Go put your luggage together, and we’ll move out.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Annis hurries off.
Teofila closes the door behind her. “I hope she doesn’t get seasick—we need to spend the whole voyage practicing her Baedoni. She doesn’t speak a word of it.” More soberly, she says, “I wanted someone to go with me, for reasons of safety if nothing else. Annis will enjoy it, in any case. I’ll show her the Promenade, and the Gardens of the Gods—”
“This is starting to sound like a sightseeing expedition!” I say, trying to keep my tone light.
Teofila looks at me and winces a little. “I imagine we’ll spend most of our time in negotiations with Queen Sylvestra. But when we’re free…”
“You’ll want to explore the city, of course.” I hesitate. “You seem…excited.”
She closes her eyes. Quietly, she says, “Yes, I am. More than I imagined I would be. Sophy…” She looks at me now with a kind of infinite sadness. “My family is there. My parents—my brother—his wife and children. I haven’t seen them in more than fifteen years, since Ruadan’s first attempt at rebellion. We’ve written letters, but it isn’t the same. I’ll get to hug them. See them. Hear their voices. Eat the food they’re eating. Speak in my own language.”
“That will be…it will be wonderful.” I choke a little on the words; my throat is so tight.
“It will be strange, too. Awkward. It’s been a long time.” With a little sigh, she crosses the room and folds me in her arms, cradling my head against her collarbone just the way she did when I was a girl, even though I’m much too tall for it now. She whispers, “I’ll come back. I promise.”
My whole body stiffens at those words. “You shouldn’t make those kinds of promises—”
“Well, I am. This is my home now. I will come back.”
I pull out of her arms, shaking my head. The sadness is so old and black I think I might drown in it. “You don’t understand. Sometimes we make promises and—and the choice is taken away.”
She touches her fingers to my chin, and I look up at her. Quietly, she says, “Your mother did a noble thing, Sophy. She saved you, knowing what would likely happen to everyone else in that village. I’ve thought about that for many years. Sometimes I’ve thought, if she could see you, she’d understand that she’d been selfish. That she tricked you, in order to give herself hope. That she should have given you the choice, even if you were a little girl.”
I swallow hard. I can’t even speak.
“I’ve asked myself if I would have done the same thing,” she goes on. “And every time, the answer is yes. Yes, I would.”
I close my eyes. “But you’re only going to Baedon.”
“Only,” she echoes, with some irony. “I know it’s a risk; a journey by sea always is.”
It is, and I’m both grateful and worried that she’s undertaking it. I just hug her again. “You told me you had some plan for communicating with me?”
“Ah, yes.” She pulls back, excited again, and fetches a small object from her trunk. It’s a hand mirror, the back covered in gilt curlicues. “I’ve been practicing! Go to that mirror.”
Obediently, I step across the room, to the mirror hanging on the wall.
“Sophy,” Teofila says, and then she whispers it again, more insistently, this time only in her mind. Sophy. Yet it’s so loud, so vibrant, I hear it, too, humming through the air between us. I feel the effort it takes her to establish the connection. But just as I turn to offer that another sorcerer could do this for us, my reflection fades. The face in the mirror is Teofila’s.
“There!” she says triumphantly, but her voice catches. She grimaces at me. “It’s a bit of an effort, but I can manage.”
“You can indeed!” I hug her again.
“And now I just have to do it in Baedon.” She grins.
There’s a tap at the door, and Hugh looks in. I kiss Teofila’s cheek quickly. “I’ll meet you at the coach before you leave, to say goodbye,” I tell her, and squeeze Hugh’s elbow on the way out. They deserve some time to themselves.
In the corridor, Lord Gavin is waiting for me, along with Rhia. I smother a sigh. It’s part of my role, I suppose, that I can’t get any time to myself, but it does get tiresome.
“He wants a favor,” Rhia tells me.
Lord Gavin just shakes his head. “
In fact, I thought you might be interested in a short excursion into the city, Lady Sophy, to examine the food storage situation. It would also be an opportunity to talk to some of Barrody’s citizens, as we discussed earlier, and reassure them about your plans for securing the kingdom. I’ve taken the liberty of arranging a carriage.”
“Excellent work,” I say, surprised. He’s followed up quickly on his suggestion.
“I thought it might be easier than a speech.” A nervous flicker pulses off him, and he gives an awkward smile. “The possibility of war makes me uneasy, and the common people must feel the same. They’ll be so reassured to see you moving confidently about the city.”
I look at him, hearing beneath that single nervous pulse a thready beat—a desire to please, I think. The poor man, I suspect, isn’t only worried about war; he’s afraid for his position. I offer him the most reassuring smile I can muster.
“I’m happy to come.” I glance back at Teofila’s door. “As long as we return in time…”
“I’ll see you back here before she leaves,” he promises, with a cool hum of relief.
Rhia raises an eyebrow. “He did say he had food in the carriage.” She adds, “And coffee.”
“You’ve drunk enough,” I tease her. “You’re still vibrating.”
She shrugs, and we start down the hallway, Gavin leading the way. “I will say I’m less keen on the carriage, though,” Rhia says. “Blasted things. One day I shall have an entire day where I stay in one place and never go anywhere.”
“You’d get bored,” I tell her.
“Not just for a day, or two.” She sighs gustily. “I could read. And no one would bother me.”
Rhia Knoll has never struck me as much of a literary type. “What would you read?” I ask, curious.
“The old histories and legends were always my favorites as a girl. Especially the ones about Queen Aline.”
“I’m surprised. She wasn’t very bloodthirsty.”
“I don’t like books all about battles. What?” she says when I start laughing. “Military tactics bore me to tears. Adventure stories are much better. One of my favorite books is all maps—maps of every country in the world.” She adds, “Of course, our library is ancient, so the maps are all from two hundred years ago.”
I laugh in earnest now. Having Rhia along does make things better.
Lord Gavin’s carriage is a large, well-sprung affair, and it smells of fresh bread and coffee. I pause, nevertheless, at the door. We’ve emerged into a side courtyard, empty except for the carriage driver, Gavin, Rhia, and myself. The driver doesn’t look at us, but I glimpse his hands tight on the reins. Tension hums off him.
I swing back to face Gavin, only to find him staring me down. Not nervous now, or attempting to smile—instead a red, angry pulse strains from his body.
I reach for Rhia’s arm, though she, too, has slowed. The courtyard lies quiet around us. Too quiet; the walls too high, their windows too empty. No ministers here, no servants. If this is a journey to a public audience, the public certainly hasn’t been notified.
“I’m sorry,” I say to Gavin with false brightness, aware of the hard beat of my heart. “I forgot something inside! How stupid of me.”
I start to back away—but suddenly Gavin is there, behind me. He throws me forward. My knees bark against the carriage step. I stagger, instinctively trying to protect the baby. Rhia shouts, but it’s cut off in a grunt. I glance back. The coachman has fallen on her, knocking her to the ground. I scrabble for something, anything, I can use as a weapon, but Gavin’s behind me. He grabs me by the waist, shoving me hard into the carriage. My flailing hands smack a coffeepot on the seat, and burning-hot liquid sluices over my skin. I grab the pot anyway, trying to winch myself around so I can strike Gavin across the face. But he’s bearing down on my legs—on my stomach. I flinch back, and he manages to wrestle the pot out of my hands. I kick at him, but he grips my hair, forcing my head back. He jams the spout of the coffeepot into my mouth. Hot liquid burns my teeth, my tongue. I try to turn my face, but Gavin holds me tight. More bitter liquid floods my mouth. I’m choking. I have to swallow, and swallow again.
The pressure eases. Gavin releases me. I try to kick at him, but my limbs don’t seem to obey me. I try to pick my head up, but it’s too much effort. Black spots bloom in the corners of my vision. “What…” I slur.
Gavin’s talking brusquely to the coachman, but my ears seem to have gone stupid, too. Next I know, he’s reaching back in, wrestling me into a semi-sitting position against the seats. Then he and the coachman fling Rhia onto the seat behind me. Maybe they forced the poison-laced coffee down her throat, too; she’s not moving. I note with bleary satisfaction that the coachman has a bloodied nose. Even with a broken arm, Rhia Knoll’s a force to contend with.
Then Gavin climbs in over us, taking a seat on the free bench. The door slams. I still can’t seem to gather myself. Lassitude tugs at my limbs, though I know I need to move, to stop him, to free us somehow. But my neck feels thin as a dandelion stalk. Maybe I should have seen this coming, but I was so happy to be home, so grateful to be accepted, that I wasn’t even looking for it.
I blink up at Gavin, and he looks back, his gaze slightly narrowed. Impatient.
“Poison.” I force the word out of my mouth. “You. Poisoned. Us.”
“It’s laudanum.” Lord Gavin checks his pocket watch. “Opium. You won’t die. Now be quiet and go to sleep.”
I try to struggle upright, but it seems as if a great weight is shoving me back against the floor. The carriage has begun to roll forward; the high gray walls give way to gray sky. I seem to be floating in a cloud of numbness.
Finally I manage a last word. “Why?”
“You shouldn’t have stolen the throne from your father,” he replies. “We ought to have known from the beginning a girl like you wouldn’t have the strength to manage the crown, or to reward her supporters as they should have been.”
I try to answer, but his face is rippling and the carriage is tilting, and the next thing I know, the world is black.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I wake, disoriented, with a foul taste in my mouth. My hands are numb. The carriage has stopped, and the light is dim. The seat across from me is filled with Rhia’s slumbering form. Her hands are bound awkwardly in front of her, twisted up with the sling on her healing arm.
I look down. My wrists are bound, too, with a length of rope. No wonder they’re numb. I’ve no idea how much time has passed. I try to sit up, and my head pounds.
The door opens. Lord Gavin. He looks at me. “We’ve stopped to change the horses,” he says conversationally.
I find my voice. It’s hoarse. “Why?”
“You usurped your father’s throne. We are returning you to him, so he can mete out justice.” He holds up a water flask. “Drink?”
I shake my head, but he grabs my hair again and forces the flask to my lips. I choke and splutter but the water still pours in, and I’m forced to swallow.
He grunts with satisfaction and lets go of my hair.
I jerk my head toward his. My forehead collides with his mouth.
“Gods damn!” he exclaims, jerking back.
I try to lunge up, but my limbs are like molasses. Naturally, the water must have been spiked with more laudanum. I can’t move fast enough, and Gavin shoves me back down.
“When I have power again,” I growl at him, “you’re the first person I’m going to execute.”
He just glares at me, putting hand to bloody lip. Red anger pulses from him.
“Did I hurt you?” I coo. “Good.”
Of course, I’m probably too damned softhearted to even threaten him with torture, were I in power. Though if all this damned laudanum harms my baby in any way, the man is going to pay. Let him stew on it, anyway.
There’s another voice ou
tside the carriage. “All right there?”
Lord Gavin sniffs. “Bitch gave me a split lip.”
Footsteps scuff outside. Then a man peers in at me—an all-too-familiar square-jawed face.
“Grenou,” I snarl.
He gives a mocking bow. “Majesty. You’ve slept the night away. It’s morning, and you’re well into Eren now.”
I want to struggle against my bonds—but the last thing I really want is more laudanum forced down my throat. I stay still. “Where are you taking us?”
“To Laon, milady.” He purses his lips. “So your father can decide what to do with you.”
* * *
—
I LOSE TRACK of the time again; when I sit up next, we’re rolling past the gray buildings of Laon, into the circle before the palace. It’s late afternoon, though I don’t know if it’s even the same day. Regardless, we’ve arrived more quickly than should be possible; perhaps Gavin knows how to travel through the shifts in the land, or the coachman does. It’s awfully inconvenient having Caerisians in the opposition, I think muzzily, just before the door opens, revealing several palace guards. They bundle us out of the carriage. My mouth still tastes foul, and my mind is slow and sticky. Still, I look at the guards and greet them by name: “Alain. Sebastien.” Neither of them can look at me. Rhia’s guards, noticeably, have fewer qualms. Her good arm is wrenched behind her back, and the daggers are stripped from her hips.
“Search her,” Grenou barks. “The bitch probably has a saber hidden under her skirts.”
Rhia stares him down, her eyes wide, nostrils flared with contempt. “Better to be a bitch than a traitorous cur. How would you have lived with yourself, if the fire had killed the queen? How do you live with yourself now, since you—”
He strikes her across the cheek. Her head snaps back sickeningly, and anger punches through me.
