“What if it is?” she replies, eyes fierce. “I’d rather endure a hundred days of uncertainty and love than a lifetime of miserable, wasted days.”
“But you might have had a king!”
“Yes, and believe me, he tried before he left! But Reni is mad. He thinks he can win me with a crown, but I don’t care whether he gets it now or in a year, that’s not love. It isn’t!”
She cups a hand to her mouth. She knows she’s said the wrong thing.
“What do you mean now or in a year?” I demand.
“I don’t know what he meant,” she says rapidly. “I don’t. He was only trying to win me back. Empty promises. I’m sure that’s it.”
But even she sounds like that’s far from the truth. And I know then, at last, what Reni and Uncle have been doing in their secret meetings all these weeks, why they’re suddenly off on a tour, presenting the Prince and reminding everyone how very noble and Northern he is.
Reni wants to take his throne early.
Stars in heaven!
I swing down from Liberty and tie him to a nearby oak, then do the same with Ivory. Violet watches from the saddle, bewildered, but I’m already pulling off my shirt, down to my underslip. The boots are next.
“What are you doing?” Violet asks.
“Swimming.”
She gapes at the river. “Now?”
I shrug. My pants are already off, bare feet touching cool mud and wet leaves. The banks of the river lined with grass and weeds and jurica. Then I throw off the last bit of cotton and jump in. It’s magical. Cold and fresh, everything bare and smooth in the water, like a fish. Beneath the surface are muffled sounds. Shivering light above and murky haze below. My hair billows round me, and when I peer at my naked skin through the foggy water I wonder at how strange it really is, holding all these pieces of me together. Pieces that wouldn’t exist without my mother or father, my very heartbeat an act of grace from them. And somewhere, unseen in my blood, a fragment of Prince Efan, and beyond that, somewhere distant, the faded colours of Lark and Mother and Resya. This strange, fragile skin holds too much.
We’re all mosaics no one sees.
I break the surface again, gulping in air, and find Violet immersed to her neck. Her clothes are in a heap by the bank.
She paddles closer, soaking wet, and I can’t tell if it’s the river or tears on her cheeks. “You don’t understand,” she says, pain in her voice. “Everyone thinks I want a crown, but I don’t. I want more than that. I don’t want to be my mother.”
“But your mother is…” I don’t say the word. Dead. It’s never a word to be said out loud. I know that well.
Violet nods. “She is. But before that, she fell in love with another man and went to Lalia. She was bored with my father. With me. And so she left.” Her lips tremble beneath drops of water. “I’d be happy enough with Reni, and I’d have everything any girl could want. Truly everything this world could offer. He’d be there each day, always loyal, always the same.”
I wait.
“But what if that isn’t enough, Ali? I won’t be like my mother, who left for no reason. I couldn’t do that to anyone, certainly not to Reni. Loving the Captain means every day might be my last with him. That’s the sort of uncertainty I need. That’s the sort of love I want, where it seizes you from head to toe, and you’re frightened and breathless and on fire all at once. If I have any of my mother in me, then I know I wouldn’t make a proper wife. I feel too much. Perhaps I want too much. But I can’t stay here, wondering, when there’s even a chance of another life in Norvenne.”
Her green eyes beg me to understand, her auburn hair soaked and dark round her pale face. She’s holding a mirror up to me and I’m afraid to look. Perhaps her vain dreams aren’t worth the trouble, not when there are wars and the Nahir and my own brother quietly betraying our queen, and yet I want as much as she does.
I ache for that chance, too.
“But what if he never comes back for you, Violet?”
It’s not an effort to be cruel. It’s the truth, and she shrugs, helpless. A frightened, breathless, helpless love. “I’ll wait long enough. Then I’ll find another way.” She swims closer and kisses me on the cheek. “And even if I don’t love your brother, I’ll always love you. I promise. We were never about him.”
She smiles, elegant even naked in a muddy river, and I hope with everything in me that her captain sees how lucky he is, that he deserves her bold and beautiful heart that loves life so warmly.
* * *
The next morning, Havis and I take a motorcar to the University grounds. He’s dressed in an embroidered maroon jacket and his black hair is brushed smooth. It’s as if this is a special outing for the two of us, and the idea is entirely presumptuous. But I play along, as if I’m delighted to be with him, for the sake of the driver and the two armed guards accompanying us.
We drive down the sloping, forested road into Hathene, passing the stately grey homes that belong to those at Mother’s court—Lord Marcin, Lord Jerig, and the rest—and over the river bridge. Downtown, people laugh on street corners, riding bicycles, the girls wearing pretty summer dresses cut to the knees. I can’t help but gape out the window. I rarely get to see this. They’re all fascinating and curious to me, and even though I know the storm has passed, the Safire visit over and gone, it’s still a relief to find the city square bright and calm, not a single protester in sight.
“I’m grateful you agreed to have me come along, Princess,” Havis remarks with his easy charm. “I can imagine you might have preferred your brother.”
“Oh no, Ambassador. I’m spending my afternoon the way I love best—with strange men from foreign countries.”
The fake charm lessens. “I knew that feathered creature couldn’t hold a secret. I knew it, but it was worth a try anyway.”
“Did she give you anything good?”
“Not a word. I asked her if she’d seen you with anyone, and she said no, and when I pressed her further, she said she was ‘too busy’ and when I asked how busy, she said, ‘Oh very busy’ and smiled in such a way that I admired her for a moment.” He looks at me. “Please tell me you weren’t also busy.”
“Only on some days,” I reply, looking out the window again.
I think I hear him chuckle.
A few minutes later, we turn onto a narrow drive and brake beside blossoming lilac bushes. A wide lawn spreads before us, shaded by feathery willow trees, the fieldstone university walls along the farthest edge.
An unexpected sliver of fear jabs inside, and I hesitate when the door swings open to my left. Out there, beyond this motorcar, seems suddenly very open. Exposed. No walls to hide behind, no guards on each corner to ensure loyalty. It’s a place I’m not sure I belong.
I’m never outside royal walls.
Havis waits at the door, extending a hand, feigning gallantry. “Shall we, my star?”
I’d like to hit him for that, but it works. I get out, his strong arm quickly round my waist. His irritating confidence manages to make everything else seem small. As we walk the path to the grey walls ahead, I ask him about classes and schedules and exams. It’s all for the benefit of the guards following behind, so that they have nothing unusual to report about us, or to gossip with others. And Havis is too good at playing along—smiling in the right places, patting my arm, promising that I’ll love his stable of swift desert-bred horses in Resya.
Then he announces, “The University,” leading me beneath a stone archway. “The King’s greatest dream.”
Like entering the grand ballroom of our palace, we step into an elaborate and embellished world, honey-coloured buildings curving up before us, hemming us in on either side, decorated with leafy vines and sacred orchids. Rampant horses and crouching wolves are carved in elaborate facades. Stained-glass windows glow in the light, casting colours on stonework, and there isn’t a single alcove that remains untouched by exquisite detail, a reflection of my father’s heart, the pleasure he found in artistr
y, in learning.
This place sings of him, but it’s a hollow beauty.
He isn’t here—and something hurts.
“To the library,” Havis says, sweeping me along, the guards trailing us. “I think it will please your heart, Princess.”
I let him lead me. There’s no point in fighting his flowery show, and it allows me to say nothing. He carries the weight of our charade.
The tiled walkways are mostly empty, not many students about during the summer season. The few that remain openly stare. They know who I am. When I offer them a hesitant smile, they respond with a half bow, dropping their eyes and hurrying on. If only I could speak with them, find out what they think about my mother, about the Safire, about the protests in the square. I want to see inside their heads, too.
“Here we are,” Havis says grandly, halting us before a large building with a domed roof. He turns to the guards. “Clear it for us.”
The men nod and swing open the polished doors. Within a moment, they’ve announced that everyone must leave and the library’s closed. The stern words—and the guns at their side—leave no room for debate. Students gather their books quickly, faces registering shock at the sight of me. The girls skirt round us, eyes down, but the young men, about Reni’s age, walk by slower. Their surprise ebbs away, an appreciative glint to their gaze that makes me uncomfortable. I step closer to Havis as they pass.
“Boys are always trouble,” he tells me, “with or without a uniform.”
“So are most men,” I say.
“Se’til er keren!” he sings with exaggerated offense, gesturing at himself.
“Not this handsome face.” It’s a well-known line from Mother’s favourite Resyan opera, and his voice has an unexpected baritone beauty. I give him a strange look, like he’s just made some kind of odd noise, and he appears mildly disappointed, like I should have indulged him further. But he doesn’t yet know I speak Resyan. And for now, that seems wise, since I like having a card hidden from him.
The guards position themselves at the doors, and the library becomes mine to explore. It’s a welcome place, the scent of books heavy in the air, like Father’s library. My heels click on floors of burgundy and cream, wide windows overlooking the gardens, and high on the domed ceiling above spreads a painted mural.
My breath catches.
“And what delight is this?” Havis asks, behind me.
I stare up in disbelief at the unicorn and dragon. “It’s Elois and Elinga. Father made me a painting of that story.”
“Then I’d imagine this was also picked for you, Princess. A beloved daughter’s favourite story, immortalized in the place the King prized most. How charming.”
It’s beautiful, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and embarrassing tears sting my eyes. I want Father here so badly. I want him to come and hold me and speak to me again, just one word.
Please, Father, only a word.
I strain my ears, but there’s nothing. Silence. Breeze skittering on the windows.
Havis motions me to a long oaken table, covered in gold lamps, books scattered. We sit next to each other, wordless, and I blink away the wet behind my lashes. Havis is the last person I’ll let see me cry.
“I think we should talk about your education,” he says, suddenly all business, glancing at the guards far across the room. “I’ve heard a rumour you don’t wish to be married until after you’ve had a chance to study, and I want you to know, I’m fine with it. I’d prefer to marry an educated woman. Otherwise I might get bored, and then there might be an affair, and then you’d cry, and then what would I tell your mother?”
“I’m not doing this for you,” I say.
“Believe me, I’m well aware. Buying time is more how I interpreted it.” He chuckles to himself, leaning back against the table. “All things considered, you do entertain me.”
I think this must be my moment. He’s called my bluff and is still in his insufferably pleasant mood. It’s time for the true questions. “Ambassador, do you believe the General is a good man?”
The sudden question fades his amusement. “Well, I believe he’s predictable, if not good. He has ways of looking at the world, and they don’t change. Once they’re understood, you can know what to expect. But his eldest son? He’s no good. I prefer the younger one.” He sees my confusion and gestures. “The younger son is a naval officer. He’s practical and has good sense.”
I tuck that observation away, for later. “You sound like you know them quite well.”
“Talk travels fast in my circles. It’s my business to know.”
“And do you trust Lark?”
“To a point. But that’s how I feel about everyone, and especially you.”
There’s slight teasing in his voice, and I know he’s trying to deflect this. I won’t let him. Not this time. “He explained his father’s proposal. Tell me—what would you gain from it?” I’m purposefully vague, to see what Havis might confess.
He raises his brows. “Me?”
“Don’t pretend, Ambassador. You would gain something from war just like everyone else.”
“I’m not pretending, Princess. I’m no man of war. I’m a man of opportunity, and sometimes peace is the better gain.”
I find I believe him. It’s the most candid he’s ever been, and while he’s implicating himself as a selfish creature, at least it’s honest. “Is it true that Seath was once a reasonable man? Studying to be a doctor, even?”
Havis’s mouth drops open. “Where the hell did you hear that?”
“Lark,” I reply, not wanting to implicate Mother.
Truthfully, the knowledge of Lark’s involvement with the Nahir has me reassessing every word I’ve ever heard about them. Lark is hardly vicious or unreasonable. He’s rather plain and ordinary, if anything. And if a man like Seath was once sewing up wounds, not hanging necks, then what other reality might I be missing? Something doesn’t make sense. There’s a current between these two worlds, and I want to find it.
Havis shakes his head. “I know nothing about Seath. And you’d be wise to stop involving yourself in things you don’t understand—namely, Lark.” He gives me a pointed look.
“Then you don’t trust him?”
“I already told you. I trust exactly one person, and that’s myself.” He crosses his arms, clearly perturbed, then nods across the room. “Tell me, what do you think is in that locked chest?”
I frown. “Is this a trick?”
“Not at all.”
The wooden cabinet before us glows a warm amber beneath the window, ornate detailing and a metal lock on each drawer. “I suppose something important. Perhaps old documents and political treatises.”
“Or?”
“Items of importance to our history. Rare books.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because it’s locked. There must be something in there that needs protection.”
He nods. “Then go look closer.”
I follow his strange advice. Walking near, I trace my fingers along the round edges, the etched flowers. On impulse, I attempt to open the top drawer. It slides towards me with ease. “It’s unlocked,” I say, surprised.
“And what’s there?”
“Index cards.”
“Interesting.”
I face him again. “I don’t understand your point.”
He grins lazily. “You don’t see the power of the idea? I told you the chest was locked, and you believed me without even checking. That one word made you imagine a dozen things that weren’t there. The idea led you astray.”
I stand in his slightly gloating gaze, aware he’s entirely right. A sour thing to admit. Annoyed, I slump back into my seat at the wood table, the surface old and scraped, shined to a luster. “You think I’m a fool, Havis, but I’m only trying to protect the ones who have no choice in this to begin with. It’s not right. Not when there’s power to change it. Otherwise how can I even keep breathing? What right do I have?”
; Havis studies me, glee dissipated. “That’s the first time you’ve ever called me by my name, Princess.” The realization is as much a surprise to me as it is to him. “Listen, Aurelia … Can I call you that? Since we’re on more personal terms now?”
“No.”
“All right, Princess, let me try to make this clear. You’re from Etania. Your ideas are of this earth. If you tried to explain your most sacred memory to me—about your father, let’s say—I’d only ever catch a shade of it. It would never be real to me. That’s what Lark’s world is to you. You can’t understand it, so don’t treat him like one of your textbooks. Don’t underestimate him.”
Familiar anger breaks inside. I have no proof yet that Havis knows the truth about Lark’s Nahir connections, but I should have known he’d take the easy way out either way. He’s right—he’s a man of opportunity. He’ll play along and say noble-sounding things until he gets what he wants—which, apparently, is me—and never mind how many lives are scattered as ash behind him. The rest of the world can burn and he’ll be safe. Stoking his pleasure in the hills of southern Resya, drinking and kissing and racing desert-bred horses. Pretending he’s too honourable to get involved.
But I want more than that.
“Enjoy your power while it lasts,” I say hotly. “Soon my brother will take his crown and then you’ll never be allowed in this kingdom again. Perhaps sooner than you think.”
Havis’s face turns in a strange way. “What do you mean?”
I realize the words after I’ve said them. “I’m saying if he did take his crown, you’d have no chance with me.”
Havis seizes my arm, tight. “Aurelia, tell me—is your brother trying for the throne? Did he admit that to you?”
“No, he didn’t—”
“That crown is the only thing keeping your mother alive. Tell me this isn’t true!”
I feel my cheeks pale. He can’t be serious, but this isn’t the Havis with the lazy grin and cavalier arrogance. It’s Havis from the hall, the first time I mentioned Seath’s name to him, all those months ago. His eyes scour me, searching for the truth. A desperate man.
“Listen to me,” he says, voice low, urgent, “no one will touch her as long as she is Queen. It’s too much of a risk. But the moment your brother takes power? She loses that precious value, that protection. She becomes a target, do you understand? If you know anything about your brother’s plots for the throne, or your uncle’s, you must tell me. You don’t let this happen.”
Dark of the West (Glass Alliance) Page 29
