The Alcazar

by Amy Ewing

  Her description made Leo think back to Old Port, how he had been instrumental in locking Sera up in that crate, and for a moment he was overwhelmed with disgust at himself, at the person he used to be. But he wasn’t that person anymore and he’d be damned if anyone tried to take away Sera’s freedom again.

  It didn’t matter what Ambrosine wanted. Sera deserved to go home and Leo was going to make sure she got there. Even if it broke his heart to do it.

  The storm started just as Leo and Sera were summoned to dinner.

  The dining room was like a huge domed greenhouse. Glass panels climbed high above them, with all sorts of plants hanging from rafters or crawling along iron moldings. Heart-leafed philodendrons and peperomias dangled their rich greenery from ornate ceramic pots overhead; red ivy wound its way along the walls, while delicate peace lilies and soft, rose-tipped painted ladies dotted the ground. The table itself was made of a massive tree trunk, its rings preserved with enamel, carved out to fit the chairs. An elegant candelabra sat in its center, thick green candles perched in the mouths of copper roses.

  A clap of thunder rang out and rain poured down the glass, distorting the world outside.

  “Leo, come sit here,” Ambrosine said, indicating the chair beside her. “I hear you and Sera visited one of my Arboreal groves today.”

  Leo glanced at his uncle, seated on Ambrosine’s other side, but Hektor’s face was a blank canvas, revealing nothing.

  “We did,” he said, taking his seat. “I didn’t know there were more than one.”

  “Oh yes, we have seven groves on Culinnon,” she said.

  “Seven?” Sera gasped.

  Ambrosine looked pleased. “Yes.”

  “But then why do you not share them?” Sera asked. “With so many, you could start groves on other islands.”

  Ambrosine frowned like Sera was being stupid on purpose. “They belong to the Byrnes,” she said. “Not some ignorant Malley from Adereen.”

  Bellamy flinched, and Hektor changed the subject.

  “A dove came from Ithilia,” he said to Leo. “The Kaolin navy has arrived. The Misarros are keeping them at bay for now.”

  “For now?” Ambrosine’s lip curled. “Misarro warships could trump a Kaolin frigate any day of the week and twice on Sundays. Ithilia can take care of itself. Though I’m sure they’re missing the Renalt’s forces at the moment.” She smiled smugly as servants poured into the dining room, filling their glasses with sparkling scintillant and serving the first course. Bowls of a creamy pale green soup were set in front of them, a radish carved in the shape of a flower floating on top. Leo took a tentative bite—it tasted of basil and zucchini and was surprisingly delicious.

  “You don’t seem too concerned that your country’s capital is under attack,” Leo noted.

  Ambrosine raised one elegant eyebrow. “I’m not.”

  Leo felt like he was missing something—shouldn’t Ambrosine be upset that Kaolin was attacking Pelago? Yes, Culinnon was far away and well protected, but still. Though maybe she was happy this would mean fewer ships to sink in search of Braxos.

  “I was thinking of taking Leo to the cove tomorrow,” Hektor said. “He’d best start learning how to sail.”

  Leo had already learned some sailing on the Maiden’s Wail, and it was really more Sera’s thing than his. He didn’t feel a need to learn more and didn’t understand why they would want him to.

  “An excellent idea, Hektor,” Ambrosine said, and Hektor looked the happiest Leo had seen him since he’d embraced Bellamy on the dock that morning. “Perhaps start with—”

  Just then another clap of thunder rang out as a servant rushed into the hall.

  “Mistress, a ship has come,” she said, panting.

  Ambrosine was on her feet in a flash. “The Renalt?” she asked. But the servant was shaking her head.

  “It’s your granddaughter,” she said, and Leo’s heart flipped in his chest.

  Agnes had made it to Culinnon.

  27

  Agnes

  THE STORM HAD BEEN BREWING ALL DAY AND AGNES HAD been watching the clouds with increasing trepidation.

  They’d made far better time than even Vada could have anticipated. Errol had led them from Ithilia to a hidden path, a network of rivers that ran through the island of Cairan, saving them days off their journey by not having to sail around it. He was exceptionally skilled at avoiding other ships as well, and so while they had seen them in the distance, they were never close enough to be noticed or bothered with. Then, just yesterday, the ocean had become empty for as far as Agnes could see. The weather had grown steadily colder the farther north they sailed, and the two girls would huddle together at night for warmth, which always led to kissing, which made Agnes very happy despite the chill.

  But even kissing Vada would not keep her warm in a rainstorm.

  “I wish Errol could tell us how close we are,” Agnes said.

  “I am thinking we must be nearing Culinnon,” Vada said. “The passages around it have been closed, yes? And we have seen no ships.”

  “True,” Agnes said. There was a faint rumble in the sky and Errol popped up, flashing purple, the colors of Culinnon.

  “Will we make it there before the storm?” Agnes asked, but he only gave the clouds one sullen look and then vanished beneath the waves.

  “It makes no matter to him,” Vada pointed out. “He’s always wet.”

  There was a flash of lightning and then a great clap of thunder and the heavens opened and rain poured down on them. There was nothing for Agnes to do but sit there and shiver. Rivulets ran down her back, her clothes soaked in minutes, her hair plastered to her face. Lightning streaked across the sky as the sea grew rougher. Agnes gripped the sides of the sloop tight, her knuckles white.

  “Don’t be falling in, little lion!” Vada called. Agnes glowered and Vada laughed. “It’s only a bit of water,” she shouted over the pounding of the rain.

  Agnes wiped her eyes, which was pointless because the rain kept on falling. “A bit?” she shouted back. Vada grinned and shrugged.

  The storm raged and the waves crashed against the hull, sending sprays of water onto the sloop so that Agnes was being doused from above and below. She tried to think of warm things, of thick soft blankets and roaring fires and hot mugs of tea. Her teeth were clenched so hard her jaw ached, shudders ripping through her in violent bursts.

  Just then Vada cried out, “Land!” and Agnes saw lights shining on the horizon. The water around them began to churn, and not just from the storm; Agnes leaned over the hull and gasped as she saw hundreds of colored lights.

  “Mertags, Vada!” she yelled. “Look!”

  The ocean was full of them, flashing and twisting, lighting up the water in colors more brilliant than a sunrise so that Agnes felt they were sailing through a living rainbow. Errol was wriggling his way among them, and the two girls watched as he flashed at this one and that, and the joy that radiated out from his scales was palpable.

  It suddenly occurred to Agnes that he was home.

  “Who goes there?”

  The ship came upon them out of nowhere, the voice almost swept away on the howling wind. Agnes looked up to see a sleek schooner painted in muted colors with a Misarro with gold disks at her neck staring down at them.

  “My name is Agnes McLellan,” she shouted. “I am the daughter of Alethea Byrne. I’ve come to—”

  But the Misarro cut her off. “Agnes!” she cried. “Your grandmother has been so worried about you. Come!”

  The schooner turned and Vada adjusted the tiller to follow. Agnes felt a flurry of nerves in her chest.

  Her grandmother was here, and Agnes was going to meet her at last.

  The rain was so heavy, all she could really make out of Culinnon was lots of trees and a mansion of glass.

  She and Vada stood dripping on the floor of an enormous front room, huddling close to the firepit that ran down the center of it. A servant had instructed them to wait while she fet
ched Ambrosine. Vada whistled as she gazed around at the glass walls and oddly shaped furniture.

  “Nice place,” she said as another clap of thunder rang out.

  Several minutes later, Agnes heard the patter of feet, and then there was a flash of silver-blue as Sera darted into the room and threw her arms around her.

  “I’m all wet,” Agnes protested, but Sera held her tight. When she finally pulled away, Leo was there right behind her, a big grin on his face.

  “You made it,” he said. “We heard you were coming, but . . . you guys made good time.”

  “We had some help,” Vada said.

  “It’s so good to see you both,” Agnes said. “What happened? We heard about the princess’s ship but then we had to flee Ithilia in the night and we’ve been out of contact with the world since.”

  “We have so much to t—” Leo began, but then there was a soft clearing of a throat and he fell silent and stepped aside.

  Her grandmother was standing in the doorway, and she was more elegant than Agnes had ever imagined. She was struck by just how much she looked like Leo, except for the nose, and her black curls were done up and pinned with pointed venuses, her blue lace gown the height of sophistication. She exuded power and confidence and for a moment, Agnes’s breath was taken away at the very idea that they were related.

  “Agnes,” Ambrosine said, and Agnes stumbled forward. Her grandmother held out her hands and took both of Agnes’s. “By the goddesses, it is so very good to meet you.”

  “It’s nice to meet you too,” Agnes said thickly. Then she shivered. “Sorry. I’m getting your carpet all wet.”

  Ambrosine laughed. “No need to worry about carpets, my dear, I’ve hundreds of them. But you must be desperate for a bath and fresh clothes. You and your companion . . .”

  “Vada Murchadha,” Vada said, giving an awkward bow. “At your service.”

  Ambrosine’s brows pinched together, but she inclined her head politely. “Vada,” she said. Then she clapped her hands and two servant girls hurried into the room. “Take my granddaughter and her friend to bathe and find them rooms in the eastern glen.”

  “Yes, mistress,” one said as the other bobbed a curtsy.

  Agnes didn’t want to leave Sera and Leo so soon, but a bath sounded like heaven.

  “Don’t worry,” Leo said when he saw her hesitation. “We aren’t going anywhere.”

  She smiled at him gratefully and noticed Sera slip her hand into his. That was a new development. Though they both had many stories to tell, Agnes was sure of it. For now she allowed herself to be led out of the foyer and through winding halls of glass until they came to a room carved into the trunk of an enormous sycamore tree. Inside was a bathhouse, smooth rounded walls with a massive stone tub sunk in its center, steam rising gently from its surface. Agnes and Vada quickly stripped off their wet clothes and sank into the bath with identical moans of pleasure. Agnes could feel the hard knots in her muscles begin to thaw as the steam filled her lungs.

  Once they were clean and wrapped in big fluffy towels, the servants led them to rooms on the ground floor of the estate, Vada’s right across from Agnes’s.

  Clothes had been laid out on the bed for her, a woolen dress and velvet cape with a fur-lined hood. Agnes would have to see about some pants later—for now these garments were dry and warm, and that was all that mattered. One wall of her room was made entirely of grass, tiny red flowers scattered among the dark green blades. Another was paneled in glass that looked out onto a pretty garden with a jeweled birdbath, and a third was a quilt of smooth paving stones, a fireplace set in its center with a roaring blaze that coated the room in delicious warmth.

  Agnes had just finished dressing when her door burst open and Vada strode in.

  “This is the first time I am wearing a dress since . . . perhaps since ever,” she grumbled. The dress was simple, gray linen with a scoop neck and a thin leather belt. “Not that I am complaining,” she said, walking over and plopping down on Agnes’s bed. “It is very fine material and kind of your grandmother to be giving me clothes to wear.” She chuckled. “If only my mama could see me now. Dressed by a Byrne on the estates of Culinnon!”

  “I think you look very nice,” Agnes said, which wasn’t a lie. The dress suited her; she just didn’t look like Vada.

  Vada reached out for her hand and when Agnes took it, Vada tugged her close, tucking Agnes between her legs and running her hands over her waist.

  “What are you thinking about your grandmother?”

  “I don’t know,” Agnes said, sinking her fingers into Vada’s thick auburn hair, free from its usual braid. “She’s much more elegant than I imagined, I guess. More . . . stately.”

  Vada laughed. “Stately, yes. This is true.”

  “I hope she can help us get Sera to Braxos.”

  “We are not needing her help,” Vada reminded her. “We have a ship and we have Errol. That is all we need.”

  Agnes’s heart swelled to hear it. “That’s right,” she said.

  She leaned forward to kiss her—their tongues twined and then Vada pulled her down so that Agnes fell on top of her on the bed, laughing as Vada left a trail of kisses down her neck.

  There was a light tap on the door.

  “Pardon the intrusion,” Ambrosine said, and Agnes scrambled to her feet, her cheeks burning as she adjusted her dress and smoothed back her hair.

  “Um, oh no, it’s fine,” she said, completely mortified and trying not to show it.

  “I was wondering, Agnes, if I might speak to you in private,” Ambrosine said.

  Vada was on her feet in an instant. “I will go find Sera and Leo,” she said. “We did not get to have a proper welcome.”

  She gave Ambrosine another awkward bow and left.

  “How do you find your accommodations?” Ambrosine asked.

  “It’s a very nice room,” Agnes said. “This whole estate is beautiful.”

  Her grandmother smiled. It wasn’t the sort of smile Agnes had pictured, full of warmth and joy like her mother’s smile in the photograph. There was something sly and almost aggressive about it.

  “Why don’t we sit,” she suggested. There were two brocade armchairs nestled in a corner between the stone wall and the grass one, and Agnes took a seat opposite Ambrosine, her heart skipping erratically.

  “Leo informed me your father told you nothing of me, or your mother, or this side of your family,” Ambrosine said.

  “No,” Agnes said. “We weren’t even allowed to mention the Byrne name. Eneas would sometimes slip and give me little details, but nothing concrete. Nothing that made her feel real.”

  There was a darkening in Ambrosine’s eyes at the mention of Eneas, but then her expression smoothed out. “She was very real, I promise you that,” she said. “And she loved you very much.”

  “She never even knew me,” Agnes said.

  “She held you in her arms,” Ambrosine said softly. “And kissed your tiny little hands and whispered your name.”

  “But . . .” Agnes tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “But how could you know that? Leo and I were born in Kaolin, in some private facility outside Old Port.”

  Ambrosine traced the pattern on the arm of her chair with a finger. “No,” she said. “You were not. You were born right here, on this estate.”

  If her own chair were to suddenly swallow her up, Agnes could not have been more surprised. She . . . was born . . . in Pelago.

  “Why would my father ever agree to that?” she said.

  “We made an arrangement,” Ambrosine said. “One that he did not honor, of course.”

  Agnes recalled the words from the letter Eneas had written Phebe. A deal was made and a deal was broken.

  Before she could ask, Ambrosine continued, “But that is neither here nor there. We both know the sort of petty, conniving man your father is—I should not have entered into any agreement with him in the first place. And besides, there are more important matters to discus
s.”

  Agnes’s head was spinning and the best she could muster was a confused, “Huh?”

  “The past can wait. It is the future that concerns us now.”

  Agnes blinked. “The future?”

  Ambrosine rubbed her hands together. “Yes, my dear. The heir to Culinnon has come home at last. There is much you need to learn about this country, this island, our family’s history, but there will be plenty of time for that. For many years now, the Byrnes have been subjected to the most brutal character attacks from the Triumvirate. They are jealous of our power, of the wealth of Culinnon and the mystery it is shrouded in. Many Byrne matriarchs have thought to separate themselves from Ithilia’s control, but none have had the courage or the force of will to actually do something about it.”

  Agnes felt a sudden squirming of nerves in the pit of her stomach.

  “The northern islands are loyal to us, loyal to Culinnon,” Ambrosine continued. “Why should we submit to western rule? It would be far better to rule ourselves. I have spoken to the head families on all the major islands. They are with me, at last. The Malleys took some convincing—Ragna can be such a stubborn old witch—but everyone has agreed. Their ships are mine, their people mine, their loyalty mine. And now with Braxos in our sights and Kaolin ships attacking Ithilia, it is the perfect time to declare.”

  Agnes’s palms went clammy. “Declare what?”

  Ambrosine straightened her shoulders. “Why, declare our independence, my darling girl. To form our own state, with our own queen. And just one, not three who fight and bicker and scheme against each other and play favorites with the upper-class families. One queen to bring everyone together.”

  “Can you do that?” Agnes asked. “Just . . . break away from Pelago and form your own nation?”

  “Why not?” her grandmother said. “Just because something has not been done before does not mean it shouldn’t be done. Braxos has power, Agnes, and not just this tether that Sera is seeking to find.”

  “I know,” Agnes said. “I read the scrolls. Or what was left of them.”

  One side of Ambrosine’s mouth curved upward like a scythe. “Of course. I heard you met Matthias. What did you think of your uncle?”