The Fiery Crown

by Jeffe Kennedy

  “I will be when you start rowing,” Ambrose said, much more cheerfully. “I’m the talent, not the brawn.”

  So I rowed. Which didn’t take much work, as the boat that should’ve sunk an arm’s length from shore not only floated just fine, but glided straight for the Last Resort at a remarkable clip. Ambrose, seated in the stern, hands wrapped around the jeweled staff between his knees, watched me row. Sondra held her walking stick in both hands, vigilant gaze scanning the shore, the ragged tufts of blond hair glistening in the morning light, while Agatha huddled to the side, making herself as small as possible.

  “That’s quite the artifact you’ve acquired,” Ambrose said to Sondra, keen gaze on the walking stick.

  She barely glanced at him. “It’s not much, but I didn’t have anything else, so I grabbed this.”

  “Ah. Grabbing things from wizards can result in surprises,” Ambrose noted cheerfully.

  Now she reacted, looking at it like she might be holding a snake. “What—is it dangerous?”

  “Not to you, child,” Ambrose soothed her. “Though I know of a certain red wizard who will be most put out to have lost it.”

  Sondra opened her mouth, but caught sight of something that made her go alert. “Company.” With my face also to the shore, I kept an eye on the mounted Imperial Guards galloping along the shore path. They never glanced our way, continuing up the coast.

  Ambrose gave me a little smile. “I am a wizard,” he reminded us. “I can distort what people do and don’t see.”

  “Except when our invisible ship was perfectly visible to the Calantheans,” I grumbled.

  “You’ll never let that go, will you?” Ambrose patted the burlap sack with Lia’s body in it. “I explained that the laws of magic and the natural world aren’t the same when Her Highness is around.”

  “Don’t touch her,” I growled, wanting to lunge at him. “And it’s was. She’s gone.”

  “Is, was.” Ambrose waved a hand. “Language applies tenses in black-and-white lines where time flows in grayscale.”

  “We’re there,” Sondra broke in, giving me a warning look.

  Vesno’s howls had become excited barks, and we immersed ourselves in the business of getting Lia’s body aboard, the skiff reloaded, and the Last Resort under way. Any thoughts I’d had of rowing myself back were thwarted by Ambrose. When I gathered up the sack with Lia in it, intent on storing it below in one of the many unused cabins, Ambrose stood in my way.

  “Where do you think you’re taking Her Highness?” He didn’t wait for my answer, but pointed to a lavish couch under a silk awning near the front of the yacht. “Put Her there, in the sunlight. And for Ejarat’s sake, take Her out of that tacky burlap sack already. Ah, Lady Ibolya, your services are required.”

  If I hadn’t held Lia’s corpse in my arms, lax and wilted, I would have throttled him. Instead I put the sack on the couch he indicated. Sondra helped me, extracting Lia’s body from the rough material with a gentleness I didn’t think I’d ever seen from her. Ibolya asked no questions, arranging Lia’s limbs so the remaining hand covered the space of the missing one. The dead orchid clung to her skin, as bruised and limp as Lia, both of them decaying.

  “She was so brave,” Sondra said to me, hoarse voice quiet, as we watched Ibolya gently bathe Lia’s body with a damp cloth. “Courageous. Even after everything they did to Her. I understand now why you fell in love with Her.”

  “Kara is making full speed for Calanthe,” Ambrose informed us, walking up. “With luck and a bit of nudging, we should make Her waters before sunset. Not a lot of extra time, but enough.”

  “It hardly matters what time we get there,” I commented dully. With the urgency of rescue and escape fading, the strength left my body, too. My legs gave way of their own accord, and I sat heavily on the deck, my back against the sofa abutting the one Lia lay on. Vesno wormed his way around a low table to stretch out beside me, head on my lap, gaze fixed on Lia’s body. Ibolya ignored us all, tending her queen’s body, humming a quiet song.

  “Of course it matters,” Ambrose chided. “What time yesterday did you feel Her die?”

  I glanced up sharply. Sondra and Agatha gave me strange looks. Deciding not to bother asking how the wizard knew, I admitted, “About four hours before midnight.”

  Ambrose nodded in satisfaction. “I thought so, but I needed to be sure. These things aren’t always easy to pinpoint from a distance.”

  “You knew Her Highness was dead before we even went ashore?” Agatha asked.

  “I felt it, yes,” I said. “I apologize that I didn’t tell you.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  I met her gaze evenly, letting her see the ruthless bastard I was. “I was afraid you wouldn’t want to take the risk.”

  She nodded to herself, looking thoughtful.

  “I’d say it was wrong of me, but I’d do it again.”

  “Not wrong, but you should have trusted me, Conrí.”

  “I see that now. But I also thought I’d be staying behind.” I gave Ambrose an accusing look, which he returned with a cheerful smile.

  “Just as well, eh?” He glanced at the sun and back at Lia. “You both would’ve been unhappy if you hadn’t been here when Her Highness wakes.”

  I stilled, unable to bear the pain of the sudden hope and crushing certainty of grief.

  “That’s not funny, Ambrose,” Sondra growled, grasping her walking stick.

  “I don’t mean to be,” he replied in all seriousness. “If we can get Her Highness back to Calanthe’s waters in time, I can bring Her back.”

  “You told me there’s no bringing back the dead,” I grated out.

  “Why, Conrí! You were listening. Honestly I can never be sure.” Ambrose beamed at me, then tipped his staff in my direction. “However, your listening skills could use improvement. I said that with people who’ve been dead a long time, it almost never works out well. That’s not at all what we’re dealing with here. Her Highness hasn’t been dead for a full cycle of Sawehl’s journey around Ejarat, and our beloved queen isn’t fully human, as you well know.”

  Sondra and I exchanged a long look, her face showing the same contorted longing I felt. When you’ve resigned yourself to the worst, hoping for anything else can be agonizing.

  “Are you saying she’s not actually dead?” I asked carefully.

  “The concept of death is another of those lines we draw that we pretend is a finite threshold, but is truly more of a spectrum. There’s a fascinating treatise on the topic that…” Ambrose trailed off, smile dimming at whatever he saw in my face. “Something to discuss another time. I believe the answer you’re looking for is, yes, Her Highness is dead, but She’s not so far along that we can’t pull Her back. Speaking of, you did get Her hand, didn’t you?”

  I glanced at Sondra.

  “Yes, Conrí insisted.” With an odd expression, she dug in her bag and pulled out the wrapped hand we’d taken from the wizards’ laboratory.

  “Excellent.” Ambrose beamed at us. “Everything is falling into place.”

  “Are you going to reattach Her hand, and finger?” Sondra inquired blandly, making me grateful she’d asked the question I couldn’t. I still didn’t know how to think or feel. It was all I could do to sit there and not fall apart.

  “Good Ejarat, no! Conrí will need them.”

  I stared at him, unable to muster any kind of reply.

  Ambrose shook his head for my denseness. “At least you remembered what I told you. Claim the hand that wears the Abiding Ring.” He pointed at the wrapped, gruesome package. “And so you did.”

  “That severed hand wore the Abiding Ring,” I said, my voice sounding as dangerous as I felt. Caged wolf.

  “Really—you’re going to parse verb tenses again, and now with a prophecy. Humans. So nitpicky about past and future. Someday I’ll learn.”

  “Then, we wait,” Sondra finally said, when no one else spoke.

  “Waiting and sailing, yes,” Am
brose agreed.

  “Where is Merle?” Sondra asked, looking around. That’s right, I hadn’t seen him at all.

  “Oh, he’s busy.”

  “Busy doing what?” Sondra frowned.

  “Making sure there’s a Calanthe for us to return to. Let’s hope he’s successful. We thought about having him come after you all, and me stay behind, but the whole lack of thumbs and human speech becomes a problem. You understand.”

  Sondra and I exchanged a look. “No,” she said. “We don’t.”

  “Ah, well. And now I must concentrate.” He wandered off.

  I sat there on the deck and rested without sleeping, half listening to Ibolya’s wordless song. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept for more than a short nap, and the lack of sleep gave everything a surreal quality. The glittering yacht, the scent of sea spray, the cloudless blue sky with a hint of oily smoke coiling in the distance from the burning citadel, Lia’s dead body that maybe wasn’t entirely dead lying in state while Ibolya tenderly cared for her. Vesno held vigil with me, the faithful companion Lia had promised he’d be.

  Steadying my hand, I stroked Vesno’s silky head. The wolfhound flicked his brown eyes to me, then once again trained them on Lia.

  It might all be a dream, like those nightmares of my father’s death, and I’d wake from the fragments of believing Lia lived and have to face that crashing awareness that I’d lost her all over again. Sondra went to bathe and came back in her favorite fighting gear that we’d brought along for her. She sat with me awhile, tried to get me to eat, then left again. Ibolya finished cleaning up the blood and other marks of the torture Lia had endured, as best she could, and she sat nearby, holding vigil also.

  Kara came by, and reported on progress. He laid a dark hand on Lia’s forehead and murmured some prayer I didn’t know, before departing as quietly as he’d arrived.

  And we sailed on.

  I might’ve slept, because Vesno’s stirring startled me. He lifted his head abruptly, then let out a long howl, reminiscent of wolves at night, calling to one another under the moon. Ambrose appeared as if from nowhere—for all I knew, he had—wearing his robes as court wizard of Calanthe. He smiled at me, eyes alight. “Calanthe.”

  Coming fully alert, I looked to Lia. She seemed the same. If anything, her skin had sunk more over her fine bones, her closed eyes dark pits in her delicate skull. Ibolya watched her queen, tremulous hope in her eyes. She hadn’t said anything to us, but I felt sure she’d heard every word.

  Ambrose slowly spun his staff, the lowering sun catching the faceted emerald atop it, shards of brilliant green flashing. I recalled how I’d described the color of Lia’s one eye as like that. “Call her,” Ambrose murmured.

  “What?”

  “Call her. Give her a kiss. She needs something to follow back to this body.”

  Aware that the others had gathered round, I knelt up. Vesno moved with me, laying his chin on Lia’s lap, eyes still fixed on her face.

  “Lia, my love,” I said, stroking my hand over her scalp, the soft, crisped and wilted growth there tickling my fingers. “Come back, Lia.” Bending over her, I pressed a kiss to her lips. Not cold, not in this heat, but not warm, either. And waxy, lifeless. A shudder ran through me, not of horror, but the final shattering of hope. I shouldn’t have allowed that seedling to take root. This final loss would break me and I’d collapse, without even touching Anure.

  I might as well have stayed in the mines.

  Sondra put a hand on my shoulder, then Kara, too, on my other side. Ibolya hummed her song. The emerald shards caught the lowering light, dancing in a circle and bouncing against the blue sea.

  “Lia. I love you. Come back, please. Calanthe needs you. I need you.” I kissed her again, remembering how she’d felt in life, so vivid and shining, her mischievous humor and simmering passion. The way she smelled of green life, her courage and determination. And flowers, how she felt and smelled of the lushest blossom.

  Her lips moved under mine, breath flowing cool as dark earth. I lifted my head, half in terror, half in wonder. And she opened her eyes. One blue, one green.

  24

  “Are you dead, too?” I asked Con, surprised to see him smiling at me. Maybe he was laughing at my final joke, that I’d put him first in my last thoughts. But no, his golden eyes filled with tears, his face crumpling in an agony of feeling, and he dropped his head to my breast, his dark hair spilling against my skin.

  I wanted to lift a hand to comfort him, but only my fingers wiggled. Calanthe’s vitality thrummed through me, though, prickling my tissues with pins and needles, as if I’d been lying still far too long. I wanted to stretch but couldn’t.

  My gaze went to Sondra, her blue eyes also full of emotion. “I see nothing has changed,” I commented, my voice as creaky as hers ever was.

  “Quite the opposite, Your Highness,” she replied, bowing deeply. “I think You’ll discover this third awakening finds us in vastly improved circumstances.”

  “Except for your hair,” I noted with compassion. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not.” Her rough voice wobbled. “A small thing.”

  “How do you feel, Your Highness?” Ambrose’s gaze was as deep and old as an ancient forest, and I recognized his magic winding in my bones and blood, blending with Calanthe’s. Someone else’s magic there, too. Something wilder, fierce, and feathered.

  I let the mystery go for the moment. “Stiff. Sluggish.” I finally managed to move my arm, and Con lifted his head, sitting back on his heels and wiping his face on his sleeve. The orchid on my wrist rustled, unfurling its petals, color leaching into it. Below that, the stump of my arm itched as if fire ants had gotten under the bandage. “Itchy.”

  “Welcome back to the world of the living, Your Highness,” Kara said, giving me a salute and a rare smile. “You were greatly missed.”

  “Very much, Your Highness,” Agatha added.

  I nodded, surprised to see her there, too. And Ibolya, who bowed her head to me. The terrible itching of my stump distracted me from asking her about it.

  “Don’t scratch, Lia,” Sondra scolded gently. “You have to let it heal.”

  Con looked from her to me, clearly bemused. I managed to lift my good hand, reaching over to stroke his cheek. He was as unkempt as I’d ever seen him, beard wild and hair hanging in ropes, dark circles under his golden eyes. He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. “How’s My wolf?”

  He smiled a little, pressing a kiss to my hand, then covering it with his big one. “Rough. Better now.”

  “And Calanthe?”

  A hoarse laugh coughed out of him, and his smile widened. “Did you just ask about me before Calanthe?”

  “Yes,” I replied gravely. “I did. Somewhere in all that happened—” A shudder racked me and he squeezed my hand. “You were what mattered most in the end.”

  “Lia, I let you down. I’m sorrier than you can know. I shouldn’t have—”

  “Shh.” I moved my fingers over his lips. They were cracked and peeling. “When I get my strength back, we can have a huge fight about it.”

  He closed his eyes and nodded. “Fair enough.”

  “In the meanwhile…” I let go of him and picked at the bandages on my wrist. “This is making Me insane with the itching.”

  “Lia!” Sondra started forward. “Leave it—”

  “Allow me, Your Highness,” Ibolya said, gently inserting herself. As deftly as she’d tended me all those times, she unwound the bandage, soaking the dried blood away as she worked.

  When she pulled the last of the bandage from the stump of my arm, we all stared at the skin there, pink and smooth, tendrils of the orchid wound around it. And the tender twigs of new fingers, green with blushing petal tips, growing out of it. I wiggled them, and they curled and uncurled again.

  Con turned his molten gaze on me, the dimple in his cheek appearing like the first star of evening. “I guess I get to keep the one I found, huh?”

 
“And the empire falls,” Ambrose said with good cheer.

  “Still?” Con nearly growled the question.

  Ambrose rolled his eyes. “You’re not giving up now? Not with all we’ve overcome. You’ve completed some of the prophecy. We must finish.” His gaze unfocused. “Besides, Anure’s wizards came much closer to succeeding than I care to contemplate. Knowing them, those four will only try harder now.”

  “You know them?” I demanded, unable to suppress a shudder at the memory of my torturers.

  “There aren’t so many wizards in the world,” Ambrose replied, as if stating the obvious. He heaved a sigh of exasperation at us. “And I didn’t spring full-grown from Sawehl’s forehead, staff in hand. I had to study somewhere.”

  Con made a sound deep in his throat, and Sondra scrubbed a hand over her face. “I don’t understand.”

  “No.” Con made a face. “None of us do, but we’ll work on that. To answer your question, Lia, Calanthe was all right when we left. I’ll give you a full report on the damages and casualties at Cradysica.”

  I raised a brow at Ambrose, that side of my face still swollen and aching. It would be nice if that healed, too. Though I supposed coming back from the dead and regrowing a hand should be enough. “Any aftereffects?”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” the wizard allowed. “Merle and I did what we could, but we made a bit of a hash of it.”

  “What?” Con snarled at him. “What are you talking about?”

  I closed my eyes, feeling the vibrant response of Calanthe. Oh yes, She was awake, all right. Restless and angry. And Merle … “The raven is holding Her?” I asked.

  “He was. He says he’s losing his grip.”

  “I specifically told you that if it came to choosing Me or Calanthe, to choose Her.”

  “Yes. Well.” Ambrose actually looked chagrined. “I thought we had Her settled, but then She started breaking free when She felt You die. We decided I’d better get You after all.”

  Con made an incoherent sound, raking a hand through his hair and gripping it. “Would one of you explain?”

  “Blood shed in violence,” I said. “I warned you that it could be received by Calanthe as a blood sacrifice.”