House of Rage and Sorrow

by Sangu Mandanna

Titania shrieks in my ear, and out of the corner of my eye, I see her swoop toward me. Her right wing hits me as she dives under me, ripping into my arm, and I land on her back. The impact of hard, cold metal knocks all the breath out of me. I reach for a grip, but my wounded arm is weak, and I miss.

  I tumble off her wing and fall several feet, crashing into the red roof tiles of one of the tall, spiky towers of the city. I blink up into the sky, at the stars beyond the sun lamps, and then the sky goes dark.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I wake up to the steady, aggravating beep beep of a monitor echoing my heartbeat. I’m in my own bed, in the palace, and there’s a small bird made of feathers and twine on my bedside table that sends a sharp needle of pain into my heart. He’s gone.

  The wound on my arm has been lasered closed, but my entire body aches. I was six years old when Amba gave me the blueflower, so I barely remember life before it, and the past few months have been a harsh education. I’m still not used to how painful and slow the natural healing process is.

  As I ease myself painfully out of bed, the door clatters open and Sybilla comes in. She’s very pale, but as ever, her jaw is set and her eyes flash wrathfully. “Oh good, you’re awake,” she says, and then, unexpectedly, gives me a hug. Her fierce, almost painful grip says what she can’t make herself say.

  “I tried to stop them,” I say raggedly.

  “I know.” She takes a step back and scowls. “And you shouldn’t have, because I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost both of you. But we don’t have time to fight about that. You’ve been out cold for hours and things are not good. The King has sent spies and soldiers into all three cities to hunt down every last Blue Knight who may still be here. I don’t think he cares if they’re killed.”

  “Even if they weren’t actually involved in what happened here today?” I ask. “They can’t all have turned against us.”

  “I know that, you know that, and he probably knows that, too, but he won’t listen to anyone. Not Guinne, not the old queen, not even Rickard. I don’t need to tell you he’s been one disaster away from something like this for months.”

  Elvar has his flaws, but he’s been a generous, reasonable, and kind king to the people of Kali for the years of his rule. I’ve seen the sincere warmth in his face when he asks the servants how their families are. I’ve watched him on the rare occasions he leaves the palace, the way the people seem pleased to see him. I’ve seen the treasury accounts and the increased funding for schools, healthcare, and state benefits. He loves his people.

  Except there’s a point where love can’t quite overpower fear. Sybilla’s right, of course: this was the last straw. He’s been afraid for years. He had his fears stoked and fed by Lord Selwyn, who thankfully isn’t here anymore, and he’s been constantly looking over his shoulder since he took the throne and exiled my family. He has lost allies, has lost Lord Selwyn, was almost murdered at his own dinner table just a few months ago, and now this. His son, his crutch, taken from him.

  “We need to get Max back first,” I swallow. “We don’t have a lot of time. They could kill him. And if we can get him back, Elvar should be able to settle.”

  “The war council is about to meet to decide what to do about Max,” Sybilla says. “Shall we?”

  With my body protesting every movement, I get dressed in my war gear and follow Sybilla to the parlor we’ve turned into a war room, where she says the others are.

  I push the door open and go completely still. Because there, seated with the rest of the war council, is Lord Selwyn.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “What the hell—”

  I can’t even finish. Anger and disbelief make my whole body vibrate, and it’s all I can do not to leap at his throat and tear it out. Lord Selwyn. Lord Selwyn. The man who tried to kill me, who tried to kill my brothers, the snake in Elvar’s ear, the devil I banished. And now he’s back.

  “We don’t have time for this, Esmae,” Elvar says, his voice too fast, too sharp, and overly aggressive to hide his anxiety. “I know you and Selwyn have never seen eye to eye, but you need to put that aside right now. With Max taken from us, Selwyn has very kindly come out of retirement to help us.”

  “He is my nephew,” Lord Selwyn says to me. “I care as much as anyone in this room about his safety. If I can help get him back, I will.”

  His tone is scrupulously polite and there’s no sign of that sneer I remember so well, but I don’t believe he’s miraculously returned a new man. I’m sure he does care about Max, but I also have no doubt he seized this opportunity as soon as he found out what had happened. He thinks he’s safe, that he’s found a way back. He thinks I won’t tell them what he tried to do to me. He thinks I want Max back too much to waste time on him.

  And he’s right. For now.

  So, I sit in an empty seat and wait. The whole war council is here, and Guinne, as well. Her face is paler than usual, her knuckles white as bone.

  “The question,” Rickard says, in his deep, calm voice, “is why they took Max.”

  “My nephews blame him for exiling them,” Elvar says, “and they’ve finally found a way to punish him.”

  “I’m not convinced,” says Rickard. “Kirrin is too old and clever to kidnap a crown prince for petty vengeance. And Alexi is no fool either. They would not have constructed a plan like this, which would have required an enormous amount of work, just to get back at Max for his betrayal of them.”

  Elvar throws his hands up in the air. “Then what? You think they took him because they have something even worse in mind?”

  “I would ask Alexi myself,” Rickard says mildly, “but I severed ties with him after the duel. I’m afraid we can only speculate.”

  I grip the arms of my chair. I try to shut out the voices in the room, the scream inside my head, the desperate desire to be able to look to my side and see Max there as usual. I need to think. Why did they take him? If I can work out why they took him, what they want, I can work out how to get him back.

  There’s a part of me that just wants to fly Titania to Arcadia and rain thunder and fire down on his false city’s shields until they fall apart, and then do the same to my brother until he falls apart, too, but I can’t do that. I don’t want to do that, not really. My rage is colder and more bitter than that.

  They want you to come after me, Max said before they took him. So don’t. Don’t play their game.

  Was he right? Did they take Max just to lure me into a trap?

  No. That makes no sense. I was in that tower with Max, frozen in place and helpless. Easy prey if they wanted it. The Blue Knights had every chance to kill me, or to take me with them, but they didn’t. That’s a separate puzzle in itself, because no matter what they want with Max, why didn’t my brother use the opportunity to get rid of the threat relentlessly pursuing him? I don’t know the answer to that, but the fact that I’m still alive means this can’t be about using Max to get to me.

  So why, then? What do they want from him?

  “What about Princess Esmae?”

  That voice wrenches me back to reality, and I glare at Lord Selwyn. “What about Princess Esmae?”

  “It’s no secret that my nephew cares very much for you,” Lord Selwyn replies. “You do realize that the Lotus Festival was broadcast to the rest of the star system, do you not? For all we know, your brothers watched the two of you dance. Perhaps they realized that the best way to get Max to reveal all our secrets would be to threaten you.”

  I stare at him, too shocked to even glare. Is that possible?

  “This was planned weeks before the Lotus Festival,” Rickard objects. “A dance had nothing to do with it.”

  That much is true, but there’s something here. I remember the way the Blue Knight held the sword to my throat, utterly confident that it would make Max cooperate. Another unwelcome memory tickles the back of my mind. The yellow woods of Arcadia, my brothers and I by the hot spring, the water sloshing over my toes as I told them all the l
ittle bits and pieces of information I’d learned on Kali. The war council, Elvar’s plans, numbers and allies, the names of spies. Most of that information is useless now because I made sure we switched names and spies and plans after Rama died, but I also told them about Max. I told them a lot about Max. I told them about his strategies, his intelligence, his ruthlessness, his compassion, his influence. I told them he was the crutch his father leaned on without realizing it. I told them he was the one who held his father and Kali together.

  There was no better way to fracture Elvar, and his hold on Kali, than taking Max away.

  And on top of that, what if they can make him talk? He knows almost all there is to know about this war. What if they can make him tell them all about our new plans, our new spies, our latest shield codes, all of it? If they can use the threat of a sword at my throat, if they can hold him in a prison cell in their palace and remind him how easy it was for the Blue Knights to get to me last time, they may be able to persuade him to tell them everything.

  “He’ll choose Kali,” I say, out loud.

  Everyone looks at me. “What was that?” Elvar asks.

  “If Alex hoped to get Max to tell him all Kali’s secrets by threatening me, Lord Selwyn, it won’t work. Your theory may be correct, but it’s doomed to failure. Max will choose Kali.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Lord Selwyn asks.

  “Yes. I am. And if you knew your nephew at all, you would be, too.” I stand, wincing as the abrupt movement pulls on every one of my sore muscles. “Look, this is getting us nowhere. We don’t know how long they’ll keep Max alive.”

  “If he even is still alive,” says Lady Su Yen and then winces guiltily when Guinne lets out a muffled noise of distress.

  “He’s alive,” I say, because the alternative is unthinkable. “We need to get him back.”

  “How?” Rickard asks gently. “We don’t know if they took him to Arcadia. We don’t know how many armies Alexi has lined up to meet us if we go blazing in. We don’t know much of anything and that, I’m afraid, will doom us to failure and Max to death if we fail.”

  “So we do nothing?”

  “Of course not. We cannot and will not do nothing, but we need time and information.”

  Everyone is nodding, and the truth is, I should be, too. He’s right. Rickard is older than anyone knows. His skills in warfare are almost without equal, his knowledge unparalleled. He knows what he’s talking about, far better than I do after a mere few years as his student, and yet I can’t nod. I can’t agree to waiting, even if that makes the most sense. The girl who would have waited because it made more sense, because Rickard said so, died months ago.

  The girl I am today was born out of that duel, out of murder, hate, and grief, and she can’t, won’t, lose anyone else.

  I cut a look at Sybilla, and her grim expression tells me she knows exactly what I’m thinking and she’s thinking it, too. We can’t wait for information to trickle in. We have to find him.

  “What about Amba?” Elvar says suddenly, spinning on his heel to face me. “Can you not call on her for help, Esmae? We know she favors you.”

  The sound of her name makes my chest ache and it takes me a moment to realize I miss her. In spite of everything, I miss her.

  “She won’t interfere if it’ll cost her her godhood,” I say.

  “It’s not impossible. The god Valin made that sacrifice for Kali the last time we were at war.”

  “That’s not a good example,” I tell Elvar. “He was Amba’s brother. She doesn’t approve of his choice. It’s a moot point, anyway. You know she can’t leave Anga until the war is over. If she leaves, she risks Kirrin setting Sorsha loose. I don’t know about you, Uncle, but I, for one, would prefer not to lose Titania to that battle.”

  It’s not just that I need Titania at my side in this war. I worry about her, too. She can’t be destroyed, everyone knows that, but what if Sorsha can still hurt her in some way? She’s a great beast, a celestial creature of enormous power. She can devour stars. Who’s to say she can’t find a way to break Titania? And Titania, the warship who never wanted a war, deserves better than that. So no, I can’t risk throwing her into Sorsha’s jaws. Not if there’s another way.

  The war council goes their separate ways after that. I stay behind just for a moment and confront Lord Selwyn. “We had a deal.”

  “He’s my nephew. I couldn’t ignore my sister’s plea for help.” He gives me a cold, unfriendly look. “Whatever you think of me, Princess, you need to put it aside for the moment. Max is more important.”

  “You seem to have conveniently forgotten that this is not about how I feel about you. It’s about the fact that you tried to murder me.”

  “Allow me to clarify that the reason I tried to kill you was because you were working with your brother and may well have been the death of Elvar down the line. I don’t have to worry about that anymore. You and I are on the same side now. Perhaps you should consider that.”

  I laugh. “It doesn’t matter whose side I’m on. What matters is the only side you’re on, Lord Selwyn, is your own. Maybe Guinne’s, at a stretch. Rama’s murder and Max’s capture are not opportunities for you to exploit.”

  I walk away before he can reply and find Sybilla waiting for me in the hallway.

  “What now?” she asks.

  I take a deep, shaky breath. “Now we find another way to get him back.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  You would think, knowing full well that I had fallen out of the sky and crashed into a rooftop the previous day, that General Khay would go easy on me in training.

  No such luck.

  It starts badly. I’m with Sybilla, using Titania’s ability to access an almost infinite amount of data across the star system to try and pinpoint exactly where Max has been taken, when General Khay marches into my suite and demands to know why I haven’t turned up to train as usual. Short of literally fighting her, which is exactly what she wants me to do anyway, I have no choice but to follow her back down to the field, where Laika is waiting for us.

  So then I have to repeatedly evade an advancing lion and simultaneously fight off a talented general whose mechanized arm is only too ready to grab hold of me if I dare get too close. This is our fifth session, and I still lose more often than I win. Even years of training with Rickard couldn’t teach me how to fight like someone who knows she can be killed. I took my celestial armor for granted for most of my life, and I still catch myself expecting it to protect me. It’s a hard habit to break.

  An hour in, every bone in my body hurts, but General Khay is not ready to stop. She wants me to advance, get past her defenses and make a move that would kill her if this were a real battle. I try, and she knocks me away. I try again, and she dodges. The practiced ease with which she moves is truly beautiful in the full midday light of the sun lamps, but I’m in too much pain to appreciate it.

  “Again,” she says, calm but implacable, “Again.”

  “Ilara, she needs a break,” Laika protests, back in her human form, hands on her generous hips.

  “Alexi will not give her a break,” the general replies. “Did he give her a break during that duel? Did he hold back?”

  His name sends electricity down my spine, reanimating my bruised, tired body. I should use that surge to fight, but instead all I can think about is the duel. I think about that final, terrible moment when I realized Rama was about to die and realized, too, that I could do absolutely nothing to stop it.

  So I scream.

  Laika takes a startled step backward, but General Khay only lowers her sword and says, “Louder.”

  So I scream the scream inside my head, the one I hear all the time. I scream the cold, sharp sound of betrayal and grief. I scream the rage, always, always the rage. I scream monsters out of the dark and gargoyles to life. I scream my brother’s destruction, and my own, because I know, I’ve always known, that there will never be one without the other.

  I scream, and scream, u
ntil my voice scrapes and falters over the sounds. And still, even after it stops, it goes on inside.

  After a moment, General Khay says, “Do you feel better?”

  I shake my head.

  “No, I didn’t think so. That kind of pain doesn’t just dissipate into the sky. You scream because you have been betrayed by almost everyone you have trusted.”

  I close my eyes and see it all in the dark: the baby in the pod, the way the sun turned Rama’s eyes gold as he died, Amba saying he wasn’t important, Rickard’s curse. You stole knowledge you weren’t entitled to, so when you need it most, that knowledge will fail you. I see my inevitable end, the place where countless betrayals, curses, and my own devastating choices will come together at last.

  As I open my eyes, I hear myself say, “I never stop screaming.”

  “I know,” General Khay says gently, “and you never will, not until you can let them go. The brother who fears an equal, the mother who fears a curse, all of them. You are not ready to hear this, Esmae, but one day you will be and you will remember this then. You must learn to live your life without your mother and brother. You cannot live for love of them, and you cannot live for hatred of them either.”

  “We’re at war,” I remind her. “Even if I wanted it, I can’t be free of them.”

  “Yes, we’re at war. All the more reason to find your place in the world without them. If you want to win, you need to let them go.” She taps my left temple: “Keep them in here,” and then taps my heart: “Not in here. Expect no mercy from them, Esmae, and show them none in return. And never, ever turn your back on them.”

  When I return to the palace, I go to the Portrait Gallery, where rows of beautiful paintings line the honey-colored walls. Princesses, princes, kings, queens, consorts. An entire history of Reys since my ancestor Nalini Rey captained Kali’s base ship into the sky and became the new country’s first queen.

  There she is, the first painting as soon as you enter the Gallery. She has thick, wavy dark hair, brown skin dusted with gold, large brown eyes, and the ruler’s silver crown. Her gown is a deep, vibrant red, a color that has been worn in every painting since. A few catch my eye as I make my way down the Gallery, like my grandmother, Queen Vanya, who has a beautiful red scarf around her throat; or King Tarun, who ruled three hundred years ago, and who wears a red cravat; or Shiv, after whom Kali’s second city was named, who was genderfluid and chose to wear a red silk dress shirt in their portrait.