I spluttered a little, struggling for a cohesive thought. “You don’t understand—you don’t understand what replacing the Seventh King will mean to my folk. I didn’t come all this way so you could . . .”
“Gemma,” she said. “You asked me to help you. I am trying to help you, in the best way I know how. I may not understand the religious nuances of your country, but I understand power. My childhood was spent learning how to preserve and present authority. I have struck down forces both inside and outside my country that would have taken it from me—that did take it from me. A country is only ever as stable as its government. You want to understand how I took the lake back from you with no standing army? It was because folk knew to follow me. And we can make the same thing happen for you.”
“You make the assumption that I’m the right person they should be following,” I said, astonished that she could present such hubris as common sense. “That we’re both the right people to follow.”
“Nobody is the right person to rule,” she said coldly. “I am no exception. The question is whether one wrong causes more harm than another. Having your husband and your Prelate in power makes you enemies to the rest of the world. Is that good for your folk? Removing them from the throne with no successor creates a vacuum, which breeds civil war. Is that good for your folk?”
“What’s good is a monarchy they believe in,” I said.
Rou cleared his throat. “If I may—and I realize I’m no king, but I do think I know about people, particularly those under bad leadership—Gemma, who’s to say they don’t believe in you? You’ve sat alongside Celeno for most of his reign. Folk are used to seeing you in a position of power, even if it’s been overshadowed by the demands of the Prophecy. Even the Assembly, I imagine, would be quicker to recognize you over a stranger to the throne—known versus unknown.”
“They wouldn’t prefer we do away with the monarchy altogether?” I asked, a little vindictive at how gentle and reasonable he managed to sound. “Establish an elected government, like yours?”
“I won’t pretend I don’t find this all a bit cutthroat,” he admitted. “Even the slander and muckraking of the campaign trail seems a good deal more genteel than forcing a country to accept a monarch’s authority. But I’m trying to be realistic—Cyprien didn’t transition from a monarchy to an Assembly. It’s how we’ve always been. There’s no telling what turning Alcoro into an elected government would take, or cost.” He shrugged. “If we assume Alcoro’s monarchy isn’t going anywhere, and if the Prophecy’s taking turns people don’t expect, it’s my opinion that your folk would be relieved to have a familiar face to lead them.”
I didn’t quite miss the warm look Mona gave him—she was too new to the sensation of being in love to fully mask a surge of affection. She turned expectantly back to me, probably waiting for me to sigh and sniffle and concede that they were both right—this really was the only way forward.
I did sniffle, but I didn’t sigh. I fished for the handkerchief Rou had given me earlier and pressed it to my eyes. This was not at all how I’d hoped things might go. All the countless times I had pictured myself actively rebuilding Alcoro, it had always been bent over a sheet of parchment, pouring out dreams of a university, with visions of Celeno healthy and whole beside me and a nation reveling in the fulfillment of its beliefs. Not a solitary reign propped on the throne by a foreign power, with Celeno in a place I could never reach and my country in fractious shambles.
I had a glimpse of our monarchy gone from being pulled and pushed by the Prelacy to one in debt to its foreign neighbors, each with their own string of grievances against Alcoro. I would be able to do nothing without the blessing of Lumen Lake, and the Silverwood, and Cyprien, and Winder and Paroa. Would they allow an Alcoran university, or would that expense be too extravagant to undertake? Like everything else, I’d banked on the power of Celeno’s title to ultimately make it a reality. Now, with only myself behind it and the country leashed to our neighbors . . .
Suddenly I didn’t want to be in the room with either of them any longer. I lowered Rou’s handkerchief and set my lukewarm tea on the table.
“I’m going back to bed,” I said.
Disappointment flashed briefly across Mona’s face, manifested as a tight purse of her lips. Rou, as always, was more transparent, his face etched with sympathy that was frustratingly genuine. I wondered if I’d ever reach a point in my life when people wouldn’t pity me.
“I’m sorry, Gemma,” he said.
“Me, too,” I said, rising from the settee. They both rose with me. I busied myself with folding Rou’s handkerchief.
“I’ll wash this before I give it back,” I said.
“Keep it,” he said kindly. “Mona embroiders them like they’re currency—I’m having to use them for napkins.”
His humor rolled off me, only roiling my stomach further. The fish and onions from earlier squirmed a little. I slid his handkerchief in my pocket.
“I’ll have them bring you breakfast in the morning,” Mona said. “But ask if you need anything before that.”
I murmured my thanks and went to the door, closing it with a snap behind me. I leaned against it briefly, overwhelmed by the ramifications of my choices stacking up on top of one another. In trying to find a solution, I’d made a mess. How could I make things right?
The Prophecy. Like before, the Prophecy was still the answer.
And now that I had gotten us here, the place I’d thought would be a safe haven for us, a place to think without the Prelate or the council or a crowd of dissenters—now I needed to speak to Colm.
Because I was only just now beginning to realize what I’d set in motion.
I’d hoped bringing Celeno here might mean the end of the war.
Now I realized it could mean the end of Alcoro.
The following morning, after I’d eaten breakfast, I tiptoed in and out of Celeno’s room—he was asleep again, but a half-finished food tray on his bedside table told me he’d at least eaten a little the evening before. Back in my room, I dressed in a new Lumeni blouse and skirt, scooped up a woolen shawl to hold off the chill in the palace, and left to seek out the library.
I stopped a servant to get directions, and though his answer was terse, it sounded straightforward enough—Blackshell didn’t seem to be a terribly large place. But I soon found that what it lacked in expanse it made up for in twists and turns. I rounded unexpected corners and wound up tight staircases, brushing my fingers on mother-of-pearl tiles and thick tapestries embroidered with swimming creatures, their pearl eyes glinting in the dim light. Between admiring the artistry and forgetting how many turns I had made, I soon found myself completely turned around. Hoping I was heading for the main wing of the palace, where I could reorient myself, I came instead to a short hall of portraits, with a view of the lake that told me I was nowhere close to where I wanted to be.
I stopped, trying to decide whether to continue on or backtrack, staring vaguely at the closest portrait. After a moment, my gaze focused, and I realized it was a royal portrait of a long-ago king and queen. I studied the painting style—narrow-eyed and small-mouthed, with tiny hands clutching bundles of rushes. Despite the old-fashioned technique, I recognized the dark golden hair the Alastaire siblings still shared today. I looked past it to the next painting. The style was much the same, but this king now had freckles, and the baby he held had round blue eyes. I was studying the third portrait, where I thought I detected the forerunner to Mona’s crisp chin-tilt, when a figure turned the nearest corner, absorbed in a document. We both looked up and started a little—it was Valien. I hadn’t heard his soft footsteps at all.
“Queen Gemma,” he greeted. “How are you?”
“Lost,” I said honestly.
“Ah.” He nodded in understanding. “Me as well. I believe I’ve once again taken the long way to the Blackshell armory.”
I smiled—he may have been joking to make me feel better, but I was grateful for it all the same. “I
was hoping for the library.”
“I believe it’s one wing over,” he said. “Along with the staircase I’m looking for. Shall we do some wayfinding together?”
“Gladly.” I fell into step next to him. We passed the next portrait, and I craned my head to observe the subjects—all six family members bore a remarkable array of freckles.
“We’ve got a hall like this,” Valien said. “Though I tend to avoid passing through it—it always reminds me I should comb my hair.” He flattened his thick black bangs over the silver circlet across his brow. “The common trait in my family seems to be egregious hair.” He gestured to the nearest painting, where the style was becoming a little looser and more colorful. “Though we have a ring that goes from portrait to portrait, too.”
I had noticed the seal ring, made of mother-of-pearl and carved with rushes, traveling through each image, along with Mona’s pearl necklace. I also noticed the ring he mentioned on his knuckle, a thick green stone set into wrought silver.
“Ours is a six-pointed star,” I said, nodding to his hand. “What’s yours?”
He held it out, the carved symbol winking. “A firefly. One of your little—what’s the phrasing—creatures of light?”
“Yes, that’s—oh!” The exclamation burst out of me, completely inappropriate for a seal ring. I pressed my fingers to my lips. “I’m sorry, I just . . . is your hand all right?”
“What? Oh.” He turned his palm over, revealing a thick mess of old scar tissue that spiderwebbed between his fingers. “It’s fine. Childhood injury. It hardly bothers me anymore, though Ellamae likes to remind me it makes me shoot cockeyed.”
I gave a nervous laugh, embarrassed that I’d obligated him to show me. I instinctively twitched down the hem of my left sleeve.
If he was bothered, he didn’t show it. He dropped his hand back to his side as we approached the final portrait and said, “Ah, the baby Alastaires. Mona still looks like she could take the throne at age six, doesn’t she?”
I stopped in my tracks to examine the last portrait. The painting style had taken on a more realistic look, rather than the stiff, stylized portraits from previous generations. Arlen was only a baby in the queen’s arms, and the king looked stooped and pale. But Mona and Colm stood in front, holding bulrushes in their fists and clasping each other’s free hand. There were rushes on Mona’s skirt, too, and set into the seal rings both she and Colm wore on their fingers, far too large for their little hands. I gazed at their solemn expressions—even in childhood, Mona’s chin had a firm tilt to it, and Colm’s had a tuck.
“She does look ready to rule the country,” I agreed.
“I think my portrait at that age looked more like I wanted to bolt,” he said, opening the door to the next hall and holding it for me. I moved past him and found myself on the landing of a stairwell. Outside, the sky above the lake was charcoal, the water foaming in little whitecaps as wind gusted across the surface. Snow was coming.
Valien pointed up the corridor leading perpendicular off the landing. “I believe that’s the way to the library. And I believe this is my route to the armory.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate the wayfinding.”
“If no one’s seen you by lunchtime, I’ll have them send out a search party,” he said, descending the first few stairs. He looked back up at me, the gray light from the window glinting off the circlet under his hair. “And . . . Gemma, if you need anything, let one of us know.”
I couldn’t decide how to tell him that just having a normal conversation about seal rings and portraits was something I hadn’t realized I’d needed.
“Thank you,” I called again as he padded down the stairs, his soft-soled boots making almost no noise.
I turned up the adjoining corridor and came almost immediately to a set of double doors, open to reveal a wall of bookshelves. I blew out a breath of relief and crossed the threshold. The library was small and dark—and empty. There were four long tables, all of which were polished and unused except for the end of one, which bore a neat array of clutter—stacks of books aligned by title, sheaves of parchment organized into rows, spare quills and blotters at the ready. I glanced at the neat, cramped handwriting on the top page. Celeno’s natural writing was a scrawl that became more slanted as he got excited, but years of penmanship had corralled it into a formal, if uneven, hand. In contrast, Colm’s was unflourished and measured, with a sweep to his s’s that made them extend below the other letters with his g’s and p’s.
He was piecing together an account of an early Lumeni queen, it looked like—a fabled heroine who had united two warring islands and was gifted a crown that was supposed to outshine the stars. I admired his organization, cobbling together the account from several different sources—a history text, a lengthy ballad, a book of folk songs, a smattering of nigh-unreadable journals, and fanciful woodcuts of the alleged crown. I thought back to the white statue I’d seen at the end of the lakeside terrace—perhaps this was the queen depicted there.
I smiled appreciatively at his neat work, but it wasn’t what I had come for. Slightly nettled at the time I’d wasted seeking this place out with nothing to show for it, I set the papers down and headed back to the library door. The sky was only getting darker through the thick glass windows, the first flurries of snow beginning to swirl, but I had one more lead to follow. I went down the staircase Valien had taken to get to the armory, realized it was the wrong one, backtracked, and somehow ended up in one of the squat turrets. Confused once more by Blackshell’s layout, I tilted my face against the glass, trying to orient myself. I was almost directly above the great terrace three stories below, and if I craned my gaze to the right, I could see the toothy masts of the shipyard poking up past the palace wall. I went back down the staircase, hoping I would find a door leading out to the terrace.
What I found instead were Ellamae and Mona.
We collided around one of the tight corners, and Ellamae lashed out and grabbed my wrist before I could reel backwards.
“Ho!” she said. “Sometimes I let out a warning when I’m coming to a corner—Blackshell’s twistier than a rabbit-packed warren.”
“It’s an old palace,” Mona said a little defensively. “And at least it’s not as drafty as Lampyrinae.”
“At least I can find my way around Lampyrinae without a compass bearing,” Ellamae said.
Mona rearranged the large pearl pendant around her neck, the one I’d seen in all the portraits. “Unless you’re being chased by your own Guard.”
Ellamae dropped my wrist. “Ex-cuse you. We made it to the damn Firefall.”
I looked from one to the other, afraid I’d triggered some long-held animosity between them. But their postures were easy, with sparks of smiles in their eyes if not their lips. I shook myself, trying to fathom the friendship between these two outrageously different queens. I cast around for a way to reorient the conversation.
“I was trying to go out to the shipyard,” I said. “Is the terrace the best way to go?”
Ellamae shivered. “Ugh, don’t go wandering around the village right now—there’s a howling good storm blowing in.”
Mona’s gaze jumped out the windows, her eyes not on the sky, but on the end of the terrace where the paving stones met the water. “And . . .” she began, sounding almost furtive. “The entrance hall would be better than the terrace. It’ll put you on the main track.”
Curiously, I followed her sudden glance, but I saw nothing at the end of the terrace besides the white statue and a few boats out in the water.
I nodded to the statue. “What figure is that?” I asked. “Is she from legend?”
She cut her gaze back to me. “Who? Why?”
I shrugged slightly, confused by her unease. “Sometimes there are similarities in the legends among countries. It would be interesting to see if we have a similar figure in our starlore.”
She cleared her throat, and I noticed Ellamae, too, looked slightly uncomfortable.
“It’s a purely Lumeni heroine,” Ellamae said. “No question.”
“I just wondered, because we have a princess with a crown of stars . . .”
“Her name’s Ama, and she saved Lumen Lake,” Mona said stiffly. “Come, let’s get out of this hallway—it’s too chilly for my liking. And I need to get your measurements, anyway.”
Still a little puzzled by the odd timbre of the conversation, I followed her ushering to the next corner.
“My clothes don’t need to be tailored,” I said as we moved down the corridor. “They fit fine as they are.”
“I have a gown I think will suit you well,” she said. “It’s too light for me—I look like a block of ice wearing it—but it should complement your complexion nicely.”
“First rule of Lumeni politics,” Ellamae said seriously, “is that wearing the wrong color will doom diplomacy before it begins.”
Mona tutted impatiently. “Some of us take pleasure in such things. I notice you’re wearing brown again.”
“I brought this tunic just for you,” Ellamae said, smoothing the short skirt over her breeches, a slightly different shade of brown than her top. Mona pursed her lips in annoyance.
“I appreciate your generosity,” I said, “but do I need a gown?”
Ellamae gasped and clutched her chest in mock arrest, but Mona ignored her. “Normally on the solstice, after watching the Beacon light, we have a feast and a choral celebration in the music hall. Circumstances being what they were yesterday, I postponed it all to tonight. Do you think you’ll feel up to it?”
“Oh,” I said, flushing slightly at the thought of her rearranging the palace’s celebrations around our arrival. “Yes, I would be honored.”
She coughed slightly, and I could tell she was trying to decide how best to make her next statement. I hurried to do it for her. “Celeno, though, would probably rather stay in bed.”
She relaxed. “All right. Well. I think the gown will look well on you. And if you’ll accompany me to the tailor’s studio, she can be sure it fits for tonight.”
Creatures of Light, Book 3 Page 22
