“You have some closure, at least,” I said.
Her mask fractured—I could practically see the fault lines as it splintered and fell away. I watched as she struggled to find something to say, but she didn’t get the chance. A voice called from up near the palace.
“Queen Mona! He’s here—we’ve found him.”
We all turned—Ellamae clutching Valien’s sleeve—to see a few soldiers waving from the very edge of the rubble. Dashing the back of her hand across her eyes, Mona hurried toward them. I followed, with Ellamae and Valien progressing slowly behind. We reached the group just as they heaved a timber beam to one side and hoisted a dust-covered Rou from the pile of bricks.
He coughed forcefully, sending a cloud of dust floating away. His eyes slit open, and he cocked his head as Mona crouched down next to him.
“Rou,” she said.
He closed his eyes and let his head rest back against the ruined palace wall. “Think I’ve figured this whole thing out.”
“Are you hurt?”
“So you’re the head, see,” he continued, tapping his dusty curls.
Mona looked between Ellamae and me, worry creasing her brow at his nonsensical statement. But he pressed on.
“You’re in charge of everything—you drive everything.” He fluttered a hand, his voice raspy. “Mae’s the hands. She gets things done. She acts.” He cracked open an eye to find me. “And you’re the heart, Gemma. Thump thump. Head and hands couldn’t operate without the heart.”
“Rou,” Mona said sternly. “Did you knock your head?”
He rolled his face to her. “Know what that makes me? An ass.” He let out a laugh that turned into a cough, masonry dust clouding into the air.
“Rou,” Ellamae said. “Celeno is dead.”
Rou swallowed his cough mid-gasp. Both his eyes snapped open and fixed on me, his levity instantly replaced by horror. After a moment of shocked silence, he struggled on the pile of bricks.
“Get me up—get me out of this damned hole.” He slid a bit on the rubble, clutching Mona’s sleeve.
“You’re not hurt?” Mona asked. “Not at all?”
“The beam made a pocket. Nothing actually hit me—I just couldn’t get out.” He struggled to his feet. “Oh, Light, Gemma—”
“Don’t,” I said. I leaned away from his outstretched hand, and he paused with it in the air. I stepped backward, slipping slightly on the broken rock. I looked to each one of them in turn. “Don’t do this right now—any of you. Don’t think I don’t understand what this means.” Their attention was riveted on me. I gestured at the lake. “Things are fixed now, aren’t they? Things are solved. You . . . all of you . . . it only makes your lives easier. It only brings you justice. Don’t lecture me,” I said, pointing at Ellamae, who had taken a preparatory inhale. I moved my finger to Mona. “Don’t dissertate at me. Whatever you have to say, I don’t want it.”
They were all silent, each staring at me with their own version of shock. It manifested in different ways—Ellamae’s brow was furrowed, Valien’s was raised. Rou’s dusty face was creased with distress. And Mona simply looked stunned.
The silence stretched out. No one seemed to know what to say. Finally, Ellamae shifted. “Then . . . what can we do for you, Gemma?”
I drew in a short breath. I hadn’t expected that question. “Gather everyone together—anyone who’s needed to make important decisions. The council. Arlen. Sorcha—I promised her she would be involved. I’ll bring one or two of my own folk. And . . .” I turned to Mona. “Get Colm.”
She took a little sip of air, and then gave a single nod. “It may take a little time to bring everyone together.”
“It’s fine,” I said, taking a few careful steps through the wall. “I’m going to need it.”
I wrung out the cloth, the fragrant steam rising from the washbowl. Carefully, I lifted the edge of the sheet that had replaced the cloak as a shroud and dabbed at the dried blood on Celeno’s cheek. I’d already washed his other side, getting his ear as clean as I could. By the time I was done, the water in the bowl had been pink and copper-sharp. I discarded it and filled it with fresh water and herbs.
I hadn’t been in the room when the guards brought Shaula through to witness his body. It had happened in the few minutes before I showed up, and by the time I arrived in the healing hall, she had been taken away to the prison. Part of me knew it was right for her to see him bloodied and disheveled, but I wished I’d had the chance to wash him before she’d come.
He wouldn’t have liked her seeing him this way.
I moved carefully, trying not to bump his jaw, which was still covered with the sheet. Lieutenant Itzpin was at the end of the bed, slowly easing the tall boots off his feet.
I laved his exposed forehead. “You seem to have something to say, Lieutenant.”
She gave a little start. Her eyes darted to our four guards, who made a perimeter about ten paces away, facing outward at full ceremonial attention, swords drawn. They hadn’t moved a twitch since I’d come in to the healing hall.
“It’s just . . . I don’t understand,” she said quietly. “How could this have happened?”
“A poorly planned attempt at a siege, without proper consideration to conventions of wartime,” I said.
She flushed as she eased off his other boot. “No, I mean . . . the Prophecy of the Prism. How could this have happened before it was fulfilled?”
“How do you think it happened?”
She bit her lip. “It . . . could mean . . . that the Prophecy was wrong?”
“That’s one explanation,” I said calmly, dampening Celeno’s curls with the wet cloth and threading them through my fingers. “Can you think of another?”
She set down his boots. She studied the tips, reaching out a finger to brush at the coating of dust. Searching in the lining pocket of her bolero, she drew out a handkerchief and began to clean off his boots.
“Maybe . . .” she said. “The Prophecy has been fulfilled, and we just don’t know how yet?”
“Another valid thought,” I said. “I can see how you rose to lieutenant so young. So, Lieutenant Itzpin of the Royal Alcoran Navy—which answer do you think it is?”
She moved to the buckles of the boots, polishing them without really seeing them. After a long silence, she looked up at me.
“I don’t know,” she said.
I looked down at Celeno’s half-covered face, as clean as I could get it. I brushed a few of his curls over his forehead.
“I don’t know, either,” I said.
The murmuring in Mona’s council room stopped when I walked in, dressed in a fresh skirt and blouse without bloodstains on it. The commodore followed over my shoulder, the closest approximation I had to a royal official. He wavered, not entirely without apprehension. Perhaps I should have brought the lieutenant.
Everyone had had the chance to clean up—Rou was no longer coated with dust, and Ellamae had a real splint on her leg, propped up on a second chair. Arlen sat white-faced next to Sorcha, who studied me with an eagle eye as I entered.
In fact, the only one not looking at me was Colm.
He sat at the end of the long table, his elbows on the wood and his fingers clasped in front of his lips. His eyes were closed. His brow was knotted upwards—not a look of anger, but of anguish. A Lumeni guard stood over his shoulder, a reminder that he was still under a prison sentence. At least his wrists weren’t cuffed.
He was still wearing my cloak.
Mona pushed her chair back and stood, which necessitated that everyone else stand, too. Chair legs scraped and jostled. Ellamae, of course, didn’t stand. Colm did with everyone else, but he kept his head bent down, bracing both hands on the table.
Strangely calm, I went to the empty seat in the middle of those gathered. The commodore followed, and everyone sat when I sat. Mona poured a cup of tea from the tray on the table, added cream and honey, and passed it to me. The steam curled toward my nose, herby and hot.
By the Light,
I wanted a cup of coffee.
“Well,” Mona began, less sure than I’d ever heard her before. “Councilors, allies, we’re gathered to discuss . . . the imminent future of our countries. But before we begin . . . let us observe a moment of silence for Celeno Tezozomoc, the seventh king of Alcoro, who was killed this morning in an incendiary attack.”
The slight ambient shuffling went absolutely still. Ellamae and Valien both leaned together and turned their hands over, their palms facing the ceiling. Rou closed his eyes, his knuckles against his lips. Mona folded her hands on the table in front of her.
I waited patiently for them to finish, observing the swirl in my teacup where the cream hadn’t fully mixed yet.
“May he be blessed in the Light,” Mona said. The others murmured back this common phrase. I lifted my teacup, letting it scald my lips. It was all a façade—Mona didn’t believe in the Light.
She cleared her throat. “Now . . . er, Queen Gemma, did you have . . . a particular subject you hoped to address first?”
I set my teacup down. “Yes, several. First, am I right in assuming I am still considered the reigning monarch of Alcoro by all those present, despite previous miscommunication?”
“Yes,” Mona said. Ellamae and Valien nodded together, along with Rou. I glanced at my commodore.
“Yes, my queen,” he said.
“Good. As such, I want each of you to understand that there have been at least two instances of invalid Alcoran documents forged with the king’s name. Any orders you have—any correspondence you may receive—” I turned from the commodore to the Lumeni councilors. “I need to verify its authenticity before it is acted upon.”
There was a murmur of agreement around the table.
“Next,” I continued. “I need messages sent to Lilou requesting representatives of the Assembly of Six join us here. We can’t fully begin talk of reparations without them. In the meantime, I’m going to need documents of damages suffered here in Lumen Lake and the related cost of reimbursement.”
They were all silent and staring—I wish they’d look at something else. Their hands, the wall, each other—instead, they were all riveted on me like I was a planet to be orbited.
“Finally,” I said. “Before official talk of reparations begins, I need to make you all aware of the action I have planned once I am back home in Alcoro, so you can take it into account.”
“What action is that?” asked Mona.
Colm’s eyes opened, and he turned them on me, creased.
“I’m going to found a university,” I said. “Like the one in Samna.”
There was a polite silence around the table. My commodore looked puzzled, as if trying to remember if he’d heard of this plan or not.
“I see,” Mona said. “Have you, er, detailed your plan at all?”
“I have a letter of collaboration from the Samnese board,” I said. “Giving suggestions for its foundation. Once I have the seed money in place, they’ve agreed to send a representative to assist with the implementation.”
“I hope you’re not asking us for seed money,” Sorcha said. Arlen’s face burned red, and Mona cleared her throat, most likely to reprimand her, but I shook my head.
“No,” I said. “I’m not asking anyone for money. I have the seed money—or, at least, I will once I recover the funds allocated to the governing of Cyprien. I’m not asking anyone here for anything. I’m going to found a university in Alcoro. Whether or not you take an interest in it is up to you.”
Ellamae shifted her splinted leg a bit. “And who are you planning to accept at your university?”
“Anyone,” I said. “Anyone throughout the Eastern World who wants to attend.”
“Do you . . .” Mona began. “I just mean . . . do you have teachers? I know you have scholars, but are there enough to teach in this type of setting?”
“I have three so far,” I said.
She thinned her lips, as if forcing patience.
“Myself,” I said. “And my mother. Natural sciences.”
“That’s two.”
“And Colm.”
She shifted her gaze down the table. He was watching me, as he had been, with a mixture of grief and hope. His eyes cut straight into me.
“Cultural history,” I said. His beard by the corner of his lips twitched.
One of Mona’s councilors fidgeted in his seat. “Colm Alastaire must still stand trial for treason, of which prison is the most typical sentence.”
I looked from the councilor back to Mona. “Even after everything—even now?”
“Nothing has changed,” she said softly.
It seemed like such a strange statement to make when things had so utterly, irrevocably changed.
Rou coughed slightly. “What if we focus on first things first, and draft the letter to the Assembly? Then I can go south first thing tomorrow, and we can sort out the rest after we’re all back together.”
“Yes,” Mona said with an air of relief. “I’ll send a contingent of our folk with you to escort the Alcoran ships back out to sea. Arlen can go with you.” She glanced at me, still edged with wary hesitation. “Er . . . was that all, Gemma?”
Was that all? Yes, that was all. A university, a war, a monarchy torn in half. Life, death, and every state of being in between.
“At the moment,” I said stiffly.
She nodded and waved her hand at the others seated around the table.
“Councilors, you may go—I’ll have a draft of the letter for you to review before the evening is out.”
As they all shuffled and stood, the Lumeni soldier leaned down and tapped Colm on the shoulder. Without a word, he stood, and I realized that he was going back across the grounds and into the cold little cell.
Mona cleared her throat. “Officer. Take him instead to his room and set a guard. We’ll move to stationary arrest for the time being. No visitors.”
The soldier nodded. “Yes, my queen.”
Colm didn’t say anything to her or to me as he followed the councilors out the door.
I hesitated for several seconds as Mona arranged an inkwell and parchment in front of her. Then, just before the door to the room closed, I pushed back my chair. She and the others looked up at me, but I turned before they could speak. I caught the almost-closed door and hurried out into the hall.
“Colm,” I said.
He and the soldier both turned next to the sill of a thick-paned window. The creases in his face came back as I approached. His hair lit up in the sunlight, that same golden ochre in his wedding portrait. How could it be sunny right now? How could the skies be so clean and bright?
“Gemma,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Gemma, I can’t begin to tell you how sorry . . .”
I dug deep in my pocket and held out the little ring. His gaze fell on it, the pink pearls glinting softly.
“I didn’t get a chance to put it on the statue,” I said around the block in my throat. “And now the statue is destroyed. It was broken apart in the blast . . .”
His big hand closed over mine briefly, just long enough to give gentle pressure before taking back the ring. “It’s all right. Really, Gemma—I shouldn’t have burdened you with it in the first place.”
“She was very beautiful,” I said. “And she looked happy next to you.”
He didn’t ask where I had seen her face, and he didn’t smile. He looked, if possible, more anguished than before. He reached out, almost impulsively, and gripped my hand again.
“You know what the thing is about that kind of happiness?” he said, his voice strained. “It doesn’t go away. It’s what you remember.”
A world of time and space passed between us in that fraction of a moment. His eyes flicked back and forth between mine, desperate in their need to convey his comprehension.
Not pity.
Empathy. He’d faced this beast himself.
The soldier nudged his elbow, and he drew a breath, leaned back, and dropped my hand. After a final pause, he turned,
tucking the ring deep into his pocket.
“I’m sorry, Colm,” I said. “I’ll try . . .”
He shook his head. “Don’t worry about me, Gemma. Really—please don’t worry.”
He followed the soldier’s ushering down the hall, his hair lighting up in each window they passed.
I sucked in a deep, shaky breath.
“I need someone to worry about,” I said after him, but he was gone.
Chapter 19
I didn’t go back into the council room. I wandered instead. The light turned deep and ruddy in the windows, reminding me that the day of Celeno’s death hadn’t even come to its close yet. And like a child, like a girl with a mind full of shadows, I was terrified of nightfall. Night was the hardest—I remembered it looming over me in the acolyte’s cell as I practically smothered myself with my pillow to keep from crying too loudly. I remembered it deep in the inner sanctum of our rooms, tinged with worry and dread. I remembered it creeping in through the padlocked windows in Cyprien, reminders that time was irrevocably slipping away.
Night was the time of memories and ghosts.
I went to the library but I didn’t sit or read. I simply paced up and down the aisles. I wandered out through the darkening halls, running my fingers over the glimmering pearl wainscoting. I padded through the empty music room, the arched ceiling echoing with silence. I tiptoed back down the portrait hall, avoiding the eyes of the generations of the monarchy as they followed me from end to end. I climbed the spiral stair up to the turrets, my rushing thoughts chasing me in my wake.
The last colors of sunset were fading outside the turret windows. I moved closer to the glass, and then halted, nearly flinging myself backward onto the staircase—there was a face in the window, and it was Shaula’s. I gripped the railing, my body trembling, until my surging mind righted itself. There was a face in the window, and it was my own, reflected by the dim light of a pilot lamp. The thick glass was distorting it, making it twisted and grim. Or maybe this was simply how I looked now—maybe grief had done the same thing to me outside as it had done inside. I reached up to touch my face and watched Shaula’s hand mirror mine to brush her cheek.
Creatures of Light, Book 3 Page 34
